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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:42:09 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:42:09 -0700 |
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diff --git a/13437-h/13437-h.htm b/13437-h/13437-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0dff2e1 --- /dev/null +++ b/13437-h/13437-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12993 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> + +<!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"> +<head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<title>Best Russian Short Stories, by Various</title> +<meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" /> +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> +body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} +P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } +H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } +hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} +.foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} +blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} +.mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} +.toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} +.toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} +.xx-small {font-size: 60%;} +.x-small {font-size: 75%;} +.small {font-size: 85%;} +.large {font-size: 115%;} +.x-large {font-size: 130%;} +.indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} +.indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} +.indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} +.indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} +.indent25 { margin-left: 25%;} +.indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} +.indent35 { margin-left: 35%;} +.indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} +div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } +div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } +.figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} +.figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} +.pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; +font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; +text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; +border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} +.side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; +border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; +text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; +font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} +.head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; +border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; +text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; +font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} +p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} +span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } +pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13437 ***</div> + +<div style="height: 8em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h1> +BEST RUSSIAN SHORT STORIES +</h1> +<h2> +Compiled and Edited by Thomas Seltzer +</h2> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<p> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> +<img src="images/portrait.jpg" alt="portrait" width="100%" /><br /> +</div> + +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<p> +<b>CONTENTS</b> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0002"> BEST RUSSIAN SHORT STORIES </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THE QUEEN OF SPADES </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE CLOAK </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE DISTRICT DOCTOR </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0006"> THE CHRISTMAS TREE AND THE WEDDING </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0007"> GOD SEES THE TRUTH, BUT WAITS </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0008"> HOW A MUZHIK FED TWO OFFICIALS </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0009"> THE SHADES, A PHANTASY </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE SIGNAL </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0011"> THE DARLING </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0012"> THE BET </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0013"> VANKA </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0014"> HIDE AND SEEK </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0016"> DETHRONED </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0017"> THE SERVANT </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0019"> ONE AUTUMN NIGHT </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0020"> HER LOVER </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0021"> LAZARUS </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0022"> THE REVOLUTIONIST </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0023"> THE OUTRAGE—A TRUE STORY </a> +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_TOC" id="link2H_TOC"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CONTENTS +</h2> +<p> +THE QUEEN OF SPADES <i>A.S. Pushkin</i> +</p> +<p> +THE CLOAK <i>N.V. Gogol</i> +</p> +<p> +THE DISTRICT DOCTOR <i>I.S. Turgenev</i> +</p> +<p> +THE CHRISTMAS TREE AND THE WEDDING <i>F.M. Dostoyevsky</i> +</p> +<p> +GOD SEES THE TRUTH, BUT WAITS <i>L.N. Tolstoy</i> +</p> +<p> +HOW A MUZHIK FED TWO OFFICIALS <i>M.Y. Saltykov</i> +</p> +<p> +THE SHADES, A PHANTASY <i>V.G. Korolenko</i> +</p> +<p> +THE SIGNAL <i>V.N. Garshin</i> +</p> +<p> +THE DARLING <i>A.P. Chekhov</i> +</p> +<p> +THE BET <i>A.P. Chekhov</i> +</p> +<p> +VANKA <i>A.P. Chekhov</i> +</p> +<p> +HIDE AND SEEK <i>F.K. Sologub</i> +</p> +<p> +DETHRONED <i>I.N. Potapenko</i> +</p> +<p> +THE SERVANT <i>S.T. Semyonov</i> +</p> +<p> +ONE AUTUMN NIGHT <i>M. Gorky</i> +</p> +<p> +HER LOVER <i>M. Gorky</i> +</p> +<p> +LAZARUS <i>L.N. Andreyev</i> +</p> +<p> +THE REVOLUTIONIST <i>M.P. Artzybashev</i> +</p> +<p> +THE OUTRAGE <i>A.I. Kuprin</i> +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +INTRODUCTION +</h2> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>onceive the joy of a lover of nature who, leaving the art galleries, +wanders out among the trees and wild flowers and birds that the pictures +of the galleries have sentimentalised. It is some such joy that the man +who truly loves the noblest in letters feels when tasting for the first +time the simple delights of Russian literature. French and English and +German authors, too, occasionally, offer works of lofty, simple +naturalness; but the very keynote to the whole of Russian literature is +simplicity, naturalness, veraciousness. +</p> +<p> +Another essentially Russian trait is the quite unaffected conception that +the lowly are on a plane of equality with the so-called upper classes. +When the Englishman Dickens wrote with his profound pity and understanding +of the poor, there was yet a bit; of remoteness, perhaps, even, a bit of +caricature, in his treatment of them. He showed their sufferings to the +rest of the world with a “Behold how the other half lives!” +The Russian writes of the poor, as it were, from within, as one of them, +with no eye to theatrical effect upon the well-to-do. There is no +insistence upon peculiar virtues or vices. The poor are portrayed just as +they are, as human beings like the rest of us. A democratic spirit is +reflected, breathing a broad humanity, a true universality, an unstudied +generosity that proceed not from the intellectual conviction that to +understand all is to forgive all, but from an instinctive feeling that no +man has the right to set himself up as a judge over another, that one can +only observe and record. +</p> +<p> +In 1834 two short stories appeared, <i>The Queen of Spades</i>, by +Pushkin, and <i>The Cloak</i>, by Gogol. The first was a finishing-off of +the old, outgoing style of romanticism, the other was the beginning of the +new, the characteristically Russian style. We read Pushkin’s <i>Queen +of Spades</i>, the first story in the volume, and the likelihood is we +shall enjoy it greatly. “But why is it Russian?” we ask. The +answer is, “It is not Russian.” It might have been printed in +an American magazine over the name of John Brown. But, now, take the very +next story in the volume, <i>The Cloak</i>. “Ah,” you exclaim, +“a genuine Russian story, Surely. You cannot palm it off on me over +the name of Jones or Smith.” Why? Because <i>The Cloak</i> for the +first time strikes that truly Russian note of deep sympathy with the +disinherited. It is not yet wholly free from artificiality, and so is not +yet typical of the purely realistic fiction that reached its perfected +development in Turgenev and Tolstoy. +</p> +<p> +Though Pushkin heads the list of those writers who made the literature of +their country world-famous, he was still a romanticist, in the universal +literary fashion of his day. However, he already gave strong indication of +the peculiarly Russian genius for naturalness or realism, and was a true +Russian in his simplicity of style. In no sense an innovator, but taking +the cue for his poetry from Byron and for his prose from the romanticism +current at that period, he was not in advance of his age. He had a +revolutionary streak in his nature, as his <i>Ode to Liberty</i> and other +bits of verse and his intimacy with the Decembrist rebels show. But his +youthful fire soon died down, and he found it possible to accommodate +himself to the life of a Russian high functionary and courtier under the +severe despot Nicholas I, though, to be sure, he always hated that life. +For all his flirting with revolutionarism, he never displayed great +originality or depth of thought. He was simply an extraordinarily gifted +author, a perfect versifier, a wondrous lyrist, and a delicious raconteur, +endowed with a grace, ease and power of expression that delighted even the +exacting artistic sense of Turgenev. To him aptly applies the dictum of +Socrates: “Not by wisdom do the poets write poetry, but by a sort of +genius and inspiration.” I do not mean to convey that as a thinker +Pushkin is to be despised. Nevertheless, it is true that he would occupy a +lower position in literature did his reputation depend upon his +contributions to thought and not upon his value as an artist. +</p> +<p> +“We are all descended from Gogol’s <i>Cloak</i>,” said a +Russian writer. And Dostoyevsky’s novel, <i>Poor People</i>, which +appeared ten years later, is, in a way, merely an extension of Gogol’s +shorter tale. In Dostoyevsky, indeed, the passion for the common people +and the all-embracing, all-penetrating pity for suffering humanity reach +their climax. He was a profound psychologist and delved deeply into the +human soul, especially in its abnormal and diseased aspects. Between +scenes of heart-rending, abject poverty, injustice, and wrong, and the +torments of mental pathology, he managed almost to exhaust the whole range +of human woe. And he analysed this misery with an intensity of feeling and +a painstaking regard for the most harrowing details that are quite +upsetting to normally constituted nerves. Yet all the horrors must be +forgiven him because of the motive inspiring them—an overpowering +love and the desire to induce an equal love in others. It is not horror +for horror’s sake, not a literary <i>tour de force</i>, as in Poe, +but horror for a high purpose, for purification through suffering, which +was one of the articles of Dostoyevsky’s faith. +</p> +<p> +Following as a corollary from the love and pity for mankind that make a +leading element in Russian literature, is a passionate search for the +means of improving the lot of humanity, a fervent attachment to social +ideas and ideals. A Russian author is more ardently devoted to a cause +than an American short-story writer to a plot. This, in turn, is but a +reflection of the spirit of the Russian people, especially of the +intellectuals. The Russians take literature perhaps more seriously than +any other nation. To them books are not a mere diversion. They demand that +fiction and poetry be a true mirror of life and be of service to life. A +Russian author, to achieve the highest recognition, must be a thinker +also. He need not necessarily be a finished artist. Everything is +subordinated to two main requirements—humanitarian ideals and +fidelity to life. This is the secret of the marvellous simplicity of +Russian-literary art. Before the supreme function of literature, the +Russian writer stands awed and humbled. He knows he cannot cover up +poverty of thought, poverty of spirit and lack of sincerity by rhetorical +tricks or verbal cleverness. And if he possesses the two essential +requirements, the simplest language will suffice. +</p> +<p> +These qualities are exemplified at their best by Turgenev and Tolstoy. +They both had a strong social consciousness; they both grappled with the +problems of human welfare; they were both artists in the larger sense, +that is, in their truthful representation of life. Turgenev was an artist +also in the narrower sense—in a keen appreciation Of form. +Thoroughly Occidental in his tastes, he sought the regeneration of Russia +in radical progress along the lines of European democracy. Tolstoy, on the +other hand, sought the salvation of mankind in a return to the primitive +life and primitive Christian religion. +</p> +<p> +The very first work of importance by Turgenev, <i>A Sportsman’s +Sketches</i>, dealt with the question of serfdom, and it wielded +tremendous influence in bringing about its abolition. Almost every +succeeding book of his, from <i>Rudin</i> through <i>Fathers and Sons</i> +to <i>Virgin Soil</i>, presented vivid pictures of contemporary Russian +society, with its problems, the clash of ideas between the old and the new +generations, and the struggles, the aspirations and the thoughts that +engrossed the advanced youth of Russia; so that his collected works form a +remarkable literary record of the successive movements of Russian society +in a period of preparation, fraught with epochal significance, which +culminated in the overthrow of Czarism and the inauguration of a new and +true democracy, marking the beginning, perhaps, of a radical +transformation the world over. +</p> +<p> +“The greatest writer of Russia.” That is Turgenev’s +estimate of Tolstoy. “A second Shakespeare!” was Flaubert’s +enthusiastic outburst. The Frenchman’s comparison is not wholly +illuminating. The one point of resemblance between the two authors is +simply in the tremendous magnitude of their genius. Each is a Colossus. +Each creates a whole world of characters, from kings and princes and +ladies to servants and maids and peasants. But how vastly divergent the +angle of approach! Anna Karenina may have all the subtle womanly charm of +an Olivia or a Portia, but how different her trials. Shakespeare could not +have treated Anna’s problems at all. Anna could not have appeared in +his pages except as a sinning Gertrude, the mother of Hamlet. Shakespeare +had all the prejudices of his age. He accepted the world as it is with its +absurd moralities, its conventions and institutions and social classes. A +gravedigger is naturally inferior to a lord, and if he is to be presented +at all, he must come on as a clown. The people are always a mob, the +rabble. Tolstoy, is the revolutionist, the iconoclast. He has the +completest independence of mind. He utterly refuses to accept established +opinions just because they are established. He probes into the right and +wrong of things. His is a broad, generous universal democracy, his is a +comprehensive sympathy, his an absolute incapacity to evaluate human +beings according to station, rank or profession, or any standard but that +of spiritual worth. In all this he was a complete contrast to Shakespeare. +Each of the two men was like a creature of a higher world, possessed of +supernatural endowments. Their omniscience of all things human, their +insight into the hiddenmost springs of men’s actions appear +miraculous. But Shakespeare makes the impression of detachment from his +works. The works do not reveal the man; while in Tolstoy the greatness of +the man blends with the greatness of the genius. Tolstoy was no mere +oracle uttering profundities he wot not of. As the social, religious and +moral tracts that he wrote in the latter period of his life are instinct +with a literary beauty of which he never could divest himself, and which +gave an artistic value even to his sermons, so his earlier novels show a +profound concern for the welfare of society, a broad, humanitarian spirit, +a bigness of soul that included prince and pauper alike. +</p> +<p> +Is this extravagant praise? Then let me echo William Dean Howells: “I +know very well that I do not speak of Tolstoy’s books in measured +terms; I cannot.” +</p> +<p> +The Russian writers so far considered have made valuable contributions to +the short story; but, with the exception of Pushkin, whose reputation +rests chiefly upon his poetry, their best work, generally, was in the +field of the long novel. It was the novel that gave Russian literature its +pre-eminence. It could not have been otherwise, since Russia is young as a +literary nation, and did not come of age until the period at which the +novel was almost the only form of literature that counted. If, therefore, +Russia was to gain distinction in the world of letters, it could be only +through the novel. Of the measure of her success there is perhaps no +better testimony than the words of Matthew Arnold, a critic certainly not +given to overstatement. “The Russian novel,” he wrote in 1887, +“has now the vogue, and deserves to have it... The Russian novelist +is master of a spell to which the secret of human nature—both what +is external and internal, gesture and manner no less than thought and +feeling—willingly make themselves known... In that form of +imaginative literature, which in our day is the most popular and the most +possible, the Russians at the present moment seem to me to hold the field.” +</p> +<p> +With the strict censorship imposed on Russian writers, many of them who +might perhaps have contented themselves with expressing their opinions in +essays, were driven to conceal their meaning under the guise of satire or +allegory; which gave rise to a peculiar genre of literature, a sort of +editorial or essay done into fiction, in which the satirist Saltykov, a +contemporary of Turgenev and Dostoyevsky, who wrote under the pseudonym of +Shchedrin, achieved the greatest success and popularity. +</p> +<p> +It was not however, until the concluding quarter of the last century that +writers like Korolenko and Garshin arose, who devoted themselves chiefly +to the cultivation of the short story. With Anton Chekhov the short story +assumed a position of importance alongside the larger works of the great +Russian masters. Gorky and Andreyev made the short story do the same +service for the active revolutionary period in the last decade of the +nineteenth century down to its temporary defeat in 1906 that Turgenev +rendered in his series of larger novels for the period of preparation. But +very different was the voice of Gorky, the man sprung from the people, the +embodiment of all the accumulated wrath and indignation of centuries of +social wrong and oppression, from the gentlemanly tones of the cultured +artist Turgenev. Like a mighty hammer his blows fell upon the decaying +fabric of the old society. His was no longer a feeble, despairing protest. +With the strength and confidence of victory he made onslaught upon +onslaught on the old institutions until they shook and almost tumbled. And +when reaction celebrated its short-lived triumph and gloom settled again +upon his country and most of his co-fighters withdrew from the battle in +despair, some returning to the old-time Russian mood of hopelessness, +passivity and apathy, and some even backsliding into wild orgies of +literary debauchery, Gorky never wavered, never lost his faith and hope, +never for a moment was untrue to his principles. Now, with the revolution +victorious, he has come into his right, one of the most respected, beloved +and picturesque figures in the Russian democracy. +</p> +<p> +Kuprin, the most facile and talented short-story writer next to Chekhov, +has, on the whole, kept well to the best literary traditions of Russia, +though he has frequently wandered off to extravagant sex themes, for which +he seems to display as great a fondness as Artzybashev. Semyonov is a +unique character in Russian literature, a peasant who had scarcely +mastered the most elementary mechanics of writing when he penned his first +story. But that story pleased Tolstoy, who befriended and encouraged him. +His tales deal altogether with peasant life in country and city, and have +a lifelikeness, an artlessness, a simplicity striking even in a Russian +author. +</p> +<p> +There is a small group of writers detached from the main current of +Russian literature who worship at the shrine of beauty and mysticism. Of +these Sologub has attained the highest reputation. +</p> +<p> +Rich as Russia has become in the short story, Anton Chekhov still stands +out as the supreme master, one of the greatest short-story writers of the +world. He was born in Taganarok, in the Ukraine, in 1860, the son of a +peasant serf who succeeded in buying his freedom. Anton Chekhov studied +medicine, but devoted himself largely to writing, in which, he +acknowledged, his scientific training was of great service. Though he +lived only forty-four years, dying of tuberculosis in 1904, his collected +works consist of sixteen fair-sized volumes of short stories, and several +dramas besides. A few volumes of his works have already appeared in +English translation. +</p> +<p> +Critics, among them Tolstoy, have often compared Chekhov to Maupassant. I +find it hard to discover the resemblance. Maupassant holds a supreme +position as a short-story writer; so does Chekhov. But there, it seems to +me, the likeness ends. +</p> +<p> +The chill wind that blows from the atmosphere created by the Frenchman’s +objective artistry is by the Russian commingled with the warm breath of a +great human sympathy. Maupassant never tells where his sympathies lie, and +you don’t know; you only guess. Chekhov does not tell you where his +sympathies lie, either, but you know all the same; you don’t have to +guess. And yet Chekhov is as objective as Maupassant. In the chronicling +of facts, conditions, and situations, in the reproduction of characters, +he is scrupulously true, hard, and inexorable. But without obtruding his +personality, he somehow manages to let you know that he is always present, +always at hand. If you laugh, he is there to laugh with you; if you cry, +he is there to shed a tear with you; if you are horrified, he is +horrified, too. It is a subtle art by which he contrives to make one feel +the nearness of himself for all his objectiveness, so subtle that it +defies analysis. And yet it constitutes one of the great charms of his +tales. +</p> +<p> +Chekhov’s works show an astounding resourcefulness and versatility. +There is no monotony, no repetition. Neither in incident nor in character +are any two stories alike. The range of Chekhov’s knowledge of men +and things seems to be unlimited, and he is extravagant in the use of it. +Some great idea which many a writer would consider sufficient to expand +into a whole novel he disposes of in a story of a few pages. Take, for +example, <i>Vanka</i>, apparently but a mere episode in the childhood of a +nine-year-old boy; while it is really the tragedy of a whole life in its +tempting glimpses into a past environment and ominous forebodings of the +future—all contracted into the space of four or five pages. Chekhov +is lavish with his inventiveness. Apparently, it cost him no effort to +invent. +</p> +<p> +I have used the word inventiveness for lack of a better name. It expresses +but lamely the peculiar faculty that distinguishes Chekhov. Chekhov does +not really invent. He reveals. He reveals things that no author before him +has revealed. It is as though he possessed a special organ which enabled +him to see, hear and feel things of which we other mortals did not even +dream the existence. Yet when he lays them bare we know that they are not +fictitious, not invented, but as real as the ordinary familiar facts of +life. This faculty of his playing on all conceivable objects, all +conceivable emotions, no matter how microscopic, endows them with life and +a soul. By virtue of this power <i>The Steppe</i>, an uneventful record of +peasants travelling day after day through flat, monotonous fields, becomes +instinct with dramatic interest, and its 125 pages seem all too short. And +by virtue of the same attribute we follow with breathless suspense the +minute description of the declining days of a great scientist, who feels +his physical and mental faculties gradually ebbing away. <i>A Tiresome +Story</i>, Chekhov calls it; and so it would be without the vitality +conjured into it by the magic touch of this strange genius. +</p> +<p> +Divination is perhaps a better term than invention. Chekhov divines the +most secret impulses of the soul, scents out what is buried in the +subconscious, and brings it up to the surface. Most writers are +specialists. They know certain strata of society, and when they venture +beyond, their step becomes uncertain. Chekhov’s material is only +delimited by humanity. He is equally at home everywhere. The peasant, the +labourer, the merchant, the priest, the professional man, the scholar, the +military officer, and the government functionary, Gentile or Jew, man, +woman, or child—Chekhov is intimate with all of them. His characters +are sharply defined individuals, not types. In almost all his stories, +however short, the men and women and children who play a part in them come +out as clear, distinct personalities. Ariadne is as vivid a character as +Lilly, the heroine of Sudermann’s <i>Song of Songs</i>; yet <i>Ariadne</i> +is but a single story in a volume of stories. Who that has read <i>The +Darling</i> can ever forget her—the woman who had no separate +existence of her own, but thought the thoughts, felt the feelings, and +spoke the words of the men she loved? And when there was no man to love +any more, she was utterly crushed until she found a child to take care of +and to love; and then she sank her personality in the boy as she had sunk +it before in her husbands and lover, became a mere reflection of him, and +was happy again. +</p> +<p> +In the compilation of this volume I have been guided by the desire to give +the largest possible representation to the prominent authors of the +Russian short story, and to present specimens characteristic of each. At +the same time the element of interest has been kept in mind; and in a few +instances, as in the case of Korolenko, the selection of the story was +made with a view to its intrinsic merit and striking qualities rather than +as typifying the writer’s art. It was, of course, impossible in the +space of one book to exhaust all that is best. But to my knowledge, the +present volume is the most comprehensive anthology of the Russian short +story in the English language, and gives a fair notion of the achievement +in that field. All who enjoy good reading, I have no reason to doubt, will +get pleasure from it, and if, in addition, it will prove of assistance to +American students of Russian literature, I shall feel that the task has +been doubly worth the while. +</p> +<p> +Korolenko’s <i>Shades</i> and Andreyev’s <i>Lazarus</i> first +appeared in <i>Current Opinion</i>, and Artzybashev’s <i>The +Revolutionist</i> in the <i>Metropolitan Magazine</i>. I take pleasure in +thanking Mr. Edward J. Wheeler, editor of <i>Current Opinion</i>, and Mr. +Carl Hovey, editor of the <i>Metropolitan Magazine</i>, for permission to +reprint them. +</p> +<p> +[Signature: Thomas Seltzer] +</p> +<p> +“<i>Everything is subordinated to two main requirements—humanitarian +ideals and fidelity to life. This is the secret of the marvellous +simplicity of Russian literary art</i>.”—THOMAS SELTZER. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +BEST RUSSIAN SHORT STORIES +</h2> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +THE QUEEN OF SPADES +</h2> +<h3> +BY ALEXSANDR S. PUSHKIN +</h3> +<h3> +I +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>here was a card party at the rooms of Narumov of the Horse Guards. The +long winter night passed away imperceptibly, and it was five o’clock +in the morning before the company sat down to supper. Those who had won, +ate with a good appetite; the others sat staring absently at their empty +plates. When the champagne appeared, however, the conversation became more +animated, and all took a part in it. +</p> +<p> +“And how did you fare, Surin?” asked the host. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I lost, as usual. I must confess that I am unlucky: I play +mirandole, I always keep cool, I never allow anything to put me out, and +yet I always lose!” +</p> +<p> +“And you did not once allow yourself to be tempted to back the +red?... Your firmness astonishes me.” +</p> +<p> +“But what do you think of Hermann?” said one of the guests, +pointing to a young Engineer: “he has never had a card in his hand +in his life, he has never in his life laid a wager, and yet he sits here +till five o’clock in the morning watching our play.” +</p> +<p> +“Play interests me very much,” said Hermann: “but I am +not in the position to sacrifice the necessary in the hope of winning the +superfluous.” +</p> +<p> +“Hermann is a German: he is economical—that is all!” +observed Tomsky. “But if there is one person that I cannot +understand, it is my grandmother, the Countess Anna Fedotovna.” +</p> +<p> +“How so?” inquired the guests. +</p> +<p> +“I cannot understand,” continued Tomsky, “how it is that +my grandmother does not punt.” +</p> +<p> +“What is there remarkable about an old lady of eighty not punting?” +said Narumov. +</p> +<p> +“Then you do not know the reason why?” +</p> +<p> +“No, really; haven’t the faintest idea.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! then listen. About sixty years ago, my grandmother went to +Paris, where she created quite a sensation. People used to run after her +to catch a glimpse of the ‘Muscovite Venus.’ Richelieu made +love to her, and my grandmother maintains that he almost blew out his +brains in consequence of her cruelty. At that time ladies used to play at +faro. On one occasion at the Court, she lost a very considerable sum to +the Duke of Orleans. On returning home, my grandmother removed the patches +from her face, took off her hoops, informed my grandfather of her loss at +the gaming-table, and ordered him to pay the money. My deceased +grandfather, as far as I remember, was a sort of house-steward to my +grandmother. He dreaded her like fire; but, on hearing of such a heavy +loss, he almost went out of his mind; he calculated the various sums she +had lost, and pointed out to her that in six months she had spent half a +million francs, that neither their Moscow nor Saratov estates were in +Paris, and finally refused point blank to pay the debt. My grandmother +gave him a box on the ear and slept by herself as a sign of her +displeasure. The next day she sent for her husband, hoping that this +domestic punishment had produced an effect upon him, but she found him +inflexible. For the first time in her life, she entered into reasonings +and explanations with him, thinking to be able to convince him by pointing +out to him that there are debts and debts, and that there is a great +difference between a Prince and a coachmaker. But it was all in vain, my +grandfather still remained obdurate. But the matter did not rest there. My +grandmother did not know what to do. She had shortly before become +acquainted with a very remarkable man. You have heard of Count St. +Germain, about whom so many marvellous stories are told. You know that he +represented himself as the Wandering Jew, as the discoverer of the elixir +of life, of the philosopher’s stone, and so forth. Some laughed at +him as a charlatan; but Casanova, in his memoirs, says that he was a spy. +But be that as it may, St. Germain, in spite of the mystery surrounding +him, was a very fascinating person, and was much sought after in the best +circles of society. Even to this day my grandmother retains an +affectionate recollection of him, and becomes quite angry if any one +speaks disrespectfully of him. My grandmother knew that St. Germain had +large sums of money at his disposal. She resolved to have recourse to him, +and she wrote a letter to him asking him to come to her without delay. The +queer old man immediately waited upon her and found her overwhelmed with +grief. She described to him in the blackest colours the barbarity of her +husband, and ended by declaring that her whole hope depended upon his +friendship and amiability. +</p> +<p> +“St. Germain reflected. +</p> +<p> +“‘I could advance you the sum you want,’ said he; +‘but I know that you would not rest easy until you had paid me back, +and I should not like to bring fresh troubles upon you. But there is +another way of getting out of your difficulty: you can win back your +money.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘But, my dear Count,’ replied my grandmother, ‘I +tell you that I haven’t any money left.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘Money is not necessary,’ replied St. Germain: ‘be +pleased to listen to me.’ +</p> +<p> +“Then he revealed to her a secret, for which each of us would give a +good deal...” +</p> +<p> +The young officers listened with increased attention. Tomsky lit his pipe, +puffed away for a moment and then continued: +</p> +<p> +“That same evening my grandmother went to Versailles to the <i>jeu +de la reine</i>. The Duke of Orleans kept the bank; my grandmother excused +herself in an off-hand manner for not having yet paid her debt, by +inventing some little story, and then began to play against him. She chose +three cards and played them one after the other: all three won <i>sonika</i>, +[Said of a card when it wins or loses in the quickest possible time.] and +my grandmother recovered every farthing that she had lost.” +</p> +<p> +“Mere chance!” said one of the guests. +</p> +<p> +“A tale!” observed Hermann. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps they were marked cards!” said a third. +</p> +<p> +“I do not think so,” replied Tomsky gravely. +</p> +<p> +“What!” said Narumov, “you have a grandmother who knows +how to hit upon three lucky cards in succession, and you have never yet +succeeded in getting the secret of it out of her?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s the deuce of it!” replied Tomsky: “she had +four sons, one of whom was my father; all four were determined gamblers, +and yet not to one of them did she ever reveal her secret, although it +would not have been a bad thing either for them or for me. But this is +what I heard from my uncle, Count Ivan Ilyich, and he assured me, on his +honour, that it was true. The late Chaplitzky—the same who died in +poverty after having squandered millions—once lost, in his youth, +about three hundred thousand roubles—to Zorich, if I remember +rightly. He was in despair. My grandmother, who was always very severe +upon the extravagance of young men, took pity, however, upon Chaplitzky. +She gave him three cards, telling him to play them one after the other, at +the same time exacting from him a solemn promise that he would never play +at cards again as long as he lived. Chaplitzky then went to his victorious +opponent, and they began a fresh game. On the first card he staked fifty +thousand rubles and won <i>sonika</i>; he doubled the stake and won again, +till at last, by pursuing the same tactics, he won back more than he had +lost ... +</p> +<p> +“But it is time to go to bed: it is a quarter to six already.” +</p> +<p> +And indeed it was already beginning to dawn: the young men emptied their +glasses and then took leave of each other. +</p> +<h3> +II +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he old Countess A—— was seated in her dressing-room in front +of her looking-glass. Three waiting maids stood around her. One held +a small pot of rouge, another a box of hair-pins, and the third a tall can +with bright red ribbons. The Countess had no longer the slightest +pretensions to beauty, but she still preserved the habits of her youth, +dressed in strict accordance with the fashion of seventy years before, and +made as long and as careful a toilette as she would have done sixty years +previously. Near the window, at an embroidery frame, sat a young lady, her +ward. +</p> +<p> +“Good morning, grandmamma,” said a young officer, entering the +room. “<i>Bonjour, Mademoiselle Lise</i>. Grandmamma, I want to ask +you something.” +</p> +<p> +“What is it, Paul?” +</p> +<p> +“I want you to let me introduce one of my friends to you, and to +allow me to bring him to the ball on Friday.” +</p> +<p> +“Bring him direct to the ball and introduce him to me there. Were +you at B——‘s yesterday?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; everything went off very pleasantly, and dancing was kept up +until five o’clock. How charming Yeletzkaya was!” +</p> +<p> +“But, my dear, what is there charming about her? Isn’t she +like her grandmother, the Princess Daria Petrovna? By the way, she must be +very old, the Princess Daria Petrovna.” +</p> +<p> +“How do you mean, old?” cried Tomsky thoughtlessly; “she +died seven years ago.” +</p> +<p> +The young lady raised her head and made a sign to the young officer. He +then remembered that the old Countess was never to be informed of the +death of any of her contemporaries, and he bit his lips. But the old +Countess heard the news with the greatest indifference. +</p> +<p> +“Dead!” said she; “and I did not know it. We were +appointed maids of honour at the same time, and when we were presented to +the Empress...” +</p> +<p> +And the Countess for the hundredth time related to her grandson one of her +anecdotes. +</p> +<p> +“Come, Paul,” said she, when she had finished her story, +“help me to get up. Lizanka, where is my snuff-box?” +</p> +<p> +And the Countess with her three maids went behind a screen to finish her +toilette. Tomsky was left alone with the young lady. +</p> +<p> +“Who is the gentleman you wish to introduce to the Countess?” +asked Lizaveta Ivanovna in a whisper. +</p> +<p> +“Narumov. Do you know him?” +</p> +<p> +“No. Is he a soldier or a civilian?” +</p> +<p> +“A soldier.” +</p> +<p> +“Is he in the Engineers?” +</p> +<p> +“No, in the Cavalry. What made you think that he was in the +Engineers?” +</p> +<p> +The young lady smiled, but made no reply. +</p> +<p> +“Paul,” cried the Countess from behind the screen, “send +me some new novel, only pray don’t let it be one of the present day +style.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean, grandmother?” +</p> +<p> +“That is, a novel, in which the hero strangles neither his father +nor his mother, and in which there are no drowned bodies. I have a great +horror of drowned persons.” +</p> +<p> +“There are no such novels nowadays. Would you like a Russian one?” +</p> +<p> +“Are there any Russian novels? Send me one, my dear, pray send me +one!” +</p> +<p> +“Good-bye, grandmother: I am in a hurry... Good-bye, Lizaveta +Ivanovna. What made you think that Narumov was in the Engineers?” +</p> +<p> +And Tomsky left the boudoir. +</p> +<p> +Lizaveta Ivanovna was left alone: she laid aside her work and began to +look out of the window. A few moments afterwards, at a corner house on the +other side of the street, a young officer appeared. A deep blush covered +her cheeks; she took up her work again and bent her head down over the +frame. At the same moment the Countess returned completely dressed. +</p> +<p> +“Order the carriage, Lizaveta,” said she; “we will go +out for a drive.” +</p> +<p> +Lizaveta arose from the frame and began to arrange her work. +</p> +<p> +“What is the matter with you, my child, are you deaf?” cried +the Countess. “Order the carriage to be got ready at once.” +</p> +<p> +“I will do so this moment,” replied the young lady, hastening +into the ante-room. +</p> +<p> +A servant entered and gave the Countess some books from Prince Paul +Aleksandrovich. +</p> +<p> +“Tell him that I am much obliged to him,” said the Countess. +“Lizaveta! Lizaveta! Where are you running to?” +</p> +<p> +“I am going to dress.” +</p> +<p> +“There is plenty of time, my dear. Sit down here. Open the first +volume and read to me aloud.” +</p> +<p> +Her companion took the book and read a few lines. +</p> +<p> +“Louder,” said the Countess. “What is the matter with +you, my child? Have you lost your voice? Wait—give me that footstool—a +little nearer—that will do.” +</p> +<p> +Lizaveta read two more pages. The Countess yawned. +</p> +<p> +“Put the book down,” said she: “what a lot of nonsense! +Send it back to Prince Paul with my thanks... But where is the carriage?” +</p> +<p> +“The carriage is ready,” said Lizaveta, looking out into the +street. +</p> +<p> +“How is it that you are not dressed?” said the Countess: +“I must always wait for you. It is intolerable, my dear!” +</p> +<p> +Liza hastened to her room. She had not been there two minutes, before the +Countess began to ring with all her might. The three waiting-maids came +running in at one door and the valet at another. +</p> +<p> +“How is it that you cannot hear me when I ring for you?” said +the Countess. “Tell Lizaveta Ivanovna that I am waiting for her.” +</p> +<p> +Lizaveta returned with her hat and cloak on. +</p> +<p> +“At last you are here!” said the Countess. “But why such +an elaborate toilette? Whom do you intend to captivate? What sort of +weather is it? It seems rather windy.” +</p> +<p> +“No, your Ladyship, it is very calm,” replied the valet. +</p> +<p> +“You never think of what you are talking about. Open the window. So +it is: windy and bitterly cold. Unharness the horses. Lizaveta, we won’t +go out—there was no need for you to deck yourself like that.” +</p> +<p> +“What a life is mine!” thought Lizaveta Ivanovna. +</p> +<p> +And, in truth, Lizaveta Ivanovna was a very unfortunate creature. “The +bread of the stranger is bitter,” says Dante, “and his +staircase hard to climb.” But who can know what the bitterness of +dependence is so well as the poor companion of an old lady of quality? The +Countess A—— had by no means a bad heart, but she was +capricious, like a woman who had been spoilt by the world, as well as +being avaricious and egotistical, like all old people who have seen their +best days, and whose thoughts are with the past and not the present. She +participated in all the vanities of the great world, went to balls, where +she sat in a corner, painted and dressed in old-fashioned style, like a +deformed but indispensable ornament of the ball-room; all the guests on +entering approached her and made a profound bow, as if in accordance with +a set ceremony, but after that nobody took any further notice of her. She +received the whole town at her house, and observed the strictest +etiquette, although she could no longer recognise the faces of people. Her +numerous domestics, growing fat and old in her ante-chamber and servants’ +hall, did just as they liked, and vied with each other in robbing the aged +Countess in the most bare-faced manner. Lizaveta Ivanovna was the martyr +of the household. She made tea, and was reproached with using too much +sugar; she read novels aloud to the Countess, and the faults of the author +were visited upon her head; she accompanied the Countess in her walks, and +was held answerable for the weather or the state of the pavement. A salary +was attached to the post, but she very rarely received it, although she +was expected to dress like everybody else, that is to say, like very few +indeed. In society she played the most pitiable role. Everybody knew her, +and nobody paid her any attention. At balls she danced only when a partner +was wanted, and ladies would only take hold of her arm when it was +necessary to lead her out of the room to attend to their dresses. She was +very self-conscious, and felt her position keenly, and she looked about +her with impatience for a deliverer to come to her rescue; but the young +men, calculating in their giddiness, honoured her with but very little +attention, although Lizaveta Ivanovna was a hundred times prettier than +the bare-faced and cold-hearted marriageable girls around whom they +hovered. Many a time did she quietly slink away from the glittering but +wearisome drawing-room, to go and cry in her own poor little room, in +which stood a screen, a chest of drawers, a looking-glass and a painted +bedstead, and where a tallow candle burnt feebly in a copper candle-stick. +</p> +<p> +One morning—this was about two days after the evening party +described at the beginning of this story, and a week previous to the scene +at which we have just assisted—Lizaveta Ivanovna was seated near the +window at her embroidery frame, when, happening to look out into the +street, she caught sight of a young Engineer officer, standing motionless +with his eyes fixed upon her window. She lowered her head and went on +again with her work. About five minutes afterwards she looked out again—the +young officer was still standing in the same place. Not being in the habit +of coquetting with passing officers, she did not continue to gaze out into +the street, but went on sewing for a couple of hours, without raising her +head. Dinner was announced. She rose up and began to put her embroidery +away, but glancing casually out of the window, she perceived the officer +again. This seemed to her very strange. After dinner she went to the +window with a certain feeling of uneasiness, but the officer was no longer +there—and she thought no more about him. +</p> +<p> +A couple of days afterwards, just as she was stepping into the carriage +with the Countess, she saw him again. He was standing close behind the +door, with his face half-concealed by his fur collar, but his dark eyes +sparkled beneath his cap. Lizaveta felt alarmed, though she knew not why, +and she trembled as she seated herself in the carriage. +</p> +<p> +On returning home, she hastened to the window—the officer was +standing in his accustomed place, with his eyes fixed upon her. She drew +back, a prey to curiosity and agitated by a feeling which was quite new to +her. +</p> +<p> +From that time forward not a day passed without the young officer making +his appearance under the window at the customary hour, and between him and +her there was established a sort of mute acquaintance. Sitting in her +place at work, she used to feel his approach; and raising her head, she +would look at him longer and longer each day. The young man seemed to be +very grateful to her: she saw with the sharp eye of youth, how a sudden +flush covered his pale cheeks each time that their glances met. After +about a week she commenced to smile at him... +</p> +<p> +When Tomsky asked permission of his grandmother the Countess to present +one of his friends to her, the young girl’s heart beat violently. +But hearing that Narumov was not an Engineer, she regretted that by her +thoughtless question, she had betrayed her secret to the volatile Tomsky. +</p> +<p> +Hermann was the son of a German who had become a naturalised Russian, and +from whom he had inherited a small capital. Being firmly convinced of the +necessity of preserving his independence, Hermann did not touch his +private income, but lived on his pay, without allowing himself the +slightest luxury. Moreover, he was reserved and ambitious, and his +companions rarely had an opportunity of making merry at the expense of his +extreme parsimony. He had strong passions and an ardent imagination, but +his firmness of disposition preserved him from the ordinary errors of +young men. Thus, though a gamester at heart, he never touched a card, for +he considered his position did not allow him—as he said—“to +risk the necessary in the hope of winning the superfluous,” yet he +would sit for nights together at the card table and follow with feverish +anxiety the different turns of the game. +</p> +<p> +The story of the three cards had produced a powerful impression upon his +imagination, and all night long he could think of nothing else. “If,” +he thought to himself the following evening, as he walked along the +streets of St. Petersburg, “if the old Countess would but reveal her +secret to me! if she would only tell me the names of the three winning +cards. Why should I not try my fortune? I must get introduced to her and +win her favour—become her lover... But all that will take time, and +she is eighty-seven years old: she might be dead in a week, in a couple of +days even!... But the story itself: can it really be true?... No! Economy, +temperance and industry: those are my three winning cards; by means of +them I shall be able to double my capital—increase it sevenfold, and +procure for myself ease and independence.” +</p> +<p> +Musing in this manner, he walked on until he found himself in one of the +principal streets of St. Petersburg, in front of a house of antiquated +architecture. The street was blocked with equipages; carriages one after +the other drew up in front of the brilliantly illuminated doorway. At one +moment there stepped out on to the pavement the well-shaped little foot of +some young beauty, at another the heavy boot of a cavalry officer, and +then the silk stockings and shoes of a member of the diplomatic world. +Furs and cloaks passed in rapid succession before the gigantic porter at +the entrance. +</p> +<p> +Hermann stopped. “Whose house is this?” he asked of the +watchman at the corner. +</p> +<p> +“The Countess A——‘s,” replied the watchman. +</p> +<p> +Hermann started. The strange story of the three cards again presented +itself to his imagination. He began walking up and down before the house, +thinking of its owner and her strange secret. Returning late to his modest +lodging, he could not go to sleep for a long time, and when at last he did +doze off, he could dream of nothing but cards, green tables, piles of +banknotes and heaps of ducats. He played one card after the other, winning +uninterruptedly, and then he gathered up the gold and filled his pockets +with the notes. When he woke up late the next morning, he sighed over the +loss of his imaginary wealth, and then sallying out into the town, he +found himself once more in front of the Countess’s residence. Some +unknown power seemed to have attracted him thither. He stopped and looked +up at the windows. At one of these he saw a head with luxuriant black +hair, which was bent down probably over some book or an embroidery frame. +The head was raised. Hermann saw a fresh complexion and a pair of dark +eyes. That moment decided his fate. +</p> +<h3> +III +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>izaveta Ivanovna had scarcely taken off her hat and cloak, when the +Countess sent for her and again ordered her to get the carriage ready. The +vehicle drew up before the door, and they prepared to take their seats. +Just at the moment when two footmen were assisting the old lady to enter +the carriage, Lizaveta saw her Engineer standing close beside the wheel; +he grasped her hand; alarm caused her to lose her presence of mind, and +the young man disappeared—but not before he had left a letter +between her fingers. She concealed it in her glove, and during the whole +of the drive she neither saw nor heard anything. It was the custom of the +Countess, when out for an airing in her carriage, to be constantly asking +such questions as: “Who was that person that met us just now? What +is the name of this bridge? What is written on that signboard?” On +this occasion, however, Lizaveta returned such vague and absurd answers, +that the Countess became angry with her. +</p> +<p> +“What is the matter with you, my dear?” she exclaimed. “Have +you taken leave of your senses, or what is it? Do you not hear me or +understand what I say?... Heaven be thanked, I am still in my right mind +and speak plainly enough!” +</p> +<p> +Lizaveta Ivanovna did not hear her. On returning home she ran to her room, +and drew the letter out of her glove: it was not sealed. Lizaveta read it. +The letter contained a declaration of love; it was tender, respectful, and +copied word for word from a German novel. But Lizaveta did not know +anything of the German language, and she was quite delighted. +</p> +<p> +For all that, the letter caused her to feel exceedingly uneasy. For the +first time in her life she was entering into secret and confidential +relations with a young man. His boldness alarmed her. She reproached +herself for her imprudent behaviour, and knew not what to do. Should she +cease to sit at the window and, by assuming an appearance of indifference +towards him, put a check upon the young officer’s desire for further +acquaintance with her? Should she send his letter back to him, or should +she answer him in a cold and decided manner? There was nobody to whom she +could turn in her perplexity, for she had neither female friend nor +adviser... At length she resolved to reply to him. +</p> +<p> +She sat down at her little writing-table, took pen and paper, and began to +think. Several times she began her letter, and then tore it up: the way +she had expressed herself seemed to her either too inviting or too cold +and decisive. At last she succeeded in writing a few lines with which she +felt satisfied. +</p> +<p> +“I am convinced,” she wrote, “that your intentions are +honourable, and that you do not wish to offend me by any imprudent +behaviour, but our acquaintance must not begin in such a manner. I return +you your letter, and I hope that I shall never have any cause to complain +of this undeserved slight.” +</p> +<p> +The next day, as soon as Hermann made his appearance, Lizaveta rose from +her embroidery, went into the drawing-room, opened the ventilator and +threw the letter into the street, trusting that the young officer would +have the perception to pick it up. +</p> +<p> +Hermann hastened forward, picked it up and then repaired to a confectioner’s +shop. Breaking the seal of the envelope, he found inside it his own letter +and Lizaveta’s reply. He had expected this, and he returned home, +his mind deeply occupied with his intrigue. +</p> +<p> +Three days afterwards, a bright-eyed young girl from a milliner’s +establishment brought Lizaveta a letter. Lizaveta opened it with great +uneasiness, fearing that it was a demand for money, when suddenly she +recognised Hermann’s hand-writing. +</p> +<p> +“You have made a mistake, my dear,” said she: “this +letter is not for me.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, it is for you,” replied the girl, smiling very +knowingly. “Have the goodness to read it.” +</p> +<p> +Lizaveta glanced at the letter. Hermann requested an interview. +</p> +<p> +“It cannot be,” she cried, alarmed at the audacious request, +and the manner in which it was made. “This letter is certainly not +for me.” +</p> +<p> +And she tore it into fragments. +</p> +<p> +“If the letter was not for you, why have you torn it up?” said +the girl. “I should have given it back to the person who sent it.” +</p> +<p> +“Be good enough, my dear,” said Lizaveta, disconcerted by this +remark, “not to bring me any more letters for the future, and tell +the person who sent you that he ought to be ashamed...” +</p> +<p> +But Hermann was not the man to be thus put off. Every day Lizaveta +received from him a letter, sent now in this way, now in that. They were +no longer translated from the German. Hermann wrote them under the +inspiration of passion, and spoke in his own language, and they bore full +testimony to the inflexibility of his desire and the disordered condition +of his uncontrollable imagination. Lizaveta no longer thought of sending +them back to him: she became intoxicated with them and began to reply to +them, and little by little her answers became longer and more +affectionate. At last she threw out of the window to him the following +letter: +</p> +<p> +“This evening there is going to be a ball at the Embassy. The +Countess will be there. We shall remain until two o’clock. You have +now an opportunity of seeing me alone. As soon as the Countess is gone, +the servants will very probably go out, and there will be nobody left but +the Swiss, but he usually goes to sleep in his lodge. Come about half-past +eleven. Walk straight upstairs. If you meet anybody in the ante-room, ask +if the Countess is at home. You will be told ‘No,’ in which +case there will be nothing left for you to do but to go away again. But it +is most probable that you will meet nobody. The maidservants will all be +together in one room. On leaving the ante-room, turn to the left, and walk +straight on until you reach the Countess’s bedroom. In the bedroom, +behind a screen, you will find two doors: the one on the right leads to a +cabinet, which the Countess never enters; the one on the left leads to a +corridor, at the end of which is a little winding staircase; this leads to +my room.” +</p> +<p> +Hermann trembled like a tiger, as he waited for the appointed time to +arrive. At ten o’clock in the evening he was already in front of the +Countess’s house. The weather was terrible; the wind blew with great +violence; the sleety snow fell in large flakes; the lamps emitted a feeble +light, the streets were deserted; from time to time a sledge, drawn by a +sorry-looking hack, passed by, on the look-out for a belated passenger. +Hermann was enveloped in a thick overcoat, and felt neither wind nor snow. +</p> +<p> +At last the Countess’s carriage drew up. Hermann saw two footmen +carry out in their arms the bent form of the old lady, wrapped in sable +fur, and immediately behind her, clad in a warm mantle, and with her head +ornamented with a wreath of fresh flowers, followed Lizaveta. The door was +closed. The carriage rolled away heavily through the yielding snow. The +porter shut the street-door; the windows became dark. +</p> +<p> +Hermann began walking up and down near the deserted house; at length he +stopped under a lamp, and glanced at his watch: it was twenty minutes past +eleven. He remained standing under the lamp, his eyes fixed upon the +watch, impatiently waiting for the remaining minutes to pass. At half-past +eleven precisely, Hermann ascended the steps of the house, and made his +way into the brightly-illuminated vestibule. The porter was not there. +Hermann hastily ascended the staircase, opened the door of the ante-room +and saw a footman sitting asleep in an antique chair by the side of a +lamp. With a light firm step Hermann passed by him. The drawing-room and +dining-room were in darkness, but a feeble reflection penetrated thither +from the lamp in the ante-room. +</p> +<p> +Hermann reached the Countess’s bedroom. Before a shrine, which was +full of old images, a golden lamp was burning. Faded stuffed chairs and +divans with soft cushions stood in melancholy symmetry around the room, +the walls of which were hung with China silk. On one side of the room hung +two portraits painted in Paris by Madame Lebrun. One of these represented +a stout, red-faced man of about forty years of age in a bright-green +uniform and with a star upon his breast; the other—a beautiful young +woman, with an aquiline nose, forehead curls and a rose in her powdered +hair. In the corners stood porcelain shepherds and shepherdesses, +dining-room clocks from the workshop of the celebrated Lefroy, bandboxes, +roulettes, fans and the various playthings for the amusement of ladies +that were in vogue at the end of the last century, when Montgolfier’s +balloons and Mesmer’s magnetism were the rage. Hermann stepped +behind the screen. At the back of it stood a little iron bedstead; on the +right was the door which led to the cabinet; on the left—the other +which led to the corridor. He opened the latter, and saw the little +winding staircase which led to the room of the poor companion... But he +retraced his steps and entered the dark cabinet. +</p> +<p> +The time passed slowly. All was still. The clock in the drawing-room +struck twelve; the strokes echoed through the room one after the other, +and everything was quiet again. Hermann stood leaning against the cold +stove. He was calm; his heart beat regularly, like that of a man resolved +upon a dangerous but inevitable undertaking. One o’clock in the +morning struck; then two; and he heard the distant noise of +carriage-wheels. An involuntary agitation took possession of him. The +carriage drew near and stopped. He heard the sound of the carriage-steps +being let down. All was bustle within the house. The servants were running +hither and thither, there was a confusion of voices, and the rooms were +lit up. Three antiquated chamber-maids entered the bedroom, and they were +shortly afterwards followed by the Countess who, more dead than alive, +sank into a Voltaire armchair. Hermann peeped through a chink. Lizaveta +Ivanovna passed close by him, and he heard her hurried steps as she +hastened up the little spiral staircase. For a moment his heart was +assailed by something like a pricking of conscience, but the emotion was +only transitory, and his heart became petrified as before. +</p> +<p> +The Countess began to undress before her looking-glass. Her rose-bedecked +cap was taken off, and then her powdered wig was removed from off her +white and closely-cut hair. Hairpins fell in showers around her. Her +yellow satin dress, brocaded with silver, fell down at her swollen feet. +</p> +<p> +Hermann was a witness of the repugnant mysteries of her toilette; at last +the Countess was in her night-cap and dressing-gown, and in this costume, +more suitable to her age, she appeared less hideous and deformed. +</p> +<p> +Like all old people in general, the Countess suffered from sleeplessness. +Having undressed, she seated herself at the window in a Voltaire armchair +and dismissed her maids. The candles were taken away, and once more the +room was left with only one lamp burning in it. The Countess sat there +looking quite yellow, mumbling with her flaccid lips and swaying to and +fro. Her dull eyes expressed complete vacancy of mind, and, looking at +her, one would have thought that the rocking of her body was not a +voluntary action of her own, but was produced by the action of some +concealed galvanic mechanism. +</p> +<p> +Suddenly the death-like face assumed an inexplicable expression. The lips +ceased to tremble, the eyes became animated: before the Countess stood an +unknown man. +</p> +<p> +“Do not be alarmed, for Heaven’s sake, do not be alarmed!” +said he in a low but distinct voice. “I have no intention of doing +you any harm, I have only come to ask a favour of you.” +</p> +<p> +The old woman looked at him in silence, as if she had not heard what he +had said. Hermann thought that she was deaf, and bending down towards her +ear, he repeated what he had said. The aged Countess remained silent as +before. +</p> +<p> +“You can insure the happiness of my life,” continued Hermann, +“and it will cost you nothing. I know that you can name three cards +in order—” +</p> +<p> +Hermann stopped. The Countess appeared now to understand what he wanted; +she seemed as if seeking for words to reply. +</p> +<p> +“It was a joke,” she replied at last: “I assure you it +was only a joke.” +</p> +<p> +“There is no joking about the matter,” replied Hermann +angrily. “Remember Chaplitzky, whom you helped to win.” +</p> +<p> +The Countess became visibly uneasy. Her features expressed strong emotion, +but they quickly resumed their former immobility. +</p> +<p> +“Can you not name me these three winning cards?” continued +Hermann. +</p> +<p> +The Countess remained silent; Hermann continued: +</p> +<p> +“For whom are you preserving your secret? For your grandsons? They +are rich enough without it; they do not know the worth of money. Your +cards would be of no use to a spendthrift. He who cannot preserve his +paternal inheritance, will die in want, even though he had a demon at his +service. I am not a man of that sort; I know the value of money. Your +three cards will not be thrown away upon me. Come!”... +</p> +<p> +He paused and tremblingly awaited her reply. The Countess remained silent; +Hermann fell upon his knees. +</p> +<p> +“If your heart has ever known the feeling of love,” said he, +“if you remember its rapture, if you have ever smiled at the cry of +your new-born child, if any human feeling has ever entered into your +breast, I entreat you by the feelings of a wife, a lover, a mother, by all +that is most sacred in life, not to reject my prayer. Reveal to me your +secret. Of what use is it to you?... May be it is connected with some +terrible sin with the loss of eternal salvation, with some bargain with +the devil... Reflect,—you are old; you have not long to live—I +am ready to take your sins upon my soul. Only reveal to me your secret. +Remember that the happiness of a man is in your hands, that not only I, +but my children, and grandchildren will bless your memory and reverence +you as a saint...” +</p> +<p> +The old Countess answered not a word. +</p> +<p> +Hermann rose to his feet. +</p> +<p> +“You old hag!” he exclaimed, grinding his teeth, “then I +will make you answer!” +</p> +<p> +With these words he drew a pistol from his pocket. +</p> +<p> +At the sight of the pistol, the Countess for the second time exhibited +strong emotion. She shook her head and raised her hands as if to protect +herself from the shot... then she fell backwards and remained motionless. +</p> +<p> +“Come, an end to this childish nonsense!” said Hermann, taking +hold of her hand. “I ask you for the last time: will you tell me the +names of your three cards, or will you not?” +</p> +<p> +The Countess made no reply. Hermann perceived that she was dead! +</p> +<h3> +IV +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>izaveta Ivanovna was sitting in her room, still in her ball dress, lost +in deep thought. On returning home, she had hastily dismissed the +chambermaid who very reluctantly came forward to assist her, saying that +she would undress herself, and with a trembling heart had gone up to her +own room, expecting to find Hermann there, but yet hoping not to find him. +At the first glance she convinced herself that he was not there, and she +thanked her fate for having prevented him keeping the appointment. She sat +down without undressing, and began to recall to mind all the circumstances +which in so short a time had carried her so far. It was not three weeks +since the time when she first saw the young officer from the window—and +yet she was already in correspondence with him, and he had succeeded in +inducing her to grant him a nocturnal interview! She knew his name only +through his having written it at the bottom of some of his letters; she +had never spoken to him, had never heard his voice, and had never heard +him spoken of until that evening. But, strange to say, that very evening +at the ball, Tomsky, being piqued with the young Princess Pauline N——, +who, contrary to her usual custom, did not flirt with him, wished to +revenge himself by assuming an air of indifference: he therefore engaged +Lizaveta Ivanovna and danced an endless mazurka with her. During the whole +of the time he kept teasing her about her partiality for Engineer +officers; he assured her that he knew far more than she imagined, and some +of his jests were so happily aimed, that Lizaveta thought several times +that her secret was known to him. +</p> +<p> +“From whom have you learnt all this?” she asked, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“From a friend of a person very well known to you,” replied +Tomsky, “from a very distinguished man.” +</p> +<p> +“And who is this distinguished man?” +</p> +<p> +“His name is Hermann.” +</p> +<p> +Lizaveta made no reply; but her hands and feet lost all sense of feeling. +</p> +<p> +“This Hermann,” continued Tomsky, “is a man of romantic +personality. He has the profile of a Napoleon, and the soul of a +Mephistopheles. I believe that he has at least three crimes upon his +conscience... How pale you have become!” +</p> +<p> +“I have a headache... But what did this Hermann—or whatever +his name is—tell you?” +</p> +<p> +“Hermann is very much dissatisfied with his friend: he says that in +his place he would act very differently... I even think that Hermann +himself has designs upon you; at least, he listens very attentively to all +that his friend has to say about you.” +</p> +<p> +“And where has he seen me?” +</p> +<p> +“In church, perhaps; or on the parade—God alone knows where. +It may have been in your room, while you were asleep, for there is nothing +that he—” +</p> +<p> +Three ladies approaching him with the question: “<i>oubli ou regret</i>?” +interrupted the conversation, which had become so tantalisingly +interesting to Lizaveta. +</p> +<p> +The lady chosen by Tomsky was the Princess Pauline herself. She succeeded +in effecting a reconciliation with him during the numerous turns of the +dance, after which he conducted her to her chair. On returning to his +place, Tomsky thought no more either of Hermann or Lizaveta. She longed to +renew the interrupted conversation, but the mazurka came to an end, and +shortly afterwards the old Countess took her departure. +</p> +<p> +Tomsky’s words were nothing more than the customary small talk of +the dance, but they sank deep into the soul of the young dreamer. The +portrait, sketched by Tomsky, coincided with the picture she had formed +within her own mind, and thanks to the latest romances, the ordinary +countenance of her admirer became invested with attributes capable of +alarming her and fascinating her imagination at the same time. She was now +sitting with her bare arms crossed and with her head, still adorned with +flowers, sunk upon her uncovered bosom. Suddenly the door opened and +Hermann entered. She shuddered. +</p> +<p> +“Where were you?” she asked in a terrified whisper. +</p> +<p> +“In the old Countess’s bedroom,” replied Hermann: +“I have just left her. The Countess is dead.” +</p> +<p> +“My God! What do you say?” +</p> +<p> +“And I am afraid,” added Hermann, “that I am the cause +of her death.” +</p> +<p> +Lizaveta looked at him, and Tomsky’s words found an echo in her +soul: “This man has at least three crimes upon his conscience!” +Hermann sat down by the window near her, and related all that had +happened. +</p> +<p> +Lizaveta listened to him in terror. So all those passionate letters, those +ardent desires, this bold obstinate pursuit—all this was not love! +Money—that was what his soul yearned for! She could not satisfy his +desire and make him happy! The poor girl had been nothing but the blind +tool of a robber, of the murderer of her aged benefactress!... She wept +bitter tears of agonised repentance. Hermann gazed at her in silence: his +heart, too, was a prey to violent emotion, but neither the tears of the +poor girl, nor the wonderful charm of her beauty, enhanced by her grief, +could produce any impression upon his hardened soul. He felt no pricking +of conscience at the thought of the dead old woman. One thing only grieved +him: the irreparable loss of the secret from which he had expected to +obtain great wealth. +</p> +<p> +“You are a monster!” said Lizaveta at last. +</p> +<p> +“I did not wish for her death,” replied Hermann: “my +pistol was not loaded.” +</p> +<p> +Both remained silent. +</p> +<p> +The day began to dawn. Lizaveta extinguished her candle: a pale light +illumined her room. She wiped her tear-stained eyes and raised them +towards Hermann: he was sitting near the window, with his arms crossed and +with a fierce frown upon his forehead. In this attitude he bore a striking +resemblance to the portrait of Napoleon. This resemblance struck Lizaveta +even. +</p> +<p> +“How shall I get you out of the house?” said she at last. +“I thought of conducting you down the secret staircase, but in that +case it would be necessary to go through the Countess’s bedroom, and +I am afraid.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell me how to find this secret staircase—I will go alone.” +</p> +<p> +Lizaveta arose, took from her drawer a key, handed it to Hermann and gave +him the necessary instructions. Hermann pressed her cold, limp hand, +kissed her bowed head, and left the room. +</p> +<p> +He descended the winding staircase, and once more entered the Countess’s +bedroom. The dead old lady sat as if petrified; her face expressed +profound tranquillity. Hermann stopped before her, and gazed long and +earnestly at her, as if he wished to convince himself of the terrible +reality; at last he entered the cabinet, felt behind the tapestry for the +door, and then began to descend the dark staircase, filled with strange +emotions. “Down this very staircase,” thought he, “perhaps +coming from the very same room, and at this very same hour sixty years +ago, there may have glided, in an embroidered coat, with his hair dressed +<i>à l’oiseau royal</i> and pressing to his heart his three-cornered +hat, some young gallant, who has long been mouldering in the grave, but +the heart of his aged mistress has only to-day ceased to beat...” +</p> +<p> +At the bottom of the staircase Hermann found a door, which he opened with +a key, and then traversed a corridor which conducted him into the street. +</p> +<h3> +V +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>hree days after the fatal night, at nine o’clock in the morning, +Hermann repaired to the Convent of ——, where the last honours +were to be paid to the mortal remains of the old Countess. Although +feeling no remorse, he could not altogether stifle the voice of +conscience, which said to him: “You are the murderer of the old +woman!” In spite of his entertaining very little religious belief, +he was exceedingly superstitious; and believing that the dead Countess +might exercise an evil influence on his life, he resolved to be present at +her obsequies in order to implore her pardon. +</p> +<p> +The church was full. It was with difficulty that Hermann made his way +through the crowd of people. The coffin was placed upon a rich catafalque +beneath a velvet baldachin. The deceased Countess lay within it, with her +hands crossed upon her breast, with a lace cap upon her head and dressed +in a white satin robe. Around the catafalque stood the members of her +household: the servants in black <i>caftans</i>, with armorial ribbons +upon their shoulders, and candles in their hands; the relatives—children, +grandchildren, and great-grandchildren—in deep mourning. +</p> +<p> +Nobody wept; tears would have been <i>une affectation</i>. The Countess +was so old, that her death could have surprised nobody, and her relatives +had long looked upon her as being out of the world. A famous preacher +pronounced the funeral sermon. In simple and touching words he described +the peaceful passing away of the righteous, who had passed long years in +calm preparation for a Christian end. “The angel of death found her,” +said the orator, “engaged in pious meditation and waiting for the +midnight bridegroom.” +</p> +<p> +The service concluded amidst profound silence. The relatives went forward +first to take farewell of the corpse. Then followed the numerous guests, +who had come to render the last homage to her who for so many years had +been a participator in their frivolous amusements. After these followed +the members of the Countess’s household. The last of these was an +old woman of the same age as the deceased. Two young women led her forward +by the hand. She had not strength enough to bow down to the ground—she +merely shed a few tears and kissed the cold hand of her mistress. +</p> +<p> +Hermann now resolved to approach the coffin. He knelt down upon the cold +stones and remained in that position for some minutes; at last he arose, +as pale as the deceased Countess herself; he ascended the steps of the +catafalque and bent over the corpse... At that moment it seemed to him +that the dead woman darted a mocking look at him and winked with one eye. +Hermann started back, took a false step and fell to the ground. Several +persons hurried forward and raised him up. At the same moment Lizaveta +Ivanovna was borne fainting into the porch of the church. This episode +disturbed for some minutes the solemnity of the gloomy ceremony. Among the +congregation arose a deep murmur, and a tall thin chamberlain, a near +relative of the deceased, whispered in the ear of an Englishman who was +standing near him, that the young officer was a natural son of the +Countess, to which the Englishman coldly replied: “Oh!” +</p> +<p> +During the whole of that day, Hermann was strangely excited. Repairing to +an out-of-the-way restaurant to dine, he drank a great deal of wine, +contrary to his usual custom, in the hope of deadening his inward +agitation. But the wine only served to excite his imagination still more. +On returning home, he threw himself upon his bed without undressing, and +fell into a deep sleep. +</p> +<p> +When he woke up it was already night, and the moon was shining into the +room. He looked at his watch: it was a quarter to three. Sleep had left +him; he sat down upon his bed and thought of the funeral of the old +Countess. +</p> +<p> +At that moment somebody in the street looked in at his window, and +immediately passed on again. Hermann paid no attention to this incident. A +few moments afterwards he heard the door of his ante-room open. Hermann +thought that it was his orderly, drunk as usual, returning from some +nocturnal expedition, but presently he heard footsteps that were unknown +to him: somebody was walking softly over the floor in slippers. The door +opened, and a woman dressed in white, entered the room. Hermann mistook +her for his old nurse, and wondered what could bring her there at that +hour of the night. But the white woman glided rapidly across the room and +stood before him—and Hermann recognised the Countess! +</p> +<p> +“I have come to you against my wish,” she said in a firm +voice: “but I have been ordered to grant your request. Three, seven, +ace, will win for you if played in succession, but only on these +conditions: that you do not play more than one card in twenty-four hours, +and that you never play again during the rest of your life. I forgive you +my death, on condition that you marry my companion, Lizaveta Ivanovna.” +</p> +<p> +With these words she turned round very quietly, walked with a shuffling +gait towards the door and disappeared. Hermann heard the street-door open +and shut, and again he saw some one look in at him through the window. +</p> +<p> +For a long time Hermann could not recover himself. He then rose up and +entered the next room. His orderly was lying asleep upon the floor, and he +had much difficulty in waking him. The orderly was drunk as usual, and no +information could be obtained from him. The street-door was locked. +Hermann returned to his room, lit his candle, and wrote down all the +details of his vision. +</p> +<h3> +VI +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>wo fixed ideas can no more exist together in the moral world than two +bodies can occupy one and the same place in the physical world. “Three, +seven, ace,” soon drove out of Hermann’s mind the thought of +the dead Countess. “Three, seven, ace,” were perpetually +running through his head and continually being repeated by his lips. If he +saw a young girl, he would say: “How slender she is! quite like the +three of hearts.” If anybody asked: “What is the time?” +he would reply: “Five minutes to seven.” Every stout man that +he saw reminded him of the ace. “Three, seven, ace” haunted +him in his sleep, and assumed all possible shapes. The threes bloomed +before him in the forms of magnificent flowers, the sevens were +represented by Gothic portals, and the aces became transformed into +gigantic spiders. One thought alone occupied his whole mind—to make +a profitable use of the secret which he had purchased so dearly. He +thought of applying for a furlough so as to travel abroad. He wanted to go +to Paris and tempt fortune in some of the public gambling-houses that +abounded there. Chance spared him all this trouble. +</p> +<p> +There was in Moscow a society of rich gamesters, presided over by the +celebrated Chekalinsky, who had passed all his life at the card-table and +had amassed millions, accepting bills of exchange for his winnings and +paying his losses in ready money. His long experience secured for him the +confidence of his companions, and his open house, his famous cook, and his +agreeable and fascinating manners gained for him the respect of the +public. He came to St. Petersburg. The young men of the capital flocked to +his rooms, forgetting balls for cards, and preferring the emotions of faro +to the seductions of flirting. Narumov conducted Hermann to Chekalinsky’s +residence. +</p> +<p> +They passed through a suite of magnificent rooms, filled with attentive +domestics. The place was crowded. Generals and Privy Counsellors were +playing at whist; young men were lolling carelessly upon the +velvet-covered sofas, eating ices and smoking pipes. In the drawing-room, +at the head of a long table, around which were assembled about a score of +players, sat the master of the house keeping the bank. He was a man of +about sixty years of age, of a very dignified appearance; his head was +covered with silvery-white hair; his full, florid countenance expressed +good-nature, and his eyes twinkled with a perpetual smile. Narumov +introduced Hermann to him. Chekalinsky shook him by the hand in a friendly +manner, requested him not to stand on ceremony, and then went on dealing. +</p> +<p> +The game occupied some time. On the table lay more than thirty cards. +Chekalinsky paused after each throw, in order to give the players time to +arrange their cards and note down their losses, listened politely to their +requests, and more politely still, put straight the corners of cards that +some player’s hand had chanced to bend. At last the game was +finished. Chekalinsky shuffled the cards and prepared to deal again. +</p> +<p> +“Will you allow me to take a card?” said Hermann, stretching +out his hand from behind a stout gentleman who was punting. +</p> +<p> +Chekalinsky smiled and bowed silently, as a sign of acquiescence. Narumov +laughingly congratulated Hermann on his abjuration of that abstention from +cards which he had practised for so long a period, and wished him a lucky +beginning. +</p> +<p> +“Stake!” said Hermann, writing some figures with chalk on the +back of his card. +</p> +<p> +“How much?” asked the banker, contracting the muscles of his +eyes; “excuse me, I cannot see quite clearly.” +</p> +<p> +“Forty-seven thousand rubles,” replied Hermann. +</p> +<p> +At these words every head in the room turned suddenly round, and all eyes +were fixed upon Hermann. +</p> +<p> +“He has taken leave of his senses!” thought Narumov. +</p> +<p> +“Allow me to inform you,” said Chekalinsky, with his eternal +smile, “that you are playing very high; nobody here has ever staked +more than two hundred and seventy-five rubles at once.” +</p> +<p> +“Very well,” replied Hermann; “but do you accept my card +or not?” +</p> +<p> +Chekalinsky bowed in token of consent. +</p> +<p> +“I only wish to observe,” said he, “that although I have +the greatest confidence in my friends, I can only play against ready +money. For my own part, I am quite convinced that your word is sufficient, +but for the sake of the order of the game, and to facilitate the reckoning +up, I must ask you to put the money on your card.” +</p> +<p> +Hermann drew from his pocket a bank-note and handed it to Chekalinsky, +who, after examining it in a cursory manner, placed it on Hermann’s +card. +</p> +<p> +He began to deal. On the right a nine turned up, and on the left a three. +</p> +<p> +“I have won!” said Hermann, showing his card. +</p> +<p> +A murmur of astonishment arose among the players. Chekalinsky frowned, but +the smile quickly returned to his face. +</p> +<p> +“Do you wish me to settle with you?” he said to Hermann. +</p> +<p> +“If you please,” replied the latter. +</p> +<p> +Chekalinsky drew from his pocket a number of banknotes and paid at once. +Hermann took up his money and left the table. Narumov could not recover +from his astonishment. Hermann drank a glass of lemonade and returned +home. +</p> +<p> +The next evening he again repaired to Chekalinsky’s. The host was +dealing. Hermann walked up to the table; the punters immediately made room +for him. Chekalinsky greeted him with a gracious bow. +</p> +<p> +Hermann waited for the next deal, took a card and placed upon it his +forty-seven thousand roubles, together with his winnings of the previous +evening. +</p> +<p> +Chekalinsky began to deal. A knave turned up on the right, a seven on the +left. +</p> +<p> +Hermann showed his seven. +</p> +<p> +There was a general exclamation. Chekalinsky was evidently ill at ease, +but he counted out the ninety-four thousand rubles and handed them over to +Hermann, who pocketed them in the coolest manner possible and immediately +left the house. +</p> +<p> +The next evening Hermann appeared again at the table. Every one was +expecting him. The generals and Privy Counsellors left their whist in +order to watch such extraordinary play. The young officers quitted their +sofas, and even the servants crowded into the room. All pressed round +Hermann. The other players left off punting, impatient to see how it would +end. Hermann stood at the table and prepared to play alone against the +pale, but still smiling Chekalinsky. Each opened a pack of cards. +Chekalinsky shuffled. Hermann took a card and covered it with a pile of +bank-notes. It was like a duel. Deep silence reigned around. +</p> +<p> +Chekalinsky began to deal; his hands trembled. On the right a queen turned +up, and on the left an ace. +</p> +<p> +“Ace has won!” cried Hermann, showing his card. +</p> +<p> +“Your queen has lost,” said Chekalinsky, politely. +</p> +<p> +Hermann started; instead of an ace, there lay before him the queen of +spades! He could not believe his eyes, nor could he understand how he had +made such a mistake. +</p> +<p> +At that moment it seemed to him that the queen of spades smiled ironically +and winked her eye at him. He was struck by her remarkable resemblance... +</p> +<p> +“The old Countess!” he exclaimed, seized with terror. +</p> +<p> +Chekalinsky gathered up his winnings. For some time, Hermann remained +perfectly motionless. When at last he left the table, there was a general +commotion in the room. +</p> +<p> +“Splendidly punted!” said the players. Chekalinsky shuffled +the cards afresh, and the game went on as usual. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<p> +Hermann went out of his mind, and is now confined in room Number 17 of the +Obukhov Hospital. He never answers any questions, but he constantly +mutters with unusual rapidity: “Three, seven, ace!” “Three, +seven, queen!” +</p> +<p> +Lizaveta Ivanovna has married a very amiable young man, a son of the +former steward of the old Countess. He is in the service of the State +somewhere, and is in receipt of a good income. Lizaveta is also supporting +a poor relative. +</p> +<p> +Tomsky has been promoted to the rank of captain, and has become the +husband of the Princess Pauline. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +THE CLOAK +</h2> +<h3> +BY NIKOLAY V. GOGOL +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>n the department of——, but it is better not to mention the +department. The touchiest things in the world are departments, regiments, +courts of justice, in a word, all branches of public service. Each +individual nowadays thinks all society insulted in his person. Quite +recently, a complaint was received from a district chief of police in +which he plainly demonstrated that all the imperial institutions were +going to the dogs, and that the Czar’s sacred name was being taken +in vain; and in proof he appended to the complaint a romance, in which the +district chief of police is made to appear about once in every ten pages, +and sometimes in a downright drunken condition. Therefore, in order to +avoid all unpleasantness, it will be better to designate the department in +question, as a certain department. +</p> +<p> +So, in a certain department there was a certain official—not a very +notable one, it must be allowed—short of stature, somewhat +pock-marked, red-haired, and mole-eyed, with a bald forehead, wrinkled +cheeks, and a complexion of the kind known as sanguine. The St. Petersburg +climate was responsible for this. As for his official rank—with us +Russians the rank comes first—he was what is called a perpetual +titular councillor, over which, as is well known, some writers make merry +and crack their jokes, obeying the praiseworthy custom of attacking those +who cannot bite back. +</p> +<p> +His family name was Bashmachkin. This name is evidently derived from +bashmak (shoe); but, when, at what time, and in what manner, is not known. +His father and grandfather, and all the Bashmachkins, always wore boots, +which were resoled two or three times a year. His name was Akaky +Akakiyevich. It may strike the reader as rather singular and far-fetched; +but he may rest assured that it was by no means far-fetched, and that the +circumstances were such that it would have been impossible to give him any +other. +</p> +<p> +This was how it came about. +</p> +<p> +Akaky Akakiyevich was born, if my memory fails me not, in the evening on +the 23rd of March. His mother, the wife of a Government official, and a +very fine woman, made all due arrangements for having the child baptised. +She was lying on the bed opposite the door; on her right stood the +godfather, Ivan Ivanovich Eroshkin, a most estimable man, who served as +the head clerk of the senate; and the godmother, Arina Semyonovna +Bielobrinshkova, the wife of an officer of the quarter, and a woman of +rare virtues. They offered the mother her choice of three names, Mokiya, +Sossiya, or that the child should be called after the martyr Khozdazat. +“No,” said the good woman, “all those names are poor.” +In order to please her, they opened the calendar at another place; three +more names appeared, Triphily, Dula, and Varakhasy. “This is awful,” +said the old woman. “What names! I truly never heard the like. I +might have put up with Varadat or Varukh, but not Triphily and Varakhasy!” +They turned to another page and found Pavsikakhy and Vakhtisy. “Now +I see,” said the old woman, “that it is plainly fate. And +since such is the case, it will be better to name him after his father. +His father’s name was Akaky, so let his son’s name be Akaky +too.” In this manner he became Akaky Akakiyevich. They christened +the child, whereat he wept, and made a grimace, as though he foresaw that +he was to be a titular councillor. +</p> +<p> +In this manner did it all come about. We have mentioned it in order that +the reader might see for himself that it was a case of necessity, and that +it was utterly impossible to give him any other name. +</p> +<p> +When and how he entered the department, and who appointed him, no one +could remember. However much the directors and chiefs of all kinds were +changed, he was always to be seen in the same place, the same attitude, +the same occupation—always the letter-copying clerk—so that it +was afterwards affirmed that he had been born in uniform with a bald head. +No respect was shown him in the department. The porter not only did not +rise from his seat when he passed, but never even glanced at him, any more +than if a fly had flown through the reception-room. His superiors treated +him in coolly despotic fashion. Some insignificant assistant to the head +clerk would thrust a paper under his nose without so much as saying, +“Copy,” or, “Here’s an interesting little case,” +or anything else agreeable, as is customary amongst well-bred officials. +And he took it, looking only at the paper, and not observing who handed it +to him, or whether he had the right to do so; simply took it, and set +about copying it. +</p> +<p> +The young officials laughed at and made fun of him, so far as their +official wit permitted; told in his presence various stories concocted +about him, and about his landlady, an old woman of seventy; declared that +she beat him; asked when the wedding was to be; and strewed bits of paper +over his head, calling them snow. But Akaky Akakiyevich answered not a +word, any more than if there had been no one there besides himself. It +even had no effect upon his work. Amid all these annoyances he never made +a single mistake in a letter. But if the joking became wholly unbearable, +as when they jogged his head, and prevented his attending to his work, he +would exclaim: +</p> +<p> +“Leave me alone! Why do you insult me?” +</p> +<p> +And there was something strange in the words and the voice in which they +were uttered. There was in it something which moved to pity; so much so +that one young man, a newcomer, who, taking pattern by the others, had +permitted himself to make sport of Akaky, suddenly stopped short, as +though all about him had undergone a transformation, and presented itself +in a different aspect. Some unseen force repelled him from the comrades +whose acquaintance he had made, on the supposition that they were decent, +well-bred men. Long afterwards, in his gayest moments, there recurred to +his mind the little official with the bald forehead, with his +heart-rending words, “Leave me alone! Why do you insult me?” +In these moving words, other words resounded—“I am thy +brother.” And the young man covered his face with his hand; and many +a time afterwards, in the course of his life, shuddered at seeing how much +inhumanity there is in man, how much savage coarseness is concealed +beneath refined, cultured, worldly refinement, and even, O God! in that +man whom the world acknowledges as honourable and upright. +</p> +<p> +It would be difficult to find another man who lived so entirely for his +duties. It is not enough to say that Akaky laboured with zeal; no, he +laboured with love. In his copying, he found a varied and agreeable +employment. Enjoyment was written on his face; some letters were even +favourites with him; and when he encountered these, he smiled, winked, and +worked with his lips, till it seemed as though each letter might be read +in his face, as his pen traced it. If his pay had been in proportion to +his zeal, he would, perhaps, to his great surprise, have been made even a +councillor of state. But he worked, as his companions, the wits, put it, +like a horse in a mill. +</p> +<p> +However, it would be untrue to say that no attention was paid to him. One +director being a kindly man, and desirous of rewarding him for his long +service, ordered him to be given something more important than mere +copying. So he was ordered to make a report of an already concluded +affair, to another department; the duty consisting simply in changing the +heading and altering a few words from the first to the third person. This +caused him so much toil, that he broke into a perspiration, rubbed his +forehead, and finally said, “No, give me rather something to copy.” +After that they let him copy on forever. +</p> +<p> +Outside this copying, it appeared that nothing existed for him. He gave no +thought to his clothes. His uniform was not green, but a sort of +rusty-meal colour. The collar was low, so that his neck, in spite of the +fact that it was not long, seemed inordinately so as it emerged from it, +like the necks of the plaster cats which pedlars carry about on their +heads. And something was always sticking to his uniform, either a bit of +hay or some trifle. Moreover, he had a peculiar knack, as he walked along +the street, of arriving beneath a window just as all sorts of rubbish was +being flung out of it; hence he always bore about on his hat scraps of +melon rinds, and other such articles. Never once in his life did he give +heed to what was going on every day to the street; while it is well known +that his young brother officials trained the range of their glances till +they could see when any one’s trouser-straps came undone upon the +opposite sidewalk, which always brought a malicious smile to their faces. +But Akaky Akakiyevich saw in all things the clean, even strokes of his +written lines; and only when a horse thrust his nose, from some unknown +quarter, over his shoulder, and sent a whole gust of wind down his neck +from his nostrils, did he observe that he was not in the middle of a line, +but in the middle of the street. +</p> +<p> +On reaching home, he sat down at once at the table, sipped his +cabbage-soup up quickly, and swallowed a bit of beef with onions, never +noticing their taste, and gulping down everything with flies and anything +else which the Lord happened to send at the moment. When he saw that his +stomach was beginning to swell, he rose from the table, and copied papers +which he had brought home. If there happened to be none, he took copies +for himself, for his own gratification, especially if the document was +noteworthy, not on account of its style, but of its being addressed to +some distinguished person. +</p> +<p> +Even at the hour when the grey St. Petersburg sky had quite disappeared, +and all the official world had eaten or dined, each as he could, in +accordance with the salary he received and his own fancy; when, all were +resting from the department jar of pens, running to and fro, for their own +and other people’s indispensable occupations, and from all +the work that an uneasy man makes willingly for himself, rather than what +is necessary; when, officials hasten to dedicate to pleasure the time +which is left to them, one bolder than the rest, going to the theatre; +another; into the street looking under the bonnets; another, wasting his +evening in compliments to some pretty girl, the star of a small official +circle; another—and this is the common case of all—visiting +his comrades on the third or fourth floor, in two small rooms with an +ante-room or kitchen, and some pretensions to fashion, such as a lamp or +some other trifle which has cost many a sacrifice of dinner or pleasure +trip; in a word, at the hour when all officials disperse among the +contracted quarters of their friends, to play whist, as they sip their tea +from glasses with a kopek’s worth of sugar, smoke long pipes, relate +at time some bits of gossip which a Russian man can never, under any +circumstances, refrain from, and when there is nothing else to talk of, +repeat eternal anecdotes about the commandant to whom they had sent word +that the tails of the horses on the Falconet Monument had been cut off; +when all strive to divert themselves, Akaky Akakiyevich indulged in no +kind of diversion. No one could even say that he had seen him at any kind +of evening party. Having written to his heart’s content, he lay down +to sleep, smiling at the thought of the coming day—of what God might +send him to copy on the morrow. +</p> +<p> +Thus flowed on the peaceful life of the man, who, with a salary of four +hundred rubles, understood how to be content with his lot; and thus it +would have continued to flow on, perhaps, to extreme old age, were it not +that there are various ills strewn along the path of life for titular +councillors as well as for private, actual, court, and every other species +of councillor, even to those who never give any advice or take any +themselves. +</p> +<p> +There exists in St. Petersburg a powerful foe of all who receive a salary +of four hundred rubles a year, or there-abouts. This foe is no other than +the Northern cold, although it is said to be very healthy. At nine o’clock +in the morning, at the very hour when the streets are filled with men +bound for the various official departments, it begins to bestow such +powerful and piercing nips on all noses impartially, that the poor +officials really do not know what to do with them. At an hour, when the +foreheads of even those who occupy exalted positions ache with the cold, +and tears start to their eyes, the poor titular councillors are sometimes +quite unprotected. Their only salvation lies in traversing as quickly as +possible, in their thin little cloaks, five or six streets, and then +warming their feet in the porter’s room, and so thawing all their +talents and qualifications for official service, which had become frozen +on the way. +</p> +<p> +Akaky Akakiyevich had felt for some time that his back and shoulders were +paining with peculiar poignancy, in spite of the fact that he tried to +traverse the distance with all possible speed. He began finally to wonder +whether the fault did not lie in his cloak. He examined it thoroughly at +home, and discovered that in two places, namely, on the back and +shoulders, it had become thin as gauze. The cloth was worn to such a +degree that he could see through it, and the lining had fallen into +pieces. You must know that Akaky Akakiyevich’s cloak served as an +object of ridicule to the officials. They even refused it the noble name +of cloak, and called it a cape. In fact, it was of singular make, its +collar diminishing year by year to serve to patch its other parts. The +patching did not exhibit great skill on the part of the tailor, and was, +in fact, baggy and ugly. Seeing how the matter stood, Akaky Akakiyevich +decided that it would be necessary to take the cloak to Petrovich, the +tailor, who lived somewhere on the fourth floor up a dark staircase, and +who, in spite of his having but one eye and pock-marks all over his face, +busied himself with considerable success in repairing the trousers and +coats of officials and others; that is to say, when he was sober and not +nursing some other scheme in his head. +</p> +<p> +It is not necessary to say much about this tailor, but as it is the custom +to have the character of each personage in a novel clearly defined there +is no help for it, so here is Petrovich the tailor. At first he was called +only Grigory, and was some gentleman’s serf. He commenced calling +himself Petrovich from the time when he received his free papers, and +further began to drink heavily on all holidays, at first on the great +ones, and then on all church festivals without discrimination, wherever a +cross stood in the calendar. On this point he was faithful to ancestral +custom; and when quarrelling with his wife, he called her a low female and +a German. As we have mentioned his wife, it will be necessary to say a +word or two about her. Unfortunately, little is known of her beyond the +fact that Petrovich had a wife, who wore a cap and a dress, but could not +lay claim to beauty, at least, no one but the soldiers of the guard even +looked under her cap when they met her. +</p> +<p> +Ascending the staircase which led to Petrovich’s room—which +staircase was all soaked with dish-water and reeked with the smell of +spirits which affects the eyes, and is an inevitable adjunct to all dark +stairways in St. Petersburg houses—ascending the stairs, Akaky +Akakiyevich pondered how much Petrovich would ask, and mentally resolved +not to give more than two rubles. The door was open, for the mistress, in +cooking some fish, had raised such a smoke in the kitchen that not even +the beetles were visible. Akaky Akakiyevich passed through the kitchen +unperceived, even by the housewife, and at length reached a room where he +beheld Petrovich seated on a large unpainted table, with his legs tucked +under him like a Turkish pasha. His feet were bare, after the fashion of +tailors as they sit at work; and the first thing which caught the eye was +his thumb, with a deformed nail thick and strong as a turtle’s +shell. About Petrovich’s neck hung a skein of silk and thread, and +upon his knees lay some old garment. He had been trying unsuccessfully for +three minutes to thread his needle, and was enraged at the darkness and +even at the thread, growling in a low voice, “It won’t go +through, the barbarian! you pricked me, you rascal!” +</p> +<p> +Akaky Akakiyevich was vexed at arriving at the precise moment when +Petrovich was angry. He liked to order something of Petrovich when he was +a little downhearted, or, as his wife expressed it, “when he had +settled himself with brandy, the one-eyed devil!” Under such +circumstances Petrovich generally came down in his price very readily, and +even bowed and returned thanks. Afterwards, to be sure, his wife would +come, complaining that her husband had been drunk, and so had fixed the +price too low; but, if only a ten-kopek piece were added then the matter +would be settled. But now it appeared that Petrovich was in a sober +condition, and therefore rough, taciturn, and inclined to demand, Satan +only knows what price. Akaky Akakiyevich felt this, and would gladly have +beat a retreat, but he was in for it. Petrovich screwed up his one eye +very intently at him, and Akaky Akakiyevich involuntarily said, “How +do you do, Petrovich?” +</p> +<p> +“I wish you a good morning, sir,” said Petrovich squinting at +Akaky Akakiyevich’s hands, to see what sort of booty he had brought. +</p> +<p> +“Ah! I—to you, Petrovich, this—” It must be known +that Akaky Akakiyevich expressed himself chiefly by prepositions, adverbs, +and scraps of phrases which had no meaning whatever. If the matter was a +very difficult one, he had a habit of never completing his sentences, so +that frequently, having begun a phrase with the words, “This, in +fact, is quite—” he forgot to go on, thinking he had already +finished it. +</p> +<p> +“What is it?” asked Petrovich, and with his one eye scanned +Akaky Akakiyevich’s whole uniform from the collar down to the cuffs, +the back, the tails and the button-holes, all of which were well known to +him, since they were his own handiwork. Such is the habit of tailors; it +is the first thing they do on meeting one. +</p> +<p> +“But I, here, this—Petrovich—a cloak, cloth—here +you see, everywhere, in different places, it is quite strong—it is a +little dusty and looks old, but it is new, only here in one place it is a +little—on the back, and here on one of the shoulders, it is a little +worn, yes, here on this shoulder it is a little—do you see? That is +all. And a little work—” +</p> +<p> +Petrovich took the cloak, spread it out, to begin with, on the table, +looked at it hard, shook his head, reached out his hand to the window-sill +for his snuff-box, adorned with the portrait of some general, though what +general is unknown, for the place where the face should have been had been +rubbed through by the finger and a square bit of paper had been pasted +over it. Having taken a pinch of snuff, Petrovich held up the cloak, and +inspected it against the light, and again shook his head. Then he turned +it, lining upwards, and shook his head once more. After which he again +lifted the general-adorned lid with its bit of pasted paper, and having +stuffed his nose with snuff, dosed and put away the snuff-box, and said +finally, “No, it is impossible to mend it. It is a wretched garment!” +</p> +<p> +Akaky Akakiyevich’s heart sank at these words. +</p> +<p> +“Why is it impossible, Petrovich?” he said, almost in the +pleading voice of a child. “All that ails it is, that it is worn on +the shoulders. You must have some pieces—” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, patches could be found, patches are easily found,” said +Petrovich, “but there’s nothing to sew them to. The thing is +completely rotten. If you put a needle to it—see, it will give way.” +</p> +<p> +“Let it give way, and you can put on another patch at once.” +</p> +<p> +“But there is nothing to put the patches on to. There’s no use +in strengthening it. It is too far gone. It’s lucky that it’s +cloth, for, if the wind were to blow, it would fly away.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, strengthen it again. How this, in fact—” +</p> +<p> +“No,” said Petrovich decisively, “there is nothing to be +done with it. It’s a thoroughly bad job. You’d better, when +the cold winter weather comes on, make yourself some gaiters out of it, +because stockings are not warm. The Germans invented them in order to make +more money.” Petrovich loved on all occasions to have a fling at the +Germans. “But it is plain you must have a new cloak.” +</p> +<p> +At the word “new” all grew dark before Akaky Akakiyevich’s +eyes, and everything in the room began to whirl round. The only thing he +saw clearly was the general with the paper face on the lid of Petrovich’s +snuff-box. “A new one?” said he, as if still in a dream. +“Why, I have no money for that.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, a new one,” said Petrovich, with barbarous composure. +</p> +<p> +“Well, if it came to a new one, how—it—” +</p> +<p> +“You mean how much would it cost?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, you would have to lay out a hundred and fifty or more,” +said Petrovich, and pursed up his lips significantly. He liked to produce +powerful effects, liked to stun utterly and suddenly, and then to glance +sideways to see what face the stunned person would put on the matter. +</p> +<p> +“A hundred and fifty rubles for a cloak!” shrieked poor Akaky +Akakiyevich, perhaps for the first time in his life, for his voice had +always been distinguished for softness. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said Petrovich, “for any kind of cloak. If +you have a marten fur on the collar, or a silk-lined hood, it will mount +up to two hundred.” +</p> +<p> +“Petrovich, please,” said Akaky Akakiyevich in a beseeching +tone, not hearing, and not trying to hear, Petrovich’s words, and +disregarding all his “effects,” “some repairs, in order +that it may wear yet a little longer.” +</p> +<p> +“No, it would only be a waste of time and money,” said +Petrovich. And Akaky Akakiyevich went away after these words, utterly +discouraged. But Petrovich stood for some time after his departure, with +significantly compressed lips, and without betaking himself to his work, +satisfied that he would not be dropped, and an artistic tailor employed. +</p> +<p> +Akaky Akakiyevich went out into the street as if in a dream. “Such +an affair!” he said to himself. “I did not think it had come +to—” and then after a pause, he added, “Well, so it is! +see what it has come to at last! and I never imagined that it was so!” +Then followed a long silence, after which he exclaimed, “Well, so it +is! see what already—nothing unexpected that—it would be +nothing—what a strange circumstance!” So saying, instead of +going home, he went in exactly the opposite direction without suspecting +it. On the way, a chimney-sweep bumped up against him, and blackened his +shoulder, and a whole hatful of rubbish landed on him from the top of a +house which was building. He did not notice it, and only when he ran +against a watchman, who, having planted his halberd beside him, was +shaking some snuff from his box into his horny hand, did he recover +himself a little, and that because the watchman said, “Why are you +poking yourself into a man’s very face? Haven’t you the +pavement?” This caused him to look about him, and turn towards home. +</p> +<p> +There only, he finally began to collect his thoughts, and to survey his +position in its clear and actual light, and to argue with himself, +sensibly and frankly, as with a reasonable friend, with whom one can +discuss private and personal matters. “No,” said Akaky +Akakiyevich, “it is impossible to reason with Petrovich now. He is +that—evidently, his wife has been beating him. I’d better go +to him on Sunday morning. After Saturday night he will be a little +cross-eyed and sleepy, for he will want to get drunk, and his wife won’t +give him any money, and at such a time, a ten-kopek piece in his hand will—he +will become more fit to reason with, and then the cloak and that—” +Thus argued Akaky Akakiyevich with himself regained his courage, and +waited until the first Sunday, when, seeing from afar that Petrovich’s +wife had left the house, he went straight to him. +</p> +<p> +Petrovich’s eye was indeed very much askew after Saturday. His head +drooped, and he was very sleepy; but for all that, as soon as he knew what +it was a question of, it seemed as though Satan jogged his memory. “Impossible,” +said he. “Please to order a new one.” Thereupon Akaky +Akakiyevich handed over the ten-kopek piece. “Thank you, sir. I will +drink your good health,” said Petrovich. “But as for the +cloak, don’t trouble yourself about it; it is good for nothing. I +will make you a capital new one, so let us settle about it now.” +</p> +<p> +Akaky Akakiyevich was still for mending it, but Petrovich would not hear +of it, and said, “I shall certainly have to make you a new one, and +you may depend upon it that I shall do my best. It may even be, as the +fashion goes, that the collar can be fastened by silver hooks under a +flap.” +</p> +<p> +Then Akaky Akakiyevich saw that it was impossible to get along without a +new cloak, and his spirit sank utterly. How, in fact, was it to be done? +Where was the money to come from? He must have some new trousers, and pay +a debt of long standing to the shoemaker for putting new tops to his old +boots, and he must order three shirts from the seamstress, and a couple of +pieces of linen. In short, all his money must be spent. And even if the +director should be so kind as to order him to receive forty-five or even +fifty rubles instead of forty, it would be a mere nothing, a mere drop in +the ocean towards the funds necessary for a cloak, although he knew that +Petrovich was often wrong-headed enough to blurt out some outrageous +price, so that even his own wife could not refrain from exclaiming, +“Have you lost your senses, you fool?” At one time he would +not work at any price, and now it was quite likely that he had named a +higher sum than the cloak would cost. +</p> +<p> +But although he knew that Petrovich would undertake to make a cloak for +eighty rubles, still, where was he to get the eighty rubles from? He might +possibly manage half. Yes, half might be procured, but where was the other +half to come from? But the reader must first be told where the first half +came from. +</p> +<p> +Akaky Akakiyevich had a habit of putting, for every ruble he spent, a +groschen into a small box, fastened with lock and key, and with a slit in +the top for the reception of money. At the end of every half-year he +counted over the heap of coppers, and changed it for silver. This he had +done for a long time, and in the course of years, the sum had mounted up +to over forty rubles. Thus he had one half on hand. But where was he to +find the other half? Where was he to get another forty rubles from? Akaky +Akakiyevich thought and thought, and decided that it would be necessary to +curtail his ordinary expenses, for the space of one year at least, to +dispense with tea in the evening, to burn no candles, and, if there was +anything which he must do, to go into his landlady’s room, and work +by her light. When he went into the street, he must walk as lightly as he +could, and as cautiously, upon the stones, almost upon tiptoe, in order +not to wear his heels down in too short a time. He must give the laundress +as little to wash as possible; and, in order not to wear out his clothes, +he must take them off as soon as he got home, and wear only his cotton +dressing-gown, which had been long and carefully saved. +</p> +<p> +To tell the truth, it was a little hard for him at first to accustom +himself to these deprivations. But he got used to them at length, after a +fashion, and all went smoothly. He even got used to being hungry in the +evening, but he made up for it by treating himself, so to say, in spirit, +by bearing ever in mind the idea of his future cloak. From that time +forth, his existence seemed to become, in some way, fuller, as if he were +married, or as if some other man lived in him, as if, in fact, he were not +alone, and some pleasant friend had consented to travel along life’s +path with him, the friend being no other than the cloak, with thick +wadding and a strong lining incapable of wearing out. He became more +lively, and even his character grew firmer, like that of a man who has +made up his mind, and set himself a goal. From his face and gait, doubt +and indecision, all hesitating and wavering disappeared of themselves. +Fire gleamed in his eyes, and occasionally the boldest and most daring +ideas flitted through his mind. Why not, for instance, have marten fur on +the collar? The thought of this almost made him absent-minded. Once, in +copying a letter, he nearly made a mistake, so that he exclaimed almost +aloud, “Ugh!” and crossed himself. Once, in the course of +every month, he had a conference with Petrovich on the subject of the +cloak, where it would be better to buy the cloth, and the colour, and the +price. He always returned home satisfied, though troubled, reflecting that +the time would come at last when it could all be bought, and then the +cloak made. +</p> +<p> +The affair progressed more briskly than he had expected. For beyond all +his hopes, the director awarded neither forty nor forty-five rubles for +Akaky Akakiyevich’s share, but sixty. Whether he suspected that +Akaky Akakiyevich needed a cloak, or whether it was merely chance, at all +events, twenty extra rubles were by this means provided. This circumstance +hastened matters. Two or three months more of hunger and Akaky Akakiyevich +had accumulated about eighty rubles. His heart, generally so quiet, began +to throb. On the first possible day, he went shopping in company with +Petrovich. They bought some very good cloth, and at a reasonable rate too, +for they had been considering the matter for six months, and rarely let a +month pass without their visiting the shops to enquire prices. Petrovich +himself said that no better cloth could be had. For lining, they selected +a cotton stuff, but so firm and thick, that Petrovich declared it to be +better than silk, and even prettier and more glossy. They did not buy the +marten fur, because it was, in fact, dear, but in its stead, they picked +out the very best of cat-skin which could be found in the shop, and which +might, indeed, be taken for marten at a distance. +</p> +<p> +Petrovich worked at the cloak two whole weeks, for there was a great deal +of quilting; otherwise it would have been finished sooner. He charged +twelve rubles for the job, it could not possibly have been done for less. +It was all sewed with silk, in small, double seams, and Petrovich went +over each seam afterwards with his own teeth, stamping in various +patterns. +</p> +<p> +It was—it is difficult to say precisely on what day, but probably +the most glorious one in Akaky Akakiyevich’s life, when Petrovich at +length brought home the cloak. He brought it in the morning, before the +hour when it was necessary to start for the department. Never did a cloak +arrive so exactly in the nick of time, for the severe cold had set in, and +it seemed to threaten to increase. Petrovich brought the cloak himself as +befits a good tailor. On his countenance was a significant expression, +such as Akaky Akakiyevich had never beheld there. He seemed fully sensible +that he had done no small deed, and crossed a gulf separating tailors who +put in linings, and execute repairs, from those who make new things. He +took the cloak out of the pocket-handkerchief in which he had brought it. +The handkerchief was fresh from the laundress, and he put it in his pocket +for use. Taking out the cloak, he gazed proudly at it, held it up with +both hands, and flung it skilfully over the shoulders of Akaky +Akakiyevich. Then he pulled it and fitted it down behind with his hand, +and he draped it around Akaky Akakiyevich without buttoning it. Akaky +Akakiyevich, like an experienced man, wished to try the sleeves. Petrovich +helped him on with them, and it turned out that the sleeves were +satisfactory also. In short, the cloak appeared to be perfect, and most +seasonable. Petrovich did not neglect to observe that it was only because +he lived in a narrow street, and had no signboard, and had known Akaky +Akakiyevich so long, that he had made it so cheaply; but that if he had +been in business on the Nevsky Prospect, he would have charged +seventy-five rubles for the making alone. Akaky Akakiyevich did not care +to argue this point with Petrovich. He paid him, thanked him, and set out +at once in his new cloak for the department. Petrovich followed him, and +pausing in the street, gazed long at the cloak in the distance, after +which he went to one side expressly to run through a crooked alley, and +emerge again into the street beyond to gaze once more upon the cloak from +another point, namely, directly in front. +</p> +<p> +Meantime Akaky Akakiyevich went on in holiday mood. He was conscious every +second of the time that he had a new cloak on his shoulders, and several +times he laughed with internal satisfaction. In fact, there were two +advantages, one was its warmth, the other its beauty. He saw nothing of +the road, but suddenly found himself at the department. He took off his +cloak in the ante-room, looked it over carefully, and confided it to the +special care of the attendant. It is impossible to say precisely how it +was that every one in the department knew at once that Akaky Akakiyevich +had a new cloak, and that the “cape” no longer existed. All +rushed at the same moment into the ante-room to inspect it. They +congratulated him, and said pleasant things to him, so that he began at +first to smile, and then to grow ashamed. When all surrounded him, and +said that the new cloak must be “christened,” and that he must +at least give them all a party, Akaky Akakiyevich lost his head +completely, and did not know where he stood, what to answer, or how to get +out of it. He stood blushing all over for several minutes, trying to +assure them with great simplicity that it was not a new cloak, that it was +in fact the old “cape.” +</p> +<p> +At length one of the officials, assistant to the head clerk, in order to +show that he was not at all proud, and on good terms with his inferiors, +said: +</p> +<p> +“So be it, only I will give the party instead of Akaky Akakiyevich; +I invite you all to tea with me to-night. It just happens to be my +name-day too.” +</p> +<p> +The officials naturally at once offered the assistant clerk their +congratulations, and accepted the invitation with pleasure. Akaky +Akakiyevich would have declined; but all declared that it was +discourteous, that it was simply a sin and a shame, and that he could not +possibly refuse. Besides, the notion became pleasant to him when he +recollected that he should thereby have a chance of wearing his new cloak +in the evening also. +</p> +<p> +That whole day was truly a most triumphant festival for Akaky Akakiyevich. +He returned home in the most happy frame of mind, took off his cloak, and +hung it carefully on the wall, admiring afresh the cloth and the lining. +Then he brought out his old, worn-out cloak, for comparison. He looked at +it, and laughed, so vast was the difference. And long after dinner he +laughed again when the condition of the “cape” recurred to his +mind. He dined cheerfully, and after dinner wrote nothing, but took his +ease for a while on the bed, until it got dark. Then he dressed himself +leisurely, put on his cloak, and stepped out into the street. +</p> +<p> +Where the host lived, unfortunately we cannot say. Our memory begins to +fail us badly. The houses and streets in St. Petersburg have become so +mixed up in our head that it is very difficult to get anything out of it +again in proper form. This much is certain, that the official lived in the +best part of the city; and therefore it must have been anything but near +to Akaky Akakiyevich’s residence. Akaky Akakiyevich was first +obliged to traverse a kind of wilderness of deserted, dimly-lighted +streets. But in proportion as he approached the official’s quarter +of the city, the streets became more lively, more populous, and more +brilliantly illuminated. Pedestrians began to appear; handsomely dressed +ladies were more frequently encountered; the men had otter skin collars to +their coats; shabby sleigh-men with their wooden, railed sledges stuck +over with brass-headed nails, became rarer; whilst on the other hand, more +and more drivers in red velvet caps, lacquered sledges and bear-skin coats +began to appear, and carriages with rich hammer-cloths flew swiftly +through the streets, their wheels scrunching the snow. +</p> +<p> +Akaky Akakiyevich gazed upon all this as upon a novel sight. He had not +been in the streets during the evening for years. He halted out of +curiosity before a shop-window, to look at a picture representing a +handsome woman, who had thrown off her shoe, thereby baring her whole foot +in a very pretty way; whilst behind her the head of a man with whiskers +and a handsome moustache peeped through the doorway of another room. Akaky +Akakiyevich shook his head, and laughed, and then went on his way. Why did +he laugh? Either because he had met with a thing utterly unknown, but for +which every one cherishes, nevertheless, some sort of feeling, or else he +thought, like many officials, “Well, those French! What is to be +said? If they do go in for anything of that sort, why—” But +possibly he did not think at all. +</p> +<p> +Akaky Akakiyevich at length reached the house in which the head clerk’s +assistant lodged. He lived in fine style. The staircase was lit by a lamp, +his apartment being on the second floor. On entering the vestibule, Akaky +Akakiyevich beheld a whole row of goloshes on the floor. Among them, in +the centre of the room, stood a samovar, humming and emitting clouds of +steam. On the walls hung all sorts of coats and cloaks, among which there +were even some with beaver collars, or velvet facings. Beyond, the buzz of +conversation was audible, and became clear and loud, when the servant came +out with a trayful of empty glasses, cream-jugs and sugar-bowls. It was +evident that the officials had arrived long before, and had already +finished their first glass of tea. +</p> +<p> +Akaky Akakiyevich, having hung up his own cloak, entered the inner room. +Before him all at once appeared lights, officials, pipes, and card-tables, +and he was bewildered by a sound of rapid conversation rising from all the +tables, and the noise of moving chairs. He halted very awkwardly in the +middle of the room, wondering what he ought to do. But they had seen him. +They received him with a shout, and all thronged at once into the +ante-room, and there took another look at his cloak. Akaky Akakiyevich, +although somewhat confused, was frank-hearted, and could not refrain from +rejoicing when he saw how they praised his cloak. Then, of course, they +all dropped him and his cloak, and returned, as was proper, to the tables +set out for whist. +</p> +<p> +All this, the noise, the talk, and the throng of people, was rather +overwhelming to Akaky Akakiyevich. He simply did not know where he stood, +or where to put his hands, his feet, and his whole body. Finally he sat +down by the players, looked at the cards, gazed at the face of one and +another, and after a while began to gape, and to feel that it was +wearisome, the more so, as the hour was already long past when he usually +went to bed. He wanted to take leave of the host, but they would not let +him go, saying that he must not fail to drink a glass of champagne, in +honour of his new garment. In the course of an hour, supper, consisting of +vegetable salad, cold veal, pastry, confectioner’s pies, and +champagne, was served. They made Akaky Akakiyevich drink two glasses of +champagne, after which he felt things grow livelier. +</p> +<p> +Still, he could not forget that it was twelve o’clock, and that he +should have been at home long ago. In order that the host might not think +of some excuse for detaining him, he stole out of the room quickly, sought +out, in the ante-room, his cloak, which, to his sorrow, he found lying on +the floor, brushed it, picked off every speck upon it, put it on his +shoulders, and descended the stairs to the street. +</p> +<p> +In the street all was still bright. Some petty shops, those permanent +clubs of servants and all sorts of folks, were open. Others were shut, +but, nevertheless, showed a streak of light the whole length of the +door-crack, indicating that they were not yet free of company, and that +probably some domestics, male and female, were finishing their stories and +conversations, whilst leaving their masters in complete ignorance as to +their whereabouts. Akaky Akakiyevich went on in a happy frame of mind. He +even started to run, without knowing why, after some lady, who flew past +like a flash of lightning. But he stopped short, and went on very quietly +as before, wondering why he had quickened his pace. Soon there spread +before him these deserted streets which are not cheerful in the daytime, +to say nothing of the evening. Now they were even more dim and lonely. +The lanterns began to grow rarer, oil, evidently, had been less liberally +supplied. Then came wooden houses and fences. Not a soul anywhere; only +the snow sparkled in the streets, and mournfully veiled the low-roofed +cabins with their closed shutters. He approached the spot where the street +crossed a vast square with houses barely visible on its farther side, a +square which seemed a fearful desert. +</p> +<p> +Afar, a tiny spark glimmered from some watchman’s-box, which seemed +to stand on the edge of the world. Akaky Akakiyevich’s cheerfulness +diminished at this point in a marked degree. He entered the square, not +without an involuntary sensation of fear, as though his heart warned him +of some evil. He glanced back, and on both sides it was like a sea about +him. “No, it is better not to look,” he thought, and went on, +closing his eyes. When he opened them, to see whether he was near the end +of the square, he suddenly beheld, standing just before his very nose, +some bearded individuals of precisely what sort, he could not make out. +All grew dark before his eyes, and his heart throbbed. +</p> +<p> +“Of course, the cloak is mine!” said one of them in a loud +voice, seizing hold of his collar. Akaky Akakiyevich was about to shout +“Help!” when the second man thrust a fist, about the size of +an official’s head, at his very mouth, muttering, “Just you +dare to scream!” +</p> +<p> +Akaky Akakiyevich felt them strip off his cloak, and give him a kick. He +fell headlong upon the snow, and felt no more. +</p> +<p> +In a few minutes he recovered consciousness, and rose to his feet, but no +one was there. He felt that it was cold in the square, and that his cloak +was gone. He began to shout, but his voice did not appear to reach the +outskirts of the square. In despair, but without ceasing to shout, he +started at a run across the square, straight towards the watch-box, beside +which stood the watchman, leaning on his halberd, and apparently curious +to know what kind of a customer was running towards him shouting. Akaky +Akakiyevich ran up to him, and began in a sobbing voice to shout that he +was asleep, and attended to nothing, and did not see when a man was +robbed. The watchman replied that he had seen two men stop him in the +middle of the square, but supposed that they were friends of his, and +that, instead of scolding vainly, he had better go to the police on the +morrow, so that they might make a search for whoever had stolen the cloak. +</p> +<p> +Akaky Akakiyevich ran home and arrived in a state of complete disorder, +his hair which grew very thinly upon his temples and the back of his head +all tousled, his body, arms and legs, covered with snow. The old woman, +who was mistress of his lodgings, on hearing a terrible knocking, sprang +hastily from her bed, and, with only one shoe on, ran to open the door, +pressing the sleeve of her chemise to her bosom out of modesty. But when +she had opened it, she fell back on beholding Akaky Akakiyevich in such a +condition. When he told her about the affair, she clasped her hands, and +said that he must go straight to the district chief of police, for his +subordinate would turn up his nose, promise well, and drop the matter +there. The very best thing to do, therefore, would be to go to the +district chief, whom she knew, because Finnish Anna, her former cook, was +now nurse at his house. She often saw him passing the house, and he was at +church every Sunday, praying, but at the same time gazing cheerfully at +everybody; so that he must be a good man, judging from all appearances. +Having listened to this opinion, Akaky Akakiyevich betook himself sadly to +his room. And how he spent the night there, any one who can put himself in +another’s place may readily imagine. +</p> +<p> +Early in the morning, he presented himself at the district chief’s, +but was told the official was asleep. He went again at ten and was again +informed that he was asleep. At eleven, and they said, “The +superintendent is not at home.” At dinner time, and the clerks in +the ante-room would not admit him on any terms, and insisted upon knowing +his business. So that at last, for once in his life, Akaky Akakiyevich +felt an inclination to show some spirit, and said curtly that he must see +the chief in person, that they ought not to presume to refuse him +entrance, that he came from the department of justice, and that when he +complained of them, they would see. +</p> +<p> +The clerks dared make no reply to this, and one of them went to call the +chief, who listened to the strange story of the theft of the coat. Instead +of directing his attention to the principal points of the matter, he began +to question Akaky Akakiyevich. Why was he going home so late? Was he in +the habit of doing so, or had he been to some disorderly house? So that +Akaky Akakiyevich got thoroughly confused, and left him, without knowing +whether the affair of his cloak was in proper train or not. +</p> +<p> +All that day, for the first time in his life, he never went near the +department. The next day he made his appearance, very pale, and in his old +cape, which had become even more shabby. The news of the robbery of the +cloak touched many, although there were some officials present who never +lost an opportunity, even such a one as the present, of ridiculing Akaky +Akakiyevich. They decided to make a collection for him on the spot, but +the officials had already spent a great deal in subscribing for the +director’s portrait, and for some book, at the suggestion of the +head of that division, who was a friend of the author; and so the sum was +trifling. +</p> +<p> +One of them, moved by pity, resolved to help Akaky Akakiyevich with some +good advice, at least, and told him that he ought not to go to the police, +for although it might happen that a police-officer, wishing to win the +approval of his superiors, might hunt up the cloak by some means, still, +his cloak would remain in the possession of the police if he did not offer +legal proof that it belonged to him. The best thing for him, therefore, +would be to apply to a certain prominent personage; since this prominent +personage, by entering into relation with the proper persons, could +greatly expedite the matter. +</p> +<p> +As there was nothing else to be done, Akaky Akakiyevich decided to go to +the prominent personage. What was the exact official position of the +prominent personage, remains unknown to this day. The reader must know +that the prominent personage had but recently become a prominent +personage, having up to that time been only an insignificant person. +Moreover, his present position was not considered prominent in comparison +with others still more so. But there is always a circle of people to whom +what is insignificant in the eyes of others, is important enough. +Moreover, he strove to increase his importance by sundry devices. For +instance, he managed to have the inferior officials meet him on the +staircase when he entered upon his service; no one was to presume to come +directly to him, but the strictest etiquette must be observed; the +collegiate recorder must make a report to the government secretary, the +government secretary to the titular councillor, or whatever other man was +proper, and all business must come before him in this manner. In Holy +Russia, all is thus contaminated with the love of imitation; every man +imitates and copies his superior. They even say that a certain titular +councillor, when promoted to the head of some small separate office, +immediately partitioned off a private room for himself, called it the +audience chamber, and posted at the door a lackey with red collar and +braid, who grasped the handle of the door, and opened to all comers, +though the audience chamber would hardly hold an ordinary writing table. +</p> +<p> +The manners and customs of the prominent personage were grand and +imposing, but rather exaggerated. The main foundation of his system was +strictness. “Strictness, strictness, and always strictness!” +he generally said; and at the last word he looked significantly into the +face of the person to whom he spoke. But there was no necessity for this, +for the halfscore of subordinates, who formed the entire force of the +office, were properly afraid. On catching sight of him afar off, they left +their work, and waited, drawn up in line, until he had passed through the +room. His ordinary converse with his inferiors smacked of sternness, and +consisted chiefly of three phrases: “How dare you?” “Do +you know whom you are speaking to?” “Do you realise who is +standing before you?” +</p> +<p> +Otherwise he was a very kind-hearted man, good to his comrades, and ready +to oblige. But the rank of general threw him completely off his balance. +On receiving any one of that rank, he became confused, lost his way, as it +were, and never knew what to do. If he chanced to be amongst his equals, +he was still a very nice kind of man, a very good fellow in many respects, +and not stupid, but the very moment that he found himself in the society +of people but one rank lower than himself, he became silent. And his +situation aroused sympathy, the more so, as he felt himself that he might +have been making an incomparably better use of his time. In his eyes, +there was sometimes visible a desire to join some interesting conversation +or group, but he was kept back by the thought, “Would it not be a +very great condescension on his part? Would it not be familiar? And would +he not thereby lose his importance?” And in consequence of such +reflections, he always remained in the same dumb state, uttering from time +to time a few monosyllabic sounds, and thereby earning the name of the +most wearisome of men. +</p> +<p> +To this prominent personage Akaky Akakiyevich presented himself, and this +at the most unfavourable time for himself, though opportune for the +prominent personage. The prominent personage was in his cabinet, +conversing very gaily with an old acquaintance and companion of his +childhood, whom he had not seen for several years, and who had just +arrived, when it was announced to him that a person named Bashmachkin had +come. He asked abruptly, “Who is he?”—“Some +official,” he was informed. “Ah, he can wait! This is no time +for him to call,” said the important man. +</p> +<p> +It must be remarked here that the important man lied outrageously. He had +said all he had to say to his friend long before, and the conversation had +been interspersed for some time with very long pauses, during which they +merely slapped each other on the leg, and said, “You think so, Ivan +Abramovich!” “Just so, Stepan Varlamovich!” +Nevertheless, he ordered that the official should be kept waiting, in +order to show his friend, a man who had not been in the service for a long +time, but had lived at home in the country, how long officials had to wait +in his ante-room. +</p> +<p> +At length, having talked himself completely out, and more than that, +having had his fill of pauses, and smoked a cigar in a very comfortable +arm-chair with reclining back, he suddenly seemed to recollect, and said +to the secretary, who stood by the door with papers of reports, “So +it seems that there is an official waiting to see me. Tell him that he may +come in.” On perceiving Akaky Akakiyevich’s modest mien and +his worn uniform, he turned abruptly to him, and said, “What do you +want?” in a curt hard voice, which he had practised in his room in +private, and before the looking-glass, for a whole week before being +raised to his present rank. +</p> +<p> +Akaky Akakiyevich, who was already imbued with a due amount of fear, +became somewhat confused, and as well as his tongue would permit, +explained, with a rather more frequent addition than usual of the word +“that” that his cloak was quite new, and had been stolen in +the most inhuman manner; that he had applied to him, in order that he +might, in some way, by his intermediation—that he might enter into +correspondence with the chief of police, and find the cloak. +</p> +<p> +For some inexplicable reason, this conduct seemed familiar to the +prominent personage. +</p> +<p> +“What, my dear sir!” he said abruptly, “are you not +acquainted with etiquette? To whom have you come? Don’t you know how +such matters are managed? You should first have presented a petition to +the office. It would have gone to the head of the department, then to the +chief of the division, then it would have been handed over to the +secretary, and the secretary would have given it to me.” +</p> +<p> +“But, your excellency,” said Akaky Akakiyevich, trying to +collect his small handful of wits, and conscious at the same time that he +was perspiring terribly, “I, your excellency, presumed to trouble +you because secretaries—are an untrustworthy race.” +</p> +<p> +“What, what, what!” said the important personage. “Where +did you get such courage? Where did you get such ideas? What impudence +towards their chiefs and superiors has spread among the young generation!” +The prominent personage apparently had not observed that Akaky Akakiyevich +was already in the neighbourhood of fifty. If he could be called a young +man, it must have been in comparison with some one who was seventy. +“Do you know to whom you are speaking? Do you realise who is +standing before you? Do you realise it? Do you realise it, I ask you!” +Then he stamped his foot, and raised his voice to such a pitch that it +would have frightened even a different man from Akaky Akakiyevich. +</p> +<p> +Akaky Akakiyevich’s senses failed him. He staggered, trembled in +every limb, and, if the porters had not run in to support him, would have +fallen to the floor. They carried him out insensible. But the prominent +personage, gratified that the effect should have surpassed his +expectations, and quite intoxicated with the thought that his word could +even deprive a man of his senses, glanced sideways at his friend in order +to see how he looked upon this, and perceived, not without satisfaction, +that his friend was in a most uneasy frame of mind, and even beginning on +his part, to feel a trifle frightened. +</p> +<p> +Akaky Akakiyevich could not remember how he descended the stairs, and got +into the street. He felt neither his hands nor feet. Never in his life had +he been so rated by any high official, let alone a strange one. He went +staggering on through the snow-storm, which was blowing in the streets, +with his mouth wide open. The wind, in St. Petersburg fashion, darted upon +him from all quarters, and down every cross-street. In a twinkling it had +blown a quinsy into his throat, and he reached home unable to utter a +word. His throat was swollen, and he lay down on his bed. So powerful is +sometimes a good scolding! +</p> +<p> +The next day a violent fever developed. Thanks to the generous assistance +of the St. Petersburg climate, the malady progressed more rapidly than +could have been expected, and when the doctor arrived, he found, on +feeling the sick man’s pulse, that there was nothing to be done, +except to prescribe a poultice, so that the patient might not be left +entirely without the beneficent aid of medicine. But at the same time, he +predicted his end in thirty-six hours. After this he turned to the +landlady, and said, “And as for you, don’t waste your time on +him. Order his pine coffin now, for an oak one will be too expensive for +him.” +</p> +<p> +Did Akaky Akakiyevich hear these fatal words? And if he heard them, did +they produce any overwhelming effect upon him? Did he lament the +bitterness of his life?—We know not, for he continued in a delirious +condition. Visions incessantly appeared to him, each stranger than the +other. Now he saw Petrovich, and ordered him to make a cloak, with some +traps for robbers, who seemed to him to be always under the bed; and he +cried every moment to the landlady to pull one of them from under his +coverlet. Then he inquired why his old mantle hung before him when he had +a new cloak. Next he fancied that he was standing before the prominent +person, listening to a thorough setting-down and saying, “Forgive +me, your excellency!” but at last he began to curse, uttering the +most horrible words, so that his aged landlady crossed herself, never in +her life having heard anything of the kind from him, and more so as these +words followed directly after the words “your excellency.” +Later on he talked utter nonsense, of which nothing could be made, all +that was evident being that these incoherent words and thoughts hovered +ever about one thing, his cloak. +</p> +<p> +At length poor Akaky Akakiyevich breathed his last. They sealed up neither +his room nor his effects, because, in the first place, there were no +heirs, and, in the second, there was very little to inherit beyond a +bundle of goose-quills, a quire of white official paper, three pairs of +socks, two or three buttons which had burst off his trousers, and the +mantle already known to the reader. To whom all this fell, God knows. I +confess that the person who told me this tale took no interest in the +matter. They carried Akaky Akakiyevich out, and buried him. +</p> +<p> +And St. Petersburg was left without Akaky Akakiyevich, as though he had +never lived there. A being disappeared, who was protected by none, dear to +none, interesting to none, and who never even attracted to himself the +attention of those students of human nature who omit no opportunity of +thrusting a pin through a common fly and examining it under the +microscope. A being who bore meekly the jibes of the department, and went +to his grave without having done one unusual deed, but to whom, +nevertheless, at the close of his life, appeared a bright visitant in the +form of a cloak, which momentarily cheered his poor life, and upon him, +thereafter, an intolerable misfortune descended, just as it descends upon +the heads of the mighty of this world! +</p> +<p> +Several days after his death, the porter was sent from the department to +his lodgings, with an order for him to present himself there immediately, +the chief commanding it. But the porter had to return unsuccessful, with +the answer that he could not come; and to the question, “Why?” +replied, “Well, because he is dead! he was buried four days ago.” +In this manner did they hear of Akaky Akakiyevich’s death at the +department. And the next day a new official sat in his place, with a +handwriting by no means so upright, but more inclined and slanting. +</p> +<p> +But who could have imagined that this was not really the end of Akaky +Akakiyevich, that he was destined to raise a commotion after death, as if +in compensation for his utterly insignificant life? But so it happened, +and our poor story unexpectedly gains a fantastic ending. +</p> +<p> +A rumour suddenly spread through St. Petersburg, that a dead man had taken +to appearing on the Kalinkin Bridge, and its vicinity, at night in the +form of an official seeking a stolen cloak, and that, under the pretext of +its being the stolen cloak, he dragged, without regard to rank or calling, +every one’s cloak from his shoulders, be it cat-skin, beaver, fox, +bear, sable, in a word, every sort of fur and skin which men adopted for +their covering. One of the department officials saw the dead man with his +own eyes, and immediately recognised in him Akaky Akakiyevich. This, +however, inspired him with such terror, that he ran off with all his +might, and therefore did not scan the dead man closely, but only saw how +the latter threatened him from afar with his finger. Constant complaints +poured in from all quarters, that the backs and shoulders, not only of +titular but even of court councillors, were exposed to the danger of a +cold, on account of the frequent dragging off of their cloaks. +</p> +<p> +Arrangements were made by the police to catch the corpse, alive or dead, +at any cost, and punish him as an example to others, in the most severe +manner. In this they nearly succeeded, for a watchman, on guard in +Kirinshkin Lane, caught the corpse by the collar on the very scene of his +evil deeds, when attempting to pull off the frieze cloak of a retired +musician. Having seized him by the collar, he summoned, with a shout, two +of his comrades, whom he enjoined to hold him fast, while he himself felt +for a moment in his boot, in order to draw out his snuff-box, and refresh +his frozen nose. But the snuff was of a sort which even a corpse could not +endure. The watchman having closed his right nostril with his finger, had +no sooner succeeded in holding half a handful up to the left, than the +corpse sneezed so violently that he completely filled the eyes of all +three. While they raised their hands to wipe them, the dead man vanished +completely, so that they positively did not know whether they had actually +had him in their grip at all. Thereafter the watchmen conceived such a +terror of dead men that they were afraid even to seize the living, and +only screamed from a distance. “Hey, there! go your way!” So +the dead official began to appear even beyond the Kalinkin Bridge, causing +no little terror to all timid people. +</p> +<p> +But we have totally neglected that certain prominent personage who may +really be considered as the cause of the fantastic turn taken by this true +history. First of all, justice compels us to say, that after the departure +of poor, annihilated Akaky Akakiyevich, he felt something like remorse. +Suffering was unpleasant to him, for his heart was accessible to many good +impulses, in spite of the fact that his rank often prevented his showing +his true self. As soon as his friend had left his cabinet, he began to +think about poor Akaky Akakiyevich. And from that day forth, poor Akaky +Akakiyevich, who could not bear up under an official reprimand, recurred +to his mind almost every day. The thought troubled him to such an extent, +that a week later he even resolved to send an official to him, to learn +whether he really could assist him. And when it was reported to him that +Akaky Akakiyevich had died suddenly of fever, he was startled, hearkened +to the reproaches of his conscience, and was out of sorts for the whole +day. +</p> +<p> +Wishing to divert his mind in some way and drive away the disagreeable +impression, he set out that evening for one of his friends’ houses, +where he found quite a large party assembled. What was better, nearly +every one was of the same rank as himself, so that he need not feel in the +least constrained. This had a marvellous effect upon his mental state. He +grew expansive, made himself agreeable in conversation, in short, he +passed a delightful evening. After supper he drank a couple of glasses of +champagne—not a bad recipe for cheerfulness, as every one knows. The +champagne inclined him to various adventures, and he determined not to +return home, but to go and see a certain well-known lady, of German +extraction, Karolina Ivanovna, a lady, it appears, with whom he was on a +very friendly footing. +</p> +<p> +It must be mentioned that the prominent personage was no longer a young +man, but a good husband and respected father of a family. Two sons, one of +whom was already in the service, and a good-looking, sixteen-year-old +daughter, with a slightly arched but pretty little nose, came every +morning to kiss his hand and say, “<i>Bon jour</i>, papa.” His +wife, a still fresh and good-looking woman, first gave him her hand to +kiss, and then, reversing the procedure, kissed his. But the prominent +personage, though perfectly satisfied in his domestic relations, +considered it stylish to have a friend in another quarter of the city. +This friend was scarcely prettier or younger than his wife; but there are +such puzzles in the world, and it is not our place to judge them. So the +important personage descended the stairs, stepped into his sledge, said to +the coachman, “To Karolina Ivanovna’s,” and, wrapping +himself luxuriously in his warm cloak, found himself in that delightful +frame of mind than which a Russian can conceive nothing better, namely, +when you think of nothing yourself, yet when the thoughts creep into your +mind of their own accord, each more agreeable than the other, giving you +no trouble either to drive them away, or seek them. Fully satisfied, he +recalled all the gay features of the evening just passed and all the mots +which had made the little circle laugh. Many of them he repeated in a low +voice, and found them quite as funny as before; so it is not surprising +that he should laugh heartily at them. Occasionally, however, he was +interrupted by gusts of wind, which, coming suddenly, God knows whence or +why, cut his face, drove masses of snow into it, filled out his +cloak-collar like a sail, or suddenly blew it over his head with +supernatural force, and thus caused him constant trouble to disentangle +himself. +</p> +<p> +Suddenly the important personage felt some one clutch him firmly by the +collar. Turning round, he perceived a man of short stature, in an old, +worn uniform, and recognised, not without terror, Akaky Akakiyevich. The +official’s face was white as snow, and looked just like a corpse’s. +But the horror of the important personage transcended all bounds when he +saw the dead man’s mouth open, and heard it utter the following +remarks, while it breathed upon him the terrible odour of the grave: +“Ah, here you are at last! I have you, that—by the collar! I +need your cloak. You took no trouble about mine, but reprimanded me. So +now give up your own.” +</p> +<p> +The pallid prominent personage almost died of fright. Brave as he was in +the office and in the presence of inferiors generally, and although, at +the sight of his manly form and appearance, every one said, “Ugh! +how much character he has!” at this crisis, he, like many possessed +of an heroic exterior, experienced such terror, that, not without cause, +he began to fear an attack of illness. He flung his cloak hastily from his +shoulders and shouted to his coachman in an unnatural voice, “Home +at full speed!” The coachman, hearing the tone which is generally +employed at critical moments, and even accompanied by something much more +tangible, drew his head down between his shoulders in case of an +emergency, flourished his whip, and flew on like an arrow. In a little +more than six minutes the prominent personage was at the entrance of his +own house. Pale, thoroughly scared, and cloakless, he went home instead of +to Karolina Ivanovna’s, reached his room somehow or other, and +passed the night in the direst distress; so that the next morning over +their tea, his daughter said, “You are very pale to-day, papa.” +But papa remained silent, and said not a word to any one of what had +happened to him, where he had been, or where he had intended to go. +</p> +<p> +This occurrence made a deep impression upon him. He even began to say, +“How dare you? Do you realise who is standing before you?” +less frequently to the under-officials, and, if he did utter the words, it +was only after first having learned the bearings of the matter. But the +most noteworthy point was, that from that day forward the apparition of +the dead official ceased to be seen. Evidently the prominent personage’s +cloak just fitted his shoulders. At all events, no more instances of his +dragging cloaks from people’s shoulders were heard of. But many +active and solicitous persons could by no means reassure themselves, and +asserted that the dead official still showed himself in distant parts of +the city. +</p> +<p> +In fact, one watchman in Kolomen saw with his own eyes the apparition come +from behind a house. But the watchman was not a strong man, so he was +afraid to arrest him, and followed him in the dark, until, at length, the +apparition looked round, paused, and inquired, “What do you want?” +at the same time showing such a fist as is never seen on living men. The +watchman said, “Nothing,” and turned back instantly. But the +apparition was much too tall, wore huge moustaches, and, directing its +steps apparently towards the Obukhov Bridge, disappeared in the darkness +of the night. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +THE DISTRICT DOCTOR +</h2> +<h3> +BY IVAN S. TURGENEV +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>ne day in autumn on my way back from a remote part of the country I +caught cold and fell ill. Fortunately the fever attacked me in the +district town at the inn; I sent for the doctor. In half-an-hour the +district doctor appeared, a thin, dark-haired man of middle height. He +prescribed me the usual sudorific, ordered a mustard-plaster to be put on, +very deftly slid a five-ruble note up his sleeve, coughing drily and +looking away as he did so, and then was getting up to go home, but somehow +fell into talk and remained. I was exhausted with feverishness; I foresaw +a sleepless night, and was glad of a little chat with a pleasant +companion. Tea was served. My doctor began to converse freely. He was a +sensible fellow, and expressed himself with vigour and some humour. Queer +things happen in the world: you may live a long while with some people, +and be on friendly terms with them, and never once speak openly with them +from your soul; with others you have scarcely time to get acquainted, and +all at once you are pouring out to him—or he to you—all your +secrets, as though you were at confession. I don’t know how I gained +the confidence of my new friend—anyway, with nothing to lead up to +it, he told me a rather curious incident; and here I will report his tale +for the information of the indulgent reader. I will try to tell it in the +doctor’s own words. +</p> +<p> +“You don’t happen to know,” he began in a weak and +quavering voice (the common result of the use of unmixed Berezov snuff); +“you don’t happen to know the judge here, Mylov, Pavel +Lukich?... You don’t know him?... Well, it’s all the same.” +(He cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes.) “Well, you see, the +thing happened, to tell you exactly without mistake, in Lent, at the very +time of the thaws. I was sitting at his house—our judge’s, you +know—playing preference. Our judge is a good fellow, and fond of +playing preference. Suddenly” (the doctor made frequent use of this +word, suddenly) “they tell me, ‘There’s a servant asking +for you.’ I say, ‘What does he want?’ They say, He has +brought a note—it must be from a patient.’ ‘Give me the +note,’ I say. So it is from a patient—well and good—you +understand—it’s our bread and butter... But this is how it +was: a lady, a widow, writes to me; she says, ‘My daughter is dying. +Come, for God’s sake!’ she says, ‘and the horses have +been sent for you.’... Well, that’s all right. But she was +twenty miles from the town, and it was midnight out of doors, and the +roads in such a state, my word! And as she was poor herself, one could not +expect more than two silver rubles, and even that problematic; and perhaps +it might only be a matter of a roll of linen and a sack of oatmeal in <i>payment</i>. +However, duty, you know, before everything: a fellow-creature may be +dying. I hand over my cards at once to Kalliopin, the member of the +provincial commission, and return home. I look; a wretched little trap was +standing at the steps, with peasant’s horses, fat—too fat—and +their coat as shaggy as felt; and the coachman sitting with his cap off +out of respect. Well, I think to myself, ‘It’s clear, my +friend, these patients aren’t rolling in riches.’... You +smile; but I tell you, a poor man like me has to take everything into +consideration... If the coachman sits like a prince, and doesn’t +touch his cap, and even sneers at you behind his beard, and flicks his +whip—then you may bet on six rubles. But this case, I saw, had a +very different air. However, I think there’s no help for it; duty +before everything. I snatch up the most necessary drugs, and set off. Will +you believe it? I only just managed to get there at all. The road was +infernal: streams, snow, watercourses, and the dyke had suddenly burst +there—that was the worst of it! However, I arrived at last. It was a +little thatched house. There was a light in the windows; that meant they +expected me. I was met by an old lady, very venerable, in a cap. ‘Save +her!’ she says; ‘she is dying.’ I say, ‘Pray don’t +distress yourself—Where is the invalid?’ ‘Come this way.’ +I see a clean little room, a lamp in the corner; on the bed a girl of +twenty, unconscious. She was in a burning heat, and breathing heavily—it +was fever. There were two other girls, her sisters, scared and in tears. +‘Yesterday,’ they tell me, ‘she was perfectly well and +had a good appetite; this morning she complained of her head, and this +evening, suddenly, you see, like this.’ I say again: ‘Pray don’t +be uneasy.’ It’s a doctor’s duty, you know—and I +went up to her and bled her, told them to put on a mustard-plaster, and +prescribed a mixture. Meantime I looked at her; I looked at her, you know—there, +by God! I had never seen such a face!—she was a beauty, in a word! I +felt quite shaken with pity. Such lovely features; such eyes!... But, +thank God! she became easier; she fell into a perspiration, seemed to come +to her senses, looked round, smiled, and passed her hand over her face... +Her sisters bent over her. They ask, ‘How are you?’ ‘All +right,’ she says, and turns away. I looked at her; she had fallen +asleep. ‘Well,’ I say, ‘now the patient should be left alone.’ +So we all went out on tiptoe; only a maid remained, in case she was +wanted. In the parlour there was a samovar standing on the table, and a +bottle of rum; in our profession one can’t get on without it. They +gave me tea; asked me to stop the night... I consented: where could I go, +indeed, at that time of night? The old lady kept groaning. ‘What is +it?’ I say; ‘she will live; don’t worry yourself; you +had better take a little rest yourself; it is about two o’clock.’ +‘But will you send to wake me if anything happens?’ ‘Yes, +yes.’ The old lady went away, and the girls too went to their own +room; they made up a bed for me in the parlour. Well, I went to bed—but +I could not get to sleep, for a wonder! for in reality I was very tired. I +could not get my patient out of my head. At last I could not put up with +it any longer; I got up suddenly; I think to myself, ‘I will go and +see how the patient is getting on.’ Her bedroom was next to the +parlour. Well, I got up, and gently opened the door—how my heart +beat! I looked in: the servant was asleep, her mouth wide open, and even +snoring, the wretch! but the patient lay with her face towards me and her +arms flung wide apart, poor girl! I went up to her ... when suddenly she +opened her eyes and stared at me! ‘Who is it? who is it?’ I +was in confusion. ‘Don’t be alarmed, madam,’ I say; +‘I am the doctor; I have come to see how you feel.’ ‘You +the doctor?’ ‘Yes, the doctor; your mother sent for me from +the town; we have bled you, madam; now pray go to sleep, and in a day or +two, please God! we will set you on your feet again.’ ‘Ah, +yes, yes, doctor, don’t let me die... please, please.’ ‘Why +do you talk like that? God bless you!’ She is in a fever again, I +think to myself; I felt her pulse; yes, she was feverish. She looked at +me, and then took me by the hand. ‘I will tell you why I don’t +want to die: I will tell you... Now we are alone; and only, please don’t +you ... not to any one ... Listen...’ I bent down; she moved her +lips quite to my ear; she touched my cheek with her hair—I confess +my head went round—and began to whisper... I could make out nothing +of it... Ah, she was delirious! ... She whispered and whispered, but so +quickly, and as if it were not in Russian; at last she finished, and +shivering dropped her head on the pillow, and threatened me with her +finger: ‘Remember, doctor, to no one.’ I calmed her somehow, gave +her something to drink, waked the servant, and went away.” +</p> +<p> +At this point the doctor again took snuff with exasperated energy, and for +a moment seemed stupefied by its effects. +</p> +<p> +“However,” he continued, “the next day, contrary to my +expectations, the patient was no better. I thought and thought, and +suddenly decided to remain there, even though my other patients were +expecting me... And you know one can’t afford to disregard that; one’s +practice suffers if one does. But, in the first place, the patient was +really in danger; and secondly, to tell the truth, I felt strongly drawn +to her. Besides, I liked the whole family. Though they were really badly +off, they were singularly, I may say, cultivated people... Their father +had been a learned man, an author; he died, of course, in poverty, but he +had managed before he died to give his children an excellent education; he +left a lot of books too. Either because I looked after the invalid very +carefully, or for some other reason; anyway, I can venture to say all the +household loved me as if I were one of the family... Meantime the roads +were in a worse state than ever; all communications, so to say, were cut +off completely; even medicine could with difficulty be got from the +town... The sick girl was not getting better... Day after day, and day +after day ... but ... here...” (The doctor made a brief pause.) +“I declare I don’t know how to tell you.”... (He again +took snuff, coughed, and swallowed a little tea.) “I will tell you +without beating about the bush. My patient ... how should I say?... Well +she had fallen in love with me ... or, no, it was not that she was in love +... however ... really, how should one say?” (The doctor looked down +and grew red.) “No,” he went on quickly, “in love, +indeed! A man should not over-estimate himself. She was an educated girl, +clever and well-read, and I had even forgotten my Latin, one may say, +completely. As to appearance” (the doctor looked himself over with a +smile) “I am nothing to boast of there either. But God Almighty did +not make me a fool; I don’t take black for white; I know a thing or +two; I could see very clearly, for instance that Aleksandra Andreyevna—that +was her name—did not feel love for me, but had a friendly, so to +say, inclination—a respect or something for me. Though she herself +perhaps mistook this sentiment, anyway this was her attitude; you may form +your own judgment of it. But,” added the doctor, who had brought out +all these disconnected sentences without taking breath, and with obvious +embarrassment, “I seem to be wandering rather—you won’t +understand anything like this ... There, with your leave, I will relate it +all in order.” +</p> +<p> +He drank off a glass of tea, and began in a calmer voice. +</p> +<p> +“Well, then. My patient kept getting worse and worse. You are not a +doctor, my good sir; you cannot understand what passes in a poor fellow’s +heart, especially at first, when he begins to suspect that the disease is +getting the upper hand of him. What becomes of his belief in himself? You +suddenly grow so timid; it’s indescribable. You fancy then that you +have forgotten everything you knew, and that the patient has no faith in +you, and that other people begin to notice how distracted you are, and +tell you the symptoms with reluctance; that they are looking at you +suspiciously, whispering... Ah! it’s horrid! There must be a remedy, +you think, for this disease, if one could find it. Isn’t this it? +You try—no, that’s not it! You don’t allow the medicine +the necessary time to do good... You clutch at one thing, then at another. +Sometimes you take up a book of medical prescriptions—here it is, +you think! Sometimes, by Jove, you pick one out by chance, thinking to +leave it to fate... But meantime a fellow-creature’s dying, and +another doctor would have saved him. ‘We must have a consultation,’ +you say; ‘I will not take the responsibility on myself.’ And +what a fool you look at such times! Well, in time you learn to bear it; it’s +nothing to you. A man has died—but it’s not your fault; you +treated him by the rules. But what’s still more torture to you is to +see blind faith in you, and to feel yourself that you are not able to be +of use. Well, it was just this blind faith that the whole of Aleksandra +Andreyevna’s family had in me; they had forgotten to think that +their daughter was in danger. I, too, on my side assure them that it’s +nothing, but meantime my heart sinks into my boots. To add to our +troubles, the roads were in such a state that the coachman was gone for +whole days together to get medicine. And I never left the patient’s +room; I could not tear myself away; I tell her amusing stories, you know, +and play cards with her. I watch by her side at night. The old mother +thanks me with tears in her eyes; but I think to myself, ‘I don’t +deserve your gratitude.’ I frankly confess to you—there is no +object in concealing it now—I was in love with my patient. And +Aleksandra Andreyevna had grown fond of me; she would not sometimes let +any one be in her room but me. She began to talk to me, to ask me +questions; where I had studied, how I lived, who are my people, whom I go +to see. I feel that she ought not to talk; but to forbid her to—to +forbid her resolutely, you know—I could not. Sometimes I held my +head in my hands, and asked myself, “What are you doing, villain?”... +And she would take my hand and hold it, give me a long, long look, and +turn away, sigh, and say, ‘How good you are!’ Her hands were +so feverish, her eyes so large and languid... ‘Yes,’ she says, +‘you are a good, kind man; you are not like our neighbours... No, +you are not like that... Why did I not know you till now!’ ‘Aleksandra +Andreyevna, calm yourself,’ I say... ‘I feel, believe me, I +don’t know how I have gained ... but there, calm yourself... All +will be right; you will be well again.’ And meanwhile I must tell +you,” continued the doctor, bending forward and raising his +eyebrows, “that they associated very little with the neighbours, +because the smaller people were not on their level, and pride hindered +them from being friendly with the rich. I tell you, they were an +exceptionally cultivated family; so you know it was gratifying for me. She +would only take her medicine from my hands ... she would lift herself up, +poor girl, with my aid, take it, and gaze at me... My heart felt as if it +were bursting. And meanwhile she was growing worse and worse, worse and +worse, all the time; she will die, I think to myself; she must die. +Believe me, I would sooner have gone to the grave myself; and here were +her mother and sisters watching me, looking into my eyes ... and their +faith in me was wearing away. ‘Well? how is she?’ ‘Oh, all +right, all right!’ All right, indeed! My mind was failing me. Well, +I was sitting one night alone again by my patient. The maid was sitting +there too, and snoring away in full swing; I can’t find fault with +the poor girl, though; she was worn out too. Aleksandra Andreyevna had +felt very unwell all the evening; she was very feverish. Until midnight +she kept tossing about; at last she seemed to fall asleep; at least, she +lay still without stirring. The lamp was burning in the corner before the +holy image. I sat there, you know, with my head bent; I even dozed a +little. Suddenly it seemed as though some one touched me in the side; I +turned round... Good God! Aleksandra Andreyevna was gazing with intent +eyes at me ... her lips parted, her cheeks seemed burning. ‘What is +it?’ ‘Doctor, shall I die?’ ‘Merciful Heavens!’ +‘No, doctor, no; please don’t tell me I shall live ... don’t +say so... If you knew... Listen! for God’s sake don’t conceal +my real position,’ and her breath came so fast. ‘If I can know +for certain that I must die ... then I will tell you all— all!’ +‘Aleksandra Andreyevna, I beg!’ ‘Listen; I have not been +asleep at all ... I have been looking at you a long while... For God’s +sake!... I believe in you; you are a good man, an honest man; I entreat +you by all that is sacred in the world—tell me the truth! If you +knew how important it is for me... Doctor, for God’s sake tell me... +Am I in danger?’ ‘What can I tell you, Aleksandra Andreyevna, +pray?’ ‘For God’s sake, I beseech you!’ ‘I +can’t disguise from you,’ I say, ‘Aleksandra Andreyevna; +you are certainly in danger; but God is merciful.’ ‘I shall +die, I shall die.’ And it seemed as though she were pleased; her +face grew so bright; I was alarmed. ‘Don’t be afraid, don’t +be afraid! I am not frightened of death at all.’ She suddenly sat up +and leaned on her elbow. ‘Now ... yes, now I can tell you that I +thank you with my whole heart ... that you are kind and good—that I +love you!’ I stare at her, like one possessed; it was terrible for +me, you know. ‘Do you hear, I love you!’ ‘Aleksandra +Andreyevna, how have I deserved—’ ‘No, no, you don’t—you +don’t understand me.’... And suddenly she stretched out her +arms, and taking my head in her hands, she kissed it... Believe me, I +almost screamed aloud... I threw myself on my knees, and buried my head in +the pillow. She did not speak; her fingers trembled in my hair; I listen; +she is weeping. I began to soothe her, to assure her... I really don’t +know what I did say to her. ‘You will wake up the girl,’ I say +to her; ‘Aleksandra Andreyevna, I thank you ... believe me ... calm +yourself.’ ‘Enough, enough!’ she persisted; ‘never mind +all of them; let them wake, then; let them come in—it does not +matter; I am dying, you see... And what do you fear? why are you afraid? +Lift up your head... Or, perhaps, you don’t love me; perhaps I am +wrong... In that case, forgive me.’ ‘Aleksandra Andreyevna, +what are you saying!... I love you, Aleksandra Andreyevna.’ She +looked straight into my eyes, and opened her arms wide. ‘Then take +me in your arms.’ I tell you frankly, I don’t know how it was +I did not go mad that night. I feel that my patient is killing herself; I +see that she is not fully herself; I understand, too, that if she did not +consider herself on the point of death, she would never have thought of +me; and, indeed, say what you will, it’s hard to die at twenty +without having known love; this was what was torturing her; this was why, +in despair, she caught at me—do you understand now? But she held me +in her arms, and would not let me go. ‘Have pity on me, Aleksandra +Andreyevna, and have pity on yourself,’ I say. ‘Why,’ +she says; ‘what is there to think of? You know I must die.’ +... This she repeated incessantly ... ‘If I knew that I should +return to life, and be a proper young lady again, I should be ashamed ... +of course, ashamed ... but why now?’ ‘But who has said you +will die?’ ‘Oh, no, leave off! you will not deceive me; you +don’t know how to lie—look at your face.’ ... ‘You +shall live, Aleksandra Andreyevna; I will cure you; we will ask your +mother’s blessing ... we will be united—we will be happy.’ +‘No, no, I have your word; I must die ... you have promised me ... +you have told me.’ ... It was cruel for me—cruel for many +reasons. And see what trifling things can do sometimes; it seems nothing +at all, but it’s painful. It occurred to her to ask me, what is my +name; not my surname, but my first name. I must needs be so unlucky as to +be called Trifon. Yes, indeed; Trifon Ivanich. Every one in the house +called me doctor. However, there’s no help for it. I say, ‘Trifon, +madam.’ She frowned, shook her head, and muttered something in +French—ah, something unpleasant, of course!—and then she +laughed—disagreeably too. Well, I spent the whole night with her in +this way. Before morning I went away, feeling as though I were mad. When I +went again into her room it was daytime, after morning tea. Good God! I +could scarcely recognise her; people are laid in their grave looking +better than that. I swear to you, on my honour, I don’t understand—I +absolutely don’t understand—now, how I lived through that +experience. Three days and nights my patient still lingered on. And what +nights! What things she said to me! And on the last night—only +imagine to yourself—I was sitting near her, and kept praying to God +for one thing only: ‘Take her,’ I said, ‘quickly, and me +with her.’ Suddenly the old mother comes unexpectedly into the room. +I had already the evening before told her—-the mother—there +was little hope, and it would be well to send for a priest. When the sick +girl saw her mother she said: ‘It’s very well you have come; +look at us, we love one another—we have given each other our word.’ +‘What does she say, doctor? what does she say?’ I turned +livid. ‘She <i>is</i> wandering,’ I say; ‘the fever.’ +But she: ‘Hush, hush; you told me something quite different just +now, and have taken my ring. Why do you pretend? My mother is good—she +will forgive—she will understand—and I am dying. ... I have no +need to tell lies; give me your hand.’ I jumped up and ran out of +the room. The old lady, of course, guessed how it was. +</p> +<p> +“I will not, however, weary you any longer, and to me too, of +course, it’s painful to recall all this. My patient passed away the +next day. God rest her soul!” the doctor added, speaking quickly and +with a sigh. “Before her death she asked her family to go out and +leave me alone with her.” +</p> +<p> +“‘Forgive me,’ she said; ‘I am perhaps to blame +towards you ... my illness ... but believe me, I have loved no one more +than you ... do not forget me ... keep my ring.’” +</p> +<p> +The doctor turned away; I took his hand. +</p> +<p> +“Ah!” he said, “let us talk of something else, or would +you care to play preference for a small stake? It is not for people like +me to give way to exalted emotions. There’s only one thing for me to +think of; how to keep the children from crying and the wife from scolding. +Since then, you know, I have had time to enter into lawful wedlock, as +they say... Oh ... I took a merchant’s daughter—seven thousand +for her dowry. Her name’s Akulina; it goes well with Trifon. She is +an ill-tempered woman, I must tell you, but luckily she’s asleep all +day... Well, shall it be preference?” +</p> +<p> +We sat down to preference for halfpenny points. Trifon Ivanich won two +rubles and a half from me, and went home late, well pleased with his +success. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +THE CHRISTMAS TREE AND THE WEDDING +</h2> +<h3> +BY FIODOR M. DOSTOYEVSKY +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he other day I saw a wedding... But no! I would rather tell you about a +Christmas tree. The wedding was superb. I liked it immensely. But the +other incident was still finer. I don’t know why it is that the +sight of the wedding reminded me of the Christmas tree. This is the way it +happened: +</p> +<p> +Exactly five years ago, on New Year’s Eve, I was invited to a +children’s ball by a man high up in the business world, who had his +connections, his circle of acquaintances, and his intrigues. So it seemed +as though the children’s ball was merely a pretext for the parents +to come together and discuss matters of interest to themselves, quite +innocently and casually. +</p> +<p> +I was an outsider, and, as I had no special matters to air, I was able to +spend the evening independently of the others. There was another gentleman +present who like myself had just stumbled upon this affair of domestic +bliss. He was the first to attract my attention. His appearance was not +that of a man of birth or high family. He was tall, rather thin, very +serious, and well dressed. Apparently he had no heart for the family +festivities. The instant he went off into a corner by himself the smile +disappeared from his face, and his thick dark brows knitted into a frown. +He knew no one except the host and showed every sign of being bored to +death, though bravely sustaining the role of thorough enjoyment to the +end. Later I learned that he was a provincial, had come to the capital on +some important, brain-racking business, had brought a letter of +recommendation to our host, and our host had taken him under his +protection, not at all <i>con amore</i>. It was merely out of politeness +that he had invited him to the children’s ball. +</p> +<p> +They did not play cards with him, they did not offer him cigars. No one +entered into conversation with him. Possibly they recognised the bird by +its feathers from a distance. Thus, my gentleman, not knowing what to do +with his hands, was compelled to spend the evening stroking his whiskers. +His whiskers were really fine, but he stroked them so assiduously that one +got the feeling that the whiskers had come into the world first and +afterwards the man in order to stroke them. +</p> +<p> +There was another guest who interested me. But he was of quite a different +order. He was a personage. They called him Julian Mastakovich. At first +glance one could tell he was an honoured guest and stood in the same +relation to the host as the host to the gentleman of the whiskers. The +host and hostess said no end of amiable things to him, were most +attentive, wining him, hovering over him, bringing guests up to be +introduced, but never leading him to any one else. I noticed tears glisten +in our host’s eyes when Julian Mastakovich remarked that he had +rarely spent such a pleasant evening. Somehow I began to feel +uncomfortable in this personage’s presence. So, after amusing myself +with the children, five of whom, remarkably well-fed young persons, were +our host’s, I went into a little sitting-room, entirely unoccupied, +and seated myself at the end that was a conservatory and took up almost +half the room. +</p> +<p> +The children were charming. They absolutely refused to resemble their +elders, notwithstanding the efforts of mothers and governesses. In a jiffy +they had denuded the Christmas tree down to the very last sweet and had +already succeeded in breaking half of their playthings before they even +found out which belonged to whom. +</p> +<p> +One of them was a particularly handsome little lad, dark-eyed, +curly-haired, who stubbornly persisted in aiming at me with his wooden +gun. But the child that attracted the greatest attention was his sister, a +girl of about eleven, lovely as a Cupid. She was quiet and thoughtful, +with large, full, dreamy eyes. The children had somehow offended her, and +she left them and walked into the same room that I had withdrawn into. +There she seated herself with her doll in a corner. +</p> +<p> +“Her father is an immensely wealthy business man,” the guests +informed each other in tones of awe. “Three hundred thousand rubles +set aside for her dowry already.” +</p> +<p> +As I turned to look at the group from which I heard this news item +issuing, my glance met Julian Mastakovich’s. He stood listening to +the insipid chatter in an attitude of concentrated attention, with his +hands behind his back and his head inclined to one side. +</p> +<p> +All the while I was quite lost in admiration of the shrewdness our host +displayed in the dispensing of the gifts. The little maid of the +many-rubied dowry received the handsomest doll, and the rest of the gifts +were graded in value according to the diminishing scale of the parents’ +stations in life. The last child, a tiny chap of ten, thin, red-haired, +freckled, came into possession of a small book of nature stories without +illustrations or even head and tail pieces. He was the governess’s +child. She was a poor widow, and her little boy, clad in a sorry-looking +little nankeen jacket, looked thoroughly crushed and intimidated. He took +the book of nature stories and circled slowly about the children’s +toys. He would have given anything to play with them. But he did not dare +to. You could tell he already knew his place. +</p> +<p> +I like to observe children. It is fascinating to watch the individuality +in them struggling for self-assertion. I could see that the other children’s +things had tremendous charm for the red-haired boy, especially a toy +theatre, in which he was so anxious to take a part that he resolved to +fawn upon the other children. He smiled and began to play with them. His +one and only apple he handed over to a puffy urchin whose pockets were +already crammed with sweets, and he even carried another youngster +pickaback—all simply that he might be allowed to stay with the +theatre. +</p> +<p> +But in a few moments an impudent young person fell on him and gave him a +pummelling. He did not dare even to cry. The governess came and told him +to leave off interfering with the other children’s games, and he +crept away to the same room the little girl and I were in. She let him sit +down beside her, and the two set themselves busily dressing the expensive +doll. +</p> +<p> +Almost half an hour passed, and I was nearly dozing off, as I sat there in +the conservatory half listening to the chatter of the red-haired boy and +the dowered beauty, when Julian Mastakovich entered suddenly. He had +slipped out of the drawing-room under cover of a noisy scene among the +children. From my secluded corner it had not escaped my notice that a few +moments before he had been eagerly conversing with the rich girl’s +father, to whom he had only just been introduced. +</p> +<p> +He stood still for a while reflecting and mumbling to himself, as if +counting something on his fingers. +</p> +<p> +“Three hundred—three hundred—eleven—twelve—thirteen—sixteen—in +five years! Let’s say four per cent—five times twelve—sixty, +and on these sixty——. Let us assume that in five years it will +amount to—well, four hundred. Hm—hm! But the shrewd old fox +isn’t likely to be satisfied with four per cent. He gets eight or +even ten, perhaps. Let’s suppose five hundred, five hundred +thousand, at least, that’s sure. Anything above that for pocket +money—hm—” +</p> +<p> +He blew his nose and was about to leave the room when he spied the girl +and stood still. I, behind the plants, escaped his notice. He seemed to me +to be quivering with excitement. It must have been his calculations that +upset him so. He rubbed his hands and danced from place to place, and kept +getting more and more excited. Finally, however, he conquered his emotions +and came to a standstill. He cast a determined look at the future bride +and wanted to move toward her, but glanced about first. Then, as if with a +guilty conscience, he stepped over to the child on tip-toe, smiling, and +bent down and kissed her head. +</p> +<p> +His coming was so unexpected that she uttered a shriek of alarm. +</p> +<p> +“What are you doing here, dear child?” he whispered, looking +around and pinching her cheek. +</p> +<p> +“We’re playing.” +</p> +<p> +“What, with him?” said Julian Mastakovich with a look askance +at the governess’s child. “You should go into the +drawing-room, my lad,” he said to him. +</p> +<p> +The boy remained silent and looked up at the man with wide-open eyes. +Julian Mastakovich glanced round again cautiously and bent down over the +girl. +</p> +<p> +“What have you got, a doll, my dear?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir.” The child quailed a little, and her brow wrinkled. +</p> +<p> +“A doll? And do you know, my dear, what dolls are made of?” +</p> +<p> +“No, sir,” she said weakly, and lowered her head. +</p> +<p> +“Out of rags, my dear. You, boy, you go back to the drawing-room, to +the children,” said Julian Mastakovich looking at the boy sternly. +</p> +<p> +The two children frowned. They caught hold of each other and would not +part. +</p> +<p> +“And do you know why they gave you the doll?” asked Julian +Mastakovich, dropping his voice lower and lower. +</p> +<p> +“No.” +</p> +<p> +“Because you were a good, very good little girl the whole week.” +</p> +<p> +Saying which, Julian Mastakovich was seized with a paroxysm of agitation. +He looked round and said in a tone faint, almost inaudible with excitement +and impatience: +</p> +<p> +“If I come to visit your parents will you love me, my dear?” +</p> +<p> +He tried to kiss the sweet little creature, but the red-haired boy saw +that she was on the verge of tears, and he caught her hand and sobbed out +loud in sympathy. That enraged the man. +</p> +<p> +“Go away! Go away! Go back to the other room, to your playmates.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want him to. I don’t want him to! You go away!” +cried the girl. “Let him alone! Let him alone!” She was almost +weeping. +</p> +<p> +There was a sound of footsteps in the doorway. Julian Mastakovich started +and straightened up his respectable body. The red-haired boy was even more +alarmed. He let go the girl’s hand, sidled along the wall, and +escaped through the drawing-room into the dining-room. +</p> +<p> +Not to attract attention, Julian Mastakovich also made for the +dining-room. He was red as a lobster. The sight of himself in a mirror +seemed to embarrass him. Presumably he was annoyed at his own ardour and +impatience. Without due respect to his importance and dignity, his +calculations had lured and pricked him to the greedy eagerness of a boy, +who makes straight for his object—though this was not as yet an +object; it only would be so in five years’ time. I followed the +worthy man into the dining-room, where I witnessed a remarkable play. +</p> +<p> +Julian Mastakovich, all flushed with vexation, venom in his look, began to +threaten the red-haired boy. The red-haired boy retreated farther and +farther until there was no place left for him to retreat to, and he did +not know where to turn in his fright. +</p> +<p> +“Get out of here! What are you doing here? Get out, I say, you +good-for-nothing! Stealing fruit, are you? Oh, so, stealing fruit! Get +out, you freckle face, go to your likes!” +</p> +<p> +The frightened child, as a last desperate resort, crawled quickly under +the table. His persecutor, completely infuriated, pulled out his large +linen handkerchief and used it as a lash to drive the boy out of his +position. +</p> +<p> +Here I must remark that Julian Mastakovich was a somewhat corpulent man, +heavy, well-fed, puffy-cheeked, with a paunch and ankles as round as nuts. +He perspired and puffed and panted. So strong was his dislike (or was it +jealousy?) of the child that he actually began to carry on like a madman. +</p> +<p> +I laughed heartily. Julian Mastakovich turned. He was utterly confused and +for a moment, apparently, quite oblivious of his immense importance. At +that moment our host appeared in the doorway opposite. The boy crawled out +from under the table and wiped his knees and elbows. Julian Mastakovich +hastened to carry his handkerchief, which he had been dangling by the +corner, to his nose. Our host looked at the three of us rather +suspiciously. But, like a man who knows the world and can readily adjust +himself, he seized upon the opportunity to lay hold of his very valuable +guest and get what he wanted out of him. +</p> +<p> +“Here’s the boy I was talking to you about,” he said, +indicating the red-haired child. “I took the liberty of presuming on +your goodness in his behalf.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh,” replied Julian Mastakovich, still not quite master of +himself. +</p> +<p> +“He’s my governess’s son,” our host continued in a +beseeching tone. “She’s a poor creature, the widow of an +honest official. That’s why, if it were possible for you—” +</p> +<p> +“Impossible, impossible!” Julian Mastakovich cried hastily. +“You must excuse me, Philip Alexeyevich, I really cannot. I’ve +made inquiries. There are no vacancies, and there is a waiting list of ten +who have a greater right—I’m sorry.” +</p> +<p> +“Too bad,” said our host. “He’s a quiet, +unobtrusive child.” +</p> +<p> +“A very naughty little rascal, I should say,” said Julian +Mastakovich, wryly. “Go away, boy. Why are you here still? Be off +with you to the other children.” +</p> +<p> +Unable to control himself, he gave me a sidelong glance. Nor could I +control myself. I laughed straight in his face. He turned away and asked +our host, in tones quite audible to me, who that odd young fellow was. +They whispered to each other and left the room, disregarding me. +</p> +<p> +I shook with laughter. Then I, too, went to the drawing-room. There the +great man, already surrounded by the fathers and mothers and the host and +the hostess, had begun to talk eagerly with a lady to whom he had just +been introduced. The lady held the rich little girl’s hand. Julian +Mastakovich went into fulsome praise of her. He waxed ecstatic over the +dear child’s beauty, her talents, her grace, her excellent breeding, +plainly laying himself out to flatter the mother, who listened scarcely +able to restrain tears of joy, while the father showed his delight by a +gratified smile. +</p> +<p> +The joy was contagious. Everybody shared in it. Even the children were +obliged to stop playing so as not to disturb the conversation. The +atmosphere was surcharged with awe. I heard the mother of the important +little girl, touched to her profoundest depths, ask Julian Mastakovich in +the choicest language of courtesy, whether he would honour them by coming +to see them. I heard Julian Mastakovich accept the invitation with +unfeigned enthusiasm. Then the guests scattered decorously to different +parts of the room, and I heard them, with veneration in their tones, extol +the business man, the business man’s wife, the business man’s +daughter, and, especially, Julian Mastakovich. +</p> +<p> +“Is he married?” I asked out loud of an acquaintance of mine +standing beside Julian Mastakovich. +</p> +<p> +Julian Mastakovich gave me a venomous look. +</p> +<p> +“No,” answered my acquaintance, profoundly shocked by my—intentional—indiscretion. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<p> +Not long ago I passed the Church of——. I was struck by the +concourse of people gathered there to witness a wedding. It was a dreary +day. A drizzling rain was beginning to come down. I made my way through +the throng into the church. The bridegroom was a round, well-fed, +pot-bellied little man, very much dressed up. He ran and fussed about and +gave orders and arranged things. Finally word was passed that the bride +was coming. I pushed through the crowd, and I beheld a marvellous beauty +whose first spring was scarcely commencing. But the beauty was pale and +sad. She looked distracted. It seemed to me even that her eyes were red +from recent weeping. The classic severity of every line of her face +imparted a peculiar significance and solemnity to her beauty. But through +that severity and solemnity, through the sadness, shone the innocence of a +child. There was something inexpressibly naïve, unsettled and young in her +features, which, without words, seemed to plead for mercy. +</p> +<p> +They said she was just sixteen years old. I looked at the bridegroom +carefully. Suddenly I recognised Julian Mastakovich, whom I had not seen +again in all those five years. Then I looked at the bride again.—Good +God! I made my way, as quickly as I could, out of the church. I heard +gossiping in the crowd about the bride’s wealth—about her +dowry of five hundred thousand rubles—so and so much for pocket +money. +</p> +<p> +“Then his calculations were correct,” I thought, as I pressed +out into the street. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +GOD SEES THE TRUTH, BUT WAITS +</h2> +<h3> +BY LEO N. TOLSTOY +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>n the town of Vladimir lived a young merchant named Ivan Dmitrich +Aksionov. He had two shops and a house of his own. +</p> +<p> +Aksionov was a handsome, fair-haired, curly-headed fellow, full of fun, +and very fond of singing. When quite a young man he had been given to +drink, and was riotous when he had had too much; but after he married he +gave up drinking, except now and then. +</p> +<p> +One summer Aksionov was going to the Nizhny Fair, and as he bade good-bye +to his family, his wife said to him, “Ivan Dmitrich, do not start +to-day; I have had a bad dream about you.” +</p> +<p> +Aksionov laughed, and said, “You are afraid that when I get to the +fair I shall go on a spree.” +</p> +<p> +His wife replied: “I do not know what I am afraid of; all I know is +that I had a bad dream. I dreamt you returned from the town, and when you +took off your cap I saw that your hair was quite grey.” +</p> +<p> +Aksionov laughed. “That’s a lucky sign,” said he. +“See if I don’t sell out all my goods, and bring you some +presents from the fair.” +</p> +<p> +So he said good-bye to his family, and drove away. +</p> +<p> +When he had travelled half-way, he met a merchant whom he knew, and they +put up at the same inn for the night. They had some tea together, and then +went to bed in adjoining rooms. +</p> +<p> +It was not Aksionov’s habit to sleep late, and, wishing to travel +while it was still cool, he aroused his driver before dawn, and told him +to put in the horses. +</p> +<p> +Then he made his way across to the landlord of the inn (who lived in a +cottage at the back), paid his bill, and continued his journey. +</p> +<p> +When he had gone about twenty-five miles, he stopped for the horses to be +fed. Aksionov rested awhile in the passage of the inn, then he stepped out +into the porch, and, ordering a samovar to be heated, got out his guitar +and began to play. +</p> +<p> +Suddenly a troika drove up with tinkling bells and an official alighted, +followed by two soldiers. He came to Aksionov and began to question him, +asking him who he was and whence he came. Aksionov answered him fully, and +said, “Won’t you have some tea with me?” But the +official went on cross-questioning him and asking him. “Where did +you spend last night? Were you alone, or with a fellow-merchant? Did you +see the other merchant this morning? Why did you leave the inn before +dawn?” +</p> +<p> +Aksionov wondered why he was asked all these questions, but he described +all that had happened, and then added, “Why do you cross-question me +as if I were a thief or a robber? I am travelling on business of my own, +and there is no need to question me.” +</p> +<p> +Then the official, calling the soldiers, said, “I am the +police-officer of this district, and I question you because the merchant +with whom you spent last night has been found with his throat cut. We must +search your things.” +</p> +<p> +They entered the house. The soldiers and the police-officer unstrapped +Aksionov’s luggage and searched it. Suddenly the officer drew a +knife out of a bag, crying, “Whose knife is this?” +</p> +<p> +Aksionov looked, and seeing a blood-stained knife taken from his bag, he +was frightened. +</p> +<p> +“How is it there is blood on this knife?” +</p> +<p> +Aksionov tried to answer, but could hardly utter a word, and only +stammered: “I—don’t know—not mine.” Then the +police-officer said: “This morning the merchant was found in bed +with his throat cut. You are the only person who could have done it. The +house was locked from inside, and no one else was there. Here is this +blood-stained knife in your bag and your face and manner betray you! Tell +me how you killed him, and how much money you stole?” +</p> +<p> +Aksionov swore he had not done it; that he had not seen the merchant after +they had had tea together; that he had no money except eight thousand +rubles of his own, and that the knife was not his. But his voice was +broken, his face pale, and he trembled with fear as though he went guilty. +</p> +<p> +The police-officer ordered the soldiers to bind Aksionov and to put him in +the cart. As they tied his feet together and flung him into the cart, +Aksionov crossed himself and wept. His money and goods were taken from +him, and he was sent to the nearest town and imprisoned there. Enquiries +as to his character were made in Vladimir. The merchants and other +inhabitants of that town said that in former days he used to drink and +waste his time, but that he was a good man. Then the trial came on: he was +charged with murdering a merchant from Ryazan, and robbing him of twenty +thousand rubles. +</p> +<p> +His wife was in despair, and did not know what to believe. Her children +were all quite small; one was a baby at her breast. Taking them all with +her, she went to the town where her husband was in jail. At first she was +not allowed to see him; but after much begging, she obtained permission +from the officials, and was taken to him. When she saw her husband in +prison-dress and in chains, shut up with thieves and criminals, she fell +down, and did not come to her senses for a long time. Then she drew her +children to her, and sat down near him. She told him of things at home, +and asked about what had happened to him. He told her all, and she asked, +“What can we do now?” +</p> +<p> +“We must petition the Czar not to let an innocent man perish.” +</p> +<p> +His wife told him that she had sent a petition to the Czar, but it had not +been accepted. +</p> +<p> +Aksionov did not reply, but only looked downcast. +</p> +<p> +Then his wife said, “It was not for nothing I dreamt your hair had +turned grey. You remember? You should not have started that day.” +And passing her fingers through his hair, she said: “Vanya dearest, +tell your wife the truth; was it not you who did it?” +</p> +<p> +“So you, too, suspect me!” said Aksionov, and, hiding his face +in his hands, he began to weep. Then a soldier came to say that the wife +and children must go away; and Aksionov said good-bye to his family for +the last time. +</p> +<p> +When they were gone, Aksionov recalled what had been said, and when he +remembered that his wife also had suspected him, he said to himself, +“It seems that only God can know the truth; it is to Him alone we +must appeal, and from Him alone expect mercy.” +</p> +<p> +And Aksionov wrote no more petitions; gave up all hope, and only prayed to +God. +</p> +<p> +Aksionov was condemned to be flogged and sent to the mines. So he was +flogged with a knot, and when the wounds made by the knot were healed, he +was driven to Siberia with other convicts. +</p> +<p> +For twenty-six years Aksionov lived as a convict in Siberia. His hair +turned white as snow, and his beard grew long, thin, and grey. All his +mirth went; he stooped; he walked slowly, spoke little, and never laughed, +but he often prayed. +</p> +<p> +In prison Aksionov learnt to make boots, and earned a little money, with +which he bought <i>The Lives of the Saints</i>. He read this book when +there was light enough in the prison; and on Sundays in the prison-church +he read the lessons and sang in the choir; for his voice was still good. +</p> +<p> +The prison authorities liked Aksionov for his meekness, and his +fellow-prisoners respected him: they called him “Grandfather,” +and “The Saint.” When they wanted to petition the prison +authorities about anything, they always made Aksionov their spokesman, and +when there were quarrels among the prisoners they came to him to put +things right, and to judge the matter. +</p> +<p> +No news reached Aksionov from his home, and he did not even know if his +wife and children were still alive. +</p> +<p> +One day a fresh gang of convicts came to the prison. In the evening the +old prisoners collected round the new ones and asked them what towns or +villages they came from, and what they were sentenced for. Among the rest +Aksionov sat down near the newcomers, and listened with downcast air to +what was said. +</p> +<p> +One of the new convicts, a tall, strong man of sixty, with a +closely-cropped grey beard, was telling the others what he had been +arrested for. +</p> +<p> +“Well, friends,” he said, “I only took a horse that was +tied to a sledge, and I was arrested and accused of stealing. I said I had +only taken it to get home quicker, and had then let it go; besides, the +driver was a personal friend of mine. So I said, ‘It’s all +right.’ ‘No,’ said they, ‘you stole it.’ But how +or where I stole it they could not say. I once really did something wrong, +and ought by rights to have come here long ago, but that time I was not +found out. Now I have been sent here for nothing at all... Eh, but it’s +lies I’m telling you; I’ve been to Siberia before, but I did +not stay long.” +</p> +<p> +“Where are you from?” asked some one. +</p> +<p> +“From Vladimir. My family are of that town. My name is Makar, and +they also call me Semyonich.” +</p> +<p> +Aksionov raised his head and said: “Tell me, Semyonich, do you know +anything of the merchants Aksionov of Vladimir? Are they still alive?” +</p> +<p> +“Know them? Of course I do. The Aksionovs are rich, though their +father is in Siberia: a sinner like ourselves, it seems! As for you, Gran’dad, +how did you come here?” +</p> +<p> +Aksionov did not like to speak of his misfortune. He only sighed, and +said, “For my sins I have been in prison these twenty-six years.” +</p> +<p> +“What sins?” asked Makar Semyonich. +</p> +<p> +But Aksionov only said, “Well, well—I must have deserved it!” +He would have said no more, but his companions told the newcomers how +Aksionov came to be in Siberia; how some one had killed a merchant, and +had put the knife among Aksionov’s things, and Aksionov had been +unjustly condemned. +</p> +<p> +When Makar Semyonich heard this, he looked at Aksionov, slapped his <i>own</i> +knee, and exclaimed, “Well, this is wonderful! Really wonderful! But +how old you’ve grown, Gran’dad!” +</p> +<p> +The others asked him why he was so surprised, and where he had seen +Aksionov before; but Makar Semyonich did not reply. He only said: “It’s +wonderful that we should meet here, lads!” +</p> +<p> +These words made Aksionov wonder whether this man knew who had killed the +merchant; so he said, “Perhaps, Semyonich, you have heard of that +affair, or maybe you’ve seen me before?” +</p> +<p> +“How could I help hearing? The world’s full of rumours. But it’s +a long time ago, and I’ve forgotten what I heard.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps you heard who killed the merchant?” asked Aksionov. +</p> +<p> +Makar Semyonich laughed, and replied: “It must have been him in +whose bag the knife was found! If some one else hid the knife there, +‘He’s not a thief till he’s caught,’ as the saying +is. How could any one put a knife into your bag while it was under your +head? It would surely have woke you up.” +</p> +<p> +When Aksionov heard these words, he felt sure this was the man who had +killed the merchant. He rose and went away. All that night Aksionov lay +awake. He felt terribly unhappy, and all sorts of images rose in his mind. +There was the image of his wife as she was when he parted from her to go +to the fair. He saw her as if she were present; her face and her eyes rose +before him; he heard her speak and laugh. Then he saw his children, quite +little, as they were at that time: one with a little cloak on, another at +his mother’s breast. And then he remembered himself as he used to +be-young and merry. He remembered how he sat playing the guitar in the +porch of the inn where he was arrested, and how free from care he had +been. He saw, in his mind, the place where he was flogged, the +executioner, and the people standing around; the chains, the convicts, all +the twenty-six years of his prison life, and his premature old age. The +thought of it all made him so wretched that he was ready to kill himself. +</p> +<p> +“And it’s all that villain’s doing!” thought +Aksionov. And his anger was so great against Makar Semyonich that he +longed for vengeance, even if he himself should perish for it. He kept +repeating prayers all night, but could get no peace. During the day he did +not go near Makar Semyonich, nor even look at him. +</p> +<p> +A fortnight passed in this way. Aksionov could not sleep at night, and was +so miserable that he did not know what to do. +</p> +<p> +One night as he was walking about the prison he noticed some earth that +came rolling out from under one of the shelves on which the prisoners +slept. He stopped to see what it was. Suddenly Makar Semyonich crept out +from under the shelf, and looked up at Aksionov with frightened face. +Aksionov tried to pass without looking at him, but Makar seized his hand +and told him that he had dug a hole under the wall, getting rid of the +earth by putting it into his high-boots, and emptying it out every day on +the road when the prisoners were driven to their work. +</p> +<p> +“Just you keep quiet, old man, and you shall get out too. If you +blab, they’ll flog the life out of me, but I will kill you first.” +</p> +<p> +Aksionov trembled with anger as he looked at his enemy. He drew his hand +away, saying, “I have no wish to escape, and you have no need to +kill me; you killed me long ago! As to telling of you—I may do so or +not, as God shall direct.” +</p> +<p> +Next day, when the convicts were led out to work, the convoy soldiers +noticed that one or other of the prisoners emptied some earth out of his +boots. The prison was searched and the tunnel found. The Governor came and +questioned all the prisoners to find out who had dug the hole. They all +denied any knowledge of it. Those who knew would not betray Makar +Semyonich, knowing he would be flogged almost to death. At last the +Governor turned to Aksionov whom he knew to be a just man, and said: +</p> +<p> +“You are a truthful old man; tell me, before God, who dug the hole?” +</p> +<p> +Makar Semyonich stood as if he were quite unconcerned, looking at the +Governor and not so much as glancing at Aksionov. Aksionov’s lips +and hands trembled, and for a long time he could not utter a word. He +thought, “Why should I screen him who ruined my life? Let him pay +for what I have suffered. But if I tell, they will probably flog the life +out of him, and maybe I suspect him wrongly. And, after all, what good +would it be to me?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, old man,” repeated the Governor, “tell me the +truth: who has been digging under the wall?” +</p> +<p> +Aksionov glanced at Makar Semyonich, and said, “I cannot say, your +honour. It is not God’s will that I should tell! Do what you like +with me; I am in your hands.” +</p> +<p> +However much the Governor tried, Aksionov would say no more, and so the +matter had to be left. +</p> +<p> +That night, when Aksionov was lying on his bed and just beginning to doze, +some one came quietly and sat down on his bed. He peered through the +darkness and recognised Makar. +</p> +<p> +“What more do you want of me?” asked Aksionov. “Why have +you come here?” +</p> +<p> +Makar Semyonich was silent. So Aksionov sat up and said, “What do +you want? Go away, or I will call the guard!” +</p> +<p> +Makar Semyonich bent close over Aksionov, and whispered, “Ivan +Dmitrich, forgive me!” +</p> +<p> +“What for?” asked Aksionov. +</p> +<p> +“It was I who killed the merchant and hid the knife among your +things. I meant to kill you too, but I heard a noise outside, so I hid the +knife in your bag and escaped out of the window.” +</p> +<p> +Aksionov was silent, and did not know what to say. Makar Semyonich slid +off the bed-shelf and knelt upon the ground. “Ivan Dmitrich,” +said he, “forgive me! For the love of God, forgive me! I will +confess that it was I who killed the merchant, and you will be released +and can go to your home.” +</p> +<p> +“It is easy for you to talk,” said Aksionov, “but I have +suffered for you these twenty-six years. Where could I go to now?... My +wife is dead, and my children have forgotten me. I have nowhere to go...” +</p> +<p> +Makar Semyonich did not rise, but beat his head on the floor. “Ivan +Dmitrich, forgive me!” he cried. “When they flogged me with +the knot it was not so hard to bear as it is to see you now ... yet you +had pity on me, and did not tell. For Christ’s sake forgive me, +wretch that I am!” And he began to sob. +</p> +<p> +When Aksionov heard him sobbing he, too, began to weep. “God will +forgive you!” said he. “Maybe I am a hundred times worse than +you.” And at these words his heart grew light, and the longing for +home left him. He no longer had any desire to leave the prison, but only +hoped for his last hour to come. +</p> +<p> +In spite of what Aksionov had said, Makar Semyonich confessed his guilt. +But when the order for his release came, Aksionov was already dead. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +HOW A MUZHIK FED TWO OFFICIALS +</h2> +<p> +BY M.Y. SALTYKOV [<i>N.Shchedrin</i>] +</p> +<p> +Once upon a time there were two Officials. They were both empty-headed, +and so they found themselves one day suddenly transported to an +uninhabited isle, as if on a magic carpet. +</p> +<p> +They had passed their whole life in a Government Department, where records +were kept; had been born there, bred there, grown old there, and +consequently hadn’t the least understanding for anything outside of +the Department; and the only words they knew were: “With assurances +of the highest esteem, I am your humble servant.” +</p> +<p> +But the Department was abolished, and as the services of the two Officials +were no longer needed, they were given their freedom. So the retired +Officials migrated to Podyacheskaya Street in St. Petersburg. Each had his +own home, his own cook and his pension. +</p> +<p> +Waking up on the uninhabited isle, they found themselves lying under the +same cover. At first, of course, they couldn’t understand what had +happened to them, and they spoke as if nothing extraordinary had taken +place. +</p> +<p> +“What a peculiar dream I had last night, your Excellency,” +said the one Official. “It seemed to me as if I were on an +uninhabited isle.” +</p> +<p> +Scarcely had he uttered the words, when he jumped to his feet. The other +Official also jumped up. +</p> +<p> +“Good Lord, what does this mean! Where are we?” they cried out +in astonishment. +</p> +<p> +They felt each other to make sure that they were no longer dreaming, and +finally convinced themselves of the sad reality. +</p> +<p> +Before them stretched the ocean, and behind them was a little spot of +earth, beyond which the ocean stretched again. They began to cry—the +first time since their Department had been shut down. +</p> +<p> +They looked at each other, and each noticed that the other was clad in +nothing but his night shirt with his order hanging about his neck. +</p> +<p> +“We really should be having our coffee now,” observed the one +Official. Then he bethought himself again of the strange situation he was +in and a second time fell to weeping. +</p> +<p> +“What are we going to do now?” he sobbed. “Even +supposing we were to draw up a report, what good would that do?” +</p> +<p> +“You know what, your Excellency,” replied the other Official, +“you go to the east and I will go to the west. Toward evening we +will come back here again and, perhaps, we shall have found something.” +</p> +<p> +They started to ascertain which was the east and which was the west. They +recalled that the head of their Department had once said to them, “If +you want to know where the east is, then turn your face to the north, and +the east will be on your right.” But when they tried to find out +which was the north, they turned to the right and to the left and looked +around on all sides. Having spent their whole life in the Department of +Records, their efforts were all in vain. +</p> +<p> +“To my mind, your Excellency, the best thing to do would be for you +to go to the right and me to go to the left,” said one Official, who +had served not only in the Department of Records, but had also been +teacher of handwriting in the School for Reserves, and so was a little bit +cleverer. +</p> +<p> +So said, so done. The one Official went to the right. He came upon trees, +bearing all sorts of fruits. Gladly would he have plucked an apple, but +they all hung so high that he would have been obliged to climb up. He +tried to climb up in vain. All he succeeded in doing was tearing his night +shirt. Then he struck upon a brook. It was swarming with fish. +</p> +<p> +“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we had all this fish in +Podyacheskaya Street!” he thought, and his mouth watered. Then he +entered woods and found partridges, grouse and hares. +</p> +<p> +“Good Lord, what an abundance of food!” he cried. His hunger +was going up tremendously. +</p> +<p> +But he had to return to the appointed spot with empty hands. He found the +other Official waiting for him. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Your Excellency, how went it? Did you find anything?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing but an old number of the <i>Moscow Gazette</i>, not another +thing.” +</p> +<p> +The Officials lay down to sleep again, but their empty stomachs gave them +no rest They were partly robbed of their sleep by the thought of who was +now enjoying their pension, and partly by the recollection of the fruit, +fishes, partridges, grouse and hares that they had seen during the day. +</p> +<p> +“The human pabulum in its original form flies, swims and grows on +trees. Who would have thought it your Excellency?” said the one +Official. +</p> +<p> +“To be sure,” rejoined the other Official. “I, too, must +admit that I had imagined that our breakfast rolls, came into the world +just as they appear on the table.” +</p> +<p> +“From which it is to be deduced that if we want to eat a pheasant, +we must catch it first, kill it, pull its feathers and roast it. But how’s +that to be done?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, how’s that to be done?” repeated the other +Official. +</p> +<p> +They turned silent and tried again to fall asleep, but their hunger scared +sleep away. Before their eyes swarmed flocks of pheasants and ducks, herds +of porklings, and they were all so juicy, done so tenderly and garnished +so deliciously with olives, capers and pickles. +</p> +<p> +“I believe I could devour my own boots now,” said the one +Official. +</p> +<p> +“Gloves, are not bad either, especially if they have been born quite +mellow,” said the other Official. +</p> +<p> +The two Officials stared at each other fixedly. In their glances gleamed +an evil-boding fire, their teeth chattered and a dull groaning issued from +their breasts. Slowly they crept upon each other and suddenly they burst +into a fearful frenzy. There was a yelling and groaning, the rags flew +about, and the Official who had been teacher of handwriting bit off his +colleague’s order and swallowed it. However, the sight of blood +brought them both back to their senses. +</p> +<p> +“God help us!” they cried at the same time. “We +certainly don’t mean to eat each other up. How could we have come to +such a pass as this? What evil genius is making sport of us?” +</p> +<p> +“We must, by all means, entertain each other to pass the time away, +otherwise there will be murder and death,” said the one Official. +</p> +<p> +“You begin,” said the other. +</p> +<p> +“Can you explain why it is that the sun first rises and then sets? +Why isn’t it the reverse?” +</p> +<p> +“Aren’t you a funny man, your Excellency? You get up first, +then you go to your office and work there, and at night you lie down to +sleep.” +</p> +<p> +“But why can’t one assume the opposite, that is, that one goes +to bed, sees all sorts of dream figures, and then gets up?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, yes, certainly. But when I was still an Official, I always +thought this way: ‘Now it is dawn, then it will be day, then will +come supper, and finally will come the time to go to bed.’” +</p> +<p> +The word “supper” recalled that incident in the day’s +doings, and the thought of it made both Officials melancholy, so that the +conversation came to a halt. +</p> +<p> +“A doctor once told me that human beings can sustain themselves for +a long time on their own juices,” the one Official began again. +</p> +<p> +“What does that mean?” +</p> +<p> +“It is quite simple. You see, one’s own juices generate other +juices, and these in their turn still other juices, and so it goes on +until finally all the juices are consumed.” +</p> +<p> +“And then what happens?” +</p> +<p> +“Then food has to be taken into the system again.” +</p> +<p> +“The devil!” +</p> +<p> +No matter what topic the Officials chose, the conversation invariably +reverted to the subject of eating; which only increased their appetite +more and more. So they decided to give up talking altogether, and, +recollecting the <i>Moscow Gazette</i> that the one of them had found, +they picked it up and began to read eagerly. +</p> +<h3> +BANQUET GIVEN BY THE MAYOR +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">"T</span>he table was set for one hundred persons. The magnificence of it +exceeded all expectations. The remotest provinces were represented at this +feast of the gods by the costliest gifts. The golden sturgeon from Sheksna +and the silver pheasant from the Caucasian woods held a rendezvous with +strawberries so seldom to be had in our latitude in winter...” +</p> +<p> +“The devil! For God’s sake, stop reading, your Excellency. +Couldn’t you find something else to read about?” cried the +other Official in sheer desperation. He snatched the paper from his +colleague’s hands, and started to read something else. +</p> +<p> +“Our correspondent in Tula informs us that yesterday a sturgeon was +found in the Upa (an event which even the oldest inhabitants cannot +recall, and all the more remarkable since they recognised the former +police captain in this sturgeon). This was made the occasion for giving a +banquet in the club. The prime cause of the banquet was served in a large +wooden platter garnished with vinegar pickles. A bunch of parsley stuck +out of its mouth. Doctor P—— who acted as toast-master saw to +it that everybody present got a piece of the sturgeon. The sauces to go +with it were unusually varied and delicate—” +</p> +<p> +“Permit me, your Excellency, it seems to me you are not so careful +either in the selection of reading matter,” interrupted the first +Official, who secured the <i>Gazette</i> again and started to read: +</p> +<p> +“One of the oldest inhabitants of Viatka has discovered a new and +highly original recipe for fish soup; A live codfish (<i>lota vulgaris</i>) +is taken and beaten with a rod until its liver swells up with anger...” +</p> +<p> +The Officials’ heads drooped. Whatever their eyes fell upon had +something to do with eating. Even their own thoughts were fatal. No matter +how much they tried to keep their minds off beefsteak and the like, it was +all in vain; their fancy returned invariably, with irresistible force, +back to that for which they were so painfully yearning. +</p> +<p> +Suddenly an inspiration came to the Official who had once taught +handwriting. +</p> +<p> +“I have it!” he cried delightedly. “What do you say to +this, your Excellency? What do you say to our finding a muzhik?” +</p> +<p> +“A muzhik, your Excellency? What sort of a muzhik?” +</p> +<p> +“Why a plain ordinary muzhik. A muzhik like all other muzhiks. He +would get the breakfast rolls for us right away, and he could also catch +partridges and fish for us.” +</p> +<p> +“Hm, a muzhik. But where are we to fetch one from, if there is no +muzhik here?” +</p> +<p> +“Why shouldn’t there be a muzhik here? There are muzhiks +everywhere. All one has to do is hunt for them. There certainly must be a +muzhik hiding here somewhere so as to get out of working.” +</p> +<p> +This thought so cheered the Officials that they instantly jumped up to go +in search of a muzhik. +</p> +<p> +For a long while they wandered about on the island without the desired +result, until finally a concentrated smell of black bread and old sheep +skin assailed their nostrils and guided them in the right direction. There +under a tree was a colossal muzhik lying fast asleep with his hands under +his head. It was clear that to escape his duty to work he had impudently +withdrawn to this island. The indignation of the Officials knew no bounds. +</p> +<p> +“What, lying asleep here you lazy-bones you!” they raged at +him, “It is nothing to you that there are two Officials here who are +fairly perishing of hunger. Up, forward, march, work.” +</p> +<p> +The Muzhik rose and looked at the two severe gentlemen standing in front +of him. His first thought was to make his escape, but the Officials held +him fast. +</p> +<p> +He had to submit to his fate. He had to work. +</p> +<p> +First he climbed up on a tree and plucked several dozen of the finest +apples for the Officials. He kept a rotten one for himself. Then he turned +up the earth and dug out some potatoes. Next he started a fire with two +bits of wood that he rubbed against each other. Out of his own hair he +made a snare and caught partridges. Over the fire, by this time burning +brightly, he cooked so many kinds of food that the question arose in the +Officials’ minds whether they shouldn’t give some to this +idler. +</p> +<p> +Beholding the efforts of the Muzhik, they rejoiced in their hearts. They +had already forgotten how the day before they had nearly been perishing of +hunger, and all they thought of now was: “What a good thing it is to +be an Official. Nothing bad can ever happen to an Official.” +</p> +<p> +“Are you satisfied, gentlemen?” the lazy Muzhik asked. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, we appreciate your industry,” replied the Officials. +</p> +<p> +“Then you will permit me to rest a little?” +</p> +<p> +“Go take a little rest, but first make a good strong cord.” +</p> +<p> +The Muzhik gathered wild hemp stalks, laid them in water, beat them and +broke them, and toward evening a good stout cord was ready. The Officials +took the cord and bound the Muzhik to a tree, so that he should not run +away. Then they laid themselves to sleep. +</p> +<p> +Thus day after day passed, and the Muzhik became so skilful that he could +actually cook soup for the Officials in his bare hands. The Officials had +become round and well-fed and happy. It rejoiced them that here they needn’t +spend any money and that in the meanwhile their pensions were accumulating +in St. Petersburg. +</p> +<p> +“What is your opinion, your Excellency,” one said to the other +after breakfast one day, “is the Story of the Tower of Babel true? +Don’t you think it is simply an allegory?” +</p> +<p> +“By no means, your Excellency, I think it was something that really +happened. What other explanation is there for the existence of so many +different languages on earth?” +</p> +<p> +“Then the Flood must really have taken place, too?” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly, else; how would you explain the existence of +Antediluvian animals? Besides, the <i>Moscow Gazette</i> says——” +</p> +<p> +They made search for the old number of the <i>Moscow Gazette</i>, seated +themselves in the shade, and read the whole sheet from beginning to end. +They read of festivities in Moscow, Tula, Penza and Riazan, and strangely +enough felt no discomfort at the description of the delicacies served. +</p> +<p> +There is no saying how long this life might have lasted. Finally, however, +it began to bore the Officials. They often thought of their cooks in St. +Petersburg, and even shed a few tears in secret. +</p> +<p> +“I wonder how it looks in Podyacheskaya Street now, your Excellency,” +one of them said to the other. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, don’t remind me of it, your Excellency. I am pining away +with homesickness.” +</p> +<p> +“It is very nice here. There is really no fault to be found with +this place, but the lamb longs for its mother sheep. And it is a pity, +too, for the beautiful uniforms.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, indeed, a uniform of the fourth class is no joke. The gold +embroidery alone is enough to make one dizzy.” +</p> +<p> +Now they began to importune the Muzhik to find some way of getting them +back to Podyacheskaya Street, and strange to say, the Muzhik even knew +where Podyacheskaya Street was. He had once drunk beer and mead there, and +as the saying goes, everything had run down his beard, alas, but nothing +into his mouth. The Officials rejoiced and said: “We are Officials +from Podyacheskaya Street.” +</p> +<p> +“And I am one of those men—do you remember?—who sit on a +scaffolding hung by ropes from the roofs and paint the outside walls. I am +one of those who crawl about on the roofs like flies. That is what I am,” +replied the Muzhik. +</p> +<p> +The Muzhik now pondered long and heavily on how to give great pleasure to +his Officials, who had been so gracious to him, the lazy-bones, and had +not scorned his work. And he actually succeeded in constructing a ship. It +was not really a ship, but still it was a vessel, that would carry them +across the ocean close to Podyacheskaya Street. +</p> +<p> +“Now, take care, you dog, that you don’t drown us,” said +the Officials, when they saw the raft rising and falling on the waves. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be afraid. We muzhiks are used to this,” said the +Muzhik, making all the preparations for the journey. He gathered swan’s-down +and made a couch for his two Officials, then he crossed himself and rowed +off from shore. +</p> +<p> +How frightened the Officials were on the way, how seasick they were during +the storms, how they scolded the coarse Muzhik for his idleness, can +neither be told nor described. The Muzhik, however, just kept rowing on +and fed his Officials on herring. At last, they caught sight of dear old +Mother Neva. Soon they were in the glorious Catherine Canal, and then, oh +joy! they struck the grand Podyacheskaya Street. When the cooks saw their +Officials so well-fed, round and so happy, they rejoiced immensely. The +Officials drank coffee and rolls, then put on their uniforms and drove to +the Pension Bureau. How much money they collected there is another thing +that can neither be told nor described. Nor was the Muzhik forgotten. The +Officials sent a glass of whiskey out to him and five kopeks. Now, Muzhik, +rejoice. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +THE SHADES, A PHANTASY +</h2> +<h3> +BY VLADIMIR G. KORLENKO +</h3> +<h3> +I +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> month and two days had elapsed since the judges, amid the loud acclaim +of the Athenian people, had pronounced the death sentence against the +philosopher Socrates because he had sought to destroy faith in the gods. +What the gadfly is to the horse Socrates was to Athens. The gadfly stings +the horse in order to prevent it from dozing off and to keep it moving +briskly on its course. The philosopher said to the people of Athens: +</p> +<p> +“I am your gadfly. My sting pricks your conscience and arouses you +when you are caught napping. Sleep not, sleep not, people of Athens; awake +and seek the truth!” +</p> +<p> +The people arose in their exasperation and cruelly demanded to be rid of +their gadfly. +</p> +<p> +“Perchance both of his accusers, Meletus and Anytus, are wrong,” +said the citizens, on leaving the court after sentence had been +pronounced. +</p> +<p> +“But after all whither do his doctrines tend? What would he do? He +has wrought confusion, he overthrows beliefs that have existed since the +beginning, he speaks of new virtues which must be recognised and sought +for, he speaks of a Divinity hitherto unknown to us. The blasphemer, he +deems himself wiser than the gods! No, ‘twere better we remain true +to the old gods whom we know. They may not always be just, sometimes they +may flare up in unjust wrath, and they may also be seized with a wanton +lust for the wives of mortals; but did not our ancestors live with them in +the peace of their souls, did not our forefathers accomplish their heroic +deeds with the help of these very gods? And now the faces of the Olympians +have paled and the old virtue is out of joint. What does it all lead to? +Should not an end be put to this impious wisdom once for all?” +</p> +<p> +Thus the citizens of Athens spoke to one another as they left the place, +and the blue twilight was falling. They had determined to kill the +restless gadfly in the hope that the countenances of the gods would shine +again. And yet—before their souls arose the mild figure of the +singular philosopher. There were some citizens who recalled how +courageously he had shared their troubles and dangers at Potidæa; how he +alone had prevented them from committing the sin of unjustly executing the +generals after the victory over the Arginusæe; how he alone had dared to +raise his voice against the tyrants who had had fifteen hundred people put +to death, speaking to the people on the market-place concerning shepherds +and their sheep. +</p> +<p> +“Is not he a good shepherd,” he asked, “who guards his +flock and watches over its increase? Or is it the work of the good +shepherd to reduce the number of his sheep and disperse them, and of the +good ruler to do the same with his people? Men of Athens, let us +investigate this question!” +</p> +<p> +And at this question of the solitary, undefended philosopher, the faces of +the tyrants paled, while the eyes of the youths kindled with the fire of +just wrath and indignation. +</p> +<p> +Thus, when on dispersing after the sentence the Athenians recalled all +these things of Socrates, their hearts were oppressed with heavy doubt. +</p> +<p> +“Have we not done a cruel wrong to the son of Sophroniscus?” +</p> +<p> +But then the good Athenians looked upon the harbour and the sea, and in +the red glow of the dying day they saw the purple sails of the +sharp-keeled ship, sent to the Delian festival, shimmering in the distance +on the blue Pontus. The ship would not return until the expiration of a +month, and the Athenians recollected that during this time no blood might +be shed in Athens, whether the blood of the innocent or the guilty. A +month, moreover, has many days and still more hours. Supposing the son of +Sophroniscus had been unjustly condemned, who would hinder his escaping +from the prison, especially since he had numerous friends to help him? Was +it so difficult for the rich Plato, for Æschines and others to bribe the +guards? Then the restless gadfly would flee from Athens to the barbarians +in Thessaly, or to the Peloponnesus, or, still farther, to Egypt; Athens +would no longer hear his blasphemous speeches; his death would not weigh +upon the conscience of the worthy citizens, and so everything would end +for the best of all. +</p> +<p> +Thus said many to themselves that evening, while aloud they praised the +wisdom of the demos and the heliasts. In secret, however, they cherished +the hope that the restless philosopher would leave Athens, fly from the +hemlock to the barbarians, and so free the Athenians of his troublesome +presence and of the pangs of consciences that smote them for inflicting +death upon an innocent man. +</p> +<p> +Two and thirty times since that evening had the sun risen from the ocean +and dipped down into it again. The ship had returned from Delos and lay in +the harbour with sadly drooping sails, as if ashamed of its native city. +The moon did not shine in the heavens, the sea heaved under a heavy fog, +and on the hills lights peered through the obscurity like the eyes of men +gripped by a sense of guilt. +</p> +<p> +The stubborn Socrates did not spare the conscience of the good Athenians. +</p> +<p> +“We part! You go home and I go to death,” he said to the +judges after the sentence had been pronounced. “I know not, my +friends, which of us chooses the better lot!” +</p> +<p> +As the time had approached for the return of the ship, many of the +citizens had begun to feel uneasy. Must that obstinate fellow really die? +And they began to appeal to the consciences of Æschines, Phædo, and other +pupils of Socrates, trying to urge them on to further efforts for their +master. +</p> +<p> +“Will you permit your teacher to die?” they asked +reproachfully in biting tones. “Or do you grudge the few coins it +would take to bribe the guard?” +</p> +<p> +In vain Crito besought Socrates to take to flight, and complained that the +public, was upbraiding his disciples with lack of friendship and with +avarice. The self-willed philosopher refused to gratify his pupils or the +good people of Athens. +</p> +<p> +“Let us investigate.” he said. “If it turns out that I +must flee, I will flee; but if I must die, I will die. Let us remember +what we once said—the wise man need not fear death, he need fear +nothing but falsehood. Is it right to abide by the laws we ourselves have +made so long as they are agreeable to us, and refuse to obey those which +are disagreeable? If my memory does not deceive me I believe we once spoke +of these things, did we not?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, we did,” answered his pupil. +</p> +<p> +“And I think all were agreed as to the answer?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“But perhaps what is true for others is not true for us?” +</p> +<p> +“No, truth is alike for all, including ourselves.” +</p> +<p> +“But perhaps when <i>we</i> must die and not some one else, truth +becomes untruth?” +</p> +<p> +“No, Socrates, truth remains the truth under all circumstances.” +</p> +<p> +After his pupil had thus agreed to each premise of Socrates in turn, he +smiled and drew his conclusion. +</p> +<p> +“If that is so, my friend, mustn’t I die? Or has my head +already become so weak that I am no longer in a condition to draw a +logical conclusion? Then correct me, my friend and show my erring brain +the right way.” +</p> +<p> +His pupil covered his face with his mantle and turned aside. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” he said, “now I see you must die.” +</p> +<p> +And on that evening when the sea tossed hither and thither and roared +dully under the load of fog, and the whimsical wind in mournful +astonishment gently stirred the sails of the ships; when the citizens +meeting on the streets asked one another: “Is he dead?” and +their voices timidly betrayed the hope that he was not dead; when the +first breath of awakened conscience, touched the hearts of the Athenians +like the first messenger of the storm; and when, it seemed the very faces +of the gods were darkened with shame—on that evening at the sinking +of the sun the self-willed man drank the cup of death! +</p> +<p> +The wind increased in violence and shrouded the city more closely in the +veil of mist, angrily tugging at the sails of the vessels delayed in the +harbour. And the Erinyes sang their gloomy songs to the hearts of the +citizens and whipped up in their breasts that tempest which was later, to +overwhelm the denouncers of Socrates. +</p> +<p> +But in that hour the first stirrings of regret were still uncertain and +confused. The citizens found more fault with Socrates than ever because he +had not given them the satisfaction of fleeing to Thessaly; they were +annoyed with his pupils because in the last days they had walked about in +sombre mourning attire, a living reproach to the Athenians; they were +vexed with the judges because they had not had the sense and the courage +to resist the blind rage of the excited people; they bore even the gods +resentment. +</p> +<p> +“To you, ye gods, have we brought this sacrifice,” spoke many. +“Rejoice, ye unsatiable!” +</p> +<p> +“I know not which of us chooses the better lot!” +</p> +<p> +Those words of Socrates came back to their memory, those his last words to +the judges and to the people gathered in the court. Now he lay in the +prison quiet and motionless under his cloak, while over the city hovered +mourning, horror, and shame. +</p> +<p> +Again he became the tormentor of the city, he who was himself no longer +accessible to torment. The gadfly had been killed, but it stung the people +more sharply than ever—sleep not, sleep not this night, O men of +Athens! Sleep not! You have committed an injustice, a cruel injustice, +which can never be erased! +</p> +<h3> +II +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>uring those sad days Xenophon, the general, a pupil of Socrates, was +marching with his Ten Thousand in a distant land, amid dangers, seeking a +way of return to his beloved fatherland. +</p> +<p> +Æschines, Crito, Critobulus, Phædo, and Apollodorus were now occupied with +the preparations for the modest funeral. +</p> +<p> +Plato was burning his lamp and bending over a parchment; the best disciple +of the philosopher was busy inscribing the deeds, words, and teachings +that marked the end of the sage’s life. A thought is never lost, and +the truth discovered by a great intellect illumines the way for future +generations like a torch in the dark. +</p> +<p> +There was one other disciple of Socrates. Not long before, the impetuous +Ctesippus had been one of the most frivolous and pleasure-seeking of the +Athenian youths. He had set up beauty as his sole god, and had bowed +before Clinias as its highest exemplar. But since he had become acquainted +with Socrates, all desire for pleasure and all light-mindedness had gone +from him. He looked on indifferently while others took his place with +Clinias. The grace of thought and the harmony of spirit that he found in +Socrates seemed a hundred times more attractive than the graceful form and +the harmonious features of Clinias. With all the intensity of his stormy +temperament he hung on the man who had disturbed the serenity of his +virginal soul, which for the first time opened to doubts as the bud of a +young oak opens to the fresh winds of spring. +</p> +<p> +Now that the master was dead, he could find peace neither at his own +hearth nor in the oppressive stillness of the streets nor among his +friends and fellow-disciples. The gods of hearth and home and the gods of +the people inspired him with repugnance. +</p> +<p> +“I know not,” he said, “whether ye are the best of all +the gods to whom numerous generations have burned incense and brought +offerings; all I know is that for your sake the blind mob extinguished the +clear torch of truth, and for your sake sacrificed the greatest and best +of mortals!” +</p> +<p> +It almost seemed to Ctesippus as though the streets and market-places +still echoed with the shrieking of that unjust sentence. And he remembered +how it was here that the people clamoured for the execution of the +generals who had led them to victory against the Argunisæ, and how +Socrates alone had opposed the savage sentence of the judges and the blind +rage of the mob. But when Socrates himself needed a champion, no one had +been found to defend him with equal strength. Ctesippus blamed himself and +his friends, and for that reason he wanted to avoid everybody—even +himself, if possible. +</p> +<p> +That evening he went to the sea. But his grief grew only the more violent. +It seemed to him that the mourning daughters of Nereus were tossing hither +and thither on the shore bewailing the death of the best of the Athenians +and the folly of the frenzied city. The waves broke on the rocky coast +with a growl of lament. Their booming sounded like a funeral dirge. +</p> +<p> +He turned away, left the shore, and went on further without looking before +him. He forgot time and space and his own ego, filled only with the +afflicting thought of Socrates! +</p> +<p> +“Yesterday he still was, yesterday his mild words still could be +heard. How is it possible that to-day he no longer is? O night, O giant +mountain shrouded in mist, O heaving sea moved by your own life, O +restless winds that carry the breath of an immeasurable world on your +wings, O starry vault flecked with flying clouds—take me to you, +disclose to me the mystery of this death, if it is revealed to you! And if +ye know not, then grant my ignorant soul your own lofty indifference. +Remove from me these torturing questions. I no longer have strength to +carry them in my bosom without an answer, without even the hope of an +answer. For who shall answer them, now that the lips of Socrates are +sealed in eternal silence, and eternal darkness is laid upon his lids?” +</p> +<p> +Thus Ctesippus cried out to the sea and the mountains, and to the dark +night, which followed its invariable course, ceaselessly, invisibly, over +the slumbering world. Many hours passed before Ctesippus glanced up and +saw whither his steps had unconsciously led him. A dark horror seized his +soul as he looked about him. +</p> +<h3> +III +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t seemed as if the unknown gods of eternal night had heard his impious +prayer. Ctesippus looked about, without being able to recognise the place +where he was. The lights of the city had long been extinguished by the +darkness. The roaring of the sea had died away in the distance; his +anxious soul had even lost the recollection of having heard it. No single +sound—no mournful cry of nocturnal bird, nor whirr of wings, nor +rustling of trees, nor murmur of a merry stream—broke the deep +silence. Only the blind will-o’-the-wisps flickered here and there +over rocks, and sheet-lightning, unaccompanied by any sound, flared up and +died down against crag-peaks. This brief illumination merely emphasised +the darkness; and the dead light disclosed the outlines of dead deserts +crossed by gorges like crawling serpents, and rising into rocky heights in +a wild chaos. +</p> +<p> +All the joyous gods that haunt green groves, purling brooks, and mountain +valleys seemed to have fled forever from these deserts. Pan alone, the +great and mysterious Pan, was hiding somewhere nearby in the chaos of +nature, and with mocking glance seemed to be pursuing the tiny ant that a +short time before had blasphemously asked to know the secret of the world +and of death. Dark, senseless horror overwhelmed the soul of Ctesippus. It +is thus that the sea in stormy floodtide overwhelms a rock on the shore. +</p> +<p> +Was it a dream, was it reality, or was it the revelation of the unknown +divinity? Ctesippus felt that in an instant he would step across the +threshold of life, and that his soul would melt into an ocean of unending, +inconceivable horror like a drop of rain in the waves of the grey sea on a +dark and stormy night. But at this moment he suddenly heard voices that +seemed familiar to him, and in the glare of the sheet-lightning his eyes +recognised human figures. +</p> +<h3> +IV +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>n a rocky slope sat a man in deep despair. He had thrown a cloak over +his head and was bowed to the ground. Another figure approached him +softly, cautiously climbing upward and carefully feeling every step. The +first man uncovered his face and exclaimed: +</p> +<p> +“Is that you I just now saw, my good Socrates? Is that you passing +by me in this cheerless place? I have already spent many hours here +without knowing when day will relieve the night. I have been waiting in +vain for the dawn.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I am Socrates, my friend, and you, are you not Elpidias who +died three days before me?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I am Elpidias, formerly the richest tanner in Athens, now the +most miserable of slaves. For the first time I understand the words of the +poet: ‘Better to be a slave in this world than a ruler in gloomy +Hades.’” +</p> +<p> +“My friend, if it is disagreeable for you where you are, why don’t +you move to another spot?” +</p> +<p> +“O Socrates, I marvel at you—how dare you wander about in this +cheerless gloom? I—I sit here overcome with grief and bemoan the +joys of a fleeting life.” +</p> +<p> +“Friend Elpidias, like you, I, too, was plunged in this gloom when +the light of earthly life was removed from my eyes. But an inner voice +told me: ‘Tread this new path without hesitation’, and I went.” +</p> +<p> +“But whither do you go, O son of Sophroniscus? Here there is no way, +no path, not even a ray of light; nothing but a chaos of rocks, mist, and +gloom.” +</p> +<p> +“True. But, my Elpidias, since you are aware of this sad truth, have +you not asked yourself what is the most distressing thing in your present +situation?” +</p> +<p> +“Undoubtedly the dismal darkness.” +</p> +<p> +“Then one should seek for light. Perchance you will find here the +great law—that mortals must in darkness seek the source of life. Do +you not think it is better so to seek than to remain sitting in one spot? +<i>I</i> think it is, therefore I keep walking. Farewell!” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, good Socrates, abandon me not! You go with sure steps through +the pathless chaos in Hades. Hold out to me but a fold of your mantle—” +</p> +<p> +“If you think it is better for you, too, then follow me, friend +Elpidias.” +</p> +<p> +And the two shades walked on, while the soul of Ctesippus, released by +sleep from its mortal envelop, flew after them, greedily absorbing the +tones of the clear Socratic speech. +</p> +<p> +“Are you here, good Socrates?” the voice of the Athenian again +was heard. “Why are you silent? Converse shortens the way, and I +swear, by Hercules, never did I have to traverse such a horrid way.” +</p> +<p> +“Put questions, friend Elpidias! The question of one who seeks +knowledge brings forth answers and produces conversation.” +</p> +<p> +Elpidias maintained silence for a moment, and then, after he had collected +his thoughts, asked: +</p> +<p> +“Yes, this is what I wanted to say—tell me, my poor Socrates, +did they at least give you a good burial?” +</p> +<p> +“I must confess, friend Elpidias, I cannot satisfy your curiosity.” +</p> +<p> +“I understand, my poor Socrates, it doesn’t help you cut a +figure. Now with me it was so different! Oh, how they buried me, how +magnificently they buried me, my poor fellow-Wanderer! I still think with +great pleasure of those lovely moments after my death. First they washed +me and sprinkled me with well-smelling balsam. Then my faithful Larissa +dressed me in garments of the finest weave. The best mourning-women of the +city tore their hair from their heads because they had been promised good +pay, and in the family vault they placed an amphora—a crater with +beautiful, decorated handles of bronze, and, besides, a vial.—” +</p> +<p> +“Stay, friend Elpidias. I am convinced that the faithful Larissa +converted her love into several minas. Yet—” +</p> +<p> +“Exactly ten minas and four drachmas, not counting the drinks for +the guests. I hardly think that the richest tanner can come before the +souls of his ancestors and boast of such respect on the part of the +living.” +</p> +<p> +“Friend Elpidias, don’t you think that money would have been +of more use to the poor people who are still alive in Athens than to you +at this moment?” +</p> +<p> +“Admit, Socrates, you are speaking in envy,” responded +Elpidias, pained. “I am sorry for you, unfortunate Socrates, +although, between ourselves, you really deserved your fate. I myself in +the family circle said more than once that an end ought to be put to your +impious doings, because—” +</p> +<p> +“Stay, friend, I thought you wanted to draw a conclusion, and I fear +you are straying from the straight path. Tell me, my good friend, whither +does your wavering thought tend?” +</p> +<p> +“I wanted to say that in my goodness I am sorry for you. A month ago +I myself spoke against you in the assembly, but truly none of us who +shouted so loud wanted such a great ill to befall you. Believe me, now I +am all the sorrier for you, unhappy philosopher!” +</p> +<p> +“I thank you. But tell me, my friend, do you perceive a brightness +before your eyes?” +</p> +<p> +“No, on the contrary such darkness lies before me that I must ask +myself whether this is not the misty region of Orcus.” +</p> +<p> +“This way, therefore, is just as dark for you as for me?” +</p> +<p> +“Quite right.” +</p> +<p> +“If I am not mistaken, you are even holding on to the folds of my +cloak?” +</p> +<p> +“Also true.” +</p> +<p> +“Then we are in the same position? You see your ancestors are not +hastening to rejoice in the tale of your pompous burial. Where is the +difference between us, my good friend?” +</p> +<p> +“But, Socrates, have the gods enveloped your reason in such +obscurity that the difference is not clear to you?” +</p> +<p> +“Friend, if your situation is clearer to you, then give me your hand +and lead me, for I swear, by the dog, you let me go ahead in this +darkness.” +</p> +<p> +“Cease your scoffing, Socrates! Do not make sport, and do not +compare yourself, your godless self, with a man who died in his own bed——“. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, I believe I am beginning to understand you. But tell me, +Elpidias, do you hope ever again to rejoice in your bed?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I think not.” +</p> +<p> +“And was there ever a time when you did not sleep in it?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. That was before I bought goods from Agesilaus at half their +value. You see, that Agesilaus is really a deep-dyed rogue——” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, never mind about Agesilaus! Perhaps he is getting them back, +from your widow at a quarter their value. Then wasn’t I right when I +said that you were in possession of your bed only part of the time?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, you were right.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, and I, too, was in possession of the bed in which I died part +of the time. Proteus, the good guard of the prison, lent it to me for a +period.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, if I had known what you were aiming at with your talk, I wouldn’t +have answered your wily questions. By Hercules, such profanation is +unheard of—he compares himself with me! Why, I could put an end to +you with two words, if it came to it——” +</p> +<p> +“Say them, Elpidias, without fear. Words can scarcely be more +destructive to me than the hemlock.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, then, that is just what I wanted to say. You unfortunate man, +you died by the sentence of the court and had to drink hemlock!” +</p> +<p> +“But I have known that since the day of my death, even long before. +And you, unfortunate Elpidias, tell me what caused your death?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, with me, it was different, entirely different! You see I got +the dropsy in my abdomen. An expensive physician from Corinth was called +who promised to cure me for two minas, and he was given half that amount +in advance. I am afraid that Larissa in her lack of experience in such +things gave him the other half, too——” +</p> +<p> +“Then the physician did not keep his promise?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s it.” +</p> +<p> +“And you died from dropsy?” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, Socrates, believe me, three times it wanted to vanquish me, and +finally it quenched the flame of my life!” +</p> +<p> +“Then tell me—did death by dropsy give you great pleasure?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, wicked Socrates, don’t make sport of me. I told you it +wanted to vanquish me three times. I bellowed like a steer under the knife +of the slaughterer, and begged the Parcæ to cut the thread of my life as +quickly as possible.” +</p> +<p> +“That doesn’t surprise me. But from what do you conclude that +the dropsy was pleasanter to you than the hemlock to me? The hemlock made +an end of me in a moment.” +</p> +<p> +“I see, I fell into your snare again, you crafty sinner! I won’t +enrage the gods still more by speaking with you, you destroyer of sacred +customs.” +</p> +<p> +Both were silent, and quiet reigned. But in a short while Elpidias was +again the first to begin a conversation. +</p> +<p> +“Why are you silent, good Socrates?” +</p> +<p> +“My friend; didn’t you yourself ask for silence?” +</p> +<p> +“I am not proud, and I can treat men who are worse than I am +considerately. Don’t let us quarrel.” +</p> +<p> +“I did not quarrel with you, friend Elpidias, and did not wish to +say anything to insult you. I am merely accustomed to get at the truth of +things by comparisons. My situation is not clear to me. You consider your +situation better, and I should be glad to learn why. On the other hand, it +would not hurt you to learn the truth, whatever shape it may take.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, no more of this.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell me, are you afraid? I don’t think that the feeling I now +have can be called fear.” +</p> +<p> +“I am afraid, although I have less cause than you to be at odds with +the gods. But don’t you think that the gods, in abandoning us to +ourselves here in this chaos, have cheated us of our hopes?” +</p> +<p> +“That depends upon what sort of hopes they were. What did you expect +from the gods, Elpidias?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, well, what did I expect from the gods! What curious questions +you ask, Socrates! If a man throughout life brings offerings, and at his +death passes away with a pious heart and with all that custom demands, the +gods might at least send some one to meet him, at least one of the +inferior gods, to show a man the way. ... But that reminds me. Many a time +when I begged for good luck in traffic in hides, I promised Hermes calves——” +</p> +<p> +“And you didn’t have luck?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, I had luck, good Socrates, but——“. +</p> +<p> +“I understand, you had no calf.” +</p> +<p> +“Bah! Socrates, a rich tanner and not have calves?” +</p> +<p> +“Now I understand. You had luck, had calves, but you kept them for +yourself, and Hermes received nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“You’re a clever man. I’ve often said so. I kept only +three of my ten oaths, and I didn’t deal differently with the other +gods. If the same is the case with you, isn’t that the reason, +possibly, why we are now abandoned by the gods? To be sure, I ordered +Larissa to sacrifice a whole hecatomb after my death.” +</p> +<p> +“But that is Larissa’s affair, whereas it was you, friend +Elpidias, who made the promises.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s true, that’s true. But you, good Socrates, could +you, godless as you are, deal better with the gods than I who was a +god-fearing tanner?” +</p> +<p> +“My friend, I know not whether I dealt better or worse. At first I +brought offerings without having made vows. Later I offered neither calves +nor vows.” +</p> +<p> +“What, not a single calf, you unfortunate man?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, friend, if Hermes had had to live by my gifts, I am afraid he +would have grown very thin.” +</p> +<p> +“I understand. You did not traffic in cattle, so you offered +articles of some other trade—probably a mina or so of what the +pupils paid you.” +</p> +<p> +“You know, my friend, I didn’t ask pay of my pupils, and my +trade scarcely sufficed to support me. If the gods reckoned on the sorry +remnants of my meals they miscalculated.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, blasphemer, in comparison with you I can be proud of my piety. +Ye gods, look upon this man! I did deceive you at times, but now and then +I shared with you the surplus of some fortunate deal. He who gives at all +gives much in comparison with a blasphemer who gives nothing. Socrates, I +think you had better go on alone! I fear that your company, godless one, +damages me in the eyes of the gods.” +</p> +<p> +“As you will, good Elpidias. I swear by the dog no one shall force +his company on another. Unhand the fold of my mantle, and farewell. I will +go on alone.” +</p> +<p> +And Socrates walked forward with a sure tread, feeling the ground, +however, at every step. +</p> +<p> +But Elpidias behind him instantly cried out: +</p> +<p> +“Wait, wait, my good fellow-citizen, do not leave an Athenian alone +in this horrible place! I was only making fun. Take what I said as a joke, +and don’t go so quickly. I marvel how you can see a thing in this +hellish darkness.” +</p> +<p> +“Friend, I have accustomed my eyes to it.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s good. Still I, can’t approve of your not having +brought sacrifices to the gods. No, I can’t, poor Socrates, I can’t. +The honourable Sophroniscus certainly taught you better in your youth, and +you yourself used to take part in the prayers. I saw you.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. But I am accustomed to examine all our motives and to accept +only those that after investigation prove to be reasonable. And so a day +came on which I said to myself: ‘Socrates, here you are praying to +the Olympians. Why are you praying to them?’” +</p> +<p> +Elpidias laughed. +</p> +<p> +“Really you philosophers sometimes don’t know how to answer +the simplest questions. I’m a plain tanner who never in my life +studied sophistry, yet I know why I must honour the Olympians.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell me quickly, so that I, too, may know why.” +</p> +<p> +“Why? Ha! Ha! It’s too simple, you wise Socrates.” +</p> +<p> +“So much the better if it’s simple. But don’t keep your +wisdom from me. Tell me—why must one honour the gods?” +</p> +<p> +“Why. Because everybody does it.” +</p> +<p> +“Friend, you know very well that not every one honours the gods. +Wouldn’t it be more correct to say ‘many’?” +</p> +<p> +“Very well, many.” +</p> +<p> +“But tell me, don’t more men deal wickedly than righteously?” +</p> +<p> +“I think so. You find more wicked people than good people.” +</p> +<p> +“Therefore, if you follow the majority, you ought to deal wickedly +and not righteously?” +</p> +<p> +“What are you saying?” +</p> +<p> +“<i>I’m</i> not saying it, <i>you</i> are. But I think the +reason that men reverence the Olympians is not because the majority +worship them. We must find another, more rational ground. Perhaps you mean +they deserve reverence?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, very right.” +</p> +<p> +“Good. But then arises a new question: Why do they deserve +reverence?” +</p> +<p> +“Because of their greatness.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, that’s more like it. Perhaps I will soon be agreeing with +you. It only remains for you to tell me wherein their greatness consists. +That’s a difficult question, isn’t it? Let us seek the answer +together. Homer says that the impetuous Ares, when stretched flat on the +ground by a stone thrown by Pallas Athene, covered with his body the space +that can be travelled in seven mornings. You see what an enormous space.” +</p> +<p> +“Is that wherein greatness consists?” +</p> +<p> +“There you have me, my friend. That raises another question. Do you +remember the athlete Theophantes? He towered over the people a whole head’s +length, whereas Pericles was no larger than you. But whom do we call +great, Pericles or Theophantes?” +</p> +<p> +“I see that greatness does not consist in size of body. In that you’re +right. I am glad we agree. Perhaps greatness consists in virtue?” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly.” +</p> +<p> +“I think so, too.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, then, who must bow to whom? The small before the large, or +those who are great in virtues before the wicked?” +</p> +<p> +“The answer is clear.” +</p> +<p> +“I think so, too. Now we will look further into this matter. Tell me +truly, did you ever kill other people’s children with arrows?” +</p> +<p> +“It goes without saying, never! Do you think so ill of me?” +</p> +<p> +“Nor have you, I trust, ever seduced the wives of other men?” +</p> +<p> +“I was an upright tanner and a good husband. Don’t forget +that, Socrates, I beg of you!” +</p> +<p> +“You never became a brute, nor by your lustfulness gave your +faithful Larissa occasion to revenge herself on women whom you had ruined +and on their innocent children?” +</p> +<p> +“You anger me, really, Socrates.” +</p> +<p> +“But perhaps you snatched your inheritance from your father and +threw him into prison?” +</p> +<p> +“Never! Why these insulting questions?” +</p> +<p> +“Wait, my friend. Perhaps we will both reach a conclusion. Tell me, +would you have considered a man great who had done all these things of +which I have spoken?” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, no! I should have called such a man a scoundrel, and lodged +public complaint against him with the judges in the market-place.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, Elpidias, why did you not complain in the market-place +against Zeus and the Olympians? The son of Cronos carried on war with his +own father, and was seized with brutal lust for the daughters of men, +while Hera took vengeance upon innocent virgins. Did not both of them +convert the unhappy daughter of Inachos into a common cow? Did not Apollo +kill all the children of Niobe with his arrows? Did not Callenius steal +bulls? Well, then, Elpidias, if it is true that he who has less virtue +must do honour to him who has more, then you should not build altars to +the Olympians, but they to you.” +</p> +<p> +“Blaspheme not, impious Socrates! Keep quiet! How dare you judge the +acts of the gods?” +</p> +<p> +“Friend, a higher power has judged them. Let us investigate the +question. What is the mark of divinity? I think you said, Greatness, which +consists in virtue. Now is not this greatness the one divine spark in man? +But if we test the greatness of the gods by our small human virtues, and +it turns out that that which measures is greater than that which is +measured, then it follows that the divine principle itself condemns the +Olympians. But, then—” +</p> +<p> +“What, then?” +</p> +<p> +“Then, friend Elpidias, they are no gods, but deceptive phantoms, +creations of a dream. Is it not so?” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, that’s whither your talk leads, you bare-footed +philosopher! Now I see what they said of you is true. You are like that +fish that takes men captive with its look. So you took me captive in order +to confound my believing soul and awaken doubt in it. It was already +beginning to waver in its reverence for Zeus. Speak alone. I won’t +answer any more.” +</p> +<p> +“Be not wrathful, Elpidias! I don’t wish to inflict any evil +upon you. But if you are tired of following my arguments to their logical +conclusions, permit me to relate to you an allegory of a Milesian youth. +Allegories rest the mind, and the relaxation is not unprofitable.” +</p> +<p> +“Speak, if your story is not too long and its purpose is good.” +</p> +<p> +“Its purpose is truth, friend Elpidias, and I will be brief. Once, +you know, in ancient times, Miletus was exposed to the attacks of the +barbarians. Among the youth who were seized was a son of the wisest and +best of all the citizens in the land. His precious child was overtaken by +a severe illness and became unconscious. He was abandoned and allowed to +lie like worthless booty. In the dead of night he came to his senses. High +above him glimmered the stars. Round about stretched the desert; and in +the distance he heard the howl of beasts of prey. He was alone. +</p> +<p> +“He was entirely alone, and, besides that, the gods had taken from +him the recollection of his former life. In vain he racked his brain—it +was as dark and empty as the inhospitable desert in which he found +himself. But somewhere, far away, behind the misty and obscure figures +conjured up by his reason, loomed the thought of his lost home, and a +vague realisation of the figure of the best of all men; and in his heart +resounded the word ‘father.’ Doesn’t it seem to you that +the fate of this youth resembles the fate of all humanity?” +</p> +<p> +“How so?” +</p> +<p> +“Do we not all awake to life on earth with a hazy recollection of +another home? And does not the figure of the great unknown hover before +our souls?” +</p> +<p> +“Continue, Socrates, I am listening.” +</p> +<p> +“The youth revived, arose, and walked cautiously, seeking to avoid +all dangers. When after long wanderings his strength was nearly gone, he +discerned a fire in the misty distance which illumined the darkness and +banished the cold. A faint hope crept into his weary soul, and the +recollections of his father’s house again awoke within him. The +youth walked toward the light, and cried: ‘It is you, my father, it +is you!’ +</p> +<p> +“And was it his father’s house?” +</p> +<p> +“No, it was merely a night lodging of wild nomads. So for many years +he led the miserable life of a captive slave, and only in his dreams saw +the distant home and rested on his father’s bosom. Sometimes with +weak hand he endeavoured to lure from dead clay or wood or stone the face +and form that ever hovered before him. There even came moments when he +grew weary and embraced his own handiwork and prayed to it and wet it with +his tears. But the stone remained cold stone. And as he waxed in years the +youth destroyed his creations, which already seemed to him a vile +defamation of his ever-present dreams. At last fate brought him to a good +barbarian, who asked him for the cause of his constant mourning. When the +youth, confided to him the hopes and longings of his soul, the barbarian, +a wise man, said: +</p> +<p> +“‘The world would be better did such a man and such a country +exist as that of which you speak. But by what mark would you recognise +your father?’ +</p> +<p> +“‘In my country,’ answered the youth, ‘they +reverenced wisdom and virtue and looked up to my father as to the master.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘Well and good,’ answered the barbarian. ‘I must +assume that a kernel of your father’s teaching resides in you. +Therefore take up the wanderer’s staff, and proceed on your way. +Seek perfect wisdom and truth, and when you have found them, cast aside +your staff—there will be your home and your father.’ +</p> +<p> +“And the youth went on his way at break of day—” +</p> +<p> +“Did he find the one whom he sought?” +</p> +<p> +“He is still seeking. Many countries, cities and men has he seen. He +has come to know all the ways by land; he has traversed the stormy seas; +he has searched the courses of the stars in heaven by which a pilgrim can +direct his course in the limitless deserts. And each time that on his +wearisome way an inviting fire lighted up the darkness before his eyes, +his heart beat faster and hope crept into his soul. ‘That is my father’s +hospitable house,’ he thought. +</p> +<p> +“And when a hospitable host would greet the tired traveller and +offer him the peace and blessing of his hearth, the youth would fall at +his feet and say with emotion: ‘I thank you, my father! Do you not +recognise your son?’ +</p> +<p> +“And many were prepared to take him as their son, for at that time +children were frequently kidnapped. But after the first glow of +enthusiasm, the youth would detect traces of imperfection, sometimes even +of wickedness. Then he would begin to investigate and to test his host +with questions concerning justice and injustice. And soon he would be +driven forth again upon the cold wearisome way. More than once he said to +himself: ‘I will remain at this last hearth, I will preserve my last +belief. It shall be the home of my father.’” +</p> +<p> +“Do you know, Socrates, perhaps that would have been the most +sensible thing to do.” +</p> +<p> +“So he thought sometimes. But the habit of investigating, the +confused dream of a father, gave him no peace. Again and again he shook +the dust from his feet; again and again he grasped his staff. Not a few +stormy nights found him shelterless. Doesn’t it seem to you that the +fate of this youth resembles the fate of mankind?” +</p> +<p> +“Why?” +</p> +<p> +“Does not the race of man make trial of its childish belief and +doubt it while seeking the unknown? Doesn’t it fashion the form of +its father in wood, stone, custom, and tradition? And then man finds the +form imperfect, destroys it, and again goes on his wanderings in the +desert of doubt. Always for the purpose of seeking something better—” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, you cunning sage, now I understand the purpose of your +allegory! And I will tell you to your face that if only a ray of light +were to penetrate this gloom, I would not put the Lord on trial with +unnecessary questions—” +</p> +<p> +“Friend, the light is already shining,” answered Socrates. +</p> +<h3> +V +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t seemed as if the words of the philosopher had taken effect. High up in +the distance a beam of light penetrated a vapoury envelop and disappeared +in the mountains. It was followed by a second and a third. There beyond +the darkness luminous genii seemed to be hovering, and a great mystery +seemed about to be revealed, as if the breath of life were blowing, as if +some great ceremony were in process. But it was still very remote. The +shades descended thicker and thicker; foggy clouds rolled into masses, +separated, and chased one another endlessly, ceaselessly. +</p> +<p> +A blue light from a distant peak fell upon a deep ravine; the clouds rose +and covered the heavens to the zenith. +</p> +<p> +The rays disappeared and withdrew to a greater and greater distance, as if +fleeing from this vale of shades and horrors. Socrates stood and looked +after them sadly. Elpidias peered up at the peak full of dread. +</p> +<p> +“Look, Socrates! What do you see there on the mountain?” +</p> +<p> +“Friend,” answered; the philosopher, “let us investigate +our situation. Since we are in motion, we must arrive somewhere, and since +earthly existence must have a limit, I believe that this limit is to be +found at the parting of two beginnings. In the struggle of light with +darkness we attain the crown of our endeavours. Since the ability to think +has not been taken from us, I believe that it is the will of the divine +being who called our power of thinking into existence that we should +investigate the goal of our endeavours ourselves. Therefore, Elpidias, let +us in dignified manner go to meet the dawn that lies beyond those clouds.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, my friend! If that is the dawn, I would rather the long +cheerless night had endured forever, for it was quiet and peaceful. Don’t +you think our time passed tolerably well in instructive converse? And now +my soul trembles before the tempest drawing nigh. Say what you will, but +there before us are no ordinary shades of the dead night.” +</p> +<p> +Zeus hurled a bolt into the bottomless gulf. +</p> +<p> +Ctesippus looked up to the peak, and his soul was frozen with horror. Huge +sombre figures of the Olympian gods crowded on the mountain in a circle. A +last ray shot through the region of clouds and mists, and died away like a +faint memory. A storm was approaching now, and the powers of night were +once more in the ascendant. Dark figures covered the heavens. In the +centre Ctesippus could discern the all-powerful son of Cronos surrounded +by a halo. The sombre figures of the older gods encircled him in wrathful +excitement. Like flocks of birds winging their way in the twilight, like +eddies of dust driven by a hurricane, like autumn leaves lashed by Boreas, +numerous minor gods hovered in long clouds and occupied the spaces. +</p> +<p> +When the clouds gradually lifted from the peak and sent down dismal horror +to embrace the earth, Ctesippus fell upon his knees. Later, he admitted +that in this dreadful moment he forgot all his master’s deductions +and conclusions. His courage failed him; and terror took possession of his +soul. +</p> +<p> +He merely listened. +</p> +<p> +Two voices resounded there where before had been silence, the one the +mighty and threatening voice of the Godhead, the other the weak voice of a +mortal which the wind carried from the mountain slope to the spot where +Ctesippus had left Socrates. +</p> +<p> +“Are you,” thus spake the voice from the clouds, “are +you the blasphemous Socrates who strives with the gods of heaven and +earth? Once there were none so joyous, so immortal, as we. Now, for long +we have passed our days in darkness because of the unbelief and doubt that +have come upon earth. Never has the mist closed in on us so heavily as +since the time your voice resounded in Athens, the city we once so dearly +loved. Why did you not follow the commands of your father, Sophroniscus? +The good man permitted himself a few little sins, especially in his youth, +yet by way of recompense, we frequently enjoyed the smell of his offerings—” +</p> +<p> +“Stay, son of Cronos, and solve my doubts! Do I understand that you +prefer cowardly hypocrisy to searchings for the truth?” +</p> +<p> +At this question the crags trembled with the shock of a thundering peal. +The first breath of the tempest scattered in the distant gorges. But the +mountains still trembled, for he who was enthroned upon them still +trembled. And in the anxious quiet of the night only distant sighs could +be heard. +</p> +<p> +In the very bowels of the earth the chained Titans seemed to be groaning +under the blow of the son of Cronos. +</p> +<p> +“Where are you now, you impious questioner?” suddenly came the +mocking voice of the Olympian. +</p> +<p> +“I am here, son of Cronos, on the same spot. Nothing but your answer +can move me from it. I am waiting.” +</p> +<p> +Thunder bellowed in the clouds like a wild animal amazed at the daring of +a Lybian tamer’s fearless approach. At the end of a few moments the +Voice again rolled over the spaces: +</p> +<p> +“Son of Sophroniscus! Is it not enough that you bred so much +scepticism on earth that the clouds of your doubt reached even to Olympus? +Indeed, many a time when you were carrying on your discourse in the +market-places or in the academies or on the promenades, it seemed to me as +if you had already destroyed all the altars on earth, and the dust were +rising from them up to us here on the mountain. Even that is not enough! +Here before my very face you will not recognise the power of the immortals—” +</p> +<p> +“Zeus, thou art wrathful. Tell me, who gave me the ‘Daemon’ +which spoke to my soul throughout my life and forced me to seek the truth +without resting?” +</p> +<p> +Mysterious silence reigned in the clouds. +</p> +<p> +“Was it not you? You are silent? Then I will investigate the matter. +Either this divine beginning emanates from you or from some one else. If +from you, I bring it to you as an offering. I offer you the ripe fruit of +my life, the flame of the spark of your own kindling! See, son of Cronos, +I preserved my gift; in my deepest heart grew the seed that you sowed. It +is the very fire of my soul. It burned in those crises when with my own +hand I tore the thread of life. Why will you not accept it? Would you have +me regard you as a poor master whose age prevents him from seeing that his +own pupil obediently follows out his commands? Who are you that would +command me to stifle the flame that has illuminated my whole life, ever +since it was penetrated by the first ray of sacred thought? The sun says +not to the stars: ‘Be extinguished that I may rise.’ The sun +rises and the weak glimmer of the stars is quenched by its far, far +stronger light. The day says not to the torch: ‘Be extinguished; you +interfere with me.’ The day breaks, and the torch smokes, but no +longer shines. The divinity that I am questing is not you who are afraid +of doubt. That divinity is like the day, like the sun, and shines without +extinguishing other lights. The god I seek is the god who would say to me: +‘Wanderer, give me your torch, you no longer need it, for I am the +source of all light. Searcher for truth, set upon my altar the little gift +of your doubt, because in me is its solution.’ If you are that god, +harken to my questions. No one kills his own child, and my doubts are a +branch of the eternal spirit whose name is truth.” +</p> +<p> +Round about, the fires of heaven tore the dark clouds, and out of the +howling storm again resounded the powerful voice: +</p> +<p> +“Whither did your doubts tend, you arrogant sage, who renounce +humility, the most beautiful adornment of earthly virtues? You abandoned +the friendly shelter of credulous simplicity to wander in the desert of +doubt. You have seen this dead space from which the living gods have +departed. Will you traverse it, you insignificant worm, who crawl in the +dust of your pitiful profanation of the gods? Will you vivify the world? +Will you conceive the unknown divinity to whom you do not dare to pray? +You miserable digger of dung, soiled by the smut of ruined altars, are you +perchance the architect who shall build the new temple? Upon what do you +base your hopes, you who disavow the old gods and have no new gods to take +their place? The eternal night of doubts unsolved, the dead desert, +deprived of the living spirit—<i>this</i> is your world, you pitiful +worm, who gnawed at the living belief which was a refuge for simple +hearts, who converted the world into a dead chaos. Now, then, where are +you, you insignificant, blasphemous sage?” +</p> +<p> +Nothing was heard but the mighty storm roaring through the spaces. Then +the thunder died away, the wind folded its pinions, and torrents of rain +streamed through the darkness, like incessant floods of tears which +threatened to devour the earth and drown it in a deluge of unquenchable +grief. +</p> +<p> +It seemed to Ctesippus that the master was overcome, and that the +fearless, restless, questioning voice had been silenced forever. But a few +moments later it issued again from the same spot. +</p> +<p> +“Your words, son of Cronos, hit the mark better than your +thunderbolts. The thoughts you have cast into my terrified soul have +haunted me often, and it has sometimes seemed as if my heart would break +under the burden of their unendurable anguish. Yes, I abandoned the +friendly shelter of credulous simplicity. Yes, I have seen the spaces from +which the living gods have departed enveloped in the night of eternal +doubt. But I walked without fear, for my ‘Daemon’ lighted the +way, the divine beginning of all life. Let us investigate the question. +Are not offerings of incense burnt on your altars in the name of Him who +gives life? You are stealing what belongs to another! Not you, but that +other, is served by credulous simplicity. Yes, you are right, I am no +architect. I am not the builder of a new temple. Not to me was it given to +raise from the earth to the heavens the glorious structure of the coming +faith. I am one who digs dung, soiled by the smut of destruction. But my +conscience tells me, son of Cronos, that the work of one who digs dung is +also necessary for the future temple. When the time comes for the proud +and stately edifice to stand on the purified place, and for the living +divinity of the new belief to erect his throne upon it, I, the modest +digger of dung, will go to him and say: ‘Here am I who restlessly +crawled in the dust of disavowal. When surrounded by fog and soot, I had +no time to raise my eyes from the ground; my head had only a vague +conception of the future building. Will you reject me, you just one, Just, +and True, and Great?’” +</p> +<p> +Silence and astonishment reigned in the spaces. Then Socrates raised his +voice, and continued: +</p> +<p> +“The sunbeam falls upon the filthy puddle, and light vapour, leaving +heavy mud behind, rises to the sun, melts, and dissolves in the ether. +With your sunbeam you touched my dust-laden soul and it aspired to you, +Unknown One, whose name is mystery! I sought for you, because you are +Truth; I strove to attain to you, because you are Justice; I loved you, +because you are Love; I died for you, because you are the Source of Life. +Will you reject me, O Unknown? My torturing doubts, my passionate search +for truth, my difficult life, my voluntary death—accept them as a +bloodless offering, as a prayer, as a sigh! Absorb them as the +immeasurable ether absorbs the evaporating mists! Take them, you whose +name I do not know, let not the ghosts of the night I have traversed bar +the way to you, to eternal light! Give way, you shades who dim the light +of the dawn! I tell you, gods of my people, you are unjust, and where +there is no justice there can be no truth, but only phantoms, creations of +a dream. To this conclusion have I come, I, Socrates, who sought to fathom +all things. Rise, dead mists, I go my way to Him whom I have sought all my +life long!” +</p> +<p> +The thunder burst again—a short, abrupt peal, as if the egis had +fallen from the weakened hand of the thunderer. Storm-voices trembled from +the mountains, sounding dully in the gorges, and died away in the clefts. +In their place resounded other, marvellous tones. +</p> +<p> +When Ctesippus looked up in astonishment, a spectacle presented itself +such as no mortal eyes had ever seen. +</p> +<p> +The night vanished. The clouds lifted, and godly figures floated in the +azure like golden ornaments on the hem of a festive robe. Heroic forms +glimmered over the remote crags and ravines, and Elpidias, whose little +figure was seen standing at the edge of a cleft in the rocks, stretched +his hands toward them, as if beseeching the vanishing gods for a solution +of his fate. +</p> +<p> +A mountain-peak now stood out clearly above the mysterious mist, gleaming +like a torch over dark blue valleys. The son of Cronos, the thunderer, was +no longer enthroned upon it, and the other Olympians too were gone. +</p> +<p> +Socrates stood alone in the light of the sun under the high heavens. +</p> +<p> +Ctesippus was distinctly conscious of the pulse-beat of a mysterious life +quivering throughout nature, stirring even the tiniest blade of grass. +</p> +<p> +A breath seemed to be stirring the balmy air, a voice to be sounding in +wonderful harmony, an invisible tread to be heard—the tread of the +radiant Dawn! +</p> +<p> +And on the illumined peak a man still stood, stretching out his arms in +mute ecstasy, moved by a mighty impulse. +</p> +<p> +A moment, and all disappeared, and the light of an ordinary day shone upon +the awakened soul of Ctesippus. It was like dismal twilight after the +revelation of nature that had blown upon him the breath of an unknown +life. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<p> +In deep silence the pupils of the philosopher listened to the marvellous +recital of Ctesippus. Plato broke the silence. +</p> +<p> +“Let us investigate the dream and its significance,” he said. +</p> +<p> +“Let us investigate it,” responded the others. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +THE SIGNAL +</h2> +<h3> +BY VSEVOLOD M. GARSHIN. +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>emyon Ivanov was a track-walker. His hut was ten versts away from a +railroad station in one direction and twelve versts away in the other. +About four versts away there was a cotton mill that had opened the year +before, and its tall chimney rose up darkly from behind the forest. The +only dwellings around were the distant huts of the other track-walkers. +</p> +<p> +Semyon Ivanov’s health had been completely shattered. Nine years +before he had served right through the war as servant to an officer. The +sun had roasted him, the cold frozen him, and hunger famished him on the +forced marches of forty and fifty versts a day in the heat and the cold +and the rain and the shine. The bullets had whizzed about him, but, thank +God! none had struck him. +</p> +<p> +Semyon’s regiment had once been on the firing line. For a whole week +there had been skirmishing with the Turks, only a deep ravine separating +the two hostile armies; and from morn till eve there had been a steady +cross-fire. Thrice daily Semyon carried a steaming samovar and his officer’s +meals from the camp kitchen to the ravine. The bullets hummed about him +and rattled viciously against the rocks. Semyon was terrified and cried +sometimes, but still he kept right on. The officers were pleased with him, +because he always had hot tea ready for them. +</p> +<p> +He returned from the campaign with limbs unbroken but crippled with +rheumatism. He had experienced no little sorrow since then. He arrived +home to find that his father, an old man, and his little four-year-old son +had died. Semyon remained alone with his wife. They could not do much. It +was difficult to plough with rheumatic arms and legs. They could no longer +stay in their village, so they started off to seek their fortune in new +places. They stayed for a short time on the line, in Kherson and +Donshchina, but nowhere found luck. Then the wife went out to service, and +Semyon continued to travel about. Once he happened to ride on an engine, +and at one of the stations the face of the station-master seemed familiar +to him. Semyon looked at the station-master and the station-master looked +at Semyon, and they recognised each other. He had been an officer in +Semyon’s regiment. +</p> +<p> +“You are Ivanov?” he said. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, your Excellency.” +</p> +<p> +“How do you come to be here?” +</p> +<p> +Semyon told him all. +</p> +<p> +“Where are you off to?” +</p> +<p> +“I cannot tell you, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Idiot! What do you mean by ‘cannot tell you?’” +</p> +<p> +“I mean what I say, your Excellency. There is nowhere for me to go +to. I must hunt for work, sir.” +</p> +<p> +The station-master looked at him, thought a bit, and said: “See +here, friend, stay here a while at the station. You are married, I think. +Where is your wife?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, your Excellency, I am married. My wife is at Kursk, in service +with a merchant.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, write to your wife to come here. I will give you a free pass +for her. There is a position as track-walker open. I will speak to the +Chief on your behalf.” +</p> +<p> +“I shall be very grateful to you, your Excellency,” replied +Semyon. +</p> +<p> +He stayed at the station, helped in the kitchen, cut firewood, kept the +yard clean, and swept the platform. In a fortnight’s time his wife +arrived, and Semyon went on a hand-trolley to his hut. The hut was a new +one and warm, with as much wood as he wanted. There was a little vegetable +garden, the legacy of former track-walkers, and there was about half a +dessiatin of ploughed land on either side of the railway embankment. +Semyon was rejoiced. He began to think of doing some farming, of +purchasing a cow and a horse. +</p> +<p> +He was given all necessary stores—a green flag, a red flag, +lanterns, a horn, hammer, screw-wrench for the nuts, a crow-bar, spade, +broom, bolts, and nails; they gave him two books of regulations and a +time-table of the train. At first Semyon could not sleep at night, and +learnt the whole time-table by heart. Two hours before a train was due he +would go over his section, sit on the bench at his hut, and look and +listen whether the rails were trembling or the rumble of the train could +be heard. He even learned the regulations by heart, although he could only +read by spelling out each word. +</p> +<p> +It was summer; the work was not heavy; there was no snow to clear away, +and the trains on that line were infrequent. Semyon used to go over his +verst twice a day, examine and screw up nuts here and there, keep the bed +level, look at the water-pipes, and then go home to his own affairs. There +was only one drawback—he always had to get the inspector’s +permission for the least little thing he wanted to do. Semyon and his wife +were even beginning to be bored. +</p> +<p> +Two months passed, and Semyon commenced to make the acquaintance of his +neighbours, the track-walkers on either side of him. One was a very old +man, whom the authorities were always meaning to relieve. He scarcely +moved out of his hut. His wife used to do all his work. The other +track-walker, nearer the station, was a young man, thin, but muscular. He +and Semyon met for the first time on the line midway between the huts. +Semyon took off his hat and bowed. “Good health to you, neighbour,” +he said. +</p> +<p> +The neighbour glanced askance at him. “How do you do?” he +replied; then turned around and made off. +</p> +<p> +Later the wives met. Semyon’s wife passed the time of day with her +neighbour, but neither did she say much. +</p> +<p> +On one occasion Semyon said to her: “Young woman, your husband is +not very talkative.” +</p> +<p> +The woman said nothing at first, then replied: “But what is there +for him to talk about? Every one has his own business. Go your way, and +God be with you.” +</p> +<p> +However, after another month or so they became acquainted. Semyon would go +with Vasily along the line, sit on the edge of a pipe, smoke, and talk of +life. Vasily, for the most part, kept silent, but Semyon talked of his +village, and of the campaign through which he had passed. +</p> +<p> +“I have had no little sorrow in my day,” he would say; “and +goodness knows I have not lived long. God has not given me happiness, but +what He may give, so will it be. That’s so, friend Vasily Stepanych.” +</p> +<p> +Vasily Stepanych knocked the ashes out of his pipe against a rail, stood +up, and said: “It is not luck which follows us in life, but human +beings. There is no crueller beast on this earth than man. Wolf does not +eat wolf, but man will readily devour man.” +</p> +<p> +“Come, friend, don’t say that; a wolf eats wolf.” +</p> +<p> +“The words came into my mind and I said it. All the same, there is +nothing crueller than man. If it were not for his wickedness and greed, it +would be possible to live. Everybody tries to sting you to the quick, to +bite and eat you up.” +</p> +<p> +Semyon pondered a bit. “I don’t know, brother,” he said; +“perhaps it is as you say, and perhaps it is God’s will.” +</p> +<p> +“And perhaps,” said Vasily, “it is waste of time for me +to talk to you. To put everything unpleasant on God, and sit and suffer, +means, brother, being not a man but an animal. That’s what I have to +say.” And he turned and went off without saying good-bye. +</p> +<p> +Semyon also got up. “Neighbour,” he called, “why do you +lose your temper?” But his neighbour did not look round, and kept on +his way. +</p> +<p> +Semyon gazed after him until he was lost to sight in the cutting at the +turn. He went home and said to his wife: “Arina, our neighbour is a +wicked person, not a man.” +</p> +<p> +However, they did not quarrel. They met again and discussed the same +topics. +</p> +<p> +“All, mend, if it were not for men we should not be poking in these +huts,” said Vasily, on one occasion. +</p> +<p> +“And what if we are poking in these huts? It’s not so bad. You +can live in them.” +</p> +<p> +“Live in them, indeed! Bah, you!... You have lived long and learned +little, looked at much and seen little. What sort of life is there for a +poor man in a hut here or there? The cannibals are devouring you. They are +sucking up all your life-blood, and when you become old, they will throw +you out just as they do husks to feed the pigs on. What pay do you get?” +</p> +<p> +“Not much, Vasily Stepanych—twelve rubles.” +</p> +<p> +“And I, thirteen and a half rubles. Why? By the regulations the +company should give us fifteen rubles a month with firing and lighting. +Who decides that you should have twelve rubles, or I thirteen and a half? +Ask yourself! And you say a man can live on that? You understand it is not +a question of one and a half rubles or three rubles—even if they +paid us each the whole fifteen rubles. I was at the station last month. +The director passed through. I saw him. I had that honour. He had a +separate coach. He came out and stood on the platform... I shall not stay +here long; I shall go somewhere, anywhere, follow my nose.” +</p> +<p> +“But where will you go, Stepanych? Leave well enough alone. Here you +have a house, warmth, a little piece of land. Your wife is a worker.” +</p> +<p> +“Land! You should look at my piece of land. Not a twig on it—nothing. +I planted some cabbages in the spring, just when the inspector came along. +He said: ‘What is this? Why have you not reported this? Why have you +done this without permission? Dig them up, roots and all.’ He was +drunk. Another time he would not have said a word, but this time it struck +him. Three rubles fine!...” +</p> +<p> +Vasily kept silent for a while, pulling at his pipe, then added quietly: +“A little more and I should have done for him.” +</p> +<p> +“You are hot-tempered.” +</p> +<p> +“No, I am not hot-tempered, but I tell the truth and think. Yes, he +will still get a bloody nose from me. I will complain to the Chief. We +will see then!” And Vasily did complain to the Chief. +</p> +<p> +Once the Chief came to inspect the line. Three days later important +personages were coming from St. Petersburg and would pass over the line. +They were conducting an inquiry, so that previous to their journey it was +necessary to put everything in order. Ballast was laid down, the bed was +levelled, the sleepers carefully examined, spikes driven in a bit, nuts +screwed up, posts painted, and orders given for yellow sand to be +sprinkled at the level crossings. The woman at the neighbouring hut turned +her old man out to weed. Semyon worked for a whole week. He put everything +in order, mended his kaftan, cleaned and polished his brass plate until it +fairly shone. Vasily also worked hard. The Chief arrived on a trolley, +four men working the handles and the levers making the six wheels hum. The +trolley travelled at twenty versts an hour, but the wheels squeaked. It +reached Semyon’s hut, and he ran out and reported in soldierly +fashion. All appeared to be in repair. +</p> +<p> +“Have you been here long?” inquired the Chief. +</p> +<p> +“Since the second of May, your Excellency.” +</p> +<p> +“All right. Thank you. And who is at hut No. 164?” +</p> +<p> +The traffic inspector (he was travelling with the Chief on the trolley) +replied: “Vasily Spiridov.” +</p> +<p> +“Spiridov, Spiridov... Ah! is he the man against whom you made a +note last year?” +</p> +<p> +“He is.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, we will see Vasily Spiridov. Go on!” The workmen laid +to the handles, and the trolley got under way. Semyon watched it, and +thought, “There will be trouble between them and my neighbour.” +</p> +<p> +About two hours later he started on his round. He saw some one coming +along the line from the cutting. Something white showed on his head. +Semyon began to look more attentively. It was Vasily. He had a stick in +his hand, a small bundle on his shoulder, and his cheek was bound up in a +handkerchief. +</p> +<p> +“Where are you off to?” cried Semyon. +</p> +<p> +Vasily came quite close. He was very pale, white as chalk, and his eyes +had a wild look. Almost choking, he muttered: “To town—to +Moscow—to the head office.” +</p> +<p> +“Head office? Ah, you are going to complain, I suppose. Give it up! +Vasily Stepanych, forget it.” +</p> +<p> +“No, mate, I will not forget. It is too late. See! He struck me in +the face, drew blood. So long as I live I will not forget. I will not +leave it like this!” +</p> +<p> +Semyon took his hand. “Give it up, Stepanych. I am giving you good +advice. You will not better things...” +</p> +<p> +“Better things! I know myself I shan’t better things. You were +right about Fate. It would be better for me not to do it, but one must +stand up for the right.” +</p> +<p> +“But tell me, how did it happen?” +</p> +<p> +“How? He examined everything, got down from the trolley, looked into +the hut. I knew beforehand that he would be strict, and so I had put +everything into proper order. He was just going when I made my complaint. +He immediately cried out: ‘Here is a Government inquiry coming, and +you make a complaint about a vegetable garden. Here are privy councillors +coming, and you annoy me with cabbages!’ I lost patience and said +something—not very much, but it offended him, and he struck me in +the face. I stood still; I did nothing, just as if what he did was +perfectly all right. They went off; I came to myself, washed my face, and +left.” +</p> +<p> +“And what about the hut?” +</p> +<p> +“My wife is staying there. She will look after things. Never mind +about their roads.” +</p> +<p> +Vasily got up and collected himself. “Good-bye, Ivanov. I do not +know whether I shall get any one at the office to listen to me.” +</p> +<p> +“Surely you are not going to walk?” +</p> +<p> +“At the station I will try to get on a freight train, and to-morrow +I shall be in Moscow.” +</p> +<p> +The neighbours bade each other farewell. Vasily was absent for some time. +His wife worked for him night and day. She never slept, and wore herself +out waiting for her husband. On the third day the commission arrived. An +engine, luggage-van, and two first-class saloons; but Vasily was still +away. Semyon saw his wife on the fourth day. Her face was swollen from +crying and her eyes were red. +</p> +<p> +“Has your husband returned?” he asked. But the woman only made +a gesture with her hands, and without saying a word went her way. +</p> +<p> +Semyon had learnt when still a lad to make flutes out of a kind of reed. +He used to burn out the heart of the stalk, make holes where necessary, +drill them, fix a mouthpiece at one end, and tune them so well that it was +possible to play almost any air on them. He made a number of them in his +spare time, and sent them by his friends amongst the freight brakemen to +the bazaar in the town. He got two kopeks apiece for them. On the day +following the visit of the commission he left his wife at home to meet the +six o’clock train, and started off to the forest to cut some sticks. +He went to the end of his section—at this point the line made a +sharp turn—descended the embankment, and struck into the wood at the +foot of the mountain. About half a verst away there was a big marsh, +around which splendid reeds for his flutes grew. He cut a whole bundle of +stalks and started back home. The sun was already dropping low, and in the +dead stillness only the twittering of the birds was audible, and the +crackle of the dead wood under his feet. As he walked along rapidly, he +fancied he heard the clang of iron striking iron, and he redoubled his +pace. There was no repair going on in his section. What did it mean? He +emerged from the woods, the railway embankment stood high before him; on +the top a man was squatting on the bed of the line busily engaged in +something. Semyon commenced quietly to crawl up towards him. He thought it +was some one after the nuts which secure the rails. He watched, and the +man got up, holding a crow-bar in his hand. He had loosened a rail, so +that it would move to one side. A mist swam before Semyon’s eyes; he +wanted to cry out, but could not. It was Vasily! Semyon scrambled up the +bank, as Vasily with crow-bar and wrench slid headlong down the other +side. +</p> +<p> +“Vasily Stepanych! My dear friend, come back! Give me the crow-bar. +We will put the rail back; no one will know. Come back! Save your soul +from sin!” +</p> +<p> +Vasily did not look back, but disappeared into the woods. +</p> +<p> +Semyon stood before the rail which had been torn up. He threw down his +bundle of sticks. A train was due; not a freight, but a passenger-train. +And he had nothing with which to stop it, no flag. He could not replace +the rail and could not drive in the spikes with his bare hands. It was +necessary to run, absolutely necessary to run to the hut for some tools. +“God help me!” he murmured. +</p> +<p> +Semyon started running towards his hut. He was out of breath, but still +ran, falling every now and then. He had cleared the forest; he was only a +few hundred feet from his hut, not more, when he heard the distant hooter +of the factory sound—six o’clock! In two minutes’ time +No. 7 train was due. “Oh, Lord! Have pity on innocent souls!” +In his mind Semyon saw the engine strike against the loosened rail with +its left wheel, shiver, careen, tear up and splinter the sleepers—and +just there, there was a curve and the embankment seventy feet high, down +which the engine would topple—and the third-class carriages would be +packed ... little children... All sitting in the train now, never dreaming +of danger. “Oh, Lord! Tell me what to do!... No, it is impossible to +run to the hut and get back in time.” +</p> +<p> +Semyon did not run on to the hut, but turned back and ran faster than +before. He was running almost mechanically, blindly; he did not know +himself what was to happen. He ran as far as the rail which had been +pulled up; his sticks were lying in a heap. He bent down, seized one +without knowing why, and ran on farther. It seemed to him the train was +already coming. He heard the distant whistle; he heard the quiet, even +tremor of the rails; but his strength was exhausted, he could run no +farther, and came to a halt about six hundred feet from the awful spot. +Then an idea came into his head, literally like a ray of light. Pulling +off his cap, he took out of it a cotton scarf, drew his knife out of the +upper part of his boot, and crossed himself, muttering, “God bless +me!” +</p> +<p> +He buried the knife in his left arm above the elbow; the blood spurted +out, flowing in a hot stream. In this he soaked his scarf, smoothed it +out, tied it to the stick and hung out his red flag. +</p> +<p> +He stood waving his flag. The train was already in sight. The driver would +not see him—would come close up, and a heavy train cannot be pulled +up in six hundred feet. +</p> +<p> +And the blood kept on flowing. Semyon pressed the sides of the wound +together so as to close it, but the blood did not diminish. Evidently he +had cut his arm very deep. His head commenced to swim, black spots began +to dance before his eyes, and then it became dark. There was a ringing in +his ears. He could not see the train or hear the noise. Only one thought +possessed him. “I shall not be able to keep standing up. I shall +fall and drop the flag; the train will pass over me. Help me, oh Lord!” +</p> +<p> +All turned black before him, his mind became a blank, and he dropped the +flag; but the blood-stained banner did not fall to the ground. A hand +seized it and held it high to meet the approaching train. The engineer saw +it, shut the regulator, and reversed steam. The train came to a +standstill. +</p> +<p> +People jumped out of the carriages and collected in a crowd. They saw a +man lying senseless on the footway, drenched in blood, and another man +standing beside him with a blood-stained rag on a stick. +</p> +<p> +Vasily looked around at all. Then, lowering his head, he said: “Bind +me. I tore up a rail!” +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +THE DARLING +</h2> +<h3> +BY ANTON P. CHEKOV +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>lenka, the daughter of the retired collegiate assessor Plemyanikov, was +sitting on the back-door steps of her house doing nothing. It was hot, the +flies were nagging and teasing, and it was pleasant to think that it would +soon be evening. Dark rain clouds were gathering from the east, wafting a +breath of moisture every now and then. +</p> +<p> +Kukin, who roomed in the wing of the same house, was standing in the yard +looking up at the sky. He was the manager of the Tivoli, an open-air +theatre. +</p> +<p> +“Again,” he said despairingly. “Rain again. Rain, rain, +rain! Every day rain! As though to spite me. I might as well stick my head +into a noose and be done with it. It’s ruining me. Heavy losses +every day!” He wrung his hands, and continued, addressing Olenka: +“What a life, Olga Semyonovna! It’s enough to make a man weep. +He works, he does his best, his very best, he tortures himself, he passes +sleepless nights, he thinks and thinks and thinks how to do everything +just right. And what’s the result? He gives the public the best +operetta, the very best pantomime, excellent artists. But do they want it? +Have they the least appreciation of it? The public is rude. The public is +a great boor. The public wants a circus, a lot of nonsense, a lot of +stuff. And there’s the weather. Look! Rain almost every evening. It +began to rain on the tenth of May, and it’s kept it up through the +whole of June. It’s simply awful. I can’t get any audiences, +and don’t I have to pay rent? Don’t I have to pay the actors?” +</p> +<p> +The next day towards evening the clouds gathered again, and Kukin said +with an hysterical laugh: +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I don’t care. Let it do its worst. Let it drown the whole +theatre, and me, too. All right, no luck for me in this world or the next. +Let the actors bring suit against me and drag me to court. What’s +the court? Why not Siberia at hard labour, or even the scaffold? Ha, ha, +ha!” +</p> +<p> +It was the same on the third day. +</p> +<p> +Olenka listened to Kukin seriously, in silence. Sometimes tears would rise +to her eyes. At last Kukin’s misfortune touched her. She fell in +love with him. He was short, gaunt, with a yellow face, and curly hair +combed back from his forehead, and a thin tenor voice. His features +puckered all up when he spoke. Despair was ever inscribed on his face. And +yet he awakened in Olenka a sincere, deep feeling. +</p> +<p> +She was always loving somebody. She couldn’t get on without loving +somebody. She had loved her sick father, who sat the whole time in his +armchair in a darkened room, breathing heavily. She had loved her aunt, +who came from Brianska once or twice a year to visit them. And before +that, when a pupil at the progymnasium, she had loved her French teacher. +She was a quiet, kind-hearted, compassionate girl, with a soft gentle way +about her. And she made a very healthy, wholesome impression. Looking at +her full, rosy cheeks, at her soft white neck with the black mole, and at +the good naïve smile that always played on her face when something +pleasant was said, the men would think, “Not so bad,” and +would smile too; and the lady visitors, in the middle of the conversation, +would suddenly grasp her hand and exclaim, “You darling!” in a +burst of delight. +</p> +<p> +The house, hers by inheritance, in which she had lived from birth, was +located at the outskirts of the city on the Gypsy Road, not far from the +Tivoli. From early evening till late at night she could hear the music in +the theatre and the bursting of the rockets; and it seemed to her that +Kukin was roaring and battling with his fate and taking his chief enemy, +the indifferent public, by assault. Her heart melted softly, she felt no +desire to sleep, and when Kukin returned home towards morning, she tapped +on her window-pane, and through the curtains he saw her face and one +shoulder and the kind smile she gave him. +</p> +<p> +He proposed to her, and they were married. And when he had a good look of +her neck and her full vigorous shoulders, he clapped his hands and said: +</p> +<p> +“You darling!” +</p> +<p> +He was happy. But it rained on their wedding-day, and the expression of +despair never left his face. +</p> +<p> +They got along well together. She sat in the cashier’s box, kept the +theatre in order, wrote down the expenses, and paid out the salaries. Her +rosy cheeks, her kind naïve smile, like a halo around her face, could be +seen at the cashier’s window, behind the scenes, and in the café. +She began to tell her friends that the theatre was the greatest, the most +important, the most essential thing in the world, that it was the only +place to obtain true enjoyment in and become humanised and educated. +</p> +<p> +“But do you suppose the public appreciates it?” she asked. +“What the public wants is the circus. Yesterday Vanichka and I gave +<i>Faust Burlesqued</i>, and almost all the boxes were empty. If we had +given some silly nonsense, I assure you, the theatre would have been +overcrowded. To-morrow we’ll put <i>Orpheus in Hades</i> on. Do +come.” +</p> +<p> +Whatever Kukin said about the theatre and the actors, she repeated. She +spoke, as he did, with contempt of the public, of its indifference to art, +of its boorishness. She meddled in the rehearsals, corrected the actors, +watched the conduct of the musicians; and when an unfavourable criticism +appeared in the local paper, she wept and went to the editor to argue with +him. +</p> +<p> +The actors were fond of her and called her “Vanichka and I” +and “the darling.” She was sorry for them and lent them small +sums. When they bilked her, she never complained to her husband; at the +utmost she shed a few tears. +</p> +<p> +In winter, too, they got along nicely together. They leased a theatre in +the town for the whole winter and sublet it for short periods to a Little +Russian theatrical company, to a conjuror and to the local amateur +players. +</p> +<p> +Olenka grew fuller and was always beaming with contentment; while Kukin +grew thinner and yellower and complained of his terrible losses, though he +did fairly well the whole winter. At night he coughed, and she gave him +raspberry syrup and lime water, rubbed him with eau de Cologne, and +wrapped him up in soft coverings. +</p> +<p> +“You are my precious sweet,” she said with perfect sincerity, +stroking his hair. “You are such a dear.” +</p> +<p> +At Lent he went to Moscow to get his company together, and, while without +him, Olenka was unable to sleep. She sat at the window the whole time, +gazing at the stars. She likened herself to the hens that are also uneasy +and unable to sleep when their rooster is out of the coop. Kukin was +detained in Moscow. He wrote he would be back during Easter Week, and in +his letters discussed arrangements already for the Tivoli. But late one +night, before Easter Monday, there was an ill-omened knocking at the +wicket-gate. It was like a knocking on a barrel—boom, boom, boom! +The sleepy cook ran barefooted, plashing through the puddles, to open the +gate. +</p> +<p> +“Open the gate, please,” said some one in a hollow bass voice. +“I have a telegram for you.” +</p> +<p> +Olenka had received telegrams from her husband before; but this time, +somehow, she was numbed with terror. She opened the telegram with +trembling hands and read: +</p> +<p> +“Ivan Petrovich died suddenly to-day. Awaiting propt orders for +wuneral Tuesday.” +</p> +<p> +That was the way the telegram was written—“wuneral”—and +another unintelligible word—“propt.” The telegram was +signed by the manager of the opera company. +</p> +<p> +“My dearest!” Olenka burst out sobbing. “Vanichka, my +dearest, my sweetheart. Why did I ever meet you? Why did I ever get to +know you and love you? To whom have you abandoned your poor Olenka, your +poor, unhappy Olenka?” +</p> +<p> +Kukin was buried on Tuesday in the Vagankov Cemetery in Moscow. Olenka +returned home on Wednesday; and as soon as she entered her house she threw +herself on her bed and broke into such loud sobbing that she could be +heard in the street and in the neighbouring yards. +</p> +<p> +“The darling!” said the neighbours, crossing themselves. +“How Olga Semyonovna, the poor darling, is grieving!” +</p> +<p> +Three months afterwards Olenka was returning home from mass, downhearted +and in deep mourning. Beside her walked a man also returning from church, +Vasily Pustovalov, the manager of the merchant Babakayev’s +lumber-yard. He was wearing a straw hat, a white vest with a gold chain, +and looked more like a landowner than a business man. +</p> +<p> +“Everything has its ordained course, Olga Semyonovna,” he said +sedately, with sympathy in his voice. “And if any one near and dear +to us dies, then it means it was God’s will and we should remember +that and bear it with submission.” +</p> +<p> +He took her to the wicket-gate, said good-bye and went away. After that +she heard his sedate voice the whole day; and on closing her eyes she +instantly had a vision of his dark beard. She took a great liking to him. +And evidently he had been impressed by her, too; for, not long after, an +elderly woman, a distant acquaintance, came in to have a cup of coffee +with her. As soon as the woman was seated at table she began to speak +about Pustovalov—how good he was, what a steady man, and any woman +could be glad to get him as a husband. Three days later Pustovalov himself +paid Olenka a visit. He stayed only about ten minutes, and spoke little, +but Olenka fell in love with him, fell in love so desperately that she did +not sleep the whole night and burned as with fever. In the morning she +sent for the elderly woman. Soon after, Olenka and Pustovalov were +engaged, and the wedding followed. +</p> +<p> +Pustovalov and Olenka lived happily together. He usually stayed in the +lumber-yard until dinner, then went out on business. In his absence Olenka +took his place in the office until evening, attending to the book-keeping +and despatching the orders. +</p> +<p> +“Lumber rises twenty per cent every year nowadays,” she told +her customers and acquaintances. “Imagine, we used to buy wood from +our forests here. Now Vasichka has to go every year to the government of +Mogilev to get wood. And what a tax!” she exclaimed, covering her +cheeks with her hands in terror. “What a tax!” +</p> +<p> +She felt as if she had been dealing in lumber for ever so long, that the +most important and essential thing in life was lumber. There was something +touching and endearing in the way she pronounced the words, “beam,” +“joist,” “plank,” “stave,” “lath,” +“gun-carriage,” “clamp.” At night she dreamed of +whole mountains of boards and planks, long, endless rows of wagons +conveying the wood somewhere, far, far from the city. She dreamed that a +whole regiment of beams, 36 ft. x 5 in., were advancing in an upright +position to do battle against the lumber-yard; that the beams and joists +and clamps were knocking against each other, emitting the sharp crackling +reports of dry wood, that they were all falling and then rising again, +piling on top of each other. Olenka cried out in her sleep, and Pustovalov +said to her gently: +</p> +<p> +“Olenka my dear, what is the matter? Cross yourself.” +</p> +<p> +Her husband’s opinions were all hers. If he thought the room was too +hot, she thought so too. If he thought business was dull, she thought +business was dull. Pustovalov was not fond of amusements and stayed home +on holidays; she did the same. +</p> +<p> +“You are always either at home or in the office,” said her +friends. “Why don’t you go to the theatre or to the circus, +darling?” +</p> +<p> +“Vasichka and I never go to the theatre,” she answered +sedately. “We have work to do, we have no time for nonsense. What +does one get out of going to theatre?” +</p> +<p> +On Saturdays she and Pustovalov went to vespers, and on holidays to early +mass. On returning home they walked side by side with rapt faces, an +agreeable smell emanating from both of them and her silk dress rustling +pleasantly. At home they drank tea with milk-bread and various jams, and +then ate pie. Every day at noontime there was an appetising odour in the +yard and outside the gate of cabbage soup, roast mutton, or duck; and, on +fast days, of fish. You couldn’t pass the gate without being seized +by an acute desire to eat. The samovar was always boiling on the office +table, and customers were treated to tea and biscuits. Once a week the +married couple went to the baths and returned with red faces, walking side +by side. +</p> +<p> +“We are getting along very well, thank God,” said Olenka to +her friends. “God grant that all should live as well as Vasichka and +I.” +</p> +<p> +When Pustovalov went to the government of Mogilev to buy wood, she was +dreadfully homesick for him, did not sleep nights, and cried. Sometimes +the veterinary surgeon of the regiment, Smirnov, a young man who lodged in +the wing of her house, came to see her evenings. He related incidents, or +they played cards together. This distracted her. The most interesting of +his stories were those of his own life. He was married and had a son; but +he had separated from his wife because she had deceived him, and now he +hated her and sent her forty rubles a month for his son’s support. +Olenka sighed, shook her head, and was sorry for him. +</p> +<p> +“Well, the Lord keep you,” she said, as she saw him off to the +door by candlelight. “Thank you for coming to kill time with me. May +God give you health. Mother in Heaven!” She spoke very sedately, +very judiciously, imitating her husband. The veterinary surgeon had +disappeared behind the door when she called out after him: “Do you +know, Vladimir Platonych, you ought to make up with your wife. Forgive +her, if only for the sake of your son. The child understands everything, +you may be sure.” +</p> +<p> +When Pustovalov returned, she told him in a low voice about the veterinary +surgeon and his unhappy family life; and they sighed and shook their +heads, and talked about the boy who must be homesick for his father. Then, +by a strange association of ideas, they both stopped before the sacred +images, made genuflections, and prayed to God to send them children. +</p> +<p> +And so the Pustovalovs lived for full six years, quietly and peaceably, in +perfect love and harmony. But once in the winter Vasily Andreyich, after +drinking some hot tea, went out into the lumber-yard without a hat on his +head, caught a cold and took sick. He was treated by the best physicians, +but the malady progressed, and he died after an illness of four months. +Olenka was again left a widow. +</p> +<p> +“To whom have you left me, my darling?” she wailed after the +funeral. “How shall I live now without you, wretched creature that I +am. Pity me, good people, pity me, fatherless and motherless, all alone in +the world!” +</p> +<p> +She went about dressed in black and weepers, and she gave up wearing hats +and gloves for good. She hardly left the house except to go to church and +to visit her husband’s grave. She almost led the life of a nun. +</p> +<p> +It was not until six months had passed that she took off the weepers and +opened her shutters. She began to go out occasionally in the morning to +market with her cook. But how she lived at home and what went on there, +could only be surmised. It could be surmised from the fact that she was +seen in her little garden drinking tea with the veterinarian while he read +the paper out loud to her, and also from the fact that once on meeting an +acquaintance at the post-office, she said to her: +</p> +<p> +“There is no proper veterinary inspection in our town. That is why +there is so much disease. You constantly hear of people getting sick from +the milk and becoming infected by the horses and cows. The health of +domestic animals ought really to be looked after as much as that of human +beings.” +</p> +<p> +She repeated the veterinarian’s words and held the same opinions as +he about everything. It was plain that she could not exist a single year +without an attachment, and she found her new happiness in the wing of her +house. In any one else this would have been condemned; but no one could +think ill of Olenka. Everything in her life was so transparent. She and +the veterinary surgeon never spoke about the change in their relations. +They tried, in fact, to conceal it, but unsuccessfully; for Olenka could +have no secrets. When the surgeon’s colleagues from the regiment +came to see him, she poured tea, and served the supper, and talked to them +about the cattle plague, the foot and mouth disease, and the municipal +slaughter houses. The surgeon was dreadfully embarrassed, and after the +visitors had left, he caught her hand and hissed angrily: +</p> +<p> +“Didn’t I ask you not to talk about what you don’t +understand? When we doctors discuss things, please don’t mix in. It’s +getting to be a nuisance.” +</p> +<p> +She looked at him in astonishment and alarm, and asked: +</p> +<p> +“But, Volodichka, what <i>am</i> I to talk about?” +</p> +<p> +And she threw her arms round his neck, with tears in her eyes, and begged +him not to be angry. And they were both happy. +</p> +<p> +But their happiness was of short duration. The veterinary surgeon went +away with his regiment to be gone for good, when it was transferred to +some distant place almost as far as Siberia, and Olenka was left alone. +</p> +<p> +Now she was completely alone. Her father had long been dead, and his +armchair lay in the attic covered with dust and minus one leg. She got +thin and homely, and the people who met her on the street no longer looked +at her as they had used to, nor smiled at her. Evidently her best years +were over, past and gone, and a new, dubious life was to begin which it +were better not to think about. +</p> +<p> +In the evening Olenka sat on the steps and heard the music playing and the +rockets bursting in the Tivoli; but it no longer aroused any response in +her. She looked listlessly into the yard, thought of nothing, wanted +nothing, and when night came on, she went to bed and dreamed of nothing +but the empty yard. She ate and drank as though by compulsion. +</p> +<p> +And what was worst of all, she no longer held any opinions. She saw and +understood everything that went on around her, but she could not form an +opinion about it. She knew of nothing to talk about. And how dreadful not +to have opinions! For instance, you see a bottle, or you see that it is +raining, or you see a muzhik riding by in a wagon. But what the bottle or +the rain or the muzhik are for, or what the sense of them all is, you +cannot tell—you cannot tell, not for a thousand rubles. In the days +of Kukin and Pustovalov and then of the veterinary surgeon, Olenka had had +an explanation for everything, and would have given her opinion freely no +matter about what. But now there was the same emptiness in her heart and +brain as in her yard. It was as galling and bitter as a taste of wormwood. +</p> +<p> +Gradually the town grew up all around. The Gypsy Road had become a street, +and where the Tivoli and the lumber-yard had been, there were now houses +and a row of side streets. How quickly time flies! Olenka’s house +turned gloomy, the roof rusty, the shed slanting. Dock and thistles +overgrew the yard. Olenka herself had aged and grown homely. In the summer +she sat on the steps, and her soul was empty and dreary and bitter. When +she caught the breath of spring, or when the wind wafted the chime of the +cathedral bells, a sudden flood of memories would pour over her, her heart +would expand with a tender warmth, and the tears would stream down her +cheeks. But that lasted only a moment. Then would come emptiness again, +and the feeling, What is the use of living? The black kitten Bryska rubbed +up against her and purred softly, but the little creature’s caresses +left Olenka untouched. That was not what she needed. What she needed was a +love that would absorb her whole being, her reason, her whole soul, that +would give her ideas, an object in life, that would warm her aging blood. +And she shook the black kitten off her skirt angrily, saying: +</p> +<p> +“Go away! What are you doing here?” +</p> +<p> +And so day after day, year after year not a single joy, not a single +opinion. Whatever Marva, the cook, said was all right. +</p> +<p> +One hot day in July, towards evening, as the town cattle were being driven +by, and the whole yard was filled with clouds of dust, there was suddenly +a knocking at the gate. Olenka herself went to open it, and was +dumbfounded to behold the veterinarian Smirnov. He had turned grey and was +dressed as a civilian. All the old memories flooded into her soul, she +could not restrain herself, she burst out crying, and laid her head on +Smirnov’s breast without saying a word. So overcome was she that she +was totally unconscious of how they walked into the house and seated +themselves to drink tea. +</p> +<p> +“My darling!” she murmured, trembling with joy. “Vladimir +Platonych, from where has God sent you?” +</p> +<p> +“I want to settle here for good,” he told her. “I have +resigned my position and have come here to try my fortune as a free man +and lead a settled life. Besides, it’s time to send my boy to the +gymnasium. He is grown up now. You know, my wife and I have become +reconciled.” +</p> +<p> +“Where is she?” asked Olenka. +</p> +<p> +“At the hotel with the boy. I am looking for lodgings.” +</p> +<p> +“Good gracious, bless you, take my house. Why won’t my house +do? Oh, dear! Why, I won’t ask any rent of you,” Olenka burst +out in the greatest excitement, and began to cry again. “You live +here, and the wing will be enough for me. Oh, Heavens, what a joy!” +</p> +<p> +The very next day the roof was being painted and the walls whitewashed, +and Olenka, arms akimbo, was going about the yard superintending. Her face +brightened with her old smile. Her whole being revived and freshened, as +though she had awakened from a long sleep. The veterinarian’s wife +and child arrived. She was a thin, plain woman, with a crabbed expression. +The boy Sasha, small for his ten years of age, was a chubby child, with +clear blue eyes and dimples in his cheeks. He made for the kitten the +instant he entered the yard, and the place rang with his happy laughter. +</p> +<p> +“Is that your cat, auntie?” he asked Olenka. “When she +has little kitties, please give me one. Mamma is awfully afraid of mice.” +</p> +<p> +Olenka chatted with him, gave him tea, and there was a sudden warmth in +her bosom and a soft gripping at her heart, as though the boy were her own +son. +</p> +<p> +In the evening, when he sat in the dining-room studying his lessons, she +looked at him tenderly and whispered to herself: +</p> +<p> +“My darling, my pretty. You are such a clever child, so good to look +at.” +</p> +<p> +“An island is a tract of land entirely surrounded by water,” +he recited. +</p> +<p> +“An island is a tract of land,” she repeated—the first +idea asseverated with conviction after so many years of silence and mental +emptiness. +</p> +<p> +She now had her opinions, and at supper discussed with Sasha’s +parents how difficult the studies had become for the children at the +gymnasium, but how, after all, a classical education was better than a +commercial course, because when you graduated from the gymnasium then the +road was open to you for any career at all. If you chose to, you could +become a doctor, or, if you wanted to, you could become an engineer. +</p> +<p> +Sasha began to go to the gymnasium. His mother left on a visit to her +sister in Kharkov and never came back. The father was away every day +inspecting cattle, and sometimes was gone three whole days at a time, so +that Sasha, it seemed to Olenka, was utterly abandoned, was treated as if +he were quite superfluous, and must be dying of hunger. So she transferred +him into the wing along with herself and fixed up a little room for him +there. +</p> +<p> +Every morning Olenka would come into his room and find him sound asleep +with his hand tucked under his cheek, so quiet that he seemed not to be +breathing. What a shame to have to wake him, she thought. +</p> +<p> +“Sashenka,” she said sorrowingly, “get up, darling. It’s +time to go to the gymnasium.” +</p> +<p> +He got up, dressed, said his prayers, then sat down to drink tea. He drank +three glasses of tea, ate two large cracknels and half a buttered roll. +The sleep was not yet out of him, so he was a little cross. +</p> +<p> +“You don’t know your fable as you should, Sashenka,” +said Olenka, looking at him as though he were departing on a long journey. +“What a lot of trouble you are. You must try hard and learn, dear, +and mind your teachers.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, let me alone, please,” said Sasha. +</p> +<p> +Then he went down the street to the gymnasium, a little fellow wearing a +large cap and carrying a satchel on his back. Olenka followed him +noiselessly. +</p> +<p> +“Sashenka,” she called. +</p> +<p> +He looked round and she shoved a date or a caramel into his hand. When he +reached the street of the gymnasium, he turned around and said, ashamed of +being followed by a tall, stout woman: +</p> +<p> +“You had better go home, aunt. I can go the rest of the way myself.” +</p> +<p> +She stopped and stared after him until he had disappeared into the school +entrance. +</p> +<p> +Oh, how she loved him! Not one of her other ties had been so deep. Never +before had she given herself so completely, so disinterestedly, so +cheerfully as now that her maternal instincts were all aroused. For this +boy, who was not hers, for the dimples in his cheeks and for his big cap, +she would have given her life, given it with joy and with tears of +rapture. Why? Ah, indeed, why? +</p> +<p> +When she had seen Sasha off to the gymnasium, she returned home quietly, +content, serene, overflowing with love. Her face, which had grown younger +in the last half year, smiled and beamed. People who met her were pleased +as they looked at her. +</p> +<p> +“How are you, Olga Semyonovna, darling? How are you getting on, +darling?” +</p> +<p> +“The gymnasium course is very hard nowadays,” she told at the +market. “It’s no joke. Yesterday the first class had a fable +to learn by heart, a Latin translation, and a problem. How is a little +fellow to do all that?” +</p> +<p> +And she spoke of the teacher and the lessons and the text-books, repeating +exactly what Sasha said about them. +</p> +<p> +At three o’clock they had dinner. In the evening they prepared the +lessons together, and Olenka wept with Sasha over the difficulties. When +she put him to bed, she lingered a long time making the sign of the cross +over him and muttering a prayer. And when she lay in bed, she dreamed of +the far-away, misty future when Sasha would finish his studies and become +a doctor or an engineer, have a large house of his own, with horses and a +carriage, marry and have children. She would fall asleep still thinking of +the same things, and tears would roll down her cheeks from her closed +eyes. And the black cat would lie at her side purring: “Mrr, mrr, +mrr.” +</p> +<p> +Suddenly there was a loud knocking at the gate. Olenka woke up breathless +with fright, her heart beating violently. Half a minute later there was +another knock. +</p> +<p> +“A telegram from Kharkov,” she thought, her whole body in a +tremble. “His mother wants Sasha to come to her in Kharkov. Oh, +great God!” +</p> +<p> +She was in despair. Her head, her feet, her hands turned cold. There was +no unhappier creature in the world, she felt. But another minute passed, +she heard voices. It was the veterinarian coming home from the club. +</p> +<p> +“Thank God,” she thought. The load gradually fell from her +heart, she was at ease again. And she went back to bed, thinking of Sasha +who lay fast asleep in the next room and sometimes cried out in his sleep: +</p> +<p> +“I’ll give it to you! Get away! Quit your scrapping!” +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +THE BET +</h2> +<h3> +BY ANTON P. CHEKHOV +</h3> +<h3> +I +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was a dark autumn night. The old banker was pacing from corner to +corner of his study, recalling to his mind the party he gave in the autumn +fifteen years before. There were many clever people at the party and much +interesting conversation. They talked among other things of capital +punishment. The guests, among them not a few scholars and journalists, for +the most part disapproved of capital punishment. They found it obsolete as +a means of punishment, unfitted to a Christian State and immoral. Some of +them thought that capital punishment should be replaced universally by +life-imprisonment. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t agree with you,” said the host. “I myself +have experienced neither capital punishment nor life-imprisonment, but if +one may judge <i>a priori</i>, then in my opinion capital punishment is +more moral and more humane than imprisonment. Execution kills instantly, +life-imprisonment kills by degrees. Who is the more humane executioner, +one who kills you in a few seconds or one who draws the life out of you +incessantly, for years?” +</p> +<p> +“They’re both equally immoral,” remarked one of the +guests, “because their purpose is the same, to take away life. The +State is not God. It has no right to take away that which it cannot give +back, if it should so desire.” +</p> +<p> +Among the company was a lawyer, a young man of about twenty-five. On being +asked his opinion, he said: +</p> +<p> +“Capital punishment and life-imprisonment are equally immoral; but +if I were offered the choice between them, I would certainly choose the +second. It’s better to live somehow than not to live at all.” +</p> +<p> +There ensued a lively discussion. The banker who was then younger and more +nervous suddenly lost his temper, banged his fist on the table, and +turning to the young lawyer, cried out: +</p> +<p> +“It’s a lie. I bet you two millions you wouldn’t stick +in a cell even for five years.” +</p> +<p> +“If you mean it seriously,” replied the lawyer, “then I +bet I’ll stay not five but fifteen.” +</p> +<p> +“Fifteen! Done!” cried the banker. “Gentlemen, I stake +two millions.” +</p> +<p> +“Agreed. You stake two millions, I my freedom,” said the +lawyer. +</p> +<p> +So this wild, ridiculous bet came to pass. The banker, who at that time +had too many millions to count, spoiled and capricious, was beside himself +with rapture. During supper he said to the lawyer jokingly: +</p> +<p> +“Come to your senses, young roan, before it’s too late. Two +millions are nothing to me, but you stand to lose three or four of the +best years of your life. I say three or four, because you’ll never +stick it out any longer. Don’t forget either, you unhappy man, that +voluntary is much heavier than enforced imprisonment. The idea that you +have the right to free yourself at any moment will poison the whole of +your life in the cell. I pity you.” +</p> +<p> +And now the banker, pacing from corner to corner, recalled all this and +asked himself: +</p> +<p> +“Why did I make this bet? What’s the good? The lawyer loses +fifteen years of his life and I throw away two millions. Will it convince +people that capital punishment is worse or better than imprisonment for +life? No, no! all stuff and rubbish. On my part, it was the caprice of a +well-fed man; on the lawyer’s pure greed of gold.” +</p> +<p> +He recollected further what happened after the evening party. It was +decided that the lawyer must undergo his imprisonment under the strictest +observation, in a garden wing of the banker’s house. It was agreed +that during the period he would be deprived of the right to cross the +threshold, to see living people, to hear human voices, and to receive +letters and newspapers. He was permitted to have a musical instrument, to +read books, to write letters, to drink wine and smoke tobacco. By the +agreement he could communicate, but only in silence, with the outside +world through a little window specially constructed for this purpose. +Everything necessary, books, music, wine, he could receive in any quantity +by sending a note through the window. The agreement provided for all the +minutest details, which made the confinement strictly solitary, and it +obliged the lawyer to remain exactly fifteen years from twelve o’clock +of November 14th, 1870, to twelve o’clock of November 14th, 1885. +The least attempt on his part to violate the conditions, to escape if only +for two minutes before the time freed the banker from the obligation to +pay him the two millions. +</p> +<p> +During the first year of imprisonment, the lawyer, as far as it was +possible to judge from his short notes, suffered terribly from loneliness +and boredom. From his wing day and night came the sound of the piano. He +rejected wine and tobacco. “Wine,” he wrote, “excites +desires, and desires are the chief foes of a prisoner; besides, nothing is +more boring than to drink good wine alone,” and tobacco spoils the +air in his room. During the first year the lawyer was sent books of a +light character; novels with a complicated love interest, stories of crime +and fantasy, comedies, and so on. +</p> +<p> +In the second year the piano was heard no longer and the lawyer asked only +for classics. In the fifth year, music was heard again, and the prisoner +asked for wine. Those who watched him said that during the whole of that +year he was only eating, drinking, and lying on his bed. He yawned often +and talked angrily to himself. Books he did not read. Sometimes at nights +he would sit down to write. He would write for a long time and tear it all +up in the morning. More than once he was heard to weep. +</p> +<p> +In the second half of the sixth year, the prisoner began zealously to +study languages, philosophy, and history. He fell on these subjects so +hungrily that the banker hardly had time to get books enough for him. In +the space of four years about six hundred volumes were bought at his +request. It was while that passion lasted that the banker received the +following letter from the prisoner: “My dear gaoler, I am writing +these lines in six languages. Show them to experts. Let them read them. If +they do not find one single mistake, I beg you to give orders to have a +gun fired off in the garden. By the noise I shall know that my efforts +have not been in vain. The geniuses of all ages and countries speak in +different languages; but in them all burns the same flame. Oh, if you knew +my heavenly happiness now that I can understand them!” The prisoner’s +desire was fulfilled. Two shots were fired in the garden by the banker’s +order. +</p> +<p> +Later on, after the tenth year, the lawyer sat immovable before his table +and read only the New Testament. The banker found it strange that a man +who in four years had mastered six hundred erudite volumes, should have +spent nearly a year in reading one book, easy to understand and by no +means thick. The New Testament was then replaced by the history of +religions and theology. +</p> +<p> +During the last two years of his confinement the prisoner read an +extraordinary amount, quite haphazard. Now he would apply himself to the +natural sciences, then he would read Byron or Shakespeare. Notes used to +come from him in which he asked to be sent at the same time a book on +chemistry, a text-book of medicine, a novel, and some treatise on +philosophy or theology. He read as though he were swimming in the sea +among broken pieces of wreckage, and in his desire to save his life was +eagerly grasping one piece after another. +</p> +<h3> +II +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he banker recalled all this, and thought: +</p> +<p> +“To-morrow at twelve o’clock he receives his freedom. Under +the agreement, I shall have to pay him two millions. If I pay, it’s +all over with me. I am ruined for ever ...” +</p> +<p> +Fifteen years before he had too many millions to count, but now he was +afraid to ask himself which he had more of, money or debts. Gambling on +the Stock-Exchange, risky speculation, and the recklessness of which he +could not rid himself even in old age, had gradually brought his business +to decay; and the fearless, self-confident, proud man of business had +become an ordinary banker, trembling at every rise and fall in the market. +</p> +<p> +“That cursed bet,” murmured the old man clutching his head in +despair... “Why didn’t the man die? He’s only forty +years old. He will take away my last farthing, marry, enjoy life, gamble +on the Exchange, and I will look on like an envious beggar and hear the +same words from him every day: ‘I’m obliged to you for the +happiness of my life. Let me help you.’ No, it’s too much! The +only escape from bankruptcy and disgrace—is that the man should die.” +</p> +<p> +The clock had just struck three. The banker was listening. In the house +every one was asleep, and one could hear only the frozen trees whining +outside the windows. Trying to make no sound, he took out of his safe the +key of the door which had not been opened for fifteen years, put on his +overcoat, and went out of the house. The garden was dark and cold. It was +raining. A damp, penetrating wind howled in the garden and gave the trees +no rest. Though he strained his eyes, the banker could see neither the +ground, nor the white statues, nor the garden wing, nor the trees. +Approaching the garden wing, he called the watchman twice. There was no +answer. Evidently the watchman had taken shelter from the bad weather and +was now asleep somewhere in the kitchen or the greenhouse. +</p> +<p> +“If I have the courage to fulfil my intention,” thought the +old man, “the suspicion will fall on the watchman first of all.” +</p> +<p> +In the darkness he groped for the steps and the door and entered the hall +of the garden-wing, then poked his way into a narrow passage and struck a +match. Not a soul was there. Some one’s bed, with no bedclothes on +it, stood there, and an iron stove loomed dark in the corner. The seals on +the door that led into the prisoner’s room were unbroken. +</p> +<p> +When the match went out, the old man, trembling from agitation, peeped +into the little window. +</p> +<p> +In the prisoner’s room a candle was burning dimly. The prisoner +himself sat by the table. Only his back, the hair on his head and his +hands were visible. Open books were strewn about on the table, the two +chairs, and on the carpet near the table. +</p> +<p> +Five minutes passed and the prisoner never once stirred. Fifteen years’ +confinement had taught him to sit motionless. The banker tapped on the +window with his finger, but the prisoner made no movement in reply. Then +the banker cautiously tore the seals from the door and put the key into +the lock. The rusty lock gave a hoarse groan and the door creaked. The +banker expected instantly to hear a cry of surprise and the sound of +steps. Three minutes passed and it was as quiet inside as it had been +before. He made up his mind to enter. +</p> +<p> +Before the table sat a man, unlike an ordinary human being. It was a +skeleton, with tight-drawn skin, with long curly hair like a woman’s, +and a shaggy beard. The colour of his face was yellow, of an earthy shade; +the cheeks were sunken, the back long and narrow, and the hand upon which +he leaned his hairy head was so lean and skinny that it was painful to +look upon. His hair was already silvering with grey, and no one who +glanced at the senile emaciation of the face would have believed that he +was only forty years old. On the table, before his bended head, lay a +sheet of paper on which something was written in a tiny hand. +</p> +<p> +“Poor devil,” thought the banker, “he’s asleep and +probably seeing millions in his dreams. I have only to take and throw this +half-dead thing on the bed, smother him a moment with the pillow, and the +most careful examination will find no trace of unnatural death. But, +first, let us read what he has written here.” +</p> +<p> +The banker took the sheet from the table and read: +</p> +<p> +“To-morrow at twelve o’clock midnight, I shall obtain my +freedom and the right to mix with people. But before I leave this room and +see the sun I think it necessary to say a few words to you. On my own +clear conscience and before God who sees me I declare to you that I +despise freedom, life, health, and all that your books call the blessings +of the world. +</p> +<p> +“For fifteen years I have diligently studied earthly life. True, I +saw neither the earth nor the people, but in your books I drank fragrant +wine, sang songs, hunted deer and wild boar in the forests, loved women... +And beautiful women, like clouds ethereal, created by the magic of your +poets’ genius, visited me by night and whispered to me wonderful +tales, which made my head drunken. In your books I climbed the summits of +Elbruz and Mont Blanc and saw from there how the sun rose in the morning, +and in the evening suffused the sky, the ocean and the mountain ridges +with a purple gold. I saw from there how above me lightnings glimmered +cleaving the clouds; I saw green forests, fields, rivers, lakes, cities; I +heard syrens singing, and the playing of the pipes of Pan; I touched the +wings of beautiful devils who came flying to me to speak of God... In your +books I cast myself into bottomless abysses, worked miracles, burned +cities to the ground, preached new religions, conquered whole countries... +</p> +<p> +“Your books gave me wisdom. All that unwearying human thought +created in the centuries is compressed to a little lump in my skull. I +know that I am cleverer than you all. +</p> +<p> +“And I despise your books, despise all worldly blessings and wisdom. +Everything is void, frail, visionary and delusive as a mirage. Though you +be proud and wise and beautiful, yet will death wipe you from the face of +the earth like the mice underground; and your posterity, your history, and +the immortality of your men of genius will be as frozen slag, burnt down +together with the terrestrial globe. +</p> +<p> +“You are mad, and gone the wrong way. You take falsehood for truth +and ugliness for beauty. You would marvel if suddenly apple and orange +trees should bear frogs and lizards instead of fruit, and if roses should +begin to breathe the odour of a sweating horse. So do I marvel at you, who +have bartered heaven for earth. I do not want to understand you. +</p> +<p> +“That I may show you in deed my contempt for that by which you live, +I waive the two millions of which I once dreamed as of paradise, and which +I now despise. That I may deprive myself of my right to them, I shall come +out from here five minutes before the stipulated term, and thus shall +violate the agreement.” +</p> +<p> +When he had read, the banker put the sheet on the table, kissed the head +of the strange man, and began to weep. He went out of the wing. Never at +any other time, not even after his terrible losses on the Exchange, had he +felt such contempt for himself as now. Coming home, he lay down on his +bed, but agitation and tears kept him a long time from sleeping... +</p> +<p> +The next morning the poor watchman came running to him and told him that +they had seen the man who lived in the wing climb through the window into +the garden. He had gone to the gate and disappeared. The banker instantly +went with his servants to the wing and established the escape of his +prisoner. To avoid unnecessary rumours he took the paper with the +renunciation from the table and, on his return, locked it in his safe. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +VANKA +</h2> +<h3> +BY ANTON P. CHEKHOV +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>ine-year-old Vanka Zhukov, who had been apprentice to the shoemaker +Aliakhin for three months, did not go to bed the night before Christmas. +He waited till the master and mistress and the assistants had gone out to +an early church-service, to procure from his employer’s cupboard a +small phial of ink and a penholder with a rusty nib; then, spreading a +crumpled sheet of paper in front of him, he began to write. +</p> +<p> +Before, however, deciding to make the first letter, he looked furtively at +the door and at the window, glanced several times at the sombre ikon, on +either side of which stretched shelves full of lasts, and heaved a +heart-rending sigh. The sheet of paper was spread on a bench, and he +himself was on his knees in front of it. +</p> +<p> +“Dear Grandfather Konstantin Makarych,” he wrote, “I am +writing you a letter. I wish you a Happy Christmas and all God’s +holy best. I have no mamma or papa, you are all I have.” +</p> +<p> +Vanka gave a look towards the window in which shone the reflection of his +candle, and vividly pictured to himself his grandfather, Konstantin +Makarych, who was night-watchman at Messrs. Zhivarev. He was a small, +lean, unusually lively and active old man of sixty-five, always smiling +and blear-eyed. All day he slept in the servants’ kitchen or trifled +with the cooks. At night, enveloped in an ample sheep-skin coat, he +strayed round the domain tapping with his cudgel. Behind him, each hanging +its head, walked the old bitch Kashtanka, and the dog Viun, so named +because of his black coat and long body and his resemblance to a loach. +Viun was an unusually civil and friendly dog, looking as kindly at a +stranger as at his masters, but he was not to be trusted. Beneath his +deference and humbleness was hid the most inquisitorial maliciousness. No +one knew better than he how to sneak up and take a bite at a leg, or slip +into the larder or steal a muzhik’s chicken. More than once they had +nearly broken his hind-legs, twice he had been hung up, every week he was +nearly flogged to death, but he always recovered. +</p> +<p> +At this moment, for certain, Vanka’s grandfather must be standing at +the gate, blinking his eyes at the bright red windows of the village +church, stamping his feet in their high-felt boots, and jesting with the +people in the yard; his cudgel will be hanging from his belt, he will be +hugging himself with cold, giving a little dry, old man’s cough, and +at times pinching a servant-girl or a cook. +</p> +<p> +“Won’t we take some snuff?” he asks, holding out his +snuff-box to the women. The women take a pinch of snuff, and sneeze. +</p> +<p> +The old man goes into indescribable ecstasies, breaks into loud laughter, +and cries: +</p> +<p> +“Off with it, it will freeze to your nose!” +</p> +<p> +He gives his snuff to the dogs, too. Kashtanka sneezes, twitches her nose, +and walks away offended. Viun deferentially refuses to sniff and wags his +tail. It is glorious weather, not a breath of wind, clear, and frosty; it +is a dark night, but the whole village, its white roofs and streaks of +smoke from the chimneys, the trees silvered with hoar-frost, and the +snowdrifts, you can see it all. The sky scintillates with bright twinkling +stars, and the Milky Way stands out so clearly that it looks as if it had +been polished and rubbed over with snow for the holidays... +</p> +<p> +Vanka sighs, dips his pen in the ink, and continues to write: +</p> +<p> +“Last night I got a thrashing, my master dragged me by my hair into +the yard, and belaboured me with a shoe-maker’s stirrup, because, +while I was rocking his brat in its cradle, I unfortunately fell asleep. +And during the week, my mistress told me to clean a herring, and I began +by its tail, so she took the herring and stuck its snout into my face. The +assistants tease me, send me to the tavern for vodka, make me steal the +master’s cucumbers, and the master beats me with whatever is handy. +Food there is none; in the morning it’s bread, at dinner gruel, and +in the evening bread again. As for tea or sour-cabbage soup, the master +and the mistress themselves guzzle that. They make me sleep in the +vestibule, and when their brat cries, I don’t sleep at all, but have +to rock the cradle. Dear Grandpapa, for Heaven’s sake, take me away +from here, home to our village, I can’t bear this any more... I bow +to the ground to you, and will pray to God for ever and ever, take me from +here or I shall die...” +</p> +<p> +The corners of Vanka’s mouth went down, he rubbed his eyes with his +dirty fist, and sobbed. +</p> +<p> +“I’ll grate your tobacco for you,” he continued, “I’ll +pray to God for you, and if there is anything wrong, then flog me like the +grey goat. And if you really think I shan’t find work, then I’ll +ask the manager, for Christ’s sake, to let me clean the boots, or I’ll +go instead of Fedya as underherdsman. Dear Grandpapa, I can’t bear +this any more, it’ll kill me... I wanted to run away to our village, +but I have no boots, and I was afraid of the frost, and when I grow up I’ll +look after you, no one shall harm you, and when you die I’ll pray +for the repose of your soul, just like I do for mamma Pelagueya. +</p> +<p> +“As for Moscow, it is a large town, there are all gentlemen’s +houses, lots of horses, no sheep, and the dogs are not vicious. The +children don’t come round at Christmas with a star, no one is +allowed to sing in the choir, and once I saw in a shop window hooks on a +line and fishing rods, all for sale, and for every kind of fish, awfully +convenient. And there was one hook which would catch a sheat-fish weighing +a pound. And there are shops with guns, like the master’s, and I am +sure they must cost 100 rubles each. And in the meat-shops there are +woodcocks, partridges, and hares, but who shot them or where they come +from, the shopman won’t say. +</p> +<p> +“Dear Grandpapa, and when the masters give a Christmas tree, take a +golden walnut and hide it in my green box. Ask the young lady, Olga +Ignatyevna, for it, say it’s for Vanka.” +</p> +<p> +Vanka sighed convulsively, and again stared at the window. He remembered +that his grandfather always went to the forest for the Christmas tree, and +took his grandson with him. What happy times! The frost crackled, his +grandfather crackled, and as they both did, Vanka did the same. Then +before cutting down the Christmas tree his grandfather smoked his pipe, +took a long pinch of snuff, and made fun of poor frozen little Vanka... +The young fir trees, wrapt in hoar-frost, stood motionless, waiting for +which of them would die. Suddenly a hare springing from somewhere would +dart over the snowdrift... His grandfather could not help shouting: +</p> +<p> +“Catch it, catch it, catch it! Ah, short-tailed devil!” +</p> +<p> +When the tree was down, his grandfather dragged it to the master’s +house, and there they set about decorating it. The young lady, Olga +Ignatyevna, Vanka’s great friend, busied herself most about it. When +little Vanka’s mother, Pelagueya, was still alive, and was +servant-woman in the house, Olga Ignatyevna used to stuff him with +sugar-candy, and, having nothing to do, taught him to read, write, count +up to one hundred, and even to dance the quadrille. When Pelagueya died, +they placed the orphan Vanka in the kitchen with his grandfather, and from +the kitchen he was sent to Moscow to Aliakhin, the shoemaker. +</p> +<p> +“Come quick, dear Grandpapa,” continued Vanka, “I +beseech you for Christ’s sake take me from here. Have pity on a poor +orphan, for here they beat me, and I am frightfully hungry, and so sad +that I can’t tell you, I cry all the time. The other day the master +hit me on the head with a last; I fell to the ground, and only just +returned to life. My life is a misfortune, worse than any dog’s... I +send greetings to Aliona, to one-eyed Tegor, and the coachman, and don’t +let any one have my mouth-organ. I remain, your grandson, Ivan Zhukov, +dear Grandpapa, do come.” +</p> +<p> +Vanka folded his sheet of paper in four, and put it into an envelope +purchased the night before for a kopek. He thought a little, dipped the +pen into the ink, and wrote the address: +</p> +<p> +“The village, to my grandfather.” He then scratched his head, +thought again, and added: “Konstantin Makarych.” Pleased at +not having been interfered with in his writing, he put on his cap, and, +without putting on his sheep-skin coat, ran out in his shirt-sleeves into +the street. +</p> +<p> +The shopman at the poulterer’s, from whom he had inquired the night +before, had told him that letters were to be put into post-boxes, and from +there they were conveyed over the whole earth in mail troikas by drunken +post-boys and to the sound of bells. Vanka ran to the first post-box and +slipped his precious letter into the slit. +</p> +<p> +An hour afterwards, lulled by hope, he was sleeping soundly. In his dreams +he saw a stove, by the stove his grandfather sitting with his legs +dangling down, barefooted, and reading a letter to the cooks, and Viun +walking round the stove wagging his tail. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +HIDE AND SEEK +</h2> +<h3> +BY FIODOR SOLOGUB +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">E</span>verything in Lelechka’s nursery was bright, pretty, and cheerful. +Lelechka’s sweet voice charmed her mother. Lelechka was a delightful +child. There was no other such child, there never had been, and there +never would be. Lelechka’s mother, Serafima Aleksandrovna, was sure +of that. Lelechka’s eyes were dark and large, her cheeks were rosy, +her lips were made for kisses and for laughter. But it was not these +charms in Lelechka that gave her mother the keenest joy. Lelechka was her +mother’s only child. That was why every movement of Lelechka’s +bewitched her mother. It was great bliss to hold Lelechka on her knees and +to fondle her; to feel the little girl in her arms—a thing as lively +and as bright as a little bird. +</p> +<p> +To tell the truth, Serafima Aleksandrovna felt happy only in the nursery. +She felt cold with her husband. +</p> +<p> +Perhaps it was because he himself loved the cold—he loved to drink +cold water, and to breathe cold air. He was always fresh and cool, with a +frigid smile, and wherever he passed cold currents seemed to move in the +air. +</p> +<p> +The Nesletyevs, Sergey Modestovich and Serafima Aleksandrovna, had married +without love or calculation, because it was the accepted thing. He was a +young man of thirty-five, she a young woman of twenty-five; both were of +the same circle and well brought up; he was expected to take a wife, and +the time had come for her to take a husband. +</p> +<p> +It even seemed to Serafima Aleksandrovna that she was in love with her +future husband, and this made her happy. He looked handsome and well-bred; +his intelligent grey eyes always preserved a dignified expression; and he +fulfilled his obligations of a fiancé with irreproachable gentleness. +</p> +<p> +The bride was also good-looking; she was a tall, dark-eyed, dark-haired +girl, somewhat timid but very tactful. He was not after her dowry, though +it pleased him to know that she had something. He had connexions, and his +wife came of good, influential people. This might, at the proper +opportunity, prove useful. Always irreproachable and tactful, Nesletyev +got on in his position not so fast that any one should envy him, nor yet +so slow that he should envy any one else—everything came in the +proper measure and at the proper time. +</p> +<p> +After their marriage there was nothing in the manner of Sergey Modestovich +to suggest anything wrong to his wife. Later, however, when his wife was +about to have a child, Sergey Modestovich established connexions elsewhere +of a light and temporary nature. Serafima Aleksandrovna found this out, +and, to her own astonishment, was not particularly hurt; she awaited her +infant with a restless anticipation that swallowed every other feeling. +</p> +<p> +A little girl was born; Serafima Aleksandrovna gave herself up to her. At +the beginning she used to tell her husband, with rapture, of all the +joyous details of Lelechka’s existence. But she soon found that he +listened to her without the slightest interest, and only from the habit of +politeness. Serafima Aleksandrovna drifted farther and farther away from +him. She loved her little girl with the ungratified passion that other +women, deceived in their husbands, show their chance young lovers. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Mamochka</i>, let’s play <i>priatki</i>” (hide and +seek), cried Lelechka, pronouncing the <i>r</i> like the <i>l</i>, so that +the word sounded “pliatki.” +</p> +<p> +This charming inability to speak always made Serafima Aleksandrovna smile +with tender rapture. Lelechka then ran away, stamping with her plump +little legs over the carpets, and hid herself behind the curtains near her +bed. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Tiu-tiu, mamochka!</i>” she cried out in her sweet, +laughing voice, as she looked out with a single roguish eye. +</p> +<p> +“Where is my baby girl?” the mother asked, as she looked for +Lelechka and made believe that she did not see her. +</p> +<p> +And Lelechka poured out her rippling laughter in her hiding place. Then +she came out a little farther, and her mother, as though she had only just +caught sight of her, seized her by her little shoulders and exclaimed +joyously: “Here she is, my Lelechka!” +</p> +<p> +Lelechka laughed long and merrily, her head close to her mother’s +knees, and all of her cuddled up between her mother’s white hands. +Her mother’s eyes glowed with passionate emotion. +</p> +<p> +“Now, <i>mamochka</i>, you hide,” said Lelechka, as she ceased +laughing. +</p> +<p> +Her mother went to hide. Lelechka turned away as though not to see, but +watched her <i>mamochka</i> stealthily all the time. Mamma hid behind the +cupboard, and exclaimed: “<i>Tiu-tiu</i>, baby girl!” +</p> +<p> +Lelechka ran round the room and looked into all the corners, making +believe, as her mother had done before, that she was seeking—though +she really knew all the time where her <i>mamochka</i> was standing. +</p> +<p> +“Where’s my <i>mamochka</i>?” asked Lelechka. “She’s +not here, and she’s not here,” she kept on repeating, as she +ran from corner to corner. +</p> +<p> +Her mother stood, with suppressed breathing, her head pressed against the +wall, her hair somewhat disarranged. A smile of absolute bliss played on +her red lips. +</p> +<p> +The nurse, Fedosya, a good-natured and fine-looking, if somewhat stupid +woman, smiled as she looked at her mistress with her characteristic +expression, which seemed to say that it was not for her to object to +gentlewomen’s caprices. She thought to herself: “The mother is +like a little child herself—look how excited she is.” +</p> +<p> +Lelechka was getting nearer her mother’s corner. Her mother was +growing more absorbed every moment by her interest in the game; her heart +beat with short quick strokes, and she pressed even closer to the wall, +disarranging her hair still more. Lelechka suddenly glanced toward her +mother’s corner and screamed with joy. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve found ‘oo,” she cried out loudly and +joyously, mispronouncing her words in a way that again made her mother +happy. +</p> +<p> +She pulled her mother by her hands to the middle of the room, they were +merry and they laughed; and Lelechka again hid her head against her mother’s +knees, and went on lisping and lisping, without end, her sweet little +words, so fascinating yet so awkward. +</p> +<p> +Sergey Modestovich was coming at this moment toward the nursery. Through +the half-closed doors he heard the laughter, the joyous outcries, the +sound of romping. He entered the nursery, smiling his genial cold smile; +he was irreproachably dressed, and he looked fresh and erect, and he +spread round him an atmosphere of cleanliness, freshness and coldness. He +entered in the midst of the lively game, and he confused them all by his +radiant coldness. Even Fedosya felt abashed, now for her mistress, now for +herself. Serafima Aleksandrovna at once became calm and apparently cold—and +this mood communicated itself to the little girl, who ceased to laugh, but +looked instead, silently and intently, at her father. +</p> +<p> +Sergey Modestovich gave a swift glance round the room. He liked coming +here, where everything was beautifully arranged; this was done by Serafima +Aleksandrovna, who wished to surround her little girl, from her very +infancy, only with the loveliest things. Serafima Aleksandrovna dressed +herself tastefully; this, too, she did for Lelechka, with the same end in +view. One thing Sergey Modestovich had not become reconciled to, and this +was his wife’s almost continuous presence in the nursery. +</p> +<p> +“It’s just as I thought... I knew that I’d find you +here,” he said with a derisive and condescending smile. +</p> +<p> +They left the nursery together. As he followed his wife through the door +Sergey Modestovich said rather indifferently, in an incidental way, laying +no stress on his words: “Don’t you think that it would be well +for the little girl if she were sometimes without your company? Merely, +you see, that the child should feel its own individuality,” he +explained in answer to Serafima Aleksandrovna’s puzzled glance. +</p> +<p> +“She’s still so little,” said Serafima Aleksandrovna. +</p> +<p> +“In any case, this is but my humble opinion. I don’t insist. +It’s your kingdom there.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll think it over,” his wife answered, smiling, as he +did, coldly but genially. +</p> +<p> +Then they began to talk of something else. +</p> +<h3> +II +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>urse Fedosya, sitting in the kitchen that evening, was telling the +silent housemaid Darya and the talkative old cook Agathya about the young +lady of the house, and how the child loved to play <i>priatki</i> with her +mother—“She hides her little face, and cries ‘<i>tiutiu</i>’!” +</p> +<p> +“And the mistress herself is like a little one,” added +Fedosya, smiling. +</p> +<p> +Agathya listened and shook her head ominously; while her face became grave +and reproachful. +</p> +<p> +“That the mistress does it, well, that’s one thing; but that +the young lady does it, that’s bad.” +</p> +<p> +“Why?” asked Fedosya with curiosity. +</p> +<p> +This expression of curiosity gave her face the look of a wooden, +roughly-painted doll. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, that’s bad,” repeated Agathya with conviction. +“Terribly bad!” +</p> +<p> +“Well?” said Fedosya, the ludicrous expression of curiosity on +her face becoming more emphatic. +</p> +<p> +“She’ll hide, and hide, and hide away,” said Agathya, in +a mysterious whisper, as she looked cautiously toward the door. +</p> +<p> +“What are you saying?” exclaimed Fedosya, frightened. +</p> +<p> +“It’s the truth I’m saying, remember my words,” +Agathya went on with the same assurance and secrecy. “It’s the +surest sign.” +</p> +<p> +The old woman had invented this sign, quite suddenly, herself; and she was +evidently very proud of it. +</p> +<h3> +III +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>elechka was asleep, and Serafima Aleksandrovna was sitting in her own +room, thinking with joy and tenderness of Lelechka. Lelechka was in her +thoughts, first a sweet, tiny girl, then a sweet, big girl, then again a +delightful little girl; and so until the end she remained mamma’s +little Lelechka. +</p> +<p> +Serafima Aleksandrovna did not even notice that Fedosya came up to her and +paused before her. Fedosya had a worried, frightened look. +</p> +<p> +“Madam, madam,” she said quietly, in a trembling voice. +</p> +<p> +Serafima Aleksandrovna gave a start. Fedosya’s face made her +anxious. +</p> +<p> +“What is it, Fedosya?” she asked with great concern. “Is +there anything wrong with Lelechka?” +</p> +<p> +“No, madam,” said Fedosya, as she gesticulated with her hands +to reassure her mistress and to make her sit down. “Lelechka is +asleep, may God be with her! Only I’d like to say something—you +see—Lelechka is always hiding herself—that’s not good.” +</p> +<p> +Fedosya looked at her mistress with fixed eyes, which had grown round from +fright. +</p> +<p> +“Why not good?” asked Serafima Aleksandrovna, with vexation, +succumbing involuntarily to vague fears. +</p> +<p> +“I can’t tell you how bad it is,” said Fedosya, and her +face expressed the most decided confidence. +</p> +<p> +“Please speak in a sensible way,” observed Serafima +Aleksandrovna dryly. “I understand nothing of what you are saying.” +</p> +<p> +“You see, madam, it’s a kind of omen,” explained Fedosya +abruptly, in a shamefaced way. +</p> +<p> +“Nonsense!” said Serafima Aleksandrovna. +</p> +<p> +She did not wish to hear any further as to the sort of omen it was, and +what it foreboded. But, somehow, a sense of fear and of sadness crept into +her mood, and it was humiliating to feel that an absurd tale should +disturb her beloved fancies, and should agitate her so deeply. +</p> +<p> +“Of course I know that gentlefolk don’t believe in omens, but +it’s a bad omen, madam,” Fedosya went on in a doleful voice, +“the young lady will hide, and hide...” +</p> +<p> +Suddenly she burst into tears, sobbing out loudly: “She’ll +hide, and hide, and hide away, angelic little soul, in a damp grave,” +she continued, as she wiped her tears with her apron and blew her nose. +</p> +<p> +“Who told you all this?” asked Serafima Aleksandrovna in an +austere low voice. +</p> +<p> +“Agathya says so, madam,” answered Fedosya; “it’s +she that knows.” +</p> +<p> +“Knows!” exclaimed Serafima Aleksandrovna in irritation, as +though she wished to protect herself somehow from this sudden anxiety. +“What nonsense! Please don’t come to me with any such notions +in the future. Now you may go.” +</p> +<p> +Fedosya, dejected, her feelings hurt, left her mistress. +</p> +<p> +“What nonsense! As though Lelechka could die!” thought +Serafima Aleksandrovna to herself, trying to conquer the feeling of +coldness and fear which took possession, of her at the thought of the +possible death of Lelechka. Serafima Aleksandrovna, upon reflection, +attributed these women’s beliefs in omens to ignorance. She saw +clearly that there could be no possible connexion between a child’s +quite ordinary diversion and the continuation of the child’s life. +She made a special effort that evening to occupy her mind with other +matters, but her thoughts returned involuntarily to the fact that Lelechka +loved to hide herself. +</p> +<p> +When Lelechka was still quite small, and had learned to distinguish +between her mother and her nurse, she sometimes, sitting in her nurse’s +arms, made a sudden roguish grimace, and hid her laughing face in the +nurse’s shoulder. Then she would look out with a sly glance. +</p> +<p> +Of late, in those rare moments of the mistress’ absence from the +nursery, Fedosya had again taught Lelechka to hide; and when Lelechka’s +mother, on coming in, saw how lovely the child looked when she was hiding, +she herself began to play hide and seek with her tiny daughter. +</p> +<h3> +IV +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he next day Serafima Aleksandrovna, absorbed in her joyous cares for +Lelechka, had forgotten Fedosya’s words of the day before. +</p> +<p> +But when she returned to the nursery, after having ordered the dinner, and +she heard Lelechka suddenly cry <i>“Tiu-tiu!”</i> from under +the table, a feeling of fear suddenly took hold of her. Though she +reproached herself at once for this unfounded, superstitious dread, +nevertheless she could not enter wholeheartedly into the spirit of +Lelechka’s favourite game, and she tried to divert Lelechka’s +attention to something else. +</p> +<p> +Lelechka was a lovely and obedient child. She eagerly complied with her +mother’s new wishes. But as she had got into the habit of hiding +from her mother in some corner, and of crying out <i>“Tiu-tiu!”</i> +so even that day she returned more than once to the game. +</p> +<p> +Serafima Aleksandrovna tried desperately to amuse Lelechka. This was not +so easy because restless, threatening thoughts obtruded themselves +constantly. +</p> +<p> +“Why does Lelechka keep on recalling the <i>tiu-tiu</i>? Why does +she not get tired of the same thing—of eternally closing her eyes, +and of hiding her face? Perhaps,” thought Serafima Aleksandrovna, +“she is not as strongly drawn to the world as other children, who +are attracted by many things. If this is so, is it not a sign of organic +weakness? Is it not a germ of the unconscious non-desire to live?” +</p> +<p> +Serafima Aleksandrovna was tormented by presentiments. She felt ashamed of +herself for ceasing to play hide and seek with Lelechka before Fedosya. +But this game had become agonising to her, all the more agonising because +she had a real desire to play it, and because something drew her very +strongly to hide herself from Lelechka and to seek out the hiding child. +Serafima Aleksandrovna herself began the game once or twice, though she +played it with a heavy heart. She suffered as though committing an evil +deed with full consciousness. +</p> +<p> +It was a sad day for Serafima Aleksandrovna. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +V +</h2> +<p> +Lelechka was about to fall asleep. No sooner had she climbed into her +little bed, protected by a network on all sides, than her eyes began to +close from fatigue. Her mother covered her with a blue blanket. Lelechka +drew her sweet little hands from under the blanket and stretched them out +to embrace her mother. Her mother bent down. Lelechka, with a tender +expression on her sleepy face, kissed her mother and let her head fall on +the pillow. As her hands hid themselves under the blanket Lelechka +whispered: “The hands <i>tiu-tiu!</i>” +</p> +<p> +The mother’s heart seemed to stop—Lelechka lay there so small, +so frail, so quiet. Lelechka smiled gently, closed her eyes and said +quietly: “The eyes <i>tiu-tiu!</i>” +</p> +<p> +Then even more quietly: “Lelechka <i>tiu-tiu!</i>” +</p> +<p> +With these words she fell asleep, her face pressing the pillow. She seemed +so small and so frail under the blanket that covered her. Her mother +looked at her with sad eyes. +</p> +<p> +Serafima Aleksandrovna remained standing over Lelechka’s bed a long +while, and she kept looking at Lelechka with tenderness and fear. +</p> +<p> +“I’m a mother: is it possible that I shouldn’t be able +to protect her?” she thought, as she imagined the various ills that +might befall Lelechka. +</p> +<p> +She prayed long that night, but the prayer did not relieve her sadness. +</p> +<h3> +VI +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>everal days passed. Lelechka caught cold. The fever came upon her at +night. When Serafima Aleksandrovna, awakened by Fedosya, came to Lelechka +and saw her looking so hot, so restless, and so tormented, she instantly +recalled the evil omen, and a hopeless despair took possession of her from +the first moments. +</p> +<p> +A doctor was called, and everything was done that is usual on such +occasions—but the inevitable happened. Serafima Aleksandrovna tried +to console herself with the hope that Lelechka would get well, and would +again laugh and play—yet this seemed to her an unthinkable +happiness! And Lelechka grew feebler from hour to hour. +</p> +<p> +All simulated tranquillity, so as not to frighten Serafima Aleksandrovna, +but their masked faces only made her sad. +</p> +<p> +Nothing made her so unhappy as the reiterations of Fedosya, uttered +between sobs: “She hid herself and hid herself, our Lelechka!” +</p> +<p> +But the thoughts of Serafima Aleksandrovna were confused, and she could +not quite grasp what was happening. +</p> +<p> +Fever was consuming Lelechka, and there were times when she lost +consciousness and spoke in delirium. But when she returned to herself she +bore her pain and her fatigue with gentle good nature; she smiled feebly +at her <i>mamochka</i>, so that her <i>mamochka</i> should not see how +much she suffered. Three days passed, torturing like a nightmare. Lelechka +grew quite feeble. She did not know that she was dying. +</p> +<p> +She glanced at her mother with her dimmed eyes, and lisped in a scarcely +audible, hoarse voice: “<i>Tiu-tiu, mamochka!</i> Make <i>tiu-tiu, +mamochka!</i>” +</p> +<p> +Serafima Aleksandrovna hid her face behind the curtains near Lelechka’s +bed. How tragic! +</p> +<p> +“<i>Mamochka!</i>” called Lelechka in an almost inaudible +voice. +</p> +<p> +Lelechka’s mother bent over her, and Lelechka, her vision grown +still more dim, saw her mother’s pale, despairing face for the last +time. +</p> +<p> +“A white <i>mamochka</i>!” whispered Lelechka. +</p> +<p> +<i>Mamochka’s</i> white face became blurred, and everything grew +dark before Lelechka. She caught the edge of the bed-cover feebly with her +hands and whispered: “<i>Tiu-tiu!</i>” +</p> +<p> +Something rattled in her throat; Lelechka opened and again closed her +rapidly paling lips, and died. +</p> +<p> +Serafima Aleksandrovna was in dumb despair as she left Lelechka, and went +out of the room. She met her husband. +</p> +<p> +“Lelechka is dead,” she said in a quiet, dull voice. +</p> +<p> +Sergey Modestovich looked anxiously at her pale face. He was struck by the +strange stupor in her formerly animated handsome features. +</p> +<h3> +VII +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>elechka was dressed, placed in a little coffin, and carried into the +parlour. Serafima Aleksandrovna was standing by the coffin and looking +dully at her dead child. Sergey Modestovich went to his wife and, +consoling her with cold, empty words, tried to draw her away from the +coffin. Serafima Aleksandrovna smiled. +</p> +<p> +“Go away,” she said quietly. “Lelechka is playing. She’ll +be up in a minute.” +</p> +<p> +“Sima, my dear, don’t agitate yourself,” said Sergey +Modestovich in a whisper. “You must resign yourself to your fate.” +</p> +<p> +“She’ll be up in a minute,” persisted Serafima +Aleksandrovna, her eyes fixed on the dead little girl. +</p> +<p> +Sergey Modestovich looked round him cautiously: he was afraid of the +unseemly and of the ridiculous. +</p> +<p> +“Sima, don’t agitate yourself,” he repeated. “This +would be a miracle, and miracles do not happen in the nineteenth century.” +</p> +<p> +No sooner had he said these words than Sergey Modestovich felt their +irrelevance to what had happened. He was confused and annoyed. +</p> +<p> +He took his wife by the arm, and cautiously led her away from the coffin. +She did not oppose him. +</p> +<p> +Her face seemed tranquil and her eyes were dry. She went into the nursery +and began to walk round the room, looking into those places where Lelechka +used to hide herself. She walked all about the room, and bent now and then +to look under the table or under the bed, and kept on repeating +cheerfully: “Where is my little one? Where is my Lelechka?” +</p> +<p> +After she had walked round the room once she began to make her quest anew. +Fedosya, motionless, with dejected face, sat in a corner, and looked +frightened at her mistress; then she suddenly burst out sobbing, and she +wailed loudly: +</p> +<p> +“She hid herself, and hid herself, our Lelechka, our angelic little +soul!” +</p> +<p> +Serafima Aleksandrovna trembled, paused, cast a perplexed look at Fedosya, +began to weep, and left the nursery quietly. +</p> +<h3> +VIII +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>ergey Modestovich hurried the funeral. He saw that Serafima +Aleksandrovna was terribly shocked by her sudden misfortune, and as he +feared for her reason he thought she would more readily be diverted and +consoled when Lelechka was buried. +</p> +<p> +Next morning Serafima Aleksandrovna dressed with particular care—for +Lelechka. When she entered the parlour there were several people between +her and Lelechka. The priest and deacon paced up and down the room; clouds +of blue smoke drifted in the air, and there was a smell of incense. There +was an oppressive feeling of heaviness in Serafima Aleksandrovna’s +head as she approached Lelechka. Lelechka lay there still and pale, and +smiled pathetically. Serafima Aleksandrovna laid her cheek upon the edge +of Lelechka’s coffin, and whispered: “<i>Tiu-tiu</i>, little +one!” +</p> +<p> +The little one did not reply. Then there was some kind of stir and +confusion around Serafima Aleksandrovna; strange, unnecessary faces bent +over her, some one held her—and Lelechka was carried away somewhere. +</p> +<p> +Serafima Aleksandrovna stood up erect, sighed in a lost way, smiled, and +called loudly: “Lelechka!” +</p> +<p> +Lelechka was being carried out. The mother threw herself after the coffin +with despairing sobs, but she was held back. She sprang behind the door, +through which Lelechka had passed, sat down there on the floor, and as she +looked through the crevice, she cried out: “Lelechka, <i>tiu-tiu!</i>” +</p> +<p> +Then she put her head out from behind the door, and began to laugh. +</p> +<p> +Lelechka was quickly carried away from her mother, and those who carried +her seemed to run rather than to walk. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +DETHRONED +</h2> +<h3> +BY I.N. POTAPENKO +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">"W</span>ell?” Captain Zarubkin’s wife called out impatiently to her +husband, rising from the sofa and turning to face him as he entered. +</p> +<p> +“He doesn’t know anything about it,” he replied +indifferently, as if the matter were of no interest to him. Then he asked +in a businesslike tone: “Nothing for me from the office?” +</p> +<p> +“Why should I know? Am I your errand boy?” +</p> +<p> +“How they dilly-dally! If only the package doesn’t come too +late. It’s so important!” +</p> +<p> +“Idiot!” +</p> +<p> +“Who’s an idiot?” +</p> +<p> +“You, with your indifference, your stupid egoism.” +</p> +<p> +The captain said nothing. He was neither surprised nor insulted. On the +contrary, the smile on his face was as though he had received a +compliment. These wifely animadversions, probably oft-heard, by no means +interfered with his domestic peace. +</p> +<p> +“It can’t be that the man doesn’t know when his wife is +coming back home,” Mrs. Zarubkin continued excitedly. “She’s +written to him every day of the four months that she’s been away. +The postmaster told me so.” +</p> +<p> +“Semyonov! Ho, Semyonov! Has any one from the office been here?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know, your Excellency,” came in a loud, clear +voice from back of the room. +</p> +<p> +“Why don’t you know? Where have you been?” +</p> +<p> +“I went to Abramka, your Excellency.” +</p> +<p> +“The tailor again?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, your Excellency, the tailor Abramka.” +</p> +<p> +The captain spat in annoyance. +</p> +<p> +“And where is Krynka?” +</p> +<p> +“He went to market, your Excellency.” +</p> +<p> +“Was he told to go to market?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, your Excellency.” +</p> +<p> +The captain spat again. +</p> +<p> +“Why do you keep spitting? Such vulgar manners!” his wife +cried angrily. “You behave at home like a drunken subaltern. You +haven’t the least consideration for your wife. You are so coarse in +your behaviour towards me! Do, please, go to your office.” +</p> +<p> +“Semyonov.” +</p> +<p> +“Your Excellency?” +</p> +<p> +“If the package comes, please have it sent back to the office and +say I’ve gone there. And listen! Some one must always be here. I won’t +have everybody out of the house at the same time. Do you hear?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, your Excellency.” +</p> +<p> +The captain put on his cap to go. In the doorway he turned and addressed +his wife. +</p> +<p> +“Please, Tasya, please don’t send all the servants on your +errands at the same time. Something important may turn up, and then there’s +nobody here to attend to it.” +</p> +<p> +He went out, and his wife remained reclining in the sofa corner as if his +plea were no concern of hers. But scarcely had he left the house, when she +called out: +</p> +<p> +“Semyonov, come here. Quick!” +</p> +<p> +A bare-footed unshaven man in dark blue pantaloons and cotton shirt +presented himself. His stocky figure and red face made a wholesome +appearance. He was the Captain’s orderly. +</p> +<p> +“At your service, your Excellency.” +</p> +<p> +“Listen, Semyonov, you don’t seem to be stupid.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know, your Excellency.” +</p> +<p> +“For goodness’ sake, drop ‘your Excellency.’ I am +not your superior officer.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, your Excel—” +</p> +<p> +“Idiot!” +</p> +<p> +But the lady’s manner toward the servant was far friendlier than +toward her husband. Semyonov had it in his power to perform important +services for her, while the captain had not come up to her expectations. +</p> +<p> +“Listen, Semyonov, how do you and the doctor’s men get along +together? Are you friendly?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, your Excellency.” +</p> +<p> +“Intolerable!” cried the lady, jumping up. “Stop using +that silly title. Can’t you speak like a sensible man?” +</p> +<p> +Semyonov had been standing in the stiff attitude of attention, with the +palms of his hands at the seams of his trousers. Now he suddenly relaxed, +and even wiped his nose with his fist. +</p> +<p> +“That’s the way we are taught to do,” he said +carelessly, with a clownish grin. “The gentlemen, the officers, +insist on it.” +</p> +<p> +“Now, tell me, you are on good terms with the doctor’s men?” +</p> +<p> +“You mean Podmar and Shuchok? Of course, we’re friends.” +</p> +<p> +“Very well, then go straight to them and try to find out when Mrs. +Shaldin is expected back. They ought to know. They must be getting things +ready against her return—cleaning her bedroom and fixing it up. Do +you understand? But be careful to find out right. And also be very careful +not to let on for whom you are finding it out. Do you understand?’ +</p> +<p> +“Of course, I understand.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, then, go. But one more thing. Since you’re going out, +you may as well stop at Abramka’s again and tell him to come here +right away. You understand?” +</p> +<p> +“But his Excellency gave me orders to stay at home,” said +Semyonov, scratching himself behind his ears. +</p> +<p> +“Please don’t answer back. Just do as I tell you. Go on, now.” +</p> +<p> +“At your service.” And the orderly, impressed by the lady’s +severe military tone, left the room. +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Zarubkin remained reclining on the sofa for a while. Then she rose +and walked up and down the room and finally went to her bedroom, where her +two little daughters were playing in their nurse’s care. She scolded +them a bit and returned to her former place on the couch. Her every +movement betrayed great excitement. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<p> +Tatyana Grigoryevna Zarubkin was one of the most looked-up to ladies of +the S—— Regiment and even of the whole town of Chmyrsk, where +the regiment was quartered. To be sure, you hardly could say that, outside +the regiment, the town could boast any ladies at all. There were very +respectable women, decent wives, mothers, daughters and widows of +honourable citizens; but they all dressed in cotton and flannel, and on +high holidays made a show of cheap Cashmere gowns over which they wore gay +shawls with borders of wonderful arabesques. Their hats and other headgear +gave not the faintest evidence of good taste. So they could scarcely be +dubbed “ladies.” They were satisfied to be called “women.” +Each one of them, almost, had the name of her husband’s trade or +position tacked to her name—Mrs. Grocer so-and-so, Mrs. Mayor +so-and-so, Mrs. Milliner so-and-so, etc. Genuine <i>ladies</i> in the +Russian society sense had never come to the town before the S—— +Regiment had taken up its quarters there; and it goes without saying that +the ladies of the regiment had nothing in common, and therefore no +intercourse with, the women of the town. They were so dissimilar that they +were like creatures of a different species. +</p> +<p> +There is no disputing that Tatyana Grigoryevna Zarubkin was one of the +most looked-up-to of the ladies. She invariably played the most important +part at all the regimental affairs—the amateur theatricals, the +social evenings, the afternoon teas. If the captain’s wife was not +to be present, it was a foregone conclusion that the affair would not be a +success. +</p> +<p> +The most important point was that Mrs. Zarubkin had the untarnished +reputation of being the best-dressed of all the ladies. She was always the +most distinguished looking at the annual ball. Her gown for the occasion, +ordered from Moscow, was always chosen with the greatest regard for her +charms and defects, and it was always exquisitely beautiful. A new fashion +could not gain admittance to the other ladies of the regiment except by +way of the captain’s wife. Thanks to her good taste in dressing, the +stately blonde was queen at all the balls and in all the salons of +Chmyrsk. Another advantage of hers was that although she was nearly forty +she still looked fresh and youthful, so that the young officers were +constantly hovering about her and paying her homage. +</p> +<p> +November was a very lively month in the regiment’s calendar. It was +on the tenth of November that the annual ball took place. The ladies, of +course, spent their best efforts in preparation for this event. Needless +to say that in these arduous activities, Abramka Stiftik, the ladies’ +tailor, played a prominent role. He was the one man in Chmyrsk who had any +understanding at all for the subtle art of the feminine toilet. +Preparations had begun in his shop in August already. Within the last +weeks his modest parlour—furnished with six shabby chairs placed +about a round table, and a fly-specked mirror on the wall—the +atmosphere heavy with a smell of onions and herring, had been filled from +early morning to the evening hours with the most charming and elegant of +the fairer sex. There was trying-on and discussion of styles and selection +of material. It was all very nerve-racking for the ladies. +</p> +<p> +The only one who had never appeared in this parlour was the captain’s +wife. That had been a thorn in Abramka’s flesh. He had spent days +and nights going over in his mind how he could rid this lady of the, in +his opinion, wretched habit of ordering her clothes from Moscow. For this +ball, however, as she herself had told him, she had not ordered a dress +but only material from out of town, from which he deduced that he was to +make the gown for her. But there was only one week left before the ball, +and still she had not come to him. Abramka was in a state of feverishness. +He longed once to make a dress for Mrs. Zarubkin. It would add to his +glory. He wanted to prove that he understood his trade just as well as any +tailor in Moscow, and that it was quite superfluous for her to order her +gowns outside of Chmyrsk. He would come out the triumphant competitor of +Moscow. +</p> +<p> +As each day passed and Mrs. Zarubkin did not appear in his shop, his +nervousness increased. Finally she ordered a dressing-jacket from him—but +not a word said of a ball gown. What was he to think of it? +</p> +<p> +So, when Semyonov told him that Mrs. Zarubkin was expecting him at her +home, it goes without saying that he instantly removed the dozen pins in +his mouth, as he was trying on a customer’s dress, told one of his +assistants to continue with the fitting, and instantly set off to call on +the captain’s wife. In this case, it was not a question of a mere +ball gown, but of the acquisition of the best customer in town. +</p> +<p> +Although Abramka wore a silk hat and a suit in keeping with the silk hat, +still he was careful not to ring at the front entrance, but always knocked +at the back door. At another time when the captain’s orderly was not +in the house—for the captain’s orderly also performed the +duties of the captain’s cook—he might have knocked long and +loud. On other occasions a cannon might have been shot off right next to +Tatyana Grigoryevna’s ears and she would not have lifted her fingers +to open the door. But now she instantly caught the sound of the modest +knocking and opened the back door herself for Abramka. +</p> +<p> +“Oh!” she cried delightedly. “You, Abramka!” +</p> +<p> +She really wanted to address him less familiarly, as was more befitting so +dignified a man in a silk hat; but everybody called him “Abramka,” +and he would have been very much surprised had he been honoured with his +full name, Abram Srulevich Stiftik. So she thought it best to address him +as the others did. +</p> +<p> +Mr. “Abramka” was tall and thin. There was always a melancholy +expression in his pale face. He had a little stoop, a long and very heavy +greyish beard. He had been practising his profession for thirty years. +Ever since his apprenticeship he had been called “Abramka,” +which did not strike him as at all derogatory or unfitting. Even his +shingle read: “Ladies’ Tailor: Abramka Stiftik”—the +most valid proof that he deemed his name immaterial, but that the chief +thing to him was his art. As a matter of fact, he had attained, if not +perfection in tailoring, yet remarkable skill. To this all the ladies of +the S—— Regiment could attest with conviction. +</p> +<p> +Abramka removed his silk hat, stepped into the kitchen, and said gravely, +with profound feeling: +</p> +<p> +“Mrs. Zarubkin, I am entirely at your service.” +</p> +<p> +“Come into the reception room. I have something very important to +speak to you about.” +</p> +<p> +Abramka followed in silence. He stepped softly on tiptoe, as if afraid of +waking some one. +</p> +<p> +“Sit down, Abramka, listen—but give me your word of honour, +you won’t tell any one?” Tatyana Grigoryevna began, reddening +a bit. She was ashamed to have to let the tailor Abramka into her secret, +but since there was no getting around it, she quieted herself and in an +instant had regained her ease. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know what you are speaking of, Mrs. Zarubkin,” +Abramka rejoined. He assumed a somewhat injured manner. “Have you +ever heard of Abramka ever babbling anything out? You certainly know that +in my profession—you know everybody has some secret to be kept.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, you must have misunderstood me, Abramka. What sort of secrets +do you mean?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, one lady is a little bit one-sided, another lady”—he +pointed to his breast—“is not quite full enough, another lady +has scrawny arms—such things as that have to be covered up or filled +out or laced in, so as to look better. That is where our art comes in. But +we are in duty bound not to say anything about it.” +</p> +<p> +Tatyana Grigoryevna smiled. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I can assure you I am all right that way. There is nothing +about me that needs to be covered up or filled out.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, as if I didn’t know that! Everybody knows that Mrs. +Zarubkin’s figure is perfect,” Abramka cried, trying to +flatter his new customer. +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Zarubkin laughed and made up her mind to remember “Everybody +knows that Mrs. Zarubkin’s figure is perfect.” Then she said: +</p> +<p> +“You know that the ball is to take place in a week.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, indeed, Mrs. Zarubkin, in only one week; unfortunately, only +one week,” replied Abramka, sighing. +</p> +<p> +“But you remember your promise to make my dress for me for the ball +this time?” +</p> +<p> +“Mrs. Zarubkin,” Abramka cried, laying his hand on his heart. +“Have I said that I was not willing to make it? No, indeed, I said +it must be made and made right—for Mrs. Zarubkin, it must be better +than for any one else. That’s the way I feel about it.” +</p> +<p> +“Splendid! Just what I wanted to know.” +</p> +<p> +“But why don’t you show me your material? Why don’t you +say to me, ‘Here, Abramka, here is the stuff, make a dress?’ Abramka +would work on it day and night.” +</p> +<p> +“Ahem, that’s just it—I can’t order it. That is +where the trouble comes in. Tell me, Abramka, what is the shortest time +you need for making the dress? Listen, the very shortest?” +</p> +<p> +Abramka shrugged his shoulders. +</p> +<p> +“Well, is a week too much for a ball dress such as you will want? It’s +got to be sewed, it can’t be pasted together, You, yourself, know +that, Mrs. Zarubkin.” +</p> +<p> +“But supposing I order it only three days before the ball?” +</p> +<p> +Abramka started. +</p> +<p> +“Only three days before the ball? A ball dress? Am I a god, Mrs. +Zarubkin? I am nothing but the ladies’ tailor, Abramka Stiftik.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, then you are a nice tailor!” said Tatyana Grigoryevna, +scornfully. “In Moscow they made a ball dress for me in two days.” +</p> +<p> +Abramka jumped up as if at a shot, and beat his breast. +</p> +<p> +“Is that so? Then I say, Mrs. Zarubkin,” he cried +pathetically, “if they made a ball gown for you in Moscow in two +days, very well, then I will make a ball gown for you, if I must, in one +day. I will neither eat nor sleep, and I won’t let my help off +either for one minute. How does that suit you?” +</p> +<p> +“Sit down, Abramka, thank you very much. I hope I shall not have to +put such a strain on you. It really does not depend upon me, otherwise I +should have ordered the dress from you long ago.” +</p> +<p> +“It doesn’t depend upon you? Then upon whom does it depend?” +</p> +<p> +“Ahem, it depends upon—but now, Abramka, remember this is just +between you and me—it depends upon Mrs. Shaldin.” +</p> +<p> +“Upon Mrs. Shaldin, the doctor’s wife? Why she isn’t +even here.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s just it. That is why I have to wait. How is it that a +clever man like you, Abramka, doesn’t grasp the situation?” +</p> +<p> +“Hm, hm! Let me see.” Abramka racked his brains for a solution +of the riddle. How could it be that Mrs. Shaldin, who was away, should +have anything to do with Mrs. Zarubkin’s order for a gown? No, that +passed his comprehension. +</p> +<p> +“She certainly will get back in time for the ball,” said Mrs. +Zarubkin, to give him a cue. +</p> +<p> +“Well, yes.” +</p> +<p> +“And certainly will bring a dress back with her.” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly!” +</p> +<p> +“A dress from abroad, something we have never seen here—something +highly original.” +</p> +<p> +“Mrs. Zarubkin!” Abramka cried, as if a truth of tremendous +import had been revealed to him. “Mrs. Zarubkin, I understand. Why +certainly! Yes, but that will be pretty hard.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s just it.” +</p> +<p> +Abramka reflected a moment, then said: +</p> +<p> +“I assure you, Mrs. Zarubkin, you need not be a bit uneasy. I will +make a dress for you that will be just as grand as the one from abroad. I +assure you, your dress will be the most elegant one at the ball, just as +it always has been. I tell you, my name won’t be Abramka Stiftik if—” +</p> +<p> +His eager asseverations seemed not quite to satisfy the captain’s +wife. Her mind was not quite set at ease. She interrupted him. +</p> +<p> +“But the style, Abramka, the style! You can’t possibly guess +what the latest fashion is abroad.” +</p> +<p> +“Why shouldn’t I know what the latest fashion is, Mrs. +Zarubkin? In Kiev I have a friend who publishes fashion-plates. I will +telegraph to him, and he will immediately send me pictures of the latest +French models. The telegram will cost only eighty cents, Mrs. Zarubkin, +and I swear to you I will copy any dress he sends. Mrs. Shaldin can’t +possibly have a dress like that.” +</p> +<p> +“All very well and good, and that’s what we’ll do. Still +we must wait until Mrs. Shaldin comes back. Don’t you see, Abramka, +I must have exactly the same style that she has? Can’t you see, so +that nobody can say that she is in the latest fashion?” +</p> +<p> +At this point Semyonov entered the room cautiously. He was wearing the +oddest-looking jacket and the captain’s old boots. His hair was +rumpled, and his eyes were shining suspiciously. There was every sign that +he had used the renewal of friendship with the doctor’s men as a +pretext for a booze. +</p> +<p> +“I had to stand them some brandy, your Excellency,” he said +saucily, but catching his mistress’s threatening look, he lowered +his head guiltily. +</p> +<p> +“Idiot,” she yelled at him, “face about. Be off with you +to the kitchen.” +</p> +<p> +In his befuddlement, Semyonov had not noticed Abramka’s presence. +Now he became aware of him, faced about and retired to the kitchen +sheepishly. +</p> +<p> +“What an impolite fellow,” said Abramka reproachfully. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, you wouldn’t believe—” said the captain’s +wife, but instantly followed Semyonov into the kitchen. +</p> +<p> +Semyonov aware of his awful misdemeanour, tried to stand up straight and +give a report. +</p> +<p> +“She will come back, your Excellency, day after to-morrow toward +evening. She sent a telegram.” +</p> +<p> +“Is that true now?” +</p> +<p> +“I swear it’s true. Shuchok saw it himself.” +</p> +<p> +“All right, very good. You will get something for this.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, your Excellency.” +</p> +<p> +“Silence, you goose. Go on, set the table.” +</p> +<p> +Abramka remained about ten minutes longer with the captain’s wife, +and on leaving said: +</p> +<p> +“Let me assure you once again, Mrs. Zarubkin, you needn’t +worry; just select the style, and I will make a gown for you that the best +tailor in Paris can’t beat.” He pressed his hand to his heart +in token of his intention to do everything in his power for Mrs. Zarubkin. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<p> +It was seven o’clock in the evening. Mrs. Shaldin and her trunk had +arrived hardly half an hour before, yet the captain’s wife was +already there paying visit; which was a sign of the warm friendship that +existed between the two women. They kissed each other and fell to talking. +The doctor, a tall man of forty-five, seemed discomfited by the visit, and +passed unfriendly side glances at his guest. He had hoped to spend that +evening undisturbed with his wife, and he well knew that when the ladies +of the regiment came to call upon each other “for only a second,” +it meant a whole evening of listening to idle talk. +</p> +<p> +“You wouldn’t believe me, dear, how bored I was the whole time +you were away, how I longed for you, Natalie Semyonovna. But you probably +never gave us a thought.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, how can you say anything like that. I was thinking of you every +minute, every second. If I hadn’t been obliged to finish the cure, I +should have returned long ago. No matter how beautiful it may be away from +home, still the only place to live is among those that are near and dear +to you.” +</p> +<p> +These were only the preliminary soundings. They lasted with variations for +a quarter of an hour. First Mrs. Shaldin narrated a few incidents of the +trip, then Mrs. Zarubkin gave a report of some of the chief happenings in +the life of the regiment. When the conversation was in full swing, and the +samovar was singing on the table, and the pancakes were spreading their +appetising odour, the captain’s wife suddenly cried: +</p> +<p> +“I wonder what the fashions are abroad now. I say, you must have +feasted your eyes on them!” +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Shaldin simply replied with a scornful gesture. +</p> +<p> +“Other people may like them, but I don’t care for them one +bit. I am glad we here don’t get to see them until a year later. You +know, Tatyana Grigoryevna, you sometimes see the ugliest styles.” +</p> +<p> +“Really?” asked the captain’s wife eagerly, her eyes +gleaming with curiosity. The great moment of complete revelation seemed to +have arrived. +</p> +<p> +“Perfectly hideous, I tell you. Just imagine, you know how nice the +plain skirts were. Then why change them? But no, to be in style now, the +skirts have to be draped. Why? It is just a sign of complete lack of +imagination. And in Lyons they got out a new kind of silk—but that +is still a French secret.” +</p> +<p> +“Why a secret? The silk is certainly being worn already?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, one does see it being worn already, but when it was first +manufactured, the greatest secret was made of it. They were afraid the +Germans would imitate. You understand?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, but what is the latest style?” +</p> +<p> +“I really can’t explain it to you. All I know is, it is +something awful.” +</p> +<p> +“She can’t explain! That means she doesn’t want to +explain. Oh, the cunning one. What a sly look she has in her eyes.” +So thought the captain’s wife. From the very beginning of the +conversation, the two warm friends, it need scarcely be said, were +mutually distrustful. Each had the conviction that everything the other +said was to be taken in the very opposite sense. They were of about the +same age, Mrs. Shaldin possibly one or two years younger than Mrs. +Zarubkin. Mrs. Zarubkin was rather plump, and had heavy light hair. Her +appearance was blooming. Mrs. Shaldin was slim, though well proportioned. +She was a brunette with a pale complexion and large dark eyes. They were +two types of beauty very likely to divide the gentlemen of the regiment +into two camps of admirers. But women are never content with halves. Mrs. +Zarubkin wanted to see all the officers of the regiment at her feet, and +so did Mrs. Shaldin. It naturally led to great rivalry between the two +women, of which they were both conscious, though they always had the +friendliest smiles for each other. +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Shaldin tried to give a different turn to the conversation. +</p> +<p> +“Do you think the ball will be interesting this year?” +</p> +<p> +“Why should it be interesting?” rejoined the captain’s +wife scornfully. “Always the same people, the same old humdrum +jog-trot.” +</p> +<p> +“I suppose the ladies have been besieging our poor Abramka?” +</p> +<p> +“I really can’t tell you. So far as I am concerned, I have +scarcely looked at what he made for me.” +</p> +<p> +“Hm, how’s that? Didn’t you order your dress from Moscow +again?” +</p> +<p> +“No, it really does not pay. I am sick of the bother of it all. Why +all that trouble? For whom? Our officers don’t care a bit how one +dresses. They haven’t the least taste.” +</p> +<p> +“Hm, there’s something back of that,” thought Mrs. +Shaldin. +</p> +<p> +The captain’s wife continued with apparent indifference: +</p> +<p> +“I can guess what a gorgeous dress you had made abroad. Certainly in +the latest fashion?” +</p> +<p> +“I?” Mrs. Shaldin laughed innocently. “How could I get +the time during my cure to think of a dress? As a matter of fact, I +completely forgot the ball, thought of it at the last moment, and bought +the first piece of goods I laid my hands on.” +</p> +<p> +“Pink?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, no. How can you say pink!” +</p> +<p> +“Light blue, then?” +</p> +<p> +“You can’t call it exactly light blue. It is a very undefined +sort of colour. I really wouldn’t know what to call it.” +</p> +<p> +“But it certainly must have some sort of a shade?” +</p> +<p> +“You may believe me or not if you choose, but really I don’t +know. It’s a very indefinite shade.” +</p> +<p> +“Is it Sura silk?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I can’t bear Sura. It doesn’t keep the folds well.” +</p> +<p> +“I suppose it is crêpe de Chine?” +</p> +<p> +“Heavens, no! Crêpe de Chine is much too expensive for me.” +</p> +<p> +“Then what can it be?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, wait a minute, what <i>is</i> the name of that goods? You know +there are so many funny new names now. They don’t make any sense.” +</p> +<p> +“Then show me your dress, dearest. Do please show me your dress.” +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Shaldin seemed to be highly embarrassed. +</p> +<p> +“I am so sorry I can’t. It is way down at the bottom of the +trunk. There is the trunk. You see yourself I couldn’t unpack it +now.” +</p> +<p> +The trunk, close to the wall, was covered with oil cloth and tied tight +with heavy cords. The captain’s wife devoured it with her eyes. She +would have liked to see through and through it. She had nothing to say in +reply, because it certainly was impossible to ask her friend, tired out +from her recent journey, to begin to unpack right away and take out all +her things just to show her her new dress. Yet she could not tear her eyes +away from the trunk. There was a magic in it that held her enthralled. Had +she been alone she would have begun to unpack it herself, nor even have +asked the help of a servant to undo the knots. Now there was nothing left +for her but to turn her eyes sorrowfully away from the fascinating object +and take up another topic of conversation to which she would be utterly +indifferent. But she couldn’t think of anything else to talk about. +Mrs. Shaldin must have prepared herself beforehand. She must have +suspected something. So now Mrs. Zarubkin pinned her last hope to Abramka’s +inventiveness. She glanced at the clock. +</p> +<p> +“Dear me,” she exclaimed, as if surprised at the lateness of +the hour. “I must be going. I don’t want to disturb you any +longer either, dearest. You must be very tired. I hope you rest well.” +</p> +<p> +She shook hands with Mrs. Shaldin, kissed her and left. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<p> +Abramka Stiftik had just taken off his coat and was doing some ironing in +his shirt sleeves, when a peculiar figure appeared in his shop. It was +that of a stocky orderly in a well-worn uniform without buttons and old +galoshes instead of boots. His face was gloomy-looking and was covered +with a heavy growth of hair. Abramka knew this figure well. It seemed +always just to have been awakened from the deepest sleep. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, Shuchok, what do you want?” +</p> +<p> +“Mrs. Shaldin would like you to call upon her,” said Shuchok. +He behaved as if he had come on a terribly serious mission. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, that’s so, your lady has come back. I heard about it. You +see I am very busy. Still you may tell her I am coming right away. I just +want to finish ironing Mrs. Konopotkin’s dress.” +</p> +<p> +Abramka simply wanted to keep up appearances, as always when he was sent +for. But his joy at the summons to Mrs. Shaldin was so great that to the +astonishment of his helpers and Shuchok he left immediately. +</p> +<p> +He found Mrs. Shaldin alone. She had not slept well the two nights before +and had risen late that morning. Her husband had left long before for the +Military Hospital. She was sitting beside her open trunk taking her things +out very carefully. +</p> +<p> +“How do you do, Mrs. Shaldin? Welcome back to Chmyrsk. I +congratulate you on your happy arrival.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, how do you do, Abramka?” said Mrs. Shaldin delightedly; +“we haven’t seen each other for a long time, have we? I was +rather homesick for you.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Mrs. Shaldin, you must have had a very good time abroad. But +what do you need me for? You certainly brought a dress back with you?” +</p> +<p> +“Abramka always comes in handy,” said Mrs. Shaldin jestingly. +“We ladies of the regiment are quite helpless without Abramka. Take +a seat.” +</p> +<p> +Abramka seated himself. He felt much more at ease in Mrs. Shaldin’s +home than in Mrs. Zarubkin’s. Mrs. Shaldin did not order her clothes +from Moscow. She was a steady customer of his. In this room he had many a +time circled about the doctor’s wife with a yard measure, pins, +chalk and scissors, had kneeled down beside her, raised himself to his +feet, bent over again and stood puzzling over some difficult problem of +dressmaking—how low to cut the dress out at the neck, how long to +make the train, how wide the hem, and so on. None of the ladies of the +regiment ordered as much from him as Mrs. Shaldin. Her grandmother would +send her material from Kiev or the doctor would go on a professional trip +to Chernigov and always bring some goods back with him; or sometimes her +aunt in Voronesh would make her a gift of some silk. +</p> +<p> +“Abramka is always ready to serve Mrs. Shaldin first,” said +the tailor, though seized with a little pang, as if bitten by a guilty +conscience. +</p> +<p> +“Are you sure you are telling the truth? Is Abramka always to be +depended upon? Eh, is he?” She looked at him searchingly from +beneath drooping lids. +</p> +<p> +“What a question,” rejoined Abramka. His face quivered +slightly. His feeling of discomfort was waxing. “Has Abramka ever—” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, things can happen. But, all right, never mind. I brought a +dress along with me. I had to have it made in a great hurry, and there is +just a little more to be done on it. Now if I give you this dress to +finish, can I be sure that you positively won’t tell another soul +how it is made?” +</p> +<p> +“Mrs. Shaldin, oh, Mrs. Shaldin,” said Abramka reproachfully. +Nevertheless, the expression of his face was not so reassuring as usual. +</p> +<p> +“You give me your word of honour?” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly! My name isn’t Abramka Stiftik if I—” +</p> +<p> +“Well, all right, I will trust you. But be careful. You know of whom +you must be careful?” +</p> +<p> +“Who is that, Mrs. Shaldin?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, you know very well whom I mean. No, you needn’t put your +hand on your heart. She was here to see me yesterday and tried in every +way she could to find out how my dress is made. But she couldn’t get +it out of me.” Abramka sighed. Mrs. Shaldin seemed to suspect his +betrayal. “I am right, am I not? She has not had her dress made yet, +has she? She waited to see my dress, didn’t she? And she told you to +copy the style, didn’t she?” Mrs, Shaldin asked with honest +naïveté. “But I warn you, Abramka, if you give away the least little +thing about my dress, then all is over between you and me. Remember that.” +</p> +<p> +Abramka’s hand went to his heart again, and the gesture carried the +same sense of conviction as of old. +</p> +<p> +“Mrs. Shaldin, how can you speak like that?” +</p> +<p> +“Wait a moment.” +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Shaldin left the room. About ten minutes passed during which Abramka +had plenty of time to reflect. How could he have given the captain’s +wife a promise like that so lightly? What was the captain’s wife to +him as compared with the doctor’s wife? Mrs. Zarubkin had never +given him a really decent order—just a few things for the house and +some mending. Supposing he were now to perform this great service for her, +would that mean that he could depend upon her for the future? Was any +woman to be depended upon? She would wear this dress out and go back to +ordering her clothes from Moscow again. But <i>Mrs. Shaldin</i>, she was +very different. He could forgive her having brought this one dress along +from abroad. What woman in Russia would have refrained, when abroad, from +buying a new dress? Mrs. Shaldin would continue to be his steady customer +all the same. +</p> +<p> +The door opened. Abramka rose involuntarily, and clasped his hands in +astonishment. +</p> +<p> +“Well,” he exclaimed rapturously, “that is a dress, that +is—My, my!” He was so stunned he could find nothing more to +say. And how charming Mrs. Shaldin looked in her wonderful gown! Her tall +slim figure seemed to have been made for it. What simple yet elegant +lines. At first glance you would think it was nothing more than an +ordinary house-gown, but only at first glance. If you looked at it again, +you could tell right away that it met all the requirements of a fancy +ball-gown. What struck Abramka most was that it had no waist line, that it +did not consist of bodice and skirt. That was strange. It was just caught +lightly together under the bosom, which it brought out in relief. Draped +over the whole was a sort of upper garment of exquisite old-rose lace +embroidered with large silk flowers, which fell from the shoulders and +broadened out in bold superb lines. The dress was cut low and edged with a +narrow strip of black down around the bosom, around the bottom of the lace +drapery, and around the hem of the skirt. A wonderful fan of feathers to +match the down edging gave the finishing touch. +</p> +<p> +“Well, how do you like it, Abramka!” asked Mrs. Shaldin with a +triumphant smile. +</p> +<p> +“Glorious, glorious! I haven’t the words at my command. What a +dress! No, I couldn’t make a dress like that. And how beautifully it +fits you, as if you had been born in it, Mrs. Shaldin. What do you call +the style?” +</p> +<p> +“Empire.” +</p> +<p> +“Ampeer?” he queried. “Is that a new style? Well, well, +what people don’t think of. Tailors like us might just as well throw +our needles and scissors away.” +</p> +<p> +“Now, listen, Abramka, I wouldn’t have shown it to you if +there were not this sewing to be done on it. You are the only one who will +have seen it before the ball. I am not even letting my husband look at it.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Mrs. Shaldin, you can rely upon me as upon a rock. But after +the ball may I copy it?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, after the ball copy it as much as you please, but not now, +not for anything in the world.” +</p> +<p> +There were no doubts in Abramka’s mind when he left the doctor’s +house. He had arrived at his decision. That superb creation had conquered +him. It would be a piece of audacity on his part, he felt, even to think +of imitating such a gown. Why, it was not a gown. It was a dream, a +fantastic vision—without a bodice, without puffs or frills or tawdry +trimmings of any sort. Simplicity itself and yet so chic. +</p> +<p> +Back in his shop he opened the package of fashion-plates that had just +arrived from Kiev. He turned the pages and stared in astonishment. What +was that? Could he trust his eyes? An Empire gown. There it was, with the +broad voluptuous drapery of lace hanging from the shoulders and the edging +of down. Almost exactly the same thing as Mrs. Shaldin’s. +</p> +<p> +He glanced up and saw Semyonov outside the window. He had certainly come +to fetch him to the captain’s wife, who must have ordered him to +watch the tailor’s movements, and must have learned that he had just +been at Mrs. Shaldin’s. Semyonov entered and told him his mistress +wanted to see him right away. +</p> +<p> +Abramka slammed the fashion magazine shut as if afraid that Semyonov might +catch a glimpse of the new Empire fashion and give the secret away. +</p> +<p> +“I will come immediately,” he said crossly. +</p> +<p> +He picked up his fashion plates, put the yard measure in his pocket, +rammed his silk hat sorrowfully on his head and set off for the captain’s +house. He found Mrs. Zarubkin pacing the room excitedly, greeted her, but +carefully avoided meeting her eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Well, what did you find out?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing, Mrs. Zarubkin,” said Abramka dejectedly. “Unfortunately +I couldn’t find out a thing.” +</p> +<p> +“Idiot! I have no patience with you. Where are the fashion plates?” +</p> +<p> +“Here, Mrs. Zarubkin.” +</p> +<p> +She turned the pages, looked at one picture after the other, and suddenly +her eyes shone and her cheeks reddened. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Empire! The very thing. Empire is the very latest. Make this +one for me,” she cried commandingly. +</p> +<p> +Abramka turned pale. +</p> +<p> +“Ampeer, Mrs. Zarubkin? I can’t make that Ampeer dress for +you,” he murmured. +</p> +<p> +“Why not?” asked the captain’s wife, giving him a +searching look. +</p> +<p> +“Because—because—I can’t.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh—h—h, you can’t? You know why you can’t. +Because that is the style of Mrs. Shaldin’s dress. So that is the +reliability you boast so about? Great!” +</p> +<p> +“Mrs. Zarubkin, I will make any other dress you choose, but it is +absolutely impossible for me to make this one.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t need your fashion plates, do you hear me? Get out of +here, and don’t ever show your face again.” +</p> +<p> +“Mrs. Zarubkin, I—” +</p> +<p> +“Get out of here,” repeated the captain’s wife, quite +beside herself. +</p> +<p> +The poor tailor stuck his yard measure, which he had already taken out, +back into his pocket and left. +</p> +<p> +Half an hour later the captain’s wife was entering a train for Kiev, +carrying a large package which contained material for a dress. The captain +had accompanied her to the station with a pucker in his forehead. That was +five days before the ball. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<p> +At the ball two expensive Empire gowns stood out conspicuously from among +the more or less elegant gowns which had been finished in the shop of +Abramka Stiftik, Ladies’ Tailor. The one gown adorned Mrs. Shaldin’s +figure, the other the figure of the captain’s wife. +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Zarubkin had bought her gown ready made at Kiev, and had returned +only two hours before the beginning of the ball. She had scarcely had time +to dress. Perhaps it would have been better had she not appeared at this +one of the annual balls, had she not taken that fateful trip to Kiev. For +in comparison with the make and style of Mrs. Shaldin’s dress, which +had been brought abroad, hers was like the botched imitation of an +amateur. +</p> +<p> +That was evident to everybody, though the captain’s wife had her +little group of partisans, who maintained with exaggerated eagerness that +she looked extraordinarily fascinating in her dress and Mrs. Shaldin still +could not rival her. But there was no mistaking it, there was little +justice in this contention. Everybody knew better; what was worst of all, +Mrs. Zarubkin herself knew better. Mrs. Shaldin’s triumph was +complete. +</p> +<p> +The two ladies gave each other the same friendly smiles as always, but one +of them was experiencing the fine disdain and the derision of the +conqueror, while the other was burning inside with the furious resentment +of a dethroned goddess—goddess of the annual ball. +</p> +<p> +From that time on Abramka cautiously avoided passing the captain’s +house. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +THE SERVANT +</h2> +<h3> +BY S.T. SEMYONOV +</h3> +<h3> +I +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>erasim returned to Moscow just at a time when it was hardest to find +work, a short while before Christmas, when a man sticks even to a poor job +in the expectation of a present. For three weeks the peasant lad had been +going about in vain seeking a position. +</p> +<p> +He stayed with relatives and friends from his village, and although he had +not yet suffered great want, it disheartened him that he, a strong young +man, should go without work. +</p> +<p> +Gerasim had lived in Moscow from early boyhood. When still a mere child, +he had gone to work in a brewery as bottle-washer, and later as a lower +servant in a house. In the last two years he had been in a merchant’s +employ, and would still have held that position, had he not been summoned +back to his village for military duty. However, he had not been drafted. +It seemed dull to him in the village, he was not used to the country life, +so he decided he would rather count the stones in Moscow than stay there. +</p> +<p> +Every minute it was getting to be more and more irksome for him to be +tramping the streets in idleness. Not a stone did he leave unturned in his +efforts to secure any sort of work. He plagued all of his acquaintances, +he even held up people on the street and asked them if they knew of a +situation—all in vain. +</p> +<p> +Finally Gerasim could no longer bear being a burden on his people. Some of +them were annoyed by his coming to them; and others had suffered +unpleasantness from their masters on his account. He was altogether at a +loss what to do. Sometimes he would go a whole day without eating. +</p> +<h3> +II +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>ne day Gerasim betook himself to a friend from his village, who lived at +the extreme outer edge of Moscow, near Sokolnik. The man was coachman to a +merchant by the name of Sharov, in whose service he had been for many +years. He had ingratiated himself with his master, so that Sharov trusted +him absolutely and gave every sign of holding him in high favour. It was +the man’s glib tongue, chiefly, that had gained him his master’s +confidence. He told on all the servants, and Sharov valued him for it. +</p> +<p> +Gerasim approached and greeted him. The coachman gave his guest a proper +reception, served him with tea and something to eat, and asked him how he +was doing. +</p> +<p> +“Very badly, Yegor Danilych,” said Gerasim. “I’ve +been without a job for weeks.” +</p> +<p> +“Didn’t you ask your old employer to take you back?” +</p> +<p> +“I did.” +</p> +<p> +“He wouldn’t take you again?” +</p> +<p> +“The position was filled already.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s it. That’s the way you young fellows are. You +serve your employers so-so, and when you leave your jobs, you usually have +muddied up the way back to them. You ought to serve your masters so that +they will think a lot of you, and when you come again, they will not +refuse you, but rather dismiss the man who has taken your place.” +</p> +<p> +“How can a man do that? In these days there aren’t any +employers like that, and we aren’t exactly angels, either.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s the use of wasting words? I just want to tell you +about myself. If for some reason or other I should ever have to leave this +place and go home, not only would Mr. Sharov, if I came back, take me on +again without a word, but he would be glad to, too.” +</p> +<p> +Gerasim sat there downcast. He saw his friend was boasting, and it +occurred to him to gratify him. +</p> +<p> +“I know it,” he said. “But it’s hard to find men +like you, Yegor Danilych. If you were a poor worker, your master would not +have kept you twelve years.” +</p> +<p> +Yegor smiled. He liked the praise. +</p> +<p> +“That’s it,” he said. “If you were to live and +serve as I do, you wouldn’t be out of work for months and months.” +</p> +<p> +Gerasim made no reply. +</p> +<p> +Yegor was summoned to his master. +</p> +<p> +“Wait a moment,” he said to Gerasim. “I’ll be +right back.” +</p> +<p> +“Very well.” +</p> +<h3> +III +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">Y</span>egor came back and reported that inside of half an hour he would have to +have the horses harnessed, ready to drive his master to town. He lighted +his pipe and took several turns in the room. Then he came to a halt in +front of Gerasim. +</p> +<p> +“Listen, my boy,” he said, “if you want, I’ll ask +my master to take you as a servant here.” +</p> +<p> +“Does he need a man?” +</p> +<p> +“We have one, but he’s not much good. He’s getting old, +and it’s very hard for him to do the work. It’s lucky for us +that the neighbourhood isn’t a lively one and the police don’t +make a fuss about things being kept just so, else the old man couldn’t +manage to keep the place clean enough for them.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, if you can, then please do say a word for me, Yegor Danilych. I’ll +pray for you all my life. I can’t stand being without work any +longer.” +</p> +<p> +“All right, I’ll speak for you. Come again to-morrow, and in +the meantime take this ten-kopek piece. It may come in handy.” +</p> +<p> +“Thanks, Yegor Danilych. Then you <i>will</i> try for me? Please do +me the favour.” +</p> +<p> +“All right. I’ll try for you.” +</p> +<p> +Gerasim left, and Yegor harnessed up his horses. Then he put on his +coachman’s habit, and drove up to the front door. Mr. Sharov stepped +out of the house, seated himself in the sleigh, and the horses galloped +off. He attended to his business in town and returned home. Yegor, +observing that his master was in a good humour, said to him: +</p> +<p> +“Yegor Fiodorych, I have a favour to ask of you.” +</p> +<p> +“What is it?” +</p> +<p> +“There’s a young man from my village here, a good boy. He’s +without a job.” +</p> +<p> +“Well?” +</p> +<p> +“Wouldn’t you take him?” +</p> +<p> +“What do I want him for?” +</p> +<p> +“Use him as man of all work round the place.” +</p> +<p> +“How about Polikarpych?” +</p> +<p> +“What good is he? It’s about time you dismissed him.” +</p> +<p> +“That wouldn’t be fair. He has been with me so many years. I +can’t let him go just so, without any cause.” +</p> +<p> +“Supposing he <i>has</i> worked for you for years. He didn’t +work for nothing. He got paid for it. He’s certainly saved up a few +dollars for his old age.” +</p> +<p> +“Saved up! How could he? From what? He’s not alone in the +world. He has a wife to support, and she has to eat and drink also.” +</p> +<p> +“His wife earns money, too, at day’s work as charwoman.” +</p> +<p> +“A lot she could have made! Enough for <i>kvas</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“Why should you care about Polikarpych and his wife? To tell you the +truth, he’s a very poor servant. Why should you throw your money +away on him? He never shovels the snow away on time, or does anything +right. And when it comes his turn to be night watchman, he slips away at +least ten times a night. It’s too cold for him. You’ll see, +some day, because of him, you will have trouble with the police. The +quarterly inspector will descend on us, and it won’t be so agreeable +for you to be responsible for Polikarpych.” +</p> +<p> +“Still, it’s pretty rough. He’s been with me fifteen +years. And to treat him that way in his old age—it would be a sin.” +</p> +<p> +“A sin! Why, what harm would you be doing him? He won’t +starve. He’ll go to the almshouse. It will be better for him, too, +to be quiet in his old age.” +</p> +<p> +Sharov reflected. +</p> +<p> +“All right,” he said finally. “Bring your friend here. I’ll +see what I can do.” +</p> +<p> +“Do take him, sir. I’m so sorry for him. He’s a good +boy, and he’s been without work for such a long time. I know he’ll +do his work well and serve you faithfully. On account of having to report +for military duty, he lost his last position. If it hadn’t been for +that, his master would never have let him go.” +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +IV +</h2> +<p> +The next evening Gerasim came again and asked: +</p> +<p> +“Well, could you do anything for me?” +</p> +<p> +“Something, I believe. First let’s have some tea. Then we’ll +go see my master.” +</p> +<p> +Even tea had no allurements for Gerasim. He was eager for a decision; but +under the compulsion of politeness to his host, he gulped down two glasses +of tea, and then they betook themselves to Sharov. +</p> +<p> +Sharov asked Gerasim where he had lived before and what work he could do. +Then he told him he was prepared to engage him as man of all work, and he +should come back the next day ready to take the place. +</p> +<p> +Gerasim was fairly stunned by the great stroke of fortune. So overwhelming +was his joy that his legs would scarcely carry him. He went to the +coachman’s room, and Yegor said to him: +</p> +<p> +“Well, my lad, see to it that you do your work right, so that I shan’t +have to be ashamed of you. You know what masters are like. If you go wrong +once, they’ll be at you forever after with their fault-finding, and +never give you peace.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t worry about that, Yegor Danilych.” +</p> +<p> +“Well—well.” +</p> +<p> +Gerasim took leave, crossing the yard to go out by the gate. Polikarpych’s +rooms gave on the yard, and a broad beam of light from the window fell +across Gerasim’s way. He was curious to get a glimpse of his future +home, but the panes were all frosted over, and it was impossible to peep +through. However, he could hear what the people inside were saying. +</p> +<p> +“What will we do now?” was said in a woman’s voice. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know, I don’t know,” a man, undoubtedly +Polikarpych, replied. “Go begging, I suppose.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s all we can do. There’s nothing else left,” +said the woman. “Oh, we poor people, what a miserable life we lead. +We work and work from early morning till late at night, day after day, and +when we get old, then it’s, ‘Away with you!’” +</p> +<p> +“What can we do? Our master is not one of us. It wouldn’t be +worth the while to say much to him about it. He cares only for his own +advantage.” +</p> +<p> +“All the masters are so mean. They don’t think of any one but +themselves. It doesn’t occur to them that we work for them honestly +and faithfully for years, and use up our best strength in their service. +They’re afraid to keep us a year longer, even though we’ve got +all the strength we need to do their work. If we weren’t strong +enough, we’d go of our own accord.” +</p> +<p> +“The master’s not so much to blame as his coachman. Yegor +Danilych wants to get a good position for his friend.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, he’s a serpent. He knows how to wag his tongue. You +wait, you foul-mouthed beast, I’ll get even with you. I’ll go +straight to the master and tell him how the fellow deceives him, how he +steals the hay and fodder. I’ll put it down in writing, and he can +convince himself how the fellow lies about us all.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t, old woman. Don’t sin.” +</p> +<p> +“Sin? Isn’t what I said all true? I know to a dot what I’m +saying, and I mean to tell it straight out to the master. He should see +with his own eyes. Why not? What can we do now anyhow? Where shall we go? +He’s ruined us, ruined us.” +</p> +<p> +The old woman burst out sobbing. +</p> +<p> +Gerasim heard all that, and it stabbed him like a dagger. He realised what +misfortune he would be bringing the old people, and it made him sick at +heart. He stood there a long while, saddened, lost in thought, then he +turned and went back into the coachman’s room. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, you forgot something?” +</p> +<p> +“No, Yegor Danilych.” Gerasim stammered out, “I’ve +come—listen—I want to thank you ever and ever so much—for +the way you received me—and—and all the trouble you took for +me—but—I can’t take the place.” +</p> +<p> +“What! What does that mean?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing. I don’t want the place. I will look for another one +for myself.” +</p> +<p> +Yegor flew into a rage. +</p> +<p> +“Did you mean to make a fool of me, did you, you idiot? You come +here so meek—‘Try for me, do try for me’—and then +you refuse to take the place. You rascal, you have disgraced me!” +</p> +<p> +Gerasim found nothing to say in reply. He reddened, and lowered his eyes. +Yegor turned his back scornfully and said nothing more. +</p> +<p> +Then Gerasim quietly picked up his cap and left the coachman’s room. +He crossed the yard rapidly, went out by the gate, and hurried off down +the street. He felt happy and lighthearted. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +ONE AUTUMN NIGHT +</h2> +<h3> +BY MAXIM GORKY +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>nce in the autumn I happened to be in a very unpleasant and inconvenient +position. In the town where I had just arrived and where I knew not a +soul, I found myself without a farthing in my pocket and without a night’s +lodging. +</p> +<p> +Having sold during the first few days every part of my costume without +which it was still possible to go about, I passed from the town into the +quarter called “Yste,” where were the steamship wharves—a +quarter which during the navigation season fermented with boisterous, +laborious life, but now was silent and deserted, for we were in the last +days of October. +</p> +<p> +Dragging my feet along the moist sand, and obstinately scrutinising it +with the desire to discover in it any sort of fragment of food, I wandered +alone among the deserted buildings and warehouses, and thought how good it +would be to get a full meal. +</p> +<p> +In our present state of culture hunger of the mind is more quickly +satisfied than hunger of the body. You wander about the streets, you are +surrounded by buildings not bad-looking from the outside and—you may +safely say it—not so badly furnished inside, and the sight of them +may excite within you stimulating ideas about architecture, hygiene, and +many other wise and high-flying subjects. You may meet warmly and neatly +dressed folks—all very polite, and turning away from you tactfully, +not wishing offensively to notice the lamentable fact of your existence. +Well, well, the mind of a hungry man is always better nourished and +healthier than the mind of the well-fed man; and there you have a +situation from which you may draw a very ingenious conclusion in favour of +the ill fed. +</p> +<p> +The evening was approaching, the rain was falling, and the wind blew +violently from the north. It whistled in the empty booths and shops, blew +into the plastered window-panes of the taverns, and whipped into foam the +wavelets of the river which splashed noisily on the sandy shore, casting +high their white crests, racing one after another into the dim distance, +and leaping impetuously over one another’s shoulders. It seemed as +if the river felt the proximity of winter, and was running at random away +from the fetters of ice which the north wind might well have flung upon +her that very night. The sky was heavy and dark; down from it swept +incessantly scarcely visible drops of rain, and the melancholy elegy in +nature all around me was emphasised by a couple of battered and misshapen +willow-trees and a boat, bottom upwards, that was fastened to their roots. +</p> +<p> +The overturned canoe with its battered keel and the miserable old trees +rifled by the cold wind—everything around me was bankrupt, barren, +and dead, and the sky flowed with undryable tears... Everything around was +waste and gloomy ... it seemed as if everything were dead, leaving me +alone among the living, and for me also a cold death waited. +</p> +<p> +I was then eighteen years old—a good time! +</p> +<p> +I walked and walked along the cold wet sand, making my chattering teeth +warble in honour of cold and hunger, when suddenly, as I was carefully +searching for something to eat behind one of the empty crates, I perceived +behind it, crouching on the ground, a figure in woman’s clothes dank +with the rain and clinging fast to her stooping shoulders. Standing over +her, I watched to see what she was doing. It appeared that she was digging +a trench in the sand with her hands—digging away under one of the +crates. +</p> +<p> +“Why are you doing that?” I asked, crouching down on my heels +quite close to her. +</p> +<p> +She gave a little scream and was quickly on her legs again. Now that she +stood there staring at me, with her wide-open grey eyes full of terror, I +perceived that it was a girl of my own age, with a very pleasant face +embellished unfortunately by three large blue marks. This spoilt her, +although these blue marks had been distributed with a remarkable sense of +proportion, one at a time, and all were of equal size—two under the +eyes, and one a little bigger on the forehead just over the bridge of the +nose. This symmetry was evidently the work of an artist well inured to the +business of spoiling the human physiognomy. +</p> +<p> +The girl looked at me, and the terror in her eyes gradually died out... +She shook the sand from her hands, adjusted her cotton head-gear, cowered +down, and said: +</p> +<p> +“I suppose you too want something to eat? Dig away then! My hands +are tired. Over there”—she nodded her head in the direction of +a booth—“there is bread for certain ... and sausages too... +That booth is still carrying on business.” +</p> +<p> +I began to dig. She, after waiting a little and looking at me, sat down +beside me and began to help me. +</p> +<p> +We worked in silence. I cannot say now whether I thought at that moment of +the criminal code, of morality, of proprietorship, and all the other +things about which, in the opinion of many experienced persons, one ought +to think every moment of one’s life. Wishing to keep as close to the +truth as possible, I must confess that apparently I was so deeply engaged +in digging under the crate that I completely forgot about everything else +except this one thing: What could be inside that crate? +</p> +<p> +The evening drew on. The grey, mouldy, cold fog grew thicker and thicker +around us. The waves roared with a hollower sound than before, and the +rain pattered down on the boards of that crate more loudly and more +frequently. Somewhere or other the night-watchman began springing his +rattle. +</p> +<p> +“Has it got a bottom or not?” softly inquired my assistant. I +did not understand what she was talking about, and I kept silence. +</p> +<p> +“I say, has the crate got a bottom? If it has we shall try in vain +to break into it. Here we are digging a trench, and we may, after all, +come upon nothing but solid boards. How shall we take them off? Better +smash the lock; it is a wretched lock.” +</p> +<p> +Good ideas rarely visit the heads of women, but, as you see, they do visit +them sometimes. I have always valued good ideas, and have always tried to +utilise them as far as possible. +</p> +<p> +Having found the lock, I tugged at it and wrenched off the whole thing. My +accomplice immediately stooped down and wriggled like a serpent into the +gaping-open, four cornered cover of the crate whence she called to me +approvingly, in a low tone: +</p> +<p> +“You’re a brick!” +</p> +<p> +Nowadays a little crumb of praise from a woman is dearer to me than a +whole dithyramb from a man, even though he be more eloquent than all the +ancient and modern orators put together. Then, however, I was less amiably +disposed than I am now, and, paying no attention to the compliment of my +comrade, I asked her curtly and anxiously: +</p> +<p> +“Is there anything?” +</p> +<p> +In a monotonous tone she set about calculating our discoveries. +</p> +<p> +“A basketful of bottles—thick furs—a sunshade—an +iron pail.” +</p> +<p> +All this was uneatable. I felt that my hopes had vanished... But suddenly +she exclaimed vivaciously: +</p> +<p> +“Aha! here it is!” +</p> +<p> +“What?” +</p> +<p> +“Bread ... a loaf ... it’s only wet ... take it!” +</p> +<p> +A loaf flew to my feet and after it herself, my valiant comrade. I had +already bitten off a morsel, stuffed it in my mouth, and was chewing it... +</p> +<p> +“Come, give me some too!... And we mustn’t stay here... Where +shall we go?” she looked inquiringly about on all sides... It was +dark, wet, and boisterous. +</p> +<p> +“Look! there’s an upset canoe yonder ... let us go there.” +</p> +<p> +“Let us go then!” And off we set, demolishing our booty as we +went, and filling our mouths with large portions of it... The rain grew +more violent, the river roared; from somewhere or other resounded a +prolonged mocking whistle—just as if Someone great who feared nobody +was whistling down all earthly institutions and along with them this +horrid autumnal wind and us its heroes. This whistling made my heart throb +painfully, in spite of which I greedily went on eating, and in this +respect the girl, walking on my left hand, kept even pace with me. +</p> +<p> +“What do they call you?” I asked her—why I know not. +</p> +<p> +“Natasha,” she answered shortly, munching loudly. +</p> +<p> +I stared at her. My heart ached within me; and then I stared into the mist +before me, and it seemed to me as if the inimical countenance of my +Destiny was smiling at me enigmatically and coldly. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<p> +The rain scourged the timbers of the skiff incessantly, and its soft +patter induced melancholy thoughts, and the wind whistled as it flew down +into the boat’s battered bottom through a rift, where some loose +splinters of wood were rattling together—a disquieting and +depressing sound. The waves of the river were splashing on the shore, and +sounded so monotonous and hopeless, just as if they were telling something +unbearably dull and heavy, which was boring them into utter disgust, +something from which they wanted to run away and yet were obliged to talk +about all the same. The sound of the rain blended with their splashing, +and a long-drawn sigh seemed to be floating above the overturned skiff—the +endless, labouring sigh of the earth, injured and exhausted by the eternal +changes from the bright and warm summer to the cold misty and damp autumn. +The wind blew continually over the desolate shore and the foaming river—blew +and sang its melancholy songs... +</p> +<p> +Our position beneath the shelter of the skiff was utterly devoid of +comfort; it was narrow and damp, tiny cold drops of rain dribbled through +the damaged bottom; gusts of wind penetrated it. We sat in silence and +shivered with cold. I remembered that I wanted to go to sleep. Natasha +leaned her back against the hull of the boat and curled herself up into a +tiny ball. Embracing her knees with her hands, and resting her chin upon +them, she stared doggedly at the river with wide-open eyes; on the pale +patch of her face they seemed immense, because of the blue marks below +them. She never moved, and this immobility and silence—I felt it—gradually +produced within me a terror of my neighbour. I wanted to talk to her, but +I knew not how to begin. +</p> +<p> +It was she herself who spoke. +</p> +<p> +“What a cursed thing life is!” she exclaimed plainly, +abstractedly, and in a tone of deep conviction. +</p> +<p> +But this was no complaint. In these words there was too much of +indifference for a complaint. This simple soul thought according to her +understanding—thought and proceeded to form a certain conclusion +which she expressed aloud, and which I could not confute for fear of +contradicting myself. Therefore I was silent, and she, as if she had not +noticed me, continued to sit there immovable. +</p> +<p> +“Even if we croaked ... what then...?” Natasha began again, +this time quietly and reflectively, and still there was not one note of +complaint in her words. It was plain that this person, in the course of +her reflections on life, was regarding her own case, and had arrived at +the conviction that in order to preserve herself from the mockeries of +life, she was not in a position to do anything else but simply “croak”—to +use her own expression. +</p> +<p> +The clearness of this line of thought was inexpressibly sad and painful to +me, and I felt that if I kept silence any longer I was really bound to +weep... And it would have been shameful to have done this before a woman, +especially as she was not weeping herself. I resolved to speak to her. +</p> +<p> +“Who was it that knocked you about?” I asked. For the moment I +could not think of anything more sensible or more delicate. +</p> +<p> +“Pashka did it all,” she answered in a dull and level tone. +</p> +<p> +“And who is he?” +</p> +<p> +“My lover... He was a baker.” +</p> +<p> +“Did he beat you often?” +</p> +<p> +“Whenever he was drunk he beat me... Often!” +</p> +<p> +And suddenly, turning towards me, she began to talk about herself, Pashka, +and their mutual relations. He was a baker with red moustaches and played +very well on the banjo. He came to see her and greatly pleased her, for he +was a merry chap and wore nice clean clothes. He had a vest which cost +fifteen rubles and boots with dress tops. For these reasons she had fallen +in love with him, and he became her “creditor.” And when he +became her creditor he made it his business to take away from her the +money which her other friends gave to her for bonbons, and, getting drunk +on this money, he would fall to beating her; but that would have been +nothing if he hadn’t also begun to “run after” other +girls before her very eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Now, wasn’t that an insult? I am not worse than the others. +Of course that meant that he was laughing at me, the blackguard. The day +before yesterday I asked leave of my mistress to go out for a bit, went to +him, and there I found Dimka sitting beside him drunk. And he, too, was +half seas over. I said, ‘You scoundrel, you!’ And he gave me a +thorough hiding. He kicked me and dragged me by the hair. But that was +nothing to what came after. He spoiled everything I had on—left me +just as I am now! How could I appear before my mistress? He spoiled +everything ... my dress and my jacket too—it was quite a new one; I +gave a fiver for it ... and tore my kerchief from my head... Oh, Lord! +What will become of me now?” she suddenly whined in a lamentable +overstrained voice. +</p> +<p> +The wind howled, and became ever colder and more boisterous... Again my +teeth began to dance up and down, and she, huddled up to avoid the cold, +pressed as closely to me as she could, so that I could see the gleam of +her eyes through the darkness. +</p> +<p> +“What wretches all you men are! I’d burn you all in an oven; I’d +cut you in pieces. If any one of you was dying I’d spit in his +mouth, and not pity him a bit. Mean skunks! You wheedle and wheedle, you +wag your tails like cringing dogs, and we fools give ourselves up to you, +and it’s all up with us! Immediately you trample us underfoot... +Miserable loafers” +</p> +<p> +She cursed us up and down, but there was no vigour, no malice, no hatred +of these “miserable loafers” in her cursing that I could hear. +The tone of her language by no means corresponded with its subject-matter, +for it was calm enough, and the gamut of her voice was terribly poor. +</p> +<p> +Yet all this made a stronger impression on me than the most eloquent and +convincing pessimistic books and speeches, of which I had read a good many +and which I still read to this day. And this, you see, was because the +agony of a dying person is much more natural and violent than the most +minute and picturesque descriptions of death. +</p> +<p> +I felt really wretched—more from cold than from the words of my +neighbour. I groaned softly and ground my teeth. +</p> +<p> +Almost at the same moment I felt two little arms about me—one of +them touched my neck and the other lay upon my face—and at the same +time an anxious, gentle, friendly voice uttered the question: +</p> +<p> +“What ails you?” +</p> +<p> +I was ready to believe that some one else was asking me this and not +Natasha, who had just declared that all men were scoundrels, and expressed +a wish for their destruction. But she it was, and now she began speaking +quickly, hurriedly. +</p> +<p> +“What ails you, eh? Are you cold? Are you frozen? Ah, what a one you +are, sitting there so silent like a little owl! Why, you should have told +me long ago that you were cold. Come ... lie on the ground ... stretch +yourself out and I will lie ... there! How’s that? Now put your arms +round me?... tighter! How’s that? You shall be warm very soon now... +And then we’ll lie back to back... The night will pass so quickly, +see if it won’t. I say ... have you too been drinking?... Turned out +of your place, eh?... It doesn’t matter.” +</p> +<p> +And she comforted me... She encouraged me. +</p> +<p> +May I be thrice accursed! What a world of irony was in this single fact +for me! Just imagine! Here was I, seriously occupied at this very time +with the destiny of humanity, thinking of the re-organisation of the +social system, of political revolutions, reading all sorts of +devilishly-wise books whose abysmal profundity was certainly unfathomable +by their very authors—at this very time, I say, I was trying with +all my might to make of myself “a potent active social force.” +It even seemed to me that I had partially accomplished my object; anyhow, +at this time, in my ideas about myself, I had got so far as to recognise +that I had an exclusive right to exist, that I had the necessary greatness +to deserve to live my life, and that I was fully competent to play a great +historical part therein. And a woman was now warming me with her body, a +wretched, battered, hunted creature, who had no place and no value in +life, and whom I had never thought of helping till she helped me herself, +and whom I really would not have known how to help in any way even if the +thought of it had occurred to me. +</p> +<p> +Ah! I was ready to think that all this was happening to me in a dream—in +a disagreeable, an oppressive dream. +</p> +<p> +But, ugh! it was impossible for me to think that, for cold drops of rain +were dripping down upon me, the woman was pressing close to me, her warm +breath was fanning my face, and—despite a slight odor of vodka—it +did me good. The wind howled and raged, the rain smote upon the skiff, the +waves splashed, and both of us, embracing each other convulsively, +nevertheless shivered with cold. All this was only too real, and I am +certain that nobody ever dreamed such an oppressive and horrid dream as +that reality. +</p> +<p> +But Natasha was talking all the time of something or other, talking kindly +and sympathetically, as only women can talk. Beneath the influence of her +voice and kindly words a little fire began to burn up within me, and +something inside my heart thawed in consequence. +</p> +<p> +Then tears poured from my eyes like a hailstorm, washing away from my +heart much that was evil, much that was stupid, much sorrow and dirt which +had fastened upon it before that night. Natasha comforted me. +</p> +<p> +“Come, come, that will do, little one! Don’t take on! That’ll +do! God will give you another chance ... you will right yourself and stand +in your proper place again ... and it will be all right...” +</p> +<p> +And she kept kissing me ... many kisses did she give me ... burning kisses +... and all for nothing... +</p> +<p> +Those were the first kisses from a woman that had ever been bestowed upon +me, and they were the best kisses too, for all the subsequent kisses cost +me frightfully dear, and really gave me nothing at all in exchange. +</p> +<p> +“Come, don’t take on so, funny one! I’ll manage for you +to-morrow if you cannot find a place.” Her quiet persuasive +whispering sounded in my ears as if it came through a dream... +</p> +<p> +There we lay till dawn... +</p> +<p> +And when the dawn came, we crept from behind the skiff and went into the +town... Then we took friendly leave of each other and never met again, +although for half a year I searched in every hole and corner for that kind +Natasha, with whom I spent the autumn night just described. +</p> +<p> +If she be already dead—and well for her if it were so—may she +rest in peace! And if she be alive ... still I say “Peace to her +soul!” And may the consciousness of her fall never enter her soul +... for that would be a superfluous and fruitless suffering if life is to +be lived... +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +HER LOVER +</h2> +<h3> +BY MAXIM GORKY +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>n acquaintance of mine once told me the following story. +</p> +<p> +When I was a student at Moscow I happened to live alongside one of those +ladies whose repute is questionable. She was a Pole, and they called her +Teresa. She was a tallish, powerfully-built brunette, with black, bushy +eyebrows and a large coarse face as if carved out by a hatchet—the +bestial gleam of her dark eyes, her thick bass voice, her cabman-like gait +and her immense muscular vigour, worthy of a fishwife, inspired me with +horror. I lived on the top flight and her garret was opposite to mine. I +never left my door open when I knew her to be at home. But this, after +all, was a very rare occurrence. Sometimes I chanced to meet her on the +staircase or in the yard, and she would smile upon me with a smile which +seemed to me to be sly and cynical. Occasionally, I saw her drunk, with +bleary eyes, tousled hair, and a particularly hideous grin. On such +occasions she would speak to me. +</p> +<p> +“How d’ye do, Mr. Student!” and her stupid laugh would +still further intensify my loathing of her. I should have liked to have +changed my quarters in order to have avoided such encounters and +greetings; but my little chamber was a nice one, and there was such a wide +view from the window, and it was always so quiet in the street below—so +I endured. +</p> +<p> +And one morning I was sprawling on my couch, trying to find some sort of +excuse for not attending my class, when the door opened, and the bass +voice of Teresa the loathsome resounded from my threshold: +</p> +<p> +“Good health to you, Mr. Student!” +</p> +<p> +“What do you want?” I said. I saw that her face was confused +and supplicatory... It was a very unusual sort of face for her. +</p> +<p> +“Sir! I want to beg a favour of you. Will you grant it me?” +</p> +<p> +I lay there silent, and thought to myself: +</p> +<p> +“Gracious!... Courage, my boy!” +</p> +<p> +“I want to send a letter home, that’s what it is,” she +said; her voice was beseeching, soft, timid. +</p> +<p> +“Deuce take you!” I thought; but up I jumped, sat down at my +table, took a sheet of paper, and said: +</p> +<p> +“Come here, sit down, and dictate!” +</p> +<p> +She came, sat down very gingerly on a chair, and looked at me with a +guilty look. +</p> +<p> +“Well, to whom do you want to write?” +</p> +<p> +“To Boleslav Kashput, at the town of Svieptziana, on the Warsaw +Road...” +</p> +<p> +“Well, fire away!” +</p> +<p> +“My dear Boles ... my darling ... my faithful lover. May the Mother +of God protect thee! Thou heart of gold, why hast thou not written for +such a long time to thy sorrowing little dove, Teresa?” +</p> +<p> +I very nearly burst out laughing. “A sorrowing little dove!” +more than five feet high, with fists a stone and more in weight, and as +black a face as if the little dove had lived all its life in a chimney, +and had never once washed itself! Restraining myself somehow, I asked: +</p> +<p> +“Who is this Bolest?” +</p> +<p> +“Boles, Mr. Student,” she said, as if offended with me for +blundering over the name, “he is Boles—my young man.” +</p> +<p> +“Young man!” +</p> +<p> +“Why are you so surprised, sir? Cannot I, a girl, have a young man?” +</p> +<p> +She? A girl? Well! +</p> +<p> +“Oh, why not?” I said. “All things are possible. And has +he been your young man long?” +</p> +<p> +“Six years.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, ho!” I thought. “Well, let us write your letter...” +</p> +<p> +And I tell you plainly that I would willingly have changed places with +this Boles if his fair correspondent had been not Teresa but something +less than she. +</p> +<p> +“I thank you most heartily, sir, for your kind services,” said +Teresa to me, with a curtsey. “Perhaps <i>I</i> can show <i>you</i> +some service, eh?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I most humbly thank you all the same.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps, sir, your shirts or your trousers may want a little +mending?” +</p> +<p> +I felt that this mastodon in petticoats had made me grow quite red with +shame, and I told her pretty sharply that I had no need whatever of her +services. +</p> +<p> +She departed. +</p> +<p> +A week or two passed away. It was evening. I was sitting at my window +whistling and thinking of some expedient for enabling me to get away from +myself. I was bored; the weather was dirty. I didn’t want to go out, +and out of sheer ennui I began a course of self-analysis and reflection. +This also was dull enough work, but I didn’t care about doing +anything else. Then the door opened. Heaven be praised! Some one came in. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Mr. Student, you have no pressing business, I hope?” +</p> +<p> +It was Teresa. Humph! +</p> +<p> +“No. What is it?” +</p> +<p> +“I was going to ask you, sir, to write me another letter.” +</p> +<p> +“Very well! To Boles, eh?” +</p> +<p> +“No, this time it is from him.” +</p> +<p> +“Wha-at?” +</p> +<p> +“Stupid that I am! It is not for me, Mr. Student, I beg your pardon. +It is for a friend of mine, that is to say, not a friend but an +acquaintance—a man acquaintance. He has a sweetheart just like me +here, Teresa. That’s how it is. Will you, sir, write a letter to +this Teresa?” +</p> +<p> +I looked at her—her face was troubled, her fingers were trembling. I +was a bit fogged at first—and then I guessed how it was. +</p> +<p> +“Look here, my lady,” I said, “there are no Boleses or +Teresas at all, and you’ve been telling me a pack of lies. Don’t +you come sneaking about me any longer. I have no wish whatever to +cultivate your acquaintance. Do you understand?” +</p> +<p> +And suddenly she grew strangely terrified and distraught; she began to +shift from foot to foot without moving from the place, and spluttered +comically, as if she wanted to say something and couldn’t. I waited +to see what would come of all this, and I saw and felt that, apparently, I +had made a great mistake in suspecting her of wishing to draw me from the +path of righteousness. It was evidently something very different. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Student!” she began, and suddenly, waving her hand, she +turned abruptly towards the door and went out. I remained with a very +unpleasant feeling in my mind. I listened. Her door was flung violently to—plainly +the poor wench was very angry... I thought it over, and resolved to go to +her, and, inviting her to come in here, write everything she wanted. +</p> +<p> +I entered her apartment. I looked round. She was sitting at the table, +leaning on her elbows, with her head in her hands. +</p> +<p> +“Listen to me,” I said. +</p> +<p> +Now, whenever I come to this point in my story, I always feel horribly +awkward and idiotic. Well, well! +</p> +<p> +“Listen to me,” I said. +</p> +<p> +She leaped from her seat, came towards me with flashing eyes, and laying +her hands on my shoulders, began to whisper, or rather to hum in her +peculiar bass voice: +</p> +<p> +“Look you, now! It’s like this. There’s no Boles at all, +and there’s no Teresa either. But what’s that to you? Is it a +hard thing for you to draw your pen over paper? Eh? Ah, and <i>you</i>, +too! Still such a little fair-haired boy! There’s nobody at all, +neither Boles, nor Teresa, only me. There you have it, and much good may +it do you!” +</p> +<p> +“Pardon me!” said I, altogether flabbergasted by such a +reception, “what is it all about? There’s no Boles, you say?” +</p> +<p> +“No. So it is.” +</p> +<p> +“And no Teresa either?” +</p> +<p> +“And no Teresa. I’m Teresa.” +</p> +<p> +I didn’t understand it at all. I fixed my eyes upon her, and tried +to make out which of us was taking leave of his or her senses. But she +went again to the table, searched about for something, came back to me, +and said in an offended tone: +</p> +<p> +“If it was so hard for you to write to Boles, look, there’s +your letter, take it! Others will write for me.” +</p> +<p> +I looked. In her hand was my letter to Boles. Phew! +</p> +<p> +“Listen, Teresa! What is the meaning of all this? Why must you get +others to write for you when I have already written it, and you haven’t +sent it?” +</p> +<p> +“Sent it where?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, to this—Boles.” +</p> +<p> +“There’s no such person.” +</p> +<p> +I absolutely did not understand it. There was nothing for me but to spit +and go. Then she explained. +</p> +<p> +“What is it?” she said, still offended. “There’s +no such person, I tell you,” and she extended her arms as if she +herself did not understand why there should be no such person. “But +I wanted him to be... Am I then not a human creature like the rest of +them? Yes, yes, I know, I know, of course... Yet no harm was done to any +one by my writing to him that I can see...” +</p> +<p> +“Pardon me—to whom?” +</p> +<p> +“To Boles, of course.” +</p> +<p> +“But he doesn’t exist.” +</p> +<p> +“Alas! alas! But what if he doesn’t? He doesn’t exist, +but he <i>might!</i> I write to him, and it looks as if he did exist. And +Teresa—that’s me, and he replies to me, and then I write to +him again...” +</p> +<p> +I understood at last. And I felt so sick, so miserable, so ashamed, +somehow. Alongside of me, not three yards away, lived a human creature who +had nobody in the world to treat her kindly, affectionately, and this +human being had invented a friend for herself! +</p> +<p> +“Look, now! you wrote me a letter to Boles, and I gave it to some +one else to read it to me; and when they read it to me I listened and +fancied that Boles was there. And I asked you to write me a letter from +Boles to Teresa—that is to me. When they write such a letter for me, +and read it to me, I feel quite sure that Boles is there. And life grows +easier for me in consequence.” +</p> +<p> +“Deuce take you for a blockhead!” said I to myself when I +heard this. +</p> +<p> +And from thenceforth, regularly, twice a week, I wrote a letter to Boles, +and an answer from Boles to Teresa. I wrote those answers well... She, of +course, listened to them, and wept like anything, roared, I should say, +with her bass voice. And in return for my thus moving her to tears by real +letters from the imaginary Boles, she began to mend the holes I had in my +socks, shirts, and other articles of clothing. Subsequently, about three +months after this history began, they put her in prison for something or +other. No doubt by this time she is dead. +</p> +<p> +My acquaintance shook the ash from his cigarette, looked pensively up at +the sky, and thus concluded: +</p> +<p> +Well, well, the more a human creature has tasted of bitter things the more +it hungers after the sweet things of life. And we, wrapped round in the +rags of our virtues, and regarding others through the mist of our +self-sufficiency, and persuaded of our universal impeccability, do not +understand this. +</p> +<p> +And the whole thing turns out pretty stupidly—and very cruelly. The +fallen classes, we say. And who are the fallen classes, I should like to +know? They are, first of all, people with the same bones, flesh, and blood +and nerves as ourselves. We have been told this day after day for ages. +And we actually listen—and the devil only knows how hideous the +whole thing is. Or are we completely depraved by the loud sermonising of +humanism? In reality, we also are fallen folks, and, so far as I can see, +very deeply fallen into the abyss of self-sufficiency and the conviction +of our own superiority. But enough of this. It is all as old as the hills—so +old that it is a shame to speak of it. Very old indeed—yes, that’s +what it is! +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +LAZARUS +</h2> +<h3> +BY LEONID ANDREYEV +</h3> +<h3> +I +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen Lazarus rose from the grave, after three days and nights in the +mysterious thraldom of death, and returned alive to his home, it was a +long time before any one noticed the evil peculiarities in him that were +later to make his very name terrible. His friends and relatives were +jubilant that he had come back to life. They surrounded him with +tenderness, they were lavish of their eager attentions, spending the +greatest care upon his food and drink and the new garments they made for +him. They clad him gorgeously in the glowing colours of hope and laughter, +and when, arrayed like a bridegroom, he sat at table with them again, ate +again, and drank again, they wept fondly and summoned the neighbours to +look upon the man miraculously raised from the dead. +</p> +<p> +The neighbours came and were moved with joy. Strangers arrived from +distant cities and villages to worship the miracle. They burst into stormy +exclamations, and buzzed around the house of Mary and Martha, like so many +bees. +</p> +<p> +That which was new in Lazarus’ face and gestures they explained +naturally, as the traces of his severe illness and the shock he had passed +through. It was evident that the disintegration of the body had been +halted by a miraculous power, but that the restoration had not been +complete; that death had left upon his face and body the effect of an +artist’s unfinished sketch seen through a thin glass. On his +temples, under his eyes, and in the hollow of his cheek lay a thick, +earthy blue. His fingers were blue, too, and under his nails, which had +grown long in the grave, the blue had turned livid. Here and there on his +lips and body, the skin, blistered in the grave, had burst open and left +reddish glistening cracks, as if covered with a thin, glassy slime. And he +had grown exceedingly stout. His body was horribly bloated and suggested +the fetid, damp smell of putrefaction. But the cadaverous, heavy odour +that clung to his burial garments and, as it seemed, to his very body, +soon wore off, and after some time the blue of his hands and face +softened, and the reddish cracks of his skin smoothed out, though they +never disappeared completely. Such was the aspect of Lazarus in his second +life. It looked natural only to those who had seen him buried. +</p> +<p> +Not merely Lazarus’ face, but his very character, it seemed, had +changed; though it astonished no one and did not attract the attention it +deserved. Before his death Lazarus had been cheerful and careless, a lover +of laughter and harmless jest. It was because of his good humour, pleasant +and equable, his freedom from meanness and gloom, that he had been so +beloved by the Master. Now he was grave and silent; neither he himself +jested nor did he laugh at the jests of others; and the words he spoke +occasionally were simple, ordinary and necessary words—words as much +devoid of sense and depth as are the sounds with which an animal expresses +pain and pleasure, thirst and hunger. Such words a man may speak all his +life and no one would ever know the sorrows and joys that dwelt within +him. +</p> +<p> +Thus it was that Lazarus sat at the festive table among his friends and +relatives—his face the face of a corpse over which, for three days, +death had reigned in darkness, his garments gorgeous and festive, +glittering with gold, bloody-red and purple; his mien heavy and silent. He +was horribly changed and strange, but as yet undiscovered. In high waves, +now mild, now stormy, the festivities went on around him. Warm glances of +love caressed his face, still cold with the touch of the grave; and a +friend’s warm hand patted his bluish, heavy hand. And the music +played joyous tunes mingled of the sounds of the tympanum, the pipe, the +zither and the dulcimer. It was as if bees were humming, locusts buzzing +and birds singing over the happy home of Mary and Martha. +</p> +<h3> +II +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>ome one recklessly lifted the veil. By one breath of an uttered word he +destroyed the serene charm, and uncovered the truth in its ugly nakedness. +No thought was clearly defined in his mind, when his lips smilingly asked: +“Why do you not tell us, Lazarus, what was There?” And all +became silent, struck with the question. Only now it seemed to have +occurred to them that for three days Lazarus had been dead; and they +looked with curiosity, awaiting an answer. But Lazarus remained silent. +</p> +<p> +“You will not tell us?” wondered the inquirer. “Is it so +terrible There?” +</p> +<p> +Again his thought lagged behind his words. Had it preceded them, he would +not have asked the question, for, at the very moment he uttered it, his +heart sank with a dread fear. All grew restless; they awaited the words of +Lazarus anxiously. But he was silent, cold and severe, and his eyes were +cast down. And now, as if for the first time, they perceived the horrible +bluishness of his face and the loathsome corpulence of his body. On the +table, as if forgotten by Lazarus, lay his livid blue hand, and all eyes +were riveted upon it, as though expecting the desired answer from that +hand. The musicians still played; then silence fell upon them, too, and +the gay sounds died down, as scattered coals are extinguished by water. +The pipe became mute, and the ringing tympanum and the murmuring dulcimer; +and as though a chord were broken, as though song itself were dying, the +zither echoed a trembling broken sound. Then all was quiet. +</p> +<p> +“You will not?” repeated the inquirer, unable to restrain his +babbling tongue. Silence reigned, and the livid blue hand lay motionless. +It moved slightly, and the company sighed with relief and raised their +eyes. Lazarus, risen from the dead, was looking straight at them, +embracing all with one glance, heavy and terrible. +</p> +<p> +This was on the third day after Lazarus had arisen from the grave. Since +then many had felt that his gaze was the gaze of destruction, but neither +those who had been forever crushed by it, nor those who in the prime of +life (mysterious even as death) had found the will to resist his glance, +could ever explain the terror that lay immovable in the depths of his +black pupils. He looked quiet and simple. One felt that he had no +intention to hide anything, but also no intention to tell anything. His +look was cold, as of one who is entirely indifferent to all that is alive. +And many careless people who pressed around him, and did not notice him, +later learned with wonder and fear the name of this stout, quiet man who +brushed against them with his sumptuous, gaudy garments. The sun did not +stop shining when he looked, neither did the fountain cease playing, and +the Eastern sky remained cloudless and blue as always; but the man who +fell under his inscrutable gaze could no longer feel the sun, nor hear the +fountain, nor recognise his native sky. Sometimes he would cry bitterly, +sometimes tear his hair in despair and madly call for help; but generally +it happened that the men thus stricken by the gaze of Lazarus began to +fade away listlessly and quietly and pass into a slow death lasting many +long years. They died in the presence of everybody, colourless, haggard +and gloomy, like trees withering on rocky ground. Those who screamed in +madness sometimes came back to life; but the others, never. +</p> +<p> +“So you will not tell us, Lazarus, what you saw There?” the +inquirer repeated for the third time. But now his voice was dull, and a +dead, grey weariness looked stupidly from out his eyes. The faces of all +present were also covered by the same dead grey weariness like a mist. The +guests stared at one another stupidly, not knowing why they had come +together or why they sat around this rich table. They stopped talking, and +vaguely felt it was time to leave; but they could not overcome the +lassitude that spread through their muscles. So they continued to sit +there, each one isolated, like little dim lights scattered in the darkness +of night. +</p> +<p> +The musicians were paid to play, and they again took up the instruments, +and again played gay or mournful airs. But it was music made to order, +always the same tunes, and the guests listened wonderingly. Why was this +music necessary, they thought, why was it necessary and what good did it +do for people to pull at strings and blow their cheeks into thin pipes, +and produce varied and strange-sounding noises? +</p> +<p> +“How badly they play!” said some one. +</p> +<p> +The musicians were insulted and left. Then the guests departed one by one, +for it was nearing night. And when the quiet darkness enveloped them, and +it became easier to breathe, the image of Lazarus suddenly arose before +each one in stern splendour. There he stood, with the blue face of a +corpse and the raiment of a bridegroom, sumptuous and resplendent, in his +eyes that cold stare in the depths of which lurked <i>The Horrible!</i> +They stood still as if turned into stone. The darkness surrounded them, +and in the midst of this darkness flamed up the horrible apparition, the +supernatural vision, of the one who for three days had lain under the +measureless power of death. Three days he had been dead. Thrice had the +sun risen and set—and he had lain dead. The children had played, the +water had murmured as it streamed over the rocks, the hot dust had clouded +the highway—and he had been dead. And now he was among men again—touched +them—looked at them—<i>looked at them!</i> And through the +black rings of his pupils, as through dark glasses, the unfathomable <i>There</i> +gazed upon humanity. +</p> +<h3> +III +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>o one took care of Lazarus, and no friends or kindred remained with him. +Only the great desert, enfolding the Holy City, came close to the +threshold of his abode. It entered his home, and lay down on his couch +like a spouse, and put out all the fires. No one cared for Lazarus. One +after the other went away, even his sisters, Mary and Martha. For a long +while Martha did not want to leave him, for she knew not who would nurse +him or take care of him; and she cried and prayed. But one night, when the +wind was roaming about the desert, and the rustling cypress trees were +bending over the roof, she dressed herself quietly, and quietly went away. +Lazarus probably heard how the door was slammed—it had not shut +properly and the wind kept knocking it continually against the post—but +he did not rise, did not go out, did not try to find out the reason. And +the whole night until the morning the cypress trees hissed over his head, +and the door swung to and fro, allowing the cold, greedily prowling desert +to enter his dwelling. Everybody shunned him as though he were a leper. +They wanted to put a bell on his neck to avoid meeting him. But some one, +turning pale, remarked it would be terrible if at night, under the +windows, one should happen to hear Lazarus’ bell, and all grew pale +and assented. +</p> +<p> +Since he did nothing for himself, he would probably have starved had not +his neighbours, in trepidation, saved some food for him. Children brought +it to him. They did not fear him, neither did they laugh at him in the +innocent cruelty in which children often laugh at unfortunates. They were +indifferent to him, and Lazarus showed the same indifference to them. He +showed no desire to thank them for their services; he did not try to pat +the dark hands and look into the simple shining little eyes. Abandoned to +the ravages of time and the desert, his house was falling to ruins, and +his hungry, bleating goats had long been scattered among his neighbours. +His wedding garments had grown old. He wore them without changing them, as +he had donned them on that happy day when the musicians played. He did not +see the difference between old and new, between torn and whole. The +brilliant colours were burnt and faded; the vicious dogs of the city and +the sharp thorns of the desert had rent the fine clothes to shreds. +</p> +<p> +During the day, when the sun beat down mercilessly upon all living things, +and even the scorpions hid under the stones, convulsed with a mad desire +to sting, he sat motionless in the burning rays, lifting high his blue +face and shaggy wild beard. +</p> +<p> +While yet the people were unafraid to speak to him, same one had asked +him: “Poor Lazarus! Do you find it pleasant to sit so, and look at +the sun?” And he answered: “Yes, it is pleasant.” +</p> +<p> +The thought suggested itself to people that the cold of the three days in +the grave had been so intense, its darkness so deep, that there was not in +all the earth enough heat or light to warm Lazarus and lighten the gloom +of his eyes; and inquirers turned away with a sigh. +</p> +<p> +And when the setting sun, flat and purple-red, descended to earth, Lazarus +went into the desert and walked straight toward it, as though intending to +reach it. Always he walked directly toward the sun, and those who tried to +follow him and find out what he did at night in the desert had indelibly +imprinted upon their mind’s vision the black silhouette of a tall, +stout man against the red background of an immense disk. The horrors of +the night drove them away, and so they never found out what Lazarus did in +the desert; but the image of the black form against the red was burned +forever into their brains. Like an animal with a cinder in its eye which +furiously rubs its muzzle against its paws, they foolishly rubbed their +eyes; but the impression left by Lazarus was ineffaceable, forgotten only +in death. +</p> +<p> +There were people living far away who never saw Lazarus and only heard of +him. With an audacious curiosity which is stronger than fear and feeds on +fear, with a secret sneer in their hearts, some of them came to him one +day as he basked in the sun, and entered into conversation with him. At +that time his appearance had changed for the better and was not so +frightful. At first the visitors snapped their fingers and thought +disapprovingly of the foolish inhabitants of the Holy City. But when the +short talk came to an end and they went home, their expression was such +that the inhabitants of the Holy City at once knew their errand and said: +“Here go some more madmen at whom Lazarus has looked.” The +speakers raised their hands in silent pity. +</p> +<p> +Other visitors came, among them brave warriors in clinking armour, who +knew not fear, and happy youths who made merry with laughter and song. +Busy merchants, jingling their coins, ran in for awhile, and proud +attendants at the Temple placed their staffs at Lazarus’ door. But +no one returned the same as he came. A frightful shadow fell upon their +souls, and gave a new appearance to the old familiar world. +</p> +<p> +Those who felt any desire to speak, after they had been stricken by the +gaze of Lazarus, described the change that had come over them somewhat +like this: +</p> +<p> +<i>All objects seen by the eye and palpable to the hand became empty, +light and transparent, as though they were light shadows in the darkness; +and this darkness enveloped the whole universe. It was dispelled neither +by the sun, nor by the moon, nor by the stars, but embraced the earth like +a mother, and clothed it in a boundless black veil</i>. +</p> +<p> +<i>Into all bodies it penetrated, even into iron and stone; and the +particles of the body lost their unity and became lonely. Even to the +heart of the particles it penetrated, and the particles of the particles +became lonely</i>. +</p> +<p> +<i>The vast emptiness which surrounds the universe, was not filled with +things seen, with sun or moon or stars; it stretched boundless, +penetrating everywhere, disuniting everything, body from body, particle +from particle</i>. +</p> +<p> +<i>In emptiness the trees spread their roots, themselves empty; in +emptiness rose phantom temples, palaces and houses—all empty; and in +the emptiness moved restless Man, himself empty and light, like a shadow</i>. +</p> +<p> +<i>There was no more a sense of time; the beginning of all things and +their end merged into one. In the very moment when a building was being +erected and one could hear the builders striking with their hammers, one +seemed already to see its ruins, and then emptiness where the ruins were</i>. +</p> +<p> +<i>A man was just born, and funeral candles were already lighted at his +head, and then were extinguished; and soon there was emptiness where +before had been the man and the candles.</i> +</p> +<p> +<i>And surrounded by Darkness and Empty Waste, Man trembled hopelessly +before the dread of the Infinite</i>. +</p> +<p> +So spoke those who had a desire to speak. But much more could probably +have been told by those who did not want to talk, and who died in silence. +</p> +<h3> +IV +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>t that time there lived in Rome a celebrated sculptor by the name of +Aurelius. Out of clay, marble and bronze he created forms of gods and men +of such beauty that this beauty was proclaimed immortal. But he himself +was not satisfied, and said there was a supreme beauty that he had never +succeeded in expressing in marble or bronze. “I have not yet +gathered the radiance of the moon,” he said; “I have not yet +caught the glare of the sun. There is no soul in my marble, there is no +life in my beautiful bronze.” And when by moonlight he would slowly +wander along the roads, crossing the black shadows of the cypress-trees, +his white tunic flashing in the moonlight, those he met used to laugh +good-naturedly and say: “Is it moonlight that you are gathering, +Aurelius? Why did you not bring some baskets along?” +</p> +<p> +And he, too, would laugh and point to his eyes and say: “Here are +the baskets in which I gather the light of the moon and the radiance of +the sun.” +</p> +<p> +And that was the truth. In his eyes shone moon and sun. But he could not +transmit the radiance to marble. Therein lay the greatest tragedy of his +life. He was a descendant of an ancient race of patricians, had a good +wife and children, and except in this one respect, lacked nothing. +</p> +<p> +When the dark rumour about Lazarus reached him, he consulted his wife and +friends and decided to make the long voyage to Judea, in order that he +might look upon the man miraculously raised from the dead. He felt lonely +in those days and hoped on the way to renew his jaded energies. What they +told him about Lazarus did not frighten him. He had meditated much upon +death. He did not like it, nor did he like those who tried to harmonise it +with life. On this side, beautiful life; on the other, mysterious death, +he reasoned, and no better lot could befall a man than to live—to +enjoy life and the beauty of living. And he already had conceived a desire +to convince Lazarus of the truth of this view and to return his soul to +life even as his body had been returned. This task did not appear +impossible, for the reports about Lazarus, fearsome and strange as they +were, did not tell the whole truth about him, but only carried a vague +warning against something awful. +</p> +<p> +Lazarus was getting up from a stone to follow in the path of the setting +sun, on the evening when the rich Roman, accompanied by an armed slave, +approached him, and in a ringing voice called to him: “Lazarus!” +</p> +<p> +Lazarus saw a proud and beautiful face, made radiant by fame, and white +garments and precious jewels shining in the sunlight. The ruddy rays of +the sun lent to the head and face a likeness to dimly shining bronze—that +was what Lazarus saw. He sank back to his seat obediently, and wearily +lowered his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“It is true you are not beautiful, my poor Lazarus,” said the +Roman quietly, playing with his gold chain. “You are even frightful, +my poor friend; and death was not lazy the day when you so carelessly fell +into its arms. But you are as fat as a barrel, and ‘Fat people are +not bad,’ as the great Cæsar said. I do not understand why people +are so afraid of you. You will permit me to stay with you over night? It +is already late, and I have no abode.” +</p> +<p> +Nobody had ever asked Lazarus to be allowed to pass the night with him. +</p> +<p> +“I have no bed,” said he. +</p> +<p> +“I am somewhat of a warrior and can sleep sitting,” replied +the Roman. “We shall make a light.” +</p> +<p> +“I have no light.” +</p> +<p> +“Then we will converse in the darkness like two friends. I suppose +you have some wine?” +</p> +<p> +“I have no wine.” +</p> +<p> +The Roman laughed. +</p> +<p> +“Now I understand why you are so gloomy and why you do not like your +second life. No wine? Well, we shall do without. You know there are words +that go to one’s head even as Falernian wine.” +</p> +<p> +With a motion of his head he dismissed the slave, and they were alone. And +again the sculptor spoke, but it seemed as though the sinking sun had +penetrated into his words. They faded, pale and empty, as if trembling on +weak feet, as if slipping and falling, drunk with the wine of anguish and +despair. And black chasms appeared between the two men—like remote +hints of vast emptiness and vast darkness. +</p> +<p> +“Now I am your guest and you will not ill-treat me, Lazarus!” +said the Roman. “Hospitality is binding even upon those who have +been three days dead. Three days, I am told, you were in the grave. It +must have been cold there... and it is from there that you have brought +this bad habit of doing without light and wine. I like a light. It gets +dark so quickly here. Your eyebrows and forehead have an interesting line: +even as the ruins of castles covered with the ashes of an earthquake. But +why in such strange, ugly clothes? I have seen the bridegrooms of your +country, they wear clothes like that—such ridiculous clothes—such +awful garments... Are you a bridegroom?” +</p> +<p> +Already the sun had disappeared. A gigantic black shadow was approaching +fast from the west, as if prodigious bare feet were rustling over the +sand. And the chill breezes stole up behind. +</p> +<p> +“In the darkness you seem even bigger, Lazarus, as though you had +grown stouter in these few minutes. Do you feed on darkness, perchance?... +And I would like a light... just a small light... just a small light. And +I am cold. The nights here are so barbarously cold... If it were not so +dark, I should say you were looking at me, Lazarus. Yes, it seems, you are +looking. You are looking. <i>You are looking at me!</i>... I feel it—now +you are smiling.” +</p> +<p> +The night had come, and a heavy blackness filled the air. +</p> +<p> +“How good it will be when the sun rises again to-morrow... You know +I am a great sculptor... so my friends call me. I create, yes, they say I +create, but for that daylight is necessary. I give life to cold marble. I +melt the ringing bronze in the fire, in a bright, hot fire. Why did you +touch me with your hand?” +</p> +<p> +“Come,” said Lazarus, “you are my guest.” And they +went into the house. And the shadows of the long evening fell on the +earth... +</p> +<p> +The slave at last grew tired waiting for his master, and when the sun +stood high he came to the house. And he saw, directly under its burning +rays, Lazarus and his master sitting close together. They looked straight +up and were silent. +</p> +<p> +The slave wept and cried aloud: “Master, what ails you, Master!” +</p> +<p> +The same day Aurelius left for Rome. The whole way he was thoughtful and +silent, attentively examining everything, the people, the ship, and the +sea, as though endeavouring to recall something. On the sea a great storm +overtook them, and all the while Aurelius remained on deck and gazed +eagerly at the approaching and falling waves. When he reached home his +family were shocked at the terrible change in his demeanour, but he calmed +them with the words: “I have found it!” +</p> +<p> +In the dusty clothes which he had worn during the entire journey and had +not changed, he began his work, and the marble ringingly responded to the +resounding blows of the hammer. Long and eagerly he worked, admitting no +one. At last, one morning, he announced that the work was ready, and gave +instructions that all his friends, and the severe critics and judges of +art, be called together. Then he donned gorgeous garments, shining with +gold, glowing with the purple of the byssin. +</p> +<p> +“Here is what I have created,” he said thoughtfully. +</p> +<p> +His friends looked, and immediately the shadow of deep sorrow covered +their faces. It was a thing monstrous, possessing none of the forms +familiar to the eye, yet not devoid of a hint of some new unknown form. On +a thin tortuous little branch, or rather an ugly likeness of one, lay +crooked, strange, unsightly, shapeless heaps of something turned outside +in, or something turned inside out—wild fragments which seemed to be +feebly trying to get away from themselves. And, accidentally, under one of +the wild projections, they noticed a wonderfully sculptured butterfly, +with transparent wings, trembling as though with a weak longing to fly. +</p> +<p> +“Why that wonderful butterfly, Aurelius?” timidly asked some +one. +</p> +<p> +“I do not know,” answered the sculptor. +</p> +<p> +The truth had to be told, and one of his friends, the one who loved +Aurelius best, said: “This is ugly, my poor friend. It must be +destroyed. Give me the hammer.” And with two blows he destroyed the +monstrous mass, leaving only the wonderfully sculptured butterfly. +</p> +<p> +After that Aurelius created nothing. He looked with absolute indifference +at marble and at bronze and at his own divine creations, in which dwelt +immortal beauty. In the hope of breathing into him once again the old +flame of inspiration, with the idea of awakening his dead soul, his +friends led him to see the beautiful creations of others, but he remained +indifferent and no smile warmed his closed lips. And only after they spoke +to him much and long of beauty, he would reply wearily: +</p> +<p> +“But all this is—a lie.” +</p> +<p> +And in the daytime, when the sun was shining, he would go into his rich +and beautifully laid-out garden, and finding a place where there was no +shadow, would expose his bare head and his dull eyes to the glitter and +burning heat of the sun. Red and white butterflies fluttered around; down +into the marble cistern ran splashing water from the crooked mouth of a +blissfully drunken Satyr; but he sat motionless, like a pale shadow of +that other one who, in a far land, at the very gates of the stony desert, +also sat motionless under the fiery sun. +</p> +<h3> +V +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>nd it came about finally that Lazarus was summoned to Rome by the great +Augustus. +</p> +<p> +They dressed him in gorgeous garments as though it had been ordained that +he was to remain a bridegroom to an unknown bride until the very day of +his death. It was as if an old coffin, rotten and falling apart, were +regilded over and over, and gay tassels were hung on it. And solemnly they +conducted him in gala attire, as though in truth it were a bridal +procession, the runners loudly sounding the trumpet that the way be made +for the ambassadors of the Emperor. But the roads along which he passed +were deserted. His entire native land cursed the execrable name of +Lazarus, the man miraculously brought to life, and the people scattered at +the mere report of his horrible approach. The trumpeters blew lonely +blasts, and only the desert answered with a dying echo. +</p> +<p> +Then they carried him across the sea on the saddest and most gorgeous ship +that was ever mirrored in the azure waves of the Mediterranean. There were +many people aboard, but the ship was silent and still as a coffin, and the +water seemed to moan as it parted before the short curved prow. Lazarus +sat lonely, baring his head to the sun, and listening in silence to the +splashing of the waters. Further away the seamen and the ambassadors +gathered like a crowd of distressed shadows. If a thunderstorm had +happened to burst upon them at that time or the wind had overwhelmed the +red sails, the ship would probably have perished, for none of those who +were on her had strength or desire enough to fight for life. With supreme +effort some went to the side of the ship and eagerly gazed at the blue, +transparent abyss. Perhaps they imagined they saw a naiad flashing a pink +shoulder through the waves, or an insanely joyous and drunken centaur +galloping by, splashing up the water with his hoofs. But the sea was +deserted and mute, and so was the watery abyss. +</p> +<p> +Listlessly Lazarus set foot on the streets of the Eternal City, as though +all its riches, all the majesty of its gigantic edifices, all the lustre +and beauty and music of refined life, were simply the echo of the wind in +the desert, or the misty images of hot running sand. Chariots whirled by; +the crowd of strong, beautiful, haughty men passed on, builders of the +Eternal City and proud partakers of its life; songs rang out; fountains +laughed; pearly laughter of women filled the air, while the drunkard +philosophised and the sober ones smilingly listened; horseshoes rattled on +the pavement. And surrounded on all sides by glad sounds, a fat, heavy man +moved through the centre of the city like a cold spot of silence, sowing +in his path grief, anger and vague, carking distress. Who dared to be sad +in Rome? indignantly demanded frowning citizens; and in two days the +swift-tongued Rome knew of Lazarus, the man miraculously raised from the +grave, and timidly evaded him. +</p> +<p> +There were many brave men ready to try their strength, and at their +senseless call Lazarus came obediently. The Emperor was so engrossed with +state affairs that he delayed receiving the visitor, and for seven days +Lazarus moved among the people. +</p> +<p> +A jovial drunkard met him with a smile on his red lips. “Drink, +Lazarus, drink!” he cried, “Would not Augustus laugh to see +you drink!” And naked, besotted women laughed, and decked the blue +hands of Lazarus with rose-leaves. But the drunkard looked into the eyes +of Lazarus—and his joy ended forever. Thereafter he was always +drunk. He drank no more, but was drunk all the time, shadowed by fearful +dreams, instead of the joyous reveries that wine gives. Fearful dreams +became the food of his broken spirit. Fearful dreams held him day and +night in the mists of monstrous fantasy, and death itself was no more +fearful than the apparition of its fierce precursor. +</p> +<p> +Lazarus came to a youth and his lass who loved each other and were +beautiful in their love. Proudly and strongly holding in his arms his +beloved one, the youth said, with gentle pity: “Look at us, Lazarus, +and rejoice with us. Is there anything stronger than love?” +</p> +<p> +And Lazarus looked at them. And their whole life they continued to love +one another, but their love became mournful and gloomy, even as those +cypress trees over the tombs that feed their roots on the putrescence of +the grave, and strive in vain in the quiet evening hour to touch the sky +with their pointed tops. Hurled by fathomless life-forces into each other’s +arms, they mingled their kisses with tears, their joy with pain, and only +succeeded in realising the more vividly a sense of their slavery to the +silent Nothing. Forever united, forever parted, they flashed like sparks, +and like sparks went out in boundless darkness. +</p> +<p> +Lazarus came to a proud sage, and the sage said to him: “I already +know all the horrors that you may tell me, Lazarus. With what else can you +terrify me?” +</p> +<p> +Only a few moments passed before the sage realised that the knowledge of +the horrible is not the horrible, and that the sight of death is not +death. And he felt that in the eyes of the Infinite wisdom and folly are +the same, for the Infinite knows them not. And the boundaries between +knowledge and ignorance, between truth and falsehood, between top and +bottom, faded and his shapeless thought was suspended in emptiness. Then +he grasped his grey head in his hands and cried out insanely: “I +cannot think! I cannot think!” +</p> +<p> +Thus it was that under the cool gaze of Lazarus, the man miraculously +raised from the dead, all that serves to affirm life, its sense and its +joys, perished. And people began to say it was dangerous to allow him to +see the Emperor; that it were better to kill him and bury him secretly, +and swear he had disappeared. Swords were sharpened and youths devoted to +the welfare of the people announced their readiness to become assassins, +when Augustus upset the cruel plans by demanding that Lazarus appear +before him. +</p> +<p> +Even though Lazarus could not be kept away, it was felt that the heavy +impression conveyed by his face might be somewhat softened. With that end +in view expert painters, barbers and artists were secured who worked the +whole night on Lazarus’ head. His beard was trimmed and curled. The +disagreeable and deadly bluishness of his hands and face was covered up +with paint; his hands were whitened, his cheeks rouged. The disgusting +wrinkles of suffering that ridged his old face were patched up and +painted, and on the smooth surface, wrinkles of good-nature and laughter, +and of pleasant, good-humoured cheeriness, were laid on artistically with +fine brushes. +</p> +<p> +Lazarus submitted indifferently to all they did with him, and soon was +transformed into a stout, nice-looking old man, for all the world a quiet +and good-humoured grandfather of numerous grandchildren. He looked as +though the smile with which he told funny stories had not left his lips, +as though a quiet tenderness still lay hidden in the corner of his eyes. +But the wedding-dress they did not dare to take off; and they could not +change his eyes—the dark, terrible eyes from out of which stared the +incomprehensible <i>There</i>. +</p> +<h3> +VI +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>azarus was untouched by the magnificence of the imperial apartments. He +remained stolidly indifferent, as though he saw no contrast between his +ruined house at the edge of the desert and the solid, beautiful palace of +stone. Under his feet the hard marble of the floor took on the semblance +of the moving sands of the desert, and to his eyes the throngs of gaily +dressed, haughty men were as unreal as the emptiness of the air. They +looked not into his face as he passed by, fearing to come under the awful +bane of his eyes; but when the sound of his heavy steps announced that he +had passed, heads were lifted, and eyes examined with timid curiosity the +figure of the corpulent, tall, slightly stooping old man, as he slowly +passed into the heart of the imperial palace. If death itself had appeared +men would not have feared it so much; for hitherto death had been known to +the dead only, and life to the living only, and between these two there +had been no bridge. But this strange being knew death, and that knowledge +of his was felt to be mysterious and cursed. “He will kill our +great, divine Augustus,” men cried with horror, and they hurled +curses after him. Slowly and stolidly he passed them by, penetrating ever +deeper into the palace. +</p> +<p> +Caesar knew already who Lazarus was, and was prepared to meet him. He was +a courageous man; he felt his power was invincible, and in the fateful +encounter with the man “wonderfully raised from the dead” he +refused to lean on other men’s weak help. Man to man, face to face, +he met Lazarus. +</p> +<p> +“Do not fix your gaze on me, Lazarus,” he commanded. “I +have heard that your head is like the head of Medusa, and turns into stone +all upon whom you look. But I should like to have a close look at you, and +to talk to you before I turn into stone,” he added in a spirit of +playfulness that concealed his real misgivings. +</p> +<p> +Approaching him, he examined closely Lazarus’ face and his strange +festive clothes. Though his eyes were sharp and keen, he was deceived by +the skilful counterfeit. +</p> +<p> +“Well, your appearance is not terrible, venerable sir. But all the +worse for men, when the terrible takes on such a venerable and pleasant +appearance. Now let us talk.” +</p> +<p> +Augustus sat down, and as much by glance as by words began the discussion. +“Why did you not salute me when you entered?” +</p> +<p> +Lazarus answered indifferently: “I did not know it was necessary.” +</p> +<p> +“You are a Christian?” +</p> +<p> +“No.” +</p> +<p> +Augustus nodded approvingly. “That is good. I do not like the +Christians. They shake the tree of life, forbidding it to bear fruit, and +they scatter to the wind its fragrant blossoms. But who are you?” +</p> +<p> +With some effort Lazarus answered: “I was dead.” +</p> +<p> +“I heard about that. But who are you now?” +</p> +<p> +Lazarus’ answer came slowly. Finally he said again, listlessly and +indistinctly: “I was dead.” +</p> +<p> +“Listen to me, stranger,” said the Emperor sharply, giving +expression to what had been in his mind before. “My empire is an +empire of the living; my people are a people of the living and not of the +dead. You are superfluous here. I do not know who you are, I do not know +what you have seen There, but if you lie, I hate your lies, and if you +tell the truth, I hate your truth. In my heart I feel the pulse of life; +in my hands I feel power, and my proud thoughts, like eagles, fly through +space. Behind my back, under the protection of my authority, under the +shadow of the laws I have created, men live and labour and rejoice. Do you +hear this divine harmony of life? Do you hear the war cry that men hurl +into the face of the future, challenging it to strife?” +</p> +<p> +Augustus extended his arms reverently and solemnly cried out: “Blessed +art thou, Great Divine Life!” +</p> +<p> +But Lazarus was silent, and the Emperor continued more severely: “You +are not wanted here. Pitiful remnant, half devoured of death, you fill men +with distress and aversion to life. Like a caterpillar on the fields, you +are gnawing away at the full seed of joy, exuding the slime of despair and +sorrow. Your truth is like a rusted sword in the hands of a night +assassin, and I shall condemn you to death as an assassin. But first I +want to look into your eyes. Mayhap only cowards fear them, and brave men +are spurred on to struggle and victory. Then will you merit not death but +a reward. Look at me, Lazarus.” +</p> +<p> +At first it seemed to divine Augustus as if a friend were looking at him, +so soft, so alluring, so gently fascinating was the gaze of Lazarus. It +promised not horror but quiet rest, and the Infinite dwelt there as a fond +mistress, a compassionate sister, a mother. And ever stronger grew its +gentle embrace, until he felt, as it were, the breath of a mouth hungry +for kisses... Then it seemed as if iron bones protruded in a ravenous +grip, and closed upon him in an iron band; and cold nails touched his +heart, and slowly, slowly sank into it. +</p> +<p> +“It pains me,” said divine Augustus, growing pale; “but +look, Lazarus, look!” +</p> +<p> +Ponderous gates, shutting off eternity, appeared to be slowly swinging +open, and through the growing aperture poured in, coldly and calmly, the +awful horror of the Infinite. Boundless Emptiness and Boundless Gloom +entered like two shadows, extinguishing the sun, removing the ground from +under the feet, and the cover from over the head. And the pain in his icy +heart ceased. +</p> +<p> +“Look at me, look at me, Lazarus!” commanded Augustus, +staggering... +</p> +<p> +Time ceased and the beginning of things came perilously near to the end. +The throne of Augustus, so recently erected, fell to pieces, and emptiness +took the place of the throne and of Augustus. Rome fell silently into +ruins. A new city rose in its place, and it too was erased by emptiness. +Like phantom giants, cities, kingdoms, and countries swiftly fell and +disappeared into emptiness—swallowed up in the black maw of the +Infinite... +</p> +<p> +“Cease,” commanded the Emperor. Already the accent of +indifference was in his voice. His arms hung powerless, and his eagle eyes +flashed and were dimmed again, struggling against overwhelming darkness. +</p> +<p> +“You have killed me, Lazarus,” he said drowsily. +</p> +<p> +These words of despair saved him. He thought of the people, whose shield +he was destined to be, and a sharp, redeeming pang pierced his dull heart. +He thought of them doomed to perish, and he was filled with anguish. First +they seemed bright shadows in the gloom of the Infinite.—How +terrible! Then they appeared as fragile vessels with life-agitated blood, +and hearts that knew both sorrow and great joy.—And he thought of +them with tenderness. +</p> +<p> +And so thinking and feeling, inclining the scales now to the side of life, +now to the side of death, he slowly returned to life, to find in its +suffering and joy a refuge from the gloom, emptiness and fear of the +Infinite. +</p> +<p> +“No, you did not kill me, Lazarus,” said he firmly. “But +I will kill you. Go!” +</p> +<p> +Evening came and divine Augustus partook of food and drink with great joy. +But there were moments when his raised arm would remain suspended in the +air, and the light of his shining, eager eyes was dimmed. It seemed as if +an icy wave of horror washed against his feet. He was vanquished but not +killed, and coldly awaited his doom, like a black shadow. His nights were +haunted by horror, but the bright days still brought him the joys, as well +as the sorrows, of life. +</p> +<p> +Next day, by order of the Emperor, they burned out Lazarus’ eyes +with hot irons and sent him home. Even Augustus dared not kill him. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<p> +Lazarus returned to the desert and the desert received him with the breath +of the hissing wind and the ardour of the glowing sun. Again he sat on the +stone with matted beard uplifted; and two black holes, where the eyes had +once been, looked dull and horrible at the sky. In the distance the Holy +City surged and roared restlessly, but near him all was deserted and +still. No one approached the place where Lazarus, miraculously raised from +the dead, passed his last days, for his neighbours had long since +abandoned their homes. His cursed knowledge, driven by the hot irons from +his eyes deep into the brain, lay there in ambush; as if from ambush it +might spring out upon men with a thousand unseen eyes. No one dared to +look at Lazarus. +</p> +<p> +And in the evening, when the sun, swollen crimson and growing larger, bent +its way toward the west, blind Lazarus slowly groped after it. He stumbled +against stones and fell; corpulent and feeble, he rose heavily and walked +on; and against the red curtain of sunset his dark form and outstretched +arms gave him the semblance of a cross. +</p> +<p> +It happened once that he went and never returned. Thus ended the second +life of Lazarus, who for three days had been in the mysterious thraldom of +death and then was miraculously raised from the dead. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +THE REVOLUTIONIST +</h2> +<h3> +BY MICHAÏL P. ARTZYBASHEV +</h3> +<h3> +I +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>abriel Andersen, the teacher, walked to the edge of the school garden, +where he paused, undecided what to do. Off in the distance, two miles +away, the woods hung like bluish lace over a field of pure snow. It was a +brilliant day. A hundred tints glistened on the white ground and the iron +bars of the garden railing. There was a lightness and transparency in the +air that only the days of early spring possess. Gabriel Andersen turned +his steps toward the fringe of blue lace for a tramp in the woods. +</p> +<p> +“Another spring in my life,” he said, breathing deep and +peering up at the heavens through his spectacles. Andersen was rather +given to sentimental poetising. He walked with his hands folded behind +him, dangling his cane. +</p> +<p> +He had gone but a few paces when he noticed a group of soldiers and horses +on the road beyond the garden rail. Their drab uniforms stood out dully +against the white of the snow, but their swords and horses’ coats +tossed back the light. Their bowed cavalry legs moved awkwardly on the +snow. Andersen wondered what they were doing there. Suddenly the nature of +their business flashed upon him. It was an ugly errand they were upon, an +instinct rather that his reason told him. Something unusual and terrible +was to happen. And the same instinct told him he must conceal himself from +the soldiers. He turned to the left quickly, dropped on his knees, and +crawled on the soft, thawing, crackling snow to a low haystack, from +behind which, by craning his neck, he could watch what the soldiers were +doing. +</p> +<p> +There were twelve of them, one a stocky young officer in a grey cloak +caught in prettily at the waist by a silver belt. His face was so red that +even at that distance Andersen caught the odd, whitish gleam of his light +protruding moustache and eyebrows against the vivid colour of his skin. +The broken tones of his raucous voice reached distinctly to where the +teacher, listening intently, lay hidden. +</p> +<p> +“I know what I am about. I don’t need anybody’s advice,” +the officer cried. He clapped his arms akimbo and looked down at some one +among the group of bustling soldiers. “I’ll show you how to be +a rebel, you damned skunk.” +</p> +<p> +Andersen’s heart beat fast. “Good heavens!” he thought. +“Is it possible?” His head grew chill as if struck by a cold +wave. +</p> +<p> +“Officer,” a quiet, restrained, yet distinct voice came from +among the soldiers, “you have no right—It’s for the +court to decide—you aren’t a judge—it’s plain +murder, not—” “Silence!” thundered the officer, +his voice choking with rage. “I’ll give you a court. Ivanov, +go ahead.” +</p> +<p> +He put the spurs to his horse and rode away. Gabriel Andersen mechanically +observed how carefully the horse picked its way, placing its feet daintily +as if for the steps of a minuet. Its ears were pricked to catch every +sound. There was momentary bustle and excitement among the soldiers. Then +they dispersed in different directions, leaving three persons in black +behind, two tall men and one very short and frail. Andersen could see the +hair of the short one’s head. It was very light. And he saw his rosy +ears sticking out on each side. +</p> +<p> +Now he fully understood what was to happen. But it was a thing so out of +the ordinary, so horrible, that he fancied he was dreaming. +</p> +<p> +“It’s so bright, so beautiful—the snow, the field, the +woods, the sky. The breath of spring is upon everything. Yet people are +going to be killed. How can it be? Impossible!” So his thoughts ran +in confusion. He had the sensation of a man suddenly gone insane, who +finds he sees, hears and feels what he is not accustomed to, and ought not +hear, see and feel. +</p> +<p> +The three men in black stood next to one another hard by the railing, two +quite close together, the short one some distance away. +</p> +<p> +“Officer!” one of them cried in a desperate voice—Andersen +could not see which it was—“God sees us! Officer!” +</p> +<p> +Eight soldiers dismounted quickly, their spurs and sabres catching +awkwardly. Evidently they were in a hurry, as if doing a thief’s +job. +</p> +<p> +Several seconds passed in silence until the soldiers placed themselves in +a row a few feet from the black figures and levelled their guns. In doing +so one soldier knocked his cap from his head. He picked it up and put it +on again without brushing off the wet snow. +</p> +<p> +The officer’s mount still kept dancing on one spot with his ears +pricked, while the other horses, also with sharp ears erect to catch every +sound, stood motionless looking at the men in black, their long wise heads +inclined to one side. +</p> +<p> +“Spare the boy at least!” another voice suddenly pierced the +air. “Why kill a child, damn you! What has the child done?” +</p> +<p> +“Ivanov, do what I told you to do,” thundered the officer, +drowning the other voice. His face turned as scarlet as a piece of red +flannel. +</p> +<p> +There followed a scene savage and repulsive in its gruesomeness. The short +figure in black, with the light hair and the rosy ears, uttered a wild +shriek in a shrill child’s tones and reeled to one side. Instantly +it was caught up by two or three soldiers. But the boy began to struggle, +and two more soldiers ran up. +</p> +<p> +“Ow-ow-ow-ow!” the boy cried. “Let me go, let me go! +Ow-ow!” +</p> +<p> +His shrill voice cut the air like the yell of a stuck porkling not quite +done to death. Suddenly he grew quiet. Some one must have struck him. An +unexpected, oppressive silence ensued. The boy was being pushed forward. +Then there came a deafening report. Andersen started back all in a +tremble. He saw distinctly, yet vaguely as in a dream, the dropping of two +dark bodies, the flash of pale sparks, and a light smoke rising in the +clean, bright atmosphere. He saw the soldiers hastily mounting their +horses without even glancing at the bodies. He saw them galloping along +the muddy road, their arms clanking, their horses’ hoofs clattering. +</p> +<p> +He saw all this, himself now standing in the middle of the road, not +knowing when and why he had jumped from behind the haystack. He was +deathly pale. His face was covered with dank sweat, his body was aquiver. +A physical sadness smote and tortured him. He could not make out the +nature of the feeling. It was akin to extreme sickness, though far more +nauseating and terrible. +</p> +<p> +After the soldiers had disappeared beyond the bend toward the woods, +people came hurrying to the spot of the shooting, though till then not a +soul had been in sight. +</p> +<p> +The bodies lay at the roadside on the other side of the railing, where the +snow was clean, brittle and untrampled and glistened cheerfully in the +bright atmosphere. There were three dead bodies, two men and a boy. The +boy lay with his long soft neck stretched on the snow. The face of the man +next to the boy was invisible. He had fallen face downward in a pool of +blood. The third was a big man with a black beard and huge, muscular arms. +He lay stretched out to the full length of his big body, his arms extended +over a large area of blood-stained snow. +</p> +<p> +The three men who had been shot lay black against the white snow, +motionless. From afar no one could have told the terror that was in their +immobility as they lay there at the edge of the narrow road crowded with +people. +</p> +<p> +That night Gabriel Andersen in his little room in the schoolhouse did not +write poems as usual. He stood at the window and looked at the distant +pale disk of the moon in the misty blue sky, and thought. And his thoughts +were confused, gloomy, and heavy as if a cloud had descended upon his +brain. +</p> +<p> +Indistinctly outlined in the dull moonlight he saw the dark railing, the +trees, the empty garden. It seemed to him that he beheld them—the +three men who had been shot, two grown up, one a child. They were lying +there now at the roadside, in the empty, silent field, looking at the +far-off cold moon with their dead, white eyes as he with his living eyes. +</p> +<p> +“The time will come some day,” he thought, “when the +killing of people by others will be an utter impossibility. The time will +come when even the soldiers and officers who killed these three men will +realise what they have done and will understand that what they killed them +for is just as necessary, important, and dear to them—to the +officers and soldiers—as to those whom they killed.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” he said aloud and solemnly, his eyes moistening, +“that time will come. They will understand.” And the pale disk +of the moon was blotted out by the moisture in his eyes. +</p> +<p> +A large pity pierced his heart for the three victims whose eyes looked at +the moon, sad and unseeing. A feeling of rage cut him as with a sharp +knife and took possession of him. +</p> +<p> +But Gabriel Andersen quieted his heart, whispering softly, “They +know not what they do.” And this old and ready phrase gave him the +strength to stifle his rage and indignation. +</p> +<h3> +II +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he day was as bright and white, but the spring was already advanced. The +wet soil smelt of spring. Clear cold water ran everywhere from under the +loose, thawing snow. The branches of the trees were springy and elastic. +For miles and miles around, the country opened up in clear azure +stretches. +</p> +<p> +Yet the clearness and the joy of the spring day were not in the village. +They were somewhere outside the village, where there were no people—in +the fields, the woods and the mountains. In the village the air was +stifling, heavy and terrible as in a nightmare. +</p> +<p> +Gabriel Andersen stood in the road near a crowd of dark, sad, +absent-minded people and craned his neck to see the preparations for the +flogging of seven peasants. +</p> +<p> +They stood in the thawing snow, and Gabriel Andersen could not persuade +himself that they were people whom he had long known and understood. By +that which was about to happen to them, the shameful, terrible, +ineradicable thing that was to happen to them, they were separated from +all the rest of the world, and so were unable to feel what he, Gabriel +Andersen, felt, just as he was unable to feel what they felt. Round them +were the soldiers, confidently and beautifully mounted on high upon their +large steeds, who tossed their wise heads and turned their dappled wooden +faces slowly from side to side, looking contemptuously at him, Gabriel +Andersen, who was soon to behold this horror, this disgrace, and would do +nothing, would not dare to do anything. So it seemed to Gabriel Andersen; +and a sense of cold, intolerable shame gripped him as between two clamps +of ice through which he could see everything without being able to move, +cry out or utter a groan. +</p> +<p> +They took the first peasant. Gabriel Andersen saw his strange, imploring, +hopeless look. His lips moved, but no sound was heard, and his eyes +wandered. There was a bright gleam in them as in the eyes of a madman. His +mind, it was evident, was no longer able to comprehend what was happening. +</p> +<p> +And so terrible was that face, at once full of reason and of madness, that +Andersen felt relieved when they put him face downward on the snow and, +instead of the fiery eyes, he saw his bare back glistening—a +senseless, shameful, horrible sight. +</p> +<p> +The large, red-faced soldier in a red cap pushed toward him, looked down +at his body with seeming delight, and then cried in a clear voice: +</p> +<p> +“Well, let her go, with God’s blessing!” +</p> +<p> +Andersen seemed not to see the soldiers, the sky, the horses or the crowd. +He did not feel the cold, the terror or the shame. He did not hear the +swish of the knout in the air or the savage howl of pain and despair. He +only saw the bare back of a man’s body swelling up and covered over +evenly with white and purple stripes. Gradually the bare back lost the +semblance of human flesh. The blood oozed and squirted, forming patches, +drops and rivulets, which ran down on the white, thawing snow. +</p> +<p> +Terror gripped the soul of Gabriel Andersen as he thought of the moment +when the man would rise and face all the people who had seen his body +bared out in the open and reduced to a bloody pulp. He closed his eyes. +When he opened them, he saw four soldiers in uniform and red hats forcing +another man down on the snow, his back bared just as shamefully, terribly +and absurdly—a ludicrously tragic sight. +</p> +<p> +Then came the third, the fourth, and so on, to the end. +</p> +<p> +And Gabriel Andersen stood on the wet, thawing snow, craning his neck, +trembling and stuttering, though he did not say a word. Dank sweat poured +from his body. A sense of shame permeated his whole being. It was a +humiliating feeling, having to escape being noticed so that they should +not catch him and lay him there on the snow and strip him bare—him, +Gabriel Andersen. +</p> +<p> +The soldiers pressed and crowded, the horses tossed their heads, the knout +swished in the air, and the bare, shamed human flesh swelled up, tore, ran +over with blood, and curled like a snake. Oaths, wild shrieks rained upon +the village through the clean white air of that spring day. +</p> +<p> +Andersen now saw five men’s faces at the steps of the town hall, the +faces of those men who had already undergone their shame. He quickly +turned his eyes away. After seeing this a man must die, he thought. +</p> +<h3> +III +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>here were seventeen of them, fifteen soldiers, a subaltern and a young +beardless officer. The officer lay in front of the fire looking intently +into the flames. The soldiers were tinkering with the firearms in the +wagon. +</p> +<p> +Their grey figures moved about quietly on the black thawing ground, and +occasionally stumbled across the logs sticking out from the blazing fire. +</p> +<p> +Gabriel Andersen, wearing an overcoat and carrying his cane behind his +back, approached them. The subaltern, a stout fellow with a moustache, +jumped up, turned from the fire, and looked at him. +</p> +<p> +“Who are you? What do you want?” he asked excitedly. From his +tone it was evident that the soldiers feared everybody in that district, +through which they went scattering death, destruction and torture. +</p> +<p> +“Officer,” he said, “there is a man here I don’t +know.” +</p> +<p> +The officer looked at Andersen without speaking. +</p> +<p> +“Officer,” said Andersen in a thin, strained voice, “my +name is Michelson. I am a business man here, and I am going to the village +on business. I was afraid I might be mistaken for some one else—you +know.” +</p> +<p> +“Then what are you nosing about here for?” the officer said +angrily, and turned away. +</p> +<p> +“A business man,” sneered a soldier. “He ought to be +searched, this business man ought, so as not to be knocking about at +night. A good one in the jaw is what he needs.” +</p> +<p> +“He’s a suspicious character, officer,” said the +subaltern. “Don’t you think we’d better arrest him, +what?” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t,” answered the officer lazily. “I’m +sick of them, damn ‘em.” +</p> +<p> +Gabriel Andersen stood there without saying anything. His eyes flashed +strangely in the dark by the firelight. And it was strange to see his +short, substantial, clean, neat figure in the field at night among the +soldiers, with his overcoat and cane and glasses glistening in the +firelight. +</p> +<p> +The soldiers left him and walked away. Gabriel Andersen remained standing +for a while. Then he turned and left, rapidly disappearing in the +darkness. +</p> +<p> +The night was drawing to a close. The air turned chilly, and the tops of +the bushes defined themselves more clearly in the dark. Gabriel Andersen +went again to the military post. But this time he hid, crouching low as he +made his way under the cover of the bushes. Behind him people moved about +quietly and carefully, bending the bushes, silent as shadows. Next to +Gabriel, on his right, walked a tall man with a revolver in his hand. +</p> +<p> +The figure of a soldier on the hill outlined itself strangely, +unexpectedly, not where they had been looking for it. It was faintly +illumined by the gleam from the dying fire. Gabriel Andersen recognised +the soldier. It was the one who had proposed that he should be searched. +Nothing stirred in Andersen’s heart. His face was cold and +motionless, as of a man who is asleep. Round the fire the soldiers lay +stretched out sleeping, all except the subaltern, who sat with his head +drooping over his knees. +</p> +<p> +The tall thin man on Andersen’s right raised the revolver and pulled +the trigger. A momentary blinding flash, a deafening report. +</p> +<p> +Andersen saw the guard lift his hands and then sit down on the ground +clasping his bosom. From all directions short, crackling sparks flashed up +which combined into one riving roar. The subaltern jumped up and dropped +straight into the fire. Grey soldiers’ figures moved about in all +directions like apparitions, throwing up their hands and falling and +writhing on the black earth. The young officer ran past Andersen, +fluttering his hands like some strange, frightened bird. Andersen, as if +he were thinking of something else, raised his cane. With all his strength +he hit the officer on the head, each blow descending with a dull, ugly +thud. The officer reeled in a circle, struck a bush, and sat down after +the second blow, covering his head with both hands, as children do. Some +one ran up and discharged a revolver as if from Andersen’s own hand. +The officer sank together in a heap and lunged with great force head +foremost on the ground. His legs twitched for a while, then he curled up +quietly. +</p> +<p> +The shots ceased. Black men with white faces, ghostly grey in the dark, +moved about the dead bodies of the soldiers, taking away their arms and +ammunition. +</p> +<p> +Andersen watched all this with a cold, attentive stare. When all was over, +he went up, took hold of the burned subaltern’s legs, and tried to +remove the body from the fire. But it was too heavy for him, and he let it +go. +</p> +<h3> +IV +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>ndersen sat motionless on the steps of the town hall, and thought. He +thought of how he, Gabriel Andersen, with his spectacles, cane, overcoat +and poems, had lied and betrayed fifteen men. He thought it was terrible, +yet there was neither pity, shame nor regret in his heart. Were he to be +set free, he knew that he, Gabriel Andersen, with the spectacles and +poems, would go straightway and do it again. He tried to examine himself, +to see what was going on inside his soul. But his thoughts were heavy and +confused. For some reason it was more painful for him to think of the +three men lying on the snow, looking at the pale disk of the far-off moon +with their dead, unseeing eyes, than of the murdered officer whom he had +struck two dry, ugly blows on the head. Of his own death he did not think. +It seemed to him that he had done with everything long, long ago. +Something had died, had gone out and left him empty, and he must not think +about it. +</p> +<p> +And when they grabbed him by the shoulder and he rose, and they quickly +led him through the garden where the cabbages raised their dry heads, he +could not formulate a single thought. +</p> +<p> +He was conducted to the road and placed at the railing with his back to +one of the iron bars. He fixed his spectacles, put his hands behind him, +and stood there with his neat, stocky body, his head slightly inclined to +one side. +</p> +<p> +At the last moment he looked in front of him and saw rifle barrels +pointing at his head, chest and stomach, and pale faces with trembling +lips. He distinctly saw how one barrel levelled at his forehead suddenly +dropped. +</p> +<p> +Something strange and incomprehensible, as if no longer of this world, no +longer earthly, passed through Andersen’s mind. He straightened +himself to the full height of his short body and threw back his head in +simple pride. A strange indistinct sense of cleanness, strength and pride +filled his soul, and everything—the sun and the sky and the people +and the field and death—seemed to him insignificant, remote and +useless. +</p> +<p> +The bullets hit him in the chest, in the left eye, in the stomach, went +through his clean coat buttoned all the way up. His glasses shivered into +bits. He uttered a shriek, circled round, and fell with his face against +one of the iron bars, his one remaining eye wide open. He clawed the +ground with his outstretched hands as if trying to support himself. +</p> +<p> +The officer, who had turned green, rushed toward him, and senselessly +thrust the revolver against his neck, and fired twice. Andersen stretched +out on the ground. +</p> +<p> +The soldiers left quickly. But Andersen remained pressed flat to the +ground. The index finger of his left hand continued to quiver for about +ten seconds. +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +THE OUTRAGE—A TRUE STORY +</h2> +<h3> +BY ALEKSANDR I. KUPRIN +</h3> +<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was five o’clock on a July afternoon. The heat was terrible. The +whole of the huge stone-built town breathed out heat like a glowing +furnace. The glare of the white-walled house was insufferable. The asphalt +pavements grew soft and burned the feet. The shadows of the acacias spread +over the cobbled road, pitiful and weary. They too seemed hot. The sea, +pale in the sunlight, lay heavy and immobile as one dead. Over the streets +hung a white dust. +</p> +<p> +In the foyer of one of the private theatres a small committee of local +barristers who had undertaken to conduct the cases of those who had +suffered in the last pogrom against the Jews was reaching the end of its +daily task. There were nineteen of them, all juniors, young, progressive +and conscientious men. The sitting was without formality, and white suits +of duck, flannel and alpaca were in the majority. They sat anywhere, at +little marble tables, and the chairman stood in front of an empty counter +where chocolates were sold in the winter. +</p> +<p> +The barristers were quite exhausted by the heat which poured in through +the windows, with the dazzling sunlight and the noise of the streets. The +proceedings went lazily and with a certain irritation. +</p> +<p> +A tall young man with a fair moustache and thin hair was in the chair. He +was dreaming voluptuously how he would be off in an instant on his +new-bought bicycle to the bungalow. He would undress quickly, and without +waiting to cool, still bathed in sweat, would fling himself into the +clear, cold, sweet-smelling sea. His whole body was enervated and tense, +thrilled by the thought. Impatiently moving the papers before him, he +spoke in a drowsy voice. +</p> +<p> +“So, Joseph Moritzovich will conduct the case of Rubinchik... +Perhaps there is still a statement to be made on the order of the day?” +</p> +<p> +His youngest colleague, a short, stout Karaite, very black and lively, +said in a whisper so that every one could hear: “On the order of the +day, the best thing would be iced <i>kvas</i>...” +</p> +<p> +The chairman gave him a stern side-glance, but could not restrain a smile. +He sighed and put both his hands on the table to raise himself and declare +the meeting closed, when the doorkeeper, who stood at the entrance to the +theatre, suddenly moved forward and said: “There are seven people +outside, sir. They want to come in.” +</p> +<p> +The chairman looked impatiently round the company. +</p> +<p> +“What is to be done, gentlemen?” +</p> +<p> +Voices were heard. +</p> +<p> +“Next time. <i>Basta!</i>” +</p> +<p> +“Let ‘em put it in writing.” +</p> +<p> +“If they’ll get it over quickly... Decide it at once.” +</p> +<p> +“Let ‘em go to the devil. Phew! It’s like boiling pitch.” +</p> +<p> +“Let them in.” The chairman gave a sign with his head, +annoyed. “Then bring me a Vichy, please. But it must be cold.” +</p> +<p> +The porter opened the door and called down the corridor: “Come in. +They say you may.” +</p> +<p> +Then seven of the most surprising and unexpected individuals filed into +the foyer. First appeared a full-grown, confident man in a smart suit, of +the colour of dry sea-sand, in a magnificent pink shirt with white stripes +and a crimson rose in his buttonhole. From the front his head looked like +an upright bean, from the side like a horizontal bean. His face was +adorned with a strong, bushy, martial moustache. He wore dark blue +pince-nez on his nose, on his hands straw-coloured gloves. In his left +hand he held a black walking-stick with a silver mount, in his right a +light blue handkerchief. +</p> +<p> +The other six produced a strange, chaotic, incongruous impression, exactly +as though they had all hastily pooled not merely their clothes, but their +hands, feet and heads as well. There was a man with the splendid profile +of a Roman senator, dressed in rags and tatters. Another wore an elegant +dress waistcoat, from the deep opening of which a dirty Little-Russian +shirt leapt to the eye. Here were the unbalanced faces of the criminal +type, but looking with a confidence that nothing could shake. All these +men, in spite of their apparent youth, evidently possessed a large +experience of life, an easy manner, a bold approach, and some hidden, +suspicious cunning. +</p> +<p> +The gentleman in the sandy suit bowed just his head, neatly and easily, +and said with a half-question in his voice: “Mr. Chairman?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. I am the chairman. What is your business?” +</p> +<p> +“We—all whom you see before you,” the gentleman began in +a quiet voice and turned round to indicate his companions, “we come +as delegates from the United Rostov-Kharkov-and-Odessa-Nikolayev +Association of Thieves.” +</p> +<p> +The barristers began to shift in their seats. +</p> +<p> +The chairman flung himself back and opened his eyes wide. “Association +of <i>what</i>?” he said, perplexed. +</p> +<p> +“The Association of Thieves,” the gentleman in the sandy suit +coolly repeated. “As for myself, my comrades did me the signal +honour of electing me as the spokesman of the deputation.” +</p> +<p> +“Very ... pleased,” the chairman said uncertainly. +</p> +<p> +“Thank you. All seven of us are ordinary thieves—naturally of +different departments. The Association has authorised us to put before +your esteemed Committee”—the gentleman again made an elegant +bow—“our respectful demand for assistance.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t quite understand ... quite frankly ... what is the +connection...” The chairman waved his hands helplessly. “However, +please go on.” +</p> +<p> +“The matter about which we have the courage and the honour to apply +to you, gentlemen, is very clear, very simple, and very brief. It will +take only six or seven minutes. I consider it my duty to warn you of this +beforehand, in view of the late hour and the 115 degrees that Fahrenheit +marks in the shade.” The orator expectorated slightly and glanced at +his superb gold watch. “You see, in the reports that have lately +appeared in the local papers of the melancholy and terrible days of the +last pogrom, there have very often been indications that among the +instigators of the pogrom who were paid and organised by the police—the +dregs of society, consisting of drunkards, tramps, souteneurs, and +hooligans from the slums—thieves were also to be found. At first we +were silent, but finally we considered ourselves under the necessity of +protesting against such an unjust and serious accusation, before the face +of the whole of intellectual society. I know well that in the eye of the +law we are offenders and enemies of society. But imagine only for a +moment, gentlemen, the situation of this enemy of society when he is +accused wholesale of an offence which he not only never committed, but +which he is ready to resist with the whole strength of his soul. It goes +without saying that he will feel the outrage of such an injustice more +keenly than a normal, average, fortunate citizen. Now, we declare that the +accusation brought against us is utterly devoid of all basis, not merely +of fact but even of logic. I intend to prove this in a few words if the +honourable committee will kindly listen.” +</p> +<p> +“Proceed,” said the chairman. +</p> +<p> +“Please do ... Please ...” was heard from the barristers, now +animated. +</p> +<p> +“I offer you my sincere thanks in the name of all my comrades. +Believe me, you will never repent your attention to the representatives of +our ... well, let us say, slippery, but nevertheless difficult, +profession. ‘So we begin,’ as Giraldoni sings in the prologue +to <i>Pagliacci</i>. +</p> +<p> +“But first I would ask your permission, Mr. Chairman, to quench my +thirst a little... Porter, bring me a lemonade and a glass of English +bitter, there’s a good fellow. Gentlemen, I will not speak of the +moral aspect of our profession nor of its social importance. Doubtless you +know better than I the striking and brilliant paradox of Proudhon: <i>La +propriete c’est le vol</i>—a paradox if you like, but one that +has never yet been refuted by the sermons of cowardly bourgeois or fat +priests. For instance: a father accumulates a million by energetic and +clever exploitation, and leaves it to his son—a rickety, lazy, +ignorant, degenerate idiot, a brainless maggot, a true parasite. +Potentially a million rubles is a million working days, the absolutely +irrational right to labour, sweat, life, and blood of a terrible number of +men. Why? What is the ground of reason? Utterly unknown. Then why not +agree with the proposition, gentlemen, that our profession is to some +extent as it were a correction of the excessive accumulation of values in +the hands of individuals, and serves as a protest against all the +hardships, abominations, arbitrariness, violence, and negligence of the +human personality, against all the monstrosities created by the bourgeois +capitalistic organisation of modern society? Sooner or later, this order +of things will assuredly be overturned by the social revolution. Property +will pass away into the limbo of melancholy memories and with it, alas! we +will disappear from the face of the earth, we, <i>les braves chevaliers d’industrie</i>.” +</p> +<p> +The orator paused to take the tray from the hands of the porter, and +placed it near to his hand on the table. +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me, gentlemen... Here, my good man, take this,... and by the +way, when you go out shut the door close behind you.” +</p> +<p> +“Very good, your Excellency!” the porter bawled in jest. +</p> +<p> +The orator drank off half a glass and continued: “However, let us +leave aside the philosophical, social, and economic aspects of the +question. I do not wish to fatigue your attention. I must nevertheless +point out that our profession very closely approaches the idea of that +which is called art. Into it enter all the elements which go to form art—vocation, +inspiration, fantasy, inventiveness, ambition, and a long and arduous +apprenticeship to the science. From it is absent virtue alone, concerning +which the great Karamzin wrote with such stupendous and fiery fascination. +Gentlemen, nothing is further from my intention than to trifle with you +and waste your precious time with idle paradoxes; but I cannot avoid +expounding my idea briefly. To an outsider’s ear it sounds absurdly +wild and ridiculous to speak of the vocation of a thief. However, I +venture to assure you that this vocation is a reality. There are men who +possess a peculiarly strong visual memory, sharpness and accuracy of eye, +presence of mind, dexterity of hand, and above all a subtle sense of +touch, who are as it were born into God’s world for the sole and +special purpose of becoming distinguished card-sharpers. The pickpockets’ +profession demands extraordinary nimbleness and agility, a terrific +certainty of movement, not to mention a ready wit, a talent for +observation and strained attention. Some have a positive vocation for +breaking open safes: from their tenderest childhood they are attracted by +the mysteries of every kind of complicated mechanism—bicycles, +sewing machines, clock-work toys and watches. Finally, gentlemen, there +are people with an hereditary animus against private property. You may +call this phenomenon degeneracy. But I tell you that you cannot entice a +true thief, and thief by vocation, into the prose of honest vegetation by +any gingerbread reward, or by the offer of a secure position, or by the +gift of money, or by a woman’s love: because there is here a +permanent beauty of risk, a fascinating abyss of danger, the delightful +sinking of the heart, the impetuous pulsation of life, the ecstasy! You +are armed with the protection of the law, by locks, revolvers, telephones, +police and soldiery; but we only by our own dexterity, cunning and +fearlessness. We are the foxes, and society—is a chicken-run guarded +by dogs. Are you aware that the most artistic and gifted natures in our +villages become horse-thieves and poachers? What would you have? Life is +so meagre, so insipid, so intolerably dull to eager and high-spirited +souls! +</p> +<p> +“I pass on to inspiration. Gentlemen, doubtless you have had to read +of thefts that were supernatural in design and execution. In the headlines +of the newspapers they are called ‘An Amazing Robbery,’ or ‘An +Ingenious Swindle,’ or again ‘A Clever Ruse of the Gangsters.’ +In such cases our bourgeois paterfamilias waves his hands and exclaims: +‘What a terrible thing! If only their abilities were turned to good—their +inventiveness, their amazing knowledge of human psychology, their +self-possession, their fearlessness, their incomparable histrionic powers! +What extraordinary benefits they would bring to the country!’ But it +is well known that the bourgeois paterfamilias was specially devised by +Heaven to utter commonplaces and trivialities. I myself sometimes—we +thieves are sentimental people, I confess—I myself sometimes admire +a beautiful sunset in Aleksandra Park or by the sea-shore. And I am always +certain beforehand that some one near me will say with infallible <i>aplomb</i>: +‘Look at it. If it were put into picture no one would ever believe it!’ +I turn round and naturally I see a self-satisfied, full-fed paterfamilias, +who delights in repeating some one else’s silly statement as though +it were his own. As for our dear country, the bourgeois paterfamilias +looks upon it as though it were a roast turkey. If you’ve managed to +cut the best part of the bird for yourself, eat it quietly in a +comfortable corner and praise God. But he’s not really the important +person. I was led away by my detestation of vulgarity and I apologise for +the digression. The real point is that genius and inspiration, even when +they are not devoted to the service of the Orthodox Church, remain rare +and beautiful things. Progress is a law—and theft too has its +creation. +</p> +<p> +“Finally, our profession is by no means as easy and pleasant as it +seems to the first glance. It demands long experience, constant practice, +slow and painful apprenticeship. It comprises in itself hundreds of +supple, skilful processes that the cleverest juggler cannot compass. That +I may not give you only empty words, gentlemen, I will perform a few +experiments before you now. I ask you to have every confidence in the +demonstrators. We are all at present in the enjoyment of legal freedom, +and though we are usually watched, and every one of us is known by face, +and our photographs adorn the albums of all detective departments, for the +time being we are not under the necessity of hiding ourselves from +anybody. If any one of you should recognise any of us in the future under +different circumstances, we ask you earnestly always to act in accordance +with your professional duties and your obligations as citizens. In +grateful return for your kind attention we have decided to declare your +property inviolable, and to invest it with a thieves’ taboo. +However, I proceed to business.” +</p> +<p> +The orator turned round and gave an order: “Sesoi the Great, will +you come this way!” +</p> +<p> +An enormous fellow with a stoop, whose hands reached to his knees, without +a forehead or a neck, like a big, fair Hercules, came forward. He grinned +stupidly and rubbed his left eyebrow in his confusion. +</p> +<p> +“Can’t do nothin’ here,” he said hoarsely. +</p> +<p> +The gentleman in the sandy suit spoke for him, turning to the committee. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, before you stands a respected member of our association. +His specialty is breaking open safes, iron strong boxes, and other +receptacles for monetary tokens. In his night work he sometimes avails +himself of the electric current of the lighting installation for fusing +metals. Unfortunately he has nothing on which he can demonstrate the best +items of his repertoire. He will open the most elaborate lock +irreproachably... By the way, this door here, it’s locked, is it +not?” +</p> +<p> +Every one turned to look at the door, on which a printed notice hung: +“Stage Door. Strictly Private.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, the door’s locked, evidently,” the chairman +agreed. +</p> +<p> +“Admirable. Sesoi the Great, will you be so kind?” +</p> +<p> +“‘Tain’t nothin’ at all,” said the giant +leisurely. +</p> +<p> +He went close to the door, shook it cautiously with his hand, took out of +his pocket a small bright instrument, bent down to the keyhole, made some +almost imperceptible movements with the tool, suddenly straightened and +flung the door wide in silence. The chairman had his watch in his hands. +The whole affair took only ten seconds. +</p> +<p> +“Thank you, Sesoi the Great,” said the gentleman in the sandy +suit politely. “You may go back to your seat.” +</p> +<p> +But the chairman interrupted in some alarm: “Excuse me. This is all +very interesting and instructive, but ... is it included in your esteemed +colleague’s profession to be able to lock the door again?” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, <i>mille pardons</i>.” The gentleman bowed hurriedly. +“It slipped my mind. Sesoi the Great, would you oblige?” +</p> +<p> +The door was locked with the same adroitness and the same silence. The +esteemed colleague waddled back to his friends, grinning. +</p> +<p> +“Now I will have the honour to show you the skill of one of our +comrades who is in the line of picking pockets in theatres and +railway-stations,” continued the orator. “He is still very +young, but you may to some extent judge from the delicacy of his present +work of the heights he will attain by diligence. Yasha!” A swarthy +youth in a blue silk blouse and long glacé boots, like a gipsy, came +forward with a swagger, fingering the tassels of his belt, and merrily +screwing up his big, impudent black eyes with yellow whites. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen,” said the gentleman in the sandy suit +persuasively, “I must ask if one of you would be kind enough to +submit himself to a little experiment. I assure you this will be an +exhibition only, just a game.” +</p> +<p> +He looked round over the seated company. +</p> +<p> +The short plump Karaite, black as a beetle, came forward from his table. +</p> +<p> +“At your service,” he said amusedly. +</p> +<p> +“Yasha!” The orator signed with his head. +</p> +<p> +Yasha came close to the solicitor. On his left arm, which was bent, hung a +bright-coloured, figured scarf. +</p> +<p> +“Suppose yer in church or at the bar in one of the halls,—or +watchin’ a circus,” he began in a sugary, fluent voice. +“I see straight off—there’s a toff... Excuse me, sir. +Suppose you’re the toff. There’s no offence—just means a +rich gent, decent enough, but don’t know his way about. First—what’s +he likely to have about ‘im? All sorts. Mostly, a ticker and a +chain. Whereabouts does he keep ‘em? Somewhere in his top vest +pocket—here. Others have ‘em in the bottom pocket. Just here. +Purse—most always in the trousers, except when a greeny keeps it in +his jacket. Cigar-case. Have a look first what it is—gold, silver—with +a monogram. Leather—what decent man’d soil his hands? +Cigar-case. Seven pockets: here, here, here, up there, there, here and +here again. That’s right, ain’t it? That’s how you go to +work.” +</p> +<p> +As he spoke the young man smiled. His eyes shone straight into the +barrister’s. With a quick, dexterous movement of his right hand he +pointed to various portions of his clothes. +</p> +<p> +“Then again you might see a pin here in the tie. However we do not +appropriate. Such <i>gents</i> nowadays—they hardly ever wear a real +stone. Then I comes up to him. I begin straight off to talk to him like a +gent: ‘Sir, would you be so kind as to give me a light from your +cigarette’—or something of the sort. At any rate, I enter into +conversation. What’s next? I look him straight in the peepers, just +like this. Only two of me fingers are at it—just this and this.” +Yasha lifted two fingers of his right hand on a level with the solicitor’s +face, the forefinger and the middle finger and moved them about. +</p> +<p> +“D’ you see? With these two fingers I run over the whole +pianner. Nothin’ wonderful in it: one, two, three—ready. Any +man who wasn’t stupid could learn easily. That’s all it is. +Most ordinary business. I thank you.” +</p> +<p> +The pickpocket swung on his heel as if to return to his seat. +</p> +<p> +“Yasha!” The gentleman in the sandy suit said with meaning +weight. “Yasha!” he repeated sternly. +</p> +<p> +Yasha stopped. His back was turned to the barrister, but be evidently gave +his representative an imploring look, because the latter frowned and shook +his head. +</p> +<p> +“Yasha!” he said for the third time, in a threatening tone. +</p> +<p> +“Huh!” The young thief grunted in vexation and turned to face +the solicitor. “Where’s your little watch, sir?” he said +in a piping voice. +</p> +<p> +“Oh!” the Karaite brought himself up sharp. +</p> +<p> +“You see—now you say ‘Oh!’” Yasha continued +reproachfully. “All the while you were admiring me right hand, I was +operatin’ yer watch with my left. Just with these two little +fingers, under the scarf. That’s why we carry a scarf. Since your +chain’s not worth anything—a present from some <i>mamselle</i> +and the watch is a gold one, I’ve left you the chain as a keepsake. +Take it,” he added with a sigh, holding out the watch. +</p> +<p> +“But ... That is clever,” the barrister said in confusion. +“I didn’t notice it at all.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s our business,” Yasha said with pride. +</p> +<p> +He swaggered back to his comrades. Meantime the orator took a drink from +his glass and continued. +</p> +<p> +“Now, gentlemen, our next collaborator will give you an exhibition +of some ordinary card tricks, which are worked at fairs, on steamboats and +railways. With three cards, for instance, an ace, a queen, and a six, he +can quite easily... But perhaps you are tired of these demonstrations, +gentlemen.”... +</p> +<p> +“Not at all. It’s extremely interesting,” the chairman +answered affably. “I should like to ask one question—that is +if it is not too indiscreet—what is your own specialty?” +</p> +<p> +“Mine... H’m... No, how could it be an indiscretion?... I work +the big diamond shops ... and my other business is banks,” answered +the orator with a modest smile. “Don’t think this occupation +is easier than others. Enough that I know four European languages, German, +French, English, and Italian, not to mention Polish, Ukrainian and +Yiddish. But shall I show you some more experiments, Mr. Chairman?” +</p> +<p> +The chairman looked at his watch. +</p> +<p> +“Unfortunately the time is too short,” he said. “Wouldn’t +it be better to pass on to the substance of your business? Besides, the +experiments we have just seen have amply convinced us of the talent of +your esteemed associates... Am I not right, Isaac Abramovich?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes ... absolutely,” the Karaite barrister readily +confirmed. +</p> +<p> +“Admirable,” the gentleman in the sandy suit kindly agreed. +“My dear Count”—he turned to a blond, curly-haired man, +with a face like a billiard-maker on a bank-holiday—“put your +instruments away. They will not be wanted. I have only a few words more to +say, gentlemen. Now that you have convinced yourselves that our art, +although it does not enjoy the patronage of high-placed individuals, is +nevertheless an art; and you have probably come to my opinion that this +art is one which demands many personal qualities besides constant labour, +danger, and unpleasant misunderstandings—you will also, I hope, +believe that it is possible to become attached to its practice and to love +and esteem it, however strange that may appear at first sight. Picture to +yourselves that a famous poet of talent, whose tales and poems adorn the +pages of our best magazines, is suddenly offered the chance of writing +verses at a penny a line, signed into the bargain, as an advertisement for +‘Cigarettes Jasmine’—or that a slander was spread about +one of you distinguished barristers, accusing you of making a business of +concocting evidence for divorce cases, or of writing petitions from the +cabmen to the governor in public-houses! Certainly your relatives, friends +and acquaintances wouldn’t believe it. But the rumour has already +done its poisonous work, and you have to live through minutes of torture. +Now picture to yourselves that such a disgraceful and vexatious slander, +started by God knows whom, begins to threaten not only your good name and +your quiet digestion, but your freedom, your health, and even your life! +</p> +<p> +“This is the position of us thieves, now being slandered by the +newspapers. I must explain. There is in existence a class of scum—<i>passez-moi +le mot</i>—whom we call their ‘Mothers’ Darlings.’ +With these we are unfortunately confused. They have neither shame nor +conscience, a dissipated riff-raff, mothers’ useless darlings, idle, +clumsy drones, shop assistants who commit unskilful thefts. He thinks +nothing of living on his mistress, a prostitute, like the male mackerel, +who always swims after the female and lives on her excrements. He is +capable of robbing a child with violence in a dark alley, in order to get +a penny; he will kill a man in his sleep and torture an old woman. These +men are the pests of our profession. For them the beauties and the +traditions of the art have no existence. They watch us real, talented +thieves like a pack of jackals after a lion. Suppose I’ve managed to +bring off an important job—we won’t mention the fact that I +have to leave two-thirds of what I get to the receivers who sell the goods +and discount the notes, or the customary subsidies to our incorruptible +police—I still have to share out something to each one of these +parasites, who have got wind of my job, by accident, hearsay, or a casual +glance. +</p> +<p> +“So we call them <i>Motients</i>, which means ‘half,’ a +corruption of <i>moitié</i> ... Original etymology. I pay him only because +he knows and may inform against me. And it mostly happens that even when +he’s got his share he runs off to the police in order to get another +dollar. We, honest thieves... Yes, you may laugh, gentlemen, but I repeat +it: we honest thieves detest these reptiles. We have another name for +them, a stigma of ignominy; but I dare not utter it here out of respect +for the place and for my audience. Oh, yes, they would gladly accept an +invitation to a pogrom. The thought that we may be confused with them is a +hundred times more insulting to us even than the accusation of taking part +in a pogrom. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen! While I have been speaking I have often noticed smiles +on your faces. I understand you. Our presence here, our application for +your assistance, and above all the unexpectedness of such a phenomenon as +a systematic organisation of thieves, with delegates who are thieves, and +a leader of the deputation, also a thief by profession—it is all so +original that it must inevitably arouse a smile. But now I will speak from +the depth of my heart. Let us be rid of our outward wrappings, gentlemen, +let us speak as men to men. +</p> +<p> +“Almost all of us are educated, and all love books. We don’t +only read the adventures of Roqueambole, as the realistic writers say of +us. Do you think our hearts did not bleed and our cheeks did not burn from +shame, as though we had been slapped in the face, all the time that this +unfortunate, disgraceful, accursed, cowardly war lasted. Do you really +think that our souls do not flame with anger when our country is lashed +with Cossack-whips, and trodden under foot, shot and spit at by mad, +exasperated men? Will you not believe that we thieves meet every step +towards the liberation to come with a thrill of ecstasy? +</p> +<p> +“We understand, every one of us—perhaps only a little less +than you barristers, gentlemen—the real sense of the pogroms. Every +time that some dastardly event or some ignominious failure has occurred, +after executing a martyr in a dark corner of a fortress, or after +deceiving public confidence, some one who is hidden and unapproachable +gets frightened of the people’s anger and diverts its vicious +element upon the heads of innocent Jews. Whose diabolical mind invents +these pogroms—these titanic blood-lettings, these cannibal +amusements for the dark, bestial souls? +</p> +<p> +“We all see with certain clearness that the last convulsions of the +bureaucracy are at hand. Forgive me if I present it imaginatively. There +was a people that had a chief temple, wherein dwelt a bloodthirsty deity, +behind a curtain, guarded by priests. Once fearless hands tore the curtain +away. Then all the people saw, instead of a god, a huge, shaggy, voracious +spider, like a loathsome cuttlefish. They beat it and shoot at it: it is +dismembered already; but still in the frenzy of its final agony it +stretches over all the ancient temple its disgusting, clawing tentacles. +And the priests, themselves under sentence of death, push into the monster’s +grasp all whom they can seize in their terrified, trembling fingers. +</p> +<p> +“Forgive me. What I have said is probably wild and incoherent. But I +am somewhat agitated. Forgive me. I continue. We thieves by profession +know better than any one else how these pogroms were organised. We wander +everywhere: into public houses, markets, tea-shops, doss-houses, public +places, the harbour. We can swear before God and man and posterity that we +have seen how the police organise the massacres, without shame and almost +without concealment. We know them all by face, in uniform or disguise. +They invited many of us to take part; but there was none so vile among us +as to give even the outward consent that fear might have extorted. +</p> +<p> +“You know, of course, how the various strata of Russian society +behave towards the police? It is not even respected by those who avail +themselves of its dark services. But we despise and hate it three, ten +times more—not because many of us have been tortured in the +detective departments, which are just chambers of horror, beaten almost to +death, beaten with whips of ox-hide and of rubber in order to extort a +confession or to make us betray a comrade. Yes, we hate them for that too. +But we thieves, all of us who have been in prison, have a mad passion for +freedom. Therefore we despise our gaolers with all the hatred that a human +heart can feel. I will speak for myself. I have been tortured three times +by police detectives till I was half dead. My lungs and liver have been +shattered. In the mornings I spit blood until I can breathe no more. But +if I were told that I will be spared a fourth flogging only by shaking +hands with a chief of the detective police, I would refuse to do it! +</p> +<p> +“And then the newspapers say that we took from these hands +Judas-money, dripping with human blood. No, gentlemen, it is a slander +which stabs our very soul, and inflicts insufferable pain. Not money, nor +threats, nor promises will suffice to make us mercenary murderers of our +brethren, nor accomplices with them.” +</p> +<p> +“Never ... No ... No ... ,” his comrades standing behind him +began to murmur. +</p> +<p> +“I will say more,” the thief continued. “Many of us +protected the victims during this pogrom. Our friend, called Sesoi the +Great—you have just seen him, gentlemen—was then lodging with +a Jewish braid-maker on the Moldavanka. With a poker in his hands he +defended his landlord from a great horde of assassins. It is true, Sesoi +the Great is a man of enormous physical strength, and this is well known +to many of the inhabitants of the Moldavanka. But you must agree, +gentlemen, that in these moments Sesoi the Great looked straight into the +face of death. Our comrade Martin the Miner—this gentleman here” +—the orator pointed to a pale, bearded man with beautiful eyes who +was holding himself in the background—“saved an old Jewess, +whom he had never seen before, who was being pursued by a crowd of these +<i>canaille</i>. They broke his head with a crowbar for his pains, smashed +his arm in two places and splintered a rib. He is only just out of +hospital. That is the way our most ardent and determined members acted. +The others trembled for anger and wept for their own impotence. +</p> +<p> +“None of us will forget the horrors of those bloody days and bloody +nights lit up by the glare of fires, those sobbing women, those little +children’s bodies torn to pieces and left lying in the street. But +for all that not one of us thinks that the police and the mob are the real +origin of the evil. These tiny, stupid, loathsome vermin are only a +senseless fist that is governed by a vile, calculating mind, moved by a +diabolical will. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, gentlemen,” the orator continued, “we thieves have +nevertheless merited your legal contempt. But when you, noble gentlemen, +need the help of clever, brave, obedient men at the barricades, men who +will be ready to meet death with a song and a jest on their lips for the +most glorious word in the world—Freedom—will you cast us off +then and order us away because of an inveterate revulsion? Damn it all, +the first victim in the French Revolution was a prostitute. She jumped up +on to a barricade, with her skirt caught elegantly up into her hand and +called out: ‘Which of you soldiers will dare to shoot a woman?’ +Yes, by God.” The orator exclaimed aloud and brought down his fist +on to the marble table top: “They killed her, but her action was +magnificent, and the beauty of her words immortal. +</p> +<p> +“If you should drive us away on the great day, we will turn to you +and say: ‘You spotless Cherubim—if human thoughts had the +power to wound, kill, and rob man of honour and property, then which of +you innocent doves would not deserve the knout and imprisonment for life?’ +Then we will go away from you and build our own gay, sporting, desperate +thieves’ barricade, and will die with such united songs on our lips +that you will envy us, you who are whiter than snow! +</p> +<p> +“But I have been once more carried away. Forgive me. I am at the +end. You now see, gentlemen, what feelings the newspaper slanders have +excited in us. Believe in our sincerity and do what you can to remove the +filthy stain which has so unjustly been cast upon us. I have finished.” +</p> +<p> +He went away from the table and joined his comrades. The barristers were +whispering in an undertone, very much as the magistrates of the bench at +sessions. Then the chairman rose. +</p> +<p> +“We trust you absolutely, and we will make every effort to clear +your association of this most grievous charge. At the same time my +colleagues have authorised me, gentlemen, to convey to you their deep +respect for your passionate feelings as citizens. And for my own part I +ask the leader of the deputation for permission to shake him by the hand.” +</p> +<p> +The two men, both tall and serious, held each other’s hands in a +strong, masculine grip. +</p> +<p> +The barristers were leaving the theatre; but four of them hung back a +little beside the clothes rack in the hall. Isaac Abramovich could not +find his new, smart grey hat anywhere. In its place on the wooden peg hung +a cloth cap jauntily flattened in on either side. +</p> +<p> +“Yasha!” The stern voice of the orator was suddenly heard from +the other side of the door. “Yasha! It’s the last time I’ll +speak to you, curse you! ... Do you hear?” The heavy door opened +wide. The gentleman in the sandy suit entered. In his hands he held Isaac +Abramovich’s hat; on his face was a well-bred smile. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, for Heaven’s sake forgive us—an odd little +misunderstanding. One of our comrades exchanged his hat by accident... Oh, +it is yours! A thousand pardons. Doorkeeper! Why don’t you keep an +eye on things, my good fellow, eh? Just give me that cap, there. Once +more, I ask you to forgive me, gentlemen.” +</p> +<p> +With a pleasant bow and the same well-bred smile he made his way quickly +into the street. +</p> +<div style="height: 6em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13437 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/13437-h/images/portrait.jpg b/13437-h/images/portrait.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ccdaba4 --- /dev/null +++ b/13437-h/images/portrait.jpg |
