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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/1466.txt b/1466.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7300067 --- /dev/null +++ b/1466.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8380 @@ +Project Gutenberg Etext of Creatures That Once Were Men, by Gorky +#1 in our series, by Maxim Gorky + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. 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If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon + University" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Carnegie-Mellon University". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + + + + +CREATURES THAT ONCE WERE MEN + +By MAXIM GORKY + + + +Translated from the Russian by J. M. SHIRAZI and Others +Introduction by G. K. CHESTERTON + +THE MODERN LIBRARY +PUBLISHERSNEW YORK +Copyright, 1918, by +BONI & LIVERIGHT, INC. +Manufactured in the United States of America +for The Modern Library, Inc., by H. Wolff + +CONTENTS + +INTRODUCTION . . . . . . . . . . . . V +Creatures That Once were Men . . . . 13 +Twenty-Six Men and a Girl . . . . .104 +Chelkash . . . . . . . . . . . . . .125 +My Fellow-Traveller . . . . . . . .178 +On a Raft . . . . . . . . . . . . .229 + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +By G. K. CHESTERTON + + +It is certainly a curious fact that so many of the voices +of what is called our modern religion have come from countries +which are not only simple, but may even be called barbaric. +A nation like Norway has a great realistic drama without +having ever had either a great classical drama or a great +romantic drama. A nation like Russia makes us feel its +modern fiction when we have never felt its ancient fiction. +It has produced its Gissing without producing its Scott. +Everything that is most sad and scientific, everything that is most +grim and analytical, everything that can truly be called most modern, +everything that can without unreasonableness be called most morbid, +comes from these fresh and untried and unexhausted nationalities. +Out of these infant peoples come the oldest voices of the earth. + +This contradiction, like many other contradictions, is one which +ought first of all to be registered as a mere fact; long before we +attempt to explain why things contradict themselves, we ought, +if we are honest men and good critics, to register the preliminary +truth that things do contradict themselves. In this case, +as I say, there are many possible and suggestive explanations. +It may be, to take an example, that our modern Europe is so exhausted +that even the vigorous expression of that exhaustion is difficult +for every one except the most robust. + +It may be that all the nations are tired; and it may be that only +the boldest and breeziest are not too tired to say that they are tired. +It may be that a man like Ibsen in Norway or a man like Gorky +in Russia are the only people left who have so much faith that they +can really believe in scepticism. It may be that they are the only +people left who have so much animal spirits that they can really +feast high and drink deep at the ancient banquet of pessimism. +This is one of the possible hypotheses or explanations in the matter: +that all Europe feels these things and that only have strength to believe +them also. Many other explanations might, however, also be offered. +It might be suggested that half-barbaric countries, like Russia or Norway, +which have always lain, to say the least of it, on the extreme edge +of the circle of our European civilization, have a certain primal +melancholy which belongs to them through all the ages. It is highly +probable that this sadness, which to us is modern, is to them eternal. +It is highly probable that what we have solemnly and suddenly discovered +in scientific text-books and philosophical magazines they absorbed +and experienced thousands of years ago, when they offered human sacrifice +in black and cruel forests and cried to their gods in the dark. +Their agnosticism is perhaps merely paganism; their paganism, +as in old times, is merely devil-worship. Certainly, Schopenhauer could +hardly have written his hideous essay on women except in a country +which had once been full of slavery and the service of fiends. +It may be that these moderns are tricking us altogether, and are hiding +in their current scientific jargon things that they knew before science +or civilization were. + +They say that they are determinists; but the truth is, probably, +that they are still worshipping the Norns. They say that they +describe scenes which are sickening and dehumanizing in the name +of art or in the name of truth; but it may be that they do it +in the name of some deity indescribable, whom they propitiated +with blood and terror before the beginning of history. + +This hypothesis, like the hypothesis mentioned before it, +is highly disputable, and is at best a suggestion. +But there is one broad truth in the matter which may in any case +be considered as established. A country like Russia has far +more inherent capacity for producing revolution in revolutionists +than any country of the type of England or America. +Communities highly civilized and largely urban tend to a thing +which is now called evolution, the most cautious and the most +conservative of all social influences. The loyal Russian obeys +the Czar because he remembers the Czar and the Czar's importance. +The disloyal Russian frets against the Czar because he also remembers +the Czar, and makes a note of the necessity of knifing him. +But the loyal Englishman obeys the upper classes because he has +forgotten that they are there. Their operation has become to him +like daylight, or gravitation, or any of the forces of nature. +And there are no disloyal Englishmen; there are no English +revolutionists, because the oligarchic management of England +is so complete as to be invisible. The thing which can once +get itself forgotten can make itself omnipotent. + +Gorky is preeminently Russian, in that he is a revolutionist; +not because most Russians are revolutionists (for I imagine that they +are not), but because most Russians--indeed, nearly all Russian-- +are in that attitude of mind which makes revolution possible, +and which makes religion possible, an attitude of primary +and dogmatic assertion. To be a revolutionist it is first +necessary to be a revelationist. It is necessary to believe +in the sufficiency of some theory of the universe or the State. +But in countries that have come under the influence of what is +called the evolutionary idea, there has been no dramatic righting +of wrongs, and (unless the evolutionary idea loses its hold) +there never will be. These countries have no revolution, +they have to put up with an inferior and largely fictitious +thing which they call progress. + +The interest of the Gorky tale, like the interest of so many +other Russian masterpieces, consists in this sharp contact +between a simplicity, which we in the West feel to be very old, +and a rebelliousness which we in the West feel to he very new. +We cannot in our graduated and polite civilization quite make head +or tail of the Russian anarch; we can only feel in a vague way +that his tale is the tale of the Missing Link, and that his head +is the head of the superman. We hear his lonely cry of anger. +But we cannot be quite certain whether his protest is the protest +of the first anarchist against government, or whether it +is the protest of the last savage against civilization. +The cruelty of ages and of political cynicism or necessity has +done much to burden the race of which Gorky writes; but time +has left them one thing which it has not left to the people +in Poplar or West Ham. + +It has left them, apparently, the clear and childlike power +of seeing the cruelty which encompasses them. Gorky is a tramp, +a man of the people, and also a critic, and a bitter one. +In the West poor men, when they become articulate in literature, +are always sentimentalists and nearly always optimists. + +It is no exaggeration to say that these people of whom Gorky +writes in such a story as "Creatures that once were Men" +are to the Western mind children. They have, indeed, been tortured +and broken by experience and sin. But this has only sufficed to make +them sad children or naughty children or bewildered children. +They have absolutely no trace of that quality upon which secure +government rests so largely in Western Europe, the quality +of being soothed by long words as if by an incantation. +They do not call hunger "economic pressure"; they call it hunger. +They do not call rich men "examples of capitalistic concentration," +they call them rich men. And this note of plainness and of +something nobly prosaic is as characteristic of Gorky, in some ways +the most modern, and sophisticated of Russian authors, as it is +of Tolstoy or any of the Tolstoyan type of mind. The very title +of this story strike the note of this sudden and simple vision. +The philanthropist writing long letters to the Daily Telegraph says, +of men living in a slum, that "their degeneration is of such a kind +as almost to pass the limits of the semblance of humanity," +and we read the whole thing with a tepid assent as we should +read phrases about the virtues of Queen Victoria or the dignity +of the House of Commons. + +The Russian novelist, when he describes a dosshouse, says, +"Creatures that once were Men." And we are arrested, +and regard the facts as a kind of terrible fairy tale. +This story is a test case of the Russian manner, for it is in itself +a study of decay, a study of failure, and a study of old age. +And yet the author is forced to write even of staleness freshly; +and though he is treating of the world as seen by eyes +darkened or blood-shot with evil experience, his own eyes look +out upon the scene with a clarity that is almost babyish. +Through all runs that curious Russian sense that every man is only +a man, which, if the Russians ever are a democracy, will make +them the most democratic democracy that the world has ever seen. +Take this passage, for instance, from the austere conclusion +of "Creatures that once were Men": + +Petunikoff smiled the smile of the conqueror and went back +into the dosshouse, but suddenly he stopped and trembled. +At the door facing him stood an old man with a stick +in his hand and a large bag on his back, a horrible old +man in rags and tatters, which covered his bony figure. +He bent under the weight of his burden, and lowered his head +on his breast, as if he wished to attack the merchant. + +"What are you? Who are you?" shouted Petunikoff. + +"A man . . ." he answered, In a hoarse voice. This hoarseness +pleased and tranquillized Petunikoff, he even smiled. + + +"A man! And are there really men like you?" Stepping aside, +he let the old man pass. He went, saying slowly: + +"Men are of various kinds . . . as God wills . . . There are worse +than me . . . still worse. . . Yes. . . ." + +Here, in the very act of describing a kind of a fall from humanity, +Gorky expresses a sense of the strangeness and essential value +of the human being which is far too commonly absent altogether from +such complex civilizations as our own. To no Westerner, I am afraid, +would it occur, when asked what he was, to say, "A man." +He would be a plasterer who had walked from Reading, or an iron-puddler +who had been thrown out of work in Lancashire, or a University man +who would be really most grateful for the loan of five shillings, +or the son of a lieutenant-general living in Brighton, who would not +have made such an application if he had not known that he was talking +to another gentleman. With us it is not a question of men being +of various kinds; with us the kinds are almost different animals. +But in spite of all Gorky's superficial scepticism and brutality, +it is to him the fall from humanity, or the apparent fall +from humanity, which is not merely great and lamentable, +but essential and even mystical. The line between man and the beasts +is one of the transcendental essentials of every religion; +and it is, like most of the transcendental things of religion, +identical with the main sentiments of the man of common sense. +We feel this gulf when theologies say that it cannot be crossed. +But we feel it quite as much (and that with a primal shudder) +when philosophers or fanciful writers suggest that it might be crossed. +And if any man wishes to discover whether or no he has really +learned to regard the line between man and brute as merely relative +and evolutionary, let him say again to himself those frightful words, +"Creatures that once were Men." + + +G. K. CHESTERTON. + + + + + +CREATURES THAT ONCE WERE MEN + + + + + +PART I + + +In front of you is the main street, with two rows of miserable-looking +huts with shuttered windows and old walls pressing on each other +and leaning forward. The roofs of these time-worn habitations +are full of holes, and have been patched here and there with laths; +from underneath them project mildewed beams, which are shaded +by the dusty-leaved elder-trees and crooked white willow-- +pitiable flora of those suburbs inhabited by the poor. + +The dull green time-stained panes of the windows look upon each +other with the cowardly glances of cheats. Through the street +and toward the adjacent mountain runs the sinuous path, +winding through the deep ditches filled with rain-water. +Here and there are piled heaps of dust and other rubbish-- +either refuse or else put there purposely to keep the rain-water +from flooding the houses. On the top of the mountain, among green +gardens with dense foliage, beautiful stone houses lie hidden; +the belfries of the churches rise proudly toward the sky, +and their gilded crosses shine beneath the rays of the sun. +During the rainy weather the neighboring town pours its water +into this main road, which, at other times, is full of its dust, +and all these miserable houses seem, as it were, thrown by some +powerful hand into that heap of dust, rubbish, and rainwater. + +They cling to the ground beneath the high mountain, exposed to the sun, +surrounded by decaying refuse, and their sodden appearance impresses +one with the same feeling as would the half-rotten trunk of an old tree. + +At the end of the main street, as if thrown out of the town, +stood a two-storied house, which had been rented from Petunikoff, +a merchant and resident of the town. It was in comparatively good order, +being farther from the mountain, while near it were the open fields, +and about half-a-mile away the river ran its winding course. + +This large old house had the most dismal aspect amid its surroundings. +The walls bent outward, and there was hardly a pane of glass +in any of the windows, except some of the fragments, which looked +like the water of the marshes--dull green. The spaces of wall +between the windows were covered with spots, as if time were trying +to write there in hieroglyphics the history of the old house, +and the tottering roof added still more to its pitiable condition. +It seemed as if the whole building bent toward the ground, +to await the last stroke of that fate which should transform it +into a chaos of rotting remains, and finally into dust. + +The gates were open, one-half of them displaced and lying on the ground +at the entrance, while between its bars had grown the grass, +which also covered the large and empty court-yard. In the depths +of this yard stood a low, iron-roofed, smoke-begrimed building. +The house itself was of course unoccupied, but this shed, +formerly a blacksmith's forge, was now turned into a "dosshouse," +kept by a retired captain named Aristid Fomich Kuvalda. + +In the interior of the dosshouse was a long, wide and grimy board, +measuring some 28 by 70 feet. The room was lighted on one side +by four small square windows, and on the other by a wide door. +The unpainted brick walls were black with smoke, +and the ceiling, which was built of timber, was almost black. +In the middle stood a large stove, the furnace of which served +as its foundation, and around this stove and along the walls were +also long, wide boards, which served as beds for the lodgers. +The walls smelt of smoke, the earthen floor of dampness, +and the long, wide board of rotting rags. + +The place of the proprietor was on the top of the stove, +while the boards surrounding it were intended for those who were on +good terms with the owner, and who were honored by his friendship. +During the day the captain passed most of his time sitting on a kind +of bench, made by himself by placing bricks against the wall +of the court-yard, or else in the eating-house of Egor Yavilovitch, +which was opposite the house, where he took all his meals and where +he also drank vodki. + +Before renting this house, Aristid Kuvalda had kept a registry +office for servants in the town. If we look further back into +his former life, we shall find that he once owned printing works, +and previous to this, in his own words, he "just lived! +And lived well too, Devil take it, and like one who knew how!" + +He was a tall, broad-shouldered man of fifty, with a raw-looking face, +swollen with drunkenness, and with a dirty yellowish beard. + +His eyes were large and gray, with an insolent expression +of happiness. He spoke in a bass voice and with a sort +of grumbling sound in his throat, and he almost always held +between his teeth a German china pipe with a long bowl. +When he was angry the nostrils of his big, crooked red +nose swelled, and his lips trembled, exposing to view two +rows of large and wolf-like yellow teeth. He had long arms, +was lame, and always dressed in an old officer's uniform, +with a dirty, greasy cap with a red band, a hat without a brim, +and ragged felt boots which reached almost to his knees. +In the morning, as a rule, he had a heavy drunken headache, +and in the evening he caroused. However much he drank, +he was never drunk, and so was always merry. + +In the evenings he received lodgers, sitting on his brick-made +bench with his pipe in his mouth. + +"Whom have we here?" he would ask the ragged and tattered object +approaching him, who had probably been chucked out of the town +for drunkenness, or perhaps for some other reason not quite +so simple. And after the man had answered him, he would say, +"Let me see legal papers in confirmation of your lies." +And if there were such papers they were shown. +The captain would then put them in his bosom, seldom taking +any interest in them, and would say: "Everything is in order. +Two kopecks for the night, ten kopecks for the week, and thirty +kopecks for the month. Go and get a place for yourself, and see +that it is not other people's, or else they will blow you up. +The people that live here are particular." + +"Don't you sell tea, bread, or anything to eat?" + +"I trade only in walls and roofs, for which I pay to the swindling +proprietor of this hole--Judas Petunikoff, merchant of the second guild-- +five roubles a month," explained Kuvalda in a business-like tone. +"Only those come to me who are not accustomed to comfort and +luxuries. . .but if you are accustomed to eat every day, then there +is the eating-house opposite. But it would be better for you +if you left off that habit. You see you are not a gentleman. +What do you eat? You eat yourself!" + +For such speeches, delivered in a strictly business-like manner, +and always with smiling eyes, and also for the attention he paid to +his lodgers, the captain was very popular among the poor of the town. +It very often happened that a former client of his would appear, +not in rags, but in something more respectable and with a +slightly happier face. + +"Good-day, your honor, and how do you do?" + +"Alive, in good health! Go on." + +"Don't you know me?" + +"I did not know you." + +"Do you remember that I lived with you last winter for nearly +a month . . . when the fight with the police took place, +and three were taken away?" + +"My brother, that is so. The police do come even under +my hospitable roof!" + +"My God! You gave a piece of your mind to the police inspector +of this district!" + +"Wouldn't you accept some small hospitality from me? +When I lived with you, you were. . . ." + +"Gratitude must be encouraged because it is seldom met with. +You seem to be a good man, and, though I don't remember you, +still I will go with you into the public-house and drink to your +success and future prospects with the greatest pleasure." + +"You seem always the same . . . Are you always joking?" + +"What else can one do, living among you unfortunate men?" + +They went. Sometimes the Captain's former customer, uplifted and +unsettled by the entertainment, returned to the dosshouse, +and on the following morning they would again begin treating +each other till the Captain's companion would wake up to realize +that he had spent all his money in drink. + +"Your honor, do you see that I have again fallen into your hands? +What shall we do now?" + +"The position, no doubt, is not a very good one, but still +you need not trouble about it," reasoned the Captain. +"You must, my friend, treat everything indifferently, +without spoiling yourself by philosophy, and without asking +yourself any question. To philosophize is always foolish; +to philosophize with a drunken headache, ineffably so. +Drunken headaches require vodki, and not the remorse +of conscience or gnashing of teeth . . . save your teeth, +or else you will not be able to protect yourself. Here are +twenty kopecks. Go and buy a bottle of vodki for five kopecks, +hot tripe or lungs, one pound of bread and two cucumbers. +When we have lived off our drunken headache we will think +of the condition of affairs. . . ." + +As a rule the consideration of the "condition of affairs" +lasted some two or three days, and only when the Captain +had not a farthing left of the three roubles or five roubles +given him by his grateful customer did he say: "You came! +Do you see? Now that we have drunk everything with you, +you fool, try again to regain the path of virtue and soberness. +It has been truly said that if you do not sin, you will +not repent, and, if you do not repent, you shall not be saved. +We have done the first, and to repent is useless. +Let us make direct for salvation. Go to the river and work, +and if you think you cannot control yourself, tell the contractor, +your employer, to keep your money, or else give it to me. +When you get sufficient capital, I will get you a pair +of trousers and other things necessary to make you seem +a respectable and hard-working man, persecuted by fate. +With decent-looking trousers you can go far. Now then, be off!" + +Then the client would go to the river to work as a porter, +smiling the while over the Captain's long and wise speeches. +He did not distinctly understand them, but only saw in front +of him two merry eyes, felt their encouraging influence, +and knew that in the loquacious Captain he had an arm that would +assist him in time of need. + +And really it happened very often that, for a month or so, +some ticket-of-leave client, under the strict surveillance of +the Captain, had the opportunity of raising himself to a condition +better than that to which, thanks to the Captain's cooperation, +he had fallen. + +"Now, then, my friend!" said the Captain, glancing critically +at the restored client, "we have a coat and jacket. +When I had respectable trousers I lived in town like a +respectable man. But when the trousers wore out, I, too, +fell off in the opinion of my fellow-men and had to come down +here from the town. Men, my fine mannikin, judge everything +by the outward appearance, while, owing to their foolishness, +the actual reality of things is incomprehensible to them. +Make a note of this on your nose, and pay me at least half your debt. +Go in peace; seek, and you may find." + +"How much do I owe you, Aristid Fomich?" asks the client, in confusion. + +"One rouble and 70 kopecks . . . Now, give me only one rouble, or, +if you like, 70 kopecks, and as for the rest, I shall wait until +you have earned more than you have now by stealing or by hard work, +it does not matter to me." + +"I thank you humbly for your kindness!" says the client, +touched to the heart. "Truly you are a kind man . . .; +Life has persecuted you in vain . . . What an eagle you would +have been in your own place!" + +The Captain could not live without eloquent speeches. + +"What does 'in my own place' mean? No one really knows his own +place in life, and every one of us crawls into his harness. +The place of the merchant Judas Petunikoff ought to be in penal +servitude, but he still walks through the streets in daylight, +and even intends to build a factory. The place of our teacher +ought to be beside a wife and half-a-dozen children, but he is +loitering in the public-house of Vaviloff. + +"And then, there is yourself. You are going to seek a situation as a +hall porter or waiter, but I can see that you ought to be a soldier in +the army, because you are no fool, are patient and understand discipline. +Life shuffles us like cards, you see, and it is only accidentally, +and only for a time, that we fall into our own places!" + +Such farewell speeches often served as a preface to the continuation +of their acquaintance, which again began with drinking and +went so far that the client would spend his last farthing. +Then the Captain would stand him treat, and they would drink +all they had. + +A repetition of similar doings did not affect in the least +the good relations of the parties. + +The teacher mentioned by the Captain was another of those customers +who were thus reformed only in order that they should sin again. +Thanks to his intellect, he was the nearest in rank to +the Captain, and this was probably the cause of his falling +so low as dosshouse life, and of his inability to rise again. +It was only with him that Aristid Kuvalda could philosophize +with the certainty of being understood. He valued this, +and when the reformed teacher prepared to leave the dosshouse +in order to get a corner in town for himself, then Aristid Kuvalda +accompanied him so sorrowfully and sadly that it ended, as a rule, +in their both getting drunk and spending all their money. +Probably Kuvalda arranged the matter intentionally so that the teacher +could not leave the dosshouse, though he desired to do so with +all his heart. Was it possible for Aristid Kuvalda, a nobleman +(as was evident from his speeches), one who was accustomed to think, +though the turn of fate may have changed his position, was it possible +for him not to desire to have close to him a man like himself? +We can pity our own faults in others. + +This teacher had once taught at an institution in one of the towns +on the Volga, but in consequence of some story was dismissed. +After this he was a clerk in a tannery, but again had to leave. +Then he became a librarian in some private library, subsequently following +other professions. Finally, after passing examinations in law +he became a lawyer, but drink reduced him to the Captain's dosshouse. +He was tall, round-shouldered, with a long, sharp nose and bald head. +In his bony and yellow face, on which grew a wedge-shaped beard, +shone large, restless eyes, deeply sunk in their sockets, +and the corners of his mouth drooped sadly down. He earned +his bread, or rather his drink, by reporting for the local papers. +He sometimes earned as much as fifteen roubles. These he gave +to the Captain and said: + +"It is enough. I am going back into the bosom of culture. +Another week's hard work and I shall dress respectably, +and then Addio, mio caro!" + +"Very exemplary! As I heartily sympathize with your decision, +Philip, I shall not give you another glass all this week," +the Captain warned him sternly. + +"I shall be thankful! . . . You will not give me one drop?" + +The Captain beard in his voice a beseeching note to which he turned +a deaf ear. + +"Even though you roar, I shall not give it you!" + +"As you like, then," sighed the teacher, and went away +to continue his reporting. + +But after a day or two he would return tired and thirsty, and would look +at the Captain with a beseeching glance out of the corners of his eyes, +hoping that his friend's heart would soften. + +The Captain in such cases put on a serious face and began speaking +with killing irony on the theme of weakness of character, of the animal +delight of intoxication, and on such subjects as suited the occasion. +One must do him justice: he was captivated by his role of mentor +and moralist, but the lodgers dogged him, and, listening sceptically +to his exhortations to repentance, would whisper aside to each other: + +"Cunning, skilful, shifty rogue! I told you so, but you would +not listen. It's your own fault!" + +"His honor is really a good soldier. He goes first and examines +the road behind him!" + +The teacher then hunted here and there till he found his friend again +in some corner, and grasping his dirty coat, trembling and licking +his dry lips, looked into his face with a deep, tragic glance, +without articulate words. + +"Can't you?" asked the Captain sullenly. + +The teacher answered by bowing his head and letting it fall on his breast, +his tall, thin body trembling the while. + +"Wait another day . . . perhaps you will be all right then," +proposed Kuvalda. The teacher sighed, and shook his head hopelessly. + +The Captain saw that his friend's thin body trembled with the thirst +for the poison, and took some money from his pocket. + +"In the majority of cases it is impossible to fight against fate," +said he, as if trying to justify himself before someone. + +But if the teacher controlled himself for a whole week, +then there was a touching farewell scene between the two friends, +which ended as a rule in the eating-house of Vaviloff. +The teacher did not spend all his money, but spent at least half +on the children of the main street. The poor are always rich +in children, and in the dirt and ditches of this street there were +groups of them from morning to night, hungry, naked and dirty. +Children are the living flowers of the earth, but these had +the appearance of flowers that have faded prematurely, +because they grew in ground where there was no healthy nourishment. +Often the teacher would gather them round him, would buy them bread, +eggs, apples and nuts, and take them into the fields by the river side. +There they would sit and greedily eat everything he offered them, +after which they would begin to play, filling the fields +for a mile around with careless noise and laughter. The tall, +thin figure of the drunkard towered above these small people, +who treated him familiarly, as if he were one of their own age. +They called him "Philip," and did not trouble to prefix "Uncle" +to his name. Playing around him, like little wild animals, +they pushed him, jumped upon his back, beat him upon his +bald head, and caught hold of his nose. All this must have +pleased him, as he did not protest against such liberties. +He spoke very little to them, and when he did so he did it cautiously +as if afraid that his words would hurt or contaminate them. +He passed many hours thus as their companion and plaything, +watching their lively faces with his gloomy eyes. + +Then he would thoughtfully and slowly direct his steps to +the eating-house of Vaviloff, where he would drink silently +and quickly till all his senses left him. + +* * * * * * * * * * + +Almost every day after his reporting he would bring a newspaper, +and then gather round him all these creatures that once were men. +On seeing him, they would come forward from all corners +of the court-yard, drunk, or suffering from drunken headache, +dishevelled, tattered, miserable, and pitiable. Then would +come the barrel-like, stout Aleksei Maksimoviteh Simtsoff, +formerly Inspector of Woods and Forests, under the Department +of Appendages, but now trading in matches, ink, blacking, and lemons. +He was an old man of sixty, in a canvas overcoat and a wide-brimmed hat, +the greasy borders of which hid his stout, fat, red face. +He had a thick white beard, out of which a small red nose turned +gaily heavenward. He had thick, crimson lips and watery, +cynical eyes. They called him "Kubar", a name which well described +his round figure an buzzing speech. After him, Kanets appeared +from some corner--a dark, sad-looking, silent drunkard: +then the former governor of the prison, Luka Antonovitch Martyanoff, +a man who existed on "remeshok," "trilistika" and "bankovka," +* and many such cunning games, not much appreciated by the police. + +Note by translator.--Well-known games or chance, +played by the lower classes. The police specially endeavor +to stop them, but unsuccessfully. + +He would throw his hard and oft-scourged body on the grass beside +the teacher, and, turning his eyes round and scratching his head, +would ask in a hoarse, bass voice, "May I?" + +Then appeared Pavel Solntseff, a man of thirty years of age, +suffering from consumption. The ribs of his left side had been +broken in a quarrel, and the sharp, yellow face, like that of a fox, +always wore a malicious smile. The thin lips, when opened, +exposed two rows of decayed black teeth, and the rags on his shoulders +swayed backward and forward as if they were hung on a clothes pole. +They called him "Abyedok." He hawked brushes and bath brooms +of his own manufacture, good, strong brushes made from a peculiar +kind of grass. + +Then followed a lean and bony man of whom no one knew anything, with a +frightened expression in his eyes, the left one of which had a squint. +He was silent and timid, and had been imprisoned three times +for theft by the High Court of Justice and the Magisterial Courts. +His family name was Kiselnikoff, but they called him Paltara Taras, +because he was a head and shoulders taller than his friend, +Deacon Taras, who had been degraded from his office for drunkenness +and immorality. The Deacon was a short, thick-set person, +with the chest of an athlete and a round, strong head. +He danced skilfully, and was still more skilful at swearing. +He and Paltara Taras worked in the wood on the banks of the river, +and in free hours he told his friend or any one who would listen, +"Tales of my own composition," as he used to say. On hearing +these stories, the heroes of which always seemed to be saints, +kings, priests, or generals, even the inmates of the dosshouse spat +and rubbed their eyes in astonishment at the imagination of the Deacon, +who told them shameless tales of lewd, fantastic adventures, +with blinking eyes and a passionless expression of countenance. + +The imagination of this man was powerful and inexhaustible; +he could go on relating and composing all day, from morning +to night, without once repeating what he had said before. +In his expression you sometimes saw the poet gone astray, +sometimes the romancer, and he always succeeded in making +his tales realistic by the effective and powerful words +in which he told them. + +There was also a foolish young man called Kuvalda Meteor. +One night he came to sleep in the dosshouse, and had remained +ever since among these men, much to their astonishment. +At first they did not take much notice of him. In the daytime, +like all the others, he went away to find something to eat, +but at nights he always loitered around this friendly company +till at last the Captain took notice of him. + +"Boy! What business have you here on this earth?" + +The boy answered boldly and stoutly: + +"I am a barefooted tramp. . . ." + +The Captain looked critically at him. This youngster had long hair +and a weak face, with prominent cheekbones and a turned-up nose. +He was dressed in a blue blouse without a waistband, and on his head +he wore the remains of a straw hat, while his feet were bare. + +"You are a fool!" decided Aristid Kuvalda. "what are you knocking +about here for? You are of absolutely no use to us . . . Do +you drink vodki? . . . No? . . . Well, then, can you steal?" +Again, "No." "Go away, learn, and come back again when you +know something, and are a man. . . ." + +The youngster smiled. "No. I shall live with you." + +"Why?" + +"Just because. . . ." + +"Oh, you . . . Meteor!" said the Captain. + +"I will break his teeth for him," said Martyanoff. + +"And why?" asked the youngster. + +"Just because. . . ." + +"And I will take a stone and hit you on the head," the young +man answered respectfully. + +Martyanoff would have broken his bones, had not Kuvalda interrupted with: +"Leave him alone. . .Is this a home to you or even to us? +You have no sufficient reason to break his teeth for him. +You have no better reason than he for living with us." + +"Well, then, Devil take him! . . . We all live in the world without +sufficient reason . . . We live, and why? Because! He also because . . . +let him alone. . . ." + +"But it is better for you, young man, to go away from us," +the teacher advised him, looking him up and down with his sad eyes. +He made no answer, but remained. And they soon became accustomed +to his presence, and ceased to take any notice of him. +But he lived among them, and observed everything. + +The above were the chief members of the Captain's company, and he called +them with kind-hearted sarcasm "Creatures that once were Men." +For though there were men who had experienced as much of the bitter +irony of fate as these men; yet they were not fallen so low. + +Not infrequently, respectable men belonging to the cultured +classes are inferior to those belonging to the peasantry, +and it is always a fact that the depraved man from the city +is immeasurably worse than the depraved man from the village. +This fact was strikingly illustrated by the contrast between +the formerly well-educated men and the mujiks who were living +in Kuvalda's shelter. + +The representative of the latter class was an old mujik called Tyapa. +Tall and angular, he kept his head in such a position that his chin +touched his breast. He was the Captain's first lodger, and it was said +of him that he had a great deal of money hidden somewhere, and for its +sake had nearly had his throat cut some two years ago: ever since then +he carried his head thus. Over his eyes hung grayish eyebrows, +and, looked at in profile, only his crooked nose was to be seen. +His shadow reminded one of a poker. He denied that he had money, +and said that they "only tried to cut his throat out of malice," +and from that day he took to collecting rags, and that is why +his head was always bent as if incessantly looking on the ground. +When he went about shaking his head, and minus a walking-stick +in his hand, and a bag on his back--the signs of his profession-- +he seemed to be thinking almost to madness, and, at such times, +Kuvalda spoke thus, pointing to him with his finger: + +"Look, there is the conscience of Merchant Judas Petunikoff. +See how disorderly, dirty, and low is the escaped conscience." + +Tyapa, as a rule, spoke in a hoarse and hardly audible voice, +and that is why he spoke very little, and loved to be alone. +But whenever a stranger, compelled to leave the village, +appeared in the dosshouse, Tyapa seemed sadder and angrier, +and followed the unfortunate about with biting jeers and a wicked +chuckling in his throat. He either put some beggar against him, +or himself threatened to rob and beat him, till the frightened +mujik would disappear from the dosshouse and never more be seen. +Then Tyapa was quiet again, and would sit in some corner mending +his rags, or else reading his Bible, which was as dirty, worn, +and old as himself. Only when the teacher brought a newspaper +and began reading did he come from his corner once more. +As a rule, Tyapa listened to what was read silently and sighed often, +without asking anything of anyone. But once when the teacher, +having read the paper, wanted to put it away, Tyapa stretched +out his bony hand, and said, "Give it to me. . . ." + +"What do you want it for?" + +"Give it to me . . . Perhaps there is something in it about us. . . ." + +"About whom?" + +"About the village." + +They laughed at him, and threw him the paper. He took it, and read +in it how in the village the hail had destroyed the cornfields, +how in another village fire destroyed thirty houses, and that in a +third a woman had poisoned her family--in fact, everything that it +is customary to write of--everything, that is to say, which is bad, +and which depicts only the worst side of the unfortunate village. + +Tyapa read all this silently and roared, perhaps from sympathy, +perhaps from delight at the sad news. + +He passed the whole Sunday in reading his Bible, and never +went out collecting rags on that day. While reading, +he groaned and sighed continually. He kept the book close +to his breast, and was angry with any one who interrupted him +or who touched his Bible. + +"Oh, you drunken blackguard," said Kuvalda to him, "what do you +understand of it?" + +"Nothing, wizard! I don't understand anything, and I do not read +any books . . . But I read. . . ." + +"Therefore you are a fool . . ." said the Captain, decidedly. +"When there are insects in your head, you know it is uncomfortable, +but if some thoughts enter there too, how will you live then, +you old toad?" + +"I have not long to live," said Tyapa, quietly. + +Once the teacher asked how he had learned to read. + +"In prison," answered Tyapa shortly. + +"Have you been there?" + +"I was there." + +"For what?" + +"Just so . . . It was a mistake . . . But I brought the Bible out with me +from there. A lady gave it to me . . . It is good in prison, brother." + +"Is that so? And why?" + +"It teaches one . . . I learned to read there . . . I also got +this book . . . And all these you see, free. . . ." + +When the teacher appeared in the dosshouse, Tyapa had already lived +there for some time. He looked long into the teacher's face, +as if to discover what kind of a man he was. + +Tyapa often listened to his conversation, and once, sitting down +beside him, said: + +"I see you are very learned . . . Have you read the Bible?" + +"I have read it. . . ." + +"I see; I see . . . Can you remember it?" + +"Yes . . . I remember it. . . ." + +Then the old man leaned to one side and gazed at the other +with a serious, suspicious glance. + +"There were the Amalekites, do you remember?" + +"Well?" + +"Where are they now?" + +"Disappeared . . . Tyapa . . . died out. . . ." + +The old man was silent, then asked again: "And where +are the Philistines?" + +"These also. . . ." + +"Have all these died out?" + +"Yes . . . all. . . ." + +"And so . . . we also will die out?" + +"There will come a time when we also will die," +said the teacher indifferently. + +"And to what tribe of Israel do we belong?" + +The teacher looked at him, and began telling him about +Scythians and Slavs. . . . + +The old man became all the more frightened, and glanced at his face. + +"You are lying!" he said scornfully, when the teacher had finished. + +"What lie have I told?" asked the teacher. + +"You mentioned tribes that are not mentioned in the Bible." + +He got up and walked away, angry and deeply insulted. + +"You will go mad, Tyapa," called the teacher after him with conviction. + +Then the old man came back again, and stretching out his hand, +threatened him with his crooked and dirty finger. + +"God made Adam--from Adam were descended the Jews, that means +that all people are descended from Jews . . . and we also. . . ." + +"Well?" + +"Tartars are descended from Ishmael, but he also came of the Jews. . . ." + +"What do you want to tell me all this for?" + +"Nothing! Only why do you tell lies?" Then he walked away, +leaving his companion in perplexity. But after two days he came +again and sat by him. + +"You are learned . . . Tell me, then, whose descendants are we? +Are we Babylonians, or who are we?" + +"We are Slavs, Tyapa," said the teacher, and attentively awaited +his answer, wishing to understand him. + +"Speak to me from the Bible. There are no such men there." + +Then the teacher began criticizing the Bible. The old man listened, +and interrupted him after a long while. + +"Stop . . . Wait! That means that among people known to God +there are no Russians? We are not known to God? Is it so? +God knew all those who are mentioned in the Bible . . . He +destroyed them by sword and fire, He destroyed their cities; +but He also sent prophets to teach them. + +"That means that He also pitied them. He scattered +the Jews and the Tartars . . . But what about us? +Why have we prophets no longer?" + +"Well, I don't know!" replied the teacher, trying to understand +the old man. But the latter put his hand on the teacher's shoulder, +and slowly pushed him backward and forward, and his throat made +a noise as if he were swallowing something. . . . + +"Tell me! You speak so much . . . as if you knew everything. +It makes me sick to listen to you . . . you darken my +soul . . . I should be better pleased if you were silent. +Who are we, eh? Why have we no prophets? Ha, ha! . . . Where +were we when Christ walked on this earth? Do you see? +And you too, you are lying . . . Do you think that all die out? +The Russian people will never disappear . . . You are lying. +It has been written in the Bible, only it is not known what name +the Russians are given. Do you see what kind of people they are? +They are numberless . . . How many villages are there on the earth? +Think of all the people who live on it, so strong, go numerous I And you +say that they will die out; men shall die, but God wants the people, +God the Creator of the earth! The Amalekites did not die out. +They are either German or French . . . But you, eh, you! +Now then, tell me why we are abandoned by God? Have we no +punishments nor prophets from the Lord? Who then will teach us?" +Tyapa spoke strongly and plainly, and there was faith in his words. + +He had been speaking a long time, and the teacher, who was generally +drunk and in a speechless condition, could not stand it any longer. +He looked at the dry, wrinkled old man, felt the great +force of these words, and suddenly began to pity himself. +He wished to say something so strong and convincing to the old man +that Tyapa would be disposed in his favor; he did not wish to speak +in such a serious, earnest way, but in a soft and fatherly tone. +And the teacher felt as if something were rising from his breast +into his throat . . . But he could not find any powerful words. + +"What kind of a man are you? . . . Your soul seems to be torn away-- +and you still continue speaking . . . as if you knew something . . . +It would be better if you were silent." + +"Ah, Tyapa, what you say is true," replied the teacher sadly. +"The people . . . you are right . . . they are numberless . . . but I +am a stranger to them . . . and they are strangers to me . . . Do you +see where the tragedy of my life is hidden? . . . But let me alone! +I shall suffer . . . and there are no prophets also . . . No. You +are right, I speak a great deal . . . But it is no good to anyone. +I shall be always silent . . . Only don't speak with me like +this . . . Ah, old man, you do not know . . . You do not know . . . +And you cannot understand." + +And in the end the teacher cried. He cried so easily and +so freely, with such torrents of flowing tears, that he soon +found relief. "You ought to go into a village . . . become +a clerk or a teacher . . . You would be well fed there. +What are you crying for?" asked Tyapa sadly. + +But the teacher was crying as if the tears quieted and comforted him. + +From this day they became friends, and the "creatures that once were men," +seeing them together, said: "The teacher is friendly with Tyapa . . . +He wishes his money. Kuvalda must have put this into his head . . . To +look about to see where the old man's fortune is. . . ." + +Probably they did not believe what they said. +There was one strange thing about these men, namely, that they +painted themselves to others worse than they actually were. +A man who has good in him does not mind sometimes showing +his worse nature. + +* * * * * * * * * * + +When all these people were gathered round the teacher, +then the reading of the newspaper would begin. + +"Well, what does the newspaper discuss to-day? Is there any feuilleton?" + +"No," the teacher informs him. + +"Your publisher seems greedy . . . but is there any leader?" + +"There is one to-day . . . It appears to be by Gulyaeff." + +"Aha! Come, out with it! He writes cleverly, the rascal." + +"'The taxation of immovable property,'" reads the teacher, +"It was introduced some fifteen years ago, and up to the present +it has served as the basis for collecting these taxes in aid +of the city revenue. . . .'" + +"That is simple," comments Captain Kuvalda. "It continues to serve. +That is ridiculous. To the merchant who is moving about in +the city, it is profitable that it should continue to serve. +Therefore it does continue." + +"The article, in fact, is written on the subject," says the teacher. + +"Is it? That is strange, it is more a subject for a feuilleton." + +"Such a subject must be treated with plenty of pepper. . . ." + +Then a short discussion begins. The people listen attentively, +as only one bottle of vodki has been drunk. + +After the leader, they read the local events, then the court +proceedings, and, if in the police court it reports that the defendant +or plaintiff is a merchant, then Aristid Kuvalda sincerely rejoices. +If someone has robbed the merchant, "That is good," says he. +"Only it is a pity they robbed him of so little." +If his horses have broken down, "It is sad that he is still alive." +If the merchant has lost his suit in court, "It is a pity +that the costs were not double the amount." + +"That would have been illegal," remarks the teacher. + +"Illegal! But is the merchant himself legal?" inquires Kuvalda bitterly. +"What is the merchant? Let us investigate this rough and +uncouth phenomenon. First of all, every merchant is a mujik. +He comes from a village, and in course of time becomes a merchant. +In order to be a merchant, one must have money. + +"Where can the mujik get the money from? It is well known +that he does not get it by honest hard work, and that means +that the mujik, somehow or other, has been swindling. +That is to say, a merchant is simply a dishonest mujik." + +"Splendid!" cry the people, approving the orator's deduction, +and Tyapa bellows all the time, scratching his breast. +He always bellows like this as he drinks his first glass of vodki, +when he has a drunken headache. The Captain beams with joy. +They next read the correspondence. This is, for the Captain, +"an abundance of drinks," as he himself calls it. +He always notices how the merchants make this life abominable, +and how cleverly they spoil everything. His speeches thunder +at and annihilate merchants. His audience listens to him +with the greatest pleasure, because he swears atrociously. +"If I wrote for the papers," he shouts, "I would show up the merchant +in his true colors . . . I would show that he is a beast, +playing for a time the role of a man. I understand him! +He is a rough boor, does not know the meaning of the words +'good taste,' has no notion of patriotism, and his knowledge +is not worth five kopecks." + +Abyedok, knowing the Captain's weak point, and fond of making +other people angry, cunningly adds: + +"Yes, since the nobility began to make acquaintance with hunger, +men have disappeared from the world. . . ." + +"You are right, you son of a spider and a toad. Yes, from the +time that the noblemen fell, there have been no men. +There are only merchants, and I hate them." + +"That is easy to understand, brother, because you too, +have been brought down by them. . . ." + +"I? I was ruined by love of life . . . Fool that I was, +I loved life, but the merchant spoils it, and I cannot bear it, +simply for this reason, and not because I am a nobleman. +But if you want to know the truth, I was once a man, though I +was not noble. I care now for nothing and nobody . . . +and all my life has been tame--a sweetheart who has jilted me-- +therefore I despise life, and am indifferent to it." + +"You lie!" says Abyedok. + +"I lie?" roars Aristid Kuvalda, almost crimson with anger. + +"Why shout?" comes in the cold sad voice of Martyanoff. + +"Why judge others? Merchants, noblemen. . .what have we +to do with them?" + +"Seeing what we are" . . . puts in Deacon Taras. + +"Be quiet, Abyedok," says the teacher good-naturedly. + +"Why do you provoke him?" He does not love either discussion or noise, +and when they quarrel all around him his lips form into a sickly grimace, +and he endeavors quietly and reasonably to reconcile each with +the other, and if he does not succeed in this he leaves the company. +Knowing this, the Captain, if he is not very drunk, controls himself, +not wishing to lose, in the person of the teacher, one of the best +of his listeners. + +"I repeat," he continues, in a quieter tone, "that I see life in the hands +of enemies, not only enemies of the noble but of everything good, +avaricious and incapable of adorning existence in any way." + +"But all the same, says the teacher, "merchants, so to speak, +created Genoa, Venice, Holland--and all these were merchants, +merchants from England, India, the Stroyanoff merchants. . . ." + +"I do not speak of these men, I am thinking of Judas Petunikoff, +who is one of them. . . ." + +"And you say you have nothing to do with them?" asks the teacher quietly. + +"But do you think that I do not live? Aha! I do live, +but I suppose I ought not to be angry at the fact that life +is desecrated and robbed of all freedom by these men." + +"And they dare to laugh at the kindly anger of the Captain, +a man living in retirement?" says Abyedok teasingly. + +"Very well! I agree with you that I am foolish. +Being a creature who was once a man, I ought to blot out +from my heart all those feelings that once were mine. +You may be right, but then how could I or any of you defend +ourselves if we did away with all these feelings?" + +"Now then, you are talking sense," says the teacher encouragingly. + +"We want other feelings and other views on life . . . We want something +new. . .because we ourselves are a novelty in this life. . . ." + +"Doubtless this is most important for us," remarks the teacher. + +"Why?" asks Kanets. "Is it not all the same whatever we say or think? +We have not got long to live I am forty, you are fifty . . . there +is no one among us younger than thirty, and even at twenty one cannot +live such a life long." + +"And what kind of novelty are we?" asked Abyedok mockingly. + +"Since nakedness has always existed" + +"Yes, and it created Rome," said the teacher. + +"Yes, of course," says the Captain, beaming with joy. + +"Romulus and Remus, eh? We also shall create when our time comes. . . ." + +"Violation of public peace," interrupts Abyedok. He laughs +in a self-satisfied way. His laughter is impudent and insolent, +and is echoed by Simtsoff, the Deacon and Paltara Taras. +The naive eyes of young Meteor light up, and his cheeks flush crimson. + +Kanets speaks, and it seems as if he were hammering their heads. + +"All these are foolish illusions . . . fiddlesticks!" + +It was strange to see them reasoning in this manner, these outcasts +from life, tattered, drunken with vodki and wickedness, +filthy and forlorn. Such conversations rejoiced the Captain's heart. +They gave him an opportunity of speaking more, and therefore +he thought himself better than the rest. However low he may fall, +a man can never deny himself the delight of feeling cleverer, +more powerful, or even better fed than his companions. +Aristid Kuvalda abused this pleasure, and never could have +enough of it, much to the disgust of Abyedok, Kubar, and others +of these creatures that once were men, who were less interested +in such things. + +Politics, however, were more to the popular taste. +The discussions as to the necessity of taking India or of subduing +England were lengthy and protracted. + +Nor did they speak with less enthusiasm of the radical +measure of clearing Jews off the face of the earth. +On this subject Abyedok was always the first to propose +dreadful plans to effect the desired end, but the Captain, +always first in every other argument, did not join in this one. +They also spoke much and impudently about women, but the teacher +always defended them, and sometimes was very angry when they +went so far as to pass the limits of decency. They all, +as a rule, gave in to him, because they did not look upon him +as a common person, and also because they wished to borrow from +him on Saturdays the money which he had earned during the week. +He had many privileges. They never beat him, for instance, +on these occasions when the conversation ended in a free fight. +He had the right to bring women into the dosshouse; +a privilege accorded to no one else, as the Captain had +previously warned them. + +"No bringing of women to my house," he had said. "Women, merchants +and philosophers, these are the three causes of my ruin. +I will horsewhip anyone bringing in women. I will horsewhip the woman +also . . . And as to the philosopher, I'll knock his head off for him." +And notwithstanding his age he could have knocked anyone's head off, +for he possessed wonderful strength. Besides that, whenever he fought +or quarrelled, he was assisted by Martyanoff, who was accustomed during +a general fight to stand silently and sadly back to back with Kuvalda, +when he became an all destroying and impregnable engine of war. +Once when Simtsoff was drunk, he rushed at the teacher for no +reason whatever, and getting hold of his head tore out a bunch of hair. + +Kuvalda, with one stroke of his fist in the other's chest, +sent him spinning, and he fell to the ground. He was unconscious +for almost half-an-hour, and when he came to himself Kuvalda +compelled him to eat the hair he had torn from the teacher's head. +He ate it, preferring this to being beaten to death. + +Besides reading newspapers, fighting and indulging in +general conversation, they amused themselves by playing cards. +They played without Martyanoff because he could not play honestly. +After cheating several times, he openly confessed: + +"I cannot play without cheating . . . it is a habit of mine." + +"Habits do get the better of you," assented Deacon Taras. +"I always used to beat my wife every Sunday after Mass, and when she +died I cannot describe how extremely dull I felt every Sunday. +I lived through one Sunday--it was dreadful, the second I still +controlled myself, the third Sunday I struck my Asok. . . . She was +angry and threatened to summon me. Just imagine if she had done so! +On the fourth Sunday, I beat her just as if she were my own wife! +After that I gave her ten roubles, and beat her according to my own +rules till I married again!" + +"You are lying, Deacon! How could you marry a second time?" +interrupted Abyedok. + +"Ay, just so . . . She looked after my house . . ." + +"Did you have any children?" asked the teacher. + +"Five of them . . . One was drowned . . . the oldest . . . he was +an amusing boy! Two died of diphtheria . . . One of the daughters +married a student and went with him to Siberia. + +"The other went to the University of St. Petersburg and died +there . . . of consumption they say. Ye--es, there were +five of them . . . Ecclesiastics are prolific, you know." +He began explaining why this was so, and they laughed till +they nearly burst at his tales. When the laughter stopped, +Aleksei Maksimovitch Simtsoff remembered that he too had once +had a daughter. + +"Her name was Lidka . . . she was very stout. . . ." + +More than this he did not seem to remember, for he looked +at them all, was silent and smiled . . . in a guilty way. +Those men spoke very little to each other about their past, +and they recalled it very seldom, and then only its general outlines. +When they did mention it, it was in a cynical tone. +Probably, this was just as well, since, in many people, +remembrance of the past kills all present energy and deadens +all hope for the future. + +* * * * * * * * * * + +On rainy, cold, or dull days in the late autumn, these "creatures +that once were men" gathered in the eating-house of Vaviloff. +They were well known there, where some feared them as thieves +and rogues, and some looked upon them contemptuously as hard drinkers, +although they respected them, thinking that they were clever. + +The eating-house of Vaviloff was the club of the main street, +and the "creatures that once were men" were its most intellectual members. + +On Saturday evenings or Sunday mornings, when the eating-house was packed, +the "creatures that once were men" were only too welcome guests. +They brought with them, besides the forgotten and poverty-stricken +inhabitants of the street, their own spirit, in which there was +something that brightened the lives of men exhausted and worn out +in the struggle for existence, as great drunkards as the inhabitants +of Kuvalda's shelter, and, like them, outcasts from the town. +Their ability to speak on all subjects, their freedom of opinion, +skill in repartee, courage in the presence of those of whom +the whole street was in terror, together with their daring demeanor, +could not but be pleasing to their companions. Then, too, +they were well versed in law, and could advise, write petitions, +and help to swindle without incurring the risk of punishment. +For all this they were paid with vodki and flattering admiration +of their talents. + +The inhabitants of the street were divided into two parties +according to their sympathies. One was in favor of Kuvalda, +who was thought "a good soldier, clever, and courageous"; +the other was convinced of the fact that the teacher was "superior" +to Kuvalda. The latter's admirers were those who were known +to be drunkards, thieves, and murderers, for whom the road +from beggary to prison was inevitable. But those who respected +the teacher were men who still had expectations, still hoped +for better things, who were eternally occupied with nothing, +and who were nearly always hungry. + +The nature of the teacher's and Kuvalda's relations toward the street +may be gathered from the following: + +Once in the eating-house they were discussing the resolution passed by +the Corporation regarding the main street, viz., that the inhabitants were +to fill up the pits and ditches in the street, and that neither manure +nor the dead bodies of domestic animals should be used for the purpose, +but only broken tiles, etc., from the ruins of other houses. + +"Where am I going to get these same broken tiles and bricks? +I could not get sufficient bricks together to build a hen-house," +plaintively said Mokei Anisimoff, a man who hawked kalaches +(a sort of white bread) which were baked by his wife. + +"Where can you get broken bricks and lime rubbish? Take bags +with you, and go and remove them from the Corporation buildings. +They are so old that they are of no use to anyone, and you will thus +be doing two good deeds; firstly, by repairing the main street; +and secondly, by adorning the city with a new Corporation building." + +"If you want horses, get them from the Lord Mayor, and take his +three daughters, who seem quite fit for harness. Then destroy +the house of Judas Petunikoff and pave the street with its timbers. +By the way, Mokei, I know out of what your wife baked to-day's kalaches; +out of the frames of the third window and the two steps from the roof +of Judas' house." + +When those present had laughed and joked sufficiently over the +Captain's proposal, the sober market gardener, Pavlyugus asked: + +"But seriously, what are we to do, your honor? . . . Eh? +What do you think?" + +"I? I shall neither move hand nor foot. If they wish to clean the street, +let them do it." + +"Some of the houses are almost coming down. . . ." + +"Let them fall; don't interfere; and when they fall ask help from +the city. If they don't give it you, then bring a suit in court +against them! Where does the water come from? From the city! +Therefore let the city be responsible for the destruction +of the houses." + +"They will say it is rain-water." + +"Does it destroy the houses in the city? Eh? They take taxes +from you, but they do not permit you to speak! They destroy +your property and at the same time compel you to repair it!" +And half the radicals in the street, convinced by the words +of Kuvalda, decided to wait till the rain-water came down +in huge streams and swept away their houses. The others, +more sensible, found in the teacher a man who composed for them +an excellent and convincing report for the Corporation. +In this report the refusal of the street's inhabitants +to comply with the resolution of the Corporation was well +explained that the Corporation actually entertained it. +It was decided that the rubbish left after some repairs had been +done to the barracks should be used for mending and filling up +the ditches in their street, and for the transport of this five +horses were given by the fire brigade. Still more, they even +saw the necessity of laying a drain-pipe through the street. +This and many other things vastly increased the popularity +of the teacher. He wrote petitions for them and published +various remarks in the newspapers. + +For instance, on one occasion Vaviloff's customers noticed +that the herrings and other provisions of the eating-house +were not what they should be, and after a day or two they saw +Vaviloff standing at the bar with the newspaper in his hand +making a public apology. + +"It is true, I must acknowledge, that I bought old and not +very good herrings, and the cabbage . . . also . . . was old. +It is only too well known that anyone can put many a five-kopeck +piece in his pocket in this way. And what is the result? +It has not been a success; I was greedy, I own, but the cleverer +man has exposed me, so we are quits. . . ." + +This confession made a very good impression on the people, +and it also gave Vaviloff the opportunity of still feeding them +with herrings and cabbages which were not good, though they +failed to notice it, so much were they impressed. + +This incident was very significant, because it increased not only +the teacher's popularity, but also the effect of press opinion. + +It often happened, too, that the teacher read lectures on practical +morality in the eating-house. + +"I saw you," he said to the painter, Yashka Tyarin; "I saw you, +Yakov, beating your wife. . . ." + +Yashka was "touched with paint" after having two glasses of vodki, +and was in a slightly uplifted condition. + +The people looked at him, expecting him to make a row, +and all were silent. + +"Did you see me? And how did it please you?" asks Yashka. + +The people control their laughter. + +"No; it did not please me," replies the teacher. +His tone is so serious that the people are silent. + +"You see I was just trying it," said Yashka, with bravado, +fearing that the teacher would rebuke him. "The wife is +satisfied. . . She has not got up yet today. . . ." + +The teacher, who was drawing absently with his fingers on +the table, said, "Do you see, Yakov, why this did not please +me? . . . Let us go into the matter thoroughly, and understand +what you are really doing, and what the result may be. Your wife +is pregnant. You struck her last night on her sides and breast. +That means that you beat not only her but the child too. +You may have killed him, and your wife might have died or else +have become seriously ill. To have the trouble of looking after +a sick woman is not pleasant. It is wearing, and would cost +you dear, because illness requires medicine, and medicine money. +If you have not killed the child, you may have crippled him, +and he will he born deformed, lop-sided, or hunch-backed. +That means that he will not be able to work, and it is only +too important to you that he should be a good workman. +Even if he be born ill, it will be bad enough, because he will +keep his mother from work, and will require medicine. +Do you see what you are doing to yourself? Men who live by hard +work must be strong and healthy, and they should have strong +and healthy children . . . Do I speak truly?" + +"Yes," assented the listeners. + +"But all this will never happen," says Yashka, becoming rather +frightened at the prospect held out to him by the teacher. + +"She is healthy, and I cannot have reached the child . . . She is a devil-- +a hag!" he shouts angrily. "I would . . . She will eat me away +as rust eats iron." + +"I understand, Yakov, that you cannot help beating your wife," +the teacher's sad and thoughtful voice again breaks in. +"You have many reasons for doing so . . . It is your wife's +character that causes you to beat her so incautiously . . . +But your own dark and sad life. . . ." + +"You are right!" shouts Yakov. "We live in darkness, +like the chimney-sweep when he is in the chimney!" + +"You are angry with your life, but your wife is patient; +the closest relation to you--your wife, and you make her +suffer for this, simply because you are stronger than she. +She is always with you, and cannot get away. Don't you see +how absurd you are?" + +"That is so . . . Devil take it! But what shall I do? +Am I not a man?" + +"Just so! You are a man. . . . I only wish to tell you that if +you cannot help beating her, then beat her carefully and always +remember that you may injure her health or that of the child. +It is not good to beat pregnant women . . . on their belly or on +their sides and chests . . . Beat her, say, on the neck . . . +or else take a rope and beat her on some soft place. . . ." + +The orator finished his speech and looked upon his hearers with his dark, +pathetic eyes, seeming to apologize to them for some unknown crime. + +The public understands it. They understand the morale of the creature +who was once a man, the morale of the public-house and much misfortune. + +"Well, brother Yashka, did you understand? See how true it is!" + +Yakov understood that to beat her incautiously might be injurious +to his wife. He is silent, replying to his companions' +jokes with confused smiles. + +"Then again, what is a wife?" philosophizes the baker, Mokei Anisimoff. +"A wife . . . is a friend if we look at the matter in that way. +She is like a chain, chained to you for life . . . and you are both just +like galley slaves. And if you try to get away from her, you cannot, +you feel the chain." + +"Wait," says Yakovleff; "but you beat your wife too." + +"Did I say that I did not? I beat her . . . There is nothing +else handy . . . Do you expect me to beat the wall with my fist +when my patience is exhausted?" + +"I feel just like that too . . ." says Yakov. + +"How hard and difficult our life is, my brothers! +There is no real rest for us anywhere!" + +"And even you beat your wife by mistake," some one remarks humorously. +And thus they speak till far on in the night or till they have quarrelled, +the usual result of drink or of passions engendered by such discussions. + +The rain beats on the windows, and outside the cold wind is blowing. +The eating-house is close with tobacco smoke, but it is warm, +while the street is cold and wet. Now and then, the wind beats +threateningly on the windows of the eating-house, as if bidding +these men to come out and be scattered like dust over the face +of the earth. + +Sometimes a stifled and hopeless groan is heard in its howling +which again is drowned by cold, cruel laughter. This music +fills one with dark, sad thoughts of the approaching winter, +with its accursed short, sunless days and long nights, +of the necessity of possessing warm garments and plenty to eat. +It is hard to sleep through the long winter nights on an empty stomach. +Winter is approaching. Yes, it is approaching . . . How to live? + +These gloomy forebodings created a strong thirst among the +inhabitants of the main street, and the sighs of the "creatures +that once were men" increased with the wrinkles on their brows, +their voices became thick and their behavior to each other +more blunt. And brutal crimes were committed among them, +and the roughness of these poor unfortunate outcasts was +apt to increase at the approach of that inexorable enemy, +who transformed all their lives into one cruel farce. +But this enemy could not be captured because it was invisible. + +Then they began beating each other brutally, and drank till they had +drunk everything which they could pawn to the indulgent Vaviloff. +And thus they passed the autumn days in open wickedness, in suffering +which was eating their hearts out, unable to rise out of this vicious +life and in dread of the still crueller days of winter. + +Kuvalda in such cases came to their assistance with his philosophy. + +"Don't lose your temper, brothers, everything has an end, +this is the chief characteristic of life. + +"The winter will pass, summer will follow . . . a glorious time, +when the very sparrows are filled with rejoicing." +But his speeches did not have any effect--a mouthful of even +the freshest and purest water will not satisfy a hungry man. + +Deacon Taras also tried to amuse the people by singing his songs +and relating his tales. He was more successful, and sometimes his +endeavors ended in a wild and glorious orgy at the eating-house. +They sang, laughed and danced, and for hours behaved like madmen. +After this they again fell into a despairing mood, sitting at the tables +of the eating-house, in the black smoke of the lamp and the tobacco; +sad and tattered, speaking lazily to each other, listening to the wild +howling of the wind, and thinking how they could get enough vodki +to deaden their senses. + +And their hand was against every man, and every man's hand against them. + + + + +PART II + + + + +All things are relative in this world, and a man cannot sink +into any condition so bad that it could not be worse. One day, +toward the end of September, Captain Aristid Kuvalda was sitting, +as was his custom, on the bench near the door of the dosshouse, +looking at the stone building built by the merchant Petunikoff +close to Vaviloff's eating-house, and thinking deeply. +This building, which was partly surrounded by woods, +served the purpose of a candle factory. + +Painted red, as if with blood, it looked like a cruel machine which, +though not working, opened a row of deep, hungry, gaping jaws, +as if ready to devour and swallow anything. The gray wooden +eating-house of Vaviloff, with its bent roof covered with patches, +leaned against one of the brick walls of the factory, and seemed +as if it were some large form of parasite clinging to it. +The Captain was thinking that they would very soon be making +new houses to replace the old building. "They will destroy +the dosshouse even," he reflected. "It will be necessary to look +out for another, but such a cheap one is not to be found. +It seems a great pity to have to leave a place to which one +is accustomed, though it will be necessary to go, simply because +some merchant or other thinks of manufacturing candles and soap." +And the Captain felt that if he could only make the life of such +an enemy miserable, even temporarily, oh! with what pleasure +he would do it! + +Yesterday, Ivan Andreyevitch Petunikoff was in the dosshouse yard +with his son and an architect. They measured the yard and put small +wooden sticks in various places, which, after the exit of Petunikoff +and at the order of the Captain, Meteor took out and threw away. +To the eyes of the Captain this merchant appeared small and thin. +He wore a long garment like a frock-coat, a velvet cap, and high, +well-cleaned boots. He had a thin face with prominent cheek-bones, +a wedge-shaped grayish beard, and a high forehead seamed with wrinkles +from beneath which shone two narrow, blinking, and observant gray +eyes . . . a sharp, gristly nose, a small mouth with thin lips . . . +altogether his appearance was pious, rapacious, and respectably wicked. + + +"Cursed cross-bred fox and pig!" swore the Captain under +his breath, recalling his first meeting with Petunikoff. +The merchant came with one of the town councillors to buy +the house, and seeing the Captain asked his companion: + +"Is this your lodger?" + +And from that day, a year and a half ago, there has been +keen competition among the inhabitants of the dosshouse +as to which can swear the hardest at the merchant. +And last night there was a "slight skirmish with hot words," +as the Captain called it, between Petunikoff and himself. +Having dismissed the architect the merchant approached the Captain. + +"What are you hatching?" asked he, putting his hand to his cap, +perhaps to adjust it, perhaps as a salutation. + +"What are you plotting?" answered the Captain in the same tone. +He moved his chin so that his beard trembled a little; +a non-exacting person might have taken it for a bow; +otherwise it only expressed the desire of the Captain +to move his pipe from one corner of his mouth to the other. +"You see, having plenty of money, I can afford to sit hatching it. +Money is a good thing, and I possess it," the Captain +chaffed the merchant, casting cunning glances at him. +"It means that you serve money, and not money you," went on Kuvalda, +desiring at the same time to punch the merchant's belly. + +"Isn't it all the same? Money makes life comfortable, +but no money," . . . and the merchant looked at the Captain +with a feigned expression of suffering. The other's upper +lip curled, and exposed large, wolf-like teeth. + + +"With brains and a conscience, it is possible to live without it. +Men only acquire riches when they cease to listen to their +conscience . . . the less conscience the more money!" + +"Just so; but then there are men who have neither money nor conscience." + +"Were you just like what you are now when you were young?" +asked Kuvalda simply. The other's nostrils twitched. +Ivan Andreyevitch sighed, passed his hand over his eyes and said: + +"Oh! When I was young I had to undergo a great many difficulties +. . . Work! Oh! I did work!" + +"And you cheated, too, I suppose?" + +"People like you? Nobles? I should just think so! +They used to grovel at my feet!" + +"You only went in for robbing, not murder, I suppose?" asked the Captain. +Petunikoff turned pale, and hastily changed the subject. + +"You are a bad host. You sit while your guest stands." + +"Let him sit, too," said Kuvalda. + +"But what am I to sit on?" + +"On the earth . . . it will take any rubbish . . ." + +"You are the proof of that," said Petunikoff quietly, while his eyes +shot forth poisonous glances. + +And he went away, leaving Kuvalda under the pleasant impression +that the merchant was afraid of him. If he were not afraid of him +he would long ago have evicted him from the dosshouse. + + +But then he would think twice before turning him out, +because of the five roubles a month. And the Captain gazed +with pleasure at Petunikoff's back as he slowly retreated +from the court-yard. Following him with his eyes, he noticed +how the merchant passed the factory and disappeared into the wood, +and he wished very much that he might fall and break all his bones. +He sat imagining many horrible forms of disaster while +watching Petunikoff, who was descending the hill into the wood +like a spider going into its web. Last night he even imagined +that the wood gave way before the merchant and he fell . . . +but afterward he found that he had only been dreaming. + +And to-day, as always, the red building stands out before the eyes +of Aristid Kuvalda, so plain, so massive, and clinging so strongly +to the earth, that it seems to be sucking away all its life. +It appears to be laughing coldly at the Captain with its gaping walls. +The sun pours its rays on them as generously as it does on the miserable +hovels of the main street. + +"Devil take the thing!" exclaimed the Captain, thoughtfully measuring +the walls of the factory with his eyes. "If only . . . ." +Trembling with excitement at the thought that had just entered his +mind Aristid Kuvalda jumped up and ran to Vaviloff's eating-house +muttering to himself all the time. + +Vaviloff met him at the bar and gave him a friendly welcome. + +"I wish your honor good health!" He was of middle height +and had a bald head, gray hair, and straight mustaches +like tooth-brushes. Upright and neat in his clean jacket, +he showed by every movement that he was an old soldier. + + +"Egorka, show me the lease and plan of your house," +demanded Kuvalda impatiently. + +"I have shown it you before." Vaviloff looked up suspiciously +and closely scanned the Captain's face. + +"Show it me!" shouted the Captain, striking the bar with his fist +and sitting down on a stool close by. + +"But why?" asked Vaviloff, knowing that it was better to keep +his wits about him when Kuvalda got excited. + +"You fool! Bring it at once." + +Vaviloff rubbed his forehead, and turned his eyes to the ceiling +in a tired way. + +"Where are those papers of yours?" + +There was no answer to this on the ceiling, so the old sergeant +looked down at the floor, and began drumming with his fingers +on the bar in a worried and thoughtful manner. + +"It's no good your making wry faces!" shouted the Captain, +for he had no great affection for him, thinking that a former soldier +should rather have become a thief than an eating-house keeper. + +"Oh! Yes! Aristid Fomich, I remember now. They were left at +the High Court of Justice at the time when I came into possession." + +"Get along, Egorka! It is to your own interest to show me +the plan, the title-deeds, and everything you have immediately. +You will probably clear at least a hundred roubles over this, +do you understand?" + +Vaviloff did not understand at all; but the Captain spoke +in such a serious and convincing tone that the sergeant's +eyes burned with curiosity, and, telling him that he would +see if the papers were in his desk, he went through the door +behind the bar. + +Two minutes later he returned with the papers in his hand, +and an expression of extreme astonishment on his face. + +"Here they are; the deeds about the damned houses!" + +"Ah! You . . . vagabond! And you pretend to have been +a soldier, too!" And Kuvalda did not cease to belabor him +with his tongue, as he snatched the blue parchment from +his hands. Then, spreading the papers out in front of him, +and excited all the more by Vaviloff's inquisitiveness, +the Captain began reading and bellowing at the same time. +At last he got up resolutely, and went to the door, leaving all +the papers on the bar, and saying to Vaviloff: + +"Wait! Don't lift them!" + +Vaviloff gathered them lip, put them into the cashbox, and locked it, +then felt the lock with his hand, to see if it were secure. +After that, he scratched his bald head, thoughtfully, and went up +on the roof of the eating-house. There he saw the Captain measuring +the front of the house, and watched him anxiously, as he snapped +his fingers, and began measuring the same line over again. +Vaviloff's face lit up suddenly, and he smiled happily. + +"Aristid, Fomich, is it possible?" he shouted, when the Captain +came opposite to him. + +"Of course it is possible. There is more than one short in +the front alone, and as to the depth I shall see immediately." + +"The depth . . . seventy-three feet." + +"What? Have you guessed, you shaved, ugly face?" + +"Of course, Aristid Fomich! If you have eyes you can see a thing or two," +shouted Vaviloff joyfully. + +A few minutes afterward they sat side by side in Vaviloff's parlor, +and the Captain was engaged in drinking large quantities of beer. + +"And so all the walls of the factory stand on your ground," +said he to the eating-house keeper. "Now, mind you show no mercy! +The teacher will be here presently, and we will get him to draw +up a petition to the court. As to the amount of the damages +you will name a very moderate sum in order not to waste money +in deed stamps, but we will ask to have the factory knocked down. +This, you see, donkey, is the result of trespassing on other +people's property. It is a splendid piece of luck for you. +We will force him to have the place smashed, and I can tell you +it will be an expensive job for him. Off with you to the court. +Bring pressure to bear on Judas. We will calculate how much it +will take to break the factory down to its very foundations. +We will make an estimate of it all, counting the time it will take too, +and we will make honest Judas pay two thousand roubles besides." + +"He will never give it!" cried Vaviloff, but his eyes shone +with a greedy light. + +"You lie! He will give it . . . Use your brains . . . What else +can he do? But look here, Egorka, mind you, don't go in for +doing it on the cheap. They are sure to fry to buy you off. +Don't sell yourself cheap. They will probably use threats, +but rely upon us. . . ." + +The Captain's eyes were alight with happiness, and his face +with excitement. He worked upon Vaviloff's greed, and urging +upon him the importance of immediate action in the matter, +went away in a very joyful and happy frame of mind. + +* * * * * * * * * * + +In the evening everyone was told of the Captain's discovery, +and they all began to discuss Petunikoff's future predicament, +painting in vivid colors his excitement and astonishment on +the day the court messenger handed him the copy of the summons. +The Captain felt himself quite a hero. He was happy and all his +friends highly pleased. The heap of dark and tattered figures +that lay in the courtyard made noisy demonstrations of pleasure. +They all knew the merchant, Petunikoff, who passed them very often, +contemptuously turning up his eyes and giving them no more +attention than he bestowed on the other heaps of rubbish lying +on the ground. He was well fed, and that exasperated them +still more; and now how splendid it was that one of themselves +had struck a hard blow at the selfish merchant's purse! +It gave them all the greatest pleasure. The Captain's discovery +was a powerful instrument in their hands. Every one of them felt +keen animosity toward all those who were well fed and well dressed, +but in some of them this feeling was only beginning to develop. +Burning interest was felt by those "creatures that once were men" +in the prospective fight between Kuvalda and Petunikoff, +which they already saw in imagination. + +For a fortnight the inhabitants of the dosshouse awaited +the further development of events, but Petunikoff never once +visited the building. It was known that he was not in town, +and that the copy of the petition had not yet been handed +to him. Kuvalda raged at the delays of the civil court. +It is improbable that anyone had ever awaited the merchant +with such impatience as did this bare-footed brigade. + +"He isn't even thinking of coming, the wretch! . . ." + +"That means that he does not love me!" sang Deacon Taras, +leaning his chin on his hand and casting a humorous glance +toward the mountain. + +At last Petunikoff appeared. He came in a respectable cart with +his son playing the role of groom. The latter was a red-cheeked, +nice-looking youngster, in a long square-cut overcoat. +He wore smoked eyeglasses. They tied the horse to an adjoining tree, +the son took the measuring instrument out of his pocket and gave +it to his father, and they began to measure the ground. +Both were silent and worried. + +"Aha!" shouted the Captain gleefully. + +All those who were in the dosshouse at the moment came out to look +at them and expressed themselves loudly and freely in reference +to the matter. + +"What does the habit of thieving mean? A man may sometimes make +a big mistake when he steals, standing to lose more than he gets," +said the Captain, causing much laughter among his staff and eliciting +various murmurs of assent. + +"Take care, you devil!" shouted Petunikoff, "lest I have you +in the police court for your words!" + +"You can do nothing to me without witnesses . . . Your son cannot +give evidence on your side" . . . the Captain warned him. + +"Look out all the same, you old wretch, you may be found guilty too!" +And Petunikoff shook his fist at him. His son, deeply engrossed +in his calculations, took no notice of the dark group of men, who were +taking such a wicked delight in adding to his father's discomfiture. +He did not even once look in their direction. + +"The young spider has himself well in hand," remarked Abyedok, +watching young Petunikoff's every movement and action. +Having taken all the measurements he desired, Ivan Andreyevitch +knit his brows, got into the cart, and drove away. +His son went with a firm step into Vaviloff's eating-house, +and disappeared behind the door. + +"Ho, ho! That's a determined young thief! . . . What will happen next, +I wonder . . .?" asked Kuvalda. + +"Next? Young Petunikoff will buy out Egor Vaviloff," +said Abyedok with conviction, and smacked his lips as if the idea +gave him great pleasure. + +"And you are glad of that?" Kuvalda asked him gravely. + +"I am always pleased to see human calculations miscarry," +explained Abyedok, rolling his eyes and rubbing his hands with delight. +The Captain spat angrily on the ground and was silent. +They all stood in front of the tumble-down building, and silently +watched the doors of the eating-house. More than an hour passed thus. + +Then the doors opened and Petunikoff came out as silently +as he had entered. He stopped for a moment, coughed, turned up +the collar of his coat, glanced at the men, who were following +all his movements with their eyes, and then went up the street +toward the town. + +The Captain watched him for a moment, and turning to +Abyedok said smilingly: + +"Probably you were right after all, you son of a scorpion +and a wood-louse! You nose out every evil thing. Yes, the face +of that young swindler shows that be has got what he wanted. . . I +wonder how much Egorka has got out of them. He has evidently taken +something . . . He is just the same sort of rogue that they are . . . +they are all tarred with the same brush. He has got some money, +and I'm damned if I did not arrange the whole thing for him! +It is best to own my folly . . . Yes, life is against us all, +brothers . . . and even when you spit upon those nearest to you, +the spittle rebounds and hits your own face." + +Having satisfied himself with this reflection, the worthy Captain +looked round upon his staff. Every one of them was disappointed, +because they all knew that something they did not expect had taken +place between Petunikoff and Vaviloff, and they all felt that they +had been insulted. The feeling that one is unable to injure +anyone is worse than the feeling that one is unable to do good, +because to do harm is far easier and simpler. + +"Well, why are we loitering here? We have nothing more +to wait for . . . except the reward that I shall get out-- +out of Egorka, . . ." said the Captain, looking angrily at +the eating-house. "So our peaceful life under the roof of Judas +has come to an end. + +"Judas will now turn us out . . . So do not say that I have +not warned you." + +Kanets smiled sadly. + +"What are you laughing at, jailer?" Kuvalda asked. + +"Where shall I go then?" + +"That, my soul, is a question that fate will settle for you, so do +not worry," said the Captain thoughtfully, entering the dosshouse. +"The creatures that once were men" followed him. + +"We can do nothing but await the critical moment," said the Captain, +walking about among them. "When they turn us out we shall seek +a new place for ourselves, but at present there is no use spoiling +our life by thinking of it . . . In times of crisis one becomes +energetic . . . and if life were fuller of them and every moment +of it so arranged that we were compelled to tremble for our lives +all the time . . . By God! life would be livelier and even fuller +of interest and energy than it is!" + +"That means that people would all go about cutting one another's throats," +explained Abyedok smilingly. + +"Well, what about it?" asked the Captain angrily. +He did not like to hear his thoughts illustrated. + +"Oh! Nothing! When a person wants to get anywhere quickly he whips up +the horses, but of course it needs fire to make engines go. . . ." + +"Well, let everything go to the Devil as quickly as possible. +I'm sure I should be pleased if the earth suddenly opened up +or was burned or destroyed somehow . . . only I were left +to the last in order to see the others consumed. . . ." + +"Ferocious creature!" smiled Abyedok. + +"Well, what of that? I . . . I was once a man . . . now I +am an outcast . . . that means I have no obligations. +It means that I am free to spit on everyone. The nature +of my present life means the rejection of my past . . . +giving up all relations toward men who are well fed and +well dressed, and who look upon me with contempt because I +am inferior to them in the matter of feeding or dressing. +I must develop something new within myself, do you understand? +Something that will make Judas Petunikoff and his kind tremble +and perspire before me!" + +"Ah! You have a courageous tongue!" jeered Abyedok. + +"Yes . . . You miser!" And Kuvalda looked at him contemptuously. +"What do you understand? What do you know? Are you able to think? +But I have thought and I have read . . . books of which you could +not have understood one word." + +"Of course! One cannot eat soup out of one's hand . . . But though +you have read and thought, and I have not done that or anything else, +we both seem to have got into pretty much the same condition, don't we?" + +"Go to the Devil!" shouted Kuvalda. His conversations with Abyedok +always ended thus. When the teacher was absent his speeches, +as a rule, fell on the empty air, and received no attention, +and he knew this, but still he could not help speaking. +And now, having quarrelled with his companion, he felt +rather deserted; but, still longing for conversation, +he turned to Simtsoff with the following question: + +"And you, Aleksei Maksimovitch, where will you lay your gray head?" + +The old man smiled good-humoredly, rubbed his hands, and replied, +"I do not know . . . I will see. One does not require much, +just a little drink." + +"Plain but honorable fare!" the Captain said. Simtsoff was silent, +only adding that he would find a place sooner than any of them, +because women loved him. This was true. The old man had, as a rule, +two or three prostitutes, who kept him on their very scant earnings. +They very often beat him, but he took this stoically. +They somehow never beat him too much, probably because they pitied him. +He was a great lover of women, and said they were the cause of +all his misfortunes. The character of his relations toward them +was confirmed by the appearance of his clothes, which, as a rule, +were tidy, and cleaner than those of his companions. And now, +sitting at the door of the dosshouse, he boastingly related that for +a long time past Redka had been asking him to go and live with her, +but he had not gone because he did not want to part with the company. +They heard this with jealous interest. They all knew Redka. +She lived very near the town, almost below the mountain. +Not long ago, she had been in prison for theft. She was a retired nurse; +a tall, stout peasant woman with a face marked by smallpox, +but with very pretty, though always drunken, eyes. + +"Just look at the old devil!" swore Abyedok, looking at Simtsoff, +who was smiling in a self-satisfied way. + +"And do you know why they love me? Because I know how to cheer +up their souls." + +"Do you?" inquired Kuvalda. + +"And I can make them pity me . . . And a woman, when she pities! +Go and weep to her, and ask her to kill you . . . she will pity you-- +and she will kill you." + +"I feel inclined to commit a murder," declared Martyanoff, +laughing his dull laugh. + +"Upon whom?" asked Abyedok, edging away from him. + +"It's all the same to me . . . Petunikoff . . . Egorka or even you!" + +"And why?" inquired Kuvalda. + +"I want to go to Siberia . . . I have had enough of this vile +life . . . one learns how to live there!" + +"Yes, they have a particularly good way of teaching in Siberia," +agreed the Captain sadly. + +They spoke no more of Petunikoff, or of the turning out of +the inhabitants of the dosshouse. They all knew that they would +have to leave soon, therefore they did not think the matter +worth discussion. It would do no good, and besides the weather +was not very cold though the rains had begun . . . and it would +be possible to sleep on the ground anywhere outside the town. +They sat in a circle on the grass and conversed about all +sorts of things, discussing one subject after another, +and listening attentively even to the poor speakers in order +to make the time pass; keeping quiet was as dull as listening. +This society of "creatures that once were men" had one +fine characteristic--no one of them endeavored to make out +that he was better than the others, nor compelled the others +to acknowledge his superiority. + +The August sun seemed to set their tatters on fire as they +sat with their backs and uncovered heads exposed to it . . . +a chaotic mixture of the vegetable, mineral, and animal kingdoms. +In the corners of the yard the tall steppe grass grew luxuriantly . . . +Nothing else grew there but some dingy vegetables, not attractive +even to those who nearly always felt the pangs of hunger. + +* * * * * * * * * * + +The following was the scene that took place in Vaviloff's eating-house. + +Young Petunikoff entered slowly, took off his hat, looked around him, +and said to the eating-house keeper: + +"Egor Terentievitch Vaviloff? Are you he?" + +"I am," answered the sergeant, leaning on the bar with both arms +as if intending to jump over it. + +"I have some business with you," said Petunikoff. + +"Delighted. Please come this way to my private room." + +They went in and sat down, the guest on the couch and his host +on the chair opposite to him. In one corner a lamp was burning +before a gigantic icon, and on the wall at the other side +there were several oil lamps. They were well kept and shone +as if they were new. The room, which contained a number of boxes +and a variety of furniture, smelt of tobacco, sour cabbage, +and olive oil. Petunikoff looked around him and made a face. +Vaviloff looked at the icon, and then they looked simultaneously +at one another, and both seemed to be favorably impressed. +Petunikoff liked Vaviloff's frankly thievish eyes, and Vaviloff +was pleased with the open cold, determined face of Petunikoff, +with its large cheeks and white teeth. + +"Of course you already know me, and I presume you guess what I +am going to say to you," began Petunikoff. + +"About the lawsuit? . . . I presume?" remarked the +ex-sergeant respectfully. + +"Exactly! I am glad to see that you are not beating about +the bush, but going straight to the point like a business man," +said Petunikoff encouragingly. + +"I am a soldier," answered Vaviloff, with a modest air. + +"That is easily seen, and I am sure we shall be able to finish +this job without much trouble." + +"Just so." + +"Good! You have the law on your side, and will, of course, win your case. +I want to tell you this at the very beginning." + +"I thank you most humbly," said the sergeant, rubbing his eyes +in order to hide the smile in them. + +"But tell me, why did you make the acquaintance of your future +neighbors like this through the law courts?" + +Vaviloff shrugged his shoulders and did not answer. + +"It would have been better to come straight to us and settle +the matter peacefully, eh? What do you think?" + +"That would have been better, of course, but you see there +is a difficulty . . . I did not follow my own wishes, +but those of others . . . I learned afterward that it would +have been better if . . . but it was too late." + +"Oh! I suppose some lawyer taught you this?" + +"Someone of that sort." + +"Aha! Do you wish to settle the affair peacefully," + +"With all my heart!" cried the soldier. + +Petunikoff was silent for a moment, then looked at him, +and suddenly asked, coldly and dryly, "And why do you wish +to do so?" + +Vaviloff did not expect such a question, and therefore had no +reply ready. In his opinion the question was quite unworthy +of any attention, and so he laughed at young Petunikoff. + +"That is easy to understand. Men like to live peacefully +with one another." + +"But," interrupted Petunikoff, "that is not exactly the reason why. +As far as I can see, you do not distinctly understand why you wish +to be reconciled to us . . . I will tell you." + +The soldier was a little surprised. This youngster, +dressed in a check suit, in which he looked ridiculous, +spoke as if he were Colonel Rakshin, who used to knock three of +the unfortunate soldier's teeth out every time he was angry. + +"You want to be friends with us because we should be such useful +neighbors to you . . . because there will be not less than a hundred +and fifty workmen in our factory, and in course of time even more. +If a hundred men come and drink one glass at your place, after receiving +their weekly wages, that means that you will sell every month four +hundred glasses more than you sell at present. This is, of course, +the lowest estimate and then you have the eating-house besides. +You are not a fool, and you can understand for yourself what profitable +neighbors we shall be." + +"That is true," Vaviloff nodded "I knew that before." + +"Well, what then?" asked the merchant loudly. + +"Nothing . . . let us be friends!" + +"It is nice to see that you have decided so quickly. +Look here, I have already prepared a notification to the court +of the withdrawal of the summons against my father. +Here it is; read it, and sign it." + +Vaviloff looked at his companion with his round eyes and shivered, +as if experiencing an unpleasant sensation. + +"Pardon me . . . sign it? And why?" + +"There is no difficulty about it . . . write your Christian +name and surname and nothing more," explained Petunikoff, +pointing obligingly with his finger to the place for the signature. + +"Oh! It is not that . . . I was alluding to the compensation +I was to get for my ground." + +"But then this ground is of no use to you," said Petunikoff calmly. + +"But it is mine!" exclaimed the soldier. + +"Of course, and how much do you want for it?" + +"Well, say the amount stated in the document," said Vaviloff boldly. + +"Six hundred!" and Petunikoff smiled softly. "You are a funny fellow!" + +"The law is on my side . . . I can even demand two thousand. +I can insist on your pulling down the building . . . +and enforce it too. That is why my claim is so small. +I demand that you should pull it down!" + +"Very well. Probably we shall do so . . . after three years, +and after having dragged you into enormous law expenses. + +"And then, having paid up, we shall open our public-house, and you +will he ruined . . . annihilated like the Swedes at Poltava. +We shall see that you are ruined . . . we will take good care of that. +We could have begun to arrange about a public-house now, but you +see our time is valuable, and besides we are sorry for you. +Why should we take the bread out of your mouth without any reason?" + +Egor Terentievitch looked at his guest, clenching his teeth, and felt +that he was master of the situation, and held his fate in his hands. +Vaviloff was full of pity for himself at having to deal with this calm, +cruel figure in the checked suit. + +"And being such a near neighbor you might have gained a good +deal by helping us, and we should have remembered it too. +Even now, for instance, I should advise you to open a small +shop for tobacco, you know, bread, cucumbers, and so on . . . +All these are sure to be in great demand." + +Vaviloff listened, and being a clever man, knew that to throw +himself upon the enemy's generosity was the better plan. +It was as well to begin from the beginning, and, not knowing +what else to do to relieve his mind, the soldier began +to swear at Kuvalda. + +"Curses be upon your head, you drunken rascal! May the Devil take you!" + +"Do you mean the lawyer who composed your petition?" +asked Petunikoff calmly, and added, with a sigh, "I have no +doubt he would have landed you in rather an awkward fix . . . +had we not taken pity upon you." + +"Ah!" And the angry soldier raised his hand. + +"There are two of them . . . One of them discovered it, +the other wrote the petition, the accursed reporter!" + +"Why the reporter?" + +"He writes for the papers . . . He is one of your lodgers . . . there +they all are outside . . . Clear them away, for Christ's sake! +The robbers! They disturb and annoy everyone in the street. +One cannot live for them . . . And they are all desperate fellows . . . +You had better take care, or else they will rob or burn you. + +"And this reporter, who is he?" asked Petunikoff, with interest. + +"He? A drunkard. He was a teacher, but was dismissed. +He drank everything he possessed . . . and now he writes for +the papers and composes petitions. He is a very wicked man!" + +"H'm! And did he write your petition, too? I suppose +it was he who discovered the flaws in the building. +The beams were not rightly put in?" + +"He did! I know it for a fact! The dog! He read it aloud +in here and boasted, 'Now I have caused Petunikoff some loss!'" + +"Ye--es . . . Well, then, do you want to be reconciled?" + +"To be reconciled?" The soldier lowered his head and thought. +"Ah! This is a hard life!" said he, in a querulous voice, +scratching his head. + +"One must learn by experience, Petunikoff reassured him, +lighting a cigarette. + +"Learn . . . It is not that, my dear sir; but don't you see there +is no freedom? Don't you see what a life I lead? + +"I live in fear and trembling . . . I am refused the freedom so desirable +to me in my movements, and I fear this ghost of a teacher will write +about me in the papers. Sanitary inspectors will be called for . . . +fines will have to be paid . . . or else your lodgers will set fire +to the place or rob and kill me . . . I am powerless against them. +They are not the least afraid of the police, and they like going +to prison, because they get their food for nothing there." + +"But then we will have them turned out if we come to terms +with you," promised Petunikoff. + +"What shall we arrange, then?" asked Vaviloff sadly and seriously. + +"Tell me your terms." + +"Well, give me the six hundred mentioned in the claim." + +"Won't you take a hundred roubles?" asked the merchant calmly, +looking attentively at his companion, and smiling softly. +"I will not give you one rouble more" . . . he added. + +After this, he took out his eyeglasses and began cleaning them with +his handkerchief. Vaviloff looked at him sadly and respectfully. +The calm face of Petunikoff, his gray eyes and clear complexion, +every line of his thickset body betokened self-confidence +and a well-balanced mind. Vaviloff also liked Petunikoff's +straightforward manner of addressing him without any pretensions, +as if he were his own brother, though Vaviloff understood well +enough that he was his superior, he being only a soldier. + +Looking at him, he grew fonder and fonder of him, and, forgetting for +a moment the matter in hand, respectfully asked Petunikoff: + +"Where did you study?" + +"In the technological institute. Why?" answered the other, smiling: + +"Nothing. Only . . . excuse me!" The soldier lowered his head, +and then suddenly exclaimed, "What a splendid thing education is! +Science--light. My brother, I am as stupid as an owl before the sun + . . . Your honor, let us finish this job." + +With an air of decision he stretched out his hand to Petunikoff and said: + +"Well, five hundred?" + +"Not more than one hundred roubles, Egor Tereutievitch." + +Petunikoff shrugged his shoulders as if sorry at being +unable to give more, and touched the soldier's hairy hand +with his long white fingers. They soon ended the matter, +for the soldier gave in quickly and met Petunikoff's wishes. +And when Vaviloff had received the hundred roubles and signed +the paper, he threw the pen down on the table and said bitterly: + +"Now I will have a nice time! They will laugh at me, they will cry +shame on me, the devils!" + +"But you tell them that I paid all your claim," suggested Petunikoff, +calmly puffing out clouds of smoke and watching them float upward. + +"But do you think they will believe it? They are as clever swindlers +if not worse . . ." + +Vaviloff stopped himself in time before making the intended comparison, +and looked at the merchant's son in terror. + +The other smoked on, and seemed to be absorbed in that occupation. +He went away soon, promising to destroy the nest of vagabonds. +Vaviloff looked after him and sighed, feeling as if he would +like to shout some insult at the young man who was going with such +firm steps toward the steep road, encumbered with its ditches +and heaps of rubbish. + +In the evening the Captain appeared in the eatinghouse. +His eyebrows were knit and his fist clenched. Vaviloff smiled +at him in a guilty manner. + +"Well, worthy descendant of Judas and Cain, tell us. . . ." + +"They decided" . . . said Vaviloff, sighing and lowering his eyes. + +"I don't doubt it; how many silver pieces did you receive?" + +"Four hundred roubles" + +"Of course you are lying . . . But all the better for me. +Without any further words, Egorka, ten per cent. of it for +my discovery, four per cent. to the teacher for writing the petition, +one 'vedro' of vodki to all of us, and refreshments all round. +Give me the money now, the vodki and refreshments will do +at eight o'clock." + +Vaviloff turned purple with rage, and stared at Kuvalda +with wide-open eyes. + +"This is humbug! This is robbery! I will do nothing of the sort. +What do you mean, Aristid Fomich? Keep your appetite for the next feast! +I am not afraid of you now. . . ." + +Kuvalda looked at the clock. + +"I give you ten minutes, Egorka, for your idiotic talk." + +"Finish your nonsense by that time and give me what I demand. +If you don't I will devour you! Kanets has sold you something? +Did you read in the paper about the theft at Basoff's house? +Do you understand? You won't have time to hide anything, we will +not let you . . . and this very night . . . do you understand?" + +"Why, Aristid Fomich?" sobbed the discomfited merchant. + +"No more words! Did you understand or not?" + +Tall, gray, and imposing, Kuvalda spoke in half whispers, and his +deep bass voice rang through the house Vaviloff always feared him +because he was not only a retired military man, but a man who had +nothing to lose. But now Kuvalda appeared before him in a new role. +He did not speak much, and jocosely as usual, but spoke in +the tone of a commander, who was convinced of the other's guilt. +And Vaviloff felt that the Captain could and would ruin him +with the greatest pleasure. He must needs bow before this power. +Nevertheless, the soldier thought of trying him once more. +He sighed deeply, and began with apparent calmness: + +"It is truly said that a man's sin will find him out . . . I lied to you, +Aristid Fomich, . . . I tried to be cleverer than I am . . . I only +received one hundred roubles." + +"Go on!" said Kuvalda. + +"And not four hundred as I told you . . . That means. . . ." + +"It does not mean anything. It is all the same to me +whether you lied or not. You owe me sixty-five roubles. +That is not much, eh?" + +"Oh! my Lord! Aristid Fomich! I have always been attentive +to your honor and done my best to please you. + +"Drop all that, Egorka, grandchild of Judas!" + +"All right! I will give it you . . . only God will punish +you for this. . . ." + +"Silence! You rotten pimple of the earth!" shouted the Captain, +rolling his eyes. "He has punished me enough already in forcing +me to have conversation with you . . . I will kill you on the spot +like a fly!" + +He shook his fist in Vaviloff's face and ground his teeth till +they nearly broke. + +After he had gone Vaviloff began smiling and winking to himself. +Then two large drops rolled down his cheeks. They were grayish, +and they hid themselves in his moustache, while two others followed them. +Then Vaviloff went into his own room and stood before the icon, +stood there without praying, immovable, with the salt tears running +down his wrinkled brown cheeks. . . . + +* * * * * * * * * * + +Deacon Taras, who, as a rule, loved to loiter in the woods and fields, +proposed to the "creatures that once were men" that they should go +together into the fields, and there drink Vaviloff's vodki in the bosom +of Nature. But the Captain and all the rest swore at the Deacon, +and decided to drink it in the courtyard. + +"One, two, three," counted Aristid Fomich; "our full number is thirty, +the teacher is not here . . . but probably many other outcasts will come. +Let us calculate, say, twenty persons, and to every person two-and-a-half +cucumbers, a pound of bread, and a pound of meat . . . That won't be bad! +One bottle of vodki each, and there is plenty of sour cabbage, +and three watermelons. + +"I ask you, what the devil could you want more, my scoundrel friends? +Now, then, let us prepare to devour Egorka Vaviloff, because all this +is his blood and body!" + +They spread some old clothes on the ground, setting the delicacies +and the drink on them, and sat around the feast, solemnly and quietly, +but almost unable to control the craving for drink that was shining +in their eyes. + +The evening began to fall, and its shadows were cast on the human +refuse of the earth in the courtyard of the dosshouse; the last +rays of the sun illumined the roof of the tumble-down building. +The night was cold and silent. + +"Let us begin, brothers!" commanded the Captain. + +"How many cups have we? Six . . . and there are thirty of us! +Aleksei Maksimovitch, pour it out. Is it ready? Now then, +the first toast . . . Come along!" + +They drank and shouted, and began to eat. + +"The teacher is not here . . . I have not seen him for three days. +Has anyone seen him?" asked Kuvalda. + +"No one." + +"It is unlike . . . Let us drink to the health of Aristid Kuvalda . . . +the only friend who has never deserted me for one moment of my life! +Devil take him all the same! I might have had something to wear had +he left my society at least for a little while." + +"You are bitter . . ." said Abyedok, and coughed. + +The Captain, with his feeling of superiority to the others, +never talked with his mouth full. + +Having drunk twice, the company began to grow merry; +the food was grateful to them. + +Paltara Taras expressed his desire to hear a tale, but the Deacon +was arguing with Kubaroff over his preferring thin women +to stout ones, and paid no attention to his friend's request. +He was asserting his views on the subject to Kubaroff with all +the decision of a man who was deeply convinced in his own mind. + +The foolish face of Meteor, who was lying on the ground, +showed that he was drinking in the Deacon's strong words. + +Martyanoff sat, clasping his large hairy hands round his knees, +looking silently and sadly at the bottle of vodki and pulling +his moustache as if trying to bite it with his teeth, +while Abyedok was teasing Tyapa. + +"I have seen you watching the place where your money is hidden!" + +"That is your luck," shouted Tyapa. + +"I will go halves with you, brother." + +"All right, take it and welcome." + +Kuvalda felt angry with these men. Among them all there was not +one worthy of hearing his oratory or of understanding him. + +"I wonder where the teacher is?" he asked loudly. + +Martyanoff looked at him and said, "He will come soon.. . ." + +"I am positive that he will come, but he won't come in a carriage. +Let us drink to your future health. If you kill any rich man +go halves with me . . . then I shall go to America, brother. +To those . . . what do you call them? Limpas? Pampas? + +"I will go there and I will work my way until I become the President +of the United States, and then I will challenge the whole of Europe +to war and I will blow it up! I will buy the army . . . in Europe +that is--I will invite the French, the Germans, the Turks, +and so on, and I will kill them by the hands of their own +relatives . . . Just as Elia Marumets bought a Tartar with a Tartar. +With money it would be possible even for Elia to destroy +the whole of Europe and to take Judas Petunikoff for his valet. +He would go . . . Give him a hundred roubles a month and he would go! +But he would be a bad valet, because he would soon begin to steal. . . ." + +"Now, besides that, the thin woman is better than the stout one, +because she costs one less," said the Deacon, convincingly. +"My first Deaconess used to buy twelve arshins for her clothes, +but the second one only ten. And so on even in the matter +of provisions and food." + +Paltara Taras smiled guiltily. Turning his head towards the Deacon +and looking straight at him, he said, with conviction: + +"I had a wife once, too." + +"Oh! That happens to everyone," remarked Kuvalda; "but go +on with your lies." + +"She was thin, but she ate a lot, and even died from over-eating." + +"You poisoned her, you hunchback!" said Abyedok, confidently. + +"No, by God I It was from eating sturgeon," said Paltara Taras. + +"But I say that you poisoned her!" declared Abyedok, decisively. + +It often happened, that having said something absolutely impossible +and without proof, he kept on repeating it, beginning in a childish, +capricious tone, and gradually raising his voice to a mad shriek. + +The Deacon stood up for his friend. "No; he did not poison her. +He had no reason to do so." + +"But I say that he poisoned her!" swore Abyedok. + +"Silence!" shouted the Captain, threateningly, becoming still angrier. +He looked at his friends with his blinking eyes, and not discovering +anything to further provoke his rage in their half-tipsy faces, +he lowered his head, sat still for a little while, and then turned +over on his back on the ground. Meteor was biting cucumbers. +He took a cucumber in his hand without looking at it, put nearly +half of it into his mouth, and bit it with his yellow teeth, so that +the juice spurted out in all directions and ran over his cheeks. +He did not seem to want to eat, but this process pleased him. +Martyanoff sat motionless on the ground, like a statue, and looked +in a dull manner at the half-vedro bottle, already getting empty. +Abyedok lay on his belly and coughed, shaking all over his small body. +The rest of the dark, silent figures sat and lay around in all sorts +of positions, and their tatters made them look like untidy animals, +created by some strange, uncouth deity to make a mockery of man. + + "There once lived a lady in Suzdale, + A strange lady, + She fell into hysterics, + Most unpleasantly!" + +sang the Deacon in low tones embracing Aleksei Maksimovitch, +who was smiling kindly into his face. + +Paltaras Taras giggled voluptuously. + +The night was approaching. High up in the sky the stars were +shining . . . and on the mountain and in the town the lights of the lamps +were appearing. The whistles of the steamers were heard all over +the river, and the doors of Yaviloff's eating-house opened noisily. +Two dark figures entered the courtyard, and one of them asked +in a hoarse voice: + +"Are you drinking?" And the other said in a jealous aside: + +"Just see what devils they are!" + +Then a hand stretched over the Deacon's head and took away the bottle, +and the characteristic sound of vodki being poured into a glass +was heard. Then they all protested loudly. + +"Oh this is sad!" shouted the Deacon. "Krivoi, let us remember +the ancients! Let us sing 'On the Banks of Babylonian Rivers.'" + +"But can he?" asked Simtsoff. + +"He? He was a chorister in the Bishop's choir. Now then, Krivoi! . . . On +the r-i-v-e-r-s-----" The Deacon's voice was loud and hoarse and cracked, +but his friend sang in a shrill falsetto. + +The dirty building loomed large in the darkness and seemed to be coming +nearer, threatening the singers, who were arousing its dull echoes. +The heavy, pompous clouds were floating in the sky over their heads. +One of the "creatures that once were men" was snoring; while the rest +of them, not yet so drunk as he was, ate and drank quietly or spoke +to each other at long intervals. + +It was unusual for them to be in such low spirits during such a feast, +with so much vodki. Somehow the drink tonight did not seem to have its +usual exhilarating effect. + +"Stop howling, you dogs!" . . . said the Captain to the singers, +raising his head from the ground to listen. + +"Some one is passing . . . in a droshky. . . ." + +A droshky at such a time in the main street could not but attract +general attention. Who would risk crossing the ditches between it +and the town, and why? They all raised their heads and listened. +In the silence of the night the wheels were distinctly heard. +They came gradually nearer. A voice was heard, asking roughly: + +"Well, where then?" + +Someone answered, "It must be there, that house." + +"I shall not go any farther." + +"They are coming here!" shouted the Captain. + +"The police!" someone whispered in great alarm. + +"In a droshky! Fool!" said Martyanoff, quietly. + +Kuvalda got up and went to the entrance. + +"Is this a lodging-house?" asked someone, in a trembling voice. + +"Yes. Belonging to Aristid Kuvalda . . ." said the Captain, roughly. + +"Oh! Did a reporter, one Titoff, live here?" + +"Aha! Have you brought him?" + +"Yes. . . ." + +"Drunk?" + +"Ill." + +"That means he is very drunk. Ay, teacher! Now, then, get up!" + +"Wait, I will help you . . . He is very ill . . . he has been with me +for the last two days . . . Take him under the arms . . . The doctor +has seen him. He is very bad." + +Tyapa got up and walked to the entrance, but Abyedok laughed, +and took another drink. + +"Strike a light, there!" shouted the Captain. + +Meteor went into the house and lighted the lamp. +Then a thin line of light streamed out over the courtyard, +and the Captain and another man managed to get the teacher into +the dosshouse. His head was hanging on his breast, his feet +trailed on the ground, and his arms hung limply as if broken. +With Tyapa's help they placed him on a wide board. +He was shivering all over. + +"We worked on the same paper . . . he is very unlucky . . . I said, +'Stay in my house, you are not in the way,' . . . but he begged me +to send him 'home.' He was so excited about it that I brought him here, +thinking it might do him good . . . Home! This is it, isn't it?" + +"Do you suppose he has a home anywhere else?" asked Kuvalda, roughly, +looking at his friend. "Tyapa, fetch me some cold water." + +"I fancy I am of no more use," remarked the man in some confusion. +The Captain looked at him critically. His clothes were rather shiny, +and tightly buttoned up to his chin. His trousers were frayed, his hat +almost yellow with age and crumpled like his lean and hungry face. + +"No, you are not necessary! We have plenty like you here," +said the Captain, turning away. + +"Then, good-bye!" The man went to the door, and said +quietly from there, "If anything happens . . . let me +know in the publishing office . . . My name is Rijoff. +I might write a short obituary . . . You see he was an active +member of the Press." + +"H'm, an obituary, you say? Twenty lines forty kopecks? +I will do more than that. When he dies I will cut off one of his legs +and send it to you. That will be much more profitable than an obituary. +It will last you for three days . . . His legs are fat. +You devoured him when he was alive. You may as well continue +to do so after he is dead. . . ." + +The man sniffed strangely and disappeared. The Captain sat +down on the wooden board beside the teacher, felt his forehead +and breast with his hands and called "Philip!" + +The sound re-echoed from the dirty walls of the dosshouse +and died away. + +"This is absurd, brother," said the Captain, quietly arranging +the teacher's untidy hair with his hand. Then the Captain +listened to his breathing, which was rapid and uneven, +and looked at his sunken gray face. He sighed and looked upon him, +knitting his eyebrows. The lamp was a bad one . . . The light +was fitful, and dark shadows flickered on the dosshouse walls. +The Captain watched them, scratching his beard. + +Tyapa returned, bringing a vedro of water, and placing it beside +the teacher's head, he took his arm as if to raise him up. + +"The water is not necessary," and the Captain shook his head. + +"But we must try to revive him," said the old rag-collector. + +"Nothing is needed," said the Captain, decidedly. + +They sat silently looking at the teacher. + +"Let us go and drink, old devil!" + +"But he?" + +"Can you do him any good?" + +Tyapa turned his back on the teacher, and both went out into +the courtyard to their companions. + +"What is it?" asked Abyedok, turning his sharp nose to the old man. + +The snoring of those who were asleep, and the tinkling sound of +pouring vodki was heard . . . The Deacon was murmuring something. +The clouds swam low, so low that it seemed as if they would touch +the roof of the house and would knock it over on the group of men. + +"Ah! One feels sad when someone near at hand is dying," +faltered the Captain, with his head down. No one answered him. + +"He was the best among you . . . the cleverest, the most respectable. +I mourn for him." + +"R-e-s-t with the Saints . . . Sing, you crooked hunchback!" +roared the Deacon, digging his friend in the ribs. + +"Be quiet!" shouted Abyedok, jumping vengefully to his feet. + +"I will give him one on the head," proposed Martyanoff, +raising his head from the ground. + +"You are not asleep?" Aristid Fomich asked him very softly. +"Have you heard about our teacher?" + +Martyanoff lazily got up from the ground, looked at the line +of light coming out of the dosshouse, shook his head and silently +sat down beside the Captain. + +"Nothing particular . . . The man is dying remarked the Captain, shortly. + +"Have they been beating him?" asked Abyedok, with great interest. +The Captain gave no answer. He was drinking vodki at the moment. +"They must have known we had something in which to commemorate +him after his death!" continued Abyedok, lighting a cigarette. +Someone laughed, someone sighed. Generally speaking, the conversation +of Abyedok and the Captain did not interest them, and they hated having +to think at all. They had always felt the teacher to be an uncommon man, +but now many of them were drunk and the others sad and silent. +Only the Deacon suddenly drew himself up straight and howled wildly: + +"And may the righteous r-e-s-t!" + +"You idiot!" hissed Abyedok. "What are you howling for?" + +"Fool!" said Tyapa's hoarse voice. "When a man is dying one must +be quiet . . . so that he may have peace." + +Silence reigned once more. The cloudy sky threatened thunder, +and the earth was covered with the thick darkness of an autumn night. + +"Let us go on drinking!" proposed Kuvalda, filling up the glasses. + +"I will go and see if he wants anything," said Tyapa. + +"He wants a coffin!" jeered the Captain. + +"Don't speak about that," begged Abyedok in a low voice. + +Meteor rose and followed Tyapa. The Deacon tried to get up, +but fell and swore loudly. + +When Tyapa had gone the Captain touched Martyanoff's shoulder +and said in low tones: + +"Well, Martyanoff . . . You must feel it more then the others. +You were . . . But let that go to the Devil . . . Don't +you pity Philip?" + +"No," said the ex-jailer, quietly, "I do not feel things of this sort, +brother . . . I have learned better this life is disgusting after all. +I speak seriously when I say that I should like to kill someone." + +"Do you?" said the Captain, indistinctly. "Well let's have another +drink . . . It's not a long job ours, a little drink and then . . ." + +The others began to wake up, and Simtsoff shouted in a +blissful voice: "Brothers! One of you pour out a glass +for the old man!" + +They poured out a glass and gave it to him. Having drunk it +he tumbled down again, knocking against another man as he fell. +Two or three minutes' silence ensued, dark as the autumn night. + +"What do you say?" + +"I say that he was a good man . . . a quiet and good man," +whispered a low voice. + +"Yes, and he had money, too . . . and he never refused it +to a friend. . . ." + +Again silence ensued. + +"He is dying!" said Tyapa, hoarsely, from behind the + +Captain's head. Aristid Fomich got up, and went with firm steps +into the dosshouse. + +"Don't go!" Tyapa stopped him. "Don't go! You are drunk! +It is not right." The Captain stopped and thought. + +"And what is right on this earth? Go to the Devil!" And he +pushed Tyapa aside. + +On the walls of the dosshouse the shadows were creeping, +seeming to chase each other. The teacher lay on the board +at full length and snored. His eyes were wide open, his naked +breast rose and fell heavily, the corners of his mouth foamed, +and on his face was an expression as if he wished to say +something very important, but found it difficult to do so. +The Captain stood with his hands behind him, and looked at him +in silence. He then began in a silly way: + +"Philip! Say something to me . . . a word of comfort to a friend . . . +come . . . I love you, brother! All men are beasts . . . You +were the only man for me . . . though you were a drunkard. +Ah! how you did drink vodki, Philip! That was the ruin of you +I You ought to have listened to me, and controlled yourself . . . +Did I not once say to you. . . ." + +The mysterious, all-destroying reaper, called Death, made up his mind +to finish the terrible work quickly, as if insulted by the presence +of this drunken man at the dark and solemn struggle. The teacher +sighed deeply, and quivered all over, stretched himself out, and died. +The Captain stood shaking to and fro, and continued to talk to him. + +"Do you want me to bring you vodki? But it is better +that you should not drink, Philip . . . control yourself +or else drink! Why should you really control yourself? +For what reason, Philip? For what reason?" + +He took him by the foot and drew him closer to himself. + +"Are you dozing, Philip? Well, then, sleep Good-night . . . +To-morrow I shall explain all this to you, and you will understand +that it is not really necessary to deny yourself anything . . . +But go on sleeping now . . . if you are not dead." + +He went out to his friends, followed by the deep silence, +and informed them: + +"Whether he is sleeping or dead, I do not know I am a little drunk." + +Tyapa bent further forward than usual and crossed himself respectfully. +Martyanoff dropped to the ground and lay there. Abyedok moved quietly, +and said in a low and wicked tone: + +"May you all go to the Devil! Dead? What of that? Why should I care? +Why should I speak about it? It will be time enough when I come to die +myself . . . I am not worse than other people." + +"That is true," said the Captain, loudly, and fell to the ground. +"The time will come when we shall all die like others . . . Ha! ha! +How shall we live? That is nothing . . . But we shall die like +everyone else, and this is the whole end of life, take my word for it. +A man lives only to die, and he dies . . . and if this be +so what does it matter how or where he died or how he lived? +Am I right, Martyanoff? Let us therefore drink . . . while we +still have life!" + +The rain began to fall. Thick, close darkness covered the figures that +lay scattered over the ground, half drunk, half asleep. The light in +the windows of the dosshouse flickered, paled, and suddenly disappeared. +Probably the wind blew it out or else the oil was exhausted. +The drops of rain sounded strangely on the iron roof of the dosshouse. +Above the mountain where the town lay the ringing of bells was heard, +rung by the watchers in the churches. The brazen sound coming from +the belfry rang out into the dark and died away, and before its last +indistinct note was drowned another stroke was heard and the monotonous +silence was again broken by the melancholy clang of bells. + +* * * * * * * * * * + +The next morning Tyapa was the first to wake up. +Lying on his back he looked up into the sky. Only in such +a position did his deformed neck permit him to see the clouds +above his head. + +This morning the sky was of a uniform gray. Up there hung +the damp, cold mist of dawn, almost extinguishing the sun, +hiding the unknown vastness behind and pouring despondency over +the earth. Tyapa crossed himself, and leaning on his elbow, +looked round to see whether there was any vodki left. +The bottle was there, but it was empty. Crossing over his +companions he looked into the glasses from which they had drunk, +found one of them almost full, emptied it, wiped his lips +with his sleeve, and began to shake the Captain. + +The Captain raised his head and looked at him with sad eyes. + +"We must inform the police . . . Get up!" + +"Of what?" asked the Captain, sleepily and angrily. + +"What, is he not dead?" + +"Who?" + +"The learned one." + +"Philip? Ye-es!" + +"Did you forget? . . . Alas!" said Tyapa, hoarsely. + +The Captain rose to his feet, yawned and stretched himself till +all his bones cracked. + +"Well, then! Go and give information. + +"I will not go . . . I do not like them," said the Captain morosely. + +"Well, then, wake up the Deacon . . . I shall go, at any rate." + +"All right! . . . Deacon, get up!" + +The Captain entered the dosshouse, and stood at the teacher's feet. +The dead man lay at full length, his left hand on his breast, +the right hand held as if ready to strike some one. + +The Captain thought that if the teacher got up now, he would be as tall +as Paltara Taras. Then he sat by the side of the dead man and sighed, +as he remembered that they had lived together for the last three years. +Tyapa entered holding his head like a goat which is ready to butt. + +He sat down quietly and seriously on the opposite side +of the teacher's body, looked into the dark, silent face, +and began to sob. + +"So . . . he is dead . . . I too shall die soon. . . ." + + +"It is quite time for that!" said the Captain, gloomily. + +"It is," Tyapa agreed. "You ought to die too. Anything is +better than this. . . ." + +"But perhaps death might be worse? How do you know?" + +"It could not be worse. When you die you have only God to deal +with . . . but here you have to deal with men . . . and men-- +what are they?" + +"Enough! . . . Be quiet!" interrupted Kuvalda angrily. + +And in the dawn, which filled the dosshouse, a solemn stillness +reigned over all. Long and silently they sat at the feet of their +dead companion, seldom looking at him, and both plunged in thought. +Then Tyapa asked: + +"Will you bury him?" + +"I? No, let the police bury him!" + +"You took money from Vaviloff for this petition . . . and I will give +you some if you have not enough." + +"Though I have his money . . . still I shall not bury him." + +"That is not right. You are robbing the dead. I will tell them +all that you want to keep his money." . . . Tyapa threatened him. + +"You are a fool, you old devil!" said Kuvalda, contemptuously. + +"I am not a fool . . . but it is not right nor friendly." + +"Enough! Be off!" + +"How much money is there?" + +"Twenty-five roubles," . . . said Kuvalda, absently. + +"So! . . . You might gain a five-rouble note. . . ." + +"You old scoundrel! . . ." And looking into Tyapa's face +the Captain swore. + +"Well, what? Give. . . ." + +"Go to the Devil! . . . I am going to spend this money in erecting +a monument to him." + +"What does he want that for?" + +"I will buy a stone and an anchor. I shall place the stone on the grass, +and attach the anchor to it with a very heavy chain." + +"Why? You are playing tricks. . . ." + +"Well . . . It is no business of yours." + +"Look out! I shall tell . . ." again threatened Tyapa. + +Aristid Fomich looked at him sullenly and said nothing. +Again they sat there in that silence which, in the presence +of the dead, is so full of mystery. + +"Listen . . . They are coming!" Tyapa got up and went out +of the dosshouse. + +Then there appeared at the door the Doctor, the Police Inspector +of the district, and the examining Magistrate or Coroner. +All three came in turn, looked at the dead teacher, +and then went out, throwing suspicious glances at Kuvalda. +He sat there, without taking any notice of them, until the +Police Inspector asked him: + +"Of what did he die?" + +"Ask him . . . I think his evil life hastened his end." + +"What?" asked the Coroner. + +"I say that he died of a disease to which he had +not been accustomed. . . ." + +"H'm, yes. Had he been ill long?" + +"Bring him over here, I cannot see him properly," said the Doctor, +in a melancholy tone. "Probably there are signs of . . ." + +"Now, then, ask someone here to carry him out!" +the Police Inspector ordered Kuvalda. + +"Go and ask them yourself! He is not in my way here . . ." +the Captain replied, indifferently. + +"Well!" . . . shouted the Inspector, making a ferocious face. + +"Phew!" answered Kuvalda, without moving from his place and gnashing +his teeth restlessly. + +"The Devil take it!" shouted the Inspector, so madly that the blood +rushed to his face. "I'll make you pay for this! I'll----" + +"Good-morning, gentlemen!" said the merchant Petunikoff, +with a sweet smile, making his appearance in the doorway. + +He looked round, trembled, took off his cap and crossed himself. +Then a pompous, wicked smile crossed his face, and, looking at +the Captain, he inquired respectfully: + +"What has happened? Has there been a murder here?" + +"Yes, something of that sort," replied the Coroner. + +Petunikoff sighed deeply, crossed himself again, and spoke +in an angry tone. + +"By Cod! It is just as I feared. It always ends in your +having to come here . . . Ay, ay, ay! God save everyone. +Times without number have I refused to lease this house +to this man, and he has always won me over, and I was afraid. +You know . . . They are such awful people . . . better give +it them, I thought, or else. . . ." + +He covered his face with his hands, tugged at his beard, +and sighed again. + +"They are very dangerous men, and this man here is their leader +. . . the ataman of the robbers." + +"But we will make him smart!" promised the Inspector, +looking at the Captain with revengeful eyes. + +"Yes, brother, we are old friends of yours . . ." said Kuvalda +in a familiar tone. "How many times have I paid you to be quiet?" + +"Gentlemen!" shouted the Inspector, "did you hear him? +I want you to bear witness to this. Aha, I shall make short +work of you, my friend, remember!" + +"Don't count your chickens before they are hatched . . . my friend," +said Aristid Fomich. + +The Doctor, a young man with eye-glasses, looked at him curiously, +the Coroner with an attention that boded him no good, +Petunikoff with triumph, while the Inspector could hardly +restrain himself from throwing himself upon him. + +The dark figure of Martyanoff appeared at the door of the dosshouse. +He entered quietly, and stood behind Petunikoff, so that his chin +was on a level with the merchant's head. Behind him stood the Deacon, +opening his small, swollen, red eyes. + +"Let us be doing something, gentlemen," suggested the Doctor. +Martyanoff made an awful grimace, and suddenly suddenly sneezed +on Petunikoff's head. The latter gave a yell, sat down hurriedly, +and then jumped aside, almost knocking down the Inspector, +into whose open arms he fell. + +"Do you see," said the frightened merchant, pointing to Martyanoff, +"do you see what kind of men they are." + +Kuvalda burst out laughing. The Doctor and the Coroner smiled too, +and at the door of the dosshouse the group of figures was +increasing . . . sleepy figures, with swollen faces, red, inflamed eyes, +and dishevelled hair, staring rudely at the Doctor, the Coroner, +and the Inspector. + +"Where are you going?" said the policeman on guard at the door, +catching hold of their tatters and pushing them aside. +But he was one against many, and, without taking any notice, +they all entered and stood there, reeking of vodki, +silent and evil-looking. + +Kuvalda glanced at them, then at the authorities, who were angry at the +intrusion of these ragamuffins, and said, smilingly, "Gentlemen, perhaps +you would like to make the acquaintance of my lodgers and friends? +Would you? But, whether you wish it or not, you will have to make +their acquaintance sooner or later in the course of your duties." + +The Doctor smiled in an embarrassed way. The Coroner pressed +his lips together, and the Inspector saw that it was time to go. +Therefore, he shouted: + +"Sideroff! Whistle! Tell them to bring a cart here." + +"I will go," said Petunikoff, coming forward from a corner. +"You had better take it away to-day, sir, I want to pull down this hole. +Go away! or else I shall apply to the police!" + +The policeman's whistle echoed through the courtyard. +At the door of the dosshouse its inhabitants stood in a group, +yawning, and scratching themselves. + +"And so you do not wish to be introduced? That is rude of you!" +laughed Aristid Fomich. + +Petunikoff took his purse from his pocket, took out two +five-kopeck pieces, put them at the feet of the dead man, +and crossed himself. + +"God have mercy . . . on the burial of the sinful. . . ." + +"What!" yelled the Captain, "you give for the burial? + +"Take them away, I say, you scoundrel! How dare you give +your stolen kopecks for the burial of an honest man? +I will tear you limb from limb!" + +"Your Honor!" cried the terrified merchant to the Inspector, +seizing him by the elbow. + +The Doctor and the Coroner jumped aside. The Inspector shouted: + +"Sideroff, come here!" + +"The creatures that once were men" stood along the wall, +looking and listening with an interest, which put new life +into their broken-down bodies. + +Kuvalda, shaking his fist at Petunikoff's head, roared and rolled +his eyes like a wild beast. + +"Scoundrel and thief! Take back your money! Dirty worm! +Take it back, I say . . . or else I shall cram it down your throat. + . . . Take your five-kopeck pieces!" + +Petunikoff put out his trembling hand toward his mite, and protecting +his head from Kuvalda's fist with the other hand, said: + + +101 CREATURES THAT ONCE WERE MEN + + +"You are my witnesses, Sir Inspector, and you good people!" + +"We are not good people, merchant!" said the voice of Abyedok, +trembling with anger. + +The Inspector whistled impatiently, with his other hand +protecting Petunikoff, who was stooping in front of him +as if trying to enter his belly. + +"You dirty toad! I shall compel you to kiss the feet of the dead man. +How would you like that?" And catching Petunikoff by the neck, +Kuvalda hurled him against the door, as if he bad been a cat. + +The "creatures that once were men" sprang aside quickly to let +the merchant fall. And down he fell at their feet, crying wildly: + +"Murder! Help! Murder!" + +Martyanoff slowly raised his foot, and brought it down heavily +on the merchant's head. Abyedok spat in his face with a grin. +The merchant, creeping on all-fours, threw himself into the courtyard, +at which everyone laughed. But by this time the two policemen +had arrived, and pointing to Kuvalda, the Inspector said, pompously: + +"Arrest him, and bind him hand and foot!" + +"You dare not! . . . I shall not run away . . . I will go wherever +you wish, . . ." said Kuvalda, freeing himself from the policemen +at his side. + +The "creatures that once were men" disappeared one after the other. +A cart entered the yard. Some ragged wretches brought out +the dead man's body. + + +"I'll teach you! You just wait!" thundered the Inspector at Kuvalda. + +"How now, ataman?" asked Petunikoff maliciously, excited and +pleased at the sight of his enemy in bonds. "That, you fell +into the trap? Eh? You just wait. . ." + +But Kuvalda was quiet now. He stood strangely straight and silent between +the two policemen, watching the teacher's body being placed in the cart. +The man who was holding the head of the corpse was very short, and could +not manage to place it on the cart at the same time as the legs. +For a moment the body hung as if it would fall to the ground, and hide +itself beneath the earth, away from these foolish and wicked disturbers +of its peace. + +"Take him away!" ordered the Inspector, pointing to the Captain. + +Kuvalda silently moved forward without protestation, passing the cart +on which was the teacher's body. He bowed his head before it +without looking. Martyanoff, with his strong face, followed him. +The courtyard of the merchant Petunikoff emptied quickly. + +"Now then, go on!" called the driver, striking the horses with the whip. +The cart moved off over the rough surface of the courtyard. +The teacher was covered with a heap of rags, and his belly projected +from beneath them. It seemed as if he were laughing quietly at +the prospect of leaving the dosshouse, never, never to return. +Petunikoff, who was following him with his eyes, crossed himself, +and then began to shake the dust and rubbish off his clothes, +and the more he shook himself the more pleased and self-satisfied +did he feel. He saw the tall figure of Aristid Fomich Kuvalda, +in a gray cap with a red band, with his arms bound behind his back, +being led away. Petunikoff smiled the smile of the conqueror, and went +back into the dosshouse, but suddenly he stopped and trembled. +At the door facing him stood an old man with a stick in his hand +and a large bag on his back, a horrible old man in rags and tatters, +which covered his bony figure. He bent under the weight of +his burden, and lowered his head on his breast, as if he wished +to attack the merchant. + +"What are you? Who are you?" shouted Petunikoff. + +"A man . . ." he answered in a hoarse voice. This hoarseness +pleased and tranquillized Petunikoff, he even smiled. + +"A man! And are there really men like you?" Stepping aside +he let the old man pass. He went, saying slowly: + +"Men are of various kinds . . . as God wills . . . There are worse +than me . . . still worse . . . Yes. . . ." + +The cloudy sky hung silently over the dirty yard and over the +cleanly-dressed man with the pointed beard, who was walking about there, +measuring distances with his steps and with his sharp eyes. +On the roof of the old house a crow perched and croaked, thrusting its +head now backward, now forward. In the lowering gray clouds, +which hid the sky, there was something hard and merciless, +as if they had gathered together to wash all the dirt off the face +of this unfortunate, suffering, and sorrowful earth. + + +TWENTY-SIX MEN AND A GIRL + + +There were six-and-twenty of us--six-and-twenty living machines in +a damp, underground cellar, where from morning till night we kneaded +dough and rolled it into kringels. Opposite the underground window +of our cellar was a bricked area, green and mouldy with moisture. +The window was protected from outside with a close iron grating, +and the light of the sun could not pierce through the window panes, +covered as they were with flour dust. + +Our employer had bars placed in front of the windows, so that we +should not be able to give a bit of his bread to passing beggars, +or to any of our fellows who were out of work and hungry. +Our employer called us rogues, and gave us half-rotten tripe +to eat for our mid-day meal, instead of meat. It was swelteringly +close for us cooped up in that stone underground chamber, +under the low, heavy, soot-blackened, cobwebby ceiling. +Dreary and sickening was our life between its thick, +dirty, mouldy walls. + +Unrefreshed, and with a feeling of not having had our sleep out, +we used to get up at five o'clock in the morning; and before six, +we were already seated, worn out and apathetic, at the table, +rolling out the dough which our mates had already prepared +while we slept. + +The whole day, from ten in the early morning until ten at night, +some of us sat round that table, working up in our hands +the yielding paste, rolling it to and fro so that it should not +get stiff; while the others kneaded the swelling mass of dough. +And the whole day the simmering water in the kettle, +where the kringels were being cooked, sang low and sadly; +and the baker's shovel scraped harshly over the oven floor, +as he threw the slippery bits of dough out of the kettle +on the heated bricks. + +From morning till evening wood was burning in the oven, +and the red glow of the fire gleamed and flickered over the walls +of the bake-shop, as if silently mocking us. The giant oven +was like the misshapen head of a monster in a fairy tale; +it thrust itself up out of the floor, opened wide jaws, +full of glowing fire, and blew hot breath upon us; it seemed to be +ever watching out of its black air-holes our interminable work. +Those two deep holes were like eyes: the cold, pitiless eyes of +a monster. They watched us always with the same darkened glance, +as if they were weary of seeing before them such eternal slaves, +from whom they could expect nothing human, and therefore scorned +them with the cold scorn of wisdom. + +In meal dust, in the mud which we brought in from the yard on +our boots, in the hot, sticky atmosphere, day in, day out, we rolled +the dough into kringels, which we moistened with our own sweat. +And we hated our work with a glowing hatred; we never ate what had +passed through our hands, and preferred black bread to kringels. + +Sitting opposite each other, at a long table--nine facing nine-- +we moved our hands and fingers mechanically during endlessly long hours, +till we were so accustomed to our monotonous work that we ceased +to pay any attention to it. + +We had all studied each other so constantly, that each of us knew +every wrinkle of his mates' faces. It was not long also before we +had exhausted almost every topic of conversation; that is why we +were most of the time silent, unless we were chaffing each other; +but one cannot always find something about which to chaff another man, +especially when that man is one's mate. Neither were we much +given to finding fault with one another; how, indeed, could one +of us poor devils be in a position to find fault with another, +when we were all of us half dead and, as it were, turned to stone? +For the heavy drudgery seemed to crush all feeling out of us. +But silence is only terrible and fearful for those who have said +everything and have nothing more to say to each other; for men, +on the contrary, who have never begun to communicate with one another, +it is easy and simple. + +Sometimes, too, we sang; and this is how it happened that we began +to sing: one of us would sigh deeply in the midst of our toil, +like an overdriven horse, and then we would begin one of those songs +whose gentle swaying melody seems always to ease the burden on +the singer's heart. + +At first one sang by himself, and we others sat in silence +listening to his solitary song, which, under the heavy vaulted +roof of the cellar, died gradually away, and became extinguished, +like a little fire in the steppes, on a wet autumn night, +when the gray heaven hangs like a heavy mass over the earth. + +Then another would join in with the singer, and now two soft, +sad voices would break into song in our narrow, dull hole of a cellar. +Suddenly others would join in, and the song would roll forward +like a wave, would grow louder and swell upward, till it would +seem as if the damp, foul walls of our stone prison were widening +out and opening. Then, all six-and-twenty of us would be singing; +our loud, harmonious song would fill the whole cellar, our voices +would travel outside and beyond, striking, as it were, against the +walls in moaning sobs and sighs, moving our hearts with soft, +tantalizing ache, tearing open old wounds, and awakening longings. + +The singers would sigh deeply and heavily; suddenly one would +become silent and listen to the others singing, then let +his voice flow once more in the common tide. Another would +exclaim in a stifled voice, "Ah!" and would shut his eyes, +while the deep, full sound waves would show him, as it were, +a road, in front of him--a sunlit, broad road in the distance, +which he himself, in thought wandered along. + +But the flame flickers once more in the huge oven, the baker scrapes +incessantly with his shovel, the water simmers in the kettle, and the +flicker of the fire on the wall dances as before in silent mockery. +While in other men's words we sing out our dumb grief, the weary burden +of live men robbed of the sunlight, the burden of slaves. + +So we lived, we six-and-twenty, in the vault-like cellar +of a great stone house, and we suffered each one of us, +as if we had to bear on our shoulders the whole three storys +of that house. + +But we had something else good, besides the singing--something we loved, +that perhaps took the place of the sunshine. + +In the second story of our house there was established +a gold-embroiderer's shop, and there, living among the other +embroidery girls, was Tanya, a little maid-servant of sixteen. +Every morning there peeped in through the glass door a rosy +little face, with merry blue eyes; while a ringing, tender voice +called out to us: + +"Little prisoners! Have you any knugels, please, for me?" + +At that clear sound, we knew so well, we all used to turn round, +gazing with simple-hearted joy at the pure girlish face +which smiled at us so sweetly. The sight of the small nose +pressed against the window-pane, and of the white teeth gleaming +between the half-open lips, had become for us a daily pleasure. +Tumbling over each other we used to jump up to open the door, +and she would step in, bright and cheerful, holding out her apron, +with her head thrown on one side, and a smile on her lips. +Her thick, long chestnut hair fell over her shoulder and across +her breast. But we, ugly, dirty and misshapen as we were, +looked up at her--the threshold door was four steps above the floor-- +looked up at her with heads thrown back, wishing her good-morning, +and speaking strange, unaccustomed words, which we kept +for her only. + +Our voices became softer when we spoke to her, our jests were lighter. +For her--everything was different with us. The baker took from his oven +a shovel of the best and the brownest kringels, and threw them deftly +into Tanya's apron. + +"Be off with you now, or the boss will catch you!" we warned +her each time. She laughed roguishly, called out cheerfully: +"Good-bye, poor prisoners!" and slipped away as quick as a mouse. + +That was all. But long after she had gone we talked about her +to one another with pleasure. It was always the same thing as we +had said yesterday and the day before, because everything about us, +including ourselves and her, remained the same--as yesterday-- +and as always. + +Painful and terrible it is when a man goes on living, while nothing +changes around him; and when such an existence does not finally kill his +soul, then the monotony becomes with time, even more and more painful. +Generally we spoke about women in such a way, that sometimes it +was loathsome to us ourselves to hear our rude, shameless talk. +The women whom we knew deserved perhaps nothing better. But about +Tanya we never let fall an evil word; none of us ever ventured so much +as to lay a hand on her, even too free a jest she never heard from us. +Maybe this was so because she never remained for long with us; +she flashed on our eyes like a star falling from the sky, and vanished; +and maybe because she was little and very beautiful, and everything +beautiful calls forth respect, even in coarse people. + +And besides--though our life of penal labor had made us dull beasts, +oxen, we were still men, and, like all men, could not live without +worshipping something or other. Better than her we had none, +and none but her took any notice of us, living in the cellar-- +no one, though there were dozens of people in the house. +And then, to--most likely, this was the chief thing--we all regarded +her as something of our own, something existing as it were only +by virtue of our kringels. We took on ourselves in turns the duty +of providing her with hot kringels, and this became for us like +a daily sacrifice to our idol, it became almost a sacred rite, +and every day it bound us more closely to her. Besides kringels, +we gave Tanya a great deal of advice to wear warmer clothes, +not to run upstairs too quickly, not to carry heavy bundles of wood. +She listened to all our counsels with a smile, answered them by a laugh, +and never took our advice, but we were not offended at that; +all we wanted was to show how much care we bestowed upon her. + +Often she would apply to us with different requests, she asked us, +for instance; to open the heavy door into the store-cellar, +and to chop wood: with delight and a sort of pride, we did this +for her, and everything else she wanted. + +But when one of us asked her to mend his solitary shirt for him, +she said, with a laugh of contempt: + +"What next! A likely idea!" + +We made great fun of the queer fellow who could entertain +such an idea, and--never asked her to do anything else. +We loved her--all is said in that. + + +111 TWENTY-SIX MEN AND A GIRL + + +Man always wants to lay his love on someone, though sometimes +he crushes, sometimes he sullies, with it; he may poison +another life because he loves without respecting the beloved. +We were bound to love Tanya, for we had no one else to love. + +At times one of us would suddenly begin to reason like this: + +"And why do we make so much of the wench? What is there in her? eh? +What a to-do we make about her!" + +The man who dared to utter such words we promptly and coarsely cut short-- +we wanted something to love: we had found it and loved it, +and what we twenty-six loved must be for each of us unalterable, +as a holy thing, and anyone who acted against us in this was our enemy. +We loved, maybe, not what was really good, but you see there were +twenty-six of us, and so we always wanted to see what was precious +to us held sacred by the rest. + +Our love is not less burdensome than hate, and maybe that is just why +some proud souls maintain that our hate is more flattering than our love. +But why do they not run away from us, if it is so? + +* * * * * * * * * * + +Besides our department, our employer had also a bread-bakery; +it was in the same house, separated from our hole only by a wall; +but the bakers--there were four of them--held aloof from us, +considering their work superior to ours, and therefore themselves +better than us; they never used to come into our workroom, +and laughed contemptuously at us when they met us in the yard. +We, too, did not go to see them; this was forbidden by our employer, +from fear that we should steal the fancy bread. + +We did not like the bakers, because we envied them; their work +was lighter than ours, they were paid more, and were better fed; +they had a light, spacious workroom, and they were all so clean +and healthy--and that made them hateful to us. We all looked +gray and yellow; three of us had syphilis, several suffered +from skin diseases, one was completely crippled by rheumatism. +On holidays and in their leisure time the bakers wore +pea-jackets and creaking boots, two of them had accordions, +and they all used to go for strolls in the town garden-- +we wore filthy rags and leather clogs or plaited shoes on +our feet, the police would not let us into the town gardens-- +could we possibly like the bakers? + +And one day we learned that their chief baker had been drunk, the master +had sacked him and had already taken on another, and that this other +was a soldier, wore a satin waistcoat and a watch and gold chain. +We were inquisitive to get a sight of such a dandy, and in the hope +of catching a glimpse of him we kept running one after another out +into the yard. + +But he came of his own accord into our room. Kicking at the door, +he pushed it open, and leaving it ajar, stood in the doorway smiling, +and said to us: + +"God help the work! Good-morning, mates!" + +The ice-cold air, which streamed in through the open door, curled in +streaks of vapor round his feet. He stood on the threshold, looked us up +and down, and under his fair, twisted mustache gleamed big yellow teeth. +His waistcoat was really something quite out of the common, +blue-flowered, brilliant with shining little buttons of red stones. +He also wore a watch chain. + +He was a fine fellow, this soldier; tall, healthy, rosy-cheeked, +and his big, clear eyes had a friendly, cheerful glance. +He wore on his head a white starched cap, and from under his spotlessly +clean apron peeped the pointed toes of fashionable, well-blacked boots. + +Our baker asked him politely to shut the door. The soldier +did so without hurrying himself, and began to question us +about the master. We explained to him, all speaking together, +that our employer was a thorough-going brute, a rogue, a knave, +and a slave-driver; in a word, we repeated to him all that can +and must be said about an employer, but cannot be repeated here. +The soldier listened to us, twisted his mustache, and watched +us with a friendly, open-hearted look. + +"But haven't you got a lot of girls here?" he asked suddenly. + +Some of us began to laugh deferentially, others put on a +meaning expression, and one of us explained to the soldier +that there were nine girls here. + +"You make the most of them?" asked the soldier, with a wink. + +We laughed, but not so loudly, and with some embarrassment. +Many of us would have liked to have shown the soldier that we +also were tremendous fellows with the girls, but not one +of us could do so; and one of our number confessed as much, +when he said in a low voice: + +"That sort of thing is not in our line." + +"Well, no; it wouldn't quite do for you," said the soldier +with conviction, after having looked us over. + +"There is something wanting about you all you don't look the right sort. +You've no sort of appearance; and the women, you see, +they like a bold appearance, they will have a well set-up body. +Everything has to be tip-top for them. That's why they respect strength. +They want an arm like that!" + +The soldier drew his right hand, with its turned-up shirt sleeve, +out of his pocket, and showed us his bare arm. It was white and strong, +and covered with shining yellow hairs. + +"Leg and chest, all must be strong. And then a man must be dressed +in the latest fashion, so as to show off his looks to advantage. +Yes, all the women take to me. Whether I call to them, +or whether I beckon them, they with one accord, five at a time, +throw themselves at my head." + +He sat down on a flour sack, and told at length all about +the way women loved him, and how bold he was with them. +Then he left, and after the door had creaked to behind him, +we sat for a long time silent, and thought about him and his talk. +Then we all suddenly broke silence together, and it became +apparent that we were all equally pleased with him. +He was such a nice, open-hearted fellow; he came to see +us without any standoffishness, sat down and chatted. +No one else came to us like that, and no one else talked to us +in that friendly sort of way. And we continued to talk of him +and his coming triumph among the embroidery girls, who passed +us by with contemptuous sniffs when they saw us in the yard, +or who looked straight through us as if we had been air. + +But we admired them always when we met them outside, or when they +walked past our windows; in winter, in fur jackets and toques to match; +in summer, in hats trimmed with flowers, and with colored parasols +in their hands. We talked, however, about these girls in a way +that would have made them mad with shame and rage, if they could +have heard us. + +"If only he does not get hold of little Tanya!" said the baker, +suddenly, in an anxious tone of voice. + +We were silent, for these words troubled us. Tanya had quite +gone out of our minds, supplanted, put on one side by the strong, +fine figure of the soldier. + +Then began a lively discussion; some of us maintained that Tanya +would never lower herself so; others thought she would not be able +to resist him, and the third group proposed to give him a thrashing +if he should try to annoy Tanya. And, finally, we all decided +to watch the soldier and Tanya, and to warn the girl against him. +This brought the discussion to an end. + +Four weeks had passed by since then; during this time the soldier +baked white bread, walked about with the gold-embroidery girls, +visited us often, but did not talk any more about his conquests; +only twisted his mustache, and licked his lips lasciviously. + +Tanya called in as usual every morning for "little kringels," +and was as gay and as nice and friendly with us as ever. +We certainly tried once or twice to talk to her about +the soldier, but she called him a "goggle-eyed calf," +and made fun of him all round, and that set our minds at rest. +We saw how the gold-embroidery girls carried on with the soldier, +and we were proud of our girl; Tanya's behavior reflected honor +on us all; we imitated her, and began in our talks to treat +the soldier with small consideration. + +She became dearer to us, and we greeted her with more friendliness +and kindliness every morning. + +One day the soldier came to see us, a bit drunk, and sat down +and began to laugh. When we asked him what he was laughing about, +he explained to us: + +"Why two of them--that Lydka girl and Grushka--have been clawing +each other on my account. You should have seen the way they went +for each other! Ha! ha! One got hold of the other one by the hair, +threw her down on the floor of the passage, and sat on her! +Ha! ha! ha! They scratched and tore each others' faces. It was enough +to make one die with laughter! Why is it women can't fight fair? +Why do they always scratch one another, eh?" + +He sat on the bench, healthy, fresh and jolly; he sat there +and went on laughing. We were silent. This time he made +an unpleasant impression on us. + +"Well, it's a funny thing what luck I have with the women-folk! +Eh? I've laughed till I'm ill! One wink, and it's all over with them! +It's the d-devil!" + +He raised his white hairy hands, and slapped them down on his knees. +And his eyes seem to reflect such frank astonishment, as if +he were himself quite surprised at his good luck with women. +His fat, red face glistened with delight and self satisfaction, +and he licked his lips more than ever. + +Our baker scraped the shovel violently and angrily along the oven floor, +and all at once he said sarcastically: + +"There's no great strength needed to pull up fir saplings, +but try a real pine-tree." + +"Why-what do you mean by saying that to me?" asked the soldier. + +"Oh, well. . . ." + +"What is it?" + +"Nothing-it slipped out!" + +"No, wait a minute! What's the point? What pinetree?" + +Our baker did not answer, working rapidly away with the shovel +at the oven; flinging into it the half-cooked kringels, +taking out those that were done, and noisily throwing them +on the floor to the boys who were stringing them on bast. +He seemed to have forgotten the soldier and his conversation with him. +But the soldier had all at once dropped into a sort of uneasiness. +He got up on to his feet, and went to the oven, at the risk +of knocking against the handle of the shovel, which was waving +spasmodically in the air. + +"No, tell me, do--who is it? You've insulted me. I? There's not one +could withstand me, n-no! And you say such insulting things to me?" + +He really seemed genuinely hurt. He must have had nothing else to pride +himself on except his gift for seducing women; maybe, except for that, +there was nothing living in him, and it was only that by which he could +feel himself a living man. + +There are men to whom the most precious and best thing in their +lives appears to be some disease of their soul or body. +They spend their whole life in relation to it, and only living +by it, suffering from it, they sustain themselves on it, +they complain of it to others, and so draw the attention +of their fellows to themselves. + +For that they extract sympathy from people, and apart from it they +have nothing at all. Take from them that disease, cure them, and they +will be miserable, because they have lost their one resource in life-- +they are left empty then. Sometimes a man's life is so poor, +that he is driven instinctively to prize his vice and to live by it; +one may say for a fact that often men are vicious from boredom. + +The soldier was offended, he went up to our baker and roared: + +"No, tell me do-who?" + +"Tell you?" the baker turned suddenly to him. + +"Well?" + +"You know Tanya?" + +"Well?" + +"Well, there then! Only try." + +"You!" + +"Her? Why that's nothing to me-pooh!" + +"We shall see!" + +"You will see! Ha! ha!" + +"She'll----" + +"Give me a month!" + +"What a braggart you are, soldier!" + +"A fortnight! I'll prove it! Who is it? Tanya! Pooh!" + +"Well, get out. You're in my way!" + +"A fortnight--and it's done! Ah, you----" + +"Get out, I say!" + + +Our baker, all at once, flew into a rage and brandished his shovel. +The soldier staggered away from him in amazement, looked at us, paused, +and softly, malignantly said, "Oh, all right, then!" and went away. + +During the dispute we had all sat silent, absorbed in it. +But when the soldier had gone, eager, loud talk and noise +arose among us. + +Some one shouted to the baker: "It's a bad job that +you've started, Pavel!" + +"Do your work!" answered the baker savagely. + +We felt that the soldier had been deeply aggrieved, and that +danger threatened Tanya. We felt this, and at the same time we +were all possessed by a burning curiosity, most agreeable to us. +What would happen? Would Tanya hold out against the soldier? +And almost all cried confidently: "Tanya? She'll hold out! +You won't catch her with your bare arms!" + +We longed terribly to test the strength of our idol; +we forcibly proved to each other that our divinity was a strong +divinity and would come victorious out of this ordeal. +We began at last to fancy that we had not worked enough +on the soldier, that he would forget the dispute, +and that we ought to pique his vanity more keenly. +From that day we began to live a different life, a life +of nervous tension, such as we had never known before. +We spent whole days in arguing together; we all grew, +as it were, sharper; and got to talk more and better. +It seemed to us that we were playing some sort of game +with the devil, and the stake on our side was Tanya. +And when we learned from the bakers that the soldier had begun +"running after our Tanya," we felt a sort of delighted terror, +and life was so interesting that we did not even notice +that our employer had taken advantage of our pre-occupation +to increase our work by fourteen pounds of dough a day. + +We seemed, indeed, not even tired by our work. +Tanya's name was on our lips all day long. And every day +we looked for her with a certain special impatience. +Sometimes we pictured to ourselves that she would come to us, +and it would not be the same Tanya as of old, hut somehow different. +We said nothing to her, however, of the dispute regarding her. +We asked her no questions, and behaved as well and affectionately +to her as ever. But even in this a new element crept in, +alien to our old feeling for Tanya--and that new element was +keen curiosity, keen and cold as a steel knife. + +"Mates! To-day the time's up!" our baker said to us one morning, +as he set to work. + +We were well aware of it without his reminder; but still +we were thrilled. + +"Look at her. She'll he here directly," suggested the baker. + +One of us cried out in a troubled voice, "Why! as though one +could notice anything!" + +And again an eager, noisy discussion sprang up among us. +To-day we were about to prove how pure and spotless was +the vessel into which we had poured all that was best in us. +This morning, for the first time, it became clear to us, +that we really were playing a great game; that we might, +indeed, through the exaction of this proof of purity, +lose our divinity altogether. + +During the whole of the intervening fortnight we had heard +that Tanya was persistently followed by the soldier, but not one +of us had thought of asking her how she had behaved toward him. +And she came every morning to fetch her kringels, and was the same +toward us as ever. + +This morning, too, we heard her voice outside: "You poor prisoners! +Here I am!" + +We opened the door, and when she came in we all remained, +contrary to our usual custom, silent. Our eyes fixed on her, +we did not know how to speak to her, what to ask her. +And there we stood in front of her, a gloomy, silent crowd. +She seemed to be surprised at this unusual reception; +and suddenly we saw her turn white and become uneasy, +then she asked, in a choking voice: + +"Why are you--like this?" + +"And you?" the baker flung at her grimly, never taking his eyes off her. + +"What am I?" + +"N---nothing." + +"Well, then, give me quickly the little kringels." + +Never before had she bidden us hurry. + +"There's plenty of time," said the baker, not stirring, +and not removing his eyes from her face. + +Then, suddenly, she turned round and disappeared through the door. + +The baker took his shovel and said, calmly turning away toward the oven: + +"Well, that settles it! But a soldier! a common beast like that-- +a low cur!" + +Like a flock of sheep we all pressed round the table, sat down silently, +and began listlessly to work. Soon, however, one of us remarked: + +"Perhaps, after all----" + +"Shut up!" shouted the baker. + +We were all convinced that he was a man of judgment, a man +who knew more than we did about things. And at the sound +of his voice we were convinced of the soldier's victory, +and our spirits became sad and downcast. + +At twelve o'clock--while we were eating our dinners--the soldier came in. +He was as clean and as smart as ever, and looked at us--as usual-- +straight in the eyes. But we were all awkward in looking at him. + +"Now then, honored sirs, would you like me to show you +a soldier's quality?" he said, chuckling proudly. + +"Go out into the passage, and look through the crack-- +do you understand?" + +We went into the passage, and stood all pushing against one another, +squeezed up to the cracks of the wooden partition of the passage +that looked into the yard. We had not to wait long. +Very soon Tanya, with hurried footsteps and a careworn face, +walked across the yard, jumping over the puddles of melting +snow and mud: she disappeared into the store cellar. +Then whistling, and not hurrying himself, the soldier followed +in the same direction. His hands were thrust in his pockets; +his mustaches were quivering. + +Rain was falling, and we saw how its drops fell into the puddles, +and the puddles were wrinkled by them. The day was damp and gray-- +a very dreary day. Snow still lay on the roofs, but on the ground +dark patches of mud had begun to appear. + +And the snow on the roofs too was covered by a layer of +brownish dirt. The rain fell slowly with a depressing sound. +It was cold and disagreeable for us waiting. + +The first to come out of the store cellar was the soldier; +he walked slowly across the yard, his mustaches twitching, +his hands in his pockets--the same as always. + +Then--Tanya, too, came out. Her eye~her eyes were radiant with joy +and happiness, and her lips--were smiling. And she walked as though +in a dream, staggering, with unsteady steps. + +We could not bear this quietly. All of us at once rushed +to the door, dashed out into the yard and--hissed at her, +reviled her viciously, loudly, wildly. + +She started at seeing us, and stood as though rooted in the mud +under her feet. We formed a ring round her! and malignantly, +without restraint, abused her with vile words, said shameful +things to her. + +We did this not loudly, not hurriedly, seeing that she could +not get away, that she was hemmed in by us, and we could deride +her to our hearts' content. I don't know why, but we + +did not beat her. She stood in the midst of us, and turned +her head this way and that, as she heard our insults. +And we-more and more violently flung at her the filth and venom +of our words. + +The color had left her face. Her blue eyes, so happy a moment before, +opened wide, her bosom heaved, and her lips quivered. + +We in a ring round her avenged ourselves on her as though she had +robbed us. She belonged to us, we had lavished on her our best, +and though that best was a beggar's crumb, still we were twenty-six, +she was one, and so there was no pain we could give her equal +to her guilt! + +How we insulted her! She was still mute, still gazed at us +with wild eyes, and a shiver ran all over her. + +We laughed, roared, yelled. Other people ran up from somewhere +and joined us. One of us pulled Tanya by the sleeve of her blouse. + +Suddenly her eyes flashed; deliberately she raised her hands +to her head and straightening her hair she said loudly but calmly, +straight in our faces: + +"Ah, you miserable prisoners!" + +And she walked straight at us, walked as directly as though we +had not been before her, as though we were not blocking her way. + +And hence it was that no one did actually prevent her passing. + +Walking out of our ring, without turning round, she said loudly +and with indescribable contempt: + +"Ah, you scum--brutes." + +And--was gone. + +We were left in the middle of the yard, in the rain, under the gray +sky without the sun. + +Then we went mutely away to our damp stone cellar. As before-- +the sun never peeped in at our windows, and Tanya came no more! + + + + + +CHELKASH + +An Episode + + +Darkened by the dust of the dock, the blue southern sky is murky; +the burning sun looks duskily into the greenish sea, as though +through a thin gray veil. It can find no reflection in the water, +continually cut up by the strokes of oars, the screws of steamers, +the deep, sharp keels of Turkish feluccas and other sailing vessels, +that pass in all directions, ploughing up the crowded harbor, +where the free waves of the sea, pent up within granite walls, +and crushed under the vast weights that glide over its crests, +beat upon the sides of the ships and on the bank; beat and complain, +churned up into foam and fouled with all sorts of refuse. + +The jingle of the anchor chains, the rattle of the links +of the trucks that bring down the cargoes, the metallic clank +of sheets of iron falling on the stone pavement, the dull thud +of wood, the creaking of the carts plying for hire, the whistles +of the steamers, piercingly shrill and hoarsely roaring, +the shouts of dock laborers, sailors, and customs officers-- +all these sounds melt into the deafening symphony of the +working day, that hovering uncertainty hangs over the harbor, +as though afraid to float upward and be lost. + +And fresh waves of sound continually rise up from the earth +to join it; deep, grumbling, sullen reverberations setting +all around quaking; shrill, menacing notes that pierce the ear +and the dusty, sultry air. + +The granite, the iron, the wood, the harbor pavement, the ships +and the men--all swelled the mighty strains of this frenzied, +impassioned hymn to Mercury. But the voices of men, scarcely audible +in it, were weak and ludicrous. And the men, too, themselves, +the first source of all that uproar, were ludicrous and pitiable: +their little figures, dusty, tattered, nimble, bent under the weight +of goods that lay on their backs, under the weight of cares +that drove them hither and thither, in the clouds of dust, +in the sea of sweltering heat and din, were so trivial and small +in comparison with the colossal iron monsters, the mountains of bales, +the thundering railway trucks and all that they had created. +Their own creation had enslaved them, and stolen away +their individual life. + +As they lay letting off steam, the heavy giant steamers whistled +or hissed, or seemed to heave deep sighs, and in every sound that came +from them could be heard the mocking note of ironical contempt +for the gray, dusty shapes of men, crawling about their decks +and filling their deep holds with the fruits of their slavish toil. +Ludicrous and pitiable were the long strings of dock laborers bearing +on their backs thousands of tons of bread, and casting it into +the iron bellies of the ships to gain a few pounds of that same bread +to fill their own bellies--for their worse luck not made of iron, +but alive to the pangs of hunger. + +The men, tattered, drenched with sweat, made dull by weariness, +and din and heat; and the mighty machines, created by +those men, shining, well-fed, serene, in the sunshine; +machines which in the last resort are, after all, not set in +motion by steam, but by the muscles and blood of their creators-- +in this contrast was a whole poem of cruel and frigid irony. + +The clamor oppressed the spirit, the dust fretted the nostrils and +blinded the eyes, the sweltering heat baked and exhausted the body, +and everything-buildings, men, pavement--seemed strained, breaking, +ready to burst, losing patience, on the verge of exploding into +some immense catastrophe, some outbreak, after which one would +be able to breathe freely and easily in the air refreshed by it. +On the earth there would be quietness; and that dusty uproar, deafening, +fretting the nerves, driving one to melancholy frenzy, would vanish; +and in town, and sea and sky, it would be still and clear and pleasant. +But that was only seeming. It seemed so because man has not yet +grown weary of hoping for better things, and the longing to feel free +is not dead in him. + +Twelve times there rang out the regular musical peal of the bell. +When the last brazen clang had died away, the savage +orchestra of toil had already lost half its volume. +A minute later it had passed into a dull, repining grumble. +Now the voices of men and the splash of the sea could be heard +more clearly. The dinner-hour had come. + +CHAPTER I + + + + +When the dock laborers, knocking off work, had scattered about the dock +in noisy groups, buying various edibles from the women hawking food, +and were settling themselves to dinner in shady corners on the pavement, +there walked into their midst Grishka Chelkash, an old hunted wolf, +well known to all the dock population as a hardened drunkard +and a bold and dexterous thief. He was barefoot and bareheaded, +clad in old, threadbare, shoddy breeches, in a dirty print shirt, +with a torn collar that displayed his mobile, dry, angular bones +tightly covered with brown skin. From the ruffled state of +his black, slightly grizzled hair and the dazed look on his keen, +predatory face, it was evident that he had only just waked up. +There was a straw sticking in one brown mustache, another straw +clung to the scrubby bristles of his shaved left cheek, and behind +his ear he had stuck a little, freshly-picked twig of lime. +Long, bony, rather stooping, he paced slowly over the flags, +and turning his hooked, rapacious-looking nose from side to side, +he cast sharp glances about him, his cold, gray eyes shining, +as he scanned one after another among the dock laborers. +His thick and long brown mustaches were continually twitching +like a cat's whiskers, while he rubbed his hands behind his back, +nervously clenching the long, crooked, clutching fingers. +Even here, among hundreds of striking-looking, tattered vagabonds +like himself, he attracted attention at once from his resemblance +to a vulture of the steppes, from his hungry-looking thinness, +and from that peculiar gait of his, as though pouncing down on his prey, +so smooth and easy in appearance, but inwardly intent and alert, +like the flight of the keen, nervous bird he resembled. + +As he reached one of the groups of ragged dockers, reclining in +the shade of a stack of coal baskets, there rose to meet him +a thick-set young man, with purple blotches on his dull face and +scratches on his neck, unmistakable traces of a recent thrashing. +He got up and walked beside Chelkash, saying, in an undertone: + +"The dock officers have got wind of the two cases of goods. +They're on the look-out. D'ye hear, Grishka?" + +"What then?" queried Chelkash, cooly measuring him with his eyes. + +"How 'what then?' They're on the look-out, I say. That's all." + +"Did they ask for me to help them look?" + +And with an acrid smile Chelkash looked toward the storehouse +of the Volunteer Fleet. + +"You go to the devil!" + +His companion turned away. + +"Ha, wait a bit! Who's been decorating you like that? +Why, what a sight they have made of your signboard! +Have you seen Mishka here?" + +"I've not seen him this long while!" the other shouted, +and hastily went back to his companions. + +Chelkash went on farther, greeted by everyone as a familiar figure. +But he, usually so lively and sarcastic, was unmistakably out of +humor to-day, and made short and abrupt replies to all inquiries. + +From behind a pile of goods emerged a customs-house officer, a dark green, +dusty figure, of military erectness. He barred the way for Chelkash, +standing before him in a challenging attitude, his left hand clutching +the hilt of his dirk, while with his right he tried to seize Chelkash +by the collar. + +"Stop! Where are you going?" + +Chelkash drew back a step, raised his eyes, looked at the official, +and smiled dryly. + +The red, good-humoredly crafty face of the official, +in its attempt to assume a menacing air, puffed and grew +round and purple, while the brows scowled, the eyes rolled, +and the effect was very comic. + +"You've been told--don't you dare come into the dock, or I'll break +your ribs! And you're here again!" the man roared threateningly. + +"How d'ye do, Semyonitch! It's a long while since we've seen each other," +Chelkash greeted him calmly, holding out his hand. + +"Thankful never to see you again! Get along, get along!" + +But yet Semyonitch took the outstretched hand. + +"You tell me this," Chelkash went on, his gripping fingers still keeping +their hold of Semyonitch's hand, and shaking it with friendly familiarity, +"haven't you seen Mishka?" + +"Mishka, indeed, who's Mishka? I don't know any Mishka. +Get along, mate! or the inspector'll see you, he'll----" + +"The red-haired fellow that I worked with last time on +the 'Kostroma'?" Chelkash persisted. + +"That you steal with, you'd better say. He's been taken to +the hospital, your Mishka; his foot was crushed by an iron bar. +Go away, mate, while you're asked to civilly, go away, +or I'll chuck you out by the scruff of your neck." + +"A-ha, that's like you! And you say-you don't know Mishka! But I say, +why are you so cross, Semyonitch?" + +"I tell you, Grishka, don't give me any of your jaw. Go---o!" + +The official began to get angry and, looking from side to side, +tried to pull his hand away from Chelkash's firm grip. +Chelkash looked calmly at him from under his thick eyebrows, +smiled behind his mustache and not letting go of his hand, +went on talking. + +"Don't hurry me. I'll just have my chat out with you, and then I'll go. +Come, tell us how you're getting on; wife and children quite well?" +And with a spiteful gleam in his eyes, he added, showing his teeth in a +mocking grin: "I've been meaning to pay you a call for ever so long, +but I've not had the time, I'm always drinking, you see." + +"Now--now then-you drop that! You--none of your jokes, you bony devil. +I'm in earnest, my man. So you mean you're coming stealing in the houses +and the streets?" + +"What for? Why there's goods enough here to last our time--for you +and me. By God, there's enough, Semyonitch! So you've been filching +two cases of goods, eh? Mind, Semyonitch, you'd better look out? +You'll get caught one day!" + +Enraged by Chelkash's insolence, Semyonitch turned blue, and struggled, +spluttering and trying to say something. + +Chelkash let go of his hand, and with complete composure +strode back to the dock gates. The customs-house officer +followed him, swearing furiously. Chelkash grew more cheerful; +he whistled shrilly through his teeth, and thrusting his hands +in his breeches pockets, walked with the deliberate gait of a man +of leisure, firing off to right and to left biting jeers and jests. +He was followed by retorts in the same vein. + +"I say, Grishka, what good care they do take of you! +Made your inspection, eh?" shouted one out of a group of dockers, +who had finished dinner and were lying on the ground, resting. + +"I'm barefoot, so here's Semyonitch watching that I shouldn't +graze my foot on anything," answered Chelkash. + +They reached the gates. Two soldiers felt Chelkash all over, +and gave him a slight shove into the streets. + +"Don't let him go!" wailed Semyonitch, who had stayed behind +in the dockyard. + +Chelkash crossed the road and sat down on a stone post +opposite the door of the inn. From the dock gates rolled +rumbling an endless string of laden carts. To meet them, +rattled empty carts, with their drivers jolting up and down in them. +The dock vomited howling din and biting dust, and set +the earth quaking. + +Chelkash, accustomed to this frenzied uproar, and roused +by his scene with Semyonitch, felt in excellent spirits. +Before him lay the attractive prospect of a substantial haul, +which would call for some little exertion and a great deal +of dexterity; Chelkash was confident that he had plenty of +the latter, and, half-closing his eyes, dreamed of how he would +indulge to~morrow morning when the business would be over +and the notes would be rustling in his pocket. + +Then he thought of his comrade, Mishka, who would have +been very useful that night, if he had not hurt his foot; +Chelkash swore to himself, thinking that, all alone, without Mishka, +maybe he'd hardly manage it all. What sort of night would it be? +Chelkash looked at the sky, and along the street. + +Half-a-dozen paces from him, on the flagged pavement, there sat, +leaning against a stone post, a young fellow in a coarse blue linen shirt, +and breeches of the same, in plaited bark shoes, and a torn, reddish cap. +Near him lay a little bag, and a scythe without a handle, +with a wisp of hay twisted round it and carefully tied with string. +The youth was broad-shouldered, squarely built, flaxen headed, +with a sunburnt and weather-beaten face, and big blue eyes that stared +with confident simplicity at Chelkash. + +Chelkash grinned at him, put out his tongue, and making a fearful face, +stared persistently at him with wide-open eyes. + +The young fellow at first blinked in bewilderment, but then, +suddenly bursting into a guffaw, shouted through his laughter: +"Oh! you funny chap!" and half getting up from the ground, +rolled clumsily from his post to Chelkash's, upsetting his bag +into the dust, and knocking the heel of his scythe on the stone. + +"Eh, mate, you've been on the spree, one can see!" he said to Chelkash, +pulling at his trousers. + +"That's so, suckling, that's so indeed!" Chelkash admitted frankly; +he took at once to this healthy, simple-hearted youth, with his childish +clear eyes. "Been off mowing, eh?" + +"To be sure! You've to mow a verst to earn ten kopecks! +It's a poor business! Folks--in masses! Men had come tramping +from the famine parts. They've knocked down the prices, +go where you will. Sixty kopecks they paid in Kuban. +And in years gone by, they do say, it was three, and four, +and five roubles." + +"In years gone by! Why, in years gone by, for the mere +sight of a Russian they paid three roubles out that way. +Ten years ago I used to make a regular trade of it. +One would go to a settlement--'I'm a Russian,' one said-- +and they'd come and gaze at you at once, touch you, +wonder at you, and--you'd get three roubles. And they'd give +you food and drink--stay as long as you like!" + +As the youth listened to Chelkash, at first his mouth dropped open, +his round face expressing bewildered rapture; then, grasping the fact +that this tattered fellow was romancing, he closed his lips with a +smack and guffawed. Chelkash kept a serious face, hiding a smile +in his mustache. + +"You funny chap, you chaff away as though it were the truth, +and I listen as if it were a bit of news! No, upon my soul, +in years gone by----" + +"Why, and didn't I say so? To be sure, I'm telling you +how in years gone by----" + +"Go on!" the lad waved his hand. "A cobbler, eh? or a tailor? +or what are you?" + +"I?" Chelkash queried, and after a moment's thought he said: +"I'm a fisherman." + +"A fisherman! Really? You catch fish?" + +"Why fish? Fishermen about here don't catch fish only. +They fish more for drowned men, old anchors, sunk ships--everything! +There are hooks on purpose for all that." + +"Go on! That sort of fishermen, maybe, that sing of themselves: + + "We cast our nets + Over banks that are dry, + Over storerooms and pantries!" + +"Why, have you seen any of that sort?" inquired Chelkash, +looking scoffingly at him and thinking that this nice youth +was very stupid. + +"No, seen them I haven't! I've heard tell." + +"Do you like them?" + +"Like them? May be. They're all right, fine bold chaps--free." + +"And what's freedom to you? Do you care for freedom?" + +"Well, I should think so! Be your own master, go where you please, +do as you like. To be sure! If you know how to behave yourself, +and you've nothing weighing upon you--it's first rate. +Enjoy yourself all you can, only be mindful of God." + +Chelkash spat contemptuously, and turning away from the youth, +dropped the conversation. + +"Here's my case now," the latter began, with sudden animation. +"As my father's dead, my bit of land's small, my mother's old, +all the land's sucked dry, what am I to do? I must live. +And how? There's no telling. + +"Am I to marry into some well-to-do house? I'd be glad to, +if only they'd let their daughter have her share apart. + +"Not a bit of it, the devil of a father-in-law won't consent to that. +And so I shall have to slave for him--for ever so long--for years. +A nice state of things, you know! + +"But if I could earn a hundred or a hundred and fifty roubles, +I could stand on my own feet, and look askance at old Antip, +and tell him straight out! Will you give Marfa her share apart? +No? all right, then! Thank God, she's not the only girl in the village. +And I should be, I mean, quite free and independent. + +"Ah, yes!" the young man sighed. "But as 'tis, there's nothing for it, +but to marry and live at my father-in-law's. I was thinking I'd go, +d'ye see, to Kuban, and make some two hundred roubles-straight off! +Be a gentleman! But there, it was no go! It didn't come off. +Well, I suppose I'll have to work for my father-in-law! +Be a day-laborer. For I'll never manage on my own bit-- +not anyhow. Heigh-ho!" + +The lad extremely disliked the idea of bondage to his future +father-in-law. His face positively darkened and looked gloomy. +He shifted clumsily on the ground and drew Chelkash out of +the reverie into which he had sunk during his speech. + +Chelkash felt that he had no inclination now to talk to him, +yet he asked him another question: "Where are you going now?" + +"Why, where should I go? Home, to be sure." + +"Well, mate, I couldn't be sure of that, you might be on your +way to Turkey." + +"To Th-urkey!" drawled the youth. "Why, what good Christian +ever goes there! Well I never!" + +"Oh, you fool!" sighed Chelkash, and again he turned away from +his companion, conscious this time of a positive disinclination +to waste another word on him. This stalwart village lad roused +some feeling in him. It was a vague feeling of annoyance, +that grew instinctively, stirred deep down in his heart, +and hindered him from concentrating himself on the consideration +of all that he had to do that night. + +The lad he had thus reviled muttered something, +casting occasionally a dubious glance at Chelkash. +His cheeks were comically puffed out, his lips parted, +and his eyes were screwed up and blinking with extreme rapidity. +He had obviously not expected so rapid and insulting a termination +to his conversation with this long-whiskered ragamuffin. +The ragamuffin took no further notice of him. +He whistled dreamily, sitting on the stone post, and beating +time on it with his bare, dirty heel. + +The young peasant wanted to be quits with him. + +"Hi, you there, fisherman! Do you often get tipsy like this?" +he was beginning, but at the same instant the fisherman turned +quickly towards him, and asked: + +"I say, suckling! Would you like a job to-night +with me? Eh? Tell me quickly!" + +"What sort of a job?" the lad asked him, distrustfully. + +"What! What I set you. We're going fishing. You'll row the boat." + +"Well. Yes. All right. I don't mind a job. Only there's this. +I don't want to get into a mess with you. You're so awfully deep. +You're rather shady." + +Chelkash felt a scalding sensation in his breast, and with cold +anger he said in a low voice: + +"And you'd better hold your tongue, whatever you think, or I'll give +you a tap on your nut that will make things light enough." + +He jumped up from his post, tugged at his moustache with his left hand, +while his sinewy right hand was clenched into a fist, hard as iron, +and his eyes gleamed. + +The youth was frightened. He looked quickly round him, +and blinking uneasily, he, too, jumped up from the ground. +Measuring one another with their eyes, they paused. + +"Well?" Chelkash queried, sullenly. He was boiling inwardly, +and trembling at the affront dealt him by this young calf, +whom he had despised while he talked to him, but now hated +all at once because he had such clear blue eyes, such health, +a sunburned face, and broad, strong hands; because he had somewhere +a village, a home in it, because a well-to-do peasant wanted +him for a son-in-law, because of all his life, past and future, +and most of all, because he--this babe compared with Chelkash-- +dared to love freedom, which he could not appreciate, nor need. +It is always unpleasant to see that a man one regards as baser +or lower than oneself likes or hates the same things, and so puts +himself on a level with oneself. + +The young peasant looked at Chelkash and saw in him an employer. + +"Well," he began, "I don't mind. I'm glad of it. Why, it's work for, +you or any other man. I only meant that you don't look like a +working man--a bit too-ragged. Oh, I know that may happen to anyone. +Good Lord, as though I've never seen drunkards! Lots of them! +and worse than you too." + +"All right, all right! Then you agree?" Chelkash said more amicably. + +"I? Ye-es! With pleasure! Name your terms." + +"That's according to the job. As the job turns out. +According to the job. Five roubles you may get. +Do you see?" + +But now it was a question of money, and in that the peasant wished +to be precise, and demanded the same exactness from his employer. +His distrust and suspicion revived. + +"That's not my way of doing business, mate! A bird in the hand for me." + +Chelkash threw himself into his part. + +"Don't argue, wait a bit! Come into the restaurant." + +And they went down the street side by side, Chelkash with +the dignified air of an employer, twisting his mustaches, +the youth with an expression of absolute readiness to give +way to him, but yet full of distrust and uneasiness. + +"And what's your name?" asked Chelkash. + +"Gavrilo!" answered the youth. + +When they had come into the dirty and smoky eating-house, and Chelkash +going up to the counter, in the familiar tone of an habitual customer, +ordered a bottle of vodka, cabbage soup, a cut from the joint, and tea, +and reckoning up his order, flung the waiter a brief "put it all down!" +to which the waiter nodded in silence,--Gavrilo was at once filled +with respect for this ragamuffin, his employer, who enjoyed here such +an established and confident position. + +"Well, now we'll have a bit of lunch and talk things over. +You sit still, I'll be back in a minute." + +He went out. Gavrilo looked round. The restaurant was in an +underground basement; it was damp and dark, and reeked with the +stifling fumes of vodka, tobacco-smoke, tar, and some acrid odor. +Facing Gavrilo at another table sat a drunken man in the dress +of a sailor, with a red beard, all over coal-dust and tar. +Hiccupping every minute, he was droning a song all made up of broken +and incoherent words, strangely sibilant and guttural sounds. +He was unmistakably not a Russian. + +Behind him sat two Moldavian women, tattered, black-haired sunburned +creatures, who were chanting some sort of song, too, with drunken voices. + +And from the darkness beyond emerged other figures, +all strangely dishevelled, all half-drunk, noisy and restless. + +Gavrilo felt miserable here alone. He longed for his employer to come +back quickly. And the din in the eating-house got louder and louder. +Growing shriller every second, it all melted into one note, +and it seemed like the roaring of some monstrous boast, with hundreds +of different throats, vaguely enraged, trying to struggle out of this +damp hole and unable to find a way out to freedom. + +Gavrilo felt something intoxicating and oppressive creeping over him, +over all his limbs, making his head reel, and his eyes grow dim, +as they moved inquisitively about the eating-house. + +Chelkash came in, and they began eating and drinking and talking. +At the third glass Gavrilo was drunk. He became lively and wanted to say +something pleasant to his employer, who--the good fellow!--though he +had done nothing for him yet, was entertaining him so agreeably. +But the words which flowed in perfect waves to his throat, for some +reason would not come from his tongue. + +Chelkash looked at him and smiled sarcastically, saying: + +"You're screwed! Ugh--milksop!--with five glasses! how will you work?" + +"Dear fellow!" Gavrilo melted into a drunken, good-natured smile. +"Never fear! I respect you! That is, look here! +Let me kiss you! eh?" + +"Come, come! A drop more!" + +Gavrilo drank, and at last reached a condition when everything +seemed waving up and down in regular undulations before his eyes. +It was unpleasant and made him feel sick. His face wore +an expression of childish bewilderment and foolish enthusiasm. +Trying to say something, he smacked his lips absurdly and bellowed. +Chelkash, watching him intently, twisted his mustaches, +and as though recollecting something, still smiled to himself, +but morosely now and maliciously. + +The eating-house roared with drunken clamor. The red-headed +sailor was asleep, with his elbows on the table. + +"Come, let's go then!" said Chelkash, getting up. + +Gavrilo tried to get up, but could not, and with a vigorous oath, +he laughed a meaningless, drunken laugh. + +"Quite screwed!" said Chelkash, sitting down again opposite him. + +Gavrilo still guffawed, staring with dull eyes at his new employer. +And the latter gazed at him intently, vigilantly and thoughtfully. +He saw before him a man whose life had fallen into his wolfish clutches. +He, Chelkash, felt that he had the power to do with it as he pleased. +He could rend it like a card, and he could help to set it on a firm +footing in its peasant framework. He reveled in feeling himself +master of another man, and thought that never would this peasant-lad +drink of such a cup as destiny had given him, Chelkash, to drink. +And he envied this young life and pitied it, sneered at it, and was +even troubled over it, picturing to himself how it might again fall +into such hands as his. + +And all these feelings in the end melted in Chelkash into one-- +a fatherly sense of proprietorship in him. He felt sorry for +the boy, and the boy was necessary to him. Then Chelkash took +Gavrilo under the arms, and giving him a slight shove behind +with his knee, got him out into the yard of the eating-house, +where he put him on the ground in the shade of a stack of wood, +then he sat down beside him and lighted his pipe. + +Gavrilo shifted about a little, muttered, and dropped asleep. + +CHAPTER II. + +"Come, ready?" Chelkash asked in a low voice of Gavrilo, +who was busy doing something to the oars. + +"In a minute! The rowlock here's unsteady, can I just knock +it in with the oar?" + +"No--no! Not a sound! Push it down harder with your hand, +it'll go in of itself." + +They were both quietly getting out a boat, which was tied to the stern +of one of a whole flotilla of oakladen barges, and big Turkish feluccas, +half unloaded, hall still full of palm-oil, sandal wood, and thick +trunks of cypress. + +The night was dark, thick strata of ragged clouds were moving +across the sky, and the sea was quiet, black, and thick as oil. +It wafted a damp and salt aroma, and splashed caressingly on the sides +of the vessels and the banks, setting Chelkash's boat lightly rocking. +There were boats all round them. At a long distance from the shore rose +from the sea the dark outlines of vessels, thrusting up into the dark +sky their pointed masts with various colored lights at their tops. +The sea reflected the lights, and was spotted with masses of yellow, +quivering patches. This was very beautiful on the velvety bosom +of the soft, dull black water, so rhythmically, mightily breathing. +The sea slept the sound, healthy sleep of a workman, wearied out +by his day's toil. + +"We're off!" said Gavrilo, dropping the oars into the water. + +"Yes!" With a vigorous turn of the rudder Chelkash drove +the boat into a strip of water between two barks, and they +darted rapidly over the smooth surface, that kindled into +bluish phosphorescent light under the strokes of the oars. +Behind the boat's stern lay a winding ribbon of this phosphorescence, +broad and quivering. + +"Well, how's your head, aching?" asked Chelkash, smiling. + +"Awfully! Like iron ringing. I'll wet it with some water in a minute." + +"Why? You'd better wet your inside, that may get rid of it. +You can do that at once." He held out a bottle to Gavrilo. + +"Eh? Lord bless you!" + +There was a faint sound of swallowing. + +"Aye! aye! like it? Enough!" Chelkash stopped him. + +The boat darted on again, noiselessly and lightly threading its way among +the vessels. All at once, they emerged from the labyrinth of ships, +and the sea, boundless, mute, shining and rhythmically breathing, +lay open before them, stretching far into the distance, +where there rose out of its waters masses of storm clouds, +some lilac-blue with fluffy yellow edges, and some greenish like +the color of the seawater, or those dismal, leaden-colored clouds +that cast such heavy, dreary shadows, oppressing mind and soul. +They crawled slowly after one another, one melting into another, +one overtaking another, and there was something weird in this slow +procession of soulless masses. + +It seemed as though there, at the sea's rim, they were a +countless multitude, that they would forever crawl thus sluggishly +over the sky, striving with dull malignance to hinder it from +peeping at the sleeping sea with its millions of golden eyes, +the various colored, vivid stars, that shine so dreamily +and stir high hopes in all who love their pure, holy light. +Over the sea hovered the vague, soft sound of its drowsy breathing. + +"The sea's fine, eh?" asked Chelkash. + +"It's all right! Only I feel scared on it," answered Gavrilo, +pressing the oars vigorously and evenly through the water. +The water faintly gurgled and splashed under the strokes of his long oars, +splashed glittering with the warm, bluish, phosphorescent light. + +"Scared! What a fool!" Chelkash muttered, discontentedly. + +He, the thief and cynic, loved the sea. His effervescent, +nervous nature, greedy after impressions, was never weary +of gazing at that dark expanse, boundless, free, and mighty. +And it hurt him to hear such an answer to his question +about the beauty of what he loved. Sitting in the stern, +he cleft the water with his oar, and looked on ahead quietly, +filled with desire to glide far on this velvety surface, +not soon to quit it. + +On the sea there always rose up in him a broad, +warm feeling, that took possession of his whole soul, +and somewhat purified it from the sordidness of daily life. +He valued this, and loved to feel himself better out here in +the midst of the water and the air, where the cares of life, +and life itself, always lose, the former their keenness, +the latter its value. + +"But where's the tackle? Eh?" Gavrilo asked suspiciously all at once, +peering into the boat. + +Chelkash started. + +"Tackle? I've got it in the stern." + +"Why, what sort of tackle is it?" Gavrilo inquired again with surprised +suspicion in his tone. + +"What sort? lines and--" But Chelkash felt ashamed to lie to this boy, +to conceal his real plans, and he was sorry to lose what this peasant-lad +had destroyed in his heart by this question. He flew into a rage. +That scalding bitterness he knew so well rose in his breast and +his throat, and impressively, cruelly, and malignantly he said to Gavrilo: + +"You're sitting here--and I tell you, you'd better sit quiet. +And not poke your nose into what's not your business. +You've been hired to row, and you'd better row. But if you +can't keep your tongue from wagging, it will be a bad lookout +for you. D'ye see?" + +For a minute the boat quivered and stopped. The oars rested in the water, +setting it foaming, and Gavrilo moved uneasily on his seat. + +"Row!" + +A sharp oath rang out in the air. Gavrilo swung the oars. +The boat moved with rapid, irregular jerks, noisily cutting the water. + +"Steady!" + +Chelkash got up from the stern, still holding the oars in his hands, and +peering with his cold eyes into the pale and twitching face of Gavrilo. +Crouching forward Chelkash was like a cat on the point of springing. +There was the sound of angry gnashing of teeth. + +"Who's calling?" rang out a surly shout from the sea. + +"Now, you devil, row! quietly with the oars! I'll kill you, +you cur. Come, row! One, two! There! you only make a sound! +I'll cut your throat!" hissed Chelkash. + +"Mother of God--Holy Virgin--" muttered Gavrilo, shaking and numb +with terror and exertion. + +The boat turned smoothly and went back toward the harbor, +where the lights gathered more closely into a group of many +colors and the straight stems of masts could be seen. + +"Hi! Who's shouting?" floated across again. The voice was farther +off this time. Chelkash grew calm again. + +"It's yourself, friend, that's shouting!" he said in the direction +of the shouts, and then he turned to Gavrilo, who was muttering a prayer. + +"Well, mate, you're in luck! If those devils had overtaken us, +it would have been all over with you. D'you see? +I'd have you over in a trice--to the fishes!" + +Now, when Chelkash was speaking quietly and even good-humoredly, +Gavrilo, still shaking with terror, besought him! + +"Listen, forgive me! For Christ's sake, I beg you, let me go! +Put me on shore somewhere! Aie-aie-aie! I'm done for entirely! +Come, think of God, let me go! What am I to you? +I can't do it! I've never been used to such things. +It's the first time. Lord! Why, I shall be lost! +How did you get round me, mate? eh? It's a shame of you! +Why, you're ruining a man's life! Such doings." + +"What doings?" Chelkash asked grimly. "Eh? Well, what doings?" + +He was amused by the youth's terror, and he enjoyed it and the sense +that he, Chelkash, was a terrible person. + +"Shady doings, mate. Let me go, for God's sake! +What am I to you? eh? Good--dear--!" + +"Hold your tongue, do! If you weren't wanted, I shouldn't +have taken you. Do you understand? So, shut up!" + +"Lord!" Gavrilo sighed, sobbing. + +"Come, come! you'd better mind!" Chelkash cut him short. + +But Gavrilo by now could not restrain himself, and quietly sobbing, +he wept, sniffed, and writhed in his seat, yet rowed +vigorously, desperately. The boat shot on like an arrow. +Again dark hulks of ships rose up on their way and the boat +was again lost among them, winding like a wolf in the narrow +lanes of water between them. + +"Here, you listen! If anyone asks you anything,--hold your tongue, +if you want to get off alive! Do you see?" + +"Oh--oh!" Gavrilo sighed hopelessly in answer to the grim advice, +and bitterly he added: "I'm a lost man!" + +"Don't howl!" Chelkash whispered impressively. + +This whisper deprived Gavrilo of all power of grasping anything +and transformed him into a senseless automaton, wholly absorbed +in a chill presentiment of calamity. + +Mechanically he lowered the oars into the water, +threw himself back, drew them out and dropped them in again, +all the while staring blankly at his plaited shoes. +The waves splashed against the vessels with a sort of menace, +a sort of warning in their drowsy sound that terrified him. +The dock was reached. From its granite wall came the sound of +men's voices, the splash of water, singing, and shrill whistles. + +"Stop!" whispered Chelkash. "Give over rowing! +Push along with your hands on the wall! Quietly, you devil!" + +Gavrilo, clutching at the slippery stone, pushed the boat alongside +the wall. The boat moved without a sound, sliding alongside +the green, shiny stone. + +"Stop! Give me the oars! Give them here. Where's your passport? +In the bag? Give me the bag! Come, give it here quickly! +That, my dear fellow, is so you shouldn't run off. You won't +run away now. Without oars you might have got off somehow, +but without a passport you'll be afraid to. Wait here! +But mind--if you squeak--to the bottom of the sea you go!" + +And, all at once, clinging on to something with his hands, +Chelkash rose in the air and vanished onto the wall. + +Gavrilo shuddered. It had all happened so quickly. He felt as though +the cursed weight and horror that had crushed him in the presence +of this thin thief with his mustaches was loosened and rolling off him. +Now to run! And breathing freely, he looked round him. +On his left rose a black hulk, without masts, a sort of huge coffin, +mute, untenanted, and desolate. + +Every splash of the water on its sides awakened a hollow, +resonant echo within it, like a heavy sigh. + +On the right the damp stone wall of the quay trailed its length, +winding like a heavy, chill serpent. Behind him, too, could be +seen black blurs of some sort, while in front, in the opening +between the wall and the side of that coffin, he could see the sea, +a silent waste, with the storm-clouds crawling above it. +Everything was cold, black, malignant. Gavrilo felt panic-stricken. +This terror was worse than the terror inspired in him by Chelkash; +it penetrated into Gavrilo's bosom with icy keenness, huddled him +into a cowering mass, and kept him nailed to his seat in the boat. + +All around was silent. Not a sound but the sighs of the sea, +and it seemed as though this silence would instantly be rent +by something fearful, furiously loud, something that would +shake the sea to its depths, tear apart these heavy flocks +of clouds on the sky, and scatter all these black ships. +The clouds were crawling over the sky as dismally as before; +more of them still rose up out of the sea, and, gazing at the sky, +one might believe that it, too, was a sea, but a sea in agitation, +and grown petrified in its agitation, laid over that other +sea beneath, that was so drowsy, serene, and smooth. +The clouds were like waves, flinging themselves with curly +gray crests down upon the earth and into the abysses of space, +from which they were torn again by the wind, and tossed back +upon the rising billows of cloud, that were not yet hidden +under the greenish foam of their furious agitation. + +Gavrilo felt crushed by this gloomy stillness and beauty, +and felt that he longed to see his master come back quickly. +And how was it that he lingered there so long? The time +passed slowly, more slowly than those clouds crawled over the sky. +And the stillness grew more malignant as time went on. +From the wall of the quay came the sound of splashing, +rustling, and something like whispering. It seemed to Gavrilo +that he would die that moment. + +"Hi! Asleep? Hold it! Carefully!" sounded the hollow voice of Chelkash. + +From the wall something cubical and heavy was let down. +Gavrilo took it into the boat. Something else like it followed. +Then across the wall stretched Chelkash's long figure, the oars +appeared from somewhere, Gavrilo's bag dropped at his feet, +and Chelkash, breathing heavily, settled himself in the stern. + +Gavrilo gazed at him with a glad and timid smile. + +"Tired?" + +"Bound to be that, calf! Come now, row your best! +Put your back into it! You've earned good wages, mate. +Half the job's done. Now we've only to slip under the devils' +noses, and then you can take your money and go off to your Mashka. +You've got a Mashka, I suppose, eh, kiddy?" + +"N--no!" Gavrilo strained himself to the utmost, working his +chest like a pair of bellows, and his arms like steel springs. +The water gurgled under the boat, and the blue streak behind the stern +was broader now. Gavrilo was soaked through with sweat at once, +but he still rowed on with all his might. + +After living through such terror twice that night, he dreaded now having +to go through it a third time, and longed for one thing only--to make +an end quickly of this accursed task, to get on to land, and to run away +from this man, before he really did kill him, or get him into prison. +He resolved not to speak to him about anything, not to contradict him, +to do all he told him, and, if he should succeed in getting successfully +quit of him, to pay for a thanksgiving service to be said to-morrow +to Nikolai the Wonder-worker. A passionate prayer was ready to burst +out from his bosom. But he restrained himself, puffed like a steamer, +and was silent, glancing from under his brows at Chelkash. + +The latter, with his lean, long figure bent forward like a bird about +to take flight, stared into the darkness ahead of the boat with his +hawk eyes, and turning his rapacious, hooked nose from side to side, +gripped with one hand the rudder handle, while with the other +he twirled his mustache, that was continually quivering with smiles. +Chelkash was pleased with his success, with himself, and with this youth, +who had been so frightened of him and had been turned into his slave. +He had a vision of unstinted dissipation to-morrow, while now +he enjoyed the sense of his strength, which had enslaved this young, +fresh lad. He watched how he was toiling, and felt sorry for him, +wanted to encourage him. + +"Eh!" he said softly, with a grin. "Were you awfully scared? eh?" + +"Oh, no!" sighed Gavrilo, and he cleared his throat. + +"But now you needn't work so at the oars. Ease off! +There's only one place now to pass. Rest a bit." + +Gavrilo obediently paused, rubbed the sweat off his face with the sleeve +of his shirt, and dropped the oars again into the water. + +"Now, row more slowly, so that the water shouldn't bubble. +We've only the gates to pass. Softly, softly. For they're serious +people here, mate. They might take a pop at one in a minute. +They'd give you such a bump on your forehead, you wouldn't have +time to call out." + +The boat now crept along over the water almost without a sound. +Only from the oars dripped blue drops of water, and when they +trickled into the sea, a blue patch of light was kindled for +a minute where they fell. The night had become still warmer +and more silent. The sky was no longer like a sea in turmoil, +the clouds were spread out and covered it with a smooth, +heavy canopy that hung low over the water and did not stir. +And the sea was still more calm and black, and stronger than +ever was the warm salt smell from it. + +"Ah, if only it would rain!" whispered Chelkash. +"We could get through then, behind a curtain as it were." + +On the right and the left of the boat, like houses rising out +of the black water, stood barges, black, motionless, and gloomy. +On one of them moved a light; some one was walking up and down +with a lantern. The sea stroked their sides with a hollow sound +of supplication, and they responded with an echo, cold and resonant, +as though unwilling to yield anything. + +"The coastguards!" Chelkash whispered hardly above a breath. + +From the moment when he had bidden him row more slowly, Gavrilo had +again been overcome by that intense agony of expectation. He craned +forward into the darkness, and he felt as though he were growing bigger; +his bones and sinews were strained with a dull ache, his head, +filled with a single idea, ached, the skin on his back twitched, +and his legs seemed pricked with sharp, chill little pins and needles. +His eyes ached from the strain of gazing into the darkness, +whence he expected every instant something would spring up and shout +to them: "Stop, thieves!" + +Now when Chelkash whispered: "The coastguards!" Gavrilo shuddered, +and one intense, burning idea passed through him, and thrilled his +overstrained nerves; he longed to cry out, to call men to his aid. +He opened his mouth, and half rose from his seat, squared his chest, +drew in a full draught of breath--and opened his mouth--but suddenly, +struck down by a terror that smote him like a whip, he shut his eyes +and rolled forward off his seat. + +Far away on the horizon, ahead of the boat, there rose up out +of the black water of the sea a huge fiery blue sword; it rose up, +cleaving the darkness of night, its blade glided through the clouds +in the sky, and lay, a broad blue streak on the bosom of the sea. +It lay there, and in the streak of its light there sprang up +out of the darkness ships unseen till then, black and mute, +shrouded in the thick night mist. + +It seemed as though they had lain long at the bottom of the sea, +dragged down by the mighty hands of the tempest; and now behold +they had been drawn up by the power and at the will of this blue +fiery sword, born of the sea--had been drawn up to gaze upon +the sky and all that was above the water. Their rigging wrapped +about the masts and looked like clinging seaweeds, that had risen +from the depths with these black giants caught in their snares. +And it rose upward again from the sea, this strange blue sword,-- +rose, cleft the night again, and again fell down in another direction. +And again, where it lay, there rose up out of the dark the outlines +of vessels, unseen before. + +Chelkash's boat stopped and rocked on the water, as though +in uncertainty. Gavrilo lay at the bottom, his face hidden +in his hands, until Chelkash poked him with an oar and +whispered furiously, but softly: + +"Fool, it's the customs cruiser. That's the electric light! +Get up, blockhead! Why, they'll turn the light on us in a minute! +You'll be the ruin of yourself and me! Come!" + +And at last, when a blow from the sharp end of the oar struck +Gavrilo's head more violently, he jumped up, still afraid to open +his eyes, sat down on the seat, and, fumbling for the oars, +rowed the boat on. + +"Quietly! I'll kill you! Didn't I tell you? There, quietly! +Ah, you fool, damn you! What are you frightened of? Eh, pig face? +A lantern and a reflector, that's all it is. Softly with the oars! +Mawkish devil! They turn the reflector this way and that way, +and light up the sea, so as to see if there are folks like you +and me afloat. + +"To catch smugglers, they do it.They won't get us, they've sailed +too far off. Don't be frightened, lad, they won't catch us. +Now we--" Chelkash looked triumphantly round. "It's over, +we've rowed out of reach! Foo--o! Come, you're in luck." + +Gavrilo sat mute; he rowed, and breathing hard, +looked askance where that fiery sword still rose and sank. +He was utterly unable to believe Chelkash that it was only +a lantern and a reflector. The cold, blue brilliance, that cut +through the darkness and made the sea gleam with silver light, +had something about it inexplicable, portentous, and Gavrilo +now sank into a sort of hypnotized, miserable terror. +Some vague presentiment weighed aching on his breast. +He rowed automatically, with pale face, huddled up as though +expecting a blow from above, and there was no thought, +no desire in him now, he was empty and soulless. +The emotions of that night had swallowed up at last all that +was human in him. + +But Chelkash was triumphant again; complete success! all +anxiety at an end! His nerves, accustomed to strain, relaxed, +returned to the normal. His mustaches twitched voluptuously, +and there was an eager light in his eyes. He felt splendid, +whistled through his teeth, drew in deep breaths of the damp sea air, +looked about him in the darkness, and laughed good-naturedly +when his eyes rested on Gavrilo. + +The wind blew up and waked the sea into a sudden play of fine ripples. +The clouds had become, as it were, finer and more transparent, +but the sky was still covered with them. + +The wind, though still light, blew freely over the sea, yet the clouds +were motionless and seemed plunged in some gray, dreary dream. + +"Come, mate, pull yourself together! it's high time! +Why, what a fellow you are; as though all the breath had been +knocked out of your skin, and only a bag of bones was left! +My dear fellow! It's all over now! Hey!" + +It was pleasant to Gavrilo to hear a human voice, even though +Chelkash it was that spoke. + +"I hear," he said softly. + +"Come, then, milksop. Come, you sit at the rudder and I'll take the oars, +you must be tired!" + +Mechanically Gavrilo changed places. When Chelkash, as he changed +places with him, glanced into his face, and noticed that he was +staggering on his shaking legs, he felt still sorrier for the lad. +He clapped him on the shoulder. + +"Come, come, don't be scared! You've earned a good sum for it. +I'll pay you richly, mate. Would you like twenty-five roubles, eh?" + +"I--don't want anything. Only to be on shore." + +Chelkash waved his hand, spat, and fell to rowing, flinging the oars +far back with his long arms. + +The sea had waked up. It frolicked in little waves, bringing them forth, +decking them with a fringe of foam, flinging them on one another, +and breaking them up into tiny eddies. The foam, melting, hissed and +sighed, and everything was filled with the musical plash and cadence. +The darkness seemed more alive. + +"Come, tell me," began Chelkash, "you'll go home to the village, +and you'll marry and begin digging the earth and sowing corn, +your wife will bear you children, food won't be too plentiful, +and so you'll grind away all your life. Well? Is there such +sweetness in that?" + +"Sweetness!" Gavrilo answered, timid and trembling, "what, indeed?" + +The wind tore a rent in the clouds and through the gap peeped blue +bits of sky, with one or two stars. Reflected in the frolicking sea, +these stars danced on the waves, vanishing and shining out again. + +"More to the right!" said Chelkash. "Soon we shall be there. +Well, well! It's over. A haul that's worth it! See here. +One night, and I've made five hundred roubles! Eh? What do you +say to that?" + +"Five hundred?" Gavrilo, drawled, incredulously, but he was seared +at once, and quickly asked, prodding the bundle in the boat +with his foot. "Why, what sort of thing may this be?" + +"That's silk. A costly thing. All that, if one sold it +for its value, would fetch a thousand. But I sell cheap. +Is that smart business?" + +"I sa--ay?" Gavrilo drawled dubiously. "If only I'd all that!" +be sighed, recalling all at once the village, his poor little bit +of land, his poverty, his mother, and all that was so far away and +so near his heart; for the sake of which he bad gone to seek work, +for the sake of which he had suffered such agonies that night. +A flood of memories came back to him of his village, running down +the steep slope to the river and losing itself in a whole forest +of birch trees, willows, and mountain-ashes. These memories breathed +something warm into him and cheered him up. "Ah, it would be grand!" +he sighed mournfully. + +"To be sure! I expect you'd bolt home by the railway! +And wouldn't the girls make love to you at home, aye, aye! +You could choose which you liked! You'd build yourself a house. +No, the money, maybe, would hardly be enough for a house." + +"That's true--it wouldn't do for a house. Wood's dear down our way." + +"Well, never mind. You'd mend up the old one. How about a horse? +Have you got one?" + +"A horse? Yes, I have, but a wretched old thing it is." + +"Well, then, you'd have a horse. A first-rate horse! +A cow--sheep--fowls of all sorts. Eh?" + +"Don't talk of it! If I only could! Oh, Lord! What a life +I should have!" + +"Aye, mate, your life would be first-rate. I know something +about such things. I had a home of my own once. +My father was one of the richest in the village." + +Chelkash rowed slowly. The boat danced on the waves that sportively +splashed over its edge; it scarcely moved forward on the dark sea; +which frolicked more and more gayly. The two men were dreaming, +rocked on the water, and pensively looking around them. +Chelkash had turned Gavrilo's thoughts to his village with the aim +of encouraging and reassuring him. + +At first he had talked grinning sceptically to himself under +his mustaches, but afterward, as he replied to his companion +and reminded him of the joys of a peasant's life, which he had +so long ago wearied of, had forgotten, and only now recalled, +he was gradually carried away, and, instead of questioning +the peasant youth about his village and its doings, +unconsciously he dropped into describing it himself: + +"The great thing in the peasant's life, mate, is its freedom! +You're your own master. You've your own home--worth a farthing, maybe-- +but it's yours! You've your own land--only a handful the whole of it-- +but it's yours! Hens of your own, eggs, apples of your own! +You're king on your own land! And then the regularity. +You get up in the morning, you've work to do, in the spring +one sort, in the summer another, in the autumn, in the winter-- +different again. Wherever you go, you've home to come back to! +It's snug! There's peace! You're a king! Aren't you really?" +Chelkash concluded enthusiastically his long reckoning of the peasant's +advantages and privileges, forgetting, somehow, his duties. + +Gavrilo looked at him with curiosity, and he, too, warmed to the subject. +During this conversation he had succeeded in forgetting with whom +he had to deal, and he saw in his companion a peasant like himself-- +cemented to the soil for ever by the sweat of generations, and bound +to it by the recollections of childhood--who had wilfully broken loose +from it and from its cares, and was bearing the inevitable punishment +for this abandonment. + +"That's true, brother! Ah, how true it is! Look at you, now, what you've +become away from the land! Aha! The land, brother, is like a mother, +you can't forget it for long." + +Chelkash awaked from his reverie. He felt that scalding +irritation in his chest, which always came as soon as his pride, +the pride of the reckless vagrant, was touched by anyone, +and especially by one who was of no value in his eyes. + +"His tongue's set wagging!" he said savagely, "you thought, maybe, I said +all that in earnest. Never fear!" + +"But, you strange fellow!"--Gavrilo began, overawed again-- +"Was I speaking of you? Why, there's lots like you! +Ah, what a lot of unlucky people among the people! Wanderers----" + +"Take the oars, you sea-calf!" Chelkash commanded briefly, +for some reason holding back a whole torrent of furious abuse, +which surged up into his throat. + +They changed places again, and Chelkash, as he crept across the boat +to the stern, felt an intense desire to give Gavrilo a kick that would +send him flying into the water, and at the same time could not pluck +up courage to look him in the face. + +The brief conversation dropped, but now Gavrilo's +silence even was eloquent of the country to Chelkash. +He recalled the past, and forgot to steer the boat, +which was turned by the current and floated away out to sea. +The waves seemed to understand that this boat had missed its way, +and played lightly with it, tossing it higher and higher, +and kindling their gay blue light under its oars. +While before Chelkash's eyes floated pictures of the past, +the far past, separated from the present by the whole barrier +of eleven years of vagrant life. + +He saw himself a child, his village, his mother, a red-cheeked +plump woman, with kindly gray eyes, his father, a red-bearded +giant with a stern face. He saw himself betrothed, and saw +his wife, black-eyed Anfisa, with her long hair, plump, mild, +and good-humored; again himself a handsome soldier in the Guards; +again his father, gray now and bent with toil, and his mother +wrinkled and bowed to the ground; he saw, too, the picture +of his welcome in the village when he returned from the service; +saw how proud his father was before all the village of his Grigory, +the mustached, stalwart soldier, so smart and handsome. +Memory, the scourge of the unhappy, gives life to the very stones +of the past, and even into the poison drunk in old days pours +drops of honey, so as to confound a man with his mistakes and, +by making him love the past, rob him of hope for the future. + +Chelkash felt a rush of the softening, caressing air of home, +bringing back to him the tender words of his mother and the weighty +utterances of the venerable peasant, his father; many a forgotten +sound and many a lush smell of mother-earth, freshly thawing, +freshly ploughed, and freshly covered with the emerald silk of the corn. +And he felt crushed, lost, pitiful, and solitary, torn up and cast +out for ever from that life which had distilled the very blood +that flowed in his veins. + +"Hey! but where are we going?" Gavrilo asked suddenly. + +Chelkash started and looked round with the uneasy look of a bird of prey. + +"Ah, the devil's taken the boat! No matter. Row a bit harder. +We'll be there directly." + +"You were dreaming?" Gavrilo inquired, smiling. + +Chelkash looked searchingly at him. The youth had completely regained +his composure; he was calm, cheerful and even seemed somehow triumphant. +He was very young, all his life lay before him. And he knew nothing. +That was bad. Maybe the earth would keep hold of him. As these +thoughts flashed through his head, Chelkash felt still more mournful, +and to Gavrilo he jerked out sullenly: + +"I'm tired. And it rocks, too." + +"It does rock, that's true. But now, I suppose, we shan't get +caught with this?" Gavrilo shoved the bale with his foot. + +"No. You can be easy. I shall hand it over directly and get +the money. Oh, yes!" + +"Five hundred?" + +"Not less, I dare say." + +"I say--that's a sum! If I, poor wretch, had that! +Ah, I'd have a fine time with it." + +"On your land?" + +"To be sure! Why, I'd be off----" + +And Gravilo floated off into day dreams. Chelkash seemed crushed. +His mustaches drooped, his right side was soaked by the splashing +of the waves, his eyes looked sunken and had lost their brightness. +He was a pitiable and depressed figure. All that bird-of-prey look +in his figure seemed somehow eclipsed under a humiliated moodiness, +that showed itself in the very folds of his dirty shirt. + +"I'm tired out, too--regularly done up." + +"We'll be there directly. See over yonder." + +Chelkash turned the boat sharply, and steered it toward something +black that stood up out of the water. + +The sky was again all covered with clouds, and fine, warm rain +had come on, pattering gayly on the crests of the waves. + +"Stop! easy!" commanded Chelkash. + +The boat's nose knocked against the hull of the vessel. +"Are they asleep, the devils?" grumbled Chelkash, catching with +his boat-hook on to some ropes that hung over the ship's side. +"The ladder's not down. And this rain, too. As if it couldn't +have come before! Hi, you spongeos. Hi! Hi!" + +"Is that Selkash?" they heard a soft purring voice say overhead. + +"Come, let down the ladder." + +"Kalimera, Selkash." + +"Let down the ladder, you smutty devil!" yelled Chelkash. + +"Ah, what a rage he's come in to-day. Ahoy!" + +"Get up, Gavrilo!" Chelkash said to his companion. + +In a moment they were on the deck, where three dark-bearded figures, +eagerly chattering together, in a strange staccato tongue looked +over the side into Chelkash's boat. The fourth clad in a long gown, +went up to him and pressed his hand without speaking, then looked +suspiciously round at Gavrilo. + +"Get the money ready for me by the morning," Chelkash said to +him shortly. "And now I'll go to sleep. Gavrilo, come along! +Are you hungry?" + +"I'm sleepy," answered Gavrilo, and five minutes later he was +snoring in the dirty hold of the vessel, while Chelkash, +sitting beside him, tried on somebody's boots. Dreamily spitting +on one side, he whistled angrily and mournfully between his teeth. +Then he stretched himself out beside Gavrilo, and pulling +the boots off his feet again and putting his arms under his head, +he fell to gazing intently at the deck, and pulling his mustaches. + +The vessel rocked softly on the frolicking water, there was +a fretful creaking of wood somewhere, the rain pattered softly +on the deck, and the waves splashed on the ship's side. +Everything was melancholy and sounded like the lullaby +of a mother, who has no hope of her child's happiness. +And Chelkash fell asleep. + +CHAPTER III + +He was the first to wake, he looked round him uneasily, but at once +regained his self-possession and stared at Gavrilo who was still asleep. +He was sweetly snoring, and in his sleep smiled all over his childish, +sun-burned healthy face. Chelkash sighed and climbed up the narrow +rope-ladder. Through the port-hole he saw a leaden strip of sky. +It was daylight, but a dreary autumn grayness. + +Chelkash came back two hours later. His face was red, his mustaches +were jauntily curled, a smile of good-humored gayety beamed on his lips. +He was wearing a pair of stout high boots, a short jacket, +and leather breeches, and he looked like a sportsman. +His whole costume was worn, but strong and very becoming to him, +making him look broader, covering up his angularity, and giving +him a military air. + +"Hi, little calf, get up!" He gave Gavrilo a kick. + +Gavrilo started up, and, not recognizing him, stared at him in alarm +with dull eyes. Chelkash chuckled. + +"Well, you do look--" Gavrilo brought out with a broad grin at last. +"You're quite a gentleman!" + +"We soon change. But, I say, you're easily scared! aye! +How many times were you ready to die last night? eh? tell me!" + +"Well, but just think, it's the first time I've ever been on such a job! +Why one may lose one's soul for all one's life!" + +"Well, would you go again? Eh?" + +"Again? Well--that--how can I say? For what inducement? +That's the point!" + +"Well, if it were for two rainbows?" + +"Two hundred roubles, you mean? Well--I might." + +"But I say! What about your soul?" + +"Oh, well--maybe one wouldn't lose it!" Gavrilo smiled. +"One mightn't--and it would make a man of one for all one's life." + +Chelkash laughed good-humoredly. + +"All right! that's enough joking. Let's row to land. Get ready!" + +"Why, I've nothing to do! I'm ready." + +And soon they were in the boat again, Chelkash at the rudder, Gavrilo at +the oars. Above them the sky was gray, with clouds stretched evenly +across it. The muddy green sea played with their boat, tossing it +noisily on the waves that sportively flung bright salt drops into it. +Far ahead from the boat's prow could be seen the yellow streak of the +sandy shore, while from the stern there stretched away into the distance +the free, gambolling sea, all furrowed over with racing flocks of billows, +decked here and there with a narrow fringe of foam. + +Far away they could see numbers of vessels, rocking on +the bosom of the sea, away on the left a whole forest of masts +and the white fronts of the houses of the town. From that +direction there floated across the sea a dull resounding roar, +that mingled with the splash of the waves into a full rich music. +And over all was flung a delicate veil of ash-colored mist, +that made things seem far from one another. + +"Ah, there'll be a pretty dance by evening!" said Chelkash, +nodding his head at the sea. + +"A storm?" queried Gavrilo, working vigorously at the waves +with his oars. He was already wet through from head to foot +with the splashing the wind blew on him from the sea. + +"Aye, aye!" Chelkash assented. + +Gavrilo looked inquisitively at him, and his eyes expressed +unmistakable expectation of something. + +"Well, how much did they give you?" he asked, at last, +seeing that Chelkash was not going to begin the conversation. + +"Look!" said Chelkash, holding out to Gavrilo something he had pulled +out of his pocket. + +Gavrilo saw the rainbow-colored notes and everything danced +in brilliant rainbow tints before his eyes. + +"I say! Why, I thought you were bragging! That's--how much?" + +"Five hundred and forty! A smart job!" + +"Smart, yes!" muttered Gavrilo, with greedy eyes, watching the five +hundred and forty roubles as they were put back again in his pocket. +"Well, I never! What a lot of money!" and he sighed dejectedly. + +"We'll have a jolly good spree, my lad!" Chelkash cried ecstatically. +"Eh, we've enough to. Never fear, mate, I'll give you your share. +I'll give you forty, eh? Satisfied? If you like, I'll give it you now!" + +"If--you don't mind. Well? I wouldn't say no!" + +Gavrilo was trembling all over with suspense and some other acute +feeling that dragged at his heart. + +"Ha--ha--ha! Oh, you devil's doll! 'I'd not say no!' +Take it, mate, please! I beg you, indeed, take it! +I don't know what to do with such a lot of money! +You must help me out, take some, there!" + +Chelkash held out some red notes to Gavrilo. He took them +with a shaking hand, let go the oars, and began stuffing +them away in his bosom, greedily screwing up his eyes +and drawing in his breath noisily, as though he had drunk +something hot. Chelkash watched him with an ironical smile. +Gavrilo took up the oars again and rowed nervously, hurriedly, +keeping his eyes down as though he were afraid of something. +His shoulders and his ears were twitching. + +"You're greedy. That's bad. But, of course, you're a peasant," +Chelkash said musingly. + +"But see what one can do with money!" cried Gavrilo, suddenly breaking +into passionate excitement, and jerkily, hurriedly, as though +chasing his thoughts and catching his words as they flew, he began +to speak of life in the village with money and without money. +Respect, plenty, independence gladness! + +Chelkash heard him attentively, with a serious face and eyes filled +with some dreamy thought. At times he smiled a smile of content. +"Here we are!" Chelkash cried at last, interrupting Gavrilo. + +A wave caught up the boat and neatly drove it onto the sand. + +"Come, mate, now it's over. We must drag the boat up farther, +so that it shouldn't get washed away. They'll come and fetch it. +Well, we must say good-bye! It's eight versts from here to the town. +What are you going to do? Coming back to the town, eh?" + +Chelkash's face was radiant with a good-humoredly sly smile, +and altogether he had the air of a man who had thought of +something very pleasant for himself and a surprise to Gavrilo. +Thrusting his hand into his pocket, he rustled the notes there. + +"No--I-- am not coming. I---" Gavrilo gasped, and seemed choking +with something. Within him there was raging a whole storm of desires, +of words, of feelings, that swallowed up one another and scorched him +as with fire. + +Chelkash looked at him in perplexity. + +"What's the matter with you?" he asked. + +"Why----" But Gavrilo's face flushed, then turned gray, +and he moved irresolutely, as though he were half longing +to throw himself on Chelkash, or half torn by some desire, +the attainment of which was hard for him. + +Chelkash felt ill at ease at the sight of such excitement in this lad. +He wondered what form it would take. + +Gavrilo began laughing strangely, a laugh that was like a sob. +His head was downcast, the expression of his face Chelkash could +not see; Gavrilo's ears only were dimly visible, and they turned +red and then pale. + +"Well, damn you!" Chelkash waved his hand, "Have you fallen +in love with me, or what? One might think you were a girl! +Or is parting from me so upsetting? Hey, suckling! Tell me, +what's wrong? or else I'm off!" + +"You're going!" Gavrilo cried aloud. + +The sandy waste of the shore seemed to start at his cry, and the +yellow ridges of sand washed by the sea-waves seemed quivering. +Chelkash started too. All at once Gavrilo tore himself +from where he stood, flung himself at Chelkash's feet, +threw his arms round them, and drew them toward him. +Chelkash staggered; he sat heavily down on the sand, and grinding +his teeth, brandished his long arm and clenched fist in the air. +But before he had time to strike he was pulled up by Gavrilo's +shame-faced and supplicating whisper: + +"Friend! Give me--that money! Give it me, for Christ's sake! +What is it to you? Why in one night--in only one night-- +while it would take me a year--Give it me--I will pray for you! +Continually--in three churches--for the salvation of your soul! +Why you'd cast it to the winds--while I'd put it into the land. +O, give it me! Why, what does it mean to you? Did it cost +you much? One night--and you're rich! Do a deed of mercy! +You're a lost man, you see--you couldn't make your way-- +while I--oh, give it to me!" + +Chelkash, dismayed, amazed, and wrathful, sat on the sand, +thrown backward with his hands supporting him; he sat there in silence, +rolling his eyes frightfully at the young peasant, who, ducking his +head down at his knees, whispered his prayer to him in gasps. +He shoved him away at last, jumped up to his feet, and thrusting +his hands into his pockets, flung the rainbow notes at Gavrilo. + +"There, cur! Swallow them!" he roared, shaking with excitement, +with intense pity and hatred of this greedy slave. +And as he flung him the money, he felt himself a hero. +There was a reckless gleam in his eyes, an heroic air about +his whole person. + +"I'd meant to give you more, of myself. I felt sorry for you yesterday. +I thought of the village. I thought: come, I'll help the lad. +I was waiting to see what you'd do, whether you'd beg or not. +While you!--Ah, you rag! you beggar! To be able to torment oneself so-- +for money! You fool. Greedy devils! They're beside themselves-- +sell themselves for five kopecks! eh?" + +"Dear friend! Christ have mercy on you! Why, what have I now! +thousands!! I'm a rich man!" Gavrilo shrilled in ecstasy, +all trembling, as he stowed away the notes in his bosom. +"Ah, you good man! Never will I forget you! Never! And my +wife and my children--I'll bid them pray for you!" + +Chelkash listened to his shrieks and wails of ecstasy, looked at his +radiant face that was contorted by greedy joy, and felt that he, +thief and rake as he was, cast out from everything in life, +would never be so covetous, so base, would never so forget himself. +Never would he be like that! And this thought and feeling, +filling him with a sense of his own independence and reckless daring, +kept him beside Gavrilo on the desolate sea shore. + +"You've made me happy!" shrieked Gavrilo, and snatching Chelkash's hand, +he pressed it to his face. + +Chelkash did not speak; he grinned like a wolf. +Gavrilo still went on pouring out his heart: + +"Do you know what I was thinking about? As we rowed here-- +I saw--the money--thinks I--I'll give it him--you--with the oar-- +one blow! the money's mine, and into the sea with him--you, +that is--eh! Who'll miss him? said I. And if they do find him, +they won't be inquisitive how--and who it was killed him. +He's not a man, thinks I, that there'd be much fuss about! +He's of no use in the world! Who'd stand up for him? +No, indeed--eh?" + +"Give the money here!" growled Chelkash, clutching Gavrilo +by the throat. + +Gavrilo struggled away once, twice. Chelkash's other arm twisted +like a snake about him--there was the sound of a shirt tearing-- +and Gavrilo lay on the sand, with his eyes staring wildly, +his fingers clutching at the air and his legs waving. +Chelkash, erect, frigid, rapacious--looking, grinned maliciously, +laughed a broken, biting laugh, and his mustaches twitched +nervously in his sharp, angular face. + +Never in all his life had he been so cruelly wounded, +and never had he felt so vindictive. + +"Well, are you happy now?" he asked Gavrilo through his laughter, +and turning his back on him he walked away in the direction of the town. +But he had hardly taken two steps when Gavrilo, crouched like a cat +on one knee, and with a wide sweep of his arm, flung a round stone +at him, viciously, shouting: + +"O--one!" + +Chelkash uttered a cry, clapped his hands to the nape of his neck, +staggered forward, turned round to Gavrilo, and fell on his face on +the sand. Gavrilo's heart failed him as he watched him. He saw him +stir one leg, try to lift his head, and then stretch out, quivering like +a bowstring. Then Gavrilo rushed fleeing away into the distance, +where a shaggy black cloud hung over the foggy steppe, and it was dark. +The waves whispered, racing up the sand, melting into it and racing back. +The foam hissed and the spray floated in the air. + +It began to rain, at first slightly, but soon a steady, heavy downpour +was falling in streams from the sky, weaving a regular network +of fine threads of water that at once hid the steppe and the sea. +Gavrilo vanished behind it. For a long while nothing was to be seen but +the rain and the long figure of the man stretched on the sand by the sea. +But suddenly Gavrilo ran back out of the rain. Like a bird he flew +up to Chelkash, dropped down beside him, and began to turn him +over on the ground. His hand dipped into a warm, red stickiness. +He shuddered and staggered back with a face pale and distraught. + +"Brother, get up!" he whispered through the patter of the lain +into Chelkash's ear. + +Revived by the water on his face, Chelkash came to himself, +and pushed Gavrilo away, saying hoarsely: + +"Get--away!" + +"Brother! Forgive me--it was the devil tempted me," +Gavrilo whispered, faltering, as he kissed Chelkash's band. + +"Go along. Get away!" he croaked. + +"Take the sin from off my soul! Brother! Forgive me!" + +"For--go away, do! Go to the devil!" Chelkash screamed suddenly, +and he sat up on the sand. His face was pale and angry, his eyes +were glazed, and kept closing, as though he were very sleepy. +"What more--do you want? You've done--your job--and go away! Be off!" +And he tried to kick Gavrilo away, as he knelt, overwhelmed, beside him, +but he could not, and would have rolled over again if Gavrilo +had not held him up, putting his arms round his shoulders. +Chelkash's face was now on a level with Gavrilo's. Both were pale, +piteous, and terrible-looking. + +"Tfoo!" Chelkash spat into the wide, open eyes of his companion. + +Meekly Gavrilo wiped his face with his sleeve, and murmured: + +"Do as you will. I won't say a word. For Christ's sake, forgive me!" + +"Snivelling idiot! Even stealing's more than you can do!" +Chelkash cried scornfully, tearing a piece of his shirt under +his jacket, and without a word, clenching his teeth now and then, +he began binding up his head. "Did you take the notes?" +he filtered through his teeth. + +"I didn't touch them, brother! I didn't want them! there's +ill-luck from them!" + +Chelkash thrust his hand into his jacket pocket, drew out a bundle +of notes, put one rainbow-colored note back in his pocket, +and handed all the rest to Gavrilo. + +"Take them and go!" + +"I won't take them, brother. I can't! Forgive me!" + +"T-take them, I say!" bellowed Chelkash, glaring horribly. + +"Forgive me! Then I'll take them," said Gavrilo, timidly, and he fell +at Chelkash's feet on the damp sand, that was being liberally drenched +by the rain. + +"You lie, you'll take them, sniveller!" Chelkash said with conviction, +and with an effort, pulling Gavrilo's head up by the hair, he thrust +the notes in his face. + +"Take them! take them! You didn't do your job for nothing, I suppose. +Take it, don't be frightened! Don't be ashamed of having nearly +killed a man! For people like me, no one will make much inquiry. +They'll say thank you, indeed, when they know of it. There, take it! +No one will ever know what you've done, and it deserves a reward. +Come, now!" + +Gavrilo saw that Chelkash was laughing, and he felt relieved. +He crushed the notes up tight in his hand. + +"Brother! You forgive me? Won't you? Eh?" he asked tearfully. + +"Brother of mine!" Chelkash mimicked him as he got, reeling, +on to his legs. "What for? There's nothing to forgive. +To-day you do for me, to-morrow I'll do for you." + +"Oh, brother, brother!" Gavrilo sighed mournfully, shaking his head. + +Chelkash stood facing him, he smiled strangely, and the rag on his head, +growing gradually redder, began to look like a Turkish fez. + +The rain streamed in bucketsful. The sea moaned with a +hollow sound, and the waves beat on the shore, lashing furiously +and wrathfully against it. + +The two men were silent. + +"Come, good-bye!" Chelkash said, coldly and sarcastically. + +He reeled, his legs shook, and he held his head queerly, +as though he were afraid of losing it. + +"Forgive me, brother!" Gavrilo besought him once more. + +"All right!" Chelkash answered, coldly, setting off on his way. + +He walked away, staggering, and still holding his head in his left hand, +while he slowly tugged at his brown mustache with the right. + +Gavrilo looked after him a long while, till the had disappeared +in the rain, which still poured down in fine, countless streams, +and wrapped everything in an impenetrable steel-gray mist. + +Then Gavrilo took off his soaked cap, made the sign of the cross, +looked at the notes crushed up in his hand, heaved a deep +sigh of relief, thrust them into his bosom, and with long, +firm strides went along the shore, in the opposite direction +from that Chelkash had taken. + +The sea howled, flinging heavy, breaking billows on the sand of the shore, +and dashing them into spray, the rain lashed the water and the earth, +the wind blustered. All the air was full of roaring, howling, moaning. +Neither distance nor sky could be seen through the rain. + +Soon the rain and the spray had washed away the red patch +on the spot where Chelkash had lain, washed away the traces +of Chelkash and the peasant lad on the sandy beach. +And no trace was left on the seashore of the little drama +that had been played out between two men. + + + + + +MY FELLOW-TRAVELLER + +(THE STORY OF A JOURNEY) + + +I met him in the harbor of Odessa. For three successive days +his square, strongly-built figure attracted my attention. +His face--of a Caucasian type--was framed in a handsome beard. +He haunted me. I saw him standing for hours together on the +stone quay, with the handle of his walking stick in his mouth, +staring down vacantly, with his black almond-shaped eyes +into the muddy waters of the harbor. Ten times a day, +he would pass me by with the gait of a careless lounger. +Whom could he be? I began to watch him. As if anxious to excite +my curiosity, he seemed to cross my path more and more often. +In the end, his fashionably-cut light check suit, +his black hat, like that of an artist, his indolent lounge, +and even his listless, bored glance grew quite familiar to me. +His presence was utterly unaccountable, here in the harbor, +where the whistling of the steamers and engines, the clanking +of chains, the shouting of workmen, all the hurried maddening +bustle of a port, dominated one's sensations, and deadened one's +nerves and brain. Everyone else about the port was enmeshed +in its immense complex machinery, which demanded incessant +vigilance and endless toil. + +Everyone here was busy, loading and unloading either steamers +or railway trucks. Everyone was tired and careworn. +Everyone was hurrying to and fro, shouting or cursing, +covered with dirt and sweat. In the midst of the toil and +bustle this singular person, with his air of deadly boredom, +strolled about deliberately, heedless of everything. + +At last, on the fourth day, I came across him during the dinner hour, +and I made up my mind to find out at any cost who he might be. +I seated myself with my bread and water-melon not far from him, +and began to eat, scrutinizing him and devising some suitable +pretext for beginning a conversation with him. + +There he stood, leaning against a pile of tea boxes, +glancing aimlessly around, and drumming with his fingers on his +walking stick, as if it were a flute. It was difficult for me, +a man dressed like a tramp, with a porter's knot over my shoulders, +and grimy with coal dust, to open up a conversation with such a dandy. +But to my astonishment I noticed that he never took his eyes off me, +and that an unpleasant, greedy, animal light shone in those eyes. +I came to the conclusion that the object of my curiosity must be hungry, +and after glancing rapidly round, I asked him in a low voice: +"Are you hungry?" + +He started, and with a famished grin showed rows of strong sound teeth. +And he, too, looked suspiciously round. We were quite unobserved. +Then I handed him half my melon and a chunk of wheaten bread. +He snatched it all from my hand, and disappeared, squatting behind +a pile of goods. His head peeped out from time to time; his hat +was pushed back from his forehead, showing his dark moist brow. + +His face wore a broad smile, and for some unknown reason he kept +winking at me, never for a moment ceasing to chew. + +Making him a sign to wait a moment, I went away to buy meat, +brought it, gave it to him, and stood by the boxes, thus completely +shielding my poor dandy from outsiders' eyes. He was still +eating ravenously, and constantly looking round as if afraid +someone might snatch his food away; but after I returned, +he began to eat more calmly, though still so fast and so +greedily that it caused me pain to watch this famished man. +And I turned my back on him. + +"Thanks! Many thanks indeed!" He patted my shoulder, snatched my hand, +pressed it, and shook it heartily. + +Five minutes later he was telling me who he was. +He was a Georgian prince, by name Shakro Ptadze, and was +the only son of a rich landowner of Kutais in the Caucasus. +He had held a position as clerk at one of the railway stations +in his own country, and during that time had lived with a friend. +But one fine day the friend disappeared, carrying off all +the prince's money and valuables. Shakro determined to track +and follow him, and having heard by chance that his late +friend had taken a ticket to Batoum, he set off there. +But in Batoum he found that his friend had gone on to Odessa. +Then Prince Shakro borrowed a passport of another friend-- +a hair-dresser--of the same age as himself, though the features +and distinguishing marks noted therein did not in the least +resemble his own. + +Arrived at Odessa, he informed the police of his loss, +and they promised to investigate the matter. He had been +waiting for a fortnight, had consumed all his money, +and for the last four days had not eaten a morsel. + +I listened to his story, plentifully embellished as it was +with oaths. He gave me the impression of being sincere. +I looked at him, I believed him, and felt sorry for the lad. +He was nothing more--he was nineteen, but from his naivety +one might have taken him for younger. Again and again, +and with deep indignation, he returned to the thought of his +close friendship for a man who had turned out to be a thief, +and had stolen property of such value that Shakro's stern old +father would certainly stab his son with a dagger if the property +were not recovered. + +I thought that if I didn't help this young fellow, the greedy +town would suck him down. I knew through what trifling +circumstances the army of tramps is recruited, and there seemed +every possibility of Prince Shakro drifting into this respectable, +but not respected class. I felt a wish to help him. My earnings +were not sufficient to buy him a ticket to Batoum, so I visited +some of the railway offices, and begged a free ticket for him. +I produced weighty arguments in favor of assisting the young fellow, +with the result of getting refusals just as weighty. +I advised Shakro to apply to the Head of the Police of the town; +this made him uneasy, and he declined to go there. Why not? +He explained that he had not paid for his rooms at an hotel +where he had been staying, and that when requested to do so, +he had struck some one. + +This made him anxious to conceal his identity, for he supposed, +and with reason, that if the police found him out he would +have to account for the fact of his not paying his bill, +and for having struck the man. Besides, he could not remember +exactly if he had struck one or two blows, or more. + +The position was growing more complicated. + +I resolved to work till I had earned a sum sufficient to carry +him back to Batoum. But alas! I soon realized that my plan +could not be carried out quickly--by no means quickly-- +for my half-starved prince ate as much as three men, and more. +At that time there was a great influx of peasants into the Crimea +from the famine-stricken northern parts of Russia, and this had +caused a great reduction in the wages of the workers at the docks. +I succeeded in earning only eighty kopecks a day, and our food +cost us sixty kopecks. + +I had no intention of staying much longer at Odessa, for I had meant, +some time before I came across the prince, to go on to the Crimea. +I therefore suggested to him the following plan: that we should +travel together on foot to the Crimea, and there I would find him +another companion, who would continue the journey with him as far +as Tiflis; if I should fail in finding him a fellow-traveler, +I promised to go with him myself. + +The prince glanced sadly at his elegant boots, his hat, +his trousers, while he smoothed and patted his coat. +He thought a little time, sighed frequently, and at last agreed. +So we started off from Odessa to Tiflis on foot. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + + + +By the time we had arrived at Kherson I knew something of my companion. +He was a naively savage, exceedingly undeveloped young fellow; +gay when he was well fed, dejected when he was hungry, like a strong, +easy-tempered animal. On the road he gave me accounts of life +in the Caucasus, and told me much about the landowners; +about their amusements, and the way they treated the peasantry. +His stories were interesting, and had a beauty of their own; +but they produced on my mind a most unfavorable impression +of the narrator himself. + +To give one instance. There was at one time a rich prince, +who had invited many friends to a feast. They partook freely +of all kinds of Caucasian wines and meats, and after the feast +the prince led his guests to his stables. They saddled the horses, +the prince picked out the handsomest, and rode him into the fields. +That was a fiery steed! The guests praised his form and paces. +Once more the prince started to ride round the field, when at +the same moment a peasant appeared, riding a splendid white horse, +and overtook the prince--overtook him and laughed proudly! +The prince was put to shame before his guests! He knit his brow, +and beckoned the peasant to approach; then, with a blow +of his dagger, he severed the man's head from his body. +Drawing his pistol, he shot the white horse in the ear. +He then delivered himself up to justice, and was condemned +to penal servitude. + +Through the whole story there rang a note of pity for the prince. +I endeavored to make Shakro understand that his pity was misplaced. + +"There are not so many princes," he remarked didactically, +"as there are peasants. It cannot be just to condemn a prince +for a peasant. What, after all is a peasant? he is no better +than this!" He took up a handful of soil, and added: +"A prince is a star!" + +We had a dispute over this question and he got angry. +When angry, he showed his teeth like a wolf, and his features +seemed to grow sharp and set. + +"Maxime, you know nothing about life in the Caucasus; +so you had better hold your tongue!" he shouted. + +All my arguments were powerless to shatter his naive convictions. +What was clear to me seemed absurd to him. My arguments never +reached his brain; but if ever I did succeed in showing him +that my opinions were weightier and of more value than his own, +he would simply say: + +"Then go and live in the Caucasus, and you will see that I am right. +What every one does must be right. Why am I to believe what you say? +You are the only one who says such things are wrong; while thousands +say they are right!" + +Then I was silent, feeling that words were of no use in this case; +only facts could confute a man, who believed that life, just as it is, +is entirely just and lawful. I was silent, while he was triumphant, +for he firmly believed that he knew life and considered his +knowledge of it something unshakeable, stable and perfect. +My silence seemed to him to give him a right to strike a fuller note +in his stories of Caucasian life--a life full of so much wild beauty, +so much fire and originality. + +These stories, though full of interest and attraction for me, +continued to provoke my indignation and disgust by their cruelty, +by the worship of wealth and of strength which they displayed, +and the absence of that morality which is said to be binding +on all men alike. + +Once I asked him if he knew what Christ had taught. + +"Yes, of course I do!" he replied, shrugging his shoulders. + +But after I had examined him on this point, it turned out that +all he knew was, that there had once been a certain Christ, +who protested against the laws of the Jews, and that for this +protest he was crucified by the Jews. But being a God, +he did not die on the cross, but ascended into heaven, +and gave the world a new law. + +"What law was that?" I inquired. + +He glanced at me with ironical incredulity, and asked: +"Are you a Christian? Well, so am I a Christian. +Nearly all the people in the world are Christians. +Well, why do you ask then? You know the way they all live; +they follow the law of Christ!" + +I grew excited, and began eagerly to tell him about Christ's life. +At first he listened attentively; but this attention did not last long, +and he began to yawn. + +I understood that it was useless appealing to his heart, +and I once more addressed myself to his head, and talked +to him of the advantages of mutual help and of knowledge, +the benefits of obedience to the law, speaking of the policy +of morality and nothing more. + +"He who is strong is a law to himself! He has no need of learning; +even blind, he'll find his way," Prince Shakro replied, languidly. + +Yes, he was always true to himself. This made me feel a respect for him; +but he was savage and cruel, and sometimes I felt a spark of hatred +for Prince Shakro. Still, I had not lost all hope of finding some +point of contact with him, some common ground on which we could meet, +and understand one another. + +I began to use simpler language with the prince, +and tried to put myself mentally on a level with him. +He noticed these attempts of mine, but evidently mistaking +them for an acknowledgment on my part of his superiority, +adopted a still more patronizing tone in talking to me. +I suffered, as the conviction came home to me, that all +my arguments were shattered against the stone wall of his +conception of life. + + +CHAPTER III. + +Soon we had left Perekop behind us. We were approaching +the Crimean mountains. For the last two days we bad seen +them against the horizon. The mountains were pale blue, +and looked like soft heaps of billowy clouds. I admired them +in the distance, and I dreamed of the southern shore of the Crimea. +The prince hummed his Georgian songs and was gloomy. +We had spent all our money, and there was no chance of earning +anything in these parts. + +We bent our steps toward Feodosia, where a new harbor was in course +of construction. The prince said that he would work, too, and that when +we had earned enough money we would take a boat together to Batoum. + +In Batoum, he said, he had many friends, and with their assistance +he could easily get me a situation--as a house-porter or a watchman. +He clapped me patronizingly on the back, and remarked, indulgently, +with a peculiar click of his tongue: + +"I'll arrange it for you! You shall have such a life tse', tse'! +You will have plenty of wine, there will be as much mutton as you +can eat. You can marry a fat Georgian girl; tse', tse', tse'! +She will cook you Georgian dishes; give you children--many, many +children! tse', tse', tse'!" + +This constant repetition of "tse', tse', tse'!" surprised me at first; +then it began to irritate me, and, at last, it reduced me to a +melancholy frenzy. In Russia we use this sound to call pigs, but in +the Caucasus it seems to be an expression of delight and of regret, +of pleasure and of sadness. + +Shakro's smart suit already began to look shabby; his elegant boots +had split in many places. His cane and hat had been sold in Kherson. +To replace the hat he had bought an old uniform cap of a railway clerk. +When he put this cap on for the first time, he cocked it on one side +of his head, and asked: "Does it suit me? Do I look nice?" + + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + + + + +At last we reached the Crimea. We had left Simpheropol behind us, +and were moving towards Jalta. + +I was walking along in silent ectasy, marvelling at the beauty +of this strip of land, caressed on all sides by the sea. + +The prince sighed, complained, and, casting dejected glances +about him, tried filling his empty stomach with wild berries. +His knowledge of their nutritive qualities was extremely +limited, and his experiments were not always successful. +Often he would remark, ill-humoredly: + +"If I'm turned inside out with eating this stuff, how am I to go +any farther? And what's to be done then?" + +We had no chance of earning anything, neither had we a penny +left to buy a bit of bread. All we had to live on was fruit, +and our hopes for the future. + +The prince began to reproach me with want of enterprise +and laziness--with "gaping about," as he expressed it. +Altogether, he was beginning to bore me; but what most tried +my patience were his fabulous accounts of his appetite. +According to these accounts, after a hearty breakfast at noon +of roast lamb, and three bottles of wine, he could easily, +at his two o'clock dinner, dispose of three plates of soup, a pot +of pilave, a dish of shasleek, and various other Caucasian dishes, +washed down abundantly with wine. For whole days he would +talk of nothing but his gastronomic tastes and knowledge: +and while thus talking, he would smack his lips, his eyes +would glow, he would show his teeth, and grind them together; +would suck in and swallow the saliva that came dripping +from his eloquent lips. Watching him at these moments, +I conceived for him a deep feeling of disgust, which I found +difficult to conceal. + +Near Jalta I obtained a job at clearing away the dead +branches in an orchard. I was paid fifty kopecks in advance, +and laid out the whole of this money on bread and meat. +No sooner had I returned with my purchase, than the gardener called +me away to my work. I had to leave my store of food with Shakro, +who, under the pretext of a headache, had declined to work. +When I returned in an hour's time, I had to acknowledge +that Shakro's stories of his appetite were all too true. +Not a crumb was left of all the food I had bought! +His action was anything but a friendly one, but I let it pass. +Later on I had to acknowledge to myself the mistake I then made. + +My silence did not pass unnoticed by Shakro, who profited +by it in his own fashion. His behavior toward me from that +time grew more and more shameless. I worked, while he ate +and drank and urged me on, refusing, on various pretexts, +to do any work himself. I am no follower of Tolstoi. +I felt amused and sad as I saw this strong healthy lad +watching me with greedy eyes when I returned from a hard +day's labor, and found him waiting for me in some shady nook. +But it was even more mortifying to see that he was sneering +at me for working. He sneered at me because he had learned +to beg, and because he looked on me as a lifeless dummy. +When he first started begging, he was ashamed for me to see him, +but he soon got over this; and as soon as we came to some +Tartar village, he would openly prepare for business. +Leaning heavily on his stick, he would drag one foot after him, +as though he were lame. He knew quite well that the Tartars +were mean, and never give alms to anyone who is strong and well. + +I argued with him, and tried to convince him of the shamefulness +of such a course of action. He only sneered. + +"I cannot work," was all he would reply. + +He did not get much by his begging. + +My health at that time began to give way. Every day the journey seemed +to grow more trying. Every day our relations toward each other grew +more strained. Shakro, now, had begun shamelessly to insist that I +should provide him with food. + +"It was you," he would say, "who brought me out here, all this way; +so you must look after me. I never walked so far in my life before. +I should never have undertaken such a journey on foot. It may kill me! +You are tormenting me; you are crushing the life out of me! +Think what it would be if I were to die! My mother would weep; +my father would weep; all my friends would weep! Just think of all +the tears that would be shed!" + +I listened to such speeches, but was not angered by them. +A strange thought began to stir in my mind, a thought that made +me bear with him patiently. Many a time as be lay asleep by my +side I would watch his calm, quiet face, and think to myself, +as though groping after some idea: + +"He is my fellow-traveller--my fellow-traveller." + +At times, a dim thought would strike me, that after all Shakro +was only right in claiming so freely, and with so much assurance, +my help and my care. It proved that he possessed a strong will. + +He was enslaving me, and I submitted, and studied his character; +following each quivering movement of the muscles of his face, +trying to foresee when and at what point he would stop in this +process of exploiting another person's individuality. + +Shakro was in excellent spirits; he sang, and slept, and jeered +at me, when he felt so disposed. Sometimes we separated for two +or three days. I would leave him some bread and some money +(if we had any), and would tell him where to meet me again. +At parting, he would follow me with a suspicious, angry look in his eyes. +But when we met again he welcomed me with gleeful triumph. +He always said, laughing: "I thought you had run off alone, and left +me! ha! ha! ha!" I brought him food, and told him of the beautiful +places I had seen; and once even, speaking of Bakhtchesarai, I told +him about our Russian poet Pushkin, and recited some of his verses. +But this produced no effect on him. + +"Oh, indeed; that is poetry, is it? Well, songs are better +than poetry, I knew a Georgian once! He was the man to sing! +He sang so loud--so loud--he would have thought his throat +was being cut? He finished by murdering an inn-keeper, +and was banished to Siberia." + +Every time I returned, I sank lower and lower in the opinion +of Shakro, until he could not conceal his contempt for me. +Our position was anything but pleasant. I was seldom lucky +enough to earn more than a rouble or a rouble and a-half a week, +and I need not say that was not nearly sufficient to feed us both. + +The few bits of money that Shakro gained by begging made but +little difference in the state of our affairs, for his belly +was a bottomless pit, which swallowed everything that fell +in its way; grapes, melons, salt fish, bread, or dried fruit; +and as time went on he seemed to need ever more and more food. + +Shakro began to urge me to hasten our departure from the Crimea, +not unreasonably pointing out that autumn would soon be here +and we had a long way still to go. I agreed with this view, +and, besides, I had by then seen all that part of the Crimea. +So we pushed on again toward Feodosia, hoping to earn something there. +Once more our diet was reduced to fruit, and to hopes for the future. + +Poor future! Such a load of hopes is cast on it by men, that it +loses almost all its charms by the time it becomes the present! + +When within some twenty versts of Aloushta we stopped, +as usual, for our night's rest. I had persuaded Shakro +to keep to the sea coast; it was a longer way round, but I +longed to breathe the fresh sea breezes. We made a fire, +and lay down beside it. The night was a glorious one. +The dark green sea splashed against the rocks below; +above us spread the majestic calm of the blue heavens, +and around us sweet-scented trees and bushes rustled softly. +The moon was rising, and the delicate tracery of the shadows, +thrown by the tall, green plane trees, crept over the stones. +Somewhere near a bird sang; its note was clear and bold. +Its silvery trill seemed to melt into the air that was full +of the soft, caressing splash of the waves. The silence +that followed was broken by the nervous chirp of a cricket + +The fire burned bright, and its flames looked like a large +bunch of red and yellow flowers. Flickering shadows danced +gaily around us, as if exulting in their power of movement, +in contrast with the creeping advance of the moon shadows. +From time to time strange sounds floated through the air. +The broad expanse of sea horizon seemed lost in immensity. +In the sky overhead not a cloud was visible. +I felt as if I were lying on the earth's extreme edge, +gazing into infinite space, that riddle that haunts the soul. +The majestic beauty of the night intoxicated me, while my whole +being seemed absorbed in the harmony of its colors, its sounds, +and its scents. + +A feeling of awe filled my soul, a feeling as if something great +were very near to me. My heart throbbed with the joy of life. + +Suddenly, Shakro burst into loud laughter, "Ha! ha! ha! +How stupid your face does look! You've a regular sheep's head! +Ha! ha! ha!" + +I started as though it were a sudden clap of thunder. But it was worse. +It was laughable, yes, but oh, how mortifying it was! + +He, Shakro, laughed till the tears came. I was ready +to cry, too, but from quite a different reason. +A lump rose in my throat, and I could not speak. +I gazed at him with wild eyes, and this only increased +his mirth. He rolled on the ground, holding his sides. +As for me, I could not get over the insult--for a bitter +insult it was. Those--few, I hope--who will understand it, +from having had a similar experience in their lives, will recall +all the bitterness it left in their souls. + +"Leave off!" I shouted, furiously. + +He was startled and frightened, but he could not at once restrain +his laughter. His eyes rolled, and his cheeks swelled as if +about to burst. All at once he went off into a guffaw again. +Then I rose and left him. + +For some time I wandered about, heedless and almost unconscious +of all that surrounded me, my whole soul consumed with the bitter +pang of loneliness and of humiliation. Mentally, I had been +embracing all nature. Silently, with the passionate love +any man must feel if he has a little of the poet in him, +I was loving and adoring her. And now it was nature that, +under the form of Shakro, was mocking me for my passion. +I might have gone still further in my accusations against nature, +against Shakro, and against the whole of life, had I not been +stopped by approaching footsteps. + +"Do not be angry," said Shakro in a contrite voice, +touching my shoulder lightly. "Were you praying?' +I didn't know it, for I never pray myself." + +He spoke timidly, like a naughty child. In spite of my excitement, +I could not help noticing his pitiful face ludicrously distorted +by embarrassment and alarm. + +"I will never interfere with you again. Truly! Never!" He shook +his head emphatically. "I know you are a quiet fellow. +You work hard, and do not force me to do the same. +I used to wonder why; but, of course, it's because you are +foolish as a sheep!" + +That was his way of consoling me! That was his idea of asking +for forgiveness! After such consolation, and such excuses, +what was there left for me to do but forgive, not only for the past, +but for the future! + +Half an hour later he was sound asleep, while I sat beside him, +watching him. During sleep, every one, be he ever so strong, +looks helpless and weak, but Shakro looked a pitiful creature. +His thick, half-parted lips, and his arched eyebrows, +gave to his face a childish look of timidity and of wonder. +His breathing was quiet and regular, though at times he moved +restlessly, and muttered rapidly in the Georgian language; +the words seemed those of entreaty. All around us reigned +that intense calm which always makes one somehow expectant, +and which, were it to last long, might drive one mad by its +absolute stillness and the absence of sound--the vivid shadow +of motion, for sound and motion seem ever allied. + +The soft splash of the waves did not reach us. +We were resting in a hollow gorge that was overgrown with bushes, +and looked like the shaggy mouth of some petrified monster. +I still watched Shakro, and thought: "This is my fellow traveler. +I might leave him here, but I could never get away from him, +or the like of him; their name is legion. This is my life companion. +He will leave me only at death's door." + + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + + + + +At Feodosia we were sorely disappointed. All work there was already +apportioned among Turks, Greeks, Georgians, tramps, and Russian +peasants from Poltava and Smolensk, who had all arrived before us. +Already, more than four hundred men had, like ourselves, come in +the hopes of finding employment; and were also, like ourselves, +destined to remain silent spectators of the busy work going on +in the port. + +In the town, and outside also, we met groups of famished peasants, +gray and careworn, wandering miserably about. Of tramps there +were also plenty, roving around like hungry wolves. + +At first these tramps took us for famished peasants, and tried to make +what they could out of us. They tore from Shakro's back the overcoat +which I had bought him, and they snatched my knapsack from my shoulders. +After several discussions, they recognized our intellectual and +social kinship with them; and they returned all our belongings. +Tramps are men of honor, though they may be great rogues. + +Seeing that there was no work for us, and that the construction +of the harbor was going on very well without our help, +we moved on resentfully toward Kertch. + +My friend kept his word, and never again molested me; but he was +terribly famished, his countenance was as black as thunder. +He ground his teeth together, as does a wolf, whenever he saw +someone else eating; and he terrified me by the marvellous +accounts of the quantity of food he was prepared to consume. +Of late he had begun to talk about women, at first only casually, +with sighs of regret. But by degrees he came to talk more and more +often on the subject, with the lascivious smile of "an Oriental." +At length his state became such, that he could not see any person +of the other sex, whatever her age or appearance, without letting +fall some obscene remark about her looks or her figure. + +He spoke of women so freely, with so wide a knowledge of the sex; +and his point of view, when discussing women, was so astoundingly direct, +that his conversation filled me with disgust. Once I tried to +prove to him that a woman was a being in no way inferior to him. +I saw that he was not merely mortified by my words, but was on +the point of violently resenting them as a personal insult. +So I postponed my arguments till such time as Shakro should be +well fed once more. + +In order to shorten our road to Kertch we left the coast, +and tramped across the steppes. There was nothing in my +knapsack but a three-pound loaf of barley bread, which we +had bought of a Tartar with our last five-kopeck piece. +Owing to this painful circumstance, when, at last we reached Kertch, +we could hardly move our legs, so seeking therefore work was +out of the question. Shakro's attempts to beg by the way had +proved unsuccessful; everywhere he had received the curt refusal: +"There are so many of you." + +This was only too true, for the number of people, who, +during that bitter year, were in want of bread, was appalling. +The famished peasants roamed about the country in groups, +from three to twenty or more together. Some carried babies +in their arms; some had young children dragging by the hand. +The children looked almost transparent, with a bluish skin, +under which flowed, instead of pure blood, some sort of thick +unwholesome fluid. The way their small sharp bones projected from +under the wasted flesh spoke more eloquently than could any words. +The sight of them made one's heart ache, while a constant +intolerable pain seemed to gnaw one's very soul. + +These hungry, naked, worn-out children did not even cry. But they +looked about them with sharp eyes that flashed greedily whenever they +saw a garden, or a field, from which the corn had not yet been carried. +Then they would glance sadly at their elders, as if asking "Why was I +brought into this world?" + +Sometimes they had a cart driven by a dried-up skeleton +of an old woman, and full of children, whose little heads +peeped out, gazing with mournful eyes in expressive +silence at the new land into which they had been brought. +The rough, bony horse dragged itself along, shaking its head +and its tumbled mane wearily from side to side. + +Following the cart, or clustering round it, came the grown-up people, +with heads sunk low on their breasts, and arms hanging helplessly at +their sides. Their dim, vacant eyes had not even the feverish glitter +of hunger, but were full of an indescribable, impressive mournfulness. +Cast out of their homes by misfortune, these processions of peasants moved +silently, slowly, stealthily through the strange land, as if afraid that +their presence might disturb the peace of the more fortunate inhabitants. +Many and many a time we came across these processions, and every time +they reminded me of a funeral without the corpse. + +Sometimes, when they overtook us, or when we passed them, they would +timidly and quietly ask us: "Is it much farther to the village?" +And when we answered, they would sigh, and gaze dumbly at us. +My travelling companion hated these irrepressible rivals for charity. + +In spite of all the difficulties of the journey, and the +scantiness of our food, Shakro, with his rich vitality, +could not acquire the lean, hungry look, of which the +starving peasants could boast in its fullest perfection. +Whenever he caught sight, in the distance, of these latter, +he would exclaim: "Pouh! pouh! pouh. Here they are again! +What are they roaming about for? They seem to be always on the move! +Is Russia too small for them? I can't understand what they want! +Russians are a stupid sort of people!" + +When I had explained to him the reason of the "stupid" Russians coming +to the Crimea, he shook his head incredulously, and remarked: +"I don't understand! It's nonsense! We never have such 'stupid' +things happening in Georgia!" + +We arrived in Kertch, as I have said, exhausted and hungry. +It was late. We had to spend the night under a bridge, +which joined the harbor to the mainland. We thought it better +to conceal ourselves, as we had been told that just before +our arrival all the tramps had been driven out of the town. +This made us feel anxious, lest we might fall into the hands +of the police; besides Shakro had only a false passport, +and if that fact became known, it might lead to serious +complications in our future. + +All night long the spray from the sea splashed over us. +At dawn we left our hiding place, wet to the skin and bitterly cold. +All day we wandered about the shore. All we succeeded in earning +was a silver piece of the value of ten kopecks, which was given +me by the wife of a priest, in return for helping her to carry +home a bag of melons from the bazaar. + +A narrow belt of water divided us from Taman, where we meant to go, +but not one boatman would consent to carry us over in his boat, +in spite of my pleadings. Everyone here was up in arms against +the tramps, who, shortly before our arrival, had performed a series +of heroic exploits; and we were looked upon, with good reason, +as belonging to their set. + +Evening came on. I felt angry with the whole world, +for my lack of success; and I planned a somewhat risky scheme, +which I put into execution as soon as night came on. + +CHAPTER VI. + +Toward evening, Shakro and I stole quietly up toward the boats of the +custom house guardship. There were three of them, chained to iron rings, +which rings were firmly screwed into the stone wall of the quay. +It was pitch dark. A strong wind dashed the boats one against the other. +The iron chains clanked noisily. In the darkness and the noise, +it was easy for me to unscrew the ring from the stone wall. + +Just above our heads the sentinel walked to and fro, whistling through +his teeth a tune. Whenever he approached I stopped my work, though, +as a matter of fact, this was a useless precaution; he could not even +have suspected that a person would sit up to his neck in the water, +at a spot where the backwash of a wave might at any moment carry him +off his feet. Besides, the chains never ceased clanking, as the wind +swung them backward and forward. + +Shakro was already lying full length along the bottom of +the boat, muttering something, which the noise of the waves +prevented me from hearing. At last the ring was in my hand. +At the same moment a wave caught our boat, and dashed it +suddenly some ten yards away from the side of the quay. +I bad to swim for a few seconds by the side of the boat, +holding the chain in my hand. At last I managed to scramble in. +We tore up two boards from the bottom, and using these as oars, +I paddled away as fast as I could. + +Clouds sailed rapidly over our heads; around, and underneath the boat, +waves splashed furiously. Shakro sat aft. Every now and then I +lost sight of him as the whole stern of the boat slipped into some +deep watery gulf; the next moment he would rise high above my head, +shouting desperately, and almost falling forward into my arms. I told +him not to shout, but to fasten his feet to the seat of the boat, as I +had already fastened mine. I feared his shouts might give the alarm. +He obeyed, and grew so silent that I only knew he was in the boat +by the white spot opposite to me, which I knew must be his face. +The whole time he held the rudder in his hand; we could not change places, +we dared not move. + +From time to time I called out instructions as to the handling +of the boat, and he understood me so quickly, and did everything +so cleverly, that one might have thought he had been born a sailor. +The boards I was using in the place of oars were of little use; +they only blistered my hands. The furious gusts of wind served +to carry the boat forward. + +I cared little for the direction, my only thought was to get +the boat across to the other side. It was not difficult to steer, +for the lights in Kertch were still visible, and served as a beacon. +The waves splashed over our boat with angry hissings. The farther +across we got, the more furious and the wilder became the waves. +Already we could hear a sort of roar that held mind and soul +as with a spell. Faster and faster our boat flew on before +the wind, till it became almost impossible to steer a course. +Every now and then we would sink into a gulf, and the next moment +we would rise high on the summit of some enormous watery hill. +The darkness was increasing, the clouds were sinking lower and lower. +The lights of the town had disappeared. + +Our state was growing desperate. It seemed as if the expanse +of angry rollers was boundless and limitless. We could see nothing +but these immense waves, that came rolling, one after another, +out of the gloom, straight on to our boat. With an angry crash +a board was torn from my hand, forcing me to throw the other into +the boat, and to hold on tight with both hands to the gunwale. +Every time the boat was thrown upward, Shakro shrieked wildly. +As for me, I felt wretched and helpless, in the darkness, +surrounded with angry waves, whose noise deafened me. +I stared about me in dull and chilly terror, and saw the awful +monotony around us. Waves, nothing but waves, with whitish crests, +that broke in showers of salt spray; above us, the thick ragged +edged clouds were like waves too. + +I became conscious only of one thing: I felt that all that was going +on around me might be immeasurably more majestic and more terrible, +but that it did not deign to be, and was restraining its strength; +and that I resented. Death is inevitable. But that impartial law, +reducing all to the same commonplace level, seems to need +something beautiful to compensate for its coarseness and cruelty. +If I were asked to choose between a death by burning, or being +suffocated in a dirty bog, I should choose the former; it is any way, +a more seemly death. + +"Let us rig up a sail," exclaimed Shakro. + +"Where am I to find one?" + +"Use my overcoat." + +"Chuck it over to me then; but mind you don't drop the rudder +into the water!" + +Shakro quietly threw it to me. "Here! Catch hold!" + +Crawling along the bottom of the boat, I succeeded in pulling up +another board, one end of which I fixed into one of the sleeves +of the coat. I then fixed the board against the seat, +and held it there with my feet. I was just going to take +hold of the other sleeve, when an unexpected thing happened. +The boat was tossed suddenly upward, and then overturned. +I felt myself in the water, holding the overcoat in one hand, +and a rope, that was fastened to the boat, in the other hand. +The waves swirled noisily over my head, and I swallowed a +mouthful of bitter salt water. My nose, my mouth, and my ears, +were full of it. + +With all my might I clutched the rope, as the waves threw me backward +and forward. Several times I sank, each time, as I rose again, +bumping my head against the sides of the boat. + +At last I succeeded in throwing the coat over the bottom +of the boat, and tried to clamber on it myself. +After a dozen efforts I scrambled up and I sat astride it. +Then I caught sight of Shakro in the water on the opposite side +of the boat, holding with both hands to the same rope of which I +had just let go. The boat was apparently encircled by a rope, +threaded through iron rings, driven into the outer planks. + +"Alive!" I shouted. + +At that moment Shakro was flung high into the air, +and he, too, got on to the boat. I clutched him, and there we +remained sitting face to face, astride on the capsized boat! +I sat on it as though it were a horse, making use of the rope +as if it had been stirrups; but our position there was anything +but safe--a wave might easily have knocked us out of our saddle. +Shakro held tightly by my knees, and dropped his head on my breast. +He shivered, and I could hear his teeth chattering. +Something had to be done. The bottom of the upturned boat +was slippery, as though it had been greased with butter. +I told Shakro to get into the water again, and hold by the ropes +on one side of the boat, while I would do the same on +the other side. + +By way of reply, Shakro began to butt his head violently +against my chest. The waves swept, in their wild dance, +every now and then over us. We could hardly bold our seats; +the rope was cutting my leg desperately. As far as one could +see there was nothing but immense waves, rising mountains high, +only to disappear again noisily. + +I repeated my advice to Shakro in a tone of command. He fell to +butting me more violently than ever. There was no time to be lost. +Slowly and with difficulty I tore his hands from me, and began to push +him into the water, trying to make his hands take hold of the rope. +Then something happened that dismayed me more than anything in +that terrible night. + +"Are you drowning me?" he muttered, gazing at me. + +This was really horrible! The question itself was a dreadful one, +but the tone in which it was uttered more so. In it there was a timid +submission to fate, and an entreaty for mercy, and the last sigh +of one who had lost all hope of escaping from a frightful death. +But more terrible still were the eyes that stared at me out of +the wet, livid, death-like face. + +"Hold on tighter!" I shouted to him, at the same time +getting into the water myself, and taking hold of the rope. +As I did so, I struck my foot against something, and for a +moment I could not think for the pain. Then I understood. +Suddenly a burning thought flashed through my mind. +I felt delirious and stronger than ever. + +"Land!" I shouted. + +Great explorers may have shouted the word with more feeling on +discovering new lands, but I doubt if any can have shouted more loudly. +Shakro howled with delight, and we both rushed on in the water. +But soon we both lost heart, for we were up to our chests in the waves, +and still there seemed no sign of dry land. The waves were neither +so strong nor so high, but they rolled slowly over our heads. +Fortunately I had not let go of the boat, but still held on by the rope, +which had already helped us when struggling in the water. + +Shakro and I moved carefully forward, towing the boat, +which we had now righted, behind us. + +Shakro was muttering and laughing. I glanced anxiously around. +It was still dark. Behind us, and to our right, the roaring of +the waves seemed to be increasing, whereas to our left and in front +of us it was evidently growing less. We moved toward the left. +The bottom was hard and sandy, but full of holes; sometimes we could +not touch the bottom, and we had to take hold of the boat with one hand, +while with the other hand, and our legs, we propelled it forward. +At times again the water was no higher than our knees. When we +came to the deep places Shakro howled, and I trembled with fear. +Suddenly we saw ahead of us a light--we were safe! + +Shakro shouted with all his might, but I could not forget that +the boat was not ours, and promptly reminded him of the fact. +He was silent, but a few minutes later I heard him sobbing. +I could not quiet him--it was hopeless. But the water +was gradually growing shallower, it reached our knees, +then our ankles; and at last we felt dry land! We had dragged +the boat so far, but our strength failed us, and we left it. +A black log of wood lay across our path; we jumped over it, +and stepped with our bare feet on to some prickly grass. +It seemed unkind of the land to give us such a cruel welcome, +but we did not heed it, and ran toward the fire. It was about +a mile away; but it shone cheerily through the hovering gloom +of the night, and seemed to smile a welcome to us. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + + + + +Three enormous shaggy dogs leaped up out of the darkness +and ran toward us. Shakro, who had been sobbing all the way, +now shrieked, and threw himself on the ground. I flung +the wet overcoat at the dogs, and stooped down to find a stick +or a stone. I could feel nothing but coarse, prickly grass, +which hurt my hands. The dogs continued their attack. +I put my fingers into my mouth, and whistled as loud as I could. +They rushed back, and at the same time we heard the sound +of approaching steps and voices. + +A few minutes later, and we were comfortably seated around +a fire in the company of four shepherds, dressed in "touloups" +or long sheepskin overcoats. + +They scrutinized us keenly and rather suspiciously, and remained +silent all the time I was telling them our story. + +Two of the shepherds were seated on the ground, smoking, +and puffing from their mouths clouds of smoke. The third was +a tall man with a thick black beard, wearing a high fur cap. +He stood behind us, leaning on a huge knotted stick. +The fourth man was younger, and fair haired; he was +helping the sobbing Shakro to get off his wet clothes. +An enormous stick, the size of which alone inspired fear, +lay beside each of the seated shepherds. + +Ten yards away from us all the steppe seemed covered with something +gray and undulating, which had the appearance of snow in spring time, +just when it is beginning to thaw. + +It was only after a close inspection that one could discern that this +gray waving mass was composed of many thousands of sheep, huddled +closely together, asleep, forming in the dark night one compact mass. +Sometimes they bleated piteously and timidly. + +I dried the overcoat by the fire, and told the shepherds +all our story truthfully; even describing the way in which we +became possessed of the boat. + +"Where is that boat now?" inquired the severe-looking elder man, +who kept his eyes fixed on me. + +I told him. + +"Go, Michael, and look for it." + +Michael, the shepherd with the black beard, went off with his stick +over his shoulder, toward the sea-shore. + +The overcoat was dry. Shakro was about to put it on his naked body, +when the old man said: "Go and have a run first to warm yourself. +Run quickly around the fire. Come!" + +At first, Shakro did not understand. Then suddenly he rose +from his place, and began dancing some wild dance of his own, +first flying like a ball across the fire, then whirling round +and round in one place, then stamping his feet on the ground, +while he swung his arms, and shouted at the top of his voice. +It was a ludicrous spectacle. Two of the shepherds were rolling +on the ground, convulsed with laughter, while the older man, +with a serious, immovable face, tried to clap his hands +in time to the dancing, but could not succeed in doing so. +He watched attentively every movement of the dancing Shakro, +while he nodded his head, and exclaimed in a deep bass voice: + +"He! He'! That's right! He'! He'!" + +The light fell full on Shakro, showing the variety of his movements, +as at one moment he would coil himself up like a snake, +and the next would dance round on one leg; then would plunge into +a succession of rapid steps, difficult to follow with the eye. +His naked body shone in the fire light, while the large beads of sweat, +as they rolled off it, looked, in the red light of the fire, +like drops of blood.. + +By now, all three of the shepherds were clapping their hands; +while I, shivering with cold, dried myself by the fire, +and thought that our adventures would gratify the taste +of admirers of Cooper or of Jules Vernes; there was shipwreck, +then came hospitable aborigines, and a savage dance round the fire. +And while I reflected thus, I felt very uneasy as to the chief +point in every adventure--the end of it. + +When Shakro had finished dancing, he also sat down by the fire, +wrapped up in the overcoat. He was already eating, while he +stared at me with his black eyes, which had a gleam in them +of something I did not like. His clothes, stretched on sticks, +driven into the ground, were drying before the fire. +The shepherds had given me, also, some bread and bacon. + +Michael returned, and sat down without a word beside the old man, +who remarked in an inquiring voice: "Well?" + +"I have found the boat," was the brief reply. + +"It won't be washed away?" + +"No." + +The shepherds were silent, once more scrutinizing us. + +"Well," said Michael, at last, addressing no one in particular. +"Shall we take them to the ataman, or straight to the +custom house officers?" + +"So that's to be the end!" I thought to myself. + +Nobody replied to Michael's question. Shakro went on quietly +with his eating, and said nothing. + +"We could take them to the ataman--or we could take them +to the custom house. One plan's as good as the other," +remarked the old man, after a short silence. + +"They have stolen the custom house boat, so they ought to be taught +a lesson for the future." + +"Wait a bit, old man," I began. + +"Certainly, they ought not to have stolen the boat. If they are not +punished now, they will probably do something worse next time." +The old man interrupted me, without paying any heed to my protestations. + +The old man spoke with revolting indifference. +When he had finished speaking, his comrades nodded their heads +in token of assent. + +"Yes, if a man steals, he has to bear the consequences, +when he's caught---- Michael! what about the boat? +Is it there?" + +"Oh, it's there all right!" + +"Are you sure the waves won't wash it away?" + +"Quite sure." + +"Well, that's all right. Then let it stay there. Tomorrow the boatmen +will be going over to Kertch, and they can take it with them. +They will not mind taking an empty boat along with them, will they? +Well--so you mean to say you were not frightened, you vagabonds? +Weren't you indeed? La! la! la! + +"Half a mile farther out, and you would have been by this +time at the bottom of the sea! What would you have done +if the waves had cast you back into the sea? Ay, sure enough, +you would have sunk to the bottom like a couple of axes. +And that would have been the end of you both!" + +As the old man finished speaking, he looked at me with an ironical +smile on his lips. + +"Well, why don't you speak, lad?" he inquired. + +I was vexed by his reflections, which I misinterpreted as sneering at us. +So I only answered rather sharply: + +"I was listening to you." + +"Well-and what do you say?" inquired the old man. + +"Nothing." + +"Why are you rude to me? Is it the right thing to be rude to a man +older than yourself?" + +I was silent, acknowledging in my heart that it really was not +the right thing. + +"Won't you have something more to eat?" continued the old shepherd. + +"No, I can't eat any more." + +"Well, don't have any, if you don't want it. Perhaps you'll +take a bit of bread with you to eat on the road?" + +I trembled with joy, but would not betray my feelings. + +"Oh, yes. I should like to take some with me for the road," +I answered, quietly. + +"I say, lads! give these fellows some bread and a piece of bacon each. +If you can find something else, give it to them too." + +"Are we to let them go, then?" asked Michael. + +The other two shepherds looked up at the old man. + +"What can they do here?" + +"Did we not intend to take them either to the ataman or to +the custom house?" asked Michael, in a disappointed tone. + +Shakro stirred uneasily in his seat near the fire, +and poked out his head inquiringly from beneath the overcoat. +He was quite serene. + +"What would they do at the ataman's? I should think there is nothing +to do there just now. Perhaps later on they might like to go there?" + +"But how about the boat?" insisted Michael. + +"What about the boat?" inquired the old man again. +"Did you not say the boat was all right where it was?" + +"Yes, it's all right there," Michael replied. + +"Well, let it stay there. In the morning John can row it round +into the harbor. From there, someone will get it over to Kertch. +That's all we can do with the boat." + +I watched attentively the old man's countenance, but failed to discover +any emotion on his phlegmatic, sun-burned, weather-beaten face, +over the features of which the flicker from the flames played merrily. + +"If only we don't get into trouble." Michael began to give way. + +"There will be no trouble if you don't let your tongue wag. +If the ataman should hear of it, we might get into a scrape, +and they also. We have our work to do, and they have to be getting on. +Is it far you have to go?" asked the old man again, though I +had told him once before I was bound for Tiflis. + +"That's a long way yet. The ataman might detain them; then, when would +they get to Tiflis? So let them be getting on their way. Eh?" + +"Yes, let them go," all the shepherds agreed, as the old man, +when he had finished speaking, closed his lips tightly, and cast +an inquiring glance around him, as he fingered his gray beard. + +"Well, my good fellows, be off, and God bless you!" he exclaimed +with a gesture of dismissal. "We will see that the boat goes back, +so don't trouble about that!" + +"Many, many thanks, grandfather!" I said taking off my cap. + +"What are you thanking me for?" + +"Thank you; thank you!" I repeated fervently. + +"What are you thanking me for? That's queer! I say, God bless you, +and he thanks me! Were you afraid I'd send you to the devil, eh?" + +"I'd done wrong and I was afraid," I answered. + +"Oh!" and the old man lifted his eyebrows. +"Why should I drive a man farther along the wrong path? +I'd do better by helping one along the way I'm going myself. +Maybe, we shall meet again, and then we'll meet as friends. +We ought to help one another where we can. Good-bye!" + +He took off his large shaggy sheepskin cap, and bowed low to us. +His comrades bowed too. + +We inquired our way to Anapa, and started off. Shakro was laughing +at something or other. + + + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + + + + +"Why are you laughing?" I asked. + +The old shepherd and his ethics of life had charmed and delighted me. +I felt refreshed by the pure air of early morning, blowing straight +into my face. I rejoiced, as I watched the sky gradually clearing, +and felt that daylight was not far off. Before long the morning sun would +rise in a clear sky, and we could look forward to a brilliantly fine day. + +Shakro winked slyly at me, and burst out into a fresh fit of laughter. +The hearty, buoyant ring in his laugh made me smile also. The few +hours rest we had taken by the side of the shepherd's fire, and their +excellent bread and bacon, had helped us to forget our exhausting voyage. +Our bones still ached a little, but that would pass off with walking. + +"Well, what are you laughing at? Are you glad that you are alive? +Alive and not even hungry?" + +Shakro shook his head, nudged me in the ribs, made a grimace, burst out +laughing again, and at last said in his broken Russian: "You don't see +what it is that makes me laugh? Well, I'll tell you in a minute. Do you +know what I should have done if we had been taken before the ataman? +You don't know? I'd have told him that you had tried to drown me, +and I should have begun to cry. Then they would have been sorry for me, +and wouldn't have put me in prison! Do you see?" + +At first I tried to make myself believe that it was a joke; +but, alas! he succeeded in convincing me he meant it seriously. +So clearly and completely did he convince me of it, that, +instead of being furious with him for such naive cynicism, +I was filled with deep pity for him and incidentally for +myself as well. + +What else but pity can one feel for a man who tells one in all sincerity, +with the brightest of smiles, of his intention to murder one? +What is to be done with him if he looks upon such an action as a clever +and delightful joke? + +I began to argue warmly with him, trying to show him all +the immorality of his scheme. He retorted very candidly that I +did not see where his interests lay, and had forgotten he had +a false passport and might get into trouble in consequence. +Suddenly a cruel thought flashed through my mind. + +"Stay," said I, "do you really believe that I wanted to drown you?" + +"No! When you were pushing me into the water I did think so; +but when you got in as well, then I didn't!" + +"Thank God!" I exclaimed. "Well, thanks for that, anyway!" + +"Oh! no, you needn't say thank you. I am the one to say thank you. +Were we not both cold when we were sitting round the fire? +The overcoat was yours, but you didn't take it yourself. +You dried it, and gave it to me. And took nothing for yourself. +Thank you for that! You are a good fellow; I can see that. +When we get to Tiflis, I will reward you. I shall take you to my father. +I shall say to him: 'Here is a man whom you must feed and care for, +while I deserve only to be kept in the stable with the mules.' +You shall live with us, and be our gardener, and we will give you +wine in plenty, and anything you like to eat. Ah! you will have +a capital time! You will share my wine and food!" + +He continued for some time, describing in detail the attractions +of the new life he was going to arrange for me in his home in Tiflis. + +And as he talked, I mused on the great unhappiness of men equipped +with new morality and new aspirations--they tread the paths of life +lonely and astray; and the fellow-travelers they meet on the way are +aliens to them, unable to understand them. Life is a heavy burden +for these lonely souls. Helplessly they drift hither and thither. +They are like the good seed, wafted in the air, and dropping but rarely +onto fruitful soil. + +Daylight had broken. The sea far away shone with rosy gold. + +"I am sleepy," said Shakro. + +We halted. He lay down in a trench, which the fierce gusts of wind +had dug out in the dry sand, near the shore. He wrapped himself, +head and all, in the overcoat, and was soon sound asleep. +I sat beside him, gazing dreamily over the sea. + +It was living its vast life, full of mighty movement. + +The flocks of waves broke noisily on the shore and rippled +over the sand, that faintly hissed as it soaked up the water. +The foremost waves, crested with white foam, flung themselves +with a loud boom on the shore, and retreated, driven back +to meet the waves that were pushing forward to support them. +Intermingling in the foam and spray, they rolled once more +toward the shore, and beat upon it, struggling to enlarge +the bounds of their realm. From the horizon to the shore, +across the whole expanse of waters, these supple, mighty waves +rose up, moving, ever moving, in a compact mass, bound together +by the oneness of their aim. + +The sun shone more and more brightly on the crests of the breakers, which, +in the distance on the horizon, looked blood-red. Not a drop went astray +in the titanic heavings of the watery mass, impelled, it seemed, by some +conscious aim, which it would soon attain by its vast rhythmic blows. +Enchanting was the bold beauty of the foremost waves, as they dashed +stubbornly upon the silent shore, and fine it was to see the whole sea, +calm and united, the mighty sea, pressing on and ever on. +The sea glittered now with all the colors of the rainbow, and seemed +to take a proud, conscious delight in its own power and beauty. + +A large steamer glided quietly round a point of land, +cleaving the waters. Swaying majestically over the troubled sea, +it dashed aside the threatening crests of the waves. +At any other time this splendid, strong, flashing steamer +would have set me thinking of the creative genius of man, +who could thus enslave the elements. But now, beside me lay +an untamed element in the shape of a man. + +CHAPTER IX. + +We were tramping now through the district of Terek. +Shakro was indescribably ragged and dishevelled. +He was surly as the devil, though he had plenty of food now, +for it was easy to find work in these parts. He himself was +not good at any kind of work. + +Once he got a small job on a thrashing machine; his duty was to push +aside the straw, as it left the machine; but after working half a day +he left off, as the palms of his hands were blistered and sore. +Another time he started off with me and some other workmen to root +up trees, but he grazed his neck with a mattock. + +We got on with our journey very slowly; we worked two days, +and walked on the third day. Shakro ate all he could get hold of, +and his gluttony prevented me from saving enough money to buy +him new clothes. His ragged clothes were patched in the most +fantastic way with pieces of various colors and sizes. +I tried to persuade him to keep away from the beer houses +in the villages, and to give up drinking his favorite wines; +but he paid no heed to my words. + +With great difficulty I had, unknown to him, saved up five roubles, +to buy him some new clothes. One day, when we were stopping +in some village, he stole the money from my knapsack, and came +in the evening, in a tipsy state, to the garden where I was working. +He brought with him a fat country wench, who greeted me with +the following words: "Good-day, you damned heretic!" + +Astonished at this epithet, I asked her why she called me a heretic. +She answered boldly: "Because you forbid a young man to love women, +you devil. How can you forbid what is allowed by law? +Damn you, you devil!" + +Shakro stood beside her, nodding his head approvingly. +He was very tipsy, and he rocked backward and forward +unsteadily on his legs. His lower lip drooped helplessly. +His dim eyes stared at me with vacant obstinacy. + +"Come, what are you looking at us for? Give him his money?" +shouted the undaunted woman. + +"What money?" I exclaimed, astonished. + +"Give it back at once; or I'll take you before the ataman! +Return the hundred and fifty roubles, which you borrowed +from him in Odessa!" + +What was I to do? The drunken creature might really +go and complain to the Ataman; the Atamans were always +very severe on any kind of tramp, and he might arrest us. +Heaven only knew what trouble my arrest might inflict, +not only on myself, but on Shakro! There was nothing for it +but to try and outwit the woman, which was not, of course, +a difficult matter. + +She was pacified after she had disposed of three bottles of vodka. +She sank heavily to the ground, on a bed of melons, and fell asleep. +Then I put Shakro to sleep also. + +Early next morning we turned our backs on the village, +leaving the woman sound asleep among the melons. + +After his bout of drunkenness, Shakro, looking far from well, +and with a swollen, blotchy face, walked slowly along, +every now and then spitting on one side, and sighing deeply. +I tried to begin a conversation with him, but he did not respond. +He shook his unkempt head, as does a tired horse. + +It was a hot day; the air was full of heavy vapors, rising from +the damp soil, where the thick, lush grass grew abundantly-- +almost as high as our heads. Around us, on all sides, +stretched a motionless sea of velvety green grass. + +The hot air was steeped in strong sappy perfumes, which made +one's head swim. + +To shorten our way, we took a narrow path, where numbers of small +red snakes glided about, coiling up under our feet. On the horizon +to our right, were ranges of cloudy summits flashing silvery in the sun. +It was the mountain chain of the Daguestan Hills. + +The stillness that reigned made one feel drowsy, and plunged one into +a sort of dreamy state. Dark, heavy clouds, rolling up behind us, +swept slowly across the heavens. They gathered at our backs, +and the sky there grew dark, while in front of us it still +showed clear, except for a few fleecy cloudlets, racing merrily +across the open. But the gathering clouds grew darker and swifter. +In the distance could be heard the rattle of thunder, and its angry +rumbling came every moment nearer. Large drops of rain fell, +pattering on the grass, with a sound like the clang of metal. +There was no place where we could take shelter. It had grown dark. +The patter of the rain on the grass was louder still, but it lad +a frightened, timid sound. There was a clap of thunder, and the +clouds shuddered in a blue flash of lightning. Again it was dark +and the silvery chain of distant mountains was lost in the gloom. +The rain now was falling in torrents, and one after another peals +of thunder rumbled menacingly and incessantly over the vast steppe. +The grass, beaten down by the wind and rain, lay flat on the ground, +rustling faintly. Everything seemed quivering and troubled. +Flashes of blinding lightning tore the storm clouds asunder. + +The silvery, cold chain of the distant mountains sprang +up in the blue flash and gleamed with blue light. +When the lightning died away, the mountains vanished, +as though flung back into an abyss of darkness. The air was +filled with rumblings and vibrations, with sounds and echoes. +The lowering, angry sky seemed purifying itself by fire, from the +dust and the foulness which had risen toward it from the earth, +and the earth, it seemed, was quaking in terror at its wrath. +Shakro was shaking and whimpering like a scared dog. +But I felt elated and lifted above commonplace life as I watched +the mighty, gloomy spectacle of the storm on the steppe. +This unearthly chaos enchanted me and exalted me to an heroic mood, +filling my soul with its wild, fierce harmony. + +And I longed to take part in it, and to express, in some way or other, +the rapture that filled my heart to overflowing, in the presence +of the mysterious force which scatters gloom, and gathering clouds. +The blue light which lit up the sky seemed to gleam in my soul too; +and how was I to express my passion and my ecstasy at the +grandeur of nature? I sang aloud, at the top of my voice. +The thunder roared, the lightning flashed, the grass whispered, +while I sang and felt myself in close kinship with nature's music. +I was delirious, and it was pardonable, for it harmed no one but myself. +I was filled with the desire to absorb, as much as possible, +the mighty, living beauty and force that was raging on the steppe; +and to get closer to it. A tempest at sea, and a thunderstorm on +the steppes! I know nothing grander in nature. And so I shouted +to my heart's content, in the absolute belief that I troubled +no one, nor placed any one in a position to criticize my action. +But suddenly, I felt my legs seized, and I fell helpless into +a pool of water. + +Shakro was looking into my face with serious and wrathful eyes. + +"Are you mad? Aren't you? No? Well, then, be quiet! Don't shout! +I'll cut your throat! Do you understand?" + +I was amazed, and I asked him first what harm I was doing him? + +"Why, you're frightening me! It's thundering; God is speaking, +and you bawl. What are you thinking about?" + +I replied that I had a right to sing whenever I chose. +Just as he had. + +"But I don't want to!" he said. + +"Well, don't sing then!" I assented. + +"And don't you sing!" insisted Shakro. + +"Yes, I mean to sing!" + +"Stop! What are you thinking about?" he went on angrily. +"Who are you? You have neither home nor father, nor mother; +you have no relations, no land! Who are you? Are you anybody, +do you suppose? It's I am somebody in the world! +I have everything!" + +He slapped his chest vehemently. + +"I'm a prince, and you--you're nobody--nothing! You say--you're this +and that! Who else says so? All Koutais and Tiflies know me! +You shall not contradict me! Do you hear? Are you not my servant? +I'll pay ten times over for all you have done for me. You shall obey me! +You said yourself that God taught us to serve each other without seeking +for a reward; but I'll reward you. + +"Why will you annoy me, preaching to me, and frightening me? +Do you want me to be like you? That's too bad! +You can't make me like yourself! Foo! Foo!" + +He talked, smacked his lips, snuffled, and sighed. I stood +staring at him, open-mouthed with astonishment. He was evidently +pouring out now all the discontent, displeasure and disgust, +which had been gathering up during the whole of our journey. +To convince me more thoroughly, he poked me in the chest from +time to time with his forefinger, and shook me by the shoulder. +During the most impressive parts of his speech he pushed +up against me with his whole massive body. The rain was +pouring down on us, the thunder never ceased its muttering, +and to make me hear, Shakro shouted at the top of his voice. +The tragic comedy of my position struck me more vividly +than ever, and I burst into a wild fit of laughter. +Shakro turned away and spat. + +CHAPTER X + +The nearer we draw to Tiflis, the gloomier and the surlier grew Shakro. +His thinner, but still stolid face wore a new expression. +Just before we reached Vladikavkas we passed through a Circassian village, +where we obtained work in some maize fields. + +The Circassians spoke very little Russian, and as they +constantly laughed at us, and scolded us in their own language, +we resolved to leave the village two days after our arrival; +their increasing enmity had begun to alarm us. + +We had left the village about ten miles behind, when Shakro +produced from his shirt a roll of home-spun muslin, and handing +it to me, exclaimed triumphantly: + +"You need not work any more now. We can sell this, and buy all we +want till we get to Tiflis! Do you see?" + +I was moved to fury, and tearing the bundle from his hands, +I flung it away, glancing back. + +The Circassians are not to be trifled with! Only a short time before, +the Cossacks had told us the following story: + +A tramp, who had been working for some time in a Circassian +village, stole an iron spoon, and carried it away with him. +The Circassians followed him, searched him, and found +the iron spoon. They ripped open his body with a dagger, +and after pushing the iron spoon into the wound, +went off quietly, leaving him to his fate on the steppes. +He was found by some Cossacks at the point of death. +He told them this story, and died on the way to their village. +The Cossacks had more than once warned us against the Circassians, +relating many other edifying tales of the same sort. +I had no reason to doubt the accuracy of these stories. +I reminded Shakro of these facts. For some time he listened +in silence to what I was saying; then, suddenly, showing his +teeth and screwing up his eyes, he flew at me like a wild cat. +We struggled for five minutes or so, till Shakro +exclaimed angrily: "Enough! Enough!" + +Exhausted with the struggle, we sat in silence for some time, +facing each other. Shakro glanced covetously toward the spot, +where I had flung the red muslin, and said: + +"What were we fighting about? Fa--Fa--Fa! It's very stupid. +I did not steal it from you did I? Why should you care? +I was sorry for you that is why I took the linen. +You have to work so hard, and I cannot help you in that way, +so I thought I would help you by stealing. Tse'! Tse'! + +"I made an attempt to explain to him how wrong it was to steal. + +"Hold your tongue, please! You're a blockhead!" +he exclaimed contemptuously; then added: "When one is dying +of hunger, there is nothing for it but to steal; what sort +of a life is this?" + +I was silent, afraid of rousing his anger again. +This was the second time he had committed a theft. +Some time before, when we were tramping along the shores +of the Black Sea, he stole a watch belonging to a fisherman. +We had nearly come to blows then. + +"Well, come along," he said; when, after a short rest, +we had once more grown quiet and friendly. + +So we trudged on. Each day made him grow more gloomy, +and he looked at me strangely, from under his brows. + +As we walked over the Darial Pass, he remarked: +"Another day or two will bring us to Tiflis. Tse'! Tse'!" + +He clicked his tongue, and his face beamed with delight. + +"When I get home, they will ask me where I have been? +I shall tell them I have been travelling. The first thing I +shall do will be to take a nice bath. I shall eat a lot. +Oh! what a lot. I have only to tell my mother 'I am hungry!' +My father will forgive when I tell him how much trouble and +sorrow I have undergone. Tramps are a good sort of people! +Whenever I meet a tramp, I shall always give him a rouble, +and take him to the beer-house, and treat him to some wine. +I shall tell him I was a tramp myself once. I shall tell my +father all about you. I shall say: 'This man--he was like an +elder brother to me. He lectured me, and beat me, the dog! +He fed me, and now, I shall say, you must feed him.' +I shall tell him to feed you for a whole year. +Do you hear that, Maxime?" + +I liked to hear him talk in this strain; at those times he seemed +so simple, so child-like. His words were all the more pleasant because I +had not a single friend in all Tiflis. Winter was approaching. +We had already been caught in a snowstorm in the Goudaour hills. +I reckoned somewhat on Shakro's promises. We walked on rapidly +till we reached Mesket, the ancient capital of Iberia. +The next day we hoped to be in Tiflis. + +I caught sight of the capital of the Caucasus in the distance, +as it lay some five versts farther on, nestling between two +high hills. The end of our journey was fast approaching! +I was rejoicing, but Shakro was indifferent. With a vacant look +he fixed his eyes on the distance, and began spitting on one side; +while he kept rubbing his stomach with a grimace of pain. +The pain in his stomach was caused by his having eaten too many +raw carrots, which he had pulled up by the wayside. + +"Do you think I, a nobleman of Georgia, will show myself in my +native town, torn and dirty as I am now? No, indeed, that I never could! +We must wait outside till night. Let us rest here." + +We twisted up a couple of cigarettes from our last bit +of tobacco, and, shivering with cold, we sat down under +the walls of a deserted building to have a smoke. +The piercing cold wind seemed to cut through our bodies. +Shakro sat humming a melancholy song; while I fell to picturing +to myself a warm room, and other advantages of a settled life +over a wandering existence. + +"Let us move on now!" said Shakro resolutely. + +It had now become dark. The lights were twinkling down +below in the town. It was a pretty sight to watch them +flashing one after the other, out of the mist of the valley, +where the town lay hidden. + +"Look here, you give me your bashleek,* I want to cover my face +up with it. My friends might recognize me." + +I gave him my bashleek. We were already in Olga Street, +and Shakro was whistling boldly. + +"Maxime, do you see that bridge over yonder? The train stops there. +Go and wait for me there, please. I want first to go and ask a friend, +who lives close by, about my father and mother." + +"You won't be long, will you?" + +"Only a minute. Not more!" + +* A kind of hood worn by men to keep their ears warm. + +He plunged rapidly down the nearest dark, narrow lane, and disappeared-- +disappeared for ever. + +I never met him again--the man who was my fellow-traveller for nearly +four long months; but I often think of him with a good-humored feeling, +and light-hearted laughter. + +He taught me much that one does not find in the thick volumes +of wise philosophers, for the wisdom of life is always deeper +and wider than the wisdom of men. + + + + + +ON A RAFT + + + + + +Heavy clouds drift slowly across the sleepy river and hang +every moment lower and thicker. In the distance their ragged +gray edges seem almost to touch the surface of the rapid +and muddy waters, swollen by the floods of spring, and there, +where they touch, an impenetrable wall rises to the skies, +barring the flow of the river and the passage of the raft. + +The stream, swirling against this wall--washing vainly against it +with a wistful wailing swish--seems to be thrown back on itself, +and then to hasten away on either side, where lies the moist fog +of a dark spring night. + +The raft floats onward, and the distance opens out before it into +heavy cloud--massed space. The banks of the rivers are invisible; +darkness covers them, and the lapping waves of a spring flood seem +to have washed them into space. + +The river below has spread into a sea; while the heavens above, +swatched in cloud masses, hang heavy, humid, and leaden.* + +There is no atmosphere, no color in this gray blurred picture. + +The raft glides down swiftly and noiselessly, while out of +the darkness appears, suddenly bearing down on it, a steamer, +pouring from its funnels a merry crowd of sparks, and churning +up the water with the paddles of its great revolving wheels. + +The two red forward lights gleam every moment larger +and brighter, and the mast-head lantern sways slowly from +side to side, as if winking mysteriously at the night. +The distance is filled with the noise of the troubled water, +and the heavy thud-thud of the engines. + +"Look ahead!" is heard from the raft. The voice is that of +a deep-chested man. + +* The river is the volga, and the passage of strings of rafts +down its stream in early spring is being described by the author. +The allusion later on to the Brotherhood living in the Caucasus, +refers to the persecuted Doukhobori, who have since been driven +from their homes by the Russian authorities and have taken +refuge in Canada. + +In order to enter into the sociology of this story of Gorkv's +it must be explained that among ancient Russian folk-customs, +as the young peasants were married at a very early age, +the father of the bridegroom considered he had rights over +his daughter-in-law. In later times, this custom although +occasionally continued, was held in disrepute among the peasantry; +but that it has not entirely died out is proved by the little +drama sketched in by the hand of a genius in "On a Raft." + +Two men are standing aft, grasping each a long pole, which propel +the raft and act as rudders; Mitia, the son of the owner, +a fair, weak, melancholy-looking lad of twenty-two; and Sergei, +a peasant, hired to help in the work on board the raft, +a bluff, healthy, red-bearded fellow, whose upper lip, +raised with a mocking sneer, discloses a mouth filled +with large, strong teeth. + +"Starboard!" A second cry vibrates through the darkness ahead +of the rafts. + +"What are you shouting for; we know our business!" +Sergei growls raspingly; pressing his expanded chest against +the pole. "Ouch! Pull harder, Mitia!" Mitia pushes +with his feet against the damp planks that form the raft, +and with his thin hands draws toward him the heavy steering pole, +coughing hoarsely the while. + +"Harder, to starboard! You cursed loafers!" The master cries again, +anger and anxiety in his voice. + +"Shout away!" mutters Sergei. "Here's your miserable devil of a son, +who couldn't break a straw across his knee, and you put him to +steer a raft; and then you yell so that all the river hears you. +You were mean enough not to take a second steersman; so now you +may tear your throat to pieces shouting!" + +These last words were growled out loud enough to be heard forward, +and as if Sergei wished they should be heard. + +The steamer passed rapidly alongside the raft sweeping the frothing water +from under her paddle wheels. The planks tossed up and down in the wash, +and the osier branches fastening them together, groaned and scraped +with a moist, plaintive sound. + +The lit-up portholes of the steamer seem for a moment to rake the raft +and the river with fiery eyes, reflected in the seething water, +like luminous trembling spots. Then all disappears. + +The wash of the steamer sweeps backward and forward, over the raft; +the planks dance up and down. Mitia, swaying with the movements +of the water, clutches convulsively the steering pole to save +himself from falling. + +"Well, well," says Sergei, laughing. "So you're beginning to dance! +Your father will start yelling again. Or he'll perhaps come and give +you one or two in the ribs; then you'll dance to another tune! +Port side now! Ouch!" + +And with his muscles strung like steel springs, Sergei gives +a powerful push to his pole, forcing it deep down into +the water. Energetic, tall, mocking and rather malicious, +he stands bare-footed, rigid, as if a part of the planks; +looking straight ahead, ready at any moment to change +the direction of the raft. + +"Just look there at your father kissing Marka! Aren't they a pair +of devils? No shame, and no conscience. Why don't you get away +from them, Mitia--away from these Pagan pigs? Why? Do you hear?" + +"I hear," answered Mitia in a stifled voice, without looking +toward the spot which Sergei pointed to through the darkness, +where the form of Mitia's father could be seen. + +"I hear," mocked Sergei, laughing ironically. + +"You poor half-baked creature! A pleasant state of things indeed!" +he continued, encouraged by the apathy of Mitia. +"And what a devil that old man is! He finds a wife for his son; +he takes the son's wife away from him; and all's well! +The old brute!" + +Mitia is silent, and looks astern up the river, where another wall +of mist is formed. Now the clouds close in all round, and the raft +hardly appears to move, but to be standing still in the thick, +dark water, crushed down by the heavy gray-black vaporous masses, +which drift across the heavens, and bar the way. + +The whole river seems like a fathomless, hidden whirlpool, +surrounded by immense mountains, rising toward heaven, +and capped with shrouding mists. + +The stillness suffocates, and the water seems spellbound +with expectation, as it beats softly against the raft. +A great sadness, and a timid questioning is heard in that +faint sound--the only voice of the night--accentuating still +more the silence. "We want a little wind now," says Sergei. +"No it's not exactly wind we want that would bring rain," he replies +to himself, as he begins to fill his pipe. A match strikes, +and the bubbling sound of a pipe being lighted is heard. +A red gleam appears, throwing a glow over the big face of Sergei; +and then, as the light dies down he is lost in the darkness. + +"Mitia!" he cries. His voice is now less brutal and more mocking. + +"What is it?" replies Mitia, without moving his gaze from the distance, +where be seems with his big sad eyes to be searching for something. + +"How did it happen, mate? How did it happen?" + +"What?" answers Mitia, displeased. + +"How did you come to marry? What a queer set out! +How was it? You brought your wife home!--and then? +Ha! ha! ha!" + +"What are you cackling about? Look out there!" came threateningly +across the river. + +"Damned beast!" ejaculates with delight Sergei; and returns +to the theme that interests him. "Come, Mitia; tell me; +tell me at once--why not?" + +"Leave me alone, Sergei," Mitia murmurs entreatingly; +"I told you once." + +But knowing by experience that Sergei will not leave him in peace, +he begins hurriedly: "Well, I brought her home--and I told her: +'I can't be your husband, Marka; you are a strong girl, and I am +a feeble, sick man. I didn't wish at all to marry you, but my father +would force me to marry.' He was always saying to me, 'Get married! +Get married!' I don't like women, I said: and you especially, +you are too bold. Yes--and I can't have anything to do--with it. +Do you understand? For me, it disgusts me, and it is a sin. +And children--one is answerable to God for one's children." + +"Disgusts," yells Sergei and laughs. "Well! and what did +Marka reply? What?" + +"She said, 'What shall I do now?' and then she began to cry. +'What have you got against me? Am I so dreadfully ugly?' +She is shameless, Sergei, and wicked! 'With all this health and +strength of mine, must I go to my father-in-law?' And I answered: +'If you like--go where you wish, but I can't act against my soul. +If I had love for you, well and good; but being as it is, +how is it possible? Father Ivan says it's the deadliest sin. +We are not beasts, are we?' She went on crying: +'You have ruined my chances in life!' And I pitied her very much. +'It's nothing,' I said; 'things will come all right. Or,' I continued, +'you can go into a convent.' And she began to insult me. +'You are a stupid fool, Mitia! a coward!'" + +"Well, I'm blest!" exclaims Sergei, in a delighted whisper. +"So you told her straight to go into a convent?" + +"Yes, I told her to go," answers Mitia simply. + +"And she told you you were a fool?" queried Sergei, raising his voice. + +"Yes, she insulted me." + +"And she was right, my friend; yes, indeed, she was right! +You deserve a proper hammering." And Sergei, changing suddenly +his tone, continued with severity and authority: "Have you +any right to go against the law? But you did go against it! +Things are arranged in a certain way, and it's no use going +against them! You mustn't even discuss them. But what did you do? +You got some maggot into your head. A convent, indeed! +Silly fool! What did the girl want? Did she want your convent? +What a set of muddle-headed fools there seems to be now! +Just think what's happened! You, you're neither fish +nor fowl, nor good red-herring. And the girl's done for! +She's living with an old man! And you drove the old man into sin! +How many laws have you broken? You clever head!" + +"Law, Sergei, is in the soul. There is one law for everyone. +Don't do things that are against your soul, and you will do no +evil on the earth," answered Mitia, in a slow, conciliatory tone, +and nodding his head. + +"But you did do evil," answered Sergei, energetically. +"In the soul! A fine idea! There are many things in the soul. +Certain things must be forbidden. The soul, the soul! +You must first understand it, my friend, and then----" + +"No, it's not so, Sergei," replied Mitia with warmth, and he seemed +to be inspired. "The soul, my friend, is always as clear as dew. +It's true, its voice lies deep down within us, and is difficult to hear; +but if we listen, we can never be mistaken. If we act according to +what is in our soul, we shall always act according to the will of God. +God is in the soul, and, therefore, the law must be in it. +The soul was created by God, and breathed by God into man. +We have only to learn to look into it--and we must look into it +without sparing our own feelings." + +"You sleepy devils! Look ahead there!" The voice thundered +from the forward part of the raft, and swept back down the river. +In the strength of the sound one could recognize that the owner +of the voice was healthy, energetic, and pleased with himself. +A man with large and conscious vitality. He shouted, +not because he had to give a necessary order to the steersmen, +but because his soul was full of life and strength, and this +life and strength wanted to find free expression, so it rushed +forth in that thunderous and forceful sound. + +"Listen to the old blackguard shouting," continued Sergei +with delight, looking ahead with a piercing glance, and smiling. +"Look at them billing and cooing like a pair of doves! +Don't you ever envy them, Mitia?" + +Mitia watched with indifference the working of the two forward oars, +held by two figures who moved backward and forward, forming sometimes +as they touched each other one compact and dark mass. + +"So you say you don't envy them?" repeated Sergei. + +"What is it to me? It's their sin, and they must answer for it," +replied Mitia quietly. + +"Hm!" ironically interjected Sergei, while he filled his pipe. + +Once more the small red patch of light glowed in the darkness; +and the night grew thicker, and the gray clouds sank lower toward +the swollen river. + +"Where did you get hold of that fine stuff, or does it come +to you naturally? But you don't take after your father, my lad! +Your father's a fine old chap. Look at him! He's fifty-two now, +and see what a strapping wench he's carrying on with! +She's as fine a woman as ever wore shoe-leather. And she loves him; +it's no use denying it! She loves him, my lad! One can't help +admiring him, he's such a trump, your father--he's the king +of trumps! When he's at work, it's worth while watching him. +And then, he's rich! And then, look how he's respected! +And his head's screwed on the right way. Yes. And you? +You're not a bit like either your father or your mother? +What would your father have done, Mitia, do you think, +if old Anfisa had lived? That would have been a good joke! +I should have liked to have seen how she's have settled him! +She was the right sort of woman, your mother! a real plucky one, +she was! They were well matched!" + +Mitia remained silent, leaning on the pole, and staring at the water. + +Sergei ceased talking. Forward on the raft was heard a +woman's shrill laugh, followed by the deeper laugh of a man. +Their figures, blurred by the mist, were nearly invisible +to Sergei, who, however, watched them curiously. +The man appeared as a tall figure, standing with legs wide apart, +holding a pole, and half turned toward a shorter woman's figure, +leaning on another pole, and standing a few paces away. +She shook her forefinger at the man, and giggled provokingly. + +Sergei turned away his head with a sigh, and after a few moment's +silence began to speak again. + +"Confound it all, but how jolly they seem together; it's good to see! +Why can't I have something like that? I, a waif and a stray! +I'd never leave such a woman! I'd always have my arms round her, +and there'd be no mistake about my loving the little devil! +I've never had any luck with women! They don't like ginger hair-- +women don't. No. She's a woman with fancies, she is! +She's a sly little devil! She wants to see life! +Are you asleep, Mitia?" + +"No," answered Mitia quietly. + +"Well, how are you going to live? To tell the truth, you're as +solitary as a post! That seems pretty hard! Where can you go? +You can't earn your living among strangers. You're too absurd! +What's the use of a man who can't stand up for himself? +A man's got to have teeth and claws in this world! +They'll all have a go at you. Can you stick up for yourself? +How would you set about it? Damn it all; where the devil +could you go?" + +"I," said Mitia, suddenly arousing herself; "I shall go away. +I shall go in the autumn to the Caucasian Mountains, and that will be +the end of it all. My God! If only I could get away from you all! +Soulless, godless men! To get away from you, that's my only hope! +What do you live for? Where is your God? He's nothing but a name! +Do you live in Christ? You are wolves; that's what you are! +But over there live other men, whose souls live in Christ. +Their hearts contain love, and they are athirst for the salvation +of the world. But you--you are beasts, spewing out filth. +But other men there are; I have seen them; they called me, and I must +go to them. They gave me the book of Holy Writ, and they said: +'Read, man of God, our beloved brother, read the word of truth!' +And I read, and my soul was renewed by the word of God. +I shall go away. I shall leave all you ravening wolves. +You are rending each other's flesh! Accursed be ye!" + +Mitia spoke in a passionate whisper, as if overpowered +by the intensity of his contemplative rapture, his anger with +the ravening wolves, and his desire to be with those other men, +whose souls aspired toward the salvation of the world. +Sergei was taken aback. He remained quiet for some time, +open-mouthed, holding his pipe in his hand. After a few moments' +thought he glanced round, and said in a deep, rough voice: +"Damn it all! Why you're turned a bad 'un all at once! +Why did you read that book? It was very likely an evil one. +Well, be off, be off! If not, there'll be an end of you! +Be off with you before you become a regular beast yourself! +And who are these fellows in the Caucasus? Monks? Or what?" + +But the fire of Mitia's spirit died down as quickly as it had been +kindled to a flame; he gasped with the exertion as he worked the pole, +and muttered to himself below his breath. + +Sergei waited some time for the answer which did not come. +His simple, hardy nature was quelled by the grim and death-like +stillness of the night. He wanted to recall the fullness of life, +to wake the solitude with sound, to disturb and trouble the hidden +meditative silence of the leaden mass of water, flowing slowly to the sea; +and of the dull, threatening clouds hanging motionless in the air. +At the other end of the raft there was life, and it called on +him to live. + +Forward, he could hear every now and then bursts of contented +laughter, exclamations, sounds that seemed to stand out against +the silence of this night, laden with the breath of spring, +and provoking such passionate life desires. + +"Hold hard, Mitia! you'll catch it again from the old man! +Look out there!" said Sergei, who could not stand the silence +any longer; and watching Mitia, who aimlessly moved his pole +backward and forward in the water. + +Mitia, wiping his moist brow, stood quietly leaning with his breast +against the pole, and panting. + +"There are few steamers to-night," continued Sergei; +"we've only passed one these many hours." Seeing that Mitia +had no intention of answering, Sergei replied quietly +to himself: "It's because its too early in the season. +It's only just beginning. We shall soon be at Kazan. +The Volga pulls hard. She has a mighty strong back, +that can carry all. Why are you standing still like that? +Are you angry? Hi, there, Mitia!" + +"What's the matter?" Mitia cried in a vexed tone. + +"Nothing, you strange fellow; but why can't you talk? +You are always thinking. Leave it alone! Thinking is bad for a man. +A wise sort of fellow you are! You think and think, and all the time +you can't understand that you're a fool at bottom. Ha! Ha!" + +And Sergei, very well satisfied with his own superiority, +cleared his throat, remained quiet for a moment, whistled a note, +and then continued to develop his theme. + +"Thinking? Is that an occupation for a working man? +Look at your father; he doesn't think much; he lives. +He loves your wife, and they laugh at you together; you wise fool! +That's about it! Just listen to them! Blast them! +I believe Marka's already with child. Never fear, the child won't +feature you. He'll be a fine, lusty lad, like Silan himself! +But he'll be your child! Ha! Ha! Ha! He'll call you father! +And you won't be his father, but his brother; and his real +father will be his grandfather! That's a nice state of things! +What a filthy family! But they're a strapping pair! +Isn't that true, Mitia?" + +"Sergei!" In a passionate, sobbing whisper. "In the name +of Christ I entreat you don't tear my soul to pieces, +don't brand me with fire. Leave me alone. Do be quiet! +In the name of God and of Christ, I beg you not to speak to me! +Don't disturb me! Don't drain my heart's blood! I'll throw +myself in the river, and yours will be the sin, and a great sin +it will be! I should lose my soul; don't force me to it! +For God's sake, I entreat you!" + +The silence of the night was troubled with shrill, unnatural sobbing; +and Mitia fell on the deck of the raft, as if a blast from the overhanging +clouds had struck him down. + +"Come, come!" growled Sergei, anxiously watching his mate writhing +on the deck, as if scorched with fire. "What a strange man! +He ought to have told me if it was not--if it was not quite--" + +"You've been torturing me all the way. Why? Am I your enemy?" +Mitia sobbed again. + +"You're a strange lad! a rum un!" murmured Sergei, confused and offended. +"How could I know? I couldn't tell you'd take on like that!" + +"Understand, then, that I want to forget! To forget for ever! +My shame, my terrible torture. You're a cruel lot! +I shall go away, and stay away for ever! I can't stand +it any more!" + +"Yes, be off with you!" cried Sergei across the raft, +accentuating his exclamation with a loud and cynical curse. +Then he seemed to shrink together, as if himself afraid +of the terrible drama which was unfolding itself before him; +drama, which he was now compelled to understand. . . . + +"Hullo! There! I'm calling you! Are you deaf?" sounded up +the river the voice of Silan. "What are you about there? +What are you bawling about? Ahoy! Ahoy!" + +It seemed as if Silan enjoyed shouting, and breaking the heavy silence +of the river with his deep voice, full of strength and health. +The cries succeeded each other, thrilling the warm, moist air, +and seeming to crush down on Mitia's feeble form. He rose, +and once more pressed his body against the steering pole. +Sergei shouted in reply to the master with all his strength, +and cursed him at the same time under his breath. + +The two voices broke through and filled the silence of the night. +Then they seemed to meet in one deep note like the sound of a great horn. +Once more rising to shrillness, they floated in the air, +gradually sank away--and were lost. + +Silence reigned once more. + +Through the cleft clouds, on the dark water the yellow splashes +of moonlight fell, and after glittering a moment disappeared, +swept away in the moist gloom. + +The raft continued on its way down stream amid silence and darkness. + + + + + +CHAPTER II + + + + + +Near one of the forward poles stood Silan Petroff in a red shirt, +open at the neck, showing his powerful throat and hairy chest, +hard as an anvil. A thatch of gray hair fell over his forehead, +under which laughed great black, warm eyes. His sleeves, +turned up to the elbow, showed the veins standing out on his arms +as they held the pole. Silan was leaning slightly forward, +and looking watchfully ahead. Marka stood a few paces from him, +glancing with a satisfied smile at the strong form of her lover. +They were both silent and busy with their several thoughts. +He was peering into the distance, and she followed the movements +of his virile, bearded face. + +"That must be a fisherman's fire," said he, turning toward her. + +"It's all right; we're keeping on our course, Ouch!" And he puffed +out a full, hot breath, and gave a powerful shove with his pole. + +"Don't tire yourself Mashourka," he continued, watching her, +as with her pole she made a skilful movement. + +She was round and plump, with black, bright eyes and +ruddy cheeks; barefooted, dressed only in a damp petticoat, +which clung to her body, and showed the outline of her figure. +She turned her face to Silan and, smiling pleasantly, said: +"You take too much care of me; I'm all right!" + +"I kiss you, but I don't take care of you," answered Silan, +moving his shoulders. + +"That's not good enough!" she replied, provokingly; and they +both were silent, looking at each other with desiring eyes. + +Under the rafts, the water gurgled musically. On the right bank, +very far off, a cock crew. Swaying lightly under their feet, +the raft floated on toward a point where the darkness dissolved +into lighter tones, and the clouds took on themselves clearer +shapes and less sombre hues. + +"Silan Petrovitch, do you know what they were shouting about there? +I know. I bet you I know. It was Mitia who was complaining +about us to Sergei; and it was he who cried out with trouble, +and Sergei was cursing us!" + +Marka questioned anxiously Silan's face, which, after her words, +became grim and coldly stubborn. + +"Well!" shortly. + +"Well, that's all!" + +"If that's all, there was nothing to say." + +"Don't get angry." + +"Angry with you? I should like to be angry with you, but I can't." + +"You love Marsha?" she whispered, coaxingly leaning toward him. + +"You bet!" answered Silan, with emphasis, stretching out toward +her his powerful arms. "Come now, don't tease me!" + +She twisted her body with the movements of a cat, and once +more leaned toward him. + +"We shall upset the steering again," whispered he, kissing her face +which burned under his lips. + +"Shut up now! They can see us at the other end;" +and motioning aft with her head, she struggled to free herself, +but he held her more tightly still with one arm, and managed +the pole with the other hand. + +"They can see us? Let them see us. I spit on them all! +I'm sinning, that's true; I know it; and shall have to answer +for it to God; but still you never were his wife; you were free; +you belonged to yourself. He's suffering, I know. And what about me? +Is my position a pleasant one? It is true that you were not his wife; +but all the same, with my position, how must I feel now? +Is it not a dreadful sin before God? It is a sin! +I know it all, and I've gone through everything! +Because it's a thing worth doing! + +"We love only once, and we may die any day. Oh! Marka! If I'd +only waited a month before marrying you to Mitia, nothing of this +would have happened. Directly after the death of Anfisa I would have +sent my friends to propose for you, and all would have been right! +Right before the law; without sin, without shame. That was my mistake, +and this mistake will take away from me five or ten years of my life. +Such a mistake as that makes an old man of one before one's time." + +Silan Petroff spoke with decision, but quietly, while, an expression +of inflexible determination flashed from his face, giving him +the appearance of a man who was ready then and there to fight +and struggle for the right to love. + +"Well, it's all right now; don't trouble yourself any more. +We have talked about it more than once already," whispered Marka, +freeing herself gently from his arms, and returning to her oar. + +He began working his pole backward and forward, rapidly and energetically, +as if he wished to get rid of the load that weighed on his breast, +and cast a shadow over his fine face. + +Day broke gradually. + +The clouds, losing their density, crept slowly away on +every side, as if reluctantly giving place to the sunlight. +The surface of the river grew lighter, and took on it the cold +gleam of polished steel. + +"Not long ago he talked with me about it. 'Father,' he said, +'is it not a deadly shame for you, and for me? +Give her up!' He meant you," explained Silan, and smiled. +"'Give her up,' he said; 'return to the right path!' +'My dear son,' I said, 'go away if you want to save your skin! +I shall tear you to pieces like a rotten rag! +There will be nothing left of your great virtue! It's a sorrow +to me to think that I'm your father! You puny wretch!' +He trembled. 'Father,' he said, 'am I in the wrong?' +You are,' I said, 'you whining cur, because you are in my way! +You are,' I said, 'because you can't stand up for yourself! +You lifeless, rotten carrion! If only,' I said, 'you were strong, +one could kill you; but even that isn't possible! +One pities you, poor, wretched creature!' He only wept. +Oh, Marka! This sort of thing makes one good for nothing. +Any one else would--would get their heads out of this noose +as soon as possible, but we are in it, and we shall perhaps +tighten it round each other's necks!" + +"What do you mean?" said Marka, looking at him fearfully, +as he stood there grim, strong and cold. + +"Nothing! If he were to die! That's all. If he were to die-- +what a good thing it would be! Everything would be straight then! +I would give all my land to your family, to make them shut +their mouths; and we two might go to Siberia, or somewhere far away. +They would ask, 'Who is she?' 'My wife! Do you understand?' + +"We could get some sort of paper or document. +We could open a shop somewhere in a village, and live. +And we could expiate our sin before God. We could help other people +to live, and they would help us to appease our consciences. +Isn't that so, Marsha?" + +"Yes," said she, with a deep sigh, closing her eyes as if in thought. + +They remained silent for a while; the water murmured. + +"He is sickly. He will, perhaps, die soon," said Silan after a time. + +"Please God it may be soon!" said Marka, as if in prayer, +and making the sign of the cross. + +The rays of the spring sun broke through the clouds, +and touched the water with rainbow and golden tints. +At the breath of the wind all nature thrilled, quickened, and smiled. +The blue sky between the clouds smiled back at the sun-warmed waters. +The raft, moving on, left the clouds astern. + +Gathering in a thick and heavy mass, they hung motionless, +and dreaming over the bright river, as if seeking a way to escape +from the ardent spring sun, which, rich in color and in joy, +seemed the enemy of these symbols of winter tempests. + +Ahead, the sky grew clearer and brighter, and the morning sun, +powerless to warm, but dazzling bright as it glitters in early spring, +rose stately and beautiful from the purple-gold waves of the river, +and mounted higher and ever higher into the blue limpid sky. On the right +showed the brown, high banks of the river, surmounted by green woods; +on the left emerald green fields glittered with dew diamonds. +In the air, floated the smell of the earth, of fresh springing grass, +blended with the aromatic scent of a fir wood. + +Sergei and Mitia stood as if rooted to their oars, but the expression +on their faces could not be distinguished by those on the forward part +of the raft. + +Silan glanced at Marka. + +She was cold. She leaned forward on her pole in a doubled-up attitude. +She was looking ahead with dreaming eyes; and a mysterious, +charming smile prayed on her lips--such a smile as makes even an ugly +woman charming and desirable. + +"Look ahead, lads! Ahoy! Ahoy!" hailed Silan, with all the force +of his lungs, feeling a powerful pulse of energy and strength +in his strong breast. + +And all around seemed to tremble with his cry. The echo resounded +long from the high banks on either side. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext of Creatures That Once Were Men, by Gorky + diff --git a/1466.zip b/1466.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bc985b2 --- /dev/null +++ b/1466.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon + University" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Carnegie-Mellon University". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + + + + +CREATURES THAT ONCE WERE MEN + +By MAXIM GORKY + + + +Translated from the Russian by J. M. SHIRAZI and Others +Introduction by G. K. CHESTERTON + +THE MODERN LIBRARY +PUBLISHERSNEW YORK +Copyright, 1918, by +BONI & LIVERIGHT, INC. +Manufactured in the United States of America +for The Modern Library, Inc., by H. Wolff + +CONTENTS + +INTRODUCTION . . . . . . . . . . . . V +Creatures That Once were Men . . . . 13 +Twenty-Six Men and a Girl . . . . .104 +Chelkash . . . . . . . . . . . . . .125 +My Fellow-Traveller . . . . . . . .178 +On a Raft . . . . . . . . . . . . .229 + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +By G. K. CHESTERTON + + +It is certainly a curious fact that so many of the voices +of what is called our modern religion have come from countries +which are not only simple, but may even be called barbaric. +A nation like Norway has a great realistic drama without +having ever had either a great classical drama or a great +romantic drama. A nation like Russia makes us feel its +modern fiction when we have never felt its ancient fiction. +It has produced its Gissing without producing its Scott. +Everything that is most sad and scientific, everything that is most +grim and analytical, everything that can truly be called most modern, +everything that can without unreasonableness be called most morbid, +comes from these fresh and untried and unexhausted nationalities. +Out of these infant peoples come the oldest voices of the earth. + +This contradiction, like many other contradictions, is one which +ought first of all to be registered as a mere fact; long before we +attempt to explain why things contradict themselves, we ought, +if we are honest men and good critics, to register the preliminary +truth that things do contradict themselves. In this case, +as I say, there are many possible and suggestive explanations. +It may be, to take an example, that our modern Europe is so exhausted +that even the vigorous expression of that exhaustion is difficult +for every one except the most robust. + +It may be that all the nations are tired; and it may be that only +the boldest and breeziest are not too tired to say that they are tired. +It may be that a man like Ibsen in Norway or a man like Gorky +in Russia are the only people left who have so much faith that they +can really believe in scepticism. It may be that they are the only +people left who have so much animal spirits that they can really +feast high and drink deep at the ancient banquet of pessimism. +This is one of the possible hypotheses or explanations in the matter: +that all Europe feels these things and that only have strength to believe +them also. Many other explanations might, however, also be offered. +It might be suggested that half-barbaric countries, like Russia or Norway, +which have always lain, to say the least of it, on the extreme edge +of the circle of our European civilization, have a certain primal +melancholy which belongs to them through all the ages. It is highly +probable that this sadness, which to us is modern, is to them eternal. +It is highly probable that what we have solemnly and suddenly discovered +in scientific text-books and philosophical magazines they absorbed +and experienced thousands of years ago, when they offered human sacrifice +in black and cruel forests and cried to their gods in the dark. +Their agnosticism is perhaps merely paganism; their paganism, +as in old times, is merely devil-worship. Certainly, Schopenhauer could +hardly have written his hideous essay on women except in a country +which had once been full of slavery and the service of fiends. +It may be that these moderns are tricking us altogether, and are hiding +in their current scientific jargon things that they knew before science +or civilization were. + +They say that they are determinists; but the truth is, probably, +that they are still worshipping the Norns. They say that they +describe scenes which are sickening and dehumanizing in the name +of art or in the name of truth; but it may be that they do it +in the name of some deity indescribable, whom they propitiated +with blood and terror before the beginning of history. + +This hypothesis, like the hypothesis mentioned before it, +is highly disputable, and is at best a suggestion. +But there is one broad truth in the matter which may in any case +be considered as established. A country like Russia has far +more inherent capacity for producing revolution in revolutionists +than any country of the type of England or America. +Communities highly civilized and largely urban tend to a thing +which is now called evolution, the most cautious and the most +conservative of all social influences. The loyal Russian obeys +the Czar because he remembers the Czar and the Czar's importance. +The disloyal Russian frets against the Czar because he also remembers +the Czar, and makes a note of the necessity of knifing him. +But the loyal Englishman obeys the upper classes because he has +forgotten that they are there. Their operation has become to him +like daylight, or gravitation, or any of the forces of nature. +And there are no disloyal Englishmen; there are no English +revolutionists, because the oligarchic management of England +is so complete as to be invisible. The thing which can once +get itself forgotten can make itself omnipotent. + +Gorky is preeminently Russian, in that he is a revolutionist; +not because most Russians are revolutionists (for I imagine that they +are not), but because most Russians--indeed, nearly all Russian-- +are in that attitude of mind which makes revolution possible, +and which makes religion possible, an attitude of primary +and dogmatic assertion. To be a revolutionist it is first +necessary to be a revelationist. It is necessary to believe +in the sufficiency of some theory of the universe or the State. +But in countries that have come under the influence of what is +called the evolutionary idea, there has been no dramatic righting +of wrongs, and (unless the evolutionary idea loses its hold) +there never will be. These countries have no revolution, +they have to put up with an inferior and largely fictitious +thing which they call progress. + +The interest of the Gorky tale, like the interest of so many +other Russian masterpieces, consists in this sharp contact +between a simplicity, which we in the West feel to be very old, +and a rebelliousness which we in the West feel to he very new. +We cannot in our graduated and polite civilization quite make head +or tail of the Russian anarch; we can only feel in a vague way +that his tale is the tale of the Missing Link, and that his head +is the head of the superman. We hear his lonely cry of anger. +But we cannot be quite certain whether his protest is the protest +of the first anarchist against government, or whether it +is the protest of the last savage against civilization. +The cruelty of ages and of political cynicism or necessity has +done much to burden the race of which Gorky writes; but time +has left them one thing which it has not left to the people +in Poplar or West Ham. + +It has left them, apparently, the clear and childlike power +of seeing the cruelty which encompasses them. Gorky is a tramp, +a man of the people, and also a critic, and a bitter one. +In the West poor men, when they become articulate in literature, +are always sentimentalists and nearly always optimists. + +It is no exaggeration to say that these people of whom Gorky +writes in such a story as "Creatures that once were Men" +are to the Western mind children. They have, indeed, been tortured +and broken by experience and sin. But this has only sufficed to make +them sad children or naughty children or bewildered children. +They have absolutely no trace of that quality upon which secure +government rests so largely in Western Europe, the quality +of being soothed by long words as if by an incantation. +They do not call hunger "economic pressure"; they call it hunger. +They do not call rich men "examples of capitalistic concentration," +they call them rich men. And this note of plainness and of +something nobly prosaic is as characteristic of Gorky, in some ways +the most modern, and sophisticated of Russian authors, as it is +of Tolstoy or any of the Tolstoyan type of mind. The very title +of this story strike the note of this sudden and simple vision. +The philanthropist writing long letters to the Daily Telegraph says, +of men living in a slum, that "their degeneration is of such a kind +as almost to pass the limits of the semblance of humanity," +and we read the whole thing with a tepid assent as we should +read phrases about the virtues of Queen Victoria or the dignity +of the House of Commons. + +The Russian novelist, when he describes a dosshouse, says, +"Creatures that once were Men." And we are arrested, +and regard the facts as a kind of terrible fairy tale. +This story is a test case of the Russian manner, for it is in itself +a study of decay, a study of failure, and a study of old age. +And yet the author is forced to write even of staleness freshly; +and though he is treating of the world as seen by eyes +darkened or blood-shot with evil experience, his own eyes look +out upon the scene with a clarity that is almost babyish. +Through all runs that curious Russian sense that every man is only +a man, which, if the Russians ever are a democracy, will make +them the most democratic democracy that the world has ever seen. +Take this passage, for instance, from the austere conclusion +of "Creatures that once were Men": + +Petunikoff smiled the smile of the conqueror and went back +into the dosshouse, but suddenly he stopped and trembled. +At the door facing him stood an old man with a stick +in his hand and a large bag on his back, a horrible old +man in rags and tatters, which covered his bony figure. +He bent under the weight of his burden, and lowered his head +on his breast, as if he wished to attack the merchant. + +"What are you? Who are you?" shouted Petunikoff. + +"A man . . ." he answered, In a hoarse voice. This hoarseness +pleased and tranquillized Petunikoff, he even smiled. + + +"A man! And are there really men like you?" Stepping aside, +he let the old man pass. He went, saying slowly: + +"Men are of various kinds . . . as God wills . . . There are worse +than me . . . still worse. . . Yes. . . ." + +Here, in the very act of describing a kind of a fall from humanity, +Gorky expresses a sense of the strangeness and essential value +of the human being which is far too commonly absent altogether from +such complex civilizations as our own. To no Westerner, I am afraid, +would it occur, when asked what he was, to say, "A man." +He would be a plasterer who had walked from Reading, or an iron-puddler +who had been thrown out of work in Lancashire, or a University man +who would be really most grateful for the loan of five shillings, +or the son of a lieutenant-general living in Brighton, who would not +have made such an application if he had not known that he was talking +to another gentleman. With us it is not a question of men being +of various kinds; with us the kinds are almost different animals. +But in spite of all Gorky's superficial scepticism and brutality, +it is to him the fall from humanity, or the apparent fall +from humanity, which is not merely great and lamentable, +but essential and even mystical. The line between man and the beasts +is one of the transcendental essentials of every religion; +and it is, like most of the transcendental things of religion, +identical with the main sentiments of the man of common sense. +We feel this gulf when theologies say that it cannot be crossed. +But we feel it quite as much (and that with a primal shudder) +when philosophers or fanciful writers suggest that it might be crossed. +And if any man wishes to discover whether or no he has really +learned to regard the line between man and brute as merely relative +and evolutionary, let him say again to himself those frightful words, +"Creatures that once were Men." + + +G. K. CHESTERTON. + + + + + +CREATURES THAT ONCE WERE MEN + + + + + +PART I + + +In front of you is the main street, with two rows of miserable-looking +huts with shuttered windows and old walls pressing on each other +and leaning forward. The roofs of these time-worn habitations +are full of holes, and have been patched here and there with laths; +from underneath them project mildewed beams, which are shaded +by the dusty-leaved elder-trees and crooked white willow-- +pitiable flora of those suburbs inhabited by the poor. + +The dull green time-stained panes of the windows look upon each +other with the cowardly glances of cheats. Through the street +and toward the adjacent mountain runs the sinuous path, +winding through the deep ditches filled with rain-water. +Here and there are piled heaps of dust and other rubbish-- +either refuse or else put there purposely to keep the rain-water +from flooding the houses. On the top of the mountain, among green +gardens with dense foliage, beautiful stone houses lie hidden; +the belfries of the churches rise proudly toward the sky, +and their gilded crosses shine beneath the rays of the sun. +During the rainy weather the neighboring town pours its water +into this main road, which, at other times, is full of its dust, +and all these miserable houses seem, as it were, thrown by some +powerful hand into that heap of dust, rubbish, and rainwater. + +They cling to the ground beneath the high mountain, exposed to the sun, +surrounded by decaying refuse, and their sodden appearance impresses +one with the same feeling as would the half-rotten trunk of an old tree. + +At the end of the main street, as if thrown out of the town, +stood a two-storied house, which had been rented from Petunikoff, +a merchant and resident of the town. It was in comparatively good order, +being farther from the mountain, while near it were the open fields, +and about half-a-mile away the river ran its winding course. + +This large old house had the most dismal aspect amid its surroundings. +The walls bent outward, and there was hardly a pane of glass +in any of the windows, except some of the fragments, which looked +like the water of the marshes--dull green. The spaces of wall +between the windows were covered with spots, as if time were trying +to write there in hieroglyphics the history of the old house, +and the tottering roof added still more to its pitiable condition. +It seemed as if the whole building bent toward the ground, +to await the last stroke of that fate which should transform it +into a chaos of rotting remains, and finally into dust. + +The gates were open, one-half of them displaced and lying on the ground +at the entrance, while between its bars had grown the grass, +which also covered the large and empty court-yard. In the depths +of this yard stood a low, iron-roofed, smoke-begrimed building. +The house itself was of course unoccupied, but this shed, +formerly a blacksmith's forge, was now turned into a "dosshouse," +kept by a retired captain named Aristid Fomich Kuvalda. + +In the interior of the dosshouse was a long, wide and grimy board, +measuring some 28 by 70 feet. The room was lighted on one side +by four small square windows, and on the other by a wide door. +The unpainted brick walls were black with smoke, +and the ceiling, which was built of timber, was almost black. +In the middle stood a large stove, the furnace of which served +as its foundation, and around this stove and along the walls were +also long, wide boards, which served as beds for the lodgers. +The walls smelt of smoke, the earthen floor of dampness, +and the long, wide board of rotting rags. + +The place of the proprietor was on the top of the stove, +while the boards surrounding it were intended for those who were on +good terms with the owner, and who were honored by his friendship. +During the day the captain passed most of his time sitting on a kind +of bench, made by himself by placing bricks against the wall +of the court-yard, or else in the eating-house of Egor Yavilovitch, +which was opposite the house, where he took all his meals and where +he also drank vodki. + +Before renting this house, Aristid Kuvalda had kept a registry +office for servants in the town. If we look further back into +his former life, we shall find that he once owned printing works, +and previous to this, in his own words, he "just lived! +And lived well too, Devil take it, and like one who knew how!" + +He was a tall, broad-shouldered man of fifty, with a raw-looking face, +swollen with drunkenness, and with a dirty yellowish beard. + +His eyes were large and gray, with an insolent expression +of happiness. He spoke in a bass voice and with a sort +of grumbling sound in his throat, and he almost always held +between his teeth a German china pipe with a long bowl. +When he was angry the nostrils of his big, crooked red +nose swelled, and his lips trembled, exposing to view two +rows of large and wolf-like yellow teeth. He had long arms, +was lame, and always dressed in an old officer's uniform, +with a dirty, greasy cap with a red band, a hat without a brim, +and ragged felt boots which reached almost to his knees. +In the morning, as a rule, he had a heavy drunken headache, +and in the evening he caroused. However much he drank, +he was never drunk, and so was always merry. + +In the evenings he received lodgers, sitting on his brick-made +bench with his pipe in his mouth. + +"Whom have we here?" he would ask the ragged and tattered object +approaching him, who had probably been chucked out of the town +for drunkenness, or perhaps for some other reason not quite +so simple. And after the man had answered him, he would say, +"Let me see legal papers in confirmation of your lies." +And if there were such papers they were shown. +The captain would then put them in his bosom, seldom taking +any interest in them, and would say: "Everything is in order. +Two kopecks for the night, ten kopecks for the week, and thirty +kopecks for the month. Go and get a place for yourself, and see +that it is not other people's, or else they will blow you up. +The people that live here are particular." + +"Don't you sell tea, bread, or anything to eat?" + +"I trade only in walls and roofs, for which I pay to the swindling +proprietor of this hole--Judas Petunikoff, merchant of the second guild-- +five roubles a month," explained Kuvalda in a business-like tone. +"Only those come to me who are not accustomed to comfort and +luxuries. . .but if you are accustomed to eat every day, then there +is the eating-house opposite. But it would be better for you +if you left off that habit. You see you are not a gentleman. +What do you eat? You eat yourself!" + +For such speeches, delivered in a strictly business-like manner, +and always with smiling eyes, and also for the attention he paid to +his lodgers, the captain was very popular among the poor of the town. +It very often happened that a former client of his would appear, +not in rags, but in something more respectable and with a +slightly happier face. + +"Good-day, your honor, and how do you do?" + +"Alive, in good health! Go on." + +"Don't you know me?" + +"I did not know you." + +"Do you remember that I lived with you last winter for nearly +a month . . . when the fight with the police took place, +and three were taken away?" + +"My brother, that is so. The police do come even under +my hospitable roof!" + +"My God! You gave a piece of your mind to the police inspector +of this district!" + +"Wouldn't you accept some small hospitality from me? +When I lived with you, you were. . . ." + +"Gratitude must be encouraged because it is seldom met with. +You seem to be a good man, and, though I don't remember you, +still I will go with you into the public-house and drink to your +success and future prospects with the greatest pleasure." + +"You seem always the same . . . Are you always joking?" + +"What else can one do, living among you unfortunate men?" + +They went. Sometimes the Captain's former customer, uplifted and +unsettled by the entertainment, returned to the dosshouse, +and on the following morning they would again begin treating +each other till the Captain's companion would wake up to realize +that he had spent all his money in drink. + +"Your honor, do you see that I have again fallen into your hands? +What shall we do now?" + +"The position, no doubt, is not a very good one, but still +you need not trouble about it," reasoned the Captain. +"You must, my friend, treat everything indifferently, +without spoiling yourself by philosophy, and without asking +yourself any question. To philosophize is always foolish; +to philosophize with a drunken headache, ineffably so. +Drunken headaches require vodki, and not the remorse +of conscience or gnashing of teeth . . . save your teeth, +or else you will not be able to protect yourself. Here are +twenty kopecks. Go and buy a bottle of vodki for five kopecks, +hot tripe or lungs, one pound of bread and two cucumbers. +When we have lived off our drunken headache we will think +of the condition of affairs. . . ." + +As a rule the consideration of the "condition of affairs" +lasted some two or three days, and only when the Captain +had not a farthing left of the three roubles or five roubles +given him by his grateful customer did he say: "You came! +Do you see? Now that we have drunk everything with you, +you fool, try again to regain the path of virtue and soberness. +It has been truly said that if you do not sin, you will +not repent, and, if you do not repent, you shall not be saved. +We have done the first, and to repent is useless. +Let us make direct for salvation. Go to the river and work, +and if you think you cannot control yourself, tell the contractor, +your employer, to keep your money, or else give it to me. +When you get sufficient capital, I will get you a pair +of trousers and other things necessary to make you seem +a respectable and hard-working man, persecuted by fate. +With decent-looking trousers you can go far. Now then, be off!" + +Then the client would go to the river to work as a porter, +smiling the while over the Captain's long and wise speeches. +He did not distinctly understand them, but only saw in front +of him two merry eyes, felt their encouraging influence, +and knew that in the loquacious Captain he had an arm that would +assist him in time of need. + +And really it happened very often that, for a month or so, +some ticket-of-leave client, under the strict surveillance of +the Captain, had the opportunity of raising himself to a condition +better than that to which, thanks to the Captain's cooperation, +he had fallen. + +"Now, then, my friend!" said the Captain, glancing critically +at the restored client, "we have a coat and jacket. +When I had respectable trousers I lived in town like a +respectable man. But when the trousers wore out, I, too, +fell off in the opinion of my fellow-men and had to come down +here from the town. Men, my fine mannikin, judge everything +by the outward appearance, while, owing to their foolishness, +the actual reality of things is incomprehensible to them. +Make a note of this on your nose, and pay me at least half your debt. +Go in peace; seek, and you may find." + +"How much do I owe you, Aristid Fomich?" asks the client, in confusion. + +"One rouble and 70 kopecks . . . Now, give me only one rouble, or, +if you like, 70 kopecks, and as for the rest, I shall wait until +you have earned more than you have now by stealing or by hard work, +it does not matter to me." + +"I thank you humbly for your kindness!" says the client, +touched to the heart. "Truly you are a kind man . . .; +Life has persecuted you in vain . . . What an eagle you would +have been in your own place!" + +The Captain could not live without eloquent speeches. + +"What does 'in my own place' mean? No one really knows his own +place in life, and every one of us crawls into his harness. +The place of the merchant Judas Petunikoff ought to be in penal +servitude, but he still walks through the streets in daylight, +and even intends to build a factory. The place of our teacher +ought to be beside a wife and half-a-dozen children, but he is +loitering in the public-house of Vaviloff. + +"And then, there is yourself. You are going to seek a situation as a +hall porter or waiter, but I can see that you ought to be a soldier in +the army, because you are no fool, are patient and understand discipline. +Life shuffles us like cards, you see, and it is only accidentally, +and only for a time, that we fall into our own places!" + +Such farewell speeches often served as a preface to the continuation +of their acquaintance, which again began with drinking and +went so far that the client would spend his last farthing. +Then the Captain would stand him treat, and they would drink +all they had. + +A repetition of similar doings did not affect in the least +the good relations of the parties. + +The teacher mentioned by the Captain was another of those customers +who were thus reformed only in order that they should sin again. +Thanks to his intellect, he was the nearest in rank to +the Captain, and this was probably the cause of his falling +so low as dosshouse life, and of his inability to rise again. +It was only with him that Aristid Kuvalda could philosophize +with the certainty of being understood. He valued this, +and when the reformed teacher prepared to leave the dosshouse +in order to get a corner in town for himself, then Aristid Kuvalda +accompanied him so sorrowfully and sadly that it ended, as a rule, +in their both getting drunk and spending all their money. +Probably Kuvalda arranged the matter intentionally so that the teacher +could not leave the dosshouse, though he desired to do so with +all his heart. Was it possible for Aristid Kuvalda, a nobleman +(as was evident from his speeches), one who was accustomed to think, +though the turn of fate may have changed his position, was it possible +for him not to desire to have close to him a man like himself? +We can pity our own faults in others. + +This teacher had once taught at an institution in one of the towns +on the Volga, but in consequence of some story was dismissed. +After this he was a clerk in a tannery, but again had to leave. +Then he became a librarian in some private library, subsequently following +other professions. Finally, after passing examinations in law +he became a lawyer, but drink reduced him to the Captain's dosshouse. +He was tall, round-shouldered, with a long, sharp nose and bald head. +In his bony and yellow face, on which grew a wedge-shaped beard, +shone large, restless eyes, deeply sunk in their sockets, +and the corners of his mouth drooped sadly down. He earned +his bread, or rather his drink, by reporting for the local papers. +He sometimes earned as much as fifteen roubles. These he gave +to the Captain and said: + +"It is enough. I am going back into the bosom of culture. +Another week's hard work and I shall dress respectably, +and then Addio, mio caro!" + +"Very exemplary! As I heartily sympathize with your decision, +Philip, I shall not give you another glass all this week," +the Captain warned him sternly. + +"I shall be thankful! . . . You will not give me one drop?" + +The Captain beard in his voice a beseeching note to which he turned +a deaf ear. + +"Even though you roar, I shall not give it you!" + +"As you like, then," sighed the teacher, and went away +to continue his reporting. + +But after a day or two he would return tired and thirsty, and would look +at the Captain with a beseeching glance out of the corners of his eyes, +hoping that his friend's heart would soften. + +The Captain in such cases put on a serious face and began speaking +with killing irony on the theme of weakness of character, of the animal +delight of intoxication, and on such subjects as suited the occasion. +One must do him justice: he was captivated by his role of mentor +and moralist, but the lodgers dogged him, and, listening sceptically +to his exhortations to repentance, would whisper aside to each other: + +"Cunning, skilful, shifty rogue! I told you so, but you would +not listen. It's your own fault!" + +"His honor is really a good soldier. He goes first and examines +the road behind him!" + +The teacher then hunted here and there till he found his friend again +in some corner, and grasping his dirty coat, trembling and licking +his dry lips, looked into his face with a deep, tragic glance, +without articulate words. + +"Can't you?" asked the Captain sullenly. + +The teacher answered by bowing his head and letting it fall on his breast, +his tall, thin body trembling the while. + +"Wait another day . . . perhaps you will be all right then," +proposed Kuvalda. The teacher sighed, and shook his head hopelessly. + +The Captain saw that his friend's thin body trembled with the thirst +for the poison, and took some money from his pocket. + +"In the majority of cases it is impossible to fight against fate," +said he, as if trying to justify himself before someone. + +But if the teacher controlled himself for a whole week, +then there was a touching farewell scene between the two friends, +which ended as a rule in the eating-house of Vaviloff. +The teacher did not spend all his money, but spent at least half +on the children of the main street. The poor are always rich +in children, and in the dirt and ditches of this street there were +groups of them from morning to night, hungry, naked and dirty. +Children are the living flowers of the earth, but these had +the appearance of flowers that have faded prematurely, +because they grew in ground where there was no healthy nourishment. +Often the teacher would gather them round him, would buy them bread, +eggs, apples and nuts, and take them into the fields by the river side. +There they would sit and greedily eat everything he offered them, +after which they would begin to play, filling the fields +for a mile around with careless noise and laughter. The tall, +thin figure of the drunkard towered above these small people, +who treated him familiarly, as if he were one of their own age. +They called him "Philip," and did not trouble to prefix "Uncle" +to his name. Playing around him, like little wild animals, +they pushed him, jumped upon his back, beat him upon his +bald head, and caught hold of his nose. All this must have +pleased him, as he did not protest against such liberties. +He spoke very little to them, and when he did so he did it cautiously +as if afraid that his words would hurt or contaminate them. +He passed many hours thus as their companion and plaything, +watching their lively faces with his gloomy eyes. + +Then he would thoughtfully and slowly direct his steps to +the eating-house of Vaviloff, where he would drink silently +and quickly till all his senses left him. + +* * * * * * * * * * + +Almost every day after his reporting he would bring a newspaper, +and then gather round him all these creatures that once were men. +On seeing him, they would come forward from all corners +of the court-yard, drunk, or suffering from drunken headache, +dishevelled, tattered, miserable, and pitiable. Then would +come the barrel-like, stout Aleksei Maksimoviteh Simtsoff, +formerly Inspector of Woods and Forests, under the Department +of Appendages, but now trading in matches, ink, blacking, and lemons. +He was an old man of sixty, in a canvas overcoat and a wide-brimmed hat, +the greasy borders of which hid his stout, fat, red face. +He had a thick white beard, out of which a small red nose turned +gaily heavenward. He had thick, crimson lips and watery, +cynical eyes. They called him "Kubar", a name which well described +his round figure an buzzing speech. After him, Kanets appeared +from some corner--a dark, sad-looking, silent drunkard: +then the former governor of the prison, Luka Antonovitch Martyanoff, +a man who existed on "remeshok," "trilistika" and "bankovka," +* and many such cunning games, not much appreciated by the police. + +Note by translator.--Well-known games or chance, +played by the lower classes. The police specially endeavor +to stop them, but unsuccessfully. + +He would throw his hard and oft-scourged body on the grass beside +the teacher, and, turning his eyes round and scratching his head, +would ask in a hoarse, bass voice, "May I?" + +Then appeared Pavel Solntseff, a man of thirty years of age, +suffering from consumption. The ribs of his left side had been +broken in a quarrel, and the sharp, yellow face, like that of a fox, +always wore a malicious smile. The thin lips, when opened, +exposed two rows of decayed black teeth, and the rags on his shoulders +swayed backward and forward as if they were hung on a clothes pole. +They called him "Abyedok." He hawked brushes and bath brooms +of his own manufacture, good, strong brushes made from a peculiar +kind of grass. + +Then followed a lean and bony man of whom no one knew anything, with a +frightened expression in his eyes, the left one of which had a squint. +He was silent and timid, and had been imprisoned three times +for theft by the High Court of Justice and the Magisterial Courts. +His family name was Kiselnikoff, but they called him Paltara Taras, +because he was a head and shoulders taller than his friend, +Deacon Taras, who had been degraded from his office for drunkenness +and immorality. The Deacon was a short, thick-set person, +with the chest of an athlete and a round, strong head. +He danced skilfully, and was still more skilful at swearing. +He and Paltara Taras worked in the wood on the banks of the river, +and in free hours he told his friend or any one who would listen, +"Tales of my own composition," as he used to say. On hearing +these stories, the heroes of which always seemed to be saints, +kings, priests, or generals, even the inmates of the dosshouse spat +and rubbed their eyes in astonishment at the imagination of the Deacon, +who told them shameless tales of lewd, fantastic adventures, +with blinking eyes and a passionless expression of countenance. + +The imagination of this man was powerful and inexhaustible; +he could go on relating and composing all day, from morning +to night, without once repeating what he had said before. +In his expression you sometimes saw the poet gone astray, +sometimes the romancer, and he always succeeded in making +his tales realistic by the effective and powerful words +in which he told them. + +There was also a foolish young man called Kuvalda Meteor. +One night he came to sleep in the dosshouse, and had remained +ever since among these men, much to their astonishment. +At first they did not take much notice of him. In the daytime, +like all the others, he went away to find something to eat, +but at nights he always loitered around this friendly company +till at last the Captain took notice of him. + +"Boy! What business have you here on this earth?" + +The boy answered boldly and stoutly: + +"I am a barefooted tramp. . . ." + +The Captain looked critically at him. This youngster had long hair +and a weak face, with prominent cheekbones and a turned-up nose. +He was dressed in a blue blouse without a waistband, and on his head +he wore the remains of a straw hat, while his feet were bare. + +"You are a fool!" decided Aristid Kuvalda. "what are you knocking +about here for? You are of absolutely no use to us . . . Do +you drink vodki? . . . No? . . . Well, then, can you steal?" +Again, "No." "Go away, learn, and come back again when you +know something, and are a man. . . ." + +The youngster smiled. "No. I shall live with you." + +"Why?" + +"Just because. . . ." + +"Oh, you . . . Meteor!" said the Captain. + +"I will break his teeth for him," said Martyanoff. + +"And why?" asked the youngster. + +"Just because. . . ." + +"And I will take a stone and hit you on the head," the young +man answered respectfully. + +Martyanoff would have broken his bones, had not Kuvalda interrupted with: +"Leave him alone. . .Is this a home to you or even to us? +You have no sufficient reason to break his teeth for him. +You have no better reason than he for living with us." + +"Well, then, Devil take him! . . . We all live in the world without +sufficient reason . . . We live, and why? Because! He also because . . . +let him alone. . . ." + +"But it is better for you, young man, to go away from us," +the teacher advised him, looking him up and down with his sad eyes. +He made no answer, but remained. And they soon became accustomed +to his presence, and ceased to take any notice of him. +But he lived among them, and observed everything. + +The above were the chief members of the Captain's company, and he called +them with kind-hearted sarcasm "Creatures that once were Men." +For though there were men who had experienced as much of the bitter +irony of fate as these men; yet they were not fallen so low. + +Not infrequently, respectable men belonging to the cultured +classes are inferior to those belonging to the peasantry, +and it is always a fact that the depraved man from the city +is immeasurably worse than the depraved man from the village. +This fact was strikingly illustrated by the contrast between +the formerly well-educated men and the mujiks who were living +in Kuvalda's shelter. + +The representative of the latter class was an old mujik called Tyapa. +Tall and angular, he kept his head in such a position that his chin +touched his breast. He was the Captain's first lodger, and it was said +of him that he had a great deal of money hidden somewhere, and for its +sake had nearly had his throat cut some two years ago: ever since then +he carried his head thus. Over his eyes hung grayish eyebrows, +and, looked at in profile, only his crooked nose was to be seen. +His shadow reminded one of a poker. He denied that he had money, +and said that they "only tried to cut his throat out of malice," +and from that day he took to collecting rags, and that is why +his head was always bent as if incessantly looking on the ground. +When he went about shaking his head, and minus a walking-stick +in his hand, and a bag on his back--the signs of his profession-- +he seemed to be thinking almost to madness, and, at such times, +Kuvalda spoke thus, pointing to him with his finger: + +"Look, there is the conscience of Merchant Judas Petunikoff. +See how disorderly, dirty, and low is the escaped conscience." + +Tyapa, as a rule, spoke in a hoarse and hardly audible voice, +and that is why he spoke very little, and loved to be alone. +But whenever a stranger, compelled to leave the village, +appeared in the dosshouse, Tyapa seemed sadder and angrier, +and followed the unfortunate about with biting jeers and a wicked +chuckling in his throat. He either put some beggar against him, +or himself threatened to rob and beat him, till the frightened +mujik would disappear from the dosshouse and never more be seen. +Then Tyapa was quiet again, and would sit in some corner mending +his rags, or else reading his Bible, which was as dirty, worn, +and old as himself. Only when the teacher brought a newspaper +and began reading did he come from his corner once more. +As a rule, Tyapa listened to what was read silently and sighed often, +without asking anything of anyone. But once when the teacher, +having read the paper, wanted to put it away, Tyapa stretched +out his bony hand, and said, "Give it to me. . . ." + +"What do you want it for?" + +"Give it to me . . . Perhaps there is something in it about us. . . ." + +"About whom?" + +"About the village." + +They laughed at him, and threw him the paper. He took it, and read +in it how in the village the hail had destroyed the cornfields, +how in another village fire destroyed thirty houses, and that in a +third a woman had poisoned her family--in fact, everything that it +is customary to write of--everything, that is to say, which is bad, +and which depicts only the worst side of the unfortunate village. + +Tyapa read all this silently and roared, perhaps from sympathy, +perhaps from delight at the sad news. + +He passed the whole Sunday in reading his Bible, and never +went out collecting rags on that day. While reading, +he groaned and sighed continually. He kept the book close +to his breast, and was angry with any one who interrupted him +or who touched his Bible. + +"Oh, you drunken blackguard," said Kuvalda to him, "what do you +understand of it?" + +"Nothing, wizard! I don't understand anything, and I do not read +any books . . . But I read. . . ." + +"Therefore you are a fool . . ." said the Captain, decidedly. +"When there are insects in your head, you know it is uncomfortable, +but if some thoughts enter there too, how will you live then, +you old toad?" + +"I have not long to live," said Tyapa, quietly. + +Once the teacher asked how he had learned to read. + +"In prison," answered Tyapa shortly. + +"Have you been there?" + +"I was there." + +"For what?" + +"Just so . . . It was a mistake . . . But I brought the Bible out with me +from there. A lady gave it to me . . . It is good in prison, brother." + +"Is that so? And why?" + +"It teaches one . . . I learned to read there . . . I also got +this book . . . And all these you see, free. . . ." + +When the teacher appeared in the dosshouse, Tyapa had already lived +there for some time. He looked long into the teacher's face, +as if to discover what kind of a man he was. + +Tyapa often listened to his conversation, and once, sitting down +beside him, said: + +"I see you are very learned . . . Have you read the Bible?" + +"I have read it. . . ." + +"I see; I see . . . Can you remember it?" + +"Yes . . . I remember it. . . ." + +Then the old man leaned to one side and gazed at the other +with a serious, suspicious glance. + +"There were the Amalekites, do you remember?" + +"Well?" + +"Where are they now?" + +"Disappeared . . . Tyapa . . . died out. . . ." + +The old man was silent, then asked again: "And where +are the Philistines?" + +"These also. . . ." + +"Have all these died out?" + +"Yes . . . all. . . ." + +"And so . . . we also will die out?" + +"There will come a time when we also will die," +said the teacher indifferently. + +"And to what tribe of Israel do we belong?" + +The teacher looked at him, and began telling him about +Scythians and Slavs. . . . + +The old man became all the more frightened, and glanced at his face. + +"You are lying!" he said scornfully, when the teacher had finished. + +"What lie have I told?" asked the teacher. + +"You mentioned tribes that are not mentioned in the Bible." + +He got up and walked away, angry and deeply insulted. + +"You will go mad, Tyapa," called the teacher after him with conviction. + +Then the old man came back again, and stretching out his hand, +threatened him with his crooked and dirty finger. + +"God made Adam--from Adam were descended the Jews, that means +that all people are descended from Jews . . . and we also. . . ." + +"Well?" + +"Tartars are descended from Ishmael, but he also came of the Jews. . . ." + +"What do you want to tell me all this for?" + +"Nothing! Only why do you tell lies?" Then he walked away, +leaving his companion in perplexity. But after two days he came +again and sat by him. + +"You are learned . . . Tell me, then, whose descendants are we? +Are we Babylonians, or who are we?" + +"We are Slavs, Tyapa," said the teacher, and attentively awaited +his answer, wishing to understand him. + +"Speak to me from the Bible. There are no such men there." + +Then the teacher began criticizing the Bible. The old man listened, +and interrupted him after a long while. + +"Stop . . . Wait! That means that among people known to God +there are no Russians? We are not known to God? Is it so? +God knew all those who are mentioned in the Bible . . . He +destroyed them by sword and fire, He destroyed their cities; +but He also sent prophets to teach them. + +"That means that He also pitied them. He scattered +the Jews and the Tartars . . . But what about us? +Why have we prophets no longer?" + +"Well, I don't know!" replied the teacher, trying to understand +the old man. But the latter put his hand on the teacher's shoulder, +and slowly pushed him backward and forward, and his throat made +a noise as if he were swallowing something. . . . + +"Tell me! You speak so much . . . as if you knew everything. +It makes me sick to listen to you . . . you darken my +soul . . . I should be better pleased if you were silent. +Who are we, eh? Why have we no prophets? Ha, ha! . . . Where +were we when Christ walked on this earth? Do you see? +And you too, you are lying . . . Do you think that all die out? +The Russian people will never disappear . . . You are lying. +It has been written in the Bible, only it is not known what name +the Russians are given. Do you see what kind of people they are? +They are numberless . . . How many villages are there on the earth? +Think of all the people who live on it, so strong, go numerous I And you +say that they will die out; men shall die, but God wants the people, +God the Creator of the earth! The Amalekites did not die out. +They are either German or French . . . But you, eh, you! +Now then, tell me why we are abandoned by God? Have we no +punishments nor prophets from the Lord? Who then will teach us?" +Tyapa spoke strongly and plainly, and there was faith in his words. + +He had been speaking a long time, and the teacher, who was generally +drunk and in a speechless condition, could not stand it any longer. +He looked at the dry, wrinkled old man, felt the great +force of these words, and suddenly began to pity himself. +He wished to say something so strong and convincing to the old man +that Tyapa would be disposed in his favor; he did not wish to speak +in such a serious, earnest way, but in a soft and fatherly tone. +And the teacher felt as if something were rising from his breast +into his throat . . . But he could not find any powerful words. + +"What kind of a man are you? . . . Your soul seems to be torn away-- +and you still continue speaking . . . as if you knew something . . . +It would be better if you were silent." + +"Ah, Tyapa, what you say is true," replied the teacher sadly. +"The people . . . you are right . . . they are numberless . . . but I +am a stranger to them . . . and they are strangers to me . . . Do you +see where the tragedy of my life is hidden? . . . But let me alone! +I shall suffer . . . and there are no prophets also . . . No. You +are right, I speak a great deal . . . But it is no good to anyone. +I shall be always silent . . . Only don't speak with me like +this . . . Ah, old man, you do not know . . . You do not know . . . +And you cannot understand." + +And in the end the teacher cried. He cried so easily and +so freely, with such torrents of flowing tears, that he soon +found relief. "You ought to go into a village . . . become +a clerk or a teacher . . . You would be well fed there. +What are you crying for?" asked Tyapa sadly. + +But the teacher was crying as if the tears quieted and comforted him. + +From this day they became friends, and the "creatures that once were men," +seeing them together, said: "The teacher is friendly with Tyapa . . . +He wishes his money. Kuvalda must have put this into his head . . . To +look about to see where the old man's fortune is. . . ." + +Probably they did not believe what they said. +There was one strange thing about these men, namely, that they +painted themselves to others worse than they actually were. +A man who has good in him does not mind sometimes showing +his worse nature. + +* * * * * * * * * * + +When all these people were gathered round the teacher, +then the reading of the newspaper would begin. + +"Well, what does the newspaper discuss to-day? Is there any feuilleton?" + +"No," the teacher informs him. + +"Your publisher seems greedy . . . but is there any leader?" + +"There is one to-day . . . It appears to be by Gulyaeff." + +"Aha! Come, out with it! He writes cleverly, the rascal." + +"'The taxation of immovable property,'" reads the teacher, +"It was introduced some fifteen years ago, and up to the present +it has served as the basis for collecting these taxes in aid +of the city revenue. . . .'" + +"That is simple," comments Captain Kuvalda. "It continues to serve. +That is ridiculous. To the merchant who is moving about in +the city, it is profitable that it should continue to serve. +Therefore it does continue." + +"The article, in fact, is written on the subject," says the teacher. + +"Is it? That is strange, it is more a subject for a feuilleton." + +"Such a subject must be treated with plenty of pepper. . . ." + +Then a short discussion begins. The people listen attentively, +as only one bottle of vodki has been drunk. + +After the leader, they read the local events, then the court +proceedings, and, if in the police court it reports that the defendant +or plaintiff is a merchant, then Aristid Kuvalda sincerely rejoices. +If someone has robbed the merchant, "That is good," says he. +"Only it is a pity they robbed him of so little." +If his horses have broken down, "It is sad that he is still alive." +If the merchant has lost his suit in court, "It is a pity +that the costs were not double the amount." + +"That would have been illegal," remarks the teacher. + +"Illegal! But is the merchant himself legal?" inquires Kuvalda bitterly. +"What is the merchant? Let us investigate this rough and +uncouth phenomenon. First of all, every merchant is a mujik. +He comes from a village, and in course of time becomes a merchant. +In order to be a merchant, one must have money. + +"Where can the mujik get the money from? It is well known +that he does not get it by honest hard work, and that means +that the mujik, somehow or other, has been swindling. +That is to say, a merchant is simply a dishonest mujik." + +"Splendid!" cry the people, approving the orator's deduction, +and Tyapa bellows all the time, scratching his breast. +He always bellows like this as he drinks his first glass of vodki, +when he has a drunken headache. The Captain beams with joy. +They next read the correspondence. This is, for the Captain, +"an abundance of drinks," as he himself calls it. +He always notices how the merchants make this life abominable, +and how cleverly they spoil everything. His speeches thunder +at and annihilate merchants. His audience listens to him +with the greatest pleasure, because he swears atrociously. +"If I wrote for the papers," he shouts, "I would show up the merchant +in his true colors . . . I would show that he is a beast, +playing for a time the role of a man. I understand him! +He is a rough boor, does not know the meaning of the words +'good taste,' has no notion of patriotism, and his knowledge +is not worth five kopecks." + +Abyedok, knowing the Captain's weak point, and fond of making +other people angry, cunningly adds: + +"Yes, since the nobility began to make acquaintance with hunger, +men have disappeared from the world. . . ." + +"You are right, you son of a spider and a toad. Yes, from the +time that the noblemen fell, there have been no men. +There are only merchants, and I hate them." + +"That is easy to understand, brother, because you too, +have been brought down by them. . . ." + +"I? I was ruined by love of life . . . Fool that I was, +I loved life, but the merchant spoils it, and I cannot bear it, +simply for this reason, and not because I am a nobleman. +But if you want to know the truth, I was once a man, though I +was not noble. I care now for nothing and nobody . . . +and all my life has been tame--a sweetheart who has jilted me-- +therefore I despise life, and am indifferent to it." + +"You lie!" says Abyedok. + +"I lie?" roars Aristid Kuvalda, almost crimson with anger. + +"Why shout?" comes in the cold sad voice of Martyanoff. + +"Why judge others? Merchants, noblemen. . .what have we +to do with them?" + +"Seeing what we are" . . . puts in Deacon Taras. + +"Be quiet, Abyedok," says the teacher good-naturedly. + +"Why do you provoke him?" He does not love either discussion or noise, +and when they quarrel all around him his lips form into a sickly grimace, +and he endeavors quietly and reasonably to reconcile each with +the other, and if he does not succeed in this he leaves the company. +Knowing this, the Captain, if he is not very drunk, controls himself, +not wishing to lose, in the person of the teacher, one of the best +of his listeners. + +"I repeat," he continues, in a quieter tone, "that I see life in the hands +of enemies, not only enemies of the noble but of everything good, +avaricious and incapable of adorning existence in any way." + +"But all the same, says the teacher, "merchants, so to speak, +created Genoa, Venice, Holland--and all these were merchants, +merchants from England, India, the Stroyanoff merchants. . . ." + +"I do not speak of these men, I am thinking of Judas Petunikoff, +who is one of them. . . ." + +"And you say you have nothing to do with them?" asks the teacher quietly. + +"But do you think that I do not live? Aha! I do live, +but I suppose I ought not to be angry at the fact that life +is desecrated and robbed of all freedom by these men." + +"And they dare to laugh at the kindly anger of the Captain, +a man living in retirement?" says Abyedok teasingly. + +"Very well! I agree with you that I am foolish. +Being a creature who was once a man, I ought to blot out +from my heart all those feelings that once were mine. +You may be right, but then how could I or any of you defend +ourselves if we did away with all these feelings?" + +"Now then, you are talking sense," says the teacher encouragingly. + +"We want other feelings and other views on life . . . We want something +new. . .because we ourselves are a novelty in this life. . . ." + +"Doubtless this is most important for us," remarks the teacher. + +"Why?" asks Kanets. "Is it not all the same whatever we say or think? +We have not got long to live I am forty, you are fifty . . . there +is no one among us younger than thirty, and even at twenty one cannot +live such a life long." + +"And what kind of novelty are we?" asked Abyedok mockingly. + +"Since nakedness has always existed" + +"Yes, and it created Rome," said the teacher. + +"Yes, of course," says the Captain, beaming with joy. + +"Romulus and Remus, eh? We also shall create when our time comes. . . ." + +"Violation of public peace," interrupts Abyedok. He laughs +in a self-satisfied way. His laughter is impudent and insolent, +and is echoed by Simtsoff, the Deacon and Paltara Taras. +The naive eyes of young Meteor light up, and his cheeks flush crimson. + +Kanets speaks, and it seems as if he were hammering their heads. + +"All these are foolish illusions . . . fiddlesticks!" + +It was strange to see them reasoning in this manner, these outcasts +from life, tattered, drunken with vodki and wickedness, +filthy and forlorn. Such conversations rejoiced the Captain's heart. +They gave him an opportunity of speaking more, and therefore +he thought himself better than the rest. However low he may fall, +a man can never deny himself the delight of feeling cleverer, +more powerful, or even better fed than his companions. +Aristid Kuvalda abused this pleasure, and never could have +enough of it, much to the disgust of Abyedok, Kubar, and others +of these creatures that once were men, who were less interested +in such things. + +Politics, however, were more to the popular taste. +The discussions as to the necessity of taking India or of subduing +England were lengthy and protracted. + +Nor did they speak with less enthusiasm of the radical +measure of clearing Jews off the face of the earth. +On this subject Abyedok was always the first to propose +dreadful plans to effect the desired end, but the Captain, +always first in every other argument, did not join in this one. +They also spoke much and impudently about women, but the teacher +always defended them, and sometimes was very angry when they +went so far as to pass the limits of decency. They all, +as a rule, gave in to him, because they did not look upon him +as a common person, and also because they wished to borrow from +him on Saturdays the money which he had earned during the week. +He had many privileges. They never beat him, for instance, +on these occasions when the conversation ended in a free fight. +He had the right to bring women into the dosshouse; +a privilege accorded to no one else, as the Captain had +previously warned them. + +"No bringing of women to my house," he had said. "Women, merchants +and philosophers, these are the three causes of my ruin. +I will horsewhip anyone bringing in women. I will horsewhip the woman +also . . . And as to the philosopher, I'll knock his head off for him." +And notwithstanding his age he could have knocked anyone's head off, +for he possessed wonderful strength. Besides that, whenever he fought +or quarrelled, he was assisted by Martyanoff, who was accustomed during +a general fight to stand silently and sadly back to back with Kuvalda, +when he became an all destroying and impregnable engine of war. +Once when Simtsoff was drunk, he rushed at the teacher for no +reason whatever, and getting hold of his head tore out a bunch of hair. + +Kuvalda, with one stroke of his fist in the other's chest, +sent him spinning, and he fell to the ground. He was unconscious +for almost half-an-hour, and when he came to himself Kuvalda +compelled him to eat the hair he had torn from the teacher's head. +He ate it, preferring this to being beaten to death. + +Besides reading newspapers, fighting and indulging in +general conversation, they amused themselves by playing cards. +They played without Martyanoff because he could not play honestly. +After cheating several times, he openly confessed: + +"I cannot play without cheating . . . it is a habit of mine." + +"Habits do get the better of you," assented Deacon Taras. +"I always used to beat my wife every Sunday after Mass, and when she +died I cannot describe how extremely dull I felt every Sunday. +I lived through one Sunday--it was dreadful, the second I still +controlled myself, the third Sunday I struck my Asok. . . . She was +angry and threatened to summon me. Just imagine if she had done so! +On the fourth Sunday, I beat her just as if she were my own wife! +After that I gave her ten roubles, and beat her according to my own +rules till I married again!" + +"You are lying, Deacon! How could you marry a second time?" +interrupted Abyedok. + +"Ay, just so . . . She looked after my house . . ." + +"Did you have any children?" asked the teacher. + +"Five of them . . . One was drowned . . . the oldest . . . he was +an amusing boy! Two died of diphtheria . . . One of the daughters +married a student and went with him to Siberia. + +"The other went to the University of St. Petersburg and died +there . . . of consumption they say. Ye--es, there were +five of them . . . Ecclesiastics are prolific, you know." +He began explaining why this was so, and they laughed till +they nearly burst at his tales. When the laughter stopped, +Aleksei Maksimovitch Simtsoff remembered that he too had once +had a daughter. + +"Her name was Lidka . . . she was very stout. . . ." + +More than this he did not seem to remember, for he looked +at them all, was silent and smiled . . . in a guilty way. +Those men spoke very little to each other about their past, +and they recalled it very seldom, and then only its general outlines. +When they did mention it, it was in a cynical tone. +Probably, this was just as well, since, in many people, +remembrance of the past kills all present energy and deadens +all hope for the future. + +* * * * * * * * * * + +On rainy, cold, or dull days in the late autumn, these "creatures +that once were men" gathered in the eating-house of Vaviloff. +They were well known there, where some feared them as thieves +and rogues, and some looked upon them contemptuously as hard drinkers, +although they respected them, thinking that they were clever. + +The eating-house of Vaviloff was the club of the main street, +and the "creatures that once were men" were its most intellectual members. + +On Saturday evenings or Sunday mornings, when the eating-house was packed, +the "creatures that once were men" were only too welcome guests. +They brought with them, besides the forgotten and poverty-stricken +inhabitants of the street, their own spirit, in which there was +something that brightened the lives of men exhausted and worn out +in the struggle for existence, as great drunkards as the inhabitants +of Kuvalda's shelter, and, like them, outcasts from the town. +Their ability to speak on all subjects, their freedom of opinion, +skill in repartee, courage in the presence of those of whom +the whole street was in terror, together with their daring demeanor, +could not but be pleasing to their companions. Then, too, +they were well versed in law, and could advise, write petitions, +and help to swindle without incurring the risk of punishment. +For all this they were paid with vodki and flattering admiration +of their talents. + +The inhabitants of the street were divided into two parties +according to their sympathies. One was in favor of Kuvalda, +who was thought "a good soldier, clever, and courageous"; +the other was convinced of the fact that the teacher was "superior" +to Kuvalda. The latter's admirers were those who were known +to be drunkards, thieves, and murderers, for whom the road +from beggary to prison was inevitable. But those who respected +the teacher were men who still had expectations, still hoped +for better things, who were eternally occupied with nothing, +and who were nearly always hungry. + +The nature of the teacher's and Kuvalda's relations toward the street +may be gathered from the following: + +Once in the eating-house they were discussing the resolution passed by +the Corporation regarding the main street, viz., that the inhabitants were +to fill up the pits and ditches in the street, and that neither manure +nor the dead bodies of domestic animals should be used for the purpose, +but only broken tiles, etc., from the ruins of other houses. + +"Where am I going to get these same broken tiles and bricks? +I could not get sufficient bricks together to build a hen-house," +plaintively said Mokei Anisimoff, a man who hawked kalaches +(a sort of white bread) which were baked by his wife. + +"Where can you get broken bricks and lime rubbish? Take bags +with you, and go and remove them from the Corporation buildings. +They are so old that they are of no use to anyone, and you will thus +be doing two good deeds; firstly, by repairing the main street; +and secondly, by adorning the city with a new Corporation building." + +"If you want horses, get them from the Lord Mayor, and take his +three daughters, who seem quite fit for harness. Then destroy +the house of Judas Petunikoff and pave the street with its timbers. +By the way, Mokei, I know out of what your wife baked to-day's kalaches; +out of the frames of the third window and the two steps from the roof +of Judas' house." + +When those present had laughed and joked sufficiently over the +Captain's proposal, the sober market gardener, Pavlyugus asked: + +"But seriously, what are we to do, your honor? . . . Eh? +What do you think?" + +"I? I shall neither move hand nor foot. If they wish to clean the street, +let them do it." + +"Some of the houses are almost coming down. . . ." + +"Let them fall; don't interfere; and when they fall ask help from +the city. If they don't give it you, then bring a suit in court +against them! Where does the water come from? From the city! +Therefore let the city be responsible for the destruction +of the houses." + +"They will say it is rain-water." + +"Does it destroy the houses in the city? Eh? They take taxes +from you, but they do not permit you to speak! They destroy +your property and at the same time compel you to repair it!" +And half the radicals in the street, convinced by the words +of Kuvalda, decided to wait till the rain-water came down +in huge streams and swept away their houses. The others, +more sensible, found in the teacher a man who composed for them +an excellent and convincing report for the Corporation. +In this report the refusal of the street's inhabitants +to comply with the resolution of the Corporation was well +explained that the Corporation actually entertained it. +It was decided that the rubbish left after some repairs had been +done to the barracks should be used for mending and filling up +the ditches in their street, and for the transport of this five +horses were given by the fire brigade. Still more, they even +saw the necessity of laying a drain-pipe through the street. +This and many other things vastly increased the popularity +of the teacher. He wrote petitions for them and published +various remarks in the newspapers. + +For instance, on one occasion Vaviloff's customers noticed +that the herrings and other provisions of the eating-house +were not what they should be, and after a day or two they saw +Vaviloff standing at the bar with the newspaper in his hand +making a public apology. + +"It is true, I must acknowledge, that I bought old and not +very good herrings, and the cabbage . . . also . . . was old. +It is only too well known that anyone can put many a five-kopeck +piece in his pocket in this way. And what is the result? +It has not been a success; I was greedy, I own, but the cleverer +man has exposed me, so we are quits. . . ." + +This confession made a very good impression on the people, +and it also gave Vaviloff the opportunity of still feeding them +with herrings and cabbages which were not good, though they +failed to notice it, so much were they impressed. + +This incident was very significant, because it increased not only +the teacher's popularity, but also the effect of press opinion. + +It often happened, too, that the teacher read lectures on practical +morality in the eating-house. + +"I saw you," he said to the painter, Yashka Tyarin; "I saw you, +Yakov, beating your wife. . . ." + +Yashka was "touched with paint" after having two glasses of vodki, +and was in a slightly uplifted condition. + +The people looked at him, expecting him to make a row, +and all were silent. + +"Did you see me? And how did it please you?" asks Yashka. + +The people control their laughter. + +"No; it did not please me," replies the teacher. +His tone is so serious that the people are silent. + +"You see I was just trying it," said Yashka, with bravado, +fearing that the teacher would rebuke him. "The wife is +satisfied. . . She has not got up yet today. . . ." + +The teacher, who was drawing absently with his fingers on +the table, said, "Do you see, Yakov, why this did not please +me? . . . Let us go into the matter thoroughly, and understand +what you are really doing, and what the result may be. Your wife +is pregnant. You struck her last night on her sides and breast. +That means that you beat not only her but the child too. +You may have killed him, and your wife might have died or else +have become seriously ill. To have the trouble of looking after +a sick woman is not pleasant. It is wearing, and would cost +you dear, because illness requires medicine, and medicine money. +If you have not killed the child, you may have crippled him, +and he will he born deformed, lop-sided, or hunch-backed. +That means that he will not be able to work, and it is only +too important to you that he should be a good workman. +Even if he be born ill, it will be bad enough, because he will +keep his mother from work, and will require medicine. +Do you see what you are doing to yourself? Men who live by hard +work must be strong and healthy, and they should have strong +and healthy children . . . Do I speak truly?" + +"Yes," assented the listeners. + +"But all this will never happen," says Yashka, becoming rather +frightened at the prospect held out to him by the teacher. + +"She is healthy, and I cannot have reached the child . . . She is a devil-- +a hag!" he shouts angrily. "I would . . . She will eat me away +as rust eats iron." + +"I understand, Yakov, that you cannot help beating your wife," +the teacher's sad and thoughtful voice again breaks in. +"You have many reasons for doing so . . . It is your wife's +character that causes you to beat her so incautiously . . . +But your own dark and sad life. . . ." + +"You are right!" shouts Yakov. "We live in darkness, +like the chimney-sweep when he is in the chimney!" + +"You are angry with your life, but your wife is patient; +the closest relation to you--your wife, and you make her +suffer for this, simply because you are stronger than she. +She is always with you, and cannot get away. Don't you see +how absurd you are?" + +"That is so . . . Devil take it! But what shall I do? +Am I not a man?" + +"Just so! You are a man. . . . I only wish to tell you that if +you cannot help beating her, then beat her carefully and always +remember that you may injure her health or that of the child. +It is not good to beat pregnant women . . . on their belly or on +their sides and chests . . . Beat her, say, on the neck . . . +or else take a rope and beat her on some soft place. . . ." + +The orator finished his speech and looked upon his hearers with his dark, +pathetic eyes, seeming to apologize to them for some unknown crime. + +The public understands it. They understand the morale of the creature +who was once a man, the morale of the public-house and much misfortune. + +"Well, brother Yashka, did you understand? See how true it is!" + +Yakov understood that to beat her incautiously might be injurious +to his wife. He is silent, replying to his companions' +jokes with confused smiles. + +"Then again, what is a wife?" philosophizes the baker, Mokei Anisimoff. +"A wife . . . is a friend if we look at the matter in that way. +She is like a chain, chained to you for life . . . and you are both just +like galley slaves. And if you try to get away from her, you cannot, +you feel the chain." + +"Wait," says Yakovleff; "but you beat your wife too." + +"Did I say that I did not? I beat her . . . There is nothing +else handy . . . Do you expect me to beat the wall with my fist +when my patience is exhausted?" + +"I feel just like that too . . ." says Yakov. + +"How hard and difficult our life is, my brothers! +There is no real rest for us anywhere!" + +"And even you beat your wife by mistake," some one remarks humorously. +And thus they speak till far on in the night or till they have quarrelled, +the usual result of drink or of passions engendered by such discussions. + +The rain beats on the windows, and outside the cold wind is blowing. +The eating-house is close with tobacco smoke, but it is warm, +while the street is cold and wet. Now and then, the wind beats +threateningly on the windows of the eating-house, as if bidding +these men to come out and be scattered like dust over the face +of the earth. + +Sometimes a stifled and hopeless groan is heard in its howling +which again is drowned by cold, cruel laughter. This music +fills one with dark, sad thoughts of the approaching winter, +with its accursed short, sunless days and long nights, +of the necessity of possessing warm garments and plenty to eat. +It is hard to sleep through the long winter nights on an empty stomach. +Winter is approaching. Yes, it is approaching . . . How to live? + +These gloomy forebodings created a strong thirst among the +inhabitants of the main street, and the sighs of the "creatures +that once were men" increased with the wrinkles on their brows, +their voices became thick and their behavior to each other +more blunt. And brutal crimes were committed among them, +and the roughness of these poor unfortunate outcasts was +apt to increase at the approach of that inexorable enemy, +who transformed all their lives into one cruel farce. +But this enemy could not be captured because it was invisible. + +Then they began beating each other brutally, and drank till they had +drunk everything which they could pawn to the indulgent Vaviloff. +And thus they passed the autumn days in open wickedness, in suffering +which was eating their hearts out, unable to rise out of this vicious +life and in dread of the still crueller days of winter. + +Kuvalda in such cases came to their assistance with his philosophy. + +"Don't lose your temper, brothers, everything has an end, +this is the chief characteristic of life. + +"The winter will pass, summer will follow . . . a glorious time, +when the very sparrows are filled with rejoicing." +But his speeches did not have any effect--a mouthful of even +the freshest and purest water will not satisfy a hungry man. + +Deacon Taras also tried to amuse the people by singing his songs +and relating his tales. He was more successful, and sometimes his +endeavors ended in a wild and glorious orgy at the eating-house. +They sang, laughed and danced, and for hours behaved like madmen. +After this they again fell into a despairing mood, sitting at the tables +of the eating-house, in the black smoke of the lamp and the tobacco; +sad and tattered, speaking lazily to each other, listening to the wild +howling of the wind, and thinking how they could get enough vodki +to deaden their senses. + +And their hand was against every man, and every man's hand against them. + + + + +PART II + + + + +All things are relative in this world, and a man cannot sink +into any condition so bad that it could not be worse. One day, +toward the end of September, Captain Aristid Kuvalda was sitting, +as was his custom, on the bench near the door of the dosshouse, +looking at the stone building built by the merchant Petunikoff +close to Vaviloff's eating-house, and thinking deeply. +This building, which was partly surrounded by woods, +served the purpose of a candle factory. + +Painted red, as if with blood, it looked like a cruel machine which, +though not working, opened a row of deep, hungry, gaping jaws, +as if ready to devour and swallow anything. The gray wooden +eating-house of Vaviloff, with its bent roof covered with patches, +leaned against one of the brick walls of the factory, and seemed +as if it were some large form of parasite clinging to it. +The Captain was thinking that they would very soon be making +new houses to replace the old building. "They will destroy +the dosshouse even," he reflected. "It will be necessary to look +out for another, but such a cheap one is not to be found. +It seems a great pity to have to leave a place to which one +is accustomed, though it will be necessary to go, simply because +some merchant or other thinks of manufacturing candles and soap." +And the Captain felt that if he could only make the life of such +an enemy miserable, even temporarily, oh! with what pleasure +he would do it! + +Yesterday, Ivan Andreyevitch Petunikoff was in the dosshouse yard +with his son and an architect. They measured the yard and put small +wooden sticks in various places, which, after the exit of Petunikoff +and at the order of the Captain, Meteor took out and threw away. +To the eyes of the Captain this merchant appeared small and thin. +He wore a long garment like a frock-coat, a velvet cap, and high, +well-cleaned boots. He had a thin face with prominent cheek-bones, +a wedge-shaped grayish beard, and a high forehead seamed with wrinkles +from beneath which shone two narrow, blinking, and observant gray +eyes . . . a sharp, gristly nose, a small mouth with thin lips . . . +altogether his appearance was pious, rapacious, and respectably wicked. + + +"Cursed cross-bred fox and pig!" swore the Captain under +his breath, recalling his first meeting with Petunikoff. +The merchant came with one of the town councillors to buy +the house, and seeing the Captain asked his companion: + +"Is this your lodger?" + +And from that day, a year and a half ago, there has been +keen competition among the inhabitants of the dosshouse +as to which can swear the hardest at the merchant. +And last night there was a "slight skirmish with hot words," +as the Captain called it, between Petunikoff and himself. +Having dismissed the architect the merchant approached the Captain. + +"What are you hatching?" asked he, putting his hand to his cap, +perhaps to adjust it, perhaps as a salutation. + +"What are you plotting?" answered the Captain in the same tone. +He moved his chin so that his beard trembled a little; +a non-exacting person might have taken it for a bow; +otherwise it only expressed the desire of the Captain +to move his pipe from one corner of his mouth to the other. +"You see, having plenty of money, I can afford to sit hatching it. +Money is a good thing, and I possess it," the Captain +chaffed the merchant, casting cunning glances at him. +"It means that you serve money, and not money you," went on Kuvalda, +desiring at the same time to punch the merchant's belly. + +"Isn't it all the same? Money makes life comfortable, +but no money," . . . and the merchant looked at the Captain +with a feigned expression of suffering. The other's upper +lip curled, and exposed large, wolf-like teeth. + + +"With brains and a conscience, it is possible to live without it. +Men only acquire riches when they cease to listen to their +conscience . . . the less conscience the more money!" + +"Just so; but then there are men who have neither money nor conscience." + +"Were you just like what you are now when you were young?" +asked Kuvalda simply. The other's nostrils twitched. +Ivan Andreyevitch sighed, passed his hand over his eyes and said: + +"Oh! When I was young I had to undergo a great many difficulties +. . . Work! Oh! I did work!" + +"And you cheated, too, I suppose?" + +"People like you? Nobles? I should just think so! +They used to grovel at my feet!" + +"You only went in for robbing, not murder, I suppose?" asked the Captain. +Petunikoff turned pale, and hastily changed the subject. + +"You are a bad host. You sit while your guest stands." + +"Let him sit, too," said Kuvalda. + +"But what am I to sit on?" + +"On the earth . . . it will take any rubbish . . ." + +"You are the proof of that," said Petunikoff quietly, while his eyes +shot forth poisonous glances. + +And he went away, leaving Kuvalda under the pleasant impression +that the merchant was afraid of him. If he were not afraid of him +he would long ago have evicted him from the dosshouse. + + +But then he would think twice before turning him out, +because of the five roubles a month. And the Captain gazed +with pleasure at Petunikoff's back as he slowly retreated +from the court-yard. Following him with his eyes, he noticed +how the merchant passed the factory and disappeared into the wood, +and he wished very much that he might fall and break all his bones. +He sat imagining many horrible forms of disaster while +watching Petunikoff, who was descending the hill into the wood +like a spider going into its web. Last night he even imagined +that the wood gave way before the merchant and he fell . . . +but afterward he found that he had only been dreaming. + +And to-day, as always, the red building stands out before the eyes +of Aristid Kuvalda, so plain, so massive, and clinging so strongly +to the earth, that it seems to be sucking away all its life. +It appears to be laughing coldly at the Captain with its gaping walls. +The sun pours its rays on them as generously as it does on the miserable +hovels of the main street. + +"Devil take the thing!" exclaimed the Captain, thoughtfully measuring +the walls of the factory with his eyes. "If only . . . ." +Trembling with excitement at the thought that had just entered his +mind Aristid Kuvalda jumped up and ran to Vaviloff's eating-house +muttering to himself all the time. + +Vaviloff met him at the bar and gave him a friendly welcome. + +"I wish your honor good health!" He was of middle height +and had a bald head, gray hair, and straight mustaches +like tooth-brushes. Upright and neat in his clean jacket, +he showed by every movement that he was an old soldier. + + +"Egorka, show me the lease and plan of your house," +demanded Kuvalda impatiently. + +"I have shown it you before." Vaviloff looked up suspiciously +and closely scanned the Captain's face. + +"Show it me!" shouted the Captain, striking the bar with his fist +and sitting down on a stool close by. + +"But why?" asked Vaviloff, knowing that it was better to keep +his wits about him when Kuvalda got excited. + +"You fool! Bring it at once." + +Vaviloff rubbed his forehead, and turned his eyes to the ceiling +in a tired way. + +"Where are those papers of yours?" + +There was no answer to this on the ceiling, so the old sergeant +looked down at the floor, and began drumming with his fingers +on the bar in a worried and thoughtful manner. + +"It's no good your making wry faces!" shouted the Captain, +for he had no great affection for him, thinking that a former soldier +should rather have become a thief than an eating-house keeper. + +"Oh! Yes! Aristid Fomich, I remember now. They were left at +the High Court of Justice at the time when I came into possession." + +"Get along, Egorka! It is to your own interest to show me +the plan, the title-deeds, and everything you have immediately. +You will probably clear at least a hundred roubles over this, +do you understand?" + +Vaviloff did not understand at all; but the Captain spoke +in such a serious and convincing tone that the sergeant's +eyes burned with curiosity, and, telling him that he would +see if the papers were in his desk, he went through the door +behind the bar. + +Two minutes later he returned with the papers in his hand, +and an expression of extreme astonishment on his face. + +"Here they are; the deeds about the damned houses!" + +"Ah! You . . . vagabond! And you pretend to have been +a soldier, too!" And Kuvalda did not cease to belabor him +with his tongue, as he snatched the blue parchment from +his hands. Then, spreading the papers out in front of him, +and excited all the more by Vaviloff's inquisitiveness, +the Captain began reading and bellowing at the same time. +At last he got up resolutely, and went to the door, leaving all +the papers on the bar, and saying to Vaviloff: + +"Wait! Don't lift them!" + +Vaviloff gathered them lip, put them into the cashbox, and locked it, +then felt the lock with his hand, to see if it were secure. +After that, he scratched his bald head, thoughtfully, and went up +on the roof of the eating-house. There he saw the Captain measuring +the front of the house, and watched him anxiously, as he snapped +his fingers, and began measuring the same line over again. +Vaviloff's face lit up suddenly, and he smiled happily. + +"Aristid, Fomich, is it possible?" he shouted, when the Captain +came opposite to him. + +"Of course it is possible. There is more than one short in +the front alone, and as to the depth I shall see immediately." + +"The depth . . . seventy-three feet." + +"What? Have you guessed, you shaved, ugly face?" + +"Of course, Aristid Fomich! If you have eyes you can see a thing or two," +shouted Vaviloff joyfully. + +A few minutes afterward they sat side by side in Vaviloff's parlor, +and the Captain was engaged in drinking large quantities of beer. + +"And so all the walls of the factory stand on your ground," +said he to the eating-house keeper. "Now, mind you show no mercy! +The teacher will be here presently, and we will get him to draw +up a petition to the court. As to the amount of the damages +you will name a very moderate sum in order not to waste money +in deed stamps, but we will ask to have the factory knocked down. +This, you see, donkey, is the result of trespassing on other +people's property. It is a splendid piece of luck for you. +We will force him to have the place smashed, and I can tell you +it will be an expensive job for him. Off with you to the court. +Bring pressure to bear on Judas. We will calculate how much it +will take to break the factory down to its very foundations. +We will make an estimate of it all, counting the time it will take too, +and we will make honest Judas pay two thousand roubles besides." + +"He will never give it!" cried Vaviloff, but his eyes shone +with a greedy light. + +"You lie! He will give it . . . Use your brains . . . What else +can he do? But look here, Egorka, mind you, don't go in for +doing it on the cheap. They are sure to fry to buy you off. +Don't sell yourself cheap. They will probably use threats, +but rely upon us. . . ." + +The Captain's eyes were alight with happiness, and his face +with excitement. He worked upon Vaviloff's greed, and urging +upon him the importance of immediate action in the matter, +went away in a very joyful and happy frame of mind. + +* * * * * * * * * * + +In the evening everyone was told of the Captain's discovery, +and they all began to discuss Petunikoff's future predicament, +painting in vivid colors his excitement and astonishment on +the day the court messenger handed him the copy of the summons. +The Captain felt himself quite a hero. He was happy and all his +friends highly pleased. The heap of dark and tattered figures +that lay in the courtyard made noisy demonstrations of pleasure. +They all knew the merchant, Petunikoff, who passed them very often, +contemptuously turning up his eyes and giving them no more +attention than he bestowed on the other heaps of rubbish lying +on the ground. He was well fed, and that exasperated them +still more; and now how splendid it was that one of themselves +had struck a hard blow at the selfish merchant's purse! +It gave them all the greatest pleasure. The Captain's discovery +was a powerful instrument in their hands. Every one of them felt +keen animosity toward all those who were well fed and well dressed, +but in some of them this feeling was only beginning to develop. +Burning interest was felt by those "creatures that once were men" +in the prospective fight between Kuvalda and Petunikoff, +which they already saw in imagination. + +For a fortnight the inhabitants of the dosshouse awaited +the further development of events, but Petunikoff never once +visited the building. It was known that he was not in town, +and that the copy of the petition had not yet been handed +to him. Kuvalda raged at the delays of the civil court. +It is improbable that anyone had ever awaited the merchant +with such impatience as did this bare-footed brigade. + +"He isn't even thinking of coming, the wretch! . . ." + +"That means that he does not love me!" sang Deacon Taras, +leaning his chin on his hand and casting a humorous glance +toward the mountain. + +At last Petunikoff appeared. He came in a respectable cart with +his son playing the role of groom. The latter was a red-cheeked, +nice-looking youngster, in a long square-cut overcoat. +He wore smoked eyeglasses. They tied the horse to an adjoining tree, +the son took the measuring instrument out of his pocket and gave +it to his father, and they began to measure the ground. +Both were silent and worried. + +"Aha!" shouted the Captain gleefully. + +All those who were in the dosshouse at the moment came out to look +at them and expressed themselves loudly and freely in reference +to the matter. + +"What does the habit of thieving mean? A man may sometimes make +a big mistake when he steals, standing to lose more than he gets," +said the Captain, causing much laughter among his staff and eliciting +various murmurs of assent. + +"Take care, you devil!" shouted Petunikoff, "lest I have you +in the police court for your words!" + +"You can do nothing to me without witnesses . . . Your son cannot +give evidence on your side" . . . the Captain warned him. + +"Look out all the same, you old wretch, you may be found guilty too!" +And Petunikoff shook his fist at him. His son, deeply engrossed +in his calculations, took no notice of the dark group of men, who were +taking such a wicked delight in adding to his father's discomfiture. +He did not even once look in their direction. + +"The young spider has himself well in hand," remarked Abyedok, +watching young Petunikoff's every movement and action. +Having taken all the measurements he desired, Ivan Andreyevitch +knit his brows, got into the cart, and drove away. +His son went with a firm step into Vaviloff's eating-house, +and disappeared behind the door. + +"Ho, ho! That's a determined young thief! . . . What will happen next, +I wonder . . .?" asked Kuvalda. + +"Next? Young Petunikoff will buy out Egor Vaviloff," +said Abyedok with conviction, and smacked his lips as if the idea +gave him great pleasure. + +"And you are glad of that?" Kuvalda asked him gravely. + +"I am always pleased to see human calculations miscarry," +explained Abyedok, rolling his eyes and rubbing his hands with delight. +The Captain spat angrily on the ground and was silent. +They all stood in front of the tumble-down building, and silently +watched the doors of the eating-house. More than an hour passed thus. + +Then the doors opened and Petunikoff came out as silently +as he had entered. He stopped for a moment, coughed, turned up +the collar of his coat, glanced at the men, who were following +all his movements with their eyes, and then went up the street +toward the town. + +The Captain watched him for a moment, and turning to +Abyedok said smilingly: + +"Probably you were right after all, you son of a scorpion +and a wood-louse! You nose out every evil thing. Yes, the face +of that young swindler shows that be has got what he wanted. . . I +wonder how much Egorka has got out of them. He has evidently taken +something . . . He is just the same sort of rogue that they are . . . +they are all tarred with the same brush. He has got some money, +and I'm damned if I did not arrange the whole thing for him! +It is best to own my folly . . . Yes, life is against us all, +brothers . . . and even when you spit upon those nearest to you, +the spittle rebounds and hits your own face." + +Having satisfied himself with this reflection, the worthy Captain +looked round upon his staff. Every one of them was disappointed, +because they all knew that something they did not expect had taken +place between Petunikoff and Vaviloff, and they all felt that they +had been insulted. The feeling that one is unable to injure +anyone is worse than the feeling that one is unable to do good, +because to do harm is far easier and simpler. + +"Well, why are we loitering here? We have nothing more +to wait for . . . except the reward that I shall get out-- +out of Egorka, . . ." said the Captain, looking angrily at +the eating-house. "So our peaceful life under the roof of Judas +has come to an end. + +"Judas will now turn us out . . . So do not say that I have +not warned you." + +Kanets smiled sadly. + +"What are you laughing at, jailer?" Kuvalda asked. + +"Where shall I go then?" + +"That, my soul, is a question that fate will settle for you, so do +not worry," said the Captain thoughtfully, entering the dosshouse. +"The creatures that once were men" followed him. + +"We can do nothing but await the critical moment," said the Captain, +walking about among them. "When they turn us out we shall seek +a new place for ourselves, but at present there is no use spoiling +our life by thinking of it . . . In times of crisis one becomes +energetic . . . and if life were fuller of them and every moment +of it so arranged that we were compelled to tremble for our lives +all the time . . . By God! life would be livelier and even fuller +of interest and energy than it is!" + +"That means that people would all go about cutting one another's throats," +explained Abyedok smilingly. + +"Well, what about it?" asked the Captain angrily. +He did not like to hear his thoughts illustrated. + +"Oh! Nothing! When a person wants to get anywhere quickly he whips up +the horses, but of course it needs fire to make engines go. . . ." + +"Well, let everything go to the Devil as quickly as possible. +I'm sure I should be pleased if the earth suddenly opened up +or was burned or destroyed somehow . . . only I were left +to the last in order to see the others consumed. . . ." + +"Ferocious creature!" smiled Abyedok. + +"Well, what of that? I . . . I was once a man . . . now I +am an outcast . . . that means I have no obligations. +It means that I am free to spit on everyone. The nature +of my present life means the rejection of my past . . . +giving up all relations toward men who are well fed and +well dressed, and who look upon me with contempt because I +am inferior to them in the matter of feeding or dressing. +I must develop something new within myself, do you understand? +Something that will make Judas Petunikoff and his kind tremble +and perspire before me!" + +"Ah! You have a courageous tongue!" jeered Abyedok. + +"Yes . . . You miser!" And Kuvalda looked at him contemptuously. +"What do you understand? What do you know? Are you able to think? +But I have thought and I have read . . . books of which you could +not have understood one word." + +"Of course! One cannot eat soup out of one's hand . . . But though +you have read and thought, and I have not done that or anything else, +we both seem to have got into pretty much the same condition, don't we?" + +"Go to the Devil!" shouted Kuvalda. His conversations with Abyedok +always ended thus. When the teacher was absent his speeches, +as a rule, fell on the empty air, and received no attention, +and he knew this, but still he could not help speaking. +And now, having quarrelled with his companion, he felt +rather deserted; but, still longing for conversation, +he turned to Simtsoff with the following question: + +"And you, Aleksei Maksimovitch, where will you lay your gray head?" + +The old man smiled good-humoredly, rubbed his hands, and replied, +"I do not know . . . I will see. One does not require much, +just a little drink." + +"Plain but honorable fare!" the Captain said. Simtsoff was silent, +only adding that he would find a place sooner than any of them, +because women loved him. This was true. The old man had, as a rule, +two or three prostitutes, who kept him on their very scant earnings. +They very often beat him, but he took this stoically. +They somehow never beat him too much, probably because they pitied him. +He was a great lover of women, and said they were the cause of +all his misfortunes. The character of his relations toward them +was confirmed by the appearance of his clothes, which, as a rule, +were tidy, and cleaner than those of his companions. And now, +sitting at the door of the dosshouse, he boastingly related that for +a long time past Redka had been asking him to go and live with her, +but he had not gone because he did not want to part with the company. +They heard this with jealous interest. They all knew Redka. +She lived very near the town, almost below the mountain. +Not long ago, she had been in prison for theft. She was a retired nurse; +a tall, stout peasant woman with a face marked by smallpox, +but with very pretty, though always drunken, eyes. + +"Just look at the old devil!" swore Abyedok, looking at Simtsoff, +who was smiling in a self-satisfied way. + +"And do you know why they love me? Because I know how to cheer +up their souls." + +"Do you?" inquired Kuvalda. + +"And I can make them pity me . . . And a woman, when she pities! +Go and weep to her, and ask her to kill you . . . she will pity you-- +and she will kill you." + +"I feel inclined to commit a murder," declared Martyanoff, +laughing his dull laugh. + +"Upon whom?" asked Abyedok, edging away from him. + +"It's all the same to me . . . Petunikoff . . . Egorka or even you!" + +"And why?" inquired Kuvalda. + +"I want to go to Siberia . . . I have had enough of this vile +life . . . one learns how to live there!" + +"Yes, they have a particularly good way of teaching in Siberia," +agreed the Captain sadly. + +They spoke no more of Petunikoff, or of the turning out of +the inhabitants of the dosshouse. They all knew that they would +have to leave soon, therefore they did not think the matter +worth discussion. It would do no good, and besides the weather +was not very cold though the rains had begun . . . and it would +be possible to sleep on the ground anywhere outside the town. +They sat in a circle on the grass and conversed about all +sorts of things, discussing one subject after another, +and listening attentively even to the poor speakers in order +to make the time pass; keeping quiet was as dull as listening. +This society of "creatures that once were men" had one +fine characteristic--no one of them endeavored to make out +that he was better than the others, nor compelled the others +to acknowledge his superiority. + +The August sun seemed to set their tatters on fire as they +sat with their backs and uncovered heads exposed to it . . . +a chaotic mixture of the vegetable, mineral, and animal kingdoms. +In the corners of the yard the tall steppe grass grew luxuriantly . . . +Nothing else grew there but some dingy vegetables, not attractive +even to those who nearly always felt the pangs of hunger. + +* * * * * * * * * * + +The following was the scene that took place in Vaviloff's eating-house. + +Young Petunikoff entered slowly, took off his hat, looked around him, +and said to the eating-house keeper: + +"Egor Terentievitch Vaviloff? Are you he?" + +"I am," answered the sergeant, leaning on the bar with both arms +as if intending to jump over it. + +"I have some business with you," said Petunikoff. + +"Delighted. Please come this way to my private room." + +They went in and sat down, the guest on the couch and his host +on the chair opposite to him. In one corner a lamp was burning +before a gigantic icon, and on the wall at the other side +there were several oil lamps. They were well kept and shone +as if they were new. The room, which contained a number of boxes +and a variety of furniture, smelt of tobacco, sour cabbage, +and olive oil. Petunikoff looked around him and made a face. +Vaviloff looked at the icon, and then they looked simultaneously +at one another, and both seemed to be favorably impressed. +Petunikoff liked Vaviloff's frankly thievish eyes, and Vaviloff +was pleased with the open cold, determined face of Petunikoff, +with its large cheeks and white teeth. + +"Of course you already know me, and I presume you guess what I +am going to say to you," began Petunikoff. + +"About the lawsuit? . . . I presume?" remarked the +ex-sergeant respectfully. + +"Exactly! I am glad to see that you are not beating about +the bush, but going straight to the point like a business man," +said Petunikoff encouragingly. + +"I am a soldier," answered Vaviloff, with a modest air. + +"That is easily seen, and I am sure we shall be able to finish +this job without much trouble." + +"Just so." + +"Good! You have the law on your side, and will, of course, win your case. +I want to tell you this at the very beginning." + +"I thank you most humbly," said the sergeant, rubbing his eyes +in order to hide the smile in them. + +"But tell me, why did you make the acquaintance of your future +neighbors like this through the law courts?" + +Vaviloff shrugged his shoulders and did not answer. + +"It would have been better to come straight to us and settle +the matter peacefully, eh? What do you think?" + +"That would have been better, of course, but you see there +is a difficulty . . . I did not follow my own wishes, +but those of others . . . I learned afterward that it would +have been better if . . . but it was too late." + +"Oh! I suppose some lawyer taught you this?" + +"Someone of that sort." + +"Aha! Do you wish to settle the affair peacefully," + +"With all my heart!" cried the soldier. + +Petunikoff was silent for a moment, then looked at him, +and suddenly asked, coldly and dryly, "And why do you wish +to do so?" + +Vaviloff did not expect such a question, and therefore had no +reply ready. In his opinion the question was quite unworthy +of any attention, and so he laughed at young Petunikoff. + +"That is easy to understand. Men like to live peacefully +with one another." + +"But," interrupted Petunikoff, "that is not exactly the reason why. +As far as I can see, you do not distinctly understand why you wish +to be reconciled to us . . . I will tell you." + +The soldier was a little surprised. This youngster, +dressed in a check suit, in which he looked ridiculous, +spoke as if he were Colonel Rakshin, who used to knock three of +the unfortunate soldier's teeth out every time he was angry. + +"You want to be friends with us because we should be such useful +neighbors to you . . . because there will be not less than a hundred +and fifty workmen in our factory, and in course of time even more. +If a hundred men come and drink one glass at your place, after receiving +their weekly wages, that means that you will sell every month four +hundred glasses more than you sell at present. This is, of course, +the lowest estimate and then you have the eating-house besides. +You are not a fool, and you can understand for yourself what profitable +neighbors we shall be." + +"That is true," Vaviloff nodded "I knew that before." + +"Well, what then?" asked the merchant loudly. + +"Nothing . . . let us be friends!" + +"It is nice to see that you have decided so quickly. +Look here, I have already prepared a notification to the court +of the withdrawal of the summons against my father. +Here it is; read it, and sign it." + +Vaviloff looked at his companion with his round eyes and shivered, +as if experiencing an unpleasant sensation. + +"Pardon me . . . sign it? And why?" + +"There is no difficulty about it . . . write your Christian +name and surname and nothing more," explained Petunikoff, +pointing obligingly with his finger to the place for the signature. + +"Oh! It is not that . . . I was alluding to the compensation +I was to get for my ground." + +"But then this ground is of no use to you," said Petunikoff calmly. + +"But it is mine!" exclaimed the soldier. + +"Of course, and how much do you want for it?" + +"Well, say the amount stated in the document," said Vaviloff boldly. + +"Six hundred!" and Petunikoff smiled softly. "You are a funny fellow!" + +"The law is on my side . . . I can even demand two thousand. +I can insist on your pulling down the building . . . +and enforce it too. That is why my claim is so small. +I demand that you should pull it down!" + +"Very well. Probably we shall do so . . . after three years, +and after having dragged you into enormous law expenses. + +"And then, having paid up, we shall open our public-house, and you +will he ruined . . . annihilated like the Swedes at Poltava. +We shall see that you are ruined . . . we will take good care of that. +We could have begun to arrange about a public-house now, but you +see our time is valuable, and besides we are sorry for you. +Why should we take the bread out of your mouth without any reason?" + +Egor Terentievitch looked at his guest, clenching his teeth, and felt +that he was master of the situation, and held his fate in his hands. +Vaviloff was full of pity for himself at having to deal with this calm, +cruel figure in the checked suit. + +"And being such a near neighbor you might have gained a good +deal by helping us, and we should have remembered it too. +Even now, for instance, I should advise you to open a small +shop for tobacco, you know, bread, cucumbers, and so on . . . +All these are sure to be in great demand." + +Vaviloff listened, and being a clever man, knew that to throw +himself upon the enemy's generosity was the better plan. +It was as well to begin from the beginning, and, not knowing +what else to do to relieve his mind, the soldier began +to swear at Kuvalda. + +"Curses be upon your head, you drunken rascal! May the Devil take you!" + +"Do you mean the lawyer who composed your petition?" +asked Petunikoff calmly, and added, with a sigh, "I have no +doubt he would have landed you in rather an awkward fix . . . +had we not taken pity upon you." + +"Ah!" And the angry soldier raised his hand. + +"There are two of them . . . One of them discovered it, +the other wrote the petition, the accursed reporter!" + +"Why the reporter?" + +"He writes for the papers . . . He is one of your lodgers . . . there +they all are outside . . . Clear them away, for Christ's sake! +The robbers! They disturb and annoy everyone in the street. +One cannot live for them . . . And they are all desperate fellows . . . +You had better take care, or else they will rob or burn you. + +"And this reporter, who is he?" asked Petunikoff, with interest. + +"He? A drunkard. He was a teacher, but was dismissed. +He drank everything he possessed . . . and now he writes for +the papers and composes petitions. He is a very wicked man!" + +"H'm! And did he write your petition, too? I suppose +it was he who discovered the flaws in the building. +The beams were not rightly put in?" + +"He did! I know it for a fact! The dog! He read it aloud +in here and boasted, 'Now I have caused Petunikoff some loss!'" + +"Ye--es . . . Well, then, do you want to be reconciled?" + +"To be reconciled?" The soldier lowered his head and thought. +"Ah! This is a hard life!" said he, in a querulous voice, +scratching his head. + +"One must learn by experience, Petunikoff reassured him, +lighting a cigarette. + +"Learn . . . It is not that, my dear sir; but don't you see there +is no freedom? Don't you see what a life I lead? + +"I live in fear and trembling . . . I am refused the freedom so desirable +to me in my movements, and I fear this ghost of a teacher will write +about me in the papers. Sanitary inspectors will be called for . . . +fines will have to be paid . . . or else your lodgers will set fire +to the place or rob and kill me . . . I am powerless against them. +They are not the least afraid of the police, and they like going +to prison, because they get their food for nothing there." + +"But then we will have them turned out if we come to terms +with you," promised Petunikoff. + +"What shall we arrange, then?" asked Vaviloff sadly and seriously. + +"Tell me your terms." + +"Well, give me the six hundred mentioned in the claim." + +"Won't you take a hundred roubles?" asked the merchant calmly, +looking attentively at his companion, and smiling softly. +"I will not give you one rouble more" . . . he added. + +After this, he took out his eyeglasses and began cleaning them with +his handkerchief. Vaviloff looked at him sadly and respectfully. +The calm face of Petunikoff, his gray eyes and clear complexion, +every line of his thickset body betokened self-confidence +and a well-balanced mind. Vaviloff also liked Petunikoff's +straightforward manner of addressing him without any pretensions, +as if he were his own brother, though Vaviloff understood well +enough that he was his superior, he being only a soldier. + +Looking at him, he grew fonder and fonder of him, and, forgetting for +a moment the matter in hand, respectfully asked Petunikoff: + +"Where did you study?" + +"In the technological institute. Why?" answered the other, smiling: + +"Nothing. Only . . . excuse me!" The soldier lowered his head, +and then suddenly exclaimed, "What a splendid thing education is! +Science--light. My brother, I am as stupid as an owl before the sun + . . . Your honor, let us finish this job." + +With an air of decision he stretched out his hand to Petunikoff and said: + +"Well, five hundred?" + +"Not more than one hundred roubles, Egor Tereutievitch." + +Petunikoff shrugged his shoulders as if sorry at being +unable to give more, and touched the soldier's hairy hand +with his long white fingers. They soon ended the matter, +for the soldier gave in quickly and met Petunikoff's wishes. +And when Vaviloff had received the hundred roubles and signed +the paper, he threw the pen down on the table and said bitterly: + +"Now I will have a nice time! They will laugh at me, they will cry +shame on me, the devils!" + +"But you tell them that I paid all your claim," suggested Petunikoff, +calmly puffing out clouds of smoke and watching them float upward. + +"But do you think they will believe it? They are as clever swindlers +if not worse . . ." + +Vaviloff stopped himself in time before making the intended comparison, +and looked at the merchant's son in terror. + +The other smoked on, and seemed to be absorbed in that occupation. +He went away soon, promising to destroy the nest of vagabonds. +Vaviloff looked after him and sighed, feeling as if he would +like to shout some insult at the young man who was going with such +firm steps toward the steep road, encumbered with its ditches +and heaps of rubbish. + +In the evening the Captain appeared in the eatinghouse. +His eyebrows were knit and his fist clenched. Vaviloff smiled +at him in a guilty manner. + +"Well, worthy descendant of Judas and Cain, tell us. . . ." + +"They decided" . . . said Vaviloff, sighing and lowering his eyes. + +"I don't doubt it; how many silver pieces did you receive?" + +"Four hundred roubles" + +"Of course you are lying . . . But all the better for me. +Without any further words, Egorka, ten per cent. of it for +my discovery, four per cent. to the teacher for writing the petition, +one 'vedro' of vodki to all of us, and refreshments all round. +Give me the money now, the vodki and refreshments will do +at eight o'clock." + +Vaviloff turned purple with rage, and stared at Kuvalda +with wide-open eyes. + +"This is humbug! This is robbery! I will do nothing of the sort. +What do you mean, Aristid Fomich? Keep your appetite for the next feast! +I am not afraid of you now. . . ." + +Kuvalda looked at the clock. + +"I give you ten minutes, Egorka, for your idiotic talk." + +"Finish your nonsense by that time and give me what I demand. +If you don't I will devour you! Kanets has sold you something? +Did you read in the paper about the theft at Basoff's house? +Do you understand? You won't have time to hide anything, we will +not let you . . . and this very night . . . do you understand?" + +"Why, Aristid Fomich?" sobbed the discomfited merchant. + +"No more words! Did you understand or not?" + +Tall, gray, and imposing, Kuvalda spoke in half whispers, and his +deep bass voice rang through the house Vaviloff always feared him +because he was not only a retired military man, but a man who had +nothing to lose. But now Kuvalda appeared before him in a new role. +He did not speak much, and jocosely as usual, but spoke in +the tone of a commander, who was convinced of the other's guilt. +And Vaviloff felt that the Captain could and would ruin him +with the greatest pleasure. He must needs bow before this power. +Nevertheless, the soldier thought of trying him once more. +He sighed deeply, and began with apparent calmness: + +"It is truly said that a man's sin will find him out . . . I lied to you, +Aristid Fomich, . . . I tried to be cleverer than I am . . . I only +received one hundred roubles." + +"Go on!" said Kuvalda. + +"And not four hundred as I told you . . . That means. . . ." + +"It does not mean anything. It is all the same to me +whether you lied or not. You owe me sixty-five roubles. +That is not much, eh?" + +"Oh! my Lord! Aristid Fomich! I have always been attentive +to your honor and done my best to please you. + +"Drop all that, Egorka, grandchild of Judas!" + +"All right! I will give it you . . . only God will punish +you for this. . . ." + +"Silence! You rotten pimple of the earth!" shouted the Captain, +rolling his eyes. "He has punished me enough already in forcing +me to have conversation with you . . . I will kill you on the spot +like a fly!" + +He shook his fist in Vaviloff's face and ground his teeth till +they nearly broke. + +After he had gone Vaviloff began smiling and winking to himself. +Then two large drops rolled down his cheeks. They were grayish, +and they hid themselves in his moustache, while two others followed them. +Then Vaviloff went into his own room and stood before the icon, +stood there without praying, immovable, with the salt tears running +down his wrinkled brown cheeks. . . . + +* * * * * * * * * * + +Deacon Taras, who, as a rule, loved to loiter in the woods and fields, +proposed to the "creatures that once were men" that they should go +together into the fields, and there drink Vaviloff's vodki in the bosom +of Nature. But the Captain and all the rest swore at the Deacon, +and decided to drink it in the courtyard. + +"One, two, three," counted Aristid Fomich; "our full number is thirty, +the teacher is not here . . . but probably many other outcasts will come. +Let us calculate, say, twenty persons, and to every person two-and-a-half +cucumbers, a pound of bread, and a pound of meat . . . That won't be bad! +One bottle of vodki each, and there is plenty of sour cabbage, +and three watermelons. + +"I ask you, what the devil could you want more, my scoundrel friends? +Now, then, let us prepare to devour Egorka Vaviloff, because all this +is his blood and body!" + +They spread some old clothes on the ground, setting the delicacies +and the drink on them, and sat around the feast, solemnly and quietly, +but almost unable to control the craving for drink that was shining +in their eyes. + +The evening began to fall, and its shadows were cast on the human +refuse of the earth in the courtyard of the dosshouse; the last +rays of the sun illumined the roof of the tumble-down building. +The night was cold and silent. + +"Let us begin, brothers!" commanded the Captain. + +"How many cups have we? Six . . . and there are thirty of us! +Aleksei Maksimovitch, pour it out. Is it ready? Now then, +the first toast . . . Come along!" + +They drank and shouted, and began to eat. + +"The teacher is not here . . . I have not seen him for three days. +Has anyone seen him?" asked Kuvalda. + +"No one." + +"It is unlike . . . Let us drink to the health of Aristid Kuvalda . . . +the only friend who has never deserted me for one moment of my life! +Devil take him all the same! I might have had something to wear had +he left my society at least for a little while." + +"You are bitter . . ." said Abyedok, and coughed. + +The Captain, with his feeling of superiority to the others, +never talked with his mouth full. + +Having drunk twice, the company began to grow merry; +the food was grateful to them. + +Paltara Taras expressed his desire to hear a tale, but the Deacon +was arguing with Kubaroff over his preferring thin women +to stout ones, and paid no attention to his friend's request. +He was asserting his views on the subject to Kubaroff with all +the decision of a man who was deeply convinced in his own mind. + +The foolish face of Meteor, who was lying on the ground, +showed that he was drinking in the Deacon's strong words. + +Martyanoff sat, clasping his large hairy hands round his knees, +looking silently and sadly at the bottle of vodki and pulling +his moustache as if trying to bite it with his teeth, +while Abyedok was teasing Tyapa. + +"I have seen you watching the place where your money is hidden!" + +"That is your luck," shouted Tyapa. + +"I will go halves with you, brother." + +"All right, take it and welcome." + +Kuvalda felt angry with these men. Among them all there was not +one worthy of hearing his oratory or of understanding him. + +"I wonder where the teacher is?" he asked loudly. + +Martyanoff looked at him and said, "He will come soon.. . ." + +"I am positive that he will come, but he won't come in a carriage. +Let us drink to your future health. If you kill any rich man +go halves with me . . . then I shall go to America, brother. +To those . . . what do you call them? Limpas? Pampas? + +"I will go there and I will work my way until I become the President +of the United States, and then I will challenge the whole of Europe +to war and I will blow it up! I will buy the army . . . in Europe +that is--I will invite the French, the Germans, the Turks, +and so on, and I will kill them by the hands of their own +relatives . . . Just as Elia Marumets bought a Tartar with a Tartar. +With money it would be possible even for Elia to destroy +the whole of Europe and to take Judas Petunikoff for his valet. +He would go . . . Give him a hundred roubles a month and he would go! +But he would be a bad valet, because he would soon begin to steal. . . ." + +"Now, besides that, the thin woman is better than the stout one, +because she costs one less," said the Deacon, convincingly. +"My first Deaconess used to buy twelve arshins for her clothes, +but the second one only ten. And so on even in the matter +of provisions and food." + +Paltara Taras smiled guiltily. Turning his head towards the Deacon +and looking straight at him, he said, with conviction: + +"I had a wife once, too." + +"Oh! That happens to everyone," remarked Kuvalda; "but go +on with your lies." + +"She was thin, but she ate a lot, and even died from over-eating." + +"You poisoned her, you hunchback!" said Abyedok, confidently. + +"No, by God I It was from eating sturgeon," said Paltara Taras. + +"But I say that you poisoned her!" declared Abyedok, decisively. + +It often happened, that having said something absolutely impossible +and without proof, he kept on repeating it, beginning in a childish, +capricious tone, and gradually raising his voice to a mad shriek. + +The Deacon stood up for his friend. "No; he did not poison her. +He had no reason to do so." + +"But I say that he poisoned her!" swore Abyedok. + +"Silence!" shouted the Captain, threateningly, becoming still angrier. +He looked at his friends with his blinking eyes, and not discovering +anything to further provoke his rage in their half-tipsy faces, +he lowered his head, sat still for a little while, and then turned +over on his back on the ground. Meteor was biting cucumbers. +He took a cucumber in his hand without looking at it, put nearly +half of it into his mouth, and bit it with his yellow teeth, so that +the juice spurted out in all directions and ran over his cheeks. +He did not seem to want to eat, but this process pleased him. +Martyanoff sat motionless on the ground, like a statue, and looked +in a dull manner at the half-vedro bottle, already getting empty. +Abyedok lay on his belly and coughed, shaking all over his small body. +The rest of the dark, silent figures sat and lay around in all sorts +of positions, and their tatters made them look like untidy animals, +created by some strange, uncouth deity to make a mockery of man. + + "There once lived a lady in Suzdale, + A strange lady, + She fell into hysterics, + Most unpleasantly!" + +sang the Deacon in low tones embracing Aleksei Maksimovitch, +who was smiling kindly into his face. + +Paltaras Taras giggled voluptuously. + +The night was approaching. High up in the sky the stars were +shining . . . and on the mountain and in the town the lights of the lamps +were appearing. The whistles of the steamers were heard all over +the river, and the doors of Yaviloff's eating-house opened noisily. +Two dark figures entered the courtyard, and one of them asked +in a hoarse voice: + +"Are you drinking?" And the other said in a jealous aside: + +"Just see what devils they are!" + +Then a hand stretched over the Deacon's head and took away the bottle, +and the characteristic sound of vodki being poured into a glass +was heard. Then they all protested loudly. + +"Oh this is sad!" shouted the Deacon. "Krivoi, let us remember +the ancients! Let us sing 'On the Banks of Babylonian Rivers.'" + +"But can he?" asked Simtsoff. + +"He? He was a chorister in the Bishop's choir. Now then, Krivoi! . . . On +the r-i-v-e-r-s-----" The Deacon's voice was loud and hoarse and cracked, +but his friend sang in a shrill falsetto. + +The dirty building loomed large in the darkness and seemed to be coming +nearer, threatening the singers, who were arousing its dull echoes. +The heavy, pompous clouds were floating in the sky over their heads. +One of the "creatures that once were men" was snoring; while the rest +of them, not yet so drunk as he was, ate and drank quietly or spoke +to each other at long intervals. + +It was unusual for them to be in such low spirits during such a feast, +with so much vodki. Somehow the drink tonight did not seem to have its +usual exhilarating effect. + +"Stop howling, you dogs!" . . . said the Captain to the singers, +raising his head from the ground to listen. + +"Some one is passing . . . in a droshky. . . ." + +A droshky at such a time in the main street could not but attract +general attention. Who would risk crossing the ditches between it +and the town, and why? They all raised their heads and listened. +In the silence of the night the wheels were distinctly heard. +They came gradually nearer. A voice was heard, asking roughly: + +"Well, where then?" + +Someone answered, "It must be there, that house." + +"I shall not go any farther." + +"They are coming here!" shouted the Captain. + +"The police!" someone whispered in great alarm. + +"In a droshky! Fool!" said Martyanoff, quietly. + +Kuvalda got up and went to the entrance. + +"Is this a lodging-house?" asked someone, in a trembling voice. + +"Yes. Belonging to Aristid Kuvalda . . ." said the Captain, roughly. + +"Oh! Did a reporter, one Titoff, live here?" + +"Aha! Have you brought him?" + +"Yes. . . ." + +"Drunk?" + +"Ill." + +"That means he is very drunk. Ay, teacher! Now, then, get up!" + +"Wait, I will help you . . . He is very ill . . . he has been with me +for the last two days . . . Take him under the arms . . . The doctor +has seen him. He is very bad." + +Tyapa got up and walked to the entrance, but Abyedok laughed, +and took another drink. + +"Strike a light, there!" shouted the Captain. + +Meteor went into the house and lighted the lamp. +Then a thin line of light streamed out over the courtyard, +and the Captain and another man managed to get the teacher into +the dosshouse. His head was hanging on his breast, his feet +trailed on the ground, and his arms hung limply as if broken. +With Tyapa's help they placed him on a wide board. +He was shivering all over. + +"We worked on the same paper . . . he is very unlucky . . . I said, +'Stay in my house, you are not in the way,' . . . but he begged me +to send him 'home.' He was so excited about it that I brought him here, +thinking it might do him good . . . Home! This is it, isn't it?" + +"Do you suppose he has a home anywhere else?" asked Kuvalda, roughly, +looking at his friend. "Tyapa, fetch me some cold water." + +"I fancy I am of no more use," remarked the man in some confusion. +The Captain looked at him critically. His clothes were rather shiny, +and tightly buttoned up to his chin. His trousers were frayed, his hat +almost yellow with age and crumpled like his lean and hungry face. + +"No, you are not necessary! We have plenty like you here," +said the Captain, turning away. + +"Then, good-bye!" The man went to the door, and said +quietly from there, "If anything happens . . . let me +know in the publishing office . . . My name is Rijoff. +I might write a short obituary . . . You see he was an active +member of the Press." + +"H'm, an obituary, you say? Twenty lines forty kopecks? +I will do more than that. When he dies I will cut off one of his legs +and send it to you. That will be much more profitable than an obituary. +It will last you for three days . . . His legs are fat. +You devoured him when he was alive. You may as well continue +to do so after he is dead. . . ." + +The man sniffed strangely and disappeared. The Captain sat +down on the wooden board beside the teacher, felt his forehead +and breast with his hands and called "Philip!" + +The sound re-echoed from the dirty walls of the dosshouse +and died away. + +"This is absurd, brother," said the Captain, quietly arranging +the teacher's untidy hair with his hand. Then the Captain +listened to his breathing, which was rapid and uneven, +and looked at his sunken gray face. He sighed and looked upon him, +knitting his eyebrows. The lamp was a bad one . . . The light +was fitful, and dark shadows flickered on the dosshouse walls. +The Captain watched them, scratching his beard. + +Tyapa returned, bringing a vedro of water, and placing it beside +the teacher's head, he took his arm as if to raise him up. + +"The water is not necessary," and the Captain shook his head. + +"But we must try to revive him," said the old rag-collector. + +"Nothing is needed," said the Captain, decidedly. + +They sat silently looking at the teacher. + +"Let us go and drink, old devil!" + +"But he?" + +"Can you do him any good?" + +Tyapa turned his back on the teacher, and both went out into +the courtyard to their companions. + +"What is it?" asked Abyedok, turning his sharp nose to the old man. + +The snoring of those who were asleep, and the tinkling sound of +pouring vodki was heard . . . The Deacon was murmuring something. +The clouds swam low, so low that it seemed as if they would touch +the roof of the house and would knock it over on the group of men. + +"Ah! One feels sad when someone near at hand is dying," +faltered the Captain, with his head down. No one answered him. + +"He was the best among you . . . the cleverest, the most respectable. +I mourn for him." + +"R-e-s-t with the Saints . . . Sing, you crooked hunchback!" +roared the Deacon, digging his friend in the ribs. + +"Be quiet!" shouted Abyedok, jumping vengefully to his feet. + +"I will give him one on the head," proposed Martyanoff, +raising his head from the ground. + +"You are not asleep?" Aristid Fomich asked him very softly. +"Have you heard about our teacher?" + +Martyanoff lazily got up from the ground, looked at the line +of light coming out of the dosshouse, shook his head and silently +sat down beside the Captain. + +"Nothing particular . . . The man is dying remarked the Captain, shortly. + +"Have they been beating him?" asked Abyedok, with great interest. +The Captain gave no answer. He was drinking vodki at the moment. +"They must have known we had something in which to commemorate +him after his death!" continued Abyedok, lighting a cigarette. +Someone laughed, someone sighed. Generally speaking, the conversation +of Abyedok and the Captain did not interest them, and they hated having +to think at all. They had always felt the teacher to be an uncommon man, +but now many of them were drunk and the others sad and silent. +Only the Deacon suddenly drew himself up straight and howled wildly: + +"And may the righteous r-e-s-t!" + +"You idiot!" hissed Abyedok. "What are you howling for?" + +"Fool!" said Tyapa's hoarse voice. "When a man is dying one must +be quiet . . . so that he may have peace." + +Silence reigned once more. The cloudy sky threatened thunder, +and the earth was covered with the thick darkness of an autumn night. + +"Let us go on drinking!" proposed Kuvalda, filling up the glasses. + +"I will go and see if he wants anything," said Tyapa. + +"He wants a coffin!" jeered the Captain. + +"Don't speak about that," begged Abyedok in a low voice. + +Meteor rose and followed Tyapa. The Deacon tried to get up, +but fell and swore loudly. + +When Tyapa had gone the Captain touched Martyanoff's shoulder +and said in low tones: + +"Well, Martyanoff . . . You must feel it more then the others. +You were . . . But let that go to the Devil . . . Don't +you pity Philip?" + +"No," said the ex-jailer, quietly, "I do not feel things of this sort, +brother . . . I have learned better this life is disgusting after all. +I speak seriously when I say that I should like to kill someone." + +"Do you?" said the Captain, indistinctly. "Well let's have another +drink . . . It's not a long job ours, a little drink and then . . ." + +The others began to wake up, and Simtsoff shouted in a +blissful voice: "Brothers! One of you pour out a glass +for the old man!" + +They poured out a glass and gave it to him. Having drunk it +he tumbled down again, knocking against another man as he fell. +Two or three minutes' silence ensued, dark as the autumn night. + +"What do you say?" + +"I say that he was a good man . . . a quiet and good man," +whispered a low voice. + +"Yes, and he had money, too . . . and he never refused it +to a friend. . . ." + +Again silence ensued. + +"He is dying!" said Tyapa, hoarsely, from behind the + +Captain's head. Aristid Fomich got up, and went with firm steps +into the dosshouse. + +"Don't go!" Tyapa stopped him. "Don't go! You are drunk! +It is not right." The Captain stopped and thought. + +"And what is right on this earth? Go to the Devil!" And he +pushed Tyapa aside. + +On the walls of the dosshouse the shadows were creeping, +seeming to chase each other. The teacher lay on the board +at full length and snored. His eyes were wide open, his naked +breast rose and fell heavily, the corners of his mouth foamed, +and on his face was an expression as if he wished to say +something very important, but found it difficult to do so. +The Captain stood with his hands behind him, and looked at him +in silence. He then began in a silly way: + +"Philip! Say something to me . . . a word of comfort to a friend . . . +come . . . I love you, brother! All men are beasts . . . You +were the only man for me . . . though you were a drunkard. +Ah! how you did drink vodki, Philip! That was the ruin of you +I You ought to have listened to me, and controlled yourself . . . +Did I not once say to you. . . ." + +The mysterious, all-destroying reaper, called Death, made up his mind +to finish the terrible work quickly, as if insulted by the presence +of this drunken man at the dark and solemn struggle. The teacher +sighed deeply, and quivered all over, stretched himself out, and died. +The Captain stood shaking to and fro, and continued to talk to him. + +"Do you want me to bring you vodki? But it is better +that you should not drink, Philip . . . control yourself +or else drink! Why should you really control yourself? +For what reason, Philip? For what reason?" + +He took him by the foot and drew him closer to himself. + +"Are you dozing, Philip? Well, then, sleep Good-night . . . +To-morrow I shall explain all this to you, and you will understand +that it is not really necessary to deny yourself anything . . . +But go on sleeping now . . . if you are not dead." + +He went out to his friends, followed by the deep silence, +and informed them: + +"Whether he is sleeping or dead, I do not know I am a little drunk." + +Tyapa bent further forward than usual and crossed himself respectfully. +Martyanoff dropped to the ground and lay there. Abyedok moved quietly, +and said in a low and wicked tone: + +"May you all go to the Devil! Dead? What of that? Why should I care? +Why should I speak about it? It will be time enough when I come to die +myself . . . I am not worse than other people." + +"That is true," said the Captain, loudly, and fell to the ground. +"The time will come when we shall all die like others . . . Ha! ha! +How shall we live? That is nothing . . . But we shall die like +everyone else, and this is the whole end of life, take my word for it. +A man lives only to die, and he dies . . . and if this be +so what does it matter how or where he died or how he lived? +Am I right, Martyanoff? Let us therefore drink . . . while we +still have life!" + +The rain began to fall. Thick, close darkness covered the figures that +lay scattered over the ground, half drunk, half asleep. The light in +the windows of the dosshouse flickered, paled, and suddenly disappeared. +Probably the wind blew it out or else the oil was exhausted. +The drops of rain sounded strangely on the iron roof of the dosshouse. +Above the mountain where the town lay the ringing of bells was heard, +rung by the watchers in the churches. The brazen sound coming from +the belfry rang out into the dark and died away, and before its last +indistinct note was drowned another stroke was heard and the monotonous +silence was again broken by the melancholy clang of bells. + +* * * * * * * * * * + +The next morning Tyapa was the first to wake up. +Lying on his back he looked up into the sky. Only in such +a position did his deformed neck permit him to see the clouds +above his head. + +This morning the sky was of a uniform gray. Up there hung +the damp, cold mist of dawn, almost extinguishing the sun, +hiding the unknown vastness behind and pouring despondency over +the earth. Tyapa crossed himself, and leaning on his elbow, +looked round to see whether there was any vodki left. +The bottle was there, but it was empty. Crossing over his +companions he looked into the glasses from which they had drunk, +found one of them almost full, emptied it, wiped his lips +with his sleeve, and began to shake the Captain. + +The Captain raised his head and looked at him with sad eyes. + +"We must inform the police . . . Get up!" + +"Of what?" asked the Captain, sleepily and angrily. + +"What, is he not dead?" + +"Who?" + +"The learned one." + +"Philip? Ye-es!" + +"Did you forget? . . . Alas!" said Tyapa, hoarsely. + +The Captain rose to his feet, yawned and stretched himself till +all his bones cracked. + +"Well, then! Go and give information. + +"I will not go . . . I do not like them," said the Captain morosely. + +"Well, then, wake up the Deacon . . . I shall go, at any rate." + +"All right! . . . Deacon, get up!" + +The Captain entered the dosshouse, and stood at the teacher's feet. +The dead man lay at full length, his left hand on his breast, +the right hand held as if ready to strike some one. + +The Captain thought that if the teacher got up now, he would be as tall +as Paltara Taras. Then he sat by the side of the dead man and sighed, +as he remembered that they had lived together for the last three years. +Tyapa entered holding his head like a goat which is ready to butt. + +He sat down quietly and seriously on the opposite side +of the teacher's body, looked into the dark, silent face, +and began to sob. + +"So . . . he is dead . . . I too shall die soon. . . ." + + +"It is quite time for that!" said the Captain, gloomily. + +"It is," Tyapa agreed. "You ought to die too. Anything is +better than this. . . ." + +"But perhaps death might be worse? How do you know?" + +"It could not be worse. When you die you have only God to deal +with . . . but here you have to deal with men . . . and men-- +what are they?" + +"Enough! . . . Be quiet!" interrupted Kuvalda angrily. + +And in the dawn, which filled the dosshouse, a solemn stillness +reigned over all. Long and silently they sat at the feet of their +dead companion, seldom looking at him, and both plunged in thought. +Then Tyapa asked: + +"Will you bury him?" + +"I? No, let the police bury him!" + +"You took money from Vaviloff for this petition . . . and I will give +you some if you have not enough." + +"Though I have his money . . . still I shall not bury him." + +"That is not right. You are robbing the dead. I will tell them +all that you want to keep his money." . . . Tyapa threatened him. + +"You are a fool, you old devil!" said Kuvalda, contemptuously. + +"I am not a fool . . . but it is not right nor friendly." + +"Enough! Be off!" + +"How much money is there?" + +"Twenty-five roubles," . . . said Kuvalda, absently. + +"So! . . . You might gain a five-rouble note. . . ." + +"You old scoundrel! . . ." And looking into Tyapa's face +the Captain swore. + +"Well, what? Give. . . ." + +"Go to the Devil! . . . I am going to spend this money in erecting +a monument to him." + +"What does he want that for?" + +"I will buy a stone and an anchor. I shall place the stone on the grass, +and attach the anchor to it with a very heavy chain." + +"Why? You are playing tricks. . . ." + +"Well . . . It is no business of yours." + +"Look out! I shall tell . . ." again threatened Tyapa. + +Aristid Fomich looked at him sullenly and said nothing. +Again they sat there in that silence which, in the presence +of the dead, is so full of mystery. + +"Listen . . . They are coming!" Tyapa got up and went out +of the dosshouse. + +Then there appeared at the door the Doctor, the Police Inspector +of the district, and the examining Magistrate or Coroner. +All three came in turn, looked at the dead teacher, +and then went out, throwing suspicious glances at Kuvalda. +He sat there, without taking any notice of them, until the +Police Inspector asked him: + +"Of what did he die?" + +"Ask him . . . I think his evil life hastened his end." + +"What?" asked the Coroner. + +"I say that he died of a disease to which he had +not been accustomed. . . ." + +"H'm, yes. Had he been ill long?" + +"Bring him over here, I cannot see him properly," said the Doctor, +in a melancholy tone. "Probably there are signs of . . ." + +"Now, then, ask someone here to carry him out!" +the Police Inspector ordered Kuvalda. + +"Go and ask them yourself! He is not in my way here . . ." +the Captain replied, indifferently. + +"Well!" . . . shouted the Inspector, making a ferocious face. + +"Phew!" answered Kuvalda, without moving from his place and gnashing +his teeth restlessly. + +"The Devil take it!" shouted the Inspector, so madly that the blood +rushed to his face. "I'll make you pay for this! I'll----" + +"Good-morning, gentlemen!" said the merchant Petunikoff, +with a sweet smile, making his appearance in the doorway. + +He looked round, trembled, took off his cap and crossed himself. +Then a pompous, wicked smile crossed his face, and, looking at +the Captain, he inquired respectfully: + +"What has happened? Has there been a murder here?" + +"Yes, something of that sort," replied the Coroner. + +Petunikoff sighed deeply, crossed himself again, and spoke +in an angry tone. + +"By Cod! It is just as I feared. It always ends in your +having to come here . . . Ay, ay, ay! God save everyone. +Times without number have I refused to lease this house +to this man, and he has always won me over, and I was afraid. +You know . . . They are such awful people . . . better give +it them, I thought, or else. . . ." + +He covered his face with his hands, tugged at his beard, +and sighed again. + +"They are very dangerous men, and this man here is their leader +. . . the ataman of the robbers." + +"But we will make him smart!" promised the Inspector, +looking at the Captain with revengeful eyes. + +"Yes, brother, we are old friends of yours . . ." said Kuvalda +in a familiar tone. "How many times have I paid you to be quiet?" + +"Gentlemen!" shouted the Inspector, "did you hear him? +I want you to bear witness to this. Aha, I shall make short +work of you, my friend, remember!" + +"Don't count your chickens before they are hatched . . . my friend," +said Aristid Fomich. + +The Doctor, a young man with eye-glasses, looked at him curiously, +the Coroner with an attention that boded him no good, +Petunikoff with triumph, while the Inspector could hardly +restrain himself from throwing himself upon him. + +The dark figure of Martyanoff appeared at the door of the dosshouse. +He entered quietly, and stood behind Petunikoff, so that his chin +was on a level with the merchant's head. Behind him stood the Deacon, +opening his small, swollen, red eyes. + +"Let us be doing something, gentlemen," suggested the Doctor. +Martyanoff made an awful grimace, and suddenly suddenly sneezed +on Petunikoff's head. The latter gave a yell, sat down hurriedly, +and then jumped aside, almost knocking down the Inspector, +into whose open arms he fell. + +"Do you see," said the frightened merchant, pointing to Martyanoff, +"do you see what kind of men they are." + +Kuvalda burst out laughing. The Doctor and the Coroner smiled too, +and at the door of the dosshouse the group of figures was +increasing . . . sleepy figures, with swollen faces, red, inflamed eyes, +and dishevelled hair, staring rudely at the Doctor, the Coroner, +and the Inspector. + +"Where are you going?" said the policeman on guard at the door, +catching hold of their tatters and pushing them aside. +But he was one against many, and, without taking any notice, +they all entered and stood there, reeking of vodki, +silent and evil-looking. + +Kuvalda glanced at them, then at the authorities, who were angry at the +intrusion of these ragamuffins, and said, smilingly, "Gentlemen, perhaps +you would like to make the acquaintance of my lodgers and friends? +Would you? But, whether you wish it or not, you will have to make +their acquaintance sooner or later in the course of your duties." + +The Doctor smiled in an embarrassed way. The Coroner pressed +his lips together, and the Inspector saw that it was time to go. +Therefore, he shouted: + +"Sideroff! Whistle! Tell them to bring a cart here." + +"I will go," said Petunikoff, coming forward from a corner. +"You had better take it away to-day, sir, I want to pull down this hole. +Go away! or else I shall apply to the police!" + +The policeman's whistle echoed through the courtyard. +At the door of the dosshouse its inhabitants stood in a group, +yawning, and scratching themselves. + +"And so you do not wish to be introduced? That is rude of you!" +laughed Aristid Fomich. + +Petunikoff took his purse from his pocket, took out two +five-kopeck pieces, put them at the feet of the dead man, +and crossed himself. + +"God have mercy . . . on the burial of the sinful. . . ." + +"What!" yelled the Captain, "you give for the burial? + +"Take them away, I say, you scoundrel! How dare you give +your stolen kopecks for the burial of an honest man? +I will tear you limb from limb!" + +"Your Honor!" cried the terrified merchant to the Inspector, +seizing him by the elbow. + +The Doctor and the Coroner jumped aside. The Inspector shouted: + +"Sideroff, come here!" + +"The creatures that once were men" stood along the wall, +looking and listening with an interest, which put new life +into their broken-down bodies. + +Kuvalda, shaking his fist at Petunikoff's head, roared and rolled +his eyes like a wild beast. + +"Scoundrel and thief! Take back your money! Dirty worm! +Take it back, I say . . . or else I shall cram it down your throat. + . . . Take your five-kopeck pieces!" + +Petunikoff put out his trembling hand toward his mite, and protecting +his head from Kuvalda's fist with the other hand, said: + + +101 CREATURES THAT ONCE WERE MEN + + +"You are my witnesses, Sir Inspector, and you good people!" + +"We are not good people, merchant!" said the voice of Abyedok, +trembling with anger. + +The Inspector whistled impatiently, with his other hand +protecting Petunikoff, who was stooping in front of him +as if trying to enter his belly. + +"You dirty toad! I shall compel you to kiss the feet of the dead man. +How would you like that?" And catching Petunikoff by the neck, +Kuvalda hurled him against the door, as if he bad been a cat. + +The "creatures that once were men" sprang aside quickly to let +the merchant fall. And down he fell at their feet, crying wildly: + +"Murder! Help! Murder!" + +Martyanoff slowly raised his foot, and brought it down heavily +on the merchant's head. Abyedok spat in his face with a grin. +The merchant, creeping on all-fours, threw himself into the courtyard, +at which everyone laughed. But by this time the two policemen +had arrived, and pointing to Kuvalda, the Inspector said, pompously: + +"Arrest him, and bind him hand and foot!" + +"You dare not! . . . I shall not run away . . . I will go wherever +you wish, . . ." said Kuvalda, freeing himself from the policemen +at his side. + +The "creatures that once were men" disappeared one after the other. +A cart entered the yard. Some ragged wretches brought out +the dead man's body. + + +"I'll teach you! You just wait!" thundered the Inspector at Kuvalda. + +"How now, ataman?" asked Petunikoff maliciously, excited and +pleased at the sight of his enemy in bonds. "That, you fell +into the trap? Eh? You just wait. . ." + +But Kuvalda was quiet now. He stood strangely straight and silent between +the two policemen, watching the teacher's body being placed in the cart. +The man who was holding the head of the corpse was very short, and could +not manage to place it on the cart at the same time as the legs. +For a moment the body hung as if it would fall to the ground, and hide +itself beneath the earth, away from these foolish and wicked disturbers +of its peace. + +"Take him away!" ordered the Inspector, pointing to the Captain. + +Kuvalda silently moved forward without protestation, passing the cart +on which was the teacher's body. He bowed his head before it +without looking. Martyanoff, with his strong face, followed him. +The courtyard of the merchant Petunikoff emptied quickly. + +"Now then, go on!" called the driver, striking the horses with the whip. +The cart moved off over the rough surface of the courtyard. +The teacher was covered with a heap of rags, and his belly projected +from beneath them. It seemed as if he were laughing quietly at +the prospect of leaving the dosshouse, never, never to return. +Petunikoff, who was following him with his eyes, crossed himself, +and then began to shake the dust and rubbish off his clothes, +and the more he shook himself the more pleased and self-satisfied +did he feel. He saw the tall figure of Aristid Fomich Kuvalda, +in a gray cap with a red band, with his arms bound behind his back, +being led away. Petunikoff smiled the smile of the conqueror, and went +back into the dosshouse, but suddenly he stopped and trembled. +At the door facing him stood an old man with a stick in his hand +and a large bag on his back, a horrible old man in rags and tatters, +which covered his bony figure. He bent under the weight of +his burden, and lowered his head on his breast, as if he wished +to attack the merchant. + +"What are you? Who are you?" shouted Petunikoff. + +"A man . . ." he answered in a hoarse voice. This hoarseness +pleased and tranquillized Petunikoff, he even smiled. + +"A man! And are there really men like you?" Stepping aside +he let the old man pass. He went, saying slowly: + +"Men are of various kinds . . . as God wills . . . There are worse +than me . . . still worse . . . Yes. . . ." + +The cloudy sky hung silently over the dirty yard and over the +cleanly-dressed man with the pointed beard, who was walking about there, +measuring distances with his steps and with his sharp eyes. +On the roof of the old house a crow perched and croaked, thrusting its +head now backward, now forward. In the lowering gray clouds, +which hid the sky, there was something hard and merciless, +as if they had gathered together to wash all the dirt off the face +of this unfortunate, suffering, and sorrowful earth. + + +TWENTY-SIX MEN AND A GIRL + + +There were six-and-twenty of us--six-and-twenty living machines in +a damp, underground cellar, where from morning till night we kneaded +dough and rolled it into kringels. Opposite the underground window +of our cellar was a bricked area, green and mouldy with moisture. +The window was protected from outside with a close iron grating, +and the light of the sun could not pierce through the window panes, +covered as they were with flour dust. + +Our employer had bars placed in front of the windows, so that we +should not be able to give a bit of his bread to passing beggars, +or to any of our fellows who were out of work and hungry. +Our employer called us rogues, and gave us half-rotten tripe +to eat for our mid-day meal, instead of meat. It was swelteringly +close for us cooped up in that stone underground chamber, +under the low, heavy, soot-blackened, cobwebby ceiling. +Dreary and sickening was our life between its thick, +dirty, mouldy walls. + +Unrefreshed, and with a feeling of not having had our sleep out, +we used to get up at five o'clock in the morning; and before six, +we were already seated, worn out and apathetic, at the table, +rolling out the dough which our mates had already prepared +while we slept. + +The whole day, from ten in the early morning until ten at night, +some of us sat round that table, working up in our hands +the yielding paste, rolling it to and fro so that it should not +get stiff; while the others kneaded the swelling mass of dough. +And the whole day the simmering water in the kettle, +where the kringels were being cooked, sang low and sadly; +and the baker's shovel scraped harshly over the oven floor, +as he threw the slippery bits of dough out of the kettle +on the heated bricks. + +From morning till evening wood was burning in the oven, +and the red glow of the fire gleamed and flickered over the walls +of the bake-shop, as if silently mocking us. The giant oven +was like the misshapen head of a monster in a fairy tale; +it thrust itself up out of the floor, opened wide jaws, +full of glowing fire, and blew hot breath upon us; it seemed to be +ever watching out of its black air-holes our interminable work. +Those two deep holes were like eyes: the cold, pitiless eyes of +a monster. They watched us always with the same darkened glance, +as if they were weary of seeing before them such eternal slaves, +from whom they could expect nothing human, and therefore scorned +them with the cold scorn of wisdom. + +In meal dust, in the mud which we brought in from the yard on +our boots, in the hot, sticky atmosphere, day in, day out, we rolled +the dough into kringels, which we moistened with our own sweat. +And we hated our work with a glowing hatred; we never ate what had +passed through our hands, and preferred black bread to kringels. + +Sitting opposite each other, at a long table--nine facing nine-- +we moved our hands and fingers mechanically during endlessly long hours, +till we were so accustomed to our monotonous work that we ceased +to pay any attention to it. + +We had all studied each other so constantly, that each of us knew +every wrinkle of his mates' faces. It was not long also before we +had exhausted almost every topic of conversation; that is why we +were most of the time silent, unless we were chaffing each other; +but one cannot always find something about which to chaff another man, +especially when that man is one's mate. Neither were we much +given to finding fault with one another; how, indeed, could one +of us poor devils be in a position to find fault with another, +when we were all of us half dead and, as it were, turned to stone? +For the heavy drudgery seemed to crush all feeling out of us. +But silence is only terrible and fearful for those who have said +everything and have nothing more to say to each other; for men, +on the contrary, who have never begun to communicate with one another, +it is easy and simple. + +Sometimes, too, we sang; and this is how it happened that we began +to sing: one of us would sigh deeply in the midst of our toil, +like an overdriven horse, and then we would begin one of those songs +whose gentle swaying melody seems always to ease the burden on +the singer's heart. + +At first one sang by himself, and we others sat in silence +listening to his solitary song, which, under the heavy vaulted +roof of the cellar, died gradually away, and became extinguished, +like a little fire in the steppes, on a wet autumn night, +when the gray heaven hangs like a heavy mass over the earth. + +Then another would join in with the singer, and now two soft, +sad voices would break into song in our narrow, dull hole of a cellar. +Suddenly others would join in, and the song would roll forward +like a wave, would grow louder and swell upward, till it would +seem as if the damp, foul walls of our stone prison were widening +out and opening. Then, all six-and-twenty of us would be singing; +our loud, harmonious song would fill the whole cellar, our voices +would travel outside and beyond, striking, as it were, against the +walls in moaning sobs and sighs, moving our hearts with soft, +tantalizing ache, tearing open old wounds, and awakening longings. + +The singers would sigh deeply and heavily; suddenly one would +become silent and listen to the others singing, then let +his voice flow once more in the common tide. Another would +exclaim in a stifled voice, "Ah!" and would shut his eyes, +while the deep, full sound waves would show him, as it were, +a road, in front of him--a sunlit, broad road in the distance, +which he himself, in thought wandered along. + +But the flame flickers once more in the huge oven, the baker scrapes +incessantly with his shovel, the water simmers in the kettle, and the +flicker of the fire on the wall dances as before in silent mockery. +While in other men's words we sing out our dumb grief, the weary burden +of live men robbed of the sunlight, the burden of slaves. + +So we lived, we six-and-twenty, in the vault-like cellar +of a great stone house, and we suffered each one of us, +as if we had to bear on our shoulders the whole three storys +of that house. + +But we had something else good, besides the singing--something we loved, +that perhaps took the place of the sunshine. + +In the second story of our house there was established +a gold-embroiderer's shop, and there, living among the other +embroidery girls, was Tanya, a little maid-servant of sixteen. +Every morning there peeped in through the glass door a rosy +little face, with merry blue eyes; while a ringing, tender voice +called out to us: + +"Little prisoners! Have you any knugels, please, for me?" + +At that clear sound, we knew so well, we all used to turn round, +gazing with simple-hearted joy at the pure girlish face +which smiled at us so sweetly. The sight of the small nose +pressed against the window-pane, and of the white teeth gleaming +between the half-open lips, had become for us a daily pleasure. +Tumbling over each other we used to jump up to open the door, +and she would step in, bright and cheerful, holding out her apron, +with her head thrown on one side, and a smile on her lips. +Her thick, long chestnut hair fell over her shoulder and across +her breast. But we, ugly, dirty and misshapen as we were, +looked up at her--the threshold door was four steps above the floor-- +looked up at her with heads thrown back, wishing her good-morning, +and speaking strange, unaccustomed words, which we kept +for her only. + +Our voices became softer when we spoke to her, our jests were lighter. +For her--everything was different with us. The baker took from his oven +a shovel of the best and the brownest kringels, and threw them deftly +into Tanya's apron. + +"Be off with you now, or the boss will catch you!" we warned +her each time. She laughed roguishly, called out cheerfully: +"Good-bye, poor prisoners!" and slipped away as quick as a mouse. + +That was all. But long after she had gone we talked about her +to one another with pleasure. It was always the same thing as we +had said yesterday and the day before, because everything about us, +including ourselves and her, remained the same--as yesterday-- +and as always. + +Painful and terrible it is when a man goes on living, while nothing +changes around him; and when such an existence does not finally kill his +soul, then the monotony becomes with time, even more and more painful. +Generally we spoke about women in such a way, that sometimes it +was loathsome to us ourselves to hear our rude, shameless talk. +The women whom we knew deserved perhaps nothing better. But about +Tanya we never let fall an evil word; none of us ever ventured so much +as to lay a hand on her, even too free a jest she never heard from us. +Maybe this was so because she never remained for long with us; +she flashed on our eyes like a star falling from the sky, and vanished; +and maybe because she was little and very beautiful, and everything +beautiful calls forth respect, even in coarse people. + +And besides--though our life of penal labor had made us dull beasts, +oxen, we were still men, and, like all men, could not live without +worshipping something or other. Better than her we had none, +and none but her took any notice of us, living in the cellar-- +no one, though there were dozens of people in the house. +And then, to--most likely, this was the chief thing--we all regarded +her as something of our own, something existing as it were only +by virtue of our kringels. We took on ourselves in turns the duty +of providing her with hot kringels, and this became for us like +a daily sacrifice to our idol, it became almost a sacred rite, +and every day it bound us more closely to her. Besides kringels, +we gave Tanya a great deal of advice to wear warmer clothes, +not to run upstairs too quickly, not to carry heavy bundles of wood. +She listened to all our counsels with a smile, answered them by a laugh, +and never took our advice, but we were not offended at that; +all we wanted was to show how much care we bestowed upon her. + +Often she would apply to us with different requests, she asked us, +for instance; to open the heavy door into the store-cellar, +and to chop wood: with delight and a sort of pride, we did this +for her, and everything else she wanted. + +But when one of us asked her to mend his solitary shirt for him, +she said, with a laugh of contempt: + +"What next! A likely idea!" + +We made great fun of the queer fellow who could entertain +such an idea, and--never asked her to do anything else. +We loved her--all is said in that. + + +111 TWENTY-SIX MEN AND A GIRL + + +Man always wants to lay his love on someone, though sometimes +he crushes, sometimes he sullies, with it; he may poison +another life because he loves without respecting the beloved. +We were bound to love Tanya, for we had no one else to love. + +At times one of us would suddenly begin to reason like this: + +"And why do we make so much of the wench? What is there in her? eh? +What a to-do we make about her!" + +The man who dared to utter such words we promptly and coarsely cut short-- +we wanted something to love: we had found it and loved it, +and what we twenty-six loved must be for each of us unalterable, +as a holy thing, and anyone who acted against us in this was our enemy. +We loved, maybe, not what was really good, but you see there were +twenty-six of us, and so we always wanted to see what was precious +to us held sacred by the rest. + +Our love is not less burdensome than hate, and maybe that is just why +some proud souls maintain that our hate is more flattering than our love. +But why do they not run away from us, if it is so? + +* * * * * * * * * * + +Besides our department, our employer had also a bread-bakery; +it was in the same house, separated from our hole only by a wall; +but the bakers--there were four of them--held aloof from us, +considering their work superior to ours, and therefore themselves +better than us; they never used to come into our workroom, +and laughed contemptuously at us when they met us in the yard. +We, too, did not go to see them; this was forbidden by our employer, +from fear that we should steal the fancy bread. + +We did not like the bakers, because we envied them; their work +was lighter than ours, they were paid more, and were better fed; +they had a light, spacious workroom, and they were all so clean +and healthy--and that made them hateful to us. We all looked +gray and yellow; three of us had syphilis, several suffered +from skin diseases, one was completely crippled by rheumatism. +On holidays and in their leisure time the bakers wore +pea-jackets and creaking boots, two of them had accordions, +and they all used to go for strolls in the town garden-- +we wore filthy rags and leather clogs or plaited shoes on +our feet, the police would not let us into the town gardens-- +could we possibly like the bakers? + +And one day we learned that their chief baker had been drunk, the master +had sacked him and had already taken on another, and that this other +was a soldier, wore a satin waistcoat and a watch and gold chain. +We were inquisitive to get a sight of such a dandy, and in the hope +of catching a glimpse of him we kept running one after another out +into the yard. + +But he came of his own accord into our room. Kicking at the door, +he pushed it open, and leaving it ajar, stood in the doorway smiling, +and said to us: + +"God help the work! Good-morning, mates!" + +The ice-cold air, which streamed in through the open door, curled in +streaks of vapor round his feet. He stood on the threshold, looked us up +and down, and under his fair, twisted mustache gleamed big yellow teeth. +His waistcoat was really something quite out of the common, +blue-flowered, brilliant with shining little buttons of red stones. +He also wore a watch chain. + +He was a fine fellow, this soldier; tall, healthy, rosy-cheeked, +and his big, clear eyes had a friendly, cheerful glance. +He wore on his head a white starched cap, and from under his spotlessly +clean apron peeped the pointed toes of fashionable, well-blacked boots. + +Our baker asked him politely to shut the door. The soldier +did so without hurrying himself, and began to question us +about the master. We explained to him, all speaking together, +that our employer was a thorough-going brute, a rogue, a knave, +and a slave-driver; in a word, we repeated to him all that can +and must be said about an employer, but cannot be repeated here. +The soldier listened to us, twisted his mustache, and watched +us with a friendly, open-hearted look. + +"But haven't you got a lot of girls here?" he asked suddenly. + +Some of us began to laugh deferentially, others put on a +meaning expression, and one of us explained to the soldier +that there were nine girls here. + +"You make the most of them?" asked the soldier, with a wink. + +We laughed, but not so loudly, and with some embarrassment. +Many of us would have liked to have shown the soldier that we +also were tremendous fellows with the girls, but not one +of us could do so; and one of our number confessed as much, +when he said in a low voice: + +"That sort of thing is not in our line." + +"Well, no; it wouldn't quite do for you," said the soldier +with conviction, after having looked us over. + +"There is something wanting about you all you don't look the right sort. +You've no sort of appearance; and the women, you see, +they like a bold appearance, they will have a well set-up body. +Everything has to be tip-top for them. That's why they respect strength. +They want an arm like that!" + +The soldier drew his right hand, with its turned-up shirt sleeve, +out of his pocket, and showed us his bare arm. It was white and strong, +and covered with shining yellow hairs. + +"Leg and chest, all must be strong. And then a man must be dressed +in the latest fashion, so as to show off his looks to advantage. +Yes, all the women take to me. Whether I call to them, +or whether I beckon them, they with one accord, five at a time, +throw themselves at my head." + +He sat down on a flour sack, and told at length all about +the way women loved him, and how bold he was with them. +Then he left, and after the door had creaked to behind him, +we sat for a long time silent, and thought about him and his talk. +Then we all suddenly broke silence together, and it became +apparent that we were all equally pleased with him. +He was such a nice, open-hearted fellow; he came to see +us without any standoffishness, sat down and chatted. +No one else came to us like that, and no one else talked to us +in that friendly sort of way. And we continued to talk of him +and his coming triumph among the embroidery girls, who passed +us by with contemptuous sniffs when they saw us in the yard, +or who looked straight through us as if we had been air. + +But we admired them always when we met them outside, or when they +walked past our windows; in winter, in fur jackets and toques to match; +in summer, in hats trimmed with flowers, and with colored parasols +in their hands. We talked, however, about these girls in a way +that would have made them mad with shame and rage, if they could +have heard us. + +"If only he does not get hold of little Tanya!" said the baker, +suddenly, in an anxious tone of voice. + +We were silent, for these words troubled us. Tanya had quite +gone out of our minds, supplanted, put on one side by the strong, +fine figure of the soldier. + +Then began a lively discussion; some of us maintained that Tanya +would never lower herself so; others thought she would not be able +to resist him, and the third group proposed to give him a thrashing +if he should try to annoy Tanya. And, finally, we all decided +to watch the soldier and Tanya, and to warn the girl against him. +This brought the discussion to an end. + +Four weeks had passed by since then; during this time the soldier +baked white bread, walked about with the gold-embroidery girls, +visited us often, but did not talk any more about his conquests; +only twisted his mustache, and licked his lips lasciviously. + +Tanya called in as usual every morning for "little kringels," +and was as gay and as nice and friendly with us as ever. +We certainly tried once or twice to talk to her about +the soldier, but she called him a "goggle-eyed calf," +and made fun of him all round, and that set our minds at rest. +We saw how the gold-embroidery girls carried on with the soldier, +and we were proud of our girl; Tanya's behavior reflected honor +on us all; we imitated her, and began in our talks to treat +the soldier with small consideration. + +She became dearer to us, and we greeted her with more friendliness +and kindliness every morning. + +One day the soldier came to see us, a bit drunk, and sat down +and began to laugh. When we asked him what he was laughing about, +he explained to us: + +"Why two of them--that Lydka girl and Grushka--have been clawing +each other on my account. You should have seen the way they went +for each other! Ha! ha! One got hold of the other one by the hair, +threw her down on the floor of the passage, and sat on her! +Ha! ha! ha! They scratched and tore each others' faces. It was enough +to make one die with laughter! Why is it women can't fight fair? +Why do they always scratch one another, eh?" + +He sat on the bench, healthy, fresh and jolly; he sat there +and went on laughing. We were silent. This time he made +an unpleasant impression on us. + +"Well, it's a funny thing what luck I have with the women-folk! +Eh? I've laughed till I'm ill! One wink, and it's all over with them! +It's the d-devil!" + +He raised his white hairy hands, and slapped them down on his knees. +And his eyes seem to reflect such frank astonishment, as if +he were himself quite surprised at his good luck with women. +His fat, red face glistened with delight and self satisfaction, +and he licked his lips more than ever. + +Our baker scraped the shovel violently and angrily along the oven floor, +and all at once he said sarcastically: + +"There's no great strength needed to pull up fir saplings, +but try a real pine-tree." + +"Why-what do you mean by saying that to me?" asked the soldier. + +"Oh, well. . . ." + +"What is it?" + +"Nothing-it slipped out!" + +"No, wait a minute! What's the point? What pinetree?" + +Our baker did not answer, working rapidly away with the shovel +at the oven; flinging into it the half-cooked kringels, +taking out those that were done, and noisily throwing them +on the floor to the boys who were stringing them on bast. +He seemed to have forgotten the soldier and his conversation with him. +But the soldier had all at once dropped into a sort of uneasiness. +He got up on to his feet, and went to the oven, at the risk +of knocking against the handle of the shovel, which was waving +spasmodically in the air. + +"No, tell me, do--who is it? You've insulted me. I? There's not one +could withstand me, n-no! And you say such insulting things to me?" + +He really seemed genuinely hurt. He must have had nothing else to pride +himself on except his gift for seducing women; maybe, except for that, +there was nothing living in him, and it was only that by which he could +feel himself a living man. + +There are men to whom the most precious and best thing in their +lives appears to be some disease of their soul or body. +They spend their whole life in relation to it, and only living +by it, suffering from it, they sustain themselves on it, +they complain of it to others, and so draw the attention +of their fellows to themselves. + +For that they extract sympathy from people, and apart from it they +have nothing at all. Take from them that disease, cure them, and they +will be miserable, because they have lost their one resource in life-- +they are left empty then. Sometimes a man's life is so poor, +that he is driven instinctively to prize his vice and to live by it; +one may say for a fact that often men are vicious from boredom. + +The soldier was offended, he went up to our baker and roared: + +"No, tell me do-who?" + +"Tell you?" the baker turned suddenly to him. + +"Well?" + +"You know Tanya?" + +"Well?" + +"Well, there then! Only try." + +"You!" + +"Her? Why that's nothing to me-pooh!" + +"We shall see!" + +"You will see! Ha! ha!" + +"She'll----" + +"Give me a month!" + +"What a braggart you are, soldier!" + +"A fortnight! I'll prove it! Who is it? Tanya! Pooh!" + +"Well, get out. You're in my way!" + +"A fortnight--and it's done! Ah, you----" + +"Get out, I say!" + + +Our baker, all at once, flew into a rage and brandished his shovel. +The soldier staggered away from him in amazement, looked at us, paused, +and softly, malignantly said, "Oh, all right, then!" and went away. + +During the dispute we had all sat silent, absorbed in it. +But when the soldier had gone, eager, loud talk and noise +arose among us. + +Some one shouted to the baker: "It's a bad job that +you've started, Pavel!" + +"Do your work!" answered the baker savagely. + +We felt that the soldier had been deeply aggrieved, and that +danger threatened Tanya. We felt this, and at the same time we +were all possessed by a burning curiosity, most agreeable to us. +What would happen? Would Tanya hold out against the soldier? +And almost all cried confidently: "Tanya? She'll hold out! +You won't catch her with your bare arms!" + +We longed terribly to test the strength of our idol; +we forcibly proved to each other that our divinity was a strong +divinity and would come victorious out of this ordeal. +We began at last to fancy that we had not worked enough +on the soldier, that he would forget the dispute, +and that we ought to pique his vanity more keenly. +From that day we began to live a different life, a life +of nervous tension, such as we had never known before. +We spent whole days in arguing together; we all grew, +as it were, sharper; and got to talk more and better. +It seemed to us that we were playing some sort of game +with the devil, and the stake on our side was Tanya. +And when we learned from the bakers that the soldier had begun +"running after our Tanya," we felt a sort of delighted terror, +and life was so interesting that we did not even notice +that our employer had taken advantage of our pre-occupation +to increase our work by fourteen pounds of dough a day. + +We seemed, indeed, not even tired by our work. +Tanya's name was on our lips all day long. And every day +we looked for her with a certain special impatience. +Sometimes we pictured to ourselves that she would come to us, +and it would not be the same Tanya as of old, hut somehow different. +We said nothing to her, however, of the dispute regarding her. +We asked her no questions, and behaved as well and affectionately +to her as ever. But even in this a new element crept in, +alien to our old feeling for Tanya--and that new element was +keen curiosity, keen and cold as a steel knife. + +"Mates! To-day the time's up!" our baker said to us one morning, +as he set to work. + +We were well aware of it without his reminder; but still +we were thrilled. + +"Look at her. She'll he here directly," suggested the baker. + +One of us cried out in a troubled voice, "Why! as though one +could notice anything!" + +And again an eager, noisy discussion sprang up among us. +To-day we were about to prove how pure and spotless was +the vessel into which we had poured all that was best in us. +This morning, for the first time, it became clear to us, +that we really were playing a great game; that we might, +indeed, through the exaction of this proof of purity, +lose our divinity altogether. + +During the whole of the intervening fortnight we had heard +that Tanya was persistently followed by the soldier, but not one +of us had thought of asking her how she had behaved toward him. +And she came every morning to fetch her kringels, and was the same +toward us as ever. + +This morning, too, we heard her voice outside: "You poor prisoners! +Here I am!" + +We opened the door, and when she came in we all remained, +contrary to our usual custom, silent. Our eyes fixed on her, +we did not know how to speak to her, what to ask her. +And there we stood in front of her, a gloomy, silent crowd. +She seemed to be surprised at this unusual reception; +and suddenly we saw her turn white and become uneasy, +then she asked, in a choking voice: + +"Why are you--like this?" + +"And you?" the baker flung at her grimly, never taking his eyes off her. + +"What am I?" + +"N---nothing." + +"Well, then, give me quickly the little kringels." + +Never before had she bidden us hurry. + +"There's plenty of time," said the baker, not stirring, +and not removing his eyes from her face. + +Then, suddenly, she turned round and disappeared through the door. + +The baker took his shovel and said, calmly turning away toward the oven: + +"Well, that settles it! But a soldier! a common beast like that-- +a low cur!" + +Like a flock of sheep we all pressed round the table, sat down silently, +and began listlessly to work. Soon, however, one of us remarked: + +"Perhaps, after all----" + +"Shut up!" shouted the baker. + +We were all convinced that he was a man of judgment, a man +who knew more than we did about things. And at the sound +of his voice we were convinced of the soldier's victory, +and our spirits became sad and downcast. + +At twelve o'clock--while we were eating our dinners--the soldier came in. +He was as clean and as smart as ever, and looked at us--as usual-- +straight in the eyes. But we were all awkward in looking at him. + +"Now then, honored sirs, would you like me to show you +a soldier's quality?" he said, chuckling proudly. + +"Go out into the passage, and look through the crack-- +do you understand?" + +We went into the passage, and stood all pushing against one another, +squeezed up to the cracks of the wooden partition of the passage +that looked into the yard. We had not to wait long. +Very soon Tanya, with hurried footsteps and a careworn face, +walked across the yard, jumping over the puddles of melting +snow and mud: she disappeared into the store cellar. +Then whistling, and not hurrying himself, the soldier followed +in the same direction. His hands were thrust in his pockets; +his mustaches were quivering. + +Rain was falling, and we saw how its drops fell into the puddles, +and the puddles were wrinkled by them. The day was damp and gray-- +a very dreary day. Snow still lay on the roofs, but on the ground +dark patches of mud had begun to appear. + +And the snow on the roofs too was covered by a layer of +brownish dirt. The rain fell slowly with a depressing sound. +It was cold and disagreeable for us waiting. + +The first to come out of the store cellar was the soldier; +he walked slowly across the yard, his mustaches twitching, +his hands in his pockets--the same as always. + +Then--Tanya, too, came out. Her eye~her eyes were radiant with joy +and happiness, and her lips--were smiling. And she walked as though +in a dream, staggering, with unsteady steps. + +We could not bear this quietly. All of us at once rushed +to the door, dashed out into the yard and--hissed at her, +reviled her viciously, loudly, wildly. + +She started at seeing us, and stood as though rooted in the mud +under her feet. We formed a ring round her! and malignantly, +without restraint, abused her with vile words, said shameful +things to her. + +We did this not loudly, not hurriedly, seeing that she could +not get away, that she was hemmed in by us, and we could deride +her to our hearts' content. I don't know why, but we + +did not beat her. She stood in the midst of us, and turned +her head this way and that, as she heard our insults. +And we-more and more violently flung at her the filth and venom +of our words. + +The color had left her face. Her blue eyes, so happy a moment before, +opened wide, her bosom heaved, and her lips quivered. + +We in a ring round her avenged ourselves on her as though she had +robbed us. She belonged to us, we had lavished on her our best, +and though that best was a beggar's crumb, still we were twenty-six, +she was one, and so there was no pain we could give her equal +to her guilt! + +How we insulted her! She was still mute, still gazed at us +with wild eyes, and a shiver ran all over her. + +We laughed, roared, yelled. Other people ran up from somewhere +and joined us. One of us pulled Tanya by the sleeve of her blouse. + +Suddenly her eyes flashed; deliberately she raised her hands +to her head and straightening her hair she said loudly but calmly, +straight in our faces: + +"Ah, you miserable prisoners!" + +And she walked straight at us, walked as directly as though we +had not been before her, as though we were not blocking her way. + +And hence it was that no one did actually prevent her passing. + +Walking out of our ring, without turning round, she said loudly +and with indescribable contempt: + +"Ah, you scum--brutes." + +And--was gone. + +We were left in the middle of the yard, in the rain, under the gray +sky without the sun. + +Then we went mutely away to our damp stone cellar. As before-- +the sun never peeped in at our windows, and Tanya came no more! + + + + + +CHELKASH + +An Episode + + +Darkened by the dust of the dock, the blue southern sky is murky; +the burning sun looks duskily into the greenish sea, as though +through a thin gray veil. It can find no reflection in the water, +continually cut up by the strokes of oars, the screws of steamers, +the deep, sharp keels of Turkish feluccas and other sailing vessels, +that pass in all directions, ploughing up the crowded harbor, +where the free waves of the sea, pent up within granite walls, +and crushed under the vast weights that glide over its crests, +beat upon the sides of the ships and on the bank; beat and complain, +churned up into foam and fouled with all sorts of refuse. + +The jingle of the anchor chains, the rattle of the links +of the trucks that bring down the cargoes, the metallic clank +of sheets of iron falling on the stone pavement, the dull thud +of wood, the creaking of the carts plying for hire, the whistles +of the steamers, piercingly shrill and hoarsely roaring, +the shouts of dock laborers, sailors, and customs officers-- +all these sounds melt into the deafening symphony of the +working day, that hovering uncertainty hangs over the harbor, +as though afraid to float upward and be lost. + +And fresh waves of sound continually rise up from the earth +to join it; deep, grumbling, sullen reverberations setting +all around quaking; shrill, menacing notes that pierce the ear +and the dusty, sultry air. + +The granite, the iron, the wood, the harbor pavement, the ships +and the men--all swelled the mighty strains of this frenzied, +impassioned hymn to Mercury. But the voices of men, scarcely audible +in it, were weak and ludicrous. And the men, too, themselves, +the first source of all that uproar, were ludicrous and pitiable: +their little figures, dusty, tattered, nimble, bent under the weight +of goods that lay on their backs, under the weight of cares +that drove them hither and thither, in the clouds of dust, +in the sea of sweltering heat and din, were so trivial and small +in comparison with the colossal iron monsters, the mountains of bales, +the thundering railway trucks and all that they had created. +Their own creation had enslaved them, and stolen away +their individual life. + +As they lay letting off steam, the heavy giant steamers whistled +or hissed, or seemed to heave deep sighs, and in every sound that came +from them could be heard the mocking note of ironical contempt +for the gray, dusty shapes of men, crawling about their decks +and filling their deep holds with the fruits of their slavish toil. +Ludicrous and pitiable were the long strings of dock laborers bearing +on their backs thousands of tons of bread, and casting it into +the iron bellies of the ships to gain a few pounds of that same bread +to fill their own bellies--for their worse luck not made of iron, +but alive to the pangs of hunger. + +The men, tattered, drenched with sweat, made dull by weariness, +and din and heat; and the mighty machines, created by +those men, shining, well-fed, serene, in the sunshine; +machines which in the last resort are, after all, not set in +motion by steam, but by the muscles and blood of their creators-- +in this contrast was a whole poem of cruel and frigid irony. + +The clamor oppressed the spirit, the dust fretted the nostrils and +blinded the eyes, the sweltering heat baked and exhausted the body, +and everything-buildings, men, pavement--seemed strained, breaking, +ready to burst, losing patience, on the verge of exploding into +some immense catastrophe, some outbreak, after which one would +be able to breathe freely and easily in the air refreshed by it. +On the earth there would be quietness; and that dusty uproar, deafening, +fretting the nerves, driving one to melancholy frenzy, would vanish; +and in town, and sea and sky, it would be still and clear and pleasant. +But that was only seeming. It seemed so because man has not yet +grown weary of hoping for better things, and the longing to feel free +is not dead in him. + +Twelve times there rang out the regular musical peal of the bell. +When the last brazen clang had died away, the savage +orchestra of toil had already lost half its volume. +A minute later it had passed into a dull, repining grumble. +Now the voices of men and the splash of the sea could be heard +more clearly. The dinner-hour had come. + +CHAPTER I + + + + +When the dock laborers, knocking off work, had scattered about the dock +in noisy groups, buying various edibles from the women hawking food, +and were settling themselves to dinner in shady corners on the pavement, +there walked into their midst Grishka Chelkash, an old hunted wolf, +well known to all the dock population as a hardened drunkard +and a bold and dexterous thief. He was barefoot and bareheaded, +clad in old, threadbare, shoddy breeches, in a dirty print shirt, +with a torn collar that displayed his mobile, dry, angular bones +tightly covered with brown skin. From the ruffled state of +his black, slightly grizzled hair and the dazed look on his keen, +predatory face, it was evident that he had only just waked up. +There was a straw sticking in one brown mustache, another straw +clung to the scrubby bristles of his shaved left cheek, and behind +his ear he had stuck a little, freshly-picked twig of lime. +Long, bony, rather stooping, he paced slowly over the flags, +and turning his hooked, rapacious-looking nose from side to side, +he cast sharp glances about him, his cold, gray eyes shining, +as he scanned one after another among the dock laborers. +His thick and long brown mustaches were continually twitching +like a cat's whiskers, while he rubbed his hands behind his back, +nervously clenching the long, crooked, clutching fingers. +Even here, among hundreds of striking-looking, tattered vagabonds +like himself, he attracted attention at once from his resemblance +to a vulture of the steppes, from his hungry-looking thinness, +and from that peculiar gait of his, as though pouncing down on his prey, +so smooth and easy in appearance, but inwardly intent and alert, +like the flight of the keen, nervous bird he resembled. + +As he reached one of the groups of ragged dockers, reclining in +the shade of a stack of coal baskets, there rose to meet him +a thick-set young man, with purple blotches on his dull face and +scratches on his neck, unmistakable traces of a recent thrashing. +He got up and walked beside Chelkash, saying, in an undertone: + +"The dock officers have got wind of the two cases of goods. +They're on the look-out. D'ye hear, Grishka?" + +"What then?" queried Chelkash, cooly measuring him with his eyes. + +"How 'what then?' They're on the look-out, I say. That's all." + +"Did they ask for me to help them look?" + +And with an acrid smile Chelkash looked toward the storehouse +of the Volunteer Fleet. + +"You go to the devil!" + +His companion turned away. + +"Ha, wait a bit! Who's been decorating you like that? +Why, what a sight they have made of your signboard! +Have you seen Mishka here?" + +"I've not seen him this long while!" the other shouted, +and hastily went back to his companions. + +Chelkash went on farther, greeted by everyone as a familiar figure. +But he, usually so lively and sarcastic, was unmistakably out of +humor to-day, and made short and abrupt replies to all inquiries. + +From behind a pile of goods emerged a customs-house officer, a dark green, +dusty figure, of military erectness. He barred the way for Chelkash, +standing before him in a challenging attitude, his left hand clutching +the hilt of his dirk, while with his right he tried to seize Chelkash +by the collar. + +"Stop! Where are you going?" + +Chelkash drew back a step, raised his eyes, looked at the official, +and smiled dryly. + +The red, good-humoredly crafty face of the official, +in its attempt to assume a menacing air, puffed and grew +round and purple, while the brows scowled, the eyes rolled, +and the effect was very comic. + +"You've been told--don't you dare come into the dock, or I'll break +your ribs! And you're here again!" the man roared threateningly. + +"How d'ye do, Semyonitch! It's a long while since we've seen each other," +Chelkash greeted him calmly, holding out his hand. + +"Thankful never to see you again! Get along, get along!" + +But yet Semyonitch took the outstretched hand. + +"You tell me this," Chelkash went on, his gripping fingers still keeping +their hold of Semyonitch's hand, and shaking it with friendly familiarity, +"haven't you seen Mishka?" + +"Mishka, indeed, who's Mishka? I don't know any Mishka. +Get along, mate! or the inspector'll see you, he'll----" + +"The red-haired fellow that I worked with last time on +the 'Kostroma'?" Chelkash persisted. + +"That you steal with, you'd better say. He's been taken to +the hospital, your Mishka; his foot was crushed by an iron bar. +Go away, mate, while you're asked to civilly, go away, +or I'll chuck you out by the scruff of your neck." + +"A-ha, that's like you! And you say-you don't know Mishka! But I say, +why are you so cross, Semyonitch?" + +"I tell you, Grishka, don't give me any of your jaw. Go---o!" + +The official began to get angry and, looking from side to side, +tried to pull his hand away from Chelkash's firm grip. +Chelkash looked calmly at him from under his thick eyebrows, +smiled behind his mustache and not letting go of his hand, +went on talking. + +"Don't hurry me. I'll just have my chat out with you, and then I'll go. +Come, tell us how you're getting on; wife and children quite well?" +And with a spiteful gleam in his eyes, he added, showing his teeth in a +mocking grin: "I've been meaning to pay you a call for ever so long, +but I've not had the time, I'm always drinking, you see." + +"Now--now then-you drop that! You--none of your jokes, you bony devil. +I'm in earnest, my man. So you mean you're coming stealing in the houses +and the streets?" + +"What for? Why there's goods enough here to last our time--for you +and me. By God, there's enough, Semyonitch! So you've been filching +two cases of goods, eh? Mind, Semyonitch, you'd better look out? +You'll get caught one day!" + +Enraged by Chelkash's insolence, Semyonitch turned blue, and struggled, +spluttering and trying to say something. + +Chelkash let go of his hand, and with complete composure +strode back to the dock gates. The customs-house officer +followed him, swearing furiously. Chelkash grew more cheerful; +he whistled shrilly through his teeth, and thrusting his hands +in his breeches pockets, walked with the deliberate gait of a man +of leisure, firing off to right and to left biting jeers and jests. +He was followed by retorts in the same vein. + +"I say, Grishka, what good care they do take of you! +Made your inspection, eh?" shouted one out of a group of dockers, +who had finished dinner and were lying on the ground, resting. + +"I'm barefoot, so here's Semyonitch watching that I shouldn't +graze my foot on anything," answered Chelkash. + +They reached the gates. Two soldiers felt Chelkash all over, +and gave him a slight shove into the streets. + +"Don't let him go!" wailed Semyonitch, who had stayed behind +in the dockyard. + +Chelkash crossed the road and sat down on a stone post +opposite the door of the inn. From the dock gates rolled +rumbling an endless string of laden carts. To meet them, +rattled empty carts, with their drivers jolting up and down in them. +The dock vomited howling din and biting dust, and set +the earth quaking. + +Chelkash, accustomed to this frenzied uproar, and roused +by his scene with Semyonitch, felt in excellent spirits. +Before him lay the attractive prospect of a substantial haul, +which would call for some little exertion and a great deal +of dexterity; Chelkash was confident that he had plenty of +the latter, and, half-closing his eyes, dreamed of how he would +indulge to~morrow morning when the business would be over +and the notes would be rustling in his pocket. + +Then he thought of his comrade, Mishka, who would have +been very useful that night, if he had not hurt his foot; +Chelkash swore to himself, thinking that, all alone, without Mishka, +maybe he'd hardly manage it all. What sort of night would it be? +Chelkash looked at the sky, and along the street. + +Half-a-dozen paces from him, on the flagged pavement, there sat, +leaning against a stone post, a young fellow in a coarse blue linen shirt, +and breeches of the same, in plaited bark shoes, and a torn, reddish cap. +Near him lay a little bag, and a scythe without a handle, +with a wisp of hay twisted round it and carefully tied with string. +The youth was broad-shouldered, squarely built, flaxen headed, +with a sunburnt and weather-beaten face, and big blue eyes that stared +with confident simplicity at Chelkash. + +Chelkash grinned at him, put out his tongue, and making a fearful face, +stared persistently at him with wide-open eyes. + +The young fellow at first blinked in bewilderment, but then, +suddenly bursting into a guffaw, shouted through his laughter: +"Oh! you funny chap!" and half getting up from the ground, +rolled clumsily from his post to Chelkash's, upsetting his bag +into the dust, and knocking the heel of his scythe on the stone. + +"Eh, mate, you've been on the spree, one can see!" he said to Chelkash, +pulling at his trousers. + +"That's so, suckling, that's so indeed!" Chelkash admitted frankly; +he took at once to this healthy, simple-hearted youth, with his childish +clear eyes. "Been off mowing, eh?" + +"To be sure! You've to mow a verst to earn ten kopecks! +It's a poor business! Folks--in masses! Men had come tramping +from the famine parts. They've knocked down the prices, +go where you will. Sixty kopecks they paid in Kuban. +And in years gone by, they do say, it was three, and four, +and five roubles." + +"In years gone by! Why, in years gone by, for the mere +sight of a Russian they paid three roubles out that way. +Ten years ago I used to make a regular trade of it. +One would go to a settlement--'I'm a Russian,' one said-- +and they'd come and gaze at you at once, touch you, +wonder at you, and--you'd get three roubles. And they'd give +you food and drink--stay as long as you like!" + +As the youth listened to Chelkash, at first his mouth dropped open, +his round face expressing bewildered rapture; then, grasping the fact +that this tattered fellow was romancing, he closed his lips with a +smack and guffawed. Chelkash kept a serious face, hiding a smile +in his mustache. + +"You funny chap, you chaff away as though it were the truth, +and I listen as if it were a bit of news! No, upon my soul, +in years gone by----" + +"Why, and didn't I say so? To be sure, I'm telling you +how in years gone by----" + +"Go on!" the lad waved his hand. "A cobbler, eh? or a tailor? +or what are you?" + +"I?" Chelkash queried, and after a moment's thought he said: +"I'm a fisherman." + +"A fisherman! Really? You catch fish?" + +"Why fish? Fishermen about here don't catch fish only. +They fish more for drowned men, old anchors, sunk ships--everything! +There are hooks on purpose for all that." + +"Go on! That sort of fishermen, maybe, that sing of themselves: + + "We cast our nets + Over banks that are dry, + Over storerooms and pantries!" + +"Why, have you seen any of that sort?" inquired Chelkash, +looking scoffingly at him and thinking that this nice youth +was very stupid. + +"No, seen them I haven't! I've heard tell." + +"Do you like them?" + +"Like them? May be. They're all right, fine bold chaps--free." + +"And what's freedom to you? Do you care for freedom?" + +"Well, I should think so! Be your own master, go where you please, +do as you like. To be sure! If you know how to behave yourself, +and you've nothing weighing upon you--it's first rate. +Enjoy yourself all you can, only be mindful of God." + +Chelkash spat contemptuously, and turning away from the youth, +dropped the conversation. + +"Here's my case now," the latter began, with sudden animation. +"As my father's dead, my bit of land's small, my mother's old, +all the land's sucked dry, what am I to do? I must live. +And how? There's no telling. + +"Am I to marry into some well-to-do house? I'd be glad to, +if only they'd let their daughter have her share apart. + +"Not a bit of it, the devil of a father-in-law won't consent to that. +And so I shall have to slave for him--for ever so long--for years. +A nice state of things, you know! + +"But if I could earn a hundred or a hundred and fifty roubles, +I could stand on my own feet, and look askance at old Antip, +and tell him straight out! Will you give Marfa her share apart? +No? all right, then! Thank God, she's not the only girl in the village. +And I should be, I mean, quite free and independent. + +"Ah, yes!" the young man sighed. "But as 'tis, there's nothing for it, +but to marry and live at my father-in-law's. I was thinking I'd go, +d'ye see, to Kuban, and make some two hundred roubles-straight off! +Be a gentleman! But there, it was no go! It didn't come off. +Well, I suppose I'll have to work for my father-in-law! +Be a day-laborer. For I'll never manage on my own bit-- +not anyhow. Heigh-ho!" + +The lad extremely disliked the idea of bondage to his future +father-in-law. His face positively darkened and looked gloomy. +He shifted clumsily on the ground and drew Chelkash out of +the reverie into which he had sunk during his speech. + +Chelkash felt that he had no inclination now to talk to him, +yet he asked him another question: "Where are you going now?" + +"Why, where should I go? Home, to be sure." + +"Well, mate, I couldn't be sure of that, you might be on your +way to Turkey." + +"To Th-urkey!" drawled the youth. "Why, what good Christian +ever goes there! Well I never!" + +"Oh, you fool!" sighed Chelkash, and again he turned away from +his companion, conscious this time of a positive disinclination +to waste another word on him. This stalwart village lad roused +some feeling in him. It was a vague feeling of annoyance, +that grew instinctively, stirred deep down in his heart, +and hindered him from concentrating himself on the consideration +of all that he had to do that night. + +The lad he had thus reviled muttered something, +casting occasionally a dubious glance at Chelkash. +His cheeks were comically puffed out, his lips parted, +and his eyes were screwed up and blinking with extreme rapidity. +He had obviously not expected so rapid and insulting a termination +to his conversation with this long-whiskered ragamuffin. +The ragamuffin took no further notice of him. +He whistled dreamily, sitting on the stone post, and beating +time on it with his bare, dirty heel. + +The young peasant wanted to be quits with him. + +"Hi, you there, fisherman! Do you often get tipsy like this?" +he was beginning, but at the same instant the fisherman turned +quickly towards him, and asked: + +"I say, suckling! Would you like a job to-night +with me? Eh? Tell me quickly!" + +"What sort of a job?" the lad asked him, distrustfully. + +"What! What I set you. We're going fishing. You'll row the boat." + +"Well. Yes. All right. I don't mind a job. Only there's this. +I don't want to get into a mess with you. You're so awfully deep. +You're rather shady." + +Chelkash felt a scalding sensation in his breast, and with cold +anger he said in a low voice: + +"And you'd better hold your tongue, whatever you think, or I'll give +you a tap on your nut that will make things light enough." + +He jumped up from his post, tugged at his moustache with his left hand, +while his sinewy right hand was clenched into a fist, hard as iron, +and his eyes gleamed. + +The youth was frightened. He looked quickly round him, +and blinking uneasily, he, too, jumped up from the ground. +Measuring one another with their eyes, they paused. + +"Well?" Chelkash queried, sullenly. He was boiling inwardly, +and trembling at the affront dealt him by this young calf, +whom he had despised while he talked to him, but now hated +all at once because he had such clear blue eyes, such health, +a sunburned face, and broad, strong hands; because he had somewhere +a village, a home in it, because a well-to-do peasant wanted +him for a son-in-law, because of all his life, past and future, +and most of all, because he--this babe compared with Chelkash-- +dared to love freedom, which he could not appreciate, nor need. +It is always unpleasant to see that a man one regards as baser +or lower than oneself likes or hates the same things, and so puts +himself on a level with oneself. + +The young peasant looked at Chelkash and saw in him an employer. + +"Well," he began, "I don't mind. I'm glad of it. Why, it's work for, +you or any other man. I only meant that you don't look like a +working man--a bit too-ragged. Oh, I know that may happen to anyone. +Good Lord, as though I've never seen drunkards! Lots of them! +and worse than you too." + +"All right, all right! Then you agree?" Chelkash said more amicably. + +"I? Ye-es! With pleasure! Name your terms." + +"That's according to the job. As the job turns out. +According to the job. Five roubles you may get. +Do you see?" + +But now it was a question of money, and in that the peasant wished +to be precise, and demanded the same exactness from his employer. +His distrust and suspicion revived. + +"That's not my way of doing business, mate! A bird in the hand for me." + +Chelkash threw himself into his part. + +"Don't argue, wait a bit! Come into the restaurant." + +And they went down the street side by side, Chelkash with +the dignified air of an employer, twisting his mustaches, +the youth with an expression of absolute readiness to give +way to him, but yet full of distrust and uneasiness. + +"And what's your name?" asked Chelkash. + +"Gavrilo!" answered the youth. + +When they had come into the dirty and smoky eating-house, and Chelkash +going up to the counter, in the familiar tone of an habitual customer, +ordered a bottle of vodka, cabbage soup, a cut from the joint, and tea, +and reckoning up his order, flung the waiter a brief "put it all down!" +to which the waiter nodded in silence,--Gavrilo was at once filled +with respect for this ragamuffin, his employer, who enjoyed here such +an established and confident position. + +"Well, now we'll have a bit of lunch and talk things over. +You sit still, I'll be back in a minute." + +He went out. Gavrilo looked round. The restaurant was in an +underground basement; it was damp and dark, and reeked with the +stifling fumes of vodka, tobacco-smoke, tar, and some acrid odor. +Facing Gavrilo at another table sat a drunken man in the dress +of a sailor, with a red beard, all over coal-dust and tar. +Hiccupping every minute, he was droning a song all made up of broken +and incoherent words, strangely sibilant and guttural sounds. +He was unmistakably not a Russian. + +Behind him sat two Moldavian women, tattered, black-haired sunburned +creatures, who were chanting some sort of song, too, with drunken voices. + +And from the darkness beyond emerged other figures, +all strangely dishevelled, all half-drunk, noisy and restless. + +Gavrilo felt miserable here alone. He longed for his employer to come +back quickly. And the din in the eating-house got louder and louder. +Growing shriller every second, it all melted into one note, +and it seemed like the roaring of some monstrous boast, with hundreds +of different throats, vaguely enraged, trying to struggle out of this +damp hole and unable to find a way out to freedom. + +Gavrilo felt something intoxicating and oppressive creeping over him, +over all his limbs, making his head reel, and his eyes grow dim, +as they moved inquisitively about the eating-house. + +Chelkash came in, and they began eating and drinking and talking. +At the third glass Gavrilo was drunk. He became lively and wanted to say +something pleasant to his employer, who--the good fellow!--though he +had done nothing for him yet, was entertaining him so agreeably. +But the words which flowed in perfect waves to his throat, for some +reason would not come from his tongue. + +Chelkash looked at him and smiled sarcastically, saying: + +"You're screwed! Ugh--milksop!--with five glasses! how will you work?" + +"Dear fellow!" Gavrilo melted into a drunken, good-natured smile. +"Never fear! I respect you! That is, look here! +Let me kiss you! eh?" + +"Come, come! A drop more!" + +Gavrilo drank, and at last reached a condition when everything +seemed waving up and down in regular undulations before his eyes. +It was unpleasant and made him feel sick. His face wore +an expression of childish bewilderment and foolish enthusiasm. +Trying to say something, he smacked his lips absurdly and bellowed. +Chelkash, watching him intently, twisted his mustaches, +and as though recollecting something, still smiled to himself, +but morosely now and maliciously. + +The eating-house roared with drunken clamor. The red-headed +sailor was asleep, with his elbows on the table. + +"Come, let's go then!" said Chelkash, getting up. + +Gavrilo tried to get up, but could not, and with a vigorous oath, +he laughed a meaningless, drunken laugh. + +"Quite screwed!" said Chelkash, sitting down again opposite him. + +Gavrilo still guffawed, staring with dull eyes at his new employer. +And the latter gazed at him intently, vigilantly and thoughtfully. +He saw before him a man whose life had fallen into his wolfish clutches. +He, Chelkash, felt that he had the power to do with it as he pleased. +He could rend it like a card, and he could help to set it on a firm +footing in its peasant framework. He reveled in feeling himself +master of another man, and thought that never would this peasant-lad +drink of such a cup as destiny had given him, Chelkash, to drink. +And he envied this young life and pitied it, sneered at it, and was +even troubled over it, picturing to himself how it might again fall +into such hands as his. + +And all these feelings in the end melted in Chelkash into one-- +a fatherly sense of proprietorship in him. He felt sorry for +the boy, and the boy was necessary to him. Then Chelkash took +Gavrilo under the arms, and giving him a slight shove behind +with his knee, got him out into the yard of the eating-house, +where he put him on the ground in the shade of a stack of wood, +then he sat down beside him and lighted his pipe. + +Gavrilo shifted about a little, muttered, and dropped asleep. + +CHAPTER II. + +"Come, ready?" Chelkash asked in a low voice of Gavrilo, +who was busy doing something to the oars. + +"In a minute! The rowlock here's unsteady, can I just knock +it in with the oar?" + +"No--no! Not a sound! Push it down harder with your hand, +it'll go in of itself." + +They were both quietly getting out a boat, which was tied to the stern +of one of a whole flotilla of oakladen barges, and big Turkish feluccas, +half unloaded, hall still full of palm-oil, sandal wood, and thick +trunks of cypress. + +The night was dark, thick strata of ragged clouds were moving +across the sky, and the sea was quiet, black, and thick as oil. +It wafted a damp and salt aroma, and splashed caressingly on the sides +of the vessels and the banks, setting Chelkash's boat lightly rocking. +There were boats all round them. At a long distance from the shore rose +from the sea the dark outlines of vessels, thrusting up into the dark +sky their pointed masts with various colored lights at their tops. +The sea reflected the lights, and was spotted with masses of yellow, +quivering patches. This was very beautiful on the velvety bosom +of the soft, dull black water, so rhythmically, mightily breathing. +The sea slept the sound, healthy sleep of a workman, wearied out +by his day's toil. + +"We're off!" said Gavrilo, dropping the oars into the water. + +"Yes!" With a vigorous turn of the rudder Chelkash drove +the boat into a strip of water between two barks, and they +darted rapidly over the smooth surface, that kindled into +bluish phosphorescent light under the strokes of the oars. +Behind the boat's stern lay a winding ribbon of this phosphorescence, +broad and quivering. + +"Well, how's your head, aching?" asked Chelkash, smiling. + +"Awfully! Like iron ringing. I'll wet it with some water in a minute." + +"Why? You'd better wet your inside, that may get rid of it. +You can do that at once." He held out a bottle to Gavrilo. + +"Eh? Lord bless you!" + +There was a faint sound of swallowing. + +"Aye! aye! like it? Enough!" Chelkash stopped him. + +The boat darted on again, noiselessly and lightly threading its way among +the vessels. All at once, they emerged from the labyrinth of ships, +and the sea, boundless, mute, shining and rhythmically breathing, +lay open before them, stretching far into the distance, +where there rose out of its waters masses of storm clouds, +some lilac-blue with fluffy yellow edges, and some greenish like +the color of the seawater, or those dismal, leaden-colored clouds +that cast such heavy, dreary shadows, oppressing mind and soul. +They crawled slowly after one another, one melting into another, +one overtaking another, and there was something weird in this slow +procession of soulless masses. + +It seemed as though there, at the sea's rim, they were a +countless multitude, that they would forever crawl thus sluggishly +over the sky, striving with dull malignance to hinder it from +peeping at the sleeping sea with its millions of golden eyes, +the various colored, vivid stars, that shine so dreamily +and stir high hopes in all who love their pure, holy light. +Over the sea hovered the vague, soft sound of its drowsy breathing. + +"The sea's fine, eh?" asked Chelkash. + +"It's all right! Only I feel scared on it," answered Gavrilo, +pressing the oars vigorously and evenly through the water. +The water faintly gurgled and splashed under the strokes of his long oars, +splashed glittering with the warm, bluish, phosphorescent light. + +"Scared! What a fool!" Chelkash muttered, discontentedly. + +He, the thief and cynic, loved the sea. His effervescent, +nervous nature, greedy after impressions, was never weary +of gazing at that dark expanse, boundless, free, and mighty. +And it hurt him to hear such an answer to his question +about the beauty of what he loved. Sitting in the stern, +he cleft the water with his oar, and looked on ahead quietly, +filled with desire to glide far on this velvety surface, +not soon to quit it. + +On the sea there always rose up in him a broad, +warm feeling, that took possession of his whole soul, +and somewhat purified it from the sordidness of daily life. +He valued this, and loved to feel himself better out here in +the midst of the water and the air, where the cares of life, +and life itself, always lose, the former their keenness, +the latter its value. + +"But where's the tackle? Eh?" Gavrilo asked suspiciously all at once, +peering into the boat. + +Chelkash started. + +"Tackle? I've got it in the stern." + +"Why, what sort of tackle is it?" Gavrilo inquired again with surprised +suspicion in his tone. + +"What sort? lines and--" But Chelkash felt ashamed to lie to this boy, +to conceal his real plans, and he was sorry to lose what this peasant-lad +had destroyed in his heart by this question. He flew into a rage. +That scalding bitterness he knew so well rose in his breast and +his throat, and impressively, cruelly, and malignantly he said to Gavrilo: + +"You're sitting here--and I tell you, you'd better sit quiet. +And not poke your nose into what's not your business. +You've been hired to row, and you'd better row. But if you +can't keep your tongue from wagging, it will be a bad lookout +for you. D'ye see?" + +For a minute the boat quivered and stopped. The oars rested in the water, +setting it foaming, and Gavrilo moved uneasily on his seat. + +"Row!" + +A sharp oath rang out in the air. Gavrilo swung the oars. +The boat moved with rapid, irregular jerks, noisily cutting the water. + +"Steady!" + +Chelkash got up from the stern, still holding the oars in his hands, and +peering with his cold eyes into the pale and twitching face of Gavrilo. +Crouching forward Chelkash was like a cat on the point of springing. +There was the sound of angry gnashing of teeth. + +"Who's calling?" rang out a surly shout from the sea. + +"Now, you devil, row! quietly with the oars! I'll kill you, +you cur. Come, row! One, two! There! you only make a sound! +I'll cut your throat!" hissed Chelkash. + +"Mother of God--Holy Virgin--" muttered Gavrilo, shaking and numb +with terror and exertion. + +The boat turned smoothly and went back toward the harbor, +where the lights gathered more closely into a group of many +colors and the straight stems of masts could be seen. + +"Hi! Who's shouting?" floated across again. The voice was farther +off this time. Chelkash grew calm again. + +"It's yourself, friend, that's shouting!" he said in the direction +of the shouts, and then he turned to Gavrilo, who was muttering a prayer. + +"Well, mate, you're in luck! If those devils had overtaken us, +it would have been all over with you. D'you see? +I'd have you over in a trice--to the fishes!" + +Now, when Chelkash was speaking quietly and even good-humoredly, +Gavrilo, still shaking with terror, besought him! + +"Listen, forgive me! For Christ's sake, I beg you, let me go! +Put me on shore somewhere! Aie-aie-aie! I'm done for entirely! +Come, think of God, let me go! What am I to you? +I can't do it! I've never been used to such things. +It's the first time. Lord! Why, I shall be lost! +How did you get round me, mate? eh? It's a shame of you! +Why, you're ruining a man's life! Such doings." + +"What doings?" Chelkash asked grimly. "Eh? Well, what doings?" + +He was amused by the youth's terror, and he enjoyed it and the sense +that he, Chelkash, was a terrible person. + +"Shady doings, mate. Let me go, for God's sake! +What am I to you? eh? Good--dear--!" + +"Hold your tongue, do! If you weren't wanted, I shouldn't +have taken you. Do you understand? So, shut up!" + +"Lord!" Gavrilo sighed, sobbing. + +"Come, come! you'd better mind!" Chelkash cut him short. + +But Gavrilo by now could not restrain himself, and quietly sobbing, +he wept, sniffed, and writhed in his seat, yet rowed +vigorously, desperately. The boat shot on like an arrow. +Again dark hulks of ships rose up on their way and the boat +was again lost among them, winding like a wolf in the narrow +lanes of water between them. + +"Here, you listen! If anyone asks you anything,--hold your tongue, +if you want to get off alive! Do you see?" + +"Oh--oh!" Gavrilo sighed hopelessly in answer to the grim advice, +and bitterly he added: "I'm a lost man!" + +"Don't howl!" Chelkash whispered impressively. + +This whisper deprived Gavrilo of all power of grasping anything +and transformed him into a senseless automaton, wholly absorbed +in a chill presentiment of calamity. + +Mechanically he lowered the oars into the water, +threw himself back, drew them out and dropped them in again, +all the while staring blankly at his plaited shoes. +The waves splashed against the vessels with a sort of menace, +a sort of warning in their drowsy sound that terrified him. +The dock was reached. From its granite wall came the sound of +men's voices, the splash of water, singing, and shrill whistles. + +"Stop!" whispered Chelkash. "Give over rowing! +Push along with your hands on the wall! Quietly, you devil!" + +Gavrilo, clutching at the slippery stone, pushed the boat alongside +the wall. The boat moved without a sound, sliding alongside +the green, shiny stone. + +"Stop! Give me the oars! Give them here. Where's your passport? +In the bag? Give me the bag! Come, give it here quickly! +That, my dear fellow, is so you shouldn't run off. You won't +run away now. Without oars you might have got off somehow, +but without a passport you'll be afraid to. Wait here! +But mind--if you squeak--to the bottom of the sea you go!" + +And, all at once, clinging on to something with his hands, +Chelkash rose in the air and vanished onto the wall. + +Gavrilo shuddered. It had all happened so quickly. He felt as though +the cursed weight and horror that had crushed him in the presence +of this thin thief with his mustaches was loosened and rolling off him. +Now to run! And breathing freely, he looked round him. +On his left rose a black hulk, without masts, a sort of huge coffin, +mute, untenanted, and desolate. + +Every splash of the water on its sides awakened a hollow, +resonant echo within it, like a heavy sigh. + +On the right the damp stone wall of the quay trailed its length, +winding like a heavy, chill serpent. Behind him, too, could be +seen black blurs of some sort, while in front, in the opening +between the wall and the side of that coffin, he could see the sea, +a silent waste, with the storm-clouds crawling above it. +Everything was cold, black, malignant. Gavrilo felt panic-stricken. +This terror was worse than the terror inspired in him by Chelkash; +it penetrated into Gavrilo's bosom with icy keenness, huddled him +into a cowering mass, and kept him nailed to his seat in the boat. + +All around was silent. Not a sound but the sighs of the sea, +and it seemed as though this silence would instantly be rent +by something fearful, furiously loud, something that would +shake the sea to its depths, tear apart these heavy flocks +of clouds on the sky, and scatter all these black ships. +The clouds were crawling over the sky as dismally as before; +more of them still rose up out of the sea, and, gazing at the sky, +one might believe that it, too, was a sea, but a sea in agitation, +and grown petrified in its agitation, laid over that other +sea beneath, that was so drowsy, serene, and smooth. +The clouds were like waves, flinging themselves with curly +gray crests down upon the earth and into the abysses of space, +from which they were torn again by the wind, and tossed back +upon the rising billows of cloud, that were not yet hidden +under the greenish foam of their furious agitation. + +Gavrilo felt crushed by this gloomy stillness and beauty, +and felt that he longed to see his master come back quickly. +And how was it that he lingered there so long? The time +passed slowly, more slowly than those clouds crawled over the sky. +And the stillness grew more malignant as time went on. +From the wall of the quay came the sound of splashing, +rustling, and something like whispering. It seemed to Gavrilo +that he would die that moment. + +"Hi! Asleep? Hold it! Carefully!" sounded the hollow voice of Chelkash. + +From the wall something cubical and heavy was let down. +Gavrilo took it into the boat. Something else like it followed. +Then across the wall stretched Chelkash's long figure, the oars +appeared from somewhere, Gavrilo's bag dropped at his feet, +and Chelkash, breathing heavily, settled himself in the stern. + +Gavrilo gazed at him with a glad and timid smile. + +"Tired?" + +"Bound to be that, calf! Come now, row your best! +Put your back into it! You've earned good wages, mate. +Half the job's done. Now we've only to slip under the devils' +noses, and then you can take your money and go off to your Mashka. +You've got a Mashka, I suppose, eh, kiddy?" + +"N--no!" Gavrilo strained himself to the utmost, working his +chest like a pair of bellows, and his arms like steel springs. +The water gurgled under the boat, and the blue streak behind the stern +was broader now. Gavrilo was soaked through with sweat at once, +but he still rowed on with all his might. + +After living through such terror twice that night, he dreaded now having +to go through it a third time, and longed for one thing only--to make +an end quickly of this accursed task, to get on to land, and to run away +from this man, before he really did kill him, or get him into prison. +He resolved not to speak to him about anything, not to contradict him, +to do all he told him, and, if he should succeed in getting successfully +quit of him, to pay for a thanksgiving service to be said to-morrow +to Nikolai the Wonder-worker. A passionate prayer was ready to burst +out from his bosom. But he restrained himself, puffed like a steamer, +and was silent, glancing from under his brows at Chelkash. + +The latter, with his lean, long figure bent forward like a bird about +to take flight, stared into the darkness ahead of the boat with his +hawk eyes, and turning his rapacious, hooked nose from side to side, +gripped with one hand the rudder handle, while with the other +he twirled his mustache, that was continually quivering with smiles. +Chelkash was pleased with his success, with himself, and with this youth, +who had been so frightened of him and had been turned into his slave. +He had a vision of unstinted dissipation to-morrow, while now +he enjoyed the sense of his strength, which had enslaved this young, +fresh lad. He watched how he was toiling, and felt sorry for him, +wanted to encourage him. + +"Eh!" he said softly, with a grin. "Were you awfully scared? eh?" + +"Oh, no!" sighed Gavrilo, and he cleared his throat. + +"But now you needn't work so at the oars. Ease off! +There's only one place now to pass. Rest a bit." + +Gavrilo obediently paused, rubbed the sweat off his face with the sleeve +of his shirt, and dropped the oars again into the water. + +"Now, row more slowly, so that the water shouldn't bubble. +We've only the gates to pass. Softly, softly. For they're serious +people here, mate. They might take a pop at one in a minute. +They'd give you such a bump on your forehead, you wouldn't have +time to call out." + +The boat now crept along over the water almost without a sound. +Only from the oars dripped blue drops of water, and when they +trickled into the sea, a blue patch of light was kindled for +a minute where they fell. The night had become still warmer +and more silent. The sky was no longer like a sea in turmoil, +the clouds were spread out and covered it with a smooth, +heavy canopy that hung low over the water and did not stir. +And the sea was still more calm and black, and stronger than +ever was the warm salt smell from it. + +"Ah, if only it would rain!" whispered Chelkash. +"We could get through then, behind a curtain as it were." + +On the right and the left of the boat, like houses rising out +of the black water, stood barges, black, motionless, and gloomy. +On one of them moved a light; some one was walking up and down +with a lantern. The sea stroked their sides with a hollow sound +of supplication, and they responded with an echo, cold and resonant, +as though unwilling to yield anything. + +"The coastguards!" Chelkash whispered hardly above a breath. + +From the moment when he had bidden him row more slowly, Gavrilo had +again been overcome by that intense agony of expectation. He craned +forward into the darkness, and he felt as though he were growing bigger; +his bones and sinews were strained with a dull ache, his head, +filled with a single idea, ached, the skin on his back twitched, +and his legs seemed pricked with sharp, chill little pins and needles. +His eyes ached from the strain of gazing into the darkness, +whence he expected every instant something would spring up and shout +to them: "Stop, thieves!" + +Now when Chelkash whispered: "The coastguards!" Gavrilo shuddered, +and one intense, burning idea passed through him, and thrilled his +overstrained nerves; he longed to cry out, to call men to his aid. +He opened his mouth, and half rose from his seat, squared his chest, +drew in a full draught of breath--and opened his mouth--but suddenly, +struck down by a terror that smote him like a whip, he shut his eyes +and rolled forward off his seat. + +Far away on the horizon, ahead of the boat, there rose up out +of the black water of the sea a huge fiery blue sword; it rose up, +cleaving the darkness of night, its blade glided through the clouds +in the sky, and lay, a broad blue streak on the bosom of the sea. +It lay there, and in the streak of its light there sprang up +out of the darkness ships unseen till then, black and mute, +shrouded in the thick night mist. + +It seemed as though they had lain long at the bottom of the sea, +dragged down by the mighty hands of the tempest; and now behold +they had been drawn up by the power and at the will of this blue +fiery sword, born of the sea--had been drawn up to gaze upon +the sky and all that was above the water. Their rigging wrapped +about the masts and looked like clinging seaweeds, that had risen +from the depths with these black giants caught in their snares. +And it rose upward again from the sea, this strange blue sword,-- +rose, cleft the night again, and again fell down in another direction. +And again, where it lay, there rose up out of the dark the outlines +of vessels, unseen before. + +Chelkash's boat stopped and rocked on the water, as though +in uncertainty. Gavrilo lay at the bottom, his face hidden +in his hands, until Chelkash poked him with an oar and +whispered furiously, but softly: + +"Fool, it's the customs cruiser. That's the electric light! +Get up, blockhead! Why, they'll turn the light on us in a minute! +You'll be the ruin of yourself and me! Come!" + +And at last, when a blow from the sharp end of the oar struck +Gavrilo's head more violently, he jumped up, still afraid to open +his eyes, sat down on the seat, and, fumbling for the oars, +rowed the boat on. + +"Quietly! I'll kill you! Didn't I tell you? There, quietly! +Ah, you fool, damn you! What are you frightened of? Eh, pig face? +A lantern and a reflector, that's all it is. Softly with the oars! +Mawkish devil! They turn the reflector this way and that way, +and light up the sea, so as to see if there are folks like you +and me afloat. + +"To catch smugglers, they do it.They won't get us, they've sailed +too far off. Don't be frightened, lad, they won't catch us. +Now we--" Chelkash looked triumphantly round. "It's over, +we've rowed out of reach! Foo--o! Come, you're in luck." + +Gavrilo sat mute; he rowed, and breathing hard, +looked askance where that fiery sword still rose and sank. +He was utterly unable to believe Chelkash that it was only +a lantern and a reflector. The cold, blue brilliance, that cut +through the darkness and made the sea gleam with silver light, +had something about it inexplicable, portentous, and Gavrilo +now sank into a sort of hypnotized, miserable terror. +Some vague presentiment weighed aching on his breast. +He rowed automatically, with pale face, huddled up as though +expecting a blow from above, and there was no thought, +no desire in him now, he was empty and soulless. +The emotions of that night had swallowed up at last all that +was human in him. + +But Chelkash was triumphant again; complete success! all +anxiety at an end! His nerves, accustomed to strain, relaxed, +returned to the normal. His mustaches twitched voluptuously, +and there was an eager light in his eyes. He felt splendid, +whistled through his teeth, drew in deep breaths of the damp sea air, +looked about him in the darkness, and laughed good-naturedly +when his eyes rested on Gavrilo. + +The wind blew up and waked the sea into a sudden play of fine ripples. +The clouds had become, as it were, finer and more transparent, +but the sky was still covered with them. + +The wind, though still light, blew freely over the sea, yet the clouds +were motionless and seemed plunged in some gray, dreary dream. + +"Come, mate, pull yourself together! it's high time! +Why, what a fellow you are; as though all the breath had been +knocked out of your skin, and only a bag of bones was left! +My dear fellow! It's all over now! Hey!" + +It was pleasant to Gavrilo to hear a human voice, even though +Chelkash it was that spoke. + +"I hear," he said softly. + +"Come, then, milksop. Come, you sit at the rudder and I'll take the oars, +you must be tired!" + +Mechanically Gavrilo changed places. When Chelkash, as he changed +places with him, glanced into his face, and noticed that he was +staggering on his shaking legs, he felt still sorrier for the lad. +He clapped him on the shoulder. + +"Come, come, don't be scared! You've earned a good sum for it. +I'll pay you richly, mate. Would you like twenty-five roubles, eh?" + +"I--don't want anything. Only to be on shore." + +Chelkash waved his hand, spat, and fell to rowing, flinging the oars +far back with his long arms. + +The sea had waked up. It frolicked in little waves, bringing them forth, +decking them with a fringe of foam, flinging them on one another, +and breaking them up into tiny eddies. The foam, melting, hissed and +sighed, and everything was filled with the musical plash and cadence. +The darkness seemed more alive. + +"Come, tell me," began Chelkash, "you'll go home to the village, +and you'll marry and begin digging the earth and sowing corn, +your wife will bear you children, food won't be too plentiful, +and so you'll grind away all your life. Well? Is there such +sweetness in that?" + +"Sweetness!" Gavrilo answered, timid and trembling, "what, indeed?" + +The wind tore a rent in the clouds and through the gap peeped blue +bits of sky, with one or two stars. Reflected in the frolicking sea, +these stars danced on the waves, vanishing and shining out again. + +"More to the right!" said Chelkash. "Soon we shall be there. +Well, well! It's over. A haul that's worth it! See here. +One night, and I've made five hundred roubles! Eh? What do you +say to that?" + +"Five hundred?" Gavrilo, drawled, incredulously, but he was seared +at once, and quickly asked, prodding the bundle in the boat +with his foot. "Why, what sort of thing may this be?" + +"That's silk. A costly thing. All that, if one sold it +for its value, would fetch a thousand. But I sell cheap. +Is that smart business?" + +"I sa--ay?" Gavrilo drawled dubiously. "If only I'd all that!" +be sighed, recalling all at once the village, his poor little bit +of land, his poverty, his mother, and all that was so far away and +so near his heart; for the sake of which he bad gone to seek work, +for the sake of which he had suffered such agonies that night. +A flood of memories came back to him of his village, running down +the steep slope to the river and losing itself in a whole forest +of birch trees, willows, and mountain-ashes. These memories breathed +something warm into him and cheered him up. "Ah, it would be grand!" +he sighed mournfully. + +"To be sure! I expect you'd bolt home by the railway! +And wouldn't the girls make love to you at home, aye, aye! +You could choose which you liked! You'd build yourself a house. +No, the money, maybe, would hardly be enough for a house." + +"That's true--it wouldn't do for a house. Wood's dear down our way." + +"Well, never mind. You'd mend up the old one. How about a horse? +Have you got one?" + +"A horse? Yes, I have, but a wretched old thing it is." + +"Well, then, you'd have a horse. A first-rate horse! +A cow--sheep--fowls of all sorts. Eh?" + +"Don't talk of it! If I only could! Oh, Lord! What a life +I should have!" + +"Aye, mate, your life would be first-rate. I know something +about such things. I had a home of my own once. +My father was one of the richest in the village." + +Chelkash rowed slowly. The boat danced on the waves that sportively +splashed over its edge; it scarcely moved forward on the dark sea; +which frolicked more and more gayly. The two men were dreaming, +rocked on the water, and pensively looking around them. +Chelkash had turned Gavrilo's thoughts to his village with the aim +of encouraging and reassuring him. + +At first he had talked grinning sceptically to himself under +his mustaches, but afterward, as he replied to his companion +and reminded him of the joys of a peasant's life, which he had +so long ago wearied of, had forgotten, and only now recalled, +he was gradually carried away, and, instead of questioning +the peasant youth about his village and its doings, +unconsciously he dropped into describing it himself: + +"The great thing in the peasant's life, mate, is its freedom! +You're your own master. You've your own home--worth a farthing, maybe-- +but it's yours! You've your own land--only a handful the whole of it-- +but it's yours! Hens of your own, eggs, apples of your own! +You're king on your own land! And then the regularity. +You get up in the morning, you've work to do, in the spring +one sort, in the summer another, in the autumn, in the winter-- +different again. Wherever you go, you've home to come back to! +It's snug! There's peace! You're a king! Aren't you really?" +Chelkash concluded enthusiastically his long reckoning of the peasant's +advantages and privileges, forgetting, somehow, his duties. + +Gavrilo looked at him with curiosity, and he, too, warmed to the subject. +During this conversation he had succeeded in forgetting with whom +he had to deal, and he saw in his companion a peasant like himself-- +cemented to the soil for ever by the sweat of generations, and bound +to it by the recollections of childhood--who had wilfully broken loose +from it and from its cares, and was bearing the inevitable punishment +for this abandonment. + +"That's true, brother! Ah, how true it is! Look at you, now, what you've +become away from the land! Aha! The land, brother, is like a mother, +you can't forget it for long." + +Chelkash awaked from his reverie. He felt that scalding +irritation in his chest, which always came as soon as his pride, +the pride of the reckless vagrant, was touched by anyone, +and especially by one who was of no value in his eyes. + +"His tongue's set wagging!" he said savagely, "you thought, maybe, I said +all that in earnest. Never fear!" + +"But, you strange fellow!"--Gavrilo began, overawed again-- +"Was I speaking of you? Why, there's lots like you! +Ah, what a lot of unlucky people among the people! Wanderers----" + +"Take the oars, you sea-calf!" Chelkash commanded briefly, +for some reason holding back a whole torrent of furious abuse, +which surged up into his throat. + +They changed places again, and Chelkash, as he crept across the boat +to the stern, felt an intense desire to give Gavrilo a kick that would +send him flying into the water, and at the same time could not pluck +up courage to look him in the face. + +The brief conversation dropped, but now Gavrilo's +silence even was eloquent of the country to Chelkash. +He recalled the past, and forgot to steer the boat, +which was turned by the current and floated away out to sea. +The waves seemed to understand that this boat had missed its way, +and played lightly with it, tossing it higher and higher, +and kindling their gay blue light under its oars. +While before Chelkash's eyes floated pictures of the past, +the far past, separated from the present by the whole barrier +of eleven years of vagrant life. + +He saw himself a child, his village, his mother, a red-cheeked +plump woman, with kindly gray eyes, his father, a red-bearded +giant with a stern face. He saw himself betrothed, and saw +his wife, black-eyed Anfisa, with her long hair, plump, mild, +and good-humored; again himself a handsome soldier in the Guards; +again his father, gray now and bent with toil, and his mother +wrinkled and bowed to the ground; he saw, too, the picture +of his welcome in the village when he returned from the service; +saw how proud his father was before all the village of his Grigory, +the mustached, stalwart soldier, so smart and handsome. +Memory, the scourge of the unhappy, gives life to the very stones +of the past, and even into the poison drunk in old days pours +drops of honey, so as to confound a man with his mistakes and, +by making him love the past, rob him of hope for the future. + +Chelkash felt a rush of the softening, caressing air of home, +bringing back to him the tender words of his mother and the weighty +utterances of the venerable peasant, his father; many a forgotten +sound and many a lush smell of mother-earth, freshly thawing, +freshly ploughed, and freshly covered with the emerald silk of the corn. +And he felt crushed, lost, pitiful, and solitary, torn up and cast +out for ever from that life which had distilled the very blood +that flowed in his veins. + +"Hey! but where are we going?" Gavrilo asked suddenly. + +Chelkash started and looked round with the uneasy look of a bird of prey. + +"Ah, the devil's taken the boat! No matter. Row a bit harder. +We'll be there directly." + +"You were dreaming?" Gavrilo inquired, smiling. + +Chelkash looked searchingly at him. The youth had completely regained +his composure; he was calm, cheerful and even seemed somehow triumphant. +He was very young, all his life lay before him. And he knew nothing. +That was bad. Maybe the earth would keep hold of him. As these +thoughts flashed through his head, Chelkash felt still more mournful, +and to Gavrilo he jerked out sullenly: + +"I'm tired. And it rocks, too." + +"It does rock, that's true. But now, I suppose, we shan't get +caught with this?" Gavrilo shoved the bale with his foot. + +"No. You can be easy. I shall hand it over directly and get +the money. Oh, yes!" + +"Five hundred?" + +"Not less, I dare say." + +"I say--that's a sum! If I, poor wretch, had that! +Ah, I'd have a fine time with it." + +"On your land?" + +"To be sure! Why, I'd be off----" + +And Gravilo floated off into day dreams. Chelkash seemed crushed. +His mustaches drooped, his right side was soaked by the splashing +of the waves, his eyes looked sunken and had lost their brightness. +He was a pitiable and depressed figure. All that bird-of-prey look +in his figure seemed somehow eclipsed under a humiliated moodiness, +that showed itself in the very folds of his dirty shirt. + +"I'm tired out, too--regularly done up." + +"We'll be there directly. See over yonder." + +Chelkash turned the boat sharply, and steered it toward something +black that stood up out of the water. + +The sky was again all covered with clouds, and fine, warm rain +had come on, pattering gayly on the crests of the waves. + +"Stop! easy!" commanded Chelkash. + +The boat's nose knocked against the hull of the vessel. +"Are they asleep, the devils?" grumbled Chelkash, catching with +his boat-hook on to some ropes that hung over the ship's side. +"The ladder's not down. And this rain, too. As if it couldn't +have come before! Hi, you spongeos. Hi! Hi!" + +"Is that Selkash?" they heard a soft purring voice say overhead. + +"Come, let down the ladder." + +"Kalimera, Selkash." + +"Let down the ladder, you smutty devil!" yelled Chelkash. + +"Ah, what a rage he's come in to-day. Ahoy!" + +"Get up, Gavrilo!" Chelkash said to his companion. + +In a moment they were on the deck, where three dark-bearded figures, +eagerly chattering together, in a strange staccato tongue looked +over the side into Chelkash's boat. The fourth clad in a long gown, +went up to him and pressed his hand without speaking, then looked +suspiciously round at Gavrilo. + +"Get the money ready for me by the morning," Chelkash said to +him shortly. "And now I'll go to sleep. Gavrilo, come along! +Are you hungry?" + +"I'm sleepy," answered Gavrilo, and five minutes later he was +snoring in the dirty hold of the vessel, while Chelkash, +sitting beside him, tried on somebody's boots. Dreamily spitting +on one side, he whistled angrily and mournfully between his teeth. +Then he stretched himself out beside Gavrilo, and pulling +the boots off his feet again and putting his arms under his head, +he fell to gazing intently at the deck, and pulling his mustaches. + +The vessel rocked softly on the frolicking water, there was +a fretful creaking of wood somewhere, the rain pattered softly +on the deck, and the waves splashed on the ship's side. +Everything was melancholy and sounded like the lullaby +of a mother, who has no hope of her child's happiness. +And Chelkash fell asleep. + +CHAPTER III + +He was the first to wake, he looked round him uneasily, but at once +regained his self-possession and stared at Gavrilo who was still asleep. +He was sweetly snoring, and in his sleep smiled all over his childish, +sun-burned healthy face. Chelkash sighed and climbed up the narrow +rope-ladder. Through the port-hole he saw a leaden strip of sky. +It was daylight, but a dreary autumn grayness. + +Chelkash came back two hours later. His face was red, his mustaches +were jauntily curled, a smile of good-humored gayety beamed on his lips. +He was wearing a pair of stout high boots, a short jacket, +and leather breeches, and he looked like a sportsman. +His whole costume was worn, but strong and very becoming to him, +making him look broader, covering up his angularity, and giving +him a military air. + +"Hi, little calf, get up!" He gave Gavrilo a kick. + +Gavrilo started up, and, not recognizing him, stared at him in alarm +with dull eyes. Chelkash chuckled. + +"Well, you do look--" Gavrilo brought out with a broad grin at last. +"You're quite a gentleman!" + +"We soon change. But, I say, you're easily scared! aye! +How many times were you ready to die last night? eh? tell me!" + +"Well, but just think, it's the first time I've ever been on such a job! +Why one may lose one's soul for all one's life!" + +"Well, would you go again? Eh?" + +"Again? Well--that--how can I say? For what inducement? +That's the point!" + +"Well, if it were for two rainbows?" + +"Two hundred roubles, you mean? Well--I might." + +"But I say! What about your soul?" + +"Oh, well--maybe one wouldn't lose it!" Gavrilo smiled. +"One mightn't--and it would make a man of one for all one's life." + +Chelkash laughed good-humoredly. + +"All right! that's enough joking. Let's row to land. Get ready!" + +"Why, I've nothing to do! I'm ready." + +And soon they were in the boat again, Chelkash at the rudder, Gavrilo at +the oars. Above them the sky was gray, with clouds stretched evenly +across it. The muddy green sea played with their boat, tossing it +noisily on the waves that sportively flung bright salt drops into it. +Far ahead from the boat's prow could be seen the yellow streak of the +sandy shore, while from the stern there stretched away into the distance +the free, gambolling sea, all furrowed over with racing flocks of billows, +decked here and there with a narrow fringe of foam. + +Far away they could see numbers of vessels, rocking on +the bosom of the sea, away on the left a whole forest of masts +and the white fronts of the houses of the town. From that +direction there floated across the sea a dull resounding roar, +that mingled with the splash of the waves into a full rich music. +And over all was flung a delicate veil of ash-colored mist, +that made things seem far from one another. + +"Ah, there'll be a pretty dance by evening!" said Chelkash, +nodding his head at the sea. + +"A storm?" queried Gavrilo, working vigorously at the waves +with his oars. He was already wet through from head to foot +with the splashing the wind blew on him from the sea. + +"Aye, aye!" Chelkash assented. + +Gavrilo looked inquisitively at him, and his eyes expressed +unmistakable expectation of something. + +"Well, how much did they give you?" he asked, at last, +seeing that Chelkash was not going to begin the conversation. + +"Look!" said Chelkash, holding out to Gavrilo something he had pulled +out of his pocket. + +Gavrilo saw the rainbow-colored notes and everything danced +in brilliant rainbow tints before his eyes. + +"I say! Why, I thought you were bragging! That's--how much?" + +"Five hundred and forty! A smart job!" + +"Smart, yes!" muttered Gavrilo, with greedy eyes, watching the five +hundred and forty roubles as they were put back again in his pocket. +"Well, I never! What a lot of money!" and he sighed dejectedly. + +"We'll have a jolly good spree, my lad!" Chelkash cried ecstatically. +"Eh, we've enough to. Never fear, mate, I'll give you your share. +I'll give you forty, eh? Satisfied? If you like, I'll give it you now!" + +"If--you don't mind. Well? I wouldn't say no!" + +Gavrilo was trembling all over with suspense and some other acute +feeling that dragged at his heart. + +"Ha--ha--ha! Oh, you devil's doll! 'I'd not say no!' +Take it, mate, please! I beg you, indeed, take it! +I don't know what to do with such a lot of money! +You must help me out, take some, there!" + +Chelkash held out some red notes to Gavrilo. He took them +with a shaking hand, let go the oars, and began stuffing +them away in his bosom, greedily screwing up his eyes +and drawing in his breath noisily, as though he had drunk +something hot. Chelkash watched him with an ironical smile. +Gavrilo took up the oars again and rowed nervously, hurriedly, +keeping his eyes down as though he were afraid of something. +His shoulders and his ears were twitching. + +"You're greedy. That's bad. But, of course, you're a peasant," +Chelkash said musingly. + +"But see what one can do with money!" cried Gavrilo, suddenly breaking +into passionate excitement, and jerkily, hurriedly, as though +chasing his thoughts and catching his words as they flew, he began +to speak of life in the village with money and without money. +Respect, plenty, independence gladness! + +Chelkash heard him attentively, with a serious face and eyes filled +with some dreamy thought. At times he smiled a smile of content. +"Here we are!" Chelkash cried at last, interrupting Gavrilo. + +A wave caught up the boat and neatly drove it onto the sand. + +"Come, mate, now it's over. We must drag the boat up farther, +so that it shouldn't get washed away. They'll come and fetch it. +Well, we must say good-bye! It's eight versts from here to the town. +What are you going to do? Coming back to the town, eh?" + +Chelkash's face was radiant with a good-humoredly sly smile, +and altogether he had the air of a man who had thought of +something very pleasant for himself and a surprise to Gavrilo. +Thrusting his hand into his pocket, he rustled the notes there. + +"No--I-- am not coming. I---" Gavrilo gasped, and seemed choking +with something. Within him there was raging a whole storm of desires, +of words, of feelings, that swallowed up one another and scorched him +as with fire. + +Chelkash looked at him in perplexity. + +"What's the matter with you?" he asked. + +"Why----" But Gavrilo's face flushed, then turned gray, +and he moved irresolutely, as though he were half longing +to throw himself on Chelkash, or half torn by some desire, +the attainment of which was hard for him. + +Chelkash felt ill at ease at the sight of such excitement in this lad. +He wondered what form it would take. + +Gavrilo began laughing strangely, a laugh that was like a sob. +His head was downcast, the expression of his face Chelkash could +not see; Gavrilo's ears only were dimly visible, and they turned +red and then pale. + +"Well, damn you!" Chelkash waved his hand, "Have you fallen +in love with me, or what? One might think you were a girl! +Or is parting from me so upsetting? Hey, suckling! Tell me, +what's wrong? or else I'm off!" + +"You're going!" Gavrilo cried aloud. + +The sandy waste of the shore seemed to start at his cry, and the +yellow ridges of sand washed by the sea-waves seemed quivering. +Chelkash started too. All at once Gavrilo tore himself +from where he stood, flung himself at Chelkash's feet, +threw his arms round them, and drew them toward him. +Chelkash staggered; he sat heavily down on the sand, and grinding +his teeth, brandished his long arm and clenched fist in the air. +But before he had time to strike he was pulled up by Gavrilo's +shame-faced and supplicating whisper: + +"Friend! Give me--that money! Give it me, for Christ's sake! +What is it to you? Why in one night--in only one night-- +while it would take me a year--Give it me--I will pray for you! +Continually--in three churches--for the salvation of your soul! +Why you'd cast it to the winds--while I'd put it into the land. +O, give it me! Why, what does it mean to you? Did it cost +you much? One night--and you're rich! Do a deed of mercy! +You're a lost man, you see--you couldn't make your way-- +while I--oh, give it to me!" + +Chelkash, dismayed, amazed, and wrathful, sat on the sand, +thrown backward with his hands supporting him; he sat there in silence, +rolling his eyes frightfully at the young peasant, who, ducking his +head down at his knees, whispered his prayer to him in gasps. +He shoved him away at last, jumped up to his feet, and thrusting +his hands into his pockets, flung the rainbow notes at Gavrilo. + +"There, cur! Swallow them!" he roared, shaking with excitement, +with intense pity and hatred of this greedy slave. +And as he flung him the money, he felt himself a hero. +There was a reckless gleam in his eyes, an heroic air about +his whole person. + +"I'd meant to give you more, of myself. I felt sorry for you yesterday. +I thought of the village. I thought: come, I'll help the lad. +I was waiting to see what you'd do, whether you'd beg or not. +While you!--Ah, you rag! you beggar! To be able to torment oneself so-- +for money! You fool. Greedy devils! They're beside themselves-- +sell themselves for five kopecks! eh?" + +"Dear friend! Christ have mercy on you! Why, what have I now! +thousands!! I'm a rich man!" Gavrilo shrilled in ecstasy, +all trembling, as he stowed away the notes in his bosom. +"Ah, you good man! Never will I forget you! Never! And my +wife and my children--I'll bid them pray for you!" + +Chelkash listened to his shrieks and wails of ecstasy, looked at his +radiant face that was contorted by greedy joy, and felt that he, +thief and rake as he was, cast out from everything in life, +would never be so covetous, so base, would never so forget himself. +Never would he be like that! And this thought and feeling, +filling him with a sense of his own independence and reckless daring, +kept him beside Gavrilo on the desolate sea shore. + +"You've made me happy!" shrieked Gavrilo, and snatching Chelkash's hand, +he pressed it to his face. + +Chelkash did not speak; he grinned like a wolf. +Gavrilo still went on pouring out his heart: + +"Do you know what I was thinking about? As we rowed here-- +I saw--the money--thinks I--I'll give it him--you--with the oar-- +one blow! the money's mine, and into the sea with him--you, +that is--eh! Who'll miss him? said I. And if they do find him, +they won't be inquisitive how--and who it was killed him. +He's not a man, thinks I, that there'd be much fuss about! +He's of no use in the world! Who'd stand up for him? +No, indeed--eh?" + +"Give the money here!" growled Chelkash, clutching Gavrilo +by the throat. + +Gavrilo struggled away once, twice. Chelkash's other arm twisted +like a snake about him--there was the sound of a shirt tearing-- +and Gavrilo lay on the sand, with his eyes staring wildly, +his fingers clutching at the air and his legs waving. +Chelkash, erect, frigid, rapacious--looking, grinned maliciously, +laughed a broken, biting laugh, and his mustaches twitched +nervously in his sharp, angular face. + +Never in all his life had he been so cruelly wounded, +and never had he felt so vindictive. + +"Well, are you happy now?" he asked Gavrilo through his laughter, +and turning his back on him he walked away in the direction of the town. +But he had hardly taken two steps when Gavrilo, crouched like a cat +on one knee, and with a wide sweep of his arm, flung a round stone +at him, viciously, shouting: + +"O--one!" + +Chelkash uttered a cry, clapped his hands to the nape of his neck, +staggered forward, turned round to Gavrilo, and fell on his face on +the sand. Gavrilo's heart failed him as he watched him. He saw him +stir one leg, try to lift his head, and then stretch out, quivering like +a bowstring. Then Gavrilo rushed fleeing away into the distance, +where a shaggy black cloud hung over the foggy steppe, and it was dark. +The waves whispered, racing up the sand, melting into it and racing back. +The foam hissed and the spray floated in the air. + +It began to rain, at first slightly, but soon a steady, heavy downpour +was falling in streams from the sky, weaving a regular network +of fine threads of water that at once hid the steppe and the sea. +Gavrilo vanished behind it. For a long while nothing was to be seen but +the rain and the long figure of the man stretched on the sand by the sea. +But suddenly Gavrilo ran back out of the rain. Like a bird he flew +up to Chelkash, dropped down beside him, and began to turn him +over on the ground. His hand dipped into a warm, red stickiness. +He shuddered and staggered back with a face pale and distraught. + +"Brother, get up!" he whispered through the patter of the lain +into Chelkash's ear. + +Revived by the water on his face, Chelkash came to himself, +and pushed Gavrilo away, saying hoarsely: + +"Get--away!" + +"Brother! Forgive me--it was the devil tempted me," +Gavrilo whispered, faltering, as he kissed Chelkash's band. + +"Go along. Get away!" he croaked. + +"Take the sin from off my soul! Brother! Forgive me!" + +"For--go away, do! Go to the devil!" Chelkash screamed suddenly, +and he sat up on the sand. His face was pale and angry, his eyes +were glazed, and kept closing, as though he were very sleepy. +"What more--do you want? You've done--your job--and go away! Be off!" +And he tried to kick Gavrilo away, as he knelt, overwhelmed, beside him, +but he could not, and would have rolled over again if Gavrilo +had not held him up, putting his arms round his shoulders. +Chelkash's face was now on a level with Gavrilo's. Both were pale, +piteous, and terrible-looking. + +"Tfoo!" Chelkash spat into the wide, open eyes of his companion. + +Meekly Gavrilo wiped his face with his sleeve, and murmured: + +"Do as you will. I won't say a word. For Christ's sake, forgive me!" + +"Snivelling idiot! Even stealing's more than you can do!" +Chelkash cried scornfully, tearing a piece of his shirt under +his jacket, and without a word, clenching his teeth now and then, +he began binding up his head. "Did you take the notes?" +he filtered through his teeth. + +"I didn't touch them, brother! I didn't want them! there's +ill-luck from them!" + +Chelkash thrust his hand into his jacket pocket, drew out a bundle +of notes, put one rainbow-colored note back in his pocket, +and handed all the rest to Gavrilo. + +"Take them and go!" + +"I won't take them, brother. I can't! Forgive me!" + +"T-take them, I say!" bellowed Chelkash, glaring horribly. + +"Forgive me! Then I'll take them," said Gavrilo, timidly, and he fell +at Chelkash's feet on the damp sand, that was being liberally drenched +by the rain. + +"You lie, you'll take them, sniveller!" Chelkash said with conviction, +and with an effort, pulling Gavrilo's head up by the hair, he thrust +the notes in his face. + +"Take them! take them! You didn't do your job for nothing, I suppose. +Take it, don't be frightened! Don't be ashamed of having nearly +killed a man! For people like me, no one will make much inquiry. +They'll say thank you, indeed, when they know of it. There, take it! +No one will ever know what you've done, and it deserves a reward. +Come, now!" + +Gavrilo saw that Chelkash was laughing, and he felt relieved. +He crushed the notes up tight in his hand. + +"Brother! You forgive me? Won't you? Eh?" he asked tearfully. + +"Brother of mine!" Chelkash mimicked him as he got, reeling, +on to his legs. "What for? There's nothing to forgive. +To-day you do for me, to-morrow I'll do for you." + +"Oh, brother, brother!" Gavrilo sighed mournfully, shaking his head. + +Chelkash stood facing him, he smiled strangely, and the rag on his head, +growing gradually redder, began to look like a Turkish fez. + +The rain streamed in bucketsful. The sea moaned with a +hollow sound, and the waves beat on the shore, lashing furiously +and wrathfully against it. + +The two men were silent. + +"Come, good-bye!" Chelkash said, coldly and sarcastically. + +He reeled, his legs shook, and he held his head queerly, +as though he were afraid of losing it. + +"Forgive me, brother!" Gavrilo besought him once more. + +"All right!" Chelkash answered, coldly, setting off on his way. + +He walked away, staggering, and still holding his head in his left hand, +while he slowly tugged at his brown mustache with the right. + +Gavrilo looked after him a long while, till the had disappeared +in the rain, which still poured down in fine, countless streams, +and wrapped everything in an impenetrable steel-gray mist. + +Then Gavrilo took off his soaked cap, made the sign of the cross, +looked at the notes crushed up in his hand, heaved a deep +sigh of relief, thrust them into his bosom, and with long, +firm strides went along the shore, in the opposite direction +from that Chelkash had taken. + +The sea howled, flinging heavy, breaking billows on the sand of the shore, +and dashing them into spray, the rain lashed the water and the earth, +the wind blustered. All the air was full of roaring, howling, moaning. +Neither distance nor sky could be seen through the rain. + +Soon the rain and the spray had washed away the red patch +on the spot where Chelkash had lain, washed away the traces +of Chelkash and the peasant lad on the sandy beach. +And no trace was left on the seashore of the little drama +that had been played out between two men. + + + + + +MY FELLOW-TRAVELLER + +(THE STORY OF A JOURNEY) + + +I met him in the harbor of Odessa. For three successive days +his square, strongly-built figure attracted my attention. +His face--of a Caucasian type--was framed in a handsome beard. +He haunted me. I saw him standing for hours together on the +stone quay, with the handle of his walking stick in his mouth, +staring down vacantly, with his black almond-shaped eyes +into the muddy waters of the harbor. Ten times a day, +he would pass me by with the gait of a careless lounger. +Whom could he be? I began to watch him. As if anxious to excite +my curiosity, he seemed to cross my path more and more often. +In the end, his fashionably-cut light check suit, +his black hat, like that of an artist, his indolent lounge, +and even his listless, bored glance grew quite familiar to me. +His presence was utterly unaccountable, here in the harbor, +where the whistling of the steamers and engines, the clanking +of chains, the shouting of workmen, all the hurried maddening +bustle of a port, dominated one's sensations, and deadened one's +nerves and brain. Everyone else about the port was enmeshed +in its immense complex machinery, which demanded incessant +vigilance and endless toil. + +Everyone here was busy, loading and unloading either steamers +or railway trucks. Everyone was tired and careworn. +Everyone was hurrying to and fro, shouting or cursing, +covered with dirt and sweat. In the midst of the toil and +bustle this singular person, with his air of deadly boredom, +strolled about deliberately, heedless of everything. + +At last, on the fourth day, I came across him during the dinner hour, +and I made up my mind to find out at any cost who he might be. +I seated myself with my bread and water-melon not far from him, +and began to eat, scrutinizing him and devising some suitable +pretext for beginning a conversation with him. + +There he stood, leaning against a pile of tea boxes, +glancing aimlessly around, and drumming with his fingers on his +walking stick, as if it were a flute. It was difficult for me, +a man dressed like a tramp, with a porter's knot over my shoulders, +and grimy with coal dust, to open up a conversation with such a dandy. +But to my astonishment I noticed that he never took his eyes off me, +and that an unpleasant, greedy, animal light shone in those eyes. +I came to the conclusion that the object of my curiosity must be hungry, +and after glancing rapidly round, I asked him in a low voice: +"Are you hungry?" + +He started, and with a famished grin showed rows of strong sound teeth. +And he, too, looked suspiciously round. We were quite unobserved. +Then I handed him half my melon and a chunk of wheaten bread. +He snatched it all from my hand, and disappeared, squatting behind +a pile of goods. His head peeped out from time to time; his hat +was pushed back from his forehead, showing his dark moist brow. + +His face wore a broad smile, and for some unknown reason he kept +winking at me, never for a moment ceasing to chew. + +Making him a sign to wait a moment, I went away to buy meat, +brought it, gave it to him, and stood by the boxes, thus completely +shielding my poor dandy from outsiders' eyes. He was still +eating ravenously, and constantly looking round as if afraid +someone might snatch his food away; but after I returned, +he began to eat more calmly, though still so fast and so +greedily that it caused me pain to watch this famished man. +And I turned my back on him. + +"Thanks! Many thanks indeed!" He patted my shoulder, snatched my hand, +pressed it, and shook it heartily. + +Five minutes later he was telling me who he was. +He was a Georgian prince, by name Shakro Ptadze, and was +the only son of a rich landowner of Kutais in the Caucasus. +He had held a position as clerk at one of the railway stations +in his own country, and during that time had lived with a friend. +But one fine day the friend disappeared, carrying off all +the prince's money and valuables. Shakro determined to track +and follow him, and having heard by chance that his late +friend had taken a ticket to Batoum, he set off there. +But in Batoum he found that his friend had gone on to Odessa. +Then Prince Shakro borrowed a passport of another friend-- +a hair-dresser--of the same age as himself, though the features +and distinguishing marks noted therein did not in the least +resemble his own. + +Arrived at Odessa, he informed the police of his loss, +and they promised to investigate the matter. He had been +waiting for a fortnight, had consumed all his money, +and for the last four days had not eaten a morsel. + +I listened to his story, plentifully embellished as it was +with oaths. He gave me the impression of being sincere. +I looked at him, I believed him, and felt sorry for the lad. +He was nothing more--he was nineteen, but from his naivety +one might have taken him for younger. Again and again, +and with deep indignation, he returned to the thought of his +close friendship for a man who had turned out to be a thief, +and had stolen property of such value that Shakro's stern old +father would certainly stab his son with a dagger if the property +were not recovered. + +I thought that if I didn't help this young fellow, the greedy +town would suck him down. I knew through what trifling +circumstances the army of tramps is recruited, and there seemed +every possibility of Prince Shakro drifting into this respectable, +but not respected class. I felt a wish to help him. My earnings +were not sufficient to buy him a ticket to Batoum, so I visited +some of the railway offices, and begged a free ticket for him. +I produced weighty arguments in favor of assisting the young fellow, +with the result of getting refusals just as weighty. +I advised Shakro to apply to the Head of the Police of the town; +this made him uneasy, and he declined to go there. Why not? +He explained that he had not paid for his rooms at an hotel +where he had been staying, and that when requested to do so, +he had struck some one. + +This made him anxious to conceal his identity, for he supposed, +and with reason, that if the police found him out he would +have to account for the fact of his not paying his bill, +and for having struck the man. Besides, he could not remember +exactly if he had struck one or two blows, or more. + +The position was growing more complicated. + +I resolved to work till I had earned a sum sufficient to carry +him back to Batoum. But alas! I soon realized that my plan +could not be carried out quickly--by no means quickly-- +for my half-starved prince ate as much as three men, and more. +At that time there was a great influx of peasants into the Crimea +from the famine-stricken northern parts of Russia, and this had +caused a great reduction in the wages of the workers at the docks. +I succeeded in earning only eighty kopecks a day, and our food +cost us sixty kopecks. + +I had no intention of staying much longer at Odessa, for I had meant, +some time before I came across the prince, to go on to the Crimea. +I therefore suggested to him the following plan: that we should +travel together on foot to the Crimea, and there I would find him +another companion, who would continue the journey with him as far +as Tiflis; if I should fail in finding him a fellow-traveler, +I promised to go with him myself. + +The prince glanced sadly at his elegant boots, his hat, +his trousers, while he smoothed and patted his coat. +He thought a little time, sighed frequently, and at last agreed. +So we started off from Odessa to Tiflis on foot. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + + + +By the time we had arrived at Kherson I knew something of my companion. +He was a naively savage, exceedingly undeveloped young fellow; +gay when he was well fed, dejected when he was hungry, like a strong, +easy-tempered animal. On the road he gave me accounts of life +in the Caucasus, and told me much about the landowners; +about their amusements, and the way they treated the peasantry. +His stories were interesting, and had a beauty of their own; +but they produced on my mind a most unfavorable impression +of the narrator himself. + +To give one instance. There was at one time a rich prince, +who had invited many friends to a feast. They partook freely +of all kinds of Caucasian wines and meats, and after the feast +the prince led his guests to his stables. They saddled the horses, +the prince picked out the handsomest, and rode him into the fields. +That was a fiery steed! The guests praised his form and paces. +Once more the prince started to ride round the field, when at +the same moment a peasant appeared, riding a splendid white horse, +and overtook the prince--overtook him and laughed proudly! +The prince was put to shame before his guests! He knit his brow, +and beckoned the peasant to approach; then, with a blow +of his dagger, he severed the man's head from his body. +Drawing his pistol, he shot the white horse in the ear. +He then delivered himself up to justice, and was condemned +to penal servitude. + +Through the whole story there rang a note of pity for the prince. +I endeavored to make Shakro understand that his pity was misplaced. + +"There are not so many princes," he remarked didactically, +"as there are peasants. It cannot be just to condemn a prince +for a peasant. What, after all is a peasant? he is no better +than this!" He took up a handful of soil, and added: +"A prince is a star!" + +We had a dispute over this question and he got angry. +When angry, he showed his teeth like a wolf, and his features +seemed to grow sharp and set. + +"Maxime, you know nothing about life in the Caucasus; +so you had better hold your tongue!" he shouted. + +All my arguments were powerless to shatter his naive convictions. +What was clear to me seemed absurd to him. My arguments never +reached his brain; but if ever I did succeed in showing him +that my opinions were weightier and of more value than his own, +he would simply say: + +"Then go and live in the Caucasus, and you will see that I am right. +What every one does must be right. Why am I to believe what you say? +You are the only one who says such things are wrong; while thousands +say they are right!" + +Then I was silent, feeling that words were of no use in this case; +only facts could confute a man, who believed that life, just as it is, +is entirely just and lawful. I was silent, while he was triumphant, +for he firmly believed that he knew life and considered his +knowledge of it something unshakeable, stable and perfect. +My silence seemed to him to give him a right to strike a fuller note +in his stories of Caucasian life--a life full of so much wild beauty, +so much fire and originality. + +These stories, though full of interest and attraction for me, +continued to provoke my indignation and disgust by their cruelty, +by the worship of wealth and of strength which they displayed, +and the absence of that morality which is said to be binding +on all men alike. + +Once I asked him if he knew what Christ had taught. + +"Yes, of course I do!" he replied, shrugging his shoulders. + +But after I had examined him on this point, it turned out that +all he knew was, that there had once been a certain Christ, +who protested against the laws of the Jews, and that for this +protest he was crucified by the Jews. But being a God, +he did not die on the cross, but ascended into heaven, +and gave the world a new law. + +"What law was that?" I inquired. + +He glanced at me with ironical incredulity, and asked: +"Are you a Christian? Well, so am I a Christian. +Nearly all the people in the world are Christians. +Well, why do you ask then? You know the way they all live; +they follow the law of Christ!" + +I grew excited, and began eagerly to tell him about Christ's life. +At first he listened attentively; but this attention did not last long, +and he began to yawn. + +I understood that it was useless appealing to his heart, +and I once more addressed myself to his head, and talked +to him of the advantages of mutual help and of knowledge, +the benefits of obedience to the law, speaking of the policy +of morality and nothing more. + +"He who is strong is a law to himself! He has no need of learning; +even blind, he'll find his way," Prince Shakro replied, languidly. + +Yes, he was always true to himself. This made me feel a respect for him; +but he was savage and cruel, and sometimes I felt a spark of hatred +for Prince Shakro. Still, I had not lost all hope of finding some +point of contact with him, some common ground on which we could meet, +and understand one another. + +I began to use simpler language with the prince, +and tried to put myself mentally on a level with him. +He noticed these attempts of mine, but evidently mistaking +them for an acknowledgment on my part of his superiority, +adopted a still more patronizing tone in talking to me. +I suffered, as the conviction came home to me, that all +my arguments were shattered against the stone wall of his +conception of life. + + +CHAPTER III. + +Soon we had left Perekop behind us. We were approaching +the Crimean mountains. For the last two days we bad seen +them against the horizon. The mountains were pale blue, +and looked like soft heaps of billowy clouds. I admired them +in the distance, and I dreamed of the southern shore of the Crimea. +The prince hummed his Georgian songs and was gloomy. +We had spent all our money, and there was no chance of earning +anything in these parts. + +We bent our steps toward Feodosia, where a new harbor was in course +of construction. The prince said that he would work, too, and that when +we had earned enough money we would take a boat together to Batoum. + +In Batoum, he said, he had many friends, and with their assistance +he could easily get me a situation--as a house-porter or a watchman. +He clapped me patronizingly on the back, and remarked, indulgently, +with a peculiar click of his tongue: + +"I'll arrange it for you! You shall have such a life tse', tse'! +You will have plenty of wine, there will be as much mutton as you +can eat. You can marry a fat Georgian girl; tse', tse', tse'! +She will cook you Georgian dishes; give you children--many, many +children! tse', tse', tse'!" + +This constant repetition of "tse', tse', tse'!" surprised me at first; +then it began to irritate me, and, at last, it reduced me to a +melancholy frenzy. In Russia we use this sound to call pigs, but in +the Caucasus it seems to be an expression of delight and of regret, +of pleasure and of sadness. + +Shakro's smart suit already began to look shabby; his elegant boots +had split in many places. His cane and hat had been sold in Kherson. +To replace the hat he had bought an old uniform cap of a railway clerk. +When he put this cap on for the first time, he cocked it on one side +of his head, and asked: "Does it suit me? Do I look nice?" + + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + + + + +At last we reached the Crimea. We had left Simpheropol behind us, +and were moving towards Jalta. + +I was walking along in silent ectasy, marvelling at the beauty +of this strip of land, caressed on all sides by the sea. + +The prince sighed, complained, and, casting dejected glances +about him, tried filling his empty stomach with wild berries. +His knowledge of their nutritive qualities was extremely +limited, and his experiments were not always successful. +Often he would remark, ill-humoredly: + +"If I'm turned inside out with eating this stuff, how am I to go +any farther? And what's to be done then?" + +We had no chance of earning anything, neither had we a penny +left to buy a bit of bread. All we had to live on was fruit, +and our hopes for the future. + +The prince began to reproach me with want of enterprise +and laziness--with "gaping about," as he expressed it. +Altogether, he was beginning to bore me; but what most tried +my patience were his fabulous accounts of his appetite. +According to these accounts, after a hearty breakfast at noon +of roast lamb, and three bottles of wine, he could easily, +at his two o'clock dinner, dispose of three plates of soup, a pot +of pilave, a dish of shasleek, and various other Caucasian dishes, +washed down abundantly with wine. For whole days he would +talk of nothing but his gastronomic tastes and knowledge: +and while thus talking, he would smack his lips, his eyes +would glow, he would show his teeth, and grind them together; +would suck in and swallow the saliva that came dripping +from his eloquent lips. Watching him at these moments, +I conceived for him a deep feeling of disgust, which I found +difficult to conceal. + +Near Jalta I obtained a job at clearing away the dead +branches in an orchard. I was paid fifty kopecks in advance, +and laid out the whole of this money on bread and meat. +No sooner had I returned with my purchase, than the gardener called +me away to my work. I had to leave my store of food with Shakro, +who, under the pretext of a headache, had declined to work. +When I returned in an hour's time, I had to acknowledge +that Shakro's stories of his appetite were all too true. +Not a crumb was left of all the food I had bought! +His action was anything but a friendly one, but I let it pass. +Later on I had to acknowledge to myself the mistake I then made. + +My silence did not pass unnoticed by Shakro, who profited +by it in his own fashion. His behavior toward me from that +time grew more and more shameless. I worked, while he ate +and drank and urged me on, refusing, on various pretexts, +to do any work himself. I am no follower of Tolstoi. +I felt amused and sad as I saw this strong healthy lad +watching me with greedy eyes when I returned from a hard +day's labor, and found him waiting for me in some shady nook. +But it was even more mortifying to see that he was sneering +at me for working. He sneered at me because he had learned +to beg, and because he looked on me as a lifeless dummy. +When he first started begging, he was ashamed for me to see him, +but he soon got over this; and as soon as we came to some +Tartar village, he would openly prepare for business. +Leaning heavily on his stick, he would drag one foot after him, +as though he were lame. He knew quite well that the Tartars +were mean, and never give alms to anyone who is strong and well. + +I argued with him, and tried to convince him of the shamefulness +of such a course of action. He only sneered. + +"I cannot work," was all he would reply. + +He did not get much by his begging. + +My health at that time began to give way. Every day the journey seemed +to grow more trying. Every day our relations toward each other grew +more strained. Shakro, now, had begun shamelessly to insist that I +should provide him with food. + +"It was you," he would say, "who brought me out here, all this way; +so you must look after me. I never walked so far in my life before. +I should never have undertaken such a journey on foot. It may kill me! +You are tormenting me; you are crushing the life out of me! +Think what it would be if I were to die! My mother would weep; +my father would weep; all my friends would weep! Just think of all +the tears that would be shed!" + +I listened to such speeches, but was not angered by them. +A strange thought began to stir in my mind, a thought that made +me bear with him patiently. Many a time as be lay asleep by my +side I would watch his calm, quiet face, and think to myself, +as though groping after some idea: + +"He is my fellow-traveller--my fellow-traveller." + +At times, a dim thought would strike me, that after all Shakro +was only right in claiming so freely, and with so much assurance, +my help and my care. It proved that he possessed a strong will. + +He was enslaving me, and I submitted, and studied his character; +following each quivering movement of the muscles of his face, +trying to foresee when and at what point he would stop in this +process of exploiting another person's individuality. + +Shakro was in excellent spirits; he sang, and slept, and jeered +at me, when he felt so disposed. Sometimes we separated for two +or three days. I would leave him some bread and some money +(if we had any), and would tell him where to meet me again. +At parting, he would follow me with a suspicious, angry look in his eyes. +But when we met again he welcomed me with gleeful triumph. +He always said, laughing: "I thought you had run off alone, and left +me! ha! ha! ha!" I brought him food, and told him of the beautiful +places I had seen; and once even, speaking of Bakhtchesarai, I told +him about our Russian poet Pushkin, and recited some of his verses. +But this produced no effect on him. + +"Oh, indeed; that is poetry, is it? Well, songs are better +than poetry, I knew a Georgian once! He was the man to sing! +He sang so loud--so loud--he would have thought his throat +was being cut? He finished by murdering an inn-keeper, +and was banished to Siberia." + +Every time I returned, I sank lower and lower in the opinion +of Shakro, until he could not conceal his contempt for me. +Our position was anything but pleasant. I was seldom lucky +enough to earn more than a rouble or a rouble and a-half a week, +and I need not say that was not nearly sufficient to feed us both. + +The few bits of money that Shakro gained by begging made but +little difference in the state of our affairs, for his belly +was a bottomless pit, which swallowed everything that fell +in its way; grapes, melons, salt fish, bread, or dried fruit; +and as time went on he seemed to need ever more and more food. + +Shakro began to urge me to hasten our departure from the Crimea, +not unreasonably pointing out that autumn would soon be here +and we had a long way still to go. I agreed with this view, +and, besides, I had by then seen all that part of the Crimea. +So we pushed on again toward Feodosia, hoping to earn something there. +Once more our diet was reduced to fruit, and to hopes for the future. + +Poor future! Such a load of hopes is cast on it by men, that it +loses almost all its charms by the time it becomes the present! + +When within some twenty versts of Aloushta we stopped, +as usual, for our night's rest. I had persuaded Shakro +to keep to the sea coast; it was a longer way round, but I +longed to breathe the fresh sea breezes. We made a fire, +and lay down beside it. The night was a glorious one. +The dark green sea splashed against the rocks below; +above us spread the majestic calm of the blue heavens, +and around us sweet-scented trees and bushes rustled softly. +The moon was rising, and the delicate tracery of the shadows, +thrown by the tall, green plane trees, crept over the stones. +Somewhere near a bird sang; its note was clear and bold. +Its silvery trill seemed to melt into the air that was full +of the soft, caressing splash of the waves. The silence +that followed was broken by the nervous chirp of a cricket + +The fire burned bright, and its flames looked like a large +bunch of red and yellow flowers. Flickering shadows danced +gaily around us, as if exulting in their power of movement, +in contrast with the creeping advance of the moon shadows. +From time to time strange sounds floated through the air. +The broad expanse of sea horizon seemed lost in immensity. +In the sky overhead not a cloud was visible. +I felt as if I were lying on the earth's extreme edge, +gazing into infinite space, that riddle that haunts the soul. +The majestic beauty of the night intoxicated me, while my whole +being seemed absorbed in the harmony of its colors, its sounds, +and its scents. + +A feeling of awe filled my soul, a feeling as if something great +were very near to me. My heart throbbed with the joy of life. + +Suddenly, Shakro burst into loud laughter, "Ha! ha! ha! +How stupid your face does look! You've a regular sheep's head! +Ha! ha! ha!" + +I started as though it were a sudden clap of thunder. But it was worse. +It was laughable, yes, but oh, how mortifying it was! + +He, Shakro, laughed till the tears came. I was ready +to cry, too, but from quite a different reason. +A lump rose in my throat, and I could not speak. +I gazed at him with wild eyes, and this only increased +his mirth. He rolled on the ground, holding his sides. +As for me, I could not get over the insult--for a bitter +insult it was. Those--few, I hope--who will understand it, +from having had a similar experience in their lives, will recall +all the bitterness it left in their souls. + +"Leave off!" I shouted, furiously. + +He was startled and frightened, but he could not at once restrain +his laughter. His eyes rolled, and his cheeks swelled as if +about to burst. All at once he went off into a guffaw again. +Then I rose and left him. + +For some time I wandered about, heedless and almost unconscious +of all that surrounded me, my whole soul consumed with the bitter +pang of loneliness and of humiliation. Mentally, I had been +embracing all nature. Silently, with the passionate love +any man must feel if he has a little of the poet in him, +I was loving and adoring her. And now it was nature that, +under the form of Shakro, was mocking me for my passion. +I might have gone still further in my accusations against nature, +against Shakro, and against the whole of life, had I not been +stopped by approaching footsteps. + +"Do not be angry," said Shakro in a contrite voice, +touching my shoulder lightly. "Were you praying?' +I didn't know it, for I never pray myself." + +He spoke timidly, like a naughty child. In spite of my excitement, +I could not help noticing his pitiful face ludicrously distorted +by embarrassment and alarm. + +"I will never interfere with you again. Truly! Never!" He shook +his head emphatically. "I know you are a quiet fellow. +You work hard, and do not force me to do the same. +I used to wonder why; but, of course, it's because you are +foolish as a sheep!" + +That was his way of consoling me! That was his idea of asking +for forgiveness! After such consolation, and such excuses, +what was there left for me to do but forgive, not only for the past, +but for the future! + +Half an hour later he was sound asleep, while I sat beside him, +watching him. During sleep, every one, be he ever so strong, +looks helpless and weak, but Shakro looked a pitiful creature. +His thick, half-parted lips, and his arched eyebrows, +gave to his face a childish look of timidity and of wonder. +His breathing was quiet and regular, though at times he moved +restlessly, and muttered rapidly in the Georgian language; +the words seemed those of entreaty. All around us reigned +that intense calm which always makes one somehow expectant, +and which, were it to last long, might drive one mad by its +absolute stillness and the absence of sound--the vivid shadow +of motion, for sound and motion seem ever allied. + +The soft splash of the waves did not reach us. +We were resting in a hollow gorge that was overgrown with bushes, +and looked like the shaggy mouth of some petrified monster. +I still watched Shakro, and thought: "This is my fellow traveler. +I might leave him here, but I could never get away from him, +or the like of him; their name is legion. This is my life companion. +He will leave me only at death's door." + + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + + + + +At Feodosia we were sorely disappointed. All work there was already +apportioned among Turks, Greeks, Georgians, tramps, and Russian +peasants from Poltava and Smolensk, who had all arrived before us. +Already, more than four hundred men had, like ourselves, come in +the hopes of finding employment; and were also, like ourselves, +destined to remain silent spectators of the busy work going on +in the port. + +In the town, and outside also, we met groups of famished peasants, +gray and careworn, wandering miserably about. Of tramps there +were also plenty, roving around like hungry wolves. + +At first these tramps took us for famished peasants, and tried to make +what they could out of us. They tore from Shakro's back the overcoat +which I had bought him, and they snatched my knapsack from my shoulders. +After several discussions, they recognized our intellectual and +social kinship with them; and they returned all our belongings. +Tramps are men of honor, though they may be great rogues. + +Seeing that there was no work for us, and that the construction +of the harbor was going on very well without our help, +we moved on resentfully toward Kertch. + +My friend kept his word, and never again molested me; but he was +terribly famished, his countenance was as black as thunder. +He ground his teeth together, as does a wolf, whenever he saw +someone else eating; and he terrified me by the marvellous +accounts of the quantity of food he was prepared to consume. +Of late he had begun to talk about women, at first only casually, +with sighs of regret. But by degrees he came to talk more and more +often on the subject, with the lascivious smile of "an Oriental." +At length his state became such, that he could not see any person +of the other sex, whatever her age or appearance, without letting +fall some obscene remark about her looks or her figure. + +He spoke of women so freely, with so wide a knowledge of the sex; +and his point of view, when discussing women, was so astoundingly direct, +that his conversation filled me with disgust. Once I tried to +prove to him that a woman was a being in no way inferior to him. +I saw that he was not merely mortified by my words, but was on +the point of violently resenting them as a personal insult. +So I postponed my arguments till such time as Shakro should be +well fed once more. + +In order to shorten our road to Kertch we left the coast, +and tramped across the steppes. There was nothing in my +knapsack but a three-pound loaf of barley bread, which we +had bought of a Tartar with our last five-kopeck piece. +Owing to this painful circumstance, when, at last we reached Kertch, +we could hardly move our legs, so seeking therefore work was +out of the question. Shakro's attempts to beg by the way had +proved unsuccessful; everywhere he had received the curt refusal: +"There are so many of you." + +This was only too true, for the number of people, who, +during that bitter year, were in want of bread, was appalling. +The famished peasants roamed about the country in groups, +from three to twenty or more together. Some carried babies +in their arms; some had young children dragging by the hand. +The children looked almost transparent, with a bluish skin, +under which flowed, instead of pure blood, some sort of thick +unwholesome fluid. The way their small sharp bones projected from +under the wasted flesh spoke more eloquently than could any words. +The sight of them made one's heart ache, while a constant +intolerable pain seemed to gnaw one's very soul. + +These hungry, naked, worn-out children did not even cry. But they +looked about them with sharp eyes that flashed greedily whenever they +saw a garden, or a field, from which the corn had not yet been carried. +Then they would glance sadly at their elders, as if asking "Why was I +brought into this world?" + +Sometimes they had a cart driven by a dried-up skeleton +of an old woman, and full of children, whose little heads +peeped out, gazing with mournful eyes in expressive +silence at the new land into which they had been brought. +The rough, bony horse dragged itself along, shaking its head +and its tumbled mane wearily from side to side. + +Following the cart, or clustering round it, came the grown-up people, +with heads sunk low on their breasts, and arms hanging helplessly at +their sides. Their dim, vacant eyes had not even the feverish glitter +of hunger, but were full of an indescribable, impressive mournfulness. +Cast out of their homes by misfortune, these processions of peasants moved +silently, slowly, stealthily through the strange land, as if afraid that +their presence might disturb the peace of the more fortunate inhabitants. +Many and many a time we came across these processions, and every time +they reminded me of a funeral without the corpse. + +Sometimes, when they overtook us, or when we passed them, they would +timidly and quietly ask us: "Is it much farther to the village?" +And when we answered, they would sigh, and gaze dumbly at us. +My travelling companion hated these irrepressible rivals for charity. + +In spite of all the difficulties of the journey, and the +scantiness of our food, Shakro, with his rich vitality, +could not acquire the lean, hungry look, of which the +starving peasants could boast in its fullest perfection. +Whenever he caught sight, in the distance, of these latter, +he would exclaim: "Pouh! pouh! pouh. Here they are again! +What are they roaming about for? They seem to be always on the move! +Is Russia too small for them? I can't understand what they want! +Russians are a stupid sort of people!" + +When I had explained to him the reason of the "stupid" Russians coming +to the Crimea, he shook his head incredulously, and remarked: +"I don't understand! It's nonsense! We never have such 'stupid' +things happening in Georgia!" + +We arrived in Kertch, as I have said, exhausted and hungry. +It was late. We had to spend the night under a bridge, +which joined the harbor to the mainland. We thought it better +to conceal ourselves, as we had been told that just before +our arrival all the tramps had been driven out of the town. +This made us feel anxious, lest we might fall into the hands +of the police; besides Shakro had only a false passport, +and if that fact became known, it might lead to serious +complications in our future. + +All night long the spray from the sea splashed over us. +At dawn we left our hiding place, wet to the skin and bitterly cold. +All day we wandered about the shore. All we succeeded in earning +was a silver piece of the value of ten kopecks, which was given +me by the wife of a priest, in return for helping her to carry +home a bag of melons from the bazaar. + +A narrow belt of water divided us from Taman, where we meant to go, +but not one boatman would consent to carry us over in his boat, +in spite of my pleadings. Everyone here was up in arms against +the tramps, who, shortly before our arrival, had performed a series +of heroic exploits; and we were looked upon, with good reason, +as belonging to their set. + +Evening came on. I felt angry with the whole world, +for my lack of success; and I planned a somewhat risky scheme, +which I put into execution as soon as night came on. + +CHAPTER VI. + +Toward evening, Shakro and I stole quietly up toward the boats of the +custom house guardship. There were three of them, chained to iron rings, +which rings were firmly screwed into the stone wall of the quay. +It was pitch dark. A strong wind dashed the boats one against the other. +The iron chains clanked noisily. In the darkness and the noise, +it was easy for me to unscrew the ring from the stone wall. + +Just above our heads the sentinel walked to and fro, whistling through +his teeth a tune. Whenever he approached I stopped my work, though, +as a matter of fact, this was a useless precaution; he could not even +have suspected that a person would sit up to his neck in the water, +at a spot where the backwash of a wave might at any moment carry him +off his feet. Besides, the chains never ceased clanking, as the wind +swung them backward and forward. + +Shakro was already lying full length along the bottom of +the boat, muttering something, which the noise of the waves +prevented me from hearing. At last the ring was in my hand. +At the same moment a wave caught our boat, and dashed it +suddenly some ten yards away from the side of the quay. +I bad to swim for a few seconds by the side of the boat, +holding the chain in my hand. At last I managed to scramble in. +We tore up two boards from the bottom, and using these as oars, +I paddled away as fast as I could. + +Clouds sailed rapidly over our heads; around, and underneath the boat, +waves splashed furiously. Shakro sat aft. Every now and then I +lost sight of him as the whole stern of the boat slipped into some +deep watery gulf; the next moment he would rise high above my head, +shouting desperately, and almost falling forward into my arms. I told +him not to shout, but to fasten his feet to the seat of the boat, as I +had already fastened mine. I feared his shouts might give the alarm. +He obeyed, and grew so silent that I only knew he was in the boat +by the white spot opposite to me, which I knew must be his face. +The whole time he held the rudder in his hand; we could not change places, +we dared not move. + +From time to time I called out instructions as to the handling +of the boat, and he understood me so quickly, and did everything +so cleverly, that one might have thought he had been born a sailor. +The boards I was using in the place of oars were of little use; +they only blistered my hands. The furious gusts of wind served +to carry the boat forward. + +I cared little for the direction, my only thought was to get +the boat across to the other side. It was not difficult to steer, +for the lights in Kertch were still visible, and served as a beacon. +The waves splashed over our boat with angry hissings. The farther +across we got, the more furious and the wilder became the waves. +Already we could hear a sort of roar that held mind and soul +as with a spell. Faster and faster our boat flew on before +the wind, till it became almost impossible to steer a course. +Every now and then we would sink into a gulf, and the next moment +we would rise high on the summit of some enormous watery hill. +The darkness was increasing, the clouds were sinking lower and lower. +The lights of the town had disappeared. + +Our state was growing desperate. It seemed as if the expanse +of angry rollers was boundless and limitless. We could see nothing +but these immense waves, that came rolling, one after another, +out of the gloom, straight on to our boat. With an angry crash +a board was torn from my hand, forcing me to throw the other into +the boat, and to hold on tight with both hands to the gunwale. +Every time the boat was thrown upward, Shakro shrieked wildly. +As for me, I felt wretched and helpless, in the darkness, +surrounded with angry waves, whose noise deafened me. +I stared about me in dull and chilly terror, and saw the awful +monotony around us. Waves, nothing but waves, with whitish crests, +that broke in showers of salt spray; above us, the thick ragged +edged clouds were like waves too. + +I became conscious only of one thing: I felt that all that was going +on around me might be immeasurably more majestic and more terrible, +but that it did not deign to be, and was restraining its strength; +and that I resented. Death is inevitable. But that impartial law, +reducing all to the same commonplace level, seems to need +something beautiful to compensate for its coarseness and cruelty. +If I were asked to choose between a death by burning, or being +suffocated in a dirty bog, I should choose the former; it is any way, +a more seemly death. + +"Let us rig up a sail," exclaimed Shakro. + +"Where am I to find one?" + +"Use my overcoat." + +"Chuck it over to me then; but mind you don't drop the rudder +into the water!" + +Shakro quietly threw it to me. "Here! Catch hold!" + +Crawling along the bottom of the boat, I succeeded in pulling up +another board, one end of which I fixed into one of the sleeves +of the coat. I then fixed the board against the seat, +and held it there with my feet. I was just going to take +hold of the other sleeve, when an unexpected thing happened. +The boat was tossed suddenly upward, and then overturned. +I felt myself in the water, holding the overcoat in one hand, +and a rope, that was fastened to the boat, in the other hand. +The waves swirled noisily over my head, and I swallowed a +mouthful of bitter salt water. My nose, my mouth, and my ears, +were full of it. + +With all my might I clutched the rope, as the waves threw me backward +and forward. Several times I sank, each time, as I rose again, +bumping my head against the sides of the boat. + +At last I succeeded in throwing the coat over the bottom +of the boat, and tried to clamber on it myself. +After a dozen efforts I scrambled up and I sat astride it. +Then I caught sight of Shakro in the water on the opposite side +of the boat, holding with both hands to the same rope of which I +had just let go. The boat was apparently encircled by a rope, +threaded through iron rings, driven into the outer planks. + +"Alive!" I shouted. + +At that moment Shakro was flung high into the air, +and he, too, got on to the boat. I clutched him, and there we +remained sitting face to face, astride on the capsized boat! +I sat on it as though it were a horse, making use of the rope +as if it had been stirrups; but our position there was anything +but safe--a wave might easily have knocked us out of our saddle. +Shakro held tightly by my knees, and dropped his head on my breast. +He shivered, and I could hear his teeth chattering. +Something had to be done. The bottom of the upturned boat +was slippery, as though it had been greased with butter. +I told Shakro to get into the water again, and hold by the ropes +on one side of the boat, while I would do the same on +the other side. + +By way of reply, Shakro began to butt his head violently +against my chest. The waves swept, in their wild dance, +every now and then over us. We could hardly bold our seats; +the rope was cutting my leg desperately. As far as one could +see there was nothing but immense waves, rising mountains high, +only to disappear again noisily. + +I repeated my advice to Shakro in a tone of command. He fell to +butting me more violently than ever. There was no time to be lost. +Slowly and with difficulty I tore his hands from me, and began to push +him into the water, trying to make his hands take hold of the rope. +Then something happened that dismayed me more than anything in +that terrible night. + +"Are you drowning me?" he muttered, gazing at me. + +This was really horrible! The question itself was a dreadful one, +but the tone in which it was uttered more so. In it there was a timid +submission to fate, and an entreaty for mercy, and the last sigh +of one who had lost all hope of escaping from a frightful death. +But more terrible still were the eyes that stared at me out of +the wet, livid, death-like face. + +"Hold on tighter!" I shouted to him, at the same time +getting into the water myself, and taking hold of the rope. +As I did so, I struck my foot against something, and for a +moment I could not think for the pain. Then I understood. +Suddenly a burning thought flashed through my mind. +I felt delirious and stronger than ever. + +"Land!" I shouted. + +Great explorers may have shouted the word with more feeling on +discovering new lands, but I doubt if any can have shouted more loudly. +Shakro howled with delight, and we both rushed on in the water. +But soon we both lost heart, for we were up to our chests in the waves, +and still there seemed no sign of dry land. The waves were neither +so strong nor so high, but they rolled slowly over our heads. +Fortunately I had not let go of the boat, but still held on by the rope, +which had already helped us when struggling in the water. + +Shakro and I moved carefully forward, towing the boat, +which we had now righted, behind us. + +Shakro was muttering and laughing. I glanced anxiously around. +It was still dark. Behind us, and to our right, the roaring of +the waves seemed to be increasing, whereas to our left and in front +of us it was evidently growing less. We moved toward the left. +The bottom was hard and sandy, but full of holes; sometimes we could +not touch the bottom, and we had to take hold of the boat with one hand, +while with the other hand, and our legs, we propelled it forward. +At times again the water was no higher than our knees. When we +came to the deep places Shakro howled, and I trembled with fear. +Suddenly we saw ahead of us a light--we were safe! + +Shakro shouted with all his might, but I could not forget that +the boat was not ours, and promptly reminded him of the fact. +He was silent, but a few minutes later I heard him sobbing. +I could not quiet him--it was hopeless. But the water +was gradually growing shallower, it reached our knees, +then our ankles; and at last we felt dry land! We had dragged +the boat so far, but our strength failed us, and we left it. +A black log of wood lay across our path; we jumped over it, +and stepped with our bare feet on to some prickly grass. +It seemed unkind of the land to give us such a cruel welcome, +but we did not heed it, and ran toward the fire. It was about +a mile away; but it shone cheerily through the hovering gloom +of the night, and seemed to smile a welcome to us. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + + + + +Three enormous shaggy dogs leaped up out of the darkness +and ran toward us. Shakro, who had been sobbing all the way, +now shrieked, and threw himself on the ground. I flung +the wet overcoat at the dogs, and stooped down to find a stick +or a stone. I could feel nothing but coarse, prickly grass, +which hurt my hands. The dogs continued their attack. +I put my fingers into my mouth, and whistled as loud as I could. +They rushed back, and at the same time we heard the sound +of approaching steps and voices. + +A few minutes later, and we were comfortably seated around +a fire in the company of four shepherds, dressed in "touloups" +or long sheepskin overcoats. + +They scrutinized us keenly and rather suspiciously, and remained +silent all the time I was telling them our story. + +Two of the shepherds were seated on the ground, smoking, +and puffing from their mouths clouds of smoke. The third was +a tall man with a thick black beard, wearing a high fur cap. +He stood behind us, leaning on a huge knotted stick. +The fourth man was younger, and fair haired; he was +helping the sobbing Shakro to get off his wet clothes. +An enormous stick, the size of which alone inspired fear, +lay beside each of the seated shepherds. + +Ten yards away from us all the steppe seemed covered with something +gray and undulating, which had the appearance of snow in spring time, +just when it is beginning to thaw. + +It was only after a close inspection that one could discern that this +gray waving mass was composed of many thousands of sheep, huddled +closely together, asleep, forming in the dark night one compact mass. +Sometimes they bleated piteously and timidly. + +I dried the overcoat by the fire, and told the shepherds +all our story truthfully; even describing the way in which we +became possessed of the boat. + +"Where is that boat now?" inquired the severe-looking elder man, +who kept his eyes fixed on me. + +I told him. + +"Go, Michael, and look for it." + +Michael, the shepherd with the black beard, went off with his stick +over his shoulder, toward the sea-shore. + +The overcoat was dry. Shakro was about to put it on his naked body, +when the old man said: "Go and have a run first to warm yourself. +Run quickly around the fire. Come!" + +At first, Shakro did not understand. Then suddenly he rose +from his place, and began dancing some wild dance of his own, +first flying like a ball across the fire, then whirling round +and round in one place, then stamping his feet on the ground, +while he swung his arms, and shouted at the top of his voice. +It was a ludicrous spectacle. Two of the shepherds were rolling +on the ground, convulsed with laughter, while the older man, +with a serious, immovable face, tried to clap his hands +in time to the dancing, but could not succeed in doing so. +He watched attentively every movement of the dancing Shakro, +while he nodded his head, and exclaimed in a deep bass voice: + +"He! He'! That's right! He'! He'!" + +The light fell full on Shakro, showing the variety of his movements, +as at one moment he would coil himself up like a snake, +and the next would dance round on one leg; then would plunge into +a succession of rapid steps, difficult to follow with the eye. +His naked body shone in the fire light, while the large beads of sweat, +as they rolled off it, looked, in the red light of the fire, +like drops of blood.. + +By now, all three of the shepherds were clapping their hands; +while I, shivering with cold, dried myself by the fire, +and thought that our adventures would gratify the taste +of admirers of Cooper or of Jules Vernes; there was shipwreck, +then came hospitable aborigines, and a savage dance round the fire. +And while I reflected thus, I felt very uneasy as to the chief +point in every adventure--the end of it. + +When Shakro had finished dancing, he also sat down by the fire, +wrapped up in the overcoat. He was already eating, while he +stared at me with his black eyes, which had a gleam in them +of something I did not like. His clothes, stretched on sticks, +driven into the ground, were drying before the fire. +The shepherds had given me, also, some bread and bacon. + +Michael returned, and sat down without a word beside the old man, +who remarked in an inquiring voice: "Well?" + +"I have found the boat," was the brief reply. + +"It won't be washed away?" + +"No." + +The shepherds were silent, once more scrutinizing us. + +"Well," said Michael, at last, addressing no one in particular. +"Shall we take them to the ataman, or straight to the +custom house officers?" + +"So that's to be the end!" I thought to myself. + +Nobody replied to Michael's question. Shakro went on quietly +with his eating, and said nothing. + +"We could take them to the ataman--or we could take them +to the custom house. One plan's as good as the other," +remarked the old man, after a short silence. + +"They have stolen the custom house boat, so they ought to be taught +a lesson for the future." + +"Wait a bit, old man," I began. + +"Certainly, they ought not to have stolen the boat. If they are not +punished now, they will probably do something worse next time." +The old man interrupted me, without paying any heed to my protestations. + +The old man spoke with revolting indifference. +When he had finished speaking, his comrades nodded their heads +in token of assent. + +"Yes, if a man steals, he has to bear the consequences, +when he's caught---- Michael! what about the boat? +Is it there?" + +"Oh, it's there all right!" + +"Are you sure the waves won't wash it away?" + +"Quite sure." + +"Well, that's all right. Then let it stay there. Tomorrow the boatmen +will be going over to Kertch, and they can take it with them. +They will not mind taking an empty boat along with them, will they? +Well--so you mean to say you were not frightened, you vagabonds? +Weren't you indeed? La! la! la! + +"Half a mile farther out, and you would have been by this +time at the bottom of the sea! What would you have done +if the waves had cast you back into the sea? Ay, sure enough, +you would have sunk to the bottom like a couple of axes. +And that would have been the end of you both!" + +As the old man finished speaking, he looked at me with an ironical +smile on his lips. + +"Well, why don't you speak, lad?" he inquired. + +I was vexed by his reflections, which I misinterpreted as sneering at us. +So I only answered rather sharply: + +"I was listening to you." + +"Well-and what do you say?" inquired the old man. + +"Nothing." + +"Why are you rude to me? Is it the right thing to be rude to a man +older than yourself?" + +I was silent, acknowledging in my heart that it really was not +the right thing. + +"Won't you have something more to eat?" continued the old shepherd. + +"No, I can't eat any more." + +"Well, don't have any, if you don't want it. Perhaps you'll +take a bit of bread with you to eat on the road?" + +I trembled with joy, but would not betray my feelings. + +"Oh, yes. I should like to take some with me for the road," +I answered, quietly. + +"I say, lads! give these fellows some bread and a piece of bacon each. +If you can find something else, give it to them too." + +"Are we to let them go, then?" asked Michael. + +The other two shepherds looked up at the old man. + +"What can they do here?" + +"Did we not intend to take them either to the ataman or to +the custom house?" asked Michael, in a disappointed tone. + +Shakro stirred uneasily in his seat near the fire, +and poked out his head inquiringly from beneath the overcoat. +He was quite serene. + +"What would they do at the ataman's? I should think there is nothing +to do there just now. Perhaps later on they might like to go there?" + +"But how about the boat?" insisted Michael. + +"What about the boat?" inquired the old man again. +"Did you not say the boat was all right where it was?" + +"Yes, it's all right there," Michael replied. + +"Well, let it stay there. In the morning John can row it round +into the harbor. From there, someone will get it over to Kertch. +That's all we can do with the boat." + +I watched attentively the old man's countenance, but failed to discover +any emotion on his phlegmatic, sun-burned, weather-beaten face, +over the features of which the flicker from the flames played merrily. + +"If only we don't get into trouble." Michael began to give way. + +"There will be no trouble if you don't let your tongue wag. +If the ataman should hear of it, we might get into a scrape, +and they also. We have our work to do, and they have to be getting on. +Is it far you have to go?" asked the old man again, though I +had told him once before I was bound for Tiflis. + +"That's a long way yet. The ataman might detain them; then, when would +they get to Tiflis? So let them be getting on their way. Eh?" + +"Yes, let them go," all the shepherds agreed, as the old man, +when he had finished speaking, closed his lips tightly, and cast +an inquiring glance around him, as he fingered his gray beard. + +"Well, my good fellows, be off, and God bless you!" he exclaimed +with a gesture of dismissal. "We will see that the boat goes back, +so don't trouble about that!" + +"Many, many thanks, grandfather!" I said taking off my cap. + +"What are you thanking me for?" + +"Thank you; thank you!" I repeated fervently. + +"What are you thanking me for? That's queer! I say, God bless you, +and he thanks me! Were you afraid I'd send you to the devil, eh?" + +"I'd done wrong and I was afraid," I answered. + +"Oh!" and the old man lifted his eyebrows. +"Why should I drive a man farther along the wrong path? +I'd do better by helping one along the way I'm going myself. +Maybe, we shall meet again, and then we'll meet as friends. +We ought to help one another where we can. Good-bye!" + +He took off his large shaggy sheepskin cap, and bowed low to us. +His comrades bowed too. + +We inquired our way to Anapa, and started off. Shakro was laughing +at something or other. + + + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + + + + +"Why are you laughing?" I asked. + +The old shepherd and his ethics of life had charmed and delighted me. +I felt refreshed by the pure air of early morning, blowing straight +into my face. I rejoiced, as I watched the sky gradually clearing, +and felt that daylight was not far off. Before long the morning sun would +rise in a clear sky, and we could look forward to a brilliantly fine day. + +Shakro winked slyly at me, and burst out into a fresh fit of laughter. +The hearty, buoyant ring in his laugh made me smile also. The few +hours rest we had taken by the side of the shepherd's fire, and their +excellent bread and bacon, had helped us to forget our exhausting voyage. +Our bones still ached a little, but that would pass off with walking. + +"Well, what are you laughing at? Are you glad that you are alive? +Alive and not even hungry?" + +Shakro shook his head, nudged me in the ribs, made a grimace, burst out +laughing again, and at last said in his broken Russian: "You don't see +what it is that makes me laugh? Well, I'll tell you in a minute. Do you +know what I should have done if we had been taken before the ataman? +You don't know? I'd have told him that you had tried to drown me, +and I should have begun to cry. Then they would have been sorry for me, +and wouldn't have put me in prison! Do you see?" + +At first I tried to make myself believe that it was a joke; +but, alas! he succeeded in convincing me he meant it seriously. +So clearly and completely did he convince me of it, that, +instead of being furious with him for such naive cynicism, +I was filled with deep pity for him and incidentally for +myself as well. + +What else but pity can one feel for a man who tells one in all sincerity, +with the brightest of smiles, of his intention to murder one? +What is to be done with him if he looks upon such an action as a clever +and delightful joke? + +I began to argue warmly with him, trying to show him all +the immorality of his scheme. He retorted very candidly that I +did not see where his interests lay, and had forgotten he had +a false passport and might get into trouble in consequence. +Suddenly a cruel thought flashed through my mind. + +"Stay," said I, "do you really believe that I wanted to drown you?" + +"No! When you were pushing me into the water I did think so; +but when you got in as well, then I didn't!" + +"Thank God!" I exclaimed. "Well, thanks for that, anyway!" + +"Oh! no, you needn't say thank you. I am the one to say thank you. +Were we not both cold when we were sitting round the fire? +The overcoat was yours, but you didn't take it yourself. +You dried it, and gave it to me. And took nothing for yourself. +Thank you for that! You are a good fellow; I can see that. +When we get to Tiflis, I will reward you. I shall take you to my father. +I shall say to him: 'Here is a man whom you must feed and care for, +while I deserve only to be kept in the stable with the mules.' +You shall live with us, and be our gardener, and we will give you +wine in plenty, and anything you like to eat. Ah! you will have +a capital time! You will share my wine and food!" + +He continued for some time, describing in detail the attractions +of the new life he was going to arrange for me in his home in Tiflis. + +And as he talked, I mused on the great unhappiness of men equipped +with new morality and new aspirations--they tread the paths of life +lonely and astray; and the fellow-travelers they meet on the way are +aliens to them, unable to understand them. Life is a heavy burden +for these lonely souls. Helplessly they drift hither and thither. +They are like the good seed, wafted in the air, and dropping but rarely +onto fruitful soil. + +Daylight had broken. The sea far away shone with rosy gold. + +"I am sleepy," said Shakro. + +We halted. He lay down in a trench, which the fierce gusts of wind +had dug out in the dry sand, near the shore. He wrapped himself, +head and all, in the overcoat, and was soon sound asleep. +I sat beside him, gazing dreamily over the sea. + +It was living its vast life, full of mighty movement. + +The flocks of waves broke noisily on the shore and rippled +over the sand, that faintly hissed as it soaked up the water. +The foremost waves, crested with white foam, flung themselves +with a loud boom on the shore, and retreated, driven back +to meet the waves that were pushing forward to support them. +Intermingling in the foam and spray, they rolled once more +toward the shore, and beat upon it, struggling to enlarge +the bounds of their realm. From the horizon to the shore, +across the whole expanse of waters, these supple, mighty waves +rose up, moving, ever moving, in a compact mass, bound together +by the oneness of their aim. + +The sun shone more and more brightly on the crests of the breakers, which, +in the distance on the horizon, looked blood-red. Not a drop went astray +in the titanic heavings of the watery mass, impelled, it seemed, by some +conscious aim, which it would soon attain by its vast rhythmic blows. +Enchanting was the bold beauty of the foremost waves, as they dashed +stubbornly upon the silent shore, and fine it was to see the whole sea, +calm and united, the mighty sea, pressing on and ever on. +The sea glittered now with all the colors of the rainbow, and seemed +to take a proud, conscious delight in its own power and beauty. + +A large steamer glided quietly round a point of land, +cleaving the waters. Swaying majestically over the troubled sea, +it dashed aside the threatening crests of the waves. +At any other time this splendid, strong, flashing steamer +would have set me thinking of the creative genius of man, +who could thus enslave the elements. But now, beside me lay +an untamed element in the shape of a man. + +CHAPTER IX. + +We were tramping now through the district of Terek. +Shakro was indescribably ragged and dishevelled. +He was surly as the devil, though he had plenty of food now, +for it was easy to find work in these parts. He himself was +not good at any kind of work. + +Once he got a small job on a thrashing machine; his duty was to push +aside the straw, as it left the machine; but after working half a day +he left off, as the palms of his hands were blistered and sore. +Another time he started off with me and some other workmen to root +up trees, but he grazed his neck with a mattock. + +We got on with our journey very slowly; we worked two days, +and walked on the third day. Shakro ate all he could get hold of, +and his gluttony prevented me from saving enough money to buy +him new clothes. His ragged clothes were patched in the most +fantastic way with pieces of various colors and sizes. +I tried to persuade him to keep away from the beer houses +in the villages, and to give up drinking his favorite wines; +but he paid no heed to my words. + +With great difficulty I had, unknown to him, saved up five roubles, +to buy him some new clothes. One day, when we were stopping +in some village, he stole the money from my knapsack, and came +in the evening, in a tipsy state, to the garden where I was working. +He brought with him a fat country wench, who greeted me with +the following words: "Good-day, you damned heretic!" + +Astonished at this epithet, I asked her why she called me a heretic. +She answered boldly: "Because you forbid a young man to love women, +you devil. How can you forbid what is allowed by law? +Damn you, you devil!" + +Shakro stood beside her, nodding his head approvingly. +He was very tipsy, and he rocked backward and forward +unsteadily on his legs. His lower lip drooped helplessly. +His dim eyes stared at me with vacant obstinacy. + +"Come, what are you looking at us for? Give him his money?" +shouted the undaunted woman. + +"What money?" I exclaimed, astonished. + +"Give it back at once; or I'll take you before the ataman! +Return the hundred and fifty roubles, which you borrowed +from him in Odessa!" + +What was I to do? The drunken creature might really +go and complain to the Ataman; the Atamans were always +very severe on any kind of tramp, and he might arrest us. +Heaven only knew what trouble my arrest might inflict, +not only on myself, but on Shakro! There was nothing for it +but to try and outwit the woman, which was not, of course, +a difficult matter. + +She was pacified after she had disposed of three bottles of vodka. +She sank heavily to the ground, on a bed of melons, and fell asleep. +Then I put Shakro to sleep also. + +Early next morning we turned our backs on the village, +leaving the woman sound asleep among the melons. + +After his bout of drunkenness, Shakro, looking far from well, +and with a swollen, blotchy face, walked slowly along, +every now and then spitting on one side, and sighing deeply. +I tried to begin a conversation with him, but he did not respond. +He shook his unkempt head, as does a tired horse. + +It was a hot day; the air was full of heavy vapors, rising from +the damp soil, where the thick, lush grass grew abundantly-- +almost as high as our heads. Around us, on all sides, +stretched a motionless sea of velvety green grass. + +The hot air was steeped in strong sappy perfumes, which made +one's head swim. + +To shorten our way, we took a narrow path, where numbers of small +red snakes glided about, coiling up under our feet. On the horizon +to our right, were ranges of cloudy summits flashing silvery in the sun. +It was the mountain chain of the Daguestan Hills. + +The stillness that reigned made one feel drowsy, and plunged one into +a sort of dreamy state. Dark, heavy clouds, rolling up behind us, +swept slowly across the heavens. They gathered at our backs, +and the sky there grew dark, while in front of us it still +showed clear, except for a few fleecy cloudlets, racing merrily +across the open. But the gathering clouds grew darker and swifter. +In the distance could be heard the rattle of thunder, and its angry +rumbling came every moment nearer. Large drops of rain fell, +pattering on the grass, with a sound like the clang of metal. +There was no place where we could take shelter. It had grown dark. +The patter of the rain on the grass was louder still, but it lad +a frightened, timid sound. There was a clap of thunder, and the +clouds shuddered in a blue flash of lightning. Again it was dark +and the silvery chain of distant mountains was lost in the gloom. +The rain now was falling in torrents, and one after another peals +of thunder rumbled menacingly and incessantly over the vast steppe. +The grass, beaten down by the wind and rain, lay flat on the ground, +rustling faintly. Everything seemed quivering and troubled. +Flashes of blinding lightning tore the storm clouds asunder. + +The silvery, cold chain of the distant mountains sprang +up in the blue flash and gleamed with blue light. +When the lightning died away, the mountains vanished, +as though flung back into an abyss of darkness. The air was +filled with rumblings and vibrations, with sounds and echoes. +The lowering, angry sky seemed purifying itself by fire, from the +dust and the foulness which had risen toward it from the earth, +and the earth, it seemed, was quaking in terror at its wrath. +Shakro was shaking and whimpering like a scared dog. +But I felt elated and lifted above commonplace life as I watched +the mighty, gloomy spectacle of the storm on the steppe. +This unearthly chaos enchanted me and exalted me to an heroic mood, +filling my soul with its wild, fierce harmony. + +And I longed to take part in it, and to express, in some way or other, +the rapture that filled my heart to overflowing, in the presence +of the mysterious force which scatters gloom, and gathering clouds. +The blue light which lit up the sky seemed to gleam in my soul too; +and how was I to express my passion and my ecstasy at the +grandeur of nature? I sang aloud, at the top of my voice. +The thunder roared, the lightning flashed, the grass whispered, +while I sang and felt myself in close kinship with nature's music. +I was delirious, and it was pardonable, for it harmed no one but myself. +I was filled with the desire to absorb, as much as possible, +the mighty, living beauty and force that was raging on the steppe; +and to get closer to it. A tempest at sea, and a thunderstorm on +the steppes! I know nothing grander in nature. And so I shouted +to my heart's content, in the absolute belief that I troubled +no one, nor placed any one in a position to criticize my action. +But suddenly, I felt my legs seized, and I fell helpless into +a pool of water. + +Shakro was looking into my face with serious and wrathful eyes. + +"Are you mad? Aren't you? No? Well, then, be quiet! Don't shout! +I'll cut your throat! Do you understand?" + +I was amazed, and I asked him first what harm I was doing him? + +"Why, you're frightening me! It's thundering; God is speaking, +and you bawl. What are you thinking about?" + +I replied that I had a right to sing whenever I chose. +Just as he had. + +"But I don't want to!" he said. + +"Well, don't sing then!" I assented. + +"And don't you sing!" insisted Shakro. + +"Yes, I mean to sing!" + +"Stop! What are you thinking about?" he went on angrily. +"Who are you? You have neither home nor father, nor mother; +you have no relations, no land! Who are you? Are you anybody, +do you suppose? It's I am somebody in the world! +I have everything!" + +He slapped his chest vehemently. + +"I'm a prince, and you--you're nobody--nothing! You say--you're this +and that! Who else says so? All Koutais and Tiflies know me! +You shall not contradict me! Do you hear? Are you not my servant? +I'll pay ten times over for all you have done for me. You shall obey me! +You said yourself that God taught us to serve each other without seeking +for a reward; but I'll reward you. + +"Why will you annoy me, preaching to me, and frightening me? +Do you want me to be like you? That's too bad! +You can't make me like yourself! Foo! Foo!" + +He talked, smacked his lips, snuffled, and sighed. I stood +staring at him, open-mouthed with astonishment. He was evidently +pouring out now all the discontent, displeasure and disgust, +which had been gathering up during the whole of our journey. +To convince me more thoroughly, he poked me in the chest from +time to time with his forefinger, and shook me by the shoulder. +During the most impressive parts of his speech he pushed +up against me with his whole massive body. The rain was +pouring down on us, the thunder never ceased its muttering, +and to make me hear, Shakro shouted at the top of his voice. +The tragic comedy of my position struck me more vividly +than ever, and I burst into a wild fit of laughter. +Shakro turned away and spat. + +CHAPTER X + +The nearer we draw to Tiflis, the gloomier and the surlier grew Shakro. +His thinner, but still stolid face wore a new expression. +Just before we reached Vladikavkas we passed through a Circassian village, +where we obtained work in some maize fields. + +The Circassians spoke very little Russian, and as they +constantly laughed at us, and scolded us in their own language, +we resolved to leave the village two days after our arrival; +their increasing enmity had begun to alarm us. + +We had left the village about ten miles behind, when Shakro +produced from his shirt a roll of home-spun muslin, and handing +it to me, exclaimed triumphantly: + +"You need not work any more now. We can sell this, and buy all we +want till we get to Tiflis! Do you see?" + +I was moved to fury, and tearing the bundle from his hands, +I flung it away, glancing back. + +The Circassians are not to be trifled with! Only a short time before, +the Cossacks had told us the following story: + +A tramp, who had been working for some time in a Circassian +village, stole an iron spoon, and carried it away with him. +The Circassians followed him, searched him, and found +the iron spoon. They ripped open his body with a dagger, +and after pushing the iron spoon into the wound, +went off quietly, leaving him to his fate on the steppes. +He was found by some Cossacks at the point of death. +He told them this story, and died on the way to their village. +The Cossacks had more than once warned us against the Circassians, +relating many other edifying tales of the same sort. +I had no reason to doubt the accuracy of these stories. +I reminded Shakro of these facts. For some time he listened +in silence to what I was saying; then, suddenly, showing his +teeth and screwing up his eyes, he flew at me like a wild cat. +We struggled for five minutes or so, till Shakro +exclaimed angrily: "Enough! Enough!" + +Exhausted with the struggle, we sat in silence for some time, +facing each other. Shakro glanced covetously toward the spot, +where I had flung the red muslin, and said: + +"What were we fighting about? Fa--Fa--Fa! It's very stupid. +I did not steal it from you did I? Why should you care? +I was sorry for you that is why I took the linen. +You have to work so hard, and I cannot help you in that way, +so I thought I would help you by stealing. Tse'! Tse'! + +"I made an attempt to explain to him how wrong it was to steal. + +"Hold your tongue, please! You're a blockhead!" +he exclaimed contemptuously; then added: "When one is dying +of hunger, there is nothing for it but to steal; what sort +of a life is this?" + +I was silent, afraid of rousing his anger again. +This was the second time he had committed a theft. +Some time before, when we were tramping along the shores +of the Black Sea, he stole a watch belonging to a fisherman. +We had nearly come to blows then. + +"Well, come along," he said; when, after a short rest, +we had once more grown quiet and friendly. + +So we trudged on. Each day made him grow more gloomy, +and he looked at me strangely, from under his brows. + +As we walked over the Darial Pass, he remarked: +"Another day or two will bring us to Tiflis. Tse'! Tse'!" + +He clicked his tongue, and his face beamed with delight. + +"When I get home, they will ask me where I have been? +I shall tell them I have been travelling. The first thing I +shall do will be to take a nice bath. I shall eat a lot. +Oh! what a lot. I have only to tell my mother 'I am hungry!' +My father will forgive when I tell him how much trouble and +sorrow I have undergone. Tramps are a good sort of people! +Whenever I meet a tramp, I shall always give him a rouble, +and take him to the beer-house, and treat him to some wine. +I shall tell him I was a tramp myself once. I shall tell my +father all about you. I shall say: 'This man--he was like an +elder brother to me. He lectured me, and beat me, the dog! +He fed me, and now, I shall say, you must feed him.' +I shall tell him to feed you for a whole year. +Do you hear that, Maxime?" + +I liked to hear him talk in this strain; at those times he seemed +so simple, so child-like. His words were all the more pleasant because I +had not a single friend in all Tiflis. Winter was approaching. +We had already been caught in a snowstorm in the Goudaour hills. +I reckoned somewhat on Shakro's promises. We walked on rapidly +till we reached Mesket, the ancient capital of Iberia. +The next day we hoped to be in Tiflis. + +I caught sight of the capital of the Caucasus in the distance, +as it lay some five versts farther on, nestling between two +high hills. The end of our journey was fast approaching! +I was rejoicing, but Shakro was indifferent. With a vacant look +he fixed his eyes on the distance, and began spitting on one side; +while he kept rubbing his stomach with a grimace of pain. +The pain in his stomach was caused by his having eaten too many +raw carrots, which he had pulled up by the wayside. + +"Do you think I, a nobleman of Georgia, will show myself in my +native town, torn and dirty as I am now? No, indeed, that I never could! +We must wait outside till night. Let us rest here." + +We twisted up a couple of cigarettes from our last bit +of tobacco, and, shivering with cold, we sat down under +the walls of a deserted building to have a smoke. +The piercing cold wind seemed to cut through our bodies. +Shakro sat humming a melancholy song; while I fell to picturing +to myself a warm room, and other advantages of a settled life +over a wandering existence. + +"Let us move on now!" said Shakro resolutely. + +It had now become dark. The lights were twinkling down +below in the town. It was a pretty sight to watch them +flashing one after the other, out of the mist of the valley, +where the town lay hidden. + +"Look here, you give me your bashleek,* I want to cover my face +up with it. My friends might recognize me." + +I gave him my bashleek. We were already in Olga Street, +and Shakro was whistling boldly. + +"Maxime, do you see that bridge over yonder? The train stops there. +Go and wait for me there, please. I want first to go and ask a friend, +who lives close by, about my father and mother." + +"You won't be long, will you?" + +"Only a minute. Not more!" + +* A kind of hood worn by men to keep their ears warm. + +He plunged rapidly down the nearest dark, narrow lane, and disappeared-- +disappeared for ever. + +I never met him again--the man who was my fellow-traveller for nearly +four long months; but I often think of him with a good-humored feeling, +and light-hearted laughter. + +He taught me much that one does not find in the thick volumes +of wise philosophers, for the wisdom of life is always deeper +and wider than the wisdom of men. + + + + + +ON A RAFT + + + + + +Heavy clouds drift slowly across the sleepy river and hang +every moment lower and thicker. In the distance their ragged +gray edges seem almost to touch the surface of the rapid +and muddy waters, swollen by the floods of spring, and there, +where they touch, an impenetrable wall rises to the skies, +barring the flow of the river and the passage of the raft. + +The stream, swirling against this wall--washing vainly against it +with a wistful wailing swish--seems to be thrown back on itself, +and then to hasten away on either side, where lies the moist fog +of a dark spring night. + +The raft floats onward, and the distance opens out before it into +heavy cloud--massed space. The banks of the rivers are invisible; +darkness covers them, and the lapping waves of a spring flood seem +to have washed them into space. + +The river below has spread into a sea; while the heavens above, +swatched in cloud masses, hang heavy, humid, and leaden.* + +There is no atmosphere, no color in this gray blurred picture. + +The raft glides down swiftly and noiselessly, while out of +the darkness appears, suddenly bearing down on it, a steamer, +pouring from its funnels a merry crowd of sparks, and churning +up the water with the paddles of its great revolving wheels. + +The two red forward lights gleam every moment larger +and brighter, and the mast-head lantern sways slowly from +side to side, as if winking mysteriously at the night. +The distance is filled with the noise of the troubled water, +and the heavy thud-thud of the engines. + +"Look ahead!" is heard from the raft. The voice is that of +a deep-chested man. + +* The river is the volga, and the passage of strings of rafts +down its stream in early spring is being described by the author. +The allusion later on to the Brotherhood living in the Caucasus, +refers to the persecuted Doukhobori, who have since been driven +from their homes by the Russian authorities and have taken +refuge in Canada. + +In order to enter into the sociology of this story of Gorkv's +it must be explained that among ancient Russian folk-customs, +as the young peasants were married at a very early age, +the father of the bridegroom considered he had rights over +his daughter-in-law. In later times, this custom although +occasionally continued, was held in disrepute among the peasantry; +but that it has not entirely died out is proved by the little +drama sketched in by the hand of a genius in "On a Raft." + +Two men are standing aft, grasping each a long pole, which propel +the raft and act as rudders; Mitia, the son of the owner, +a fair, weak, melancholy-looking lad of twenty-two; and Sergei, +a peasant, hired to help in the work on board the raft, +a bluff, healthy, red-bearded fellow, whose upper lip, +raised with a mocking sneer, discloses a mouth filled +with large, strong teeth. + +"Starboard!" A second cry vibrates through the darkness ahead +of the rafts. + +"What are you shouting for; we know our business!" +Sergei growls raspingly; pressing his expanded chest against +the pole. "Ouch! Pull harder, Mitia!" Mitia pushes +with his feet against the damp planks that form the raft, +and with his thin hands draws toward him the heavy steering pole, +coughing hoarsely the while. + +"Harder, to starboard! You cursed loafers!" The master cries again, +anger and anxiety in his voice. + +"Shout away!" mutters Sergei. "Here's your miserable devil of a son, +who couldn't break a straw across his knee, and you put him to +steer a raft; and then you yell so that all the river hears you. +You were mean enough not to take a second steersman; so now you +may tear your throat to pieces shouting!" + +These last words were growled out loud enough to be heard forward, +and as if Sergei wished they should be heard. + +The steamer passed rapidly alongside the raft sweeping the frothing water +from under her paddle wheels. The planks tossed up and down in the wash, +and the osier branches fastening them together, groaned and scraped +with a moist, plaintive sound. + +The lit-up portholes of the steamer seem for a moment to rake the raft +and the river with fiery eyes, reflected in the seething water, +like luminous trembling spots. Then all disappears. + +The wash of the steamer sweeps backward and forward, over the raft; +the planks dance up and down. Mitia, swaying with the movements +of the water, clutches convulsively the steering pole to save +himself from falling. + +"Well, well," says Sergei, laughing. "So you're beginning to dance! +Your father will start yelling again. Or he'll perhaps come and give +you one or two in the ribs; then you'll dance to another tune! +Port side now! Ouch!" + +And with his muscles strung like steel springs, Sergei gives +a powerful push to his pole, forcing it deep down into +the water. Energetic, tall, mocking and rather malicious, +he stands bare-footed, rigid, as if a part of the planks; +looking straight ahead, ready at any moment to change +the direction of the raft. + +"Just look there at your father kissing Marka! Aren't they a pair +of devils? No shame, and no conscience. Why don't you get away +from them, Mitia--away from these Pagan pigs? Why? Do you hear?" + +"I hear," answered Mitia in a stifled voice, without looking +toward the spot which Sergei pointed to through the darkness, +where the form of Mitia's father could be seen. + +"I hear," mocked Sergei, laughing ironically. + +"You poor half-baked creature! A pleasant state of things indeed!" +he continued, encouraged by the apathy of Mitia. +"And what a devil that old man is! He finds a wife for his son; +he takes the son's wife away from him; and all's well! +The old brute!" + +Mitia is silent, and looks astern up the river, where another wall +of mist is formed. Now the clouds close in all round, and the raft +hardly appears to move, but to be standing still in the thick, +dark water, crushed down by the heavy gray-black vaporous masses, +which drift across the heavens, and bar the way. + +The whole river seems like a fathomless, hidden whirlpool, +surrounded by immense mountains, rising toward heaven, +and capped with shrouding mists. + +The stillness suffocates, and the water seems spellbound +with expectation, as it beats softly against the raft. +A great sadness, and a timid questioning is heard in that +faint sound--the only voice of the night--accentuating still +more the silence. "We want a little wind now," says Sergei. +"No it's not exactly wind we want that would bring rain," he replies +to himself, as he begins to fill his pipe. A match strikes, +and the bubbling sound of a pipe being lighted is heard. +A red gleam appears, throwing a glow over the big face of Sergei; +and then, as the light dies down he is lost in the darkness. + +"Mitia!" he cries. His voice is now less brutal and more mocking. + +"What is it?" replies Mitia, without moving his gaze from the distance, +where be seems with his big sad eyes to be searching for something. + +"How did it happen, mate? How did it happen?" + +"What?" answers Mitia, displeased. + +"How did you come to marry? What a queer set out! +How was it? You brought your wife home!--and then? +Ha! ha! ha!" + +"What are you cackling about? Look out there!" came threateningly +across the river. + +"Damned beast!" ejaculates with delight Sergei; and returns +to the theme that interests him. "Come, Mitia; tell me; +tell me at once--why not?" + +"Leave me alone, Sergei," Mitia murmurs entreatingly; +"I told you once." + +But knowing by experience that Sergei will not leave him in peace, +he begins hurriedly: "Well, I brought her home--and I told her: +'I can't be your husband, Marka; you are a strong girl, and I am +a feeble, sick man. I didn't wish at all to marry you, but my father +would force me to marry.' He was always saying to me, 'Get married! +Get married!' I don't like women, I said: and you especially, +you are too bold. Yes--and I can't have anything to do--with it. +Do you understand? For me, it disgusts me, and it is a sin. +And children--one is answerable to God for one's children." + +"Disgusts," yells Sergei and laughs. "Well! and what did +Marka reply? What?" + +"She said, 'What shall I do now?' and then she began to cry. +'What have you got against me? Am I so dreadfully ugly?' +She is shameless, Sergei, and wicked! 'With all this health and +strength of mine, must I go to my father-in-law?' And I answered: +'If you like--go where you wish, but I can't act against my soul. +If I had love for you, well and good; but being as it is, +how is it possible? Father Ivan says it's the deadliest sin. +We are not beasts, are we?' She went on crying: +'You have ruined my chances in life!' And I pitied her very much. +'It's nothing,' I said; 'things will come all right. Or,' I continued, +'you can go into a convent.' And she began to insult me. +'You are a stupid fool, Mitia! a coward!'" + +"Well, I'm blest!" exclaims Sergei, in a delighted whisper. +"So you told her straight to go into a convent?" + +"Yes, I told her to go," answers Mitia simply. + +"And she told you you were a fool?" queried Sergei, raising his voice. + +"Yes, she insulted me." + +"And she was right, my friend; yes, indeed, she was right! +You deserve a proper hammering." And Sergei, changing suddenly +his tone, continued with severity and authority: "Have you +any right to go against the law? But you did go against it! +Things are arranged in a certain way, and it's no use going +against them! You mustn't even discuss them. But what did you do? +You got some maggot into your head. A convent, indeed! +Silly fool! What did the girl want? Did she want your convent? +What a set of muddle-headed fools there seems to be now! +Just think what's happened! You, you're neither fish +nor fowl, nor good red-herring. And the girl's done for! +She's living with an old man! And you drove the old man into sin! +How many laws have you broken? You clever head!" + +"Law, Sergei, is in the soul. There is one law for everyone. +Don't do things that are against your soul, and you will do no +evil on the earth," answered Mitia, in a slow, conciliatory tone, +and nodding his head. + +"But you did do evil," answered Sergei, energetically. +"In the soul! A fine idea! There are many things in the soul. +Certain things must be forbidden. The soul, the soul! +You must first understand it, my friend, and then----" + +"No, it's not so, Sergei," replied Mitia with warmth, and he seemed +to be inspired. "The soul, my friend, is always as clear as dew. +It's true, its voice lies deep down within us, and is difficult to hear; +but if we listen, we can never be mistaken. If we act according to +what is in our soul, we shall always act according to the will of God. +God is in the soul, and, therefore, the law must be in it. +The soul was created by God, and breathed by God into man. +We have only to learn to look into it--and we must look into it +without sparing our own feelings." + +"You sleepy devils! Look ahead there!" The voice thundered +from the forward part of the raft, and swept back down the river. +In the strength of the sound one could recognize that the owner +of the voice was healthy, energetic, and pleased with himself. +A man with large and conscious vitality. He shouted, +not because he had to give a necessary order to the steersmen, +but because his soul was full of life and strength, and this +life and strength wanted to find free expression, so it rushed +forth in that thunderous and forceful sound. + +"Listen to the old blackguard shouting," continued Sergei +with delight, looking ahead with a piercing glance, and smiling. +"Look at them billing and cooing like a pair of doves! +Don't you ever envy them, Mitia?" + +Mitia watched with indifference the working of the two forward oars, +held by two figures who moved backward and forward, forming sometimes +as they touched each other one compact and dark mass. + +"So you say you don't envy them?" repeated Sergei. + +"What is it to me? It's their sin, and they must answer for it," +replied Mitia quietly. + +"Hm!" ironically interjected Sergei, while he filled his pipe. + +Once more the small red patch of light glowed in the darkness; +and the night grew thicker, and the gray clouds sank lower toward +the swollen river. + +"Where did you get hold of that fine stuff, or does it come +to you naturally? But you don't take after your father, my lad! +Your father's a fine old chap. Look at him! He's fifty-two now, +and see what a strapping wench he's carrying on with! +She's as fine a woman as ever wore shoe-leather. And she loves him; +it's no use denying it! She loves him, my lad! One can't help +admiring him, he's such a trump, your father--he's the king +of trumps! When he's at work, it's worth while watching him. +And then, he's rich! And then, look how he's respected! +And his head's screwed on the right way. Yes. And you? +You're not a bit like either your father or your mother? +What would your father have done, Mitia, do you think, +if old Anfisa had lived? That would have been a good joke! +I should have liked to have seen how she's have settled him! +She was the right sort of woman, your mother! a real plucky one, +she was! They were well matched!" + +Mitia remained silent, leaning on the pole, and staring at the water. + +Sergei ceased talking. Forward on the raft was heard a +woman's shrill laugh, followed by the deeper laugh of a man. +Their figures, blurred by the mist, were nearly invisible +to Sergei, who, however, watched them curiously. +The man appeared as a tall figure, standing with legs wide apart, +holding a pole, and half turned toward a shorter woman's figure, +leaning on another pole, and standing a few paces away. +She shook her forefinger at the man, and giggled provokingly. + +Sergei turned away his head with a sigh, and after a few moment's +silence began to speak again. + +"Confound it all, but how jolly they seem together; it's good to see! +Why can't I have something like that? I, a waif and a stray! +I'd never leave such a woman! I'd always have my arms round her, +and there'd be no mistake about my loving the little devil! +I've never had any luck with women! They don't like ginger hair-- +women don't. No. She's a woman with fancies, she is! +She's a sly little devil! She wants to see life! +Are you asleep, Mitia?" + +"No," answered Mitia quietly. + +"Well, how are you going to live? To tell the truth, you're as +solitary as a post! That seems pretty hard! Where can you go? +You can't earn your living among strangers. You're too absurd! +What's the use of a man who can't stand up for himself? +A man's got to have teeth and claws in this world! +They'll all have a go at you. Can you stick up for yourself? +How would you set about it? Damn it all; where the devil +could you go?" + +"I," said Mitia, suddenly arousing herself; "I shall go away. +I shall go in the autumn to the Caucasian Mountains, and that will be +the end of it all. My God! If only I could get away from you all! +Soulless, godless men! To get away from you, that's my only hope! +What do you live for? Where is your God? He's nothing but a name! +Do you live in Christ? You are wolves; that's what you are! +But over there live other men, whose souls live in Christ. +Their hearts contain love, and they are athirst for the salvation +of the world. But you--you are beasts, spewing out filth. +But other men there are; I have seen them; they called me, and I must +go to them. They gave me the book of Holy Writ, and they said: +'Read, man of God, our beloved brother, read the word of truth!' +And I read, and my soul was renewed by the word of God. +I shall go away. I shall leave all you ravening wolves. +You are rending each other's flesh! Accursed be ye!" + +Mitia spoke in a passionate whisper, as if overpowered +by the intensity of his contemplative rapture, his anger with +the ravening wolves, and his desire to be with those other men, +whose souls aspired toward the salvation of the world. +Sergei was taken aback. He remained quiet for some time, +open-mouthed, holding his pipe in his hand. After a few moments' +thought he glanced round, and said in a deep, rough voice: +"Damn it all! Why you're turned a bad 'un all at once! +Why did you read that book? It was very likely an evil one. +Well, be off, be off! If not, there'll be an end of you! +Be off with you before you become a regular beast yourself! +And who are these fellows in the Caucasus? Monks? Or what?" + +But the fire of Mitia's spirit died down as quickly as it had been +kindled to a flame; he gasped with the exertion as he worked the pole, +and muttered to himself below his breath. + +Sergei waited some time for the answer which did not come. +His simple, hardy nature was quelled by the grim and death-like +stillness of the night. He wanted to recall the fullness of life, +to wake the solitude with sound, to disturb and trouble the hidden +meditative silence of the leaden mass of water, flowing slowly to the sea; +and of the dull, threatening clouds hanging motionless in the air. +At the other end of the raft there was life, and it called on +him to live. + +Forward, he could hear every now and then bursts of contented +laughter, exclamations, sounds that seemed to stand out against +the silence of this night, laden with the breath of spring, +and provoking such passionate life desires. + +"Hold hard, Mitia! you'll catch it again from the old man! +Look out there!" said Sergei, who could not stand the silence +any longer; and watching Mitia, who aimlessly moved his pole +backward and forward in the water. + +Mitia, wiping his moist brow, stood quietly leaning with his breast +against the pole, and panting. + +"There are few steamers to-night," continued Sergei; +"we've only passed one these many hours." Seeing that Mitia +had no intention of answering, Sergei replied quietly +to himself: "It's because its too early in the season. +It's only just beginning. We shall soon be at Kazan. +The Volga pulls hard. She has a mighty strong back, +that can carry all. Why are you standing still like that? +Are you angry? Hi, there, Mitia!" + +"What's the matter?" Mitia cried in a vexed tone. + +"Nothing, you strange fellow; but why can't you talk? +You are always thinking. Leave it alone! Thinking is bad for a man. +A wise sort of fellow you are! You think and think, and all the time +you can't understand that you're a fool at bottom. Ha! Ha!" + +And Sergei, very well satisfied with his own superiority, +cleared his throat, remained quiet for a moment, whistled a note, +and then continued to develop his theme. + +"Thinking? Is that an occupation for a working man? +Look at your father; he doesn't think much; he lives. +He loves your wife, and they laugh at you together; you wise fool! +That's about it! Just listen to them! Blast them! +I believe Marka's already with child. Never fear, the child won't +feature you. He'll be a fine, lusty lad, like Silan himself! +But he'll be your child! Ha! Ha! Ha! He'll call you father! +And you won't be his father, but his brother; and his real +father will be his grandfather! That's a nice state of things! +What a filthy family! But they're a strapping pair! +Isn't that true, Mitia?" + +"Sergei!" In a passionate, sobbing whisper. "In the name +of Christ I entreat you don't tear my soul to pieces, +don't brand me with fire. Leave me alone. Do be quiet! +In the name of God and of Christ, I beg you not to speak to me! +Don't disturb me! Don't drain my heart's blood! I'll throw +myself in the river, and yours will be the sin, and a great sin +it will be! I should lose my soul; don't force me to it! +For God's sake, I entreat you!" + +The silence of the night was troubled with shrill, unnatural sobbing; +and Mitia fell on the deck of the raft, as if a blast from the overhanging +clouds had struck him down. + +"Come, come!" growled Sergei, anxiously watching his mate writhing +on the deck, as if scorched with fire. "What a strange man! +He ought to have told me if it was not--if it was not quite--" + +"You've been torturing me all the way. Why? Am I your enemy?" +Mitia sobbed again. + +"You're a strange lad! a rum un!" murmured Sergei, confused and offended. +"How could I know? I couldn't tell you'd take on like that!" + +"Understand, then, that I want to forget! To forget for ever! +My shame, my terrible torture. You're a cruel lot! +I shall go away, and stay away for ever! I can't stand +it any more!" + +"Yes, be off with you!" cried Sergei across the raft, +accentuating his exclamation with a loud and cynical curse. +Then he seemed to shrink together, as if himself afraid +of the terrible drama which was unfolding itself before him; +drama, which he was now compelled to understand. . . . + +"Hullo! There! I'm calling you! Are you deaf?" sounded up +the river the voice of Silan. "What are you about there? +What are you bawling about? Ahoy! Ahoy!" + +It seemed as if Silan enjoyed shouting, and breaking the heavy silence +of the river with his deep voice, full of strength and health. +The cries succeeded each other, thrilling the warm, moist air, +and seeming to crush down on Mitia's feeble form. He rose, +and once more pressed his body against the steering pole. +Sergei shouted in reply to the master with all his strength, +and cursed him at the same time under his breath. + +The two voices broke through and filled the silence of the night. +Then they seemed to meet in one deep note like the sound of a great horn. +Once more rising to shrillness, they floated in the air, +gradually sank away--and were lost. + +Silence reigned once more. + +Through the cleft clouds, on the dark water the yellow splashes +of moonlight fell, and after glittering a moment disappeared, +swept away in the moist gloom. + +The raft continued on its way down stream amid silence and darkness. + + + + + +CHAPTER II + + + + + +Near one of the forward poles stood Silan Petroff in a red shirt, +open at the neck, showing his powerful throat and hairy chest, +hard as an anvil. A thatch of gray hair fell over his forehead, +under which laughed great black, warm eyes. His sleeves, +turned up to the elbow, showed the veins standing out on his arms +as they held the pole. Silan was leaning slightly forward, +and looking watchfully ahead. Marka stood a few paces from him, +glancing with a satisfied smile at the strong form of her lover. +They were both silent and busy with their several thoughts. +He was peering into the distance, and she followed the movements +of his virile, bearded face. + +"That must be a fisherman's fire," said he, turning toward her. + +"It's all right; we're keeping on our course, Ouch!" And he puffed +out a full, hot breath, and gave a powerful shove with his pole. + +"Don't tire yourself Mashourka," he continued, watching her, +as with her pole she made a skilful movement. + +She was round and plump, with black, bright eyes and +ruddy cheeks; barefooted, dressed only in a damp petticoat, +which clung to her body, and showed the outline of her figure. +She turned her face to Silan and, smiling pleasantly, said: +"You take too much care of me; I'm all right!" + +"I kiss you, but I don't take care of you," answered Silan, +moving his shoulders. + +"That's not good enough!" she replied, provokingly; and they +both were silent, looking at each other with desiring eyes. + +Under the rafts, the water gurgled musically. On the right bank, +very far off, a cock crew. Swaying lightly under their feet, +the raft floated on toward a point where the darkness dissolved +into lighter tones, and the clouds took on themselves clearer +shapes and less sombre hues. + +"Silan Petrovitch, do you know what they were shouting about there? +I know. I bet you I know. It was Mitia who was complaining +about us to Sergei; and it was he who cried out with trouble, +and Sergei was cursing us!" + +Marka questioned anxiously Silan's face, which, after her words, +became grim and coldly stubborn. + +"Well!" shortly. + +"Well, that's all!" + +"If that's all, there was nothing to say." + +"Don't get angry." + +"Angry with you? I should like to be angry with you, but I can't." + +"You love Marsha?" she whispered, coaxingly leaning toward him. + +"You bet!" answered Silan, with emphasis, stretching out toward +her his powerful arms. "Come now, don't tease me!" + +She twisted her body with the movements of a cat, and once +more leaned toward him. + +"We shall upset the steering again," whispered he, kissing her face +which burned under his lips. + +"Shut up now! They can see us at the other end;" +and motioning aft with her head, she struggled to free herself, +but he held her more tightly still with one arm, and managed +the pole with the other hand. + +"They can see us? Let them see us. I spit on them all! +I'm sinning, that's true; I know it; and shall have to answer +for it to God; but still you never were his wife; you were free; +you belonged to yourself. He's suffering, I know. And what about me? +Is my position a pleasant one? It is true that you were not his wife; +but all the same, with my position, how must I feel now? +Is it not a dreadful sin before God? It is a sin! +I know it all, and I've gone through everything! +Because it's a thing worth doing! + +"We love only once, and we may die any day. Oh! Marka! If I'd +only waited a month before marrying you to Mitia, nothing of this +would have happened. Directly after the death of Anfisa I would have +sent my friends to propose for you, and all would have been right! +Right before the law; without sin, without shame. That was my mistake, +and this mistake will take away from me five or ten years of my life. +Such a mistake as that makes an old man of one before one's time." + +Silan Petroff spoke with decision, but quietly, while, an expression +of inflexible determination flashed from his face, giving him +the appearance of a man who was ready then and there to fight +and struggle for the right to love. + +"Well, it's all right now; don't trouble yourself any more. +We have talked about it more than once already," whispered Marka, +freeing herself gently from his arms, and returning to her oar. + +He began working his pole backward and forward, rapidly and energetically, +as if he wished to get rid of the load that weighed on his breast, +and cast a shadow over his fine face. + +Day broke gradually. + +The clouds, losing their density, crept slowly away on +every side, as if reluctantly giving place to the sunlight. +The surface of the river grew lighter, and took on it the cold +gleam of polished steel. + +"Not long ago he talked with me about it. 'Father,' he said, +'is it not a deadly shame for you, and for me? +Give her up!' He meant you," explained Silan, and smiled. +"'Give her up,' he said; 'return to the right path!' +'My dear son,' I said, 'go away if you want to save your skin! +I shall tear you to pieces like a rotten rag! +There will be nothing left of your great virtue! It's a sorrow +to me to think that I'm your father! You puny wretch!' +He trembled. 'Father,' he said, 'am I in the wrong?' +You are,' I said, 'you whining cur, because you are in my way! +You are,' I said, 'because you can't stand up for yourself! +You lifeless, rotten carrion! If only,' I said, 'you were strong, +one could kill you; but even that isn't possible! +One pities you, poor, wretched creature!' He only wept. +Oh, Marka! This sort of thing makes one good for nothing. +Any one else would--would get their heads out of this noose +as soon as possible, but we are in it, and we shall perhaps +tighten it round each other's necks!" + +"What do you mean?" said Marka, looking at him fearfully, +as he stood there grim, strong and cold. + +"Nothing! If he were to die! That's all. If he were to die-- +what a good thing it would be! Everything would be straight then! +I would give all my land to your family, to make them shut +their mouths; and we two might go to Siberia, or somewhere far away. +They would ask, 'Who is she?' 'My wife! Do you understand?' + +"We could get some sort of paper or document. +We could open a shop somewhere in a village, and live. +And we could expiate our sin before God. We could help other people +to live, and they would help us to appease our consciences. +Isn't that so, Marsha?" + +"Yes," said she, with a deep sigh, closing her eyes as if in thought. + +They remained silent for a while; the water murmured. + +"He is sickly. He will, perhaps, die soon," said Silan after a time. + +"Please God it may be soon!" said Marka, as if in prayer, +and making the sign of the cross. + +The rays of the spring sun broke through the clouds, +and touched the water with rainbow and golden tints. +At the breath of the wind all nature thrilled, quickened, and smiled. +The blue sky between the clouds smiled back at the sun-warmed waters. +The raft, moving on, left the clouds astern. + +Gathering in a thick and heavy mass, they hung motionless, +and dreaming over the bright river, as if seeking a way to escape +from the ardent spring sun, which, rich in color and in joy, +seemed the enemy of these symbols of winter tempests. + +Ahead, the sky grew clearer and brighter, and the morning sun, +powerless to warm, but dazzling bright as it glitters in early spring, +rose stately and beautiful from the purple-gold waves of the river, +and mounted higher and ever higher into the blue limpid sky. On the right +showed the brown, high banks of the river, surmounted by green woods; +on the left emerald green fields glittered with dew diamonds. +In the air, floated the smell of the earth, of fresh springing grass, +blended with the aromatic scent of a fir wood. + +Sergei and Mitia stood as if rooted to their oars, but the expression +on their faces could not be distinguished by those on the forward part +of the raft. + +Silan glanced at Marka. + +She was cold. She leaned forward on her pole in a doubled-up attitude. +She was looking ahead with dreaming eyes; and a mysterious, +charming smile prayed on her lips--such a smile as makes even an ugly +woman charming and desirable. + +"Look ahead, lads! Ahoy! Ahoy!" hailed Silan, with all the force +of his lungs, feeling a powerful pulse of energy and strength +in his strong breast. + +And all around seemed to tremble with his cry. The echo resounded +long from the high banks on either side. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext of Creatures That Once Were Men, by Gorky + |