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diff --git a/1732-0.txt b/1732-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b3522cf --- /dev/null +++ b/1732-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7396 @@ +Project Gutenberg’s The Schoolmistress and Other Stories, by Anton Chekhov + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Schoolmistress and Other Stories + +Author: Anton Chekhov + +Release Date: February 21, 2006 [EBook #1732] +Last Updated: September 10, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SCHOOLMISTRESS AND OTHER *** + + + + +Produced by James Rusk and David Widger + + + + + +THE SCHOOLMISTRESS AND OTHER STORIES + +By Anton Chekhov + + + +FROM THE TALES OF CHEKHOV, VOLUME 9 + +CONTENTS + + THE SCHOOLMISTRESS + A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN + MISERY + CHAMPAGNE + AFTER THE THEATRE + A LADY’S STORY + IN EXILE + THE CATTLE-DEALERS + SORROW + ON OFFICIAL DUTY + THE FIRST-CLASS PASSENGER + A TRAGIC ACTOR + A TRANSGRESSION + SMALL FRY + THE REQUIEM + IN THE COACH-HOUSE + PANIC FEARS + THE BET + THE HEAD-GARDENER’S STORY + THE BEAUTIES + THE SHOEMAKER AND THE DEVIL + + + + + +THE SCHOOLMISTRESS + +AT half-past eight they drove out of the town. + +The highroad was dry, a lovely April sun was shining warmly, but the +snow was still lying in the ditches and in the woods. Winter, dark, +long, and spiteful, was hardly over; spring had come all of a sudden. +But neither the warmth nor the languid transparent woods, warmed by the +breath of spring, nor the black flocks of birds flying over the huge +puddles that were like lakes, nor the marvelous fathomless sky, into +which it seemed one would have gone away so joyfully, presented anything +new or interesting to Marya Vassilyevna who was sitting in the cart. For +thirteen years she had been schoolmistress, and there was no reckoning +how many times during all those years she had been to the town for her +salary; and whether it were spring as now, or a rainy autumn evening, or +winter, it was all the same to her, and she always--invariably--longed +for one thing only, to get to the end of her journey as quickly as could +be. + +She felt as though she had been living in that part of the country for +ages and ages, for a hundred years, and it seemed to her that she knew +every stone, every tree on the road from the town to her school. Her +past was here, her present was here, and she could imagine no other +future than the school, the road to the town and back again, and again +the school and again the road.... + +She had got out of the habit of thinking of her past before she became +a schoolmistress, and had almost forgotten it. She had once had a father +and mother; they had lived in Moscow in a big flat near the Red Gate, +but of all that life there was left in her memory only something vague +and fluid like a dream. Her father had died when she was ten years old, +and her mother had died soon after.... She had a brother, an officer; +at first they used to write to each other, then her brother had given up +answering her letters, he had got out of the way of writing. Of her old +belongings, all that was left was a photograph of her mother, but it had +grown dim from the dampness of the school, and now nothing could be seen +but the hair and the eyebrows. + +When they had driven a couple of miles, old Semyon, who was driving, +turned round and said: + +“They have caught a government clerk in the town. They have taken him +away. The story is that with some Germans he killed Alexeyev, the Mayor, +in Moscow.” + +“Who told you that?” + +“They were reading it in the paper, in Ivan Ionov’s tavern.” + +And again they were silent for a long time. Marya Vassilyevna thought of +her school, of the examination that was coming soon, and of the girl and +four boys she was sending up for it. And just as she was thinking about +the examination, she was overtaken by a neighboring landowner called +Hanov in a carriage with four horses, the very man who had been examiner +in her school the year before. When he came up to her he recognized her +and bowed. + +“Good-morning,” he said to her. “You are driving home, I suppose.” + +This Hanov, a man of forty with a listless expression and a face that +showed signs of wear, was beginning to look old, but was still handsome +and admired by women. He lived in his big homestead alone, and was not +in the service; and people used to say of him that he did nothing at +home but walk up and down the room whistling, or play chess with his +old footman. People said, too, that he drank heavily. And indeed at the +examination the year before the very papers he brought with him smelt of +wine and scent. He had been dressed all in new clothes on that occasion, +and Marya Vassilyevna thought him very attractive, and all the while +she sat beside him she had felt embarrassed. She was accustomed to see +frigid and sensible examiners at the school, while this one did not +remember a single prayer, or know what to ask questions about, and +was exceedingly courteous and delicate, giving nothing but the highest +marks. + +“I am going to visit Bakvist,” he went on, addressing Marya Vassilyevna, +“but I am told he is not at home.” + +They turned off the highroad into a by-road to the village, Hanov +leading the way and Semyon following. The four horses moved at a walking +pace, with effort dragging the heavy carriage through the mud. Semyon +tacked from side to side, keeping to the edge of the road, at one time +through a snowdrift, at another through a pool, often jumping out of the +cart and helping the horse. Marya Vassilyevna was still thinking +about the school, wondering whether the arithmetic questions at the +examination would be difficult or easy. And she felt annoyed with +the Zemstvo board at which she had found no one the day before. How +unbusiness-like! Here she had been asking them for the last two years +to dismiss the watchman, who did nothing, was rude to her, and hit +the schoolboys; but no one paid any attention. It was hard to find the +president at the office, and when one did find him he would say with +tears in his eyes that he hadn’t a moment to spare; the inspector +visited the school at most once in three years, and knew nothing +whatever about his work, as he had been in the Excise Duties Department, +and had received the post of school inspector through influence. The +School Council met very rarely, and there was no knowing where it met; +the school guardian was an almost illiterate peasant, the head of +a tanning business, unintelligent, rude, and a great friend of the +watchman’s--and goodness knows to whom she could appeal with complaints +or inquiries.... + +“He really is handsome,” she thought, glancing at Hanov. + +The road grew worse and worse.... They drove into the wood. Here +there was no room to turn round, the wheels sank deeply in, water +splashed and gurgled through them, and sharp twigs struck them in the +face. + +“What a road!” said Hanov, and he laughed. + +The schoolmistress looked at him and could not understand why this queer +man lived here. What could his money, his interesting appearance, his +refined bearing do for him here, in this mud, in this God-forsaken, +dreary place? He got no special advantages out of life, and here, like +Semyon, was driving at a jog-trot on an appalling road and enduring +the same discomforts. Why live here if one could live in Petersburg or +abroad? And one would have thought it would be nothing for a rich man +like him to make a good road instead of this bad one, to avoid enduring +this misery and seeing the despair on the faces of his coachman and +Semyon; but he only laughed, and apparently did not mind, and wanted no +better life. He was kind, soft, naive, and he did not understand this +coarse life, just as at the examination he did not know the prayers. +He subscribed nothing to the schools but globes, and genuinely regarded +himself as a useful person and a prominent worker in the cause of +popular education. And what use were his globes here? + +“Hold on, Vassilyevna!” said Semyon. + +The cart lurched violently and was on the point of upsetting; something +heavy rolled on to Marya Vassilyevna’s feet--it was her parcel of +purchases. There was a steep ascent uphill through the clay; here in the +winding ditches rivulets were gurgling. The water seemed to have gnawed +away the road; and how could one get along here! The horses breathed +hard. Hanov got out of his carriage and walked at the side of the road +in his long overcoat. He was hot. + +“What a road!” he said, and laughed again. “It would soon smash up one’s +carriage.” + +“Nobody obliges you to drive about in such weather,” said Semyon +surlily. “You should stay at home.” + +“I am dull at home, grandfather. I don’t like staying at home.” + +Beside old Semyon he looked graceful and vigorous, but yet in his walk +there was something just perceptible which betrayed in him a being +already touched by decay, weak, and on the road to ruin. And all at once +there was a whiff of spirits in the wood. Marya Vassilyevna was filled +with dread and pity for this man going to his ruin for no visible cause +or reason, and it came into her mind that if she had been his wife or +sister she would have devoted her whole life to saving him from ruin. +His wife! Life was so ordered that here he was living in his great house +alone, and she was living in a God-forsaken village alone, and yet +for some reason the mere thought that he and she might be close to one +another and equals seemed impossible and absurd. In reality, life was +arranged and human relations were complicated so utterly beyond all +understanding that when one thought about it one felt uncanny and one’s +heart sank. + +“And it is beyond all understanding,” she thought, “why God gives +beauty, this graciousness, and sad, sweet eyes to weak, unlucky, useless +people--why they are so charming.” + +“Here we must turn off to the right,” said Hanov, getting into his +carriage. “Good-by! I wish you all things good!” + +And again she thought of her pupils, of the examination, of the +watchman, of the School Council; and when the wind brought the sound +of the retreating carriage these thoughts were mingled with others. She +longed to think of beautiful eyes, of love, of the happiness which would +never be.... + +His wife? It was cold in the morning, there was no one to heat the +stove, the watchman disappeared; the children came in as soon as it +was light, bringing in snow and mud and making a noise: it was all so +inconvenient, so comfortless. Her abode consisted of one little room and +the kitchen close by. Her head ached every day after her work, and +after dinner she had heart-burn. She had to collect money from the +school-children for wood and for the watchman, and to give it to +the school guardian, and then to entreat him--that overfed, insolent +peasant--for God’s sake to send her wood. And at night she dreamed of +examinations, peasants, snowdrifts. And this life was making her grow +old and coarse, making her ugly, angular, and awkward, as though she +were made of lead. She was always afraid, and she would get up from +her seat and not venture to sit down in the presence of a member of +the Zemstvo or the school guardian. And she used formal, deferential +expressions when she spoke of any one of them. And no one thought her +attractive, and life was passing drearily, without affection, without +friendly sympathy, without interesting acquaintances. How awful it would +have been in her position if she had fallen in love! + +“Hold on, Vassilyevna!” + +Again a sharp ascent uphill.... + +She had become a schoolmistress from necessity, without feeling any +vocation for it; and she had never thought of a vocation, of serving the +cause of enlightenment; and it always seemed to her that what was most +important in her work was not the children, nor enlightenment, but the +examinations. And what time had she for thinking of vocation, of serving +the cause of enlightenment? Teachers, badly paid doctors, and their +assistants, with their terribly hard work, have not even the comfort of +thinking that they are serving an idea or the people, as their heads are +always stuffed with thoughts of their daily bread, of wood for the fire, +of bad roads, of illnesses. It is a hard-working, an uninteresting life, +and only silent, patient cart-horses like Mary Vassilyevna could put up +with it for long; the lively, nervous, impressionable people who talked +about vocation and serving the idea were soon weary of it and gave up +the work. + +Semyon kept picking out the driest and shortest way, first by a meadow, +then by the backs of the village huts; but in one place the peasants +would not let them pass, in another it was the priest’s land and they +could not cross it, in another Ivan Ionov had bought a plot from the +landowner and had dug a ditch round it. They kept having to turn back. + +They reached Nizhneye Gorodistche. Near the tavern on the dung-strewn +earth, where the snow was still lying, there stood wagons that had +brought great bottles of crude sulphuric acid. There were a great many +people in the tavern, all drivers, and there was a smell of vodka, +tobacco, and sheepskins. There was a loud noise of conversation and +the banging of the swing-door. Through the wall, without ceasing for a +moment, came the sound of a concertina being played in the shop. +Marya Vassilyevna sat down and drank some tea, while at the next table +peasants were drinking vodka and beer, perspiring from the tea they had +just swallowed and the stifling fumes of the tavern. + +“I say, Kuzma!” voices kept shouting in confusion. “What there!” “The +Lord bless us!” “Ivan Dementyitch, I can tell you that!” “Look out, old +man!” + +A little pock-marked man with a black beard, who was quite drunk, was +suddenly surprised by something and began using bad language. + +“What are you swearing at, you there?” Semyon, who was sitting some way +off, responded angrily. “Don’t you see the young lady?” + +“The young lady!” someone mimicked in another corner. + +“Swinish crow!” + +“We meant nothing...” said the little man in confusion. “I beg +your pardon. We pay with our money and the young lady with hers. +Good-morning!” + +“Good-morning,” answered the schoolmistress. + +“And we thank you most feelingly.” + +Marya Vassilyevna drank her tea with satisfaction, and she, too, +began turning red like the peasants, and fell to thinking again about +firewood, about the watchman.... + +“Stay, old man,” she heard from the next table, “it’s the schoolmistress +from Vyazovye.... We know her; she’s a good young lady.” + +“She’s all right!” + +The swing-door was continually banging, some coming in, others going +out. Marya Vassilyevna sat on, thinking all the time of the same +things, while the concertina went on playing and playing. The patches of +sunshine had been on the floor, then they passed to the counter, to the +wall, and disappeared altogether; so by the sun it was past midday. The +peasants at the next table were getting ready to go. The little man, +somewhat unsteadily, went up to Marya Vassilyevna and held out his hand +to her; following his example, the others shook hands, too, at parting, +and went out one after another, and the swing-door squeaked and slammed +nine times. + +“Vassilyevna, get ready,” Semyon called to her. + +They set off. And again they went at a walking pace. + +“A little while back they were building a school here in their Nizhneye +Gorodistche,” said Semyon, turning round. “It was a wicked thing that +was done!” + +“Why, what?” + +“They say the president put a thousand in his pocket, and the school +guardian another thousand in his, and the teacher five hundred.” + +“The whole school only cost a thousand. It’s wrong to slander people, +grandfather. That’s all nonsense.” + +“I don’t know,... I only tell you what folks say.” + +But it was clear that Semyon did not believe the schoolmistress. The +peasants did not believe her. They always thought she received too large +a salary, twenty-one roubles a month (five would have been enough), and +that of the money that she collected from the children for the firewood +and the watchman the greater part she kept for herself. The guardian +thought the same as the peasants, and he himself made a profit off +the firewood and received payments from the peasants for being a +guardian--without the knowledge of the authorities. + +The forest, thank God! was behind them, and now it would be flat, open +ground all the way to Vyazovye, and there was not far to go now. They +had to cross the river and then the railway line, and then Vyazovye was +in sight. + +“Where are you driving?” Marya Vassilyevna asked Semyon. “Take the road +to the right to the bridge.” + +“Why, we can go this way as well. It’s not deep enough to matter.” + +“Mind you don’t drown the horse.” + +“What?” + +“Look, Hanov is driving to the bridge,” said Marya Vassilyevna, seeing +the four horses far away to the right. “It is he, I think.” + +“It is. So he didn’t find Bakvist at home. What a pig-headed fellow he +is. Lord have mercy upon us! He’s driven over there, and what for? It’s +fully two miles nearer this way.” + +They reached the river. In the summer it was a little stream easily +crossed by wading. It usually dried up in August, but now, after the +spring floods, it was a river forty feet in breadth, rapid, muddy, and +cold; on the bank and right up to the water there were fresh tracks of +wheels, so it had been crossed here. + +“Go on!” shouted Semyon angrily and anxiously, tugging violently at the +reins and jerking his elbows as a bird does its wings. “Go on!” + +The horse went on into the water up to his belly and stopped, but at +once went on again with an effort, and Marya Vassilyevna was aware of a +keen chilliness in her feet. + +“Go on!” she, too, shouted, getting up. “Go on!” + +They got out on the bank. + +“Nice mess it is, Lord have mercy upon us!” muttered Semyon, setting +straight the harness. “It’s a perfect plague with this Zemstvo....” + +Her shoes and goloshes were full of water, the lower part of her dress +and of her coat and one sleeve were wet and dripping: the sugar and +flour had got wet, and that was worst of all, and Marya Vassilyevna +could only clasp her hands in despair and say: + +“Oh, Semyon, Semyon! How tiresome you are really!...” + +The barrier was down at the railway crossing. A train was coming out +of the station. Marya Vassilyevna stood at the crossing waiting till +it should pass, and shivering all over with cold. Vyazovye was in sight +now, and the school with the green roof, and the church with its crosses +flashing in the evening sun: and the station windows flashed too, and +a pink smoke rose from the engine... and it seemed to her that +everything was trembling with cold. + +Here was the train; the windows reflected the gleaming light like the +crosses on the church: it made her eyes ache to look at them. On the +little platform between two first-class carriages a lady was standing, +and Marya Vassilyevna glanced at her as she passed. Her mother! What a +resemblance! Her mother had had just such luxuriant hair, just such a +brow and bend of the head. And with amazing distinctness, for the first +time in those thirteen years, there rose before her mind a vivid picture +of her mother, her father, her brother, their flat in Moscow, the +aquarium with little fish, everything to the tiniest detail; she heard +the sound of the piano, her father’s voice; she felt as she had been +then, young, good-looking, well-dressed, in a bright warm room among her +own people. A feeling of joy and happiness suddenly came over her, +she pressed her hands to her temples in an ecstacy, and called softly, +beseechingly: + +“Mother!” + +And she began crying, she did not know why. Just at that instant Hanov +drove up with his team of four horses, and seeing him she imagined +happiness such as she had never had, and smiled and nodded to him as +an equal and a friend, and it seemed to her that her happiness, her +triumph, was glowing in the sky and on all sides, in the windows and on +the trees. Her father and mother had never died, she had never been a +schoolmistress, it was a long, tedious, strange dream, and now she had +awakened.... + +“Vassilyevna, get in!” + +And at once it all vanished. The barrier was slowly raised. Marya +Vassilyevna, shivering and numb with cold, got into the cart. The +carriage with the four horses crossed the railway line; Semyon followed +it. The signalman took off his cap. + +“And here is Vyazovye. Here we are.” + + + + +A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN + +A MEDICAL student called Mayer, and a pupil of the Moscow School of +Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture called Rybnikov, went one evening +to see their friend Vassilyev, a law student, and suggested that he +should go with them to S. Street. For a long time Vassilyev would not +consent to go, but in the end he put on his greatcoat and went with +them. + +He knew nothing of fallen women except by hearsay and from books, and +he had never in his life been in the houses in which they live. He +knew that there are immoral women who, under the pressure of fatal +circumstances--environment, bad education, poverty, and so on--are +forced to sell their honor for money. They know nothing of pure love, +have no children, have no civil rights; their mothers and sisters weep +over them as though they were dead, science treats of them as an evil, +men address them with contemptuous familiarity. But in spite of +all that, they do not lose the semblance and image of God. They all +acknowledge their sin and hope for salvation. Of the means that lead to +salvation they can avail themselves to the fullest extent. Society, it +is true, will not forgive people their past, but in the sight of God St. +Mary of Egypt is no lower than the other saints. When it had happened +to Vassilyev in the street to recognize a fallen woman as such, by her +dress or her manners, or to see a picture of one in a comic paper, +he always remembered a story he had once read: a young man, pure and +self-sacrificing, loves a fallen woman and urges her to become his wife; +she, considering herself unworthy of such happiness, takes poison. + +Vassilyev lived in one of the side streets turning out of Tverskoy +Boulevard. When he came out of the house with his two friends it was +about eleven o’clock. The first snow had not long fallen, and all nature +was under the spell of the fresh snow. There was the smell of snow in +the air, the snow crunched softly under the feet; the earth, the roofs, +the trees, the seats on the boulevard, everything was soft, white, +young, and this made the houses look quite different from the day +before; the street lamps burned more brightly, the air was more +transparent, the carriages rumbled with a deeper note, and with the +fresh, light, frosty air a feeling stirred in the soul akin to the +white, youthful, feathery snow. “Against my will an unknown force,” + hummed the medical student in his agreeable tenor, “has led me to these +mournful shores.” + +“Behold the mill...” the artist seconded him, “in ruins now....” + +“Behold the mill... in ruins now,” the medical student repeated, +raising his eyebrows and shaking his head mournfully. + +He paused, rubbed his forehead, trying to remember the words, and then +sang aloud, so well that passers-by looked round: + + “Here in old days when I was free, + Love, free, unfettered, greeted me.” + +The three of them went into a restaurant and, without taking off their +greatcoats, drank a couple of glasses of vodka each. Before drinking the +second glass, Vassilyev noticed a bit of cork in his vodka, raised the +glass to his eyes, and gazed into it for a long time, screwing up +his shortsighted eyes. The medical student did not understand his +expression, and said: + +“Come, why look at it? No philosophizing, please. Vodka is given us to +be drunk, sturgeon to be eaten, women to be visited, snow to be walked +upon. For one evening anyway live like a human being!” + +“But I haven’t said anything...” said Vassilyev, laughing. “Am I +refusing to?” + +There was a warmth inside him from the vodka. He looked with softened +feelings at his friends, admired them and envied them. In these strong, +healthy, cheerful people how wonderfully balanced everything is, how +finished and smooth is everything in their minds and souls! They sing, +and have a passion for the theatre, and draw, and talk a great deal, +and drink, and they don’t have headaches the day after; they are both +poetical and debauched, both soft and hard; they can work, too, and be +indignant, and laugh without reason, and talk nonsense; they are warm, +honest, self-sacrificing, and as men are in no way inferior to himself, +Vassilyev, who watched over every step he took and every word he +uttered, who was fastidious and cautious, and ready to raise every +trifle to the level of a problem. And he longed for one evening to +live as his friends did, to open out, to let himself loose from his own +control. If vodka had to be drunk, he would drink it, though his head +would be splitting next morning. If he were taken to the women he would +go. He would laugh, play the fool, gaily respond to the passing advances +of strangers in the street.... + +He went out of the restaurant laughing. He liked his friends--one in a +crushed broad-brimmed hat, with an affectation of artistic untidiness; +the other in a sealskin cap, a man not poor, though he affected to +belong to the Bohemia of learning. He liked the snow, the pale street +lamps, the sharp black tracks left in the first snow by the feet of the +passers-by. He liked the air, and especially that limpid, tender, naive, +as it were virginal tone, which can be seen in nature only twice in the +year--when everything is covered with snow, and in spring on bright days +and moonlight evenings when the ice breaks on the river. + + “Against my will an unknown force, + Has led me to these mournful shores,” + +he hummed in an undertone. + +And the tune for some reason haunted him and his friends all the way, +and all three of them hummed it mechanically, not in time with one +another. + +Vassilyev’s imagination was picturing how, in another ten minutes, he +and his friends would knock at a door; how by little dark passages and +dark rooms they would steal in to the women; how, taking advantage of +the darkness, he would strike a match, would light up and see the +face of a martyr and a guilty smile. The unknown, fair or dark, would +certainly have her hair down and be wearing a white dressing-jacket; she +would be panic-stricken by the light, would be fearfully confused, and +would say: “For God’s sake, what are you doing! Put it out!” It would +all be dreadful, but interesting and new. + +The friends turned out of Trubnoy Square into Gratchevka, and soon +reached the side street which Vassilyev only knew by reputation. Seeing +two rows of houses with brightly lighted windows and wide-open doors, +and hearing gay strains of pianos and violins, sounds which floated +out from every door and mingled in a strange chaos, as though an unseen +orchestra were tuning up in the darkness above the roofs, Vassilyev was +surprised and said: + +“What a lot of houses!” + +“That’s nothing,” said the medical student. “In London there are ten +times as many. There are about a hundred thousand such women there.” + +The cabmen were sitting on their boxes as calmly and indifferently as +in any other side street; the same passers-by were walking along the +pavement as in other streets. No one was hurrying, no one was hiding his +face in his coat-collar, no one shook his head reproachfully.... And +in this indifference to the noisy chaos of pianos and violins, to the +bright windows and wide-open doors, there was a feeling of something +very open, insolent, reckless, and devil-may-care. Probably it was as +gay and noisy at the slave-markets in their day, and people’s faces and +movements showed the same indifference. + +“Let us begin from the beginning,” said the artist. + +The friends went into a narrow passage lighted by a lamp with a +reflector. When they opened the door a man in a black coat, with an +unshaven face like a flunkey’s, and sleepy-looking eyes, got up lazily +from a yellow sofa in the hall. The place smelt like a laundry with an +odor of vinegar in addition. A door from the hall led into a brightly +lighted room. The medical student and the artist stopped at this door +and, craning their necks, peeped into the room. + +“Buona sera, signori, rigolleto--hugenotti--traviata!” began the artist, +with a theatrical bow. + +“Havanna--tarakano--pistoleto!” said the medical student, pressing his +cap to his breast and bowing low. + +Vassilyev was standing behind them. He would have liked to make a +theatrical bow and say something silly, too, but he only smiled, felt an +awkwardness that was like shame, and waited impatiently for what would +happen next. + +A little fair girl of seventeen or eighteen, with short hair, in a short +light-blue frock with a bunch of white ribbon on her bosom, appeared in +the doorway. + +“Why do you stand at the door?” she said. “Take off your coats and come +into the drawing-room.” + +The medical student and the artist, still talking Italian, went into the +drawing-room. Vassilyev followed them irresolutely. + +“Gentlemen, take off your coats!” the flunkey said sternly; “you can’t +go in like that.” + +In the drawing-room there was, besides the girl, another woman, very +stout and tall, with a foreign face and bare arms. She was sitting near +the piano, laying out a game of patience on her lap. She took no notice +whatever of the visitors. + +“Where are the other young ladies?” asked the medical student. + +“They are having their tea,” said the fair girl. “Stepan,” she called, +“go and tell the young ladies some students have come!” + +A little later a third young lady came into the room. She was wearing +a bright red dress with blue stripes. Her face was painted thickly +and unskillfully, her brow was hidden under her hair, and there was an +unblinking, frightened stare in her eyes. As she came in, she began +at once singing some song in a coarse, powerful contralto. After her a +fourth appeared, and after her a fifth.... + +In all this Vassilyev saw nothing new or interesting. It seemed to him +that that room, the piano, the looking-glass in its cheap gilt frame, +the bunch of white ribbon, the dress with the blue stripes, and the +blank indifferent faces, he had seen before and more than once. Of the +darkness, the silence, the secrecy, the guilty smile, of all that he had +expected to meet here and had dreaded, he saw no trace. + +Everything was ordinary, prosaic, and uninteresting. Only one thing +faintly stirred his curiosity--the terrible, as it were intentionally +designed, bad taste which was visible in the cornices, in the absurd +pictures, in the dresses, in the bunch of ribbons. There was something +characteristic and peculiar in this bad taste. + +“How poor and stupid it all is!” thought Vassilyev. “What is there in +all this trumpery I see now that can tempt a normal man and excite +him to commit the horrible sin of buying a human being for a rouble? +I understand any sin for the sake of splendor, beauty, grace, passion, +taste; but what is there here? What is there here worth sinning for? +But... one mustn’t think!” + +“Beardy, treat me to some porter!” said the fair girl, addressing him. + +Vassilyev was at once overcome with confusion. + +“With pleasure,” he said, bowing politely. “Only excuse me, madam, +I.... I won’t drink with you. I don’t drink.” + +Five minutes later the friends went off into another house. + +“Why did you ask for porter?” said the medical student angrily. “What +a millionaire! You have thrown away six roubles for no reason +whatever--simply waste!” + +“If she wants it, why not let her have the pleasure?” said Vassilyev, +justifying himself. + +“You did not give pleasure to her, but to the ‘Madam.’ They are told +to ask the visitors to stand them treat because it is a profit to the +keeper.” + +“Behold the mill...” hummed the artist, “in ruins now....” + +Going into the next house, the friends stopped in the hall and did not +go into the drawing-room. Here, as in the first house, a figure in a +black coat, with a sleepy face like a flunkey’s, got up from a sofa +in the hall. Looking at this flunkey, at his face and his shabby black +coat, Vassilyev thought: “What must an ordinary simple Russian have gone +through before fate flung him down as a flunkey here? Where had he been +before and what had he done? What was awaiting him? Was he married? +Where was his mother, and did she know that he was a servant here?” + And Vassilyev could not help particularly noticing the flunkey in each +house. In one of the houses--he thought it was the fourth--there was a +little spare, frail-looking flunkey with a watch-chain on his waistcoat. +He was reading a newspaper, and took no notice of them when they went +in. Looking at his face Vassilyev, for some reason, thought that a man +with such a face might steal, might murder, might bear false witness. +But the face was really interesting: a big forehead, gray eyes, a little +flattened nose, thin compressed lips, and a blankly stupid and at the +same time insolent expression like that of a young harrier overtaking +a hare. Vassilyev thought it would be nice to touch this man’s hair, to +see whether it was soft or coarse. It must be coarse like a dog’s. + +III + +Having drunk two glasses of porter, the artist became suddenly tipsy and +grew unnaturally lively. + +“Let’s go to another!” he said peremptorily, waving his hands. “I will +take you to the best one.” + +When he had brought his friends to the house which in his opinion was +the best, he declared his firm intention of dancing a quadrille. +The medical student grumbled something about their having to pay +the musicians a rouble, but agreed to be his _vis-a-vis_. They began +dancing. + +It was just as nasty in the best house as in the worst. Here there were +just the same looking-glasses and pictures, the same styles of coiffure +and dress. Looking round at the furnishing of the rooms and the +costumes, Vassilyev realized that this was not lack of taste, but +something that might be called the taste, and even the style, of S. +Street, which could not be found elsewhere--something intentional in its +ugliness, not accidental, but elaborated in the course of years. After +he had been in eight houses he was no longer surprised at the color of +the dresses, at the long trains, the gaudy ribbons, the sailor dresses, +and the thick purplish rouge on the cheeks; he saw that it all had to +be like this, that if a single one of the women had been dressed like a +human being, or if there had been one decent engraving on the wall, the +general tone of the whole street would have suffered. + +“How unskillfully they sell themselves!” he thought. “How can they +fail to understand that vice is only alluring when it is beautiful and +hidden, when it wears the mask of virtue? Modest black dresses, pale +faces, mournful smiles, and darkness would be far more effective than +this clumsy tawdriness. Stupid things! If they don’t understand it of +themselves, their visitors might surely have taught them....” + +A young lady in a Polish dress edged with white fur came up to him and +sat down beside him. + +“You nice dark man, why aren’t you dancing?” she asked. “Why are you so +dull?” + +“Because it is dull.” + +“Treat me to some Lafitte. Then it won’t be dull.” + +Vassilyev made no answer. He was silent for a little, and then asked: + +“What time do you get to sleep?” + +“At six o’clock.” + +“And what time do you get up?” + +“Sometimes at two and sometimes at three.” + +“And what do you do when you get up?” + +“We have coffee, and at six o’clock we have dinner.” + +“And what do you have for dinner?” + +“Usually soup, beefsteak, and dessert. Our madam keeps the girls well. +But why do you ask all this?” + +“Oh, just to talk....” + +Vassilyev longed to talk to the young lady about many things. He felt an +intense desire to find out where she came from, whether her parents were +living, and whether they knew that she was here; how she had come +into this house; whether she were cheerful and satisfied, or sad and +oppressed by gloomy thoughts; whether she hoped some day to get out of +her present position.... But he could not think how to begin or +in what shape to put his questions so as not to seem impertinent. He +thought for a long time, and asked: + +“How old are you?” + +“Eighty,” the young lady jested, looking with a laugh at the antics of +the artist as he danced. + +All at once she burst out laughing at something, and uttered a long +cynical sentence loud enough to be heard by everyone. Vassilyev was +aghast, and not knowing how to look, gave a constrained smile. He was +the only one who smiled; all the others, his friends, the musicians, the +women, did not even glance towards his neighbor, but seemed not to have +heard her. + +“Stand me some Lafitte,” his neighbor said again. + +Vassilyev felt a repulsion for her white fur and for her voice, and +walked away from her. It seemed to him hot and stifling, and his heart +began throbbing slowly but violently, like a hammer--one! two! three! + +“Let us go away!” he said, pulling the artist by his sleeve. + +“Wait a little; let me finish.” + +While the artist and the medical student were finishing the quadrille, +to avoid looking at the women, Vassilyev scrutinized the musicians. A +respectable-looking old man in spectacles, rather like Marshal Bazaine, +was playing the piano; a young man with a fair beard, dressed in the +latest fashion, was playing the violin. The young man had a face that +did not look stupid nor exhausted, but intelligent, youthful, and fresh. +He was dressed fancifully and with taste; he played with feeling. It was +a mystery how he and the respectable-looking old man had come here. How +was it they were not ashamed to sit here? What were they thinking about +when they looked at the women? + +If the violin and the piano had been played by men in rags, looking +hungry, gloomy, drunken, with dissipated or stupid faces, then one could +have understood their presence, perhaps. As it was, Vassilyev could not +understand it at all. He recalled the story of the fallen woman he had +once read, and he thought now that that human figure with the guilty +smile had nothing in common with what he was seeing now. It seemed to +him that he was seeing not fallen women, but some different world quite +apart, alien to him and incomprehensible; if he had seen this world +before on the stage, or read of it in a book, he would not have believed +in it.... + +The woman with the white fur burst out laughing again and uttered a +loathsome sentence in a loud voice. A feeling of disgust took possession +of him. He flushed crimson and went out of the room. + +“Wait a minute, we are coming too!” the artist shouted to him. + +IV + +“While we were dancing,” said the medical student, as they all three +went out into the street, “I had a conversation with my partner. We +talked about her first romance. He, the hero, was an accountant at +Smolensk with a wife and five children. She was seventeen, and she lived +with her papa and mamma, who sold soap and candles.” + +“How did he win her heart?” asked Vassilyev. + +“By spending fifty roubles on underclothes for her. What next!” + +“So he knew how to get his partner’s story out of her,” thought +Vassilyev about the medical student. “But I don’t know how to.” + +“I say, I am going home!” he said. + +“What for?” + +“Because I don’t know how to behave here. Besides, I am bored, +disgusted. What is there amusing in it? If they were human beings--but +they are savages and animals. I am going; do as you like.” + +“Come, Grisha, Grigory, darling...” said the artist in a tearful +voice, hugging Vassilyev, “come along! Let’s go to one more together and +damnation take them!... Please do, Grisha!” + +They persuaded Vassilyev and led him up a staircase. In the carpet and +the gilt banisters, in the porter who opened the door, and in the panels +that decorated the hall, the same S. Street style was apparent, but +carried to a greater perfection, more imposing. + +“I really will go home!” said Vassilyev as he was taking off his coat. + +“Come, come, dear boy,” said the artist, and he kissed him on the neck. +“Don’t be tiresome.... Gri-gri, be a good comrade! We came together, +we will go back together. What a beast you are, really!” + +“I can wait for you in the street. I think it’s loathsome, really!” + +“Come, come, Grisha.... If it is loathsome, you can observe it! Do +you understand? You can observe!” + +“One must take an objective view of things,” said the medical student +gravely. + +Vassilyev went into the drawing-room and sat down. There were a number +of visitors in the room besides him and his friends: two infantry +officers, a bald, gray-haired gentleman in spectacles, two beardless +youths from the institute of land-surveying, and a very tipsy man who +looked like an actor. All the young ladies were taken up with these +visitors and paid no attention to Vassilyev. + +Only one of them, dressed _a la Aida,_ glanced sideways at him, smiled, +and said, yawning: “A dark one has come....” + +Vassilyev’s heart was throbbing and his face burned. He felt ashamed +before these visitors of his presence here, and he felt disgusted and +miserable. He was tormented by the thought that he, a decent and loving +man (such as he had hitherto considered himself), hated these women and +felt nothing but repulsion towards them. He felt pity neither for the +women nor the musicians nor the flunkeys. + +“It is because I am not trying to understand them,” he thought. “They +are all more like animals than human beings, but of course they are +human beings all the same, they have souls. One must understand them +and then judge....” + +“Grisha, don’t go, wait for us,” the artist shouted to him and +disappeared. + +The medical student disappeared soon after. + +“Yes, one must make an effort to understand, one mustn’t be like +this....” Vassilyev went on thinking. + +And he began gazing at each of the women with strained attention, +looking for a guilty smile. But either he did not know how to read their +faces, or not one of these women felt herself to be guilty; he read on +every face nothing but a blank expression of everyday vulgar boredom and +complacency. Stupid faces, stupid smiles, harsh, stupid voices, insolent +movements, and nothing else. Apparently each of them had in the past a +romance with an accountant based on underclothes for fifty roubles, and +looked for no other charm in the present but coffee, a dinner of three +courses, wines, quadrilles, sleeping till two in the afternoon.... + +Finding no guilty smile, Vassilyev began to look whether there was not +one intelligent face. And his attention was caught by one pale, rather +sleepy, exhausted-looking face.... It was a dark woman, not very +young, wearing a dress covered with spangles; she was sitting in an +easy-chair, looking at the floor lost in thought. Vassilyev walked from +one corner of the room to the other, and, as though casually, sat down +beside her. + +“I must begin with something trivial,” he thought, “and pass to what is +serious....” + +“What a pretty dress you have,” and with his finger he touched the gold +fringe of her fichu. + +“Oh, is it?...” said the dark woman listlessly. + +“What province do you come from?” + +“I? From a distance.... From Tchernigov.” + +“A fine province. It’s nice there.” + +“Any place seems nice when one is not in it.” + +“It’s a pity I cannot describe nature,” thought Vassilyev. “I might +touch her by a description of nature in Tchernigov. No doubt she loves +the place if she has been born there.” + +“Are you dull here?” he asked. + +“Of course I am dull.” + +“Why don’t you go away from here if you are dull?” + +“Where should I go to? Go begging or what?” + +“Begging would be easier than living here.” + +“How do you know that? Have you begged?” + +“Yes, when I hadn’t the money to study. Even if I hadn’t anyone could +understand that. A beggar is anyway a free man, and you are a slave.” + +The dark woman stretched, and watched with sleepy eyes the footman who +was bringing a trayful of glasses and seltzer water. + +“Stand me a glass of porter,” she said, and yawned again. + +“Porter,” thought Vassilyev. “And what if your brother or mother walked +in at this moment? What would you say? And what would they say? There +would be porter then, I imagine....” + +All at once there was the sound of weeping. From the adjoining room, +from which the footman had brought the seltzer water, a fair man with +a red face and angry eyes ran in quickly. He was followed by the tall, +stout “madam,” who was shouting in a shrill voice: + +“Nobody has given you leave to slap girls on the cheeks! We have +visitors better than you, and they don’t fight! Impostor!” + +A hubbub arose. Vassilyev was frightened and turned pale. In the next +room there was the sound of bitter, genuine weeping, as though of +someone insulted. And he realized that there were real people living +here who, like people everywhere else, felt insulted, suffered, wept, +and cried for help. The feeling of oppressive hate and disgust gave way +to an acute feeling of pity and anger against the aggressor. He rushed +into the room where there was weeping. Across rows of bottles on a +marble-top table he distinguished a suffering face, wet with tears, +stretched out his hands towards that face, took a step towards the +table, but at once drew back in horror. The weeping girl was drunk. + +As he made his way though the noisy crowd gathered about the fair man, +his heart sank and he felt frightened like a child; and it seemed to him +that in this alien, incomprehensible world people wanted to pursue him, +to beat him, to pelt him with filthy words.... He tore down his coat +from the hatstand and ran headlong downstairs. + +V + +Leaning against the fence, he stood near the house waiting for his +friends to come out. The sounds of the pianos and violins, gay, +reckless, insolent, and mournful, mingled in the air in a sort of chaos, +and this tangle of sounds seemed again like an unseen orchestra tuning +up on the roofs. If one looked upwards into the darkness, the black +background was all spangled with white, moving spots: it was snow +falling. As the snowflakes came into the light they floated round lazily +in the air like down, and still more lazily fell to the ground. The +snowflakes whirled thickly round Vassilyev and hung upon his beard, +his eyelashes, his eyebrows.... The cabmen, the horses, and the +passers-by were white. + +“And how can the snow fall in this street!” thought Vassilyev. +“Damnation take these houses!” + +His legs seemed to be giving way from fatigue, simply from having run +down the stairs; he gasped for breath as though he had been climbing +uphill, his heart beat so loudly that he could hear it. He was consumed +by a desire to get out of the street as quickly as possible and to go +home, but even stronger was his desire to wait for his companions and +vent upon them his oppressive feeling. + +There was much he did not understand in these houses, the souls of +ruined women were a mystery to him as before; but it was clear to him +that the thing was far worse than could have been believed. If that +sinful woman who had poisoned herself was called fallen, it was +difficult to find a fitting name for all these who were dancing now to +this tangle of sound and uttering long, loathsome sentences. They were +not on the road to ruin, but ruined. + +“There is vice,” he thought, “but neither consciousness of sin nor +hope of salvation. They are sold and bought, steeped in wine and +abominations, while they, like sheep, are stupid, indifferent, and don’t +understand. My God! My God!” + +It was clear to him, too, that everything that is called human dignity, +personal rights, the Divine image and semblance, were defiled to their +very foundations--“to the very marrow,” as drunkards say--and that not +only the street and the stupid women were responsible for it. + +A group of students, white with snow, passed him laughing and talking +gaily; one, a tall thin fellow, stopped, glanced into Vassilyev’s face, +and said in a drunken voice: + +“One of us! A bit on, old man? Aha-ha! Never mind, have a good time! +Don’t be down-hearted, old chap!” + +He took Vassilyev by the shoulder and pressed his cold wet mustache +against his cheek, then he slipped, staggered, and, waving both hands, +cried: + +“Hold on! Don’t upset!” + +And laughing, he ran to overtake his companions. + +Through the noise came the sound of the artist’s voice: + +“Don’t you dare to hit the women! I won’t let you, damnation take you! +You scoundrels!” + +The medical student appeared in the doorway. He looked from side to +side, and seeing Vassilyev, said in an agitated voice: + +“You here! I tell you it’s really impossible to go anywhere with Yegor! +What a fellow he is! I don’t understand him! He has got up a scene! Do +you hear? Yegor!” he shouted at the door. “Yegor!” + +“I won’t allow you to hit women!” the artist’s piercing voice sounded +from above. Something heavy and lumbering rolled down the stairs. It was +the artist falling headlong. Evidently he had been pushed downstairs. + +He picked himself up from the ground, shook his hat, and, with an angry +and indignant face, brandished his fist towards the top of the stairs +and shouted: + +“Scoundrels! Torturers! Bloodsuckers! I won’t allow you to hit them! To +hit a weak, drunken woman! Oh, you brutes!...” + +“Yegor!... Come, Yegor!...” the medical student began imploring +him. “I give you my word of honor I’ll never come with you again. On my +word of honor I won’t!” + +Little by little the artist was pacified and the friends went homewards. + +“Against my will an unknown force,” hummed the medical student, “has led +me to these mournful shores.” + +“Behold the mill,” the artist chimed in a little later, “in ruins now. +What a lot of snow, Holy Mother! Grisha, why did you go? You are a funk, +a regular old woman.” + +Vassilyev walked behind his companions, looked at their backs, and +thought: + +“One of two things: either we only fancy prostitution is an evil, and +we exaggerate it; or, if prostitution really is as great an evil as is +generally assumed, these dear friends of mine are as much slaveowners, +violators, and murderers, as the inhabitants of Syria and Cairo, that +are described in the ‘Neva.’ Now they are singing, laughing, talking +sense, but haven’t they just been exploiting hunger, ignorance, and +stupidity? They have--I have been a witness of it. What is the use of +their humanity, their medicine, their painting? The science, art, and +lofty sentiments of these soul-destroyers remind me of the piece of +bacon in the story. Two brigands murdered a beggar in a forest; they +began sharing his clothes between them, and found in his wallet a piece +of bacon. ‘Well found,’ said one of them, ‘let us have a bit.’ ‘What do +you mean? How can you?’ cried the other in horror. ‘Have you forgotten +that to-day is Wednesday?’ And they would not eat it. After murdering a +man, they came out of the forest in the firm conviction that they were +keeping the fast. In the same way these men, after buying women, go +their way imagining that they are artists and men of science....” + +“Listen!” he said sharply and angrily. “Why do you come here? Is it +possible--is it possible you don’t understand how horrible it is? Your +medical books tell you that every one of these women dies prematurely of +consumption or something; art tells you that morally they are dead even +earlier. Every one of them dies because she has in her time to entertain +five hundred men on an average, let us say. Each one of them is killed +by five hundred men. You are among those five hundred! If each of you in +the course of your lives visits this place or others like it two hundred +and fifty times, it follows that one woman is killed for every two of +you! Can’t you understand that? Isn’t it horrible to murder, two of you, +three of you, five of you, a foolish, hungry woman! Ah! isn’t it awful, +my God!” + +“I knew it would end like that,” the artist said frowning. “We ought not +to have gone with this fool and ass! You imagine you have grand notions +in your head now, ideas, don’t you? No, it’s the devil knows what, but +not ideas. You are looking at me now with hatred and repulsion, but I +tell you it’s better you should set up twenty more houses like those +than look like that. There’s more vice in your expression than in the +whole street! Come along, Volodya, let him go to the devil! He’s a fool +and an ass, and that’s all....” + +“We human beings do murder each other,” said the medical student. “It’s +immoral, of course, but philosophizing doesn’t help it. Good-by!” + +At Trubnoy Square the friends said good-by and parted. When he was left +alone, Vassilyev strode rapidly along the boulevard. He felt frightened +of the darkness, of the snow which was falling in heavy flakes on the +ground, and seemed as though it would cover up the whole world; he +felt frightened of the street lamps shining with pale light through +the clouds of snow. His soul was possessed by an unaccountable, +faint-hearted terror. Passers-by came towards him from time to time, +but he timidly moved to one side; it seemed to him that women, none but +women, were coming from all sides and staring at him.... + +“It’s beginning,” he thought, “I am going to have a breakdown.” + +VI + +At home he lay on his bed and said, shuddering all over: “They are +alive! Alive! My God, those women are alive!” + +He encouraged his imagination in all sorts of ways to picture himself +the brother of a fallen woman, or her father; then a fallen woman +herself, with her painted cheeks; and it all moved him to horror. + +It seemed to him that he must settle the question at once at all costs, +and that this question was not one that did not concern him, but was his +own personal problem. He made an immense effort, repressed his despair, +and, sitting on the bed, holding his head in his hands, began thinking +how one could save all the women he had seen that day. The method for +attacking problems of all kinds was, as he was an educated man, well +known to him. And, however excited he was, he strictly adhered to that +method. He recalled the history of the problem and its literature, and +for a quarter of an hour he paced from one end of the room to the other +trying to remember all the methods practiced at the present time for +saving women. He had very many good friends and acquaintances who lived +in lodgings in Petersburg.... Among them were a good many honest and +self-sacrificing men. Some of them had attempted to save women.... + +“All these not very numerous attempts,” thought Vassilyev, “can be +divided into three groups. Some, after buying the woman out of the +brothel, took a room for her, bought her a sewing-machine, and she +became a semptress. And whether he wanted to or not, after having bought +her out he made her his mistress; then when he had taken his degree, he +went away and handed her into the keeping of some other decent man as +though she were a thing. And the fallen woman remained a fallen woman. +Others, after buying her out, took a lodging apart for her, bought the +inevitable sewing-machine, and tried teaching her to read, preaching at +her and giving her books. The woman lived and sewed as long as it was +interesting and a novelty to her, then getting bored, began receiving +men on the sly, or ran away and went back where she could sleep till +three o’clock, drink coffee, and have good dinners. The third class, the +most ardent and self-sacrificing, had taken a bold, resolute step. +They had married them. And when the insolent and spoilt, or stupid and +crushed animal became a wife, the head of a household, and afterwards a +mother, it turned her whole existence and attitude to life upside down, +so that it was hard to recognize the fallen woman afterwards in the wife +and the mother. Yes, marriage was the best and perhaps the only means.” + +“But it is impossible!” Vassilyev said aloud, and he sank upon his bed. +“I, to begin with, could not marry one! To do that one must be a saint +and be unable to feel hatred or repulsion. But supposing that I, +the medical student, and the artist mastered ourselves and did marry +them--suppose they were all married. What would be the result? The +result would be that while here in Moscow they were being married, some +Smolensk accountant would be debauching another lot, and that lot would +be streaming here to fill the vacant places, together with others from +Saratov, Nizhni-Novgorod, Warsaw.... And what is one to do with the +hundred thousand in London? What’s one to do with those in Hamburg?” + +The lamp in which the oil had burnt down began to smoke. Vassilyev did +not notice it. He began pacing to and fro again, still thinking. Now he +put the question differently: what must be done that fallen women should +not be needed? For that, it was essential that the men who buy them +and do them to death should feel all the immorality of their share in +enslaving them and should be horrified. One must save the men. + +“One won’t do anything by art and science, that is clear...” thought +Vassilyev. “The only way out of it is missionary work.” + +And he began to dream how he would the next evening stand at the corner +of the street and say to every passer-by: “Where are you going and what +for? Have some fear of God!” + +He would turn to the apathetic cabmen and say to them: “Why are you +staying here? Why aren’t you revolted? Why aren’t you indignant? I +suppose you believe in God and know that it is a sin, that people go to +hell for it? Why don’t you speak? It is true that they are strangers +to you, but you know even they have fathers, brothers like +yourselves....” + +One of Vassilyev’s friends had once said of him that he was a talented +man. There are all sorts of talents--talent for writing, talent for +the stage, talent for art; but he had a peculiar talent--a talent for +_humanity_. He possessed an extraordinarily fine delicate scent for pain +in general. As a good actor reflects in himself the movements and voice +of others, so Vassilyev could reflect in his soul the sufferings of +others. When he saw tears, he wept; beside a sick man, he felt sick +himself and moaned; if he saw an act of violence, he felt as though he +himself were the victim of it, he was frightened as a child, and in his +fright ran to help. The pain of others worked on his nerves, excited +him, roused him to a state of frenzy, and so on. + +Whether this friend were right I don’t know, but what Vassilyev +experienced when he thought this question was settled was something like +inspiration. He cried and laughed, spoke aloud the words that he should +say next day, felt a fervent love for those who would listen to him and +would stand beside him at the corner of the street to preach; he sat +down to write letters, made vows to himself.... + +All this was like inspiration also from the fact that it did not last +long. Vassilyev was soon tired. The cases in London, in Hamburg, in +Warsaw, weighed upon him by their mass as a mountain weighs upon the +earth; he felt dispirited, bewildered, in the face of this mass; he +remembered that he had not a gift for words, that he was cowardly +and timid, that indifferent people would not be willing to listen +and understand him, a law student in his third year, a timid and +insignificant person; that genuine missionary work included not only +teaching but deeds... + + +When it was daylight and carriages were already beginning to rumble in +the street, Vassilyev was lying motionless on the sofa, staring into +space. He was no longer thinking of the women, nor of the men, nor of +missionary work. His whole attention was turned upon the spiritual agony +which was torturing him. It was a dull, vague, undefined anguish akin to +misery, to an extreme form of terror and to despair. He could point +to the place where the pain was, in his breast under his heart; but +he could not compare it with anything. In the past he had had acute +toothache, he had had pleurisy and neuralgia, but all that was +insignificant compared with this spiritual anguish. In the presence of +that pain life seemed loathsome. The dissertation, the excellent work +he had written already, the people he loved, the salvation of fallen +women--everything that only the day before he had cared about or been +indifferent to, now when he thought of them irritated him in the same +way as the noise of the carriages, the scurrying footsteps of the +waiters in the passage, the daylight.... If at that moment someone +had performed a great deed of mercy or had committed a revolting +outrage, he would have felt the same repulsion for both actions. Of all +the thoughts that strayed through his mind only two did not irritate +him: one was that at every moment he had the power to kill himself, the +other that this agony would not last more than three days. This last he +knew by experience. + +After lying for a while he got up and, wringing his hands, walked about +the room, not as usual from corner to corner, but round the room beside +the walls. As he passed he glanced at himself in the looking-glass. His +face looked pale and sunken, his temples looked hollow, his eyes were +bigger, darker, more staring, as though they belonged to someone else, +and they had an expression of insufferable mental agony. + +At midday the artist knocked at the door. + +“Grigory, are you at home?” he asked. + +Getting no answer, he stood for a minute, pondered, and answered +himself in Little Russian: “Nay. The confounded fellow has gone to the +University.” + +And he went away. Vassilyev lay down on the bed and, thrusting his head +under the pillow, began crying with agony, and the more freely his tears +flowed the more terrible his mental anguish became. As it began to get +dark, he thought of the agonizing night awaiting him, and was overcome +by a horrible despair. He dressed quickly, ran out of his room, and, +leaving his door wide open, for no object or reason, went out into the +street. Without asking himself where he should go, he walked quickly +along Sadovoy Street. + +Snow was falling as heavily as the day before; it was thawing. Thrusting +his hands into his sleeves, shuddering and frightened at the noises, +at the trambells, and at the passers-by, Vassilyev walked along Sadovoy +Street as far as Suharev Tower; then to the Red Gate; from there he +turned off to Basmannya Street. He went into a tavern and drank off +a big glass of vodka, but that did not make him feel better. When he +reached Razgulya he turned to the right, and strode along side streets +in which he had never been before in his life. He reached the old bridge +by which the Yauza runs gurgling, and from which one can see long rows +of lights in the windows of the Red Barracks. To distract his spiritual +anguish by some new sensation or some other pain, Vassilyev, not knowing +what to do, crying and shuddering, undid his greatcoat and jacket and +exposed his bare chest to the wet snow and the wind. But that did not +lessen his suffering either. Then he bent down over the rail of the +bridge and looked down into the black, yeasty Yauza, and he longed to +plunge down head foremost; not from loathing for life, not for the sake +of suicide, but in order to bruise himself at least, and by one pain to +ease the other. But the black water, the darkness, the deserted banks +covered with snow were terrifying. He shivered and walked on. He walked +up and down by the Red Barracks, then turned back and went down to a +copse, from the copse back to the bridge again. + +“No, home, home!” he thought. “At home I believe it’s better...” + +And he went back. When he reached home he pulled off his wet coat and +cap, began pacing round the room, and went on pacing round and round +without stopping till morning. + +VII + +When next morning the artist and the medical student went in to him, +he was moving about the room with his shirt torn, biting his hands and +moaning with pain. + +“For God’s sake!” he sobbed when he saw his friends, “take me where you +please, do what you can; but for God’s sake, save me quickly! I shall +kill myself!” + +The artist turned pale and was helpless. The medical student, too, +almost shed tears, but considering that doctors ought to be cool and +composed in every emergency said coldly: + +“It’s a nervous breakdown. But it’s nothing. Let us go at once to the +doctor.” + +“Wherever you like, only for God’s sake, make haste!” + +“Don’t excite yourself. You must try and control yourself.” + +The artist and the medical student with trembling hands put Vassilyev’s +coat and hat on and led him out into the street. + +“Mihail Sergeyitch has been wanting to make your acquaintance for a long +time,” the medical student said on the way. “He is a very nice man and +thoroughly good at his work. He took his degree in 1882, and he has +an immense practice already. He treats students as though he were one +himself.” + +“Make haste, make haste!...” Vassilyev urged. + +Mihail Sergeyitch, a stout, fair-haired doctor, received the friends +with politeness and frigid dignity, and smiled only on one side of his +face. + +“Rybnikov and Mayer have spoken to me of your illness already,” he said. +“Very glad to be of service to you. Well? Sit down, I beg....” + +He made Vassilyev sit down in a big armchair near the table, and moved a +box of cigarettes towards him. + +“Now then!” he began, stroking his knees. “Let us get to work.... How +old are you?” + +He asked questions and the medical student answered them. He asked +whether Vassilyev’s father had suffered from certain special diseases, +whether he drank to excess, whether he were remarkable for cruelty or +any peculiarities. He made similar inquiries about his grandfather, +mother, sisters, and brothers. On learning that his mother had a +beautiful voice and sometimes acted on the stage, he grew more animated +at once, and asked: + +“Excuse me, but don’t you remember, perhaps, your mother had a passion +for the stage?” + +Twenty minutes passed. Vassilyev was annoyed by the way the doctor kept +stroking his knees and talking of the same thing. + +“So far as I understand your questions, doctor,” he said, “you want to +know whether my illness is hereditary or not. It is not.” + +The doctor proceeded to ask Vassilyev whether he had had any secret +vices as a boy, or had received injuries to his head; whether he had had +any aberrations, any peculiarities, or exceptional propensities. Half +the questions usually asked by doctors of their patients can be left +unanswered without the slightest ill effect on the health, but Mihail +Sergeyitch, the medical student, and the artist all looked as though +if Vassilyev failed to answer one question all would be lost. As he +received answers, the doctor for some reason noted them down on a slip +of paper. On learning that Vassilyev had taken his degree in natural +science, and was now studying law, the doctor pondered. + +“He wrote a first-rate piece of original work last year,...” said the +medical student. + +“I beg your pardon, but don’t interrupt me; you prevent me from +concentrating,” said the doctor, and he smiled on one side of his +face. “Though, of course, that does enter into the diagnosis. Intense +intellectual work, nervous exhaustion.... Yes, yes.... And do you +drink vodka?” he said, addressing Vassilyev. + +“Very rarely.” + +Another twenty minutes passed. The medical student began telling the +doctor in a low voice his opinion as to the immediate cause of +the attack, and described how the day before yesterday the artist, +Vassilyev, and he had visited S. Street. + +The indifferent, reserved, and frigid tone in which his friends and the +doctor spoke of the women and that miserable street struck Vassilyev as +strange in the extreme.... + +“Doctor, tell me one thing only,” he said, controlling himself so as not +to speak rudely. “Is prostitution an evil or not?” + +“My dear fellow, who disputes it?” said the doctor, with an expression +that suggested that he had settled all such questions for himself long +ago. “Who disputes it?” + +“You are a mental doctor, aren’t you?” Vassilyev asked curtly. + +“Yes, a mental doctor.” + +“Perhaps all of you are right!” said Vassilyev, getting up and beginning +to walk from one end of the room to the other. “Perhaps! But it all +seems marvelous to me! That I should have taken my degree in two +faculties you look upon as a great achievement; because I have written +a work which in three years will be thrown aside and forgotten, I am +praised up to the skies; but because I cannot speak of fallen women as +unconcernedly as of these chairs, I am being examined by a doctor, I am +called mad, I am pitied!” + +Vassilyev for some reason felt all at once unutterably sorry for +himself, and his companions, and all the people he had seen two days +before, and for the doctor; he burst into tears and sank into a chair. + +His friends looked inquiringly at the doctor. The latter, with the +air of completely comprehending the tears and the despair, of feeling +himself a specialist in that line, went up to Vassilyev and, without +a word, gave him some medicine to drink; and then, when he was calmer, +undressed him and began to investigate the degree of sensibility of the +skin, the reflex action of the knees, and so on. + +And Vassilyev felt easier. When he came out from the doctor’s he +was beginning to feel ashamed; the rattle of the carriages no longer +irritated him, and the load at his heart grew lighter and lighter as +though it were melting away. He had two prescriptions in his hand: +one was for bromide, one was for morphia.... He had taken all these +remedies before. + +In the street he stood still and, saying good-by to his friends, dragged +himself languidly to the University. + + + + +MISERY + +“To whom shall I tell my grief?” + +THE twilight of evening. Big flakes of wet snow are whirling lazily +about the street lamps, which have just been lighted, and lying in a +thin soft layer on roofs, horses’ backs, shoulders, caps. Iona Potapov, +the sledge-driver, is all white like a ghost. He sits on the box without +stirring, bent as double as the living body can be bent. If a regular +snowdrift fell on him it seems as though even then he would not think it +necessary to shake it off.... His little mare is white and motionless +too. Her stillness, the angularity of her lines, and the stick-like +straightness of her legs make her look like a halfpenny gingerbread +horse. She is probably lost in thought. Anyone who has been torn away +from the plough, from the familiar gray landscapes, and cast into this +slough, full of monstrous lights, of unceasing uproar and hurrying +people, is bound to think. + +It is a long time since Iona and his nag have budged. They came out of +the yard before dinnertime and not a single fare yet. But now the shades +of evening are falling on the town. The pale light of the street lamps +changes to a vivid color, and the bustle of the street grows noisier. + +“Sledge to Vyborgskaya!” Iona hears. “Sledge!” + +Iona starts, and through his snow-plastered eyelashes sees an officer in +a military overcoat with a hood over his head. + +“To Vyborgskaya,” repeats the officer. “Are you asleep? To Vyborgskaya!” + +In token of assent Iona gives a tug at the reins which sends cakes of +snow flying from the horse’s back and shoulders. The officer gets into +the sledge. The sledge-driver clicks to the horse, cranes his neck like +a swan, rises in his seat, and more from habit than necessity brandishes +his whip. The mare cranes her neck, too, crooks her stick-like legs, and +hesitatingly sets of.... + +“Where are you shoving, you devil?” Iona immediately hears shouts from +the dark mass shifting to and fro before him. “Where the devil are you +going? Keep to the r-right!” + +“You don’t know how to drive! Keep to the right,” says the officer +angrily. + +A coachman driving a carriage swears at him; a pedestrian crossing +the road and brushing the horse’s nose with his shoulder looks at him +angrily and shakes the snow off his sleeve. Iona fidgets on the box as +though he were sitting on thorns, jerks his elbows, and turns his eyes +about like one possessed as though he did not know where he was or why +he was there. + +“What rascals they all are!” says the officer jocosely. “They are simply +doing their best to run up against you or fall under the horse’s feet. +They must be doing it on purpose.” + +Iona looks as his fare and moves his lips.... Apparently he means to +say something, but nothing comes but a sniff. + +“What?” inquires the officer. + +Iona gives a wry smile, and straining his throat, brings out huskily: +“My son... er... my son died this week, sir.” + +“H’m! What did he die of?” + +Iona turns his whole body round to his fare, and says: + +“Who can tell! It must have been from fever.... He lay three days in +the hospital and then he died.... God’s will.” + +“Turn round, you devil!” comes out of the darkness. “Have you gone +cracked, you old dog? Look where you are going!” + +“Drive on! drive on!...” says the officer. “We shan’t get there till +to-morrow going on like this. Hurry up!” + +The sledge-driver cranes his neck again, rises in his seat, and with +heavy grace swings his whip. Several times he looks round at the +officer, but the latter keeps his eyes shut and is apparently +disinclined to listen. Putting his fare down at Vyborgskaya, Iona stops +by a restaurant, and again sits huddled up on the box.... Again +the wet snow paints him and his horse white. One hour passes, and then +another.... + +Three young men, two tall and thin, one short and hunchbacked, come up, +railing at each other and loudly stamping on the pavement with their +goloshes. + +“Cabby, to the Police Bridge!” the hunchback cries in a cracked voice. +“The three of us,... twenty kopecks!” + +Iona tugs at the reins and clicks to his horse. Twenty kopecks is not a +fair price, but he has no thoughts for that. Whether it is a rouble or +whether it is five kopecks does not matter to him now so long as he +has a fare.... The three young men, shoving each other and using bad +language, go up to the sledge, and all three try to sit down at once. +The question remains to be settled: Which are to sit down and which one +is to stand? After a long altercation, ill-temper, and abuse, they +come to the conclusion that the hunchback must stand because he is the +shortest. + +“Well, drive on,” says the hunchback in his cracked voice, settling +himself and breathing down Iona’s neck. “Cut along! What a cap you’ve +got, my friend! You wouldn’t find a worse one in all Petersburg....” + +“He-he!... he-he!...” laughs Iona. “It’s nothing to boast of!” + +“Well, then, nothing to boast of, drive on! Are you going to drive like +this all the way? Eh? Shall I give you one in the neck?” + +“My head aches,” says one of the tall ones. “At the Dukmasovs’ yesterday +Vaska and I drank four bottles of brandy between us.” + +“I can’t make out why you talk such stuff,” says the other tall one +angrily. “You lie like a brute.” + +“Strike me dead, it’s the truth!...” + +“It’s about as true as that a louse coughs.” + +“He-he!” grins Iona. “Me-er-ry gentlemen!” + +“Tfoo! the devil take you!” cries the hunchback indignantly. “Will you +get on, you old plague, or won’t you? Is that the way to drive? Give her +one with the whip. Hang it all, give it her well.” + +Iona feels behind his back the jolting person and quivering voice of +the hunchback. He hears abuse addressed to him, he sees people, and the +feeling of loneliness begins little by little to be less heavy on his +heart. The hunchback swears at him, till he chokes over some elaborately +whimsical string of epithets and is overpowered by his cough. His tall +companions begin talking of a certain Nadyezhda Petrovna. Iona looks +round at them. Waiting till there is a brief pause, he looks round once +more and says: + +“This week... er... my... er... son died!” + +“We shall all die,...” says the hunchback with a sigh, wiping his +lips after coughing. “Come, drive on! drive on! My friends, I simply +cannot stand crawling like this! When will he get us there?” + +“Well, you give him a little encouragement... one in the neck!” + +“Do you hear, you old plague? I’ll make you smart. If one stands on +ceremony with fellows like you one may as well walk. Do you hear, you +old dragon? Or don’t you care a hang what we say?” + +And Iona hears rather than feels a slap on the back of his neck. + +“He-he!...” he laughs. “Merry gentlemen.... God give you +health!” + +“Cabman, are you married?” asks one of the tall ones. + +“I? He he! Me-er-ry gentlemen. The only wife for me now is the damp +earth.... He-ho-ho!.... The grave that is!... Here my son’s dead +and I am alive.... It’s a strange thing, death has come in at the +wrong door.... Instead of coming for me it went for my son....” + +And Iona turns round to tell them how his son died, but at that point +the hunchback gives a faint sigh and announces that, thank God! they +have arrived at last. After taking his twenty kopecks, Iona gazes for a +long while after the revelers, who disappear into a dark entry. Again he +is alone and again there is silence for him.... The misery which has +been for a brief space eased comes back again and tears his heart more +cruelly than ever. With a look of anxiety and suffering Iona’s eyes +stray restlessly among the crowds moving to and fro on both sides of the +street: can he not find among those thousands someone who will listen +to him? But the crowds flit by heedless of him and his misery.... His +misery is immense, beyond all bounds. If Iona’s heart were to burst and +his misery to flow out, it would flood the whole world, it seems, but +yet it is not seen. It has found a hiding-place in such an insignificant +shell that one would not have found it with a candle by daylight.... + +Iona sees a house-porter with a parcel and makes up his mind to address +him. + +“What time will it be, friend?” he asks. + +“Going on for ten.... Why have you stopped here? Drive on!” + +Iona drives a few paces away, bends himself double, and gives himself +up to his misery. He feels it is no good to appeal to people. But before +five minutes have passed he draws himself up, shakes his head as though +he feels a sharp pain, and tugs at the reins.... He can bear it no +longer. + +“Back to the yard!” he thinks. “To the yard!” + +And his little mare, as though she knew his thoughts, falls to trotting. +An hour and a half later Iona is sitting by a big dirty stove. On the +stove, on the floor, and on the benches are people snoring. The air +is full of smells and stuffiness. Iona looks at the sleeping figures, +scratches himself, and regrets that he has come home so early.... + +“I have not earned enough to pay for the oats, even,” he thinks. “That’s +why I am so miserable. A man who knows how to do his work,... who has +had enough to eat, and whose horse has had enough to eat, is always at +ease....” + +In one of the corners a young cabman gets up, clears his throat +sleepily, and makes for the water-bucket. + +“Want a drink?” Iona asks him. + +“Seems so.” + +“May it do you good.... But my son is dead, mate.... Do you hear? +This week in the hospital.... It’s a queer business....” + +Iona looks to see the effect produced by his words, but he sees nothing. +The young man has covered his head over and is already asleep. The old +man sighs and scratches himself.... Just as the young man had been +thirsty for water, he thirsts for speech. His son will soon have been +dead a week, and he has not really talked to anybody yet.... He +wants to talk of it properly, with deliberation.... He wants to tell +how his son was taken ill, how he suffered, what he said before he died, +how he died.... He wants to describe the funeral, and how he went to +the hospital to get his son’s clothes. He still has his daughter Anisya +in the country.... And he wants to talk about her too.... Yes, he +has plenty to talk about now. His listener ought to sigh and exclaim and +lament.... It would be even better to talk to women. Though they are +silly creatures, they blubber at the first word. + +“Let’s go out and have a look at the mare,” Iona thinks. “There is +always time for sleep.... You’ll have sleep enough, no fear....” + +He puts on his coat and goes into the stables where his mare is +standing. He thinks about oats, about hay, about the weather.... He +cannot think about his son when he is alone.... To talk about +him with someone is possible, but to think of him and picture him is +insufferable anguish.... + +“Are you munching?” Iona asks his mare, seeing her shining eyes. “There, +munch away, munch away.... Since we have not earned enough for oats, +we will eat hay.... Yes,... I have grown too old to drive.... +My son ought to be driving, not I.... He was a real cabman.... He +ought to have lived....” + +Iona is silent for a while, and then he goes on: + +“That’s how it is, old girl.... Kuzma Ionitch is gone.... He said +good-by to me.... He went and died for no reason.... Now, suppose +you had a little colt, and you were own mother to that little colt. +... And all at once that same little colt went and died.... You’d +be sorry, wouldn’t you?...” + +The little mare munches, listens, and breathes on her master’s hands. +Iona is carried away and tells her all about it. + + + + +CHAMPAGNE + +A WAYFARER’S STORY + +IN the year in which my story begins I had a job at a little station on +one of our southwestern railways. Whether I had a gay or a dull life +at the station you can judge from the fact that for fifteen miles +round there was not one human habitation, not one woman, not one decent +tavern; and in those days I was young, strong, hot-headed, giddy, and +foolish. The only distraction I could possibly find was in the windows +of the passenger trains, and in the vile vodka which the Jews drugged +with thorn-apple. Sometimes there would be a glimpse of a woman’s +head at a carriage window, and one would stand like a statue without +breathing and stare at it until the train turned into an almost +invisible speck; or one would drink all one could of the loathsome vodka +till one was stupefied and did not feel the passing of the long hours +and days. Upon me, a native of the north, the steppe produced the +effect of a deserted Tatar cemetery. In the summer the steppe with its +solemn calm, the monotonous chur of the grasshoppers, the transparent +moonlight from which one could not hide, reduced me to listless +melancholy; and in the winter the irreproachable whiteness of the +steppe, its cold distance, long nights, and howling wolves oppressed me +like a heavy nightmare. There were several people living at the +station: my wife and I, a deaf and scrofulous telegraph clerk, and three +watchmen. My assistant, a young man who was in consumption, used to go +for treatment to the town, where he stayed for months at a time, leaving +his duties to me together with the right of pocketing his salary. I had +no children, no cake would have tempted visitors to come and see me, and +I could only visit other officials on the line, and that no oftener than +once a month. + +I remember my wife and I saw the New Year in. We sat at table, chewed +lazily, and heard the deaf telegraph clerk monotonously tapping on his +apparatus in the next room. I had already drunk five glasses of +drugged vodka, and, propping my heavy head on my fist, thought of my +overpowering boredom from which there was no escape, while my wife sat +beside me and did not take her eyes off me. She looked at me as no +one can look but a woman who has nothing in this world but a handsome +husband. She loved me madly, slavishly, and not merely my good looks, +or my soul, but my sins, my ill-humor and boredom, and even my cruelty +when, in drunken fury, not knowing how to vent my ill-humor, I tormented +her with reproaches. + +In spite of the boredom which was consuming me, we were preparing to see +the New Year in with exceptional festiveness, and were awaiting midnight +with some impatience. The fact is, we had in reserve two bottles of +champagne, the real thing, with the label of Veuve Clicquot; this +treasure I had won the previous autumn in a bet with the station-master +of D. when I was drinking with him at a christening. It sometimes +happens during a lesson in mathematics, when the very air is still with +boredom, a butterfly flutters into the class-room; the boys toss their +heads and begin watching its flight with interest, as though they saw +before them not a butterfly but something new and strange; in the same +way ordinary champagne, chancing to come into our dreary station, +roused us. We sat in silence looking alternately at the clock and at the +bottles. + +When the hands pointed to five minutes to twelve I slowly began +uncorking a bottle. I don’t know whether I was affected by the vodka, +or whether the bottle was wet, but all I remember is that when the cork +flew up to the ceiling with a bang, my bottle slipped out of my hands +and fell on the floor. Not more than a glass of the wine was spilt, as I +managed to catch the bottle and put my thumb over the foaming neck. + +“Well, may the New Year bring you happiness!” I said, filling two +glasses. “Drink!” + +My wife took her glass and fixed her frightened eyes on me. Her face was +pale and wore a look of horror. + +“Did you drop the bottle?” she asked. + +“Yes. But what of that?” + +“It’s unlucky,” she said, putting down her glass and turning paler +still. “It’s a bad omen. It means that some misfortune will happen to us +this year.” + +“What a silly thing you are,” I sighed. “You are a clever woman, and yet +you talk as much nonsense as an old nurse. Drink.” + +“God grant it is nonsense, but... something is sure to happen! You’ll +see.” + +She did not even sip her glass, she moved away and sank into thought. +I uttered a few stale commonplaces about superstition, drank half a +bottle, paced up and down, and then went out of the room. + +Outside there was the still frosty night in all its cold, inhospitable +beauty. The moon and two white fluffy clouds beside it hung just over +the station, motionless as though glued to the spot, and looked as +though waiting for something. A faint transparent light came from them +and touched the white earth softly, as though afraid of wounding +her modesty, and lighted up everything--the snowdrifts, the +embankment.... It was still. + +I walked along the railway embankment. + +“Silly woman,” I thought, looking at the sky spangled with brilliant +stars. “Even if one admits that omens sometimes tell the truth, what +evil can happen to us? The misfortunes we have endured already, and +which are facing us now, are so great that it is difficult to imagine +anything worse. What further harm can you do a fish which has been +caught and fried and served up with sauce?” + +A poplar covered with hoar frost looked in the bluish darkness like a +giant wrapt in a shroud. It looked at me sullenly and dejectedly, as +though like me it realized its loneliness. I stood a long while looking +at it. + +“My youth is thrown away for nothing, like a useless cigarette end,” + I went on musing. “My parents died when I was a little child; I was +expelled from the high school, I was born of a noble family, but I have +received neither education nor breeding, and I have no more knowledge +than the humblest mechanic. I have no refuge, no relations, no friends, +no work I like. I am not fitted for anything, and in the prime of my +powers I am good for nothing but to be stuffed into this little station; +I have known nothing but trouble and failure all my life. What can +happen worse?” + +Red lights came into sight in the distance. A train was moving towards +me. The slumbering steppe listened to the sound of it. My thoughts were +so bitter that it seemed to me that I was thinking aloud and that the +moan of the telegraph wire and the rumble of the train were expressing +my thoughts. + +“What can happen worse? The loss of my wife?” I wondered. “Even that is +not terrible. It’s no good hiding it from my conscience: I don’t love my +wife. I married her when I was only a wretched boy; now I am young and +vigorous, and she has gone off and grown older and sillier, stuffed from +her head to her heels with conventional ideas. What charm is there in +her maudlin love, in her hollow chest, in her lusterless eyes? I put +up with her, but I don’t love her. What can happen? My youth is being +wasted, as the saying is, for a pinch of snuff. Women flit before my +eyes only in the carriage windows, like falling stars. Love I never had +and have not. My manhood, my courage, my power of feeling are going to +ruin.... Everything is being thrown away like dirt, and all my wealth +here in the steppe is not worth a farthing.” + +The train rushed past me with a roar and indifferently cast the glow +of its red lights upon me. I saw it stop by the green lights of the +station, stop for a minute and rumble off again. After walking a mile +and a half I went back. Melancholy thoughts haunted me still. Painful +as it was to me, yet I remember I tried as it were to make my thoughts +still gloomier and more melancholy. You know people who are vain and not +very clever have moments when the consciousness that they are miserable +affords them positive satisfaction, and they even coquet with their +misery for their own entertainment. There was a great deal of truth +in what I thought, but there was also a great deal that was absurd and +conceited, and there was something boyishly defiant in my question: +“What could happen worse?” + +“And what is there to happen?” I asked myself. “I think I have endured +everything. I’ve been ill, I’ve lost money, I get reprimanded by my +superiors every day, and I go hungry, and a mad wolf has run into the +station yard. What more is there? I have been insulted, humiliated,... +and I have insulted others in my time. I have not been a criminal, +it is true, but I don’t think I am capable of crime--I am not afraid of +being hauled up for it.” + +The two little clouds had moved away from the moon and stood at a little +distance, looking as though they were whispering about something which +the moon must not know. A light breeze was racing across the steppe, +bringing the faint rumble of the retreating train. + +My wife met me at the doorway. Her eyes were laughing gaily and her +whole face was beaming with good-humor. + +“There is news for you!” she whispered. “Make haste, go to your room and +put on your new coat; we have a visitor.” + +“What visitor?” + +“Aunt Natalya Petrovna has just come by the train.” + +“What Natalya Petrovna?” + +“The wife of my uncle Semyon Fyodoritch. You don’t know her. She is a +very nice, good woman.” + +Probably I frowned, for my wife looked grave and whispered rapidly: + +“Of course it is queer her having come, but don’t be cross, Nikolay, and +don’t be hard on her. She is unhappy, you know; Uncle Semyon Fyodoritch +really is ill-natured and tyrannical, it is difficult to live with him. +She says she will only stay three days with us, only till she gets a +letter from her brother.” + +My wife whispered a great deal more nonsense to me about her despotic +uncle; about the weakness of mankind in general and of young wives in +particular; about its being our duty to give shelter to all, even great +sinners, and so on. Unable to make head or tail of it, I put on my new +coat and went to make acquaintance with my “aunt.” + +A little woman with large black eyes was sitting at the table. My table, +the gray walls, my roughly-made sofa, everything to the tiniest grain of +dust seemed to have grown younger and more cheerful in the presence +of this new, young, beautiful, and dissolute creature, who had a most +subtle perfume about her. And that our visitor was a lady of easy virtue +I could see from her smile, from her scent, from the peculiar way in +which she glanced and made play with her eyelashes, from the tone in +which she talked with my wife--a respectable woman. There was no need to +tell me she had run away from her husband, that her husband was old and +despotic, that she was good-natured and lively; I took it all in at +the first glance. Indeed, it is doubtful whether there is a man in +all Europe who cannot spot at the first glance a woman of a certain +temperament. + +“I did not know I had such a big nephew!” said my aunt, holding out her +hand to me and smiling. + +“And I did not know I had such a pretty aunt,” I answered. + +Supper began over again. The cork flew with a bang out of the second +bottle, and my aunt swallowed half a glassful at a gulp, and when my +wife went out of the room for a moment my aunt did not scruple to drain +a full glass. I was drunk both with the wine and with the presence of a +woman. Do you remember the song? + + “Eyes black as pitch, eyes full of passion, + Eyes burning bright and beautiful, + How I love you, + How I fear you!” + +I don’t remember what happened next. Anyone who wants to know how love +begins may read novels and long stories; I will put it shortly and in +the words of the same silly song: + + “It was an evil hour + When first I met you.” + +Everything went head over heels to the devil. I remember a fearful, +frantic whirlwind which sent me flying round like a feather. It lasted +a long while, and swept from the face of the earth my wife and my aunt +herself and my strength. From the little station in the steppe it has +flung me, as you see, into this dark street. + +Now tell me what further evil can happen to me? + + + + +AFTER THE THEATRE + +NADYA ZELENIN had just come back with her mamma from the theatre where +she had seen a performance of “Yevgeny Onyegin.” As soon as she reached +her own room she threw off her dress, let down her hair, and in her +petticoat and white dressing-jacket hastily sat down to the table to +write a letter like Tatyana’s. + +“I love you,” she wrote, “but you do not love me, do not love me!” + +She wrote it and laughed. + +She was only sixteen and did not yet love anyone. She knew that an +officer called Gorny and a student called Gruzdev loved her, but now +after the opera she wanted to be doubtful of their love. To be unloved +and unhappy--how interesting that was. There is something beautiful, +touching, and poetical about it when one loves and the other is +indifferent. Onyegin was interesting because he was not in love at all, +and Tatyana was fascinating because she was so much in love; but if they +had been equally in love with each other and had been happy, they would +perhaps have seemed dull. + +“Leave off declaring that you love me,” Nadya went on writing, thinking +of Gorny. “I cannot believe it. You are very clever, cultivated, +serious, you have immense talent, and perhaps a brilliant future awaits +you, while I am an uninteresting girl of no importance, and you know +very well that I should be only a hindrance in your life. It is true +that you were attracted by me and thought you had found your ideal in +me, but that was a mistake, and now you are asking yourself in despair: +‘Why did I meet that girl?’ And only your goodness of heart prevents you +from owning it to yourself....” + +Nadya felt sorry for herself, she began to cry, and went on: + +“It is hard for me to leave my mother and my brother, or I should take a +nun’s veil and go whither chance may lead me. And you would be left free +and would love another. Oh, if I were dead!” + +She could not make out what she had written through her tears; little +rainbows were quivering on the table, on the floor, on the ceiling, as +though she were looking through a prism. She could not write, she sank +back in her easy-chair and fell to thinking of Gorny. + +My God! how interesting, how fascinating men were! Nadya recalled the +fine expression, ingratiating, guilty, and soft, which came into the +officer’s face when one argued about music with him, and the effort he +made to prevent his voice from betraying his passion. In a society where +cold haughtiness and indifference are regarded as signs of good breeding +and gentlemanly bearing, one must conceal one’s passions. And he did +try to conceal them, but he did not succeed, and everyone knew very well +that he had a passionate love of music. The endless discussions about +music and the bold criticisms of people who knew nothing about it kept +him always on the strain; he was frightened, timid, and silent. He +played the piano magnificently, like a professional pianist, and if he +had not been in the army he would certainly have been a famous musician. + +The tears on her eyes dried. Nadya remembered that Gorny had declared +his love at a Symphony concert, and again downstairs by the hatstand +where there was a tremendous draught blowing in all directions. + +“I am very glad that you have at last made the acquaintance of Gruzdev, +our student friend,” she went on writing. “He is a very clever man, and +you will be sure to like him. He came to see us yesterday and stayed +till two o’clock. We were all delighted with him, and I regretted that +you had not come. He said a great deal that was remarkable.” + +Nadya laid her arms on the table and leaned her head on them, and her +hair covered the letter. She recalled that the student, too, loved her, +and that he had as much right to a letter from her as Gorny. Wouldn’t it +be better after all to write to Gruzdev? There was a stir of joy in her +bosom for no reason whatever; at first the joy was small, and rolled +in her bosom like an india-rubber ball; then it became more massive, +bigger, and rushed like a wave. Nadya forgot Gorny and Gruzdev; her +thoughts were in a tangle and her joy grew and grew; from her bosom it +passed into her arms and legs, and it seemed as though a light, cool +breeze were breathing on her head and ruffling her hair. Her shoulders +quivered with subdued laughter, the table and the lamp chimney shook, +too, and tears from her eyes splashed on the letter. She could not +stop laughing, and to prove to herself that she was not laughing about +nothing she made haste to think of something funny. + +“What a funny poodle,” she said, feeling as though she would choke with +laughter. “What a funny poodle!” + +She thought how, after tea the evening before, Gruzdev had played with +Maxim the poodle, and afterwards had told them about a very intelligent +poodle who had run after a crow in the yard, and the crow had looked +round at him and said: “Oh, you scamp!” + +The poodle, not knowing he had to do with a learned crow, was fearfully +confused and retreated in perplexity, then began barking.... + +“No, I had better love Gruzdev,” Nadya decided, and she tore up the +letter to Gorny. + +She fell to thinking of the student, of his love, of her love; but the +thoughts in her head insisted on flowing in all directions, and she +thought about everything--about her mother, about the street, about the +pencil, about the piano.... She thought of them joyfully, and felt +that everything was good, splendid, and her joy told her that this was +not all, that in a little while it would be better still. Soon it would +be spring, summer, going with her mother to Gorbiki. Gorny would come +for his furlough, would walk about the garden with her and make love +to her. Gruzdev would come too. He would play croquet and skittles with +her, and would tell her wonderful things. She had a passionate longing +for the garden, the darkness, the pure sky, the stars. Again her +shoulders shook with laughter, and it seemed to her that there was a +scent of wormwood in the room and that a twig was tapping at the window. + +She went to her bed, sat down, and not knowing what to do with the +immense joy which filled her with yearning, she looked at the holy image +hanging at the back of her bed, and said: + +“Oh, Lord God! Oh, Lord God!” + + + + +A LADY’S STORY + +NINE years ago Pyotr Sergeyitch, the deputy prosecutor, and I were +riding towards evening in hay-making time to fetch the letters from the +station. + +The weather was magnificent, but on our way back we heard a peal of +thunder, and saw an angry black storm-cloud which was coming straight +towards us. The storm-cloud was approaching us and we were approaching +it. + +Against the background of it our house and church looked white and the +tall poplars shone like silver. There was a scent of rain and mown hay. +My companion was in high spirits. He kept laughing and talking all sorts +of nonsense. He said it would be nice if we could suddenly come upon a +medieval castle with turreted towers, with moss on it and owls, in +which we could take shelter from the rain and in the end be killed by a +thunderbolt.... + +Then the first wave raced through the rye and a field of oats, there +was a gust of wind, and the dust flew round and round in the air. Pyotr +Sergeyitch laughed and spurred on his horse. + +“It’s fine!” he cried, “it’s splendid!” + +Infected by his gaiety, I too began laughing at the thought that in +a minute I should be drenched to the skin and might be struck by +lightning. + +Riding swiftly in a hurricane when one is breathless with the wind, and +feels like a bird, thrills one and puts one’s heart in a flutter. By the +time we rode into our courtyard the wind had gone down, and big drops of +rain were pattering on the grass and on the roofs. There was not a soul +near the stable. + +Pyotr Sergeyitch himself took the bridles off, and led the horses to +their stalls. I stood in the doorway waiting for him to finish, and +watching the slanting streaks of rain; the sweetish, exciting scent of +hay was even stronger here than in the fields; the storm-clouds and the +rain made it almost twilight. + +“What a crash!” said Pyotr Sergeyitch, coming up to me after a very loud +rolling peal of thunder when it seemed as though the sky were split in +two. “What do you say to that?” + +He stood beside me in the doorway and, still breathless from his rapid +ride, looked at me. I could see that he was admiring me. + +“Natalya Vladimirovna,” he said, “I would give anything only to stay +here a little longer and look at you. You are lovely to-day.” + +His eyes looked at me with delight and supplication, his face was pale. +On his beard and mustache were glittering raindrops, and they, too, +seemed to be looking at me with love. + +“I love you,” he said. “I love you, and I am happy at seeing you. I know +you cannot be my wife, but I want nothing, I ask nothing; only know that +I love you. Be silent, do not answer me, take no notice of it, but only +know that you are dear to me and let me look at you.” + +His rapture affected me too; I looked at his enthusiastic face, listened +to his voice which mingled with the patter of the rain, and stood as +though spellbound, unable to stir. + +I longed to go on endlessly looking at his shining eyes and listening. + +“You say nothing, and that is splendid,” said Pyotr Sergeyitch. “Go on +being silent.” + +I felt happy. I laughed with delight and ran through the drenching rain +to the house; he laughed too, and, leaping as he went, ran after me. + +Both drenched, panting, noisily clattering up the stairs like children, +we dashed into the room. My father and brother, who were not used to +seeing me laughing and light-hearted, looked at me in surprise and began +laughing too. + +The storm-clouds had passed over and the thunder had ceased, but the +raindrops still glittered on Pyotr Sergeyitch’s beard. The whole evening +till supper-time he was singing, whistling, playing noisily with the dog +and racing about the room after it, so that he nearly upset the servant +with the samovar. And at supper he ate a great deal, talked nonsense, +and maintained that when one eats fresh cucumbers in winter there is the +fragrance of spring in one’s mouth. + +When I went to bed I lighted a candle and threw my window wide open, and +an undefined feeling took possession of my soul. I remembered that I was +free and healthy, that I had rank and wealth, that I was beloved; above +all, that I had rank and wealth, rank and wealth, my God! how nice that +was!... Then, huddling up in bed at a touch of cold which reached me +from the garden with the dew, I tried to discover whether I loved Pyotr +Sergeyitch or not,... and fell asleep unable to reach any conclusion. + +And when in the morning I saw quivering patches of sunlight and the +shadows of the lime trees on my bed, what had happened yesterday rose +vividly in my memory. Life seemed to me rich, varied, full of charm. +Humming, I dressed quickly and went out into the garden.... + +And what happened afterwards? Why--nothing. In the winter when we lived +in town Pyotr Sergeyitch came to see us from time to time. Country +acquaintances are charming only in the country and in summer; in the +town and in winter they lose their charm. When you pour out tea for them +in the town it seems as though they are wearing other people’s coats, +and as though they stirred their tea too long. In the town, too, Pyotr +Sergeyitch spoke sometimes of love, but the effect was not at all the +same as in the country. In the town we were more vividly conscious of +the wall that stood between us. I had rank and wealth, while he was +poor, and he was not even a nobleman, but only the son of a deacon and +a deputy public prosecutor; we both of us--I through my youth and he for +some unknown reason--thought of that wall as very high and thick, and +when he was with us in the town he would criticize aristocratic society +with a forced smile, and maintain a sullen silence when there was +anyone else in the drawing-room. There is no wall that cannot be broken +through, but the heroes of the modern romance, so far as I know them, +are too timid, spiritless, lazy, and oversensitive, and are too ready to +resign themselves to the thought that they are doomed to failure, that +personal life has disappointed them; instead of struggling they merely +criticize, calling the world vulgar and forgetting that their criticism +passes little by little into vulgarity. + +I was loved, happiness was not far away, and seemed to be almost +touching me; I went on living in careless ease without trying to +understand myself, not knowing what I expected or what I wanted from +life, and time went on and on.... People passed by me with their +love, bright days and warm nights flashed by, the nightingales sang, the +hay smelt fragrant, and all this, sweet and overwhelming in remembrance, +passed with me as with everyone rapidly, leaving no trace, was not +prized, and vanished like mist.... Where is it all? + +My father is dead, I have grown older; everything that delighted me, +caressed me, gave me hope--the patter of the rain, the rolling of +the thunder, thoughts of happiness, talk of love--all that has become +nothing but a memory, and I see before me a flat desert distance; on +the plain not one living soul, and out there on the horizon it is dark +and terrible.... + +A ring at the bell.... It is Pyotr Sergeyitch. When in the winter I +see the trees and remember how green they were for me in the summer I +whisper: + +“Oh, my darlings!” + +And when I see people with whom I spent my spring-time, I feel sorrowful +and warm and whisper the same thing. + +He has long ago by my father’s good offices been transferred to town. +He looks a little older, a little fallen away. He has long given up +declaring his love, has left off talking nonsense, dislikes his official +work, is ill in some way and disillusioned; he has given up trying to +get anything out of life, and takes no interest in living. Now he has +sat down by the hearth and looks in silence at the fire.... + +Not knowing what to say I ask him: + +“Well, what have you to tell me?” + +“Nothing,” he answers. + +And silence again. The red glow of the fire plays about his melancholy +face. + +I thought of the past, and all at once my shoulders began quivering, my +head dropped, and I began weeping bitterly. I felt unbearably sorry for +myself and for this man, and passionately longed for what had passed +away and what life refused us now. And now I did not think about rank +and wealth. + +I broke into loud sobs, pressing my temples, and muttered: + +“My God! my God! my life is wasted!” + +And he sat and was silent, and did not say to me: “Don’t weep.” He +understood that I must weep, and that the time for this had come. + +I saw from his eyes that he was sorry for me; and I was sorry for him, +too, and vexed with this timid, unsuccessful man who could not make a +life for me, nor for himself. + +When I saw him to the door, he was, I fancied, purposely a long while +putting on his coat. Twice he kissed my hand without a word, and looked +a long while into my tear-stained face. I believe at that moment he +recalled the storm, the streaks of rain, our laughter, my face that day; +he longed to say something to me, and he would have been glad to say it; +but he said nothing, he merely shook his head and pressed my hand. God +help him! + +After seeing him out, I went back to my study and again sat on the +carpet before the fireplace; the red embers were covered with ash and +began to grow dim. The frost tapped still more angrily at the windows, +and the wind droned in the chimney. + +The maid came in and, thinking I was asleep, called my name. + + + + +IN EXILE + +OLD SEMYON, nicknamed Canny, and a young Tatar, whom no one knew by +name, were sitting on the river-bank by the camp-fire; the other +three ferrymen were in the hut. Semyon, an old man of sixty, lean and +toothless, but broad shouldered and still healthy-looking, was drunk; +he would have gone in to sleep long before, but he had a bottle in his +pocket and he was afraid that the fellows in the hut would ask him for +vodka. The Tatar was ill and weary, and wrapping himself up in his rags +was describing how nice it was in the Simbirsk province, and what a +beautiful and clever wife he had left behind at home. He was not more +than twenty five, and now by the light of the camp-fire, with his pale +and sick, mournful face, he looked like a boy. + +“To be sure, it is not paradise here,” said Canny. “You can see for +yourself, the water, the bare banks, clay, and nothing else.... +Easter has long passed and yet there is ice on the river, and this +morning there was snow...” + +“It’s bad! it’s bad!” said the Tatar, and looked round him in terror. + +The dark, cold river was flowing ten paces away; it grumbled, lapped +against the hollow clay banks and raced on swiftly towards the far-away +sea. Close to the bank there was the dark blur of a big barge, which the +ferrymen called a “karbos.” Far away on the further bank, lights, dying +down and flickering up again, zigzagged like little snakes; they were +burning last year’s grass. And beyond the little snakes there was +darkness again. There little icicles could be heard knocking against the +barge. It was damp and cold.... + +The Tatar glanced at the sky. There were as many stars as at home, and +the same blackness all round, but something was lacking. At home in the +Simbirsk province the stars were quite different, and so was the sky. + +“It’s bad! it’s bad!” he repeated. + +“You will get used to it,” said Semyon, and he laughed. “Now you are +young and foolish, the milk is hardly dry on your lips, and it seems to +you in your foolishness that you are more wretched than anyone; but the +time will come when you will say to yourself: ‘I wish no one a better +life than mine.’ You look at me. Within a week the floods will be over +and we shall set up the ferry; you will all go wandering off about +Siberia while I shall stay and shall begin going from bank to bank. I’ve +been going like that for twenty-two years, day and night. The pike and +the salmon are under the water while I am on the water. And thank God +for it, I want nothing; God give everyone such a life.” + +The Tatar threw some dry twigs on the camp-fire, lay down closer to the +blaze, and said: + +“My father is a sick man. When he dies my mother and wife will come +here. They have promised.” + +“And what do you want your wife and mother for?” asked Canny. “That’s +mere foolishness, my lad. It’s the devil confounding you, damn his soul! +Don’t you listen to him, the cursed one. Don’t let him have his way. He +is at you about the women, but you spite him; say, ‘I don’t want them!’ +He is on at you about freedom, but you stand up to him and say: ‘I +don’t want it!’ I want nothing, neither father nor mother, nor wife, nor +freedom, nor post, nor paddock; I want nothing, damn their souls!” + +Semyon took a pull at the bottle and went on: + +“I am not a simple peasant, not of the working class, but the son of +a deacon, and when I was free I lived at Kursk; I used to wear a +frockcoat, and now I have brought myself to such a pass that I can sleep +naked on the ground and eat grass. And I wish no one a better life. I +want nothing and I am afraid of nobody, and the way I look at it is that +there is nobody richer and freer than I am. When they sent me here from +Russia from the first day I stuck it out; I want nothing! The devil was +at me about my wife and about my home and about freedom, but I told him: +‘I want nothing.’ I stuck to it, and here you see I live well, and I +don’t complain, and if anyone gives way to the devil and listens to him, +if but once, he is lost, there is no salvation for him: he is sunk in +the bog to the crown of his head and will never get out. + +“It is not only a foolish peasant like you, but even gentlemen, +well-educated people, are lost. Fifteen years ago they sent a gentleman +here from Russia. He hadn’t shared something with his brothers and had +forged something in a will. They did say he was a prince or a baron, but +maybe he was simply an official--who knows? Well, the gentleman +arrived here, and first thing he bought himself a house and land in +Muhortinskoe. ‘I want to live by my own work,’ says he, ‘in the sweat +of my brow, for I am not a gentleman now,’ says he, ‘but a settler.’ +‘Well,’ says I, ‘God help you, that’s the right thing.’ He was a young +man then, busy and careful; he used to mow himself and catch fish and +ride sixty miles on horseback. Only this is what happened: from the very +first year he took to riding to Gyrino for the post; he used to stand on +my ferry and sigh: ‘Ech, Semyon, how long it is since they sent me any +money from home!’ ‘You don’t want money, Vassily Sergeyitch,’ says I. +‘What use is it to you? You cast away the past, and forget it as though +it had never been at all, as though it had been a dream, and begin to +live anew. Don’t listen to the devil,’ says I; ‘he will bring you to no +good, he’ll draw you into a snare. Now you want money,’ says I, ‘but in +a very little while you’ll be wanting something else, and then more and +more. If you want to be happy,’ says I, the chief thing is not to +want anything. Yes.... If,’ says I, ‘if Fate has wronged you and me +cruelly it’s no good asking for her favor and bowing down to her, but +you despise her and laugh at her, or else she will laugh at you.’ That’s +what I said to him.... + +“Two years later I ferried him across to this side, and he was rubbing +his hands and laughing. ‘I am going to Gyrino to meet my wife,’ says +he. ‘She was sorry for me,’ says he; ‘she has come. She is good and +kind.’ And he was breathless with joy. So a day later he came with his +wife. A beautiful young lady in a hat; in her arms was a baby girl. +And lots of luggage of all sorts. And my Vassily Sergeyitch was fussing +round her; he couldn’t take his eyes off her and couldn’t say enough in +praise of her. ‘Yes, brother Semyon, even in Siberia people can live!’ +‘Oh, all right,’ thinks I, ‘it will be a different tale presently.’ +And from that time forward he went almost every week to inquire whether +money had not come from Russia. He wanted a lot of money. ‘She is losing +her youth and beauty here in Siberia for my sake,’ says he, ‘and sharing +my bitter lot with me, and so I ought,’ says he, ‘to provide her with +every comfort....’ + +“To make it livelier for the lady he made acquaintance with the +officials and all sorts of riff-raff. And of course he had to give food +and drink to all that crew, and there had to be a piano and a +shaggy lapdog on the sofa--plague take it!... Luxury, in fact, +self-indulgence. The lady did not stay with him long. How could she? The +clay, the water, the cold, no vegetables for you, no fruit. All around +you ignorant and drunken people and no sort of manners, and she was +a spoilt lady from Petersburg or Moscow.... To be sure she moped. +Besides, her husband, say what you like, was not a gentleman now, but a +settler--not the same rank. + +“Three years later, I remember, on the eve of the Assumption, there was +shouting from the further bank. I went over with the ferry, and what do +I see but the lady, all wrapped up, and with her a young gentleman, an +official. A sledge with three horses.... I ferried them across here, +they got in and away like the wind. They were soon lost to sight. And +towards morning Vassily Sergeyitch galloped down to the ferry. ‘Didn’t +my wife come this way with a gentleman in spectacles, Semyon?’ ‘She +did,’ said I; ‘you may look for the wind in the fields!’ He galloped in +pursuit of them. For five days and nights he was riding after them. When +I ferried him over to the other side afterwards, he flung himself on +the ferry and beat his head on the boards of the ferry and howled. ‘So +that’s how it is,’ says I. I laughed, and reminded him ‘people can live +even in Siberia!’ And he beat his head harder than ever.... + +“Then he began longing for freedom. His wife had slipped off to Russia, +and of course he was drawn there to see her and to get her away from her +lover. And he took, my lad, to galloping almost every day, either to +the post or the town to see the commanding officer; he kept sending in +petitions for them to have mercy on him and let him go back home; and +he used to say that he had spent some two hundred roubles on telegrams +alone. He sold his land and mortgaged his house to the Jews. He grew +gray and bent, and yellow in the face, as though he was in consumption. +If he talked to you he would go, khee--khee--khee,... and there were +tears in his eyes. He kept rushing about like this with petitions for +eight years, but now he has grown brighter and more cheerful again: he +has found another whim to give way to. You see, his daughter has grown +up. He looks at her, and she is the apple of his eye. And to tell the +truth she is all right, good-looking, with black eyebrows and a lively +disposition. Every Sunday he used to ride with her to church in Gyrino. +They used to stand on the ferry, side by side, she would laugh and he +could not take his eyes off her. ‘Yes, Semyon,’ says he, ‘people can +live even in Siberia. Even in Siberia there is happiness. Look,’ says +he, ‘what a daughter I have got! I warrant you wouldn’t find another +like her for a thousand versts round.’ ‘Your daughter is all right,’ +says I, ‘that’s true, certainly.’ But to myself I thought: ‘Wait a bit, +the wench is young, her blood is dancing, she wants to live, and there +is no life here.’ And she did begin to pine, my lad.... She faded and +faded, and now she can hardly crawl about. Consumption. + +“So you see what Siberian happiness is, damn its soul! You see how +people can live in Siberia.... He has taken to going from one doctor +to another and taking them home with him. As soon as he hears that two +or three hundred miles away there is a doctor or a sorcerer, he will +drive to fetch him. A terrible lot of money he spent on doctors, and to +my thinking he had better have spent the money on drink.... She’ll +die just the same. She is certain to die, and then it will be all over +with him. He’ll hang himself from grief or run away to Russia--that’s a +sure thing. He’ll run away and they’ll catch him, then he will be tried, +sent to prison, he will have a taste of the lash....” + +“Good! good!” said the Tatar, shivering with cold. + +“What is good?” asked Canny. + +“His wife, his daughter.... What of prison and what of +sorrow!--anyway, he did see his wife and his daughter.... You say, +want nothing. But ‘nothing’ is bad! His wife lived with him three +years--that was a gift from God. ‘Nothing’ is bad, but three years is +good. How not understand?” + +Shivering and hesitating, with effort picking out the Russian words of +which he knew but few, the Tatar said that God forbid one should fall +sick and die in a strange land, and be buried in the cold and dark +earth; that if his wife came to him for one day, even for one hour, that +for such happiness he would be ready to bear any suffering and to thank +God. Better one day of happiness than nothing. + +Then he described again what a beautiful and clever wife he had left +at home. Then, clutching his head in both hands, he began crying and +assuring Semyon that he was not guilty, and was suffering for nothing. +His two brothers and an uncle had carried off a peasant’s horses, and +had beaten the old man till he was half dead, and the commune had not +judged fairly, but had contrived a sentence by which all the three +brothers were sent to Siberia, while the uncle, a rich man, was left at +home. + +“You will get used to it!” said Semyon. + +The Tatar was silent, and stared with tear-stained eyes at the fire; +his face expressed bewilderment and fear, as though he still did +not understand why he was here in the darkness and the wet, beside +strangers, and not in the Simbirsk province. + +Canny lay near the fire, chuckled at something, and began humming a song +in an undertone. + +“What joy has she with her father?” he said a little later. “He loves +her and he rejoices in her, that’s true; but, mate, you must mind your +ps and qs with him, he is a strict old man, a harsh old man. And young +wenches don’t want strictness. They want petting and ha-ha-ha! and +ho-ho-ho! and scent and pomade. Yes.... Ech! life, life,” sighed +Semyon, and he got up heavily. “The vodka is all gone, so it is time to +sleep. Eh? I am going, my lad....” + +Left alone, the Tatar put on more twigs, lay down and stared at the +fire; he began thinking of his own village and of his wife. If his wife +could only come for a month, for a day; and then if she liked she might +go back again. Better a month or even a day than nothing. But if his +wife kept her promise and came, what would he have to feed her on? Where +could she live here? + +“If there were not something to eat, how could she live?” the Tatar +asked aloud. + +He was paid only ten kopecks for working all day and all night at the +oar; it is true that travelers gave him tips for tea and for vodkas but +the men shared all they received among themselves, and gave nothing +to the Tatar, but only laughed at him. And from poverty he was hungry, +cold, and frightened.... Now, when his whole body was aching and +shivering, he ought to go into the hut and lie down to sleep; but he had +nothing to cover him there, and it was colder than on the river-bank; +here he had nothing to cover him either, but at least he could make up +the fire.... + +In another week, when the floods were quite over and they set the ferry +going, none of the ferrymen but Semyon would be wanted, and the Tatar +would begin going from village to village begging for alms and for work. +His wife was only seventeen; she was beautiful, spoilt, and shy; could +she possibly go from village to village begging alms with her face +unveiled? No, it was terrible even to think of that.... + +It was already getting light; the barge, the bushes of willow on the +water, and the waves could be clearly discerned, and if one looked round +there was the steep clay slope; at the bottom of it the hut thatched +with dingy brown straw, and the huts of the village lay clustered higher +up. The cocks were already crowing in the village. + +The rusty red clay slope, the barge, the river, the strange, unkind +people, hunger, cold, illness, perhaps all that was not real. Most +likely it was all a dream, thought the Tatar. He felt that he was +asleep and heard his own snoring.... Of course he was at home in the +Simbirsk province, and he had only to call his wife by name for her to +answer; and in the next room was his mother.... What terrible dreams +there are, though! What are they for? The Tatar smiled and opened his +eyes. What river was this, the Volga? + +Snow was falling. + +“Boat!” was shouted on the further side. “Boat!” + +The Tatar woke up, and went to wake his mates and row over to the other +side. The ferrymen came on to the river-bank, putting on their torn +sheepskins as they walked, swearing with voices husky from sleepiness +and shivering from the cold. On waking from their sleep, the river, from +which came a breath of piercing cold, seemed to strike them as revolting +and horrible. They jumped into the barge without hurrying themselves.... +The Tatar and the three ferrymen took the long, broad-bladed oars, +which in the darkness looked like the claws of crabs; Semyon leaned his +stomach against the tiller. The shout on the other side still continued, +and two shots were fired from a revolver, probably with the idea that +the ferrymen were asleep or had gone to the pot-house in the village. + +“All right, you have plenty of time,” said Semyon in the tone of a man +convinced that there was no necessity in this world to hurry--that it +would lead to nothing, anyway. + +The heavy, clumsy barge moved away from the bank and floated between the +willow-bushes, and only the willows slowly moving back showed that the +barge was not standing still but moving. The ferrymen swung the +oars evenly in time; Semyon lay with his stomach on the tiller and, +describing a semicircle in the air, flew from one side to the other. +In the darkness it looked as though the men were sitting on some +antediluvian animal with long paws, and were moving on it through +a cold, desolate land, the land of which one sometimes dreams in +nightmares. + +They passed beyond the willows and floated out into the open. The creak +and regular splash of the oars was heard on the further shore, and a +shout came: “Make haste! make haste!” + +Another ten minutes passed, and the barge banged heavily against the +landing-stage. + +“And it keeps sprinkling and sprinkling,” muttered Semyon, wiping the +snow from his face; “and where it all comes from God only knows.” + +On the bank stood a thin man of medium height in a jacket lined with fox +fur and in a white lambskin cap. He was standing at a little distance +from his horses and not moving; he had a gloomy, concentrated +expression, as though he were trying to remember something and angry +with his untrustworthy memory. When Semyon went up to him and took off +his cap, smiling, he said: + +“I am hastening to Anastasyevka. My daughter’s worse again, and they say +that there is a new doctor at Anastasyevka.” + +They dragged the carriage on to the barge and floated back. The man whom +Semyon addressed as Vassily Sergeyitch stood all the time motionless, +tightly compressing his thick lips and staring off into space; when his +coachman asked permission to smoke in his presence he made no answer, as +though he had not heard. Semyon, lying with his stomach on the tiller, +looked mockingly at him and said: + +“Even in Siberia people can live--can li-ive!” + +There was a triumphant expression on Canny’s face, as though he had +proved something and was delighted that things had happened as he +had foretold. The unhappy helplessness of the man in the foxskin coat +evidently afforded him great pleasure. + +“It’s muddy driving now, Vassily Sergeyitch,” he said when the horses +were harnessed again on the bank. “You should have put off going for +another fortnight, when it will be drier. Or else not have gone at all. +... If any good would come of your going--but as you know yourself, +people have been driving about for years and years, day and night, and +it’s always been no use. That’s the truth.” + +Vassily Sergeyitch tipped him without a word, got into his carriage and +drove off. + +“There, he has galloped off for a doctor!” said Semyon, shrinking from +the cold. “But looking for a good doctor is like chasing the wind in the +fields or catching the devil by the tail, plague take your soul! What a +queer chap, Lord forgive me a sinner!” + +The Tatar went up to Canny, and, looking at him with hatred and +repulsion, shivering, and mixing Tatar words with his broken Russian, +said: “He is good... good; but you are bad! You are bad! The +gentleman is a good soul, excellent, and you are a beast, bad! The +gentleman is alive, but you are a dead carcass.... God created man to +be alive, and to have joy and grief and sorrow; but you want nothing, +so you are not alive, you are stone, clay! A stone wants nothing and you +want nothing. You are a stone, and God does not love you, but He loves +the gentleman!” + +Everyone laughed; the Tatar frowned contemptuously, and with a wave +of his hand wrapped himself in his rags and went to the campfire. The +ferrymen and Semyon sauntered to the hut. + +“It’s cold,” said one ferryman huskily as he stretched himself on the +straw with which the damp clay floor was covered. + +“Yes, it’s not warm,” another assented. “It’s a dog’s life....” + +They all lay down. The door was thrown open by the wind and the snow +drifted into the hut; nobody felt inclined to get up and shut the door: +they were cold, and it was too much trouble. + +“I am all right,” said Semyon as he began to doze. “I wouldn’t wish +anyone a better life.” + +“You are a tough one, we all know. Even the devils won’t take you!” + +Sounds like a dog’s howling came from outside. + +“What’s that? Who’s there?” + +“It’s the Tatar crying.” + +“I say.... He’s a queer one!” + +“He’ll get u-used to it!” said Semyon, and at once fell asleep. + +The others were soon asleep too. The door remained unclosed. + + + + +THE CATTLE-DEALERS + +THE long goods train has been standing for hours in the little station. +The engine is as silent as though its fire had gone out; there is not a +soul near the train or in the station yard. + +A pale streak of light comes from one of the vans and glides over the +rails of a siding. In that van two men are sitting on an outspread cape: +one is an old man with a big gray beard, wearing a sheepskin coat and a +high lambskin hat, somewhat like a busby; the other a beardless youth +in a threadbare cloth reefer jacket and muddy high boots. They are the +owners of the goods. The old man sits, his legs stretched out before +him, musing in silence; the young man half reclines and softly strums +on a cheap accordion. A lantern with a tallow candle in it is hanging on +the wall near them. + +The van is quite full. If one glances in through the dim light of +the lantern, for the first moment the eyes receive an impression of +something shapeless, monstrous, and unmistakably alive, something very +much like gigantic crabs which move their claws and feelers, crowd +together, and noiselessly climb up the walls to the ceiling; but if +one looks more closely, horns and their shadows, long lean backs, dirty +hides, tails, eyes begin to stand out in the dusk. They are cattle and +their shadows. There are eight of them in the van. Some turn round and +stare at the men and swing their tails. Others try to stand or lie down +more comfortably. They are crowded. If one lies down the others must +stand and huddle closer. No manger, no halter, no litter, not a wisp of +hay....* + +At last the old man pulls out of his pocket a silver watch and looks at +the time: a quarter past two. + +“We have been here nearly two hours,” he says, yawning. “Better go and +stir them up, or we may be here till morning. They have gone to sleep, +or goodness knows what they are up to.” + +The old man gets up and, followed by his long shadow, cautiously gets +down from the van into the darkness. He makes his way along beside the +train to the engine, and after passing some two dozen vans sees a red +open furnace; a human figure sits motionless facing it; its peaked cap, +nose, and knees are lighted up by the crimson glow, all the rest is +black and can scarcely be distinguished in the darkness. + +“Are we going to stay here much longer?” asks the old man. + +No answer. The motionless figure is evidently asleep. The old man clears +his throat impatiently and, shrinking from the penetrating damp, walks +round the engine, and as he does so the brilliant light of the two +engine lamps dazzles his eyes for an instant and makes the night even +blacker to him; he goes to the station. + +The platform and steps of the station are wet. Here and there are white +patches of freshly fallen melting snow. In the station itself it is +light and as hot as a steam-bath. There is a smell of paraffin. Except +for the weighing-machine and a yellow seat on which a man wearing a +guard’s uniform is asleep, there is no furniture in the place at all. +On the left are two wide-open doors. Through one of them the telegraphic +apparatus and a lamp with a green shade on it can be seen; through the +other, a small room, half of it taken up by a dark cupboard. In +this room the head guard and the engine-driver are sitting on the +window-sill. They are both feeling a cap with their fingers and +disputing. + +“That’s not real beaver, it’s imitation,” says the engine-driver. “Real +beaver is not like that. Five roubles would be a high price for the +whole cap, if you care to know!” + +“You know a great deal about it,...” the head guard says, offended. +“Five roubles, indeed! Here, we will ask the merchant. Mr. Malahin,” he +says, addressing the old man, “what do you say: is this imitation beaver +or real?” + +Old Malahin takes the cap into his hand, and with the air of a +connoisseur pinches the fur, blows on it, sniffs at it, and a +contemptuous smile lights up his angry face. + +“It must be imitation!” he says gleefully. “Imitation it is.” + +A dispute follows. The guard maintains that the cap is real beaver, and +the engine-driver and Malahin try to persuade him that it is not. In the +middle of the argument the old man suddenly remembers the object of his +coming. + +“Beaver and cap is all very well, but the train’s standing still, +gentlemen!” he says. “Who is it we are waiting for? Let us start!” + +“Let us,” the guard agrees. “We will smoke another cigarette and go on. +But there is no need to be in a hurry.... We shall be delayed at the +next station anyway!” + +“Why should we?” + +“Oh, well.... We are too much behind time.... If you are late at +one station you can’t help being delayed at the other stations to let +the trains going the opposite way pass. Whether we set off now or in +the morning we shan’t be number fourteen. We shall have to be number +twenty-three.” + +“And how do you make that out?” + +“Well, there it is.” + +Malahin looks at the guard, reflects, and mutters mechanically as though +to himself: + +“God be my judge, I have reckoned it and even jotted it down in a +notebook; we have wasted thirty-four hours standing still on the +journey. If you go on like this, either the cattle will die, or they +won’t pay me two roubles for the meat when I do get there. It’s not +traveling, but ruination.” + +The guard raises his eyebrows and sighs with an air that seems to say: +“All that is unhappily true!” The engine-driver sits silent, dreamily +looking at the cap. From their faces one can see that they have a secret +thought in common, which they do not utter, not because they want to +conceal it, but because such thoughts are much better expressed by signs +than by words. And the old man understands. He feels in his pocket, +takes out a ten-rouble note, and without preliminary words, without any +change in the tone of his voice or the expression of his face, but with +the confidence and directness with which probably only Russians give and +take bribes, he gives the guard the note. The latter takes it, folds it +in four, and without undue haste puts it in his pocket. After that all +three go out of the room, and waking the sleeping guard on the way, go +on to the platform. + +“What weather!” grumbles the head guard, shrugging his shoulders. “You +can’t see your hand before your face.” + +“Yes, it’s vile weather.” + +From the window they can see the flaxen head of the telegraph clerk +appear beside the green lamp and the telegraphic apparatus; soon after +another head, bearded and wearing a red cap, appears beside it--no doubt +that of the station-master. The station-master bends down to the table, +reads something on a blue form, rapidly passing his cigarette along the +lines.... Malahin goes to his van. + +The young man, his companion, is still half reclining and hardly audibly +strumming on the accordion. He is little more than a boy, with no +trace of a mustache; his full white face with its broad cheek-bones is +childishly dreamy; his eyes have a melancholy and tranquil look unlike +that of a grown-up person, but he is broad, strong, heavy and rough like +the old man; he does not stir nor shift his position, as though he is +not equal to moving his big body. It seems as though any movement he +made would tear his clothes and be so noisy as to frighten both him and +the cattle. From under his big fat fingers that clumsily pick out the +stops and keys of the accordion comes a steady flow of thin, tinkling +sounds which blend into a simple, monotonous little tune; he listens to +it, and is evidently much pleased with his performance. + +A bell rings, but with such a muffled note that it seems to come from +far away. A hurried second bell soon follows, then a third and the +guard’s whistle. A minute passes in profound silence; the van does not +move, it stands still, but vague sounds begin to come from beneath it, +like the crunch of snow under sledge-runners; the van begins to shake +and the sounds cease. Silence reigns again. But now comes the clank of +buffers, the violent shock makes the van start and, as it were, give a +lurch forward, and all the cattle fall against one another. + +“May you be served the same in the world to come,” grumbles the old man, +setting straight his cap, which had slipped on the back of his head from +the jolt. “He’ll maim all my cattle like this!” + +Yasha gets up without a word and, taking one of the fallen beasts by the +horns, helps it to get on to its legs.... The jolt is followed by a +stillness again. The sounds of crunching snow come from under the van +again, and it seems as though the train had moved back a little. + +“There will be another jolt in a minute,” says the old man. And the +convulsive quiver does, in fact, run along the train, there is a +crashing sound and the bullocks fall on one another again. + +“It’s a job!” says Yasha, listening. “The train must be heavy. It seems +it won’t move.” + +“It was not heavy before, but now it has suddenly got heavy. No, my +lad, the guard has not gone shares with him, I expect. Go and take him +something, or he will be jolting us till morning.” + +Yasha takes a three-rouble note from the old man and jumps out of the +van. The dull thud of his heavy footsteps resounds outside the van and +gradually dies away. Stillness.... In the next van a bullock utters a +prolonged subdued “moo,” as though it were singing. + +Yasha comes back. A cold damp wind darts into the van. + +“Shut the door, Yasha, and we will go to bed,” says the old man. “Why +burn a candle for nothing?” + +Yasha moves the heavy door; there is a sound of a whistle, the engine +and the train set off. + + +“It’s cold,” mutters the old man, stretching himself on the cape and +laying his head on a bundle. “It is very different at home! It’s warm +and clean and soft, and there is room to say your prayers, but here +we are worse off than any pigs. It’s four days and nights since I have +taken off my boots.” + +Yasha, staggering from the jolting of the train, opens the lantern and +snuffs out the wick with his wet fingers. The light flares up, hisses +like a frying pan and goes out. + +“Yes, my lad,” Malahin goes on, as he feels Yasha lie down beside him +and the young man’s huge back huddle against his own, “it’s cold. There +is a draught from every crack. If your mother or your sister were to +sleep here for one night they would be dead by morning. There it is, my +lad, you wouldn’t study and go to the high school like your brothers, so +you must take the cattle with your father. It’s your own fault, you have +only yourself to blame.... Your brothers are asleep in their beds +now, they are snug under the bedclothes, but you, the careless and lazy +one, are in the same box as the cattle.... Yes.... ” + +The old man’s words are inaudible in the noise of the train, but for a +long time he goes on muttering, sighing and clearing his throat.... +The cold air in the railway van grows thicker and more stifling. The +pungent odor of fresh dung and smoldering candle makes it so repulsive +and acrid that it irritates Yasha’s throat and chest as he falls asleep. +He coughs and sneezes, while the old man, being accustomed to it, +breathes with his whole chest as though nothing were amiss, and merely +clears his throat. + +To judge from the swaying of the van and the rattle of the wheels the +train is moving rapidly and unevenly. The engine breathes heavily, +snorting out of time with the pulsation of the train, and altogether +there is a medley of sounds. The bullocks huddle together uneasily and +knock their horns against the walls. + +When the old man wakes up, the deep blue sky of early morning is peeping +in at the cracks and at the little uncovered window. He feels unbearably +cold, especially in the back and the feet. The train is standing still; +Yasha, sleepy and morose, is busy with the cattle. + +The old man wakes up out of humor. Frowning and gloomy, he clears his +throat angrily and looks from under his brows at Yasha who, supporting a +bullock with his powerful shoulder and slightly lifting it, is trying to +disentangle its leg. + +“I told you last night that the cords were too long,” mutters the old +man; “but no, ‘It’s not too long, Daddy.’ There’s no making you do +anything, you will have everything your own way.... Blockhead!” + +He angrily moves the door open and the light rushes into the van. A +passenger train is standing exactly opposite the door, and behind it a +red building with a roofed-in platform--a big station with a refreshment +bar. The roofs and bridges of the trains, the earth, the sleepers, all +are covered with a thin coating of fluffy, freshly fallen snow. In the +spaces between the carriages of the passenger train the passengers can +be seen moving to and fro, and a red-haired, red-faced gendarme walking +up and down; a waiter in a frock-coat and a snow-white shirt-front, +looking cold and sleepy, and probably very much dissatisfied with his +fate, is running along the platform carrying a glass of tea and two +rusks on a tray. + +The old man gets up and begins saying his prayers towards the east. +Yasha, having finished with the bullock and put down the spade in the +corner, stands beside him and says his prayers also. He merely moves +his lips and crosses himself; the father prays in a loud whisper and +pronounces the end of each prayer aloud and distinctly. + +“... And the life of the world to come. Amen,” the old man says aloud, +draws in a breath, and at once whispers another prayer, rapping out +clearly and firmly at the end: “... and lay calves upon Thy altar!” + +After saying his prayers, Yasha hurriedly crosses himself and says: +“Five kopecks, please.” + +And on being given the five-kopeck piece, he takes a red copper teapot +and runs to the station for boiling water. Taking long jumps over +the rails and sleepers, leaving huge tracks in the feathery snow, +and pouring away yesterday’s tea out of the teapot he runs to the +refreshment room and jingles his five-kopeck piece against his teapot. +From the van the bar-keeper can be seen pushing away the big teapot and +refusing to give half of his samovar for five kopecks, but Yasha +turns the tap himself and, spreading wide his elbows so as not to be +interfered with fills his teapot with boiling water. + +“Damned blackguard!” the bar-keeper shouts after him as he runs back to +the railway van. + +The scowling face of Malahin grows a little brighter over the tea. + +“We know how to eat and drink, but we don’t remember our work. Yesterday +we could do nothing all day but eat and drink, and I’ll be bound we +forgot to put down what we spent. What a memory! Lord have mercy on us!” + +The old man recalls aloud the expenditure of the day before, and writes +down in a tattered notebook where and how much he had given to guards, +engine-drivers, oilers.... + +Meanwhile the passenger train has long ago gone off, and an engine +runs backwards and forwards on the empty line, apparently without any +definite object, but simply enjoying its freedom. The sun has risen and +is playing on the snow; bright drops are falling from the station roof +and the tops of the vans. + +Having finished his tea, the old man lazily saunters from the van to the +station. Here in the middle of the first-class waiting-room he sees the +familiar figure of the guard standing beside the station-master, a young +man with a handsome beard and in a magnificent rough woollen overcoat. +The young man, probably new to his position, stands in the same place, +gracefully shifting from one foot to the other like a good racehorse, +looks from side to side, salutes everyone that passes by, smiles and +screws up his eyes.... He is red-cheeked, sturdy, and good-humored; +his face is full of eagerness, and is as fresh as though he had just +fallen from the sky with the feathery snow. Seeing Malahin, the guard +sighs guiltily and throws up his hands. + +“We can’t go number fourteen,” he says. “We are very much behind time. +Another train has gone with that number.” + +The station-master rapidly looks through some forms, then turns his +beaming blue eyes upon Malahin, and, his face radiant with smiles and +freshness, showers questions on him: + +“You are Mr. Malahin? You have the cattle? Eight vanloads? What is to be +done now? You are late and I let number fourteen go in the night. What +are we to do now?” + +The young man discreetly takes hold of the fur of Malahin’s coat with +two pink fingers and, shifting from one foot to the other, explains +affably and convincingly that such and such numbers have gone already, +and that such and such are going, and that he is ready to do for Malahin +everything in his power. And from his face it is evident that he is +ready to do anything to please not only Malahin, but the whole world--he +is so happy, so pleased, and so delighted! The old man listens, and +though he can make absolutely nothing of the intricate system of +numbering the trains, he nods his head approvingly, and he, too, puts +two fingers on the soft wool of the rough coat. He enjoys seeing and +hearing the polite and genial young man. To show goodwill on his side +also, he takes out a ten-rouble note and, after a moment’s thought, adds +a couple of rouble notes to it, and gives them to the station-master. +The latter takes them, puts his finger to his cap, and gracefully +thrusts them into his pocket. + +“Well, gentlemen, can’t we arrange it like this?” he says, kindled by a +new idea that has flashed on him. “The troop train is late,... as you +see, it is not here,... so why shouldn’t you go as the troop train?** +And I will let the troop train go as twenty-eight. Eh?” + +“If you like,” agrees the guard. + +“Excellent!” the station-master says, delighted. “In that case there is +no need for you to wait here; you can set off at once. I’ll dispatch you +immediately. Excellent!” + +He salutes Malahin and runs off to his room, reading forms as he goes. +The old man is very much pleased by the conversation that has just +taken place; he smiles and looks about the room as though looking for +something else agreeable. + +“We’ll have a drink, though,” he says, taking the guard’s arm. + +“It seems a little early for drinking.” + +“No, you must let me treat you to a glass in a friendly way.” + +They both go to the refreshment bar. After having a drink the guard +spends a long time selecting something to eat. + +He is a very stout, elderly man, with a puffy and discolored face. His +fatness is unpleasant, flabby-looking, and he is sallow as people are +who drink too much and sleep irregularly. + +“And now we might have a second glass,” says Malahin. “It’s cold now, +it’s no sin to drink. Please take some. So I can rely upon you, Mr. +Guard, that there will be no hindrance or unpleasantness for the rest +of the journey. For you know in moving cattle every hour is precious. +To-day meat is one price; and to-morrow, look you, it will be another. +If you are a day or two late and don’t get your price, instead of a +profit you get home--excuse my saying it--without your breeches. Pray +take a little.... I rely on you, and as for standing you something or +what you like, I shall be pleased to show you my respect at any time.” + +After having fed the guard, Malahin goes back to the van. + +“I have just got hold of the troop train,” he says to his son. “We shall +go quickly. The guard says if we go all the way with that number we +shall arrive at eight o’clock to-morrow evening. If one does not bestir +oneself, my boy, one gets nothing.... That’s so.... So you watch +and learn....” + +After the first bell a man with a face black with soot, in a blouse and +filthy frayed trousers hanging very slack, comes to the door of the van. +This is the oiler, who had been creeping under the carriages and tapping +the wheels with a hammer. + +“Are these your vans of cattle?” he asks. + +“Yes. Why?” + +“Why, because two of the vans are not safe. They can’t go on, they must +stay here to be repaired.” + +“Oh, come, tell us another! You simply want a drink, to get something +out of me.... You should have said so.” + +“As you please, only it is my duty to report it at once.” + +Without indignation or protest, simply, almost mechanically, the old man +takes two twenty-kopeck pieces out of his pocket and gives them to the +oiler. He takes them very calmly, too, and looking good-naturedly at the +old man enters into conversation. + +“You are going to sell your cattle, I suppose.... It’s good +business!” + +Malahin sighs and, looking calmly at the oiler’s black face, tells him +that trading in cattle used certainly to be profitable, but now it has +become a risky and losing business. + +“I have a mate here,” the oiler interrupts him. “You merchant gentlemen +might make him a little present....” + +Malahin gives something to the mate too. The troop train goes quickly +and the waits at the stations are comparatively short. The old man is +pleased. The pleasant impression made by the young man in the rough +overcoat has gone deep, the vodka he has drunk slightly clouds his +brain, the weather is magnificent, and everything seems to be going +well. He talks without ceasing, and at every stopping place runs to the +refreshment bar. Feeling the need of a listener, he takes with him first +the guard, and then the engine-driver, and does not simply drink, but +makes a long business of it, with suitable remarks and clinking of +glasses. + +“You have your job and we have ours,” he says with an affable smile. +“May God prosper us and you, and not our will but His be done.” + +The vodka gradually excites him and he is worked up to a great pitch of +energy. He wants to bestir himself, to fuss about, to make inquiries, +to talk incessantly. At one minute he fumbles in his pockets and bundles +and looks for some form. Then he thinks of something and cannot remember +it; then takes out his pocketbook, and with no sort of object counts +over his money. He bustles about, sighs and groans, clasps his hands.... +Laying out before him the letters and telegrams from the meat +salesmen in the city, bills, post office and telegraphic receipt forms, +and his note book, he reflects aloud and insists on Yasha’s listening. + +And when he is tired of reading over forms and talking about prices, he +gets out at the stopping places, runs to the vans where his cattle are, +does nothing, but simply clasps his hands and exclaims in horror. + +“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” he says in a complaining voice. “Holy Martyr +Vlassy! Though they are bullocks, though they are beasts, yet they want +to eat and drink as men do.... It’s four days and nights since they +have drunk or eaten. Oh, dear! oh, dear!” + +Yasha follows him and does what he is told like an obedient son. He does +not like the old man’s frequent visits to the refreshment bar. Though he +is afraid of his father, he cannot refrain from remarking on it. + +“So you have begun already!” he says, looking sternly at the old man. +“What are you rejoicing at? Is it your name-day or what?” + +“Don’t you dare teach your father.” + +“Fine goings on!” + +When he has not to follow his father along the other vans Yasha sits on +the cape and strums on the accordion. Occasionally he gets out and walks +lazily beside the train; he stands by the engine and turns a prolonged, +unmoving stare on the wheels or on the workmen tossing blocks of wood +into the tender; the hot engine wheezes, the falling blocks come down +with the mellow, hearty thud of fresh wood; the engine-driver and +his assistant, very phlegmatic and imperturbable persons, perform +incomprehensible movements and don’t hurry themselves. After standing +for a while by the engine, Yasha saunters lazily to the station; here +he looks at the eatables in the refreshment bar, reads aloud some quite +uninteresting notice, and goes back slowly to the cattle van. His face +expresses neither boredom nor desire; apparently he does not care where +he is, at home, in the van, or by the engine. + +Towards evening the train stops near a big station. The lamps have only +just been lighted along the line; against the blue background in the +fresh limpid air the lights are bright and pale like stars; they are +only red and glowing under the station roof, where it is already dark. +All the lines are loaded up with carriages, and it seems that if another +train came in there would be no place for it. Yasha runs to the station +for boiling water to make the evening tea. Well-dressed ladies and +high-school boys are walking on the platform. If one looks into the +distance from the platform there are far-away lights twinkling in the +evening dusk on both sides of the station--that is the town. What town? +Yasha does not care to know. He sees only the dim lights and wretched +buildings beyond the station, hears the cabmen shouting, feels a +sharp, cold wind on his face, and imagines that the town is probably +disagreeable, uncomfortable, and dull. + +While they are having tea, when it is quite dark and a lantern is +hanging on the wall again as on the previous evening, the train quivers +from a slight shock and begins moving backwards. After going a little +way it stops; they hear indistinct shouts, someone sets the chains +clanking near the buffers and shouts, “Ready!” The train moves and goes +forward. Ten minutes later it is dragged back again. + +Getting out of the van, Malahin does not recognize his train. His eight +vans of bullocks are standing in the same row with some trolleys which +were not a part of the train before. Two or three of these are loaded +with rubble and the others are empty. The guards running to and fro on +the platform are strangers. They give unwilling and indistinct answers +to his questions. They have no thoughts to spare for Malahin; they are +in a hurry to get the train together so as to finish as soon as possible +and be back in the warmth. + +“What number is this?” asks Malahin + +“Number eighteen.” + +“And where is the troop train? Why have you taken me off the troop +train?” + +Getting no answer, the old man goes to the station. He looks first for +the familiar figure of the head guard and, not finding him, goes to +the station-master. The station-master is sitting at a table in his own +room, turning over a bundle of forms. He is busy, and affects not to +see the newcomer. His appearance is impressive: a cropped black head, +prominent ears, a long hooked nose, a swarthy face; he has a forbidding +and, as it were, offended expression. Malahin begins making his +complaint at great length. + +“What?” queries the station-master. “How is this?” He leans against the +back of his chair and goes on, growing indignant: “What is it? and +why shouldn’t you go by number eighteen? Speak more clearly, I don’t +understand! How is it? Do you want me to be everywhere at once?” + +He showers questions on him, and for no apparent reason grows +sterner and sterner. Malahin is already feeling in his pocket for his +pocketbook, but in the end the station-master, aggrieved and indignant, +for some unknown reason jumps up from his seat and runs out of the room. +Malahin shrugs his shoulders, and goes out to look for someone else to +speak to. + +From boredom or from a desire to put the finishing stroke to a busy day, +or simply that a window with the inscription “Telegraph!” on it catches +his eye, he goes to the window and expresses a desire to send off a +telegram. Taking up a pen, he thinks for a moment, and writes on a blue +form: “Urgent. Traffic Manager. Eight vans of live stock. Delayed at +every station. Kindly send an express number. Reply paid. Malahin.” + +Having sent off the telegram, he goes back to the station-master’s +room. There he finds, sitting on a sofa covered with gray cloth, a +benevolent-looking gentleman in spectacles and a cap of raccoon fur; he +is wearing a peculiar overcoat very much like a lady’s, edged with fur, +with frogs and slashed sleeves. Another gentleman, dried-up and sinewy, +wearing the uniform of a railway inspector, stands facing him. + +“Just think of it,” says the inspector, addressing the gentleman in the +queer overcoat. “I’ll tell you an incident that really is A1! The Z. +railway line in the coolest possible way stole three hundred trucks +from the N. line. It’s a fact, sir! I swear it! They carried them off, +repainted them, put their letters on them, and that’s all about it. The +N. line sends its agents everywhere, they hunt and hunt. And then--can +you imagine it?--the Company happen to come upon a broken-down carriage +of the Z. line. They repair it at their depot, and all at once, bless my +soul! see their own mark on the wheels What do you say to that? Eh? If +I did it they would send me to Siberia, but the railway companies simply +snap their fingers at it!” + +It is pleasant to Malahin to talk to educated, cultured people. He +strokes his beard and joins in the conversation with dignity. + +“Take this case, gentlemen, for instance,” he says. “I am transporting +cattle to X. Eight vanloads. Very good.... Now let us say they charge +me for each vanload as a weight of ten tons; eight bullocks don’t weigh +ten tons, but much less, yet they don’t take any notice of that....” + +At that instant Yasha walks into the room looking for his father. He +listens and is about to sit down on a chair, but probably thinking of +his weight goes and sits on the window-sill. + +“They don’t take any notice of that,” Malahin goes on, “and charge me +and my son the third-class fare, too, forty-two roubles, for going in +the van with the bullocks. This is my son Yakov. I have two more at +home, but they have gone in for study. Well and apart from that it is my +opinion that the railways have ruined the cattle trade. In old days when +they drove them in herds it was better.” + +The old man’s talk is lengthy and drawn out. After every sentence he +looks at Yasha as though he would say: “See how I am talking to clever +people.” + +“Upon my word!” the inspector interrupts him. “No one is indignant, no +one criticizes. And why? It is very simple. An abomination strikes +the eye and arouses indignation only when it is exceptional, when the +established order is broken by it. Here, where, saving your presence, it +constitutes the long-established program and forms and enters into the +basis of the order itself, where every sleeper on the line bears the +trace of it and stinks of it, one too easily grows accustomed to it! +Yes, sir!” + +The second bell rings, the gentlemen in the queer overcoat gets up. The +inspector takes him by the arm and, still talking with heat, goes off +with him to the platform. After the third bell the station-master runs +into his room, and sits down at his table. + +“Listen, with what number am I to go?” asks Malahin. + +The station-master looks at a form and says indignantly: + +“Are you Malahin, eight vanloads? You must pay a rouble a van and +six roubles and twenty kopecks for stamps. You have no stamps. Total, +fourteen roubles, twenty kopecks.” + +Receiving the money, he writes something down, dries it with sand, and, +hurriedly snatching up a bundle of forms, goes quickly out of the room. + +At ten o’clock in the evening Malahin gets an answer from the traffic +manager: “Give precedence.” + +Reading the telegram through, the old man winks significantly and, very +well pleased with himself, puts it in his pocket. + +“Here,” he says to Yasha, “look and learn.” + +At midnight his train goes on. The night is dark and cold like the +previous one; the waits at the stations are long. Yasha sits on the cape +and imperturbably strums on the accordion, while the old man is still +more eager to exert himself. At one of the stations he is overtaken by +a desire to lodge a complaint. At his request a gendarme sits down and +writes: + +“November 10, 188-.--I, non-commissioned officer of the Z. section of +the N. police department of railways, Ilya Tchered, in accordance with +article II of the statute of May 19, 1871, have drawn up this protocol +at the station of X. as herewith follows.... ” + +“What am I to write next?” asks the gendarme. + +Malahin lays out before him forms, postal and telegraph receipts, +accounts.... He does not know himself definitely what he wants of the +gendarme; he wants to describe in the protocol not any separate episode +but his whole journey, with all his losses and conversations with +station-masters--to describe it lengthily and vindictively. + +“At the station of Z.,” he says, “write that the station-master unlinked +my vans from the troop train because he did not like my countenance.” + +And he wants the gendarme to be sure to mention his countenance. The +latter listens wearily, and goes on writing without hearing him to the +end. He ends his protocol thus: + +“The above deposition I, non-commissioned officer Tchered, have written +down in this protocol with a view to present it to the head of the Z. +section, and have handed a copy thereof to Gavril Malahin.” + +The old man takes the copy, adds it to the papers with which his side +pocket is stuffed, and, much pleased, goes back to his van. + +In the morning Malahin wakes up again in a bad humor, but his wrath +vents itself not on Yasha but the cattle. + +“The cattle are done for!” he grumbles. “They are done for! They are at +the last gasp! God be my judge! they will all die. Tfoo!” + +The bullocks, who have had nothing to drink for many days, tortured by +thirst, are licking the hoar frost on the walls, and when Malachin goes +up to them they begin licking his cold fur jacket. From their clear, +tearful eyes it can be seen that they are exhausted by thirst and the +jolting of the train, that they are hungry and miserable. + +“It’s a nice job taking you by rail, you wretched brutes!” mutters +Malahin. “I could wish you were dead to get it over! It makes me sick to +look at you!” + +At midday the train stops at a big station where, according to the +regulations, there was drinking water provided for cattle. + +Water is given to the cattle, but the bullocks will not drink it: the +water is too cold.... + +* * * * * + +Two more days and nights pass, and at last in the distance in the murky +fog the city comes into sight. The journey is over. The train comes +to a standstill before reaching the town, near a goods’ station. The +bullocks, released from the van, stagger and stumble as though they were +walking on slippery ice. + +Having got through the unloading and veterinary inspection, Malahin and +Yasha take up their quarters in a dirty, cheap hotel in the outskirts +of the town, in the square in which the cattle-market is held. Their +lodgings are filthy and their food is disgusting, unlike what they +ever have at home; they sleep to the harsh strains of a wretched steam +hurdy-gurdy which plays day and night in the restaurant under their +lodging. + +The old man spends his time from morning till night going about looking +for purchasers, and Yasha sits for days in the hotel room, or goes out +into the street to look at the town. He sees the filthy square heaped +up with dung, the signboards of restaurants, the turreted walls of a +monastery in the fog. Sometimes he runs across the street and looks into +the grocer’s shop, admires the jars of cakes of different colors, yawns, +and lazily saunters back to his room. The city does not interest him. + +At last the bullocks are sold to a dealer. Malahin hires drovers. The +cattle are divided into herds, ten in each, and driven to the other end +of the town. The bullocks, exhausted, go with drooping heads through the +noisy streets, and look indifferently at what they see for the first and +last time in their lives. The tattered drovers walk after them, their +heads drooping too. They are bored.... Now and then some drover +starts out of his brooding, remembers that there are cattle in front +of him intrusted to his charge, and to show that he is doing his duty +brings a stick down full swing on a bullock’s back. The bullock staggers +with the pain, runs forward a dozen paces, and looks about him as though +he were ashamed at being beaten before people. + +After selling the bullocks and buying for his family presents such as +they could perfectly well have bought at home, Malahin and Yasha get +ready for their journey back. Three hours before the train goes the old +man, who has already had a drop too much with the purchaser and so is +fussy, goes down with Yasha to the restaurant and sits down to drink +tea. Like all provincials, he cannot eat and drink alone: he must have +company as fussy and as fond of sedate conversation as himself. + +“Call the host!” he says to the waiter; “tell him I should like to +entertain him.” + +The hotel-keeper, a well-fed man, absolutely indifferent to his lodgers, +comes and sits down to the table. + +“Well, we have sold our stock,” Malahin says, laughing. “I have swapped +my goat for a hawk. Why, when we set off the price of meat was three +roubles ninety kopecks, but when we arrived it had dropped to three +roubles twenty-five. They tell us we are too late, we should have been +here three days earlier, for now there is not the same demand for meat, +St. Philip’s fast has come.... Eh? It’s a nice how-do-you-do! It +meant a loss of fourteen roubles on each bullock. Yes. But only think +what it costs to bring the stock! Fifteen roubles carriage, and you must +put down six roubles for each bullock, tips, bribes, drinks, and one +thing and another....” + +The hotel-keeper listens out of politeness and reluctantly drinks tea. +Malahin sighs and groans, gesticulates, jests about his ill-luck, but +everything shows that the loss he has sustained does not trouble him +much. He doesn’t mind whether he has lost or gained as long as he has +listeners, has something to make a fuss about, and is not late for his +train. + +An hour later Malahin and Yasha, laden with bags and boxes, go +downstairs from the hotel room to the front door to get into a sledge +and drive to the station. They are seen off by the hotel-keeper, the +waiter, and various women. The old man is touched. He thrusts ten-kopeck +pieces in all directions, and says in a sing-song voice: + +“Good by, good health to you! God grant that all may be well with +you. Please God if we are alive and well we shall come again in Lent. +Good-by. Thank you. God bless you!” + +Getting into the sledge, the old man spends a long time crossing himself +in the direction in which the monastery walls make a patch of darkness +in the fog. Yasha sits beside him on the very edge of the seat with his +legs hanging over the side. His face as before shows no sign of emotion +and expresses neither boredom nor desire. He is not glad that he is +going home, nor sorry that he has not had time to see the sights of the +city. + +“Drive on!” + +The cabman whips up the horse and, turning round, begins swearing at the +heavy and cumbersome luggage. + + * On many railway lines, in order to avoid accidents, it is + against the regulations to carry hay on the trains, and so + live stock are without fodder on the journey.--Author’s + Note. + + **The train destined especially for the transport of troops + is called the troop train; when there are no troops it takes + goods, and goes more rapidly than ordinary goods train. + --Author’s Note. + + + + +SORROW + +THE turner, Grigory Petrov, who had been known for years past as a +splendid craftsman, and at the same time as the most senseless peasant +in the Galtchinskoy district, was taking his old woman to the hospital. +He had to drive over twenty miles, and it was an awful road. A +government post driver could hardly have coped with it, much less an +incompetent sluggard like Grigory. A cutting cold wind was blowing +straight in his face. Clouds of snowflakes were whirling round and +round in all directions, so that one could not tell whether the snow was +falling from the sky or rising from the earth. The fields, the telegraph +posts, and the forest could not be seen for the fog of snow. And when a +particularly violent gust of wind swooped down on Grigory, even the yoke +above the horse’s head could not be seen. The wretched, feeble little +nag crawled slowly along. It took all its strength to drag its legs out +of the snow and to tug with its head. The turner was in a hurry. He kept +restlessly hopping up and down on the front seat and lashing the horse’s +back. + +“Don’t cry, Matryona,...” he muttered. “Have a little patience. +Please God we shall reach the hospital, and in a trice it will be the +right thing for you.... Pavel Ivanitch will give you some little +drops, or tell them to bleed you; or maybe his honor will be pleased to +rub you with some sort of spirit--it’ll... draw it out of your side. +Pavel Ivanitch will do his best. He will shout and stamp about, but he +will do his best.... He is a nice gentleman, affable, God give him +health! As soon as we get there he will dart out of his room and will +begin calling me names. ‘How? Why so?’ he will cry. ‘Why did you not +come at the right time? I am not a dog to be hanging about waiting on +you devils all day. Why did you not come in the morning? Go away! Get +out of my sight. Come again to-morrow.’ And I shall say: ‘Mr. Doctor! +Pavel Ivanitch! Your honor!’ Get on, do! plague take you, you devil! Get +on!” + +The turner lashed his nag, and without looking at the old woman went on +muttering to himself: + +“‘Your honor! It’s true as before God.... Here’s the Cross for you, +I set off almost before it was light. How could I be here in time if +the Lord.... The Mother of God... is wroth, and has sent such a +snowstorm? Kindly look for yourself.... Even a first-rate horse could +not do it, while mine--you can see for yourself--is not a horse but a +disgrace.’ And Pavel Ivanitch will frown and shout: ‘We know you! You +always find some excuse! Especially you, Grishka; I know you of old! +I’ll be bound you have stopped at half a dozen taverns!’ And I shall +say: ‘Your honor! am I a criminal or a heathen? My old woman is giving +up her soul to God, she is dying, and am I going to run from tavern to +tavern! What an idea, upon my word! Plague take them, the taverns!’ Then +Pavel Ivanitch will order you to be taken into the hospital, and I shall +fall at his feet.... ‘Pavel Ivanitch! Your honor, we thank you most +humbly! Forgive us fools and anathemas, don’t be hard on us peasants! We +deserve a good kicking, while you graciously put yourself out and mess +your feet in the snow!’ And Pavel Ivanitch will give me a look as +though he would like to hit me, and will say: ‘You’d much better not be +swilling vodka, you fool, but taking pity on your old woman instead +of falling at my feet. You want a thrashing!’ ‘You are right there--a +thrashing, Pavel Ivanitch, strike me God! But how can we help bowing +down at your feet if you are our benefactor, and a real father to us? +Your honor! I give you my word,... here as before God,... you +may spit in my face if I deceive you: as soon as my Matryona, this same +here, is well again and restored to her natural condition, I’ll make +anything for your honor that you would like to order! A cigarette-case, +if you like, of the best birchwood,... balls for croquet, skittles of +the most foreign pattern I can turn.... I will make anything for you! +I won’t take a farthing from you. In Moscow they would charge you four +roubles for such a cigarette-case, but I won’t take a farthing.’ The +doctor will laugh and say: ‘Oh, all right, all right.... I see! But +it’s a pity you are a drunkard....’ I know how to manage the gentry, +old girl. There isn’t a gentleman I couldn’t talk to. Only God grant we +don’t get off the road. Oh, how it is blowing! One’s eyes are full of +snow.” + +And the turner went on muttering endlessly. He prattled on mechanically +to get a little relief from his depressing feelings. He had plenty of +words on his tongue, but the thoughts and questions in his brain +were even more numerous. Sorrow had come upon the turner unawares, +unlooked-for, and unexpected, and now he could not get over it, could +not recover himself. He had lived hitherto in unruffled calm, as though +in drunken half-consciousness, knowing neither grief nor joy, and now he +was suddenly aware of a dreadful pain in his heart. The careless idler +and drunkard found himself quite suddenly in the position of a busy man, +weighed down by anxieties and haste, and even struggling with nature. + +The turner remembered that his trouble had begun the evening before. +When he had come home yesterday evening, a little drunk as usual, and +from long-established habit had begun swearing and shaking his fists, +his old woman had looked at her rowdy spouse as she had never looked +at him before. Usually, the expression in her aged eyes was that of a +martyr, meek like that of a dog frequently beaten and badly fed; this +time she had looked at him sternly and immovably, as saints in the holy +pictures or dying people look. From that strange, evil look in her eyes +the trouble had begun. The turner, stupefied with amazement, borrowed a +horse from a neighbor, and now was taking his old woman to the hospital +in the hope that, by means of powders and ointments, Pavel Ivanitch +would bring back his old woman’s habitual expression. + +“I say, Matryona,...” the turner muttered, “if Pavel Ivanitch asks +you whether I beat you, say, ‘Never!’ and I never will beat you again. I +swear it. And did I ever beat you out of spite? I just beat you without +thinking. I am sorry for you. Some men wouldn’t trouble, but here I am +taking you.... I am doing my best. And the way it snows, the way it +snows! Thy Will be done, O Lord! God grant we don’t get off the road.... +Does your side ache, Matryona, that you don’t speak? I ask you, +does your side ache?” + +It struck him as strange that the snow on his old woman’s face was not +melting; it was queer that the face itself looked somehow drawn, and had +turned a pale gray, dingy waxen hue and had grown grave and solemn. + +“You are a fool!” muttered the turner.... “I tell you on my +conscience, before God,... and you go and... Well, you are a fool! +I have a good mind not to take you to Pavel Ivanitch!” + +The turner let the reins go and began thinking. He could not bring +himself to look round at his old woman: he was frightened. He was +afraid, too, of asking her a question and not getting an answer. At +last, to make an end of uncertainty, without looking round he felt his +old woman’s cold hand. The lifted hand fell like a log. + +“She is dead, then! What a business!” + +And the turner cried. He was not so much sorry as annoyed. He thought +how quickly everything passes in this world! His trouble had hardly +begun when the final catastrophe had happened. He had not had time to +live with his old woman, to show her he was sorry for her before she +died. He had lived with her for forty years, but those forty years had +passed by as it were in a fog. What with drunkenness, quarreling, and +poverty, there had been no feeling of life. And, as though to spite him, +his old woman died at the very time when he felt he was sorry for her, +that he could not live without her, and that he had behaved dreadfully +badly to her. + +“Why, she used to go the round of the village,” he remembered. “I sent +her out myself to beg for bread. What a business! She ought to have +lived another ten years, the silly thing; as it is I’ll be bound she +thinks I really was that sort of man.... Holy Mother! but where the +devil am I driving? There’s no need for a doctor now, but a burial. Turn +back!” + +Grigory turned back and lashed the horse with all his might. The road +grew worse and worse every hour. Now he could not see the yoke at +all. Now and then the sledge ran into a young fir tree, a dark object +scratched the turner’s hands and flashed before his eyes, and the field +of vision was white and whirling again. + +“To live over again,” thought the turner. + +He remembered that forty years ago Matryona had been young, handsome, +merry, that she had come of a well-to-do family. They had married her +to him because they had been attracted by his handicraft. All the +essentials for a happy life had been there, but the trouble was that, +just as he had got drunk after the wedding and lay sprawling on the +stove, so he had gone on without waking up till now. His wedding he +remembered, but of what happened after the wedding--for the life of him +he could remember nothing, except perhaps that he had drunk, lain on the +stove, and quarreled. Forty years had been wasted like that. + +The white clouds of snow were beginning little by little to turn gray. +It was getting dusk. + +“Where am I going?” the turner suddenly bethought him with a start. +“I ought to be thinking of the burial, and I am on the way to the +hospital.... It as is though I had gone crazy.” + +Grigory turned round again, and again lashed his horse. The little nag +strained its utmost and, with a snort, fell into a little trot. The +turner lashed it on the back time after time.... A knocking was +audible behind him, and though he did not look round, he knew it was the +dead woman’s head knocking against the sledge. And the snow kept turning +darker and darker, the wind grew colder and more cutting.... + +“To live over again!” thought the turner. “I should get a new lathe, +take orders,... give the money to my old woman....” + +And then he dropped the reins. He looked for them, tried to pick them +up, but could not--his hands would not work.... + +“It does not matter,” he thought, “the horse will go of itself, it knows +the way. I might have a little sleep now.... Before the funeral or +the requiem it would be as well to get a little rest....” + +The turner closed his eyes and dozed. A little later he heard the horse +stop; he opened his eyes and saw before him something dark like a hut or +a haystack.... + +He would have got out of the sledge and found out what it was, but he +felt overcome by such inertia that it seemed better to freeze than move, +and he sank into a peaceful sleep. + +He woke up in a big room with painted walls. Bright sunlight was +streaming in at the windows. The turner saw people facing him, and his +first feeling was a desire to show himself a respectable man who knew +how things should be done. + +“A requiem, brothers, for my old woman,” he said. “The priest should be +told....” + +“Oh, all right, all right; lie down,” a voice cut him short. + +“Pavel Ivanitch!” the turner cried in surprise, seeing the doctor before +him. “Your honor, benefactor!” + +He wanted to leap up and fall on his knees before the doctor, but felt +that his arms and legs would not obey him. + +“Your honor, where are my legs, where are my arms!” + +“Say good-by to your arms and legs.... They’ve been frozen off. Come, +come!... What are you crying for? You’ve lived your life, and thank +God for it! I suppose you have had sixty years of it--that’s enough for +you!...” + +“I am grieving.... Graciously forgive me! If I could have another +five or six years!...” + +“What for?” + +“The horse isn’t mine, I must give it back.... I must bury my old +woman.... How quickly it is all ended in this world! Your honor, +Pavel Ivanitch! A cigarette-case of birchwood of the best! I’ll turn you +croquet balls....” + +The doctor went out of the ward with a wave of his hand. It was all over +with the turner. + + + + +ON OFFICIAL DUTY + +THE deputy examining magistrate and the district doctor were going to an +inquest in the village of Syrnya. On the road they were overtaken by a +snowstorm; they spent a long time going round and round, and arrived, +not at midday, as they had intended, but in the evening when it was +dark. They put up for the night at the Zemstvo hut. It so happened +that it was in this hut that the dead body was lying--the corpse of the +Zemstvo insurance agent, Lesnitsky, who had arrived in Syrnya three days +before and, ordering the samovar in the hut, had shot himself, to the +great surprise of everyone; and the fact that he had ended his life +so strangely, after unpacking his eatables and laying them out on the +table, and with the samovar before him, led many people to suspect that +it was a case of murder; an inquest was necessary. + +In the outer room the doctor and the examining magistrate shook the snow +off themselves and knocked it off their boots. And meanwhile the old +village constable, Ilya Loshadin, stood by, holding a little tin lamp. +There was a strong smell of paraffin. + +“Who are you?” asked the doctor. + +“Conshtable,...” answered the constable. + +He used to spell it “conshtable” when he signed the receipts at the post +office. + +“And where are the witnesses?” + +“They must have gone to tea, your honor.” + +On the right was the parlor, the travelers’ or gentry’s room; on the +left the kitchen, with a big stove and sleeping shelves under the +rafters. The doctor and the examining magistrate, followed by the +constable, holding the lamp high above his head, went into the parlor. +Here a still, long body covered with white linen was lying on the floor +close to the table-legs. In the dim light of the lamp they could clearly +see, besides the white covering, new rubber goloshes, and everything +about it was uncanny and sinister: the dark walls, and the silence, and +the goloshes, and the stillness of the dead body. On the table stood a +samovar, cold long ago; and round it parcels, probably the eatables. + +“To shoot oneself in the Zemstvo hut, how tactless!” said the doctor. +“If one does want to put a bullet through one’s brains, one ought to do +it at home in some outhouse.” + +He sank on to a bench, just as he was, in his cap, his fur coat, and his +felt overboots; his fellow-traveler, the examining magistrate, sat down +opposite. + +“These hysterical, neurasthenic people are great egoists,” the doctor +went on hotly. “If a neurasthenic sleeps in the same room with you, he +rustles his newspaper; when he dines with you, he gets up a scene +with his wife without troubling about your presence; and when he feels +inclined to shoot himself, he shoots himself in a village in a Zemstvo +hut, so as to give the maximum of trouble to everybody. These gentlemen +in every circumstance of life think of no one but themselves! That’s why +the elderly so dislike our ‘nervous age.’” + +“The elderly dislike so many things,” said the examining magistrate, +yawning. “You should point out to the elder generation what the +difference is between the suicides of the past and the suicides of +to-day. In the old days the so-called gentleman shot himself because he +had made away with Government money, but nowadays it is because he is +sick of life, depressed.... Which is better?” + +“Sick of life, depressed; but you must admit that he might have shot +himself somewhere else.” + +“Such trouble!” said the constable, “such trouble! It’s a real +affliction. The people are very much upset, your honor; they haven’t +slept these three nights. The children are crying. The cows ought to be +milked, but the women won’t go to the stall--they are afraid... for +fear the gentleman should appear to them in the darkness. Of course they +are silly women, but some of the men are frightened too. As soon as +it is dark they won’t go by the hut one by one, but only in a flock +together. And the witnesses too....” + +Dr. Startchenko, a middle-aged man in spectacles with a dark beard, and +the examining magistrate Lyzhin, a fair man, still young, who had only +taken his degree two years before and looked more like a student than an +official, sat in silence, musing. They were vexed that they were late. +Now they had to wait till morning, and to stay here for the night, +though it was not yet six o’clock; and they had before them a long +evening, a dark night, boredom, uncomfortable beds, beetles, and cold +in the morning; and listening to the blizzard that howled in the chimney +and in the loft, they both thought how unlike all this was the life +which they would have chosen for themselves and of which they had once +dreamed, and how far away they both were from their contemporaries, who +were at that moment walking about the lighted streets in town without +noticing the weather, or were getting ready for the theatre, or sitting +in their studies over a book. Oh, how much they would have given now +only to stroll along the Nevsky Prospect, or along Petrovka in Moscow, +to listen to decent singing, to sit for an hour or so in a restaurant! + +“Oo-oo-oo-oo!” sang the storm in the loft, and something outside slammed +viciously, probably the signboard on the hut. “Oo-oo-oo-oo!” + +“You can do as you please, but I have no desire to stay here,” said +Startchenko, getting up. “It’s not six yet, it’s too early to go to bed; +I am off. Von Taunitz lives not far from here, only a couple of +miles from Syrnya. I shall go to see him and spend the evening there. +Constable, run and tell my coachman not to take the horses out. And what +are you going to do?” he asked Lyzhin. + +“I don’t know; I expect I shall go to sleep.” + +The doctor wrapped himself in his fur coat and went out. Lyzhin could +hear him talking to the coachman and the bells beginning to quiver on +the frozen horses. He drove off. + +“It is not nice for you, sir, to spend the night in here,” said the +constable; “come into the other room. It’s dirty, but for one night it +won’t matter. I’ll get a samovar from a peasant and heat it directly. +I’ll heap up some hay for you, and then you go to sleep, and God bless +you, your honor.” + +A little later the examining magistrate was sitting in the kitchen +drinking tea, while Loshadin, the constable, was standing at the door +talking. He was an old man about sixty, short and very thin, bent and +white, with a naive smile on his face and watery eyes, and he kept +smacking with his lips as though he were sucking a sweetmeat. He was +wearing a short sheepskin coat and high felt boots, and held his stick +in his hands all the time. The youth of the examining magistrate aroused +his compassion, and that was probably why he addressed him familiarly. + +“The elder gave orders that he was to be informed when the police +superintendent or the examining magistrate came,” he said, “so I suppose +I must go now.... It’s nearly three miles to the _volost_, and the +storm, the snowdrifts, are something terrible--maybe one won’t get there +before midnight. Ough! how the wind roars!” + +“I don’t need the elder,” said Lyzhin. “There is nothing for him to do +here.” + +He looked at the old man with curiosity, and asked: + +“Tell me, grandfather, how many years have you been constable?” + +“How many? Why, thirty years. Five years after the Freedom I began going +as constable, that’s how I reckon it. And from that time I have been +going every day since. Other people have holidays, but I am always +going. When it’s Easter and the church bells are ringing and Christ has +risen, I still go about with my bag--to the treasury, to the post, to +the police superintendent’s lodgings, to the rural captain, to the tax +inspector, to the municipal office, to the gentry, to the peasants, to +all orthodox Christians. I carry parcels, notices, tax papers, letters, +forms of different sorts, circulars, and to be sure, kind gentleman, +there are all sorts of forms nowadays, so as to note down the +numbers--yellow, white, and red--and every gentleman or priest or +well-to-do peasant must write down a dozen times in the year how much +he has sown and harvested, how many quarters or poods he has of rye, how +many of oats, how many of hay, and what the weather’s like, you know, +and insects, too, of all sorts. To be sure you can write what you like, +it’s only a regulation, but one must go and give out the notices and +then go again and collect them. Here, for instance, there’s no need to +cut open the gentleman; you know yourself it’s a silly thing, it’s only +dirtying your hands, and here you have been put to trouble, your honor; +you have come because it’s the regulation; you can’t help it. For thirty +years I have been going round according to regulation. In the summer +it is all right, it is warm and dry; but in winter and autumn it’s +uncomfortable. At times I have been almost drowned and almost frozen; all +sorts of things have happened--wicked people set on me in the forest and +took away my bag; I have been beaten, and I have been before a court of +law.” + +“What were you accused of?” + +“Of fraud.” + +“How do you mean?” + +“Why, you see, Hrisanf Grigoryev, the clerk, sold the contractor some +boards belonging to someone else--cheated him, in fact. I was mixed up +in it. They sent me to the tavern for vodka; well, the clerk did not +share with me--did not even offer me a glass; but as through my poverty +I was--in appearance, I mean--not a man to be relied upon, not a man of +any worth, we were both brought to trial; he was sent to prison, but, +praise God! I was acquitted on all points. They read a notice, you know, +in the court. And they were all in uniforms--in the court, I mean. I +can tell you, your honor, my duties for anyone not used to them are +terrible, absolutely killing; but to me it is nothing. In fact, my feet +ache when I am not walking. And at home it is worse for me. At home one +has to heat the stove for the clerk in the _volost_ office, to fetch +water for him, to clean his boots.” + +“And what wages do you get?” Lyzhin asked. + +“Eighty-four roubles a year.” + +“I’ll bet you get other little sums coming in. You do, don’t you?” + +“Other little sums? No, indeed! Gentlemen nowadays don’t often give +tips. Gentlemen nowadays are strict, they take offense at anything. +If you bring them a notice they are offended, if you take off your cap +before them they are offended. ‘You have come to the wrong entrance,’ +they say. ‘You are a drunkard,’ they say. ‘You smell of onion; you are a +blockhead; you are the son of a bitch.’ There are kind-hearted ones, of +course; but what does one get from them? They only laugh and call one +all sorts of names. Mr. Altuhin, for instance, he is a good-natured +gentleman; and if you look at him he seems sober and in his right mind, +but so soon as he sees me he shouts and does not know what he means +himself. He gave me such a name ‘You,’ said he,...” The constable +uttered some word, but in such a low voice that it was impossible to +make out what he said. + +“What?” Lyzhin asked. “Say it again.” + +“‘Administration,’” the constable repeated aloud. “He has been +calling me that for a long while, for the last six years. ‘Hullo, +Administration!’ But I don’t mind; let him, God bless him! Sometimes a +lady will send one a glass of vodka and a bit of pie and one drinks to +her health. But peasants give more; peasants are more kind-hearted, +they have the fear of God in their hearts: one will give a bit of bread, +another a drop of cabbage soup, another will stand one a glass. The +village elders treat one to tea in the tavern. Here the witnesses have +gone to their tea. ‘Loshadin,’ they said, ‘you stay here and keep watch +for us,’ and they gave me a kopeck each. You see, they are frightened, +not being used to it, and yesterday they gave me fifteen kopecks and +offered me a glass.” + +“And you, aren’t you frightened?” + +“I am, sir; but of course it is my duty, there is no getting away from +it. In the summer I was taking a convict to the town, and he set upon +me and gave me such a drubbing! And all around were fields, forest--how +could I get away from him? It’s just the same here. I remember the +gentleman, Mr. Lesnitsky, when he was so high, and I knew his father and +mother. I am from the village of Nedoshtchotova, and they, the Lesnitsky +family, were not more than three-quarters of a mile from us and less +than that, their ground next to ours, and Mr. Lesnitsky had a sister, a +God-fearing and tender-hearted lady. Lord keep the soul of Thy servant +Yulya, eternal memory to her! She was never married, and when she was +dying she divided all her property; she left three hundred acres to the +monastery, and six hundred to the commune of peasants of Nedoshtchotova +to commemorate her soul; but her brother hid the will, they do say burnt +it in the stove, and took all this land for himself. He thought, to be +sure, it was for his benefit; but--nay, wait a bit, you won’t get on +in the world through injustice, brother. The gentleman did not go to +confession for twenty years after. He kept away from the church, to be +sure, and died impenitent. He burst. He was a very fat man, so he +burst lengthways. Then everything was taken from the young master, from +Seryozha, to pay the debts--everything there was. Well, he had not gone +very far in his studies, he couldn’t do anything, and the president of +the Rural Board, his uncle--‘I’ll take him’--Seryozha, I mean--thinks +he, ‘for an agent; let him collect the insurance, that’s not a difficult +job,’ and the gentleman was young and proud, he wanted to be living on +a bigger scale and in better style and with more freedom. To be sure it +was a come-down for him to be jolting about the district in a wretched +cart and talking to the peasants; he would walk and keep looking on the +ground, looking on the ground and saying nothing; if you called his name +right in his ear, ‘Sergey Sergeyitch!’ he would look round like this, +‘Eh?’ and look down on the ground again, and now you see he has laid +hands on himself. There’s no sense in it, your honor, it’s not right, +and there’s no making out what’s the meaning of it, merciful Lord! Say +your father was rich and you are poor; it is mortifying, there’s no +doubt about it, but there, you must make up your mind to it. I used to +live in good style, too; I had two horses, your honor, three cows, I +used to keep twenty head of sheep; but the time has come, and I am +left with nothing but a wretched bag, and even that is not mine but +Government property. And now in our Nedoshtchotova, if the truth is to +be told, my house is the worst of the lot. Makey had four footmen, and +now Makey is a footman himself. Petrak had four laborers, and now Petrak +is a laborer himself.” + +“How was it you became poor?” asked the examining magistrate. + +“My sons drink terribly. I could not tell you how they drink, you +wouldn’t believe it.” + +Lyzhin listened and thought how he, Lyzhin, would go back sooner or +later to Moscow, while this old man would stay here for ever, and would +always be walking and walking. And how many times in his life he would +come across such battered, unkempt old men, not “men of any worth,” in +whose souls fifteen kopecks, glasses of vodka, and a profound belief +that you can’t get on in this life by dishonesty, were equally firmly +rooted. + +Then he grew tired of listening, and told the old man to bring him some +hay for his bed, There was an iron bedstead with a pillow and a quilt in +the traveler’s room, and it could be fetched in; but the dead man had +been lying by it for nearly three days (and perhaps sitting on it just +before his death), and it would be disagreeable to sleep upon it +now.... + +“It’s only half-past seven,” thought Lyzhin, glancing at his watch. “How +awful it is!” + +He was not sleepy, but having nothing to do to pass away the time, +he lay down and covered himself with a rug. Loshadin went in and out +several times, clearing away the tea-things; smacking his lips and +sighing, he kept tramping round the table; at last he took his little +lamp and went out, and, looking at his long, gray-headed, bent figure +from behind, Lyzhin thought: + +“Just like a magician in an opera.” + +It was dark. The moon must have been behind the clouds, as the windows +and the snow on the window-frames could be seen distinctly. + +“Oo-oo-oo!” sang the storm, “Oo-oo-oo-oo!” + +“Ho-ho-ly sa-aints!” wailed a woman in the loft, or it sounded like it. +“Ho-ho-ly sa-aints!” + +“B-booh!” something outside banged against the wall. “Trah!” + +The examining magistrate listened: there was no woman up there, it was +the wind howling. It was rather cold, and he put his fur coat over his +rug. As he got warm he thought how remote all this--the storm, and the +hut, and the old man, and the dead body lying in the next room--how +remote it all was from the life he desired for himself, and how alien +it all was to him, how petty, how uninteresting. If this man had killed +himself in Moscow or somewhere in the neighborhood, and he had had to +hold an inquest on him there, it would have been interesting, important, +and perhaps he might even have been afraid to sleep in the next room to +the corpse. Here, nearly a thousand miles from Moscow, all this was +seen somehow in a different light; it was not life, they were not human +beings, but something only existing “according to the regulation,” as +Loshadin said; it would leave not the faintest trace in the memory, and +would be forgotten as soon as he, Lyzhin, drove away from Syrnya. The +fatherland, the real Russia, was Moscow, Petersburg; but here he was in +the provinces, the colonies. When one dreamed of playing a leading +part, of becoming a popular figure, of being, for instance, examining +magistrate in particularly important cases or prosecutor in a circuit +court, of being a society lion, one always thought of Moscow. To live, +one must be in Moscow; here one cared for nothing, one grew easily +resigned to one’s insignificant position, and only expected one thing of +life--to get away quickly, quickly. And Lyzhin mentally moved about +the Moscow streets, went into the familiar houses, met his kindred, his +comrades, and there was a sweet pang at his heart at the thought that +he was only twenty-six, and that if in five or ten years he could break +away from here and get to Moscow, even then it would not be too late +and he would still have a whole life before him. And as he sank into +unconsciousness, as his thoughts began to be confused, he imagined the +long corridor of the court at Moscow, himself delivering a speech, his +sisters, the orchestra which for some reason kept droning: “Oo-oo-oo-oo! +Oo-oooo-oo!” + +“Booh! Trah!” sounded again. “Booh!” + +And he suddenly recalled how one day, when he was talking to the +bookkeeper in the little office of the Rural Board, a thin, pale +gentleman with black hair and dark eyes walked in; he had a disagreeable +look in his eyes such as one sees in people who have slept too long +after dinner, and it spoilt his delicate, intelligent profile; and +the high boots he was wearing did not suit him, but looked clumsy. The +bookkeeper had introduced him: “This is our insurance agent.” + +“So that was Lesnitsky,... this same man,” Lyzhin reflected now. + +He recalled Lesnitsky’s soft voice, imagined his gait, and it seemed +to him that someone was walking beside him now with a step like +Lesnitsky’s. + +All at once he felt frightened, his head turned cold. + +“Who’s there?” he asked in alarm. + +“The conshtable!” + +“What do you want here?” + +“I have come to ask, your honor--you said this evening that you did not +want the elder, but I am afraid he may be angry. He told me to go to +him. Shouldn’t I go?” + +“That’s enough, you bother me,” said Lyzhin with vexation, and he +covered himself up again. + +“He may be angry.... I’ll go, your honor. I hope you will be +comfortable,” and Loshadin went out. + +In the passage there was coughing and subdued voices. The witnesses must +have returned. + +“We’ll let those poor beggars get away early to-morrow,...” thought +the examining magistrate; “we’ll begin the inquest as soon as it is +daylight.” + +He began sinking into forgetfulness when suddenly there were steps +again, not timid this time but rapid and noisy. There was the slam of a +door, voices, the scratching of a match.... + +“Are you asleep? Are you asleep?” Dr. Startchenko was asking him +hurriedly and angrily as he struck one match after another; he was +covered with snow, and brought a chill air in with him. “Are you asleep? +Get up! Let us go to Von Taunitz’s. He has sent his own horses for you. +Come along. There, at any rate, you will have supper, and sleep like +a human being. You see I have come for you myself. The horses are +splendid, we shall get there in twenty minutes.” + +“And what time is it now?” + +“A quarter past ten.” + +Lyzhin, sleepy and discontented, put on his felt overboots, his fur-lined +coat, his cap and hood, and went out with the doctor. There was not +a very sharp frost, but a violent and piercing wind was blowing and +driving along the street the clouds of snow which seemed to be racing +away in terror: high drifts were heaped up already under the fences and +at the doorways. The doctor and the examining magistrate got into the +sledge, and the white coachman bent over them to button up the cover. +They were both hot. + +“Ready!” + +They drove through the village. “Cutting a feathery furrow,” thought +the examining magistrate, listlessly watching the action of the trace +horse’s legs. There were lights in all the huts, as though it were the +eve of a great holiday: the peasants had not gone to bed because they +were afraid of the dead body. The coachman preserved a sullen silence, +probably he had felt dreary while he was waiting by the Zemstvo hut, and +now he, too, was thinking of the dead man. + +“At the Von Taunitz’s,” said Startchenko, “they all set upon me when +they heard that you were left to spend the night in the hut, and asked +me why I did not bring you with me.” + +As they drove out of the village, at the turning the coachman suddenly +shouted at the top of his voice: “Out of the way!” + +They caught a glimpse of a man: he was standing up to his knees in +the snow, moving off the road and staring at the horses. The examining +magistrate saw a stick with a crook, and a beard and a bag, and he +fancied that it was Loshadin, and even fancied that he was smiling. He +flashed by and disappeared. + +The road ran at first along the edge of the forest, then along a broad +forest clearing; they caught glimpses of old pines and a young birch +copse, and tall, gnarled young oak trees standing singly in the +clearings where the wood had lately been cut; but soon it was all merged +in the clouds of snow. The coachman said he could see the forest; the +examining magistrate could see nothing but the trace horse. The wind +blew on their backs. + +All at once the horses stopped. + +“Well, what is it now?” asked Startchenko crossly. + +The coachman got down from the box without a word and began running +round the sledge, treading on his heels; he made larger and larger +circles, getting further and further away from the sledge, and it looked +as though he were dancing; at last he came back and began to turn off to +the right. + +“You’ve got off the road, eh?” asked Startchenko. + +“It’s all ri-ight....” + +Then there was a little village and not a single light in it. Again the +forest and the fields. Again they lost the road, and again the coachman +got down from the box and danced round the sledge. The sledge flew +along a dark avenue, flew swiftly on. And the heated trace horse’s hoofs +knocked against the sledge. Here there was a fearful roaring sound from +the trees, and nothing could be seen, as though they were flying on into +space; and all at once the glaring light at the entrance and the windows +flashed upon their eyes, and they heard the good-natured, drawn-out +barking of dogs. They had arrived. + +While they were taking off their fur coats and their felt boots below, +“Un Petit Verre de Clicquot” was being played upon the piano overhead, +and they could hear the children beating time with their feet. +Immediately on going in they were aware of the snug warmth and special +smell of the old apartments of a mansion where, whatever the weather +outside, life is so warm and clean and comfortable. + +“That’s capital!” said Von Taunitz, a fat man with an incredibly thick +neck and with whiskers, as he shook the examining magistrate’s +hand. “That’s capital! You are very welcome, delighted to make your +acquaintance. We are colleagues to some extent, you know. At one time I +was deputy prosecutor; but not for long, only two years. I came here to +look after the estate, and here I have grown old--an old fogey, in fact. +You are very welcome,” he went on, evidently restraining his voice so as +not to speak too loud; he was going upstairs with his guests. “I have no +wife, she’s dead. But here, I will introduce my daughters,” and turning +round, he shouted down the stairs in a voice of thunder: “Tell Ignat to +have the sledge ready at eight o’clock to-morrow morning.” + +His four daughters, young and pretty girls, all wearing gray dresses and +with their hair done up in the same style, and their cousin, also young +and attractive, with her children, were in the drawing-room. Startchenko, +who knew them already, began at once begging them to sing something, and +two of the young ladies spent a long time declaring they could not sing +and that they had no music; then the cousin sat down to the piano, and +with trembling voices, they sang a duet from “The Queen of Spades.” + Again “Un Petit Verre de Clicquot” was played, and the children skipped +about, beating time with their feet. And Startchenko pranced about too. +Everybody laughed. + +Then the children said good-night and went off to bed. The examining +magistrate laughed, danced a quadrille, flirted, and kept wondering +whether it was not all a dream? The kitchen of the Zemstvo hut, the +heap of hay in the corner, the rustle of the beetles, the revolting +poverty-stricken surroundings, the voices of the witnesses, the wind, +the snow storm, the danger of being lost; and then all at once this +splendid, brightly lighted room, the sounds of the piano, the lovely +girls, the curly-headed children, the gay, happy laughter--such a +transformation seemed to him like a fairy tale, and it seemed incredible +that such transitions were possible at the distance of some two miles in +the course of one hour. And dreary thoughts prevented him from enjoying +himself, and he kept thinking this was not life here, but bits of life +fragments, that everything here was accidental, that one could draw no +conclusions from it; and he even felt sorry for these girls, who were +living and would end their lives in the wilds, in a province far away +from the center of culture, where nothing is accidental, but everything +is in accordance with reason and law, and where, for instance, every +suicide is intelligible, so that one can explain why it has happened and +what is its significance in the general scheme of things. He imagined +that if the life surrounding him here in the wilds were not intelligible +to him, and if he did not see it, it meant that it did not exist at all. + +At supper the conversation turned on Lesnitsky. + +“He left a wife and child,” said Startchenko. “I would forbid +neurasthenics and all people whose nervous system is out of order to +marry, I would deprive them of the right and possibility of multiplying +their kind. To bring into the world nervous, invalid children is a +crime.” + +“He was an unfortunate young man,” said Von Taunitz, sighing gently and +shaking his head. “What a lot one must suffer and think about before +one brings oneself to take one’s own life,... a young life! Such a +misfortune may happen in any family, and that is awful. It is hard to +bear such a thing, insufferable....” + +And all the girls listened in silence with grave faces, looking at their +father. Lyzhin felt that he, too, must say something, but he couldn’t +think of anything, and merely said: + +“Yes, suicide is an undesirable phenomenon.” + +He slept in a warm room, in a soft bed covered with a quilt under +which there were fine clean sheets, but for some reason did not feel +comfortable: perhaps because the doctor and Von Taunitz were, for a long +time, talking in the adjoining room, and overhead he heard, through the +ceiling and in the stove, the wind roaring just as in the Zemstvo hut, +and as plaintively howling: “Oo-oo-oo-oo!” + +Von Taunitz’s wife had died two years before, and he was still unable +to resign himself to his loss and, whatever he was talking about, always +mentioned his wife; and there was no trace of a prosecutor left about +him now. + +“Is it possible that I may some day come to such a condition?” thought +Lyzhin, as he fell asleep, still hearing through the wall his host’s +subdued, as it were bereaved, voice. + +The examining magistrate did not sleep soundly. He felt hot and +uncomfortable, and it seemed to him in his sleep that he was not at +Von Taunitz’s, and not in a soft clean bed, but still in the hay at the +Zemstvo hut, hearing the subdued voices of the witnesses; he fancied +that Lesnitsky was close by, not fifteen paces away. In his dreams he +remembered how the insurance agent, black-haired and pale, wearing +dusty high boots, had come into the bookkeeper’s office. “This is our +insurance agent....” + +Then he dreamed that Lesnitsky and Loshadin the constable were walking +through the open country in the snow, side by side, supporting each +other; the snow was whirling about their heads, the wind was blowing on +their backs, but they walked on, singing: “We go on, and on, and +on....” + +The old man was like a magician in an opera, and both of them were +singing as though they were on the stage: + +“We go on, and on, and on!... You are in the warmth, in the light +and snugness, but we are walking in the frost and the storm, through the +deep snow.... We know nothing of ease, we know nothing of joy.... +We bear all the burden of this life, yours and ours.... Oo-oo-oo! We +go on, and on, and on....” + +Lyzhin woke and sat up in bed. What a confused, bad dream! And why did +he dream of the constable and the agent together? What nonsense! And now +while Lyzhin’s heart was throbbing violently and he was sitting on his +bed, holding his head in his hands, it seemed to him that there really +was something in common between the lives of the insurance agent and the +constable. Don’t they really go side by side holding each other up? Some +tie unseen, but significant and essential, existed between them, and +even between them and Von Taunitz and between all men--all men; in this +life, even in the remotest desert, nothing is accidental, everything +is full of one common idea, everything has one soul, one aim, and to +understand it it is not enough to think, it is not enough to reason, one +must have also, it seems, the gift of insight into life, a gift which is +evidently not bestowed on all. And the unhappy man who had broken +down, who had killed himself--the “neurasthenic,” as the doctor called +him--and the old peasant who spent every day of his life going from one +man to another, were only accidental, were only fragments of life for +one who thought of his own life as accidental, but were parts of one +organism--marvelous and rational--for one who thought of his own life as +part of that universal whole and understood it. So thought Lyzhin, and +it was a thought that had long lain hidden in his soul, and only now it +was unfolded broadly and clearly to his consciousness. + +He lay down and began to drop asleep; and again they were going along +together, singing: “We go on, and on, and on.... We take from life +what is hardest and bitterest in it, and we leave you what is easy and +joyful; and sitting at supper, you can coldly and sensibly discuss why +we suffer and perish, and why we are not as sound and as satisfied as +you.” + +What they were singing had occurred to his mind before, but the thought +was somewhere in the background behind his other thoughts, and flickered +timidly like a faraway light in foggy weather. And he felt that this +suicide and the peasant’s sufferings lay upon his conscience, too; to +resign himself to the fact that these people, submissive to their fate, +should take up the burden of what was hardest and gloomiest in life--how +awful it was! To accept this, and to desire for himself a life full +of light and movement among happy and contented people, and to be +continually dreaming of such, means dreaming of fresh suicides of men +crushed by toil and anxiety, or of men weak and outcast whom people only +talk of sometimes at supper with annoyance or mockery, without going to +their help.... And again: + +“We go on, and on, and on...” as though someone were beating with a +hammer on his temples. + +He woke early in the morning with a headache, roused by a noise; in the +next room Von Taunitz was saying loudly to the doctor: + +“It’s impossible for you to go now. Look what’s going on outside. +Don’t argue, you had better ask the coachman; he won’t take you in such +weather for a million.” + +“But it’s only two miles,” said the doctor in an imploring voice. + +“Well, if it were only half a mile. If you can’t, then you can’t. +Directly you drive out of the gates it is perfect hell, you would be off +the road in a minute. Nothing will induce me to let you go, you can say +what you like.” + +“It’s bound to be quieter towards evening,” said the peasant who was +heating the stove. + +And in the next room the doctor began talking of the rigorous climate +and its influence on the character of the Russian, of the long +winters which, by preventing movement from place to place, hinder +the intellectual development of the people; and Lyzhin listened with +vexation to these observations and looked out of window at the snow +drifts which were piled on the fence. He gazed at the white dust which +covered the whole visible expanse, at the trees which bowed their heads +despairingly to right and then to left, listened to the howling and the +banging, and thought gloomily: + +“Well, what moral can be drawn from it? It’s a blizzard and that is all +about it....” + +At midday they had lunch, then wandered aimlessly about the house; they +went to the windows. + +“And Lesnitsky is lying there,” thought Lyzhin, watching the whirling +snow, which raced furiously round and round upon the drifts. “Lesnitsky +is lying there, the witnesses are waiting....” + +They talked of the weather, saying that the snowstorm usually lasted +two days and nights, rarely longer. At six o’clock they had dinner, then +they played cards, sang, danced; at last they had supper. The day was +over, they went to bed. + +In the night, towards morning, it all subsided. When they got up and +looked out of window, the bare willows with their weakly drooping +branches were standing perfectly motionless; it was dull and still, as +though nature now were ashamed of its orgy, of its mad nights, and the +license it had given to its passions. The horses, harnessed tandem, had +been waiting at the front door since five o’clock in the morning. When +it was fully daylight the doctor and the examining magistrate put on +their fur coats and felt boots, and, saying good-by to their host, went +out. + +At the steps beside the coachman stood the familiar figure of the +constable, Ilya Loshadin, with an old leather bag across his shoulder +and no cap on his head, covered with snow all over, and his face was +red and wet with perspiration. The footman who had come out to help the +gentlemen and cover their legs looked at him sternly and said: + +“What are you standing here for, you old devil? Get away!” + +“Your honor, the people are anxious,” said Loshadin, smiling naively all +over his face, and evidently pleased at seeing at last the people he +had waited for so long. “The people are very uneasy, the children are +crying.... They thought, your honor, that you had gone back to the +town again. Show us the heavenly mercy, our benefactors!...” + +The doctor and the examining magistrate said nothing, got into the +sledge, and drove to Syrnya. + + + + +THE FIRST-CLASS PASSENGER + +A FIRST-CLASS passenger who had just dined at the station and drunk a +little too much lay down on the velvet-covered seat, stretched himself +out luxuriously, and sank into a doze. After a nap of no more than five +minutes, he looked with oily eyes at his _vis-a-vis,_ gave a smirk, and +said: + +“My father of blessed memory used to like to have his heels tickled by +peasant women after dinner. I am just like him, with this difference, +that after dinner I always like my tongue and my brains gently +stimulated. Sinful man as I am, I like empty talk on a full stomach. +Will you allow me to have a chat with you?” + +“I shall be delighted,” answered the _vis-a-vis._ + +“After a good dinner the most trifling subject is sufficient to arouse +devilishly great thoughts in my brain. For instance, we saw just now +near the refreshment bar two young men, and you heard one congratulate +the other on being celebrated. ‘I congratulate you,’ he said; ‘you are +already a celebrity and are beginning to win fame.’ Evidently actors or +journalists of microscopic dimensions. But they are not the point. The +question that is occupying my mind at the moment, sir, is exactly what +is to be understood by the word _fame_ or _charity_. What do you +think? Pushkin called fame a bright patch on a ragged garment; we all +understand it as Pushkin does--that is, more or less subjectively--but +no one has yet given a clear, logical definition of the word.... I +would give a good deal for such a definition!” + +“Why do you feel such a need for it?” + +“You see, if we knew what fame is, the means of attaining it might +also perhaps be known to us,” said the first-class passenger, after a +moment’s thought. “I must tell you, sir, that when I was younger I strove +after celebrity with every fiber of my being. To be popular was my +craze, so to speak. For the sake of it I studied, worked, sat up at +night, neglected my meals. And I fancy, as far as I can judge without +partiality, I had all the natural gifts for attaining it. To begin with, +I am an engineer by profession. In the course of my life I have built +in Russia some two dozen magnificent bridges, I have laid aqueducts +for three towns; I have worked in Russia, in England, in Belgium.... +Secondly, I am the author of several special treatises in my own +line. And thirdly, my dear sir, I have from a boy had a weakness for +chemistry. Studying that science in my leisure hours, I discovered +methods of obtaining certain organic acids, so that you will find my +name in all the foreign manuals of chemistry. I have always been in the +service, I have risen to the grade of actual civil councilor, and I have +an unblemished record. I will not fatigue your attention by enumerating +my works and my merits, I will only say that I have done far more than +some celebrities. And yet here I am in my old age, I am getting ready +for my coffin, so to say, and I am as celebrated as that black dog +yonder running on the embankment.” + +“How can you tell? Perhaps you are celebrated.” + +“H’m! Well, we will test it at once. Tell me, have you ever heard the +name Krikunov?” + +The _vis-a-vis_ raised his eyes to the ceiling, thought a minute, and +laughed. + +“No, I haven’t heard it,...” he said. + +“That is my surname. You, a man of education, getting on in years, have +never heard of me--a convincing proof! It is evident that in my efforts +to gain fame I have not done the right thing at all: I did not know the +right way to set to work, and, trying to catch fame by the tail, got on +the wrong side of her.” + +“What is the right way to set to work?” + +“Well, the devil only knows! Talent, you say? Genius? Originality? Not +a bit of it, sir!... People have lived and made a career side by side +with me who were worthless, trivial, and even contemptible compared with +me. They did not do one-tenth of the work I did, did not put themselves +out, were not distinguished for their talents, and did not make +an effort to be celebrated, but just look at them! Their names are +continually in the newspapers and on men’s lips! If you are not tired of +listening I will illustrate it by an example. Some years ago I built +a bridge in the town of K. I must tell you that the dullness of that +scurvy little town was terrible. If it had not been for women and cards +I believe I should have gone out of my mind. Well, it’s an old story: +I was so bored that I got into an affair with a singer. Everyone was +enthusiastic about her, the devil only knows why; to my thinking she +was--what shall I say?--an ordinary, commonplace creature, like lots +of others. The hussy was empty-headed, ill-tempered, greedy, and what’s +more, she was a fool. + +“She ate and drank a vast amount, slept till five o clock in the +afternoon--and I fancy did nothing else. She was looked upon as a +cocotte, and that was indeed her profession; but when people wanted to +refer to her in a literary fashion, they called her an actress and +a singer. I used to be devoted to the theatre, and therefore this +fraudulent pretense of being an actress made me furiously indignant. My +young lady had not the slightest right to call herself an actress or +a singer. She was a creature entirely devoid of talent, devoid of +feeling--a pitiful creature one may say. As far as I can judge she sang +disgustingly. The whole charm of her ‘art’ lay in her kicking up her +legs on every suitable occasion, and not being embarrassed when +people walked into her dressing-room. She usually selected translated +vaudevilles, with singing in them, and opportunities for disporting +herself in male attire, in tights. In fact it was--ough! Well, I ask +your attention. As I remember now, a public ceremony took place to +celebrate the opening of the newly constructed bridge. There was a +religious service, there were speeches, telegrams, and so on. I hung +about my cherished creation, you know, all the while afraid that my +heart would burst with the excitement of an author. It’s an old story and +there’s no need for false modesty, and so I will tell you that my bridge +was a magnificent work! It was not a bridge but a picture, a perfect +delight! And who would not have been excited when the whole town came to +the opening? ‘Oh,’ I thought, ‘now the eyes of all the public will be +on me! Where shall I hide myself?’ Well, I need not have worried myself, +sir--alas! Except the official personages, no one took the slightest +notice of me. They stood in a crowd on the river-bank, gazed like sheep +at the bridge, and did not concern themselves to know who had built +it. And it was from that time, by the way, that I began to hate our +estimable public--damnation take them! Well, to continue. All at once +the public became agitated; a whisper ran through the crowd,... a +smile came on their faces, their shoulders began to move. ‘They must +have seen me,’ I thought. A likely idea! I looked, and my singer, with a +train of young scamps, was making her way through the crowd. The eyes of +the crowd were hurriedly following this procession. A whisper began in a +thousand voices: ‘That’s so-and-so.... Charming! Bewitching!’ Then it +was they noticed me.... A couple of young milksops, local amateurs +of the scenic art, I presume, looked at me, exchanged glances, +and whispered: ‘That’s her lover!’ How do you like that? And an +unprepossessing individual in a top-hat, with a chin that badly needed +shaving, hung round me, shifting from one foot to the other, then turned +to me with the words: + +“‘Do you know who that lady is, walking on the other bank? That’s +so-and-so.... Her voice is beneath all criticism, but she has a most +perfect mastery of it!...’ + +“‘Can you tell me,’ I asked the unprepossessing individual, ‘who built +this bridge?’ + +“‘I really don’t know,’ answered the individual; some engineer, I +expect.’ + +“‘And who built the cathedral in your town?’ I asked again. + +“‘I really can’t tell you.’ + +“Then I asked him who was considered the best teacher in K., who the +best architect, and to all my questions the unprepossessing individual +answered that he did not know. + +“‘And tell me, please,’ I asked in conclusion, with whom is that singer +living?’ + +“‘With some engineer called Krikunov.’ + +“Well, how do you like that, sir? But to proceed. There are no +minnesingers or bards nowadays, and celebrity is created almost +exclusively by the newspapers. The day after the dedication of the +bridge, I greedily snatched up the local _Messenger,_ and looked for +myself in it. I spent a long time running my eyes over all the four +pages, and at last there it was--hurrah! I began reading: ‘Yesterday in +beautiful weather, before a vast concourse of people, in the presence +of His Excellency the Governor of the province, so-and-so, and other +dignitaries, the ceremony of the dedication of the newly constructed +bridge took place,’ and so on.... Towards the end: Our talented +actress so-and-so, the favorite of the K. public, was present at the +dedication looking very beautiful. I need not say that her arrival +created a sensation. The star was wearing...’ and so on. They might +have given me one word! Half a word. Petty as it seems, I actually cried +with vexation! + +“I consoled myself with the reflection that the provinces are stupid, +and one could expect nothing of them and for celebrity one must go +to the intellectual centers--to Petersburg and to Moscow. And as it +happened, at that very time there was a work of mine in Petersburg which +I had sent in for a competition. The date on which the result was to be +declared was at hand. + +“I took leave of K. and went to Petersburg. It is a long journey from +K. to Petersburg, and that I might not be bored on the journey I took a +reserved compartment and--well--of course, I took my singer. We set off, +and all the way we were eating, drinking champagne, and--tra-la-la! But +behold, at last we reach the intellectual center. I arrived on the very +day the result was declared, and had the satisfaction, my dear sir, of +celebrating my own success: my work received the first prize. Hurrah! +Next day I went out along the Nevsky and spent seventy kopecks on +various newspapers. I hastened to my hotel room, lay down on the sofa, +and, controlling a quiver of excitement, made haste to read. I ran +through one newspaper--nothing. I ran through a second--nothing either; +my God! At last, in the fourth, I lighted upon the following paragraph: +‘Yesterday the well-known provincial actress so-and-so arrived by +express in Petersburg. We note with pleasure that the climate of the +South has had a beneficial effect on our fair friend; her charming stage +appearance...’ and I don’t remember the rest! Much lower down than +that paragraph I found, printed in the smallest type: ‘First prize in the +competition was adjudged to an engineer called so-and-so.’ That was +all! And to make things better, they even misspelt my name: instead of +Krikunov it was Kirkutlov. So much for your intellectual center! But +that was not all.... By the time I left Petersburg, a month later, +all the newspapers were vying with one another in discussing our +incomparable, divine, highly talented actress, and my mistress was +referred to, not by her surname, but by her Christian name and her +father’s.... + +“Some years later I was in Moscow. I was summoned there by a letter, in +the mayor’s own handwriting, to undertake a work for which Moscow, in +its newspapers, had been clamoring for over a hundred years. In +the intervals of my work I delivered five public lectures, with a +philanthropic object, in one of the museums there. One would have +thought that was enough to make one known to the whole town for three +days at least, wouldn’t one? But, alas! not a single Moscow gazette +said a word about me. There was something about houses on fire, about +an operetta, sleeping town councilors, drunken shop keepers--about +everything; but about my work, my plans, my lectures--mum. And a nice +set they are in Moscow! I got into a tram.... It was packed full; +there were ladies and military men and students of both sexes, creatures +of all sorts in couples. + +“‘I am told the town council has sent for an engineer to plan such and +such a work!’ I said to my neighbor, so loudly that all the tram could +hear. ‘Do you know the name of the engineer?’ + +“My neighbor shook his head. The rest of the public took a cursory +glance at me, and in all their eyes I read: ‘I don’t know.’ + +“‘I am told that there is someone giving lectures in such and such a +museum?’ I persisted, trying to get up a conversation. ‘I hear it is +interesting.’ + +“No one even nodded. Evidently they had not all of them heard of the +lectures, and the ladies were not even aware of the existence of the +museum. All that would not have mattered, but imagine, my dear sir, the +people suddenly leaped to their feet and struggled to the windows. What +was it? What was the matter? + +“‘Look, look!’ my neighbor nudged me. ‘Do you see that dark man getting +into that cab? That’s the famous runner, King!’ + +“And the whole tram began talking breathlessly of the runner who was +then absorbing the brains of Moscow. + +“I could give you ever so many other examples, but I think that is +enough. Now let us assume that I am mistaken about myself, that I am +a wretchedly boastful and incompetent person; but apart from myself +I might point to many of my contemporaries, men remarkable for their +talent and industry, who have nevertheless died unrecognized. +Are Russian navigators, chemists, physicists, mechanicians, and +agriculturists popular with the public? Do our cultivated masses know +anything of Russian artists, sculptors, and literary men? Some old +literary hack, hard-working and talented, will wear away the doorstep of +the publishers’ offices for thirty-three years, cover reams of paper, be +had up for libel twenty times, and yet not step beyond his ant-heap. Can +you mention to me a single representative of our literature who would +have become celebrated if the rumor had not been spread over the earth +that he had been killed in a duel, gone out of his mind, been sent into +exile, or had cheated at cards?” + +The first-class passenger was so excited that he dropped his cigar out +of his mouth and got up. + +“Yes,” he went on fiercely, “and side by side with these people I can +quote you hundreds of all sorts of singers, acrobats, buffoons, whose +names are known to every baby. Yes!” + +The door creaked, there was a draught, and an individual of forbidding +aspect, wearing an Inverness coat, a top-hat, and blue spectacles, +walked into the carriage. The individual looked round at the seats, +frowned, and went on further. + +“Do you know who that is?” there came a timid whisper from the furthest +corner of the compartment. + +“That is N. N., the famous Tula cardsharper who was had up in connection +with the Y. bank affair.” + +“There you are!” laughed the first-class passenger. “He knows a Tula +cardsharper, but ask him whether he knows Semiradsky, Tchaykovsky, or +Solovyov the philosopher--he’ll shake his head.... It swinish!” + +Three minutes passed in silence. + +“Allow me in my turn to ask you a question,” said the _vis-a-vis_ +timidly, clearing his throat. “Do you know the name of Pushkov?” + +“Pushkov? H’m! Pushkov.... No, I don’t know it!” + +“That is my name,...” said the _vis-a-vis,_, overcome with +embarrassment. “Then you don’t know it? And yet I have been a professor +at one of the Russian universities for thirty-five years,... a member +of the Academy of Sciences,... have published more than one work....” + +The first-class passenger and the _vis-a-vis_ looked at each other and +burst out laughing. + + + + +A TRAGIC ACTOR + +IT was the benefit night of Fenogenov, the tragic actor. They were +acting “Prince Serebryany.” The tragedian himself was playing Vyazemsky; +Limonadov, the stage manager, was playing Morozov; Madame Beobahtov, +Elena. The performance was a grand success. The tragedian accomplished +wonders indeed. When he was carrying off Elena, he held her in one hand +above his head as he dashed across the stage. He shouted, hissed, banged +with his feet, tore his coat across his chest. When he refused to fight +Morozov, he trembled all over as nobody ever trembles in reality, and +gasped loudly. The theatre shook with applause. There were endless +calls. Fenogenov was presented with a silver cigarette-case and a +bouquet tied with long ribbons. The ladies waved their handkerchiefs and +urged their men to applaud, many shed tears.... But the one who was +the most enthusiastic and most excited was Masha, daughter of Sidoretsky +the police captain. She was sitting in the first row of the stalls +beside her papa; she was ecstatic and could not take her eyes off the +stage even between the acts. Her delicate little hands and feet were +quivering, her eyes were full of tears, her cheeks turned paler and +paler. And no wonder--she was at the theatre for the first time in her +life. + +“How well they act! how splendidly!” she said to her papa the police +captain, every time the curtain fell. “How good Fenogenov is!” + +And if her papa had been capable of reading faces he would have read +on his daughter’s pale little countenance a rapture that was +almost anguish. She was overcome by the acting, by the play, by the +surroundings. When the regimental band began playing between the acts, +she closed her eyes, exhausted. + +“Papa!” she said to the police captain during the last interval, “go +behind the scenes and ask them all to dinner to-morrow!” + +The police captain went behind the scenes, praised them for all their +fine acting, and complimented Madame Beobahtov. + +“Your lovely face demands a canvas, and I only wish I could wield the +brush!” + +And with a scrape, he thereupon invited the company to dinner. + +“All except the fair sex,” he whispered. “I don’t want the actresses, +for I have a daughter.” + +Next day the actors dined at the police captain’s. Only three turned +up, the manager Limonadov, the tragedian Fenogenov, and the comic +man Vodolazov; the others sent excuses. The dinner was a dull affair. +Limonadov kept telling the police captain how much he respected him, and +how highly he thought of all persons in authority; Vodolazov mimicked +drunken merchants and Armenians; and Fenogenov (on his passport his name +was Knish), a tall, stout Little Russian with black eyes and frowning +brow, declaimed “At the portals of the great,” and “To be or not to +be.” Limonadov, with tears in his eyes, described his interview with the +former Governor, General Kanyutchin. The police captain listened, was +bored, and smiled affably. He was well satisfied, although Limonadov +smelt strongly of burnt feathers, and Fenogenov was wearing a hired +dress coat and boots trodden down at heel. They pleased his daughter and +made her lively, and that was enough for him. And Masha never took her +eyes off the actors. She had never before seen such clever, exceptional +people! + +In the evening the police captain and Masha were at the theatre again. +A week later the actors dined at the police captain’s again, and after +that came almost every day either to dinner or supper. Masha became more +and more devoted to the theatre, and went there every evening. + +She fell in love with the tragedian. One fine morning, when the police +captain had gone to meet the bishop, Masha ran away with Limonadov’s +company and married her hero on the way. After celebrating the wedding, +the actors composed a long and touching letter and sent it to the police +captain. + +It was the work of their combined efforts. + +“Bring out the motive, the motive!” Limonadov kept saying as he dictated +to the comic man. “Lay on the respect.... These official chaps like +it. Add something of a sort... to draw a tear.” + +The answer to this letter was most discomforting. The police captain +disowned his daughter for marrying, as he said, “a stupid, idle Little +Russian with no fixed home or occupation.” + +And the day after this answer was received Masha was writing to her +father. + +“Papa, he beats me! Forgive us!” + +He had beaten her, beaten her behind the scenes, in the presence of +Limonadov, the washerwoman, and two lighting men. He remembered how, +four days before the wedding, he was sitting in the London Tavern with +the whole company, and all were talking about Masha. The company were +advising him to “chance it,” and Limonadov, with tears in his +eyes urged: “It would be stupid and irrational to let slip such an +opportunity! Why, for a sum like that one would go to Siberia, let alone +getting married! When you marry and have a theatre of your own, take me +into your company. I shan’t be master then, you’ll be master.” + +Fenogenov remembered it, and muttered with clenched fists: + +“If he doesn’t send money I’ll smash her! I won’t let myself be made a +fool of, damn my soul!” + +At one provincial town the company tried to give Masha the slip, but +Masha found out, ran to the station, and got there when the second bell +had rung and the actors had all taken their seats. + +“I’ve been shamefully treated by your father,” said the tragedian; “all +is over between us!” + +And though the carriage was full of people, she went down on her knees +and held out her hands, imploring him: + +“I love you! Don’t drive me away, Kondraty Ivanovitch,” she besought +him. “I can’t live without you!” + +They listened to her entreaties, and after consulting together, took +her into the company as a “countess”--the name they used for the minor +actresses who usually came on to the stage in crowds or in dumb parts. +To begin with Masha used to play maid-servants and pages, but when +Madame Beobahtov, the flower of Limonadov’s company, eloped, they made +her _ingenue_. She acted badly, lisped, and was nervous. She soon grew +used to it, however, and began to be liked by the audience. Fenogenov +was much displeased. + +“To call her an actress!” he used to say. “She has no figure, no +deportment, nothing whatever but silliness.” + +In one provincial town the company acted Schiller’s “Robbers.” + Fenogenov played Franz, Masha, Amalie. The tragedian shouted and +quivered. Masha repeated her part like a well-learnt lesson, and the +play would have gone off as they generally did had it not been for +a trifling mishap. Everything went well up to the point where Franz +declares his love for Amalie and she seizes his sword. The tragedian +shouted, hissed, quivered, and squeezed Masha in his iron embrace. And +Masha, instead of repulsing him and crying “Hence!” trembled in his +arms like a bird and did not move,... she seemed petrified. + +“Have pity on me!” she whispered in his ear. “Oh, have pity on me! I am +so miserable!” + +“You don’t know your part! Listen to the prompter!” hissed the +tragedian, and he thrust his sword into her hand. + +After the performance, Limonadov and Fenogenov were sitting in the +ticket box-office engaged in conversation. + +“Your wife does not learn her part, you are right there,” the manager +was saying. “She doesn’t know her line.... Every man has his own +line,... but she doesn’t know hers....” + +Fenogenov listened, sighed, and scowled and scowled. + +Next morning, Masha was sitting in a little general shop writing: + +“Papa, he beats me! Forgive us! Send us some money!” + + + + +A TRANSGRESSION + +A COLLEGIATE assessor called Miguev stopped at a telegraph-post in the +course of his evening walk and heaved a deep sigh. A week before, as he +was returning home from his evening walk, he had been overtaken at that +very spot by his former housemaid, Agnia, who said to him viciously: + +“Wait a bit! I’ll cook you such a crab that’ll teach you to ruin +innocent girls! I’ll leave the baby at your door, and I’ll have the law +of you, and I’ll tell your wife, too....” + +And she demanded that he should put five thousand roubles into the +bank in her name. Miguev remembered it, heaved a sigh, and once +more reproached himself with heartfelt repentance for the momentary +infatuation which had caused him so much worry and misery. + +When he reached his bungalow, he sat down to rest on the doorstep. It +was just ten o’clock, and a bit of the moon peeped out from behind +the clouds. There was not a soul in the street nor near the bungalows; +elderly summer visitors were already going to bed, while young ones were +walking in the wood. Feeling in both his pockets for a match to light +his cigarette, Miguev brought his elbow into contact with something +soft. He looked idly at his right elbow, and his face was instantly +contorted by a look of as much horror as though he had seen a snake +beside him. On the step at the very door lay a bundle. Something oblong +in shape was wrapped up in something--judging by the feel of it, +a wadded quilt. One end of the bundle was a little open, and the +collegiate assessor, putting in his hand, felt something damp and warm. +He leaped on to his feet in horror, and looked about him like a criminal +trying to escape from his warders.... + +“She has left it!” he muttered wrathfully through his teeth, clenching +his fists. “Here it lies.... Here lies my transgression! O Lord!” + +He was numb with terror, anger, and shame... What was he to do now? +What would his wife say if she found out? What would his colleagues at +the office say? His Excellency would be sure to dig him in the ribs, +guffaw, and say: “I congratulate you!... He-he-he! Though your beard +is gray, your heart is gay.... You are a rogue, Semyon Erastovitch!” + The whole colony of summer visitors would know his secret now, and +probably the respectable mothers of families would shut their doors to +him. Such incidents always get into the papers, and the humble name of +Miguev would be published all over Russia.... + +The middle window of the bungalow was open and he could distinctly hear +his wife, Anna Filippovna, laying the table for supper; in the yard +close to the gate Yermolay, the porter, was plaintively strumming on the +balalaika. The baby had only to wake up and begin to cry, and the secret +would be discovered. Miguev was conscious of an overwhelming desire to +make haste. + +“Haste, haste!...” he muttered, “this minute, before anyone sees. +I’ll carry it away and lay it on somebody’s doorstep....” + +Miguev took the bundle in one hand and quietly, with a deliberate step +to avoid awakening suspicion, went down the street.... + +“A wonderfully nasty position!” he reflected, trying to assume an air of +unconcern. “A collegiate assessor walking down the street with a baby! +Good heavens! if anyone sees me and understands the position, I am +done for.... I’d better put it on this doorstep.... No, stay, the +windows are open and perhaps someone is looking. Where shall I put it? +I know! I’ll take it to the merchant Myelkin’s.... Merchants are rich +people and tenderhearted; very likely they will say thank you and adopt +it.” + +And Miguev made up his mind to take the baby to Myelkin’s, although the +merchant’s villa was in the furthest street, close to the river. + +“If only it does not begin screaming or wriggle out of the bundle,” + thought the collegiate assessor. “This is indeed a pleasant surprise! +Here I am carrying a human being under my arm as though it were a +portfolio. A human being, alive, with soul, with feelings like anyone +else.... If by good luck the Myelkins adopt him, he may turn out +somebody.... Maybe he will become a professor, a great general, an +author.... Anything may happen! Now I am carrying him under my arm +like a bundle of rubbish, and perhaps in thirty or forty years I may not +dare to sit down in his presence....” + +As Miguev was walking along a narrow, deserted alley, beside a long +row of fences, in the thick black shade of the lime trees, it suddenly +struck him that he was doing something very cruel and criminal. + +“How mean it is really!” he thought. “So mean that one can’t imagine +anything meaner.... Why are we shifting this poor baby from door to +door? It’s not its fault that it’s been born. It’s done us no harm. We +are scoundrels.... We take our pleasure, and the innocent babies have +to pay the penalty. Only to think of all this wretched business! I’ve +done wrong and the child has a cruel fate before it. If I lay it at the +Myelkins’ door, they’ll send it to the foundling hospital, and there it +will grow up among strangers, in mechanical routine,... no love, +no petting, no spoiling.... And then he’ll be apprenticed to a +shoemaker,... he’ll take to drink, will learn to use filthy language, +will go hungry. A shoemaker! and he the son of a collegiate assessor, of +good family.... He is my flesh and blood,... ” + +Miguev came out of the shade of the lime trees into the bright moonlight +of the open road, and opening the bundle, he looked at the baby. + +“Asleep!” he murmured. “You little rascal! why, you’ve an aquiline nose +like your father’s.... He sleeps and doesn’t feel that it’s his own +father looking at him!... It’s a drama, my boy... Well, well, you +must forgive me. Forgive me, old boy.... It seems it’s your fate....” + +The collegiate assessor blinked and felt a spasm running down his +cheeks.... He wrapped up the baby, put him under his arm, and strode +on. All the way to the Myelkins’ villa social questions were swarming in +his brain and conscience was gnawing in his bosom. + +“If I were a decent, honest man,” he thought, “I should damn everything, +go with this baby to Anna Filippovna, fall on my knees before her, +and say: ‘Forgive me! I have sinned! Torture me, but we won’t ruin an +innocent child. We have no children; let us adopt him!’ She’s a good +sort, she’d consent.... And then my child would be with me.... +Ech!” + +He reached the Myelkins’ villa and stood still hesitating. He imagined +himself in the parlor at home, sitting reading the paper while a little +boy with an aquiline nose played with the tassels of his dressing gown. +At the same time visions forced themselves on his brain of his winking +colleagues, and of his Excellency digging him in the ribs and +guffawing.... Besides the pricking of his conscience, there was +something warm, sad, and tender in his heart.... + +Cautiously the collegiate assessor laid the baby on the verandah step +and waved his hand. Again he felt a spasm run over his face.... + +“Forgive me, old fellow! I am a scoundrel,” he muttered. “Don’t remember +evil against me.” + +He stepped back, but immediately cleared his throat resolutely and said: + +“Oh, come what will! Damn it all! I’ll take him, and let people say what +they like!” + +Miguev took the baby and strode rapidly back. + +“Let them say what they like,” he thought. “I’ll go at once, fall on +my knees, and say: ‘Anna Filippovna!’ Anna is a good sort, she’ll +understand.... And we’ll bring him up.... If it’s a boy we’ll call +him Vladimir, and if it’s a girl we’ll call her Anna! Anyway, it will be +a comfort in our old age.” + +And he did as he determined. Weeping and almost faint with shame and +terror, full of hope and vague rapture, he went into his bungalow, went +up to his wife, and fell on his knees before her. + +“Anna Filippovna!” he said with a sob, and he laid the baby on the +floor. “Hear me before you punish.... I have sinned! This is my +child.... You remember Agnia? Well, it was the devil drove me to it. +...” + +And, almost unconscious with shame and terror, he jumped up without +waiting for an answer, and ran out into the open air as though he had +received a thrashing.... + +“I’ll stay here outside till she calls me,” he thought. “I’ll give her +time to recover, and to think it over....” + +The porter Yermolay passed him with his balalaika, glanced at him and +shrugged his shoulders. A minute later he passed him again, and again he +shrugged his shoulders. + +“Here’s a go! Did you ever!” he muttered grinning. “Aksinya, the +washer-woman, was here just now, Semyon Erastovitch. The silly woman +put her baby down on the steps here, and while she was indoors with me, +someone took and carried off the baby... Who’d have thought it!” + +“What? What are you saying?” shouted Miguev at the top of his voice. + +Yermolay, interpreting his master’s wrath in his own fashion, scratched +his head and heaved a sigh. + +“I am sorry, Semyon Erastovitch,” he said, “but it’s the summer +holidays,... one can’t get on without... without a woman, I mean....” + +And glancing at his master’s eyes glaring at him with anger and +astonishment, he cleared his throat guiltily and went on: + +“It’s a sin, of course, but there--what is one to do?... You’ve +forbidden us to have strangers in the house, I know, but we’ve none of +our own now. When Agnia was here I had no women to see me, for I had one +at home; but now, you can see for yourself, sir,... one can’t +help having strangers. In Agnia’s time, of course, there was nothing +irregular, because...” + +“Be off, you scoundrel!” Miguev shouted at him, stamping, and he went +back into the room. + +Anna Filippovna, amazed and wrathful, was sitting as before, her +tear-stained eyes fixed on the baby.... + +“There! there!” Miguev muttered with a pale face, twisting his lips +into a smile. “It was a joke.... It’s not my baby,... it’s +the washer-woman’s!... I... I was joking.... Take it to the +porter.” + + + + +SMALL FRY + +“HONORED Sir, Father and Benefactor!” a petty clerk called Nevyrazimov +was writing a rough copy of an Easter congratulatory letter. “I trust +that you may spend this Holy Day even as many more to come, in good +health and prosperity. And to your family also I...” + +The lamp, in which the kerosene was getting low, was smoking and +smelling. A stray cockroach was running about the table in alarm near +Nevyrazimov’s writing hand. Two rooms away from the office Paramon the +porter was for the third time cleaning his best boots, and with such +energy that the sound of the blacking-brush and of his expectorations +was audible in all the rooms. + +“What else can I write to him, the rascal?” Nevyrazimov wondered, +raising his eyes to the smutty ceiling. + +On the ceiling he saw a dark circle--the shadow of the lamp-shade. Below +it was the dusty cornice, and lower still the wall, which had once been +painted a bluish muddy color. And the office seemed to him such a place +of desolation that he felt sorry, not only for himself, but even for the +cockroach. + +“When I am off duty I shall go away, but he’ll be on duty here all his +cockroach-life,” he thought, stretching. “I am bored! Shall I clean my +boots?” + +And stretching once more, Nevyrazimov slouched lazily to the porter’s +room. Paramon had finished cleaning his boots. Crossing himself with +one hand and holding the brush in the other, he was standing at the open +window-pane, listening. + +“They’re ringing,” he whispered to Nevyrazimov, looking at him with eyes +intent and wide open. “Already!” + +Nevyrazimov put his ear to the open pane and listened. The Easter chimes +floated into the room with a whiff of fresh spring air. The booming of +the bells mingled with the rumble of carriages, and above the chaos +of sounds rose the brisk tenor tones of the nearest church and a loud +shrill laugh. + +“What a lot of people!” sighed Nevyrazimov, looking down into +the street, where shadows of men flitted one after another by the +illumination lamps. “They’re all hurrying to the midnight service.... +Our fellows have had a drink by now, you may be sure, and are strolling +about the town. What a lot of laughter, what a lot of talk! I’m the +only unlucky one, to have to sit here on such a day: And I have to do it +every year!” + +“Well, nobody forces you to take the job. It’s not your turn to be on +duty today, but Zastupov hired you to take his place. When other folks +are enjoying themselves you hire yourself out. It’s greediness!” + +“Devil a bit of it! Not much to be greedy over--two roubles is all he +gives me; a necktie as an extra.... It’s poverty, not greediness. +And it would be jolly, now, you know, to be going with a party to the +service, and then to break the fast.... To drink and to have a bit +of supper and tumble off to sleep.... One sits down to the table, +there’s an Easter cake and the samovar hissing, and some charming little +thing beside you.... You drink a glass and chuck her under the chin, +and it’s first-rate.... You feel you’re somebody.... Ech h-h!... +I’ve made a mess of things! Look at that hussy driving by in her +carriage, while I have to sit here and brood.” + +“We each have our lot in life, Ivan Danilitch. Please God, you’ll be +promoted and drive about in your carriage one day.” + +“I? No, brother, not likely. I shan’t get beyond a ‘titular,’ not if I +try till I burst. I’m not an educated man.” + +“Our General has no education either, but...” + +“Well, but the General stole a hundred thousand before he got his +position. And he’s got very different manners and deportment from me, +brother. With my manners and deportment one can’t get far! And such a +scoundrelly surname, Nevyrazimov! It’s a hopeless position, in fact. One +may go on as one is, or one may hang oneself...” + +He moved away from the window and walked wearily about the rooms. The +din of the bells grew louder and louder.... There was no need to +stand by the window to hear it. And the better he could hear the bells +and the louder the roar of the carriages, the darker seemed the muddy +walls and the smutty cornice and the more the lamp smoked. + +“Shall I hook it and leave the office?” thought Nevyrazimov. + +But such a flight promised nothing worth having.... After coming out +of the office and wandering about the town, Nevyrazimov would have gone +home to his lodging, and in his lodging it was even grayer and more +depressing than in the office.... Even supposing he were to spend +that day pleasantly and with comfort, what had he beyond? Nothing but +the same gray walls, the same stop-gap duty and complimentary +letters.... + +Nevyrazimov stood still in the middle of the office and sank into +thought. The yearning for a new, better life gnawed at his heart with an +intolerable ache. He had a passionate longing to find himself suddenly +in the street, to mingle with the living crowd, to take part in the +solemn festivity for the sake of which all those bells were clashing +and those carriages were rumbling. He longed for what he had known in +childhood--the family circle, the festive faces of his own people, the +white cloth, light, warmth...! He thought of the carriage in which +the lady had just driven by, the overcoat in which the head clerk was +so smart, the gold chain that adorned the secretary’s chest.... +He thought of a warm bed, of the Stanislav order, of new boots, of +a uniform without holes in the elbows.... He thought of all those +things because he had none of them. + +“Shall I steal?” he thought. “Even if stealing is an easy matter, +hiding is what’s difficult. Men run away to America, they say, with what +they’ve stolen, but the devil knows where that blessed America is. One +must have education even to steal, it seems.” + +The bells died down. He heard only a distant noise of carriages and +Paramon’s cough, while his depression and anger grew more and more +intense and unbearable. The clock in the office struck half-past twelve. + +“Shall I write a secret report? Proshkin did, and he rose rapidly.” + +Nevyrazimov sat down at his table and pondered. The lamp in which the +kerosene had quite run dry was smoking violently and threatening to go +out. The stray cockroach was still running about the table and had found +no resting-place. + +“One can always send in a secret report, but how is one to make it up? +I should want to make all sorts of innuendoes and insinuations, like +Proshkin, and I can’t do it. If I made up anything I should be the first +to get into trouble for it. I’m an ass, damn my soul!” + +And Nevyrazimov, racking his brain for a means of escape from his +hopeless position, stared at the rough copy he had written. The letter +was written to a man whom he feared and hated with his whole soul, and +from whom he had for the last ten years been trying to wring a post +worth eighteen roubles a month, instead of the one he had at sixteen +roubles. + +“Ah, I’ll teach you to run here, you devil!” He viciously slapped the +palm of his hand on the cockroach, who had the misfortune to catch his +eye. “Nasty thing!” + +The cockroach fell on its back and wriggled its legs in despair. +Nevyrazimov took it by one leg and threw it into the lamp. The lamp +flared up and spluttered. + +And Nevyrazimov felt better. + + + + +THE REQUIEM + +IN the village church of Verhny Zaprudy mass was just over. The people +had begun moving and were trooping out of church. The only one who +did not move was Andrey Andreyitch, a shopkeeper and old inhabitant of +Verhny Zaprudy. He stood waiting, with his elbows on the railing of the +right choir. His fat and shaven face, covered with indentations left +by pimples, expressed on this occasion two contradictory feelings: +resignation in the face of inevitable destiny, and stupid, unbounded +disdain for the smocks and striped kerchiefs passing by him. As it was +Sunday, he was dressed like a dandy. He wore a long cloth overcoat with +yellow bone buttons, blue trousers not thrust into his boots, and sturdy +goloshes--the huge clumsy goloshes only seen on the feet of practical +and prudent persons of firm religious convictions. + +His torpid eyes, sunk in fat, were fixed upon the ikon stand. He saw the +long familiar figures of the saints, the verger Matvey puffing out his +cheeks and blowing out the candles, the darkened candle stands, the +threadbare carpet, the sacristan Lopuhov running impulsively from the +altar and carrying the holy bread to the churchwarden.... All these +things he had seen for years, and seen over and over again like the five +fingers of his hand.... There was only one thing, however, that was +somewhat strange and unusual. Father Grigory, still in his vestments, +was standing at the north door, twitching his thick eyebrows angrily. + +“Who is it he is winking at? God bless him!” thought the shopkeeper. +“And he is beckoning with his finger! And he stamped his foot! What +next! What’s the matter, Holy Queen and Mother! Whom does he mean it +for?” + +Andrey Andreyitch looked round and saw the church completely deserted. +There were some ten people standing at the door, but they had their +backs to the altar. + +“Do come when you are called! Why do you stand like a graven image?” he +heard Father Grigory’s angry voice. “I am calling you.” + +The shopkeeper looked at Father Grigory’s red and wrathful face, and +only then realized that the twitching eyebrows and beckoning finger +might refer to him. He started, left the railing, and hesitatingly +walked towards the altar, tramping with his heavy goloshes. + +“Andrey Andreyitch, was it you asked for prayers for the rest of +Mariya’s soul?” asked the priest, his eyes angrily transfixing the +shopkeeper’s fat, perspiring face. + +“Yes, Father.” + +“Then it was you wrote this? You?” And Father Grigory angrily thrust +before his eyes the little note. + +And on this little note, handed in by Andrey Andreyitch before mass, was +written in big, as it were staggering, letters: + +“For the rest of the soul of the servant of God, the harlot Mariya.” + +“Yes, certainly I wrote it,...” answered the shopkeeper. + +“How dared you write it?” whispered the priest, and in his husky whisper +there was a note of wrath and alarm. + +The shopkeeper looked at him in blank amazement; he was perplexed, and +he, too, was alarmed. Father Grigory had never in his life spoken in +such a tone to a leading resident of Verhny Zaprudy. Both were silent +for a minute, staring into each other’s face. The shopkeeper’s amazement +was so great that his fat face spread in all directions like spilt +dough. + +“How dared you?” repeated the priest. + +“Wha... what?” asked Andrey Andreyitch in bewilderment. + +“You don’t understand?” whispered Father Grigory, stepping back +in astonishment and clasping his hands. “What have you got on your +shoulders, a head or some other object? You send a note up to the altar, +and write a word in it which it would be unseemly even to utter in the +street! Why are you rolling your eyes? Surely you know the meaning of +the word?” + +“Are you referring to the word harlot?” muttered the shopkeeper, +flushing crimson and blinking. “But you know, the Lord in His mercy... +forgave this very thing,... forgave a harlot.... He has prepared +a place for her, and indeed from the life of the holy saint, Mariya of +Egypt, one may see in what sense the word is used--excuse me...” + +The shopkeeper wanted to bring forward some other argument in his +justification, but took fright and wiped his lips with his sleeve. + +“So that’s what you make of it!” cried Father Grigory, clasping his +hands. “But you see God has forgiven her--do you understand? He has +forgiven, but you judge her, you slander her, call her by an unseemly +name, and whom! Your own deceased daughter! Not only in Holy Scripture, +but even in worldly literature you won’t read of such a sin! I tell +you again, Andrey, you mustn’t be over-subtle! No, no, you mustn’t be +over-subtle, brother! If God has given you an inquiring mind, and if you +cannot direct it, better not go into things.... Don’t go into things, +and hold your peace!” + +“But you know, she,... excuse my mentioning it, was an actress!” + articulated Andrey Andreyitch, overwhelmed. + +“An actress! But whatever she was, you ought to forget it all now she is +dead, instead of writing it on the note.” + +“Just so,...” the shopkeeper assented. + +“You ought to do penance,” boomed the deacon from the depths of the +altar, looking contemptuously at Andrey Andreyitch’s embarrassed face, +“that would teach you to leave off being so clever! Your daughter was +a well-known actress. There were even notices of her death in the +newspapers.... Philosopher!” + +“To be sure,... certainly,” muttered the shopkeeper, “the word is not +a seemly one; but I did not say it to judge her, Father Grigory, I only +meant to speak spiritually,... that it might be clearer to you for +whom you were praying. They write in the memorial notes the various +callings, such as the infant John, the drowned woman Pelagea, the +warrior Yegor, the murdered Pavel, and so on.... I meant to do the +same.” + +“It was foolish, Andrey! God will forgive you, but beware another time. +Above all, don’t be subtle, but think like other people. Make ten bows +and go your way.” + +“I obey,” said the shopkeeper, relieved that the lecture was over, and +allowing his face to resume its expression of importance and dignity. +“Ten bows? Very good, I understand. But now, Father, allow me to ask +you a favor.... Seeing that I am, anyway, her father,... you know +yourself, whatever she was, she was still my daughter, so I was,... +excuse me, meaning to ask you to sing the requiem today. And allow me to +ask you, Father Deacon!” + +“Well, that’s good,” said Father Grigory, taking off his vestments. +“That I commend. I can approve of that! Well, go your way. We will come +out immediately.” + +Andrey Andreyitch walked with dignity from the altar, and with a solemn, +requiem-like expression on his red face took his stand in the middle +of the church. The verger Matvey set before him a little table with the +memorial food upon it, and a little later the requiem service began. + +There was perfect stillness in the church. Nothing could be heard but +the metallic click of the censer and slow singing.... Near Andrey +Andreyitch stood the verger Matvey, the midwife Makaryevna, and her +one-armed son Mitka. There was no one else. The sacristan sang badly in +an unpleasant, hollow bass, but the tune and the words were so mournful +that the shopkeeper little by little lost the expression of dignity and +was plunged in sadness. He thought of his Mashutka,... he remembered +she had been born when he was still a lackey in the service of the owner +of Verhny Zaprudy. In his busy life as a lackey he had not noticed +how his girl had grown up. That long period during which she was being +shaped into a graceful creature, with a little flaxen head and dreamy +eyes as big as kopeck-pieces passed unnoticed by him. She had been +brought up like all the children of favorite lackeys, in ease and +comfort in the company of the young ladies. The gentry, to fill up their +idle time, had taught her to read, to write, to dance; he had had no +hand in her bringing up. Only from time to time casually meeting her at +the gate or on the landing of the stairs, he would remember that she was +his daughter, and would, so far as he had leisure for it, begin teaching +her the prayers and the scripture. Oh, even then he had the reputation +of an authority on the church rules and the holy scriptures! Forbidding +and stolid as her father’s face was, yet the girl listened readily. She +repeated the prayers after him yawning, but on the other hand, when he, +hesitating and trying to express himself elaborately, began telling her +stories, she was all attention. Esau’s pottage, the punishment of Sodom, +and the troubles of the boy Joseph made her turn pale and open her blue +eyes wide. + +Afterwards when he gave up being a lackey, and with the money he had +saved opened a shop in the village, Mashutka had gone away to Moscow +with his master’s family.... + +Three years before her death she had come to see her father. He had +scarcely recognized her. She was a graceful young woman with the manners +of a young lady, and dressed like one. She talked cleverly, as though +from a book, smoked, and slept till midday. When Andrey Andreyitch asked +her what she was doing, she had announced, looking him boldly straight +in the face: “I am an actress.” Such frankness struck the former flunkey +as the acme of cynicism. Mashutka had begun boasting of her successes +and her stage life; but seeing that her father only turned crimson and +threw up his hands, she ceased. And they spent a fortnight together +without speaking or looking at one another till the day she went away. +Before she went away she asked her father to come for a walk on the bank +of the river. Painful as it was for him to walk in the light of day, in +the sight of all honest people, with a daughter who was an actress, he +yielded to her request. + +“What a lovely place you live in!” she said enthusiastically. “What +ravines and marshes! Good heavens, how lovely my native place is!” + +And she had burst into tears. + +“The place is simply taking up room,...” Andrey Andreyvitch +had thought, looking blankly at the ravines, not understanding his +daughter’s enthusiasm. “There is no more profit from them than milk from +a billy-goat.” + +And she had cried and cried, drawing her breath greedily with her whole +chest, as though she felt she had not a long time left to breathe. + +Andrey Andreyitch shook his head like a horse that has been bitten, and +to stifle painful memories began rapidly crossing himself.... + +“Be mindful, O Lord,” he muttered, “of Thy departed servant, the harlot +Mariya, and forgive her sins, voluntary or involuntary....” + +The unseemly word dropped from his lips again, but he did not notice +it: what is firmly imbedded in the consciousness cannot be driven out by +Father Grigory’s exhortations or even knocked out by a nail. Makaryevna +sighed and whispered something, drawing in a deep breath, while +one-armed Mitka was brooding over something.... + +“Where there is no sickness, nor grief, nor sighing,” droned the +sacristan, covering his right cheek with his hand. + +Bluish smoke coiled up from the censer and bathed in the broad, slanting +patch of sunshine which cut across the gloomy, lifeless emptiness of the +church. And it seemed as though the soul of the dead woman were soaring +into the sunlight together with the smoke. The coils of smoke like a +child’s curls eddied round and round, floating upwards to the window +and, as it were, holding aloof from the woes and tribulations of which +that poor soul was full. + + + + +IN THE COACH-HOUSE + +IT was between nine and ten o’clock in the evening. Stepan the coachman, +Mihailo the house-porter, Alyoshka the coachman’s grandson, who had come +up from the village to stay with his grandfather, and Nikandr, an old +man of seventy, who used to come into the yard every evening to sell +salt herrings, were sitting round a lantern in the big coach-house, +playing “kings.” Through the wide-open door could be seen the whole +yard, the big house, where the master’s family lived, the gates, the +cellars, and the porter’s lodge. It was all shrouded in the darkness of +night, and only the four windows of one of the lodges which was let +were brightly lit up. The shadows of the coaches and sledges with their +shafts tipped upwards stretched from the walls to the doors, quivering +and cutting across the shadows cast by the lantern and the players.... +On the other side of the thin partition that divided the coach-house +from the stable were the horses. There was a scent of hay, and a +disagreeable smell of salt herrings coming from old Nikandr. + +The porter won and was king; he assumed an attitude such as was in his +opinion befitting a king, and blew his nose loudly on a red-checked +handkerchief. + +“Now if I like I can chop off anybody’s head,” he said. Alyoshka, a +boy of eight with a head of flaxen hair, left long uncut, who had only +missed being king by two tricks, looked angrily and with envy at the +porter. He pouted and frowned. + +“I shall give you the trick, grandfather,” he said, pondering over his +cards; “I know you have got the queen of diamonds.” + +“Well, well, little silly, you have thought enough!” + +Alyoshka timidly played the knave of diamonds. At that moment a ring was +heard from the yard. + +“Oh, hang you!” muttered the porter, getting up. “Go and open the gate, +O king!” + +When he came back a little later, Alyoshka was already a prince, the +fish-hawker a soldier, and the coachman a peasant. + +“It’s a nasty business,” said the porter, sitting down to the cards +again. “I have just let the doctors out. They have not extracted it.” + +“How could they? Just think, they would have to pick open the brains. If +there is a bullet in the head, of what use are doctors?” + +“He is lying unconscious,” the porter went on. “He is bound to die. +Alyoshka, don’t look at the cards, you little puppy, or I will pull your +ears! Yes, I let the doctors out, and the father and mother in... They +have only just arrived. Such crying and wailing, Lord preserve us! They +say he is the only son.... It’s a grief!” + +All except Alyoshka, who was absorbed in the game, looked round at the +brightly lighted windows of the lodge. + +“I have orders to go to the police station tomorrow,” said the porter. +“There will be an inquiry... But what do I know about it? I saw +nothing of it. He called me this morning, gave me a letter, and said: +‘Put it in the letter-box for me.’ And his eyes were red with crying. +His wife and children were not at home. They had gone out for a walk. So +when I had gone with the letter, he put a bullet into his forehead from +a revolver. When I came back his cook was wailing for the whole yard to +hear.” + +“It’s a great sin,” said the fish-hawker in a husky voice, and he shook +his head, “a great sin!” + +“From too much learning,” said the porter, taking a trick; “his wits +outstripped his wisdom. Sometimes he would sit writing papers all +night.... Play, peasant!... But he was a nice gentleman. And so white +skinned, black-haired and tall!... He was a good lodger.” + +“It seems the fair sex is at the bottom of it,” said the coachman, +slapping the nine of trumps on the king of diamonds. “It seems he was +fond of another man’s wife and disliked his own; it does happen.” + +“The king rebels,” said the porter. + +At that moment there was again a ring from the yard. The rebellious king +spat with vexation and went out. Shadows like dancing couples flitted +across the windows of the lodge. There was the sound of voices and +hurried footsteps in the yard. + +“I suppose the doctors have come again,” said the coachman. “Our Mihailo +is run off his legs....” + +A strange wailing voice rang out for a moment in the air. Alyoshka +looked in alarm at his grandfather, the coachman; then at the windows, +and said: + +“He stroked me on the head at the gate yesterday, and said, ‘What +district do you come from, boy?’ Grandfather, who was that howled just +now?” + +His grandfather trimmed the light in the lantern and made no answer. + +“The man is lost,” he said a little later, with a yawn. “He is lost, and +his children are ruined, too. It’s a disgrace for his children for the +rest of their lives now.” + +The porter came back and sat down by the lantern. + +“He is dead,” he said. “They have sent to the almshouse for the old +women to lay him out.” + +“The kingdom of heaven and eternal peace to him!” whispered the +coachman, and he crossed himself. + +Looking at him, Alyoshka crossed himself too. + +“You can’t pray for such as him,” said the fish-hawker. + +“Why not?” + +“It’s a sin.” + +“That’s true,” the porter assented. “Now his soul has gone straight to +hell, to the devil....” + +“It’s a sin,” repeated the fish-hawker; “such as he have no funeral, no +requiem, but are buried like carrion with no respect.” + +The old man put on his cap and got up. + +“It was the same thing at our lady’s,” he said, pulling his cap on +further. “We were serfs in those days; the younger son of our mistress, +the General’s lady, shot himself through the mouth with a pistol, from +too much learning, too. It seems that by law such have to be buried +outside the cemetery, without priests, without a requiem service; but to +save disgrace our lady, you know, bribed the police and the doctors, +and they gave her a paper to say her son had done it when delirious, not +knowing what he was doing. You can do anything with money. So he had +a funeral with priests and every honor, the music played, and he was +buried in the church; for the deceased General had built that church +with his own money, and all his family were buried there. Only this is +what happened, friends. One month passed, and then another, and it was +all right. In the third month they informed the General’s lady that the +watchmen had come from that same church. What did they want? They were +brought to her, they fell at her feet. ‘We can’t go on serving, your +excellency,’ they said. ‘Look out for other watchmen and graciously +dismiss us.’ ‘What for?’ ‘No,’ they said, ‘we can’t possibly; your son +howls under the church all night.’” + +Alyoshka shuddered, and pressed his face to the coachman’s back so as +not to see the windows. + +“At first the General’s lady would not listen,” continued the old man. +“‘All this is your fancy, you simple folk have such notions,’ she said. +‘A dead man cannot howl.’ Some time afterwards the watchmen came to her +again, and with them the sacristan. So the sacristan, too, had heard +him howling. The General’s lady saw that it was a bad job; she locked +herself in her bedroom with the watchmen. ‘Here, my friends, here are +twenty-five roubles for you, and for that go by night in secret, so that +no one should hear or see you, dig up my unhappy son, and bury him,’ she +said, ‘outside the cemetery.’ And I suppose she stood them a glass... +And the watchmen did so. The stone with the inscription on it is there +to this day, but he himself, the General’s son, is outside the +cemetery.... O Lord, forgive us our transgressions!” sighed the +fish-hawker. “There is only one day in the year when one may pray for +such people: the Saturday before Trinity.... You mustn’t give alms to +beggars for their sake, it is a sin, but you may feed the birds for the +rest of their souls. The General’s lady used to go out to the crossroads +every three days to feed the birds. Once at the cross-roads a black dog +suddenly appeared; it ran up to the bread, and was such a... we all know +what that dog was. The General’s lady was like a half-crazy creature for +five days afterwards, she neither ate nor drank.... All at once she fell +on her knees in the garden, and prayed and prayed.... Well, good-by, +friends, the blessing of God and the Heavenly Mother be with you. Let us +go, Mihailo, you’ll open the gate for me.” + +The fish-hawker and the porter went out. The coachman and Alyoshka went +out too, so as not to be left in the coach-house. + +“The man was living and is dead!” said the coachman, looking towards the +windows where shadows were still flitting to and fro. “Only this morning +he was walking about the yard, and now he is lying dead.” + +“The time will come and we shall die too,” said the porter, walking away +with the fish-hawker, and at once they both vanished from sight in the +darkness. + +The coachman, and Alyoshka after him, somewhat timidly went up to the +lighted windows. A very pale lady with large tear stained eyes, and a +fine-looking gray headed man were moving two card-tables into the middle +of the room, probably with the intention of laying the dead man upon +them, and on the green cloth of the table numbers could still be seen +written in chalk. The cook who had run about the yard wailing in the +morning was now standing on a chair, stretching up to try and cover the +looking glass with a towel. + +“Grandfather what are they doing?” asked Alyoshka in a whisper. + +“They are just going to lay him on the tables,” answered his +grandfather. “Let us go, child, it is bedtime.” + +The coachman and Alyoshka went back to the coach-house. They said their +prayers, and took off their boots. Stepan lay down in a corner on the +floor, Alyoshka in a sledge. The doors of the coach house were shut, +there was a horrible stench from the extinguished lantern. A little +later Alyoshka sat up and looked about him; through the crack of the +door he could still see a light from those lighted windows. + +“Grandfather, I am frightened!” he said. + +“Come, go to sleep, go to sleep!...” + +“I tell you I am frightened!” + +“What are you frightened of? What a baby!” + +They were silent. + +Alyoshka suddenly jumped out of the sledge and, loudly weeping, ran to +his grandfather. + +“What is it? What’s the matter?” cried the coachman in a fright, getting +up also. + +“He’s howling!” + +“Who is howling?” + +“I am frightened, grandfather, do you hear?” + +The coachman listened. + +“It’s their crying,” he said. “Come! there, little silly! They are sad, +so they are crying.” + +“I want to go home,...” his grandson went on sobbing and trembling +all over. “Grandfather, let us go back to the village, to mammy; come, +grandfather dear, God will give you the heavenly kingdom for it....” + +“What a silly, ah! Come, be quiet, be quiet! Be quiet, I will light the +lantern,... silly!” + +The coachman fumbled for the matches and lighted the lantern. But the +light did not comfort Alyoshka. + +“Grandfather Stepan, let’s go to the village!” he besought him, weeping. +“I am frightened here; oh, oh, how frightened I am! And why did you +bring me from the village, accursed man?” + +“Who’s an accursed man? You mustn’t use such disrespectable words to +your lawful grandfather. I shall whip you.” + +“Do whip me, grandfather, do; beat me like Sidor’s goat, but only take +me to mammy, for God’s mercy!...” + +“Come, come, grandson, come!” the coachman said kindly. “It’s all +right, don’t be frightened....I am frightened myself.... Say your +prayers!” + +The door creaked and the porter’s head appeared. “Aren’t you asleep, +Stepan?” he asked. “I shan’t get any sleep all night,” he said, coming +in. “I shall be opening and shutting the gates all night.... What are +you crying for, Alyoshka?” + +“He is frightened,” the coachman answered for his grandson. + +Again there was the sound of a wailing voice in the air. The porter +said: + +“They are crying. The mother can’t believe her eyes.... It’s dreadful +how upset she is.” + +“And is the father there?” + +“Yes.... The father is all right. He sits in the corner and says +nothing. They have taken the children to relations.... Well, Stepan, +shall we have a game of trumps?” + +“Yes,” the coachman agreed, scratching himself, “and you, Alyoshka, go +to sleep. Almost big enough to be married, and blubbering, you rascal. +Come, go along, grandson, go along....” + +The presence of the porter reassured Alyoshka. He went, not very +resolutely, towards the sledge and lay down. And while he was falling +asleep he heard a half-whisper. + +“I beat and cover,” said his grandfather. + +“I beat and cover,” repeated the porter. + +The bell rang in the yard, the door creaked and seemed also saying: “I +beat and cover.” When Alyoshka dreamed of the gentleman and, frightened +by his eyes, jumped up and burst out crying, it was morning, his +grandfather was snoring, and the coach-house no longer seemed terrible. + + + + +PANIC FEARS + +DURING all the years I have been living in this world I have only three +times been terrified. + +The first real terror, which made my hair stand on end and made shivers +run all over me, was caused by a trivial but strange phenomenon. It +happened that, having nothing to do one July evening, I drove to the +station for the newspapers. It was a still, warm, almost sultry evening, +like all those monotonous evenings in July which, when once they have +set in, go on for a week, a fortnight, or sometimes longer, in +regular unbroken succession, and are suddenly cut short by a violent +thunderstorm and a lavish downpour of rain that refreshes everything for +a long time. + +The sun had set some time before, and an unbroken gray dusk lay all over +the land. The mawkishly sweet scents of the grass and flowers were heavy +in the motionless, stagnant air. + +I was driving in a rough trolley. Behind my back the gardener’s son +Pashka, a boy of eight years old, whom I had taken with me to look after +the horse in case of necessity, was gently snoring, with his head on a +sack of oats. Our way lay along a narrow by-road, straight as a ruler, +which lay hid like a great snake in the tall thick rye. There was a +pale light from the afterglow of sunset; a streak of light cut its way +through a narrow, uncouth-looking cloud, which seemed sometimes like a +boat and sometimes like a man wrapped in a quilt.... + +I had driven a mile and a half, or two miles, when against the pale +background of the evening glow there came into sight one after another +some graceful tall poplars; a river glimmered beyond them, and a +gorgeous picture suddenly, as though by magic, lay stretched before me. +I had to stop the horse, for our straight road broke off abruptly and +ran down a steep incline overgrown with bushes. We were standing on the +hillside and beneath us at the bottom lay a huge hole full of twilight, +of fantastic shapes, and of space. At the bottom of this hole, in a wide +plain guarded by the poplars and caressed by the gleaming river, nestled +a village. It was now sleeping.... Its huts, its church with +the belfry, its trees, stood out against the gray twilight and were +reflected darkly in the smooth surface of the river. + +I waked Pashka for fear he should fall out and began cautiously going +down. + +“Have we got to Lukovo?” asked Pashka, lifting his head lazily. + +“Yes. Hold the reins!...” + +I led the horse down the hill and looked at the village. At the first +glance one strange circumstance caught my attention: at the very top of +the belfry, in the tiny window between the cupola and the bells, a light +was twinkling. This light was like that of a smoldering lamp, at one +moment dying down, at another flickering up. What could it come from? + +Its source was beyond my comprehension. It could not be burning at the +window, for there were neither ikons nor lamps in the top turret of +the belfry; there was nothing there, as I knew, but beams, dust, and +spiders’ webs. It was hard to climb up into that turret, for the passage +to it from the belfry was closely blocked up. + +It was more likely than anything else to be the reflection of some +outside light, but though I strained my eyes to the utmost, I could not +see one other speck of light in the vast expanse that lay before +me. There was no moon. The pale and, by now, quite dim streak of the +afterglow could not have been reflected, for the window looked not to +the west, but to the east. These and other similar considerations were +straying through my mind all the while that I was going down the slope +with the horse. At the bottom I sat down by the roadside and looked +again at the light. As before it was glimmering and flaring up. + +“Strange,” I thought, lost in conjecture. “Very strange.” + +And little by little I was overcome by an unpleasant feeling. At first +I thought that this was vexation at not being able to explain a simple +phenomenon; but afterwards, when I suddenly turned away from the light +in horror and caught hold of Pashka with one hand, it became clear that +I was overcome with terror.... + +I was seized with a feeling of loneliness, misery, and horror, as though +I had been flung down against my will into this great hole full of +shadows, where I was standing all alone with the belfry looking at me +with its red eye. + +“Pashka!” I cried, closing my eyes in horror. + +“Well?” + +“Pashka, what’s that gleaming on the belfry?” + +Pashka looked over my shoulder at the belfry and gave a yawn. + +“Who can tell?” + +This brief conversation with the boy reassured me for a little, but not +for long. Pashka, seeing my uneasiness, fastened his big eyes upon the +light, looked at me again, then again at the light.... + +“I am frightened,” he whispered. + +At this point, beside myself with terror, I clutched the boy with one +hand, huddled up to him, and gave the horse a violent lash. + +“It’s stupid!” I said to myself. “That phenomenon is only terrible +because I don’t understand it; everything we don’t understand is +mysterious.” + +I tried to persuade myself, but at the same time I did not leave off +lashing the horse. When we reached the posting station I purposely +stayed for a full hour chatting with the overseer, and read through two +or three newspapers, but the feeling of uneasiness did not leave me. +On the way back the light was not to be seen, but on the other hand the +silhouettes of the huts, of the poplars, and of the hill up which I had +to drive, seemed to me as though animated. And why the light was there I +don’t know to this day. + +The second terror I experienced was excited by a circumstance no less +trivial.... I was returning from a romantic interview. It was one +o’clock at night, the time when nature is buried in the soundest, +sweetest sleep before the dawn. That time nature was not sleeping, +and one could not call the night a still one. Corncrakes, quails, +nightingales, and woodcocks were calling, crickets and grasshoppers +were chirruping. There was a light mist over the grass, and clouds were +scurrying straight ahead across the sky near the moon. Nature was awake, +as though afraid of missing the best moments of her life. + +I walked along a narrow path at the very edge of a railway embankment. +The moonlight glided over the lines which were already covered with dew. +Great shadows from the clouds kept flitting over the embankment. Far +ahead, a dim green light was glimmering peacefully. + +“So everything is well,” I thought, looking at them. + +I had a quiet, peaceful, comfortable feeling in my heart. I was +returning from a tryst, I had no need to hurry; I was not sleepy, and +I was conscious of youth and health in every sigh, every step I took, +rousing a dull echo in the monotonous hum of the night. I don’t know +what I was feeling then, but I remember I was happy, very happy. + +I had gone not more than three-quarters of a mile when I suddenly heard +behind me a monotonous sound, a rumbling, rather like the roar of a +great stream. It grew louder and louder every second, and sounded nearer +and nearer. I looked round; a hundred paces from me was the dark copse +from which I had only just come; there the embankment turned to the +right in a graceful curve and vanished among the trees. I stood still in +perplexity and waited. A huge black body appeared at once at the turn, +noisily darted towards me, and with the swiftness of a bird flew past +me along the rails. Less than half a minute passed and the blur had +vanished, the rumble melted away into the noise of the night. + +It was an ordinary goods truck. There was nothing peculiar about it in +itself, but its appearance without an engine and in the night puzzled +me. Where could it have come from and what force sent it flying so +rapidly along the rails? Where did it come from and where was it flying +to? + +If I had been superstitious I should have made up my mind it was a party +of demons and witches journeying to a devils’ sabbath, and should +have gone on my way; but as it was, the phenomenon was absolutely +inexplicable to me. I did not believe my eyes, and was entangled in +conjectures like a fly in a spider’s web.... + +I suddenly realized that I was utterly alone on the whole vast plain; +that the night, which by now seemed inhospitable, was peeping into my +face and dogging my footsteps; all the sounds, the cries of the birds, +the whisperings of the trees, seemed sinister, and existing simply to +alarm my imagination. I dashed on like a madman, and without realizing +what I was doing I ran, trying to run faster and faster. And at once I +heard something to which I had paid no attention before: that is, the +plaintive whining of the telegraph wires. + +“This is beyond everything,” I said, trying to shame myself. “It’s +cowardice! it’s silly!” + +But cowardice was stronger than common sense. I only slackened my pace +when I reached the green light, where I saw a dark signal-box, and near +it on the embankment the figure of a man, probably the signalman. + +“Did you see it?” I asked breathlessly. + +“See whom? What?” + +“Why, a truck ran by.” + +“I saw it,...” the peasant said reluctantly. “It broke away from the +goods train. There is an incline at the ninetieth mile...; the train +is dragged uphill. The coupling on the last truck gave way, so it broke +off and ran back.... There is no catching it now!...” + +The strange phenomenon was explained and its fantastic character +vanished. My panic was over and I was able to go on my way. + +My third fright came upon me as I was going home from stand shooting in +early spring. It was in the dusk of evening. The forest road was covered +with pools from a recent shower of rain, and the earth squelched +under one’s feet. The crimson glow of sunset flooded the whole forest, +coloring the white stems of the birches and the young leaves. I was +exhausted and could hardly move. + +Four or five miles from home, walking along the forest road, I suddenly +met a big black dog of the water spaniel breed. As he ran by, the dog +looked intently at me, straight in my face, and ran on. + +“A nice dog!” I thought. “Whose is it?” + +I looked round. The dog was standing ten paces off with his eyes fixed +on me. For a minute we scanned each other in silence, then the dog, +probably flattered by my attention, came slowly up to me and wagged his +tail. + +I walked on, the dog following me. + +“Whose dog can it be?” I kept asking myself. “Where does he come from?” + +I knew all the country gentry for twenty or thirty miles round, and knew +all their dogs. Not one of them had a spaniel like that. How did he +come to be in the depths of the forest, on a track used for nothing +but carting timber? He could hardly have dropped behind someone passing +through, for there was nowhere for the gentry to drive to along that +road. + +I sat down on a stump to rest, and began scrutinizing my companion. He, +too, sat down, raised his head, and fastened upon me an intent stare. He +gazed at me without blinking. I don’t know whether it was the influence +of the stillness, the shadows and sounds of the forest, or perhaps a +result of exhaustion, but I suddenly felt uneasy under the steady gaze +of his ordinary doggy eyes. I thought of Faust and his bulldog, and +of the fact that nervous people sometimes when exhausted have +hallucinations. That was enough to make me get up hurriedly and +hurriedly walk on. The dog followed me. + +“Go away!” I shouted. + +The dog probably liked my voice, for he gave a gleeful jump and ran +about in front of me. + +“Go away!” I shouted again. + +The dog looked round, stared at me intently, and wagged his tail +good-humoredly. Evidently my threatening tone amused him. I ought to +have patted him, but I could not get Faust’s dog out of my head, and the +feeling of panic grew more and more acute... Darkness was coming on, +which completed my confusion, and every time the dog ran up to me and +hit me with his tail, like a coward I shut my eyes. The same thing +happened as with the light in the belfry and the truck on the railway: I +could not stand it and rushed away. + +At home I found a visitor, an old friend, who, after greeting me, began +to complain that as he was driving to me he had lost his way in the +forest, and a splendid valuable dog of his had dropped behind. + + + + +THE BET + +IT WAS a dark autumn night. The old banker was walking up and down his +study and remembering how, fifteen years before, he had given a party +one autumn evening. There had been many clever men there, and there had +been interesting conversations. Among other things they had talked of +capital punishment. The majority of the guests, among whom were many +journalists and intellectual men, disapproved of the death penalty. They +considered that form of punishment out of date, immoral, and unsuitable +for Christian States. In the opinion of some of them the death penalty +ought to be replaced everywhere by imprisonment for life. + +“I don’t agree with you,” said their host the banker. “I have not tried +either the death penalty or imprisonment for life, but if one may +judge _a priori_, the death penalty is more moral and more humane than +imprisonment for life. Capital punishment kills a man at once, but +lifelong imprisonment kills him slowly. Which executioner is the more +humane, he who kills you in a few minutes or he who drags the life out +of you in the course of many years?” + +“Both are equally immoral,” observed one of the guests, “for they both +have the same object--to take away life. The State is not God. It has +not the right to take away what it cannot restore when it wants to.” + +Among the guests was a young lawyer, a young man of five-and-twenty. +When he was asked his opinion, he said: + +“The death sentence and the life sentence are equally immoral, but if +I had to choose between the death penalty and imprisonment for life, I +would certainly choose the second. To live anyhow is better than not at +all.” + +A lively discussion arose. The banker, who was younger and more nervous +in those days, was suddenly carried away by excitement; he struck the +table with his fist and shouted at the young man: + +“It’s not true! I’ll bet you two millions you wouldn’t stay in solitary +confinement for five years.” + +“If you mean that in earnest,” said the young man, “I’ll take the bet, +but I would stay not five but fifteen years.” + +“Fifteen? Done!” cried the banker. “Gentlemen, I stake two millions!” + +“Agreed! You stake your millions and I stake my freedom!” said the young +man. + +And this wild, senseless bet was carried out! The banker, spoilt and +frivolous, with millions beyond his reckoning, was delighted at the bet. +At supper he made fun of the young man, and said: + +“Think better of it, young man, while there is still time. To me two +millions are a trifle, but you are losing three or four of the best +years of your life. I say three or four, because you won’t stay longer. +Don’t forget either, you unhappy man, that voluntary confinement is a +great deal harder to bear than compulsory. The thought that you have +the right to step out in liberty at any moment will poison your whole +existence in prison. I am sorry for you.” + +And now the banker, walking to and fro, remembered all this, and asked +himself: “What was the object of that bet? What is the good of that +man’s losing fifteen years of his life and my throwing away two +millions? Can it prove that the death penalty is better or worse than +imprisonment for life? No, no. It was all nonsensical and meaningless. +On my part it was the caprice of a pampered man, and on his part simple +greed for money....” + +Then he remembered what followed that evening. It was decided that the +young man should spend the years of his captivity under the strictest +supervision in one of the lodges in the banker’s garden. It was agreed +that for fifteen years he should not be free to cross the threshold of +the lodge, to see human beings, to hear the human voice, or to receive +letters and newspapers. He was allowed to have a musical instrument and +books, and was allowed to write letters, to drink wine, and to smoke. +By the terms of the agreement, the only relations he could have with the +outer world were by a little window made purposely for that object. He +might have anything he wanted--books, music, wine, and so on--in any +quantity he desired by writing an order, but could only receive them +through the window. The agreement provided for every detail and every +trifle that would make his imprisonment strictly solitary, and bound the +young man to stay there _exactly_ fifteen years, beginning from twelve +o’clock of November 14, 1870, and ending at twelve o’clock of November +14, 1885. The slightest attempt on his part to break the conditions, if +only two minutes before the end, released the banker from the obligation +to pay him two millions. + +For the first year of his confinement, as far as one could judge from +his brief notes, the prisoner suffered severely from loneliness and +depression. The sounds of the piano could be heard continually day +and night from his lodge. He refused wine and tobacco. Wine, he wrote, +excites the desires, and desires are the worst foes of the prisoner; and +besides, nothing could be more dreary than drinking good wine and seeing +no one. And tobacco spoilt the air of his room. In the first year the +books he sent for were principally of a light character; novels with a +complicated love plot, sensational and fantastic stories, and so on. + +In the second year the piano was silent in the lodge, and the prisoner +asked only for the classics. In the fifth year music was audible again, +and the prisoner asked for wine. Those who watched him through the +window said that all that year he spent doing nothing but eating and +drinking and lying on his bed, frequently yawning and angrily talking to +himself. He did not read books. Sometimes at night he would sit down to +write; he would spend hours writing, and in the morning tear up all that +he had written. More than once he could be heard crying. + +In the second half of the sixth year the prisoner began zealously +studying languages, philosophy, and history. He threw himself eagerly +into these studies--so much so that the banker had enough to do to get +him the books he ordered. In the course of four years some six hundred +volumes were procured at his request. It was during this period that the +banker received the following letter from his prisoner: + +“My dear Jailer, I write you these lines in six languages. Show them to +people who know the languages. Let them read them. If they find not one +mistake I implore you to fire a shot in the garden. That shot will show +me that my efforts have not been thrown away. The geniuses of all ages +and of all lands speak different languages, but the same flame burns in +them all. Oh, if you only knew what unearthly happiness my soul feels +now from being able to understand them!” The prisoner’s desire was +fulfilled. The banker ordered two shots to be fired in the garden. + +Then after the tenth year, the prisoner sat immovably at the table and +read nothing but the Gospel. It seemed strange to the banker that a man +who in four years had mastered six hundred learned volumes should waste +nearly a year over one thin book easy of comprehension. Theology and +histories of religion followed the Gospels. + +In the last two years of his confinement the prisoner read an immense +quantity of books quite indiscriminately. At one time he was busy with +the natural sciences, then he would ask for Byron or Shakespeare. There +were notes in which he demanded at the same time books on chemistry, and +a manual of medicine, and a novel, and some treatise on philosophy or +theology. His reading suggested a man swimming in the sea among the +wreckage of his ship, and trying to save his life by greedily clutching +first at one spar and then at another. + +II + +The old banker remembered all this, and thought: + +“To-morrow at twelve o’clock he will regain his freedom. By our +agreement I ought to pay him two millions. If I do pay him, it is all +over with me: I shall be utterly ruined.” + +Fifteen years before, his millions had been beyond his reckoning; now he +was afraid to ask himself which were greater, his debts or his assets. +Desperate gambling on the Stock Exchange, wild speculation and the +excitability which he could not get over even in advancing years, had +by degrees led to the decline of his fortune and the proud, fearless, +self-confident millionaire had become a banker of middling rank, +trembling at every rise and fall in his investments. “Cursed bet!” + muttered the old man, clutching his head in despair. “Why didn’t the man +die? He is only forty now. He will take my last penny from me, he will +marry, will enjoy life, will gamble on the Exchange; while I shall look +at him with envy like a beggar, and hear from him every day the same +sentence: ‘I am indebted to you for the happiness of my life, let +me help you!’ No, it is too much! The one means of being saved from +bankruptcy and disgrace is the death of that man!” + +It struck three o’clock, the banker listened; everyone was asleep in the +house and nothing could be heard outside but the rustling of the chilled +trees. Trying to make no noise, he took from a fireproof safe the key +of the door which had not been opened for fifteen years, put on his +overcoat, and went out of the house. + +It was dark and cold in the garden. Rain was falling. A damp cutting +wind was racing about the garden, howling and giving the trees no rest. +The banker strained his eyes, but could see neither the earth nor the +white statues, nor the lodge, nor the trees. Going to the spot where the +lodge stood, he twice called the watchman. No answer followed. Evidently +the watchman had sought shelter from the weather, and was now asleep +somewhere either in the kitchen or in the greenhouse. + +“If I had the pluck to carry out my intention,” thought the old man, +“Suspicion would fall first upon the watchman.” + +He felt in the darkness for the steps and the door, and went into the +entry of the lodge. Then he groped his way into a little passage and +lighted a match. There was not a soul there. There was a bedstead with +no bedding on it, and in the corner there was a dark cast-iron stove. +The seals on the door leading to the prisoner’s rooms were intact. + +When the match went out the old man, trembling with emotion, peeped +through the little window. A candle was burning dimly in the prisoner’s +room. He was sitting at the table. Nothing could be seen but his back, +the hair on his head, and his hands. Open books were lying on the table, +on the two easy-chairs, and on the carpet near the table. + +Five minutes passed and the prisoner did not once stir. Fifteen years’ +imprisonment had taught him to sit still. The banker tapped at the +window with his finger, and the prisoner made no movement whatever in +response. Then the banker cautiously broke the seals off the door and +put the key in the keyhole. The rusty lock gave a grating sound and the +door creaked. The banker expected to hear at once footsteps and a cry +of astonishment, but three minutes passed and it was as quiet as ever in +the room. He made up his mind to go in. + +At the table a man unlike ordinary people was sitting motionless. He +was a skeleton with the skin drawn tight over his bones, with long curls +like a woman’s and a shaggy beard. His face was yellow with an earthy +tint in it, his cheeks were hollow, his back long and narrow, and the +hand on which his shaggy head was propped was so thin and delicate +that it was dreadful to look at it. His hair was already streaked with +silver, and seeing his emaciated, aged-looking face, no one would have +believed that he was only forty. He was asleep.... In front of his +bowed head there lay on the table a sheet of paper on which there was +something written in fine handwriting. + +“Poor creature!” thought the banker, “he is asleep and most likely +dreaming of the millions. And I have only to take this half-dead man, +throw him on the bed, stifle him a little with the pillow, and the most +conscientious expert would find no sign of a violent death. But let us +first read what he has written here....” + +The banker took the page from the table and read as follows: + +“To-morrow at twelve o’clock I regain my freedom and the right to +associate with other men, but before I leave this room and see the +sunshine, I think it necessary to say a few words to you. With a clear +conscience I tell you, as before God, who beholds me, that I despise +freedom and life and health, and all that in your books is called the +good things of the world. + +“For fifteen years I have been intently studying earthly life. It is +true I have not seen the earth nor men, but in your books I have drunk +fragrant wine, I have sung songs, I have hunted stags and wild boars +in the forests, have loved women.... Beauties as ethereal as clouds, +created by the magic of your poets and geniuses, have visited me at +night, and have whispered in my ears wonderful tales that have set my +brain in a whirl. In your books I have climbed to the peaks of Elburz +and Mont Blanc, and from there I have seen the sun rise and have watched +it at evening flood the sky, the ocean, and the mountain-tops with gold +and crimson. I have watched from there the lightning flashing over my +head and cleaving the storm-clouds. I have seen green forests, fields, +rivers, lakes, towns. I have heard the singing of the sirens, and the +strains of the shepherds’ pipes; I have touched the wings of comely +devils who flew down to converse with me of God.... In your books I +have flung myself into the bottomless pit, performed miracles, slain, +burned towns, preached new religions, conquered whole kingdoms.... + +“Your books have given me wisdom. All that the unresting thought of man +has created in the ages is compressed into a small compass in my brain. +I know that I am wiser than all of you. + +“And I despise your books, I despise wisdom and the blessings of this +world. It is all worthless, fleeting, illusory, and deceptive, like a +mirage. You may be proud, wise, and fine, but death will wipe you off +the face of the earth as though you were no more than mice burrowing +under the floor, and your posterity, your history, your immortal +geniuses will burn or freeze together with the earthly globe. + +“You have lost your reason and taken the wrong path. You have taken lies +for truth, and hideousness for beauty. You would marvel if, owing to +strange events of some sorts, frogs and lizards suddenly grew on apple +and orange trees instead of fruit, or if roses began to smell like a +sweating horse; so I marvel at you who exchange heaven for earth. I +don’t want to understand you. + +“To prove to you in action how I despise all that you live by, I +renounce the two millions of which I once dreamed as of paradise and +which now I despise. To deprive myself of the right to the money I shall +go out from here five hours before the time fixed, and so break the +compact....” + +When the banker had read this he laid the page on the table, kissed the +strange man on the head, and went out of the lodge, weeping. At no other +time, even when he had lost heavily on the Stock Exchange, had he felt +so great a contempt for himself. When he got home he lay on his bed, but +his tears and emotion kept him for hours from sleeping. + +Next morning the watchmen ran in with pale faces, and told him they had +seen the man who lived in the lodge climb out of the window into the +garden, go to the gate, and disappear. The banker went at once with the +servants to the lodge and made sure of the flight of his prisoner. To +avoid arousing unnecessary talk, he took from the table the writing in +which the millions were renounced, and when he got home locked it up in +the fireproof safe. + + + + +THE HEAD-GARDENER’S STORY + +A SALE of flowers was taking place in Count N.’s greenhouses. The +purchasers were few in number--a landowner who was a neighbor of mine, +a young timber-merchant, and myself. While the workmen were carrying out +our magnificent purchases and packing them into the carts, we sat at the +entry of the greenhouse and chatted about one thing and another. It +is extremely pleasant to sit in a garden on a still April morning, +listening to the birds, and watching the flowers brought out into the +open air and basking in the sunshine. + +The head-gardener, Mihail Karlovitch, a venerable old man with a full +shaven face, wearing a fur waistcoat and no coat, superintended the +packing of the plants himself, but at the same time he listened to +our conversation in the hope of hearing something new. He was an +intelligent, very good-hearted man, respected by everyone. He was +for some reason looked upon by everyone as a German, though he was in +reality on his father’s side Swedish, on his mother’s side Russian, and +attended the Orthodox church. He knew Russian, Swedish, and German. He +had read a good deal in those languages, and nothing one could do gave +him greater pleasure than lending him some new book or talking to him, +for instance, about Ibsen. + +He had his weaknesses, but they were innocent ones: he called himself +the head gardener, though there were no under-gardeners; the expression +of his face was unusually dignified and haughty; he could not endure to +be contradicted, and liked to be listened to with respect and attention. + +“That young fellow there I can recommend to you as an awful rascal,” + said my neighbor, pointing to a laborer with a swarthy, gipsy face, who +drove by with the water-barrel. “Last week he was tried in the town for +burglary and was acquitted; they pronounced him mentally deranged, and +yet look at him, he is the picture of health. Scoundrels are very often +acquitted nowadays in Russia on grounds of abnormality and aberration, +yet these acquittals, these unmistakable proofs of an indulgent attitude +to crime, lead to no good. They demoralize the masses, the sense of +justice is blunted in all as they become accustomed to seeing vice +unpunished, and you know in our age one may boldly say in the words of +Shakespeare that in our evil and corrupt age virtue must ask forgiveness +of vice.” + +“That’s very true,” the merchant assented. “Owing to these frequent +acquittals, murder and arson have become much more common. Ask the +peasants.” + +Mihail Karlovitch turned towards us and said: + +“As far as I am concerned, gentlemen, I am always delighted to meet with +these verdicts of not guilty. I am not afraid for morality and justice +when they say ‘Not guilty,’ but on the contrary I feel pleased. Even +when my conscience tells me the jury have made a mistake in acquitting +the criminal, even then I am triumphant. Judge for yourselves, +gentlemen; if the judges and the jury have more faith in _man_ than in +evidence, material proofs, and speeches for the prosecution, is not that +faith _in man_ in itself higher than any ordinary considerations? Such +faith is only attainable by those few who understand and feel Christ.” + +“A fine thought,” I said. + +“But it’s not a new one. I remember a very long time ago I heard a +legend on that subject. A very charming legend,” said the gardener, +and he smiled. “I was told it by my grandmother, my father’s mother, an +excellent old lady. She told me it in Swedish, and it does not sound so +fine, so classical, in Russian.” + +But we begged him to tell it and not to be put off by the coarseness of +the Russian language. Much gratified, he deliberately lighted his pipe, +looked angrily at the laborers, and began: + +“There settled in a certain little town a solitary, plain, elderly +gentleman called Thomson or Wilson--but that does not matter; the +surname is not the point. He followed an honorable profession: he was +a doctor. He was always morose and unsociable, and only spoke when +required by his profession. He never visited anyone, never extended his +acquaintance beyond a silent bow, and lived as humbly as a hermit. The +fact was, he was a learned man, and in those days learned men were not +like other people. They spent their days and nights in contemplation, in +reading and in healing disease, looked upon everything else as trivial, +and had no time to waste a word. The inhabitants of the town understood +this, and tried not to worry him with their visits and empty chatter. +They were very glad that God had sent them at last a man who could heal +diseases, and were proud that such a remarkable man was living in their +town. ‘He knows everything,’ they said about him. + +“But that was not enough. They ought to have also said, ‘He loves +everyone.’ In the breast of that learned man there beat a wonderful +angelic heart. Though the people of that town were strangers and not his +own people, yet he loved them like children, and did not spare himself +for them. He was himself ill with consumption, he had a cough, but when +he was summoned to the sick he forgot his own illness he did not spare +himself and, gasping for breath, climbed up the hills however high they +might be. He disregarded the sultry heat and the cold, despised thirst +and hunger. He would accept no money and strange to say, when one of his +patients died, he would follow the coffin with the relations, weeping. + +“And soon he became so necessary to the town that the inhabitants +wondered how they could have got on before without the man. Their +gratitude knew no bounds. Grown-up people and children, good and bad +alike, honest men and cheats--all in fact, respected him and knew his +value. In the little town and all the surrounding neighborhood there +was no man who would allow himself to do anything disagreeable to him; +indeed, they would never have dreamed of it. When he came out of his +lodging, he never fastened the doors or windows, in complete confidence +that there was no thief who could bring himself to do him wrong. +He often had in the course of his medical duties to walk along the +highroads, through the forests and mountains haunted by numbers of +hungry vagrants; but he felt that he was in perfect security. + +“One night he was returning from a patient when robbers fell upon him +in the forest, but when they recognized him, they took off their hats +respectfully and offered him something to eat. When he answered that he +was not hungry, they gave him a warm wrap and accompanied him as far as +the town, happy that fate had given them the chance in some small way +to show their gratitude to the benevolent man. Well, to be sure, my +grandmother told me that even the horses and the cows and the dogs knew +him and expressed their joy when they met him. + +“And this man who seemed by his sanctity to have guarded himself from +every evil, to whom even brigands and frenzied men wished nothing but +good, was one fine morning found murdered. Covered with blood, with +his skull broken, he was lying in a ravine, and his pale face wore an +expression of amazement. Yes, not horror but amazement was the emotion +that had been fixed upon his face when he saw the murderer before him. +You can imagine the grief that overwhelmed the inhabitants of the town +and the surrounding districts. All were in despair, unable to believe +their eyes, wondering who could have killed the man. The judges who +conducted the inquiry and examined the doctor’s body said: ‘Here we +have all the signs of a murder, but as there is not a man in the world +capable of murdering our doctor, obviously it was not a case of murder, +and the combination of evidence is due to simple chance. We must suppose +that in the darkness he fell into the ravine of himself and was mortally +injured.’ + +“The whole town agreed with this opinion. The doctor was buried, and +nothing more was said about a violent death. The existence of a man +who could have the baseness and wickedness to kill the doctor seemed +incredible. There is a limit even to wickedness, isn’t there? + +“All at once, would you believe it, chance led them to discovering the +murderer. A vagrant who had been many times convicted, notorious for his +vicious life, was seen selling for drink a snuff-box and watch that +had belonged to the doctor. When he was questioned he was confused, +and answered with an obvious lie. A search was made, and in his bed was +found a shirt with stains of blood on the sleeves, and a doctor’s lancet +set in gold. What more evidence was wanted? They put the criminal in +prison. The inhabitants were indignant, and at the same time said: + +“‘It’s incredible! It can’t be so! Take care that a mistake is not +made; it does happen, you know, that evidence tells a false tale.’ + +“At his trial the murderer obstinately denied his guilt. Everything was +against him, and to be convinced of his guilt was as easy as to believe +that this earth is black; but the judges seem to have gone mad: they +weighed every proof ten times, looked distrustfully at the witnesses, +flushed crimson and sipped water.... The trial began early in the +morning and was only finished in the evening. + +“‘Accused!’ the chief judge said, addressing the murderer, ‘the court +has found you guilty of murdering Dr. So-and-so, and has sentenced you +to....’ + +“The chief judge meant to say ‘to the death penalty,’ but he dropped +from his hands the paper on which the sentence was written, wiped the +cold sweat from his face, and cried out: + +“‘No! May God punish me if I judge wrongly, but I swear he is not +guilty. I cannot admit the thought that there exists a man who would +dare to murder our friend the doctor! A man could not sink so low!’ + +“‘There cannot be such a man!’ the other judges assented. + +“‘No,’ the crowd cried. ‘Let him go!’ + +“The murderer was set free to go where he chose, and not one soul blamed +the court for an unjust verdict. And my grandmother used to say that for +such faith in humanity God forgave the sins of all the inhabitants of +that town. He rejoices when people believe that man is His image and +semblance, and grieves if, forgetful of human dignity, they judge worse +of men than of dogs. The sentence of acquittal may bring harm to the +inhabitants of the town, but on the other hand, think of the beneficial +influence upon them of that faith in man--a faith which does not remain +dead, you know; it raises up generous feelings in us, and always impels +us to love and respect every man. Every man! And that is important.” + +Mihail Karlovitch had finished. My neighbor would have urged some +objection, but the head-gardener made a gesture that signified that he +did not like objections; then he walked away to the carts, and, with an +expression of dignity, went on looking after the packing. + + + + +THE BEAUTIES + +I + +I REMEMBER, when I was a high school boy in the fifth or sixth class, I +was driving with my grandfather from the village of Bolshoe Kryepkoe in +the Don region to Rostov-on-the-Don. It was a sultry, languidly dreary +day of August. Our eyes were glued together, and our mouths were parched +from the heat and the dry burning wind which drove clouds of dust to +meet us; one did not want to look or speak or think, and when our drowsy +driver, a Little Russian called Karpo, swung his whip at the horses +and lashed me on my cap, I did not protest or utter a sound, but only, +rousing myself from half-slumber, gazed mildly and dejectedly into the +distance to see whether there was a village visible through the dust. +We stopped to feed the horses in a big Armenian village at a rich +Armenian’s whom my grandfather knew. Never in my life have I seen a +greater caricature than that Armenian. Imagine a little shaven head with +thick overhanging eyebrows, a beak of a nose, long gray mustaches, and +a wide mouth with a long cherry-wood chibouk sticking out of it. This +little head was clumsily attached to a lean hunch-back carcass attired +in a fantastic garb, a short red jacket, and full bright blue trousers. +This figure walked straddling its legs and shuffling with its slippers, +spoke without taking the chibouk out of its mouth, and behaved with +truly Armenian dignity, not smiling, but staring with wide-open eyes and +trying to take as little notice as possible of its guests. + +There was neither wind nor dust in the Armenian’s rooms, but it was just +as unpleasant, stifling, and dreary as in the steppe and on the road. +I remember, dusty and exhausted by the heat, I sat in the corner on a +green box. The unpainted wooden walls, the furniture, and the floors +colored with yellow ocher smelt of dry wood baked by the sun. Wherever +I looked there were flies and flies and flies.... Grandfather and the +Armenian were talking about grazing, about manure, and about oats.... +I knew that they would be a good hour getting the samovar; that +grandfather would be not less than an hour drinking his tea, and then +would lie down to sleep for two or three hours; that I should waste a +quarter of the day waiting, after which there would be again the heat, +the dust, the jolting cart. I heard the muttering of the two voices, and +it began to seem to me that I had been seeing the Armenian, the cupboard +with the crockery, the flies, the windows with the burning sun beating +on them, for ages and ages, and should only cease to see them in the +far-off future, and I was seized with hatred for the steppe, the sun, +the flies.... + +A Little Russian peasant woman in a kerchief brought in a tray of +tea-things, then the samovar. The Armenian went slowly out into the +passage and shouted: “Mashya, come and pour out tea! Where are you, +Mashya?” + +Hurried footsteps were heard, and there came into the room a girl of +sixteen in a simple cotton dress and a white kerchief. As she washed the +crockery and poured out the tea, she was standing with her back to me, +and all I could see was that she was of a slender figure, barefooted, +and that her little bare heels were covered by long trousers. + +The Armenian invited me to have tea. Sitting down to the table, I +glanced at the girl, who was handing me a glass of tea, and felt all at +once as though a wind were blowing over my soul and blowing away all +the impressions of the day with their dust and dreariness. I saw the +bewitching features of the most beautiful face I have ever met in real +life or in my dreams. Before me stood a beauty, and I recognized that at +the first glance as I should have recognized lightning. + +I am ready to swear that Masha--or, as her father called her, +Mashya--was a real beauty, but I don’t know how to prove it. It +sometimes happens that clouds are huddled together in disorder on the +horizon, and the sun hiding behind them colors them and the sky with +tints of every possible shade--crimson, orange, gold, lilac, muddy pink; +one cloud is like a monk, another like a fish, a third like a Turk in a +turban. The glow of sunset enveloping a third of the sky gleams on +the cross on the church, flashes on the windows of the manor house, is +reflected in the river and the puddles, quivers on the trees; far, far +away against the background of the sunset, a flock of wild ducks is +flying homewards.... And the boy herding the cows, and the surveyor +driving in his chaise over the dam, and the gentleman out for a walk, +all gaze at the sunset, and every one of them thinks it terribly +beautiful, but no one knows or can say in what its beauty lies. + +I was not the only one to think the Armenian girl beautiful. My +grandfather, an old man of seventy, gruff and indifferent to women and +the beauties of nature, looked caressingly at Masha for a full minute, +and asked: + +“Is that your daughter, Avert Nazaritch?” + +“Yes, she is my daughter,” answered the Armenian. + +“A fine young lady,” said my grandfather approvingly. + +An artist would have called the Armenian girl’s beauty classical and +severe, it was just that beauty, the contemplation of which--God +knows why!--inspires in one the conviction that one is seeing correct +features; that hair, eyes, nose, mouth, neck, bosom, and every movement +of the young body all go together in one complete harmonious accord in +which nature has not blundered over the smallest line. You fancy for +some reason that the ideally beautiful woman must have such a nose as +Masha’s, straight and slightly aquiline, just such great dark eyes, such +long lashes, such a languid glance; you fancy that her black curly hair +and eyebrows go with the soft white tint of her brow and cheeks as +the green reeds go with the quiet stream. Masha’s white neck and her +youthful bosom were not fully developed, but you fancy the sculptor +would need a great creative genius to mold them. You gaze, and little +by little the desire comes over you to say to Masha something +extraordinarily pleasant, sincere, beautiful, as beautiful as she +herself was. + +At first I felt hurt and abashed that Masha took no notice of me, but +was all the time looking down; it seemed to me as though a peculiar +atmosphere, proud and happy, separated her from me and jealously +screened her from my eyes. + +“That’s because I am covered with dust,” I thought, “am sunburnt, and am +still a boy.” + +But little by little I forgot myself, and gave myself up entirely to the +consciousness of beauty. I thought no more now of the dreary steppe, of +the dust, no longer heard the buzzing of the flies, no longer tasted the +tea, and felt nothing except that a beautiful girl was standing only the +other side of the table. + +I felt this beauty rather strangely. It was not desire, nor ecstacy, +nor enjoyment that Masha excited in me, but a painful though pleasant +sadness. It was a sadness vague and undefined as a dream. For some +reason I felt sorry for myself, for my grandfather and for the Armenian, +even for the girl herself, and I had a feeling as though we all four +had lost something important and essential to life which we should never +find again. My grandfather, too, grew melancholy; he talked no more +about manure or about oats, but sat silent, looking pensively at Masha. + +After tea my grandfather lay down for a nap while I went out of the +house into the porch. The house, like all the houses in the Armenian +village stood in the full sun; there was not a tree, not an awning, no +shade. The Armenian’s great courtyard, overgrown with goosefoot and +wild mallows, was lively and full of gaiety in spite of the great heat. +Threshing was going on behind one of the low hurdles which intersected +the big yard here and there. Round a post stuck into the middle of the +threshing-floor ran a dozen horses harnessed side by side, so that they +formed one long radius. A Little Russian in a long waistcoat and full +trousers was walking beside them, cracking a whip and shouting in a tone +that sounded as though he were jeering at the horses and showing off his +power over them. + +“A--a--a, you damned brutes!... A--a--a, plague take you! Are you +frightened?” + +The horses, sorrel, white, and piebald, not understanding why they +were made to run round in one place and to crush the wheat straw, ran +unwillingly as though with effort, swinging their tails with an offended +air. The wind raised up perfect clouds of golden chaff from under their +hoofs and carried it away far beyond the hurdle. Near the tall fresh +stacks peasant women were swarming with rakes, and carts were moving, +and beyond the stacks in another yard another dozen similar horses were +running round a post, and a similar Little Russian was cracking his whip +and jeering at the horses. + +The steps on which I was sitting were hot; on the thin rails and here +and there on the window-frames sap was oozing out of the wood from the +heat; red ladybirds were huddling together in the streaks of shadow +under the steps and under the shutters. The sun was baking me on my +head, on my chest, and on my back, but I did not notice it, and was +conscious only of the thud of bare feet on the uneven floor in the +passage and in the rooms behind me. After clearing away the tea-things, +Masha ran down the steps, fluttering the air as she passed, and like +a bird flew into a little grimy outhouse--I suppose the kitchen--from +which came the smell of roast mutton and the sound of angry talk in +Armenian. She vanished into the dark doorway, and in her place there +appeared on the threshold an old bent, red-faced Armenian woman wearing +green trousers. The old woman was angry and was scolding someone. Soon +afterwards Masha appeared in the doorway, flushed with the heat of +the kitchen and carrying a big black loaf on her shoulder; swaying +gracefully under the weight of the bread, she ran across the yard to the +threshing-floor, darted over the hurdle, and, wrapt in a cloud of golden +chaff, vanished behind the carts. The Little Russian who was driving the +horses lowered his whip, sank into silence, and gazed for a minute in +the direction of the carts. Then when the Armenian girl darted again by +the horses and leaped over the hurdle, he followed her with his +eyes, and shouted to the horses in a tone as though he were greatly +disappointed: + +“Plague take you, unclean devils!” + +And all the while I was unceasingly hearing her bare feet, and seeing +how she walked across the yard with a grave, preoccupied face. She ran +now down the steps, swishing the air about me, now into the kitchen, now +to the threshing-floor, now through the gate, and I could hardly turn my +head quickly enough to watch her. + +And the oftener she fluttered by me with her beauty, the more acute +became my sadness. I felt sorry both for her and for myself and for the +Little Russian, who mournfully watched her every time she ran through +the cloud of chaff to the carts. Whether it was envy of her beauty, or +that I was regretting that the girl was not mine, and never would be, +or that I was a stranger to her; or whether I vaguely felt that her rare +beauty was accidental, unnecessary, and, like everything on earth, +of short duration; or whether, perhaps, my sadness was that peculiar +feeling which is excited in man by the contemplation of real beauty, God +only knows. + +The three hours of waiting passed unnoticed. It seemed to me that I had +not had time to look properly at Masha when Karpo drove up to the river, +bathed the horse, and began to put it in the shafts. The wet horse +snorted with pleasure and kicked his hoofs against the shafts. Karpo +shouted to it: “Ba--ack!” My grandfather woke up. Masha opened the +creaking gates for us, we got into the chaise and drove out of the yard. +We drove in silence as though we were angry with one another. + +When, two or three hours later, Rostov and Nahitchevan appeared in +the distance, Karpo, who had been silent the whole time, looked round +quickly, and said: + +“A fine wench, that at the Armenian’s.” + +And he lashed his horses. + +II + +Another time, after I had become a student, I was traveling by rail to +the south. It was May. At one of the stations, I believe it was between +Byelgorod and Harkov, I got out of the tram to walk about the platform. + +The shades of evening were already lying on the station garden, on the +platform, and on the fields; the station screened off the sunset, but on +the topmost clouds of smoke from the engine, which were tinged with rosy +light, one could see the sun had not yet quite vanished. + +As I walked up and down the platform I noticed that the greater +number of the passengers were standing or walking near a second-class +compartment, and that they looked as though some celebrated person were +in that compartment. Among the curious whom I met near this compartment +I saw, however, an artillery officer who had been my fellow-traveler, an +intelligent, cordial, and sympathetic fellow--as people mostly are +whom we meet on our travels by chance and with whom we are not long +acquainted. + +“What are you looking at there?” I asked. + +He made no answer, but only indicated with his eyes a feminine figure. +It was a young girl of seventeen or eighteen, wearing a Russian dress, +with her head bare and a little shawl flung carelessly on one +shoulder; not a passenger, but I suppose a sister or daughter of the +station-master. She was standing near the carriage window, talking to an +elderly woman who was in the train. Before I had time to realize what +I was seeing, I was suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling I had once +experienced in the Armenian village. + +The girl was remarkably beautiful, and that was unmistakable to me and +to those who were looking at her as I was. + +If one is to describe her appearance feature by feature, as the practice +is, the only really lovely thing was her thick wavy fair hair, which +hung loose with a black ribbon tied round her head; all the other +features were either irregular or very ordinary. Either from a peculiar +form of coquettishness, or from short-sightedness, her eyes were screwed +up, her nose had an undecided tilt, her mouth was small, her profile was +feebly and insipidly drawn, her shoulders were narrow and undeveloped +for her age--and yet the girl made the impression of being really +beautiful, and looking at her, I was able to feel convinced that the +Russian face does not need strict regularity in order to be lovely; what +is more, that if instead of her turn-up nose the girl had been given a +different one, correct and plastically irreproachable like the Armenian +girl’s, I fancy her face would have lost all its charm from the change. + +Standing at the window talking, the girl, shrugging at the evening damp, +continually looking round at us, at one moment put her arms akimbo, at +the next raised her hands to her head to straighten her hair, talked, +laughed, while her face at one moment wore an expression of wonder, the +next of horror, and I don’t remember a moment when her face and body +were at rest. The whole secret and magic of her beauty lay just in these +tiny, infinitely elegant movements, in her smile, in the play of her +face, in her rapid glances at us, in the combination of the subtle grace +of her movements with her youth, her freshness, the purity of her soul +that sounded in her laugh and voice, and with the weakness we love so +much in children, in birds, in fawns, and in young trees. + +It was that butterfly’s beauty so in keeping with waltzing, darting +about the garden, laughter and gaiety, and incongruous with serious +thought, grief, and repose; and it seemed as though a gust of wind +blowing over the platform, or a fall of rain, would be enough to wither +the fragile body and scatter the capricious beauty like the pollen of a +flower. + +“So--o!...” the officer muttered with a sigh when, after the second +bell, we went back to our compartment. + +And what that “So--o” meant I will not undertake to decide. + +Perhaps he was sad, and did not want to go away from the beauty and +the spring evening into the stuffy train; or perhaps he, like me, was +unaccountably sorry for the beauty, for himself, and for me, and for all +the passengers, who were listlessly and reluctantly sauntering back to +their compartments. As we passed the station window, at which a pale, +red-haired telegraphist with upstanding curls and a faded, broad-cheeked +face was sitting beside his apparatus, the officer heaved a sigh and +said: + +“I bet that telegraphist is in love with that pretty girl. To live out +in the wilds under one roof with that ethereal creature and not fall in +love is beyond the power of man. And what a calamity, my friend! what an +ironical fate, to be stooping, unkempt, gray, a decent fellow and not a +fool, and to be in love with that pretty, stupid little girl who would +never take a scrap of notice of you! Or worse still: imagine that +telegraphist is in love, and at the same time married, and that his wife +is as stooping, as unkempt, and as decent a person as himself.” + +On the platform between our carriage and the next the guard was +standing with his elbows on the railing, looking in the direction of +the beautiful girl, and his battered, wrinkled, unpleasantly beefy face, +exhausted by sleepless nights and the jolting of the train, wore a look +of tenderness and of the deepest sadness, as though in that girl he saw +happiness, his own youth, soberness, purity, wife, children; as though +he were repenting and feeling in his whole being that that girl was not +his, and that for him, with his premature old age, his uncouthness, and +his beefy face, the ordinary happiness of a man and a passenger was as +far away as heaven.... + +The third bell rang, the whistles sounded, and the train slowly moved +off. First the guard, the station-master, then the garden, the beautiful +girl with her exquisitely sly smile, passed before our windows.... + +Putting my head out and looking back, I saw how, looking after the +train, she walked along the platform by the window where the telegraph +clerk was sitting, smoothed her hair, and ran into the garden. The +station no longer screened off the sunset, the plain lay open before us, +but the sun had already set and the smoke lay in black clouds over the +green, velvety young corn. It was melancholy in the spring air, and in +the darkening sky, and in the railway carriage. + +The familiar figure of the guard came into the carriage, and he began +lighting the candles. + + + + +THE SHOEMAKER AND THE DEVIL + +IT was Christmas Eve. Marya had long been snoring on the stove; all the +paraffin in the little lamp had burnt out, but Fyodor Nilov still sat at +work. He would long ago have flung aside his work and gone out into the +street, but a customer from Kolokolny Lane, who had a fortnight before +ordered some boots, had been in the previous day, had abused him +roundly, and had ordered him to finish the boots at once before the +morning service. + +“It’s a convict’s life!” Fyodor grumbled as he worked. “Some people have +been asleep long ago, others are enjoying themselves, while you sit here +like some Cain and sew for the devil knows whom....” + +To save himself from accidentally falling asleep, he kept taking a +bottle from under the table and drinking out of it, and after every pull +at it he twisted his head and said aloud: + +“What is the reason, kindly tell me, that customers enjoy themselves +while I am forced to sit and work for them? Because they have money and +I am a beggar?” + +He hated all his customers, especially the one who lived in Kolokolny +Lane. He was a gentleman of gloomy appearance, with long hair, a yellow +face, blue spectacles, and a husky voice. He had a German name which one +could not pronounce. It was impossible to tell what was his calling +and what he did. When, a fortnight before, Fyodor had gone to take his +measure, he, the customer, was sitting on the floor pounding something +in a mortar. Before Fyodor had time to say good-morning the contents of +the mortar suddenly flared up and burned with a bright red flame; there +was a stink of sulphur and burnt feathers, and the room was filled +with a thick pink smoke, so that Fyodor sneezed five times; and as he +returned home afterwards, he thought: “Anyone who feared God would not +have anything to do with things like that.” + +When there was nothing left in the bottle Fyodor put the boots on the +table and sank into thought. He leaned his heavy head on his fist and +began thinking of his poverty, of his hard life with no glimmer of +light in it. Then he thought of the rich, of their big houses and their +carriages, of their hundred-rouble notes.... How nice it would be +if the houses of these rich men--the devil flay them!--were smashed, +if their horses died, if their fur coats and sable caps got shabby! How +splendid it would be if the rich, little by little, changed into beggars +having nothing, and he, a poor shoemaker, were to become rich, and were +to lord it over some other poor shoemaker on Christmas Eve. + +Dreaming like this, Fyodor suddenly thought of his work, and opened his +eyes. + +“Here’s a go,” he thought, looking at the boots. “The job has been +finished ever so long ago, and I go on sitting here. I must take the +boots to the gentleman.” + +He wrapped up the work in a red handkerchief, put on his things, and +went out into the street. A fine hard snow was falling, pricking the +face as though with needles. It was cold, slippery, dark, the gas-lamps +burned dimly, and for some reason there was a smell of paraffin in the +street, so that Fyodor coughed and cleared his throat. Rich men were +driving to and fro on the road, and every rich man had a ham and a +bottle of vodka in his hands. Rich young ladies peeped at Fyodor out of +the carriages and sledges, put out their tongues and shouted, laughing: + +“Beggar! Beggar!” + +Students, officers, and merchants walked behind Fyodor, jeering at him +and crying: + +“Drunkard! Drunkard! Infidel cobbler! Soul of a boot-leg! Beggar!” + +All this was insulting, but Fyodor held his tongue and only spat in +disgust. But when Kuzma Lebyodkin from Warsaw, a master-bootmaker, met +him and said: “I’ve married a rich woman and I have men working under +me, while you are a beggar and have nothing to eat,” Fyodor could not +refrain from running after him. He pursued him till he found himself in +Kolokolny Lane. His customer lived in the fourth house from the corner +on the very top floor. To reach him one had to go through a long, dark +courtyard, and then to climb up a very high slippery stair-case which +tottered under one’s feet. When Fyodor went in to him he was sitting +on the floor pounding something in a mortar, just as he had been the +fortnight before. + +“Your honor, I have brought your boots,” said Fyodor sullenly. + +The customer got up and began trying on the boots in silence. Desiring +to help him, Fyodor went down on one knee and pulled off his old, boot, +but at once jumped up and staggered towards the door in horror. The +customer had not a foot, but a hoof like a horse’s. + +“Aha!” thought Fyodor; “here’s a go!” + +The first thing should have been to cross himself, then to leave +everything and run downstairs; but he immediately reflected that he was +meeting a devil for the first and probably the last time, and not to +take advantage of his services would be foolish. He controlled himself +and determined to try his luck. Clasping his hands behind him to avoid +making the sign of the cross, he coughed respectfully and began: + +“They say that there is nothing on earth more evil and impure than the +devil, but I am of the opinion, your honor, that the devil is highly +educated. He has--excuse my saying it--hoofs and a tail behind, but he +has more brains than many a student.” + +“I like you for what you say,” said the devil, flattered. “Thank you, +shoemaker! What do you want?” + +And without loss of time the shoemaker began complaining of his lot. He +began by saying that from his childhood up he had envied the rich. He +had always resented it that all people did not live alike in big houses +and drive with good horses. Why, he asked, was he poor? How was he worse +than Kuzma Lebyodkin from Warsaw, who had his own house, and whose wife +wore a hat? He had the same sort of nose, the same hands, feet, head, +and back, as the rich, and so why was he forced to work when others +were enjoying themselves? Why was he married to Marya and not to a +lady smelling of scent? He had often seen beautiful young ladies in +the houses of rich customers, but they either took no notice of him +whatever, or else sometimes laughed and whispered to each other: “What +a red nose that shoemaker has!” It was true that Marya was a good, kind, +hard-working woman, but she was not educated; her hand was heavy and +hit hard, and if one had occasion to speak of politics or anything +intellectual before her, she would put her spoke in and talk the most +awful nonsense. + +“What do you want, then?” his customer interrupted him. + +“I beg you, your honor Satan Ivanitch, to be graciously pleased to make +me a rich man.” + +“Certainly. Only for that you must give me up your soul! Before the +cocks crow, go and sign on this paper here that you give me up your +soul.” + +“Your honor,” said Fyodor politely, “when you ordered a pair of boots +from me I did not ask for the money in advance. One has first to carry +out the order and then ask for payment.” + +“Oh, very well!” the customer assented. + +A bright flame suddenly flared up in the mortar, a pink thick smoke came +puffing out, and there was a smell of burnt feathers and sulphur. When +the smoke had subsided, Fyodor rubbed his eyes and saw that he was no +longer Fyodor, no longer a shoemaker, but quite a different man, wearing +a waistcoat and a watch-chain, in a new pair of trousers, and that he +was sitting in an armchair at a big table. Two foot men were handing him +dishes, bowing low and saying: + +“Kindly eat, your honor, and may it do you good!” + +What wealth! The footmen handed him a big piece of roast mutton and a +dish of cucumbers, and then brought in a frying-pan a roast goose, and +a little afterwards boiled pork with horse-radish cream. And how +dignified, how genteel it all was! Fyodor ate, and before each dish +drank a big glass of excellent vodka, like some general or some count. +After the pork he was handed some boiled grain moistened with goose fat, +then an omelette with bacon fat, then fried liver, and he went on eating +and was delighted. What more? They served, too, a pie with onion and +steamed turnip with kvass. + +“How is it the gentry don’t burst with such meals?” he thought. + +In conclusion they handed him a big pot of honey. After dinner the devil +appeared in blue spectacles and asked with a low bow: + +“Are you satisfied with your dinner, Fyodor Pantelyeitch?” + +But Fyodor could not answer one word, he was so stuffed after his +dinner. The feeling of repletion was unpleasant, oppressive, and to +distract his thoughts he looked at the boot on his left foot. + +“For a boot like that I used not to take less than seven and a half +roubles. What shoemaker made it?” he asked. + +“Kuzma Lebyodkin,” answered the footman. + +“Send for him, the fool!” + +Kuzma Lebyodkin from Warsaw soon made his appearance. He stopped in a +respectful attitude at the door and asked: + +“What are your orders, your honor?” + +“Hold your tongue!” cried Fyodor, and stamped his foot. “Don’t dare to +argue; remember your place as a cobbler! Blockhead! You don’t know how +to make boots! I’ll beat your ugly phiz to a jelly! Why have you come?” + +“For money.” + +“What money? Be off! Come on Saturday! Boy, give him a cuff!” + +But he at once recalled what a life the customers used to lead him, too, +and he felt heavy at heart, and to distract his attention he took a fat +pocketbook out of his pocket and began counting his money. There was a +great deal of money, but Fyodor wanted more still. The devil in the blue +spectacles brought him another notebook fatter still, but he wanted even +more; and the more he counted it, the more discontented he became. + +In the evening the evil one brought him a full-bosomed lady in a red +dress, and said that this was his new wife. He spent the whole evening +kissing her and eating gingerbreads, and at night he went to bed on a +soft, downy feather-bed, turned from side to side, and could not go to +sleep. He felt uncanny. + +“We have a great deal of money,” he said to his wife; “we must look +out or thieves will be breaking in. You had better go and look with a +candle.” + +He did not sleep all night, and kept getting up to see if his box was +all right. In the morning he had to go to church to matins. In church +the same honor is done to rich and poor alike. When Fyodor was poor he +used to pray in church like this: “God, forgive me, a sinner!” He said +the same thing now though he had become rich. What difference was +there? And after death Fyodor rich would not be buried in gold, not +in diamonds, but in the same black earth as the poorest beggar. Fyodor +would burn in the same fire as cobblers. Fyodor resented all this, and, +too, he felt weighed down all over by his dinner, and instead of prayer +he had all sorts of thoughts in his head about his box of money, about +thieves, about his bartered, ruined soul. + +He came out of church in a bad temper. To drive away his unpleasant +thoughts as he had often done before, he struck up a song at the top of +his voice. But as soon as he began a policeman ran up and said, with his +fingers to the peak of his cap: + +“Your honor, gentlefolk must not sing in the street! You are not a +shoemaker!” + +Fyodor leaned his back against a fence and fell to thinking: what could +he do to amuse himself? + +“Your honor,” a porter shouted to him, “don’t lean against the fence, +you will spoil your fur coat!” + +Fyodor went into a shop and bought himself the very best concertina, +then went out into the street playing it. Everybody pointed at him and +laughed. + +“And a gentleman, too,” the cabmen jeered at him; “like some +cobbler....” + +“Is it the proper thing for gentlefolk to be disorderly in the street?” + a policeman said to him. “You had better go into a tavern!” + +“Your honor, give us a trifle, for Christ’s sake,” the beggars wailed, +surrounding Fyodor on all sides. + +In earlier days when he was a shoemaker the beggars took no notice of +him, now they wouldn’t let him pass. + +And at home his new wife, the lady, was waiting for him, dressed in a +green blouse and a red skirt. He meant to be attentive to her, and had +just lifted his arm to give her a good clout on the back, but she said +angrily: + +“Peasant! Ignorant lout! You don’t know how to behave with ladies! If +you love me you will kiss my hand; I don’t allow you to beat me.” + +“This is a blasted existence!” thought Fyodor. “People do lead a life! +You mustn’t sing, you mustn’t play the concertina, you mustn’t have a +lark with a lady.... Pfoo!” + +He had no sooner sat down to tea with the lady when the evil spirit in +the blue spectacles appeared and said: + +“Come, Fyodor Pantelyeitch, I have performed my part of the bargain. Now +sign your paper and come along with me!” + +And he dragged Fyodor to hell, straight to the furnace, and devils flew +up from all directions and shouted: + +“Fool! Blockhead! Ass!” + +There was a fearful smell of paraffin in hell, enough to suffocate one. +And suddenly it all vanished. Fyodor opened his eyes and saw his table, +the boots, and the tin lamp. The lamp-glass was black, and from the +faint light on the wick came clouds of stinking smoke as from a chimney. +Near the table stood the customer in the blue spectacles, shouting +angrily: + +“Fool! Blockhead! Ass! I’ll give you a lesson, you scoundrel! You took +the order a fortnight ago and the boots aren’t ready yet! Do you suppose +I want to come trapesing round here half a dozen times a day for my +boots? You wretch! you brute!” + +Fyodor shook his head and set to work on the boots. The customer went on +swearing and threatening him for a long time. At last when he subsided, +Fyodor asked sullenly: + +“And what is your occupation, sir?” + +“I make Bengal lights and fireworks. I am a pyrotechnician.” + +They began ringing for matins. Fyodor gave the customer the boots, took +the money for them, and went to church. + +Carriages and sledges with bearskin rugs were dashing to and fro in +the street; merchants, ladies, officers were walking along the pavement +together with the humbler folk.... But Fyodor did not envy them nor +repine at his lot. It seemed to him now that rich and poor were equally +badly off. Some were able to drive in a carriage, and others to sing +songs at the top of their voice and to play the concertina, but one and +the same thing, the same grave, was awaiting all alike, and there was +nothing in life for which one would give the devil even a tiny scrap of +one’s soul. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Schoolmistress and Other Stories, by +Anton Chekhov + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SCHOOLMISTRESS AND OTHER *** + +***** This file should be named 1732-0.txt or 1732-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/3/1732/ + +Produced by James Rusk and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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