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diff --git a/old/twife10.txt b/old/twife10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..68c84ef --- /dev/null +++ b/old/twife10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9091 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Wife, et al, by Anton Chekhov +#6-14 in our series by Anton Chekhov + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +(Prepared by James Rusk jrusk@cyberramp.net +Italics are indicated by underscores.) + + + + + +THE TALES OF CHEKHOV + +VOLUME 5 + +THE WIFE AND OTHER STORIES + +BY + +ANTON TCHEKHOV + +Translated by CONSTANCE GARNETT + + + + +CONTENTS + + +The Wife +Difficult People +The Grasshopper +A Dreary Story +The Privy Councillor +The Man in Case +Gooseberries +About Love +The Lottery Ticket + + + +THE WIFE + +I + +I RECEIVED the following letter: + +"DEAR SIR, PAVEL ANDREITCH! + +"Not far from you -- that is to say, in the village of Pestrovo +-- very distressing incidents are taking place, concerning which +I feel it my duty to write to you. All the peasants of that +village sold their cottages and all their belongings, and set off +for the province of Tomsk, but did not succeed in getting there, +and have come back. Here, of course, they have nothing now; +everything belongs to other people. They have settled three or +four families in a hut, so that there are no less than fifteen +persons of both sexes in each hut, not counting the young +children; and the long and the short of it is, there is nothing +to eat. There is famine and there is a terrible pestilence of +hunger, or spotted, typhus; literally every one is stricken. The +doctor's assistant says one goes into a cottage and what does one +see? Every one is sick, every one delirious, some laughing, +others frantic; the huts are filthy; there is no one to fetch +them water, no one to give them a drink, and nothing to eat but +frozen potatoes. What can Sobol (our Zemstvo doctor) and his lady +assistant do when more than medicine the peasants need bread +which they have not? The District Zemstvo refuses to assist them, +on the ground that their names have been taken off the register +of this district, and that they are now reckoned as inhabitants +of Tomsk; and, besides, the Zemstvo has no money. + +"Laying these facts before you, and knowing your humanity, I beg +you not to refuse immediate help. + +"Your well-wisher." + +Obviously the letter was written by the doctor with the animal +name* or his lady assistant. Zemstvo doctors and their assistants +go on for years growing more and more convinced every day that +they can do _nothing_, and yet continue to receive their salaries +from people who are living upon frozen potatoes, and consider +they have a right to judge whether I am humane or not. + +*Sobol in Russian means "sable-marten."- TRANSLATOR'S NOTE. + +Worried by the anonymous letter and by the fact that peasants +came every morning to the servants' kitchen and went down on +their knees there, and that twenty sacks of rye had been stolen +at night out of the barn, the wall having first been broken in, +and by the general depression which was fostered by +conversations, newspapers, and horrible weather -- worried by all +this, I worked listlessly and ineffectively. I was writing "A +History of Railways"; I had to read a great number of Russian and +foreign books, pamphlets, and articles in the magazines, to make +calculations, to refer to logarithms, to think and to write; then +again to read, calculate, and think; but as soon as I took up a +book or began to think, my thoughts were in a muddle, my eyes +began blinking, I would get up from the table with a sigh and +begin walking about the big rooms of my deserted country-house. +When I was tired of walking about I would stand still at my study +window, and, looking across the wide courtyard, over the pond and +the bare young birch-trees and the great fields covered with +recently fallen, thawing snow, I saw on a low hill on the horizon +a group of mud-coloured huts from which a black muddy road ran +down in an irregular streak through the white field. That was +Pestrovo, concerning which my anonymous correspondent had written +to me. If it had not been for the crows who, foreseeing rain or +snowy weather, floated cawing over the pond and the fields, and +the tapping in the carpenter's shed, this bit of the world about +which such a fuss was being made would have seemed like the Dead +Sea; it was all so still, motionless, lifeless, and dreary! + +My uneasiness hindered me from working and concentrating myself; +I did not know what it was, and chose to believe it was +disappointment. I had actually given up my post in the Department +of Ways and Communications, and had come here into the country +expressly to live in peace and to devote myself to writing on +social questions. It had long been my cherished dream. And now I +had to say good-bye both to peace and to literature, to give up +everything and think only of the peasants. And that was +inevitable, because I was convinced that there was absolutely +nobody in the district except me to help the starving. The people +surrounding me were uneducated, unintellectual, callous, for the +most part dishonest, or if they were honest, they were +unreasonable and unpractical like my wife, for instance. It was +impossible to rely on such people, it was impossible to leave the +peasants to their fate, so that the only thing left to do was to +submit to necessity and see to setting the peasants to rights +myself. + +I began by making up my mind to give five thousand roubles to the +assistance of the starving peasants. And that did not decrease, +but only aggravated my uneasiness. As I stood by the window or +walked about the rooms I was tormented by the question which had +not occurred to me before: how this money was to be spent. To +have bread bought and to go from hut to hut distributing it was +more than one man could do, to say nothing of the risk that in +your haste you might give twice as much to one who was well-fed +or to one who was making. money out of his fellows as to the +hungry. I had no faith in the local officials. All these district +captains and tax inspectors were young men, and I distrusted them +as I do all young people of today, who are materialistic and +without ideals. The District Zemstvo, the Peasant Courts, and all +the local institutions, inspired in me not the slightest desire +to appeal to them for assistance. I knew that all these +institutions who were busily engaged in picking out plums from +the Zemstvo and the Government pie had their mouths always wide +open for a bite at any other pie that might turn up. + +The idea occurred to me to invite the neighbouring landowners and +suggest to them to organize in my house something like a +committee or a centre to which all subscriptions could be +forwarded, and from which assistance and instructions could be +distributed throughout the district; such an organization, which +would render possible frequent consultations and free control on +a big scale, would completely meet my views. But I imagined the +lunches, the dinners, the suppers and the noise, the waste of +time, the verbosity and the bad taste which that mixed provincial +company would inevitably bring into my house, and I made haste to +reject my idea. + +As for the members of my own household, the last thing I could +look for was help or support from them. Of my father's household, +of the household of my childhood, once a big and noisy family, no +one remained but the governess Mademoiselle Marie, or, as she was +now called, Marya Gerasimovna, an absolutely insignificant +person. She was a precise little old lady of seventy, who wore a +light grey dress and a cap with white ribbons, and looked like a +china doll. She always sat in the drawing-room reading. + +Whenever I passed by her, she would say, knowing the reason for +my brooding: + +"What can you expect, Pasha? I told you how it would be before. +You can judge from our servants." + +My wife, Natalya Gavrilovna, lived on the lower storey, all the +rooms of which she occupied. She slept, had her meals, and +received her visitors downstairs in her own rooms, and took not +the slightest interest in how I dined, or slept, or whom I saw. +Our relations with one another were simple and not strained, but +cold, empty, and dreary as relations are between people who have +been so long estranged, that even living under the same roof +gives no semblance of nearness. There was no trace now of the +passionate and tormenting love -- at one time sweet, at another +bitter as wormwood -- which I had once felt for Natalya +Gavrilovna. There was nothing left, either, of the outbursts of +the past -- the + loud altercations, upbraidings, complaints, and gusts of hatred +which had usually ended in my wife's going abroad or to her own +people, and in my sending money in small but frequent instalments +that I might sting her pride oftener. (My proud and sensitive +wife and her family live at my expense, and much as she would +have liked to do so, my wife could not refuse my money: that +afforded me satisfaction and was one comfort in my sorrow.) Now +when we chanced to meet in the corridor downstairs or in the +yard, I bowed, she smiled graciously. We spoke of the weather, +said that it seemed time to put in the double windows, and that +some one with bells on their harness had driven over the dam. And +at such times I read in her face: "I am faithful to you and am +not disgracing your good name which you think so much about; you +are sensible and do not worry me; we are quits." + +I assured myself that my love had died long ago, that I was too +much absorbed in my work to think seriously of my relations with +my wife. But, alas! that was only what I imagined. When my wife +talked aloud downstairs I listened intently to her voice, though +I could not distinguish one word. When she played the piano +downstairs I stood up and listened. When her carriage or her +saddlehorse was brought to the door, I went to the window and +waited to see her out of the house; then I watched her get into +her carriage or mount her horse and ride out of the yard. I felt +that there was something wrong with me, and was afraid the +expression of my eyes or my face might betray me. I looked after +my wife and then watched for her to come back that I might see +again from the window her face, her shoulders, her fur coat, her +hat. I felt dreary, sad, infinitely regretful, and felt inclined +in her absence to walk through her rooms, and longed that the +problem that my wife and I had not been able to solve because our +characters were incompatible, should solve itself in the natural +way as soon as possible -- that is, that this beautiful woman of +twenty-seven might make haste and grow old, and that my head +might be grey and bald. + +One day at lunch my bailiff informed me that the Pestrovo +peasants had begun to pull the thatch off the roofs to feed their +cattle. Marya Gerasimovna looked at me in alarm and perplexity. + +"What can I do?" I said to her. "One cannot fight single-handed, +and I have never experienced such loneliness as I do now. I would +give a great deal to find one man in the whole province on whom I +could rely." + +"Invite Ivan Ivanitch," said Marya Gerasimovna. + +"To be sure!" I thought, delighted. "That is an idea! _C'est +raison_," I hummed, going to my study to write to Ivan Ivanitch. +"_C'est raison, c'est raison_." + +II + +Of all the mass of acquaintances who, in this house twenty-five +to thirty-five years ago, had eaten, drunk, masqueraded, fallen +in love, married bored us with accounts of their splendid packs +of hounds and horses, the only one still living was Ivan Ivanitch +Bragin. At one time he had been very active, talkative, noisy, +and given to falling in love, and had been famous for his extreme +views and for the peculiar charm of his face, which fascinated +men as well as women; now he was an old man, had grown corpulent, +and was living out his days with neither views nor charm. He came +the day after getting my letter, in the evening just as the +samovar was brought into the dining-room and little Marya +Gerasimovna had begun slicing the lemon. + +"I am very glad to see you, my dear fellow," I said gaily, +meeting him. "Why, you are stouter than ever. . . ." + +"It isn't getting stout; it's swelling," he answered. "The bees +must have stung me." + +With the familiarity of a man laughing at his own fatness, he put +his arms round my waist and laid on my breast his big soft head, +with the hair combed down on the forehead like a Little +Russian's, and went off into a thin, aged laugh. + +"And you go on getting younger," he said through his laugh. "I +wonder what dye you use for your hair and beard; you might let me +have some of it." Sniffing and gasping, he embraced me and kissed +me on the cheek. "You might give me some of it," he repeated. +"Why, you are not forty, are you?" + +"Alas, I am forty-six!" I said, laughing. + +Ivan Ivanitch smelt of tallow candles and cooking, and that +suited him. His big, puffy, slow-moving body was swathed in a +long frock-coat like a coachman's full coat, with a high waist, +and with hooks and eyes instead of buttons, and it would have +been strange if he had smelt of eau-de-Cologne, for instance. In +his long, unshaven, bluish double chin, which looked like a +thistle, his goggle eyes, his shortness of breath, and in the +whole of his clumsy, slovenly figure, in his voice, his laugh, +and his words, it was difficult to recognize the graceful, +interesting talker who used in old days to make the husbands of +the district jealous on account of their wives. + +"I am in great need of your assistance, my friend," I said, when +we were sitting in the dining-room, drinking tea. "I want to +organize relief for the starving peasants, and I don't know how +to set about it. So perhaps you will be so kind as to advise me." + +"Yes, yes, yes," said Ivan Ivanitch, sighing. "To be sure, to be +sure, to be sure. . . ." + +"I would not have worried you, my dear fellow, but really there +is no one here but you I can appeal to. You know what people are +like about here." + +"To be sure, to be sure, to be sure. . . . Yes." + +I thought that as we were going to have a serious, business +consultation in which any one might take part, regardless of +their position or personal relations, why should I not invite +Natalya Gavrilovna. + +"_Tres faciunt collegium_," I said gaily. "What if we were to ask +Natalya Gavrilovna? What do you think? Fenya," I said, turning to +the maid, "ask Natalya Gavrilovna to come upstairs to us, if +possible at once. Tell her it's a very important matter." + +A little later Natalya Gavrilovna came in. I got up to meet her +and said: + +"Excuse us for troubling you, Natalie. We are discussing a very +important matter, and we had the happy thought that we might take +advantage of your good advice, which you will not refuse to give +us. Please sit down." + +Ivan Ivanitch kissed her hand while she kissed his forehead; +then, when we all sat down to the table, he, looking at her +tearfully and blissfully, craned forward to her and kissed her +hand again. She was dressed in black, her hair was carefully +arranged, and she smelt of fresh scent. She had evidently dressed +to go out or was expecting somebody. Coming into the dining-room, +she held out her hand to me with simple friendliness, and smiled +to me as graciously as she did to Ivan Ivanitch -- that pleased +me; but as she talked she moved her fingers, often and abruptly +leaned back in her chair and talked rapidly, and this jerkiness +in her words and movements irritated me and reminded me of her +native town -- Odessa, where the society, men and women alike, +had wearied me by its bad taste. + +"I want to do something for the famine-stricken peasants," I +began, and after a brief pause I went on: " Money, of course, is +a great thing, but to confine oneself to subscribing money, and +with that to be satisfied, would be evading the worst of the +trouble. Help must take the form of money, but the most important +thing is a proper and sound organization. Let us think it over, +my friends, and do something." + +Natalya Gavrilovna looked at me inquiringly and shrugged her +shoulders as though to say, "What do I know about it?" + +"Yes, yes, famine . . ." muttered Ivan Ivanitch. "Certainly . . . +yes." + +"It's a serious position," I said, "and assistance is needed as +soon as possible. I imagine the first point among the principles +which we must work out ought to be promptitude. We must act on +the military principles of judgment, promptitude, and energy." + +"Yes, promptitude . . ." repeated Ivan Ivanitch in a drowsy and +listless voice, as though he were dropping asleep. "Only one +can't do anything. The crops have failed, and so what's the use +of all your judgment and energy? . . . It's the elements. . . . +You can't go against God and fate." + +"Yes, but that's what man has a head for, to conten d against the +elements." + +"Eh? Yes . . . that's so, to be sure. . . . Yes." + +Ivan Ivanitch sneezed into his handkerchief, brightened up, and +as though he had just woken up, looked round at my wife and me. + +"My crops have failed, too." He laughed a thin little laugh and +gave a sly wink as though this were really funny. "No money, no +corn, and a yard full of labourers like Count Sheremetyev's. I +want to kick them out, but I haven't the heart to." + +Natalya Gavrilovna laughed, and began questioning him about his +private affairs. Her presence gave me a pleasure such as I had +not felt for a long time, and I was afraid to look at her for +fear my eyes would betray my secret feeling. Our relations were +such that that feeling might seem surprising and ridiculous. + +She laughed and talked with Ivan Ivanitch without being in the +least disturbed that she was in my room and that I was not +laughing. + +"And so, my friends, what are we to do?" I asked after waiting +for a pause. "I suppose before we do anything else we had better +immediately open a subscription-list. We will write to our +friends in the capitals and in Odessa, Natalie, and ask them to +subscribe. When we have got together a little sum we will begin +buying corn and fodder for the cattle; and you, Ivan Ivanitch, +will you be so kind as to undertake distributing the relief? +Entirely relying on your characteristic tact and efficiency, we +will only venture to express a desire that before you give any +relief you make acquaintance with the details of the case on the +spot, and also, which is very important, you should be careful +that corn should be distributed only to those who are in genuine +need, and not to the drunken, the idle, or the dishonest." + +"Yes, yes, yes . . ." muttered Ivan Ivanitch. "To be sure, to be +sure." + +"Well, one won't get much done with that slobbering wreck," I +thought, and I felt irritated. + +"I am sick of these famine-stricken peasants, bother them! It's +nothing but grievances with them!" Ivan Ivanitch went on, sucking +the rind of the lemon. "The hungry have a grievance against those +who have enough, and those who have enough have a grievance +against the hungry. Yes . . . hunger stupefies and maddens a man +and makes him savage; hunger is not a potato. When a man is +starving he uses bad language, and steals, and may do worse. . . +. One must realize that." + +Ivan Ivanitch choked over his tea, coughed, and shook all over +with a squeaky, smothered laughter. + +" 'There was a battle at Pol . . . Poltava,' " he brought out, +gesticulating with both hands in protest against the laughter and +coughing which prevented him from speaking. " 'There was a battle +at Poltava!' When three years after the Emancipation we had +famine in two districts here, Fyodor Fyodoritch came and invited +me to go to him. 'Come along, come along,' he persisted, and +nothing else would satisfy him. 'Very well, let us go,' I said. +And, so we set off. It was in the evening; there was snow +falling. Towards night we were getting near his place, and +suddenly from the wood came 'bang!' and another time 'bang!' 'Oh, +damn it all!' . . . I jumped out of the sledge, and I saw in the +darkness a man running up to me, knee-deep in the snow. I put my +arm round his shoulder, like this, and knocked the gun out of his +hand. Then another one turned up; I fetched him a knock on the +back of his head so that he grunted and flopped with his nose in +the snow. I was a sturdy chap then, my fist was heavy; I disposed +of two of them, and when I turned round Fyodor was sitting +astride of a third. We did not let our three fine fellows go; we +tied their hands behind their backs so that they might not do us +or themselves any harm, and took the fools into the kitchen. We +were angry with them and at the same time ashamed to look at +them; they were peasants we knew, and were good fellows; we were +sorry for them. They were quite stupid with terror. One was +crying and begging our pardon, the second looked like a wild +beast and kept swearing, the third knelt down and began to pray. +I said to Fedya: 'Don't bear them a grudge; let them go, the +rascals!' He fed them, gave them a bushel of flour each, and let +them go: 'Get along with you,' he said. So that's what he did.. . +. The Kingdom of Heaven be his and everlasting peace! He +understood and did not bear them a grudge; but there were some +who did, and how many people they ruined! Yes. . . Why, over the +affair at the Klotchkovs' tavern eleven men were sent to the +disciplinary battalion. Yes. . . . And now, look, it's the same +thing. Anisyin, the investigating magistrate, stayed the night +with me last Thursday, and he told me about some landowner. . . . +Yes. . . . They took the wall of his barn to pieces at night and +carried off twenty sacks of rye. When the gentleman heard that +such a crime had been committed, he sent a telegram to the +Governor and another to the police captain, another to the +investigating magistrate! . . . Of course, every one is afraid of +a man who is fond of litigation. The authorities were in a +flutter and there was a general hubbub. Two villages were +searched." + +"Excuse me, Ivan Ivanitch," I said. "Twenty sacks of rye were +stolen from me, and it was I who telegraphed to the Governor. I +telegraphed to Petersburg, too. But it was by no means out of +love for litigation, as you are pleased to express it, and not +because I bore them a grudge. I look at every subject from the +point of view of principle. From the point of view of the law, +theft is the same whether a man is hungry or not." + +"Yes, yes. . ." muttered Ivan Ivanitch in confusion. "Of course. +. . To be sure, yes." + +Natalya Gavrilovna blushed. + +"There are people. . ." she said and stopped; she made an effort +to seem indifferent, but she could not keep it up, and looked +into my eyes with the hatred that I know so well. "There are +people," she said, "for whom famine and human suffering exist +simply that they may vent their hateful and despicable +temperaments upon them." + +I was confused and shrugged my shoulders. + +"I meant to say generally," she went on, "that there are people +who are quite indifferent and completely devoid of all feeling of +sympathy, yet who do not pass human suffering by, but insist on +meddling for fear people should be able to do without them. +Nothing is sacred for their vanity." + +"There are people," I said softly, "who have an angelic +character, but who express their glorious ideas in such a form +that it is difficult to distinguish the angel from an Odessa +market-woman." + +I must confess it was not happily expressed. + +My wife looked at me as though it cost her a great effort to hold +her tongue. Her sudden outburst, and then her inappropriate +eloquence on the subject of my desire to help the famine-stricken +peasants, were, to say the least, out of place; when I had +invited her to come upstairs I had expected quite a different +attitude to me and my intentions. I cannot say definitely what I +had expected, but I had been agreeably agitated by the +expectation. Now I saw that to go on speaking about the famine +would be difficult and perhaps stupid. + +"Yes . . ." Ivan Ivanitch muttered inappropriately. "Burov, the +merchant, must have four hundred thousand at least. I said to +him: 'Hand over one or two thousand to the famine. You can't take +it with you when you die, anyway.' He was offended. But we all +have to die, you know. Death is not a potato." + +A silence followed again. + +"So there's nothing left for me but to reconcile myself to +loneliness," I sighed. "One cannot fight single-handed. Well, I +will try single-handed. Let us hope that my campaign against the +famine will be more successful than my campaign against +indifference." + +"I am expected downstairs," said Natalya Gavrilovna. + +She got up from the table and turned to Ivan Ivanitch. + +"So you will look in upon me downstairs for a minute? I won't say +good-bye to you." + +And she went away. + +Ivan Ivanitch was now drinking his seventh glass of tea, choking, +smacking his lips, and sucking sometimes his moustache, sometimes +the lemon. He was muttering something drowsily and listlessly, +and I did not listen but waited for him to go. At last, with an +expression that suggested that he had only come to me to take a +cup of tea, he got up and began to take leave. As I saw him out I +said: + +"And so you have given me no advice." + +"Eh? I am a feeble, stupid old man," he answered. "What use would +my advice be? You shouldn't worry yourself. . . . I really don't +know why you worry yourself. Don't disturb yourself, my dear +fellow! Upon my word, there's no need," he whispered genuinely +and affectionately, soothing me as though I were a child. "Upon +my word, there's no need." + +"No need? Why, the peasants are pulling the thatch off their +huts, and they say there is typhus somewhere already." + +"Well, what of it? If there are good crops next year, they'll +thatch them again, and if we die of typhus others will live after +us. Anyway, we have to die -- if not now, later. Don't worry +yourself, my dear." + +"I can't help worrying myself," I said irritably. + +We were standing in the dimly lighted vestibule. Ivan Ivanitch +suddenly took me by the elbow, and, preparing to say something +evidently very important, looked at me in silence for a couple of +minutes. + +"Pavel Andreitch!" he said softly, and suddenly in his puffy, set +face and dark eyes there was a gleam of the expression for which +he had once been famous and which was truly charming. "Pavel +Andreitch, I speak to you as a friend: try to be different! One +is ill at ease with you, my dear fellow, one really is!" + +He looked intently into my face; the charming expression faded +away, his eyes grew dim again, and he sniffed and muttered +feebly: + +"Yes, yes. . . . Excuse an old man. . . . It's all nonsense . . . +yes." + +As he slowly descended the staircase, spreading out his hands to +balance himself and showing me his huge, bulky back and red neck, +he gave me the unpleasant impression of a sort of crab. + +"You ought to go away, your Excellency," he muttered. "To +Petersburg or abroad. . . . Why should you live here and waste +your golden days? You are young, wealthy, and healthy. . . . Yes. +. . . Ah, if I were younger I would whisk away like a hare, and +snap my fingers at everything." + +III + +My wife's outburst reminded me of our married life together. In +old days after every such outburst we felt irresistibly drawn to +each other; we would meet and let off all the dynamite that had +accumulated in our souls. And now after Ivan Ivanitch had gone +away I had a strong impulse to go to my wife. I wanted to go +downstairs and tell her that her behaviour at tea had been an +insult to me, that she was cruel, petty, and that her plebeian +mind had never risen to a comprehension of what _I_ was saying +and of what _I_ was doing. I walked about the rooms a long time +thinking of what I would say to her and trying to guess what she +would say to me. + +That evening, after Ivan Ivanitch went away, I felt in a +peculiarly irritating form the uneasiness which had worried me of +late. I could not sit down or sit still, but kept walking about +in the rooms that were lighted up and keeping near to the one in +which Marya Gerasimovna was sitting. I had a feeling very much +like that which I had on the North Sea during a storm when every +one thought that our ship, which had no freight nor ballast, +would overturn. And that evening I understood that my uneasiness +was not disappointment, as I had supposed, but a different +feeling, though what exactly I could not say, and that irritated +me more than ever. + +"I will go to her," I decided. "I can think of a pretext. I shall +say that I want to see Ivan Ivanitch; that will be all." + +I went downstairs and walked without haste over the carpeted +floor through the vestibule and the hall. Ivan Ivanitch was +sitting on the sofa in the drawing-room; he was drinking tea +again and muttering something. My wife was standing opposite to +him and holding on to the back of a chair. There was a gentle, +sweet, and docile expression on her face, such as one sees on the +faces of people listening to crazy saints or holy men when a +peculiar hidden significance is imagined in their vague words and +mutterings. There was something morbid, something of a nun's +exaltation, in my wife's expression and attitude; and her +low-pitched, half-dark rooms with their old-fashioned furniture, +with her birds asleep in their cages, and with a smell of +geranium, reminded me of the rooms of some abbess or pious old +lady. + +I went into the drawing-room. My wife showed neither surprise nor +confusion, and looked at me calmly and serenely, as though she +had known I should come. + +"I beg your pardon," I said softly. "I am so glad you have not +gone yet, Ivan Ivanitch. I forgot to ask you, do you know the +Christian name of the president of our Zemstvo?" + +"Andrey Stanislavovitch. Yes. . . ." + +"_Merci_," I said, took out my notebook, and wrote it down. + +There followed a silence during which my wife and Ivan Ivanitch +were probably waiting for me to go; my wife did not believe that +I wanted to know the president's name -- I saw that from her +eyes. + +"Well, I must be going, my beauty," muttered Ivan Ivanitch, after +I had walked once or twice across the drawing-room and sat down +by the fireplace. + +"No," said Natalya Gavrilovna quickly, touching his hand. "Stay +another quarter of an hour. . . . Please do!" + +Evidently she did not wish to be left alone with me without a +witness. + +"Oh, well, I'll wait a quarter of an hour, too," I thought. + +"Why, it's snowing!" I said, getting up and looking out of +window. "A good fall of snow! Ivan Ivanitch"-- I went on walking +about the room -- "I do regret not being a sportsman. I can +imagine what a pleasure it must be coursing hares or hunting +wolves in snow like this!" + +My wife, standing still, watched my movements, looking out of the +corner of her eyes without turning her head. She looked as though +she thought I had a sharp knife or a revolver in my pocket. + +"Ivan Ivanitch, do take me out hunting some day," I went on +softly. "I shall be very, very grateful to you." + +At that moment a visitor came into the room. He was a tall, +thick-set gentleman whom I did not know, with a bald head, a big +fair beard, and little eyes. From his baggy, crumpled clothes and +his manners I took him to be a parish clerk or a teacher, but my +wife introduced him to me as Dr. Sobol. + +"Very, very glad to make your acquaintance," said the doctor in a +loud tenor voice, shaking hands with me warmly, with a naive +smile. "Very glad!" + +He sat down at the table, took a glass of tea, and said in a loud +voice: + +"Do you happen to have a drop of rum or brandy? Have pity on me, +Olya, and look in the cupboard; I am frozen," he said, addressing +the maid. + +I sat down by the fire again, looked on, listened, and from time +to time put in a word in the general conversation. My wife smiled +graciously to the visitors and kept a sharp lookout on me, as +though I were a wild beast. She was oppressed by my presence, and +this aroused in me jealousy, annoyance, and an obstinate desire +to wound her. "Wife, these snug rooms, the place by the fire," I +thought, "are mine, have been mine for years, but some crazy Ivan +Ivanitch or Sobol has for some reason more right to them than I. +Now I see my wife, not out of window, but close at hand, in +ordinary home surroundings that I feel the want of now I am +growing older, and, in spite of her hatred for me, I miss her as +years ago in my childhood I used to miss my mother and my nurse. +And I feel that now, on the verge of old age, my love for her is +purer and loftier than it was in the past; and that is why I want +to go up to her, to stamp hard on her toe with my heel, to hurt +her and smile as I do it." + +"Monsieur Marten," I said, addressing the doctor, "how many +hospitals have we in the district?" + +"Sobol," my wife corrected. + +"Two," answered Sobol. + +"And how many deaths are there every year in each hospital?" + +"Pavel Andreitch, I want to speak to you," said my wife. + +She apologized to the visitors and went to the next room. I got +up and followed her. + +"You will go upstairs to your own rooms this minute," she said. + +"You are ill-bred," I said to her. + +"You will go upstairs to your own rooms this very minute," she +repeated sharply, and she looked into my face with hatred. + +She was standing so near that if I had stooped a lit tle my beard +would have touched her face. + +"What is the matter?" I asked. "What harm have I done all at +once?" + +Her chin quivered, she hastily wiped her eyes, and, with a +cursory glance at the looking-glass, whispered: + +"The old story is beginning all over again. Of course you won't +go away. Well, do as you like. I'll go away myself, and you +stay." + +We returned to the drawing-room, she with a resolute face, while +I shrugged my shoulders and tried to smile. There were some more +visitors -- an elderly lady and a young man in spectacles. +Without greeting the new arrivals or taking leave of the others, +I went off to my own rooms. + +After what had happened at tea and then again downstairs, it +became clear to me that our "family happiness," which we had +begun to forget about in the course of the last two years, was +through some absurd and trivial reason beginning all over again, +and that neither I nor my wife could now stop ourselves; and that +next day or the day after, the outburst of hatred would, as I +knew by experience of past years, be followed by something +revolting which would upset the whole order of our lives. "So it +seems that during these two years we have grown no wiser, colder, +or calmer," I thought as I began walking about the rooms. "So +there will again be tears, outcries, curses, packing up, going +abroad, then the continual sickly fear that she will disgrace me +with some coxcomb out there, Italian or Russian, refusing a +passport, letters, utter loneliness, missing her, and in five +years old age, grey hairs." I walked about, imagining what was +really impossible -- her, grown handsomer, stouter, embracing a +man I did not know. By now convinced that that would certainly +happen, "'Why," I asked myself, "Why, in one of our long past +quarrels, had not I given her a divorce, or why had she not at +that time left me altogether? I should not have had this yearning +for her now, this hatred, this anxiety; and I should have lived +out my life quietly, working and not worrying about anything." + +A carriage with two lamps drove into the yard, then a big sledge +with three horses. My wife was evidently having a party. + +Till midnight everything was quiet downstairs and I heard +nothing, but at midnight there was a sound of moving chairs and a +clatter of crockery. So there was supper. Then the chairs moved +again, and through the floor I heard a noise; they seemed to be +shouting hurrah. Marya Gerasimovna was already asleep and I was +quite alone in the whole upper storey; the portraits of my +forefathers, cruel, insignificant people, looked at me from the +walls of the drawing-room, and the reflection of my lamp in the +window winked unpleasantly. And with a feeling of jealousy and +envy for what was going on downstairs, I listened and thought: "I +am master here; if I like, I can in a moment turn out all that +fine crew." But I knew that all that was nonsense, that I could +not turn out any one, and the word "master" had no meaning. One +may think oneself master, married, rich, a kammer-junker, as much +as one likes, and at the same time not know what it means. + +After supper some one downstairs began singing in a tenor voice. + +"Why, nothing special has happened," I tried to persuade myself. +"Why am I so upset? I won't go downstairs tomorrow, that's all; +and that will be the end of our quarrel." + +At a quarter past one I went to bed. + +"Have the visitors downstairs gone?" I asked Alexey as he was +undressing me. + +"Yes, sir, they've gone." + +"And why were they shouting hurrah?" + +"Alexey Dmitritch Mahonov subscribed for the famine fund a +thousand bushels of flour and a thousand roubles. And the old +lady -- I don't know her name -- promised to set up a soup +kitchen on her estate to feed a hundred and fifty people. Thank +God . . . Natalya Gavrilovna has been pleased to arrange that all +the gentry should assemble every Friday." + +"To assemble here, downstairs?" + +"Yes, sir. Before supper they read a list: since August up to +today Natalya Gavrilovna has collected eight thousand roubles, +besides corn. Thank God. . . . What I think is that if our +mistress does take trouble for the salvation of her soul, she +will soon collect a lot. There are plenty of rich people here." + +Dismissing Alexey, I put out the light and drew the bedclothes +over my head. + +"After all, why am I so troubled?" I thought. "What force draws +me to the starving peasants like a butterfly to a flame? I don't +know them, I don't understand them; I have never seen them and I +don't like them. Why this uneasiness?" + +I suddenly crossed myself under the quilt. + +"But what a woman she is!" I said to myself, thinking of my wife. +"There's a regular committee held in the house without my +knowing. Why this secrecy? Why this conspiracy? What have I done +to them? Ivan Ivanitch is right -- I must go away." + +Next morning I woke up firmly resolved to go away. The events of +the previous day -- the conversation at tea, my wife, Sobol, the +supper, my apprehensions -- worried me, and I felt glad to think +of getting away from the surroundings which reminded me of all +that. While I was drinking my coffee the bailiff gave me a long +report on various matters. The most agreeable item he saved for +the last. + +"The thieves who stole our rye have been found," he announced +with a smile. "The magistrate arrested three peasants at Pestrovo +yesterday." + +"Go away!" I shouted at him; and a propos of nothing, I picked up +the cake-basket and flung it on the floor. + +IV + +After lunch I rubbed my hands, and thought I must go to my wife +and tell her that I was going away. Why? Who cared? Nobody cares, +I answered, but why shouldn't I tell her, especially as it would +give her nothing but pleasure? Besides, to go away after our +yesterday's quarrel without saying a word would not be quite +tactful: she might think that I was frightened of her, and +perhaps the thought that she has driven me out of my house may +weigh upon her. It would be just as well, too, to tell her that I +subscribe five thousand, and to give her some advice about the +organization, and to warn her that her inexperience in such a +complicated and responsible matter might lead to most lamentable +results. In short, I wanted to see my wife, and while I thought +of various pretexts for going to her, I had a firm conviction in +my heart that I should do so. + +It was still light when I went in to her, and the lamps had not +yet been lighted. She was sitting in her study, which led from +the drawing-room to her bedroom, and, bending low over the table, +was writing something quickly. Seeing me, she started, got up +from the table, and remained standing in an attitude such as to +screen her papers from me. + +"I beg your pardon, I have only come for a minute," I said, and, +I don't know why, I was overcome with embarrassment. "I have +learnt by chance that you are organizing relief for the famine, +Natalie." + +"Yes, I am. But that's my business," she answered. + +"Yes, it is your business," I said softly. "I am glad of it, for +it just fits in with my intentions. I beg your permission to take +part in it." + +"Forgive me, I cannot let you do it," she said in response, and +looked away. + +"Why not, Natalie?" I said quietly. "Why not? I, too, am well fed +and I, too, want to help the hungry." + +"I don't know what it has to do with you," she said with a +contemptuous smile, shrugging her shoulders. "Nobody asks you." + +"Nobody asks you, either, and yet you have got up a regular +committee in _my_ house," I said. + +"I am asked, but you can have my word for it no one will ever ask +you. Go and help where you are not known." + +"For God's sake, don't talk to me in that tone." I tried to be +mild, and besought myself most earnestly not to lose my temper. +For the first few minutes I felt glad to be with my wife. I felt +an atmosphere of youth, of home, of feminine softness, of the +most refined elegance -- exactly what was lacking on my floor and +in my life altogether. My wife was wearing a pink flannel +dressing-gown; it made her look much younger, and gave a softness +to her rapid and sometimes abrupt movements. Her beautiful dark +hair, the mere sight of which at one time stirred me to passion, +had from sitting so long with her head bent c ome loose from the +comb and was untidy, but, to my eyes, that only made it look more +rich and luxuriant. All this, though is banal to the point of +vulgarity. Before me stood an ordinary woman, perhaps neither +beautiful nor elegant, but this was my wife with whom I had once +lived, and with whom I should have been living to this day if it +had not been for her unfortunate character; she was the one human +being on the terrestrial globe whom I loved. At this moment, just +before going away, when I knew that I should no longer see her +even through the window, she seemed to me fascinating even as she +was, cold and forbidding, answering me with a proud and +contemptuous mockery. I was proud of her, and confessed to myself +that to go away from her was terrible and impossible. + +"Pavel Andreitch," she said after a brief silence, "for two years +we have not interfered with each other but have lived quietly. +Why do you suddenly feel it necessary to go back to the past? +Yesterday you came to insult and humiliate me," she went on, +raising her voice, and her face flushed and her eyes flamed with +hatred; "but restrain yourself; do not do it, Pavel Andreitch! +Tomorrow I will send in a petition and they will give me a +passport, and I will go away; I will go! I will go! I'll go into +a convent, into a widows' home, into an almshouse. . . ." + +"Into a lunatic asylum!" I cried, not able to restrain myself. + +"Well, even into a lunatic asylum! That would be better, that +would be better," she cried, with flashing eyes. "When I was in +Pestrovo today I envied the sick and starving peasant women +because they are not living with a man like you. They are free +and honest, while, thanks to you, I am a parasite, I am perishing +in idleness, I eat your bread, I spend your money, and I repay +you with my liberty and a fidelity which is of no use to any one. +Because you won't give me a passport, I must respect your good +name, though it doesn't exist." + +I had to keep silent. Clenching my teeth, I walked quickly into +the drawing-room, but turned back at once and said: + +"I beg you earnestly that there should be no more assemblies, +plots, and meetings of conspirators in my house! I only admit to +my house those with whom I am acquainted, and let all your crew +find another place to do it if they want to take up philanthropy. +I can't allow people at midnight in my house to be shouting +hurrah at successfully exploiting an hysterical woman like you!" + +My wife, pale and wringing her hands, took a rapid stride across +the room, uttering a prolonged moan as though she had toothache. +With a wave of my hand, I went into the drawing-room. I was +choking with rage, and at the same time I was trembling with +terror that I might not restrain myself, and that I might say or +do something which I might regret all my life. And I clenched my +hands tight, hoping to hold myself in. + +After drinking some water and recovering my calm a little, I went +back to my wife. She was standing in the same attitude as before, +as though barring my approach to the table with the papers. Tears +were slowly trickling down her pale, cold face. I paused then and +said to her bitterly but without anger: + +"How you misunderstand me! How unjust you are to me! I swear upon +my honour I came to you with the best of motives, with nothing +but the desire to do good!" + +"Pavel Andreitch!" she said, clasping her hands on her bosom, and +her face took on the agonized, imploring expression with which +frightened, weeping children beg not to be punished, "I know +perfectly well that you will refuse me, but still I beg you. +Force yourself to do one kind action in your life. I entreat you, +go away from here! That's the only thing you can do for the +starving peasants. Go away, and I will forgive you everything, +everything!" + +"There is no need for you to insult me, Natalie," I sighed, +feeling a sudden rush of humility. "I had already made up my mind +to go away, but I won't go until I have done something for the +peasants. It's my duty!" + +"Ach!" she said softly with an impatient frown. "You can make an +excellent bridge or railway, but you can do nothing for the +starving peasants. Do understand!" + +"Indeed? Yesterday you reproached me with indifference and with +being devoid of the feeling of compassion. How well you know me!" +I laughed. "You believe in God -- well, God is my witness that I +am worried day and night. . . ." + +"I see that you are worried, but the famine and compassion have +nothing to do with it. You are worried because the starving +peasants can get on without you, and because the Zemstvo, and in +fact every one who is helping them, does not need your guidance." + +I was silent, trying to suppress my irritation. Then I said: + +"I came to speak to you on business. Sit down. Please sit down." + +She did not sit down. + +"I beg you to sit down," I repeated, and I motioned her to a +chair. + +She sat down. I sat down, too, thought a little, and said: + +"I beg you to consider earnestly what I am saying. Listen. . . . +Moved by love for your fellow-creatures, you have undertaken the +organization of famine relief. I have nothing against that, of +course; I am completely in sympathy with you, and am prepared to +co-operate with you in every way, whatever our relations may be. +But, with all my respect for your mind and your heart . . . and +your heart," I repeated, "I cannot allow such a difficult, +complex, and responsible matter as the organization of relief to +be left in your hands entirely. You are a woman, you are +inexperienced, you know nothing of life, you are too confiding +and expansive. You have surrounded yourself with assistants whom +you know nothing about. I am not exaggerating if I say that under +these conditions your work will inevitably lead to two deplorable +consequences. To begin with, our district will be left +unrelieved; and, secondly, you will have to pay for your mistakes +and those of your assistants, not only with your purse, but with +your reputation. The money deficit and other losses I could, no +doubt, make good, but who could restore you your good name? When +through lack of proper supervision and oversight there is a +rumour that you, and consequently I, have made two hundred +thousand over the famine fund, will your assistants come to your +aid?" + +She said nothing. + +"Not from vanity, as you say," I went on, "but simply that the +starving peasants may not be left unrelieved and your reputation +may not be injured, I feel it my moral duty to take part in your +work." + +"Speak more briefly," said my wife. + +"You will be so kind," I went on, "as to show me what has been +subscribed so far and what you have spent. Then inform me daily +of every fresh subscription in money or kind, and of every fresh +outlay. You will also give me, Natalie, the list of your helpers. +Perhaps they are quite decent people; I don't doubt it; but, +still, it is absolutely necessary to make inquiries." + +She was silent. I got up, and walked up and down the room. + +"Let us set to work, then," I said, and I sat down to her table. + +"Are you in earnest?" she asked, looking at me in alarm and +bewilderment. + +"Natalie, do be reasonable!" I said appealingly, seeing from her +face that she meant to protest. "I beg you, trust my experience +and my sense of honour." + +"I don't understand what you want." + +"Show me how much you have collected and how much you have +spent." + +"I have no secrets. Any one may see. Look." + +On the table lay five or six school exercise books, several +sheets of notepaper covered with writing, a map of the district, +and a number of pieces of paper of different sizes. It was +getting dusk. I lighted a candle. + +"Excuse me, I don't see anything yet," I said, turning over the +leaves of the exercise books. "Where is the account of the +receipt of money subscriptions?" + +"That can be seen from the subscription lists." + +"Yes, but you must have an account," I said, smiling at her +naivete. "Where are the letters accompanying the subscriptions in +money or in kind? _Pardon_, a little practical advice, Natalie: +it's absolutely necessary to keep those letters. You ought to +number each letter and make a special note of it in a special +record. You ought to do the same with your own letters. But + I will do all that myself." + +"Do so, do so . . ." she said. + +I was very much pleased with myself. Attracted by this living +interesting work, by the little table, the naive exercise books +and the charm of doing this work in my wife's society, I was +afraid that my wife would suddenly hinder me and upset everything +by some sudden whim, and so I was in haste and made an effort to +attach no consequence to the fact that her lips were quivering, +and that she was looking about her with a helpless and frightened +air like a wild creature in a trap. + +"I tell you what, Natalie," I said without looking at her; "let +me take all these papers and exercise books upstairs to my study. +There I will look through them and tell you what I think about it +tomorrow. Have you any more papers?" I asked, arranging the +exercise books and sheets of papers in piles. + +"Take them, take them all!" said my wife, helping me to arrange +them, and big tears ran down her cheeks. "Take it all! That's all +that was left me in life. . . . Take the last." + +"Ach! Natalie, Natalie!" I sighed reproachfully. + +She opened the drawer in the table and began flinging the papers +out of it on the table at random, poking me in the chest with her +elbow and brushing my face with her hair; as she did so, copper +coins kept dropping upon my knees and on the floor. + +"Take everything!" she said in a husky voice. + +When she had thrown out the papers she walked away from me, and +putting both hands to her head, she flung herself on the couch. I +picked up the money, put it back in the drawer, and locked it up +that the servants might not be led into dishonesty; then I +gathered up all the papers and went off with them. As I passed my +wife I stopped. and, looking at her back and shaking shoulders, I +said: + +"What a baby you are, Natalie! Fie, fie! Listen, Natalie: when +you realize how serious and responsible a business it is you will +be the first to thank me. I assure you you will." + +In my own room I set to work without haste. The exercise books +were not bound, the pages were not numbered. The entries were put +in all sorts of handwritings; evidently any one who liked had a +hand in managing the books. In the record of the subscriptions in +kind there was no note of their money value. But, excuse me, I +thought, the rye which is now worth one rouble fifteen kopecks +may be worth two roubles fifteen kopecks in two months' time! Was +that the way to do things? Then, "Given to A. M. Sobol 32 +roubles." When was it given? For what purpose was it given? Where +was the receipt? There was nothing to show, and no making +anything of it. In case of legal proceedings, these papers would +only obscure the case. + +"How naive she is!" I thought with surprise. "What a child!" + +I felt both vexed and amused. + +V + +My wife had already collected eight thousand; with my five it +would be thirteen thousand. For a start that was very good. The +business which had so worried and interested me was at last in my +hands; I was doing what the others would not and could not do; I +was doing my duty, organizing the relief fund in a practical and +businesslike way + +Everything seemed to be going in accordance with my desires and +intentions; but why did my feeling of uneasiness persist? I spent +four hours over my wife's papers, making out their meaning and +correcting her mistakes, but instead of feeling soothed, I felt +as though some one were standing behind me and rubbing my back +with a rough hand. What was it I wanted? The organization of the +relief fund had come into trustworthy hands, the hungry would be +fed -- what more was wanted? + +The four hours of this light work for some reason exhausted me, +so that I could not sit bending over the table nor write. From +below I heard from time to time a smothered moan; it was my wife +sobbing. Alexey, invariably meek, sleepy, and sanctimonious, kept +coming up to the table to see to the candles, and looked at me +somewhat strangely. + +"Yes, I must go away," I decided at last, feeling utterly +exhausted. "As far as possible from these agreeable impressions! +I will set off tomorrow." + +I gathered together the papers and exercise books, and went down +to my wife. As, feeling quite worn out and shattered, I held the +papers and the exercise books to my breast with both hands, and +passing through my bedroom saw my trunks, the sound of weeping +reached me through the floor. + +"Are you a kammer-junker?" a voice whispered in my ear. "That's a +very pleasant thing. But yet you are a reptile." + +"It's all nonsense, nonsense, nonsense," I muttered as I went +downstairs. "Nonsense . . . and it's nonsense, too, that I am +actuated by vanity or a love of display. . . . What rubbish! Am I +going to get a decoration for working for the peasants or be made +the director of a department? Nonsense, nonsense! And who is +there to show off to here in the country?" + +I was tired, frightfully tired, and something kept whispering in +my ear: "Very pleasant. But, still, you are a reptile." For some +reason I remembered a line out of an old poem I knew as a child: +"How pleasant it is to be good!" + +My wife was lying on the couch in the same attitude, on her face +and with her hands clutching her head. She was crying. A maid was +standing beside her with a perplexed and frightened face. I sent +the maid away, laid the papers on the table, thought a moment and +said: + +"Here are all your papers, Natalie. It's all in order, it's all +capital, and I am very much pleased. I am going away tomorrow." + +She went on crying. I went into the drawing-room and sat there in +the dark. My wife's sobs, her sighs, accused me of something, and +to justify myself I remembered the whole of our quarrel, starting +from my unhappy idea of inviting my wife to our consultation and +ending with the exercise books and these tears. It was an +ordinary attack of our conjugal hatred, senseless and unseemly, +such as had been frequent during our married life, but what had +the starving peasants to do with it? How could it have happened +that they had become a bone of contention between us? It was just +as though pursuing one another we had accidentally run up to the +altar and had carried on a quarrel there. + +"Natalie," I said softly from the drawing-room, "hush, hush!" + +To cut short her weeping and make an end of this agonizing state +of affairs, I ought to have gone up to my wife and comforted her, +caressed her, or apologized; but how could I do it so that she +would believe me? How could I persuade the wild duck, living in +captivity and hating me, that it was dear to me, and that I felt +for its sufferings? I had never known my wife, so I had never +known how to talk to her or what to talk about. Her appearance I +knew very well and appreciated it as it deserved, but her +spiritual, moral world, her mind, her outlook on life, her +frequent changes of mood, her eyes full of hatred, her disdain, +the scope and variety of her reading which sometimes struck me, +or, for instance, the nun-like expression I had seen on her face +the day before -- all that was unknown and incomprehensible to +me. When in my collisions with her I tried to define what sort of +a person she was, my psychology went no farther than deciding +that she was giddy, impractical, ill-tempered, guided by feminine +logic; and it seemed to me that that was quite sufficient. But +now that she was crying I had a passionate desire to know more. + +The weeping ceased. I went up to my wife. She sat up on the +couch, and, with her head propped in both hands, looked fixedly +and dreamily at the fire. + +"I am going away tomorrow morning," I said. + +She said nothing. I walked across the room, sighed, and said: + +"Natalie, when you begged me to go away, you said: 'I will +forgive you everything, everything' . . . . So you think I have +wronged you. I beg you calmly and in brief terms to formulate the +wrong I've done you." + +"I am worn out. Afterwards, some time. . ." said my wife. + +"How am I to blame?" I went on. "What have I done? Tell me: you +are young and beautiful, you want to live, and I am nearly twice +your age and hated by you, but is that my fault? I didn't marry +you by force. But if you want to live in freedom, go; I'll give +you your liberty. You can go and love who m you please. . . . I +will give you a divorce." + +"That's not what I want," she said. "You know I used to love you +and always thought of myself as older than you. That's all +nonsense. . . . You are not to blame for being older or for my +being younger, or that I might be able to love some one else if I +were free; but because you are a difficult person, an egoist, and +hate every one." + +"Perhaps so. I don't know," I said. + +"Please go away. You want to go on at me till the morning, but I +warn you I am quite worn out and cannot answer you. You promised +me to go to town. I am very grateful; I ask nothing more." + +My wife wanted me to go away, but it was not easy for me to do +that. I was dispirited and I dreaded the big, cheerless, chill +rooms that I was so weary of. Sometimes when I had an ache or a +pain as a child, I used to huddle up to my mother or my nurse, +and when I hid my face in the warm folds of their dress, it +seemed to me as though I were hiding from the pain. And in the +same way it seemed to me now that I could only hide from my +uneasiness in this little room beside my wife. I sat down and +screened away the light from my eyes with my hand. . . . There +was a stillness. + +"How are you to blame?" my wife said after a long silence, +looking at me with red eyes that gleamed with tears. "You are +very well educated and very well bred, very honest, just, and +high-principled, but in you the effect of all that is that +wherever you go you bring suffocation, oppression, something +insulting and humiliating to the utmost degree. You have a +straightforward way of looking at things, and so you hate the +whole world. You hate those who have faith, because faith is an +expression of ignorance and lack of culture, and at the same time +you hate those who have no faith for having no faith and no +ideals; you hate old people for being conservative and behind the +times, and young people for free-thinking. The interests of the +peasantry and of Russia are dear to you, and so you hate the +peasants because you suspect every one of them of being a thief +and a robber. You hate every one. You are just, and always take +your stand on your legal rights, and so you are always at law +with the peasants and your neighbours. You have had twenty +bushels of rye stolen, and your love of order has made you +complain of the peasants to the Governor and all the local +authorities, and to send a complaint of the local authorities to +Petersburg. Legal justice!" said my wife, and she laughed. "On +the ground of your legal rights and in the interests of morality, +you refuse to give me a passport. Law and morality is such that a +self-respecting healthy young woman has to spend her life in +idleness, in depression, and in continual apprehension, and to +receive in return board and lodging from a man she does not love. +You have a thorough knowledge of the law, you are very honest and +just, you respect marriage and family life, and the effect of all +that is that all your life you have not done one kind action, +that every one hates you, that you are on bad terms with every +one, and the seven years that you have been married you've only +lived seven months with your wife. You've had no wife and I've +had no husband. To live with a man like you is impossible; there +is no way of doing it. In the early years I was frightened with +you, and now I am ashamed. . . . That's how my best years have +been wasted. When I fought with you I ruined my temper, grew +shrewish, coarse, timid, mistrustful. . . . Oh, but what's the +use of talking! As though you wanted to understand! Go upstairs, +and God be with you!" + +My wife lay down on the couch and sank into thought. + +"And how splendid, how enviable life might have been!" she said +softly, looking reflectively into the fire. "What a life it might +have been! There's no bringing it back now." + +Any one who has lived in the country in winter and knows those +long dreary, still evenings when even the dogs are too bored to +bark and even the clocks seem weary of ticking, and any one who +on such evenings has been troubled by awakening conscience and +has moved restlessly about, trying now to smother his conscience, +now to interpret it, will understand the distraction and the +pleasure my wife's voice gave me as it sounded in the snug little +room, telling me I was a bad man. I did not understand what was +wanted of me by my conscience, and my wife, translating it in her +feminine way, made clear to me in the meaning of my agitation. As +often before in the moments of intense uneasiness, I guessed that +the whole secret lay, not in the starving peasants, but in my not +being the sort of a man I ought to be. + +My wife got up with an effort and came up to me. + +"Pavel Andreitch," she said, smiling mournfully, "forgive me, I +don't believe you: you are not going away, but I will ask you one +more favour. Call this" -- she pointed to her papers -- +"self-deception, feminine logic, a mistake, as you like; but do +not hinder me. It's all that is left me in life." She turned away +and paused. "Before this I had nothing. I have wasted my youth in +fighting with you. Now I have caught at this and am living; I am +happy. . . . It seems to me that I have found in this a means of +justifying my existence." + +"Natalie, you are a good woman, a woman of ideas," I said, +looking at my wife enthusiastically, and everything you say and +do is intelligent and fine." + +I walked about the room to conceal my emotion. + +"Natalie," I went on a minute later, "before I go away, I beg of +you as a special favour, help me to do something for the starving +peasants!" + +"What can I do?" said my wife, shrugging her shoulders. "Here's +the subscription list." + +She rummaged among the papers and found the subscription list. + +"Subscribe some money," she said, and from her tone I could see +that she did not attach great importance to her subscription +list; "that is the only way in which you can take part in the +work." + +I took the list and wrote: "Anonymous, 5,000." + +In this "anonymous" there was something wrong, false, conceited, +but I only realized that when I noticed that my wife flushed very +red and hurriedly thrust the list into the heap of papers. We +both felt ashamed; I felt that I must at all costs efface this +clumsiness at once, or else I should feel ashamed afterwards, in +the train and at Petersburg. But how efface it? What was I to +say? + +"I fully approve of what you are doing, Natalie," I said +genuinely, "and I wish you every success. But allow me at parting +to give you one piece of advice, Natalie; be on your guard with +Sobol, and with your assistants generally, and don't trust them +blindly. I don't say they are not honest, but they are not +gentlefolks; they are people with no ideas, no ideals, no faith, +with no aim in life, no definite principles, and the whole object +of their life is comprised in the rouble. Rouble, rouble, +rouble!" I sighed. "They are fond of getting money easily, for +nothing, and in that respect the better educated they are the +more they are to be dreaded." + +My wife went to the couch and lay down. + +"Ideas," she brought out, listlessly and reluctantly, "ideas, +ideals, objects of life, principles . . . .you always used to use +those words when you wanted to insult or humiliate some one, or +say something unpleasant. Yes, that's your way: if with your +views and such an attitude to people you are allowed to take part +in anything, you would destroy it from the first day. It's time +you understand that." + +She sighed and paused. + +"It's coarseness of character, Pavel Andreitch," she said. "You +are well-bred and educated, but what a . . . Scythian you are in +reality! That's because you lead a cramped life full of hatred, +see no one, and read nothing but your engineering books. And, you +know, there are good people, good books! Yes . . . but I am +exhausted and it wearies me to talk. I ought to be in bed." + +"So I am going away, Natalie," I said. + +"Yes . . . yes. . . . _Merci_. . . ." + +I stood still for a little while, then went upstairs. An hour +later -- it was half-past one -- I went downstairs again with a +candle in my hand to speak to my wife. I didn't know what I was +going to say to her, but I felt that I must say some thing very +important and necessary. She was not in her study, the door +leading to her bedroom was closed. + +"Natalie, are you asleep?" I asked softly. + +There was no answer. + +I stood near the door, sighed, and went into the drawing-room. +There I sat down on the sofa, put out the candle, and remained +sitting in the dark till the dawn. + +VI + +I went to the station at ten o'clock in the morning. There was no +frost, but snow was falling in big wet flakes and an unpleasant +damp wind was blowing. + +We passed a pond and then a birch copse, and then began going +uphill along the road which I could see from my window. I turned +round to take a last look at my house, but I could see nothing +for the snow. Soon afterwards dark huts came into sight ahead of +us as in a fog. It was Pestrovo. + +"If I ever go out of my mind, Pestrovo will be the cause of it," +I thought. "It persecutes me." + +We came out into the village street. All the roofs were intact, +not one of them had been pulled to pieces; so my bailiff had told +a lie. A boy was pulling along a little girl and a baby in a +sledge. Another boy of three, with his head wrapped up like a +peasant woman's and with huge mufflers on his hands, was trying +to catch the flying snowflakes on his tongue, and laughing. Then +a wagon loaded with fagots came toward us and a peasant walking +beside it, and there was no telling whether his beard was white +or whether it was covered with snow. He recognized my coachman, +smiled at him and said something, and mechanically took off his +hat to me. The dogs ran out of the yards and looked inquisitively +at my horses. Everything was quiet, ordinary, as usual. The +emigrants had returned, there was no bread; in the huts "some +were laughing, some were delirious"; but it all looked so +ordinary that one could not believe it really was so. There were +no distracted faces, no voices whining for help, no weeping, nor +abuse, but all around was stillness, order, life, children, +sledges, dogs with dishevelled tails. Neither the children nor +the peasant we met were troubled; why was I so troubled? + +Looking at the smiling peasant, at the boy with the huge +mufflers, at the huts, remembering my wife, I realized there was +no calamity that could daunt this people; I felt as though there +were already a breath of victory in the air. I felt proud and +felt ready to cry out that I was with them too; but the horses +were carrying us away from the village into the open country, the +snow was whirling, the wind was howling, and I was left alone +with my thoughts. Of the million people working for the +peasantry, life itself had cast me out as a useless, incompetent, +bad man. I was a hindrance, a part of the people's calamity; I +was vanquished, cast out, and I was hurrying to the station to go +away and hide myself in Petersburg in a hotel in Bolshaya +Morskaya. + +An hour later we reached the station. The coachman and a porter +with a disc on his breast carried my trunks into the ladies' +room. My coachman Nikanor, wearing high felt boots and the skirt +of his coat tucked up through his belt, all wet with the snow and +glad I was going away, gave me a friendly smile and said: + +"A fortunate journey, your Excellency. God give you luck." + +Every one, by the way, calls me "your Excellency," though I am +only a collegiate councillor and a kammer-junker. The porter told +me the train had not yet left the next station; I had to wait. I +went outside, and with my head heavy from my sleepless night, and +so exhausted I could hardly move my legs, I walked aimlessly +towards the pump. There was not a soul anywhere near. + +"Why am I going?" I kept asking myself. "What is there awaiting +me there? The acquaintances from whom I have come away, +loneliness, restaurant dinners, noise, the electric light, which +makes my eyes ache. Where am I going, and what am I going for? +What am I going for?" + +And it seemed somehow strange to go away without speaking to my +wife. I felt that I was leaving her in uncertainty. Going away, I +ought to have told that she was right, that I really was a bad +man. + +When I turned away from the pump, I saw in the doorway the +station-master, of whom I had twice made complaints to his +superiors, turning up the collar of his coat, shrinking from the +wind and the snow. He came up to me, and putting two fingers to +the peak of his cap, told me with an expression of helpless +confusion, strained respectfulness, and hatred on his face, that +the train was twenty minutes late, and asked me would I not like +to wait in the warm? + +"Thank you," I answered, "but I am probably not going. Send word +to my coachman to wait; I have not made up my mind." + +I walked to and fro on the platform and thought, should I go away +or not? When the train came in I decided not to go. At home I had +to expect my wife's amazement and perhaps her mockery, the dismal +upper storey and my uneasiness; but, still, at my age that was +easier and as it were more homelike than travelling for two days +and nights with strangers to Petersburg, where I should be +conscious every minute that my life was of no use to any one or +to anything, and that it was approaching its end. No, better at +home whatever awaited me there. . . . I went out of the station. +It was awkward by daylight to return home, where every one was so +glad at my going. I might spend the rest of the day till evening +at some neighbour's, but with whom? With some of them I was on +strained relations, others I did not know at all. I considered +and thought of Ivan Ivanitch. + +"We are going to Bragino!" I said to the coachman, getting into +the sledge. + +"It's a long way," sighed Nikanor; "it will be twenty miles, or +maybe twenty-five." + +"Oh, please, my dear fellow," I said in a tone as though Nikanor +had the right to refuse. "Please let us go!" + +Nikanor shook his head doubtfully and said slowly that we really +ought to have put in the shafts, not Circassian, but Peasant or +Siskin; and uncertainly, as though expecting I should change my +mind, took the reins in his gloves, stood up, thought a moment, +and then raised his whip. + +"A whole series of inconsistent actions . . ." I thought, +screening my face from the snow. "I must have gone out of my +mind. Well, I don't care. . . ." + +In one place, on a very high and steep slope, Nikanor carefully +held the horses in to the middle of the descent, but in the +middle the horses suddenly bolted and dashed downhill at a +fearful rate; he raised his elbows and shouted in a wild, frantic +voice such as I had never heard from him before: + +"Hey! Let's give the general a drive! If you come to grief he'll +buy new ones, my darlings! Hey! look out! We'll run you down!" + +Only now, when the extraordinary pace we were going at took my +breath away, I noticed that he was very drunk. He must have been +drinking at the station. At the bottom of the descent there was +the crash of ice; a piece of dirty frozen snow thrown up from the +road hit me a painful blow in the face. + +The runaway horses ran up the hill as rapidly as they had +downhill, and before I had time to shout to Nikanor my sledge was +flying along on the level in an old pine forest, and the tall +pines were stretching out their shaggy white paws to me from all +directions. + +"I have gone out of my mind, and the coachman's drunk," I +thought. "Good!" + +I found Ivan Ivanitch at home. He laughed till he coughed, laid +his head on my breast, and said what he always did say on meeting +me: + +"You grow younger and younger. I don't know what dye you use for +your hair and your beard; you might give me some of it." + +"I've come to return your call, Ivan Ivanitch," I said +untruthfully. "Don't be hard on me; I'm a townsman, conventional; +I do keep count of calls." + +"I am delighted, my dear fellow. I am an old man; I like respect. +. . . Yes." + +From his voice and his blissfully smiling face, I could see that +he was greatly flattered by my visit. Two peasant women helped me +off with my coat in the entry, and a peasant in a red shirt hung +it on a hook, and when Ivan Ivanitch and I went into his little +study, two barefooted little girls were sitting on the floor +looking at a picture-book; when they saw us they jumped up and +ran away, and a tall, thin old woman in specta cles came in at +once, bowed gravely to me, and picking up a pillow from the sofa +and a picture-book from the floor, went away. From the adjoining +rooms we heard incessant whispering and the patter of bare feet. + +"I am expecting the doctor to dinner," said Ivan Ivanitch. "He +promised to come from the relief centre. Yes. He dines with me +every Wednesday, God bless him." He craned towards me and kissed +me on the neck. "You have come, my dear fellow, so you are not +vexed," he whispered, sniffing. "Don't be vexed, my dear +creature. Yes. Perhaps it is annoying, but don't be cross. My +only prayer to God before I die is to live in peace and harmony +with all in the true way. Yes." + +"Forgive me, Ivan Ivanitch, I will put my feet on a chair," I +said, feeling that I was so exhausted I could not be myself; I +sat further back on the sofa and put up my feet on an arm-chair. +My face was burning from the snow and the wind, and I felt as +though my whole body were basking in the warmth and growing +weaker from it. + +"It's very nice here," I went on -- "warm, soft, snug . . . and +goose-feather pens," I laughed, looking at the writing-table; +"sand instead of blotting-paper." + +"Eh? Yes . . . yes. . . . The writing-table and the mahogany +cupboard here were made for my father by a self-taught +cabinet-maker -- Glyeb Butyga, a serf of General Zhukov's. Yes . +. . a great artist in his own way." + +Listlessly and in the tone of a man dropping asleep, he began +telling me about cabinet-maker Butyga. I listened. Then Ivan +Ivanitch went into the next room to show me a polisander wood +chest of drawers remarkable for its beauty and cheapness. He +tapped the chest with his fingers, then called my attention to a +stove of patterned tiles, such as one never sees now. He tapped +the stove, too, with his fingers. There was an atmosphere of +good-natured simplicity and well-fed abundance about the chest of +drawers, the tiled stove, the low chairs, the pictures +embroidered in wool and silk on canvas in solid, ugly frames. +When one remembers that all those objects were standing in the +same places and precisely in the same order when I was a little +child, and used to come here to name-day parties with my mother, +it is simply unbelievable that they could ever cease to exist. + +I thought what a fearful difference between Butyga and me! Butyga +who made things, above all, solidly and substantially, and seeing +in that his chief object, gave to length of life peculiar +significance, had no thought of death, and probably hardly +believed in its possibility; I, when I built my bridges of iron +and stone which would last a thousand years, could not keep from +me the thought, "It's not for long . . . .it's no use." If in +time Butyga's cupboard and my bridge should come under the notice +of some sensible historian of art, he would say: "These were two +men remarkable in their own way: Butyga loved his +fellow-creatures and would not admit the thought that they might +die and be annihilated, and so when he made his furniture he had +the immortal man in his mind. The engineer Asorin did not love +life or his fellow-creatures; even in the happy moments of +creation, thoughts of death, of finiteness and dissolution, were +not alien to him, and we see how insignificant and finite, how +timid and poor, are these lines of his. . . ." + +"I only heat these rooms," muttered Ivan Ivanitch, showing me his +rooms. "Ever since my wife died and my son was killed in the war, +I have kept the best rooms shut up. Yes . . . see. . ." + +He opened a door, and I saw a big room with four columns, an old +piano, and a heap of peas on the floor; it smelt cold and damp. + +"The garden seats are in the next room . . ." muttered Ivan +Ivanitch. "There's no one to dance the mazurka now. . . . I've +shut them up." + +We heard a noise. It was Dr. Sobol arriving. While he was rubbing +his cold hands and stroking his wet beard, I had time to notice +in the first place that he had a very dull life, and so was +pleased to see Ivan Ivanitch and me; and, secondly, that he was a +naive and simple-hearted man. He looked at me as though I were +very glad to see him and very much interested in him. + +"I have not slept for two nights," he said, looking at me naively +and stroking his beard. "One night with a confinement, and the +next I stayed at a peasant's with the bugs biting me all night. I +am as sleepy as Satan, do you know." + +With an expression on his face as though it could not afford me +anything but pleasure, he took me by the arm and led me to the +dining-room. His naive eyes, his crumpled coat, his cheap tie and +the smell of iodoform made an unpleasant impression upon me; I +felt as though I were in vulgar company. When we sat down to +table he filled my glass with vodka, and, smiling helplessly, I +drank it; he put a piece of ham on my plate and I ate it +submissively. + +"_Repetitia est mater studiorum_," said Sobol, hastening to drink +off another wineglassful. "Would you believe it, the joy of +seeing good people has driven away my sleepiness? I have turned +into a peasant, a savage in the wilds; I've grown coarse, but I +am still an educated man, and I tell you in good earnest, it's +tedious without company." + +They served first for a cold course white sucking-pig with +horse-radish cream, then a rich and very hot cabbage soup with +pork on it, with boiled buckwheat, from which rose a column of +steam. The doctor went on talking, and I was soon convinced that +he was a weak, unfortunate man, disorderly in external life. +Three glasses of vodka made him drunk; he grew unnaturally +lively, ate a great deal, kept clearing his throat and smacking +his lips, and already addressed me in Italian, "Eccellenza." +Looking naively at me as though he were convinced that I was very +glad to see and hear him, he informed me that he had long been +separated from his wife and gave her three-quarters of his +salary; that she lived in the town with his children, a boy and a +girl, whom he adored; that he loved another woman, a widow, well +educated, with an estate in the country, but was rarely able to +see her, as he was busy with his work from morning till night and +had not a free moment. + +"The whole day long, first at the hospital, then on my rounds," +he told us; "and I assure you, Eccellenza, I have not time to +read a book, let alone going to see the woman I love. I've read +nothing for ten years! For ten years, Eccellenza. As for the +financial side of the question, ask Ivan Ivanitch: I have often +no money to buy tobacco." + +"On the other hand, you have the moral satisfaction of your +work," I said. + +"What?" he asked, and he winked. "No," he said, "better let us +drink." + +I listened to the doctor, and, after my invariable habit, tried +to take his measure by my usual classification -- materialist, +idealist, filthy lucre, gregarious instincts, and so on; but no +classification fitted him even approximately; and strange to say, +while I simply listened and looked at him, he seemed perfectly +clear to me as a person, but as soon as I began trying to +classify him he became an exceptionally complex, intricate, and +incomprehensible character in spite of all his candour and +simplicity. "Is that man," I asked myself, "capable of wasting +other people's money, abusing their confidence, being disposed to +sponge on them?" And now this question, which had once seemed to +me grave and important, struck me as crude, petty, and coarse. + +Pie was served; then, I remember, with long intervals between, +during which we drank home-made liquors, they gave us a stew of +pigeons, some dish of giblets, roast sucking-pig, partridges, +cauliflower, curd dumplings, curd cheese and milk, jelly, and +finally pancakes and jam. At first I ate with great relish, +especially the cabbage soup and the buckwheat, but afterwards I +munched and swallowed mechanically, smiling helplessly and +unconscious of the taste of anything. My face was burning from +the hot cabbage soup and the heat of the room. Ivan Ivanitch and +Sobol, too, were crimson. + +"To the health of your wife," said Sobol. "She likes me. Tell her +her doctor sends her his respects." + +"She's fortunate, upon my word," sighed Ivan Ivanitch. "Though +she takes no trouble, does not fuss or worry + herself, she has become the most important person in the whole +district. Almost the whole business is in her hands, and they all +gather round her, the doctor, the District Captains, and the +ladies. With people of the right sort that happens of itself. +Yes. . . . The apple-tree need take no thought for the apple to +grow on it; it will grow of itself." + +"It's only people who don't care who take no thought," said I. + +"Eh? Yes . . . " muttered Ivan Ivanitch, not catching what I +said, "that's true. . . . One must not worry oneself. Just so, +just so. . . . Only do your duty towards God and your neighbour, +and then never mind what happens." + +"Eccellenza," said Sobol solemnly, "just look at nature about us: +if you poke your nose or your ear out of your fur collar it will +be frost-bitten; stay in the fields for one hour, you'll be +buried in the snow; while the village is just the same as in the +days of Rurik, the same Petchenyegs and Polovtsi. It's nothing +but being burnt down, starving, and struggling against nature in +every way. What was I saying? Yes! If one thinks about it, you +know, looks into it and analyses all this hotchpotch, if you will +allow me to call it so, it's not life but more like a fire in a +theatre! Any one who falls down or screams with terror, or rushes +about, is the worst enemy of good order; one must stand up and +look sharp, and not stir a hair! There's no time for whimpering +and busying oneself with trifles. When you have to deal with +elemental forces you must put out force against them, be firm and +as unyielding as a stone. Isn't that right, grandfather?" He +turned to Ivan Ivanitch and laughed. "I am no better than a woman +myself; I am a limp rag, a flabby creature, so I hate flabbiness. +I can't endure petty feelings! One mopes, another is frightened, +a third will come straight in here and say: 'Fie on you! Here +you've guzzled a dozen courses and you talk about the starving!' +That's petty and stupid! A fourth will reproach you, Eccellenza, +for being rich. Excuse me, Eccellenza," he went on in a loud +voice, laying his hand on his heart, "but your having set our +magistrate the task of hunting day and night for your thieves -- +excuse me, that's also petty on your part. I am a little drunk, +so that's why I say this now, but you know, it is petty!" + +"Who's asking him to worry himself? I don't understand!" I said, +getting up. + +I suddenly felt unbearably ashamed and mortified, and I walked +round the table. + +"Who asks him to worry himself? I didn't ask him to. . . . Damn +him!" + +"They have arrested three men and let them go again. They turned +out not to be the right ones, and now they are looking for a +fresh lot," said Sobol, laughing. "It's too bad!" + +"I did not ask him to worry himself," said I, almost crying with +excitement. "What's it all for? What's it all for? Well, +supposing I was wrong, supposing I have done wrong, why do they +try to put me more in the wrong?" + +"Come, come, come, come!" said Sobol, trying to soothe me. "Come! +I have had a drop, that is why I said it. My tongue is my enemy. +Come," he sighed, "we have eaten and drunk wine, and now for a +nap." + +He got up from the table, kissed Ivan Ivanitch on the head, and +staggering from repletion, went out of the dining-room. Ivan +Ivanitch and I smoked in silence. + +I don't sleep after dinner, my dear," said Ivan Ivanitch, "but +you have a rest in the lounge-room." + +I agreed. In the half-dark and warmly heated room they called the +lounge-room, there stood against the walls long, wide sofas, +solid and heavy, the work of Butyga the cabinet maker; on them +lay high, soft, white beds, probably made by the old woman in +spectacles. On one of them Sobol, without his coat and boots, +already lay asleep with his face to the back of the sofa; another +bed was awaiting me. I took off my coat and boots, and, overcome +by fatigue, by the spirit of Butyga which hovered over the quiet +lounge-room, and by the light, caressing snore of Sobol, I lay +down submissively. + +And at once I began dreaming of my wife, of her room, of the +station-master with his face full of hatred, the heaps of snow, a +fire in the theatre. I dreamed of the peasants who had stolen +twenty sacks of rye out of my barn. + +"Anyway, it's a good thing the magistrate let them go," I said. + +I woke up at the sound of my own voice, looked for a moment in +perplexity at Sobol's broad back, at the buckles of his +waistcoat, at his thick heels, then lay down again and fell +asleep. + +When I woke up the second time it was quite dark. Sobol was +asleep. There was peace in my heart, and I longed to make haste +home. I dressed and went out of the lounge-room. Ivan Ivanitch +was sitting in a big arm-chair in his study, absolutely +motionless, staring at a fixed point, and it was evident that he +had been in the same state of petrifaction all the while I had +been asleep. + +"Good!" I said, yawning. "I feel as though I had woken up after +breaking the fast at Easter. I shall often come and see you now. +Tell me, did my wife ever dine here?" + +"So-ome-ti-mes . . . sometimes,"' muttered Ivan Ivanitch, making +an effort to stir. "She dined here last Saturday. Yes. . . . She +likes me." + +After a silence I said: + +"Do you remember, Ivan Ivanitch, you told me I had a disagreeable +character and that it was difficult to get on with me? But what +am I to do to make my character different?" + +"I don't know, my dear boy. . . . I'm a feeble old man, I can't +advise you. . . . Yes. . . . But I said that to you at the time +because I am fond of you and fond of your wife, and I was fond of +your father. . . . Yes. I shall soon die, and what need have I to +conceal things from you or to tell you lies? So I tell you: I am +very fond of you, but I don't respect you. No, I don't respect +you." + +He turned towards me and said in a breathless whisper: + +"It's impossible to respect you, my dear fellow. You look like a +real man. You have the figure and deportment of the French +President Carnot -- I saw a portrait of him the other day in an +illustrated paper . . . yes. . . . You use lofty language, and +you are clever, and you are high up in the service beyond all +reach, but haven't real soul, my dear boy . . . there's no +strength in it." + +"A Scythian, in fact," I laughed. "But what about my wife? Tell +me something about my wife; you know her better." + +I wanted to talk about my wife, but Sobol came in and prevented +me. + +"I've had a sleep and a wash," he said, looking at me naively. +"I'll have a cup of tea with some rum in it and go home." + +VII + +It was by now past seven. Besides Ivan Ivanitch, women servants, +the old dame in spectacles, the little girls and the peasant, all +accompanied us from the hall out on to the steps, wishing us +good-bye and all sorts of blessings, while near the horses in the +darkness there were standing and moving about men with lanterns, +telling our coachmen how and which way to drive, and wishing us a +lucky journey. The horses, the men, and the sledges were white. + +"Where do all these people come from?" I asked as my three horses +and the doctor's two moved at a walking pace out of the yard. + +"They are all his serfs," said Sobol. "The new order has not +reached him yet. Some of the old servants are living out their +lives with him, and then there are orphans of all sorts who have +nowhere to go; there are some, too, who insist on living there, +there's no turning them out. A queer old man!" + +Again the flying horses, the strange voice of drunken Nikanor, +the wind and the persistent snow, which got into one's eyes, +one's mouth, and every fold of one's fur coat. . . . + +"Well, I am running a rig," I thought, while my bells chimed in +with the doctor's, the wind whistled, the coachmen shouted; and +while this frantic uproar was going on, I recalled all the +details of that strange wild day, unique in my life, and it +seemed to me that I really had gone out of my mind or become a +different man. It was as though the man I had been till that day +were already a stranger to me. + +The doctor drove behind and kept talking loudly with his +coachman. From time to time he overtook me, drove side by side, +and always, with the same naive confidence that it was very +pleasant to me, offered me a ci garette or asked for the matches. +Or, overtaking me, he would lean right out of his sledge, and +waving about the sleeves of his fur coat, which were at least +twice as long as his arms, shout: + +"Go it, Vaska! Beat the thousand roublers! Hey, my kittens!" + +And to the accompaniment of loud, malicious laughter from Sobol +and his Vaska the doctor's kittens raced ahead. My Nikanor took +it as an affront, and held in his three horses, but when the +doctor's bells had passed out of hearing, he raised his elbows, +shouted, and our horses flew like mad in pursuit. We drove into a +village, there were glimpses of lights, the silhouettes of huts. +Some one shouted: + +"Ah, the devils!" We seemed to have galloped a mile and a half, +and still it was the village street and there seemed no end to +it. When we caught up the doctor and drove more quietly, he asked +for matches and said: + +"Now try and feed that street! And, you know, there are five +streets like that, sir. Stay, stay," he shouted. "Turn in at the +tavern! We must get warm and let the horses rest." + +They stopped at the tavern. + +"I have more than one village like that in my district," said the +doctor, opening a heavy door with a squeaky block, and ushering +me in front of him. "If you look in broad daylight you can't see +to the end of the street, and there are side-streets, too, and +one can do nothing but scratch one's head. It's hard to do +anything." + +We went into the best room where there was a strong smell of +table-cloths, and at our entrance a sleepy peasant in a waistcoat +and a shirt worn outside his trousers jumped up from a bench. +Sobol asked for some beer and I asked for tea. + +"It's hard to do anything," said Sobol. "Your wife has faith; I +respect her and have the greatest reverence for her, but I have +no great faith myself. As long as our relations to the people +continue to have the character of ordinary philanthropy, as shown +in orphan asylums and almshouses, so long we shall only be +shuffling, shamming, and deceiving ourselves, and nothing more. +Our relations ought to be businesslike, founded on calculation, +knowledge, and justice. My Vaska has been working for me all his +life; his crops have failed, he is sick and starving. If I give +him fifteen kopecks a day, by so doing I try to restore him to +his former condition as a workman; that is, I am first and +foremost looking after my own interests, and yet for some reason +I call that fifteen kopecks relief, charity, good works. Now let +us put it like this. On the most modest computation, reckoning +seven kopecks a soul and five souls a family, one needs three +hundred and fifty roubles a day to feed a thousand families. That +sum is fixed by our practical duty to a thousand families. +Meanwhile we give not three hundred and fifty a day, but only +ten, and say that that is relief, charity, that that makes your +wife and all of us exceptionally good people and hurrah for our +humaneness. That is it, my dear soul! Ah! if we would talk less +of being humane and calculated more, reasoned, and took a +conscientious attitude to our duties! How many such humane, +sensitive people there are among us who tear about in all good +faith with subscription lists, but don't pay their tailors or +their cooks. There is no logic in our life; that's what it is! No +logic!" + +We were silent for a while. I was making a mental calculation and +said: + +"I will feed a thousand families for two hundred days. Come and +see me tomorrow to talk it over." + +I was pleased that this was said quite simply, and was glad that +Sobol answered me still more simply: + +"Right." + +We paid for what we had and went out of the tavern. + +"I like going on like this," said Sobol, getting into the sledge. +"Eccellenza, oblige me with a match. I've forgotten mine in the +tavern." + +A quarter of an hour later his horses fell behind, and the sound +of his bells was lost in the roar of the snow-storm. Reaching +home, I walked about my rooms, trying to think things over and to +define my position clearly to myself; I had not one word, one +phrase, ready for my wife. My brain was not working. + +But without thinking of anything, I went downstairs to my wife. +She was in her room, in the same pink dressing-gown, and standing +in the same attitude as though screening her papers from me. On +her face was an expression of perplexity and irony, and it was +evident that having heard of my arrival, she had prepared herself +not to cry, not to entreat me, not to defend herself, as she had +done the day before, but to laugh at me, to answer me +contemptuously, and to act with decision. Her face was saying: +"If that's how it is, good-bye." + +"Natalie, I've not gone away," I said, "but it's not deception. I +have gone out of my mind; I've grown old, I'm ill, I've become a +different man -- think as you like. . . . I've shaken off my old +self with horror, with horror; I despise him and am ashamed of +him, and the new man who has been in me since yesterday will not +let me go away. Do not drive me away, Natalie!" + +She looked intently into my face and believed me, and there was a +gleam of uneasiness in her eyes. Enchanted by her presence, +warmed by the warmth of her room, I muttered as in delirium, +holding out my hands to her: + +"I tell you, I have no one near to me but you. I have never for +one minute ceased to miss you, and only obstinate vanity +prevented me from owning it. The past, when we lived as husband +and wife, cannot be brought back, and there's no need; but make +me your servant, take all my property, and give it away to any +one you like. I am at peace, Natalie, I am content. . . . I am at +peace." + +My wife, looking intently and with curiosity into my face, +suddenly uttered a faint cry, burst into tears, and ran into the +next room. I went upstairs to my own storey. + +An hour later I was sitting at my table, writing my "History of +Railways," and the starving peasants did not now hinder me from +doing so. Now I feel no uneasiness. Neither the scenes of +disorder which I saw when I went the round of the huts at +Pestrovo with my wife and Sobol the other day, nor malignant +rumours, nor the mistakes of the people around me, nor old age +close upon me -- nothing disturbs me. Just as the flying bullets +do not hinder soldiers from talking of their own affairs, eating +and cleaning their boots, so the starving peasants do not hinder +me from sleeping quietly and looking after my personal affairs. +In my house and far around it there is in full swing the work +which Dr. Sobol calls "an orgy of philanthropy." My wife often +comes up to me and looks about my rooms uneasily, as though +looking for what more she can give to the starving peasants "to +justify her existence," and I see that, thanks to her, there will +soon be nothing of our property left and we shall be poor; but +that does not trouble me, and I smile at her gaily. What will +happen in the future I don't know. + + +DIFFICULT PEOPLE + +YEVGRAF IVANOVITCH SHIRYAEV, a small farmer, whose father, a +parish priest, now deceased, had received a gift of three hundred +acres of land from Madame Kuvshinnikov, a general's widow, was +standing in a corner before a copper washing-stand, washing his +hands. As usual, his face looked anxious and ill-humoured, and +his beard was uncombed. + +"What weather!" he said. "It's not weather, but a curse laid upon +us. It's raining again!" + +He grumbled on, while his family sat waiting at table for him to +have finished washing his hands before beginning dinner. Fedosya +Semyonovna, his wife, his son Pyotr, a student, his eldest +daughter Varvara, and three small boys, had been sitting waiting +a long time. The boys -- Kolka, Vanka, and Arhipka -- grubby, +snub-nosed little fellows with chubby faces and tousled hair that +wanted cutting, moved their chairs impatiently, while their +elders sat without stirring, and apparently did not care whether +they ate their dinner or waited. . . . + +As though trying their patience, Shiryaev deliberately dried his +hands, deliberately said his prayer, and sat down to the table +without hurrying himself. Cabbage-soup was served immediately. +The sound of carpenters' axes (Shiryaev was having a new barn +built) and the laughter of Fomka, their labourer, teasing the +turkey, floated in from the courtyard. + +Big, sparse drops of rain pattered on the window. + +Pyotr, a round-shouldered student in spectacles, kept exchanging +glances with his mother as he ate his dinner. Several times he +laid down his spoon and cleared his throat, meaning to begin to +speak, but after an intent look at his father he fell to eating +again. At last, when the porridge had been served, he cleared his +throat resolutely and said: + +"I ought to go tonight by the evening train. I out to have gone +before; I have missed a fortnight as it is. The lectures begin on +the first of September." + +"Well, go," Shiryaev assented; "why are you lingering on here? +Pack up and go, and good luck to you." + +A minute passed in silence. + +"He must have money for the journey, Yevgraf Ivanovitch," the +mother observed in a low voice. + +"Money? To be sure, you can't go without money. Take it at once, +since you need it. You could have had it long ago!" + +The student heaved a faint sigh and looked with relief at his +mother. Deliberately Shiryaev took a pocket-book out of his +coat-pocket and put on his spectacles. + +"How much do you want?" he asked. + +"The fare to Moscow is eleven roubles forty-two kopecks. . . ." + +"Ah, money, money!" sighed the father. (He always sighed when he +saw money, even when he was receiving it.) "Here are twelve +roubles for you. You will have change out of that which will be +of use to you on the journey." + +"Thank you." + +After waiting a little, the student said: + +"I did not get lessons quite at first last year. I don't know how +it will be this year; most likely it will take me a little time +to find work. I ought to ask you for fifteen roubles for my +lodging and dinner." + +Shiryaev thought a little and heaved a sigh. + +"You will have to make ten do," he said. "Here, take it." + +The student thanked him. He ought to have asked him for something +more, for clothes, for lecture fees, for books, but after an +intent look at his father he decided not to pester him further. + +The mother, lacking in diplomacy and prudence, like all mothers, +could not restrain herself, and said: + +"You ought to give him another six roubles, Yevgraf Ivanovitch, +for a pair of boots. Why, just see, how can he go to Moscow in +such wrecks?" + +"Let him take my old ones; they are still quite good." + +"He must have trousers, anyway; he is a disgrace to look at." + +And immediately after that a storm-signal showed itself, at the +sight of which all the family trembled. + +Shiryaev's short, fat neck turned suddenly red as a beetroot. The +colour mounted slowly to his ears, from his ears to his temples, +and by degrees suffused his whole face. Yevgraf Ivanovitch +shifted in his chair and unbuttoned his shirt-collar to save +himself from choking. He was evidently struggling with the +feeling that was mastering him. A deathlike silence followed. The +children held their breath. Fedosya Semyonovna, as though she did +not grasp what was happening to her husband, went on: + +"He is not a little boy now, you know; he is ashamed to go about +without clothes." + +Shiryaev suddenly jumped up, and with all his might flung down +his fat pocket-book in the middle of the table, so that a hunk of +bread flew off a plate. A revolting expression of anger, +resentment, avarice -- all mixed together -- flamed on his face. + +"Take everything!" he shouted in an unnatural voice; "plunder me! +Take it all! Strangle me!" + +He jumped up from the table, clutched at his head, and ran +staggering about the room. + +"Strip me to the last thread!" he shouted in a shrill voice. +"Squeeze out the last drop! Rob me! Wring my neck!" + +The student flushed and dropped his eyes. He could not go on +eating. Fedosya Semyonovna, who had not after twenty-five years +grown used to her husband's difficult character, shrank into +herself and muttered something in self-defence. An expression of +amazement and dull terror came into her wasted and birdlike face, +which at all times looked dull and scared. The little boys and +the elder daughter Varvara, a girl in her teens, with a pale ugly +face, laid down their spoons and sat mute. + +Shiryaev, growing more and more ferocious, uttering words each +more terrible than the one before, dashed up to the table and +began shaking the notes out of his pocket-book. + +"Take them!" he muttered, shaking all over. "You've eaten and +drunk your fill, so here's money for you too! I need nothing! +Order yourself new boots and uniforms!" + +The student turned pale and got up. + +"Listen, papa," he began, gasping for breath. "I . . . I beg you +to end this, for . . ." + +"Hold your tongue!" the father shouted at him, and so loudly that +the spectacles fell off his nose; "hold your tongue!" + +"I used . . . I used to be able to put up with such scenes, but . +. . but now I have got out of the way of it. Do you understand? I +have got out of the way of it!" + +"Hold your tongue!" cried the father, and he stamped with his +feet. "You must listen to what I say! I shall say what I like, +and you hold your tongue. At your age I was earning my living, +while you . . . Do you know what you cost me, you scoundrel? I'll +turn you out! Wastrel!" + +"Yevgraf Ivanovitch," muttered Fedosya Semyonovna, moving her +fingers nervously; "you know he. . . you know Petya . . . !" + +"Hold your tongue!" Shiryaev shouted out to her, and tears +actually came into his eyes from anger. "It is you who have +spoilt them -- you! It's all your fault! He has no respect for +us, does not say his prayers, and earns nothing! I am only one +against the ten of you! I'll turn you out of the house!" + +The daughter Varvara gazed fixedly at her mother with her mouth +open, moved her vacant-looking eyes to the window, turned pale, +and, uttering a loud shriek, fell back in her chair. The father, +with a curse and a wave of the hand, ran out into the yard. + +This was how domestic scenes usually ended at the Shiryaevs'. But +on this occasion, unfortunately, Pyotr the student was carried +away by overmastering anger. He was just as hasty and +ill-tempered as his father and his grandfather the priest, who +used to beat his parishioners about the head with a stick. Pale +and clenching his fists, he went up to his mother and shouted in +the very highest tenor note his voice could reach: + +"These reproaches are loathsome! sickening to me! I want nothing +from you! Nothing! I would rather die of hunger than eat another +mouthful at your expense! Take your nasty money back! take it!" + +The mother huddled against the wall and waved her hands, as +though it were not her son, but some phantom before her. "What +have I done?" she wailed. "What?" + +Like his father, the boy waved his hands and ran into the yard. +Shiryaev's house stood alone on a ravine which ran like a furrow +for four miles along the steppe. Its sides were overgrown with +oak saplings and alders, and a stream ran at the bottom. On one +side the house looked towards the ravine, on the other towards +the open country, there were no fences nor hurdles. Instead there +were farm-buildings of all sorts close to one another, shutting +in a small space in front of the house which was regarded as the +yard, and in which hens, ducks, and pigs ran about. + +Going out of the house, the student walked along the muddy road +towards the open country. The air was full of a penetrating +autumn dampness. The road was muddy, puddles gleamed here and +there, and in the yellow fields autumn itself seemed looking out +from the grass, dismal, decaying, dark. On the right-hand side of +the road was a vegetable-garden cleared of its crops and +gloomy-looking, with here and there sunflowers standing up in it +with hanging heads already black. + +Pyotr thought it would not be a bad thing to walk to Moscow on +foot; to walk just as he was, with holes in his boots, without a +cap, and without a farthing of money. When he had gone eighty +miles his father, frightened and aghast, would overtake him, +would begin begging him to turn back or take the money, but he +would not even look at him, but would go on and on. . . . Bare +forests would be followed by desolate fields, fields by forests +again; soon the earth would be white with the first snow, and the +streams would be coated with ice. . . . Somewhere near Kursk or +near Serpuhovo, exhausted and dying of hunger, he would sink down +and die. His corpse would be found, and there would be a +paragraph in all the papers saying that a student called Shiryaev +had died of hunger. . . . + +A white dog with a muddy tail who was wandering about the +vegetable-garden looking for something gazed at him and sauntered +after him. + +He walked along the road and thought of death, of the grief of +his family, of the moral sufferings of his father, and then +pictured all sorts of adventures on the road, each more +marvellous than the one before -- picturesque places, terrible +nights, chance encounters. He imagined a string of pilgrims, a +hut in the forest with one little window shining in the darkness; +he stands before the window, begs for a night's lodging. . . . +They let him in, and suddenly he sees that they are robbers. Or, +better still, he is taken into a big manor-house, where, learning +who he is, they give him food and drink, play to him on the +piano, listen to his complaints, and the daughter of the house, a +beauty, falls in love with him. + +Absorbed in his bitterness and such thoughts, young Shiryaev +walked on and on. Far, far ahead he saw the inn, a dark patch +against the grey background of cloud. Beyond the inn, on the very +horizon, he could see a little hillock; this was the +railway-station. That hillock reminded him of the connection +existing between the place where he was now standing and Moscow, +where street-lamps were burning and carriages were rattling in +the streets, where lectures were being given. And he almost wept +with depression and impatience. The solemn landscape, with its +order and beauty, the deathlike stillness all around, revolted +him and moved him to despair and hatred! + +"Look out!" He heard behind him a loud voice. + +An old lady of his acquaintance, a landowner of the +neighbourhood, drove past him in a light, elegant landau. He +bowed to her, and smiled all over his face. And at once he caught +himself in that smile, which was so out of keeping with his +gloomy mood. Where did it come from if his whole heart was full +of vexation and misery? And he thought nature itself had given +man this capacity for lying, that even in difficult moments of +spiritual strain he might be able to hide the secrets of his nest +as the fox and the wild duck do. Every family has its joys and +its horrors, but however great they may be, it's hard for an +outsider's eye to see them; they are a secret. The father of the +old lady who had just driven by, for instance, had for some +offence lain for half his lifetime under the ban of the wrath of +Tsar Nicolas I.; her husband had been a gambler; of her four +sons, not one had turned out well. One could imagine how many +terrible scenes there must have been in her life, how many tears +must have been shed. And yet the old lady seemed happy and +satisfied, and she had answered his smile by smiling too. The +student thought of his comrades, who did not like talking about +their families; he thought of his mother, who almost always lied +when she had to speak of her husband and children. . . . + +Pyotr walked about the roads far from home till dusk, abandoning +himself to dreary thoughts. When it began to drizzle with rain he +turned homewards. As he walked back he made up his mind at all +costs to talk to his father, to explain to him, once and for all, +that it was dreadful and oppressive to live with him. + +He found perfect stillness in the house. His sister Varvara was +lying behind a screen with a headache, moaning faintly. His +mother, with a look of amazement and guilt upon her face, was +sitting beside her on a box, mending Arhipka's trousers. Yevgraf +Ivanovitch was pacing from one window to another, scowling at the +weather. From his walk, from the way he cleared his throat, and +even from the back of his head, it was evident he felt himself to +blame. + +"I suppose you have changed your mind about going today?" he +asked. + +The student felt sorry for him, but immediately suppressing that +feeling, he said: + +"Listen . . . I must speak to you seriously. . . yes, seriously. +I have always respected you, and . . . and have never brought +myself to speak to you in such a tone, but your behaviour . . . +your last action . . ." + +The father looked out of the window and did not speak. The +student, as though considering his words, rubbed his forehead and +went on in great excitement: + +"Not a dinner or tea passes without your making an uproar. Your +bread sticks in our throat. . . nothing is more bitter, more +humiliating, than bread that sticks in one's throat. . . . Though +you are my father, no one, neither God nor nature, has given you +the right to insult and humiliate us so horribly, to vent your +ill-humour on the weak. You have worn my mother out and made a +slave of her, my sister is hopelessly crushed, while I . . ." + +"It's not your business to teach me," said his father. + +"Yes, it is my business! You can quarrel with me as much as you +like, but leave my mother in peace! I will not allow you to +torment my mother!" the student went on, with flashing eyes. "You +are spoilt because no one has yet dared to oppose you. They +tremble and are mute towards you, but now that is over! Coarse, +ill-bred man! You are coarse . . . do you understand? You are +coarse, ill-humoured, unfeeling. And the peasants can't endure +you!" + +The student had by now lost his thread, and was not so much +speaking as firing off detached words. Yevgraf Ivanovitch +listened in silence, as though stunned; but suddenly his neck +turned crimson, the colour crept up his face, and he made a +movement. + +"Hold your tongue!" he shouted. + +"That's right!" the son persisted; "you don't like to hear the +truth! Excellent! Very good! begin shouting! Excellent!" + +"Hold your tongue, I tell you!" roared Yevgraf Ivanovitch. + +Fedosya Semyonovna appeared in the doorway, very pale, with an +astonished face; she tried to say something, but she could not, +and could only move her fingers. + +"It's all your fault!" Shiryaev shouted at her. "You have brought +him up like this!" + +"I don't want to go on living in this house!" shouted the +student, crying, and looking angrily at his mother. "I don't want +to live with you!" + +Varvara uttered a shriek behind the screen and broke into loud +sobs. With a wave of his hand, Shiryaev ran out of the house. + +The student went to his own room and quietly lay down. He lay +till midnight without moving or opening his eyes. He felt neither +anger nor shame, but a vague ache in his soul. He neither blamed +his father nor pitied his mother, nor was he tormented by stings +of conscience; he realized that every one in the house was +feeling the same ache, and God only knew which was most to blame, +which was suffering most. . . . + +At midnight he woke the labourer, and told him to have the horse +ready at five o'clock in the morning for him to drive to the +station; he undressed and got into bed, but could not get to +sleep. He heard how his father, still awake, paced slowly from +window to window, sighing, till early morning. No one was asleep; +they spoke rarely, and only in whispers. Twice his mother came to +him behind the screen. Always with the same look of vacant +wonder, she slowly made the cross over him, shaking nervously. + +At five o'clock in the morning he said good-bye to them all +affectionately, and even shed tears. As he passed his father's +room, he glanced in at the door. Yevgraf Ivanovitch, who had not +taken off his clothes or gone to bed, was standing by the window, +drumming on the panes. + +"Good-bye; I am going," said his son. + +"Good-bye . . . the money is on the round table . . ." his father +answered, without turning round. + +A cold, hateful rain was falling as the labourer drove him to the +station. The sunflowers were drooping their heads still lower, +and the grass seemed darker than ever. + + +THE GRASSHOPPER + +I + +ALL Olga Ivanovna's friends and acquaintances were at her +wedding. + +"Look at him; isn't it true that there is something in him?" she +said to her friends, with a nod towards her husband, as though +she wanted to explain why she was marrying a simple, very +ordinary, and in no way remarkable man. + +Her husband, Osip Stepanitch Dymov, was a doctor, and only of the +rank + of a titular councillor. He was on the staff of two hospitals: +in one a ward-surgeon and in the other a dissecting demonstrator. +Every day from nine to twelve he saw patients and was busy in his +ward, and after twelve o'clock he went by tram to the other +hospital, where he dissected. His private practice was a small +one, not worth more than five hundred roubles a year. That was +all. What more could one say about him? Meanwhile, Olga Ivanovna +and her friends and acquaintances were not quite ordinary people. +Every one of them was remarkable in some way, and more or less +famous; already had made a reputation and was looked upon as a +celebrity; or if not yet a celebrity, gave brilliant promise of +becoming one. There was an actor from the Dramatic Theatre, who +was a great talent of established reputation, as well as an +elegant, intelligent, and modest man, and a capital elocutionist, +and who taught Olga Ivanovna to recite; there was a singer from +the opera, a good-natured, fat man who assured Olga Ivanovna, +with a sigh, that she was ruining herself, that if she would take +herself in hand and not be lazy she might make a remarkable +singer; then there were several artists, and chief among them +Ryabovsky, a very handsome, fair young man of five-and-twenty who +painted genre pieces, animal studies, and landscapes, was +successful at exhibitions, and had sold his last picture for five +hundred roubles. He touched up Olga Ivanovna's sketches, and used +to say she might do something. Then a violoncellist, whose +instrument used to sob, and who openly declared that of all the +ladies of his acquaintance the only one who could accompany him +was Olga Ivanovna; then there was a literary man, young but +already well known, who had written stories, novels, and plays. +Who else? Why, Vassily Vassilyitch, a landowner and amateur +illustrator and vignettist, with a great feeling for the old +Russian style, the old ballad and epic. On paper, on china, and +on smoked plates, he produced literally marvels. In the midst of +this free artistic company, spoiled by fortune, though refined +and modest, who recalled the existence of doctors only in times +of illness, and to whom the name of Dymov sounded in no way +different from Sidorov or Tarasov -- in the midst of this company +Dymov seemed strange, not wanted, and small, though he was tall +and broad-shouldered. He looked as though he had on somebody +else's coat, and his beard was like a shopman's. Though if he had +been a writer or an artist, they would have said that his beard +reminded them of Zola. + +An artist said to Olga Ivanovna that with her flaxen hair and in +her wedding-dress she was very much like a graceful cherry-tree +when it is covered all over with delicate white blossoms in +spring. + +"Oh, let me tell you," said Olga Ivanovna, taking his arm, "how +it was it all came to pass so suddenly. Listen, listen! . . . I +must tell you that my father was on the same staff at the +hospital as Dymov. When my poor father was taken ill, Dymov +watched for days and nights together at his bedside. Such +self-sacrifice! Listen, Ryabovsky! You, my writer, listen; it is +very interesting! Come nearer. Such self-sacrifice, such genuine +sympathy! I sat up with my father, and did not sleep for nights, +either. And all at once -- the princess had won the hero's heart +-- my Dymov fell head over ears in love. Really, fate is so +strange at times! Well, after my father's death he came to see me +sometimes, met me in the street, and one fine evening, all at +once he made me an offer . . . like snow upon my head. . . . I +lay awake all night, crying, and fell hellishly in love myself. +And here, as you see, I am his wife. There really is something +strong, powerful, bearlike about him, isn't there? Now his face +is turned three-quarters towards us in a bad light, but when he +turns round look at his forehead. Ryabovsky, what do you say to +that forehead? Dymov, we are talking about you!" she called to +her husband. "Come here; hold out your honest hand to Ryabovsky. +. . . That's right, be friends." + +Dymov, with a naive and good-natured smile, held out his hand to +Ryabovsky, and said: + +"Very glad to meet you. There was a Ryabovsky in my year at the +medical school. Was he a relation of yours?" + + +II + + +Olga Ivanovna was twenty-two, Dymov was thirty-one. They got on +splendidly together when they were married. Olga Ivanovna hung +all her drawing-room walls with her own and other people's +sketches, in frames and without frames, and near the piano and +furniture arranged picturesque corners with Japanese parasols, +easels, daggers, busts, photographs, and rags of many colours. . +. . In the dining-room she papered the walls with peasant +woodcuts, hung up bark shoes and sickles, stood in a corner a +scythe and a rake, and so achieved a dining-room in the Russian +style. In her bedroom she draped the ceiling and the walls with +dark cloths to make it like a cavern, hung a Venetian lantern +over the beds, and at the door set a figure with a halberd. And +every one thought that the young people had a very charming +little home. + +When she got up at eleven o'clock every morning, Olga Ivanovna +played the piano or, if it were sunny, painted something in oils. +Then between twelve and one she drove to her dressmaker's. As +Dymov and she had very little money, only just enough, she and +her dressmaker were often put to clever shifts to enable her to +appear constantly in new dresses and make a sensation with them. +Very often out of an old dyed dress, out of bits of tulle, lace, +plush, and silk, costing nothing, perfect marvels were created, +something bewitching -- not a dress, but a dream. From the +dressmaker's Olga Ivanovna usually drove to some actress of her +acquaintance to hear the latest theatrical gossip, and +incidentally to try and get hold of tickets for the first night +of some new play or for a benefit performance. From the actress's +she had to go to some artist's studio or to some exhibition or to +see some celebrity -- either to pay a visit or to give an +invitation or simply to have a chat. And everywhere she met with +a gay and friendly welcome, and was assured that she was good, +that she was sweet, that she was rare. . . . Those whom she +called great and famous received her as one of themselves, as an +equal, and predicted with one voice that, with her talents, her +taste, and her intelligence, she would do great things if she +concentrated herself. She sang, she played the piano, she painted +in oils, she carved, she took part in amateur performances; and +all this not just anyhow, but all with talent, whether she made +lanterns for an illumination or dressed up or tied somebody's +cravat -- everything she did was exceptionally graceful, +artistic, and charming. But her talents showed themselves in +nothing so clearly as in her faculty for quickly becoming +acquainted and on intimate terms with celebrated people. No +sooner did any one become ever so little celebrated, and set +people talking about him, than she made his acquaintance, got on +friendly terms the same day, and invited him to her house. Every +new acquaintance she made was a veritable fete for her. She +adored celebrated people, was proud of them, dreamed of them +every night. She craved for them, and never could satisfy her +craving. The old ones departed and were forgotten, new ones came +to replace them, but to these, too, she soon grew accustomed or +was disappointed in them, and began eagerly seeking for fresh +great men, finding them and seeking for them again. What for? + +Between four and five she dined at home with her husband. His +simplicity, good sense, and kind-heartedness touched her and +moved her up to enthusiasm. She was constantly jumping up, +impulsively hugging his head and showering kisses on it. + +"You are a clever, generous man, Dymov," she used to say, "but +you have one very serious defect. You take absolutely no interest +in art. You don't believe in music or painting." + +"I don't understand them," he would say mildly. "I have spent all +my life in working at natural science and medicine, and I have +never had time to take an interest in the arts." + +"But, you know, that's awful, Dymov!" + +"Why so? Your friends don't know a nything of science or +medicine, but you don't reproach them with it. Every one has his +own line. I don't understand landscapes and operas, but the way I +look at it is that if one set of sensible people devote their +whole lives to them, and other sensible people pay immense sums +for them, they must be of use. I don't understand them, but not +understanding does not imply disbelieving in them." + +"Let me shake your honest hand!" + +After dinner Olga Ivanovna would drive off to see her friends, +then to a theatre or to a concert, and she returned home after +midnight. So it was every day. + +On Wednesdays she had "At Homes." At these "At Homes" the hostess +and her guests did not play cards and did not dance, but +entertained themselves with various arts. An actor from the +Dramatic Theatre recited, a singer sang, artists sketched in the +albums of which Olga Ivanovna had a great number, the +violoncellist played, and the hostess herself sketched, carved, +sang, and played accompaniments. In the intervals between the +recitations, music, and singing, they talked and argued about +literature, the theatre, and painting. There were no ladies, for +Olga Ivanovna considered all ladies wearisome and vulgar except +actresses and her dressmaker. Not one of these entertainments +passed without the hostess starting at every ring at the bell, +and saying, with a triumphant expression, "It is he," meaning by +"he," of course, some new celebrity. Dymov was not in the +drawing-room, and no one remembered his existence. But exactly at +half-past eleven the door leading into the dining-room opened, +and Dymov would appear with his good-natured, gentle smile and +say, rubbing his hands: + +"Come to supper, gentlemen." + +They all went into the dining-room, and every time found on the +table exactly the same things: a dish of oysters, a piece of ham +or veal, sardines, cheese, caviare, mushrooms, vodka, and two +decanters of wine. + +My dear _maitre d' hotel!_" Olga Ivanovna would say, clasping her +hands with enthusiasm, "you are simply fascinating! My friends, +look at his forehead! Dymov, turn your profile. Look! he has the +face of a Bengal tiger and an expression as kind and sweet as a +gazelle. Ah, the darling!" + +The visitors ate, and, looking at Dymov, thought, "He really is a +nice fellow"; but they soon forgot about him, and went on talking +about the theatre, music, and painting. + +The young people were happy, and their life flowed on without a +hitch. + +The third week of their honeymoon was spent, however, not quite +happily -- sadly, indeed. Dymov caught erysipelas in the +hospital, was in bed for six days, and had to have his beautiful +black hair cropped. Olga Ivanovna sat beside him and wept +bitterly, but when he was better she put a white handkerchief on +his shaven head and began to paint him as a Bedouin. And they +were both in good spirits. Three days after he had begun to go +back to the hospital he had another mischance. + +"I have no luck, little mother," he said one day at dinner. "I +had four dissections to do today, and I cut two of my fingers at +one. And I did not notice it till I got home." + +Olga Ivanovna was alarmed. He smiled, and told her that it did +not matter, and that he often cut his hands when he was +dissecting. + +"I get absorbed, little mother, and grow careless." + +Olga Ivanovna dreaded symptoms of blood-poisoning, and prayed +about it every night, but all went well. And again life flowed on +peaceful and happy, free from grief and anxiety. The present was +happy, and to follow it spring was at hand, already smiling in +the distance, and promising a thousand delights. There would be +no end to their happiness. In April, May and June a summer villa +a good distance out of town; walks, sketching, fishing, +nightingales; and then from July right on to autumn an artist's +tour on the Volga, and in this tour Olga Ivanovna would take part +as an indispensable member of the society. She had already had +made for her two travelling dresses of linen, had bought paints, +brushes, canvases, and a new palette for the journey. Almost +every day Ryabovsky visited her to see what progress she was +making in her painting; when she showed him her painting, he used +to thrust his hands deep into his pockets, compress his lips, +sniff, and say: + +"Ye--es . . . ! That cloud of yours is screaming: it's not in the +evening light. The foreground is somehow chewed up, and there is +something, you know, not the thing. . . . And your cottage is +weighed down and whines pitifully. That corner ought to have been +taken more in shadow, but on the whole it is not bad; I like it." + +And the more incomprehensible he talked, the more readily Olga +Ivanovna understood him. + +III + +After dinner on the second day of Trinity week, Dymov bought some +sweets and some savouries and went down to the villa to see his +wife. He had not seen her for a fortnight, and missed her +terribly. As he sat in the train and afterwards as he looked for +his villa in a big wood, he felt all the while hungry and weary, +and dreamed of how he would have supper in freedom with his wife, +then tumble into bed and to sleep. And he was delighted as he +looked at his parcel, in which there was caviare, cheese, and +white salmon. + +The sun was setting by the time he found his villa and recognized +it. The old servant told him that her mistress was not at home, +but that most likely she would soon be in. The villa, very +uninviting in appearance, with low ceilings papered with +writing-paper and with uneven floors full of crevices, consisted +only of three rooms. In one there was a bed, in the second there +were canvases, brushes, greasy papers, and men's overcoats and +hats lying about on the chairs and in the windows, while in the +third Dymov found three unknown men; two were dark-haired and had +beards, the other was clean-shaven and fat, apparently an actor. +There was a samovar boiling on the table. + +"What do you want?" asked the actor in a bass voice, looking at +Dymov ungraciously. "Do you want Olga Ivanovna? Wait a minute; +she will be here directly." + +Dymov sat down and waited. One of the dark-haired men, looking +sleepily and listlessly at him, poured himself out a glass of +tea, and asked: + +"Perhaps you would like some tea?" + +Dymov was both hungry and thirsty, but he refused tea for fear of +spoiling his supper. Soon he heard footsteps and a familiar +laugh; a door slammed, and Olga Ivanovna ran into the room, +wearing a wide-brimmed hat and carrying a box in her hand; she +was followed by Ryabovsky, rosy and good-humoured, carrying a big +umbrella and a camp-stool. + +"Dymov!" cried Olga Ivanovna, and she flushed crimson with +pleasure. "Dymov!" she repeated, laying her head and both arms on +his bosom. "Is that you? Why haven't you come for so long? Why? +Why?" + +"When could I, little mother? I am always busy, and whenever I am +free it always happens somehow that the train does not fit." + +"But how glad I am to see you! I have been dreaming about you the +whole night, the whole night, and I was afraid you must be ill. +Ah! if you only knew how sweet you are! You have come in the nick +of time! You will be my salvation! You are the only person who +can save me! There is to be a most original wedding here +tomorrow," she went on, laughing, and tying her husband's cravat. +"A young telegraph clerk at the station, called Tchikeldyeev, is +going to be married. He is a handsome young man and -- well, not +stupid, and you know there is something strong, bearlike in his +face . . . you might paint him as a young Norman. We summer +visitors take a great interest in him, and have promised to be at +his wedding. . . . He is a lonely, timid man, not well off, and +of course it would be a shame not to be sympathetic to him. +Fancy! the wedding will be after the service; then we shall all +walk from the church to the bride's lodgings. . . you see the +wood, the birds singing, patches of sunlight on the grass, and +all of us spots of different colours against the bright green +background -- very original, in the style of the French +impressionists. But, Dymov, what am I to go to the church in?" +said Olga Ivanovna, and she looked as though she were going to +cry. "I have nothing here, literally nothing! no dress, no + flowers, no gloves . . . you must save me. Since you have come, +fate itself bids you save me. Take the keys, my precious, go home +and get my pink dress from the wardrobe. You remember it; it +hangs in front. . . . Then, in the storeroom, on the floor, on +the right side, you will see two cardboard boxes. When you open +the top one you will see tulle, heaps of tulle and rags of all +sorts, and under them flowers. Take out all the flowers +carefully, try not to crush them, darling; I will choose among +them later. . . . And buy me some gloves." + +"Very well," said Dymov; "I will go tomorrow and send them to +you." + +"Tomorrow?" asked Olga Ivanovna, and she looked at him surprised. +"You won't have time tomorrow. The first train goes tomorrow at +nine, and the wedding's at eleven. No, darling, it must be today; +it absolutely must be today. If you won't be able to come +tomorrow, send them by a messenger. Come, you must run along. . . +. The passenger train will be in directly; don't miss it, +darling." + +"Very well." + +"Oh, how sorry I am to let you go!" said Olga Ivanovna, and tears +came into her eyes. "And why did I promise that telegraph clerk, +like a silly?" + +Dymov hurriedly drank a glass of tea, took a cracknel, and, +smiling gently, went to the station. And the caviare, the cheese, +and the white salmon were eaten by the two dark gentlemen and the +fat actor. + +IV + +On a still moonlight night in July Olga Ivanovna was standing on +the deck of a Volga steamer and looking alternately at the water +and at the picturesque banks. Beside her was standing Ryabovsky, +telling her the black shadows on the water were not shadows, but +a dream, that it would be sweet to sink into forgetfulness, to +die, to become a memory in the sight of that enchanted water with +the fantastic glimmer, in sight of the fathomless sky and the +mournful, dreamy shores that told of the vanity of our life and +of the existence of something higher, blessed, and eternal. The +past was vulgar and uninteresting, the future was trivial, and +that marvellous night, unique in a lifetime, would soon be over, +would blend with eternity; then, why live? + +And Olga Ivanovna listened alternately to Ryabovsky's voice and +the silence of the night, and thought of her being immortal and +never dying. The turquoise colour of the water, such as she had +never seen before, the sky, the river-banks, the black shadows, +and the unaccountable joy that flooded her soul, all told her +that she would make a great artist, and that somewhere in the +distance, in the infinite space beyond the moonlight, success, +glory, the love of the people, lay awaiting her. . . . When she +gazed steadily without blinking into the distance, she seemed to +see crowds of people, lights, triumphant strains of music, cries +of enthusiasm, she herself in a white dress, and flowers showered +upon her from all sides. She thought, too, that beside her, +leaning with his elbows on the rail of the steamer, there was +standing a real great man, a genius, one of God's elect. . . . +All that he had created up to the present was fine, new, and +extraordinary, but what he would create in time, when with +maturity his rare talent reached its full development, would be +astounding, immeasurably sublime; and that could be seen by his +face, by his manner of expressing himself and his attitude to +nature. He talked of shadows, of the tones of evening, of the +moonlight, in a special way, in a language of his own, so that +one could not help feeling the fascination of his power over +nature. He was very handsome, original, and his life, free, +independent, aloof from all common cares, was like the life of a +bird. + +"It's growing cooler," said Olga Ivanovna, and she gave a +shudder. + +Ryabovsky wrapped her in his cloak, and said mournfully: + +"I feel that I am in your power; I am a slave. Why are you so +enchanting today?" + +He kept staring intently at her, and his eyes were terrible. And +she was afraid to look at him. + +"I love you madly," he whispered, breathing on her cheek. "Say +one word to me and I will not go on living; I will give up art . +. ." he muttered in violent emotion. "Love me, love . . . ." + +"Don't talk like that," said Olga Ivanovna, covering her eyes. +"It's dreadful! How about Dymov?" + +"What of Dymov? Why Dymov? What have I to do with Dymov? The +Volga, the moon, beauty, my love, ecstasy, and there is no such +thing as Dymov. . . . Ah! I don't know . . . I don't care about +the past; give me one moment, one instant!" + +Olga Ivanovna's heart began to throb. She tried to think about +her husband, but all her past, with her wedding, with Dymov, and +with her "At Homes," seemed to her petty, trivial, dingy, +unnecessary, and far, far away. . . . Yes, really, what of Dymov? +Why Dymov? What had she to do with Dymov? Had he any existence in +nature, or was he only a dream? + +"For him, a simple and ordinary man the happiness he has had +already is enough," she thought, covering her face with her +hands. "Let them condemn me, let them curse me, but in spite of +them all I will go to my ruin; I will go to my ruin! . . . One +must experience everything in life. My God! how terrible and how +glorious!" + +"Well? Well?" muttered the artist, embracing her, and greedily +kissing the hands with which she feebly tried to thrust him from +her. "You love me? Yes? Yes? Oh, what a night! marvellous night!" + +"Yes, what a night!" she whispered, looking into his eyes, which +were bright with tears. + +Then she looked round quickly, put her arms round him, and kissed +him on the lips. + +"We are nearing Kineshmo!" said some one on the other side of the +deck. + +They heard heavy footsteps; it was a waiter from the +refreshment-bar. + +"Waiter," said Olga Ivanovna, laughing and crying with happiness, +"bring us some wine." + +The artist, pale with emotion, sat on the seat, looking at Olga +Ivanovna with adoring, grateful eyes; then he closed his eyes, +and said, smiling languidly: + +"I am tired." + +And he leaned his head against the rail. + + +V + + +On the second of September the day was warm and still, but +overcast. In the early morning a light mist had hung over the +Volga, and after nine o'clock it had begun to spout with rain. +And there seemed no hope of the sky clearing. Over their morning +tea Ryabovsky told Olga Ivanovna that painting was the most +ungrateful and boring art, that he was not an artist, that none +but fools thought that he had any talent, and all at once, for no +rhyme or reason, he snatched up a knife and with it scraped over +his very best sketch. After his tea he sat plunged in gloom at +the window and gazed at the Volga. And now the Volga was dingy, +all of one even colour without a gleam of light, cold-looking. +Everything, everything recalled the approach of dreary, gloomy +autumn. And it seemed as though nature had removed now from the +Volga the sumptuous green covers from the banks, the brilliant +reflections of the sunbeams, the transparent blue distance, and +all its smart gala array, and had packed it away in boxes till +the coming spring, and the crows were flying above the Volga and +crying tauntingly, "Bare, bare!" + +Ryabovsky heard their cawing, and thought he had already gone off +and lost his talent, that everything in this world was relative, +conditional, and stupid, and that he ought not to have taken up +with this woman. . . . In short, he was out of humour and +depressed. + +Olga Ivanovna sat behind the screen on the bed, and, passing her +fingers through her lovely flaxen hair, pictured herself first in +the drawing-room, then in the bedroom, then in her husband's +study; her imagination carried her to the theatre, to the +dress-maker, to her distinguished friends. Were they getting +something up now? Did they think of her? The season had begun by +now, and it would be time to think about her "At Homes." And +Dymov? Dear Dymov! with what gentleness and childlike pathos he +kept begging her in his letters to make haste and come home! +Every month he sent her seventy-five roubles, and when she wrote +him that she had lent the artists a hundred roubles, he sent that +hundred too. What a kind, generous-hearted man! The travelling +wearied Olga Ivanovna; she was bored; and she longed to get away +from the peasants, from the damp smell of the river, and to cast +off the feeling of physical uncleanliness of which she was +conscious all the time, living in the peasants' huts and +wandering from village to village. If Ryabovsky had not given his +word to the artists that he would stay with them till the +twentieth of September, they might have gone away that very day. +And how nice that would have been! + +"My God!" moaned Ryabovsky. "Will the sun ever come out? I can't +go on with a sunny landscape without the sun. . . ." + +"But you have a sketch with a cloudy sky," said Olga Ivanovna, +coming from behind the screen. "Do you remember, in the right +foreground forest trees, on the left a herd of cows and geese? +You might finish it now." + +"Aie!" the artist scowled. "Finish it! Can you imagine I am such +a fool that I don't know what I want to do?" + +"How you have changed to me!" sighed Olga Ivanovna. + +"Well, a good thing too!" + +Olga Ivanovna's face quivered; she moved away to the stove and +began to cry. + +"Well, that's the last straw -- crying! Give over! I have a +thousand reasons for tears, but I am not crying." + +"A thousand reasons!" cried Olga Ivanovna. "The chief one is that +you are weary of me. Yes!" she said, and broke into sobs. "If one +is to tell the truth, you are ashamed of our love. You keep +trying to prevent the artists from noticing it, though it is +impossible to conceal it, and they have known all about it for +ever so long." + +"Olga, one thing I beg you," said the artist in an imploring +voice, laying his hand on his heart -- "one thing; don't worry +me! I want nothing else from you!" + +"But swear that you love me still!" + +"This is agony!" the artist hissed through his teeth, and he +jumped up. "It will end by my throwing myself in the Volga or +going out of my mind! Let me alone!" + +"Come, kill me, kill me!" cried Olga Ivanovna. "Kill me!" + +She sobbed again, and went behind the screen. There was a swish +of rain on the straw thatch of the hut. Ryabovsky clutched his +head and strode up and down the hut; then with a resolute face, +as though bent on proving something to somebody, put on his cap, +slung his gun over his shoulder, and went out of the hut. + +After he had gone, Olga Ivanovna lay a long time on the bed, +crying. At first she thought it would be a good thing to poison +herself, so that when Ryabovsky came back he would find her dead; +then her imagination carried her to her drawing-room, to her +husband's study, and she imagined herself sitting motionless +beside Dymov and enjoying the physical peace and cleanliness, and +in the evening sitting in the theatre, listening to Mazini. And a +yearning for civilization, for the noise and bustle of the town, +for celebrated people sent a pang to her heart. A peasant woman +came into the hut and began in a leisurely way lighting the stove +to get the dinner. There was a smell of charcoal fumes, and the +air was filled with bluish smoke. The artists came in, in muddy +high boots and with faces wet with rain, examined their sketches, +and comforted themselves by saying that the Volga had its charms +even in bad weather. On the wall the cheap clock went +"tic-tic-tic." . . . The flies, feeling chilled, crowded round +the ikon in the corner, buzzing, and one could hear the +cockroaches scurrying about among the thick portfolios under the +seats. . . . + +Ryabovsky came home as the sun was setting. He flung his cap on +the table, and, without removing his muddy boots, sank pale and +exhausted on the bench and closed his eyes. + +"I am tired . . ." he said, and twitched his eyebrows, trying to +raise his eyelids. + +To be nice to him and to show she was not cross, Olga Ivanovna +went up to him, gave him a silent kiss, and passed the comb +through his fair hair. She meant to comb it for him. + +"What's that?" he said, starting as though something cold had +touched him, and he opened his eyes. "What is it? Please let me +alone." + +He thrust her off, and moved away. And it seemed to her that +there was a look of aversion and annoyance on his face. + +At that time the peasant woman cautiously carried him, in both +hands, a plate of cabbage-soup. And Olga Ivanovna saw how she +wetted her fat fingers in it. And the dirty peasant woman, +standing with her body thrust forward, and the cabbage-soup which +Ryabovsky began eating greedily, and the hut, and their whole way +of life, which she at first had so loved for its simplicity and +artistic disorder, seemed horrible to her now. She suddenly felt +insulted, and said coldly: + +"We must part for a time, or else from boredom we shall quarrel +in earnest. I am sick of this; I am going today." + +"Going how? Astride on a broomstick?" + +"Today is Thursday, so the steamer will be here at half-past +nine." + +"Eh? Yes, yes. . . . Well, go, then . . ." Ryabovsky said softly, +wiping his mouth with a towel instead of a dinner napkin. "You +are dull and have nothing to do here, and one would have to be a +great egoist to try and keep you. Go home, and we shall meet +again after the twentieth." + +Olga Ivanovna packed in good spirits. Her cheeks positively +glowed with pleasure. Could it really be true, she asked herself, +that she would soon be writing in her drawing-room and sleeping +in her bedroom, and dining with a cloth on the table? A weight +was lifted from her heart, and she no longer felt angry with the +artist. + +"My paints and brushes I will leave with you, Ryabovsky," she +said. "You can bring what's left. . . . Mind, now, don't be lazy +here when I am gone; don't mope, but work. You are such a +splendid fellow, Ryabovsky!" + +At ten o'clock Ryabovsky gave her a farewell kiss, in order, as +she thought, to avoid kissing her on the steamer before the +artists, and went with her to the landing-stage. The steamer soon +came up and carried her away. + +She arrived home two and a half days later. Breathless with +excitement, she went, without taking off her hat or waterproof, +into the drawing-room and thence into the dining-room. Dymov, +with his waistcoat unbuttoned and no coat, was sitting at the +table sharpening a knife on a fork; before him lay a grouse on a +plate. As Olga Ivanovna went into the flat she was convinced that +it was essential to hide everything from her husband, and that +she would have the strength and skill to do so; but now, when she +saw his broad, mild, happy smile, and shining, joyful eyes, she +felt that to deceive this man was as vile, as revolting, and as +impossible and out of her power as to bear false witness, to +steal, or to kill, and in a flash she resolved to tell him all +that had happened. Letting him kiss and embrace her, she sank +down on her knees before him and hid her face. + +"What is it, what is it, little mother?" he asked tenderly. "Were +you homesick?" + +She raised her face, red with shame, and gazed at him with a +guilty and imploring look, but fear and shame prevented her from +telling him the truth. + +"Nothing," she said; "it's just nothing. . . ." + +"Let us sit down," he said, raising her and seating her at the +table. "That's right, eat the grouse. You are starving, poor +darling." + +She eagerly breathed in the atmosphere of home and ate the +grouse, while he watched her with tenderness and laughed with +delight. + + +VI + + +Apparently, by the middle of the winter Dymov began to suspect +that he was being deceived. As though his conscience was not +clear, he could not look his wife straight in the face, did not +smile with delight when he met her, and to avoid being left alone +with her, he often brought in to dinner his colleague, +Korostelev, a little close-cropped man with a wrinkled face, who +kept buttoning and unbuttoning his reefer jacket with +embarrassment when he talked with Olga Ivanovna, and then with +his right hand nipped his left moustache. At dinner the two +doctors talked about the fact that a displacement of the +diaphragm was sometimes accompanied by irregularities of the +heart, or that a great number of neurotic complaints were met +with of late, or that Dymov had the day before found a cancer of +the lower abdomen while dissecting a corpse with the diagnosis of +pernicious anaemia. And it seemed as though they were talking of +medicine to give Olga Ivanovna a chance of being silent -- that +is, of not lying. After dinner Korostelev sat + down to the piano, while Dymov sighed and said to him: + +"Ech, brother -- well, well! Play something melancholy." + +Hunching up his shoulders and stretching his fingers wide apart, +Korostelev played some chords and began singing in a tenor voice, +"Show me the abode where the Russian peasant would not groan," +while Dymov sighed once more, propped his head on his fist, and +sank into thought. + +Olga Ivanovna had been extremely imprudent in her conduct of +late. Every morning she woke up in a very bad humour and with the +thought that she no longer cared for Ryabovsky, and that, thank +God, it was all over now. But as she drank her coffee she +reflected that Ryabovsky had robbed her of her husband, and that +now she was left with neither her husband nor Ryabovsky; then she +remembered talks she had heard among her acquaintances of a +picture Ryabovsky was preparing for the exhibition, something +striking, a mixture of genre and landscape, in the style of +Polyenov, about which every one who had been into his studio went +into raptures; and this, of course, she mused, he had created +under her influence, and altogether, thanks to her influence, he +had greatly changed for the better. Her influence was so +beneficent and essential that if she were to leave him he might +perhaps go to ruin. And she remembered, too, that the last time +he had come to see her in a great-coat with flecks on it and a +new tie, he had asked her languidly: + +"Am I beautiful?" + +And with his elegance, his long curls, and his blue eyes, he +really was very beautiful (or perhaps it only seemed so), and he +had been affectionate to her. + +Considering and remembering many things Olga Ivanovna dressed and +in great agitation drove to Ryabovsky's studio. She found him in +high spirits, and enchanted with his really magnificent picture. +He was dancing about and playing the fool and answering serious +questions with jokes. Olga Ivanovna was jealous of the picture +and hated it, but from politeness she stood before the picture +for five minutes in silence, and, heaving a sigh, as though +before a holy shrine, said softly: + +"Yes, you have never painted anything like it before. Do you +know, it is positively awe-inspiring?" + +And then she began beseeching him to love her and not to cast her +off, to have pity on her in her misery and her wretchedness. She +shed tears, kissed his hands, insisted on his swearing that he +loved her, told him that without her good influence he would go +astray and be ruined. And, when she had spoilt his good-humour, +feeling herself humiliated, she would drive off to her dressmaker +or to an actress of her acquaintance to try and get theatre +tickets. + +If she did not find him at his studio she left a letter in which +she swore that if he did not come to see her that day she would +poison herself. He was scared, came to see her, and stayed to +dinner. Regardless of her husband's presence, he would say rude +things to her, and she would answer him in the same way. Both +felt they were a burden to each other, that they were tyrants and +enemies, and were wrathful, and in their wrath did not notice +that their behaviour was unseemly, and that even Korostelev, with +his close-cropped head, saw it all. After dinner Ryabovsky made +haste to say good-bye and get away. + +"Where are you off to?" Olga Ivanovna would ask him in the hall, +looking at him with hatred. + +Scowling and screwing up his eyes, he mentioned some lady of +their acquaintance, and it was evident that he was laughing at +her jealousy and wanted to annoy her. She went to her bedroom and +lay down on her bed; from jealousy, anger, a sense of humiliation +and shame, she bit the pillow and began sobbing aloud. Dymov left +Korostelev in the drawing-room, went into the bedroom, and with a +desperate and embarrassed face said softly: + +"Don't cry so loud, little mother; there's no need. You must be +quiet about it. You must not let people see. . . . You know what +is done is done, and can't be mended." + +Not knowing how to ease the burden of her jealousy, which +actually set her temples throbbing with pain, and thinking still +that things might be set right, she would wash, powder her +tear-stained face, and fly off to the lady mentioned. + +Not finding Ryabovsky with her, she would drive off to a second, +then to a third. At first she was ashamed to go about like this, +but afterwards she got used to it, and it would happen that in +one evening she would make the round of all her female +acquaintances in search of Ryabovsky, and they all understood it. + +One day she said to Ryabovsky of her husband: + +"That man crushes me with his magnanimity." + +This phrase pleased her so much that when she met the artists who +knew of her affair with Ryabovsky she said every time of her +husband, with a vigorous movement of her arm: + +"That man crushes me with his magnanimity." + +Their manner of life was the same as it had been the year before. +On Wednesdays they were "At Home"; an actor recited, the artists +sketched. The violoncellist played, a singer sang, and invariably +at half-past eleven the door leading to the dining-room opened +and Dymov, smiling, said: + +"Come to supper, gentlemen." + +As before, Olga Ivanovna hunted celebrities, found them, was not +satisfied, and went in pursuit of fresh ones. As before, she came +back late every night; but now Dymov was not, as last year, +asleep, but sitting in his study at work of some sort. He went to +bed at three o'clock and got up at eight. + +One evening when she was getting ready to go to the theatre and +standing before the pier glass, Dymov came into her bedroom, +wearing his dress-coat and a white tie. He was smiling gently and +looked into his wife's face joyfully, as in old days; his face +was radiant. + +"I have just been defending my thesis," he said, sitting down and +smoothing his knees. + +"Defending?" asked Olga Ivanovna. + +"Oh, oh!" he laughed, and he craned his neck to see his wife's +face in the mirror, for she was still standing with her back to +him, doing up her hair. "Oh, oh," he repeated, "do you know it's +very possible they may offer me the Readership in General +Pathology? It seems like it." + +It was evident from his beaming, blissful face that if Olga +Ivanovna had shared with him his joy and triumph he would have +forgiven her everything, both the present and the future, and +would have forgotten everything, but she did not understand what +was meant by a "readership" or by "general pathology"; besides, +she was afraid of being late for the theatre, and she said +nothing. + +He sat there another two minutes, and with a guilty smile went +away. + +VII + +It had been a very troubled day. + +Dymov had a very bad headache; he had no breakfast, and did not +go to the hospital, but spent the whole time lying on his sofa in +the study. Olga Ivanovna went as usual at midday to see +Ryabovsky, to show him her still-life sketch, and to ask him why +he had not been to see her the evening before. The sketch seemed +to her worthless, and she had painted it only in order to have an +additional reason for going to the artist. + +She went in to him without ringing, and as she was taking off her +goloshes in the entry she heard a sound as of something running +softly in the studio, with a feminine rustle of skirts; and as +she hastened to peep in she caught a momentary glimpse of a bit +of brown petticoat, which vanished behind a big picture draped, +together with the easel, with black calico, to the floor. There +could be no doubt that a woman was hiding there. How often Olga +Ivanovna herself had taken refuge behind that picture! + +Ryabovsky, evidently much embarrassed, held out both hands to +her, as though surprised at her arrival, and said with a forced +smile: + +"Aha! Very glad to see you! Anything nice to tell me?" + +Olga Ivanovna's eyes filled with tears. She felt ashamed and +bitter, and would not for a million roubles have consented to +speak in the presence of the outsider, the rival, the deceitful +woman who was standing now behind the picture, and probably +giggling malignantly. + +"I have brought you a sketch," she said timidly in a thin voice, +and her lips quivered. "_Nature morte._" + +"Ah--ah! . . . A sketch?" + +The artist took the sketch in his hands, and as he examined it w +alked, as it were mechanically, into the other room. + +Olga Ivanovna followed him humbly. + +"_Nature morte_ . . . first-rate sort," he muttered, falling into +rhyme. "Kurort . . . sport . . . port . . ." + +From the studio came the sound of hurried footsteps and the +rustle of a skirt. + +So she had gone. Olga Ivanovna wanted to scream aloud, to hit the +artist on the head with something heavy, but she could see +nothing through her tears, was crushed by her shame, and felt +herself, not Olga Ivanovna, not an artist, but a little insect. + +"I am tired . . ." said the artist languidly, looking at the +sketch and tossing his head as though struggling with drowsiness. +"It's very nice, of course, but here a sketch today, a sketch +last year, another sketch in a month . . . I wonder you are not +bored with them. If I were you I should give up painting and work +seriously at music or something. You're not an artist, you know, +but a musician. But you can't think how tired I am! I'll tell +them to bring us some tea, shall I?" + +He went out of the room, and Olga Ivanovna heard him give some +order to his footman. To avoid farewells and explanations, and +above all to avoid bursting into sobs, she ran as fast as she +could, before Ryabovsky came back, to the entry, put on her +goloshes, and went out into the street; then she breathed easily, +and felt she was free for ever from Ryabovsky and from painting +and from the burden of shame which had so crushed her in the +studio. It was all over! + +She drove to her dressmaker's; then to see Barnay, who had only +arrived the day before; from Barnay to a music-shop, and all the +time she was thinking how she would write Ryabovsky a cold, cruel +letter full of personal dignity, and how in the spring or the +summer she would go with Dymov to the Crimea, free herself +finally from the past there, and begin a new life. + +On getting home late in the evening she sat down in the +drawing-room, without taking off her things, to begin the letter. +Ryabovsky had told her she was not an artist, and to pay him out +she wrote to him now that he painted the same thing every year, +and said exactly the same thing every day; that he was at a +standstill, and that nothing more would come of him than had come +already. She wanted to write, too, that he owed a great deal to +her good influence, and that if he was going wrong it was only +because her influence was paralysed by various dubious persons +like the one who had been hiding behind the picture that day. + +"Little mother!" Dymov called from the study, without opening the +door. + +"What is it?" + +"Don't come in to me, but only come to the door -- that's right. +. . . The day before yesterday I must have caught diphtheria at +the hospital, and now . . . I am ill. Make haste and send for +Korostelev." + +Olga Ivanovna always called her husband by his surname, as she +did all the men of her acquaintance; she disliked his Christian +name, Osip, because it reminded her of the Osip in Gogol and the +silly pun on his name. But now she cried: + +"Osip, it cannot be!" + +"Send for him; I feel ill," Dymov said behind the door, and she +could hear him go back to the sofa and lie down. "Send!" she +heard his voice faintly. + +"Good Heavens!" thought Olga Ivanovna, turning chill with horror. +"Why, it's dangerous!" + +For no reason she took the candle and went into the bedroom, and +there, reflecting what she must do, glanced casually at herself +in the pier glass. With her pale, frightened face, in a jacket +with sleeves high on the shoulders, with yellow ruches on her +bosom, and with stripes running in unusual directions on her +skirt, she seemed to herself horrible and disgusting. She +suddenly felt poignantly sorry for Dymov, for his boundless love +for her, for his young life, and even for the desolate little bed +in which he had not slept for so long; and she remembered his +habitual, gentle, submissive smile. She wept bitterly, and wrote +an imploring letter to Korostelev. It was two o'clock in the +night. + + +VIII + +When towards eight o'clock in the morning Olga Ivanovna, her head +heavy from want of sleep and her hair unbrushed, came out of her +bedroom, looking unattractive and with a guilty expression on her +face, a gentleman with a black beard, apparently the doctor, +passed by her into the entry. There was a smell of drugs. +Korostelev was standing near the study door, twisting his left +moustache with his right hand. + +"Excuse me, I can't let you go in," he said surlily to Olga +Ivanovna; "it's catching. Besides, it's no use, really; he is +delirious, anyway." + +"Has he really got diphtheria?" Olga Ivanovna asked in a whisper. + +"People who wantonly risk infection ought to be hauled up and +punished for it," muttered Korostelev, not answering Olga +Ivanovna's question. "Do you know why he caught it? On Tuesday he +was sucking up the mucus through a pipette from a boy with +diphtheria. And what for? It was stupid. . . . Just from folly. . +. ." + +"Is it dangerous, very?" asked Olga Ivanovna. + +"Yes; they say it is the malignant form. We ought to send for +Shrek really." + +A little red-haired man with a long nose and a Jewish accent +arrived; then a tall, stooping, shaggy individual, who looked +like a head deacon; then a stout young man with a red face and +spectacles. These were doctors who came to watch by turns beside +their colleague. Korostelev did not go home when his turn was +over, but remained and wandered about the rooms like an uneasy +spirit. The maid kept getting tea for the various doctors, and +was constantly running to the chemist, and there was no one to do +the rooms. There was a dismal stillness in the flat. + +Olga Ivanovna sat in her bedroom and thought that God was +punishing her for having deceived her husband. That silent, +unrepining, uncomprehended creature, robbed by his mildness of +all personality and will, weak from excessive kindness, had been +suffering in obscurity somewhere on his sofa, and had not +complained. And if he were to complain even in delirium, the +doctors watching by his bedside would learn that diphtheria was +not the only cause of his sufferings. They would ask Korostelev. +He knew all about it, and it was not for nothing that he looked +at his friend's wife with eyes that seemed to say that she was +the real chief criminal and diphtheria was only her accomplice. +She did not think now of the moonlight evening on the Volga, nor +the words of love, nor their poetical life in the peasant's hut. +She thought only that from an idle whim, from self-indulgence, +she had sullied herself all over from head to foot in something +filthy, sticky, which one could never wash off. . . . + +"Oh, how fearfully false I've been!" she thought, recalling the +troubled passion she had known with Ryabovsky. "Curse it all! . . +." + +At four o'clock she dined with Korostelev. He did nothing but +scowl and drink red wine, and did not eat a morsel. She ate +nothing, either. At one minute she was praying inwardly and +vowing to God that if Dymov recovered she would love him again +and be a faithful wife to him. Then, forgetting herself for a +minute, she would look at Korostelev, and think: "Surely it must +be dull to be a humble, obscure person, not remarkable in any +way, especially with such a wrinkled face and bad manners!" + +Then it seemed to her that God would strike her dead that minute +for not having once been in her husband's study, for fear of +infection. And altogether she had a dull, despondent feeling and +a conviction that her life was spoilt, and that there was no +setting it right anyhow. . . . + +After dinner darkness came on. When Olga Ivanovna went into the +drawing-room Korostelev was asleep on the sofa, with a +gold-embroidered silk cushion under his head. + +"Khee-poo-ah," he snored -- "khee-poo-ah." + +And the doctors as they came to sit up and went away again did +not notice this disorder. The fact that a strange man was asleep +and snoring in the drawing-room, and the sketches on the walls +and the exquisite decoration of the room, and the fact that the +lady of the house was dishevelled and untidy -- all that aroused +not the slightest interest now. One of the doctors chanced to +laugh at something, and the laugh had a strange and timid sound +that made one's heart ac he. + +When Olga Ivanovna went into the drawing-room next time, +Korostelev was not asleep, but sitting up and smoking. + +"He has diphtheria of the nasal cavity," he said in a low voice, +"and the heart is not working properly now. Things are in a bad +way, really." + +"But you will send for Shrek?" said Olga Ivanovna. + +"He has been already. It was he noticed that the diphtheria had +passed into the nose. What's the use of Shrek! Shrek's no use at +all, really. He is Shrek, I am Korostelev, and nothing more." + +The time dragged on fearfully slowly. Olga Ivanovna lay down in +her clothes on her bed, that had not been made all day, and sank +into a doze. She dreamed that the whole flat was filled up from +floor to ceiling with a huge piece of iron, and that if they +could only get the iron out they would all be light-hearted and +happy. Waking, she realized that it was not the iron but Dymov's +illness that was weighing on her. + +"Nature morte, port . . ." she thought, sinking into +forgetfulness again. "Sport . . . Kurort . . . and what of Shrek? +Shrek. . . trek . . . wreck. . . . And where are my friends now? +Do they know that we are in trouble? Lord, save . . . spare! +Shrek. . . trek . . ." + +And again the iron was there. . . . The time dragged on slowly, +though the clock on the lower storey struck frequently. And bells +were continually ringing as the doctors arrived. . . . The +house-maid came in with an empty glass on a tray, and asked, +"Shall I make the bed, madam?" and getting no answer, went away. + +The clock below struck the hour. She dreamed of the rain on the +Volga; and again some one came into her bedroom, she thought a +stranger. Olga Ivanovna jumped up, and recognized Korostelev. + +"What time is it?" she asked. + +"About three." + +"Well, what is it?" + +"What, indeed! . . . I've come to tell you he is passing. . . ." + +He gave a sob, sat down on the bed beside her, and wiped away the +tears with his sleeve. She could not grasp it at once, but turned +cold all over and began slowly crossing herself. + +"He is passing," he repeated in a shrill voice, and again he gave +a sob. "He is dying because he sacrificed himself. What a loss +for science!" he said bitterly. "Compare him with all of us. He +was a great man, an extraordinary man! What gifts! What hopes we +all had of him!" Korostelev went on, wringing his hands: +"Merciful God, he was a man of science; we shall never look on +his like again. Osip Dymov, what have you done -- aie, aie, my +God!" + +Korostelev covered his face with both hands in despair, and shook +his head. + +"And his moral force," he went on, seeming to grow more and more +exasperated against some one. "Not a man, but a pure, good, +loving soul, and clean as crystal. He served science and died for +science. And he worked like an ox night and day -- no one spared +him -- and with his youth and his learning he had to take a +private practice and work at translations at night to pay for +these . . . vile rags!" + +Korostelev looked with hatred at Olga Ivanovna, snatched at the +sheet with both hands and angrily tore it, as though it were to +blame. + +"He did not spare himself, and others did not spare him. Oh, +what's the use of talking!" + +"Yes, he was a rare man," said a bass voice in the drawing-room. + +Olga Ivanovna remembered her whole life with him from the +beginning to the end, with all its details, and suddenly she +understood that he really was an extraordinary, rare, and, +compared with every one else she knew, a great man. And +remembering how her father, now dead, and all the other doctors +had behaved to him, she realized that they really had seen in him +a future celebrity. The walls, the ceiling, the lamp, and the +carpet on the floor, seemed to be winking at her sarcastically, +as though they would say, "You were blind! you were blind!" With +a wail she flung herself out of the bedroom, dashed by some +unknown man in the drawing-room, and ran into her husband's +study. He was lying motionless on the sofa, covered to the waist +with a quilt. His face was fearfully thin and sunken, and was of +a greyish-yellow colour such as is never seen in the living; only +from the forehead, from the black eyebrows and from the familiar +smile, could he be recognized as Dymov. Olga Ivanovna hurriedly +felt his chest, his forehead, and his hands. The chest was still +warm, but the forehead and hands were unpleasantly cold, and the +half-open eyes looked, not at Olga Ivanovna, but at the quilt. + +"Dymov!" she called aloud, "Dymov!" She wanted to explain to him +that it had been a mistake, that all was not lost, that life +might still be beautiful and happy, that he was an extraordinary, +rare, great man, and that she would all her life worship him and +bow down in homage and holy awe before him. . . . + +"Dymov!" she called him, patting him on the shoulder, unable to +believe that he would never wake again. "Dymov! Dymov!" + +In the drawing-room Korostelev was saying to the housemaid: + +"Why keep asking? Go to the church beadle and enquire where they +live. They'll wash the body and lay it out, and do everything +that is necessary." + + +A DREARY STORY + +FROM THE NOTEBOOK OF AN OLD MAN + +I + +THERE is in Russia an emeritus Professor Nikolay Stepanovitch, a +chevalier and privy councillor; he has so many Russian and +foreign decorations that when he has occasion to put them on the +students nickname him "The Ikonstand." His acquaintances are of +the most aristocratic; for the last twenty-five or thirty years, +at any rate, there has not been one single distinguished man of +learning in Russia with whom he has not been intimately +acquainted. There is no one for him to make friends with +nowadays; but if we turn to the past, the long list of his famous +friends winds up with such names as Pirogov, Kavelin, and the +poet Nekrasov, all of whom bestowed upon him a warm and sincere +affection. He is a member of all the Russian and of three foreign +universities. And so on, and so on. All that and a great deal +more that might be said makes up what is called my "name." + +That is my name as known to the public. In Russia it is known to +every educated man, and abroad it is mentioned in the +lecture-room with the addition "honoured and distinguished." It +is one of those fortunate names to abuse which or to take which +in vain, in public or in print, is considered a sign of bad +taste. And that is as it should be. You see, my name is closely +associated with the conception of a highly distinguished man of +great gifts and unquestionable usefulness. I have the industry +and power of endurance of a camel, and that is important, and I +have talent, which is even more important. Moreover, while I am +on this subject, I am a well-educated, modest, and honest fellow. +I have never poked my nose into literature or politics; I have +never sought popularity in polemics with the ignorant; I have +never made speeches either at public dinners or at the funerals +of my friends. . . . In fact, there is no slur on my learned +name, and there is no complaint one can make against it. It is +fortunate. + +The bearer of that name, that is I, see myself as a man of +sixty-two, with a bald head, with false teeth, and with an +incurable tic douloureux. I am myself as dingy and unsightly as +my name is brilliant and splendid. My head and my hands tremble +with weakness; my neck, as Turgenev says of one of his heroines, +is like the handle of a double bass; my chest is hollow; my +shoulders narrow; when I talk or lecture, my mouth turns down at +one corner; when I smile, my whole face is covered with +aged-looking, deathly wrinkles. There is nothing impressive about +my pitiful figure; only, perhaps, when I have an attack of tic +douloureux my face wears a peculiar expression, the sight of +which must have roused in every one the grim and impressive +thought, "Evidently that man will soon die." + +I still, as in the past, lecture fairly well; I can still, as in +the past, hold the attention of my listeners for a couple of +hours. My fervour, the literary skill of my exposition, and my +humour, almost efface the defects of my voice, though it is +harsh, dry, and monotonous as a praying beggar's. I write poorly. +That bit of my brain which presides over the faculty of +authorship refuses to + work. My memory has grown weak; there is a lack of sequence in +my ideas, and when I put them on paper it always seems to me that +I have lost the instinct for their organic connection; my +construction is monotonous; my language is poor and timid. Often +I write what I do not mean; I have forgotten the beginning when I +am writing the end. Often I forget ordinary words, and I always +have to waste a great deal of energy in avoiding superfluous +phrases and unnecessary parentheses in my letters, both +unmistakable proofs of a decline in mental activity. And it is +noteworthy that the simpler the letter the more painful the +effort to write it. At a scientific article I feel far more +intelligent and at ease than at a letter of congratulation or a +minute of proceedings. Another point: I find it easier to write +German or English than to write Russian. + +As regards my present manner of life, I must give a foremost +place to the insomnia from which I have suffered of late. If I +were asked what constituted the chief and fundamental feature of +my existence now, I should answer, Insomnia. As in the past, from +habit I undress and go to bed exactly at midnight. I fall asleep +quickly, but before two o'clock I wake up and feel as though I +had not slept at all. Sometimes I get out of bed and light a +lamp. For an hour or two I walk up and down the room looking at +the familiar photographs and pictures. When I am weary of walking +about, I sit down to my table. I sit motionless, thinking of +nothing, conscious of no inclination; if a book is lying before +me, I mechanically move it closer and read it without any +interest -- in that way not long ago I mechanically read through +in one night a whole novel, with the strange title "The Song the +Lark was Singing"; or to occupy my attention I force myself to +count to a thousand; or I imagine the face of one of my +colleagues and begin trying to remember in what year and under +what circumstances he entered the service. I like listening to +sounds. Two rooms away from me my daughter Liza says something +rapidly in her sleep, or my wife crosses the drawing-room with a +candle and invariably drops the matchbox; or a warped cupboard +creaks; or the burner of the lamp suddenly begins to hum -- and +all these sounds, for some reason, excite me. + +To lie awake at night means to be at every moment conscious of +being abnormal, and so I look forward with impatience to the +morning and the day when I have a right to be awake. Many +wearisome hours pass before the cock crows in the yard. He is my +first bringer of good tidings. As soon as he crows I know that +within an hour the porter will wake up below, and, coughing +angrily, will go upstairs to fetch something. And then a pale +light will begin gradually glimmering at the windows, voices will +sound in the street. . . . + +The day begins for me with the entrance of my wife. She comes in +to me in her petticoat, before she has done her hair, but after +she has washed, smelling of flower-scented eau-de-Cologne, +looking as though she had come in by chance. Every time she says +exactly the same thing: "Excuse me, I have just come in for a +minute. . . . Have you had a bad night again?" + +Then she puts out the lamp, sits down near the table, and begins +talking. I am no prophet, but I know what she will talk about. +Every morning it is exactly the same thing. Usually, after +anxious inquiries concerning my health, she suddenly mentions our +son who is an officer serving at Warsaw. After the twentieth of +each month we send him fifty roubles, and that serves as the +chief topic of our conversation. + +"Of course it is difficult for us," my wife would sigh, "but +until he is completely on his own feet it is our duty to help +him. The boy is among strangers, his pay is small. . . . However, +if you like, next month we won't send him fifty, but forty. What +do you think?" + +Daily experience might have taught my wife that constantly +talking of our expenses does not reduce them, but my wife refuses +to learn by experience, and regularly every morning discusses our +officer son, and tells me that bread, thank God, is cheaper, +while sugar is a halfpenny dearer -- with a tone and an air as +though she were communicating interesting news. + +I listen, mechanically assent, and probably because I have had a +bad night, strange and inappropriate thoughts intrude themselves +upon me. I gaze at my wife and wonder like a child. I ask myself +in perplexity, is it possible that this old, very stout, ungainly +woman, with her dull expression of petty anxiety and alarm about +daily bread, with eyes dimmed by continual brooding over debts +and money difficulties, who can talk of nothing but expenses and +who smiles at nothing but things getting cheaper -- is it +possible that this woman is no other than the slender Varya whom +I fell in love with so passionately for her fine, clear +intelligence, for her pure soul, her beauty, and, as Othello his +Desdemona, for her "sympathy" for my studies? Could that woman be +no other than the Varya who had once borne me a son? + +I look with strained attention into the face of this flabby, +spiritless, clumsy old woman, seeking in her my Varya, but of her +past self nothing is left but her anxiety over my health and her +manner of calling my salary "our salary," and my cap "our cap." +It is painful for me to look at her, and, to give her what little +comfort I can, I let her say what she likes, and say nothing even +when she passes unjust criticisms on other people or pitches into +me for not having a private practice or not publishing +text-books. + +Our conversation always ends in the same way. My wife suddenly +remembers with dismay that I have not had my tea. + +"What am I thinking about, sitting here?" she says, getting up. +"The samovar has been on the table ever so long, and here I stay +gossiping. My goodness! how forgetful I am growing!" + +She goes out quickly, and stops in the doorway to say: + +"We owe Yegor five months' wages. Did you know it? You mustn't +let the servants' wages run on; how many times I have said it! +It's much easier to pay ten roubles a month than fifty roubles +every five months!" + +As she goes out, she stops to say: + +"The person I am sorriest for is our Liza. The girl studies at +the Conservatoire, always mixes with people of good position, and +goodness knows how she is dressed. Her fur coat is in such a +state she is ashamed to show herself in the street. If she were +somebody else's daughter it wouldn't matter, but of course every +one knows that her father is a distinguished professor, a privy +councillor." + +And having reproached me with my rank and reputation, she goes +away at last. That is how my day begins. It does not improve as +it goes on. + +As I am drinking my tea, my Liza comes in wearing her fur coat +and her cap, with her music in her hand, already quite ready to +go to the Conservatoire. She is two-and-twenty. She looks +younger, is pretty, and rather like my wife in her young days. +She kisses me tenderly on my forehead and on my hand, and says: + +"Good-morning, papa; are you quite well?" + +As a child she was very fond of ice-cream, and I used often to +take her to a confectioner's. Ice-cream was for her the type of +everything delightful. If she wanted to praise me she would say: +"You are as nice as cream, papa." We used to call one of her +little fingers "pistachio ice," the next, "cream ice," the third +"raspberry," and so on. Usually when she came in to say +good-morning to me I used to sit her on my knee, kiss her little +fingers, and say: + +"Creamy ice . . . pistachio . . . lemon. . . ." + +And now, from old habit, I kiss Liza's fingers and mutter: +"Pistachio . . . cream . . . lemon. . ." but the effect is +utterly different. I am cold as ice and I am ashamed. When my +daughter comes in to me and touches my forehead with her lips I +start as though a bee had stung me on the head, give a forced +smile, and turn my face away. Ever since I have been suffering +from sleeplessness, a question sticks in my brain like a nail. My +daughter often sees me, an old man and a distinguished man, blush +painfully at being in debt to my footman; she sees how often +anxiety over petty debts forces me to lay aside my work and to +walk u p and down the room for hours together, thinking; but why +is it she never comes to me in secret to whisper in my ear: +"Father, here is my watch, here are my bracelets, my earrings, my +dresses. . . . Pawn them all; you want money . . ."? How is it +that, seeing how her mother and I are placed in a false position +and do our utmost to hide our poverty from people, she does not +give up her expensive pleasure of music lessons? I would not +accept her watch nor her bracelets, nor the sacrifice of her +lessons -- God forbid! That isn't what I want. + +I think at the same time of my son, the officer at Warsaw. He is +a clever, honest, and sober fellow. But that is not enough for +me. I think if I had an old father, and if I knew there were +moments when he was put to shame by his poverty, I should give up +my officer's commission to somebody else, and should go out to +earn my living as a workman. Such thoughts about my children +poison me. What is the use of them? It is only a narrow-minded or +embittered man who can harbour evil thoughts about ordinary +people because they are not heroes. But enough of that! + +At a quarter to ten I have to go and give a lecture to my dear +boys. I dress and walk along the road which I have known for +thirty years, and which has its history for me. Here is the big +grey house with the chemist's shop; at this point there used to +stand a little house, and in it was a beershop; in that beershop +I thought out my thesis and wrote my first love-letter to Varya. +I wrote it in pencil, on a page headed "Historia morbi." Here +there is a grocer's shop; at one time it was kept by a little +Jew, who sold me cigarettes on credit; then by a fat peasant +woman, who liked the students because "every one of them has a +mother"; now there is a red-haired shopkeeper sitting in it, a +very stolid man who drinks tea from a copper teapot. And here are +the gloomy gates of the University, which have long needed doing +up; I see the bored porter in his sheep-skin, the broom, the +drifts of snow. . . . On a boy coming fresh from the provinces +and imagining that the temple of science must really be a temple, +such gates cannot make a healthy impression. Altogether the +dilapidated condition of the University buildings, the gloominess +of the corridors, the griminess of the walls, the lack of light, +the dejected aspect of the steps, the hat-stands and the benches, +take a prominent position among predisposing causes in the +history of Russian pessimism. . . . Here is our garden . . . I +fancy it has grown neither better nor worse since I was a +student. I don't like it. It would be far more sensible if there +were tall pines and fine oaks growing here instead of +sickly-looking lime-trees, yellow acacias, and skimpy pollard +lilacs. The student whose state of mind is in the majority of +cases created by his surroundings, ought in the place where he is +studying to see facing him at every turn nothing but what is +lofty, strong and elegant. . . . God preserve him from gaunt +trees, broken windows, grey walls, and doors covered with torn +American leather! + +When I go to my own entrance the door is flung wide open, and I +am met by my colleague, contemporary, and namesake, the porter +Nikolay. As he lets me in he clears his throat and says: + +"A frost, your Excellency!" + +Or, if my great-coat is wet: + +"Rain, your Excellency!" + +Then he runs on ahead of me and opens all the doors on my way. In +my study he carefully takes off my fur coat, and while doing so +manages to tell me some bit of University news. Thanks to the +close intimacy existing between all the University porters and +beadles, he knows everything that goes on in the four faculties, +in the office, in the rector's private room, in the library. What +does he not know? When in an evil day a rector or dean, for +instance, retires, I hear him in conversation with the young +porters mention the candidates for the post, explain that such a +one would not be confirmed by the minister, that another would +himself refuse to accept it, then drop into fantastic details +concerning mysterious papers received in the office, secret +conversations alleged to have taken place between the minister +and the trustee, and so on. With the exception of these details, +he almost always turns out to be right. His estimates of the +candidates, though original, are very correct, too. If one wants +to know in what year some one read his thesis, entered the +service, retired, or died, then summon to your assistance the +vast memory of that soldier, and he will not only tell you the +year, the month and the day, but will furnish you also with the +details that accompanied this or that event. Only one who loves +can remember like that. + +He is the guardian of the University traditions. From the porters +who were his predecessors he has inherited many legends of +University life, has added to that wealth much of his own gained +during his time of service, and if you care to hear he will tell +you many long and intimate stories. He can tell one about +extraordinary sages who knew _everything_, about remarkable +students who did not sleep for weeks, about numerous martyrs and +victims of science; with him good triumphs over evil, the weak +always vanquishes the strong, the wise man the fool, the humble +the proud, the young the old. There is no need to take all these +fables and legends for sterling coin; but filter them, and you +will have left what is wanted: our fine traditions and the names +of real heroes, recognized as such by all. + +In our society the knowledge of the learned world consists of +anecdotes of the extraordinary absentmindedness of certain old +professors, and two or three witticisms variously ascribed to +Gruber, to me, and to Babukin. For the educated public that is +not much. If it loved science, learned men, and students, as +Nikolay does, its literature would long ago have contained whole +epics, records of sayings and doings such as, unfortunately, it +cannot boast of now. + +After telling me a piece of news, Nikolay assumes a severe +expression, and conversation about business begins. If any +outsider could at such times overhear Nikolay's free use of our +terminology, he might perhaps imagine that he was a learned man +disguised as a soldier. And, by the way, the rumours of the +erudition of the University porters are greatly exaggerated. It +is true that Nikolay knows more than a hundred Latin words, knows +how to put the skeleton together, sometimes prepares the +apparatus and amuses the students by some long, learned +quotation, but the by no means complicated theory of the +circulation of the blood, for instance, is as much a mystery to +him now as it was twenty years ago. + +At the table in my study, bending low over some book or +preparation, sits Pyotr Ignatyevitch, my demonstrator, a modest +and industrious but by no means clever man of five-and-thirty, +already bald and corpulent; he works from morning to night, reads +a lot, remembers well everything he has read -- and in that way +he is not a man, but pure gold; in all else he is a carthorse or, +in other words, a learned dullard. The carthorse characteristics +that show his lack of talent are these: his outlook is narrow and +sharply limited by his specialty; outside his special branch he +is simple as a child. + +"Fancy! what a misfortune! They say Skobelev is dead." + +Nikolay crosses himself, but Pyotr Ignatyevitch turns to me and +asks: + +"What Skobelev is that?" + +Another time -- somewhat earlier -- I told him that Professor +Perov was dead. Good Pyotr Ignatyevitch asked: + +"What did he lecture on?" + +I believe if Patti had sung in his very ear, if a horde of +Chinese had invaded Russia, if there had been an earthquake, he +would not have stirred a limb, but screwing up his eye, would +have gone on calmly looking through his microscope. What is he to +Hecuba or Hecuba to him, in fact? I would give a good deal to see +how this dry stick sleeps with his wife at night. + +Another characteristic is his fanatical faith in the +infallibility of science, and, above all, of everything written +by the Germans. He believes in himself, in his preparations; +knows the object of life, and knows nothing of the doubts and +disappointments that turn the hair o f talent grey. He has a +slavish reverence for authorities and a complete lack of any +desire for independent thought. To change his convictions is +difficult, to argue with him impossible. How is one to argue with +a man who is firmly persuaded that medicine is the finest of +sciences, that doctors are the best of men, and that the +traditions of the medical profession are superior to those of any +other? Of the evil past of medicine only one tradition has been +preserved -- the white tie still worn by doctors; for a learned +-- in fact, for any educated man the only traditions that can +exist are those of the University as a whole, with no distinction +between medicine, law, etc. But it would be hard for Pyotr +Ignatyevitch to accept these facts, and he is ready to argue with +you till the day of judgment. + +I have a clear picture in my mind of his future. In the course of +his life he will prepare many hundreds of chemicals of +exceptional purity; he will write a number of dry and very +accurate memoranda, will make some dozen conscientious +translations, but he won't do anything striking. To do that one +must have imagination, inventiveness, the gift of insight, and +Pyotr Ignatyevitch has nothing of the kind. In short, he is not a +master in science, but a journeyman. + +Pyotr Ignatyevitch, Nikolay, and I, talk in subdued tones. We are +not quite ourselves. There is always a peculiar feeling when one +hears through the doors a murmur as of the sea from the +lecture-theatre. In the course of thirty years I have not grown +accustomed to this feeling, and I experience it every morning. I +nervously button up my coat, ask Nikolay unnecessary questions, +lose my temper. . . . It is just as though I were frightened; it +is not timidity, though, but something different which I can +neither describe nor find a name for. + +Quite unnecessarily, I look at my watch and say: "Well, it's time +to go in." + +And we march into the room in the following order: foremost goes +Nikolay, with the chemicals and apparatus or with a chart; after +him I come; and then the carthorse follows humbly, with hanging +head; or, when necessary, a dead body is carried in first on a +stretcher, followed by Nikolay, and so on. On my entrance the +students all stand up, then they sit down, and the sound as of +the sea is suddenly hushed. Stillness reigns. + +I know what I am going to lecture about, but I don't know how I +am going to lecture, where I am going to begin or with what I am +going to end. I haven't a single sentence ready in my head. But I +have only to look round the lecture-hall (it is built in the form +of an amphitheatre) and utter the stereotyped phrase, "Last +lecture we stopped at . . ." when sentences spring up from my +soul in a long string, and I am carried away by my own eloquence. +I speak with irresistible rapidity and passion, and it seems as +though there were no force which could check the flow of my +words. To lecture well -- that is, with profit to the listeners +and without boring them -- one must have, besides talent, +experience and a special knack; one must possess a clear +conception of one's own powers, of the audience to which one is +lecturing, and of the subject of one's lecture. Moreover, one +must be a man who knows what he is doing; one must keep a sharp +lookout, and not for one second lose sight of what lies before +one. + +A good conductor, interpreting the thought of the composer, does +twenty things at once: reads the score, waves his baton, watches +the singer, makes a motion sideways, first to the drum then to +the wind-instruments, and so on. I do just the same when I +lecture. Before me a hundred and fifty faces, all unlike one +another; three hundred eyes all looking straight into my face. My +object is to dominate this many-headed monster. If every moment +as I lecture I have a clear vision of the degree of its attention +and its power of comprehension, it is in my power. The other foe +I have to overcome is in myself. It is the infinite variety of +forms, phenomena, laws, and the multitude of ideas of my own and +other people's conditioned by them. Every moment I must have the +skill to snatch out of that vast mass of material what is most +important and necessary, and, as rapidly as my words flow, clothe +my thought in a form in which it can be grasped by the monster's +intelligence, and may arouse its attention, and at the same time +one must keep a sharp lookout that one's thoughts are conveyed, +not just as they come, but in a certain order, essential for the +correct composition of the picture I wish to sketch. Further, I +endeavour to make my diction literary, my definitions brief and +precise, my wording, as far as possible, simple and eloquent. +Every minute I have to pull myself up and remember that I have +only an hour and forty minutes at my disposal. In short, one has +one's work cut out. At one and the same minute one has to play +the part of savant and teacher and orator, and it's a bad thing +if the orator gets the upper hand of the savant or of the teacher +in one, or _vice versa_. + +You lecture for a quarter of an hour, for half an hour, when you +notice that the students are beginning to look at the ceiling, at +Pyotr Ignatyevitch; one is feeling for his handkerchief, another +shifts in his seat, another smiles at his thoughts. . . . That +means that their attention is flagging. Something must be done. +Taking advantage of the first opportunity, I make some pun. A +broad grin comes on to a hundred and fifty faces, the eyes shine +brightly, the sound of the sea is audible for a brief moment. . . +. I laugh too. Their attention is refreshed, and I can go on. + +No kind of sport, no kind of game or diversion, has ever given me +such enjoyment as lecturing. Only at lectures have I been able to +abandon myself entirely to passion, and have understood that +inspiration is not an invention of the poets, but exists in real +life, and I imagine Hercules after the most piquant of his +exploits felt just such voluptuous exhaustion as I experience +after every lecture. + +That was in old times. Now at lectures I feel nothing but +torture. Before half an hour is over I am conscious of an +overwhelming weakness in my legs and my shoulders. I sit down in +my chair, but I am not accustomed to lecture sitting down; a +minute later I get up and go on standing, then sit down again. +There is a dryness in my mouth, my voice grows husky, my head +begins to go round. . . . To conceal my condition from my +audience I continually drink water, cough, often blow my nose as +though I were hindered by a cold, make puns inappropriately, and +in the end break off earlier than I ought to. But above all I am +ashamed. + +My conscience and my intelligence tell me that the very best +thing I could do now would be to deliver a farewell lecture to +the boys, to say my last word to them, to bless them, and give up +my post to a man younger and stronger than me. But, God, be my +judge, I have not manly courage enough to act according to my +conscience. + +Unfortunately, I am not a philosopher and not a theologian. I +know perfectly well that I cannot live more than another six +months; it might be supposed that I ought now to be chiefly +concerned with the question of the shadowy life beyond the grave, +and the visions that will visit my slumbers in the tomb. But for +some reason my soul refuses to recognize these questions, though +my mind is fully alive to their importance. Just as twenty, +thirty years ago, so now, on the threshold of death, I am +interested in nothing but science. As I yield up my last breath I +shall still believe that science is the most important, the most +splendid, the most essential thing in the life of man; that it +always has been and will be the highest manifestation of love, +and that only by means of it will man conquer himself and nature. +This faith is perhaps naive and may rest on false assumptions, +but it is not my fault that I believe that and nothing else; I +cannot overcome in myself this belief. + +But that is not the point. I only ask people to be indulgent to +my weakness, and to realize that to tear from the lecture-theatre +and his pupils a man who is more interested in the history of the +development of the bone medulla than in the + final object of creation would be equivalent to taking him and +nailing him up in his coffin without waiting for him to be dead. + +Sleeplessness and the consequent strain of combating increasing +weakness leads to something strange in me. In the middle of my +lecture tears suddenly rise in my throat, my eyes begin to smart, +and I feel a passionate, hysterical desire to stretch out my +hands before me and break into loud lamentation. I want to cry +out in a loud voice that I, a famous man, have been sentenced by +fate to the death penalty, that within some six months another +man will be in control here in the lecture-theatre. I want to +shriek that I am poisoned; new ideas such as I have not known +before have poisoned the last days of my life, and are still +stinging my brain like mosquitoes. And at that moment my position +seems to me so awful that I want all my listeners to be +horrified, to leap up from their seats and to rush in panic +terror, with desperate screams, to the exit. + +It is not easy to get through such moments. + +II + +After my lecture I sit at home and work. I read journals and +monographs, or prepare my next lecture; sometimes I write +something. I work with interruptions, as I have from time to time +to see visitors. + +There is a ring at the bell. It is a colleague come to discuss +some business matter with me. He comes in to me with his hat and +his stick, and, holding out both these objects to me, says: + +"Only for a minute! Only for a minute! Sit down, _collega_! Only +a couple of words." + +To begin with, we both try to show each other that we are +extraordinarily polite and highly delighted to see each other. I +make him sit down in an easy-chair, and he makes me sit down; as +we do so, we cautiously pat each other on the back, touch each +other's buttons, and it looks as though we were feeling each +other and afraid of scorching our fingers. Both of us laugh, +though we say nothing amusing. When we are seated we bow our +heads towards each other and begin talking in subdued voices. +However affectionately disposed we may be to one another, we +cannot help adorning our conversation with all sorts of Chinese +mannerisms, such as "As you so justly observed," or "I have +already had the honour to inform you"; we cannot help laughing if +one of us makes a joke, however unsuccessfully. When we have +finished with business my colleague gets up impulsively and, +waving his hat in the direction of my work, begins to say +good-bye. Again we paw one another and laugh. I see him into the +hall; when I assist my colleague to put on his coat, while he +does all he can to decline this high honour. Then when Yegor +opens the door my colleague declares that I shall catch cold, +while I make a show of being ready to go even into the street +with him. And when at last I go back into my study my face still +goes on smiling, I suppose from inertia. + +A little later another ring at the bell. Somebody comes into the +hall, and is a long time coughing and taking off his things. +Yegor announces a student. I tell him to ask him in. A minute +later a young man of agreeable appearance comes in. For the last +year he and I have been on strained relations; he answers me +disgracefully at the examinations, and I mark him one. Every year +I have some seven such hopefuls whom, to express it in the +students' slang, I "chivy" or "floor." Those of them who fail in +their examination through incapacity or illness usually bear +their cross patiently and do not haggle with me; those who come +to the house and haggle with me are always youths of sanguine +temperament, broad natures, whose failure at examinations spoils +their appetites and hinders them from visiting the opera with +their usual regularity. I let the first class off easily, but the +second I chivy through a whole year. + +"Sit down," I say to my visitor; "what have you to tell me?" + +"Excuse me, professor, for troubling you," he begins, hesitating, +and not looking me in the face. "I would not have ventured to +trouble you if it had not been . . . I have been up for your +examination five times, and have been ploughed. . . . I beg you, +be so good as to mark me for a pass, because . . ." + +The argument which all the sluggards bring forward on their own +behalf is always the same; they have passed well in all their +subjects and have only come to grief in mine, and that is the +more surprising because they have always been particularly +interested in my subject and knew it so well; their failure has +always been entirely owing to some incomprehensible +misunderstanding. + +"Excuse me, my friend," I say to the visitor; "I cannot mark you +for a pass. Go and read up the lectures and come to me again. +Then we shall see." + +A pause. I feel an impulse to torment the student a little for +liking beer and the opera better than science, and I say, with a +sigh: + +"To my mind, the best thing you can do now is to give up medicine +altogether. If, with your abilities, you cannot succeed in +passing the examination, it's evident that you have neither the +desire nor the vocation for a doctor's calling." + +The sanguine youth's face lengthens. + +"Excuse me, professor," he laughs, "but that would be odd of me, +to say the least of it. After studying for five years, all at +once to give it up." + +"Oh, well! Better to have lost your five years than have to spend +the rest of your life in doing work you do not care for." + +But at once I feel sorry for him, and I hasten to add: + +"However, as you think best. And so read a little more and come +again." + +"When?" the idle youth asks in a hollow voice. + +"When you like. Tomorrow if you like." + +And in his good-natured eyes I read: + +"I can come all right, but of course you will plough me again, +you beast!" + +"Of course," I say, "you won't know more science for going in for +my examination another fifteen times, but it is training your +character, and you must be thankful for that." + +Silence follows. I get up and wait for my visitor to go, but he +stands and looks towards the window, fingers his beard, and +thinks. It grows boring. + +The sanguine youth's voice is pleasant and mellow, his eyes are +clever and ironical, his face is genial, though a little bloated +from frequent indulgence in beer and overlong lying on the sofa; +he looks as though he could tell me a lot of interesting things +about the opera, about his affairs of the heart, and about +comrades whom he likes. Unluckily, it is not the thing to discuss +these subjects, or else I should have been glad to listen to him. + +"Professor, I give you my word of honour that if you mark me for +a pass I . . . I'll . . ." + +As soon as we reach the "word of honour" I wave my hands and sit +down to the table. The student ponders a minute longer, and says +dejectedly: + +"In that case, good-bye. . . I beg your pardon." + +"Good-bye, my friend. Good luck to you." + +He goes irresolutely into the hall, slowly puts on his outdoor +things, and, going out into the street, probably ponders for some +time longer; unable to think of anything, except "old devil," +inwardly addressed to me, he goes into a wretched restaurant to +dine and drink beer, and then home to bed. "Peace be to thy +ashes, honest toiler." + +A third ring at the bell. A young doctor, in a pair of new black +trousers, gold spectacles, and of course a white tie, walks in. +He introduces himself. I beg him to be seated, and ask what I can +do for him. Not without emotion, the young devotee of science +begins telling me that he has passed his examination as a doctor +of medicine, and that he has now only to write his dissertation. +He would like to work with me under my guidance, and he would be +greatly obliged to me if I would give him a subject for his +dissertation. + +"Very glad to be of use to you, colleague," I say, "but just let +us come to an understanding as to the meaning of a dissertation. +That word is taken to mean a composition which is a product of +independent creative effort. Is that not so? A work written on +another man's subject and under another man's guidance is called +something different. . . ." + +The doctor says nothing. I fly into a rage and jump up from my +seat. + +"Why is it you all come to me?" I cry angrily. "Do I keep a shop? +I don't deal in subjects. For the tho usand and oneth time I ask +you all to leave me in peace! Excuse my brutality, but I am quite +sick of it!" + +The doctor remains silent, but a faint flush is apparent on his +cheek-bones. His face expresses a profound reverence for my fame +and my learning, but from his eyes I can see he feels a contempt +for my voice, my pitiful figure, and my nervous gesticulation. I +impress him in my anger as a queer fish. + +"I don't keep a shop," I go on angrily. "And it is a strange +thing! Why don't you want to be independent? Why have you such a +distaste for independence?" + +I say a great deal, but he still remains silent. By degrees I +calm down, and of course give in. The doctor gets a subject from +me for his theme not worth a halfpenny, writes under my +supervision a dissertation of no use to any one, with dignity +defends it in a dreary discussion, and receives a degree of no +use to him. + +The rings at the bell may follow one another endlessly, but I +will confine my description here to four of them. The bell rings +for the fourth time, and I hear familiar footsteps, the rustle of +a dress, a dear voice. . . . + +Eighteen years ago a colleague of mine, an oculist, died leaving +a little daughter Katya, a child of seven, and sixty thousand +roubles. In his will he made me the child's guardian. Till she +was ten years old Katya lived with us as one of the family, then +she was sent to a boarding-school, and only spent the summer +holidays with us. I never had time to look after her education. I +only superintended it at leisure moments, and so I can say very +little about her childhood. + +The first thing I remember, and like so much in remembrance, is +the extraordinary trustfulness with which she came into our house +and let herself be treated by the doctors, a trustfulness which +was always shining in her little face. She would sit somewhere +out of the way, with her face tied up, invariably watching +something with attention; whether she watched me writing or +turning over the pages of a book, or watched my wife bustling +about, or the cook scrubbing a potato in the kitchen, or the dog +playing, her eyes invariably expressed the same thought -- that +is, "Everything that is done in this world is nice and sensible." +She was curious, and very fond of talking to me. Sometimes she +would sit at the table opposite me, watching my movements and +asking questions. It interested her to know what I was reading, +what I did at the University, whether I was not afraid of the +dead bodies, what I did with my salary. + +"Do the students fight at the University?" she would ask. + +"They do, dear." + +"And do you make them go down on their knees?" + +"Yes, I do." + +And she thought it funny that the students fought and I made them +go down on their knees, and she laughed. She was a gentle, +patient, good child. It happened not infrequently that I saw +something taken away from her, saw her punished without reason, +or her curiosity repressed; at such times a look of sadness was +mixed with the invariable expression of trustfulness on her face +-- that was all. I did not know how to take her part; only when I +saw her sad I had an inclination to draw her to me and to +commiserate her like some old nurse: "My poor little orphan one!" + +I remember, too, that she was fond of fine clothes and of +sprinkling herself with scent. In that respect she was like me. +I, too, am fond of pretty clothes and nice scent. + +I regret that I had not time nor inclination to watch over the +rise and development of the passion which took complete +possession of Katya when she was fourteen or fifteen. I mean her +passionate love for the theatre. When she used to come from +boarding-school and stay with us for the summer holidays, she +talked of nothing with such pleasure and such warmth as of plays +and actors. She bored us with her continual talk of the theatre. +My wife and children would not listen to her. I was the only one +who had not the courage to refuse to attend to her. When she had +a longing to share her transports, she used to come into my study +and say in an imploring tone: + +"Nikolay Stepanovitch, do let me talk to you about the theatre!" + +I pointed to the clock, and said: + +"I'll give you half an hour -- begin." + +Later on she used to bring with her dozens of portraits of actors +and actresses which she worshipped; then she attempted several +times to take part in private theatricals, and the upshot of it +all was that when she left school she came to me and announced +that she was born to be an actress. + +I had never shared Katya's inclinations for the theatre. To my +mind, if a play is good there is no need to trouble the actors in +order that it may make the right impression; it is enough to read +it. If the play is poor, no acting will make it good. + +In my youth I often visited the theatre, and now my family takes +a box twice a year and carries me off for a little distraction. +Of course, that is not enough to give me the right to judge of +the theatre. In my opinion the theatre has become no better than +it was thirty or forty years ago. Just as in the past, I can +never find a glass of clean water in the corridors or foyers of +the theatre. Just as in the past, the attendants fine me twenty +kopecks for my fur coat, though there is nothing reprehensible in +wearing a warm coat in winter. As in the past, for no sort of +reason, music is played in the intervals, which adds something +new and uncalled-for to the impression made by the play. As in +the past, men go in the intervals and drink spirits in the +buffet. If no progress can be seen in trifles, I should look for +it in vain in what is more important. When an actor wrapped from +head to foot in stage traditions and conventions tries to recite +a simple ordinary speech, "To be or not to be," not simply, but +invariably with the accompaniment of hissing and convulsive +movements all over his body, or when he tries to convince me at +all costs that Tchatsky, who talks so much with fools and is so +fond of folly, is a very clever man, and that "Woe from Wit" is +not a dull play, the stage gives me the same feeling of +conventionality which bored me so much forty years ago when I was +regaled with the classical howling and beating on the breast. And +every time I come out of the theatre more conservative than I go +in. + +The sentimental and confiding public may be persuaded that the +stage, even in its present form, is a school; but any one who is +familiar with a school in its true sense will not be caught with +that bait. I cannot say what will happen in fifty or a hundred +years, but in its actual condition the theatre can serve only as +an entertainment. But this entertainment is too costly to be +frequently enjoyed. It robs the state of thousands of healthy and +talented young men and women, who, if they had not devoted +themselves to the theatre, might have been good doctors, farmers, +schoolmistresses, officers; it robs the public of the evening +hours -- the best time for intellectual work and social +intercourse. I say nothing of the waste of money and the moral +damage to the spectator when he sees murder, fornication, or +false witness unsuitably treated on the stage. + +Katya was of an entirely different opinion. She assured me that +the theatre, even in its present condition, was superior to the +lecture-hall, to books, or to anything in the world. The stage +was a power that united in itself all the arts, and actors were +missionaries. No art nor science was capable of producing so +strong and so certain an effect on the soul of man as the stage, +and it was with good reason that an actor of medium quality +enjoys greater popularity than the greatest savant or artist. And +no sort of public service could provide such enjoyment and +gratification as the theatre. + +And one fine day Katya joined a troupe of actors, and went off, I +believe to Ufa, taking away with her a good supply of money, a +store of rainbow hopes, and the most aristocratic views of her +work. + +Her first letters on the journey were marvellous. I read them, +and was simply amazed that those small sheets of paper could +contain so much youth, purity of spirit, holy innocence, and at +the same time subtle and apt judgments which would have done +credit to a fine mas culine intellect. It was more like a +rapturous paean of praise she sent me than a mere description of +the Volga, the country, the towns she visited, her companions, +her failures and successes; every sentence was fragrant with that +confiding trustfulness I was accustomed to read in her face -- +and at the same time there were a great many grammatical +mistakes, and there was scarcely any punctuation at all. + +Before six months had passed I received a highly poetical and +enthusiastic letter beginning with the words, "I have come to +love . . ." This letter was accompanied by a photograph +representing a young man with a shaven face, a wide-brimmed hat, +and a plaid flung over his shoulder. The letters that followed +were as splendid as before, but now commas and stops made their +appearance in them, the grammatical mistakes disappeared, and +there was a distinctly masculine flavour about them. Katya began +writing to me how splendid it would be to build a great theatre +somewhere on the Volga, on a cooperative system, and to attract +to the enterprise the rich merchants and the steamer owners; +there would be a great deal of money in it; there would be vast +audiences; the actors would play on co-operative terms. . . . +Possibly all this was really excellent, but it seemed to me that +such schemes could only originate from a man's mind. + +However that may have been, for a year and a half everything +seemed to go well: Katya was in love, believed in her work, and +was happy; but then I began to notice in her letters unmistakable +signs of falling off. It began with Katya's complaining of her +companions -- this was the first and most ominous symptom; if a +young scientific or literary man begins his career with bitter +complaints of scientific and literary men, it is a sure sign that +he is worn out and not fit for his work. Katya wrote to me that +her companions did not attend the rehearsals and never knew their +parts; that one could see in every one of them an utter +disrespect for the public in the production of absurd plays, and +in their behaviour on the stage; that for the benefit of the +Actors' Fund, which they only talked about, actresses of the +serious drama demeaned themselves by singing chansonettes, while +tragic actors sang comic songs making fun of deceived husbands +and the pregnant condition of unfaithful wives, and so on. In +fact, it was amazing that all this had not yet ruined the +provincial stage, and that it could still maintain itself on such +a rotten and unsubstantial footing. + +In answer I wrote Katya a long and, I must confess, a very boring +letter. Among other things, I wrote to her: + +"I have more than once happened to converse with old actors, very +worthy men, who showed a friendly disposition towards me; from my +conversations with them I could understand that their work was +controlled not so much by their own intelligence and free choice +as by fashion and the mood of the public. The best of them had +had to play in their day in tragedy, in operetta, in Parisian +farces, and in extravaganzas, and they always seemed equally sure +that they were on the right path and that they were of use. So, +as you see, the cause of the evil must be sought, not in the +actors, but, more deeply, in the art itself and in the attitude +of the whole of society to it." + +This letter of mine only irritated Katya. She answered me: + +"You and I are singing parts out of different operas. I wrote to +you, not of the worthy men who showed a friendly disposition to +you, but of a band of knaves who have nothing worthy about them. +They are a horde of savages who have got on the stage simply +because no one would have taken them elsewhere, and who call +themselves artists simply because they are impudent. There are +numbers of dull-witted creatures, drunkards, intriguing schemers +and slanderers, but there is not one person of talent among them. +I cannot tell you how bitter it is to me that the art I love has +fallen into the hands of people I detest; how bitter it is that +the best men look on at evil from afar, not caring to come +closer, and, instead of intervening, write ponderous commonplaces +and utterly useless sermons. . . ." And so on, all in the same +style. + +A little time passed, and I got this letter: "I have been +brutally deceived. I cannot go on living. Dispose of my money as +you think best. I loved you as my father and my only friend. +Good-bye." + +It turned out that _he_, too, belonged to the "horde of savages." +Later on, from certain hints, I gathered that there had been an +attempt at suicide. I believe Katya tried to poison herself. I +imagine that she must have been seriously ill afterwards, as the +next letter I got was from Yalta, where she had most probably +been sent by the doctors. Her last letter contained a request to +send her a thousand roubles to Yalta as quickly as possible, and +ended with these words: + +"Excuse the gloominess of this letter; yesterday I buried my +child." After spending about a year in the Crimea, she returned +home. + +She had been about four years on her travels, and during those +four years, I must confess, I had played a rather strange and +unenviable part in regard to her. When in earlier days she had +told me she was going on the stage, and then wrote to me of her +love; when she was periodically overcome by extravagance, and I +continually had to send her first one and then two thousand +roubles; when she wrote to me of her intention of suicide, and +then of the death of her baby, every time I lost my head, and all +my sympathy for her sufferings found no expression except that, +after prolonged reflection, I wrote long, boring letters which I +might just as well not have written. And yet I took a father's +place with her and loved her like a daughter! + +Now Katya is living less than half a mile off. She has taken a +flat of five rooms, and has installed herself fairly comfortably +and in the taste of the day. If any one were to undertake to +describe her surroundings, the most characteristic note in the +picture would be indolence. For the indolent body there are soft +lounges, soft stools; for indolent feet soft rugs; for indolent +eyes faded, dingy, or flat colours; for the indolent soul the +walls are hung with a number of cheap fans and trivial pictures, +in which the originality of the execution is more conspicuous +than the subject; and the room contains a multitude of little +tables and shelves filled with utterly useless articles of no +value, and shapeless rags in place of curtains. . . . All this, +together with the dread of bright colours, of symmetry, and of +empty space, bears witness not only to spiritual indolence, but +also to a corruption of natural taste. For days together Katya +lies on the lounge reading, principally novels and stories. She +only goes out of the house once a day, in the afternoon, to see +me. + +I go on working while Katya sits silent not far from me on the +sofa, wrapping herself in her shawl, as though she were cold. +Either because I find her sympathetic or because I was used to +her frequent visits when she was a little girl, her presence does +not prevent me from concentrating my attention. From time to time +I mechanically ask her some question; she gives very brief +replies; or, to rest for a minute, I turn round and watch her as +she looks dreamily at some medical journal or review. And at such +moments I notice that her face has lost the old look of confiding +trustfulness. Her expression now is cold, apathetic, and +absent-minded, like that of passengers who had to wait too long +for a train. She is dressed, as in old days, simply and +beautifully, but carelessly; her dress and her hair show visible +traces of the sofas and rocking-chairs in which she spends whole +days at a stretch. And she has lost the curiosity she had in old +days. She has ceased to ask me questions now, as though she had +experienced everything in life and looked for nothing new from +it. + +Towards four o'clock there begins to be sounds of movement in the +hall and in the drawing-room. Liza has come back from the +Conservatoire, and has brought some girl-friends in with her. We +hear them playing on the piano, trying their voices and laughing; +in the dining-room Yegor is laying th e table, with the clatter +of crockery. + +"Good-bye," said Katya. "I won't go in and see your people today. +They must excuse me. I haven't time. Come and see me." + +While I am seeing her to the door, she looks me up and down +grimly, and says with vexation: + +"You are getting thinner and thinner! Why don't you consult a +doctor? I'll call at Sergey Fyodorovitch's and ask him to have a +look at you." + +"There's no need, Katya." + +"I can't think where your people's eyes are! They are a nice lot, +I must say!" + +She puts on her fur coat abruptly, and as she does so two or +three hairpins drop unnoticed on the floor from her carelessly +arranged hair. She is too lazy and in too great a hurry to do her +hair up; she carelessly stuffs the falling curls under her hat, +and goes away. + +When I go into the dining-room my wife asks me: + +"Was Katya with you just now? Why didn't she come in to see us? +It's really strange . . . ." + +"Mamma," Liza says to her reproachfully, "let her alone, if she +doesn't want to. We are not going down on our knees to her." + +"It's very neglectful, anyway. To sit for three hours in the +study without remembering our existence! But of course she must +do as she likes." + +Varya and Liza both hate Katya. This hatred is beyond my +comprehension, and probably one would have to be a woman in order +to understand it. I am ready to stake my life that of the hundred +and fifty young men I see every day in the lecture-theatre, and +of the hundred elderly ones I meet every week, hardly one could +be found capable of understanding their hatred and aversion for +Katya's past -- that is, for her having been a mother without +being a wife, and for her having had an illegitimate child; and +at the same time I cannot recall one woman or girl of my +acquaintance who would not consciously or unconsciously harbour +such feelings. And this is not because woman is purer or more +virtuous than man: why, virtue and purity are not very different +from vice if they are not free from evil feeling. I attribute +this simply to the backwardness of woman. The mournful feeling of +compassion and the pang of conscience experienced by a modern man +at the sight of suffering is, to my mind, far greater proof of +culture and moral elevation than hatred and aversion. Woman is as +tearful and as coarse in her feelings now as she was in the +Middle Ages, and to my thinking those who advise that she should +be educated like a man are quite right. + +My wife also dislikes Katya for having been an actress, for +ingratitude, for pride, for eccentricity, and for the numerous +vices which one woman can always find in another. + +Besides my wife and daughter and me, there are dining with us two +or three of my daughter's friends and Alexandr Adolfovitch +Gnekker, her admirer and suitor. He is a fair-haired young man +under thirty, of medium height, very stout and broad-shouldered, +with red whiskers near his ears, and little waxed moustaches +which make his plump smooth face look like a toy. He is dressed +in a very short reefer jacket, a flowered waistcoat, breeches +very full at the top and very narrow at the ankle, with a large +check pattern on them, and yellow boots without heels. He has +prominent eyes like a crab's, his cravat is like a crab's neck, +and I even fancy there is a smell of crab-soup about the young +man's whole person. He visits us every day, but no one in my +family knows anything of his origin nor of the place of his +education, nor of his means of livelihood. He neither plays nor +sings, but has some connection with music and singing, sells +somebody's pianos somewhere, is frequently at the Conservatoire, +is acquainted with all the celebrities, and is a steward at the +concerts; he criticizes music with great authority, and I have +noticed that people are eager to agree with him. + +Rich people always have dependents hanging about them; the arts +and sciences have the same. I believe there is not an art nor a +science in the world free from "foreign bodies" after the style +of this Mr. Gnekker. I am not a musician, and possibly I am +mistaken in regard to Mr. Gnekker, of whom, indeed, I know very +little. But his air of authority and the dignity with which he +takes his stand beside the piano when any one is playing or +singing strike me as very suspicious. + +You may be ever so much of a gentleman and a privy councillor, +but if you have a daughter you cannot be secure of immunity from +that petty bourgeois atmosphere which is so often brought into +your house and into your mood by the attentions of suitors, by +matchmaking and marriage. I can never reconcile myself, for +instance, to the expression of triumph on my wife's face every +time Gnekker is in our company, nor can I reconcile myself to the +bottles of Lafitte, port and sherry which are only brought out on +his account, that he may see with his own eyes the liberal and +luxurious way in which we live. I cannot tolerate the habit of +spasmodic laughter Liza has picked up at the Conservatoire, and +her way of screwing up her eyes whenever there are men in the +room. Above all, I cannot understand why a creature utterly alien +to my habits, my studies, my whole manner of life, completely +different from the people I like, should come and see me every +day, and every day should dine with me. My wife and my servants +mysteriously whisper that he is a suitor, but still I don't +understand his presence; it rouses in me the same wonder and +perplexity as if they were to set a Zulu beside me at the table. +And it seems strange to me, too, that my daughter, whom I am used +to thinking of as a child, should love that cravat, those eyes, +those soft cheeks. . . . + +In the old days I used to like my dinner, or at least was +indifferent about it; now it excites in me no feeling but +weariness and irritation. Ever since I became an "Excellency" and +one of the Deans of the Faculty my family has for some reason +found it necessary to make a complete change in our menu and +dining habits. Instead of the simple dishes to which I was +accustomed when I was a student and when I was in practice, now +they feed me with a puree with little white things like circles +floating about in it, and kidneys stewed in madeira. My rank as a +general and my fame have robbed me for ever of cabbage-soup and +savoury pies, and goose with apple-sauce, and bream with boiled +grain. They have robbed me of our maid-servant Agasha, a chatty +and laughter-loving old woman, instead of whom Yegor, a +dull-witted and conceited fellow with a white glove on his right +hand, waits at dinner. The intervals between the courses are +short, but they seem immensely long because there is nothing to +occupy them. There is none of the gaiety of the old days, the +spontaneous talk, the jokes, the laughter; there is nothing of +mutual affection and the joy which used to animate the children, +my wife, and me when in old days we met together at meals. For +me, the celebrated man of science, dinner was a time of rest and +reunion, and for my wife and children a fete -- brief indeed, but +bright and joyous -- in which they knew that for half an hour I +belonged, not to science, not to students, but to them alone. Our +real exhilaration from one glass of wine is gone for ever, gone +is Agasha, gone the bream with boiled grain, gone the uproar that +greeted every little startling incident at dinner, such as the +cat and dog fighting under the table, or Katya's bandage falling +off her face into her soup-plate. + +To describe our dinner nowadays is as uninteresting as to eat it. +My wife's face wears a look of triumph and affected dignity, and +her habitual expression of anxiety. She looks at our plates and +says, "I see you don't care for the joint. Tell me; you don't +like it, do you?" and I am obliged to answer: "There is no need +for you to trouble, my dear; the meat is very nice." And she will +say: "You always stand up for me, Nikolay Stepanovitch, and you +never tell the truth. Why is Alexandr Adolfovitch eating so +little?" And so on in the same style all through dinner. Liza +laughs spasmodically and screws up her eyes. I watch them both, +and it is only now at dinner that it becomes absolutely evident +to me that the inner life of these two has slipped away out of my +ken. I have a feeling as though I had once lived at home with a +real wife and children and that now I am dining with visitors, in +the house of a sham wife who is not the real one, and am looking +at a Liza who is not the real Liza. A startling change has taken +place in both of them; I have missed the long process by which +that change was effected, and it is no wonder that I can make +nothing of it. Why did that change take place? I don't know. +Perhaps the whole trouble is that God has not given my wife and +daughter the same strength of character as me. From childhood I +have been accustomed to resisting external influences, and have +steeled myself pretty thoroughly. Such catastrophes in life as +fame, the rank of a general, the transition from comfort to +living beyond our means, acquaintance with celebrities, etc., +have scarcely affected me, and I have remained intact and +unashamed; but on my wife and Liza, who have not been through the +same hardening process and are weak, all this has fallen like an +avalanche of snow, overwhelming them. Gnekker and the young +ladies talk of fugues, of counterpoint, of singers and pianists, +of Bach and Brahms, while my wife, afraid of their suspecting her +of ignorance of music, smiles to them sympathetically and +mutters: "That's exquisite . . . really! You don't say so! . . . +Gnekker eats with solid dignity, jests with solid dignity, and +condescendingly listens to the remarks of the young ladies. From +time to time he is moved to speak in bad French, and then, for +some reason or other, he thinks it necessary to address me as +_"Votre Excellence."_ + +And I am glum. Evidently I am a constraint to them and they are a +constraint to me. I have never in my earlier days had a close +knowledge of class antagonism, but now I am tormented by +something of that sort. I am on the lookout for nothing but bad +qualities in Gnekker; I quickly find them, and am fretted at the +thought that a man not of my circle is sitting here as my +daughter's suitor. His presence has a bad influence on me in +other ways, too. As a rule, when I am alone or in the society of +people I like, never think of my own achievements, or, if I do +recall them, they seem to me as trivial as though I had only +completed my studies yesterday; but in the presence of people +like Gnekker my achievements in science seem to be a lofty +mountain the top of which vanishes into the clouds, while at its +foot Gnekkers are running about scarcely visible to the naked +eye. + +After dinner I go into my study and there smoke my pipe, the only +one in the whole day, the sole relic of my old bad habit of +smoking from morning till night. While I am smoking my wife comes +in and sits down to talk to me. Just as in the morning, I know +beforehand what our conversation is going to be about. + +"I must talk to you seriously, Nikolay Stepanovitch," she begins. +"I mean about Liza. . . . Why don't you pay attention to it?" + +"To what?" + +"You pretend to notice nothing. But that is not right. We can't +shirk responsibility. . . . Gnekker has intentions in regard to +Liza. . . . What do you say?" + +"That he is a bad man I can't say, because I don't know him, but +that I don't like him I have told you a thousand times already." + +"But you can't . . . you can't!" + +She gets up and walks about in excitement. + +"You can't take up that attitude to a serious step," she says. +"When it is a question of our daughter's happiness we must lay +aside all personal feeling. I know you do not like him. . . . +Very good . . . if we refuse him now, if we break it all off, how +can you be sure that Liza will not have a grievance against us +all her life? Suitors are not plentiful nowadays, goodness knows, +and it may happen that no other match will turn up. . . . He is +very much in love with Liza, and she seems to like him. . . . Of +course, he has no settled position, but that can't be helped. +Please God, in time he will get one. He is of good family and +well off." + +"Where did you learn that?" + +"He told us so. His father has a large house in Harkov and an +estate in the neighbourhood. In short, Nikolay Stepanovitch, you +absolutely must go to Harkov." + +"What for?" + +"You will find out all about him there. . . . You know the +professors there; they will help you. I would go myself, but I am +a woman. I cannot. . . ." + +"I am not going to Harkov," I say morosely. + +My wife is frightened, and a look of intense suffering comes into +her face. + +"For God's sake, Nikolay Stepanovitch," she implores me, with +tears in her voice --"for God's sake, take this burden off me! I +am so worried!" + +It is painful for me to look at her. + +"Very well, Varya," I say affectionately, "if you wish it, then +certainly I will go to Harkov and do all you want." + +She presses her handkerchief to her eyes and goes off to her room +to cry, and I am left alone. + +A little later lights are brought in. The armchair and the +lamp-shade cast familiar shadows that have long grown wearisome +on the walls and on the floor, and when I look at them I feel as +though the night had come and with it my accursed sleeplessness. +I lie on my bed, then get up and walk about the room, then lie +down again. As a rule it is after dinner, at the approach of +evening, that my nervous excitement reaches its highest pitch. +For no reason I begin crying and burying my head in the pillow. +At such times I am afraid that some one may come in; I am afraid +of suddenly dying; I am ashamed of my tears, and altogether there +is something insufferable in my soul. I feel that I can no longer +bear the sight of my lamp, of my books, of the shadows on the +floor. I cannot bear the sound of the voices coming from the +drawing-room. Some force unseen, uncomprehended, is roughly +thrusting me out of my flat. I leap up hurriedly, dress, and +cautiously, that my family may not notice, slip out into the +street. Where am I to go? + +The answer to that question has long been ready in my brain. To +Katya. + +III + +As a rule she is lying on the sofa or in a lounge-chair reading. +Seeing me, she raises her head languidly, sits up, and shakes +hands. + +"You are always lying down," I say, after pausing and taking +breath. "That's not good for you. You ought to occupy yourself +with something." + +"What?" + +"I say you ought to occupy yourself in some way." + +"With what? A woman can be nothing but a simple workwoman or an +actress." + +"Well, if you can't be a workwoman, be an actress." + +She says nothing. + +"You ought to get married," I say, half in jest. + +"There is no one to marry. There's no reason to, either." + +"You can't live like this." + +"Without a husband? Much that matters; I could have as many men +as I like if I wanted to." + +"That's ugly, Katya." + +"What is ugly?" + +"Why, what you have just said." + +Noticing that I am hurt and wishing to efface the disagreeable +impression, Katya says: + +"Let us go; come this way." + +She takes me into a very snug little room, and says, pointing to +the writing-table: + +"Look . . . I have got that ready for you. You shall work here. +Come here every day and bring your work with you. They only +hinder you there at home. Will you work here? Will you like to?" + +Not to wound her by refusing, I answer that I will work here, and +that I like the room very much. Then we both sit down in the snug +little room and begin talking. + +The warm, snug surroundings and the presence of a sympathetic +person does not, as in old days, arouse in me a feeling of +pleasure, but an intense impulse to complain and grumble. I feel +for some reason that if I lament and complain I shall feel +better. + +"Things are in a bad way with me, my dear -- very bad. . . ." + +"What is it?" + +"You see how it is, my dear; the best and holiest right of kings +is the right of mercy. And I have always felt myself a king, +since I have made unlimited use of that right. I have never +judged, I have been indulgent, I have readily forgiven every one, +right and left. Where others have protested and expressed +indignation, I have only advised and persuaded. All my life it +has been my endeavour that my society should not be a burden to +my family, to my students, to my colleagues, to my servants. And +I know that this attitude to people has had a good influence on +all who have chanced to c ome into contact with me. But now I am +not a king. Something is happening to me that is only excusable +in a slave; day and night my brain is haunted by evil thoughts, +and feelings such as I never knew before are brooding in my soul. +I am full of hatred, and contempt, and indignation, and loathing, +and dread. I have become excessively severe, exacting, irritable, +ungracious, suspicious. Even things that in old days would have +provoked me only to an unnecessary jest and a good-natured laugh +now arouse an oppressive feeling in me. My reasoning, too, has +undergone a change: in old days I despised money; now I harbour +an evil feeling, not towards money, but towards the rich as +though they were to blame: in old days I hated violence and +tyranny, but now I hate the men who make use of violence, as +though they were alone to blame, and not all of us who do not +know how to educate each other. What is the meaning of it? If +these new ideas and new feelings have come from a change of +convictions, what is that change due to? Can the world have grown +worse and I better, or was I blind before and indifferent? If +this change is the result of a general decline of physical and +intellectual powers -- I am ill, you know, and every day I am +losing weight -- my position is pitiable; it means that my new +ideas are morbid and abnormal; I ought to be ashamed of them and +think them of no consequence. . . ." + +"Illness has nothing to do with it," Katya interrupts me; "it's +simply that your eyes are opened, that's all. You have seen what +in old days, for some reason, you refused to see. To my thinking, +what you ought to do first of all, is to break with your family +for good, and go away." + +"You are talking nonsense." + +"You don't love them; why should you force your feelings? Can you +call them a family? Nonentities! If they died today, no one would +notice their absence tomorrow." + +Katya despises my wife and Liza as much as they hate her. One can +hardly talk at this date of people's having a right to despise +one another. But if one looks at it from Katya's standpoint and +recognizes such a right, one can see she has as much right to +despise my wife and Liza as they have to hate her. + +"Nonentities," she goes on. "Have you had dinner today? How was +it they did not forget to tell you it was ready? How is it they +still remember your existence?" + +"Katya," I say sternly, "I beg you to be silent." + +"You think I enjoy talking about them? I should be glad not to +know them at all. Listen, my dear: give it all up and go away. Go +abroad. The sooner the better." + +"What nonsense! What about the University?" + +"The University, too. What is it to you? There's no sense in it, +anyway. You have been lecturing for thirty years, and where are +your pupils? Are many of them celebrated scientific men? Count +them up! And to multiply the doctors who exploit ignorance and +pile up hundreds of thousands for themselves, there is no need to +be a good and talented man. You are not wanted." + +"Good heavens! how harsh you are!" I cry in horror. "How harsh +you are! Be quiet or I will go away! I don't know how to answer +the harsh things you say!" + +The maid comes in and summons us to tea. At the samovar our +conversation, thank God, changes. After having had my grumble +out, I have a longing to give way to another weakness of old age, +reminiscences. I tell Katya about my past, and to my great +astonishment tell her incidents which, till then, I did not +suspect of being still preserved in my memory, and she listens to +me with tenderness, with pride, holding her breath. I am +particularly fond of telling her how I was educated in a seminary +and dreamed of going to the University. + +"At times I used to walk about our seminary garden . . ." I would +tell her. "If from some faraway tavern the wind floated sounds of +a song and the squeaking of an accordion, or a sledge with bells +dashed by the garden-fence, it was quite enough to send a rush of +happiness, filling not only my heart, but even my stomach, my +legs, my arms. . . . I would listen to the accordion or the bells +dying away in the distance and imagine myself a doctor, and paint +pictures, one better than another. And here, as you see, my +dreams have come true. I have had more than I dared to dream of. +For thirty years I have been the favourite professor, I have had +splendid comrades, I have enjoyed fame and honour. I have loved, +married from passionate love, have had children. In fact, looking +back upon it, I see my whole life as a fine composition arranged +with talent. Now all that is left to me is not to spoil the end. +For that I must die like a man. If death is really a thing to +dread, I must meet it as a teacher, a man of science, and a +citizen of a Christian country ought to meet it, with courage and +untroubled soul. But I am spoiling the end; I am sinking, I fly +to you, I beg for help, and you tell me 'Sink; that is what you +ought to do.' " + +But here there comes a ring at the front-door. Katya and I +recognize it, and say: + +"It must be Mihail Fyodorovitch." + +And a minute later my colleague, the philologist Mihail +Fyodorovitch, a tall, well-built man of fifty, clean-shaven, with +thick grey hair and black eyebrows, walks in. He is a +good-natured man and an excellent comrade. He comes of a +fortunate and talented old noble family which has played a +prominent part in the history of literature and enlightenment. He +is himself intelligent, talented, and very highly educated, but +has his oddities. To a certain extent we are all odd and all +queer fish, but in his oddities there is something exceptional, +apt to cause anxiety among his acquaintances. I know a good many +people for whom his oddities completely obscure his good +qualities. + +Coming in to us, he slowly takes off his gloves and says in his +velvety bass: + +"Good-evening. Are you having tea? That's just right. It's +diabolically cold." + +Then he sits down to the table, takes a glass, and at once begins +talking. What is most characteristic in his manner of talking is +the continually jesting tone, a sort of mixture of philosophy and +drollery as in Shakespeare's gravediggers. He is always talking +about serious things, but he never speaks seriously. His +judgments are always harsh and railing, but, thanks to his soft, +even, jesting tone, the harshness and abuse do not jar upon the +ear, and one soon grows used to them. Every evening he brings +with him five or six anecdotes from the University, and he +usually begins with them when he sits down to table. + +"Oh, Lord!" he sighs, twitching his black eyebrows ironically. +"What comic people there are in the world!" + +"Well?" asks Katya. + +"As I was coming from my lecture this morning I met that old +idiot N. N---- on the stairs. . . . He was going along as usual, +sticking out his chin like a horse, looking for some one to +listen to his grumblings at his migraine, at his wife, and his +students who won't attend his lectures. 'Oh,' I thought, 'he has +seen me -- I am done for now; it is all up. . . .' " + +And so on in the same style. Or he will begin like this: + +"I was yesterday at our friend Z. Z----'s public lecture. I +wonder how it is our alma mater -- don't speak of it after dark +-- dare display in public such noodles and patent dullards as +that Z. Z---- Why, he is a European fool! Upon my word, you could +not find another like him all over Europe! He lectures -- can you +imagine? -- as though he were sucking a sugar-stick -- sue, sue, +sue; . . . he is in a nervous funk; he can hardly decipher his +own manuscript; his poor little thoughts crawl along like a +bishop on a bicycle, and, what's worse, you can never make out +what he is trying to say. The deadly dulness is awful, the very +flies expire. It can only be compared with the boredom in the +assembly-hall at the yearly meeting when the traditional address +is read -- damn it!" + +And at once an abrupt transition: + +"Three years ago -- Nikolay Stepanovitch here will remember it -- +I had to deliver that address. It was hot, stifling, my uniform +cut me under the arms -- it was deadly! I read for half an hour, +for an hour, for an hour and a half, for two hours. . . . 'Come,' +I thought; 'thank God, there are only ten pages left!' And at the +end there were four pages that there was no need to read, and I +reckoned to leave them out. 'So there are only six really,' I +thought; 'that is, only six pages left to read.' But, only fancy, +I chanced to glance before me, and, sitting in the front row, +side by side, were a general with a ribbon on his breast and a +bishop. The poor beggars were numb with boredom; they were +staring with their eyes wide open to keep awake, and yet they +were trying to put on an expression of attention and to pretend +that they understood what I was saying and liked it. 'Well,' I +thought, 'since you like it you shall have it! I'll pay you out;' +so I just gave them those four pages too." + +As is usual with ironical people, when he talks nothing in his +face smiles but his eyes and eyebrows. At such times there is no +trace of hatred or spite in his eyes, but a great deal of humour, +and that peculiar fox-like slyness which is only to be noticed in +very observant people. Since I am speaking about his eyes, I +notice another peculiarity in them. When he takes a glass from +Katya, or listens to her speaking, or looks after her as she goes +out of the room for a moment, I notice in his eyes something +gentle, beseeching, pure. . . . + +The maid-servant takes away the samovar and puts on the table a +large piece of cheese, some fruit, and a bottle of Crimean +champagne -- a rather poor wine of which Katya had grown fond in +the Crimea. Mihail Fyodorovitch takes two packs of cards off the +whatnot and begins to play patience. According to him, some +varieties of patience require great concentration and attention, +yet while he lays out the cards he does not leave off distracting +his attention with talk. Katya watches his cards attentively, and +more by gesture than by words helps him in his play. She drinks +no more than a couple of wine-glasses of wine the whole evening; +I drink four glasses, and the rest of the bottle falls to the +share of Mihail Fyodorovitch, who can drink a great deal and +never get drunk. + +Over our patience we settle various questions, principally of the +higher order, and what we care for most of all -- that is, +science and learning -- is more roughly handled than anything. + +"Science, thank God, has outlived its day," says Mihail +Fyodorovitch emphatically. "Its song is sung. Yes, indeed. +Mankind begins to feel impelled to replace it by something +different. It has grown on the soil of superstition, been +nourished by superstition, and is now just as much the +quintessence of superstition as its defunct granddames, alchemy, +metaphysics, and philosophy. And, after all, what has it given to +mankind? Why, the difference between the learned Europeans and +the Chinese who have no science is trifling, purely external. The +Chinese know nothing of science, but what have they lost +thereby?" + +"Flies know nothing of science, either," I observe, "but what of +that?" + +"There is no need to be angry, Nikolay Stepanovitch. I only say +this here between ourselves. . . I am more careful than you +think, and I am not going to say this in public -- God forbid! +The superstition exists in the multitude that the arts and +sciences are superior to agriculture, commerce, superior to +handicrafts. Our sect is maintained by that superstition, and it +is not for you and me to destroy it. God forbid!" + +After patience the younger generation comes in for a dressing +too. + +"Our audiences have degenerated," sighs Mihail Fyodorovitch. "Not +to speak of ideals and all the rest of it, if only they were +capable of work and rational thought! In fact, it's a case of 'I +look with mournful eyes on the young men of today.' " + +"Yes; they have degenerated horribly," Katya agrees. "Tell me, +have you had one man of distinction among them for the last five +or ten years?" + +"I don't know how it is with the other professors, but I can't +remember any among mine." + +"I have seen in my day many of your students and young scientific +men and many actors -- well, I have never once been so fortunate +as to meet -- I won't say a hero or a man of talent, but even an +interesting man. It's all the same grey mediocrity, puffed up +with self-conceit." + +All this talk of degeneration always affects me as though I had +accidentally overheard offensive talk about my own daughter. It +offends me that these charges are wholesale, and rest on such +worn-out commonplaces, on such wordy vapourings as degeneration +and absence of ideals, or on references to the splendours of the +past. Every accusation, even if it is uttered in ladies' society, +ought to be formulated with all possible definiteness, or it is +not an accusation, but idle disparagement, unworthy of decent +people. + +I am an old man, I have been lecturing for thirty years, but I +notice neither degeneration nor lack of ideals, and I don't find +that the present is worse than the past. My porter Nikolay, whose +experience of this subject has its value, says that the students +of today are neither better nor worse than those of the past. + +If I were asked what I don't like in my pupils of today, I should +answer the question, not straight off and not at length, but with +sufficient definiteness. I know their failings, and so have no +need to resort to vague generalities. I don't like their smoking, +using spirituous beverages, marrying late, and often being so +irresponsible and careless that they will let one of their number +be starving in their midst while they neglect to pay their +subscriptions to the Students' Aid Society. They don't know +modern languages, and they don't express themselves correctly in +Russian; no longer ago than yesterday my colleague, the professor +of hygiene, complained to me that he had to give twice as many +lectures, because the students had a very poor knowledge of +physics and were utterly ignorant of meteorology. They are +readily carried away by the influence of the last new writers, +even when they are not first-rate, but they take absolutely no +interest in classics such as Shakespeare, Marcus Aurelius, +Epictetus, or Pascal, and this inability to distinguish the great +from the small betrays their ignorance of practical life more +than anything. All difficult questions that have more or less a +social character (for instance the migration question) they +settle by studying monographs on the subject, but not by way of +scientific investigation or experiment, though that method is at +their disposal and is more in keeping with their calling. They +gladly become ward-surgeons, assistants, demonstrators, external +teachers, and are ready to fill such posts until they are forty, +though independence, a sense of freedom and personal initiative, +are no less necessary in science than, for instance, in art or +commerce. I have pupils and listeners, but no successors and +helpers, and so I love them and am touched by them, but am not +proud of them. And so on, and so on. . . . + +Such shortcomings, however numerous they may be, can only give +rise to a pessimistic or fault-finding temper in a faint-hearted +and timid man. All these failings have a casual, transitory +character, and are completely dependent on conditions of life; in +some ten years they will have disappeared or given place to other +fresh defects, which are all inevitable and will in their turn +alarm the faint-hearted. The students' sins often vex me, but +that vexation is nothing in comparison with the joy I have been +experiencing now for the last thirty years when I talk to my +pupils, lecture to them, watch their relations, and compare them +with people not of their circle. + +Mihail Fyodorovitch speaks evil of everything. Katya listens, and +neither of them notices into what depths the apparently innocent +diversion of finding fault with their neighbours is gradually +drawing them. They are not conscious how by degrees simple talk +passes into malicious mockery and jeering, and how they are both +beginning to drop into the habits and methods of slander. + +"Killing types one meets with," says Mihail Fyodorovitch. "I went +yesterday to our friend Yegor Petrovitch's, and there I found a +studious gentleman, one of your medicals in his third year, I +believe. Such a face! . . . in the Dobrolubov style, the imprint +of profound thought on his brow; we got i nto talk. 'Such doings, +young man,' said I. 'I've read,' said I, 'that some German -- +I've forgotten his name -- has created from the human brain a new +kind of alkaloid, idiotine.' What do you think? He believed it, +and there was positively an expression of respect on his face, as +though to say, 'See what we fellows can do!' And the other day I +went to the theatre. I took my seat. In the next row directly in +front of me were sitting two men: one of 'us fellows' and +apparently a law student, the other a shaggy-looking figure, a +medical student. The latter was as drunk as a cobbler. He did not +look at the stage at all. He was dozing with his nose on his +shirt-front. But as soon as an actor begins loudly reciting a +monologue, or simply raises his voice, our friend starts, pokes +his neighbour in the ribs, and asks, 'What is he saying? Is it +elevating?' 'Yes,' answers one of our fellows. 'B-r-r-ravo!' +roars the medical student. 'Elevating! Bravo!' He had gone to the +theatre, you see, the drunken blockhead, not for the sake of art, +the play, but for elevation! He wanted noble sentiments." + +Katya listens and laughs. She has a strange laugh; she catches +her breath in rhythmically regular gasps, very much as though she +were playing the accordion, and nothing in her face is laughing +but her nostrils. I grow depressed and don't know what to say. +Beside myself, I fire up, leap up from my seat, and cry: + +"Do leave off! Why are you sitting here like two toads, poisoning +the air with your breath? Give over!" + +And without waiting for them to finish their gossip I prepare to +go home. And, indeed, it is high time: it is past ten. + +"I will stay a little longer," says Mihail Fyodorovitch. "Will +you allow me, Ekaterina Vladimirovna?" + +"I will," answers Katya. + +"_Bene!_ In that case have up another little bottle." + +They both accompany me with candles to the hall, and while I put +on my fur coat, Mihail Fyodorovitch says: + +"You have grown dreadfully thin and older looking, Nikolay +Stepanovitch. What's the matter with you? Are you ill?" + +"Yes; I am not very well." + +"And you are not doing anything for it. . ." Katya puts in +grimly. + +"Why don't you? You can't go on like that! God helps those who +help themselves, my dear fellow. Remember me to your wife and +daughter, and make my apologies for not having been to see them. +In a day or two, before I go abroad, I shall come to say +good-bye. I shall be sure to. I am going away next week." + +I come away from Katya, irritated and alarmed by what has been +said about my being ill, and dissatisfied with myself. I ask +myself whether I really ought not to consult one of my +colleagues. And at once I imagine how my colleague, after +listening to me, would walk away to the window without speaking, +would think a moment, then would turn round to me and, trying to +prevent my reading the truth in his face, would say in a careless +tone: "So far I see nothing serious, but at the same time, +_collega_, I advise you to lay aside your work. . . ." And that +would deprive me of my last hope. + +Who is without hope? Now that I am diagnosing my illness and +prescribing for myself, from time to time I hope that I am +deceived by my own illness, that I am mistaken in regard to the +albumen and the sugar I find, and in regard to my heart, and in +regard to the swellings I have twice noticed in the mornings; +when with the fervour of the hypochondriac I look through the +textbooks of therapeutics and take a different medicine every +day, I keep fancying that I shall hit upon something comforting. +All that is petty. + +Whether the sky is covered with clouds or the moon and the stars +are shining, I turn my eyes towards it every evening and think +that death is taking me soon. One would think that my thoughts at +such times ought to be deep as the sky, brilliant, striking. . . +. But no! I think about myself, about my wife, about Liza, +Gnekker, the students, people in general; my thoughts are evil, +petty, I am insincere with myself, and at such times my theory of +life may be expressed in the words the celebrated Araktcheev said +in one of his intimate letters: "Nothing good can exist in the +world without evil, and there is more evil than good." That is, +everything is disgusting; there is nothing to live for, and the +sixty-two years I have already lived must be reckoned as wasted. +I catch myself in these thoughts, and try to persuade myself that +they are accidental, temporary, and not deeply rooted in me, but +at once I think: + +"If so, what drives me every evening to those two toads?" + +And I vow to myself that I will never go to Katya's again, though +I know I shall go next evening. + +Ringing the bell at the door and going upstairs, I feel that I +have no family now and no desire to bring it back again. It is +clear that the new Araktcheev thoughts are not casual, temporary +visitors, but have possession of my whole being. With my +conscience ill at ease, dejected, languid, hardly able to move my +limbs, feeling as though tons were added to my weight, I get into +bed and quickly drop asleep. + +And then -- insomnia! + +IV + +Summer comes on and life is changed. + +One fine morning Liza comes in to me and says in a jesting tone: + +"Come, your Excellency! We are ready." + +My Excellency is conducted into the street, and seated in a cab. +As I go along, having nothing to do, I read the signboards from +right to left. The word "Traktir" reads " Ritkart"; that would +just suit some baron's family: Baroness Ritkart. Farther on I +drive through fields, by the graveyard, which makes absolutely no +impression on me, though I shall soon lie in it; then I drive by +forests and again by fields. There is nothing of interest. After +two hours of driving, my Excellency is conducted into the lower +storey of a summer villa and installed in a small, very cheerful +little room with light blue hangings. + +At night there is sleeplessness as before, but in the morning I +do not put a good face upon it and listen to my wife, but lie in +bed. I do not sleep, but lie in the drowsy, half-conscious +condition in which you know you are not asleep, but dreaming. At +midday I get up and from habit sit down at my table, but I do not +work now; I amuse myself with French books in yellow covers, sent +me by Katya. Of course, it would be more patriotic to read +Russian authors, but I must confess I cherish no particular +liking for them. With the exception of two or three of the older +writers, all our literature of today strikes me as not being +literature, but a special sort of home industry, which exists +simply in order to be encouraged, though people do not readily +make use of its products. The very best of these home products +cannot be called remarkable and cannot be sincerely praised +without qualification. I must say the same of all the literary +novelties I have read during the last ten or fifteen years; not +one of them is remarkable, and not one of them can be praised +without a "but." Cleverness, a good tone, but no talent; talent, +a good tone, but no cleverness; or talent, cleverness, but not a +good tone. + +I don't say the French books have talent, cleverness, and a good +tone. They don't satisfy me, either. But they are not so tedious +as the Russian, and it is not unusual to find in them the chief +element of artistic creation -- the feeling of personal freedom +which is lacking in the Russian authors. I don't remember one new +book in which the author does not try from the first page to +entangle himself in all sorts of conditions and contracts with +his conscience. One is afraid to speak of the naked body; another +ties himself up hand and foot in psychological analysis; a third +must have a "warm attitude to man"; a fourth purposely scrawls +whole descriptions of nature that he may not be suspected of +writing with a purpose. . . . One is bent upon being middle-class +in his work, another must be a nobleman, and so on. There is +intentionalness, circumspection, and self-will, but they have +neither the independence nor the manliness to write as they like, +and therefore there is no creativeness. + +All this applies to what is called belles-lettres. + +As for serious treatises in Russian on sociology, for instance, +on art, and so on, I do not rea d them simply from timidity. In +my childhood and early youth I had for some reason a terror of +doorkeepers and attendants at the theatre, and that terror has +remained with me to this day. I am afraid of them even now. It is +said that we are only afraid of what we do not understand. And, +indeed, it is very difficult to understand why doorkeepers and +theatre attendants are so dignified, haughty, and majestically +rude. I feel exactly the same terror when I read serious +articles. Their extraordinary dignity, their bantering lordly +tone, their familiar manner to foreign authors, their ability to +split straws with dignity -- all that is beyond my understanding; +it is intimidating and utterly unlike the quiet, gentlemanly tone +to which I am accustomed when I read the works of our medical and +scientific writers. It oppresses me to read not only the articles +written by serious Russians, but even works translated or edited +by them. The pretentious, edifying tone of the preface; the +redundancy of remarks made by the translator, which prevent me +from concentrating my attention; the question marks and "sic" in +parenthesis scattered all over the book or article by the liberal +translator, are to my mind an outrage on the author and on my +independence as a reader. + +Once I was summoned as an expert to a circuit court; in an +interval one of my fellow-experts drew my attention to the +rudeness of the public prosecutor to the defendants, among whom +there were two ladies of good education. I believe I did not +exaggerate at all when I told him that the prosecutor s manner +was no ruder than that of the authors of serious articles to one +another. Their manners are, indeed, so rude that I cannot speak +of them without distaste. They treat one another and the writers +they criticize either with superfluous respect, at the sacrifice +of their own dignity, or, on the contrary, with far more +ruthlessness than I have shown in my notes and my thoughts in +regard to my future son-in-law Gnekker. Accusations of +irrationality, of evil intentions, and, indeed, of every sort of +crime, form an habitual ornament of serious articles. And that, +as young medical men are fond of saying in their monographs, is +the _ultima ratio!_ Such ways must infallibly have an effect on +the morals of the younger generation of writers, and so I am not +at all surprised that in the new works with which our literature +has been enriched during the last ten or fifteen years the heroes +drink too much vodka and the heroines are not over-chaste. + +I read French books, and I look out of the window which is open; +I can see the spikes of my garden-fence, two or three scraggy +trees, and beyond the fence the road, the fields, and beyond them +a broad stretch of pine-wood. Often I admire a boy and girl, both +flaxen-headed and ragged, who clamber on the fence and laugh at +my baldness. In their shining little eyes I read, "Go up, go up, +thou baldhead!" They are almost the only people who care nothing +for my celebrity or my rank. + +Visitors do not come to me every day now. I will only mention the +visits of Nikolay and Pyotr Ignatyevitch. Nikolay usually comes +to me on holidays, with some pretext of business, though really +to see me. He arrives very much exhilarated, a thing which never +occurs to him in the winter. + +"What have you to tell me?" I ask, going out to him in the hall. + +"Your Excellency!" he says, pressing his hand to his heart and +looking at me with the ecstasy of a lover -- "your Excellency! +God be my witness! Strike me dead on the spot! _Gaudeamus egitur +juventus!_" + +And he greedily kisses me on the shoulder, on the sleeve, and on +the buttons. + +"Is everything going well?" I ask him. + +"Your Excellency! So help me God! . . ." + +He persists in grovelling before me for no sort of reason, and +soon bores me, so I send him away to the kitchen, where they give +him dinner. + +Pyotr Ignatyevitch comes to see me on holidays, too, with the +special object of seeing me and sharing his thoughts with me. He +usually sits down near my table, modest, neat, and reasonable, +and does not venture to cross his legs or put his elbows on the +table. All the time, in a soft, even, little voice, in rounded +bookish phrases, he tells me various, to his mind, very +interesting and piquant items of news which he has read in the +magazines and journals. They are all alike and may be reduced to +this type: "A Frenchman has made a discovery; some one else, a +German, has denounced him, proving that the discovery was made in +1870 by some American; while a third person, also a German, +trumps them both by proving they both had made fools of +themselves, mistaking bubbles of air for dark pigment under the +microscope. Even when he wants to amuse me, Pyotr Ignatyevitch +tells me things in the same lengthy, circumstantial manner as +though he were defending a thesis, enumerating in detail the +literary sources from which he is deriving his narrative, doing +his utmost to be accurate as to the date and number of the +journals and the name of every one concerned, invariably +mentioning it in full -- Jean Jacques Petit, never simply Petit. +Sometimes he stays to dinner with us, and then during the whole +of dinner-time he goes on telling me the same sort of piquant +anecdotes, reducing every one at table to a state of dejected +boredom. If Gnekker and Liza begin talking before him of fugues +and counterpoint, Brahms and Bach, he drops his eyes modestly, +and is overcome with embarrassment; he is ashamed that such +trivial subjects should be discussed before such serious people +as him and me. + +In my present state of mind five minutes of him is enough to +sicken me as though I had been seeing and hearing him for an +eternity. I hate the poor fellow. His soft, smooth voice and +bookish language exhaust me, and his stories stupefy me. . . . He +cherishes the best of feelings for me, and talks to me simply in +order to give me pleasure, and I repay him by looking at him as +though I wanted to hypnotize him, and think, "Go, go, go! . . ." +But he is not amenable to thought-suggestion, and sits on and on +and on. . . . + +While he is with me I can never shake off the thought, "It's +possible when I die he will be appointed to succeed me," and my +poor lecture-hall presents itself to me as an oasis in which the +spring is died up; and I am ungracious, silent, and surly with +Pyotr Ignatyevitch, as though he were to blame for such thoughts, +and not I myself. When he begins, as usual, praising up the +German savants, instead of making fun of him good-humouredly, as +I used to do, I mutter sullenly: + +"Asses, your Germans! . . ." + +That is like the late Professor Nikita Krylov, who once, when he +was bathing with Pirogov at Revel and vexed at the water's being +very cold, burst out with, "Scoundrels, these Germans!" I behave +badly with Pyotr Ignatyevitch, and only when he is going away, +and from the window I catch a glimpse of his grey hat behind the +garden-fence, I want to call out and say, "Forgive me, my dear +fellow!" + +Dinner is even drearier than in the winter. Gnekker, whom now I +hate and despise, dines with us almost every day. I used to +endure his presence in silence, now I aim biting remarks at him +which make my wife and daughter blush. Carried away by evil +feeling, I often say things that are simply stupid, and I don't +know why I say them. So on one occasion it happened that I stared +a long time at Gnekker, and, _a propos_ of nothing, I fired off: + + "An eagle may perchance swoop down below a cock, + But never will the fowl soar upwards to the clouds. . + +And the most vexatious thing is that the fowl Gnekker shows +himself much cleverer than the eagle professor. Knowing that my +wife and daughter are on his side, he takes up the line of +meeting my gibes with condescending silence, as though to say: + +"The old chap is in his dotage; what's the use of talking to +him?" + +Or he makes fun of me good-naturedly. It is wonderful how petty a +man may become! I am capable of dreaming all dinner-time of how +Gnekker will turn out to be an adventurer, how my wife and Liza +will come to see their mistake, and how I will taunt them -- and +such absurd thoughts at the time when I am standing with one foot +in th e grave! + +There are now, too, misunderstandings of which in the old days I +had no idea except from hearsay. Though I am ashamed of it, I +will describe one that occurred the other day after dinner. + +I was sitting in my room smoking a pipe; my wife came in as +usual, sat down, and began saying what a good thing it would be +for me to go to Harkov now while it is warm and I have free time, +and there find out what sort of person our Gnekker is. + +"Very good; I will go," I assented. + +My wife, pleased with me, got up and was going to the door, but +turned back and said: + +"By the way, I have another favour to ask of you. I know you will +be angry, but it is my duty to warn you. . . . Forgive my saying +it, Nikolay Stepanovitch, but all our neighbours and +acquaintances have begun talking about your being so often at +Katya's. She is clever and well-educated; I don't deny that her +company may be agreeable; but at your age and with your social +position it seems strange that you should find pleasure in her +society. . . . Besides, she has such a reputation that . . ." + +All the blood suddenly rushed to my brain, my eyes flashed fire, +I leaped up and, clutching at my head and stamping my feet, +shouted in a voice unlike my own: + +"Let me alone! let me alone! let me alone!" + +Probably my face was terrible, my voice was strange, for my wife +suddenly turned pale and began shrieking aloud in a despairing +voice that was utterly unlike her own. Liza, Gnekker, then Yegor, +came running in at our shouts. . . . + +"Let me alone!" I cried; "let me alone! Go away!" + +My legs turned numb as though they had ceased to exist; I felt +myself falling into someone's arms; for a little while I still +heard weeping, then sank into a swoon which lasted two or three +hours. + +Now about Katya; she comes to see me every day towards evening, +and of course neither the neighbours nor our acquaintances can +avoid noticing it. She comes in for a minute and carries me off +for a drive with her. She has her own horse and a new chaise +bought this summer. Altogether she lives in an expensive style; +she has taken a big detached villa with a large garden, and has +taken all her town retinue with her -- two maids, a coachman . . +. I often ask her: + +"Katya, what will you live on when you have spent your father's +money?" + +"Then we shall see," she answers. + +"That money, my dear, deserves to be treated more seriously. It +was earned by a good man, by honest labour." + +"You have told me that already. I know it." + +At first we drive through the open country, then through the +pine-wood which is visible from my window. Nature seems to me as +beautiful as it always has been, though some evil spirit whispers +to me that these pines and fir trees, birds, and white clouds on +the sky, will not notice my absence when in three or four months +I am dead. Katya loves driving, and she is pleased that it is +fine weather and that I am sitting beside her. She is in good +spirits and does not say harsh things. + +"You are a very good man, Nikolay Stepanovitch," she says. "You +are a rare specimen, and there isn't an actor who would +understand how to play you. Me or Mihail Fyodorovitch, for +instance, any poor actor could do, but not you. And I envy you, I +envy you horribly! Do you know what I stand for? What?" + +She ponders for a minute, and then asks me: + +"Nikolay Stepanovitch, I am a negative phenomenon! Yes?" + +"Yes," I answer. + +"H'm! what am I to do?" + +What answer was I to make her? It is easy to say "work," or "give +your possessions to the poor," or "know yourself," and because it +is so easy to say that, I don't know what to answer. + +My colleagues when they teach therapeutics advise "the individual +study of each separate case." One has but to obey this advice to +gain the conviction that the methods recommended in the textbooks +as the best and as providing a safe basis for treatment turn out +to be quite unsuitable in individual cases. It is just the same +in moral ailments. + +But I must make some answer, and I say: + +"You have too much free time, my dear; you absolutely must take +up some occupation. After all, why shouldn't you be an actress +again if it is your vocation?" + +"I cannot!" + +"Your tone and manner suggest that you are a victim. I don't like +that, my dear; it is your own fault. Remember, you began with +falling out with people and methods, but you have done nothing to +make either better. You did not struggle with evil, but were cast +down by it, and you are not the victim of the struggle, but of +your own impotence. Well, of course you were young and +inexperienced then; now it may all be different. Yes, really, go +on the stage. You will work, you will serve a sacred art." + +"Don't pretend, Nikolay Stepanovitch," Katya interrupts me. "Let +us make a compact once for all; we will talk about actors, +actresses, and authors, but we will let art alone. You are a +splendid and rare person, but you don't know enough about art +sincerely to think it sacred. You have no instinct or feeling for +art. You have been hard at work all your life, and have not had +time to acquire that feeling. Altogether . . . I don't like talk +about art," she goes on nervously. "I don't like it! And, my +goodness, how they have vulgarized it!" + +"Who has vulgarized it?" + +"They have vulgarized it by drunkenness, the newspapers by their +familiar attitude, clever people by philosophy." + +"Philosophy has nothing to do with it." + +"Yes, it has. If any one philosophizes about it, it shows he does +not understand it." + +To avoid bitterness I hasten to change the subject, and then sit +a long time silent. Only when we are driving out of the wood and +turning towards Katya's villa I go back to my former question, +and say: + +"You have still not answered me, why you don't want to go on the +stage." + +"Nikolay Stepanovitch, this is cruel!" she cries, and suddenly +flushes all over. "You want me to tell you the truth aloud? Very +well, if . . . if you like it! I have no talent! No talent and . +. . and a great deal of vanity! So there!" + +After making this confession she turns her face away from me, and +to hide the trembling of her hands tugs violently at the reins. + +As we are driving towards her villa we see Mihail Fyodorovitch +walking near the gate, impatiently awaiting us. + +"That Mihail Fyodorovitch again!" says Katya with vexation. "Do +rid me of him, please! I am sick and tired of him . . . bother +him!" + +Mihail Fyodorovitch ought to have gone abroad long ago, but he +puts off going from week to. week. Of late there have been +certain changes in him. He looks, as it were, sunken, has taken +to drinking until he is tipsy, a thing which never used to happen +to him, and his black eyebrows are beginning to turn grey. When +our chaise stops at the gate he does not conceal his joy and his +impatience. He fussily helps me and Katya out, hurriedly asks +questions, laughs, rubs his hands, and that gentle, imploring, +pure expression, which I used to notice only in his eyes, is now +suffused all over his face. He is glad and at the same time he is +ashamed of his gladness, ashamed of his habit of spending every +evening with Katya. And he thinks it necessary to explain his +visit by some obvious absurdity such as: "I was driving by, and I +thought I would just look in for a minute." + +We all three go indoors; first we drink tea, then the familiar +packs of cards, the big piece of cheese, the fruit, and the +bottle of Crimean champagne are put upon the table. The subjects +of our conversation are not new; they are just the same as in the +winter. We fall foul of the University, the students, and +literature and the theatre; the air grows thick and stifling with +evil speaking, and poisoned by the breath, not of two toads as in +the winter, but of three. Besides the velvety baritone laugh and +the giggle like the gasp of a concertina, the maid who waits upon +us hears an unpleasant cracked "He, he!" like the chuckle of a +general in a vaudeville. + +V + +There are terrible nights with thunder, lightning, rain, and +wind, such as are called among the people "sparrow nights." There +has been one such night in my personal life. + +I woke up after midnight and leaped suddenly out of bed. It +seemed to me for some reason that I was just immedi ately going +to die. Why did it seem so? I had no sensation in my body that +suggested my immediate death, but my soul was oppressed with +terror, as though I had suddenly seen a vast menacing glow of +fire. + +I rapidly struck a light, drank some water straight out of the +decanter, then hurried to the open window. The weather outside +was magnificent. There was a smell of hay and some other very +sweet scent. I could see the spikes of the fence, the gaunt, +drowsy trees by the window, the road, the dark streak of +woodland, there was a serene, very bright moon in the sky and not +a single cloud, perfect stillness, not one leaf stirring. I felt +that everything was looking at me and waiting for me to die. . . +. + +It was uncanny. I closed the window and ran to my bed. I felt for +my pulse, and not finding it in my wrist, tried to find it in my +temple, then in my chin, and again in my wrist, and everything I +touched was cold and clammy with sweat. My breathing came more +and more rapidly, my body was shivering, all my inside was in +commotion; I had a sensation on my face and on my bald head as +though they were covered with spiders' webs. + +What should I do? Call my family? No; it would be no use. I could +not imagine what my wife and Liza would do when they came in to +me. + +I hid my head under the pillow, closed my eyes, and waited and +waited. . . . My spine was cold; it seemed to be drawn inwards, +and I felt as though death were coming upon me stealthily from +behind + +"Kee-vee! kee-vee!" I heard a sudden shriek in the night's +stillness, and did not know where it was -- in my breast or in +the street -- "Kee-vee! kee-vee!" + +"My God, how terrible!" I would have drunk some more water, but +by then it was fearful to open my eyes and I was afraid to raise +my head. I was possessed by unaccountable animal terror, and I +cannot understand why I was so frightened: was it that I wanted +to live, or that some new unknown pain was in store for me? + +Upstairs, overhead, some one moaned or laughed. I listened. Soon +afterwards there was a sound of footsteps on the stairs. Some one +came hurriedly down, then went up again. A minute later there was +a sound of steps downstairs again; some one stopped near my door +and listened. + +"Who is there?" I cried. + +The door opened. I boldly opened my eyes, and saw my wife. Her +face was pale and her eyes were tear-stained. + +"You are not asleep, Nikolay Stepanovitch?" she asked. + +"What is it? " + +"For God's sake, go up and have a look at Liza; there is +something the matter with her. . . ." + +"Very good, with pleasure," I muttered, greatly relieved at not +being alone. "Very good, this minute. . . ." + +I followed my wife, heard what she said to me, and was too +agitated to understand a word. Patches of light from her candle +danced about the stairs, our long shadows trembled. My feet +caught in the skirts of my dressing-gown; I gasped for breath, +and felt as though something were pursuing me and trying to catch +me from behind. + +"I shall die on the spot, here on the staircase," I thought. "On +the spot. . . ." But we passed the staircase, the dark corridor +with the Italian windows, and went into Liza's room. She was +sitting on the bed in her nightdress, with her bare feet hanging +down, and she was moaning. + +"Oh, my God! Oh, my God!" she was muttering, screwing up her eyes +at our candle. "I can't bear it." + +"Liza, my child," I said, "what is it?" + +Seeing me, she began crying out, and flung herself on my neck. + +"My kind papa! . . ." she sobbed -- "my dear, good papa . . . my +darling, my pet, I don't know what is the matter with me. . . . I +am miserable!" + +She hugged me, kissed me, and babbled fond words I used to hear +from her when she was a child. + +"Calm yourself, my child. God be with you," I said. "There is no +need to cry. I am miserable, too." + +I tried to tuck her in; my wife gave her water, and we awkwardly +stumbled by her bedside; my shoulder jostled against her +shoulder, and meanwhile I was thinking how we used to give our +children their bath together. + +"Help her! help her!" my wife implored me. "Do something!" + +What could I do? I could do nothing. There was some load on the +girl's heart; but I did not understand, I knew nothing about it, +and could only mutter: + +"It's nothing, it's nothing; it will pass. Sleep, sleep!" + +To make things worse, there was a sudden sound of dogs howling, +at first subdued and uncertain, then loud, two dogs howling +together. I had never attached significance to such omens as the +howling of dogs or the shrieking of owls, but on that occasion it +sent a pang to my heart, and I hastened to explain the howl to +myself. + +"It's nonsense," I thought, "the influence of one organism on +another. The intensely strained condition of my nerves has +infected my wife, Liza, the dog -- that is all. . . . Such +infection explains presentiments, forebodings. . . ." + +When a little later I went back to my room to write a +prescription for Liza, I no longer thought I should die at once, +but only had such a weight, such a feeling of oppression in my +soul that I felt actually sorry that I had not died on the spot. +For a long time I stood motionless in the middle of the room, +pondering what to prescribe for Liza. But the moans overhead +ceased, and I decided to prescribe nothing, and yet I went on +standing there. . . . + +There was a deathlike stillness, such a stillness, as some author +has expressed it, "it rang in one's ears." Time passed slowly; +the streaks of moonlight on the window-sill did not shift their +position, but seemed as though frozen. . . . It was still some +time before dawn. + +But the gate in the fence creaked, some one stole in and, +breaking a twig from one of those scraggy trees, cautiously +tapped on the window with it. + +"Nikolay Stepanovitch," I heard a whisper. "Nikolay +Stepanovitch." + +I opened the window, and fancied I was dreaming: under the +window, huddled against the wall, stood a woman in a black dress, +with the moonlight bright upon her, looking at me with great +eyes. Her face was pale, stern, and weird-looking in the +moonlight, like marble, her chin was quivering. + +"It is I," she said -- " I . . . Katya." + +In the moonlight all women's eyes look big and black, all people +look taller and paler, and that was probably why I had not +recognized her for the first minute. + +"What is it?" + +"Forgive me! " she said. "I suddenly felt unbearably miserable . +. . I couldn't stand it, so came here. There was a light in your +window and . . . and I ventured to knock. . . . I beg your +pardon. Ah! if you knew how miserable I am! What are you doing +just now?" + +"Nothing. . . . I can't sleep." + +"I had a feeling that there was something wrong, but that is +nonsense." + +Her brows were lifted, her eyes shone with tears, and her whole +face was lighted up with the familiar look of trustfulness which +I had not seen for so long. + +"Nikolay Stepanovitch," she said imploringly, stretching out both +hands to me, "my precious friend, I beg you, I implore you. . . . +If you don't despise my affection and respect for you, consent to +what I ask of you." + +"What is it?" + +"Take my money from me!" + +"Come! what an idea! What do I want with your money?" + +"You'll go away somewhere for your health. . . . You ought to go +for your health. Will you take it? Yes? Nikolay Stepanovitch +darling, yes?" + +She looked greedily into my face and repeated: "Yes, you will +take it?" + +"No, my dear, I won't take it . . " I said. "Thank you." + +She turned her back upon me and bowed her head. Probably I +refused her in a tone which made further conversation about money +impossible. + +"Go home to bed," I said. "We will see each other tomorrow." + +"So you don't consider me your friend?" she asked dejectedly. + +"I don't say that. But your money would be no use to me now." + +"I beg your pardon . . ." she said, dropping her voice a whole +octave. "I understand you . . . to be indebted to a person like +me . . . a retired actress. . . . But, good-bye. . . ." + +And she went away so quickly that I had not time even to say +good-bye. + +VI + +I am in Harkov. + +As it would be useless to contend against my present mood and, +indeed, beyond my power, I have made up my mind that the last +days of my life shall at least be irreproachable externally. If I +am unjust in regard to my wife and daughter, which I fully +recognize, I will try and do as she wishes; since she wants me to +go to Harkov, I go to Harkov. Besides, I have become of late so +indifferent to everything that it is really all the same to me +where I go, to Harkov, or to Paris, or to Berditchev. + +I arrived here at midday, and have put up at the hotel not far +from the cathedral. The train was jolting, there were draughts, +and now I am sitting on my bed, holding my head and expecting tic +douloureux. I ought to have gone today to see some professors of +my acquaintance, but I have neither strength nor inclination. + +The old corridor attendant comes in and asks whether I have +brought my bed-linen. I detain him for five minutes, and put +several questions to him about Gnekker, on whose account I have +come here. The attendant turns out to be a native of Harkov; he +knows the town like the fingers of his hand, but does not +remember any household of the surname of Gnekker. I question him +about the estate -- the same answer. + +The clock in the corridor strikes one, then two, then three. . . +. These last months in which I am waiting for death seem much +longer than the whole of my life. And I have never before been so +ready to resign myself to the slowness of time as now. In the old +days, when one sat in the station and waited for a train, or +presided in an examination-room, a quarter of an hour would seem +an eternity. Now I can sit all night on my bed without moving, +and quite unconcernedly reflect that tomorrow will be followed by +another night as long and colourless, and the day after tomorrow. + +In the corridor it strikes five, six, seven. . . . It grows dark. + +There is a dull pain in my cheek, the tic beginning. To occupy +myself with thoughts, I go back to my old point of view, when I +was not so indifferent, and ask myself why I, a distinguished +man, a privy councillor, am sitting in this little hotel room, on +this bed with the unfamiliar grey quilt. Why am I looking at that +cheap tin washing-stand and listening to the whirr of the +wretched clock in the corridor? Is all this in keeping with my +fame and my lofty position? And I answer these questions with a +jeer. I am amused by the naivete with which I used in my youth to +exaggerate the value of renown and of the exceptional position +which celebrities are supposed to enjoy. I am famous, my name is +pronounced with reverence, my portrait has been both in the +_Niva_ and in the _Illustrated News of the World_; I have read my +biography even in a German magazine. And what of all that? Here I +am sitting utterly alone in a strange town, on a strange bed, +rubbing my aching cheek with my hand. . . . Domestic worries, the +hard-heartedness of creditors, the rudeness of the railway +servants, the inconveniences of the passport system, the +expensive and unwholesome food in the refreshment-rooms, the +general rudeness and coarseness in social intercourse -- all +this, and a great deal more which would take too long to reckon +up, affects me as much as any working man who is famous only in +his alley. In what way, does my exceptional position find +expression? Admitting that I am celebrated a thousand times over, +that I am a hero of whom my country is proud. They publish +bulletins of my illness in every paper, letters of sympathy come +to me by post from my colleagues, my pupils, the general public; +but all that does not prevent me from dying in a strange bed, in +misery, in utter loneliness. Of course, no one is to blame for +that; but I in my foolishness dislike my popularity. I feel as +though it had cheated me. + +At ten o'clock I fall asleep, and in spite of the tic I sleep +soundly, and should have gone on sleeping if I had not been +awakened. Soon after one came a sudden knock at the door. + +"Who is there?" + +"A telegram." + +"You might have waited till tomorrow," I say angrily, taking the +telegram from the attendant. "Now I shall not get to sleep +again." + +"I am sorry. Your light was burning, so I thought you were not +asleep." + +I tear open the telegram and look first at the signature. From my +wife. + +"What does she want?" + +"Gnekker was secretly married to Liza yesterday. Return." + + +I read the telegram, and my dismay does not last long. I am +dismayed, not by what Liza and Gnekker have done, but by the +indifference with which I hear of their marriage. They say +philosophers and the truly wise are indifferent. It is false: +indifference is the paralysis of the soul; it is premature death. + +I go to bed again, and begin trying to think of something to +occupy my mind. What am I to think about? I feel as though +everything had been thought over already and there is nothing +which could hold my attention now. + +When daylight comes I sit up in bed with my arms round my knees, +and to pass the time I try to know myself. "Know thyself" is +excellent and useful advice; it is only a pity that the ancients +never thought to indicate the means of following this precept. + +When I have wanted to understand somebody or myself I have +considered, not the actions, in which everything is relative, but +the desires. + +"Tell me what you want, and I will tell you what manner of man +you are." + +And now I examine myself: what do I want? + +I want our wives, our children, our friends, our pupils, to love +in us, not our fame, not the brand and not the label, but to love +us as ordinary men. Anything else? I should like to have had +helpers and successors. Anything else? I should like to wake up +in a hundred years' time and to have just a peep out of one eye +at what is happening in science. I should have liked to have +lived another ten years. . . What further? Why, nothing further. +I think and think, and can think of nothing more. And however +much I might think, and however far my thoughts might travel, it +is clear to me that there is nothing vital, nothing of great +importance in my desires. In my passion for science, in my desire +to live, in this sitting on a strange bed, and in this striving +to know myself -- in all the thoughts, feelings, and ideas I form +about everything, there is no common bond to connect it all into +one whole. Every feeling and every thought exists apart in me; +and in all my criticisms of science, the theatre, literature, my +pupils, and in all the pictures my imagination draws, even the +most skilful analyst could not find what is called a general +idea, or the god of a living man. + +And if there is not that, then there is nothing. + +In a state so poverty-stricken, a serious ailment, the fear of +death, the influences of circumstance and men were enough to turn +upside down and scatter in fragments all which I had once looked +upon as my theory of life, and in which I had seen the meaning +and joy of my existence. So there is nothing surprising in the +fact that I have over-shadowed the last months of my life with +thoughts and feelings only worthy of a slave and barbarian, and +that now I am indifferent and take no heed of the dawn. When a +man has not in him what is loftier and mightier than all external +impressions a bad cold is really enough to upset his equilibrium +and make him begin to see an owl in every bird, to hear a dog +howling in every sound. And all his pessimism or optimism with +his thoughts great and small have at such times significance as +symptoms and nothing more. + +I am vanquished. If it is so, it is useless to think, it is +useless to talk. I will sit and wait in silence for what is to +come. + +In the morning the corridor attendant brings me tea and a copy of +the local newspaper. Mechanically I read the advertisements on +the first page, the leading article, the extracts from the +newspapers and journals, the chronicle of events. . . . In the +latter I find, among other things, the following paragraph: "Our +distinguished savant, Professor Nikolay Stepanovitch So-and-so, +arrived yesterday in Harkov, and is staying in the So-and-so +Hotel." + +Apparently, illustrious names are created to live on their own +account, apart from those that bear them. Now my name is +promenading tranquilly about Harkov; in another three months, +printed in gold letters on my monument, it will shine bright as +the sun itself, while I s hall be already under the moss. + +A light tap at the door. Somebody wants me. + +"Who is there? Come in." + +The door opens, and I step back surprised and hurriedly wrap my +dressing-gown round me. Before me stands Katya. + +"How do you do?" she says, breathless with running upstairs. "You +didn't expect me? I have come here, too. . . . I have come, too!" + +She sits down and goes on, hesitating and not looking at me. + +"Why don't you speak to me? I have come, too . . . today. . . . I +found out that you were in this hotel, and have come to you." + +"Very glad to see you," I say, shrugging my shoulders, "but I am +surprised. You seem to have dropped from the skies. What have you +come for?" + +"Oh . . . I've simply come." + +Silence. Suddenly she jumps up impulsively and comes to me. + +"Nikolay Stepanovitch," she says, turning pale and pressing her +hands on her bosom -- "Nikolay Stepanovitch, I cannot go on +living like this! I cannot! For God's sake tell me quickly, this +minute, what I am to do! Tell me, what am I to do?" + +"What can I tell you?" I ask in perplexity. "I can do nothing." + +"Tell me, I beseech you," she goes on, breathing hard and +trembling all over. "I swear that I cannot go on living like +this. It's too much for me!" + +She sinks on a chair and begins sobbing. She flings her head +back, wrings her hands, taps with her feet; her hat falls off and +hangs bobbing on its elastic; her hair is ruffled. + +"Help me! help me! "she implores me. "I cannot go on!" + +She takes her handkerchief out of her travelling-bag, and with it +pulls out several letters, which fall from her lap to the floor. +I pick them up, and on one of them I recognize the handwriting of +Mihail Fyodorovitch and accidentally read a bit of a word +"passionat. . ." + +"There is nothing I can tell you, Katya," I say. + +"Help me!" she sobs, clutching at my hand and kissing it. "You +are my father, you know, my only friend! You are clever, +educated; you have lived so long; you have been a teacher! Tell +me, what am I to do?" + +"Upon my word, Katya, I don't know. . . ." + +I am utterly at a loss and confused, touched by her sobs, and +hardly able to stand. + +"Let us have lunch, Katya," I say, with a forced smile. "Give +over crying." + +And at once I add in a sinking voice: + +"I shall soon be gone, Katya. . . ." + +"Only one word, only one word!" she weeps, stretching out her +hands to me. + +"What am I to do?" + +"You are a queer girl, really . . ." I mutter. "I don't +understand it! So sensible, and all at once crying your eyes out. +. . ." + +A silence follows. Katya straightens her hair, puts on her hat, +then crumples up the letters and stuffs them in her bag -- and +all this deliberately, in silence. Her face, her bosom, and her +gloves are wet with tears, but her expression now is cold and +forbidding. . . . I look at her, and feel ashamed that I am +happier than she. The absence of what my philosophic colleagues +call a general idea I have detected in myself only just before +death, in the decline of my days, while the soul of this poor +girl has known and will know no refuge all her life, all her +life! + +"Let us have lunch, Katya," I say. + +"No, thank you," she answers coldly. Another minute passes in +silence. "I don't like Harkov," I say; "it's so grey here -- such +a grey town." + +"Yes, perhaps. . . . It's ugly. I am here not for long, passing +through. I am going on today." + +"Where?" + +"To the Crimea . . . that is, to the Caucasus." + +"Oh! For long?" + +"I don't know." + +Katya gets up, and, with a cold smile, holds out her hand without +looking at me. + +I want to ask her, "Then, you won't be at my funeral?" but she +does not look at me; her hand is cold and, as it were, strange. I +escort her to the door in silence. She goes out, walks down the +long corridor without looking back; she knows that I am looking +after her, and most likely she will look back at the turn. + +No, she did not look back. I've seen her black dress for the last +time: her steps have died away. Farewell, my treasure! + + +THE PRIVY COUNCILLOR + +AT the beginning of April in 1870 my mother, Klavdia Arhipovna, +the widow of a lieutenant, received from her brother Ivan, a +privy councillor in Petersburg, a letter in which, among other +things, this passage occurred: "My liver trouble forces me to +spend every summer abroad, and as I have not at the moment the +money in hand for a trip to Marienbad, it is very possible, dear +sister, that I may spend this summer with you at Kotchuevko. . . +." + +On reading the letter my mother turned pale and began trembling +all over; then an expression of mingled tears and laughter came +into her face. She began crying and laughing. This conflict of +tears and laughter always reminds me of the flickering and +spluttering of a brightly burning candle when one sprinkles it +with water. Reading the letter once more, mother called together +all the household, and in a voice broken with emotion began +explaining to us that there had been four Gundasov brothers: one +Gundasov had died as a baby; another had gone to the war, and he, +too, was dead; the third, without offence to him be it said, was +an actor; the fourth . . . + +"The fourth has risen far above us," my mother brought out +tearfully. "My own brother, we grew up together; and I am all of +a tremble, all of a tremble! . . . A privy councillor with the +rank of a general! How shall I meet him, my angel brother? What +can I, a foolish, uneducated woman, talk to him about? It's +fifteen years since I've seen him! Andryushenka," my mother +turned to me, "you must rejoice, little stupid! It's a piece of +luck for you that God is sending him to us!" + +After we had heard a detailed history of the Gundasovs, there +followed a fuss and bustle in the place such as I had been +accustomed to see only before Christmas and Easter. The sky above +and the water in the river were all that escaped; everything else +was subjected to a merciless cleansing, scrubbing, painting. If +the sky had been lower and smaller and the river had not flowed +so swiftly, they would have scoured them, too, with bath-brick +and rubbed them, too, with tow. Our walls were as white as snow, +but they were whitewashed; the floors were bright and shining, +but they were washed every day. The cat Bobtail (as a small child +I had cut off a good quarter of his tail with the knife used for +chopping the sugar, and that was why he was called Bobtail) was +carried off to the kitchen and put in charge of Anisya; Fedka was +told that if any of the dogs came near the front-door "God would +punish him." But no one was so badly treated as the poor sofas, +easy-chairs, and rugs! They had never, before been so violently +beaten as on this occasion in preparation for our visitor. My +pigeons took fright at the loud thud of the sticks, and were +continually flying up into the sky. + +The tailor Spiridon, the only tailor in the whole district who +ventured to make for the gentry, came over from Novostroevka. He +was a hard-working capable man who did not drink and was not +without a certain fancy and feeling for form, but yet he was an +atrocious tailor. His work was ruined by hesitation. . . . The +idea that his cut was not fashionable enough made him alter +everything half a dozen times, walk all the way to the town +simply to study the dandies, and in the end dress us in suits +that even a caricaturist would have called _outre_ and grotesque. +We cut a dash in impossibly narrow trousers and in such short +jackets that we always felt quite abashed in the presence of +young ladies. + +This Spiridon spent a long time taking my measure. He measured me +all over lengthways and crossways, as though he meant to put +hoops round me like a barrel; then he spent a long time noting +down my measurements with a thick pencil on a bit of paper, and +ticked off all the measurements with triangular signs. When he +had finished with me he set to work on my tutor, Yegor +Alexyevitch Pobyedimsky. My beloved tutor was then at the stage +when young men watch the growth of their moustache and are +critical of their clothes, and so you can imagine the devout awe +with which Spiridon approached him. Yegor Alexyevitch had to +throw back his head, to straddle his legs like an inverted V, +first lift up his arms, then let them fall. Spiridon measured him +several times, walking round him during the process like a +love-sick pigeon round its mate, going down on one knee, bending +double. . . . My mother, weary, exhausted by her exertions and +heated by ironing, watched these lengthy proceedings, and said: + +"Mind now, Spiridon, you will have to answer for it to God if you +spoil the cloth! And it will be the worse for you if you don't +make them fit!" + +Mother's words threw Spiridon first into a fever, then into a +perspiration, for he was convinced that he would not make them +fit. He received one rouble twenty kopecks for making my suit, +and for Pobyedimsky's two roubles, but we provided the cloth, the +lining, and the buttons. The price cannot be considered +excessive, as Novostroevka was about seven miles from us, and the +tailor came to fit us four times. When he came to try the things +on and we squeezed ourselves into the tight trousers and jackets +adorned with basting threads, mother always frowned +contemptuously and expressed her surprise: + +"Goodness knows what the fashions are coming to nowadays! I am +positively ashamed to look at them. If brother were not used to +Petersburg I would not get you fashionable clothes!" + +Spiridon, relieved that the blame was thrown on the fashion and +not on him, shrugged his shoulders and sighed, as though to say: + +"There's no help for it; it's the spirit of the age!" + +The excitement with which we awaited the arrival of our guest can +only be compared with the strained suspense with which +spiritualists wait from minute to minute the appearance of a +ghost. Mother went about with a sick headache, and was +continually melting into tears. I lost my appetite, slept badly, +and did not learn my lessons. Even in my dreams I was haunted by +an impatient longing to see a general -- that is, a man with +epaulettes and an embroidered collar sticking up to his ears, and +with a naked sword in his hands, exactly like the one who hung +over the sofa in the drawing-room and glared with terrible black +eyes at everybody who dared to look at him. Pobyedimsky was the +only one who felt himself in his element. He was neither +terrified nor delighted, and merely from time to time, when he +heard the history of the Gundasov family, said: + +"Yes, it will be pleasant to have some one fresh to talk to." + +My tutor was looked upon among us as an exceptional nature. He +was a young man of twenty, with a pimply face, shaggy locks, a +low forehead, and an unusually long nose. His nose was so big +that when he wanted to look close at anything he had to put his +head on one side like a bird. To our thinking, there was not a +man in the province cleverer, more cultivated, or more stylish. +He had left the high-school in the class next to the top, and had +then entered a veterinary college, from which he was expelled +before the end of the first half-year. The reason of his +expulsion he carefully concealed, which enabled any one who +wished to do so to look upon my instructor as an injured and to +some extent a mysterious person. He spoke little, and only of +intellectual subjects; he ate meat during the fasts, and looked +with contempt and condescension on the life going on around him, +which did not prevent him, however, from taking presents, such as +suits of clothes, from my mother, and drawing funny faces with +red teeth on my kites. Mother disliked him for his "pride," but +stood in awe of his cleverness. + +Our visitor did not keep us long waiting. At the beginning of May +two wagon-loads of big boxes arrived from the station. These +boxes looked so majestic that the drivers instinctively took off +their hats as they lifted them down. + +"There must be uniforms and gunpowder in those boxes," I thought. + +Why "gunpowder"? Probably the conception of a general was closely +connected in my mind with cannons and gunpowder. + +When I woke up on the morning of the tenth of May, nurse told me +in a whisper that "my uncle had come." I dressed rapidly, and, +washing after a fashion, flew out of my bedroom without saying my +prayers. In the vestibule I came upon a tall, solid gentleman +with fashionable whiskers and a foppish-looking overcoat. Half +dead with devout awe, I went up to him and, remembering the +ceremonial mother had impressed upon me, I scraped my foot before +him, made a very low bow, and craned forward to kiss his hand; +but the gentleman did not allow me to kiss his hand: he informed +me that he was not my uncle, but my uncle's footman, Pyotr. The +appearance of this Pyotr, far better dressed than Pobyedimsky or +me, excited in me the utmost astonishment, which, to tell the +truth, has lasted to this day. Can such dignified, respectable +people with stern and intellectual faces really be footmen? And +what for? + +Pyotr told me that my uncle was in the garden with my mother. I +rushed into the garden. + +Nature, knowing nothing of the history of the Gundasov family and +the rank of my uncle, felt far more at ease and unconstrained +than I. There was a clamour going on in the garden such as one +only bears at fairs. Masses of starlings flitting through the air +and hopping about the walks were noisily chattering as they +hunted for cockchafers. There were swarms of sparrows in the +lilac-bushes, which threw their tender, fragrant blossoms +straight in one's face. Wherever one turned, from every direction +came the note of the golden oriole and the shrill cry of the +hoopoe and the red-legged falcon. At any other time I should have +begun chasing dragon-flies or throwing stones at a crow which was +sitting on a low mound under an aspen-tree, with his blunt beak +turned away; but at that moment I was in no mood for mischief. My +heart was throbbing, and I felt a cold sinking at my stomach; I +was preparing myself to confront a gentleman with epaulettes, +with a naked sword, and with terrible eyes! + +But imagine my disappointment! A dapper little foppish gentleman +in white silk trousers, with a white cap on his head, was walking +beside my mother in the garden. With his hands behind him and his +head thrown back, every now and then running on ahead of mother, +he looked quite young. There was so much life and movement in his +whole figure that I could only detect the treachery of age when I +came close up behind and saw beneath his cap a fringe of +close-cropped silver hair. Instead of the staid dignity and +stolidity of a general, I saw an almost schoolboyish nimbleness; +instead of a collar sticking up to his ears, an ordinary light +blue necktie. Mother and my uncle were walking in the avenue +talking together. I went softly up to them from behind, and +waited for one of them to look round. + +"What a delightful place you have here, Klavdia!" said my uncle. +"How charming and lovely it is! Had I known before that you had +such a charming place, nothing would have induced me to go abroad +all these years." + +My uncle stooped down rapidly and sniffed at a tulip. Everything +he saw moved him to rapture and excitement, as though he had +never been in a garden on a sunny day before. The queer man moved +about as though he were on springs, and chattered incessantly, +without allowing mother to utter a single word. All of a sudden +Pobyedimsky came into sight from behind an elder-tree at the turn +of the avenue. His appearance was so unexpected that my uncle +positively started and stepped back a pace. On this occasion my +tutor was attired in his best Inverness cape with sleeves, in +which, especially back-view, he looked remarkably like a +windmill. He had a solemn and majestic air. Pressing his hat to +his bosom in Spanish style, he took a step towards my uncle and +made a bow such as a marquis makes in a melodrama, bending +forward, a little to one side. + +"I have the honour to present myself to your high excellency," he +said aloud: "the teacher and instructor of your nephew, formerly +a pupil of the veterinary institute, and a nobleman by birth, +Pobyedimsky!" + +This politeness on the part of my tutor pleased my mother very +much. She gave a smile, and waited in thrilled suspense to hear +what clever thing he would say next; but my tutor, expecting his +dignified address to be answered with equal dignity -- that is, +that my uncle would say "H'm!" like a general and hold out two +fingers -- was greatly confused and abashed when the latter +laughed genially and shook hands with him. He muttered something +incoherent, cleared his throat, and walked away. + +"Come! isn't that charming?" laughed my uncle. "Just look! he has +made his little flourish and thinks he's a very clever fellow! I +do like that -- upon my soul I do! What youthful aplomb, what +life in that foolish flourish! And what boy is this?" he asked, +suddenly turning and looking at me. + +"That is my Andryushenka," my mother introduced me, flushing +crimson. "My consolation. . ." + +I made a scrape with my foot on the sand and dropped a low bow. + +"A fine fellow . . . a fine fellow . . ." muttered my uncle, +taking his hand from my lips and stroking me on the head. "So +your name is Andrusha? Yes, yes. . . . H'm! . . . upon my soul! . +. . Do you learn lessons?" + +My mother, exaggerating and embellishing as all mothers do, began +to describe my achievements in the sciences and the excellence of +my behaviour, and I walked round my uncle and, following the +ceremonial laid down for me, I continued making low bows. Then my +mother began throwing out hints that with my remarkable abilities +it would not be amiss for me to get a government nomination to +the cadet school; but at the point when I was to have burst into +tears and begged for my uncle's protection, my uncle suddenly +stopped and flung up his hands in amazement. + +"My goo-oodness! What's that?" he asked. + +Tatyana Ivanovna, the wife of our bailiff, Fyodor Petrovna, was +coming towards us. She was carrying a starched white petticoat +and a long ironing-board. As she passed us she looked shyly at +the visitor through her eyelashes and flushed crimson. + +"Wonders will never cease . . ." my uncle filtered through his +teeth, looking after her with friendly interest. "You have a +fresh surprise at every step, sister . . . upon my soul!" + +"She's a beauty . . ." said mother. "They chose her as a bride +for Fyodor, though she lived over seventy miles from here. . . ." + +Not every one would have called Tatyana a beauty. She was a plump +little woman of twenty, with black eyebrows and a graceful +figure, always rosy and attractive-looking, but in her face and +in her whole person there was not one striking feature, not one +bold line to catch the eye, as though nature had lacked +inspiration and confidence when creating her. Tatyana Ivanovna +was shy, bashful, and modest in her behaviour; she moved softly +and smoothly, said little, seldom laughed, and her whole life was +as regular as her face and as flat as her smooth, tidy hair. My +uncle screwed up his eyes looking after her, and smiled. Mother +looked intently at his smiling face and grew serious. + +"And so, brother, you've never married!" she sighed. + +"No; I've not married." + +"Why not?" asked mother softly. + +"How can I tell you? It has happened so. In my youth I was too +hard at work, I had no time to live, and when I longed to live -- +I looked round -- and there I had fifty years on my back already. +I was too late! However, talking about it . . . is depressing." + +My mother and my uncle both sighed at once and walked on, and I +left them and flew off to find my tutor, that I might share my +impressions with him. Pobyedimsky was standing in the middle of +the yard, looking majestically at the heavens. + +"One can see he is a man of culture!" he said, twisting his head +round. "I hope we shall get on together." + +An hour later mother came to us. + +"I am in trouble, my dears!" she began, sighing. "You see brother +has brought a valet with him, and the valet, God bless him, is +not one you can put in the kitchen or in the hall; we must give +him a room apart. I can't think what I am to do! I tell you what, +children, couldn't you move out somewhere -- to Fyodor's lodge, +for instance -- and give your room to the valet? What do you +say?" + +We gave our ready consent, for living in the lodge was a great +deal more free than in the house, under mother's eye. + +"It's a nuisance, and that's a fact!" said mother. "Brother says +he won't have dinner in the middle of the day, but between six +and seven, as they do in Petersburg. I am simply distracted with +worry! By seven o'clock the dinner will be done to rags in the +oven. Really, men don't understand anything about housekeeping, +though they have so much intellect. Oh, dear! we shall have to +cook two dinners every day! You will have dinner at midday as +before, children, while your poor old mother has to wait till +seven, for the sake of her brother." + +Then my mother heaved a deep sigh, bade me try and please my +uncle, whose coming was a piece of luck for me for which we must +thank God, and hurried off to the kitchen. Pobyedimsky and I +moved into the lodge the same day. We were installed in a room +which formed the passage from the entry to the bailiff's bedroom. + +Contrary to my expectations, life went on just as before, +drearily and monotonously, in spite of my uncle's arrival and our +move into new quarters. We were excused lessons "on account of +the visitor. "Pobyedimsky, who never read anything or occupied +himself in any way, spent most of his time sitting on his bed, +with his long nose thrust into the air, thinking. Sometimes he +would get up, try on his new suit, and sit down again to relapse +into contemplation and silence. Only one thing worried him, the +flies, which he used mercilessly to squash between his hands. +After dinner he usually "rested," and his snores were a cause of +annoyance to the whole household. I ran about the garden from +morning to night, or sat in the lodge sticking my kites together. +For the first two or three weeks we did not see my uncle often. +For days together he sat in his own room working, in spite of the +flies and the heat. His extraordinary capacity for sitting as +though glued to his table produced upon us the effect of an +inexplicable conjuring trick. To us idlers, knowing nothing of +systematic work, his industry seemed simply miraculous. Getting +up at nine, he sat down to his table, and did not leave it till +dinner-time; after dinner he set to work again, and went on till +late at night. Whenever I peeped through the keyhole I invariably +saw the same thing: my uncle sitting at the table working. The +work consisted in his writing with one hand while he turned over +the leaves of a book with the other, and, strange to say, he kept +moving all over -- swinging his leg as though it were a pendulum, +whistling, and nodding his head in time. He had an extremely +careless and frivolous expression all the while, as though he +were not working, but playing at noughts and crosses. I always +saw him wearing a smart short jacket and a jauntily tied cravat, +and he always smelt, even through the keyhole, of delicate +feminine perfumery. He only left his room for dinner, but he ate +little. + +"I can't make brother out!" mother complained of him. "Every day +we kill a turkey and pigeons on purpose for him, I make a +_compote_ with my own hands, and he eats a plateful of broth and +a bit of meat the size of a finger and gets up from the table. I +begin begging him to eat; he comes back and drinks a glass of +milk. And what is there in that, in a glass of milk? It's no +better than washing up water! You may die of a diet like that. . +. . If I try to persuade him, he laughs and makes a joke of it. . +. . No; he does not care for our fare, poor dear!" + +We spent the evenings far more gaily than the days. As a rule, by +the time the sun was setting and long shadows were lying across +the yard, we -- that is, Tatyana Ivanovna, Pobyedimsky, and I -- +were sitting on the steps of the lodge. We did not talk till it +grew quite dusk. And, indeed, what is one to talk of when every +subject has been talked over already? There was only one thing +new, my uncle's arrival, and even that subject was soon +exhausted. My tutor never took his eyes off Tatyana Ivanovna 's +face, and frequently heaved deep sighs. . . . At the time I did +not understand those sighs, and did not try to fathom their +significance; now they explain a great deal to me. + +When the shadows merged into one thick mass of shade, the bailiff +Fyodor would come in from shooting or from the field. This Fyodor +gave me the impres sion of being a fierce and even a terrible +man. The son of a Russianized gipsy from Izyumskoe, swarthy-faced +and curly-headed, with big black eyes and a matted beard, he was +never called among our Kotchuevko peasants by any name but "The +Devil." And, indeed, there was a great deal of the gipsy about +him apart from his appearance. He could not, for instance, stay +at home, and went off for days together into the country or into +the woods to shoot. He was gloomy, ill-humoured, taciturn, was +afraid of nobody, and refused to recognize any authority. He was +rude to mother, addressed me familiarly, and was contemptuous of +Pobyedimsky's learning. All this we forgave him, looking upon him +as a hot-tempered and nervous man; mother liked him because, in +spite of his gipsy nature, he was ideally honest and industrious. +He loved his Tatyana Ivanovna passionately, like a gipsy, but +this love took in him a gloomy form, as though it cost him +suffering. He was never affectionate to his wife in our presence, +but simply rolled his eyes angrily at her and twisted his mouth. + +When he came in from the fields he would noisily and angrily put +down his gun, would come out to us on the steps, and sit down +beside his wife. After resting a little, he would ask his wife a +few questions about household matters, and then sink into +silence. + +"Let us sing," I would suggest. + +My tutor would tune his guitar, and in a deep deacon's bass +strike up "In the midst of the valley." We would begin singing. +My tutor took the bass, Fyodor sang in a hardly audible tenor, +while I sang soprano in unison with Tatyana Ivanovna. + +When the whole sky was covered with stars and the frogs had left +off croaking, they would bring in our supper from the kitchen. We +went into the lodge and sat down to the meal. My tutor and the +gipsy ate greedily, with such a sound that it was hard to tell +whether it was the bones crunching or their jaws, and Tatyana +Ivanovna and I scarcely succeeded in getting our share. After +supper the lodge was plunged in deep sleep. + +One evening, it was at the end of May, we were sitting on the +steps, waiting for supper. A shadow suddenly fell across us, and +Gundasov stood before us as though he had sprung out of the +earth. He looked at us for a long time, then clasped his hands +and laughed gaily. + +"An idyll!" he said. "They sing and dream in the moonlight! It's +charming, upon my soul! May I sit down and dream with you?" + +We looked at one another and said nothing. My uncle sat down on +the bottom step, yawned, and looked at the sky. A silence +followed. Pobyedimsky, who had for a long time been wanting to +talk to somebody fresh, was delighted at the opportunity, and was +the first to break the silence. He had only one subject for +intellectual conversation, the epizootic diseases. It sometimes +happens that after one has been in an immense crowd, only some +one countenance of the thousands remains long imprinted on the +memory; in the same way, of all that Pobyedimsky had heard, +during his six months at the veterinary institute, he remembered +only one passage: + +"The epizootics do immense damage to the stock of the country. It +is the duty of society to work hand in hand with the government +in waging war upon them." + +Before saying this to Gundasov, my tutor cleared his throat three +times, and several times, in his excitement, wrapped himself up +in his Inverness. On hearing about the epizootics, my uncle +looked intently at my tutor and made a sound between a snort and +a laugh. + +"Upon my soul, that's charming!" he said, scrutinizing us as +though we were mannequins. "This is actually life. . . . This is +really what reality is bound to be. Why are you silent, Pelagea +Ivanovna?" he said, addressing Tatyana Ivanovna. + +She coughed, overcome with confusion. + +"Talk, my friends, sing . . . play! . . . Don't lose time. You +know, time, the rascal, runs away and waits for no man! Upon my +soul, before you have time to look round, old age is upon you. . +. . Then it is too late to live! That's how it is, Pelagea +Ivanovna. . . . We mustn't sit still and be silent. . . ." + +At that point supper was brought out from the kitchen. Uncle went +into the lodge with us, and to keep us company ate five curd +fritters and the wing of a duck. He ate and looked at us. He was +touched and delighted by us all. Whatever silly nonsense my +precious tutor talked, and whatever Tatyana Ivanovna did, he +thought charming and delightful. When after supper Tatyana +Ivanovna sat quietly down and took up her knitting, he kept his +eyes fixed on her fingers and chatted away without ceasing. + +"Make all the haste you can to live, my friends. . ." he said. +"God forbid you should sacrifice the present for the future! +There is youth, health, fire in the present; the future is smoke +and deception! As soon as you are twenty begin to live." + +Tatyana Ivanovna dropped a knitting-needle. My uncle jumped up, +picked up the needle, and handed it to Tatyana Ivanovna with a +bow, and for the first time in my life I learnt that there were +people in the world more refined than Pobyedimsky. + +"Yes . . ." my uncle went on, "love, marry, do silly things. +Foolishness is a great deal more living and healthy than our +straining and striving after rational life." + +My uncle talked a great deal, so much that he bored us; I sat on +a box listening to him and dropping to sleep. It distressed me +that he did not once all the evening pay attention to me. He left +the lodge at two o'clock, when, overcome with drowsiness, I was +sound asleep. + +From that time forth my uncle took to coming to the lodge every +evening. He sang with us, had supper with us, and always stayed +on till two o'clock in the morning, chatting incessantly, always +about the same subject. His evening and night work was given up, +and by the end of June, when the privy councillor had learned to +eat mother's turkey and _compote_, his work by day was abandoned +too. My uncle tore himself away from his table and plunged into +"life." In the daytime he walked up and down the garden, he +whistled to the workmen and hindered them from working, making +them tell him their various histories. When his eye fell on +Tatyana Ivanovna he ran up to her, and, if she were carrying +anything, offered his assistance, which embarrassed her +dreadfully. + +As the summer advanced my uncle grew more and more frivolous, +volatile, and careless. Pobyedimsky was completely disillusioned +in regard to him. + +"He is too one-sided," he said. "There is nothing to show that he +is in the very foremost ranks of the service. And he doesn't even +know how to talk. At every word it's 'upon my soul.' No, I don't +like him!" + +From the time that my uncle began visiting the lodge there was a +noticeable change both in Fyodor and my tutor. Fyodor gave up +going out shooting, came home early, sat more taciturn than ever, +and stared with particular ill-humour at his wife. In my uncle's +presence my tutor gave up talking about epizootics, frowned, and +even laughed sarcastically. + +"Here comes our little bantam cock!" he growled on one occasion +when my uncle was coming into the lodge. + +I put down this change in them both to their being offended with +my uncle. My absent-minded uncle mixed up their names, and to the +very day of his departure failed to distinguish which was my +tutor and which was Tatyana Ivanovna's husband. Tatyana Ivanovna +herself he sometimes called Nastasya, sometimes Pelagea, and +sometimes Yevdokia. Touched and delighted by us, he laughed and +behaved exactly as though in the company of small children. . . . +All this, of course, might well offend young men. It was not a +case of offended pride, however, but, as I realize now, subtler +feelings. + +I remember one evening I was sitting on the box struggling with +sleep. My eyelids felt glued together and my body, tired out by +running about all day, drooped sideways. But I struggled against +sleep and tried to look on. It was about midnight. Tatyana +Ivanovna, rosy and unassuming as always, was sitting at a little +table sewing at her husband's shirt. Fyodor, sullen and gloomy, +was staring at her from one corner, and in the other sat +Pobyedimsky, snorting angrily and retreating into the high collar +of his shi rt. My uncle was walking up and down the room +thinking. Silence reigned; nothing was to be heard but the +rustling of the linen in Tatyana Ivanovna's hands. Suddenly my +uncle stood still before Tatyana Ivanovna, and said: + +"You are all so young, so fresh, so nice, you live so peacefully +in this quiet place, that I envy you. I have become attached to +your way of life here; my heart aches when I remember I have to +go away. . . . You may believe in my sincerity!" + +Sleep closed my eyes and I lost myself. When some sound waked me, +my uncle was standing before Tatyana Ivanovna, looking at her +with a softened expression. His cheeks were flushed. + +"My life has been wasted," he said. "I have not lived! Your young +face makes me think of my own lost youth, and I should be ready +to sit here watching you to the day of my death. It would be a +pleasure to me to take you with me to Petersburg." + +"What for?" Fyodor asked in a husky voice. + +"I should put her under a glass case on my work-table. I should +admire her and show her to other people. You know, Pelagea +Ivanovna, we have no women like you there. Among us there is +wealth, distinction, sometimes beauty, but we have not this true +sort of life, this healthy serenity. . . ." + +My uncle sat down facing Tatyana Ivanovna and took her by the +hand. + +"So you won't come with me to Petersburg?" he laughed. "In that +case give me your little hand. . . . A charming little hand! . . +. You won't give it? Come, you miser! let me kiss it, anyway. . . +." + +At that moment there was the scrape of a chair. Fyodor jumped up, +and with heavy, measured steps went up to his wife. His face was +pale, grey, and quivering. He brought his fist down on the table +with a bang, and said in a hollow voice: + +"I won't allow it! + +At the same moment Pobyedimsky jumped up from his chair. He, too, +pale and angry, went up to Tatyana Ivanovna, and he, too, struck +the table with his fist. + +"I . . . I won't allow it!" he said. + +"What, what's the matter?" asked my uncle in surprise. + +"I won't allow it!" repeated Fyodor, banging on the table. + +My uncle jumped up and blinked nervously. He tried to speak, but +in his amazement and alarm could not utter a word; with an +embarrassed smile, he shuffled out of the lodge with the hurried +step of an old man, leaving his hat behind. When, a little later, +my mother ran into the lodge, Fyodor and Pobyedimsky were still +hammering on the table like blacksmiths and repeating, "I won't +allow it!" + +"What has happened here?" asked mother. "Why has my brother been +taken ill? What's the matter?" + +Looking at Tatyana's pale, frightened face and at her infuriated +husband, mother probably guessed what was the matter. She sighed +and shook her head. + +"Come! give over banging on the table!" she said. "Leave off, +Fyodor! And why are you thumping, Yegor Alexyevitch? What have +you got to do with it?" + +Pobyedimsky was startled and confused. Fyodor looked intently at +him, then at his wife, and began walking about the room. When +mother had gone out of the lodge, I saw what for long afterwards +I looked upon as a dream. I saw Fyodor seize my tutor, lift him +up in the air, and thrust him out of the door. + +When I woke up in the morning my tutor's bed was empty. To my +question where he was nurse told me in a whisper that he had been +taken off early in the morning to the hospital, as his arm was +broken. Distressed at this intelligence and remembering the scene +of the previous evening, I went out of doors. It was a grey day. +The sky was covered with storm-clouds and there was a wind +blowing dust, bits of paper, and feathers along the ground. . . . +It felt as though rain were coming. There was a look of boredom +in the servants and in the animals. When I went into the house I +was told not to make such a noise with my feet, as mother was ill +and in bed with a migraine. What was I to do? I went outside the +gate, sat down on the little bench there, and fell to trying to +discover the meaning of what I had seen and heard the day before. +From our gate there was a road which, passing the forge and the +pool which never dried up, ran into the main road. I looked at +the telegraph-posts, about which clouds of dust were whirling, +and at the sleepy birds sitting on the wires, and I suddenly felt +so dreary that I began to cry. + +A dusty wagonette crammed full of townspeople, probably going to +visit the shrine, drove by along the main road. The wagonette was +hardly out of sight when a light chaise with a pair of horses +came into view. In it was Akim Nikititch, the police inspector, +standing up and holding on to the coachman's belt. To my great +surprise, the chaise turned into our road and flew by me in at +the gate. While I was puzzling why the police inspector had come +to see us, I heard a noise, and a carriage with three horses came +into sight on the road. In the carriage stood the police captain, +directing his coachman towards our gate. + +"And why is he coming?" I thought, looking at the dusty police +captain. "Most probably Pobyedimsky has complained of Fyodor to +him, and they have come to take him to prison." + +But the mystery was not so easily solved. The police inspector +and the police captain were only the first instalment, for five +minutes had scarcely passed when a coach drove in at our gate. It +dashed by me so swiftly that I could only get a glimpse of a red +beard. + +Lost in conjecture and full of misgivings, I ran to the house. In +the passage first of all I saw mother; she was pale and looking +with horror towards the door, from which came the sounds of men's +voices. The visitors had taken her by surprise in the very throes +of migraine. + +"Who has come, mother?" I asked. + +"Sister," I heard my uncle's voice, "will you send in something +to eat for the governor and me?" + +"It is easy to say 'something to eat,' " whispered my mother, +numb with horror. "What have I time to get ready now? I am put to +shame in my old age!" + +Mother clutched at her head and ran into the kitchen. The +governor's sudden visit stirred and overwhelmed the whole +household. A ferocious slaughter followed. A dozen fowls, five +turkeys, eight ducks, were killed, and in the fluster the old +gander, the progenitor of our whole flock of geese and a great +favourite of mother's, was beheaded. The coachmen and the cook +seemed frenzied, and slaughtered birds at random, without +distinction of age or breed. For the sake of some wretched sauce +a pair of valuable pigeons, as dear to me as the gander was to +mother, were sacrificed. It was a long while before I could +forgive the governor their death. + +In the evening, when the governor and his suite, after a +sumptuous dinner, had got into their carriages and driven away, I +went into the house to look at the remains of the feast. Glancing +into the drawing-room from the passage, I saw my uncle and my +mother. My uncle, with his hands behind his back, was walking +nervously up and down close to the wall, shrugging his shoulders. +Mother, exhausted and looking much thinner, was sitting on the +sofa and watching his movements with heavy eyes. + +"Excuse me, sister, but this won't do at all," my uncle grumbled, +wrinkling up his face. "I introduced the governor to you, and you +didn't offer to shake hands. You covered him with confusion, poor +fellow! No, that won't do. . . . Simplicity is a very good thing, +but there must be limits to it. . . . Upon my soul! And then that +dinner! How can one give people such things? What was that mess, +for instance, that they served for the fourth course?" + +"That was duck with sweet sauce . . ." mother answered softly. + +"Duck! Forgive me, sister, but . . . but here I've got heartburn! +I am ill!" + +My uncle made a sour, tearful face, and went on: + +"It was the devil sent that governor! As though I wanted his +visit! Pff! . . . heartburn! I can't work or sleep . . . I am +completely out of sorts. . . . And I can't understand how you can +live here without anything to do . . . in this boredom! Here I've +got a pain coming under my shoulder-blade! . . ." + +My uncle frowned, and walked about more rapidly than ever. + +"Brother," my mother inquired softly, "what would it cost to go +abroad?" + +"At least three thousand . . ." my uncle answered in a te arful +voice. "I would go, but where am I to get it? I haven't a +farthing. Pff! . . . heartburn!" + +My uncle stopped to look dejectedly at the grey, overcast +prospect from the window, and began pacing to and fro again. + +A silence followed. . . . Mother looked a long while at the ikon, +pondering something, then she began crying, and said: + +"I'll give you the three thousand, brother. . . ." + + +Three days later the majestic boxes went off to the station, and +the privy councillor drove off after them. As he said good-bye to +mother he shed tears, and it was a long time before he took his +lips from her hands, but when he got into his carriage his face +beamed with childlike pleasure. . . . Radiant and happy, he +settled himself comfortably, kissed his hand to my mother, who +was crying, and all at once his eye was caught by me. A look of +the utmost astonishment came into his face. + +"What boy is this?" he asked. + +My mother, who had declared my uncle's coming was a piece of luck +for which I must thank God, was bitterly mortified at this +question. I was in no mood for questions. I looked at my uncle's +happy face, and for some reason I felt fearfully sorry for him. I +could not resist jumping up to the carriage and hugging that +frivolous man, weak as all men are. Looking into his face and +wanting to say something pleasant, I asked: + +"Uncle, have you ever been in a battle?" + +"Ah, the dear boy . . ." laughed my uncle, kissing me. "A +charming boy, upon my soul! How natural, how living it all is, +upon my soul! . . ." + +The carriage set off. . . . I looked after him, and long +afterwards that farewell "upon my soul" was ringing in my ears. + + +THE MAN IN A CASE + +AT the furthest end of the village of Mironositskoe some belated +sportsmen lodged for the night in the elder Prokofy's barn. There +were two of them, the veterinary surgeon Ivan Ivanovitch and the +schoolmaster Burkin. Ivan Ivanovitch had a rather strange +double-barrelled surname -- Tchimsha-Himalaisky -- which did not +suit him at all, and he was called simply Ivan Ivanovitch all +over the province. He lived at a stud-farm near the town, and had +come out shooting now to get a breath of fresh air. Burkin, the +high-school teacher, stayed every summer at Count P-----'s, and +had been thoroughly at home in this district for years. + +They did not sleep. Ivan Ivanovitch, a tall, lean old fellow with +long moustaches, was sitting outside the door, smoking a pipe in +the moonlight. Burkin was lying within on the hay, and could not +be seen in the darkness. + +They were telling each other all sorts of stories. Among other +things, they spoke of the fact that the elder's wife, Mavra, a +healthy and by no means stupid woman, had never been beyond her +native village, had never seen a town nor a railway in her life, +and had spent the last ten years sitting behind the stove, and +only at night going out into the street. + +"What is there wonderful in that!" said Burkin. "There are plenty +of people in the world, solitary by temperament, who try to +retreat into their shell like a hermit crab or a snail. Perhaps +it is an instance of atavism, a return to the period when the +ancestor of man was not yet a social animal and lived alone in +his den, or perhaps it is only one of the diversities of human +character -- who knows? I am not a natural science man, and it is +not my business to settle such questions; I only mean to say that +people like Mavra are not uncommon. There is no need to look far; +two months ago a man called Byelikov, a colleague of mine, the +Greek master, died in our town. You have heard of him, no doubt. +He was remarkable for always wearing goloshes and a warm wadded +coat, and carrying an umbrella even in the very finest weather. +And his umbrella was in a case, and his watch was in a case made +of grey chamois leather, and when he took out his penknife to +sharpen his pencil, his penknife, too, was in a little case; and +his face seemed to be in a case too, because he always hid it in +his turned-up collar. He wore dark spectacles and flannel vests, +stuffed up his ears with cotton-wool, and when he got into a cab +always told the driver to put up the hood. In short, the man +displayed a constant and insurmountable impulse to wrap himself +in a covering, to make himself, so to speak, a case which would +isolate him and protect him from external influences. Reality +irritated him, frightened him, kept him in continual agitation, +and, perhaps to justify his timidity, his aversion for the +actual, he always praised the past and what had never existed; +and even the classical languages which he taught were in reality +for him goloshes and umbrellas in which he sheltered himself from +real life. + +" 'Oh, how sonorous, how beautiful is the Greek language!' he +would say, with a sugary expression; and as though to prove his +words he would screw up his eyes and, raising his finger, would +pronounce 'Anthropos!' + +"And Byelikov tried to hide his thoughts also in a case. The only +things that were clear to his mind were government circulars and +newspaper articles in which something was forbidden. When some +proclamation prohibited the boys from going out in the streets +after nine o'clock in the evening, or some article declared +carnal love unlawful, it was to his mind clear and definite; it +was forbidden, and that was enough. For him there was always a +doubtful element, something vague and not fully expressed, in any +sanction or permission. When a dramatic club or a reading-room or +a tea-shop was licensed in the town, he would shake his head and +say softly: + +"It is all right, of course; it is all very nice, but I hope it +won't lead to anything!" + +"Every sort of breach of order, deviation or departure from rule, +depressed him, though one would have thought it was no business +of his. If one of his colleagues was late for church or if +rumours reached him of some prank of the high-school boys, or one +of the mistresses was seen late in the evening in the company of +an officer, he was much disturbed, and said he hoped that nothing +would come of it. At the teachers' meetings he simply oppressed +us with his caution, his circumspection, and his characteristic +reflection on the ill-behaviour of the young people in both male +and female high-schools, the uproar in the classes. + +"Oh, he hoped it would not reach the ears of the authorities; oh, +he hoped nothing would come of it; and he thought it would be a +very good thing if Petrov were expelled from the second class and +Yegorov from the fourth. And, do you know, by his sighs, his +despondency, his black spectacles on his pale little face, a +little face like a pole-cat's, you know, he crushed us all, and +we gave way, reduced Petrov's and Yegorov's marks for conduct, +kept them in, and in the end expelled them both. He had a strange +habit of visiting our lodgings. He would come to a teacher's, +would sit down, and remain silent, as though he were carefully +inspecting something. He would sit like this in silence for an +hour or two and then go away. This he called 'maintaining good +relations with his colleagues'; and it was obvious that coming to +see us and sitting there was tiresome to him, and that he came to +see us simply because he considered it his duty as our colleague. +We teachers were afraid of him. And even the headmaster was +afraid of him. Would you believe it, our teachers were all +intellectual, right-minded people, brought up on Turgenev and +Shtchedrin, yet this little chap, who always went about with +goloshes and an umbrella, had the whole high-school under his +thumb for fifteen long years! High-school, indeed -- he had the +whole town under his thumb! Our ladies did not get up private +theatricals on Saturdays for fear he should hear of it, and the +clergy dared not eat meat or play cards in his presence. Under +the influence of people like Byelikov we have got into the way of +being afraid of everything in our town for the last ten or +fifteen years. They are afraid to speak aloud, afraid to send +letters, afraid to make acquaintances, afraid to read books, +afraid to help the poor, to teach people to read and write. . . +." + +Ivan Ivanovitch cleared his throat, meaning to say something, but +first lighted his pipe, g azed at the moon, and then said, with +pauses: + +"Yes, intellectual, right minded people read Shtchedrin and +Turgenev, Buckle, and all the rest of them, yet they knocked +under and put up with it. . . that's just how it is." + +"Byelikov lived in the same house as I did," Burkin went on, "on +the same storey, his door facing mine; we often saw each other, +and I knew how he lived when he was at home. And at home it was +the same story: dressing-gown, nightcap, blinds, bolts, a perfect +succession of prohibitions and restrictions of all sorts, and +--'Oh, I hope nothing will come of it!' Lenten fare was bad for +him, yet he could not eat meat, as people might perhaps say +Byelikov did not keep the fasts, and he ate freshwater fish with +butter -- not a Lenten dish, yet one could not say that it was +meat. He did not keep a female servant for fear people might +think evil of him, but had as cook an old man of sixty, called +Afanasy, half-witted and given to tippling, who had once been an +officer's servant and could cook after a fashion. This Afanasy +was usually standing at the door with his arms folded; with a +deep sigh, he would mutter always the same thing: + +" 'There are plenty of _them_ about nowadays!' + +"Byelikov had a little bedroom like a box; his bed had curtains. +When he went to bed he covered his head over; it was hot and +stuffy; the wind battered on the closed doors; there was a +droning noise in the stove and a sound of sighs from the kitchen +-- ominous sighs. . . . And he felt frightened under the +bed-clothes. He was afraid that something might happen, that +Afanasy might murder him, that thieves might break in, and so he +had troubled dreams all night, and in the morning, when we went +together to the high-school, he was depressed and pale, and it +was evident that the high-school full of people excited dread and +aversion in his whole being, and that to walk beside me was +irksome to a man of his solitary temperament. + +" 'They make a great noise in our classes,' he used to say, as +though trying to find an explanation for his depression. 'It's +beyond anything.' + +"And the Greek master, this man in a case -- would you believe +it? -- almost got married." + +Ivan Ivanovitch glanced quickly into the barn, and said: + +"You are joking!" + +"Yes, strange as it seems, he almost got married. A new teacher +of history and geography, Milhail Savvitch Kovalenko, a Little +Russian, was appointed. He came, not alone, but with his sister +Varinka. He was a tall, dark young man with huge hands, and one +could see from his face that he had a bass voice, and, in fact, +he had a voice that seemed to come out of a barrel -- 'boom, +boom, boom!' And she was not so young, about thirty, but she, +too, was tall, well-made, with black eyebrows and red cheeks -- +in fact, she was a regular sugar-plum, and so sprightly, so +noisy; she was always singing Little Russian songs and laughing. +For the least thing she would go off into a ringing laugh -- +'Ha-ha-ha!' We made our first thorough acquaintance with the +Kovalenkos at the headmaster's name-day party. Among the glum and +intensely bored teachers who came even to the name-day party as a +duty we suddenly saw a new Aphrodite risen from the waves; she +walked with her arms akimbo, laughed, sang, danced. . . . She +sang with feeling 'The Winds do Blow,' then another song, and +another, and she fascinated us all -- all, even Byelikov. He sat +down by her and said with a honeyed smile: + +" 'The Little Russian reminds one of the ancient Greek in its +softness and agreeable resonance.' + +"That flattered her, and she began telling him with feeling and +earnestness that they had a farm in the Gadyatchsky district, and +that her mamma lived at the farm, and that they had such pears, +such melons, such _kabaks_! The Little Russians call pumpkins +_kabaks_ (i.e., pothouses), while their pothouses they call +_shinki_, and they make a beetroot soup with tomatoes and +aubergines in it, 'which was so nice -- awfully nice!' + +"We listened and listened, and suddenly the same idea dawned upon +us all: + +" 'It would be a good thing to make a match of it,' the +headmaster's wife said to me softly. + +"We all for some reason recalled the fact that our friend +Byelikov was not married, and it now seemed to us strange that we +had hitherto failed to observe, and had in fact completely lost +sight of, a detail so important in his life. What was his +attitude to woman? How had he settled this vital question for +himself? This had not interested us in the least till then; +perhaps we had not even admitted the idea that a man who went out +in all weathers in goloshes and slept under curtains could be in +love. + +" 'He is a good deal over forty and she is thirty,' the +headmaster's wife went on, developing her idea. 'I believe she +would marry him.' + +"All sorts of things are done in the provinces through boredom, +all sorts of unnecessary and nonsensical things! And that is +because what is necessary is not done at all. What need was there +for instance, for us to make a match for this Byelikov, whom one +could not even imagine married? The headmaster's wife, the +inspector's wife, and all our high-school ladies, grew livelier +and even better-looking, as though they had suddenly found a new +object in life. The headmaster's wife would take a box at the +theatre, and we beheld sitting in her box Varinka, with such a +fan, beaming and happy, and beside her Byelikov, a little bent +figure, looking as though he had been extracted from his house by +pincers. I would give an evening party, and the ladies would +insist on my inviting Byelikov and Varinka. In short, the machine +was set in motion. It appeared that Varinka was not averse to +matrimony. She had not a very cheerful life with her brother; +they could do nothing but quarrel and scold one another from +morning till night. Here is a scene, for instance. Kovalenko +would be coming along the street, a tall, sturdy young ruffian, +in an embroidered shirt, his love-locks falling on his forehead +under his cap, in one hand a bundle of books, in the other a +thick knotted stick, followed by his sister, also with books in +her hand. + +" 'But you haven't read it, Mihalik!' she would be arguing +loudly. 'I tell you, I swear you have not read it at all!' + +" 'And I tell you I have read it,' cries Kovalenko, thumping his +stick on the pavement. + +" 'Oh, my goodness, Mihalik! why are you so cross? We are arguing +about principles.' + +" 'I tell you that I have read it!' Kovalenko would shout, more +loudly than ever. + +"And at home, if there was an outsider present, there was sure to +be a skirmish. Such a life must have been wearisome, and of +course she must have longed for a home of her own. Besides, there +was her age to be considered; there was no time left to pick and +choose; it was a case of marrying anybody, even a Greek master. +And, indeed, most of our young ladies don't mind whom they marry +so long as they do get married. However that may be, Varinka +began to show an unmistakable partiality for Byelikov. + +"And Byelikov? He used to visit Kovalenko just as he did us. He +would arrive, sit down, and remain silent. He would sit quiet, +and Varinka would sing to him 'The Winds do Blow,' or would look +pensively at him with her dark eyes, or would suddenly go off +into a peal -- 'Ha-ha-ha!' + +"Suggestion plays a great part in love affairs, and still more in +getting married. Everybody -- both his colleagues and the ladies +-- began assuring Byelikov that he ought to get married, that +there was nothing left for him in life but to get married; we all +congratulated him, with solemn countenances delivered ourselves +of various platitudes, such as 'Marriage is a serious step.' +Besides, Varinka was good-looking and interesting; she was the +daughter of a civil councillor, and had a farm; and what was +more, she was the first woman who had been warm and friendly in +her manner to him. His head was turned, and he decided that he +really ought to get married." + +"Well, at that point you ought to have taken away his goloshes +and umbrella," said Ivan Ivanovitch. + +"Only fancy! that turned out to be impossible. He put Varinka's +portrait on his table, kept coming to see me and talking about +Varinka, and home life, + saying marriage was a serious step. He was frequently at +Kovalenko's, but he did not alter his manner of life in the +least; on the contrary, indeed, his determination to get married +seemed to have a depressing effect on him. He grew thinner and +paler, and seemed to retreat further and further into his case. + +" 'I like Varvara Savvishna,' he used to say to me, with a faint +and wry smile, 'and I know that every one ought to get married, +but . . . you know all this has happened so suddenly. . . . One +must think a little.' + +" 'What is there to think over?' I used to say to him. 'Get +married -- that is all.' + +" 'No; marriage is a serious step. One must first weigh the +duties before one, the responsibilities . . . that nothing may go +wrong afterwards. It worries me so much that I don't sleep at +night. And I must confess I am afraid: her brother and she have a +strange way of thinking; they look at things strangely, you know, +and her disposition is very impetuous. One may get married, and +then, there is no knowing, one may find oneself in an unpleasant +position.' + +"And he did not make an offer; he kept putting it off, to the +great vexation of the headmaster's wife and all our ladies; he +went on weighing his future duties and responsibilities, and +meanwhile he went for a walk with Varinka almost every day -- +possibly he thought that this was necessary in his position -- +and came to see me to talk about family life. And in all +probability in the end he would have proposed to her, and would +have made one of those unnecessary, stupid marriages such as are +made by thousands among us from being bored and having nothing to +do, if it had not been for a _kolossalische scandal_. I must +mention that Varinka's brother, Kovalenko, detested Byelikov from +the first day of their acquaintance, and could not endure him. + +" 'I don't understand,' he used to say to us, shrugging his +shoulders --'I don't understand how you can put up with that +sneak, that nasty phiz. Ugh! how can you live here! The +atmosphere is stifling and unclean! Do you call yourselves +schoolmasters, teachers? You are paltry government clerks. You +keep, not a temple of science, but a department for red tape and +loyal behaviour, and it smells as sour as a police-station. No, +my friends; I will stay with you for a while, and then I will go +to my farm and there catch crabs and teach the Little Russians. I +shall go, and you can stay here with your Judas -- damn his +soul!' + +"Or he would laugh till he cried, first in a loud bass, then in a +shrill, thin laugh, and ask me, waving his hands: + +" 'What does he sit here for? What does he want? He sits and +stares.' + +"He even gave Byelikov a nickname, 'The Spider.' And it will +readily be understood that we avoided talking to him of his +sister's being about to marry 'The Spider.' + +"And on one occasion, when the headmaster's wife hinted to him +what a good thing it would be to secure his sister's future with +such a reliable, universally respected man as Byelikov, he +frowned and muttered: + +" 'It's not my business; let her marry a reptile if she likes. I +don't like meddling in other people's affairs.' + +"Now hear what happened next. Some mischievous person drew a +caricature of Byelikov walking along in his goloshes with his +trousers tucked up, under his umbrella, with Varinka on his arm; +below, the inscription 'Anthropos in love.' The expression was +caught to a marvel, you know. The artist must have worked for +more than one night, for the teachers of both the boys' and +girls' high-schools, the teachers of the seminary, the government +officials, all received a copy. Byelikov received one, too. The +caricature made a very painful impression on him. + +"We went out together; it was the first of May, a Sunday, and all +of us, the boys and the teachers, had agreed to meet at the +high-school and then to go for a walk together to a wood beyond +the town. We set off, and he was green in the face and gloomier +than a storm-cloud. + +'What wicked, ill-natured people there are!' he said, and his +lips quivered. + +"I felt really sorry for him. We were walking along, and all of a +sudden -- would you believe it? -- Kovalenko came bowling along +on a bicycle, and after him, also on a bicycle, Varinka, flushed +and exhausted, but good-humoured and gay. + +" 'We are going on ahead,' she called. 'What lovely weather! +Awfully lovely!' + +"And they both disappeared from our sight. Byelikov turned white +instead of green, and seemed petrified. He stopped short and +stared at me. . . . + +" 'What is the meaning of it? Tell me, please!' he asked. 'Can my +eyes have deceived me? Is it the proper thing for high-school +masters and ladies to ride bicycles?' + +" 'What is there improper about it?' I said. 'Let them ride and +enjoy themselves.' + +" 'But how can that be?' he cried, amazed at my calm. 'What are +you saying?' + +"And he was so shocked that he was unwilling to go on, and +returned home. + +"Next day he was continually twitching and nervously rubbing his +hands, and it was evident from his face that he was unwell. And +he left before his work was over, for the first time in his life. +And he ate no dinner. Towards evening he wrapped himself up +warmly, though it was quite warm weather, and sallied out to the +Kovalenkos'. Varinka was out; he found her brother, however. + +" 'Pray sit down,' Kovalenko said coldly, with a frown. His face +looked sleepy; he had just had a nap after dinner, and was in a +very bad humour. + +"Byelikov sat in silence for ten minutes, and then began: + +" 'I have come to see you to relieve my mind. I am very, very +much troubled. Some scurrilous fellow has drawn an absurd +caricature of me and another person, in whom we are both deeply +interested. I regard it as a duty to assure you that I have had +no hand in it. . . . I have given no sort of ground for such +ridicule -- on the contrary, I have always behaved in every way +like a gentleman.' + +"Kovalenko sat sulky and silent. Byelikov waited a little, and +went on slowly in a mournful voice: + +" 'And I have something else to say to you. I have been in the +service for years, while you have only lately entered it, and I +consider it my duty as an older colleague to give you a warning. +You ride on a bicycle, and that pastime is utterly unsuitable for +an educator of youth.' + +" 'Why so?' asked Kovalenko in his bass. + +" 'Surely that needs no explanation, Mihail Savvitch -- surely +you can understand that? If the teacher rides a bicycle, what can +you expect the pupils to do? You will have them walking on their +heads next! And so long as there is no formal permission to do +so, it is out of the question. I was horrified yesterday! When I +saw your sister everything seemed dancing before my eyes. A lady +or a young girl on a bicycle -- it's awful!' + +" 'What is it you want exactly?' + +" 'All I want is to warn you, Mihail Savvitch. You are a young +man, you have a future before you, you must be very, very careful +in your behaviour, and you are so careless -- oh, so careless! +You go about in an embroidered shirt, are constantly seen in the +street carrying books, and now the bicycle, too. The headmaster +will learn that you and your sister ride the bicycle, and then it +will reach the higher authorities. . . . Will that be a good +thing?' + +" 'It's no business of anybody else if my sister and I do +bicycle!' said Kovalenko, and he turned crimson. 'And damnation +take any one who meddles in my private affairs!' + +"Byelikov turned pale and got up. + +" 'If you speak to me in that tone I cannot continue,' he said. +'And I beg you never to express yourself like that about our +superiors in my presence; you ought to be respectful to the +authorities.' + +" 'Why, have I said any harm of the authorities?' asked +Kovalenko, looking at him wrathfully. 'Please leave me alone. I +am an honest man, and do not care to talk to a gentleman like +you. I don't like sneaks!' + +"Byelikov flew into a nervous flutter, and began hurriedly +putting on his coat, with an expression of horror on his face. It +was the first time in his life he had been spoken to so rudely. + +" 'You can say what you please,' he said, as he went out from the +entry to the landing on the staircase. 'I ought only to warn you: +possibly some on e may have overheard us, and that our +conversation may not be misunderstood and harm come of it, I +shall be compelled to inform our headmaster of our conversation . +. . in its main features. I am bound to do so.' + +" 'Inform him? You can go and make your report!' + +"Kovalenko seized him from behind by the collar and gave him a +push, and Byelikov rolled downstairs, thudding with his goloshes. +The staircase was high and steep, but he rolled to the bottom +unhurt, got up, and touched his nose to see whether his +spectacles were all right. But just as he was falling down the +stairs Varinka came in, and with her two ladies; they stood below +staring, and to Byelikov this was more terrible than anything. I +believe he would rather have broken his neck or both legs than +have been an object of ridicule. 'Why, now the whole town would +hear of it; it would come to the headmaster's ears, would reach +the higher authorities -- oh, it might lead to something! There +would be another caricature, and it would all end in his being +asked to resign his post. . . . + +"When he got up, Varinka recognized him, and, looking at his +ridiculous face, his crumpled overcoat, and his goloshes, not +understanding what had happened and supposing that he had slipped +down by accident, could not restrain herself, and laughed loud +enough to be heard by all the flats: + +" 'Ha-ha-ha!' + +"And this pealing, ringing 'Ha-ha-ha!' was the last straw that +put an end to everything: to the proposed match and to Byelikov's +earthly existence. He did not hear what Varinka said to him; he +saw nothing. On reaching home, the first thing he did was to +remove her portrait from the table; then he went to bed, and he +never got up again. + +"Three days later Afanasy came to me and asked whether we should +not send for the doctor, as there was something wrong with his +master. I went in to Byelikov. He lay silent behind the curtain, +covered with a quilt; if one asked him a question, he said 'Yes' +or 'No' and not another sound. He lay there while Afanasy, gloomy +and scowling, hovered about him, sighing heavily, and smelling +like a pothouse. + +"A month later Byelikov died. We all went to his funeral -- that +is, both the high-schools and the seminary. Now when he was lying +in his coffin his expression was mild, agreeable, even cheerful, +as though he were glad that he had at last been put into a case +which he would never leave again. Yes, he had attained his ideal! +And, as though in his honour, it was dull, rainy weather on the +day of his funeral, and we all wore goloshes and took our +umbrellas. Varinka, too, was at the funeral, and when the coffin +was lowered into the grave she burst into tears. I have noticed +that Little Russian women are always laughing or crying -- no +intermediate mood. + +"One must confess that to bury people like Byelikov is a great +pleasure. As we were returning from the cemetery we wore discreet +Lenten faces; no one wanted to display this feeling of pleasure +-- a feeling like that we had experienced long, long ago as +children when our elders had gone out and we ran about the garden +for an hour or two, enjoying complete freedom. Ah, freedom, +freedom! The merest hint, the faintest hope of its possibility +gives wings to the soul, does it not? + +"We returned from the cemetery in a good humour. But not more +than a week had passed before life went on as in the past, as +gloomy, oppressive, and senseless -- a life not forbidden by +government prohibition, but not fully permitted, either: it was +no better. And, indeed, though we had buried Byelikov, how many +such men in cases were left, how many more of them there will +be!" + +"That's just how it is," said Ivan Ivanovitch and he lighted his +pipe. + +"How many more of them there will be!" repeated Burkin. + +The schoolmaster came out of the barn. He was a short, stout man, +completely bald, with a black beard down to his waist. The two +dogs came out with him. + +"What a moon!" he said, looking upwards. + +It was midnight. On the right could be seen the whole village, a +long street stretching far away for four miles. All was buried in +deep silent slumber; not a movement, not a sound; one could +hardly believe that nature could be so still. When on a moonlight +night you see a broad village street, with its cottages, +haystacks, and slumbering willows, a feeling of calm comes over +the soul; in this peace, wrapped away from care, toil, and sorrow +in the darkness of night, it is mild, melancholy, beautiful, and +it seems as though the stars look down upon it kindly and with +tenderness, and as though there were no evil on earth and all +were well. On the left the open country began from the end of the +village; it could be seen stretching far away to the horizon, and +there was no movement, no sound in that whole expanse bathed in +moonlight. + +"Yes, that is just how it is," repeated Ivan Ivanovitch; "and +isn't our living in town, airless and crowded, our writing +useless papers, our playing _vint_ -- isn't that all a sort of +case for us? And our spending our whole lives among trivial, +fussy men and silly, idle women, our talking and our listening to +all sorts of nonsense -- isn't that a case for us, too? If you +like, I will tell you a very edifying story." + +"No; it's time we were asleep," said Burkin. "Tell it tomorrow." + +They went into the barn and lay down on the hay. And they were +both covered up and beginning to doze when they suddenly heard +light footsteps -- patter, patter. . . . Some one was walking not +far from the barn, walking a little and stopping, and a minute +later, patter, patter again. . . . The dogs began growling. + +"That's Mavra," said Burkin. + +The footsteps died away. + +"You see and hear that they lie," said Ivan Ivanovitch, turning +over on the other side, "and they call you a fool for putting up +with their lying. You endure insult and humiliation, and dare not +openly say that you are on the side of the honest and the free, +and you lie and smile yourself; and all that for the sake of a +crust of bread, for the sake of a warm corner, for the sake of a +wretched little worthless rank in the service. No, one can't go +on living like this." + +"Well, you are off on another tack now, Ivan Ivanovitch," said +the schoolmaster. "Let us go to sleep! + +And ten minutes later Burkin was asleep. But Ivan Ivanovitch kept +sighing and turning over from side to side; then he got up, went +outside again, and, sitting in the doorway, lighted his pipe. + + +GOOSEBERRIES + +THE whole sky had been overcast with rain-clouds from early +morning; it was a still day, not hot, but heavy, as it is in grey +dull weather when the clouds have been hanging over the country +for a long while, when one expects rain and it does not come. +Ivan Ivanovitch, the veterinary surgeon, and Burkin, the +high-school teacher, were already tired from walking, and the +fields seemed to them endless. Far ahead of them they could just +see the windmills of the village of Mironositskoe; on the right +stretched a row of hillocks which disappeared in the distance +behind the village, and they both knew that this was the bank of +the river, that there were meadows, green willows, homesteads +there, and that if one stood on one of the hillocks one could see +from it the same vast plain, telegraph-wires, and a train which +in the distance looked like a crawling caterpillar, and that in +clear weather one could even see the town. Now, in still weather, +when all nature seemed mild and dreamy, Ivan Ivanovitch and +Burkin were filled with love of that countryside, and both +thought how great, how beautiful a land it was. + +"Last time we were in Prokofy's barn," said Burkin, "you were +about to tell me a story." + +"Yes; I meant to tell you about my brother." + +Ivan Ivanovitch heaved a deep sigh and lighted a pipe to begin to +tell his story, but just at that moment the rain began. And five +minutes later heavy rain came down, covering the sky, and it was +hard to tell when it would be over. Ivan Ivanovitch and Burkin +stopped in hesitation; the dogs, already drenched, stood with +their tails between their legs gazing at them feelingly. + +"We must take shelter somewhere," said Burkin. "Let us go to +Alehin's; it's close by." + +"Come along." + +They turned aside a nd walked through mown fields, sometimes +going straight forward, sometimes turning to the right, till they +came out on the road. Soon they saw poplars, a garden, then the +red roofs of barns; there was a gleam of the river, and the view +opened on to a broad expanse of water with a windmill and a white +bath-house: this was Sofino, where Alehin lived. + +The watermill was at work, drowning the sound of the rain; the +dam was shaking. Here wet horses with drooping heads were +standing near their carts, and men were walking about covered +with sacks. It was damp, muddy, and desolate; the water looked +cold and malignant. Ivan Ivanovitch and Burkin were already +conscious of a feeling of wetness, messiness, and discomfort all +over; their feet were heavy with mud, and when, crossing the dam, +they went up to the barns, they were silent, as though they were +angry with one another. + +In one of the barns there was the sound of a winnowing machine, +the door was open, and clouds of dust were coming from it. In the +doorway was standing Alehin himself, a man of forty, tall and +stout, with long hair, more like a professor or an artist than a +landowner. He had on a white shirt that badly needed washing, a +rope for a belt, drawers instead of trousers, and his boots, too, +were plastered up with mud and straw. His eyes and nose were +black with dust. He recognized Ivan Ivanovitch and Burkin, and +was apparently much delighted to see them. + +"Go into the house, gentlemen," he said, smiling; "I'll come +directly, this minute." + +It was a big two-storeyed house. Alehin lived in the lower +storey, with arched ceilings and little windows, where the +bailiffs had once lived; here everything was plain, and there was +a smell of rye bread, cheap vodka, and harness. He went upstairs +into the best rooms only on rare occasions, when visitors came. +Ivan Ivanovitch and Burkin were met in the house by a +maid-servant, a young woman so beautiful that they both stood +still and looked at one another. + +"You can't imagine how delighted I am to see you, my friends," +said Alehin, going into the hall with them. "It is a surprise! +Pelagea," he said, addressing the girl, "give our visitors +something to change into. And, by the way, I will change too. +Only I must first go and wash, for I almost think I have not +washed since spring. Wouldn't you like to come into the +bath-house? and meanwhile they will get things ready here." + +Beautiful Pelagea, looking so refined and soft, brought them +towels and soap, and Alehin went to the bath-house with his +guests. + +"It's a long time since I had a wash," he said, undressing. "I +have got a nice bath-house, as you see -- my father built it -- +but I somehow never have time to wash." + +He sat down on the steps and soaped his long hair and his neck, +and the water round him turned brown. + +"Yes, I must say," said Ivan Ivanovitch meaningly, looking at his +head. + +"It's a long time since I washed . . ." said Alehin with +embarrassment, giving himself a second soaping, and the water +near him turned dark blue, like ink. + +Ivan Ivanovitch went outside, plunged into the water with a loud +splash, and swam in the rain, flinging his arms out wide. He +stirred the water into waves which set the white lilies bobbing +up and down; he swam to the very middle of the millpond and +dived, and came up a minute later in another place, and swam on, +and kept on diving, trying to touch the bottom. + +"Oh, my goodness!" he repeated continually, enjoying himself +thoroughly. "Oh, my goodness!" He swam to the mill, talked to the +peasants there, then returned and lay on his back in the middle +of the pond, turning his face to the rain. Burkin and Alehin were +dressed and ready to go, but he still went on swimming and +diving. "Oh, my goodness! . . ." he said. "Oh, Lord, have mercy +on me! . . ." + +"That's enough!" Burkin shouted to him. + +They went back to the house. And only when the lamp was lighted +in the big drawing-room upstairs, and Burkin and Ivan Ivanovitch, +attired in silk dressing-gowns and warm slippers, were sitting in +arm-chairs; and Alehin, washed and combed, in a new coat, was +walking about the drawing-room, evidently enjoying the feeling of +warmth, cleanliness, dry clothes, and light shoes; and when +lovely Pelagea, stepping noiselessly on the carpet and smiling +softly, handed tea and jam on a tray -- only then Ivan Ivanovitch +began on his story, and it seemed as though not only Burkin and +Alehin were listening, but also the ladies, young and old, and +the officers who looked down upon them sternly and calmly from +their gold frames. + +"There are two of us brothers," he began --"I, Ivan Ivanovitch, +and my brother, Nikolay Ivanovitch, two years younger. I went in +for a learned profession and became a veterinary surgeon, while +Nikolay sat in a government office from the time he was nineteen. +Our father, Tchimsha-Himalaisky, was a kantonist, but he rose to +be an officer and left us a little estate and the rank of +nobility. After his death the little estate went in debts and +legal expenses; but, anyway, we had spent our childhood running +wild in the country. Like peasant children, we passed our days +and nights in the fields and the woods, looked after horses, +stripped the bark off the trees, fished, and so on. . . . And, +you know, whoever has once in his life caught perch or has seen +the migrating of the thrushes in autumn, watched how they float +in flocks over the village on bright, cool days, he will never be +a real townsman, and will have a yearning for freedom to the day +of his death. My brother was miserable in the government office. +Years passed by, and he went on sitting in the same place, went +on writing the same papers and thinking of one and the same thing +-- how to get into the country. And this yearning by degrees +passed into a definite desire, into a dream of buying himself a +little farm somewhere on the banks of a river or a lake. + +"He was a gentle, good-natured fellow, and I was fond of him, but +I never sympathized with this desire to shut himself up for the +rest of his life in a little farm of his own. It's the correct +thing to say that a man needs no more than six feet of earth. But +six feet is what a corpse needs, not a man. And they say, too, +now, that if our intellectual classes are attracted to the land +and yearn for a farm, it's a good thing. But these farms are just +the same as six feet of earth. To retreat from town, from the +struggle, from the bustle of life, to retreat and bury oneself in +one's farm -- it's not life, it's egoism, laziness, it's +monasticism of a sort, but monasticism without good works. A man +does not need six feet of earth or a farm, but the whole globe, +all nature, where he can have room to display all the qualities +and peculiarities of his free spirit. + +"My brother Nikolay, sitting in his government office, dreamed of +how he would eat his own cabbages, which would fill the whole +yard with such a savoury smell, take his meals on the green +grass, sleep in the sun, sit for whole hours on the seat by the +gate gazing at the fields and the forest. Gardening books and the +agricultural hints in calendars were his delight, his favourite +spiritual sustenance; he enjoyed reading newspapers, too, but the +only things he read in them were the advertisements of so many +acres of arable land and a grass meadow with farm-houses and +buildings, a river, a garden, a mill and millponds, for sale. And +his imagination pictured the garden-paths, flowers and fruit, +starling cotes, the carp in the pond, and all that sort of thing, +you know. These imaginary pictures were of different kinds +according to the advertisements which he came across, but for +some reason in every one of them he had always to have +gooseberries. He could not imagine a homestead, he could not +picture an idyllic nook, without gooseberries. + +" 'Country life has its conveniences,' he would sometimes say. +'You sit on the verandah and you drink tea, while your ducks swim +on the pond, there is a delicious smell everywhere, and . . . and +the gooseberries are growing.' + +"He used to draw a map of his property, and in every map there +were the same things -- (a) house for the family, (b) servants' +quarters, (c) kitchen-ga rden, (d) gooseberry-bushes. He lived +parsimoniously, was frugal in food and drink, his clothes were +beyond description; he looked like a beggar, but kept on saving +and putting money in the bank. He grew fearfully avaricious. I +did not like to look at him, and I used to give him something and +send him presents for Christmas and Easter, but he used to save +that too. Once a man is absorbed by an idea there is no doing +anything with him. + +"Years passed: he was transferred to another province. He was +over forty, and he was still reading the advertisements in the +papers and saving up. Then I heard he was married. Still with the +same object of buying a farm and having gooseberries, he married +an elderly and ugly widow without a trace of feeling for her, +simply because she had filthy lucre. He went on living frugally +after marrying her, and kept her short of food, while he put her +money in the bank in his name. + +"Her first husband had been a postmaster, and with him she was +accustomed to pies and home-made wines, while with her second +husband she did not get enough black bread; she began to pine +away with this sort of life, and three years later she gave up +her soul to God. And I need hardly say that my brother never for +one moment imagined that he was responsible for her death. Money, +like vodka, makes a man queer. In our town there was a merchant +who, before he died, ordered a plateful of honey and ate up all +his money and lottery tickets with the honey, so that no one +might get the benefit of it. While I was inspecting cattle at a +railway-station, a cattle-dealer fell under an engine and had his +leg cut off. We carried him into the waiting-room, the blood was +flowing -- it was a horrible thing -- and he kept asking them to +look for his leg and was very much worried about it; there were +twenty roubles in the boot on the leg that had been cut off, and +he was afraid they would be lost." + +"That's a story from a different opera," said Burkin. + +"After his wife's death," Ivan Ivanovitch went on, after thinking +for half a minute, "my brother began looking out for an estate +for himself. Of course, you may look about for five years and yet +end by making a mistake, and buying something quite different +from what you have dreamed of. My brother Nikolay bought through +an agent a mortgaged estate of three hundred and thirty acres, +with a house for the family, with servants' quarters, with a +park, but with no orchard, no gooseberry-bushes, and no +duck-pond; there was a river, but the water in it was the colour +of coffee, because on one side of the estate there was a +brickyard and on the other a factory for burning bones. But +Nikolay Ivanovitch did not grieve much; he ordered twenty +gooseberry-bushes, planted them, and began living as a country +gentleman. + +"Last year I went to pay him a visit. I thought I would go and +see what it was like. In his letters my brother called his estate +'Tchumbaroklov Waste, alias Himalaiskoe.' I reached 'alias +Himalaiskoe' in the afternoon. It was hot. Everywhere there were +ditches, fences, hedges, fir-trees planted in rows, and there was +no knowing how to get to the yard, where to put one's horse. I +went up to the house, and was met by a fat red dog that looked +like a pig. It wanted to bark, but it was too lazy. The cook, a +fat, barefooted woman, came out of the kitchen, and she, too, +looked like a pig, and said that her master was resting after +dinner. I went in to see my brother. He was sitting up in bed +with a quilt over his legs; he had grown older, fatter, wrinkled; +his cheeks, his nose, and his mouth all stuck out -- he looked as +though he might begin grunting into the quilt at any moment. + +"We embraced each other, and shed tears of joy and of sadness at +the thought that we had once been young and now were both +grey-headed and near the grave. He dressed, and led me out to +show me the estate. + +" 'Well, how are you getting on here?' I asked. + +" 'Oh, all right, thank God; I am getting on very well.' + +"He was no more a poor timid clerk, but a real landowner, a +gentleman. He was already accustomed to it, had grown used to it, +and liked it. He ate a great deal, went to the bath-house, was +growing stout, was already at law with the village commune and +both factories, and was very much offended when the peasants did +not call him 'Your Honour.' And he concerned himself with the +salvation of his soul in a substantial, gentlemanly manner, and +performed deeds of charity, not simply, but with an air of +consequence. And what deeds of charity! He treated the peasants +for every sort of disease with soda and castor oil, and on his +name-day had a thanksgiving service in the middle of the village, +and then treated the peasants to a gallon of vodka -- he thought +that was the thing to do. Oh, those horrible gallons of vodka! +One day the fat landowner hauls the peasants up before the +district captain for trespass, and next day, in honour of a +holiday, treats them to a gallon of vodka, and they drink and +shout 'Hurrah!' and when they are drunk bow down to his feet. A +change of life for the better, and being well-fed and idle +develop in a Russian the most insolent self-conceit. Nikolay +Ivanovitch, who at one time in the government office was afraid +to have any views of his own, now could say nothing that was not +gospel truth, and uttered such truths in the tone of a prime +minister. 'Education is essential, but for the peasants it is +premature.' 'Corporal punishment is harmful as a rule, but in +some cases it is necessary and there is nothing to take its +place.' + +" 'I know the peasants and understand how to treat them,' he +would say. 'The peasants like me. I need only to hold up my +little finger and the peasants will do anything I like.' + +"And all this, observe, was uttered with a wise, benevolent +smile. He repeated twenty times over 'We noblemen,' 'I as a +noble'; obviously he did not remember that our grandfather was a +peasant, and our father a soldier. Even our surname +Tchimsha-Himalaisky, in reality so incongruous, seemed to him now +melodious, distinguished, and very agreeable. + +"But the point just now is not he, but myself. I want to tell you +about the change that took place in me during the brief hours I +spent at his country place. In the evening, when we were drinking +tea, the cook put on the table a plateful of gooseberries. They +were not bought, but his own gooseberries, gathered for the first +time since the bushes were planted. Nikolay Ivanovitch laughed +and looked for a minute in silence at the gooseberries, with +tears in his eyes; he could not speak for excitement. Then he put +one gooseberry in his mouth, looked at me with the triumph of a +child who has at last received his favourite toy, and said: + +" 'How delicious!' + +"And he ate them greedily, continually repeating, 'Ah, how +delicious! Do taste them!' + +"They were sour and unripe, but, as Pushkin says: + + " 'Dearer to us the falsehood that exalts + Than hosts of baser truths.' + +"I saw a happy man whose cherished dream was so obviously +fulfilled, who had attained his object in life, who had gained +what he wanted, who was satisfied with his fate and himself. +There is always, for some reason, an element of sadness mingled +with my thoughts of human happiness, and, on this occasion, at +the sight of a happy man I was overcome by an oppressive feeling +that was close upon despair. It was particularly oppressive at +night. A bed was made up for me in the room next to my brother's +bedroom, and I could hear that he was awake, and that he kept +getting up and going to the plate of gooseberries and taking one. +I reflected how many satisfied, happy people there really are! +'What a suffocating force it is! You look at life: the insolence +and idleness of the strong, the ignorance and brutishness of the +weak, incredible poverty all about us, overcrowding, +degeneration, drunkenness, hypocrisy, lying. . . . Yet all is +calm and stillness in the houses and in the streets; of the fifty +thousand living in a town, there is not one who would cry out, +who would give vent to his indignation aloud. We see the people +going to market for provisions, eating by day, sleeping by night, +talking their silly nonse nse, getting married, growing old, +serenely escorting their dead to the cemetery; but we do not see +and we do not hear those who suffer, and what is terrible in life +goes on somewhere behind the scenes. . . . Everything is quiet +and peaceful, and nothing protests but mute statistics: so many +people gone out of their minds, so many gallons of vodka drunk, +so many children dead from malnutrition. . . . And this order of +things is evidently necessary; evidently the happy man only feels +at ease because the unhappy bear their burdens in silence, and +without that silence happiness would be impossible. It's a case +of general hypnotism. There ought to be behind the door of every +happy, contented man some one standing with a hammer continually +reminding him with a tap that there are unhappy people; that +however happy he may be, life will show him her laws sooner or +later, trouble will come for him -- disease, poverty, losses, and +no one will see or hear, just as now he neither sees nor hears +others. But there is no man with a hammer; the happy man lives at +his ease, and trivial daily cares faintly agitate him like the +wind in the aspen-tree -- and all goes well. + +"That night I realized that I, too, was happy and contented," +Ivan Ivanovitch went on, getting up. "I, too, at dinner and at +the hunt liked to lay down the law on life and religion, and the +way to manage the peasantry. I, too, used to say that science was +light, that culture was essential, but for the simple people +reading and writing was enough for the time. Freedom is a +blessing, I used to say; we can no more do without it than +without air, but we must wait a little. Yes, I used to talk like +that, and now I ask, 'For what reason are we to wait?' " asked +Ivan Ivanovitch, looking angrily at Burkin. "Why wait, I ask you? +What grounds have we for waiting? I shall be told, it can't be +done all at once; every idea takes shape in life gradually, in +its due time. But who is it says that? Where is the proof that +it's right? You will fall back upon the natural order of things, +the uniformity of phenomena; but is there order and uniformity in +the fact that I, a living, thinking man, stand over a chasm and +wait for it to close of itself, or to fill up with mud at the +very time when perhaps I might leap over it or build a bridge +across it? And again, wait for the sake of what? Wait till +there's no strength to live? And meanwhile one must live, and one +wants to live! + +"I went away from my brother's early in the morning, and ever +since then it has been unbearable for me to be in town. I am +oppressed by its peace and quiet; I am afraid to look at the +windows, for there is no spectacle more painful to me now than +the sight of a happy family sitting round the table drinking tea. +I am old and am not fit for the struggle; I am not even capable +of hatred; I can only grieve inwardly, feel irritated and vexed; +but at night my head is hot from the rush of ideas, and I cannot +sleep. . . . Ah, if I were young!" + +Ivan Ivanovitch walked backwards and forwards in excitement, and +repeated: "If I were young!" + +He suddenly went up to Alehin and began pressing first one of his +hands and then the other. + +"Pavel Konstantinovitch," he said in an imploring voice, "don't +be calm and contented, don't let yourself be put to sleep! While +you are young, strong, confident, be not weary in well-doing! +There is no happiness, and there ought not to be; but if there is +a meaning and an object in life, that meaning and object is not +our happiness, but something greater and more rational. Do good!" + +And all this Ivan Ivanovitch said with a pitiful, imploring +smile, as though he were asking him a personal favour. + +Then all three sat in arm-chairs at different ends of the +drawing-room and were silent. Ivan Ivanovitch's story had not +satisfied either Burkin or Alehin. When the generals and ladies +gazed down from their gilt frames, looking in the dusk as though +they were alive, it was dreary to listen to the story of the poor +clerk who ate gooseberries. They felt inclined, for some reason, +to talk about elegant people, about women. And their sitting in +the drawing-room where everything -- the chandeliers in their +covers, the arm-chairs, and the carpet under their feet -- +reminded them that those very people who were now looking down +from their frames had once moved about, sat, drunk tea in this +room, and the fact that lovely Pelagea was moving noiselessly +about was better than any story. + +Alehin was fearfully sleepy; he had got up early, before three +o'clock in the morning, to look after his work, and now his eyes +were closing; but he was afraid his visitors might tell some +interesting story after he had gone, and he lingered on. He did +not go into the question whether what Ivan Ivanovitch had just +said was right and true. His visitors did not talk of groats, nor +of hay, nor of tar, but of something that had no direct bearing +on his life, and he was glad and wanted them to go on. + +"It's bed-time, though," said Burkin, getting up. "Allow me to +wish you good-night." + +Alehin said good-night and went downstairs to his own domain, +while the visitors remained upstairs. They were both taken for +the night to a big room where there stood two old wooden beds +decorated with carvings, and in the corner was an ivory crucifix. +The big cool beds, which had been made by the lovely Pelagea, +smelt agreeably of clean linen. + +Ivan Ivanovitch undressed in silence and got into bed. + +"Lord forgive us sinners!" he said, and put his head under the +quilt. + +His pipe lying on the table smelt strongly of stale tobacco, and +Burkin could not sleep for a long while, and kept wondering where +the oppressive smell came from. + +The rain was pattering on the window-panes all night. + + +ABOUT LOVE + +AT lunch next day there were very nice pies, crayfish, and mutton +cutlets; and while we were eating, Nikanor, the cook, came up to +ask what the visitors would like for dinner. He was a man of +medium height, with a puffy face and little eyes; he was +close-shaven, and it looked as though his moustaches had not been +shaved, but had been pulled out by the roots. Alehin told us that +the beautiful Pelagea was in love with this cook. As he drank and +was of a violent character, she did not want to marry him, but +was willing to live with him without. He was very devout, and his +religious convictions would not allow him to "live in sin"; he +insisted on her marrying him, and would consent to nothing else, +and when he was drunk he used to abuse her and even beat her. +Whenever he got drunk she used to hide upstairs and sob, and on +such occasions Alehin and the servants stayed in the house to be +ready to defend her in case of necessity. + +We began talking about love. + +"How love is born," said Alehin, "why Pelagea does not love +somebody more like herself in her spiritual and external +qualities, and why she fell in love with Nikanor, that ugly snout +-- we all call him 'The Snout' -- how far questions of personal +happiness are of consequence in love -- all that is known; one +can take what view one likes of it. So far only one incontestable +truth has been uttered about love: 'This is a great mystery.' +Everything else that has been written or said about love is not a +conclusion, but only a statement of questions which have remained +unanswered. The explanation which would seem to fit one case does +not apply in a dozen others, and the very best thing, to my mind, +would be to explain every case individually without attempting to +generalize. We ought, as the doctors say, to individualize each +case." + +"Perfectly true," Burkin assented. + +"We Russians of the educated class have a partiality for these +questions that remain unanswered. Love is usually poeticized, +decorated with roses, nightingales; we Russians decorate our +loves with these momentous questions, and select the most +uninteresting of them, too. In Moscow, when I was a student, I +had a friend who shared my life, a charming lady, and every time +I took her in my arms she was thinking what I would allow her a +month for housekeeping and what was the price of beef a pound. In +the same way, when we are in love we are never tired of asking +ourselves questi ons: whether it is honourable or dishonourable, +sensible or stupid, what this love is leading up to, and so on. +Whether it is a good thing or not I don't know, but that it is in +the way, unsatisfactory, and irritating, I do know." + +It looked as though he wanted to tell some story. People who lead +a solitary existence always have something in their hearts which +they are eager to talk about. In town bachelors visit the baths +and the restaurants on purpose to talk, and sometimes tell the +most interesting things to bath attendants and waiters; in the +country, as a rule, they unbosom themselves to their guests. Now +from the window we could see a grey sky, trees drenched in the +rain; in such weather we could go nowhere, and there was nothing +for us to do but to tell stories and to listen. + +"I have lived at Sofino and been farming for a long time," Alehin +began, "ever since I left the University. I am an idle gentleman +by education, a studious person by disposition; but there was a +big debt owing on the estate when I came here, and as my father +was in debt partly because he had spent so much on my education, +I resolved not to go away, but to work till I paid off the debt. +I made up my mind to this and set to work, not, I must confess, +without some repugnance. The land here does not yield much, and +if one is not to farm at a loss one must employ serf labour or +hired labourers, which is almost the same thing, or put it on a +peasant footing -- that is, work the fields oneself and with +one's family. There is no middle path. But in those days I did +not go into such subtleties. I did not leave a clod of earth +unturned; I gathered together all the peasants, men and women, +from the neighbouring villages; the work went on at a tremendous +pace. I myself ploughed and sowed and reaped, and was bored doing +it, and frowned with disgust, like a village cat driven by hunger +to eat cucumbers in the kitchen-garden. My body ached, and I +slept as I walked. At first it seemed to me that I could easily +reconcile this life of toil with my cultured habits; to do so, I +thought, all that is necessary is to maintain a certain external +order in life. I established myself upstairs here in the best +rooms, and ordered them to bring me there coffee and liquor after +lunch and dinner, and when I went to bed I read every night the +_Yyesnik Evropi_. But one day our priest, Father Ivan, came and +drank up all my liquor at one sitting; and the _Yyesnik Evropi_ +went to the priest's daughters; as in the summer, especially at +the haymaking, I did not succeed in getting to my bed at all, and +slept in the sledge in the barn, or somewhere in the forester's +lodge, what chance was there of reading? Little by little I moved +downstairs, began dining in the servants' kitchen, and of my +former luxury nothing is left but the servants who were in my +father's service, and whom it would be painful to turn away. + +"In the first years I was elected here an honourary justice of +the peace. I used to have to go to the town and take part in the +sessions of the congress and of the circuit court, and this was a +pleasant change for me. When you live here for two or three +months without a break, especially in the winter, you begin at +last to pine for a black coat. And in the circuit court there +were frock-coats, and uniforms, and dress-coats, too, all +lawyers, men who have received a general education; I had some +one to talk to. After sleeping in the sledge and dining in the +kitchen, to sit in an arm-chair in clean linen, in thin boots, +with a chain on one's waistcoat, is such luxury! + +"I received a warm welcome in the town. I made friends eagerly. +And of all my acquaintanceships the most intimate and, to tell +the truth, the most agreeable to me was my acquaintance with +Luganovitch, the vice-president of the circuit court. You both +know him: a most charming personality. It all happened just after +a celebrated case of incendiarism; the preliminary investigation +lasted two days; we were exhausted. Luganovitch looked at me and +said: + +" 'Look here, come round to dinner with me.' + +"This was unexpected, as I knew Luganovitch very little, only +officially, and I had never been to his house. I only just went +to my hotel room to change and went off to dinner. And here it +was my lot to meet Anna Alexyevna, Luganovitch's wife. At that +time she was still very young, not more than twenty-two, and her +first baby had been born just six months before. It is all a +thing of the past; and now I should find it difficult to define +what there was so exceptional in her, what it was in her +attracted me so much; at the time, at dinner, it was all +perfectly clear to me. I saw a lovely young, good, intelligent, +fascinating woman, such as I had never met before; and I felt her +at once some one close and already familiar, as though that face, +those cordial, intelligent eyes, I had seen somewhere in my +childhood, in the album which lay on my mother's chest of +drawers. + +"Four Jews were charged with being incendiaries, were regarded as +a gang of robbers, and, to my mind, quite groundlessly. At dinner +I was very much excited, I was uncomfortable, and I don't know +what I said, but Anna Alexyevna kept shaking her head and saying +to her husband: + +" 'Dmitry, how is this?' + +"Luganovitch is a good-natured man, one of those simple-hearted +people who firmly maintain the opinion that once a man is charged +before a court he is guilty, and to express doubt of the +correctness of a sentence cannot be done except in legal form on +paper, and not at dinner and in private conversation. + +" 'You and I did not set fire to the place,' he said softly, 'and +you see we are not condemned, and not in prison.' + +"And both husband and wife tried to make me eat and drink as much +as possible. From some trifling details, from the way they made +the coffee together, for instance, and from the way they +understood each other at half a word, I could gather that they +lived in harmony and comfort, and that they were glad of a +visitor. After dinner they played a duet on the piano; then it +got dark, and I went home. That was at the beginning of spring. + +"After that I spent the whole summer at Sofino without a break, +and I had no time to think of the town, either, but the memory of +the graceful fair-haired woman remained in my mind all those +days; I did not think of her, but it was as though her light +shadow were lying on my heart. + +"In the late autumn there was a theatrical performance for some +charitable object in the town. I went into the governor's box (I +was invited to go there in the interval); I looked, and there was +Anna Alexyevna sitting beside the governor's wife; and again the +same irresistible, thrilling impression of beauty and sweet, +caressing eyes, and again the same feeling of nearness. We sat +side by side, then went to the foyer. + +" 'You've grown thinner,' she said; 'have you been ill?' + +" 'Yes, I've had rheumatism in my shoulder, and in rainy weather +I can't sleep.' + +" 'You look dispirited. In the spring, when you came to dinner, +you were younger, more confident. You were full of eagerness, and +talked a great deal then; you were very interesting, and I really +must confess I was a little carried away by you. For some reason +you often came back to my memory during the summer, and when I +was getting ready for the theatre today I thought I should see +you.' + +"And she laughed. + +" 'But you look dispirited today,' she repeated; 'it makes you +seem older.' + +"The next day I lunched at the Luganovitchs'. After lunch they +drove out to their summer villa, in order to make arrangements +there for the winter, and I went with them. I returned with them +to the town, and at midnight drank tea with them in quiet +domestic surroundings, while the fire glowed, and the young +mother kept going to see if her baby girl was asleep. And after +that, every time I went to town I never failed to visit the +Luganovitchs. They grew used to me, and I grew used to them. As a +rule I went in unannounced, as though I were one of the family. + +" 'Who is there?' I would hear from a faraway room, in the +drawling voice that seemed to me so lovely. + +" 'It is Pavel Konstantinovitch,' answered the maid or the nurs +e. + +"Anna Alexyevna would come out to me with an anxious face, and +would ask every time: + +" 'Why is it so long since you have been? Has anything happened?' + +"Her eyes, the elegant refined hand she gave me, her indoor +dress, the way she did her hair, her voice, her step, always +produced the same impression on me of something new and +extraordinary in my life, and very important. We talked together +for hours, were silent, thinking each our own thoughts, or she +played for hours to me on the piano. If there were no one at home +I stayed and waited, talked to the nurse, played with the child, +or lay on the sofa in the study and read; and when Anna Alexyevna +came back I met her in the hall, took all her parcels from her, +and for some reason I carried those parcels every time with as +much love, with as much solemnity, as a boy. + +"There is a proverb that if a peasant woman has no troubles she +will buy a pig. The Luganovitchs had no troubles, so they made +friends with me. If I did not come to the town I must be ill or +something must have happened to me, and both of them were +extremely anxious. They were worried that I, an educated man with +a knowledge of languages, should, instead of devoting myself to +science or literary work, live in the country, rush round like a +squirrel in a rage, work hard with never a penny to show for it. +They fancied that I was unhappy, and that I only talked, laughed, +and ate to conceal my sufferings, and even at cheerful moments +when I felt happy I was aware of their searching eyes fixed upon +me. They were particularly touching when I really was depressed, +when I was being worried by some creditor or had not money enough +to pay interest on the proper day. The two of them, husband and +wife, would whisper together at the window; then he would come to +me and say with a grave face: + +" 'If you really are in need of money at the moment, Pavel +Konstantinovitch, my wife and I beg you not to hesitate to borrow +from us.' + +"And he would blush to his ears with emotion. And it would happen +that, after whispering in the same way at the window, he would +come up to me, with red ears, and say: + +" 'My wife and I earnestly beg you to accept this present.' + +"And he would give me studs, a cigar-case, or a lamp, and I would +send them game, butter, and flowers from the country. They both, +by the way, had considerable means of their own. In early days I +often borrowed money, and was not very particular about it -- +borrowed wherever I could -- but nothing in the world would have +induced me to borrow from the Luganovitchs. But why talk of it? + +"I was unhappy. At home, in the fields, in the barn, I thought of +her; I tried to understand the mystery of a beautiful, +intelligent young woman's marrying some one so uninteresting, +almost an old man (her husband was over forty), and having +children by him; to understand the mystery of this uninteresting, +good, simple-hearted man, who argued with such wearisome good +sense, at balls and evening parties kept near the more solid +people, looking listless and superfluous, with a submissive, +uninterested expression, as though he had been brought there for +sale, who yet believed in his right to be happy, to have children +by her; and I kept trying to understand why she had met him first +and not me, and why such a terrible mistake in our lives need +have happened. + +"And when I went to the town I saw every time from her eyes that +she was expecting me, and she would confess to me herself that +she had had a peculiar feeling all that day and had guessed that +I should come. We talked a long time, and were silent, yet we did +not confess our love to each other, but timidly and jealously +concealed it. We were afraid of everything that might reveal our +secret to ourselves. I loved her tenderly, deeply, but I +reflected and kept asking myself what our love could lead to if +we had not the strength to fight against it. It seemed to be +incredible that my gentle, sad love could all at once coarsely +break up the even tenor of the life of her husband, her children, +and all the household in which I was so loved and trusted. Would +it be honourable? She would go away with me, but where? Where +could I take her? It would have been a different matter if I had +had a beautiful, interesting life -- if, for instance, I had been +struggling for the emancipation of my country, or had been a +celebrated man of science, an artist or a painter; but as it was +it would mean taking her from one everyday humdrum life to +another as humdrum or perhaps more so. And how long would our +happiness last? What would happen to her in case I was ill, in +case I died, or if we simply grew cold to one another? + +"And she apparently reasoned in the same way. She thought of her +husband, her children, and of her mother, who loved the husband +like a son. If she abandoned herself to her feelings she would +have to lie, or else to tell the truth, and in her position +either would have been equally terrible and inconvenient. And she +was tormented by the question whether her love would bring me +happiness -- would she not complicate my life, which, as it was, +was hard enough and full of all sorts of trouble? She fancied she +was not young enough for me, that she was not industrious nor +energetic enough to begin a new life, and she often talked to her +husband of the importance of my marrying a girl of intelligence +and merit who would be a capable housewife and a help to me -- +and she would immediately add that it would be difficult to find +such a girl in the whole town. + + +"Meanwhile the years were passing. Anna Alexyevna already had two +children. When I arrived at the Luganovitchs' the servants smiled +cordially, the children shouted that Uncle Pavel Konstantinovitch +had come, and hung on my neck; every one was overjoyed. They did +not understand what was passing in my soul, and thought that I, +too, was happy. Every one looked on me as a noble being. And +grown-ups and children alike felt that a noble being was walking +about their rooms, and that gave a peculiar charm to their manner +towards me, as though in my presence their life, too, was purer +and more beautiful. Anna Alexyevna and I used to go to the +theatre together, always walking there; we used to sit side by +side in the stalls, our shoulders touching. I would take the +opera-glass from her hands without a word, and feel at that +minute that she was near me, that she was mine, that we could not +live without each other; but by some strange misunderstanding, +when we came out of the theatre we always said good-bye and +parted as though we were strangers. Goodness knows what people +were saying about us in the town already, but there was not a +word of truth in it all! + +"In the latter years Anna Alexyevna took to going away for +frequent visits to her mother or to her sister; she began to +suffer from low spirits, she began to recognize that her life was +spoilt and unsatisfied, and at times she did not care to see her +husband nor her children. She was already being treated for +neurasthenia. + +"We were silent and still silent, and in the presence of +outsiders she displayed a strange irritation in regard to me; +whatever I talked about, she disagreed with me, and if I had an +argument she sided with my opponent. If I dropped anything, she +would say coldly: + +" 'I congratulate you.' + +"If I forgot to take the opera-glass when we were going to the +theatre, she would say afterwards: + +" 'I knew you would forget it.' + +"Luckily or unluckily, there is nothing in our lives that does +not end sooner or later. The time of parting came, as Luganovitch +was appointed president in one of the western provinces. They had +to sell their furniture, their horses, their summer villa. When +they drove out to the villa, and afterwards looked back as they +were going away, to look for the last time at the garden, at the +green roof, every one was sad, and I realized that I had to say +goodbye not only to the villa. It was arranged that at the end of +August we should see Anna Alexyevna off to the Crimea, where the +doctors were sending her, and that a little later Luganovitch and +the children would set off for the western province. + +"We were a great crowd to see Anna Alexye vna off. When she had +said good-bye to her husband and her children and there was only +a minute left before the third bell, I ran into her compartment +to put a basket, which she had almost forgotten, on the rack, and +I had to say good-bye. When our eyes met in the compartment our +spiritual fortitude deserted us both; I took her in my arms, she +pressed her face to my breast, and tears flowed from her eyes. +Kissing her face, her shoulders, her hands wet with tears -- oh, +how unhappy we were! -- I confessed my love for her, and with a +burning pain in my heart I realized how unnecessary, how petty, +and how deceptive all that had hindered us from loving was. I +understood that when you love you must either, in your reasonings +about that love, start from what is highest, from what is more +important than happiness or unhappiness, sin or virtue in their +accepted meaning, or you must not reason at all. + +"I kissed her for the last time, pressed her hand, and parted for +ever. The train had already started. I went into the next +compartment -- it was empty -- and until I reached the next +station I sat there crying. Then I walked home to Sofino. . . ." + +While Alehin was telling his story, the rain left off and the sun +came out. Burkin and Ivan Ivanovitch went out on the balcony, +from which there was a beautiful view over the garden and the +mill-pond, which was shining now in the sunshine like a mirror. +They admired it, and at the same time they were sorry that this +man with the kind, clever eyes, who had told them this story with +such genuine feeling, should be rushing round and round this huge +estate like a squirrel on a wheel instead of devoting himself to +science or something else which would have made his life more +pleasant; and they thought what a sorrowful face Anna Alexyevna +must have had when he said good-bye to her in the +railway-carriage and kissed her face and shoulders. Both of them +had met her in the town, and Burkin knew her and thought her +beautiful. + + +THE LOTTERY TICKET + +IVAN DMITRITCH, a middle-class man who lived with his family on +an income of twelve hundred a year and was very well satisfied +with his lot, sat down on the sofa after supper and began reading +the newspaper. + +"I forgot to look at the newspaper today," his wife said to him +as she cleared the table. "Look and see whether the list of +drawings is there." + +"Yes, it is," said Ivan Dmitritch; "but hasn't your ticket +lapsed?" + +"No; I took the interest on Tuesday." + +"What is the number?" + +"Series 9,499, number 26." + +"All right . . . we will look . . . 9,499 and 26." + +Ivan Dmitritch had no faith in lottery luck, and would not, as a +rule, have consented to look at the lists of winning numbers, but +now, as he had nothing else to do and as the newspaper was before +his eyes, he passed his finger downwards along the column of +numbers. And immediately, as though in mockery of his scepticism, +no further than the second line from the top, his eye was caught +by the figure 9,499! Unable to believe his eyes, he hurriedly +dropped the paper on his knees without looking to see the number +of the ticket, and, just as though some one had given him a +douche of cold water, he felt an agreeable chill in the pit of +the stomach; tingling and terrible and sweet! + +"Masha, 9,499 is there!" he said in a hollow voice. + +His wife looked at his astonished and panic-stricken face, and +realized that he was not joking. + +"9,499?" she asked, turning pale and dropping the folded +tablecloth on the table. + +"Yes, yes . . . it really is there!" + +"And the number of the ticket?" + +"Oh, yes! There's the number of the ticket too. But stay . . . +wait! No, I say! Anyway, the number of our series is there! +Anyway, you understand. . . ." + +Looking at his wife, Ivan Dmitritch gave a broad, senseless +smile, like a baby when a bright object is shown it. His wife +smiled too; it was as pleasant to her as to him that he only +mentioned the series, and did not try to find out the number of +the winning ticket. To torment and tantalize oneself with hopes +of possible fortune is so sweet, so thrilling! + +"It is our series," said Ivan Dmitritch, after a long silence. +"So there is a probability that we have won. It's only a +probability, but there it is!" + +"Well, now look!" + +"Wait a little. We have plenty of time to be disappointed. It's +on the second line from the top, so the prize is seventy-five +thousand. That's not money, but power, capital! And in a minute I +shall look at the list, and there -- 26! Eh? I say, what if we +really have won?" + +The husband and wife began laughing and staring at one another in +silence. The possibility of winning bewildered them; they could +not have said, could not have dreamed, what they both needed that +seventy-five thousand for, what they would buy, where they would +go. They thought only of the figures 9,499 and 75,000 and +pictured them in their imagination, while somehow they could not +think of the happiness itself which was so possible. + +Ivan Dmitritch, holding the paper in his hand, walked several +times from corner to corner, and only when he had recovered from +the first impression began dreaming a little. + +"And if we have won," he said -- "why, it will be a new life, it +will be a transformation! The ticket is yours, but if it were +mine I should, first of all, of course, spend twenty-five +thousand on real property in the shape of an estate; ten thousand +on immediate expenses, new furnishing . . . travelling . . . +paying debts, and so on. . . . The other forty thousand I would +put in the bank and get interest on it." + +"Yes, an estate, that would be nice," said his wife, sitting down +and dropping her hands in her lap. + +"Somewhere in the Tula or Oryol provinces. . . . In the first +place we shouldn't need a summer villa, and besides, it would +always bring in an income." + +And pictures came crowding on his imagination, each more gracious +and poetical than the last. And in all these pictures he saw +himself well-fed, serene, healthy, felt warm, even hot! Here, +after eating a summer soup, cold as ice, he lay on his back on +the burning sand close to a stream or in the garden under a +lime-tree. . . . It is hot. . . . His little boy and girl are +crawling about near him, digging in the sand or catching +ladybirds in the grass. He dozes sweetly, thinking of nothing, +and feeling all over that he need not go to the office today, +tomorrow, or the day after. Or, tired of lying still, he goes to +the hayfield, or to the forest for mushrooms, or watches the +peasants catching fish with a net. When the sun sets he takes a +towel and soap and saunters to the bathing-shed, where he +undresses at his leisure, slowly rubs his bare chest with his +hands, and goes into the water. And in the water, near the opaque +soapy circles, little fish flit to and fro and green water-weeds +nod their heads. After bathing there is tea with cream and milk +rolls. . . . In the evening a walk or _vint_ with the neighbours. + +"Yes, it would be nice to buy an estate," said his wife, also +dreaming, and from her face it was evident that she was enchanted +by her thoughts. + +Ivan Dmitritch pictured to himself autumn with its rains, its +cold evenings, and its St. Martin's summer. At that season he +would have to take longer walks about the garden and beside the +river, so as to get thoroughly chilled, and then drink a big +glass of vodka and eat a salted mushroom or a soused cucumber, +and then -- drink another. . . . The children would come running +from the kitchen-garden, bringing a carrot and a radish smelling +of fresh earth. . . . And then, he would lie stretched full +length on the sofa, and in leisurely fashion turn over the pages +of some illustrated magazine, or, covering his face with it and +unbuttoning his waistcoat, give himself up to slumber. + +The St. Martin's summer is followed by cloudy, gloomy weather. It +rains day and night, the bare trees weep, the wind is damp and +cold. The dogs, the horses, the fowls -- all are wet, depressed, +downcast. There is nowhere to walk; one can't go out for days +together; one has to pace up and down the room, looking +despondently at the grey window. It is dreary! + +Ivan Dmitritch stopped and looked at his wife. + +"I should go abro ad, you know, Masha," he said. + +And he began thinking how nice it would be in late autumn to go +abroad somewhere to the South of France . . . to Italy . . . . to +India! + +"I should certainly go abroad too," his wife said. "But look at +the number of the ticket!" + +"Wait, wait! . . ." + +He walked about the room and went on thinking. It occurred to +him: what if his wife really did go abroad? It is pleasant to +travel alone, or in the society of light, careless women who live +in the present, and not such as think and talk all the journey +about nothing but their children, sigh, and tremble with dismay +over every farthing. Ivan Dmitritch imagined his wife in the +train with a multitude of parcels, baskets, and bags; she would +be sighing over something, complaining that the train made her +head ache, that she had spent so much money. . . . At the +stations he would continually be having to run for boiling water, +bread and butter. . . . She wouldn't have dinner because of its +being too dear. . . . + +"She would begrudge me every farthing," he thought, with a glance +at his wife. "The lottery ticket is hers, not mine! Besides, what +is the use of her going abroad? What does she want there? She +would shut herself up in the hotel, and not let me out of her +sight. . . . I know!" + +And for the first time in his life his mind dwelt on the fact +that his wife had grown elderly and plain, and that she was +saturated through and through with the smell of cooking, while he +was still young, fresh, and healthy, and might well have got +married again. + +"Of course, all that is silly nonsense," he thought; "but . . . +why should she go abroad? What would she make of it? And yet she +would go, of course. . . . I can fancy . . . In reality it is all +one to her, whether it is Naples or Klin. She would only be in my +way. I should be dependent upon her. I can fancy how, like a +regular woman, she will lock the money up as soon as she gets it. +. . . She will hide it from me. . . . She will look after her +relations and grudge me every farthing." + +Ivan Dmitritch thought of her relations. All those wretched +brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles would come crawling +about as soon as they heard of the winning ticket, would begin +whining like beggars, and fawning upon them with oily, +hypocritical smiles. Wretched, detestable people! If they were +given anything, they would ask for more; while if they were +refused, they would swear at them, slander them, and wish them +every kind of misfortune. + +Ivan Dmitritch remembered his own relations, and their faces, at +which he had looked impartially in the past, struck him now as +repulsive and hateful. + +"They are such reptiles!" he thought. + +And his wife's face, too, struck him as repulsive and hateful. +Anger surged up in his heart against her, and he thought +malignantly: + +"She knows nothing about money, and so she is stingy. If she won +it she would give me a hundred roubles, and put the rest away +under lock and key." + +And he looked at his wife, not with a smile now, but with hatred. +She glanced at him too, and also with hatred and anger. She had +her own daydreams, her own plans, her own reflections; she +understood perfectly well what her husband's dreams were. She +knew who would be the first to try and grab her winnings. + +"It's very nice making daydreams at other people's expense!" is +what her eyes expressed. "No, don't you dare!" + +Her husband understood her look; hatred began stirring again in +his breast, and in order to annoy his wife he glanced quickly, to +spite her at the fourth page on the newspaper and read out +triumphantly: + +"Series 9,499, number 46! Not 26!" + +Hatred and hope both disappeared at once, and it began +immediately to seem to Ivan Dmitritch and his wife that their +rooms were dark and small and low-pitched, that the supper they +had been eating was not doing them good, but lying heavy on their +stomachs, that the evenings were long and wearisome. . . . + +"What the devil's the meaning of it?" said Ivan Dmitritch, +beginning to be ill-humoured. "Wherever one steps there are bits +of paper under one's feet, crumbs, husks. The rooms are never +swept! One is simply forced to go out. Damnation take my soul +entirely! I shall go and hang myself on the first aspen-tree!" + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Wife, et al, by Anton Chekhov + |