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-
-The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Old House and Other Tales, by Feodor Sologub
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
-the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-Title: The Old House and Other Tales
-
-Author: Feodor Sologub
-
-Release Date: March 10, 2015 [EBook #48452]
-Last updated: November 15, 2019
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD HOUSE AND OTHER TALES ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org
-(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.)
-
-cover
-
-frontispiece
-
-
-
-
-The Old House
-
-and Other Tales
-
-by Feodor Sologub
-
-AUTHORISED TRANSLATION FROM THE RUSSIAN
-
-BY JOHN COURNOS
-
-_SECOND IMPRESSION_
-
-LONDON
-
-MARTIN SECKER
-
-NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET
-
-ADELPHI
-
-1916
-
-_Acknowledgments are due to the Editor of “The New Statesman” for
-permission to republish The White Dog and The Hoop, which first appeared in
-that periodical_.
-
-Contents
-
- INTRODUCTION
- THE OLD HOUSE
- THE UNITER OF SOULS
- THE INVOKER OF THE BEAST
- THE WHITE DOG
- LIGHT AND SHADOWS
- THE GLIMMER OF HUNGER
- HIDE AND SEEK
- THE SMILE
- THE HOOP
- THE SEARCH
- THE WHITE MOTHER
-
-
-
-
-INTRODUCTION
-
-
-_“Sologub” is a pseudonym—the author’s real name is Feodor Kuzmich
-Teternikov. He was born in 1863. He completed a scholastic course at
-Petrograd. His first published story appeared in the periodical
-“Severny Viestnik” in 1894, but it was not until about a dozen years
-later that he came into his fame, which he has since then further
-enhanced_.
-
-_This is all the biographical knowledge we have of a living novelist
-whose place in Russian literature is secure beyond all question; the
-scantiness of our knowledge is all the more amazing when we consider
-that the author is over fifty, and that his complete works are in their
-twentieth volume_.
-
-_These include almost every possible form of literary expression—the
-fairy tale, the poem, the play, the essay, the novel, and the short
-story. Sologub’s place as a poet is hardly less assured than his place
-as a novelist_.
-
-_How little importance Sologub attaches to personal_ réclame _may be
-gathered from his answer to repeated requests for a nutshell
-“autobiography” a type of document in vogue in Russia; Maxim Gorky’s
-impressive model, I believe, is quite familiar to English readers_.
-
-_“I cannot give you my autobiography,” Sologub wrote to the editor of a
-literary almanac, “as I do not think that my personality can be of
-sufficient interest to any one. And I haven’t the time to waste on such
-unnecessary business as an autobiography.”_
-
-_At the beginning of his Complete Works, however, there is a poem in
-prose, a kind of spiritual autobiography in which he insists that all
-life is a miracle, and that his own surely is also. “I simply and
-calmly reveal my soul ... in the hope that the intimate part of me
-shall become the universal.” After such an avowal the reader will know
-where to look for the author’s personality_.
-
-_In studying his work, one finds that he has both realism and fantasy.
-But while he is sometimes wholly realistic, he is seldom wholly
-fantastic. His fantasy has always its foundations in reality. His
-realism is as grey as that of Chekhov, whose logical successor he has
-been acclaimed by Russian criticism. But it is his prodigious fantasy
-that makes the point of his departure from the Chekhovian formula. When
-he combines the two qualities, the strange reconciliation thus effected
-produces a result as original as it is rich in “the meaning of life.”
-Sologub himself says somewhere_:
-
-_“I take a piece of life, coarse and poor, and make of it a delightful
-legend_.”
-
-_This sentence establishes the distinction between the two writers.
-Life for Chekhov may contain its delightful characters, life itself is
-seldom a delightful legend_.
-
-_Actually, Sologub sees life more greyly than Chekhov; perhaps it is
-this sense of grief “too great to be borne” that compels him to grope
-for an outlet, for some kind of relief. Already in his earliest novel
-one of the characters gives utterance to the significant words_:
-
-“_Once you prove that life has no meaning, life becomes impossible_.”
-
-_This relief is to be found within oneself in the “inner life”; that is
-in the imagination, “imagination the great consoler” as Renan has said.
-Imagination is everything; it is, indeed, the invoker of all beauty;
-and admiration of beauty is the one escape out of life. The author,
-“with whatever words he can find, speaks of one thing. Patiently calls
-towards the one thing....” Writing of the sadness of life, he envelops
-this sadness in the beauty evoked by his imagination as in a flame, and
-withers it up. One finds him rejoicing that there is a life other than
-“this ordinary, coarse, tedious, sunlight life,” that there is a life
-that is “nocturnal, prodigious, resembling a fairy tale.”_
-
-_It may sound like a startling antinomy to say that at his happiest
-Sologub is a compound of Chekhov and Poe. It could be put in another
-way: if Poe were a Russian, he might have written as Sologub writes.
-This is to say that the mystery with which Sologub endows his tales is
-never there for its own sake, but as a most intense symbol of reality._
-
-_Consider a story like “The Invoker of the Beast.” As a story of
-reincarnation it is a masterpiece of mystery. The reader, anxious for a
-good tale merely, may let the matter rest there. But can he? Can he
-listen to Gurov, who, while living through, in his delirium, his
-previous existence, is so insistent about the “invincibility of his
-walls”—and yet remain unmoved to the deep meaning of Gurov’s cry? Are
-not the seemingly imperishable walls, within which Gurov thought
-himself secure from the Beast, a symbol of our own subtle insecurity?
-Is not our own Beast—be it some unexpected latent circumstance, or some
-unlooked-for yet inevitable consequence of a past action, on the part
-of our ancestors or of ourselves—ready to pounce upon us and ravage our
-hearts, after a long and relentless pursuit, from which in the end
-there is no escape?_
-
-_Again, to one who has read most of Sologub’s productions, the story of
-the Beast is interesting, because it contains, as it were, a synthesis
-of the author’s tendencies. Its separate motifs are repeated in
-variation in many of his other stories. There is the boy Timarides,
-whom the author loves. Why?_
-
-_Because Timarides is a child, because he is beautiful, trustful, and
-ready to do daring deeds. Timarides perhaps stands for the young
-generation reproaching the old for its neglect, its forgetfulness of
-its promises, its settling in a groove, its stripping itself of its
-happiest illusions_.
-
-_And throughout his work, Sologub reiterates his affection for children
-and the childlike. When he loves or pities an older person, he endows
-him with childlike attributes. He does this in the little story, “The
-Hoop.” Does the old man seem absurd to us? If so, it is to be inferred
-that the fault is with ourselves. We have grown too sophisticated_.
-
-_Here, again, Chekhov and Sologub meet. Chekhov loves the unpractical
-people, because they are usually more lovable personalities than the
-successful, practical ones; Sologub loves the absurd, the childlike,
-the quixotic, for the same reason_.
-
-_Rather than have them grow up and therefore become unlovable, Sologub
-makes some of his children die young. There is, for example, in one of
-his stories, sweet Rayechka, who died in a fall, and upon whom the boy,
-Mitya, recalling her, muses in this fashion: “Had Rayechka lived to
-grow up, she might have become a housemaid like Darya, pomaded her
-hair, and squinted her cunning eyes.”_
-
-_In “The Old House” it is the children once more who are the
-revolutionaries—trustful, adorable, and daring. In “The White Mother”
-the bachelor, Saksaoolov, is redeemed through the boy, Lesha, who
-resembles his dead sweetheart_.
-
-_Schoolmasters and schoolchildren are among the characters who frequent
-the pages of Sologub’s books. Sologub, it should be remembered, began
-life as a schoolmaster. The story “Light and Shadows” is, perhaps, a
-reflection upon our educational system which crams the young mind with
-a multitude of useless facts and starves the imagination; we see the
-reaction of the system on the delicate organism of a sensitive and
-imaginative child_.
-
-_Mothers share the author’s affection for their children; but, like
-schoolmasters, mothers, unfortunately, are of two kinds. The world has
-its “black mammas” as well as its “white mammas.”_
-
-_There are few writers who are so subtle, so insinuating, and so
-seductive, in their power to make the reader think; few writers who
-give so great a stimulus to the imagination_.
-
-_With Chekhov, Russian fiction turns definitely to town life for its
-material; nevertheless, the changes which the modern industrial system
-has brought about have in no wise weakened the mystic force of Russian
-literature. Sologub is a mystic, a mystic of Russian tradition; and
-Sologub is a product of Petrograd_.
-
-_JOHN COURNOS_
-
-
-
-
-THE OLD HOUSE[1]
-
-I
-
-
-It was an old, large, one-storied house, with a mezzanine. It stood in
-a village, eleven versts from a railway station, and about fifty versts
-from the district town. The garden which surrounded the house seemed
-lost in drowsiness, while beyond it stretched vistas and vistas of
-inexpressibly dull, infinitely depressing fields.
-
-Once this house had been painted lavender, but now it was faded. Its
-roof, once red, had turned dark brown. But the pillars of the terrace
-were still quite strong, the little arbours in the garden were intact,
-and there was an Aphrodite in the shrubbery.
-
-It seemed as if the old house were full of memories. It stood, as it
-were, dreaming, recalling, lapsing finally into a mood of sorrow at the
-overwhelming flood of doleful memories.
-
-Everything in this house was as before, as in those days when the whole
-family lived there together in the summer, when Borya was yet alive.
-
-Now, in the old manor, lived only women: Borya’s grandmother, Elena
-Kirillovna Vodolenskaya; Borya’s mother, Sofia Alexandrovna Ozoreva;
-and Borya’s sister, Natalya Vasilyevna. The old grandmother, and the
-mother, and the young girl appeared tranquil, and at times even
-cheerful. It was the second year of their awaiting in the old house the
-youngest of the family, Boris. Boris who was no longer among the
-living.
-
-They hardly spoke of him to one another; yet their thoughts, their
-memories, and their musings of him filled their days. At times dark
-threads of grief stole in among the even woof of these thoughts and
-reveries; and tears fell bitterly and ceaselessly.
-
-When the midday sun rested overhead, when the sad moon beckoned, when
-the rosy dawn blew its cool breezes, when the evening sun blazed its
-red laughter—these were the four points between which their spirits
-fluctuated from evening joy to high midday sorrow. Swayed
-involuntarily, all three of them felt the sympathy and antipathy of the
-hours, each mood in turn.
-
-The happiness of dawn, the bright, midday sadness, the joy of dusk, the
-pale pining of night. The four emotions lifted them infinitely higher
-than the rope upon which Borya had swung, upon which Borya had died.
-
- [1] In collaboration with Anastasya Chebotarevskaya.
-
-II
-
-At pale-rose dawn, when the merrily green, harmoniously white birches
-bend their wet branches before the windows, just beyond the little
-patch of sand by the round flower-bed; at pale-rose dawn—when a fresh
-breeze comes blowing from the bathing pond—then wakes Natasha, the
-first of the three.
-
-What a joy it is to wake at dawn! To throw aside the cool cover of
-muslin, to rest upon the elbow, upon one’s side, and to look out of the
-window with large, dark, sad eyes.
-
-Out of the window the sky is visible, seeming quite low over the white
-distant birches. A pale vermilion sunrise brightly suffuses its soft
-fire through the thin mist which stretches over the earth. There is in
-its quiet, gently joyous flame a great tension of young fears and of
-half-conscious desires; what tension, what happiness, and what sadness!
-It smiles through the dew of sweet morning tears, over white
-lilies-of-the-valley, over the blue violets of the broad fields.
-
-Wherefore tears! To what end the grief of night!
-
-There, close to the window, hangs a sprig of sweet-flag, banishing all
-evil. It was put there by the grandmother, and the old nurse insists on
-its staying there. It trembles in the air, the sprig of sweet-flag, and
-smiles its dry green smile.
-
-Natasha’s face lapses into a quiet, rosy serenity.
-
-The earth awakes in its fresh morning vigour. The voices of
-newly-roused life reach Natasha. Here the restless twitter of birds
-comes from among the swaying damp branches. There in the distance can
-be heard the prolonged trill of a horn. Elsewhere, quite near, on the
-path by the window, there are sounds of something walking with a heavy,
-stamping tread. The cheerful neighing of a foal is heard, and from
-another quarter the protracted lowing of sullen cows.
-
-III
-
-Natasha rises, smiles at something, and goes quickly to the window. Her
-window looks down upon the earth from a height. It is in three
-sections, in the mezzanine. Natasha does not draw the curtains across
-it at night, so as not to hide from her drowsing eyes the comforting
-glimmer of the stars and the witching face of the moon.
-
-What happiness it is to open the window, to fling it wide open with a
-vigorous thrust of the hand! From the direction of the river the
-gentlest of morning breezes comes blowing into Natasha’s face, still
-somewhat rapt in sleep. Beyond the garden and the hedges she can see
-the broad fields beloved from childhood. Spread over them are sloping
-hillocks, rows of ploughed soil, green groves, and clusters of
-shrubbery.
-
-The river winds its way among the green, full of capricious turnings.
-White tufts of mist, dispersing gradually, hang over it like fragments
-of a torn veil. The stream, visible in places, is more often hidden by
-some projection of its low bank, but in the far distance its path is
-marked by dense masses of willow-herb, which stand out dark green
-against the bright grass.
-
-Natasha washed herself quickly; it was pleasant to feel the cold water
-upon her shoulders and upon her neck. Then, childlike, she prayed
-diligently before the ikon in the dark corner, her knees not upon the
-rug but upon the bare floor, in the hope that it might please God.
-
-She repeated her daily prayer:
-
-“Perform a miracle, O Lord!”
-
-And she bent her face to the floor.
-
-She rose. Then quickly she put on her gay, light dress with broad
-shoulder-straps, cut square on the breast, and a leather belt, drawn in
-at the back with a large buckle. Quickly she plaited her dark braids,
-and deftly wound them round her head. With a flourish she stuck into
-them horn combs and hairpins, the first that came to her hand. She
-threw over her shoulders a grey, knitted kerchief, pleasantly soft in
-texture, and made haste to go out onto the terrace of the old house.
-
-The narrow inner staircase creaked gently under Natasha’s light step.
-It was pleasant to feel the contact of the cold hard floor of planks
-under her warm feet.
-
-When Natasha descended and passed down the corridor and through the
-dining-room, she walked on tip-toe so as to awaken neither her mother
-nor her grandmother. Upon her face was a sweet expression of cheerful
-preoccupation, and between her brows a slight contraction. This
-contraction had remained as it was formed in those other days.
-
-The curtains in the dining-room were still drawn. The room seemed dark
-and oppressive. She wanted to run through quickly, past the large
-drawn-out table. She had no wish to stop at the sideboard to snatch
-something to eat.
-
-Quicker, quicker! Toward freedom, toward the open, toward the smiles of
-the careless dawn which does not think of wearisome yesterdays.
-
-IV
-
-It was bright and refreshing on the terrace. Natasha’s light-coloured
-dress suddenly kindled with the pale-rose smiles of the early sun. A
-soft breeze blew from the garden. It caressed and kissed Natasha’s
-feet.
-
-Natasha seated herself in a wicker chair, and leant her slender rosy
-elbows upon the broad parapet of the terrace. She directed her gaze
-toward the gate between the hedges beyond which the grey silent road
-was visible, gently serene in the pale rose light.
-
-Natasha looked long, intently, with a steady pensive gaze in her dark
-eyes. A small vein quivered at the left corner of her mouth. The left
-brow trembled almost imperceptibly. The vertical contraction between
-her eyes defined itself rather sharply. Equal to the fixity of the
-tremulous, ruby-like flame of the rising sun, was the fixed vision of
-her very intent, motionless eyes.
-
-If an observer were to give a long and searching look at Natasha as she
-sat there in the sunrise, it would seem to him that she was not
-observing what was before her, but that her intent gaze was fixed on
-something very far away, at something that was not in sight.
-
-It was as though she wished to see some one who was not there, some one
-she was waiting for, some one who will come—who will come to-day. Only
-let the miracle happen. Yes, the miracle!
-
-V
-
-Natasha’s grey daily routine was before her. It was always the same,
-always in the same place. And as yesterday, as to-morrow, as always,
-the same people. Eternal unchanging people.
-
-A _muzhik_ walked along with a monotonous swing, the iron heels of his
-boots striking the hard clay of the road with a resounding clang. A
-peasant woman walked unsteadily by, softly rustling her way through the
-dewy grass, showing her sunburnt legs. Regarding the old house with a
-kind of awe, a number of sweet, sunburnt, dirty, white-haired urchins
-ran by.
-
-Past the house, always past it. No one thought of stopping at the gate.
-And no one saw the young girl behind that pillar of the terrace.
-
-Sweet-briar bloomed near the gate. It let fall its first pale-rose
-petals on the yellow sandy path, petals of heavenly innocence even in
-their actual fall. The roses in the garden exhaled their sweet,
-passionate perfume. At the terrace itself, reflecting the light of the
-sky, they flaunted their bright rosy smiles, their aromatic shameless
-dreams and desires, innocent as all was innocent in the primordial
-paradise, innocent as only the perfumes of roses are innocent upon this
-earth. White tobacco plants and red poppies bloomed in one part of the
-garden. And just beyond a marble Aphrodite gleamed white, like some
-eternal emblem of beauty, in the green, refreshing, aromatic, joyous
-life of this passing day.
-
-Natasha said quietly to herself: “He must have changed a great deal.
-Perhaps I shan’t know him when he comes.”
-
-And quietly she answered herself: “But I would know him at once by his
-voice and his eyes.”
-
-And listening intently she seemed to hear his deep, sonorous voice.
-Then she seemed to see his dark eyes, and their flaming, dauntless,
-youthfully-bold glance. And again she listened intently and gave a
-searching look into the great distance. She bent down lightly, and
-inclined her sensitive ear toward something while her glance, pensive
-and motionless, seemed no less fixed. It was as though she had stopped
-suddenly in an attitude, tense and not a little wild.
-
-The rosy smile of the now blazing sunrise timidly played on Natasha’s
-pale face.
-
-VI
-
-A voice in the distance gave a cry, and there was an answering echo.
-
-Natasha shivered. She started, sighed, and then rose. Down the low,
-broad steps she descended into the garden, and found herself on the
-sandy path. The fine grey sand grated under her small and narrow feet,
-which left behind their delicate traces.
-
-Natasha approached the white marble statue.
-
-For a long time she gazed upon the tranquil beauty of the goddess’s
-face, so remote from her own tedious, dried-up life, and then upon the
-ever-youthful form, nude and unashamed, radiating freedom. Roses
-bloomed at the foot of the plain pedestal. They added the enchantment
-of their brief aromatic existence to the enchantment of eternal beauty.
-
-Very quietly Natasha addressed the Aphrodite.
-
-“If he should come to-day, I will put into the buttonhole of his jacket
-the most scarlet, the most lovely of these roses. He is swarthy, and
-his eyes are dark—yes, I shall take the most scarlet of your roses!”
-
-The goddess smiled. Gathering up with her beautiful hands the serene
-draperies which fell about her knees, silently but unmistakably she
-answered, “Yes.”
-
-And Natasha said again: “I will plait a wreath of scarlet roses, and I
-will let down my hair, my long, dark hair; and I will put on the
-wreath, and I will dance and laugh and sing, to comfort him, to make
-him joyous.”
-
-And again the goddess said to her, “Yes.”
-
-Natasha spoke again: “You will remember him. You will recognize him.
-You gods remember everything. Only we people forget. In order to
-destroy and to create—ourselves and you.”
-
-And in the silence of the white marble was clear the eternal “Yes,” the
-comforting answer, “Yes.”
-
-Natasha sighed and took her eyes from the statue. The sunrise blazed
-into a flame; the joyous garden smiled with the radiations of dawn’s
-ever-youthful, triumphant laughter.
-
-VII
-
-Then Natasha went quietly toward the gate. There again she looked a
-long time down the road. She had her hand on the gate in an attitude of
-expectation, ready, as it were, to swing it wide open before him who
-was coming, before him whom she awaited.
-
-Stirring the grey dust of the road the refreshing early wind blew
-softly into Natasha’s face, and whispered in her ears persistent, evil
-and ominous things, as though it envied her expectation, her tense
-calm.
-
-O wind, you who blow everywhere, you know all, you come and you go at
-will, and you pursue your way into the endless beyond.
-
-O wind, you who blow everywhere, perchance you have flown into the
-regions where he is? Perchance you have brought tidings of him?
-
-If you would but bring hither a single sigh from him, or bear one hence
-to him; if but the light, pale shadow of a word.
-
-When the early wind blows a flush comes to Natasha’s face, and a flame
-to her eyes; her red lips quiver, a few tears appear, her slender form
-sways slightly—all this when the wind blows, the cool, the desolate,
-the unmindful, the infinitely wise wind. It blows, and in its blowing
-there is the sense of fleeting, irrevocable time.
-
-It blows, and it stings, and it brings sadness, and pitilessly it goes
-on.
-
-It goes on, and the frail dust falls back in the road, grey-rose yet
-dim in the dawn. It has wiped out all its traces, it has forgotten all
-who have walked upon it, and it lies faintly rose in the dawn.
-
-There is a gnawing at the heart from the sweet sadness of expectation.
-Some one seems to stand near Natasha, whispering in her ear: “He will
-come. He is on the way. Go and meet him.”
-
-VIII
-
-Natasha opens the gate and goes quickly down the road in the direction
-of the distant railway station. Having walked as far as the hillock by
-the river, one and a half versts away, Natasha pauses and looks into
-the distance.
-
-A clear view of the road is to be had from this hillock. Somewhere
-below, among the meadows, a curlew gives a sharp cry. The pleasant
-smell of the damp grass fills the air.
-
-The sun is rising. Suddenly everything becomes white, bright, and
-clear. Joyousness fills the great open expanse. On the top of the
-hillock the morning wind blows more strongly and more sweetly. It seems
-to have forgotten its desolation and its grief.
-
-The grass is quite wet with dew. How gently it clings to her ankles. It
-is resplendent in its multi-coloured, gem-like, tear-like glitter.
-
-The red sun rises slowly but triumphantly above the blue mist of the
-horizon. In its bright red flame there is a hidden foreboding of quiet
-melancholy.
-
-Natasha lowers her glance upon the wet grass. Sweet little flowers! She
-recognizes the flower of faithfulness, the blue periwinkle.
-
-Here also, quite near, reminiscent of death, is the black madwort. But
-what of that? Is it not everywhere? Soothe us, soothe us, little blue
-flowers!
-
-“I will not pluck a single one of you; not one of you will I plait into
-my wreath.”
-
-She stands, waiting, watching.
-
-Were he to show himself in the road she would recognize him even in the
-distance. But no—there is no one. The road is deserted, and the misty
-distances are dumb.
-
-IX
-
-Natasha remains standing a little while, then turns back. Her feet sink
-in the wet grass. The tall stalks half wind themselves round her ankles
-and rustle against the hem of her light-coloured dress. Natasha’s
-graceful arms, half hidden by the grey knitted kerchief, hang subdued
-at her sides. Her eyes have already lost their fixed expression, and
-have begun to jump from object to object.
-
-How often have they walked this road, all together, her little sisters,
-and Borya! They were noisy with merriment. What did they not talk
-about! Their quarrels! What proud songs they sang! Now she was alone,
-and there was no sign of Borya.
-
-Why were they waiting for him? In what manner would he come? She did
-not know. Perhaps she would not recognize him.
-
-There awakens in Natasha’s heart a presentiment of bitter thoughts.
-With a heavy rustle an evil serpent begins to stir in the darkness of
-her wearied memory.
-
-Slowly and sorrowfully Natasha turns her steps homeward. Her eyes are
-drowsy and seem to look aimlessly, with fallen and fatigued glances.
-The grass now seems disagreeably damp, the wind malicious; her feet
-feel the wet, and the hem of her thin dress has grown heavy with
-moisture. The new light of a new day, resplendent, glimmering with the
-play of the laughing dew, resounding with the hum of birds and the
-voices of human folk, becomes again for Natasha tiresomely blatant.
-
-What does a new day matter? Why invoke the unattainable?
-
-The murmur of pitiless memory, at first faint, grows more audible. The
-heavy burden of insurmountable sorrow falls on the heart like an
-aspen-grey weight. The heart feels proudly the pressure of the
-inexpressibly painful foreboding of tears.
-
-As she nears the house Natasha increases her pace. Faster and yet
-faster, in response to the growing beat of her sorrowful heart, she is
-running over the dry clay of the road, over the wet grass of the
-bypath, trodden by pedestrians, over the moist, crunching, sandy
-footpaths of the garden, which still treasure the gentle traces left by
-her at dawn. Natasha runs across the warm planks, as yet unswept of
-dust and litter. And she no longer tries to step lightly and inaudibly.
-She stumbles across the astonished, open-mouthed Glasha. She runs
-impetuously and noisily up the stairway to her room, and throws herself
-on the bed. She pulls the coverlet over her head, and falls asleep.
-
-X
-
-Borya’s grandmother, Elena Kirillovna, sleeps below. She is old, and
-she cannot sleep in the morning; but never in all her life has she
-risen early; so even now she is awake only a little later than Natasha.
-Elena Kirillovna, straight, thin, motionless, the back of her head
-resting on the pillow, lies for a long time waiting for the maid to
-bring her a cup of coffee—she has long ago accustomed herself to have
-her coffee in bed.
-
-Elena Kirillovna has a dry, yellow face, marked with many wrinkles; but
-her eyes are still sparkling, and her hair is black, especially by day,
-when she uses a cosmetic.
-
-The maid Glasha is habitually late. She sleeps well in the morning, for
-in the evening she loves to stroll over to the bridge in the village.
-The harmonica makes merry there, and on holidays all sorts of jolly
-folk and maidens dance and sing.
-
-Elena Kirillovna rings a number of times. In the end the unanswering
-stillness behind the door begins to irritate her. Sadly she turns on
-her side, grumbling. She stretches her dry, yellow hand forward and
-with a kind of concentrated intentness presses her bent, bony finger a
-long time on the white bell-button lying on the little round table at
-her head.
-
-At last Glasha hears the prolonged, jarring ring above her head. She
-jumps quickly from her bed, and anxiously gropes about for something or
-other in her narrow quarters under the stairway of the mezzanine; then
-she throws a skirt over her head, and hurries to her old mistress.
-While running she arranges somehow her heavy, tangled braids.
-
-Glasha’s face is angry and sleepy. She reels in her drowsiness. On the
-way to her mistress’s bedroom the morning air refreshes her a little.
-She faces her mistress looking more or less normal.
-
-Glasha has on a pink skirt and a white blouse. In the semi-darkness of
-the curtained windows her sunburnt arms and strong legs seem almost
-white. Young, strong, rustic and impetuous, she suddenly appears before
-her old mistress’s bed, her vigorous tread causing the heavy metal bed
-with its nickelled posts and surmounting knobs to rattle slightly, and
-the tumbler on the small round table to tinkle against the flagon.
-
-XI
-
-Elena Kirillovna greets Glasha with her customary observation:
-
-“Glasha, when am I to have my coffee? I ring and ring, and no one
-comes. You, girl, seem to sleep like the dead.”
-
-Glasha’s face assumes a look of astonishment and fear. Restraining a
-yawn, she bends down to put a disarranged rug in order, and puts a pair
-of soft, worn slippers closer to the bed. Then assuming an excessively
-tender, deferential tone which old gentlewomen like in their servants,
-she remarks:
-
-“Forgive me, _barinya_,[2] it shan’t take a minute. But how early you
-are awake to-day, _barinya_! Did you have a bad night?”
-
-Elena Kirillovna replies:
-
-“What sort of sleep can one except at my age! Get me my coffee a little
-more quickly, and I will try to get up.”
-
-She now speaks more calmly, despite the capricious note in her voice.
-
-Glasha replies heartily:
-
-“This very minute, _barinya_. You shall have it at once.”
-
-And she turns about to go out.
-
-Elena Kirillovna stops her with an angry exclamation:
-
-“Glasha, where are you going? You seem to forget, no matter how often I
-tell you! Draw the curtains aside.”
-
-Glasha, with some agility, thrusts back the curtains of the two windows
-and flies out of the room. She is rather low of stature and slender,
-and one can tell from her face that she is intelligent, but the sound
-of her rapid footsteps is measured and heavy, giving the impression
-that the runner is large, powerful, heavy, and capable of doing
-everything but what requires lightness. The mistress grumbles, looking
-after her:
-
-“Lord, how she stamps with her feet! She spares neither the floor nor
-her own heels!”
-
- [2] Means “gentlewoman,” and is a common form of salutation from
- servant to mistress.
-
-XII
-
-At last the sound of Glasha’s feet dies away in the echoing silence of
-the long corridor. The old lady lies, waiting, thinking. She is once
-more straight and motionless under her bed-cover, and very yellow and
-very still. Her whole life seems to be concentrated in the living
-sparkle of her keen eyes.
-
-The sun, still low, throws a subdued rosy light on the wall facing her.
-The bedroom is lit-up and quiet. Swift atoms of dust are dancing about
-in the air. There is a glitter on the glass of the photographic
-portraits which hang on the wall, as well as on the narrow gilt rims of
-their black frames.
-
-Elena Kirillovna looks at the portraits. Her keen, youthfully sparkling
-eyes carefully scrutinize the beloved faces. Many of these are no
-longer upon the earth.
-
-Borya’s portrait is a large one, in a broad dark frame. It is a young
-face, the face of a seventeen-year-old lad, quite smooth and with dark
-eyes. The upper lip shows a small but vigorous growth of hair. The lips
-are tightly compressed and the entire face gives the impression of an
-indomitable will.
-
-Elena Kirillovna looks long at the portrait, and recalls Borya. Of all
-her grandsons she loved him best. And now she is recalling him. She
-sees him as he had once looked. Where is he now? Before long Borya will
-return. She will be overjoyed, her eyes will have their fill of him.
-But how soon?
-
-It comforts the old woman to think, “It can’t be very long.”
-
-Some one has just run past her window, giving a shrill cry.
-
-Elena Kirillovna, turning in her bed, looks out of the window.
-
-The white acacia trees before the window, gaily rustling their leaves,
-smile innocently, naïvely and cheerily. Behind them, looming densely,
-are the tops of the birches and of the limes. Some of the branches lean
-toward the window. Their harsh rustle evokes a memory in Elena
-Kirillovna.
-
-If Borya were but to cry out like that! He had loved this garden. He
-had loved the white bloom of the acacia trees, and he had loved to
-gather the little field flowers. He used to bring her some. He liked
-cornflowers specially.
-
-XIII
-
-At last Glasha has come with the coffee. She has placed a silver tray
-on the little round table near the bed. Above the broad blue-and-gold
-porcelain cup rises a thin bluish cloud of steam.
-
-Elena Kirillovna draws her scant body higher upon the pillows, and sits
-upright in her bed; she seems straight, dry, and thin in her white
-night-jacket. With trembling hands she very fastidiously rearranges the
-ribbons of her white ruffled nightcap.
-
-Glasha, with great solicitude and skill, has placed a number of pillows
-at her back, and these piled up high make a soft wall of comfort.
-
-The little silver spoon held by the old dry fingers rings with fragile
-laughter as it stirs the sugar in the cup. Afterwards out of a small
-milk-jug comes a generous helping of boiled milk. And Glasha, having
-shifted somewhat to the side in order to catch a stealthy look of
-herself in the mirror, goes out.
-
-Elena Kirillovna sips her coffee slowly. She breaks a sugared biscuit,
-throws half of it in the cup, and leaves it there for a time. Then,
-when it is completely softened, she carefully takes it out with the
-little spoon.
-
-Elena Kirillovna’s teeth are still quite strong. She is very proud of
-this; nevertheless she has preferred of late to eat softer things. She
-munches away at the wet biscuit. Her face expresses gratification. Her
-small, keen eyes sparkle merrily.
-
-When the coffee is finished Elena Kirillovna lies down again. She dozes
-for half an hour on her back, under the bed-cover. Then she rings again
-and waits.
-
-XIV
-
-Glasha comes in. She has had time to comb her hair and to put on a pink
-blouse, and this makes her seem even thinner. As she is in no haste her
-footfalls sound even heavier than before.
-
-Glasha approaches her mistress’s bed and silently throws the bed-cover
-aside. She helps Elena Kirillovna to sit on the bed, holding her up
-under the arm. Then, getting down on her knees, she helps her mistress
-to put on her long black stockings and her soft grey slippers.
-
-Elena Kirillovna holds on to Glasha’s shoulder with her trembling,
-nervous hands. She envies Glasha’s youth, strength, and naïve
-simplicity. Grumbling under her breath at her unfortunate lot, Elena
-Kirillovna imagines in her dejection that she would be willing to
-sacrifice all her comfort to become like Glasha, a common servant-maid
-with coarse hands and feet red from rough usage and the wet—if she
-could but possess the youth, the cheerfulness, the sang-froid, and the
-happiness attainable upon this earth only by the stupid.
-
-The old woman grumbles often at her fate, but is quite unwilling to
-give up a single one of her gentlewoman’s habits.
-
-Glasha says, “All ready, _barinya._”
-
-“Now my capote, Glasha,” Elena Kirillovna says as she gets up.
-
-But Glasha herself knows what is wanted. She deftly puts on Elena
-Kirillovna’s shoulders a white flannel robe.
-
-“Now you may go, Glashenka. I will ring if I want you again.”
-
-XV
-
-Glasha goes. She hurries to the veranda staircase.
-
-Here she washes herself a second time in a clay turn-over basin, which
-is attached by a rope to one of the posts of the veranda; she quickly
-plunges her face and hands in the water that had been left there
-overnight. She splashes the water a long way off on the green grass, on
-the lilac-grey planks of the staircase and on her feet, which are red
-from the early morning freshness and from the tender contact with the
-dewy grass in the vegetable garden. She laughs happily at
-herself—because she is a young, healthy girl, because the early morning
-freshness caresses the length of her strong, swift body with brisk cool
-strokes; and finally, because not far away, in the village, there is a
-lively and handsome young fellow, not unlike herself, who pays
-attention to her and whom she is rather fond of. It is true that her
-mother scolds her on his account, because the young man is poor. But
-what’s that to Glasha? Not for nothing is there an adage:
-
-“Without bread ’tis very sad,
-Still sadder ’tis without a lad.”
-
-
-Glasha laughs loudly and merrily.
-
-Stepanida cries at her from the kitchen window: “Glash, Glash, why do
-you neigh like a horse?”
-
-Glasha laughs, makes no reply, and goes off.
-
-Stepanida puts her simple, red face out of the window and asks: “I
-wonder what’s the matter with her.”
-
-She receives no answer, for there is no one to reply. Out of doors all
-is deserted. Only somewhere from behind the barn the languid voices of
-working-men can be heard.
-
-XVI
-
-In the meantime Elena Kirillovna kneels down with a sigh before the
-ikon in her bedroom. She prays a long time. Conscientiously she repeats
-all the prayers she knows. Her dry, raspberry-coloured lips stir
-slightly. Her face has a severe, concentrated expression. All her
-wrinkles seem also austere, weary, callous.
-
-There are many words in her prayers—holy, lofty, touching words. But
-because of their frequent repetition their meaning has become, as it
-were, hardened, stereotyped and ordinary; the tears which appear in her
-eyes are habitual tears wrung out by her antique emotion, and have no
-relation to the secret trepidation of impossible hopes which have
-stolen into the old woman’s heart of late.
-
-Diligently her lips murmur prayers each day for the forgiveness of
-sins, voluntary and involuntary, committed in deed, in word, or in
-thought; prayers for the purification of our souls of all defilement;
-and again words concerning our impieties, our evil actions, our
-disregard of commandments, our general unworthiness, our worldly
-frailty, and the temptations of Satan; and again concerning the
-accursed soul and the accursed body and the sensual life; and her words
-embrace only universal evil and all-pervading depravity. Surely these
-prayers were composed for Titans, created to reconstruct the universe,
-but who, out of shamefaced indolence, are attending to this business
-with their arms hanging at their sides.
-
-And not a word does she utter of her own, her personal affliction, of
-what is in her soul.
-
-The old, dried-up lips mumble of mercy, of generosity, of brotherly
-love, of the holy life—of all those lofty regions pouring out their
-bounty upon all creation. And not a word of the miracle, awaited
-eagerly and with trepidation.
-
-But here are words for those who are in prison and in exile; it is a
-prayer for their liberation, for their redemption.
-
-Here is something at last about Borya.
-
-Freedom and redemption....
-
-But the prayer runs on and on, and it is again for strangers, for
-distant people, for the universal; only for an instant, and then
-lightly, does she pause to put in something for herself, for her
-desire, for what is in her heart.
-
-Then for the dead—for those others, the long since departed, the almost
-forgotten, the resurrected only in word in the hour of these strangers,
-prayed for in this easy, gliding way all the world over where piety
-reigns.
-
-The prayers are ended. Elena Kirillovna lingers for a moment. She has
-an air of having forgotten to say something indispensable.
-
-What else? Or has she said all?
-
-“All”—some one seems to say simply, softly and inexorably.
-
-Elena Kirillovna rises from her knees. She goes to the window. Her soul
-is calm and self-contained. The prayer has not left her in a mood of
-piety, but has relieved her weary soul for a brief time of its
-material, matter-of-fact existence.
-
-XVII
-
-Elena Kirillovna looks out of the window. She is returning, as it were,
-once more from some dark, abstract world to the bright,
-profusely-coloured, resonant impressions of a rough, cheery, not
-altogether disagreeable life.
-
-Small white clouds tinged with red float slowly in the heights and
-merge imperceptibly in the vivid blue. Ablaze like a piece of coal at
-red heat their soul seems to fuse with their cold white bodies, to
-consume them as well as itself with fire, and to sink exhausted in the
-cold blue heights. The sun, as yet invisible behind the left wing of
-the house, has already begun to pour upon the garden its warm and
-glowing waves of laughter, joy and light, animating the flowers and
-birds.
-
-“Well, it’s time to dress,” Elena Kirillovna says to herself.
-
-She rings.
-
-Soon Glasha appears and helps Elena Kirillovna to dress.
-
-At last she is ready. She casts a final look in the mirror to see that
-everything is in order.
-
-Elena Kirillovna’s hair is very neatly combed, and lightly brushed down
-with a cosmetic. This makes it shine and appear as though it were glued
-together. At her every movement in the light there is visible, from
-right to left, a slender silver thread, due to the reflection of light
-at the parting of the smoothed coiffure. Her face shows slight traces
-of powder.
-
-Elena Kirillovna’s dress is always of a light colour, when not actually
-white, and of the simplest cut. The small soft ruffle of the broad
-collar hides her neck and chin. She has already substituted for her
-dressing slippers a pair of light summer shoes.
-
-XVIII
-
-Elena Kirillovna enters the dining-room. She looks on as the table is
-being laid for breakfast. She always notes the slightest disorder. She
-grumbles quietly as she picks up something from one place on the table
-and puts it in another.
-
-Then she goes into the large, unused front room, with its closed door
-on to the staircase of the front façade. She walks along the corridor
-to the vestibule and to the back staircase. She stops on the high
-landing, wrinkles up her face from the sun, and looks down to see what
-is going on in the yard. Small, quite erect, like a young school-girl
-with a yellow, wrinkled face which expresses at the moment a severe
-domestic concern, she stands, looks on, and is silent; she is, it
-seems, unnecessary here. No one pays her the slightest attention.
-
-“Good morning, Stepanida,” she calls out. Stepanida, a buxom,
-red-cheeked maid in a bright red dress, under which is visible a strip
-of her white chemise and her stout sunburnt legs, is attending to the
-samovar at the bottom of the stairs, and is vigorously blowing to set
-the fire going. Upon her head is a neatly-arranged green kerchief,
-which hides her folded braids of hair like a head-dress.
-
-The bulging sides of the samovar glow radiantly in the sun. Its bent
-chimney sends out a curl of blue smoke, which smells sharply,
-pungently, and not altogether disagreeably, of juniper and tar.
-
-In answer to the old mistress’s greeting Stepanida raises her broad,
-cheerfully-preoccupied face, with its small, dark brown eyes, and says
-in prolonged caressing tones, sing-song fashion:
-
-“Good morning to you, _matushka barinya_.[3] It’s a fine morning, to be
-sure. How warm it is, by the grace of God! And you’re up early,
-_matushka barinya_!”
-
-Her words are indeed honeyed, and above in the sweet air an early,
-shaggy bee hovers, with a thick buzzing, tremulously golden in the
-clear, fluid haze of the early, gentle sun. Silent again, Stepanida is
-once more busy with the samovar; the disenchanted bee flies away, its
-buzzing growing less and less audible behind the fence.
-
-The pungent smell of tar causes Elena Kirillovna to frown. She says:
-
-“What makes the thing smell so strongly? You had better leave it for a
-while, or you will get giddy.”
-
-Stepanida, without moving, answers languidly and indifferently:
-
-“It’s nothing, _barinya_. We are used to it. It’s but a slight smell,
-and it is the juniper.”
-
-Through the blue, curling smoke of juniper her sweet voice seems dull
-and bitter. There is a tickling at Elena Kirillovna’s throat. There is
-a slight giddiness in her head. Elena Kirillovna makes haste to go. She
-descends the staircase, and proceeds upon her customary morning stroll.
-
- [3] Literally: “Little mother—gentlewoman.”
-
-XIX
-
-Glasha soon overtakes her. With an exaggerated loudness she runs
-stamping down the stairs, showing a wing-like glimmer of her strong
-legs from under the pink skirt, set a-flutter by her vigorous movement.
-She calls out in a clear, solicitously joyous voice:
-
-“_Barinya_, you have come out! The sun will scorch you. I’ve fetched
-your hat.”
-
-The yellow straw hat, with its lavender ribbon, glimmers in Glasha’s
-hands like some strange, low-fluttering bird.
-
-Elena Kirillovna, as she puts the hat on, says: “Why do you run about
-in such disorder! You ought to tidy yourself—you know whom we are
-expecting.”
-
-Glasha is silent, and her face assumes a compassionate expression. For
-a long time she looks after her strolling mistress, then she smiles and
-walks back.
-
-Stepanida asks her in a loud whisper: “Well, is she still expecting her
-grandson?”
-
-“Rather!” Glasha replies compassionately. “And it’s simply pitiful to
-look at them. They never stop thinking about him.”
-
-In the meanwhile Elena Kirillovna makes her way across the vegetable
-garden, past the labourers and the servants in the stockyard, and then
-across the field. Near the garden fence she enters the road.
-
-There, not far from the garden, in the shade of an old, spreading lime,
-stands a bench—a board upon two supports, which still shows traces of
-having been once painted green. From this place a view is to be had of
-the road, of the garden, and of the house.
-
-Elena Kirillovna seats herself upon the bench. She looks out on the
-road. She sits quietly, seeming so small, so slender, and so erect. She
-waits a long time. She falls into a doze.
-
-Through the thin haze of slumber she can see a beloved, smooth face
-smiling, and she can hear a quiet, dear voice calling:
-
-“Grandma!”
-
-She gives a start and opens her eyes. There is no one there. But she
-waits. She believes and waits.
-
-XX
-
-There is a lightness in the air. The road is radiant and tranquil. A
-gentle, refreshing breeze softly passes and repasses her. The sun is
-warming her old bones, it is caressing her lean back through her dress.
-Everything round her rejoices in the green, the golden, and the blue.
-The foliage of the birches, of the willows, and of the limes in full
-bloom is rustling quietly. From the fields comes the honeyed smell of
-clover.
-
-Oh, how light and lovely the air is upon the earth!
-
-How beautiful thou art, my earth, my golden, my emerald, my sapphire
-earth! Who, born to thy heritage would care to die, would care to close
-his eyes upon thy serene beauties and upon thy magnificent spaces? Who,
-resting in thee, damp Mother Earth, would not wish to rise, would not
-wish to return to thy enchantments and to thy delights? And what stern
-fate shall drive one who is aflame with life-thirst to seek the shelter
-of death?
-
-Upon the road where once he walked he shall walk again. Upon the earth,
-which still preserves his footprints, he shall walk again. Borya, the
-grandmother’s beloved Borya, shall return.
-
-A golden bee flies by. It seems to say, the golden bee, that Borya will
-return to the quiet of the old house and will taste the fragrant
-honey—the sweet gift of the wise bees, buzzing under the sun upon the
-beloved earth. The old grandmother, in her joy, will place before the
-ikon of the Virgin a candle of the purest bees’-wax—a gift of the wise
-bees, buzzing away among the gold of the sun’s rays—a gift to man and a
-gift to God.
-
-Women and girls of the village pass by with their sunburnt, wind-swept
-faces. They greet the _barinya_ and look at her with compassion. Elena
-Kirillovna smiles at them, and addresses them in her usual gentle
-manner:
-
-“Good morning, my dears!”
-
-They pass by. Their loud voices die away in the distance, and Elena
-Kirillovna soon forgets them. They will pass by once more that day,
-when the time comes. They will pass by. They will return. Upon the
-road, where their dusty footprints remain, they will pass by once more.
-
-XXI
-
-Elena Kirillovna suddenly awoke from her drowse and looked at the
-things before her with a perplexed gaze. Everything seemed to be clear,
-bright, free from care—and relentless.
-
-Inevitably the triumphant sun rose higher in the heavens’ dome. Grown
-powerful, wise and resplendent, it seemed indifferent now to oppressive
-earthly melancholy and to sweet earthly delights. And its laughter was
-high, joyless, and sorrowless.
-
-Everything as before was green, blue and gold, many-toned and vividly
-tinted; truly all the objects of nature showed the real colour of their
-souls in honour of this feast of light. But the fine dust upon the
-silent road had already lost its rose tinge, and stirred before the
-wind like a grey, depressing veil. And when the wind calmed down, the
-dust slowly fell back upon the road, like a grey, blind serpent which,
-trailing its fat, fantastic belly, falls back exhausted, gasping its
-last breath.
-
-All monotony had become wearisome. This inevitable recurrence of lucid
-moments began to torment Elena Kirillovna with the grey foreboding of
-sadness, of bitter tears, of unanswered prayers, and of a profound
-hopelessness.
-
-XXII
-
-Glasha appeared at the garden gate. She glanced cheerfully along both
-sides of the road. Walking more slowly she approached Elena Kirillovna
-deferentially.
-
-Glasha looked quite ordinary now, stiff-mannered and stupid. There was
-nothing to envy in her. Her dress too was quite common-place. Her
-braids were arranged upon her head quite like a young lady’s, and held
-fast by three combs of transparent bone. Her blouse was
-light-coloured—pink stripes and lavender flowers on a ground of
-white—its short sleeves reached the elbows. She wore a neat blue skirt
-and a white apron.
-
-Elena Kirillovna asked:
-
-“Well, what is it, Glashenka? Is Sonyushka up yet?”
-
-Glasha replied in a respectful voice:
-
-“Sofia Alexandrovna is getting up. She wants me to ask you if we shall
-lay the table on the terrace?”
-
-“Yes, yes, let it be on the terrace. And how is Natashenka?” asked
-Elena Kirillovna, looking anxiously at Glasha.
-
-“The young lady is asleep,” answered Glasha. “To-day again, quite
-early, she went out for a walk straight from bed, without so much as a
-bite of something. Her skirt’s wet with dew. She might have caught a
-cold. And now she sleeps. If you’d but talk to her.”
-
-Elena Kirillovna said irresolutely:
-
-“Very well. I had better be going. All right, Glasha.”
-
-Glasha goes. Elena Kirillovna rises slowly from the bench, as though
-she regretted moving from the spot where she saw Borya in a half-dream.
-Slowly she walks toward the house.
-
-Having reached the gate she pauses, and again looks for some moments
-down the road, in the direction of the station.
-
-A cart rumbles by noisily over the travelled road. The _muzhik_ barely
-holds the reins and rocks from side to side sleepily. The harnessed
-horse swings its tail and its head. A white-haired urchin, in broad
-blue breeches, lets his brown feet hang over the edge of the cart and
-stares with his bright hazel eyes at a gaunt, evil-looking dog which
-runs after, barking hoarsely.
-
-Elena Kirillovna gives a sigh—there is as yet no Borya—and enters the
-garden.
-
-Glasha’s light-coloured blouse glimmers on the terrace. There is a
-rattle of dishes. The grumbling chatter of Borya’s old nurse is also
-audible.
-
-XXIII
-
-The last to awake, with the sun quite high and scorching, is Borya’s
-mother, Sofia Alexandrovna. Through the thin bright curtains, drawn for
-the night across the windows, the light fills her bedroom.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna awakes with a start, as though some one had touched
-her suddenly or had called to her. With her right hand she impetuously
-throws aside her light white bed-cover. Quickly she sits up in bed,
-holding her hands over her bent knees. For a moment she looks before
-her at a bare place in the simple pattern of the bright green hangings.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna’s eyes are dark, wide open, with black, fiery pupils
-which seem lost in the abysmal, depths of their own sorrowful gaze. Her
-face is long, its skin smooth and colourless, though quite fresh and
-almost free of wrinkles. The lips are a vivid red.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna’s expression is like that of one faced suddenly with
-a tragic apparition. She rocks herself back and forward.
-
-Then, abruptly, she jumps out of bed with a single spring. She runs to
-the washing-basin of marble mounted on a red stand. She washes herself
-quickly, as though in haste to go somewhere. Now she is at the window.
-The curtains are flung violently aside. She peers anxiously to see what
-the outlook is—whether there are any clouds in the sky that might bring
-rain and make the road muddy, the road upon which Borya would return
-home.
-
-The heavens are tremulously joyous. The birches are rustling quietly.
-The sparrows are twittering. Everything is green, bright, quivering;
-everything palpitates under the tension of hopes and anticipations.
-Voices are audible; cries of good cheer and sounds of laughter. One of
-the laughers runs by, as though making haste to live.
-
-A torrent of tears floods Sofia Alexandrovna’s eyes. Her breast heaves
-visibly under the white linen chemise.
-
-XXIV
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna goes to the image. She thrusts aside with her foot
-the small velvet rug which Glasha had purposely laid there the day
-before. She throws herself down on her knees before the image. You hear
-her knees strike the floor softly. Sofia Alexandrovna quietly crosses
-herself, bends her face to the floor, and mutters passionately:
-
-“O Lord, Thou knowest, Thou knowest all, Thou canst do all. Do this, O
-Lord, return him to us, to his mother, return him to-day.”
-
-Her prayer is warm and passionate, quite unlike a prayer. Its words are
-disconnected, and they fall confusedly, like small, broken tears. Her
-naked feet come in contact with the cold, painted floor. And the
-entire, warm, prostrate body of the weeping woman is throbbing and
-trembling on the boards. Her head repeatedly strikes the boards,
-loosening her dark braids of hair.
-
-She does not pray long. The torrents of tears have cleansed her soul,
-as it were; and she becomes at once cheerful and tranquil.
-
-She rises quite, as suddenly, and rings. She seats herself on the edge
-of the bed, and dries her tears with a soft handkerchief. Then she
-laughs silently. She swings one of her feet impatiently, striking the
-rug in front of the bed with the toes. Her eyes wander about the room,
-but seem to observe nothing.
-
-Glasha had only just begun to dress, and she had only tied the strings
-of her apron round her slender waist. The sharp impatient ring causes
-her to start. She runs to the _barinya_, seizing quickly at the same
-time a pair of blackened boots and some clothes from the laundry.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna cries in an urgent voice:
-
-“Now be quick, Glasha. Help me on with my things.”
-
-She looks on impatiently as Glasha puts down her burden.
-
-The daily ceremony is gone through quickly. Sofia Alexandrovna dresses
-herself. Glasha only draws on her boots, and hooks up her dress behind.
-
-Soon Sofia Alexandrovna is quite ready. She gives a brief, vacant look
-in the mirror.
-
-Her pale face still seems to be young and handsome. She is slender,
-like her mother, and small in stature. She has on a closely fitting
-white dress with short, wide sleeves. Her coiffure is arranged in a
-Greek knot, held fast with a red ribbon. Her slender, shapely feet are
-clad in coloured silk stockings and white shoes with silver buckles.
-
-XXV
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna goes quickly into the dining-room. She pours herself
-a glass of fresh milk out of a jug on the table. She drinks it
-standing, and munches a piece of black bread with it.
-
-She orders the things for dinner at the same time. She chooses dishes
-loved by Borya. She stops to recollect whether Borya likes this, or
-does not like that.
-
-Stepanida listens to her sadly, and replies in a tearful voice:
-
-“Yes, I know! Why shouldn’t I know? It’s not the first time.”
-
-Glasha asks something. The old, tottering nurse rattles on rather
-volubly. Sofia Alexandrovna answers them mechanically and rapidly. She
-seems all the while to be listening intently, either for the sound of a
-distant little bell, or for the rumble of wheels on the road. She makes
-her way out in haste. And she no longer listens to what is being said
-to her. She goes out.
-
-She enters Borya’s study. Everything there is as in the old days, and
-in order. When Borya comes back he will find everything in its place.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna, with great concern, takes a rapid look round the
-room. She wishes to see whether everything is in its place, whether the
-dust has been swept, whether the rug has been laid before the bed, and
-whether the inkstand has been filled with ink. She herself changes the
-water in the vase which holds the cornflowers. If anything is out of
-place she gives way to tears, then rings for Glasha, and heaps
-reproaches upon her.
-
-Glasha’s face assumes a frightened, compassionate look. In a most
-humble manner she begs forgiveness.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna remonstrates with her:
-
-“How can you be so careless, Glasha? You know that we are expecting him
-every minute. Suppose he should suddenly come in and find this
-disorder.”
-
-Glasha replies humbly:
-
-“Forgive me, _barinya_. Don’t think any more about it. I’ll quickly put
-everything to rights.”
-
-As she goes out she wipes away two or three tears with her white apron.
-
-XXVI
-
-With the same undue haste Sofia Alexandrovna goes into the garden. She
-sees nothing, neither the white Aphrodite nor her roses, on her way to
-the little arbour from which, overlooking a corner of the garden, the
-road is visible. Vividly green in the sun, a four-sloped roof covers
-the arbour, while hangings of coarse cloth, with a red border, serve as
-a protection against inquisitive eyes.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna looks down the road with dark, hungry eyes. She
-waits impatiently, listening to the rapid, uneven beat of her heart;
-she waits: Borya will surely come in sight.
-
-The wind blows into her face, and partly conceals it with the hangings;
-her face is pale, and her eyes are dry. The sun warmly kisses her
-slender arms, which lie motionless on the broad, lavender-grey parapet
-of the arbour. Everything is bright, green and gay in the fields, but
-her eyes are fixed on the grey serpent of dust trailing among the
-freedom of the fields.
-
-If they await him like this surely Borya will come.
-
-But there is no sign of him. In vain her hungry glances penetrate the
-open waste. There is no Borya. More fixed and piercing grows her glance
-of infinite longing upon the road—but there is no Borya.
-
-Everything is as before, as yesterday, as always. Tranquil, serene and
-pitiless.
-
-XXVII
-
-The hour of the early luncheon came. All three sat at the table on the
-terrace. There was a fourth place laid, and a fourth chair, for who
-could tell whether Borya might not arrive at luncheon time!
-
-The sun was already high. The day was turning sultry. The fragrance of
-the red roses at the foot of the goddess’s pedestal became ever more
-passionate. And the smile of the marble-white Aphrodite was even more
-clear and serene, as she let fall her draperies with a marvellous grace
-born of eternal movement. In the bright sunshine the sand on the
-footpaths seemed yellow-white. The trees cast austere dark shadows.
-They seemed to exhale an odour of the soil, of sap, and of warmth.
-
-The women sat so that each one of them, looking beyond the drawn
-hangings of the terrace and over the bushes, could see the short narrow
-path ending at the garden gate, where a part of the road was also
-visible; they could not fail to observe every passer-by and every
-vehicle.
-
-But during this hour of the day hardly anyone ever walked or drove by
-the old house.
-
-Glasha waited on them. She had on a newly-laundered cap with starched
-ribbons and plaited frills fitting tightly over her hair. The
-snow-white cap shone pleasantly above Glasha’s fresh, sunburnt face.
-
-In the garden, on a form just under the terrace, sat Borya’s old nurse,
-dressed in a dark lavender blouse, black skirt, with a dark blue
-kerchief over her head. She was warming her old bones in the sun, and
-listening to the conversation on the terrace; now she grumbled, now she
-dozed.
-
-Broad-boned and stout, she had a round, amiable face, and even through
-the compact network of wrinkles there were palpable suggestions of
-former beauty. Her eyes were clear. The grey hair was flatly combed
-down. Her figure and her face wore a settled expression of languid good
-nature.
-
-XXVIII
-
-As always, they eat and drink, and they keep up a cheerful and friendly
-chatter. Sometimes two of them speak together. A stranger in the garden
-might conclude that a large company is gathered on the terrace.
-
-Frequently Borya’s name is mentioned.
-
-“To be sure, Borya likes....”
-
-“Perhaps Borya will bring....”
-
-“It is strange Borya is not yet here....”
-
-“Perhaps Borya will come in the evening....”
-
-“We must ask Borya whether he has read....”
-
-“It is possible this is not new to Borya....”
-
-While below, under the terrace, the old nurse, each time she hears
-Borya’s name, crosses herself and mumbles:
-
-“O Lord, rest the soul of thy servant, Boris.”
-
-At first her voice is low, but it gradually grows louder and louder.
-Finally the three women at the table can hear her words. They tremble
-slightly and exchange anxious glances, into which steals an expression
-of perplexed fear. So they begin to speak even louder, and to laugh
-even more merrily. They permit no intervals of silence, and the hum of
-their talk and laughter prevents for the time their hearing the nurse’s
-mumbling in the garden.
-
-But their voices inevitably fall after a mention of the beloved name,
-and now again they hear the tranquil, terrible words:
-
-“O Lord, rest the soul....”
-
-They sit at luncheon long, but they talk more industriously than they
-eat. They glance nervously toward the gate. It seems a terrible thing
-to have to leave the table and to go somewhere while Borya is not yet
-with them.
-
-XXIX
-
-Toward the end of luncheon the post arrives. Grisha, a
-fourteen-year-old youngster, goes for it daily to the station on
-horseback. Raising clouds of dust he jumps off briskly at the gate.
-Leaving his horse he enters the garden carrying a black leather bag,
-and smiles broadly at something or other. Ascending the long steps of
-the terrace he announces loudly and joyously:
-
-“I’ve fetched the post!”
-
-He is cheery, sunburnt, perspiring. He smells of the sun, of the soil,
-of dust and tar. His hands and feet are as large as a man’s. His lips
-are soft and pouting, like those of a sweet-tempered foal. At the
-opening of his shirt, cut on the slant, buttons are missing, exposing a
-strip of his sunburnt chest and a piece of grey string.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna rises abruptly from her place. She takes the bag
-from Grisha, and throws it quickly on the table. A pile of stamped
-wrappers comes pouring upon the white cloth. The three women bend over
-the table and rummage for letters. But letters come only rarely.
-
-Knitting her brows Natasha looks at the smiling youngster and asks:
-
-“No letters, Grisha?”
-
-Grisha, shuffling his feet, brick-red from the sun, smiles and answers,
-as always, in the same words:
-
-“The letters are being written, _barishnya_.”
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna says impatiently:
-
-“You may go, Grisha.”
-
-Grisha goes. The women open their newspapers.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna takes up the _Rech_ and scans it rapidly,
-occasionally mentioning something that has attracted her notice.
-
-Natasha is looking over _Slovo_. She reads silently, slowly, and
-attentively.
-
-Elena Kirillovna has the _Russkiya Vedomosti._ She tears the wrapper
-open slowly and spreads the entire sheet on the table. She reads on,
-quickly running her eyes over the lines.
-
-XXX
-
-Groaning, the old nurse slowly ascends the steps. Sofia Alexandrovna
-pauses from her reading a moment and looks with fear at the old woman.
-Natasha gives a nervous start and turns away. Elena Kirillovna reads on
-calmly, without looking at the nurse.
-
-The nurse sighs, sits down on the bench at the entrance, and asks in a
-monotone the one and the same question that she asks each day:
-
-“And how many folk are there in this morning’s paper that’s been
-ordered to die? And how many are there that’s been hanged?”
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna drops the paper, and suddenly rising, very pale,
-looks upon the old woman. She is quivering from head to foot. Elena
-Kirillovna, folding the paper, pushes it aside and looks straight
-before her with arrested eyes. Natasha rises; she turns her face, which
-has suddenly grown pale, toward the old woman, and utters in a kind of
-wooden voice that does not seem like her own:
-
-“In Ekaterinoslav—seven; in Moscow—one.”
-
-Or other towns, and other figures—such as fresh newspaper lists bring
-each day.
-
-The nurse rises and crosses herself piously. She mutters:
-
-“O Lord, rest the souls of Thy servants! And give them eternal life!”
-
-Then Sofia Alexandrovna cries out in despair:
-
-“Oh Borya, Borya, my Borya!”
-
-Her face is as pale as though there were not a single drop of blood
-left under her dull, elastic skin.
-
-Wringing her hands with a convulsive movement, she looks with terror at
-Elena Kirillovna and at her daughter. Elena Kirillovna turns aside,
-and, looking at the old nurse, shakes her head reproachfully, while in
-her eyes, like drops of early evening dew, appear a few scant tears.
-
-Natasha, looking determinedly at her mother, says with pale, quivering
-lips:
-
-“Mamma, calm yourself.”
-
-Suddenly her voice becomes cold and wooden again as though some evil
-stranger compelled her each day to utter her words slowly and
-deliberately.
-
-“You yourself know, mamma, that Borya was hanged a full year ago!”
-
-She looks at her mother with the motionless, pathetic gaze of her very
-dark eyes, and repeats:
-
-“You yourself know this, mamma!”
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna’s eyes are widely dilated; dull, there is terror in
-them, and the deep pupils burn with an impercipient lustre in their
-dark depths. She repeats almost soundlessly, looking straight into
-Natasha’s eyes:
-
-“Hanged!”
-
-She resumes her place, looks out of her sad eyes at the white Aphrodite
-and the red roses at the goddess’s feet, and is silent. Her face is
-white and rigid, her lips are red and tightly set; there is a
-suggestion of latent madness in the still lustre of her eyes.
-
-Before the image of eternal beauty, before the fragrance of the
-short-lived, exultant roses, she is hardening as it were into an image
-of the eternal grief of a disconsolate mother.
-
-XXXI
-
-Elena Kirillovna quietly descends the narrow side staircase into the
-garden. She sits down on a bench somewhat away from the house, looks
-upon the green bedecked pond and weeps.
-
-Natasha goes into her room in the mezzanine. She opens a book and tries
-to read. But she finds it impossible. She puts the book aside and looks
-out of the window, and her eyes are dimmed.
-
-Higher and higher above the old house rises the pitiless, bright
-Dragon. His joyous laughter rings in the merry heights, encloses, as in
-a flaming circle, the depressing silence of the house. The
-well-directed rays shoot out like sharp-plumed arrows, and the air is
-tremulous with eternal, inexhaustible anger. No one is being awaited.
-No one will come. Borya has died. The relentless wheel of time knows no
-turning back.
-
-So the day is passing—clearly and brightly. The dazzling white light
-says there is nothing to hope for.
-
-XXXII
-
-Natasha sits in her room before an open window. A book is lying on the
-window-sill. She has no desire to read.
-
-Every line in the book reminds her of him, of unfinished conversations,
-of heated discussions, of what had been, of what is no more.
-
-The memories become brighter and brighter, and reach at last a
-clearness and fullness of vision, overwhelming her soul.
-
-The fiery Dragon, obscured by a leaden grey cloud, becomes a little
-dim. Dimness also creeps into the memory of him. It seems as though the
-heavens are being traversed by the cold, clear, tranquil moon. Her face
-is pale, but not from sadness. Her rays have cast a spell upon the
-sleeping earth and upon the unattainably high heavens.
-
-The moon has bewitched the fields and also the valleys, which are full
-of mist. There is a dull glimmer in the drops of cool, tranquil dew
-upon the slumbering grass.
-
-There is in this fantastic glimmer the resurrection of that which has
-died—of that past tenderness and love which inspired deeds requiring
-superhuman strength. There come again to the lips proud, long-unsung
-hymns, and vows of action and loyalty.
-
-And what of that evil, vigilant, and instigating eye; and what of the
-traitor whose words mingled with the passionate words of the young
-people! Not even the waters of all the cold oceans can quench the fire
-of daring love, and all the cunning poisons of the earth cannot poison
-it.
-
-Bewitched with the lunar mystery, the wood stands expectant, nebulous,
-silent. Incomprehensible and inaccessible to men is its slow, sure
-experience, and the secret of its forged desires.
-
-Into its lunar silence men have brought the revolt, the speech and
-laughter of youth; but, overcome by the lunar mystery, they are
-suddenly grown silent and meditative.
-
-The open glade in the woods, enchanted by the green, cold light of the
-moon, seems very white. Along the edge of the glade lie the shadows of
-the trees; they seem unreal and nebulous and mysteriously still.
-
-The moon, very slowly, almost stealthily, is rising higher in the pale
-blue dome. Round, cold, half lost in the milk-white mist as behind a
-thin veil, she disperses by her dispassionate gaze the nebulous, silent
-tops of the slumbering trees, and looks down upon the glade with the
-motionless, inquisitive glance of her white eyes.
-
-The thin particles of dew scattered over the cold grasses vanish—the
-white nocturnal haze drinks them greedily. The air is oppressively
-sweet. On the edge of the glade a number of slender, erect,
-white-limbed birches emerge out of the mist; they are still asleep, and
-as innocent as their girl companions who rest beneath them in their
-green-white dresses.
-
-XXXIII
-
-Reposing under the slender birches in the glade is a party of girls,
-young men and grown-up people. One sits on the stump of a felled tree,
-another on the trunk of an old birch struck down in a storm, a third
-lies upon an overcoat spread on the grass, a fourth rests his back
-against a young birch. There is a single, slight glow of a cigarette,
-but this, too, goes out.
-
-In the luminous, haunting mist everything seems white, translucent,
-fabulously impressive. And it seems as though the birches in the glade
-and the moon in the sky are waiting for something.
-
-Here is Natasha. Here is also Natasha’s friend, a college girl from
-Moscow, white-skinned, sharp-featured, looking like a healthy little
-wild beast. Then there are Borya and his friend, both in linen jackets,
-both lean, with pale faces and dark, flaming eyes.
-
-And there is yet another—a tall, stout figure in a dark blouse. He has
-an air of self-confidence and seems to be the most knowing, the most
-experienced, the most able of those present.
-
-He is surrounded by the grown-up people and the girls, and he is being
-questioned. Cheery, good-natured, impatient voices appeal to him.
-
-“Do sing for us the _International_.”
-
-Borya, a lad with pale, frowning forehead, and blue-black circles under
-his eyes, looks into the other’s face and implores more heartily than
-the rest.
-
-The tall, broad-chested Mikhail Lvovich looks askance and stubbornly
-refuses to sing.
-
-“I can’t,” he says gruffly. “My throat is not in condition.”
-
-Borya and Natasha insist.
-
-Mikhail Lvovich then makes a gesture with his hand and accedes not less
-gruffly.
-
-“Very well, I’ll sing.”
-
-Every one is overjoyed.
-
-Mikhail Lvovich poses himself on his knees. Above the mist-white glade,
-above the white-faced lads, above the white mist itself, there rises
-toward the witching moon, floating tranquilly in the skies, the words
-of that proud, passionate hymn:
-
-“Arise, ye branded with a curse!”
-
-Mikhail Lvovich sings. His eyes are fixed on the ground, upon the cold
-grass, white in the glamorous light of the full, clear moon. It is hard
-to tell whether he does not wish to or cannot look straight into the
-eyes of these girls and boys—into these trusting, clean eyes.
-
-And they have gathered round him, how closely they have nestled round
-him, these pure-spirited young girls; and the young lads, their knees
-in the grass, follow every movement of his lips, and join in quietly.
-The bold melody grows, gains in volume. Like an exultant prophecy ring
-the eloquent words:
-
-In the International
-As brothers all men shall meet.
-
-XXXIV
-
-Mikhail has finished the song. For a time no one speaks. Then the
-agitated voices all ring out together, stirring the heavy silence of
-the woods.
-
-Clear, girlish eyes are looking earnestly upon Mikhail Lvovich’s morose
-set face. A clear, girlish voice implores insistently and gently:
-
-“Sing again, please. Be a dear. Sing it once more. I will make a note
-of the words. I want to know them by heart.”
-
-Natasha approaches nearer and says quietly:
-
-“We will all of us learn the words and sing them each day, like a
-prayer. We shall do it with a full heart.”
-
-Mikhail Lvovich at last lifts his eyes. They are small, sparkling,
-shrewd. This time they have fixed themselves severely and inquisitively
-on Natasha’s face, which suddenly has become confused at this
-snake-like glance.
-
-Mikhail Lvovich addresses her gruffly.
-
-“It doesn’t require much bravery to sing on the quiet, in the woods.
-Any one can do that.”
-
-Natasha’s face becomes pale. Dark flames of unchildish determination
-kindle in her eyes. Excitedly she cries:
-
-“We will learn the words, and we will sing them where they are wanted.
-My God, are we to depend upon words, and upon words alone? We are ready
-for deeds.”
-
-Borya repeats after her: “We are ready. We shall do all that is
-necessary. Yes, even die if need be.”
-
-Mikhail Lvovich says with a calm assurance:
-
-“Yes, I know.”
-
-In his eyes, fixed intently upon the ground, a dim, small flame is
-visible.
-
-XXXV
-
-There is a short silence. Then a thin voice is heard. It is the girl,
-slender as a young birch, with the sharp, cheerful little face, who is
-speaking.
-
-“My God! What strength! What eloquence!”
-
-Mikhail Lvovich slowly turns his face toward her. He smiles severely
-and says nothing.
-
-The girl has her hands clasped across her knees. It is an extremely
-pretty pose. Her face has suddenly assumed a very grave air, breathing
-passionate entreaty and fiery determination. She exclaims fervently:
-
-“Let’s all sing the chorus! Mikhail Lvovich will teach us. You will
-teach us, Mikhail Lvovich, won’t you?”
-
-“Very well,” Mikhail Lvovich replies with his usual severe dignity.
-
-He casts his dull, heavy gaze round the crowded circle of delighted
-young faces. He alone sits with his back to the open glade and to the
-witching moon. His face, now in the shade, has become even more
-significant. And his whole bearing is one of imposing solemnity.
-
-The faces of the younger people are white in the moonlight. Their
-garments are luminously bright. Their voices are brilliantly clear. In
-their simple trust there is the sense of an avowal.
-
-“Well, let us begin!” exclaims the slender girl, somewhat agitated.
-
-Mikhail Lvovich raises his hand with a solemn gesture and begins:
-
-“Arise, ye branded with a curse!”
-
-The children sing with a will, mingling their high, clear voices with
-Mikhail Lvovich’s deep, low voice. Their young voices are blazing with
-the passionate flame of freedom and revolt. Higher and still higher,
-above the white mists, above the black forest, toward the silver clouds
-and the quiet glimmering stars, toward the aspectful moon, rise the
-sounds of the invocation.
-
-And the white-trunked birches, the milk-white moon, motionless in the
-sky, the white, silvery grass, pressed down by children’s knees—all is
-still, all is silent, all is harkening with a sensitive ear. Everything
-around listens with poignant and solemn intentness to the song of these
-luminous children who, bathed in the translucent silver of the cool,
-lunar glimmer, their knees on the grass, their eyes burning in their
-uplifted faces, are repeating faithfully the words sung by the tall,
-self-contained young man whose dark face with fixed glance gazes
-morosely on the ground. They repeat after him:
-
-In the International
-As brothers all men shall meet.
-
-
-The strange foreign word, un-Russian in its ring, suggests to them the
-lofty, holy designation of a promised land, a new land under new skies,
-a land in which they have faith.
-
-After the hymn there is silence, a holy silence, solemn and palpable,
-reaching from the earth to the heavens. They might have been in the
-temple of a new, as yet unknown religion, in a mystic moment of
-sacrificial rites.
-
-XXXVI
-
-Mikhail Lvovich is the first to break the silence. He speaks slowly,
-looking at no one and directing his heavy gaze above the children’s
-pale faces, beyond the flaming ring of their glances:
-
-“My friends, you know the sort of time this is. Each one of us can be
-of use. If any one of us is sent I hope that none will tremble for his
-precious life, and that none will be deterred by the thought of a
-mother’s sorrow.”
-
-The children exclaim:
-
-“None! None! If they would but send us!”
-
-“What is the sorrow of a single mother compared to the suffering of an
-entire nation!” thinks Natasha proudly.
-
-There rises up for an instant a mental image of the ashen-pale face of
-her mother, her intensely dark, eloquent eyes. A sharp pain, lasting a
-moment, pierces her heart. What of that? It is, after all, but a single
-instant of weakness. A proud will shall conquer this slight suffering
-of a single relative by conferring great love upon the many, the
-strangers, the grievous sufferers.
-
-What is the woe of one mother! Let Niobe weep eternally for her
-children, killed by the burning, poisoned arrows of the high Dragon;
-let Rachel remain unconsoled for ever—what is the woe of a poor mother?
-Serene is Apollo’s face, radiant is Apollo’s dream.
-
-Yet how painful, how painful! A dimness comes over the transcendent
-idea, as though the dark countenance of the ominous figure who sang the
-proud hymn has dimmed the moon and has cast an austere shadow upon the
-heart itself.
-
-And now there is no moon, and no night, and no white glade in the mist
-in the forest. The bright day stares again at Natasha, she is at the
-window, the book lies before her, the old house is depressingly silent.
-The cloud has disappeared, the heavens are clear again, the evil Dragon
-is once more aiming his flaming arrows, he reiterates his conquest
-anew.
-
-This cruel melancholy must be faced. Sting, accursed Dragon, burn,
-torment. Rejoice, conqueror! But even he must soon go to his setting,
-and, dying, pour out his blood upon half the heavens.
-
-XXXVII
-
-Natasha, a yellow straw hat upon her head, is now walking in the field.
-The ground is hot, the sky is blue, the air is sultry and the wind
-asleep; the corn is yellow, the grass is green. Bathed again in the
-bright heat, Natasha prods her sweetly fatiguing memories, which cast
-into oblivion this dismal day.
-
-She goes on—and there stretches before her, even as on a day long ago,
-the hot golden field, with its tall stalks inclining their heads in the
-heat. It is the revival of a former stifling, sultry midday.
-
-That was in the days when Natasha still loved the good, human sun, the
-source of life and joy, the eternal, the untiring herald of labours and
-deeds, of deeds beyond the powers of man.
-
-Oh, the treacherous speech of the Serpent Tempter! He turns our heads
-and he entices, and he makes our poor earth seem like some fabulous
-kingdom.
-
-Again there is a slight wavering stir in the sea of the heat-exhausted
-ears of rye, studded over with little blue flowers which lower timidly
-their sweetly-dazed heads from sultriness.
-
-Natasha and her brother Boris are walking together, on an inviting
-narrow path among the golden waves of rye.
-
-How high the rye is! One can barely see the green roof of the old house
-on the right for the tall stalks, and the semi-circular window in the
-mezzanine: and on the left the little grey, rough huts of the village.
-
-Natasha and Boris follow one another. All around them the dry ears of
-rye waver and rustle, and among them are the blue-eyed little
-cornflowers. The two fragilely slender human silhouettes answered to
-the same wavering motion.
-
-Natasha goes ahead. She turns to see why Boris has lagged behind. The
-boy, brown and slender, with large burning eyes, attired in his linen
-jacket, is gathering the little blue flowers. He has already gathered
-almost as many as his hands can hold.
-
-XXXVIII
-
-Natasha, laughing, says to her brother: “Enough, my dear, enough. I
-shan’t be able to carry them all.”
-
-“You’ll do it easily enough, never fear!” Boris answers cheerfully.
-
-Natasha stretches out her sunburnt hand to take the flowers. The sheaf
-of blue cornflowers, spreading across her breast, almost hides her, she
-is so slender.
-
-Again Boris addresses her cheerfully: “Well, is it heavy?”
-
-Natasha laughs. Her face lights up with the joy of gratitude, and with
-a cheerful, childlike determination. “I will carry these, but no more!”
-she says.
-
-“I want to gather as many as possible for you.” Boris’s voice is
-serious; “because you know we may not see each other for some time.”
-There is a quaver in his voice as he says this.
-
-“Perhaps, never,” Natasha, growing pensive, replies.
-
-Both faces become sad and careworn.
-
-Boris, frowning, glances sideways, and asks: “Natasha, are you going
-with him?”
-
-Natasha knows that Boris is inquiring about Mikhail Lvovich, who is now
-sending her on a dangerous business, and who has also promised to send
-Boris on some foolhardy errand. The brave are so often foolhardy.
-
-“No, I am going alone,” Natasha replies, “he will only lead me later to
-the spot.”
-
-Boris looks at Natasha with gloomy, envious eyes, and asks rather
-cautiously: “Are you frightened, Natasha?”
-
-Natasha smiles. And what pride there is in her smile! She speaks, and
-her voice is tranquil: “No, Boris, I feel happy.”
-
-Boris observes that her face is really happy, and that her dark,
-flaming eyes are cheerful enough. Looking at her thus, her tranquillity
-communicates itself to him, and inspires him with a calm confidence in
-himself and in the business in hand.
-
-The children go farther. Boris again gathers the cornflowers. Natasha
-is musing about something. She has broken off an ear of rye, and is
-absently nibbling at the grain.
-
-XXXIX
-
-It is a long, hot, sultry day. The inexorable Dragon looks down
-indifferently upon the children. Unwearying, he aims his bright, vivid
-shafts at the sunburnt, fiery-eyed lad and at the slender, erect,
-black-eyed girl. His blazing shafts are evil, and they are well aimed;
-and his strong clear light is pitiless—but she walks on, and in her
-eyes there is hope, and in her eyes there is resolution, and in her
-dark eyes there is a flame which sets the soul afire to achieve deeds
-beyond the powers of man.
-
-Natasha suddenly pauses at the end of the path by the dusty road. Her
-eyes look at Boris full of tender admiration. It is evident that she
-desires to stamp upon her memory all the beloved features of the
-familiar tanned face—the curve of the dense brows, the rigid set of the
-red lips, the firm outlines of the chin, the stern profile.
-
-Natasha sighs lightly and addresses Boris gently and cheerfully:
-
-“Enough, dearest. They may not let me into the train with a heap like
-this. They will say: ‘This should be put in the luggage van.’”
-
-Both laugh carelessly. And still Boris is loath to leave the
-cornflowers. He says:
-
-“Only a few more. I want you to have a gigantic bouquet.”
-
-“You would have everything gigantic!” Natasha returns good-humouredly.
-
-But her face is serious. She knows how deep this quality is in him, and
-how significant. Boris looks at her, and in answer repeats his
-favourite, his most intimate thought:
-
-“Yes, it is true. I love all bigness, all immoderation. In everything!
-In everything! If we only acted like this always! And gave ourselves
-wholly to a thing! Oh, how different life would be!”
-
-Natasha, lost in thought, repeats: “Yes, big things, things beyond the
-powers of man. To make life lavish. Only no stinginess, no trembling
-for one’s skin. Far better to die—to gather all life into one little
-knot, and to throw it away!”
-
-“Yes, yes,” says Boris, and his eyes, dark as night, glow with the fury
-of a yet distant storm. “We must have no care for lives, but be lavish
-with them, lavish to the end—only then may we reach our goal!”
-
-They cross the road and again walk calmly along a narrow path. Her
-dress is white among the golden waves. Natasha stretches out her
-slender hand, the ears of rye rustle dryly and solid seeds of ripe rye
-fall into it. They are struck from above by the vivid shafts of the
-pitiless Dragon.
-
-The children are walking on, conscious of their vow. They go
-trustingly, and they do not know that he who sends them is a traitor,
-and that their sacrifice is vain.
-
-XL
-
-What is this dry rustling all around? It is the rye. But where are the
-little cornflowers, where is Boris? The little blue-eyed flowers are in
-the rye, and Boris has been hanged.
-
-“And I?” Natasha asks herself in a strange, oppressive perplexity. She
-looks round her like one just awakened.
-
-“Why am I here?”
-
-She answers herself: “I escaped. A lucky chance saved me.”
-
-Natasha is oppressed by the thought. How had she survived it? “Far
-better if I had perished!”
-
-It all happened very simply. Natasha, being Number Three, was placed at
-the railway station itself, her duty being contingent on the failure of
-Number One and Number Two. But the first was successful, though he
-himself perished in the explosion.
-
-The second, upon hearing the explosion not far away, lost his presence
-of mind. He ran to save himself. He caught a cab, and got off near the
-river. Here he hired a row-boat. When near the middle of the river, he
-threw the bomb into the water. The man who rowed had guessed that
-something was wrong. Besides, he had been seen from the Government
-steamer and from the banks. Number Two was taken, tried and hanged.
-
-Natasha did not betray herself in any way. She walked calmly, without
-haste, bearing her dangerous burden, observed by no one. She mixed
-freely with the passing crowd. She delivered the bomb at the appointed
-place.
-
-A few days later she left for home. She had not been followed. Natasha
-was awaiting a second commission, and quite suddenly she abandoned the
-business, because her trust in it had died.
-
-It happened even before Borya was hanged. But her decision came finally
-in those nightmare days when, quickly and unexpectedly, his life came
-to an end.
-
-Those were terrible days.
-
-But, no, it is better not to think of them, it is better not to
-remember them. To remember them is to suffer. Far better to remember
-other things, things cloudless and long past.
-
-XLI
-
-Oh magic mirror of memory, so much is reflected in thee! Beloved images
-pass by with a kind of glimmer.
-
-There were the flowers, which they themselves looked after. There was
-one flower-bed which they cared for with especial tenderness. There was
-the fresh, intoxicating evening aroma of gilliflower. There was the
-cluster of jasmine, dewy at dawn, so sweetly and so gently fragrant,
-that one wished to weep in its presence, as the grass weeps its tears
-of dew at golden dawn.
-
-Then there was the open space in the garden, and the giant-stride in
-the centre. What gigantic steps they took! How fast and how high she
-flew round with Boris!
-
-How glorious were the feast-days to the childish hearts. There was
-Christmas Eve, with its tree, and candles upon the green branches, with
-all the many-coloured glitter of golden nuts, red, green and blue
-trimmings, snow-white foils of cotton-wool, offerings which gladdened
-with their unexpectedness. Then in the daytime there is real snow,
-glittering like salt, and crunching under one’s feet; the frost pinches
-the cheeks, the sun is shining, their mittens are of the softest down,
-their hats are white and soft, the sleds are flying down hillocks—oh,
-what joy!
-
-And now Easter is here. What a solemn night! Then the joyous chanting
-of matins. The candle flames are everywhere, there seems to be no end
-to them. There is a smell of Easter cakes. There are Easter eggs
-painted in all colours. Every one is kissing each other. Every one is
-happy.
-
-“_Christoss Voskress!_”
-
-“_Voistinu Voskress!_”
-
-But the dear dead do not stir.
-
-No. The beloved memories do not break the continuity of the circle, the
-resurrection of the others—the fearsome, tragic memories. Inevitably
-the vision leads on to the last terrible moments.
-
-XLII
-
-They lived in the capital that winter. Boris was studying his final
-term in the _gymnasia_. For Christmas he went to another city: to
-relatives, he said.
-
-Natasha was suspicious. But he did not tell her the truth.
-
-“Really, nothing,” he answered to all her questions. “No one is sending
-me. I am going of my own accord. To see Aunt Liuba.”
-
-And Natasha did not insist.
-
-For several days she did not get any letters from him. But she did not
-worry. Boris disliked writing letters. They thought he was enjoying
-himself.
-
-It was an evening in early January. Her mother and grandmother had gone
-out visiting. Natasha, pleading a headache, remained at home.
-
-“I’ll lie down on the sofa. It will pass away.”
-
-The truth was she thought the home of her affected, worldly relatives a
-dull place, and she had no desire to go there.
-
-The maid had leave to go out. Natasha remained in the house alone. She
-lay down in her room on the sofa with an interesting new book.
-
-After the cheer and ease of the holidays, Natasha felt in good spirits.
-She was comfortable, tranquil and cheerful. The hangings on the windows
-were impenetrably opaque. The lamp, burning brightly and evenly,
-concealed its garish white blaze from her eyes under its trimmed,
-beaded shade. The whole small room was lost in a luminous twilight.
-
-At last, however, page after page of running lines of print tired
-Natasha. She dropped into a doze, and was shortly sound asleep. The
-open book fell softly on the rug.
-
-XLIII
-
-Suddenly a bell rings. Natasha gives a start.
-
-Ours? No. The bell rang so timidly, so hesitatingly. It was as though
-she heard it ring in a dream, and not in reality; again, it might have
-been the ring of some mischievous urchin.
-
-Perhaps she had only imagined it. It is so comfortable to doze. She
-feels too lazy to get up. Let them ring.
-
-But here is a second ring, more insistent and louder.
-
-Natasha jumps up and runs into the vestibule, rearranging her hair on
-the way. Remembering that she is alone in the house she does not open
-the door, but asks: “Who’s there?”
-
-From behind the door she can hear the low, somewhat hoarse voice of the
-telegraph boy: “A telegram.”
-
-Her heart begins to beat with fright. It is always terrible to receive
-telegrams. For only good news travels slowly. Bad news makes haste.
-
-Natasha puts one end of the door-chain to a little hook in the door.
-Then she opens the door partly and looks out. There stands the
-messenger in his uniform, with a metal plate in his cap. He hands her
-the telegram.
-
-“Sign here, miss.”
-
-The grey-white, dry paper trembles in Natasha’s hands. Natasha feels a
-sudden tug at her heart. She speaks incoherently:
-
-“What is it? Oh my God! Sign, did you say?”
-
-She runs to the table. Her hands tremble. She has managed somehow to
-scrawl her family name “Ozoreva,” the pen hesitating and scratching
-upon the grey paper.
-
-“Here is the signature.”
-
-Across the little door-chain she thrusts the signed paper and a tip
-into the hand of the messenger. Then she bangs the door to after him.
-Now she is in front of the lamp. What can it be?
-
-Tearing the seal open she reads. Terrible words. Such simple, yet such
-incomprehensible words. Because they are about Boris.
-
-“_Boris has shot ——. Arrested with comrades. Military trial to-morrow.
-Death sentence threatened_.”
-
-XLIV
-
-Natasha re-reads the telegram. A sudden terror, strangely akin to
-shame, for a moment strikes at her heart. She can hear the heavy beat
-of blood in her temples. She is, as it were, being strangled from all
-sides; she can hardly breathe; the walls seem to have come together,
-oppressing her on all sides; and the rapid, pale, pencilled strokes
-seem also to have run together into one jumble on the grey paper.
-
-Certain thoughts, one after the other, slowly make way into Natasha’s
-dimmed consciousness—oppressive, evil, pitiless thoughts.
-
-Stupefied, she wonders how she shall tell her mother. She observes that
-her hands tremble. She recalls the telephone number of the Lareyevs,
-where her mother undoubtedly is.
-
-Then terror seizes her anew; she shivers violently from head to foot as
-with ague. Her mind is a whirl of confusion.
-
-“No, it is a mistake! It cannot be. It is a cruel, senseless mistake!
-It is some one’s stupid, cruel joke.”
-
-Boris, our beloved boy, with his fine honest eyes—think of him hanging!
-There will be a rattle in his throat, as strangling, he will swing in
-the noose. With sharp, clutching pain, the gentle, childish neck will
-tighten; the sunburnt face will grow purple; the swollen tongue will
-creep out all in froth, and the widely dilated eyes will reflect the
-terror of cruel death.
-
-No, no, it cannot be! It is a mistake! But who can be malicious enough
-to make such a mistake?
-
-And then where is Boris?
-
-Her cold reasoning says that it is so, that no mistake has been made.
-The words are clear, the address is correct—yes, yes! It was really to
-be expected. Here it is, this lavishness of life which he dreamt of,
-which they both dreamt of. “I love all immoderation. To be lavish—only
-then we may reach our goal!”
-
-Her legs tremble. She feels herself terribly weak. She sits down on the
-sofa.
-
-Oh God, what’s to be done? How is she to tell her mother this terrible
-thing?
-
-Or should she conceal it? And do everything that could be done by
-herself? But no, she could do ridiculously little herself!
-
-It is necessary to tell. It must be done quickly. She must not lose an
-instant. Perhaps it is still possible to save Boris, by going, by
-petitioning.
-
-Why is she sitting still then? It is necessary to act at once.
-
-Natasha seizes the telephone. What a long time the operator takes to
-answer.
-
-At last she is connected. She can hear sounds of music and the hum of
-voices.
-
-A cheerful, familiar voice asks:
-
-“Who’s there?”
-
-“It is Natasha Ozoreva.”
-
-“Good evening, Natasha,” says Marusya Lareyeva loudly. “What a pity you
-did not come. We are having a fine time.”
-
-“Good evening, dear Marusya. Is mamma with you?”
-
-“Yes, she is here. Shall I call her?”
-
-“No, no, for God’s sake. Let some one break it to her....”
-
-“Has anything happened?”
-
-“Marusya, a terrible misfortune. Our Boris has been arrested.”
-
-“My God! For what?”
-
-“I don’t know. He’ll have a military trial. I feel desperate. It’s so
-terrible. For God’s sake, don’t frighten mother too much. Tell her to
-come home at once, please.”
-
-“Oh, my God, how awful!”
-
-“Oh, Marusya, dearest, for God’s sake, be quick.”
-
-“I’ll tell my mother at once. Wait at the telephone, Natasha.”
-
-Natasha holds the receiver to her ear and waits. She hears the noise of
-footsteps. Some one has begun to sing.
-
-Then again the same voice, extremely agitated:
-
-“Natasha, do you hear? Your mother wants to speak to you herself.”
-
-Natasha trembles with fright. Good God, what shall she tell her mother!
-She inquires:
-
-“What? Is she coming herself to the telephone?” she asks.
-
-“Yes, yes. Your mother is here now.”
-
-XLV
-
-The voice of Sofia Alexandrovna, terribly agitated, is heard:
-
-“Natasha, is that you? For God’s sake, what has happened?”
-
-Natasha replies:
-
-“Yes, mamma, it is I. A telegram has come. Mamma, don’t be frightened,
-it must be a mistake.”
-
-This time the voice is more controlled.
-
-“Read me the telegram at once.”
-
-“Just a moment. I’ll get it,” says Natasha.
-
-The telegram is read.
-
-“What, a military trial?”
-
-“Yes, military.”
-
-“To-morrow?”
-
-“Yes, yes, to-morrow.”
-
-“Death sentence threatened?”
-
-“Mamma, please be yourself, for God’s sake. Perhaps something can be
-done.”
-
-“We must go there. Get the things ready, Natasha. Mother and I are
-returning at once, and we will take the first train out.”
-
-The conversation is at an end.
-
-Natasha is alone. She runs about the deserted house, letting things
-fall in the poignant silence. She is busy with travelling bags and with
-pillows.
-
-She stops to look at the time-table. There is a train at half-past
-twelve. Yes, there is still time to catch it.
-
-Then the bell rings, frightening her even more than the earlier ring.
-The mother and the grandmother have arrived, pale and distraught.
-
-XLVI
-
-A sleepless, wearisome journey in the train. The wheels roll on with a
-measured, jarring sound. Stops are made. How slow it all is! How
-agonizing! If only it would be quicker, quicker!
-
-Or were it better to wish that time should be arrested? That its huge,
-shaggy wings outspread and flapping above the world should suddenly
-become motionless? That its owlish glance should be stilled for ever in
-the instant just before the terrible word is said?
-
-They reach their destination in the morning. At the station, a dirty,
-dejected place, they are met by a cousin of Natasha’s, an attorney by
-profession. From his pale, worried face, they guess that everything is
-over.
-
-He talks quickly and incoherently. He comforts them with hopes in which
-he himself does not believe. The trial had been held early that
-morning. Boris and both his comrades—all of the same green youth—had
-been sentenced to die by hanging. The court would entertain no appeal.
-The only hope lay in the district general. He was really not a bad man
-at heart. Perhaps, by imploring, he might be induced to lighten the
-sentence to that of hard labour for an indefinite period.
-
-Poor mothers! What is it they implore?
-
-XLVII
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna and Natasha arrived at the general’s. They waited
-long in the quiet, cold-looking reception-room; the glossy parquet
-floor shone, portraits in heavy gilt frames hung on the walls, and the
-careful steps of uniformed officials, coming through a large white
-door, resounded from time to time.
-
-At last they were received. The general listened most amiably, but
-declined emphatically to do anything. He rose, clinked his spurs, and
-stretched himself to his full height; He stood there tall, erect, his
-breast decorated with orders, his head grey, his face ruddy, with black
-eyebrows and broad nose.
-
-In vain the humiliating entreaties.
-
-Pale, the proud mother knelt before the general and, weeping bitterly,
-she kissed his hands and at last threw herself at his feet—all in vain.
-She received the cold answer:
-
-“I am sorry, madam, it is impossible. I understand your affliction, I
-sympathize fully; with your sorrow, but what can I do? Whose fault is
-it? Upon me lies a great responsibility toward my Emperor and my
-country. I have my duty—I can’t help you. It is against yourself that
-you ought to bring your reproaches—you’ve brought him up.”
-
-Of what avail the tears of a poor mother? Strike thy head upon the
-parquet floor, bend thy face to the black glitter of his boots; or else
-depart, proud and silent. It is all the same, he can do nothing. Thy
-tears and thy entreaties do not touch him, thy curses do not offend
-him. He is a kind man, he is the loving father of a family, but his
-upright martial soul does not tremble before the word death. More than
-once he had risked his life boldly in battle—what is the life of a
-conspirator to him?
-
-“But he is a mere boy!”
-
-“No, madam, this is not a childish prank. I am sorry.”
-
-He walks away. She hears the measured clinking of his spurs. The
-parquet floor reflects dimly his tall, erect figure.
-
-“General, have pity!”
-
-The cold, white door has swung to after him. She hears the quiet,
-pleasant voice of a young official. He raises her from the floor and
-helps her to find her way out.
-
-XLVIII
-
-They granted a last meeting. A few minutes passed in questions,
-answers, embraces, and tears.
-
-Boris said very little.
-
-“Don’t cry, mamma. I am not afraid. There is nothing else they can do.
-They don’t feed you at all badly here. Remember me to all. And you,
-Natasha, take care of mother. One sacrifice is enough from our family.
-Well, good-bye.”
-
-He seemed somehow callous and distant. He seemed to be thinking of
-something else, of something he could tell no one. And his words had an
-external ring, as though merely to make conversation.
-
-That night, before daybreak, Boris was hanged. The scaffold was set up
-in the gaol courtyard. The spot where he was buried was kept secret.
-
-The mother implored the next day: “Show me his grave at least!”
-
-What was there to show! He was laid in a coffin, he was put into a hole
-in the earth and the soil that covered him was smoothed down to its
-original level—we all know how such culprits are buried.
-
-“Tell me at least how he died.”
-
-“Well, he was a brave one. He was calm, a bit serious. And he refused a
-priest, and would not kiss the cross.”
-
-They returned home. A fog of melancholy hung over them, and within them
-there lit up a spark of mad hope—no, Borya is not dead, Borya will
-return.
-
-XLIX
-
-The thought that Boris had been hanged could not enter into their
-habitual, everyday thoughts. Only in the hour when the sun was at its
-zenith, and in the hour of the midnight moon, it would penetrate their
-awakened consciousness like a sharp poniard. Again it would pierce the
-soul with a sharp, tormenting pain, and again it would vanish in the
-dim mist of dawn with a kind of dull agony. And again, the same
-unreasonable conviction would awake in their hearts.
-
-No, Borya will return. The bell will suddenly ring, and the door will
-be opened to him.
-
-“Oh, Borya! Where have you been wandering?”
-
-How we shall kiss him! And how much there will be to tell!
-
-“What does it matter where you have been wandering. You have been
-wandering, and, you have been found, like the prodigal son.”
-
-How happy all will be!
-
-The old nurse will not be consoled. She wails:
-
-“Boryushka, Boryushka, my incomparable one! I say to him: ‘Boryushka,
-I’m going to the poor-house!’ And he says to me: ‘No,’ says he,
-‘_nyanechka_,[4] I’ll not let you go to the poor-house. I,’ he says,
-‘will let you stop with me, _nyanechka_; only wait till I grow up,’
-says he, ‘and you can live with me.’ Oh, Boryushka, what’s this you’ve
-done!”
-
-In the morning the old nurse enters the vestibule. Whose grey overcoat
-is it that she sees hanging on the rack? It is Borya’s, his _gymnasia_
-uniform. Has he then not gone to the _gymnasia_ to-day?
-
-She wanders into the dining-room, making a muffled noise with her soft
-slippers.
-
-“Natashenka, is Boryushka home to-day? His overcoat’s there on the
-rack. Or is he sick?”
-
-“_Nyanechka_!” exclaims Natasha.
-
-And, frightened, she looks at her mother.
-
-The old nurse has suddenly remembered. She is crying. The grey head
-shivers in its black wrap. The old woman wails:
-
-“I go there and I look, what’s that I see? Borya’s overcoat. I say to
-myself, Borya’s gone to the _gymnasia_, why’s his overcoat here? It’s
-no holiday. Oh, my Boryushka is gone!”
-
-She wails louder and louder. Then the old woman falls to the floor and
-begins to beat the boards with her head.
-
-“Borechka, my own Borechka! If the Lord had only taken me, an old
-woman, instead of him. What’s the use of life to me? I drag along, of
-no cheer to myself or to any one else.”
-
-Natasha, helpless, tries to quiet her.
-
-“_Nyanechka_, dearest, rest a little.”
-
-“May Thou rest me, O Lord! My heart told me something was wrong. I’ve
-been dreaming all sorts of bad dreams. These black dreams have come
-true! Oh, Borechka, my own!”
-
-The old woman continues to beat her head and to wail. Natasha implores
-her mother:
-
-“For God’s sake, mamma, have Borya’s overcoat taken from the rack.”
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna looks at her with her dark, smouldering eyes and
-says morosely:
-
-“Why? It had better hang there. He might suddenly need it.”
-
-Oh, hateful memories! As long as the evil Dragon reigns in the heavens
-it is impossible to escape them.
-
-Natasha roams restlessly, she can find no place for herself. She is off
-to the woods; she recalls Boris there, and that he has been hanged. She
-is off to the river; she recalls Boris there, and that he is no more.
-She is back at home, and the walls of the old house recall Boris to
-her, and that he will not return.
-
-Like a pale shadow the mother wanders along the walks of the garden,
-choosing to pause there where the shade is densest. The old grandmother
-sits upon a bench and finishes the reading of the newspapers. It is the
-same every day.
-
- [4] Little nurse.
-
-L
-
-And now the evening is approaching. The sun is low and red. It looks
-straight into people’s eyes as though, while expiring, it were begging
-for mercy. A breeze blows from the river, and it brings the laughter of
-white water nymphs.
-
-A number of noisy urchins are running in the road; their shirt-tails
-flap merrily in the wind, while their sleeves are filled with wind like
-balloons. The sound of a harmonica comes from the distance, and its
-song runs on very merrily. The corncrake screeches in the field, and
-its call resembles a general’s loud snore.
-
-The old house once more casts and arranges its long dark shadows
-disturbed by the intrusive day. Its windows blaze forth with the red
-fire of the evening sun.
-
-The gilliflower exhales its seductive aroma in some of the distant
-paths. The roses seem even redder in the sunset, and more sweet. The
-eternal Aphrodite—the naked marble of her proud body taking on a rose
-tint—smiles again, and lets fall her draperies as fascinatingly as
-ever.
-
-And everything is directed as before toward cherished, unreasonable
-hopes. Enfeebled by the day’s heat, and by the sadness of the bright
-day, the harassed soul has exhausted its measure of suffering, and it
-falls from the iron embrace of sorrow to the beloved dark earth of the
-past, once more besprinkled with dreamily refreshing dew.
-
-And again, as at dawn, the three women in the old house await Boris, or
-a short time happy in their madness.
-
-They await him, and they chat of him, until, from behind the trees of
-the dark wood, the cold moon shows her ever sad face. The dead moon is
-under a white shroud of mist.
-
-Then again they remember that Borya has been hanged, and they meet at
-the green-covered pond to weep for him.
-
-LI
-
-Natasha is the first to leave the house. She has on a white dress and a
-black cloak. Her black hair is covered with a thin black kerchief. Her
-very deep dark eyes shine with flame-like brightness. She stands, her
-pale face uplifted toward the moon. She awaits the other two.
-
-Elena Kirillovna and Sofia Alexandrovna arrive together.
-
-Elena Kirillovna leaves the house slightly earlier, but Sofia
-Alexandrovna runs after her and overtakes her almost at the pond. They
-wear black cloaks, black kerchiefs on their heads, and black shoes.
-
-Natasha begins:
-
-“On the night before the execution he did not sleep. The moon, just as
-clear as to-night’s, looked into the narrow window of his cell. On the
-floor the moon sadly outlined a green rhomb, intersected lengthwise and
-crosswise by narrow dark strokes. Boris walked up and down his cell,
-and looked now at the moon, now at the green rhomb, and thought—I wish
-I knew his thoughts that night.”
-
-Her remark has a quite tranquil sound. It might have been about a
-stranger.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna now and again wrings her hands, and as she begins to
-speak her voice is agitated and heavy with grief:
-
-“What can one think at such moments! The moon, long dead, looks in.
-There are five steps from the door to the window, four steps across.
-The mind springs feverishly from object to object. That the execution
-is to take place on the morrow is the one thing you try not to think
-of. Stubbornly you repel the thought. But it remains, it refuses to
-depart, it throttles the soul with an oppressive, horrible nightmare.
-The anguish is intense and enfeebling. But I do not wish my gaolers and
-all these officials who are come to me to see my anguish. I will be
-calm. And yet what anguish—if only, lifting up my pale face, I could
-cry aloud to the pale moon!”
-
-Elena Kirillovna whispers faintly:
-
-“Terrible, Sonyushka.”
-
-There are tears in her voice—simple, old-womanish, grandmotherly tears.
-
-LII
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna, ignoring the interruption, continues:
-
-“Why should I really go to my death boldly and resolutely? Is it not
-all the same? I shall die in the courtyard, in the dark of night.
-Whether I die boldly, or weep like a coward, or beg for mercy, or
-resist the executioner—is it not all the same? No one will know how I
-died. I shall face death alone. Why should I really suffer this wild
-anguish? I will raise up my voice to wail and to weep, and I will shake
-the whole gaol with my despairing cries, and I will awake the town, the
-so-called free town, which is only a larger gaol—so that I shall not
-suffer alone, but that others shall share in my last agony, in my last
-dread. But no, I won’t do that. It is my fate to die alone.”
-
-Natasha rises, trembles, presses her mother’s cold hand in hers, and
-says:
-
-“Mamma, mamma, it is terrible, if alone. No, don’t say that he felt
-alone. We shall be with him.”
-
-Elena Kirillovna whispers:
-
-“Yes, Sonyushka, it would be terrible alone. In such moments!”
-
-“We are with him,” insists Natasha vehemently. “We are with him now.”
-
-A smile is on Sofia Alexandrovna’s lips, a smile such as a dying person
-smiles to greet his last consolation. Sofia Alexandrovna speaks:
-
-“My last consolation is the thought that I am not alone. He is with me.
-These walls are unrealities, this gaol built by men is a lie. What is
-real and true is my suffering and I am one with them in my grief. A
-poor consolation! And yet I, just think, this extraordinary I, Boris, I
-am dying.”
-
-“I am dying,” repeats Natasha.
-
-Her voice is clouded, and it is fraught with despair. And all three
-remain silent for a brief while, overcome by the spell of these tragic
-words.
-
-LIII
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna speaks again. Her voice sounds tranquil, deliberate,
-measured:
-
-“There is no consolation for the dying. His grief is boundless. The
-cold moon continues to torment him. A moan struggles to break from his
-throat, a moan like the wild baying of a caged beast.”
-
-Natasha speaks sadly:
-
-“But he is not alone, not alone. We are with him in his grief.”
-
-Her eyes, darker than a dark night, look up toward the lifeless moon,
-and the green enchantress, reflected in them, torments her with a dull
-pain.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna smiles—and her smile is dead—and with the voice of
-inconsolable sorrow she speaks again slowly and calmly:
-
-“We are with him only in his despair, in his pitiful inconsolability,
-in his dark solitude. But he was alone, alone, when he was strangled by
-the hand of a hired hangman; strangled in that dark enclosure which it
-is not for us to demolish. And the dead moon tormented him, as it
-torments us. She tempted him with the mad desire to moan wildly, like a
-wild beast before dying. And now we, in this hour, under this moon—are
-we not also tormented by the same mad desire to run, to run far from
-people, and to moan and to wail, and to flee from a grief too great to
-be borne!”
-
-She rises abruptly and walks away, wringing her beautiful white hands.
-She walks fast, almost runs, driven as it were by some strange, furious
-will not her own. Natasha follows her with the measured yet rapid,
-deliberate, mechanical gait of an automaton. And behind them trips
-along Elena Kirillovna, who lets fall a few scant tears on her black
-cloak.
-
-The moon follows them callously in their hurried journey across the
-garden, across the field, into that wood, into that still glade, where
-once the children sang their proud hymn, and where they let their mad
-desires be known to one who was to betray them for a price—young blood
-for gold.
-
-The grass in the fields is wet with dew. The river is white with mist.
-The high moon is clear and cold. Everywhere it is quiet, as though all
-the earthly rustlings and noises had lost themselves in the moon’s dead
-light.
-
-LIV
-
-And here is the glade. “Natasha, do you remember? How warmly they all
-sang _Arise, ye branded with a curse!_ Natasha, will you sing it again?
-Do. Is it a torture?”
-
-“I’ll sing,” replies Natasha quietly.
-
-She sings in a low voice, almost to herself. The mother listens, and
-the grandmother listens—but what have the birches and the grass and the
-clear moon to do with human songs!
-
-In the International
-As brothers all men shall meet!
-
-
-Her song is at an end. The wood is silent. The moon waits. The mist is
-pensive. The birches seem to listen. The sky is clear.
-
-Ah, for whom is all this life? Who calls? Who responds? Or is it all
-the play of the dead?
-
-Loudly wailing, the mother calls: “Borya, Borya!”
-
-Overflowing with tears Elena Kirillovna replies: “Borya won’t come.
-There is no Borya.”
-
-Natasha stretches out her arms toward the lifeless moon, and cries out:
-“Borya has been hanged!”
-
-All three now stand side by side, looking at the moon, and weeping.
-Louder grows their sobbing, fiercer the note of despair. Their moans
-merge finally into a prolonged, wild wailing, which can be heard for
-some distance.
-
-The dog at the forester’s hut is restless. Trembling with all his lean
-body, his short hair bristling, he has pricked up his ears. Rising, he
-stretches his slender limbs. His sharp muzzle, showing its teeth, is
-uplifted to the tormenting moon. His eyes burn with a yearning flame.
-The dog bays in answer to the distant wail of the women in the wood.
-
-People are asleep.
-
-
-
-THE UNITER OF SOULS
-
-
-Garmonov was extremely young, and had not yet learnt to time his
-visits; he usually came at the wrong hour and did not know when to
-leave. He realized at last that he was boring Sonpolyev almost to
-madness. It dawned upon him that he was taking Sonpolyev from his work.
-He recalled that Sonpolyev had borne himself with a constrained
-politeness toward him, and that at times a caustic phrase escaped his
-lips.
-
-Garmonov grew painfully red, a sudden flame spread itself under the
-smooth skin of his drawn cheeks. He rose irresolutely. Then he sat down
-again, for he saw that Sonpolyev was about to say something. Sonpolyev
-took up the thread of the conversation in a depressed voice:
-
-“So you’ve put a mask on! What do you want me to understand by that?”
-
-Garmonov muttered in a confused way:
-
-“It’s necessary to dissemble sometimes.”
-
-Sonpolyev would not listen further, but gave way to his irritation:
-
-“What do you understand about it? What do you know of masks? There is
-no mask without a responding soul. It is impossible to put on a mask
-without harmonizing your soul with its soul. Otherwise the mask is
-uncovered.”
-
-Sonpolyev grew silent, and looked miserably before him. He did not look
-at Garmonov. He felt again a strange, instinctive hate for him, such as
-he felt at their first meeting. He had always tried to hide this hate
-under a mask of great heartiness; he had urged Garmonov most earnestly
-to visit him, and praised Garmonov’s verses to every one. But from time
-to time he spoke coarse, malicious words to the timid young man, who
-then flushed violently and shrank back within himself. Sonpolyev was
-quick to pity him, but soon again he detested his cautious, sluggish
-ways; he thought him secretive and cunning.
-
-Garmonov rose, said good-bye, and went out. Sonpolyev was left alone.
-He felt miserable because his work had been interrupted. He no longer
-felt in the same working mood. A secret malice tormented him. Why
-should this seemingly insignificant youth, Garmonov, evoke such
-bitterness in him? He had a large mouth, a long, very smooth face; his
-movements were slow, his voice had a drawl; there was something
-ambiguous about him, and enigmatical.
-
-Sonpolyev began sadly to pace the room. He stopped before the wall, and
-began to speak. There are many people nowadays who have long
-conversations with the wall—the wall, indeed, makes an interested
-interlocutor, and a faithful one.
-
-“It is possible,” he said, “to hate so strongly and so poignantly only
-that which is near to one. But in what does this devilish nearness
-consist? By what impure magic has some demon bound our souls together?
-Souls so unlike one another! Mine, that of a man of action with a bent
-for repose; and his, the soul of a large-mouthed fledgling, who is as
-cunning as a conspirator, and as cautious as a coward. And what is
-there in his character that conflicts so strangely with his appearance?
-Who has stolen the best and most needful part from this moly-coddle’s
-soul?”
-
-He spoke quietly, almost in a murmur. Then he exclaimed as though in a
-rage:
-
-“Who has done this? Man, or the enemy of man?”
-
-And he heard the strange answer:
-
-“I!”
-
-Some one spoke this word in a clear, shrill voice. It was like the
-sharp yet subdued ring of rusty steel. Sonpolyev trembled nervously. He
-looked round him. There was no one in the room.
-
-He sat down in the arm-chair and looked, scowling, on the table, buried
-under books and papers; and he waited. He awaited something. The
-waiting grew painful. He said loudly:
-
-“Well, why do you hide? You’ve begun to speak, you might as well
-appear. What do you wish to say? What is it?”
-
-He began to listen intently. His nerves were strained. It seemed as
-though the slightest noise would have sounded like an archangel’s
-trumpet.
-
-Then there was sudden laughter. It was sharp, and it was like the sound
-of rusty metal. The spring of some elaborate toy seemed to unwind
-itself, and trembled and tinkled in the subdued quiet of the evening.
-Sonpolyev put the palms of his hands over his temples, and rested upon
-his elbows. He listened intently. The laugh died away with mechanical
-evenness. It was evident that it came from somewhere quite near,
-perhaps from the table itself.
-
-Sonpolyev waited. He gazed with intent eyes at the bronze inkstand. He
-asked derisively: “Ink sprite, was it not you that laughed?”
-
-The sharp voice, quite unlike the muffled voice of phantoms, answered
-with the same derision: “No, you are mistaken; and you are not very
-brilliant. I am not an ink sprite. Don’t you know the rustling voices
-of ink sprites? You are a poor observer.”
-
-And again there was laughter, again the rusty spring tinkled as it
-unwound itself.
-
-Sonpolyev said: “I don’t know who you are—and how should I know! I
-cannot see you. Only I think that you are like the rest of your
-fraternity: you are always near us, you poke your noses into
-everything, and you bring sadness and evil spells upon us; yet you dare
-not show yourselves before our eyes.”
-
-The metallic voice replied: “The fact is, I came to have a talk with
-you. I love to talk with such as yourself—with half-folk.”
-
-The voice grew silent, and Sonpolyev waited for it to laugh. He
-thought: “He must punctuate his every phrase with that hideous
-laughter.”
-
-Indeed, he was not mistaken. The strange visitor really talked in this
-way: first he would speak a few words, then he would burst out into his
-sharp, rusty laughter. It seemed as though he used his words to wind up
-the spring, and that later the spring relaxed itself with his laughter.
-
-And while his laughter was still dying away with mechanical evenness
-the guest showed himself from behind the inkstand.
-
-He was small, and was no taller from head to foot than the fourth
-finger. He was grey-steel in colour. Owing to his small stature and to
-his rapid movements it was hard to tell whether the dim glow came from
-the body, or from a garment that stretched lightly over it. In any case
-it was something smooth, something expressly simple. The body seemed
-like a slender keg, broader at the belt, narrower at the shoulders and
-below. The arms and legs were of equal length and thickness, and of
-like nimbleness and flexibility; it seemed as though the arms were very
-long and thick, and the legs disproportionately short and thin. The
-neck was short. The face was hardy. The legs were widely astride. At
-the end of the back something was visible in the nature of a tail or a
-thick cone; like growths were upon the sides, under the elbows. The
-strange figure moved quickly, nimbly, and surely.
-
-The monster sat down on the bronze ridge of the inkstand, pushing aside
-the wooden pen-holder with his foot in order to be more comfortable. He
-grew quiet.
-
-Sonpolyev examined his face. It was lean, grey, and smooth. His eyes
-were small and glowed brightly. His mouth was large. His ears stuck out
-and were pointed at the top.
-
-He sat there, grasping the ridge with his hands, like a monkey.
-Sonpolyev asked: “Gracious guest, what do you want to say to me?”
-
-And in answer a slight voice—mechanically even, unpleasantly sharp and
-rather rusty in tone—made itself heard: “Man with a single head and a
-single soul, recall your past, your primitive experience of those
-ancient days when you and he lived in the same body.”
-
-And again there was laughter, shrill and sharp, piercing the ear.
-
-While he was still laughing, the guest, with mechanical agility, turned
-a somersault; he stood on his hands, and Sonpolyev saw for the first
-time what he had taken for a tail was really a second head. This head
-did not differ in any way, as far as he could see, from the other head.
-Whether the heads were too small for him to observe, or whether the
-heads did not actually differ, it was quite certain that Sonpolyev did
-not see the slightest distinction between them. The arms reversed
-themselves as on hinges, and became quite like the legs; the first
-head, then losing its colour, hid itself between these arm-legs; while
-the former legs reversed themselves mechanically and became the arms.
-
-Sonpolyev looked at his strange guest with astonishment. The guest made
-wry faces and danced. And when at last he grew still and his laughter
-gradually died away, the second head began to speak: “How many souls
-have you, and how many consciousnesses? Can you tell me that? You pride
-yourself on the amazing differentiation of your organs, you have an
-idea that each member of your body fulfils its own well-defined
-functions. But tell me, stupid man, have you anything whereby to
-preserve the memory of your previous existences? The other head
-contains the rest of you, your early memories and your earlier
-experience. You argue subtly and craftily across the threshold of your
-pitiful consciousness, but your misfortune is that you have only one
-head.”
-
-The guest burst out again into rusty, metallic laughter, and he laughed
-this time rather long. He laughed and he danced at the same time. He
-turned somersaults, or he rested upon one arm and upon one leg, thereby
-causing one of his sides to turn upward—until it was impossible to
-distinguish any of his four extremities. Afterwards his limbs again
-turned mechanically, and it became obvious that the growths on his
-sides were also heads. Each head spoke and laughed in its turn. Each
-head grimaced, mocked at him.
-
-Sonpolyev exclaimed in great fury: “Be silent!”
-
-The guest danced, shouted, and laughed.
-
-Sonpolyev thought: “I must catch him and crush him. Or I must smash the
-monster with a blow of the heavy press.”
-
-But the guest continued to laugh and to make wry faces.
-
-“I dare not take him with my hands,” thought Sonpolyev. “He might burn
-or scorch me. A knife would be better.”
-
-He opened his penknife. Then he quickly directed its sharp point toward
-the middle of his guest’s body. The four-headed monster gathered
-himself into a ball, flapped his four paws, and burst into piercing
-laughter. Sonpolyev threw his knife on the table, and exclaimed:
-“Hateful monster! What do you want of me?”
-
-The guest jumped upon the sharply pointed lid of the inkstand, perched
-himself upon one foot, stretched his arms upward, and exclaimed in an
-ugly, shrill voice: “Man with one head, recall your remote past when
-you and he were in the same body. The time you shared together in a
-dangerous adventure. Recall the dance of that terrible hour.”
-
-Suddenly it grew dark. The laughter resounded, hoarse and hideous. The
-head was going round....
-
-Light columns moved forward out of the darkness. The ceiling was low.
-The torches glowed dimly. The red tongues of flame wavered in the
-scented air. The flute poured out its notes. Handsome young limbs moved
-in measure to its music.
-
-And it seemed to Sonpolyev that he was young and powerful, and that he
-was dancing round a banqueting table. A shrivelled, insolent, drunken
-face was looking at him; the banqueter was laughing uproariously, he
-was happy, and the dance of the half-naked youths pleased him.
-Sonpolyev felt that a furious rage was strangling him, and was
-hindering him from carrying out his project. He danced past the
-carousing man and his hands trembled. A reddish mist of hate dimmed his
-sight.
-
-His second soul wakened at the same time; it was the cunning, the
-sidling, the feline soul. This time the youth smiled at the happy man;
-he floated gracefully past him, a sweet, gentle boy. The banqueter
-laughed loudly. The youth’s naked limbs and bared torso cheered the
-lord of the feast.
-
-And again there was hate, which dimmed his eyes with a red haze, and
-caused his hands to tremble with fury.
-
-Some one whispered angrily: “Are we going to twirl so long fruitlessly?
-It is time. It is time. Put an end to it!”
-
-The friendly spirits prevailed. The two souls flowed together. Hate and
-cunning became one. There was a light, floating movement, then a
-powerful stroke; nimble feet swept the youth into the swift, beautiful
-dance. There was a hoarse outcry. Then an uproar. Everything became
-confused....
-
-And again there was darkness.
-
-Sonpolyev awoke: the same small monster was dancing on the table,
-grimacing and laughing uproariously.
-
-Sonpolyev asked: “What’s the meaning of this?”
-
-His guest replied: “Two souls once dwelt in this youth, and one of them
-is now yours; it is a soul of exultant emotions and of passionate
-desires, it is an ever insatiable, trembling soul.”
-
-Then there was laughter, jarring on the ear. The monster danced on.
-
-Sonpolyev shouted: “Stop, you dance devil! It seems to me you wish to
-say that the second soul of this primitive youth lives in the feeble
-body of this despicable, smooth-faced youngster?”
-
-The guest stopped laughing and exclaimed:
-
-“Man, you have at last understood what I wished to tell you. Now
-perhaps you will guess who I am, and why I have come.”
-
-Sonpolyev waited until the trembling, shrill laughter ceased, and he
-answered his guest:
-
-“You are the uniter of souls. But why did you not join us at our
-birth?”
-
-The monster hissed, curled up, then stopped and threw upward one of his
-side heads and exclaimed:
-
-“We can repair this if you like. Do you wish it?”
-
-“I wish it,” Sonpolyev replied quickly.
-
-“Call him to you on New Year’s Eve, and call me. This hair will enable
-you to summon me.”
-
-The monster ran quickly to the lamp, and placing upon its stand a
-short, thin black hair continued speaking: “When you light it I’ll
-come. But you ought to know that neither you nor he will preserve
-afterward a separate existence. And the man who will depart from here
-shall contain both souls, but it will be neither you nor he.”
-
-Then he disappeared. His shrill, rusty laughter still resounded and
-tormented the ear, but Sonpolyev no longer saw any one before him. Only
-a black hair on the flat stand of the lamp reminded him of his guest.
-
-Sonpolyev took the hair and put it into his purse.
-
-The last day of the year was approaching midnight.
-
-Garmonov was sitting once more at Sonpolyev’s. They spoke quietly, in
-subdued voices. It was painful. Sonpolyev asked: “You do not regret
-coming to my lonely party?”
-
-The smooth-faced young man smiled, and this made his teeth seem very
-white. He drawled out his words very slowly, and what he said was so
-tedious and so empty that Sonpolyev had no desire to listen to him.
-Sonpolyev, without continuing the conversation, asked quite bluntly:
-“You remember your earlier existence?”
-
-“Not very well,” answered Garmonov.
-
-It was clear that he did not understand the question, and that he
-thought Sonpolyev had asked him about his childhood.
-
-Sonpolyev frowned in his vexation. He began to explain what he wished
-to say. He felt that his speech was involved and long. And this vexed
-him still more.
-
-But Garmonov had understood. He grew cheerful. He flushed slightly. His
-words had a more animated sound than usual: “Yes, yes, I sometimes feel
-that I have lived before. It is such a strange feeling. It’s as though
-that life was fuller, bolder and freer; and that I dared to do things
-that I dare not do now.
-
-“And isn’t it true,” asked Sonpolyev in some agitation, “that you feel
-as though you had lost something, as though you now lack the most
-significant part of your being?”
-
-“Yes,” answered Garmonov with emphasis. “That’s precisely my feeling.”
-
-“Would you like to restore this missing part?” Sonpolyev continued to
-question. “To be once more as before, whole and bold; to contain in one
-body—which shall feel itself light and young and free—the fullness of
-life and the union of the antagonistic identities of our human breed.
-To be, indeed, more than whole; to feel as it were, in one’s breast,
-the beating of a doubled heart; to be this and that; to join two
-clashing souls within oneself, and to wrest the necessary manhood and
-hardihood for great deeds from the fiery struggle of intense
-contradictions.”
-
-“Yes, yes,” said Garmonov, “I, too, sometimes dream about this.”
-
-Sonpolyev was afraid to look at the irresolute, confused, smooth face
-of his young visitor. He vaguely feared that Garmonov’s face would
-disconcert him. He made haste.
-
-Besides, midnight was approaching. Sonpolyev said quietly: “I have the
-means in my hands to realize this dream. Do you wish to have it
-realized?”
-
-“I should like to,” said Garmonov irresolutely.
-
-Sonpolyev raised his eyes. He looked at Garmonov with firmness and
-decision, as though he demanded something urgent and indispensable from
-him. He looked with a fixed intentness into the dark youthful eyes,
-which should have flamed fire, but instead they were the cold, crafty
-eyes of a little man with half a soul.
-
-But it seemed to Sonpolyev that under his fixed fiery gaze Garmonov’s
-eyes were becoming inflamed with enthusiasm and burning wrath. The
-young man’s smooth face had suddenly become significant and stern.
-
-“Do you wish it?” Sonpolyev asked him once more.
-
-Garmonov replied quickly, with decision:
-
-“I wish it.”
-
-And then a strange, sharp, shrill voice pronounced: “Oh, small and
-cunning man; you who once during your ancient existence did a deed of
-great hardihood—that was when you joined your crafty soul to the
-flaming soul of an indignant man—tell us in this great, rare hour, have
-you firmly decided to merge your soul with the other, the different
-soul?”
-
-And Garmonov answered even more quickly and more decisively: “I wish
-to!”
-
-Sonpolyev listened to the shrill voice of the questioner. He recognized
-him. He was not mistaken: the “I wish to!” of Garmonov had already lost
-itself in the rusty, metallic laughter of that extraordinary visitor.
-
-Sonpolyev waited until the laughter ceased; then he said: “But you
-should know that you will have to reject all dissembling. And all the
-joys of separate existence. Once I achieve my magic we shall both
-perish, and we shall set free our souls, or rather we shall fuse them
-together, and there shall be neither I nor you—there will be one in our
-place, and he shall be fiery in his conception, and cold in his
-execution. Both of us will have to go, in order to give a place to him,
-in whom both of us will be united. My friend, have you resolved upon
-this terrible thing? It is a great and terrible thing.”
-
-Garmonov smiled a strange, faltering smile. But the fiery glance of
-Sonpolyev extinguished the smile; and the young man, as if submitting
-to some inevitable and fated command, pronounced in a dim, lifeless
-voice: “I have decided. I wish it. I am not afraid.”
-
-Sonpolyev took the hair out of his wallet with trembling fingers. He
-lit a candle. Behind it hid the four-headed visitor. His grey body
-seemed to quake; and it vacillated in the wavering flame that fondled
-in its flickering embraces the white body of the submissive candle.
-
-Garmonov opened his eyes wide, and they steadfastly followed
-Sonpolyev’s movements. Sonpolyev put one end of the hair to the flame.
-The hair curled slightly, grew red, gave a flare. It burned very
-slowly, with a quiet rhythmic crackle, which resembled the laugh of the
-nocturnal guest.
-
-The words of the strange guest were simple but terrible. At first
-Sonpolyev was barely conscious of them; he was so agitated and so
-absorbed by the burning of the magic hair that he could see no
-connexion with the simple, familiar words of the monster. Suddenly
-terror came upon him. He had understood. There was derision in those
-simple, terribly simple words.
-
-“Little soul, failing little soul, timid little soul.”
-
-Sonpolyev, frightened, looked at Garmonov. The smooth-faced young man
-sat there strangely shrunken. His face was pale. Beads of perspiration
-showed on his forehead. A pitiful, forced smile twisted his lips. When
-he saw that Sonpolyev was looking at him he shrank even more, and
-whispered in a broken, hollow voice, as though against his will: “It is
-terrible. It is painful. It is unnecessary.”
-
-Suddenly he hunched like a cat—a cunning, timid, evil cat—and sprang
-forward; thus deformed, he pushed out his over-red lips and blew upon
-the almost consumed hair. The flame flickered upward, trembled and
-died. A tiny cloud of blue smoke spread itself in the still air. The
-shrill laughter of the nocturnal guest pierced the ears.
-
-The hideous words resounded: “Miscarried! Miscarried!”
-
-Garmonov sat down. He smiled guiltily and cunningly. Sonpolyev looked
-at him with unseeing eyes.
-
-The clock began to strike in the next room. And to each stroke the
-uniter of souls responded with the hoarse outcry: “Miscarried!”
-
-And he laughed again his metallic laughter like a wound-up spring. He
-whirled round and grimaced; he seemed to lose himself in the lifeless
-yellow electric light.
-
-At the twelfth stroke, the last voice of the passing year, the hideous
-voice grew silent.
-
-“Miscarried!”
-
-And the horrible laughter of the vanishing monster died away. Garmonov,
-truly rejoicing over his deliverance from an unhappy fate, rose, and
-said: “A happy New Year!”
-
-
-
-INVOKER OF THE BEAST
-
-I
-
-It was quiet and tranquil, and neither joyous nor sad. There was an
-electric light in the room. The walls seemed impregnable. The window
-was overhung by heavy, dark-green draperies, even denser in tone than
-the green of the wall-paper. Both doors—the large one at the side, and
-the small one in the depth of the alcove that faced the window—were
-securely bolted. And there, behind them, reigned darkness and
-desolation in the broad corridor as well as in the spacious and cold
-reception-room, where melancholy plants yearned for their native soil.
-
-Gurov was lying on the divan. A book was in his hands. He often paused
-in his reading. He meditated and mused during these pauses, and it was
-always about the same thing. Always about _them_.
-
-They hovered near him. This he had noticed long ago. They were hiding.
-Their manner; was importunate. They rustled very quietly. For a long
-time they remained invisible to the eye. But one day, when Gurov awoke
-rather tired; sad and pale, and languidly turned on the electric light
-to dissipate the greyish gloom of an early winter morning—he espied one
-of them suddenly.
-
-Small, grey, shifty and nimble, _he_ flashed by, and in the twinkling
-of an eye disappeared.
-
-And thereafter, in the morning, or in the evening, Gurov grew used to
-seeing these small, shifty, house sprites run past him. This time he
-did not doubt that they would appear.
-
-To begin with he felt a slight headache, afterwards a sudden flash of
-heat, then of cold. Then, out of the corner, there emerged the long,
-slender Fever with her ugly, yellow face and her bony dry hands; she
-lay down at his side, and embraced him, and fell to kissing him and to
-laughing. And these rapid kisses of the affectionate and cunning Fever,
-and these slow approaches of the slight headache were agreeable.
-
-Feebleness spread itself over, the whole body, and lassitude also. This
-too was agreeable. It made him feel as though all the turmoil of life
-had receded into the distance. And people also became far away,
-unimportant, even unnecessary. He preferred to be with these quiet
-ones, these house sprites.
-
-Gurov had not been out for some days. He had locked himself in at home.
-He did not permit any one to come to him. He was alone. He thought
-about them. He awaited them.
-
-II
-
-This tedious waiting was cut short in a strange and unexpected manner.
-He heard the slamming of a distant door, and presently he became aware
-of the sound of unhurried footfalls which came from the direction of
-the reception-room, just behind the door of his room. Some one was
-approaching with a sure and nimble step.
-
-Gurov turned his head toward the door. A gust of cold entered the room.
-Before him stood a boy, most strange and wild in aspect. He was dressed
-in linen draperies, half-nude, barefoot, smooth-skinned, sun-tanned,
-with black tangled hair and dark, burning eyes. An amazingly perfect,
-handsome face; handsome to a degree which made it terrible to gaze upon
-its beauty. And it portrayed neither good nor evil.
-
-Gurov was not astonished. A masterful mood took hold of him. He could
-hear the house sprites scampering away to conceal themselves.
-
-The boy began to speak.
-
-“Aristomarchon! Perhaps you have forgotten your promise? Is this the
-way of valiant men? You left me when I was in mortal danger, you had
-made me a promise, which it is evident you did not intend to keep. I
-have sought for you such a long time! And here I have found you, living
-at your ease, and in luxury.”
-
-Gurov fixed a perplexed gaze upon the half-nude, handsome lad; and
-turgid memories awoke in his soul. Something long since submerged arose
-in dim outlines and tormented his memory, which struggled to find a
-solution to the strange apparition; a solution, moreover, which seemed
-so near and so intimate.
-
-And what of the invincibility of his walls? Something had happened
-round him, some mysterious transformation had taken place. But Gurov,
-engulfed in his vain exertions to recall something very near to him and
-yet slipping away in the tenacious embrace of ancient memory, had not
-yet succeeded in grasping the nature of the change that he felt had
-taken place. He turned to the wonderful boy.
-
-“Tell me, gracious boy, simply and clearly, without unnecessary
-reproaches, what had I promised you, and when had I left you in a time
-of mortal danger? I swear to you, by all the holies, that my conscience
-could never have permitted me such a mean action as you reproach me
-with.”
-
-The boy shook his head. In a sonorous voice, suggestive of the
-melodious outpouring of a stringed instrument, he said: “Aristomarchon,
-you always have been a man skilful with words, and not less skilful in
-matters requiring daring and prudence. If I have said that you left me
-in a moment of mortal danger I did not intend it as a reproach, and I
-do not understand why you speak of your conscience. Our projected
-affair was difficult and dangerous, but who can hear us now; before
-whom, with your craftily arranged words and your dissembling ignorance
-of what happened this morning at sunrise, can you deny that you had
-given me a promise?”
-
-The electric light grew dim. The ceiling seemed to darken and to recede
-into height. There was a smell of grass; its forgotten name, once, long
-ago, suggested something gentle and joyous. A breeze blew. Gurov raised
-himself, and asked: “What sort of an affair had we two contrived?
-Gracious boy, I deny nothing. Only I don’t know what you are speaking
-of. I don’t remember.”
-
-Gurov felt as though the boy were looking at him, yet not directly. He
-felt also vaguely conscious of another presence no less unfamiliar and
-alien than that of this curious stranger, and it seemed to him that the
-unfamiliar form of this other presence coincided with his own form. An
-ancient soul, as it were, had taken possession of Gurov and enveloped
-him in the long-lost freshness of its vernal attributes.
-
-It was growing darker, and there was increasing purity and coolness in
-the air. There rose up in his soul the joy and ease of pristine
-existence. The stars glowed brilliantly in the dark sky. The boy spoke.
-
-“We had undertaken to kill the Beast. I tell you this under the
-multitudinous gaze of the all-seeing sky. Perhaps you were frightened.
-That’s quite likely too! We had planned a great, terrible affair, that
-our names might be honoured by future generations.”
-
-Soft, tranquil, and monotonous was the sound of a stream which purled
-its way in the nocturnal silence. The stream was invisible, but its
-nearness was soothing and refreshing. They stood under the broad
-shelter of a tree and continued the conversation begun at some other
-time.
-
-Gurov asked: “Why do you say that I had left you in a moment of mortal
-danger? Who am I that I should be frightened and run away?”
-
-The boy burst into a laugh. His mirth had the sound of music, and as it
-passed into speech his voice still quavered with sweet, melodious
-laughter.
-
-“Aristomarchon, how cleverly you feign to have forgotten all! I don’t
-understand what makes you do this, and with such a mastery that you
-bring reproaches against yourself which I have not even dreamt of. You
-had left me in a moment of mortal danger because it had to be, and you
-could not have helped me otherwise than by forsaking me at the moment.
-You will surely not remain stubborn in your denial when I remind you of
-the words of the Oracle?”
-
-Gurov suddenly remembered. A brilliant light, as it were, unexpectedly
-illumined the dark domain of things forgotten. And in wild ecstasy, in
-a loud and joyous voice, he exclaimed: “_One_ shall kill the Beast!”
-
-The boy laughed. And Aristomarchon asked: “Did you kill the Beast,
-Timarides?”
-
-“With what?” exclaimed Timarides. “However strong my hands are, I was
-not one who could kill the Beast with a blow of the fist. We,
-Aristomarchon, had not been prudent and we were unarmed. We were
-playing in the sand by the stream. The Beast came upon us suddenly and
-he laid his paw upon me. It was for me to offer up my life as a sweet
-sacrifice to glory and to a noble cause; it was for you to execute our
-plan. And while he was tormenting my defenceless and unresisting body,
-you, fleet-footed Aristomarchon, could have run for your lance, and
-killed the now blood-intoxicated Beast. But the Beast did not accept my
-sacrifice. I lay under him, quiescent and still, gazing into his
-bloodshot eyes. He held his heavy paw on my shoulder, his breath came
-in hot, uneven gasps, and he sent out low snarls. Afterwards, he put
-out his huge, hot tongue and licked my face; then he left me.”
-
-“Where is he now?” asked Aristomarchon.
-
-In a voice strangely tranquil and strangely sonorous in the quiet
-arrested stillness of the humid air, Timarides replied: “He followed
-me. I do not know how long I have been wandering until I found you. He
-followed me. I led him on by the smell of my blood. I do not know why
-he has not touched me until now. But here I have enticed him to you.
-You had better get the weapon which you had hidden so carefully and
-kill the Beast, while I in my turn will leave you in the moment of
-mortal danger, eye to eye with the enraged creature. Here’s luck to
-you, Aristomarchon!”
-
-As soon as he uttered these words Timarides, started, to run. For a
-short time his cloak was visible in the darkness, a glimmering patch of
-white. And then he disappeared. In the same instant the air resounded
-with the savage bellowing of the Beast, and his ponderous tread became
-audible. Pushing aside the growth of shrubs there emerged from the
-darkness the huge, monstrous head of the Beast, flashing a livid fire
-out of its two enormous, flaming eyes. And in the dark silence of
-nocturnal trees the towering ferocious shape of the Beast loomed
-ominously as it approached Aristomarchon.
-
-Terror filled Aristomarchon’s heart.
-
-“Where is the lance?” was the thought that quickly flashed across his
-brain.
-
-And in that instant, feeling the fresh night breeze on his face,
-Aristomarchon realized that he was running from the Beast. His
-ponderous springs and his spasmodic roars resounded closer and closer
-behind him. And as the Beast came up with him a loud cry rent the
-silence of the night. The cry came from Aristomarchon, who, recalling
-then some ancient and terrible words, pronounced loudly the incantation
-of the walls.
-
-And thus enchanted the walls erected themselves around him....
-
-III
-
-Enchanted, the walls stood firm and were lit up. A dreary light was
-cast upon them by the dismal electric lamp. Gurov was in his usual
-surroundings.
-
-Again came the nimble Fever and kissed him with her yellow, dry lips,
-and caressed him with her dry, bony hands, which exhaled heat and cold.
-The same thin volume, with its white pages, lay on the little table
-beside the divan where, as before, Gurov rested in the caressing
-embrace of the affectionate Fever, who showered upon him her rapid
-kisses. And again there stood beside him, laughing and rustling, the
-tiny house sprites.
-
-Gurov said loudly and indifferently: “The incantation of the walls!”
-
-Then he paused. But in what consisted this incantation? He had
-forgotten the words. Or had they never existed at all?
-
-The little, shifty, grey demons danced round the slender volume with
-its ghostly white pages, and kept on repeating with their rustling
-voices: “Our walls are strong. We are in the walls. We have nothing to
-fear from the outside.”
-
-In their midst stood one of them, a tiny object like themselves, yet
-different from the rest. He was all black. His mantle fell from his
-shoulders in folds of smoke and flame. His eyes flashed like lightning.
-Terror and joy alternated quickly.
-
-Gurov spoke: “Who are you?”
-
-The black demon answered: “I am the Invoker of the Beast. In one of
-your long-past existences you left the lacerated body of Timarides on
-the banks of a forest stream. The Beast had satiated himself on the
-beautiful body of your friend; he had gorged himself on the flesh that
-might have partaken of the fullness of earthly happiness; a creature of
-superhuman perfection had perished in order to gratify for a moment the
-appetite of the ravenous and ever insatiable Beast. And the blood, the
-wonderful blood, the sacred wine of happiness and joy, the wine of
-superhuman bliss—what had been the fate of this wonderful blood? Alas!
-The thirsty, ceaselessly thirsty Beast drank of it to gratify his
-momentary desire, and is thirsty anew. You had left the body of
-Timarides, mutilated by the Beast, on the banks of the forest stream;
-you forgot the promise you had given your valorous friend, and even the
-words of the ancient Oracle had not banished fear from your heart. And
-do you think that you are safe, that the Beast will not find you?”
-
-There was austerity in the sound of his voice. While he was speaking
-the house sprites gradually ceased their dance; the little, grey house
-sprites stopped to listen to the Invoker of the Beast.
-
-Gurov then said in reply: “I am not worried about the Beast! I have
-pronounced eternal enchantment upon my walls and the Beast shall never
-penetrate hither, into my enclosure.”
-
-The little grey ones were overjoyed, their voices tinkled with
-merriment and laughter; having gathered round, hand in hand, in a
-circle, they were on the point of bursting forth once more into dance,
-when the voice of the Invoker of the Beast rang out again, sharp and
-austere.
-
-“But I am here. I am here because I have found you. I am here because
-the incantation of the walls is dead. I am here because Timarides is
-waiting and importuning me. Do you hear the gentle laugh of the brave,
-trusting lad? Do you hear the terrible bellowing of the Beast?”
-
-From behind the wall, approaching nearer, could be heard the fearsome
-bellowing of the Beast.
-
-“The Beast is bellowing behind the wall, the invincible wall!”
-exclaimed Gurov in terror. “My walls are enchanted for ever, and
-impregnable against foes.”
-
-Then spoke the black demon, and there was an imperious ring in his
-voice: “I tell you, man, the incantation of the walls is dead. And if
-you think you can save yourself by pronouncing the incantation of the
-walls, why then don’t you utter the words?”
-
-A cold shiver passed down Gurov’s spine. The incantation! He had
-forgotten the words of the ancient spell. And what mattered it? Was not
-the ancient incantation dead—dead?
-
-Everything about him confirmed with irrefutable evidence the death of
-the ancient incantation of the walls—because the walls, and the light
-and the shade which fell upon them, seemed dead and wavering. The
-Invoker of the Beast spoke terrible words. And Gurov’s mind was now in
-a whirl, now in pain, and the affectionate Fever did not cease to
-torment him with her passionate kisses. Terrible words resounded,
-almost deadening his senses—while the Invoker of the Beast grew larger
-and larger, and hot fumes breathed from him, and grim terror. His eyes
-ejected fire, and when at last he grew so tall as to screen off the
-electric light, his black cloak suddenly fell from his shoulders. And
-Gurov recognized him—it was the boy Timarides.
-
-“Will you kill the Beast?” asked Timarides in a sonorous voice. “I have
-enticed him, I have led him to you, I have destroyed the incantation of
-the walls. The cowardly gift of inimical gods, the incantation of the
-walls, had turned into naught my sacrifice, and had saved you from your
-action. But the ancient incantation of the walls is dead—be quick,
-then, to take hold of your sword and kill the Beast. I have been a
-boy—I have become the Invoker of the Beast. He had drunk of my blood,
-and now he thirsts anew; he had partaken also of my flesh, and he is
-hungry again, the insatiable, pitiless Beast. I have called him to you,
-and you, in fulfilment of your promise, may kill the Beast. Or die
-yourself.”
-
-He vanished. A terrible bellowing shook the walls. A gust of icy
-moisture blew across to Gurov.
-
-The wall facing the spot where Gurov lay opened, and the huge,
-ferocious and monstrous Beast entered. Bellowing savagely, he
-approached Gurov and laid his ponderous paw upon his breast. Straight
-into his heart plunged the pitiless claws. A terrible pain shot through
-his whole body. Shifting his blood-red eyes the Beast inclined his head
-toward Gurov and, crumbling the bones of his victim with his teeth,
-began to devour his yet-palpitating heart.
-
-
-
-THE WHITE DOG
-
-
-Everything grew irksome for Alexandra Ivanovna in the workshop of this
-out-of-the-way town—the patterns, the clatter of machines, the
-complaints of the customers; it was the shop in which she had served as
-apprentice and now for several years as cutter. Everything irritated
-Alexandra Ivanovna; she quarrelled with every one and abused the
-innocent apprentice. Among others to suffer from her outbursts of
-temper was Tanechka, the youngest of the seamstresses, who only lately
-had been an apprentice. In the beginning Tanechka submitted to her
-abuse in silence. In the end she revolted, and, addressing herself to
-her assailant, said, quite calmly and affably, so that every one
-laughed:
-
-“Alexandra Ivanovna, you are a downright dog!”
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna felt humiliated.
-
-“You are a dog yourself!” she exclaimed.
-
-Tanechka sat there sewing. She paused now and then from her work and
-said in a calm, deliberate manner:
-
-“You always whine.... Certainly, you are a dog.... You have a dog’s
-snout.... And a dog’s ears.... And a wagging tail.... The mistress will
-soon drive you out of doors, because you are the most detestable of
-dogs, a poodle.”
-
-Tanechka was a young, plump, rosy-cheeked girl with an innocent,
-good-natured face, which revealed, however, a trace of cunning. She sat
-there so demure, barefooted, still dressed in her apprentice clothes;
-her eyes were clear, and her brows were highly arched on her fine
-curved white forehead, framed by straight, dark chestnut hair, which in
-the distance looked black. Tanechka’s voice was clear, even, sweet,
-insinuating, and if one could have heard its sound only, and not given
-heed to the words, it would have given the impression that she was
-paying Alexandra Ivanovna compliments.
-
-The other seamstresses laughed, the apprentices chuckled, they covered
-their faces with their black aprons and cast side glances at Alexandra
-Ivanovna. As for Alexandra Ivanovna, she was livid with rage.
-
-“Wretch!” she exclaimed. “I will pull your ears for you! I won’t leave
-a hair on your head.”
-
-Tanechka replied in a gentle voice:
-
-“The paws are a trifle short.... The poodle bites as well as barks....
-It may be necessary to buy a muzzle.”
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna made a movement toward Tanechka. But before Tanechka
-had time to lay aside her work and get up, the mistress of the
-establishment, a large, serious-looking woman, entered, rustling her
-dress.
-
-She said sternly: “Alexandra Ivanovna, what do you mean by making such
-a fuss?”
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna, much agitated, replied: “Irina Petrovna, I wish you
-would forbid her to call me a dog!”
-
-Tanechka in her turn complained: “She is always snarling at something
-or other. Always quibbling at the smallest trifles.”
-
-But the mistress looked at her sternly and said: “Tanechka, I can see
-through you. Are you sure you didn’t begin? You needn’t think that
-because you are a seamstress now you are an important person. If it
-weren’t for your mother’s sake——”
-
-Tanechka grew red, but preserved her innocent and affable manner. She
-addressed her mistress in a subdued voice: “Forgive me, Irina Petrovna,
-I will not do it again. But it wasn’t altogether my fault....”
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna returned home almost ill with rage. Tanechka had
-guessed her weakness.
-
-“A dog! Well, then I am a dog,” thought Alexandra Ivanovna, “but it is
-none of her affair! Have I looked to see whether she is a serpent or a
-fox? It is easy to find one out, but why make a fuss about it? Is a dog
-worse than any other animal?”
-
-The clear summer night languished and sighed, a soft breeze from the
-adjacent fields occasionally blew down the peaceful streets. The moon
-rose clear and full, that very same moon which rose long ago at another
-place, over the broad desolate steppe, the home of the wild, of those
-who ran free, and whined in their ancient earthly travail. The very
-same, as then and in that region.
-
-And now, as then, glowed eyes sick with longing; and her heart, still
-wild, not forgetting in town the great spaciousness of the steppe felt
-oppressed; her throat was troubled with a tormenting desire to howl
-like a wild thing.
-
-She was about to undress, but what was the use? She could not sleep,
-anyway.
-
-She went into the passage. The warm planks of the floor bent and
-creaked under her, and small shavings and sand which covered them
-tickled her feet not unpleasantly.
-
-She went out on the doorstep. There sat the _babushka_ Stepanida, a
-black figure in her black shawl, gaunt and shrivelled. She sat with her
-head bent, and it seemed as though she were warming herself in the rays
-of the cold moon.
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna sat down beside her. She kept looking at the old
-woman sideways. The large curved nose of her companion seemed to her
-like the beak of an old bird.
-
-“A crow?” Alexandra Ivanovna asked herself.
-
-She smiled, forgetting for the moment her longing and her fears. Shrewd
-as the eyes of a dog her own lighted up with the joy of her discovery.
-In the pale green light of the moon the wrinkles of her faded face
-became altogether invisible, and she seemed once more young and merry
-and light-hearted, just as she was ten years ago, when the moon had not
-yet called upon her to bark and bay of nights before the windows of the
-dark bathhouse.
-
-She moved closer to the old woman, and said affably: “_Babushka_
-Stepanida, there is something I have been wanting to ask you.”
-
-The old woman turned to her, her dark face furrowed with wrinkles, and
-asked in a sharp, oldish voice that sounded like a caw:
-
-“Well, my dear? Go ahead and ask.”
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna gave a repressed laugh; her thin shoulders suddenly
-trembled from a chill that ran down her spine.
-
-She spoke very quietly: “_Babushka_ Stepanida, it seems to me—tell me
-is it true?—I don’t know exactly how to put it—but you, _babushka_,
-please don’t take offence—it is not from malice that I——”
-
-“Go on, my dear, never fear, say it,” said the old woman.
-
-She looked at Alexandra Ivanovna with glowing, penetrating eyes.
-
-“It seems to me, _babushka_—please, now, don’t take offence—as though
-you, _babushka_ were a crow.”
-
-The old woman turned away. She was silent and merely nodded her head.
-She had the appearance of one who had recalled something. Her head,
-with its sharply outlined nose, bowed and nodded, and at last it seemed
-to Alexandra Ivanovna that the old woman was dozing. Dozing, and
-mumbling something under her nose. Nodding her head and mumbling some
-old forgotten words—old magic words.
-
-An intense quiet reigned out of doors. It was neither light nor dark,
-and everything seemed bewitched with the inarticulate mumbling of old
-forgotten words. Everything languished and seemed lost in apathy. Again
-a longing oppressed her heart. And it was neither a dream nor an
-illusion. A thousand perfumes, imperceptible by day, became subtly
-distinguishable, and they recalled something ancient and primitive,
-something forgotten in the long ages.
-
-In a barely audible voice the old woman mumbled: “Yes, I am a crow.
-Only I have no wings. But there are times when I caw, and I caw, and
-tell of woe. And I am given to forebodings, my dear; each time I have
-one I simply must caw. People are not particularly anxious to hear me.
-And when I see a doomed person I have such a strong desire to caw.”
-
-The old woman suddenly made a sweeping movement with her arms, and in a
-shrill voice cried out twice: “Kar-r, Kar-r!”
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna shuddered, and asked: “_Babushka_, at whom are you
-cawing?”
-
-The old woman answered: “At you, my dear—at you.”
-
-It had become too painful to sit with the old woman any longer.
-Alexandra Ivanovna went to her own room. She sat down before the open
-window and listened to two voices at the gate.
-
-“It simply won’t stop whining!” said a low and harsh voice.
-
-“And uncle, did you see——?” asked an agreeable young tenor.
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna recognized in this last the voice of the
-curly-headed, somewhat red, freckled-faced lad who lived in the same
-court.
-
-A brief and depressing silence followed. Then she heard a hoarse and
-harsh voice say suddenly: “Yes, I saw. It’s very large—and white. Lies
-near the bathhouse, and bays at the moon.”
-
-The voice gave her an image of the man, of his shovel-shaped beard, his
-low, furrowed forehead, his small, piggish eyes, and his spread-out fat
-legs.
-
-“And why does it bay, uncle?” asked the agreeable voice.
-
-And again the hoarse voice did not reply at once.
-
-“Certainly to no good purpose—and where it came from is more than I can
-say.”
-
-“Do you think, uncle, it may be a were-wolf?” asked the agreeable
-voice.
-
-“I should not advise you to investigate,” replied the hoarse voice.
-
-She could not quite understand what these words implied, nor did she
-wish to think of them. She did not feel inclined to listen further.
-What was the sound and significance of human words to _her_?
-
-The moon looked straight into her face, and persistently called her and
-tormented her. Her heart was restless with a dark longing, and she
-could not sit still.
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna quickly undressed herself. Naked, all white, she
-silently stole through the passage; she then opened the outer
-door—there was no one on the step or outside—and ran quickly across the
-court and the vegetable garden, and reached the bathhouse. The sharp
-contact of her body with the cold air and her feet with the cold ground
-gave her pleasure. But soon her body was warm.
-
-She lay down in the grass, on her stomach. Then, raising herself on her
-elbows, she lifted her face toward the pale, brooding moon, and gave a
-long-drawn-out whine.
-
-“Listen, uncle, it is whining,” said the curly-haired lad at the gate.
-
-The agreeable tenor voice trembled perceptibly.
-
-“Whining again, the accursed one,” said the hoarse, harsh voice slowly.
-
-They rose from the bench. The gate latch clicked.
-
-They went silently across the courtyard and the vegetable garden, the
-two of them. The older man, black-bearded and powerful, walked in
-front, a gun in his hand. The curly-headed lad followed tremblingly,
-and looked constantly behind.
-
-Near the bathhouse, in the grass, lay a huge white dog, whining
-piteously. Its head, black on the crown, was raised to the moon, which
-pursued its way in the cold sky; its hind legs were strangely thrown
-backward, while the front ones, firm and straight, pressed hard against
-the ground.
-
-In the pale green and unreal light of the moon it seemed enormous, so
-huge a dog was surely never seen on earth. It was thick and fat. The
-black spot, which began at the head and stretched in uneven strands
-down the entire spine, seemed like a woman’s loosened hair. No tail was
-visible, presumably it was turned under. The fur on the body was so
-short that in the distance the dog seemed wholly naked, and its hide
-shone dimly in the moonlight, so that altogether it resembled the body
-of a nude woman, who lay in the grass and bayed at the moon.
-
-The man with the black beard took aim. The curly-haired lad crossed
-himself and mumbled something.
-
-The discharge of a rifle sounded in the night air. The dog gave a
-groan, jumped up on its hind legs, became a naked woman, who, her body
-covered with blood, started to run, all the while groaning, weeping and
-raising cries of distress.
-
-The black-bearded one and the curly-haired one threw themselves in the
-grass, and began to moan in wild terror.
-
-
-
-LIGHT AND SHADOWS
-
-I
-
-Volodya Lovlev, a pale meagre lad of twelve, had returned home from
-school and was waiting for his dinner. He was standing in the
-drawing-room at the piano, and was turning over the pages of the latest
-number of the _Niva_ which had come only that morning.
-
-A leaflet of thin grey paper fell out; it was an announcement issued by
-an illustrated journal. It enumerated the future contributors—the list
-contained about fifty well-known literary names; it praised at some
-length the journal as a whole and in detail its many-sidedness, and it
-presented several specimen illustrations.
-
-Volodya began to turn the pages of the leaflet in an absent way and to
-look at the miniature pictures. His large eyes, looked wearily out of
-his pale face.
-
-One page suddenly caught his attention, and his wide eyes opened
-slightly wider. Running from top to bottom were six drawings of hands
-throwing shadows in dark silhouette upon a white wall—the shadows
-representing the head of a girl with an amusing three-cornered hat, the
-head of a donkey, of a bull, the sitting figure of a squirrel, and
-other similar things.
-
-Volodya smiled and looked very intently at them. He was quite familiar
-with this amusement. He could hold the fingers of one hand so as to
-cast a silhouette of a hare’s head on the wall. But this was quite
-another matter, something that Volodya had not seen before; its
-interest for him was that here were quite complex figures cast by using
-both hands.
-
-Volodya suddenly wished to reproduce these shadows. Of course there was
-no use trying now, in the uncertain light of a late autumn afternoon.
-
-He had better try it later in his own room. In any case, it was of no
-use to any one.
-
-Just then he heard the approaching footsteps and voice of his mother.
-He flushed for some reason or other and quickly put the leaflet into
-his pocket, and left the piano to meet her. She looked at him with a
-caressing smile as she came toward him; her pale, handsome face greatly
-resembled his, and she had the same large eyes.
-
-She asked him, as she always did: “Well, what’s the news to-day?”
-
-“There’s nothing new,” said Volodya dejectedly.
-
-But it occurred to him at once that he was being ungracious, and he
-felt ashamed. He smiled genially and began to recall what had happened
-at school; but this only made him feel sadder.
-
-“Pruzhinin has again distinguished himself,” and he began to tell about
-the teacher who was disliked by his pupils for his rudeness. “Lentyev
-was reciting his lesson and made a mess of it, and so Pruzhinin said to
-him: ‘Well, that’s enough; sit down, blockhead!’”
-
-“Nothing escapes you,” said his mother, smiling.
-
-“He’s always rude.”
-
-After a brief silence Volodya sighed, then complained: “They are always
-in a hurry.”
-
-“Who?” asked his mother.
-
-“I mean the masters. Every one is anxious to finish his course quickly
-and to make a good show at the examination. And if you ask a question
-you are immediately suspected of trying to take up the time until the
-bell rings, and to avoid having questions put to you.”
-
-“Do you talk much after the lessons?”
-
-“Well, yes—but there’s the same hurry after the lessons to get home, or
-to study the lessons in the girls’ class-rooms. And everything is done
-in a hurry—you are no sooner done with the geometry than you must study
-your Greek.”
-
-“That’s to keep you from yawning.”
-
-“Yawning! I’m more like a squirrel going round on its cage-wheel. It’s
-exasperating.”
-
-His mother smiled lightly.
-
-II
-
-After dinner Volodya went to his room to prepare his lessons. His
-mother saw that the room was comfortable, that nothing was lacking in
-it. No one ever disturbed Volodya here; even his mother refrained from
-coming in at this time. She would come in later, to help Volodya if he
-needed help.
-
-Volodya was an industrious and even a clever pupil. But he found it
-difficult to-day to apply himself. No matter what lesson he tried he
-could not help remembering something unpleasant; he would recall the
-teacher of each particular subject, his sarcastic or rude remark, which
-propped in passings had entered in the impressionable boy’s mind.
-
-Several of his recent lessons happened to turn out poorly; the teachers
-appeared dissatisfied, and they grumbled incessantly. Their mood
-communicated itself to Volodya, and his books and copy-books inspired
-him at this moment with a deep confusion and unrest.
-
-He passed hastily from the first lesson to the second and to the third;
-this bother with trifles for the sake of not appearing “a blockhead”
-the next day seemed to him both silly and unnecessary. The thought
-perturbed him. He began to yawn from tedium and from sadness, and to
-dangle his feet impatiently; he simply could not sit still.
-
-But he knew too well that the lessons must be learnt, that this was
-very important, that his future depended upon it; and so he went on
-conscientiously with the tedious business.
-
-Volodya made a blot on the copy-book, and he put his pen aside. He
-looked at the blot, and decided that it could be erased with a
-penknife. He was glad of the distraction.
-
-Not finding the penknife on the table he put his hand into his pocket
-and rummaged there. Among all such rubbish as is to be found in a boy’s
-pocket he felt his penknife and pulled it out, together with some sort
-of leaflet.
-
-He did not see at first what the paper was he held in his hands, but on
-looking at it he suddenly remembered that this was the little book with
-the shadows, and quite as suddenly he grew cheerful and animated.
-
-And there it was—that same little leaflet which he had forgotten when
-he began his lessons.
-
-He jumped briskly off his chair, moved the lamp nearer the wall, looked
-cautiously at the closed door—as though afraid of some one
-entering—and, turning the leaflet to the familiar page, began to study
-the first drawing with great intentness, and to arrange his fingers
-according to directions. The first shadow came out as a confused shape,
-not at all what it should have been. Volodya moved the lamp, now here,
-now there; he bent and he stretched his fingers; and he was at last
-rewarded by seeing a woman’s head with a three-cornered hat.
-
-Volodya grew cheerful. He inclined his hand somewhat and moved his
-fingers very slightly—the head bowed, smiled, and grimaced amusingly.
-
-Volodya proceeded with the second figure, then with the others. All
-were hard at the beginning, but he managed them somehow in the end.
-
-He spent a half-hour in this occupation, and forgot all about his
-lessons, the school, and the whole world.
-
-Suddenly he heard familiar footsteps behind the door. Volodya flushed;
-he stuffed the leaflet into his pocket and quickly moved the lamp to
-its place, almost overturning it; then he sat down and bent over his
-copy-book. His mother entered.
-
-“Let’s go and have tea, Volodenka,” she said to him.
-
-Volodya pretended that he was looking at the blot and that he was about
-to open his penknife. His mother gently put her hands on his head.
-Volodya threw the knife aside and pressed his flushing face against his
-mother. Evidently she noticed nothing, and this made Volodya glad.
-Still, he felt ashamed, as though he had actually been caught at some
-stupid prank.
-
-III
-
-The samovar stood upon the round table in the dining-room and quietly
-hummed its garrulous song. The hanging-lamp diffused its light upon the
-white tablecloth and upon the dark walls, filling the room with dream
-and mystery.
-
-Volodya’s mother seemed wistful as she leant her handsome, pale face
-forward over the table. Volodya was leaning on his arm, and was
-stirring the small spoon in his glass. It was good to watch the tea’s
-sweet eddies and to see the little bubbles rise to the surface. The
-little silver spoon quietly tinkled.
-
-The boiling water, sputtering, ran from the tap into his mother’s cup.
-
-A light shadow was cast by the little spoon upon the saucer and the
-tablecloth, and it lost itself in the glass of tea. Volodya watched it
-intently: the shadows thrown by the tiny little eddies and bubbles
-recalled something to him—precisely what, Volodya could not say. He
-held up and he turned the little spoon, and he ran his fingers over
-it—but nothing came of it.
-
-“All the same,” he stubbornly insisted to himself, “it’s not with
-fingers alone that shadows can be made. They are possible with
-anything. But the thing is to adjust oneself to one’s material.”
-
-And Volodya began to examine the shadows of the samovar, of the chairs,
-of his mother’s head, as well as the shadows cast on the table by the
-dishes; and he tried to catch a resemblance in all these shadows to
-something. His mother was speaking—Volodya was not listening properly.
-
-“How is Lesha Sitnikov getting on at school?” asked his mother.
-
-Volodya was studying then the shadow of the milk-jug. He gave a start,
-and answered hastily: “It’s a tom-cat.”
-
-“Volodya, you must be asleep,” said his astonished mother. “What
-tom-cat?”
-
-Volodya grew red.
-
-“I don’t know what’s got into my head,” he said. “I’m sorry, mother, I
-wasn’t listening.”
-
-IV
-
-The next evening, before tea, Volodya again thought of his shadows, and
-gave himself up to them. One shadow insisted on turning out badly, no
-matter how hard he stretched and bent his fingers.
-
-Volodya was so absorbed in this that he did not hear his mother coming.
-At the creaking of the door he quickly put the leaflet into his pocket
-and turned away, confused, from the wall. But his mother was already
-looking at his hands, and a tremor of fear lit up her eyes.
-
-“What are you doing, Volodya? What have you hidden?”
-
-“Nothing, really,” muttered Volodya, flushing and changing colour
-rapidly.
-
-It flashed upon her that Volodya wished to smoke, and that he had
-hidden a cigarette.
-
-“Volodya, show me at once what you are hiding,” she said in a
-frightened voice.
-
-“Really, mamma....”
-
-She caught Volodya by the elbow.
-
-“Must I feel in your pocket myself?”
-
-Volodya grew even redder, and pulled the little book out of his pocket.
-
-“Here it is,” he said, giving it to his mother.
-
-“Well, what is it?”
-
-“Well, here,” he explained, “on this side are the drawings, and here,
-as you see, are the shadows. I was trying to throw them on the wall,
-and I haven’t succeeded very well.”
-
-“What is there to hide here!” said his mother, becoming more tranquil.
-“Now show me what they look like.”
-
-Volodya, taken aback, began obediently to show his mother the shadows.
-
-“Now this is the profile of a bald-headed man. And this is the head of
-a hare.”
-
-“And so this is how you are studying your lessons!”
-
-“Only for a little, mother.”
-
-“For a little! Why are you blushing then, my dear? Well, I shan’t say
-anything more. I think I can depend on you to do what is right.”
-
-His mother moved her hand over his short, bristling hair, whereupon
-Volodya laughed and hid his flushing face under his mother’s elbow.
-
-Then his mother left him, and for a long time Volodya felt awkward and
-ashamed. His mother had caught him doing something that he himself
-would have ridiculed had he caught any of his companions doing it.
-
-Volodya knew that he was a clever lad, and he deemed himself serious;
-and this was, after all, a game fit only for little girls when they got
-together.
-
-He pushed the little book with the shadows deeper into the
-table-drawer, and did not take it out again for more than a week;
-indeed, he thought little about the shadows that week. Only in the
-evening sometimes, in changing from one lesson to another, he would
-smile at the recollection of the girl in the hat—there were, indeed,
-moments when he put his hand in the drawer to get the little book, but
-he always quickly remembered the shame he experienced when his mother
-first found him out, and this made him resume his work at once.
-
-V
-
-Volodya and his mother lived in their own house on the outskirts of the
-district town. Eugenia Stepanovna had been a widow for nine years. She
-was now thirty-five years old; she seemed young and handsome, and
-Volodya loved her tenderly. She lived entirely for her son, studied
-ancient languages for his sake, and shared all his school cares. A
-quiet and gentle woman, she looked somewhat apprehensively upon the
-world out of her large, benign eyes.
-
-They had one domestic. Praskovya was a widow; she was gruff, sturdy,
-and strong; she was forty-five years old, but in her stern taciturnity
-she was more like a woman a hundred years old.
-
-Whenever Volodya looked at her morose, stony face he wondered what she
-was thinking of in her kitchen during the long winter evenings, as the
-cold knitting-needles, clinking, shifted in her bony fingers with a
-regular movement, and her dry lips stirred yet uttered no sound. Was
-she recalling her drunken husband, or her children who had died
-earlier? or was she musing upon her lonely and homeless old age?
-
-Her stony face seemed hopelessly gloomy and austere.
-
-VI
-
-It was a long autumn evening. On the other side of the wall were the
-wind and the rain.
-
-How wearily, how indifferently the lamp flared! Volodya, propping
-himself up on his elbow, leant his whole body over to the left and
-looked at the white wall and at the white window-blinds.
-
-The pale flowers were almost invisible on the wall-paper ... the wall
-was a melancholy white....
-
-The shaded lamp subdued the bright glare of light. The entire upper
-portion of the room was twilit.
-
-Volodya lifted his right arm. A long, faintly outlined, confused shadow
-crept across the shaded wall.
-
-It was the shadow of an angel, flying heaven-ward from a depraved and
-afflicted world; it was a translucent shadow, spreading its broad wings
-and reposing its bowed head sadly upon its breast.
-
-Would not the angel, with his gentle hands, carry away with him
-something significant yet despised of this world?
-
-Volodya sighed. He let his arm fall languidly. He let his depressed
-eyes rest on his books.
-
-It was a long autumn evening.... The wall was a melancholy white.... On
-the other side of the wall something wept and rustled.
-
-VII
-
-Volodya’s mother found him a second time with the shadows.
-
-This time the bull’s head was a success, and he was delighted. He made
-the bull stretch out his neck, and the bull lowed.
-
-His mother was less pleased.
-
-“So this is how you are taking up your time,” she said reproachfully.
-
-“For a little, mamma,” whispered Volodya, embarrassed.
-
-“You might at least save this for a more suitable time,” his mother
-went on. “And you are no longer a little boy. Aren’t you ashamed to
-waste your time on such nonsense!”
-
-“Mamma, dear, I shan’t do it again.”
-
-But Volodya found it difficult to keep his promise. He enjoyed making
-shadows, and the desire to make them came to him often, especially
-during an uninteresting lesson.
-
-This amusement occupied much of his time on some evenings and
-interfered with his lessons. He had to make up for it afterwards and to
-lose some sleep. How could he give up his amusement?
-
-Volodya succeeded in evolving several new figures, and not by means of
-the fingers alone. These figures lived on the wall, and it even seemed
-to Volodya at times that they talked to him and entertained him.
-
-But Volodya was a dreamer even before then.
-
-VIII
-
-It was night. Volodya’s room was dark. He had gone to bed but he could
-not sleep. He was lying on his back and was looking at the ceiling.
-
-Some one was walking in the street with a lantern. His shadow traversed
-the ceiling, among the red spots of light thrown by the lantern. It was
-evident that the lantern swung in the hands of the passer-by—the shadow
-wavered and seemed agitated.
-
-Volodya felt a sadness and a fear. He quickly pulled the bed-cover over
-his head, and, trembling in his haste, he turned on his right side and
-began to encourage himself.
-
-He then felt soothed and warm. His mind began to weave sweet, naïve
-fancies, the fancies which visited him usually before sleep.
-
-Often when he went to bed he felt suddenly afraid; he felt as though he
-were becoming smaller and weaker. He would then hide among the pillows,
-and gradually became soothed and loving, and wished his mother were
-there that he might put his arms round her neck and kiss her.
-
-IX
-
-The grey twilight was growing denser. The shadows merged. Volodya felt
-depressed. But here was the lamp. The light poured itself on the green
-tablecloth, the vague, beloved shadows appeared on the wall.
-
-Volodya suddenly felt glad and animated, and made haste to get the
-little grey book. The bull began to low ... the young lady to laugh
-uproariously.... What evil, round eyes the bald-headed gentleman was
-making!
-
-Then he tried his own. It was the steppe. Here was a wayfarer with his
-knapsack. Volodya seemed to hear the endless, monotonous song of the
-road....
-
-Volodya felt both joy and sadness.
-
-X
-
-“Volodya, it’s the third time I’ve seen you with the little book. Do
-you spend whole evenings admiring your fingers?”
-
-Volodya stood uneasily at the table, like a truant caught, and he
-turned the pages of the leaflet with hot fingers.
-
-“Give it to me,” said his mother.
-
-Volodya, confused, put out his hand with the leaflet. His mother took
-it, said nothing, and went out; while Volodya sat down over his
-copy-books.
-
-He felt ashamed that, by his stubbornness, he had offended his mother,
-and he felt vexed that she had taken the booklet from him; he was even
-more vexed at himself for letting the matter go so far. He felt his
-awkward position, and his vexation with his mother troubled him: he had
-scruples in being angry with her, yet he couldn’t help it. And because
-he had scruples he felt even more angry.
-
-“Well, let her take it,” he said to himself at last, “I can get along
-without it.”
-
-And, in truth, Volodya had the figures in his memory, and used the
-little book merely for verification.
-
-XI
-
-In the meantime his mother opened the little book with the shadows—and
-became lost in thought.
-
-“I wonder what’s fascinating about them?” she mused. “It is strange
-that such a good, clever boy should suddenly, become wrapped up in such
-nonsense! No, that means it’s not mere nonsense. What, then, is it?”
-she pursued her questioning of herself.
-
-A strange fear took possession of her; she felt malignant toward these
-black pictures, yet quailed before them.
-
-She rose and lighted a candle. She approached the wall, the little grey
-book still in her hand, and paused in her wavering agitation.
-
-“Yes, it is important to get to the bottom of this,” she resolved, and
-began to reproduce the shadows from the first to the last.
-
-She persisted most patiently with her hands and her fingers, until she
-succeeded in reproducing the figure she desired. A confused,
-apprehensive feelings stirred within her. She tried to conquer it. But
-her fear fascinated her as it grew stronger. Her hands trembled, while
-her thought, cowed by life’s twilight, ran on to meet the approaching
-sorrows.
-
-She suddenly heard her son’s footsteps. She trembled, hid the little
-book, and blew out the candle.
-
-Volodya entered and stopped in the doorway, confused by the stern look
-of his mother as she stood by the wall in a strange, uneasy attitude.
-
-“What do you want?” asked his mother in a harsh, uneven voice.
-
-A vague conjecture ran across Volodya’s mind, but he quickly repelled
-it and began to talk to his mother.
-
-XII
-
-Then Volodya left her.
-
-She paced up and down the room a number of times. She noticed that her
-shadow followed her on the floor, and, strange to say, it was the first
-time in her life that her own shadow had made her uneasy. The thought
-that there was a shadow assailed her mind unceasingly—and Eugenia
-Stepanovna, for some reason, was afraid of this thought, and even tried
-not to look at her shadow.
-
-But the shadow crept after her and taunted her. Eugenia Stepanovna
-tried to think of something else—but in vain.
-
-She suddenly paused, pale and agitated.
-
-“Well, it’s a shadow, a shadow!” she exclaimed aloud, stamping her foot
-with a strange irritation, “what of it?”
-
-Then all at once she reflected that it was stupid to make a fuss and to
-stamp her feet, and she became quiet.
-
-She approached the mirror. Her face was paler than usual, and her lips
-quivered with a kind of strange hate.
-
-“It’s nerves,” she thought; “I must take myself in hand.”
-
-XIII
-
-Twilight was falling. Volodya grew pensive.
-
-“Let’s go for a stroll, Volodya,” said his mother.
-
-But in the street there were also shadows everywhere, mysterious,
-elusive evening shadows; and they whispered in Volodya’s ear something
-that was familiar and infinitely sad.
-
-In the clouded sky two or three stars looked out, and they seemed
-equally distant and equally strange to Volodya and to the shadows that
-surrounded him.
-
-“Mamma,” he said, oblivious of the fact that he had interrupted her as
-she was telling him something, “what a pity that it is impossible to
-reach those stars.”
-
-His mother looked up at the sky and answered: “I don’t see that it’s
-necessary. Our place is on earth. It is better for us here. It’s quite
-another thing there.”
-
-“How faintly they glimmer! They ought to be glad of it.”
-
-“Why?”
-
-“If they shone more strongly they would cast shadows.”
-
-“Oh, Volodya, why do you think only of shadows?”
-
-“I didn’t mean to, mamma,” said Volodya in a penitent voice.
-
-XIV
-
-Volodya worked harder than ever at his lessons; he was afraid to hurt
-his mother by being lazy. But he employed all his invention in grouping
-the objects on his table in a way that would produce new and ever more
-fantastic shadows. He put this here and that there—anything that came
-to his hands—and he rejoiced when outlines appeared on the white wall
-that his mind could grasp. There was an intimacy between him and these
-shadowy outlines, and they were very dear to him. They were not dumb,
-they spoke to him, and Volodya understood their inarticulate speech.
-
-He understood why the dejected wayfarer murmured as he wandered upon
-the long road, the autumn wetness under his feet, a stick in his
-trembling hand, a knapsack on his bowed back.
-
-He understood why the snow-covered forest, its boughs crackling with
-frost, complained, as it stood sadly dreaming in the winter stillness;
-and he understood why the lonely crow cawed on the old oak, and why the
-bustling squirrel looked sadly out of its tree-hollow.
-
-He understood why the decrepit and homeless old beggar-women sobbed in
-the dismal autumn wind, as they shivered in their rags in the crowded
-graveyard, among the crumbling crosses and the hopelessly black tombs.
-
-There was self-forgetfulness in this, and also tormenting woe!
-
-XV
-
-Volodya’s mother observed that he continued to play.
-
-She said to him after dinner: “At least, you might get interested in
-something else.”
-
-“In what?”
-
-“You might read.”
-
-“No sooner do I begin to read than I want to cast shadows.”
-
-“If you’d only try something else—say soap-bubbles.”
-
-Volodya smiled sadly.
-
-“No sooner do the bubbles fly up than the shadows follow them on the
-wall.”
-
-“Volodya, unless you take care your nerves will be shattered. Already
-you have grown thinner because of this.”
-
-“Mamma, you exaggerate.”
-
-“No, Volodya.... Don’t I know that you’ve begun to sleep badly and to
-talk nonsense in your sleep. Now, just think, suppose you die!”
-
-“What are you saying!”
-
-“God forbid, but if you go mad, or die, I shall suffer horribly.”
-
-Volodya laughed and threw himself on his mother’s neck.
-
-“Mamma dear, I shan’t die. I won’t do it again.”
-
-She saw that he was crying now.
-
-“That will do,” she said. “God is merciful. Now you see how nervous you
-are. You’re laughing and crying at the same time.”
-
-XVI
-
-Volodya’s mother began to look at him with careful and anxious eyes.
-Every trifle now agitated her.
-
-She noticed that Volodya’s head was somewhat asymmetrical: his one ear
-was higher than the other, his chin slightly turned to one side. She
-looked in the mirror, and further remarked that Volodya had inherited
-this too from her.
-
-“It may be,” she thought, “one of the characteristics of unfortunate
-heredity—degeneration; in which case where is the root of the evil? Is
-it my fault or his father’s?”
-
-Eugenia Stepanovna recalled her dead husband. He was a most
-kind-hearted and most lovable man, somewhat weak-willed, with rash
-impulses. He was by nature a zealot and a mystic, and he dreamt of a
-social Utopia, and went among the people. He had been rather given to
-tippling the last years of his life.
-
-He died young; he was but thirty-five years old.
-
-Volodya’s mother even took her boy to the doctor and described his
-symptoms. The doctor, a cheerful young man, listened to her, then
-laughed and gave counsel concerning diet and way of life, throwing in a
-few witty remarks; he wrote out a prescription in a happy, off-hand
-way, and he added playfully, with a slap on Volodya’s shoulder: “But
-the very best medicine would be—a birch.”
-
-Volodya’s mother felt the affront deeply, but she followed all the rest
-of the instructions faithfully.
-
-XVII
-
-Volodya was sitting in his class. He felt depressed. He listened
-inattentively.
-
-He raised his eyes. A shadow was moving along the ceiling near the
-front wall. Volodya observed that it came in through the first window.
-To begin with it fell from the window toward the centre of the
-class-room, but later it started forward rather quickly away from
-Volodya—evidently some one was walking in the street, just by the
-window. While this shadow was still moving another shadow came through
-the second window, falling, as did the first one, toward the back wall,
-but later it began to turn quickly toward the front wall. The same
-thing happened at the third and the fourth windows; the shadows fell in
-the class-room on the ceiling, and in the degree that the passer-by
-moved forward they retreated backward.
-
-“This,” thought Volodya, “is not at all the same as in an open place,
-where the shadow follows the man; when the man goes forward, the shadow
-glides behind, and other shadows again meet him in the front.”
-
-Volodya turned his eyes on the gaunt figure of the tutor. His callous,
-yellow face annoyed Volodya. He looked for his shadow and found it on
-the wall, just behind the tutor’s chair. The monstrous shape bent over
-and rocked from side to side, but it had neither a yellow face nor a
-malignant smile, and Volodya looked at it with joy. His thoughts
-scampered off somewhere far away, and he heard not a single thing of
-what was being said.
-
-“Lovlev!” His tutor called his name.
-
-Volodya rose, as was the custom, and stood looking stupidly at the
-tutor. He had such an absent look that his companions tittered, while
-the tutor’s face assumed a critical expression.
-
-Volodya heard the tutor attack him with sarcasm and abuse. He trembled
-from shame and from weakness. The tutor announced that he would give
-Volodya “one” for his ignorance and his inattention, and he asked him
-to sit down.
-
-Volodya smiled in a dull way, and tried to think what had happened to
-him.
-
-XVIII
-
-The “one” was the first in Volodya’s life! It made him feel rather
-strange.
-
-“Lovlev!” his comrades taunted him, laughing and nudging him, “you
-caught it that time! Congratulations!”
-
-Volodya felt awkward. He did not yet know how to behave in these
-circumstances.
-
-“What if I have,” he answered peevishly, “what business is it of
-yours?”
-
-“Lovlev!” the lazy Snegirev shouted, “our regiment has been
-reinforced!”
-
-His first “one”! And he had yet to tell his mother.
-
-He felt ashamed and humiliated. He felt as though he bore in the
-knapsack on his back a strangely heavy and awkward burden—the “one”
-stuck clumsily in his consciousness and seemed to fit in with nothing
-else in his mind.
-
-“One”!
-
-He could not get used to the thought about the “one,” and yet could not
-think of anything else. When the policeman, who stood near the school,
-looked at him with his habitual severity Volodya could not help
-thinking: “What if you knew that I’ve received ‘one’!”
-
-It was all so awkward and so unusual. Volodya did not know how to hold
-his head and where to put his hands; there was uneasiness in his whole
-bearing.
-
-Besides, he had to assume a care-free look before his comrades and to
-talk of something else!
-
-His comrades! Volodya was convinced that they were all very glad
-because of his “one.”
-
-XIX
-
-Volodya’s mother looked at the “one” and turned her uncomprehending
-eyes on her son. Then again she glanced at the report and exclaimed
-quietly:
-
-“Volodya!”
-
-Volodya stood before her, and he felt intensely small. He looked at the
-folds of his mother’s dress and at his mother’s pale hands; his
-trembling eyelids were conscious of her frightened glances fixed upon
-them.
-
-“What’s this?” she asked.
-
-“Don’t you worry, mamma,” burst out Volodya suddenly; “after all, it’s
-my first!”
-
-“Your first!”
-
-“It may happen to any one. And really it was all an accident.”
-
-“Oh, Volodya, Volodya!”
-
-Volodya began to cry and to rub his tears, child-like, over his face
-with the palm of his hand.
-
-“Mamma darling, don’t be angry,” he whispered.
-
-“That’s what comes of your shadows,” said his mother.
-
-Volodya felt the tears in her voice. His heart was touched. He glanced
-at his mother. She was crying. He turned quickly toward her.
-
-“Mamma, mamma,” he kept on repeating, while kissing her hands, “I’ll
-drop the shadows, really I will.”
-
-XX
-
-Volodya made a strong effort of the will and refrained from the
-shadows, despite strong temptation. He tried to make amends for his
-neglected lessons.
-
-But the shadows beckoned to him persistently. In vain he ceased to
-invite them with his fingers, in vain he ceased to arrange objects that
-would cast a new shadow on the wall; the shadows themselves surrounded
-him—they were unavoidable, importunate shadows.
-
-Objects themselves no longer interested Volodya, he almost ceased to
-see them; all his attention was centred on their shadows.
-
-When he was walking home and the sun happened to peep through the
-autumn clouds, as through smoky vestments, he was overjoyed because
-there was everywhere an awakening of the shadows.
-
-The shadows from the lamplight hovered near him in the evening at home.
-
-The shadows were everywhere. There were the sharp shadows from the
-flames, there were the fainter shadows from diffused daylight. All of
-them crowded toward Volodya, recrossed each other, and enveloped him in
-an unbreakable network.
-
-Some of the shadows were incomprehensible, mysterious; others reminded
-him of something, suggested something. But there were also the beloved,
-the intimate, the familiar shadows; these Volodya himself, however
-casually, sought out and caught everywhere from among the confused
-wavering of the others, the more remote shadows. But they were sad,
-these beloved, familiar shadows.
-
-Whenever Volodya found himself seeking these shadows his conscience
-tormented him, and he went to his mother to make a clean breast of it.
-
-Once it happened that Volodya could not conquer his temptation. He
-stood up close to the wall and made a shadow of the bull. His mother
-found him.
-
-“Again!” she exclaimed angrily. “I really shall have to ask the
-director to put you into the small room.”
-
-Volodya flushed violently and answered morosely: “There is a wall there
-also. The walls are everywhere.”
-
-“Volodya,” exclaimed his mother sorrowfully, “what are you saying!”
-
-But Volodya already repented of his rudeness, and he was crying.
-
-“Mamma, I don’t know myself what’s happening to me!”
-
-XXI
-
-Volodya’s mother had not yet conquered her superstitious dread of
-shadows. She began very often to think that she, like Volodya, was
-losing herself in the contemplation of shadows. Then she tried to
-comfort herself.
-
-“What stupid thoughts!” she said. “Thank God, all will pass happily; he
-will be like this a little while, then he will stop.”
-
-But her heart trembled with a secret fear, and her thought, frightened
-of life persistently ran to meet approaching sorrows.
-
-She began in the melancholy moments of waking to examine her soul, and
-all her life would pass before her; she saw its emptiness, its
-futility, and its aimlessness. It seemed but a senseless glimmer of
-shadows, which merged in the denser twilight.
-
-“Why have I lived?” she asked herself. “Was it for my son? But why?
-That he too shall become a prey to shadows, a maniac with a narrow
-horizon, chained to his illusions, to restless appearances upon a
-lifeless wall? And he too will enter upon life, and he will make of
-life a chain of impressions, phantasmic and futile, like a dream.”
-
-She sat down in the armchair by the window, and she thought and
-thought. Her thoughts were bitter, oppressive. She began, in her
-despair, to wring her beautiful white hands.
-
-Then her thoughts wandered. She looked at her outstretched hands, and
-began to imagine what sort of shapes they would cast on the wall in
-their present attitude. She suddenly paused and jumped up from her
-chair in fright.
-
-“My God!” she exclaimed. “This is madness.”
-
-XXII
-
-She watched Volodya at dinner.
-
-“How pale and thin he has grown,” she said to herself, “since the
-unfortunate little book fell into his hands. He’s changed entirely—in
-character and in everything else. It is said that character changes
-before death. What if he dies? But no, no. God forbid!”
-
-The spoon trembled in her hand. She looked up at the ikon with timid
-eyes.
-
-“Volodya, why don’t you finish your soup?” she asked, looking
-frightened.
-
-“I don’t feel like it, mamma.”
-
-“Volodya, darling, do as I tell you; it is bad for you not to eat your
-soup.”
-
-Volodya gave a tired smile and slowly finished his soup. His mother had
-filled his plate fuller than usual. He leant back in his chair and was
-on the point of saying that the soup was not good. But his mother’s
-worried look restrained him, and he merely smiled weakly.
-
-“And now I’ve had enough,” he said.
-
-“Oh no, Volodya, I have all your favourite dishes to-day.”
-
-Volodya sighed sadly. He knew that when his mother spoke of his
-favourite dishes it meant that she would coax him to eat. He guessed
-that even after tea his mother would prevail upon him, as she did the
-day before, to eat meat.
-
-XXIII
-
-In the evening Volodya’s mother said to him: “Volodya dear, you’ll
-waste your time again; perhaps you’d better keep the door open!”
-
-Volodya began his lessons. But he felt vexed because the door had been
-left open at his back, and because his mother went past it now and
-then.
-
-“I cannot go on like this,” he shouted, moving his chair noisily. “I
-cannot do anything when the door is wide open.”
-
-“Volodya, is there any need to shout so?” his mother reproached him
-softly.
-
-Volodya already felt repentant, and he began to cry.
-
-“Don’t you see, Volodenka, that I’m worried about you, and that I want
-to save you from your thoughts.”
-
-“Mamma, sit here with me,” said Volodya.
-
-His mother took a book and sat down at Volodya’s table. For a few
-minutes Volodya worked calmly. But gradually the presence of his mother
-began to annoy him.
-
-“I’m being watched just like a sick man,” he thought spitefully.
-
-His thoughts were constantly interrupted, and he was biting his lips.
-His mother remarked this at last, and she left the room.
-
-But Volodya felt no relief. He was tormented with regret at showing his
-impatience. He tried to go on with his work but he could not. Then he
-went to his mother.
-
-“Mamma, why did you leave me?” he asked timidly.
-
-XXIV
-
-It was the eve of a holiday. The little image-lamps burned before the
-ikons.
-
-It was late and it was quiet. Volodya’s mother was not asleep. In the
-mysterious dark of her bedroom she fell on her knees, she prayed and
-she wept, sobbing out now and then like a child.
-
-Her braids of hair trailed upon her white dress; her shoulders
-trembled. She raised her hands to her breast in a praying posture, and
-she looked with tearful eyes at the ikon. The image-lamp moved almost
-imperceptibly on its chains with her passionate breathing. The shadows
-rocked, they crowded in the corners, they stirred behind the reliquary,
-and they murmured mysteriously. There was a hopeless yearning in their
-murmurings and an incomprehensible sadness in their wavering movements.
-
-At last she rose, looking pale, with strange, widely dilated eyes, and
-she reeled slightly on her benumbed legs.
-
-She went quietly to Volodya. The shadows surrounded her, they rustled
-softly behind her back, they crept at her feet, and some of them, as
-fine as the threads of a spider’s web, fell upon her shoulders and,
-looking into her large eyes, murmured incomprehensibly.
-
-She approached her son’s bed cautiously. His face was pale in the light
-of the image-lamp. Strange, sharp shadows lay upon him. His breathing
-was inaudible; he slept so tranquilly that his mother was frightened.
-
-She stood there in the midst of the vague shadows, and she felt upon
-her the breath of vague fears.
-
-XXV
-
-The high vaults of the church were dark and mysterious. The evening
-chants rose toward these vaults and resounded there with an exultant
-sadness. The dark images, lit up by the yellow flickers of wax candles,
-looked stern and mysterious. The warm breathing of the wax and of the
-incense filled the air with lofty sorrow.
-
-Eugenia Stepanovna placed a candle before the ikon of the Mother of
-God. Then she knelt down. But her prayer was distraught.
-
-She looked at her candle. Its flame wavered. The shadows from the
-candles fell on Eugenia Stepanovna’s black dress and on the floor, and
-rocked unsteadily. The shadows hovered on the walls of the church and
-lost themselves in the heights between the dark vaults, where the
-exultant, sad songs resounded.
-
-XXVI
-
-It was another night.
-
-Volodya awoke suddenly. The darkness enveloped him, and it stirred
-without sound. He freed his hands, then raised them, and followed their
-movements with his eyes. He did not see his hands in the darkness, but
-he imagined that he saw them wanly stirring before him. They were dark
-and mysterious, and they held in them the affliction and the murmur of
-lonely yearning.
-
-His mother also did not sleep; her grief tormented her. She lit a
-candle and went quietly toward her son’s room to see how he slept. She
-opened the door noiselessly and looked timidly at Volodya’s bed.
-
-A streak of yellow light trembled on the wall and intersected Volodya’s
-red bed-cover. The lad stretched his arms toward the light and, with a
-beating heart, followed the shadows. He did not even ask himself where
-the light came from. He was wholly obsessed by the shadows. His eyes
-were fixed on the wall, and there was a gleam of madness in them.
-
-The streak of light broadened, the shadows moved in a startled way;
-they were morose and hunch-backed, like homeless, roaming women who
-were hurrying to reach somewhere with old burdens that dragged them
-down.
-
-Volodya’s mother, trembling with fright, approached the bed and quietly
-aroused her son.
-
-“Volodya!”
-
-Volodya came to himself. For some seconds he glanced at his mother with
-large eyes, then he shivered from head to foot and, springing out of
-bed, fell at his mother’s feet, embraced her knees, and wept.
-
-“What dreams you do dream, Volodya!” exclaimed his mother sorrowfully.
-
-XXVII
-
-“Volodya,” said his mother to him at breakfast, “you must stop it,
-darling; you will become a wreck if you spend your nights also with the
-shadows.”
-
-The pale lad lowered his head in dejection. His lips quivered
-nervously.
-
-“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” continued his mother. “Perhaps we had
-better play a little while together with the shadows each evening, and
-then we will study your lessons. What do you say?”
-
-Volodya grew somewhat animated.
-
-“Mamma, you’re a darling!” he said shyly.
-
-XXVIII
-
-In the street Volodya felt drowsy and timid. The fog was spreading; it
-was cold and dismal. The outlines of the houses looked strange in the
-mist. The morose, human silhouettes moved through the filmy atmosphere
-like ominous, unkindly shadows. Everything seemed so intensely unreal.
-The cab-horse, which stood drowsily at the street-crossing, appeared
-like a huge fabulous beast.
-
-The policeman gave Volodya a hostile look. The crow on the low roof
-foreboded sorrow in Volodya’s ear. But sorrow was already in his heart;
-it made him sad to note how everything was hostile to him.
-
-A small dog with an unhealthy coat barked at him from behind a gate and
-Volodya felt a strange depression. And the urchins of the street seemed
-ready to laugh at him and to humiliate him.
-
-In the past he would have settled scores with them as they deserved,
-but now fear lived in his breast; it robbed his arms of their strength
-and caused them to hang by his sides.
-
-When Volodya returned home Praskovya opened the door to him, and she
-looked at him with moroseness and hostility. Volodya felt uneasy. He
-quickly went into the house, and refrained from looking at Praskovya’s
-depressing face again.
-
-XXIX
-
-His mother was sitting alone. It was twilight, and she felt sad.
-
-A light suddenly glimmered somewhere.
-
-Volodya ran in, animated, cheerful, and with large, somewhat wild eyes.
-
-“Mamma, the lamp has been lit; let’s play a little.”
-
-She smiled and followed Volodya.
-
-“Mamma, I’ve thought of a new figure,” said Volodya excitedly, as he
-placed the lamp in the desired position. “Look.... Do you see? This is
-the steppe, covered with snow, and the snow falls—a regular storm.”
-
-Volodya raised his hands and arranged them.
-
-“Now look, here is an old man, a wayfarer. He is up to his knees in
-snow. It is difficult to walk. He is alone. It is an open field. The
-village is far away. He is tired, he is cold; it is terrible. He is all
-bent—he’s such an old man.”
-
-Volodya’s mother helped him with his fingers.
-
-“Oh!” exclaimed Volodya in great joy. “The wind is tearing his cap off,
-it is blowing his hair loose, it has thrown him in the snow. The drifts
-are getting higher. Mamma, mamma, do you hear?”
-
-“It’s a blinding storm.”
-
-“And he?”
-
-“The old man?”
-
-“Do you hear, he is moaning?”
-
-“Help!”
-
-Both of them, pale, were looking at the wall. Volodya’s hands shook,
-the old man fell.
-
-His mother was the first to arouse herself.
-
-“And now it’s time to work,” she said.
-
-XXX
-
-It was morning. Volodya’s mother was alone. Rapt in her confused,
-dismal thoughts, she was walking from one room to another. Her shadow
-outlined itself vaguely on the white door in the light of the
-mist-dimmed sun. She stopped at the door and lifted her arm with a
-large, curious movement. The shadow on the door wavered and began to
-murmur something familiar and sad. A strange feeling of comfort came
-over Eugenia Stepanovna as she stood, a wild smile on her face, before
-the door and moved both her hands, watching the trembling shadows.
-
-Then she heard Praskovya coming, and she realized that she was doing an
-absurd thing. Once more she felt afraid and sad.
-
-“We ought to make a change,” she thought, “and go elsewhere, somewhere
-farther away, to a new atmosphere. We must run away from here, simply
-run away!”
-
-And suddenly she remembered Volodya’s words: “There is a wall there
-also. The walls are everywhere.”
-
-“There is nowhere to run!”
-
-In her despair she wrung her pale, beautiful hands.
-
-XXXI
-
-It was evening.
-
-A lighted lamp stood on the floor in Volodya’s room. Just behind it,
-near the wall, sat Volodya and his mother. They were looking at the
-wall and were making strange movements with their hands.
-
-Shadows stirred and trembled upon the wall.
-
-Volodya and his mother understood them. Both were smiling sadly and
-were saying weird and impossible things to each other. Their faces were
-peaceful and their eyes looked clear; their joyousness was hopelessly
-sorrowful and their sorrow was wildly joyous.
-
-In their eyes was a glimmer of madness, blessed madness.
-
-The night was descending upon them.
-
-
-
-THE GLIMMER OF HUNGER
-
-
-Sergei Matveyevich Moshkin had dined very well that day—that is
-comparatively well—when you stop to consider that he was only a village
-schoolmaster who had lost his place, and had been knocking about
-already a year or so on strange stairways, in search of work.
-Nevertheless, the glimmer of hunger persisted in his dark, sad eyes,
-and it gave his lean, smooth face a kind of unlooked-for significance.
-
-Moshkin spent his last three-rouble note on this dinner, and now a few
-coppers jingled in his pocket, while his purse contained a smooth
-fifteen-copeck piece. He banqueted out of sheer joy. He knew quite well
-that it was stupid to rejoice prematurely and without sufficient cause.
-But he had been seeking work so long, and had been having such a time
-of it, that even the shadow of a hope gave him joy.
-
-Moshkin had put an advertisement in the _Novo Vremya_. He announced
-himself a pedagogue who had command of the pen; he based his claim on
-the fact that he corresponded for a provincial newspaper. This, indeed,
-was why he had lost his place; it was discovered that he had written
-articles reflecting unfavourably on the authorities; the chief official
-of the district called the attention of the inspector of public schools
-to this, and the inspector, of course, would not brook such doings by
-any of his staff.
-
-“We don’t want that kind,” the inspector said to him in a personal
-interview.
-
-Moshkin asked: “What kind do you want?”
-
-The inspector, without replying to this irrelevant question, remarked
-dryly: “Good-bye. I hope to meet you in the next world.”
-
-Moshkin stated further in his advertisement that he wished to be a
-secretary, a permanent collaborator on a newspaper, a private tutor;
-also that he was willing to accompany his employer to the Caucasus or
-the Crimea, and to make himself useful in the house, etc. He gave an
-assurance of his reasonableness, and that he had no objections to
-travelling.
-
-He waited. One postcard came. It inspired him with hope; he hardly knew
-why.
-
-It came in the morning while Moshkin was drinking his tea. The landlady
-brought it in herself. There was a glitter in her dark, snake-like eyes
-as she remarked tauntingly:
-
-“Here’s some correspondence for Mr. Sergei Matveyevich Moshkin.”
-
-And while he was reading she smoothed her black hair down her
-triangular yellow forehead, and hissed: “What’s the good of getting
-letters? Much better if you paid for your board and lodging. A letter
-won’t feed your hunger; you ought to go among people, look for a job
-and not expect things to come to you.”
-
-He read:
-
-“_Be so good as to come in for a talk, between_ 6 _and_ 7 _in the
-evening, at Row_ 6, _House_ 78, _Apartment_ 57.”
-
-
-There was no signature.
-
-Moshkin glanced angrily at his landlady. She was broad and erect, and
-as she stood there at the door quite calm, with lowered arms, she was
-like a doll; she seemed deliberately malicious, and she looked at him
-with her motionless, anger-provoking eyes.
-
-Moshkin exclaimed: “Basta!”
-
-He hit the table with his fist. Then he rose, and paced up and down the
-room. He kept on repeating: “Basta!”
-
-The landlady asked quietly and spitefully: “Are you going to pay or
-not, you Kazan and Astrakhan correspondent, you impudent face?”
-
-Moshkin stopped in front of her, put out his empty palm, and said:
-“That’s all I have.”
-
-He said nothing about his last three-rouble note. The landlady hissed:
-“I’m not hard on you, but I need money. Wood’s seven roubles a load
-now, how am I to pay it? You can’t live on nothing. Can’t you find some
-one to look after you? You’re a young man of ability, and you have
-quite a charming appearance. You can always get hold of some goose or
-other. But how am I to pay? Whichever way you turn you’ve got to put
-down money.”
-
-Moshkin replied: “Don’t worry, Praskovya Petrovna, I am getting a job
-to-night, and I’ll pay what I owe you.”
-
-He began to pace the room again, making a flapping noise with his
-slippers.
-
-The landlady paused at the door, and kept on with her grumbling. When
-she went at last, she cried out: “Another in my place would have shown
-you the door long ago.”
-
-For some time after she had left there still remained in his memory her
-strange, erect figure, with relaxed arms; her broad, yellow forehead,
-shaped like a triangle under her smoothly-oiled hair; her worn yellow
-dress, cut away like a narrow triangle, and her red, sniffling nose
-shaped like a small triangle. Three triangles in all.
-
-All day long Moshkin was hungry, cheerful, and indignant. He walked
-aimlessly in the streets. He looked at the girls, and they all seemed
-to him to be lovable, happy, and accessible—to the rich. He stopped
-before the shop windows, where expensive goods were displayed. The
-glimmer of hunger in his eyes grew keener and keener.
-
-He bought a newspaper. He read as he sat on a form in the square, where
-the children laughed and ran, where the nurses tried to look
-fashionable, where there was a smell of dust and of consumptive
-trees—and where the smells of the street and of the garden mingled
-unpleasantly, reminding him of the smell of gutta-percha. Moshkin was
-very much struck by an account in the newspaper of a hungry fanatic who
-had slashed a picture by a celebrated artist in the museum.
-
-“Now that’s something I can understand!”
-
-Moshkin walked briskly along the path. He repeated: “Now that’s
-something I can understand!”
-
-And afterwards, as he walked in the streets and looked at the huge and
-stately houses, at the exposed wealth of the shops, at the elegant
-dress of the people of fashion, at the swiftly moving carriages, at all
-these beauties and comforts of life, accessible to all who have money,
-and inaccessible to him—as he looked and observed and envied, he felt
-more and more keenly the mood of destructive rage.
-
-“Now that’s something I can understand!”
-
-He walked up to a stout and pompous house-porter, and shouted: “Now
-that’s something I can understand!”
-
-The porter looked at him with silent scorn. Moshkin laughed joyously,
-and said: “Clever chaps those anarchists!”
-
-“Be off with you!” exclaimed the porter angrily. “And see that you
-don’t over-eat yourself.”
-
-Moshkin was about to leave him but stopped short in fright. There was a
-policeman quite near, and his white gloves stood out with startling
-sharpness. Moshkin thought in his sadness:
-
-“A bomb might come in handy here.”
-
-The porter spat angrily after him, and turned away.
-
-Moshkin walked on. At six o’clock he entered a restaurant of the middle
-rank. He chose a table by the window. He had some vodka, and followed
-it with anchovies. He ordered a seventy-five copeck dinner. He had a
-bottle of chablis on ice; after dinner a liqueur. He got slightly
-intoxicated. His head went round at the sound of music. He did not take
-his change. He left, reeling slightly, accompanied respectfully by a
-porter, into whose hand he stuck a twenty-copeck piece.
-
-He looked at his nickelled watch. It was just past seven. It was time
-to go. He had to make haste. They might hire another. He strode
-impetuously toward his destination.
-
-He was hindered by: dug up pavements; superannuated, eternally
-somnolent cabbies, at street crossings; passers-by, especially
-_muzhiks_ and women; those who came toward him, without stepping aside
-at all, or who stepped aside more often to the left than to the
-right—while those whom he had to overtake joggled along indifferently
-on the narrow way, and it was hard to tell at once on which side to
-pass them; beggars—these clung to him; and the mechanical process of
-walking itself.
-
-How difficult to conquer space and time when one is in a hurry! Truly
-the earth drew him to itself and he purchased every step with violence
-and exhaustion. He felt pains in his legs. This increased his spite,
-and intensified the glimmer of hunger in his eyes.
-
-Moshkin thought:
-
-“I’d like to chuck it all to the devil! To all the devils!”
-
-At last he got there.
-
-Here was the Row, and here was House No. 78. It was a four-storey
-house, in a state of neglect; the two approaches had a gloomy look, the
-gates in the middle stood wide agape. He looked at the plates at the
-approaches; the first numbers were here, and there was no No. 57. No
-one was in sight. There was a white button at the gates; and on the
-brass plate, below, buried under dirt, was the word “porter.”
-
-He pressed the button and entered the gate to look for the directory of
-the tenants. Before he had got that far he was met by the porter, a man
-of insinuating appearance, with a black beard.
-
-“Where is apartment No. 57?”
-
-Moshkin asked the question in a careless manner, borrowed from the
-district official who had caused him to lose his place. He also knew
-from experience that one must address porters just like this, and not
-like that. Wandering in strange gates and on strange staircases gives
-one a certain polish.
-
-The porter asked somewhat suspiciously: “Who do you want?”
-
-Moshkin drawled out his words with artless carelessness: “I don’t
-exactly know. I’ve come in answer to an announcement. I’ve received a
-letter, but the name is not signed. Only the address is given. Who
-lives at No. 57?”
-
-“Madame Engelhardova,” said the porter.
-
-“Engelhardt?” asked Moshkin.
-
-The porter repeated: “Engelhardova.”
-
-Moshkin smiled. “And what’s her Russian name?”
-
-“Elena Petrovna,” the porter answered.
-
-“Is she a bad-tempered hag?” asked Moshkin for some reason or other.
-
-“No-o, she’s a young lady. Quite stylish. Turn to the right of the
-gate.”
-
-“Only the first numbers are given there,” said Moshkin.
-
-The porter said: “No, you’ll also find 57 there. At the very bottom.”
-
-Moshkin asked: “What does she do? Does she run a business of some sort?
-A school? Or a journal?”
-
-No. Madame Engelhardova had neither a school, nor a journal.
-
-“She lives on her capital,” explained the porter.
-
-Madame Engelhardova’s maid, who looked like a village girl, led him
-into the drawing-room, to the right of the dark ante-room, and asked
-him to wait.
-
-He waited. It was tedious and annoying. He began to examine the
-contents of the elaborately furnished room. There were arm-chairs,
-tables, stools, folding screens, fire-screens, book-shelves, and small
-columns upon which rested busts, lamps, and artistic gew-gaws; there
-were mirrors, lithographs, and clocks on the walls; while the windows
-were decorated with hangings and flowers. All these made the room
-crowded, oppressive and dark. Moshkin paced through this depression
-over the rugs. He looked at the pictures and the statues with hate.
-
-“I’d like to chuck all this to the devil! To all the devils!”
-
-But when the mistress of the house walked in suddenly he lowered his
-eyes, and hid his glimmer of hunger.
-
-She was young, pink, and tall and quite good-looking. She walked
-quickly and with decision, like the mistress of a village house, and
-swung, not altogether gracefully, her strong, handsome white arms bared
-from above the elbows.
-
-She came to him and held out her hand, a little high—to be pressed, or
-to be kissed, as he chose. He kissed it. There was spite in his kiss.
-He did it with a quick, resounding smack, and one of his teeth
-scratched her skin slightly, so that she winced. But she said nothing.
-She walked toward the divan, got behind the table and sat down. She
-showed him an armchair.
-
-When he had seated himself, she asked him: “Was that your announcement
-in yesterday’s paper?”
-
-He said: “Mine.”
-
-He reconsidered, and said more politely: “Yes, mine.”
-
-He felt vexed, and he thought to himself: “I’d like to send her to the
-devil!”
-
-She went on talking. She asked him what he could do, where he had
-studied, where he had worked. She approached the subject very
-cautiously, as though afraid to say too much before the proper time.
-
-He gathered that she wished to publish a journal—she had not yet
-decided what sort. Some sort. A small one. She was negotiating for the
-purchase of a property. Of the nature of the journal she said nothing.
-
-She needed some one for the office. As he had said in his announcement
-that he was a pedagogue she thought that he had taught in one of the
-higher schools.
-
-In any case, she wanted some one to keep the books in the office, to
-receive subscriptions, to carry on the editorial and the office
-correspondence, to receive money by post, to put the journals in
-wrappers, to send them to the post, to read proofs, and something else
-... and still something else....
-
-The young woman spoke for half an hour. She recounted the various
-duties in an unintelligent way.
-
-“You need several people for all these tasks,” said Moshkin sharply.
-
-The young woman grew red with vexation. She made a wry face as she
-remarked eagerly: “The journal will be a small one, of a special
-nature. If I hired several people for such a small undertaking they
-would have nothing to do.”
-
-He smiled, and observed: “Well, anyhow there’ll be no chance for
-boredom. How many hours a day will you want me to work?”
-
-“Well, let us say from nine in the morning until seven in the evening.
-Sometimes, when the work is in a hurry you might remain a little
-longer, or you might come in on a holiday—I believe you are free?”
-
-“How much do you think of paying?”
-
-“Would eighteen roubles a month be enough for you?”
-
-He reflected a while, then he laughed.
-
-“Too little.”
-
-“I can’t afford more than twenty-two.”
-
-“Very well.”
-
-He rose suddenly in his rage, thrust his hand into his pocket, drew out
-the latchkey to his house, and said quietly but resolutely: “Hands up!”
-
-“Oh!” exclaimed the young woman, and she quickly raised her arms.
-
-She was sitting on the divan. She was pale and trembling.
-
-They formed a contrast—she large and strong; and he small and meagre.
-
-The sleeves of her dress fell to her shoulders, and the two bare white
-arms, stretching upward, seemed like the plump legs of a woman acrobat
-practising at home. She was evidently strong enough to hold up her arms
-for a long time. But her frightened face betrayed the deep terror of
-her ordeal.
-
-Moshkin, enjoying her plight, uttered slowly and sternly: “Move, if you
-dare! Or give a single whisper!”
-
-He approached a picture.
-
-“How much does this cost?”
-
-“Two hundred and twenty, without the frame,” said the young woman in a
-trembling voice.
-
-He searched in his pocket and found a penknife. He cut the picture from
-top to bottom, and from right to left.
-
-“Oh!” the young woman cried out.
-
-He approached a small marble head.
-
-“What does this cost?”
-
-“Three hundred.”
-
-He used his latchkey, and struck off the ear and the nose, and he
-mutilated the cheeks. The young woman sighed quietly; and it was
-pleasant to hear her quiet sighing.
-
-He cut up a few more pictures, and the armchair coverings, and broke a
-few of the gew-gaws.
-
-He then approached the young woman, and exclaimed: “Get under the
-divan!”
-
-She obeyed.
-
-“Lie there quietly, until some one comes. Or else I’ll throw a bomb.”
-
-He left. He met no one, either in the ante-room, or on the stairs.
-
-The same house-porter stood at the gates. Moshkin went up to him and
-said: “What a strange young lady you have in your house.”
-
-“Why?”
-
-“She doesn’t know how to behave. She loves a brawl. You had better go
-to her.”
-
-“No use my going as long as I’m not called.”
-
-“Just as you please.”
-
-He left. The glimmer of hunger grew fainter in his eyes.
-
-Moshkin continued to walk the streets. His mind realized in a slow,
-dull way the drawing-room scene, the mutilated pictures, and the young
-woman under the divan.
-
-The dull waters of the canal lured him. The receding light of the
-setting sun made their surface beautiful and sad, like the music of a
-mad composer. How rough the stone slabs were on the canal’s banks, and
-how dusty the stones of the pavements, and what stupid and dirty
-children ran to meet him! Everything seemed shut against him and
-everything seemed hostile to him.
-
-The green, golden waters of the canal lured him, and the glimmer of
-hunger in his eyes went out for ever.
-
-What a noise the swift splash of water made, as, ring after ring, the
-dead black rings spread out and out, and cut the green golden waters of
-the canal.
-
-
-
-HIDE AND SEEK
-
-I
-
-Everything in Lelechka’s nursery was bright, pretty, and cheerful.
-Lelechka’s sweet voice charmed her mother. Lelechka was a delightful
-child. There was no other such child, there never had been, and there
-never would be. Lelechka’s mother, Serafima Alexandrovna, was sure of
-that. Lelechka’s eyes were dark and large, her cheeks were rosy, her
-lips were made for kisses and for laughter. But it was not these charms
-in Lelechka that gave her mother the keenest joy. Lelechka was her
-mother’s only child. That was why every movement of Lelechka’s
-bewitched her mother. It was great bliss to hold Lelechka on her knees
-and to fondle her; to feel the little girl in her arms—a thing as
-lively and as bright as a little bird.
-
-To tell the truth, Serafima Alexandrovna felt happy only in the
-nursery. She felt cold with her husband.
-
-Perhaps it was because he himself loved the cold—he loved to drink cold
-water, and to breathe cold air. He was always fresh and cool, with a
-frigid smile, and wherever he passed cold currents seemed to move in
-the air.
-
-The Nesletyevs, Sergei Modestovich and Serafima Alexandrovna, had
-married without love or calculation, because it was the accepted thing.
-He was a young man of thirty-five, she a young woman of twenty-five;
-both were of the same circle and well brought up; he was expected to
-take a wife, and the time had come for her to take a husband.
-
-It even seemed to Serafima Alexandrovna that she was in love with her
-future husband, and this made her happy. He looked handsome and
-well-bred; his intelligent grey eyes always preserved a dignified
-expression; and he fulfilled his obligations of a fiancé with
-irreproachable gentleness.
-
-The bride was also good-looking; she was a tall, dark-eyed, dark-haired
-girl, somewhat timid but very tactful. He was not after her dowry,
-though it pleased him to know that she had something. He had
-connexions, and his wife came of good, influential people. This might,
-at the proper opportunity, prove useful. Always irreproachable and
-tactful, Nesletyev got on in his position not so fast that any one
-should envy him, nor yet so slow that he should envy any one
-else—everything came in the proper measure and at the proper time.
-
-After their marriage there was nothing in the manner of Sergei
-Modestovich to suggest anything wrong to his wife. Later, however, when
-his wife was about to have a child, Sergei Modestovich established
-connexions elsewhere of a light and temporary nature. Serafima
-Alexandrovna found this out, and, to her own astonishment, was not
-particularly hurt; she awaited her infant with a restless anticipation
-that swallowed every other feeling.
-
-A little girl was born; Serafima Alexandrovna gave herself up to her.
-At the beginning she used to tell her husband, with rapture, of all the
-joyous details of Lelechka’s existence. But she soon found that he
-listened to her without the slightest interest, and only from the habit
-of politeness. Serafima Alexandrovna drifted farther and farther away
-from him. She loved her little girl with the ungratified passion that
-other women, deceived in their husbands, show their chance young
-lovers.
-
-“_Mamochka_, let’s play _priatki_,” (hide and seek), cried Lelechka,
-pronouncing the _r_ like the _l_, so that the word sounded “pliatki.”
-
-This charming inability to speak always made Serafima Alexandrovna
-smile with tender rapture. Lelechka then ran away, stamping with her
-plump little legs over the carpets, and hid herself behind the curtains
-near her bed.
-
-“_Tiu-tiu, mamochka_!” she cried out in her sweet, laughing voice, as
-she looked out with a single roguish eye.
-
-“Where is my baby girl?” the mother asked, as she looked for Lelechka
-and made believe that she did not see her.
-
-And Lelechka poured out her rippling laughter in her hiding place. Then
-she came out a little farther, and her mother, as though she had only
-just caught sight of her, seized her by her little shoulders and
-exclaimed joyously: “Here she is, my Lelechka!”
-
-Lelechka laughed long and merrily, her head close to her mother’s
-knees, and all of her cuddled up between her mother’s white hands. Her
-mother’s eyes glowed with passionate emotion.
-
-“Now, _mamochka_, you hide,” said Lelechka, as she ceased laughing.
-
-Her mother went to hide. Lelechka turned away as though not to see, but
-watched her _mamochka_ stealthily all the time. Mamma hid behind the
-cupboard, and exclaimed: “_Tiu-tiu_, baby girl!”
-
-Lelechka ran round the room and looked into all the corners, making
-believe, as her mother had done before, that she was seeking—though she
-really knew all the time where her _mamochka_ was standing.
-
-“Where’s my _mamochka_?” asked Lelechka. “She’s not here, and she’s not
-here,” she kept on repeating, as she ran from corner to corner.
-
-Her mother stood, with suppressed breathing, her head pressed against
-the wall, her hair somewhat disarranged. A smile of absolute bliss
-played on her red lips.
-
-The nurse, Fedosya, a good-natured and fine-looking, if somewhat stupid
-woman, smiled as she looked at her mistress with her characteristic
-expression, which seemed to say that it was not for her to object to
-gentlewomen’s caprices. She thought to herself: “The mother is like a
-little child herself—look how excited she is.”
-
-Lelechka was getting nearer her mother’s corner. Her mother was growing
-more absorbed every moment by her interest in the game; her heart beat
-with short quick strokes, and she pressed even closer to the wall,
-disarranging her hair still more. Lelechka suddenly glanced toward her
-mother’s corner and screamed with joy.
-
-“I’ve found ’oo,” she cried out loudly and joyously, mispronouncing her
-words in a way that again made her mother happy.
-
-She pulled her mother by her hands to the middle of the room, they were
-merry and they laughed; and Lelechka again hid her head against her
-mother’s knees, and went on lisping and lisping, without end, her sweet
-little words, so fascinating yet so awkward.
-
-Sergei Modestovich was coming at this moment toward the nursery.
-Through the half-closed doors he heard the laughter, the joyous
-outcries, the sound of romping. He entered the nursery, smiling his
-genial cold smile; he was irreproachably dressed, and he looked fresh
-and erect, and he spread round him an atmosphere of cleanliness,
-freshness and coldness. He entered in the midst of the lively game, and
-he confused them all by his radiant coldness. Even Fedosya felt
-abashed, now for her mistress, now for herself. Serafima Alexandrovna
-at once became calm and apparently cold—and this mood communicated
-itself to the little girl, who ceased to laugh, but looked instead,
-silently and intently, at her father.
-
-Sergei Modestovich gave a swift glance round the room. He liked coming
-here, where everything was beautifully arranged; this was done by
-Serafima Alexandrovna, who wished to surround her little girl, from her
-very infancy, only with the loveliest things. Serafima Alexandrovna
-dressed herself tastefully; this, too, she did for Lelechka, with the
-same end in view. One thing Sergei Modestovich had not become
-reconciled to, and this was his wife’s almost continuous presence in
-the nursery.
-
-“It’s just as I thought.... I knew that I’d find you here,” he said
-with a derisive and condescending smile.
-
-They left the nursery together. As he followed his wife through the
-door Sergei Modestovich said rather indifferently, in an incidental
-way, laying no stress on his words: “Don’t you think that it would be
-well for the little girl if she were sometimes without your company?
-Merely, you see, that the child should feel its own individuality,” he
-explained in answer to Serafima Alexandrovna’s puzzled glance.
-
-“She’s still so little,” said Serafima Alexandrovna.
-
-“In any case, this is but my humble opinion. I don’t insist. It’s your
-kingdom there.”
-
-“I’ll think it over,” his wife answered, smiling, as he did, coldly but
-genially.
-
-Then they began to talk of something else.
-
-II
-
-Nurse Fedosya, sitting in the kitchen that evening, was telling the
-silent housemaid Darya and the talkative old cook Agathya about the
-young lady of the house, and how the child loved to play _priatki_ with
-her mother—“She hides her little face, and cries ‘_tiu-tiu_’!”
-
-“And the _barinya_[1] herself is like a little one,” added Fedosya,
-smiling.
-
-Agathya listened and shook her head ominously; while her face became
-grave and reproachful.
-
-“That the _barinya_ does it, well, that’s one thing; but that the young
-lady does it, that’s bad.”
-
-“Why?” asked Fedosya with curiosity.
-
-This expression of curiosity gave her face the look of a wooden,
-roughly-painted doll.
-
-“Yes, that’s bad,” repeated Agathya with conviction. “Terribly bad!”
-
-“Well?” said Fedosya, the ludicrous expression of curiosity on her face
-becoming more emphatic.
-
-“She’ll hide, and hide, and hide away,” said Agathya, in a mysterious
-whisper, as she looked cautiously toward the door.
-
-“What are you saying?” exclaimed Fedosya, frightened.
-
-“It’s the truth I’m saying, remember my words,” Agathya went on with
-the same assurance and secrecy. “It’s the surest sign.”
-
-The old woman had invented this sign, quite suddenly, herself; and she
-was evidently very proud of it.
-
- [1] Gentlewoman.
-
-III
-
-Lelechka was asleep, and Serafima Alexandrovna was sitting in her own
-room, thinking with joy and tenderness of Lelechka. Lelechka was in her
-thoughts, first a sweet, tiny girl, then a sweet, big girl, then again
-a delightful little girl; and so until the end she remained mamma’s
-little Lelechka.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna did not even notice that Fedosya came up to her
-and paused before her. Fedosya had a worried, frightened look.
-
-“_Barinya, barinya_” she said quietly, in a trembling voice.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna gave a start. Fedosya’s face made her anxious.
-
-“What is it, Fedosya?” she asked with great concern. “Is there anything
-wrong with Lelechka?”
-
-“No, _barinya_,” said Fedosya, as she gesticulated with her hands to
-reassure her mistress and to make her sit down. “Lelechka is asleep,
-may God be with her! Only I’d like to say something—you see—Lelechka is
-always hiding herself—that’s not good.”
-
-Fedosya looked at her mistress with fixed eyes, which had grown round
-from fright.
-
-“Why not good?” asked Serafima Alexandrovna, with vexation, succumbing
-involuntarily to vague fears.
-
-“I can’t tell you how bad it is,” said Fedosya, and her face expressed
-the most decided confidence.
-
-“Please speak in a sensible way,” observed Serafima Alexandrovna dryly.
-“I understand nothing of what you are saying.”
-
-“You see, _barinya_, it’s a kind of omen,” explained Fedosya abruptly,
-in a shamefaced way.
-
-“Nonsense!” said Serafima Alexandrovna.
-
-She did not wish to hear any further as to the sort of omen it was, and
-what it foreboded. But, somehow, a sense of fear and of sadness crept
-into her mood, and it was humiliating to feel that an absurd tale
-should disturb her beloved fancies, and should agitate her so deeply.
-
-“Of course I know that gentlefolk don’t believe in omens, but it’s a
-bad omen, _barinya_,” Fedosya went on in a doleful voice, “the young
-lady will hide, and hide....”
-
-Suddenly she burst into tears, sobbing out loudly: “She’ll hide, and
-hide, and hide away, angelic little soul, in a damp grave,” she
-continued, as she wiped her tears with her apron and blew her nose.
-
-“Who told you all this?” asked Serafima Alexandrovna in an austere low
-voice.
-
-“Agathya says so, _barinya_” answered Fedosya; “it’s she that knows.”
-
-“Knows!” exclaimed Serafima Alexandrovna in irritation, as though she
-wished to protect herself somehow from this sudden anxiety. “What
-nonsense! Please don’t come to me with any such notions in the future.
-Now you may go.”
-
-Fedosya, dejected, her feelings hurt, left her mistress.
-
-“What nonsense! As though Lelechka could die!” thought Serafima
-Alexandrovna to herself, trying to conquer the feeling of coldness and
-fear which took possession of her at the thought of the possible death
-of Lelechka. Serafima Alexandrovna, upon reflection, attributed these
-women’s beliefs in omens to ignorance. She saw clearly that there could
-be no possible connexion between a child’s quite ordinary diversion and
-the continuation of the child’s life. She made a special effort that
-evening to occupy her mind with other matters, but her thoughts
-returned involuntarily to the fact that Lelechka loved to hide herself.
-
-When Lelechka, was still quite small, and had learned to distinguish
-between her mother and her nurse, she sometimes, sitting in her nurse’s
-arms, made a sudden roguish grimace, and hid her laughing face in the
-nurse’s shoulder. Then she would look out with a sly glance.
-
-Of late, in those rare moments of the _barinya’s_ absence from the
-nursery, Fedosya had again taught Lelechka to hide; and when Lelechka’s
-mother, on coming in, saw how lovely the child looked when she was
-hiding, she herself began to play hide and seek with her tiny daughter.
-
-IV
-
-The next day Serafima Alexandrovna, absorbed in her joyous cares for
-Lelechka, had forgotten Fedosya’s words of the day before.
-
-But when she returned to the nursery, after having ordered the dinner,
-and she heard Lelechka suddenly cry “_Tiu-tiu_!” from under the table,
-a feeling of fear suddenly took hold of her. Though she reproached
-herself at once for this unfounded, superstitious dread, nevertheless
-she could not enter wholeheartedly into the spirit of Lelechka’s
-favourite game, and she tried to divert Lelechka’s attention to
-something else.
-
-Lelechka was a lovely and obedient child. She eagerly complied with her
-mother’s new wishes. But as she had got into the habit of hiding from
-her mother in some corner, and of crying out “_Tiu-tiu_!” so even that
-day she returned more than once to the game.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna tried desperately to amuse Lelechka. This was not
-so easy because restless, threatening thoughts obtruded themselves
-constantly.
-
-“Why does Lelechka keep on recalling the _tiu-tiu_? Why does she not
-get tired of the same thing—of eternally closing her eyes, and of
-hiding her face? Perhaps,” thought Serafima Alexandrovna, “she is not
-as strongly drawn to the world as other children, who are attracted by
-many things. If this is so, is it not a sign of organic weakness? Is it
-not a germ of the unconscious non-desire to live?”
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna was tormented by presentiments. She felt ashamed
-of herself for ceasing to play hide and seek with Lelechka before
-Fedosya. But this game had become agonizing to her, all the more
-agonizing because she had a real desire to play it, and because
-something drew her very strongly to hide herself from Lelechka and to
-seek out the hiding child. Serafima Alexandrovna herself began the game
-once or twice, though she played it with a heavy heart. She suffered as
-though committing an evil deed with full consciousness.
-
-It was a sad day for Serafima Alexandrovna.
-
-V
-
-Lelechka was about to fall asleep. No sooner had she climbed into her
-little bed, protected by a network on all sides, than her eyes began to
-close from fatigue. Her mother covered her with a blue blanket.
-Lelechka drew her sweet little hands from under the blanket and
-stretched them out to embrace her mother. Her mother bent down.
-Lelechka, with a tender expression on her sleepy face, kissed her
-mother and let her head fall on the pillow. As her hands hid themselves
-under the blanket Lelechka whispered: “The hands _tiu-tiu_!”
-
-The mother’s heart seemed to stop—Lelechka lay there so small, so
-frail, so quiet. Lelechka smiled gently, closed her eyes and said
-quietly: “The eyes _tiu-tiu_!”
-
-Then even more quietly: “Lelechka _tiu-tiu!_”
-
-With these words she fell asleep, her face pressing the pillow. She
-seemed so small and so frail under the blanket that covered her. Her
-mother looked at her with sad eyes.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna remained standing over Lelechka’s bed a long
-while, and she kept looking at Lelechka with tenderness and fear.
-
-“I’m a mother: is it possible that I shouldn’t be able to protect her?”
-she thought, as she imagined the various ills that might befall
-Lelechka.
-
-She prayed long that night, but the prayer did not relieve her sadness.
-
-VI
-
-Several days passed. Lelechka caught cold. The fever came upon her at
-night. When Serafima Alexandrovna, awakened by Fedosya, came to
-Lelechka and saw her looking so hot, so restless, and so tormented, she
-instantly recalled the evil omen, and a hopeless despair took
-possession of her from the first moments.
-
-A doctor was called, and everything was done that is usual on such
-occasions—but the inevitable happened. Serafima Alexandrovna tried to
-console herself with the hope that Lelechka would get well, and would
-again laugh and play—yet this seemed to her an unthinkable happiness!
-And Lelechka grew feebler from hour to hour.
-
-All simulated tranquillity, so as not to frighten Serafima
-Alexandrovna, but their masked faces only made her sad.
-
-Nothing made her so unhappy as the reiterations of Fedosya, uttered
-between sobs: “She hid herself and hid herself, our Lelechka!”
-
-But the thoughts of Serafima Alexandrovna were confused, and she could
-not quite grasp what was happening.
-
-Fever was consuming Lelechka, and there were times when she lost
-consciousness and spoke in delirium. But when she returned to herself
-she bore her pain and her fatigue with gentle good nature; she smiled
-feebly at her _mamochka_, so that her _mamochka_ should not see how
-much she suffered. Three days passed, torturing like a nightmare.
-Lelechka grew quite feeble She did not know that she was dying.
-
-She glanced at her mother with her dimmed eyes, and lisped in a
-scarcely audible, hoarse voice: “_Tiu-tiu, mamochka_! Make _tiu-tiu,
-mamochka_!”
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna hid her face behind the curtains near Lelechka’s
-bed. How tragic!
-
-“_Mamochka_!” called Lelechka in an almost inaudible voice.
-
-Lelechka’s mother bent over her, and Lelechka, her vision grown still
-more dim, saw her mother’s pale, despairing face for the last time.
-
-“A white _mamochka_!” whispered Lelechka. _Mamochka’s_ white face
-became blurred, and everything grew dark before Lelechka. She caught
-the edge of the bed-cover feebly with her hands and whispered:
-“_Tiu-tiu_!”
-
-Something rattled in her throat; Lelechka opened and again closed her
-rapidly paling lips, and died.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna was in dumb despair as she left Lelechka, and
-went out of the room. She met her husband.
-
-“Lelechka is dead,” she said in a quiet, dull voice.
-
-Sergei Modestovich looked anxiously at her pale face. He was struck by
-the strange stupor in her formerly animated handsome features.
-
-VII
-
-Lelechka was dressed, placed in a little coffin, and carried into the
-parlour. Serafima Alexandrovna was standing by the coffin and looking
-dully at her dead child. Sergei Modestovich went to his wife and,
-consoling her with cold, empty words, tried to draw her away from the
-coffin. Serafima Alexandrovna smiled.
-
-“Go away,” she said quietly. “Lelechka is playing. She’ll be up in a
-minute.”
-
-“Sima, my dear, don’t agitate yourself,” said Sergei Modestovich in a
-whisper. “You must resign yourself to your fate.”
-
-“She’ll be up in a minute,” persisted Serafima Alexandrovna, her eyes
-fixed on the dead little girl.
-
-Sergei Modestovich looked round him cautiously: he was afraid of the
-unseemly and of the ridiculous.
-
-“Sima, don’t agitate yourself,” he repeated. “This would be a miracle,
-and miracles do not happen in the nineteenth century.”
-
-No sooner had he said these words than Sergei Modestovich felt their
-irrelevance to what had happened. He was confused and annoyed.
-
-He took his wife by the arm, and cautiously led her away from the
-coffin. She did not oppose him.
-
-Her face seemed tranquil and her eyes were dry. She went into the
-nursery and began to walk round the room, looking into those places
-where Lelechka used to hide herself. She walked all about the room, and
-bent now and then to look under the table or under the bed, and kept on
-repeating cheerfully: “Where is my little one? Where is my Lelechka?”
-
-After she had walked round the room once she began to make her quest
-anew. Fedosya, motionless, with dejected face, sat in a corner, and
-looked frightened at her mistress; then she suddenly burst out sobbing,
-and she wailed loudly:
-
-“She hid herself, and hid herself, our Lelechka, our angelic little
-soul!”
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna trembled, paused, cast a perplexed look at
-Fedosya, began to weep, and left the nursery quietly.
-
-VIII
-
-Sergei Modestovich hurried the funeral. He saw that Serafima
-Alexandrovna was terribly shocked by her sudden misfortune, and as he
-feared for her reason he thought she would more readily be diverted and
-consoled when Lelechka was buried.
-
-Next morning Serafima Alexandrovna dressed with particular care—for
-Lelechka. When she entered the parlour there were several people
-between her and Lelechka. The priest and deacon paced up and down the
-room; clouds of blue smoke drifted in the air, and there was a smell of
-incense. There was an oppressive feeling of heaviness in Serafima
-Alexandrovna’s head as she approached Lelechka. Lelechka lay there
-still and pale, and smiled pathetically. Serafima Alexandrovna laid her
-cheek upon the edge of Lelechka’s coffin, and whispered: “_Tiu-tiu_,
-little one!”
-
-The little one did not reply. Then there was some kind of stir and
-confusion around Serafima Alexandrovna; strange, unnecessary faces bent
-over her, some one held her—and Lelechka was carried away somewhere.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna stood up erect, sighed in a lost way, smiled, and
-called loudly: “Lelechka!”
-
-Lelechka was being carried out. The mother threw herself after the
-coffin with despairing sobs, but she was held back. She sprang behind
-the door, through which Lelechka had passed, sat down there on the
-floor, and as she looked through the crevice, she cried out: “Lelechka,
-_tiu-tiu_!”
-
-Then she put her head out from behind the door, and began to laugh.
-
-Lelechka was quickly carried away from her mother, and those who
-carried her seemed to run rather than to walk.
-
-
-
-THE SMILE
-
-I
-
-Some fifteen boys and girls and several young men and women had
-gathered in the garden belonging to the Semiboyarinov cottage to
-celebrate the birthday of one of the sons of the house, Lesha by name,
-a student of the second class. Lesha’s birthday was made indeed an
-occasion for bringing eligible young men to the house for his grown
-sisters’ sake.
-
-All were merry and smiling—the older members of the party as well as
-the young boys and girls, who ran up and down the yellow sand of the
-well-kept footpaths; a pale, unimpressive boy, who was sitting alone on
-a bench under a lilac bush and looking silently at the other boys, was
-also smiling. His loneliness, his silence, and his well-worn though
-clean clothes, all pointed to his poverty and to his embarrassment in
-the company of these lively, well-dressed children. His face was timid
-and thin, his chest sunken, and his lean hands lay so meekly that it
-aroused one’s pity to look at him. Still, he smiled; but even his smile
-seemed pitiful; it was as though it depressed him to watch the games
-and the happiness of other children, or as though he were afraid to
-annoy others by his sad looks and his poor dress.
-
-He was called Grisha Igumnov. His father had died not long ago;
-Grisha’s mother occasionally sent her son to her rich relatives with
-whom he always felt depressed and uneasy.
-
-“Why do you sit alone? Get up and run about!” said the blue-eyed
-Lydochka Semiboyarinov as she passed him.
-
-Grisha did not dare to disobey; his heart beat violently, his face
-became covered with small beads of perspiration. He approached the
-happy, red-cheeked boys timidly. They looked at him unfriendlily as at
-a stranger, and Grisha himself felt at once that he was not like them:
-he could not speak so boldly and so loudly; and he had neither such
-yellow boots, nor such a round little cap with a woolly red visor
-turned jauntily upwards as the boy nearest to him had.
-
-The boys continued to talk among themselves as though there were no
-Grisha. Grisha stood near them in an uneasy pose; his thin shoulders
-stooped somewhat, his slender fingers held fast to his narrow girdle,
-and he smiled timidly. He did not know what to do, and in his confusion
-did not hear what the lively boys were saying. They finished their
-conversation and scattered suddenly. Grisha, his timid, guilty smile
-still on his face, walked back uneasily on the sandy path and sat down
-once more on the bench. He was ashamed because he had walked up to the
-boys, yet had not spoken to any one, and because nothing had come of
-it. As he sat down he looked timidly round him—no one paid him the
-slightest attention, and no one laughed at him. Grisha grew calm.
-
-Just then two little girls, their arms round each other, passed him.
-Under their fixed stare Grisha shrank, grew red, and smiled guiltily.
-
-When the little girls had passed by the youngest of them, with fair
-hair, asked loudly: “Who’s this ugly duckling?”
-
-The elder girl, who was red-cheeked and black-browed, laughed and
-answered: “I don’t know. We had better ask Lydochka. It’s most likely a
-poor relation.”
-
-“What an absurd boy,” said the little blonde. “He spreads his ears out,
-and sits there and smiles.”
-
-They disappeared behind the bushes at the turn of the path, and Grisha
-no longer heard their voices. He felt hurt, and when he thought that he
-might have to sit there a long time, until his mother should come for
-him, he was sick at heart.
-
-A big-eyed, slender student with a stubborn crest of hair sticking up
-from his high forehead noticed that Grisha was sitting alone there like
-an orphan, and he wished to be kind to him, and to make him feel more
-at his ease; so he sat down near him.
-
-“What’s your name?” he asked.
-
-Grisha told him quietly.
-
-“And my name is Mitya,” said the student. “Are you here alone, or with
-any one?”
-
-“With mother,” whispered Grisha.
-
-“Why do you sit here all by yourself?” asked Mitya.
-
-Grisha stirred nervously, and did not know what to say.
-
-“Why don’t you play?”
-
-“I don’t want to.”
-
-Mitya did not hear him so he asked: “What did you say?”
-
-“I don’t feel like it,” said Grisha somewhat more loudly.
-
-The student, astonished, continued: “Why don’t you feel like it?”
-
-Grisha again did not know what to say; he smiled in a lost way. Mitya
-was looking at him attentively. Glances of strangers always embarrassed
-Grisha; it was as though he feared that they might find something
-absurd in his appearance.
-
-Mitya was silent for a while, as he thought of something else that he
-might ask.
-
-“What do you collect?” he asked. “You’ve got a collection of something,
-haven’t you? We all collect: I—stamps, Katya Pokrivalova—shells,
-Lesha—butterflies. What do you collect?”
-
-“Nothing,” said Grisha, flushing.
-
-“Well, well,” said Mitya with artless astonishment. “So you collect
-nothing! That’s very curious.”
-
-Grisha felt ashamed that he was not collecting anything, and that he
-had disclosed the fact.
-
-“I, too, must collect something!” he thought to himself, but he could
-not decide to say this aloud.
-
-Mitya sat a little longer, then left him. Grisha felt a relief. But a
-new ordeal was in store for him.
-
-The nurse engaged by the Semiboyarinovs for their youngest son was
-strolling along the garden paths with the one-year-old child in her
-arms. She wished to rest, and chose the same bench upon which Grisha
-was sitting. He again felt uneasy. He looked straight before him, and
-could not even decide to move away from the nurse to the other end of
-the bench.
-
-The infant’s attention soon became drawn to Grisha’s protruding ears,
-and he leant forward towards one of them. The nurse, a robust,
-red-cheeked woman, concluded that Grisha would not mind. She brought
-her charge nearer to Grisha, and the pink infant caught Grisha’s ear
-with his fat little hand. Grisha was paralysed with confusion, but
-could not decide to protest. The child, laughing loudly and merrily,
-now let go Grisha’s ear, now caught hold of it again. The red-cheeked
-nurse, who enjoyed the game not less than the infant, kept on
-repeating: “Let’s go for him! Let’s give it to him!”
-
-One of the boys saw the scene, and told the other boys that little
-Georgik was obstreperous with the quiet boy who was sitting so long on
-the bench. The children gathered round Georgik and Grisha, and laughed
-noisily. Grisha tried to show that he didn’t mind, that he felt no
-pain, and that he also enjoyed the fun. But it grew harder and harder
-for him to smile, and he had a very strong desire to cry. He knew that
-he ought not to cry, that it was a disgrace, and he restrained himself
-with an effort.
-
-Happily he was soon delivered. The blue-eyed Lydochka, upon hearing the
-children’s boisterous laughter, went to see what had happened. She
-reproached the nurse: “Aren’t you ashamed to go on like this?”
-
-She herself had difficulty to keep from laughing at Grisha’s pitiful,
-confused face. But she restrained herself, and upheld her dignity as a
-grown young woman before the nurse and the children.
-
-The nurse rose and said, laughing: “Georginka did it quite gently. The
-boy himself didn’t say that it hurt him.”
-
-“You mustn’t do such things,” said Lydochka sternly.
-
-Georgik, unhappy because they had taken him away from Grisha, raised a
-cry. Lydochka took him in her arms and carried him away to quiet him.
-The nurse followed her. But the boys and the girls remained. They
-thronged round Grisha and eyed him unceremoniously.
-
-“Perhaps he’s got stuck-on ears,” suggested one of the boys, “that’s
-why he doesn’t feel any pain.”
-
-“I rather think you like to be held by your ears,” said another.
-
-“Tell us,” said the little girl with the large blue eyes, “which ear
-does your mother catch hold of most?”
-
-“His ears have been stretched out to order in a workshop,” cried a
-merry youngster, and laughed loudly at his own joke.
-
-“No,” another corrected him, “he was born like that. When he was very
-small he was led not by his hand but by his ear.”
-
-Grisha looked at his tormentors like a small beast at bay, with a fixed
-smile on his face, when, suddenly, wholly unexpectedly to the cheerful
-company, he burst into tears. Many small drops fell on his jacket. The
-children grew quiet at once. They became uneasy. They exchanged
-embarrassed glances, and looked silently at Grisha as he wiped the
-tears from his face with his thin hands; he appeared to be ashamed of
-his tears.
-
-“Why should he be offended?” said the beautiful, flaxen-haired Katya
-angrily. “Who’s done him any harm? The ugly duckling!”
-
-“He’s not an ugly duckling. You’re an ugly duckling yourself,”
-intervened Mitya.
-
-“I can’t stand rude people,” said Katya, growing red with vexation.
-
-A little, brown-faced girl in a red dress looked long at Grisha, and
-knitted her brows as in reflection. Then she scanned the other children
-with her perplexed eyes, and asked quietly:
-
-“Why then did he smile?”
-
-II
-
-It was not often that Grisha’s wardrobe received important additions.
-His mother could not afford it; hence, every item gave Grisha great
-joy. The autumn cold came, and Grisha’s mother bought an overcoat, a
-hat and mittens. The mittens pleased Grisha more than anything else.
-
-On the holiday, after Mass, he put on his new things and went out to
-play. He loved to walk about in the streets, and he used to go out
-alone; his mother had no time to go out with him. She looked proudly
-out of the window as Grisha walked gravely by. She recalled at that
-moment her well-to-do relatives who had promised her so much, and had
-done so little, and she thought: “Well, I’ve managed it without them,
-thank God!”
-
-It was a cold, clear day; the sun did not shine with its full
-brightness; the waters of the canals in the city were covered with
-their first thin ice. Grisha walked the streets, rejoicing in this
-brisk cold, in his new clothes, and with his naïve fancies; he always
-loved to dream when he was alone, and he dreamt always of great deeds,
-of fame, of a bright, happy life in a rich house, indeed of everything
-that was unlike the sad reality.
-
-As Grisha stood on the bank of the canal and looked through the iron
-railings at the thin ice that floated on the surface, he was approached
-by a street urchin in threadbare attire, and with hands red from the
-cold. He entered into conversation with Grisha. Grisha was not afraid
-of him, and even pitied him because of his benumbed hands. His new
-acquaintance informed him that he was called Mishka, but that his
-family name was Babushkin, because he and his mother lived with his
-_babushka_.[1]
-
-“But then what is your mother’s family name?”
-
-“My mother’s name?” repeated Mishka, smiling. “She’s called Matushkin,
-because my _babushka_ is no _babushka_ to her, but is her
-_matushka._”[2]
-
-“That’s strange,” said Grisha with astonishment. “My mother and I have
-one family name; we are called the Igumnovs.”
-
-“That’s because,” explained Mishka with animation, “your grandfather
-was an _igumen_.”[3]
-
-“No,” said Grisha, “my grandfather was a colonel.”
-
-“All the same it’s likely that his father, or some one else was an
-_igumen_, and so you have all become the Igumnovs.”
-
-Grisha did not know who his great-grandfather was, so he said nothing,
-Mishka kept on eyeing his mittens.
-
-“You have handsome mittens,” he said.
-
-“New ones,” Grisha explained, with a joyous smile. “It’s the first time
-I’ve put them on; d’you see, here is a little string drawn through!”
-
-“Well, you’re a lucky one! And are they quite warm?”
-
-“Rather!”
-
-“I have also mittens at home, but I haven’t put them on because I don’t
-like them. They are yellow, and I don’t like yellow ones. Let me put
-yours on, and I’ll run along and show them to my _babushka_, and ask
-her to get me a pair like them.”
-
-Mishka looked at Grisha pleadingly, and his eyes sparkled enviously.
-
-“You won’t keep me waiting long?” asked Grisha.
-
-“No, I live quite near here, just round the corner. Don’t be afraid!
-Upon my word, in a minute!”
-
-Grisha trustfully took off his mittens and gave them to Mishka.
-
-“I’ll be back in a minute, wait here, don’t go away,” exclaimed Mishka,
-as he ran off with Grisha’s mittens. He disappeared round the corner,
-and Grisha was left waiting. He did not imagine that Mishka would fool
-him; he thought that he would simply run home, show his mittens, and
-return with them. He stood there long and waited, and Mishka did not
-even dream of returning.
-
-The short autumn day was already darkening; Grisha’s mother, restless
-because of her boy’s long absence, went out to look for him. Grisha at
-last understood that Mishka would not return. The poor boy turned sadly
-toward home and he met his mother.
-
-“Grisha, what have you done with yourself” she asked, angry and glad at
-finding her son.
-
-Grisha did not reply. He seemed embarrassed as he rubbed his hands, red
-with cold. His mother then noticed that he did not wear his mittens.
-
-“Where are your mittens?” she asked angrily, as she searched his
-overcoat pockets.
-
-Grisha smiled and said: “I lent them to a boy for a short time, and he
-didn’t bring them back.”
-
- [1] Grandmother.
-
-
- [2] Mother.
-
-
- [3] An abbot.
-
-III
-
-Years passed after years. The bold and pushing children who once had
-gathered on Lesha Semiboyarinov’s birthday became bold and pushing men
-and women, and the urchin who had fooled Grisha, it goes without
-saying, found his way in life—while Grisha, of course, became a
-failure. As in his childhood, he went on dreaming, and in his dreams he
-conquered his kingdom; but in real life he could not protect himself
-from any enterprising person who pushed him unceremoniously out of his
-way. His relations with women were equally unsuccessful, and his
-faint-hearted attentions were not once rewarded by a responsive
-feeling. He had no friends. His mother alone loved him.
-
-Igumnov rejoiced when he found a position at a small salary, because
-his mother could live calmly now without worrying about a crust of
-bread. But his happiness was of short duration; soon his mother died.
-Grisha fell into depression, lost his spirits. Life seemed to him to be
-aimless. Apathy took hold of him; he had no interest in his work. He
-lost his place, and was soon in great need.
-
-Igumnov finally pawned his last possession, his mother’s ring; as he
-walked out of the place he smiled—and his smile kept him from bursting
-into tears of self-pity.
-
-He had to see various people and to ask them for work. But Igumnov was
-not good at this. He was backward and quiet, and he experienced a
-helpless confusion that prevented him from persisting in his dealings
-with men. While yet on the stairway of a man’s house a fear would seize
-him, his heart would beat painfully, his legs would grow heavy, and his
-hand would stretch toward the bell irresolutely.
-
-During one of his most depressing and hungry days Igumnov sat in the
-sumptuous private office of Aleksei Stepanovich Semiboyarinov, the
-father of the same Lesha whose birthday party remained memorable to
-him. Igumnov had already sent a letter to Aleksei Stepanovich: after
-all it was much easier to ask on paper than by word of mouth. And now
-he came for his answer.
-
-From the restless, solicitous manner of Semiboyarinov, a small, dry,
-old man, with closely-cut, silver-grey hair, he guessed that he would
-have a refusal. This made him feel wretched, but he could not help
-smiling an artless pleasant smile, as though he wished to show that it
-did not matter in the least, that he really did not count on anything.
-The smile evidently irritated Semiboyarinov.
-
-“I’ve got your letter, my dear fellow,” said he at last in his dry,
-deliberate voice. “But there’s nothing that I can see just now.”
-
-“Nothing?” mumbled Igumnov, growing red.
-
-“Absolutely nothing, my dear fellow. Every place is taken. And I don’t
-see anything in prospect for the near future. Perhaps something might
-be done for you at New Year.”
-
-“I’ll be glad of a chance even then,” said Igumnov, smiling in such a
-way as to suggest that a mere eight months was of no account to him.
-
-“Yes, I’ll be very glad to do something then. If it depended upon me
-you’d get your place to-day. I’d like very much to be of use to you, my
-good man.”
-
-“Thank you,” said Igumnov.
-
-“But tell me,” asked Semiboyarinov sympathetically, “why did you leave
-your old place?”
-
-“They found no use for me,” answered Igumnov, confused.
-
-“No use for you? Well, I hope we’ll find some use for you. Let me have
-your address, my good fellow.”
-
-Semiboyarinov began to rummage on his table for a piece of paper.
-Igumnov just then caught sight of his own letter under a marble
-paper-weight.
-
-“My address is in the letter,” he said.
-
-“So it is!” said his host briskly. “I’ll make a note of it.”
-
-“I have the habit,” observed Igumnov, rising from his place, “always to
-write my address at the beginning of a letter.”
-
-“A European habit,” commended his host.
-
-Igumnov took his leave and went out smiling, proud of his European
-habits, which, however, did not prevent him from feeling hungry. He was
-almost glad that the unpleasant conversation was at an end. He recalled
-all the polite words, and especially those that contained the promise;
-foolish hopes awakened in him. But a few minutes later, as he was
-walking in the street, he realized that the promise would come to
-nothing. Besides, it was made for the future, and he had need of food
-now, and he must go to his lodgings with a heavy heart—what would his
-landlady say? What could he say to her?
-
-Igumnov began to walk more slowly, then he turned in the opposite
-direction. Lost in gloom, he walked on, pale and hungry, through the
-noisy streets of the capital, past busy satiated people. His smile
-vanished. The look of dark despair gave a certain significance to his
-usually little expressive features.
-
-He was now close to the Niva. The huge dome of the Isakiyevski
-Cathedral glowed golden in the wide expanse of blue sky. The large open
-squares and streets were enveloped in the gentle, scarcely perceptible,
-dust-like haze of the rays of the setting sun. The din of carriages was
-softened in these magnificent open spaces. Everything seemed strange
-and hostile to the hungry, helpless man. The beautiful, rich-coloured
-fruits behind the shop windows could not have been more inaccessible if
-they were under the watch of a strong guard.
-
-Children were playing merrily in the green square. Igumnov looked at
-them and smiled. Unpleasant memories of his own childhood tormented him
-with an intense pity for himself. He reflected that it was only left to
-him to die. The thought frightened him. And again he reflected: “Why
-shouldn’t I die? Wasn’t there a time when I did not exist? I shall have
-rest, eternal oblivion.”
-
-Fragments of wise strange thoughts came to him and soothed him.
-
-Igumnov was now on the embankment. He leant against the granite parapet
-and watched the restless waters of the river. A single move, he
-thought, and everything would be ended. But it was terrible to think of
-drowning, of struggling with one’s mouth full of water, of being
-strangled by these heavy, cold sweeps of water, of battling helplessly,
-and of at last sinking from sheer exhaustion to the bottom, there to be
-carried by the undercurrents, and at last to be cast out, a shapeless
-corpse, upon some coast of the sea.
-
-Igumnov shivered and moved away from the river. He suddenly espied not
-far away his former colleague Kurkov. Smartly dressed, cheerful and
-self-satisfied, Kurkov was walking slowly and swinging a thin cane with
-a fancy handle.
-
-“Ah, Grigory Petrovich!” he exclaimed, as though he were glad of the
-meeting. “Are you strolling, or are you on business?”
-
-“Yes, I’m strolling, that is on business,” said Igumnov.
-
-“I think we are going the same way?”
-
-They walked on together. Kurkov’s cheerful chatter only intensified
-Igumnov’s mood. Moving his shoulders nervously he addressed Kurkov with
-sudden resolution: “Nikolai Sergeyevich, do you happen to have a rouble
-on you?”
-
-“A rouble?” said Kurkov in astonishment. “Why do you want it?”
-
-Igumnov flushed, and began to explain in stammers. “You see, I ... just
-one rouble is lacking.... I have to get something ... something, you
-see....”
-
-He breathed heavily in his agitation. He grew silent, and smiled a
-pitiful, fixed smile.
-
-“That means I shan’t get it back,” thought Kurkov.
-
-And now he spoke no longer in the same careless tone as before.
-
-“I’d like to, but I haven’t any spare cash, not a copeck. I had to
-borrow some yesterday myself.”
-
-“Well, if you haven’t it, you can’t help it,” mumbled Igumnov, and
-continued to smile. “I’ll simply have to get along without it.”
-
-His smile irritated Kurkov, perhaps because it was such a pitiful,
-helpless affair.
-
-“Why does he smile?” thought Kurkov in vexation. “Doesn’t he believe
-me? Well, I don’t care if he doesn’t—I don’t own the Government
-exchequer.”
-
-“Why don’t you come in sometimes and see us?” he asked Igumnov in a
-careless, dry manner, as he looked elsewhere.
-
-“I am always meaning to. Of course I’ll come in,” answered Igumnov in a
-trembling voice. “What about to-day?”
-
-There rose before him a picture of the cosy dining-room of the Kurkovs,
-the hospitable hostess, the samovar on the table and the various tasty
-tit-bits.
-
-“To-day?” asked Kurkov in the same careless, dry voice. “No, we shan’t
-be home to-day. But do step in some day before long. Well, I must turn
-up this lane. Good-bye!”
-
-And he made haste to cross the wooden walk of the embankment. Igumnov
-looked after him, and smiled. Slow, incoherent thoughts crept through
-his brain.
-
-As Kurkov disappeared up the lane Igumnov again approached the granite
-parapet, and, trembling in cold terror, began slowly and awkwardly to
-climb over it.
-
-There was no one near.
-
-
-
-THE HOOP
-
-I
-
-A woman was taking her morning stroll in a lonely suburban street; a
-boy of four was with her. She was young and smart and she was smiling
-brightly; she was casting affectionate glances at her son, whose red
-cheeks beamed with happiness. The boy was bowling a hoop; a large, new,
-bright yellow hoop. He ran after his hoop awkwardly, laughed
-uproariously with joy, thrust forward his plump little legs, bare at
-the knee, and flourished his stick. He needn’t have raised his stick so
-high above his head—but what of that?
-
-What happiness! He had never had a hoop before; how briskly it made him
-run!
-
-And nothing of this had existed for him before; everything was new to
-him—the streets in early morning, the merry sun, and the distant din of
-the city. Everything was new to the boy—and joyous and pure.
-
-II
-
-A shabbily dressed old man, with coarse hands stood at the street
-crossing. He pressed close to the wall to let the woman and the boy
-pass. The old man looked at the boy with dull eyes and smiled stupidly.
-Confused, sluggish thoughts struggled within his almost bald head.
-
-“A little gentleman!” said he to himself. “Quite a small fellow. And
-simply bursting with joy. Just look at him cutting his paces!”
-
-He could not quite understand it. Somehow it seemed strange to him.
-
-Here was a child—a thing to be pulled about by the hair! Play is
-mischief. Children, as every one knows, are mischief-makers.
-
-And there was the mother—she uttered no reproach, she made no fuss, she
-did not scold. She was smart and bright. It was quite easy to see that
-they were used to warmth and comfort.
-
-On the other hand, when he, the old man, was a boy he lived a dog’s
-life! There was nothing particularly rosy in his life even now; though,
-to be sure, he was no longer thrashed and he had plenty to eat. He
-recalled his younger days—their hunger, their cold, their drubbings. He
-had never had fun with a hoop, or other playthings of well-to-do folks.
-Thus passed all his life—in poverty, in care, in misery. And he could
-recall nothing—not a single joy.
-
-He smiled with his toothless mouth at the boy, and he envied him. He
-reflected:
-
-“What a silly sport!”
-
-But envy tormented him.
-
-He went to work—to the factory where he had worked from childhood,
-where he had grown old. And all day he thought of the boy.
-
-It was a fixed, deep-rooted thought. He simply could not get the boy
-out of his mind. He saw him running, laughing, stamping his feet,
-bowling the hoop. What plump little legs he had, bared at the knee!...
-
-All day long, amid the din of the factory wheels, the boy with the hoop
-appeared to him. And at night he saw the boy in a dream.
-
-III
-
-Next morning his reveries again pursued the old man.
-
-The machines were clattering, the labour was monotonous, automatic. The
-hands were busy at their accustomed tasks; the toothless mouth was
-smiling at a diverting fancy. The air was thick with dust, and under
-the high ceiling strap after strap, with hissing sound, glided quickly
-from wheel to wheel, endless in number. The far corners were invisible
-for the dense escaping vapours. Men emerged here and there like
-phantoms, and the human voice was not heard for the incessant din of
-the machines.
-
-The old man’s fancy was at work—he had become a little boy for the
-moment, his mother was a gentlewoman, and he had his hoop and his
-little stick; he was playing, driving the hoop with the little stick.
-He wore a white costume, his little legs were plump, bare at the
-knee....
-
-The days passed; the work went on, the fancy persisted.
-
-IV
-
-The old man was returning from work one evening when he saw the hoop of
-an old barrel lying in the street. It was a rough, dirty object. The
-old man trembled with happiness, and tears appeared in his dull eyes. A
-sudden, almost irresistible desire took possession of him.
-
-He glanced cautiously around him; then he bent down, picked up the hoop
-with trembling hands, and smiling shamefacedly, carried it home with
-him.
-
-No one noticed him, no one questioned him. Whose concern was it? A
-ragged old man was carrying an old, battered, useless hoop—who cared?
-
-He carried it stealthily, afraid of ridicule. Why he picked it up and
-why he carried it, he himself could not tell. Still, it was like the
-boy’s hoop, and this was enough. There was no harm in it lying about.
-
-He could look at it; he could touch it. It would stimulate his
-reveries; the whistle and turmoil of the factory would grow fainter,
-the escaping vapours less dense....
-
-For several days the hoop lay under the bed in the old man’s poor,
-cramped quarters. Sometimes he would take it from its place and look at
-it; the dirty, grey hoop soothed the old man, and the sight of it
-quickened his persistent thoughts about the happy little boy.
-
-V
-
-It was a clear, warm morning, and the birds were chirping away in the
-consumptive urban trees somewhat more cheerfully than usual. The old
-man rose early, took his hoop, and walked a little distance out of
-town.
-
-He coughed as he made his way among the old trees and the thorny bushes
-in the woods. The trees, covered with their dry, blackish, bursting
-bark, seemed to him incomprehensibly and sternly silent. The odours
-were strange, the insects astonishing, the ferns of gigantic growth.
-There was neither dust nor din here, and the gentle, exquisite morning
-mist lay behind the trees. The old feet glided over the dry leaves and
-stumbled across the old gnarled roots.
-
-The old man broke off a dry limb and hung his hoop upon it.
-
-He came upon an opening, full of daylight and of calm. The dewdrops,
-countless and opalescent, gleamed upon the green blades of newly mown
-grass.
-
-Suddenly the old man let the hoop slide off the stick. He struck with
-the stick, and sent the hoop rolling across the green lawn. The old man
-laughed, brightened at once, and pursued the hoop like that little boy.
-He kicked up his feet and drove the hoop with his stick, which he
-flourished high over his head, just as that little boy did.
-
-It seemed to him that he was small, beloved, and happy. It seemed to
-him that he was being looked after by his mother, who was following
-close behind and smiling. Like a child on his first outing, he felt
-refreshed on the bright grass, and on the still mosses.
-
-His goat-like, dust-grey beard, that harmonized with his sallow face,
-trembled, while his cough mingled with his laughter, and raucous sounds
-came from his toothless mouth.
-
-VI
-
-And the old man grew to love his morning hour in the woods with the
-hoop.
-
-He sometimes thought he might be discovered, and ridiculed—and this
-aroused him to a keen sense of shame. This shame resembled fear; he
-would grow numb, and his knees would give way under him. He would look
-round him with fright and timidity.
-
-But no—there was no one to be seen, or to be heard....
-
-And having diverted himself to his heart’s content he would return to
-the city, smiling gently and joyously.
-
-VII
-
-No one had ever found him out. And nothing unusual ever happened. The
-old man played peacefully for several days, and one very dewy morning
-he caught cold. He went to bed, and soon died. Dying in the factory
-hospital, among strangers, indifferent people, he smiled serenely.
-
-His memories soothed him. He, too, had been a child; he, too, had
-laughed and scampered across the green grass, among the dark trees—his
-beloved mother had followed him with her eyes.
-
-
-
-THE SEARCH
-
-I
-
-The pleasant in life has a way of mixing with the unpleasant. It is
-pleasant to be a student of the first class, for it gives one a certain
-standing in the world. But even the life of a student of the first
-class is not free from unpleasantness.
-
-The first thing of which Shura was conscious when he awoke one morning
-was that something was tearing on his person. He felt uncomfortable. As
-he turned on his side he was even more clearly aware of the damage that
-his shirt had suffered. There was a large gap under the armpits, and
-presently he realized that it extended down to the very bottom.
-
-Shura was sad. He remembered having told his mother only the day before
-about the condition of his shirt.
-
-“Wear it another day, Shurochka,” she answered him.
-
-Shura frowned and said rather sadly: “Mother, it won’t stand another
-day’s wear. To-morrow I shall be a ragamuffin.”
-
-Without looking up from her work she grumbled.
-
-“Let me have some peace. I have already promised you a change to-morrow
-evening. If you’d only be less mischievous your clothes would last
-longer. You’d wear out iron.”
-
-Shura, who was a quiet lad, growled back in reply:
-
-“One simply couldn’t be less mischievous than I. Only sometimes you
-can’t help it, and then in a reasonable sort of way.”
-
-His request went unheeded. And here was the consequence. His shirt was
-torn to its very hem. It was now good for nothing, all for want of a
-little foresight.
-
-He jumped out of bed, and ran semi-nude into the next-room, where his
-mother was making ready to go out to bring back some paying homework.
-The thought of going to school in discomfort and of waiting till
-evening vexed him.
-
-“What did I tell you?” he exclaimed. “You wouldn’t give me a shirt when
-I asked you yesterday. Now look what’s happened!”
-
-Deeply annoyed, she looked at Shura and complained.
-
-“Aren’t you ashamed to run about like that? I fear I’ll never drum any
-sense into you. You always come bothering me when I’m in a hurry.”
-
-Still, it was quite evident that it would not do to let the lad go in
-tatters. She found a brand new shirt and gave it to Shura somewhat
-reluctantly, as she had intended giving him one of the old ones, which
-were not due to arrive from the laundry until the evening.
-
-Shura was overjoyed. The new linen gave him a pleasant sensation, its
-harsh cold surface tickled the skin most pleasantly. He laughed, and he
-pranced about the room as he dressed; and his mother was not there to
-scold him.
-
-II
-
-The school, as always, seemed such a strange place. It was both gay and
-depressing, and hummed with a kind of unnatural industry. It was gay in
-the intervals between the lessons, and extremely tedious during the
-lessons.
-
-The subjects of study were most singular and useless. They concerned:
-folk, who had died long ago and did no good while they lived, and whom,
-for some unknown reason, it was necessary to recall after all these
-centuries, although some of the personages had never even existed;
-verbs, which were conjugated with something; nouns, which were declined
-for some purpose or other, though no use could be found for them in
-living speech; figures, which call for proofs of something which need
-not be proven at all; and much else, equally inconsequential and
-absurd. And there was nothing in all this that one could not do
-without; there was no correlation of facts, there was no
-straightforward answer to the eternal question: Why and Wherefore?
-
-III
-
-That morning early, in the assembly room, Mitya Krinin asked Shura:
-“Well, have you brought it?”
-
-Shura recalled that he had promised to bring Krinin a book of popular
-songs. He replied: “Just a moment. I’ve left it in my overcoat.”
-
-He ran into the dressing-room. The bells suddenly rang out in all parts
-of the building, calling the students to prayer, without which the
-lessons could hardly be expected to begin.
-
-Shura made haste. He put his hand in the overcoat pocket, found
-nothing; then, on discovering that it was some one else’s overcoat, he
-exclaimed in vexation:
-
-“There now, that’s something new—my hand in another boy’s overcoat!”
-
-And he began to search in his own.
-
-There was an outburst of derisive laughter. He looked around, startled,
-to find there the mischievous Dutikov, who called out in his unpleasant
-voice: “So, my boy, you’re going through other people’s pockets!”
-
-Shura growled back angrily: “It’s not your affair. Anyway, I’m not
-going through yours.”
-
-He found his book and ran back to the assembly room, where the students
-were already ranging themselves for the service, forming into long
-rows, according to height. The smaller students stood in front, near to
-the ikons, the taller behind; and in each row, in gradation, the lads
-on the right were taller than those on the left. The school faculty
-considered it necessary for them to pray in rows, and according to
-height; otherwise the prayer might come to nothing. Apart from them,
-there was a group of boys more proficient in chanting, and the leader
-of these, at the beginning of each chant, changed his voice several
-times—this was called “setting the tone.” The singing was loud, rapid,
-expressionless; they might have all been beating drums. The head
-student was reading in the prayer book the prayers which it was
-customary to read and not to sing—and his reading was just as loud,
-just as expressionless. In a word, it was the same as ever.
-
-But after prayers something happened.
-
-IV
-
-Student Epiphanov, of the second class, brought with him to school that
-morning a pearl-handled penknife and a silver rouble, and now these
-were nowhere to be found. He raised a cry and went to complain.
-
-An investigation was started.
-
-Dutikov reported that he had seen Shura Dolinin going through the
-pockets of some one’s overcoat. Shura was called into the cabinet of
-the director.
-
-Sergey Ivanovich, the director, fixed his suspicious eyes on the lad.
-The old tutor, who saw an excellent chance of catching a thief, and
-incidentally of balancing accounts somewhat for tricks that had been
-played upon him by the mischievous lads, experienced malicious pleasure
-and pounced upon the confused, flushing lad with questions.
-
-“Why were you in the dressing-room during prayer?”
-
-“Before prayer, Sergey Ivanovich,” whimpered Shura in a voice squeaky
-from fright.
-
-“Very well, before prayer,” said the director with irony in his voice.
-“What I want to know is why were you there?”
-
-Shura explained.
-
-The director continued: “Very well, after a book. But why in some one
-else’s pocket?”
-
-“It was a mistake,” said Shura, distressed.
-
-“A nice mistake,” remarked the director dryly. “Now confess, haven’t
-you taken by mistake a penknife and a rouble. By mistake, mind you?
-Look through your pockets, my lad.”
-
-Shura began to cry, and said through his tears: “I haven’t stolen
-anything.”
-
-The director smiled. It was pleasant to provoke tears. Such beautiful
-and such large childish tears trickled down the pink cheeks in three
-separate streams: two streams of tears came from one eye, and only one
-from the other.
-
-“If you haven’t stolen anything why do you cry?” said the director in a
-bantering tone. “I don’t even say that you have stolen. I assume that
-you merely made a mistake: caught hold of something that came into your
-hand, and then forgot all about it. Suppose you look through your
-pockets.”
-
-Shura quickly drew from his pockets all the absurd trifles usually
-found on boys, and then turned both his pockets inside out.
-
-“Nothing,” he said sadly.
-
-The director gave him a searching look.
-
-“You are sure it hasn’t dropped down in your clothes somewhere—the
-knife might have slipped into your boots, eh?”
-
-He rang. The watchman came.
-
-Shura was crying. And everything round him seemed to float in a rose
-mist, in the incomprehensible mental void of his degradation. They
-turned Shura about, felt him all over, searched him. Little by little
-they undressed him. First they took off his boots and shook them out;
-they did the same with his stockings. His belt, blouse and breeches
-followed. Everything was shaken out and searched.
-
-And through all this torment of shame, through all this indignity of a
-degrading and needless ceremony there penetrated one resplendent ray of
-joy; the torn shirt was at home, and the new, clean one rustled in the
-coarse hands of the zealous pedagogue.
-
-Shura stood in his shirt, crying. Behind the door he could hear
-tumultuous voices and cries of joy.
-
-The door burst open, and a little, red-cheeked, smiling chap entered
-hurriedly. And through his shame, through his tears, and through his
-joy about the new shirt, Shura heard a confused and panting voice say:
-
-“It’s been found, Sergey Ivanovich. On Epiphanov himself. There was a
-hole in his pocket—the penknife and rouble slipped down into his boot.”
-
-Then, suddenly, they became gentle with Shura. They stroked his head,
-comforted him, and helped him to dress.
-
-V
-
-Now he cried, now he laughed. At home he again cried and laughed. He
-complained:
-
-“I was entirely undressed. It would have been nice, wouldn’t it, if I
-had been wearing that torn shirt!”
-
-Later—yes, what happened later? His mother would go to the director.
-She wished to make a scene. Afterwards she would lodge a complaint
-against him. But she recalled, in the street, that her boy was a
-non-paying student. There was no scene. Besides, the director received
-her pleasantly. He was so apologetic.
-
-The impression of his degradation remained with the boy. All its
-incidents had impressed themselves upon him: he had been suspected of
-theft, and searched, and he had stood, almost naked, undergoing the
-scrutiny of an officious person. Shameful? Let us, by all means,
-console ourselves that it is an experience useful to life.
-
-Weeping, the mother said: “Who knows—perhaps when you grow up,
-something of the sort will really happen. We’ve heard of such things in
-our time.”
-
-
-
-THE WHITE MOTHER
-
-I
-
-Easter was near. Esper Constantinovich Saksaoolov was in a painful and
-undecided state of mind. It seemed to have begun when he was asked at
-the Gorodischevs: “Where are you greeting the holiday?”
-
-Saksaoolov, for some reason, did not reply at once. The housewife, who
-was stout, short-sighted and fussy, went on: “Come to us.”
-
-Saksaoolov felt vexed—most likely at the young girl, who at the words
-of her mother gave him a quick glance, then averted it, and continued
-her conversation with a professor’s young assistant.
-
-Mothers of grown daughters saw a possible husband in Saksaoolov, which
-annoyed him. He considered himself an old bachelor at thirty-seven.
-
-He answered sharply: “Thank you. But I always pass that night at home.”
-
-The girl glanced at him with a smile and asked: “With whom?”
-
-“Alone,” answered Saksaoolov with a shade of astonishment in his voice.
-
-“You’re a misanthrope,” said Madame Gorodischeva, with a sour smile.
-
-Saksaoolov valued his freedom. It seemed strange to him, whenever he
-thought of it, that he had been so near marriage once. He had lived
-long in his small but tastefully furnished apartment, had got used to
-his man attendant, the elderly and steady Fedota, and to Fedota’s not
-less reliable spouse, who cooked his dinner; and he persuaded himself
-that he ought to remain single out of memory to his first love. In
-truth, his heart was growing cold from indifference born of a lonely,
-incomplete life.
-
-He had his own fortune, his father and mother had died long ago, and he
-had no near relatives. He lived methodically and quietly; had something
-to do with a government department; was intimately acquainted with
-contemporary literature and art; and was something of an epicurean—but
-life itself seemed to him to be empty and aimless. Were it not that one
-pure, radiant fancy visited him at times he would have become entirely
-cold, like many others.
-
-II
-
-His first and only love, which ended before it had time to blossom,
-wrapt him closely in sad and sweet reveries, usually in the evenings.
-Five years earlier he had met a young girl who left an indelible
-impression upon him. She was pale, gentle, slender, with blue eyes, and
-fair wavy hair. She almost seemed to him not to belong to this earth,
-but was like a creature of air and mist, blown for a brief moment by
-fate into the city turmoil. Her movements were slow; her gentle, clear
-voice was soft, like the murmur of a brook purling over stones.
-
-Saksaoolov, whether by chance or not, saw her always in a white dress.
-The impression of white had become inseparable from his thought of her.
-Her very name, Tamar, suggested to him something as white as the snow
-on the mountain tops.
-
-He began to visit her at the house of her parents. More than once he
-had resolved to say to her those words which bind human fates together.
-But she never let him go on; she would always grow frightened and shy,
-and she would rise and leave him. What frightened her? Saksaoolov read
-signs of virgin love in her face; her eyes grew brighter when he
-entered, and a light flush suffused her cheeks.
-
-But one never-to-be-forgotten day she listened to him. It was in the
-early spring. The ice on the river was gone, and the trees were covered
-with a soft green veil. Tamar and Saksaoolov were sitting before the
-window in the city house, and looking out on the Niva. He spoke,
-scarcely knowing what he said, but his words were both gentle and
-terrible to her. She grew pale, smiled vaguely, and rose. Her slender
-hand trembled on the carved top of the chair.
-
-“To-morrow,” Tamar said quietly, and went out.
-
-Saksaoolov gazed with intense feeling toward the door behind which
-Tamar had disappeared. His head was in a whirl. His eye fell upon a
-sprig of white lilac; he picked it up almost absently, and left without
-bidding his hosts good-bye.
-
-He could not sleep that night. He stood at the window and looked out
-into the far-stretching streets, at first dark, then lighter at dawn;
-he smiled and pressed the sprig of lilac between his fingers. When it
-grew light he noticed that the floor of the room was strewn with white
-petals of lilac. This seemed both curious and of happy omen to
-Saksaoolov. He felt the cool of the breeze on his heated face. He took
-a bath and he felt refreshed. Then he went to Tamar.
-
-They told him that she was ill, that she had caught a cold somewhere.
-And Saksaoolov never saw her again; she died within two weeks. He did
-not go to her funeral. Her death left him quite calm, and he no longer
-knew whether he had loved her or whether it was a short, passing
-fascination.
-
-He mused about her sometimes in the evening; but he gradually learned
-to forget her; and Saksaoolov had no portrait of her. But after a few
-years—more precisely, only a year ago—in the spring, upon seeing a
-sprig of lilac sadly out of place among rich eatables in a restaurant
-window, he remembered Tamar. And from that time on he loved to think of
-Tamar again during the evenings.
-
-Sometimes, as he fell into a light sleep, he dreamt that Tamar came to
-him, sat opposite him, and looked at him with unaverted, fond eyes; and
-that she had something to tell him. And it was painful to feel Tamar’s
-expectant glance upon him, and not know what she wanted of him.
-
-Now, leaving the Gorodischevs, he thought timidly: “She will come to
-give me the kiss of Easter.”
-
-A feeling of fear and loneliness took hold of him with such intensity
-that the idea came to him: “Perhaps it would be well to marry so as not
-to be alone on holy, mysterious nights.”
-
-He thought of Valeria Mikhailovna, the Gorodischev girl. She was by no
-means a beauty, but she was always dressed becomingly to set off her
-looks. She apparently liked him, and was not likely to reject him if he
-asked her.
-
-The throng and din in the street distracted him and his usual somewhat
-ironic mood swayed his thoughts of the Gorodischev girl. Could he prove
-false to Tamar’s memory for any one else? Everything in the world
-seemed so paltry to him that he wished no one but Tamar to give him the
-kiss of Easter.
-
-“But,” thought he, “she will again look at me with expectancy. White,
-gentle Tamar, what does she want? Will her gentle lips kiss me?”
-
-III
-
-Saksaoolov thought sadly of Tamar as he wandered in the streets, and
-looking into the faces of the passers-by he thought many of the older
-people unpleasantly coarse. He recalled that there was no one with whom
-he would exchange the kiss of Easter with real desire and joy. There
-would be many coarse lips and prickly beards, smelling of wine, to kiss
-the first day.
-
-It was much pleasanter to kiss the children. Children’s faces grew
-lovely in Saksaoolov’s eyes.
-
-He walked a long time, and when he was tired he entered a church
-enclosure just off the noisy street. A pale lad sat on a form and
-looked up frightened at Saksaoolov; then he once more began to gaze
-absently before him. His blue eyes were gentle and sad, like Tamar’s.
-He was so small that his feet projected from the seat.
-
-Saksaoolov, who sat near him, began to eye him, half with pity, half
-with curiosity. There was something in this youngster that stirred his
-memory with joy, and at the same time excited him. In appearance he was
-a most ordinary urchin; he had on ragged clothes, a white fur cap on
-his bright hair, and a pair of dirty boots, worse for wear.
-
-He sat long on the form, then he rose suddenly and gave a cry. He ran
-out of the gate into the street, then stopped, turned quickly in
-another direction, and again stopped. It was clear that he did not know
-which way to turn. He began to weep quietly, making no ado, and large
-tears ran down his cheeks. A crowd gathered. A policeman came. They
-began to ask him where he lived.
-
-“At the Gliukhov house,” he lisped in a childlike but indistinct tone.
-
-“In what street,” the policeman asked.
-
-The boy did not know, and only kept on repeating: “At the Gliukhov
-house.”
-
-The young and good-natured policeman thought awhile, and decided that
-there was no such house near.
-
-“With whom do you live?” asked a gruff workman. “With your father?”
-
-“I have no father,” answered the boy, as he scanned the faces round him
-with his tearful eyes.
-
-“So you’ve got no father, that’s how it is,” said the workman gravely,
-and shook his head. “Then where’s your mother?”
-
-“I have a mother,” the boy replied.
-
-“What’s her name?”
-
-“Mamma,” said the boy; then, upon reflection, he added, “black mamma.”
-
-Some one laughed in the crowd.
-
-“Black? I wonder whether that’s the name of the family?” suggested the
-gruff workman.
-
-“First it was a white mamma, and now it’s a black mamma,” said the boy.
-
-“There’s no making head or tail of this,” decided the policeman. “I’ll
-take him to the station. They’ll telephone about it.”
-
-He went to the gate and rang. But the house-porter had already seen the
-policeman and, besom in hand, he was coming to the gate. The policeman
-ordered him to take the boy to the station. But the boy suddenly
-bethought himself, and cried out: “Never mind, let me go, I’ll find the
-way myself.”
-
-Perhaps he was frightened of the house-porter’s besom, or perhaps he
-had really recalled something; at any rate he ran off so hard that
-Saksaoolov almost lost sight of him. But soon the boy walked more
-quietly. He turned street corners and ran from one side to the other
-searching for, but not finding, his home. Saksaoolov followed him in
-silence. He was not an adept at talking to children.
-
-At last the boy grew tired. He stopped before a lamp-post and leant
-against it. Tears gleamed in his eyes.
-
-“My dear boy,” said Saksaoolov, “haven’t you found it yet?”
-
-The lad looked at him with his sad, soft eyes, and Saksaoolov suddenly
-understood what had impelled him to follow the boy with such
-resolution. There was something in the face and glance of the little
-wanderer that gave him an unusual likeness to Tamar.
-
-“My dear boy, what’s your name?” asked Saksaoolov in a tender and
-agitated voice.
-
-“Lesha,” said the boy.
-
-“Tell me, dear Lesha, do you live with your mother?”
-
-“Yes, with mamma. Only now it’s a black mamma—and before it was a white
-mamma.”
-
-Saksaoolov thought that by black mamma he meant a nun.
-
-“How did you get lost?” he asked.
-
-“I walked with mamma, and we walked and walked. She told me to sit down
-and wait, and then she went away. And I got frightened.”
-
-“Who is your mother?”
-
-“My mamma? She’s so black and so angry.”
-
-“What does she do?”
-
-The boy thought awhile.
-
-“She drinks coffee,” he said.
-
-“What else does she do?”
-
-“She quarrels with the lodgers,” answered Lesha after a pause.
-
-“And where is your white mamma?”
-
-“She was carried away. She was put into a coffin and carried away. And
-papa was carried away.”
-
-The boy pointed into the distance somewhere and burst into tears.
-
-“What’s to be done with him?” thought Saksaoolov.
-
-Then suddenly the boy began to run again. After he had turned a few
-corners he went more quietly. Saksaoolov overtook him a second time.
-The lad’s face expressed a strange mixture of joy and fear.
-
-“Here’s the Gliukhov house,” he said to Saksaoolov, as he pointed to a
-huge, five-storeyed monstrosity.
-
-At this moment there appeared at the gates of the Gliukhov house a
-black-haired, black-eyed woman in a black dress, a black kerchief with
-white dots on her head. The boy shrank back in fear.
-
-“Mamma,” he whispered.
-
-His stepmother looked at him with astonishment.
-
-“How did you get here, you young whelp!” she shrieked out. “I told you
-to sit on the bench, didn’t I?”
-
-She seemed to be on the point of whipping him when she noticed that
-some sort of gentleman, serious and dignified in appearance, was
-watching them, and she spoke more softly.
-
-“Can’t I leave you for a half-hour anywhere without you taking to your
-heels? I’ve walked my feet off looking for you, you young whelp!”
-
-She caught the child’s very small hand in her own huge one and dragged
-him within the gate. Saksaoolov made a note of the house number and the
-name of the street, and went home.
-
-IV
-
-Saksaoolov liked to listen to the opinions of Fedota. When he returned
-home he told him about the boy Lesha.
-
-“She did it on purpose,” decided Fedota. “Just think what a witch she
-is to take the boy such a way from home!”
-
-“Why should she?” Saksaoolov asked.
-
-“It’s simple enough. What can you expect of a stupid woman! She thought
-the boy would get lost somewhere, and some one would pick him up. After
-all, she’s a stepmother. What’s a homeless child to her?”
-
-Saksaoolov was incredulous. He observed: “But the police would have
-found her out.”
-
-“Of course they would; but you can’t tell, she may have meant to leave
-town; then find her if you can.”
-
-Saksaoolov smiled.
-
-“Really,” he thought, “my Fedota should be a district attorney.”
-
-He fell into a doze that evening as he sat reading before a lamp. Tamar
-appeared to him—the gentle, white Tamar—and sat down beside him. Her
-face was strangely like Lesha’s face. She looked steadily and
-persistently, and awaited something. It tormented Saksaoolov to see her
-bright, pleading eyes, and not to know what she wanted. He rose quickly
-and went to the armchair where he thought he saw Tamar sitting. He
-stopped before her and asked loudly and with emotion:
-
-“What do you wish? Tell me.”
-
-But she was no longer there.
-
-“It was only a dream,” thought Saksaoolov sadly.
-
-V
-
-The next day, as he was leaving the academy exhibition, Saksaoolov met
-the Gorodischevs. He told the girl about Lesha.
-
-“Poor boy,” said Valeria Mikhailovna quietly. “His stepmother is trying
-to get rid of him.”
-
-“That’s yet to be proved,” said Saksaoolov.
-
-He felt annoyed that every one, including Fedota and Valeria, should
-look so tragically upon a simple incident.
-
-“That’s quite evident,” said Valeria Mikhailovna warmly. “There’s no
-father, and only a stepmother to whom he is simply a burden. No good
-will come of it—the boy will have a sad end.”
-
-“You take too gloomy a view of the matter,” observed Saksaoolov, with a
-smile.
-
-“You ought to take him to yourself,” Valeria Mikhailovna advised him.
-
-“I?” asked Saksaoolov with astonishment.
-
-“You are living alone,” Valeria Mikhailovna persisted. “You have no
-one. Here’s a chance for you to do a good deed at Eastertime! At least,
-you’ll have some one with whom to exchange the kiss of Easter.”
-
-“I beg you to tell me, Valeria Mikhailovna, what am I to do with a
-child?”
-
-“You might engage a governess. Fate itself is sending the boy to you.”
-
-Saksaoolov looked with amazement and involuntary tenderness at the
-girl’s flushed, animated face.
-
-When Tamar again appeared to him that evening he seemed already to know
-her wish. It was as though, in the silence of the room, he heard her
-tranquilly spoken words: “Do as she advised you.”
-
-Saksaoolov rose joyously and rubbed his drowsy eyes with his hand. He
-saw a sprig of white lilac on the table, and was astonished. How did it
-come there? Did Tamar leave it there as a sign of her wish?
-
-And he suddenly thought that if he married the Gorodischeva girl and
-took Lesha into his house he would be carrying out the will of Tamar.
-He breathed in the lilac’s aroma happily. He suddenly remembered that
-he himself had bought the sprig of lilac that same day.
-
-Then he argued with himself: “It really doesn’t matter that I had
-bought it myself; its real significance is that I had an impulse to buy
-it; and that later I forgot that I had bought it.”
-
-VI
-
-Next morning he went to fetch Lesha. The boy met him at the gate and
-showed him where he lived. Lesha’s black mamma was drinking coffee, and
-was quarrelling with her red-nosed lodger. Saksaoolov learnt something
-about Lesha from her.
-
-The lad lost his mother when he was three. His father married this
-black woman, and himself died within a year. The black woman, Irina
-Ivanovna, had her own son, now a year old. She was about to marry
-again. The wedding would take place in a few days and after the
-ceremony she would go with her husband to the provinces. Lesha was a
-stranger to her and she would rather do without him.
-
-“Give him to me,” suggested Saksaoolov.
-
-“With great pleasure,” said Irina Ivanovna with unconcealed and
-malignant joy.
-
-She added after a short silence: “Only you will pay for his clothes.”
-
-And so Lesha was presently installed at Saksaoolov’s. The Gorodischeva
-girl helped in the finding of a governess and in other details of
-Lesha’s comfort. This required her to visit Saksaoolov’s apartments.
-She assumed a different appearance in Saksaoolov’s eyes as she busied
-herself in these various cares. It was as though the door to her soul
-opened itself to him. Her eyes had become beaming and gentle, and she
-was permeated with almost the same tranquillity that breathed from
-Tamar.
-
-VII
-
-Lesha’s stories about the white mamma won over Fedota and his wife. As
-they put him to bed on Easter eve, they hung a white candied egg above
-his head.
-
-“It’s from the white mamma,” said Christina, “only you darling mustn’t
-touch it; at least not until the resurrection, when you’ll hear the
-bell ring.”
-
-Lesha lay down obediently. He looked long at the egg of joy and at last
-fell asleep.
-
-Saksaoolov was sitting alone in another room. Just before midnight an
-unconquerable drowsiness again closed his eyes, and he was glad that he
-would soon see Tamar.
-
-At last she came, all in white, joyous, bringing with her glad tidings
-from afar. She smiled gently, then bent over him, and—unspeakable
-happiness!—Saksaoolov’s lips felt a tender contact.
-
-A sweet voice said softly: “_Christoss Voskress!_” (Christ has risen).
-
-Saksaoolov, without opening his eyes stretched out his arms and
-embraced a slender, gentle body. It was Lesha who climbed on his knees
-and gave him the kiss of Easter.
-
-The church bell had awakened the boy. He seized the white egg and ran
-to Saksaoolov.
-
-Saksaoolov opened his eyes. Lesha laughed as he showed him the egg.
-
-“White mamma has sent it,” he lisped, “and I’ll give it to you, and you
-can give it to Aunt Valeria.”
-
-“Very well, my dear boy, I’ll do as you say,” said Saksaoolov.
-
-He put Lesha to bed, then went to Valeria Mikhailovna with Lesha’s
-white egg, a gift from the white mamma, but which really seemed to him
-at that moment to be a gift from Tamar herself.
-
-THE END
-
-
-
-
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-
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 48452 ***
+
+cover
+
+frontispiece
+
+
+
+
+The Old House
+
+and Other Tales
+
+by Feodor Sologub
+
+AUTHORISED TRANSLATION FROM THE RUSSIAN
+
+BY JOHN COURNOS
+
+_SECOND IMPRESSION_
+
+LONDON
+
+MARTIN SECKER
+
+NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET
+
+ADELPHI
+
+1916
+
+_Acknowledgments are due to the Editor of “The New Statesman” for
+permission to republish The White Dog and The Hoop, which first appeared in
+that periodical_.
+
+Contents
+
+ INTRODUCTION
+ THE OLD HOUSE
+ THE UNITER OF SOULS
+ THE INVOKER OF THE BEAST
+ THE WHITE DOG
+ LIGHT AND SHADOWS
+ THE GLIMMER OF HUNGER
+ HIDE AND SEEK
+ THE SMILE
+ THE HOOP
+ THE SEARCH
+ THE WHITE MOTHER
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+_“Sologub” is a pseudonym—the author’s real name is Feodor Kuzmich
+Teternikov. He was born in 1863. He completed a scholastic course at
+Petrograd. His first published story appeared in the periodical
+“Severny Viestnik” in 1894, but it was not until about a dozen years
+later that he came into his fame, which he has since then further
+enhanced_.
+
+_This is all the biographical knowledge we have of a living novelist
+whose place in Russian literature is secure beyond all question; the
+scantiness of our knowledge is all the more amazing when we consider
+that the author is over fifty, and that his complete works are in their
+twentieth volume_.
+
+_These include almost every possible form of literary expression—the
+fairy tale, the poem, the play, the essay, the novel, and the short
+story. Sologub’s place as a poet is hardly less assured than his place
+as a novelist_.
+
+_How little importance Sologub attaches to personal_ réclame _may be
+gathered from his answer to repeated requests for a nutshell
+“autobiography” a type of document in vogue in Russia; Maxim Gorky’s
+impressive model, I believe, is quite familiar to English readers_.
+
+_“I cannot give you my autobiography,” Sologub wrote to the editor of a
+literary almanac, “as I do not think that my personality can be of
+sufficient interest to any one. And I haven’t the time to waste on such
+unnecessary business as an autobiography.”_
+
+_At the beginning of his Complete Works, however, there is a poem in
+prose, a kind of spiritual autobiography in which he insists that all
+life is a miracle, and that his own surely is also. “I simply and
+calmly reveal my soul ... in the hope that the intimate part of me
+shall become the universal.” After such an avowal the reader will know
+where to look for the author’s personality_.
+
+_In studying his work, one finds that he has both realism and fantasy.
+But while he is sometimes wholly realistic, he is seldom wholly
+fantastic. His fantasy has always its foundations in reality. His
+realism is as grey as that of Chekhov, whose logical successor he has
+been acclaimed by Russian criticism. But it is his prodigious fantasy
+that makes the point of his departure from the Chekhovian formula. When
+he combines the two qualities, the strange reconciliation thus effected
+produces a result as original as it is rich in “the meaning of life.”
+Sologub himself says somewhere_:
+
+_“I take a piece of life, coarse and poor, and make of it a delightful
+legend_.”
+
+_This sentence establishes the distinction between the two writers.
+Life for Chekhov may contain its delightful characters, life itself is
+seldom a delightful legend_.
+
+_Actually, Sologub sees life more greyly than Chekhov; perhaps it is
+this sense of grief “too great to be borne” that compels him to grope
+for an outlet, for some kind of relief. Already in his earliest novel
+one of the characters gives utterance to the significant words_:
+
+“_Once you prove that life has no meaning, life becomes impossible_.”
+
+_This relief is to be found within oneself in the “inner life”; that is
+in the imagination, “imagination the great consoler” as Renan has said.
+Imagination is everything; it is, indeed, the invoker of all beauty;
+and admiration of beauty is the one escape out of life. The author,
+“with whatever words he can find, speaks of one thing. Patiently calls
+towards the one thing....” Writing of the sadness of life, he envelops
+this sadness in the beauty evoked by his imagination as in a flame, and
+withers it up. One finds him rejoicing that there is a life other than
+“this ordinary, coarse, tedious, sunlight life,” that there is a life
+that is “nocturnal, prodigious, resembling a fairy tale.”_
+
+_It may sound like a startling antinomy to say that at his happiest
+Sologub is a compound of Chekhov and Poe. It could be put in another
+way: if Poe were a Russian, he might have written as Sologub writes.
+This is to say that the mystery with which Sologub endows his tales is
+never there for its own sake, but as a most intense symbol of reality._
+
+_Consider a story like “The Invoker of the Beast.” As a story of
+reincarnation it is a masterpiece of mystery. The reader, anxious for a
+good tale merely, may let the matter rest there. But can he? Can he
+listen to Gurov, who, while living through, in his delirium, his
+previous existence, is so insistent about the “invincibility of his
+walls”—and yet remain unmoved to the deep meaning of Gurov’s cry? Are
+not the seemingly imperishable walls, within which Gurov thought
+himself secure from the Beast, a symbol of our own subtle insecurity?
+Is not our own Beast—be it some unexpected latent circumstance, or some
+unlooked-for yet inevitable consequence of a past action, on the part
+of our ancestors or of ourselves—ready to pounce upon us and ravage our
+hearts, after a long and relentless pursuit, from which in the end
+there is no escape?_
+
+_Again, to one who has read most of Sologub’s productions, the story of
+the Beast is interesting, because it contains, as it were, a synthesis
+of the author’s tendencies. Its separate motifs are repeated in
+variation in many of his other stories. There is the boy Timarides,
+whom the author loves. Why?_
+
+_Because Timarides is a child, because he is beautiful, trustful, and
+ready to do daring deeds. Timarides perhaps stands for the young
+generation reproaching the old for its neglect, its forgetfulness of
+its promises, its settling in a groove, its stripping itself of its
+happiest illusions_.
+
+_And throughout his work, Sologub reiterates his affection for children
+and the childlike. When he loves or pities an older person, he endows
+him with childlike attributes. He does this in the little story, “The
+Hoop.” Does the old man seem absurd to us? If so, it is to be inferred
+that the fault is with ourselves. We have grown too sophisticated_.
+
+_Here, again, Chekhov and Sologub meet. Chekhov loves the unpractical
+people, because they are usually more lovable personalities than the
+successful, practical ones; Sologub loves the absurd, the childlike,
+the quixotic, for the same reason_.
+
+_Rather than have them grow up and therefore become unlovable, Sologub
+makes some of his children die young. There is, for example, in one of
+his stories, sweet Rayechka, who died in a fall, and upon whom the boy,
+Mitya, recalling her, muses in this fashion: “Had Rayechka lived to
+grow up, she might have become a housemaid like Darya, pomaded her
+hair, and squinted her cunning eyes.”_
+
+_In “The Old House” it is the children once more who are the
+revolutionaries—trustful, adorable, and daring. In “The White Mother”
+the bachelor, Saksaoolov, is redeemed through the boy, Lesha, who
+resembles his dead sweetheart_.
+
+_Schoolmasters and schoolchildren are among the characters who frequent
+the pages of Sologub’s books. Sologub, it should be remembered, began
+life as a schoolmaster. The story “Light and Shadows” is, perhaps, a
+reflection upon our educational system which crams the young mind with
+a multitude of useless facts and starves the imagination; we see the
+reaction of the system on the delicate organism of a sensitive and
+imaginative child_.
+
+_Mothers share the author’s affection for their children; but, like
+schoolmasters, mothers, unfortunately, are of two kinds. The world has
+its “black mammas” as well as its “white mammas.”_
+
+_There are few writers who are so subtle, so insinuating, and so
+seductive, in their power to make the reader think; few writers who
+give so great a stimulus to the imagination_.
+
+_With Chekhov, Russian fiction turns definitely to town life for its
+material; nevertheless, the changes which the modern industrial system
+has brought about have in no wise weakened the mystic force of Russian
+literature. Sologub is a mystic, a mystic of Russian tradition; and
+Sologub is a product of Petrograd_.
+
+_JOHN COURNOS_
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD HOUSE[1]
+
+I
+
+
+It was an old, large, one-storied house, with a mezzanine. It stood in
+a village, eleven versts from a railway station, and about fifty versts
+from the district town. The garden which surrounded the house seemed
+lost in drowsiness, while beyond it stretched vistas and vistas of
+inexpressibly dull, infinitely depressing fields.
+
+Once this house had been painted lavender, but now it was faded. Its
+roof, once red, had turned dark brown. But the pillars of the terrace
+were still quite strong, the little arbours in the garden were intact,
+and there was an Aphrodite in the shrubbery.
+
+It seemed as if the old house were full of memories. It stood, as it
+were, dreaming, recalling, lapsing finally into a mood of sorrow at the
+overwhelming flood of doleful memories.
+
+Everything in this house was as before, as in those days when the whole
+family lived there together in the summer, when Borya was yet alive.
+
+Now, in the old manor, lived only women: Borya’s grandmother, Elena
+Kirillovna Vodolenskaya; Borya’s mother, Sofia Alexandrovna Ozoreva;
+and Borya’s sister, Natalya Vasilyevna. The old grandmother, and the
+mother, and the young girl appeared tranquil, and at times even
+cheerful. It was the second year of their awaiting in the old house the
+youngest of the family, Boris. Boris who was no longer among the
+living.
+
+They hardly spoke of him to one another; yet their thoughts, their
+memories, and their musings of him filled their days. At times dark
+threads of grief stole in among the even woof of these thoughts and
+reveries; and tears fell bitterly and ceaselessly.
+
+When the midday sun rested overhead, when the sad moon beckoned, when
+the rosy dawn blew its cool breezes, when the evening sun blazed its
+red laughter—these were the four points between which their spirits
+fluctuated from evening joy to high midday sorrow. Swayed
+involuntarily, all three of them felt the sympathy and antipathy of the
+hours, each mood in turn.
+
+The happiness of dawn, the bright, midday sadness, the joy of dusk, the
+pale pining of night. The four emotions lifted them infinitely higher
+than the rope upon which Borya had swung, upon which Borya had died.
+
+ [1] In collaboration with Anastasya Chebotarevskaya.
+
+II
+
+At pale-rose dawn, when the merrily green, harmoniously white birches
+bend their wet branches before the windows, just beyond the little
+patch of sand by the round flower-bed; at pale-rose dawn—when a fresh
+breeze comes blowing from the bathing pond—then wakes Natasha, the
+first of the three.
+
+What a joy it is to wake at dawn! To throw aside the cool cover of
+muslin, to rest upon the elbow, upon one’s side, and to look out of the
+window with large, dark, sad eyes.
+
+Out of the window the sky is visible, seeming quite low over the white
+distant birches. A pale vermilion sunrise brightly suffuses its soft
+fire through the thin mist which stretches over the earth. There is in
+its quiet, gently joyous flame a great tension of young fears and of
+half-conscious desires; what tension, what happiness, and what sadness!
+It smiles through the dew of sweet morning tears, over white
+lilies-of-the-valley, over the blue violets of the broad fields.
+
+Wherefore tears! To what end the grief of night!
+
+There, close to the window, hangs a sprig of sweet-flag, banishing all
+evil. It was put there by the grandmother, and the old nurse insists on
+its staying there. It trembles in the air, the sprig of sweet-flag, and
+smiles its dry green smile.
+
+Natasha’s face lapses into a quiet, rosy serenity.
+
+The earth awakes in its fresh morning vigour. The voices of
+newly-roused life reach Natasha. Here the restless twitter of birds
+comes from among the swaying damp branches. There in the distance can
+be heard the prolonged trill of a horn. Elsewhere, quite near, on the
+path by the window, there are sounds of something walking with a heavy,
+stamping tread. The cheerful neighing of a foal is heard, and from
+another quarter the protracted lowing of sullen cows.
+
+III
+
+Natasha rises, smiles at something, and goes quickly to the window. Her
+window looks down upon the earth from a height. It is in three
+sections, in the mezzanine. Natasha does not draw the curtains across
+it at night, so as not to hide from her drowsing eyes the comforting
+glimmer of the stars and the witching face of the moon.
+
+What happiness it is to open the window, to fling it wide open with a
+vigorous thrust of the hand! From the direction of the river the
+gentlest of morning breezes comes blowing into Natasha’s face, still
+somewhat rapt in sleep. Beyond the garden and the hedges she can see
+the broad fields beloved from childhood. Spread over them are sloping
+hillocks, rows of ploughed soil, green groves, and clusters of
+shrubbery.
+
+The river winds its way among the green, full of capricious turnings.
+White tufts of mist, dispersing gradually, hang over it like fragments
+of a torn veil. The stream, visible in places, is more often hidden by
+some projection of its low bank, but in the far distance its path is
+marked by dense masses of willow-herb, which stand out dark green
+against the bright grass.
+
+Natasha washed herself quickly; it was pleasant to feel the cold water
+upon her shoulders and upon her neck. Then, childlike, she prayed
+diligently before the ikon in the dark corner, her knees not upon the
+rug but upon the bare floor, in the hope that it might please God.
+
+She repeated her daily prayer:
+
+“Perform a miracle, O Lord!”
+
+And she bent her face to the floor.
+
+She rose. Then quickly she put on her gay, light dress with broad
+shoulder-straps, cut square on the breast, and a leather belt, drawn in
+at the back with a large buckle. Quickly she plaited her dark braids,
+and deftly wound them round her head. With a flourish she stuck into
+them horn combs and hairpins, the first that came to her hand. She
+threw over her shoulders a grey, knitted kerchief, pleasantly soft in
+texture, and made haste to go out onto the terrace of the old house.
+
+The narrow inner staircase creaked gently under Natasha’s light step.
+It was pleasant to feel the contact of the cold hard floor of planks
+under her warm feet.
+
+When Natasha descended and passed down the corridor and through the
+dining-room, she walked on tip-toe so as to awaken neither her mother
+nor her grandmother. Upon her face was a sweet expression of cheerful
+preoccupation, and between her brows a slight contraction. This
+contraction had remained as it was formed in those other days.
+
+The curtains in the dining-room were still drawn. The room seemed dark
+and oppressive. She wanted to run through quickly, past the large
+drawn-out table. She had no wish to stop at the sideboard to snatch
+something to eat.
+
+Quicker, quicker! Toward freedom, toward the open, toward the smiles of
+the careless dawn which does not think of wearisome yesterdays.
+
+IV
+
+It was bright and refreshing on the terrace. Natasha’s light-coloured
+dress suddenly kindled with the pale-rose smiles of the early sun. A
+soft breeze blew from the garden. It caressed and kissed Natasha’s
+feet.
+
+Natasha seated herself in a wicker chair, and leant her slender rosy
+elbows upon the broad parapet of the terrace. She directed her gaze
+toward the gate between the hedges beyond which the grey silent road
+was visible, gently serene in the pale rose light.
+
+Natasha looked long, intently, with a steady pensive gaze in her dark
+eyes. A small vein quivered at the left corner of her mouth. The left
+brow trembled almost imperceptibly. The vertical contraction between
+her eyes defined itself rather sharply. Equal to the fixity of the
+tremulous, ruby-like flame of the rising sun, was the fixed vision of
+her very intent, motionless eyes.
+
+If an observer were to give a long and searching look at Natasha as she
+sat there in the sunrise, it would seem to him that she was not
+observing what was before her, but that her intent gaze was fixed on
+something very far away, at something that was not in sight.
+
+It was as though she wished to see some one who was not there, some one
+she was waiting for, some one who will come—who will come to-day. Only
+let the miracle happen. Yes, the miracle!
+
+V
+
+Natasha’s grey daily routine was before her. It was always the same,
+always in the same place. And as yesterday, as to-morrow, as always,
+the same people. Eternal unchanging people.
+
+A _muzhik_ walked along with a monotonous swing, the iron heels of his
+boots striking the hard clay of the road with a resounding clang. A
+peasant woman walked unsteadily by, softly rustling her way through the
+dewy grass, showing her sunburnt legs. Regarding the old house with a
+kind of awe, a number of sweet, sunburnt, dirty, white-haired urchins
+ran by.
+
+Past the house, always past it. No one thought of stopping at the gate.
+And no one saw the young girl behind that pillar of the terrace.
+
+Sweet-briar bloomed near the gate. It let fall its first pale-rose
+petals on the yellow sandy path, petals of heavenly innocence even in
+their actual fall. The roses in the garden exhaled their sweet,
+passionate perfume. At the terrace itself, reflecting the light of the
+sky, they flaunted their bright rosy smiles, their aromatic shameless
+dreams and desires, innocent as all was innocent in the primordial
+paradise, innocent as only the perfumes of roses are innocent upon this
+earth. White tobacco plants and red poppies bloomed in one part of the
+garden. And just beyond a marble Aphrodite gleamed white, like some
+eternal emblem of beauty, in the green, refreshing, aromatic, joyous
+life of this passing day.
+
+Natasha said quietly to herself: “He must have changed a great deal.
+Perhaps I shan’t know him when he comes.”
+
+And quietly she answered herself: “But I would know him at once by his
+voice and his eyes.”
+
+And listening intently she seemed to hear his deep, sonorous voice.
+Then she seemed to see his dark eyes, and their flaming, dauntless,
+youthfully-bold glance. And again she listened intently and gave a
+searching look into the great distance. She bent down lightly, and
+inclined her sensitive ear toward something while her glance, pensive
+and motionless, seemed no less fixed. It was as though she had stopped
+suddenly in an attitude, tense and not a little wild.
+
+The rosy smile of the now blazing sunrise timidly played on Natasha’s
+pale face.
+
+VI
+
+A voice in the distance gave a cry, and there was an answering echo.
+
+Natasha shivered. She started, sighed, and then rose. Down the low,
+broad steps she descended into the garden, and found herself on the
+sandy path. The fine grey sand grated under her small and narrow feet,
+which left behind their delicate traces.
+
+Natasha approached the white marble statue.
+
+For a long time she gazed upon the tranquil beauty of the goddess’s
+face, so remote from her own tedious, dried-up life, and then upon the
+ever-youthful form, nude and unashamed, radiating freedom. Roses
+bloomed at the foot of the plain pedestal. They added the enchantment
+of their brief aromatic existence to the enchantment of eternal beauty.
+
+Very quietly Natasha addressed the Aphrodite.
+
+“If he should come to-day, I will put into the buttonhole of his jacket
+the most scarlet, the most lovely of these roses. He is swarthy, and
+his eyes are dark—yes, I shall take the most scarlet of your roses!”
+
+The goddess smiled. Gathering up with her beautiful hands the serene
+draperies which fell about her knees, silently but unmistakably she
+answered, “Yes.”
+
+And Natasha said again: “I will plait a wreath of scarlet roses, and I
+will let down my hair, my long, dark hair; and I will put on the
+wreath, and I will dance and laugh and sing, to comfort him, to make
+him joyous.”
+
+And again the goddess said to her, “Yes.”
+
+Natasha spoke again: “You will remember him. You will recognize him.
+You gods remember everything. Only we people forget. In order to
+destroy and to create—ourselves and you.”
+
+And in the silence of the white marble was clear the eternal “Yes,” the
+comforting answer, “Yes.”
+
+Natasha sighed and took her eyes from the statue. The sunrise blazed
+into a flame; the joyous garden smiled with the radiations of dawn’s
+ever-youthful, triumphant laughter.
+
+VII
+
+Then Natasha went quietly toward the gate. There again she looked a
+long time down the road. She had her hand on the gate in an attitude of
+expectation, ready, as it were, to swing it wide open before him who
+was coming, before him whom she awaited.
+
+Stirring the grey dust of the road the refreshing early wind blew
+softly into Natasha’s face, and whispered in her ears persistent, evil
+and ominous things, as though it envied her expectation, her tense
+calm.
+
+O wind, you who blow everywhere, you know all, you come and you go at
+will, and you pursue your way into the endless beyond.
+
+O wind, you who blow everywhere, perchance you have flown into the
+regions where he is? Perchance you have brought tidings of him?
+
+If you would but bring hither a single sigh from him, or bear one hence
+to him; if but the light, pale shadow of a word.
+
+When the early wind blows a flush comes to Natasha’s face, and a flame
+to her eyes; her red lips quiver, a few tears appear, her slender form
+sways slightly—all this when the wind blows, the cool, the desolate,
+the unmindful, the infinitely wise wind. It blows, and in its blowing
+there is the sense of fleeting, irrevocable time.
+
+It blows, and it stings, and it brings sadness, and pitilessly it goes
+on.
+
+It goes on, and the frail dust falls back in the road, grey-rose yet
+dim in the dawn. It has wiped out all its traces, it has forgotten all
+who have walked upon it, and it lies faintly rose in the dawn.
+
+There is a gnawing at the heart from the sweet sadness of expectation.
+Some one seems to stand near Natasha, whispering in her ear: “He will
+come. He is on the way. Go and meet him.”
+
+VIII
+
+Natasha opens the gate and goes quickly down the road in the direction
+of the distant railway station. Having walked as far as the hillock by
+the river, one and a half versts away, Natasha pauses and looks into
+the distance.
+
+A clear view of the road is to be had from this hillock. Somewhere
+below, among the meadows, a curlew gives a sharp cry. The pleasant
+smell of the damp grass fills the air.
+
+The sun is rising. Suddenly everything becomes white, bright, and
+clear. Joyousness fills the great open expanse. On the top of the
+hillock the morning wind blows more strongly and more sweetly. It seems
+to have forgotten its desolation and its grief.
+
+The grass is quite wet with dew. How gently it clings to her ankles. It
+is resplendent in its multi-coloured, gem-like, tear-like glitter.
+
+The red sun rises slowly but triumphantly above the blue mist of the
+horizon. In its bright red flame there is a hidden foreboding of quiet
+melancholy.
+
+Natasha lowers her glance upon the wet grass. Sweet little flowers! She
+recognizes the flower of faithfulness, the blue periwinkle.
+
+Here also, quite near, reminiscent of death, is the black madwort. But
+what of that? Is it not everywhere? Soothe us, soothe us, little blue
+flowers!
+
+“I will not pluck a single one of you; not one of you will I plait into
+my wreath.”
+
+She stands, waiting, watching.
+
+Were he to show himself in the road she would recognize him even in the
+distance. But no—there is no one. The road is deserted, and the misty
+distances are dumb.
+
+IX
+
+Natasha remains standing a little while, then turns back. Her feet sink
+in the wet grass. The tall stalks half wind themselves round her ankles
+and rustle against the hem of her light-coloured dress. Natasha’s
+graceful arms, half hidden by the grey knitted kerchief, hang subdued
+at her sides. Her eyes have already lost their fixed expression, and
+have begun to jump from object to object.
+
+How often have they walked this road, all together, her little sisters,
+and Borya! They were noisy with merriment. What did they not talk
+about! Their quarrels! What proud songs they sang! Now she was alone,
+and there was no sign of Borya.
+
+Why were they waiting for him? In what manner would he come? She did
+not know. Perhaps she would not recognize him.
+
+There awakens in Natasha’s heart a presentiment of bitter thoughts.
+With a heavy rustle an evil serpent begins to stir in the darkness of
+her wearied memory.
+
+Slowly and sorrowfully Natasha turns her steps homeward. Her eyes are
+drowsy and seem to look aimlessly, with fallen and fatigued glances.
+The grass now seems disagreeably damp, the wind malicious; her feet
+feel the wet, and the hem of her thin dress has grown heavy with
+moisture. The new light of a new day, resplendent, glimmering with the
+play of the laughing dew, resounding with the hum of birds and the
+voices of human folk, becomes again for Natasha tiresomely blatant.
+
+What does a new day matter? Why invoke the unattainable?
+
+The murmur of pitiless memory, at first faint, grows more audible. The
+heavy burden of insurmountable sorrow falls on the heart like an
+aspen-grey weight. The heart feels proudly the pressure of the
+inexpressibly painful foreboding of tears.
+
+As she nears the house Natasha increases her pace. Faster and yet
+faster, in response to the growing beat of her sorrowful heart, she is
+running over the dry clay of the road, over the wet grass of the
+bypath, trodden by pedestrians, over the moist, crunching, sandy
+footpaths of the garden, which still treasure the gentle traces left by
+her at dawn. Natasha runs across the warm planks, as yet unswept of
+dust and litter. And she no longer tries to step lightly and inaudibly.
+She stumbles across the astonished, open-mouthed Glasha. She runs
+impetuously and noisily up the stairway to her room, and throws herself
+on the bed. She pulls the coverlet over her head, and falls asleep.
+
+X
+
+Borya’s grandmother, Elena Kirillovna, sleeps below. She is old, and
+she cannot sleep in the morning; but never in all her life has she
+risen early; so even now she is awake only a little later than Natasha.
+Elena Kirillovna, straight, thin, motionless, the back of her head
+resting on the pillow, lies for a long time waiting for the maid to
+bring her a cup of coffee—she has long ago accustomed herself to have
+her coffee in bed.
+
+Elena Kirillovna has a dry, yellow face, marked with many wrinkles; but
+her eyes are still sparkling, and her hair is black, especially by day,
+when she uses a cosmetic.
+
+The maid Glasha is habitually late. She sleeps well in the morning, for
+in the evening she loves to stroll over to the bridge in the village.
+The harmonica makes merry there, and on holidays all sorts of jolly
+folk and maidens dance and sing.
+
+Elena Kirillovna rings a number of times. In the end the unanswering
+stillness behind the door begins to irritate her. Sadly she turns on
+her side, grumbling. She stretches her dry, yellow hand forward and
+with a kind of concentrated intentness presses her bent, bony finger a
+long time on the white bell-button lying on the little round table at
+her head.
+
+At last Glasha hears the prolonged, jarring ring above her head. She
+jumps quickly from her bed, and anxiously gropes about for something or
+other in her narrow quarters under the stairway of the mezzanine; then
+she throws a skirt over her head, and hurries to her old mistress.
+While running she arranges somehow her heavy, tangled braids.
+
+Glasha’s face is angry and sleepy. She reels in her drowsiness. On the
+way to her mistress’s bedroom the morning air refreshes her a little.
+She faces her mistress looking more or less normal.
+
+Glasha has on a pink skirt and a white blouse. In the semi-darkness of
+the curtained windows her sunburnt arms and strong legs seem almost
+white. Young, strong, rustic and impetuous, she suddenly appears before
+her old mistress’s bed, her vigorous tread causing the heavy metal bed
+with its nickelled posts and surmounting knobs to rattle slightly, and
+the tumbler on the small round table to tinkle against the flagon.
+
+XI
+
+Elena Kirillovna greets Glasha with her customary observation:
+
+“Glasha, when am I to have my coffee? I ring and ring, and no one
+comes. You, girl, seem to sleep like the dead.”
+
+Glasha’s face assumes a look of astonishment and fear. Restraining a
+yawn, she bends down to put a disarranged rug in order, and puts a pair
+of soft, worn slippers closer to the bed. Then assuming an excessively
+tender, deferential tone which old gentlewomen like in their servants,
+she remarks:
+
+“Forgive me, _barinya_,[2] it shan’t take a minute. But how early you
+are awake to-day, _barinya_! Did you have a bad night?”
+
+Elena Kirillovna replies:
+
+“What sort of sleep can one except at my age! Get me my coffee a little
+more quickly, and I will try to get up.”
+
+She now speaks more calmly, despite the capricious note in her voice.
+
+Glasha replies heartily:
+
+“This very minute, _barinya_. You shall have it at once.”
+
+And she turns about to go out.
+
+Elena Kirillovna stops her with an angry exclamation:
+
+“Glasha, where are you going? You seem to forget, no matter how often I
+tell you! Draw the curtains aside.”
+
+Glasha, with some agility, thrusts back the curtains of the two windows
+and flies out of the room. She is rather low of stature and slender,
+and one can tell from her face that she is intelligent, but the sound
+of her rapid footsteps is measured and heavy, giving the impression
+that the runner is large, powerful, heavy, and capable of doing
+everything but what requires lightness. The mistress grumbles, looking
+after her:
+
+“Lord, how she stamps with her feet! She spares neither the floor nor
+her own heels!”
+
+ [2] Means “gentlewoman,” and is a common form of salutation from
+ servant to mistress.
+
+XII
+
+At last the sound of Glasha’s feet dies away in the echoing silence of
+the long corridor. The old lady lies, waiting, thinking. She is once
+more straight and motionless under her bed-cover, and very yellow and
+very still. Her whole life seems to be concentrated in the living
+sparkle of her keen eyes.
+
+The sun, still low, throws a subdued rosy light on the wall facing her.
+The bedroom is lit-up and quiet. Swift atoms of dust are dancing about
+in the air. There is a glitter on the glass of the photographic
+portraits which hang on the wall, as well as on the narrow gilt rims of
+their black frames.
+
+Elena Kirillovna looks at the portraits. Her keen, youthfully sparkling
+eyes carefully scrutinize the beloved faces. Many of these are no
+longer upon the earth.
+
+Borya’s portrait is a large one, in a broad dark frame. It is a young
+face, the face of a seventeen-year-old lad, quite smooth and with dark
+eyes. The upper lip shows a small but vigorous growth of hair. The lips
+are tightly compressed and the entire face gives the impression of an
+indomitable will.
+
+Elena Kirillovna looks long at the portrait, and recalls Borya. Of all
+her grandsons she loved him best. And now she is recalling him. She
+sees him as he had once looked. Where is he now? Before long Borya will
+return. She will be overjoyed, her eyes will have their fill of him.
+But how soon?
+
+It comforts the old woman to think, “It can’t be very long.”
+
+Some one has just run past her window, giving a shrill cry.
+
+Elena Kirillovna, turning in her bed, looks out of the window.
+
+The white acacia trees before the window, gaily rustling their leaves,
+smile innocently, naïvely and cheerily. Behind them, looming densely,
+are the tops of the birches and of the limes. Some of the branches lean
+toward the window. Their harsh rustle evokes a memory in Elena
+Kirillovna.
+
+If Borya were but to cry out like that! He had loved this garden. He
+had loved the white bloom of the acacia trees, and he had loved to
+gather the little field flowers. He used to bring her some. He liked
+cornflowers specially.
+
+XIII
+
+At last Glasha has come with the coffee. She has placed a silver tray
+on the little round table near the bed. Above the broad blue-and-gold
+porcelain cup rises a thin bluish cloud of steam.
+
+Elena Kirillovna draws her scant body higher upon the pillows, and sits
+upright in her bed; she seems straight, dry, and thin in her white
+night-jacket. With trembling hands she very fastidiously rearranges the
+ribbons of her white ruffled nightcap.
+
+Glasha, with great solicitude and skill, has placed a number of pillows
+at her back, and these piled up high make a soft wall of comfort.
+
+The little silver spoon held by the old dry fingers rings with fragile
+laughter as it stirs the sugar in the cup. Afterwards out of a small
+milk-jug comes a generous helping of boiled milk. And Glasha, having
+shifted somewhat to the side in order to catch a stealthy look of
+herself in the mirror, goes out.
+
+Elena Kirillovna sips her coffee slowly. She breaks a sugared biscuit,
+throws half of it in the cup, and leaves it there for a time. Then,
+when it is completely softened, she carefully takes it out with the
+little spoon.
+
+Elena Kirillovna’s teeth are still quite strong. She is very proud of
+this; nevertheless she has preferred of late to eat softer things. She
+munches away at the wet biscuit. Her face expresses gratification. Her
+small, keen eyes sparkle merrily.
+
+When the coffee is finished Elena Kirillovna lies down again. She dozes
+for half an hour on her back, under the bed-cover. Then she rings again
+and waits.
+
+XIV
+
+Glasha comes in. She has had time to comb her hair and to put on a pink
+blouse, and this makes her seem even thinner. As she is in no haste her
+footfalls sound even heavier than before.
+
+Glasha approaches her mistress’s bed and silently throws the bed-cover
+aside. She helps Elena Kirillovna to sit on the bed, holding her up
+under the arm. Then, getting down on her knees, she helps her mistress
+to put on her long black stockings and her soft grey slippers.
+
+Elena Kirillovna holds on to Glasha’s shoulder with her trembling,
+nervous hands. She envies Glasha’s youth, strength, and naïve
+simplicity. Grumbling under her breath at her unfortunate lot, Elena
+Kirillovna imagines in her dejection that she would be willing to
+sacrifice all her comfort to become like Glasha, a common servant-maid
+with coarse hands and feet red from rough usage and the wet—if she
+could but possess the youth, the cheerfulness, the sang-froid, and the
+happiness attainable upon this earth only by the stupid.
+
+The old woman grumbles often at her fate, but is quite unwilling to
+give up a single one of her gentlewoman’s habits.
+
+Glasha says, “All ready, _barinya._”
+
+“Now my capote, Glasha,” Elena Kirillovna says as she gets up.
+
+But Glasha herself knows what is wanted. She deftly puts on Elena
+Kirillovna’s shoulders a white flannel robe.
+
+“Now you may go, Glashenka. I will ring if I want you again.”
+
+XV
+
+Glasha goes. She hurries to the veranda staircase.
+
+Here she washes herself a second time in a clay turn-over basin, which
+is attached by a rope to one of the posts of the veranda; she quickly
+plunges her face and hands in the water that had been left there
+overnight. She splashes the water a long way off on the green grass, on
+the lilac-grey planks of the staircase and on her feet, which are red
+from the early morning freshness and from the tender contact with the
+dewy grass in the vegetable garden. She laughs happily at
+herself—because she is a young, healthy girl, because the early morning
+freshness caresses the length of her strong, swift body with brisk cool
+strokes; and finally, because not far away, in the village, there is a
+lively and handsome young fellow, not unlike herself, who pays
+attention to her and whom she is rather fond of. It is true that her
+mother scolds her on his account, because the young man is poor. But
+what’s that to Glasha? Not for nothing is there an adage:
+
+“Without bread ’tis very sad,
+Still sadder ’tis without a lad.”
+
+
+Glasha laughs loudly and merrily.
+
+Stepanida cries at her from the kitchen window: “Glash, Glash, why do
+you neigh like a horse?”
+
+Glasha laughs, makes no reply, and goes off.
+
+Stepanida puts her simple, red face out of the window and asks: “I
+wonder what’s the matter with her.”
+
+She receives no answer, for there is no one to reply. Out of doors all
+is deserted. Only somewhere from behind the barn the languid voices of
+working-men can be heard.
+
+XVI
+
+In the meantime Elena Kirillovna kneels down with a sigh before the
+ikon in her bedroom. She prays a long time. Conscientiously she repeats
+all the prayers she knows. Her dry, raspberry-coloured lips stir
+slightly. Her face has a severe, concentrated expression. All her
+wrinkles seem also austere, weary, callous.
+
+There are many words in her prayers—holy, lofty, touching words. But
+because of their frequent repetition their meaning has become, as it
+were, hardened, stereotyped and ordinary; the tears which appear in her
+eyes are habitual tears wrung out by her antique emotion, and have no
+relation to the secret trepidation of impossible hopes which have
+stolen into the old woman’s heart of late.
+
+Diligently her lips murmur prayers each day for the forgiveness of
+sins, voluntary and involuntary, committed in deed, in word, or in
+thought; prayers for the purification of our souls of all defilement;
+and again words concerning our impieties, our evil actions, our
+disregard of commandments, our general unworthiness, our worldly
+frailty, and the temptations of Satan; and again concerning the
+accursed soul and the accursed body and the sensual life; and her words
+embrace only universal evil and all-pervading depravity. Surely these
+prayers were composed for Titans, created to reconstruct the universe,
+but who, out of shamefaced indolence, are attending to this business
+with their arms hanging at their sides.
+
+And not a word does she utter of her own, her personal affliction, of
+what is in her soul.
+
+The old, dried-up lips mumble of mercy, of generosity, of brotherly
+love, of the holy life—of all those lofty regions pouring out their
+bounty upon all creation. And not a word of the miracle, awaited
+eagerly and with trepidation.
+
+But here are words for those who are in prison and in exile; it is a
+prayer for their liberation, for their redemption.
+
+Here is something at last about Borya.
+
+Freedom and redemption....
+
+But the prayer runs on and on, and it is again for strangers, for
+distant people, for the universal; only for an instant, and then
+lightly, does she pause to put in something for herself, for her
+desire, for what is in her heart.
+
+Then for the dead—for those others, the long since departed, the almost
+forgotten, the resurrected only in word in the hour of these strangers,
+prayed for in this easy, gliding way all the world over where piety
+reigns.
+
+The prayers are ended. Elena Kirillovna lingers for a moment. She has
+an air of having forgotten to say something indispensable.
+
+What else? Or has she said all?
+
+“All”—some one seems to say simply, softly and inexorably.
+
+Elena Kirillovna rises from her knees. She goes to the window. Her soul
+is calm and self-contained. The prayer has not left her in a mood of
+piety, but has relieved her weary soul for a brief time of its
+material, matter-of-fact existence.
+
+XVII
+
+Elena Kirillovna looks out of the window. She is returning, as it were,
+once more from some dark, abstract world to the bright,
+profusely-coloured, resonant impressions of a rough, cheery, not
+altogether disagreeable life.
+
+Small white clouds tinged with red float slowly in the heights and
+merge imperceptibly in the vivid blue. Ablaze like a piece of coal at
+red heat their soul seems to fuse with their cold white bodies, to
+consume them as well as itself with fire, and to sink exhausted in the
+cold blue heights. The sun, as yet invisible behind the left wing of
+the house, has already begun to pour upon the garden its warm and
+glowing waves of laughter, joy and light, animating the flowers and
+birds.
+
+“Well, it’s time to dress,” Elena Kirillovna says to herself.
+
+She rings.
+
+Soon Glasha appears and helps Elena Kirillovna to dress.
+
+At last she is ready. She casts a final look in the mirror to see that
+everything is in order.
+
+Elena Kirillovna’s hair is very neatly combed, and lightly brushed down
+with a cosmetic. This makes it shine and appear as though it were glued
+together. At her every movement in the light there is visible, from
+right to left, a slender silver thread, due to the reflection of light
+at the parting of the smoothed coiffure. Her face shows slight traces
+of powder.
+
+Elena Kirillovna’s dress is always of a light colour, when not actually
+white, and of the simplest cut. The small soft ruffle of the broad
+collar hides her neck and chin. She has already substituted for her
+dressing slippers a pair of light summer shoes.
+
+XVIII
+
+Elena Kirillovna enters the dining-room. She looks on as the table is
+being laid for breakfast. She always notes the slightest disorder. She
+grumbles quietly as she picks up something from one place on the table
+and puts it in another.
+
+Then she goes into the large, unused front room, with its closed door
+on to the staircase of the front façade. She walks along the corridor
+to the vestibule and to the back staircase. She stops on the high
+landing, wrinkles up her face from the sun, and looks down to see what
+is going on in the yard. Small, quite erect, like a young school-girl
+with a yellow, wrinkled face which expresses at the moment a severe
+domestic concern, she stands, looks on, and is silent; she is, it
+seems, unnecessary here. No one pays her the slightest attention.
+
+“Good morning, Stepanida,” she calls out. Stepanida, a buxom,
+red-cheeked maid in a bright red dress, under which is visible a strip
+of her white chemise and her stout sunburnt legs, is attending to the
+samovar at the bottom of the stairs, and is vigorously blowing to set
+the fire going. Upon her head is a neatly-arranged green kerchief,
+which hides her folded braids of hair like a head-dress.
+
+The bulging sides of the samovar glow radiantly in the sun. Its bent
+chimney sends out a curl of blue smoke, which smells sharply,
+pungently, and not altogether disagreeably, of juniper and tar.
+
+In answer to the old mistress’s greeting Stepanida raises her broad,
+cheerfully-preoccupied face, with its small, dark brown eyes, and says
+in prolonged caressing tones, sing-song fashion:
+
+“Good morning to you, _matushka barinya_.[3] It’s a fine morning, to be
+sure. How warm it is, by the grace of God! And you’re up early,
+_matushka barinya_!”
+
+Her words are indeed honeyed, and above in the sweet air an early,
+shaggy bee hovers, with a thick buzzing, tremulously golden in the
+clear, fluid haze of the early, gentle sun. Silent again, Stepanida is
+once more busy with the samovar; the disenchanted bee flies away, its
+buzzing growing less and less audible behind the fence.
+
+The pungent smell of tar causes Elena Kirillovna to frown. She says:
+
+“What makes the thing smell so strongly? You had better leave it for a
+while, or you will get giddy.”
+
+Stepanida, without moving, answers languidly and indifferently:
+
+“It’s nothing, _barinya_. We are used to it. It’s but a slight smell,
+and it is the juniper.”
+
+Through the blue, curling smoke of juniper her sweet voice seems dull
+and bitter. There is a tickling at Elena Kirillovna’s throat. There is
+a slight giddiness in her head. Elena Kirillovna makes haste to go. She
+descends the staircase, and proceeds upon her customary morning stroll.
+
+ [3] Literally: “Little mother—gentlewoman.”
+
+XIX
+
+Glasha soon overtakes her. With an exaggerated loudness she runs
+stamping down the stairs, showing a wing-like glimmer of her strong
+legs from under the pink skirt, set a-flutter by her vigorous movement.
+She calls out in a clear, solicitously joyous voice:
+
+“_Barinya_, you have come out! The sun will scorch you. I’ve fetched
+your hat.”
+
+The yellow straw hat, with its lavender ribbon, glimmers in Glasha’s
+hands like some strange, low-fluttering bird.
+
+Elena Kirillovna, as she puts the hat on, says: “Why do you run about
+in such disorder! You ought to tidy yourself—you know whom we are
+expecting.”
+
+Glasha is silent, and her face assumes a compassionate expression. For
+a long time she looks after her strolling mistress, then she smiles and
+walks back.
+
+Stepanida asks her in a loud whisper: “Well, is she still expecting her
+grandson?”
+
+“Rather!” Glasha replies compassionately. “And it’s simply pitiful to
+look at them. They never stop thinking about him.”
+
+In the meanwhile Elena Kirillovna makes her way across the vegetable
+garden, past the labourers and the servants in the stockyard, and then
+across the field. Near the garden fence she enters the road.
+
+There, not far from the garden, in the shade of an old, spreading lime,
+stands a bench—a board upon two supports, which still shows traces of
+having been once painted green. From this place a view is to be had of
+the road, of the garden, and of the house.
+
+Elena Kirillovna seats herself upon the bench. She looks out on the
+road. She sits quietly, seeming so small, so slender, and so erect. She
+waits a long time. She falls into a doze.
+
+Through the thin haze of slumber she can see a beloved, smooth face
+smiling, and she can hear a quiet, dear voice calling:
+
+“Grandma!”
+
+She gives a start and opens her eyes. There is no one there. But she
+waits. She believes and waits.
+
+XX
+
+There is a lightness in the air. The road is radiant and tranquil. A
+gentle, refreshing breeze softly passes and repasses her. The sun is
+warming her old bones, it is caressing her lean back through her dress.
+Everything round her rejoices in the green, the golden, and the blue.
+The foliage of the birches, of the willows, and of the limes in full
+bloom is rustling quietly. From the fields comes the honeyed smell of
+clover.
+
+Oh, how light and lovely the air is upon the earth!
+
+How beautiful thou art, my earth, my golden, my emerald, my sapphire
+earth! Who, born to thy heritage would care to die, would care to close
+his eyes upon thy serene beauties and upon thy magnificent spaces? Who,
+resting in thee, damp Mother Earth, would not wish to rise, would not
+wish to return to thy enchantments and to thy delights? And what stern
+fate shall drive one who is aflame with life-thirst to seek the shelter
+of death?
+
+Upon the road where once he walked he shall walk again. Upon the earth,
+which still preserves his footprints, he shall walk again. Borya, the
+grandmother’s beloved Borya, shall return.
+
+A golden bee flies by. It seems to say, the golden bee, that Borya will
+return to the quiet of the old house and will taste the fragrant
+honey—the sweet gift of the wise bees, buzzing under the sun upon the
+beloved earth. The old grandmother, in her joy, will place before the
+ikon of the Virgin a candle of the purest bees’-wax—a gift of the wise
+bees, buzzing away among the gold of the sun’s rays—a gift to man and a
+gift to God.
+
+Women and girls of the village pass by with their sunburnt, wind-swept
+faces. They greet the _barinya_ and look at her with compassion. Elena
+Kirillovna smiles at them, and addresses them in her usual gentle
+manner:
+
+“Good morning, my dears!”
+
+They pass by. Their loud voices die away in the distance, and Elena
+Kirillovna soon forgets them. They will pass by once more that day,
+when the time comes. They will pass by. They will return. Upon the
+road, where their dusty footprints remain, they will pass by once more.
+
+XXI
+
+Elena Kirillovna suddenly awoke from her drowse and looked at the
+things before her with a perplexed gaze. Everything seemed to be clear,
+bright, free from care—and relentless.
+
+Inevitably the triumphant sun rose higher in the heavens’ dome. Grown
+powerful, wise and resplendent, it seemed indifferent now to oppressive
+earthly melancholy and to sweet earthly delights. And its laughter was
+high, joyless, and sorrowless.
+
+Everything as before was green, blue and gold, many-toned and vividly
+tinted; truly all the objects of nature showed the real colour of their
+souls in honour of this feast of light. But the fine dust upon the
+silent road had already lost its rose tinge, and stirred before the
+wind like a grey, depressing veil. And when the wind calmed down, the
+dust slowly fell back upon the road, like a grey, blind serpent which,
+trailing its fat, fantastic belly, falls back exhausted, gasping its
+last breath.
+
+All monotony had become wearisome. This inevitable recurrence of lucid
+moments began to torment Elena Kirillovna with the grey foreboding of
+sadness, of bitter tears, of unanswered prayers, and of a profound
+hopelessness.
+
+XXII
+
+Glasha appeared at the garden gate. She glanced cheerfully along both
+sides of the road. Walking more slowly she approached Elena Kirillovna
+deferentially.
+
+Glasha looked quite ordinary now, stiff-mannered and stupid. There was
+nothing to envy in her. Her dress too was quite common-place. Her
+braids were arranged upon her head quite like a young lady’s, and held
+fast by three combs of transparent bone. Her blouse was
+light-coloured—pink stripes and lavender flowers on a ground of
+white—its short sleeves reached the elbows. She wore a neat blue skirt
+and a white apron.
+
+Elena Kirillovna asked:
+
+“Well, what is it, Glashenka? Is Sonyushka up yet?”
+
+Glasha replied in a respectful voice:
+
+“Sofia Alexandrovna is getting up. She wants me to ask you if we shall
+lay the table on the terrace?”
+
+“Yes, yes, let it be on the terrace. And how is Natashenka?” asked
+Elena Kirillovna, looking anxiously at Glasha.
+
+“The young lady is asleep,” answered Glasha. “To-day again, quite
+early, she went out for a walk straight from bed, without so much as a
+bite of something. Her skirt’s wet with dew. She might have caught a
+cold. And now she sleeps. If you’d but talk to her.”
+
+Elena Kirillovna said irresolutely:
+
+“Very well. I had better be going. All right, Glasha.”
+
+Glasha goes. Elena Kirillovna rises slowly from the bench, as though
+she regretted moving from the spot where she saw Borya in a half-dream.
+Slowly she walks toward the house.
+
+Having reached the gate she pauses, and again looks for some moments
+down the road, in the direction of the station.
+
+A cart rumbles by noisily over the travelled road. The _muzhik_ barely
+holds the reins and rocks from side to side sleepily. The harnessed
+horse swings its tail and its head. A white-haired urchin, in broad
+blue breeches, lets his brown feet hang over the edge of the cart and
+stares with his bright hazel eyes at a gaunt, evil-looking dog which
+runs after, barking hoarsely.
+
+Elena Kirillovna gives a sigh—there is as yet no Borya—and enters the
+garden.
+
+Glasha’s light-coloured blouse glimmers on the terrace. There is a
+rattle of dishes. The grumbling chatter of Borya’s old nurse is also
+audible.
+
+XXIII
+
+The last to awake, with the sun quite high and scorching, is Borya’s
+mother, Sofia Alexandrovna. Through the thin bright curtains, drawn for
+the night across the windows, the light fills her bedroom.
+
+Sofia Alexandrovna awakes with a start, as though some one had touched
+her suddenly or had called to her. With her right hand she impetuously
+throws aside her light white bed-cover. Quickly she sits up in bed,
+holding her hands over her bent knees. For a moment she looks before
+her at a bare place in the simple pattern of the bright green hangings.
+
+Sofia Alexandrovna’s eyes are dark, wide open, with black, fiery pupils
+which seem lost in the abysmal, depths of their own sorrowful gaze. Her
+face is long, its skin smooth and colourless, though quite fresh and
+almost free of wrinkles. The lips are a vivid red.
+
+Sofia Alexandrovna’s expression is like that of one faced suddenly with
+a tragic apparition. She rocks herself back and forward.
+
+Then, abruptly, she jumps out of bed with a single spring. She runs to
+the washing-basin of marble mounted on a red stand. She washes herself
+quickly, as though in haste to go somewhere. Now she is at the window.
+The curtains are flung violently aside. She peers anxiously to see what
+the outlook is—whether there are any clouds in the sky that might bring
+rain and make the road muddy, the road upon which Borya would return
+home.
+
+The heavens are tremulously joyous. The birches are rustling quietly.
+The sparrows are twittering. Everything is green, bright, quivering;
+everything palpitates under the tension of hopes and anticipations.
+Voices are audible; cries of good cheer and sounds of laughter. One of
+the laughers runs by, as though making haste to live.
+
+A torrent of tears floods Sofia Alexandrovna’s eyes. Her breast heaves
+visibly under the white linen chemise.
+
+XXIV
+
+Sofia Alexandrovna goes to the image. She thrusts aside with her foot
+the small velvet rug which Glasha had purposely laid there the day
+before. She throws herself down on her knees before the image. You hear
+her knees strike the floor softly. Sofia Alexandrovna quietly crosses
+herself, bends her face to the floor, and mutters passionately:
+
+“O Lord, Thou knowest, Thou knowest all, Thou canst do all. Do this, O
+Lord, return him to us, to his mother, return him to-day.”
+
+Her prayer is warm and passionate, quite unlike a prayer. Its words are
+disconnected, and they fall confusedly, like small, broken tears. Her
+naked feet come in contact with the cold, painted floor. And the
+entire, warm, prostrate body of the weeping woman is throbbing and
+trembling on the boards. Her head repeatedly strikes the boards,
+loosening her dark braids of hair.
+
+She does not pray long. The torrents of tears have cleansed her soul,
+as it were; and she becomes at once cheerful and tranquil.
+
+She rises quite, as suddenly, and rings. She seats herself on the edge
+of the bed, and dries her tears with a soft handkerchief. Then she
+laughs silently. She swings one of her feet impatiently, striking the
+rug in front of the bed with the toes. Her eyes wander about the room,
+but seem to observe nothing.
+
+Glasha had only just begun to dress, and she had only tied the strings
+of her apron round her slender waist. The sharp impatient ring causes
+her to start. She runs to the _barinya_, seizing quickly at the same
+time a pair of blackened boots and some clothes from the laundry.
+
+Sofia Alexandrovna cries in an urgent voice:
+
+“Now be quick, Glasha. Help me on with my things.”
+
+She looks on impatiently as Glasha puts down her burden.
+
+The daily ceremony is gone through quickly. Sofia Alexandrovna dresses
+herself. Glasha only draws on her boots, and hooks up her dress behind.
+
+Soon Sofia Alexandrovna is quite ready. She gives a brief, vacant look
+in the mirror.
+
+Her pale face still seems to be young and handsome. She is slender,
+like her mother, and small in stature. She has on a closely fitting
+white dress with short, wide sleeves. Her coiffure is arranged in a
+Greek knot, held fast with a red ribbon. Her slender, shapely feet are
+clad in coloured silk stockings and white shoes with silver buckles.
+
+XXV
+
+Sofia Alexandrovna goes quickly into the dining-room. She pours herself
+a glass of fresh milk out of a jug on the table. She drinks it
+standing, and munches a piece of black bread with it.
+
+She orders the things for dinner at the same time. She chooses dishes
+loved by Borya. She stops to recollect whether Borya likes this, or
+does not like that.
+
+Stepanida listens to her sadly, and replies in a tearful voice:
+
+“Yes, I know! Why shouldn’t I know? It’s not the first time.”
+
+Glasha asks something. The old, tottering nurse rattles on rather
+volubly. Sofia Alexandrovna answers them mechanically and rapidly. She
+seems all the while to be listening intently, either for the sound of a
+distant little bell, or for the rumble of wheels on the road. She makes
+her way out in haste. And she no longer listens to what is being said
+to her. She goes out.
+
+She enters Borya’s study. Everything there is as in the old days, and
+in order. When Borya comes back he will find everything in its place.
+
+Sofia Alexandrovna, with great concern, takes a rapid look round the
+room. She wishes to see whether everything is in its place, whether the
+dust has been swept, whether the rug has been laid before the bed, and
+whether the inkstand has been filled with ink. She herself changes the
+water in the vase which holds the cornflowers. If anything is out of
+place she gives way to tears, then rings for Glasha, and heaps
+reproaches upon her.
+
+Glasha’s face assumes a frightened, compassionate look. In a most
+humble manner she begs forgiveness.
+
+Sofia Alexandrovna remonstrates with her:
+
+“How can you be so careless, Glasha? You know that we are expecting him
+every minute. Suppose he should suddenly come in and find this
+disorder.”
+
+Glasha replies humbly:
+
+“Forgive me, _barinya_. Don’t think any more about it. I’ll quickly put
+everything to rights.”
+
+As she goes out she wipes away two or three tears with her white apron.
+
+XXVI
+
+With the same undue haste Sofia Alexandrovna goes into the garden. She
+sees nothing, neither the white Aphrodite nor her roses, on her way to
+the little arbour from which, overlooking a corner of the garden, the
+road is visible. Vividly green in the sun, a four-sloped roof covers
+the arbour, while hangings of coarse cloth, with a red border, serve as
+a protection against inquisitive eyes.
+
+Sofia Alexandrovna looks down the road with dark, hungry eyes. She
+waits impatiently, listening to the rapid, uneven beat of her heart;
+she waits: Borya will surely come in sight.
+
+The wind blows into her face, and partly conceals it with the hangings;
+her face is pale, and her eyes are dry. The sun warmly kisses her
+slender arms, which lie motionless on the broad, lavender-grey parapet
+of the arbour. Everything is bright, green and gay in the fields, but
+her eyes are fixed on the grey serpent of dust trailing among the
+freedom of the fields.
+
+If they await him like this surely Borya will come.
+
+But there is no sign of him. In vain her hungry glances penetrate the
+open waste. There is no Borya. More fixed and piercing grows her glance
+of infinite longing upon the road—but there is no Borya.
+
+Everything is as before, as yesterday, as always. Tranquil, serene and
+pitiless.
+
+XXVII
+
+The hour of the early luncheon came. All three sat at the table on the
+terrace. There was a fourth place laid, and a fourth chair, for who
+could tell whether Borya might not arrive at luncheon time!
+
+The sun was already high. The day was turning sultry. The fragrance of
+the red roses at the foot of the goddess’s pedestal became ever more
+passionate. And the smile of the marble-white Aphrodite was even more
+clear and serene, as she let fall her draperies with a marvellous grace
+born of eternal movement. In the bright sunshine the sand on the
+footpaths seemed yellow-white. The trees cast austere dark shadows.
+They seemed to exhale an odour of the soil, of sap, and of warmth.
+
+The women sat so that each one of them, looking beyond the drawn
+hangings of the terrace and over the bushes, could see the short narrow
+path ending at the garden gate, where a part of the road was also
+visible; they could not fail to observe every passer-by and every
+vehicle.
+
+But during this hour of the day hardly anyone ever walked or drove by
+the old house.
+
+Glasha waited on them. She had on a newly-laundered cap with starched
+ribbons and plaited frills fitting tightly over her hair. The
+snow-white cap shone pleasantly above Glasha’s fresh, sunburnt face.
+
+In the garden, on a form just under the terrace, sat Borya’s old nurse,
+dressed in a dark lavender blouse, black skirt, with a dark blue
+kerchief over her head. She was warming her old bones in the sun, and
+listening to the conversation on the terrace; now she grumbled, now she
+dozed.
+
+Broad-boned and stout, she had a round, amiable face, and even through
+the compact network of wrinkles there were palpable suggestions of
+former beauty. Her eyes were clear. The grey hair was flatly combed
+down. Her figure and her face wore a settled expression of languid good
+nature.
+
+XXVIII
+
+As always, they eat and drink, and they keep up a cheerful and friendly
+chatter. Sometimes two of them speak together. A stranger in the garden
+might conclude that a large company is gathered on the terrace.
+
+Frequently Borya’s name is mentioned.
+
+“To be sure, Borya likes....”
+
+“Perhaps Borya will bring....”
+
+“It is strange Borya is not yet here....”
+
+“Perhaps Borya will come in the evening....”
+
+“We must ask Borya whether he has read....”
+
+“It is possible this is not new to Borya....”
+
+While below, under the terrace, the old nurse, each time she hears
+Borya’s name, crosses herself and mumbles:
+
+“O Lord, rest the soul of thy servant, Boris.”
+
+At first her voice is low, but it gradually grows louder and louder.
+Finally the three women at the table can hear her words. They tremble
+slightly and exchange anxious glances, into which steals an expression
+of perplexed fear. So they begin to speak even louder, and to laugh
+even more merrily. They permit no intervals of silence, and the hum of
+their talk and laughter prevents for the time their hearing the nurse’s
+mumbling in the garden.
+
+But their voices inevitably fall after a mention of the beloved name,
+and now again they hear the tranquil, terrible words:
+
+“O Lord, rest the soul....”
+
+They sit at luncheon long, but they talk more industriously than they
+eat. They glance nervously toward the gate. It seems a terrible thing
+to have to leave the table and to go somewhere while Borya is not yet
+with them.
+
+XXIX
+
+Toward the end of luncheon the post arrives. Grisha, a
+fourteen-year-old youngster, goes for it daily to the station on
+horseback. Raising clouds of dust he jumps off briskly at the gate.
+Leaving his horse he enters the garden carrying a black leather bag,
+and smiles broadly at something or other. Ascending the long steps of
+the terrace he announces loudly and joyously:
+
+“I’ve fetched the post!”
+
+He is cheery, sunburnt, perspiring. He smells of the sun, of the soil,
+of dust and tar. His hands and feet are as large as a man’s. His lips
+are soft and pouting, like those of a sweet-tempered foal. At the
+opening of his shirt, cut on the slant, buttons are missing, exposing a
+strip of his sunburnt chest and a piece of grey string.
+
+Sofia Alexandrovna rises abruptly from her place. She takes the bag
+from Grisha, and throws it quickly on the table. A pile of stamped
+wrappers comes pouring upon the white cloth. The three women bend over
+the table and rummage for letters. But letters come only rarely.
+
+Knitting her brows Natasha looks at the smiling youngster and asks:
+
+“No letters, Grisha?”
+
+Grisha, shuffling his feet, brick-red from the sun, smiles and answers,
+as always, in the same words:
+
+“The letters are being written, _barishnya_.”
+
+Sofia Alexandrovna says impatiently:
+
+“You may go, Grisha.”
+
+Grisha goes. The women open their newspapers.
+
+Sofia Alexandrovna takes up the _Rech_ and scans it rapidly,
+occasionally mentioning something that has attracted her notice.
+
+Natasha is looking over _Slovo_. She reads silently, slowly, and
+attentively.
+
+Elena Kirillovna has the _Russkiya Vedomosti._ She tears the wrapper
+open slowly and spreads the entire sheet on the table. She reads on,
+quickly running her eyes over the lines.
+
+XXX
+
+Groaning, the old nurse slowly ascends the steps. Sofia Alexandrovna
+pauses from her reading a moment and looks with fear at the old woman.
+Natasha gives a nervous start and turns away. Elena Kirillovna reads on
+calmly, without looking at the nurse.
+
+The nurse sighs, sits down on the bench at the entrance, and asks in a
+monotone the one and the same question that she asks each day:
+
+“And how many folk are there in this morning’s paper that’s been
+ordered to die? And how many are there that’s been hanged?”
+
+Sofia Alexandrovna drops the paper, and suddenly rising, very pale,
+looks upon the old woman. She is quivering from head to foot. Elena
+Kirillovna, folding the paper, pushes it aside and looks straight
+before her with arrested eyes. Natasha rises; she turns her face, which
+has suddenly grown pale, toward the old woman, and utters in a kind of
+wooden voice that does not seem like her own:
+
+“In Ekaterinoslav—seven; in Moscow—one.”
+
+Or other towns, and other figures—such as fresh newspaper lists bring
+each day.
+
+The nurse rises and crosses herself piously. She mutters:
+
+“O Lord, rest the souls of Thy servants! And give them eternal life!”
+
+Then Sofia Alexandrovna cries out in despair:
+
+“Oh Borya, Borya, my Borya!”
+
+Her face is as pale as though there were not a single drop of blood
+left under her dull, elastic skin.
+
+Wringing her hands with a convulsive movement, she looks with terror at
+Elena Kirillovna and at her daughter. Elena Kirillovna turns aside,
+and, looking at the old nurse, shakes her head reproachfully, while in
+her eyes, like drops of early evening dew, appear a few scant tears.
+
+Natasha, looking determinedly at her mother, says with pale, quivering
+lips:
+
+“Mamma, calm yourself.”
+
+Suddenly her voice becomes cold and wooden again as though some evil
+stranger compelled her each day to utter her words slowly and
+deliberately.
+
+“You yourself know, mamma, that Borya was hanged a full year ago!”
+
+She looks at her mother with the motionless, pathetic gaze of her very
+dark eyes, and repeats:
+
+“You yourself know this, mamma!”
+
+Sofia Alexandrovna’s eyes are widely dilated; dull, there is terror in
+them, and the deep pupils burn with an impercipient lustre in their
+dark depths. She repeats almost soundlessly, looking straight into
+Natasha’s eyes:
+
+“Hanged!”
+
+She resumes her place, looks out of her sad eyes at the white Aphrodite
+and the red roses at the goddess’s feet, and is silent. Her face is
+white and rigid, her lips are red and tightly set; there is a
+suggestion of latent madness in the still lustre of her eyes.
+
+Before the image of eternal beauty, before the fragrance of the
+short-lived, exultant roses, she is hardening as it were into an image
+of the eternal grief of a disconsolate mother.
+
+XXXI
+
+Elena Kirillovna quietly descends the narrow side staircase into the
+garden. She sits down on a bench somewhat away from the house, looks
+upon the green bedecked pond and weeps.
+
+Natasha goes into her room in the mezzanine. She opens a book and tries
+to read. But she finds it impossible. She puts the book aside and looks
+out of the window, and her eyes are dimmed.
+
+Higher and higher above the old house rises the pitiless, bright
+Dragon. His joyous laughter rings in the merry heights, encloses, as in
+a flaming circle, the depressing silence of the house. The
+well-directed rays shoot out like sharp-plumed arrows, and the air is
+tremulous with eternal, inexhaustible anger. No one is being awaited.
+No one will come. Borya has died. The relentless wheel of time knows no
+turning back.
+
+So the day is passing—clearly and brightly. The dazzling white light
+says there is nothing to hope for.
+
+XXXII
+
+Natasha sits in her room before an open window. A book is lying on the
+window-sill. She has no desire to read.
+
+Every line in the book reminds her of him, of unfinished conversations,
+of heated discussions, of what had been, of what is no more.
+
+The memories become brighter and brighter, and reach at last a
+clearness and fullness of vision, overwhelming her soul.
+
+The fiery Dragon, obscured by a leaden grey cloud, becomes a little
+dim. Dimness also creeps into the memory of him. It seems as though the
+heavens are being traversed by the cold, clear, tranquil moon. Her face
+is pale, but not from sadness. Her rays have cast a spell upon the
+sleeping earth and upon the unattainably high heavens.
+
+The moon has bewitched the fields and also the valleys, which are full
+of mist. There is a dull glimmer in the drops of cool, tranquil dew
+upon the slumbering grass.
+
+There is in this fantastic glimmer the resurrection of that which has
+died—of that past tenderness and love which inspired deeds requiring
+superhuman strength. There come again to the lips proud, long-unsung
+hymns, and vows of action and loyalty.
+
+And what of that evil, vigilant, and instigating eye; and what of the
+traitor whose words mingled with the passionate words of the young
+people! Not even the waters of all the cold oceans can quench the fire
+of daring love, and all the cunning poisons of the earth cannot poison
+it.
+
+Bewitched with the lunar mystery, the wood stands expectant, nebulous,
+silent. Incomprehensible and inaccessible to men is its slow, sure
+experience, and the secret of its forged desires.
+
+Into its lunar silence men have brought the revolt, the speech and
+laughter of youth; but, overcome by the lunar mystery, they are
+suddenly grown silent and meditative.
+
+The open glade in the woods, enchanted by the green, cold light of the
+moon, seems very white. Along the edge of the glade lie the shadows of
+the trees; they seem unreal and nebulous and mysteriously still.
+
+The moon, very slowly, almost stealthily, is rising higher in the pale
+blue dome. Round, cold, half lost in the milk-white mist as behind a
+thin veil, she disperses by her dispassionate gaze the nebulous, silent
+tops of the slumbering trees, and looks down upon the glade with the
+motionless, inquisitive glance of her white eyes.
+
+The thin particles of dew scattered over the cold grasses vanish—the
+white nocturnal haze drinks them greedily. The air is oppressively
+sweet. On the edge of the glade a number of slender, erect,
+white-limbed birches emerge out of the mist; they are still asleep, and
+as innocent as their girl companions who rest beneath them in their
+green-white dresses.
+
+XXXIII
+
+Reposing under the slender birches in the glade is a party of girls,
+young men and grown-up people. One sits on the stump of a felled tree,
+another on the trunk of an old birch struck down in a storm, a third
+lies upon an overcoat spread on the grass, a fourth rests his back
+against a young birch. There is a single, slight glow of a cigarette,
+but this, too, goes out.
+
+In the luminous, haunting mist everything seems white, translucent,
+fabulously impressive. And it seems as though the birches in the glade
+and the moon in the sky are waiting for something.
+
+Here is Natasha. Here is also Natasha’s friend, a college girl from
+Moscow, white-skinned, sharp-featured, looking like a healthy little
+wild beast. Then there are Borya and his friend, both in linen jackets,
+both lean, with pale faces and dark, flaming eyes.
+
+And there is yet another—a tall, stout figure in a dark blouse. He has
+an air of self-confidence and seems to be the most knowing, the most
+experienced, the most able of those present.
+
+He is surrounded by the grown-up people and the girls, and he is being
+questioned. Cheery, good-natured, impatient voices appeal to him.
+
+“Do sing for us the _International_.”
+
+Borya, a lad with pale, frowning forehead, and blue-black circles under
+his eyes, looks into the other’s face and implores more heartily than
+the rest.
+
+The tall, broad-chested Mikhail Lvovich looks askance and stubbornly
+refuses to sing.
+
+“I can’t,” he says gruffly. “My throat is not in condition.”
+
+Borya and Natasha insist.
+
+Mikhail Lvovich then makes a gesture with his hand and accedes not less
+gruffly.
+
+“Very well, I’ll sing.”
+
+Every one is overjoyed.
+
+Mikhail Lvovich poses himself on his knees. Above the mist-white glade,
+above the white-faced lads, above the white mist itself, there rises
+toward the witching moon, floating tranquilly in the skies, the words
+of that proud, passionate hymn:
+
+“Arise, ye branded with a curse!”
+
+Mikhail Lvovich sings. His eyes are fixed on the ground, upon the cold
+grass, white in the glamorous light of the full, clear moon. It is hard
+to tell whether he does not wish to or cannot look straight into the
+eyes of these girls and boys—into these trusting, clean eyes.
+
+And they have gathered round him, how closely they have nestled round
+him, these pure-spirited young girls; and the young lads, their knees
+in the grass, follow every movement of his lips, and join in quietly.
+The bold melody grows, gains in volume. Like an exultant prophecy ring
+the eloquent words:
+
+In the International
+As brothers all men shall meet.
+
+XXXIV
+
+Mikhail has finished the song. For a time no one speaks. Then the
+agitated voices all ring out together, stirring the heavy silence of
+the woods.
+
+Clear, girlish eyes are looking earnestly upon Mikhail Lvovich’s morose
+set face. A clear, girlish voice implores insistently and gently:
+
+“Sing again, please. Be a dear. Sing it once more. I will make a note
+of the words. I want to know them by heart.”
+
+Natasha approaches nearer and says quietly:
+
+“We will all of us learn the words and sing them each day, like a
+prayer. We shall do it with a full heart.”
+
+Mikhail Lvovich at last lifts his eyes. They are small, sparkling,
+shrewd. This time they have fixed themselves severely and inquisitively
+on Natasha’s face, which suddenly has become confused at this
+snake-like glance.
+
+Mikhail Lvovich addresses her gruffly.
+
+“It doesn’t require much bravery to sing on the quiet, in the woods.
+Any one can do that.”
+
+Natasha’s face becomes pale. Dark flames of unchildish determination
+kindle in her eyes. Excitedly she cries:
+
+“We will learn the words, and we will sing them where they are wanted.
+My God, are we to depend upon words, and upon words alone? We are ready
+for deeds.”
+
+Borya repeats after her: “We are ready. We shall do all that is
+necessary. Yes, even die if need be.”
+
+Mikhail Lvovich says with a calm assurance:
+
+“Yes, I know.”
+
+In his eyes, fixed intently upon the ground, a dim, small flame is
+visible.
+
+XXXV
+
+There is a short silence. Then a thin voice is heard. It is the girl,
+slender as a young birch, with the sharp, cheerful little face, who is
+speaking.
+
+“My God! What strength! What eloquence!”
+
+Mikhail Lvovich slowly turns his face toward her. He smiles severely
+and says nothing.
+
+The girl has her hands clasped across her knees. It is an extremely
+pretty pose. Her face has suddenly assumed a very grave air, breathing
+passionate entreaty and fiery determination. She exclaims fervently:
+
+“Let’s all sing the chorus! Mikhail Lvovich will teach us. You will
+teach us, Mikhail Lvovich, won’t you?”
+
+“Very well,” Mikhail Lvovich replies with his usual severe dignity.
+
+He casts his dull, heavy gaze round the crowded circle of delighted
+young faces. He alone sits with his back to the open glade and to the
+witching moon. His face, now in the shade, has become even more
+significant. And his whole bearing is one of imposing solemnity.
+
+The faces of the younger people are white in the moonlight. Their
+garments are luminously bright. Their voices are brilliantly clear. In
+their simple trust there is the sense of an avowal.
+
+“Well, let us begin!” exclaims the slender girl, somewhat agitated.
+
+Mikhail Lvovich raises his hand with a solemn gesture and begins:
+
+“Arise, ye branded with a curse!”
+
+The children sing with a will, mingling their high, clear voices with
+Mikhail Lvovich’s deep, low voice. Their young voices are blazing with
+the passionate flame of freedom and revolt. Higher and still higher,
+above the white mists, above the black forest, toward the silver clouds
+and the quiet glimmering stars, toward the aspectful moon, rise the
+sounds of the invocation.
+
+And the white-trunked birches, the milk-white moon, motionless in the
+sky, the white, silvery grass, pressed down by children’s knees—all is
+still, all is silent, all is harkening with a sensitive ear. Everything
+around listens with poignant and solemn intentness to the song of these
+luminous children who, bathed in the translucent silver of the cool,
+lunar glimmer, their knees on the grass, their eyes burning in their
+uplifted faces, are repeating faithfully the words sung by the tall,
+self-contained young man whose dark face with fixed glance gazes
+morosely on the ground. They repeat after him:
+
+In the International
+As brothers all men shall meet.
+
+
+The strange foreign word, un-Russian in its ring, suggests to them the
+lofty, holy designation of a promised land, a new land under new skies,
+a land in which they have faith.
+
+After the hymn there is silence, a holy silence, solemn and palpable,
+reaching from the earth to the heavens. They might have been in the
+temple of a new, as yet unknown religion, in a mystic moment of
+sacrificial rites.
+
+XXXVI
+
+Mikhail Lvovich is the first to break the silence. He speaks slowly,
+looking at no one and directing his heavy gaze above the children’s
+pale faces, beyond the flaming ring of their glances:
+
+“My friends, you know the sort of time this is. Each one of us can be
+of use. If any one of us is sent I hope that none will tremble for his
+precious life, and that none will be deterred by the thought of a
+mother’s sorrow.”
+
+The children exclaim:
+
+“None! None! If they would but send us!”
+
+“What is the sorrow of a single mother compared to the suffering of an
+entire nation!” thinks Natasha proudly.
+
+There rises up for an instant a mental image of the ashen-pale face of
+her mother, her intensely dark, eloquent eyes. A sharp pain, lasting a
+moment, pierces her heart. What of that? It is, after all, but a single
+instant of weakness. A proud will shall conquer this slight suffering
+of a single relative by conferring great love upon the many, the
+strangers, the grievous sufferers.
+
+What is the woe of one mother! Let Niobe weep eternally for her
+children, killed by the burning, poisoned arrows of the high Dragon;
+let Rachel remain unconsoled for ever—what is the woe of a poor mother?
+Serene is Apollo’s face, radiant is Apollo’s dream.
+
+Yet how painful, how painful! A dimness comes over the transcendent
+idea, as though the dark countenance of the ominous figure who sang the
+proud hymn has dimmed the moon and has cast an austere shadow upon the
+heart itself.
+
+And now there is no moon, and no night, and no white glade in the mist
+in the forest. The bright day stares again at Natasha, she is at the
+window, the book lies before her, the old house is depressingly silent.
+The cloud has disappeared, the heavens are clear again, the evil Dragon
+is once more aiming his flaming arrows, he reiterates his conquest
+anew.
+
+This cruel melancholy must be faced. Sting, accursed Dragon, burn,
+torment. Rejoice, conqueror! But even he must soon go to his setting,
+and, dying, pour out his blood upon half the heavens.
+
+XXXVII
+
+Natasha, a yellow straw hat upon her head, is now walking in the field.
+The ground is hot, the sky is blue, the air is sultry and the wind
+asleep; the corn is yellow, the grass is green. Bathed again in the
+bright heat, Natasha prods her sweetly fatiguing memories, which cast
+into oblivion this dismal day.
+
+She goes on—and there stretches before her, even as on a day long ago,
+the hot golden field, with its tall stalks inclining their heads in the
+heat. It is the revival of a former stifling, sultry midday.
+
+That was in the days when Natasha still loved the good, human sun, the
+source of life and joy, the eternal, the untiring herald of labours and
+deeds, of deeds beyond the powers of man.
+
+Oh, the treacherous speech of the Serpent Tempter! He turns our heads
+and he entices, and he makes our poor earth seem like some fabulous
+kingdom.
+
+Again there is a slight wavering stir in the sea of the heat-exhausted
+ears of rye, studded over with little blue flowers which lower timidly
+their sweetly-dazed heads from sultriness.
+
+Natasha and her brother Boris are walking together, on an inviting
+narrow path among the golden waves of rye.
+
+How high the rye is! One can barely see the green roof of the old house
+on the right for the tall stalks, and the semi-circular window in the
+mezzanine: and on the left the little grey, rough huts of the village.
+
+Natasha and Boris follow one another. All around them the dry ears of
+rye waver and rustle, and among them are the blue-eyed little
+cornflowers. The two fragilely slender human silhouettes answered to
+the same wavering motion.
+
+Natasha goes ahead. She turns to see why Boris has lagged behind. The
+boy, brown and slender, with large burning eyes, attired in his linen
+jacket, is gathering the little blue flowers. He has already gathered
+almost as many as his hands can hold.
+
+XXXVIII
+
+Natasha, laughing, says to her brother: “Enough, my dear, enough. I
+shan’t be able to carry them all.”
+
+“You’ll do it easily enough, never fear!” Boris answers cheerfully.
+
+Natasha stretches out her sunburnt hand to take the flowers. The sheaf
+of blue cornflowers, spreading across her breast, almost hides her, she
+is so slender.
+
+Again Boris addresses her cheerfully: “Well, is it heavy?”
+
+Natasha laughs. Her face lights up with the joy of gratitude, and with
+a cheerful, childlike determination. “I will carry these, but no more!”
+she says.
+
+“I want to gather as many as possible for you.” Boris’s voice is
+serious; “because you know we may not see each other for some time.”
+There is a quaver in his voice as he says this.
+
+“Perhaps, never,” Natasha, growing pensive, replies.
+
+Both faces become sad and careworn.
+
+Boris, frowning, glances sideways, and asks: “Natasha, are you going
+with him?”
+
+Natasha knows that Boris is inquiring about Mikhail Lvovich, who is now
+sending her on a dangerous business, and who has also promised to send
+Boris on some foolhardy errand. The brave are so often foolhardy.
+
+“No, I am going alone,” Natasha replies, “he will only lead me later to
+the spot.”
+
+Boris looks at Natasha with gloomy, envious eyes, and asks rather
+cautiously: “Are you frightened, Natasha?”
+
+Natasha smiles. And what pride there is in her smile! She speaks, and
+her voice is tranquil: “No, Boris, I feel happy.”
+
+Boris observes that her face is really happy, and that her dark,
+flaming eyes are cheerful enough. Looking at her thus, her tranquillity
+communicates itself to him, and inspires him with a calm confidence in
+himself and in the business in hand.
+
+The children go farther. Boris again gathers the cornflowers. Natasha
+is musing about something. She has broken off an ear of rye, and is
+absently nibbling at the grain.
+
+XXXIX
+
+It is a long, hot, sultry day. The inexorable Dragon looks down
+indifferently upon the children. Unwearying, he aims his bright, vivid
+shafts at the sunburnt, fiery-eyed lad and at the slender, erect,
+black-eyed girl. His blazing shafts are evil, and they are well aimed;
+and his strong clear light is pitiless—but she walks on, and in her
+eyes there is hope, and in her eyes there is resolution, and in her
+dark eyes there is a flame which sets the soul afire to achieve deeds
+beyond the powers of man.
+
+Natasha suddenly pauses at the end of the path by the dusty road. Her
+eyes look at Boris full of tender admiration. It is evident that she
+desires to stamp upon her memory all the beloved features of the
+familiar tanned face—the curve of the dense brows, the rigid set of the
+red lips, the firm outlines of the chin, the stern profile.
+
+Natasha sighs lightly and addresses Boris gently and cheerfully:
+
+“Enough, dearest. They may not let me into the train with a heap like
+this. They will say: ‘This should be put in the luggage van.’”
+
+Both laugh carelessly. And still Boris is loath to leave the
+cornflowers. He says:
+
+“Only a few more. I want you to have a gigantic bouquet.”
+
+“You would have everything gigantic!” Natasha returns good-humouredly.
+
+But her face is serious. She knows how deep this quality is in him, and
+how significant. Boris looks at her, and in answer repeats his
+favourite, his most intimate thought:
+
+“Yes, it is true. I love all bigness, all immoderation. In everything!
+In everything! If we only acted like this always! And gave ourselves
+wholly to a thing! Oh, how different life would be!”
+
+Natasha, lost in thought, repeats: “Yes, big things, things beyond the
+powers of man. To make life lavish. Only no stinginess, no trembling
+for one’s skin. Far better to die—to gather all life into one little
+knot, and to throw it away!”
+
+“Yes, yes,” says Boris, and his eyes, dark as night, glow with the fury
+of a yet distant storm. “We must have no care for lives, but be lavish
+with them, lavish to the end—only then may we reach our goal!”
+
+They cross the road and again walk calmly along a narrow path. Her
+dress is white among the golden waves. Natasha stretches out her
+slender hand, the ears of rye rustle dryly and solid seeds of ripe rye
+fall into it. They are struck from above by the vivid shafts of the
+pitiless Dragon.
+
+The children are walking on, conscious of their vow. They go
+trustingly, and they do not know that he who sends them is a traitor,
+and that their sacrifice is vain.
+
+XL
+
+What is this dry rustling all around? It is the rye. But where are the
+little cornflowers, where is Boris? The little blue-eyed flowers are in
+the rye, and Boris has been hanged.
+
+“And I?” Natasha asks herself in a strange, oppressive perplexity. She
+looks round her like one just awakened.
+
+“Why am I here?”
+
+She answers herself: “I escaped. A lucky chance saved me.”
+
+Natasha is oppressed by the thought. How had she survived it? “Far
+better if I had perished!”
+
+It all happened very simply. Natasha, being Number Three, was placed at
+the railway station itself, her duty being contingent on the failure of
+Number One and Number Two. But the first was successful, though he
+himself perished in the explosion.
+
+The second, upon hearing the explosion not far away, lost his presence
+of mind. He ran to save himself. He caught a cab, and got off near the
+river. Here he hired a row-boat. When near the middle of the river, he
+threw the bomb into the water. The man who rowed had guessed that
+something was wrong. Besides, he had been seen from the Government
+steamer and from the banks. Number Two was taken, tried and hanged.
+
+Natasha did not betray herself in any way. She walked calmly, without
+haste, bearing her dangerous burden, observed by no one. She mixed
+freely with the passing crowd. She delivered the bomb at the appointed
+place.
+
+A few days later she left for home. She had not been followed. Natasha
+was awaiting a second commission, and quite suddenly she abandoned the
+business, because her trust in it had died.
+
+It happened even before Borya was hanged. But her decision came finally
+in those nightmare days when, quickly and unexpectedly, his life came
+to an end.
+
+Those were terrible days.
+
+But, no, it is better not to think of them, it is better not to
+remember them. To remember them is to suffer. Far better to remember
+other things, things cloudless and long past.
+
+XLI
+
+Oh magic mirror of memory, so much is reflected in thee! Beloved images
+pass by with a kind of glimmer.
+
+There were the flowers, which they themselves looked after. There was
+one flower-bed which they cared for with especial tenderness. There was
+the fresh, intoxicating evening aroma of gilliflower. There was the
+cluster of jasmine, dewy at dawn, so sweetly and so gently fragrant,
+that one wished to weep in its presence, as the grass weeps its tears
+of dew at golden dawn.
+
+Then there was the open space in the garden, and the giant-stride in
+the centre. What gigantic steps they took! How fast and how high she
+flew round with Boris!
+
+How glorious were the feast-days to the childish hearts. There was
+Christmas Eve, with its tree, and candles upon the green branches, with
+all the many-coloured glitter of golden nuts, red, green and blue
+trimmings, snow-white foils of cotton-wool, offerings which gladdened
+with their unexpectedness. Then in the daytime there is real snow,
+glittering like salt, and crunching under one’s feet; the frost pinches
+the cheeks, the sun is shining, their mittens are of the softest down,
+their hats are white and soft, the sleds are flying down hillocks—oh,
+what joy!
+
+And now Easter is here. What a solemn night! Then the joyous chanting
+of matins. The candle flames are everywhere, there seems to be no end
+to them. There is a smell of Easter cakes. There are Easter eggs
+painted in all colours. Every one is kissing each other. Every one is
+happy.
+
+“_Christoss Voskress!_”
+
+“_Voistinu Voskress!_”
+
+But the dear dead do not stir.
+
+No. The beloved memories do not break the continuity of the circle, the
+resurrection of the others—the fearsome, tragic memories. Inevitably
+the vision leads on to the last terrible moments.
+
+XLII
+
+They lived in the capital that winter. Boris was studying his final
+term in the _gymnasia_. For Christmas he went to another city: to
+relatives, he said.
+
+Natasha was suspicious. But he did not tell her the truth.
+
+“Really, nothing,” he answered to all her questions. “No one is sending
+me. I am going of my own accord. To see Aunt Liuba.”
+
+And Natasha did not insist.
+
+For several days she did not get any letters from him. But she did not
+worry. Boris disliked writing letters. They thought he was enjoying
+himself.
+
+It was an evening in early January. Her mother and grandmother had gone
+out visiting. Natasha, pleading a headache, remained at home.
+
+“I’ll lie down on the sofa. It will pass away.”
+
+The truth was she thought the home of her affected, worldly relatives a
+dull place, and she had no desire to go there.
+
+The maid had leave to go out. Natasha remained in the house alone. She
+lay down in her room on the sofa with an interesting new book.
+
+After the cheer and ease of the holidays, Natasha felt in good spirits.
+She was comfortable, tranquil and cheerful. The hangings on the windows
+were impenetrably opaque. The lamp, burning brightly and evenly,
+concealed its garish white blaze from her eyes under its trimmed,
+beaded shade. The whole small room was lost in a luminous twilight.
+
+At last, however, page after page of running lines of print tired
+Natasha. She dropped into a doze, and was shortly sound asleep. The
+open book fell softly on the rug.
+
+XLIII
+
+Suddenly a bell rings. Natasha gives a start.
+
+Ours? No. The bell rang so timidly, so hesitatingly. It was as though
+she heard it ring in a dream, and not in reality; again, it might have
+been the ring of some mischievous urchin.
+
+Perhaps she had only imagined it. It is so comfortable to doze. She
+feels too lazy to get up. Let them ring.
+
+But here is a second ring, more insistent and louder.
+
+Natasha jumps up and runs into the vestibule, rearranging her hair on
+the way. Remembering that she is alone in the house she does not open
+the door, but asks: “Who’s there?”
+
+From behind the door she can hear the low, somewhat hoarse voice of the
+telegraph boy: “A telegram.”
+
+Her heart begins to beat with fright. It is always terrible to receive
+telegrams. For only good news travels slowly. Bad news makes haste.
+
+Natasha puts one end of the door-chain to a little hook in the door.
+Then she opens the door partly and looks out. There stands the
+messenger in his uniform, with a metal plate in his cap. He hands her
+the telegram.
+
+“Sign here, miss.”
+
+The grey-white, dry paper trembles in Natasha’s hands. Natasha feels a
+sudden tug at her heart. She speaks incoherently:
+
+“What is it? Oh my God! Sign, did you say?”
+
+She runs to the table. Her hands tremble. She has managed somehow to
+scrawl her family name “Ozoreva,” the pen hesitating and scratching
+upon the grey paper.
+
+“Here is the signature.”
+
+Across the little door-chain she thrusts the signed paper and a tip
+into the hand of the messenger. Then she bangs the door to after him.
+Now she is in front of the lamp. What can it be?
+
+Tearing the seal open she reads. Terrible words. Such simple, yet such
+incomprehensible words. Because they are about Boris.
+
+“_Boris has shot ——. Arrested with comrades. Military trial to-morrow.
+Death sentence threatened_.”
+
+XLIV
+
+Natasha re-reads the telegram. A sudden terror, strangely akin to
+shame, for a moment strikes at her heart. She can hear the heavy beat
+of blood in her temples. She is, as it were, being strangled from all
+sides; she can hardly breathe; the walls seem to have come together,
+oppressing her on all sides; and the rapid, pale, pencilled strokes
+seem also to have run together into one jumble on the grey paper.
+
+Certain thoughts, one after the other, slowly make way into Natasha’s
+dimmed consciousness—oppressive, evil, pitiless thoughts.
+
+Stupefied, she wonders how she shall tell her mother. She observes that
+her hands tremble. She recalls the telephone number of the Lareyevs,
+where her mother undoubtedly is.
+
+Then terror seizes her anew; she shivers violently from head to foot as
+with ague. Her mind is a whirl of confusion.
+
+“No, it is a mistake! It cannot be. It is a cruel, senseless mistake!
+It is some one’s stupid, cruel joke.”
+
+Boris, our beloved boy, with his fine honest eyes—think of him hanging!
+There will be a rattle in his throat, as strangling, he will swing in
+the noose. With sharp, clutching pain, the gentle, childish neck will
+tighten; the sunburnt face will grow purple; the swollen tongue will
+creep out all in froth, and the widely dilated eyes will reflect the
+terror of cruel death.
+
+No, no, it cannot be! It is a mistake! But who can be malicious enough
+to make such a mistake?
+
+And then where is Boris?
+
+Her cold reasoning says that it is so, that no mistake has been made.
+The words are clear, the address is correct—yes, yes! It was really to
+be expected. Here it is, this lavishness of life which he dreamt of,
+which they both dreamt of. “I love all immoderation. To be lavish—only
+then we may reach our goal!”
+
+Her legs tremble. She feels herself terribly weak. She sits down on the
+sofa.
+
+Oh God, what’s to be done? How is she to tell her mother this terrible
+thing?
+
+Or should she conceal it? And do everything that could be done by
+herself? But no, she could do ridiculously little herself!
+
+It is necessary to tell. It must be done quickly. She must not lose an
+instant. Perhaps it is still possible to save Boris, by going, by
+petitioning.
+
+Why is she sitting still then? It is necessary to act at once.
+
+Natasha seizes the telephone. What a long time the operator takes to
+answer.
+
+At last she is connected. She can hear sounds of music and the hum of
+voices.
+
+A cheerful, familiar voice asks:
+
+“Who’s there?”
+
+“It is Natasha Ozoreva.”
+
+“Good evening, Natasha,” says Marusya Lareyeva loudly. “What a pity you
+did not come. We are having a fine time.”
+
+“Good evening, dear Marusya. Is mamma with you?”
+
+“Yes, she is here. Shall I call her?”
+
+“No, no, for God’s sake. Let some one break it to her....”
+
+“Has anything happened?”
+
+“Marusya, a terrible misfortune. Our Boris has been arrested.”
+
+“My God! For what?”
+
+“I don’t know. He’ll have a military trial. I feel desperate. It’s so
+terrible. For God’s sake, don’t frighten mother too much. Tell her to
+come home at once, please.”
+
+“Oh, my God, how awful!”
+
+“Oh, Marusya, dearest, for God’s sake, be quick.”
+
+“I’ll tell my mother at once. Wait at the telephone, Natasha.”
+
+Natasha holds the receiver to her ear and waits. She hears the noise of
+footsteps. Some one has begun to sing.
+
+Then again the same voice, extremely agitated:
+
+“Natasha, do you hear? Your mother wants to speak to you herself.”
+
+Natasha trembles with fright. Good God, what shall she tell her mother!
+She inquires:
+
+“What? Is she coming herself to the telephone?” she asks.
+
+“Yes, yes. Your mother is here now.”
+
+XLV
+
+The voice of Sofia Alexandrovna, terribly agitated, is heard:
+
+“Natasha, is that you? For God’s sake, what has happened?”
+
+Natasha replies:
+
+“Yes, mamma, it is I. A telegram has come. Mamma, don’t be frightened,
+it must be a mistake.”
+
+This time the voice is more controlled.
+
+“Read me the telegram at once.”
+
+“Just a moment. I’ll get it,” says Natasha.
+
+The telegram is read.
+
+“What, a military trial?”
+
+“Yes, military.”
+
+“To-morrow?”
+
+“Yes, yes, to-morrow.”
+
+“Death sentence threatened?”
+
+“Mamma, please be yourself, for God’s sake. Perhaps something can be
+done.”
+
+“We must go there. Get the things ready, Natasha. Mother and I are
+returning at once, and we will take the first train out.”
+
+The conversation is at an end.
+
+Natasha is alone. She runs about the deserted house, letting things
+fall in the poignant silence. She is busy with travelling bags and with
+pillows.
+
+She stops to look at the time-table. There is a train at half-past
+twelve. Yes, there is still time to catch it.
+
+Then the bell rings, frightening her even more than the earlier ring.
+The mother and the grandmother have arrived, pale and distraught.
+
+XLVI
+
+A sleepless, wearisome journey in the train. The wheels roll on with a
+measured, jarring sound. Stops are made. How slow it all is! How
+agonizing! If only it would be quicker, quicker!
+
+Or were it better to wish that time should be arrested? That its huge,
+shaggy wings outspread and flapping above the world should suddenly
+become motionless? That its owlish glance should be stilled for ever in
+the instant just before the terrible word is said?
+
+They reach their destination in the morning. At the station, a dirty,
+dejected place, they are met by a cousin of Natasha’s, an attorney by
+profession. From his pale, worried face, they guess that everything is
+over.
+
+He talks quickly and incoherently. He comforts them with hopes in which
+he himself does not believe. The trial had been held early that
+morning. Boris and both his comrades—all of the same green youth—had
+been sentenced to die by hanging. The court would entertain no appeal.
+The only hope lay in the district general. He was really not a bad man
+at heart. Perhaps, by imploring, he might be induced to lighten the
+sentence to that of hard labour for an indefinite period.
+
+Poor mothers! What is it they implore?
+
+XLVII
+
+Sofia Alexandrovna and Natasha arrived at the general’s. They waited
+long in the quiet, cold-looking reception-room; the glossy parquet
+floor shone, portraits in heavy gilt frames hung on the walls, and the
+careful steps of uniformed officials, coming through a large white
+door, resounded from time to time.
+
+At last they were received. The general listened most amiably, but
+declined emphatically to do anything. He rose, clinked his spurs, and
+stretched himself to his full height; He stood there tall, erect, his
+breast decorated with orders, his head grey, his face ruddy, with black
+eyebrows and broad nose.
+
+In vain the humiliating entreaties.
+
+Pale, the proud mother knelt before the general and, weeping bitterly,
+she kissed his hands and at last threw herself at his feet—all in vain.
+She received the cold answer:
+
+“I am sorry, madam, it is impossible. I understand your affliction, I
+sympathize fully; with your sorrow, but what can I do? Whose fault is
+it? Upon me lies a great responsibility toward my Emperor and my
+country. I have my duty—I can’t help you. It is against yourself that
+you ought to bring your reproaches—you’ve brought him up.”
+
+Of what avail the tears of a poor mother? Strike thy head upon the
+parquet floor, bend thy face to the black glitter of his boots; or else
+depart, proud and silent. It is all the same, he can do nothing. Thy
+tears and thy entreaties do not touch him, thy curses do not offend
+him. He is a kind man, he is the loving father of a family, but his
+upright martial soul does not tremble before the word death. More than
+once he had risked his life boldly in battle—what is the life of a
+conspirator to him?
+
+“But he is a mere boy!”
+
+“No, madam, this is not a childish prank. I am sorry.”
+
+He walks away. She hears the measured clinking of his spurs. The
+parquet floor reflects dimly his tall, erect figure.
+
+“General, have pity!”
+
+The cold, white door has swung to after him. She hears the quiet,
+pleasant voice of a young official. He raises her from the floor and
+helps her to find her way out.
+
+XLVIII
+
+They granted a last meeting. A few minutes passed in questions,
+answers, embraces, and tears.
+
+Boris said very little.
+
+“Don’t cry, mamma. I am not afraid. There is nothing else they can do.
+They don’t feed you at all badly here. Remember me to all. And you,
+Natasha, take care of mother. One sacrifice is enough from our family.
+Well, good-bye.”
+
+He seemed somehow callous and distant. He seemed to be thinking of
+something else, of something he could tell no one. And his words had an
+external ring, as though merely to make conversation.
+
+That night, before daybreak, Boris was hanged. The scaffold was set up
+in the gaol courtyard. The spot where he was buried was kept secret.
+
+The mother implored the next day: “Show me his grave at least!”
+
+What was there to show! He was laid in a coffin, he was put into a hole
+in the earth and the soil that covered him was smoothed down to its
+original level—we all know how such culprits are buried.
+
+“Tell me at least how he died.”
+
+“Well, he was a brave one. He was calm, a bit serious. And he refused a
+priest, and would not kiss the cross.”
+
+They returned home. A fog of melancholy hung over them, and within them
+there lit up a spark of mad hope—no, Borya is not dead, Borya will
+return.
+
+XLIX
+
+The thought that Boris had been hanged could not enter into their
+habitual, everyday thoughts. Only in the hour when the sun was at its
+zenith, and in the hour of the midnight moon, it would penetrate their
+awakened consciousness like a sharp poniard. Again it would pierce the
+soul with a sharp, tormenting pain, and again it would vanish in the
+dim mist of dawn with a kind of dull agony. And again, the same
+unreasonable conviction would awake in their hearts.
+
+No, Borya will return. The bell will suddenly ring, and the door will
+be opened to him.
+
+“Oh, Borya! Where have you been wandering?”
+
+How we shall kiss him! And how much there will be to tell!
+
+“What does it matter where you have been wandering. You have been
+wandering, and, you have been found, like the prodigal son.”
+
+How happy all will be!
+
+The old nurse will not be consoled. She wails:
+
+“Boryushka, Boryushka, my incomparable one! I say to him: ‘Boryushka,
+I’m going to the poor-house!’ And he says to me: ‘No,’ says he,
+‘_nyanechka_,[4] I’ll not let you go to the poor-house. I,’ he says,
+‘will let you stop with me, _nyanechka_; only wait till I grow up,’
+says he, ‘and you can live with me.’ Oh, Boryushka, what’s this you’ve
+done!”
+
+In the morning the old nurse enters the vestibule. Whose grey overcoat
+is it that she sees hanging on the rack? It is Borya’s, his _gymnasia_
+uniform. Has he then not gone to the _gymnasia_ to-day?
+
+She wanders into the dining-room, making a muffled noise with her soft
+slippers.
+
+“Natashenka, is Boryushka home to-day? His overcoat’s there on the
+rack. Or is he sick?”
+
+“_Nyanechka_!” exclaims Natasha.
+
+And, frightened, she looks at her mother.
+
+The old nurse has suddenly remembered. She is crying. The grey head
+shivers in its black wrap. The old woman wails:
+
+“I go there and I look, what’s that I see? Borya’s overcoat. I say to
+myself, Borya’s gone to the _gymnasia_, why’s his overcoat here? It’s
+no holiday. Oh, my Boryushka is gone!”
+
+She wails louder and louder. Then the old woman falls to the floor and
+begins to beat the boards with her head.
+
+“Borechka, my own Borechka! If the Lord had only taken me, an old
+woman, instead of him. What’s the use of life to me? I drag along, of
+no cheer to myself or to any one else.”
+
+Natasha, helpless, tries to quiet her.
+
+“_Nyanechka_, dearest, rest a little.”
+
+“May Thou rest me, O Lord! My heart told me something was wrong. I’ve
+been dreaming all sorts of bad dreams. These black dreams have come
+true! Oh, Borechka, my own!”
+
+The old woman continues to beat her head and to wail. Natasha implores
+her mother:
+
+“For God’s sake, mamma, have Borya’s overcoat taken from the rack.”
+
+Sofia Alexandrovna looks at her with her dark, smouldering eyes and
+says morosely:
+
+“Why? It had better hang there. He might suddenly need it.”
+
+Oh, hateful memories! As long as the evil Dragon reigns in the heavens
+it is impossible to escape them.
+
+Natasha roams restlessly, she can find no place for herself. She is off
+to the woods; she recalls Boris there, and that he has been hanged. She
+is off to the river; she recalls Boris there, and that he is no more.
+She is back at home, and the walls of the old house recall Boris to
+her, and that he will not return.
+
+Like a pale shadow the mother wanders along the walks of the garden,
+choosing to pause there where the shade is densest. The old grandmother
+sits upon a bench and finishes the reading of the newspapers. It is the
+same every day.
+
+ [4] Little nurse.
+
+L
+
+And now the evening is approaching. The sun is low and red. It looks
+straight into people’s eyes as though, while expiring, it were begging
+for mercy. A breeze blows from the river, and it brings the laughter of
+white water nymphs.
+
+A number of noisy urchins are running in the road; their shirt-tails
+flap merrily in the wind, while their sleeves are filled with wind like
+balloons. The sound of a harmonica comes from the distance, and its
+song runs on very merrily. The corncrake screeches in the field, and
+its call resembles a general’s loud snore.
+
+The old house once more casts and arranges its long dark shadows
+disturbed by the intrusive day. Its windows blaze forth with the red
+fire of the evening sun.
+
+The gilliflower exhales its seductive aroma in some of the distant
+paths. The roses seem even redder in the sunset, and more sweet. The
+eternal Aphrodite—the naked marble of her proud body taking on a rose
+tint—smiles again, and lets fall her draperies as fascinatingly as
+ever.
+
+And everything is directed as before toward cherished, unreasonable
+hopes. Enfeebled by the day’s heat, and by the sadness of the bright
+day, the harassed soul has exhausted its measure of suffering, and it
+falls from the iron embrace of sorrow to the beloved dark earth of the
+past, once more besprinkled with dreamily refreshing dew.
+
+And again, as at dawn, the three women in the old house await Boris, or
+a short time happy in their madness.
+
+They await him, and they chat of him, until, from behind the trees of
+the dark wood, the cold moon shows her ever sad face. The dead moon is
+under a white shroud of mist.
+
+Then again they remember that Borya has been hanged, and they meet at
+the green-covered pond to weep for him.
+
+LI
+
+Natasha is the first to leave the house. She has on a white dress and a
+black cloak. Her black hair is covered with a thin black kerchief. Her
+very deep dark eyes shine with flame-like brightness. She stands, her
+pale face uplifted toward the moon. She awaits the other two.
+
+Elena Kirillovna and Sofia Alexandrovna arrive together.
+
+Elena Kirillovna leaves the house slightly earlier, but Sofia
+Alexandrovna runs after her and overtakes her almost at the pond. They
+wear black cloaks, black kerchiefs on their heads, and black shoes.
+
+Natasha begins:
+
+“On the night before the execution he did not sleep. The moon, just as
+clear as to-night’s, looked into the narrow window of his cell. On the
+floor the moon sadly outlined a green rhomb, intersected lengthwise and
+crosswise by narrow dark strokes. Boris walked up and down his cell,
+and looked now at the moon, now at the green rhomb, and thought—I wish
+I knew his thoughts that night.”
+
+Her remark has a quite tranquil sound. It might have been about a
+stranger.
+
+Sofia Alexandrovna now and again wrings her hands, and as she begins to
+speak her voice is agitated and heavy with grief:
+
+“What can one think at such moments! The moon, long dead, looks in.
+There are five steps from the door to the window, four steps across.
+The mind springs feverishly from object to object. That the execution
+is to take place on the morrow is the one thing you try not to think
+of. Stubbornly you repel the thought. But it remains, it refuses to
+depart, it throttles the soul with an oppressive, horrible nightmare.
+The anguish is intense and enfeebling. But I do not wish my gaolers and
+all these officials who are come to me to see my anguish. I will be
+calm. And yet what anguish—if only, lifting up my pale face, I could
+cry aloud to the pale moon!”
+
+Elena Kirillovna whispers faintly:
+
+“Terrible, Sonyushka.”
+
+There are tears in her voice—simple, old-womanish, grandmotherly tears.
+
+LII
+
+Sofia Alexandrovna, ignoring the interruption, continues:
+
+“Why should I really go to my death boldly and resolutely? Is it not
+all the same? I shall die in the courtyard, in the dark of night.
+Whether I die boldly, or weep like a coward, or beg for mercy, or
+resist the executioner—is it not all the same? No one will know how I
+died. I shall face death alone. Why should I really suffer this wild
+anguish? I will raise up my voice to wail and to weep, and I will shake
+the whole gaol with my despairing cries, and I will awake the town, the
+so-called free town, which is only a larger gaol—so that I shall not
+suffer alone, but that others shall share in my last agony, in my last
+dread. But no, I won’t do that. It is my fate to die alone.”
+
+Natasha rises, trembles, presses her mother’s cold hand in hers, and
+says:
+
+“Mamma, mamma, it is terrible, if alone. No, don’t say that he felt
+alone. We shall be with him.”
+
+Elena Kirillovna whispers:
+
+“Yes, Sonyushka, it would be terrible alone. In such moments!”
+
+“We are with him,” insists Natasha vehemently. “We are with him now.”
+
+A smile is on Sofia Alexandrovna’s lips, a smile such as a dying person
+smiles to greet his last consolation. Sofia Alexandrovna speaks:
+
+“My last consolation is the thought that I am not alone. He is with me.
+These walls are unrealities, this gaol built by men is a lie. What is
+real and true is my suffering and I am one with them in my grief. A
+poor consolation! And yet I, just think, this extraordinary I, Boris, I
+am dying.”
+
+“I am dying,” repeats Natasha.
+
+Her voice is clouded, and it is fraught with despair. And all three
+remain silent for a brief while, overcome by the spell of these tragic
+words.
+
+LIII
+
+Sofia Alexandrovna speaks again. Her voice sounds tranquil, deliberate,
+measured:
+
+“There is no consolation for the dying. His grief is boundless. The
+cold moon continues to torment him. A moan struggles to break from his
+throat, a moan like the wild baying of a caged beast.”
+
+Natasha speaks sadly:
+
+“But he is not alone, not alone. We are with him in his grief.”
+
+Her eyes, darker than a dark night, look up toward the lifeless moon,
+and the green enchantress, reflected in them, torments her with a dull
+pain.
+
+Sofia Alexandrovna smiles—and her smile is dead—and with the voice of
+inconsolable sorrow she speaks again slowly and calmly:
+
+“We are with him only in his despair, in his pitiful inconsolability,
+in his dark solitude. But he was alone, alone, when he was strangled by
+the hand of a hired hangman; strangled in that dark enclosure which it
+is not for us to demolish. And the dead moon tormented him, as it
+torments us. She tempted him with the mad desire to moan wildly, like a
+wild beast before dying. And now we, in this hour, under this moon—are
+we not also tormented by the same mad desire to run, to run far from
+people, and to moan and to wail, and to flee from a grief too great to
+be borne!”
+
+She rises abruptly and walks away, wringing her beautiful white hands.
+She walks fast, almost runs, driven as it were by some strange, furious
+will not her own. Natasha follows her with the measured yet rapid,
+deliberate, mechanical gait of an automaton. And behind them trips
+along Elena Kirillovna, who lets fall a few scant tears on her black
+cloak.
+
+The moon follows them callously in their hurried journey across the
+garden, across the field, into that wood, into that still glade, where
+once the children sang their proud hymn, and where they let their mad
+desires be known to one who was to betray them for a price—young blood
+for gold.
+
+The grass in the fields is wet with dew. The river is white with mist.
+The high moon is clear and cold. Everywhere it is quiet, as though all
+the earthly rustlings and noises had lost themselves in the moon’s dead
+light.
+
+LIV
+
+And here is the glade. “Natasha, do you remember? How warmly they all
+sang _Arise, ye branded with a curse!_ Natasha, will you sing it again?
+Do. Is it a torture?”
+
+“I’ll sing,” replies Natasha quietly.
+
+She sings in a low voice, almost to herself. The mother listens, and
+the grandmother listens—but what have the birches and the grass and the
+clear moon to do with human songs!
+
+In the International
+As brothers all men shall meet!
+
+
+Her song is at an end. The wood is silent. The moon waits. The mist is
+pensive. The birches seem to listen. The sky is clear.
+
+Ah, for whom is all this life? Who calls? Who responds? Or is it all
+the play of the dead?
+
+Loudly wailing, the mother calls: “Borya, Borya!”
+
+Overflowing with tears Elena Kirillovna replies: “Borya won’t come.
+There is no Borya.”
+
+Natasha stretches out her arms toward the lifeless moon, and cries out:
+“Borya has been hanged!”
+
+All three now stand side by side, looking at the moon, and weeping.
+Louder grows their sobbing, fiercer the note of despair. Their moans
+merge finally into a prolonged, wild wailing, which can be heard for
+some distance.
+
+The dog at the forester’s hut is restless. Trembling with all his lean
+body, his short hair bristling, he has pricked up his ears. Rising, he
+stretches his slender limbs. His sharp muzzle, showing its teeth, is
+uplifted to the tormenting moon. His eyes burn with a yearning flame.
+The dog bays in answer to the distant wail of the women in the wood.
+
+People are asleep.
+
+
+
+THE UNITER OF SOULS
+
+
+Garmonov was extremely young, and had not yet learnt to time his
+visits; he usually came at the wrong hour and did not know when to
+leave. He realized at last that he was boring Sonpolyev almost to
+madness. It dawned upon him that he was taking Sonpolyev from his work.
+He recalled that Sonpolyev had borne himself with a constrained
+politeness toward him, and that at times a caustic phrase escaped his
+lips.
+
+Garmonov grew painfully red, a sudden flame spread itself under the
+smooth skin of his drawn cheeks. He rose irresolutely. Then he sat down
+again, for he saw that Sonpolyev was about to say something. Sonpolyev
+took up the thread of the conversation in a depressed voice:
+
+“So you’ve put a mask on! What do you want me to understand by that?”
+
+Garmonov muttered in a confused way:
+
+“It’s necessary to dissemble sometimes.”
+
+Sonpolyev would not listen further, but gave way to his irritation:
+
+“What do you understand about it? What do you know of masks? There is
+no mask without a responding soul. It is impossible to put on a mask
+without harmonizing your soul with its soul. Otherwise the mask is
+uncovered.”
+
+Sonpolyev grew silent, and looked miserably before him. He did not look
+at Garmonov. He felt again a strange, instinctive hate for him, such as
+he felt at their first meeting. He had always tried to hide this hate
+under a mask of great heartiness; he had urged Garmonov most earnestly
+to visit him, and praised Garmonov’s verses to every one. But from time
+to time he spoke coarse, malicious words to the timid young man, who
+then flushed violently and shrank back within himself. Sonpolyev was
+quick to pity him, but soon again he detested his cautious, sluggish
+ways; he thought him secretive and cunning.
+
+Garmonov rose, said good-bye, and went out. Sonpolyev was left alone.
+He felt miserable because his work had been interrupted. He no longer
+felt in the same working mood. A secret malice tormented him. Why
+should this seemingly insignificant youth, Garmonov, evoke such
+bitterness in him? He had a large mouth, a long, very smooth face; his
+movements were slow, his voice had a drawl; there was something
+ambiguous about him, and enigmatical.
+
+Sonpolyev began sadly to pace the room. He stopped before the wall, and
+began to speak. There are many people nowadays who have long
+conversations with the wall—the wall, indeed, makes an interested
+interlocutor, and a faithful one.
+
+“It is possible,” he said, “to hate so strongly and so poignantly only
+that which is near to one. But in what does this devilish nearness
+consist? By what impure magic has some demon bound our souls together?
+Souls so unlike one another! Mine, that of a man of action with a bent
+for repose; and his, the soul of a large-mouthed fledgling, who is as
+cunning as a conspirator, and as cautious as a coward. And what is
+there in his character that conflicts so strangely with his appearance?
+Who has stolen the best and most needful part from this moly-coddle’s
+soul?”
+
+He spoke quietly, almost in a murmur. Then he exclaimed as though in a
+rage:
+
+“Who has done this? Man, or the enemy of man?”
+
+And he heard the strange answer:
+
+“I!”
+
+Some one spoke this word in a clear, shrill voice. It was like the
+sharp yet subdued ring of rusty steel. Sonpolyev trembled nervously. He
+looked round him. There was no one in the room.
+
+He sat down in the arm-chair and looked, scowling, on the table, buried
+under books and papers; and he waited. He awaited something. The
+waiting grew painful. He said loudly:
+
+“Well, why do you hide? You’ve begun to speak, you might as well
+appear. What do you wish to say? What is it?”
+
+He began to listen intently. His nerves were strained. It seemed as
+though the slightest noise would have sounded like an archangel’s
+trumpet.
+
+Then there was sudden laughter. It was sharp, and it was like the sound
+of rusty metal. The spring of some elaborate toy seemed to unwind
+itself, and trembled and tinkled in the subdued quiet of the evening.
+Sonpolyev put the palms of his hands over his temples, and rested upon
+his elbows. He listened intently. The laugh died away with mechanical
+evenness. It was evident that it came from somewhere quite near,
+perhaps from the table itself.
+
+Sonpolyev waited. He gazed with intent eyes at the bronze inkstand. He
+asked derisively: “Ink sprite, was it not you that laughed?”
+
+The sharp voice, quite unlike the muffled voice of phantoms, answered
+with the same derision: “No, you are mistaken; and you are not very
+brilliant. I am not an ink sprite. Don’t you know the rustling voices
+of ink sprites? You are a poor observer.”
+
+And again there was laughter, again the rusty spring tinkled as it
+unwound itself.
+
+Sonpolyev said: “I don’t know who you are—and how should I know! I
+cannot see you. Only I think that you are like the rest of your
+fraternity: you are always near us, you poke your noses into
+everything, and you bring sadness and evil spells upon us; yet you dare
+not show yourselves before our eyes.”
+
+The metallic voice replied: “The fact is, I came to have a talk with
+you. I love to talk with such as yourself—with half-folk.”
+
+The voice grew silent, and Sonpolyev waited for it to laugh. He
+thought: “He must punctuate his every phrase with that hideous
+laughter.”
+
+Indeed, he was not mistaken. The strange visitor really talked in this
+way: first he would speak a few words, then he would burst out into his
+sharp, rusty laughter. It seemed as though he used his words to wind up
+the spring, and that later the spring relaxed itself with his laughter.
+
+And while his laughter was still dying away with mechanical evenness
+the guest showed himself from behind the inkstand.
+
+He was small, and was no taller from head to foot than the fourth
+finger. He was grey-steel in colour. Owing to his small stature and to
+his rapid movements it was hard to tell whether the dim glow came from
+the body, or from a garment that stretched lightly over it. In any case
+it was something smooth, something expressly simple. The body seemed
+like a slender keg, broader at the belt, narrower at the shoulders and
+below. The arms and legs were of equal length and thickness, and of
+like nimbleness and flexibility; it seemed as though the arms were very
+long and thick, and the legs disproportionately short and thin. The
+neck was short. The face was hardy. The legs were widely astride. At
+the end of the back something was visible in the nature of a tail or a
+thick cone; like growths were upon the sides, under the elbows. The
+strange figure moved quickly, nimbly, and surely.
+
+The monster sat down on the bronze ridge of the inkstand, pushing aside
+the wooden pen-holder with his foot in order to be more comfortable. He
+grew quiet.
+
+Sonpolyev examined his face. It was lean, grey, and smooth. His eyes
+were small and glowed brightly. His mouth was large. His ears stuck out
+and were pointed at the top.
+
+He sat there, grasping the ridge with his hands, like a monkey.
+Sonpolyev asked: “Gracious guest, what do you want to say to me?”
+
+And in answer a slight voice—mechanically even, unpleasantly sharp and
+rather rusty in tone—made itself heard: “Man with a single head and a
+single soul, recall your past, your primitive experience of those
+ancient days when you and he lived in the same body.”
+
+And again there was laughter, shrill and sharp, piercing the ear.
+
+While he was still laughing, the guest, with mechanical agility, turned
+a somersault; he stood on his hands, and Sonpolyev saw for the first
+time what he had taken for a tail was really a second head. This head
+did not differ in any way, as far as he could see, from the other head.
+Whether the heads were too small for him to observe, or whether the
+heads did not actually differ, it was quite certain that Sonpolyev did
+not see the slightest distinction between them. The arms reversed
+themselves as on hinges, and became quite like the legs; the first
+head, then losing its colour, hid itself between these arm-legs; while
+the former legs reversed themselves mechanically and became the arms.
+
+Sonpolyev looked at his strange guest with astonishment. The guest made
+wry faces and danced. And when at last he grew still and his laughter
+gradually died away, the second head began to speak: “How many souls
+have you, and how many consciousnesses? Can you tell me that? You pride
+yourself on the amazing differentiation of your organs, you have an
+idea that each member of your body fulfils its own well-defined
+functions. But tell me, stupid man, have you anything whereby to
+preserve the memory of your previous existences? The other head
+contains the rest of you, your early memories and your earlier
+experience. You argue subtly and craftily across the threshold of your
+pitiful consciousness, but your misfortune is that you have only one
+head.”
+
+The guest burst out again into rusty, metallic laughter, and he laughed
+this time rather long. He laughed and he danced at the same time. He
+turned somersaults, or he rested upon one arm and upon one leg, thereby
+causing one of his sides to turn upward—until it was impossible to
+distinguish any of his four extremities. Afterwards his limbs again
+turned mechanically, and it became obvious that the growths on his
+sides were also heads. Each head spoke and laughed in its turn. Each
+head grimaced, mocked at him.
+
+Sonpolyev exclaimed in great fury: “Be silent!”
+
+The guest danced, shouted, and laughed.
+
+Sonpolyev thought: “I must catch him and crush him. Or I must smash the
+monster with a blow of the heavy press.”
+
+But the guest continued to laugh and to make wry faces.
+
+“I dare not take him with my hands,” thought Sonpolyev. “He might burn
+or scorch me. A knife would be better.”
+
+He opened his penknife. Then he quickly directed its sharp point toward
+the middle of his guest’s body. The four-headed monster gathered
+himself into a ball, flapped his four paws, and burst into piercing
+laughter. Sonpolyev threw his knife on the table, and exclaimed:
+“Hateful monster! What do you want of me?”
+
+The guest jumped upon the sharply pointed lid of the inkstand, perched
+himself upon one foot, stretched his arms upward, and exclaimed in an
+ugly, shrill voice: “Man with one head, recall your remote past when
+you and he were in the same body. The time you shared together in a
+dangerous adventure. Recall the dance of that terrible hour.”
+
+Suddenly it grew dark. The laughter resounded, hoarse and hideous. The
+head was going round....
+
+Light columns moved forward out of the darkness. The ceiling was low.
+The torches glowed dimly. The red tongues of flame wavered in the
+scented air. The flute poured out its notes. Handsome young limbs moved
+in measure to its music.
+
+And it seemed to Sonpolyev that he was young and powerful, and that he
+was dancing round a banqueting table. A shrivelled, insolent, drunken
+face was looking at him; the banqueter was laughing uproariously, he
+was happy, and the dance of the half-naked youths pleased him.
+Sonpolyev felt that a furious rage was strangling him, and was
+hindering him from carrying out his project. He danced past the
+carousing man and his hands trembled. A reddish mist of hate dimmed his
+sight.
+
+His second soul wakened at the same time; it was the cunning, the
+sidling, the feline soul. This time the youth smiled at the happy man;
+he floated gracefully past him, a sweet, gentle boy. The banqueter
+laughed loudly. The youth’s naked limbs and bared torso cheered the
+lord of the feast.
+
+And again there was hate, which dimmed his eyes with a red haze, and
+caused his hands to tremble with fury.
+
+Some one whispered angrily: “Are we going to twirl so long fruitlessly?
+It is time. It is time. Put an end to it!”
+
+The friendly spirits prevailed. The two souls flowed together. Hate and
+cunning became one. There was a light, floating movement, then a
+powerful stroke; nimble feet swept the youth into the swift, beautiful
+dance. There was a hoarse outcry. Then an uproar. Everything became
+confused....
+
+And again there was darkness.
+
+Sonpolyev awoke: the same small monster was dancing on the table,
+grimacing and laughing uproariously.
+
+Sonpolyev asked: “What’s the meaning of this?”
+
+His guest replied: “Two souls once dwelt in this youth, and one of them
+is now yours; it is a soul of exultant emotions and of passionate
+desires, it is an ever insatiable, trembling soul.”
+
+Then there was laughter, jarring on the ear. The monster danced on.
+
+Sonpolyev shouted: “Stop, you dance devil! It seems to me you wish to
+say that the second soul of this primitive youth lives in the feeble
+body of this despicable, smooth-faced youngster?”
+
+The guest stopped laughing and exclaimed:
+
+“Man, you have at last understood what I wished to tell you. Now
+perhaps you will guess who I am, and why I have come.”
+
+Sonpolyev waited until the trembling, shrill laughter ceased, and he
+answered his guest:
+
+“You are the uniter of souls. But why did you not join us at our
+birth?”
+
+The monster hissed, curled up, then stopped and threw upward one of his
+side heads and exclaimed:
+
+“We can repair this if you like. Do you wish it?”
+
+“I wish it,” Sonpolyev replied quickly.
+
+“Call him to you on New Year’s Eve, and call me. This hair will enable
+you to summon me.”
+
+The monster ran quickly to the lamp, and placing upon its stand a
+short, thin black hair continued speaking: “When you light it I’ll
+come. But you ought to know that neither you nor he will preserve
+afterward a separate existence. And the man who will depart from here
+shall contain both souls, but it will be neither you nor he.”
+
+Then he disappeared. His shrill, rusty laughter still resounded and
+tormented the ear, but Sonpolyev no longer saw any one before him. Only
+a black hair on the flat stand of the lamp reminded him of his guest.
+
+Sonpolyev took the hair and put it into his purse.
+
+The last day of the year was approaching midnight.
+
+Garmonov was sitting once more at Sonpolyev’s. They spoke quietly, in
+subdued voices. It was painful. Sonpolyev asked: “You do not regret
+coming to my lonely party?”
+
+The smooth-faced young man smiled, and this made his teeth seem very
+white. He drawled out his words very slowly, and what he said was so
+tedious and so empty that Sonpolyev had no desire to listen to him.
+Sonpolyev, without continuing the conversation, asked quite bluntly:
+“You remember your earlier existence?”
+
+“Not very well,” answered Garmonov.
+
+It was clear that he did not understand the question, and that he
+thought Sonpolyev had asked him about his childhood.
+
+Sonpolyev frowned in his vexation. He began to explain what he wished
+to say. He felt that his speech was involved and long. And this vexed
+him still more.
+
+But Garmonov had understood. He grew cheerful. He flushed slightly. His
+words had a more animated sound than usual: “Yes, yes, I sometimes feel
+that I have lived before. It is such a strange feeling. It’s as though
+that life was fuller, bolder and freer; and that I dared to do things
+that I dare not do now.
+
+“And isn’t it true,” asked Sonpolyev in some agitation, “that you feel
+as though you had lost something, as though you now lack the most
+significant part of your being?”
+
+“Yes,” answered Garmonov with emphasis. “That’s precisely my feeling.”
+
+“Would you like to restore this missing part?” Sonpolyev continued to
+question. “To be once more as before, whole and bold; to contain in one
+body—which shall feel itself light and young and free—the fullness of
+life and the union of the antagonistic identities of our human breed.
+To be, indeed, more than whole; to feel as it were, in one’s breast,
+the beating of a doubled heart; to be this and that; to join two
+clashing souls within oneself, and to wrest the necessary manhood and
+hardihood for great deeds from the fiery struggle of intense
+contradictions.”
+
+“Yes, yes,” said Garmonov, “I, too, sometimes dream about this.”
+
+Sonpolyev was afraid to look at the irresolute, confused, smooth face
+of his young visitor. He vaguely feared that Garmonov’s face would
+disconcert him. He made haste.
+
+Besides, midnight was approaching. Sonpolyev said quietly: “I have the
+means in my hands to realize this dream. Do you wish to have it
+realized?”
+
+“I should like to,” said Garmonov irresolutely.
+
+Sonpolyev raised his eyes. He looked at Garmonov with firmness and
+decision, as though he demanded something urgent and indispensable from
+him. He looked with a fixed intentness into the dark youthful eyes,
+which should have flamed fire, but instead they were the cold, crafty
+eyes of a little man with half a soul.
+
+But it seemed to Sonpolyev that under his fixed fiery gaze Garmonov’s
+eyes were becoming inflamed with enthusiasm and burning wrath. The
+young man’s smooth face had suddenly become significant and stern.
+
+“Do you wish it?” Sonpolyev asked him once more.
+
+Garmonov replied quickly, with decision:
+
+“I wish it.”
+
+And then a strange, sharp, shrill voice pronounced: “Oh, small and
+cunning man; you who once during your ancient existence did a deed of
+great hardihood—that was when you joined your crafty soul to the
+flaming soul of an indignant man—tell us in this great, rare hour, have
+you firmly decided to merge your soul with the other, the different
+soul?”
+
+And Garmonov answered even more quickly and more decisively: “I wish
+to!”
+
+Sonpolyev listened to the shrill voice of the questioner. He recognized
+him. He was not mistaken: the “I wish to!” of Garmonov had already lost
+itself in the rusty, metallic laughter of that extraordinary visitor.
+
+Sonpolyev waited until the laughter ceased; then he said: “But you
+should know that you will have to reject all dissembling. And all the
+joys of separate existence. Once I achieve my magic we shall both
+perish, and we shall set free our souls, or rather we shall fuse them
+together, and there shall be neither I nor you—there will be one in our
+place, and he shall be fiery in his conception, and cold in his
+execution. Both of us will have to go, in order to give a place to him,
+in whom both of us will be united. My friend, have you resolved upon
+this terrible thing? It is a great and terrible thing.”
+
+Garmonov smiled a strange, faltering smile. But the fiery glance of
+Sonpolyev extinguished the smile; and the young man, as if submitting
+to some inevitable and fated command, pronounced in a dim, lifeless
+voice: “I have decided. I wish it. I am not afraid.”
+
+Sonpolyev took the hair out of his wallet with trembling fingers. He
+lit a candle. Behind it hid the four-headed visitor. His grey body
+seemed to quake; and it vacillated in the wavering flame that fondled
+in its flickering embraces the white body of the submissive candle.
+
+Garmonov opened his eyes wide, and they steadfastly followed
+Sonpolyev’s movements. Sonpolyev put one end of the hair to the flame.
+The hair curled slightly, grew red, gave a flare. It burned very
+slowly, with a quiet rhythmic crackle, which resembled the laugh of the
+nocturnal guest.
+
+The words of the strange guest were simple but terrible. At first
+Sonpolyev was barely conscious of them; he was so agitated and so
+absorbed by the burning of the magic hair that he could see no
+connexion with the simple, familiar words of the monster. Suddenly
+terror came upon him. He had understood. There was derision in those
+simple, terribly simple words.
+
+“Little soul, failing little soul, timid little soul.”
+
+Sonpolyev, frightened, looked at Garmonov. The smooth-faced young man
+sat there strangely shrunken. His face was pale. Beads of perspiration
+showed on his forehead. A pitiful, forced smile twisted his lips. When
+he saw that Sonpolyev was looking at him he shrank even more, and
+whispered in a broken, hollow voice, as though against his will: “It is
+terrible. It is painful. It is unnecessary.”
+
+Suddenly he hunched like a cat—a cunning, timid, evil cat—and sprang
+forward; thus deformed, he pushed out his over-red lips and blew upon
+the almost consumed hair. The flame flickered upward, trembled and
+died. A tiny cloud of blue smoke spread itself in the still air. The
+shrill laughter of the nocturnal guest pierced the ears.
+
+The hideous words resounded: “Miscarried! Miscarried!”
+
+Garmonov sat down. He smiled guiltily and cunningly. Sonpolyev looked
+at him with unseeing eyes.
+
+The clock began to strike in the next room. And to each stroke the
+uniter of souls responded with the hoarse outcry: “Miscarried!”
+
+And he laughed again his metallic laughter like a wound-up spring. He
+whirled round and grimaced; he seemed to lose himself in the lifeless
+yellow electric light.
+
+At the twelfth stroke, the last voice of the passing year, the hideous
+voice grew silent.
+
+“Miscarried!”
+
+And the horrible laughter of the vanishing monster died away. Garmonov,
+truly rejoicing over his deliverance from an unhappy fate, rose, and
+said: “A happy New Year!”
+
+
+
+INVOKER OF THE BEAST
+
+I
+
+It was quiet and tranquil, and neither joyous nor sad. There was an
+electric light in the room. The walls seemed impregnable. The window
+was overhung by heavy, dark-green draperies, even denser in tone than
+the green of the wall-paper. Both doors—the large one at the side, and
+the small one in the depth of the alcove that faced the window—were
+securely bolted. And there, behind them, reigned darkness and
+desolation in the broad corridor as well as in the spacious and cold
+reception-room, where melancholy plants yearned for their native soil.
+
+Gurov was lying on the divan. A book was in his hands. He often paused
+in his reading. He meditated and mused during these pauses, and it was
+always about the same thing. Always about _them_.
+
+They hovered near him. This he had noticed long ago. They were hiding.
+Their manner; was importunate. They rustled very quietly. For a long
+time they remained invisible to the eye. But one day, when Gurov awoke
+rather tired; sad and pale, and languidly turned on the electric light
+to dissipate the greyish gloom of an early winter morning—he espied one
+of them suddenly.
+
+Small, grey, shifty and nimble, _he_ flashed by, and in the twinkling
+of an eye disappeared.
+
+And thereafter, in the morning, or in the evening, Gurov grew used to
+seeing these small, shifty, house sprites run past him. This time he
+did not doubt that they would appear.
+
+To begin with he felt a slight headache, afterwards a sudden flash of
+heat, then of cold. Then, out of the corner, there emerged the long,
+slender Fever with her ugly, yellow face and her bony dry hands; she
+lay down at his side, and embraced him, and fell to kissing him and to
+laughing. And these rapid kisses of the affectionate and cunning Fever,
+and these slow approaches of the slight headache were agreeable.
+
+Feebleness spread itself over, the whole body, and lassitude also. This
+too was agreeable. It made him feel as though all the turmoil of life
+had receded into the distance. And people also became far away,
+unimportant, even unnecessary. He preferred to be with these quiet
+ones, these house sprites.
+
+Gurov had not been out for some days. He had locked himself in at home.
+He did not permit any one to come to him. He was alone. He thought
+about them. He awaited them.
+
+II
+
+This tedious waiting was cut short in a strange and unexpected manner.
+He heard the slamming of a distant door, and presently he became aware
+of the sound of unhurried footfalls which came from the direction of
+the reception-room, just behind the door of his room. Some one was
+approaching with a sure and nimble step.
+
+Gurov turned his head toward the door. A gust of cold entered the room.
+Before him stood a boy, most strange and wild in aspect. He was dressed
+in linen draperies, half-nude, barefoot, smooth-skinned, sun-tanned,
+with black tangled hair and dark, burning eyes. An amazingly perfect,
+handsome face; handsome to a degree which made it terrible to gaze upon
+its beauty. And it portrayed neither good nor evil.
+
+Gurov was not astonished. A masterful mood took hold of him. He could
+hear the house sprites scampering away to conceal themselves.
+
+The boy began to speak.
+
+“Aristomarchon! Perhaps you have forgotten your promise? Is this the
+way of valiant men? You left me when I was in mortal danger, you had
+made me a promise, which it is evident you did not intend to keep. I
+have sought for you such a long time! And here I have found you, living
+at your ease, and in luxury.”
+
+Gurov fixed a perplexed gaze upon the half-nude, handsome lad; and
+turgid memories awoke in his soul. Something long since submerged arose
+in dim outlines and tormented his memory, which struggled to find a
+solution to the strange apparition; a solution, moreover, which seemed
+so near and so intimate.
+
+And what of the invincibility of his walls? Something had happened
+round him, some mysterious transformation had taken place. But Gurov,
+engulfed in his vain exertions to recall something very near to him and
+yet slipping away in the tenacious embrace of ancient memory, had not
+yet succeeded in grasping the nature of the change that he felt had
+taken place. He turned to the wonderful boy.
+
+“Tell me, gracious boy, simply and clearly, without unnecessary
+reproaches, what had I promised you, and when had I left you in a time
+of mortal danger? I swear to you, by all the holies, that my conscience
+could never have permitted me such a mean action as you reproach me
+with.”
+
+The boy shook his head. In a sonorous voice, suggestive of the
+melodious outpouring of a stringed instrument, he said: “Aristomarchon,
+you always have been a man skilful with words, and not less skilful in
+matters requiring daring and prudence. If I have said that you left me
+in a moment of mortal danger I did not intend it as a reproach, and I
+do not understand why you speak of your conscience. Our projected
+affair was difficult and dangerous, but who can hear us now; before
+whom, with your craftily arranged words and your dissembling ignorance
+of what happened this morning at sunrise, can you deny that you had
+given me a promise?”
+
+The electric light grew dim. The ceiling seemed to darken and to recede
+into height. There was a smell of grass; its forgotten name, once, long
+ago, suggested something gentle and joyous. A breeze blew. Gurov raised
+himself, and asked: “What sort of an affair had we two contrived?
+Gracious boy, I deny nothing. Only I don’t know what you are speaking
+of. I don’t remember.”
+
+Gurov felt as though the boy were looking at him, yet not directly. He
+felt also vaguely conscious of another presence no less unfamiliar and
+alien than that of this curious stranger, and it seemed to him that the
+unfamiliar form of this other presence coincided with his own form. An
+ancient soul, as it were, had taken possession of Gurov and enveloped
+him in the long-lost freshness of its vernal attributes.
+
+It was growing darker, and there was increasing purity and coolness in
+the air. There rose up in his soul the joy and ease of pristine
+existence. The stars glowed brilliantly in the dark sky. The boy spoke.
+
+“We had undertaken to kill the Beast. I tell you this under the
+multitudinous gaze of the all-seeing sky. Perhaps you were frightened.
+That’s quite likely too! We had planned a great, terrible affair, that
+our names might be honoured by future generations.”
+
+Soft, tranquil, and monotonous was the sound of a stream which purled
+its way in the nocturnal silence. The stream was invisible, but its
+nearness was soothing and refreshing. They stood under the broad
+shelter of a tree and continued the conversation begun at some other
+time.
+
+Gurov asked: “Why do you say that I had left you in a moment of mortal
+danger? Who am I that I should be frightened and run away?”
+
+The boy burst into a laugh. His mirth had the sound of music, and as it
+passed into speech his voice still quavered with sweet, melodious
+laughter.
+
+“Aristomarchon, how cleverly you feign to have forgotten all! I don’t
+understand what makes you do this, and with such a mastery that you
+bring reproaches against yourself which I have not even dreamt of. You
+had left me in a moment of mortal danger because it had to be, and you
+could not have helped me otherwise than by forsaking me at the moment.
+You will surely not remain stubborn in your denial when I remind you of
+the words of the Oracle?”
+
+Gurov suddenly remembered. A brilliant light, as it were, unexpectedly
+illumined the dark domain of things forgotten. And in wild ecstasy, in
+a loud and joyous voice, he exclaimed: “_One_ shall kill the Beast!”
+
+The boy laughed. And Aristomarchon asked: “Did you kill the Beast,
+Timarides?”
+
+“With what?” exclaimed Timarides. “However strong my hands are, I was
+not one who could kill the Beast with a blow of the fist. We,
+Aristomarchon, had not been prudent and we were unarmed. We were
+playing in the sand by the stream. The Beast came upon us suddenly and
+he laid his paw upon me. It was for me to offer up my life as a sweet
+sacrifice to glory and to a noble cause; it was for you to execute our
+plan. And while he was tormenting my defenceless and unresisting body,
+you, fleet-footed Aristomarchon, could have run for your lance, and
+killed the now blood-intoxicated Beast. But the Beast did not accept my
+sacrifice. I lay under him, quiescent and still, gazing into his
+bloodshot eyes. He held his heavy paw on my shoulder, his breath came
+in hot, uneven gasps, and he sent out low snarls. Afterwards, he put
+out his huge, hot tongue and licked my face; then he left me.”
+
+“Where is he now?” asked Aristomarchon.
+
+In a voice strangely tranquil and strangely sonorous in the quiet
+arrested stillness of the humid air, Timarides replied: “He followed
+me. I do not know how long I have been wandering until I found you. He
+followed me. I led him on by the smell of my blood. I do not know why
+he has not touched me until now. But here I have enticed him to you.
+You had better get the weapon which you had hidden so carefully and
+kill the Beast, while I in my turn will leave you in the moment of
+mortal danger, eye to eye with the enraged creature. Here’s luck to
+you, Aristomarchon!”
+
+As soon as he uttered these words Timarides, started, to run. For a
+short time his cloak was visible in the darkness, a glimmering patch of
+white. And then he disappeared. In the same instant the air resounded
+with the savage bellowing of the Beast, and his ponderous tread became
+audible. Pushing aside the growth of shrubs there emerged from the
+darkness the huge, monstrous head of the Beast, flashing a livid fire
+out of its two enormous, flaming eyes. And in the dark silence of
+nocturnal trees the towering ferocious shape of the Beast loomed
+ominously as it approached Aristomarchon.
+
+Terror filled Aristomarchon’s heart.
+
+“Where is the lance?” was the thought that quickly flashed across his
+brain.
+
+And in that instant, feeling the fresh night breeze on his face,
+Aristomarchon realized that he was running from the Beast. His
+ponderous springs and his spasmodic roars resounded closer and closer
+behind him. And as the Beast came up with him a loud cry rent the
+silence of the night. The cry came from Aristomarchon, who, recalling
+then some ancient and terrible words, pronounced loudly the incantation
+of the walls.
+
+And thus enchanted the walls erected themselves around him....
+
+III
+
+Enchanted, the walls stood firm and were lit up. A dreary light was
+cast upon them by the dismal electric lamp. Gurov was in his usual
+surroundings.
+
+Again came the nimble Fever and kissed him with her yellow, dry lips,
+and caressed him with her dry, bony hands, which exhaled heat and cold.
+The same thin volume, with its white pages, lay on the little table
+beside the divan where, as before, Gurov rested in the caressing
+embrace of the affectionate Fever, who showered upon him her rapid
+kisses. And again there stood beside him, laughing and rustling, the
+tiny house sprites.
+
+Gurov said loudly and indifferently: “The incantation of the walls!”
+
+Then he paused. But in what consisted this incantation? He had
+forgotten the words. Or had they never existed at all?
+
+The little, shifty, grey demons danced round the slender volume with
+its ghostly white pages, and kept on repeating with their rustling
+voices: “Our walls are strong. We are in the walls. We have nothing to
+fear from the outside.”
+
+In their midst stood one of them, a tiny object like themselves, yet
+different from the rest. He was all black. His mantle fell from his
+shoulders in folds of smoke and flame. His eyes flashed like lightning.
+Terror and joy alternated quickly.
+
+Gurov spoke: “Who are you?”
+
+The black demon answered: “I am the Invoker of the Beast. In one of
+your long-past existences you left the lacerated body of Timarides on
+the banks of a forest stream. The Beast had satiated himself on the
+beautiful body of your friend; he had gorged himself on the flesh that
+might have partaken of the fullness of earthly happiness; a creature of
+superhuman perfection had perished in order to gratify for a moment the
+appetite of the ravenous and ever insatiable Beast. And the blood, the
+wonderful blood, the sacred wine of happiness and joy, the wine of
+superhuman bliss—what had been the fate of this wonderful blood? Alas!
+The thirsty, ceaselessly thirsty Beast drank of it to gratify his
+momentary desire, and is thirsty anew. You had left the body of
+Timarides, mutilated by the Beast, on the banks of the forest stream;
+you forgot the promise you had given your valorous friend, and even the
+words of the ancient Oracle had not banished fear from your heart. And
+do you think that you are safe, that the Beast will not find you?”
+
+There was austerity in the sound of his voice. While he was speaking
+the house sprites gradually ceased their dance; the little, grey house
+sprites stopped to listen to the Invoker of the Beast.
+
+Gurov then said in reply: “I am not worried about the Beast! I have
+pronounced eternal enchantment upon my walls and the Beast shall never
+penetrate hither, into my enclosure.”
+
+The little grey ones were overjoyed, their voices tinkled with
+merriment and laughter; having gathered round, hand in hand, in a
+circle, they were on the point of bursting forth once more into dance,
+when the voice of the Invoker of the Beast rang out again, sharp and
+austere.
+
+“But I am here. I am here because I have found you. I am here because
+the incantation of the walls is dead. I am here because Timarides is
+waiting and importuning me. Do you hear the gentle laugh of the brave,
+trusting lad? Do you hear the terrible bellowing of the Beast?”
+
+From behind the wall, approaching nearer, could be heard the fearsome
+bellowing of the Beast.
+
+“The Beast is bellowing behind the wall, the invincible wall!”
+exclaimed Gurov in terror. “My walls are enchanted for ever, and
+impregnable against foes.”
+
+Then spoke the black demon, and there was an imperious ring in his
+voice: “I tell you, man, the incantation of the walls is dead. And if
+you think you can save yourself by pronouncing the incantation of the
+walls, why then don’t you utter the words?”
+
+A cold shiver passed down Gurov’s spine. The incantation! He had
+forgotten the words of the ancient spell. And what mattered it? Was not
+the ancient incantation dead—dead?
+
+Everything about him confirmed with irrefutable evidence the death of
+the ancient incantation of the walls—because the walls, and the light
+and the shade which fell upon them, seemed dead and wavering. The
+Invoker of the Beast spoke terrible words. And Gurov’s mind was now in
+a whirl, now in pain, and the affectionate Fever did not cease to
+torment him with her passionate kisses. Terrible words resounded,
+almost deadening his senses—while the Invoker of the Beast grew larger
+and larger, and hot fumes breathed from him, and grim terror. His eyes
+ejected fire, and when at last he grew so tall as to screen off the
+electric light, his black cloak suddenly fell from his shoulders. And
+Gurov recognized him—it was the boy Timarides.
+
+“Will you kill the Beast?” asked Timarides in a sonorous voice. “I have
+enticed him, I have led him to you, I have destroyed the incantation of
+the walls. The cowardly gift of inimical gods, the incantation of the
+walls, had turned into naught my sacrifice, and had saved you from your
+action. But the ancient incantation of the walls is dead—be quick,
+then, to take hold of your sword and kill the Beast. I have been a
+boy—I have become the Invoker of the Beast. He had drunk of my blood,
+and now he thirsts anew; he had partaken also of my flesh, and he is
+hungry again, the insatiable, pitiless Beast. I have called him to you,
+and you, in fulfilment of your promise, may kill the Beast. Or die
+yourself.”
+
+He vanished. A terrible bellowing shook the walls. A gust of icy
+moisture blew across to Gurov.
+
+The wall facing the spot where Gurov lay opened, and the huge,
+ferocious and monstrous Beast entered. Bellowing savagely, he
+approached Gurov and laid his ponderous paw upon his breast. Straight
+into his heart plunged the pitiless claws. A terrible pain shot through
+his whole body. Shifting his blood-red eyes the Beast inclined his head
+toward Gurov and, crumbling the bones of his victim with his teeth,
+began to devour his yet-palpitating heart.
+
+
+
+THE WHITE DOG
+
+
+Everything grew irksome for Alexandra Ivanovna in the workshop of this
+out-of-the-way town—the patterns, the clatter of machines, the
+complaints of the customers; it was the shop in which she had served as
+apprentice and now for several years as cutter. Everything irritated
+Alexandra Ivanovna; she quarrelled with every one and abused the
+innocent apprentice. Among others to suffer from her outbursts of
+temper was Tanechka, the youngest of the seamstresses, who only lately
+had been an apprentice. In the beginning Tanechka submitted to her
+abuse in silence. In the end she revolted, and, addressing herself to
+her assailant, said, quite calmly and affably, so that every one
+laughed:
+
+“Alexandra Ivanovna, you are a downright dog!”
+
+Alexandra Ivanovna felt humiliated.
+
+“You are a dog yourself!” she exclaimed.
+
+Tanechka sat there sewing. She paused now and then from her work and
+said in a calm, deliberate manner:
+
+“You always whine.... Certainly, you are a dog.... You have a dog’s
+snout.... And a dog’s ears.... And a wagging tail.... The mistress will
+soon drive you out of doors, because you are the most detestable of
+dogs, a poodle.”
+
+Tanechka was a young, plump, rosy-cheeked girl with an innocent,
+good-natured face, which revealed, however, a trace of cunning. She sat
+there so demure, barefooted, still dressed in her apprentice clothes;
+her eyes were clear, and her brows were highly arched on her fine
+curved white forehead, framed by straight, dark chestnut hair, which in
+the distance looked black. Tanechka’s voice was clear, even, sweet,
+insinuating, and if one could have heard its sound only, and not given
+heed to the words, it would have given the impression that she was
+paying Alexandra Ivanovna compliments.
+
+The other seamstresses laughed, the apprentices chuckled, they covered
+their faces with their black aprons and cast side glances at Alexandra
+Ivanovna. As for Alexandra Ivanovna, she was livid with rage.
+
+“Wretch!” she exclaimed. “I will pull your ears for you! I won’t leave
+a hair on your head.”
+
+Tanechka replied in a gentle voice:
+
+“The paws are a trifle short.... The poodle bites as well as barks....
+It may be necessary to buy a muzzle.”
+
+Alexandra Ivanovna made a movement toward Tanechka. But before Tanechka
+had time to lay aside her work and get up, the mistress of the
+establishment, a large, serious-looking woman, entered, rustling her
+dress.
+
+She said sternly: “Alexandra Ivanovna, what do you mean by making such
+a fuss?”
+
+Alexandra Ivanovna, much agitated, replied: “Irina Petrovna, I wish you
+would forbid her to call me a dog!”
+
+Tanechka in her turn complained: “She is always snarling at something
+or other. Always quibbling at the smallest trifles.”
+
+But the mistress looked at her sternly and said: “Tanechka, I can see
+through you. Are you sure you didn’t begin? You needn’t think that
+because you are a seamstress now you are an important person. If it
+weren’t for your mother’s sake——”
+
+Tanechka grew red, but preserved her innocent and affable manner. She
+addressed her mistress in a subdued voice: “Forgive me, Irina Petrovna,
+I will not do it again. But it wasn’t altogether my fault....”
+
+Alexandra Ivanovna returned home almost ill with rage. Tanechka had
+guessed her weakness.
+
+“A dog! Well, then I am a dog,” thought Alexandra Ivanovna, “but it is
+none of her affair! Have I looked to see whether she is a serpent or a
+fox? It is easy to find one out, but why make a fuss about it? Is a dog
+worse than any other animal?”
+
+The clear summer night languished and sighed, a soft breeze from the
+adjacent fields occasionally blew down the peaceful streets. The moon
+rose clear and full, that very same moon which rose long ago at another
+place, over the broad desolate steppe, the home of the wild, of those
+who ran free, and whined in their ancient earthly travail. The very
+same, as then and in that region.
+
+And now, as then, glowed eyes sick with longing; and her heart, still
+wild, not forgetting in town the great spaciousness of the steppe felt
+oppressed; her throat was troubled with a tormenting desire to howl
+like a wild thing.
+
+She was about to undress, but what was the use? She could not sleep,
+anyway.
+
+She went into the passage. The warm planks of the floor bent and
+creaked under her, and small shavings and sand which covered them
+tickled her feet not unpleasantly.
+
+She went out on the doorstep. There sat the _babushka_ Stepanida, a
+black figure in her black shawl, gaunt and shrivelled. She sat with her
+head bent, and it seemed as though she were warming herself in the rays
+of the cold moon.
+
+Alexandra Ivanovna sat down beside her. She kept looking at the old
+woman sideways. The large curved nose of her companion seemed to her
+like the beak of an old bird.
+
+“A crow?” Alexandra Ivanovna asked herself.
+
+She smiled, forgetting for the moment her longing and her fears. Shrewd
+as the eyes of a dog her own lighted up with the joy of her discovery.
+In the pale green light of the moon the wrinkles of her faded face
+became altogether invisible, and she seemed once more young and merry
+and light-hearted, just as she was ten years ago, when the moon had not
+yet called upon her to bark and bay of nights before the windows of the
+dark bathhouse.
+
+She moved closer to the old woman, and said affably: “_Babushka_
+Stepanida, there is something I have been wanting to ask you.”
+
+The old woman turned to her, her dark face furrowed with wrinkles, and
+asked in a sharp, oldish voice that sounded like a caw:
+
+“Well, my dear? Go ahead and ask.”
+
+Alexandra Ivanovna gave a repressed laugh; her thin shoulders suddenly
+trembled from a chill that ran down her spine.
+
+She spoke very quietly: “_Babushka_ Stepanida, it seems to me—tell me
+is it true?—I don’t know exactly how to put it—but you, _babushka_,
+please don’t take offence—it is not from malice that I——”
+
+“Go on, my dear, never fear, say it,” said the old woman.
+
+She looked at Alexandra Ivanovna with glowing, penetrating eyes.
+
+“It seems to me, _babushka_—please, now, don’t take offence—as though
+you, _babushka_ were a crow.”
+
+The old woman turned away. She was silent and merely nodded her head.
+She had the appearance of one who had recalled something. Her head,
+with its sharply outlined nose, bowed and nodded, and at last it seemed
+to Alexandra Ivanovna that the old woman was dozing. Dozing, and
+mumbling something under her nose. Nodding her head and mumbling some
+old forgotten words—old magic words.
+
+An intense quiet reigned out of doors. It was neither light nor dark,
+and everything seemed bewitched with the inarticulate mumbling of old
+forgotten words. Everything languished and seemed lost in apathy. Again
+a longing oppressed her heart. And it was neither a dream nor an
+illusion. A thousand perfumes, imperceptible by day, became subtly
+distinguishable, and they recalled something ancient and primitive,
+something forgotten in the long ages.
+
+In a barely audible voice the old woman mumbled: “Yes, I am a crow.
+Only I have no wings. But there are times when I caw, and I caw, and
+tell of woe. And I am given to forebodings, my dear; each time I have
+one I simply must caw. People are not particularly anxious to hear me.
+And when I see a doomed person I have such a strong desire to caw.”
+
+The old woman suddenly made a sweeping movement with her arms, and in a
+shrill voice cried out twice: “Kar-r, Kar-r!”
+
+Alexandra Ivanovna shuddered, and asked: “_Babushka_, at whom are you
+cawing?”
+
+The old woman answered: “At you, my dear—at you.”
+
+It had become too painful to sit with the old woman any longer.
+Alexandra Ivanovna went to her own room. She sat down before the open
+window and listened to two voices at the gate.
+
+“It simply won’t stop whining!” said a low and harsh voice.
+
+“And uncle, did you see——?” asked an agreeable young tenor.
+
+Alexandra Ivanovna recognized in this last the voice of the
+curly-headed, somewhat red, freckled-faced lad who lived in the same
+court.
+
+A brief and depressing silence followed. Then she heard a hoarse and
+harsh voice say suddenly: “Yes, I saw. It’s very large—and white. Lies
+near the bathhouse, and bays at the moon.”
+
+The voice gave her an image of the man, of his shovel-shaped beard, his
+low, furrowed forehead, his small, piggish eyes, and his spread-out fat
+legs.
+
+“And why does it bay, uncle?” asked the agreeable voice.
+
+And again the hoarse voice did not reply at once.
+
+“Certainly to no good purpose—and where it came from is more than I can
+say.”
+
+“Do you think, uncle, it may be a were-wolf?” asked the agreeable
+voice.
+
+“I should not advise you to investigate,” replied the hoarse voice.
+
+She could not quite understand what these words implied, nor did she
+wish to think of them. She did not feel inclined to listen further.
+What was the sound and significance of human words to _her_?
+
+The moon looked straight into her face, and persistently called her and
+tormented her. Her heart was restless with a dark longing, and she
+could not sit still.
+
+Alexandra Ivanovna quickly undressed herself. Naked, all white, she
+silently stole through the passage; she then opened the outer
+door—there was no one on the step or outside—and ran quickly across the
+court and the vegetable garden, and reached the bathhouse. The sharp
+contact of her body with the cold air and her feet with the cold ground
+gave her pleasure. But soon her body was warm.
+
+She lay down in the grass, on her stomach. Then, raising herself on her
+elbows, she lifted her face toward the pale, brooding moon, and gave a
+long-drawn-out whine.
+
+“Listen, uncle, it is whining,” said the curly-haired lad at the gate.
+
+The agreeable tenor voice trembled perceptibly.
+
+“Whining again, the accursed one,” said the hoarse, harsh voice slowly.
+
+They rose from the bench. The gate latch clicked.
+
+They went silently across the courtyard and the vegetable garden, the
+two of them. The older man, black-bearded and powerful, walked in
+front, a gun in his hand. The curly-headed lad followed tremblingly,
+and looked constantly behind.
+
+Near the bathhouse, in the grass, lay a huge white dog, whining
+piteously. Its head, black on the crown, was raised to the moon, which
+pursued its way in the cold sky; its hind legs were strangely thrown
+backward, while the front ones, firm and straight, pressed hard against
+the ground.
+
+In the pale green and unreal light of the moon it seemed enormous, so
+huge a dog was surely never seen on earth. It was thick and fat. The
+black spot, which began at the head and stretched in uneven strands
+down the entire spine, seemed like a woman’s loosened hair. No tail was
+visible, presumably it was turned under. The fur on the body was so
+short that in the distance the dog seemed wholly naked, and its hide
+shone dimly in the moonlight, so that altogether it resembled the body
+of a nude woman, who lay in the grass and bayed at the moon.
+
+The man with the black beard took aim. The curly-haired lad crossed
+himself and mumbled something.
+
+The discharge of a rifle sounded in the night air. The dog gave a
+groan, jumped up on its hind legs, became a naked woman, who, her body
+covered with blood, started to run, all the while groaning, weeping and
+raising cries of distress.
+
+The black-bearded one and the curly-haired one threw themselves in the
+grass, and began to moan in wild terror.
+
+
+
+LIGHT AND SHADOWS
+
+I
+
+Volodya Lovlev, a pale meagre lad of twelve, had returned home from
+school and was waiting for his dinner. He was standing in the
+drawing-room at the piano, and was turning over the pages of the latest
+number of the _Niva_ which had come only that morning.
+
+A leaflet of thin grey paper fell out; it was an announcement issued by
+an illustrated journal. It enumerated the future contributors—the list
+contained about fifty well-known literary names; it praised at some
+length the journal as a whole and in detail its many-sidedness, and it
+presented several specimen illustrations.
+
+Volodya began to turn the pages of the leaflet in an absent way and to
+look at the miniature pictures. His large eyes, looked wearily out of
+his pale face.
+
+One page suddenly caught his attention, and his wide eyes opened
+slightly wider. Running from top to bottom were six drawings of hands
+throwing shadows in dark silhouette upon a white wall—the shadows
+representing the head of a girl with an amusing three-cornered hat, the
+head of a donkey, of a bull, the sitting figure of a squirrel, and
+other similar things.
+
+Volodya smiled and looked very intently at them. He was quite familiar
+with this amusement. He could hold the fingers of one hand so as to
+cast a silhouette of a hare’s head on the wall. But this was quite
+another matter, something that Volodya had not seen before; its
+interest for him was that here were quite complex figures cast by using
+both hands.
+
+Volodya suddenly wished to reproduce these shadows. Of course there was
+no use trying now, in the uncertain light of a late autumn afternoon.
+
+He had better try it later in his own room. In any case, it was of no
+use to any one.
+
+Just then he heard the approaching footsteps and voice of his mother.
+He flushed for some reason or other and quickly put the leaflet into
+his pocket, and left the piano to meet her. She looked at him with a
+caressing smile as she came toward him; her pale, handsome face greatly
+resembled his, and she had the same large eyes.
+
+She asked him, as she always did: “Well, what’s the news to-day?”
+
+“There’s nothing new,” said Volodya dejectedly.
+
+But it occurred to him at once that he was being ungracious, and he
+felt ashamed. He smiled genially and began to recall what had happened
+at school; but this only made him feel sadder.
+
+“Pruzhinin has again distinguished himself,” and he began to tell about
+the teacher who was disliked by his pupils for his rudeness. “Lentyev
+was reciting his lesson and made a mess of it, and so Pruzhinin said to
+him: ‘Well, that’s enough; sit down, blockhead!’”
+
+“Nothing escapes you,” said his mother, smiling.
+
+“He’s always rude.”
+
+After a brief silence Volodya sighed, then complained: “They are always
+in a hurry.”
+
+“Who?” asked his mother.
+
+“I mean the masters. Every one is anxious to finish his course quickly
+and to make a good show at the examination. And if you ask a question
+you are immediately suspected of trying to take up the time until the
+bell rings, and to avoid having questions put to you.”
+
+“Do you talk much after the lessons?”
+
+“Well, yes—but there’s the same hurry after the lessons to get home, or
+to study the lessons in the girls’ class-rooms. And everything is done
+in a hurry—you are no sooner done with the geometry than you must study
+your Greek.”
+
+“That’s to keep you from yawning.”
+
+“Yawning! I’m more like a squirrel going round on its cage-wheel. It’s
+exasperating.”
+
+His mother smiled lightly.
+
+II
+
+After dinner Volodya went to his room to prepare his lessons. His
+mother saw that the room was comfortable, that nothing was lacking in
+it. No one ever disturbed Volodya here; even his mother refrained from
+coming in at this time. She would come in later, to help Volodya if he
+needed help.
+
+Volodya was an industrious and even a clever pupil. But he found it
+difficult to-day to apply himself. No matter what lesson he tried he
+could not help remembering something unpleasant; he would recall the
+teacher of each particular subject, his sarcastic or rude remark, which
+propped in passings had entered in the impressionable boy’s mind.
+
+Several of his recent lessons happened to turn out poorly; the teachers
+appeared dissatisfied, and they grumbled incessantly. Their mood
+communicated itself to Volodya, and his books and copy-books inspired
+him at this moment with a deep confusion and unrest.
+
+He passed hastily from the first lesson to the second and to the third;
+this bother with trifles for the sake of not appearing “a blockhead”
+the next day seemed to him both silly and unnecessary. The thought
+perturbed him. He began to yawn from tedium and from sadness, and to
+dangle his feet impatiently; he simply could not sit still.
+
+But he knew too well that the lessons must be learnt, that this was
+very important, that his future depended upon it; and so he went on
+conscientiously with the tedious business.
+
+Volodya made a blot on the copy-book, and he put his pen aside. He
+looked at the blot, and decided that it could be erased with a
+penknife. He was glad of the distraction.
+
+Not finding the penknife on the table he put his hand into his pocket
+and rummaged there. Among all such rubbish as is to be found in a boy’s
+pocket he felt his penknife and pulled it out, together with some sort
+of leaflet.
+
+He did not see at first what the paper was he held in his hands, but on
+looking at it he suddenly remembered that this was the little book with
+the shadows, and quite as suddenly he grew cheerful and animated.
+
+And there it was—that same little leaflet which he had forgotten when
+he began his lessons.
+
+He jumped briskly off his chair, moved the lamp nearer the wall, looked
+cautiously at the closed door—as though afraid of some one
+entering—and, turning the leaflet to the familiar page, began to study
+the first drawing with great intentness, and to arrange his fingers
+according to directions. The first shadow came out as a confused shape,
+not at all what it should have been. Volodya moved the lamp, now here,
+now there; he bent and he stretched his fingers; and he was at last
+rewarded by seeing a woman’s head with a three-cornered hat.
+
+Volodya grew cheerful. He inclined his hand somewhat and moved his
+fingers very slightly—the head bowed, smiled, and grimaced amusingly.
+
+Volodya proceeded with the second figure, then with the others. All
+were hard at the beginning, but he managed them somehow in the end.
+
+He spent a half-hour in this occupation, and forgot all about his
+lessons, the school, and the whole world.
+
+Suddenly he heard familiar footsteps behind the door. Volodya flushed;
+he stuffed the leaflet into his pocket and quickly moved the lamp to
+its place, almost overturning it; then he sat down and bent over his
+copy-book. His mother entered.
+
+“Let’s go and have tea, Volodenka,” she said to him.
+
+Volodya pretended that he was looking at the blot and that he was about
+to open his penknife. His mother gently put her hands on his head.
+Volodya threw the knife aside and pressed his flushing face against his
+mother. Evidently she noticed nothing, and this made Volodya glad.
+Still, he felt ashamed, as though he had actually been caught at some
+stupid prank.
+
+III
+
+The samovar stood upon the round table in the dining-room and quietly
+hummed its garrulous song. The hanging-lamp diffused its light upon the
+white tablecloth and upon the dark walls, filling the room with dream
+and mystery.
+
+Volodya’s mother seemed wistful as she leant her handsome, pale face
+forward over the table. Volodya was leaning on his arm, and was
+stirring the small spoon in his glass. It was good to watch the tea’s
+sweet eddies and to see the little bubbles rise to the surface. The
+little silver spoon quietly tinkled.
+
+The boiling water, sputtering, ran from the tap into his mother’s cup.
+
+A light shadow was cast by the little spoon upon the saucer and the
+tablecloth, and it lost itself in the glass of tea. Volodya watched it
+intently: the shadows thrown by the tiny little eddies and bubbles
+recalled something to him—precisely what, Volodya could not say. He
+held up and he turned the little spoon, and he ran his fingers over
+it—but nothing came of it.
+
+“All the same,” he stubbornly insisted to himself, “it’s not with
+fingers alone that shadows can be made. They are possible with
+anything. But the thing is to adjust oneself to one’s material.”
+
+And Volodya began to examine the shadows of the samovar, of the chairs,
+of his mother’s head, as well as the shadows cast on the table by the
+dishes; and he tried to catch a resemblance in all these shadows to
+something. His mother was speaking—Volodya was not listening properly.
+
+“How is Lesha Sitnikov getting on at school?” asked his mother.
+
+Volodya was studying then the shadow of the milk-jug. He gave a start,
+and answered hastily: “It’s a tom-cat.”
+
+“Volodya, you must be asleep,” said his astonished mother. “What
+tom-cat?”
+
+Volodya grew red.
+
+“I don’t know what’s got into my head,” he said. “I’m sorry, mother, I
+wasn’t listening.”
+
+IV
+
+The next evening, before tea, Volodya again thought of his shadows, and
+gave himself up to them. One shadow insisted on turning out badly, no
+matter how hard he stretched and bent his fingers.
+
+Volodya was so absorbed in this that he did not hear his mother coming.
+At the creaking of the door he quickly put the leaflet into his pocket
+and turned away, confused, from the wall. But his mother was already
+looking at his hands, and a tremor of fear lit up her eyes.
+
+“What are you doing, Volodya? What have you hidden?”
+
+“Nothing, really,” muttered Volodya, flushing and changing colour
+rapidly.
+
+It flashed upon her that Volodya wished to smoke, and that he had
+hidden a cigarette.
+
+“Volodya, show me at once what you are hiding,” she said in a
+frightened voice.
+
+“Really, mamma....”
+
+She caught Volodya by the elbow.
+
+“Must I feel in your pocket myself?”
+
+Volodya grew even redder, and pulled the little book out of his pocket.
+
+“Here it is,” he said, giving it to his mother.
+
+“Well, what is it?”
+
+“Well, here,” he explained, “on this side are the drawings, and here,
+as you see, are the shadows. I was trying to throw them on the wall,
+and I haven’t succeeded very well.”
+
+“What is there to hide here!” said his mother, becoming more tranquil.
+“Now show me what they look like.”
+
+Volodya, taken aback, began obediently to show his mother the shadows.
+
+“Now this is the profile of a bald-headed man. And this is the head of
+a hare.”
+
+“And so this is how you are studying your lessons!”
+
+“Only for a little, mother.”
+
+“For a little! Why are you blushing then, my dear? Well, I shan’t say
+anything more. I think I can depend on you to do what is right.”
+
+His mother moved her hand over his short, bristling hair, whereupon
+Volodya laughed and hid his flushing face under his mother’s elbow.
+
+Then his mother left him, and for a long time Volodya felt awkward and
+ashamed. His mother had caught him doing something that he himself
+would have ridiculed had he caught any of his companions doing it.
+
+Volodya knew that he was a clever lad, and he deemed himself serious;
+and this was, after all, a game fit only for little girls when they got
+together.
+
+He pushed the little book with the shadows deeper into the
+table-drawer, and did not take it out again for more than a week;
+indeed, he thought little about the shadows that week. Only in the
+evening sometimes, in changing from one lesson to another, he would
+smile at the recollection of the girl in the hat—there were, indeed,
+moments when he put his hand in the drawer to get the little book, but
+he always quickly remembered the shame he experienced when his mother
+first found him out, and this made him resume his work at once.
+
+V
+
+Volodya and his mother lived in their own house on the outskirts of the
+district town. Eugenia Stepanovna had been a widow for nine years. She
+was now thirty-five years old; she seemed young and handsome, and
+Volodya loved her tenderly. She lived entirely for her son, studied
+ancient languages for his sake, and shared all his school cares. A
+quiet and gentle woman, she looked somewhat apprehensively upon the
+world out of her large, benign eyes.
+
+They had one domestic. Praskovya was a widow; she was gruff, sturdy,
+and strong; she was forty-five years old, but in her stern taciturnity
+she was more like a woman a hundred years old.
+
+Whenever Volodya looked at her morose, stony face he wondered what she
+was thinking of in her kitchen during the long winter evenings, as the
+cold knitting-needles, clinking, shifted in her bony fingers with a
+regular movement, and her dry lips stirred yet uttered no sound. Was
+she recalling her drunken husband, or her children who had died
+earlier? or was she musing upon her lonely and homeless old age?
+
+Her stony face seemed hopelessly gloomy and austere.
+
+VI
+
+It was a long autumn evening. On the other side of the wall were the
+wind and the rain.
+
+How wearily, how indifferently the lamp flared! Volodya, propping
+himself up on his elbow, leant his whole body over to the left and
+looked at the white wall and at the white window-blinds.
+
+The pale flowers were almost invisible on the wall-paper ... the wall
+was a melancholy white....
+
+The shaded lamp subdued the bright glare of light. The entire upper
+portion of the room was twilit.
+
+Volodya lifted his right arm. A long, faintly outlined, confused shadow
+crept across the shaded wall.
+
+It was the shadow of an angel, flying heaven-ward from a depraved and
+afflicted world; it was a translucent shadow, spreading its broad wings
+and reposing its bowed head sadly upon its breast.
+
+Would not the angel, with his gentle hands, carry away with him
+something significant yet despised of this world?
+
+Volodya sighed. He let his arm fall languidly. He let his depressed
+eyes rest on his books.
+
+It was a long autumn evening.... The wall was a melancholy white.... On
+the other side of the wall something wept and rustled.
+
+VII
+
+Volodya’s mother found him a second time with the shadows.
+
+This time the bull’s head was a success, and he was delighted. He made
+the bull stretch out his neck, and the bull lowed.
+
+His mother was less pleased.
+
+“So this is how you are taking up your time,” she said reproachfully.
+
+“For a little, mamma,” whispered Volodya, embarrassed.
+
+“You might at least save this for a more suitable time,” his mother
+went on. “And you are no longer a little boy. Aren’t you ashamed to
+waste your time on such nonsense!”
+
+“Mamma, dear, I shan’t do it again.”
+
+But Volodya found it difficult to keep his promise. He enjoyed making
+shadows, and the desire to make them came to him often, especially
+during an uninteresting lesson.
+
+This amusement occupied much of his time on some evenings and
+interfered with his lessons. He had to make up for it afterwards and to
+lose some sleep. How could he give up his amusement?
+
+Volodya succeeded in evolving several new figures, and not by means of
+the fingers alone. These figures lived on the wall, and it even seemed
+to Volodya at times that they talked to him and entertained him.
+
+But Volodya was a dreamer even before then.
+
+VIII
+
+It was night. Volodya’s room was dark. He had gone to bed but he could
+not sleep. He was lying on his back and was looking at the ceiling.
+
+Some one was walking in the street with a lantern. His shadow traversed
+the ceiling, among the red spots of light thrown by the lantern. It was
+evident that the lantern swung in the hands of the passer-by—the shadow
+wavered and seemed agitated.
+
+Volodya felt a sadness and a fear. He quickly pulled the bed-cover over
+his head, and, trembling in his haste, he turned on his right side and
+began to encourage himself.
+
+He then felt soothed and warm. His mind began to weave sweet, naïve
+fancies, the fancies which visited him usually before sleep.
+
+Often when he went to bed he felt suddenly afraid; he felt as though he
+were becoming smaller and weaker. He would then hide among the pillows,
+and gradually became soothed and loving, and wished his mother were
+there that he might put his arms round her neck and kiss her.
+
+IX
+
+The grey twilight was growing denser. The shadows merged. Volodya felt
+depressed. But here was the lamp. The light poured itself on the green
+tablecloth, the vague, beloved shadows appeared on the wall.
+
+Volodya suddenly felt glad and animated, and made haste to get the
+little grey book. The bull began to low ... the young lady to laugh
+uproariously.... What evil, round eyes the bald-headed gentleman was
+making!
+
+Then he tried his own. It was the steppe. Here was a wayfarer with his
+knapsack. Volodya seemed to hear the endless, monotonous song of the
+road....
+
+Volodya felt both joy and sadness.
+
+X
+
+“Volodya, it’s the third time I’ve seen you with the little book. Do
+you spend whole evenings admiring your fingers?”
+
+Volodya stood uneasily at the table, like a truant caught, and he
+turned the pages of the leaflet with hot fingers.
+
+“Give it to me,” said his mother.
+
+Volodya, confused, put out his hand with the leaflet. His mother took
+it, said nothing, and went out; while Volodya sat down over his
+copy-books.
+
+He felt ashamed that, by his stubbornness, he had offended his mother,
+and he felt vexed that she had taken the booklet from him; he was even
+more vexed at himself for letting the matter go so far. He felt his
+awkward position, and his vexation with his mother troubled him: he had
+scruples in being angry with her, yet he couldn’t help it. And because
+he had scruples he felt even more angry.
+
+“Well, let her take it,” he said to himself at last, “I can get along
+without it.”
+
+And, in truth, Volodya had the figures in his memory, and used the
+little book merely for verification.
+
+XI
+
+In the meantime his mother opened the little book with the shadows—and
+became lost in thought.
+
+“I wonder what’s fascinating about them?” she mused. “It is strange
+that such a good, clever boy should suddenly, become wrapped up in such
+nonsense! No, that means it’s not mere nonsense. What, then, is it?”
+she pursued her questioning of herself.
+
+A strange fear took possession of her; she felt malignant toward these
+black pictures, yet quailed before them.
+
+She rose and lighted a candle. She approached the wall, the little grey
+book still in her hand, and paused in her wavering agitation.
+
+“Yes, it is important to get to the bottom of this,” she resolved, and
+began to reproduce the shadows from the first to the last.
+
+She persisted most patiently with her hands and her fingers, until she
+succeeded in reproducing the figure she desired. A confused,
+apprehensive feelings stirred within her. She tried to conquer it. But
+her fear fascinated her as it grew stronger. Her hands trembled, while
+her thought, cowed by life’s twilight, ran on to meet the approaching
+sorrows.
+
+She suddenly heard her son’s footsteps. She trembled, hid the little
+book, and blew out the candle.
+
+Volodya entered and stopped in the doorway, confused by the stern look
+of his mother as she stood by the wall in a strange, uneasy attitude.
+
+“What do you want?” asked his mother in a harsh, uneven voice.
+
+A vague conjecture ran across Volodya’s mind, but he quickly repelled
+it and began to talk to his mother.
+
+XII
+
+Then Volodya left her.
+
+She paced up and down the room a number of times. She noticed that her
+shadow followed her on the floor, and, strange to say, it was the first
+time in her life that her own shadow had made her uneasy. The thought
+that there was a shadow assailed her mind unceasingly—and Eugenia
+Stepanovna, for some reason, was afraid of this thought, and even tried
+not to look at her shadow.
+
+But the shadow crept after her and taunted her. Eugenia Stepanovna
+tried to think of something else—but in vain.
+
+She suddenly paused, pale and agitated.
+
+“Well, it’s a shadow, a shadow!” she exclaimed aloud, stamping her foot
+with a strange irritation, “what of it?”
+
+Then all at once she reflected that it was stupid to make a fuss and to
+stamp her feet, and she became quiet.
+
+She approached the mirror. Her face was paler than usual, and her lips
+quivered with a kind of strange hate.
+
+“It’s nerves,” she thought; “I must take myself in hand.”
+
+XIII
+
+Twilight was falling. Volodya grew pensive.
+
+“Let’s go for a stroll, Volodya,” said his mother.
+
+But in the street there were also shadows everywhere, mysterious,
+elusive evening shadows; and they whispered in Volodya’s ear something
+that was familiar and infinitely sad.
+
+In the clouded sky two or three stars looked out, and they seemed
+equally distant and equally strange to Volodya and to the shadows that
+surrounded him.
+
+“Mamma,” he said, oblivious of the fact that he had interrupted her as
+she was telling him something, “what a pity that it is impossible to
+reach those stars.”
+
+His mother looked up at the sky and answered: “I don’t see that it’s
+necessary. Our place is on earth. It is better for us here. It’s quite
+another thing there.”
+
+“How faintly they glimmer! They ought to be glad of it.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“If they shone more strongly they would cast shadows.”
+
+“Oh, Volodya, why do you think only of shadows?”
+
+“I didn’t mean to, mamma,” said Volodya in a penitent voice.
+
+XIV
+
+Volodya worked harder than ever at his lessons; he was afraid to hurt
+his mother by being lazy. But he employed all his invention in grouping
+the objects on his table in a way that would produce new and ever more
+fantastic shadows. He put this here and that there—anything that came
+to his hands—and he rejoiced when outlines appeared on the white wall
+that his mind could grasp. There was an intimacy between him and these
+shadowy outlines, and they were very dear to him. They were not dumb,
+they spoke to him, and Volodya understood their inarticulate speech.
+
+He understood why the dejected wayfarer murmured as he wandered upon
+the long road, the autumn wetness under his feet, a stick in his
+trembling hand, a knapsack on his bowed back.
+
+He understood why the snow-covered forest, its boughs crackling with
+frost, complained, as it stood sadly dreaming in the winter stillness;
+and he understood why the lonely crow cawed on the old oak, and why the
+bustling squirrel looked sadly out of its tree-hollow.
+
+He understood why the decrepit and homeless old beggar-women sobbed in
+the dismal autumn wind, as they shivered in their rags in the crowded
+graveyard, among the crumbling crosses and the hopelessly black tombs.
+
+There was self-forgetfulness in this, and also tormenting woe!
+
+XV
+
+Volodya’s mother observed that he continued to play.
+
+She said to him after dinner: “At least, you might get interested in
+something else.”
+
+“In what?”
+
+“You might read.”
+
+“No sooner do I begin to read than I want to cast shadows.”
+
+“If you’d only try something else—say soap-bubbles.”
+
+Volodya smiled sadly.
+
+“No sooner do the bubbles fly up than the shadows follow them on the
+wall.”
+
+“Volodya, unless you take care your nerves will be shattered. Already
+you have grown thinner because of this.”
+
+“Mamma, you exaggerate.”
+
+“No, Volodya.... Don’t I know that you’ve begun to sleep badly and to
+talk nonsense in your sleep. Now, just think, suppose you die!”
+
+“What are you saying!”
+
+“God forbid, but if you go mad, or die, I shall suffer horribly.”
+
+Volodya laughed and threw himself on his mother’s neck.
+
+“Mamma dear, I shan’t die. I won’t do it again.”
+
+She saw that he was crying now.
+
+“That will do,” she said. “God is merciful. Now you see how nervous you
+are. You’re laughing and crying at the same time.”
+
+XVI
+
+Volodya’s mother began to look at him with careful and anxious eyes.
+Every trifle now agitated her.
+
+She noticed that Volodya’s head was somewhat asymmetrical: his one ear
+was higher than the other, his chin slightly turned to one side. She
+looked in the mirror, and further remarked that Volodya had inherited
+this too from her.
+
+“It may be,” she thought, “one of the characteristics of unfortunate
+heredity—degeneration; in which case where is the root of the evil? Is
+it my fault or his father’s?”
+
+Eugenia Stepanovna recalled her dead husband. He was a most
+kind-hearted and most lovable man, somewhat weak-willed, with rash
+impulses. He was by nature a zealot and a mystic, and he dreamt of a
+social Utopia, and went among the people. He had been rather given to
+tippling the last years of his life.
+
+He died young; he was but thirty-five years old.
+
+Volodya’s mother even took her boy to the doctor and described his
+symptoms. The doctor, a cheerful young man, listened to her, then
+laughed and gave counsel concerning diet and way of life, throwing in a
+few witty remarks; he wrote out a prescription in a happy, off-hand
+way, and he added playfully, with a slap on Volodya’s shoulder: “But
+the very best medicine would be—a birch.”
+
+Volodya’s mother felt the affront deeply, but she followed all the rest
+of the instructions faithfully.
+
+XVII
+
+Volodya was sitting in his class. He felt depressed. He listened
+inattentively.
+
+He raised his eyes. A shadow was moving along the ceiling near the
+front wall. Volodya observed that it came in through the first window.
+To begin with it fell from the window toward the centre of the
+class-room, but later it started forward rather quickly away from
+Volodya—evidently some one was walking in the street, just by the
+window. While this shadow was still moving another shadow came through
+the second window, falling, as did the first one, toward the back wall,
+but later it began to turn quickly toward the front wall. The same
+thing happened at the third and the fourth windows; the shadows fell in
+the class-room on the ceiling, and in the degree that the passer-by
+moved forward they retreated backward.
+
+“This,” thought Volodya, “is not at all the same as in an open place,
+where the shadow follows the man; when the man goes forward, the shadow
+glides behind, and other shadows again meet him in the front.”
+
+Volodya turned his eyes on the gaunt figure of the tutor. His callous,
+yellow face annoyed Volodya. He looked for his shadow and found it on
+the wall, just behind the tutor’s chair. The monstrous shape bent over
+and rocked from side to side, but it had neither a yellow face nor a
+malignant smile, and Volodya looked at it with joy. His thoughts
+scampered off somewhere far away, and he heard not a single thing of
+what was being said.
+
+“Lovlev!” His tutor called his name.
+
+Volodya rose, as was the custom, and stood looking stupidly at the
+tutor. He had such an absent look that his companions tittered, while
+the tutor’s face assumed a critical expression.
+
+Volodya heard the tutor attack him with sarcasm and abuse. He trembled
+from shame and from weakness. The tutor announced that he would give
+Volodya “one” for his ignorance and his inattention, and he asked him
+to sit down.
+
+Volodya smiled in a dull way, and tried to think what had happened to
+him.
+
+XVIII
+
+The “one” was the first in Volodya’s life! It made him feel rather
+strange.
+
+“Lovlev!” his comrades taunted him, laughing and nudging him, “you
+caught it that time! Congratulations!”
+
+Volodya felt awkward. He did not yet know how to behave in these
+circumstances.
+
+“What if I have,” he answered peevishly, “what business is it of
+yours?”
+
+“Lovlev!” the lazy Snegirev shouted, “our regiment has been
+reinforced!”
+
+His first “one”! And he had yet to tell his mother.
+
+He felt ashamed and humiliated. He felt as though he bore in the
+knapsack on his back a strangely heavy and awkward burden—the “one”
+stuck clumsily in his consciousness and seemed to fit in with nothing
+else in his mind.
+
+“One”!
+
+He could not get used to the thought about the “one,” and yet could not
+think of anything else. When the policeman, who stood near the school,
+looked at him with his habitual severity Volodya could not help
+thinking: “What if you knew that I’ve received ‘one’!”
+
+It was all so awkward and so unusual. Volodya did not know how to hold
+his head and where to put his hands; there was uneasiness in his whole
+bearing.
+
+Besides, he had to assume a care-free look before his comrades and to
+talk of something else!
+
+His comrades! Volodya was convinced that they were all very glad
+because of his “one.”
+
+XIX
+
+Volodya’s mother looked at the “one” and turned her uncomprehending
+eyes on her son. Then again she glanced at the report and exclaimed
+quietly:
+
+“Volodya!”
+
+Volodya stood before her, and he felt intensely small. He looked at the
+folds of his mother’s dress and at his mother’s pale hands; his
+trembling eyelids were conscious of her frightened glances fixed upon
+them.
+
+“What’s this?” she asked.
+
+“Don’t you worry, mamma,” burst out Volodya suddenly; “after all, it’s
+my first!”
+
+“Your first!”
+
+“It may happen to any one. And really it was all an accident.”
+
+“Oh, Volodya, Volodya!”
+
+Volodya began to cry and to rub his tears, child-like, over his face
+with the palm of his hand.
+
+“Mamma darling, don’t be angry,” he whispered.
+
+“That’s what comes of your shadows,” said his mother.
+
+Volodya felt the tears in her voice. His heart was touched. He glanced
+at his mother. She was crying. He turned quickly toward her.
+
+“Mamma, mamma,” he kept on repeating, while kissing her hands, “I’ll
+drop the shadows, really I will.”
+
+XX
+
+Volodya made a strong effort of the will and refrained from the
+shadows, despite strong temptation. He tried to make amends for his
+neglected lessons.
+
+But the shadows beckoned to him persistently. In vain he ceased to
+invite them with his fingers, in vain he ceased to arrange objects that
+would cast a new shadow on the wall; the shadows themselves surrounded
+him—they were unavoidable, importunate shadows.
+
+Objects themselves no longer interested Volodya, he almost ceased to
+see them; all his attention was centred on their shadows.
+
+When he was walking home and the sun happened to peep through the
+autumn clouds, as through smoky vestments, he was overjoyed because
+there was everywhere an awakening of the shadows.
+
+The shadows from the lamplight hovered near him in the evening at home.
+
+The shadows were everywhere. There were the sharp shadows from the
+flames, there were the fainter shadows from diffused daylight. All of
+them crowded toward Volodya, recrossed each other, and enveloped him in
+an unbreakable network.
+
+Some of the shadows were incomprehensible, mysterious; others reminded
+him of something, suggested something. But there were also the beloved,
+the intimate, the familiar shadows; these Volodya himself, however
+casually, sought out and caught everywhere from among the confused
+wavering of the others, the more remote shadows. But they were sad,
+these beloved, familiar shadows.
+
+Whenever Volodya found himself seeking these shadows his conscience
+tormented him, and he went to his mother to make a clean breast of it.
+
+Once it happened that Volodya could not conquer his temptation. He
+stood up close to the wall and made a shadow of the bull. His mother
+found him.
+
+“Again!” she exclaimed angrily. “I really shall have to ask the
+director to put you into the small room.”
+
+Volodya flushed violently and answered morosely: “There is a wall there
+also. The walls are everywhere.”
+
+“Volodya,” exclaimed his mother sorrowfully, “what are you saying!”
+
+But Volodya already repented of his rudeness, and he was crying.
+
+“Mamma, I don’t know myself what’s happening to me!”
+
+XXI
+
+Volodya’s mother had not yet conquered her superstitious dread of
+shadows. She began very often to think that she, like Volodya, was
+losing herself in the contemplation of shadows. Then she tried to
+comfort herself.
+
+“What stupid thoughts!” she said. “Thank God, all will pass happily; he
+will be like this a little while, then he will stop.”
+
+But her heart trembled with a secret fear, and her thought, frightened
+of life persistently ran to meet approaching sorrows.
+
+She began in the melancholy moments of waking to examine her soul, and
+all her life would pass before her; she saw its emptiness, its
+futility, and its aimlessness. It seemed but a senseless glimmer of
+shadows, which merged in the denser twilight.
+
+“Why have I lived?” she asked herself. “Was it for my son? But why?
+That he too shall become a prey to shadows, a maniac with a narrow
+horizon, chained to his illusions, to restless appearances upon a
+lifeless wall? And he too will enter upon life, and he will make of
+life a chain of impressions, phantasmic and futile, like a dream.”
+
+She sat down in the armchair by the window, and she thought and
+thought. Her thoughts were bitter, oppressive. She began, in her
+despair, to wring her beautiful white hands.
+
+Then her thoughts wandered. She looked at her outstretched hands, and
+began to imagine what sort of shapes they would cast on the wall in
+their present attitude. She suddenly paused and jumped up from her
+chair in fright.
+
+“My God!” she exclaimed. “This is madness.”
+
+XXII
+
+She watched Volodya at dinner.
+
+“How pale and thin he has grown,” she said to herself, “since the
+unfortunate little book fell into his hands. He’s changed entirely—in
+character and in everything else. It is said that character changes
+before death. What if he dies? But no, no. God forbid!”
+
+The spoon trembled in her hand. She looked up at the ikon with timid
+eyes.
+
+“Volodya, why don’t you finish your soup?” she asked, looking
+frightened.
+
+“I don’t feel like it, mamma.”
+
+“Volodya, darling, do as I tell you; it is bad for you not to eat your
+soup.”
+
+Volodya gave a tired smile and slowly finished his soup. His mother had
+filled his plate fuller than usual. He leant back in his chair and was
+on the point of saying that the soup was not good. But his mother’s
+worried look restrained him, and he merely smiled weakly.
+
+“And now I’ve had enough,” he said.
+
+“Oh no, Volodya, I have all your favourite dishes to-day.”
+
+Volodya sighed sadly. He knew that when his mother spoke of his
+favourite dishes it meant that she would coax him to eat. He guessed
+that even after tea his mother would prevail upon him, as she did the
+day before, to eat meat.
+
+XXIII
+
+In the evening Volodya’s mother said to him: “Volodya dear, you’ll
+waste your time again; perhaps you’d better keep the door open!”
+
+Volodya began his lessons. But he felt vexed because the door had been
+left open at his back, and because his mother went past it now and
+then.
+
+“I cannot go on like this,” he shouted, moving his chair noisily. “I
+cannot do anything when the door is wide open.”
+
+“Volodya, is there any need to shout so?” his mother reproached him
+softly.
+
+Volodya already felt repentant, and he began to cry.
+
+“Don’t you see, Volodenka, that I’m worried about you, and that I want
+to save you from your thoughts.”
+
+“Mamma, sit here with me,” said Volodya.
+
+His mother took a book and sat down at Volodya’s table. For a few
+minutes Volodya worked calmly. But gradually the presence of his mother
+began to annoy him.
+
+“I’m being watched just like a sick man,” he thought spitefully.
+
+His thoughts were constantly interrupted, and he was biting his lips.
+His mother remarked this at last, and she left the room.
+
+But Volodya felt no relief. He was tormented with regret at showing his
+impatience. He tried to go on with his work but he could not. Then he
+went to his mother.
+
+“Mamma, why did you leave me?” he asked timidly.
+
+XXIV
+
+It was the eve of a holiday. The little image-lamps burned before the
+ikons.
+
+It was late and it was quiet. Volodya’s mother was not asleep. In the
+mysterious dark of her bedroom she fell on her knees, she prayed and
+she wept, sobbing out now and then like a child.
+
+Her braids of hair trailed upon her white dress; her shoulders
+trembled. She raised her hands to her breast in a praying posture, and
+she looked with tearful eyes at the ikon. The image-lamp moved almost
+imperceptibly on its chains with her passionate breathing. The shadows
+rocked, they crowded in the corners, they stirred behind the reliquary,
+and they murmured mysteriously. There was a hopeless yearning in their
+murmurings and an incomprehensible sadness in their wavering movements.
+
+At last she rose, looking pale, with strange, widely dilated eyes, and
+she reeled slightly on her benumbed legs.
+
+She went quietly to Volodya. The shadows surrounded her, they rustled
+softly behind her back, they crept at her feet, and some of them, as
+fine as the threads of a spider’s web, fell upon her shoulders and,
+looking into her large eyes, murmured incomprehensibly.
+
+She approached her son’s bed cautiously. His face was pale in the light
+of the image-lamp. Strange, sharp shadows lay upon him. His breathing
+was inaudible; he slept so tranquilly that his mother was frightened.
+
+She stood there in the midst of the vague shadows, and she felt upon
+her the breath of vague fears.
+
+XXV
+
+The high vaults of the church were dark and mysterious. The evening
+chants rose toward these vaults and resounded there with an exultant
+sadness. The dark images, lit up by the yellow flickers of wax candles,
+looked stern and mysterious. The warm breathing of the wax and of the
+incense filled the air with lofty sorrow.
+
+Eugenia Stepanovna placed a candle before the ikon of the Mother of
+God. Then she knelt down. But her prayer was distraught.
+
+She looked at her candle. Its flame wavered. The shadows from the
+candles fell on Eugenia Stepanovna’s black dress and on the floor, and
+rocked unsteadily. The shadows hovered on the walls of the church and
+lost themselves in the heights between the dark vaults, where the
+exultant, sad songs resounded.
+
+XXVI
+
+It was another night.
+
+Volodya awoke suddenly. The darkness enveloped him, and it stirred
+without sound. He freed his hands, then raised them, and followed their
+movements with his eyes. He did not see his hands in the darkness, but
+he imagined that he saw them wanly stirring before him. They were dark
+and mysterious, and they held in them the affliction and the murmur of
+lonely yearning.
+
+His mother also did not sleep; her grief tormented her. She lit a
+candle and went quietly toward her son’s room to see how he slept. She
+opened the door noiselessly and looked timidly at Volodya’s bed.
+
+A streak of yellow light trembled on the wall and intersected Volodya’s
+red bed-cover. The lad stretched his arms toward the light and, with a
+beating heart, followed the shadows. He did not even ask himself where
+the light came from. He was wholly obsessed by the shadows. His eyes
+were fixed on the wall, and there was a gleam of madness in them.
+
+The streak of light broadened, the shadows moved in a startled way;
+they were morose and hunch-backed, like homeless, roaming women who
+were hurrying to reach somewhere with old burdens that dragged them
+down.
+
+Volodya’s mother, trembling with fright, approached the bed and quietly
+aroused her son.
+
+“Volodya!”
+
+Volodya came to himself. For some seconds he glanced at his mother with
+large eyes, then he shivered from head to foot and, springing out of
+bed, fell at his mother’s feet, embraced her knees, and wept.
+
+“What dreams you do dream, Volodya!” exclaimed his mother sorrowfully.
+
+XXVII
+
+“Volodya,” said his mother to him at breakfast, “you must stop it,
+darling; you will become a wreck if you spend your nights also with the
+shadows.”
+
+The pale lad lowered his head in dejection. His lips quivered
+nervously.
+
+“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” continued his mother. “Perhaps we had
+better play a little while together with the shadows each evening, and
+then we will study your lessons. What do you say?”
+
+Volodya grew somewhat animated.
+
+“Mamma, you’re a darling!” he said shyly.
+
+XXVIII
+
+In the street Volodya felt drowsy and timid. The fog was spreading; it
+was cold and dismal. The outlines of the houses looked strange in the
+mist. The morose, human silhouettes moved through the filmy atmosphere
+like ominous, unkindly shadows. Everything seemed so intensely unreal.
+The cab-horse, which stood drowsily at the street-crossing, appeared
+like a huge fabulous beast.
+
+The policeman gave Volodya a hostile look. The crow on the low roof
+foreboded sorrow in Volodya’s ear. But sorrow was already in his heart;
+it made him sad to note how everything was hostile to him.
+
+A small dog with an unhealthy coat barked at him from behind a gate and
+Volodya felt a strange depression. And the urchins of the street seemed
+ready to laugh at him and to humiliate him.
+
+In the past he would have settled scores with them as they deserved,
+but now fear lived in his breast; it robbed his arms of their strength
+and caused them to hang by his sides.
+
+When Volodya returned home Praskovya opened the door to him, and she
+looked at him with moroseness and hostility. Volodya felt uneasy. He
+quickly went into the house, and refrained from looking at Praskovya’s
+depressing face again.
+
+XXIX
+
+His mother was sitting alone. It was twilight, and she felt sad.
+
+A light suddenly glimmered somewhere.
+
+Volodya ran in, animated, cheerful, and with large, somewhat wild eyes.
+
+“Mamma, the lamp has been lit; let’s play a little.”
+
+She smiled and followed Volodya.
+
+“Mamma, I’ve thought of a new figure,” said Volodya excitedly, as he
+placed the lamp in the desired position. “Look.... Do you see? This is
+the steppe, covered with snow, and the snow falls—a regular storm.”
+
+Volodya raised his hands and arranged them.
+
+“Now look, here is an old man, a wayfarer. He is up to his knees in
+snow. It is difficult to walk. He is alone. It is an open field. The
+village is far away. He is tired, he is cold; it is terrible. He is all
+bent—he’s such an old man.”
+
+Volodya’s mother helped him with his fingers.
+
+“Oh!” exclaimed Volodya in great joy. “The wind is tearing his cap off,
+it is blowing his hair loose, it has thrown him in the snow. The drifts
+are getting higher. Mamma, mamma, do you hear?”
+
+“It’s a blinding storm.”
+
+“And he?”
+
+“The old man?”
+
+“Do you hear, he is moaning?”
+
+“Help!”
+
+Both of them, pale, were looking at the wall. Volodya’s hands shook,
+the old man fell.
+
+His mother was the first to arouse herself.
+
+“And now it’s time to work,” she said.
+
+XXX
+
+It was morning. Volodya’s mother was alone. Rapt in her confused,
+dismal thoughts, she was walking from one room to another. Her shadow
+outlined itself vaguely on the white door in the light of the
+mist-dimmed sun. She stopped at the door and lifted her arm with a
+large, curious movement. The shadow on the door wavered and began to
+murmur something familiar and sad. A strange feeling of comfort came
+over Eugenia Stepanovna as she stood, a wild smile on her face, before
+the door and moved both her hands, watching the trembling shadows.
+
+Then she heard Praskovya coming, and she realized that she was doing an
+absurd thing. Once more she felt afraid and sad.
+
+“We ought to make a change,” she thought, “and go elsewhere, somewhere
+farther away, to a new atmosphere. We must run away from here, simply
+run away!”
+
+And suddenly she remembered Volodya’s words: “There is a wall there
+also. The walls are everywhere.”
+
+“There is nowhere to run!”
+
+In her despair she wrung her pale, beautiful hands.
+
+XXXI
+
+It was evening.
+
+A lighted lamp stood on the floor in Volodya’s room. Just behind it,
+near the wall, sat Volodya and his mother. They were looking at the
+wall and were making strange movements with their hands.
+
+Shadows stirred and trembled upon the wall.
+
+Volodya and his mother understood them. Both were smiling sadly and
+were saying weird and impossible things to each other. Their faces were
+peaceful and their eyes looked clear; their joyousness was hopelessly
+sorrowful and their sorrow was wildly joyous.
+
+In their eyes was a glimmer of madness, blessed madness.
+
+The night was descending upon them.
+
+
+
+THE GLIMMER OF HUNGER
+
+
+Sergei Matveyevich Moshkin had dined very well that day—that is
+comparatively well—when you stop to consider that he was only a village
+schoolmaster who had lost his place, and had been knocking about
+already a year or so on strange stairways, in search of work.
+Nevertheless, the glimmer of hunger persisted in his dark, sad eyes,
+and it gave his lean, smooth face a kind of unlooked-for significance.
+
+Moshkin spent his last three-rouble note on this dinner, and now a few
+coppers jingled in his pocket, while his purse contained a smooth
+fifteen-copeck piece. He banqueted out of sheer joy. He knew quite well
+that it was stupid to rejoice prematurely and without sufficient cause.
+But he had been seeking work so long, and had been having such a time
+of it, that even the shadow of a hope gave him joy.
+
+Moshkin had put an advertisement in the _Novo Vremya_. He announced
+himself a pedagogue who had command of the pen; he based his claim on
+the fact that he corresponded for a provincial newspaper. This, indeed,
+was why he had lost his place; it was discovered that he had written
+articles reflecting unfavourably on the authorities; the chief official
+of the district called the attention of the inspector of public schools
+to this, and the inspector, of course, would not brook such doings by
+any of his staff.
+
+“We don’t want that kind,” the inspector said to him in a personal
+interview.
+
+Moshkin asked: “What kind do you want?”
+
+The inspector, without replying to this irrelevant question, remarked
+dryly: “Good-bye. I hope to meet you in the next world.”
+
+Moshkin stated further in his advertisement that he wished to be a
+secretary, a permanent collaborator on a newspaper, a private tutor;
+also that he was willing to accompany his employer to the Caucasus or
+the Crimea, and to make himself useful in the house, etc. He gave an
+assurance of his reasonableness, and that he had no objections to
+travelling.
+
+He waited. One postcard came. It inspired him with hope; he hardly knew
+why.
+
+It came in the morning while Moshkin was drinking his tea. The landlady
+brought it in herself. There was a glitter in her dark, snake-like eyes
+as she remarked tauntingly:
+
+“Here’s some correspondence for Mr. Sergei Matveyevich Moshkin.”
+
+And while he was reading she smoothed her black hair down her
+triangular yellow forehead, and hissed: “What’s the good of getting
+letters? Much better if you paid for your board and lodging. A letter
+won’t feed your hunger; you ought to go among people, look for a job
+and not expect things to come to you.”
+
+He read:
+
+“_Be so good as to come in for a talk, between_ 6 _and_ 7 _in the
+evening, at Row_ 6, _House_ 78, _Apartment_ 57.”
+
+
+There was no signature.
+
+Moshkin glanced angrily at his landlady. She was broad and erect, and
+as she stood there at the door quite calm, with lowered arms, she was
+like a doll; she seemed deliberately malicious, and she looked at him
+with her motionless, anger-provoking eyes.
+
+Moshkin exclaimed: “Basta!”
+
+He hit the table with his fist. Then he rose, and paced up and down the
+room. He kept on repeating: “Basta!”
+
+The landlady asked quietly and spitefully: “Are you going to pay or
+not, you Kazan and Astrakhan correspondent, you impudent face?”
+
+Moshkin stopped in front of her, put out his empty palm, and said:
+“That’s all I have.”
+
+He said nothing about his last three-rouble note. The landlady hissed:
+“I’m not hard on you, but I need money. Wood’s seven roubles a load
+now, how am I to pay it? You can’t live on nothing. Can’t you find some
+one to look after you? You’re a young man of ability, and you have
+quite a charming appearance. You can always get hold of some goose or
+other. But how am I to pay? Whichever way you turn you’ve got to put
+down money.”
+
+Moshkin replied: “Don’t worry, Praskovya Petrovna, I am getting a job
+to-night, and I’ll pay what I owe you.”
+
+He began to pace the room again, making a flapping noise with his
+slippers.
+
+The landlady paused at the door, and kept on with her grumbling. When
+she went at last, she cried out: “Another in my place would have shown
+you the door long ago.”
+
+For some time after she had left there still remained in his memory her
+strange, erect figure, with relaxed arms; her broad, yellow forehead,
+shaped like a triangle under her smoothly-oiled hair; her worn yellow
+dress, cut away like a narrow triangle, and her red, sniffling nose
+shaped like a small triangle. Three triangles in all.
+
+All day long Moshkin was hungry, cheerful, and indignant. He walked
+aimlessly in the streets. He looked at the girls, and they all seemed
+to him to be lovable, happy, and accessible—to the rich. He stopped
+before the shop windows, where expensive goods were displayed. The
+glimmer of hunger in his eyes grew keener and keener.
+
+He bought a newspaper. He read as he sat on a form in the square, where
+the children laughed and ran, where the nurses tried to look
+fashionable, where there was a smell of dust and of consumptive
+trees—and where the smells of the street and of the garden mingled
+unpleasantly, reminding him of the smell of gutta-percha. Moshkin was
+very much struck by an account in the newspaper of a hungry fanatic who
+had slashed a picture by a celebrated artist in the museum.
+
+“Now that’s something I can understand!”
+
+Moshkin walked briskly along the path. He repeated: “Now that’s
+something I can understand!”
+
+And afterwards, as he walked in the streets and looked at the huge and
+stately houses, at the exposed wealth of the shops, at the elegant
+dress of the people of fashion, at the swiftly moving carriages, at all
+these beauties and comforts of life, accessible to all who have money,
+and inaccessible to him—as he looked and observed and envied, he felt
+more and more keenly the mood of destructive rage.
+
+“Now that’s something I can understand!”
+
+He walked up to a stout and pompous house-porter, and shouted: “Now
+that’s something I can understand!”
+
+The porter looked at him with silent scorn. Moshkin laughed joyously,
+and said: “Clever chaps those anarchists!”
+
+“Be off with you!” exclaimed the porter angrily. “And see that you
+don’t over-eat yourself.”
+
+Moshkin was about to leave him but stopped short in fright. There was a
+policeman quite near, and his white gloves stood out with startling
+sharpness. Moshkin thought in his sadness:
+
+“A bomb might come in handy here.”
+
+The porter spat angrily after him, and turned away.
+
+Moshkin walked on. At six o’clock he entered a restaurant of the middle
+rank. He chose a table by the window. He had some vodka, and followed
+it with anchovies. He ordered a seventy-five copeck dinner. He had a
+bottle of chablis on ice; after dinner a liqueur. He got slightly
+intoxicated. His head went round at the sound of music. He did not take
+his change. He left, reeling slightly, accompanied respectfully by a
+porter, into whose hand he stuck a twenty-copeck piece.
+
+He looked at his nickelled watch. It was just past seven. It was time
+to go. He had to make haste. They might hire another. He strode
+impetuously toward his destination.
+
+He was hindered by: dug up pavements; superannuated, eternally
+somnolent cabbies, at street crossings; passers-by, especially
+_muzhiks_ and women; those who came toward him, without stepping aside
+at all, or who stepped aside more often to the left than to the
+right—while those whom he had to overtake joggled along indifferently
+on the narrow way, and it was hard to tell at once on which side to
+pass them; beggars—these clung to him; and the mechanical process of
+walking itself.
+
+How difficult to conquer space and time when one is in a hurry! Truly
+the earth drew him to itself and he purchased every step with violence
+and exhaustion. He felt pains in his legs. This increased his spite,
+and intensified the glimmer of hunger in his eyes.
+
+Moshkin thought:
+
+“I’d like to chuck it all to the devil! To all the devils!”
+
+At last he got there.
+
+Here was the Row, and here was House No. 78. It was a four-storey
+house, in a state of neglect; the two approaches had a gloomy look, the
+gates in the middle stood wide agape. He looked at the plates at the
+approaches; the first numbers were here, and there was no No. 57. No
+one was in sight. There was a white button at the gates; and on the
+brass plate, below, buried under dirt, was the word “porter.”
+
+He pressed the button and entered the gate to look for the directory of
+the tenants. Before he had got that far he was met by the porter, a man
+of insinuating appearance, with a black beard.
+
+“Where is apartment No. 57?”
+
+Moshkin asked the question in a careless manner, borrowed from the
+district official who had caused him to lose his place. He also knew
+from experience that one must address porters just like this, and not
+like that. Wandering in strange gates and on strange staircases gives
+one a certain polish.
+
+The porter asked somewhat suspiciously: “Who do you want?”
+
+Moshkin drawled out his words with artless carelessness: “I don’t
+exactly know. I’ve come in answer to an announcement. I’ve received a
+letter, but the name is not signed. Only the address is given. Who
+lives at No. 57?”
+
+“Madame Engelhardova,” said the porter.
+
+“Engelhardt?” asked Moshkin.
+
+The porter repeated: “Engelhardova.”
+
+Moshkin smiled. “And what’s her Russian name?”
+
+“Elena Petrovna,” the porter answered.
+
+“Is she a bad-tempered hag?” asked Moshkin for some reason or other.
+
+“No-o, she’s a young lady. Quite stylish. Turn to the right of the
+gate.”
+
+“Only the first numbers are given there,” said Moshkin.
+
+The porter said: “No, you’ll also find 57 there. At the very bottom.”
+
+Moshkin asked: “What does she do? Does she run a business of some sort?
+A school? Or a journal?”
+
+No. Madame Engelhardova had neither a school, nor a journal.
+
+“She lives on her capital,” explained the porter.
+
+Madame Engelhardova’s maid, who looked like a village girl, led him
+into the drawing-room, to the right of the dark ante-room, and asked
+him to wait.
+
+He waited. It was tedious and annoying. He began to examine the
+contents of the elaborately furnished room. There were arm-chairs,
+tables, stools, folding screens, fire-screens, book-shelves, and small
+columns upon which rested busts, lamps, and artistic gew-gaws; there
+were mirrors, lithographs, and clocks on the walls; while the windows
+were decorated with hangings and flowers. All these made the room
+crowded, oppressive and dark. Moshkin paced through this depression
+over the rugs. He looked at the pictures and the statues with hate.
+
+“I’d like to chuck all this to the devil! To all the devils!”
+
+But when the mistress of the house walked in suddenly he lowered his
+eyes, and hid his glimmer of hunger.
+
+She was young, pink, and tall and quite good-looking. She walked
+quickly and with decision, like the mistress of a village house, and
+swung, not altogether gracefully, her strong, handsome white arms bared
+from above the elbows.
+
+She came to him and held out her hand, a little high—to be pressed, or
+to be kissed, as he chose. He kissed it. There was spite in his kiss.
+He did it with a quick, resounding smack, and one of his teeth
+scratched her skin slightly, so that she winced. But she said nothing.
+She walked toward the divan, got behind the table and sat down. She
+showed him an armchair.
+
+When he had seated himself, she asked him: “Was that your announcement
+in yesterday’s paper?”
+
+He said: “Mine.”
+
+He reconsidered, and said more politely: “Yes, mine.”
+
+He felt vexed, and he thought to himself: “I’d like to send her to the
+devil!”
+
+She went on talking. She asked him what he could do, where he had
+studied, where he had worked. She approached the subject very
+cautiously, as though afraid to say too much before the proper time.
+
+He gathered that she wished to publish a journal—she had not yet
+decided what sort. Some sort. A small one. She was negotiating for the
+purchase of a property. Of the nature of the journal she said nothing.
+
+She needed some one for the office. As he had said in his announcement
+that he was a pedagogue she thought that he had taught in one of the
+higher schools.
+
+In any case, she wanted some one to keep the books in the office, to
+receive subscriptions, to carry on the editorial and the office
+correspondence, to receive money by post, to put the journals in
+wrappers, to send them to the post, to read proofs, and something else
+... and still something else....
+
+The young woman spoke for half an hour. She recounted the various
+duties in an unintelligent way.
+
+“You need several people for all these tasks,” said Moshkin sharply.
+
+The young woman grew red with vexation. She made a wry face as she
+remarked eagerly: “The journal will be a small one, of a special
+nature. If I hired several people for such a small undertaking they
+would have nothing to do.”
+
+He smiled, and observed: “Well, anyhow there’ll be no chance for
+boredom. How many hours a day will you want me to work?”
+
+“Well, let us say from nine in the morning until seven in the evening.
+Sometimes, when the work is in a hurry you might remain a little
+longer, or you might come in on a holiday—I believe you are free?”
+
+“How much do you think of paying?”
+
+“Would eighteen roubles a month be enough for you?”
+
+He reflected a while, then he laughed.
+
+“Too little.”
+
+“I can’t afford more than twenty-two.”
+
+“Very well.”
+
+He rose suddenly in his rage, thrust his hand into his pocket, drew out
+the latchkey to his house, and said quietly but resolutely: “Hands up!”
+
+“Oh!” exclaimed the young woman, and she quickly raised her arms.
+
+She was sitting on the divan. She was pale and trembling.
+
+They formed a contrast—she large and strong; and he small and meagre.
+
+The sleeves of her dress fell to her shoulders, and the two bare white
+arms, stretching upward, seemed like the plump legs of a woman acrobat
+practising at home. She was evidently strong enough to hold up her arms
+for a long time. But her frightened face betrayed the deep terror of
+her ordeal.
+
+Moshkin, enjoying her plight, uttered slowly and sternly: “Move, if you
+dare! Or give a single whisper!”
+
+He approached a picture.
+
+“How much does this cost?”
+
+“Two hundred and twenty, without the frame,” said the young woman in a
+trembling voice.
+
+He searched in his pocket and found a penknife. He cut the picture from
+top to bottom, and from right to left.
+
+“Oh!” the young woman cried out.
+
+He approached a small marble head.
+
+“What does this cost?”
+
+“Three hundred.”
+
+He used his latchkey, and struck off the ear and the nose, and he
+mutilated the cheeks. The young woman sighed quietly; and it was
+pleasant to hear her quiet sighing.
+
+He cut up a few more pictures, and the armchair coverings, and broke a
+few of the gew-gaws.
+
+He then approached the young woman, and exclaimed: “Get under the
+divan!”
+
+She obeyed.
+
+“Lie there quietly, until some one comes. Or else I’ll throw a bomb.”
+
+He left. He met no one, either in the ante-room, or on the stairs.
+
+The same house-porter stood at the gates. Moshkin went up to him and
+said: “What a strange young lady you have in your house.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“She doesn’t know how to behave. She loves a brawl. You had better go
+to her.”
+
+“No use my going as long as I’m not called.”
+
+“Just as you please.”
+
+He left. The glimmer of hunger grew fainter in his eyes.
+
+Moshkin continued to walk the streets. His mind realized in a slow,
+dull way the drawing-room scene, the mutilated pictures, and the young
+woman under the divan.
+
+The dull waters of the canal lured him. The receding light of the
+setting sun made their surface beautiful and sad, like the music of a
+mad composer. How rough the stone slabs were on the canal’s banks, and
+how dusty the stones of the pavements, and what stupid and dirty
+children ran to meet him! Everything seemed shut against him and
+everything seemed hostile to him.
+
+The green, golden waters of the canal lured him, and the glimmer of
+hunger in his eyes went out for ever.
+
+What a noise the swift splash of water made, as, ring after ring, the
+dead black rings spread out and out, and cut the green golden waters of
+the canal.
+
+
+
+HIDE AND SEEK
+
+I
+
+Everything in Lelechka’s nursery was bright, pretty, and cheerful.
+Lelechka’s sweet voice charmed her mother. Lelechka was a delightful
+child. There was no other such child, there never had been, and there
+never would be. Lelechka’s mother, Serafima Alexandrovna, was sure of
+that. Lelechka’s eyes were dark and large, her cheeks were rosy, her
+lips were made for kisses and for laughter. But it was not these charms
+in Lelechka that gave her mother the keenest joy. Lelechka was her
+mother’s only child. That was why every movement of Lelechka’s
+bewitched her mother. It was great bliss to hold Lelechka on her knees
+and to fondle her; to feel the little girl in her arms—a thing as
+lively and as bright as a little bird.
+
+To tell the truth, Serafima Alexandrovna felt happy only in the
+nursery. She felt cold with her husband.
+
+Perhaps it was because he himself loved the cold—he loved to drink cold
+water, and to breathe cold air. He was always fresh and cool, with a
+frigid smile, and wherever he passed cold currents seemed to move in
+the air.
+
+The Nesletyevs, Sergei Modestovich and Serafima Alexandrovna, had
+married without love or calculation, because it was the accepted thing.
+He was a young man of thirty-five, she a young woman of twenty-five;
+both were of the same circle and well brought up; he was expected to
+take a wife, and the time had come for her to take a husband.
+
+It even seemed to Serafima Alexandrovna that she was in love with her
+future husband, and this made her happy. He looked handsome and
+well-bred; his intelligent grey eyes always preserved a dignified
+expression; and he fulfilled his obligations of a fiancé with
+irreproachable gentleness.
+
+The bride was also good-looking; she was a tall, dark-eyed, dark-haired
+girl, somewhat timid but very tactful. He was not after her dowry,
+though it pleased him to know that she had something. He had
+connexions, and his wife came of good, influential people. This might,
+at the proper opportunity, prove useful. Always irreproachable and
+tactful, Nesletyev got on in his position not so fast that any one
+should envy him, nor yet so slow that he should envy any one
+else—everything came in the proper measure and at the proper time.
+
+After their marriage there was nothing in the manner of Sergei
+Modestovich to suggest anything wrong to his wife. Later, however, when
+his wife was about to have a child, Sergei Modestovich established
+connexions elsewhere of a light and temporary nature. Serafima
+Alexandrovna found this out, and, to her own astonishment, was not
+particularly hurt; she awaited her infant with a restless anticipation
+that swallowed every other feeling.
+
+A little girl was born; Serafima Alexandrovna gave herself up to her.
+At the beginning she used to tell her husband, with rapture, of all the
+joyous details of Lelechka’s existence. But she soon found that he
+listened to her without the slightest interest, and only from the habit
+of politeness. Serafima Alexandrovna drifted farther and farther away
+from him. She loved her little girl with the ungratified passion that
+other women, deceived in their husbands, show their chance young
+lovers.
+
+“_Mamochka_, let’s play _priatki_,” (hide and seek), cried Lelechka,
+pronouncing the _r_ like the _l_, so that the word sounded “pliatki.”
+
+This charming inability to speak always made Serafima Alexandrovna
+smile with tender rapture. Lelechka then ran away, stamping with her
+plump little legs over the carpets, and hid herself behind the curtains
+near her bed.
+
+“_Tiu-tiu, mamochka_!” she cried out in her sweet, laughing voice, as
+she looked out with a single roguish eye.
+
+“Where is my baby girl?” the mother asked, as she looked for Lelechka
+and made believe that she did not see her.
+
+And Lelechka poured out her rippling laughter in her hiding place. Then
+she came out a little farther, and her mother, as though she had only
+just caught sight of her, seized her by her little shoulders and
+exclaimed joyously: “Here she is, my Lelechka!”
+
+Lelechka laughed long and merrily, her head close to her mother’s
+knees, and all of her cuddled up between her mother’s white hands. Her
+mother’s eyes glowed with passionate emotion.
+
+“Now, _mamochka_, you hide,” said Lelechka, as she ceased laughing.
+
+Her mother went to hide. Lelechka turned away as though not to see, but
+watched her _mamochka_ stealthily all the time. Mamma hid behind the
+cupboard, and exclaimed: “_Tiu-tiu_, baby girl!”
+
+Lelechka ran round the room and looked into all the corners, making
+believe, as her mother had done before, that she was seeking—though she
+really knew all the time where her _mamochka_ was standing.
+
+“Where’s my _mamochka_?” asked Lelechka. “She’s not here, and she’s not
+here,” she kept on repeating, as she ran from corner to corner.
+
+Her mother stood, with suppressed breathing, her head pressed against
+the wall, her hair somewhat disarranged. A smile of absolute bliss
+played on her red lips.
+
+The nurse, Fedosya, a good-natured and fine-looking, if somewhat stupid
+woman, smiled as she looked at her mistress with her characteristic
+expression, which seemed to say that it was not for her to object to
+gentlewomen’s caprices. She thought to herself: “The mother is like a
+little child herself—look how excited she is.”
+
+Lelechka was getting nearer her mother’s corner. Her mother was growing
+more absorbed every moment by her interest in the game; her heart beat
+with short quick strokes, and she pressed even closer to the wall,
+disarranging her hair still more. Lelechka suddenly glanced toward her
+mother’s corner and screamed with joy.
+
+“I’ve found ’oo,” she cried out loudly and joyously, mispronouncing her
+words in a way that again made her mother happy.
+
+She pulled her mother by her hands to the middle of the room, they were
+merry and they laughed; and Lelechka again hid her head against her
+mother’s knees, and went on lisping and lisping, without end, her sweet
+little words, so fascinating yet so awkward.
+
+Sergei Modestovich was coming at this moment toward the nursery.
+Through the half-closed doors he heard the laughter, the joyous
+outcries, the sound of romping. He entered the nursery, smiling his
+genial cold smile; he was irreproachably dressed, and he looked fresh
+and erect, and he spread round him an atmosphere of cleanliness,
+freshness and coldness. He entered in the midst of the lively game, and
+he confused them all by his radiant coldness. Even Fedosya felt
+abashed, now for her mistress, now for herself. Serafima Alexandrovna
+at once became calm and apparently cold—and this mood communicated
+itself to the little girl, who ceased to laugh, but looked instead,
+silently and intently, at her father.
+
+Sergei Modestovich gave a swift glance round the room. He liked coming
+here, where everything was beautifully arranged; this was done by
+Serafima Alexandrovna, who wished to surround her little girl, from her
+very infancy, only with the loveliest things. Serafima Alexandrovna
+dressed herself tastefully; this, too, she did for Lelechka, with the
+same end in view. One thing Sergei Modestovich had not become
+reconciled to, and this was his wife’s almost continuous presence in
+the nursery.
+
+“It’s just as I thought.... I knew that I’d find you here,” he said
+with a derisive and condescending smile.
+
+They left the nursery together. As he followed his wife through the
+door Sergei Modestovich said rather indifferently, in an incidental
+way, laying no stress on his words: “Don’t you think that it would be
+well for the little girl if she were sometimes without your company?
+Merely, you see, that the child should feel its own individuality,” he
+explained in answer to Serafima Alexandrovna’s puzzled glance.
+
+“She’s still so little,” said Serafima Alexandrovna.
+
+“In any case, this is but my humble opinion. I don’t insist. It’s your
+kingdom there.”
+
+“I’ll think it over,” his wife answered, smiling, as he did, coldly but
+genially.
+
+Then they began to talk of something else.
+
+II
+
+Nurse Fedosya, sitting in the kitchen that evening, was telling the
+silent housemaid Darya and the talkative old cook Agathya about the
+young lady of the house, and how the child loved to play _priatki_ with
+her mother—“She hides her little face, and cries ‘_tiu-tiu_’!”
+
+“And the _barinya_[1] herself is like a little one,” added Fedosya,
+smiling.
+
+Agathya listened and shook her head ominously; while her face became
+grave and reproachful.
+
+“That the _barinya_ does it, well, that’s one thing; but that the young
+lady does it, that’s bad.”
+
+“Why?” asked Fedosya with curiosity.
+
+This expression of curiosity gave her face the look of a wooden,
+roughly-painted doll.
+
+“Yes, that’s bad,” repeated Agathya with conviction. “Terribly bad!”
+
+“Well?” said Fedosya, the ludicrous expression of curiosity on her face
+becoming more emphatic.
+
+“She’ll hide, and hide, and hide away,” said Agathya, in a mysterious
+whisper, as she looked cautiously toward the door.
+
+“What are you saying?” exclaimed Fedosya, frightened.
+
+“It’s the truth I’m saying, remember my words,” Agathya went on with
+the same assurance and secrecy. “It’s the surest sign.”
+
+The old woman had invented this sign, quite suddenly, herself; and she
+was evidently very proud of it.
+
+ [1] Gentlewoman.
+
+III
+
+Lelechka was asleep, and Serafima Alexandrovna was sitting in her own
+room, thinking with joy and tenderness of Lelechka. Lelechka was in her
+thoughts, first a sweet, tiny girl, then a sweet, big girl, then again
+a delightful little girl; and so until the end she remained mamma’s
+little Lelechka.
+
+Serafima Alexandrovna did not even notice that Fedosya came up to her
+and paused before her. Fedosya had a worried, frightened look.
+
+“_Barinya, barinya_” she said quietly, in a trembling voice.
+
+Serafima Alexandrovna gave a start. Fedosya’s face made her anxious.
+
+“What is it, Fedosya?” she asked with great concern. “Is there anything
+wrong with Lelechka?”
+
+“No, _barinya_,” said Fedosya, as she gesticulated with her hands to
+reassure her mistress and to make her sit down. “Lelechka is asleep,
+may God be with her! Only I’d like to say something—you see—Lelechka is
+always hiding herself—that’s not good.”
+
+Fedosya looked at her mistress with fixed eyes, which had grown round
+from fright.
+
+“Why not good?” asked Serafima Alexandrovna, with vexation, succumbing
+involuntarily to vague fears.
+
+“I can’t tell you how bad it is,” said Fedosya, and her face expressed
+the most decided confidence.
+
+“Please speak in a sensible way,” observed Serafima Alexandrovna dryly.
+“I understand nothing of what you are saying.”
+
+“You see, _barinya_, it’s a kind of omen,” explained Fedosya abruptly,
+in a shamefaced way.
+
+“Nonsense!” said Serafima Alexandrovna.
+
+She did not wish to hear any further as to the sort of omen it was, and
+what it foreboded. But, somehow, a sense of fear and of sadness crept
+into her mood, and it was humiliating to feel that an absurd tale
+should disturb her beloved fancies, and should agitate her so deeply.
+
+“Of course I know that gentlefolk don’t believe in omens, but it’s a
+bad omen, _barinya_,” Fedosya went on in a doleful voice, “the young
+lady will hide, and hide....”
+
+Suddenly she burst into tears, sobbing out loudly: “She’ll hide, and
+hide, and hide away, angelic little soul, in a damp grave,” she
+continued, as she wiped her tears with her apron and blew her nose.
+
+“Who told you all this?” asked Serafima Alexandrovna in an austere low
+voice.
+
+“Agathya says so, _barinya_” answered Fedosya; “it’s she that knows.”
+
+“Knows!” exclaimed Serafima Alexandrovna in irritation, as though she
+wished to protect herself somehow from this sudden anxiety. “What
+nonsense! Please don’t come to me with any such notions in the future.
+Now you may go.”
+
+Fedosya, dejected, her feelings hurt, left her mistress.
+
+“What nonsense! As though Lelechka could die!” thought Serafima
+Alexandrovna to herself, trying to conquer the feeling of coldness and
+fear which took possession of her at the thought of the possible death
+of Lelechka. Serafima Alexandrovna, upon reflection, attributed these
+women’s beliefs in omens to ignorance. She saw clearly that there could
+be no possible connexion between a child’s quite ordinary diversion and
+the continuation of the child’s life. She made a special effort that
+evening to occupy her mind with other matters, but her thoughts
+returned involuntarily to the fact that Lelechka loved to hide herself.
+
+When Lelechka, was still quite small, and had learned to distinguish
+between her mother and her nurse, she sometimes, sitting in her nurse’s
+arms, made a sudden roguish grimace, and hid her laughing face in the
+nurse’s shoulder. Then she would look out with a sly glance.
+
+Of late, in those rare moments of the _barinya’s_ absence from the
+nursery, Fedosya had again taught Lelechka to hide; and when Lelechka’s
+mother, on coming in, saw how lovely the child looked when she was
+hiding, she herself began to play hide and seek with her tiny daughter.
+
+IV
+
+The next day Serafima Alexandrovna, absorbed in her joyous cares for
+Lelechka, had forgotten Fedosya’s words of the day before.
+
+But when she returned to the nursery, after having ordered the dinner,
+and she heard Lelechka suddenly cry “_Tiu-tiu_!” from under the table,
+a feeling of fear suddenly took hold of her. Though she reproached
+herself at once for this unfounded, superstitious dread, nevertheless
+she could not enter wholeheartedly into the spirit of Lelechka’s
+favourite game, and she tried to divert Lelechka’s attention to
+something else.
+
+Lelechka was a lovely and obedient child. She eagerly complied with her
+mother’s new wishes. But as she had got into the habit of hiding from
+her mother in some corner, and of crying out “_Tiu-tiu_!” so even that
+day she returned more than once to the game.
+
+Serafima Alexandrovna tried desperately to amuse Lelechka. This was not
+so easy because restless, threatening thoughts obtruded themselves
+constantly.
+
+“Why does Lelechka keep on recalling the _tiu-tiu_? Why does she not
+get tired of the same thing—of eternally closing her eyes, and of
+hiding her face? Perhaps,” thought Serafima Alexandrovna, “she is not
+as strongly drawn to the world as other children, who are attracted by
+many things. If this is so, is it not a sign of organic weakness? Is it
+not a germ of the unconscious non-desire to live?”
+
+Serafima Alexandrovna was tormented by presentiments. She felt ashamed
+of herself for ceasing to play hide and seek with Lelechka before
+Fedosya. But this game had become agonizing to her, all the more
+agonizing because she had a real desire to play it, and because
+something drew her very strongly to hide herself from Lelechka and to
+seek out the hiding child. Serafima Alexandrovna herself began the game
+once or twice, though she played it with a heavy heart. She suffered as
+though committing an evil deed with full consciousness.
+
+It was a sad day for Serafima Alexandrovna.
+
+V
+
+Lelechka was about to fall asleep. No sooner had she climbed into her
+little bed, protected by a network on all sides, than her eyes began to
+close from fatigue. Her mother covered her with a blue blanket.
+Lelechka drew her sweet little hands from under the blanket and
+stretched them out to embrace her mother. Her mother bent down.
+Lelechka, with a tender expression on her sleepy face, kissed her
+mother and let her head fall on the pillow. As her hands hid themselves
+under the blanket Lelechka whispered: “The hands _tiu-tiu_!”
+
+The mother’s heart seemed to stop—Lelechka lay there so small, so
+frail, so quiet. Lelechka smiled gently, closed her eyes and said
+quietly: “The eyes _tiu-tiu_!”
+
+Then even more quietly: “Lelechka _tiu-tiu!_”
+
+With these words she fell asleep, her face pressing the pillow. She
+seemed so small and so frail under the blanket that covered her. Her
+mother looked at her with sad eyes.
+
+Serafima Alexandrovna remained standing over Lelechka’s bed a long
+while, and she kept looking at Lelechka with tenderness and fear.
+
+“I’m a mother: is it possible that I shouldn’t be able to protect her?”
+she thought, as she imagined the various ills that might befall
+Lelechka.
+
+She prayed long that night, but the prayer did not relieve her sadness.
+
+VI
+
+Several days passed. Lelechka caught cold. The fever came upon her at
+night. When Serafima Alexandrovna, awakened by Fedosya, came to
+Lelechka and saw her looking so hot, so restless, and so tormented, she
+instantly recalled the evil omen, and a hopeless despair took
+possession of her from the first moments.
+
+A doctor was called, and everything was done that is usual on such
+occasions—but the inevitable happened. Serafima Alexandrovna tried to
+console herself with the hope that Lelechka would get well, and would
+again laugh and play—yet this seemed to her an unthinkable happiness!
+And Lelechka grew feebler from hour to hour.
+
+All simulated tranquillity, so as not to frighten Serafima
+Alexandrovna, but their masked faces only made her sad.
+
+Nothing made her so unhappy as the reiterations of Fedosya, uttered
+between sobs: “She hid herself and hid herself, our Lelechka!”
+
+But the thoughts of Serafima Alexandrovna were confused, and she could
+not quite grasp what was happening.
+
+Fever was consuming Lelechka, and there were times when she lost
+consciousness and spoke in delirium. But when she returned to herself
+she bore her pain and her fatigue with gentle good nature; she smiled
+feebly at her _mamochka_, so that her _mamochka_ should not see how
+much she suffered. Three days passed, torturing like a nightmare.
+Lelechka grew quite feeble She did not know that she was dying.
+
+She glanced at her mother with her dimmed eyes, and lisped in a
+scarcely audible, hoarse voice: “_Tiu-tiu, mamochka_! Make _tiu-tiu,
+mamochka_!”
+
+Serafima Alexandrovna hid her face behind the curtains near Lelechka’s
+bed. How tragic!
+
+“_Mamochka_!” called Lelechka in an almost inaudible voice.
+
+Lelechka’s mother bent over her, and Lelechka, her vision grown still
+more dim, saw her mother’s pale, despairing face for the last time.
+
+“A white _mamochka_!” whispered Lelechka. _Mamochka’s_ white face
+became blurred, and everything grew dark before Lelechka. She caught
+the edge of the bed-cover feebly with her hands and whispered:
+“_Tiu-tiu_!”
+
+Something rattled in her throat; Lelechka opened and again closed her
+rapidly paling lips, and died.
+
+Serafima Alexandrovna was in dumb despair as she left Lelechka, and
+went out of the room. She met her husband.
+
+“Lelechka is dead,” she said in a quiet, dull voice.
+
+Sergei Modestovich looked anxiously at her pale face. He was struck by
+the strange stupor in her formerly animated handsome features.
+
+VII
+
+Lelechka was dressed, placed in a little coffin, and carried into the
+parlour. Serafima Alexandrovna was standing by the coffin and looking
+dully at her dead child. Sergei Modestovich went to his wife and,
+consoling her with cold, empty words, tried to draw her away from the
+coffin. Serafima Alexandrovna smiled.
+
+“Go away,” she said quietly. “Lelechka is playing. She’ll be up in a
+minute.”
+
+“Sima, my dear, don’t agitate yourself,” said Sergei Modestovich in a
+whisper. “You must resign yourself to your fate.”
+
+“She’ll be up in a minute,” persisted Serafima Alexandrovna, her eyes
+fixed on the dead little girl.
+
+Sergei Modestovich looked round him cautiously: he was afraid of the
+unseemly and of the ridiculous.
+
+“Sima, don’t agitate yourself,” he repeated. “This would be a miracle,
+and miracles do not happen in the nineteenth century.”
+
+No sooner had he said these words than Sergei Modestovich felt their
+irrelevance to what had happened. He was confused and annoyed.
+
+He took his wife by the arm, and cautiously led her away from the
+coffin. She did not oppose him.
+
+Her face seemed tranquil and her eyes were dry. She went into the
+nursery and began to walk round the room, looking into those places
+where Lelechka used to hide herself. She walked all about the room, and
+bent now and then to look under the table or under the bed, and kept on
+repeating cheerfully: “Where is my little one? Where is my Lelechka?”
+
+After she had walked round the room once she began to make her quest
+anew. Fedosya, motionless, with dejected face, sat in a corner, and
+looked frightened at her mistress; then she suddenly burst out sobbing,
+and she wailed loudly:
+
+“She hid herself, and hid herself, our Lelechka, our angelic little
+soul!”
+
+Serafima Alexandrovna trembled, paused, cast a perplexed look at
+Fedosya, began to weep, and left the nursery quietly.
+
+VIII
+
+Sergei Modestovich hurried the funeral. He saw that Serafima
+Alexandrovna was terribly shocked by her sudden misfortune, and as he
+feared for her reason he thought she would more readily be diverted and
+consoled when Lelechka was buried.
+
+Next morning Serafima Alexandrovna dressed with particular care—for
+Lelechka. When she entered the parlour there were several people
+between her and Lelechka. The priest and deacon paced up and down the
+room; clouds of blue smoke drifted in the air, and there was a smell of
+incense. There was an oppressive feeling of heaviness in Serafima
+Alexandrovna’s head as she approached Lelechka. Lelechka lay there
+still and pale, and smiled pathetically. Serafima Alexandrovna laid her
+cheek upon the edge of Lelechka’s coffin, and whispered: “_Tiu-tiu_,
+little one!”
+
+The little one did not reply. Then there was some kind of stir and
+confusion around Serafima Alexandrovna; strange, unnecessary faces bent
+over her, some one held her—and Lelechka was carried away somewhere.
+
+Serafima Alexandrovna stood up erect, sighed in a lost way, smiled, and
+called loudly: “Lelechka!”
+
+Lelechka was being carried out. The mother threw herself after the
+coffin with despairing sobs, but she was held back. She sprang behind
+the door, through which Lelechka had passed, sat down there on the
+floor, and as she looked through the crevice, she cried out: “Lelechka,
+_tiu-tiu_!”
+
+Then she put her head out from behind the door, and began to laugh.
+
+Lelechka was quickly carried away from her mother, and those who
+carried her seemed to run rather than to walk.
+
+
+
+THE SMILE
+
+I
+
+Some fifteen boys and girls and several young men and women had
+gathered in the garden belonging to the Semiboyarinov cottage to
+celebrate the birthday of one of the sons of the house, Lesha by name,
+a student of the second class. Lesha’s birthday was made indeed an
+occasion for bringing eligible young men to the house for his grown
+sisters’ sake.
+
+All were merry and smiling—the older members of the party as well as
+the young boys and girls, who ran up and down the yellow sand of the
+well-kept footpaths; a pale, unimpressive boy, who was sitting alone on
+a bench under a lilac bush and looking silently at the other boys, was
+also smiling. His loneliness, his silence, and his well-worn though
+clean clothes, all pointed to his poverty and to his embarrassment in
+the company of these lively, well-dressed children. His face was timid
+and thin, his chest sunken, and his lean hands lay so meekly that it
+aroused one’s pity to look at him. Still, he smiled; but even his smile
+seemed pitiful; it was as though it depressed him to watch the games
+and the happiness of other children, or as though he were afraid to
+annoy others by his sad looks and his poor dress.
+
+He was called Grisha Igumnov. His father had died not long ago;
+Grisha’s mother occasionally sent her son to her rich relatives with
+whom he always felt depressed and uneasy.
+
+“Why do you sit alone? Get up and run about!” said the blue-eyed
+Lydochka Semiboyarinov as she passed him.
+
+Grisha did not dare to disobey; his heart beat violently, his face
+became covered with small beads of perspiration. He approached the
+happy, red-cheeked boys timidly. They looked at him unfriendlily as at
+a stranger, and Grisha himself felt at once that he was not like them:
+he could not speak so boldly and so loudly; and he had neither such
+yellow boots, nor such a round little cap with a woolly red visor
+turned jauntily upwards as the boy nearest to him had.
+
+The boys continued to talk among themselves as though there were no
+Grisha. Grisha stood near them in an uneasy pose; his thin shoulders
+stooped somewhat, his slender fingers held fast to his narrow girdle,
+and he smiled timidly. He did not know what to do, and in his confusion
+did not hear what the lively boys were saying. They finished their
+conversation and scattered suddenly. Grisha, his timid, guilty smile
+still on his face, walked back uneasily on the sandy path and sat down
+once more on the bench. He was ashamed because he had walked up to the
+boys, yet had not spoken to any one, and because nothing had come of
+it. As he sat down he looked timidly round him—no one paid him the
+slightest attention, and no one laughed at him. Grisha grew calm.
+
+Just then two little girls, their arms round each other, passed him.
+Under their fixed stare Grisha shrank, grew red, and smiled guiltily.
+
+When the little girls had passed by the youngest of them, with fair
+hair, asked loudly: “Who’s this ugly duckling?”
+
+The elder girl, who was red-cheeked and black-browed, laughed and
+answered: “I don’t know. We had better ask Lydochka. It’s most likely a
+poor relation.”
+
+“What an absurd boy,” said the little blonde. “He spreads his ears out,
+and sits there and smiles.”
+
+They disappeared behind the bushes at the turn of the path, and Grisha
+no longer heard their voices. He felt hurt, and when he thought that he
+might have to sit there a long time, until his mother should come for
+him, he was sick at heart.
+
+A big-eyed, slender student with a stubborn crest of hair sticking up
+from his high forehead noticed that Grisha was sitting alone there like
+an orphan, and he wished to be kind to him, and to make him feel more
+at his ease; so he sat down near him.
+
+“What’s your name?” he asked.
+
+Grisha told him quietly.
+
+“And my name is Mitya,” said the student. “Are you here alone, or with
+any one?”
+
+“With mother,” whispered Grisha.
+
+“Why do you sit here all by yourself?” asked Mitya.
+
+Grisha stirred nervously, and did not know what to say.
+
+“Why don’t you play?”
+
+“I don’t want to.”
+
+Mitya did not hear him so he asked: “What did you say?”
+
+“I don’t feel like it,” said Grisha somewhat more loudly.
+
+The student, astonished, continued: “Why don’t you feel like it?”
+
+Grisha again did not know what to say; he smiled in a lost way. Mitya
+was looking at him attentively. Glances of strangers always embarrassed
+Grisha; it was as though he feared that they might find something
+absurd in his appearance.
+
+Mitya was silent for a while, as he thought of something else that he
+might ask.
+
+“What do you collect?” he asked. “You’ve got a collection of something,
+haven’t you? We all collect: I—stamps, Katya Pokrivalova—shells,
+Lesha—butterflies. What do you collect?”
+
+“Nothing,” said Grisha, flushing.
+
+“Well, well,” said Mitya with artless astonishment. “So you collect
+nothing! That’s very curious.”
+
+Grisha felt ashamed that he was not collecting anything, and that he
+had disclosed the fact.
+
+“I, too, must collect something!” he thought to himself, but he could
+not decide to say this aloud.
+
+Mitya sat a little longer, then left him. Grisha felt a relief. But a
+new ordeal was in store for him.
+
+The nurse engaged by the Semiboyarinovs for their youngest son was
+strolling along the garden paths with the one-year-old child in her
+arms. She wished to rest, and chose the same bench upon which Grisha
+was sitting. He again felt uneasy. He looked straight before him, and
+could not even decide to move away from the nurse to the other end of
+the bench.
+
+The infant’s attention soon became drawn to Grisha’s protruding ears,
+and he leant forward towards one of them. The nurse, a robust,
+red-cheeked woman, concluded that Grisha would not mind. She brought
+her charge nearer to Grisha, and the pink infant caught Grisha’s ear
+with his fat little hand. Grisha was paralysed with confusion, but
+could not decide to protest. The child, laughing loudly and merrily,
+now let go Grisha’s ear, now caught hold of it again. The red-cheeked
+nurse, who enjoyed the game not less than the infant, kept on
+repeating: “Let’s go for him! Let’s give it to him!”
+
+One of the boys saw the scene, and told the other boys that little
+Georgik was obstreperous with the quiet boy who was sitting so long on
+the bench. The children gathered round Georgik and Grisha, and laughed
+noisily. Grisha tried to show that he didn’t mind, that he felt no
+pain, and that he also enjoyed the fun. But it grew harder and harder
+for him to smile, and he had a very strong desire to cry. He knew that
+he ought not to cry, that it was a disgrace, and he restrained himself
+with an effort.
+
+Happily he was soon delivered. The blue-eyed Lydochka, upon hearing the
+children’s boisterous laughter, went to see what had happened. She
+reproached the nurse: “Aren’t you ashamed to go on like this?”
+
+She herself had difficulty to keep from laughing at Grisha’s pitiful,
+confused face. But she restrained herself, and upheld her dignity as a
+grown young woman before the nurse and the children.
+
+The nurse rose and said, laughing: “Georginka did it quite gently. The
+boy himself didn’t say that it hurt him.”
+
+“You mustn’t do such things,” said Lydochka sternly.
+
+Georgik, unhappy because they had taken him away from Grisha, raised a
+cry. Lydochka took him in her arms and carried him away to quiet him.
+The nurse followed her. But the boys and the girls remained. They
+thronged round Grisha and eyed him unceremoniously.
+
+“Perhaps he’s got stuck-on ears,” suggested one of the boys, “that’s
+why he doesn’t feel any pain.”
+
+“I rather think you like to be held by your ears,” said another.
+
+“Tell us,” said the little girl with the large blue eyes, “which ear
+does your mother catch hold of most?”
+
+“His ears have been stretched out to order in a workshop,” cried a
+merry youngster, and laughed loudly at his own joke.
+
+“No,” another corrected him, “he was born like that. When he was very
+small he was led not by his hand but by his ear.”
+
+Grisha looked at his tormentors like a small beast at bay, with a fixed
+smile on his face, when, suddenly, wholly unexpectedly to the cheerful
+company, he burst into tears. Many small drops fell on his jacket. The
+children grew quiet at once. They became uneasy. They exchanged
+embarrassed glances, and looked silently at Grisha as he wiped the
+tears from his face with his thin hands; he appeared to be ashamed of
+his tears.
+
+“Why should he be offended?” said the beautiful, flaxen-haired Katya
+angrily. “Who’s done him any harm? The ugly duckling!”
+
+“He’s not an ugly duckling. You’re an ugly duckling yourself,”
+intervened Mitya.
+
+“I can’t stand rude people,” said Katya, growing red with vexation.
+
+A little, brown-faced girl in a red dress looked long at Grisha, and
+knitted her brows as in reflection. Then she scanned the other children
+with her perplexed eyes, and asked quietly:
+
+“Why then did he smile?”
+
+II
+
+It was not often that Grisha’s wardrobe received important additions.
+His mother could not afford it; hence, every item gave Grisha great
+joy. The autumn cold came, and Grisha’s mother bought an overcoat, a
+hat and mittens. The mittens pleased Grisha more than anything else.
+
+On the holiday, after Mass, he put on his new things and went out to
+play. He loved to walk about in the streets, and he used to go out
+alone; his mother had no time to go out with him. She looked proudly
+out of the window as Grisha walked gravely by. She recalled at that
+moment her well-to-do relatives who had promised her so much, and had
+done so little, and she thought: “Well, I’ve managed it without them,
+thank God!”
+
+It was a cold, clear day; the sun did not shine with its full
+brightness; the waters of the canals in the city were covered with
+their first thin ice. Grisha walked the streets, rejoicing in this
+brisk cold, in his new clothes, and with his naïve fancies; he always
+loved to dream when he was alone, and he dreamt always of great deeds,
+of fame, of a bright, happy life in a rich house, indeed of everything
+that was unlike the sad reality.
+
+As Grisha stood on the bank of the canal and looked through the iron
+railings at the thin ice that floated on the surface, he was approached
+by a street urchin in threadbare attire, and with hands red from the
+cold. He entered into conversation with Grisha. Grisha was not afraid
+of him, and even pitied him because of his benumbed hands. His new
+acquaintance informed him that he was called Mishka, but that his
+family name was Babushkin, because he and his mother lived with his
+_babushka_.[1]
+
+“But then what is your mother’s family name?”
+
+“My mother’s name?” repeated Mishka, smiling. “She’s called Matushkin,
+because my _babushka_ is no _babushka_ to her, but is her
+_matushka._”[2]
+
+“That’s strange,” said Grisha with astonishment. “My mother and I have
+one family name; we are called the Igumnovs.”
+
+“That’s because,” explained Mishka with animation, “your grandfather
+was an _igumen_.”[3]
+
+“No,” said Grisha, “my grandfather was a colonel.”
+
+“All the same it’s likely that his father, or some one else was an
+_igumen_, and so you have all become the Igumnovs.”
+
+Grisha did not know who his great-grandfather was, so he said nothing,
+Mishka kept on eyeing his mittens.
+
+“You have handsome mittens,” he said.
+
+“New ones,” Grisha explained, with a joyous smile. “It’s the first time
+I’ve put them on; d’you see, here is a little string drawn through!”
+
+“Well, you’re a lucky one! And are they quite warm?”
+
+“Rather!”
+
+“I have also mittens at home, but I haven’t put them on because I don’t
+like them. They are yellow, and I don’t like yellow ones. Let me put
+yours on, and I’ll run along and show them to my _babushka_, and ask
+her to get me a pair like them.”
+
+Mishka looked at Grisha pleadingly, and his eyes sparkled enviously.
+
+“You won’t keep me waiting long?” asked Grisha.
+
+“No, I live quite near here, just round the corner. Don’t be afraid!
+Upon my word, in a minute!”
+
+Grisha trustfully took off his mittens and gave them to Mishka.
+
+“I’ll be back in a minute, wait here, don’t go away,” exclaimed Mishka,
+as he ran off with Grisha’s mittens. He disappeared round the corner,
+and Grisha was left waiting. He did not imagine that Mishka would fool
+him; he thought that he would simply run home, show his mittens, and
+return with them. He stood there long and waited, and Mishka did not
+even dream of returning.
+
+The short autumn day was already darkening; Grisha’s mother, restless
+because of her boy’s long absence, went out to look for him. Grisha at
+last understood that Mishka would not return. The poor boy turned sadly
+toward home and he met his mother.
+
+“Grisha, what have you done with yourself” she asked, angry and glad at
+finding her son.
+
+Grisha did not reply. He seemed embarrassed as he rubbed his hands, red
+with cold. His mother then noticed that he did not wear his mittens.
+
+“Where are your mittens?” she asked angrily, as she searched his
+overcoat pockets.
+
+Grisha smiled and said: “I lent them to a boy for a short time, and he
+didn’t bring them back.”
+
+ [1] Grandmother.
+
+
+ [2] Mother.
+
+
+ [3] An abbot.
+
+III
+
+Years passed after years. The bold and pushing children who once had
+gathered on Lesha Semiboyarinov’s birthday became bold and pushing men
+and women, and the urchin who had fooled Grisha, it goes without
+saying, found his way in life—while Grisha, of course, became a
+failure. As in his childhood, he went on dreaming, and in his dreams he
+conquered his kingdom; but in real life he could not protect himself
+from any enterprising person who pushed him unceremoniously out of his
+way. His relations with women were equally unsuccessful, and his
+faint-hearted attentions were not once rewarded by a responsive
+feeling. He had no friends. His mother alone loved him.
+
+Igumnov rejoiced when he found a position at a small salary, because
+his mother could live calmly now without worrying about a crust of
+bread. But his happiness was of short duration; soon his mother died.
+Grisha fell into depression, lost his spirits. Life seemed to him to be
+aimless. Apathy took hold of him; he had no interest in his work. He
+lost his place, and was soon in great need.
+
+Igumnov finally pawned his last possession, his mother’s ring; as he
+walked out of the place he smiled—and his smile kept him from bursting
+into tears of self-pity.
+
+He had to see various people and to ask them for work. But Igumnov was
+not good at this. He was backward and quiet, and he experienced a
+helpless confusion that prevented him from persisting in his dealings
+with men. While yet on the stairway of a man’s house a fear would seize
+him, his heart would beat painfully, his legs would grow heavy, and his
+hand would stretch toward the bell irresolutely.
+
+During one of his most depressing and hungry days Igumnov sat in the
+sumptuous private office of Aleksei Stepanovich Semiboyarinov, the
+father of the same Lesha whose birthday party remained memorable to
+him. Igumnov had already sent a letter to Aleksei Stepanovich: after
+all it was much easier to ask on paper than by word of mouth. And now
+he came for his answer.
+
+From the restless, solicitous manner of Semiboyarinov, a small, dry,
+old man, with closely-cut, silver-grey hair, he guessed that he would
+have a refusal. This made him feel wretched, but he could not help
+smiling an artless pleasant smile, as though he wished to show that it
+did not matter in the least, that he really did not count on anything.
+The smile evidently irritated Semiboyarinov.
+
+“I’ve got your letter, my dear fellow,” said he at last in his dry,
+deliberate voice. “But there’s nothing that I can see just now.”
+
+“Nothing?” mumbled Igumnov, growing red.
+
+“Absolutely nothing, my dear fellow. Every place is taken. And I don’t
+see anything in prospect for the near future. Perhaps something might
+be done for you at New Year.”
+
+“I’ll be glad of a chance even then,” said Igumnov, smiling in such a
+way as to suggest that a mere eight months was of no account to him.
+
+“Yes, I’ll be very glad to do something then. If it depended upon me
+you’d get your place to-day. I’d like very much to be of use to you, my
+good man.”
+
+“Thank you,” said Igumnov.
+
+“But tell me,” asked Semiboyarinov sympathetically, “why did you leave
+your old place?”
+
+“They found no use for me,” answered Igumnov, confused.
+
+“No use for you? Well, I hope we’ll find some use for you. Let me have
+your address, my good fellow.”
+
+Semiboyarinov began to rummage on his table for a piece of paper.
+Igumnov just then caught sight of his own letter under a marble
+paper-weight.
+
+“My address is in the letter,” he said.
+
+“So it is!” said his host briskly. “I’ll make a note of it.”
+
+“I have the habit,” observed Igumnov, rising from his place, “always to
+write my address at the beginning of a letter.”
+
+“A European habit,” commended his host.
+
+Igumnov took his leave and went out smiling, proud of his European
+habits, which, however, did not prevent him from feeling hungry. He was
+almost glad that the unpleasant conversation was at an end. He recalled
+all the polite words, and especially those that contained the promise;
+foolish hopes awakened in him. But a few minutes later, as he was
+walking in the street, he realized that the promise would come to
+nothing. Besides, it was made for the future, and he had need of food
+now, and he must go to his lodgings with a heavy heart—what would his
+landlady say? What could he say to her?
+
+Igumnov began to walk more slowly, then he turned in the opposite
+direction. Lost in gloom, he walked on, pale and hungry, through the
+noisy streets of the capital, past busy satiated people. His smile
+vanished. The look of dark despair gave a certain significance to his
+usually little expressive features.
+
+He was now close to the Niva. The huge dome of the Isakiyevski
+Cathedral glowed golden in the wide expanse of blue sky. The large open
+squares and streets were enveloped in the gentle, scarcely perceptible,
+dust-like haze of the rays of the setting sun. The din of carriages was
+softened in these magnificent open spaces. Everything seemed strange
+and hostile to the hungry, helpless man. The beautiful, rich-coloured
+fruits behind the shop windows could not have been more inaccessible if
+they were under the watch of a strong guard.
+
+Children were playing merrily in the green square. Igumnov looked at
+them and smiled. Unpleasant memories of his own childhood tormented him
+with an intense pity for himself. He reflected that it was only left to
+him to die. The thought frightened him. And again he reflected: “Why
+shouldn’t I die? Wasn’t there a time when I did not exist? I shall have
+rest, eternal oblivion.”
+
+Fragments of wise strange thoughts came to him and soothed him.
+
+Igumnov was now on the embankment. He leant against the granite parapet
+and watched the restless waters of the river. A single move, he
+thought, and everything would be ended. But it was terrible to think of
+drowning, of struggling with one’s mouth full of water, of being
+strangled by these heavy, cold sweeps of water, of battling helplessly,
+and of at last sinking from sheer exhaustion to the bottom, there to be
+carried by the undercurrents, and at last to be cast out, a shapeless
+corpse, upon some coast of the sea.
+
+Igumnov shivered and moved away from the river. He suddenly espied not
+far away his former colleague Kurkov. Smartly dressed, cheerful and
+self-satisfied, Kurkov was walking slowly and swinging a thin cane with
+a fancy handle.
+
+“Ah, Grigory Petrovich!” he exclaimed, as though he were glad of the
+meeting. “Are you strolling, or are you on business?”
+
+“Yes, I’m strolling, that is on business,” said Igumnov.
+
+“I think we are going the same way?”
+
+They walked on together. Kurkov’s cheerful chatter only intensified
+Igumnov’s mood. Moving his shoulders nervously he addressed Kurkov with
+sudden resolution: “Nikolai Sergeyevich, do you happen to have a rouble
+on you?”
+
+“A rouble?” said Kurkov in astonishment. “Why do you want it?”
+
+Igumnov flushed, and began to explain in stammers. “You see, I ... just
+one rouble is lacking.... I have to get something ... something, you
+see....”
+
+He breathed heavily in his agitation. He grew silent, and smiled a
+pitiful, fixed smile.
+
+“That means I shan’t get it back,” thought Kurkov.
+
+And now he spoke no longer in the same careless tone as before.
+
+“I’d like to, but I haven’t any spare cash, not a copeck. I had to
+borrow some yesterday myself.”
+
+“Well, if you haven’t it, you can’t help it,” mumbled Igumnov, and
+continued to smile. “I’ll simply have to get along without it.”
+
+His smile irritated Kurkov, perhaps because it was such a pitiful,
+helpless affair.
+
+“Why does he smile?” thought Kurkov in vexation. “Doesn’t he believe
+me? Well, I don’t care if he doesn’t—I don’t own the Government
+exchequer.”
+
+“Why don’t you come in sometimes and see us?” he asked Igumnov in a
+careless, dry manner, as he looked elsewhere.
+
+“I am always meaning to. Of course I’ll come in,” answered Igumnov in a
+trembling voice. “What about to-day?”
+
+There rose before him a picture of the cosy dining-room of the Kurkovs,
+the hospitable hostess, the samovar on the table and the various tasty
+tit-bits.
+
+“To-day?” asked Kurkov in the same careless, dry voice. “No, we shan’t
+be home to-day. But do step in some day before long. Well, I must turn
+up this lane. Good-bye!”
+
+And he made haste to cross the wooden walk of the embankment. Igumnov
+looked after him, and smiled. Slow, incoherent thoughts crept through
+his brain.
+
+As Kurkov disappeared up the lane Igumnov again approached the granite
+parapet, and, trembling in cold terror, began slowly and awkwardly to
+climb over it.
+
+There was no one near.
+
+
+
+THE HOOP
+
+I
+
+A woman was taking her morning stroll in a lonely suburban street; a
+boy of four was with her. She was young and smart and she was smiling
+brightly; she was casting affectionate glances at her son, whose red
+cheeks beamed with happiness. The boy was bowling a hoop; a large, new,
+bright yellow hoop. He ran after his hoop awkwardly, laughed
+uproariously with joy, thrust forward his plump little legs, bare at
+the knee, and flourished his stick. He needn’t have raised his stick so
+high above his head—but what of that?
+
+What happiness! He had never had a hoop before; how briskly it made him
+run!
+
+And nothing of this had existed for him before; everything was new to
+him—the streets in early morning, the merry sun, and the distant din of
+the city. Everything was new to the boy—and joyous and pure.
+
+II
+
+A shabbily dressed old man, with coarse hands stood at the street
+crossing. He pressed close to the wall to let the woman and the boy
+pass. The old man looked at the boy with dull eyes and smiled stupidly.
+Confused, sluggish thoughts struggled within his almost bald head.
+
+“A little gentleman!” said he to himself. “Quite a small fellow. And
+simply bursting with joy. Just look at him cutting his paces!”
+
+He could not quite understand it. Somehow it seemed strange to him.
+
+Here was a child—a thing to be pulled about by the hair! Play is
+mischief. Children, as every one knows, are mischief-makers.
+
+And there was the mother—she uttered no reproach, she made no fuss, she
+did not scold. She was smart and bright. It was quite easy to see that
+they were used to warmth and comfort.
+
+On the other hand, when he, the old man, was a boy he lived a dog’s
+life! There was nothing particularly rosy in his life even now; though,
+to be sure, he was no longer thrashed and he had plenty to eat. He
+recalled his younger days—their hunger, their cold, their drubbings. He
+had never had fun with a hoop, or other playthings of well-to-do folks.
+Thus passed all his life—in poverty, in care, in misery. And he could
+recall nothing—not a single joy.
+
+He smiled with his toothless mouth at the boy, and he envied him. He
+reflected:
+
+“What a silly sport!”
+
+But envy tormented him.
+
+He went to work—to the factory where he had worked from childhood,
+where he had grown old. And all day he thought of the boy.
+
+It was a fixed, deep-rooted thought. He simply could not get the boy
+out of his mind. He saw him running, laughing, stamping his feet,
+bowling the hoop. What plump little legs he had, bared at the knee!...
+
+All day long, amid the din of the factory wheels, the boy with the hoop
+appeared to him. And at night he saw the boy in a dream.
+
+III
+
+Next morning his reveries again pursued the old man.
+
+The machines were clattering, the labour was monotonous, automatic. The
+hands were busy at their accustomed tasks; the toothless mouth was
+smiling at a diverting fancy. The air was thick with dust, and under
+the high ceiling strap after strap, with hissing sound, glided quickly
+from wheel to wheel, endless in number. The far corners were invisible
+for the dense escaping vapours. Men emerged here and there like
+phantoms, and the human voice was not heard for the incessant din of
+the machines.
+
+The old man’s fancy was at work—he had become a little boy for the
+moment, his mother was a gentlewoman, and he had his hoop and his
+little stick; he was playing, driving the hoop with the little stick.
+He wore a white costume, his little legs were plump, bare at the
+knee....
+
+The days passed; the work went on, the fancy persisted.
+
+IV
+
+The old man was returning from work one evening when he saw the hoop of
+an old barrel lying in the street. It was a rough, dirty object. The
+old man trembled with happiness, and tears appeared in his dull eyes. A
+sudden, almost irresistible desire took possession of him.
+
+He glanced cautiously around him; then he bent down, picked up the hoop
+with trembling hands, and smiling shamefacedly, carried it home with
+him.
+
+No one noticed him, no one questioned him. Whose concern was it? A
+ragged old man was carrying an old, battered, useless hoop—who cared?
+
+He carried it stealthily, afraid of ridicule. Why he picked it up and
+why he carried it, he himself could not tell. Still, it was like the
+boy’s hoop, and this was enough. There was no harm in it lying about.
+
+He could look at it; he could touch it. It would stimulate his
+reveries; the whistle and turmoil of the factory would grow fainter,
+the escaping vapours less dense....
+
+For several days the hoop lay under the bed in the old man’s poor,
+cramped quarters. Sometimes he would take it from its place and look at
+it; the dirty, grey hoop soothed the old man, and the sight of it
+quickened his persistent thoughts about the happy little boy.
+
+V
+
+It was a clear, warm morning, and the birds were chirping away in the
+consumptive urban trees somewhat more cheerfully than usual. The old
+man rose early, took his hoop, and walked a little distance out of
+town.
+
+He coughed as he made his way among the old trees and the thorny bushes
+in the woods. The trees, covered with their dry, blackish, bursting
+bark, seemed to him incomprehensibly and sternly silent. The odours
+were strange, the insects astonishing, the ferns of gigantic growth.
+There was neither dust nor din here, and the gentle, exquisite morning
+mist lay behind the trees. The old feet glided over the dry leaves and
+stumbled across the old gnarled roots.
+
+The old man broke off a dry limb and hung his hoop upon it.
+
+He came upon an opening, full of daylight and of calm. The dewdrops,
+countless and opalescent, gleamed upon the green blades of newly mown
+grass.
+
+Suddenly the old man let the hoop slide off the stick. He struck with
+the stick, and sent the hoop rolling across the green lawn. The old man
+laughed, brightened at once, and pursued the hoop like that little boy.
+He kicked up his feet and drove the hoop with his stick, which he
+flourished high over his head, just as that little boy did.
+
+It seemed to him that he was small, beloved, and happy. It seemed to
+him that he was being looked after by his mother, who was following
+close behind and smiling. Like a child on his first outing, he felt
+refreshed on the bright grass, and on the still mosses.
+
+His goat-like, dust-grey beard, that harmonized with his sallow face,
+trembled, while his cough mingled with his laughter, and raucous sounds
+came from his toothless mouth.
+
+VI
+
+And the old man grew to love his morning hour in the woods with the
+hoop.
+
+He sometimes thought he might be discovered, and ridiculed—and this
+aroused him to a keen sense of shame. This shame resembled fear; he
+would grow numb, and his knees would give way under him. He would look
+round him with fright and timidity.
+
+But no—there was no one to be seen, or to be heard....
+
+And having diverted himself to his heart’s content he would return to
+the city, smiling gently and joyously.
+
+VII
+
+No one had ever found him out. And nothing unusual ever happened. The
+old man played peacefully for several days, and one very dewy morning
+he caught cold. He went to bed, and soon died. Dying in the factory
+hospital, among strangers, indifferent people, he smiled serenely.
+
+His memories soothed him. He, too, had been a child; he, too, had
+laughed and scampered across the green grass, among the dark trees—his
+beloved mother had followed him with her eyes.
+
+
+
+THE SEARCH
+
+I
+
+The pleasant in life has a way of mixing with the unpleasant. It is
+pleasant to be a student of the first class, for it gives one a certain
+standing in the world. But even the life of a student of the first
+class is not free from unpleasantness.
+
+The first thing of which Shura was conscious when he awoke one morning
+was that something was tearing on his person. He felt uncomfortable. As
+he turned on his side he was even more clearly aware of the damage that
+his shirt had suffered. There was a large gap under the armpits, and
+presently he realized that it extended down to the very bottom.
+
+Shura was sad. He remembered having told his mother only the day before
+about the condition of his shirt.
+
+“Wear it another day, Shurochka,” she answered him.
+
+Shura frowned and said rather sadly: “Mother, it won’t stand another
+day’s wear. To-morrow I shall be a ragamuffin.”
+
+Without looking up from her work she grumbled.
+
+“Let me have some peace. I have already promised you a change to-morrow
+evening. If you’d only be less mischievous your clothes would last
+longer. You’d wear out iron.”
+
+Shura, who was a quiet lad, growled back in reply:
+
+“One simply couldn’t be less mischievous than I. Only sometimes you
+can’t help it, and then in a reasonable sort of way.”
+
+His request went unheeded. And here was the consequence. His shirt was
+torn to its very hem. It was now good for nothing, all for want of a
+little foresight.
+
+He jumped out of bed, and ran semi-nude into the next-room, where his
+mother was making ready to go out to bring back some paying homework.
+The thought of going to school in discomfort and of waiting till
+evening vexed him.
+
+“What did I tell you?” he exclaimed. “You wouldn’t give me a shirt when
+I asked you yesterday. Now look what’s happened!”
+
+Deeply annoyed, she looked at Shura and complained.
+
+“Aren’t you ashamed to run about like that? I fear I’ll never drum any
+sense into you. You always come bothering me when I’m in a hurry.”
+
+Still, it was quite evident that it would not do to let the lad go in
+tatters. She found a brand new shirt and gave it to Shura somewhat
+reluctantly, as she had intended giving him one of the old ones, which
+were not due to arrive from the laundry until the evening.
+
+Shura was overjoyed. The new linen gave him a pleasant sensation, its
+harsh cold surface tickled the skin most pleasantly. He laughed, and he
+pranced about the room as he dressed; and his mother was not there to
+scold him.
+
+II
+
+The school, as always, seemed such a strange place. It was both gay and
+depressing, and hummed with a kind of unnatural industry. It was gay in
+the intervals between the lessons, and extremely tedious during the
+lessons.
+
+The subjects of study were most singular and useless. They concerned:
+folk, who had died long ago and did no good while they lived, and whom,
+for some unknown reason, it was necessary to recall after all these
+centuries, although some of the personages had never even existed;
+verbs, which were conjugated with something; nouns, which were declined
+for some purpose or other, though no use could be found for them in
+living speech; figures, which call for proofs of something which need
+not be proven at all; and much else, equally inconsequential and
+absurd. And there was nothing in all this that one could not do
+without; there was no correlation of facts, there was no
+straightforward answer to the eternal question: Why and Wherefore?
+
+III
+
+That morning early, in the assembly room, Mitya Krinin asked Shura:
+“Well, have you brought it?”
+
+Shura recalled that he had promised to bring Krinin a book of popular
+songs. He replied: “Just a moment. I’ve left it in my overcoat.”
+
+He ran into the dressing-room. The bells suddenly rang out in all parts
+of the building, calling the students to prayer, without which the
+lessons could hardly be expected to begin.
+
+Shura made haste. He put his hand in the overcoat pocket, found
+nothing; then, on discovering that it was some one else’s overcoat, he
+exclaimed in vexation:
+
+“There now, that’s something new—my hand in another boy’s overcoat!”
+
+And he began to search in his own.
+
+There was an outburst of derisive laughter. He looked around, startled,
+to find there the mischievous Dutikov, who called out in his unpleasant
+voice: “So, my boy, you’re going through other people’s pockets!”
+
+Shura growled back angrily: “It’s not your affair. Anyway, I’m not
+going through yours.”
+
+He found his book and ran back to the assembly room, where the students
+were already ranging themselves for the service, forming into long
+rows, according to height. The smaller students stood in front, near to
+the ikons, the taller behind; and in each row, in gradation, the lads
+on the right were taller than those on the left. The school faculty
+considered it necessary for them to pray in rows, and according to
+height; otherwise the prayer might come to nothing. Apart from them,
+there was a group of boys more proficient in chanting, and the leader
+of these, at the beginning of each chant, changed his voice several
+times—this was called “setting the tone.” The singing was loud, rapid,
+expressionless; they might have all been beating drums. The head
+student was reading in the prayer book the prayers which it was
+customary to read and not to sing—and his reading was just as loud,
+just as expressionless. In a word, it was the same as ever.
+
+But after prayers something happened.
+
+IV
+
+Student Epiphanov, of the second class, brought with him to school that
+morning a pearl-handled penknife and a silver rouble, and now these
+were nowhere to be found. He raised a cry and went to complain.
+
+An investigation was started.
+
+Dutikov reported that he had seen Shura Dolinin going through the
+pockets of some one’s overcoat. Shura was called into the cabinet of
+the director.
+
+Sergey Ivanovich, the director, fixed his suspicious eyes on the lad.
+The old tutor, who saw an excellent chance of catching a thief, and
+incidentally of balancing accounts somewhat for tricks that had been
+played upon him by the mischievous lads, experienced malicious pleasure
+and pounced upon the confused, flushing lad with questions.
+
+“Why were you in the dressing-room during prayer?”
+
+“Before prayer, Sergey Ivanovich,” whimpered Shura in a voice squeaky
+from fright.
+
+“Very well, before prayer,” said the director with irony in his voice.
+“What I want to know is why were you there?”
+
+Shura explained.
+
+The director continued: “Very well, after a book. But why in some one
+else’s pocket?”
+
+“It was a mistake,” said Shura, distressed.
+
+“A nice mistake,” remarked the director dryly. “Now confess, haven’t
+you taken by mistake a penknife and a rouble. By mistake, mind you?
+Look through your pockets, my lad.”
+
+Shura began to cry, and said through his tears: “I haven’t stolen
+anything.”
+
+The director smiled. It was pleasant to provoke tears. Such beautiful
+and such large childish tears trickled down the pink cheeks in three
+separate streams: two streams of tears came from one eye, and only one
+from the other.
+
+“If you haven’t stolen anything why do you cry?” said the director in a
+bantering tone. “I don’t even say that you have stolen. I assume that
+you merely made a mistake: caught hold of something that came into your
+hand, and then forgot all about it. Suppose you look through your
+pockets.”
+
+Shura quickly drew from his pockets all the absurd trifles usually
+found on boys, and then turned both his pockets inside out.
+
+“Nothing,” he said sadly.
+
+The director gave him a searching look.
+
+“You are sure it hasn’t dropped down in your clothes somewhere—the
+knife might have slipped into your boots, eh?”
+
+He rang. The watchman came.
+
+Shura was crying. And everything round him seemed to float in a rose
+mist, in the incomprehensible mental void of his degradation. They
+turned Shura about, felt him all over, searched him. Little by little
+they undressed him. First they took off his boots and shook them out;
+they did the same with his stockings. His belt, blouse and breeches
+followed. Everything was shaken out and searched.
+
+And through all this torment of shame, through all this indignity of a
+degrading and needless ceremony there penetrated one resplendent ray of
+joy; the torn shirt was at home, and the new, clean one rustled in the
+coarse hands of the zealous pedagogue.
+
+Shura stood in his shirt, crying. Behind the door he could hear
+tumultuous voices and cries of joy.
+
+The door burst open, and a little, red-cheeked, smiling chap entered
+hurriedly. And through his shame, through his tears, and through his
+joy about the new shirt, Shura heard a confused and panting voice say:
+
+“It’s been found, Sergey Ivanovich. On Epiphanov himself. There was a
+hole in his pocket—the penknife and rouble slipped down into his boot.”
+
+Then, suddenly, they became gentle with Shura. They stroked his head,
+comforted him, and helped him to dress.
+
+V
+
+Now he cried, now he laughed. At home he again cried and laughed. He
+complained:
+
+“I was entirely undressed. It would have been nice, wouldn’t it, if I
+had been wearing that torn shirt!”
+
+Later—yes, what happened later? His mother would go to the director.
+She wished to make a scene. Afterwards she would lodge a complaint
+against him. But she recalled, in the street, that her boy was a
+non-paying student. There was no scene. Besides, the director received
+her pleasantly. He was so apologetic.
+
+The impression of his degradation remained with the boy. All its
+incidents had impressed themselves upon him: he had been suspected of
+theft, and searched, and he had stood, almost naked, undergoing the
+scrutiny of an officious person. Shameful? Let us, by all means,
+console ourselves that it is an experience useful to life.
+
+Weeping, the mother said: “Who knows—perhaps when you grow up,
+something of the sort will really happen. We’ve heard of such things in
+our time.”
+
+
+
+THE WHITE MOTHER
+
+I
+
+Easter was near. Esper Constantinovich Saksaoolov was in a painful and
+undecided state of mind. It seemed to have begun when he was asked at
+the Gorodischevs: “Where are you greeting the holiday?”
+
+Saksaoolov, for some reason, did not reply at once. The housewife, who
+was stout, short-sighted and fussy, went on: “Come to us.”
+
+Saksaoolov felt vexed—most likely at the young girl, who at the words
+of her mother gave him a quick glance, then averted it, and continued
+her conversation with a professor’s young assistant.
+
+Mothers of grown daughters saw a possible husband in Saksaoolov, which
+annoyed him. He considered himself an old bachelor at thirty-seven.
+
+He answered sharply: “Thank you. But I always pass that night at home.”
+
+The girl glanced at him with a smile and asked: “With whom?”
+
+“Alone,” answered Saksaoolov with a shade of astonishment in his voice.
+
+“You’re a misanthrope,” said Madame Gorodischeva, with a sour smile.
+
+Saksaoolov valued his freedom. It seemed strange to him, whenever he
+thought of it, that he had been so near marriage once. He had lived
+long in his small but tastefully furnished apartment, had got used to
+his man attendant, the elderly and steady Fedota, and to Fedota’s not
+less reliable spouse, who cooked his dinner; and he persuaded himself
+that he ought to remain single out of memory to his first love. In
+truth, his heart was growing cold from indifference born of a lonely,
+incomplete life.
+
+He had his own fortune, his father and mother had died long ago, and he
+had no near relatives. He lived methodically and quietly; had something
+to do with a government department; was intimately acquainted with
+contemporary literature and art; and was something of an epicurean—but
+life itself seemed to him to be empty and aimless. Were it not that one
+pure, radiant fancy visited him at times he would have become entirely
+cold, like many others.
+
+II
+
+His first and only love, which ended before it had time to blossom,
+wrapt him closely in sad and sweet reveries, usually in the evenings.
+Five years earlier he had met a young girl who left an indelible
+impression upon him. She was pale, gentle, slender, with blue eyes, and
+fair wavy hair. She almost seemed to him not to belong to this earth,
+but was like a creature of air and mist, blown for a brief moment by
+fate into the city turmoil. Her movements were slow; her gentle, clear
+voice was soft, like the murmur of a brook purling over stones.
+
+Saksaoolov, whether by chance or not, saw her always in a white dress.
+The impression of white had become inseparable from his thought of her.
+Her very name, Tamar, suggested to him something as white as the snow
+on the mountain tops.
+
+He began to visit her at the house of her parents. More than once he
+had resolved to say to her those words which bind human fates together.
+But she never let him go on; she would always grow frightened and shy,
+and she would rise and leave him. What frightened her? Saksaoolov read
+signs of virgin love in her face; her eyes grew brighter when he
+entered, and a light flush suffused her cheeks.
+
+But one never-to-be-forgotten day she listened to him. It was in the
+early spring. The ice on the river was gone, and the trees were covered
+with a soft green veil. Tamar and Saksaoolov were sitting before the
+window in the city house, and looking out on the Niva. He spoke,
+scarcely knowing what he said, but his words were both gentle and
+terrible to her. She grew pale, smiled vaguely, and rose. Her slender
+hand trembled on the carved top of the chair.
+
+“To-morrow,” Tamar said quietly, and went out.
+
+Saksaoolov gazed with intense feeling toward the door behind which
+Tamar had disappeared. His head was in a whirl. His eye fell upon a
+sprig of white lilac; he picked it up almost absently, and left without
+bidding his hosts good-bye.
+
+He could not sleep that night. He stood at the window and looked out
+into the far-stretching streets, at first dark, then lighter at dawn;
+he smiled and pressed the sprig of lilac between his fingers. When it
+grew light he noticed that the floor of the room was strewn with white
+petals of lilac. This seemed both curious and of happy omen to
+Saksaoolov. He felt the cool of the breeze on his heated face. He took
+a bath and he felt refreshed. Then he went to Tamar.
+
+They told him that she was ill, that she had caught a cold somewhere.
+And Saksaoolov never saw her again; she died within two weeks. He did
+not go to her funeral. Her death left him quite calm, and he no longer
+knew whether he had loved her or whether it was a short, passing
+fascination.
+
+He mused about her sometimes in the evening; but he gradually learned
+to forget her; and Saksaoolov had no portrait of her. But after a few
+years—more precisely, only a year ago—in the spring, upon seeing a
+sprig of lilac sadly out of place among rich eatables in a restaurant
+window, he remembered Tamar. And from that time on he loved to think of
+Tamar again during the evenings.
+
+Sometimes, as he fell into a light sleep, he dreamt that Tamar came to
+him, sat opposite him, and looked at him with unaverted, fond eyes; and
+that she had something to tell him. And it was painful to feel Tamar’s
+expectant glance upon him, and not know what she wanted of him.
+
+Now, leaving the Gorodischevs, he thought timidly: “She will come to
+give me the kiss of Easter.”
+
+A feeling of fear and loneliness took hold of him with such intensity
+that the idea came to him: “Perhaps it would be well to marry so as not
+to be alone on holy, mysterious nights.”
+
+He thought of Valeria Mikhailovna, the Gorodischev girl. She was by no
+means a beauty, but she was always dressed becomingly to set off her
+looks. She apparently liked him, and was not likely to reject him if he
+asked her.
+
+The throng and din in the street distracted him and his usual somewhat
+ironic mood swayed his thoughts of the Gorodischev girl. Could he prove
+false to Tamar’s memory for any one else? Everything in the world
+seemed so paltry to him that he wished no one but Tamar to give him the
+kiss of Easter.
+
+“But,” thought he, “she will again look at me with expectancy. White,
+gentle Tamar, what does she want? Will her gentle lips kiss me?”
+
+III
+
+Saksaoolov thought sadly of Tamar as he wandered in the streets, and
+looking into the faces of the passers-by he thought many of the older
+people unpleasantly coarse. He recalled that there was no one with whom
+he would exchange the kiss of Easter with real desire and joy. There
+would be many coarse lips and prickly beards, smelling of wine, to kiss
+the first day.
+
+It was much pleasanter to kiss the children. Children’s faces grew
+lovely in Saksaoolov’s eyes.
+
+He walked a long time, and when he was tired he entered a church
+enclosure just off the noisy street. A pale lad sat on a form and
+looked up frightened at Saksaoolov; then he once more began to gaze
+absently before him. His blue eyes were gentle and sad, like Tamar’s.
+He was so small that his feet projected from the seat.
+
+Saksaoolov, who sat near him, began to eye him, half with pity, half
+with curiosity. There was something in this youngster that stirred his
+memory with joy, and at the same time excited him. In appearance he was
+a most ordinary urchin; he had on ragged clothes, a white fur cap on
+his bright hair, and a pair of dirty boots, worse for wear.
+
+He sat long on the form, then he rose suddenly and gave a cry. He ran
+out of the gate into the street, then stopped, turned quickly in
+another direction, and again stopped. It was clear that he did not know
+which way to turn. He began to weep quietly, making no ado, and large
+tears ran down his cheeks. A crowd gathered. A policeman came. They
+began to ask him where he lived.
+
+“At the Gliukhov house,” he lisped in a childlike but indistinct tone.
+
+“In what street,” the policeman asked.
+
+The boy did not know, and only kept on repeating: “At the Gliukhov
+house.”
+
+The young and good-natured policeman thought awhile, and decided that
+there was no such house near.
+
+“With whom do you live?” asked a gruff workman. “With your father?”
+
+“I have no father,” answered the boy, as he scanned the faces round him
+with his tearful eyes.
+
+“So you’ve got no father, that’s how it is,” said the workman gravely,
+and shook his head. “Then where’s your mother?”
+
+“I have a mother,” the boy replied.
+
+“What’s her name?”
+
+“Mamma,” said the boy; then, upon reflection, he added, “black mamma.”
+
+Some one laughed in the crowd.
+
+“Black? I wonder whether that’s the name of the family?” suggested the
+gruff workman.
+
+“First it was a white mamma, and now it’s a black mamma,” said the boy.
+
+“There’s no making head or tail of this,” decided the policeman. “I’ll
+take him to the station. They’ll telephone about it.”
+
+He went to the gate and rang. But the house-porter had already seen the
+policeman and, besom in hand, he was coming to the gate. The policeman
+ordered him to take the boy to the station. But the boy suddenly
+bethought himself, and cried out: “Never mind, let me go, I’ll find the
+way myself.”
+
+Perhaps he was frightened of the house-porter’s besom, or perhaps he
+had really recalled something; at any rate he ran off so hard that
+Saksaoolov almost lost sight of him. But soon the boy walked more
+quietly. He turned street corners and ran from one side to the other
+searching for, but not finding, his home. Saksaoolov followed him in
+silence. He was not an adept at talking to children.
+
+At last the boy grew tired. He stopped before a lamp-post and leant
+against it. Tears gleamed in his eyes.
+
+“My dear boy,” said Saksaoolov, “haven’t you found it yet?”
+
+The lad looked at him with his sad, soft eyes, and Saksaoolov suddenly
+understood what had impelled him to follow the boy with such
+resolution. There was something in the face and glance of the little
+wanderer that gave him an unusual likeness to Tamar.
+
+“My dear boy, what’s your name?” asked Saksaoolov in a tender and
+agitated voice.
+
+“Lesha,” said the boy.
+
+“Tell me, dear Lesha, do you live with your mother?”
+
+“Yes, with mamma. Only now it’s a black mamma—and before it was a white
+mamma.”
+
+Saksaoolov thought that by black mamma he meant a nun.
+
+“How did you get lost?” he asked.
+
+“I walked with mamma, and we walked and walked. She told me to sit down
+and wait, and then she went away. And I got frightened.”
+
+“Who is your mother?”
+
+“My mamma? She’s so black and so angry.”
+
+“What does she do?”
+
+The boy thought awhile.
+
+“She drinks coffee,” he said.
+
+“What else does she do?”
+
+“She quarrels with the lodgers,” answered Lesha after a pause.
+
+“And where is your white mamma?”
+
+“She was carried away. She was put into a coffin and carried away. And
+papa was carried away.”
+
+The boy pointed into the distance somewhere and burst into tears.
+
+“What’s to be done with him?” thought Saksaoolov.
+
+Then suddenly the boy began to run again. After he had turned a few
+corners he went more quietly. Saksaoolov overtook him a second time.
+The lad’s face expressed a strange mixture of joy and fear.
+
+“Here’s the Gliukhov house,” he said to Saksaoolov, as he pointed to a
+huge, five-storeyed monstrosity.
+
+At this moment there appeared at the gates of the Gliukhov house a
+black-haired, black-eyed woman in a black dress, a black kerchief with
+white dots on her head. The boy shrank back in fear.
+
+“Mamma,” he whispered.
+
+His stepmother looked at him with astonishment.
+
+“How did you get here, you young whelp!” she shrieked out. “I told you
+to sit on the bench, didn’t I?”
+
+She seemed to be on the point of whipping him when she noticed that
+some sort of gentleman, serious and dignified in appearance, was
+watching them, and she spoke more softly.
+
+“Can’t I leave you for a half-hour anywhere without you taking to your
+heels? I’ve walked my feet off looking for you, you young whelp!”
+
+She caught the child’s very small hand in her own huge one and dragged
+him within the gate. Saksaoolov made a note of the house number and the
+name of the street, and went home.
+
+IV
+
+Saksaoolov liked to listen to the opinions of Fedota. When he returned
+home he told him about the boy Lesha.
+
+“She did it on purpose,” decided Fedota. “Just think what a witch she
+is to take the boy such a way from home!”
+
+“Why should she?” Saksaoolov asked.
+
+“It’s simple enough. What can you expect of a stupid woman! She thought
+the boy would get lost somewhere, and some one would pick him up. After
+all, she’s a stepmother. What’s a homeless child to her?”
+
+Saksaoolov was incredulous. He observed: “But the police would have
+found her out.”
+
+“Of course they would; but you can’t tell, she may have meant to leave
+town; then find her if you can.”
+
+Saksaoolov smiled.
+
+“Really,” he thought, “my Fedota should be a district attorney.”
+
+He fell into a doze that evening as he sat reading before a lamp. Tamar
+appeared to him—the gentle, white Tamar—and sat down beside him. Her
+face was strangely like Lesha’s face. She looked steadily and
+persistently, and awaited something. It tormented Saksaoolov to see her
+bright, pleading eyes, and not to know what she wanted. He rose quickly
+and went to the armchair where he thought he saw Tamar sitting. He
+stopped before her and asked loudly and with emotion:
+
+“What do you wish? Tell me.”
+
+But she was no longer there.
+
+“It was only a dream,” thought Saksaoolov sadly.
+
+V
+
+The next day, as he was leaving the academy exhibition, Saksaoolov met
+the Gorodischevs. He told the girl about Lesha.
+
+“Poor boy,” said Valeria Mikhailovna quietly. “His stepmother is trying
+to get rid of him.”
+
+“That’s yet to be proved,” said Saksaoolov.
+
+He felt annoyed that every one, including Fedota and Valeria, should
+look so tragically upon a simple incident.
+
+“That’s quite evident,” said Valeria Mikhailovna warmly. “There’s no
+father, and only a stepmother to whom he is simply a burden. No good
+will come of it—the boy will have a sad end.”
+
+“You take too gloomy a view of the matter,” observed Saksaoolov, with a
+smile.
+
+“You ought to take him to yourself,” Valeria Mikhailovna advised him.
+
+“I?” asked Saksaoolov with astonishment.
+
+“You are living alone,” Valeria Mikhailovna persisted. “You have no
+one. Here’s a chance for you to do a good deed at Eastertime! At least,
+you’ll have some one with whom to exchange the kiss of Easter.”
+
+“I beg you to tell me, Valeria Mikhailovna, what am I to do with a
+child?”
+
+“You might engage a governess. Fate itself is sending the boy to you.”
+
+Saksaoolov looked with amazement and involuntary tenderness at the
+girl’s flushed, animated face.
+
+When Tamar again appeared to him that evening he seemed already to know
+her wish. It was as though, in the silence of the room, he heard her
+tranquilly spoken words: “Do as she advised you.”
+
+Saksaoolov rose joyously and rubbed his drowsy eyes with his hand. He
+saw a sprig of white lilac on the table, and was astonished. How did it
+come there? Did Tamar leave it there as a sign of her wish?
+
+And he suddenly thought that if he married the Gorodischeva girl and
+took Lesha into his house he would be carrying out the will of Tamar.
+He breathed in the lilac’s aroma happily. He suddenly remembered that
+he himself had bought the sprig of lilac that same day.
+
+Then he argued with himself: “It really doesn’t matter that I had
+bought it myself; its real significance is that I had an impulse to buy
+it; and that later I forgot that I had bought it.”
+
+VI
+
+Next morning he went to fetch Lesha. The boy met him at the gate and
+showed him where he lived. Lesha’s black mamma was drinking coffee, and
+was quarrelling with her red-nosed lodger. Saksaoolov learnt something
+about Lesha from her.
+
+The lad lost his mother when he was three. His father married this
+black woman, and himself died within a year. The black woman, Irina
+Ivanovna, had her own son, now a year old. She was about to marry
+again. The wedding would take place in a few days and after the
+ceremony she would go with her husband to the provinces. Lesha was a
+stranger to her and she would rather do without him.
+
+“Give him to me,” suggested Saksaoolov.
+
+“With great pleasure,” said Irina Ivanovna with unconcealed and
+malignant joy.
+
+She added after a short silence: “Only you will pay for his clothes.”
+
+And so Lesha was presently installed at Saksaoolov’s. The Gorodischeva
+girl helped in the finding of a governess and in other details of
+Lesha’s comfort. This required her to visit Saksaoolov’s apartments.
+She assumed a different appearance in Saksaoolov’s eyes as she busied
+herself in these various cares. It was as though the door to her soul
+opened itself to him. Her eyes had become beaming and gentle, and she
+was permeated with almost the same tranquillity that breathed from
+Tamar.
+
+VII
+
+Lesha’s stories about the white mamma won over Fedota and his wife. As
+they put him to bed on Easter eve, they hung a white candied egg above
+his head.
+
+“It’s from the white mamma,” said Christina, “only you darling mustn’t
+touch it; at least not until the resurrection, when you’ll hear the
+bell ring.”
+
+Lesha lay down obediently. He looked long at the egg of joy and at last
+fell asleep.
+
+Saksaoolov was sitting alone in another room. Just before midnight an
+unconquerable drowsiness again closed his eyes, and he was glad that he
+would soon see Tamar.
+
+At last she came, all in white, joyous, bringing with her glad tidings
+from afar. She smiled gently, then bent over him, and—unspeakable
+happiness!—Saksaoolov’s lips felt a tender contact.
+
+A sweet voice said softly: “_Christoss Voskress!_” (Christ has risen).
+
+Saksaoolov, without opening his eyes stretched out his arms and
+embraced a slender, gentle body. It was Lesha who climbed on his knees
+and gave him the kiss of Easter.
+
+The church bell had awakened the boy. He seized the white egg and ran
+to Saksaoolov.
+
+Saksaoolov opened his eyes. Lesha laughed as he showed him the egg.
+
+“White mamma has sent it,” he lisped, “and I’ll give it to you, and you
+can give it to Aunt Valeria.”
+
+“Very well, my dear boy, I’ll do as you say,” said Saksaoolov.
+
+He put Lesha to bed, then went to Valeria Mikhailovna with Lesha’s
+white egg, a gift from the white mamma, but which really seemed to him
+at that moment to be a gift from Tamar herself.
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of he Old House and Other Tales, by Feodor Sologub
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 48452 ***
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-<pre>
-
-The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Old House and Other Tales, by Feodor Sologub
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
-the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-Title: The Old House and Other Tales
-
-Author: Feodor Sologub
-
-Release Date: March 10, 2015 [EBook #48452]
-Last updated: November 15, 2019
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD HOUSE AND OTHER TALES ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org
-(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.)
-
-
-
-
-
-
-</pre>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
-<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="cover" /><br/><br/>
-</div>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-<img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="frontispiece" /><br/><br/>
-</div>
-
-<h1>The Old House<br/>
-<small>and Other Tales</small></h1>
-
-<h2>by Feodor Sologub</h2>
-
-<h4>AUTHORISED TRANSLATION FROM THE RUSSIAN</h4>
-
-<h4>BY JOHN COURNOS</h4>
-
-<h5><i>SECOND IMPRESSION</i></h5>
-
-<h5>LONDON</h5>
-
-<h5>MARTIN SECKER</h5>
-
-<h5>NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET</h5>
-
-<h5>ADELPHI</h5>
-
-<h5>1916</h5>
-
-<p>
-<i>Acknowledgments are due to the Editor of &ldquo;The New Statesman&rdquo; for
-permission to republish The White Dog and The Hoop, which first appeared in
-that periodical</i>.
-</p>
-
-<hr />
-
-<h3>Contents</h3>
-
-<table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap00">INTRODUCTION</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap01">THE OLD HOUSE</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap02">THE UNITER OF SOULS</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap03">THE INVOKER OF THE BEAST</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap04">THE WHITE DOG</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap05">LIGHT AND SHADOWS</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap06">THE GLIMMER OF HUNGER</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap07">HIDE AND SEEK</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap08">THE SMILE</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap09">THE HOOP</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap10">THE SEARCH</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap11">THE WHITE MOTHER</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-</table>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap00"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2>
-
-<p>
-<i>&ldquo;Sologub&rdquo; is a pseudonym&mdash;the author&rsquo;s real name is
-Feodor Kuzmich Teternikov. He was born in 1863. He completed a scholastic
-course at Petrograd. His first published story appeared in the periodical
-&ldquo;Severny Viestnik&rdquo; in 1894, but it was not until about a dozen
-years later that he came into his fame, which he has since then further
-enhanced</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>This is all the biographical knowledge we have of a living novelist whose
-place in Russian literature is secure beyond all question; the scantiness of
-our knowledge is all the more amazing when we consider that the author is over
-fifty, and that his complete works are in their twentieth volume</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>These include almost every possible form of literary expression&mdash;the
-fairy tale, the poem, the play, the essay, the novel, and the short story.
-Sologub&rsquo;s place as a poet is hardly less assured than his place as a
-novelist</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>How little importance Sologub attaches to personal</i> réclame <i>may be
-gathered from his answer to repeated requests for a nutshell
-&ldquo;autobiography&rdquo; a type of document in vogue in Russia; Maxim
-Gorky&rsquo;s impressive model, I believe, is quite familiar to English
-readers</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>&ldquo;I cannot give you my autobiography,&rdquo; Sologub wrote to the
-editor of a literary almanac, &ldquo;as I do not think that my personality can
-be of sufficient interest to any one. And I haven&rsquo;t the time to waste on
-such unnecessary business as an autobiography.&rdquo;</i>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>At the beginning of his Complete Works, however, there is a poem in prose, a
-kind of spiritual autobiography in which he insists that all life is a miracle,
-and that his own surely is also. &ldquo;I simply and calmly reveal my soul ...
-in the hope that the intimate part of me shall become the universal.&rdquo;
-After such an avowal the reader will know where to look for the author&rsquo;s
-personality</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>In studying his work, one finds that he has both realism and fantasy. But
-while he is sometimes wholly realistic, he is seldom wholly fantastic. His
-fantasy has always its foundations in reality. His realism is as grey as that
-of Chekhov, whose logical successor he has been acclaimed by Russian criticism.
-But it is his prodigious fantasy that makes the point of his departure from the
-Chekhovian formula. When he combines the two qualities, the strange
-reconciliation thus effected produces a result as original as it is rich in
-&ldquo;the meaning of life.&rdquo; Sologub himself says somewhere</i>:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>&ldquo;I take a piece of life, coarse and poor, and make of it a delightful
-legend</i>.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>This sentence establishes the distinction between the two writers. Life for
-Chekhov may contain its delightful characters, life itself is seldom a
-delightful legend</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>Actually, Sologub sees life more greyly than Chekhov; perhaps it is this
-sense of grief &ldquo;too great to be borne&rdquo; that compels him to grope
-for an outlet, for some kind of relief. Already in his earliest novel one of
-the characters gives utterance to the significant words</i>:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Once you prove that life has no meaning, life becomes
-impossible</i>.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>This relief is to be found within oneself in the &ldquo;inner life&rdquo;;
-that is in the imagination, &ldquo;imagination the great consoler&rdquo; as
-Renan has said. Imagination is everything; it is, indeed, the invoker of all
-beauty; and admiration of beauty is the one escape out of life. The author,
-&ldquo;with whatever words he can find, speaks of one thing. Patiently calls
-towards the one thing....&rdquo; Writing of the sadness of life, he envelops
-this sadness in the beauty evoked by his imagination as in a flame, and withers
-it up. One finds him rejoicing that there is a life other than &ldquo;this
-ordinary, coarse, tedious, sunlight life,&rdquo; that there is a life that is
-&ldquo;nocturnal, prodigious, resembling a fairy tale.&rdquo;</i>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>It may sound like a startling antinomy to say that at his happiest Sologub
-is a compound of Chekhov and Poe. It could be put in another way: if Poe were a
-Russian, he might have written as Sologub writes. This is to say that the
-mystery with which Sologub endows his tales is never there for its own sake,
-but as a most intense symbol of reality.</i>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>Consider a story like &ldquo;The Invoker of the Beast.&rdquo; As a story of
-reincarnation it is a masterpiece of mystery. The reader, anxious for a good
-tale merely, may let the matter rest there. But can he? Can he listen to Gurov,
-who, while living through, in his delirium, his previous existence, is so
-insistent about the &ldquo;invincibility of his walls&rdquo;&mdash;and yet
-remain unmoved to the deep meaning of Gurov&rsquo;s cry? Are not the seemingly
-imperishable walls, within which Gurov thought himself secure from the Beast, a
-symbol of our own subtle insecurity? Is not our own Beast&mdash;be it some
-unexpected latent circumstance, or some unlooked-for yet inevitable consequence
-of a past action, on the part of our ancestors or of ourselves&mdash;ready to
-pounce upon us and ravage our hearts, after a long and relentless pursuit, from
-which in the end there is no escape?</i>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>Again, to one who has read most of Sologub&rsquo;s productions, the story of
-the Beast is interesting, because it contains, as it were, a synthesis of the
-author&rsquo;s tendencies. Its separate motifs are repeated in variation in
-many of his other stories. There is the boy Timarides, whom the author loves.
-Why?</i>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>Because Timarides is a child, because he is beautiful, trustful, and ready
-to do daring deeds. Timarides perhaps stands for the young generation
-reproaching the old for its neglect, its forgetfulness of its promises, its
-settling in a groove, its stripping itself of its happiest illusions</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>And throughout his work, Sologub reiterates his affection for children and
-the childlike. When he loves or pities an older person, he endows him with
-childlike attributes. He does this in the little story, &ldquo;The Hoop.&rdquo;
-Does the old man seem absurd to us? If so, it is to be inferred that the fault
-is with ourselves. We have grown too sophisticated</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>Here, again, Chekhov and Sologub meet. Chekhov loves the unpractical people,
-because they are usually more lovable personalities than the successful,
-practical ones; Sologub loves the absurd, the childlike, the quixotic, for the
-same reason</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>Rather than have them grow up and therefore become unlovable, Sologub makes
-some of his children die young. There is, for example, in one of his stories,
-sweet Rayechka, who died in a fall, and upon whom the boy, Mitya, recalling
-her, muses in this fashion: &ldquo;Had Rayechka lived to grow up, she might
-have become a housemaid like Darya, pomaded her hair, and squinted her cunning
-eyes.&rdquo;</i>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>In &ldquo;The Old House&rdquo; it is the children once more who are the
-revolutionaries&mdash;trustful, adorable, and daring. In &ldquo;The White
-Mother&rdquo; the bachelor, Saksaoolov, is redeemed through the boy, Lesha, who
-resembles his dead sweetheart</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>Schoolmasters and schoolchildren are among the characters who frequent the
-pages of Sologub&rsquo;s books. Sologub, it should be remembered, began life as
-a schoolmaster. The story &ldquo;Light and Shadows&rdquo; is, perhaps, a
-reflection upon our educational system which crams the young mind with a
-multitude of useless facts and starves the imagination; we see the reaction of
-the system on the delicate organism of a sensitive and imaginative child</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>Mothers share the author&rsquo;s affection for their children; but, like
-schoolmasters, mothers, unfortunately, are of two kinds. The world has its
-&ldquo;black mammas&rdquo; as well as its &ldquo;white mammas.&rdquo;</i>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>There are few writers who are so subtle, so insinuating, and so seductive,
-in their power to make the reader think; few writers who give so great a
-stimulus to the imagination</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>With Chekhov, Russian fiction turns definitely to town life for its
-material; nevertheless, the changes which the modern industrial system has
-brought about have in no wise weakened the mystic force of Russian literature.
-Sologub is a mystic, a mystic of Russian tradition; and Sologub is a product of
-Petrograd</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p class="right">
-<i>JOHN COURNOS</i>
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap01"></a>THE OLD HOUSE<a href="#linknote-1" name="linknoteref-1" id="linknoteref-1"><small>[1]</small></a></h2>
-
-<h3>I</h3>
-
-<p>
-It was an old, large, one-storied house, with a mezzanine. It stood in a
-village, eleven versts from a railway station, and about fifty versts from the
-district town. The garden which surrounded the house seemed lost in drowsiness,
-while beyond it stretched vistas and vistas of inexpressibly dull, infinitely
-depressing fields.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Once this house had been painted lavender, but now it was faded. Its roof, once
-red, had turned dark brown. But the pillars of the terrace were still quite
-strong, the little arbours in the garden were intact, and there was an
-Aphrodite in the shrubbery.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It seemed as if the old house were full of memories. It stood, as it were,
-dreaming, recalling, lapsing finally into a mood of sorrow at the overwhelming
-flood of doleful memories.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Everything in this house was as before, as in those days when the whole family
-lived there together in the summer, when Borya was yet alive.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Now, in the old manor, lived only women: Borya&rsquo;s grandmother, Elena
-Kirillovna Vodolenskaya; Borya&rsquo;s mother, Sofia Alexandrovna Ozoreva; and
-Borya&rsquo;s sister, Natalya Vasilyevna. The old grandmother, and the mother,
-and the young girl appeared tranquil, and at times even cheerful. It was the
-second year of their awaiting in the old house the youngest of the family,
-Boris. Boris who was no longer among the living.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They hardly spoke of him to one another; yet their thoughts, their memories,
-and their musings of him filled their days. At times dark threads of grief
-stole in among the even woof of these thoughts and reveries; and tears fell
-bitterly and ceaselessly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When the midday sun rested overhead, when the sad moon beckoned, when the rosy
-dawn blew its cool breezes, when the evening sun blazed its red
-laughter&mdash;these were the four points between which their spirits
-fluctuated from evening joy to high midday sorrow. Swayed involuntarily, all
-three of them felt the sympathy and antipathy of the hours, each mood in turn.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The happiness of dawn, the bright, midday sadness, the joy of dusk, the pale
-pining of night. The four emotions lifted them infinitely higher than the rope
-upon which Borya had swung, upon which Borya had died.
-</p>
-
-<p class="footnote">
-<a name="linknote-1" id="linknote-1"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-1">[1]</a> 
-In collaboration with Anastasya Chebotarevskaya.
-</p>
-
-<h3>II</h3>
-
-<p>
-At pale-rose dawn, when the merrily green, harmoniously white birches bend
-their wet branches before the windows, just beyond the little patch of sand by
-the round flower-bed; at pale-rose dawn&mdash;when a fresh breeze comes blowing
-from the bathing pond&mdash;then wakes Natasha, the first of the three.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-What a joy it is to wake at dawn! To throw aside the cool cover of muslin, to
-rest upon the elbow, upon one&rsquo;s side, and to look out of the window with
-large, dark, sad eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Out of the window the sky is visible, seeming quite low over the white distant
-birches. A pale vermilion sunrise brightly suffuses its soft fire through the
-thin mist which stretches over the earth. There is in its quiet, gently joyous
-flame a great tension of young fears and of half-conscious desires; what
-tension, what happiness, and what sadness! It smiles through the dew of sweet
-morning tears, over white lilies-of-the-valley, over the blue violets of the
-broad fields.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Wherefore tears! To what end the grief of night!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There, close to the window, hangs a sprig of sweet-flag, banishing all evil. It
-was put there by the grandmother, and the old nurse insists on its staying
-there. It trembles in the air, the sprig of sweet-flag, and smiles its dry
-green smile.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha&rsquo;s face lapses into a quiet, rosy serenity.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The earth awakes in its fresh morning vigour. The voices of newly-roused life
-reach Natasha. Here the restless twitter of birds comes from among the swaying
-damp branches. There in the distance can be heard the prolonged trill of a
-horn. Elsewhere, quite near, on the path by the window, there are sounds of
-something walking with a heavy, stamping tread. The cheerful neighing of a foal
-is heard, and from another quarter the protracted lowing of sullen cows.
-</p>
-
-<h3>III</h3>
-
-<p>
-Natasha rises, smiles at something, and goes quickly to the window. Her window
-looks down upon the earth from a height. It is in three sections, in the
-mezzanine. Natasha does not draw the curtains across it at night, so as not to
-hide from her drowsing eyes the comforting glimmer of the stars and the
-witching face of the moon.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-What happiness it is to open the window, to fling it wide open with a vigorous
-thrust of the hand! From the direction of the river the gentlest of morning
-breezes comes blowing into Natasha&rsquo;s face, still somewhat rapt in sleep.
-Beyond the garden and the hedges she can see the broad fields beloved from
-childhood. Spread over them are sloping hillocks, rows of ploughed soil, green
-groves, and clusters of shrubbery.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The river winds its way among the green, full of capricious turnings. White
-tufts of mist, dispersing gradually, hang over it like fragments of a torn
-veil. The stream, visible in places, is more often hidden by some projection of
-its low bank, but in the far distance its path is marked by dense masses of
-willow-herb, which stand out dark green against the bright grass.
-</p>
-
-<p class="p2">
-Natasha washed herself quickly; it was pleasant to feel the cold water upon her
-shoulders and upon her neck. Then, childlike, she prayed diligently before the
-ikon in the dark corner, her knees not upon the rug but upon the bare floor, in
-the hope that it might please God.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She repeated her daily prayer:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Perform a miracle, O Lord!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she bent her face to the floor.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She rose. Then quickly she put on her gay, light dress with broad
-shoulder-straps, cut square on the breast, and a leather belt, drawn in at the
-back with a large buckle. Quickly she plaited her dark braids, and deftly wound
-them round her head. With a flourish she stuck into them horn combs and
-hairpins, the first that came to her hand. She threw over her shoulders a grey,
-knitted kerchief, pleasantly soft in texture, and made haste to go out onto the
-terrace of the old house.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The narrow inner staircase creaked gently under Natasha&rsquo;s light step. It
-was pleasant to feel the contact of the cold hard floor of planks under her
-warm feet.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When Natasha descended and passed down the corridor and through the
-dining-room, she walked on tip-toe so as to awaken neither her mother nor her
-grandmother. Upon her face was a sweet expression of cheerful preoccupation,
-and between her brows a slight contraction. This contraction had remained as it
-was formed in those other days.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The curtains in the dining-room were still drawn. The room seemed dark and
-oppressive. She wanted to run through quickly, past the large drawn-out table.
-She had no wish to stop at the sideboard to snatch something to eat.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Quicker, quicker! Toward freedom, toward the open, toward the smiles of the
-careless dawn which does not think of wearisome yesterdays.
-</p>
-
-<h3>IV</h3>
-
-<p>
-It was bright and refreshing on the terrace. Natasha&rsquo;s light-coloured
-dress suddenly kindled with the pale-rose smiles of the early sun. A soft
-breeze blew from the garden. It caressed and kissed Natasha&rsquo;s feet.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha seated herself in a wicker chair, and leant her slender rosy elbows
-upon the broad parapet of the terrace. She directed her gaze toward the gate
-between the hedges beyond which the grey silent road was visible, gently serene
-in the pale rose light.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha looked long, intently, with a steady pensive gaze in her dark eyes. A
-small vein quivered at the left corner of her mouth. The left brow trembled
-almost imperceptibly. The vertical contraction between her eyes defined itself
-rather sharply. Equal to the fixity of the tremulous, ruby-like flame of the
-rising sun, was the fixed vision of her very intent, motionless eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-If an observer were to give a long and searching look at Natasha as she sat
-there in the sunrise, it would seem to him that she was not observing what was
-before her, but that her intent gaze was fixed on something very far away, at
-something that was not in sight.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was as though she wished to see some one who was not there, some one she was
-waiting for, some one who will come&mdash;who will come to-day. Only let the
-miracle happen. Yes, the miracle!
-</p>
-
-<h3>V</h3>
-
-<p>
-Natasha&rsquo;s grey daily routine was before her. It was always the same,
-always in the same place. And as yesterday, as to-morrow, as always, the same
-people. Eternal unchanging people.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A <i>muzhik</i> walked along with a monotonous swing, the iron heels of his
-boots striking the hard clay of the road with a resounding clang. A peasant
-woman walked unsteadily by, softly rustling her way through the dewy grass,
-showing her sunburnt legs. Regarding the old house with a kind of awe, a number
-of sweet, sunburnt, dirty, white-haired urchins ran by.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Past the house, always past it. No one thought of stopping at the gate. And no
-one saw the young girl behind that pillar of the terrace.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sweet-briar bloomed near the gate. It let fall its first pale-rose petals on
-the yellow sandy path, petals of heavenly innocence even in their actual fall.
-The roses in the garden exhaled their sweet, passionate perfume. At the terrace
-itself, reflecting the light of the sky, they flaunted their bright rosy
-smiles, their aromatic shameless dreams and desires, innocent as all was
-innocent in the primordial paradise, innocent as only the perfumes of roses are
-innocent upon this earth. White tobacco plants and red poppies bloomed in one
-part of the garden. And just beyond a marble Aphrodite gleamed white, like some
-eternal emblem of beauty, in the green, refreshing, aromatic, joyous life of
-this passing day.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha said quietly to herself: &ldquo;He must have changed a great deal.
-Perhaps I shan&rsquo;t know him when he comes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And quietly she answered herself: &ldquo;But I would know him at once by his
-voice and his eyes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And listening intently she seemed to hear his deep, sonorous voice. Then she
-seemed to see his dark eyes, and their flaming, dauntless, youthfully-bold
-glance. And again she listened intently and gave a searching look into the
-great distance. She bent down lightly, and inclined her sensitive ear toward
-something while her glance, pensive and motionless, seemed no less fixed. It
-was as though she had stopped suddenly in an attitude, tense and not a little
-wild.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The rosy smile of the now blazing sunrise timidly played on Natasha&rsquo;s
-pale face.
-</p>
-
-<h3>VI</h3>
-
-<p>
-A voice in the distance gave a cry, and there was an answering echo.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha shivered. She started, sighed, and then rose. Down the low, broad steps
-she descended into the garden, and found herself on the sandy path. The fine
-grey sand grated under her small and narrow feet, which left behind their
-delicate traces.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha approached the white marble statue.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-For a long time she gazed upon the tranquil beauty of the goddess&rsquo;s face,
-so remote from her own tedious, dried-up life, and then upon the ever-youthful
-form, nude and unashamed, radiating freedom. Roses bloomed at the foot of the
-plain pedestal. They added the enchantment of their brief aromatic existence to
-the enchantment of eternal beauty.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Very quietly Natasha addressed the Aphrodite.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;If he should come to-day, I will put into the buttonhole of his jacket
-the most scarlet, the most lovely of these roses. He is swarthy, and his eyes
-are dark&mdash;yes, I shall take the most scarlet of your roses!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The goddess smiled. Gathering up with her beautiful hands the serene draperies
-which fell about her knees, silently but unmistakably she answered,
-&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And Natasha said again: &ldquo;I will plait a wreath of scarlet roses, and I
-will let down my hair, my long, dark hair; and I will put on the wreath, and I
-will dance and laugh and sing, to comfort him, to make him joyous.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And again the goddess said to her, &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha spoke again: &ldquo;You will remember him. You will recognize him. You
-gods remember everything. Only we people forget. In order to destroy and to
-create&mdash;ourselves and you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And in the silence of the white marble was clear the eternal &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo;
-the comforting answer, &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha sighed and took her eyes from the statue. The sunrise blazed into a
-flame; the joyous garden smiled with the radiations of dawn&rsquo;s
-ever-youthful, triumphant laughter.
-</p>
-
-<h3>VII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Then Natasha went quietly toward the gate. There again she looked a long time
-down the road. She had her hand on the gate in an attitude of expectation,
-ready, as it were, to swing it wide open before him who was coming, before him
-whom she awaited.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Stirring the grey dust of the road the refreshing early wind blew softly into
-Natasha&rsquo;s face, and whispered in her ears persistent, evil and ominous
-things, as though it envied her expectation, her tense calm.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-O wind, you who blow everywhere, you know all, you come and you go at will, and
-you pursue your way into the endless beyond.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-O wind, you who blow everywhere, perchance you have flown into the regions
-where he is? Perchance you have brought tidings of him?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-If you would but bring hither a single sigh from him, or bear one hence to him;
-if but the light, pale shadow of a word.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When the early wind blows a flush comes to Natasha&rsquo;s face, and a flame to
-her eyes; her red lips quiver, a few tears appear, her slender form sways
-slightly&mdash;all this when the wind blows, the cool, the desolate, the
-unmindful, the infinitely wise wind. It blows, and in its blowing there is the
-sense of fleeting, irrevocable time.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It blows, and it stings, and it brings sadness, and pitilessly it goes on.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It goes on, and the frail dust falls back in the road, grey-rose yet dim in the
-dawn. It has wiped out all its traces, it has forgotten all who have walked
-upon it, and it lies faintly rose in the dawn.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There is a gnawing at the heart from the sweet sadness of expectation. Some one
-seems to stand near Natasha, whispering in her ear: &ldquo;He will come. He is
-on the way. Go and meet him.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>VIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Natasha opens the gate and goes quickly down the road in the direction of the
-distant railway station. Having walked as far as the hillock by the river, one
-and a half versts away, Natasha pauses and looks into the distance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A clear view of the road is to be had from this hillock. Somewhere below, among
-the meadows, a curlew gives a sharp cry. The pleasant smell of the damp grass
-fills the air.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The sun is rising. Suddenly everything becomes white, bright, and clear.
-Joyousness fills the great open expanse. On the top of the hillock the morning
-wind blows more strongly and more sweetly. It seems to have forgotten its
-desolation and its grief.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The grass is quite wet with dew. How gently it clings to her ankles. It is
-resplendent in its multi-coloured, gem-like, tear-like glitter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The red sun rises slowly but triumphantly above the blue mist of the horizon.
-In its bright red flame there is a hidden foreboding of quiet melancholy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha lowers her glance upon the wet grass. Sweet little flowers! She
-recognizes the flower of faithfulness, the blue periwinkle.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Here also, quite near, reminiscent of death, is the black madwort. But what of
-that? Is it not everywhere? Soothe us, soothe us, little blue flowers!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I will not pluck a single one of you; not one of you will I plait into
-my wreath.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She stands, waiting, watching.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Were he to show himself in the road she would recognize him even in the
-distance. But no&mdash;there is no one. The road is deserted, and the misty
-distances are dumb.
-</p>
-
-<h3>IX</h3>
-
-<p>
-Natasha remains standing a little while, then turns back. Her feet sink in the
-wet grass. The tall stalks half wind themselves round her ankles and rustle
-against the hem of her light-coloured dress. Natasha&rsquo;s graceful arms,
-half hidden by the grey knitted kerchief, hang subdued at her sides. Her eyes
-have already lost their fixed expression, and have begun to jump from object to
-object.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-How often have they walked this road, all together, her little sisters, and
-Borya! They were noisy with merriment. What did they not talk about! Their
-quarrels! What proud songs they sang! Now she was alone, and there was no sign
-of Borya.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Why were they waiting for him? In what manner would he come? She did not know.
-Perhaps she would not recognize him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There awakens in Natasha&rsquo;s heart a presentiment of bitter thoughts. With
-a heavy rustle an evil serpent begins to stir in the darkness of her wearied
-memory.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Slowly and sorrowfully Natasha turns her steps homeward. Her eyes are drowsy
-and seem to look aimlessly, with fallen and fatigued glances. The grass now
-seems disagreeably damp, the wind malicious; her feet feel the wet, and the hem
-of her thin dress has grown heavy with moisture. The new light of a new day,
-resplendent, glimmering with the play of the laughing dew, resounding with the
-hum of birds and the voices of human folk, becomes again for Natasha tiresomely
-blatant.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-What does a new day matter? Why invoke the unattainable?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The murmur of pitiless memory, at first faint, grows more audible. The heavy
-burden of insurmountable sorrow falls on the heart like an aspen-grey weight.
-The heart feels proudly the pressure of the inexpressibly painful foreboding of
-tears.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As she nears the house Natasha increases her pace. Faster and yet faster, in
-response to the growing beat of her sorrowful heart, she is running over the
-dry clay of the road, over the wet grass of the bypath, trodden by pedestrians,
-over the moist, crunching, sandy footpaths of the garden, which still treasure
-the gentle traces left by her at dawn. Natasha runs across the warm planks, as
-yet unswept of dust and litter. And she no longer tries to step lightly and
-inaudibly. She stumbles across the astonished, open-mouthed Glasha. She runs
-impetuously and noisily up the stairway to her room, and throws herself on the
-bed. She pulls the coverlet over her head, and falls asleep.
-</p>
-
-<h3>X</h3>
-
-<p>
-Borya&rsquo;s grandmother, Elena Kirillovna, sleeps below. She is old, and she
-cannot sleep in the morning; but never in all her life has she risen early; so
-even now she is awake only a little later than Natasha. Elena Kirillovna,
-straight, thin, motionless, the back of her head resting on the pillow, lies
-for a long time waiting for the maid to bring her a cup of coffee&mdash;she has
-long ago accustomed herself to have her coffee in bed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna has a dry, yellow face, marked with many wrinkles; but her
-eyes are still sparkling, and her hair is black, especially by day, when she
-uses a cosmetic.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The maid Glasha is habitually late. She sleeps well in the morning, for in the
-evening she loves to stroll over to the bridge in the village. The harmonica
-makes merry there, and on holidays all sorts of jolly folk and maidens dance
-and sing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna rings a number of times. In the end the unanswering stillness
-behind the door begins to irritate her. Sadly she turns on her side, grumbling.
-She stretches her dry, yellow hand forward and with a kind of concentrated
-intentness presses her bent, bony finger a long time on the white bell-button
-lying on the little round table at her head.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At last Glasha hears the prolonged, jarring ring above her head. She jumps
-quickly from her bed, and anxiously gropes about for something or other in her
-narrow quarters under the stairway of the mezzanine; then she throws a skirt
-over her head, and hurries to her old mistress. While running she arranges
-somehow her heavy, tangled braids.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha&rsquo;s face is angry and sleepy. She reels in her drowsiness. On the
-way to her mistress&rsquo;s bedroom the morning air refreshes her a little. She
-faces her mistress looking more or less normal.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha has on a pink skirt and a white blouse. In the semi-darkness of the
-curtained windows her sunburnt arms and strong legs seem almost white. Young,
-strong, rustic and impetuous, she suddenly appears before her old
-mistress&rsquo;s bed, her vigorous tread causing the heavy metal bed with its
-nickelled posts and surmounting knobs to rattle slightly, and the tumbler on
-the small round table to tinkle against the flagon.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XI</h3>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna greets Glasha with her customary observation:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Glasha, when am I to have my coffee? I ring and ring, and no one comes.
-You, girl, seem to sleep like the dead.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha&rsquo;s face assumes a look of astonishment and fear. Restraining a
-yawn, she bends down to put a disarranged rug in order, and puts a pair of
-soft, worn slippers closer to the bed. Then assuming an excessively tender,
-deferential tone which old gentlewomen like in their servants, she remarks:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Forgive me, <i>barinya</i>,<a href="#linknote-2" name="linknoteref-2"
-id="linknoteref-2">[2]</a> it shan&rsquo;t take a minute. But how early you are
-awake to-day, <i>barinya</i>! Did you have a bad night?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna replies:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What sort of sleep can one except at my age! Get me my coffee a little
-more quickly, and I will try to get up.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She now speaks more calmly, despite the capricious note in her voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha replies heartily:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;This very minute, <i>barinya</i>. You shall have it at once.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she turns about to go out.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna stops her with an angry exclamation:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Glasha, where are you going? You seem to forget, no matter how often I
-tell you! Draw the curtains aside.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha, with some agility, thrusts back the curtains of the two windows and
-flies out of the room. She is rather low of stature and slender, and one can
-tell from her face that she is intelligent, but the sound of her rapid
-footsteps is measured and heavy, giving the impression that the runner is
-large, powerful, heavy, and capable of doing everything but what requires
-lightness. The mistress grumbles, looking after her:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Lord, how she stamps with her feet! She spares neither the floor nor her
-own heels!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p class="footnote">
-<a name="linknote-2" id="linknote-2"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-2">[2]</a> 
-Means &ldquo;gentlewoman,&rdquo; and is a common form of salutation from
-servant to mistress.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XII</h3>
-
-<p>
-At last the sound of Glasha&rsquo;s feet dies away in the echoing silence of
-the long corridor. The old lady lies, waiting, thinking. She is once more
-straight and motionless under her bed-cover, and very yellow and very still.
-Her whole life seems to be concentrated in the living sparkle of her keen eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The sun, still low, throws a subdued rosy light on the wall facing her. The
-bedroom is lit-up and quiet. Swift atoms of dust are dancing about in the air.
-There is a glitter on the glass of the photographic portraits which hang on the
-wall, as well as on the narrow gilt rims of their black frames.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna looks at the portraits. Her keen, youthfully sparkling eyes
-carefully scrutinize the beloved faces. Many of these are no longer upon the
-earth.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Borya&rsquo;s portrait is a large one, in a broad dark frame. It is a young
-face, the face of a seventeen-year-old lad, quite smooth and with dark eyes.
-The upper lip shows a small but vigorous growth of hair. The lips are tightly
-compressed and the entire face gives the impression of an indomitable will.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna looks long at the portrait, and recalls Borya. Of all her
-grandsons she loved him best. And now she is recalling him. She sees him as he
-had once looked. Where is he now? Before long Borya will return. She will be
-overjoyed, her eyes will have their fill of him. But how soon?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It comforts the old woman to think, &ldquo;It can&rsquo;t be very long.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Some one has just run past her window, giving a shrill cry.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna, turning in her bed, looks out of the window.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The white acacia trees before the window, gaily rustling their leaves, smile
-innocently, naïvely and cheerily. Behind them, looming densely, are the tops of
-the birches and of the limes. Some of the branches lean toward the window.
-Their harsh rustle evokes a memory in Elena Kirillovna.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-If Borya were but to cry out like that! He had loved this garden. He had loved
-the white bloom of the acacia trees, and he had loved to gather the little
-field flowers. He used to bring her some. He liked cornflowers specially.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-At last Glasha has come with the coffee. She has placed a silver tray on the
-little round table near the bed. Above the broad blue-and-gold porcelain cup
-rises a thin bluish cloud of steam.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna draws her scant body higher upon the pillows, and sits upright
-in her bed; she seems straight, dry, and thin in her white night-jacket. With
-trembling hands she very fastidiously rearranges the ribbons of her white
-ruffled nightcap.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha, with great solicitude and skill, has placed a number of pillows at her
-back, and these piled up high make a soft wall of comfort.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The little silver spoon held by the old dry fingers rings with fragile laughter
-as it stirs the sugar in the cup. Afterwards out of a small milk-jug comes a
-generous helping of boiled milk. And Glasha, having shifted somewhat to the
-side in order to catch a stealthy look of herself in the mirror, goes out.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna sips her coffee slowly. She breaks a sugared biscuit, throws
-half of it in the cup, and leaves it there for a time. Then, when it is
-completely softened, she carefully takes it out with the little spoon.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna&rsquo;s teeth are still quite strong. She is very proud of
-this; nevertheless she has preferred of late to eat softer things. She munches
-away at the wet biscuit. Her face expresses gratification. Her small, keen eyes
-sparkle merrily.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When the coffee is finished Elena Kirillovna lies down again. She dozes for
-half an hour on her back, under the bed-cover. Then she rings again and waits.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XIV</h3>
-
-<p>
-Glasha comes in. She has had time to comb her hair and to put on a pink blouse,
-and this makes her seem even thinner. As she is in no haste her footfalls sound
-even heavier than before.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha approaches her mistress&rsquo;s bed and silently throws the bed-cover
-aside. She helps Elena Kirillovna to sit on the bed, holding her up under the
-arm. Then, getting down on her knees, she helps her mistress to put on her long
-black stockings and her soft grey slippers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna holds on to Glasha&rsquo;s shoulder with her trembling,
-nervous hands. She envies Glasha&rsquo;s youth, strength, and naïve simplicity.
-Grumbling under her breath at her unfortunate lot, Elena Kirillovna imagines in
-her dejection that she would be willing to sacrifice all her comfort to become
-like Glasha, a common servant-maid with coarse hands and feet red from rough
-usage and the wet&mdash;if she could but possess the youth, the cheerfulness,
-the sang-froid, and the happiness attainable upon this earth only by the
-stupid.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old woman grumbles often at her fate, but is quite unwilling to give up a
-single one of her gentlewoman&rsquo;s habits.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha says, &ldquo;All ready, <i>barinya.</i>&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now my capote, Glasha,&rdquo; Elena Kirillovna says as she gets up.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Glasha herself knows what is wanted. She deftly puts on Elena
-Kirillovna&rsquo;s shoulders a white flannel robe.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now you may go, Glashenka. I will ring if I want you again.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>XV</h3>
-
-<p>
-Glasha goes. She hurries to the veranda staircase.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Here she washes herself a second time in a clay turn-over basin, which is
-attached by a rope to one of the posts of the veranda; she quickly plunges her
-face and hands in the water that had been left there overnight. She splashes
-the water a long way off on the green grass, on the lilac-grey planks of the
-staircase and on her feet, which are red from the early morning freshness and
-from the tender contact with the dewy grass in the vegetable garden. She laughs
-happily at herself&mdash;because she is a young, healthy girl, because the
-early morning freshness caresses the length of her strong, swift body with
-brisk cool strokes; and finally, because not far away, in the village, there is
-a lively and handsome young fellow, not unlike herself, who pays attention to
-her and whom she is rather fond of. It is true that her mother scolds her on
-his account, because the young man is poor. But what&rsquo;s that to Glasha?
-Not for nothing is there an adage:
-</p>
-
-<p class="poem">
-&ldquo;Without bread &rsquo;tis very sad,<br />
-Still sadder &rsquo;tis without a lad.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha laughs loudly and merrily.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Stepanida cries at her from the kitchen window: &ldquo;Glash, Glash, why do you
-neigh like a horse?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha laughs, makes no reply, and goes off.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Stepanida puts her simple, red face out of the window and asks: &ldquo;I wonder
-what&rsquo;s the matter with her.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She receives no answer, for there is no one to reply. Out of doors all is
-deserted. Only somewhere from behind the barn the languid voices of working-men
-can be heard.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XVI</h3>
-
-<p>
-In the meantime Elena Kirillovna kneels down with a sigh before the ikon in her
-bedroom. She prays a long time. Conscientiously she repeats all the prayers she
-knows. Her dry, raspberry-coloured lips stir slightly. Her face has a severe,
-concentrated expression. All her wrinkles seem also austere, weary, callous.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There are many words in her prayers&mdash;holy, lofty, touching words. But
-because of their frequent repetition their meaning has become, as it were,
-hardened, stereotyped and ordinary; the tears which appear in her eyes are
-habitual tears wrung out by her antique emotion, and have no relation to the
-secret trepidation of impossible hopes which have stolen into the old
-woman&rsquo;s heart of late.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Diligently her lips murmur prayers each day for the forgiveness of sins,
-voluntary and involuntary, committed in deed, in word, or in thought; prayers
-for the purification of our souls of all defilement; and again words concerning
-our impieties, our evil actions, our disregard of commandments, our general
-unworthiness, our worldly frailty, and the temptations of Satan; and again
-concerning the accursed soul and the accursed body and the sensual life; and
-her words embrace only universal evil and all-pervading depravity. Surely these
-prayers were composed for Titans, created to reconstruct the universe, but who,
-out of shamefaced indolence, are attending to this business with their arms
-hanging at their sides.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And not a word does she utter of her own, her personal affliction, of what is
-in her soul.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old, dried-up lips mumble of mercy, of generosity, of brotherly love, of
-the holy life&mdash;of all those lofty regions pouring out their bounty upon
-all creation. And not a word of the miracle, awaited eagerly and with
-trepidation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But here are words for those who are in prison and in exile; it is a prayer for
-their liberation, for their redemption.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Here is something at last about Borya.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Freedom and redemption....
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the prayer runs on and on, and it is again for strangers, for distant
-people, for the universal; only for an instant, and then lightly, does she
-pause to put in something for herself, for her desire, for what is in her
-heart.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then for the dead&mdash;for those others, the long since departed, the almost
-forgotten, the resurrected only in word in the hour of these strangers, prayed
-for in this easy, gliding way all the world over where piety reigns.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The prayers are ended. Elena Kirillovna lingers for a moment. She has an air of
-having forgotten to say something indispensable.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-What else? Or has she said all?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;All&rdquo;&mdash;some one seems to say simply, softly and inexorably.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna rises from her knees. She goes to the window. Her soul is calm
-and self-contained. The prayer has not left her in a mood of piety, but has
-relieved her weary soul for a brief time of its material, matter-of-fact
-existence.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XVII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna looks out of the window. She is returning, as it were, once
-more from some dark, abstract world to the bright, profusely-coloured, resonant
-impressions of a rough, cheery, not altogether disagreeable life.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Small white clouds tinged with red float slowly in the heights and merge
-imperceptibly in the vivid blue. Ablaze like a piece of coal at red heat their
-soul seems to fuse with their cold white bodies, to consume them as well as
-itself with fire, and to sink exhausted in the cold blue heights. The sun, as
-yet invisible behind the left wing of the house, has already begun to pour upon
-the garden its warm and glowing waves of laughter, joy and light, animating the
-flowers and birds.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, it&rsquo;s time to dress,&rdquo; Elena Kirillovna says to herself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She rings.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Soon Glasha appears and helps Elena Kirillovna to dress.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At last she is ready. She casts a final look in the mirror to see that
-everything is in order.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna&rsquo;s hair is very neatly combed, and lightly brushed down
-with a cosmetic. This makes it shine and appear as though it were glued
-together. At her every movement in the light there is visible, from right to
-left, a slender silver thread, due to the reflection of light at the parting of
-the smoothed coiffure. Her face shows slight traces of powder.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna&rsquo;s dress is always of a light colour, when not actually
-white, and of the simplest cut. The small soft ruffle of the broad collar hides
-her neck and chin. She has already substituted for her dressing slippers a pair
-of light summer shoes.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XVIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna enters the dining-room. She looks on as the table is being
-laid for breakfast. She always notes the slightest disorder. She grumbles
-quietly as she picks up something from one place on the table and puts it in
-another.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then she goes into the large, unused front room, with its closed door on to the
-staircase of the front façade. She walks along the corridor to the vestibule
-and to the back staircase. She stops on the high landing, wrinkles up her face
-from the sun, and looks down to see what is going on in the yard. Small, quite
-erect, like a young school-girl with a yellow, wrinkled face which expresses at
-the moment a severe domestic concern, she stands, looks on, and is silent; she
-is, it seems, unnecessary here. No one pays her the slightest attention.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good morning, Stepanida,&rdquo; she calls out. Stepanida, a buxom,
-red-cheeked maid in a bright red dress, under which is visible a strip of her
-white chemise and her stout sunburnt legs, is attending to the samovar at the
-bottom of the stairs, and is vigorously blowing to set the fire going. Upon her
-head is a neatly-arranged green kerchief, which hides her folded braids of hair
-like a head-dress.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The bulging sides of the samovar glow radiantly in the sun. Its bent chimney
-sends out a curl of blue smoke, which smells sharply, pungently, and not
-altogether disagreeably, of juniper and tar.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In answer to the old mistress&rsquo;s greeting Stepanida raises her broad,
-cheerfully-preoccupied face, with its small, dark brown eyes, and says in
-prolonged caressing tones, sing-song fashion:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good morning to you, <i>matushka barinya</i>.<a href="#linknote-3"
-name="linknoteref-3" id="linknoteref-3">[3]</a> It&rsquo;s a fine morning, to
-be sure. How warm it is, by the grace of God! And you&rsquo;re up early,
-<i>matushka barinya</i>!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her words are indeed honeyed, and above in the sweet air an early, shaggy bee
-hovers, with a thick buzzing, tremulously golden in the clear, fluid haze of
-the early, gentle sun. Silent again, Stepanida is once more busy with the
-samovar; the disenchanted bee flies away, its buzzing growing less and less
-audible behind the fence.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The pungent smell of tar causes Elena Kirillovna to frown. She says:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What makes the thing smell so strongly? You had better leave it for a
-while, or you will get giddy.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Stepanida, without moving, answers languidly and indifferently:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s nothing, <i>barinya</i>. We are used to it. It&rsquo;s but a
-slight smell, and it is the juniper.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Through the blue, curling smoke of juniper her sweet voice seems dull and
-bitter. There is a tickling at Elena Kirillovna&rsquo;s throat. There is a
-slight giddiness in her head. Elena Kirillovna makes haste to go. She descends
-the staircase, and proceeds upon her customary morning stroll.
-</p>
-
-<p class="footnote">
-<a name="linknote-3" id="linknote-3"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-3">[3]</a> 
-Literally: &ldquo;Little mother&mdash;gentlewoman.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>XIX</h3>
-
-<p>
-Glasha soon overtakes her. With an exaggerated loudness she runs stamping down
-the stairs, showing a wing-like glimmer of her strong legs from under the pink
-skirt, set a-flutter by her vigorous movement. She calls out in a clear,
-solicitously joyous voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Barinya</i>, you have come out! The sun will scorch you. I&rsquo;ve
-fetched your hat.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The yellow straw hat, with its lavender ribbon, glimmers in Glasha&rsquo;s
-hands like some strange, low-fluttering bird.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna, as she puts the hat on, says: &ldquo;Why do you run about in
-such disorder! You ought to tidy yourself&mdash;you know whom we are
-expecting.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha is silent, and her face assumes a compassionate expression. For a long
-time she looks after her strolling mistress, then she smiles and walks back.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Stepanida asks her in a loud whisper: &ldquo;Well, is she still expecting her
-grandson?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Rather!&rdquo; Glasha replies compassionately. &ldquo;And it&rsquo;s
-simply pitiful to look at them. They never stop thinking about him.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the meanwhile Elena Kirillovna makes her way across the vegetable garden,
-past the labourers and the servants in the stockyard, and then across the
-field. Near the garden fence she enters the road.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There, not far from the garden, in the shade of an old, spreading lime, stands
-a bench&mdash;a board upon two supports, which still shows traces of having
-been once painted green. From this place a view is to be had of the road, of
-the garden, and of the house.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna seats herself upon the bench. She looks out on the road. She
-sits quietly, seeming so small, so slender, and so erect. She waits a long
-time. She falls into a doze.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Through the thin haze of slumber she can see a beloved, smooth face smiling,
-and she can hear a quiet, dear voice calling:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Grandma!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She gives a start and opens her eyes. There is no one there. But she waits. She
-believes and waits.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XX</h3>
-
-<p>
-There is a lightness in the air. The road is radiant and tranquil. A gentle,
-refreshing breeze softly passes and repasses her. The sun is warming her old
-bones, it is caressing her lean back through her dress. Everything round her
-rejoices in the green, the golden, and the blue. The foliage of the birches, of
-the willows, and of the limes in full bloom is rustling quietly. From the
-fields comes the honeyed smell of clover.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Oh, how light and lovely the air is upon the earth!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-How beautiful thou art, my earth, my golden, my emerald, my sapphire earth!
-Who, born to thy heritage would care to die, would care to close his eyes upon
-thy serene beauties and upon thy magnificent spaces? Who, resting in thee, damp
-Mother Earth, would not wish to rise, would not wish to return to thy
-enchantments and to thy delights? And what stern fate shall drive one who is
-aflame with life-thirst to seek the shelter of death?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Upon the road where once he walked he shall walk again. Upon the earth, which
-still preserves his footprints, he shall walk again. Borya, the
-grandmother&rsquo;s beloved Borya, shall return.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A golden bee flies by. It seems to say, the golden bee, that Borya will return
-to the quiet of the old house and will taste the fragrant honey&mdash;the sweet
-gift of the wise bees, buzzing under the sun upon the beloved earth. The old
-grandmother, in her joy, will place before the ikon of the Virgin a candle of
-the purest bees&rsquo;-wax&mdash;a gift of the wise bees, buzzing away among
-the gold of the sun&rsquo;s rays&mdash;a gift to man and a gift to God.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Women and girls of the village pass by with their sunburnt, wind-swept faces.
-They greet the <i>barinya</i> and look at her with compassion. Elena Kirillovna
-smiles at them, and addresses them in her usual gentle manner:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good morning, my dears!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They pass by. Their loud voices die away in the distance, and Elena Kirillovna
-soon forgets them. They will pass by once more that day, when the time comes.
-They will pass by. They will return. Upon the road, where their dusty
-footprints remain, they will pass by once more.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXI</h3>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna suddenly awoke from her drowse and looked at the things before
-her with a perplexed gaze. Everything seemed to be clear, bright, free from
-care&mdash;and relentless.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Inevitably the triumphant sun rose higher in the heavens&rsquo; dome. Grown
-powerful, wise and resplendent, it seemed indifferent now to oppressive earthly
-melancholy and to sweet earthly delights. And its laughter was high, joyless,
-and sorrowless.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Everything as before was green, blue and gold, many-toned and vividly tinted;
-truly all the objects of nature showed the real colour of their souls in honour
-of this feast of light. But the fine dust upon the silent road had already lost
-its rose tinge, and stirred before the wind like a grey, depressing veil. And
-when the wind calmed down, the dust slowly fell back upon the road, like a
-grey, blind serpent which, trailing its fat, fantastic belly, falls back
-exhausted, gasping its last breath.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-All monotony had become wearisome. This inevitable recurrence of lucid moments
-began to torment Elena Kirillovna with the grey foreboding of sadness, of
-bitter tears, of unanswered prayers, and of a profound hopelessness.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Glasha appeared at the garden gate. She glanced cheerfully along both sides of
-the road. Walking more slowly she approached Elena Kirillovna deferentially.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha looked quite ordinary now, stiff-mannered and stupid. There was nothing
-to envy in her. Her dress too was quite common-place. Her braids were arranged
-upon her head quite like a young lady&rsquo;s, and held fast by three combs of
-transparent bone. Her blouse was light-coloured&mdash;pink stripes and lavender
-flowers on a ground of white&mdash;its short sleeves reached the elbows. She
-wore a neat blue skirt and a white apron.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna asked:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, what is it, Glashenka? Is Sonyushka up yet?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha replied in a respectful voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Sofia Alexandrovna is getting up. She wants me to ask you if we shall
-lay the table on the terrace?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes, let it be on the terrace. And how is Natashenka?&rdquo; asked
-Elena Kirillovna, looking anxiously at Glasha.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The young lady is asleep,&rdquo; answered Glasha. &ldquo;To-day again,
-quite early, she went out for a walk straight from bed, without so much as a
-bite of something. Her skirt&rsquo;s wet with dew. She might have caught a
-cold. And now she sleeps. If you&rsquo;d but talk to her.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna said irresolutely:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Very well. I had better be going. All right, Glasha.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha goes. Elena Kirillovna rises slowly from the bench, as though she
-regretted moving from the spot where she saw Borya in a half-dream. Slowly she
-walks toward the house.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Having reached the gate she pauses, and again looks for some moments down the
-road, in the direction of the station.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A cart rumbles by noisily over the travelled road. The <i>muzhik</i> barely
-holds the reins and rocks from side to side sleepily. The harnessed horse
-swings its tail and its head. A white-haired urchin, in broad blue breeches,
-lets his brown feet hang over the edge of the cart and stares with his bright
-hazel eyes at a gaunt, evil-looking dog which runs after, barking hoarsely.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna gives a sigh&mdash;there is as yet no Borya&mdash;and enters
-the garden.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha&rsquo;s light-coloured blouse glimmers on the terrace. There is a rattle
-of dishes. The grumbling chatter of Borya&rsquo;s old nurse is also audible.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-The last to awake, with the sun quite high and scorching, is Borya&rsquo;s
-mother, Sofia Alexandrovna. Through the thin bright curtains, drawn for the
-night across the windows, the light fills her bedroom.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna awakes with a start, as though some one had touched her
-suddenly or had called to her. With her right hand she impetuously throws aside
-her light white bed-cover. Quickly she sits up in bed, holding her hands over
-her bent knees. For a moment she looks before her at a bare place in the simple
-pattern of the bright green hangings.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna&rsquo;s eyes are dark, wide open, with black, fiery pupils
-which seem lost in the abysmal, depths of their own sorrowful gaze. Her face is
-long, its skin smooth and colourless, though quite fresh and almost free of
-wrinkles. The lips are a vivid red.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna&rsquo;s expression is like that of one faced suddenly with a
-tragic apparition. She rocks herself back and forward.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, abruptly, she jumps out of bed with a single spring. She runs to the
-washing-basin of marble mounted on a red stand. She washes herself quickly, as
-though in haste to go somewhere. Now she is at the window. The curtains are
-flung violently aside. She peers anxiously to see what the outlook
-is&mdash;whether there are any clouds in the sky that might bring rain and make
-the road muddy, the road upon which Borya would return home.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The heavens are tremulously joyous. The birches are rustling quietly. The
-sparrows are twittering. Everything is green, bright, quivering; everything
-palpitates under the tension of hopes and anticipations. Voices are audible;
-cries of good cheer and sounds of laughter. One of the laughers runs by, as
-though making haste to live.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A torrent of tears floods Sofia Alexandrovna&rsquo;s eyes. Her breast heaves
-visibly under the white linen chemise.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXIV</h3>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna goes to the image. She thrusts aside with her foot the small
-velvet rug which Glasha had purposely laid there the day before. She throws
-herself down on her knees before the image. You hear her knees strike the floor
-softly. Sofia Alexandrovna quietly crosses herself, bends her face to the
-floor, and mutters passionately:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;O Lord, Thou knowest, Thou knowest all, Thou canst do all. Do this, O
-Lord, return him to us, to his mother, return him to-day.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her prayer is warm and passionate, quite unlike a prayer. Its words are
-disconnected, and they fall confusedly, like small, broken tears. Her naked
-feet come in contact with the cold, painted floor. And the entire, warm,
-prostrate body of the weeping woman is throbbing and trembling on the boards.
-Her head repeatedly strikes the boards, loosening her dark braids of hair.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She does not pray long. The torrents of tears have cleansed her soul, as it
-were; and she becomes at once cheerful and tranquil.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She rises quite, as suddenly, and rings. She seats herself on the edge of the
-bed, and dries her tears with a soft handkerchief. Then she laughs silently.
-She swings one of her feet impatiently, striking the rug in front of the bed
-with the toes. Her eyes wander about the room, but seem to observe nothing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha had only just begun to dress, and she had only tied the strings of her
-apron round her slender waist. The sharp impatient ring causes her to start.
-She runs to the <i>barinya</i>, seizing quickly at the same time a pair of
-blackened boots and some clothes from the laundry.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna cries in an urgent voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now be quick, Glasha. Help me on with my things.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She looks on impatiently as Glasha puts down her burden.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The daily ceremony is gone through quickly. Sofia Alexandrovna dresses herself.
-Glasha only draws on her boots, and hooks up her dress behind.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Soon Sofia Alexandrovna is quite ready. She gives a brief, vacant look in the
-mirror.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her pale face still seems to be young and handsome. She is slender, like her
-mother, and small in stature. She has on a closely fitting white dress with
-short, wide sleeves. Her coiffure is arranged in a Greek knot, held fast with a
-red ribbon. Her slender, shapely feet are clad in coloured silk stockings and
-white shoes with silver buckles.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXV</h3>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna goes quickly into the dining-room. She pours herself a glass
-of fresh milk out of a jug on the table. She drinks it standing, and munches a
-piece of black bread with it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She orders the things for dinner at the same time. She chooses dishes loved by
-Borya. She stops to recollect whether Borya likes this, or does not like that.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Stepanida listens to her sadly, and replies in a tearful voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, I know! Why shouldn&rsquo;t I know? It&rsquo;s not the first
-time.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha asks something. The old, tottering nurse rattles on rather volubly.
-Sofia Alexandrovna answers them mechanically and rapidly. She seems all the
-while to be listening intently, either for the sound of a distant little bell,
-or for the rumble of wheels on the road. She makes her way out in haste. And
-she no longer listens to what is being said to her. She goes out.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She enters Borya&rsquo;s study. Everything there is as in the old days, and in
-order. When Borya comes back he will find everything in its place.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna, with great concern, takes a rapid look round the room. She
-wishes to see whether everything is in its place, whether the dust has been
-swept, whether the rug has been laid before the bed, and whether the inkstand
-has been filled with ink. She herself changes the water in the vase which holds
-the cornflowers. If anything is out of place she gives way to tears, then rings
-for Glasha, and heaps reproaches upon her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha&rsquo;s face assumes a frightened, compassionate look. In a most humble
-manner she begs forgiveness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna remonstrates with her:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How can you be so careless, Glasha? You know that we are expecting him
-every minute. Suppose he should suddenly come in and find this disorder.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha replies humbly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Forgive me, <i>barinya</i>. Don&rsquo;t think any more about it.
-I&rsquo;ll quickly put everything to rights.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As she goes out she wipes away two or three tears with her white apron.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXVI</h3>
-
-<p>
-With the same undue haste Sofia Alexandrovna goes into the garden. She sees
-nothing, neither the white Aphrodite nor her roses, on her way to the little
-arbour from which, overlooking a corner of the garden, the road is visible.
-Vividly green in the sun, a four-sloped roof covers the arbour, while hangings
-of coarse cloth, with a red border, serve as a protection against inquisitive
-eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna looks down the road with dark, hungry eyes. She waits
-impatiently, listening to the rapid, uneven beat of her heart; she waits: Borya
-will surely come in sight.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The wind blows into her face, and partly conceals it with the hangings; her
-face is pale, and her eyes are dry. The sun warmly kisses her slender arms,
-which lie motionless on the broad, lavender-grey parapet of the arbour.
-Everything is bright, green and gay in the fields, but her eyes are fixed on
-the grey serpent of dust trailing among the freedom of the fields.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-If they await him like this surely Borya will come.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But there is no sign of him. In vain her hungry glances penetrate the open
-waste. There is no Borya. More fixed and piercing grows her glance of infinite
-longing upon the road&mdash;but there is no Borya.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Everything is as before, as yesterday, as always. Tranquil, serene and
-pitiless.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXVII</h3>
-
-<p>
-The hour of the early luncheon came. All three sat at the table on the terrace.
-There was a fourth place laid, and a fourth chair, for who could tell whether
-Borya might not arrive at luncheon time!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The sun was already high. The day was turning sultry. The fragrance of the red
-roses at the foot of the goddess&rsquo;s pedestal became ever more passionate.
-And the smile of the marble-white Aphrodite was even more clear and serene, as
-she let fall her draperies with a marvellous grace born of eternal movement. In
-the bright sunshine the sand on the footpaths seemed yellow-white. The trees
-cast austere dark shadows. They seemed to exhale an odour of the soil, of sap,
-and of warmth.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The women sat so that each one of them, looking beyond the drawn hangings of
-the terrace and over the bushes, could see the short narrow path ending at the
-garden gate, where a part of the road was also visible; they could not fail to
-observe every passer-by and every vehicle.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But during this hour of the day hardly anyone ever walked or drove by the old
-house.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha waited on them. She had on a newly-laundered cap with starched ribbons
-and plaited frills fitting tightly over her hair. The snow-white cap shone
-pleasantly above Glasha&rsquo;s fresh, sunburnt face.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the garden, on a form just under the terrace, sat Borya&rsquo;s old nurse,
-dressed in a dark lavender blouse, black skirt, with a dark blue kerchief over
-her head. She was warming her old bones in the sun, and listening to the
-conversation on the terrace; now she grumbled, now she dozed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Broad-boned and stout, she had a round, amiable face, and even through the
-compact network of wrinkles there were palpable suggestions of former beauty.
-Her eyes were clear. The grey hair was flatly combed down. Her figure and her
-face wore a settled expression of languid good nature.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXVIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-As always, they eat and drink, and they keep up a cheerful and friendly
-chatter. Sometimes two of them speak together. A stranger in the garden might
-conclude that a large company is gathered on the terrace.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Frequently Borya&rsquo;s name is mentioned.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;To be sure, Borya likes....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Perhaps Borya will bring....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is strange Borya is not yet here....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Perhaps Borya will come in the evening....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We must ask Borya whether he has read....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is possible this is not new to Borya....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-While below, under the terrace, the old nurse, each time she hears
-Borya&rsquo;s name, crosses herself and mumbles:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;O Lord, rest the soul of thy servant, Boris.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At first her voice is low, but it gradually grows louder and louder. Finally
-the three women at the table can hear her words. They tremble slightly and
-exchange anxious glances, into which steals an expression of perplexed fear. So
-they begin to speak even louder, and to laugh even more merrily. They permit no
-intervals of silence, and the hum of their talk and laughter prevents for the
-time their hearing the nurse&rsquo;s mumbling in the garden.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But their voices inevitably fall after a mention of the beloved name, and now
-again they hear the tranquil, terrible words:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;O Lord, rest the soul....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They sit at luncheon long, but they talk more industriously than they eat. They
-glance nervously toward the gate. It seems a terrible thing to have to leave
-the table and to go somewhere while Borya is not yet with them.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXIX</h3>
-
-<p>
-Toward the end of luncheon the post arrives. Grisha, a fourteen-year-old
-youngster, goes for it daily to the station on horseback. Raising clouds of
-dust he jumps off briskly at the gate. Leaving his horse he enters the garden
-carrying a black leather bag, and smiles broadly at something or other.
-Ascending the long steps of the terrace he announces loudly and joyously:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve fetched the post!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He is cheery, sunburnt, perspiring. He smells of the sun, of the soil, of dust
-and tar. His hands and feet are as large as a man&rsquo;s. His lips are soft
-and pouting, like those of a sweet-tempered foal. At the opening of his shirt,
-cut on the slant, buttons are missing, exposing a strip of his sunburnt chest
-and a piece of grey string.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna rises abruptly from her place. She takes the bag from
-Grisha, and throws it quickly on the table. A pile of stamped wrappers comes
-pouring upon the white cloth. The three women bend over the table and rummage
-for letters. But letters come only rarely.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Knitting her brows Natasha looks at the smiling youngster and asks:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No letters, Grisha?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha, shuffling his feet, brick-red from the sun, smiles and answers, as
-always, in the same words:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The letters are being written, <i>barishnya</i>.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna says impatiently:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You may go, Grisha.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha goes. The women open their newspapers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna takes up the <i>Rech</i> and scans it rapidly, occasionally
-mentioning something that has attracted her notice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha is looking over <i>Slovo</i>. She reads silently, slowly, and
-attentively.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna has the <i>Russkiya Vedomosti.</i> She tears the wrapper open
-slowly and spreads the entire sheet on the table. She reads on, quickly running
-her eyes over the lines.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXX</h3>
-
-<p>
-Groaning, the old nurse slowly ascends the steps. Sofia Alexandrovna pauses
-from her reading a moment and looks with fear at the old woman. Natasha gives a
-nervous start and turns away. Elena Kirillovna reads on calmly, without looking
-at the nurse.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The nurse sighs, sits down on the bench at the entrance, and asks in a monotone
-the one and the same question that she asks each day:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And how many folk are there in this morning&rsquo;s paper that&rsquo;s
-been ordered to die? And how many are there that&rsquo;s been hanged?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna drops the paper, and suddenly rising, very pale, looks upon
-the old woman. She is quivering from head to foot. Elena Kirillovna, folding
-the paper, pushes it aside and looks straight before her with arrested eyes.
-Natasha rises; she turns her face, which has suddenly grown pale, toward the
-old woman, and utters in a kind of wooden voice that does not seem like her
-own:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;In Ekaterinoslav&mdash;seven; in Moscow&mdash;one.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Or other towns, and other figures&mdash;such as fresh newspaper lists bring
-each day.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The nurse rises and crosses herself piously. She mutters:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;O Lord, rest the souls of Thy servants! And give them eternal
-life!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then Sofia Alexandrovna cries out in despair:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh Borya, Borya, my Borya!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her face is as pale as though there were not a single drop of blood left under
-her dull, elastic skin.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Wringing her hands with a convulsive movement, she looks with terror at Elena
-Kirillovna and at her daughter. Elena Kirillovna turns aside, and, looking at
-the old nurse, shakes her head reproachfully, while in her eyes, like drops of
-early evening dew, appear a few scant tears.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha, looking determinedly at her mother, says with pale, quivering lips:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, calm yourself.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Suddenly her voice becomes cold and wooden again as though some evil stranger
-compelled her each day to utter her words slowly and deliberately.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You yourself know, mamma, that Borya was hanged a full year ago!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She looks at her mother with the motionless, pathetic gaze of her very dark
-eyes, and repeats:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You yourself know this, mamma!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna&rsquo;s eyes are widely dilated; dull, there is terror in
-them, and the deep pupils burn with an impercipient lustre in their dark
-depths. She repeats almost soundlessly, looking straight into Natasha&rsquo;s
-eyes:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Hanged!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She resumes her place, looks out of her sad eyes at the white Aphrodite and the
-red roses at the goddess&rsquo;s feet, and is silent. Her face is white and
-rigid, her lips are red and tightly set; there is a suggestion of latent
-madness in the still lustre of her eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Before the image of eternal beauty, before the fragrance of the short-lived,
-exultant roses, she is hardening as it were into an image of the eternal grief
-of a disconsolate mother.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXXI</h3>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna quietly descends the narrow side staircase into the garden.
-She sits down on a bench somewhat away from the house, looks upon the green
-bedecked pond and weeps.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha goes into her room in the mezzanine. She opens a book and tries to
-read. But she finds it impossible. She puts the book aside and looks out of the
-window, and her eyes are dimmed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Higher and higher above the old house rises the pitiless, bright Dragon. His
-joyous laughter rings in the merry heights, encloses, as in a flaming circle,
-the depressing silence of the house. The well-directed rays shoot out like
-sharp-plumed arrows, and the air is tremulous with eternal, inexhaustible
-anger. No one is being awaited. No one will come. Borya has died. The
-relentless wheel of time knows no turning back.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-So the day is passing&mdash;clearly and brightly. The dazzling white light says
-there is nothing to hope for.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXXII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Natasha sits in her room before an open window. A book is lying on the
-window-sill. She has no desire to read.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Every line in the book reminds her of him, of unfinished conversations, of
-heated discussions, of what had been, of what is no more.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The memories become brighter and brighter, and reach at last a clearness and
-fullness of vision, overwhelming her soul.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The fiery Dragon, obscured by a leaden grey cloud, becomes a little dim.
-Dimness also creeps into the memory of him. It seems as though the heavens are
-being traversed by the cold, clear, tranquil moon. Her face is pale, but not
-from sadness. Her rays have cast a spell upon the sleeping earth and upon the
-unattainably high heavens.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The moon has bewitched the fields and also the valleys, which are full of mist.
-There is a dull glimmer in the drops of cool, tranquil dew upon the slumbering
-grass.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There is in this fantastic glimmer the resurrection of that which has
-died&mdash;of that past tenderness and love which inspired deeds requiring
-superhuman strength. There come again to the lips proud, long-unsung hymns, and
-vows of action and loyalty.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And what of that evil, vigilant, and instigating eye; and what of the traitor
-whose words mingled with the passionate words of the young people! Not even the
-waters of all the cold oceans can quench the fire of daring love, and all the
-cunning poisons of the earth cannot poison it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Bewitched with the lunar mystery, the wood stands expectant, nebulous, silent.
-Incomprehensible and inaccessible to men is its slow, sure experience, and the
-secret of its forged desires.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Into its lunar silence men have brought the revolt, the speech and laughter of
-youth; but, overcome by the lunar mystery, they are suddenly grown silent and
-meditative.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The open glade in the woods, enchanted by the green, cold light of the moon,
-seems very white. Along the edge of the glade lie the shadows of the trees;
-they seem unreal and nebulous and mysteriously still.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The moon, very slowly, almost stealthily, is rising higher in the pale blue
-dome. Round, cold, half lost in the milk-white mist as behind a thin veil, she
-disperses by her dispassionate gaze the nebulous, silent tops of the slumbering
-trees, and looks down upon the glade with the motionless, inquisitive glance of
-her white eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The thin particles of dew scattered over the cold grasses vanish&mdash;the
-white nocturnal haze drinks them greedily. The air is oppressively sweet. On
-the edge of the glade a number of slender, erect, white-limbed birches emerge
-out of the mist; they are still asleep, and as innocent as their girl
-companions who rest beneath them in their green-white dresses.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXXIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Reposing under the slender birches in the glade is a party of girls, young men
-and grown-up people. One sits on the stump of a felled tree, another on the
-trunk of an old birch struck down in a storm, a third lies upon an overcoat
-spread on the grass, a fourth rests his back against a young birch. There is a
-single, slight glow of a cigarette, but this, too, goes out.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the luminous, haunting mist everything seems white, translucent, fabulously
-impressive. And it seems as though the birches in the glade and the moon in the
-sky are waiting for something.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Here is Natasha. Here is also Natasha&rsquo;s friend, a college girl from
-Moscow, white-skinned, sharp-featured, looking like a healthy little wild
-beast. Then there are Borya and his friend, both in linen jackets, both lean,
-with pale faces and dark, flaming eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And there is yet another&mdash;a tall, stout figure in a dark blouse. He has an
-air of self-confidence and seems to be the most knowing, the most experienced,
-the most able of those present.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He is surrounded by the grown-up people and the girls, and he is being
-questioned. Cheery, good-natured, impatient voices appeal to him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do sing for us the <i>International</i>.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Borya, a lad with pale, frowning forehead, and blue-black circles under his
-eyes, looks into the other&rsquo;s face and implores more heartily than the
-rest.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The tall, broad-chested Mikhail Lvovich looks askance and stubbornly refuses to
-sing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t,&rdquo; he says gruffly. &ldquo;My throat is not in
-condition.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Borya and Natasha insist.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mikhail Lvovich then makes a gesture with his hand and accedes not less
-gruffly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Very well, I&rsquo;ll sing.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Every one is overjoyed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mikhail Lvovich poses himself on his knees. Above the mist-white glade, above
-the white-faced lads, above the white mist itself, there rises toward the
-witching moon, floating tranquilly in the skies, the words of that proud,
-passionate hymn:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Arise, ye branded with a curse!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mikhail Lvovich sings. His eyes are fixed on the ground, upon the cold grass,
-white in the glamorous light of the full, clear moon. It is hard to tell
-whether he does not wish to or cannot look straight into the eyes of these
-girls and boys&mdash;into these trusting, clean eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And they have gathered round him, how closely they have nestled round him,
-these pure-spirited young girls; and the young lads, their knees in the grass,
-follow every movement of his lips, and join in quietly. The bold melody grows,
-gains in volume. Like an exultant prophecy ring the eloquent words:
-</p>
-
-<p class="poem">
-In the International<br />
-As brothers all men shall meet.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXXIV</h3>
-
-<p>
-Mikhail has finished the song. For a time no one speaks. Then the agitated
-voices all ring out together, stirring the heavy silence of the woods.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Clear, girlish eyes are looking earnestly upon Mikhail Lvovich&rsquo;s morose
-set face. A clear, girlish voice implores insistently and gently:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Sing again, please. Be a dear. Sing it once more. I will make a note of
-the words. I want to know them by heart.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha approaches nearer and says quietly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We will all of us learn the words and sing them each day, like a prayer.
-We shall do it with a full heart.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mikhail Lvovich at last lifts his eyes. They are small, sparkling, shrewd. This
-time they have fixed themselves severely and inquisitively on Natasha&rsquo;s
-face, which suddenly has become confused at this snake-like glance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mikhail Lvovich addresses her gruffly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It doesn&rsquo;t require much bravery to sing on the quiet, in the
-woods. Any one can do that.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha&rsquo;s face becomes pale. Dark flames of unchildish determination
-kindle in her eyes. Excitedly she cries:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We will learn the words, and we will sing them where they are wanted. My
-God, are we to depend upon words, and upon words alone? We are ready for
-deeds.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Borya repeats after her: &ldquo;We are ready. We shall do all that is
-necessary. Yes, even die if need be.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mikhail Lvovich says with a calm assurance:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, I know.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In his eyes, fixed intently upon the ground, a dim, small flame is visible.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXXV</h3>
-
-<p>
-There is a short silence. Then a thin voice is heard. It is the girl, slender
-as a young birch, with the sharp, cheerful little face, who is speaking.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My God! What strength! What eloquence!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mikhail Lvovich slowly turns his face toward her. He smiles severely and says
-nothing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The girl has her hands clasped across her knees. It is an extremely pretty
-pose. Her face has suddenly assumed a very grave air, breathing passionate
-entreaty and fiery determination. She exclaims fervently:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s all sing the chorus! Mikhail Lvovich will teach us. You will
-teach us, Mikhail Lvovich, won&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; Mikhail Lvovich replies with his usual severe dignity.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He casts his dull, heavy gaze round the crowded circle of delighted young
-faces. He alone sits with his back to the open glade and to the witching moon.
-His face, now in the shade, has become even more significant. And his whole
-bearing is one of imposing solemnity.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The faces of the younger people are white in the moonlight. Their garments are
-luminously bright. Their voices are brilliantly clear. In their simple trust
-there is the sense of an avowal.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, let us begin!&rdquo; exclaims the slender girl, somewhat agitated.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mikhail Lvovich raises his hand with a solemn gesture and begins:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Arise, ye branded with a curse!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The children sing with a will, mingling their high, clear voices with Mikhail
-Lvovich&rsquo;s deep, low voice. Their young voices are blazing with the
-passionate flame of freedom and revolt. Higher and still higher, above the
-white mists, above the black forest, toward the silver clouds and the quiet
-glimmering stars, toward the aspectful moon, rise the sounds of the invocation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And the white-trunked birches, the milk-white moon, motionless in the sky, the
-white, silvery grass, pressed down by children&rsquo;s knees&mdash;all is
-still, all is silent, all is harkening with a sensitive ear. Everything around
-listens with poignant and solemn intentness to the song of these luminous
-children who, bathed in the translucent silver of the cool, lunar glimmer,
-their knees on the grass, their eyes burning in their uplifted faces, are
-repeating faithfully the words sung by the tall, self-contained young man whose
-dark face with fixed glance gazes morosely on the ground. They repeat after
-him:
-</p>
-
-<p class="poem">
-In the International<br />
-As brothers all men shall meet.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The strange foreign word, un-Russian in its ring, suggests to them the lofty,
-holy designation of a promised land, a new land under new skies, a land in
-which they have faith.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-After the hymn there is silence, a holy silence, solemn and palpable, reaching
-from the earth to the heavens. They might have been in the temple of a new, as
-yet unknown religion, in a mystic moment of sacrificial rites.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXXVI</h3>
-
-<p>
-Mikhail Lvovich is the first to break the silence. He speaks slowly, looking at
-no one and directing his heavy gaze above the children&rsquo;s pale faces,
-beyond the flaming ring of their glances:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My friends, you know the sort of time this is. Each one of us can be of
-use. If any one of us is sent I hope that none will tremble for his precious
-life, and that none will be deterred by the thought of a mother&rsquo;s
-sorrow.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The children exclaim:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;None! None! If they would but send us!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What is the sorrow of a single mother compared to the suffering of an
-entire nation!&rdquo; thinks Natasha proudly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There rises up for an instant a mental image of the ashen-pale face of her
-mother, her intensely dark, eloquent eyes. A sharp pain, lasting a moment,
-pierces her heart. What of that? It is, after all, but a single instant of
-weakness. A proud will shall conquer this slight suffering of a single relative
-by conferring great love upon the many, the strangers, the grievous sufferers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-What is the woe of one mother! Let Niobe weep eternally for her children,
-killed by the burning, poisoned arrows of the high Dragon; let Rachel remain
-unconsoled for ever&mdash;what is the woe of a poor mother? Serene is
-Apollo&rsquo;s face, radiant is Apollo&rsquo;s dream.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Yet how painful, how painful! A dimness comes over the transcendent idea, as
-though the dark countenance of the ominous figure who sang the proud hymn has
-dimmed the moon and has cast an austere shadow upon the heart itself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And now there is no moon, and no night, and no white glade in the mist in the
-forest. The bright day stares again at Natasha, she is at the window, the book
-lies before her, the old house is depressingly silent. The cloud has
-disappeared, the heavens are clear again, the evil Dragon is once more aiming
-his flaming arrows, he reiterates his conquest anew.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This cruel melancholy must be faced. Sting, accursed Dragon, burn, torment.
-Rejoice, conqueror! But even he must soon go to his setting, and, dying, pour
-out his blood upon half the heavens.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXXVII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Natasha, a yellow straw hat upon her head, is now walking in the field. The
-ground is hot, the sky is blue, the air is sultry and the wind asleep; the corn
-is yellow, the grass is green. Bathed again in the bright heat, Natasha prods
-her sweetly fatiguing memories, which cast into oblivion this dismal day.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She goes on&mdash;and there stretches before her, even as on a day long ago,
-the hot golden field, with its tall stalks inclining their heads in the heat.
-It is the revival of a former stifling, sultry midday.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-That was in the days when Natasha still loved the good, human sun, the source
-of life and joy, the eternal, the untiring herald of labours and deeds, of
-deeds beyond the powers of man.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Oh, the treacherous speech of the Serpent Tempter! He turns our heads and he
-entices, and he makes our poor earth seem like some fabulous kingdom.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Again there is a slight wavering stir in the sea of the heat-exhausted ears of
-rye, studded over with little blue flowers which lower timidly their
-sweetly-dazed heads from sultriness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha and her brother Boris are walking together, on an inviting narrow path
-among the golden waves of rye.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-How high the rye is! One can barely see the green roof of the old house on the
-right for the tall stalks, and the semi-circular window in the mezzanine: and
-on the left the little grey, rough huts of the village.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha and Boris follow one another. All around them the dry ears of rye waver
-and rustle, and among them are the blue-eyed little cornflowers. The two
-fragilely slender human silhouettes answered to the same wavering motion.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha goes ahead. She turns to see why Boris has lagged behind. The boy,
-brown and slender, with large burning eyes, attired in his linen jacket, is
-gathering the little blue flowers. He has already gathered almost as many as
-his hands can hold.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXXVIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Natasha, laughing, says to her brother: &ldquo;Enough, my dear, enough. I
-shan&rsquo;t be able to carry them all.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll do it easily enough, never fear!&rdquo; Boris answers
-cheerfully.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha stretches out her sunburnt hand to take the flowers. The sheaf of blue
-cornflowers, spreading across her breast, almost hides her, she is so slender.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Again Boris addresses her cheerfully: &ldquo;Well, is it heavy?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha laughs. Her face lights up with the joy of gratitude, and with a
-cheerful, childlike determination. &ldquo;I will carry these, but no
-more!&rdquo; she says.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I want to gather as many as possible for you.&rdquo; Boris&rsquo;s voice
-is serious; &ldquo;because you know we may not see each other for some
-time.&rdquo; There is a quaver in his voice as he says this.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Perhaps, never,&rdquo; Natasha, growing pensive, replies.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Both faces become sad and careworn.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Boris, frowning, glances sideways, and asks: &ldquo;Natasha, are you going with
-him?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha knows that Boris is inquiring about Mikhail Lvovich, who is now sending
-her on a dangerous business, and who has also promised to send Boris on some
-foolhardy errand. The brave are so often foolhardy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, I am going alone,&rdquo; Natasha replies, &ldquo;he will only lead
-me later to the spot.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Boris looks at Natasha with gloomy, envious eyes, and asks rather cautiously:
-&ldquo;Are you frightened, Natasha?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha smiles. And what pride there is in her smile! She speaks, and her voice
-is tranquil: &ldquo;No, Boris, I feel happy.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Boris observes that her face is really happy, and that her dark, flaming eyes
-are cheerful enough. Looking at her thus, her tranquillity communicates itself
-to him, and inspires him with a calm confidence in himself and in the business
-in hand.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The children go farther. Boris again gathers the cornflowers. Natasha is musing
-about something. She has broken off an ear of rye, and is absently nibbling at
-the grain.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXXIX</h3>
-
-<p>
-It is a long, hot, sultry day. The inexorable Dragon looks down indifferently
-upon the children. Unwearying, he aims his bright, vivid shafts at the
-sunburnt, fiery-eyed lad and at the slender, erect, black-eyed girl. His
-blazing shafts are evil, and they are well aimed; and his strong clear light is
-pitiless&mdash;but she walks on, and in her eyes there is hope, and in her eyes
-there is resolution, and in her dark eyes there is a flame which sets the soul
-afire to achieve deeds beyond the powers of man.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha suddenly pauses at the end of the path by the dusty road. Her eyes look
-at Boris full of tender admiration. It is evident that she desires to stamp
-upon her memory all the beloved features of the familiar tanned face&mdash;the
-curve of the dense brows, the rigid set of the red lips, the firm outlines of
-the chin, the stern profile.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha sighs lightly and addresses Boris gently and cheerfully:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Enough, dearest. They may not let me into the train with a heap like
-this. They will say: &lsquo;This should be put in the luggage
-van.&rsquo;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Both laugh carelessly. And still Boris is loath to leave the cornflowers. He
-says:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Only a few more. I want you to have a gigantic bouquet.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You would have everything gigantic!&rdquo; Natasha returns
-good-humouredly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But her face is serious. She knows how deep this quality is in him, and how
-significant. Boris looks at her, and in answer repeats his favourite, his most
-intimate thought:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, it is true. I love all bigness, all immoderation. In everything! In
-everything! If we only acted like this always! And gave ourselves wholly to a
-thing! Oh, how different life would be!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha, lost in thought, repeats: &ldquo;Yes, big things, things beyond the
-powers of man. To make life lavish. Only no stinginess, no trembling for
-one&rsquo;s skin. Far better to die&mdash;to gather all life into one little
-knot, and to throw it away!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; says Boris, and his eyes, dark as night, glow with the
-fury of a yet distant storm. &ldquo;We must have no care for lives, but be
-lavish with them, lavish to the end&mdash;only then may we reach our
-goal!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They cross the road and again walk calmly along a narrow path. Her dress is
-white among the golden waves. Natasha stretches out her slender hand, the ears
-of rye rustle dryly and solid seeds of ripe rye fall into it. They are struck
-from above by the vivid shafts of the pitiless Dragon.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The children are walking on, conscious of their vow. They go trustingly, and
-they do not know that he who sends them is a traitor, and that their sacrifice
-is vain.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XL</h3>
-
-<p>
-What is this dry rustling all around? It is the rye. But where are the little
-cornflowers, where is Boris? The little blue-eyed flowers are in the rye, and
-Boris has been hanged.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And I?&rdquo; Natasha asks herself in a strange, oppressive perplexity.
-She looks round her like one just awakened.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why am I here?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She answers herself: &ldquo;I escaped. A lucky chance saved me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha is oppressed by the thought. How had she survived it? &ldquo;Far better
-if I had perished!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It all happened very simply. Natasha, being Number Three, was placed at the
-railway station itself, her duty being contingent on the failure of Number One
-and Number Two. But the first was successful, though he himself perished in the
-explosion.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The second, upon hearing the explosion not far away, lost his presence of mind.
-He ran to save himself. He caught a cab, and got off near the river. Here he
-hired a row-boat. When near the middle of the river, he threw the bomb into the
-water. The man who rowed had guessed that something was wrong. Besides, he had
-been seen from the Government steamer and from the banks. Number Two was taken,
-tried and hanged.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha did not betray herself in any way. She walked calmly, without haste,
-bearing her dangerous burden, observed by no one. She mixed freely with the
-passing crowd. She delivered the bomb at the appointed place.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A few days later she left for home. She had not been followed. Natasha was
-awaiting a second commission, and quite suddenly she abandoned the business,
-because her trust in it had died.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It happened even before Borya was hanged. But her decision came finally in
-those nightmare days when, quickly and unexpectedly, his life came to an end.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Those were terrible days.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But, no, it is better not to think of them, it is better not to remember them.
-To remember them is to suffer. Far better to remember other things, things
-cloudless and long past.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XLI</h3>
-
-<p>
-Oh magic mirror of memory, so much is reflected in thee! Beloved images pass by
-with a kind of glimmer.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There were the flowers, which they themselves looked after. There was one
-flower-bed which they cared for with especial tenderness. There was the fresh,
-intoxicating evening aroma of gilliflower. There was the cluster of jasmine,
-dewy at dawn, so sweetly and so gently fragrant, that one wished to weep in its
-presence, as the grass weeps its tears of dew at golden dawn.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then there was the open space in the garden, and the giant-stride in the
-centre. What gigantic steps they took! How fast and how high she flew round
-with Boris!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-How glorious were the feast-days to the childish hearts. There was Christmas
-Eve, with its tree, and candles upon the green branches, with all the
-many-coloured glitter of golden nuts, red, green and blue trimmings, snow-white
-foils of cotton-wool, offerings which gladdened with their unexpectedness. Then
-in the daytime there is real snow, glittering like salt, and crunching under
-one&rsquo;s feet; the frost pinches the cheeks, the sun is shining, their
-mittens are of the softest down, their hats are white and soft, the sleds are
-flying down hillocks&mdash;oh, what joy!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And now Easter is here. What a solemn night! Then the joyous chanting of
-matins. The candle flames are everywhere, there seems to be no end to them.
-There is a smell of Easter cakes. There are Easter eggs painted in all colours.
-Every one is kissing each other. Every one is happy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Christoss Voskress!</i>&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Voistinu Voskress!</i>&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the dear dead do not stir.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-No. The beloved memories do not break the continuity of the circle, the
-resurrection of the others&mdash;the fearsome, tragic memories. Inevitably the
-vision leads on to the last terrible moments.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XLII</h3>
-
-<p>
-They lived in the capital that winter. Boris was studying his final term in the
-<i>gymnasia</i>. For Christmas he went to another city: to relatives, he said.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha was suspicious. But he did not tell her the truth.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Really, nothing,&rdquo; he answered to all her questions. &ldquo;No one
-is sending me. I am going of my own accord. To see Aunt Liuba.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And Natasha did not insist.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-For several days she did not get any letters from him. But she did not worry.
-Boris disliked writing letters. They thought he was enjoying himself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was an evening in early January. Her mother and grandmother had gone out
-visiting. Natasha, pleading a headache, remained at home.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll lie down on the sofa. It will pass away.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The truth was she thought the home of her affected, worldly relatives a dull
-place, and she had no desire to go there.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The maid had leave to go out. Natasha remained in the house alone. She lay down
-in her room on the sofa with an interesting new book.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-After the cheer and ease of the holidays, Natasha felt in good spirits. She was
-comfortable, tranquil and cheerful. The hangings on the windows were
-impenetrably opaque. The lamp, burning brightly and evenly, concealed its
-garish white blaze from her eyes under its trimmed, beaded shade. The whole
-small room was lost in a luminous twilight.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At last, however, page after page of running lines of print tired Natasha. She
-dropped into a doze, and was shortly sound asleep. The open book fell softly on
-the rug.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XLIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Suddenly a bell rings. Natasha gives a start.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Ours? No. The bell rang so timidly, so hesitatingly. It was as though she heard
-it ring in a dream, and not in reality; again, it might have been the ring of
-some mischievous urchin.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Perhaps she had only imagined it. It is so comfortable to doze. She feels too
-lazy to get up. Let them ring.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But here is a second ring, more insistent and louder.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha jumps up and runs into the vestibule, rearranging her hair on the way.
-Remembering that she is alone in the house she does not open the door, but
-asks: &ldquo;Who&rsquo;s there?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-From behind the door she can hear the low, somewhat hoarse voice of the
-telegraph boy: &ldquo;A telegram.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her heart begins to beat with fright. It is always terrible to receive
-telegrams. For only good news travels slowly. Bad news makes haste.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha puts one end of the door-chain to a little hook in the door. Then she
-opens the door partly and looks out. There stands the messenger in his uniform,
-with a metal plate in his cap. He hands her the telegram.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Sign here, miss.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The grey-white, dry paper trembles in Natasha&rsquo;s hands. Natasha feels a
-sudden tug at her heart. She speaks incoherently:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What is it? Oh my God! Sign, did you say?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She runs to the table. Her hands tremble. She has managed somehow to scrawl her
-family name &ldquo;Ozoreva,&rdquo; the pen hesitating and scratching upon the
-grey paper.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Here is the signature.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Across the little door-chain she thrusts the signed paper and a tip into the
-hand of the messenger. Then she bangs the door to after him. Now she is in
-front of the lamp. What can it be?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Tearing the seal open she reads. Terrible words. Such simple, yet such
-incomprehensible words. Because they are about Boris.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Boris has shot &mdash;&mdash;. Arrested with comrades. Military trial
-to-morrow. Death sentence threatened</i>.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>XLIV</h3>
-
-<p>
-Natasha re-reads the telegram. A sudden terror, strangely akin to shame, for a
-moment strikes at her heart. She can hear the heavy beat of blood in her
-temples. She is, as it were, being strangled from all sides; she can hardly
-breathe; the walls seem to have come together, oppressing her on all sides; and
-the rapid, pale, pencilled strokes seem also to have run together into one
-jumble on the grey paper.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Certain thoughts, one after the other, slowly make way into Natasha&rsquo;s
-dimmed consciousness&mdash;oppressive, evil, pitiless thoughts.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Stupefied, she wonders how she shall tell her mother. She observes that her
-hands tremble. She recalls the telephone number of the Lareyevs, where her
-mother undoubtedly is.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then terror seizes her anew; she shivers violently from head to foot as with
-ague. Her mind is a whirl of confusion.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, it is a mistake! It cannot be. It is a cruel, senseless mistake! It
-is some one&rsquo;s stupid, cruel joke.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Boris, our beloved boy, with his fine honest eyes&mdash;think of him hanging!
-There will be a rattle in his throat, as strangling, he will swing in the
-noose. With sharp, clutching pain, the gentle, childish neck will tighten; the
-sunburnt face will grow purple; the swollen tongue will creep out all in froth,
-and the widely dilated eyes will reflect the terror of cruel death.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-No, no, it cannot be! It is a mistake! But who can be malicious enough to make
-such a mistake?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And then where is Boris?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her cold reasoning says that it is so, that no mistake has been made. The words
-are clear, the address is correct&mdash;yes, yes! It was really to be expected.
-Here it is, this lavishness of life which he dreamt of, which they both dreamt
-of. &ldquo;I love all immoderation. To be lavish&mdash;only then we may reach
-our goal!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her legs tremble. She feels herself terribly weak. She sits down on the sofa.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Oh God, what&rsquo;s to be done? How is she to tell her mother this terrible
-thing?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Or should she conceal it? And do everything that could be done by herself? But
-no, she could do ridiculously little herself!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It is necessary to tell. It must be done quickly. She must not lose an instant.
-Perhaps it is still possible to save Boris, by going, by petitioning.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Why is she sitting still then? It is necessary to act at once.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha seizes the telephone. What a long time the operator takes to answer.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At last she is connected. She can hear sounds of music and the hum of voices.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A cheerful, familiar voice asks:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s there?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is Natasha Ozoreva.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good evening, Natasha,&rdquo; says Marusya Lareyeva loudly. &ldquo;What
-a pity you did not come. We are having a fine time.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good evening, dear Marusya. Is mamma with you?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, she is here. Shall I call her?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, no, for God&rsquo;s sake. Let some one break it to her....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Has anything happened?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Marusya, a terrible misfortune. Our Boris has been arrested.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My God! For what?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know. He&rsquo;ll have a military trial. I feel desperate.
-It&rsquo;s so terrible. For God&rsquo;s sake, don&rsquo;t frighten mother too
-much. Tell her to come home at once, please.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh, my God, how awful!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh, Marusya, dearest, for God&rsquo;s sake, be quick.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell my mother at once. Wait at the telephone,
-Natasha.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha holds the receiver to her ear and waits. She hears the noise of
-footsteps. Some one has begun to sing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then again the same voice, extremely agitated:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Natasha, do you hear? Your mother wants to speak to you herself.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha trembles with fright. Good God, what shall she tell her mother! She
-inquires:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What? Is she coming herself to the telephone?&rdquo; she asks.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes. Your mother is here now.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>XLV</h3>
-
-<p>
-The voice of Sofia Alexandrovna, terribly agitated, is heard:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Natasha, is that you? For God&rsquo;s sake, what has happened?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha replies:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, mamma, it is I. A telegram has come. Mamma, don&rsquo;t be
-frightened, it must be a mistake.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This time the voice is more controlled.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Read me the telegram at once.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Just a moment. I&rsquo;ll get it,&rdquo; says Natasha.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The telegram is read.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What, a military trial?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, military.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;To-morrow?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes, to-morrow.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Death sentence threatened?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, please be yourself, for God&rsquo;s sake. Perhaps something can
-be done.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We must go there. Get the things ready, Natasha. Mother and I are
-returning at once, and we will take the first train out.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The conversation is at an end.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha is alone. She runs about the deserted house, letting things fall in the
-poignant silence. She is busy with travelling bags and with pillows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She stops to look at the time-table. There is a train at half-past twelve. Yes,
-there is still time to catch it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then the bell rings, frightening her even more than the earlier ring. The
-mother and the grandmother have arrived, pale and distraught.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XLVI</h3>
-
-<p>
-A sleepless, wearisome journey in the train. The wheels roll on with a
-measured, jarring sound. Stops are made. How slow it all is! How agonizing! If
-only it would be quicker, quicker!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Or were it better to wish that time should be arrested? That its huge, shaggy
-wings outspread and flapping above the world should suddenly become motionless?
-That its owlish glance should be stilled for ever in the instant just before
-the terrible word is said?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They reach their destination in the morning. At the station, a dirty, dejected
-place, they are met by a cousin of Natasha&rsquo;s, an attorney by profession.
-From his pale, worried face, they guess that everything is over.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He talks quickly and incoherently. He comforts them with hopes in which he
-himself does not believe. The trial had been held early that morning. Boris and
-both his comrades&mdash;all of the same green youth&mdash;had been sentenced to
-die by hanging. The court would entertain no appeal. The only hope lay in the
-district general. He was really not a bad man at heart. Perhaps, by imploring,
-he might be induced to lighten the sentence to that of hard labour for an
-indefinite period.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Poor mothers! What is it they implore?
-</p>
-
-<h3>XLVII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna and Natasha arrived at the general&rsquo;s. They waited long
-in the quiet, cold-looking reception-room; the glossy parquet floor shone,
-portraits in heavy gilt frames hung on the walls, and the careful steps of
-uniformed officials, coming through a large white door, resounded from time to
-time.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At last they were received. The general listened most amiably, but declined
-emphatically to do anything. He rose, clinked his spurs, and stretched himself
-to his full height; He stood there tall, erect, his breast decorated with
-orders, his head grey, his face ruddy, with black eyebrows and broad nose.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In vain the humiliating entreaties.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Pale, the proud mother knelt before the general and, weeping bitterly, she
-kissed his hands and at last threw herself at his feet&mdash;all in vain. She
-received the cold answer:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I am sorry, madam, it is impossible. I understand your affliction, I
-sympathize fully; with your sorrow, but what can I do? Whose fault is it? Upon
-me lies a great responsibility toward my Emperor and my country. I have my
-duty&mdash;I can&rsquo;t help you. It is against yourself that you ought to
-bring your reproaches&mdash;you&rsquo;ve brought him up.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Of what avail the tears of a poor mother? Strike thy head upon the parquet
-floor, bend thy face to the black glitter of his boots; or else depart, proud
-and silent. It is all the same, he can do nothing. Thy tears and thy entreaties
-do not touch him, thy curses do not offend him. He is a kind man, he is the
-loving father of a family, but his upright martial soul does not tremble before
-the word death. More than once he had risked his life boldly in
-battle&mdash;what is the life of a conspirator to him?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But he is a mere boy!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, madam, this is not a childish prank. I am sorry.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He walks away. She hears the measured clinking of his spurs. The parquet floor
-reflects dimly his tall, erect figure.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;General, have pity!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The cold, white door has swung to after him. She hears the quiet, pleasant
-voice of a young official. He raises her from the floor and helps her to find
-her way out.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XLVIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-They granted a last meeting. A few minutes passed in questions, answers,
-embraces, and tears.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Boris said very little.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t cry, mamma. I am not afraid. There is nothing else they can
-do. They don&rsquo;t feed you at all badly here. Remember me to all. And you,
-Natasha, take care of mother. One sacrifice is enough from our family. Well,
-good-bye.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He seemed somehow callous and distant. He seemed to be thinking of something
-else, of something he could tell no one. And his words had an external ring, as
-though merely to make conversation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-That night, before daybreak, Boris was hanged. The scaffold was set up in the
-gaol courtyard. The spot where he was buried was kept secret.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The mother implored the next day: &ldquo;Show me his grave at least!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-What was there to show! He was laid in a coffin, he was put into a hole in the
-earth and the soil that covered him was smoothed down to its original
-level&mdash;we all know how such culprits are buried.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Tell me at least how he died.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, he was a brave one. He was calm, a bit serious. And he refused a
-priest, and would not kiss the cross.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They returned home. A fog of melancholy hung over them, and within them there
-lit up a spark of mad hope&mdash;no, Borya is not dead, Borya will return.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XLIX</h3>
-
-<p>
-The thought that Boris had been hanged could not enter into their habitual,
-everyday thoughts. Only in the hour when the sun was at its zenith, and in the
-hour of the midnight moon, it would penetrate their awakened consciousness like
-a sharp poniard. Again it would pierce the soul with a sharp, tormenting pain,
-and again it would vanish in the dim mist of dawn with a kind of dull agony.
-And again, the same unreasonable conviction would awake in their hearts.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-No, Borya will return. The bell will suddenly ring, and the door will be opened
-to him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh, Borya! Where have you been wandering?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-How we shall kiss him! And how much there will be to tell!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What does it matter where you have been wandering. You have been
-wandering, and, you have been found, like the prodigal son.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-How happy all will be!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old nurse will not be consoled. She wails:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Boryushka, Boryushka, my incomparable one! I say to him:
-&lsquo;Boryushka, I&rsquo;m going to the poor-house!&rsquo; And he says to me:
-&lsquo;No,&rsquo; says he, &lsquo;<i>nyanechka</i>,<a href="#linknote-4"
-name="linknoteref-4" id="linknoteref-4">[4]</a> I&rsquo;ll not let you go to
-the poor-house. I,&rsquo; he says, &lsquo;will let you stop with me,
-<i>nyanechka</i>; only wait till I grow up,&rsquo; says he, &lsquo;and you can
-live with me.&rsquo; Oh, Boryushka, what&rsquo;s this you&rsquo;ve done!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the morning the old nurse enters the vestibule. Whose grey overcoat is it
-that she sees hanging on the rack? It is Borya&rsquo;s, his <i>gymnasia</i>
-uniform. Has he then not gone to the <i>gymnasia</i> to-day?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She wanders into the dining-room, making a muffled noise with her soft
-slippers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Natashenka, is Boryushka home to-day? His overcoat&rsquo;s there on the
-rack. Or is he sick?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Nyanechka</i>!&rdquo; exclaims Natasha.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, frightened, she looks at her mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old nurse has suddenly remembered. She is crying. The grey head shivers in
-its black wrap. The old woman wails:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I go there and I look, what&rsquo;s that I see? Borya&rsquo;s overcoat.
-I say to myself, Borya&rsquo;s gone to the <i>gymnasia</i>, why&rsquo;s his
-overcoat here? It&rsquo;s no holiday. Oh, my Boryushka is gone!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She wails louder and louder. Then the old woman falls to the floor and begins
-to beat the boards with her head.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Borechka, my own Borechka! If the Lord had only taken me, an old woman,
-instead of him. What&rsquo;s the use of life to me? I drag along, of no cheer
-to myself or to any one else.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha, helpless, tries to quiet her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Nyanechka</i>, dearest, rest a little.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;May Thou rest me, O Lord! My heart told me something was wrong.
-I&rsquo;ve been dreaming all sorts of bad dreams. These black dreams have come
-true! Oh, Borechka, my own!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old woman continues to beat her head and to wail. Natasha implores her
-mother:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;For God&rsquo;s sake, mamma, have Borya&rsquo;s overcoat taken from the
-rack.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna looks at her with her dark, smouldering eyes and says
-morosely:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why? It had better hang there. He might suddenly need it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Oh, hateful memories! As long as the evil Dragon reigns in the heavens it is
-impossible to escape them.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha roams restlessly, she can find no place for herself. She is off to the
-woods; she recalls Boris there, and that he has been hanged. She is off to the
-river; she recalls Boris there, and that he is no more. She is back at home,
-and the walls of the old house recall Boris to her, and that he will not
-return.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Like a pale shadow the mother wanders along the walks of the garden, choosing
-to pause there where the shade is densest. The old grandmother sits upon a
-bench and finishes the reading of the newspapers. It is the same every day.
-</p>
-
-<p class="footnote">
-<a name="linknote-4" id="linknote-4"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-4">[4]</a> 
-Little nurse.
-</p>
-
-<h3>L</h3>
-
-<p>
-And now the evening is approaching. The sun is low and red. It looks straight
-into people&rsquo;s eyes as though, while expiring, it were begging for mercy.
-A breeze blows from the river, and it brings the laughter of white water
-nymphs.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A number of noisy urchins are running in the road; their shirt-tails flap
-merrily in the wind, while their sleeves are filled with wind like balloons.
-The sound of a harmonica comes from the distance, and its song runs on very
-merrily. The corncrake screeches in the field, and its call resembles a
-general&rsquo;s loud snore.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old house once more casts and arranges its long dark shadows disturbed by
-the intrusive day. Its windows blaze forth with the red fire of the evening
-sun.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The gilliflower exhales its seductive aroma in some of the distant paths. The
-roses seem even redder in the sunset, and more sweet. The eternal
-Aphrodite&mdash;the naked marble of her proud body taking on a rose
-tint&mdash;smiles again, and lets fall her draperies as fascinatingly as ever.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And everything is directed as before toward cherished, unreasonable hopes.
-Enfeebled by the day&rsquo;s heat, and by the sadness of the bright day, the
-harassed soul has exhausted its measure of suffering, and it falls from the
-iron embrace of sorrow to the beloved dark earth of the past, once more
-besprinkled with dreamily refreshing dew.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And again, as at dawn, the three women in the old house await Boris, or a short
-time happy in their madness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They await him, and they chat of him, until, from behind the trees of the dark
-wood, the cold moon shows her ever sad face. The dead moon is under a white
-shroud of mist.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then again they remember that Borya has been hanged, and they meet at the
-green-covered pond to weep for him.
-</p>
-
-<h3>LI</h3>
-
-<p>
-Natasha is the first to leave the house. She has on a white dress and a black
-cloak. Her black hair is covered with a thin black kerchief. Her very deep dark
-eyes shine with flame-like brightness. She stands, her pale face uplifted
-toward the moon. She awaits the other two.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna and Sofia Alexandrovna arrive together.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna leaves the house slightly earlier, but Sofia Alexandrovna runs
-after her and overtakes her almost at the pond. They wear black cloaks, black
-kerchiefs on their heads, and black shoes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha begins:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;On the night before the execution he did not sleep. The moon, just as
-clear as to-night&rsquo;s, looked into the narrow window of his cell. On the
-floor the moon sadly outlined a green rhomb, intersected lengthwise and
-crosswise by narrow dark strokes. Boris walked up and down his cell, and looked
-now at the moon, now at the green rhomb, and thought&mdash;I wish I knew his
-thoughts that night.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her remark has a quite tranquil sound. It might have been about a stranger.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna now and again wrings her hands, and as she begins to speak
-her voice is agitated and heavy with grief:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What can one think at such moments! The moon, long dead, looks in. There
-are five steps from the door to the window, four steps across. The mind springs
-feverishly from object to object. That the execution is to take place on the
-morrow is the one thing you try not to think of. Stubbornly you repel the
-thought. But it remains, it refuses to depart, it throttles the soul with an
-oppressive, horrible nightmare. The anguish is intense and enfeebling. But I do
-not wish my gaolers and all these officials who are come to me to see my
-anguish. I will be calm. And yet what anguish&mdash;if only, lifting up my pale
-face, I could cry aloud to the pale moon!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna whispers faintly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Terrible, Sonyushka.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There are tears in her voice&mdash;simple, old-womanish, grandmotherly tears.
-</p>
-
-<h3>LII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna, ignoring the interruption, continues:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why should I really go to my death boldly and resolutely? Is it not all
-the same? I shall die in the courtyard, in the dark of night. Whether I die
-boldly, or weep like a coward, or beg for mercy, or resist the
-executioner&mdash;is it not all the same? No one will know how I died. I shall
-face death alone. Why should I really suffer this wild anguish? I will raise up
-my voice to wail and to weep, and I will shake the whole gaol with my
-despairing cries, and I will awake the town, the so-called free town, which is
-only a larger gaol&mdash;so that I shall not suffer alone, but that others
-shall share in my last agony, in my last dread. But no, I won&rsquo;t do that.
-It is my fate to die alone.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha rises, trembles, presses her mother&rsquo;s cold hand in hers, and
-says:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, mamma, it is terrible, if alone. No, don&rsquo;t say that he felt
-alone. We shall be with him.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna whispers:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, Sonyushka, it would be terrible alone. In such moments!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We are with him,&rdquo; insists Natasha vehemently. &ldquo;We are with
-him now.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A smile is on Sofia Alexandrovna&rsquo;s lips, a smile such as a dying person
-smiles to greet his last consolation. Sofia Alexandrovna speaks:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My last consolation is the thought that I am not alone. He is with me.
-These walls are unrealities, this gaol built by men is a lie. What is real and
-true is my suffering and I am one with them in my grief. A poor consolation!
-And yet I, just think, this extraordinary I, Boris, I am dying.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I am dying,&rdquo; repeats Natasha.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her voice is clouded, and it is fraught with despair. And all three remain
-silent for a brief while, overcome by the spell of these tragic words.
-</p>
-
-<h3>LIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna speaks again. Her voice sounds tranquil, deliberate,
-measured:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;There is no consolation for the dying. His grief is boundless. The cold
-moon continues to torment him. A moan struggles to break from his throat, a
-moan like the wild baying of a caged beast.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha speaks sadly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But he is not alone, not alone. We are with him in his grief.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her eyes, darker than a dark night, look up toward the lifeless moon, and the
-green enchantress, reflected in them, torments her with a dull pain.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna smiles&mdash;and her smile is dead&mdash;and with the voice
-of inconsolable sorrow she speaks again slowly and calmly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We are with him only in his despair, in his pitiful inconsolability, in
-his dark solitude. But he was alone, alone, when he was strangled by the hand
-of a hired hangman; strangled in that dark enclosure which it is not for us to
-demolish. And the dead moon tormented him, as it torments us. She tempted him
-with the mad desire to moan wildly, like a wild beast before dying. And now we,
-in this hour, under this moon&mdash;are we not also tormented by the same mad
-desire to run, to run far from people, and to moan and to wail, and to flee
-from a grief too great to be borne!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She rises abruptly and walks away, wringing her beautiful white hands. She
-walks fast, almost runs, driven as it were by some strange, furious will not
-her own. Natasha follows her with the measured yet rapid, deliberate,
-mechanical gait of an automaton. And behind them trips along Elena Kirillovna,
-who lets fall a few scant tears on her black cloak.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The moon follows them callously in their hurried journey across the garden,
-across the field, into that wood, into that still glade, where once the
-children sang their proud hymn, and where they let their mad desires be known
-to one who was to betray them for a price&mdash;young blood for gold.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The grass in the fields is wet with dew. The river is white with mist. The high
-moon is clear and cold. Everywhere it is quiet, as though all the earthly
-rustlings and noises had lost themselves in the moon&rsquo;s dead light.
-</p>
-
-<h3>LIV</h3>
-
-<p>
-And here is the glade. &ldquo;Natasha, do you remember? How warmly they all
-sang <i>Arise, ye branded with a curse!</i> Natasha, will you sing it again?
-Do. Is it a torture?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll sing,&rdquo; replies Natasha quietly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She sings in a low voice, almost to herself. The mother listens, and the
-grandmother listens&mdash;but what have the birches and the grass and the clear
-moon to do with human songs!
-</p>
-
-<p class="poem">
-In the International<br />
-As brothers all men shall meet!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her song is at an end. The wood is silent. The moon waits. The mist is pensive.
-The birches seem to listen. The sky is clear.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Ah, for whom is all this life? Who calls? Who responds? Or is it all the play
-of the dead?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Loudly wailing, the mother calls: &ldquo;Borya, Borya!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Overflowing with tears Elena Kirillovna replies: &ldquo;Borya won&rsquo;t come.
-There is no Borya.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha stretches out her arms toward the lifeless moon, and cries out:
-&ldquo;Borya has been hanged!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-All three now stand side by side, looking at the moon, and weeping. Louder
-grows their sobbing, fiercer the note of despair. Their moans merge finally
-into a prolonged, wild wailing, which can be heard for some distance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The dog at the forester&rsquo;s hut is restless. Trembling with all his lean
-body, his short hair bristling, he has pricked up his ears. Rising, he
-stretches his slender limbs. His sharp muzzle, showing its teeth, is uplifted
-to the tormenting moon. His eyes burn with a yearning flame. The dog bays in
-answer to the distant wail of the women in the wood.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-People are asleep.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap02"></a>THE UNITER OF SOULS</h2>
-
-<p>
-Garmonov was extremely young, and had not yet learnt to time his visits; he
-usually came at the wrong hour and did not know when to leave. He realized at
-last that he was boring Sonpolyev almost to madness. It dawned upon him that he
-was taking Sonpolyev from his work. He recalled that Sonpolyev had borne
-himself with a constrained politeness toward him, and that at times a caustic
-phrase escaped his lips.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Garmonov grew painfully red, a sudden flame spread itself under the smooth skin
-of his drawn cheeks. He rose irresolutely. Then he sat down again, for he saw
-that Sonpolyev was about to say something. Sonpolyev took up the thread of the
-conversation in a depressed voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So you&rsquo;ve put a mask on! What do you want me to understand by
-that?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Garmonov muttered in a confused way:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s necessary to dissemble sometimes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev would not listen further, but gave way to his irritation:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What do you understand about it? What do you know of masks? There is no
-mask without a responding soul. It is impossible to put on a mask without
-harmonizing your soul with its soul. Otherwise the mask is uncovered.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev grew silent, and looked miserably before him. He did not look at
-Garmonov. He felt again a strange, instinctive hate for him, such as he felt at
-their first meeting. He had always tried to hide this hate under a mask of
-great heartiness; he had urged Garmonov most earnestly to visit him, and
-praised Garmonov&rsquo;s verses to every one. But from time to time he spoke
-coarse, malicious words to the timid young man, who then flushed violently and
-shrank back within himself. Sonpolyev was quick to pity him, but soon again he
-detested his cautious, sluggish ways; he thought him secretive and cunning.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Garmonov rose, said good-bye, and went out. Sonpolyev was left alone. He felt
-miserable because his work had been interrupted. He no longer felt in the same
-working mood. A secret malice tormented him. Why should this seemingly
-insignificant youth, Garmonov, evoke such bitterness in him? He had a large
-mouth, a long, very smooth face; his movements were slow, his voice had a
-drawl; there was something ambiguous about him, and enigmatical.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev began sadly to pace the room. He stopped before the wall, and began
-to speak. There are many people nowadays who have long conversations with the
-wall&mdash;the wall, indeed, makes an interested interlocutor, and a faithful
-one.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is possible,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;to hate so strongly and so
-poignantly only that which is near to one. But in what does this devilish
-nearness consist? By what impure magic has some demon bound our souls together?
-Souls so unlike one another! Mine, that of a man of action with a bent for
-repose; and his, the soul of a large-mouthed fledgling, who is as cunning as a
-conspirator, and as cautious as a coward. And what is there in his character
-that conflicts so strangely with his appearance? Who has stolen the best and
-most needful part from this moly-coddle&rsquo;s soul?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He spoke quietly, almost in a murmur. Then he exclaimed as though in a rage:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Who has done this? Man, or the enemy of man?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he heard the strange answer:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Some one spoke this word in a clear, shrill voice. It was like the sharp yet
-subdued ring of rusty steel. Sonpolyev trembled nervously. He looked round him.
-There was no one in the room.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He sat down in the arm-chair and looked, scowling, on the table, buried under
-books and papers; and he waited. He awaited something. The waiting grew
-painful. He said loudly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, why do you hide? You&rsquo;ve begun to speak, you might as well
-appear. What do you wish to say? What is it?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He began to listen intently. His nerves were strained. It seemed as though the
-slightest noise would have sounded like an archangel&rsquo;s trumpet.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then there was sudden laughter. It was sharp, and it was like the sound of
-rusty metal. The spring of some elaborate toy seemed to unwind itself, and
-trembled and tinkled in the subdued quiet of the evening. Sonpolyev put the
-palms of his hands over his temples, and rested upon his elbows. He listened
-intently. The laugh died away with mechanical evenness. It was evident that it
-came from somewhere quite near, perhaps from the table itself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev waited. He gazed with intent eyes at the bronze inkstand. He asked
-derisively: &ldquo;Ink sprite, was it not you that laughed?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The sharp voice, quite unlike the muffled voice of phantoms, answered with the
-same derision: &ldquo;No, you are mistaken; and you are not very brilliant. I
-am not an ink sprite. Don&rsquo;t you know the rustling voices of ink sprites?
-You are a poor observer.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And again there was laughter, again the rusty spring tinkled as it unwound
-itself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev said: &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know who you are&mdash;and how should I
-know! I cannot see you. Only I think that you are like the rest of your
-fraternity: you are always near us, you poke your noses into everything, and
-you bring sadness and evil spells upon us; yet you dare not show yourselves
-before our eyes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The metallic voice replied: &ldquo;The fact is, I came to have a talk with you.
-I love to talk with such as yourself&mdash;with half-folk.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The voice grew silent, and Sonpolyev waited for it to laugh. He thought:
-&ldquo;He must punctuate his every phrase with that hideous laughter.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Indeed, he was not mistaken. The strange visitor really talked in this way:
-first he would speak a few words, then he would burst out into his sharp, rusty
-laughter. It seemed as though he used his words to wind up the spring, and that
-later the spring relaxed itself with his laughter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And while his laughter was still dying away with mechanical evenness the guest
-showed himself from behind the inkstand.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He was small, and was no taller from head to foot than the fourth finger. He
-was grey-steel in colour. Owing to his small stature and to his rapid movements
-it was hard to tell whether the dim glow came from the body, or from a garment
-that stretched lightly over it. In any case it was something smooth, something
-expressly simple. The body seemed like a slender keg, broader at the belt,
-narrower at the shoulders and below. The arms and legs were of equal length and
-thickness, and of like nimbleness and flexibility; it seemed as though the arms
-were very long and thick, and the legs disproportionately short and thin. The
-neck was short. The face was hardy. The legs were widely astride. At the end of
-the back something was visible in the nature of a tail or a thick cone; like
-growths were upon the sides, under the elbows. The strange figure moved
-quickly, nimbly, and surely.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The monster sat down on the bronze ridge of the inkstand, pushing aside the
-wooden pen-holder with his foot in order to be more comfortable. He grew quiet.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev examined his face. It was lean, grey, and smooth. His eyes were small
-and glowed brightly. His mouth was large. His ears stuck out and were pointed
-at the top.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He sat there, grasping the ridge with his hands, like a monkey. Sonpolyev
-asked: &ldquo;Gracious guest, what do you want to say to me?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And in answer a slight voice&mdash;mechanically even, unpleasantly sharp and
-rather rusty in tone&mdash;made itself heard: &ldquo;Man with a single head and
-a single soul, recall your past, your primitive experience of those ancient
-days when you and he lived in the same body.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And again there was laughter, shrill and sharp, piercing the ear.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-While he was still laughing, the guest, with mechanical agility, turned a
-somersault; he stood on his hands, and Sonpolyev saw for the first time what he
-had taken for a tail was really a second head. This head did not differ in any
-way, as far as he could see, from the other head. Whether the heads were too
-small for him to observe, or whether the heads did not actually differ, it was
-quite certain that Sonpolyev did not see the slightest distinction between
-them. The arms reversed themselves as on hinges, and became quite like the
-legs; the first head, then losing its colour, hid itself between these
-arm-legs; while the former legs reversed themselves mechanically and became the
-arms.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev looked at his strange guest with astonishment. The guest made wry
-faces and danced. And when at last he grew still and his laughter gradually
-died away, the second head began to speak: &ldquo;How many souls have you, and
-how many consciousnesses? Can you tell me that? You pride yourself on the
-amazing differentiation of your organs, you have an idea that each member of
-your body fulfils its own well-defined functions. But tell me, stupid man, have
-you anything whereby to preserve the memory of your previous existences? The
-other head contains the rest of you, your early memories and your earlier
-experience. You argue subtly and craftily across the threshold of your pitiful
-consciousness, but your misfortune is that you have only one head.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The guest burst out again into rusty, metallic laughter, and he laughed this
-time rather long. He laughed and he danced at the same time. He turned
-somersaults, or he rested upon one arm and upon one leg, thereby causing one of
-his sides to turn upward&mdash;until it was impossible to distinguish any of
-his four extremities. Afterwards his limbs again turned mechanically, and it
-became obvious that the growths on his sides were also heads. Each head spoke
-and laughed in its turn. Each head grimaced, mocked at him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev exclaimed in great fury: &ldquo;Be silent!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The guest danced, shouted, and laughed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev thought: &ldquo;I must catch him and crush him. Or I must smash the
-monster with a blow of the heavy press.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the guest continued to laugh and to make wry faces.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I dare not take him with my hands,&rdquo; thought Sonpolyev. &ldquo;He
-might burn or scorch me. A knife would be better.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He opened his penknife. Then he quickly directed its sharp point toward the
-middle of his guest&rsquo;s body. The four-headed monster gathered himself into
-a ball, flapped his four paws, and burst into piercing laughter. Sonpolyev
-threw his knife on the table, and exclaimed: &ldquo;Hateful monster! What do
-you want of me?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The guest jumped upon the sharply pointed lid of the inkstand, perched himself
-upon one foot, stretched his arms upward, and exclaimed in an ugly, shrill
-voice: &ldquo;Man with one head, recall your remote past when you and he were
-in the same body. The time you shared together in a dangerous adventure. Recall
-the dance of that terrible hour.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Suddenly it grew dark. The laughter resounded, hoarse and hideous. The head was
-going round....
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Light columns moved forward out of the darkness. The ceiling was low. The
-torches glowed dimly. The red tongues of flame wavered in the scented air. The
-flute poured out its notes. Handsome young limbs moved in measure to its music.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And it seemed to Sonpolyev that he was young and powerful, and that he was
-dancing round a banqueting table. A shrivelled, insolent, drunken face was
-looking at him; the banqueter was laughing uproariously, he was happy, and the
-dance of the half-naked youths pleased him. Sonpolyev felt that a furious rage
-was strangling him, and was hindering him from carrying out his project. He
-danced past the carousing man and his hands trembled. A reddish mist of hate
-dimmed his sight.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His second soul wakened at the same time; it was the cunning, the sidling, the
-feline soul. This time the youth smiled at the happy man; he floated gracefully
-past him, a sweet, gentle boy. The banqueter laughed loudly. The youth&rsquo;s
-naked limbs and bared torso cheered the lord of the feast.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And again there was hate, which dimmed his eyes with a red haze, and caused his
-hands to tremble with fury.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Some one whispered angrily: &ldquo;Are we going to twirl so long fruitlessly?
-It is time. It is time. Put an end to it!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The friendly spirits prevailed. The two souls flowed together. Hate and cunning
-became one. There was a light, floating movement, then a powerful stroke;
-nimble feet swept the youth into the swift, beautiful dance. There was a hoarse
-outcry. Then an uproar. Everything became confused....
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And again there was darkness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev awoke: the same small monster was dancing on the table, grimacing and
-laughing uproariously.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev asked: &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the meaning of this?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His guest replied: &ldquo;Two souls once dwelt in this youth, and one of them
-is now yours; it is a soul of exultant emotions and of passionate desires, it
-is an ever insatiable, trembling soul.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then there was laughter, jarring on the ear. The monster danced on.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev shouted: &ldquo;Stop, you dance devil! It seems to me you wish to say
-that the second soul of this primitive youth lives in the feeble body of this
-despicable, smooth-faced youngster?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The guest stopped laughing and exclaimed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Man, you have at last understood what I wished to tell you. Now perhaps
-you will guess who I am, and why I have come.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev waited until the trembling, shrill laughter ceased, and he answered
-his guest:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are the uniter of souls. But why did you not join us at our
-birth?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The monster hissed, curled up, then stopped and threw upward one of his side
-heads and exclaimed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We can repair this if you like. Do you wish it?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I wish it,&rdquo; Sonpolyev replied quickly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Call him to you on New Year&rsquo;s Eve, and call me. This hair will
-enable you to summon me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The monster ran quickly to the lamp, and placing upon its stand a short, thin
-black hair continued speaking: &ldquo;When you light it I&rsquo;ll come. But
-you ought to know that neither you nor he will preserve afterward a separate
-existence. And the man who will depart from here shall contain both souls, but
-it will be neither you nor he.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then he disappeared. His shrill, rusty laughter still resounded and tormented
-the ear, but Sonpolyev no longer saw any one before him. Only a black hair on
-the flat stand of the lamp reminded him of his guest.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev took the hair and put it into his purse.
-</p>
-
-<p class="p2">
-The last day of the year was approaching midnight.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Garmonov was sitting once more at Sonpolyev&rsquo;s. They spoke quietly, in
-subdued voices. It was painful. Sonpolyev asked: &ldquo;You do not regret
-coming to my lonely party?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The smooth-faced young man smiled, and this made his teeth seem very white. He
-drawled out his words very slowly, and what he said was so tedious and so empty
-that Sonpolyev had no desire to listen to him. Sonpolyev, without continuing
-the conversation, asked quite bluntly: &ldquo;You remember your earlier
-existence?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Not very well,&rdquo; answered Garmonov.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was clear that he did not understand the question, and that he thought
-Sonpolyev had asked him about his childhood.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev frowned in his vexation. He began to explain what he wished to say.
-He felt that his speech was involved and long. And this vexed him still more.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Garmonov had understood. He grew cheerful. He flushed slightly. His words
-had a more animated sound than usual: &ldquo;Yes, yes, I sometimes feel that I
-have lived before. It is such a strange feeling. It&rsquo;s as though that life
-was fuller, bolder and freer; and that I dared to do things that I dare not do
-now.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And isn&rsquo;t it true,&rdquo; asked Sonpolyev in some agitation,
-&ldquo;that you feel as though you had lost something, as though you now lack
-the most significant part of your being?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; answered Garmonov with emphasis. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s
-precisely my feeling.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Would you like to restore this missing part?&rdquo; Sonpolyev continued
-to question. &ldquo;To be once more as before, whole and bold; to contain in
-one body&mdash;which shall feel itself light and young and free&mdash;the
-fullness of life and the union of the antagonistic identities of our human
-breed. To be, indeed, more than whole; to feel as it were, in one&rsquo;s
-breast, the beating of a doubled heart; to be this and that; to join two
-clashing souls within oneself, and to wrest the necessary manhood and hardihood
-for great deeds from the fiery struggle of intense contradictions.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; said Garmonov, &ldquo;I, too, sometimes dream about
-this.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev was afraid to look at the irresolute, confused, smooth face of his
-young visitor. He vaguely feared that Garmonov&rsquo;s face would disconcert
-him. He made haste.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Besides, midnight was approaching. Sonpolyev said quietly: &ldquo;I have the
-means in my hands to realize this dream. Do you wish to have it
-realized?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I should like to,&rdquo; said Garmonov irresolutely.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev raised his eyes. He looked at Garmonov with firmness and decision, as
-though he demanded something urgent and indispensable from him. He looked with
-a fixed intentness into the dark youthful eyes, which should have flamed fire,
-but instead they were the cold, crafty eyes of a little man with half a soul.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But it seemed to Sonpolyev that under his fixed fiery gaze Garmonov&rsquo;s
-eyes were becoming inflamed with enthusiasm and burning wrath. The young
-man&rsquo;s smooth face had suddenly become significant and stern.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do you wish it?&rdquo; Sonpolyev asked him once more.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Garmonov replied quickly, with decision:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I wish it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And then a strange, sharp, shrill voice pronounced: &ldquo;Oh, small and
-cunning man; you who once during your ancient existence did a deed of great
-hardihood&mdash;that was when you joined your crafty soul to the flaming soul
-of an indignant man&mdash;tell us in this great, rare hour, have you firmly
-decided to merge your soul with the other, the different soul?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And Garmonov answered even more quickly and more decisively: &ldquo;I wish
-to!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev listened to the shrill voice of the questioner. He recognized him. He
-was not mistaken: the &ldquo;I wish to!&rdquo; of Garmonov had already lost
-itself in the rusty, metallic laughter of that extraordinary visitor.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev waited until the laughter ceased; then he said: &ldquo;But you should
-know that you will have to reject all dissembling. And all the joys of separate
-existence. Once I achieve my magic we shall both perish, and we shall set free
-our souls, or rather we shall fuse them together, and there shall be neither I
-nor you&mdash;there will be one in our place, and he shall be fiery in his
-conception, and cold in his execution. Both of us will have to go, in order to
-give a place to him, in whom both of us will be united. My friend, have you
-resolved upon this terrible thing? It is a great and terrible thing.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Garmonov smiled a strange, faltering smile. But the fiery glance of Sonpolyev
-extinguished the smile; and the young man, as if submitting to some inevitable
-and fated command, pronounced in a dim, lifeless voice: &ldquo;I have decided.
-I wish it. I am not afraid.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev took the hair out of his wallet with trembling fingers. He lit a
-candle. Behind it hid the four-headed visitor. His grey body seemed to quake;
-and it vacillated in the wavering flame that fondled in its flickering embraces
-the white body of the submissive candle.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Garmonov opened his eyes wide, and they steadfastly followed Sonpolyev&rsquo;s
-movements. Sonpolyev put one end of the hair to the flame. The hair curled
-slightly, grew red, gave a flare. It burned very slowly, with a quiet rhythmic
-crackle, which resembled the laugh of the nocturnal guest.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The words of the strange guest were simple but terrible. At first Sonpolyev was
-barely conscious of them; he was so agitated and so absorbed by the burning of
-the magic hair that he could see no connexion with the simple, familiar words
-of the monster. Suddenly terror came upon him. He had understood. There was
-derision in those simple, terribly simple words.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Little soul, failing little soul, timid little soul.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev, frightened, looked at Garmonov. The smooth-faced young man sat there
-strangely shrunken. His face was pale. Beads of perspiration showed on his
-forehead. A pitiful, forced smile twisted his lips. When he saw that Sonpolyev
-was looking at him he shrank even more, and whispered in a broken, hollow
-voice, as though against his will: &ldquo;It is terrible. It is painful. It is
-unnecessary.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Suddenly he hunched like a cat&mdash;a cunning, timid, evil cat&mdash;and
-sprang forward; thus deformed, he pushed out his over-red lips and blew upon
-the almost consumed hair. The flame flickered upward, trembled and died. A tiny
-cloud of blue smoke spread itself in the still air. The shrill laughter of the
-nocturnal guest pierced the ears.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The hideous words resounded: &ldquo;Miscarried! Miscarried!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Garmonov sat down. He smiled guiltily and cunningly. Sonpolyev looked at him
-with unseeing eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The clock began to strike in the next room. And to each stroke the uniter of
-souls responded with the hoarse outcry: &ldquo;Miscarried!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he laughed again his metallic laughter like a wound-up spring. He whirled
-round and grimaced; he seemed to lose himself in the lifeless yellow electric
-light.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At the twelfth stroke, the last voice of the passing year, the hideous voice
-grew silent.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Miscarried!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And the horrible laughter of the vanishing monster died away. Garmonov, truly
-rejoicing over his deliverance from an unhappy fate, rose, and said: &ldquo;A
-happy New Year!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap03"></a>INVOKER OF THE BEAST</h2>
-
-<h3>I</h3>
-
-<p>
-It was quiet and tranquil, and neither joyous nor sad. There was an electric
-light in the room. The walls seemed impregnable. The window was overhung by
-heavy, dark-green draperies, even denser in tone than the green of the
-wall-paper. Both doors&mdash;the large one at the side, and the small one in
-the depth of the alcove that faced the window&mdash;were securely bolted. And
-there, behind them, reigned darkness and desolation in the broad corridor as
-well as in the spacious and cold reception-room, where melancholy plants
-yearned for their native soil.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gurov was lying on the divan. A book was in his hands. He often paused in his
-reading. He meditated and mused during these pauses, and it was always about
-the same thing. Always about <i>them</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They hovered near him. This he had noticed long ago. They were hiding. Their
-manner; was importunate. They rustled very quietly. For a long time they
-remained invisible to the eye. But one day, when Gurov awoke rather tired; sad
-and pale, and languidly turned on the electric light to dissipate the greyish
-gloom of an early winter morning&mdash;he espied one of them suddenly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Small, grey, shifty and nimble, <i>he</i> flashed by, and in the twinkling of
-an eye disappeared.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And thereafter, in the morning, or in the evening, Gurov grew used to seeing
-these small, shifty, house sprites run past him. This time he did not doubt
-that they would appear.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-To begin with he felt a slight headache, afterwards a sudden flash of heat,
-then of cold. Then, out of the corner, there emerged the long, slender Fever
-with her ugly, yellow face and her bony dry hands; she lay down at his side,
-and embraced him, and fell to kissing him and to laughing. And these rapid
-kisses of the affectionate and cunning Fever, and these slow approaches of the
-slight headache were agreeable.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Feebleness spread itself over, the whole body, and lassitude also. This too was
-agreeable. It made him feel as though all the turmoil of life had receded into
-the distance. And people also became far away, unimportant, even unnecessary.
-He preferred to be with these quiet ones, these house sprites.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gurov had not been out for some days. He had locked himself in at home. He did
-not permit any one to come to him. He was alone. He thought about them. He
-awaited them.
-</p>
-
-<h3>II</h3>
-
-<p>
-This tedious waiting was cut short in a strange and unexpected manner. He heard
-the slamming of a distant door, and presently he became aware of the sound of
-unhurried footfalls which came from the direction of the reception-room, just
-behind the door of his room. Some one was approaching with a sure and nimble
-step.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gurov turned his head toward the door. A gust of cold entered the room. Before
-him stood a boy, most strange and wild in aspect. He was dressed in linen
-draperies, half-nude, barefoot, smooth-skinned, sun-tanned, with black tangled
-hair and dark, burning eyes. An amazingly perfect, handsome face; handsome to a
-degree which made it terrible to gaze upon its beauty. And it portrayed neither
-good nor evil.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gurov was not astonished. A masterful mood took hold of him. He could hear the
-house sprites scampering away to conceal themselves.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The boy began to speak.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Aristomarchon! Perhaps you have forgotten your promise? Is this the way
-of valiant men? You left me when I was in mortal danger, you had made me a
-promise, which it is evident you did not intend to keep. I have sought for you
-such a long time! And here I have found you, living at your ease, and in
-luxury.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gurov fixed a perplexed gaze upon the half-nude, handsome lad; and turgid
-memories awoke in his soul. Something long since submerged arose in dim
-outlines and tormented his memory, which struggled to find a solution to the
-strange apparition; a solution, moreover, which seemed so near and so intimate.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And what of the invincibility of his walls? Something had happened round him,
-some mysterious transformation had taken place. But Gurov, engulfed in his vain
-exertions to recall something very near to him and yet slipping away in the
-tenacious embrace of ancient memory, had not yet succeeded in grasping the
-nature of the change that he felt had taken place. He turned to the wonderful
-boy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Tell me, gracious boy, simply and clearly, without unnecessary
-reproaches, what had I promised you, and when had I left you in a time of
-mortal danger? I swear to you, by all the holies, that my conscience could
-never have permitted me such a mean action as you reproach me with.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The boy shook his head. In a sonorous voice, suggestive of the melodious
-outpouring of a stringed instrument, he said: &ldquo;Aristomarchon, you always
-have been a man skilful with words, and not less skilful in matters requiring
-daring and prudence. If I have said that you left me in a moment of mortal
-danger I did not intend it as a reproach, and I do not understand why you speak
-of your conscience. Our projected affair was difficult and dangerous, but who
-can hear us now; before whom, with your craftily arranged words and your
-dissembling ignorance of what happened this morning at sunrise, can you deny
-that you had given me a promise?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The electric light grew dim. The ceiling seemed to darken and to recede into
-height. There was a smell of grass; its forgotten name, once, long ago,
-suggested something gentle and joyous. A breeze blew. Gurov raised himself, and
-asked: &ldquo;What sort of an affair had we two contrived? Gracious boy, I deny
-nothing. Only I don&rsquo;t know what you are speaking of. I don&rsquo;t
-remember.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gurov felt as though the boy were looking at him, yet not directly. He felt
-also vaguely conscious of another presence no less unfamiliar and alien than
-that of this curious stranger, and it seemed to him that the unfamiliar form of
-this other presence coincided with his own form. An ancient soul, as it were,
-had taken possession of Gurov and enveloped him in the long-lost freshness of
-its vernal attributes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was growing darker, and there was increasing purity and coolness in the air.
-There rose up in his soul the joy and ease of pristine existence. The stars
-glowed brilliantly in the dark sky. The boy spoke.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We had undertaken to kill the Beast. I tell you this under the
-multitudinous gaze of the all-seeing sky. Perhaps you were frightened.
-That&rsquo;s quite likely too! We had planned a great, terrible affair, that
-our names might be honoured by future generations.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Soft, tranquil, and monotonous was the sound of a stream which purled its way
-in the nocturnal silence. The stream was invisible, but its nearness was
-soothing and refreshing. They stood under the broad shelter of a tree and
-continued the conversation begun at some other time.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gurov asked: &ldquo;Why do you say that I had left you in a moment of mortal
-danger? Who am I that I should be frightened and run away?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The boy burst into a laugh. His mirth had the sound of music, and as it passed
-into speech his voice still quavered with sweet, melodious laughter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Aristomarchon, how cleverly you feign to have forgotten all! I
-don&rsquo;t understand what makes you do this, and with such a mastery that you
-bring reproaches against yourself which I have not even dreamt of. You had left
-me in a moment of mortal danger because it had to be, and you could not have
-helped me otherwise than by forsaking me at the moment. You will surely not
-remain stubborn in your denial when I remind you of the words of the
-Oracle?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gurov suddenly remembered. A brilliant light, as it were, unexpectedly
-illumined the dark domain of things forgotten. And in wild ecstasy, in a loud
-and joyous voice, he exclaimed: &ldquo;<i>One</i> shall kill the Beast!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The boy laughed. And Aristomarchon asked: &ldquo;Did you kill the Beast,
-Timarides?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;With what?&rdquo; exclaimed Timarides. &ldquo;However strong my hands
-are, I was not one who could kill the Beast with a blow of the fist. We,
-Aristomarchon, had not been prudent and we were unarmed. We were playing in the
-sand by the stream. The Beast came upon us suddenly and he laid his paw upon
-me. It was for me to offer up my life as a sweet sacrifice to glory and to a
-noble cause; it was for you to execute our plan. And while he was tormenting my
-defenceless and unresisting body, you, fleet-footed Aristomarchon, could have
-run for your lance, and killed the now blood-intoxicated Beast. But the Beast
-did not accept my sacrifice. I lay under him, quiescent and still, gazing into
-his bloodshot eyes. He held his heavy paw on my shoulder, his breath came in
-hot, uneven gasps, and he sent out low snarls. Afterwards, he put out his huge,
-hot tongue and licked my face; then he left me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Where is he now?&rdquo; asked Aristomarchon.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In a voice strangely tranquil and strangely sonorous in the quiet arrested
-stillness of the humid air, Timarides replied: &ldquo;He followed me. I do not
-know how long I have been wandering until I found you. He followed me. I led
-him on by the smell of my blood. I do not know why he has not touched me until
-now. But here I have enticed him to you. You had better get the weapon which
-you had hidden so carefully and kill the Beast, while I in my turn will leave
-you in the moment of mortal danger, eye to eye with the enraged creature.
-Here&rsquo;s luck to you, Aristomarchon!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As soon as he uttered these words Timarides, started, to run. For a short time
-his cloak was visible in the darkness, a glimmering patch of white. And then he
-disappeared. In the same instant the air resounded with the savage bellowing of
-the Beast, and his ponderous tread became audible. Pushing aside the growth of
-shrubs there emerged from the darkness the huge, monstrous head of the Beast,
-flashing a livid fire out of its two enormous, flaming eyes. And in the dark
-silence of nocturnal trees the towering ferocious shape of the Beast loomed
-ominously as it approached Aristomarchon.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Terror filled Aristomarchon&rsquo;s heart.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Where is the lance?&rdquo; was the thought that quickly flashed across
-his brain.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And in that instant, feeling the fresh night breeze on his face, Aristomarchon
-realized that he was running from the Beast. His ponderous springs and his
-spasmodic roars resounded closer and closer behind him. And as the Beast came
-up with him a loud cry rent the silence of the night. The cry came from
-Aristomarchon, who, recalling then some ancient and terrible words, pronounced
-loudly the incantation of the walls.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And thus enchanted the walls erected themselves around him....
-</p>
-
-<h3>III</h3>
-
-<p>
-Enchanted, the walls stood firm and were lit up. A dreary light was cast upon
-them by the dismal electric lamp. Gurov was in his usual surroundings.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Again came the nimble Fever and kissed him with her yellow, dry lips, and
-caressed him with her dry, bony hands, which exhaled heat and cold. The same
-thin volume, with its white pages, lay on the little table beside the divan
-where, as before, Gurov rested in the caressing embrace of the affectionate
-Fever, who showered upon him her rapid kisses. And again there stood beside
-him, laughing and rustling, the tiny house sprites.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gurov said loudly and indifferently: &ldquo;The incantation of the
-walls!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then he paused. But in what consisted this incantation? He had forgotten the
-words. Or had they never existed at all?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The little, shifty, grey demons danced round the slender volume with its
-ghostly white pages, and kept on repeating with their rustling voices:
-&ldquo;Our walls are strong. We are in the walls. We have nothing to fear from
-the outside.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In their midst stood one of them, a tiny object like themselves, yet different
-from the rest. He was all black. His mantle fell from his shoulders in folds of
-smoke and flame. His eyes flashed like lightning. Terror and joy alternated
-quickly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gurov spoke: &ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The black demon answered: &ldquo;I am the Invoker of the Beast. In one of your
-long-past existences you left the lacerated body of Timarides on the banks of a
-forest stream. The Beast had satiated himself on the beautiful body of your
-friend; he had gorged himself on the flesh that might have partaken of the
-fullness of earthly happiness; a creature of superhuman perfection had perished
-in order to gratify for a moment the appetite of the ravenous and ever
-insatiable Beast. And the blood, the wonderful blood, the sacred wine of
-happiness and joy, the wine of superhuman bliss&mdash;what had been the fate of
-this wonderful blood? Alas! The thirsty, ceaselessly thirsty Beast drank of it
-to gratify his momentary desire, and is thirsty anew. You had left the body of
-Timarides, mutilated by the Beast, on the banks of the forest stream; you
-forgot the promise you had given your valorous friend, and even the words of
-the ancient Oracle had not banished fear from your heart. And do you think that
-you are safe, that the Beast will not find you?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There was austerity in the sound of his voice. While he was speaking the house
-sprites gradually ceased their dance; the little, grey house sprites stopped to
-listen to the Invoker of the Beast.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gurov then said in reply: &ldquo;I am not worried about the Beast! I have
-pronounced eternal enchantment upon my walls and the Beast shall never
-penetrate hither, into my enclosure.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The little grey ones were overjoyed, their voices tinkled with merriment and
-laughter; having gathered round, hand in hand, in a circle, they were on the
-point of bursting forth once more into dance, when the voice of the Invoker of
-the Beast rang out again, sharp and austere.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But I am here. I am here because I have found you. I am here because the
-incantation of the walls is dead. I am here because Timarides is waiting and
-importuning me. Do you hear the gentle laugh of the brave, trusting lad? Do you
-hear the terrible bellowing of the Beast?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-From behind the wall, approaching nearer, could be heard the fearsome bellowing
-of the Beast.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The Beast is bellowing behind the wall, the invincible wall!&rdquo;
-exclaimed Gurov in terror. &ldquo;My walls are enchanted for ever, and
-impregnable against foes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then spoke the black demon, and there was an imperious ring in his voice:
-&ldquo;I tell you, man, the incantation of the walls is dead. And if you think
-you can save yourself by pronouncing the incantation of the walls, why then
-don&rsquo;t you utter the words?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A cold shiver passed down Gurov&rsquo;s spine. The incantation! He had
-forgotten the words of the ancient spell. And what mattered it? Was not the
-ancient incantation dead&mdash;dead?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Everything about him confirmed with irrefutable evidence the death of the
-ancient incantation of the walls&mdash;because the walls, and the light and the
-shade which fell upon them, seemed dead and wavering. The Invoker of the Beast
-spoke terrible words. And Gurov&rsquo;s mind was now in a whirl, now in pain,
-and the affectionate Fever did not cease to torment him with her passionate
-kisses. Terrible words resounded, almost deadening his senses&mdash;while the
-Invoker of the Beast grew larger and larger, and hot fumes breathed from him,
-and grim terror. His eyes ejected fire, and when at last he grew so tall as to
-screen off the electric light, his black cloak suddenly fell from his
-shoulders. And Gurov recognized him&mdash;it was the boy Timarides.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Will you kill the Beast?&rdquo; asked Timarides in a sonorous voice.
-&ldquo;I have enticed him, I have led him to you, I have destroyed the
-incantation of the walls. The cowardly gift of inimical gods, the incantation
-of the walls, had turned into naught my sacrifice, and had saved you from your
-action. But the ancient incantation of the walls is dead&mdash;be quick, then,
-to take hold of your sword and kill the Beast. I have been a boy&mdash;I have
-become the Invoker of the Beast. He had drunk of my blood, and now he thirsts
-anew; he had partaken also of my flesh, and he is hungry again, the insatiable,
-pitiless Beast. I have called him to you, and you, in fulfilment of your
-promise, may kill the Beast. Or die yourself.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He vanished. A terrible bellowing shook the walls. A gust of icy moisture blew
-across to Gurov.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The wall facing the spot where Gurov lay opened, and the huge, ferocious and
-monstrous Beast entered. Bellowing savagely, he approached Gurov and laid his
-ponderous paw upon his breast. Straight into his heart plunged the pitiless
-claws. A terrible pain shot through his whole body. Shifting his blood-red eyes
-the Beast inclined his head toward Gurov and, crumbling the bones of his victim
-with his teeth, began to devour his yet-palpitating heart.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap04"></a>THE WHITE DOG</h2>
-
-<p>
-Everything grew irksome for Alexandra Ivanovna in the workshop of this
-out-of-the-way town&mdash;the patterns, the clatter of machines, the complaints
-of the customers; it was the shop in which she had served as apprentice and now
-for several years as cutter. Everything irritated Alexandra Ivanovna; she
-quarrelled with every one and abused the innocent apprentice. Among others to
-suffer from her outbursts of temper was Tanechka, the youngest of the
-seamstresses, who only lately had been an apprentice. In the beginning Tanechka
-submitted to her abuse in silence. In the end she revolted, and, addressing
-herself to her assailant, said, quite calmly and affably, so that every one
-laughed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Alexandra Ivanovna, you are a downright dog!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Alexandra Ivanovna felt humiliated.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are a dog yourself!&rdquo; she exclaimed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Tanechka sat there sewing. She paused now and then from her work and said in a
-calm, deliberate manner:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You always whine.... Certainly, you are a dog.... You have a dog&rsquo;s
-snout.... And a dog&rsquo;s ears.... And a wagging tail.... The mistress will
-soon drive you out of doors, because you are the most detestable of dogs, a
-poodle.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Tanechka was a young, plump, rosy-cheeked girl with an innocent, good-natured
-face, which revealed, however, a trace of cunning. She sat there so demure,
-barefooted, still dressed in her apprentice clothes; her eyes were clear, and
-her brows were highly arched on her fine curved white forehead, framed by
-straight, dark chestnut hair, which in the distance looked black.
-Tanechka&rsquo;s voice was clear, even, sweet, insinuating, and if one could
-have heard its sound only, and not given heed to the words, it would have given
-the impression that she was paying Alexandra Ivanovna compliments.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The other seamstresses laughed, the apprentices chuckled, they covered their
-faces with their black aprons and cast side glances at Alexandra Ivanovna. As
-for Alexandra Ivanovna, she was livid with rage.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Wretch!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;I will pull your ears for you! I
-won&rsquo;t leave a hair on your head.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Tanechka replied in a gentle voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The paws are a trifle short.... The poodle bites as well as barks.... It
-may be necessary to buy a muzzle.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Alexandra Ivanovna made a movement toward Tanechka. But before Tanechka had
-time to lay aside her work and get up, the mistress of the establishment, a
-large, serious-looking woman, entered, rustling her dress.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She said sternly: &ldquo;Alexandra Ivanovna, what do you mean by making such a
-fuss?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Alexandra Ivanovna, much agitated, replied: &ldquo;Irina Petrovna, I wish you
-would forbid her to call me a dog!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Tanechka in her turn complained: &ldquo;She is always snarling at something or
-other. Always quibbling at the smallest trifles.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the mistress looked at her sternly and said: &ldquo;Tanechka, I can see
-through you. Are you sure you didn&rsquo;t begin? You needn&rsquo;t think that
-because you are a seamstress now you are an important person. If it
-weren&rsquo;t for your mother&rsquo;s sake&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Tanechka grew red, but preserved her innocent and affable manner. She addressed
-her mistress in a subdued voice: &ldquo;Forgive me, Irina Petrovna, I will not
-do it again. But it wasn&rsquo;t altogether my fault....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p class="p2">
-Alexandra Ivanovna returned home almost ill with rage. Tanechka had guessed her
-weakness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A dog! Well, then I am a dog,&rdquo; thought Alexandra Ivanovna,
-&ldquo;but it is none of her affair! Have I looked to see whether she is a
-serpent or a fox? It is easy to find one out, but why make a fuss about it? Is
-a dog worse than any other animal?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The clear summer night languished and sighed, a soft breeze from the adjacent
-fields occasionally blew down the peaceful streets. The moon rose clear and
-full, that very same moon which rose long ago at another place, over the broad
-desolate steppe, the home of the wild, of those who ran free, and whined in
-their ancient earthly travail. The very same, as then and in that region.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And now, as then, glowed eyes sick with longing; and her heart, still wild, not
-forgetting in town the great spaciousness of the steppe felt oppressed; her
-throat was troubled with a tormenting desire to howl like a wild thing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She was about to undress, but what was the use? She could not sleep, anyway.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She went into the passage. The warm planks of the floor bent and creaked under
-her, and small shavings and sand which covered them tickled her feet not
-unpleasantly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She went out on the doorstep. There sat the <i>babushka</i> Stepanida, a black
-figure in her black shawl, gaunt and shrivelled. She sat with her head bent,
-and it seemed as though she were warming herself in the rays of the cold moon.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Alexandra Ivanovna sat down beside her. She kept looking at the old woman
-sideways. The large curved nose of her companion seemed to her like the beak of
-an old bird.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A crow?&rdquo; Alexandra Ivanovna asked herself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She smiled, forgetting for the moment her longing and her fears. Shrewd as the
-eyes of a dog her own lighted up with the joy of her discovery. In the pale
-green light of the moon the wrinkles of her faded face became altogether
-invisible, and she seemed once more young and merry and light-hearted, just as
-she was ten years ago, when the moon had not yet called upon her to bark and
-bay of nights before the windows of the dark bathhouse.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She moved closer to the old woman, and said affably: &ldquo;<i>Babushka</i>
-Stepanida, there is something I have been wanting to ask you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old woman turned to her, her dark face furrowed with wrinkles, and asked in
-a sharp, oldish voice that sounded like a caw:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, my dear? Go ahead and ask.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Alexandra Ivanovna gave a repressed laugh; her thin shoulders suddenly trembled
-from a chill that ran down her spine.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She spoke very quietly: &ldquo;<i>Babushka</i> Stepanida, it seems to
-me&mdash;tell me is it true?&mdash;I don&rsquo;t know exactly how to put
-it&mdash;but you, <i>babushka</i>, please don&rsquo;t take offence&mdash;it is
-not from malice that I&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Go on, my dear, never fear, say it,&rdquo; said the old woman.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She looked at Alexandra Ivanovna with glowing, penetrating eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It seems to me, <i>babushka</i>&mdash;please, now, don&rsquo;t take
-offence&mdash;as though you, <i>babushka</i> were a crow.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old woman turned away. She was silent and merely nodded her head. She had
-the appearance of one who had recalled something. Her head, with its sharply
-outlined nose, bowed and nodded, and at last it seemed to Alexandra Ivanovna
-that the old woman was dozing. Dozing, and mumbling something under her nose.
-Nodding her head and mumbling some old forgotten words&mdash;old magic words.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-An intense quiet reigned out of doors. It was neither light nor dark, and
-everything seemed bewitched with the inarticulate mumbling of old forgotten
-words. Everything languished and seemed lost in apathy. Again a longing
-oppressed her heart. And it was neither a dream nor an illusion. A thousand
-perfumes, imperceptible by day, became subtly distinguishable, and they
-recalled something ancient and primitive, something forgotten in the long ages.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In a barely audible voice the old woman mumbled: &ldquo;Yes, I am a crow. Only
-I have no wings. But there are times when I caw, and I caw, and tell of woe.
-And I am given to forebodings, my dear; each time I have one I simply must caw.
-People are not particularly anxious to hear me. And when I see a doomed person
-I have such a strong desire to caw.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old woman suddenly made a sweeping movement with her arms, and in a shrill
-voice cried out twice: &ldquo;Kar-r, Kar-r!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Alexandra Ivanovna shuddered, and asked: &ldquo;<i>Babushka</i>, at whom are
-you cawing?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old woman answered: &ldquo;At you, my dear&mdash;at you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It had become too painful to sit with the old woman any longer. Alexandra
-Ivanovna went to her own room. She sat down before the open window and listened
-to two voices at the gate.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It simply won&rsquo;t stop whining!&rdquo; said a low and harsh voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And uncle, did you see&mdash;&mdash;?&rdquo; asked an agreeable young
-tenor.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Alexandra Ivanovna recognized in this last the voice of the curly-headed,
-somewhat red, freckled-faced lad who lived in the same court.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A brief and depressing silence followed. Then she heard a hoarse and harsh
-voice say suddenly: &ldquo;Yes, I saw. It&rsquo;s very large&mdash;and white.
-Lies near the bathhouse, and bays at the moon.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The voice gave her an image of the man, of his shovel-shaped beard, his low,
-furrowed forehead, his small, piggish eyes, and his spread-out fat legs.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And why does it bay, uncle?&rdquo; asked the agreeable voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And again the hoarse voice did not reply at once.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Certainly to no good purpose&mdash;and where it came from is more than I
-can say.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do you think, uncle, it may be a were-wolf?&rdquo; asked the agreeable
-voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I should not advise you to investigate,&rdquo; replied the hoarse voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She could not quite understand what these words implied, nor did she wish to
-think of them. She did not feel inclined to listen further. What was the sound
-and significance of human words to <i>her</i>?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The moon looked straight into her face, and persistently called her and
-tormented her. Her heart was restless with a dark longing, and she could not
-sit still.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Alexandra Ivanovna quickly undressed herself. Naked, all white, she silently
-stole through the passage; she then opened the outer door&mdash;there was no
-one on the step or outside&mdash;and ran quickly across the court and the
-vegetable garden, and reached the bathhouse. The sharp contact of her body with
-the cold air and her feet with the cold ground gave her pleasure. But soon her
-body was warm.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She lay down in the grass, on her stomach. Then, raising herself on her elbows,
-she lifted her face toward the pale, brooding moon, and gave a long-drawn-out
-whine.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Listen, uncle, it is whining,&rdquo; said the curly-haired lad at the
-gate.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The agreeable tenor voice trembled perceptibly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Whining again, the accursed one,&rdquo; said the hoarse, harsh voice
-slowly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They rose from the bench. The gate latch clicked.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They went silently across the courtyard and the vegetable garden, the two of
-them. The older man, black-bearded and powerful, walked in front, a gun in his
-hand. The curly-headed lad followed tremblingly, and looked constantly behind.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Near the bathhouse, in the grass, lay a huge white dog, whining piteously. Its
-head, black on the crown, was raised to the moon, which pursued its way in the
-cold sky; its hind legs were strangely thrown backward, while the front ones,
-firm and straight, pressed hard against the ground.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the pale green and unreal light of the moon it seemed enormous, so huge a
-dog was surely never seen on earth. It was thick and fat. The black spot, which
-began at the head and stretched in uneven strands down the entire spine, seemed
-like a woman&rsquo;s loosened hair. No tail was visible, presumably it was
-turned under. The fur on the body was so short that in the distance the dog
-seemed wholly naked, and its hide shone dimly in the moonlight, so that
-altogether it resembled the body of a nude woman, who lay in the grass and
-bayed at the moon.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The man with the black beard took aim. The curly-haired lad crossed himself and
-mumbled something.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The discharge of a rifle sounded in the night air. The dog gave a groan, jumped
-up on its hind legs, became a naked woman, who, her body covered with blood,
-started to run, all the while groaning, weeping and raising cries of distress.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The black-bearded one and the curly-haired one threw themselves in the grass,
-and began to moan in wild terror.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap05"></a>LIGHT AND SHADOWS</h2>
-
-<h3>I</h3>
-
-<p>
-Volodya Lovlev, a pale meagre lad of twelve, had returned home from school and
-was waiting for his dinner. He was standing in the drawing-room at the piano,
-and was turning over the pages of the latest number of the <i>Niva</i> which
-had come only that morning.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A leaflet of thin grey paper fell out; it was an announcement issued by an
-illustrated journal. It enumerated the future contributors&mdash;the list
-contained about fifty well-known literary names; it praised at some length the
-journal as a whole and in detail its many-sidedness, and it presented several
-specimen illustrations.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya began to turn the pages of the leaflet in an absent way and to look at
-the miniature pictures. His large eyes, looked wearily out of his pale face.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-One page suddenly caught his attention, and his wide eyes opened slightly
-wider. Running from top to bottom were six drawings of hands throwing shadows
-in dark silhouette upon a white wall&mdash;the shadows representing the head of
-a girl with an amusing three-cornered hat, the head of a donkey, of a bull, the
-sitting figure of a squirrel, and other similar things.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya smiled and looked very intently at them. He was quite familiar with
-this amusement. He could hold the fingers of one hand so as to cast a
-silhouette of a hare&rsquo;s head on the wall. But this was quite another
-matter, something that Volodya had not seen before; its interest for him was
-that here were quite complex figures cast by using both hands.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya suddenly wished to reproduce these shadows. Of course there was no use
-trying now, in the uncertain light of a late autumn afternoon.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He had better try it later in his own room. In any case, it was of no use to
-any one.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Just then he heard the approaching footsteps and voice of his mother. He
-flushed for some reason or other and quickly put the leaflet into his pocket,
-and left the piano to meet her. She looked at him with a caressing smile as she
-came toward him; her pale, handsome face greatly resembled his, and she had the
-same large eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She asked him, as she always did: &ldquo;Well, what&rsquo;s the news
-to-day?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;There&rsquo;s nothing new,&rdquo; said Volodya dejectedly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But it occurred to him at once that he was being ungracious, and he felt
-ashamed. He smiled genially and began to recall what had happened at school;
-but this only made him feel sadder.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Pruzhinin has again distinguished himself,&rdquo; and he began to tell
-about the teacher who was disliked by his pupils for his rudeness.
-&ldquo;Lentyev was reciting his lesson and made a mess of it, and so Pruzhinin
-said to him: &lsquo;Well, that&rsquo;s enough; sit down,
-blockhead!&rsquo;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Nothing escapes you,&rdquo; said his mother, smiling.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;He&rsquo;s always rude.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-After a brief silence Volodya sighed, then complained: &ldquo;They are always
-in a hurry.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Who?&rdquo; asked his mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I mean the masters. Every one is anxious to finish his course quickly
-and to make a good show at the examination. And if you ask a question you are
-immediately suspected of trying to take up the time until the bell rings, and
-to avoid having questions put to you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do you talk much after the lessons?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, yes&mdash;but there&rsquo;s the same hurry after the lessons to
-get home, or to study the lessons in the girls&rsquo; class-rooms. And
-everything is done in a hurry&mdash;you are no sooner done with the geometry
-than you must study your Greek.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That&rsquo;s to keep you from yawning.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yawning! I&rsquo;m more like a squirrel going round on its cage-wheel.
-It&rsquo;s exasperating.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His mother smiled lightly.
-</p>
-
-<h3>II</h3>
-
-<p>
-After dinner Volodya went to his room to prepare his lessons. His mother saw
-that the room was comfortable, that nothing was lacking in it. No one ever
-disturbed Volodya here; even his mother refrained from coming in at this time.
-She would come in later, to help Volodya if he needed help.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya was an industrious and even a clever pupil. But he found it difficult
-to-day to apply himself. No matter what lesson he tried he could not help
-remembering something unpleasant; he would recall the teacher of each
-particular subject, his sarcastic or rude remark, which propped in passings had
-entered in the impressionable boy&rsquo;s mind.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Several of his recent lessons happened to turn out poorly; the teachers
-appeared dissatisfied, and they grumbled incessantly. Their mood communicated
-itself to Volodya, and his books and copy-books inspired him at this moment
-with a deep confusion and unrest.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He passed hastily from the first lesson to the second and to the third; this
-bother with trifles for the sake of not appearing &ldquo;a blockhead&rdquo; the
-next day seemed to him both silly and unnecessary. The thought perturbed him.
-He began to yawn from tedium and from sadness, and to dangle his feet
-impatiently; he simply could not sit still.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But he knew too well that the lessons must be learnt, that this was very
-important, that his future depended upon it; and so he went on conscientiously
-with the tedious business.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya made a blot on the copy-book, and he put his pen aside. He looked at
-the blot, and decided that it could be erased with a penknife. He was glad of
-the distraction.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Not finding the penknife on the table he put his hand into his pocket and
-rummaged there. Among all such rubbish as is to be found in a boy&rsquo;s
-pocket he felt his penknife and pulled it out, together with some sort of
-leaflet.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He did not see at first what the paper was he held in his hands, but on looking
-at it he suddenly remembered that this was the little book with the shadows,
-and quite as suddenly he grew cheerful and animated.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And there it was&mdash;that same little leaflet which he had forgotten when he
-began his lessons.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He jumped briskly off his chair, moved the lamp nearer the wall, looked
-cautiously at the closed door&mdash;as though afraid of some one
-entering&mdash;and, turning the leaflet to the familiar page, began to study
-the first drawing with great intentness, and to arrange his fingers according
-to directions. The first shadow came out as a confused shape, not at all what
-it should have been. Volodya moved the lamp, now here, now there; he bent and
-he stretched his fingers; and he was at last rewarded by seeing a woman&rsquo;s
-head with a three-cornered hat.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya grew cheerful. He inclined his hand somewhat and moved his fingers very
-slightly&mdash;the head bowed, smiled, and grimaced amusingly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya proceeded with the second figure, then with the others. All were hard
-at the beginning, but he managed them somehow in the end.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He spent a half-hour in this occupation, and forgot all about his lessons, the
-school, and the whole world.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Suddenly he heard familiar footsteps behind the door. Volodya flushed; he
-stuffed the leaflet into his pocket and quickly moved the lamp to its place,
-almost overturning it; then he sat down and bent over his copy-book. His mother
-entered.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go and have tea, Volodenka,&rdquo; she said to him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya pretended that he was looking at the blot and that he was about to open
-his penknife. His mother gently put her hands on his head. Volodya threw the
-knife aside and pressed his flushing face against his mother. Evidently she
-noticed nothing, and this made Volodya glad. Still, he felt ashamed, as though
-he had actually been caught at some stupid prank.
-</p>
-
-<h3>III</h3>
-
-<p>
-The samovar stood upon the round table in the dining-room and quietly hummed
-its garrulous song. The hanging-lamp diffused its light upon the white
-tablecloth and upon the dark walls, filling the room with dream and mystery.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya&rsquo;s mother seemed wistful as she leant her handsome, pale face
-forward over the table. Volodya was leaning on his arm, and was stirring the
-small spoon in his glass. It was good to watch the tea&rsquo;s sweet eddies and
-to see the little bubbles rise to the surface. The little silver spoon quietly
-tinkled.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The boiling water, sputtering, ran from the tap into his mother&rsquo;s cup.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A light shadow was cast by the little spoon upon the saucer and the tablecloth,
-and it lost itself in the glass of tea. Volodya watched it intently: the
-shadows thrown by the tiny little eddies and bubbles recalled something to
-him&mdash;precisely what, Volodya could not say. He held up and he turned the
-little spoon, and he ran his fingers over it&mdash;but nothing came of it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;All the same,&rdquo; he stubbornly insisted to himself,
-&ldquo;it&rsquo;s not with fingers alone that shadows can be made. They are
-possible with anything. But the thing is to adjust oneself to one&rsquo;s
-material.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And Volodya began to examine the shadows of the samovar, of the chairs, of his
-mother&rsquo;s head, as well as the shadows cast on the table by the dishes;
-and he tried to catch a resemblance in all these shadows to something. His
-mother was speaking&mdash;Volodya was not listening properly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How is Lesha Sitnikov getting on at school?&rdquo; asked his mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya was studying then the shadow of the milk-jug. He gave a start, and
-answered hastily: &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a tom-cat.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Volodya, you must be asleep,&rdquo; said his astonished mother.
-&ldquo;What tom-cat?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya grew red.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what&rsquo;s got into my head,&rdquo; he said.
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry, mother, I wasn&rsquo;t listening.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>IV</h3>
-
-<p>
-The next evening, before tea, Volodya again thought of his shadows, and gave
-himself up to them. One shadow insisted on turning out badly, no matter how
-hard he stretched and bent his fingers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya was so absorbed in this that he did not hear his mother coming. At the
-creaking of the door he quickly put the leaflet into his pocket and turned
-away, confused, from the wall. But his mother was already looking at his hands,
-and a tremor of fear lit up her eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What are you doing, Volodya? What have you hidden?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Nothing, really,&rdquo; muttered Volodya, flushing and changing colour
-rapidly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It flashed upon her that Volodya wished to smoke, and that he had hidden a
-cigarette.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Volodya, show me at once what you are hiding,&rdquo; she said in a
-frightened voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Really, mamma....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She caught Volodya by the elbow.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Must I feel in your pocket myself?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya grew even redder, and pulled the little book out of his pocket.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Here it is,&rdquo; he said, giving it to his mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, what is it?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, here,&rdquo; he explained, &ldquo;on this side are the drawings,
-and here, as you see, are the shadows. I was trying to throw them on the wall,
-and I haven&rsquo;t succeeded very well.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What is there to hide here!&rdquo; said his mother, becoming more
-tranquil. &ldquo;Now show me what they look like.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya, taken aback, began obediently to show his mother the shadows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now this is the profile of a bald-headed man. And this is the head of a
-hare.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And so this is how you are studying your lessons!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Only for a little, mother.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;For a little! Why are you blushing then, my dear? Well, I shan&rsquo;t
-say anything more. I think I can depend on you to do what is right.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His mother moved her hand over his short, bristling hair, whereupon Volodya
-laughed and hid his flushing face under his mother&rsquo;s elbow.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then his mother left him, and for a long time Volodya felt awkward and ashamed.
-His mother had caught him doing something that he himself would have ridiculed
-had he caught any of his companions doing it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya knew that he was a clever lad, and he deemed himself serious; and this
-was, after all, a game fit only for little girls when they got together.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He pushed the little book with the shadows deeper into the table-drawer, and
-did not take it out again for more than a week; indeed, he thought little about
-the shadows that week. Only in the evening sometimes, in changing from one
-lesson to another, he would smile at the recollection of the girl in the
-hat&mdash;there were, indeed, moments when he put his hand in the drawer to get
-the little book, but he always quickly remembered the shame he experienced when
-his mother first found him out, and this made him resume his work at once.
-</p>
-
-<h3>V</h3>
-
-<p>
-Volodya and his mother lived in their own house on the outskirts of the
-district town. Eugenia Stepanovna had been a widow for nine years. She was now
-thirty-five years old; she seemed young and handsome, and Volodya loved her
-tenderly. She lived entirely for her son, studied ancient languages for his
-sake, and shared all his school cares. A quiet and gentle woman, she looked
-somewhat apprehensively upon the world out of her large, benign eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They had one domestic. Praskovya was a widow; she was gruff, sturdy, and
-strong; she was forty-five years old, but in her stern taciturnity she was more
-like a woman a hundred years old.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Whenever Volodya looked at her morose, stony face he wondered what she was
-thinking of in her kitchen during the long winter evenings, as the cold
-knitting-needles, clinking, shifted in her bony fingers with a regular
-movement, and her dry lips stirred yet uttered no sound. Was she recalling her
-drunken husband, or her children who had died earlier? or was she musing upon
-her lonely and homeless old age?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her stony face seemed hopelessly gloomy and austere.
-</p>
-
-<h3>VI</h3>
-
-<p>
-It was a long autumn evening. On the other side of the wall were the wind and
-the rain.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-How wearily, how indifferently the lamp flared! Volodya, propping himself up on
-his elbow, leant his whole body over to the left and looked at the white wall
-and at the white window-blinds.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The pale flowers were almost invisible on the wall-paper ... the wall was a
-melancholy white....
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The shaded lamp subdued the bright glare of light. The entire upper portion of
-the room was twilit.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya lifted his right arm. A long, faintly outlined, confused shadow crept
-across the shaded wall.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was the shadow of an angel, flying heaven-ward from a depraved and afflicted
-world; it was a translucent shadow, spreading its broad wings and reposing its
-bowed head sadly upon its breast.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Would not the angel, with his gentle hands, carry away with him something
-significant yet despised of this world?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya sighed. He let his arm fall languidly. He let his depressed eyes rest
-on his books.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was a long autumn evening.... The wall was a melancholy white.... On the
-other side of the wall something wept and rustled.
-</p>
-
-<h3>VII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Volodya&rsquo;s mother found him a second time with the shadows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This time the bull&rsquo;s head was a success, and he was delighted. He made
-the bull stretch out his neck, and the bull lowed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His mother was less pleased.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So this is how you are taking up your time,&rdquo; she said
-reproachfully.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;For a little, mamma,&rdquo; whispered Volodya, embarrassed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You might at least save this for a more suitable time,&rdquo; his mother
-went on. &ldquo;And you are no longer a little boy. Aren&rsquo;t you ashamed to
-waste your time on such nonsense!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, dear, I shan&rsquo;t do it again.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Volodya found it difficult to keep his promise. He enjoyed making shadows,
-and the desire to make them came to him often, especially during an
-uninteresting lesson.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This amusement occupied much of his time on some evenings and interfered with
-his lessons. He had to make up for it afterwards and to lose some sleep. How
-could he give up his amusement?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya succeeded in evolving several new figures, and not by means of the
-fingers alone. These figures lived on the wall, and it even seemed to Volodya
-at times that they talked to him and entertained him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Volodya was a dreamer even before then.
-</p>
-
-<h3>VIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-It was night. Volodya&rsquo;s room was dark. He had gone to bed but he could
-not sleep. He was lying on his back and was looking at the ceiling.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Some one was walking in the street with a lantern. His shadow traversed the
-ceiling, among the red spots of light thrown by the lantern. It was evident
-that the lantern swung in the hands of the passer-by&mdash;the shadow wavered
-and seemed agitated.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya felt a sadness and a fear. He quickly pulled the bed-cover over his
-head, and, trembling in his haste, he turned on his right side and began to
-encourage himself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He then felt soothed and warm. His mind began to weave sweet, naïve fancies,
-the fancies which visited him usually before sleep.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Often when he went to bed he felt suddenly afraid; he felt as though he were
-becoming smaller and weaker. He would then hide among the pillows, and
-gradually became soothed and loving, and wished his mother were there that he
-might put his arms round her neck and kiss her.
-</p>
-
-<h3>IX</h3>
-
-<p>
-The grey twilight was growing denser. The shadows merged. Volodya felt
-depressed. But here was the lamp. The light poured itself on the green
-tablecloth, the vague, beloved shadows appeared on the wall.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya suddenly felt glad and animated, and made haste to get the little grey
-book. The bull began to low ... the young lady to laugh uproariously.... What
-evil, round eyes the bald-headed gentleman was making!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then he tried his own. It was the steppe. Here was a wayfarer with his
-knapsack. Volodya seemed to hear the endless, monotonous song of the road....
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya felt both joy and sadness.
-</p>
-
-<h3>X</h3>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Volodya, it&rsquo;s the third time I&rsquo;ve seen you with the little
-book. Do you spend whole evenings admiring your fingers?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya stood uneasily at the table, like a truant caught, and he turned the
-pages of the leaflet with hot fingers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Give it to me,&rdquo; said his mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya, confused, put out his hand with the leaflet. His mother took it, said
-nothing, and went out; while Volodya sat down over his copy-books.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He felt ashamed that, by his stubbornness, he had offended his mother, and he
-felt vexed that she had taken the booklet from him; he was even more vexed at
-himself for letting the matter go so far. He felt his awkward position, and his
-vexation with his mother troubled him: he had scruples in being angry with her,
-yet he couldn&rsquo;t help it. And because he had scruples he felt even more
-angry.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, let her take it,&rdquo; he said to himself at last, &ldquo;I can
-get along without it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, in truth, Volodya had the figures in his memory, and used the little book
-merely for verification.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XI</h3>
-
-<p>
-In the meantime his mother opened the little book with the shadows&mdash;and
-became lost in thought.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I wonder what&rsquo;s fascinating about them?&rdquo; she mused.
-&ldquo;It is strange that such a good, clever boy should suddenly, become
-wrapped up in such nonsense! No, that means it&rsquo;s not mere nonsense. What,
-then, is it?&rdquo; she pursued her questioning of herself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A strange fear took possession of her; she felt malignant toward these black
-pictures, yet quailed before them.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She rose and lighted a candle. She approached the wall, the little grey book
-still in her hand, and paused in her wavering agitation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, it is important to get to the bottom of this,&rdquo; she resolved,
-and began to reproduce the shadows from the first to the last.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She persisted most patiently with her hands and her fingers, until she
-succeeded in reproducing the figure she desired. A confused, apprehensive
-feelings stirred within her. She tried to conquer it. But her fear fascinated
-her as it grew stronger. Her hands trembled, while her thought, cowed by
-life&rsquo;s twilight, ran on to meet the approaching sorrows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She suddenly heard her son&rsquo;s footsteps. She trembled, hid the little
-book, and blew out the candle.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya entered and stopped in the doorway, confused by the stern look of his
-mother as she stood by the wall in a strange, uneasy attitude.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What do you want?&rdquo; asked his mother in a harsh, uneven voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A vague conjecture ran across Volodya&rsquo;s mind, but he quickly repelled it
-and began to talk to his mother.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Then Volodya left her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She paced up and down the room a number of times. She noticed that her shadow
-followed her on the floor, and, strange to say, it was the first time in her
-life that her own shadow had made her uneasy. The thought that there was a
-shadow assailed her mind unceasingly&mdash;and Eugenia Stepanovna, for some
-reason, was afraid of this thought, and even tried not to look at her shadow.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the shadow crept after her and taunted her. Eugenia Stepanovna tried to
-think of something else&mdash;but in vain.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She suddenly paused, pale and agitated.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, it&rsquo;s a shadow, a shadow!&rdquo; she exclaimed aloud,
-stamping her foot with a strange irritation, &ldquo;what of it?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then all at once she reflected that it was stupid to make a fuss and to stamp
-her feet, and she became quiet.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She approached the mirror. Her face was paler than usual, and her lips
-quivered with a kind of strange hate.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s nerves,&rdquo; she thought; &ldquo;I must take myself in
-hand.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>XIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Twilight was falling. Volodya grew pensive.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go for a stroll, Volodya,&rdquo; said his mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But in the street there were also shadows everywhere, mysterious, elusive
-evening shadows; and they whispered in Volodya&rsquo;s ear something that was
-familiar and infinitely sad.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the clouded sky two or three stars looked out, and they seemed equally
-distant and equally strange to Volodya and to the shadows that surrounded him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma,&rdquo; he said, oblivious of the fact that he had interrupted her
-as she was telling him something, &ldquo;what a pity that it is impossible to
-reach those stars.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His mother looked up at the sky and answered: &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t see that
-it&rsquo;s necessary. Our place is on earth. It is better for us here.
-It&rsquo;s quite another thing there.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How faintly they glimmer! They ought to be glad of it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;If they shone more strongly they would cast shadows.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh, Volodya, why do you think only of shadows?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t mean to, mamma,&rdquo; said Volodya in a penitent voice.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XIV</h3>
-
-<p>
-Volodya worked harder than ever at his lessons; he was afraid to hurt his
-mother by being lazy. But he employed all his invention in grouping the objects
-on his table in a way that would produce new and ever more fantastic shadows.
-He put this here and that there&mdash;anything that came to his hands&mdash;and
-he rejoiced when outlines appeared on the white wall that his mind could grasp.
-There was an intimacy between him and these shadowy outlines, and they were
-very dear to him. They were not dumb, they spoke to him, and Volodya understood
-their inarticulate speech.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He understood why the dejected wayfarer murmured as he wandered upon the long
-road, the autumn wetness under his feet, a stick in his trembling hand, a
-knapsack on his bowed back.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He understood why the snow-covered forest, its boughs crackling with frost,
-complained, as it stood sadly dreaming in the winter stillness; and he
-understood why the lonely crow cawed on the old oak, and why the bustling
-squirrel looked sadly out of its tree-hollow.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He understood why the decrepit and homeless old beggar-women sobbed in the
-dismal autumn wind, as they shivered in their rags in the crowded graveyard,
-among the crumbling crosses and the hopelessly black tombs.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There was self-forgetfulness in this, and also tormenting woe!
-</p>
-
-<h3>XV</h3>
-
-<p>
-Volodya&rsquo;s mother observed that he continued to play.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She said to him after dinner: &ldquo;At least, you might get interested in
-something else.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;In what?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You might read.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No sooner do I begin to read than I want to cast shadows.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;If you&rsquo;d only try something else&mdash;say soap-bubbles.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya smiled sadly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No sooner do the bubbles fly up than the shadows follow them on the
-wall.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Volodya, unless you take care your nerves will be shattered. Already you
-have grown thinner because of this.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, you exaggerate.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, Volodya.... Don&rsquo;t I know that you&rsquo;ve begun to sleep
-badly and to talk nonsense in your sleep. Now, just think, suppose you
-die!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What are you saying!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;God forbid, but if you go mad, or die, I shall suffer horribly.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya laughed and threw himself on his mother&rsquo;s neck.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma dear, I shan&rsquo;t die. I won&rsquo;t do it again.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She saw that he was crying now.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That will do,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;God is merciful. Now you see how
-nervous you are. You&rsquo;re laughing and crying at the same time.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>XVI</h3>
-
-<p>
-Volodya&rsquo;s mother began to look at him with careful and anxious eyes.
-Every trifle now agitated her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She noticed that Volodya&rsquo;s head was somewhat asymmetrical: his one ear
-was higher than the other, his chin slightly turned to one side. She looked in
-the mirror, and further remarked that Volodya had inherited this too from her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It may be,&rdquo; she thought, &ldquo;one of the characteristics of
-unfortunate heredity&mdash;degeneration; in which case where is the root of the
-evil? Is it my fault or his father&rsquo;s?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Eugenia Stepanovna recalled her dead husband. He was a most kind-hearted and
-most lovable man, somewhat weak-willed, with rash impulses. He was by nature a
-zealot and a mystic, and he dreamt of a social Utopia, and went among the
-people. He had been rather given to tippling the last years of his life.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He died young; he was but thirty-five years old.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya&rsquo;s mother even took her boy to the doctor and described his
-symptoms. The doctor, a cheerful young man, listened to her, then laughed and
-gave counsel concerning diet and way of life, throwing in a few witty remarks;
-he wrote out a prescription in a happy, off-hand way, and he added playfully,
-with a slap on Volodya&rsquo;s shoulder: &ldquo;But the very best medicine
-would be&mdash;a birch.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya&rsquo;s mother felt the affront deeply, but she followed all the rest
-of the instructions faithfully.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XVII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Volodya was sitting in his class. He felt depressed. He listened inattentively.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He raised his eyes. A shadow was moving along the ceiling near the front wall.
-Volodya observed that it came in through the first window. To begin with it
-fell from the window toward the centre of the class-room, but later it started
-forward rather quickly away from Volodya&mdash;evidently some one was walking
-in the street, just by the window. While this shadow was still moving another
-shadow came through the second window, falling, as did the first one, toward
-the back wall, but later it began to turn quickly toward the front wall. The
-same thing happened at the third and the fourth windows; the shadows fell in
-the class-room on the ceiling, and in the degree that the passer-by moved
-forward they retreated backward.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;This,&rdquo; thought Volodya, &ldquo;is not at all the same as in an
-open place, where the shadow follows the man; when the man goes forward, the
-shadow glides behind, and other shadows again meet him in the front.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya turned his eyes on the gaunt figure of the tutor. His callous, yellow
-face annoyed Volodya. He looked for his shadow and found it on the wall, just
-behind the tutor&rsquo;s chair. The monstrous shape bent over and rocked from
-side to side, but it had neither a yellow face nor a malignant smile, and
-Volodya looked at it with joy. His thoughts scampered off somewhere far away,
-and he heard not a single thing of what was being said.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Lovlev!&rdquo; His tutor called his name.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya rose, as was the custom, and stood looking stupidly at the tutor. He
-had such an absent look that his companions tittered, while the tutor&rsquo;s
-face assumed a critical expression.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya heard the tutor attack him with sarcasm and abuse. He trembled from
-shame and from weakness. The tutor announced that he would give Volodya
-&ldquo;one&rdquo; for his ignorance and his inattention, and he asked him to
-sit down.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya smiled in a dull way, and tried to think what had happened to him.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XVIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-The &ldquo;one&rdquo; was the first in Volodya&rsquo;s life! It made him feel
-rather strange.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Lovlev!&rdquo; his comrades taunted him, laughing and nudging him,
-&ldquo;you caught it that time! Congratulations!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya felt awkward. He did not yet know how to behave in these circumstances.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What if I have,&rdquo; he answered peevishly, &ldquo;what business is it
-of yours?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Lovlev!&rdquo; the lazy Snegirev shouted, &ldquo;our regiment has been
-reinforced!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His first &ldquo;one&rdquo;! And he had yet to tell his mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He felt ashamed and humiliated. He felt as though he bore in the knapsack on
-his back a strangely heavy and awkward burden&mdash;the &ldquo;one&rdquo; stuck
-clumsily in his consciousness and seemed to fit in with nothing else in his
-mind.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;One&rdquo;!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He could not get used to the thought about the &ldquo;one,&rdquo; and yet could
-not think of anything else. When the policeman, who stood near the school,
-looked at him with his habitual severity Volodya could not help thinking:
-&ldquo;What if you knew that I&rsquo;ve received &lsquo;one&rsquo;!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was all so awkward and so unusual. Volodya did not know how to hold his head
-and where to put his hands; there was uneasiness in his whole bearing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Besides, he had to assume a care-free look before his comrades and to talk of
-something else!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His comrades! Volodya was convinced that they were all very glad because of his
-&ldquo;one.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>XIX</h3>
-
-<p>
-Volodya&rsquo;s mother looked at the &ldquo;one&rdquo; and turned her
-uncomprehending eyes on her son. Then again she glanced at the report and
-exclaimed quietly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Volodya!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya stood before her, and he felt intensely small. He looked at the folds
-of his mother&rsquo;s dress and at his mother&rsquo;s pale hands; his trembling
-eyelids were conscious of her frightened glances fixed upon them.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What&rsquo;s this?&rdquo; she asked.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you worry, mamma,&rdquo; burst out Volodya suddenly;
-&ldquo;after all, it&rsquo;s my first!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Your first!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It may happen to any one. And really it was all an accident.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh, Volodya, Volodya!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya began to cry and to rub his tears, child-like, over his face with the
-palm of his hand.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma darling, don&rsquo;t be angry,&rdquo; he whispered.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what comes of your shadows,&rdquo; said his mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya felt the tears in her voice. His heart was touched. He glanced at his
-mother. She was crying. He turned quickly toward her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, mamma,&rdquo; he kept on repeating, while kissing her hands,
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll drop the shadows, really I will.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>XX</h3>
-
-<p>
-Volodya made a strong effort of the will and refrained from the shadows,
-despite strong temptation. He tried to make amends for his neglected lessons.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the shadows beckoned to him persistently. In vain he ceased to invite them
-with his fingers, in vain he ceased to arrange objects that would cast a new
-shadow on the wall; the shadows themselves surrounded him&mdash;they were
-unavoidable, importunate shadows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Objects themselves no longer interested Volodya, he almost ceased to see them;
-all his attention was centred on their shadows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When he was walking home and the sun happened to peep through the autumn
-clouds, as through smoky vestments, he was overjoyed because there was
-everywhere an awakening of the shadows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The shadows from the lamplight hovered near him in the evening at home.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The shadows were everywhere. There were the sharp shadows from the flames,
-there were the fainter shadows from diffused daylight. All of them crowded
-toward Volodya, recrossed each other, and enveloped him in an unbreakable
-network.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Some of the shadows were incomprehensible, mysterious; others reminded him of
-something, suggested something. But there were also the beloved, the intimate,
-the familiar shadows; these Volodya himself, however casually, sought out and
-caught everywhere from among the confused wavering of the others, the more
-remote shadows. But they were sad, these beloved, familiar shadows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Whenever Volodya found himself seeking these shadows his conscience tormented
-him, and he went to his mother to make a clean breast of it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Once it happened that Volodya could not conquer his temptation. He stood up
-close to the wall and made a shadow of the bull. His mother found him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Again!&rdquo; she exclaimed angrily. &ldquo;I really shall have to ask
-the director to put you into the small room.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya flushed violently and answered morosely: &ldquo;There is a wall there
-also. The walls are everywhere.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Volodya,&rdquo; exclaimed his mother sorrowfully, &ldquo;what are you
-saying!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Volodya already repented of his rudeness, and he was crying.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, I don&rsquo;t know myself what&rsquo;s happening to me!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXI</h3>
-
-<p>
-Volodya&rsquo;s mother had not yet conquered her superstitious dread of
-shadows. She began very often to think that she, like Volodya, was losing
-herself in the contemplation of shadows. Then she tried to comfort herself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What stupid thoughts!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Thank God, all will pass
-happily; he will be like this a little while, then he will stop.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But her heart trembled with a secret fear, and her thought, frightened of life
-persistently ran to meet approaching sorrows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She began in the melancholy moments of waking to examine her soul, and all her
-life would pass before her; she saw its emptiness, its futility, and its
-aimlessness. It seemed but a senseless glimmer of shadows, which merged in the
-denser twilight.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why have I lived?&rdquo; she asked herself. &ldquo;Was it for my son?
-But why? That he too shall become a prey to shadows, a maniac with a narrow
-horizon, chained to his illusions, to restless appearances upon a lifeless
-wall? And he too will enter upon life, and he will make of life a chain of
-impressions, phantasmic and futile, like a dream.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She sat down in the armchair by the window, and she thought and thought. Her
-thoughts were bitter, oppressive. She began, in her despair, to wring her
-beautiful white hands.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then her thoughts wandered. She looked at her outstretched hands, and began to
-imagine what sort of shapes they would cast on the wall in their present
-attitude. She suddenly paused and jumped up from her chair in fright.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My God!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;This is madness.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXII</h3>
-
-<p>
-She watched Volodya at dinner.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How pale and thin he has grown,&rdquo; she said to herself, &ldquo;since
-the unfortunate little book fell into his hands. He&rsquo;s changed
-entirely&mdash;in character and in everything else. It is said that character
-changes before death. What if he dies? But no, no. God forbid!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The spoon trembled in her hand. She looked up at the ikon with timid eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Volodya, why don&rsquo;t you finish your soup?&rdquo; she asked, looking
-frightened.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t feel like it, mamma.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Volodya, darling, do as I tell you; it is bad for you not to eat your
-soup.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya gave a tired smile and slowly finished his soup. His mother had filled
-his plate fuller than usual. He leant back in his chair and was on the point of
-saying that the soup was not good. But his mother&rsquo;s worried look
-restrained him, and he merely smiled weakly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And now I&rsquo;ve had enough,&rdquo; he said.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh no, Volodya, I have all your favourite dishes to-day.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya sighed sadly. He knew that when his mother spoke of his favourite
-dishes it meant that she would coax him to eat. He guessed that even after tea
-his mother would prevail upon him, as she did the day before, to eat meat.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-In the evening Volodya&rsquo;s mother said to him: &ldquo;Volodya dear,
-you&rsquo;ll waste your time again; perhaps you&rsquo;d better keep the door
-open!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya began his lessons. But he felt vexed because the door had been left
-open at his back, and because his mother went past it now and then.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I cannot go on like this,&rdquo; he shouted, moving his chair noisily.
-&ldquo;I cannot do anything when the door is wide open.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Volodya, is there any need to shout so?&rdquo; his mother reproached him
-softly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya already felt repentant, and he began to cry.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you see, Volodenka, that I&rsquo;m worried about you, and
-that I want to save you from your thoughts.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, sit here with me,&rdquo; said Volodya.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His mother took a book and sat down at Volodya&rsquo;s table. For a few minutes
-Volodya worked calmly. But gradually the presence of his mother began to annoy
-him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;m being watched just like a sick man,&rdquo; he thought
-spitefully.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His thoughts were constantly interrupted, and he was biting his lips. His
-mother remarked this at last, and she left the room.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Volodya felt no relief. He was tormented with regret at showing his
-impatience. He tried to go on with his work but he could not. Then he went to
-his mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, why did you leave me?&rdquo; he asked timidly.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXIV</h3>
-
-<p>
-It was the eve of a holiday. The little image-lamps burned before the ikons.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was late and it was quiet. Volodya&rsquo;s mother was not asleep. In the
-mysterious dark of her bedroom she fell on her knees, she prayed and she wept,
-sobbing out now and then like a child.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her braids of hair trailed upon her white dress; her shoulders trembled. She
-raised her hands to her breast in a praying posture, and she looked with
-tearful eyes at the ikon. The image-lamp moved almost imperceptibly on its
-chains with her passionate breathing. The shadows rocked, they crowded in the
-corners, they stirred behind the reliquary, and they murmured mysteriously.
-There was a hopeless yearning in their murmurings and an incomprehensible
-sadness in their wavering movements.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At last she rose, looking pale, with strange, widely dilated eyes, and she
-reeled slightly on her benumbed legs.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She went quietly to Volodya. The shadows surrounded her, they rustled softly
-behind her back, they crept at her feet, and some of them, as fine as the
-threads of a spider&rsquo;s web, fell upon her shoulders and, looking into her
-large eyes, murmured incomprehensibly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She approached her son&rsquo;s bed cautiously. His face was pale in the light
-of the image-lamp. Strange, sharp shadows lay upon him. His breathing was
-inaudible; he slept so tranquilly that his mother was frightened.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She stood there in the midst of the vague shadows, and she felt upon her the
-breath of vague fears.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXV</h3>
-
-<p>
-The high vaults of the church were dark and mysterious. The evening chants rose
-toward these vaults and resounded there with an exultant sadness. The dark
-images, lit up by the yellow flickers of wax candles, looked stern and
-mysterious. The warm breathing of the wax and of the incense filled the air
-with lofty sorrow.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Eugenia Stepanovna placed a candle before the ikon of the Mother of God. Then
-she knelt down. But her prayer was distraught.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She looked at her candle. Its flame wavered. The shadows from the candles fell
-on Eugenia Stepanovna&rsquo;s black dress and on the floor, and rocked
-unsteadily. The shadows hovered on the walls of the church and lost themselves
-in the heights between the dark vaults, where the exultant, sad songs
-resounded.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXVI</h3>
-
-<p>
-It was another night.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya awoke suddenly. The darkness enveloped him, and it stirred without
-sound. He freed his hands, then raised them, and followed their movements with
-his eyes. He did not see his hands in the darkness, but he imagined that he saw
-them wanly stirring before him. They were dark and mysterious, and they held in
-them the affliction and the murmur of lonely yearning.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His mother also did not sleep; her grief tormented her. She lit a candle and
-went quietly toward her son&rsquo;s room to see how he slept. She opened the
-door noiselessly and looked timidly at Volodya&rsquo;s bed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A streak of yellow light trembled on the wall and intersected Volodya&rsquo;s
-red bed-cover. The lad stretched his arms toward the light and, with a beating
-heart, followed the shadows. He did not even ask himself where the light came
-from. He was wholly obsessed by the shadows. His eyes were fixed on the wall,
-and there was a gleam of madness in them.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The streak of light broadened, the shadows moved in a startled way; they were
-morose and hunch-backed, like homeless, roaming women who were hurrying to
-reach somewhere with old burdens that dragged them down.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya&rsquo;s mother, trembling with fright, approached the bed and quietly
-aroused her son.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Volodya!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya came to himself. For some seconds he glanced at his mother with large
-eyes, then he shivered from head to foot and, springing out of bed, fell at his
-mother&rsquo;s feet, embraced her knees, and wept.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What dreams you do dream, Volodya!&rdquo; exclaimed his mother
-sorrowfully.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXVII</h3>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Volodya,&rdquo; said his mother to him at breakfast, &ldquo;you must
-stop it, darling; you will become a wreck if you spend your nights also with
-the shadows.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The pale lad lowered his head in dejection. His lips quivered nervously.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell you what we&rsquo;ll do,&rdquo; continued his mother.
-&ldquo;Perhaps we had better play a little while together with the shadows each
-evening, and then we will study your lessons. What do you say?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya grew somewhat animated.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, you&rsquo;re a darling!&rdquo; he said shyly.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXVIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-In the street Volodya felt drowsy and timid. The fog was spreading; it was cold
-and dismal. The outlines of the houses looked strange in the mist. The morose,
-human silhouettes moved through the filmy atmosphere like ominous, unkindly
-shadows. Everything seemed so intensely unreal. The cab-horse, which stood
-drowsily at the street-crossing, appeared like a huge fabulous beast.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The policeman gave Volodya a hostile look. The crow on the low roof foreboded
-sorrow in Volodya&rsquo;s ear. But sorrow was already in his heart; it made him
-sad to note how everything was hostile to him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A small dog with an unhealthy coat barked at him from behind a gate and Volodya
-felt a strange depression. And the urchins of the street seemed ready to laugh
-at him and to humiliate him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the past he would have settled scores with them as they deserved, but now
-fear lived in his breast; it robbed his arms of their strength and caused them
-to hang by his sides.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When Volodya returned home Praskovya opened the door to him, and she looked at
-him with moroseness and hostility. Volodya felt uneasy. He quickly went into
-the house, and refrained from looking at Praskovya&rsquo;s depressing face
-again.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXIX</h3>
-
-<p>
-His mother was sitting alone. It was twilight, and she felt sad.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A light suddenly glimmered somewhere.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya ran in, animated, cheerful, and with large, somewhat wild eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, the lamp has been lit; let&rsquo;s play a little.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She smiled and followed Volodya.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, I&rsquo;ve thought of a new figure,&rdquo; said Volodya
-excitedly, as he placed the lamp in the desired position. &ldquo;Look.... Do
-you see? This is the steppe, covered with snow, and the snow falls&mdash;a
-regular storm.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya raised his hands and arranged them.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now look, here is an old man, a wayfarer. He is up to his knees in snow.
-It is difficult to walk. He is alone. It is an open field. The village is far
-away. He is tired, he is cold; it is terrible. He is all bent&mdash;he&rsquo;s
-such an old man.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya&rsquo;s mother helped him with his fingers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; exclaimed Volodya in great joy. &ldquo;The wind is tearing
-his cap off, it is blowing his hair loose, it has thrown him in the snow. The
-drifts are getting higher. Mamma, mamma, do you hear?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a blinding storm.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And he?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The old man?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do you hear, he is moaning?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Help!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Both of them, pale, were looking at the wall. Volodya&rsquo;s hands shook, the
-old man fell.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His mother was the first to arouse herself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And now it&rsquo;s time to work,&rdquo; she said.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXX</h3>
-
-<p>
-It was morning. Volodya&rsquo;s mother was alone. Rapt in her confused, dismal
-thoughts, she was walking from one room to another. Her shadow outlined itself
-vaguely on the white door in the light of the mist-dimmed sun. She stopped at
-the door and lifted her arm with a large, curious movement. The shadow on the
-door wavered and began to murmur something familiar and sad. A strange feeling
-of comfort came over Eugenia Stepanovna as she stood, a wild smile on her face,
-before the door and moved both her hands, watching the trembling shadows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then she heard Praskovya coming, and she realized that she was doing an absurd
-thing. Once more she felt afraid and sad.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We ought to make a change,&rdquo; she thought, &ldquo;and go elsewhere,
-somewhere farther away, to a new atmosphere. We must run away from here, simply
-run away!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And suddenly she remembered Volodya&rsquo;s words: &ldquo;There is a wall there
-also. The walls are everywhere.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;There is nowhere to run!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In her despair she wrung her pale, beautiful hands.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXXI</h3>
-
-<p>
-It was evening.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A lighted lamp stood on the floor in Volodya&rsquo;s room. Just behind it, near
-the wall, sat Volodya and his mother. They were looking at the wall and were
-making strange movements with their hands.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shadows stirred and trembled upon the wall.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya and his mother understood them. Both were smiling sadly and were saying
-weird and impossible things to each other. Their faces were peaceful and their
-eyes looked clear; their joyousness was hopelessly sorrowful and their sorrow
-was wildly joyous.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In their eyes was a glimmer of madness, blessed madness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The night was descending upon them.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap06"></a>THE GLIMMER OF HUNGER</h2>
-
-<p>
-Sergei Matveyevich Moshkin had dined very well that day&mdash;that is
-comparatively well&mdash;when you stop to consider that he was only a village
-schoolmaster who had lost his place, and had been knocking about already a year
-or so on strange stairways, in search of work. Nevertheless, the glimmer of
-hunger persisted in his dark, sad eyes, and it gave his lean, smooth face a
-kind of unlooked-for significance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin spent his last three-rouble note on this dinner, and now a few coppers
-jingled in his pocket, while his purse contained a smooth fifteen-copeck piece.
-He banqueted out of sheer joy. He knew quite well that it was stupid to rejoice
-prematurely and without sufficient cause. But he had been seeking work so long,
-and had been having such a time of it, that even the shadow of a hope gave him
-joy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin had put an advertisement in the <i>Novo Vremya</i>. He announced
-himself a pedagogue who had command of the pen; he based his claim on the fact
-that he corresponded for a provincial newspaper. This, indeed, was why he had
-lost his place; it was discovered that he had written articles reflecting
-unfavourably on the authorities; the chief official of the district called the
-attention of the inspector of public schools to this, and the inspector, of
-course, would not brook such doings by any of his staff.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We don&rsquo;t want that kind,&rdquo; the inspector said to him in a
-personal interview.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin asked: &ldquo;What kind do you want?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The inspector, without replying to this irrelevant question, remarked dryly:
-&ldquo;Good-bye. I hope to meet you in the next world.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin stated further in his advertisement that he wished to be a secretary, a
-permanent collaborator on a newspaper, a private tutor; also that he was
-willing to accompany his employer to the Caucasus or the Crimea, and to make
-himself useful in the house, etc. He gave an assurance of his reasonableness,
-and that he had no objections to travelling.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He waited. One postcard came. It inspired him with hope; he hardly knew why.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It came in the morning while Moshkin was drinking his tea. The landlady brought
-it in herself. There was a glitter in her dark, snake-like eyes as she remarked
-tauntingly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s some correspondence for Mr. Sergei Matveyevich
-Moshkin.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And while he was reading she smoothed her black hair down her triangular yellow
-forehead, and hissed: &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the good of getting letters? Much
-better if you paid for your board and lodging. A letter won&rsquo;t feed your
-hunger; you ought to go among people, look for a job and not expect things to
-come to you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He read:
-</p>
-
-<p class="letter">
-&ldquo;<i>Be so good as to come in for a talk, between</i> 6 <i>and</i> 7 <i>in
-the evening, at Row</i> 6, <i>House</i> 78, <i>Apartment</i> 57.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There was no signature.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin glanced angrily at his landlady. She was broad and erect, and as she
-stood there at the door quite calm, with lowered arms, she was like a doll; she
-seemed deliberately malicious, and she looked at him with her motionless,
-anger-provoking eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin exclaimed: &ldquo;Basta!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He hit the table with his fist. Then he rose, and paced up and down the room.
-He kept on repeating: &ldquo;Basta!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The landlady asked quietly and spitefully: &ldquo;Are you going to pay or not,
-you Kazan and Astrakhan correspondent, you impudent face?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin stopped in front of her, put out his empty palm, and said:
-&ldquo;That&rsquo;s all I have.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He said nothing about his last three-rouble note. The landlady hissed:
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not hard on you, but I need money. Wood&rsquo;s seven roubles
-a load now, how am I to pay it? You can&rsquo;t live on nothing. Can&rsquo;t
-you find some one to look after you? You&rsquo;re a young man of ability, and
-you have quite a charming appearance. You can always get hold of some goose or
-other. But how am I to pay? Whichever way you turn you&rsquo;ve got to put down
-money.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin replied: &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t worry, Praskovya Petrovna, I am getting a
-job to-night, and I&rsquo;ll pay what I owe you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He began to pace the room again, making a flapping noise with his slippers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The landlady paused at the door, and kept on with her grumbling. When she went
-at last, she cried out: &ldquo;Another in my place would have shown you the
-door long ago.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-For some time after she had left there still remained in his memory her
-strange, erect figure, with relaxed arms; her broad, yellow forehead, shaped
-like a triangle under her smoothly-oiled hair; her worn yellow dress, cut away
-like a narrow triangle, and her red, sniffling nose shaped like a small
-triangle. Three triangles in all.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-All day long Moshkin was hungry, cheerful, and indignant. He walked aimlessly
-in the streets. He looked at the girls, and they all seemed to him to be
-lovable, happy, and accessible&mdash;to the rich. He stopped before the shop
-windows, where expensive goods were displayed. The glimmer of hunger in his
-eyes grew keener and keener.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He bought a newspaper. He read as he sat on a form in the square, where the
-children laughed and ran, where the nurses tried to look fashionable, where
-there was a smell of dust and of consumptive trees&mdash;and where the smells
-of the street and of the garden mingled unpleasantly, reminding him of the
-smell of gutta-percha. Moshkin was very much struck by an account in the
-newspaper of a hungry fanatic who had slashed a picture by a celebrated artist
-in the museum.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now that&rsquo;s something I can understand!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin walked briskly along the path. He repeated: &ldquo;Now that&rsquo;s
-something I can understand!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And afterwards, as he walked in the streets and looked at the huge and stately
-houses, at the exposed wealth of the shops, at the elegant dress of the people
-of fashion, at the swiftly moving carriages, at all these beauties and comforts
-of life, accessible to all who have money, and inaccessible to him&mdash;as he
-looked and observed and envied, he felt more and more keenly the mood of
-destructive rage.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now that&rsquo;s something I can understand!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He walked up to a stout and pompous house-porter, and shouted: &ldquo;Now
-that&rsquo;s something I can understand!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The porter looked at him with silent scorn. Moshkin laughed joyously, and said:
-&ldquo;Clever chaps those anarchists!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Be off with you!&rdquo; exclaimed the porter angrily. &ldquo;And see
-that you don&rsquo;t over-eat yourself.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin was about to leave him but stopped short in fright. There was a
-policeman quite near, and his white gloves stood out with startling sharpness.
-Moshkin thought in his sadness:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A bomb might come in handy here.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The porter spat angrily after him, and turned away.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin walked on. At six o&rsquo;clock he entered a restaurant of the middle
-rank. He chose a table by the window. He had some vodka, and followed it with
-anchovies. He ordered a seventy-five copeck dinner. He had a bottle of chablis
-on ice; after dinner a liqueur. He got slightly intoxicated. His head went
-round at the sound of music. He did not take his change. He left, reeling
-slightly, accompanied respectfully by a porter, into whose hand he stuck a
-twenty-copeck piece.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He looked at his nickelled watch. It was just past seven. It was time to go. He
-had to make haste. They might hire another. He strode impetuously toward his
-destination.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He was hindered by: dug up pavements; superannuated, eternally somnolent
-cabbies, at street crossings; passers-by, especially <i>muzhiks</i> and women;
-those who came toward him, without stepping aside at all, or who stepped aside
-more often to the left than to the right&mdash;while those whom he had to
-overtake joggled along indifferently on the narrow way, and it was hard to tell
-at once on which side to pass them; beggars&mdash;these clung to him; and the
-mechanical process of walking itself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-How difficult to conquer space and time when one is in a hurry! Truly the earth
-drew him to itself and he purchased every step with violence and exhaustion. He
-felt pains in his legs. This increased his spite, and intensified the glimmer
-of hunger in his eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin thought:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to chuck it all to the devil! To all the devils!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At last he got there.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Here was the Row, and here was House No. 78. It was a four-storey house, in a
-state of neglect; the two approaches had a gloomy look, the gates in the middle
-stood wide agape. He looked at the plates at the approaches; the first numbers
-were here, and there was no No. 57. No one was in sight. There was a white
-button at the gates; and on the brass plate, below, buried under dirt, was the
-word &ldquo;porter.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He pressed the button and entered the gate to look for the directory of the
-tenants. Before he had got that far he was met by the porter, a man of
-insinuating appearance, with a black beard.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Where is apartment No. 57?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin asked the question in a careless manner, borrowed from the district
-official who had caused him to lose his place. He also knew from experience
-that one must address porters just like this, and not like that. Wandering in
-strange gates and on strange staircases gives one a certain polish.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The porter asked somewhat suspiciously: &ldquo;Who do you want?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin drawled out his words with artless carelessness: &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t
-exactly know. I&rsquo;ve come in answer to an announcement. I&rsquo;ve received
-a letter, but the name is not signed. Only the address is given. Who lives at
-No. 57?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Madame Engelhardova,&rdquo; said the porter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Engelhardt?&rdquo; asked Moshkin.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The porter repeated: &ldquo;Engelhardova.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin smiled. &ldquo;And what&rsquo;s her Russian name?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Elena Petrovna,&rdquo; the porter answered.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Is she a bad-tempered hag?&rdquo; asked Moshkin for some reason or
-other.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No-o, she&rsquo;s a young lady. Quite stylish. Turn to the right of the
-gate.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Only the first numbers are given there,&rdquo; said Moshkin.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The porter said: &ldquo;No, you&rsquo;ll also find 57 there. At the very
-bottom.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin asked: &ldquo;What does she do? Does she run a business of some sort? A
-school? Or a journal?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-No. Madame Engelhardova had neither a school, nor a journal.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She lives on her capital,&rdquo; explained the porter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Engelhardova&rsquo;s maid, who looked like a village girl, led him into
-the drawing-room, to the right of the dark ante-room, and asked him to wait.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He waited. It was tedious and annoying. He began to examine the contents of the
-elaborately furnished room. There were arm-chairs, tables, stools, folding
-screens, fire-screens, book-shelves, and small columns upon which rested busts,
-lamps, and artistic gew-gaws; there were mirrors, lithographs, and clocks on
-the walls; while the windows were decorated with hangings and flowers. All
-these made the room crowded, oppressive and dark. Moshkin paced through this
-depression over the rugs. He looked at the pictures and the statues with hate.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to chuck all this to the devil! To all the devils!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But when the mistress of the house walked in suddenly he lowered his eyes, and
-hid his glimmer of hunger.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She was young, pink, and tall and quite good-looking. She walked quickly and
-with decision, like the mistress of a village house, and swung, not altogether
-gracefully, her strong, handsome white arms bared from above the elbows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She came to him and held out her hand, a little high&mdash;to be pressed, or to
-be kissed, as he chose. He kissed it. There was spite in his kiss. He did it
-with a quick, resounding smack, and one of his teeth scratched her skin
-slightly, so that she winced. But she said nothing. She walked toward the
-divan, got behind the table and sat down. She showed him an armchair.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When he had seated himself, she asked him: &ldquo;Was that your announcement in
-yesterday&rsquo;s paper?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He said: &ldquo;Mine.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He reconsidered, and said more politely: &ldquo;Yes, mine.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He felt vexed, and he thought to himself: &ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to send her to
-the devil!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She went on talking. She asked him what he could do, where he had studied,
-where he had worked. She approached the subject very cautiously, as though
-afraid to say too much before the proper time.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He gathered that she wished to publish a journal&mdash;she had not yet decided
-what sort. Some sort. A small one. She was negotiating for the purchase of a
-property. Of the nature of the journal she said nothing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She needed some one for the office. As he had said in his announcement that he
-was a pedagogue she thought that he had taught in one of the higher schools.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In any case, she wanted some one to keep the books in the office, to receive
-subscriptions, to carry on the editorial and the office correspondence, to
-receive money by post, to put the journals in wrappers, to send them to the
-post, to read proofs, and something else ... and still something else....
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young woman spoke for half an hour. She recounted the various duties in an
-unintelligent way.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You need several people for all these tasks,&rdquo; said Moshkin
-sharply.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young woman grew red with vexation. She made a wry face as she remarked
-eagerly: &ldquo;The journal will be a small one, of a special nature. If I
-hired several people for such a small undertaking they would have nothing to
-do.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He smiled, and observed: &ldquo;Well, anyhow there&rsquo;ll be no chance for
-boredom. How many hours a day will you want me to work?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, let us say from nine in the morning until seven in the evening.
-Sometimes, when the work is in a hurry you might remain a little longer, or you
-might come in on a holiday&mdash;I believe you are free?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How much do you think of paying?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Would eighteen roubles a month be enough for you?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He reflected a while, then he laughed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Too little.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t afford more than twenty-two.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Very well.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He rose suddenly in his rage, thrust his hand into his pocket, drew out the
-latchkey to his house, and said quietly but resolutely: &ldquo;Hands up!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; exclaimed the young woman, and she quickly raised her arms.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She was sitting on the divan. She was pale and trembling.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They formed a contrast&mdash;she large and strong; and he small and meagre.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The sleeves of her dress fell to her shoulders, and the two bare white arms,
-stretching upward, seemed like the plump legs of a woman acrobat practising at
-home. She was evidently strong enough to hold up her arms for a long time. But
-her frightened face betrayed the deep terror of her ordeal.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin, enjoying her plight, uttered slowly and sternly: &ldquo;Move, if you
-dare! Or give a single whisper!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He approached a picture.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How much does this cost?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Two hundred and twenty, without the frame,&rdquo; said the young woman
-in a trembling voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He searched in his pocket and found a penknife. He cut the picture from top to
-bottom, and from right to left.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; the young woman cried out.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He approached a small marble head.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What does this cost?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Three hundred.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He used his latchkey, and struck off the ear and the nose, and he mutilated the
-cheeks. The young woman sighed quietly; and it was pleasant to hear her quiet
-sighing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He cut up a few more pictures, and the armchair coverings, and broke a few of
-the gew-gaws.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He then approached the young woman, and exclaimed: &ldquo;Get under the
-divan!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She obeyed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Lie there quietly, until some one comes. Or else I&rsquo;ll throw a
-bomb.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He left. He met no one, either in the ante-room, or on the stairs.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The same house-porter stood at the gates. Moshkin went up to him and said:
-&ldquo;What a strange young lady you have in your house.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She doesn&rsquo;t know how to behave. She loves a brawl. You had better
-go to her.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No use my going as long as I&rsquo;m not called.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Just as you please.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He left. The glimmer of hunger grew fainter in his eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin continued to walk the streets. His mind realized in a slow, dull way
-the drawing-room scene, the mutilated pictures, and the young woman under the
-divan.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The dull waters of the canal lured him. The receding light of the setting sun
-made their surface beautiful and sad, like the music of a mad composer. How
-rough the stone slabs were on the canal&rsquo;s banks, and how dusty the stones
-of the pavements, and what stupid and dirty children ran to meet him!
-Everything seemed shut against him and everything seemed hostile to him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The green, golden waters of the canal lured him, and the glimmer of hunger in
-his eyes went out for ever.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-What a noise the swift splash of water made, as, ring after ring, the dead
-black rings spread out and out, and cut the green golden waters of the canal.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap07"></a>HIDE AND SEEK</h2>
-
-<h3>I</h3>
-
-<p>
-Everything in Lelechka&rsquo;s nursery was bright, pretty, and cheerful.
-Lelechka&rsquo;s sweet voice charmed her mother. Lelechka was a delightful
-child. There was no other such child, there never had been, and there never
-would be. Lelechka&rsquo;s mother, Serafima Alexandrovna, was sure of that.
-Lelechka&rsquo;s eyes were dark and large, her cheeks were rosy, her lips were
-made for kisses and for laughter. But it was not these charms in Lelechka that
-gave her mother the keenest joy. Lelechka was her mother&rsquo;s only child.
-That was why every movement of Lelechka&rsquo;s bewitched her mother. It was
-great bliss to hold Lelechka on her knees and to fondle her; to feel the little
-girl in her arms&mdash;a thing as lively and as bright as a little bird.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-To tell the truth, Serafima Alexandrovna felt happy only in the nursery. She
-felt cold with her husband.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Perhaps it was because he himself loved the cold&mdash;he loved to drink cold
-water, and to breathe cold air. He was always fresh and cool, with a frigid
-smile, and wherever he passed cold currents seemed to move in the air.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The Nesletyevs, Sergei Modestovich and Serafima Alexandrovna, had married
-without love or calculation, because it was the accepted thing. He was a young
-man of thirty-five, she a young woman of twenty-five; both were of the same
-circle and well brought up; he was expected to take a wife, and the time had
-come for her to take a husband.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It even seemed to Serafima Alexandrovna that she was in love with her future
-husband, and this made her happy. He looked handsome and well-bred; his
-intelligent grey eyes always preserved a dignified expression; and he fulfilled
-his obligations of a fiancé with irreproachable gentleness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The bride was also good-looking; she was a tall, dark-eyed, dark-haired girl,
-somewhat timid but very tactful. He was not after her dowry, though it pleased
-him to know that she had something. He had connexions, and his wife came of
-good, influential people. This might, at the proper opportunity, prove useful.
-Always irreproachable and tactful, Nesletyev got on in his position not so fast
-that any one should envy him, nor yet so slow that he should envy any one
-else&mdash;everything came in the proper measure and at the proper time.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-After their marriage there was nothing in the manner of Sergei Modestovich to
-suggest anything wrong to his wife. Later, however, when his wife was about to
-have a child, Sergei Modestovich established connexions elsewhere of a light
-and temporary nature. Serafima Alexandrovna found this out, and, to her own
-astonishment, was not particularly hurt; she awaited her infant with a restless
-anticipation that swallowed every other feeling.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A little girl was born; Serafima Alexandrovna gave herself up to her. At the
-beginning she used to tell her husband, with rapture, of all the joyous details
-of Lelechka&rsquo;s existence. But she soon found that he listened to her
-without the slightest interest, and only from the habit of politeness. Serafima
-Alexandrovna drifted farther and farther away from him. She loved her little
-girl with the ungratified passion that other women, deceived in their husbands,
-show their chance young lovers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Mamochka</i>, let&rsquo;s play <i>priatki</i>,&rdquo; (hide and
-seek), cried Lelechka, pronouncing the <i>r</i> like the <i>l</i>, so that the
-word sounded &ldquo;pliatki.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This charming inability to speak always made Serafima Alexandrovna smile with
-tender rapture. Lelechka then ran away, stamping with her plump little legs
-over the carpets, and hid herself behind the curtains near her bed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Tiu-tiu, mamochka</i>!&rdquo; she cried out in her sweet, laughing
-voice, as she looked out with a single roguish eye.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Where is my baby girl?&rdquo; the mother asked, as she looked for
-Lelechka and made believe that she did not see her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And Lelechka poured out her rippling laughter in her hiding place. Then she
-came out a little farther, and her mother, as though she had only just caught
-sight of her, seized her by her little shoulders and exclaimed joyously:
-&ldquo;Here she is, my Lelechka!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lelechka laughed long and merrily, her head close to her mother&rsquo;s knees,
-and all of her cuddled up between her mother&rsquo;s white hands. Her
-mother&rsquo;s eyes glowed with passionate emotion.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now, <i>mamochka</i>, you hide,&rdquo; said Lelechka, as she ceased
-laughing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her mother went to hide. Lelechka turned away as though not to see, but watched
-her <i>mamochka</i> stealthily all the time. Mamma hid behind the cupboard, and
-exclaimed: &ldquo;<i>Tiu-tiu</i>, baby girl!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lelechka ran round the room and looked into all the corners, making believe, as
-her mother had done before, that she was seeking&mdash;though she really knew
-all the time where her <i>mamochka</i> was standing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s my <i>mamochka</i>?&rdquo; asked Lelechka.
-&ldquo;She&rsquo;s not here, and she&rsquo;s not here,&rdquo; she kept on
-repeating, as she ran from corner to corner.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her mother stood, with suppressed breathing, her head pressed against the wall,
-her hair somewhat disarranged. A smile of absolute bliss played on her red
-lips.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The nurse, Fedosya, a good-natured and fine-looking, if somewhat stupid woman,
-smiled as she looked at her mistress with her characteristic expression, which
-seemed to say that it was not for her to object to gentlewomen&rsquo;s
-caprices. She thought to herself: &ldquo;The mother is like a little child
-herself&mdash;look how excited she is.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lelechka was getting nearer her mother&rsquo;s corner. Her mother was growing
-more absorbed every moment by her interest in the game; her heart beat with
-short quick strokes, and she pressed even closer to the wall, disarranging her
-hair still more. Lelechka suddenly glanced toward her mother&rsquo;s corner and
-screamed with joy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve found &rsquo;oo,&rdquo; she cried out loudly and joyously,
-mispronouncing her words in a way that again made her mother happy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She pulled her mother by her hands to the middle of the room, they were merry
-and they laughed; and Lelechka again hid her head against her mother&rsquo;s
-knees, and went on lisping and lisping, without end, her sweet little words, so
-fascinating yet so awkward.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sergei Modestovich was coming at this moment toward the nursery. Through the
-half-closed doors he heard the laughter, the joyous outcries, the sound of
-romping. He entered the nursery, smiling his genial cold smile; he was
-irreproachably dressed, and he looked fresh and erect, and he spread round him
-an atmosphere of cleanliness, freshness and coldness. He entered in the midst
-of the lively game, and he confused them all by his radiant coldness. Even
-Fedosya felt abashed, now for her mistress, now for herself. Serafima
-Alexandrovna at once became calm and apparently cold&mdash;and this mood
-communicated itself to the little girl, who ceased to laugh, but looked
-instead, silently and intently, at her father.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sergei Modestovich gave a swift glance round the room. He liked coming here,
-where everything was beautifully arranged; this was done by Serafima
-Alexandrovna, who wished to surround her little girl, from her very infancy,
-only with the loveliest things. Serafima Alexandrovna dressed herself
-tastefully; this, too, she did for Lelechka, with the same end in view. One
-thing Sergei Modestovich had not become reconciled to, and this was his
-wife&rsquo;s almost continuous presence in the nursery.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s just as I thought.... I knew that I&rsquo;d find you
-here,&rdquo; he said with a derisive and condescending smile.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They left the nursery together. As he followed his wife through the door Sergei
-Modestovich said rather indifferently, in an incidental way, laying no stress
-on his words: &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you think that it would be well for the little
-girl if she were sometimes without your company? Merely, you see, that the
-child should feel its own individuality,&rdquo; he explained in answer to
-Serafima Alexandrovna&rsquo;s puzzled glance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She&rsquo;s still so little,&rdquo; said Serafima Alexandrovna.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;In any case, this is but my humble opinion. I don&rsquo;t insist.
-It&rsquo;s your kingdom there.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll think it over,&rdquo; his wife answered, smiling, as he did,
-coldly but genially.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then they began to talk of something else.
-</p>
-
-<h3>II</h3>
-
-<p>
-Nurse Fedosya, sitting in the kitchen that evening, was telling the silent
-housemaid Darya and the talkative old cook Agathya about the young lady of the
-house, and how the child loved to play <i>priatki</i> with her
-mother&mdash;&ldquo;She hides her little face, and cries
-&lsquo;<i>tiu-tiu</i>&rsquo;!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And the <i>barinya</i><a href="#linknote-5" name="linknoteref-5"
-id="linknoteref-5">[1]</a> herself is like a little one,&rdquo; added Fedosya,
-smiling.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Agathya listened and shook her head ominously; while her face became grave and
-reproachful.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That the <i>barinya</i> does it, well, that&rsquo;s one thing; but that
-the young lady does it, that&rsquo;s bad.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why?&rdquo; asked Fedosya with curiosity.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This expression of curiosity gave her face the look of a wooden,
-roughly-painted doll.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, that&rsquo;s bad,&rdquo; repeated Agathya with conviction.
-&ldquo;Terribly bad!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; said Fedosya, the ludicrous expression of curiosity on her
-face becoming more emphatic.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She&rsquo;ll hide, and hide, and hide away,&rdquo; said Agathya, in a
-mysterious whisper, as she looked cautiously toward the door.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What are you saying?&rdquo; exclaimed Fedosya, frightened.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the truth I&rsquo;m saying, remember my words,&rdquo; Agathya
-went on with the same assurance and secrecy. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s the surest
-sign.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old woman had invented this sign, quite suddenly, herself; and she was
-evidently very proud of it.
-</p>
-
-<p class="footnote">
-<a name="linknote-5" id="linknote-5"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-5">[1]</a> 
-Gentlewoman.
-</p>
-
-<h3>III</h3>
-
-<p>
-Lelechka was asleep, and Serafima Alexandrovna was sitting in her own room,
-thinking with joy and tenderness of Lelechka. Lelechka was in her thoughts,
-first a sweet, tiny girl, then a sweet, big girl, then again a delightful
-little girl; and so until the end she remained mamma&rsquo;s little Lelechka.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Serafima Alexandrovna did not even notice that Fedosya came up to her and
-paused before her. Fedosya had a worried, frightened look.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Barinya, barinya</i>&rdquo; she said quietly, in a trembling voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Serafima Alexandrovna gave a start. Fedosya&rsquo;s face made her anxious.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What is it, Fedosya?&rdquo; she asked with great concern. &ldquo;Is
-there anything wrong with Lelechka?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, <i>barinya</i>,&rdquo; said Fedosya, as she gesticulated with her
-hands to reassure her mistress and to make her sit down. &ldquo;Lelechka is
-asleep, may God be with her! Only I&rsquo;d like to say something&mdash;you
-see&mdash;Lelechka is always hiding herself&mdash;that&rsquo;s not good.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Fedosya looked at her mistress with fixed eyes, which had grown round from
-fright.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why not good?&rdquo; asked Serafima Alexandrovna, with vexation,
-succumbing involuntarily to vague fears.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t tell you how bad it is,&rdquo; said Fedosya, and her face
-expressed the most decided confidence.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Please speak in a sensible way,&rdquo; observed Serafima Alexandrovna
-dryly. &ldquo;I understand nothing of what you are saying.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You see, <i>barinya</i>, it&rsquo;s a kind of omen,&rdquo; explained
-Fedosya abruptly, in a shamefaced way.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; said Serafima Alexandrovna.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She did not wish to hear any further as to the sort of omen it was, and what it
-foreboded. But, somehow, a sense of fear and of sadness crept into her mood,
-and it was humiliating to feel that an absurd tale should disturb her beloved
-fancies, and should agitate her so deeply.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Of course I know that gentlefolk don&rsquo;t believe in omens, but
-it&rsquo;s a bad omen, <i>barinya</i>,&rdquo; Fedosya went on in a doleful
-voice, &ldquo;the young lady will hide, and hide....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Suddenly she burst into tears, sobbing out loudly: &ldquo;She&rsquo;ll hide,
-and hide, and hide away, angelic little soul, in a damp grave,&rdquo; she
-continued, as she wiped her tears with her apron and blew her nose.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Who told you all this?&rdquo; asked Serafima Alexandrovna in an austere
-low voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Agathya says so, <i>barinya</i>&rdquo; answered Fedosya;
-&ldquo;it&rsquo;s she that knows.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Knows!&rdquo; exclaimed Serafima Alexandrovna in irritation, as though
-she wished to protect herself somehow from this sudden anxiety. &ldquo;What
-nonsense! Please don&rsquo;t come to me with any such notions in the future.
-Now you may go.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Fedosya, dejected, her feelings hurt, left her mistress.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What nonsense! As though Lelechka could die!&rdquo; thought Serafima
-Alexandrovna to herself, trying to conquer the feeling of coldness and fear
-which took possession of her at the thought of the possible death of Lelechka.
-Serafima Alexandrovna, upon reflection, attributed these women&rsquo;s beliefs
-in omens to ignorance. She saw clearly that there could be no possible
-connexion between a child&rsquo;s quite ordinary diversion and the continuation
-of the child&rsquo;s life. She made a special effort that evening to occupy her
-mind with other matters, but her thoughts returned involuntarily to the fact
-that Lelechka loved to hide herself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When Lelechka, was still quite small, and had learned to distinguish between
-her mother and her nurse, she sometimes, sitting in her nurse&rsquo;s arms,
-made a sudden roguish grimace, and hid her laughing face in the nurse&rsquo;s
-shoulder. Then she would look out with a sly glance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Of late, in those rare moments of the <i>barinya&rsquo;s</i> absence from the
-nursery, Fedosya had again taught Lelechka to hide; and when Lelechka&rsquo;s
-mother, on coming in, saw how lovely the child looked when she was hiding, she
-herself began to play hide and seek with her tiny daughter.
-</p>
-
-<h3>IV</h3>
-
-<p>
-The next day Serafima Alexandrovna, absorbed in her joyous cares for Lelechka,
-had forgotten Fedosya&rsquo;s words of the day before.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But when she returned to the nursery, after having ordered the dinner, and she
-heard Lelechka suddenly cry &ldquo;<i>Tiu-tiu</i>!&rdquo; from under the table,
-a feeling of fear suddenly took hold of her. Though she reproached herself at
-once for this unfounded, superstitious dread, nevertheless she could not enter
-wholeheartedly into the spirit of Lelechka&rsquo;s favourite game, and she
-tried to divert Lelechka&rsquo;s attention to something else.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lelechka was a lovely and obedient child. She eagerly complied with her
-mother&rsquo;s new wishes. But as she had got into the habit of hiding from her
-mother in some corner, and of crying out &ldquo;<i>Tiu-tiu</i>!&rdquo; so even
-that day she returned more than once to the game.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Serafima Alexandrovna tried desperately to amuse Lelechka. This was not so easy
-because restless, threatening thoughts obtruded themselves constantly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why does Lelechka keep on recalling the <i>tiu-tiu</i>? Why does she not
-get tired of the same thing&mdash;of eternally closing her eyes, and of hiding
-her face? Perhaps,&rdquo; thought Serafima Alexandrovna, &ldquo;she is not as
-strongly drawn to the world as other children, who are attracted by many
-things. If this is so, is it not a sign of organic weakness? Is it not a germ
-of the unconscious non-desire to live?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Serafima Alexandrovna was tormented by presentiments. She felt ashamed of
-herself for ceasing to play hide and seek with Lelechka before Fedosya. But
-this game had become agonizing to her, all the more agonizing because she had a
-real desire to play it, and because something drew her very strongly to hide
-herself from Lelechka and to seek out the hiding child. Serafima Alexandrovna
-herself began the game once or twice, though she played it with a heavy heart.
-She suffered as though committing an evil deed with full consciousness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was a sad day for Serafima Alexandrovna.
-</p>
-
-<h3>V</h3>
-
-<p>
-Lelechka was about to fall asleep. No sooner had she climbed into her little
-bed, protected by a network on all sides, than her eyes began to close from
-fatigue. Her mother covered her with a blue blanket. Lelechka drew her sweet
-little hands from under the blanket and stretched them out to embrace her
-mother. Her mother bent down. Lelechka, with a tender expression on her sleepy
-face, kissed her mother and let her head fall on the pillow. As her hands hid
-themselves under the blanket Lelechka whispered: &ldquo;The hands
-<i>tiu-tiu</i>!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The mother&rsquo;s heart seemed to stop&mdash;Lelechka lay there so small, so
-frail, so quiet. Lelechka smiled gently, closed her eyes and said quietly:
-&ldquo;The eyes <i>tiu-tiu</i>!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then even more quietly: &ldquo;Lelechka <i>tiu-tiu!</i>&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-With these words she fell asleep, her face pressing the pillow. She seemed so
-small and so frail under the blanket that covered her. Her mother looked at her
-with sad eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Serafima Alexandrovna remained standing over Lelechka&rsquo;s bed a long while,
-and she kept looking at Lelechka with tenderness and fear.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;m a mother: is it possible that I shouldn&rsquo;t be able to
-protect her?&rdquo; she thought, as she imagined the various ills that might
-befall Lelechka.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She prayed long that night, but the prayer did not relieve her sadness.
-</p>
-
-<h3>VI</h3>
-
-<p>
-Several days passed. Lelechka caught cold. The fever came upon her at night.
-When Serafima Alexandrovna, awakened by Fedosya, came to Lelechka and saw her
-looking so hot, so restless, and so tormented, she instantly recalled the evil
-omen, and a hopeless despair took possession of her from the first moments.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A doctor was called, and everything was done that is usual on such
-occasions&mdash;but the inevitable happened. Serafima Alexandrovna tried to
-console herself with the hope that Lelechka would get well, and would again
-laugh and play&mdash;yet this seemed to her an unthinkable happiness! And
-Lelechka grew feebler from hour to hour.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-All simulated tranquillity, so as not to frighten Serafima Alexandrovna, but
-their masked faces only made her sad.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Nothing made her so unhappy as the reiterations of Fedosya, uttered between
-sobs: &ldquo;She hid herself and hid herself, our Lelechka!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the thoughts of Serafima Alexandrovna were confused, and she could not
-quite grasp what was happening.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Fever was consuming Lelechka, and there were times when she lost consciousness
-and spoke in delirium. But when she returned to herself she bore her pain and
-her fatigue with gentle good nature; she smiled feebly at her <i>mamochka</i>,
-so that her <i>mamochka</i> should not see how much she suffered. Three days
-passed, torturing like a nightmare. Lelechka grew quite feeble She did not know
-that she was dying.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She glanced at her mother with her dimmed eyes, and lisped in a scarcely
-audible, hoarse voice: &ldquo;<i>Tiu-tiu, mamochka</i>! Make <i>tiu-tiu,
-mamochka</i>!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Serafima Alexandrovna hid her face behind the curtains near Lelechka&rsquo;s
-bed. How tragic!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Mamochka</i>!&rdquo; called Lelechka in an almost inaudible voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lelechka&rsquo;s mother bent over her, and Lelechka, her vision grown still
-more dim, saw her mother&rsquo;s pale, despairing face for the last time.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A white <i>mamochka</i>!&rdquo; whispered Lelechka.
-<i>Mamochka&rsquo;s</i> white face became blurred, and everything grew dark
-before Lelechka. She caught the edge of the bed-cover feebly with her hands and
-whispered: &ldquo;<i>Tiu-tiu</i>!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Something rattled in her throat; Lelechka opened and again closed her rapidly
-paling lips, and died.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Serafima Alexandrovna was in dumb despair as she left Lelechka, and went out of
-the room. She met her husband.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Lelechka is dead,&rdquo; she said in a quiet, dull voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sergei Modestovich looked anxiously at her pale face. He was struck by the
-strange stupor in her formerly animated handsome features.
-</p>
-
-<h3>VII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Lelechka was dressed, placed in a little coffin, and carried into the parlour.
-Serafima Alexandrovna was standing by the coffin and looking dully at her dead
-child. Sergei Modestovich went to his wife and, consoling her with cold, empty
-words, tried to draw her away from the coffin. Serafima Alexandrovna smiled.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Go away,&rdquo; she said quietly. &ldquo;Lelechka is playing.
-She&rsquo;ll be up in a minute.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Sima, my dear, don&rsquo;t agitate yourself,&rdquo; said Sergei
-Modestovich in a whisper. &ldquo;You must resign yourself to your fate.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She&rsquo;ll be up in a minute,&rdquo; persisted Serafima Alexandrovna,
-her eyes fixed on the dead little girl.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sergei Modestovich looked round him cautiously: he was afraid of the unseemly
-and of the ridiculous.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Sima, don&rsquo;t agitate yourself,&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;This
-would be a miracle, and miracles do not happen in the nineteenth
-century.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-No sooner had he said these words than Sergei Modestovich felt their
-irrelevance to what had happened. He was confused and annoyed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He took his wife by the arm, and cautiously led her away from the coffin. She
-did not oppose him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her face seemed tranquil and her eyes were dry. She went into the nursery and
-began to walk round the room, looking into those places where Lelechka used to
-hide herself. She walked all about the room, and bent now and then to look
-under the table or under the bed, and kept on repeating cheerfully:
-&ldquo;Where is my little one? Where is my Lelechka?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-After she had walked round the room once she began to make her quest anew.
-Fedosya, motionless, with dejected face, sat in a corner, and looked frightened
-at her mistress; then she suddenly burst out sobbing, and she wailed loudly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She hid herself, and hid herself, our Lelechka, our angelic little
-soul!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Serafima Alexandrovna trembled, paused, cast a perplexed look at Fedosya, began
-to weep, and left the nursery quietly.
-</p>
-
-<h3>VIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Sergei Modestovich hurried the funeral. He saw that Serafima Alexandrovna was
-terribly shocked by her sudden misfortune, and as he feared for her reason he
-thought she would more readily be diverted and consoled when Lelechka was
-buried.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Next morning Serafima Alexandrovna dressed with particular care&mdash;for
-Lelechka. When she entered the parlour there were several people between her
-and Lelechka. The priest and deacon paced up and down the room; clouds of blue
-smoke drifted in the air, and there was a smell of incense. There was an
-oppressive feeling of heaviness in Serafima Alexandrovna&rsquo;s head as she
-approached Lelechka. Lelechka lay there still and pale, and smiled
-pathetically. Serafima Alexandrovna laid her cheek upon the edge of
-Lelechka&rsquo;s coffin, and whispered: &ldquo;<i>Tiu-tiu</i>, little
-one!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The little one did not reply. Then there was some kind of stir and confusion
-around Serafima Alexandrovna; strange, unnecessary faces bent over her, some
-one held her&mdash;and Lelechka was carried away somewhere.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Serafima Alexandrovna stood up erect, sighed in a lost way, smiled, and called
-loudly: &ldquo;Lelechka!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lelechka was being carried out. The mother threw herself after the coffin with
-despairing sobs, but she was held back. She sprang behind the door, through
-which Lelechka had passed, sat down there on the floor, and as she looked
-through the crevice, she cried out: &ldquo;Lelechka, <i>tiu-tiu</i>!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then she put her head out from behind the door, and began to laugh.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lelechka was quickly carried away from her mother, and those who carried her
-seemed to run rather than to walk.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap08"></a>THE SMILE</h2>
-
-<h3>I</h3>
-
-<p>
-Some fifteen boys and girls and several young men and women had gathered in the
-garden belonging to the Semiboyarinov cottage to celebrate the birthday of one
-of the sons of the house, Lesha by name, a student of the second class.
-Lesha&rsquo;s birthday was made indeed an occasion for bringing eligible young
-men to the house for his grown sisters&rsquo; sake.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-All were merry and smiling&mdash;the older members of the party as well as the
-young boys and girls, who ran up and down the yellow sand of the well-kept
-footpaths; a pale, unimpressive boy, who was sitting alone on a bench under a
-lilac bush and looking silently at the other boys, was also smiling. His
-loneliness, his silence, and his well-worn though clean clothes, all pointed to
-his poverty and to his embarrassment in the company of these lively,
-well-dressed children. His face was timid and thin, his chest sunken, and his
-lean hands lay so meekly that it aroused one&rsquo;s pity to look at him.
-Still, he smiled; but even his smile seemed pitiful; it was as though it
-depressed him to watch the games and the happiness of other children, or as
-though he were afraid to annoy others by his sad looks and his poor dress.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He was called Grisha Igumnov. His father had died not long ago; Grisha&rsquo;s
-mother occasionally sent her son to her rich relatives with whom he always felt
-depressed and uneasy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why do you sit alone? Get up and run about!&rdquo; said the blue-eyed
-Lydochka Semiboyarinov as she passed him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha did not dare to disobey; his heart beat violently, his face became
-covered with small beads of perspiration. He approached the happy, red-cheeked
-boys timidly. They looked at him unfriendlily as at a stranger, and Grisha
-himself felt at once that he was not like them: he could not speak so boldly
-and so loudly; and he had neither such yellow boots, nor such a round little
-cap with a woolly red visor turned jauntily upwards as the boy nearest to him
-had.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The boys continued to talk among themselves as though there were no Grisha.
-Grisha stood near them in an uneasy pose; his thin shoulders stooped somewhat,
-his slender fingers held fast to his narrow girdle, and he smiled timidly. He
-did not know what to do, and in his confusion did not hear what the lively boys
-were saying. They finished their conversation and scattered suddenly. Grisha,
-his timid, guilty smile still on his face, walked back uneasily on the sandy
-path and sat down once more on the bench. He was ashamed because he had walked
-up to the boys, yet had not spoken to any one, and because nothing had come of
-it. As he sat down he looked timidly round him&mdash;no one paid him the
-slightest attention, and no one laughed at him. Grisha grew calm.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Just then two little girls, their arms round each other, passed him. Under
-their fixed stare Grisha shrank, grew red, and smiled guiltily.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When the little girls had passed by the youngest of them, with fair hair, asked
-loudly: &ldquo;Who&rsquo;s this ugly duckling?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The elder girl, who was red-cheeked and black-browed, laughed and answered:
-&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know. We had better ask Lydochka. It&rsquo;s most likely a
-poor relation.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What an absurd boy,&rdquo; said the little blonde. &ldquo;He spreads his
-ears out, and sits there and smiles.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They disappeared behind the bushes at the turn of the path, and Grisha no
-longer heard their voices. He felt hurt, and when he thought that he might have
-to sit there a long time, until his mother should come for him, he was sick at
-heart.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A big-eyed, slender student with a stubborn crest of hair sticking up from his
-high forehead noticed that Grisha was sitting alone there like an orphan, and
-he wished to be kind to him, and to make him feel more at his ease; so he sat
-down near him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What&rsquo;s your name?&rdquo; he asked.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha told him quietly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And my name is Mitya,&rdquo; said the student. &ldquo;Are you here
-alone, or with any one?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;With mother,&rdquo; whispered Grisha.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why do you sit here all by yourself?&rdquo; asked Mitya.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha stirred nervously, and did not know what to say.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you play?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mitya did not hear him so he asked: &ldquo;What did you say?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t feel like it,&rdquo; said Grisha somewhat more loudly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The student, astonished, continued: &ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you feel like
-it?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha again did not know what to say; he smiled in a lost way. Mitya was
-looking at him attentively. Glances of strangers always embarrassed Grisha; it
-was as though he feared that they might find something absurd in his
-appearance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mitya was silent for a while, as he thought of something else that he might
-ask.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What do you collect?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve got a
-collection of something, haven&rsquo;t you? We all collect: I&mdash;stamps,
-Katya Pokrivalova&mdash;shells, Lesha&mdash;butterflies. What do you
-collect?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; said Grisha, flushing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, well,&rdquo; said Mitya with artless astonishment. &ldquo;So you
-collect nothing! That&rsquo;s very curious.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha felt ashamed that he was not collecting anything, and that he had
-disclosed the fact.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I, too, must collect something!&rdquo; he thought to himself, but he
-could not decide to say this aloud.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mitya sat a little longer, then left him. Grisha felt a relief. But a new
-ordeal was in store for him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The nurse engaged by the Semiboyarinovs for their youngest son was strolling
-along the garden paths with the one-year-old child in her arms. She wished to
-rest, and chose the same bench upon which Grisha was sitting. He again felt
-uneasy. He looked straight before him, and could not even decide to move away
-from the nurse to the other end of the bench.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The infant&rsquo;s attention soon became drawn to Grisha&rsquo;s protruding
-ears, and he leant forward towards one of them. The nurse, a robust,
-red-cheeked woman, concluded that Grisha would not mind. She brought her charge
-nearer to Grisha, and the pink infant caught Grisha&rsquo;s ear with his fat
-little hand. Grisha was paralysed with confusion, but could not decide to
-protest. The child, laughing loudly and merrily, now let go Grisha&rsquo;s ear,
-now caught hold of it again. The red-cheeked nurse, who enjoyed the game not
-less than the infant, kept on repeating: &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go for him!
-Let&rsquo;s give it to him!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-One of the boys saw the scene, and told the other boys that little Georgik was
-obstreperous with the quiet boy who was sitting so long on the bench. The
-children gathered round Georgik and Grisha, and laughed noisily. Grisha tried
-to show that he didn&rsquo;t mind, that he felt no pain, and that he also
-enjoyed the fun. But it grew harder and harder for him to smile, and he had a
-very strong desire to cry. He knew that he ought not to cry, that it was a
-disgrace, and he restrained himself with an effort.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Happily he was soon delivered. The blue-eyed Lydochka, upon hearing the
-children&rsquo;s boisterous laughter, went to see what had happened. She
-reproached the nurse: &ldquo;Aren&rsquo;t you ashamed to go on like
-this?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She herself had difficulty to keep from laughing at Grisha&rsquo;s pitiful,
-confused face. But she restrained herself, and upheld her dignity as a grown
-young woman before the nurse and the children.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The nurse rose and said, laughing: &ldquo;Georginka did it quite gently. The
-boy himself didn&rsquo;t say that it hurt him.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You mustn&rsquo;t do such things,&rdquo; said Lydochka sternly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Georgik, unhappy because they had taken him away from Grisha, raised a cry.
-Lydochka took him in her arms and carried him away to quiet him. The nurse
-followed her. But the boys and the girls remained. They thronged round Grisha
-and eyed him unceremoniously.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Perhaps he&rsquo;s got stuck-on ears,&rdquo; suggested one of the boys,
-&ldquo;that&rsquo;s why he doesn&rsquo;t feel any pain.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I rather think you like to be held by your ears,&rdquo; said another.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Tell us,&rdquo; said the little girl with the large blue eyes,
-&ldquo;which ear does your mother catch hold of most?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;His ears have been stretched out to order in a workshop,&rdquo; cried a
-merry youngster, and laughed loudly at his own joke.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No,&rdquo; another corrected him, &ldquo;he was born like that. When he
-was very small he was led not by his hand but by his ear.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha looked at his tormentors like a small beast at bay, with a fixed smile
-on his face, when, suddenly, wholly unexpectedly to the cheerful company, he
-burst into tears. Many small drops fell on his jacket. The children grew quiet
-at once. They became uneasy. They exchanged embarrassed glances, and looked
-silently at Grisha as he wiped the tears from his face with his thin hands; he
-appeared to be ashamed of his tears.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why should he be offended?&rdquo; said the beautiful, flaxen-haired
-Katya angrily. &ldquo;Who&rsquo;s done him any harm? The ugly duckling!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;He&rsquo;s not an ugly duckling. You&rsquo;re an ugly duckling
-yourself,&rdquo; intervened Mitya.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t stand rude people,&rdquo; said Katya, growing red with
-vexation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A little, brown-faced girl in a red dress looked long at Grisha, and knitted
-her brows as in reflection. Then she scanned the other children with her
-perplexed eyes, and asked quietly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why then did he smile?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>II</h3>
-
-<p>
-It was not often that Grisha&rsquo;s wardrobe received important additions. His
-mother could not afford it; hence, every item gave Grisha great joy. The autumn
-cold came, and Grisha&rsquo;s mother bought an overcoat, a hat and mittens. The
-mittens pleased Grisha more than anything else.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-On the holiday, after Mass, he put on his new things and went out to play. He
-loved to walk about in the streets, and he used to go out alone; his mother had
-no time to go out with him. She looked proudly out of the window as Grisha
-walked gravely by. She recalled at that moment her well-to-do relatives who had
-promised her so much, and had done so little, and she thought: &ldquo;Well,
-I&rsquo;ve managed it without them, thank God!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was a cold, clear day; the sun did not shine with its full brightness; the
-waters of the canals in the city were covered with their first thin ice. Grisha
-walked the streets, rejoicing in this brisk cold, in his new clothes, and with
-his naïve fancies; he always loved to dream when he was alone, and he dreamt
-always of great deeds, of fame, of a bright, happy life in a rich house, indeed
-of everything that was unlike the sad reality.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As Grisha stood on the bank of the canal and looked through the iron railings
-at the thin ice that floated on the surface, he was approached by a street
-urchin in threadbare attire, and with hands red from the cold. He entered into
-conversation with Grisha. Grisha was not afraid of him, and even pitied him
-because of his benumbed hands. His new acquaintance informed him that he was
-called Mishka, but that his family name was Babushkin, because he and his
-mother lived with his <i>babushka</i>.<a href="#linknote-6"
-name="linknoteref-6" id="linknoteref-6">[1]</a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But then what is your mother&rsquo;s family name?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My mother&rsquo;s name?&rdquo; repeated Mishka, smiling.
-&ldquo;She&rsquo;s called Matushkin, because my <i>babushka</i> is no
-<i>babushka</i> to her, but is her <i>matushka.</i>&rdquo;<a href="#linknote-7"
-name="linknoteref-7" id="linknoteref-7">[2]</a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That&rsquo;s strange,&rdquo; said Grisha with astonishment. &ldquo;My
-mother and I have one family name; we are called the Igumnovs.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That&rsquo;s because,&rdquo; explained Mishka with animation,
-&ldquo;your grandfather was an <i>igumen</i>.&rdquo;<a href="#linknote-8"
-name="linknoteref-8" id="linknoteref-8">[3]</a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Grisha, &ldquo;my grandfather was a colonel.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;All the same it&rsquo;s likely that his father, or some one else was an
-<i>igumen</i>, and so you have all become the Igumnovs.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha did not know who his great-grandfather was, so he said nothing, Mishka
-kept on eyeing his mittens.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You have handsome mittens,&rdquo; he said.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;New ones,&rdquo; Grisha explained, with a joyous smile.
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the first time I&rsquo;ve put them on; d&rsquo;you see, here
-is a little string drawn through!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, you&rsquo;re a lucky one! And are they quite warm?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Rather!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have also mittens at home, but I haven&rsquo;t put them on because I
-don&rsquo;t like them. They are yellow, and I don&rsquo;t like yellow ones. Let
-me put yours on, and I&rsquo;ll run along and show them to my <i>babushka</i>,
-and ask her to get me a pair like them.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mishka looked at Grisha pleadingly, and his eyes sparkled enviously.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t keep me waiting long?&rdquo; asked Grisha.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, I live quite near here, just round the corner. Don&rsquo;t be
-afraid! Upon my word, in a minute!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha trustfully took off his mittens and gave them to Mishka.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be back in a minute, wait here, don&rsquo;t go away,&rdquo;
-exclaimed Mishka, as he ran off with Grisha&rsquo;s mittens. He disappeared
-round the corner, and Grisha was left waiting. He did not imagine that Mishka
-would fool him; he thought that he would simply run home, show his mittens, and
-return with them. He stood there long and waited, and Mishka did not even dream
-of returning.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The short autumn day was already darkening; Grisha&rsquo;s mother, restless
-because of her boy&rsquo;s long absence, went out to look for him. Grisha at
-last understood that Mishka would not return. The poor boy turned sadly toward
-home and he met his mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Grisha, what have you done with yourself&rdquo; she asked, angry and
-glad at finding her son.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha did not reply. He seemed embarrassed as he rubbed his hands, red with
-cold. His mother then noticed that he did not wear his mittens.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Where are your mittens?&rdquo; she asked angrily, as she searched his
-overcoat pockets.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha smiled and said: &ldquo;I lent them to a boy for a short time, and he
-didn&rsquo;t bring them back.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p class="footnote">
-<a name="linknote-6" id="linknote-6"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-6">[1]</a> 
-Grandmother.
-</p>
-
-<p class="footnote">
-<a name="linknote-7" id="linknote-7"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-7">[2]</a> 
-Mother.
-</p>
-
-<p class="footnote">
-<a name="linknote-8" id="linknote-8"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-8">[3]</a> 
-An abbot.
-</p>
-
-<h3>III</h3>
-
-<p>
-Years passed after years. The bold and pushing children who once had gathered
-on Lesha Semiboyarinov&rsquo;s birthday became bold and pushing men and women,
-and the urchin who had fooled Grisha, it goes without saying, found his way in
-life&mdash;while Grisha, of course, became a failure. As in his childhood, he
-went on dreaming, and in his dreams he conquered his kingdom; but in real life
-he could not protect himself from any enterprising person who pushed him
-unceremoniously out of his way. His relations with women were equally
-unsuccessful, and his faint-hearted attentions were not once rewarded by a
-responsive feeling. He had no friends. His mother alone loved him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Igumnov rejoiced when he found a position at a small salary, because his mother
-could live calmly now without worrying about a crust of bread. But his
-happiness was of short duration; soon his mother died. Grisha fell into
-depression, lost his spirits. Life seemed to him to be aimless. Apathy took
-hold of him; he had no interest in his work. He lost his place, and was soon in
-great need.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Igumnov finally pawned his last possession, his mother&rsquo;s ring; as he
-walked out of the place he smiled&mdash;and his smile kept him from bursting
-into tears of self-pity.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He had to see various people and to ask them for work. But Igumnov was not good
-at this. He was backward and quiet, and he experienced a helpless confusion
-that prevented him from persisting in his dealings with men. While yet on the
-stairway of a man&rsquo;s house a fear would seize him, his heart would beat
-painfully, his legs would grow heavy, and his hand would stretch toward the
-bell irresolutely.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-During one of his most depressing and hungry days Igumnov sat in the sumptuous
-private office of Aleksei Stepanovich Semiboyarinov, the father of the same
-Lesha whose birthday party remained memorable to him. Igumnov had already sent
-a letter to Aleksei Stepanovich: after all it was much easier to ask on paper
-than by word of mouth. And now he came for his answer.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-From the restless, solicitous manner of Semiboyarinov, a small, dry, old man,
-with closely-cut, silver-grey hair, he guessed that he would have a refusal.
-This made him feel wretched, but he could not help smiling an artless pleasant
-smile, as though he wished to show that it did not matter in the least, that he
-really did not count on anything. The smile evidently irritated Semiboyarinov.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve got your letter, my dear fellow,&rdquo; said he at last in
-his dry, deliberate voice. &ldquo;But there&rsquo;s nothing that I can see just
-now.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Nothing?&rdquo; mumbled Igumnov, growing red.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Absolutely nothing, my dear fellow. Every place is taken. And I
-don&rsquo;t see anything in prospect for the near future. Perhaps something
-might be done for you at New Year.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be glad of a chance even then,&rdquo; said Igumnov, smiling
-in such a way as to suggest that a mere eight months was of no account to him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, I&rsquo;ll be very glad to do something then. If it depended upon
-me you&rsquo;d get your place to-day. I&rsquo;d like very much to be of use to
-you, my good man.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Igumnov.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But tell me,&rdquo; asked Semiboyarinov sympathetically, &ldquo;why did
-you leave your old place?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;They found no use for me,&rdquo; answered Igumnov, confused.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No use for you? Well, I hope we&rsquo;ll find some use for you. Let me
-have your address, my good fellow.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Semiboyarinov began to rummage on his table for a piece of paper. Igumnov just
-then caught sight of his own letter under a marble paper-weight.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My address is in the letter,&rdquo; he said.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So it is!&rdquo; said his host briskly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll make a note of
-it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have the habit,&rdquo; observed Igumnov, rising from his place,
-&ldquo;always to write my address at the beginning of a letter.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A European habit,&rdquo; commended his host.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Igumnov took his leave and went out smiling, proud of his European habits,
-which, however, did not prevent him from feeling hungry. He was almost glad
-that the unpleasant conversation was at an end. He recalled all the polite
-words, and especially those that contained the promise; foolish hopes awakened
-in him. But a few minutes later, as he was walking in the street, he realized
-that the promise would come to nothing. Besides, it was made for the future,
-and he had need of food now, and he must go to his lodgings with a heavy
-heart&mdash;what would his landlady say? What could he say to her?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Igumnov began to walk more slowly, then he turned in the opposite direction.
-Lost in gloom, he walked on, pale and hungry, through the noisy streets of the
-capital, past busy satiated people. His smile vanished. The look of dark
-despair gave a certain significance to his usually little expressive features.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He was now close to the Niva. The huge dome of the Isakiyevski Cathedral glowed
-golden in the wide expanse of blue sky. The large open squares and streets were
-enveloped in the gentle, scarcely perceptible, dust-like haze of the rays of
-the setting sun. The din of carriages was softened in these magnificent open
-spaces. Everything seemed strange and hostile to the hungry, helpless man. The
-beautiful, rich-coloured fruits behind the shop windows could not have been
-more inaccessible if they were under the watch of a strong guard.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Children were playing merrily in the green square. Igumnov looked at them and
-smiled. Unpleasant memories of his own childhood tormented him with an intense
-pity for himself. He reflected that it was only left to him to die. The thought
-frightened him. And again he reflected: &ldquo;Why shouldn&rsquo;t I die?
-Wasn&rsquo;t there a time when I did not exist? I shall have rest, eternal
-oblivion.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Fragments of wise strange thoughts came to him and soothed him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Igumnov was now on the embankment. He leant against the granite parapet and
-watched the restless waters of the river. A single move, he thought, and
-everything would be ended. But it was terrible to think of drowning, of
-struggling with one&rsquo;s mouth full of water, of being strangled by these
-heavy, cold sweeps of water, of battling helplessly, and of at last sinking
-from sheer exhaustion to the bottom, there to be carried by the undercurrents,
-and at last to be cast out, a shapeless corpse, upon some coast of the sea.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Igumnov shivered and moved away from the river. He suddenly espied not far away
-his former colleague Kurkov. Smartly dressed, cheerful and self-satisfied,
-Kurkov was walking slowly and swinging a thin cane with a fancy handle.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah, Grigory Petrovich!&rdquo; he exclaimed, as though he were glad of
-the meeting. &ldquo;Are you strolling, or are you on business?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, I&rsquo;m strolling, that is on business,&rdquo; said Igumnov.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I think we are going the same way?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They walked on together. Kurkov&rsquo;s cheerful chatter only intensified
-Igumnov&rsquo;s mood. Moving his shoulders nervously he addressed Kurkov with
-sudden resolution: &ldquo;Nikolai Sergeyevich, do you happen to have a rouble
-on you?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A rouble?&rdquo; said Kurkov in astonishment. &ldquo;Why do you want
-it?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Igumnov flushed, and began to explain in stammers. &ldquo;You see, I ... just
-one rouble is lacking.... I have to get something ... something, you
-see....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He breathed heavily in his agitation. He grew silent, and smiled a pitiful,
-fixed smile.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That means I shan&rsquo;t get it back,&rdquo; thought Kurkov.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And now he spoke no longer in the same careless tone as before.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to, but I haven&rsquo;t any spare cash, not a copeck. I
-had to borrow some yesterday myself.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, if you haven&rsquo;t it, you can&rsquo;t help it,&rdquo; mumbled
-Igumnov, and continued to smile. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll simply have to get along
-without it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His smile irritated Kurkov, perhaps because it was such a pitiful, helpless
-affair.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why does he smile?&rdquo; thought Kurkov in vexation.
-&ldquo;Doesn&rsquo;t he believe me? Well, I don&rsquo;t care if he
-doesn&rsquo;t&mdash;I don&rsquo;t own the Government exchequer.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you come in sometimes and see us?&rdquo; he asked
-Igumnov in a careless, dry manner, as he looked elsewhere.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I am always meaning to. Of course I&rsquo;ll come in,&rdquo; answered
-Igumnov in a trembling voice. &ldquo;What about to-day?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There rose before him a picture of the cosy dining-room of the Kurkovs, the
-hospitable hostess, the samovar on the table and the various tasty tit-bits.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;To-day?&rdquo; asked Kurkov in the same careless, dry voice. &ldquo;No,
-we shan&rsquo;t be home to-day. But do step in some day before long. Well, I
-must turn up this lane. Good-bye!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he made haste to cross the wooden walk of the embankment. Igumnov looked
-after him, and smiled. Slow, incoherent thoughts crept through his brain.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As Kurkov disappeared up the lane Igumnov again approached the granite parapet,
-and, trembling in cold terror, began slowly and awkwardly to climb over it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There was no one near.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap09"></a>THE HOOP</h2>
-
-<h3>I</h3>
-
-<p>
-A woman was taking her morning stroll in a lonely suburban street; a boy of
-four was with her. She was young and smart and she was smiling brightly; she
-was casting affectionate glances at her son, whose red cheeks beamed with
-happiness. The boy was bowling a hoop; a large, new, bright yellow hoop. He ran
-after his hoop awkwardly, laughed uproariously with joy, thrust forward his
-plump little legs, bare at the knee, and flourished his stick. He needn&rsquo;t
-have raised his stick so high above his head&mdash;but what of that?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-What happiness! He had never had a hoop before; how briskly it made him run!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And nothing of this had existed for him before; everything was new to
-him&mdash;the streets in early morning, the merry sun, and the distant din of
-the city. Everything was new to the boy&mdash;and joyous and pure.
-</p>
-
-<h3>II</h3>
-
-<p>
-A shabbily dressed old man, with coarse hands stood at the street crossing. He
-pressed close to the wall to let the woman and the boy pass. The old man looked
-at the boy with dull eyes and smiled stupidly. Confused, sluggish thoughts
-struggled within his almost bald head.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A little gentleman!&rdquo; said he to himself. &ldquo;Quite a small
-fellow. And simply bursting with joy. Just look at him cutting his
-paces!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He could not quite understand it. Somehow it seemed strange to him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Here was a child&mdash;a thing to be pulled about by the hair! Play is
-mischief. Children, as every one knows, are mischief-makers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And there was the mother&mdash;she uttered no reproach, she made no fuss, she
-did not scold. She was smart and bright. It was quite easy to see that they
-were used to warmth and comfort.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-On the other hand, when he, the old man, was a boy he lived a dog&rsquo;s life!
-There was nothing particularly rosy in his life even now; though, to be sure,
-he was no longer thrashed and he had plenty to eat. He recalled his younger
-days&mdash;their hunger, their cold, their drubbings. He had never had fun with
-a hoop, or other playthings of well-to-do folks. Thus passed all his
-life&mdash;in poverty, in care, in misery. And he could recall
-nothing&mdash;not a single joy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He smiled with his toothless mouth at the boy, and he envied him. He reflected:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What a silly sport!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But envy tormented him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He went to work&mdash;to the factory where he had worked from childhood, where
-he had grown old. And all day he thought of the boy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was a fixed, deep-rooted thought. He simply could not get the boy out of his
-mind. He saw him running, laughing, stamping his feet, bowling the hoop. What
-plump little legs he had, bared at the knee!...
-</p>
-
-<p>
-All day long, amid the din of the factory wheels, the boy with the hoop
-appeared to him. And at night he saw the boy in a dream.
-</p>
-
-<h3>III</h3>
-
-<p>
-Next morning his reveries again pursued the old man.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The machines were clattering, the labour was monotonous, automatic. The hands
-were busy at their accustomed tasks; the toothless mouth was smiling at a
-diverting fancy. The air was thick with dust, and under the high ceiling strap
-after strap, with hissing sound, glided quickly from wheel to wheel, endless in
-number. The far corners were invisible for the dense escaping vapours. Men
-emerged here and there like phantoms, and the human voice was not heard for the
-incessant din of the machines.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old man&rsquo;s fancy was at work&mdash;he had become a little boy for the
-moment, his mother was a gentlewoman, and he had his hoop and his little stick;
-he was playing, driving the hoop with the little stick. He wore a white
-costume, his little legs were plump, bare at the knee....
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The days passed; the work went on, the fancy persisted.
-</p>
-
-<h3>IV</h3>
-
-<p>
-The old man was returning from work one evening when he saw the hoop of an old
-barrel lying in the street. It was a rough, dirty object. The old man trembled
-with happiness, and tears appeared in his dull eyes. A sudden, almost
-irresistible desire took possession of him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He glanced cautiously around him; then he bent down, picked up the hoop with
-trembling hands, and smiling shamefacedly, carried it home with him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-No one noticed him, no one questioned him. Whose concern was it? A ragged old
-man was carrying an old, battered, useless hoop&mdash;who cared?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He carried it stealthily, afraid of ridicule. Why he picked it up and why he
-carried it, he himself could not tell. Still, it was like the boy&rsquo;s hoop,
-and this was enough. There was no harm in it lying about.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He could look at it; he could touch it. It would stimulate his reveries; the
-whistle and turmoil of the factory would grow fainter, the escaping vapours
-less dense....
-</p>
-
-<p>
-For several days the hoop lay under the bed in the old man&rsquo;s poor,
-cramped quarters. Sometimes he would take it from its place and look at it; the
-dirty, grey hoop soothed the old man, and the sight of it quickened his
-persistent thoughts about the happy little boy.
-</p>
-
-<h3>V</h3>
-
-<p>
-It was a clear, warm morning, and the birds were chirping away in the
-consumptive urban trees somewhat more cheerfully than usual. The old man rose
-early, took his hoop, and walked a little distance out of town.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He coughed as he made his way among the old trees and the thorny bushes in the
-woods. The trees, covered with their dry, blackish, bursting bark, seemed to
-him incomprehensibly and sternly silent. The odours were strange, the insects
-astonishing, the ferns of gigantic growth. There was neither dust nor din here,
-and the gentle, exquisite morning mist lay behind the trees. The old feet
-glided over the dry leaves and stumbled across the old gnarled roots.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old man broke off a dry limb and hung his hoop upon it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He came upon an opening, full of daylight and of calm. The dewdrops, countless
-and opalescent, gleamed upon the green blades of newly mown grass.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Suddenly the old man let the hoop slide off the stick. He struck with the
-stick, and sent the hoop rolling across the green lawn. The old man laughed,
-brightened at once, and pursued the hoop like that little boy. He kicked up his
-feet and drove the hoop with his stick, which he flourished high over his head,
-just as that little boy did.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It seemed to him that he was small, beloved, and happy. It seemed to him that
-he was being looked after by his mother, who was following close behind and
-smiling. Like a child on his first outing, he felt refreshed on the bright
-grass, and on the still mosses.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His goat-like, dust-grey beard, that harmonized with his sallow face, trembled,
-while his cough mingled with his laughter, and raucous sounds came from his
-toothless mouth.
-</p>
-
-<h3>VI</h3>
-
-<p>
-And the old man grew to love his morning hour in the woods with the hoop.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He sometimes thought he might be discovered, and ridiculed&mdash;and this
-aroused him to a keen sense of shame. This shame resembled fear; he would grow
-numb, and his knees would give way under him. He would look round him with
-fright and timidity.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But no&mdash;there was no one to be seen, or to be heard....
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And having diverted himself to his heart&rsquo;s content he would return to the
-city, smiling gently and joyously.
-</p>
-
-<h3>VII</h3>
-
-<p>
-No one had ever found him out. And nothing unusual ever happened. The old man
-played peacefully for several days, and one very dewy morning he caught cold.
-He went to bed, and soon died. Dying in the factory hospital, among strangers,
-indifferent people, he smiled serenely.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His memories soothed him. He, too, had been a child; he, too, had laughed and
-scampered across the green grass, among the dark trees&mdash;his beloved mother
-had followed him with her eyes.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap10"></a>THE SEARCH</h2>
-
-<h3>I</h3>
-
-<p>
-The pleasant in life has a way of mixing with the unpleasant. It is pleasant to
-be a student of the first class, for it gives one a certain standing in the
-world. But even the life of a student of the first class is not free from
-unpleasantness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The first thing of which Shura was conscious when he awoke one morning was that
-something was tearing on his person. He felt uncomfortable. As he turned on his
-side he was even more clearly aware of the damage that his shirt had suffered.
-There was a large gap under the armpits, and presently he realized that it
-extended down to the very bottom.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura was sad. He remembered having told his mother only the day before about
-the condition of his shirt.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Wear it another day, Shurochka,&rdquo; she answered him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura frowned and said rather sadly: &ldquo;Mother, it won&rsquo;t stand
-another day&rsquo;s wear. To-morrow I shall be a ragamuffin.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Without looking up from her work she grumbled.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Let me have some peace. I have already promised you a change to-morrow
-evening. If you&rsquo;d only be less mischievous your clothes would last
-longer. You&rsquo;d wear out iron.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura, who was a quiet lad, growled back in reply:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;One simply couldn&rsquo;t be less mischievous than I. Only sometimes you
-can&rsquo;t help it, and then in a reasonable sort of way.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His request went unheeded. And here was the consequence. His shirt was torn to
-its very hem. It was now good for nothing, all for want of a little foresight.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He jumped out of bed, and ran semi-nude into the next-room, where his mother
-was making ready to go out to bring back some paying homework. The thought of
-going to school in discomfort and of waiting till evening vexed him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What did I tell you?&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;You wouldn&rsquo;t give
-me a shirt when I asked you yesterday. Now look what&rsquo;s happened!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Deeply annoyed, she looked at Shura and complained.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Aren&rsquo;t you ashamed to run about like that? I fear I&rsquo;ll never
-drum any sense into you. You always come bothering me when I&rsquo;m in a
-hurry.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Still, it was quite evident that it would not do to let the lad go in tatters.
-She found a brand new shirt and gave it to Shura somewhat reluctantly, as she
-had intended giving him one of the old ones, which were not due to arrive from
-the laundry until the evening.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura was overjoyed. The new linen gave him a pleasant sensation, its harsh
-cold surface tickled the skin most pleasantly. He laughed, and he pranced about
-the room as he dressed; and his mother was not there to scold him.
-</p>
-
-<h3>II</h3>
-
-<p>
-The school, as always, seemed such a strange place. It was both gay and
-depressing, and hummed with a kind of unnatural industry. It was gay in the
-intervals between the lessons, and extremely tedious during the lessons.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The subjects of study were most singular and useless. They concerned: folk, who
-had died long ago and did no good while they lived, and whom, for some unknown
-reason, it was necessary to recall after all these centuries, although some of
-the personages had never even existed; verbs, which were conjugated with
-something; nouns, which were declined for some purpose or other, though no use
-could be found for them in living speech; figures, which call for proofs of
-something which need not be proven at all; and much else, equally
-inconsequential and absurd. And there was nothing in all this that one could
-not do without; there was no correlation of facts, there was no straightforward
-answer to the eternal question: Why and Wherefore?
-</p>
-
-<h3>III</h3>
-
-<p>
-That morning early, in the assembly room, Mitya Krinin asked Shura:
-&ldquo;Well, have you brought it?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura recalled that he had promised to bring Krinin a book of popular songs. He
-replied: &ldquo;Just a moment. I&rsquo;ve left it in my overcoat.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He ran into the dressing-room. The bells suddenly rang out in all parts of the
-building, calling the students to prayer, without which the lessons could
-hardly be expected to begin.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura made haste. He put his hand in the overcoat pocket, found nothing; then,
-on discovering that it was some one else&rsquo;s overcoat, he exclaimed in
-vexation:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;There now, that&rsquo;s something new&mdash;my hand in another
-boy&rsquo;s overcoat!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he began to search in his own.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There was an outburst of derisive laughter. He looked around, startled, to find
-there the mischievous Dutikov, who called out in his unpleasant voice:
-&ldquo;So, my boy, you&rsquo;re going through other people&rsquo;s
-pockets!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura growled back angrily: &ldquo;It&rsquo;s not your affair. Anyway,
-I&rsquo;m not going through yours.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He found his book and ran back to the assembly room, where the students were
-already ranging themselves for the service, forming into long rows, according
-to height. The smaller students stood in front, near to the ikons, the taller
-behind; and in each row, in gradation, the lads on the right were taller than
-those on the left. The school faculty considered it necessary for them to pray
-in rows, and according to height; otherwise the prayer might come to nothing.
-Apart from them, there was a group of boys more proficient in chanting, and the
-leader of these, at the beginning of each chant, changed his voice several
-times&mdash;this was called &ldquo;setting the tone.&rdquo; The singing was
-loud, rapid, expressionless; they might have all been beating drums. The head
-student was reading in the prayer book the prayers which it was customary to
-read and not to sing&mdash;and his reading was just as loud, just as
-expressionless. In a word, it was the same as ever.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But after prayers something happened.
-</p>
-
-<h3>IV</h3>
-
-<p>
-Student Epiphanov, of the second class, brought with him to school that morning
-a pearl-handled penknife and a silver rouble, and now these were nowhere to be
-found. He raised a cry and went to complain.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-An investigation was started.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Dutikov reported that he had seen Shura Dolinin going through the pockets of
-some one&rsquo;s overcoat. Shura was called into the cabinet of the director.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sergey Ivanovich, the director, fixed his suspicious eyes on the lad. The old
-tutor, who saw an excellent chance of catching a thief, and incidentally of
-balancing accounts somewhat for tricks that had been played upon him by the
-mischievous lads, experienced malicious pleasure and pounced upon the confused,
-flushing lad with questions.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why were you in the dressing-room during prayer?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Before prayer, Sergey Ivanovich,&rdquo; whimpered Shura in a voice
-squeaky from fright.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Very well, before prayer,&rdquo; said the director with irony in his
-voice. &ldquo;What I want to know is why were you there?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura explained.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The director continued: &ldquo;Very well, after a book. But why in some one
-else&rsquo;s pocket?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It was a mistake,&rdquo; said Shura, distressed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A nice mistake,&rdquo; remarked the director dryly. &ldquo;Now confess,
-haven&rsquo;t you taken by mistake a penknife and a rouble. By mistake, mind
-you? Look through your pockets, my lad.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura began to cry, and said through his tears: &ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t stolen
-anything.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The director smiled. It was pleasant to provoke tears. Such beautiful and such
-large childish tears trickled down the pink cheeks in three separate streams:
-two streams of tears came from one eye, and only one from the other.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;If you haven&rsquo;t stolen anything why do you cry?&rdquo; said the
-director in a bantering tone. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t even say that you have
-stolen. I assume that you merely made a mistake: caught hold of something that
-came into your hand, and then forgot all about it. Suppose you look through
-your pockets.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura quickly drew from his pockets all the absurd trifles usually found on
-boys, and then turned both his pockets inside out.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; he said sadly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The director gave him a searching look.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are sure it hasn&rsquo;t dropped down in your clothes
-somewhere&mdash;the knife might have slipped into your boots, eh?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He rang. The watchman came.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura was crying. And everything round him seemed to float in a rose mist, in
-the incomprehensible mental void of his degradation. They turned Shura about,
-felt him all over, searched him. Little by little they undressed him. First
-they took off his boots and shook them out; they did the same with his
-stockings. His belt, blouse and breeches followed. Everything was shaken out
-and searched.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And through all this torment of shame, through all this indignity of a
-degrading and needless ceremony there penetrated one resplendent ray of joy;
-the torn shirt was at home, and the new, clean one rustled in the coarse hands
-of the zealous pedagogue.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura stood in his shirt, crying. Behind the door he could hear tumultuous
-voices and cries of joy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The door burst open, and a little, red-cheeked, smiling chap entered hurriedly.
-And through his shame, through his tears, and through his joy about the new
-shirt, Shura heard a confused and panting voice say:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s been found, Sergey Ivanovich. On Epiphanov himself. There was
-a hole in his pocket&mdash;the penknife and rouble slipped down into his
-boot.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, suddenly, they became gentle with Shura. They stroked his head, comforted
-him, and helped him to dress.
-</p>
-
-<h3>V</h3>
-
-<p>
-Now he cried, now he laughed. At home he again cried and laughed. He
-complained:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I was entirely undressed. It would have been nice, wouldn&rsquo;t it, if
-I had been wearing that torn shirt!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Later&mdash;yes, what happened later? His mother would go to the director. She
-wished to make a scene. Afterwards she would lodge a complaint against him. But
-she recalled, in the street, that her boy was a non-paying student. There was
-no scene. Besides, the director received her pleasantly. He was so apologetic.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The impression of his degradation remained with the boy. All its incidents had
-impressed themselves upon him: he had been suspected of theft, and searched,
-and he had stood, almost naked, undergoing the scrutiny of an officious person.
-Shameful? Let us, by all means, console ourselves that it is an experience
-useful to life.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Weeping, the mother said: &ldquo;Who knows&mdash;perhaps when you grow up,
-something of the sort will really happen. We&rsquo;ve heard of such things in
-our time.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap11"></a>THE WHITE MOTHER</h2>
-
-<h3>I</h3>
-
-<p>
-Easter was near. Esper Constantinovich Saksaoolov was in a painful and
-undecided state of mind. It seemed to have begun when he was asked at the
-Gorodischevs: &ldquo;Where are you greeting the holiday?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov, for some reason, did not reply at once. The housewife, who was
-stout, short-sighted and fussy, went on: &ldquo;Come to us.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov felt vexed&mdash;most likely at the young girl, who at the words of
-her mother gave him a quick glance, then averted it, and continued her
-conversation with a professor&rsquo;s young assistant.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mothers of grown daughters saw a possible husband in Saksaoolov, which annoyed
-him. He considered himself an old bachelor at thirty-seven.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He answered sharply: &ldquo;Thank you. But I always pass that night at
-home.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The girl glanced at him with a smile and asked: &ldquo;With whom?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Alone,&rdquo; answered Saksaoolov with a shade of astonishment in his
-voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a misanthrope,&rdquo; said Madame Gorodischeva, with a sour
-smile.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov valued his freedom. It seemed strange to him, whenever he thought of
-it, that he had been so near marriage once. He had lived long in his small but
-tastefully furnished apartment, had got used to his man attendant, the elderly
-and steady Fedota, and to Fedota&rsquo;s not less reliable spouse, who cooked
-his dinner; and he persuaded himself that he ought to remain single out of
-memory to his first love. In truth, his heart was growing cold from
-indifference born of a lonely, incomplete life.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He had his own fortune, his father and mother had died long ago, and he had no
-near relatives. He lived methodically and quietly; had something to do with a
-government department; was intimately acquainted with contemporary literature
-and art; and was something of an epicurean&mdash;but life itself seemed to him
-to be empty and aimless. Were it not that one pure, radiant fancy visited him
-at times he would have become entirely cold, like many others.
-</p>
-
-<h3>II</h3>
-
-<p>
-His first and only love, which ended before it had time to blossom, wrapt him
-closely in sad and sweet reveries, usually in the evenings. Five years earlier
-he had met a young girl who left an indelible impression upon him. She was
-pale, gentle, slender, with blue eyes, and fair wavy hair. She almost seemed to
-him not to belong to this earth, but was like a creature of air and mist, blown
-for a brief moment by fate into the city turmoil. Her movements were slow; her
-gentle, clear voice was soft, like the murmur of a brook purling over stones.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov, whether by chance or not, saw her always in a white dress. The
-impression of white had become inseparable from his thought of her. Her very
-name, Tamar, suggested to him something as white as the snow on the mountain
-tops.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He began to visit her at the house of her parents. More than once he had
-resolved to say to her those words which bind human fates together. But she
-never let him go on; she would always grow frightened and shy, and she would
-rise and leave him. What frightened her? Saksaoolov read signs of virgin love
-in her face; her eyes grew brighter when he entered, and a light flush suffused
-her cheeks.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But one never-to-be-forgotten day she listened to him. It was in the early
-spring. The ice on the river was gone, and the trees were covered with a soft
-green veil. Tamar and Saksaoolov were sitting before the window in the city
-house, and looking out on the Niva. He spoke, scarcely knowing what he said,
-but his words were both gentle and terrible to her. She grew pale, smiled
-vaguely, and rose. Her slender hand trembled on the carved top of the chair.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;To-morrow,&rdquo; Tamar said quietly, and went out.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov gazed with intense feeling toward the door behind which Tamar had
-disappeared. His head was in a whirl. His eye fell upon a sprig of white lilac;
-he picked it up almost absently, and left without bidding his hosts good-bye.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He could not sleep that night. He stood at the window and looked out into the
-far-stretching streets, at first dark, then lighter at dawn; he smiled and
-pressed the sprig of lilac between his fingers. When it grew light he noticed
-that the floor of the room was strewn with white petals of lilac. This seemed
-both curious and of happy omen to Saksaoolov. He felt the cool of the breeze on
-his heated face. He took a bath and he felt refreshed. Then he went to Tamar.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They told him that she was ill, that she had caught a cold somewhere. And
-Saksaoolov never saw her again; she died within two weeks. He did not go to her
-funeral. Her death left him quite calm, and he no longer knew whether he had
-loved her or whether it was a short, passing fascination.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He mused about her sometimes in the evening; but he gradually learned to forget
-her; and Saksaoolov had no portrait of her. But after a few years&mdash;more
-precisely, only a year ago&mdash;in the spring, upon seeing a sprig of lilac
-sadly out of place among rich eatables in a restaurant window, he remembered
-Tamar. And from that time on he loved to think of Tamar again during the
-evenings.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sometimes, as he fell into a light sleep, he dreamt that Tamar came to him, sat
-opposite him, and looked at him with unaverted, fond eyes; and that she had
-something to tell him. And it was painful to feel Tamar&rsquo;s expectant
-glance upon him, and not know what she wanted of him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Now, leaving the Gorodischevs, he thought timidly: &ldquo;She will come to give
-me the kiss of Easter.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A feeling of fear and loneliness took hold of him with such intensity that the
-idea came to him: &ldquo;Perhaps it would be well to marry so as not to be
-alone on holy, mysterious nights.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He thought of Valeria Mikhailovna, the Gorodischev girl. She was by no means a
-beauty, but she was always dressed becomingly to set off her looks. She
-apparently liked him, and was not likely to reject him if he asked her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The throng and din in the street distracted him and his usual somewhat ironic
-mood swayed his thoughts of the Gorodischev girl. Could he prove false to
-Tamar&rsquo;s memory for any one else? Everything in the world seemed so paltry
-to him that he wished no one but Tamar to give him the kiss of Easter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But,&rdquo; thought he, &ldquo;she will again look at me with
-expectancy. White, gentle Tamar, what does she want? Will her gentle lips kiss
-me?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>III</h3>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov thought sadly of Tamar as he wandered in the streets, and looking
-into the faces of the passers-by he thought many of the older people
-unpleasantly coarse. He recalled that there was no one with whom he would
-exchange the kiss of Easter with real desire and joy. There would be many
-coarse lips and prickly beards, smelling of wine, to kiss the first day.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was much pleasanter to kiss the children. Children&rsquo;s faces grew lovely
-in Saksaoolov&rsquo;s eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He walked a long time, and when he was tired he entered a church enclosure just
-off the noisy street. A pale lad sat on a form and looked up frightened at
-Saksaoolov; then he once more began to gaze absently before him. His blue eyes
-were gentle and sad, like Tamar&rsquo;s. He was so small that his feet
-projected from the seat.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov, who sat near him, began to eye him, half with pity, half with
-curiosity. There was something in this youngster that stirred his memory with
-joy, and at the same time excited him. In appearance he was a most ordinary
-urchin; he had on ragged clothes, a white fur cap on his bright hair, and a
-pair of dirty boots, worse for wear.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He sat long on the form, then he rose suddenly and gave a cry. He ran out of
-the gate into the street, then stopped, turned quickly in another direction,
-and again stopped. It was clear that he did not know which way to turn. He
-began to weep quietly, making no ado, and large tears ran down his cheeks. A
-crowd gathered. A policeman came. They began to ask him where he lived.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;At the Gliukhov house,&rdquo; he lisped in a childlike but indistinct
-tone.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;In what street,&rdquo; the policeman asked.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The boy did not know, and only kept on repeating: &ldquo;At the Gliukhov
-house.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young and good-natured policeman thought awhile, and decided that there was
-no such house near.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;With whom do you live?&rdquo; asked a gruff workman. &ldquo;With your
-father?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have no father,&rdquo; answered the boy, as he scanned the faces round
-him with his tearful eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So you&rsquo;ve got no father, that&rsquo;s how it is,&rdquo; said the
-workman gravely, and shook his head. &ldquo;Then where&rsquo;s your
-mother?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have a mother,&rdquo; the boy replied.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What&rsquo;s her name?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma,&rdquo; said the boy; then, upon reflection, he added,
-&ldquo;black mamma.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Some one laughed in the crowd.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Black? I wonder whether that&rsquo;s the name of the family?&rdquo;
-suggested the gruff workman.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;First it was a white mamma, and now it&rsquo;s a black mamma,&rdquo;
-said the boy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no making head or tail of this,&rdquo; decided the
-policeman. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll take him to the station. They&rsquo;ll telephone
-about it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He went to the gate and rang. But the house-porter had already seen the
-policeman and, besom in hand, he was coming to the gate. The policeman ordered
-him to take the boy to the station. But the boy suddenly bethought himself, and
-cried out: &ldquo;Never mind, let me go, I&rsquo;ll find the way myself.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Perhaps he was frightened of the house-porter&rsquo;s besom, or perhaps he had
-really recalled something; at any rate he ran off so hard that Saksaoolov
-almost lost sight of him. But soon the boy walked more quietly. He turned
-street corners and ran from one side to the other searching for, but not
-finding, his home. Saksaoolov followed him in silence. He was not an adept at
-talking to children.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At last the boy grew tired. He stopped before a lamp-post and leant against it.
-Tears gleamed in his eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My dear boy,&rdquo; said Saksaoolov, &ldquo;haven&rsquo;t you found it
-yet?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The lad looked at him with his sad, soft eyes, and Saksaoolov suddenly
-understood what had impelled him to follow the boy with such resolution. There
-was something in the face and glance of the little wanderer that gave him an
-unusual likeness to Tamar.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My dear boy, what&rsquo;s your name?&rdquo; asked Saksaoolov in a tender
-and agitated voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Lesha,&rdquo; said the boy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Tell me, dear Lesha, do you live with your mother?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, with mamma. Only now it&rsquo;s a black mamma&mdash;and before it
-was a white mamma.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov thought that by black mamma he meant a nun.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How did you get lost?&rdquo; he asked.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I walked with mamma, and we walked and walked. She told me to sit down
-and wait, and then she went away. And I got frightened.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Who is your mother?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My mamma? She&rsquo;s so black and so angry.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What does she do?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The boy thought awhile.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She drinks coffee,&rdquo; he said.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What else does she do?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She quarrels with the lodgers,&rdquo; answered Lesha after a pause.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And where is your white mamma?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She was carried away. She was put into a coffin and carried away. And
-papa was carried away.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The boy pointed into the distance somewhere and burst into tears.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What&rsquo;s to be done with him?&rdquo; thought Saksaoolov.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then suddenly the boy began to run again. After he had turned a few corners he
-went more quietly. Saksaoolov overtook him a second time. The lad&rsquo;s face
-expressed a strange mixture of joy and fear.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s the Gliukhov house,&rdquo; he said to Saksaoolov, as he
-pointed to a huge, five-storeyed monstrosity.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At this moment there appeared at the gates of the Gliukhov house a
-black-haired, black-eyed woman in a black dress, a black kerchief with white
-dots on her head. The boy shrank back in fear.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma,&rdquo; he whispered.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His stepmother looked at him with astonishment.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How did you get here, you young whelp!&rdquo; she shrieked out. &ldquo;I
-told you to sit on the bench, didn&rsquo;t I?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She seemed to be on the point of whipping him when she noticed that some sort
-of gentleman, serious and dignified in appearance, was watching them, and she
-spoke more softly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t I leave you for a half-hour anywhere without you taking to
-your heels? I&rsquo;ve walked my feet off looking for you, you young
-whelp!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She caught the child&rsquo;s very small hand in her own huge one and dragged
-him within the gate. Saksaoolov made a note of the house number and the name of
-the street, and went home.
-</p>
-
-<h3>IV</h3>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov liked to listen to the opinions of Fedota. When he returned home he
-told him about the boy Lesha.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She did it on purpose,&rdquo; decided Fedota. &ldquo;Just think what a
-witch she is to take the boy such a way from home!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why should she?&rdquo; Saksaoolov asked.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s simple enough. What can you expect of a stupid woman! She
-thought the boy would get lost somewhere, and some one would pick him up. After
-all, she&rsquo;s a stepmother. What&rsquo;s a homeless child to her?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov was incredulous. He observed: &ldquo;But the police would have found
-her out.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Of course they would; but you can&rsquo;t tell, she may have meant to
-leave town; then find her if you can.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov smiled.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Really,&rdquo; he thought, &ldquo;my Fedota should be a district
-attorney.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He fell into a doze that evening as he sat reading before a lamp. Tamar
-appeared to him&mdash;the gentle, white Tamar&mdash;and sat down beside him.
-Her face was strangely like Lesha&rsquo;s face. She looked steadily and
-persistently, and awaited something. It tormented Saksaoolov to see her bright,
-pleading eyes, and not to know what she wanted. He rose quickly and went to the
-armchair where he thought he saw Tamar sitting. He stopped before her and asked
-loudly and with emotion:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What do you wish? Tell me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But she was no longer there.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It was only a dream,&rdquo; thought Saksaoolov sadly.
-</p>
-
-<h3>V</h3>
-
-<p>
-The next day, as he was leaving the academy exhibition, Saksaoolov met the
-Gorodischevs. He told the girl about Lesha.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Poor boy,&rdquo; said Valeria Mikhailovna quietly. &ldquo;His stepmother
-is trying to get rid of him.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That&rsquo;s yet to be proved,&rdquo; said Saksaoolov.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He felt annoyed that every one, including Fedota and Valeria, should look so
-tragically upon a simple incident.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That&rsquo;s quite evident,&rdquo; said Valeria Mikhailovna warmly.
-&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no father, and only a stepmother to whom he is simply a
-burden. No good will come of it&mdash;the boy will have a sad end.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You take too gloomy a view of the matter,&rdquo; observed Saksaoolov,
-with a smile.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You ought to take him to yourself,&rdquo; Valeria Mikhailovna advised
-him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I?&rdquo; asked Saksaoolov with astonishment.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are living alone,&rdquo; Valeria Mikhailovna persisted. &ldquo;You
-have no one. Here&rsquo;s a chance for you to do a good deed at Eastertime! At
-least, you&rsquo;ll have some one with whom to exchange the kiss of
-Easter.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I beg you to tell me, Valeria Mikhailovna, what am I to do with a
-child?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You might engage a governess. Fate itself is sending the boy to
-you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov looked with amazement and involuntary tenderness at the girl&rsquo;s
-flushed, animated face.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When Tamar again appeared to him that evening he seemed already to know her
-wish. It was as though, in the silence of the room, he heard her tranquilly
-spoken words: &ldquo;Do as she advised you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov rose joyously and rubbed his drowsy eyes with his hand. He saw a
-sprig of white lilac on the table, and was astonished. How did it come there?
-Did Tamar leave it there as a sign of her wish?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he suddenly thought that if he married the Gorodischeva girl and took Lesha
-into his house he would be carrying out the will of Tamar. He breathed in the
-lilac&rsquo;s aroma happily. He suddenly remembered that he himself had bought
-the sprig of lilac that same day.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then he argued with himself: &ldquo;It really doesn&rsquo;t matter that I had
-bought it myself; its real significance is that I had an impulse to buy it; and
-that later I forgot that I had bought it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>VI</h3>
-
-<p>
-Next morning he went to fetch Lesha. The boy met him at the gate and showed him
-where he lived. Lesha&rsquo;s black mamma was drinking coffee, and was
-quarrelling with her red-nosed lodger. Saksaoolov learnt something about Lesha
-from her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The lad lost his mother when he was three. His father married this black woman,
-and himself died within a year. The black woman, Irina Ivanovna, had her own
-son, now a year old. She was about to marry again. The wedding would take place
-in a few days and after the ceremony she would go with her husband to the
-provinces. Lesha was a stranger to her and she would rather do without him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Give him to me,&rdquo; suggested Saksaoolov.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;With great pleasure,&rdquo; said Irina Ivanovna with unconcealed and
-malignant joy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She added after a short silence: &ldquo;Only you will pay for his
-clothes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And so Lesha was presently installed at Saksaoolov&rsquo;s. The Gorodischeva
-girl helped in the finding of a governess and in other details of Lesha&rsquo;s
-comfort. This required her to visit Saksaoolov&rsquo;s apartments. She assumed
-a different appearance in Saksaoolov&rsquo;s eyes as she busied herself in
-these various cares. It was as though the door to her soul opened itself to
-him. Her eyes had become beaming and gentle, and she was permeated with almost
-the same tranquillity that breathed from Tamar.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-VII
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lesha&rsquo;s stories about the white mamma won over Fedota and his wife. As
-they put him to bed on Easter eve, they hung a white candied egg above his
-head.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s from the white mamma,&rdquo; said Christina, &ldquo;only you
-darling mustn&rsquo;t touch it; at least not until the resurrection, when
-you&rsquo;ll hear the bell ring.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lesha lay down obediently. He looked long at the egg of joy and at last fell
-asleep.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov was sitting alone in another room. Just before midnight an
-unconquerable drowsiness again closed his eyes, and he was glad that he would
-soon see Tamar.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At last she came, all in white, joyous, bringing with her glad tidings from
-afar. She smiled gently, then bent over him, and&mdash;unspeakable
-happiness!&mdash;Saksaoolov&rsquo;s lips felt a tender contact.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A sweet voice said softly: &ldquo;<i>Christoss Voskress!</i>&rdquo; (Christ has
-risen).
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov, without opening his eyes stretched out his arms and embraced a
-slender, gentle body. It was Lesha who climbed on his knees and gave him the
-kiss of Easter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The church bell had awakened the boy. He seized the white egg and ran to
-Saksaoolov.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov opened his eyes. Lesha laughed as he showed him the egg.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;White mamma has sent it,&rdquo; he lisped, &ldquo;and I&rsquo;ll give it
-to you, and you can give it to Aunt Valeria.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Very well, my dear boy, I&rsquo;ll do as you say,&rdquo; said
-Saksaoolov.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He put Lesha to bed, then went to Valeria Mikhailovna with Lesha&rsquo;s white
-egg, a gift from the white mamma, but which really seemed to him at that moment
-to be a gift from Tamar herself.
-</p>
-
-<h4>THE END</h4>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
-
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+<body>
+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 48452 ***</div>
+
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="cover" /><br/><br/>
+</div>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
+<img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="frontispiece" /><br/><br/>
+</div>
+
+<h1>The Old House<br/>
+<small>and Other Tales</small></h1>
+
+<h2>by Feodor Sologub</h2>
+
+<h4>AUTHORISED TRANSLATION FROM THE RUSSIAN</h4>
+
+<h4>BY JOHN COURNOS</h4>
+
+<h5><i>SECOND IMPRESSION</i></h5>
+
+<h5>LONDON</h5>
+
+<h5>MARTIN SECKER</h5>
+
+<h5>NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET</h5>
+
+<h5>ADELPHI</h5>
+
+<h5>1916</h5>
+
+<p>
+<i>Acknowledgments are due to the Editor of &ldquo;The New Statesman&rdquo; for
+permission to republish The White Dog and The Hoop, which first appeared in
+that periodical</i>.
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h3>Contents</h3>
+
+<table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap00">INTRODUCTION</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap01">THE OLD HOUSE</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap02">THE UNITER OF SOULS</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap03">THE INVOKER OF THE BEAST</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap04">THE WHITE DOG</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap05">LIGHT AND SHADOWS</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap06">THE GLIMMER OF HUNGER</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap07">HIDE AND SEEK</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap08">THE SMILE</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap09">THE HOOP</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap10">THE SEARCH</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap11">THE WHITE MOTHER</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+</table>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap00"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2>
+
+<p>
+<i>&ldquo;Sologub&rdquo; is a pseudonym&mdash;the author&rsquo;s real name is
+Feodor Kuzmich Teternikov. He was born in 1863. He completed a scholastic
+course at Petrograd. His first published story appeared in the periodical
+&ldquo;Severny Viestnik&rdquo; in 1894, but it was not until about a dozen
+years later that he came into his fame, which he has since then further
+enhanced</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>This is all the biographical knowledge we have of a living novelist whose
+place in Russian literature is secure beyond all question; the scantiness of
+our knowledge is all the more amazing when we consider that the author is over
+fifty, and that his complete works are in their twentieth volume</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>These include almost every possible form of literary expression&mdash;the
+fairy tale, the poem, the play, the essay, the novel, and the short story.
+Sologub&rsquo;s place as a poet is hardly less assured than his place as a
+novelist</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>How little importance Sologub attaches to personal</i> réclame <i>may be
+gathered from his answer to repeated requests for a nutshell
+&ldquo;autobiography&rdquo; a type of document in vogue in Russia; Maxim
+Gorky&rsquo;s impressive model, I believe, is quite familiar to English
+readers</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>&ldquo;I cannot give you my autobiography,&rdquo; Sologub wrote to the
+editor of a literary almanac, &ldquo;as I do not think that my personality can
+be of sufficient interest to any one. And I haven&rsquo;t the time to waste on
+such unnecessary business as an autobiography.&rdquo;</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>At the beginning of his Complete Works, however, there is a poem in prose, a
+kind of spiritual autobiography in which he insists that all life is a miracle,
+and that his own surely is also. &ldquo;I simply and calmly reveal my soul ...
+in the hope that the intimate part of me shall become the universal.&rdquo;
+After such an avowal the reader will know where to look for the author&rsquo;s
+personality</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>In studying his work, one finds that he has both realism and fantasy. But
+while he is sometimes wholly realistic, he is seldom wholly fantastic. His
+fantasy has always its foundations in reality. His realism is as grey as that
+of Chekhov, whose logical successor he has been acclaimed by Russian criticism.
+But it is his prodigious fantasy that makes the point of his departure from the
+Chekhovian formula. When he combines the two qualities, the strange
+reconciliation thus effected produces a result as original as it is rich in
+&ldquo;the meaning of life.&rdquo; Sologub himself says somewhere</i>:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>&ldquo;I take a piece of life, coarse and poor, and make of it a delightful
+legend</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>This sentence establishes the distinction between the two writers. Life for
+Chekhov may contain its delightful characters, life itself is seldom a
+delightful legend</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>Actually, Sologub sees life more greyly than Chekhov; perhaps it is this
+sense of grief &ldquo;too great to be borne&rdquo; that compels him to grope
+for an outlet, for some kind of relief. Already in his earliest novel one of
+the characters gives utterance to the significant words</i>:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Once you prove that life has no meaning, life becomes
+impossible</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>This relief is to be found within oneself in the &ldquo;inner life&rdquo;;
+that is in the imagination, &ldquo;imagination the great consoler&rdquo; as
+Renan has said. Imagination is everything; it is, indeed, the invoker of all
+beauty; and admiration of beauty is the one escape out of life. The author,
+&ldquo;with whatever words he can find, speaks of one thing. Patiently calls
+towards the one thing....&rdquo; Writing of the sadness of life, he envelops
+this sadness in the beauty evoked by his imagination as in a flame, and withers
+it up. One finds him rejoicing that there is a life other than &ldquo;this
+ordinary, coarse, tedious, sunlight life,&rdquo; that there is a life that is
+&ldquo;nocturnal, prodigious, resembling a fairy tale.&rdquo;</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>It may sound like a startling antinomy to say that at his happiest Sologub
+is a compound of Chekhov and Poe. It could be put in another way: if Poe were a
+Russian, he might have written as Sologub writes. This is to say that the
+mystery with which Sologub endows his tales is never there for its own sake,
+but as a most intense symbol of reality.</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>Consider a story like &ldquo;The Invoker of the Beast.&rdquo; As a story of
+reincarnation it is a masterpiece of mystery. The reader, anxious for a good
+tale merely, may let the matter rest there. But can he? Can he listen to Gurov,
+who, while living through, in his delirium, his previous existence, is so
+insistent about the &ldquo;invincibility of his walls&rdquo;&mdash;and yet
+remain unmoved to the deep meaning of Gurov&rsquo;s cry? Are not the seemingly
+imperishable walls, within which Gurov thought himself secure from the Beast, a
+symbol of our own subtle insecurity? Is not our own Beast&mdash;be it some
+unexpected latent circumstance, or some unlooked-for yet inevitable consequence
+of a past action, on the part of our ancestors or of ourselves&mdash;ready to
+pounce upon us and ravage our hearts, after a long and relentless pursuit, from
+which in the end there is no escape?</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>Again, to one who has read most of Sologub&rsquo;s productions, the story of
+the Beast is interesting, because it contains, as it were, a synthesis of the
+author&rsquo;s tendencies. Its separate motifs are repeated in variation in
+many of his other stories. There is the boy Timarides, whom the author loves.
+Why?</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>Because Timarides is a child, because he is beautiful, trustful, and ready
+to do daring deeds. Timarides perhaps stands for the young generation
+reproaching the old for its neglect, its forgetfulness of its promises, its
+settling in a groove, its stripping itself of its happiest illusions</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>And throughout his work, Sologub reiterates his affection for children and
+the childlike. When he loves or pities an older person, he endows him with
+childlike attributes. He does this in the little story, &ldquo;The Hoop.&rdquo;
+Does the old man seem absurd to us? If so, it is to be inferred that the fault
+is with ourselves. We have grown too sophisticated</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>Here, again, Chekhov and Sologub meet. Chekhov loves the unpractical people,
+because they are usually more lovable personalities than the successful,
+practical ones; Sologub loves the absurd, the childlike, the quixotic, for the
+same reason</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>Rather than have them grow up and therefore become unlovable, Sologub makes
+some of his children die young. There is, for example, in one of his stories,
+sweet Rayechka, who died in a fall, and upon whom the boy, Mitya, recalling
+her, muses in this fashion: &ldquo;Had Rayechka lived to grow up, she might
+have become a housemaid like Darya, pomaded her hair, and squinted her cunning
+eyes.&rdquo;</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>In &ldquo;The Old House&rdquo; it is the children once more who are the
+revolutionaries&mdash;trustful, adorable, and daring. In &ldquo;The White
+Mother&rdquo; the bachelor, Saksaoolov, is redeemed through the boy, Lesha, who
+resembles his dead sweetheart</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>Schoolmasters and schoolchildren are among the characters who frequent the
+pages of Sologub&rsquo;s books. Sologub, it should be remembered, began life as
+a schoolmaster. The story &ldquo;Light and Shadows&rdquo; is, perhaps, a
+reflection upon our educational system which crams the young mind with a
+multitude of useless facts and starves the imagination; we see the reaction of
+the system on the delicate organism of a sensitive and imaginative child</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>Mothers share the author&rsquo;s affection for their children; but, like
+schoolmasters, mothers, unfortunately, are of two kinds. The world has its
+&ldquo;black mammas&rdquo; as well as its &ldquo;white mammas.&rdquo;</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>There are few writers who are so subtle, so insinuating, and so seductive,
+in their power to make the reader think; few writers who give so great a
+stimulus to the imagination</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>With Chekhov, Russian fiction turns definitely to town life for its
+material; nevertheless, the changes which the modern industrial system has
+brought about have in no wise weakened the mystic force of Russian literature.
+Sologub is a mystic, a mystic of Russian tradition; and Sologub is a product of
+Petrograd</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+<i>JOHN COURNOS</i>
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap01"></a>THE OLD HOUSE<a href="#linknote-1" name="linknoteref-1" id="linknoteref-1"><small>[1]</small></a></h2>
+
+<h3>I</h3>
+
+<p>
+It was an old, large, one-storied house, with a mezzanine. It stood in a
+village, eleven versts from a railway station, and about fifty versts from the
+district town. The garden which surrounded the house seemed lost in drowsiness,
+while beyond it stretched vistas and vistas of inexpressibly dull, infinitely
+depressing fields.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Once this house had been painted lavender, but now it was faded. Its roof, once
+red, had turned dark brown. But the pillars of the terrace were still quite
+strong, the little arbours in the garden were intact, and there was an
+Aphrodite in the shrubbery.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It seemed as if the old house were full of memories. It stood, as it were,
+dreaming, recalling, lapsing finally into a mood of sorrow at the overwhelming
+flood of doleful memories.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Everything in this house was as before, as in those days when the whole family
+lived there together in the summer, when Borya was yet alive.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, in the old manor, lived only women: Borya&rsquo;s grandmother, Elena
+Kirillovna Vodolenskaya; Borya&rsquo;s mother, Sofia Alexandrovna Ozoreva; and
+Borya&rsquo;s sister, Natalya Vasilyevna. The old grandmother, and the mother,
+and the young girl appeared tranquil, and at times even cheerful. It was the
+second year of their awaiting in the old house the youngest of the family,
+Boris. Boris who was no longer among the living.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They hardly spoke of him to one another; yet their thoughts, their memories,
+and their musings of him filled their days. At times dark threads of grief
+stole in among the even woof of these thoughts and reveries; and tears fell
+bitterly and ceaselessly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the midday sun rested overhead, when the sad moon beckoned, when the rosy
+dawn blew its cool breezes, when the evening sun blazed its red
+laughter&mdash;these were the four points between which their spirits
+fluctuated from evening joy to high midday sorrow. Swayed involuntarily, all
+three of them felt the sympathy and antipathy of the hours, each mood in turn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The happiness of dawn, the bright, midday sadness, the joy of dusk, the pale
+pining of night. The four emotions lifted them infinitely higher than the rope
+upon which Borya had swung, upon which Borya had died.
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="linknote-1" id="linknote-1"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-1">[1]</a> 
+In collaboration with Anastasya Chebotarevskaya.
+</p>
+
+<h3>II</h3>
+
+<p>
+At pale-rose dawn, when the merrily green, harmoniously white birches bend
+their wet branches before the windows, just beyond the little patch of sand by
+the round flower-bed; at pale-rose dawn&mdash;when a fresh breeze comes blowing
+from the bathing pond&mdash;then wakes Natasha, the first of the three.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What a joy it is to wake at dawn! To throw aside the cool cover of muslin, to
+rest upon the elbow, upon one&rsquo;s side, and to look out of the window with
+large, dark, sad eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Out of the window the sky is visible, seeming quite low over the white distant
+birches. A pale vermilion sunrise brightly suffuses its soft fire through the
+thin mist which stretches over the earth. There is in its quiet, gently joyous
+flame a great tension of young fears and of half-conscious desires; what
+tension, what happiness, and what sadness! It smiles through the dew of sweet
+morning tears, over white lilies-of-the-valley, over the blue violets of the
+broad fields.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Wherefore tears! To what end the grief of night!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There, close to the window, hangs a sprig of sweet-flag, banishing all evil. It
+was put there by the grandmother, and the old nurse insists on its staying
+there. It trembles in the air, the sprig of sweet-flag, and smiles its dry
+green smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha&rsquo;s face lapses into a quiet, rosy serenity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The earth awakes in its fresh morning vigour. The voices of newly-roused life
+reach Natasha. Here the restless twitter of birds comes from among the swaying
+damp branches. There in the distance can be heard the prolonged trill of a
+horn. Elsewhere, quite near, on the path by the window, there are sounds of
+something walking with a heavy, stamping tread. The cheerful neighing of a foal
+is heard, and from another quarter the protracted lowing of sullen cows.
+</p>
+
+<h3>III</h3>
+
+<p>
+Natasha rises, smiles at something, and goes quickly to the window. Her window
+looks down upon the earth from a height. It is in three sections, in the
+mezzanine. Natasha does not draw the curtains across it at night, so as not to
+hide from her drowsing eyes the comforting glimmer of the stars and the
+witching face of the moon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What happiness it is to open the window, to fling it wide open with a vigorous
+thrust of the hand! From the direction of the river the gentlest of morning
+breezes comes blowing into Natasha&rsquo;s face, still somewhat rapt in sleep.
+Beyond the garden and the hedges she can see the broad fields beloved from
+childhood. Spread over them are sloping hillocks, rows of ploughed soil, green
+groves, and clusters of shrubbery.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The river winds its way among the green, full of capricious turnings. White
+tufts of mist, dispersing gradually, hang over it like fragments of a torn
+veil. The stream, visible in places, is more often hidden by some projection of
+its low bank, but in the far distance its path is marked by dense masses of
+willow-herb, which stand out dark green against the bright grass.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+Natasha washed herself quickly; it was pleasant to feel the cold water upon her
+shoulders and upon her neck. Then, childlike, she prayed diligently before the
+ikon in the dark corner, her knees not upon the rug but upon the bare floor, in
+the hope that it might please God.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She repeated her daily prayer:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perform a miracle, O Lord!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And she bent her face to the floor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She rose. Then quickly she put on her gay, light dress with broad
+shoulder-straps, cut square on the breast, and a leather belt, drawn in at the
+back with a large buckle. Quickly she plaited her dark braids, and deftly wound
+them round her head. With a flourish she stuck into them horn combs and
+hairpins, the first that came to her hand. She threw over her shoulders a grey,
+knitted kerchief, pleasantly soft in texture, and made haste to go out onto the
+terrace of the old house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The narrow inner staircase creaked gently under Natasha&rsquo;s light step. It
+was pleasant to feel the contact of the cold hard floor of planks under her
+warm feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Natasha descended and passed down the corridor and through the
+dining-room, she walked on tip-toe so as to awaken neither her mother nor her
+grandmother. Upon her face was a sweet expression of cheerful preoccupation,
+and between her brows a slight contraction. This contraction had remained as it
+was formed in those other days.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The curtains in the dining-room were still drawn. The room seemed dark and
+oppressive. She wanted to run through quickly, past the large drawn-out table.
+She had no wish to stop at the sideboard to snatch something to eat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Quicker, quicker! Toward freedom, toward the open, toward the smiles of the
+careless dawn which does not think of wearisome yesterdays.
+</p>
+
+<h3>IV</h3>
+
+<p>
+It was bright and refreshing on the terrace. Natasha&rsquo;s light-coloured
+dress suddenly kindled with the pale-rose smiles of the early sun. A soft
+breeze blew from the garden. It caressed and kissed Natasha&rsquo;s feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha seated herself in a wicker chair, and leant her slender rosy elbows
+upon the broad parapet of the terrace. She directed her gaze toward the gate
+between the hedges beyond which the grey silent road was visible, gently serene
+in the pale rose light.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha looked long, intently, with a steady pensive gaze in her dark eyes. A
+small vein quivered at the left corner of her mouth. The left brow trembled
+almost imperceptibly. The vertical contraction between her eyes defined itself
+rather sharply. Equal to the fixity of the tremulous, ruby-like flame of the
+rising sun, was the fixed vision of her very intent, motionless eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If an observer were to give a long and searching look at Natasha as she sat
+there in the sunrise, it would seem to him that she was not observing what was
+before her, but that her intent gaze was fixed on something very far away, at
+something that was not in sight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was as though she wished to see some one who was not there, some one she was
+waiting for, some one who will come&mdash;who will come to-day. Only let the
+miracle happen. Yes, the miracle!
+</p>
+
+<h3>V</h3>
+
+<p>
+Natasha&rsquo;s grey daily routine was before her. It was always the same,
+always in the same place. And as yesterday, as to-morrow, as always, the same
+people. Eternal unchanging people.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A <i>muzhik</i> walked along with a monotonous swing, the iron heels of his
+boots striking the hard clay of the road with a resounding clang. A peasant
+woman walked unsteadily by, softly rustling her way through the dewy grass,
+showing her sunburnt legs. Regarding the old house with a kind of awe, a number
+of sweet, sunburnt, dirty, white-haired urchins ran by.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Past the house, always past it. No one thought of stopping at the gate. And no
+one saw the young girl behind that pillar of the terrace.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sweet-briar bloomed near the gate. It let fall its first pale-rose petals on
+the yellow sandy path, petals of heavenly innocence even in their actual fall.
+The roses in the garden exhaled their sweet, passionate perfume. At the terrace
+itself, reflecting the light of the sky, they flaunted their bright rosy
+smiles, their aromatic shameless dreams and desires, innocent as all was
+innocent in the primordial paradise, innocent as only the perfumes of roses are
+innocent upon this earth. White tobacco plants and red poppies bloomed in one
+part of the garden. And just beyond a marble Aphrodite gleamed white, like some
+eternal emblem of beauty, in the green, refreshing, aromatic, joyous life of
+this passing day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha said quietly to herself: &ldquo;He must have changed a great deal.
+Perhaps I shan&rsquo;t know him when he comes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And quietly she answered herself: &ldquo;But I would know him at once by his
+voice and his eyes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And listening intently she seemed to hear his deep, sonorous voice. Then she
+seemed to see his dark eyes, and their flaming, dauntless, youthfully-bold
+glance. And again she listened intently and gave a searching look into the
+great distance. She bent down lightly, and inclined her sensitive ear toward
+something while her glance, pensive and motionless, seemed no less fixed. It
+was as though she had stopped suddenly in an attitude, tense and not a little
+wild.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The rosy smile of the now blazing sunrise timidly played on Natasha&rsquo;s
+pale face.
+</p>
+
+<h3>VI</h3>
+
+<p>
+A voice in the distance gave a cry, and there was an answering echo.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha shivered. She started, sighed, and then rose. Down the low, broad steps
+she descended into the garden, and found herself on the sandy path. The fine
+grey sand grated under her small and narrow feet, which left behind their
+delicate traces.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha approached the white marble statue.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a long time she gazed upon the tranquil beauty of the goddess&rsquo;s face,
+so remote from her own tedious, dried-up life, and then upon the ever-youthful
+form, nude and unashamed, radiating freedom. Roses bloomed at the foot of the
+plain pedestal. They added the enchantment of their brief aromatic existence to
+the enchantment of eternal beauty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Very quietly Natasha addressed the Aphrodite.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If he should come to-day, I will put into the buttonhole of his jacket
+the most scarlet, the most lovely of these roses. He is swarthy, and his eyes
+are dark&mdash;yes, I shall take the most scarlet of your roses!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The goddess smiled. Gathering up with her beautiful hands the serene draperies
+which fell about her knees, silently but unmistakably she answered,
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Natasha said again: &ldquo;I will plait a wreath of scarlet roses, and I
+will let down my hair, my long, dark hair; and I will put on the wreath, and I
+will dance and laugh and sing, to comfort him, to make him joyous.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And again the goddess said to her, &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha spoke again: &ldquo;You will remember him. You will recognize him. You
+gods remember everything. Only we people forget. In order to destroy and to
+create&mdash;ourselves and you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And in the silence of the white marble was clear the eternal &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo;
+the comforting answer, &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha sighed and took her eyes from the statue. The sunrise blazed into a
+flame; the joyous garden smiled with the radiations of dawn&rsquo;s
+ever-youthful, triumphant laughter.
+</p>
+
+<h3>VII</h3>
+
+<p>
+Then Natasha went quietly toward the gate. There again she looked a long time
+down the road. She had her hand on the gate in an attitude of expectation,
+ready, as it were, to swing it wide open before him who was coming, before him
+whom she awaited.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Stirring the grey dust of the road the refreshing early wind blew softly into
+Natasha&rsquo;s face, and whispered in her ears persistent, evil and ominous
+things, as though it envied her expectation, her tense calm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O wind, you who blow everywhere, you know all, you come and you go at will, and
+you pursue your way into the endless beyond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O wind, you who blow everywhere, perchance you have flown into the regions
+where he is? Perchance you have brought tidings of him?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If you would but bring hither a single sigh from him, or bear one hence to him;
+if but the light, pale shadow of a word.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the early wind blows a flush comes to Natasha&rsquo;s face, and a flame to
+her eyes; her red lips quiver, a few tears appear, her slender form sways
+slightly&mdash;all this when the wind blows, the cool, the desolate, the
+unmindful, the infinitely wise wind. It blows, and in its blowing there is the
+sense of fleeting, irrevocable time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It blows, and it stings, and it brings sadness, and pitilessly it goes on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It goes on, and the frail dust falls back in the road, grey-rose yet dim in the
+dawn. It has wiped out all its traces, it has forgotten all who have walked
+upon it, and it lies faintly rose in the dawn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There is a gnawing at the heart from the sweet sadness of expectation. Some one
+seems to stand near Natasha, whispering in her ear: &ldquo;He will come. He is
+on the way. Go and meet him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<h3>VIII</h3>
+
+<p>
+Natasha opens the gate and goes quickly down the road in the direction of the
+distant railway station. Having walked as far as the hillock by the river, one
+and a half versts away, Natasha pauses and looks into the distance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A clear view of the road is to be had from this hillock. Somewhere below, among
+the meadows, a curlew gives a sharp cry. The pleasant smell of the damp grass
+fills the air.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sun is rising. Suddenly everything becomes white, bright, and clear.
+Joyousness fills the great open expanse. On the top of the hillock the morning
+wind blows more strongly and more sweetly. It seems to have forgotten its
+desolation and its grief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The grass is quite wet with dew. How gently it clings to her ankles. It is
+resplendent in its multi-coloured, gem-like, tear-like glitter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The red sun rises slowly but triumphantly above the blue mist of the horizon.
+In its bright red flame there is a hidden foreboding of quiet melancholy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha lowers her glance upon the wet grass. Sweet little flowers! She
+recognizes the flower of faithfulness, the blue periwinkle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here also, quite near, reminiscent of death, is the black madwort. But what of
+that? Is it not everywhere? Soothe us, soothe us, little blue flowers!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will not pluck a single one of you; not one of you will I plait into
+my wreath.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She stands, waiting, watching.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Were he to show himself in the road she would recognize him even in the
+distance. But no&mdash;there is no one. The road is deserted, and the misty
+distances are dumb.
+</p>
+
+<h3>IX</h3>
+
+<p>
+Natasha remains standing a little while, then turns back. Her feet sink in the
+wet grass. The tall stalks half wind themselves round her ankles and rustle
+against the hem of her light-coloured dress. Natasha&rsquo;s graceful arms,
+half hidden by the grey knitted kerchief, hang subdued at her sides. Her eyes
+have already lost their fixed expression, and have begun to jump from object to
+object.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How often have they walked this road, all together, her little sisters, and
+Borya! They were noisy with merriment. What did they not talk about! Their
+quarrels! What proud songs they sang! Now she was alone, and there was no sign
+of Borya.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Why were they waiting for him? In what manner would he come? She did not know.
+Perhaps she would not recognize him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There awakens in Natasha&rsquo;s heart a presentiment of bitter thoughts. With
+a heavy rustle an evil serpent begins to stir in the darkness of her wearied
+memory.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Slowly and sorrowfully Natasha turns her steps homeward. Her eyes are drowsy
+and seem to look aimlessly, with fallen and fatigued glances. The grass now
+seems disagreeably damp, the wind malicious; her feet feel the wet, and the hem
+of her thin dress has grown heavy with moisture. The new light of a new day,
+resplendent, glimmering with the play of the laughing dew, resounding with the
+hum of birds and the voices of human folk, becomes again for Natasha tiresomely
+blatant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What does a new day matter? Why invoke the unattainable?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The murmur of pitiless memory, at first faint, grows more audible. The heavy
+burden of insurmountable sorrow falls on the heart like an aspen-grey weight.
+The heart feels proudly the pressure of the inexpressibly painful foreboding of
+tears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she nears the house Natasha increases her pace. Faster and yet faster, in
+response to the growing beat of her sorrowful heart, she is running over the
+dry clay of the road, over the wet grass of the bypath, trodden by pedestrians,
+over the moist, crunching, sandy footpaths of the garden, which still treasure
+the gentle traces left by her at dawn. Natasha runs across the warm planks, as
+yet unswept of dust and litter. And she no longer tries to step lightly and
+inaudibly. She stumbles across the astonished, open-mouthed Glasha. She runs
+impetuously and noisily up the stairway to her room, and throws herself on the
+bed. She pulls the coverlet over her head, and falls asleep.
+</p>
+
+<h3>X</h3>
+
+<p>
+Borya&rsquo;s grandmother, Elena Kirillovna, sleeps below. She is old, and she
+cannot sleep in the morning; but never in all her life has she risen early; so
+even now she is awake only a little later than Natasha. Elena Kirillovna,
+straight, thin, motionless, the back of her head resting on the pillow, lies
+for a long time waiting for the maid to bring her a cup of coffee&mdash;she has
+long ago accustomed herself to have her coffee in bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna has a dry, yellow face, marked with many wrinkles; but her
+eyes are still sparkling, and her hair is black, especially by day, when she
+uses a cosmetic.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The maid Glasha is habitually late. She sleeps well in the morning, for in the
+evening she loves to stroll over to the bridge in the village. The harmonica
+makes merry there, and on holidays all sorts of jolly folk and maidens dance
+and sing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna rings a number of times. In the end the unanswering stillness
+behind the door begins to irritate her. Sadly she turns on her side, grumbling.
+She stretches her dry, yellow hand forward and with a kind of concentrated
+intentness presses her bent, bony finger a long time on the white bell-button
+lying on the little round table at her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last Glasha hears the prolonged, jarring ring above her head. She jumps
+quickly from her bed, and anxiously gropes about for something or other in her
+narrow quarters under the stairway of the mezzanine; then she throws a skirt
+over her head, and hurries to her old mistress. While running she arranges
+somehow her heavy, tangled braids.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glasha&rsquo;s face is angry and sleepy. She reels in her drowsiness. On the
+way to her mistress&rsquo;s bedroom the morning air refreshes her a little. She
+faces her mistress looking more or less normal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glasha has on a pink skirt and a white blouse. In the semi-darkness of the
+curtained windows her sunburnt arms and strong legs seem almost white. Young,
+strong, rustic and impetuous, she suddenly appears before her old
+mistress&rsquo;s bed, her vigorous tread causing the heavy metal bed with its
+nickelled posts and surmounting knobs to rattle slightly, and the tumbler on
+the small round table to tinkle against the flagon.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XI</h3>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna greets Glasha with her customary observation:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Glasha, when am I to have my coffee? I ring and ring, and no one comes.
+You, girl, seem to sleep like the dead.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glasha&rsquo;s face assumes a look of astonishment and fear. Restraining a
+yawn, she bends down to put a disarranged rug in order, and puts a pair of
+soft, worn slippers closer to the bed. Then assuming an excessively tender,
+deferential tone which old gentlewomen like in their servants, she remarks:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Forgive me, <i>barinya</i>,<a href="#linknote-2" name="linknoteref-2"
+id="linknoteref-2">[2]</a> it shan&rsquo;t take a minute. But how early you are
+awake to-day, <i>barinya</i>! Did you have a bad night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna replies:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What sort of sleep can one except at my age! Get me my coffee a little
+more quickly, and I will try to get up.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She now speaks more calmly, despite the capricious note in her voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glasha replies heartily:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This very minute, <i>barinya</i>. You shall have it at once.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And she turns about to go out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna stops her with an angry exclamation:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Glasha, where are you going? You seem to forget, no matter how often I
+tell you! Draw the curtains aside.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glasha, with some agility, thrusts back the curtains of the two windows and
+flies out of the room. She is rather low of stature and slender, and one can
+tell from her face that she is intelligent, but the sound of her rapid
+footsteps is measured and heavy, giving the impression that the runner is
+large, powerful, heavy, and capable of doing everything but what requires
+lightness. The mistress grumbles, looking after her:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lord, how she stamps with her feet! She spares neither the floor nor her
+own heels!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="linknote-2" id="linknote-2"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-2">[2]</a> 
+Means &ldquo;gentlewoman,&rdquo; and is a common form of salutation from
+servant to mistress.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XII</h3>
+
+<p>
+At last the sound of Glasha&rsquo;s feet dies away in the echoing silence of
+the long corridor. The old lady lies, waiting, thinking. She is once more
+straight and motionless under her bed-cover, and very yellow and very still.
+Her whole life seems to be concentrated in the living sparkle of her keen eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sun, still low, throws a subdued rosy light on the wall facing her. The
+bedroom is lit-up and quiet. Swift atoms of dust are dancing about in the air.
+There is a glitter on the glass of the photographic portraits which hang on the
+wall, as well as on the narrow gilt rims of their black frames.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna looks at the portraits. Her keen, youthfully sparkling eyes
+carefully scrutinize the beloved faces. Many of these are no longer upon the
+earth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Borya&rsquo;s portrait is a large one, in a broad dark frame. It is a young
+face, the face of a seventeen-year-old lad, quite smooth and with dark eyes.
+The upper lip shows a small but vigorous growth of hair. The lips are tightly
+compressed and the entire face gives the impression of an indomitable will.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna looks long at the portrait, and recalls Borya. Of all her
+grandsons she loved him best. And now she is recalling him. She sees him as he
+had once looked. Where is he now? Before long Borya will return. She will be
+overjoyed, her eyes will have their fill of him. But how soon?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It comforts the old woman to think, &ldquo;It can&rsquo;t be very long.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Some one has just run past her window, giving a shrill cry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna, turning in her bed, looks out of the window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The white acacia trees before the window, gaily rustling their leaves, smile
+innocently, naïvely and cheerily. Behind them, looming densely, are the tops of
+the birches and of the limes. Some of the branches lean toward the window.
+Their harsh rustle evokes a memory in Elena Kirillovna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If Borya were but to cry out like that! He had loved this garden. He had loved
+the white bloom of the acacia trees, and he had loved to gather the little
+field flowers. He used to bring her some. He liked cornflowers specially.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XIII</h3>
+
+<p>
+At last Glasha has come with the coffee. She has placed a silver tray on the
+little round table near the bed. Above the broad blue-and-gold porcelain cup
+rises a thin bluish cloud of steam.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna draws her scant body higher upon the pillows, and sits upright
+in her bed; she seems straight, dry, and thin in her white night-jacket. With
+trembling hands she very fastidiously rearranges the ribbons of her white
+ruffled nightcap.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glasha, with great solicitude and skill, has placed a number of pillows at her
+back, and these piled up high make a soft wall of comfort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The little silver spoon held by the old dry fingers rings with fragile laughter
+as it stirs the sugar in the cup. Afterwards out of a small milk-jug comes a
+generous helping of boiled milk. And Glasha, having shifted somewhat to the
+side in order to catch a stealthy look of herself in the mirror, goes out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna sips her coffee slowly. She breaks a sugared biscuit, throws
+half of it in the cup, and leaves it there for a time. Then, when it is
+completely softened, she carefully takes it out with the little spoon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna&rsquo;s teeth are still quite strong. She is very proud of
+this; nevertheless she has preferred of late to eat softer things. She munches
+away at the wet biscuit. Her face expresses gratification. Her small, keen eyes
+sparkle merrily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the coffee is finished Elena Kirillovna lies down again. She dozes for
+half an hour on her back, under the bed-cover. Then she rings again and waits.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XIV</h3>
+
+<p>
+Glasha comes in. She has had time to comb her hair and to put on a pink blouse,
+and this makes her seem even thinner. As she is in no haste her footfalls sound
+even heavier than before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glasha approaches her mistress&rsquo;s bed and silently throws the bed-cover
+aside. She helps Elena Kirillovna to sit on the bed, holding her up under the
+arm. Then, getting down on her knees, she helps her mistress to put on her long
+black stockings and her soft grey slippers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna holds on to Glasha&rsquo;s shoulder with her trembling,
+nervous hands. She envies Glasha&rsquo;s youth, strength, and naïve simplicity.
+Grumbling under her breath at her unfortunate lot, Elena Kirillovna imagines in
+her dejection that she would be willing to sacrifice all her comfort to become
+like Glasha, a common servant-maid with coarse hands and feet red from rough
+usage and the wet&mdash;if she could but possess the youth, the cheerfulness,
+the sang-froid, and the happiness attainable upon this earth only by the
+stupid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old woman grumbles often at her fate, but is quite unwilling to give up a
+single one of her gentlewoman&rsquo;s habits.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glasha says, &ldquo;All ready, <i>barinya.</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now my capote, Glasha,&rdquo; Elena Kirillovna says as she gets up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Glasha herself knows what is wanted. She deftly puts on Elena
+Kirillovna&rsquo;s shoulders a white flannel robe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now you may go, Glashenka. I will ring if I want you again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<h3>XV</h3>
+
+<p>
+Glasha goes. She hurries to the veranda staircase.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here she washes herself a second time in a clay turn-over basin, which is
+attached by a rope to one of the posts of the veranda; she quickly plunges her
+face and hands in the water that had been left there overnight. She splashes
+the water a long way off on the green grass, on the lilac-grey planks of the
+staircase and on her feet, which are red from the early morning freshness and
+from the tender contact with the dewy grass in the vegetable garden. She laughs
+happily at herself&mdash;because she is a young, healthy girl, because the
+early morning freshness caresses the length of her strong, swift body with
+brisk cool strokes; and finally, because not far away, in the village, there is
+a lively and handsome young fellow, not unlike herself, who pays attention to
+her and whom she is rather fond of. It is true that her mother scolds her on
+his account, because the young man is poor. But what&rsquo;s that to Glasha?
+Not for nothing is there an adage:
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+&ldquo;Without bread &rsquo;tis very sad,<br />
+Still sadder &rsquo;tis without a lad.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glasha laughs loudly and merrily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Stepanida cries at her from the kitchen window: &ldquo;Glash, Glash, why do you
+neigh like a horse?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glasha laughs, makes no reply, and goes off.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Stepanida puts her simple, red face out of the window and asks: &ldquo;I wonder
+what&rsquo;s the matter with her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She receives no answer, for there is no one to reply. Out of doors all is
+deserted. Only somewhere from behind the barn the languid voices of working-men
+can be heard.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XVI</h3>
+
+<p>
+In the meantime Elena Kirillovna kneels down with a sigh before the ikon in her
+bedroom. She prays a long time. Conscientiously she repeats all the prayers she
+knows. Her dry, raspberry-coloured lips stir slightly. Her face has a severe,
+concentrated expression. All her wrinkles seem also austere, weary, callous.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There are many words in her prayers&mdash;holy, lofty, touching words. But
+because of their frequent repetition their meaning has become, as it were,
+hardened, stereotyped and ordinary; the tears which appear in her eyes are
+habitual tears wrung out by her antique emotion, and have no relation to the
+secret trepidation of impossible hopes which have stolen into the old
+woman&rsquo;s heart of late.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Diligently her lips murmur prayers each day for the forgiveness of sins,
+voluntary and involuntary, committed in deed, in word, or in thought; prayers
+for the purification of our souls of all defilement; and again words concerning
+our impieties, our evil actions, our disregard of commandments, our general
+unworthiness, our worldly frailty, and the temptations of Satan; and again
+concerning the accursed soul and the accursed body and the sensual life; and
+her words embrace only universal evil and all-pervading depravity. Surely these
+prayers were composed for Titans, created to reconstruct the universe, but who,
+out of shamefaced indolence, are attending to this business with their arms
+hanging at their sides.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And not a word does she utter of her own, her personal affliction, of what is
+in her soul.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old, dried-up lips mumble of mercy, of generosity, of brotherly love, of
+the holy life&mdash;of all those lofty regions pouring out their bounty upon
+all creation. And not a word of the miracle, awaited eagerly and with
+trepidation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But here are words for those who are in prison and in exile; it is a prayer for
+their liberation, for their redemption.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here is something at last about Borya.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Freedom and redemption....
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the prayer runs on and on, and it is again for strangers, for distant
+people, for the universal; only for an instant, and then lightly, does she
+pause to put in something for herself, for her desire, for what is in her
+heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then for the dead&mdash;for those others, the long since departed, the almost
+forgotten, the resurrected only in word in the hour of these strangers, prayed
+for in this easy, gliding way all the world over where piety reigns.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The prayers are ended. Elena Kirillovna lingers for a moment. She has an air of
+having forgotten to say something indispensable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What else? Or has she said all?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All&rdquo;&mdash;some one seems to say simply, softly and inexorably.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna rises from her knees. She goes to the window. Her soul is calm
+and self-contained. The prayer has not left her in a mood of piety, but has
+relieved her weary soul for a brief time of its material, matter-of-fact
+existence.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XVII</h3>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna looks out of the window. She is returning, as it were, once
+more from some dark, abstract world to the bright, profusely-coloured, resonant
+impressions of a rough, cheery, not altogether disagreeable life.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Small white clouds tinged with red float slowly in the heights and merge
+imperceptibly in the vivid blue. Ablaze like a piece of coal at red heat their
+soul seems to fuse with their cold white bodies, to consume them as well as
+itself with fire, and to sink exhausted in the cold blue heights. The sun, as
+yet invisible behind the left wing of the house, has already begun to pour upon
+the garden its warm and glowing waves of laughter, joy and light, animating the
+flowers and birds.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, it&rsquo;s time to dress,&rdquo; Elena Kirillovna says to herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She rings.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Soon Glasha appears and helps Elena Kirillovna to dress.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last she is ready. She casts a final look in the mirror to see that
+everything is in order.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna&rsquo;s hair is very neatly combed, and lightly brushed down
+with a cosmetic. This makes it shine and appear as though it were glued
+together. At her every movement in the light there is visible, from right to
+left, a slender silver thread, due to the reflection of light at the parting of
+the smoothed coiffure. Her face shows slight traces of powder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna&rsquo;s dress is always of a light colour, when not actually
+white, and of the simplest cut. The small soft ruffle of the broad collar hides
+her neck and chin. She has already substituted for her dressing slippers a pair
+of light summer shoes.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XVIII</h3>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna enters the dining-room. She looks on as the table is being
+laid for breakfast. She always notes the slightest disorder. She grumbles
+quietly as she picks up something from one place on the table and puts it in
+another.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then she goes into the large, unused front room, with its closed door on to the
+staircase of the front façade. She walks along the corridor to the vestibule
+and to the back staircase. She stops on the high landing, wrinkles up her face
+from the sun, and looks down to see what is going on in the yard. Small, quite
+erect, like a young school-girl with a yellow, wrinkled face which expresses at
+the moment a severe domestic concern, she stands, looks on, and is silent; she
+is, it seems, unnecessary here. No one pays her the slightest attention.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good morning, Stepanida,&rdquo; she calls out. Stepanida, a buxom,
+red-cheeked maid in a bright red dress, under which is visible a strip of her
+white chemise and her stout sunburnt legs, is attending to the samovar at the
+bottom of the stairs, and is vigorously blowing to set the fire going. Upon her
+head is a neatly-arranged green kerchief, which hides her folded braids of hair
+like a head-dress.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The bulging sides of the samovar glow radiantly in the sun. Its bent chimney
+sends out a curl of blue smoke, which smells sharply, pungently, and not
+altogether disagreeably, of juniper and tar.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In answer to the old mistress&rsquo;s greeting Stepanida raises her broad,
+cheerfully-preoccupied face, with its small, dark brown eyes, and says in
+prolonged caressing tones, sing-song fashion:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good morning to you, <i>matushka barinya</i>.<a href="#linknote-3"
+name="linknoteref-3" id="linknoteref-3">[3]</a> It&rsquo;s a fine morning, to
+be sure. How warm it is, by the grace of God! And you&rsquo;re up early,
+<i>matushka barinya</i>!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her words are indeed honeyed, and above in the sweet air an early, shaggy bee
+hovers, with a thick buzzing, tremulously golden in the clear, fluid haze of
+the early, gentle sun. Silent again, Stepanida is once more busy with the
+samovar; the disenchanted bee flies away, its buzzing growing less and less
+audible behind the fence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The pungent smell of tar causes Elena Kirillovna to frown. She says:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What makes the thing smell so strongly? You had better leave it for a
+while, or you will get giddy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Stepanida, without moving, answers languidly and indifferently:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s nothing, <i>barinya</i>. We are used to it. It&rsquo;s but a
+slight smell, and it is the juniper.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Through the blue, curling smoke of juniper her sweet voice seems dull and
+bitter. There is a tickling at Elena Kirillovna&rsquo;s throat. There is a
+slight giddiness in her head. Elena Kirillovna makes haste to go. She descends
+the staircase, and proceeds upon her customary morning stroll.
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="linknote-3" id="linknote-3"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-3">[3]</a> 
+Literally: &ldquo;Little mother&mdash;gentlewoman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<h3>XIX</h3>
+
+<p>
+Glasha soon overtakes her. With an exaggerated loudness she runs stamping down
+the stairs, showing a wing-like glimmer of her strong legs from under the pink
+skirt, set a-flutter by her vigorous movement. She calls out in a clear,
+solicitously joyous voice:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Barinya</i>, you have come out! The sun will scorch you. I&rsquo;ve
+fetched your hat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The yellow straw hat, with its lavender ribbon, glimmers in Glasha&rsquo;s
+hands like some strange, low-fluttering bird.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna, as she puts the hat on, says: &ldquo;Why do you run about in
+such disorder! You ought to tidy yourself&mdash;you know whom we are
+expecting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glasha is silent, and her face assumes a compassionate expression. For a long
+time she looks after her strolling mistress, then she smiles and walks back.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Stepanida asks her in a loud whisper: &ldquo;Well, is she still expecting her
+grandson?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rather!&rdquo; Glasha replies compassionately. &ldquo;And it&rsquo;s
+simply pitiful to look at them. They never stop thinking about him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the meanwhile Elena Kirillovna makes her way across the vegetable garden,
+past the labourers and the servants in the stockyard, and then across the
+field. Near the garden fence she enters the road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There, not far from the garden, in the shade of an old, spreading lime, stands
+a bench&mdash;a board upon two supports, which still shows traces of having
+been once painted green. From this place a view is to be had of the road, of
+the garden, and of the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna seats herself upon the bench. She looks out on the road. She
+sits quietly, seeming so small, so slender, and so erect. She waits a long
+time. She falls into a doze.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Through the thin haze of slumber she can see a beloved, smooth face smiling,
+and she can hear a quiet, dear voice calling:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Grandma!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She gives a start and opens her eyes. There is no one there. But she waits. She
+believes and waits.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XX</h3>
+
+<p>
+There is a lightness in the air. The road is radiant and tranquil. A gentle,
+refreshing breeze softly passes and repasses her. The sun is warming her old
+bones, it is caressing her lean back through her dress. Everything round her
+rejoices in the green, the golden, and the blue. The foliage of the birches, of
+the willows, and of the limes in full bloom is rustling quietly. From the
+fields comes the honeyed smell of clover.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Oh, how light and lovely the air is upon the earth!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How beautiful thou art, my earth, my golden, my emerald, my sapphire earth!
+Who, born to thy heritage would care to die, would care to close his eyes upon
+thy serene beauties and upon thy magnificent spaces? Who, resting in thee, damp
+Mother Earth, would not wish to rise, would not wish to return to thy
+enchantments and to thy delights? And what stern fate shall drive one who is
+aflame with life-thirst to seek the shelter of death?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Upon the road where once he walked he shall walk again. Upon the earth, which
+still preserves his footprints, he shall walk again. Borya, the
+grandmother&rsquo;s beloved Borya, shall return.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A golden bee flies by. It seems to say, the golden bee, that Borya will return
+to the quiet of the old house and will taste the fragrant honey&mdash;the sweet
+gift of the wise bees, buzzing under the sun upon the beloved earth. The old
+grandmother, in her joy, will place before the ikon of the Virgin a candle of
+the purest bees&rsquo;-wax&mdash;a gift of the wise bees, buzzing away among
+the gold of the sun&rsquo;s rays&mdash;a gift to man and a gift to God.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Women and girls of the village pass by with their sunburnt, wind-swept faces.
+They greet the <i>barinya</i> and look at her with compassion. Elena Kirillovna
+smiles at them, and addresses them in her usual gentle manner:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good morning, my dears!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They pass by. Their loud voices die away in the distance, and Elena Kirillovna
+soon forgets them. They will pass by once more that day, when the time comes.
+They will pass by. They will return. Upon the road, where their dusty
+footprints remain, they will pass by once more.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXI</h3>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna suddenly awoke from her drowse and looked at the things before
+her with a perplexed gaze. Everything seemed to be clear, bright, free from
+care&mdash;and relentless.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Inevitably the triumphant sun rose higher in the heavens&rsquo; dome. Grown
+powerful, wise and resplendent, it seemed indifferent now to oppressive earthly
+melancholy and to sweet earthly delights. And its laughter was high, joyless,
+and sorrowless.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Everything as before was green, blue and gold, many-toned and vividly tinted;
+truly all the objects of nature showed the real colour of their souls in honour
+of this feast of light. But the fine dust upon the silent road had already lost
+its rose tinge, and stirred before the wind like a grey, depressing veil. And
+when the wind calmed down, the dust slowly fell back upon the road, like a
+grey, blind serpent which, trailing its fat, fantastic belly, falls back
+exhausted, gasping its last breath.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All monotony had become wearisome. This inevitable recurrence of lucid moments
+began to torment Elena Kirillovna with the grey foreboding of sadness, of
+bitter tears, of unanswered prayers, and of a profound hopelessness.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXII</h3>
+
+<p>
+Glasha appeared at the garden gate. She glanced cheerfully along both sides of
+the road. Walking more slowly she approached Elena Kirillovna deferentially.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glasha looked quite ordinary now, stiff-mannered and stupid. There was nothing
+to envy in her. Her dress too was quite common-place. Her braids were arranged
+upon her head quite like a young lady&rsquo;s, and held fast by three combs of
+transparent bone. Her blouse was light-coloured&mdash;pink stripes and lavender
+flowers on a ground of white&mdash;its short sleeves reached the elbows. She
+wore a neat blue skirt and a white apron.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna asked:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, what is it, Glashenka? Is Sonyushka up yet?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glasha replied in a respectful voice:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sofia Alexandrovna is getting up. She wants me to ask you if we shall
+lay the table on the terrace?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, yes, let it be on the terrace. And how is Natashenka?&rdquo; asked
+Elena Kirillovna, looking anxiously at Glasha.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The young lady is asleep,&rdquo; answered Glasha. &ldquo;To-day again,
+quite early, she went out for a walk straight from bed, without so much as a
+bite of something. Her skirt&rsquo;s wet with dew. She might have caught a
+cold. And now she sleeps. If you&rsquo;d but talk to her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna said irresolutely:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well. I had better be going. All right, Glasha.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glasha goes. Elena Kirillovna rises slowly from the bench, as though she
+regretted moving from the spot where she saw Borya in a half-dream. Slowly she
+walks toward the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Having reached the gate she pauses, and again looks for some moments down the
+road, in the direction of the station.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A cart rumbles by noisily over the travelled road. The <i>muzhik</i> barely
+holds the reins and rocks from side to side sleepily. The harnessed horse
+swings its tail and its head. A white-haired urchin, in broad blue breeches,
+lets his brown feet hang over the edge of the cart and stares with his bright
+hazel eyes at a gaunt, evil-looking dog which runs after, barking hoarsely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna gives a sigh&mdash;there is as yet no Borya&mdash;and enters
+the garden.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glasha&rsquo;s light-coloured blouse glimmers on the terrace. There is a rattle
+of dishes. The grumbling chatter of Borya&rsquo;s old nurse is also audible.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXIII</h3>
+
+<p>
+The last to awake, with the sun quite high and scorching, is Borya&rsquo;s
+mother, Sofia Alexandrovna. Through the thin bright curtains, drawn for the
+night across the windows, the light fills her bedroom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sofia Alexandrovna awakes with a start, as though some one had touched her
+suddenly or had called to her. With her right hand she impetuously throws aside
+her light white bed-cover. Quickly she sits up in bed, holding her hands over
+her bent knees. For a moment she looks before her at a bare place in the simple
+pattern of the bright green hangings.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sofia Alexandrovna&rsquo;s eyes are dark, wide open, with black, fiery pupils
+which seem lost in the abysmal, depths of their own sorrowful gaze. Her face is
+long, its skin smooth and colourless, though quite fresh and almost free of
+wrinkles. The lips are a vivid red.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sofia Alexandrovna&rsquo;s expression is like that of one faced suddenly with a
+tragic apparition. She rocks herself back and forward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, abruptly, she jumps out of bed with a single spring. She runs to the
+washing-basin of marble mounted on a red stand. She washes herself quickly, as
+though in haste to go somewhere. Now she is at the window. The curtains are
+flung violently aside. She peers anxiously to see what the outlook
+is&mdash;whether there are any clouds in the sky that might bring rain and make
+the road muddy, the road upon which Borya would return home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The heavens are tremulously joyous. The birches are rustling quietly. The
+sparrows are twittering. Everything is green, bright, quivering; everything
+palpitates under the tension of hopes and anticipations. Voices are audible;
+cries of good cheer and sounds of laughter. One of the laughers runs by, as
+though making haste to live.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A torrent of tears floods Sofia Alexandrovna&rsquo;s eyes. Her breast heaves
+visibly under the white linen chemise.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXIV</h3>
+
+<p>
+Sofia Alexandrovna goes to the image. She thrusts aside with her foot the small
+velvet rug which Glasha had purposely laid there the day before. She throws
+herself down on her knees before the image. You hear her knees strike the floor
+softly. Sofia Alexandrovna quietly crosses herself, bends her face to the
+floor, and mutters passionately:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;O Lord, Thou knowest, Thou knowest all, Thou canst do all. Do this, O
+Lord, return him to us, to his mother, return him to-day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her prayer is warm and passionate, quite unlike a prayer. Its words are
+disconnected, and they fall confusedly, like small, broken tears. Her naked
+feet come in contact with the cold, painted floor. And the entire, warm,
+prostrate body of the weeping woman is throbbing and trembling on the boards.
+Her head repeatedly strikes the boards, loosening her dark braids of hair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She does not pray long. The torrents of tears have cleansed her soul, as it
+were; and she becomes at once cheerful and tranquil.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She rises quite, as suddenly, and rings. She seats herself on the edge of the
+bed, and dries her tears with a soft handkerchief. Then she laughs silently.
+She swings one of her feet impatiently, striking the rug in front of the bed
+with the toes. Her eyes wander about the room, but seem to observe nothing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glasha had only just begun to dress, and she had only tied the strings of her
+apron round her slender waist. The sharp impatient ring causes her to start.
+She runs to the <i>barinya</i>, seizing quickly at the same time a pair of
+blackened boots and some clothes from the laundry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sofia Alexandrovna cries in an urgent voice:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now be quick, Glasha. Help me on with my things.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looks on impatiently as Glasha puts down her burden.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The daily ceremony is gone through quickly. Sofia Alexandrovna dresses herself.
+Glasha only draws on her boots, and hooks up her dress behind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Soon Sofia Alexandrovna is quite ready. She gives a brief, vacant look in the
+mirror.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her pale face still seems to be young and handsome. She is slender, like her
+mother, and small in stature. She has on a closely fitting white dress with
+short, wide sleeves. Her coiffure is arranged in a Greek knot, held fast with a
+red ribbon. Her slender, shapely feet are clad in coloured silk stockings and
+white shoes with silver buckles.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXV</h3>
+
+<p>
+Sofia Alexandrovna goes quickly into the dining-room. She pours herself a glass
+of fresh milk out of a jug on the table. She drinks it standing, and munches a
+piece of black bread with it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She orders the things for dinner at the same time. She chooses dishes loved by
+Borya. She stops to recollect whether Borya likes this, or does not like that.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Stepanida listens to her sadly, and replies in a tearful voice:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I know! Why shouldn&rsquo;t I know? It&rsquo;s not the first
+time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glasha asks something. The old, tottering nurse rattles on rather volubly.
+Sofia Alexandrovna answers them mechanically and rapidly. She seems all the
+while to be listening intently, either for the sound of a distant little bell,
+or for the rumble of wheels on the road. She makes her way out in haste. And
+she no longer listens to what is being said to her. She goes out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She enters Borya&rsquo;s study. Everything there is as in the old days, and in
+order. When Borya comes back he will find everything in its place.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sofia Alexandrovna, with great concern, takes a rapid look round the room. She
+wishes to see whether everything is in its place, whether the dust has been
+swept, whether the rug has been laid before the bed, and whether the inkstand
+has been filled with ink. She herself changes the water in the vase which holds
+the cornflowers. If anything is out of place she gives way to tears, then rings
+for Glasha, and heaps reproaches upon her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glasha&rsquo;s face assumes a frightened, compassionate look. In a most humble
+manner she begs forgiveness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sofia Alexandrovna remonstrates with her:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How can you be so careless, Glasha? You know that we are expecting him
+every minute. Suppose he should suddenly come in and find this disorder.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glasha replies humbly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Forgive me, <i>barinya</i>. Don&rsquo;t think any more about it.
+I&rsquo;ll quickly put everything to rights.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she goes out she wipes away two or three tears with her white apron.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXVI</h3>
+
+<p>
+With the same undue haste Sofia Alexandrovna goes into the garden. She sees
+nothing, neither the white Aphrodite nor her roses, on her way to the little
+arbour from which, overlooking a corner of the garden, the road is visible.
+Vividly green in the sun, a four-sloped roof covers the arbour, while hangings
+of coarse cloth, with a red border, serve as a protection against inquisitive
+eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sofia Alexandrovna looks down the road with dark, hungry eyes. She waits
+impatiently, listening to the rapid, uneven beat of her heart; she waits: Borya
+will surely come in sight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The wind blows into her face, and partly conceals it with the hangings; her
+face is pale, and her eyes are dry. The sun warmly kisses her slender arms,
+which lie motionless on the broad, lavender-grey parapet of the arbour.
+Everything is bright, green and gay in the fields, but her eyes are fixed on
+the grey serpent of dust trailing among the freedom of the fields.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If they await him like this surely Borya will come.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But there is no sign of him. In vain her hungry glances penetrate the open
+waste. There is no Borya. More fixed and piercing grows her glance of infinite
+longing upon the road&mdash;but there is no Borya.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Everything is as before, as yesterday, as always. Tranquil, serene and
+pitiless.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXVII</h3>
+
+<p>
+The hour of the early luncheon came. All three sat at the table on the terrace.
+There was a fourth place laid, and a fourth chair, for who could tell whether
+Borya might not arrive at luncheon time!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sun was already high. The day was turning sultry. The fragrance of the red
+roses at the foot of the goddess&rsquo;s pedestal became ever more passionate.
+And the smile of the marble-white Aphrodite was even more clear and serene, as
+she let fall her draperies with a marvellous grace born of eternal movement. In
+the bright sunshine the sand on the footpaths seemed yellow-white. The trees
+cast austere dark shadows. They seemed to exhale an odour of the soil, of sap,
+and of warmth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The women sat so that each one of them, looking beyond the drawn hangings of
+the terrace and over the bushes, could see the short narrow path ending at the
+garden gate, where a part of the road was also visible; they could not fail to
+observe every passer-by and every vehicle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But during this hour of the day hardly anyone ever walked or drove by the old
+house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glasha waited on them. She had on a newly-laundered cap with starched ribbons
+and plaited frills fitting tightly over her hair. The snow-white cap shone
+pleasantly above Glasha&rsquo;s fresh, sunburnt face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the garden, on a form just under the terrace, sat Borya&rsquo;s old nurse,
+dressed in a dark lavender blouse, black skirt, with a dark blue kerchief over
+her head. She was warming her old bones in the sun, and listening to the
+conversation on the terrace; now she grumbled, now she dozed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Broad-boned and stout, she had a round, amiable face, and even through the
+compact network of wrinkles there were palpable suggestions of former beauty.
+Her eyes were clear. The grey hair was flatly combed down. Her figure and her
+face wore a settled expression of languid good nature.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXVIII</h3>
+
+<p>
+As always, they eat and drink, and they keep up a cheerful and friendly
+chatter. Sometimes two of them speak together. A stranger in the garden might
+conclude that a large company is gathered on the terrace.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frequently Borya&rsquo;s name is mentioned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To be sure, Borya likes....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps Borya will bring....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is strange Borya is not yet here....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps Borya will come in the evening....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We must ask Borya whether he has read....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is possible this is not new to Borya....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+While below, under the terrace, the old nurse, each time she hears
+Borya&rsquo;s name, crosses herself and mumbles:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;O Lord, rest the soul of thy servant, Boris.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At first her voice is low, but it gradually grows louder and louder. Finally
+the three women at the table can hear her words. They tremble slightly and
+exchange anxious glances, into which steals an expression of perplexed fear. So
+they begin to speak even louder, and to laugh even more merrily. They permit no
+intervals of silence, and the hum of their talk and laughter prevents for the
+time their hearing the nurse&rsquo;s mumbling in the garden.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But their voices inevitably fall after a mention of the beloved name, and now
+again they hear the tranquil, terrible words:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;O Lord, rest the soul....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They sit at luncheon long, but they talk more industriously than they eat. They
+glance nervously toward the gate. It seems a terrible thing to have to leave
+the table and to go somewhere while Borya is not yet with them.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXIX</h3>
+
+<p>
+Toward the end of luncheon the post arrives. Grisha, a fourteen-year-old
+youngster, goes for it daily to the station on horseback. Raising clouds of
+dust he jumps off briskly at the gate. Leaving his horse he enters the garden
+carrying a black leather bag, and smiles broadly at something or other.
+Ascending the long steps of the terrace he announces loudly and joyously:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve fetched the post!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He is cheery, sunburnt, perspiring. He smells of the sun, of the soil, of dust
+and tar. His hands and feet are as large as a man&rsquo;s. His lips are soft
+and pouting, like those of a sweet-tempered foal. At the opening of his shirt,
+cut on the slant, buttons are missing, exposing a strip of his sunburnt chest
+and a piece of grey string.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sofia Alexandrovna rises abruptly from her place. She takes the bag from
+Grisha, and throws it quickly on the table. A pile of stamped wrappers comes
+pouring upon the white cloth. The three women bend over the table and rummage
+for letters. But letters come only rarely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Knitting her brows Natasha looks at the smiling youngster and asks:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No letters, Grisha?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grisha, shuffling his feet, brick-red from the sun, smiles and answers, as
+always, in the same words:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The letters are being written, <i>barishnya</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sofia Alexandrovna says impatiently:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You may go, Grisha.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grisha goes. The women open their newspapers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sofia Alexandrovna takes up the <i>Rech</i> and scans it rapidly, occasionally
+mentioning something that has attracted her notice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha is looking over <i>Slovo</i>. She reads silently, slowly, and
+attentively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna has the <i>Russkiya Vedomosti.</i> She tears the wrapper open
+slowly and spreads the entire sheet on the table. She reads on, quickly running
+her eyes over the lines.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXX</h3>
+
+<p>
+Groaning, the old nurse slowly ascends the steps. Sofia Alexandrovna pauses
+from her reading a moment and looks with fear at the old woman. Natasha gives a
+nervous start and turns away. Elena Kirillovna reads on calmly, without looking
+at the nurse.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The nurse sighs, sits down on the bench at the entrance, and asks in a monotone
+the one and the same question that she asks each day:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And how many folk are there in this morning&rsquo;s paper that&rsquo;s
+been ordered to die? And how many are there that&rsquo;s been hanged?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sofia Alexandrovna drops the paper, and suddenly rising, very pale, looks upon
+the old woman. She is quivering from head to foot. Elena Kirillovna, folding
+the paper, pushes it aside and looks straight before her with arrested eyes.
+Natasha rises; she turns her face, which has suddenly grown pale, toward the
+old woman, and utters in a kind of wooden voice that does not seem like her
+own:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In Ekaterinoslav&mdash;seven; in Moscow&mdash;one.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Or other towns, and other figures&mdash;such as fresh newspaper lists bring
+each day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The nurse rises and crosses herself piously. She mutters:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;O Lord, rest the souls of Thy servants! And give them eternal
+life!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then Sofia Alexandrovna cries out in despair:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh Borya, Borya, my Borya!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her face is as pale as though there were not a single drop of blood left under
+her dull, elastic skin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Wringing her hands with a convulsive movement, she looks with terror at Elena
+Kirillovna and at her daughter. Elena Kirillovna turns aside, and, looking at
+the old nurse, shakes her head reproachfully, while in her eyes, like drops of
+early evening dew, appear a few scant tears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha, looking determinedly at her mother, says with pale, quivering lips:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mamma, calm yourself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly her voice becomes cold and wooden again as though some evil stranger
+compelled her each day to utter her words slowly and deliberately.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You yourself know, mamma, that Borya was hanged a full year ago!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looks at her mother with the motionless, pathetic gaze of her very dark
+eyes, and repeats:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You yourself know this, mamma!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sofia Alexandrovna&rsquo;s eyes are widely dilated; dull, there is terror in
+them, and the deep pupils burn with an impercipient lustre in their dark
+depths. She repeats almost soundlessly, looking straight into Natasha&rsquo;s
+eyes:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hanged!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She resumes her place, looks out of her sad eyes at the white Aphrodite and the
+red roses at the goddess&rsquo;s feet, and is silent. Her face is white and
+rigid, her lips are red and tightly set; there is a suggestion of latent
+madness in the still lustre of her eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Before the image of eternal beauty, before the fragrance of the short-lived,
+exultant roses, she is hardening as it were into an image of the eternal grief
+of a disconsolate mother.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXXI</h3>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna quietly descends the narrow side staircase into the garden.
+She sits down on a bench somewhat away from the house, looks upon the green
+bedecked pond and weeps.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha goes into her room in the mezzanine. She opens a book and tries to
+read. But she finds it impossible. She puts the book aside and looks out of the
+window, and her eyes are dimmed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Higher and higher above the old house rises the pitiless, bright Dragon. His
+joyous laughter rings in the merry heights, encloses, as in a flaming circle,
+the depressing silence of the house. The well-directed rays shoot out like
+sharp-plumed arrows, and the air is tremulous with eternal, inexhaustible
+anger. No one is being awaited. No one will come. Borya has died. The
+relentless wheel of time knows no turning back.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So the day is passing&mdash;clearly and brightly. The dazzling white light says
+there is nothing to hope for.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXXII</h3>
+
+<p>
+Natasha sits in her room before an open window. A book is lying on the
+window-sill. She has no desire to read.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Every line in the book reminds her of him, of unfinished conversations, of
+heated discussions, of what had been, of what is no more.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The memories become brighter and brighter, and reach at last a clearness and
+fullness of vision, overwhelming her soul.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The fiery Dragon, obscured by a leaden grey cloud, becomes a little dim.
+Dimness also creeps into the memory of him. It seems as though the heavens are
+being traversed by the cold, clear, tranquil moon. Her face is pale, but not
+from sadness. Her rays have cast a spell upon the sleeping earth and upon the
+unattainably high heavens.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The moon has bewitched the fields and also the valleys, which are full of mist.
+There is a dull glimmer in the drops of cool, tranquil dew upon the slumbering
+grass.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There is in this fantastic glimmer the resurrection of that which has
+died&mdash;of that past tenderness and love which inspired deeds requiring
+superhuman strength. There come again to the lips proud, long-unsung hymns, and
+vows of action and loyalty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And what of that evil, vigilant, and instigating eye; and what of the traitor
+whose words mingled with the passionate words of the young people! Not even the
+waters of all the cold oceans can quench the fire of daring love, and all the
+cunning poisons of the earth cannot poison it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bewitched with the lunar mystery, the wood stands expectant, nebulous, silent.
+Incomprehensible and inaccessible to men is its slow, sure experience, and the
+secret of its forged desires.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Into its lunar silence men have brought the revolt, the speech and laughter of
+youth; but, overcome by the lunar mystery, they are suddenly grown silent and
+meditative.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The open glade in the woods, enchanted by the green, cold light of the moon,
+seems very white. Along the edge of the glade lie the shadows of the trees;
+they seem unreal and nebulous and mysteriously still.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The moon, very slowly, almost stealthily, is rising higher in the pale blue
+dome. Round, cold, half lost in the milk-white mist as behind a thin veil, she
+disperses by her dispassionate gaze the nebulous, silent tops of the slumbering
+trees, and looks down upon the glade with the motionless, inquisitive glance of
+her white eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The thin particles of dew scattered over the cold grasses vanish&mdash;the
+white nocturnal haze drinks them greedily. The air is oppressively sweet. On
+the edge of the glade a number of slender, erect, white-limbed birches emerge
+out of the mist; they are still asleep, and as innocent as their girl
+companions who rest beneath them in their green-white dresses.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXXIII</h3>
+
+<p>
+Reposing under the slender birches in the glade is a party of girls, young men
+and grown-up people. One sits on the stump of a felled tree, another on the
+trunk of an old birch struck down in a storm, a third lies upon an overcoat
+spread on the grass, a fourth rests his back against a young birch. There is a
+single, slight glow of a cigarette, but this, too, goes out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the luminous, haunting mist everything seems white, translucent, fabulously
+impressive. And it seems as though the birches in the glade and the moon in the
+sky are waiting for something.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here is Natasha. Here is also Natasha&rsquo;s friend, a college girl from
+Moscow, white-skinned, sharp-featured, looking like a healthy little wild
+beast. Then there are Borya and his friend, both in linen jackets, both lean,
+with pale faces and dark, flaming eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And there is yet another&mdash;a tall, stout figure in a dark blouse. He has an
+air of self-confidence and seems to be the most knowing, the most experienced,
+the most able of those present.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He is surrounded by the grown-up people and the girls, and he is being
+questioned. Cheery, good-natured, impatient voices appeal to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do sing for us the <i>International</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Borya, a lad with pale, frowning forehead, and blue-black circles under his
+eyes, looks into the other&rsquo;s face and implores more heartily than the
+rest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The tall, broad-chested Mikhail Lvovich looks askance and stubbornly refuses to
+sing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t,&rdquo; he says gruffly. &ldquo;My throat is not in
+condition.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Borya and Natasha insist.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mikhail Lvovich then makes a gesture with his hand and accedes not less
+gruffly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well, I&rsquo;ll sing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Every one is overjoyed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mikhail Lvovich poses himself on his knees. Above the mist-white glade, above
+the white-faced lads, above the white mist itself, there rises toward the
+witching moon, floating tranquilly in the skies, the words of that proud,
+passionate hymn:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Arise, ye branded with a curse!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mikhail Lvovich sings. His eyes are fixed on the ground, upon the cold grass,
+white in the glamorous light of the full, clear moon. It is hard to tell
+whether he does not wish to or cannot look straight into the eyes of these
+girls and boys&mdash;into these trusting, clean eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And they have gathered round him, how closely they have nestled round him,
+these pure-spirited young girls; and the young lads, their knees in the grass,
+follow every movement of his lips, and join in quietly. The bold melody grows,
+gains in volume. Like an exultant prophecy ring the eloquent words:
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+In the International<br />
+As brothers all men shall meet.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXXIV</h3>
+
+<p>
+Mikhail has finished the song. For a time no one speaks. Then the agitated
+voices all ring out together, stirring the heavy silence of the woods.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Clear, girlish eyes are looking earnestly upon Mikhail Lvovich&rsquo;s morose
+set face. A clear, girlish voice implores insistently and gently:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sing again, please. Be a dear. Sing it once more. I will make a note of
+the words. I want to know them by heart.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha approaches nearer and says quietly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We will all of us learn the words and sing them each day, like a prayer.
+We shall do it with a full heart.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mikhail Lvovich at last lifts his eyes. They are small, sparkling, shrewd. This
+time they have fixed themselves severely and inquisitively on Natasha&rsquo;s
+face, which suddenly has become confused at this snake-like glance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mikhail Lvovich addresses her gruffly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It doesn&rsquo;t require much bravery to sing on the quiet, in the
+woods. Any one can do that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha&rsquo;s face becomes pale. Dark flames of unchildish determination
+kindle in her eyes. Excitedly she cries:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We will learn the words, and we will sing them where they are wanted. My
+God, are we to depend upon words, and upon words alone? We are ready for
+deeds.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Borya repeats after her: &ldquo;We are ready. We shall do all that is
+necessary. Yes, even die if need be.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mikhail Lvovich says with a calm assurance:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In his eyes, fixed intently upon the ground, a dim, small flame is visible.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXXV</h3>
+
+<p>
+There is a short silence. Then a thin voice is heard. It is the girl, slender
+as a young birch, with the sharp, cheerful little face, who is speaking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My God! What strength! What eloquence!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mikhail Lvovich slowly turns his face toward her. He smiles severely and says
+nothing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl has her hands clasped across her knees. It is an extremely pretty
+pose. Her face has suddenly assumed a very grave air, breathing passionate
+entreaty and fiery determination. She exclaims fervently:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s all sing the chorus! Mikhail Lvovich will teach us. You will
+teach us, Mikhail Lvovich, won&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; Mikhail Lvovich replies with his usual severe dignity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He casts his dull, heavy gaze round the crowded circle of delighted young
+faces. He alone sits with his back to the open glade and to the witching moon.
+His face, now in the shade, has become even more significant. And his whole
+bearing is one of imposing solemnity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The faces of the younger people are white in the moonlight. Their garments are
+luminously bright. Their voices are brilliantly clear. In their simple trust
+there is the sense of an avowal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, let us begin!&rdquo; exclaims the slender girl, somewhat agitated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mikhail Lvovich raises his hand with a solemn gesture and begins:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Arise, ye branded with a curse!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children sing with a will, mingling their high, clear voices with Mikhail
+Lvovich&rsquo;s deep, low voice. Their young voices are blazing with the
+passionate flame of freedom and revolt. Higher and still higher, above the
+white mists, above the black forest, toward the silver clouds and the quiet
+glimmering stars, toward the aspectful moon, rise the sounds of the invocation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And the white-trunked birches, the milk-white moon, motionless in the sky, the
+white, silvery grass, pressed down by children&rsquo;s knees&mdash;all is
+still, all is silent, all is harkening with a sensitive ear. Everything around
+listens with poignant and solemn intentness to the song of these luminous
+children who, bathed in the translucent silver of the cool, lunar glimmer,
+their knees on the grass, their eyes burning in their uplifted faces, are
+repeating faithfully the words sung by the tall, self-contained young man whose
+dark face with fixed glance gazes morosely on the ground. They repeat after
+him:
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+In the International<br />
+As brothers all men shall meet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The strange foreign word, un-Russian in its ring, suggests to them the lofty,
+holy designation of a promised land, a new land under new skies, a land in
+which they have faith.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After the hymn there is silence, a holy silence, solemn and palpable, reaching
+from the earth to the heavens. They might have been in the temple of a new, as
+yet unknown religion, in a mystic moment of sacrificial rites.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXXVI</h3>
+
+<p>
+Mikhail Lvovich is the first to break the silence. He speaks slowly, looking at
+no one and directing his heavy gaze above the children&rsquo;s pale faces,
+beyond the flaming ring of their glances:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My friends, you know the sort of time this is. Each one of us can be of
+use. If any one of us is sent I hope that none will tremble for his precious
+life, and that none will be deterred by the thought of a mother&rsquo;s
+sorrow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children exclaim:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;None! None! If they would but send us!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is the sorrow of a single mother compared to the suffering of an
+entire nation!&rdquo; thinks Natasha proudly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There rises up for an instant a mental image of the ashen-pale face of her
+mother, her intensely dark, eloquent eyes. A sharp pain, lasting a moment,
+pierces her heart. What of that? It is, after all, but a single instant of
+weakness. A proud will shall conquer this slight suffering of a single relative
+by conferring great love upon the many, the strangers, the grievous sufferers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What is the woe of one mother! Let Niobe weep eternally for her children,
+killed by the burning, poisoned arrows of the high Dragon; let Rachel remain
+unconsoled for ever&mdash;what is the woe of a poor mother? Serene is
+Apollo&rsquo;s face, radiant is Apollo&rsquo;s dream.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yet how painful, how painful! A dimness comes over the transcendent idea, as
+though the dark countenance of the ominous figure who sang the proud hymn has
+dimmed the moon and has cast an austere shadow upon the heart itself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now there is no moon, and no night, and no white glade in the mist in the
+forest. The bright day stares again at Natasha, she is at the window, the book
+lies before her, the old house is depressingly silent. The cloud has
+disappeared, the heavens are clear again, the evil Dragon is once more aiming
+his flaming arrows, he reiterates his conquest anew.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This cruel melancholy must be faced. Sting, accursed Dragon, burn, torment.
+Rejoice, conqueror! But even he must soon go to his setting, and, dying, pour
+out his blood upon half the heavens.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXXVII</h3>
+
+<p>
+Natasha, a yellow straw hat upon her head, is now walking in the field. The
+ground is hot, the sky is blue, the air is sultry and the wind asleep; the corn
+is yellow, the grass is green. Bathed again in the bright heat, Natasha prods
+her sweetly fatiguing memories, which cast into oblivion this dismal day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She goes on&mdash;and there stretches before her, even as on a day long ago,
+the hot golden field, with its tall stalks inclining their heads in the heat.
+It is the revival of a former stifling, sultry midday.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That was in the days when Natasha still loved the good, human sun, the source
+of life and joy, the eternal, the untiring herald of labours and deeds, of
+deeds beyond the powers of man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Oh, the treacherous speech of the Serpent Tempter! He turns our heads and he
+entices, and he makes our poor earth seem like some fabulous kingdom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again there is a slight wavering stir in the sea of the heat-exhausted ears of
+rye, studded over with little blue flowers which lower timidly their
+sweetly-dazed heads from sultriness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha and her brother Boris are walking together, on an inviting narrow path
+among the golden waves of rye.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How high the rye is! One can barely see the green roof of the old house on the
+right for the tall stalks, and the semi-circular window in the mezzanine: and
+on the left the little grey, rough huts of the village.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha and Boris follow one another. All around them the dry ears of rye waver
+and rustle, and among them are the blue-eyed little cornflowers. The two
+fragilely slender human silhouettes answered to the same wavering motion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha goes ahead. She turns to see why Boris has lagged behind. The boy,
+brown and slender, with large burning eyes, attired in his linen jacket, is
+gathering the little blue flowers. He has already gathered almost as many as
+his hands can hold.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXXVIII</h3>
+
+<p>
+Natasha, laughing, says to her brother: &ldquo;Enough, my dear, enough. I
+shan&rsquo;t be able to carry them all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll do it easily enough, never fear!&rdquo; Boris answers
+cheerfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha stretches out her sunburnt hand to take the flowers. The sheaf of blue
+cornflowers, spreading across her breast, almost hides her, she is so slender.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again Boris addresses her cheerfully: &ldquo;Well, is it heavy?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha laughs. Her face lights up with the joy of gratitude, and with a
+cheerful, childlike determination. &ldquo;I will carry these, but no
+more!&rdquo; she says.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I want to gather as many as possible for you.&rdquo; Boris&rsquo;s voice
+is serious; &ldquo;because you know we may not see each other for some
+time.&rdquo; There is a quaver in his voice as he says this.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps, never,&rdquo; Natasha, growing pensive, replies.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Both faces become sad and careworn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Boris, frowning, glances sideways, and asks: &ldquo;Natasha, are you going with
+him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha knows that Boris is inquiring about Mikhail Lvovich, who is now sending
+her on a dangerous business, and who has also promised to send Boris on some
+foolhardy errand. The brave are so often foolhardy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I am going alone,&rdquo; Natasha replies, &ldquo;he will only lead
+me later to the spot.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Boris looks at Natasha with gloomy, envious eyes, and asks rather cautiously:
+&ldquo;Are you frightened, Natasha?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha smiles. And what pride there is in her smile! She speaks, and her voice
+is tranquil: &ldquo;No, Boris, I feel happy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Boris observes that her face is really happy, and that her dark, flaming eyes
+are cheerful enough. Looking at her thus, her tranquillity communicates itself
+to him, and inspires him with a calm confidence in himself and in the business
+in hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children go farther. Boris again gathers the cornflowers. Natasha is musing
+about something. She has broken off an ear of rye, and is absently nibbling at
+the grain.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXXIX</h3>
+
+<p>
+It is a long, hot, sultry day. The inexorable Dragon looks down indifferently
+upon the children. Unwearying, he aims his bright, vivid shafts at the
+sunburnt, fiery-eyed lad and at the slender, erect, black-eyed girl. His
+blazing shafts are evil, and they are well aimed; and his strong clear light is
+pitiless&mdash;but she walks on, and in her eyes there is hope, and in her eyes
+there is resolution, and in her dark eyes there is a flame which sets the soul
+afire to achieve deeds beyond the powers of man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha suddenly pauses at the end of the path by the dusty road. Her eyes look
+at Boris full of tender admiration. It is evident that she desires to stamp
+upon her memory all the beloved features of the familiar tanned face&mdash;the
+curve of the dense brows, the rigid set of the red lips, the firm outlines of
+the chin, the stern profile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha sighs lightly and addresses Boris gently and cheerfully:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Enough, dearest. They may not let me into the train with a heap like
+this. They will say: &lsquo;This should be put in the luggage
+van.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Both laugh carelessly. And still Boris is loath to leave the cornflowers. He
+says:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Only a few more. I want you to have a gigantic bouquet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You would have everything gigantic!&rdquo; Natasha returns
+good-humouredly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But her face is serious. She knows how deep this quality is in him, and how
+significant. Boris looks at her, and in answer repeats his favourite, his most
+intimate thought:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, it is true. I love all bigness, all immoderation. In everything! In
+everything! If we only acted like this always! And gave ourselves wholly to a
+thing! Oh, how different life would be!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha, lost in thought, repeats: &ldquo;Yes, big things, things beyond the
+powers of man. To make life lavish. Only no stinginess, no trembling for
+one&rsquo;s skin. Far better to die&mdash;to gather all life into one little
+knot, and to throw it away!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; says Boris, and his eyes, dark as night, glow with the
+fury of a yet distant storm. &ldquo;We must have no care for lives, but be
+lavish with them, lavish to the end&mdash;only then may we reach our
+goal!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They cross the road and again walk calmly along a narrow path. Her dress is
+white among the golden waves. Natasha stretches out her slender hand, the ears
+of rye rustle dryly and solid seeds of ripe rye fall into it. They are struck
+from above by the vivid shafts of the pitiless Dragon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children are walking on, conscious of their vow. They go trustingly, and
+they do not know that he who sends them is a traitor, and that their sacrifice
+is vain.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XL</h3>
+
+<p>
+What is this dry rustling all around? It is the rye. But where are the little
+cornflowers, where is Boris? The little blue-eyed flowers are in the rye, and
+Boris has been hanged.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And I?&rdquo; Natasha asks herself in a strange, oppressive perplexity.
+She looks round her like one just awakened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why am I here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She answers herself: &ldquo;I escaped. A lucky chance saved me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha is oppressed by the thought. How had she survived it? &ldquo;Far better
+if I had perished!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It all happened very simply. Natasha, being Number Three, was placed at the
+railway station itself, her duty being contingent on the failure of Number One
+and Number Two. But the first was successful, though he himself perished in the
+explosion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The second, upon hearing the explosion not far away, lost his presence of mind.
+He ran to save himself. He caught a cab, and got off near the river. Here he
+hired a row-boat. When near the middle of the river, he threw the bomb into the
+water. The man who rowed had guessed that something was wrong. Besides, he had
+been seen from the Government steamer and from the banks. Number Two was taken,
+tried and hanged.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha did not betray herself in any way. She walked calmly, without haste,
+bearing her dangerous burden, observed by no one. She mixed freely with the
+passing crowd. She delivered the bomb at the appointed place.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A few days later she left for home. She had not been followed. Natasha was
+awaiting a second commission, and quite suddenly she abandoned the business,
+because her trust in it had died.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It happened even before Borya was hanged. But her decision came finally in
+those nightmare days when, quickly and unexpectedly, his life came to an end.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Those were terrible days.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But, no, it is better not to think of them, it is better not to remember them.
+To remember them is to suffer. Far better to remember other things, things
+cloudless and long past.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XLI</h3>
+
+<p>
+Oh magic mirror of memory, so much is reflected in thee! Beloved images pass by
+with a kind of glimmer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There were the flowers, which they themselves looked after. There was one
+flower-bed which they cared for with especial tenderness. There was the fresh,
+intoxicating evening aroma of gilliflower. There was the cluster of jasmine,
+dewy at dawn, so sweetly and so gently fragrant, that one wished to weep in its
+presence, as the grass weeps its tears of dew at golden dawn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then there was the open space in the garden, and the giant-stride in the
+centre. What gigantic steps they took! How fast and how high she flew round
+with Boris!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How glorious were the feast-days to the childish hearts. There was Christmas
+Eve, with its tree, and candles upon the green branches, with all the
+many-coloured glitter of golden nuts, red, green and blue trimmings, snow-white
+foils of cotton-wool, offerings which gladdened with their unexpectedness. Then
+in the daytime there is real snow, glittering like salt, and crunching under
+one&rsquo;s feet; the frost pinches the cheeks, the sun is shining, their
+mittens are of the softest down, their hats are white and soft, the sleds are
+flying down hillocks&mdash;oh, what joy!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now Easter is here. What a solemn night! Then the joyous chanting of
+matins. The candle flames are everywhere, there seems to be no end to them.
+There is a smell of Easter cakes. There are Easter eggs painted in all colours.
+Every one is kissing each other. Every one is happy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Christoss Voskress!</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Voistinu Voskress!</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the dear dead do not stir.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No. The beloved memories do not break the continuity of the circle, the
+resurrection of the others&mdash;the fearsome, tragic memories. Inevitably the
+vision leads on to the last terrible moments.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XLII</h3>
+
+<p>
+They lived in the capital that winter. Boris was studying his final term in the
+<i>gymnasia</i>. For Christmas he went to another city: to relatives, he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha was suspicious. But he did not tell her the truth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Really, nothing,&rdquo; he answered to all her questions. &ldquo;No one
+is sending me. I am going of my own accord. To see Aunt Liuba.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Natasha did not insist.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For several days she did not get any letters from him. But she did not worry.
+Boris disliked writing letters. They thought he was enjoying himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was an evening in early January. Her mother and grandmother had gone out
+visiting. Natasha, pleading a headache, remained at home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll lie down on the sofa. It will pass away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The truth was she thought the home of her affected, worldly relatives a dull
+place, and she had no desire to go there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The maid had leave to go out. Natasha remained in the house alone. She lay down
+in her room on the sofa with an interesting new book.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After the cheer and ease of the holidays, Natasha felt in good spirits. She was
+comfortable, tranquil and cheerful. The hangings on the windows were
+impenetrably opaque. The lamp, burning brightly and evenly, concealed its
+garish white blaze from her eyes under its trimmed, beaded shade. The whole
+small room was lost in a luminous twilight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last, however, page after page of running lines of print tired Natasha. She
+dropped into a doze, and was shortly sound asleep. The open book fell softly on
+the rug.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XLIII</h3>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly a bell rings. Natasha gives a start.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ours? No. The bell rang so timidly, so hesitatingly. It was as though she heard
+it ring in a dream, and not in reality; again, it might have been the ring of
+some mischievous urchin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Perhaps she had only imagined it. It is so comfortable to doze. She feels too
+lazy to get up. Let them ring.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But here is a second ring, more insistent and louder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha jumps up and runs into the vestibule, rearranging her hair on the way.
+Remembering that she is alone in the house she does not open the door, but
+asks: &ldquo;Who&rsquo;s there?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From behind the door she can hear the low, somewhat hoarse voice of the
+telegraph boy: &ldquo;A telegram.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her heart begins to beat with fright. It is always terrible to receive
+telegrams. For only good news travels slowly. Bad news makes haste.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha puts one end of the door-chain to a little hook in the door. Then she
+opens the door partly and looks out. There stands the messenger in his uniform,
+with a metal plate in his cap. He hands her the telegram.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sign here, miss.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The grey-white, dry paper trembles in Natasha&rsquo;s hands. Natasha feels a
+sudden tug at her heart. She speaks incoherently:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is it? Oh my God! Sign, did you say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She runs to the table. Her hands tremble. She has managed somehow to scrawl her
+family name &ldquo;Ozoreva,&rdquo; the pen hesitating and scratching upon the
+grey paper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here is the signature.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Across the little door-chain she thrusts the signed paper and a tip into the
+hand of the messenger. Then she bangs the door to after him. Now she is in
+front of the lamp. What can it be?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tearing the seal open she reads. Terrible words. Such simple, yet such
+incomprehensible words. Because they are about Boris.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Boris has shot &mdash;&mdash;. Arrested with comrades. Military trial
+to-morrow. Death sentence threatened</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<h3>XLIV</h3>
+
+<p>
+Natasha re-reads the telegram. A sudden terror, strangely akin to shame, for a
+moment strikes at her heart. She can hear the heavy beat of blood in her
+temples. She is, as it were, being strangled from all sides; she can hardly
+breathe; the walls seem to have come together, oppressing her on all sides; and
+the rapid, pale, pencilled strokes seem also to have run together into one
+jumble on the grey paper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Certain thoughts, one after the other, slowly make way into Natasha&rsquo;s
+dimmed consciousness&mdash;oppressive, evil, pitiless thoughts.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Stupefied, she wonders how she shall tell her mother. She observes that her
+hands tremble. She recalls the telephone number of the Lareyevs, where her
+mother undoubtedly is.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then terror seizes her anew; she shivers violently from head to foot as with
+ague. Her mind is a whirl of confusion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, it is a mistake! It cannot be. It is a cruel, senseless mistake! It
+is some one&rsquo;s stupid, cruel joke.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Boris, our beloved boy, with his fine honest eyes&mdash;think of him hanging!
+There will be a rattle in his throat, as strangling, he will swing in the
+noose. With sharp, clutching pain, the gentle, childish neck will tighten; the
+sunburnt face will grow purple; the swollen tongue will creep out all in froth,
+and the widely dilated eyes will reflect the terror of cruel death.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No, no, it cannot be! It is a mistake! But who can be malicious enough to make
+such a mistake?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then where is Boris?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her cold reasoning says that it is so, that no mistake has been made. The words
+are clear, the address is correct&mdash;yes, yes! It was really to be expected.
+Here it is, this lavishness of life which he dreamt of, which they both dreamt
+of. &ldquo;I love all immoderation. To be lavish&mdash;only then we may reach
+our goal!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her legs tremble. She feels herself terribly weak. She sits down on the sofa.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Oh God, what&rsquo;s to be done? How is she to tell her mother this terrible
+thing?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Or should she conceal it? And do everything that could be done by herself? But
+no, she could do ridiculously little herself!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It is necessary to tell. It must be done quickly. She must not lose an instant.
+Perhaps it is still possible to save Boris, by going, by petitioning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Why is she sitting still then? It is necessary to act at once.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha seizes the telephone. What a long time the operator takes to answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last she is connected. She can hear sounds of music and the hum of voices.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A cheerful, familiar voice asks:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s there?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is Natasha Ozoreva.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good evening, Natasha,&rdquo; says Marusya Lareyeva loudly. &ldquo;What
+a pity you did not come. We are having a fine time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good evening, dear Marusya. Is mamma with you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, she is here. Shall I call her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no, for God&rsquo;s sake. Let some one break it to her....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has anything happened?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marusya, a terrible misfortune. Our Boris has been arrested.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My God! For what?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know. He&rsquo;ll have a military trial. I feel desperate.
+It&rsquo;s so terrible. For God&rsquo;s sake, don&rsquo;t frighten mother too
+much. Tell her to come home at once, please.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, my God, how awful!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Marusya, dearest, for God&rsquo;s sake, be quick.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell my mother at once. Wait at the telephone,
+Natasha.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha holds the receiver to her ear and waits. She hears the noise of
+footsteps. Some one has begun to sing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then again the same voice, extremely agitated:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Natasha, do you hear? Your mother wants to speak to you herself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha trembles with fright. Good God, what shall she tell her mother! She
+inquires:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What? Is she coming herself to the telephone?&rdquo; she asks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, yes. Your mother is here now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<h3>XLV</h3>
+
+<p>
+The voice of Sofia Alexandrovna, terribly agitated, is heard:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Natasha, is that you? For God&rsquo;s sake, what has happened?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha replies:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, mamma, it is I. A telegram has come. Mamma, don&rsquo;t be
+frightened, it must be a mistake.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This time the voice is more controlled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Read me the telegram at once.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just a moment. I&rsquo;ll get it,&rdquo; says Natasha.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The telegram is read.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What, a military trial?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, military.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To-morrow?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, yes, to-morrow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Death sentence threatened?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mamma, please be yourself, for God&rsquo;s sake. Perhaps something can
+be done.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We must go there. Get the things ready, Natasha. Mother and I are
+returning at once, and we will take the first train out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The conversation is at an end.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha is alone. She runs about the deserted house, letting things fall in the
+poignant silence. She is busy with travelling bags and with pillows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She stops to look at the time-table. There is a train at half-past twelve. Yes,
+there is still time to catch it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then the bell rings, frightening her even more than the earlier ring. The
+mother and the grandmother have arrived, pale and distraught.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XLVI</h3>
+
+<p>
+A sleepless, wearisome journey in the train. The wheels roll on with a
+measured, jarring sound. Stops are made. How slow it all is! How agonizing! If
+only it would be quicker, quicker!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Or were it better to wish that time should be arrested? That its huge, shaggy
+wings outspread and flapping above the world should suddenly become motionless?
+That its owlish glance should be stilled for ever in the instant just before
+the terrible word is said?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They reach their destination in the morning. At the station, a dirty, dejected
+place, they are met by a cousin of Natasha&rsquo;s, an attorney by profession.
+From his pale, worried face, they guess that everything is over.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He talks quickly and incoherently. He comforts them with hopes in which he
+himself does not believe. The trial had been held early that morning. Boris and
+both his comrades&mdash;all of the same green youth&mdash;had been sentenced to
+die by hanging. The court would entertain no appeal. The only hope lay in the
+district general. He was really not a bad man at heart. Perhaps, by imploring,
+he might be induced to lighten the sentence to that of hard labour for an
+indefinite period.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Poor mothers! What is it they implore?
+</p>
+
+<h3>XLVII</h3>
+
+<p>
+Sofia Alexandrovna and Natasha arrived at the general&rsquo;s. They waited long
+in the quiet, cold-looking reception-room; the glossy parquet floor shone,
+portraits in heavy gilt frames hung on the walls, and the careful steps of
+uniformed officials, coming through a large white door, resounded from time to
+time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last they were received. The general listened most amiably, but declined
+emphatically to do anything. He rose, clinked his spurs, and stretched himself
+to his full height; He stood there tall, erect, his breast decorated with
+orders, his head grey, his face ruddy, with black eyebrows and broad nose.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In vain the humiliating entreaties.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Pale, the proud mother knelt before the general and, weeping bitterly, she
+kissed his hands and at last threw herself at his feet&mdash;all in vain. She
+received the cold answer:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am sorry, madam, it is impossible. I understand your affliction, I
+sympathize fully; with your sorrow, but what can I do? Whose fault is it? Upon
+me lies a great responsibility toward my Emperor and my country. I have my
+duty&mdash;I can&rsquo;t help you. It is against yourself that you ought to
+bring your reproaches&mdash;you&rsquo;ve brought him up.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Of what avail the tears of a poor mother? Strike thy head upon the parquet
+floor, bend thy face to the black glitter of his boots; or else depart, proud
+and silent. It is all the same, he can do nothing. Thy tears and thy entreaties
+do not touch him, thy curses do not offend him. He is a kind man, he is the
+loving father of a family, but his upright martial soul does not tremble before
+the word death. More than once he had risked his life boldly in
+battle&mdash;what is the life of a conspirator to him?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But he is a mere boy!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, madam, this is not a childish prank. I am sorry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He walks away. She hears the measured clinking of his spurs. The parquet floor
+reflects dimly his tall, erect figure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;General, have pity!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The cold, white door has swung to after him. She hears the quiet, pleasant
+voice of a young official. He raises her from the floor and helps her to find
+her way out.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XLVIII</h3>
+
+<p>
+They granted a last meeting. A few minutes passed in questions, answers,
+embraces, and tears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Boris said very little.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t cry, mamma. I am not afraid. There is nothing else they can
+do. They don&rsquo;t feed you at all badly here. Remember me to all. And you,
+Natasha, take care of mother. One sacrifice is enough from our family. Well,
+good-bye.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He seemed somehow callous and distant. He seemed to be thinking of something
+else, of something he could tell no one. And his words had an external ring, as
+though merely to make conversation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That night, before daybreak, Boris was hanged. The scaffold was set up in the
+gaol courtyard. The spot where he was buried was kept secret.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The mother implored the next day: &ldquo;Show me his grave at least!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What was there to show! He was laid in a coffin, he was put into a hole in the
+earth and the soil that covered him was smoothed down to its original
+level&mdash;we all know how such culprits are buried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tell me at least how he died.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, he was a brave one. He was calm, a bit serious. And he refused a
+priest, and would not kiss the cross.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They returned home. A fog of melancholy hung over them, and within them there
+lit up a spark of mad hope&mdash;no, Borya is not dead, Borya will return.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XLIX</h3>
+
+<p>
+The thought that Boris had been hanged could not enter into their habitual,
+everyday thoughts. Only in the hour when the sun was at its zenith, and in the
+hour of the midnight moon, it would penetrate their awakened consciousness like
+a sharp poniard. Again it would pierce the soul with a sharp, tormenting pain,
+and again it would vanish in the dim mist of dawn with a kind of dull agony.
+And again, the same unreasonable conviction would awake in their hearts.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No, Borya will return. The bell will suddenly ring, and the door will be opened
+to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Borya! Where have you been wandering?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How we shall kiss him! And how much there will be to tell!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What does it matter where you have been wandering. You have been
+wandering, and, you have been found, like the prodigal son.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How happy all will be!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old nurse will not be consoled. She wails:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Boryushka, Boryushka, my incomparable one! I say to him:
+&lsquo;Boryushka, I&rsquo;m going to the poor-house!&rsquo; And he says to me:
+&lsquo;No,&rsquo; says he, &lsquo;<i>nyanechka</i>,<a href="#linknote-4"
+name="linknoteref-4" id="linknoteref-4">[4]</a> I&rsquo;ll not let you go to
+the poor-house. I,&rsquo; he says, &lsquo;will let you stop with me,
+<i>nyanechka</i>; only wait till I grow up,&rsquo; says he, &lsquo;and you can
+live with me.&rsquo; Oh, Boryushka, what&rsquo;s this you&rsquo;ve done!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the morning the old nurse enters the vestibule. Whose grey overcoat is it
+that she sees hanging on the rack? It is Borya&rsquo;s, his <i>gymnasia</i>
+uniform. Has he then not gone to the <i>gymnasia</i> to-day?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She wanders into the dining-room, making a muffled noise with her soft
+slippers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Natashenka, is Boryushka home to-day? His overcoat&rsquo;s there on the
+rack. Or is he sick?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Nyanechka</i>!&rdquo; exclaims Natasha.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And, frightened, she looks at her mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old nurse has suddenly remembered. She is crying. The grey head shivers in
+its black wrap. The old woman wails:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I go there and I look, what&rsquo;s that I see? Borya&rsquo;s overcoat.
+I say to myself, Borya&rsquo;s gone to the <i>gymnasia</i>, why&rsquo;s his
+overcoat here? It&rsquo;s no holiday. Oh, my Boryushka is gone!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She wails louder and louder. Then the old woman falls to the floor and begins
+to beat the boards with her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Borechka, my own Borechka! If the Lord had only taken me, an old woman,
+instead of him. What&rsquo;s the use of life to me? I drag along, of no cheer
+to myself or to any one else.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha, helpless, tries to quiet her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Nyanechka</i>, dearest, rest a little.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;May Thou rest me, O Lord! My heart told me something was wrong.
+I&rsquo;ve been dreaming all sorts of bad dreams. These black dreams have come
+true! Oh, Borechka, my own!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old woman continues to beat her head and to wail. Natasha implores her
+mother:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For God&rsquo;s sake, mamma, have Borya&rsquo;s overcoat taken from the
+rack.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sofia Alexandrovna looks at her with her dark, smouldering eyes and says
+morosely:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why? It had better hang there. He might suddenly need it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Oh, hateful memories! As long as the evil Dragon reigns in the heavens it is
+impossible to escape them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha roams restlessly, she can find no place for herself. She is off to the
+woods; she recalls Boris there, and that he has been hanged. She is off to the
+river; she recalls Boris there, and that he is no more. She is back at home,
+and the walls of the old house recall Boris to her, and that he will not
+return.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Like a pale shadow the mother wanders along the walks of the garden, choosing
+to pause there where the shade is densest. The old grandmother sits upon a
+bench and finishes the reading of the newspapers. It is the same every day.
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="linknote-4" id="linknote-4"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-4">[4]</a> 
+Little nurse.
+</p>
+
+<h3>L</h3>
+
+<p>
+And now the evening is approaching. The sun is low and red. It looks straight
+into people&rsquo;s eyes as though, while expiring, it were begging for mercy.
+A breeze blows from the river, and it brings the laughter of white water
+nymphs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A number of noisy urchins are running in the road; their shirt-tails flap
+merrily in the wind, while their sleeves are filled with wind like balloons.
+The sound of a harmonica comes from the distance, and its song runs on very
+merrily. The corncrake screeches in the field, and its call resembles a
+general&rsquo;s loud snore.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old house once more casts and arranges its long dark shadows disturbed by
+the intrusive day. Its windows blaze forth with the red fire of the evening
+sun.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The gilliflower exhales its seductive aroma in some of the distant paths. The
+roses seem even redder in the sunset, and more sweet. The eternal
+Aphrodite&mdash;the naked marble of her proud body taking on a rose
+tint&mdash;smiles again, and lets fall her draperies as fascinatingly as ever.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And everything is directed as before toward cherished, unreasonable hopes.
+Enfeebled by the day&rsquo;s heat, and by the sadness of the bright day, the
+harassed soul has exhausted its measure of suffering, and it falls from the
+iron embrace of sorrow to the beloved dark earth of the past, once more
+besprinkled with dreamily refreshing dew.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And again, as at dawn, the three women in the old house await Boris, or a short
+time happy in their madness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They await him, and they chat of him, until, from behind the trees of the dark
+wood, the cold moon shows her ever sad face. The dead moon is under a white
+shroud of mist.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then again they remember that Borya has been hanged, and they meet at the
+green-covered pond to weep for him.
+</p>
+
+<h3>LI</h3>
+
+<p>
+Natasha is the first to leave the house. She has on a white dress and a black
+cloak. Her black hair is covered with a thin black kerchief. Her very deep dark
+eyes shine with flame-like brightness. She stands, her pale face uplifted
+toward the moon. She awaits the other two.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna and Sofia Alexandrovna arrive together.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna leaves the house slightly earlier, but Sofia Alexandrovna runs
+after her and overtakes her almost at the pond. They wear black cloaks, black
+kerchiefs on their heads, and black shoes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha begins:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;On the night before the execution he did not sleep. The moon, just as
+clear as to-night&rsquo;s, looked into the narrow window of his cell. On the
+floor the moon sadly outlined a green rhomb, intersected lengthwise and
+crosswise by narrow dark strokes. Boris walked up and down his cell, and looked
+now at the moon, now at the green rhomb, and thought&mdash;I wish I knew his
+thoughts that night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her remark has a quite tranquil sound. It might have been about a stranger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sofia Alexandrovna now and again wrings her hands, and as she begins to speak
+her voice is agitated and heavy with grief:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What can one think at such moments! The moon, long dead, looks in. There
+are five steps from the door to the window, four steps across. The mind springs
+feverishly from object to object. That the execution is to take place on the
+morrow is the one thing you try not to think of. Stubbornly you repel the
+thought. But it remains, it refuses to depart, it throttles the soul with an
+oppressive, horrible nightmare. The anguish is intense and enfeebling. But I do
+not wish my gaolers and all these officials who are come to me to see my
+anguish. I will be calm. And yet what anguish&mdash;if only, lifting up my pale
+face, I could cry aloud to the pale moon!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna whispers faintly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Terrible, Sonyushka.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There are tears in her voice&mdash;simple, old-womanish, grandmotherly tears.
+</p>
+
+<h3>LII</h3>
+
+<p>
+Sofia Alexandrovna, ignoring the interruption, continues:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why should I really go to my death boldly and resolutely? Is it not all
+the same? I shall die in the courtyard, in the dark of night. Whether I die
+boldly, or weep like a coward, or beg for mercy, or resist the
+executioner&mdash;is it not all the same? No one will know how I died. I shall
+face death alone. Why should I really suffer this wild anguish? I will raise up
+my voice to wail and to weep, and I will shake the whole gaol with my
+despairing cries, and I will awake the town, the so-called free town, which is
+only a larger gaol&mdash;so that I shall not suffer alone, but that others
+shall share in my last agony, in my last dread. But no, I won&rsquo;t do that.
+It is my fate to die alone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha rises, trembles, presses her mother&rsquo;s cold hand in hers, and
+says:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mamma, mamma, it is terrible, if alone. No, don&rsquo;t say that he felt
+alone. We shall be with him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elena Kirillovna whispers:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, Sonyushka, it would be terrible alone. In such moments!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We are with him,&rdquo; insists Natasha vehemently. &ldquo;We are with
+him now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A smile is on Sofia Alexandrovna&rsquo;s lips, a smile such as a dying person
+smiles to greet his last consolation. Sofia Alexandrovna speaks:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My last consolation is the thought that I am not alone. He is with me.
+These walls are unrealities, this gaol built by men is a lie. What is real and
+true is my suffering and I am one with them in my grief. A poor consolation!
+And yet I, just think, this extraordinary I, Boris, I am dying.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am dying,&rdquo; repeats Natasha.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her voice is clouded, and it is fraught with despair. And all three remain
+silent for a brief while, overcome by the spell of these tragic words.
+</p>
+
+<h3>LIII</h3>
+
+<p>
+Sofia Alexandrovna speaks again. Her voice sounds tranquil, deliberate,
+measured:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is no consolation for the dying. His grief is boundless. The cold
+moon continues to torment him. A moan struggles to break from his throat, a
+moan like the wild baying of a caged beast.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha speaks sadly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But he is not alone, not alone. We are with him in his grief.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her eyes, darker than a dark night, look up toward the lifeless moon, and the
+green enchantress, reflected in them, torments her with a dull pain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sofia Alexandrovna smiles&mdash;and her smile is dead&mdash;and with the voice
+of inconsolable sorrow she speaks again slowly and calmly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We are with him only in his despair, in his pitiful inconsolability, in
+his dark solitude. But he was alone, alone, when he was strangled by the hand
+of a hired hangman; strangled in that dark enclosure which it is not for us to
+demolish. And the dead moon tormented him, as it torments us. She tempted him
+with the mad desire to moan wildly, like a wild beast before dying. And now we,
+in this hour, under this moon&mdash;are we not also tormented by the same mad
+desire to run, to run far from people, and to moan and to wail, and to flee
+from a grief too great to be borne!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She rises abruptly and walks away, wringing her beautiful white hands. She
+walks fast, almost runs, driven as it were by some strange, furious will not
+her own. Natasha follows her with the measured yet rapid, deliberate,
+mechanical gait of an automaton. And behind them trips along Elena Kirillovna,
+who lets fall a few scant tears on her black cloak.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The moon follows them callously in their hurried journey across the garden,
+across the field, into that wood, into that still glade, where once the
+children sang their proud hymn, and where they let their mad desires be known
+to one who was to betray them for a price&mdash;young blood for gold.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The grass in the fields is wet with dew. The river is white with mist. The high
+moon is clear and cold. Everywhere it is quiet, as though all the earthly
+rustlings and noises had lost themselves in the moon&rsquo;s dead light.
+</p>
+
+<h3>LIV</h3>
+
+<p>
+And here is the glade. &ldquo;Natasha, do you remember? How warmly they all
+sang <i>Arise, ye branded with a curse!</i> Natasha, will you sing it again?
+Do. Is it a torture?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll sing,&rdquo; replies Natasha quietly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She sings in a low voice, almost to herself. The mother listens, and the
+grandmother listens&mdash;but what have the birches and the grass and the clear
+moon to do with human songs!
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+In the International<br />
+As brothers all men shall meet!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her song is at an end. The wood is silent. The moon waits. The mist is pensive.
+The birches seem to listen. The sky is clear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ah, for whom is all this life? Who calls? Who responds? Or is it all the play
+of the dead?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Loudly wailing, the mother calls: &ldquo;Borya, Borya!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Overflowing with tears Elena Kirillovna replies: &ldquo;Borya won&rsquo;t come.
+There is no Borya.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Natasha stretches out her arms toward the lifeless moon, and cries out:
+&ldquo;Borya has been hanged!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All three now stand side by side, looking at the moon, and weeping. Louder
+grows their sobbing, fiercer the note of despair. Their moans merge finally
+into a prolonged, wild wailing, which can be heard for some distance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The dog at the forester&rsquo;s hut is restless. Trembling with all his lean
+body, his short hair bristling, he has pricked up his ears. Rising, he
+stretches his slender limbs. His sharp muzzle, showing its teeth, is uplifted
+to the tormenting moon. His eyes burn with a yearning flame. The dog bays in
+answer to the distant wail of the women in the wood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+People are asleep.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap02"></a>THE UNITER OF SOULS</h2>
+
+<p>
+Garmonov was extremely young, and had not yet learnt to time his visits; he
+usually came at the wrong hour and did not know when to leave. He realized at
+last that he was boring Sonpolyev almost to madness. It dawned upon him that he
+was taking Sonpolyev from his work. He recalled that Sonpolyev had borne
+himself with a constrained politeness toward him, and that at times a caustic
+phrase escaped his lips.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Garmonov grew painfully red, a sudden flame spread itself under the smooth skin
+of his drawn cheeks. He rose irresolutely. Then he sat down again, for he saw
+that Sonpolyev was about to say something. Sonpolyev took up the thread of the
+conversation in a depressed voice:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So you&rsquo;ve put a mask on! What do you want me to understand by
+that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Garmonov muttered in a confused way:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s necessary to dissemble sometimes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonpolyev would not listen further, but gave way to his irritation:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you understand about it? What do you know of masks? There is no
+mask without a responding soul. It is impossible to put on a mask without
+harmonizing your soul with its soul. Otherwise the mask is uncovered.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonpolyev grew silent, and looked miserably before him. He did not look at
+Garmonov. He felt again a strange, instinctive hate for him, such as he felt at
+their first meeting. He had always tried to hide this hate under a mask of
+great heartiness; he had urged Garmonov most earnestly to visit him, and
+praised Garmonov&rsquo;s verses to every one. But from time to time he spoke
+coarse, malicious words to the timid young man, who then flushed violently and
+shrank back within himself. Sonpolyev was quick to pity him, but soon again he
+detested his cautious, sluggish ways; he thought him secretive and cunning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Garmonov rose, said good-bye, and went out. Sonpolyev was left alone. He felt
+miserable because his work had been interrupted. He no longer felt in the same
+working mood. A secret malice tormented him. Why should this seemingly
+insignificant youth, Garmonov, evoke such bitterness in him? He had a large
+mouth, a long, very smooth face; his movements were slow, his voice had a
+drawl; there was something ambiguous about him, and enigmatical.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonpolyev began sadly to pace the room. He stopped before the wall, and began
+to speak. There are many people nowadays who have long conversations with the
+wall&mdash;the wall, indeed, makes an interested interlocutor, and a faithful
+one.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is possible,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;to hate so strongly and so
+poignantly only that which is near to one. But in what does this devilish
+nearness consist? By what impure magic has some demon bound our souls together?
+Souls so unlike one another! Mine, that of a man of action with a bent for
+repose; and his, the soul of a large-mouthed fledgling, who is as cunning as a
+conspirator, and as cautious as a coward. And what is there in his character
+that conflicts so strangely with his appearance? Who has stolen the best and
+most needful part from this moly-coddle&rsquo;s soul?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He spoke quietly, almost in a murmur. Then he exclaimed as though in a rage:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who has done this? Man, or the enemy of man?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And he heard the strange answer:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Some one spoke this word in a clear, shrill voice. It was like the sharp yet
+subdued ring of rusty steel. Sonpolyev trembled nervously. He looked round him.
+There was no one in the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He sat down in the arm-chair and looked, scowling, on the table, buried under
+books and papers; and he waited. He awaited something. The waiting grew
+painful. He said loudly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, why do you hide? You&rsquo;ve begun to speak, you might as well
+appear. What do you wish to say? What is it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He began to listen intently. His nerves were strained. It seemed as though the
+slightest noise would have sounded like an archangel&rsquo;s trumpet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then there was sudden laughter. It was sharp, and it was like the sound of
+rusty metal. The spring of some elaborate toy seemed to unwind itself, and
+trembled and tinkled in the subdued quiet of the evening. Sonpolyev put the
+palms of his hands over his temples, and rested upon his elbows. He listened
+intently. The laugh died away with mechanical evenness. It was evident that it
+came from somewhere quite near, perhaps from the table itself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonpolyev waited. He gazed with intent eyes at the bronze inkstand. He asked
+derisively: &ldquo;Ink sprite, was it not you that laughed?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sharp voice, quite unlike the muffled voice of phantoms, answered with the
+same derision: &ldquo;No, you are mistaken; and you are not very brilliant. I
+am not an ink sprite. Don&rsquo;t you know the rustling voices of ink sprites?
+You are a poor observer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And again there was laughter, again the rusty spring tinkled as it unwound
+itself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonpolyev said: &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know who you are&mdash;and how should I
+know! I cannot see you. Only I think that you are like the rest of your
+fraternity: you are always near us, you poke your noses into everything, and
+you bring sadness and evil spells upon us; yet you dare not show yourselves
+before our eyes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The metallic voice replied: &ldquo;The fact is, I came to have a talk with you.
+I love to talk with such as yourself&mdash;with half-folk.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The voice grew silent, and Sonpolyev waited for it to laugh. He thought:
+&ldquo;He must punctuate his every phrase with that hideous laughter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Indeed, he was not mistaken. The strange visitor really talked in this way:
+first he would speak a few words, then he would burst out into his sharp, rusty
+laughter. It seemed as though he used his words to wind up the spring, and that
+later the spring relaxed itself with his laughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And while his laughter was still dying away with mechanical evenness the guest
+showed himself from behind the inkstand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was small, and was no taller from head to foot than the fourth finger. He
+was grey-steel in colour. Owing to his small stature and to his rapid movements
+it was hard to tell whether the dim glow came from the body, or from a garment
+that stretched lightly over it. In any case it was something smooth, something
+expressly simple. The body seemed like a slender keg, broader at the belt,
+narrower at the shoulders and below. The arms and legs were of equal length and
+thickness, and of like nimbleness and flexibility; it seemed as though the arms
+were very long and thick, and the legs disproportionately short and thin. The
+neck was short. The face was hardy. The legs were widely astride. At the end of
+the back something was visible in the nature of a tail or a thick cone; like
+growths were upon the sides, under the elbows. The strange figure moved
+quickly, nimbly, and surely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The monster sat down on the bronze ridge of the inkstand, pushing aside the
+wooden pen-holder with his foot in order to be more comfortable. He grew quiet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonpolyev examined his face. It was lean, grey, and smooth. His eyes were small
+and glowed brightly. His mouth was large. His ears stuck out and were pointed
+at the top.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He sat there, grasping the ridge with his hands, like a monkey. Sonpolyev
+asked: &ldquo;Gracious guest, what do you want to say to me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And in answer a slight voice&mdash;mechanically even, unpleasantly sharp and
+rather rusty in tone&mdash;made itself heard: &ldquo;Man with a single head and
+a single soul, recall your past, your primitive experience of those ancient
+days when you and he lived in the same body.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And again there was laughter, shrill and sharp, piercing the ear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+While he was still laughing, the guest, with mechanical agility, turned a
+somersault; he stood on his hands, and Sonpolyev saw for the first time what he
+had taken for a tail was really a second head. This head did not differ in any
+way, as far as he could see, from the other head. Whether the heads were too
+small for him to observe, or whether the heads did not actually differ, it was
+quite certain that Sonpolyev did not see the slightest distinction between
+them. The arms reversed themselves as on hinges, and became quite like the
+legs; the first head, then losing its colour, hid itself between these
+arm-legs; while the former legs reversed themselves mechanically and became the
+arms.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonpolyev looked at his strange guest with astonishment. The guest made wry
+faces and danced. And when at last he grew still and his laughter gradually
+died away, the second head began to speak: &ldquo;How many souls have you, and
+how many consciousnesses? Can you tell me that? You pride yourself on the
+amazing differentiation of your organs, you have an idea that each member of
+your body fulfils its own well-defined functions. But tell me, stupid man, have
+you anything whereby to preserve the memory of your previous existences? The
+other head contains the rest of you, your early memories and your earlier
+experience. You argue subtly and craftily across the threshold of your pitiful
+consciousness, but your misfortune is that you have only one head.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The guest burst out again into rusty, metallic laughter, and he laughed this
+time rather long. He laughed and he danced at the same time. He turned
+somersaults, or he rested upon one arm and upon one leg, thereby causing one of
+his sides to turn upward&mdash;until it was impossible to distinguish any of
+his four extremities. Afterwards his limbs again turned mechanically, and it
+became obvious that the growths on his sides were also heads. Each head spoke
+and laughed in its turn. Each head grimaced, mocked at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonpolyev exclaimed in great fury: &ldquo;Be silent!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The guest danced, shouted, and laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonpolyev thought: &ldquo;I must catch him and crush him. Or I must smash the
+monster with a blow of the heavy press.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the guest continued to laugh and to make wry faces.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dare not take him with my hands,&rdquo; thought Sonpolyev. &ldquo;He
+might burn or scorch me. A knife would be better.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He opened his penknife. Then he quickly directed its sharp point toward the
+middle of his guest&rsquo;s body. The four-headed monster gathered himself into
+a ball, flapped his four paws, and burst into piercing laughter. Sonpolyev
+threw his knife on the table, and exclaimed: &ldquo;Hateful monster! What do
+you want of me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The guest jumped upon the sharply pointed lid of the inkstand, perched himself
+upon one foot, stretched his arms upward, and exclaimed in an ugly, shrill
+voice: &ldquo;Man with one head, recall your remote past when you and he were
+in the same body. The time you shared together in a dangerous adventure. Recall
+the dance of that terrible hour.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly it grew dark. The laughter resounded, hoarse and hideous. The head was
+going round....
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Light columns moved forward out of the darkness. The ceiling was low. The
+torches glowed dimly. The red tongues of flame wavered in the scented air. The
+flute poured out its notes. Handsome young limbs moved in measure to its music.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And it seemed to Sonpolyev that he was young and powerful, and that he was
+dancing round a banqueting table. A shrivelled, insolent, drunken face was
+looking at him; the banqueter was laughing uproariously, he was happy, and the
+dance of the half-naked youths pleased him. Sonpolyev felt that a furious rage
+was strangling him, and was hindering him from carrying out his project. He
+danced past the carousing man and his hands trembled. A reddish mist of hate
+dimmed his sight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His second soul wakened at the same time; it was the cunning, the sidling, the
+feline soul. This time the youth smiled at the happy man; he floated gracefully
+past him, a sweet, gentle boy. The banqueter laughed loudly. The youth&rsquo;s
+naked limbs and bared torso cheered the lord of the feast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And again there was hate, which dimmed his eyes with a red haze, and caused his
+hands to tremble with fury.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Some one whispered angrily: &ldquo;Are we going to twirl so long fruitlessly?
+It is time. It is time. Put an end to it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The friendly spirits prevailed. The two souls flowed together. Hate and cunning
+became one. There was a light, floating movement, then a powerful stroke;
+nimble feet swept the youth into the swift, beautiful dance. There was a hoarse
+outcry. Then an uproar. Everything became confused....
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And again there was darkness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonpolyev awoke: the same small monster was dancing on the table, grimacing and
+laughing uproariously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonpolyev asked: &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the meaning of this?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His guest replied: &ldquo;Two souls once dwelt in this youth, and one of them
+is now yours; it is a soul of exultant emotions and of passionate desires, it
+is an ever insatiable, trembling soul.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then there was laughter, jarring on the ear. The monster danced on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonpolyev shouted: &ldquo;Stop, you dance devil! It seems to me you wish to say
+that the second soul of this primitive youth lives in the feeble body of this
+despicable, smooth-faced youngster?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The guest stopped laughing and exclaimed:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Man, you have at last understood what I wished to tell you. Now perhaps
+you will guess who I am, and why I have come.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonpolyev waited until the trembling, shrill laughter ceased, and he answered
+his guest:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are the uniter of souls. But why did you not join us at our
+birth?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The monster hissed, curled up, then stopped and threw upward one of his side
+heads and exclaimed:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We can repair this if you like. Do you wish it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish it,&rdquo; Sonpolyev replied quickly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Call him to you on New Year&rsquo;s Eve, and call me. This hair will
+enable you to summon me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The monster ran quickly to the lamp, and placing upon its stand a short, thin
+black hair continued speaking: &ldquo;When you light it I&rsquo;ll come. But
+you ought to know that neither you nor he will preserve afterward a separate
+existence. And the man who will depart from here shall contain both souls, but
+it will be neither you nor he.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he disappeared. His shrill, rusty laughter still resounded and tormented
+the ear, but Sonpolyev no longer saw any one before him. Only a black hair on
+the flat stand of the lamp reminded him of his guest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonpolyev took the hair and put it into his purse.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+The last day of the year was approaching midnight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Garmonov was sitting once more at Sonpolyev&rsquo;s. They spoke quietly, in
+subdued voices. It was painful. Sonpolyev asked: &ldquo;You do not regret
+coming to my lonely party?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The smooth-faced young man smiled, and this made his teeth seem very white. He
+drawled out his words very slowly, and what he said was so tedious and so empty
+that Sonpolyev had no desire to listen to him. Sonpolyev, without continuing
+the conversation, asked quite bluntly: &ldquo;You remember your earlier
+existence?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not very well,&rdquo; answered Garmonov.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was clear that he did not understand the question, and that he thought
+Sonpolyev had asked him about his childhood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonpolyev frowned in his vexation. He began to explain what he wished to say.
+He felt that his speech was involved and long. And this vexed him still more.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Garmonov had understood. He grew cheerful. He flushed slightly. His words
+had a more animated sound than usual: &ldquo;Yes, yes, I sometimes feel that I
+have lived before. It is such a strange feeling. It&rsquo;s as though that life
+was fuller, bolder and freer; and that I dared to do things that I dare not do
+now.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And isn&rsquo;t it true,&rdquo; asked Sonpolyev in some agitation,
+&ldquo;that you feel as though you had lost something, as though you now lack
+the most significant part of your being?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; answered Garmonov with emphasis. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s
+precisely my feeling.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Would you like to restore this missing part?&rdquo; Sonpolyev continued
+to question. &ldquo;To be once more as before, whole and bold; to contain in
+one body&mdash;which shall feel itself light and young and free&mdash;the
+fullness of life and the union of the antagonistic identities of our human
+breed. To be, indeed, more than whole; to feel as it were, in one&rsquo;s
+breast, the beating of a doubled heart; to be this and that; to join two
+clashing souls within oneself, and to wrest the necessary manhood and hardihood
+for great deeds from the fiery struggle of intense contradictions.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; said Garmonov, &ldquo;I, too, sometimes dream about
+this.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonpolyev was afraid to look at the irresolute, confused, smooth face of his
+young visitor. He vaguely feared that Garmonov&rsquo;s face would disconcert
+him. He made haste.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Besides, midnight was approaching. Sonpolyev said quietly: &ldquo;I have the
+means in my hands to realize this dream. Do you wish to have it
+realized?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should like to,&rdquo; said Garmonov irresolutely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonpolyev raised his eyes. He looked at Garmonov with firmness and decision, as
+though he demanded something urgent and indispensable from him. He looked with
+a fixed intentness into the dark youthful eyes, which should have flamed fire,
+but instead they were the cold, crafty eyes of a little man with half a soul.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But it seemed to Sonpolyev that under his fixed fiery gaze Garmonov&rsquo;s
+eyes were becoming inflamed with enthusiasm and burning wrath. The young
+man&rsquo;s smooth face had suddenly become significant and stern.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you wish it?&rdquo; Sonpolyev asked him once more.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Garmonov replied quickly, with decision:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then a strange, sharp, shrill voice pronounced: &ldquo;Oh, small and
+cunning man; you who once during your ancient existence did a deed of great
+hardihood&mdash;that was when you joined your crafty soul to the flaming soul
+of an indignant man&mdash;tell us in this great, rare hour, have you firmly
+decided to merge your soul with the other, the different soul?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Garmonov answered even more quickly and more decisively: &ldquo;I wish
+to!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonpolyev listened to the shrill voice of the questioner. He recognized him. He
+was not mistaken: the &ldquo;I wish to!&rdquo; of Garmonov had already lost
+itself in the rusty, metallic laughter of that extraordinary visitor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonpolyev waited until the laughter ceased; then he said: &ldquo;But you should
+know that you will have to reject all dissembling. And all the joys of separate
+existence. Once I achieve my magic we shall both perish, and we shall set free
+our souls, or rather we shall fuse them together, and there shall be neither I
+nor you&mdash;there will be one in our place, and he shall be fiery in his
+conception, and cold in his execution. Both of us will have to go, in order to
+give a place to him, in whom both of us will be united. My friend, have you
+resolved upon this terrible thing? It is a great and terrible thing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Garmonov smiled a strange, faltering smile. But the fiery glance of Sonpolyev
+extinguished the smile; and the young man, as if submitting to some inevitable
+and fated command, pronounced in a dim, lifeless voice: &ldquo;I have decided.
+I wish it. I am not afraid.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonpolyev took the hair out of his wallet with trembling fingers. He lit a
+candle. Behind it hid the four-headed visitor. His grey body seemed to quake;
+and it vacillated in the wavering flame that fondled in its flickering embraces
+the white body of the submissive candle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Garmonov opened his eyes wide, and they steadfastly followed Sonpolyev&rsquo;s
+movements. Sonpolyev put one end of the hair to the flame. The hair curled
+slightly, grew red, gave a flare. It burned very slowly, with a quiet rhythmic
+crackle, which resembled the laugh of the nocturnal guest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The words of the strange guest were simple but terrible. At first Sonpolyev was
+barely conscious of them; he was so agitated and so absorbed by the burning of
+the magic hair that he could see no connexion with the simple, familiar words
+of the monster. Suddenly terror came upon him. He had understood. There was
+derision in those simple, terribly simple words.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Little soul, failing little soul, timid little soul.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sonpolyev, frightened, looked at Garmonov. The smooth-faced young man sat there
+strangely shrunken. His face was pale. Beads of perspiration showed on his
+forehead. A pitiful, forced smile twisted his lips. When he saw that Sonpolyev
+was looking at him he shrank even more, and whispered in a broken, hollow
+voice, as though against his will: &ldquo;It is terrible. It is painful. It is
+unnecessary.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly he hunched like a cat&mdash;a cunning, timid, evil cat&mdash;and
+sprang forward; thus deformed, he pushed out his over-red lips and blew upon
+the almost consumed hair. The flame flickered upward, trembled and died. A tiny
+cloud of blue smoke spread itself in the still air. The shrill laughter of the
+nocturnal guest pierced the ears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The hideous words resounded: &ldquo;Miscarried! Miscarried!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Garmonov sat down. He smiled guiltily and cunningly. Sonpolyev looked at him
+with unseeing eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The clock began to strike in the next room. And to each stroke the uniter of
+souls responded with the hoarse outcry: &ldquo;Miscarried!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And he laughed again his metallic laughter like a wound-up spring. He whirled
+round and grimaced; he seemed to lose himself in the lifeless yellow electric
+light.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the twelfth stroke, the last voice of the passing year, the hideous voice
+grew silent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miscarried!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And the horrible laughter of the vanishing monster died away. Garmonov, truly
+rejoicing over his deliverance from an unhappy fate, rose, and said: &ldquo;A
+happy New Year!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap03"></a>INVOKER OF THE BEAST</h2>
+
+<h3>I</h3>
+
+<p>
+It was quiet and tranquil, and neither joyous nor sad. There was an electric
+light in the room. The walls seemed impregnable. The window was overhung by
+heavy, dark-green draperies, even denser in tone than the green of the
+wall-paper. Both doors&mdash;the large one at the side, and the small one in
+the depth of the alcove that faced the window&mdash;were securely bolted. And
+there, behind them, reigned darkness and desolation in the broad corridor as
+well as in the spacious and cold reception-room, where melancholy plants
+yearned for their native soil.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gurov was lying on the divan. A book was in his hands. He often paused in his
+reading. He meditated and mused during these pauses, and it was always about
+the same thing. Always about <i>them</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They hovered near him. This he had noticed long ago. They were hiding. Their
+manner; was importunate. They rustled very quietly. For a long time they
+remained invisible to the eye. But one day, when Gurov awoke rather tired; sad
+and pale, and languidly turned on the electric light to dissipate the greyish
+gloom of an early winter morning&mdash;he espied one of them suddenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Small, grey, shifty and nimble, <i>he</i> flashed by, and in the twinkling of
+an eye disappeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And thereafter, in the morning, or in the evening, Gurov grew used to seeing
+these small, shifty, house sprites run past him. This time he did not doubt
+that they would appear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To begin with he felt a slight headache, afterwards a sudden flash of heat,
+then of cold. Then, out of the corner, there emerged the long, slender Fever
+with her ugly, yellow face and her bony dry hands; she lay down at his side,
+and embraced him, and fell to kissing him and to laughing. And these rapid
+kisses of the affectionate and cunning Fever, and these slow approaches of the
+slight headache were agreeable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Feebleness spread itself over, the whole body, and lassitude also. This too was
+agreeable. It made him feel as though all the turmoil of life had receded into
+the distance. And people also became far away, unimportant, even unnecessary.
+He preferred to be with these quiet ones, these house sprites.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gurov had not been out for some days. He had locked himself in at home. He did
+not permit any one to come to him. He was alone. He thought about them. He
+awaited them.
+</p>
+
+<h3>II</h3>
+
+<p>
+This tedious waiting was cut short in a strange and unexpected manner. He heard
+the slamming of a distant door, and presently he became aware of the sound of
+unhurried footfalls which came from the direction of the reception-room, just
+behind the door of his room. Some one was approaching with a sure and nimble
+step.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gurov turned his head toward the door. A gust of cold entered the room. Before
+him stood a boy, most strange and wild in aspect. He was dressed in linen
+draperies, half-nude, barefoot, smooth-skinned, sun-tanned, with black tangled
+hair and dark, burning eyes. An amazingly perfect, handsome face; handsome to a
+degree which made it terrible to gaze upon its beauty. And it portrayed neither
+good nor evil.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gurov was not astonished. A masterful mood took hold of him. He could hear the
+house sprites scampering away to conceal themselves.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The boy began to speak.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Aristomarchon! Perhaps you have forgotten your promise? Is this the way
+of valiant men? You left me when I was in mortal danger, you had made me a
+promise, which it is evident you did not intend to keep. I have sought for you
+such a long time! And here I have found you, living at your ease, and in
+luxury.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gurov fixed a perplexed gaze upon the half-nude, handsome lad; and turgid
+memories awoke in his soul. Something long since submerged arose in dim
+outlines and tormented his memory, which struggled to find a solution to the
+strange apparition; a solution, moreover, which seemed so near and so intimate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And what of the invincibility of his walls? Something had happened round him,
+some mysterious transformation had taken place. But Gurov, engulfed in his vain
+exertions to recall something very near to him and yet slipping away in the
+tenacious embrace of ancient memory, had not yet succeeded in grasping the
+nature of the change that he felt had taken place. He turned to the wonderful
+boy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tell me, gracious boy, simply and clearly, without unnecessary
+reproaches, what had I promised you, and when had I left you in a time of
+mortal danger? I swear to you, by all the holies, that my conscience could
+never have permitted me such a mean action as you reproach me with.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The boy shook his head. In a sonorous voice, suggestive of the melodious
+outpouring of a stringed instrument, he said: &ldquo;Aristomarchon, you always
+have been a man skilful with words, and not less skilful in matters requiring
+daring and prudence. If I have said that you left me in a moment of mortal
+danger I did not intend it as a reproach, and I do not understand why you speak
+of your conscience. Our projected affair was difficult and dangerous, but who
+can hear us now; before whom, with your craftily arranged words and your
+dissembling ignorance of what happened this morning at sunrise, can you deny
+that you had given me a promise?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The electric light grew dim. The ceiling seemed to darken and to recede into
+height. There was a smell of grass; its forgotten name, once, long ago,
+suggested something gentle and joyous. A breeze blew. Gurov raised himself, and
+asked: &ldquo;What sort of an affair had we two contrived? Gracious boy, I deny
+nothing. Only I don&rsquo;t know what you are speaking of. I don&rsquo;t
+remember.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gurov felt as though the boy were looking at him, yet not directly. He felt
+also vaguely conscious of another presence no less unfamiliar and alien than
+that of this curious stranger, and it seemed to him that the unfamiliar form of
+this other presence coincided with his own form. An ancient soul, as it were,
+had taken possession of Gurov and enveloped him in the long-lost freshness of
+its vernal attributes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was growing darker, and there was increasing purity and coolness in the air.
+There rose up in his soul the joy and ease of pristine existence. The stars
+glowed brilliantly in the dark sky. The boy spoke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We had undertaken to kill the Beast. I tell you this under the
+multitudinous gaze of the all-seeing sky. Perhaps you were frightened.
+That&rsquo;s quite likely too! We had planned a great, terrible affair, that
+our names might be honoured by future generations.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Soft, tranquil, and monotonous was the sound of a stream which purled its way
+in the nocturnal silence. The stream was invisible, but its nearness was
+soothing and refreshing. They stood under the broad shelter of a tree and
+continued the conversation begun at some other time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gurov asked: &ldquo;Why do you say that I had left you in a moment of mortal
+danger? Who am I that I should be frightened and run away?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The boy burst into a laugh. His mirth had the sound of music, and as it passed
+into speech his voice still quavered with sweet, melodious laughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Aristomarchon, how cleverly you feign to have forgotten all! I
+don&rsquo;t understand what makes you do this, and with such a mastery that you
+bring reproaches against yourself which I have not even dreamt of. You had left
+me in a moment of mortal danger because it had to be, and you could not have
+helped me otherwise than by forsaking me at the moment. You will surely not
+remain stubborn in your denial when I remind you of the words of the
+Oracle?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gurov suddenly remembered. A brilliant light, as it were, unexpectedly
+illumined the dark domain of things forgotten. And in wild ecstasy, in a loud
+and joyous voice, he exclaimed: &ldquo;<i>One</i> shall kill the Beast!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The boy laughed. And Aristomarchon asked: &ldquo;Did you kill the Beast,
+Timarides?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With what?&rdquo; exclaimed Timarides. &ldquo;However strong my hands
+are, I was not one who could kill the Beast with a blow of the fist. We,
+Aristomarchon, had not been prudent and we were unarmed. We were playing in the
+sand by the stream. The Beast came upon us suddenly and he laid his paw upon
+me. It was for me to offer up my life as a sweet sacrifice to glory and to a
+noble cause; it was for you to execute our plan. And while he was tormenting my
+defenceless and unresisting body, you, fleet-footed Aristomarchon, could have
+run for your lance, and killed the now blood-intoxicated Beast. But the Beast
+did not accept my sacrifice. I lay under him, quiescent and still, gazing into
+his bloodshot eyes. He held his heavy paw on my shoulder, his breath came in
+hot, uneven gasps, and he sent out low snarls. Afterwards, he put out his huge,
+hot tongue and licked my face; then he left me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where is he now?&rdquo; asked Aristomarchon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a voice strangely tranquil and strangely sonorous in the quiet arrested
+stillness of the humid air, Timarides replied: &ldquo;He followed me. I do not
+know how long I have been wandering until I found you. He followed me. I led
+him on by the smell of my blood. I do not know why he has not touched me until
+now. But here I have enticed him to you. You had better get the weapon which
+you had hidden so carefully and kill the Beast, while I in my turn will leave
+you in the moment of mortal danger, eye to eye with the enraged creature.
+Here&rsquo;s luck to you, Aristomarchon!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As soon as he uttered these words Timarides, started, to run. For a short time
+his cloak was visible in the darkness, a glimmering patch of white. And then he
+disappeared. In the same instant the air resounded with the savage bellowing of
+the Beast, and his ponderous tread became audible. Pushing aside the growth of
+shrubs there emerged from the darkness the huge, monstrous head of the Beast,
+flashing a livid fire out of its two enormous, flaming eyes. And in the dark
+silence of nocturnal trees the towering ferocious shape of the Beast loomed
+ominously as it approached Aristomarchon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Terror filled Aristomarchon&rsquo;s heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where is the lance?&rdquo; was the thought that quickly flashed across
+his brain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And in that instant, feeling the fresh night breeze on his face, Aristomarchon
+realized that he was running from the Beast. His ponderous springs and his
+spasmodic roars resounded closer and closer behind him. And as the Beast came
+up with him a loud cry rent the silence of the night. The cry came from
+Aristomarchon, who, recalling then some ancient and terrible words, pronounced
+loudly the incantation of the walls.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And thus enchanted the walls erected themselves around him....
+</p>
+
+<h3>III</h3>
+
+<p>
+Enchanted, the walls stood firm and were lit up. A dreary light was cast upon
+them by the dismal electric lamp. Gurov was in his usual surroundings.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again came the nimble Fever and kissed him with her yellow, dry lips, and
+caressed him with her dry, bony hands, which exhaled heat and cold. The same
+thin volume, with its white pages, lay on the little table beside the divan
+where, as before, Gurov rested in the caressing embrace of the affectionate
+Fever, who showered upon him her rapid kisses. And again there stood beside
+him, laughing and rustling, the tiny house sprites.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gurov said loudly and indifferently: &ldquo;The incantation of the
+walls!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he paused. But in what consisted this incantation? He had forgotten the
+words. Or had they never existed at all?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The little, shifty, grey demons danced round the slender volume with its
+ghostly white pages, and kept on repeating with their rustling voices:
+&ldquo;Our walls are strong. We are in the walls. We have nothing to fear from
+the outside.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In their midst stood one of them, a tiny object like themselves, yet different
+from the rest. He was all black. His mantle fell from his shoulders in folds of
+smoke and flame. His eyes flashed like lightning. Terror and joy alternated
+quickly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gurov spoke: &ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The black demon answered: &ldquo;I am the Invoker of the Beast. In one of your
+long-past existences you left the lacerated body of Timarides on the banks of a
+forest stream. The Beast had satiated himself on the beautiful body of your
+friend; he had gorged himself on the flesh that might have partaken of the
+fullness of earthly happiness; a creature of superhuman perfection had perished
+in order to gratify for a moment the appetite of the ravenous and ever
+insatiable Beast. And the blood, the wonderful blood, the sacred wine of
+happiness and joy, the wine of superhuman bliss&mdash;what had been the fate of
+this wonderful blood? Alas! The thirsty, ceaselessly thirsty Beast drank of it
+to gratify his momentary desire, and is thirsty anew. You had left the body of
+Timarides, mutilated by the Beast, on the banks of the forest stream; you
+forgot the promise you had given your valorous friend, and even the words of
+the ancient Oracle had not banished fear from your heart. And do you think that
+you are safe, that the Beast will not find you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was austerity in the sound of his voice. While he was speaking the house
+sprites gradually ceased their dance; the little, grey house sprites stopped to
+listen to the Invoker of the Beast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gurov then said in reply: &ldquo;I am not worried about the Beast! I have
+pronounced eternal enchantment upon my walls and the Beast shall never
+penetrate hither, into my enclosure.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The little grey ones were overjoyed, their voices tinkled with merriment and
+laughter; having gathered round, hand in hand, in a circle, they were on the
+point of bursting forth once more into dance, when the voice of the Invoker of
+the Beast rang out again, sharp and austere.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I am here. I am here because I have found you. I am here because the
+incantation of the walls is dead. I am here because Timarides is waiting and
+importuning me. Do you hear the gentle laugh of the brave, trusting lad? Do you
+hear the terrible bellowing of the Beast?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From behind the wall, approaching nearer, could be heard the fearsome bellowing
+of the Beast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Beast is bellowing behind the wall, the invincible wall!&rdquo;
+exclaimed Gurov in terror. &ldquo;My walls are enchanted for ever, and
+impregnable against foes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then spoke the black demon, and there was an imperious ring in his voice:
+&ldquo;I tell you, man, the incantation of the walls is dead. And if you think
+you can save yourself by pronouncing the incantation of the walls, why then
+don&rsquo;t you utter the words?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A cold shiver passed down Gurov&rsquo;s spine. The incantation! He had
+forgotten the words of the ancient spell. And what mattered it? Was not the
+ancient incantation dead&mdash;dead?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Everything about him confirmed with irrefutable evidence the death of the
+ancient incantation of the walls&mdash;because the walls, and the light and the
+shade which fell upon them, seemed dead and wavering. The Invoker of the Beast
+spoke terrible words. And Gurov&rsquo;s mind was now in a whirl, now in pain,
+and the affectionate Fever did not cease to torment him with her passionate
+kisses. Terrible words resounded, almost deadening his senses&mdash;while the
+Invoker of the Beast grew larger and larger, and hot fumes breathed from him,
+and grim terror. His eyes ejected fire, and when at last he grew so tall as to
+screen off the electric light, his black cloak suddenly fell from his
+shoulders. And Gurov recognized him&mdash;it was the boy Timarides.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will you kill the Beast?&rdquo; asked Timarides in a sonorous voice.
+&ldquo;I have enticed him, I have led him to you, I have destroyed the
+incantation of the walls. The cowardly gift of inimical gods, the incantation
+of the walls, had turned into naught my sacrifice, and had saved you from your
+action. But the ancient incantation of the walls is dead&mdash;be quick, then,
+to take hold of your sword and kill the Beast. I have been a boy&mdash;I have
+become the Invoker of the Beast. He had drunk of my blood, and now he thirsts
+anew; he had partaken also of my flesh, and he is hungry again, the insatiable,
+pitiless Beast. I have called him to you, and you, in fulfilment of your
+promise, may kill the Beast. Or die yourself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He vanished. A terrible bellowing shook the walls. A gust of icy moisture blew
+across to Gurov.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The wall facing the spot where Gurov lay opened, and the huge, ferocious and
+monstrous Beast entered. Bellowing savagely, he approached Gurov and laid his
+ponderous paw upon his breast. Straight into his heart plunged the pitiless
+claws. A terrible pain shot through his whole body. Shifting his blood-red eyes
+the Beast inclined his head toward Gurov and, crumbling the bones of his victim
+with his teeth, began to devour his yet-palpitating heart.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap04"></a>THE WHITE DOG</h2>
+
+<p>
+Everything grew irksome for Alexandra Ivanovna in the workshop of this
+out-of-the-way town&mdash;the patterns, the clatter of machines, the complaints
+of the customers; it was the shop in which she had served as apprentice and now
+for several years as cutter. Everything irritated Alexandra Ivanovna; she
+quarrelled with every one and abused the innocent apprentice. Among others to
+suffer from her outbursts of temper was Tanechka, the youngest of the
+seamstresses, who only lately had been an apprentice. In the beginning Tanechka
+submitted to her abuse in silence. In the end she revolted, and, addressing
+herself to her assailant, said, quite calmly and affably, so that every one
+laughed:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Alexandra Ivanovna, you are a downright dog!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Alexandra Ivanovna felt humiliated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are a dog yourself!&rdquo; she exclaimed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tanechka sat there sewing. She paused now and then from her work and said in a
+calm, deliberate manner:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You always whine.... Certainly, you are a dog.... You have a dog&rsquo;s
+snout.... And a dog&rsquo;s ears.... And a wagging tail.... The mistress will
+soon drive you out of doors, because you are the most detestable of dogs, a
+poodle.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tanechka was a young, plump, rosy-cheeked girl with an innocent, good-natured
+face, which revealed, however, a trace of cunning. She sat there so demure,
+barefooted, still dressed in her apprentice clothes; her eyes were clear, and
+her brows were highly arched on her fine curved white forehead, framed by
+straight, dark chestnut hair, which in the distance looked black.
+Tanechka&rsquo;s voice was clear, even, sweet, insinuating, and if one could
+have heard its sound only, and not given heed to the words, it would have given
+the impression that she was paying Alexandra Ivanovna compliments.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The other seamstresses laughed, the apprentices chuckled, they covered their
+faces with their black aprons and cast side glances at Alexandra Ivanovna. As
+for Alexandra Ivanovna, she was livid with rage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wretch!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;I will pull your ears for you! I
+won&rsquo;t leave a hair on your head.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tanechka replied in a gentle voice:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The paws are a trifle short.... The poodle bites as well as barks.... It
+may be necessary to buy a muzzle.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Alexandra Ivanovna made a movement toward Tanechka. But before Tanechka had
+time to lay aside her work and get up, the mistress of the establishment, a
+large, serious-looking woman, entered, rustling her dress.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She said sternly: &ldquo;Alexandra Ivanovna, what do you mean by making such a
+fuss?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Alexandra Ivanovna, much agitated, replied: &ldquo;Irina Petrovna, I wish you
+would forbid her to call me a dog!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tanechka in her turn complained: &ldquo;She is always snarling at something or
+other. Always quibbling at the smallest trifles.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the mistress looked at her sternly and said: &ldquo;Tanechka, I can see
+through you. Are you sure you didn&rsquo;t begin? You needn&rsquo;t think that
+because you are a seamstress now you are an important person. If it
+weren&rsquo;t for your mother&rsquo;s sake&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tanechka grew red, but preserved her innocent and affable manner. She addressed
+her mistress in a subdued voice: &ldquo;Forgive me, Irina Petrovna, I will not
+do it again. But it wasn&rsquo;t altogether my fault....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="p2">
+Alexandra Ivanovna returned home almost ill with rage. Tanechka had guessed her
+weakness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A dog! Well, then I am a dog,&rdquo; thought Alexandra Ivanovna,
+&ldquo;but it is none of her affair! Have I looked to see whether she is a
+serpent or a fox? It is easy to find one out, but why make a fuss about it? Is
+a dog worse than any other animal?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The clear summer night languished and sighed, a soft breeze from the adjacent
+fields occasionally blew down the peaceful streets. The moon rose clear and
+full, that very same moon which rose long ago at another place, over the broad
+desolate steppe, the home of the wild, of those who ran free, and whined in
+their ancient earthly travail. The very same, as then and in that region.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now, as then, glowed eyes sick with longing; and her heart, still wild, not
+forgetting in town the great spaciousness of the steppe felt oppressed; her
+throat was troubled with a tormenting desire to howl like a wild thing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was about to undress, but what was the use? She could not sleep, anyway.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She went into the passage. The warm planks of the floor bent and creaked under
+her, and small shavings and sand which covered them tickled her feet not
+unpleasantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She went out on the doorstep. There sat the <i>babushka</i> Stepanida, a black
+figure in her black shawl, gaunt and shrivelled. She sat with her head bent,
+and it seemed as though she were warming herself in the rays of the cold moon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Alexandra Ivanovna sat down beside her. She kept looking at the old woman
+sideways. The large curved nose of her companion seemed to her like the beak of
+an old bird.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A crow?&rdquo; Alexandra Ivanovna asked herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She smiled, forgetting for the moment her longing and her fears. Shrewd as the
+eyes of a dog her own lighted up with the joy of her discovery. In the pale
+green light of the moon the wrinkles of her faded face became altogether
+invisible, and she seemed once more young and merry and light-hearted, just as
+she was ten years ago, when the moon had not yet called upon her to bark and
+bay of nights before the windows of the dark bathhouse.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She moved closer to the old woman, and said affably: &ldquo;<i>Babushka</i>
+Stepanida, there is something I have been wanting to ask you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old woman turned to her, her dark face furrowed with wrinkles, and asked in
+a sharp, oldish voice that sounded like a caw:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, my dear? Go ahead and ask.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Alexandra Ivanovna gave a repressed laugh; her thin shoulders suddenly trembled
+from a chill that ran down her spine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She spoke very quietly: &ldquo;<i>Babushka</i> Stepanida, it seems to
+me&mdash;tell me is it true?&mdash;I don&rsquo;t know exactly how to put
+it&mdash;but you, <i>babushka</i>, please don&rsquo;t take offence&mdash;it is
+not from malice that I&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go on, my dear, never fear, say it,&rdquo; said the old woman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looked at Alexandra Ivanovna with glowing, penetrating eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It seems to me, <i>babushka</i>&mdash;please, now, don&rsquo;t take
+offence&mdash;as though you, <i>babushka</i> were a crow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old woman turned away. She was silent and merely nodded her head. She had
+the appearance of one who had recalled something. Her head, with its sharply
+outlined nose, bowed and nodded, and at last it seemed to Alexandra Ivanovna
+that the old woman was dozing. Dozing, and mumbling something under her nose.
+Nodding her head and mumbling some old forgotten words&mdash;old magic words.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An intense quiet reigned out of doors. It was neither light nor dark, and
+everything seemed bewitched with the inarticulate mumbling of old forgotten
+words. Everything languished and seemed lost in apathy. Again a longing
+oppressed her heart. And it was neither a dream nor an illusion. A thousand
+perfumes, imperceptible by day, became subtly distinguishable, and they
+recalled something ancient and primitive, something forgotten in the long ages.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a barely audible voice the old woman mumbled: &ldquo;Yes, I am a crow. Only
+I have no wings. But there are times when I caw, and I caw, and tell of woe.
+And I am given to forebodings, my dear; each time I have one I simply must caw.
+People are not particularly anxious to hear me. And when I see a doomed person
+I have such a strong desire to caw.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old woman suddenly made a sweeping movement with her arms, and in a shrill
+voice cried out twice: &ldquo;Kar-r, Kar-r!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Alexandra Ivanovna shuddered, and asked: &ldquo;<i>Babushka</i>, at whom are
+you cawing?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old woman answered: &ldquo;At you, my dear&mdash;at you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It had become too painful to sit with the old woman any longer. Alexandra
+Ivanovna went to her own room. She sat down before the open window and listened
+to two voices at the gate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It simply won&rsquo;t stop whining!&rdquo; said a low and harsh voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And uncle, did you see&mdash;&mdash;?&rdquo; asked an agreeable young
+tenor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Alexandra Ivanovna recognized in this last the voice of the curly-headed,
+somewhat red, freckled-faced lad who lived in the same court.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A brief and depressing silence followed. Then she heard a hoarse and harsh
+voice say suddenly: &ldquo;Yes, I saw. It&rsquo;s very large&mdash;and white.
+Lies near the bathhouse, and bays at the moon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The voice gave her an image of the man, of his shovel-shaped beard, his low,
+furrowed forehead, his small, piggish eyes, and his spread-out fat legs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And why does it bay, uncle?&rdquo; asked the agreeable voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And again the hoarse voice did not reply at once.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly to no good purpose&mdash;and where it came from is more than I
+can say.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you think, uncle, it may be a were-wolf?&rdquo; asked the agreeable
+voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should not advise you to investigate,&rdquo; replied the hoarse voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She could not quite understand what these words implied, nor did she wish to
+think of them. She did not feel inclined to listen further. What was the sound
+and significance of human words to <i>her</i>?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The moon looked straight into her face, and persistently called her and
+tormented her. Her heart was restless with a dark longing, and she could not
+sit still.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Alexandra Ivanovna quickly undressed herself. Naked, all white, she silently
+stole through the passage; she then opened the outer door&mdash;there was no
+one on the step or outside&mdash;and ran quickly across the court and the
+vegetable garden, and reached the bathhouse. The sharp contact of her body with
+the cold air and her feet with the cold ground gave her pleasure. But soon her
+body was warm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She lay down in the grass, on her stomach. Then, raising herself on her elbows,
+she lifted her face toward the pale, brooding moon, and gave a long-drawn-out
+whine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Listen, uncle, it is whining,&rdquo; said the curly-haired lad at the
+gate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The agreeable tenor voice trembled perceptibly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Whining again, the accursed one,&rdquo; said the hoarse, harsh voice
+slowly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They rose from the bench. The gate latch clicked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They went silently across the courtyard and the vegetable garden, the two of
+them. The older man, black-bearded and powerful, walked in front, a gun in his
+hand. The curly-headed lad followed tremblingly, and looked constantly behind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Near the bathhouse, in the grass, lay a huge white dog, whining piteously. Its
+head, black on the crown, was raised to the moon, which pursued its way in the
+cold sky; its hind legs were strangely thrown backward, while the front ones,
+firm and straight, pressed hard against the ground.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the pale green and unreal light of the moon it seemed enormous, so huge a
+dog was surely never seen on earth. It was thick and fat. The black spot, which
+began at the head and stretched in uneven strands down the entire spine, seemed
+like a woman&rsquo;s loosened hair. No tail was visible, presumably it was
+turned under. The fur on the body was so short that in the distance the dog
+seemed wholly naked, and its hide shone dimly in the moonlight, so that
+altogether it resembled the body of a nude woman, who lay in the grass and
+bayed at the moon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The man with the black beard took aim. The curly-haired lad crossed himself and
+mumbled something.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The discharge of a rifle sounded in the night air. The dog gave a groan, jumped
+up on its hind legs, became a naked woman, who, her body covered with blood,
+started to run, all the while groaning, weeping and raising cries of distress.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The black-bearded one and the curly-haired one threw themselves in the grass,
+and began to moan in wild terror.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap05"></a>LIGHT AND SHADOWS</h2>
+
+<h3>I</h3>
+
+<p>
+Volodya Lovlev, a pale meagre lad of twelve, had returned home from school and
+was waiting for his dinner. He was standing in the drawing-room at the piano,
+and was turning over the pages of the latest number of the <i>Niva</i> which
+had come only that morning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A leaflet of thin grey paper fell out; it was an announcement issued by an
+illustrated journal. It enumerated the future contributors&mdash;the list
+contained about fifty well-known literary names; it praised at some length the
+journal as a whole and in detail its many-sidedness, and it presented several
+specimen illustrations.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya began to turn the pages of the leaflet in an absent way and to look at
+the miniature pictures. His large eyes, looked wearily out of his pale face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One page suddenly caught his attention, and his wide eyes opened slightly
+wider. Running from top to bottom were six drawings of hands throwing shadows
+in dark silhouette upon a white wall&mdash;the shadows representing the head of
+a girl with an amusing three-cornered hat, the head of a donkey, of a bull, the
+sitting figure of a squirrel, and other similar things.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya smiled and looked very intently at them. He was quite familiar with
+this amusement. He could hold the fingers of one hand so as to cast a
+silhouette of a hare&rsquo;s head on the wall. But this was quite another
+matter, something that Volodya had not seen before; its interest for him was
+that here were quite complex figures cast by using both hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya suddenly wished to reproduce these shadows. Of course there was no use
+trying now, in the uncertain light of a late autumn afternoon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had better try it later in his own room. In any case, it was of no use to
+any one.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Just then he heard the approaching footsteps and voice of his mother. He
+flushed for some reason or other and quickly put the leaflet into his pocket,
+and left the piano to meet her. She looked at him with a caressing smile as she
+came toward him; her pale, handsome face greatly resembled his, and she had the
+same large eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She asked him, as she always did: &ldquo;Well, what&rsquo;s the news
+to-day?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s nothing new,&rdquo; said Volodya dejectedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But it occurred to him at once that he was being ungracious, and he felt
+ashamed. He smiled genially and began to recall what had happened at school;
+but this only made him feel sadder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pruzhinin has again distinguished himself,&rdquo; and he began to tell
+about the teacher who was disliked by his pupils for his rudeness.
+&ldquo;Lentyev was reciting his lesson and made a mess of it, and so Pruzhinin
+said to him: &lsquo;Well, that&rsquo;s enough; sit down,
+blockhead!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing escapes you,&rdquo; said his mother, smiling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s always rude.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After a brief silence Volodya sighed, then complained: &ldquo;They are always
+in a hurry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who?&rdquo; asked his mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I mean the masters. Every one is anxious to finish his course quickly
+and to make a good show at the examination. And if you ask a question you are
+immediately suspected of trying to take up the time until the bell rings, and
+to avoid having questions put to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you talk much after the lessons?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, yes&mdash;but there&rsquo;s the same hurry after the lessons to
+get home, or to study the lessons in the girls&rsquo; class-rooms. And
+everything is done in a hurry&mdash;you are no sooner done with the geometry
+than you must study your Greek.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s to keep you from yawning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yawning! I&rsquo;m more like a squirrel going round on its cage-wheel.
+It&rsquo;s exasperating.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His mother smiled lightly.
+</p>
+
+<h3>II</h3>
+
+<p>
+After dinner Volodya went to his room to prepare his lessons. His mother saw
+that the room was comfortable, that nothing was lacking in it. No one ever
+disturbed Volodya here; even his mother refrained from coming in at this time.
+She would come in later, to help Volodya if he needed help.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya was an industrious and even a clever pupil. But he found it difficult
+to-day to apply himself. No matter what lesson he tried he could not help
+remembering something unpleasant; he would recall the teacher of each
+particular subject, his sarcastic or rude remark, which propped in passings had
+entered in the impressionable boy&rsquo;s mind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Several of his recent lessons happened to turn out poorly; the teachers
+appeared dissatisfied, and they grumbled incessantly. Their mood communicated
+itself to Volodya, and his books and copy-books inspired him at this moment
+with a deep confusion and unrest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He passed hastily from the first lesson to the second and to the third; this
+bother with trifles for the sake of not appearing &ldquo;a blockhead&rdquo; the
+next day seemed to him both silly and unnecessary. The thought perturbed him.
+He began to yawn from tedium and from sadness, and to dangle his feet
+impatiently; he simply could not sit still.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he knew too well that the lessons must be learnt, that this was very
+important, that his future depended upon it; and so he went on conscientiously
+with the tedious business.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya made a blot on the copy-book, and he put his pen aside. He looked at
+the blot, and decided that it could be erased with a penknife. He was glad of
+the distraction.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Not finding the penknife on the table he put his hand into his pocket and
+rummaged there. Among all such rubbish as is to be found in a boy&rsquo;s
+pocket he felt his penknife and pulled it out, together with some sort of
+leaflet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He did not see at first what the paper was he held in his hands, but on looking
+at it he suddenly remembered that this was the little book with the shadows,
+and quite as suddenly he grew cheerful and animated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And there it was&mdash;that same little leaflet which he had forgotten when he
+began his lessons.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He jumped briskly off his chair, moved the lamp nearer the wall, looked
+cautiously at the closed door&mdash;as though afraid of some one
+entering&mdash;and, turning the leaflet to the familiar page, began to study
+the first drawing with great intentness, and to arrange his fingers according
+to directions. The first shadow came out as a confused shape, not at all what
+it should have been. Volodya moved the lamp, now here, now there; he bent and
+he stretched his fingers; and he was at last rewarded by seeing a woman&rsquo;s
+head with a three-cornered hat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya grew cheerful. He inclined his hand somewhat and moved his fingers very
+slightly&mdash;the head bowed, smiled, and grimaced amusingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya proceeded with the second figure, then with the others. All were hard
+at the beginning, but he managed them somehow in the end.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He spent a half-hour in this occupation, and forgot all about his lessons, the
+school, and the whole world.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly he heard familiar footsteps behind the door. Volodya flushed; he
+stuffed the leaflet into his pocket and quickly moved the lamp to its place,
+almost overturning it; then he sat down and bent over his copy-book. His mother
+entered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go and have tea, Volodenka,&rdquo; she said to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya pretended that he was looking at the blot and that he was about to open
+his penknife. His mother gently put her hands on his head. Volodya threw the
+knife aside and pressed his flushing face against his mother. Evidently she
+noticed nothing, and this made Volodya glad. Still, he felt ashamed, as though
+he had actually been caught at some stupid prank.
+</p>
+
+<h3>III</h3>
+
+<p>
+The samovar stood upon the round table in the dining-room and quietly hummed
+its garrulous song. The hanging-lamp diffused its light upon the white
+tablecloth and upon the dark walls, filling the room with dream and mystery.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya&rsquo;s mother seemed wistful as she leant her handsome, pale face
+forward over the table. Volodya was leaning on his arm, and was stirring the
+small spoon in his glass. It was good to watch the tea&rsquo;s sweet eddies and
+to see the little bubbles rise to the surface. The little silver spoon quietly
+tinkled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The boiling water, sputtering, ran from the tap into his mother&rsquo;s cup.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A light shadow was cast by the little spoon upon the saucer and the tablecloth,
+and it lost itself in the glass of tea. Volodya watched it intently: the
+shadows thrown by the tiny little eddies and bubbles recalled something to
+him&mdash;precisely what, Volodya could not say. He held up and he turned the
+little spoon, and he ran his fingers over it&mdash;but nothing came of it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All the same,&rdquo; he stubbornly insisted to himself,
+&ldquo;it&rsquo;s not with fingers alone that shadows can be made. They are
+possible with anything. But the thing is to adjust oneself to one&rsquo;s
+material.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Volodya began to examine the shadows of the samovar, of the chairs, of his
+mother&rsquo;s head, as well as the shadows cast on the table by the dishes;
+and he tried to catch a resemblance in all these shadows to something. His
+mother was speaking&mdash;Volodya was not listening properly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How is Lesha Sitnikov getting on at school?&rdquo; asked his mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya was studying then the shadow of the milk-jug. He gave a start, and
+answered hastily: &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a tom-cat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Volodya, you must be asleep,&rdquo; said his astonished mother.
+&ldquo;What tom-cat?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya grew red.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what&rsquo;s got into my head,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry, mother, I wasn&rsquo;t listening.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<h3>IV</h3>
+
+<p>
+The next evening, before tea, Volodya again thought of his shadows, and gave
+himself up to them. One shadow insisted on turning out badly, no matter how
+hard he stretched and bent his fingers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya was so absorbed in this that he did not hear his mother coming. At the
+creaking of the door he quickly put the leaflet into his pocket and turned
+away, confused, from the wall. But his mother was already looking at his hands,
+and a tremor of fear lit up her eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What are you doing, Volodya? What have you hidden?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing, really,&rdquo; muttered Volodya, flushing and changing colour
+rapidly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It flashed upon her that Volodya wished to smoke, and that he had hidden a
+cigarette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Volodya, show me at once what you are hiding,&rdquo; she said in a
+frightened voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Really, mamma....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She caught Volodya by the elbow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Must I feel in your pocket myself?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya grew even redder, and pulled the little book out of his pocket.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here it is,&rdquo; he said, giving it to his mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, what is it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, here,&rdquo; he explained, &ldquo;on this side are the drawings,
+and here, as you see, are the shadows. I was trying to throw them on the wall,
+and I haven&rsquo;t succeeded very well.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is there to hide here!&rdquo; said his mother, becoming more
+tranquil. &ldquo;Now show me what they look like.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya, taken aback, began obediently to show his mother the shadows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now this is the profile of a bald-headed man. And this is the head of a
+hare.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And so this is how you are studying your lessons!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Only for a little, mother.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For a little! Why are you blushing then, my dear? Well, I shan&rsquo;t
+say anything more. I think I can depend on you to do what is right.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His mother moved her hand over his short, bristling hair, whereupon Volodya
+laughed and hid his flushing face under his mother&rsquo;s elbow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then his mother left him, and for a long time Volodya felt awkward and ashamed.
+His mother had caught him doing something that he himself would have ridiculed
+had he caught any of his companions doing it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya knew that he was a clever lad, and he deemed himself serious; and this
+was, after all, a game fit only for little girls when they got together.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He pushed the little book with the shadows deeper into the table-drawer, and
+did not take it out again for more than a week; indeed, he thought little about
+the shadows that week. Only in the evening sometimes, in changing from one
+lesson to another, he would smile at the recollection of the girl in the
+hat&mdash;there were, indeed, moments when he put his hand in the drawer to get
+the little book, but he always quickly remembered the shame he experienced when
+his mother first found him out, and this made him resume his work at once.
+</p>
+
+<h3>V</h3>
+
+<p>
+Volodya and his mother lived in their own house on the outskirts of the
+district town. Eugenia Stepanovna had been a widow for nine years. She was now
+thirty-five years old; she seemed young and handsome, and Volodya loved her
+tenderly. She lived entirely for her son, studied ancient languages for his
+sake, and shared all his school cares. A quiet and gentle woman, she looked
+somewhat apprehensively upon the world out of her large, benign eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They had one domestic. Praskovya was a widow; she was gruff, sturdy, and
+strong; she was forty-five years old, but in her stern taciturnity she was more
+like a woman a hundred years old.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Whenever Volodya looked at her morose, stony face he wondered what she was
+thinking of in her kitchen during the long winter evenings, as the cold
+knitting-needles, clinking, shifted in her bony fingers with a regular
+movement, and her dry lips stirred yet uttered no sound. Was she recalling her
+drunken husband, or her children who had died earlier? or was she musing upon
+her lonely and homeless old age?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her stony face seemed hopelessly gloomy and austere.
+</p>
+
+<h3>VI</h3>
+
+<p>
+It was a long autumn evening. On the other side of the wall were the wind and
+the rain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How wearily, how indifferently the lamp flared! Volodya, propping himself up on
+his elbow, leant his whole body over to the left and looked at the white wall
+and at the white window-blinds.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The pale flowers were almost invisible on the wall-paper ... the wall was a
+melancholy white....
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The shaded lamp subdued the bright glare of light. The entire upper portion of
+the room was twilit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya lifted his right arm. A long, faintly outlined, confused shadow crept
+across the shaded wall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was the shadow of an angel, flying heaven-ward from a depraved and afflicted
+world; it was a translucent shadow, spreading its broad wings and reposing its
+bowed head sadly upon its breast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Would not the angel, with his gentle hands, carry away with him something
+significant yet despised of this world?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya sighed. He let his arm fall languidly. He let his depressed eyes rest
+on his books.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a long autumn evening.... The wall was a melancholy white.... On the
+other side of the wall something wept and rustled.
+</p>
+
+<h3>VII</h3>
+
+<p>
+Volodya&rsquo;s mother found him a second time with the shadows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This time the bull&rsquo;s head was a success, and he was delighted. He made
+the bull stretch out his neck, and the bull lowed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His mother was less pleased.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So this is how you are taking up your time,&rdquo; she said
+reproachfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For a little, mamma,&rdquo; whispered Volodya, embarrassed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You might at least save this for a more suitable time,&rdquo; his mother
+went on. &ldquo;And you are no longer a little boy. Aren&rsquo;t you ashamed to
+waste your time on such nonsense!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mamma, dear, I shan&rsquo;t do it again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Volodya found it difficult to keep his promise. He enjoyed making shadows,
+and the desire to make them came to him often, especially during an
+uninteresting lesson.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This amusement occupied much of his time on some evenings and interfered with
+his lessons. He had to make up for it afterwards and to lose some sleep. How
+could he give up his amusement?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya succeeded in evolving several new figures, and not by means of the
+fingers alone. These figures lived on the wall, and it even seemed to Volodya
+at times that they talked to him and entertained him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Volodya was a dreamer even before then.
+</p>
+
+<h3>VIII</h3>
+
+<p>
+It was night. Volodya&rsquo;s room was dark. He had gone to bed but he could
+not sleep. He was lying on his back and was looking at the ceiling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Some one was walking in the street with a lantern. His shadow traversed the
+ceiling, among the red spots of light thrown by the lantern. It was evident
+that the lantern swung in the hands of the passer-by&mdash;the shadow wavered
+and seemed agitated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya felt a sadness and a fear. He quickly pulled the bed-cover over his
+head, and, trembling in his haste, he turned on his right side and began to
+encourage himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He then felt soothed and warm. His mind began to weave sweet, naïve fancies,
+the fancies which visited him usually before sleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Often when he went to bed he felt suddenly afraid; he felt as though he were
+becoming smaller and weaker. He would then hide among the pillows, and
+gradually became soothed and loving, and wished his mother were there that he
+might put his arms round her neck and kiss her.
+</p>
+
+<h3>IX</h3>
+
+<p>
+The grey twilight was growing denser. The shadows merged. Volodya felt
+depressed. But here was the lamp. The light poured itself on the green
+tablecloth, the vague, beloved shadows appeared on the wall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya suddenly felt glad and animated, and made haste to get the little grey
+book. The bull began to low ... the young lady to laugh uproariously.... What
+evil, round eyes the bald-headed gentleman was making!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he tried his own. It was the steppe. Here was a wayfarer with his
+knapsack. Volodya seemed to hear the endless, monotonous song of the road....
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya felt both joy and sadness.
+</p>
+
+<h3>X</h3>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Volodya, it&rsquo;s the third time I&rsquo;ve seen you with the little
+book. Do you spend whole evenings admiring your fingers?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya stood uneasily at the table, like a truant caught, and he turned the
+pages of the leaflet with hot fingers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Give it to me,&rdquo; said his mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya, confused, put out his hand with the leaflet. His mother took it, said
+nothing, and went out; while Volodya sat down over his copy-books.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He felt ashamed that, by his stubbornness, he had offended his mother, and he
+felt vexed that she had taken the booklet from him; he was even more vexed at
+himself for letting the matter go so far. He felt his awkward position, and his
+vexation with his mother troubled him: he had scruples in being angry with her,
+yet he couldn&rsquo;t help it. And because he had scruples he felt even more
+angry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, let her take it,&rdquo; he said to himself at last, &ldquo;I can
+get along without it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And, in truth, Volodya had the figures in his memory, and used the little book
+merely for verification.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XI</h3>
+
+<p>
+In the meantime his mother opened the little book with the shadows&mdash;and
+became lost in thought.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wonder what&rsquo;s fascinating about them?&rdquo; she mused.
+&ldquo;It is strange that such a good, clever boy should suddenly, become
+wrapped up in such nonsense! No, that means it&rsquo;s not mere nonsense. What,
+then, is it?&rdquo; she pursued her questioning of herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A strange fear took possession of her; she felt malignant toward these black
+pictures, yet quailed before them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She rose and lighted a candle. She approached the wall, the little grey book
+still in her hand, and paused in her wavering agitation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, it is important to get to the bottom of this,&rdquo; she resolved,
+and began to reproduce the shadows from the first to the last.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She persisted most patiently with her hands and her fingers, until she
+succeeded in reproducing the figure she desired. A confused, apprehensive
+feelings stirred within her. She tried to conquer it. But her fear fascinated
+her as it grew stronger. Her hands trembled, while her thought, cowed by
+life&rsquo;s twilight, ran on to meet the approaching sorrows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She suddenly heard her son&rsquo;s footsteps. She trembled, hid the little
+book, and blew out the candle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya entered and stopped in the doorway, confused by the stern look of his
+mother as she stood by the wall in a strange, uneasy attitude.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you want?&rdquo; asked his mother in a harsh, uneven voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A vague conjecture ran across Volodya&rsquo;s mind, but he quickly repelled it
+and began to talk to his mother.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XII</h3>
+
+<p>
+Then Volodya left her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She paced up and down the room a number of times. She noticed that her shadow
+followed her on the floor, and, strange to say, it was the first time in her
+life that her own shadow had made her uneasy. The thought that there was a
+shadow assailed her mind unceasingly&mdash;and Eugenia Stepanovna, for some
+reason, was afraid of this thought, and even tried not to look at her shadow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the shadow crept after her and taunted her. Eugenia Stepanovna tried to
+think of something else&mdash;but in vain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She suddenly paused, pale and agitated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, it&rsquo;s a shadow, a shadow!&rdquo; she exclaimed aloud,
+stamping her foot with a strange irritation, &ldquo;what of it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then all at once she reflected that it was stupid to make a fuss and to stamp
+her feet, and she became quiet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She approached the mirror. Her face was paler than usual, and her lips
+quivered with a kind of strange hate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s nerves,&rdquo; she thought; &ldquo;I must take myself in
+hand.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<h3>XIII</h3>
+
+<p>
+Twilight was falling. Volodya grew pensive.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go for a stroll, Volodya,&rdquo; said his mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But in the street there were also shadows everywhere, mysterious, elusive
+evening shadows; and they whispered in Volodya&rsquo;s ear something that was
+familiar and infinitely sad.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the clouded sky two or three stars looked out, and they seemed equally
+distant and equally strange to Volodya and to the shadows that surrounded him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mamma,&rdquo; he said, oblivious of the fact that he had interrupted her
+as she was telling him something, &ldquo;what a pity that it is impossible to
+reach those stars.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His mother looked up at the sky and answered: &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t see that
+it&rsquo;s necessary. Our place is on earth. It is better for us here.
+It&rsquo;s quite another thing there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How faintly they glimmer! They ought to be glad of it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If they shone more strongly they would cast shadows.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Volodya, why do you think only of shadows?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t mean to, mamma,&rdquo; said Volodya in a penitent voice.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XIV</h3>
+
+<p>
+Volodya worked harder than ever at his lessons; he was afraid to hurt his
+mother by being lazy. But he employed all his invention in grouping the objects
+on his table in a way that would produce new and ever more fantastic shadows.
+He put this here and that there&mdash;anything that came to his hands&mdash;and
+he rejoiced when outlines appeared on the white wall that his mind could grasp.
+There was an intimacy between him and these shadowy outlines, and they were
+very dear to him. They were not dumb, they spoke to him, and Volodya understood
+their inarticulate speech.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He understood why the dejected wayfarer murmured as he wandered upon the long
+road, the autumn wetness under his feet, a stick in his trembling hand, a
+knapsack on his bowed back.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He understood why the snow-covered forest, its boughs crackling with frost,
+complained, as it stood sadly dreaming in the winter stillness; and he
+understood why the lonely crow cawed on the old oak, and why the bustling
+squirrel looked sadly out of its tree-hollow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He understood why the decrepit and homeless old beggar-women sobbed in the
+dismal autumn wind, as they shivered in their rags in the crowded graveyard,
+among the crumbling crosses and the hopelessly black tombs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was self-forgetfulness in this, and also tormenting woe!
+</p>
+
+<h3>XV</h3>
+
+<p>
+Volodya&rsquo;s mother observed that he continued to play.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She said to him after dinner: &ldquo;At least, you might get interested in
+something else.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In what?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You might read.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No sooner do I begin to read than I want to cast shadows.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you&rsquo;d only try something else&mdash;say soap-bubbles.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya smiled sadly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No sooner do the bubbles fly up than the shadows follow them on the
+wall.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Volodya, unless you take care your nerves will be shattered. Already you
+have grown thinner because of this.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mamma, you exaggerate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, Volodya.... Don&rsquo;t I know that you&rsquo;ve begun to sleep
+badly and to talk nonsense in your sleep. Now, just think, suppose you
+die!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What are you saying!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;God forbid, but if you go mad, or die, I shall suffer horribly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya laughed and threw himself on his mother&rsquo;s neck.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mamma dear, I shan&rsquo;t die. I won&rsquo;t do it again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She saw that he was crying now.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That will do,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;God is merciful. Now you see how
+nervous you are. You&rsquo;re laughing and crying at the same time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<h3>XVI</h3>
+
+<p>
+Volodya&rsquo;s mother began to look at him with careful and anxious eyes.
+Every trifle now agitated her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She noticed that Volodya&rsquo;s head was somewhat asymmetrical: his one ear
+was higher than the other, his chin slightly turned to one side. She looked in
+the mirror, and further remarked that Volodya had inherited this too from her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It may be,&rdquo; she thought, &ldquo;one of the characteristics of
+unfortunate heredity&mdash;degeneration; in which case where is the root of the
+evil? Is it my fault or his father&rsquo;s?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Eugenia Stepanovna recalled her dead husband. He was a most kind-hearted and
+most lovable man, somewhat weak-willed, with rash impulses. He was by nature a
+zealot and a mystic, and he dreamt of a social Utopia, and went among the
+people. He had been rather given to tippling the last years of his life.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He died young; he was but thirty-five years old.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya&rsquo;s mother even took her boy to the doctor and described his
+symptoms. The doctor, a cheerful young man, listened to her, then laughed and
+gave counsel concerning diet and way of life, throwing in a few witty remarks;
+he wrote out a prescription in a happy, off-hand way, and he added playfully,
+with a slap on Volodya&rsquo;s shoulder: &ldquo;But the very best medicine
+would be&mdash;a birch.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya&rsquo;s mother felt the affront deeply, but she followed all the rest
+of the instructions faithfully.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XVII</h3>
+
+<p>
+Volodya was sitting in his class. He felt depressed. He listened inattentively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He raised his eyes. A shadow was moving along the ceiling near the front wall.
+Volodya observed that it came in through the first window. To begin with it
+fell from the window toward the centre of the class-room, but later it started
+forward rather quickly away from Volodya&mdash;evidently some one was walking
+in the street, just by the window. While this shadow was still moving another
+shadow came through the second window, falling, as did the first one, toward
+the back wall, but later it began to turn quickly toward the front wall. The
+same thing happened at the third and the fourth windows; the shadows fell in
+the class-room on the ceiling, and in the degree that the passer-by moved
+forward they retreated backward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This,&rdquo; thought Volodya, &ldquo;is not at all the same as in an
+open place, where the shadow follows the man; when the man goes forward, the
+shadow glides behind, and other shadows again meet him in the front.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya turned his eyes on the gaunt figure of the tutor. His callous, yellow
+face annoyed Volodya. He looked for his shadow and found it on the wall, just
+behind the tutor&rsquo;s chair. The monstrous shape bent over and rocked from
+side to side, but it had neither a yellow face nor a malignant smile, and
+Volodya looked at it with joy. His thoughts scampered off somewhere far away,
+and he heard not a single thing of what was being said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lovlev!&rdquo; His tutor called his name.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya rose, as was the custom, and stood looking stupidly at the tutor. He
+had such an absent look that his companions tittered, while the tutor&rsquo;s
+face assumed a critical expression.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya heard the tutor attack him with sarcasm and abuse. He trembled from
+shame and from weakness. The tutor announced that he would give Volodya
+&ldquo;one&rdquo; for his ignorance and his inattention, and he asked him to
+sit down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya smiled in a dull way, and tried to think what had happened to him.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XVIII</h3>
+
+<p>
+The &ldquo;one&rdquo; was the first in Volodya&rsquo;s life! It made him feel
+rather strange.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lovlev!&rdquo; his comrades taunted him, laughing and nudging him,
+&ldquo;you caught it that time! Congratulations!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya felt awkward. He did not yet know how to behave in these circumstances.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What if I have,&rdquo; he answered peevishly, &ldquo;what business is it
+of yours?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lovlev!&rdquo; the lazy Snegirev shouted, &ldquo;our regiment has been
+reinforced!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His first &ldquo;one&rdquo;! And he had yet to tell his mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He felt ashamed and humiliated. He felt as though he bore in the knapsack on
+his back a strangely heavy and awkward burden&mdash;the &ldquo;one&rdquo; stuck
+clumsily in his consciousness and seemed to fit in with nothing else in his
+mind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One&rdquo;!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He could not get used to the thought about the &ldquo;one,&rdquo; and yet could
+not think of anything else. When the policeman, who stood near the school,
+looked at him with his habitual severity Volodya could not help thinking:
+&ldquo;What if you knew that I&rsquo;ve received &lsquo;one&rsquo;!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was all so awkward and so unusual. Volodya did not know how to hold his head
+and where to put his hands; there was uneasiness in his whole bearing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Besides, he had to assume a care-free look before his comrades and to talk of
+something else!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His comrades! Volodya was convinced that they were all very glad because of his
+&ldquo;one.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<h3>XIX</h3>
+
+<p>
+Volodya&rsquo;s mother looked at the &ldquo;one&rdquo; and turned her
+uncomprehending eyes on her son. Then again she glanced at the report and
+exclaimed quietly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Volodya!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya stood before her, and he felt intensely small. He looked at the folds
+of his mother&rsquo;s dress and at his mother&rsquo;s pale hands; his trembling
+eyelids were conscious of her frightened glances fixed upon them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s this?&rdquo; she asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you worry, mamma,&rdquo; burst out Volodya suddenly;
+&ldquo;after all, it&rsquo;s my first!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your first!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It may happen to any one. And really it was all an accident.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Volodya, Volodya!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya began to cry and to rub his tears, child-like, over his face with the
+palm of his hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mamma darling, don&rsquo;t be angry,&rdquo; he whispered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what comes of your shadows,&rdquo; said his mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya felt the tears in her voice. His heart was touched. He glanced at his
+mother. She was crying. He turned quickly toward her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mamma, mamma,&rdquo; he kept on repeating, while kissing her hands,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll drop the shadows, really I will.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<h3>XX</h3>
+
+<p>
+Volodya made a strong effort of the will and refrained from the shadows,
+despite strong temptation. He tried to make amends for his neglected lessons.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the shadows beckoned to him persistently. In vain he ceased to invite them
+with his fingers, in vain he ceased to arrange objects that would cast a new
+shadow on the wall; the shadows themselves surrounded him&mdash;they were
+unavoidable, importunate shadows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Objects themselves no longer interested Volodya, he almost ceased to see them;
+all his attention was centred on their shadows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When he was walking home and the sun happened to peep through the autumn
+clouds, as through smoky vestments, he was overjoyed because there was
+everywhere an awakening of the shadows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The shadows from the lamplight hovered near him in the evening at home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The shadows were everywhere. There were the sharp shadows from the flames,
+there were the fainter shadows from diffused daylight. All of them crowded
+toward Volodya, recrossed each other, and enveloped him in an unbreakable
+network.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Some of the shadows were incomprehensible, mysterious; others reminded him of
+something, suggested something. But there were also the beloved, the intimate,
+the familiar shadows; these Volodya himself, however casually, sought out and
+caught everywhere from among the confused wavering of the others, the more
+remote shadows. But they were sad, these beloved, familiar shadows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Whenever Volodya found himself seeking these shadows his conscience tormented
+him, and he went to his mother to make a clean breast of it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Once it happened that Volodya could not conquer his temptation. He stood up
+close to the wall and made a shadow of the bull. His mother found him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Again!&rdquo; she exclaimed angrily. &ldquo;I really shall have to ask
+the director to put you into the small room.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya flushed violently and answered morosely: &ldquo;There is a wall there
+also. The walls are everywhere.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Volodya,&rdquo; exclaimed his mother sorrowfully, &ldquo;what are you
+saying!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Volodya already repented of his rudeness, and he was crying.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mamma, I don&rsquo;t know myself what&rsquo;s happening to me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXI</h3>
+
+<p>
+Volodya&rsquo;s mother had not yet conquered her superstitious dread of
+shadows. She began very often to think that she, like Volodya, was losing
+herself in the contemplation of shadows. Then she tried to comfort herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What stupid thoughts!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Thank God, all will pass
+happily; he will be like this a little while, then he will stop.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But her heart trembled with a secret fear, and her thought, frightened of life
+persistently ran to meet approaching sorrows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She began in the melancholy moments of waking to examine her soul, and all her
+life would pass before her; she saw its emptiness, its futility, and its
+aimlessness. It seemed but a senseless glimmer of shadows, which merged in the
+denser twilight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why have I lived?&rdquo; she asked herself. &ldquo;Was it for my son?
+But why? That he too shall become a prey to shadows, a maniac with a narrow
+horizon, chained to his illusions, to restless appearances upon a lifeless
+wall? And he too will enter upon life, and he will make of life a chain of
+impressions, phantasmic and futile, like a dream.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She sat down in the armchair by the window, and she thought and thought. Her
+thoughts were bitter, oppressive. She began, in her despair, to wring her
+beautiful white hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then her thoughts wandered. She looked at her outstretched hands, and began to
+imagine what sort of shapes they would cast on the wall in their present
+attitude. She suddenly paused and jumped up from her chair in fright.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My God!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;This is madness.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXII</h3>
+
+<p>
+She watched Volodya at dinner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How pale and thin he has grown,&rdquo; she said to herself, &ldquo;since
+the unfortunate little book fell into his hands. He&rsquo;s changed
+entirely&mdash;in character and in everything else. It is said that character
+changes before death. What if he dies? But no, no. God forbid!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The spoon trembled in her hand. She looked up at the ikon with timid eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Volodya, why don&rsquo;t you finish your soup?&rdquo; she asked, looking
+frightened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t feel like it, mamma.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Volodya, darling, do as I tell you; it is bad for you not to eat your
+soup.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya gave a tired smile and slowly finished his soup. His mother had filled
+his plate fuller than usual. He leant back in his chair and was on the point of
+saying that the soup was not good. But his mother&rsquo;s worried look
+restrained him, and he merely smiled weakly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And now I&rsquo;ve had enough,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh no, Volodya, I have all your favourite dishes to-day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya sighed sadly. He knew that when his mother spoke of his favourite
+dishes it meant that she would coax him to eat. He guessed that even after tea
+his mother would prevail upon him, as she did the day before, to eat meat.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXIII</h3>
+
+<p>
+In the evening Volodya&rsquo;s mother said to him: &ldquo;Volodya dear,
+you&rsquo;ll waste your time again; perhaps you&rsquo;d better keep the door
+open!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya began his lessons. But he felt vexed because the door had been left
+open at his back, and because his mother went past it now and then.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I cannot go on like this,&rdquo; he shouted, moving his chair noisily.
+&ldquo;I cannot do anything when the door is wide open.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Volodya, is there any need to shout so?&rdquo; his mother reproached him
+softly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya already felt repentant, and he began to cry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you see, Volodenka, that I&rsquo;m worried about you, and
+that I want to save you from your thoughts.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mamma, sit here with me,&rdquo; said Volodya.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His mother took a book and sat down at Volodya&rsquo;s table. For a few minutes
+Volodya worked calmly. But gradually the presence of his mother began to annoy
+him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m being watched just like a sick man,&rdquo; he thought
+spitefully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His thoughts were constantly interrupted, and he was biting his lips. His
+mother remarked this at last, and she left the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Volodya felt no relief. He was tormented with regret at showing his
+impatience. He tried to go on with his work but he could not. Then he went to
+his mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mamma, why did you leave me?&rdquo; he asked timidly.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXIV</h3>
+
+<p>
+It was the eve of a holiday. The little image-lamps burned before the ikons.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was late and it was quiet. Volodya&rsquo;s mother was not asleep. In the
+mysterious dark of her bedroom she fell on her knees, she prayed and she wept,
+sobbing out now and then like a child.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her braids of hair trailed upon her white dress; her shoulders trembled. She
+raised her hands to her breast in a praying posture, and she looked with
+tearful eyes at the ikon. The image-lamp moved almost imperceptibly on its
+chains with her passionate breathing. The shadows rocked, they crowded in the
+corners, they stirred behind the reliquary, and they murmured mysteriously.
+There was a hopeless yearning in their murmurings and an incomprehensible
+sadness in their wavering movements.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last she rose, looking pale, with strange, widely dilated eyes, and she
+reeled slightly on her benumbed legs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She went quietly to Volodya. The shadows surrounded her, they rustled softly
+behind her back, they crept at her feet, and some of them, as fine as the
+threads of a spider&rsquo;s web, fell upon her shoulders and, looking into her
+large eyes, murmured incomprehensibly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She approached her son&rsquo;s bed cautiously. His face was pale in the light
+of the image-lamp. Strange, sharp shadows lay upon him. His breathing was
+inaudible; he slept so tranquilly that his mother was frightened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She stood there in the midst of the vague shadows, and she felt upon her the
+breath of vague fears.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXV</h3>
+
+<p>
+The high vaults of the church were dark and mysterious. The evening chants rose
+toward these vaults and resounded there with an exultant sadness. The dark
+images, lit up by the yellow flickers of wax candles, looked stern and
+mysterious. The warm breathing of the wax and of the incense filled the air
+with lofty sorrow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Eugenia Stepanovna placed a candle before the ikon of the Mother of God. Then
+she knelt down. But her prayer was distraught.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looked at her candle. Its flame wavered. The shadows from the candles fell
+on Eugenia Stepanovna&rsquo;s black dress and on the floor, and rocked
+unsteadily. The shadows hovered on the walls of the church and lost themselves
+in the heights between the dark vaults, where the exultant, sad songs
+resounded.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXVI</h3>
+
+<p>
+It was another night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya awoke suddenly. The darkness enveloped him, and it stirred without
+sound. He freed his hands, then raised them, and followed their movements with
+his eyes. He did not see his hands in the darkness, but he imagined that he saw
+them wanly stirring before him. They were dark and mysterious, and they held in
+them the affliction and the murmur of lonely yearning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His mother also did not sleep; her grief tormented her. She lit a candle and
+went quietly toward her son&rsquo;s room to see how he slept. She opened the
+door noiselessly and looked timidly at Volodya&rsquo;s bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A streak of yellow light trembled on the wall and intersected Volodya&rsquo;s
+red bed-cover. The lad stretched his arms toward the light and, with a beating
+heart, followed the shadows. He did not even ask himself where the light came
+from. He was wholly obsessed by the shadows. His eyes were fixed on the wall,
+and there was a gleam of madness in them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The streak of light broadened, the shadows moved in a startled way; they were
+morose and hunch-backed, like homeless, roaming women who were hurrying to
+reach somewhere with old burdens that dragged them down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya&rsquo;s mother, trembling with fright, approached the bed and quietly
+aroused her son.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Volodya!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya came to himself. For some seconds he glanced at his mother with large
+eyes, then he shivered from head to foot and, springing out of bed, fell at his
+mother&rsquo;s feet, embraced her knees, and wept.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What dreams you do dream, Volodya!&rdquo; exclaimed his mother
+sorrowfully.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXVII</h3>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Volodya,&rdquo; said his mother to him at breakfast, &ldquo;you must
+stop it, darling; you will become a wreck if you spend your nights also with
+the shadows.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The pale lad lowered his head in dejection. His lips quivered nervously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell you what we&rsquo;ll do,&rdquo; continued his mother.
+&ldquo;Perhaps we had better play a little while together with the shadows each
+evening, and then we will study your lessons. What do you say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya grew somewhat animated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mamma, you&rsquo;re a darling!&rdquo; he said shyly.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXVIII</h3>
+
+<p>
+In the street Volodya felt drowsy and timid. The fog was spreading; it was cold
+and dismal. The outlines of the houses looked strange in the mist. The morose,
+human silhouettes moved through the filmy atmosphere like ominous, unkindly
+shadows. Everything seemed so intensely unreal. The cab-horse, which stood
+drowsily at the street-crossing, appeared like a huge fabulous beast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The policeman gave Volodya a hostile look. The crow on the low roof foreboded
+sorrow in Volodya&rsquo;s ear. But sorrow was already in his heart; it made him
+sad to note how everything was hostile to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A small dog with an unhealthy coat barked at him from behind a gate and Volodya
+felt a strange depression. And the urchins of the street seemed ready to laugh
+at him and to humiliate him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the past he would have settled scores with them as they deserved, but now
+fear lived in his breast; it robbed his arms of their strength and caused them
+to hang by his sides.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Volodya returned home Praskovya opened the door to him, and she looked at
+him with moroseness and hostility. Volodya felt uneasy. He quickly went into
+the house, and refrained from looking at Praskovya&rsquo;s depressing face
+again.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXIX</h3>
+
+<p>
+His mother was sitting alone. It was twilight, and she felt sad.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A light suddenly glimmered somewhere.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya ran in, animated, cheerful, and with large, somewhat wild eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mamma, the lamp has been lit; let&rsquo;s play a little.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She smiled and followed Volodya.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mamma, I&rsquo;ve thought of a new figure,&rdquo; said Volodya
+excitedly, as he placed the lamp in the desired position. &ldquo;Look.... Do
+you see? This is the steppe, covered with snow, and the snow falls&mdash;a
+regular storm.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya raised his hands and arranged them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now look, here is an old man, a wayfarer. He is up to his knees in snow.
+It is difficult to walk. He is alone. It is an open field. The village is far
+away. He is tired, he is cold; it is terrible. He is all bent&mdash;he&rsquo;s
+such an old man.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya&rsquo;s mother helped him with his fingers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; exclaimed Volodya in great joy. &ldquo;The wind is tearing
+his cap off, it is blowing his hair loose, it has thrown him in the snow. The
+drifts are getting higher. Mamma, mamma, do you hear?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a blinding storm.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And he?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The old man?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you hear, he is moaning?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Help!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Both of them, pale, were looking at the wall. Volodya&rsquo;s hands shook, the
+old man fell.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His mother was the first to arouse herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And now it&rsquo;s time to work,&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXX</h3>
+
+<p>
+It was morning. Volodya&rsquo;s mother was alone. Rapt in her confused, dismal
+thoughts, she was walking from one room to another. Her shadow outlined itself
+vaguely on the white door in the light of the mist-dimmed sun. She stopped at
+the door and lifted her arm with a large, curious movement. The shadow on the
+door wavered and began to murmur something familiar and sad. A strange feeling
+of comfort came over Eugenia Stepanovna as she stood, a wild smile on her face,
+before the door and moved both her hands, watching the trembling shadows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then she heard Praskovya coming, and she realized that she was doing an absurd
+thing. Once more she felt afraid and sad.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We ought to make a change,&rdquo; she thought, &ldquo;and go elsewhere,
+somewhere farther away, to a new atmosphere. We must run away from here, simply
+run away!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And suddenly she remembered Volodya&rsquo;s words: &ldquo;There is a wall there
+also. The walls are everywhere.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is nowhere to run!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In her despair she wrung her pale, beautiful hands.
+</p>
+
+<h3>XXXI</h3>
+
+<p>
+It was evening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A lighted lamp stood on the floor in Volodya&rsquo;s room. Just behind it, near
+the wall, sat Volodya and his mother. They were looking at the wall and were
+making strange movements with their hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Shadows stirred and trembled upon the wall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Volodya and his mother understood them. Both were smiling sadly and were saying
+weird and impossible things to each other. Their faces were peaceful and their
+eyes looked clear; their joyousness was hopelessly sorrowful and their sorrow
+was wildly joyous.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In their eyes was a glimmer of madness, blessed madness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The night was descending upon them.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap06"></a>THE GLIMMER OF HUNGER</h2>
+
+<p>
+Sergei Matveyevich Moshkin had dined very well that day&mdash;that is
+comparatively well&mdash;when you stop to consider that he was only a village
+schoolmaster who had lost his place, and had been knocking about already a year
+or so on strange stairways, in search of work. Nevertheless, the glimmer of
+hunger persisted in his dark, sad eyes, and it gave his lean, smooth face a
+kind of unlooked-for significance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Moshkin spent his last three-rouble note on this dinner, and now a few coppers
+jingled in his pocket, while his purse contained a smooth fifteen-copeck piece.
+He banqueted out of sheer joy. He knew quite well that it was stupid to rejoice
+prematurely and without sufficient cause. But he had been seeking work so long,
+and had been having such a time of it, that even the shadow of a hope gave him
+joy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Moshkin had put an advertisement in the <i>Novo Vremya</i>. He announced
+himself a pedagogue who had command of the pen; he based his claim on the fact
+that he corresponded for a provincial newspaper. This, indeed, was why he had
+lost his place; it was discovered that he had written articles reflecting
+unfavourably on the authorities; the chief official of the district called the
+attention of the inspector of public schools to this, and the inspector, of
+course, would not brook such doings by any of his staff.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We don&rsquo;t want that kind,&rdquo; the inspector said to him in a
+personal interview.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Moshkin asked: &ldquo;What kind do you want?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The inspector, without replying to this irrelevant question, remarked dryly:
+&ldquo;Good-bye. I hope to meet you in the next world.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Moshkin stated further in his advertisement that he wished to be a secretary, a
+permanent collaborator on a newspaper, a private tutor; also that he was
+willing to accompany his employer to the Caucasus or the Crimea, and to make
+himself useful in the house, etc. He gave an assurance of his reasonableness,
+and that he had no objections to travelling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He waited. One postcard came. It inspired him with hope; he hardly knew why.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It came in the morning while Moshkin was drinking his tea. The landlady brought
+it in herself. There was a glitter in her dark, snake-like eyes as she remarked
+tauntingly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s some correspondence for Mr. Sergei Matveyevich
+Moshkin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And while he was reading she smoothed her black hair down her triangular yellow
+forehead, and hissed: &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the good of getting letters? Much
+better if you paid for your board and lodging. A letter won&rsquo;t feed your
+hunger; you ought to go among people, look for a job and not expect things to
+come to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He read:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;<i>Be so good as to come in for a talk, between</i> 6 <i>and</i> 7 <i>in
+the evening, at Row</i> 6, <i>House</i> 78, <i>Apartment</i> 57.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was no signature.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Moshkin glanced angrily at his landlady. She was broad and erect, and as she
+stood there at the door quite calm, with lowered arms, she was like a doll; she
+seemed deliberately malicious, and she looked at him with her motionless,
+anger-provoking eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Moshkin exclaimed: &ldquo;Basta!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He hit the table with his fist. Then he rose, and paced up and down the room.
+He kept on repeating: &ldquo;Basta!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The landlady asked quietly and spitefully: &ldquo;Are you going to pay or not,
+you Kazan and Astrakhan correspondent, you impudent face?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Moshkin stopped in front of her, put out his empty palm, and said:
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s all I have.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He said nothing about his last three-rouble note. The landlady hissed:
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not hard on you, but I need money. Wood&rsquo;s seven roubles
+a load now, how am I to pay it? You can&rsquo;t live on nothing. Can&rsquo;t
+you find some one to look after you? You&rsquo;re a young man of ability, and
+you have quite a charming appearance. You can always get hold of some goose or
+other. But how am I to pay? Whichever way you turn you&rsquo;ve got to put down
+money.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Moshkin replied: &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t worry, Praskovya Petrovna, I am getting a
+job to-night, and I&rsquo;ll pay what I owe you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He began to pace the room again, making a flapping noise with his slippers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The landlady paused at the door, and kept on with her grumbling. When she went
+at last, she cried out: &ldquo;Another in my place would have shown you the
+door long ago.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For some time after she had left there still remained in his memory her
+strange, erect figure, with relaxed arms; her broad, yellow forehead, shaped
+like a triangle under her smoothly-oiled hair; her worn yellow dress, cut away
+like a narrow triangle, and her red, sniffling nose shaped like a small
+triangle. Three triangles in all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All day long Moshkin was hungry, cheerful, and indignant. He walked aimlessly
+in the streets. He looked at the girls, and they all seemed to him to be
+lovable, happy, and accessible&mdash;to the rich. He stopped before the shop
+windows, where expensive goods were displayed. The glimmer of hunger in his
+eyes grew keener and keener.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He bought a newspaper. He read as he sat on a form in the square, where the
+children laughed and ran, where the nurses tried to look fashionable, where
+there was a smell of dust and of consumptive trees&mdash;and where the smells
+of the street and of the garden mingled unpleasantly, reminding him of the
+smell of gutta-percha. Moshkin was very much struck by an account in the
+newspaper of a hungry fanatic who had slashed a picture by a celebrated artist
+in the museum.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now that&rsquo;s something I can understand!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Moshkin walked briskly along the path. He repeated: &ldquo;Now that&rsquo;s
+something I can understand!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And afterwards, as he walked in the streets and looked at the huge and stately
+houses, at the exposed wealth of the shops, at the elegant dress of the people
+of fashion, at the swiftly moving carriages, at all these beauties and comforts
+of life, accessible to all who have money, and inaccessible to him&mdash;as he
+looked and observed and envied, he felt more and more keenly the mood of
+destructive rage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now that&rsquo;s something I can understand!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He walked up to a stout and pompous house-porter, and shouted: &ldquo;Now
+that&rsquo;s something I can understand!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The porter looked at him with silent scorn. Moshkin laughed joyously, and said:
+&ldquo;Clever chaps those anarchists!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Be off with you!&rdquo; exclaimed the porter angrily. &ldquo;And see
+that you don&rsquo;t over-eat yourself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Moshkin was about to leave him but stopped short in fright. There was a
+policeman quite near, and his white gloves stood out with startling sharpness.
+Moshkin thought in his sadness:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A bomb might come in handy here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The porter spat angrily after him, and turned away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Moshkin walked on. At six o&rsquo;clock he entered a restaurant of the middle
+rank. He chose a table by the window. He had some vodka, and followed it with
+anchovies. He ordered a seventy-five copeck dinner. He had a bottle of chablis
+on ice; after dinner a liqueur. He got slightly intoxicated. His head went
+round at the sound of music. He did not take his change. He left, reeling
+slightly, accompanied respectfully by a porter, into whose hand he stuck a
+twenty-copeck piece.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He looked at his nickelled watch. It was just past seven. It was time to go. He
+had to make haste. They might hire another. He strode impetuously toward his
+destination.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was hindered by: dug up pavements; superannuated, eternally somnolent
+cabbies, at street crossings; passers-by, especially <i>muzhiks</i> and women;
+those who came toward him, without stepping aside at all, or who stepped aside
+more often to the left than to the right&mdash;while those whom he had to
+overtake joggled along indifferently on the narrow way, and it was hard to tell
+at once on which side to pass them; beggars&mdash;these clung to him; and the
+mechanical process of walking itself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How difficult to conquer space and time when one is in a hurry! Truly the earth
+drew him to itself and he purchased every step with violence and exhaustion. He
+felt pains in his legs. This increased his spite, and intensified the glimmer
+of hunger in his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Moshkin thought:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to chuck it all to the devil! To all the devils!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last he got there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here was the Row, and here was House No. 78. It was a four-storey house, in a
+state of neglect; the two approaches had a gloomy look, the gates in the middle
+stood wide agape. He looked at the plates at the approaches; the first numbers
+were here, and there was no No. 57. No one was in sight. There was a white
+button at the gates; and on the brass plate, below, buried under dirt, was the
+word &ldquo;porter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He pressed the button and entered the gate to look for the directory of the
+tenants. Before he had got that far he was met by the porter, a man of
+insinuating appearance, with a black beard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where is apartment No. 57?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Moshkin asked the question in a careless manner, borrowed from the district
+official who had caused him to lose his place. He also knew from experience
+that one must address porters just like this, and not like that. Wandering in
+strange gates and on strange staircases gives one a certain polish.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The porter asked somewhat suspiciously: &ldquo;Who do you want?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Moshkin drawled out his words with artless carelessness: &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t
+exactly know. I&rsquo;ve come in answer to an announcement. I&rsquo;ve received
+a letter, but the name is not signed. Only the address is given. Who lives at
+No. 57?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Madame Engelhardova,&rdquo; said the porter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Engelhardt?&rdquo; asked Moshkin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The porter repeated: &ldquo;Engelhardova.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Moshkin smiled. &ldquo;And what&rsquo;s her Russian name?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Elena Petrovna,&rdquo; the porter answered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is she a bad-tempered hag?&rdquo; asked Moshkin for some reason or
+other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No-o, she&rsquo;s a young lady. Quite stylish. Turn to the right of the
+gate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Only the first numbers are given there,&rdquo; said Moshkin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The porter said: &ldquo;No, you&rsquo;ll also find 57 there. At the very
+bottom.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Moshkin asked: &ldquo;What does she do? Does she run a business of some sort? A
+school? Or a journal?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No. Madame Engelhardova had neither a school, nor a journal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She lives on her capital,&rdquo; explained the porter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Madame Engelhardova&rsquo;s maid, who looked like a village girl, led him into
+the drawing-room, to the right of the dark ante-room, and asked him to wait.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He waited. It was tedious and annoying. He began to examine the contents of the
+elaborately furnished room. There were arm-chairs, tables, stools, folding
+screens, fire-screens, book-shelves, and small columns upon which rested busts,
+lamps, and artistic gew-gaws; there were mirrors, lithographs, and clocks on
+the walls; while the windows were decorated with hangings and flowers. All
+these made the room crowded, oppressive and dark. Moshkin paced through this
+depression over the rugs. He looked at the pictures and the statues with hate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to chuck all this to the devil! To all the devils!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But when the mistress of the house walked in suddenly he lowered his eyes, and
+hid his glimmer of hunger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was young, pink, and tall and quite good-looking. She walked quickly and
+with decision, like the mistress of a village house, and swung, not altogether
+gracefully, her strong, handsome white arms bared from above the elbows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She came to him and held out her hand, a little high&mdash;to be pressed, or to
+be kissed, as he chose. He kissed it. There was spite in his kiss. He did it
+with a quick, resounding smack, and one of his teeth scratched her skin
+slightly, so that she winced. But she said nothing. She walked toward the
+divan, got behind the table and sat down. She showed him an armchair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When he had seated himself, she asked him: &ldquo;Was that your announcement in
+yesterday&rsquo;s paper?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He said: &ldquo;Mine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He reconsidered, and said more politely: &ldquo;Yes, mine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He felt vexed, and he thought to himself: &ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to send her to
+the devil!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She went on talking. She asked him what he could do, where he had studied,
+where he had worked. She approached the subject very cautiously, as though
+afraid to say too much before the proper time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He gathered that she wished to publish a journal&mdash;she had not yet decided
+what sort. Some sort. A small one. She was negotiating for the purchase of a
+property. Of the nature of the journal she said nothing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She needed some one for the office. As he had said in his announcement that he
+was a pedagogue she thought that he had taught in one of the higher schools.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In any case, she wanted some one to keep the books in the office, to receive
+subscriptions, to carry on the editorial and the office correspondence, to
+receive money by post, to put the journals in wrappers, to send them to the
+post, to read proofs, and something else ... and still something else....
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The young woman spoke for half an hour. She recounted the various duties in an
+unintelligent way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You need several people for all these tasks,&rdquo; said Moshkin
+sharply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The young woman grew red with vexation. She made a wry face as she remarked
+eagerly: &ldquo;The journal will be a small one, of a special nature. If I
+hired several people for such a small undertaking they would have nothing to
+do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He smiled, and observed: &ldquo;Well, anyhow there&rsquo;ll be no chance for
+boredom. How many hours a day will you want me to work?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, let us say from nine in the morning until seven in the evening.
+Sometimes, when the work is in a hurry you might remain a little longer, or you
+might come in on a holiday&mdash;I believe you are free?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How much do you think of paying?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Would eighteen roubles a month be enough for you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He reflected a while, then he laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Too little.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t afford more than twenty-two.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He rose suddenly in his rage, thrust his hand into his pocket, drew out the
+latchkey to his house, and said quietly but resolutely: &ldquo;Hands up!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; exclaimed the young woman, and she quickly raised her arms.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was sitting on the divan. She was pale and trembling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They formed a contrast&mdash;she large and strong; and he small and meagre.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sleeves of her dress fell to her shoulders, and the two bare white arms,
+stretching upward, seemed like the plump legs of a woman acrobat practising at
+home. She was evidently strong enough to hold up her arms for a long time. But
+her frightened face betrayed the deep terror of her ordeal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Moshkin, enjoying her plight, uttered slowly and sternly: &ldquo;Move, if you
+dare! Or give a single whisper!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He approached a picture.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How much does this cost?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Two hundred and twenty, without the frame,&rdquo; said the young woman
+in a trembling voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He searched in his pocket and found a penknife. He cut the picture from top to
+bottom, and from right to left.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; the young woman cried out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He approached a small marble head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What does this cost?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Three hundred.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He used his latchkey, and struck off the ear and the nose, and he mutilated the
+cheeks. The young woman sighed quietly; and it was pleasant to hear her quiet
+sighing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He cut up a few more pictures, and the armchair coverings, and broke a few of
+the gew-gaws.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He then approached the young woman, and exclaimed: &ldquo;Get under the
+divan!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She obeyed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lie there quietly, until some one comes. Or else I&rsquo;ll throw a
+bomb.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He left. He met no one, either in the ante-room, or on the stairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The same house-porter stood at the gates. Moshkin went up to him and said:
+&ldquo;What a strange young lady you have in your house.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She doesn&rsquo;t know how to behave. She loves a brawl. You had better
+go to her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No use my going as long as I&rsquo;m not called.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just as you please.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He left. The glimmer of hunger grew fainter in his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Moshkin continued to walk the streets. His mind realized in a slow, dull way
+the drawing-room scene, the mutilated pictures, and the young woman under the
+divan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The dull waters of the canal lured him. The receding light of the setting sun
+made their surface beautiful and sad, like the music of a mad composer. How
+rough the stone slabs were on the canal&rsquo;s banks, and how dusty the stones
+of the pavements, and what stupid and dirty children ran to meet him!
+Everything seemed shut against him and everything seemed hostile to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The green, golden waters of the canal lured him, and the glimmer of hunger in
+his eyes went out for ever.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What a noise the swift splash of water made, as, ring after ring, the dead
+black rings spread out and out, and cut the green golden waters of the canal.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap07"></a>HIDE AND SEEK</h2>
+
+<h3>I</h3>
+
+<p>
+Everything in Lelechka&rsquo;s nursery was bright, pretty, and cheerful.
+Lelechka&rsquo;s sweet voice charmed her mother. Lelechka was a delightful
+child. There was no other such child, there never had been, and there never
+would be. Lelechka&rsquo;s mother, Serafima Alexandrovna, was sure of that.
+Lelechka&rsquo;s eyes were dark and large, her cheeks were rosy, her lips were
+made for kisses and for laughter. But it was not these charms in Lelechka that
+gave her mother the keenest joy. Lelechka was her mother&rsquo;s only child.
+That was why every movement of Lelechka&rsquo;s bewitched her mother. It was
+great bliss to hold Lelechka on her knees and to fondle her; to feel the little
+girl in her arms&mdash;a thing as lively and as bright as a little bird.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To tell the truth, Serafima Alexandrovna felt happy only in the nursery. She
+felt cold with her husband.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Perhaps it was because he himself loved the cold&mdash;he loved to drink cold
+water, and to breathe cold air. He was always fresh and cool, with a frigid
+smile, and wherever he passed cold currents seemed to move in the air.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Nesletyevs, Sergei Modestovich and Serafima Alexandrovna, had married
+without love or calculation, because it was the accepted thing. He was a young
+man of thirty-five, she a young woman of twenty-five; both were of the same
+circle and well brought up; he was expected to take a wife, and the time had
+come for her to take a husband.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It even seemed to Serafima Alexandrovna that she was in love with her future
+husband, and this made her happy. He looked handsome and well-bred; his
+intelligent grey eyes always preserved a dignified expression; and he fulfilled
+his obligations of a fiancé with irreproachable gentleness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The bride was also good-looking; she was a tall, dark-eyed, dark-haired girl,
+somewhat timid but very tactful. He was not after her dowry, though it pleased
+him to know that she had something. He had connexions, and his wife came of
+good, influential people. This might, at the proper opportunity, prove useful.
+Always irreproachable and tactful, Nesletyev got on in his position not so fast
+that any one should envy him, nor yet so slow that he should envy any one
+else&mdash;everything came in the proper measure and at the proper time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After their marriage there was nothing in the manner of Sergei Modestovich to
+suggest anything wrong to his wife. Later, however, when his wife was about to
+have a child, Sergei Modestovich established connexions elsewhere of a light
+and temporary nature. Serafima Alexandrovna found this out, and, to her own
+astonishment, was not particularly hurt; she awaited her infant with a restless
+anticipation that swallowed every other feeling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A little girl was born; Serafima Alexandrovna gave herself up to her. At the
+beginning she used to tell her husband, with rapture, of all the joyous details
+of Lelechka&rsquo;s existence. But she soon found that he listened to her
+without the slightest interest, and only from the habit of politeness. Serafima
+Alexandrovna drifted farther and farther away from him. She loved her little
+girl with the ungratified passion that other women, deceived in their husbands,
+show their chance young lovers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Mamochka</i>, let&rsquo;s play <i>priatki</i>,&rdquo; (hide and
+seek), cried Lelechka, pronouncing the <i>r</i> like the <i>l</i>, so that the
+word sounded &ldquo;pliatki.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This charming inability to speak always made Serafima Alexandrovna smile with
+tender rapture. Lelechka then ran away, stamping with her plump little legs
+over the carpets, and hid herself behind the curtains near her bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Tiu-tiu, mamochka</i>!&rdquo; she cried out in her sweet, laughing
+voice, as she looked out with a single roguish eye.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where is my baby girl?&rdquo; the mother asked, as she looked for
+Lelechka and made believe that she did not see her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Lelechka poured out her rippling laughter in her hiding place. Then she
+came out a little farther, and her mother, as though she had only just caught
+sight of her, seized her by her little shoulders and exclaimed joyously:
+&ldquo;Here she is, my Lelechka!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lelechka laughed long and merrily, her head close to her mother&rsquo;s knees,
+and all of her cuddled up between her mother&rsquo;s white hands. Her
+mother&rsquo;s eyes glowed with passionate emotion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, <i>mamochka</i>, you hide,&rdquo; said Lelechka, as she ceased
+laughing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her mother went to hide. Lelechka turned away as though not to see, but watched
+her <i>mamochka</i> stealthily all the time. Mamma hid behind the cupboard, and
+exclaimed: &ldquo;<i>Tiu-tiu</i>, baby girl!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lelechka ran round the room and looked into all the corners, making believe, as
+her mother had done before, that she was seeking&mdash;though she really knew
+all the time where her <i>mamochka</i> was standing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s my <i>mamochka</i>?&rdquo; asked Lelechka.
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s not here, and she&rsquo;s not here,&rdquo; she kept on
+repeating, as she ran from corner to corner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her mother stood, with suppressed breathing, her head pressed against the wall,
+her hair somewhat disarranged. A smile of absolute bliss played on her red
+lips.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The nurse, Fedosya, a good-natured and fine-looking, if somewhat stupid woman,
+smiled as she looked at her mistress with her characteristic expression, which
+seemed to say that it was not for her to object to gentlewomen&rsquo;s
+caprices. She thought to herself: &ldquo;The mother is like a little child
+herself&mdash;look how excited she is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lelechka was getting nearer her mother&rsquo;s corner. Her mother was growing
+more absorbed every moment by her interest in the game; her heart beat with
+short quick strokes, and she pressed even closer to the wall, disarranging her
+hair still more. Lelechka suddenly glanced toward her mother&rsquo;s corner and
+screamed with joy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve found &rsquo;oo,&rdquo; she cried out loudly and joyously,
+mispronouncing her words in a way that again made her mother happy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She pulled her mother by her hands to the middle of the room, they were merry
+and they laughed; and Lelechka again hid her head against her mother&rsquo;s
+knees, and went on lisping and lisping, without end, her sweet little words, so
+fascinating yet so awkward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sergei Modestovich was coming at this moment toward the nursery. Through the
+half-closed doors he heard the laughter, the joyous outcries, the sound of
+romping. He entered the nursery, smiling his genial cold smile; he was
+irreproachably dressed, and he looked fresh and erect, and he spread round him
+an atmosphere of cleanliness, freshness and coldness. He entered in the midst
+of the lively game, and he confused them all by his radiant coldness. Even
+Fedosya felt abashed, now for her mistress, now for herself. Serafima
+Alexandrovna at once became calm and apparently cold&mdash;and this mood
+communicated itself to the little girl, who ceased to laugh, but looked
+instead, silently and intently, at her father.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sergei Modestovich gave a swift glance round the room. He liked coming here,
+where everything was beautifully arranged; this was done by Serafima
+Alexandrovna, who wished to surround her little girl, from her very infancy,
+only with the loveliest things. Serafima Alexandrovna dressed herself
+tastefully; this, too, she did for Lelechka, with the same end in view. One
+thing Sergei Modestovich had not become reconciled to, and this was his
+wife&rsquo;s almost continuous presence in the nursery.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s just as I thought.... I knew that I&rsquo;d find you
+here,&rdquo; he said with a derisive and condescending smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They left the nursery together. As he followed his wife through the door Sergei
+Modestovich said rather indifferently, in an incidental way, laying no stress
+on his words: &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you think that it would be well for the little
+girl if she were sometimes without your company? Merely, you see, that the
+child should feel its own individuality,&rdquo; he explained in answer to
+Serafima Alexandrovna&rsquo;s puzzled glance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s still so little,&rdquo; said Serafima Alexandrovna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In any case, this is but my humble opinion. I don&rsquo;t insist.
+It&rsquo;s your kingdom there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll think it over,&rdquo; his wife answered, smiling, as he did,
+coldly but genially.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then they began to talk of something else.
+</p>
+
+<h3>II</h3>
+
+<p>
+Nurse Fedosya, sitting in the kitchen that evening, was telling the silent
+housemaid Darya and the talkative old cook Agathya about the young lady of the
+house, and how the child loved to play <i>priatki</i> with her
+mother&mdash;&ldquo;She hides her little face, and cries
+&lsquo;<i>tiu-tiu</i>&rsquo;!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And the <i>barinya</i><a href="#linknote-5" name="linknoteref-5"
+id="linknoteref-5">[1]</a> herself is like a little one,&rdquo; added Fedosya,
+smiling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Agathya listened and shook her head ominously; while her face became grave and
+reproachful.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That the <i>barinya</i> does it, well, that&rsquo;s one thing; but that
+the young lady does it, that&rsquo;s bad.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why?&rdquo; asked Fedosya with curiosity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This expression of curiosity gave her face the look of a wooden,
+roughly-painted doll.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, that&rsquo;s bad,&rdquo; repeated Agathya with conviction.
+&ldquo;Terribly bad!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; said Fedosya, the ludicrous expression of curiosity on her
+face becoming more emphatic.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;ll hide, and hide, and hide away,&rdquo; said Agathya, in a
+mysterious whisper, as she looked cautiously toward the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What are you saying?&rdquo; exclaimed Fedosya, frightened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the truth I&rsquo;m saying, remember my words,&rdquo; Agathya
+went on with the same assurance and secrecy. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s the surest
+sign.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old woman had invented this sign, quite suddenly, herself; and she was
+evidently very proud of it.
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="linknote-5" id="linknote-5"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-5">[1]</a> 
+Gentlewoman.
+</p>
+
+<h3>III</h3>
+
+<p>
+Lelechka was asleep, and Serafima Alexandrovna was sitting in her own room,
+thinking with joy and tenderness of Lelechka. Lelechka was in her thoughts,
+first a sweet, tiny girl, then a sweet, big girl, then again a delightful
+little girl; and so until the end she remained mamma&rsquo;s little Lelechka.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Serafima Alexandrovna did not even notice that Fedosya came up to her and
+paused before her. Fedosya had a worried, frightened look.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Barinya, barinya</i>&rdquo; she said quietly, in a trembling voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Serafima Alexandrovna gave a start. Fedosya&rsquo;s face made her anxious.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is it, Fedosya?&rdquo; she asked with great concern. &ldquo;Is
+there anything wrong with Lelechka?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, <i>barinya</i>,&rdquo; said Fedosya, as she gesticulated with her
+hands to reassure her mistress and to make her sit down. &ldquo;Lelechka is
+asleep, may God be with her! Only I&rsquo;d like to say something&mdash;you
+see&mdash;Lelechka is always hiding herself&mdash;that&rsquo;s not good.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fedosya looked at her mistress with fixed eyes, which had grown round from
+fright.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not good?&rdquo; asked Serafima Alexandrovna, with vexation,
+succumbing involuntarily to vague fears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t tell you how bad it is,&rdquo; said Fedosya, and her face
+expressed the most decided confidence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Please speak in a sensible way,&rdquo; observed Serafima Alexandrovna
+dryly. &ldquo;I understand nothing of what you are saying.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You see, <i>barinya</i>, it&rsquo;s a kind of omen,&rdquo; explained
+Fedosya abruptly, in a shamefaced way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; said Serafima Alexandrovna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She did not wish to hear any further as to the sort of omen it was, and what it
+foreboded. But, somehow, a sense of fear and of sadness crept into her mood,
+and it was humiliating to feel that an absurd tale should disturb her beloved
+fancies, and should agitate her so deeply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course I know that gentlefolk don&rsquo;t believe in omens, but
+it&rsquo;s a bad omen, <i>barinya</i>,&rdquo; Fedosya went on in a doleful
+voice, &ldquo;the young lady will hide, and hide....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly she burst into tears, sobbing out loudly: &ldquo;She&rsquo;ll hide,
+and hide, and hide away, angelic little soul, in a damp grave,&rdquo; she
+continued, as she wiped her tears with her apron and blew her nose.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who told you all this?&rdquo; asked Serafima Alexandrovna in an austere
+low voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Agathya says so, <i>barinya</i>&rdquo; answered Fedosya;
+&ldquo;it&rsquo;s she that knows.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Knows!&rdquo; exclaimed Serafima Alexandrovna in irritation, as though
+she wished to protect herself somehow from this sudden anxiety. &ldquo;What
+nonsense! Please don&rsquo;t come to me with any such notions in the future.
+Now you may go.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fedosya, dejected, her feelings hurt, left her mistress.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What nonsense! As though Lelechka could die!&rdquo; thought Serafima
+Alexandrovna to herself, trying to conquer the feeling of coldness and fear
+which took possession of her at the thought of the possible death of Lelechka.
+Serafima Alexandrovna, upon reflection, attributed these women&rsquo;s beliefs
+in omens to ignorance. She saw clearly that there could be no possible
+connexion between a child&rsquo;s quite ordinary diversion and the continuation
+of the child&rsquo;s life. She made a special effort that evening to occupy her
+mind with other matters, but her thoughts returned involuntarily to the fact
+that Lelechka loved to hide herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Lelechka, was still quite small, and had learned to distinguish between
+her mother and her nurse, she sometimes, sitting in her nurse&rsquo;s arms,
+made a sudden roguish grimace, and hid her laughing face in the nurse&rsquo;s
+shoulder. Then she would look out with a sly glance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Of late, in those rare moments of the <i>barinya&rsquo;s</i> absence from the
+nursery, Fedosya had again taught Lelechka to hide; and when Lelechka&rsquo;s
+mother, on coming in, saw how lovely the child looked when she was hiding, she
+herself began to play hide and seek with her tiny daughter.
+</p>
+
+<h3>IV</h3>
+
+<p>
+The next day Serafima Alexandrovna, absorbed in her joyous cares for Lelechka,
+had forgotten Fedosya&rsquo;s words of the day before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But when she returned to the nursery, after having ordered the dinner, and she
+heard Lelechka suddenly cry &ldquo;<i>Tiu-tiu</i>!&rdquo; from under the table,
+a feeling of fear suddenly took hold of her. Though she reproached herself at
+once for this unfounded, superstitious dread, nevertheless she could not enter
+wholeheartedly into the spirit of Lelechka&rsquo;s favourite game, and she
+tried to divert Lelechka&rsquo;s attention to something else.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lelechka was a lovely and obedient child. She eagerly complied with her
+mother&rsquo;s new wishes. But as she had got into the habit of hiding from her
+mother in some corner, and of crying out &ldquo;<i>Tiu-tiu</i>!&rdquo; so even
+that day she returned more than once to the game.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Serafima Alexandrovna tried desperately to amuse Lelechka. This was not so easy
+because restless, threatening thoughts obtruded themselves constantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why does Lelechka keep on recalling the <i>tiu-tiu</i>? Why does she not
+get tired of the same thing&mdash;of eternally closing her eyes, and of hiding
+her face? Perhaps,&rdquo; thought Serafima Alexandrovna, &ldquo;she is not as
+strongly drawn to the world as other children, who are attracted by many
+things. If this is so, is it not a sign of organic weakness? Is it not a germ
+of the unconscious non-desire to live?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Serafima Alexandrovna was tormented by presentiments. She felt ashamed of
+herself for ceasing to play hide and seek with Lelechka before Fedosya. But
+this game had become agonizing to her, all the more agonizing because she had a
+real desire to play it, and because something drew her very strongly to hide
+herself from Lelechka and to seek out the hiding child. Serafima Alexandrovna
+herself began the game once or twice, though she played it with a heavy heart.
+She suffered as though committing an evil deed with full consciousness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a sad day for Serafima Alexandrovna.
+</p>
+
+<h3>V</h3>
+
+<p>
+Lelechka was about to fall asleep. No sooner had she climbed into her little
+bed, protected by a network on all sides, than her eyes began to close from
+fatigue. Her mother covered her with a blue blanket. Lelechka drew her sweet
+little hands from under the blanket and stretched them out to embrace her
+mother. Her mother bent down. Lelechka, with a tender expression on her sleepy
+face, kissed her mother and let her head fall on the pillow. As her hands hid
+themselves under the blanket Lelechka whispered: &ldquo;The hands
+<i>tiu-tiu</i>!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The mother&rsquo;s heart seemed to stop&mdash;Lelechka lay there so small, so
+frail, so quiet. Lelechka smiled gently, closed her eyes and said quietly:
+&ldquo;The eyes <i>tiu-tiu</i>!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then even more quietly: &ldquo;Lelechka <i>tiu-tiu!</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With these words she fell asleep, her face pressing the pillow. She seemed so
+small and so frail under the blanket that covered her. Her mother looked at her
+with sad eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Serafima Alexandrovna remained standing over Lelechka&rsquo;s bed a long while,
+and she kept looking at Lelechka with tenderness and fear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m a mother: is it possible that I shouldn&rsquo;t be able to
+protect her?&rdquo; she thought, as she imagined the various ills that might
+befall Lelechka.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She prayed long that night, but the prayer did not relieve her sadness.
+</p>
+
+<h3>VI</h3>
+
+<p>
+Several days passed. Lelechka caught cold. The fever came upon her at night.
+When Serafima Alexandrovna, awakened by Fedosya, came to Lelechka and saw her
+looking so hot, so restless, and so tormented, she instantly recalled the evil
+omen, and a hopeless despair took possession of her from the first moments.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A doctor was called, and everything was done that is usual on such
+occasions&mdash;but the inevitable happened. Serafima Alexandrovna tried to
+console herself with the hope that Lelechka would get well, and would again
+laugh and play&mdash;yet this seemed to her an unthinkable happiness! And
+Lelechka grew feebler from hour to hour.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All simulated tranquillity, so as not to frighten Serafima Alexandrovna, but
+their masked faces only made her sad.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nothing made her so unhappy as the reiterations of Fedosya, uttered between
+sobs: &ldquo;She hid herself and hid herself, our Lelechka!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the thoughts of Serafima Alexandrovna were confused, and she could not
+quite grasp what was happening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fever was consuming Lelechka, and there were times when she lost consciousness
+and spoke in delirium. But when she returned to herself she bore her pain and
+her fatigue with gentle good nature; she smiled feebly at her <i>mamochka</i>,
+so that her <i>mamochka</i> should not see how much she suffered. Three days
+passed, torturing like a nightmare. Lelechka grew quite feeble She did not know
+that she was dying.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She glanced at her mother with her dimmed eyes, and lisped in a scarcely
+audible, hoarse voice: &ldquo;<i>Tiu-tiu, mamochka</i>! Make <i>tiu-tiu,
+mamochka</i>!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Serafima Alexandrovna hid her face behind the curtains near Lelechka&rsquo;s
+bed. How tragic!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Mamochka</i>!&rdquo; called Lelechka in an almost inaudible voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lelechka&rsquo;s mother bent over her, and Lelechka, her vision grown still
+more dim, saw her mother&rsquo;s pale, despairing face for the last time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A white <i>mamochka</i>!&rdquo; whispered Lelechka.
+<i>Mamochka&rsquo;s</i> white face became blurred, and everything grew dark
+before Lelechka. She caught the edge of the bed-cover feebly with her hands and
+whispered: &ldquo;<i>Tiu-tiu</i>!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Something rattled in her throat; Lelechka opened and again closed her rapidly
+paling lips, and died.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Serafima Alexandrovna was in dumb despair as she left Lelechka, and went out of
+the room. She met her husband.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lelechka is dead,&rdquo; she said in a quiet, dull voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sergei Modestovich looked anxiously at her pale face. He was struck by the
+strange stupor in her formerly animated handsome features.
+</p>
+
+<h3>VII</h3>
+
+<p>
+Lelechka was dressed, placed in a little coffin, and carried into the parlour.
+Serafima Alexandrovna was standing by the coffin and looking dully at her dead
+child. Sergei Modestovich went to his wife and, consoling her with cold, empty
+words, tried to draw her away from the coffin. Serafima Alexandrovna smiled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go away,&rdquo; she said quietly. &ldquo;Lelechka is playing.
+She&rsquo;ll be up in a minute.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sima, my dear, don&rsquo;t agitate yourself,&rdquo; said Sergei
+Modestovich in a whisper. &ldquo;You must resign yourself to your fate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;ll be up in a minute,&rdquo; persisted Serafima Alexandrovna,
+her eyes fixed on the dead little girl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sergei Modestovich looked round him cautiously: he was afraid of the unseemly
+and of the ridiculous.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sima, don&rsquo;t agitate yourself,&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;This
+would be a miracle, and miracles do not happen in the nineteenth
+century.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No sooner had he said these words than Sergei Modestovich felt their
+irrelevance to what had happened. He was confused and annoyed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He took his wife by the arm, and cautiously led her away from the coffin. She
+did not oppose him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her face seemed tranquil and her eyes were dry. She went into the nursery and
+began to walk round the room, looking into those places where Lelechka used to
+hide herself. She walked all about the room, and bent now and then to look
+under the table or under the bed, and kept on repeating cheerfully:
+&ldquo;Where is my little one? Where is my Lelechka?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After she had walked round the room once she began to make her quest anew.
+Fedosya, motionless, with dejected face, sat in a corner, and looked frightened
+at her mistress; then she suddenly burst out sobbing, and she wailed loudly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She hid herself, and hid herself, our Lelechka, our angelic little
+soul!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Serafima Alexandrovna trembled, paused, cast a perplexed look at Fedosya, began
+to weep, and left the nursery quietly.
+</p>
+
+<h3>VIII</h3>
+
+<p>
+Sergei Modestovich hurried the funeral. He saw that Serafima Alexandrovna was
+terribly shocked by her sudden misfortune, and as he feared for her reason he
+thought she would more readily be diverted and consoled when Lelechka was
+buried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Next morning Serafima Alexandrovna dressed with particular care&mdash;for
+Lelechka. When she entered the parlour there were several people between her
+and Lelechka. The priest and deacon paced up and down the room; clouds of blue
+smoke drifted in the air, and there was a smell of incense. There was an
+oppressive feeling of heaviness in Serafima Alexandrovna&rsquo;s head as she
+approached Lelechka. Lelechka lay there still and pale, and smiled
+pathetically. Serafima Alexandrovna laid her cheek upon the edge of
+Lelechka&rsquo;s coffin, and whispered: &ldquo;<i>Tiu-tiu</i>, little
+one!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The little one did not reply. Then there was some kind of stir and confusion
+around Serafima Alexandrovna; strange, unnecessary faces bent over her, some
+one held her&mdash;and Lelechka was carried away somewhere.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Serafima Alexandrovna stood up erect, sighed in a lost way, smiled, and called
+loudly: &ldquo;Lelechka!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lelechka was being carried out. The mother threw herself after the coffin with
+despairing sobs, but she was held back. She sprang behind the door, through
+which Lelechka had passed, sat down there on the floor, and as she looked
+through the crevice, she cried out: &ldquo;Lelechka, <i>tiu-tiu</i>!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then she put her head out from behind the door, and began to laugh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lelechka was quickly carried away from her mother, and those who carried her
+seemed to run rather than to walk.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap08"></a>THE SMILE</h2>
+
+<h3>I</h3>
+
+<p>
+Some fifteen boys and girls and several young men and women had gathered in the
+garden belonging to the Semiboyarinov cottage to celebrate the birthday of one
+of the sons of the house, Lesha by name, a student of the second class.
+Lesha&rsquo;s birthday was made indeed an occasion for bringing eligible young
+men to the house for his grown sisters&rsquo; sake.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All were merry and smiling&mdash;the older members of the party as well as the
+young boys and girls, who ran up and down the yellow sand of the well-kept
+footpaths; a pale, unimpressive boy, who was sitting alone on a bench under a
+lilac bush and looking silently at the other boys, was also smiling. His
+loneliness, his silence, and his well-worn though clean clothes, all pointed to
+his poverty and to his embarrassment in the company of these lively,
+well-dressed children. His face was timid and thin, his chest sunken, and his
+lean hands lay so meekly that it aroused one&rsquo;s pity to look at him.
+Still, he smiled; but even his smile seemed pitiful; it was as though it
+depressed him to watch the games and the happiness of other children, or as
+though he were afraid to annoy others by his sad looks and his poor dress.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was called Grisha Igumnov. His father had died not long ago; Grisha&rsquo;s
+mother occasionally sent her son to her rich relatives with whom he always felt
+depressed and uneasy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why do you sit alone? Get up and run about!&rdquo; said the blue-eyed
+Lydochka Semiboyarinov as she passed him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grisha did not dare to disobey; his heart beat violently, his face became
+covered with small beads of perspiration. He approached the happy, red-cheeked
+boys timidly. They looked at him unfriendlily as at a stranger, and Grisha
+himself felt at once that he was not like them: he could not speak so boldly
+and so loudly; and he had neither such yellow boots, nor such a round little
+cap with a woolly red visor turned jauntily upwards as the boy nearest to him
+had.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The boys continued to talk among themselves as though there were no Grisha.
+Grisha stood near them in an uneasy pose; his thin shoulders stooped somewhat,
+his slender fingers held fast to his narrow girdle, and he smiled timidly. He
+did not know what to do, and in his confusion did not hear what the lively boys
+were saying. They finished their conversation and scattered suddenly. Grisha,
+his timid, guilty smile still on his face, walked back uneasily on the sandy
+path and sat down once more on the bench. He was ashamed because he had walked
+up to the boys, yet had not spoken to any one, and because nothing had come of
+it. As he sat down he looked timidly round him&mdash;no one paid him the
+slightest attention, and no one laughed at him. Grisha grew calm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Just then two little girls, their arms round each other, passed him. Under
+their fixed stare Grisha shrank, grew red, and smiled guiltily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the little girls had passed by the youngest of them, with fair hair, asked
+loudly: &ldquo;Who&rsquo;s this ugly duckling?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The elder girl, who was red-cheeked and black-browed, laughed and answered:
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know. We had better ask Lydochka. It&rsquo;s most likely a
+poor relation.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What an absurd boy,&rdquo; said the little blonde. &ldquo;He spreads his
+ears out, and sits there and smiles.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They disappeared behind the bushes at the turn of the path, and Grisha no
+longer heard their voices. He felt hurt, and when he thought that he might have
+to sit there a long time, until his mother should come for him, he was sick at
+heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A big-eyed, slender student with a stubborn crest of hair sticking up from his
+high forehead noticed that Grisha was sitting alone there like an orphan, and
+he wished to be kind to him, and to make him feel more at his ease; so he sat
+down near him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s your name?&rdquo; he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grisha told him quietly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And my name is Mitya,&rdquo; said the student. &ldquo;Are you here
+alone, or with any one?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With mother,&rdquo; whispered Grisha.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why do you sit here all by yourself?&rdquo; asked Mitya.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grisha stirred nervously, and did not know what to say.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you play?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mitya did not hear him so he asked: &ldquo;What did you say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t feel like it,&rdquo; said Grisha somewhat more loudly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The student, astonished, continued: &ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you feel like
+it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grisha again did not know what to say; he smiled in a lost way. Mitya was
+looking at him attentively. Glances of strangers always embarrassed Grisha; it
+was as though he feared that they might find something absurd in his
+appearance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mitya was silent for a while, as he thought of something else that he might
+ask.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you collect?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve got a
+collection of something, haven&rsquo;t you? We all collect: I&mdash;stamps,
+Katya Pokrivalova&mdash;shells, Lesha&mdash;butterflies. What do you
+collect?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; said Grisha, flushing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, well,&rdquo; said Mitya with artless astonishment. &ldquo;So you
+collect nothing! That&rsquo;s very curious.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grisha felt ashamed that he was not collecting anything, and that he had
+disclosed the fact.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I, too, must collect something!&rdquo; he thought to himself, but he
+could not decide to say this aloud.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mitya sat a little longer, then left him. Grisha felt a relief. But a new
+ordeal was in store for him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The nurse engaged by the Semiboyarinovs for their youngest son was strolling
+along the garden paths with the one-year-old child in her arms. She wished to
+rest, and chose the same bench upon which Grisha was sitting. He again felt
+uneasy. He looked straight before him, and could not even decide to move away
+from the nurse to the other end of the bench.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The infant&rsquo;s attention soon became drawn to Grisha&rsquo;s protruding
+ears, and he leant forward towards one of them. The nurse, a robust,
+red-cheeked woman, concluded that Grisha would not mind. She brought her charge
+nearer to Grisha, and the pink infant caught Grisha&rsquo;s ear with his fat
+little hand. Grisha was paralysed with confusion, but could not decide to
+protest. The child, laughing loudly and merrily, now let go Grisha&rsquo;s ear,
+now caught hold of it again. The red-cheeked nurse, who enjoyed the game not
+less than the infant, kept on repeating: &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go for him!
+Let&rsquo;s give it to him!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One of the boys saw the scene, and told the other boys that little Georgik was
+obstreperous with the quiet boy who was sitting so long on the bench. The
+children gathered round Georgik and Grisha, and laughed noisily. Grisha tried
+to show that he didn&rsquo;t mind, that he felt no pain, and that he also
+enjoyed the fun. But it grew harder and harder for him to smile, and he had a
+very strong desire to cry. He knew that he ought not to cry, that it was a
+disgrace, and he restrained himself with an effort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Happily he was soon delivered. The blue-eyed Lydochka, upon hearing the
+children&rsquo;s boisterous laughter, went to see what had happened. She
+reproached the nurse: &ldquo;Aren&rsquo;t you ashamed to go on like
+this?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She herself had difficulty to keep from laughing at Grisha&rsquo;s pitiful,
+confused face. But she restrained herself, and upheld her dignity as a grown
+young woman before the nurse and the children.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The nurse rose and said, laughing: &ldquo;Georginka did it quite gently. The
+boy himself didn&rsquo;t say that it hurt him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You mustn&rsquo;t do such things,&rdquo; said Lydochka sternly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Georgik, unhappy because they had taken him away from Grisha, raised a cry.
+Lydochka took him in her arms and carried him away to quiet him. The nurse
+followed her. But the boys and the girls remained. They thronged round Grisha
+and eyed him unceremoniously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps he&rsquo;s got stuck-on ears,&rdquo; suggested one of the boys,
+&ldquo;that&rsquo;s why he doesn&rsquo;t feel any pain.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I rather think you like to be held by your ears,&rdquo; said another.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tell us,&rdquo; said the little girl with the large blue eyes,
+&ldquo;which ear does your mother catch hold of most?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;His ears have been stretched out to order in a workshop,&rdquo; cried a
+merry youngster, and laughed loudly at his own joke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; another corrected him, &ldquo;he was born like that. When he
+was very small he was led not by his hand but by his ear.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grisha looked at his tormentors like a small beast at bay, with a fixed smile
+on his face, when, suddenly, wholly unexpectedly to the cheerful company, he
+burst into tears. Many small drops fell on his jacket. The children grew quiet
+at once. They became uneasy. They exchanged embarrassed glances, and looked
+silently at Grisha as he wiped the tears from his face with his thin hands; he
+appeared to be ashamed of his tears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why should he be offended?&rdquo; said the beautiful, flaxen-haired
+Katya angrily. &ldquo;Who&rsquo;s done him any harm? The ugly duckling!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s not an ugly duckling. You&rsquo;re an ugly duckling
+yourself,&rdquo; intervened Mitya.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t stand rude people,&rdquo; said Katya, growing red with
+vexation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A little, brown-faced girl in a red dress looked long at Grisha, and knitted
+her brows as in reflection. Then she scanned the other children with her
+perplexed eyes, and asked quietly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why then did he smile?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<h3>II</h3>
+
+<p>
+It was not often that Grisha&rsquo;s wardrobe received important additions. His
+mother could not afford it; hence, every item gave Grisha great joy. The autumn
+cold came, and Grisha&rsquo;s mother bought an overcoat, a hat and mittens. The
+mittens pleased Grisha more than anything else.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the holiday, after Mass, he put on his new things and went out to play. He
+loved to walk about in the streets, and he used to go out alone; his mother had
+no time to go out with him. She looked proudly out of the window as Grisha
+walked gravely by. She recalled at that moment her well-to-do relatives who had
+promised her so much, and had done so little, and she thought: &ldquo;Well,
+I&rsquo;ve managed it without them, thank God!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a cold, clear day; the sun did not shine with its full brightness; the
+waters of the canals in the city were covered with their first thin ice. Grisha
+walked the streets, rejoicing in this brisk cold, in his new clothes, and with
+his naïve fancies; he always loved to dream when he was alone, and he dreamt
+always of great deeds, of fame, of a bright, happy life in a rich house, indeed
+of everything that was unlike the sad reality.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As Grisha stood on the bank of the canal and looked through the iron railings
+at the thin ice that floated on the surface, he was approached by a street
+urchin in threadbare attire, and with hands red from the cold. He entered into
+conversation with Grisha. Grisha was not afraid of him, and even pitied him
+because of his benumbed hands. His new acquaintance informed him that he was
+called Mishka, but that his family name was Babushkin, because he and his
+mother lived with his <i>babushka</i>.<a href="#linknote-6"
+name="linknoteref-6" id="linknoteref-6">[1]</a>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But then what is your mother&rsquo;s family name?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My mother&rsquo;s name?&rdquo; repeated Mishka, smiling.
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s called Matushkin, because my <i>babushka</i> is no
+<i>babushka</i> to her, but is her <i>matushka.</i>&rdquo;<a href="#linknote-7"
+name="linknoteref-7" id="linknoteref-7">[2]</a>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s strange,&rdquo; said Grisha with astonishment. &ldquo;My
+mother and I have one family name; we are called the Igumnovs.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s because,&rdquo; explained Mishka with animation,
+&ldquo;your grandfather was an <i>igumen</i>.&rdquo;<a href="#linknote-8"
+name="linknoteref-8" id="linknoteref-8">[3]</a>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Grisha, &ldquo;my grandfather was a colonel.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All the same it&rsquo;s likely that his father, or some one else was an
+<i>igumen</i>, and so you have all become the Igumnovs.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grisha did not know who his great-grandfather was, so he said nothing, Mishka
+kept on eyeing his mittens.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have handsome mittens,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;New ones,&rdquo; Grisha explained, with a joyous smile.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the first time I&rsquo;ve put them on; d&rsquo;you see, here
+is a little string drawn through!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, you&rsquo;re a lucky one! And are they quite warm?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rather!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have also mittens at home, but I haven&rsquo;t put them on because I
+don&rsquo;t like them. They are yellow, and I don&rsquo;t like yellow ones. Let
+me put yours on, and I&rsquo;ll run along and show them to my <i>babushka</i>,
+and ask her to get me a pair like them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mishka looked at Grisha pleadingly, and his eyes sparkled enviously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t keep me waiting long?&rdquo; asked Grisha.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I live quite near here, just round the corner. Don&rsquo;t be
+afraid! Upon my word, in a minute!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grisha trustfully took off his mittens and gave them to Mishka.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be back in a minute, wait here, don&rsquo;t go away,&rdquo;
+exclaimed Mishka, as he ran off with Grisha&rsquo;s mittens. He disappeared
+round the corner, and Grisha was left waiting. He did not imagine that Mishka
+would fool him; he thought that he would simply run home, show his mittens, and
+return with them. He stood there long and waited, and Mishka did not even dream
+of returning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The short autumn day was already darkening; Grisha&rsquo;s mother, restless
+because of her boy&rsquo;s long absence, went out to look for him. Grisha at
+last understood that Mishka would not return. The poor boy turned sadly toward
+home and he met his mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Grisha, what have you done with yourself&rdquo; she asked, angry and
+glad at finding her son.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grisha did not reply. He seemed embarrassed as he rubbed his hands, red with
+cold. His mother then noticed that he did not wear his mittens.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where are your mittens?&rdquo; she asked angrily, as she searched his
+overcoat pockets.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grisha smiled and said: &ldquo;I lent them to a boy for a short time, and he
+didn&rsquo;t bring them back.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="linknote-6" id="linknote-6"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-6">[1]</a> 
+Grandmother.
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="linknote-7" id="linknote-7"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-7">[2]</a> 
+Mother.
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="linknote-8" id="linknote-8"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-8">[3]</a> 
+An abbot.
+</p>
+
+<h3>III</h3>
+
+<p>
+Years passed after years. The bold and pushing children who once had gathered
+on Lesha Semiboyarinov&rsquo;s birthday became bold and pushing men and women,
+and the urchin who had fooled Grisha, it goes without saying, found his way in
+life&mdash;while Grisha, of course, became a failure. As in his childhood, he
+went on dreaming, and in his dreams he conquered his kingdom; but in real life
+he could not protect himself from any enterprising person who pushed him
+unceremoniously out of his way. His relations with women were equally
+unsuccessful, and his faint-hearted attentions were not once rewarded by a
+responsive feeling. He had no friends. His mother alone loved him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Igumnov rejoiced when he found a position at a small salary, because his mother
+could live calmly now without worrying about a crust of bread. But his
+happiness was of short duration; soon his mother died. Grisha fell into
+depression, lost his spirits. Life seemed to him to be aimless. Apathy took
+hold of him; he had no interest in his work. He lost his place, and was soon in
+great need.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Igumnov finally pawned his last possession, his mother&rsquo;s ring; as he
+walked out of the place he smiled&mdash;and his smile kept him from bursting
+into tears of self-pity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had to see various people and to ask them for work. But Igumnov was not good
+at this. He was backward and quiet, and he experienced a helpless confusion
+that prevented him from persisting in his dealings with men. While yet on the
+stairway of a man&rsquo;s house a fear would seize him, his heart would beat
+painfully, his legs would grow heavy, and his hand would stretch toward the
+bell irresolutely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During one of his most depressing and hungry days Igumnov sat in the sumptuous
+private office of Aleksei Stepanovich Semiboyarinov, the father of the same
+Lesha whose birthday party remained memorable to him. Igumnov had already sent
+a letter to Aleksei Stepanovich: after all it was much easier to ask on paper
+than by word of mouth. And now he came for his answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From the restless, solicitous manner of Semiboyarinov, a small, dry, old man,
+with closely-cut, silver-grey hair, he guessed that he would have a refusal.
+This made him feel wretched, but he could not help smiling an artless pleasant
+smile, as though he wished to show that it did not matter in the least, that he
+really did not count on anything. The smile evidently irritated Semiboyarinov.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve got your letter, my dear fellow,&rdquo; said he at last in
+his dry, deliberate voice. &ldquo;But there&rsquo;s nothing that I can see just
+now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing?&rdquo; mumbled Igumnov, growing red.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Absolutely nothing, my dear fellow. Every place is taken. And I
+don&rsquo;t see anything in prospect for the near future. Perhaps something
+might be done for you at New Year.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be glad of a chance even then,&rdquo; said Igumnov, smiling
+in such a way as to suggest that a mere eight months was of no account to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I&rsquo;ll be very glad to do something then. If it depended upon
+me you&rsquo;d get your place to-day. I&rsquo;d like very much to be of use to
+you, my good man.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Igumnov.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But tell me,&rdquo; asked Semiboyarinov sympathetically, &ldquo;why did
+you leave your old place?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They found no use for me,&rdquo; answered Igumnov, confused.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No use for you? Well, I hope we&rsquo;ll find some use for you. Let me
+have your address, my good fellow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Semiboyarinov began to rummage on his table for a piece of paper. Igumnov just
+then caught sight of his own letter under a marble paper-weight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My address is in the letter,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So it is!&rdquo; said his host briskly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll make a note of
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have the habit,&rdquo; observed Igumnov, rising from his place,
+&ldquo;always to write my address at the beginning of a letter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A European habit,&rdquo; commended his host.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Igumnov took his leave and went out smiling, proud of his European habits,
+which, however, did not prevent him from feeling hungry. He was almost glad
+that the unpleasant conversation was at an end. He recalled all the polite
+words, and especially those that contained the promise; foolish hopes awakened
+in him. But a few minutes later, as he was walking in the street, he realized
+that the promise would come to nothing. Besides, it was made for the future,
+and he had need of food now, and he must go to his lodgings with a heavy
+heart&mdash;what would his landlady say? What could he say to her?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Igumnov began to walk more slowly, then he turned in the opposite direction.
+Lost in gloom, he walked on, pale and hungry, through the noisy streets of the
+capital, past busy satiated people. His smile vanished. The look of dark
+despair gave a certain significance to his usually little expressive features.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was now close to the Niva. The huge dome of the Isakiyevski Cathedral glowed
+golden in the wide expanse of blue sky. The large open squares and streets were
+enveloped in the gentle, scarcely perceptible, dust-like haze of the rays of
+the setting sun. The din of carriages was softened in these magnificent open
+spaces. Everything seemed strange and hostile to the hungry, helpless man. The
+beautiful, rich-coloured fruits behind the shop windows could not have been
+more inaccessible if they were under the watch of a strong guard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Children were playing merrily in the green square. Igumnov looked at them and
+smiled. Unpleasant memories of his own childhood tormented him with an intense
+pity for himself. He reflected that it was only left to him to die. The thought
+frightened him. And again he reflected: &ldquo;Why shouldn&rsquo;t I die?
+Wasn&rsquo;t there a time when I did not exist? I shall have rest, eternal
+oblivion.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fragments of wise strange thoughts came to him and soothed him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Igumnov was now on the embankment. He leant against the granite parapet and
+watched the restless waters of the river. A single move, he thought, and
+everything would be ended. But it was terrible to think of drowning, of
+struggling with one&rsquo;s mouth full of water, of being strangled by these
+heavy, cold sweeps of water, of battling helplessly, and of at last sinking
+from sheer exhaustion to the bottom, there to be carried by the undercurrents,
+and at last to be cast out, a shapeless corpse, upon some coast of the sea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Igumnov shivered and moved away from the river. He suddenly espied not far away
+his former colleague Kurkov. Smartly dressed, cheerful and self-satisfied,
+Kurkov was walking slowly and swinging a thin cane with a fancy handle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, Grigory Petrovich!&rdquo; he exclaimed, as though he were glad of
+the meeting. &ldquo;Are you strolling, or are you on business?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I&rsquo;m strolling, that is on business,&rdquo; said Igumnov.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think we are going the same way?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They walked on together. Kurkov&rsquo;s cheerful chatter only intensified
+Igumnov&rsquo;s mood. Moving his shoulders nervously he addressed Kurkov with
+sudden resolution: &ldquo;Nikolai Sergeyevich, do you happen to have a rouble
+on you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A rouble?&rdquo; said Kurkov in astonishment. &ldquo;Why do you want
+it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Igumnov flushed, and began to explain in stammers. &ldquo;You see, I ... just
+one rouble is lacking.... I have to get something ... something, you
+see....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He breathed heavily in his agitation. He grew silent, and smiled a pitiful,
+fixed smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That means I shan&rsquo;t get it back,&rdquo; thought Kurkov.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now he spoke no longer in the same careless tone as before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to, but I haven&rsquo;t any spare cash, not a copeck. I
+had to borrow some yesterday myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, if you haven&rsquo;t it, you can&rsquo;t help it,&rdquo; mumbled
+Igumnov, and continued to smile. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll simply have to get along
+without it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His smile irritated Kurkov, perhaps because it was such a pitiful, helpless
+affair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why does he smile?&rdquo; thought Kurkov in vexation.
+&ldquo;Doesn&rsquo;t he believe me? Well, I don&rsquo;t care if he
+doesn&rsquo;t&mdash;I don&rsquo;t own the Government exchequer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you come in sometimes and see us?&rdquo; he asked
+Igumnov in a careless, dry manner, as he looked elsewhere.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am always meaning to. Of course I&rsquo;ll come in,&rdquo; answered
+Igumnov in a trembling voice. &ldquo;What about to-day?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There rose before him a picture of the cosy dining-room of the Kurkovs, the
+hospitable hostess, the samovar on the table and the various tasty tit-bits.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To-day?&rdquo; asked Kurkov in the same careless, dry voice. &ldquo;No,
+we shan&rsquo;t be home to-day. But do step in some day before long. Well, I
+must turn up this lane. Good-bye!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And he made haste to cross the wooden walk of the embankment. Igumnov looked
+after him, and smiled. Slow, incoherent thoughts crept through his brain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As Kurkov disappeared up the lane Igumnov again approached the granite parapet,
+and, trembling in cold terror, began slowly and awkwardly to climb over it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was no one near.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap09"></a>THE HOOP</h2>
+
+<h3>I</h3>
+
+<p>
+A woman was taking her morning stroll in a lonely suburban street; a boy of
+four was with her. She was young and smart and she was smiling brightly; she
+was casting affectionate glances at her son, whose red cheeks beamed with
+happiness. The boy was bowling a hoop; a large, new, bright yellow hoop. He ran
+after his hoop awkwardly, laughed uproariously with joy, thrust forward his
+plump little legs, bare at the knee, and flourished his stick. He needn&rsquo;t
+have raised his stick so high above his head&mdash;but what of that?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What happiness! He had never had a hoop before; how briskly it made him run!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And nothing of this had existed for him before; everything was new to
+him&mdash;the streets in early morning, the merry sun, and the distant din of
+the city. Everything was new to the boy&mdash;and joyous and pure.
+</p>
+
+<h3>II</h3>
+
+<p>
+A shabbily dressed old man, with coarse hands stood at the street crossing. He
+pressed close to the wall to let the woman and the boy pass. The old man looked
+at the boy with dull eyes and smiled stupidly. Confused, sluggish thoughts
+struggled within his almost bald head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A little gentleman!&rdquo; said he to himself. &ldquo;Quite a small
+fellow. And simply bursting with joy. Just look at him cutting his
+paces!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He could not quite understand it. Somehow it seemed strange to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here was a child&mdash;a thing to be pulled about by the hair! Play is
+mischief. Children, as every one knows, are mischief-makers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And there was the mother&mdash;she uttered no reproach, she made no fuss, she
+did not scold. She was smart and bright. It was quite easy to see that they
+were used to warmth and comfort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the other hand, when he, the old man, was a boy he lived a dog&rsquo;s life!
+There was nothing particularly rosy in his life even now; though, to be sure,
+he was no longer thrashed and he had plenty to eat. He recalled his younger
+days&mdash;their hunger, their cold, their drubbings. He had never had fun with
+a hoop, or other playthings of well-to-do folks. Thus passed all his
+life&mdash;in poverty, in care, in misery. And he could recall
+nothing&mdash;not a single joy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He smiled with his toothless mouth at the boy, and he envied him. He reflected:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a silly sport!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But envy tormented him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He went to work&mdash;to the factory where he had worked from childhood, where
+he had grown old. And all day he thought of the boy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a fixed, deep-rooted thought. He simply could not get the boy out of his
+mind. He saw him running, laughing, stamping his feet, bowling the hoop. What
+plump little legs he had, bared at the knee!...
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All day long, amid the din of the factory wheels, the boy with the hoop
+appeared to him. And at night he saw the boy in a dream.
+</p>
+
+<h3>III</h3>
+
+<p>
+Next morning his reveries again pursued the old man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The machines were clattering, the labour was monotonous, automatic. The hands
+were busy at their accustomed tasks; the toothless mouth was smiling at a
+diverting fancy. The air was thick with dust, and under the high ceiling strap
+after strap, with hissing sound, glided quickly from wheel to wheel, endless in
+number. The far corners were invisible for the dense escaping vapours. Men
+emerged here and there like phantoms, and the human voice was not heard for the
+incessant din of the machines.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old man&rsquo;s fancy was at work&mdash;he had become a little boy for the
+moment, his mother was a gentlewoman, and he had his hoop and his little stick;
+he was playing, driving the hoop with the little stick. He wore a white
+costume, his little legs were plump, bare at the knee....
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The days passed; the work went on, the fancy persisted.
+</p>
+
+<h3>IV</h3>
+
+<p>
+The old man was returning from work one evening when he saw the hoop of an old
+barrel lying in the street. It was a rough, dirty object. The old man trembled
+with happiness, and tears appeared in his dull eyes. A sudden, almost
+irresistible desire took possession of him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He glanced cautiously around him; then he bent down, picked up the hoop with
+trembling hands, and smiling shamefacedly, carried it home with him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No one noticed him, no one questioned him. Whose concern was it? A ragged old
+man was carrying an old, battered, useless hoop&mdash;who cared?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He carried it stealthily, afraid of ridicule. Why he picked it up and why he
+carried it, he himself could not tell. Still, it was like the boy&rsquo;s hoop,
+and this was enough. There was no harm in it lying about.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He could look at it; he could touch it. It would stimulate his reveries; the
+whistle and turmoil of the factory would grow fainter, the escaping vapours
+less dense....
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For several days the hoop lay under the bed in the old man&rsquo;s poor,
+cramped quarters. Sometimes he would take it from its place and look at it; the
+dirty, grey hoop soothed the old man, and the sight of it quickened his
+persistent thoughts about the happy little boy.
+</p>
+
+<h3>V</h3>
+
+<p>
+It was a clear, warm morning, and the birds were chirping away in the
+consumptive urban trees somewhat more cheerfully than usual. The old man rose
+early, took his hoop, and walked a little distance out of town.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He coughed as he made his way among the old trees and the thorny bushes in the
+woods. The trees, covered with their dry, blackish, bursting bark, seemed to
+him incomprehensibly and sternly silent. The odours were strange, the insects
+astonishing, the ferns of gigantic growth. There was neither dust nor din here,
+and the gentle, exquisite morning mist lay behind the trees. The old feet
+glided over the dry leaves and stumbled across the old gnarled roots.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old man broke off a dry limb and hung his hoop upon it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He came upon an opening, full of daylight and of calm. The dewdrops, countless
+and opalescent, gleamed upon the green blades of newly mown grass.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly the old man let the hoop slide off the stick. He struck with the
+stick, and sent the hoop rolling across the green lawn. The old man laughed,
+brightened at once, and pursued the hoop like that little boy. He kicked up his
+feet and drove the hoop with his stick, which he flourished high over his head,
+just as that little boy did.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It seemed to him that he was small, beloved, and happy. It seemed to him that
+he was being looked after by his mother, who was following close behind and
+smiling. Like a child on his first outing, he felt refreshed on the bright
+grass, and on the still mosses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His goat-like, dust-grey beard, that harmonized with his sallow face, trembled,
+while his cough mingled with his laughter, and raucous sounds came from his
+toothless mouth.
+</p>
+
+<h3>VI</h3>
+
+<p>
+And the old man grew to love his morning hour in the woods with the hoop.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He sometimes thought he might be discovered, and ridiculed&mdash;and this
+aroused him to a keen sense of shame. This shame resembled fear; he would grow
+numb, and his knees would give way under him. He would look round him with
+fright and timidity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But no&mdash;there was no one to be seen, or to be heard....
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And having diverted himself to his heart&rsquo;s content he would return to the
+city, smiling gently and joyously.
+</p>
+
+<h3>VII</h3>
+
+<p>
+No one had ever found him out. And nothing unusual ever happened. The old man
+played peacefully for several days, and one very dewy morning he caught cold.
+He went to bed, and soon died. Dying in the factory hospital, among strangers,
+indifferent people, he smiled serenely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His memories soothed him. He, too, had been a child; he, too, had laughed and
+scampered across the green grass, among the dark trees&mdash;his beloved mother
+had followed him with her eyes.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap10"></a>THE SEARCH</h2>
+
+<h3>I</h3>
+
+<p>
+The pleasant in life has a way of mixing with the unpleasant. It is pleasant to
+be a student of the first class, for it gives one a certain standing in the
+world. But even the life of a student of the first class is not free from
+unpleasantness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The first thing of which Shura was conscious when he awoke one morning was that
+something was tearing on his person. He felt uncomfortable. As he turned on his
+side he was even more clearly aware of the damage that his shirt had suffered.
+There was a large gap under the armpits, and presently he realized that it
+extended down to the very bottom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Shura was sad. He remembered having told his mother only the day before about
+the condition of his shirt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wear it another day, Shurochka,&rdquo; she answered him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Shura frowned and said rather sadly: &ldquo;Mother, it won&rsquo;t stand
+another day&rsquo;s wear. To-morrow I shall be a ragamuffin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without looking up from her work she grumbled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me have some peace. I have already promised you a change to-morrow
+evening. If you&rsquo;d only be less mischievous your clothes would last
+longer. You&rsquo;d wear out iron.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Shura, who was a quiet lad, growled back in reply:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One simply couldn&rsquo;t be less mischievous than I. Only sometimes you
+can&rsquo;t help it, and then in a reasonable sort of way.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His request went unheeded. And here was the consequence. His shirt was torn to
+its very hem. It was now good for nothing, all for want of a little foresight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He jumped out of bed, and ran semi-nude into the next-room, where his mother
+was making ready to go out to bring back some paying homework. The thought of
+going to school in discomfort and of waiting till evening vexed him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What did I tell you?&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;You wouldn&rsquo;t give
+me a shirt when I asked you yesterday. Now look what&rsquo;s happened!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Deeply annoyed, she looked at Shura and complained.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Aren&rsquo;t you ashamed to run about like that? I fear I&rsquo;ll never
+drum any sense into you. You always come bothering me when I&rsquo;m in a
+hurry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still, it was quite evident that it would not do to let the lad go in tatters.
+She found a brand new shirt and gave it to Shura somewhat reluctantly, as she
+had intended giving him one of the old ones, which were not due to arrive from
+the laundry until the evening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Shura was overjoyed. The new linen gave him a pleasant sensation, its harsh
+cold surface tickled the skin most pleasantly. He laughed, and he pranced about
+the room as he dressed; and his mother was not there to scold him.
+</p>
+
+<h3>II</h3>
+
+<p>
+The school, as always, seemed such a strange place. It was both gay and
+depressing, and hummed with a kind of unnatural industry. It was gay in the
+intervals between the lessons, and extremely tedious during the lessons.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The subjects of study were most singular and useless. They concerned: folk, who
+had died long ago and did no good while they lived, and whom, for some unknown
+reason, it was necessary to recall after all these centuries, although some of
+the personages had never even existed; verbs, which were conjugated with
+something; nouns, which were declined for some purpose or other, though no use
+could be found for them in living speech; figures, which call for proofs of
+something which need not be proven at all; and much else, equally
+inconsequential and absurd. And there was nothing in all this that one could
+not do without; there was no correlation of facts, there was no straightforward
+answer to the eternal question: Why and Wherefore?
+</p>
+
+<h3>III</h3>
+
+<p>
+That morning early, in the assembly room, Mitya Krinin asked Shura:
+&ldquo;Well, have you brought it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Shura recalled that he had promised to bring Krinin a book of popular songs. He
+replied: &ldquo;Just a moment. I&rsquo;ve left it in my overcoat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He ran into the dressing-room. The bells suddenly rang out in all parts of the
+building, calling the students to prayer, without which the lessons could
+hardly be expected to begin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Shura made haste. He put his hand in the overcoat pocket, found nothing; then,
+on discovering that it was some one else&rsquo;s overcoat, he exclaimed in
+vexation:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There now, that&rsquo;s something new&mdash;my hand in another
+boy&rsquo;s overcoat!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And he began to search in his own.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was an outburst of derisive laughter. He looked around, startled, to find
+there the mischievous Dutikov, who called out in his unpleasant voice:
+&ldquo;So, my boy, you&rsquo;re going through other people&rsquo;s
+pockets!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Shura growled back angrily: &ldquo;It&rsquo;s not your affair. Anyway,
+I&rsquo;m not going through yours.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He found his book and ran back to the assembly room, where the students were
+already ranging themselves for the service, forming into long rows, according
+to height. The smaller students stood in front, near to the ikons, the taller
+behind; and in each row, in gradation, the lads on the right were taller than
+those on the left. The school faculty considered it necessary for them to pray
+in rows, and according to height; otherwise the prayer might come to nothing.
+Apart from them, there was a group of boys more proficient in chanting, and the
+leader of these, at the beginning of each chant, changed his voice several
+times&mdash;this was called &ldquo;setting the tone.&rdquo; The singing was
+loud, rapid, expressionless; they might have all been beating drums. The head
+student was reading in the prayer book the prayers which it was customary to
+read and not to sing&mdash;and his reading was just as loud, just as
+expressionless. In a word, it was the same as ever.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But after prayers something happened.
+</p>
+
+<h3>IV</h3>
+
+<p>
+Student Epiphanov, of the second class, brought with him to school that morning
+a pearl-handled penknife and a silver rouble, and now these were nowhere to be
+found. He raised a cry and went to complain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An investigation was started.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dutikov reported that he had seen Shura Dolinin going through the pockets of
+some one&rsquo;s overcoat. Shura was called into the cabinet of the director.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sergey Ivanovich, the director, fixed his suspicious eyes on the lad. The old
+tutor, who saw an excellent chance of catching a thief, and incidentally of
+balancing accounts somewhat for tricks that had been played upon him by the
+mischievous lads, experienced malicious pleasure and pounced upon the confused,
+flushing lad with questions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why were you in the dressing-room during prayer?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Before prayer, Sergey Ivanovich,&rdquo; whimpered Shura in a voice
+squeaky from fright.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well, before prayer,&rdquo; said the director with irony in his
+voice. &ldquo;What I want to know is why were you there?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Shura explained.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The director continued: &ldquo;Very well, after a book. But why in some one
+else&rsquo;s pocket?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was a mistake,&rdquo; said Shura, distressed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A nice mistake,&rdquo; remarked the director dryly. &ldquo;Now confess,
+haven&rsquo;t you taken by mistake a penknife and a rouble. By mistake, mind
+you? Look through your pockets, my lad.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Shura began to cry, and said through his tears: &ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t stolen
+anything.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The director smiled. It was pleasant to provoke tears. Such beautiful and such
+large childish tears trickled down the pink cheeks in three separate streams:
+two streams of tears came from one eye, and only one from the other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you haven&rsquo;t stolen anything why do you cry?&rdquo; said the
+director in a bantering tone. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t even say that you have
+stolen. I assume that you merely made a mistake: caught hold of something that
+came into your hand, and then forgot all about it. Suppose you look through
+your pockets.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Shura quickly drew from his pockets all the absurd trifles usually found on
+boys, and then turned both his pockets inside out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; he said sadly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The director gave him a searching look.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are sure it hasn&rsquo;t dropped down in your clothes
+somewhere&mdash;the knife might have slipped into your boots, eh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He rang. The watchman came.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Shura was crying. And everything round him seemed to float in a rose mist, in
+the incomprehensible mental void of his degradation. They turned Shura about,
+felt him all over, searched him. Little by little they undressed him. First
+they took off his boots and shook them out; they did the same with his
+stockings. His belt, blouse and breeches followed. Everything was shaken out
+and searched.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And through all this torment of shame, through all this indignity of a
+degrading and needless ceremony there penetrated one resplendent ray of joy;
+the torn shirt was at home, and the new, clean one rustled in the coarse hands
+of the zealous pedagogue.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Shura stood in his shirt, crying. Behind the door he could hear tumultuous
+voices and cries of joy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The door burst open, and a little, red-cheeked, smiling chap entered hurriedly.
+And through his shame, through his tears, and through his joy about the new
+shirt, Shura heard a confused and panting voice say:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s been found, Sergey Ivanovich. On Epiphanov himself. There was
+a hole in his pocket&mdash;the penknife and rouble slipped down into his
+boot.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, suddenly, they became gentle with Shura. They stroked his head, comforted
+him, and helped him to dress.
+</p>
+
+<h3>V</h3>
+
+<p>
+Now he cried, now he laughed. At home he again cried and laughed. He
+complained:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was entirely undressed. It would have been nice, wouldn&rsquo;t it, if
+I had been wearing that torn shirt!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Later&mdash;yes, what happened later? His mother would go to the director. She
+wished to make a scene. Afterwards she would lodge a complaint against him. But
+she recalled, in the street, that her boy was a non-paying student. There was
+no scene. Besides, the director received her pleasantly. He was so apologetic.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The impression of his degradation remained with the boy. All its incidents had
+impressed themselves upon him: he had been suspected of theft, and searched,
+and he had stood, almost naked, undergoing the scrutiny of an officious person.
+Shameful? Let us, by all means, console ourselves that it is an experience
+useful to life.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Weeping, the mother said: &ldquo;Who knows&mdash;perhaps when you grow up,
+something of the sort will really happen. We&rsquo;ve heard of such things in
+our time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap11"></a>THE WHITE MOTHER</h2>
+
+<h3>I</h3>
+
+<p>
+Easter was near. Esper Constantinovich Saksaoolov was in a painful and
+undecided state of mind. It seemed to have begun when he was asked at the
+Gorodischevs: &ldquo;Where are you greeting the holiday?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Saksaoolov, for some reason, did not reply at once. The housewife, who was
+stout, short-sighted and fussy, went on: &ldquo;Come to us.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Saksaoolov felt vexed&mdash;most likely at the young girl, who at the words of
+her mother gave him a quick glance, then averted it, and continued her
+conversation with a professor&rsquo;s young assistant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mothers of grown daughters saw a possible husband in Saksaoolov, which annoyed
+him. He considered himself an old bachelor at thirty-seven.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He answered sharply: &ldquo;Thank you. But I always pass that night at
+home.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl glanced at him with a smile and asked: &ldquo;With whom?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Alone,&rdquo; answered Saksaoolov with a shade of astonishment in his
+voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a misanthrope,&rdquo; said Madame Gorodischeva, with a sour
+smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Saksaoolov valued his freedom. It seemed strange to him, whenever he thought of
+it, that he had been so near marriage once. He had lived long in his small but
+tastefully furnished apartment, had got used to his man attendant, the elderly
+and steady Fedota, and to Fedota&rsquo;s not less reliable spouse, who cooked
+his dinner; and he persuaded himself that he ought to remain single out of
+memory to his first love. In truth, his heart was growing cold from
+indifference born of a lonely, incomplete life.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had his own fortune, his father and mother had died long ago, and he had no
+near relatives. He lived methodically and quietly; had something to do with a
+government department; was intimately acquainted with contemporary literature
+and art; and was something of an epicurean&mdash;but life itself seemed to him
+to be empty and aimless. Were it not that one pure, radiant fancy visited him
+at times he would have become entirely cold, like many others.
+</p>
+
+<h3>II</h3>
+
+<p>
+His first and only love, which ended before it had time to blossom, wrapt him
+closely in sad and sweet reveries, usually in the evenings. Five years earlier
+he had met a young girl who left an indelible impression upon him. She was
+pale, gentle, slender, with blue eyes, and fair wavy hair. She almost seemed to
+him not to belong to this earth, but was like a creature of air and mist, blown
+for a brief moment by fate into the city turmoil. Her movements were slow; her
+gentle, clear voice was soft, like the murmur of a brook purling over stones.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Saksaoolov, whether by chance or not, saw her always in a white dress. The
+impression of white had become inseparable from his thought of her. Her very
+name, Tamar, suggested to him something as white as the snow on the mountain
+tops.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He began to visit her at the house of her parents. More than once he had
+resolved to say to her those words which bind human fates together. But she
+never let him go on; she would always grow frightened and shy, and she would
+rise and leave him. What frightened her? Saksaoolov read signs of virgin love
+in her face; her eyes grew brighter when he entered, and a light flush suffused
+her cheeks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But one never-to-be-forgotten day she listened to him. It was in the early
+spring. The ice on the river was gone, and the trees were covered with a soft
+green veil. Tamar and Saksaoolov were sitting before the window in the city
+house, and looking out on the Niva. He spoke, scarcely knowing what he said,
+but his words were both gentle and terrible to her. She grew pale, smiled
+vaguely, and rose. Her slender hand trembled on the carved top of the chair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To-morrow,&rdquo; Tamar said quietly, and went out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Saksaoolov gazed with intense feeling toward the door behind which Tamar had
+disappeared. His head was in a whirl. His eye fell upon a sprig of white lilac;
+he picked it up almost absently, and left without bidding his hosts good-bye.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He could not sleep that night. He stood at the window and looked out into the
+far-stretching streets, at first dark, then lighter at dawn; he smiled and
+pressed the sprig of lilac between his fingers. When it grew light he noticed
+that the floor of the room was strewn with white petals of lilac. This seemed
+both curious and of happy omen to Saksaoolov. He felt the cool of the breeze on
+his heated face. He took a bath and he felt refreshed. Then he went to Tamar.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They told him that she was ill, that she had caught a cold somewhere. And
+Saksaoolov never saw her again; she died within two weeks. He did not go to her
+funeral. Her death left him quite calm, and he no longer knew whether he had
+loved her or whether it was a short, passing fascination.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He mused about her sometimes in the evening; but he gradually learned to forget
+her; and Saksaoolov had no portrait of her. But after a few years&mdash;more
+precisely, only a year ago&mdash;in the spring, upon seeing a sprig of lilac
+sadly out of place among rich eatables in a restaurant window, he remembered
+Tamar. And from that time on he loved to think of Tamar again during the
+evenings.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sometimes, as he fell into a light sleep, he dreamt that Tamar came to him, sat
+opposite him, and looked at him with unaverted, fond eyes; and that she had
+something to tell him. And it was painful to feel Tamar&rsquo;s expectant
+glance upon him, and not know what she wanted of him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, leaving the Gorodischevs, he thought timidly: &ldquo;She will come to give
+me the kiss of Easter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A feeling of fear and loneliness took hold of him with such intensity that the
+idea came to him: &ldquo;Perhaps it would be well to marry so as not to be
+alone on holy, mysterious nights.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He thought of Valeria Mikhailovna, the Gorodischev girl. She was by no means a
+beauty, but she was always dressed becomingly to set off her looks. She
+apparently liked him, and was not likely to reject him if he asked her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The throng and din in the street distracted him and his usual somewhat ironic
+mood swayed his thoughts of the Gorodischev girl. Could he prove false to
+Tamar&rsquo;s memory for any one else? Everything in the world seemed so paltry
+to him that he wished no one but Tamar to give him the kiss of Easter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But,&rdquo; thought he, &ldquo;she will again look at me with
+expectancy. White, gentle Tamar, what does she want? Will her gentle lips kiss
+me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<h3>III</h3>
+
+<p>
+Saksaoolov thought sadly of Tamar as he wandered in the streets, and looking
+into the faces of the passers-by he thought many of the older people
+unpleasantly coarse. He recalled that there was no one with whom he would
+exchange the kiss of Easter with real desire and joy. There would be many
+coarse lips and prickly beards, smelling of wine, to kiss the first day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was much pleasanter to kiss the children. Children&rsquo;s faces grew lovely
+in Saksaoolov&rsquo;s eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He walked a long time, and when he was tired he entered a church enclosure just
+off the noisy street. A pale lad sat on a form and looked up frightened at
+Saksaoolov; then he once more began to gaze absently before him. His blue eyes
+were gentle and sad, like Tamar&rsquo;s. He was so small that his feet
+projected from the seat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Saksaoolov, who sat near him, began to eye him, half with pity, half with
+curiosity. There was something in this youngster that stirred his memory with
+joy, and at the same time excited him. In appearance he was a most ordinary
+urchin; he had on ragged clothes, a white fur cap on his bright hair, and a
+pair of dirty boots, worse for wear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He sat long on the form, then he rose suddenly and gave a cry. He ran out of
+the gate into the street, then stopped, turned quickly in another direction,
+and again stopped. It was clear that he did not know which way to turn. He
+began to weep quietly, making no ado, and large tears ran down his cheeks. A
+crowd gathered. A policeman came. They began to ask him where he lived.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At the Gliukhov house,&rdquo; he lisped in a childlike but indistinct
+tone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In what street,&rdquo; the policeman asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The boy did not know, and only kept on repeating: &ldquo;At the Gliukhov
+house.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The young and good-natured policeman thought awhile, and decided that there was
+no such house near.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With whom do you live?&rdquo; asked a gruff workman. &ldquo;With your
+father?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have no father,&rdquo; answered the boy, as he scanned the faces round
+him with his tearful eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So you&rsquo;ve got no father, that&rsquo;s how it is,&rdquo; said the
+workman gravely, and shook his head. &ldquo;Then where&rsquo;s your
+mother?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have a mother,&rdquo; the boy replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s her name?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mamma,&rdquo; said the boy; then, upon reflection, he added,
+&ldquo;black mamma.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Some one laughed in the crowd.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Black? I wonder whether that&rsquo;s the name of the family?&rdquo;
+suggested the gruff workman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;First it was a white mamma, and now it&rsquo;s a black mamma,&rdquo;
+said the boy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no making head or tail of this,&rdquo; decided the
+policeman. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll take him to the station. They&rsquo;ll telephone
+about it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He went to the gate and rang. But the house-porter had already seen the
+policeman and, besom in hand, he was coming to the gate. The policeman ordered
+him to take the boy to the station. But the boy suddenly bethought himself, and
+cried out: &ldquo;Never mind, let me go, I&rsquo;ll find the way myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Perhaps he was frightened of the house-porter&rsquo;s besom, or perhaps he had
+really recalled something; at any rate he ran off so hard that Saksaoolov
+almost lost sight of him. But soon the boy walked more quietly. He turned
+street corners and ran from one side to the other searching for, but not
+finding, his home. Saksaoolov followed him in silence. He was not an adept at
+talking to children.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last the boy grew tired. He stopped before a lamp-post and leant against it.
+Tears gleamed in his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My dear boy,&rdquo; said Saksaoolov, &ldquo;haven&rsquo;t you found it
+yet?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The lad looked at him with his sad, soft eyes, and Saksaoolov suddenly
+understood what had impelled him to follow the boy with such resolution. There
+was something in the face and glance of the little wanderer that gave him an
+unusual likeness to Tamar.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My dear boy, what&rsquo;s your name?&rdquo; asked Saksaoolov in a tender
+and agitated voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lesha,&rdquo; said the boy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tell me, dear Lesha, do you live with your mother?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, with mamma. Only now it&rsquo;s a black mamma&mdash;and before it
+was a white mamma.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Saksaoolov thought that by black mamma he meant a nun.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How did you get lost?&rdquo; he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I walked with mamma, and we walked and walked. She told me to sit down
+and wait, and then she went away. And I got frightened.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is your mother?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My mamma? She&rsquo;s so black and so angry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What does she do?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The boy thought awhile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She drinks coffee,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What else does she do?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She quarrels with the lodgers,&rdquo; answered Lesha after a pause.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And where is your white mamma?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She was carried away. She was put into a coffin and carried away. And
+papa was carried away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The boy pointed into the distance somewhere and burst into tears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s to be done with him?&rdquo; thought Saksaoolov.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then suddenly the boy began to run again. After he had turned a few corners he
+went more quietly. Saksaoolov overtook him a second time. The lad&rsquo;s face
+expressed a strange mixture of joy and fear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s the Gliukhov house,&rdquo; he said to Saksaoolov, as he
+pointed to a huge, five-storeyed monstrosity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this moment there appeared at the gates of the Gliukhov house a
+black-haired, black-eyed woman in a black dress, a black kerchief with white
+dots on her head. The boy shrank back in fear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mamma,&rdquo; he whispered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His stepmother looked at him with astonishment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How did you get here, you young whelp!&rdquo; she shrieked out. &ldquo;I
+told you to sit on the bench, didn&rsquo;t I?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She seemed to be on the point of whipping him when she noticed that some sort
+of gentleman, serious and dignified in appearance, was watching them, and she
+spoke more softly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t I leave you for a half-hour anywhere without you taking to
+your heels? I&rsquo;ve walked my feet off looking for you, you young
+whelp!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She caught the child&rsquo;s very small hand in her own huge one and dragged
+him within the gate. Saksaoolov made a note of the house number and the name of
+the street, and went home.
+</p>
+
+<h3>IV</h3>
+
+<p>
+Saksaoolov liked to listen to the opinions of Fedota. When he returned home he
+told him about the boy Lesha.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She did it on purpose,&rdquo; decided Fedota. &ldquo;Just think what a
+witch she is to take the boy such a way from home!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why should she?&rdquo; Saksaoolov asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s simple enough. What can you expect of a stupid woman! She
+thought the boy would get lost somewhere, and some one would pick him up. After
+all, she&rsquo;s a stepmother. What&rsquo;s a homeless child to her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Saksaoolov was incredulous. He observed: &ldquo;But the police would have found
+her out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course they would; but you can&rsquo;t tell, she may have meant to
+leave town; then find her if you can.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Saksaoolov smiled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Really,&rdquo; he thought, &ldquo;my Fedota should be a district
+attorney.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He fell into a doze that evening as he sat reading before a lamp. Tamar
+appeared to him&mdash;the gentle, white Tamar&mdash;and sat down beside him.
+Her face was strangely like Lesha&rsquo;s face. She looked steadily and
+persistently, and awaited something. It tormented Saksaoolov to see her bright,
+pleading eyes, and not to know what she wanted. He rose quickly and went to the
+armchair where he thought he saw Tamar sitting. He stopped before her and asked
+loudly and with emotion:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you wish? Tell me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But she was no longer there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was only a dream,&rdquo; thought Saksaoolov sadly.
+</p>
+
+<h3>V</h3>
+
+<p>
+The next day, as he was leaving the academy exhibition, Saksaoolov met the
+Gorodischevs. He told the girl about Lesha.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Poor boy,&rdquo; said Valeria Mikhailovna quietly. &ldquo;His stepmother
+is trying to get rid of him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s yet to be proved,&rdquo; said Saksaoolov.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He felt annoyed that every one, including Fedota and Valeria, should look so
+tragically upon a simple incident.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s quite evident,&rdquo; said Valeria Mikhailovna warmly.
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no father, and only a stepmother to whom he is simply a
+burden. No good will come of it&mdash;the boy will have a sad end.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You take too gloomy a view of the matter,&rdquo; observed Saksaoolov,
+with a smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You ought to take him to yourself,&rdquo; Valeria Mikhailovna advised
+him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I?&rdquo; asked Saksaoolov with astonishment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are living alone,&rdquo; Valeria Mikhailovna persisted. &ldquo;You
+have no one. Here&rsquo;s a chance for you to do a good deed at Eastertime! At
+least, you&rsquo;ll have some one with whom to exchange the kiss of
+Easter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I beg you to tell me, Valeria Mikhailovna, what am I to do with a
+child?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You might engage a governess. Fate itself is sending the boy to
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Saksaoolov looked with amazement and involuntary tenderness at the girl&rsquo;s
+flushed, animated face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Tamar again appeared to him that evening he seemed already to know her
+wish. It was as though, in the silence of the room, he heard her tranquilly
+spoken words: &ldquo;Do as she advised you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Saksaoolov rose joyously and rubbed his drowsy eyes with his hand. He saw a
+sprig of white lilac on the table, and was astonished. How did it come there?
+Did Tamar leave it there as a sign of her wish?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And he suddenly thought that if he married the Gorodischeva girl and took Lesha
+into his house he would be carrying out the will of Tamar. He breathed in the
+lilac&rsquo;s aroma happily. He suddenly remembered that he himself had bought
+the sprig of lilac that same day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he argued with himself: &ldquo;It really doesn&rsquo;t matter that I had
+bought it myself; its real significance is that I had an impulse to buy it; and
+that later I forgot that I had bought it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<h3>VI</h3>
+
+<p>
+Next morning he went to fetch Lesha. The boy met him at the gate and showed him
+where he lived. Lesha&rsquo;s black mamma was drinking coffee, and was
+quarrelling with her red-nosed lodger. Saksaoolov learnt something about Lesha
+from her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The lad lost his mother when he was three. His father married this black woman,
+and himself died within a year. The black woman, Irina Ivanovna, had her own
+son, now a year old. She was about to marry again. The wedding would take place
+in a few days and after the ceremony she would go with her husband to the
+provinces. Lesha was a stranger to her and she would rather do without him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Give him to me,&rdquo; suggested Saksaoolov.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With great pleasure,&rdquo; said Irina Ivanovna with unconcealed and
+malignant joy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She added after a short silence: &ldquo;Only you will pay for his
+clothes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And so Lesha was presently installed at Saksaoolov&rsquo;s. The Gorodischeva
+girl helped in the finding of a governess and in other details of Lesha&rsquo;s
+comfort. This required her to visit Saksaoolov&rsquo;s apartments. She assumed
+a different appearance in Saksaoolov&rsquo;s eyes as she busied herself in
+these various cares. It was as though the door to her soul opened itself to
+him. Her eyes had become beaming and gentle, and she was permeated with almost
+the same tranquillity that breathed from Tamar.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+VII
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lesha&rsquo;s stories about the white mamma won over Fedota and his wife. As
+they put him to bed on Easter eve, they hung a white candied egg above his
+head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s from the white mamma,&rdquo; said Christina, &ldquo;only you
+darling mustn&rsquo;t touch it; at least not until the resurrection, when
+you&rsquo;ll hear the bell ring.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lesha lay down obediently. He looked long at the egg of joy and at last fell
+asleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Saksaoolov was sitting alone in another room. Just before midnight an
+unconquerable drowsiness again closed his eyes, and he was glad that he would
+soon see Tamar.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last she came, all in white, joyous, bringing with her glad tidings from
+afar. She smiled gently, then bent over him, and&mdash;unspeakable
+happiness!&mdash;Saksaoolov&rsquo;s lips felt a tender contact.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A sweet voice said softly: &ldquo;<i>Christoss Voskress!</i>&rdquo; (Christ has
+risen).
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Saksaoolov, without opening his eyes stretched out his arms and embraced a
+slender, gentle body. It was Lesha who climbed on his knees and gave him the
+kiss of Easter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The church bell had awakened the boy. He seized the white egg and ran to
+Saksaoolov.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Saksaoolov opened his eyes. Lesha laughed as he showed him the egg.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;White mamma has sent it,&rdquo; he lisped, &ldquo;and I&rsquo;ll give it
+to you, and you can give it to Aunt Valeria.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well, my dear boy, I&rsquo;ll do as you say,&rdquo; said
+Saksaoolov.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He put Lesha to bed, then went to Valeria Mikhailovna with Lesha&rsquo;s white
+egg, a gift from the white mamma, but which really seemed to him at that moment
+to be a gift from Tamar herself.
+</p>
+
+<h4>THE END</h4>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 48452 ***</div>
+</body>
+
+</html>
+
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-Project Gutenberg's The Old House and Other Tales, by Feodor Sologub
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
-the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-Title: The Old House and Other Tales
-
-Author: Feodor Sologub
-
-Translator: John Cournos
-
-Release Date: March 10, 2015 [EBook #48452]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD HOUSE AND OTHER TALES ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org
-(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.)
-
-
-
-
-
-THE OLD HOUSE
-
-AND OTHER TALES
-
-BY
-
-FEODOR SOLOGUB
-
-AUTHORISED TRANSLATION FROM THE RUSSIAN
-
-BY JOHN COURNOS
-
-_SECOND IMPRESSION_
-
-LONDON
-
-MARTIN SECKER
-
-NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET
-
-ADELPHI
-
-1916
-
-
-      _Acknowledgments are due to the Editor of The New
-      Statesman for permission to republish The White Dog and
-      The Hoop, which first appeared in that periodical_.
-
-
-    CONTENTS
-
-    THE OLD HOUSE
-    THE UNITER OF SOULS
-    THE INVOKER OF THE BEAST
-    THE WHITE DOG
-    LIGHT AND SHADOWS
-    THE GLIMMER OF HUNGER
-    HIDE AND SEEK
-    THE SMILE
-    THE HOOP
-    THE SEARCH
-    THE WHITE MOTHER
-
-
-
-INTRODUCTION
-
-
-_"Sologub" is a pseudonym--the author's real name is Feodor Kuzmich
-Teternikov. He was born in 1863. He completed a scholastic course
-at Petrograd. His first published story appeared in the periodical
-"Severny Viestnik" in 1894, but it was not until about a dozen years
-later that he came into his fame, which he has since then further
-enhanced_.
-
-_This is all the biographical knowledge we have of a living novelist
-whose place in Russian literature is secure beyond all question; the
-scantiness of our knowledge is all the more amazing when we consider
-that the author is over fifty, and that his complete works are in their
-twentieth volume_.
-
-_These include almost every possible form of literary expression--the
-fairy tale, the poem, the play, the essay, the novel, and the short
-story. Sologub's place as a poet is hardly less assured than his place
-as a novelist_.
-
-_How little importance Sologub attaches to personal_ r�clame _may
-be gathered from his answer to repeated requests for a nutshell
-"autobiography" a type of document in vogue in Russia; Maxim Gorky's
-impressive model, I believe, is quite familiar to English readers_.
-
-_"I cannot give you my autobiography," Sologub wrote to the editor of
-a literary almanac, "as I do not think that my personality can be of
-sufficient interest to any one. And I haven't the time to waste on such
-unnecessary business as an autobiography."_
-
-_At the beginning of his Complete Works, however, there is a poem in
-prose, a kind of spiritual autobiography in which he insists that all
-life is a miracle, and that his own surely is also. "I simply and
-calmly reveal my soul ... in the hope that the intimate part of me
-shall become the universal." After such an avowal the reader will know
-where to look for the author's personality_.
-
-_In studying his work, one finds that he has both realism and fantasy.
-But while he is sometimes wholly realistic, he is seldom wholly
-fantastic. His fantasy has always its foundations in reality. His
-realism is as grey as that of Chekhov, whose logical successor he has
-been acclaimed by Russian criticism. But it is his prodigious fantasy
-that makes the point of his departure from the Chekhovian formula. When
-he combines the two qualities, the strange reconciliation thus effected
-produces a result as original as it is rich in "the meaning of life."
-Sologub himself says somewhere_:
-
-_"I take a piece of life, coarse and poor, and make of it a delightful
-legend_."
-
-_This sentence establishes the distinction between the two writers.
-Life for Chekhov may contain its delightful characters, life itself is
-seldom a delightful legend_.
-
-_Actually, Sologub sees life more greyly than Chekhov; perhaps it is
-this sense of grief "too great to be borne" that compels him to grope
-for an outlet, for some kind of relief. Already in his earliest novel
-one of the characters gives utterance to the significant words_:
-
-"_Once you prove that life has no meaning, life becomes impossible_."
-
-_This relief is to be found within oneself in the "inner life"; that is
-in the imagination, "imagination the great consoler" as Renan has said.
-Imagination is everything; it is, indeed, the invoker of all beauty;
-and admiration of beauty is the one escape out of life. The author,
-"with whatever words he can find, speaks of one thing. Patiently calls
-towards the one thing...." Writing of the sadness of life, he envelops
-this sadness in the beauty evoked by his imagination as in a flame, and
-withers it up. One finds him rejoicing that there is a life other than
-"this ordinary, coarse, tedious, sunlight life," that there is a life
-that is "nocturnal, prodigious, resembling a fairy tale."_
-
-_It may sound like a startling antinomy to say that at his happiest
-Sologub is a compound of Chekhov and Poe. It could be put in another
-way: if Poe were a Russian, he might have written as Sologub writes.
-This is to say that the mystery with which Sologub endows his tales is
-never there for its own sake, but as a most intense symbol of reality._
-
-_Consider a story like "The Invoker of the Beast." As a story of
-reincarnation it is a masterpiece of mystery. The reader, anxious for
-a good tale merely, may let the matter rest there. But can he? Can
-he listen to Gurov, who, while living through, in his delirium, his
-previous existence, is so insistent about the "invincibility of his
-walls"--and yet remain unmoved to the deep meaning of Gurov's cry?
-Are not the seemingly imperishable walls, within which Gurov thought
-himself secure from the Beast, a symbol of our own subtle insecurity?
-Is not our own Beast--be it some unexpected latent circumstance, or
-some unlooked-for yet inevitable consequence of a past action, on the
-part of our ancestors or of ourselves--ready to pounce upon us and
-ravage our hearts, after a long and relentless pursuit, from which in
-the end there is no escape?_
-
-_Again, to one who has read most of Sologub's productions, the story
-of the Beast is interesting, because it contains, as it were, a
-synthesis of the author's tendencies. Its separate motifs are repeated
-in variation in many of his other stories. There is the boy Timarides,
-whom the author loves. Why?_
-
-_Because Timarides is a child, because he is beautiful, trustful,
-and ready to do daring deeds. Timarides perhaps stands for the young
-generation reproaching the old for its neglect, its forgetfulness of
-its promises, its settling in a groove, its stripping itself of its
-happiest illusions_.
-
-_And throughout his work, Sologub reiterates his affection for children
-and the childlike. When he loves or pities an older person, he endows
-him with childlike attributes. He does this in the little story, "The
-Hoop." Does the old man seem absurd to us? If so, it is to be inferred
-that the fault is with ourselves. We have grown too sophisticated_.
-
-_Here, again, Chekhov and Sologub meet. Chekhov loves the unpractical
-people, because they are usually more lovable personalities than the
-successful, practical ones; Sologub loves the absurd, the childlike,
-the quixotic, for the same reason_.
-
-_Rather than have them grow up and therefore become unlovable, Sologub
-makes some of his children die young. There is, for example, in one
-of his stories, sweet Rayechka, who died in a fall, and upon whom the
-boy, Mitya, recalling her, muses in this fashion: "Had Rayechka lived
-to grow up, she might have become a housemaid like Darya, pomaded her
-hair, and squinted her cunning eyes."_
-
-_In "The Old House" it is the children once more who are the
-revolutionaries--trustful, adorable, and daring. In "The White Mother"
-the bachelor, Saksaoolov, is redeemed through the boy, Lesha, who
-resembles his dead sweetheart_.
-
-_Schoolmasters and schoolchildren are among the characters who frequent
-the pages of Sologub's books. Sologub, it should be remembered, began
-life as a schoolmaster. The story "Light and Shadows" is, perhaps,
-a reflection upon our educational system which crams the young mind
-with a multitude of useless facts and starves the imagination; we see
-the reaction of the system on the delicate organism of a sensitive and
-imaginative child_.
-
-_Mothers share the author's affection for their children; but, like
-schoolmasters, mothers, unfortunately, are of two kinds. The world has
-its "black mammas" as well as its "white mammas."_
-
-_There are few writers who are so subtle, so insinuating, and so
-seductive, in their power to make the reader think; few writers who
-give so great a stimulus to the imagination_.
-
-_With Chekhov, Russian fiction turns definitely to town life for its
-material; nevertheless, the changes which the modern industrial system
-has brought about have in no wise weakened the mystic force of Russian
-literature. Sologub is a mystic, a mystic of Russian tradition; and
-Sologub is a product of Petrograd_.
-
-                                              _JOHN COURNOS_
-
-
-
-
-THE OLD HOUSE [1]
-
-
-
-I
-
-
-It was an old, large, one-storied house, with a mezzanine. It stood in
-a village, eleven versts from a railway station, and about fifty versts
-from the district town. The garden which surrounded the house seemed
-lost in drowsiness, while beyond it stretched vistas and vistas of
-inexpressibly dull, infinitely depressing fields.
-
-Once this house had been painted lavender, but now it was faded. Its
-roof, once red, had turned dark brown. But the pillars of the terrace
-were still quite strong, the little arbours in the garden were intact,
-and there was an Aphrodite in the shrubbery.
-
-It seemed as if the old house were full of memories. It stood, as it
-were, dreaming, recalling, lapsing finally into a mood of sorrow at the
-overwhelming flood of doleful memories.
-
-Everything in this house was as before, as in those days when the whole
-family lived there together in the summer, when Borya was yet alive.
-
-Now, in the old manor, lived only women: Borya's grandmother, Elena
-Kirillovna Vodolenskaya; Borya's mother, Sofia Alexandrovna Ozoreva;
-and Borya's sister, Natalya Vasilyevna. The old grandmother, and
-the mother, and the young girl appeared tranquil, and at times even
-cheerful. It was the second year of their awaiting in the old house the
-youngest of the family, Boris. Boris who was no longer among the living.
-
-They hardly spoke of him to one another; yet their thoughts, their
-memories, and their musings of him filled their days. At times dark
-threads of grief stole in among the even woof of these thoughts and
-reveries; and tears fell bitterly and ceaselessly.
-
-When the midday sun rested overhead, when the sad moon beckoned, when
-the rosy dawn blew its cool breezes, when the evening sun blazed
-its red laughter--these were the four points between which their
-spirits fluctuated from evening joy to high midday sorrow. Swayed
-involuntarily, all three of them felt the sympathy and antipathy of the
-hours, each mood in turn.
-
-The happiness of dawn, the bright, midday sadness, the joy of dusk, the
-pale pining of night. The four emotions lifted them infinitely higher
-than the rope upon which Borya had swung, upon which Borya had died.
-
-
-[1] In collaboration with Anastasya Chebotarevskaya.
-
-
-
-II
-
-
-At pale-rose dawn, when the merrily green, harmoniously white birches
-bend their wet branches before the windows, just beyond the little
-patch of sand by the round flower-bed; at pale-rose dawn--when a fresh
-breeze comes blowing from the bathing pond--then wakes Natasha, the
-first of the three.
-
-What a joy it is to wake at dawn! To throw aside the cool cover of
-muslin, to rest upon the elbow, upon one's side, and to look out of the
-window with large, dark, sad eyes.
-
-Out of the window the sky is visible, seeming quite low over the white
-distant birches. A pale vermilion sunrise brightly suffuses its soft
-fire through the thin mist which stretches over the earth. There is
-in its quiet, gently joyous flame a great tension of young fears and
-of half-conscious desires; what tension, what happiness, and what
-sadness! It smiles through the dew of sweet morning tears, over white
-lilies-of-the-valley, over the blue violets of the broad fields.
-
-Wherefore tears! To what end the grief of night!
-
-There, close to the window, hangs a sprig of sweet-flag, banishing all
-evil. It was put there by the grandmother, and the old nurse insists on
-its staying there. It trembles in the air, the sprig of sweet-flag, and
-smiles its dry green smile.
-
-Natasha's face lapses into a quiet, rosy serenity.
-
-The earth awakes in its fresh morning vigour. The voices of
-newly-roused life reach Natasha. Here the restless twitter of birds
-comes from among the swaying damp branches. There in the distance can
-be heard the prolonged trill of a horn. Elsewhere, quite near, on the
-path by the window, there are sounds of something walking with a heavy,
-stamping tread. The cheerful neighing of a foal is heard, and from
-another quarter the protracted lowing of sullen cows.
-
-
-
-III
-
-
-Natasha rises, smiles at something, and goes quickly to the window.
-Her window looks down upon the earth from a height. It is in three
-sections, in the mezzanine. Natasha does not draw the curtains across
-it at night, so as not to hide from her drowsing eyes the comforting
-glimmer of the stars and the witching face of the moon.
-
-What happiness it is to open the window, to fling it wide open with
-a vigorous thrust of the hand! From the direction of the river the
-gentlest of morning breezes comes blowing into Natasha's face, still
-somewhat rapt in sleep. Beyond the garden and the hedges she can
-see the broad fields beloved from childhood. Spread over them are
-sloping hillocks, rows of ploughed soil, green groves, and clusters of
-shrubbery.
-
-The river winds its way among the green, full of capricious turnings.
-White tufts of mist, dispersing gradually, hang over it like fragments
-of a torn veil. The stream, visible in places, is more often hidden
-by some projection of its low bank, but in the far distance its path
-is marked by dense masses of willow-herb, which stand out dark green
-against the bright grass.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Natasha washed herself quickly; it was pleasant to feel the cold water
-upon her shoulders and upon her neck. Then, childlike, she prayed
-diligently before the ikon in the dark corner, her knees not upon the
-rug but upon the bare floor, in the hope that it might please God.
-
-She repeated her daily prayer:
-
-"Perform a miracle, O Lord!"
-
-And she bent her face to the floor.
-
-She rose. Then quickly she put on her gay, light dress with broad
-shoulder-straps, cut square on the breast, and a leather belt, drawn in
-at the back with a large buckle. Quickly she plaited her dark braids,
-and deftly wound them round her head. With a flourish she stuck into
-them horn combs and hairpins, the first that came to her hand. She
-threw over her shoulders a grey, knitted kerchief, pleasantly soft in
-texture, and made haste to go out onto the terrace of the old house.
-
-The narrow inner staircase creaked gently under Natasha's light step.
-It was pleasant to feel the contact of the cold hard floor of planks
-under her warm feet.
-
-When Natasha descended and passed down the corridor and through the
-dining-room, she walked on tip-toe so as to awaken neither her mother
-nor her grandmother. Upon her face was a sweet expression of cheerful
-preoccupation, and between her brows a slight contraction. This
-contraction had remained as it was formed in those other days.
-
-The curtains in the dining-room were still drawn. The room seemed dark
-and oppressive. She wanted to run through quickly, past the large
-drawn-out table. She had no wish to stop at the sideboard to snatch
-something to eat.
-
-Quicker, quicker! Toward freedom, toward the open, toward the smiles of
-the careless dawn which does not think of wearisome yesterdays.
-
-
-
-IV
-
-
-It was bright and refreshing on the terrace. Natasha's light-coloured
-dress suddenly kindled with the pale-rose smiles of the early sun. A
-soft breeze blew from the garden. It caressed and kissed Natasha's feet.
-
-Natasha seated herself in a wicker chair, and leant her slender rosy
-elbows upon the broad parapet of the terrace. She directed her gaze
-toward the gate between the hedges beyond which the grey silent road
-was visible, gently serene in the pale rose light.
-
-Natasha looked long, intently, with a steady pensive gaze in her dark
-eyes. A small vein quivered at the left corner of her mouth. The left
-brow trembled almost imperceptibly. The vertical contraction between
-her eyes defined itself rather sharply. Equal to the fixity of the
-tremulous, ruby-like flame of the rising sun, was the fixed vision of
-her very intent, motionless eyes.
-
-If an observer were to give a long and searching look at Natasha as
-she sat there in the sunrise, it would seem to him that she was not
-observing what was before her, but that her intent gaze was fixed on
-something very far away, at something that was not in sight.
-
-It was as though she wished to see some one who was not there, some one
-she was waiting for, some one who will come--who will come to-day. Only
-let the miracle happen. Yes, the miracle!
-
-
-
-V
-
-
-Natasha's grey daily routine was before her. It was always the same,
-always in the same place. And as yesterday, as to-morrow, as always,
-the same people. Eternal unchanging people.
-
-A _muzhik_ walked along with a monotonous swing, the iron heels of his
-boots striking the hard clay of the road with a resounding clang. A
-peasant woman walked unsteadily by, softly rustling her way through the
-dewy grass, showing her sunburnt legs. Regarding the old house with a
-kind of awe, a number of sweet, sunburnt, dirty, white-haired urchins
-ran by.
-
-Past the house, always past it. No one thought of stopping at the gate.
-And no one saw the young girl behind that pillar of the terrace.
-
-Sweet-briar bloomed near the gate. It let fall its first pale-rose
-petals on the yellow sandy path, petals of heavenly innocence even
-in their actual fall. The roses in the garden exhaled their sweet,
-passionate perfume. At the terrace itself, reflecting the light of the
-sky, they flaunted their bright rosy smiles, their aromatic shameless
-dreams and desires, innocent as all was innocent in the primordial
-paradise, innocent as only the perfumes of roses are innocent upon this
-earth. White tobacco plants and red poppies bloomed in one part of the
-garden. And just beyond a marble Aphrodite gleamed white, like some
-eternal emblem of beauty, in the green, refreshing, aromatic, joyous
-life of this passing day.
-
-Natasha said quietly to herself: "He must have changed a great deal.
-Perhaps I shan't know him when he comes."
-
-And quietly she answered herself: "But I would know him at once by his
-voice and his eyes."
-
-And listening intently she seemed to hear his deep, sonorous voice.
-Then she seemed to see his dark eyes, and their flaming, dauntless,
-youthfully-bold glance. And again she listened intently and gave a
-searching look into the great distance. She bent down lightly, and
-inclined her sensitive ear toward something while her glance, pensive
-and motionless, seemed no less fixed. It was as though she had stopped
-suddenly in an attitude, tense and not a little wild.
-
-The rosy smile of the now blazing sunrise timidly played on Natasha's
-pale face.
-
-
-
-VI
-
-
-A voice in the distance gave a cry, and there was an answering echo.
-
-Natasha shivered. She started, sighed, and then rose. Down the low,
-broad steps she descended into the garden, and found herself on the
-sandy path. The fine grey sand grated under her small and narrow feet,
-which left behind their delicate traces.
-
-Natasha approached the white marble statue.
-
-For a long time she gazed upon the tranquil beauty of the goddess's
-face, so remote from her own tedious, dried-up life, and then upon
-the ever-youthful form, nude and unashamed, radiating freedom. Roses
-bloomed at the foot of the plain pedestal. They added the enchantment
-of their brief aromatic existence to the enchantment of eternal beauty.
-
-Very quietly Natasha addressed the Aphrodite.
-
-"If he should come to-day, I will put into the buttonhole of his jacket
-the most scarlet, the most lovely of these roses. He is swarthy, and
-his eyes are dark--yes, I shall take the most scarlet of your roses!"
-
-The goddess smiled. Gathering up with her beautiful hands the serene
-draperies which fell about her knees, silently but unmistakably she
-answered, "Yes."
-
-And Natasha said again: "I will plait a wreath of scarlet roses, and
-I will let down my hair, my long, dark hair; and I will put on the
-wreath, and I will dance and laugh and sing, to comfort him, to make
-him joyous."
-
-And again the goddess said to her, "Yes."
-
-Natasha spoke again: "You will remember him. You will recognize him.
-You gods remember everything. Only we people forget. In order to
-destroy and to create--ourselves and you."
-
-And in the silence of the white marble was clear the eternal "Yes," the
-comforting answer, "Yes."
-
-Natasha sighed and took her eyes from the statue. The sunrise blazed
-into a flame; the joyous garden smiled with the radiations of dawn's
-ever-youthful, triumphant laughter.
-
-
-
-VII
-
-
-Then Natasha went quietly toward the gate. There again she looked a
-long time down the road. She had her hand on the gate in an attitude
-of expectation, ready, as it were, to swing it wide open before him who
-was coming, before him whom she awaited.
-
-Stirring the grey dust of the road the refreshing early wind blew
-softly into Natasha's face, and whispered in her ears persistent, evil
-and ominous things, as though it envied her expectation, her tense calm.
-
-O wind, you who blow everywhere, you know all, you come and you go at
-will, and you pursue your way into the endless beyond.
-
-O wind, you who blow everywhere, perchance you have flown into the
-regions where he is? Perchance you have brought tidings of him?
-
-If you would but bring hither a single sigh from him, or bear one hence
-to him; if but the light, pale shadow of a word.
-
-When the early wind blows a flush comes to Natasha's face, and a flame
-to her eyes; her red lips quiver, a few tears appear, her slender form
-sways slightly--all this when the wind blows, the cool, the desolate,
-the unmindful, the infinitely wise wind. It blows, and in its blowing
-there is the sense of fleeting, irrevocable time.
-
-It blows, and it stings, and it brings sadness, and pitilessly it goes
-on.
-
-It goes on, and the frail dust falls back in the road, grey-rose yet
-dim in the dawn. It has wiped out all its traces, it has forgotten all
-who have walked upon it, and it lies faintly rose in the dawn.
-
-There is a gnawing at the heart from the sweet sadness of expectation.
-Some one seems to stand near Natasha, whispering in her ear: "He will
-come. He is on the way. Go and meet him."
-
-
-
-VIII
-
-
-Natasha opens the gate and goes quickly down the road in the direction
-of the distant railway station. Having walked as far as the hillock by
-the river, one and a half versts away, Natasha pauses and looks into
-the distance.
-
-A clear view of the road is to be had from this hillock. Somewhere
-below, among the meadows, a curlew gives a sharp cry. The pleasant
-smell of the damp grass fills the air.
-
-The sun is rising. Suddenly everything becomes white, bright, and
-clear. Joyousness fills the great open expanse. On the top of the
-hillock the morning wind blows more strongly and more sweetly. It seems
-to have forgotten its desolation and its grief.
-
-The grass is quite wet with dew. How gently it clings to her ankles. It
-is resplendent in its multi-coloured, gem-like, tear-like glitter.
-
-The red sun rises slowly but triumphantly above the blue mist of the
-horizon. In its bright red flame there is a hidden foreboding of quiet
-melancholy.
-
-Natasha lowers her glance upon the wet grass. Sweet little flowers! She
-recognizes the flower of faithfulness, the blue periwinkle.
-
-Here also, quite near, reminiscent of death, is the black madwort. But
-what of that? Is it not everywhere? Soothe us, soothe us, little blue
-flowers!
-
-"I will not pluck a single one of you; not one of you will I plait into
-my wreath."
-
-She stands, waiting, watching.
-
-Were he to show himself in the road she would recognize him even in the
-distance. But no--there is no one. The road is deserted, and the misty
-distances are dumb.
-
-
-
-IX
-
-
-Natasha remains standing a little while, then turns back. Her feet sink
-in the wet grass. The tall stalks half wind themselves round her ankles
-and rustle against the hem of her light-coloured dress. Natasha's
-graceful arms, half hidden by the grey knitted kerchief, hang subdued
-at her sides. Her eyes have already lost their fixed expression, and
-have begun to jump from object to object.
-
-How often have they walked this road, all together, her little sisters,
-and Borya! They were noisy with merriment. What did they not talk
-about! Their quarrels! What proud songs they sang! Now she was alone,
-and there was no sign of Borya.
-
-Why were they waiting for him? In what manner would he come? She did
-not know. Perhaps she would not recognize him.
-
-There awakens in Natasha's heart a presentiment of bitter thoughts.
-With a heavy rustle an evil serpent begins to stir in the darkness of
-her wearied memory.
-
-Slowly and sorrowfully Natasha turns her steps homeward. Her eyes are
-drowsy and seem to look aimlessly, with fallen and fatigued glances.
-The grass now seems disagreeably damp, the wind malicious; her feet
-feel the wet, and the hem of her thin dress has grown heavy with
-moisture. The new light of a new day, resplendent, glimmering with the
-play of the laughing dew, resounding with the hum of birds and the
-voices of human folk, becomes again for Natasha tiresomely blatant.
-
-What does a new day matter? Why invoke the unattainable?
-
-The murmur of pitiless memory, at first faint, grows more audible.
-The heavy burden of insurmountable sorrow falls on the heart like
-an aspen-grey weight. The heart feels proudly the pressure of the
-inexpressibly painful foreboding of tears.
-
-As she nears the house Natasha increases her pace. Faster and yet
-faster, in response to the growing beat of her sorrowful heart, she
-is running over the dry clay of the road, over the wet grass of the
-bypath, trodden by pedestrians, over the moist, crunching, sandy
-footpaths of the garden, which still treasure the gentle traces left
-by her at dawn. Natasha runs across the warm planks, as yet unswept of
-dust and litter. And she no longer tries to step lightly and inaudibly.
-She stumbles across the astonished, open-mouthed Glasha. She runs
-impetuously and noisily up the stairway to her room, and throws herself
-on the bed. She pulls the coverlet over her head, and falls asleep.
-
-
-
-X
-
-
-Borya's grandmother, Elena Kirillovna, sleeps below. She is old, and
-she cannot sleep in the morning; but never in all her life has she
-risen early; so even now she is awake only a little later than Natasha.
-Elena Kirillovna, straight, thin, motionless, the back of her head
-resting on the pillow, lies for a long time waiting for the maid to
-bring her a cup of coffee--she has long ago accustomed herself to have
-her coffee in bed.
-
-Elena Kirillovna has a dry, yellow face, marked with many wrinkles; but
-her eyes are still sparkling, and her hair is black, especially by day,
-when she uses a cosmetic.
-
-The maid Glasha is habitually late. She sleeps well in the morning, for
-in the evening she loves to stroll over to the bridge in the village.
-The harmonica makes merry there, and on holidays all sorts of jolly
-folk and maidens dance and sing.
-
-Elena Kirillovna rings a number of times. In the end the unanswering
-stillness behind the door begins to irritate her. Sadly she turns on
-her side, grumbling. She stretches her dry, yellow hand forward and
-with a kind of concentrated intentness presses her bent, bony finger a
-long time on the white bell-button lying on the little round table at
-her head.
-
-At last Glasha hears the prolonged, jarring ring above her head. She
-jumps quickly from her bed, and anxiously gropes about for something
-or other in her narrow quarters under the stairway of the mezzanine;
-then she throws a skirt over her head, and hurries to her old mistress.
-While running she arranges somehow her heavy, tangled braids.
-
-Glasha's face is angry and sleepy. She reels in her drowsiness. On the
-way to her mistress's bedroom the morning air refreshes her a little.
-She faces her mistress looking more or less normal.
-
-Glasha has on a pink skirt and a white blouse. In the semi-darkness of
-the curtained windows her sunburnt arms and strong legs seem almost
-white. Young, strong, rustic and impetuous, she suddenly appears before
-her old mistress's bed, her vigorous tread causing the heavy metal bed
-with its nickelled posts and surmounting knobs to rattle slightly, and
-the tumbler on the small round table to tinkle against the flagon.
-
-
-
-XI
-
-
-Elena Kirillovna greets Glasha with her customary observation:
-
-"Glasha, when am I to have my coffee? I ring and ring, and no one
-comes. You, girl, seem to sleep like the dead."
-
-Glasha's face assumes a look of astonishment and fear. Restraining a
-yawn, she bends down to put a disarranged rug in order, and puts a pair
-of soft, worn slippers closer to the bed. Then assuming an excessively
-tender, deferential tone which old gentlewomen like in their servants,
-she remarks:
-
-"Forgive me, _barinya_,[2] it shan't take a minute. But how early you
-are awake to-day, _barinya_! Did you have a bad night?"
-
-Elena Kirillovna replies:
-
-"What sort of sleep can one except at my age! Get me my coffee a
-little more quickly, and I will try to get up."
-
-She now speaks more calmly, despite the capricious note in her voice.
-
-Glasha replies heartily:
-
-"This very minute, _barinya_. You shall have it at once."
-
-And she turns about to go out.
-
-Elena Kirillovna stops her with an angry exclamation:
-
-"Glasha, where are you going? You seem to forget, no matter how often I
-tell you! Draw the curtains aside."
-
-Glasha, with some agility, thrusts back the curtains of the two windows
-and flies out of the room. She is rather low of stature and slender,
-and one can tell from her face that she is intelligent, but the sound
-of her rapid footsteps is measured and heavy, giving the impression
-that the runner is large, powerful, heavy, and capable of doing
-everything but what requires lightness. The mistress grumbles, looking
-after her:
-
-"Lord, how she stamps with her feet! She spares neither the floor nor
-her own heels!"
-
-
-[2] Means "gentlewoman," and is a common form of salutation from
-servant to mistress.
-
-
-
-XII
-
-
-At last the sound of Glasha's feet dies away in the echoing silence
-of the long corridor. The old lady lies, waiting, thinking. She is
-once more straight and motionless under her bed-cover, and very yellow
-and very still. Her whole life seems to be concentrated in the living
-sparkle of her keen eyes.
-
-The sun, still low, throws a subdued rosy light on the wall facing
-her. The bedroom is lit-up and quiet. Swift atoms of dust are dancing
-about in the air. There is a glitter on the glass of the photographic
-portraits which hang on the wall, as well as on the narrow gilt rims of
-their black frames.
-
-Elena Kirillovna looks at the portraits. Her keen, youthfully sparkling
-eyes carefully scrutinize the beloved faces. Many of these are no
-longer upon the earth.
-
-Borya's portrait is a large one, in a broad dark frame. It is a young
-face, the face of a seventeen-year-old lad, quite smooth and with dark
-eyes. The upper lip shows a small but vigorous growth of hair. The lips
-are tightly compressed and the entire face gives the impression of an
-indomitable will.
-
-Elena Kirillovna looks long at the portrait, and recalls Borya. Of all
-her grandsons she loved him best. And now she is recalling him. She
-sees him as he had once looked. Where is he now? Before long Borya will
-return. She will be overjoyed, her eyes will have their fill of him.
-But how soon?
-
-It comforts the old woman to think, "It can't be very long."
-
-Some one has just run past her window, giving a shrill cry.
-
-Elena Kirillovna, turning in her bed, looks out of the window.
-
-The white acacia trees before the window, gaily rustling their leaves,
-smile innocently, na�vely and cheerily. Behind them, looming densely,
-are the tops of the birches and of the limes. Some of the branches
-lean toward the window. Their harsh rustle evokes a memory in Elena
-Kirillovna.
-
-If Borya were but to cry out like that! He had loved this garden. He
-had loved the white bloom of the acacia trees, and he had loved to
-gather the little field flowers. He used to bring her some. He liked
-cornflowers specially.
-
-
-
-XIII
-
-
-At last Glasha has come with the coffee. She has placed a silver tray
-on the little round table near the bed. Above the broad blue-and-gold
-porcelain cup rises a thin bluish cloud of steam.
-
-Elena Kirillovna draws her scant body higher upon the pillows, and sits
-upright in her bed; she seems straight, dry, and thin in her white
-night-jacket. With trembling hands she very fastidiously rearranges the
-ribbons of her white ruffled nightcap.
-
-Glasha, with great solicitude and skill, has placed a number of pillows
-at her back, and these piled up high make a soft wall of comfort.
-
-The little silver spoon held by the old dry fingers rings with fragile
-laughter as it stirs the sugar in the cup. Afterwards out of a small
-milk-jug comes a generous helping of boiled milk. And Glasha, having
-shifted somewhat to the side in order to catch a stealthy look of
-herself in the mirror, goes out.
-
-Elena Kirillovna sips her coffee slowly. She breaks a sugared biscuit,
-throws half of it in the cup, and leaves it there for a time. Then,
-when it is completely softened, she carefully takes it out with the
-little spoon.
-
-Elena Kirillovna's teeth are still quite strong. She is very proud of
-this; nevertheless she has preferred of late to eat softer things. She
-munches away at the wet biscuit. Her face expresses gratification. Her
-small, keen eyes sparkle merrily.
-
-When the coffee is finished Elena Kirillovna lies down again. She dozes
-for half an hour on her back, under the bed-cover. Then she rings again
-and waits.
-
-
-
-XIV
-
-
-Glasha comes in. She has had time to comb her hair and to put on a pink
-blouse, and this makes her seem even thinner. As she is in no haste her
-footfalls sound even heavier than before.
-
-Glasha approaches her mistress's bed and silently throws the bed-cover
-aside. She helps Elena Kirillovna to sit on the bed, holding her up
-under the arm. Then, getting down on her knees, she helps her mistress
-to put on her long black stockings and her soft grey slippers.
-
-Elena Kirillovna holds on to Glasha's shoulder with her trembling,
-nervous hands. She envies Glasha's youth, strength, and na�ve
-simplicity. Grumbling under her breath at her unfortunate lot, Elena
-Kirillovna imagines in her dejection that she would be willing to
-sacrifice all her comfort to become like Glasha, a common servant-maid
-with coarse hands and feet red from rough usage and the wet--if she
-could but possess the youth, the cheerfulness, the sang-froid, and the
-happiness attainable upon this earth only by the stupid.
-
-The old woman grumbles often at her fate, but is quite unwilling to
-give up a single one of her gentlewoman's habits.
-
-Glasha says, "All ready, _barinya._"
-
-"Now my capote, Glasha," Elena Kirillovna says as she gets up.
-
-But Glasha herself knows what is wanted. She deftly puts on Elena
-Kirillovna's shoulders a white flannel robe.
-
-"Now you may go, Glashenka. I will ring if I want you again."
-
-
-
-XV
-
-
-Glasha goes. She hurries to the veranda staircase.
-
-Here she washes herself a second time in a clay turn-over basin,
-which is attached by a rope to one of the posts of the veranda; she
-quickly plunges her face and hands in the water that had been left
-there overnight. She splashes the water a long way off on the green
-grass, on the lilac-grey planks of the staircase and on her feet,
-which are red from the early morning freshness and from the tender
-contact with the dewy grass in the vegetable garden. She laughs happily
-at herself--because she is a young, healthy girl, because the early
-morning freshness caresses the length of her strong, swift body with
-brisk cool strokes; and finally, because not far away, in the village,
-there is a lively and handsome young fellow, not unlike herself, who
-pays attention to her and whom she is rather fond of. It is true that
-her mother scolds her on his account, because the young man is poor.
-But what's that to Glasha? Not for nothing is there an adage:
-
-    "Without bread 'tis very sad,
-    Still sadder 'tis without a lad."
-
-Glasha laughs loudly and merrily.
-
-Stepanida cries at her from the kitchen window: "Glash, Glash, why do
-you neigh like a horse?"
-
-Glasha laughs, makes no reply, and goes off.
-
-Stepanida puts her simple, red face out of the window and asks: "I
-wonder what's the matter with her."
-
-She receives no answer, for there is no one to reply. Out of doors all
-is deserted. Only somewhere from behind the barn the languid voices of
-working-men can be heard.
-
-
-
-XVI
-
-
-In the meantime Elena Kirillovna kneels down with a sigh before the
-ikon in her bedroom. She prays a long time. Conscientiously she
-repeats all the prayers she knows. Her dry, raspberry-coloured lips
-stir slightly. Her face has a severe, concentrated expression. All her
-wrinkles seem also austere, weary, callous.
-
-There are many words in her prayers--holy, lofty, touching words. But
-because of their frequent repetition their meaning has become, as it
-were, hardened, stereotyped and ordinary; the tears which appear in
-her eyes are habitual tears wrung out by her antique emotion, and have
-no relation to the secret trepidation of impossible hopes which have
-stolen into the old woman's heart of late.
-
-Diligently her lips murmur prayers each day for the forgiveness of
-sins, voluntary and involuntary, committed in deed, in word, or in
-thought; prayers for the purification of our souls of all defilement;
-and again words concerning our impieties, our evil actions, our
-disregard of commandments, our general unworthiness, our worldly
-frailty, and the temptations of Satan; and again concerning the
-accursed soul and the accursed body and the sensual life; and her words
-embrace only universal evil and all-pervading depravity. Surely these
-prayers were composed for Titans, created to reconstruct the universe,
-but who, out of shamefaced indolence, are attending to this business
-with their arms hanging at their sides.
-
-And not a word does she utter of he r own, her personal affliction, of
-what is in her soul.
-
-The old, dried-up lips mumble of mercy, of generosity, of brotherly
-love, of the holy life--of all those lofty regions pouring out their
-bounty upon all creation. And not a word of the miracle, awaited
-eagerly and with trepidation.
-
-But here are words for those who are in prison and in exile; it is a
-prayer for their liberation, for their redemption.
-
-Here is something at last about Borya.
-
-Freedom and redemption....
-
-But the prayer runs on and on, and it is again for strangers, for
-distant people, for the universal; only for an instant, and then
-lightly, does she pause to put in something for herself, for her
-desire, for what is in her heart.
-
-Then for the dead--for those others, the long since departed, the
-almost forgotten, the resurrected only in word in the hour of these
-strangers, prayed for in this easy, gliding way all the world over
-where piety reigns.
-
-The prayers are ended. Elena Kirillovna lingers for a moment. She has
-an air of having forgotten to say something indispensable.
-
-What else? Or has she said all?
-
-"All"--some one seems to say simply, softly and inexorably.
-
-Elena Kirillovna rises from her knees. She goes to the window. Her
-soul is calm and self-contained. The prayer has not left her in a mood
-of piety, but has relieved her weary soul for a brief time of its
-material, matter-of-fact existence.
-
-
-
-XVII
-
-
-Elena Kirillovna looks out of the window. She is returning, as it
-were, once more from some dark, abstract world to the bright,
-profusely-coloured, resonant impressions of a rough, cheery, not
-altogether disagreeable life.
-
-Small white clouds tinged with red float slowly in the heights and
-merge imperceptibly in the vivid blue. Ablaze like a piece of coal at
-red heat their soul seems to fuse with their cold white bodies, to
-consume them as well as itself with fire, and to sink exhausted in
-the cold blue heights. The sun, as yet invisible behind the left wing
-of the house, has already begun to pour upon the garden its warm and
-glowing waves of laughter, joy and light, animating the flowers and
-birds.
-
-"Well, it's time to dress," Elena Kirillovna says to herself.
-
-She rings.
-
-Soon Glasha appears and helps Elena Kirillovna to dress.
-
-At last she is ready. She casts a final look in the mirror to see that
-everything is in order.
-
-Elena Kirillovna's hair is very neatly combed, and lightly brushed down
-with a cosmetic. This makes it shine and appear as though it were glued
-together. At her every movement in the light there is visible, from
-right to left, a slender silver thread, due to the reflection of light
-at the parting of the smoothed coiffure. Her face shows slight traces
-of powder.
-
-Elena Kirillovna's dress is always of a light colour, when not actually
-white, and of the simplest cut. The small soft ruffle of the broad
-collar hides her neck and chin. She has already substituted for her
-dressing slippers a pair of light summer shoes.
-
-
-
-XVIII
-
-
-Elena Kirillovna enters the dining-room. She looks on as the table is
-being laid for breakfast. She always notes the slightest disorder. She
-grumbles quietly as she picks up something from one place on the table
-and puts it in another.
-
-Then she goes into the large, unused front room, with its closed door
-on to the staircase of the front fa�ade. She walks along the corridor
-to the vestibule and to the back staircase. She stops on the high
-landing, wrinkles up her face from the sun, and looks down to see what
-is going on in the yard. Small, quite erect, like a young school-girl
-with a yellow, wrinkled face which expresses at the moment a severe
-domestic concern, she stands, looks on, and is silent; she is, it
-seems, unnecessary here. No one pays her the slightest attention.
-
-"Good morning, Stepanida," she calls out. Stepanida, a buxom,
-red-cheeked maid in a bright red dress, under which is visible a strip
-of her white chemise and her stout sunburnt legs, is attending to the
-samovar at the bottom of the stairs, and is vigorously blowing to set
-the fire going. Upon her head is a neatly-arranged green kerchief,
-which hides her folded braids of hair like a head-dress.
-
-The bulging sides of the samovar glow radiantly in the sun. Its
-bent chimney sends out a curl of blue smoke, which smells sharply,
-pungently, and not altogether disagreeably, of juniper and tar.
-
-In answer to the old mistress's greeting Stepanida raises her broad,
-cheerfully-preoccupied face, with its small, dark brown eyes, and says
-in prolonged caressing tones, sing-song fashion:
-
-"Good morning to you, _matushka barinya_.[3] It's a fine morning, to
-be sure. How warm it is, by the grace of God! And you're up early,
-_matushka barinya_!"
-
-Her words are indeed honeyed, and above in the sweet air an early,
-shaggy bee hovers, with a thick buzzing, tremulously golden in the
-clear, fluid haze of the early, gentle sun. Silent again, Stepanida is
-once more busy with the samovar; the disenchanted bee flies away, its
-buzzing growing less and less audible behind the fence.
-
-The pungent smell of tar causes Elena Kirillovna to frown. She says:
-
-"What makes the thing smell so strongly? You had better leave it for a
-while, or you will get giddy."
-
-Stepanida, without moving, answers languidly and indifferently:
-
-"It's nothing, _barinya_. We are used to it. It's but a slight smell,
-and it is the juniper."
-
-Through the blue, curling smoke of juniper her sweet voice seems dull
-and bitter. There is a tickling at Elena Kirillovna's throat. There is
-a slight giddiness in her head. Elena Kirillovna makes haste to go. She
-descends the staircase, and proceeds upon her customary morning stroll.
-
-
-[3] Literally: "Little mother--gentlewoman."
-
-
-
-XIX
-
-
-Glasha soon overtakes her. With an exaggerated loudness she runs
-stamping down the stairs, showing a wing-like glimmer of her strong
-legs from under the pink skirt, set a-flutter by her vigorous movement.
-She calls out in a clear, solicitously joyous voice:
-
-"_Barinya_, you have come out! The sun will scorch you. I've fetched
-your hat."
-
-The yellow straw hat, with its lavender ribbon, glimmers in Glasha's
-hands like some strange, low-fluttering bird.
-
-Elena Kirillovna, as she puts the hat on, says: "Why do you run about
-in such disorder! You ought to tidy yourself--you know whom we are
-expecting."
-
-Glasha is silent, and her face assumes a compassionate expression. For
-a long time she looks after her strolling mistress, then she smiles and
-walks back.
-
-Stepanida asks her in a loud whisper: "Well, is she still expecting her
-grandson?"
-
-"Rather!" Glasha replies compassionately. "And it's simply pitiful to
-look at them. They never stop thinking about him."
-
-In the meanwhile Elena Kirillovna makes her way across the vegetable
-garden, past the labourers and the servants in the stockyard, and then
-across the field. Near the garden fence she enters the road.
-
-There, not far from the garden, in the shade of an old, spreading lime,
-stands a bench--a board upon two supports, which still shows traces of
-having been once painted green. From this place a view is to be had of
-the road, of the garden, and of the house.
-
-Elena Kirillovna seats herself upon the bench. She looks out on the
-road. She sits quietly, seeming so small, so slender, and so erect. She
-waits a long time. She falls into a doze.
-
-Through the thin haze of slumber she can see a beloved, smooth face
-smiling, and she can hear a quiet, dear voice calling:
-
-"Grandma!"
-
-She gives a start and opens her eyes. There is no one there. But she
-waits. She believes and waits.
-
-
-
-XX
-
-
-There is a lightness in the air. The road is radiant and tranquil. A
-gentle, refreshing breeze softly passes and repasses her. The sun is
-warming her old bones, it is caressing her lean back through her dress.
-Everything round her rejoices in the green, the golden, and the blue.
-The foliage of the birches, of the willows, and of the limes in full
-bloom is rustling quietly. From the fields comes the honeyed smell of
-clover.
-
-Oh, how light and lovely the air is upon the earth!
-
-How beautiful thou art, my earth, my golden, my emerald, my sapphire
-earth! Who, born to thy heritage would care to die, would care to close
-his eyes upon thy serene beauties and upon thy magnificent spaces? Who,
-resting in thee, damp Mother Earth, would not wish to rise, would not
-wish to return to thy enchantments and to thy delights? And what stern
-fate shall drive one who is aflame with life-thirst to seek the shelter
-of death?
-
-Upon the road where once he walked he shall walk again. Upon the earth,
-which still preserves his footprints, he shall walk again. Borya, the
-grandmother's beloved Borya, shall return.
-
-A golden bee flies by. It seems to say, the golden bee, that Borya
-will return to the quiet of the old house and will taste the fragrant
-honey--the sweet gift of the wise bees, buzzing under the sun upon the
-beloved earth. The old grandmother, in her joy, will place before the
-ikon of the Virgin a candle of the purest bees'-wax--a gift of the wise
-bees, buzzing away among the gold of the sun's rays--a gift to man and
-a gift to God.
-
-"Women and girls of the village pass by with their sunburnt, wind-swept
-faces. They greet the _barinya_ and look at her with compassion. Elena
-Kirillovna smiles at them, and addresses them in her usual gentle
-manner:
-
-"Good morning, my dears!"
-
-They pass by. Their loud voices die away in the distance, and Elena
-Kirillovna soon forgets them. They will pass by once more that day,
-when the time comes. They will pass by. They will return. Upon the
-road, where their dusty footprints remain, they will pass by once more.
-
-
-
-XXI
-
-
-Elena Kirillovna suddenly awoke from her drowse and looked at the
-things before her with a perplexed gaze. Everything seemed to be clear,
-bright, free from care--and relentless.
-
-Inevitably the triumphant sun rose higher in the heavens' dome.
-Grown powerful, wise and resplendent, it seemed indifferent now to
-oppressive earthly melancholy and to sweet earthly delights. And its
-laughter was high, joyless, and sorrowless.
-
-Everything as before was green, blue and gold, many-toned and vividly
-tinted; truly all the objects of nature showed the real colour of their
-souls in honour of this feast of light. But the fine dust upon the
-silent road had already lost its rose tinge, and stirred before the
-wind like a grey, depressing veil. And when the wind calmed down, the
-dust slowly fell back upon the road, like a grey, blind serpent which,
-trailing its fat, fantastic belly, falls back exhausted, gasping its
-last breath.
-
-All monotony had become wearisome. This inevitable recurrence of lucid
-moments began to torment Elena Kirillovna with the grey foreboding of
-sadness, of bitter tears, of unanswered prayers, and of a profound
-hopelessness.
-
-
-
-XXII
-
-
-Glasha appeared at the garden gate. She glanced cheerfully along both
-sides of the road. Walking more slowly she approached Elena Kirillovna
-deferentially.
-
-Glasha looked quite ordinary now, stiff-mannered and stupid. There
-was nothing to envy in her. Her dress too was quite common-place.
-Her braids were arranged upon her head quite like a young lady's,
-and held fast by three combs of transparent bone. Her blouse was
-light-coloured--pink stripes and lavender flowers on a ground of
-white--its short sleeves reached the elbows. She wore a neat blue skirt
-and a white apron.
-
-Elena Kirillovna asked:
-
-"Well, what is it, Glashenka? Is Sonyushka up yet?"
-
-Glasha replied in a respectful voice:
-
-"Sofia Alexandrovna is getting up. She wants me to ask you if we shall
-lay the table on the terrace?"
-
-"Yes, yes, let it be on the terrace. And how is Natashenka?" asked
-Elena Kirillovna, looking anxiously at Glasha.
-
-"The young lady is asleep," answered Glasha. "To-day again, quite
-early, she went out for a walk straight from bed, without so much as a
-bite of something. Her skirt's wet with dew. She might have caught a
-cold. And now she sleeps. If you'd but talk to her."
-
-Elena Kirillovna said irresolutely:
-
-"Very well. I had better be going. All right, Glasha."
-
-Glasha goes. Elena Kirillovna rises slowly from the bench, as though
-she regretted moving from the spot where she saw Borya in a half-dream.
-Slowly she walks toward the house.
-
-Having reached the gate she pauses, and again looks for some moments
-down the road, in the direction of the station.
-
-A cart rumbles by noisily over the travelled road. The _muzhik_ barely
-holds the reins and rocks from side to side sleepily. The harnessed
-horse swings its tail and its head. A white-haired urchin, in broad
-blue breeches, lets his brown feet hang over the edge of the cart and
-stares with his bright hazel eyes at a gaunt, evil-looking dog which
-runs after, barking hoarsely.
-
-Elena Kirillovna gives a sigh--there is as yet no Borya--and enters the
-garden.
-
-Glasha's light-coloured blouse glimmers on the terrace. There is a
-rattle of dishes. The grumbling chatter of Borya's old nurse is also
-audible.
-
-
-
-XXIII
-
-
-The last to awake, with the sun quite high and scorching, is Borya's
-mother, Sofia Alexandrovna. Through the thin bright curtains, drawn for
-the night across the windows, the light fills her bedroom.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna awakes with a start, as though some one had touched
-her suddenly or had called to her. With her right hand she impetuously
-throws aside her light white bed-cover. Quickly she sits up in bed,
-holding her hands over her bent knees. For a moment she looks before
-her at a bare place in the simple pattern of the bright green hangings.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna's eyes are dark, wide open, with black, fiery pupils
-which seem lost in the abysmal, depths of their own sorrowful gaze. Her
-face is long, its skin smooth and colourless, though quite fresh and
-almost free of wrinkles. The lips are a vivid red.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna's expression is like that of one faced suddenly with
-a tragic apparition. She rocks herself back and forward.
-
-Then, abruptly, she jumps out of bed with a single spring. She runs to
-the washing-basin of marble mounted on a red stand. She washes herself
-quickly, as though in haste to go somewhere. Now she is at the window.
-The curtains are flung violently aside. She peers anxiously to see what
-the outlook is--whether there are any clouds in the sky that might
-bring rain and make the road muddy, the road upon which Borya would
-return home.
-
-The heavens are tremulously joyous. The birches are rustling quietly.
-The sparrows are twittering. Everything is green, bright, quivering;
-everything palpitates under the tension of hopes and anticipations.
-Voices are audible; cries of good cheer and sounds of laughter. One of
-the laughers runs by, as though making haste to live.
-
-A torrent of tears floods Sofia Alexandrovna's eyes. Her breast heaves
-visibly under the white linen chemise.
-
-
-
-XXIV
-
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna goes to the image. She thrusts aside with her foot
-the small velvet rug which Glasha had purposely laid there the day
-before. She throws herself down on her knees before the image. You hear
-her knees strike the floor softly. Sofia Alexandrovna quietly crosses
-herself, bends her face to the floor, and mutters passionately:
-
-"O Lord, Thou knowest, Thou knowest all, Thou canst do all. Do this, O
-Lord, return him to us, to his mother, return him to-day."
-
-Her prayer is warm and passionate, quite unlike a prayer. Its words
-are disconnected, and they fall confusedly, like small, broken tears.
-Her naked feet come in contact with the cold, painted floor. And the
-entire, warm, prostrate body of the weeping woman is throbbing and
-trembling on the boards. Her head repeatedly strikes the boards,
-loosening her dark braids of hair.
-
-She does not pray long. The torrents of tears have cleansed her soul,
-as it were; and she becomes at once cheerful and tranquil.
-
-She rises quite, as suddenly, and rings. She seats herself on the edge
-of the bed, and dries her tears with a soft handkerchief. Then she
-laughs silently. She swings one of her feet impatiently, striking the
-rug in front of the bed with the toes. Her eyes wander about the room,
-but seem to observe nothing.
-
-Glasha had only just begun to dress, and she had only tied the strings
-of her apron round her slender waist. The sharp impatient ring causes
-her to start. She runs to the _barinya_, seizing quickly at the same
-time a pair of blackened boots and some clothes from the laundry.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna cries in an urgent voice:
-
-"Now be quick, Glasha. Help me on with my things."
-
-She looks on impatiently as Glasha puts down her burden.
-
-The daily ceremony is gone through quickly. Sofia Alexandrovna dresses
-herself. Glasha only draws on her boots, and hooks up her dress behind.
-
-Soon Sofia Alexandrovna is quite ready. She gives a brief, vacant look
-in the mirror.
-
-Her pale face still seems to be young and handsome. She is slender,
-like her mother, and small in stature. She has on a closely fitting
-white dress with short, wide sleeves. Her coiffure is arranged in a
-Greek knot, held fast with a red ribbon. Her slender, shapely feet are
-clad in coloured silk stockings and white shoes with silver buckles.
-
-
-
-XXV
-
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna goes quickly into the dining-room. She pours
-herself a glass of fresh milk out of a jug on the table. She drinks it
-standing, and munches a piece of black bread with it.
-
-She orders the things for dinner at the same time. She chooses dishes
-loved by Borya. She stops to recollect whether Borya likes this, or
-does not like that.
-
-Stepanida listens to her sadly, and replies in a tearful voice:
-
-"Yes, I know! Why shouldn't I know? It's not the first time."
-
-Glasha asks something. The old, tottering nurse rattles on rather
-volubly. Sofia Alexandrovna answers them mechanically and rapidly. She
-seems all the while to be listening intently, either for the sound of a
-distant little bell, or for the rumble of wheels on the road. She makes
-her way out in haste. And she no longer listens to what is being said
-to her. She goes out.
-
-She enters Borya's study. Everything there is as in the old days, and
-in order. When Borya comes back he will find everything in its place.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna, with great concern, takes a rapid look round the
-room. She wishes to see whether everything is in its place, whether
-the dust has been swept, whether the rug has been laid before the bed,
-and whether the inkstand has been filled with ink. She herself changes
-the water in the vase which holds the cornflowers. If anything is out
-of place she gives way to tears, then rings for Glasha, and heaps
-reproaches upon her.
-
-Glasha's face assumes a frightened, compassionate look. In a most
-humble manner she begs forgiveness.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna remonstrates with her:
-
-"How can you be so careless, Glasha? You know that we are expecting
-him every minute. Suppose he should suddenly come in and find this
-disorder."
-
-Glasha replies humbly:
-
-"Forgive me, _barinya_. Don't think any more about it. I'll quickly put
-everything to rights."
-
-As she goes out she wipes away two or three tears with her white apron.
-
-
-
-XXVI
-
-
-With the same undue haste Sofia Alexandrovna goes into the garden. She
-sees nothing, neither the white Aphrodite nor her roses, on her way to
-the little arbour from which, overlooking a corner of the garden, the
-road is visible. Vividly green in the sun, a four-sloped roof covers
-the arbour, while hangings of coarse cloth, with a red border, serve as
-a protection against inquisitive eyes.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna looks down the road with dark, hungry eyes. She
-waits impatiently, listening to the rapid, uneven beat of her heart;
-she waits: Borya will surely come in sight.
-
-The wind blows into her face, and partly conceals it with the hangings;
-her face is pale, and her eyes are dry. The sun warmly kisses her
-slender arms, which lie motionless on the broad, lavender-grey parapet
-of the arbour. Everything is bright, green and gay in the fields, but
-her eyes are fixed on the grey serpent of dust trailing among the
-freedom of the fields.
-
-If they await him like this surely Borya will come.
-
-But there is no sign of him. In vain her hungry glances penetrate the
-open waste. There is no Borya. More fixed and piercing grows her glance
-of infinite longing upon the road--but there is no Borya.
-
-Everything is as before, as yesterday, as always. Tranquil, serene and
-pitiless.
-
-
-
-XXVII
-
-
-The hour of the early luncheon came. All three sat at the table on the
-terrace. There was a fourth place laid, and a fourth chair, for who
-could tell whether Borya might not arrive at luncheon time!
-
-The sun was already high. The day was turning sultry. The fragrance
-of the red roses at the foot of the goddess's pedestal became ever
-more passionate. And the smile of the marble-white Aphrodite was even
-more clear and serene, as she let fall her draperies with a marvellous
-grace born of eternal movement. In the bright sunshine the sand on the
-footpaths seemed yellow-white. The trees cast austere dark shadows.
-They seemed to exhale an odour of the soil, of sap, and of warmth.
-
-The women sat so that each one of them, looking beyond the drawn
-hangings of the terrace and over the bushes, could see the short
-narrow path ending at the garden gate, where a part of the road was
-also visible; they could not fail to observe every passer-by and every
-vehicle.
-
-But during this hour of the day hardly anyone ever walked or drove by
-the old house.
-
-Glasha waited on them. She had on a newly-laundered cap with starched
-ribbons and plaited frills fitting tightly over her hair. The
-snow-white cap shone pleasantly above Glasha's fresh, sunburnt face.
-
-In the garden, on a form just under the terrace, sat Borya's old nurse,
-dressed in a dark lavender blouse, black skirt, with a dark blue
-kerchief over her head. She was warming her old bones in the sun, and
-listening to the conversation on the terrace; now she grumbled, now she
-dozed.
-
-Broad-boned and stout, she had a round, amiable face, and even through
-the compact network of wrinkles there were palpable suggestions of
-former beauty. Her eyes were clear. The grey hair was flatly combed
-down. Her figure and her face wore a settled expression of languid good
-nature.
-
-
-
-XXVIII
-
-
-As always, they eat and drink, and they keep up a cheerful and friendly
-chatter. Sometimes two of them speak together. A stranger in the garden
-might conclude that a large company is gathered on the terrace.
-
-Frequently Borya's name is mentioned.
-
-"To be sure, Borya likes...."
-
-"Perhaps Borya will bring...."
-
-"It is strange Borya is not yet here...."
-
-"Perhaps Borya will come in the evening...."
-
-"We must ask Borya whether he has read...."
-
-"It is possible this is not new to Borya...."
-
-While below, under the terrace, the old nurse, each time she hears
-Borya's name, crosses herself and mumbles:
-
-"O Lord, rest the soul of thy servant, Boris."
-
-At first her voice is low, but it gradually grows louder and louder.
-Finally the three women at the table can hear her words. They tremble
-slightly and exchange anxious glances, into which steals an expression
-of perplexed fear. So they begin to speak even louder, and to laugh
-even more merrily. They permit no intervals of silence, and the hum of
-their talk and laughter prevents for the time their hearing the nurse's
-mumbling in the garden.
-
-But their voices inevitably fall after a mention of the beloved name,
-and now again they hear the tranquil, terrible words:
-
-"O Lord, rest the soul...."
-
-They sit at luncheon long, but they talk more industriously than they
-eat. They glance nervously toward the gate. It seems a terrible thing
-to have to leave the table and to go somewhere while Borya is not yet
-with them.
-
-
-
-XXIX
-
-
-Toward the end of luncheon the post arrives. Grisha, a
-fourteen-year-old youngster, goes for it daily to the station on
-horseback. Raising clouds of dust he jumps off briskly at the gate.
-Leaving his horse he enters the garden carrying a black leather bag,
-and smiles broadly at something or other. Ascending the long steps of
-the terrace he announces loudly and joyously:
-
-"I've fetched the post!"
-
-He is cheery, sunburnt, perspiring. He smells of the sun, of the soil,
-of dust and tar. His hands and feet are as large as a man's. His lips
-are soft and pouting, like those of a sweet-tempered foal. At the
-opening of his shirt, cut on the slant, buttons are missing, exposing a
-strip of his sunburnt chest and a piece of grey string.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna rises abruptly from her place. She takes the bag
-from Grisha, and throws it quickly on the table. A pile of stamped
-wrappers comes pouring upon the white cloth. The three women bend over
-the table and rummage for letters. But letters come only rarely.
-
-Knitting her brows Natasha looks at the smiling youngster and asks:
-
-"No letters, Grisha?"
-
-Grisha, shuffling his feet, brick-red from the sun, smiles and answers,
-as always, in the same words:
-
-"The letters are being written, _barishnya_."
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna says impatiently:
-
-"You may go, Grisha."
-
-Grisha goes. The women open their newspapers.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna takes up the _Rech_ and scans it rapidly,
-occasionally mentioning something that has attracted her notice.
-
-Natasha is looking over _Slovo_. She reads silently, slowly, and
-attentively.
-
-Elena Kirillovna has the _Russkiya Vedomosti._ She tears the wrapper
-open slowly and spreads the entire sheet on the table. She reads on,
-quickly running her eyes over the lines.
-
-
-
-XXX
-
-
-Groaning, the old nurse slowly ascends the steps. Sofia Alexandrovna
-pauses from her reading a moment and looks with fear at the old woman.
-Natasha gives a nervous start and turns away. Elena Kirillovna reads on
-calmly, without looking at the nurse.
-
-The nurse sighs, sits down on the bench at the entrance, and asks in a
-monotone the one and the same question that she asks each day:
-
-"And how many folk are there in this morning's paper that's been
-ordered to die? And how many are there that's been hanged?"
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna drops the paper, and suddenly rising, very pale,
-looks upon the old woman. She is quivering from head to foot. Elena
-Kirillovna, folding the paper, pushes it aside and looks straight
-before her with arrested eyes. Natasha rises; she turns her face, which
-has suddenly grown pale, toward the old woman, and utters in a kind of
-wooden voice that does not seem like her own:
-
-"In Ekaterinoslav--seven; in Moscow--one."
-
-Or other towns, and other figures--such as fresh newspaper lists bring
-each day.
-
-The nurse rises and crosses herself piously. She mutters:
-
-"O Lord, rest the souls of Thy servants! And give them eternal life!"
-
-Then Sofia Alexandrovna cries out in despair:
-
-"Oh Borya, Borya, my Borya!"
-
-Her face is as pale as though there were not a single drop of blood
-left under her dull, elastic skin.
-
-Wringing her hands with a convulsive movement, she looks with terror
-at Elena Kirillovna and at her daughter. Elena Kirillovna turns aside,
-and, looking at the old nurse, shakes her head reproachfully, while in
-her eyes, like drops of early evening dew, appear a few scant tears.
-
-Natasha, looking determinedly at her mother, says with pale, quivering
-lips:
-
-"Mamma, calm yourself."
-
-Suddenly her voice becomes cold and wooden again as though some
-evil stranger compelled her each day to utter her words slowly and
-deliberately.
-
-"You yourself know, mamma, that Borya was hanged a full year ago!"
-
-She looks at her mother with the motionless, pathetic gaze of her very
-dark eyes, and repeats:
-
-"You yourself know this, mamma!"
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna's eyes are widely dilated; dull, there is terror in
-them, and the deep pupils burn with an impercipient lustre in their
-dark depths. She repeats almost soundlessly, looking straight into
-Natasha's eyes:
-
-"Hanged!"
-
-She resumes her place, looks out of her sad eyes at the white Aphrodite
-and the red roses at the goddess's feet, and is silent. Her face
-is white and rigid, her lips are red and tightly set; there is a
-suggestion of latent madness in the still lustre of her eyes.
-
-Before the image of eternal beauty, before the fragrance of the
-short-lived, exultant roses, she is hardening as it were into an image
-of the eternal grief of a disconsolate mother.
-
-
-
-XXXI
-
-
-Elena Kirillovna quietly descends the narrow side staircase into the
-garden. She sits down on a bench somewhat away from the house, looks
-upon the green bedecked pond and weeps.
-
-Natasha goes into her room in the mezzanine. She opens a book and tries
-to read. But she finds it impossible. She puts the book aside and looks
-out of the window, and her eyes are dimmed.
-
-Higher and higher above the old house rises the pitiless, bright
-Dragon. His joyous laughter rings in the merry heights, encloses,
-as in a flaming circle, the depressing silence of the house. The
-well-directed rays shoot out like sharp-plumed arrows, and the air is
-tremulous with eternal, inexhaustible anger. No one is being awaited.
-No one will come. Borya has died. The relentless wheel of time knows no
-turning back.
-
-So the day is passing--clearly and brightly. The dazzling white light
-says there is nothing to hope for.
-
-
-
-XXXII
-
-
-Natasha sits in her room before an open window. A book is lying on the
-window-sill. She has no desire to read.
-
-Every line in the book reminds her of him, of unfinished conversations,
-of heated discussions, of what had been, of what is no more.
-
-The memories become brighter and brighter, and reach at last a
-clearness and fullness of vision, overwhelming her soul.
-
-The fiery Dragon, obscured by a leaden grey cloud, becomes a little
-dim. Dimness also creeps into the memory of him. It seems as though
-the heavens are being traversed by the cold, clear, tranquil moon. Her
-face is pale, but not from sadness. Her rays have cast a spell upon the
-sleeping earth and upon the unattainably high heavens.
-
-The moon has bewitched the fields and also the valleys, which are full
-of mist. There is a dull glimmer in the drops of cool, tranquil dew
-upon the slumbering grass.
-
-There is in this fantastic glimmer the resurrection of that which has
-died--of that past tenderness and love which inspired deeds requiring
-superhuman strength. There come again to the lips proud, long-unsung
-hymns, and vows of action and loyalty.
-
-And what of that evil, vigilant, and instigating eye; and what of the
-traitor whose words mingled with the passionate words of the young
-people! Not even the waters of all the cold oceans can quench the fire
-of daring love, and all the cunning poisons of the earth cannot poison
-it.
-
-Bewitched with the lunar mystery, the wood stands expectant, nebulous,
-silent. Incomprehensible and inaccessible to men is its slow, sure
-experience, and the secret of its forged desires.
-
-Into its lunar silence men have brought the revolt, the speech and
-laughter of youth; but, overcome by the lunar mystery, they are
-suddenly grown silent and meditative.
-
-The open glade in the woods, enchanted by the green, cold light of the
-moon, seems very white. Along the edge of the glade lie the shadows of
-the trees; they seem unreal and nebulous and mysteriously still.
-
-The moon, very slowly, almost stealthily, is rising higher in the pale
-blue dome. Round, cold, half lost in the milk-white mist as behind a
-thin veil, she disperses by her dispassionate gaze the nebulous, silent
-tops of the slumbering trees, and looks down upon the glade with the
-motionless, inquisitive glance of her white eyes.
-
-The thin particles of dew scattered over the cold grasses vanish--the
-white nocturnal haze drinks them greedily. The air is oppressively
-sweet. On the edge of the glade a number of slender, erect,
-white-limbed birches emerge out of the mist; they are still asleep, and
-as innocent as their girl companions who rest beneath them in their
-green-white dresses.
-
-
-
-XXXIII
-
-
-Reposing under the slender birches in the glade is a party of girls,
-young men and grown-up people. One sits on the stump of a felled tree,
-another on the trunk of an old birch struck down in a storm, a third
-lies upon an overcoat spread on the grass, a fourth rests his back
-against a young birch. There is a single, slight glow of a cigarette,
-but this, too, goes out.
-
-In the luminous, haunting mist everything seems white, translucent,
-fabulously impressive. And it seems as though the birches in the glade
-and the moon in the sky are waiting for something.
-
-Here is Natasha. Here is also Natasha's friend, a college girl from
-Moscow, white-skinned, sharp-featured, looking like a healthy little
-wild beast. Then there are Borya and his friend, both in linen jackets,
-both lean, with pale faces and dark, flaming eyes.
-
-And there is yet another--a tall, stout figure in a dark blouse. He has
-an air of self-confidence and seems to be the most knowing, the most
-experienced, the most able of those present.
-
-He is surrounded by the grown-up people and the girls, and he is being
-questioned. Cheery, good-natured, impatient voices appeal to him.
-
-"Do sing for us the _International_."
-
-Borya, a lad with pale, frowning forehead, and blue-black circles under
-his eyes, looks into the other's face and implores more heartily than
-the rest.
-
-The tall, broad-chested Mikhail Lvovich looks askance and stubbornly
-refuses to sing.
-
-"I can't," he says gruffly. "My throat is not in condition."
-
-Borya and Natasha insist.
-
-Mikhail Lvovich then makes a gesture with his hand and accedes not less
-gruffly.
-
-"Very well, I'll sing."
-
-Every one is overjoyed.
-
-Mikhail Lvovich poses himself on his knees. Above the mist-white glade,
-above the white-faced lads, above the white mist itself, there rises
-toward the witching moon, floating tranquilly in the skies, the words
-of that proud, passionate hymn:
-
-"Arise, ye branded with a curse!"
-
-Mikhail Lvovich sings. His eyes are fixed on the ground, upon the cold
-grass, white in the glamorous light of the full, clear moon. It is hard
-to tell whether he does not wish to or cannot look straight into the
-eyes of these girls and boys--into these trusting, clean eyes.
-
-And they have gathered round him, how closely they have nestled round
-him, these pure-spirited young girls; and the young lads, their knees
-in the grass, follow every movement of his lips, and join in quietly.
-The bold melody grows, gains in volume. Like an exultant prophecy ring
-the eloquent words:
-
-    In the International
-    As brothers all men shall meet.
-
-
-
-XXXIV
-
-
-Mikhail has finished the song. For a time no one speaks. Then the
-agitated voices all ring out together, stirring the heavy silence of
-the woods.
-
-Clear, girlish eyes are looking earnestly upon Mikhail Lvovich's morose
-set face. A clear, girlish voice implores insistently and gently:
-
-"Sing again, please. Be a dear. Sing it once more. I will make a note
-of the words. I want to know them by heart."
-
-Natasha approaches nearer and says quietly:
-
-"We will all of us learn the words and sing them each day, like a
-prayer. We shall do it with a full heart."
-
-Mikhail Lvovich at last lifts his eyes. They are small, sparkling,
-shrewd. This time they have fixed themselves severely and inquisitively
-on Natasha's face, which suddenly has become confused at this
-snake-like glance.
-
-Mikhail Lvovich addresses her gruffly.
-
-"It doesn't require much bravery to sing on the quiet, in the woods.
-Any one can do that."
-
-Natasha's face becomes pale. Dark flames of unchildish determination
-kindle in her eyes. Excitedly she cries:
-
-"We will learn the words, and we will sing them where they are wanted.
-My God, are we to depend upon words, and upon words alone? We are ready
-for deeds."
-
-Borya repeats after her: "We are ready. We shall do all that is
-necessary. Yes, even die if need be."
-
-Mikhail Lvovich says with a calm assurance:
-
-"Yes, I know."
-
-In his eyes, fixed intently upon the ground, a dim, small flame is
-visible.
-
-
-
-XXXV
-
-
-There is a short silence. Then a thin voice is heard. It is the girl,
-slender as a young birch, with the sharp, cheerful little face, who is
-speaking.
-
-"My God! What strength! What eloquence!"
-
-Mikhail Lvovich slowly turns his face toward her. He smiles severely
-and says nothing.
-
-The girl has her hands clasped across her knees. It is an extremely
-pretty pose. Her face has suddenly assumed a very grave air, breathing
-passionate entreaty and fiery determination. She exclaims fervently:
-
-"Let's all sing the chorus! Mikhail Lvovich will teach us. You will
-teach us, Mikhail Lvovich, won't you?"
-
-"Very well," Mikhail Lvovich replies with his usual severe dignity.
-
-He casts his dull, heavy gaze round the crowded circle of delighted
-young faces. He alone sits with his back to the open glade and to
-the witching moon. His face, now in the shade, has become even more
-significant. And his whole bearing is one of imposing solemnity.
-
-The faces of the younger people are white in the moonlight. Their
-garments are luminously bright. Their voices are brilliantly clear. In
-their simple trust there is the sense of an avowal.
-
-"Well, let us begin!" exclaims the slender girl, somewhat agitated.
-
-Mikhail Lvovich raises his hand with a solemn gesture and begins:
-
-"Arise, ye branded with a curse!"
-
-The children sing with a will, mingling their high, clear voices with
-Mikhail Lvovich's deep, low voice. Their young voices are blazing with
-the passionate flame of freedom and revolt. Higher and still higher,
-above the white mists, above the black forest, toward the silver
-clouds and the quiet glimmering stars, toward the aspectful moon, rise
-the sounds of the invocation.
-
-And the white-trunked birches, the milk-white moon, motionless in the
-sky, the white, silvery grass, pressed down by children's knees--all is
-still, all is silent, all is harkening with a sensitive ear. Everything
-around listens with poignant and solemn intentness to the song of
-these luminous children who, bathed in the translucent silver of the
-cool, lunar glimmer, their knees on the grass, their eyes burning in
-their uplifted faces, are repeating faithfully the words sung by the
-tall, self-contained young man whose dark face with fixed glance gazes
-morosely on the ground. They repeat after him:
-
-    In the International
-    As brothers all men shall meet.
-
-The strange foreign word, un-Russian in its ring, suggests to them the
-lofty, holy designation of a promised land, a new land under new skies,
-a land in which they have faith.
-
-After the hymn there is silence, a holy silence, solemn and palpable,
-reaching from the earth to the heavens. They might have been in
-the temple of a new, as yet unknown religion, in a mystic moment of
-sacrificial rites.
-
-
-
-XXXVI
-
-
-Mikhail Lvovich is the first to break the silence. He speaks slowly,
-looking at no one and directing his heavy gaze above the children's
-pale faces, beyond the flaming ring of their glances:
-
-"My friends, you know the sort of time this is. Each one of us can be
-of use. If any one of us is sent I hope that none will, tremble for
-his precious life, and that none will be deterred by the thought of a
-mother's sorrow."
-
-The children exclaim:
-
-"None! None! If they would but send us!"
-
-"What is the sorrow of a single mother compared to the suffering of an
-entire nation!" thinks Natasha proudly.
-
-There rises up for an instant a mental image of the ashen-pale face of
-her mother, her intensely dark, eloquent eyes. A sharp pain, lasting
-a moment, pierces her heart. What of that? It is, after all, but a
-single instant of weakness. A proud will shall conquer this slight
-suffering of a single relative by conferring great love upon the many,
-the strangers, the grievous sufferers.
-
-What is the woe of one mother! Let Niobe weep eternally for her
-children, killed by the burning, poisoned arrows of the high Dragon;
-let Rachel remain unconsoled for ever--what is the woe of a poor
-mother? Serene is Apollo's face, radiant is Apollo's dream.
-
-Yet how painful, how painful! A dimness comes over the transcendent
-idea, as though the dark countenance of the ominous figure who sang the
-proud hymn has dimmed the moon and has cast an austere shadow upon the
-heart itself.
-
-And now there is no moon, and no night, and no white glade in the mist
-in the forest. The bright day stares again at Natasha, she is at the
-window, the book lies before her, the old house is depressingly silent.
-The cloud has disappeared, the heavens are clear again, the evil Dragon
-is once more aiming his flaming arrows, he reiterates his conquest anew.
-
-This cruel melancholy must be faced. Sting, accursed Dragon, burn,
-torment. Rejoice, conqueror! But even he must soon go to his setting,
-and, dying, pour out his blood upon half the heavens.
-
-
-
-XXXVII
-
-
-Natasha, a yellow straw hat upon her head, is now walking in the field.
-The ground is hot, the sky is blue, the air is sultry and the wind
-asleep; the corn is yellow, the grass is green. Bathed again in the
-bright heat, Natasha prods her sweetly fatiguing memories, which cast
-into oblivion this dismal day.
-
-She goes on--and there stretches before her, even as on a day long ago,
-the hot golden field, with its tall stalks inclining their heads in the
-heat. It is the revival of a former stifling, sultry midday.
-
-That was in the days when Natasha still loved the good, human sun, the
-source of life and joy, the eternal, the untiring herald of labours and
-deeds, of deeds beyond the powers of man.
-
-Oh, the treacherous speech of the Serpent Tempter! He turns our heads
-and he entices, and he makes our poor earth seem like some fabulous
-kingdom.
-
-Again there is a slight wavering stir in the sea of the heat-exhausted
-ears of rye, studded over with little blue flowers which lower timidly
-their sweetly-dazed heads from sultriness.
-
-Natasha and her brother Boris are walking together, on an inviting
-narrow path among the golden waves of rye.
-
-How high the rye is! One can barely see the green roof of the old house
-on the right for the tall stalks, and the semi-circular window in the
-mezzanine: and on the left the little grey, rough huts of the village.
-
-Natasha and Boris follow one another. All around them the dry ears
-of rye waver and rustle, and among them are the blue-eyed little
-cornflowers. The two fragilely slender human silhouettes answered to
-the same wavering motion.
-
-Natasha goes ahead. She turns to see why Boris has lagged behind. The
-boy, brown and slender, with large burning eyes, attired in his linen
-jacket, is gathering the little blue flowers. He has already gathered
-almost as many as his hands can hold.
-
-
-
-XXXVIII
-
-
-Natasha, laughing, says to her brother: "Enough, my dear, enough. I
-shan't be able to carry them all."
-
-"You'll do it easily enough, never fear!" Boris answers cheerfully.
-
-Natasha stretches out her sunburnt hand to take the flowers. The sheaf
-of blue cornflowers, spreading across her breast, almost hides her, she
-is so slender.
-
-Again Boris addresses her cheerfully: "Well, is it heavy?"
-
-Natasha laughs. Her face lights up with the joy of gratitude, and with
-a cheerful, childlike determination. "I will carry these, but no more!"
-she says.
-
-"I want to gather as many as possible for you." Boris's voice is
-serious; "because you know we may not see each other for some time."
-There is a quaver in his voice as he says this.
-
-"Perhaps, never," Natasha, growing pensive, replies.
-
-Both faces become sad and careworn.
-
-Boris, frowning, glances sideways, and asks: "Natasha, are you going
-with him?"
-
-Natasha knows that Boris is inquiring about Mikhail Lvovich, who is
-now sending her on a dangerous business, and who has also promised to
-send Boris on some foolhardy errand. The brave are so often foolhardy.
-
-"No, I am going alone," Natasha replies, "he will only lead me later to
-the spot."
-
-Boris looks at Natasha with gloomy, envious eyes, and asks rather
-cautiously: "Are you frightened, Natasha?"
-
-Natasha smiles. And what pride there is in her smile! She speaks, and
-her voice is tranquil: "No, Boris, I feel happy."
-
-Boris observes that her face is really happy, and that her dark,
-flaming eyes are cheerful enough. Looking at her thus, her tranquillity
-communicates itself to him, and inspires him with a calm confidence in
-himself and in the business in hand.
-
-The children go farther. Boris again gathers the cornflowers. Natasha
-is musing about something. She has broken off an ear of rye, and is
-absently nibbling at the grain.
-
-
-
-XXXIX
-
-
-It is a long, hot, sultry day. The inexorable Dragon looks down
-indifferently upon the children. Unwearying, he aims his bright, vivid
-shafts at the sunburnt, fiery-eyed lad and at the slender, erect,
-black-eyed girl. His blazing shafts are evil, and they are well aimed;
-and his strong clear light is pitiless--but she walks on, and in her
-eyes there is hope, and in her eyes there is resolution, and in her
-dark eyes there is a flame which sets the soul afire to achieve deeds
-beyond the powers of man.
-
-Natasha suddenly pauses at the end of the path by the dusty road.
-Her eyes look at Boris full of tender admiration. It is evident that
-she desires to stamp upon her memory all the beloved features of the
-familiar tanned face--the curve of the dense brows, the rigid set of
-the red lips, the firm outlines of the chin, the stern profile.
-
-Natasha sighs lightly and addresses Boris gently and cheerfully:
-
-"Enough, dearest. They may not let me into the train with a heap like
-this. They will say: 'This should be put in the luggage van.'"
-
-Both laugh carelessly. And still Boris is loath to leave the
-cornflowers. He says:
-
-"Only a few more. I want you to have a gigantic bouquet."
-
-"You would have everything gigantic!" Natasha returns good-humouredly.
-
-But her face is serious. She knows how deep this quality is in him,
-and how significant. Boris looks at her, and in answer repeats his
-favourite, his most intimate thought:
-
-"Yes, it is true. I love all bigness, all immoderation. In everything!
-In everything! If we only acted like this always! And gave ourselves
-wholly to a thing! Oh, how different life would be!"
-
-Natasha, lost in thought, repeats: "Yes, big things, things beyond the
-powers of man. To make life lavish. Only no stinginess, no trembling
-for one's skin. Far better to die--to gather all life into one little
-knot, and to throw it away!"
-
-"Yes, yes," says Boris, and his eyes, dark as night, glow with the fury
-of a yet distant storm. "We must have no care for lives, but be lavish
-with them, lavish to the end--only then may we reach our goal!"
-
-They cross the road and again walk calmly along a narrow path. Her
-dress is white among the golden waves. Natasha stretches out her
-slender hand, the ears of rye rustle dryly and solid seeds of ripe rye
-fall into it. They are struck from above by the vivid shafts of the
-pitiless Dragon.
-
-The children are walking on, conscious of their vow. They go
-trustingly, and they do not know that he who sends them is a traitor,
-and that their sacrifice is vain.
-
-
-
-XL
-
-
-What is this dry rustling all around? It is the rye. But where are the
-little cornflowers, where is Boris? The little blue-eyed flowers are in
-the rye, and Boris has been hanged.
-
-"And I?" Natasha asks herself in a strange, oppressive perplexity. She
-looks round her like one just awakened.
-
-"Why am I here?"
-
-She answers herself: "I escaped. A lucky chance saved me."
-
-Natasha is oppressed by the thought. How had she survived it? "Far
-better if I had perished!"
-
-It all happened very simply. Natasha, being Number Three, was placed at
-the railway station itself, her duty being contingent on the failure
-of Number One and Number Two. But the first was successful, though he
-himself perished in the explosion.
-
-The second, upon hearing the explosion not far away, lost his presence
-of mind. He ran to save himself. He caught a cab, and got off near the
-river. Here he hired a row-boat. When near the middle of the river,
-he threw the bomb into the water. The man who rowed had guessed that
-something was wrong. Besides, he had been seen from the Government
-steamer and from the banks. Number Two was taken, tried and hanged.
-
-Natasha did not betray herself in any way. She walked calmly, without
-haste, bearing her dangerous burden, observed by no one. She mixed
-freely with the passing crowd. She delivered the bomb at the appointed
-place.
-
-A few days later she left for home. She had not been followed. Natasha
-was awaiting a second commission, and quite suddenly she abandoned the
-business, because her trust in it had died.
-
-It happened even before Borya was hanged. But her decision came finally
-in those nightmare days when, quickly and unexpectedly, his life came
-to an end.
-
-Those were terrible days.
-
-But, no, it is better not to think of them, it is better not to
-remember them. To remember them is to suffer. Far better to remember
-other things, things cloudless and long past.
-
-
-
-XLI
-
-
-Oh magic mirror of memory, so much is reflected in thee! Beloved images
-pass by with a kind of glimmer.
-
-There were the flowers, which they themselves looked after. There was
-one flower-bed which they cared for with especial tenderness. There was
-the fresh, intoxicating evening aroma of gilliflower. There was the
-cluster of jasmine, dewy at dawn, so sweetly and so gently fragrant,
-that one wished to weep in its presence, as the grass weeps its tears
-of dew at golden dawn.
-
-Then there was the open space in the garden, and the giant-stride in
-the centre. What gigantic steps they took! How fast and how high she
-flew round with Boris!
-
-How glorious were the feast-days to the childish hearts. There was
-Christmas Eve, with its tree, and candles upon the green branches,
-with all the many-coloured glitter of golden nuts, red, green and blue
-trimmings, snow-white foils of cotton-wool, offerings which gladdened
-with their unexpectedness. Then in the daytime there is real snow,
-glittering like salt, and crunching under one's feet; the frost pinches
-the cheeks, the sun is shining, their mittens are of the softest down,
-their hats are white and soft, the sleds are flying down hillocks--oh,
-what joy!
-
-And now Easter is here. What a solemn night! Then the joyous chanting
-of matins. The candle flames are everywhere, there seems to be no
-end to them. There is a smell of Easter cakes. There are Easter eggs
-painted in all colours. Every one is kissing each other. Every one is
-happy.
-
-"_Christoss Voskress!_"
-
-"_Voistinu Voskress!_"
-
-But the dear dead do not stir.
-
-No. The beloved memories do not break the continuity of the circle, the
-resurrection of the others--the fearsome, tragic memories. Inevitably
-the vision leads on to the last terrible moments.
-
-
-
-XLII
-
-
-They lived in the capital that winter. Boris was studying his final
-term in the _gymnasia_. For Christmas he went to another city: to
-relatives, he said.
-
-Natasha was suspicious. But he did not tell her the truth.
-
-"Really, nothing," he answered to all her questions. "No one is sending
-me. I am going of my own accord. To see Aunt Liuba."
-
-And Natasha did not insist.
-
-For several days she did not get any letters from him. But she did not
-worry. Boris disliked writing letters. They thought he was enjoying
-himself.
-
-It was an evening in early January. Her mother and grandmother had gone
-out visiting. Natasha, pleading a headache, remained at home.
-
-"I'll lie down on the sofa. It will pass away."
-
-The truth was she thought the home of her affected, worldly relatives a
-dull place, and she had no desire to go there.
-
-The maid had leave to go out. Natasha remained in the house alone. She
-lay down in her room on the sofa with an interesting new book.
-
-After the cheer and ease of the holidays, Natasha felt in good
-spirits. She was comfortable, tranquil and cheerful. The hangings
-on the windows were impenetrably opaque. The lamp, burning brightly
-and evenly, concealed its garish white blaze from her eyes under its
-trimmed, beaded shade. The whole small room was lost in a luminous
-twilight.
-
-At last, however, page after page of running lines of print tired
-Natasha. She dropped into a doze, and was shortly sound asleep. The
-open book fell softly on the rug.
-
-
-
-XLIII
-
-
-Suddenly a bell rings. Natasha gives a start.
-
-Ours? No. The bell rang so timidly, so hesitatingly. It was as though
-she heard it ring in a dream, and not in reality; again, it might have
-been the ring of some mischievous urchin.
-
-Perhaps she had only imagined it. It is so comfortable to doze. She
-feels too lazy to get up. Let them ring.
-
-But here is a second ring, more insistent and louder.
-
-Natasha jumps up and runs into the vestibule, rearranging her hair on
-the way. Remembering that she is alone in the house she does not open
-the door, but asks: "Who's there?"
-
-From behind the door she can hear the low, somewhat hoarse voice of the
-telegraph boy: "A telegram."
-
-Her heart begins to beat with fright. It is always terrible to receive
-telegrams. For only good news travels slowly. Bad news makes haste.
-
-Natasha puts one end of the door-chain to a little hook in the door.
-Then she opens the door partly and looks out. There stands the
-messenger in his uniform, with a metal plate in his cap. He hands her
-the telegram.
-
-"Sign here, miss."
-
-The grey-white, dry paper trembles in Natasha's hands. Natasha feels a
-sudden tug at her heart. She speaks incoherently:
-
-"What is it? Oh my God! Sign, did you say?"
-
-She runs to the table. Her hands tremble. She has managed somehow to
-scrawl her family name "Ozoreva," the pen hesitating and scratching
-upon the grey paper.
-
-"Here is the signature."
-
-Across the little door-chain she thrusts the signed paper and a tip
-into the hand of the messenger. Then she bangs the door to after him.
-Now she is in front of the lamp. What can it be?
-
-Tearing the seal open she reads. Terrible words. Such simple, yet such
-incomprehensible words. Because they are about Boris.
-
-"_Boris has shot ----. Arrested with comrades Military trial to-morrow.
-Death sentence threatened_."
-
-
-
-XLIV
-
-
-Natasha re-reads the telegram. A sudden terror, strangely akin to
-shame, for a moment strikes at her heart. She can hear the heavy beat
-of blood in her temples. She is, as it were, being strangled from all
-sides; she can hardly breathe; the walls seem to have come together,
-oppressing her on all sides; and the rapid, pale, pencilled strokes
-seem also to have run together into one jumble on the grey paper.
-
-Certain thoughts, one after the other, slowly make way into Natasha's
-dimmed consciousness--oppressive, evil, pitiless thoughts.
-
-Stupefied, she wonders how she shall tell her mother. She observes that
-her hands tremble. She recalls the telephone number of the Lareyevs,
-where her mother undoubtedly is.
-
-Then terror seizes her anew; she shivers violently from head to foot as
-with ague. Her mind is a whirl of confusion.
-
-"No, it is a mistake! It cannot be. It is a cruel, senseless mistake!
-It is some one's stupid, cruel joke."
-
-Boris, our beloved boy, with his fine honest eyes--think of him
-hanging! There will be a rattle in his throat, as strangling, he will
-swing in the noose. With sharp, clutching pain, the gentle, childish
-neck will tighten; the sunburnt face will grow purple; the swollen
-tongue will creep out all in froth, and the widely dilated eyes will
-reflect the terror of cruel death.
-
-No, no, it cannot be! It is a mistake! But who can be malicious enough
-to make such a mistake?
-
-And then where is Boris?
-
-Her cold reasoning says that it is so, that no mistake has been made.
-The words are clear, the address is correct--yes, yes! It was really to
-be expected. Here it is, this lavishness of life which he dreamt of,
-which they both dreamt of. "I love all immoderation. To be lavish--only
-then we may reach our goal!"
-
-Her legs tremble. She feels herself terribly weak. She sits down on the
-sofa.
-
-Oh God, what's to be done? How is she to tell her mother this terrible
-thing?
-
-Or should she conceal it? And do everything that could be done by
-herself? But no, she could do ridiculously little herself!
-
-It is necessary to tell. It must be done quickly. She must not lose
-an instant. Perhaps it is still possible to save Boris, by going, by
-petitioning.
-
-Why is she sitting still then? It is necessary to act at once.
-
-Natasha seizes the telephone. What a long time the operator takes to
-answer.
-
-At last she is connected. She can hear sounds of music and the hum of
-voices.
-
-A cheerful, familiar voice asks:
-
-"Who's there?"
-
-"It is Natasha Ozoreva."
-
-"Good evening, Natasha," says Marusya Lareyeva loudly. "What a pity you
-did not come. We are having a fine time."
-
-"Good evening, dear Marusya. Is mamma with you?"
-
-"Yes, she is here. Shall I call her?"
-
-"No, no, for God's sake. Let some one break it to her...."
-
-"Has anything happened?"
-
-"Marusya, a terrible misfortune. Our Boris has been arrested."
-
-"My God! For what?"
-
-"I don't know. He'll have a military trial. I feel desperate. It's so
-terrible. For God's sake, don't frighten mother too much. Tell her to
-come home at once, please."
-
-"Oh, my God, how awful!"
-
-"Oh, Marusya, dearest, for God's sake, be quick."
-
-"I'll tell my mother at once. Wait at the telephone, Natasha."
-
-Natasha holds the receiver to her ear and waits. She hears the noise of
-footsteps. Some one has begun to sing.
-
-Then again the same voice, extremely agitated:
-
-"Natasha, do you hear? Your mother wants to speak to you herself."
-
-Natasha trembles with fright. Good God, what shall she tell her mother!
-She inquires:
-
-"What? Is she coining herself to the telephone?" she asks.
-
-"Yes, yes. Your mother is here now."
-
-
-
-XLV
-
-
-The voice of Sofia Alexandrovna, terribly agitated, is heard:
-
-"Natasha, is that you? For God's sake, what has happened?"
-
-Natasha replies:
-
-"Yes, mamma, it is I. A telegram has come. Mamma, don't be frightened,
-it must be a mistake."
-
-This time the voice is more controlled.
-
-"Read me the telegram at once."
-
-"Just a moment. I'll get it," says Natasha.
-
-The telegram is read.
-
-"What, a military trial?"
-
-"Yes, military."
-
-"To-morrow?"
-
-"Yes, yes, to-morrow."
-
-"Death sentence threatened?"
-
-"Mamma, please be yourself, for God's sake. Perhaps something can be
-done."
-
-"We must go there. Get the things ready, Natasha. Mother and I are
-returning at once, and we will take the first train out."
-
-The conversation is at an end.
-
-Natasha is alone. She runs about the deserted house, letting things
-fall in the poignant silence. She is busy with travelling bags and with
-pillows.
-
-She stops to look at the time-table. There is a train at half-past
-twelve. Yes, there is still time to catch it.
-
-Then the bell rings, frightening her even more than the earlier ring.
-The mother and the grandmother have arrived, pale and distraught.
-
-
-
-XLVI
-
-
-A sleepless, wearisome journey in the train. The wheels roll on with
-a measured, jarring sound. Stops are made. How slow it all is! How
-agonizing! If only it would be quicker, quicker!
-
-Or were it better to wish that time should be arrested? That its huge,
-shaggy wings outspread and flapping above the world should suddenly
-become motionless? That its owlish glance should be stilled for ever in
-the instant just before the terrible word is said?
-
-They reach their destination in the morning. At the station, a dirty,
-dejected place, they are met by a cousin of Natasha's, an attorney by
-profession. From his pale, worried face, they guess that everything is
-over.
-
-He talks quickly and incoherently. He comforts them with hopes in
-which he himself does not believe. The trial had been held early that
-morning. Boris and both his comrades--all of the same green youth--had
-been sentenced to die by hanging. The court would entertain no appeal.
-The only hope lay in the district general. He was really not a bad man
-at heart. Perhaps, by imploring, he might be induced to lighten the
-sentence to that of hard labour for an indefinite period.
-
-Poor mothers! What is it they implore?
-
-
-
-XLVII
-
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna and Natasha arrived at the general's. They waited
-long in the quiet, cold-looking reception-room; the glossy parquet
-floor shone, portraits in heavy gilt frames hung on the walls, and the
-careful steps of uniformed officials, coming through a large white
-door, resounded from time to time.
-
-At last they were received. The general listened most amiably, but
-declined emphatically to do anything. He rose, clinked his spurs, and
-stretched himself to his full height; He stood there tall, erect, his
-breast decorated with orders, his head grey, his face ruddy, with black
-eyebrows and broad nose.
-
-In vain the humiliating entreaties.
-
-Pale, the proud mother knelt before the general and, weeping bitterly,
-she kissed his hands and at last threw herself at his feet--all in
-vain. She received the cold answer:
-
-"I am sorry, madam, it is impossible. I understand your affliction,
-I sympathize fully; with your sorrow, but what can I do? Whose fault
-is it? Upon me lies a great responsibility toward my Emperor and my
-country. I have my duty--I can't help you. It is against yourself that
-you ought to bring your reproaches--you've brought him up."
-
-Of what avail the tears of a poor mother? Strike thy head upon the
-parquet floor, bend thy face to the black glitter of his boots; or else
-depart, proud and silent. It is all the same, he can do nothing. Thy
-tears and thy entreaties do not touch him, thy curses do not offend
-him. He is a kind man, he is the loving father of a family, but his
-upright martial soul does not tremble before the word death. More than
-once he had risked his life boldly in battle--what is the life of a
-conspirator to him?
-
-"But he is a mere boy!"
-
-"No, madam, this is not a childish prank. I am sorry."
-
-He walks away. She hears the measured clinking of his spurs. The
-parquet floor reflects dimly his tall, erect figure.
-
-"General, have pity!"
-
-The cold, white door has swung to after him. She hears the quiet,
-pleasant voice of a young official. He raises her from the floor and
-helps her to find her way out.
-
-
-
-XLVIII
-
-
-They granted a last meeting. A few minutes passed in questions,
-answers, embraces, and tears.
-
-Boris said very little.
-
-"Don't cry, mamma. I am not afraid. There is nothing else they can do.
-They don't feed you at all badly here. Remember me to all. And you,
-Natasha, take care of mother. One sacrifice is enough from our family.
-Well, good-bye."
-
-He seemed somehow callous and distant. He seemed to be thinking of
-something else, of something he could tell no one. And his words had an
-external ring, as though merely to make conversation.
-
-That night, before daybreak, Boris was hanged. The scaffold was set up
-in the gaol courtyard. The spot where he was buried was kept secret.
-
-The mother implored the next day: "Show me his grave at least!"
-
-What was there to show! He was laid in a coffin, he was put into a hole
-in the earth and the soil that covered him was smoothed down to its
-original level--we all know how such culprits are buried.
-
-"Tell me at least how he died."
-
-"Well, he was a brave one. He was calm, a bit serious. And he refused a
-priest, and would not kiss the cross."
-
-They returned home. A fog of melancholy hung over them, and within them
-there lit up a spark of mad hope--no, Borya is not dead, Borya will
-return.
-
-
-
-XLIX
-
-
-The thought that Boris had been hanged could not enter into their
-habitual, everyday thoughts. Only in the hour when the sun was at its
-zenith, and in the hour of the midnight moon, it would penetrate their
-awakened consciousness like a sharp poniard. Again it would pierce
-the soul with a sharp, tormenting pain, and again it would vanish in
-the dim mist of dawn with a kind of dull agony. And again, the same
-unreasonable conviction would awake in their hearts.
-
-No, Borya will return. The bell will suddenly ring, and the door will
-be opened to him.
-
-"Oh, Borya! Where have you been wandering?"
-
-How we shall kiss him! And how much there will be to tell!
-
-"What does it matter where you have been wandering. You have been
-wandering, and, you have been found, like the prodigal son."
-
-How happy all will be!
-
-The old nurse will not be consoled. She wails:
-
-"Boryushka, Boryushka, my incomparable one! I say to him: 'Boryushka,
-I'm going to the poor-house!' And he says to me: 'No,' says he,
-'_nyanechka_,[4] I'll not let you go to the poor-house. I,' he says,
-'will let you stop with me, _nyanechka_; only wait till I grow up,'
-says he, 'and you can live with me.' Oh, Boryushka, what's this you've
-done!"
-
-In the morning the old nurse enters the vestibule. Whose grey overcoat
-is it that she sees hanging on the rack? It is Borya's, his _gymnasia_
-uniform. Has he then not gone to the _gymnasia_ to-day?
-
-She wanders into the dining-room, making a muffled noise with her soft
-slippers.
-
-"Natashenka, is Boryushka home to-day? His overcoat's there on the
-rack. Or is he sick?"
-
-"_Nyanechka_!" exclaims Natasha.
-
-And, frightened, she looks at her mother.
-
-The old nurse has suddenly remembered. She is crying. The grey head
-shivers in its black wrap. The old woman wails:
-
-"I go there and I look, what's that I see? Borya's overcoat. I say to
-myself, Borya's gone to the _gymnasia_, why's his overcoat here? It's
-no holiday. Oh, my Boryushka is gone!"
-
-She wails louder and louder. Then the old woman falls to the floor and
-begins to beat the boards with her head.
-
-"Borechka, my own Borechka! If the Lord had only taken me, an old
-woman, instead of him. What's the use of life to me? I drag along, of
-no cheer to myself or to any one else."
-
-Natasha, helpless, tries to quiet her.
-
-"_Nyanechka_, dearest, rest a little."
-
-"May Thou rest me, O Lord! My heart told me something was wrong. I've
-been dreaming all sorts of bad dreams. These black dreams have come
-true! Oh, Borechka, my own!"
-
-The old woman continues to beat her head and to wail. Natasha implores
-her mother:
-
-"For God's sake, mamma, have Borya's overcoat taken from the rack."
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna looks at her with her dark, smouldering eyes and
-says morosely:
-
-"Why? It had better hang there. He might suddenly need it."
-
-Oh, hateful memories! As long as the evil Dragon reigns in the heavens
-it is impossible to escape them.
-
-Natasha roams restlessly, she can find no place for herself. She is
-off to the woods; she recalls Boris there, and that he has been hanged.
-She is off to the river; she recalls Boris there, and that he is no
-more. She is back at home, and the walls of the old house recall Boris
-to her, and that he will not return.
-
-Like a pale shadow the mother wanders along the walks of the garden,
-choosing to pause there where the shade is densest. The old grandmother
-sits upon a bench and finishes the reading of the newspapers. It is the
-same every day.
-
-
-[4] Little nurse.
-
-
-
-L
-
-
-And now the evening is approaching. The sun is low and red. It looks
-straight into people's eyes as though, while expiring, it were begging
-for mercy. A breeze blows from the river, and it brings the laughter of
-white water nymphs.
-
-A number of noisy urchins are running in the road; their shirt-tails
-flap merrily in the wind, while their sleeves are filled with wind like
-balloons. The sound of a harmonica comes from the distance, and its
-song runs on very merrily. The corncrake screeches in the field, and
-its call resembles a general's loud snore.
-
-The old house once more casts and arranges its long dark shadows
-disturbed by the intrusive day. Its windows blaze forth with the red
-fire of the evening sun.
-
-The gilliflower exhales its seductive aroma in some of the distant
-paths. The roses seem even redder in the sunset, and more sweet. The
-eternal Aphrodite--the naked marble of her proud body taking on a rose
-tint--smiles again, and lets fall her draperies as fascinatingly as
-ever.
-
-And everything is directed as before toward cherished, unreasonable
-hopes. Enfeebled by the day's heat, and by the sadness of the bright
-day, the harassed soul has exhausted its measure of suffering, and it
-falls from the iron embrace of sorrow to the beloved dark earth of the
-past, once more besprinkled with dreamily refreshing dew.
-
-And again, as at dawn, the three women in the old house await Boris, or
-a short time happy in their madness.
-
-They await him, and they chat of him, until, from behind the trees of
-the dark wood, the cold moon shows her ever sad face. The dead moon is
-under a white shroud of mist.
-
-Then again they remember that Borya has been hanged, and they meet at
-the green-covered pond to weep for him.
-
-
-
-LI
-
-
-Natasha is the first to leave the house. She has on a white dress and a
-black cloak. Her black hair is covered with a thin black kerchief. Her
-very deep dark eyes shine with flame-like brightness. She stands, her
-pale face uplifted toward the moon. She awaits the other two.
-
-Elena Kirillovna and Sofia Alexandrovna arrive together.
-
-Elena Kirillovna leaves the house slightly earlier, but Sofia
-Alexandrovna runs after her and overtakes her almost at the pond. They
-wear black cloaks, black kerchiefs on their heads, and black shoes.
-
-Natasha begins:
-
-"On the night before the execution he did not sleep. The moon, just as
-clear as to-night's, looked into the narrow window of his cell. On the
-floor the moon sadly outlined a green rhomb, intersected lengthwise and
-crosswise by narrow dark strokes. Boris walked up and down his cell,
-and looked now at the moon, now at the green rhomb, and thought--I wish
-I knew his thoughts that night."
-
-Her remark has a quite tranquil sound. It might have been about a
-stranger.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna now and again wrings her hands, and as she begins to
-speak her voice is agitated and heavy with grief:
-
-"What can one think at such moments! The moon, long dead, looks in.
-There are five steps from the door to the window, four steps across.
-The mind springs feverishly from object to object. That the execution
-is to take place on the morrow is the one thing you try not to think
-of. Stubbornly you repel the thought. But it remains, it refuses to
-depart, it throttles the soul with an oppressive, horrible nightmare.
-The anguish is intense and enfeebling. But I do not wish my gaolers and
-all these officials who are come to me to see my anguish. I will be
-calm. And yet what anguish--if only, lifting up my pale face, I could
-cry aloud to the pale moon!"
-
-Elena Kirillovna whispers faintly:
-
-"Terrible, Sonyushka."
-
-There are tears in her voice--simple, old-womanish, grandmotherly tears.
-
-
-
-LII
-
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna, ignoring the interruption, continues:
-
-"Why should I really go to my death boldly and resolutely? Is it not
-all the same? I shall die in the courtyard, in the dark of night.
-Whether I die boldly, or weep like a coward, or beg for mercy, or
-resist the executioner--is it not all the same? No one will know how I
-died. I shall face death alone. Why should I really suffer this wild
-anguish? I will raise up my voice to wail and to weep, and I will shake
-the whole gaol with my despairing cries, and I will awake the town, the
-so-called free town, which is only a larger gaol--so that I shall not
-suffer alone, but that others shall share in my last agony, in my last
-dread. But no, I won't do that. It is my fate to die alone."
-
-Natasha rises, trembles, presses her mother's cold hand in hers, and
-says:
-
-"Mamma, mamma, it is terrible, if alone. No, don't say that he felt
-alone. We shall be with him."
-
-Elena Kirillovna whispers:
-
-"Yes, Sonyushka, it would be terrible alone. In such moments!"
-
-"We are with him," insists Natasha vehemently. "We are with him now."
-
-A smile is on Sofia Alexandrovna's lips, a smile such as a dying person
-smiles to greet his last consolation. Sofia Alexandrovna speaks:
-
-"My last consolation is the thought that I am not alone. He is with
-me. These walls are unrealities, this gaol built by men is a lie. What
-is real and true is my suffering and I am one with them in my grief. A
-poor consolation! And yet I, just think, this extraordinary I, Boris, I
-am dying."
-
-"I am dying," repeats Natasha.
-
-Her voice is clouded, and it is fraught with despair. And all three
-remain silent for a brief while, overcome by the spell of these tragic
-words.
-
-
-
-LIII
-
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna speaks again. Her voice sounds tranquil, deliberate,
-measured:
-
-"There is no consolation for the dying. His grief is boundless. The
-cold moon continues to torment him. A moan struggles to break from his
-throat, a moan like the wild baying of a caged beast."
-
-Natasha speaks sadly:
-
-"But he is not alone, not alone. We are with him in his grief."
-
-Her eyes, darker than a dark night, look up toward the lifeless moon,
-and the green enchantress, reflected in them, torments her with a dull
-pain.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna smiles--and her smile is dead--and with the voice of
-inconsolable sorrow she speaks again slowly and calmly:
-
-"We are with him only in his despair, in his pitiful inconsolability,
-in his dark solitude. But he was alone, alone, when he was strangled
-by the hand of a hired hangman; strangled in that dark enclosure which
-it is not for us to demolish. And the dead moon tormented him, as it
-torments us. She tempted him with the mad desire to moan wildly,
-like a wild beast before dying. And now we, in this hour, under this
-moon--are we not also tormented by the same mad desire to run, to run
-far from people, and to moan and to wail, and to flee from a grief too
-great to be borne!"
-
-She rises abruptly and walks away, wringing her beautiful white hands.
-She walks fast, almost runs, driven as it were by some strange, furious
-will not her own. Natasha follows her with the measured yet rapid,
-deliberate, mechanical gait of an automaton. And behind them trips
-along Elena Kirillovna, who lets fall a few scant tears on her black
-cloak.
-
-The moon follows them callously in their hurried journey across the
-garden, across the field, into that wood, into that still glade, where
-once the children sang their proud hymn, and where they let their mad
-desires be known to one who was to betray them for a price--young blood
-for gold.
-
-The grass in the fields is wet with dew. The river is white with mist.
-The high moon is clear and cold. Everywhere it is quiet, as though all
-the earthly rustlings and noises had lost themselves in the moon's dead
-light.
-
-
-
-LIV
-
-
-And here is the glade. "Natasha, do you remember? How warmly they all
-sang _Arise, ye branded with a curse!_ Natasha, will you sing it again?
-Do. Is it a torture?"
-
-"I'll sing," replies Natasha quietly.
-
-She sings in a low voice, almost to herself. The mother listens, and
-the grandmother listens--but what have the birches and the grass and
-the clear moon to do with human songs!
-
-    In the International
-    As brothers all men shall meet!
-
-Her song is at an end. The wood is silent. The moon waits. The mist is
-pensive. The birches seem to listen. The sky is clear.
-
-Ah, for whom is all this life? Who calls? Who responds? Or is it all
-the play of the dead?
-
-Loudly wailing, the mother calls: "Borya, Borya!"
-
-Overflowing with tears Elena Kirillovna replies: "Borya won't come.
-There is no Borya."
-
-Natasha stretches out her arms toward the lifeless moon, and cries
-out: "Borya has been hanged!"
-
-All three now stand side by side, looking at the moon, and weeping.
-Louder grows their sobbing, fiercer the note of despair. Their moans
-merge finally into a prolonged, wild wailing, which can be heard for
-some distance.
-
-The dog at the forester's hut is restless. Trembling with all his lean
-body, his short hair bristling, he has pricked up his ears. Rising, he
-stretches his slender limbs. His sharp muzzle, showing its teeth, is
-uplifted to the tormenting moon. His eyes burn with a yearning flame.
-The dog bays in answer to the distant wail of the women in the wood.
-
-People are asleep.
-
-
-
-
-THE UNITER OF SOULS
-
-
-Garmonov was extremely young, and had not yet learnt to time his
-visits; he usually came at the wrong hour and did not know when to
-leave. He realized at last that he was boring Sonpolyev almost to
-madness. It dawned upon him that he was taking Sonpolyev from his
-work. He recalled that Sonpolyev had borne himself with a constrained
-politeness toward him, and that at times a caustic phrase escaped his
-lips.
-
-Garmonov grew painfully red, a sudden flame spread itself under the
-smooth skin of his drawn cheeks. He rose irresolutely. Then he sat down
-again, for he saw that Sonpolyev was about to say something. Sonpolyev
-took up the thread of the conversation in a depressed voice:
-
-"So you've put a mask on! What do you want me to understand by that?"
-
-Garmonov muttered in a confused way:
-
-"It's necessary to dissemble sometimes."
-
-Sonpolyev would not listen further, but gave way to his irritation:
-
-"What do you understand about it? What do you know of masks? There is
-no mask without a responding soul. It is impossible to put on a mask
-without harmonizing your soul with its soul. Otherwise the mask is
-uncovered."
-
-Sonpolyev grew silent, and looked miserably before him. He did not look
-at Garmonov. He felt again a strange, instinctive hate for him, such as
-he felt at their first meeting. He had always tried to hide this hate
-under a mask of great heartiness; he had urged Garmonov most earnestly
-to visit him, and praised Garmonov's verses to every one. But from time
-to time he spoke coarse, malicious words to the timid young man, who
-then flushed violently and shrank back within himself. Sonpolyev was
-quick to pity him, but soon again he detested his cautious, sluggish
-ways; he thought him secretive and cunning.
-
-Garmonov rose, said good-bye, and went out. Sonpolyev was left alone.
-He felt miserable because his work had been interrupted. He no longer
-felt in the same working mood. A secret malice tormented him. Why
-should this seemingly insignificant youth, Garmonov, evoke such
-bitterness in him? He had a large mouth, a long, very smooth face;
-his movements were slow, his voice had a drawl; there was something
-ambiguous about him, and enigmatical.
-
-Sonpolyev began sadly to pace the room. He stopped before the wall,
-and began to speak. There are many people nowadays who have long
-conversations with the wall--the wall, indeed, makes an interested
-interlocutor, and a faithful one.
-
-"It is possible," he said, "to hate so strongly and so poignantly only
-that which is near to one. But in what does this devilish nearness
-consist? By what impure magic has some demon bound our souls together?
-Souls so unlike one another! Mine, that of a man of action with a bent
-for repose; and his, the soul of a large-mouthed fledgling, who is as
-cunning as a conspirator, and as cautious as a coward. And what is
-there in his character that conflicts so strangely with his appearance?
-Who has stolen the best and most needful part from this moly-coddle's
-soul?"
-
-He spoke quietly, almost in a murmur. Then he exclaimed as though in a
-rage:
-
-"Who has done this? Man, or the enemy of man?"
-
-And he heard the strange answer:
-
-"I!"
-
-Some one spoke this word in a clear, shrill voice. It was like the
-sharp yet subdued ring of rusty steel. Sonpolyev trembled nervously. He
-looked round him. There was no one in the room.
-
-He sat down in the arm-chair and looked, scowling, on the table, buried
-under books and papers; and he waited. He awaited something. The
-waiting grew painful. He said loudly:
-
-"Well, why do you hide? You've begun to speak, you might as well
-appear. What do you wish to say? What is it?"
-
-He began to listen intently. His nerves were strained. It seemed as
-though the slightest noise would have sounded like an archangel's
-trumpet.
-
-Then there was sudden laughter. It was sharp, and it was like the sound
-of rusty metal. The spring of some elaborate toy seemed to unwind
-itself, and trembled and tinkled in the subdued quiet of the evening.
-Sonpolyev put the palms of his hands over his temples, and rested upon
-his elbows. He listened intently. The laugh died away with mechanical
-evenness. It was evident that it came from somewhere quite near,
-perhaps from the table itself.
-
-Sonpolyev waited. He gazed with intent eyes at the bronze inkstand. He
-asked derisively: "Ink sprite, was it not you that laughed?"
-
-The sharp voice, quite unlike the muffled voice of phantoms, answered
-with the same derision: "No, you are mistaken; and you are not very
-brilliant. I am not an ink sprite. Don't you know the rustling voices
-of ink sprites? You are a poor observer."
-
-And again there was laughter, again the rusty spring tinkled as it
-unwound itself.
-
-Sonpolyev said: "I don't know who you are--and how should I know!
-I cannot see you. Only I think that you are like the rest of your
-fraternity: you are always near us, you poke your noses into
-everything, and you bring sadness and evil spells upon us; yet you dare
-not show yourselves before our eyes."
-
-The metallic voice replied: "The fact is, I came to have a talk with
-you. I love to talk with such as yourself--with half-folk."
-
-The voice grew silent, and Sonpolyev waited for it to laugh. He
-thought: "He must punctuate his every phrase with that hideous
-laughter."
-
-Indeed, he was not mistaken. The strange visitor really talked in this
-way: first he would speak a few words, then he would burst out into his
-sharp, rusty laughter. It seemed as though he used his words to wind up
-the spring, and that later the spring relaxed itself with his laughter.
-
-And while his laughter was still dying away with mechanical evenness
-the guest showed himself from behind the inkstand.
-
-He was small, and was no taller from head to foot than the fourth
-finger. He was grey-steel in colour. Owing to his small stature and to
-his rapid movements it was hard to tell whether the dim glow came from
-the body, or from a garment that stretched lightly over it. In any case
-it was something smooth, something expressly simple. The body seemed
-like a slender keg, broader at the belt, narrower at the shoulders and
-below. The arms and legs were of equal length and thickness, and of
-like nimbleness and flexibility; it seemed as though the arms were very
-long and thick, and the legs disproportionately short and thin. The
-neck was short. The face was hardy. The legs were widely astride. At
-the end of the back something was visible in the nature of a tail or
-a thick cone; like growths were upon the sides, under the elbows. The
-strange figure moved quickly, nimbly, and surely.
-
-The monster sat down on the bronze ridge of the inkstand, pushing aside
-the wooden pen-holder with his foot in order to be more comfortable. He
-grew quiet.
-
-Sonpolyev examined his face. It was lean, grey, and smooth. His eyes
-were small and glowed brightly. His mouth was large. His ears stuck out
-and were pointed at the top.
-
-He sat there, grasping the ridge with his hands, like a monkey.
-Sonpolyev asked: "Gracious guest, what do you want to say to me?"
-
-And in answer a slight voice--mechanically even, unpleasantly sharp and
-rather rusty in tone--made itself heard: "Man with a single head and
-a single soul, recall your past, your primitive experience of those
-ancient days when you and he lived in the same body."
-
-And again there was laughter, shrill and sharp, piercing the ear.
-
-While he was still laughing, the guest, with mechanical agility, turned
-a somersault; he stood on his hands, and Sonpolyev saw for the first
-time what he had taken for a tail was really a second head. This head
-did not differ in any way, as far as he could see, from the other head.
-Whether the heads were too small for him to observe, or whether the
-heads did not actually differ, it was quite certain that Sonpolyev
-did not see the slightest distinction between them. The arms reversed
-themselves as on hinges, and became quite like the legs; the first
-head, then losing its colour, hid itself between these arm-legs; while
-the former legs reversed themselves mechanically and became the arms.
-
-Sonpolyev looked at his strange guest with astonishment. The guest
-made wry faces and danced. And when at last he grew still and his
-laughter gradually died away, the second head began to speak: "How
-many souls have you, and how many consciousnesses? Can you tell me
-that? You pride yourself on the amazing differentiation of your
-organs, you have an idea that each member of your body fulfils its own
-well-defined functions. But tell me, stupid man, have you anything
-whereby to preserve the memory of your previous existences? The other
-head contains the rest of you, your early memories and your earlier
-experience. You argue subtly and craftily across the threshold of your
-pitiful consciousness, but your misfortune is that you have only one
-head."
-
-The guest burst out again into rusty, metallic laughter, and he laughed
-this time rather long. He laughed and he danced at the same time. He
-turned somersaults, or he rested upon one arm and upon one leg, thereby
-causing one of his sides to turn upward--until it was impossible to
-distinguish any of his four extremities. Afterwards his limbs again
-turned mechanically, and it became obvious that the growths on his
-sides were also heads. Each head spoke and laughed in its turn. Each
-head grimaced, mocked at him.
-
-Sonpolyev exclaimed in great fury: "Be silent!"
-
-The guest danced, shouted, and laughed.
-
-Sonpolyev thought: "I must catch him and crush him. Or I must smash
-the monster with a blow of the heavy press."
-
-But the guest continued to laugh and to make wry faces.
-
-"I dare not take him with my hands," thought Sonpolyev. "He might burn
-or scorch me. A knife would be better."
-
-He opened his penknife. Then he quickly directed its sharp point toward
-the middle of his guest's body. The four-headed monster gathered
-himself into a ball, flapped his four paws, and burst into piercing
-laughter. Sonpolyev threw his knife on the table, and exclaimed:
-"Hateful monster! What do you want of me?"
-
-The guest jumped upon the sharply pointed lid of the inkstand, perched
-himself upon one foot, stretched his arms upward, and exclaimed in an
-ugly, shrill voice: "Man with one head, recall your remote past when
-you and he were in the same body. The time you shared together in a
-dangerous adventure. Recall the dance of that terrible hour."
-
-Suddenly it grew dark. The laughter resounded, hoarse and hideous. The
-head was going round....
-
-Light columns moved forward out of the darkness. The ceiling was low.
-The torches glowed dimly. The red tongues of flame wavered in the
-scented air. The flute poured out its notes. Handsome young limbs moved
-in measure to its music.
-
-And it seemed to Sonpolyev that he was young and powerful, and that he
-was dancing round a banqueting table. A shrivelled, insolent, drunken
-face was looking at him; the banqueter was laughing uproariously,
-he was happy, and the dance of the half-naked youths pleased him.
-Sonpolyev felt that a furious rage was strangling him, and was
-hindering him from carrying out his project. He danced past the
-carousing man and his hands trembled. A reddish mist of hate dimmed his
-sight.
-
-His second soul wakened at the same time; it was the cunning, the
-sidling, the feline soul. This time the youth smiled at the happy man;
-he floated gracefully past him, a sweet, gentle boy. The banqueter
-laughed loudly. The youth's naked limbs and bared torso cheered the
-lord of the feast.
-
-And again there was hate, which dimmed his eyes with a red haze, and
-caused his hands to tremble with fury.
-
-Some one whispered angrily: "Are we going to twirl so long
-fruitlessly? It is time. It is time. Put an end to it!"
-
-The friendly spirits prevailed. The two souls flowed together. Hate
-and cunning became one. There was a light, floating movement, then a
-powerful stroke; nimble feet swept the youth into the swift, beautiful
-dance. There was a hoarse outcry. Then an uproar. Everything became
-confused....
-
-And again there was darkness.
-
-Sonpolyev awoke: the same small monster was dancing on the table,
-grimacing and laughing uproariously.
-
-Sonpolyev asked: "What's the meaning of this?"
-
-His guest replied: "Two souls once dwelt! in this youth, and one of
-them is now yours; it is a soul of exultant emotions and of passionate
-desires, it is an ever insatiable, trembling soul."
-
-Then there was laughter, jarring on the ear. The monster danced on.
-
-Sonpolyev shouted: "Stop, you dance devil! It seems to me you wish to
-say that the second soul of this primitive youth lives in the feeble
-body of this despicable, smooth-faced youngster?"
-
-The guest stopped laughing and exclaimed:
-
-"Man, you have at last understood what I wished to tell you. Now
-perhaps you will guess who I am, and why I have come."
-
-Sonpolyev waited until the trembling, shrill laughter ceased, and he
-answered his guest:
-
-"You are the uniter of souls. But why did you not join us at our birth?"
-
-The monster hissed, curled up, then stopped and threw upward one of his
-side heads and exclaimed:
-
-"We can repair this if you like. Do you wish it?"
-
-"I wish it," Sonpolyev replied quickly. "Call him to you on New Year's
-Eve, and call me. This hair will enable you to summon me."
-
-The monster ran quickly to the lamp, and placing upon its stand a
-short, thin black hair continued speaking: "When you light it I'll
-come. But you ought to know that! neither you nor he will preserve
-afterward a separate existence. And the man who will depart from here
-shall contain both souls, but it will be neither you nor he."
-
-Then he disappeared. His shrill, rusty laughter still resounded and
-tormented the ear, but Sonpolyev no longer saw any one before him.
-Only a black hair on the flat stand of the lamp reminded him of his
-guest.
-
-Sonpolyev took the hair and put it into his purse.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-The last day of the year was approaching midnight.
-
-Garmonov was sitting once more at Sonpolyev's. They spoke quietly, in
-subdued voices. It was painful. Sonpolyev asked: "You do not regret
-coming to my lonely party?"
-
-The smooth-faced young man smiled, and this made his teeth seem very
-white. He drawled out his words very slowly, and what he said was so
-tedious and so empty that Sonpolyev had no desire to listen to him.
-Sonpolyev, without continuing the conversation, asked quite bluntly:
-"You remember your earlier existence?"
-
-"Not very well," answered Garmonov.
-
-It was clear that he did not understand the question, and that he
-thought Sonpolyev had asked him about his childhood.
-
-Sonpolyev frowned in his vexation. He began to explain what he wished
-to say. He felt that his speech was involved and long. And this vexed
-him still more.
-
-But Garmonov had understood. He grew cheerful. He flushed slightly. His
-words had a more animated sound than usual: "Yes, yes, I sometimes feel
-that I have lived before. It is such a strange feeling. It's as though
-that life was fuller, bolder and freer; and that I dared to do things
-that I dare not do now.
-
-"And isn't it true," asked Sonpolyev in some agitation, "that you feel
-as though you had lost something, as though you now lack the most
-significant part of your being?"
-
-"Yes," answered Garmonov with emphasis. "That's precisely my feeling."
-
-"Would you like to restore this missing part?" Sonpolyev continued to
-question. "To be once more as before, whole and bold; to contain in one
-body--which shall feel, itself light and young and free--the fullness
-of life and the union of the antagonistic identities of our human
-breed. To be, indeed, more than whole; to feel as it were, in one's
-breast, the beating of a doubled heart; to be this and that; to join
-two clashing souls within oneself, and to wrest the necessary manhood
-and hardihood for great deeds from the fiery struggle of intense
-contradictions."
-
-"Yes, yes," said Garmonov, "I, too, sometimes dream about this."
-
-Sonpolyev was afraid to look at the irresolute, confused, smooth face
-of his young visitor. He vaguely feared that Garmonov's face would
-disconcert him. He made haste.
-
-Besides, midnight was approaching. Sonpolyev said quietly: "I have
-the means in my hands to realize this dream. Do you wish to have it
-realized?"
-
-"I should like to," said Garmonov irresolutely.
-
-Sonpolyev raised his eyes. He looked at Garmonov with firmness and
-decision, as though he demanded something urgent and indispensable from
-him. He looked with a fixed intentness into the dark youthful eyes,
-which should have flamed fire, but instead they were the cold, crafty
-eyes of a little man with half a soul.
-
-But it seemed to Sonpolyev that under his fixed fiery gaze Garmonov's
-eyes were becoming inflamed with enthusiasm and burning wrath. The
-young man's smooth face had suddenly become significant and stern.
-
-"Do you wish it?" Sonpolyev asked him once more.
-
-Garmonov replied quickly, with decision:
-
-"I wish it."
-
-And then a strange, sharp, shrill voice pronounced: "Oh, small and
-cunning man; you who once during your ancient existence did a deed
-of great hardihood--that was when you joined your crafty soul to
-the flaming soul of an indignant man--tell us in this great, rare
-hour, have you firmly decided to merge your soul with the other, the
-different soul?"
-
-And Garmonov answered even more quickly and more decisively: "I wish
-to!"
-
-Sonpolyev listened to the shrill voice of the questioner. He recognized
-him. He was not mistaken: the "I wish to!" of Garmonov had already lost
-itself in the rusty, metallic laughter of that extraordinary visitor.
-
-Sonpolyev waited until the laughter ceased; then he said: "But you
-should know that you will have to reject all dissembling. And all the
-joys of separate existence. Once I achieve my magic we shall both
-perish, and we shall set free our souls, or rather we shall fuse them
-together, and there shall be neither I nor you--there will be one in
-our place, and he shall be fiery in his conception, and cold in his
-execution. Both of us will have to go, in order to give a place to him,
-in whom both of us will be united. My friend, have you resolved upon
-this terrible thing? It is a great and terrible thing."
-
-Garmonov smiled a strange, faltering smile. But the fiery glance of
-Sonpolyev extinguished the smile; and the young man, as if submitting
-to some inevitable and fated command, pronounced in a dim, lifeless
-voice: "I have decided. I wish it. I am not afraid."
-
-Sonpolyev took the hair out of his wallet with trembling fingers. He
-lit a candle. Behind it hid the four-headed visitor. His grey body
-seemed to quake; and it vacillated in the wavering flame that fondled
-in its flickering embraces the white body of the submissive candle.
-
-Garmonov opened his eyes wide, and they steadfastly followed
-Sonpolyev's movements. Sonpolyev put one end of the hair to the flame.
-The hair curled slightly, grew red, gave a flare. It burned very
-slowly, with a quiet rhythmic crackle, which resembled the laugh of the
-nocturnal guest.
-
-The words of the strange guest were simple but terrible. At first
-Sonpolyev was barely conscious of them; he was so agitated and so
-absorbed by the burning of the magic hair that he could see no
-connexion with the simple, familiar words of the monster. Suddenly
-terror came upon him. He had understood. There was derision in those
-simple, terribly simple words.
-
-"Little soul, failing little soul, timid little soul." Sonpolyev,
-frightened, looked at Garmonov. The smooth-faced young man sat there
-strangely shrunken. His face was pale. Beads of perspiration showed on
-his forehead. A pitiful, forced smile twisted his lips. When he saw
-that Sonpolyev was looking at him he shrank even more, and whispered in
-a broken, hollow voice, as though against his will: "It is terrible. It
-is painful. It is unnecessary."
-
-Suddenly he hunched like a cat--a cunning, timid, evil cat--and sprang
-forward; thus deformed, he pushed out his over-red lips and blew upon
-the almost consumed hair. The flame flickered upward, trembled and
-died. A tiny cloud of blue smoke spread itself in the still air. The
-shrill laughter of the nocturnal guest pierced the ears.
-
-The hideous words resounded: "Miscarried! Miscarried!"
-
-Garmonov sat down. He smiled guiltily and cunningly. Sonpolyev looked
-at him with unseeing eyes.
-
-The clock began to strike in the next room. And to each stroke the
-uniter of souls responded with the hoarse outcry: "Miscarried!"
-
-And he laughed again his metallic laughter like a wound-up spring. He
-whirled round and grimaced; he seemed to lose himself in the lifeless
-yellow electric light.
-
-At the twelfth stroke, the last voice of the passing year, the hideous
-voice grew silent.
-
-"Miscarried!"
-
-And the horrible laughter of the vanishing monster died away. Garmonov,
-truly rejoicing over his deliverance from an unhappy fate, rose, and
-said: "A happy New Year!"
-
-
-
-
-INVOKER OF THE BEAST
-
-
-
-I
-
-
-It was quiet and tranquil, and neither joyous nor sad. There was an
-electric light in the room. The walls seemed impregnable. The window
-was overhung by heavy, dark-green draperies, even denser in tone than
-the green of the wall-paper. Both doors--the large one at the side, and
-the small one in the depth of the alcove that faced the window--were
-securely bolted. And there, behind them, reigned darkness and
-desolation in the broad corridor as well as in the spacious and cold
-reception-room, where melancholy plants yearned for their native soil.
-
-Gurov was lying on the divan. A book was in his hands. He often paused
-in his reading. He meditated and mused during these pauses, and it was
-always about the same thing. Always about _them_.
-
-They hovered near him. This he had noticed long ago. They were hiding.
-Their manner; was importunate. They rustled very quietly. For a long
-time they remained invisible to the eye. But one day, when Gurov awoke
-rather tired; sad and pale, and languidly turned on the electric light
-to dissipate the greyish gloom of an early winter morning--he espied
-one of them suddenly.
-
-Small, grey, shifty and nimble, _he_ flashed by, and in the twinkling
-of an eye disappeared.
-
-And thereafter, in the morning, or in the evening, Gurov grew used to
-seeing these small, shifty, house sprites run past him. This time he
-did not doubt that they would appear.
-
-To begin with he felt a slight headache, afterwards a sudden flash of
-heat, then of cold. Then, out of the corner, there emerged the long,
-slender Fever with her ugly, yellow face and her bony dry hands; she
-lay down at his side, and embraced him, and fell to kissing him and to
-laughing. And these rapid kisses of the affectionate and cunning Fever,
-and these slow approaches of the slight headache were agreeable.
-
-Feebleness spread itself over, the whole body, and lassitude also.
-This too was agreeable. It made him feel as though all the turmoil of
-life had receded into the distance. And people also became far away,
-unimportant, even unnecessary. He preferred to be with these quiet
-ones, these house sprites.
-
-Gurov had not been out for some days. He had locked himself in at home.
-He did not permit any one to come to him. He was alone. He thought
-about them. He awaited them.
-
-
-
-II
-
-
-This tedious waiting was cut short in a strange and unexpected manner.
-He heard the slamming of a distant door, and presently he became aware
-of the sound of unhurried footfalls which came from the direction of
-the reception-room, just behind the door of his room. Some one was
-approaching with a sure and nimble step.
-
-Gurov turned his head toward the door. A gust of cold entered the room.
-Before him stood a boy, most strange and wild in aspect. He was dressed
-in linen draperies, half-nude, barefoot, smooth-skinned, sun-tanned,
-with black tangled hair and dark, burning eyes. An amazingly perfect,
-handsome face; handsome to a degree which made it terrible to gaze
-upon its beauty. And it portrayed neither good nor evil.
-
-Gurov was not astonished. A masterful mood took hold of him. He could
-hear the house sprites scampering away to conceal themselves.
-
-The boy began to speak.
-
-"Aristomarchon! Perhaps you have forgotten your promise? Is this the
-way of valiant men? You left me when I was in mortal danger, you had
-made me a promise, which it is evident you did not intend to keep. I
-have sought for you such a long time! And here I have found you, living
-at your ease, and in luxury."
-
-Gurov fixed a perplexed gaze upon the half-nude, handsome lad; and
-turgid memories awoke in his soul. Something long since submerged arose
-in dim outlines and tormented his memory, which struggled to find a
-solution to the strange apparition; a solution, moreover, which seemed
-so near and so intimate.
-
-And what of the invincibility of his walls? Something had happened
-round him, some mysterious transformation had taken place. But Gurov,
-engulfed in his vain exertions to recall something very near to him and
-yet slipping away in the tenacious embrace of ancient memory, had not
-yet succeeded in grasping the nature of the change that he felt had
-taken place. He turned to the wonderful boy.
-
-"Tell me, gracious boy, simply and clearly, without unnecessary
-reproaches, what had I promised you, and when had I left you in a time
-of mortal danger? I swear to you, by all the holies, that my conscience
-could never have permitted me such a mean action as you reproach me
-with."
-
-The boy shook his head. In a sonorous voice, suggestive of the
-melodious outpouring of a stringed instrument, he said: "Aristomarchon,
-you always have been a man skilful with words, and not less skilful in
-matters requiring daring and prudence. If I have said that you left me
-in a moment of mortal danger I did not intend it as a reproach, and
-I do not understand why you speak of your conscience. Our projected
-affair was difficult and dangerous, but who can hear us now; before
-whom, with your craftily arranged words and your dissembling ignorance
-of what happened this morning at sunrise, can you deny that you had
-given me a promise?"
-
-The electric light grew dim. The ceiling seemed to darken and to recede
-into height. There was a smell of grass; its forgotten name, once, long
-ago, suggested something gentle and joyous. A breeze blew. Gurov raised
-himself, and asked: "What sort of an affair had we two contrived?
-Gracious boy, I deny nothing. Only I don't know what you are speaking
-of. I don't remember."
-
-Gurov felt as though the boy were looking at him, yet not directly. He
-felt also vaguely conscious of another presence no less unfamiliar and
-alien than that of this curious stranger, and it seemed to him that the
-unfamiliar form of this other presence coincided with his own form. An
-ancient soul, as it were, had taken possession of Gurov and enveloped
-him in the long-lost freshness of its vernal attributes.
-
-It was growing darker, and there was increasing purity and coolness
-in the air. There rose up in his soul the joy and ease of pristine
-existence. The stars glowed brilliantly in the dark sky. The boy spoke.
-
-"We had undertaken to kill the Beast. I tell you this under the
-multitudinous gaze of the all-seeing sky. Perhaps you were frightened.
-That's quite likely too! We had planned a great, terrible affair, that
-our names might be honoured by future generations."
-
-Soft, tranquil, and monotonous was the sound of a stream which purled
-its way in the nocturnal silence. The stream was invisible, but its
-nearness was soothing and refreshing. They stood under the broad
-shelter of a tree and continued the conversation begun at some other
-time.
-
-Gurov asked: "Why do you say that I had left you in a moment of mortal
-danger? Who am I that I should be frightened and run away?"
-
-The boy burst into a laugh. His mirth had the sound of music, and as
-it passed into speech his voice still quavered with sweet, melodious
-laughter.
-
-"Aristomarchon, how cleverly you feign to have forgotten all! I don't
-understand what makes you do this, and with such a mastery that you
-bring reproaches against yourself which I have not even dreamt of. You
-had left me in a moment of mortal danger because it had to be, and you
-could not have helped me otherwise than by forsaking me at the moment.
-You will surely not remain stubborn in your denial when I remind you
-of the words of the Oracle?"
-
-Gurov suddenly remembered. A brilliant light, as it were, unexpectedly
-illumined the dark domain of things forgotten. And in wild ecstasy, in
-a loud and joyous voice, he exclaimed: "_One_ shall kill the Beast!"
-
-The boy laughed. And Aristomarchon asked: "Did you kill the Beast,
-Timarides?"
-
-"With what?" exclaimed Timarides. "However strong my hands are, I
-was not one who could kill the Beast with a blow of the fist. We,
-Aristomarchon, had not been prudent and we were unarmed. We were
-playing in the sand by the stream. The Beast came upon us suddenly and
-he laid his paw upon me. It was for me to offer up my life as a sweet
-sacrifice to glory and to a noble cause; it was for you to execute our
-plan. And while he was tormenting my defenceless and unresisting body,
-you, fleet-footed Aristomarchon, could have run for your lance, and
-killed the now blood-intoxicated Beast. But the Beast did not accept
-my sacrifice. I lay under him, quiescent and still, gazing into his
-bloodshot eyes. He held his heavy paw on my shoulder, his breath came
-in hot, uneven gasps, and he sent out low snarls. Afterwards, he put
-out his huge, hot tongue and licked my face; then he left me."
-
-"Where is he now?" asked Aristomarchon.
-
-In a voice strangely tranquil and strangely sonorous in the quiet
-arrested stillness of the humid air, Timarides replied: "He followed
-me. I do not know how long I have been wandering until I found you.
-He followed me. I led him on by the smell of my blood. I do not know
-why he has not touched me until now. But here I have enticed him to
-you. You had better get the weapon which you had hidden so carefully
-and kill the Beast, while I in my turn will leave you in the moment of
-mortal danger, eye to eye with the enraged creature. Here's luck to
-you, Aristomarchon!"
-
-As soon as he uttered these words Timarides, started, to run. For a
-short time his cloak was visible in the darkness, a glimmering patch of
-white. And then he disappeared. In the same instant the air resounded
-with the savage bellowing of the Beast, and his ponderous tread became
-audible. Pushing aside the growth of shrubs there emerged from the
-darkness the huge, monstrous head of the Beast, flashing a livid
-fire out of its two enormous, flaming eyes. And in the dark silence
-of nocturnal trees the towering ferocious shape of the Beast loomed
-ominously as it approached Aristomarchon.
-
-Terror filled Aristomarchon's heart.
-
-"Where is the lance?" was the thought that quickly flashed across his
-brain.
-
-And in that instant, feeling the fresh night breeze on his face,
-Aristomarchon realized that he was running from the Beast. His
-ponderous springs and his spasmodic roars resounded closer and closer
-behind him. And as the Beast came up with him a loud cry rent the
-silence of the night. The cry came from Aristomarchon, who, recalling
-then some ancient and terrible words, pronounced loudly the incantation
-of the walls.
-
-And thus enchanted the walls erected themselves around him....
-
-
-
-III
-
-
-Enchanted, the walls stood firm and were lit up. A dreary light was
-cast upon them by the dismal electric lamp. Gurov was in his usual
-surroundings.
-
-Again came the nimble Fever and kissed him with her yellow, dry lips,
-and caressed him with her dry, bony hands, which exhaled heat and
-cold. The same thin volume, with its white pages, lay on the little
-table beside the divan where, as before, Gurov rested in the caressing
-embrace of the affectionate Fever, who showered upon him her rapid
-kisses. And again there stood beside him, laughing and rustling, the
-tiny house sprites.
-
-Gurov said loudly and indifferently: "The incantation of the walls!"
-
-Then he paused. But in what consisted this incantation? He had
-forgotten the words. Or had they never existed at all?
-
-The little, shifty, grey demons danced round the slender volume with
-its ghostly white pages, and kept on repeating with their rustling
-voices: "Our walls are strong. We are in the walls. We have nothing to
-fear from the outside."
-
-In their midst stood one of them, a tiny object like themselves, yet
-different from the rest. He was all black. His mantle fell from his
-shoulders in folds of smoke and flame. His eyes flashed like lightning.
-Terror and joy alternated quickly.
-
-Gurov spoke: "Who are you?"
-
-The black demon answered: "I am the Invoker of the Beast. In one of
-your long-past existences you left the lacerated body of Timarides on
-the banks of a forest stream. The Beast had satiated himself on the
-beautiful body of your friend; he had gorged himself on the flesh that
-might have partaken of the fullness of earthly happiness; a creature
-of superhuman perfection had perished in order to gratify for a moment
-the appetite of the ravenous and ever insatiable Beast. And the blood,
-the wonderful blood, the sacred wine of happiness and joy, the wine
-of superhuman bliss--what had been the fate of this wonderful blood?
-Alas! The thirsty, ceaselessly thirsty Beast drank of it to gratify
-his momentary desire, and is thirsty anew. You had left the body of
-Timarides, mutilated by the Beast, on the banks of the forest stream;
-you forgot the promise you had given your valorous friend, and even the
-words of the ancient Oracle had not banished fear from your heart. And
-do you think that you are safe, that the Beast will not find you?"
-
-There was austerity in the sound of his voice. While he was speaking
-the house sprites gradually ceased their dance; the little, grey house
-sprites stopped to listen to the Invoker of the Beast.
-
-Gurov then said in reply: "I am not worried about the Beast! I have
-pronounced eternal enchantment upon my walls and the Beast shall never
-penetrate hither, into my enclosure."
-
-The little grey ones were overjoyed, their voices tinkled with
-merriment and laughter; having gathered round, hand in hand, in a
-circle, they were on the point of bursting forth once more into dance,
-when the voice of the Invoker of the Beast rang out again, sharp and
-austere.
-
-"But I am here. I am here because I have found you. I am here because
-the incantation of the walls is dead. I am here because Timarides is
-waiting and importuning me. Do you hear the gentle laugh of the brave,
-trusting lad? Do you hear the terrible bellowing of the Beast?"
-
-From behind the wall, approaching nearer, could be heard the fearsome
-bellowing of the Beast.
-
-"The Beast is bellowing behind the wall, the invincible wall!"
-exclaimed Gurov in terror. "My walls are enchanted for ever, and
-impregnable against foes."
-
-Then spoke the black demon, and there was an imperious ring in his
-voice: "I tell you, man, the incantation of the walls is dead. And if
-you think you can save yourself by pronouncing the incantation of the
-walls, why then don't you utter the words?"
-
-A cold shiver passed down Gurov's spine. The incantation! He had
-forgotten the words of the ancient spell. And what mattered it? Was not
-the ancient incantation dead--dead?
-
-Everything about him confirmed with irrefutable evidence the death
-of the ancient incantation of the walls--because the walls, and the
-light and the shade which fell upon them, seemed dead and wavering.
-The Invoker of the Beast spoke terrible words. And Gurov's mind was
-now in a whirl, now in pain, and the affectionate Fever did not cease
-to torment him with her passionate kisses. Terrible words resounded,
-almost deadening his senses--while the Invoker of the Beast grew larger
-and larger, and hot fumes breathed from him, and grim terror. His eyes
-ejected fire, and when at last he grew so tall as to screen off the
-electric light, his black cloak suddenly fell from his shoulders. And
-Gurov recognized him--it was the boy Timarides.
-
-"Will you kill the Beast?" asked Timarides in a sonorous voice. "I have
-enticed him, I have led him to you, I have destroyed the incantation of
-the walls. The cowardly gift of inimical gods, the incantation of the
-walls, had turned into naught my sacrifice, and had saved you from your
-action. But the ancient incantation of the walls is dead--be quick,
-then, to take hold of your sword and kill the Beast. I have been a
-boy--I have become the Invoker of the Beast. He had drunk of my blood,
-and now he thirsts anew; he had partaken also of my flesh, and he is
-hungry again, the insatiable, pitiless Beast. I have called him to you,
-and you, in fulfilment of your promise, may kill the Beast. Or die
-yourself."
-
-He vanished. A terrible bellowing shook the walls. A gust of icy
-moisture blew across to Gurov.
-
-The wall facing the spot where Gurov lay opened, and the huge,
-ferocious and monstrous Beast entered. Bellowing savagely, he
-approached Gurov and laid his ponderous paw upon his breast. Straight
-into his heart plunged the pitiless claws. A terrible pain shot through
-his whole body. Shifting his blood-red eyes the Beast inclined his head
-toward Gurov and, crumbling the bones of his victim with his teeth,
-began to devour his yet-palpitating heart.
-
-
-
-
-THE WHITE DOG
-
-
-Everything grew irksome for Alexandra Ivanovna in the workshop of
-this out-of-the-way town--the patterns, the clatter of machines, the
-complaints of the customers; it was the shop in which she had served as
-apprentice and now for several years as cutter. Everything irritated
-Alexandra Ivanovna; she quarrelled with every one and abused the
-innocent apprentice Among others to suffer from her outbursts of temper
-was Tanechka, the youngest of the seamstresses, who only lately had
-been an apprentice. In the beginning Tanechka submitted to her abuse
-in silence. In the end she revolted, and, addressing herself to her
-assailant, said, quite calmly and affably, so that every one laughed:
-
-"Alexandra Ivanovna, you are a downright dog!"
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna felt humiliated.
-
-"You are a dog yourself!" she exclaimed.
-
-Tanechka sat there sewing. She paused now and then from her work and
-said in a calm, deliberate manner:
-
-"You always whine.... Certainly, you are a dog.... You have a dog's
-snout.... And a dog's ears.... And a wagging tail.... The mistress
-will soon drive you out of doors, because you are the most detestable
-of dogs, a poodle."
-
-Tanechka was a young, plump, rosy-cheeked girl with an innocent,
-good-natured face, which revealed, however, a trace of cunning. She sat
-there so demure, barefooted, still dressed in her apprentice clothes;
-her eyes were clear, and her brows were highly arched on her fine
-curved white forehead, framed by straight, dark chestnut hair, which
-in the distance looked black. Tanechka's voice was clear, even, sweet,
-insinuating, and if one could have heard its sound only, and not given
-heed to the words, it would have given the impression that she was
-paying Alexandra Ivanovna compliments.
-
-The other seamstresses laughed, the apprentices chuckled, they covered
-their faces with their black aprons and cast side glances at Alexandra
-Ivanovna. As for Alexandra Ivanovna, she was livid with rage.
-
-"Wretch!" she exclaimed. "I will pull your ears for you! I won't leave
-a hair on your head."
-
-Tanechka replied in a gentle voice:
-
-"The paws are a trifle short.... The poodle bites as well as barks....
-It may be necessary to buy a muzzle."
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna made a movement toward Tanechka. But before Tanechka
-had time to lay aside her work and get up, the mistress of the
-establishment, a large, serious-looking woman, entered, rustling her
-dress.
-
-She said sternly: "Alexandra Ivanovna, what do you mean by making such
-a fuss?"
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna, much agitated, replied: "Irina Petrovna, I wish you
-would forbid her to call me a dog!"
-
-Tanechka in her turn complained: "She is always snarling at something
-or other. Always quibbling at the smallest trifles."
-
-But the mistress looked at her sternly and said: "Tanechka, I can see
-through you. Are you sure you didn't begin? You needn't think that
-because you are a seamstress now you are an important person. If it
-weren't for your mother's sake----"
-
-Tanechka grew red, but preserved her innocent and affable manner. She
-addressed her mistress in a subdued voice: "Forgive me, Irina Petrovna,
-I will not do it again. But it wasn't altogether my fault...."
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna returned home almost ill with rage. Tanechka had
-guessed her weakness.
-
-"A dog! Well, then I am a dog," thought Alexandra Ivanovna, "but it is
-none of her affair! Have I looked to see whether she is a serpent or a
-fox? It is easy to find one out, but why make a fuss about it? Is a dog
-worse than any other animal?"
-
-The clear summer night languished and sighed, a soft breeze from the
-adjacent fields occasionally blew down the peaceful streets. The moon
-rose clear and full, that very same moon which rose long ago at another
-place, over the broad desolate steppe, the home of the wild, of those
-who ran free, and whined in their ancient earthly travail. The very
-same, as then and in that region.
-
-And now, as then, glowed eyes sick with longing; and her heart, still
-wild, not forgetting in town the great spaciousness of the stepped
-felt oppressed; her throat was troubled with a tormenting desire to
-howl like a wild thing.
-
-She was about to undress, but what was the use? She could not sleep,
-anyway.
-
-She went into the passage. The warm planks of the floor bent and
-creaked under her, and small shavings and sand which covered them
-tickled her feet not unpleasantly.
-
-She went out on the doorstep. There sat the _babushka_ Stepanida, a
-black figure in her black shawl, gaunt and shrivelled. She sat with her
-head bent, and it seemed as though she were warming herself in the rays
-of the cold moon.
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna sat down beside her. She kept looking at the old
-woman sideways. The large curved nose of her companion seemed to her
-like the beak of an old bird.
-
-"A crow?" Alexandra Ivanovna asked herself.
-
-She smiled, forgetting for the moment her longing and her fears. Shrewd
-as the eyes of a dog her own lighted up with the joy of her discovery.
-In the pale green light of the moon the wrinkles of her faded face
-became altogether invisible, and she seemed once more young and merry
-and light-hearted, just as she was ten years ago, when the moon had not
-yet called upon her to bark and bay of nights before the windows of the
-dark bathhouse.
-
-She moved closer to the old woman, and said affably: "_Babushka_
-Stepanida, there is something I have been wanting to ask you."
-
-The old woman turned to her, her dark face furrowed with wrinkles, and
-asked in a sharp, oldish voice that sounded like a caw:
-
-"Well, my dear? Go ahead and ask."
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna gave a repressed laugh; her thin shoulders suddenly
-trembled from a chill that ran down her spine.
-
-She spoke very quietly: "_Babushka_ Stepanida, it seems to me--tell me
-is it true?--I don't know exactly how to put it--but you, _babushka_,
-please don't take offence--it is not from malice that I----"
-
-"Go on, my dear, never fear, say it," said the old woman.
-
-She looked at Alexandra Ivanovna with glowing, penetrating eyes.
-
-"It seems to me, _babushka_--please, now, don't take offence--as
-though you, _babushka_ were a crow."
-
-The old woman turned away. She was silent and merely nodded her head.
-She had the appearance of one who had recalled something. Her head,
-with its sharply outlined nose, bowed and nodded, and at last it seemed
-to Alexandra Ivanovna that the old woman was dozing. Dozing, and
-mumbling something under her nose. Nodding her head and mumbling some
-old forgotten words--old; magic words.
-
-An intense quiet reigned out of doors. It was neither light nor dark,
-and everything seemed bewitched with the inarticulate mumbling of old
-forgotten words. Everything languished and seemed lost in apathy.
-Again a longing oppressed her heart. And it was neither a dream nor
-an illusion. A thousand perfumes, imperceptible by day, became subtly
-distinguishable, and they recalled something ancient and primitive,
-something forgotten in the long ages.
-
-In a barely audible voice the old woman mumbled: "Yes, I am a crow.
-Only I have no wings. But there are times when I caw, and I caw, and
-tell of woe. And I am given to forebodings, my dear; each time I have
-one I simply must caw. People are not particularly anxious to hear me.
-And when I see a doomed person I have such a strong desire to caw."
-
-The old woman suddenly made a sweeping movement with her arms, and in a
-shrill voice cried out twice: "Kar-r, Kar-r!"
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna shuddered, and asked: "_Babushka_, at whom are you
-cawing?"
-
-The old woman answered: "At you, my dear--at you."
-
-It had become too painful to sit with the old woman any longer.
-Alexandra Ivanovna went to her own room. She sat down before the open
-window and listened to two voices at the gate.
-
-"It simply won't stop whining!" said a low and harsh voice.
-
-"And uncle, did you see----?" asked an agreeable young tenor.
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna recognized in this last the voice of the
-curly-headed, somewhat red, freckled-faced lad who lived in the same
-court.
-
-A brief and depressing silence followed. Then she heard a hoarse and
-harsh voice say suddenly: "Yes, I saw. It's very large--and white.
-Lies near the bathhouse, and bays at the moon."
-
-The voice gave her an image of the man, of his shovel-shaped beard, his
-low, furrowed forehead, his small, piggish eyes, and his spread-out fat
-legs.
-
-"And why does it bay, uncle?" asked the agreeable voice.
-
-And again the hoarse voice did not reply at once.
-
-"Certainly to no good purpose--and where it came from is more than I
-can say."
-
-"Do you think, uncle, it may be a were-wolf?" asked the agreeable voice.
-
-"I should not advise you to investigate," replied the hoarse voice.
-
-She could not quite understand what these words implied, nor did she
-wish to think of them. She did not feel inclined to listen further.
-What was the sound and significance of human words to _her_?
-
-The moon looked straight into her face, and persistently called her and
-tormented; her. Her heart was restless with a dark longing, and she
-could not sit still.
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna quickly undressed herself. Naked, all white,
-she silently stole through the passage; she then opened the outer
-door--there was no one on the step or outside--and ran quickly across
-the court and the vegetable garden, and reached the bathhouse. The
-sharp contact of her body with the cold air and her feet with the cold
-ground gave her pleasure. But soon her body was warm.
-
-She lay down in the grass, on her stomach. Then, raising herself on her
-elbows, she lifted her face toward the pale, brooding moon, and gave a
-long-drawn-out whine.
-
-"Listen, uncle, it is whining," said the curly-haired lad at the gate.
-
-The agreeable tenor voice trembled perceptibly.
-
-"Whining again, the accursed one," said the hoarse, harsh voice slowly.
-
-They rose from the bench. The gate latch clicked.
-
-They went silently across the courtyard and the vegetable garden, the
-two of them. The older man, black-bearded and powerful, walked in
-front, a gun in his hand. The curly-headed lad followed tremblingly,
-and looked constantly behind.
-
-Near the bathhouse, in the grass, lay a huge white dog, whining
-piteously. Its head, black on the crown, was raised to the moon, which
-pursued its way in the cold sky; its hind legs were strangely thrown
-backward, while the front ones, firm and straight, pressed hard against
-the ground.
-
-In the pale green and unreal light of the moon it seemed enormous, so
-huge a dog was surely never seen on earth. It was thick and fat. The
-black spot, which began at the head and stretched in uneven strands
-down the entire spine, seemed like a woman's loosened hair. No tail was
-visible, presumably it was turned under. The fur on the body was so
-short that in the distance the dog seemed wholly naked, and its hide
-shone dimly in the moonlight, so that altogether it resembled the body
-of a nude woman, who lay in the grass and bayed at the moon.
-
-The man with the black beard took aim. The curly-haired lad crossed
-himself and mumbled something.
-
-The discharge of a rifle sounded in the night air. The dog gave a
-groan, jumped up on its hind legs, became a naked woman, who, her body
-covered with blood, started to run, all the while groaning, weeping
-and raising cries of distress.
-
-The black-bearded one and the curly-haired one threw themselves in the
-grass, and began to moan in wild terror.
-
-
-
-
-LIGHT AND SHADOWS
-
-
-
-I
-
-
-Volodya Lovlev, a pale meagre lad of twelve, had returned home
-from school and was waiting for his dinner. He was standing in the
-drawing-room at the piano, and was turning over the pages of the latest
-number of the _Niva_ which had come only that morning.
-
-A leaflet of thin grey paper fell out; it was an announcement issued by
-an illustrated journal. It enumerated the future contributors--the list
-contained about fifty well-known literary names; it praised at some
-length the journal as a whole and in detail its many-sidedness, and it
-presented several specimen illustrations.
-
-Volodya began to turn the pages of the leaflet in an absent way and to
-look at the miniature pictures. His large eyes, looked wearily out of
-his pale face.
-
-One page suddenly caught his attention, and his wide eyes opened
-slightly wider. Running from top to bottom were six drawings of hands
-throwing shadows in dark silhouette upon a white wall--the shadows
-representing the head of a girl with an amusing three-cornered hat,
-the head of a donkey, of a bull, the sitting figure of a squirrel, and
-other similar things.
-
-Volodya smiled and looked very intently at them. He was quite familiar
-with this amusement. He could hold the fingers of one hand so as to
-cast a silhouette of a hare's head on the wall. But this was quite
-another matter, something that Volodya had not seen before; its
-interest for him was that here were quite complex figures cast by using
-both hands.
-
-Volodya suddenly wished to reproduce these shadows. Of course there was
-no use trying now, in the uncertain light of a late autumn afternoon.
-
-He had better try it later in his own room. In any case, it was of no
-use to any one.
-
-Just then he heard the approaching footsteps and voice of his mother.
-He flushed for some reason or other and quickly put the leaflet into
-his pocket, and left the piano to meet her. She looked at him with
-a caressing smile as she came toward him; her pale, handsome face
-greatly resembled his, and she had the same large eyes.
-
-She asked him, as she always did: "Well, what's the news to-day?"
-
-"There's nothing new," said Volodya dejectedly.
-
-But it occurred to him at once that he was being ungracious, and he
-felt ashamed. He smiled genially and began to recall what had happened
-at school; but this only made him feel sadder.
-
-"Pruzhinin has again distinguished himself," and he began to tell about
-the teacher who was disliked by his pupils for his rudeness. "Lentyev
-was reciting his lesson and made a mess of it, and so Pruzhinin said to
-him: 'Well, that's enough; sit down, blockhead!'"
-
-"Nothing escapes you," said his mother, smiling.
-
-"He's always rude."
-
-After a brief silence Volodya sighed, then complained: "They are always
-in a hurry."
-
-"Who?" asked his mother.
-
-"I mean the masters. Every one is anxious to finish his course quickly
-and to make a good show at the examination. And if you ask a question
-you are immediately suspected of trying to take up the time until the
-bell rings, and to avoid having questions put to you."
-
-"Do you talk much after the lessons?"
-
-"Well, yes--but there's the same hurry after the lessons to get home,
-or to study the lessons in the girls' class-rooms. And everything is
-done in a hurry--you are no sooner done with the geometry than you must
-study your Greek."
-
-"That's to keep you from yawning."
-
-"Yawning! I'm more like a squirrel going round on its cage-wheel. It's
-exasperating."
-
-His mother smiled lightly.
-
-
-
-II
-
-
-After dinner Volodya went to his room to prepare his lessons. His
-mother saw that the room was comfortable, that nothing was lacking in
-it. No one ever disturbed Volodya here; even his mother refrained from
-coming in at this time. She would come in later, to help Volodya if he
-needed help.
-
-Volodya was an industrious and even a clever pupil. But he found it
-difficult to-day to apply himself. No matter what lesson he tried he
-could not help remembering something unpleasant; he would recall the
-teacher of each particular subject, his sarcastic or rude remark, which
-propped in passings had entered in the impressionable boy's mind.
-
-Several of his recent lessons happened to turn out poorly; the teachers
-appeared dissatisfied, and they grumbled incessantly. Their mood
-communicated itself to Volodya, and his books and copy-books inspired
-him at this moment with a deep confusion and unrest.
-
-He passed hastily from the first lesson to the second and to the third;
-this bother with trifles for the sake of not appearing "a blockhead"
-the next day seemed to him both silly and unnecessary. The thought
-perturbed him. He began to yawn from tedium and from sadness, and to
-dangle his feet impatiently; he simply could not sit still.
-
-But he knew too well that the lessons must be learnt, that this was
-very important, that his future depended upon it; and so he went on
-conscientiously with the tedious business.
-
-Volodya made a blot on the copy-book, and he put his pen aside.
-He looked at the blot, and decided that it could be erased with a
-penknife. He was glad of the distraction.
-
-Not finding the penknife on the table he put his hand into his pocket
-and rummaged there. Among all such rubbish as is to be found in a boy's
-pocket he felt his penknife and pulled it out, together with some sort
-of leaflet.
-
-He did not see at first what the paper was he held in his hands, but on
-looking at it he suddenly remembered that this was the little book with
-the shadows, and quite as suddenly he grew cheerful and animated.
-
-And there it was--that same little leaflet which he had forgotten when
-he began his lessons.
-
-He jumped briskly off his chair, moved the lamp nearer the wall,
-looked cautiously at the closed door--as though afraid of some one
-entering--and, turning the leaflet to the familiar page, began to study
-the first drawing with great intentness, and to arrange his fingers
-according to directions. The first shadow came out as a confused shape,
-not at all what it should have been. Volodya moved the lamp, now here,
-now there; he bent and he stretched his fingers; and he was at last
-rewarded by seeing a woman's head with a three-cornered hat.
-
-Volodya grew cheerful. He inclined his hand somewhat and moved his
-fingers very slightly--the head bowed, smiled, and grimaced amusingly.
-
-Volodya proceeded with the second figure, then with the others. All
-were hard at the beginning, but he managed them somehow in the end.
-
-He spent a half-hour in this occupation, and forgot all about his
-lessons, the school, and the whole world.
-
-Suddenly he heard familiar footsteps behind the door. Volodya flushed;
-he stuffed the leaflet into his pocket and quickly moved the lamp to
-its place, almost overturning it; then he sat down and bent over his
-copy-book. His mother entered.
-
-"Let's go and have tea, Volodenka," she said to him.
-
-Volodya pretended that he was looking at the blot and that he was about
-to open his penknife. His mother gently put her hands on his head.
-Volodya threw the knife aside and pressed his flushing face against
-his mother. Evidently she noticed nothing, and this made Volodya glad.
-Still, he felt ashamed, as though he had actually been caught at some
-stupid prank.
-
-
-
-III
-
-
-The samovar stood upon the round table in the dining-room and quietly
-hummed its garrulous song. The hanging-lamp diffused its light upon the
-white tablecloth and upon the dark walls, filling the room with dream
-and mystery.
-
-Volodya's mother seemed wistful as she leant her handsome, pale face
-forward over the table. Volodya was leaning on his arm, and was
-stirring the small spoon in his glass. It was good to watch the tea's
-sweet eddies and to see the little bubbles rise to the surface. The
-little silver spoon quietly tinkled.
-
-The boiling water, sputtering, ran from the tap into his mother's cup.
-
-A light shadow was cast by the little spoon upon the saucer and the
-tablecloth, and it lost itself in the glass of tea. Volodya watched
-it intently: the shadows thrown by the tiny little eddies and bubbles
-recalled something to him--precisely what, Volodya could not say. He
-held up and he turned the little spoon, and he ran his fingers over
-it--but nothing came of it.
-
-"All the same," he stubbornly insisted to himself, "it's not with
-fingers alone that shadows can be made. They are possible with
-anything. But the thing is to adjust oneself to one's material."
-
-And Volodya began to examine the shadows of the samovar, of the chairs,
-of his mother's head, as well as the shadows cast on the table by the
-dishes; and he tried to catch a resemblance in all these shadows to
-something. His mother was speaking--Volodya was not listening properly.
-
-"How is Lesha Sitnikov getting on at school?" asked his mother.
-
-Volodya was studying then the shadow of the milk-jug. He gave a start,
-and answered hastily: "It's a tom-cat."
-
-"Volodya, you must be asleep," said his astonished mother. "What
-tom-cat?" Volodya grew red.
-
-"I don't know what's got into my head," he said. "I'm sorry, mother, I
-wasn't listening."
-
-
-
-IV
-
-
-The next evening, before tea, Volodya again thought of his shadows, and
-gave himself up to them. One shadow insisted on turning out badly, no
-matter how hard he stretched and bent his fingers.
-
-Volodya was so absorbed in this that he did not hear his mother coming.
-At the creaking of the door he quickly put the leaflet into his pocket
-and turned away, confused, from the wall. But his mother was already
-looking at his hands, and a tremor of fear lit up her eyes.
-
-"What are you doing, Volodya? What have you hidden?"
-
-"Nothing, really," muttered Volodya, flushing and changing colour
-rapidly.
-
-It flashed upon her that Volodya wished to smoke, and that he had
-hidden a cigarette.
-
-"Volodya, show me at once what you are hiding," she said in a
-frightened voice.
-
-"Really, mamma...."
-
-She caught Volodya by the elbow.
-
-"Must I feel in your pocket myself?"
-
-Volodya grew even redder, and pulled the little book out of his pocket.
-
-"Here it is," he said, giving it to his mother.
-
-"Well, what is it?"
-
-"Well, here," he explained, "on this side are the drawings, and here,
-as you see, are the shadows. I was trying to throw them on the wall,
-and I haven't succeeded very well."
-
-"What is there to hide here!" said his mother, becoming more tranquil.
-"Now show me what they look like."
-
-Volodya, taken aback, began obediently to show his mother the shadows.
-
-"Now this is the profile of a bald-headed man. And this is the head of
-a hare."
-
-"And so this is how you are studying your lessons!"
-
-"Only for a little, mother."
-
-"For a little! Why are you blushing then, my dear? Well, I shan't say
-anything more. I think I can depend on you to do what is right."
-
-His mother moved her hand over his short, bristling hair, whereupon
-Volodya laughed and hid his flushing face under his mother's elbow.
-
-Then his mother left him, and for a long time Volodya felt awkward and
-ashamed. His mother had caught him doing something that he himself
-would have ridiculed had he caught any of his companions doing it.
-
-Volodya knew that he was a clever lad, and he deemed himself serious;
-and this was, after all, a game fit only for little girls when they got
-together.
-
-He pushed the little book with the shadows deeper into the
-table-drawer, and did not take it out again for more than a week;
-indeed, he thought little about the shadows that week. Only in the
-evening sometimes, in changing from one lesson to another, he would
-smile at the recollection of the girl in the hat--there were, indeed,
-moments when he put his hand in the drawer to get the little book, but
-he always quickly remembered the shame he experienced when his mother
-first found him out, and this made him resume his work at once.
-
-
-
-V
-
-
-Volodya and his mother lived in their own house on the outskirts of
-the district town. Eugenia Stepanovna had been a widow for nine years.
-She was now thirty-five years old; she seemed young and handsome, and
-Volodya loved her tenderly. She lived entirely for her son, studied
-ancient languages for his sake, and shared all his school cares. A
-quiet and gentle woman, she looked somewhat apprehensively upon the
-world out of her large, benign eyes.
-
-They had one domestic. Praskovya was a widow; she was gruff, sturdy,
-and strong; she was forty-five years old, but in her stern taciturnity
-she was more like a woman a hundred years old.
-
-Whenever Volodya looked at her morose, stony face he wondered what she
-was thinking of in her kitchen during the long winter evenings, as
-the cold knitting-needles, clinking, shifted in her bony fingers with
-a regular movement, and her dry lips stirred yet uttered no sound.
-Was she recalling her drunken husband, or her children who had died
-earlier? or was she musing upon her lonely and homeless old age?
-
-Her stony face seemed hopelessly gloomy and austere.
-
-
-
-VI
-
-
-It was a long autumn evening. On the other side of the wall were the
-wind and the rain.
-
-How wearily, how indifferently the lamp flared! Volodya, propping
-himself up on his elbow, leant his whole body over to the left and
-looked at the white wall and at the white window-blinds.
-
-The pale flowers were almost invisible on the wall-paper ... the wall
-was a melancholy white....
-
-The shaded lamp subdued the bright glare of light. The entire upper
-portion of the room was twilit.
-
-Volodya lifted his right arm. A long, faintly outlined, confused shadow
-crept across the shaded wall.
-
-It was the shadow of an angel, flying heaven-ward from a depraved and
-afflicted world; it was a translucent shadow, spreading its broad wings
-and reposing its bowed head sadly upon its breast.
-
-Would not the angel, with his gentle hands, carry away with him
-something significant yet despised of this world?
-
-Volodya sighed. He let his arm fall languidly. He let his depressed
-eyes rest on his books.
-
-It was a long autumn evening.... The wall was a melancholy white.... On
-the other side of the wall something wept and rustled.
-
-
-
-VII
-
-
-Volodya's mother found him a second time with the shadows.
-
-This time the bull's head was a success, and he was delighted. He made
-the bull stretch out his neck, and the bull lowed.
-
-His mother was less pleased.
-
-"So this is how you are taking up your time," she said reproachfully.
-
-"For a little, mamma," whispered Volodya, embarrassed.
-
-"You might at least save this for a more suitable time," his mother
-went on. "And you are no longer a little boy. Aren't you ashamed to
-waste your time on such nonsense!"
-
-"Mamma, dear, I shan't do it again."
-
-But Volodya found it difficult to keep his promise. He enjoyed making
-shadows, and the desire to make them came to him often, especially
-during an uninteresting lesson.
-
-This amusement occupied much of his time on some evenings and
-interfered with his lessons. He had to make up for it afterwards and to
-lose some sleep. How could he give up his amusement?
-
-Volodya succeeded in evolving several new figures, and not by means of
-the fingers alone. These figures lived on the wall, and it even seemed
-to Volodya at times that they talked to him and entertained him.
-
-But Volodya was a dreamer even before then.
-
-
-
-VIII
-
-
-It was night. Volodya's room was dark. He had gone to bed but he could
-not sleep. He was lying on his back and was looking at the ceiling.
-
-Some one was walking in the street with a lantern. His shadow traversed
-the ceiling, among the red spots of light thrown by the lantern. It
-was evident that the lantern swung in the hands of the passer-by--the
-shadow wavered and seemed agitated.
-
-Volodya felt a sadness and a fear. He quickly pulled the bed-cover over
-his head, and, trembling in his haste, he turned on his right side and
-began to encourage himself.
-
-He then felt soothed and warm. His mind began to weave sweet, na�ve
-fancies, the fancies which visited him usually before sleep.
-
-Often when he went to bed he felt suddenly afraid; he felt as though he
-were becoming smaller and weaker. He would then hide among the pillows,
-and gradually became soothed and loving, and wished his mother were
-there that he might put his arms round her neck and kiss her.
-
-
-
-IX
-
-
-The grey twilight was growing denser. The shadows merged. Volodya felt
-depressed. But here was the lamp. The light poured itself on the green
-tablecloth, the vague, beloved shadows appeared on the wall.
-
-Volodya suddenly felt glad and animated, and made haste to get the
-little grey book. The bull began to low ... the young lady to laugh
-uproariously.... What evil, round eyes the bald-headed gentleman was
-making!
-
-Then he tried his own. It was the steppe. Here was a wayfarer with his
-knapsack. Volodya seemed to hear the endless, monotonous song of the
-road....
-
-Volodya felt both joy and sadness.
-
-
-
-X
-
-
-"Volodya, it's the third time I've seen you with the little book. Do
-you spend whole evenings admiring your fingers?"
-
-Volodya stood uneasily at the table, like a truant caught, and he
-turned the pages of the leaflet with hot fingers.
-
-"Give it to me," said his mother.
-
-Volodya, confused, put out his hand with the leaflet. His mother
-took it, said nothing, and went out; while Volodya sat down over his
-copy-books.
-
-He felt ashamed that, by his stubbornness, he had offended his mother,
-and he felt vexed that she had taken the booklet from him; he was even
-more vexed at himself for letting the matter go so far. He felt his
-awkward position, and his vexation with his mother troubled him: he had
-scruples in being angry with her, yet he couldn't help it. And because
-he had scruples he felt even more angry.
-
-"Well, let her take it," he said to himself at last, "I can get along
-without it."
-
-And, in truth, Volodya had the figures in his memory, and used the
-little book merely for verification.
-
-
-
-XI
-
-
-In the meantime his mother opened the little book with the shadows--and
-became lost in thought.
-
-"I wonder what's fascinating about them?" she mused. "It is strange
-that such a good, clever boy should suddenly, become wrapped up in such
-nonsense! No, that means it's not mere nonsense. What, then, is it?"
-she pursued her questioning of herself.
-
-A strange fear took possession of her; she felt malignant toward these
-black pictures, yet quailed before them.
-
-She rose and lighted a candle. She approached the wall, the little grey
-book still in her hand, and paused in her wavering agitation.
-
-"Yes, it is important to get to the bottom of this," she resolved, and
-began to reproduce the shadows from the first to the last.
-
-She persisted most patiently with her hands and her fingers, until
-she succeeded in reproducing the figure she desired. A confused,
-apprehensive feelings stirred within her. She tried to conquer it. But
-her fear fascinated her as it grew stronger. Her hands trembled, while
-her thought, cowed by life's twilight, ran on to meet the approaching
-sorrows.
-
-She suddenly heard her son's footsteps. She trembled, hid the little
-book, and blew out the candle.
-
-Volodya entered and stopped in the doorway, confused by the stern look
-of his mother as she stood by the wall in a strange, uneasy attitude.
-
-"What do you want?" asked his mother in a harsh, uneven voice.
-
-A vague conjecture ran across Volodya's mind, but he quickly repelled
-it and began to talk to his mother.
-
-
-
-XII
-
-
-Then Volodya left her.
-
-She paced up and down the room a number of times. She noticed that her
-shadow followed her on the floor, and, strange to say, it was the first
-time in her life that her own shadow had made her uneasy. The thought
-that there was a shadow assailed her mind unceasingly--and Eugenia
-Stepanovna, for some reason, was afraid of this thought, and even tried
-not to look at her shadow.
-
-But the shadow crept after her and taunted her. Eugenia Stepanovna
-tried to think of something else--but in vain.
-
-She suddenly paused, pale and agitated.
-
-"Well, it's a shadow, a shadow!" she exclaimed aloud, stamping her foot
-with a strange irritation, "what of it?"
-
-Then all at once she reflected that it was stupid to make a fuss and to
-stamp her feet, and she became quiet.
-
-She approached the mirror. Her face was; paler than usual, and her lips
-quivered with a kind of strange hate.
-
-"It's nerves," she thought; "I must take myself in hand."
-
-
-
-XIII
-
-
-Twilight was falling. Volodya grew pensive.
-
-"Let's go for a stroll, Volodya," said his mother.
-
-But in the street there were also shadows everywhere, mysterious,
-elusive evening shadows; and they whispered in Volodya's ear something
-that was familiar and infinitely sad.
-
-In the clouded sky two or three stars looked out, and they seemed
-equally distant and equally strange to Volodya and to the shadows that
-surrounded him.
-
-"Mamma," he said, oblivious of the fact that he had interrupted her as
-she was telling him something, "what a pity that it is impossible to
-reach those stars."
-
-His mother looked up at the sky and answered: "I don't see that it's
-necessary. Our place is on earth. It is better for us here. It's quite
-another thing there."
-
-"How faintly they glimmer! They ought to be glad of it."
-
-"Why?"
-
-"If they shone more strongly they would cast shadows."
-
-"Oh, Volodya, why do you think only of shadows?"
-
-"I didn't mean to, mamma," said Volodya in a penitent voice.
-
-
-
-XIV
-
-
-Volodya worked harder than ever at his lessons; he was afraid to hurt
-his mother by being lazy. But he employed all his invention in grouping
-the objects on his table in a way that would produce new and ever more
-fantastic shadows. He put this here and that there--anything that came
-to his hands--and he rejoiced when outlines appeared on the white wall
-that his mind could grasp. There was an intimacy between him and these
-shadowy outlines, and they were very dear to him. They were not dumb,
-they spoke to him, and Volodya understood their inarticulate speech.
-
-He understood why the dejected wayfarer murmured as he wandered upon
-the long road, the autumn wetness under his feet, a stick in his
-trembling hand, a knapsack on his bowed back.
-
-He understood why the snow-covered forest, its boughs crackling with
-frost, complained, as it stood sadly dreaming in the winter stillness;
-and he understood why the lonely crow cawed on the old oak, and why the
-bustling squirrel looked sadly out of its tree-hollow.
-
-He understood why the decrepit and homeless old beggar-women sobbed in
-the dismal autumn wind, as they shivered in their rags in the crowded
-graveyard, among the crumbling crosses and the hopelessly black tombs.
-
-There was self-forgetfulness in this, and also tormenting woe!
-
-
-
-XV
-
-
-Volodya's mother observed that he continued to play.
-
-She said to him after dinner: "At least, you might get interested in
-something else."
-
-"In what?"
-
-"You might read."
-
-"No sooner do I begin to read than I want to cast shadows."
-
-"If you'd only try something else--say soap-bubbles."
-
-Volodya smiled sadly.
-
-"No sooner do the bubbles fly up than the shadows follow them on the
-wall."
-
-"Volodya, unless you take care your nerves will be shattered. Already
-you have grown thinner because of this."
-
-"Mamma, you exaggerate."
-
-"No, Volodya.... Don't I know that you've begun to sleep badly and to
-talk nonsense in your sleep. Now, just think, suppose you die!"
-
-"What are you saying!"
-
-"God forbid, but if you go mad, or die, I shall suffer horribly."
-
-Volodya laughed and threw himself on his mother's neck.
-
-"Mamma dear, I shan't die. I won't do it again."
-
-She saw that he was crying now.
-
-"That will do," she said. "God is merciful. Now you see how nervous you
-are. You're laughing and crying at the same time."
-
-
-
-XVI
-
-
-Volodya's mother began to look at him with careful and anxious eyes.
-Every trifle now agitated her.
-
-She noticed that Volodya's head was somewhat asymmetrical: his one ear
-was higher than the other, his chin slightly turned to one side. She
-looked in the mirror, and further remarked that Volodya had inherited
-this too from her.
-
-"It may be," she thought, "one of the characteristics of unfortunate
-heredity--degeneration; in which case where is the root of the evil? Is
-it my fault or his father's?"
-
-Eugenia Stepanovna recalled her dead husband. He was a most
-kind-hearted and most lovable man, somewhat weak-willed, with rash
-impulses. He was by nature a zealot and a mystic, and he dreamt of a
-social Utopia, and went among the people. He had been rather given to
-tippling the last years of his life.
-
-He died young; he was but thirty-five years old.
-
-Volodya's mother even took her boy to the doctor and described his
-symptoms. The doctor, a cheerful young man, listened to her, then
-laughed and gave counsel concerning diet and way of life, throwing in
-a few witty remarks; he wrote out a prescription in a happy, off-hand
-way, and he added playfully, with a slap on Volodya's shoulder: "But
-the very best medicine would be--a birch."
-
-Volodya's mother felt the affront deeply, but she followed all the rest
-of the instructions faithfully.
-
-
-
-XVII
-
-
-Volodya was sitting in his class. He felt depressed. He listened
-inattentively.
-
-He raised his eyes. A shadow was moving along the ceiling near the
-front wall. Volodya observed that it came in through the first
-window. To begin with it fell from the window toward the centre of
-the class-room, but later it started forward rather quickly away from
-Volodya--evidently some one was walking in the street, just by the
-window. While this shadow was still moving another shadow came through
-the second window, falling, as did the first one, toward the back wall,
-but later it began to turn quickly toward the front wall. The same
-thing happened at the third and the fourth windows; the shadows fell
-in the class-room on the ceiling, and in the degree that the passer-by
-moved forward they retreated backward.
-
-"This," thought Volodya, "is not at all the same as in an open place,
-where the shadow follows the man; when the man goes forward, the shadow
-glides behind, and other shadows again meet him in the front."
-
-Volodya turned his eyes on the gaunt figure of the tutor. His callous,
-yellow face annoyed Volodya. He looked for his shadow and found it
-on the wall, just behind the tutor's chair. The monstrous shape bent
-over and rocked from side to side, but it had neither a yellow face
-nor a malignant smile, and Volodya looked at it with joy. His thoughts
-scampered off somewhere far away, and he heard not a single thing of
-what was being said.
-
-"Lovlev!" His tutor called his name.
-
-Volodya rose, as was the custom, and stood looking stupidly at the
-tutor. He had such an absent look that his companions tittered, while
-the tutor's face assumed a critical expression.
-
-Volodya heard the tutor attack him with sarcasm and abuse. He trembled
-from shame and from weakness. The tutor announced that he would give
-Volodya "one" for his ignorance and his inattention, and he asked him
-to sit down.
-
-Volodya smiled in a dull way, and tried to think what had happened to
-him.
-
-
-
-XVIII
-
-
-The "one" was the first in Volodya's life! It made him feel rather
-strange.
-
-"Lovlev!" his comrades taunted him, laughing and nudging him, "you
-caught it that time! Congratulations!"
-
-Volodya felt awkward. He did not yet know how to behave in these
-circumstances.
-
-"What if I have," he answered peevishly, "what business is it of yours?"
-
-"Lovlev!" the lazy Snegirev shouted, "our regiment has been reinforced!"
-
-His first "one"! And he had yet to tell his mother.
-
-He felt ashamed and humiliated. He felt as though he bore in the
-knapsack on his back a strangely heavy and awkward burden--the "one"
-stuck clumsily in his consciousness and seemed to fit in with nothing
-else in his mind.
-
-"One"!
-
-He could not get used to the thought about the "one," and yet could
-not think of anything else. When the policeman, who stood near the
-school, looked at him with his habitual severity Volodya could not help
-thinking: "What if you knew that I've received 'one'!"
-
-It was all so awkward and so unusual. Volodya did not know how to hold
-his head and where to put his hands; there was uneasiness in his whole
-bearing.
-
-Besides, he had to assume a care-free look before his comrades and to
-talk of something else!
-
-His comrades! Volodya was convinced that they were all very glad
-because of his "one."
-
-
-
-XIX
-
-
-Volodya's mother looked at the "one" and turned her uncomprehending
-eyes on her son. Then again she glanced at the report and exclaimed
-quietly:
-
-"Volodya!"
-
-Volodya stood before her, and he felt intensely small. He looked at
-the folds of his mother's dress and at his mother's pale hands; his
-trembling eyelids were conscious of her frightened glances fixed upon
-them.
-
-"What's this?" she asked.
-
-"Don't you worry, mamma," burst out Volodya suddenly; "after all, it's
-my first!"
-
-"Your first!"
-
-"It may happen to any one. And really it was all an accident."
-
-"Oh, Volodya, Volodya!"
-
-Volodya began to cry and to rub his tears, child-like, over his face
-with the palm of his hand.
-
-"Mamma darling, don't be angry," he whispered.
-
-"That's what comes of your shadows," said his mother.
-
-Volodya felt the tears in her voice. His heart was touched. He glanced
-at his mother. She was crying. He turned quickly toward her.
-
-"Mamma, mamma," he kept on repeating, while kissing her hands, "I'll
-drop the shadows, really I will."
-
-
-
-XX
-
-
-Volodya made a strong effort of the will and refrained from the
-shadows, despite strong temptation. He tried to make amends for his
-neglected lessons.
-
-But the shadows beckoned to him persistently. In vain he ceased to
-invite them with his fingers, in vain he ceased to arrange objects that
-would cast a new shadow on the wall; the shadows themselves surrounded
-him--they were unavoidable, importunate shadows.
-
-Objects themselves no longer interested Volodya, he almost ceased to
-see them; all his attention was centred on their shadows.
-
-When he was walking home and the sun happened to peep through the
-autumn clouds, as through smoky vestments, he was overjoyed because
-there was everywhere an awakening of the shadows.
-
-The shadows from the lamplight hovered near him in the evening at home.
-
-The shadows were everywhere. There were the sharp shadows from the
-flames, there were the fainter shadows from diffused daylight. All of
-them crowded toward Volodya, recrossed each other, and enveloped him in
-an unbreakable network.
-
-Some of the shadows were incomprehensible, mysterious; others reminded
-him of something, suggested something. But there were also the beloved,
-the intimate, the familiar shadows; these Volodya himself, however
-casually, sought out and caught everywhere from among the confused
-wavering of the others, the more remote shadows. But they were sad,
-these beloved, familiar shadows.
-
-Whenever Volodya found himself seeking these shadows his conscience
-tormented him, and he went to his mother to make a clean breast of it.
-
-Once it happened that Volodya could not conquer his temptation. He
-stood up close to the wall and made a shadow of the bull. His mother
-found him.
-
-"Again!" she exclaimed angrily. "I really shall have to ask the
-director to put you into the small room."
-
-Volodya flushed violently and answered morosely: "There is a wall there
-also. The walls are everywhere."
-
-"Volodya," exclaimed his mother sorrowfully, "what are you saying!"
-
-But Volodya already repented of his rudeness, and he was crying.
-
-"Mamma, I don't know myself what's happening to me!"
-
-
-
-XXI
-
-
-Volodya's mother had not yet conquered her superstitious dread of
-shadows. She began very often to think that she, like Volodya, was
-losing herself in the contemplation of shadows. Then she tried to
-comfort herself.
-
-"What stupid thoughts!" she said. "Thank God, all will pass happily; he
-will be like this a little while, then he will stop."
-
-But her heart trembled with a secret fear, and her thought, frightened
-of life persistently ran to meet approaching sorrows.
-
-She began in the melancholy moments of waking to examine her soul,
-and all her life would pass before her; she saw its emptiness, its
-futility, and its aimlessness. It seemed but a senseless glimmer of
-shadows, which merged in the denser twilight.
-
-"Why have I lived?" she asked herself. "Was it for my son? But why?
-That he too shall become a prey to shadows, a maniac with a narrow
-horizon, chained to his illusions, to restless appearances upon a
-lifeless wall? And he too will enter upon life, and he will make of
-life a chain of impressions, phantasmic and futile, like a dream."
-
-She sat down in the armchair by the window, and she thought and
-thought. Her thoughts were bitter, oppressive. She began, in her
-despair, to wring her beautiful white hands.
-
-Then her thoughts wandered. She looked at her outstretched hands, and
-began to imagine what sort of shapes they would cast on the wall in
-their present attitude. She suddenly paused and jumped up from her
-chair in fright.
-
-"My God!" she exclaimed. "This is madness."
-
-
-
-XXII
-
-
-She watched Volodya at dinner.
-
-"How pale and thin he has grown," she said to herself, "since the
-unfortunate little book fell into his hands. He's changed entirely--in
-character and in everything else. It is said that character changes
-before death. What if he dies? But no, no. God forbid!"
-
-The spoon trembled in her hand. She looked up at the ikon with timid
-eyes.
-
-"Volodya, why don't you finish your soup?" she asked, looking
-frightened.
-
-"I don't feel like it, mamma."
-
-"Volodya, darling, do as I tell you; it is bad for you not to eat your
-soup."
-
-Volodya gave a tired smile and slowly finished his soup. His mother had
-filled his plate fuller than usual. He leant back in his chair and was
-on the point of saying that the soup was not good. But his mother's
-worried look restrained him, and he merely smiled weakly.
-
-"And now I've had enough," he said.
-
-"Oh no, Volodya, I have all your favourite dishes to-day."
-
-Volodya sighed sadly. He knew that when his mother spoke of his
-favourite dishes it meant that she would coax him to eat. He guessed
-that even after tea his mother would prevail upon him, as she did the
-day before, to eat meat.
-
-
-
-XXIII
-
-
-In the evening Volodya's mother said to him: "Volodya dear, you'll
-waste your time again; perhaps you'd better keep the door open!"
-
-Volodya began his lessons. But he felt vexed because the door had been
-left open at his back, and because his mother went past it now and
-theft.
-
-"I cannot go on like this," he shouted, moving his chair noisily. "I
-cannot do anything when the door is wide open."
-
-"Volodya, is there any need to shout so?" his mother reproached him
-softly.
-
-Volodya already felt repentant, and he began to cry.
-
-"Don't you see, Volodenka, that I'm worried about you, and that I want
-to save you from your thoughts."
-
-"Mamma, sit here with me," said Volodya.
-
-His mother took a book and sat down at Volodya's table. For a few
-minutes Volodya worked calmly. But gradually the presence of his mother
-began to annoy him.
-
-"I'm being watched just like a sick man," he thought spitefully.
-
-His thoughts were constantly interrupted, and he was biting his lips.
-His mother remarked this at last, and she left the room.
-
-But Volodya felt no relief. He was tormented with regret at showing his
-impatience. He tried to go on with his work but he could not. Then he
-went to his mother.
-
-"Mamma, why did you leave me?" he asked timidly.
-
-
-
-XXIV
-
-
-It was the eve of a holiday. The little image-lamps burned before the
-ikons.
-
-It was late and it was quiet. Volodya's mother was not asleep. In the
-mysterious dark of her bedroom she fell on her knees, she prayed and
-she wept, sobbing out now and then like a child.
-
-Her braids of hair trailed upon her white dress; her shoulders
-trembled. She raised her hands to her breast in a praying posture,
-and she looked with tearful eyes at the ikon. The image-lamp moved
-almost imperceptibly on its chains with her passionate breathing.
-The shadows rocked, they crowded in the corners, they stirred behind
-the reliquary, and they murmured mysteriously. There was a hopeless
-yearning in their murmurings and an incomprehensible sadness in their
-wavering movements.
-
-At last she rose, looking pale, with strange, widely dilated eyes, and
-she reeled slightly on her benumbed legs.
-
-She went quietly to Volodya. The shadows surrounded her, they rustled
-softly behind her back, they crept at her feet, and some of them, as
-fine as the threads of a spider's web, fell upon her shoulders and,
-looking into her large eyes, murmured incomprehensibly.
-
-She approached her son's bed cautiously. His face was pale in the light
-of the image-lamp. Strange, sharp shadows lay upon him. His breathing
-was inaudible; he slept so tranquilly that his mother was frightened.
-
-She stood there in the midst of the vague shadows, and She felt upon
-her the breath of vague fears.
-
-
-
-XXV
-
-
-The high vaults of the church were dark and mysterious. The evening
-chants rose toward these vaults and resounded there with an exultant
-sadness. The dark images, lit up by the yellow flickers of wax candles,
-looked stern and mysterious. The warm breathing of the wax and of the
-incense filled the air with lofty sorrow.
-
-Eugenia Stepanovna placed a candle before the ikon of the Mother of
-God. Then she knelt down. But her prayer was distraught.
-
-She looked at her candle. Its flame wavered. The shadows from the
-candles fell on Eugenia Stepanovna's black dress and on the floor,
-and rocked unsteadily. The shadows hovered on the walls of the church
-and lost themselves in the heights between the dark vaults, where the
-exultant, sad songs resounded.
-
-
-
-XXVI
-
-
-It was another night.
-
-Volodya awoke suddenly. The darkness enveloped him, and it stirred
-without sound. He freed his hands, then raised them, and followed their
-movements with his eyes. He did not see his hands in the darkness, but
-he imagined that he saw them wanly stirring before him. They were dark
-and mysterious, and they held in them the affliction and the murmur of
-lonely yearning.
-
-His mother also did not sleep; her grief tormented her. She lit a
-candle and went quietly toward her son's room to see how he slept. She
-opened the door noiselessly and looked timidly at Volodya's bed.
-
-A streak of yellow light trembled on the wall and intersected Volodya's
-red bed-cover. The lad stretched his arms toward the light and, with a
-beating heart, followed the shadows. He did not even ask himself where
-the light came from. He was wholly obsessed by the shadows. His eyes
-were fixed on the wall, and there was a gleam of madness in them.
-
-The streak of light broadened, the shadows moved in a startled way;
-they were morose and hunch-backed, like homeless, roaming women who
-were hurrying to reach somewhere with old burdens that dragged them
-down.
-
-Volodya's mother, trembling with fright, approached the bed and quietly
-aroused her son.
-
-"Volodya!"
-
-Volodya came to himself. For some seconds he glanced at his mother with
-large eyes, then he shivered from head to foot and, springing out of
-bed, fell at his mother's feet, embraced her knees, and wept.
-
-"What dreams, you do dream, Volodya!" exclaimed his mother sorrowfully.
-
-
-
-XXVII
-
-
-"Volodya," said his mother to him at breakfast, "you must stop it,
-darling; you; will become a wreck if you spend your nights also with
-the shadows."
-
-The pale lad lowered his head in dejection. His lips quivered nervously.
-
-"I'll tell you what we'll do," continued his mother. "Perhaps we had
-better play a little while together with the shadows each evening, and
-then we will study your lessons. What do you say?"
-
-Volodya grew somewhat animated.
-
-"Mamma, you're a darling!" he said shyly.
-
-
-
-XXVIII
-
-
-In the street Volodya felt drowsy and timid. The fog was spreading; it
-was cold and dismal. The outlines of the houses looked strange in the
-mist. The morose, human silhouettes moved through the filmy atmosphere
-like ominous, unkindly shadows. Everything seemed so intensely unreal.
-The cab-horse, which stood drowsily at the street-crossing, appeared
-like a huge fabulous beast.
-
-The policeman gave Volodya a hostile look. The crow on the low roof
-foreboded sorrow in Volodya's ear. But sorrow was already in his heart;
-it made him sad to note how everything was hostile to him.
-
-A small dog with an unhealthy coat barked at him from behind a gate and
-Volodya felt a strange depression. And the urchins of the street seemed
-ready to laugh at him and to humiliate him.
-
-In the past he would have settled scores with them as they deserved,
-but now fear lived in his breast; it robbed his arms of their strength
-and caused them to hang by his sides.
-
-When Volodya returned home Praskovya opened the door to him, and she
-looked at him with moroseness and hostility. Volodya felt uneasy. He
-quickly went into the house, and refrained from looking at Praskovya's
-depressing face again.
-
-
-
-XXIX
-
-
-His mother was sitting alone. It was twilight, and she felt sad.
-
-A light suddenly glimmered somewhere.
-
-Volodya ran in, animated, cheerful, and with large, somewhat wild eyes.
-
-"Mamma, the lamp has been lit; let's play a little."
-
-She smiled and followed Volodya.
-
-"Mamma, I've thought of a new figure," said Volodya excitedly, as he
-placed the lamp in the desired position. "Look.... Do you see? This is
-the steppe, covered with snow, and the snow falls--a regular storm."
-
-Volodya raised his hands and arranged them.
-
-"Now look, here is an old man, a wayfarer. He is up to his knees in
-snow. It is difficult to walk. He is alone. It is an open field. The
-village is far away. He is tired, he is cold; it is terrible. He is all
-bent--he's such an old man."
-
-Volodya's mother helped him with his fingers.
-
-"Oh!" exclaimed Volodya in great joy.
-
-"The wind is tearing his cap off, it is blowing his hair loose, it has
-thrown him in the snow. The drifts are getting higher. Mamma, mamma, do
-you hear?"
-
-"It's a blinding storm."
-
-"And he?"
-
-"The old man?"
-
-"Do you hear, he is moaning?"
-
-"Help!"
-
-Both of them, pale, were looking at the wall. Volodya's hands shook,
-the old man fell.
-
-His mother was the first to arouse herself.
-
-"And now it's time to work," she said.
-
-
-
-XXX
-
-
-It was morning. Volodya's mother was alone. Rapt in her confused,
-dismal thoughts, she was walking from one room to another. Her
-shadow outlined itself vaguely on the white door in the light of the
-mist-dimmed sun. She stopped at the door and lifted her arm with a
-large, curious movement. The shadow on the door wavered and began to
-murmur something familiar and sad. A strange feeling, of comfort came
-over Eugenia Stepanovna as she stood, a wild smile on her face, before
-the door and moved both her hands, watching the trembling shadows.
-
-Then she heard Praskovya coming, and she realized that she was doing an
-absurd thing. Once more she felt afraid and sad.
-
-"We ought to make a change," she thought, "and go elsewhere, somewhere
-farther away, to a new atmosphere. We must run away from here, simply
-run away!"
-
-And suddenly she remembered Volodya's words: "There is a wall there
-also. The walls are everywhere."
-
-"There is nowhere to run!"
-
-In her despair she wrung her pale, beautiful hands.
-
-
-
-XXXI
-
-
-It was evening.
-
-A lighted lamp stood on the floor in Volodya's room. Just behind it,
-near the wall, sat Volodya and his mother. They were looking at the
-wall and were making strange movements with their hands.
-
-Shadows stirred and trembled upon the wall.
-
-Volodya and his mother understood them. Both were smiling sadly and
-were saying weird and impossible things to each other. Their faces
-were peaceful and their eyes looked clear; their joyousness was
-hopelessly sorrowful and their sorrow was wildly joyous.
-
-In their eyes was a glimmer of madness, blessed madness.
-
-The night was descending upon them.
-
-
-
-
-THE GLIMMER OF HUNGER
-
-
-Sergei Matveyevich Moshkin had dined very well that day--that is
-comparatively well--when you stop to consider that he was only a
-village schoolmaster who had lost his place, and had been knocking
-about already a year or so on strange stairways, in search of work.
-Nevertheless, the glimmer of hunger persisted in his dark, sad eyes,
-and it gave his lean, smooth face a kind of unlooked-for significance.
-
-Moshkin spent his last three-rouble note on this dinner, and now a
-few coppers jingled in his pocket, while his purse contained a smooth
-fifteen-copeck piece. He banqueted out of sheer joy. He knew quite well
-that it was stupid to rejoice prematurely and without sufficient cause.
-But he had been seeking work so long, and had been having such a time
-of it, that even the shadow of a hope gave him joy.
-
-Moshkin had put an advertisement in the _Novo Vremya_. He announced
-himself a pedagogue who had command of the pen; he based his claim on
-the fact that he corresponded for a provincial newspaper. This, indeed,
-was why he had lost his place; it was discovered that he had written
-articles reflecting unfavourably on the authorities; the chief official
-of the district called the attention of the inspector of public schools
-to this, and the inspector, of course, would not brook such doings by
-any of his staff.
-
-"We don't want that kind," the inspector said to him in a personal
-interview.
-
-Moshkin asked: "What kind do you want?"
-
-The inspector, without replying to this irrelevant question, remarked
-dryly: "Good-bye. I hope to meet you in the next world."
-
-Moshkin stated further in his advertisement that he wished to be a
-secretary, a permanent collaborator on a newspaper, a private tutor;
-also that he was willing to accompany his employer to the Caucasus
-or the Crimea, and to make himself useful in the house, etc. He gave
-an assurance of his reasonableness, and that he had no objections to
-travelling.
-
-He waited. One postcard came. It inspired him with hope; he hardly knew
-why.
-
-It came in the morning while Moshkin was drinking his tea. The landlady
-brought it in herself. There was a glitter in her dark, snake-like eyes
-as she remarked tauntingly:
-
-"Here's some correspondence for Mr. Sergei Matveyevich Moshkin."
-
-And while he was reading she smoothed her black hair down her
-triangular yellow forehead, and hissed: "What's the good of getting
-letters? Much better if you paid for your board and lodging. A letter
-won't feed your hunger; you ought to go among people, look for a job
-and not expect things to come to you."
-
-He read:
-
-"_Be so good as to come in for a talk, between_ 6 _and_ 7 _in the
-evening, at Row_ 6, _House_ 78, _Apartment_ 57."
-
-There was no signature.
-
-Moshkin glanced angrily at his landlady. She was broad and erect, and
-as she stood there at the door quite calm, with lowered arms, she was
-like a doll; she seemed deliberately malicious, and she looked at him
-with her motionless, anger-provoking eyes.
-
-Moshkin exclaimed: "Basta!"
-
-He hit the table with his fist. Then he rose, and paced up and down the
-room. He kept on repeating: "Basta!"
-
-The landlady asked quietly and spitefully: "Are you going to pay or
-not, you Kazan and Astrakhan correspondent, you impudent face?"
-
-Moshkin stopped in front of her, put out his empty palm, and said:
-"That's all I have."
-
-He said nothing about his last three-rouble note. The landlady hissed:
-"I'm not hard on you, but I need money. Wood's seven roubles a load
-now, how am I to pay it? You can't live on nothing. Can't you find some
-one to look after you? You're a young man of ability, and you have
-quite a charming appearance. You can always get hold of some goose or
-other. But how am I to pay? Whichever way you turn you've got to put
-down money."
-
-Moshkin replied: "Don't worry, Praskovya Petrovna, I am getting a job
-to-night, and I'll pay what I owe you."
-
-He began to pace the room again, making a flapping noise with his
-slippers.
-
-The landlady paused at the door, and kept on with her grumbling. When
-she went at last, she cried out: "Another in my place would have shown
-you the door long ago."
-
-For some time after she had left there still remained in his memory her
-strange, erect figure, with relaxed arms; her broad, yellow forehead,
-shaped like a triangle under her smoothly-oiled hair; her worn yellow
-dress, cut away like a narrow triangle, and her red, sniffling nose
-shaped like a small triangle. Three triangles in all.
-
-All day long Moshkin was hungry, cheerful, and indignant. He walked
-aimlessly in the streets. He looked at the girls, and they all seemed
-to him to be lovable, happy, and accessible--to the rich. He stopped
-before the shop windows, where expensive goods were displayed. The
-glimmer of hunger in his eyes grew keener and keener.
-
-He bought a newspaper. He read as he sat on a form in the square,
-where the children laughed and ran, where the nurses tried to look
-fashionable, where there was a smell of dust and of consumptive
-trees--and where the smells of the street and of the garden mingled
-unpleasantly, reminding him of the smell of gutta-percha. Moshkin was
-very much struck by an account in the newspaper of a hungry fanatic who
-had slashed a picture by a celebrated artist in the museum.
-
-"Now that's something I can understand!"
-
-Moshkin walked briskly along the path. He repeated: "Now that's
-something I can understand!"
-
-And afterwards, as he walked in the streets and looked at the huge and
-stately houses, at the exposed wealth of the shops, at the elegant
-dress of the people of fashion, at the swiftly moving carriages, at all
-these beauties and comforts of life, accessible to all who have money,
-and inaccessible to him--as he looked and observed and envied, he felt
-more and more keenly the mood of destructive rage.
-
-"Now that's something I can understand!"
-
-He walked up to a stout and pompous house-porter, and shouted: "Now
-that's something I can understand!"
-
-The porter looked at him with silent scorn. Moshkin laughed joyously,
-and said: "Clever chaps those anarchists!"
-
-"Be off with you!" exclaimed the porter angrily. "And see that you
-don't over-eat yourself."
-
-Moshkin was about to leave him but stopped short in fright. There was
-a policeman quite near, and his white gloves stood out with startling
-sharpness. Moshkin thought in his sadness:
-
-"A bomb might come in handy here."
-
-The porter spat angrily after him, and turned away.
-
-Moshkin walked on. At six o'clock he entered a restaurant of the middle
-rank. He chose a table by the window. He had some vodka, and followed
-it with anchovies. He ordered a seventy-five copeck dinner. He had
-a bottle of chablis on ice; after dinner a liqueur. He got slightly
-intoxicated. His head went round at the sound of music. He did not take
-his change. He left, reeling slightly, accompanied respectfully by a
-porter, into whose hand he stuck a twenty-copeck piece.
-
-He looked at his nickelled watch. It was just past seven. It was
-time to go. He had to make haste. They might hire another. He strode
-impetuously toward his destination.
-
-He was hindered by: dug up pavements; superannuated, eternally
-somnolent cabbies, at street crossings; passers-by, especially
-_muzhiks_ and women; those who came toward him, without stepping
-aside at all, or who stepped aside more often to the left than to the
-right--while those whom he had to overtake joggled along indifferently
-on the narrow way, and it was hard to tell at once on which side to
-pass them; beggars--these clung to him; and the mechanical process of
-walking itself.
-
-How difficult to conquer space and time when one is in a hurry! Truly
-the earth drew him to itself and he purchased every step with violence
-and exhaustion. He felt pains in his legs. This increased his spite,
-and intensified the glimmer of hunger in his eyes.
-
-Moshkin thought:
-
-"I'd like to chuck it all to the devil! To all the devils!"
-
-At last he got there.
-
-Here was the Row, and here was House No. 78. It was a four-storey
-house, in a state of neglect; the two approaches had a gloomy look,
-the gates in the middle stood wide agape. He looked at the plates at
-the approaches; the first numbers were here, and there was no No. 57.
-No one was in sight. There was a white button at the gates; and on the
-brass plate, below, buried under dirt, was the word "porter."
-
-He pressed the button and entered the gate to look for the directory of
-the tenants. Before he had got that far he was met by the porter, a man
-of insinuating appearance, with a black beard.
-
-"Where is apartment No. 57?"
-
-Moshkin asked the question in a careless manner, borrowed from the
-district official who had caused him to lose his place. He also knew
-from experience that one must address porters just like this, and not
-like that. Wandering in strange gates and on strange staircases gives
-one a certain polish.
-
-The porter asked somewhat suspiciously: "Who do you want?"
-
-Moshkin drawled out his words with artless carelessness: "I don't
-exactly know. I've come in answer to an announcement. I've received
-a letter, but the name is not signed. Only the address is given. Who
-lives at No. 57?"
-
-"Madame Engelhardova," said the porter.
-
-"Engelhardt?" asked Moshkin.
-
-The porter repeated: "Engelhardova."
-
-Moshkin smiled. "And what's her Russian name?"
-
-"Elena Petrovna," the porter answered.
-
-"Is she a bad-tempered hag?" asked Moshkin for some reason or other.
-
-"No-o, she's a young lady. Quite stylish. Turn to the right of the
-gate."
-
-"Only the first numbers are given there," said Moshkin.
-
-The porter said: "No, you'll also find 57 there. At the very bottom."
-
-Moshkin asked: "What does she do? Does she run a business of some sort?
-A school? Or a journal?"
-
-No. Madame Engelhardova had neither a school, nor a journal.
-
-"She lives on her capital," explained the porter.
-
-Madame Engelhardova's maid, who looked like a village girl, led him
-into the drawing-room, to the right of the dark ante-room, and asked
-him to wait.
-
-He waited. It was tedious and annoying. He began to examine the
-contents of the elaborately furnished room. There were arm-chairs,
-tables, stools, folding screens, fire-screens, book-shelves, and small
-columns upon which rested busts, lamps, and artistic gew-gaws; there
-were mirrors, lithographs, and clocks on the walls; while the windows
-were decorated with hangings and flowers. All these made the room
-crowded, oppressive and dark. Moshkin paced through this depression
-over the rugs. He looked at the pictures and the statues with hate.
-
-"I'd like to chuck all this to the devil! To all the devils!"
-
-But when the mistress of the house walked in suddenly he lowered his
-eyes, and hid his glimmer of hunger.
-
-She was young, pink, and tall and quite good-looking. She walked
-quickly and with decision, like the mistress of a village house, and
-swung, not altogether gracefully, her strong, handsome white arms bared
-from above the elbows.
-
-She came to him and held out her hand, a little high--to be pressed,
-or to be kissed, as he chose. He kissed it. There was spite in his
-kiss. He did it with a quick, resounding smack, and one of his teeth
-scratched her skin slightly, so that she winced. But she said nothing.
-She walked toward the divan, got behind the table and sat down. She
-showed him an armchair.
-
-When he had seated himself, she asked him: "Was that your announcement
-in yesterday's paper?"
-
-He said: "Mine."
-
-He reconsidered, and said more politely: "Yes, mine."
-
-He felt vexed, and he thought to himself: "I'd like to send her to the
-devil!"
-
-She went on talking. She asked him what he could do, where he had
-studied, where he had worked. She approached the subject very
-cautiously, as though afraid to say too much before the proper time.
-
-He gathered that she wished to publish a journal--she had not yet
-decided what sort. Some sort. A small one. She was negotiating for the
-purchase of a property. Of the nature of the journal she said nothing.
-
-She needed some one for the office. As he had said in his announcement
-that he was a pedagogue she thought that he had taught in one of the
-higher schools.
-
-In any case, she wanted some one to keep the books in the office,
-to receive subscriptions, to carry on the editorial and the office
-correspondence, to receive money by post, to put the journals in
-wrappers, to send them to the post, to read proofs, and something else
-... and still something else....
-
-The young woman spoke for half an hour. She recounted the various
-duties in an unintelligent way.
-
-"You need several people for all these tasks," said Moshkin sharply.
-
-The young woman grew red with vexation. She made a wry face as she
-remarked eagerly: "The journal will be a small one, of a special
-nature. If I hired several people for such a small undertaking they
-would have nothing to do."
-
-He smiled, and observed: "Well, anyhow there'll be no chance for
-boredom. How many hours a day will you want me to work?"
-
-"Well, let us say from nine in the morning until seven in the evening.
-Sometimes, when the work is in a hurry you might remain a little
-longer, or you might come in on a holiday--I believe you are free?"
-
-"How much do you think of paying?"
-
-"Would eighteen roubles a month be enough for you?"
-
-He reflected a while, then he laughed.
-
-"Too little."
-
-"I can't afford more than twenty-two."
-
-"Very well."
-
-He rose suddenly in his rage, thrust his hand into his pocket, drew out
-the latchkey to his house, and said quietly but resolutely: "Hands up!"
-
-"Oh!" exclaimed the young woman, and she quickly raised her arms.
-
-She was sitting on the divan. She was pale and trembling.
-
-They formed a contrast--she large and strong; and he small and meagre.
-
-The sleeves of her dress fell to her shoulders, and the two bare white
-arms, stretching upward, seemed like the plump legs of a woman acrobat
-practising at home. She was evidently strong enough to hold up her arms
-for a long time. But her frightened face betrayed the deep terror of
-her ordeal.
-
-Moshkin, enjoying her plight, uttered slowly and sternly: "Move, if you
-dare! Or give a single whisper!"
-
-He approached a picture.
-
-"How much does this cost?"
-
-"Two hundred and twenty, without the frame," said the young woman in a
-trembling voice.
-
-He searched in his pocket and found a penknife. He cut the picture from
-top to bottom, and from right to left.
-
-"Oh!" the young woman cried out.
-
-He approached a small marble head.
-
-"What does this cost?"
-
-"Three hundred."
-
-He used his latchkey, and struck off the ear and the nose, and he
-mutilated the cheeks. The young woman sighed quietly; and it was
-pleasant to hear her quiet sighing.
-
-He cut up a few more pictures, and the armchair coverings, and broke a
-few of the gew-gaws.
-
-He then approached the young woman, and exclaimed: "Get under the
-divan!"
-
-She obeyed.
-
-"Lie there quietly, until some one comes. Or else I'll throw a bomb."
-
-He left. He met no one, either in the ante-room, or on the stairs.
-
-The same house-porter stood at the gates. Moshkin went up to him and
-said: "What a strange young lady you have in your house."
-
-"Why?"
-
-"She doesn't know how to behave. She loves a brawl. You had better go
-to her."
-
-"No use my going as long as I'm not called."
-
-"Just as you please."
-
-He left. The glimmer of hunger grew fainter in his eyes.
-
-Moshkin continued to walk the streets. His mind realized in a slow,
-dull way the drawing-room scene, the mutilated pictures, and the young
-woman under the divan.
-
-The dull waters of the canal lured him. The receding light of the
-setting sun made their surface beautiful and sad, like the music of
-a mad composer. How rough the stone slabs were on the canal's banks,
-and how dusty the stones of the pavements, and what stupid and dirty
-children ran to meet him! Everything seemed shut against him and
-everything seemed hostile to him.
-
-The green, golden waters of the canal lured him, and the glimmer of
-hunger in his eyes went out for ever.
-
-What a noise the swift splash of water made, as, ring after ring, the
-dead black rings spread out and out, and cut the green golden waters of
-the canal.
-
-
-
-
-HIDE AND SEEK
-
-
-
-I
-
-
-Everything in Lelechka's nursery was bright, pretty, and cheerful.
-Lelechka's sweet voice charmed her mother. Lelechka was a delightful
-child. There was no other such child, there never had been, and there
-never would be. Lelechka's mother, Serafima Alexandrovna, was sure
-of that. Lelechka's eyes were dark and large, her cheeks were rosy,
-her lips were made for kisses and for laughter. But it was not these
-charms in Lelechka that gave her mother the keenest joy. Lelechka was
-her mother's only child. That was why every movement of Lelechka's
-bewitched her mother. It was great bliss to hold Lelechka on her knees
-and to fondle her; to feel the little girl in her arms--a thing as
-lively and as bright as a little bird.
-
-To tell the truth, Serafima Alexandrovna felt happy only in the
-nursery. She felt cold with her husband.
-
-Perhaps it was because he himself loved the cold--he loved to drink
-cold water, and to breathe cold air. He was always fresh and cool, with
-a frigid smile, and wherever he passed cold currents seemed to move in
-the air.
-
-The Nesletyevs, Sergei Modestovich and Serafima Alexandrovna, had
-married without love or calculation, because it was the accepted thing.
-He was a young man of thirty-five, she a young woman of twenty-five;
-both were of the same circle and well brought up; he was expected to
-take a wife, and the time had come for her to take a husband.
-
-It even seemed to Serafima Alexandrovna that she was in love with
-her future husband, and this made her happy. He looked handsome and
-well-bred; his intelligent grey eyes always preserved a dignified
-expression; and he fulfilled his obligations of a fianc� with
-irreproachable gentleness.
-
-The bride was also good-looking; she was a tall, dark-eyed,
-dark-haired girl, somewhat timid but very tactful. He was not after
-her dowry, though it pleased him to know that she had something. He
-had connexions, and his wife came of good, influential people. This
-might, at the proper opportunity, prove useful. Always irreproachable
-and tactful, Nesletyev got on in his position not so fast that any
-one should envy him, nor yet so slow that he should envy any one
-else--everything came in the proper measure and at the proper time.
-
-After their marriage there was nothing in the manner of Sergei
-Modestovich to suggest anything wrong to his wife. Later, however, when
-his wife was about to have a child, Sergei Modestovich established
-connexions elsewhere of a light and temporary nature. Serafima
-Alexandrovna found this out, and, to her own astonishment, was not
-particularly hurt; she awaited her infant with a restless anticipation
-that swallowed every other feeling.
-
-A little girl was born; Serafima Alexandrovna gave herself up to her.
-At the beginning she used to tell her husband, with rapture, of all
-the joyous details of Lelechka's existence. But she soon found that
-he listened to her without the slightest interest, and only from the
-habit of politeness. Serafima Alexandrovna drifted farther and farther
-away from him. She loved her little girl with the ungratified passion
-that other women, deceived in their husbands, show their chance young
-lovers.
-
-"_Mamochka_, let's play _priatki_," (hide and seek), cried Lelechka,
-pronouncing the _r_ like the _l_, so that the word sounded "pliatki."
-
-This charming inability to speak always made Serafima Alexandrovna
-smile with tender rapture. Lelechka then ran away, stamping with her
-plump little legs over the carpets, and hid herself behind the curtains
-near her bed.
-
-"_Tiu-tiu, mamochka_!" she cried out in her sweet, laughing voice, as
-she looked out with a single roguish eye.
-
-"Where is my baby girl?" the mother asked, as she looked for Lelechka
-and made believe that she did not see her.
-
-And Lelechka poured out her rippling laughter in her hiding place.
-Then she came out a little farther, and her mother, as though she had
-only just caught sight of her, seized her by her little shoulders and
-exclaimed joyously: "Here she is, my Lelechka!"
-
-Lelechka laughed long and merrily, her head close to her mother's
-knees, and all of her cuddled up between her mother's white hands. Her
-mother's eyes glowed with passionate emotion.
-
-"Now, _mamochka_, you hide," said Lelechka, as she ceased laughing.
-
-Her mother went to hide. Lelechka turned away as though not to see, but
-watched her _mamochka_ stealthily all the time. Mamma hid behind the
-cupboard, and exclaimed: "_Tiu-tiu_, baby girl!"
-
-Lelechka ran round the room and looked into all the corners, making
-believe, as her mother had done before, that she was seeking--though
-she really knew all the time where her _mamochka_ was standing.
-
-"Where's my _mamochka_?" asked Lelechka. "She's not here, and she's not
-here," she kept on repeating, as she ran from corner to corner.
-
-Her mother stood, with suppressed breathing, her head pressed against
-the wall, her hair somewhat disarranged. A smile of absolute bliss
-played on her red lips.
-
-The nurse, Fedosya, a good-natured and fine-looking, if somewhat stupid
-woman, smiled as she looked at her mistress with her characteristic
-expression, which seemed to say that it was not for her to object to
-gentlewomen's caprices. She thought to herself: "The mother is like a
-little child herself--look how excited she is."
-
-Lelechka was getting nearer her mother's corner. Her mother was growing
-more absorbed every moment by her interest in the game; her heart beat
-with short quick strokes, and she pressed even closer to the wall,
-disarranging her hair still more. Lelechka suddenly glanced toward her
-mother's corner and screamed with joy.
-
-"I've found 'oo," she cried out loudly and joyously, mispronouncing her
-words in a way that again made her mother happy.
-
-She pulled her mother by her hands to the middle of the room, they were
-merry and they laughed; and Lelechka again hid her head against her
-mother's knees, and went on lisping and lisping, without end, her sweet
-little words, so fascinating yet so awkward.
-
-Sergei Modestovich was coming at this moment toward the nursery.
-Through the half-closed doors he heard the laughter, the joyous
-outcries, the sound of romping. He entered the nursery, smiling his
-genial cold smile; he was irreproachably dressed, and he looked fresh
-and erect, and he spread round him an atmosphere of cleanliness,
-freshness and coldness. He entered in the midst of the lively game,
-and he confused them all by his radiant coldness. Even Fedosya felt
-abashed, now for her mistress, now for herself. Serafima Alexandrovna
-at once became calm and apparently cold--and this mood communicated
-itself to the little girl, who ceased to laugh, but looked instead,
-silently and intently, at her father.
-
-Sergei Modestovich gave a swift glance round the room. He liked coming
-here, where everything was beautifully arranged; this was done by
-Serafima Alexandrovna, who wished to surround her little girl, from her
-very infancy, only with the loveliest things. Serafima Alexandrovna
-dressed herself tastefully; this, too, she did for Lelechka, with
-the same end in view. One thing Sergei Modestovich had not become
-reconciled to, and this was his wife's almost continuous presence in
-the nursery.
-
-"It's just as I thought.... I knew that I'd find you here," he said
-with a derisive and condescending smile.
-
-They left the nursery together. As he followed his wife through the
-door Sergei Modestovich said rather indifferently, in an incidental
-way, laying no stress on his words: "Don't you think that it would be
-well for the little girl if she were sometimes without your company?
-Merely, you see, that the child should feel its own individuality," he
-explained in answer to Serafima Alexandrovna's puzzled glance.
-
-"She's still so little," said Serafima Alexandrovna.
-
-"In any case, this is but my humble opinion. I don't insist. It's your
-kingdom there."
-
-"I'll think it over," his wife answered, smiling, as he did, coldly but
-genially.
-
-Then they began to talk of something else.
-
-
-
-II
-
-
-Nurse Fedosya, sitting in the kitchen that evening, was telling the
-silent housemaid Darya and the talkative old cook Agathya about the
-young lady of the house, and how the child loved to play _priatki_ with
-her mother--"She hides' her little face, and cries '_tiu-tiu_'!"
-
-"And the _barinya_[1] herself is like a little one," added Fedosya,
-smiling.
-
-Agathya listened and shook her head ominously; while her face became
-grave and reproachful.
-
-"That the _barinya_ does it, well, that's one thing; but that the young
-lady does it, that's bad."
-
-"Why?" asked Fedosya with curiosity.
-
-This expression of curiosity gave her face the look of a wooden,
-roughly-painted doll.
-
-"Yes, that's bad," repeated Agathya with conviction. "Terribly bad!"
-
-"Well?" said Fedosya, the ludicrous expression of curiosity on her face
-becoming more emphatic.
-
-"She'll hide, and hide, and hide away," said Agathya, in a mysterious
-whisper, as she looked cautiously toward the door.
-
-"What are you saying?" exclaimed Fedosya, frightened.
-
-"It's the truth I'm saying, remember my words," Agathya went on with
-the same assurance and secrecy. "It's the surest sign."
-
-The old woman had invented this sign, quite suddenly, herself; and she
-was evidently very proud of it.
-
-
-[1] Gentlewoman.
-
-
-
-III
-
-
-Lelechka was asleep, and Serafima Alexandrovna was sitting in her own
-room, thinking with joy and tenderness of Lelechka. Lelechka was in
-her thoughts, first a sweet, tiny girl, then a sweet, big girl, then
-again a delightful little girl; and so until the end she remained
-mamma's little Lelechka.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna did not even notice that Fedosya came up to her
-and paused before her. Fedosya had a worried, frightened look.
-
-"_Barinya, barinya_" she said quietly, in a trembling voice.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna gave a start. Fedosya's face made her anxious.
-
-"What is it, Fedosya?" she asked with great concern. "Is there anything
-wrong with Lelechka?"
-
-"No, _barinya_," said Fedosya, as she gesticulated with her hands to
-reassure her mistress and to make her sit down. "Lelechka is asleep,
-may God be with her! Only I'd like to say something--you see--Lelechka
-is always hiding herself--that's not good."
-
-Fedosya looked at her mistress with fixed eyes, which had grown round
-from fright.
-
-"Why not good?" asked Serafima Alexandrovna, with vexation, succumbing
-involuntarily to vague fears.
-
-"I can't tell you how bad it is," said Fedosya, and her face expressed
-the most decided confidence.
-
-"Please speak in a sensible way," observed Serafima Alexandrovna dryly.
-"I understand nothing of what you are saying."
-
-"You see, _barinya_, it's a kind of omen," explained Fedosya abruptly,
-in a shamefaced way.
-
-"Nonsense!" said Serafima Alexandrovna.
-
-She did not wish to hear any further as to the sort of omen it was,
-and what it foreboded. But, somehow, a sense of fear and of sadness
-crept into her mood, and it was humiliating to feel that an absurd tale
-should disturb her beloved fancies, and should agitate her so deeply.
-
-"Of course I know that gentlefolk don't believe in omens, but it's a
-bad omen, _barinya_," Fedosya went on in a doleful voice, "the young
-lady will hide, and hide...."
-
-Suddenly she burst into tears, sobbing out loudly: "She'll hide,
-and hide, and hide away, angelic little soul, in a damp grave," she
-continued, as she wiped her tears with her apron and blew her nose.
-
-"Who told you all this?" asked Serafima Alexandrovna in an austere low
-voice.
-
-"Agathya says so, _barinya_" answered Fedosya; "it's she that knows."
-
-"Knows!" exclaimed Serafima Alexandrovna in irritation, as though she
-wished to protect herself somehow from this sudden anxiety. "What
-nonsense! Please don't come to me with any such notions in the future.
-Now you may go."
-
-Fedosya, dejected, her feelings hurt, left her mistress.
-
-"What nonsense! As though Lelechka could die!" thought Serafima
-Alexandrovna to herself, trying to conquer the feeling of coldness and
-fear which took possession of her at the thought of the possible death
-of Lelechka. Serafima Alexandrovna, upon reflection, attributed these
-women's beliefs in omens to ignorance. She saw clearly that there could
-be no possible connexion between a child's quite ordinary diversion
-and the continuation of the child's life. She made a special effort
-that evening to occupy her mind with other matters, but her thoughts
-returned involuntarily to the fact that Lelechka loved to hide herself.
-
-When Lelechka, was still quite small, and had learned to distinguish
-between her mother and her nurse, she sometimes, sitting in her
-nurse's arms, made a sudden roguish grimace, and hid her laughing face
-in the nurse's shoulder. Then she would look out with a sly glance.
-
-Of late, in those rare moments of the _barinya's_ absence from the
-nursery, Fedosya had again taught Lelechka to hide; and when Lelechka's
-mother, on coming in, saw how lovely the child looked when she was
-hiding, she herself began to play hide and seek with her tiny daughter.
-
-
-
-IV
-
-
-The next day Serafima Alexandrovna, absorbed in her joyous cares for
-Lelechka, had forgotten Fedosya's words of the day before.
-
-But when she returned to the nursery, after having ordered the dinner,
-and she heard Lelechka suddenly cry "_Tiu-tiu_!" from under the table,
-a feeling of fear suddenly took hold of her. Though she reproached
-herself at once for this unfounded, superstitious dread, nevertheless
-she could not enter wholeheartedly into the spirit of Lelechka's
-favourite game, and she tried to divert Lelechka's attention to
-something else.
-
-Lelechka was a lovely and obedient child. She eagerly complied with her
-mother's new wishes. But as she had got into the habit of hiding from
-her mother in some corner, and of crying out "_Tiu-tiu_!" so even that
-day she returned more than once to the game.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna tried desperately to amuse Lelechka. This was
-not so easy because restless, threatening thoughts obtruded themselves
-constantly.
-
-"Why does Lelechka keep on recalling the _tiu-tiu_? Why does she not
-get tired of the same thing--of eternally closing her eyes, and of
-hiding her face? Perhaps," thought Serafima Alexandrovna, "she is not
-as strongly drawn to the world as other children, who are attracted by
-many things. If this is so, is it not a sign of organic weakness? Is it
-not a germ of the unconscious non-desire to live?"
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna was tormented by presentiments. She felt ashamed
-of herself for ceasing to play hide and seek with Lelechka before
-Fedosya. But this game had become agonizing to her, all the more
-agonizing because she had a real desire to play it, and because
-something drew her very strongly to hide herself from Lelechka and to
-seek out the hiding child. Serafima Alexandrovna herself began the game
-once or twice, though she played it with a heavy heart. She suffered as
-though committing an evil deed with full consciousness.
-
-It was a sad day for Serafima Alexandrovna.
-
-
-
-V
-
-
-Lelechka was about to fall asleep. No sooner had she climbed into
-her little bed, protected by a network on all sides, than her eyes
-began to close from fatigue. Her mother covered her with a blue
-blanket. Lelechka drew her sweet little hands from under the blanket
-and stretched them out to embrace her mother. Her mother bent down.
-Lelechka, with a tender expression on her sleepy face, kissed her
-mother and let her head fall on the pillow. As her hands hid themselves
-under the blanket Lelechka whispered: "The hands _tiu-tiu_!"
-
-The mother's heart seemed to stop--Lelechka lay there so small, so
-frail, so quiet. Lelechka smiled gently, closed her eyes and said
-quietly: "The eyes _tiu-tiu_!"
-
-Then even more quietly: "Lelechka _tiu-tiu!_"
-
-With these words she fell asleep, her face pressing the pillow. She
-seemed so small and so frail under the blanket that covered her. Her
-mother looked at her with sad eyes.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna remained standing over Lelechka's bed a long
-while, and she kept looking at Lelechka with tenderness and fear.
-
-"I'm a mother: is it possible that I shouldn't be able to protect
-her?" she thought, as she imagined the various ills that might befall
-Lelechka.
-
-She prayed long that night, but the prayer did not relieve her sadness.
-
-
-
-VI
-
-
-Several days passed. Lelechka caught cold. The fever came upon her
-at night. When Serafima Alexandrovna, awakened by Fedosya, came to
-Lelechka and saw her looking so hot, so restless, and so tormented,
-she instantly recalled the evil omen, and a hopeless despair took
-possession of her from the first moments.
-
-A doctor was called, and everything was done that is usual on such
-occasions--but the inevitable happened. Serafima Alexandrovna tried to
-console herself with the hope that Lelechka would get well, and would
-again laugh and play--yet this seemed to her an unthinkable happiness!
-And Lelechka grew; feebler from hour to hour.
-
-All simulated tranquillity, so as not to frighten Serafima
-Alexandrovna, but their masked faces only made her sad.
-
-Nothing made her so unhappy as the reiterations of Fedosya, uttered
-between sobs: "She hid herself and hid herself, our Lelechka!"
-
-But the thoughts of Serafima Alexandrovna were confused, and she could
-not quite grasp what was happening.
-
-Fever was consuming Lelechka, and there were times when she lost
-consciousness and spoke in delirium. But when she returned to herself
-she bore her pain and her fatigue with gentle good nature; she smiled
-feebly at her _mamochka_, so that her _mamochka_ should not see how
-much she suffered. Three days passed, torturing like a nightmare.
-Lelechka grew quite feeble She did not know that she was dying.
-
-She glanced at her mother with her dimmed eyes, and lisped in a
-scarcely audible, hoarse voice: "_Tiu-tiu, mamochka_! Make _tiu-tiu,
-mamochka_!"
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna hid her face behind the curtains near Lelechka's
-bed. How tragic!
-
-"_Mamochka_!" called Lelechka in an almost inaudible voice.
-
-Lelechka's mother bent over her, and Lelechka, her vision grown still
-more dim, saw her mother's pale, despairing face for the last time.
-
-"A white _mamochka_!" whispered Lelechka. _Mamochka's_ white face
-became blurred, and everything grew dark before Lelechka. She caught
-the edge of the bed-cover feebly with her hands and whispered:
-"_Tiu-tiu_!"
-
-Something rattled in her throat; Lelechka opened and again closed her
-rapidly paling lips, and died.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna was in dumb despair as she left Lelechka, and
-went out of the room. She met her husband.
-
-"Lelechka is dead," she said in a quiet, dull voice.
-
-Sergei Modestovich looked anxiously at her pale face. He was struck by
-the strange stupor in her formerly animated handsome features.
-
-
-
-VII
-
-
-Lelechka was dressed, placed in a little coffin, and carried into the
-parlour. Serafima Alexandrovna was standing by the coffin and looking
-dully at her dead child. Sergei Modestovich went to his wife and,
-consoling her with cold, empty words, tried to draw her away from the
-coffin. Serafima Alexandrovna smiled.
-
-"Go away," she said quietly. "Lelechka is playing. She'll be up in a
-minute."
-
-"Sima, my dear, don't agitate yourself," said Sergei Modestovich in a
-whisper. "You must resign yourself to your fate."
-
-"She'll be up in a minute," persisted Serafima Alexandrovna, her eyes
-fixed on the dead little girl.
-
-Sergei Modestovich looked round him cautiously: he was afraid of the
-unseemly and of the ridiculous.
-
-"Sima, don't agitate yourself," he repeated. "This would be a miracle,
-and miracles do not happen in the nineteenth century."
-
-No sooner had he said these words than Sergei Modestovich felt their
-irrelevance to what had happened. He was confused and annoyed.
-
-He took his wife by the arm, and cautiously led her away from the
-coffin. She did not oppose him.
-
-Her face seemed tranquil and her eyes were dry. She went into the
-nursery and began to walk round the room, looking into those places
-where Lelechka used to hide herself. She walked all about the room, and
-bent now and then to look under the table or under the bed, and kept on
-repeating cheerfully: "Where is my little one? Where is my Lelechka?"
-After she had walked round the room once she began to make her quest
-anew. Fedosya, motionless, with dejected face, sat in a corner, and
-looked frightened at her mistress; then she suddenly burst out sobbing,
-and she wailed loudly:
-
-"She hid herself, and hid herself, our Lelechka, our angelic little
-soul!"
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna trembled, paused, cast a perplexed look at
-Fedosya, began to weep, and left the nursery quietly.
-
-
-
-VIII
-
-
-Sergei Modestovich hurried the funeral. He saw that Serafima
-Alexandrovna was terribly shocked by her sudden misfortune, and as he
-feared for her reason he thought she would more readily be diverted and
-consoled when Lelechka was buried.
-
-Next morning Serafima Alexandrovna dressed with particular care--for
-Lelechka. When she entered the parlour there were several people
-between her and Lelechka. The priest and deacon paced up and down the
-room; clouds of blue smoke drifted in the air, and there was a smell
-of incense. There was an oppressive feeling of heaviness in Serafima
-Alexandrovna's head as she approached Lelechka. Lelechka lay there
-still and pale, and smiled pathetically. Serafima Alexandrovna laid her
-cheek upon the edge of Lelechka's coffin, and whispered: "_Tiu-tiu_,
-little one!"
-
-The little one did not reply. Then there was some kind of stir and
-confusion around Serafima Alexandrovna; strange, unnecessary faces
-bent over her, some one held her--and Lelechka was carried away
-somewhere.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna stood up erect, sighed in a lost way, smiled, and
-called loudly: "Lelechka!"
-
-Lelechka was being carried out. The mother threw herself after the
-coffin with despairing sobs, but she was held back. She sprang behind
-the door, through which Lelechka had passed, sat down there on the
-floor, and as she looked through the crevice, she cried out: "Lelechka,
-_tiu-tiu_!"
-
-Then she put her head out from behind the door, and began to laugh.
-
-Lelechka was quickly carried away from her mother, and those who
-carried her seemed to run rather than to walk.
-
-
-
-
-THE SMILE.
-
-
-I
-
-Some fifteen boys and girls and several young men and women had
-gathered in the garden belonging to the Semiboyarinov cottage to
-celebrate the birthday of one of the sons of the house, Lesha by name,
-a student of the second class. Lesha's birthday was made indeed an
-occasion for bringing eligible young men to the house for his grown
-sisters' sake.
-
-All were merry and smiling--the older members of the party as well as
-the young boys and girls, who ran up and down the yellow sand of the
-well-kept footpaths; a pale, unimpressive boy, who was sitting alone
-on a bench under a lilac bush and looking silently at the other boys,
-was also smiling. His loneliness, his silence, and his well-worn though
-clean clothes, all pointed to his poverty and to his embarrassment in
-the company of these lively, well-dressed children. His face was timid
-and thin, his chest sunken, and his lean hands lay so meekly that it
-aroused one's pity to look at him. Still, he smiled; but even his smile
-seemed pitiful; it was as though it depressed him to watch the games
-and the happiness of other children, or as though he were afraid to
-annoy others by his sad looks and his poor dress.
-
-He was called Grisha Igumnov. His father had died not long ago;
-Grisha's mother occasionally sent her son to her rich relatives with
-whom he always felt depressed and uneasy.
-
-"Why do you sit alone? Get up and run about!" said the blue-eyed
-Lydochka Semiboyarinov as she passed him.
-
-Grisha did not dare to disobey; his heart beat violently, his face
-became covered with small beads of perspiration. He approached the
-happy, red-cheeked boys timidly. They looked at him unfriendlily as
-at a stranger, and Grisha himself felt at once that he was not like
-them: he could not speak so boldly and so loudly; and he had neither
-such yellow boots, nor such a round little cap with a woolly red visor
-turned jauntily upwards as the boy nearest to him had.
-
-The boys continued to talk among themselves as though there were no
-Grisha. Grisha stood near them in an uneasy pose; his thin shoulders
-stooped somewhat, his slender fingers held fast to his narrow girdle,
-and he smiled timidly. He did not know what to do, and in his confusion
-did not hear what the lively boys were saying. They finished their
-conversation and scattered suddenly. Grisha, his timid, guilty smile
-still on his face, walked back uneasily on the sandy path and sat down
-once more on the bench. He was ashamed because he had walked up to the
-boys, yet had not spoken to any one, and because nothing had come of
-it. As he sat down he looked timidly round him--no one paid him the
-slightest attention, and no one laughed at him. Grisha grew calm.
-
-Just then two little girls, their arms round each other, passed him.
-Under their fixed stare Grisha shrank, grew red, and smiled guiltily.
-
-When the little girls had passed by the youngest of them, with fair
-hair, asked loudly:
-
-"Who's this ugly duckling?"
-
-The elder girl, who was red-cheeked and black-browed, laughed and
-answered: "I don't know. We had better ask Lydochka. It's most likely
-a poor relation."
-
-"What an absurd boy," said the little blonde. "He spreads his ears out,
-and sits there and smiles."
-
-They disappeared behind the bushes at the turn of the path, and Grisha
-no longer heard their voices. He felt hurt, and when he thought that he
-might have to sit there a long time, until his mother should come for
-him, he was sick at heart.
-
-A big-eyed, slender student with a stubborn crest of hair sticking up
-from his high forehead noticed that Grisha was sitting alone there like
-an orphan, and he wished to be kind to him, and to make him feel more
-at his ease; so he sat down near him.
-
-"What's your name?" he asked.
-
-Grisha told him quietly.
-
-"And my name is Mitya," said the student. "Are you here alone, or with
-any one?"
-
-"With mother," whispered Grisha.
-
-"Why do you sit here all by yourself?" asked Mitya.
-
-Grisha stirred nervously, and did not know what to say.
-
-"Why don't you play?"
-
-"I don't want to."
-
-Mitya did not hear him so he asked: "What did you say?"
-
-"I don't feel like it," said Grisha somewhat more loudly.
-
-The student, astonished, continued: "Why don't you feel like it?"
-
-Grisha again did not know what to say; he smiled in a lost way. Mitya
-was looking at him attentively. Glances of strangers always embarrassed
-Grisha; it was as though he feared that they might find something
-absurd in his appearance.
-
-Mitya was silent for a while, as he thought of something else that he
-might ask.
-
-"What do you collect?" he asked. "You've got a collection of something,
-haven't you? We all collect: I--stamps, Katya Pokrivalova--shells,
-Lesha--butterflies. What do you collect?"
-
-"Nothing," said Grisha, flushing.
-
-"Well, well," said Mitya with artless astonishment. "So you collect
-nothing! That's very curious."
-
-Grisha felt ashamed that he was not collecting anything, and that he
-had disclosed the fact.
-
-"I, too, must collect something!" he thought to himself, but he could
-not decide to say this aloud.
-
-Mitya sat a little longer, then left him. Grisha felt a relief. But a
-new ordeal was in store for him.
-
-The nurse engaged by the Semiboyarinovs for their youngest son was
-strolling along the garden paths with the one-year-old child in her
-arms. She wished to rest, and chose the same bench upon which Grisha
-was sitting. He again felt uneasy. He looked straight before him, and
-could not even decide to move away from the nurse to the other end of
-the bench.
-
-The infant's attention soon became drawn to Grisha's protruding
-ears, and he leant forward towards one of them. The nurse, a robust,
-red-cheeked woman, concluded that Grisha would not mind. She brought
-her charge nearer to Grisha, and the pink infant caught Grisha's ear
-with his fat little hand. Grisha was paralysed with confusion, but
-could not decide to protest. The child, laughing loudly and merrily,
-now let go Grisha's ear, now caught hold of it again. The red-cheeked
-nurse, who enjoyed the game not less than the infant, kept on
-repeating: "Let's go for him! Let's give it to him!"
-
-One of the boys saw the scene, and told the other boys that little
-Georgik was obstreperous with the quiet boy who was sitting so long on
-the bench. The children gathered round Georgik and Grisha, and laughed
-noisily. Grisha tried to show that he didn't mind, that he felt no
-pain, and that he also enjoyed the fun. But it grew harder and harder
-for him to smile, and he had a very strong desire to cry. He knew that
-he ought not to cry, that it was a disgrace, and he restrained himself
-with an effort.
-
-Happily he was soon delivered. The blue-eyed Lydochka, upon hearing
-the children's boisterous laughter, went to see what had happened. She
-reproached the nurse: "Aren't you ashamed to go on like this?"
-
-She herself had difficulty to keep from laughing at Grisha's pitiful,
-confused face. But she restrained herself, and upheld her dignity as a
-grown young woman before the nurse and the children.
-
-The nurse rose and said, laughing: "Georginka did it quite gently. The
-boy himself didn't say that it hurt him."
-
-"You mustn't do such things," said Lydochka sternly.
-
-Georgik, unhappy because they had taken him away from Grisha, raised
-a cry. Lydochka took him in her arms and carried him away to quiet
-him. The nurse followed her. But the boys and the girls remained. They
-thronged round Grisha and eyed him unceremoniously.
-
-"Perhaps he's got stuck-on ears," suggested one of the boys, "that's
-why he doesn't feel any pain."
-
-"I rather think you like to be held by your ears," said another.
-
-"Tell us," said the little girl with the large blue eyes, "which ear
-does your mother catch hold of most?"
-
-"His ears have been stretched out to order in a workshop," cried a
-merry youngster, and laughed loudly at his own joke.
-
-"No," another corrected him, "he was born like that. When he was very
-small he was led not by his hand but by his ear."
-
-Grisha looked at his tormentors like a small beast at bay, with a fixed
-smile on his face, when, suddenly, wholly unexpectedly to the cheerful
-company, he burst into tears. Many small drops fell on his jacket.
-The children grew quiet at once. They became uneasy. They exchanged
-embarrassed glances, and looked silently at Grisha as he wiped the
-tears from his face with his thin hands; he appeared to be ashamed of
-his tears.
-
-"Why should he be offended?" said the beautiful, flaxen-haired Katya
-angrily. "Who's done him any harm? The ugly duckling!"
-
-"He's not an ugly duckling. You're an ugly duckling yourself,"
-intervened Mitya.
-
-"I can't stand rude people," said Katya, growing red with vexation.
-
-A little, brown-faced girl in a red dress looked long at Grisha, and
-knitted her brows as in reflection. Then she scanned the other children
-with her perplexed eyes, and asked quietly:
-
-"Why then did he smile?"
-
-
-
-II
-
-
-It was not often that Grisha's wardrobe received important additions.
-His mother could not afford it; hence, every item gave Grisha great
-joy. The autumn cold came, and Grisha's mother bought an overcoat, a
-hat and mittens. The mittens pleased Grisha more than anything else.
-
-On the holiday, after Mass, he put on his new things and went out to
-play. He loved to walk about in the streets, and he used to go out
-alone; his mother had no time to go out with him. She looked proudly
-out of the window as Grisha walked gravely by. She recalled at that
-moment her well-to-do relatives who had promised her so much, and had
-done so little, and she thought: "Well, I've managed it without them,
-thank God!"
-
-It was a cold, clear day; the sun did not shine with its full
-brightness; the waters of the canals in the city were covered with
-their first thin ice. Grisha walked the streets, rejoicing in this
-brisk cold, in his new clothes, and with his na�ve fancies; he always
-loved to dream when he was alone, and he dreamt always of great deeds,
-of fame, of a bright, happy life in a rich house, indeed of everything
-that was unlike the sad reality.
-
-As Grisha stood on the bank of the canal and looked through the iron
-railings at the thin ice that floated on the surface, he was approached
-by a street urchin in threadbare attire, and with hands red from the
-cold. He entered into conversation with Grisha. Grisha was not afraid
-of him, and even pitied him because of his benumbed hands. His new
-acquaintance informed him that he was called Mishka, but that his
-family name was Babushkin, because he and his mother lived with his
-_babushka_.[1]
-
-"But then what is your mother's family name?"
-
-"My mother's name?" repeated Mishka, smiling. "She's called
-Matushkin, because my _babushka_ is no _babushka_ to her, but is her
-_matushka._"[2]
-
-"That's strange," said Grisha with astonishment. "My mother and I have
-one family name; we are called the Igumnovs."
-
-"That's because," explained Mishka with animation, "your grandfather
-was an _igumen_."[3]
-
-"No," said Grisha, "my grandfather was a colonel."
-
-"All the same it's likely that his father, or some one else was an
-_igumen_, and so you have all become the Igumnovs."
-
-Grisha did not know who his great-grandfather was, so he said nothing,
-Mishka kept on eyeing his mittens.
-
-"You have handsome mittens," he said.
-
-"New ones," Grisha explained, with a joyous smile. "It's the first time
-I've put them on; d'you see, here is a little string drawn through!"
-
-"Well, you're a lucky one! And are they quite warm?"
-
-"Rather!"
-
-"I have also mittens at home, but I haven't put them on because I don't
-like them. They are yellow, and I don't like yellow ones. Let me put
-yours on, and I'll run along and show them to my _babushka_, and ask
-her to get me a pair like them."
-
-Mishka looked at Grisha pleadingly, and his eyes sparkled enviously.
-
-"You won't keep me waiting long?" asked Grisha.
-
-"No, I live quite near here, just round the corner. Don't be afraid!
-Upon my word, in a minute!"
-
-Grisha trustfully took off his mittens and gave them to Mishka.
-
-"I'll be back in a minute, wait here, don't go away," exclaimed Mishka,
-as he ran off with Grisha's mittens. He disappeared round the corner,
-and Grisha was left waiting. He did not imagine that Mishka would fool
-him; he thought that he would simply run home, show his mittens, and
-return with them. He stood there long and waited, and Mishka did not
-even dream of returning.
-
-The short autumn day was already darkening; Grisha's mother, restless
-because of her boy's long absence, went out to look for him. Grisha at
-last understood that Mishka would not return. The poor boy turned sadly
-toward home and he met his mother.
-
-"Grisha, what have you done with yourself" she asked, angry and glad at
-finding her son.
-
-Grisha did not reply. He seemed embarrassed as he rubbed his hands, red
-with cold. His mother then noticed that he did not wear his mittens.
-
-"Where are your mittens?" she asked angrily, as she searched his
-overcoat pockets.
-
-Grisha smiled and said: "I lent them to a boy for a short time, and he
-didn't bring them back."
-
-
-[1] Grandmother.
-
-[2] Mother.
-
-[3] An abbot.
-
-
-
-III
-
-
-Years passed after years. The bold and pushing children who once had
-gathered on Lesha Semiboyarinov's birthday became bold and pushing
-men and women, and the urchin who had fooled Grisha, it goes without
-saying, found his way in life--while Grisha, of course, became a
-failure. As in his childhood, he went on dreaming, and in his dreams he
-conquered his kingdom; but in real life he could not protect himself
-from any enterprising person who pushed him unceremoniously out of
-his way. His relations with women were equally unsuccessful, and
-his faint-hearted attentions were not once rewarded by a responsive
-feeling. He had no friends. His mother alone loved him.
-
-Igumnov rejoiced when he found a position at a small salary, because
-his mother could live calmly now without worrying about a I crust of
-bread. But his happiness was of short duration; soon his mother died.
-Grisha fell into depression, lost his spirits. Life seemed to him to be
-aimless. Apathy took hold of him; he had no interest in his work. He
-lost his place, and was soon in great need.
-
-Igumnov finally pawned his last possession, his mother's ring; as he
-walked out of the place he smiled--and his smile kept him from bursting
-into tears of self-pity.
-
-He had to see various people and to ask them for work. But Igumnov
-was not good at this. He was backward and quiet, and he experienced a
-helpless confusion that prevented him from persisting in his dealings
-with men. While yet on the stairway of a man's house a fear would seize
-him, his heart would beat painfully, his legs would grow heavy, and his
-hand would stretch toward the bell irresolutely.
-
-During one of his most depressing and hungry days Igumnov sat in the
-sumptuous private office of Aleksei Stepanovich Semiboyarinov, the
-father of the same Lesha whose birthday party remained memorable to
-him. Igumnov had already sent a letter to Aleksei Stepanovich: after
-all it was much easier to ask on paper than by word of mouth. And now
-he came for his answer.
-
-From the restless, solicitous manner of Semiboyarinov, a small, dry,
-old man, with closely-cut, silver-grey hair, he guessed that he would
-have a refusal. This made him feel wretched, but he could not help
-smiling an artless pleasant smile, as though he wished to show that it
-did not matter in the least, that he really did not count on anything.
-The smile evidently irritated Semiboyarinov.
-
-"I've got your letter, my dear fellow," said he at last in his dry,
-deliberate voice. "But there's nothing that I can see just now."
-
-"Nothing?" mumbled Igumnov, growing red.
-
-"Absolutely nothing, my dear fellow. Every place is taken. And I don't
-see anything in prospect for the near future. Perhaps something might
-be done for you at New Year."
-
-"I'll be glad of a chance even then," said Igumnov, smiling in such a
-way as to suggest that a mere eight months was of no account to him.
-
-"Yes, I'll be very glad to do something then. If it depended upon me
-you'd get your place to-day. I'd like very much to be of use to you, my
-good man."
-
-"Thank you," said Igumnov.
-
-"But tell me," asked Semiboyarinov sympathetically, "why did you leave
-your old place?"
-
-"They found no use for me," answered Igumnov, confused.
-
-"No use for you? Well, I hope we'll find some use for you. Let me have
-your address, my good fellow."
-
-Semiboyarinov began to rummage on his table for a piece of paper.
-Igumnov just then caught sight of his own letter under a marble
-paper-weight.
-
-"My address is in the letter," he said.
-
-"So it is!" said his host briskly. "I'll make a note of it."
-
-"I have the habit," observed Igumnov, rising from his place, "always to
-write my address at the beginning of a letter."
-
-"A European habit," commended his host.
-
-Igumnov took his leave and went out smiling, proud of his European
-habits, which, however, did not prevent him from feeling hungry. He
-was almost glad that the unpleasant conversation was at an end. He
-recalled all the polite words, and especially those that contained the
-promise; foolish hopes awakened in him. But a few minutes later, as he
-was walking in the street, he realized that the promise would come to
-nothing. Besides, it was made for the future, and he had need of food
-now, and he must go to his lodgings with a heavy heart--what would his
-landlady say? What could he say to her?
-
-Igumnov began to walk more slowly, then he turned in the opposite
-direction. Lost in gloom, he walked on, pale and hungry, through the
-noisy streets of the capital, past busy satiated people. His smile
-vanished. The look of dark despair gave a certain significance to his
-usually little expressive features.
-
-He was now close to the Niva. The huge dome of the Isakiyevski
-Cathedral glowed golden in the wide expanse of blue sky. The large open
-squares and streets were enveloped in the gentle, scarcely perceptible,
-dust-like haze of the rays of the setting sun. The din of carriages was
-softened in these magnificent open spaces. Everything seemed strange
-and hostile to the hungry, helpless man. The beautiful, rich-coloured
-fruits behind the shop windows could not have been more inaccessible if
-they were under the watch of a strong guard.
-
-Children were playing merrily in the green square. Igumnov looked at
-them and smiled. Unpleasant memories of his own childhood tormented him
-with an intense pity for himself. He reflected that it was only left
-to him to die. The thought frightened him. And again he reflected: "Why
-shouldn't I die? Wasn't there a time when I did not exist? I shall have
-rest, eternal oblivion."
-
-Fragments of wise strange thoughts came to him and soothed him.
-
-Igumnov was now on the embankment. He leant against the granite parapet
-and watched the restless waters of the river. A single move, he
-thought, and everything would be ended. But it was terrible to think
-of drowning, of struggling with one's mouth full of water, of being
-strangled by these heavy, cold sweeps of water, of battling helplessly,
-and of at last sinking from sheer exhaustion to the bottom, there to be
-carried by the undercurrents, and at last to be cast out, a shapeless
-corpse, upon some coast of the sea.
-
-Igumnov shivered and moved away from the river. He suddenly espied not
-far away his former colleague Kurkov. Smartly dressed, cheerful and
-self-satisfied, Kurkov was walking slowly and swinging a thin cane with
-a fancy handle.
-
-"Ah, Grigory Petrovich!" he exclaimed, as though he were glad of the
-meeting. "Are you strolling, or are you on business?"
-
-"Yes, I'm strolling, that is on business," said Igumnov.
-
-"I think we are going the same way?"
-
-They walked on together. Kurkov's cheerful chatter only intensified
-Igumnov's mood. Moving his shoulders nervously he addressed Kurkov with
-sudden resolution: "Nikolai Sergeyevich, do you happen to have a rouble
-on you?"
-
-"A rouble?" said Kurkov in astonishment. "Why do you want it?"
-
-Igumnov flushed, and began to explain in stammers. "You see, I ... just
-one rouble is lacking.... I have to get something ... something, you
-see...."
-
-He breathed heavily in his agitation. He grew silent, and smiled a
-pitiful, fixed smile.
-
-"That means I shan't get it back," thought Kurkov.
-
-And now he spoke no longer in the same careless tone as before.
-
-"I'd like to, but I haven't any spare cash, not a copeck. I had to
-borrow some yesterday myself."
-
-"Well, if you haven't it, you can't help it," mumbled Igumnov, and
-continued to smile. "I'll simply have to get along without it."
-
-His smile irritated Kurkov, perhaps because it was such a pitiful,
-helpless affair.
-
-"Why does he smile?" thought Kurkov in vexation. "Doesn't he believe
-me? Well, I don't care if he doesn't--I don't own the Government
-exchequer."
-
-"Why don't you come in sometimes and see us?" he asked Igumnov in a
-careless, dry manner, as he looked elsewhere.
-
-"I am always meaning to. Of course I'll come in," answered Igumnov in a
-trembling voice. "What about to-day?"
-
-There rose before him a picture of the cosy dining-room of the Kurkovs,
-the hospitable hostess, the samovar on the table and the various tasty
-tit-bits.
-
-"To-day?" asked Kurkov in the same careless, dry voice. "No, we shan't
-be home to-day. But do step in some day before long. Well, I must turn
-up this lane. Good-bye!"
-
-And he made haste to cross the wooden walk of the embankment. Igumnov
-looked after him, and smiled. Slow, incoherent thoughts crept through
-his brain.
-
-As Kurkov disappeared up the lane Igumnov again approached the granite
-parapet, and, trembling in cold terror, began slowly and awkwardly to
-climb over it.
-
-There was no one near.
-
-
-
-
-THE HOOP
-
-
-
-I
-
-
-A woman was taking her morning stroll in a lonely suburban street; a
-boy of four was with her. She was young and smart and she was smiling
-brightly; she was casting affectionate glances at her son, whose red
-cheeks beamed with happiness. The boy was bowling a hoop; a large,
-new, bright yellow hoop. He ran after his hoop awkwardly, laughed
-uproariously with joy, thrust forward his plump little legs, bare at
-the knee, and flourished his stick. He needn't have raised his stick so
-high above his head--but what of that?
-
-What happiness! He had never had a hoop before; how briskly it made him
-run!
-
-And nothing of this had existed for him before; everything was new to
-him--the streets in early morning, the merry sun, and the distant din
-of the city. Everything was new to the boy--and joyous and pure.
-
-
-
-II
-
-
-A shabbily dressed old man, with coarse hands stood at the street
-crossing. He pressed close to the wall to let the woman and the boy
-pass. The old man looked at the boy with dull eyes and smiled stupidly.
-Confused, sluggish thoughts struggled within his almost bald head.
-
-"A little gentleman!" said he to himself. "Quite a small fellow. And
-simply bursting with joy. Just look at him cutting his paces!"
-
-He could not quite understand it. Somehow it seemed strange to him.
-
-Here was a child--a thing to be pulled about by the hair! Play is
-mischief. Children, as every one knows, are mischief-makers.
-
-And there was the mother--she uttered no reproach, she made no fuss,
-she did not scold. She was smart and bright. It was quite easy to see
-that they were used to warmth and comfort.
-
-On the other hand, when he, the old man, was a boy he lived a dog's
-life! There was nothing particularly rosy in his life even now; though,
-to be sure, he was no longer thrashed and he had plenty to eat. He
-recalled his younger days--their hunger, their cold, their drubbings.
-He had never had fun with a hoop, or other playthings of well-to-do
-folks. Thus passed all his life--in poverty, in care, in misery. And he
-could recall nothing--not a single joy.
-
-He smiled with his toothless mouth at the boy, and he envied him. He
-reflected:
-
-"What a silly sport!"
-
-But envy tormented him.
-
-He went to work--to the factory where he had worked from childhood,
-where he had grown old. And all day he thought of the boy.
-
-It was a fixed, deep-rooted thought. He simply could not get the boy
-out of his mind. He saw him running, laughing, stamping his feet,
-bowling the hoop. What plump little legs he had, bared at the knee!...
-
-All day long, amid the din of the factory wheels, the boy with the hoop
-appeared to him. And at night he saw the boy in a dream.
-
-
-
-III
-
-
-Next morning his reveries again pursued the old man.
-
-The machines were clattering, the labour was monotonous, automatic.
-The hands were busy at their accustomed tasks; the toothless mouth
-was smiling at a diverting fancy. The air was thick with dust, and
-under the high ceiling strap after strap, with hissing sound, glided
-quickly from wheel to wheel, endless in number. The far corners were
-invisible for the dense escaping vapours. Men emerged here and there
-like phantoms, and the human voice was not heard for the incessant din
-of the machines.
-
-The old man's fancy was at work--he had become a little boy for the
-moment, his mother was a gentlewoman, and he had his hoop and his
-little stick; he was playing, driving the hoop with the little stick.
-He wore a white costume, his little legs were plump, bare at the
-knee....
-
-The days passed; the work went on, the fancy persisted.
-
-
-
-IV
-
-
-The old man was returning from work one evening when he saw the hoop of
-an old barrel lying in the street. It was a rough, dirty object. The
-old man trembled with happiness, and tears appeared in his dull eyes.
-A sudden, almost irresistible desire took possession of him.
-
-He glanced cautiously around him; then he bent down, picked up the hoop
-with trembling hands, and smiling shamefacedly, carried it home with
-him.
-
-No one noticed him, no one questioned him. Whose concern was it? A
-ragged old man was carrying an old, battered, useless hoop--who cared?
-
-He carried it stealthily, afraid of ridicule. Why he picked it up and
-why he carried it, he himself could not tell. Still, it was like the
-boy's hoop, and this was enough. There was no harm in it lying about.
-
-He could look at it; he could touch it. It would stimulate his
-reveries; the whistle and turmoil of the factory would grow fainter,
-the escaping vapours less dense....
-
-For several days the hoop lay under the bed in the old man's poor,
-cramped quarters. Sometimes he would take it from its place and look
-at it; the dirty, grey hoop soothed the old man, and the sight of it
-quickened his persistent thoughts about the happy little boy.
-
-
-
-V
-
-
-It was a clear, warm morning, and the birds were chirping away in the
-consumptive urban trees somewhat more cheerfully than usual. The old
-man rose early, took his hoop, and walked a little distance out of town.
-
-He coughed as he made his way among the old trees and the thorny bushes
-in the woods. The trees, covered with their dry, blackish, bursting
-bark, seemed to him incomprehensibly and sternly silent. The odours
-were strange, the insects astonishing, the ferns of gigantic growth.
-There was neither dust nor din here, and the gentle, exquisite morning
-mist lay behind the trees. The old feet glided over the dry leaves and
-stumbled across the old gnarled roots.
-
-The old man broke off a dry limb and hung his hoop upon it.
-
-He came upon an opening, full of daylight and of calm. The dewdrops,
-countless and opalescent, gleamed upon the green blades of newly mown
-grass.
-
-Suddenly the old man let the hoop slide off the stick. He struck with
-the stick, and sent the hoop rolling across the green lawn. The old
-man laughed, brightened at once, and pursued the hoop like that little
-boy. He kicked up his feet and drove the hoop with his stick, which he
-flourished high over his head, just as that little boy did.
-
-It seemed to him that he was small, beloved, and happy. It seemed to
-him that he was being looked after by his mother, who was following
-close behind and smiling. Like a child on his first outing, he felt
-refreshed on the bright grass, and on the still mosses.
-
-His goat-like, dust-grey beard, that harmonized with his sallow face,
-trembled, while his cough mingled with his laughter, and raucous sounds
-came from his toothless mouth.
-
-
-
-VI
-
-
-And the old man grew to love his morning hour in the woods with the
-hoop.
-
-He sometimes thought he might be discovered, and ridiculed--and this
-aroused him to a keen sense of shame. This shame resembled fear; he
-would grow numb, and his knees would give way under him. He would look
-round him with fright and timidity.
-
-
-But no--there was no one to be seen, or to be heard....
-
-And having diverted himself to his heart's content he would return to
-the city, smiling gently and joyously.
-
-
-
-VII
-
-
-No one had ever found him out. And nothing unusual ever happened. The
-old man played peacefully for several days, and one very dewy morning
-he caught cold. He went to bed, and soon died. Dying in the factory
-hospital, among strangers, indifferent people, he smiled serenely.
-
-His memories soothed him. He, too, had been a child; he, too, had
-laughed and scampered across the green grass, among the dark trees--his
-beloved mother had followed him with her eyes.
-
-
-
-
-THE SEARCH
-
-
-I
-
-
-The pleasant in life has a way of mixing with the unpleasant. It is
-pleasant to be a student of the first class, for it gives one a certain
-standing in the world. But even the life of a student of the first
-class is not free from unpleasantness.
-
-The first thing of which Shura was conscious when he awoke one morning
-was that something was tearing on his person. He felt uncomfortable. As
-he turned on his side he was even more clearly aware of the damage that
-his shirt had suffered. There was a large gap under the armpits, and
-presently he realized that it extended down to the very bottom.
-
-Shura was sad. He remembered having told his mother only the day before
-about the condition of his shirt.
-
-"Wear it another day, Shurochka," she answered him.
-
-Shura frowned and said rather sadly: "Mother, it won't stand another
-day's wear. To-morrow I shall be a ragamuffin."
-
-Without looking up from her work she grumbled.
-
-"Let me have some peace. I have already promised you a change to-morrow
-evening. If you'd only be less mischievous your clothes would last
-longer. You'd wear out iron."
-
-Shura, who was a quiet lad, growled back in reply:
-
-"One simply couldn't be less mischievous than I. Only sometimes you
-can't help it, and then in a reasonable sort of way."
-
-His request went unheeded. And here was the consequence. His shirt was
-torn to its very hem. It was now good for nothing, all for want of a
-little foresight.
-
-He jumped out of bed, and ran semi-nude into the next-room, where his
-mother was making ready to go out to bring back some paying homework.
-The thought of going to school in discomfort and of waiting till
-evening vexed him.
-
-"What did I tell you?" he exclaimed. "You wouldn't give me a shirt when
-I asked you yesterday. Now look what's happened!"
-
-Deeply annoyed, she looked at Shura and complained.
-
-"Aren't you ashamed to run about like that? I fear I'll never drum any
-sense into you. You always come bothering me when I'm in a hurry."
-
-Still, it was quite evident that it would not do to let the lad go in
-tatters. She found a brand new shirt and gave it to Shura somewhat
-reluctantly, as she had intended giving him one of the old ones, which
-were not due to arrive from the laundry until the evening.
-
-Shura was overjoyed. The new linen gave him a pleasant sensation, its
-harsh cold surface tickled the skin most pleasantly. He laughed, and he
-pranced about the room as he dressed; and his mother was not there to
-scold him.
-
-
-
-II
-
-
-The school, as always, seemed such a strange place. It was both gay and
-depressing, and hummed with a kind of unnatural industry. It was gay
-in the intervals between the lessons, and extremely tedious during the
-lessons.
-
-The subjects of study were most singular and useless. They concerned:
-folk, who had died long ago and did no good while they lived, and
-whom, for some unknown reason, it was necessary to recall after all
-these centuries, although some of the personages had never even
-existed; verbs, which were conjugated with something; nouns, which
-were declined for some purpose or other, though no use could be
-found for them in living speech; figures, which call for proofs of
-something which need not be proven at all; and much else, equally
-inconsequential and absurd. And there was nothing in all this that one
-could not do without; there was no correlation of facts, there was no
-straightforward answer to the eternal question: Why and Wherefore?
-
-
-
-III
-
-
-That morning early, in the assembly room, Mitya Krinin asked Shura:
-"Well, have you brought it?"
-
-Shura recalled that he had promised to bring Krinin a book of popular
-songs. He replied: "Just a moment. I've left it in my overcoat."
-
-He ran into the dressing-room. The bells suddenly rang out in all parts
-of the building, calling the students to prayer, without which the
-lessons could hardly be expected to begin.
-
-Shura made haste. He put his hand in the overcoat pocket, found
-nothing; then, on discovering that it was some one else's overcoat, he
-exclaimed in vexation:
-
-"There now, that's something new--my hand in another boy's overcoat!"
-
-And he began to search in his own.
-
-There was an outburst of derisive laughter. He looked around, startled,
-to find there the mischievous Dutikov, who called out in his unpleasant
-voice: "So, my boy, you're going through other people's pockets!"
-
-Shura growled back angrily: "It's not your affair. Anyway, I'm not
-going through yours."
-
-He found his book and ran back to the assembly room, where the students
-were already ranging themselves for the service, forming into long
-rows, according to height. The smaller students stood in front, near to
-the ikons, the taller behind; and in each row, in gradation, the lads
-on the right were taller than those on the left. The school faculty
-considered it necessary for them to pray in rows, and according to
-height; otherwise the prayer might come to nothing. Apart from them,
-there was a group of boys more proficient in chanting, and the leader
-of these, at the beginning of each chant, changed his voice several
-times--this was called "setting the tone." The singing was loud,
-rapid, expressionless; they might have all been beating drums. The
-head student was reading in the prayer book the prayers which it was
-customary to read and not to sing--and his reading was just as loud,
-just as expressionless. In a word, it was the same as ever.
-
-But after prayers something happened.
-
-
-
-IV
-
-
-Student Epiphanov, of the second class, brought with him to school that
-morning a pearl-handled penknife and a silver rouble, and now these
-were nowhere to be found. He raised a cry and went to complain.
-
-An investigation was started.
-
-Dutikov reported that he had seen Shura Dolinin going through the
-pockets of some one's overcoat. Shura was called into the cabinet of
-the director.
-
-Sergey Ivanovich, the director, fixed his suspicious eyes on the lad.
-The old tutor, who saw an excellent chance of catching a thief, and
-incidentally of balancing accounts somewhat for tricks that had been
-played upon him by the mischievous lads, experienced malicious pleasure
-and pounced upon the confused, flushing lad with questions.
-
-"Why were you in the dressing-room during prayer?"
-
-"Before prayer, Sergey Ivanovich," whimpered Shura in a voice squeaky
-from fright.
-
-"Very well, before prayer," said the director with irony in his voice.
-"What I want to know is why were you there?"
-
-Shura explained.
-
-The director continued: "Very well, after a book. But why in some one
-else's pocket?"
-
-"It was a mistake," said Shura, distressed.
-
-"A nice mistake," remarked the director dryly. "Now confess, haven't
-you taken by mistake a penknife and a rouble. By mistake, mind you?
-Look through your pockets, my lad."
-
-Shura began to cry, and said through his tears: "I haven't stolen
-anything."
-
-The director smiled. It was pleasant to provoke tears. Such beautiful
-and such large childish tears trickled down the pink cheeks in three
-separate streams: two streams of tears came from one eye, and only one
-from the other.
-
-"If you haven't stolen anything why do you cry?" said the director in a
-bantering tone. "I don't even say that you have stolen. I assume that
-you merely made a mistake: caught hold of something that came into
-your hand, and then forgot all about it. Suppose you look through your
-pockets."
-
-Shura quickly drew from his pockets all the absurd trifles usually
-found on boys, and then turned both his pockets inside out.
-
-"Nothing," he said sadly.
-
-The director gave him a searching look.
-
-"You are sure it hasn't dropped down in your clothes somewhere--the
-knife might have slipped into your boots, eh?"
-
-He rang. The watchman came.
-
-Shura was crying. And everything round him seemed to float in a rose
-mist, in the incomprehensible mental void of his degradation. They
-turned Shura about, felt him all over, searched him. Little by little
-they undressed him. First they took off his boots and shook them out;
-they did the same with his stockings. His belt, blouse and breeches
-followed. Everything was shaken out and searched.
-
-And through all this torment of shame, through all this indignity of a
-degrading and needless ceremony there penetrated one resplendent ray of
-joy; the torn shirt was at home, and the new, clean one rustled in the
-coarse hands of the zealous pedagogue.
-
-Shura stood in his shirt, crying. Behind the door he could hear
-tumultuous voices and cries of joy.
-
-The door burst open, and a little, red-cheeked, smiling chap entered
-hurriedly. And through his shame, through his tears, and through his
-joy about the new shirt, Shura heard a confused and panting voice say:
-
-"It's been found, Sergey Ivanovich. On Epiphanov himself. There was a
-hole in his pocket--the penknife and rouble slipped down into his boot."
-
-Then, suddenly, they became gentle with Shura. They stroked his head,
-comforted him, and helped him to dress.
-
-
-
-V
-
-
-Now he cried, now he laughed. At home he again cried and laughed. He
-complained:
-
-"I was entirely undressed. It would have been nice, wouldn't it, if I
-had been wearing that torn shirt!"
-
-Later--yes, what happened later? His mother would go to the director.
-She wished to make a scene. Afterwards she would lodge a complaint
-against him. But she recalled, in the street, that her boy was
-non-paying student. There was no scene. Besides, the director received
-her pleasantly. He was so apologetic.
-
-The impression of his degradation remained with the boy. All its
-incidents had impressed themselves upon him: he had been suspected
-of theft, and searched, and he had stood, almost naked, undergoing
-the scrutiny of an officious person. Shameful? Let us, by all means,
-console ourselves that it is an experience useful to life.
-
-Weeping, the mother said: "Who knows--perhaps when you grow up,
-something of the sort will really happen. We've heard of such things in
-our time."
-
-
-
-
-THE WHITE MOTHER
-
-
-
-I
-
-
-Easter was near. Esper Constantinovich Saksaoolov was in a painful and
-undecided state of mind. It seemed to have begun when he was asked at
-the Gorodischevs: "Where are you greeting the holiday?"
-
-Saksaoolov, for some reason, did not reply at once. The housewife, who
-was stout, short-sighted and fussy, went on: "Come to us."
-
-Saksaoolov felt vexed--most likely at the young girl, who at the words
-of her mother gave him a quick glance, then averted it, and continued
-her conversation with a professor's young assistant.
-
-Mothers of grown daughters saw a possible husband in Saksaoolov, which
-annoyed him. He considered himself an old bachelor at thirty-seven.
-
-He answered sharply: "Thank you. But I always pass that night at home."
-
-The girl glanced at him with a smile and asked: "With whom?"
-
-"Alone," answered Saksaoolov with a shade of astonishment in his voice.
-
-"You're a misanthrope," said Madame Gorodischeva, with a sour smile.
-
-Saksaoolov valued his freedom. It seemed strange to him, whenever he
-thought of it, that he had been so near marriage once. He had lived
-long in his small but tastefully furnished apartment, had got used to
-his man attendant, the elderly and steady Fedota, and to Fedota's not
-less reliable spouse, who cooked his dinner; and he persuaded himself
-that he ought to remain single out of memory to his first love. In
-truth, his heart was growing cold from indifference born of a lonely,
-incomplete life.
-
-He had his own fortune, his father and mother had died long ago, and he
-had no near relatives. He lived methodically and quietly; had something
-to do with a government department; was intimately acquainted with
-contemporary literature and art; and was something of an epicurean--but
-life itself seemed to him to be empty and aimless. Were it not that one
-pure, radiant fancy visited him at times he would have become entirely
-cold, like many others.
-
-
-
-II
-
-
-His first and only love, which ended before it had time to blossom,
-wrapt him closely in sad and sweet reveries, usually in the evenings.
-Five years earlier he had met a young girl who left an indelible
-impression upon him. She was pale, gentle, slender, with blue eyes, and
-fair wavy hair. She almost seemed to him not to belong to this earth,
-but was like a creature of air and mist, blown for a brief moment by
-fate into the city turmoil. Her movements were slow; her gentle, clear
-voice was soft, like the murmur of a brook purling over stones.
-
-Saksaoolov, whether by chance or not, saw her always in a white dress.
-The impression of white had become inseparable from his thought of her.
-Her very name, Tamar, suggested to him something as white as the snow
-on the mountain tops.
-
-He began to visit her at the house of her parents. More than once he
-had resolved to say to her those words which bind human fates together.
-But she never let him go on; she would always grow frightened and shy,
-and she would rise and leave him. What frightened her? Saksaoolov
-read signs of virgin love in her face; her eyes grew brighter when he
-entered, and a light flush suffused her cheeks.
-
-But one never-to-be-forgotten day she listened to him. It was in the
-early spring. The ice on the river was gone, and the trees were covered
-with a soft green veil. Tamar and Saksaoolov were sitting before the
-window in the city house, and looking out on the Niva. He spoke,
-scarcely knowing what he said, but his words were both gentle and
-terrible to her. She grew pale, smiled vaguely, and rose. Her slender
-hand trembled on the carved top of the chair.
-
-"To-morrow," Tamar said quietly, and went out.
-
-Saksaoolov gazed with intense feeling toward the door behind which
-Tamar had disappeared. His head was in a whirl. His eye fell upon a
-sprig of white lilac; he picked it up almost absently, and left without
-bidding his hosts good-bye.
-
-He could not sleep that night. He stood at the window and looked out
-into the far-stretching streets, at first dark, then lighter at dawn;
-he smiled and pressed the sprig of lilac between his fingers. When
-it grew light he noticed that the floor of the room was strewn with
-white petals of lilac. This seemed both curious and of happy omen to
-Saksaoolov. He felt the cool of the breeze on his heated face. He took
-a bath and he felt refreshed. Then he went to Tamar.
-
-They told him that she was ill, that she had caught a cold somewhere.
-And Saksaoolov never saw her again; she died within two weeks. He
-did not go to her funeral. Her death left him quite calm, and he no
-longer knew whether he had loved her or whether it was a short, passing
-fascination.
-
-He mused about her sometimes in the evening; but he gradually learned
-to forget her; and Saksaoolov had no portrait of her. But after a few
-years--more precisely, only a year ago--in the spring, upon seeing a
-sprig of lilac sadly out of place among rich eatables in a restaurant
-window, he remembered Tamar. And from that time on he loved to think of
-Tamar again during the evenings.
-
-Sometimes, as he fell into a light sleep, he dreamt that Tamar came to
-him, sat opposite him, and looked at him with unaverted, fond eyes; and
-that she had something to tell him. And it was painful to feel Tamar's
-expectant glance upon him, and not know what she wanted of him.
-
-Now, leaving the Gorodischevs, he thought timidly: "She will come to
-give me the kiss of Easter."
-
-A feeling of fear and loneliness took hold of him with such intensity
-that the idea came to him: "Perhaps it would be well to marry so as not
-to be alone on holy, mysterious nights."
-
-He thought of Valeria Mikhailovna, the Gorodischev girl. She was by no
-means a beauty, but she was always dressed becomingly to set off her
-looks. She apparently liked him, and was not likely to reject him if he
-asked her.
-
-The throng and din in the street distracted him and his usual somewhat
-ironic mood swayed his thoughts of the Gorodischev girl. Could he prove
-false to Tamar's memory for any one else? Everything in the world
-seemed so paltry to him that he wished no one but Tamar to give him the
-kiss of Easter.
-
-"But," thought he, "she will again look at me with expectancy. White,
-gentle Tamar, what does she want? Will her gentle lips kiss me?"
-
-
-
-III
-
-
-Saksaoolov thought sadly of Tamar as he wandered in the streets, and
-looking into the faces of the passers-by he thought many of the older
-people unpleasantly coarse. He recalled that there was no one with whom
-he would exchange the kiss of Easter with real desire and joy. There
-would be many coarse lips and prickly beards, smelling of wine, to kiss
-the first day.
-
-It was much pleasanter to kiss the children. Children's faces grew
-lovely in Saksaoolov's eyes.
-
-He walked a long time, and when he was tired he entered a church
-enclosure just off the noisy street. A pale lad sat on a form and
-looked up frightened at Saksaoolov; then he once more began to gaze
-absently before him. His blue eyes were gentle and sad, like Tamar's.
-He was so small that his feet projected from the seat.
-
-Saksaoolov, who sat near him, began to eye him, half with pity, half
-with curiosity. There was something in this youngster that stirred his
-memory with joy, and at the same time excited him. In appearance he was
-a most ordinary urchin; he had on ragged clothes, a white fur cap on
-his bright hair, and a pair of dirty boots, worse for wear.
-
-He sat long on the form, then he rose suddenly and gave a cry. He
-ran out of the gate into the street, then stopped, turned quickly in
-another direction, and again stopped. It was clear that he did not know
-which way to turn. He began to weep quietly, making no ado, and large
-tears ran down his cheeks. A crowd gathered. A policeman came. They
-began to ask him where he lived.
-
-"At the Gliukhov house," he lisped in a childlike but indistinct tone.
-
-"In what street," the policeman asked.
-
-The boy did not know, and only kept on repeating: "At the Gliukhov
-house."
-
-The young and good-natured policeman thought awhile, and decided that
-there was no such house near.
-
-"With whom do you live?" asked a gruff workman. "With your father?"
-
-"I have no father," answered the boy, as he scanned the faces round him
-with his tearful eyes.
-
-"So you've got no father, that's how it is," said the workman gravely,
-and shook his head. "Then where's your mother?"
-
-"I have a mother," the boy replied.
-
-"What's her name?"
-
-"Mamma," said the boy; then, upon reflection, he added, "black mamma."
-
-Some one laughed in the crowd.
-
-"Black? I wonder whether that's the name of the family?" suggested the
-gruff workman.
-
-"First it was a white mamma, and now it's a black mamma," said the boy.
-
-"There's no making head or tail of this," decided the policeman. "I'll
-take him to the station. They'll telephone about it."
-
-He went to the gate and rang. But the house-porter had already seen the
-policeman and, besom in hand, he was coming to the gate. The policeman
-ordered him to take the boy to the station. But the boy suddenly
-bethought himself, and cried out: "Never mind, let me go, I'll find the
-way myself."
-
-Perhaps he was frightened of the house-porter's besom, or perhaps he
-had really recalled something; at any rate he ran off so hard that
-Saksaoolov almost lost sight of him. But soon the boy walked more
-quietly. He turned street corners and ran from one side to the other
-searching for, but not finding, his home. Saksaoolov followed him in
-silence. He was not an adept at talking to children.
-
-At last the boy grew tired. He stopped before a lamp-post and leant
-against it. Tears gleamed in his eyes.
-
-"My dear boy," said Saksaoolov, "haven't you found it yet?"
-
-The lad looked at him with his sad, soft eyes, and Saksaoolov
-suddenly understood what had impelled him to follow the boy with such
-resolution. There was something in the face and glance of the little
-wanderer that gave him an unusual likeness to Tamar.
-
-"My dear boy, what's your name?" asked Saksaoolov in a tender and
-agitated voice.
-
-"Lesha," said the boy.
-
-"Tell me, dear Lesha, do you live with your mother?"
-
-"Yes, with mamma. Only now it's a black mamma--and before it was a
-white mamma."
-
-Saksaoolov thought that by black mamma he meant a nun.
-
-"How did you get lost?" he asked.
-
-"I walked with mamma, and we walked and walked. She told me to sit down
-and wait, and then she went away. And I got frightened."
-
-"Who is your mother?"
-
-"My--mamma? She's so black and so angry."
-
-"What does she do?"
-
-The boy thought awhile.
-
-"She drinks coffee," he said.
-
-"What else does she do?"
-
-"She quarrels with the lodgers," answered Lesha after a pause.
-
-"And where is your white mamma?"
-
-"She was carried away. She was put into a coffin and carried away. And
-papa was carried away."
-
-The boy pointed into the distance somewhere and burst into tears.
-
-"What's to be done with him?" thought Saksaoolov.
-
-Then suddenly the boy began to run again. After he had turned a few
-corners he went more quietly. Saksaoolov overtook him a second time.
-The lad's face expressed a strange mixture of joy and fear.
-
-"Here's the Gliukhov house," he said to Saksaoolov, as he pointed to a
-huge, five-storeyed monstrosity.
-
-At this moment there appeared at the gates of the Gliukhov house a
-black-haired, black-eyed woman in a black dress, a black kerchief with
-white dots on her head. The boy shrank back in fear.
-
-"Mamma," he whispered.
-
-His stepmother looked at him with astonishment.
-
-"How did you get here, you young whelp!" she shrieked out. "I told you
-to sit on the bench, didn't I?"
-
-She seemed to be on the point of whipping him when she noticed that
-some sort of gentleman, serious and dignified in appearance, was
-watching them, and she spoke more softly.
-
-"Can't I leave you for a half-hour anywhere without you taking to your
-heels? I've walked my feet off looking for you, you young whelp!"
-
-She caught the child's very small hand in her own huge one and dragged
-him within the gate. Saksaoolov made a note of the house number and the
-name of the street, and went home.
-
-
-
-IV
-
-
-Saksaoolov liked to listen to the opinions of Fedota. When he returned
-home he told him about the boy Lesha.
-
-"She did it on purpose," decided Fedota. "Just think what a witch she
-is to take the boy such a way from home!"
-
-"Why should she?" Saksaoolov asked.
-
-"It's simple enough. What can you expect of a stupid woman! She thought
-the boy would get lost somewhere, and some one would pick him up. After
-all, she's a stepmother. What's a homeless child to her?"
-
-Saksaoolov was incredulous. He observed: "But the police would have
-found her out."
-
-"Of course they would; but you can't tell, she may have meant to leave
-town; then find her if you can."
-
-Saksaoolov smiled.
-
-"Really," he thought, "my Fedota should be a district attorney."
-
-He fell into a doze that evening as he sat reading before a lamp.
-Tamar appeared to him--the gentle, white Tamar--and sat down beside
-him. Her face was strangely like Lesha's face. She looked steadily and
-persistently, and awaited something. It tormented Saksaoolov to see her
-bright, pleading eyes, and not to know what she wanted. He rose quickly
-and went to the armchair where he thought he saw Tamar sitting. He
-stopped before her and asked loudly and with emotion:
-
-"What do you wish? Tell me."
-
-But she was no longer there.
-
-"It was only a dream," thought Saksaoolov sadly.
-
-
-
-V
-
-
-The next day, as he was leaving the academy exhibition, Saksaoolov met
-the Gorodischevs. He told the girl about Lesha.
-
-"Poor boy," said Valeria Mikhailovna quietly. "His stepmother is trying
-to get rid of him."
-
-"That's yet to be proved," said Saksaoolov.
-
-He felt annoyed that every one, including Fedota and Valeria, should
-look so tragically upon a simple incident.
-
-"That's quite evident," said Valeria Mikhailovna warmly. "There's no
-father, and only a stepmother to whom he is simply a burden. No good
-will come of it--the boy will have a sad end."
-
-"You take too gloomy a view of the matter," observed Saksaoolov, with a
-smile.
-
-"You ought to take him to yourself," Valeria Mikhailovna advised him.
-
-"I?" asked Saksaoolov with astonishment.
-
-"You are living alone," Valeria Mikhailovna persisted. "You have no
-one. Here's a chance for you to do a good deed at Eastertime! At
-least, you'll have some one with whom to exchange the kiss of Easter."
-
-"I beg you to tell me, Valeria Mikhailovna, what am I to do with a
-child?"
-
-"You might engage a governess. Fate itself is sending the boy to you."
-
-Saksaoolov looked with amazement and involuntary tenderness at the
-girl's flushed, animated face.
-
-When Tamar again appeared to him that evening he seemed already to know
-her wish. It was as though, in the silence of the room, he heard her
-tranquilly spoken words: "Do as she advised you."
-
-Saksaoolov rose joyously and rubbed his drowsy eyes with his hand. He
-saw a sprig of white lilac on the table, and was astonished. How did it
-come there? Did Tamar leave it there as a sign of her wish?
-
-And he suddenly thought that if he married the Gorodischeva girl and
-took Lesha into his house he would be carrying out the will of Tamar.
-He breathed in the lilac's aroma happily. He suddenly remembered that
-he himself had bought the sprig of lilac that same day.
-
-Then he argued with himself: "It really doesn't matter that I had
-bought it myself; its real significance is that I had an impulse to buy
-it; and that later I forgot that I had bought it."
-
-
-
-VI
-
-
-Next morning he went to fetch Lesha. The boy met him at the gate and
-showed him where he lived. Lesha's black mamma was drinking coffee, and
-was quarrelling with her red-nosed lodger. Saksaoolov learnt something
-about Lesha from her.
-
-The lad lost his mother when he was three. His father married this
-black woman, and himself died within a year. The black woman, Irina
-Ivanovna, had her own son, now a year old. She was about to marry
-again. The wedding would take place in a few days and after the
-ceremony she would go with her husband to the provinces. Lesha was a
-stranger to her and she would rather do without him.
-
-"Give him to me," suggested Saksaoolov.
-
-"With great pleasure," said Irina Ivanovna with unconcealed and
-malignant joy.
-
-She added after a short silence: "Only you will pay for his clothes."
-
-And so Lesha was presently installed at Saksaoolov's. The Gorodischeva
-girl helped in the finding of a governess and in other details of
-Lesha's comfort. This required her to visit Saksaoolov's apartments.
-She assumed a different appearance in Saksaoolov's eyes as she busied
-herself in these various cares. It was as though the door to her soul
-opened itself to him. Her eyes had become beaming and gentle, and she
-was permeated with almost the same tranquillity that breathed from
-Tamar.
-
-
-
-VII
-
-
-Lesha's stories about the white mamma won over Fedota and his wife. As
-they put him to bed on Easter eve, they hung a white candied egg above
-his head.
-
-"It's from the white mamma," said Christina, "only you darling mustn't
-touch it; at least not until the resurrection, when you'll hear the
-bell ring."
-
-Lesha lay down obediently. He looked long at the egg of joy and at last
-fell asleep.
-
-Saksaoolov was sitting alone in another room. Just before midnight an
-unconquerable drowsiness again closed his eyes, and he was glad that he
-would soon see Tamar.
-
-At last she came, all in white, joyous, bringing with her glad tidings
-from afar. She smiled gently, then bent over him, and--unspeakable
-happiness!--Saksaoolov's lips felt a tender contact.
-
-A sweet voice said softly: "_Christoss Voskress!_" (Christ has risen).
-
-Saksaoolov, without opening his eyes stretched out his arms and
-embraced a slender, gentle body. It was Lesha who climbed on his knees
-and gave him the kiss of Easter.
-
-The church bell had awakened the boy. He seized the white egg and ran
-to Saksaoolov.
-
-Saksaoolov opened his eyes. Lesha laughed as he showed him the egg.
-
-"White mamma has sent it," he lisped, "and I'll give it to you, and you
-can give it to Aunt Valeria."
-
-"Very well, my dear boy, I'll do as you say," said Saksaoolov.
-
-He put Lesha to bed, then went to Valeria Mikhailovna with Lesha's
-white egg, a gift from the white mamma, but which really seemed to him
-at that moment to be a gift from Tamar herself.
-
-
-THE END
-
-
-
-
-
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-<pre>
-
-The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Old House and Other Tales, by Feodor Sologub
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
-the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-Title: The Old House and Other Tales
-
-Author: Feodor Sologub
-
-Release Date: March 10, 2015 [EBook #48452]
-Last updated: November 15, 2019
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD HOUSE AND OTHER TALES ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org
-(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.)
-
-
-
-
-
-
-</pre>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
-<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="cover" /><br/><br/>
-</div>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-<img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="frontispiece" /><br/><br/>
-</div>
-
-<h1>The Old House<br/>
-<small>and Other Tales</small></h1>
-
-<h2>by Feodor Sologub</h2>
-
-<h4>AUTHORISED TRANSLATION FROM THE RUSSIAN</h4>
-
-<h4>BY JOHN COURNOS</h4>
-
-<h5><i>SECOND IMPRESSION</i></h5>
-
-<h5>LONDON</h5>
-
-<h5>MARTIN SECKER</h5>
-
-<h5>NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET</h5>
-
-<h5>ADELPHI</h5>
-
-<h5>1916</h5>
-
-<p>
-<i>Acknowledgments are due to the Editor of &ldquo;The New Statesman&rdquo; for
-permission to republish The White Dog and The Hoop, which first appeared in
-that periodical</i>.
-</p>
-
-<hr />
-
-<h3>Contents</h3>
-
-<table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto">
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap00">INTRODUCTION</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap01">THE OLD HOUSE</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap02">THE UNITER OF SOULS</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap03">THE INVOKER OF THE BEAST</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap04">THE WHITE DOG</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap05">LIGHT AND SHADOWS</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap06">THE GLIMMER OF HUNGER</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap07">HIDE AND SEEK</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap08">THE SMILE</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap09">THE HOOP</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap10">THE SEARCH</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-<tr>
-<td> <a href="#chap11">THE WHITE MOTHER</a></td>
-</tr>
-
-</table>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap00"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2>
-
-<p>
-<i>&ldquo;Sologub&rdquo; is a pseudonym&mdash;the author&rsquo;s real name is
-Feodor Kuzmich Teternikov. He was born in 1863. He completed a scholastic
-course at Petrograd. His first published story appeared in the periodical
-&ldquo;Severny Viestnik&rdquo; in 1894, but it was not until about a dozen
-years later that he came into his fame, which he has since then further
-enhanced</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>This is all the biographical knowledge we have of a living novelist whose
-place in Russian literature is secure beyond all question; the scantiness of
-our knowledge is all the more amazing when we consider that the author is over
-fifty, and that his complete works are in their twentieth volume</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>These include almost every possible form of literary expression&mdash;the
-fairy tale, the poem, the play, the essay, the novel, and the short story.
-Sologub&rsquo;s place as a poet is hardly less assured than his place as a
-novelist</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>How little importance Sologub attaches to personal</i> réclame <i>may be
-gathered from his answer to repeated requests for a nutshell
-&ldquo;autobiography&rdquo; a type of document in vogue in Russia; Maxim
-Gorky&rsquo;s impressive model, I believe, is quite familiar to English
-readers</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>&ldquo;I cannot give you my autobiography,&rdquo; Sologub wrote to the
-editor of a literary almanac, &ldquo;as I do not think that my personality can
-be of sufficient interest to any one. And I haven&rsquo;t the time to waste on
-such unnecessary business as an autobiography.&rdquo;</i>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>At the beginning of his Complete Works, however, there is a poem in prose, a
-kind of spiritual autobiography in which he insists that all life is a miracle,
-and that his own surely is also. &ldquo;I simply and calmly reveal my soul ...
-in the hope that the intimate part of me shall become the universal.&rdquo;
-After such an avowal the reader will know where to look for the author&rsquo;s
-personality</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>In studying his work, one finds that he has both realism and fantasy. But
-while he is sometimes wholly realistic, he is seldom wholly fantastic. His
-fantasy has always its foundations in reality. His realism is as grey as that
-of Chekhov, whose logical successor he has been acclaimed by Russian criticism.
-But it is his prodigious fantasy that makes the point of his departure from the
-Chekhovian formula. When he combines the two qualities, the strange
-reconciliation thus effected produces a result as original as it is rich in
-&ldquo;the meaning of life.&rdquo; Sologub himself says somewhere</i>:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>&ldquo;I take a piece of life, coarse and poor, and make of it a delightful
-legend</i>.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>This sentence establishes the distinction between the two writers. Life for
-Chekhov may contain its delightful characters, life itself is seldom a
-delightful legend</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>Actually, Sologub sees life more greyly than Chekhov; perhaps it is this
-sense of grief &ldquo;too great to be borne&rdquo; that compels him to grope
-for an outlet, for some kind of relief. Already in his earliest novel one of
-the characters gives utterance to the significant words</i>:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Once you prove that life has no meaning, life becomes
-impossible</i>.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>This relief is to be found within oneself in the &ldquo;inner life&rdquo;;
-that is in the imagination, &ldquo;imagination the great consoler&rdquo; as
-Renan has said. Imagination is everything; it is, indeed, the invoker of all
-beauty; and admiration of beauty is the one escape out of life. The author,
-&ldquo;with whatever words he can find, speaks of one thing. Patiently calls
-towards the one thing....&rdquo; Writing of the sadness of life, he envelops
-this sadness in the beauty evoked by his imagination as in a flame, and withers
-it up. One finds him rejoicing that there is a life other than &ldquo;this
-ordinary, coarse, tedious, sunlight life,&rdquo; that there is a life that is
-&ldquo;nocturnal, prodigious, resembling a fairy tale.&rdquo;</i>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>It may sound like a startling antinomy to say that at his happiest Sologub
-is a compound of Chekhov and Poe. It could be put in another way: if Poe were a
-Russian, he might have written as Sologub writes. This is to say that the
-mystery with which Sologub endows his tales is never there for its own sake,
-but as a most intense symbol of reality.</i>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>Consider a story like &ldquo;The Invoker of the Beast.&rdquo; As a story of
-reincarnation it is a masterpiece of mystery. The reader, anxious for a good
-tale merely, may let the matter rest there. But can he? Can he listen to Gurov,
-who, while living through, in his delirium, his previous existence, is so
-insistent about the &ldquo;invincibility of his walls&rdquo;&mdash;and yet
-remain unmoved to the deep meaning of Gurov&rsquo;s cry? Are not the seemingly
-imperishable walls, within which Gurov thought himself secure from the Beast, a
-symbol of our own subtle insecurity? Is not our own Beast&mdash;be it some
-unexpected latent circumstance, or some unlooked-for yet inevitable consequence
-of a past action, on the part of our ancestors or of ourselves&mdash;ready to
-pounce upon us and ravage our hearts, after a long and relentless pursuit, from
-which in the end there is no escape?</i>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>Again, to one who has read most of Sologub&rsquo;s productions, the story of
-the Beast is interesting, because it contains, as it were, a synthesis of the
-author&rsquo;s tendencies. Its separate motifs are repeated in variation in
-many of his other stories. There is the boy Timarides, whom the author loves.
-Why?</i>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>Because Timarides is a child, because he is beautiful, trustful, and ready
-to do daring deeds. Timarides perhaps stands for the young generation
-reproaching the old for its neglect, its forgetfulness of its promises, its
-settling in a groove, its stripping itself of its happiest illusions</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>And throughout his work, Sologub reiterates his affection for children and
-the childlike. When he loves or pities an older person, he endows him with
-childlike attributes. He does this in the little story, &ldquo;The Hoop.&rdquo;
-Does the old man seem absurd to us? If so, it is to be inferred that the fault
-is with ourselves. We have grown too sophisticated</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>Here, again, Chekhov and Sologub meet. Chekhov loves the unpractical people,
-because they are usually more lovable personalities than the successful,
-practical ones; Sologub loves the absurd, the childlike, the quixotic, for the
-same reason</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>Rather than have them grow up and therefore become unlovable, Sologub makes
-some of his children die young. There is, for example, in one of his stories,
-sweet Rayechka, who died in a fall, and upon whom the boy, Mitya, recalling
-her, muses in this fashion: &ldquo;Had Rayechka lived to grow up, she might
-have become a housemaid like Darya, pomaded her hair, and squinted her cunning
-eyes.&rdquo;</i>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>In &ldquo;The Old House&rdquo; it is the children once more who are the
-revolutionaries&mdash;trustful, adorable, and daring. In &ldquo;The White
-Mother&rdquo; the bachelor, Saksaoolov, is redeemed through the boy, Lesha, who
-resembles his dead sweetheart</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>Schoolmasters and schoolchildren are among the characters who frequent the
-pages of Sologub&rsquo;s books. Sologub, it should be remembered, began life as
-a schoolmaster. The story &ldquo;Light and Shadows&rdquo; is, perhaps, a
-reflection upon our educational system which crams the young mind with a
-multitude of useless facts and starves the imagination; we see the reaction of
-the system on the delicate organism of a sensitive and imaginative child</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>Mothers share the author&rsquo;s affection for their children; but, like
-schoolmasters, mothers, unfortunately, are of two kinds. The world has its
-&ldquo;black mammas&rdquo; as well as its &ldquo;white mammas.&rdquo;</i>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>There are few writers who are so subtle, so insinuating, and so seductive,
-in their power to make the reader think; few writers who give so great a
-stimulus to the imagination</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<i>With Chekhov, Russian fiction turns definitely to town life for its
-material; nevertheless, the changes which the modern industrial system has
-brought about have in no wise weakened the mystic force of Russian literature.
-Sologub is a mystic, a mystic of Russian tradition; and Sologub is a product of
-Petrograd</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p class="right">
-<i>JOHN COURNOS</i>
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap01"></a>THE OLD HOUSE<a href="#linknote-1" name="linknoteref-1" id="linknoteref-1"><small>[1]</small></a></h2>
-
-<h3>I</h3>
-
-<p>
-It was an old, large, one-storied house, with a mezzanine. It stood in a
-village, eleven versts from a railway station, and about fifty versts from the
-district town. The garden which surrounded the house seemed lost in drowsiness,
-while beyond it stretched vistas and vistas of inexpressibly dull, infinitely
-depressing fields.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Once this house had been painted lavender, but now it was faded. Its roof, once
-red, had turned dark brown. But the pillars of the terrace were still quite
-strong, the little arbours in the garden were intact, and there was an
-Aphrodite in the shrubbery.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It seemed as if the old house were full of memories. It stood, as it were,
-dreaming, recalling, lapsing finally into a mood of sorrow at the overwhelming
-flood of doleful memories.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Everything in this house was as before, as in those days when the whole family
-lived there together in the summer, when Borya was yet alive.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Now, in the old manor, lived only women: Borya&rsquo;s grandmother, Elena
-Kirillovna Vodolenskaya; Borya&rsquo;s mother, Sofia Alexandrovna Ozoreva; and
-Borya&rsquo;s sister, Natalya Vasilyevna. The old grandmother, and the mother,
-and the young girl appeared tranquil, and at times even cheerful. It was the
-second year of their awaiting in the old house the youngest of the family,
-Boris. Boris who was no longer among the living.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They hardly spoke of him to one another; yet their thoughts, their memories,
-and their musings of him filled their days. At times dark threads of grief
-stole in among the even woof of these thoughts and reveries; and tears fell
-bitterly and ceaselessly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When the midday sun rested overhead, when the sad moon beckoned, when the rosy
-dawn blew its cool breezes, when the evening sun blazed its red
-laughter&mdash;these were the four points between which their spirits
-fluctuated from evening joy to high midday sorrow. Swayed involuntarily, all
-three of them felt the sympathy and antipathy of the hours, each mood in turn.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The happiness of dawn, the bright, midday sadness, the joy of dusk, the pale
-pining of night. The four emotions lifted them infinitely higher than the rope
-upon which Borya had swung, upon which Borya had died.
-</p>
-
-<p class="footnote">
-<a name="linknote-1" id="linknote-1"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-1">[1]</a> 
-In collaboration with Anastasya Chebotarevskaya.
-</p>
-
-<h3>II</h3>
-
-<p>
-At pale-rose dawn, when the merrily green, harmoniously white birches bend
-their wet branches before the windows, just beyond the little patch of sand by
-the round flower-bed; at pale-rose dawn&mdash;when a fresh breeze comes blowing
-from the bathing pond&mdash;then wakes Natasha, the first of the three.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-What a joy it is to wake at dawn! To throw aside the cool cover of muslin, to
-rest upon the elbow, upon one&rsquo;s side, and to look out of the window with
-large, dark, sad eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Out of the window the sky is visible, seeming quite low over the white distant
-birches. A pale vermilion sunrise brightly suffuses its soft fire through the
-thin mist which stretches over the earth. There is in its quiet, gently joyous
-flame a great tension of young fears and of half-conscious desires; what
-tension, what happiness, and what sadness! It smiles through the dew of sweet
-morning tears, over white lilies-of-the-valley, over the blue violets of the
-broad fields.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Wherefore tears! To what end the grief of night!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There, close to the window, hangs a sprig of sweet-flag, banishing all evil. It
-was put there by the grandmother, and the old nurse insists on its staying
-there. It trembles in the air, the sprig of sweet-flag, and smiles its dry
-green smile.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha&rsquo;s face lapses into a quiet, rosy serenity.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The earth awakes in its fresh morning vigour. The voices of newly-roused life
-reach Natasha. Here the restless twitter of birds comes from among the swaying
-damp branches. There in the distance can be heard the prolonged trill of a
-horn. Elsewhere, quite near, on the path by the window, there are sounds of
-something walking with a heavy, stamping tread. The cheerful neighing of a foal
-is heard, and from another quarter the protracted lowing of sullen cows.
-</p>
-
-<h3>III</h3>
-
-<p>
-Natasha rises, smiles at something, and goes quickly to the window. Her window
-looks down upon the earth from a height. It is in three sections, in the
-mezzanine. Natasha does not draw the curtains across it at night, so as not to
-hide from her drowsing eyes the comforting glimmer of the stars and the
-witching face of the moon.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-What happiness it is to open the window, to fling it wide open with a vigorous
-thrust of the hand! From the direction of the river the gentlest of morning
-breezes comes blowing into Natasha&rsquo;s face, still somewhat rapt in sleep.
-Beyond the garden and the hedges she can see the broad fields beloved from
-childhood. Spread over them are sloping hillocks, rows of ploughed soil, green
-groves, and clusters of shrubbery.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The river winds its way among the green, full of capricious turnings. White
-tufts of mist, dispersing gradually, hang over it like fragments of a torn
-veil. The stream, visible in places, is more often hidden by some projection of
-its low bank, but in the far distance its path is marked by dense masses of
-willow-herb, which stand out dark green against the bright grass.
-</p>
-
-<p class="p2">
-Natasha washed herself quickly; it was pleasant to feel the cold water upon her
-shoulders and upon her neck. Then, childlike, she prayed diligently before the
-ikon in the dark corner, her knees not upon the rug but upon the bare floor, in
-the hope that it might please God.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She repeated her daily prayer:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Perform a miracle, O Lord!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she bent her face to the floor.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She rose. Then quickly she put on her gay, light dress with broad
-shoulder-straps, cut square on the breast, and a leather belt, drawn in at the
-back with a large buckle. Quickly she plaited her dark braids, and deftly wound
-them round her head. With a flourish she stuck into them horn combs and
-hairpins, the first that came to her hand. She threw over her shoulders a grey,
-knitted kerchief, pleasantly soft in texture, and made haste to go out onto the
-terrace of the old house.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The narrow inner staircase creaked gently under Natasha&rsquo;s light step. It
-was pleasant to feel the contact of the cold hard floor of planks under her
-warm feet.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When Natasha descended and passed down the corridor and through the
-dining-room, she walked on tip-toe so as to awaken neither her mother nor her
-grandmother. Upon her face was a sweet expression of cheerful preoccupation,
-and between her brows a slight contraction. This contraction had remained as it
-was formed in those other days.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The curtains in the dining-room were still drawn. The room seemed dark and
-oppressive. She wanted to run through quickly, past the large drawn-out table.
-She had no wish to stop at the sideboard to snatch something to eat.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Quicker, quicker! Toward freedom, toward the open, toward the smiles of the
-careless dawn which does not think of wearisome yesterdays.
-</p>
-
-<h3>IV</h3>
-
-<p>
-It was bright and refreshing on the terrace. Natasha&rsquo;s light-coloured
-dress suddenly kindled with the pale-rose smiles of the early sun. A soft
-breeze blew from the garden. It caressed and kissed Natasha&rsquo;s feet.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha seated herself in a wicker chair, and leant her slender rosy elbows
-upon the broad parapet of the terrace. She directed her gaze toward the gate
-between the hedges beyond which the grey silent road was visible, gently serene
-in the pale rose light.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha looked long, intently, with a steady pensive gaze in her dark eyes. A
-small vein quivered at the left corner of her mouth. The left brow trembled
-almost imperceptibly. The vertical contraction between her eyes defined itself
-rather sharply. Equal to the fixity of the tremulous, ruby-like flame of the
-rising sun, was the fixed vision of her very intent, motionless eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-If an observer were to give a long and searching look at Natasha as she sat
-there in the sunrise, it would seem to him that she was not observing what was
-before her, but that her intent gaze was fixed on something very far away, at
-something that was not in sight.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was as though she wished to see some one who was not there, some one she was
-waiting for, some one who will come&mdash;who will come to-day. Only let the
-miracle happen. Yes, the miracle!
-</p>
-
-<h3>V</h3>
-
-<p>
-Natasha&rsquo;s grey daily routine was before her. It was always the same,
-always in the same place. And as yesterday, as to-morrow, as always, the same
-people. Eternal unchanging people.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A <i>muzhik</i> walked along with a monotonous swing, the iron heels of his
-boots striking the hard clay of the road with a resounding clang. A peasant
-woman walked unsteadily by, softly rustling her way through the dewy grass,
-showing her sunburnt legs. Regarding the old house with a kind of awe, a number
-of sweet, sunburnt, dirty, white-haired urchins ran by.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Past the house, always past it. No one thought of stopping at the gate. And no
-one saw the young girl behind that pillar of the terrace.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sweet-briar bloomed near the gate. It let fall its first pale-rose petals on
-the yellow sandy path, petals of heavenly innocence even in their actual fall.
-The roses in the garden exhaled their sweet, passionate perfume. At the terrace
-itself, reflecting the light of the sky, they flaunted their bright rosy
-smiles, their aromatic shameless dreams and desires, innocent as all was
-innocent in the primordial paradise, innocent as only the perfumes of roses are
-innocent upon this earth. White tobacco plants and red poppies bloomed in one
-part of the garden. And just beyond a marble Aphrodite gleamed white, like some
-eternal emblem of beauty, in the green, refreshing, aromatic, joyous life of
-this passing day.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha said quietly to herself: &ldquo;He must have changed a great deal.
-Perhaps I shan&rsquo;t know him when he comes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And quietly she answered herself: &ldquo;But I would know him at once by his
-voice and his eyes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And listening intently she seemed to hear his deep, sonorous voice. Then she
-seemed to see his dark eyes, and their flaming, dauntless, youthfully-bold
-glance. And again she listened intently and gave a searching look into the
-great distance. She bent down lightly, and inclined her sensitive ear toward
-something while her glance, pensive and motionless, seemed no less fixed. It
-was as though she had stopped suddenly in an attitude, tense and not a little
-wild.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The rosy smile of the now blazing sunrise timidly played on Natasha&rsquo;s
-pale face.
-</p>
-
-<h3>VI</h3>
-
-<p>
-A voice in the distance gave a cry, and there was an answering echo.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha shivered. She started, sighed, and then rose. Down the low, broad steps
-she descended into the garden, and found herself on the sandy path. The fine
-grey sand grated under her small and narrow feet, which left behind their
-delicate traces.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha approached the white marble statue.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-For a long time she gazed upon the tranquil beauty of the goddess&rsquo;s face,
-so remote from her own tedious, dried-up life, and then upon the ever-youthful
-form, nude and unashamed, radiating freedom. Roses bloomed at the foot of the
-plain pedestal. They added the enchantment of their brief aromatic existence to
-the enchantment of eternal beauty.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Very quietly Natasha addressed the Aphrodite.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;If he should come to-day, I will put into the buttonhole of his jacket
-the most scarlet, the most lovely of these roses. He is swarthy, and his eyes
-are dark&mdash;yes, I shall take the most scarlet of your roses!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The goddess smiled. Gathering up with her beautiful hands the serene draperies
-which fell about her knees, silently but unmistakably she answered,
-&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And Natasha said again: &ldquo;I will plait a wreath of scarlet roses, and I
-will let down my hair, my long, dark hair; and I will put on the wreath, and I
-will dance and laugh and sing, to comfort him, to make him joyous.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And again the goddess said to her, &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha spoke again: &ldquo;You will remember him. You will recognize him. You
-gods remember everything. Only we people forget. In order to destroy and to
-create&mdash;ourselves and you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And in the silence of the white marble was clear the eternal &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo;
-the comforting answer, &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha sighed and took her eyes from the statue. The sunrise blazed into a
-flame; the joyous garden smiled with the radiations of dawn&rsquo;s
-ever-youthful, triumphant laughter.
-</p>
-
-<h3>VII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Then Natasha went quietly toward the gate. There again she looked a long time
-down the road. She had her hand on the gate in an attitude of expectation,
-ready, as it were, to swing it wide open before him who was coming, before him
-whom she awaited.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Stirring the grey dust of the road the refreshing early wind blew softly into
-Natasha&rsquo;s face, and whispered in her ears persistent, evil and ominous
-things, as though it envied her expectation, her tense calm.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-O wind, you who blow everywhere, you know all, you come and you go at will, and
-you pursue your way into the endless beyond.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-O wind, you who blow everywhere, perchance you have flown into the regions
-where he is? Perchance you have brought tidings of him?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-If you would but bring hither a single sigh from him, or bear one hence to him;
-if but the light, pale shadow of a word.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When the early wind blows a flush comes to Natasha&rsquo;s face, and a flame to
-her eyes; her red lips quiver, a few tears appear, her slender form sways
-slightly&mdash;all this when the wind blows, the cool, the desolate, the
-unmindful, the infinitely wise wind. It blows, and in its blowing there is the
-sense of fleeting, irrevocable time.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It blows, and it stings, and it brings sadness, and pitilessly it goes on.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It goes on, and the frail dust falls back in the road, grey-rose yet dim in the
-dawn. It has wiped out all its traces, it has forgotten all who have walked
-upon it, and it lies faintly rose in the dawn.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There is a gnawing at the heart from the sweet sadness of expectation. Some one
-seems to stand near Natasha, whispering in her ear: &ldquo;He will come. He is
-on the way. Go and meet him.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>VIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Natasha opens the gate and goes quickly down the road in the direction of the
-distant railway station. Having walked as far as the hillock by the river, one
-and a half versts away, Natasha pauses and looks into the distance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A clear view of the road is to be had from this hillock. Somewhere below, among
-the meadows, a curlew gives a sharp cry. The pleasant smell of the damp grass
-fills the air.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The sun is rising. Suddenly everything becomes white, bright, and clear.
-Joyousness fills the great open expanse. On the top of the hillock the morning
-wind blows more strongly and more sweetly. It seems to have forgotten its
-desolation and its grief.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The grass is quite wet with dew. How gently it clings to her ankles. It is
-resplendent in its multi-coloured, gem-like, tear-like glitter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The red sun rises slowly but triumphantly above the blue mist of the horizon.
-In its bright red flame there is a hidden foreboding of quiet melancholy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha lowers her glance upon the wet grass. Sweet little flowers! She
-recognizes the flower of faithfulness, the blue periwinkle.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Here also, quite near, reminiscent of death, is the black madwort. But what of
-that? Is it not everywhere? Soothe us, soothe us, little blue flowers!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I will not pluck a single one of you; not one of you will I plait into
-my wreath.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She stands, waiting, watching.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Were he to show himself in the road she would recognize him even in the
-distance. But no&mdash;there is no one. The road is deserted, and the misty
-distances are dumb.
-</p>
-
-<h3>IX</h3>
-
-<p>
-Natasha remains standing a little while, then turns back. Her feet sink in the
-wet grass. The tall stalks half wind themselves round her ankles and rustle
-against the hem of her light-coloured dress. Natasha&rsquo;s graceful arms,
-half hidden by the grey knitted kerchief, hang subdued at her sides. Her eyes
-have already lost their fixed expression, and have begun to jump from object to
-object.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-How often have they walked this road, all together, her little sisters, and
-Borya! They were noisy with merriment. What did they not talk about! Their
-quarrels! What proud songs they sang! Now she was alone, and there was no sign
-of Borya.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Why were they waiting for him? In what manner would he come? She did not know.
-Perhaps she would not recognize him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There awakens in Natasha&rsquo;s heart a presentiment of bitter thoughts. With
-a heavy rustle an evil serpent begins to stir in the darkness of her wearied
-memory.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Slowly and sorrowfully Natasha turns her steps homeward. Her eyes are drowsy
-and seem to look aimlessly, with fallen and fatigued glances. The grass now
-seems disagreeably damp, the wind malicious; her feet feel the wet, and the hem
-of her thin dress has grown heavy with moisture. The new light of a new day,
-resplendent, glimmering with the play of the laughing dew, resounding with the
-hum of birds and the voices of human folk, becomes again for Natasha tiresomely
-blatant.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-What does a new day matter? Why invoke the unattainable?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The murmur of pitiless memory, at first faint, grows more audible. The heavy
-burden of insurmountable sorrow falls on the heart like an aspen-grey weight.
-The heart feels proudly the pressure of the inexpressibly painful foreboding of
-tears.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As she nears the house Natasha increases her pace. Faster and yet faster, in
-response to the growing beat of her sorrowful heart, she is running over the
-dry clay of the road, over the wet grass of the bypath, trodden by pedestrians,
-over the moist, crunching, sandy footpaths of the garden, which still treasure
-the gentle traces left by her at dawn. Natasha runs across the warm planks, as
-yet unswept of dust and litter. And she no longer tries to step lightly and
-inaudibly. She stumbles across the astonished, open-mouthed Glasha. She runs
-impetuously and noisily up the stairway to her room, and throws herself on the
-bed. She pulls the coverlet over her head, and falls asleep.
-</p>
-
-<h3>X</h3>
-
-<p>
-Borya&rsquo;s grandmother, Elena Kirillovna, sleeps below. She is old, and she
-cannot sleep in the morning; but never in all her life has she risen early; so
-even now she is awake only a little later than Natasha. Elena Kirillovna,
-straight, thin, motionless, the back of her head resting on the pillow, lies
-for a long time waiting for the maid to bring her a cup of coffee&mdash;she has
-long ago accustomed herself to have her coffee in bed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna has a dry, yellow face, marked with many wrinkles; but her
-eyes are still sparkling, and her hair is black, especially by day, when she
-uses a cosmetic.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The maid Glasha is habitually late. She sleeps well in the morning, for in the
-evening she loves to stroll over to the bridge in the village. The harmonica
-makes merry there, and on holidays all sorts of jolly folk and maidens dance
-and sing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna rings a number of times. In the end the unanswering stillness
-behind the door begins to irritate her. Sadly she turns on her side, grumbling.
-She stretches her dry, yellow hand forward and with a kind of concentrated
-intentness presses her bent, bony finger a long time on the white bell-button
-lying on the little round table at her head.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At last Glasha hears the prolonged, jarring ring above her head. She jumps
-quickly from her bed, and anxiously gropes about for something or other in her
-narrow quarters under the stairway of the mezzanine; then she throws a skirt
-over her head, and hurries to her old mistress. While running she arranges
-somehow her heavy, tangled braids.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha&rsquo;s face is angry and sleepy. She reels in her drowsiness. On the
-way to her mistress&rsquo;s bedroom the morning air refreshes her a little. She
-faces her mistress looking more or less normal.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha has on a pink skirt and a white blouse. In the semi-darkness of the
-curtained windows her sunburnt arms and strong legs seem almost white. Young,
-strong, rustic and impetuous, she suddenly appears before her old
-mistress&rsquo;s bed, her vigorous tread causing the heavy metal bed with its
-nickelled posts and surmounting knobs to rattle slightly, and the tumbler on
-the small round table to tinkle against the flagon.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XI</h3>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna greets Glasha with her customary observation:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Glasha, when am I to have my coffee? I ring and ring, and no one comes.
-You, girl, seem to sleep like the dead.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha&rsquo;s face assumes a look of astonishment and fear. Restraining a
-yawn, she bends down to put a disarranged rug in order, and puts a pair of
-soft, worn slippers closer to the bed. Then assuming an excessively tender,
-deferential tone which old gentlewomen like in their servants, she remarks:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Forgive me, <i>barinya</i>,<a href="#linknote-2" name="linknoteref-2"
-id="linknoteref-2">[2]</a> it shan&rsquo;t take a minute. But how early you are
-awake to-day, <i>barinya</i>! Did you have a bad night?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna replies:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What sort of sleep can one except at my age! Get me my coffee a little
-more quickly, and I will try to get up.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She now speaks more calmly, despite the capricious note in her voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha replies heartily:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;This very minute, <i>barinya</i>. You shall have it at once.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she turns about to go out.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna stops her with an angry exclamation:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Glasha, where are you going? You seem to forget, no matter how often I
-tell you! Draw the curtains aside.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha, with some agility, thrusts back the curtains of the two windows and
-flies out of the room. She is rather low of stature and slender, and one can
-tell from her face that she is intelligent, but the sound of her rapid
-footsteps is measured and heavy, giving the impression that the runner is
-large, powerful, heavy, and capable of doing everything but what requires
-lightness. The mistress grumbles, looking after her:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Lord, how she stamps with her feet! She spares neither the floor nor her
-own heels!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p class="footnote">
-<a name="linknote-2" id="linknote-2"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-2">[2]</a> 
-Means &ldquo;gentlewoman,&rdquo; and is a common form of salutation from
-servant to mistress.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XII</h3>
-
-<p>
-At last the sound of Glasha&rsquo;s feet dies away in the echoing silence of
-the long corridor. The old lady lies, waiting, thinking. She is once more
-straight and motionless under her bed-cover, and very yellow and very still.
-Her whole life seems to be concentrated in the living sparkle of her keen eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The sun, still low, throws a subdued rosy light on the wall facing her. The
-bedroom is lit-up and quiet. Swift atoms of dust are dancing about in the air.
-There is a glitter on the glass of the photographic portraits which hang on the
-wall, as well as on the narrow gilt rims of their black frames.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna looks at the portraits. Her keen, youthfully sparkling eyes
-carefully scrutinize the beloved faces. Many of these are no longer upon the
-earth.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Borya&rsquo;s portrait is a large one, in a broad dark frame. It is a young
-face, the face of a seventeen-year-old lad, quite smooth and with dark eyes.
-The upper lip shows a small but vigorous growth of hair. The lips are tightly
-compressed and the entire face gives the impression of an indomitable will.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna looks long at the portrait, and recalls Borya. Of all her
-grandsons she loved him best. And now she is recalling him. She sees him as he
-had once looked. Where is he now? Before long Borya will return. She will be
-overjoyed, her eyes will have their fill of him. But how soon?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It comforts the old woman to think, &ldquo;It can&rsquo;t be very long.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Some one has just run past her window, giving a shrill cry.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna, turning in her bed, looks out of the window.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The white acacia trees before the window, gaily rustling their leaves, smile
-innocently, naïvely and cheerily. Behind them, looming densely, are the tops of
-the birches and of the limes. Some of the branches lean toward the window.
-Their harsh rustle evokes a memory in Elena Kirillovna.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-If Borya were but to cry out like that! He had loved this garden. He had loved
-the white bloom of the acacia trees, and he had loved to gather the little
-field flowers. He used to bring her some. He liked cornflowers specially.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-At last Glasha has come with the coffee. She has placed a silver tray on the
-little round table near the bed. Above the broad blue-and-gold porcelain cup
-rises a thin bluish cloud of steam.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna draws her scant body higher upon the pillows, and sits upright
-in her bed; she seems straight, dry, and thin in her white night-jacket. With
-trembling hands she very fastidiously rearranges the ribbons of her white
-ruffled nightcap.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha, with great solicitude and skill, has placed a number of pillows at her
-back, and these piled up high make a soft wall of comfort.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The little silver spoon held by the old dry fingers rings with fragile laughter
-as it stirs the sugar in the cup. Afterwards out of a small milk-jug comes a
-generous helping of boiled milk. And Glasha, having shifted somewhat to the
-side in order to catch a stealthy look of herself in the mirror, goes out.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna sips her coffee slowly. She breaks a sugared biscuit, throws
-half of it in the cup, and leaves it there for a time. Then, when it is
-completely softened, she carefully takes it out with the little spoon.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna&rsquo;s teeth are still quite strong. She is very proud of
-this; nevertheless she has preferred of late to eat softer things. She munches
-away at the wet biscuit. Her face expresses gratification. Her small, keen eyes
-sparkle merrily.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When the coffee is finished Elena Kirillovna lies down again. She dozes for
-half an hour on her back, under the bed-cover. Then she rings again and waits.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XIV</h3>
-
-<p>
-Glasha comes in. She has had time to comb her hair and to put on a pink blouse,
-and this makes her seem even thinner. As she is in no haste her footfalls sound
-even heavier than before.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha approaches her mistress&rsquo;s bed and silently throws the bed-cover
-aside. She helps Elena Kirillovna to sit on the bed, holding her up under the
-arm. Then, getting down on her knees, she helps her mistress to put on her long
-black stockings and her soft grey slippers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna holds on to Glasha&rsquo;s shoulder with her trembling,
-nervous hands. She envies Glasha&rsquo;s youth, strength, and naïve simplicity.
-Grumbling under her breath at her unfortunate lot, Elena Kirillovna imagines in
-her dejection that she would be willing to sacrifice all her comfort to become
-like Glasha, a common servant-maid with coarse hands and feet red from rough
-usage and the wet&mdash;if she could but possess the youth, the cheerfulness,
-the sang-froid, and the happiness attainable upon this earth only by the
-stupid.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old woman grumbles often at her fate, but is quite unwilling to give up a
-single one of her gentlewoman&rsquo;s habits.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha says, &ldquo;All ready, <i>barinya.</i>&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now my capote, Glasha,&rdquo; Elena Kirillovna says as she gets up.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Glasha herself knows what is wanted. She deftly puts on Elena
-Kirillovna&rsquo;s shoulders a white flannel robe.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now you may go, Glashenka. I will ring if I want you again.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>XV</h3>
-
-<p>
-Glasha goes. She hurries to the veranda staircase.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Here she washes herself a second time in a clay turn-over basin, which is
-attached by a rope to one of the posts of the veranda; she quickly plunges her
-face and hands in the water that had been left there overnight. She splashes
-the water a long way off on the green grass, on the lilac-grey planks of the
-staircase and on her feet, which are red from the early morning freshness and
-from the tender contact with the dewy grass in the vegetable garden. She laughs
-happily at herself&mdash;because she is a young, healthy girl, because the
-early morning freshness caresses the length of her strong, swift body with
-brisk cool strokes; and finally, because not far away, in the village, there is
-a lively and handsome young fellow, not unlike herself, who pays attention to
-her and whom she is rather fond of. It is true that her mother scolds her on
-his account, because the young man is poor. But what&rsquo;s that to Glasha?
-Not for nothing is there an adage:
-</p>
-
-<p class="poem">
-&ldquo;Without bread &rsquo;tis very sad,<br />
-Still sadder &rsquo;tis without a lad.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha laughs loudly and merrily.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Stepanida cries at her from the kitchen window: &ldquo;Glash, Glash, why do you
-neigh like a horse?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha laughs, makes no reply, and goes off.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Stepanida puts her simple, red face out of the window and asks: &ldquo;I wonder
-what&rsquo;s the matter with her.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She receives no answer, for there is no one to reply. Out of doors all is
-deserted. Only somewhere from behind the barn the languid voices of working-men
-can be heard.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XVI</h3>
-
-<p>
-In the meantime Elena Kirillovna kneels down with a sigh before the ikon in her
-bedroom. She prays a long time. Conscientiously she repeats all the prayers she
-knows. Her dry, raspberry-coloured lips stir slightly. Her face has a severe,
-concentrated expression. All her wrinkles seem also austere, weary, callous.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There are many words in her prayers&mdash;holy, lofty, touching words. But
-because of their frequent repetition their meaning has become, as it were,
-hardened, stereotyped and ordinary; the tears which appear in her eyes are
-habitual tears wrung out by her antique emotion, and have no relation to the
-secret trepidation of impossible hopes which have stolen into the old
-woman&rsquo;s heart of late.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Diligently her lips murmur prayers each day for the forgiveness of sins,
-voluntary and involuntary, committed in deed, in word, or in thought; prayers
-for the purification of our souls of all defilement; and again words concerning
-our impieties, our evil actions, our disregard of commandments, our general
-unworthiness, our worldly frailty, and the temptations of Satan; and again
-concerning the accursed soul and the accursed body and the sensual life; and
-her words embrace only universal evil and all-pervading depravity. Surely these
-prayers were composed for Titans, created to reconstruct the universe, but who,
-out of shamefaced indolence, are attending to this business with their arms
-hanging at their sides.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And not a word does she utter of her own, her personal affliction, of what is
-in her soul.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old, dried-up lips mumble of mercy, of generosity, of brotherly love, of
-the holy life&mdash;of all those lofty regions pouring out their bounty upon
-all creation. And not a word of the miracle, awaited eagerly and with
-trepidation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But here are words for those who are in prison and in exile; it is a prayer for
-their liberation, for their redemption.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Here is something at last about Borya.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Freedom and redemption....
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the prayer runs on and on, and it is again for strangers, for distant
-people, for the universal; only for an instant, and then lightly, does she
-pause to put in something for herself, for her desire, for what is in her
-heart.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then for the dead&mdash;for those others, the long since departed, the almost
-forgotten, the resurrected only in word in the hour of these strangers, prayed
-for in this easy, gliding way all the world over where piety reigns.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The prayers are ended. Elena Kirillovna lingers for a moment. She has an air of
-having forgotten to say something indispensable.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-What else? Or has she said all?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;All&rdquo;&mdash;some one seems to say simply, softly and inexorably.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna rises from her knees. She goes to the window. Her soul is calm
-and self-contained. The prayer has not left her in a mood of piety, but has
-relieved her weary soul for a brief time of its material, matter-of-fact
-existence.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XVII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna looks out of the window. She is returning, as it were, once
-more from some dark, abstract world to the bright, profusely-coloured, resonant
-impressions of a rough, cheery, not altogether disagreeable life.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Small white clouds tinged with red float slowly in the heights and merge
-imperceptibly in the vivid blue. Ablaze like a piece of coal at red heat their
-soul seems to fuse with their cold white bodies, to consume them as well as
-itself with fire, and to sink exhausted in the cold blue heights. The sun, as
-yet invisible behind the left wing of the house, has already begun to pour upon
-the garden its warm and glowing waves of laughter, joy and light, animating the
-flowers and birds.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, it&rsquo;s time to dress,&rdquo; Elena Kirillovna says to herself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She rings.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Soon Glasha appears and helps Elena Kirillovna to dress.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At last she is ready. She casts a final look in the mirror to see that
-everything is in order.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna&rsquo;s hair is very neatly combed, and lightly brushed down
-with a cosmetic. This makes it shine and appear as though it were glued
-together. At her every movement in the light there is visible, from right to
-left, a slender silver thread, due to the reflection of light at the parting of
-the smoothed coiffure. Her face shows slight traces of powder.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna&rsquo;s dress is always of a light colour, when not actually
-white, and of the simplest cut. The small soft ruffle of the broad collar hides
-her neck and chin. She has already substituted for her dressing slippers a pair
-of light summer shoes.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XVIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna enters the dining-room. She looks on as the table is being
-laid for breakfast. She always notes the slightest disorder. She grumbles
-quietly as she picks up something from one place on the table and puts it in
-another.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then she goes into the large, unused front room, with its closed door on to the
-staircase of the front façade. She walks along the corridor to the vestibule
-and to the back staircase. She stops on the high landing, wrinkles up her face
-from the sun, and looks down to see what is going on in the yard. Small, quite
-erect, like a young school-girl with a yellow, wrinkled face which expresses at
-the moment a severe domestic concern, she stands, looks on, and is silent; she
-is, it seems, unnecessary here. No one pays her the slightest attention.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good morning, Stepanida,&rdquo; she calls out. Stepanida, a buxom,
-red-cheeked maid in a bright red dress, under which is visible a strip of her
-white chemise and her stout sunburnt legs, is attending to the samovar at the
-bottom of the stairs, and is vigorously blowing to set the fire going. Upon her
-head is a neatly-arranged green kerchief, which hides her folded braids of hair
-like a head-dress.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The bulging sides of the samovar glow radiantly in the sun. Its bent chimney
-sends out a curl of blue smoke, which smells sharply, pungently, and not
-altogether disagreeably, of juniper and tar.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In answer to the old mistress&rsquo;s greeting Stepanida raises her broad,
-cheerfully-preoccupied face, with its small, dark brown eyes, and says in
-prolonged caressing tones, sing-song fashion:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good morning to you, <i>matushka barinya</i>.<a href="#linknote-3"
-name="linknoteref-3" id="linknoteref-3">[3]</a> It&rsquo;s a fine morning, to
-be sure. How warm it is, by the grace of God! And you&rsquo;re up early,
-<i>matushka barinya</i>!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her words are indeed honeyed, and above in the sweet air an early, shaggy bee
-hovers, with a thick buzzing, tremulously golden in the clear, fluid haze of
-the early, gentle sun. Silent again, Stepanida is once more busy with the
-samovar; the disenchanted bee flies away, its buzzing growing less and less
-audible behind the fence.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The pungent smell of tar causes Elena Kirillovna to frown. She says:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What makes the thing smell so strongly? You had better leave it for a
-while, or you will get giddy.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Stepanida, without moving, answers languidly and indifferently:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s nothing, <i>barinya</i>. We are used to it. It&rsquo;s but a
-slight smell, and it is the juniper.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Through the blue, curling smoke of juniper her sweet voice seems dull and
-bitter. There is a tickling at Elena Kirillovna&rsquo;s throat. There is a
-slight giddiness in her head. Elena Kirillovna makes haste to go. She descends
-the staircase, and proceeds upon her customary morning stroll.
-</p>
-
-<p class="footnote">
-<a name="linknote-3" id="linknote-3"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-3">[3]</a> 
-Literally: &ldquo;Little mother&mdash;gentlewoman.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>XIX</h3>
-
-<p>
-Glasha soon overtakes her. With an exaggerated loudness she runs stamping down
-the stairs, showing a wing-like glimmer of her strong legs from under the pink
-skirt, set a-flutter by her vigorous movement. She calls out in a clear,
-solicitously joyous voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Barinya</i>, you have come out! The sun will scorch you. I&rsquo;ve
-fetched your hat.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The yellow straw hat, with its lavender ribbon, glimmers in Glasha&rsquo;s
-hands like some strange, low-fluttering bird.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna, as she puts the hat on, says: &ldquo;Why do you run about in
-such disorder! You ought to tidy yourself&mdash;you know whom we are
-expecting.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha is silent, and her face assumes a compassionate expression. For a long
-time she looks after her strolling mistress, then she smiles and walks back.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Stepanida asks her in a loud whisper: &ldquo;Well, is she still expecting her
-grandson?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Rather!&rdquo; Glasha replies compassionately. &ldquo;And it&rsquo;s
-simply pitiful to look at them. They never stop thinking about him.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the meanwhile Elena Kirillovna makes her way across the vegetable garden,
-past the labourers and the servants in the stockyard, and then across the
-field. Near the garden fence she enters the road.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There, not far from the garden, in the shade of an old, spreading lime, stands
-a bench&mdash;a board upon two supports, which still shows traces of having
-been once painted green. From this place a view is to be had of the road, of
-the garden, and of the house.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna seats herself upon the bench. She looks out on the road. She
-sits quietly, seeming so small, so slender, and so erect. She waits a long
-time. She falls into a doze.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Through the thin haze of slumber she can see a beloved, smooth face smiling,
-and she can hear a quiet, dear voice calling:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Grandma!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She gives a start and opens her eyes. There is no one there. But she waits. She
-believes and waits.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XX</h3>
-
-<p>
-There is a lightness in the air. The road is radiant and tranquil. A gentle,
-refreshing breeze softly passes and repasses her. The sun is warming her old
-bones, it is caressing her lean back through her dress. Everything round her
-rejoices in the green, the golden, and the blue. The foliage of the birches, of
-the willows, and of the limes in full bloom is rustling quietly. From the
-fields comes the honeyed smell of clover.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Oh, how light and lovely the air is upon the earth!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-How beautiful thou art, my earth, my golden, my emerald, my sapphire earth!
-Who, born to thy heritage would care to die, would care to close his eyes upon
-thy serene beauties and upon thy magnificent spaces? Who, resting in thee, damp
-Mother Earth, would not wish to rise, would not wish to return to thy
-enchantments and to thy delights? And what stern fate shall drive one who is
-aflame with life-thirst to seek the shelter of death?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Upon the road where once he walked he shall walk again. Upon the earth, which
-still preserves his footprints, he shall walk again. Borya, the
-grandmother&rsquo;s beloved Borya, shall return.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A golden bee flies by. It seems to say, the golden bee, that Borya will return
-to the quiet of the old house and will taste the fragrant honey&mdash;the sweet
-gift of the wise bees, buzzing under the sun upon the beloved earth. The old
-grandmother, in her joy, will place before the ikon of the Virgin a candle of
-the purest bees&rsquo;-wax&mdash;a gift of the wise bees, buzzing away among
-the gold of the sun&rsquo;s rays&mdash;a gift to man and a gift to God.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Women and girls of the village pass by with their sunburnt, wind-swept faces.
-They greet the <i>barinya</i> and look at her with compassion. Elena Kirillovna
-smiles at them, and addresses them in her usual gentle manner:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good morning, my dears!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They pass by. Their loud voices die away in the distance, and Elena Kirillovna
-soon forgets them. They will pass by once more that day, when the time comes.
-They will pass by. They will return. Upon the road, where their dusty
-footprints remain, they will pass by once more.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXI</h3>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna suddenly awoke from her drowse and looked at the things before
-her with a perplexed gaze. Everything seemed to be clear, bright, free from
-care&mdash;and relentless.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Inevitably the triumphant sun rose higher in the heavens&rsquo; dome. Grown
-powerful, wise and resplendent, it seemed indifferent now to oppressive earthly
-melancholy and to sweet earthly delights. And its laughter was high, joyless,
-and sorrowless.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Everything as before was green, blue and gold, many-toned and vividly tinted;
-truly all the objects of nature showed the real colour of their souls in honour
-of this feast of light. But the fine dust upon the silent road had already lost
-its rose tinge, and stirred before the wind like a grey, depressing veil. And
-when the wind calmed down, the dust slowly fell back upon the road, like a
-grey, blind serpent which, trailing its fat, fantastic belly, falls back
-exhausted, gasping its last breath.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-All monotony had become wearisome. This inevitable recurrence of lucid moments
-began to torment Elena Kirillovna with the grey foreboding of sadness, of
-bitter tears, of unanswered prayers, and of a profound hopelessness.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Glasha appeared at the garden gate. She glanced cheerfully along both sides of
-the road. Walking more slowly she approached Elena Kirillovna deferentially.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha looked quite ordinary now, stiff-mannered and stupid. There was nothing
-to envy in her. Her dress too was quite common-place. Her braids were arranged
-upon her head quite like a young lady&rsquo;s, and held fast by three combs of
-transparent bone. Her blouse was light-coloured&mdash;pink stripes and lavender
-flowers on a ground of white&mdash;its short sleeves reached the elbows. She
-wore a neat blue skirt and a white apron.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna asked:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, what is it, Glashenka? Is Sonyushka up yet?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha replied in a respectful voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Sofia Alexandrovna is getting up. She wants me to ask you if we shall
-lay the table on the terrace?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes, let it be on the terrace. And how is Natashenka?&rdquo; asked
-Elena Kirillovna, looking anxiously at Glasha.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The young lady is asleep,&rdquo; answered Glasha. &ldquo;To-day again,
-quite early, she went out for a walk straight from bed, without so much as a
-bite of something. Her skirt&rsquo;s wet with dew. She might have caught a
-cold. And now she sleeps. If you&rsquo;d but talk to her.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna said irresolutely:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Very well. I had better be going. All right, Glasha.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha goes. Elena Kirillovna rises slowly from the bench, as though she
-regretted moving from the spot where she saw Borya in a half-dream. Slowly she
-walks toward the house.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Having reached the gate she pauses, and again looks for some moments down the
-road, in the direction of the station.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A cart rumbles by noisily over the travelled road. The <i>muzhik</i> barely
-holds the reins and rocks from side to side sleepily. The harnessed horse
-swings its tail and its head. A white-haired urchin, in broad blue breeches,
-lets his brown feet hang over the edge of the cart and stares with his bright
-hazel eyes at a gaunt, evil-looking dog which runs after, barking hoarsely.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna gives a sigh&mdash;there is as yet no Borya&mdash;and enters
-the garden.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha&rsquo;s light-coloured blouse glimmers on the terrace. There is a rattle
-of dishes. The grumbling chatter of Borya&rsquo;s old nurse is also audible.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-The last to awake, with the sun quite high and scorching, is Borya&rsquo;s
-mother, Sofia Alexandrovna. Through the thin bright curtains, drawn for the
-night across the windows, the light fills her bedroom.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna awakes with a start, as though some one had touched her
-suddenly or had called to her. With her right hand she impetuously throws aside
-her light white bed-cover. Quickly she sits up in bed, holding her hands over
-her bent knees. For a moment she looks before her at a bare place in the simple
-pattern of the bright green hangings.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna&rsquo;s eyes are dark, wide open, with black, fiery pupils
-which seem lost in the abysmal, depths of their own sorrowful gaze. Her face is
-long, its skin smooth and colourless, though quite fresh and almost free of
-wrinkles. The lips are a vivid red.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna&rsquo;s expression is like that of one faced suddenly with a
-tragic apparition. She rocks herself back and forward.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, abruptly, she jumps out of bed with a single spring. She runs to the
-washing-basin of marble mounted on a red stand. She washes herself quickly, as
-though in haste to go somewhere. Now she is at the window. The curtains are
-flung violently aside. She peers anxiously to see what the outlook
-is&mdash;whether there are any clouds in the sky that might bring rain and make
-the road muddy, the road upon which Borya would return home.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The heavens are tremulously joyous. The birches are rustling quietly. The
-sparrows are twittering. Everything is green, bright, quivering; everything
-palpitates under the tension of hopes and anticipations. Voices are audible;
-cries of good cheer and sounds of laughter. One of the laughers runs by, as
-though making haste to live.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A torrent of tears floods Sofia Alexandrovna&rsquo;s eyes. Her breast heaves
-visibly under the white linen chemise.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXIV</h3>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna goes to the image. She thrusts aside with her foot the small
-velvet rug which Glasha had purposely laid there the day before. She throws
-herself down on her knees before the image. You hear her knees strike the floor
-softly. Sofia Alexandrovna quietly crosses herself, bends her face to the
-floor, and mutters passionately:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;O Lord, Thou knowest, Thou knowest all, Thou canst do all. Do this, O
-Lord, return him to us, to his mother, return him to-day.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her prayer is warm and passionate, quite unlike a prayer. Its words are
-disconnected, and they fall confusedly, like small, broken tears. Her naked
-feet come in contact with the cold, painted floor. And the entire, warm,
-prostrate body of the weeping woman is throbbing and trembling on the boards.
-Her head repeatedly strikes the boards, loosening her dark braids of hair.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She does not pray long. The torrents of tears have cleansed her soul, as it
-were; and she becomes at once cheerful and tranquil.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She rises quite, as suddenly, and rings. She seats herself on the edge of the
-bed, and dries her tears with a soft handkerchief. Then she laughs silently.
-She swings one of her feet impatiently, striking the rug in front of the bed
-with the toes. Her eyes wander about the room, but seem to observe nothing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha had only just begun to dress, and she had only tied the strings of her
-apron round her slender waist. The sharp impatient ring causes her to start.
-She runs to the <i>barinya</i>, seizing quickly at the same time a pair of
-blackened boots and some clothes from the laundry.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna cries in an urgent voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now be quick, Glasha. Help me on with my things.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She looks on impatiently as Glasha puts down her burden.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The daily ceremony is gone through quickly. Sofia Alexandrovna dresses herself.
-Glasha only draws on her boots, and hooks up her dress behind.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Soon Sofia Alexandrovna is quite ready. She gives a brief, vacant look in the
-mirror.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her pale face still seems to be young and handsome. She is slender, like her
-mother, and small in stature. She has on a closely fitting white dress with
-short, wide sleeves. Her coiffure is arranged in a Greek knot, held fast with a
-red ribbon. Her slender, shapely feet are clad in coloured silk stockings and
-white shoes with silver buckles.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXV</h3>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna goes quickly into the dining-room. She pours herself a glass
-of fresh milk out of a jug on the table. She drinks it standing, and munches a
-piece of black bread with it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She orders the things for dinner at the same time. She chooses dishes loved by
-Borya. She stops to recollect whether Borya likes this, or does not like that.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Stepanida listens to her sadly, and replies in a tearful voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, I know! Why shouldn&rsquo;t I know? It&rsquo;s not the first
-time.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha asks something. The old, tottering nurse rattles on rather volubly.
-Sofia Alexandrovna answers them mechanically and rapidly. She seems all the
-while to be listening intently, either for the sound of a distant little bell,
-or for the rumble of wheels on the road. She makes her way out in haste. And
-she no longer listens to what is being said to her. She goes out.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She enters Borya&rsquo;s study. Everything there is as in the old days, and in
-order. When Borya comes back he will find everything in its place.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna, with great concern, takes a rapid look round the room. She
-wishes to see whether everything is in its place, whether the dust has been
-swept, whether the rug has been laid before the bed, and whether the inkstand
-has been filled with ink. She herself changes the water in the vase which holds
-the cornflowers. If anything is out of place she gives way to tears, then rings
-for Glasha, and heaps reproaches upon her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha&rsquo;s face assumes a frightened, compassionate look. In a most humble
-manner she begs forgiveness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna remonstrates with her:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How can you be so careless, Glasha? You know that we are expecting him
-every minute. Suppose he should suddenly come in and find this disorder.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha replies humbly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Forgive me, <i>barinya</i>. Don&rsquo;t think any more about it.
-I&rsquo;ll quickly put everything to rights.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As she goes out she wipes away two or three tears with her white apron.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXVI</h3>
-
-<p>
-With the same undue haste Sofia Alexandrovna goes into the garden. She sees
-nothing, neither the white Aphrodite nor her roses, on her way to the little
-arbour from which, overlooking a corner of the garden, the road is visible.
-Vividly green in the sun, a four-sloped roof covers the arbour, while hangings
-of coarse cloth, with a red border, serve as a protection against inquisitive
-eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna looks down the road with dark, hungry eyes. She waits
-impatiently, listening to the rapid, uneven beat of her heart; she waits: Borya
-will surely come in sight.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The wind blows into her face, and partly conceals it with the hangings; her
-face is pale, and her eyes are dry. The sun warmly kisses her slender arms,
-which lie motionless on the broad, lavender-grey parapet of the arbour.
-Everything is bright, green and gay in the fields, but her eyes are fixed on
-the grey serpent of dust trailing among the freedom of the fields.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-If they await him like this surely Borya will come.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But there is no sign of him. In vain her hungry glances penetrate the open
-waste. There is no Borya. More fixed and piercing grows her glance of infinite
-longing upon the road&mdash;but there is no Borya.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Everything is as before, as yesterday, as always. Tranquil, serene and
-pitiless.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXVII</h3>
-
-<p>
-The hour of the early luncheon came. All three sat at the table on the terrace.
-There was a fourth place laid, and a fourth chair, for who could tell whether
-Borya might not arrive at luncheon time!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The sun was already high. The day was turning sultry. The fragrance of the red
-roses at the foot of the goddess&rsquo;s pedestal became ever more passionate.
-And the smile of the marble-white Aphrodite was even more clear and serene, as
-she let fall her draperies with a marvellous grace born of eternal movement. In
-the bright sunshine the sand on the footpaths seemed yellow-white. The trees
-cast austere dark shadows. They seemed to exhale an odour of the soil, of sap,
-and of warmth.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The women sat so that each one of them, looking beyond the drawn hangings of
-the terrace and over the bushes, could see the short narrow path ending at the
-garden gate, where a part of the road was also visible; they could not fail to
-observe every passer-by and every vehicle.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But during this hour of the day hardly anyone ever walked or drove by the old
-house.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glasha waited on them. She had on a newly-laundered cap with starched ribbons
-and plaited frills fitting tightly over her hair. The snow-white cap shone
-pleasantly above Glasha&rsquo;s fresh, sunburnt face.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the garden, on a form just under the terrace, sat Borya&rsquo;s old nurse,
-dressed in a dark lavender blouse, black skirt, with a dark blue kerchief over
-her head. She was warming her old bones in the sun, and listening to the
-conversation on the terrace; now she grumbled, now she dozed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Broad-boned and stout, she had a round, amiable face, and even through the
-compact network of wrinkles there were palpable suggestions of former beauty.
-Her eyes were clear. The grey hair was flatly combed down. Her figure and her
-face wore a settled expression of languid good nature.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXVIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-As always, they eat and drink, and they keep up a cheerful and friendly
-chatter. Sometimes two of them speak together. A stranger in the garden might
-conclude that a large company is gathered on the terrace.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Frequently Borya&rsquo;s name is mentioned.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;To be sure, Borya likes....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Perhaps Borya will bring....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is strange Borya is not yet here....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Perhaps Borya will come in the evening....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We must ask Borya whether he has read....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is possible this is not new to Borya....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-While below, under the terrace, the old nurse, each time she hears
-Borya&rsquo;s name, crosses herself and mumbles:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;O Lord, rest the soul of thy servant, Boris.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At first her voice is low, but it gradually grows louder and louder. Finally
-the three women at the table can hear her words. They tremble slightly and
-exchange anxious glances, into which steals an expression of perplexed fear. So
-they begin to speak even louder, and to laugh even more merrily. They permit no
-intervals of silence, and the hum of their talk and laughter prevents for the
-time their hearing the nurse&rsquo;s mumbling in the garden.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But their voices inevitably fall after a mention of the beloved name, and now
-again they hear the tranquil, terrible words:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;O Lord, rest the soul....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They sit at luncheon long, but they talk more industriously than they eat. They
-glance nervously toward the gate. It seems a terrible thing to have to leave
-the table and to go somewhere while Borya is not yet with them.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXIX</h3>
-
-<p>
-Toward the end of luncheon the post arrives. Grisha, a fourteen-year-old
-youngster, goes for it daily to the station on horseback. Raising clouds of
-dust he jumps off briskly at the gate. Leaving his horse he enters the garden
-carrying a black leather bag, and smiles broadly at something or other.
-Ascending the long steps of the terrace he announces loudly and joyously:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve fetched the post!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He is cheery, sunburnt, perspiring. He smells of the sun, of the soil, of dust
-and tar. His hands and feet are as large as a man&rsquo;s. His lips are soft
-and pouting, like those of a sweet-tempered foal. At the opening of his shirt,
-cut on the slant, buttons are missing, exposing a strip of his sunburnt chest
-and a piece of grey string.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna rises abruptly from her place. She takes the bag from
-Grisha, and throws it quickly on the table. A pile of stamped wrappers comes
-pouring upon the white cloth. The three women bend over the table and rummage
-for letters. But letters come only rarely.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Knitting her brows Natasha looks at the smiling youngster and asks:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No letters, Grisha?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha, shuffling his feet, brick-red from the sun, smiles and answers, as
-always, in the same words:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The letters are being written, <i>barishnya</i>.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna says impatiently:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You may go, Grisha.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha goes. The women open their newspapers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna takes up the <i>Rech</i> and scans it rapidly, occasionally
-mentioning something that has attracted her notice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha is looking over <i>Slovo</i>. She reads silently, slowly, and
-attentively.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna has the <i>Russkiya Vedomosti.</i> She tears the wrapper open
-slowly and spreads the entire sheet on the table. She reads on, quickly running
-her eyes over the lines.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXX</h3>
-
-<p>
-Groaning, the old nurse slowly ascends the steps. Sofia Alexandrovna pauses
-from her reading a moment and looks with fear at the old woman. Natasha gives a
-nervous start and turns away. Elena Kirillovna reads on calmly, without looking
-at the nurse.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The nurse sighs, sits down on the bench at the entrance, and asks in a monotone
-the one and the same question that she asks each day:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And how many folk are there in this morning&rsquo;s paper that&rsquo;s
-been ordered to die? And how many are there that&rsquo;s been hanged?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna drops the paper, and suddenly rising, very pale, looks upon
-the old woman. She is quivering from head to foot. Elena Kirillovna, folding
-the paper, pushes it aside and looks straight before her with arrested eyes.
-Natasha rises; she turns her face, which has suddenly grown pale, toward the
-old woman, and utters in a kind of wooden voice that does not seem like her
-own:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;In Ekaterinoslav&mdash;seven; in Moscow&mdash;one.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Or other towns, and other figures&mdash;such as fresh newspaper lists bring
-each day.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The nurse rises and crosses herself piously. She mutters:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;O Lord, rest the souls of Thy servants! And give them eternal
-life!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then Sofia Alexandrovna cries out in despair:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh Borya, Borya, my Borya!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her face is as pale as though there were not a single drop of blood left under
-her dull, elastic skin.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Wringing her hands with a convulsive movement, she looks with terror at Elena
-Kirillovna and at her daughter. Elena Kirillovna turns aside, and, looking at
-the old nurse, shakes her head reproachfully, while in her eyes, like drops of
-early evening dew, appear a few scant tears.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha, looking determinedly at her mother, says with pale, quivering lips:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, calm yourself.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Suddenly her voice becomes cold and wooden again as though some evil stranger
-compelled her each day to utter her words slowly and deliberately.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You yourself know, mamma, that Borya was hanged a full year ago!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She looks at her mother with the motionless, pathetic gaze of her very dark
-eyes, and repeats:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You yourself know this, mamma!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna&rsquo;s eyes are widely dilated; dull, there is terror in
-them, and the deep pupils burn with an impercipient lustre in their dark
-depths. She repeats almost soundlessly, looking straight into Natasha&rsquo;s
-eyes:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Hanged!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She resumes her place, looks out of her sad eyes at the white Aphrodite and the
-red roses at the goddess&rsquo;s feet, and is silent. Her face is white and
-rigid, her lips are red and tightly set; there is a suggestion of latent
-madness in the still lustre of her eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Before the image of eternal beauty, before the fragrance of the short-lived,
-exultant roses, she is hardening as it were into an image of the eternal grief
-of a disconsolate mother.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXXI</h3>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna quietly descends the narrow side staircase into the garden.
-She sits down on a bench somewhat away from the house, looks upon the green
-bedecked pond and weeps.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha goes into her room in the mezzanine. She opens a book and tries to
-read. But she finds it impossible. She puts the book aside and looks out of the
-window, and her eyes are dimmed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Higher and higher above the old house rises the pitiless, bright Dragon. His
-joyous laughter rings in the merry heights, encloses, as in a flaming circle,
-the depressing silence of the house. The well-directed rays shoot out like
-sharp-plumed arrows, and the air is tremulous with eternal, inexhaustible
-anger. No one is being awaited. No one will come. Borya has died. The
-relentless wheel of time knows no turning back.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-So the day is passing&mdash;clearly and brightly. The dazzling white light says
-there is nothing to hope for.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXXII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Natasha sits in her room before an open window. A book is lying on the
-window-sill. She has no desire to read.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Every line in the book reminds her of him, of unfinished conversations, of
-heated discussions, of what had been, of what is no more.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The memories become brighter and brighter, and reach at last a clearness and
-fullness of vision, overwhelming her soul.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The fiery Dragon, obscured by a leaden grey cloud, becomes a little dim.
-Dimness also creeps into the memory of him. It seems as though the heavens are
-being traversed by the cold, clear, tranquil moon. Her face is pale, but not
-from sadness. Her rays have cast a spell upon the sleeping earth and upon the
-unattainably high heavens.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The moon has bewitched the fields and also the valleys, which are full of mist.
-There is a dull glimmer in the drops of cool, tranquil dew upon the slumbering
-grass.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There is in this fantastic glimmer the resurrection of that which has
-died&mdash;of that past tenderness and love which inspired deeds requiring
-superhuman strength. There come again to the lips proud, long-unsung hymns, and
-vows of action and loyalty.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And what of that evil, vigilant, and instigating eye; and what of the traitor
-whose words mingled with the passionate words of the young people! Not even the
-waters of all the cold oceans can quench the fire of daring love, and all the
-cunning poisons of the earth cannot poison it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Bewitched with the lunar mystery, the wood stands expectant, nebulous, silent.
-Incomprehensible and inaccessible to men is its slow, sure experience, and the
-secret of its forged desires.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Into its lunar silence men have brought the revolt, the speech and laughter of
-youth; but, overcome by the lunar mystery, they are suddenly grown silent and
-meditative.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The open glade in the woods, enchanted by the green, cold light of the moon,
-seems very white. Along the edge of the glade lie the shadows of the trees;
-they seem unreal and nebulous and mysteriously still.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The moon, very slowly, almost stealthily, is rising higher in the pale blue
-dome. Round, cold, half lost in the milk-white mist as behind a thin veil, she
-disperses by her dispassionate gaze the nebulous, silent tops of the slumbering
-trees, and looks down upon the glade with the motionless, inquisitive glance of
-her white eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The thin particles of dew scattered over the cold grasses vanish&mdash;the
-white nocturnal haze drinks them greedily. The air is oppressively sweet. On
-the edge of the glade a number of slender, erect, white-limbed birches emerge
-out of the mist; they are still asleep, and as innocent as their girl
-companions who rest beneath them in their green-white dresses.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXXIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Reposing under the slender birches in the glade is a party of girls, young men
-and grown-up people. One sits on the stump of a felled tree, another on the
-trunk of an old birch struck down in a storm, a third lies upon an overcoat
-spread on the grass, a fourth rests his back against a young birch. There is a
-single, slight glow of a cigarette, but this, too, goes out.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the luminous, haunting mist everything seems white, translucent, fabulously
-impressive. And it seems as though the birches in the glade and the moon in the
-sky are waiting for something.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Here is Natasha. Here is also Natasha&rsquo;s friend, a college girl from
-Moscow, white-skinned, sharp-featured, looking like a healthy little wild
-beast. Then there are Borya and his friend, both in linen jackets, both lean,
-with pale faces and dark, flaming eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And there is yet another&mdash;a tall, stout figure in a dark blouse. He has an
-air of self-confidence and seems to be the most knowing, the most experienced,
-the most able of those present.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He is surrounded by the grown-up people and the girls, and he is being
-questioned. Cheery, good-natured, impatient voices appeal to him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do sing for us the <i>International</i>.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Borya, a lad with pale, frowning forehead, and blue-black circles under his
-eyes, looks into the other&rsquo;s face and implores more heartily than the
-rest.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The tall, broad-chested Mikhail Lvovich looks askance and stubbornly refuses to
-sing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t,&rdquo; he says gruffly. &ldquo;My throat is not in
-condition.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Borya and Natasha insist.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mikhail Lvovich then makes a gesture with his hand and accedes not less
-gruffly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Very well, I&rsquo;ll sing.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Every one is overjoyed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mikhail Lvovich poses himself on his knees. Above the mist-white glade, above
-the white-faced lads, above the white mist itself, there rises toward the
-witching moon, floating tranquilly in the skies, the words of that proud,
-passionate hymn:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Arise, ye branded with a curse!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mikhail Lvovich sings. His eyes are fixed on the ground, upon the cold grass,
-white in the glamorous light of the full, clear moon. It is hard to tell
-whether he does not wish to or cannot look straight into the eyes of these
-girls and boys&mdash;into these trusting, clean eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And they have gathered round him, how closely they have nestled round him,
-these pure-spirited young girls; and the young lads, their knees in the grass,
-follow every movement of his lips, and join in quietly. The bold melody grows,
-gains in volume. Like an exultant prophecy ring the eloquent words:
-</p>
-
-<p class="poem">
-In the International<br />
-As brothers all men shall meet.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXXIV</h3>
-
-<p>
-Mikhail has finished the song. For a time no one speaks. Then the agitated
-voices all ring out together, stirring the heavy silence of the woods.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Clear, girlish eyes are looking earnestly upon Mikhail Lvovich&rsquo;s morose
-set face. A clear, girlish voice implores insistently and gently:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Sing again, please. Be a dear. Sing it once more. I will make a note of
-the words. I want to know them by heart.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha approaches nearer and says quietly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We will all of us learn the words and sing them each day, like a prayer.
-We shall do it with a full heart.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mikhail Lvovich at last lifts his eyes. They are small, sparkling, shrewd. This
-time they have fixed themselves severely and inquisitively on Natasha&rsquo;s
-face, which suddenly has become confused at this snake-like glance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mikhail Lvovich addresses her gruffly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It doesn&rsquo;t require much bravery to sing on the quiet, in the
-woods. Any one can do that.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha&rsquo;s face becomes pale. Dark flames of unchildish determination
-kindle in her eyes. Excitedly she cries:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We will learn the words, and we will sing them where they are wanted. My
-God, are we to depend upon words, and upon words alone? We are ready for
-deeds.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Borya repeats after her: &ldquo;We are ready. We shall do all that is
-necessary. Yes, even die if need be.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mikhail Lvovich says with a calm assurance:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, I know.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In his eyes, fixed intently upon the ground, a dim, small flame is visible.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXXV</h3>
-
-<p>
-There is a short silence. Then a thin voice is heard. It is the girl, slender
-as a young birch, with the sharp, cheerful little face, who is speaking.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My God! What strength! What eloquence!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mikhail Lvovich slowly turns his face toward her. He smiles severely and says
-nothing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The girl has her hands clasped across her knees. It is an extremely pretty
-pose. Her face has suddenly assumed a very grave air, breathing passionate
-entreaty and fiery determination. She exclaims fervently:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s all sing the chorus! Mikhail Lvovich will teach us. You will
-teach us, Mikhail Lvovich, won&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; Mikhail Lvovich replies with his usual severe dignity.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He casts his dull, heavy gaze round the crowded circle of delighted young
-faces. He alone sits with his back to the open glade and to the witching moon.
-His face, now in the shade, has become even more significant. And his whole
-bearing is one of imposing solemnity.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The faces of the younger people are white in the moonlight. Their garments are
-luminously bright. Their voices are brilliantly clear. In their simple trust
-there is the sense of an avowal.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, let us begin!&rdquo; exclaims the slender girl, somewhat agitated.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mikhail Lvovich raises his hand with a solemn gesture and begins:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Arise, ye branded with a curse!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The children sing with a will, mingling their high, clear voices with Mikhail
-Lvovich&rsquo;s deep, low voice. Their young voices are blazing with the
-passionate flame of freedom and revolt. Higher and still higher, above the
-white mists, above the black forest, toward the silver clouds and the quiet
-glimmering stars, toward the aspectful moon, rise the sounds of the invocation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And the white-trunked birches, the milk-white moon, motionless in the sky, the
-white, silvery grass, pressed down by children&rsquo;s knees&mdash;all is
-still, all is silent, all is harkening with a sensitive ear. Everything around
-listens with poignant and solemn intentness to the song of these luminous
-children who, bathed in the translucent silver of the cool, lunar glimmer,
-their knees on the grass, their eyes burning in their uplifted faces, are
-repeating faithfully the words sung by the tall, self-contained young man whose
-dark face with fixed glance gazes morosely on the ground. They repeat after
-him:
-</p>
-
-<p class="poem">
-In the International<br />
-As brothers all men shall meet.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The strange foreign word, un-Russian in its ring, suggests to them the lofty,
-holy designation of a promised land, a new land under new skies, a land in
-which they have faith.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-After the hymn there is silence, a holy silence, solemn and palpable, reaching
-from the earth to the heavens. They might have been in the temple of a new, as
-yet unknown religion, in a mystic moment of sacrificial rites.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXXVI</h3>
-
-<p>
-Mikhail Lvovich is the first to break the silence. He speaks slowly, looking at
-no one and directing his heavy gaze above the children&rsquo;s pale faces,
-beyond the flaming ring of their glances:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My friends, you know the sort of time this is. Each one of us can be of
-use. If any one of us is sent I hope that none will tremble for his precious
-life, and that none will be deterred by the thought of a mother&rsquo;s
-sorrow.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The children exclaim:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;None! None! If they would but send us!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What is the sorrow of a single mother compared to the suffering of an
-entire nation!&rdquo; thinks Natasha proudly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There rises up for an instant a mental image of the ashen-pale face of her
-mother, her intensely dark, eloquent eyes. A sharp pain, lasting a moment,
-pierces her heart. What of that? It is, after all, but a single instant of
-weakness. A proud will shall conquer this slight suffering of a single relative
-by conferring great love upon the many, the strangers, the grievous sufferers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-What is the woe of one mother! Let Niobe weep eternally for her children,
-killed by the burning, poisoned arrows of the high Dragon; let Rachel remain
-unconsoled for ever&mdash;what is the woe of a poor mother? Serene is
-Apollo&rsquo;s face, radiant is Apollo&rsquo;s dream.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Yet how painful, how painful! A dimness comes over the transcendent idea, as
-though the dark countenance of the ominous figure who sang the proud hymn has
-dimmed the moon and has cast an austere shadow upon the heart itself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And now there is no moon, and no night, and no white glade in the mist in the
-forest. The bright day stares again at Natasha, she is at the window, the book
-lies before her, the old house is depressingly silent. The cloud has
-disappeared, the heavens are clear again, the evil Dragon is once more aiming
-his flaming arrows, he reiterates his conquest anew.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This cruel melancholy must be faced. Sting, accursed Dragon, burn, torment.
-Rejoice, conqueror! But even he must soon go to his setting, and, dying, pour
-out his blood upon half the heavens.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXXVII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Natasha, a yellow straw hat upon her head, is now walking in the field. The
-ground is hot, the sky is blue, the air is sultry and the wind asleep; the corn
-is yellow, the grass is green. Bathed again in the bright heat, Natasha prods
-her sweetly fatiguing memories, which cast into oblivion this dismal day.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She goes on&mdash;and there stretches before her, even as on a day long ago,
-the hot golden field, with its tall stalks inclining their heads in the heat.
-It is the revival of a former stifling, sultry midday.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-That was in the days when Natasha still loved the good, human sun, the source
-of life and joy, the eternal, the untiring herald of labours and deeds, of
-deeds beyond the powers of man.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Oh, the treacherous speech of the Serpent Tempter! He turns our heads and he
-entices, and he makes our poor earth seem like some fabulous kingdom.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Again there is a slight wavering stir in the sea of the heat-exhausted ears of
-rye, studded over with little blue flowers which lower timidly their
-sweetly-dazed heads from sultriness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha and her brother Boris are walking together, on an inviting narrow path
-among the golden waves of rye.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-How high the rye is! One can barely see the green roof of the old house on the
-right for the tall stalks, and the semi-circular window in the mezzanine: and
-on the left the little grey, rough huts of the village.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha and Boris follow one another. All around them the dry ears of rye waver
-and rustle, and among them are the blue-eyed little cornflowers. The two
-fragilely slender human silhouettes answered to the same wavering motion.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha goes ahead. She turns to see why Boris has lagged behind. The boy,
-brown and slender, with large burning eyes, attired in his linen jacket, is
-gathering the little blue flowers. He has already gathered almost as many as
-his hands can hold.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXXVIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Natasha, laughing, says to her brother: &ldquo;Enough, my dear, enough. I
-shan&rsquo;t be able to carry them all.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll do it easily enough, never fear!&rdquo; Boris answers
-cheerfully.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha stretches out her sunburnt hand to take the flowers. The sheaf of blue
-cornflowers, spreading across her breast, almost hides her, she is so slender.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Again Boris addresses her cheerfully: &ldquo;Well, is it heavy?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha laughs. Her face lights up with the joy of gratitude, and with a
-cheerful, childlike determination. &ldquo;I will carry these, but no
-more!&rdquo; she says.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I want to gather as many as possible for you.&rdquo; Boris&rsquo;s voice
-is serious; &ldquo;because you know we may not see each other for some
-time.&rdquo; There is a quaver in his voice as he says this.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Perhaps, never,&rdquo; Natasha, growing pensive, replies.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Both faces become sad and careworn.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Boris, frowning, glances sideways, and asks: &ldquo;Natasha, are you going with
-him?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha knows that Boris is inquiring about Mikhail Lvovich, who is now sending
-her on a dangerous business, and who has also promised to send Boris on some
-foolhardy errand. The brave are so often foolhardy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, I am going alone,&rdquo; Natasha replies, &ldquo;he will only lead
-me later to the spot.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Boris looks at Natasha with gloomy, envious eyes, and asks rather cautiously:
-&ldquo;Are you frightened, Natasha?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha smiles. And what pride there is in her smile! She speaks, and her voice
-is tranquil: &ldquo;No, Boris, I feel happy.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Boris observes that her face is really happy, and that her dark, flaming eyes
-are cheerful enough. Looking at her thus, her tranquillity communicates itself
-to him, and inspires him with a calm confidence in himself and in the business
-in hand.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The children go farther. Boris again gathers the cornflowers. Natasha is musing
-about something. She has broken off an ear of rye, and is absently nibbling at
-the grain.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXXIX</h3>
-
-<p>
-It is a long, hot, sultry day. The inexorable Dragon looks down indifferently
-upon the children. Unwearying, he aims his bright, vivid shafts at the
-sunburnt, fiery-eyed lad and at the slender, erect, black-eyed girl. His
-blazing shafts are evil, and they are well aimed; and his strong clear light is
-pitiless&mdash;but she walks on, and in her eyes there is hope, and in her eyes
-there is resolution, and in her dark eyes there is a flame which sets the soul
-afire to achieve deeds beyond the powers of man.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha suddenly pauses at the end of the path by the dusty road. Her eyes look
-at Boris full of tender admiration. It is evident that she desires to stamp
-upon her memory all the beloved features of the familiar tanned face&mdash;the
-curve of the dense brows, the rigid set of the red lips, the firm outlines of
-the chin, the stern profile.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha sighs lightly and addresses Boris gently and cheerfully:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Enough, dearest. They may not let me into the train with a heap like
-this. They will say: &lsquo;This should be put in the luggage
-van.&rsquo;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Both laugh carelessly. And still Boris is loath to leave the cornflowers. He
-says:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Only a few more. I want you to have a gigantic bouquet.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You would have everything gigantic!&rdquo; Natasha returns
-good-humouredly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But her face is serious. She knows how deep this quality is in him, and how
-significant. Boris looks at her, and in answer repeats his favourite, his most
-intimate thought:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, it is true. I love all bigness, all immoderation. In everything! In
-everything! If we only acted like this always! And gave ourselves wholly to a
-thing! Oh, how different life would be!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha, lost in thought, repeats: &ldquo;Yes, big things, things beyond the
-powers of man. To make life lavish. Only no stinginess, no trembling for
-one&rsquo;s skin. Far better to die&mdash;to gather all life into one little
-knot, and to throw it away!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; says Boris, and his eyes, dark as night, glow with the
-fury of a yet distant storm. &ldquo;We must have no care for lives, but be
-lavish with them, lavish to the end&mdash;only then may we reach our
-goal!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They cross the road and again walk calmly along a narrow path. Her dress is
-white among the golden waves. Natasha stretches out her slender hand, the ears
-of rye rustle dryly and solid seeds of ripe rye fall into it. They are struck
-from above by the vivid shafts of the pitiless Dragon.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The children are walking on, conscious of their vow. They go trustingly, and
-they do not know that he who sends them is a traitor, and that their sacrifice
-is vain.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XL</h3>
-
-<p>
-What is this dry rustling all around? It is the rye. But where are the little
-cornflowers, where is Boris? The little blue-eyed flowers are in the rye, and
-Boris has been hanged.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And I?&rdquo; Natasha asks herself in a strange, oppressive perplexity.
-She looks round her like one just awakened.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why am I here?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She answers herself: &ldquo;I escaped. A lucky chance saved me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha is oppressed by the thought. How had she survived it? &ldquo;Far better
-if I had perished!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It all happened very simply. Natasha, being Number Three, was placed at the
-railway station itself, her duty being contingent on the failure of Number One
-and Number Two. But the first was successful, though he himself perished in the
-explosion.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The second, upon hearing the explosion not far away, lost his presence of mind.
-He ran to save himself. He caught a cab, and got off near the river. Here he
-hired a row-boat. When near the middle of the river, he threw the bomb into the
-water. The man who rowed had guessed that something was wrong. Besides, he had
-been seen from the Government steamer and from the banks. Number Two was taken,
-tried and hanged.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha did not betray herself in any way. She walked calmly, without haste,
-bearing her dangerous burden, observed by no one. She mixed freely with the
-passing crowd. She delivered the bomb at the appointed place.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A few days later she left for home. She had not been followed. Natasha was
-awaiting a second commission, and quite suddenly she abandoned the business,
-because her trust in it had died.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It happened even before Borya was hanged. But her decision came finally in
-those nightmare days when, quickly and unexpectedly, his life came to an end.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Those were terrible days.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But, no, it is better not to think of them, it is better not to remember them.
-To remember them is to suffer. Far better to remember other things, things
-cloudless and long past.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XLI</h3>
-
-<p>
-Oh magic mirror of memory, so much is reflected in thee! Beloved images pass by
-with a kind of glimmer.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There were the flowers, which they themselves looked after. There was one
-flower-bed which they cared for with especial tenderness. There was the fresh,
-intoxicating evening aroma of gilliflower. There was the cluster of jasmine,
-dewy at dawn, so sweetly and so gently fragrant, that one wished to weep in its
-presence, as the grass weeps its tears of dew at golden dawn.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then there was the open space in the garden, and the giant-stride in the
-centre. What gigantic steps they took! How fast and how high she flew round
-with Boris!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-How glorious were the feast-days to the childish hearts. There was Christmas
-Eve, with its tree, and candles upon the green branches, with all the
-many-coloured glitter of golden nuts, red, green and blue trimmings, snow-white
-foils of cotton-wool, offerings which gladdened with their unexpectedness. Then
-in the daytime there is real snow, glittering like salt, and crunching under
-one&rsquo;s feet; the frost pinches the cheeks, the sun is shining, their
-mittens are of the softest down, their hats are white and soft, the sleds are
-flying down hillocks&mdash;oh, what joy!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And now Easter is here. What a solemn night! Then the joyous chanting of
-matins. The candle flames are everywhere, there seems to be no end to them.
-There is a smell of Easter cakes. There are Easter eggs painted in all colours.
-Every one is kissing each other. Every one is happy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Christoss Voskress!</i>&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Voistinu Voskress!</i>&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the dear dead do not stir.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-No. The beloved memories do not break the continuity of the circle, the
-resurrection of the others&mdash;the fearsome, tragic memories. Inevitably the
-vision leads on to the last terrible moments.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XLII</h3>
-
-<p>
-They lived in the capital that winter. Boris was studying his final term in the
-<i>gymnasia</i>. For Christmas he went to another city: to relatives, he said.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha was suspicious. But he did not tell her the truth.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Really, nothing,&rdquo; he answered to all her questions. &ldquo;No one
-is sending me. I am going of my own accord. To see Aunt Liuba.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And Natasha did not insist.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-For several days she did not get any letters from him. But she did not worry.
-Boris disliked writing letters. They thought he was enjoying himself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was an evening in early January. Her mother and grandmother had gone out
-visiting. Natasha, pleading a headache, remained at home.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll lie down on the sofa. It will pass away.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The truth was she thought the home of her affected, worldly relatives a dull
-place, and she had no desire to go there.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The maid had leave to go out. Natasha remained in the house alone. She lay down
-in her room on the sofa with an interesting new book.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-After the cheer and ease of the holidays, Natasha felt in good spirits. She was
-comfortable, tranquil and cheerful. The hangings on the windows were
-impenetrably opaque. The lamp, burning brightly and evenly, concealed its
-garish white blaze from her eyes under its trimmed, beaded shade. The whole
-small room was lost in a luminous twilight.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At last, however, page after page of running lines of print tired Natasha. She
-dropped into a doze, and was shortly sound asleep. The open book fell softly on
-the rug.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XLIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Suddenly a bell rings. Natasha gives a start.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Ours? No. The bell rang so timidly, so hesitatingly. It was as though she heard
-it ring in a dream, and not in reality; again, it might have been the ring of
-some mischievous urchin.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Perhaps she had only imagined it. It is so comfortable to doze. She feels too
-lazy to get up. Let them ring.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But here is a second ring, more insistent and louder.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha jumps up and runs into the vestibule, rearranging her hair on the way.
-Remembering that she is alone in the house she does not open the door, but
-asks: &ldquo;Who&rsquo;s there?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-From behind the door she can hear the low, somewhat hoarse voice of the
-telegraph boy: &ldquo;A telegram.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her heart begins to beat with fright. It is always terrible to receive
-telegrams. For only good news travels slowly. Bad news makes haste.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha puts one end of the door-chain to a little hook in the door. Then she
-opens the door partly and looks out. There stands the messenger in his uniform,
-with a metal plate in his cap. He hands her the telegram.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Sign here, miss.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The grey-white, dry paper trembles in Natasha&rsquo;s hands. Natasha feels a
-sudden tug at her heart. She speaks incoherently:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What is it? Oh my God! Sign, did you say?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She runs to the table. Her hands tremble. She has managed somehow to scrawl her
-family name &ldquo;Ozoreva,&rdquo; the pen hesitating and scratching upon the
-grey paper.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Here is the signature.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Across the little door-chain she thrusts the signed paper and a tip into the
-hand of the messenger. Then she bangs the door to after him. Now she is in
-front of the lamp. What can it be?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Tearing the seal open she reads. Terrible words. Such simple, yet such
-incomprehensible words. Because they are about Boris.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Boris has shot &mdash;&mdash;. Arrested with comrades. Military trial
-to-morrow. Death sentence threatened</i>.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>XLIV</h3>
-
-<p>
-Natasha re-reads the telegram. A sudden terror, strangely akin to shame, for a
-moment strikes at her heart. She can hear the heavy beat of blood in her
-temples. She is, as it were, being strangled from all sides; she can hardly
-breathe; the walls seem to have come together, oppressing her on all sides; and
-the rapid, pale, pencilled strokes seem also to have run together into one
-jumble on the grey paper.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Certain thoughts, one after the other, slowly make way into Natasha&rsquo;s
-dimmed consciousness&mdash;oppressive, evil, pitiless thoughts.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Stupefied, she wonders how she shall tell her mother. She observes that her
-hands tremble. She recalls the telephone number of the Lareyevs, where her
-mother undoubtedly is.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then terror seizes her anew; she shivers violently from head to foot as with
-ague. Her mind is a whirl of confusion.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, it is a mistake! It cannot be. It is a cruel, senseless mistake! It
-is some one&rsquo;s stupid, cruel joke.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Boris, our beloved boy, with his fine honest eyes&mdash;think of him hanging!
-There will be a rattle in his throat, as strangling, he will swing in the
-noose. With sharp, clutching pain, the gentle, childish neck will tighten; the
-sunburnt face will grow purple; the swollen tongue will creep out all in froth,
-and the widely dilated eyes will reflect the terror of cruel death.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-No, no, it cannot be! It is a mistake! But who can be malicious enough to make
-such a mistake?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And then where is Boris?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her cold reasoning says that it is so, that no mistake has been made. The words
-are clear, the address is correct&mdash;yes, yes! It was really to be expected.
-Here it is, this lavishness of life which he dreamt of, which they both dreamt
-of. &ldquo;I love all immoderation. To be lavish&mdash;only then we may reach
-our goal!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her legs tremble. She feels herself terribly weak. She sits down on the sofa.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Oh God, what&rsquo;s to be done? How is she to tell her mother this terrible
-thing?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Or should she conceal it? And do everything that could be done by herself? But
-no, she could do ridiculously little herself!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It is necessary to tell. It must be done quickly. She must not lose an instant.
-Perhaps it is still possible to save Boris, by going, by petitioning.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Why is she sitting still then? It is necessary to act at once.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha seizes the telephone. What a long time the operator takes to answer.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At last she is connected. She can hear sounds of music and the hum of voices.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A cheerful, familiar voice asks:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s there?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is Natasha Ozoreva.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good evening, Natasha,&rdquo; says Marusya Lareyeva loudly. &ldquo;What
-a pity you did not come. We are having a fine time.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good evening, dear Marusya. Is mamma with you?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, she is here. Shall I call her?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, no, for God&rsquo;s sake. Let some one break it to her....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Has anything happened?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Marusya, a terrible misfortune. Our Boris has been arrested.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My God! For what?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know. He&rsquo;ll have a military trial. I feel desperate.
-It&rsquo;s so terrible. For God&rsquo;s sake, don&rsquo;t frighten mother too
-much. Tell her to come home at once, please.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh, my God, how awful!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh, Marusya, dearest, for God&rsquo;s sake, be quick.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell my mother at once. Wait at the telephone,
-Natasha.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha holds the receiver to her ear and waits. She hears the noise of
-footsteps. Some one has begun to sing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then again the same voice, extremely agitated:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Natasha, do you hear? Your mother wants to speak to you herself.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha trembles with fright. Good God, what shall she tell her mother! She
-inquires:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What? Is she coming herself to the telephone?&rdquo; she asks.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes. Your mother is here now.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>XLV</h3>
-
-<p>
-The voice of Sofia Alexandrovna, terribly agitated, is heard:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Natasha, is that you? For God&rsquo;s sake, what has happened?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha replies:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, mamma, it is I. A telegram has come. Mamma, don&rsquo;t be
-frightened, it must be a mistake.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This time the voice is more controlled.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Read me the telegram at once.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Just a moment. I&rsquo;ll get it,&rdquo; says Natasha.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The telegram is read.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What, a military trial?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, military.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;To-morrow?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes, to-morrow.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Death sentence threatened?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, please be yourself, for God&rsquo;s sake. Perhaps something can
-be done.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We must go there. Get the things ready, Natasha. Mother and I are
-returning at once, and we will take the first train out.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The conversation is at an end.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha is alone. She runs about the deserted house, letting things fall in the
-poignant silence. She is busy with travelling bags and with pillows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She stops to look at the time-table. There is a train at half-past twelve. Yes,
-there is still time to catch it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then the bell rings, frightening her even more than the earlier ring. The
-mother and the grandmother have arrived, pale and distraught.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XLVI</h3>
-
-<p>
-A sleepless, wearisome journey in the train. The wheels roll on with a
-measured, jarring sound. Stops are made. How slow it all is! How agonizing! If
-only it would be quicker, quicker!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Or were it better to wish that time should be arrested? That its huge, shaggy
-wings outspread and flapping above the world should suddenly become motionless?
-That its owlish glance should be stilled for ever in the instant just before
-the terrible word is said?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They reach their destination in the morning. At the station, a dirty, dejected
-place, they are met by a cousin of Natasha&rsquo;s, an attorney by profession.
-From his pale, worried face, they guess that everything is over.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He talks quickly and incoherently. He comforts them with hopes in which he
-himself does not believe. The trial had been held early that morning. Boris and
-both his comrades&mdash;all of the same green youth&mdash;had been sentenced to
-die by hanging. The court would entertain no appeal. The only hope lay in the
-district general. He was really not a bad man at heart. Perhaps, by imploring,
-he might be induced to lighten the sentence to that of hard labour for an
-indefinite period.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Poor mothers! What is it they implore?
-</p>
-
-<h3>XLVII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna and Natasha arrived at the general&rsquo;s. They waited long
-in the quiet, cold-looking reception-room; the glossy parquet floor shone,
-portraits in heavy gilt frames hung on the walls, and the careful steps of
-uniformed officials, coming through a large white door, resounded from time to
-time.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At last they were received. The general listened most amiably, but declined
-emphatically to do anything. He rose, clinked his spurs, and stretched himself
-to his full height; He stood there tall, erect, his breast decorated with
-orders, his head grey, his face ruddy, with black eyebrows and broad nose.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In vain the humiliating entreaties.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Pale, the proud mother knelt before the general and, weeping bitterly, she
-kissed his hands and at last threw herself at his feet&mdash;all in vain. She
-received the cold answer:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I am sorry, madam, it is impossible. I understand your affliction, I
-sympathize fully; with your sorrow, but what can I do? Whose fault is it? Upon
-me lies a great responsibility toward my Emperor and my country. I have my
-duty&mdash;I can&rsquo;t help you. It is against yourself that you ought to
-bring your reproaches&mdash;you&rsquo;ve brought him up.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Of what avail the tears of a poor mother? Strike thy head upon the parquet
-floor, bend thy face to the black glitter of his boots; or else depart, proud
-and silent. It is all the same, he can do nothing. Thy tears and thy entreaties
-do not touch him, thy curses do not offend him. He is a kind man, he is the
-loving father of a family, but his upright martial soul does not tremble before
-the word death. More than once he had risked his life boldly in
-battle&mdash;what is the life of a conspirator to him?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But he is a mere boy!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, madam, this is not a childish prank. I am sorry.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He walks away. She hears the measured clinking of his spurs. The parquet floor
-reflects dimly his tall, erect figure.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;General, have pity!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The cold, white door has swung to after him. She hears the quiet, pleasant
-voice of a young official. He raises her from the floor and helps her to find
-her way out.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XLVIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-They granted a last meeting. A few minutes passed in questions, answers,
-embraces, and tears.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Boris said very little.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t cry, mamma. I am not afraid. There is nothing else they can
-do. They don&rsquo;t feed you at all badly here. Remember me to all. And you,
-Natasha, take care of mother. One sacrifice is enough from our family. Well,
-good-bye.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He seemed somehow callous and distant. He seemed to be thinking of something
-else, of something he could tell no one. And his words had an external ring, as
-though merely to make conversation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-That night, before daybreak, Boris was hanged. The scaffold was set up in the
-gaol courtyard. The spot where he was buried was kept secret.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The mother implored the next day: &ldquo;Show me his grave at least!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-What was there to show! He was laid in a coffin, he was put into a hole in the
-earth and the soil that covered him was smoothed down to its original
-level&mdash;we all know how such culprits are buried.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Tell me at least how he died.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, he was a brave one. He was calm, a bit serious. And he refused a
-priest, and would not kiss the cross.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They returned home. A fog of melancholy hung over them, and within them there
-lit up a spark of mad hope&mdash;no, Borya is not dead, Borya will return.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XLIX</h3>
-
-<p>
-The thought that Boris had been hanged could not enter into their habitual,
-everyday thoughts. Only in the hour when the sun was at its zenith, and in the
-hour of the midnight moon, it would penetrate their awakened consciousness like
-a sharp poniard. Again it would pierce the soul with a sharp, tormenting pain,
-and again it would vanish in the dim mist of dawn with a kind of dull agony.
-And again, the same unreasonable conviction would awake in their hearts.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-No, Borya will return. The bell will suddenly ring, and the door will be opened
-to him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh, Borya! Where have you been wandering?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-How we shall kiss him! And how much there will be to tell!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What does it matter where you have been wandering. You have been
-wandering, and, you have been found, like the prodigal son.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-How happy all will be!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old nurse will not be consoled. She wails:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Boryushka, Boryushka, my incomparable one! I say to him:
-&lsquo;Boryushka, I&rsquo;m going to the poor-house!&rsquo; And he says to me:
-&lsquo;No,&rsquo; says he, &lsquo;<i>nyanechka</i>,<a href="#linknote-4"
-name="linknoteref-4" id="linknoteref-4">[4]</a> I&rsquo;ll not let you go to
-the poor-house. I,&rsquo; he says, &lsquo;will let you stop with me,
-<i>nyanechka</i>; only wait till I grow up,&rsquo; says he, &lsquo;and you can
-live with me.&rsquo; Oh, Boryushka, what&rsquo;s this you&rsquo;ve done!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the morning the old nurse enters the vestibule. Whose grey overcoat is it
-that she sees hanging on the rack? It is Borya&rsquo;s, his <i>gymnasia</i>
-uniform. Has he then not gone to the <i>gymnasia</i> to-day?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She wanders into the dining-room, making a muffled noise with her soft
-slippers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Natashenka, is Boryushka home to-day? His overcoat&rsquo;s there on the
-rack. Or is he sick?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Nyanechka</i>!&rdquo; exclaims Natasha.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, frightened, she looks at her mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old nurse has suddenly remembered. She is crying. The grey head shivers in
-its black wrap. The old woman wails:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I go there and I look, what&rsquo;s that I see? Borya&rsquo;s overcoat.
-I say to myself, Borya&rsquo;s gone to the <i>gymnasia</i>, why&rsquo;s his
-overcoat here? It&rsquo;s no holiday. Oh, my Boryushka is gone!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She wails louder and louder. Then the old woman falls to the floor and begins
-to beat the boards with her head.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Borechka, my own Borechka! If the Lord had only taken me, an old woman,
-instead of him. What&rsquo;s the use of life to me? I drag along, of no cheer
-to myself or to any one else.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha, helpless, tries to quiet her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Nyanechka</i>, dearest, rest a little.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;May Thou rest me, O Lord! My heart told me something was wrong.
-I&rsquo;ve been dreaming all sorts of bad dreams. These black dreams have come
-true! Oh, Borechka, my own!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old woman continues to beat her head and to wail. Natasha implores her
-mother:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;For God&rsquo;s sake, mamma, have Borya&rsquo;s overcoat taken from the
-rack.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna looks at her with her dark, smouldering eyes and says
-morosely:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why? It had better hang there. He might suddenly need it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Oh, hateful memories! As long as the evil Dragon reigns in the heavens it is
-impossible to escape them.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha roams restlessly, she can find no place for herself. She is off to the
-woods; she recalls Boris there, and that he has been hanged. She is off to the
-river; she recalls Boris there, and that he is no more. She is back at home,
-and the walls of the old house recall Boris to her, and that he will not
-return.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Like a pale shadow the mother wanders along the walks of the garden, choosing
-to pause there where the shade is densest. The old grandmother sits upon a
-bench and finishes the reading of the newspapers. It is the same every day.
-</p>
-
-<p class="footnote">
-<a name="linknote-4" id="linknote-4"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-4">[4]</a> 
-Little nurse.
-</p>
-
-<h3>L</h3>
-
-<p>
-And now the evening is approaching. The sun is low and red. It looks straight
-into people&rsquo;s eyes as though, while expiring, it were begging for mercy.
-A breeze blows from the river, and it brings the laughter of white water
-nymphs.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A number of noisy urchins are running in the road; their shirt-tails flap
-merrily in the wind, while their sleeves are filled with wind like balloons.
-The sound of a harmonica comes from the distance, and its song runs on very
-merrily. The corncrake screeches in the field, and its call resembles a
-general&rsquo;s loud snore.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old house once more casts and arranges its long dark shadows disturbed by
-the intrusive day. Its windows blaze forth with the red fire of the evening
-sun.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The gilliflower exhales its seductive aroma in some of the distant paths. The
-roses seem even redder in the sunset, and more sweet. The eternal
-Aphrodite&mdash;the naked marble of her proud body taking on a rose
-tint&mdash;smiles again, and lets fall her draperies as fascinatingly as ever.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And everything is directed as before toward cherished, unreasonable hopes.
-Enfeebled by the day&rsquo;s heat, and by the sadness of the bright day, the
-harassed soul has exhausted its measure of suffering, and it falls from the
-iron embrace of sorrow to the beloved dark earth of the past, once more
-besprinkled with dreamily refreshing dew.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And again, as at dawn, the three women in the old house await Boris, or a short
-time happy in their madness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They await him, and they chat of him, until, from behind the trees of the dark
-wood, the cold moon shows her ever sad face. The dead moon is under a white
-shroud of mist.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then again they remember that Borya has been hanged, and they meet at the
-green-covered pond to weep for him.
-</p>
-
-<h3>LI</h3>
-
-<p>
-Natasha is the first to leave the house. She has on a white dress and a black
-cloak. Her black hair is covered with a thin black kerchief. Her very deep dark
-eyes shine with flame-like brightness. She stands, her pale face uplifted
-toward the moon. She awaits the other two.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna and Sofia Alexandrovna arrive together.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna leaves the house slightly earlier, but Sofia Alexandrovna runs
-after her and overtakes her almost at the pond. They wear black cloaks, black
-kerchiefs on their heads, and black shoes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha begins:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;On the night before the execution he did not sleep. The moon, just as
-clear as to-night&rsquo;s, looked into the narrow window of his cell. On the
-floor the moon sadly outlined a green rhomb, intersected lengthwise and
-crosswise by narrow dark strokes. Boris walked up and down his cell, and looked
-now at the moon, now at the green rhomb, and thought&mdash;I wish I knew his
-thoughts that night.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her remark has a quite tranquil sound. It might have been about a stranger.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna now and again wrings her hands, and as she begins to speak
-her voice is agitated and heavy with grief:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What can one think at such moments! The moon, long dead, looks in. There
-are five steps from the door to the window, four steps across. The mind springs
-feverishly from object to object. That the execution is to take place on the
-morrow is the one thing you try not to think of. Stubbornly you repel the
-thought. But it remains, it refuses to depart, it throttles the soul with an
-oppressive, horrible nightmare. The anguish is intense and enfeebling. But I do
-not wish my gaolers and all these officials who are come to me to see my
-anguish. I will be calm. And yet what anguish&mdash;if only, lifting up my pale
-face, I could cry aloud to the pale moon!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna whispers faintly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Terrible, Sonyushka.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There are tears in her voice&mdash;simple, old-womanish, grandmotherly tears.
-</p>
-
-<h3>LII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna, ignoring the interruption, continues:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why should I really go to my death boldly and resolutely? Is it not all
-the same? I shall die in the courtyard, in the dark of night. Whether I die
-boldly, or weep like a coward, or beg for mercy, or resist the
-executioner&mdash;is it not all the same? No one will know how I died. I shall
-face death alone. Why should I really suffer this wild anguish? I will raise up
-my voice to wail and to weep, and I will shake the whole gaol with my
-despairing cries, and I will awake the town, the so-called free town, which is
-only a larger gaol&mdash;so that I shall not suffer alone, but that others
-shall share in my last agony, in my last dread. But no, I won&rsquo;t do that.
-It is my fate to die alone.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha rises, trembles, presses her mother&rsquo;s cold hand in hers, and
-says:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, mamma, it is terrible, if alone. No, don&rsquo;t say that he felt
-alone. We shall be with him.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Elena Kirillovna whispers:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, Sonyushka, it would be terrible alone. In such moments!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We are with him,&rdquo; insists Natasha vehemently. &ldquo;We are with
-him now.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A smile is on Sofia Alexandrovna&rsquo;s lips, a smile such as a dying person
-smiles to greet his last consolation. Sofia Alexandrovna speaks:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My last consolation is the thought that I am not alone. He is with me.
-These walls are unrealities, this gaol built by men is a lie. What is real and
-true is my suffering and I am one with them in my grief. A poor consolation!
-And yet I, just think, this extraordinary I, Boris, I am dying.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I am dying,&rdquo; repeats Natasha.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her voice is clouded, and it is fraught with despair. And all three remain
-silent for a brief while, overcome by the spell of these tragic words.
-</p>
-
-<h3>LIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna speaks again. Her voice sounds tranquil, deliberate,
-measured:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;There is no consolation for the dying. His grief is boundless. The cold
-moon continues to torment him. A moan struggles to break from his throat, a
-moan like the wild baying of a caged beast.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha speaks sadly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But he is not alone, not alone. We are with him in his grief.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her eyes, darker than a dark night, look up toward the lifeless moon, and the
-green enchantress, reflected in them, torments her with a dull pain.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sofia Alexandrovna smiles&mdash;and her smile is dead&mdash;and with the voice
-of inconsolable sorrow she speaks again slowly and calmly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We are with him only in his despair, in his pitiful inconsolability, in
-his dark solitude. But he was alone, alone, when he was strangled by the hand
-of a hired hangman; strangled in that dark enclosure which it is not for us to
-demolish. And the dead moon tormented him, as it torments us. She tempted him
-with the mad desire to moan wildly, like a wild beast before dying. And now we,
-in this hour, under this moon&mdash;are we not also tormented by the same mad
-desire to run, to run far from people, and to moan and to wail, and to flee
-from a grief too great to be borne!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She rises abruptly and walks away, wringing her beautiful white hands. She
-walks fast, almost runs, driven as it were by some strange, furious will not
-her own. Natasha follows her with the measured yet rapid, deliberate,
-mechanical gait of an automaton. And behind them trips along Elena Kirillovna,
-who lets fall a few scant tears on her black cloak.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The moon follows them callously in their hurried journey across the garden,
-across the field, into that wood, into that still glade, where once the
-children sang their proud hymn, and where they let their mad desires be known
-to one who was to betray them for a price&mdash;young blood for gold.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The grass in the fields is wet with dew. The river is white with mist. The high
-moon is clear and cold. Everywhere it is quiet, as though all the earthly
-rustlings and noises had lost themselves in the moon&rsquo;s dead light.
-</p>
-
-<h3>LIV</h3>
-
-<p>
-And here is the glade. &ldquo;Natasha, do you remember? How warmly they all
-sang <i>Arise, ye branded with a curse!</i> Natasha, will you sing it again?
-Do. Is it a torture?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll sing,&rdquo; replies Natasha quietly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She sings in a low voice, almost to herself. The mother listens, and the
-grandmother listens&mdash;but what have the birches and the grass and the clear
-moon to do with human songs!
-</p>
-
-<p class="poem">
-In the International<br />
-As brothers all men shall meet!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her song is at an end. The wood is silent. The moon waits. The mist is pensive.
-The birches seem to listen. The sky is clear.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Ah, for whom is all this life? Who calls? Who responds? Or is it all the play
-of the dead?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Loudly wailing, the mother calls: &ldquo;Borya, Borya!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Overflowing with tears Elena Kirillovna replies: &ldquo;Borya won&rsquo;t come.
-There is no Borya.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Natasha stretches out her arms toward the lifeless moon, and cries out:
-&ldquo;Borya has been hanged!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-All three now stand side by side, looking at the moon, and weeping. Louder
-grows their sobbing, fiercer the note of despair. Their moans merge finally
-into a prolonged, wild wailing, which can be heard for some distance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The dog at the forester&rsquo;s hut is restless. Trembling with all his lean
-body, his short hair bristling, he has pricked up his ears. Rising, he
-stretches his slender limbs. His sharp muzzle, showing its teeth, is uplifted
-to the tormenting moon. His eyes burn with a yearning flame. The dog bays in
-answer to the distant wail of the women in the wood.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-People are asleep.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap02"></a>THE UNITER OF SOULS</h2>
-
-<p>
-Garmonov was extremely young, and had not yet learnt to time his visits; he
-usually came at the wrong hour and did not know when to leave. He realized at
-last that he was boring Sonpolyev almost to madness. It dawned upon him that he
-was taking Sonpolyev from his work. He recalled that Sonpolyev had borne
-himself with a constrained politeness toward him, and that at times a caustic
-phrase escaped his lips.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Garmonov grew painfully red, a sudden flame spread itself under the smooth skin
-of his drawn cheeks. He rose irresolutely. Then he sat down again, for he saw
-that Sonpolyev was about to say something. Sonpolyev took up the thread of the
-conversation in a depressed voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So you&rsquo;ve put a mask on! What do you want me to understand by
-that?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Garmonov muttered in a confused way:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s necessary to dissemble sometimes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev would not listen further, but gave way to his irritation:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What do you understand about it? What do you know of masks? There is no
-mask without a responding soul. It is impossible to put on a mask without
-harmonizing your soul with its soul. Otherwise the mask is uncovered.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev grew silent, and looked miserably before him. He did not look at
-Garmonov. He felt again a strange, instinctive hate for him, such as he felt at
-their first meeting. He had always tried to hide this hate under a mask of
-great heartiness; he had urged Garmonov most earnestly to visit him, and
-praised Garmonov&rsquo;s verses to every one. But from time to time he spoke
-coarse, malicious words to the timid young man, who then flushed violently and
-shrank back within himself. Sonpolyev was quick to pity him, but soon again he
-detested his cautious, sluggish ways; he thought him secretive and cunning.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Garmonov rose, said good-bye, and went out. Sonpolyev was left alone. He felt
-miserable because his work had been interrupted. He no longer felt in the same
-working mood. A secret malice tormented him. Why should this seemingly
-insignificant youth, Garmonov, evoke such bitterness in him? He had a large
-mouth, a long, very smooth face; his movements were slow, his voice had a
-drawl; there was something ambiguous about him, and enigmatical.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev began sadly to pace the room. He stopped before the wall, and began
-to speak. There are many people nowadays who have long conversations with the
-wall&mdash;the wall, indeed, makes an interested interlocutor, and a faithful
-one.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is possible,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;to hate so strongly and so
-poignantly only that which is near to one. But in what does this devilish
-nearness consist? By what impure magic has some demon bound our souls together?
-Souls so unlike one another! Mine, that of a man of action with a bent for
-repose; and his, the soul of a large-mouthed fledgling, who is as cunning as a
-conspirator, and as cautious as a coward. And what is there in his character
-that conflicts so strangely with his appearance? Who has stolen the best and
-most needful part from this moly-coddle&rsquo;s soul?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He spoke quietly, almost in a murmur. Then he exclaimed as though in a rage:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Who has done this? Man, or the enemy of man?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he heard the strange answer:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Some one spoke this word in a clear, shrill voice. It was like the sharp yet
-subdued ring of rusty steel. Sonpolyev trembled nervously. He looked round him.
-There was no one in the room.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He sat down in the arm-chair and looked, scowling, on the table, buried under
-books and papers; and he waited. He awaited something. The waiting grew
-painful. He said loudly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, why do you hide? You&rsquo;ve begun to speak, you might as well
-appear. What do you wish to say? What is it?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He began to listen intently. His nerves were strained. It seemed as though the
-slightest noise would have sounded like an archangel&rsquo;s trumpet.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then there was sudden laughter. It was sharp, and it was like the sound of
-rusty metal. The spring of some elaborate toy seemed to unwind itself, and
-trembled and tinkled in the subdued quiet of the evening. Sonpolyev put the
-palms of his hands over his temples, and rested upon his elbows. He listened
-intently. The laugh died away with mechanical evenness. It was evident that it
-came from somewhere quite near, perhaps from the table itself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev waited. He gazed with intent eyes at the bronze inkstand. He asked
-derisively: &ldquo;Ink sprite, was it not you that laughed?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The sharp voice, quite unlike the muffled voice of phantoms, answered with the
-same derision: &ldquo;No, you are mistaken; and you are not very brilliant. I
-am not an ink sprite. Don&rsquo;t you know the rustling voices of ink sprites?
-You are a poor observer.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And again there was laughter, again the rusty spring tinkled as it unwound
-itself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev said: &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know who you are&mdash;and how should I
-know! I cannot see you. Only I think that you are like the rest of your
-fraternity: you are always near us, you poke your noses into everything, and
-you bring sadness and evil spells upon us; yet you dare not show yourselves
-before our eyes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The metallic voice replied: &ldquo;The fact is, I came to have a talk with you.
-I love to talk with such as yourself&mdash;with half-folk.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The voice grew silent, and Sonpolyev waited for it to laugh. He thought:
-&ldquo;He must punctuate his every phrase with that hideous laughter.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Indeed, he was not mistaken. The strange visitor really talked in this way:
-first he would speak a few words, then he would burst out into his sharp, rusty
-laughter. It seemed as though he used his words to wind up the spring, and that
-later the spring relaxed itself with his laughter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And while his laughter was still dying away with mechanical evenness the guest
-showed himself from behind the inkstand.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He was small, and was no taller from head to foot than the fourth finger. He
-was grey-steel in colour. Owing to his small stature and to his rapid movements
-it was hard to tell whether the dim glow came from the body, or from a garment
-that stretched lightly over it. In any case it was something smooth, something
-expressly simple. The body seemed like a slender keg, broader at the belt,
-narrower at the shoulders and below. The arms and legs were of equal length and
-thickness, and of like nimbleness and flexibility; it seemed as though the arms
-were very long and thick, and the legs disproportionately short and thin. The
-neck was short. The face was hardy. The legs were widely astride. At the end of
-the back something was visible in the nature of a tail or a thick cone; like
-growths were upon the sides, under the elbows. The strange figure moved
-quickly, nimbly, and surely.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The monster sat down on the bronze ridge of the inkstand, pushing aside the
-wooden pen-holder with his foot in order to be more comfortable. He grew quiet.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev examined his face. It was lean, grey, and smooth. His eyes were small
-and glowed brightly. His mouth was large. His ears stuck out and were pointed
-at the top.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He sat there, grasping the ridge with his hands, like a monkey. Sonpolyev
-asked: &ldquo;Gracious guest, what do you want to say to me?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And in answer a slight voice&mdash;mechanically even, unpleasantly sharp and
-rather rusty in tone&mdash;made itself heard: &ldquo;Man with a single head and
-a single soul, recall your past, your primitive experience of those ancient
-days when you and he lived in the same body.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And again there was laughter, shrill and sharp, piercing the ear.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-While he was still laughing, the guest, with mechanical agility, turned a
-somersault; he stood on his hands, and Sonpolyev saw for the first time what he
-had taken for a tail was really a second head. This head did not differ in any
-way, as far as he could see, from the other head. Whether the heads were too
-small for him to observe, or whether the heads did not actually differ, it was
-quite certain that Sonpolyev did not see the slightest distinction between
-them. The arms reversed themselves as on hinges, and became quite like the
-legs; the first head, then losing its colour, hid itself between these
-arm-legs; while the former legs reversed themselves mechanically and became the
-arms.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev looked at his strange guest with astonishment. The guest made wry
-faces and danced. And when at last he grew still and his laughter gradually
-died away, the second head began to speak: &ldquo;How many souls have you, and
-how many consciousnesses? Can you tell me that? You pride yourself on the
-amazing differentiation of your organs, you have an idea that each member of
-your body fulfils its own well-defined functions. But tell me, stupid man, have
-you anything whereby to preserve the memory of your previous existences? The
-other head contains the rest of you, your early memories and your earlier
-experience. You argue subtly and craftily across the threshold of your pitiful
-consciousness, but your misfortune is that you have only one head.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The guest burst out again into rusty, metallic laughter, and he laughed this
-time rather long. He laughed and he danced at the same time. He turned
-somersaults, or he rested upon one arm and upon one leg, thereby causing one of
-his sides to turn upward&mdash;until it was impossible to distinguish any of
-his four extremities. Afterwards his limbs again turned mechanically, and it
-became obvious that the growths on his sides were also heads. Each head spoke
-and laughed in its turn. Each head grimaced, mocked at him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev exclaimed in great fury: &ldquo;Be silent!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The guest danced, shouted, and laughed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev thought: &ldquo;I must catch him and crush him. Or I must smash the
-monster with a blow of the heavy press.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the guest continued to laugh and to make wry faces.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I dare not take him with my hands,&rdquo; thought Sonpolyev. &ldquo;He
-might burn or scorch me. A knife would be better.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He opened his penknife. Then he quickly directed its sharp point toward the
-middle of his guest&rsquo;s body. The four-headed monster gathered himself into
-a ball, flapped his four paws, and burst into piercing laughter. Sonpolyev
-threw his knife on the table, and exclaimed: &ldquo;Hateful monster! What do
-you want of me?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The guest jumped upon the sharply pointed lid of the inkstand, perched himself
-upon one foot, stretched his arms upward, and exclaimed in an ugly, shrill
-voice: &ldquo;Man with one head, recall your remote past when you and he were
-in the same body. The time you shared together in a dangerous adventure. Recall
-the dance of that terrible hour.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Suddenly it grew dark. The laughter resounded, hoarse and hideous. The head was
-going round....
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Light columns moved forward out of the darkness. The ceiling was low. The
-torches glowed dimly. The red tongues of flame wavered in the scented air. The
-flute poured out its notes. Handsome young limbs moved in measure to its music.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And it seemed to Sonpolyev that he was young and powerful, and that he was
-dancing round a banqueting table. A shrivelled, insolent, drunken face was
-looking at him; the banqueter was laughing uproariously, he was happy, and the
-dance of the half-naked youths pleased him. Sonpolyev felt that a furious rage
-was strangling him, and was hindering him from carrying out his project. He
-danced past the carousing man and his hands trembled. A reddish mist of hate
-dimmed his sight.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His second soul wakened at the same time; it was the cunning, the sidling, the
-feline soul. This time the youth smiled at the happy man; he floated gracefully
-past him, a sweet, gentle boy. The banqueter laughed loudly. The youth&rsquo;s
-naked limbs and bared torso cheered the lord of the feast.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And again there was hate, which dimmed his eyes with a red haze, and caused his
-hands to tremble with fury.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Some one whispered angrily: &ldquo;Are we going to twirl so long fruitlessly?
-It is time. It is time. Put an end to it!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The friendly spirits prevailed. The two souls flowed together. Hate and cunning
-became one. There was a light, floating movement, then a powerful stroke;
-nimble feet swept the youth into the swift, beautiful dance. There was a hoarse
-outcry. Then an uproar. Everything became confused....
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And again there was darkness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev awoke: the same small monster was dancing on the table, grimacing and
-laughing uproariously.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev asked: &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the meaning of this?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His guest replied: &ldquo;Two souls once dwelt in this youth, and one of them
-is now yours; it is a soul of exultant emotions and of passionate desires, it
-is an ever insatiable, trembling soul.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then there was laughter, jarring on the ear. The monster danced on.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev shouted: &ldquo;Stop, you dance devil! It seems to me you wish to say
-that the second soul of this primitive youth lives in the feeble body of this
-despicable, smooth-faced youngster?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The guest stopped laughing and exclaimed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Man, you have at last understood what I wished to tell you. Now perhaps
-you will guess who I am, and why I have come.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev waited until the trembling, shrill laughter ceased, and he answered
-his guest:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are the uniter of souls. But why did you not join us at our
-birth?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The monster hissed, curled up, then stopped and threw upward one of his side
-heads and exclaimed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We can repair this if you like. Do you wish it?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I wish it,&rdquo; Sonpolyev replied quickly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Call him to you on New Year&rsquo;s Eve, and call me. This hair will
-enable you to summon me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The monster ran quickly to the lamp, and placing upon its stand a short, thin
-black hair continued speaking: &ldquo;When you light it I&rsquo;ll come. But
-you ought to know that neither you nor he will preserve afterward a separate
-existence. And the man who will depart from here shall contain both souls, but
-it will be neither you nor he.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then he disappeared. His shrill, rusty laughter still resounded and tormented
-the ear, but Sonpolyev no longer saw any one before him. Only a black hair on
-the flat stand of the lamp reminded him of his guest.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev took the hair and put it into his purse.
-</p>
-
-<p class="p2">
-The last day of the year was approaching midnight.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Garmonov was sitting once more at Sonpolyev&rsquo;s. They spoke quietly, in
-subdued voices. It was painful. Sonpolyev asked: &ldquo;You do not regret
-coming to my lonely party?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The smooth-faced young man smiled, and this made his teeth seem very white. He
-drawled out his words very slowly, and what he said was so tedious and so empty
-that Sonpolyev had no desire to listen to him. Sonpolyev, without continuing
-the conversation, asked quite bluntly: &ldquo;You remember your earlier
-existence?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Not very well,&rdquo; answered Garmonov.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was clear that he did not understand the question, and that he thought
-Sonpolyev had asked him about his childhood.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev frowned in his vexation. He began to explain what he wished to say.
-He felt that his speech was involved and long. And this vexed him still more.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Garmonov had understood. He grew cheerful. He flushed slightly. His words
-had a more animated sound than usual: &ldquo;Yes, yes, I sometimes feel that I
-have lived before. It is such a strange feeling. It&rsquo;s as though that life
-was fuller, bolder and freer; and that I dared to do things that I dare not do
-now.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And isn&rsquo;t it true,&rdquo; asked Sonpolyev in some agitation,
-&ldquo;that you feel as though you had lost something, as though you now lack
-the most significant part of your being?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; answered Garmonov with emphasis. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s
-precisely my feeling.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Would you like to restore this missing part?&rdquo; Sonpolyev continued
-to question. &ldquo;To be once more as before, whole and bold; to contain in
-one body&mdash;which shall feel itself light and young and free&mdash;the
-fullness of life and the union of the antagonistic identities of our human
-breed. To be, indeed, more than whole; to feel as it were, in one&rsquo;s
-breast, the beating of a doubled heart; to be this and that; to join two
-clashing souls within oneself, and to wrest the necessary manhood and hardihood
-for great deeds from the fiery struggle of intense contradictions.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; said Garmonov, &ldquo;I, too, sometimes dream about
-this.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev was afraid to look at the irresolute, confused, smooth face of his
-young visitor. He vaguely feared that Garmonov&rsquo;s face would disconcert
-him. He made haste.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Besides, midnight was approaching. Sonpolyev said quietly: &ldquo;I have the
-means in my hands to realize this dream. Do you wish to have it
-realized?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I should like to,&rdquo; said Garmonov irresolutely.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev raised his eyes. He looked at Garmonov with firmness and decision, as
-though he demanded something urgent and indispensable from him. He looked with
-a fixed intentness into the dark youthful eyes, which should have flamed fire,
-but instead they were the cold, crafty eyes of a little man with half a soul.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But it seemed to Sonpolyev that under his fixed fiery gaze Garmonov&rsquo;s
-eyes were becoming inflamed with enthusiasm and burning wrath. The young
-man&rsquo;s smooth face had suddenly become significant and stern.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do you wish it?&rdquo; Sonpolyev asked him once more.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Garmonov replied quickly, with decision:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I wish it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And then a strange, sharp, shrill voice pronounced: &ldquo;Oh, small and
-cunning man; you who once during your ancient existence did a deed of great
-hardihood&mdash;that was when you joined your crafty soul to the flaming soul
-of an indignant man&mdash;tell us in this great, rare hour, have you firmly
-decided to merge your soul with the other, the different soul?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And Garmonov answered even more quickly and more decisively: &ldquo;I wish
-to!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev listened to the shrill voice of the questioner. He recognized him. He
-was not mistaken: the &ldquo;I wish to!&rdquo; of Garmonov had already lost
-itself in the rusty, metallic laughter of that extraordinary visitor.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev waited until the laughter ceased; then he said: &ldquo;But you should
-know that you will have to reject all dissembling. And all the joys of separate
-existence. Once I achieve my magic we shall both perish, and we shall set free
-our souls, or rather we shall fuse them together, and there shall be neither I
-nor you&mdash;there will be one in our place, and he shall be fiery in his
-conception, and cold in his execution. Both of us will have to go, in order to
-give a place to him, in whom both of us will be united. My friend, have you
-resolved upon this terrible thing? It is a great and terrible thing.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Garmonov smiled a strange, faltering smile. But the fiery glance of Sonpolyev
-extinguished the smile; and the young man, as if submitting to some inevitable
-and fated command, pronounced in a dim, lifeless voice: &ldquo;I have decided.
-I wish it. I am not afraid.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev took the hair out of his wallet with trembling fingers. He lit a
-candle. Behind it hid the four-headed visitor. His grey body seemed to quake;
-and it vacillated in the wavering flame that fondled in its flickering embraces
-the white body of the submissive candle.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Garmonov opened his eyes wide, and they steadfastly followed Sonpolyev&rsquo;s
-movements. Sonpolyev put one end of the hair to the flame. The hair curled
-slightly, grew red, gave a flare. It burned very slowly, with a quiet rhythmic
-crackle, which resembled the laugh of the nocturnal guest.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The words of the strange guest were simple but terrible. At first Sonpolyev was
-barely conscious of them; he was so agitated and so absorbed by the burning of
-the magic hair that he could see no connexion with the simple, familiar words
-of the monster. Suddenly terror came upon him. He had understood. There was
-derision in those simple, terribly simple words.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Little soul, failing little soul, timid little soul.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sonpolyev, frightened, looked at Garmonov. The smooth-faced young man sat there
-strangely shrunken. His face was pale. Beads of perspiration showed on his
-forehead. A pitiful, forced smile twisted his lips. When he saw that Sonpolyev
-was looking at him he shrank even more, and whispered in a broken, hollow
-voice, as though against his will: &ldquo;It is terrible. It is painful. It is
-unnecessary.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Suddenly he hunched like a cat&mdash;a cunning, timid, evil cat&mdash;and
-sprang forward; thus deformed, he pushed out his over-red lips and blew upon
-the almost consumed hair. The flame flickered upward, trembled and died. A tiny
-cloud of blue smoke spread itself in the still air. The shrill laughter of the
-nocturnal guest pierced the ears.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The hideous words resounded: &ldquo;Miscarried! Miscarried!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Garmonov sat down. He smiled guiltily and cunningly. Sonpolyev looked at him
-with unseeing eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The clock began to strike in the next room. And to each stroke the uniter of
-souls responded with the hoarse outcry: &ldquo;Miscarried!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he laughed again his metallic laughter like a wound-up spring. He whirled
-round and grimaced; he seemed to lose himself in the lifeless yellow electric
-light.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At the twelfth stroke, the last voice of the passing year, the hideous voice
-grew silent.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Miscarried!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And the horrible laughter of the vanishing monster died away. Garmonov, truly
-rejoicing over his deliverance from an unhappy fate, rose, and said: &ldquo;A
-happy New Year!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap03"></a>INVOKER OF THE BEAST</h2>
-
-<h3>I</h3>
-
-<p>
-It was quiet and tranquil, and neither joyous nor sad. There was an electric
-light in the room. The walls seemed impregnable. The window was overhung by
-heavy, dark-green draperies, even denser in tone than the green of the
-wall-paper. Both doors&mdash;the large one at the side, and the small one in
-the depth of the alcove that faced the window&mdash;were securely bolted. And
-there, behind them, reigned darkness and desolation in the broad corridor as
-well as in the spacious and cold reception-room, where melancholy plants
-yearned for their native soil.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gurov was lying on the divan. A book was in his hands. He often paused in his
-reading. He meditated and mused during these pauses, and it was always about
-the same thing. Always about <i>them</i>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They hovered near him. This he had noticed long ago. They were hiding. Their
-manner; was importunate. They rustled very quietly. For a long time they
-remained invisible to the eye. But one day, when Gurov awoke rather tired; sad
-and pale, and languidly turned on the electric light to dissipate the greyish
-gloom of an early winter morning&mdash;he espied one of them suddenly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Small, grey, shifty and nimble, <i>he</i> flashed by, and in the twinkling of
-an eye disappeared.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And thereafter, in the morning, or in the evening, Gurov grew used to seeing
-these small, shifty, house sprites run past him. This time he did not doubt
-that they would appear.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-To begin with he felt a slight headache, afterwards a sudden flash of heat,
-then of cold. Then, out of the corner, there emerged the long, slender Fever
-with her ugly, yellow face and her bony dry hands; she lay down at his side,
-and embraced him, and fell to kissing him and to laughing. And these rapid
-kisses of the affectionate and cunning Fever, and these slow approaches of the
-slight headache were agreeable.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Feebleness spread itself over, the whole body, and lassitude also. This too was
-agreeable. It made him feel as though all the turmoil of life had receded into
-the distance. And people also became far away, unimportant, even unnecessary.
-He preferred to be with these quiet ones, these house sprites.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gurov had not been out for some days. He had locked himself in at home. He did
-not permit any one to come to him. He was alone. He thought about them. He
-awaited them.
-</p>
-
-<h3>II</h3>
-
-<p>
-This tedious waiting was cut short in a strange and unexpected manner. He heard
-the slamming of a distant door, and presently he became aware of the sound of
-unhurried footfalls which came from the direction of the reception-room, just
-behind the door of his room. Some one was approaching with a sure and nimble
-step.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gurov turned his head toward the door. A gust of cold entered the room. Before
-him stood a boy, most strange and wild in aspect. He was dressed in linen
-draperies, half-nude, barefoot, smooth-skinned, sun-tanned, with black tangled
-hair and dark, burning eyes. An amazingly perfect, handsome face; handsome to a
-degree which made it terrible to gaze upon its beauty. And it portrayed neither
-good nor evil.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gurov was not astonished. A masterful mood took hold of him. He could hear the
-house sprites scampering away to conceal themselves.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The boy began to speak.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Aristomarchon! Perhaps you have forgotten your promise? Is this the way
-of valiant men? You left me when I was in mortal danger, you had made me a
-promise, which it is evident you did not intend to keep. I have sought for you
-such a long time! And here I have found you, living at your ease, and in
-luxury.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gurov fixed a perplexed gaze upon the half-nude, handsome lad; and turgid
-memories awoke in his soul. Something long since submerged arose in dim
-outlines and tormented his memory, which struggled to find a solution to the
-strange apparition; a solution, moreover, which seemed so near and so intimate.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And what of the invincibility of his walls? Something had happened round him,
-some mysterious transformation had taken place. But Gurov, engulfed in his vain
-exertions to recall something very near to him and yet slipping away in the
-tenacious embrace of ancient memory, had not yet succeeded in grasping the
-nature of the change that he felt had taken place. He turned to the wonderful
-boy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Tell me, gracious boy, simply and clearly, without unnecessary
-reproaches, what had I promised you, and when had I left you in a time of
-mortal danger? I swear to you, by all the holies, that my conscience could
-never have permitted me such a mean action as you reproach me with.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The boy shook his head. In a sonorous voice, suggestive of the melodious
-outpouring of a stringed instrument, he said: &ldquo;Aristomarchon, you always
-have been a man skilful with words, and not less skilful in matters requiring
-daring and prudence. If I have said that you left me in a moment of mortal
-danger I did not intend it as a reproach, and I do not understand why you speak
-of your conscience. Our projected affair was difficult and dangerous, but who
-can hear us now; before whom, with your craftily arranged words and your
-dissembling ignorance of what happened this morning at sunrise, can you deny
-that you had given me a promise?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The electric light grew dim. The ceiling seemed to darken and to recede into
-height. There was a smell of grass; its forgotten name, once, long ago,
-suggested something gentle and joyous. A breeze blew. Gurov raised himself, and
-asked: &ldquo;What sort of an affair had we two contrived? Gracious boy, I deny
-nothing. Only I don&rsquo;t know what you are speaking of. I don&rsquo;t
-remember.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gurov felt as though the boy were looking at him, yet not directly. He felt
-also vaguely conscious of another presence no less unfamiliar and alien than
-that of this curious stranger, and it seemed to him that the unfamiliar form of
-this other presence coincided with his own form. An ancient soul, as it were,
-had taken possession of Gurov and enveloped him in the long-lost freshness of
-its vernal attributes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was growing darker, and there was increasing purity and coolness in the air.
-There rose up in his soul the joy and ease of pristine existence. The stars
-glowed brilliantly in the dark sky. The boy spoke.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We had undertaken to kill the Beast. I tell you this under the
-multitudinous gaze of the all-seeing sky. Perhaps you were frightened.
-That&rsquo;s quite likely too! We had planned a great, terrible affair, that
-our names might be honoured by future generations.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Soft, tranquil, and monotonous was the sound of a stream which purled its way
-in the nocturnal silence. The stream was invisible, but its nearness was
-soothing and refreshing. They stood under the broad shelter of a tree and
-continued the conversation begun at some other time.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gurov asked: &ldquo;Why do you say that I had left you in a moment of mortal
-danger? Who am I that I should be frightened and run away?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The boy burst into a laugh. His mirth had the sound of music, and as it passed
-into speech his voice still quavered with sweet, melodious laughter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Aristomarchon, how cleverly you feign to have forgotten all! I
-don&rsquo;t understand what makes you do this, and with such a mastery that you
-bring reproaches against yourself which I have not even dreamt of. You had left
-me in a moment of mortal danger because it had to be, and you could not have
-helped me otherwise than by forsaking me at the moment. You will surely not
-remain stubborn in your denial when I remind you of the words of the
-Oracle?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gurov suddenly remembered. A brilliant light, as it were, unexpectedly
-illumined the dark domain of things forgotten. And in wild ecstasy, in a loud
-and joyous voice, he exclaimed: &ldquo;<i>One</i> shall kill the Beast!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The boy laughed. And Aristomarchon asked: &ldquo;Did you kill the Beast,
-Timarides?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;With what?&rdquo; exclaimed Timarides. &ldquo;However strong my hands
-are, I was not one who could kill the Beast with a blow of the fist. We,
-Aristomarchon, had not been prudent and we were unarmed. We were playing in the
-sand by the stream. The Beast came upon us suddenly and he laid his paw upon
-me. It was for me to offer up my life as a sweet sacrifice to glory and to a
-noble cause; it was for you to execute our plan. And while he was tormenting my
-defenceless and unresisting body, you, fleet-footed Aristomarchon, could have
-run for your lance, and killed the now blood-intoxicated Beast. But the Beast
-did not accept my sacrifice. I lay under him, quiescent and still, gazing into
-his bloodshot eyes. He held his heavy paw on my shoulder, his breath came in
-hot, uneven gasps, and he sent out low snarls. Afterwards, he put out his huge,
-hot tongue and licked my face; then he left me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Where is he now?&rdquo; asked Aristomarchon.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In a voice strangely tranquil and strangely sonorous in the quiet arrested
-stillness of the humid air, Timarides replied: &ldquo;He followed me. I do not
-know how long I have been wandering until I found you. He followed me. I led
-him on by the smell of my blood. I do not know why he has not touched me until
-now. But here I have enticed him to you. You had better get the weapon which
-you had hidden so carefully and kill the Beast, while I in my turn will leave
-you in the moment of mortal danger, eye to eye with the enraged creature.
-Here&rsquo;s luck to you, Aristomarchon!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As soon as he uttered these words Timarides, started, to run. For a short time
-his cloak was visible in the darkness, a glimmering patch of white. And then he
-disappeared. In the same instant the air resounded with the savage bellowing of
-the Beast, and his ponderous tread became audible. Pushing aside the growth of
-shrubs there emerged from the darkness the huge, monstrous head of the Beast,
-flashing a livid fire out of its two enormous, flaming eyes. And in the dark
-silence of nocturnal trees the towering ferocious shape of the Beast loomed
-ominously as it approached Aristomarchon.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Terror filled Aristomarchon&rsquo;s heart.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Where is the lance?&rdquo; was the thought that quickly flashed across
-his brain.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And in that instant, feeling the fresh night breeze on his face, Aristomarchon
-realized that he was running from the Beast. His ponderous springs and his
-spasmodic roars resounded closer and closer behind him. And as the Beast came
-up with him a loud cry rent the silence of the night. The cry came from
-Aristomarchon, who, recalling then some ancient and terrible words, pronounced
-loudly the incantation of the walls.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And thus enchanted the walls erected themselves around him....
-</p>
-
-<h3>III</h3>
-
-<p>
-Enchanted, the walls stood firm and were lit up. A dreary light was cast upon
-them by the dismal electric lamp. Gurov was in his usual surroundings.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Again came the nimble Fever and kissed him with her yellow, dry lips, and
-caressed him with her dry, bony hands, which exhaled heat and cold. The same
-thin volume, with its white pages, lay on the little table beside the divan
-where, as before, Gurov rested in the caressing embrace of the affectionate
-Fever, who showered upon him her rapid kisses. And again there stood beside
-him, laughing and rustling, the tiny house sprites.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gurov said loudly and indifferently: &ldquo;The incantation of the
-walls!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then he paused. But in what consisted this incantation? He had forgotten the
-words. Or had they never existed at all?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The little, shifty, grey demons danced round the slender volume with its
-ghostly white pages, and kept on repeating with their rustling voices:
-&ldquo;Our walls are strong. We are in the walls. We have nothing to fear from
-the outside.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In their midst stood one of them, a tiny object like themselves, yet different
-from the rest. He was all black. His mantle fell from his shoulders in folds of
-smoke and flame. His eyes flashed like lightning. Terror and joy alternated
-quickly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gurov spoke: &ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The black demon answered: &ldquo;I am the Invoker of the Beast. In one of your
-long-past existences you left the lacerated body of Timarides on the banks of a
-forest stream. The Beast had satiated himself on the beautiful body of your
-friend; he had gorged himself on the flesh that might have partaken of the
-fullness of earthly happiness; a creature of superhuman perfection had perished
-in order to gratify for a moment the appetite of the ravenous and ever
-insatiable Beast. And the blood, the wonderful blood, the sacred wine of
-happiness and joy, the wine of superhuman bliss&mdash;what had been the fate of
-this wonderful blood? Alas! The thirsty, ceaselessly thirsty Beast drank of it
-to gratify his momentary desire, and is thirsty anew. You had left the body of
-Timarides, mutilated by the Beast, on the banks of the forest stream; you
-forgot the promise you had given your valorous friend, and even the words of
-the ancient Oracle had not banished fear from your heart. And do you think that
-you are safe, that the Beast will not find you?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There was austerity in the sound of his voice. While he was speaking the house
-sprites gradually ceased their dance; the little, grey house sprites stopped to
-listen to the Invoker of the Beast.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gurov then said in reply: &ldquo;I am not worried about the Beast! I have
-pronounced eternal enchantment upon my walls and the Beast shall never
-penetrate hither, into my enclosure.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The little grey ones were overjoyed, their voices tinkled with merriment and
-laughter; having gathered round, hand in hand, in a circle, they were on the
-point of bursting forth once more into dance, when the voice of the Invoker of
-the Beast rang out again, sharp and austere.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But I am here. I am here because I have found you. I am here because the
-incantation of the walls is dead. I am here because Timarides is waiting and
-importuning me. Do you hear the gentle laugh of the brave, trusting lad? Do you
-hear the terrible bellowing of the Beast?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-From behind the wall, approaching nearer, could be heard the fearsome bellowing
-of the Beast.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The Beast is bellowing behind the wall, the invincible wall!&rdquo;
-exclaimed Gurov in terror. &ldquo;My walls are enchanted for ever, and
-impregnable against foes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then spoke the black demon, and there was an imperious ring in his voice:
-&ldquo;I tell you, man, the incantation of the walls is dead. And if you think
-you can save yourself by pronouncing the incantation of the walls, why then
-don&rsquo;t you utter the words?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A cold shiver passed down Gurov&rsquo;s spine. The incantation! He had
-forgotten the words of the ancient spell. And what mattered it? Was not the
-ancient incantation dead&mdash;dead?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Everything about him confirmed with irrefutable evidence the death of the
-ancient incantation of the walls&mdash;because the walls, and the light and the
-shade which fell upon them, seemed dead and wavering. The Invoker of the Beast
-spoke terrible words. And Gurov&rsquo;s mind was now in a whirl, now in pain,
-and the affectionate Fever did not cease to torment him with her passionate
-kisses. Terrible words resounded, almost deadening his senses&mdash;while the
-Invoker of the Beast grew larger and larger, and hot fumes breathed from him,
-and grim terror. His eyes ejected fire, and when at last he grew so tall as to
-screen off the electric light, his black cloak suddenly fell from his
-shoulders. And Gurov recognized him&mdash;it was the boy Timarides.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Will you kill the Beast?&rdquo; asked Timarides in a sonorous voice.
-&ldquo;I have enticed him, I have led him to you, I have destroyed the
-incantation of the walls. The cowardly gift of inimical gods, the incantation
-of the walls, had turned into naught my sacrifice, and had saved you from your
-action. But the ancient incantation of the walls is dead&mdash;be quick, then,
-to take hold of your sword and kill the Beast. I have been a boy&mdash;I have
-become the Invoker of the Beast. He had drunk of my blood, and now he thirsts
-anew; he had partaken also of my flesh, and he is hungry again, the insatiable,
-pitiless Beast. I have called him to you, and you, in fulfilment of your
-promise, may kill the Beast. Or die yourself.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He vanished. A terrible bellowing shook the walls. A gust of icy moisture blew
-across to Gurov.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The wall facing the spot where Gurov lay opened, and the huge, ferocious and
-monstrous Beast entered. Bellowing savagely, he approached Gurov and laid his
-ponderous paw upon his breast. Straight into his heart plunged the pitiless
-claws. A terrible pain shot through his whole body. Shifting his blood-red eyes
-the Beast inclined his head toward Gurov and, crumbling the bones of his victim
-with his teeth, began to devour his yet-palpitating heart.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap04"></a>THE WHITE DOG</h2>
-
-<p>
-Everything grew irksome for Alexandra Ivanovna in the workshop of this
-out-of-the-way town&mdash;the patterns, the clatter of machines, the complaints
-of the customers; it was the shop in which she had served as apprentice and now
-for several years as cutter. Everything irritated Alexandra Ivanovna; she
-quarrelled with every one and abused the innocent apprentice. Among others to
-suffer from her outbursts of temper was Tanechka, the youngest of the
-seamstresses, who only lately had been an apprentice. In the beginning Tanechka
-submitted to her abuse in silence. In the end she revolted, and, addressing
-herself to her assailant, said, quite calmly and affably, so that every one
-laughed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Alexandra Ivanovna, you are a downright dog!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Alexandra Ivanovna felt humiliated.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are a dog yourself!&rdquo; she exclaimed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Tanechka sat there sewing. She paused now and then from her work and said in a
-calm, deliberate manner:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You always whine.... Certainly, you are a dog.... You have a dog&rsquo;s
-snout.... And a dog&rsquo;s ears.... And a wagging tail.... The mistress will
-soon drive you out of doors, because you are the most detestable of dogs, a
-poodle.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Tanechka was a young, plump, rosy-cheeked girl with an innocent, good-natured
-face, which revealed, however, a trace of cunning. She sat there so demure,
-barefooted, still dressed in her apprentice clothes; her eyes were clear, and
-her brows were highly arched on her fine curved white forehead, framed by
-straight, dark chestnut hair, which in the distance looked black.
-Tanechka&rsquo;s voice was clear, even, sweet, insinuating, and if one could
-have heard its sound only, and not given heed to the words, it would have given
-the impression that she was paying Alexandra Ivanovna compliments.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The other seamstresses laughed, the apprentices chuckled, they covered their
-faces with their black aprons and cast side glances at Alexandra Ivanovna. As
-for Alexandra Ivanovna, she was livid with rage.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Wretch!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;I will pull your ears for you! I
-won&rsquo;t leave a hair on your head.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Tanechka replied in a gentle voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The paws are a trifle short.... The poodle bites as well as barks.... It
-may be necessary to buy a muzzle.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Alexandra Ivanovna made a movement toward Tanechka. But before Tanechka had
-time to lay aside her work and get up, the mistress of the establishment, a
-large, serious-looking woman, entered, rustling her dress.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She said sternly: &ldquo;Alexandra Ivanovna, what do you mean by making such a
-fuss?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Alexandra Ivanovna, much agitated, replied: &ldquo;Irina Petrovna, I wish you
-would forbid her to call me a dog!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Tanechka in her turn complained: &ldquo;She is always snarling at something or
-other. Always quibbling at the smallest trifles.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the mistress looked at her sternly and said: &ldquo;Tanechka, I can see
-through you. Are you sure you didn&rsquo;t begin? You needn&rsquo;t think that
-because you are a seamstress now you are an important person. If it
-weren&rsquo;t for your mother&rsquo;s sake&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Tanechka grew red, but preserved her innocent and affable manner. She addressed
-her mistress in a subdued voice: &ldquo;Forgive me, Irina Petrovna, I will not
-do it again. But it wasn&rsquo;t altogether my fault....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p class="p2">
-Alexandra Ivanovna returned home almost ill with rage. Tanechka had guessed her
-weakness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A dog! Well, then I am a dog,&rdquo; thought Alexandra Ivanovna,
-&ldquo;but it is none of her affair! Have I looked to see whether she is a
-serpent or a fox? It is easy to find one out, but why make a fuss about it? Is
-a dog worse than any other animal?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The clear summer night languished and sighed, a soft breeze from the adjacent
-fields occasionally blew down the peaceful streets. The moon rose clear and
-full, that very same moon which rose long ago at another place, over the broad
-desolate steppe, the home of the wild, of those who ran free, and whined in
-their ancient earthly travail. The very same, as then and in that region.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And now, as then, glowed eyes sick with longing; and her heart, still wild, not
-forgetting in town the great spaciousness of the steppe felt oppressed; her
-throat was troubled with a tormenting desire to howl like a wild thing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She was about to undress, but what was the use? She could not sleep, anyway.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She went into the passage. The warm planks of the floor bent and creaked under
-her, and small shavings and sand which covered them tickled her feet not
-unpleasantly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She went out on the doorstep. There sat the <i>babushka</i> Stepanida, a black
-figure in her black shawl, gaunt and shrivelled. She sat with her head bent,
-and it seemed as though she were warming herself in the rays of the cold moon.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Alexandra Ivanovna sat down beside her. She kept looking at the old woman
-sideways. The large curved nose of her companion seemed to her like the beak of
-an old bird.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A crow?&rdquo; Alexandra Ivanovna asked herself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She smiled, forgetting for the moment her longing and her fears. Shrewd as the
-eyes of a dog her own lighted up with the joy of her discovery. In the pale
-green light of the moon the wrinkles of her faded face became altogether
-invisible, and she seemed once more young and merry and light-hearted, just as
-she was ten years ago, when the moon had not yet called upon her to bark and
-bay of nights before the windows of the dark bathhouse.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She moved closer to the old woman, and said affably: &ldquo;<i>Babushka</i>
-Stepanida, there is something I have been wanting to ask you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old woman turned to her, her dark face furrowed with wrinkles, and asked in
-a sharp, oldish voice that sounded like a caw:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, my dear? Go ahead and ask.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Alexandra Ivanovna gave a repressed laugh; her thin shoulders suddenly trembled
-from a chill that ran down her spine.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She spoke very quietly: &ldquo;<i>Babushka</i> Stepanida, it seems to
-me&mdash;tell me is it true?&mdash;I don&rsquo;t know exactly how to put
-it&mdash;but you, <i>babushka</i>, please don&rsquo;t take offence&mdash;it is
-not from malice that I&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Go on, my dear, never fear, say it,&rdquo; said the old woman.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She looked at Alexandra Ivanovna with glowing, penetrating eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It seems to me, <i>babushka</i>&mdash;please, now, don&rsquo;t take
-offence&mdash;as though you, <i>babushka</i> were a crow.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old woman turned away. She was silent and merely nodded her head. She had
-the appearance of one who had recalled something. Her head, with its sharply
-outlined nose, bowed and nodded, and at last it seemed to Alexandra Ivanovna
-that the old woman was dozing. Dozing, and mumbling something under her nose.
-Nodding her head and mumbling some old forgotten words&mdash;old magic words.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-An intense quiet reigned out of doors. It was neither light nor dark, and
-everything seemed bewitched with the inarticulate mumbling of old forgotten
-words. Everything languished and seemed lost in apathy. Again a longing
-oppressed her heart. And it was neither a dream nor an illusion. A thousand
-perfumes, imperceptible by day, became subtly distinguishable, and they
-recalled something ancient and primitive, something forgotten in the long ages.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In a barely audible voice the old woman mumbled: &ldquo;Yes, I am a crow. Only
-I have no wings. But there are times when I caw, and I caw, and tell of woe.
-And I am given to forebodings, my dear; each time I have one I simply must caw.
-People are not particularly anxious to hear me. And when I see a doomed person
-I have such a strong desire to caw.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old woman suddenly made a sweeping movement with her arms, and in a shrill
-voice cried out twice: &ldquo;Kar-r, Kar-r!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Alexandra Ivanovna shuddered, and asked: &ldquo;<i>Babushka</i>, at whom are
-you cawing?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old woman answered: &ldquo;At you, my dear&mdash;at you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It had become too painful to sit with the old woman any longer. Alexandra
-Ivanovna went to her own room. She sat down before the open window and listened
-to two voices at the gate.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It simply won&rsquo;t stop whining!&rdquo; said a low and harsh voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And uncle, did you see&mdash;&mdash;?&rdquo; asked an agreeable young
-tenor.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Alexandra Ivanovna recognized in this last the voice of the curly-headed,
-somewhat red, freckled-faced lad who lived in the same court.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A brief and depressing silence followed. Then she heard a hoarse and harsh
-voice say suddenly: &ldquo;Yes, I saw. It&rsquo;s very large&mdash;and white.
-Lies near the bathhouse, and bays at the moon.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The voice gave her an image of the man, of his shovel-shaped beard, his low,
-furrowed forehead, his small, piggish eyes, and his spread-out fat legs.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And why does it bay, uncle?&rdquo; asked the agreeable voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And again the hoarse voice did not reply at once.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Certainly to no good purpose&mdash;and where it came from is more than I
-can say.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do you think, uncle, it may be a were-wolf?&rdquo; asked the agreeable
-voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I should not advise you to investigate,&rdquo; replied the hoarse voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She could not quite understand what these words implied, nor did she wish to
-think of them. She did not feel inclined to listen further. What was the sound
-and significance of human words to <i>her</i>?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The moon looked straight into her face, and persistently called her and
-tormented her. Her heart was restless with a dark longing, and she could not
-sit still.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Alexandra Ivanovna quickly undressed herself. Naked, all white, she silently
-stole through the passage; she then opened the outer door&mdash;there was no
-one on the step or outside&mdash;and ran quickly across the court and the
-vegetable garden, and reached the bathhouse. The sharp contact of her body with
-the cold air and her feet with the cold ground gave her pleasure. But soon her
-body was warm.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She lay down in the grass, on her stomach. Then, raising herself on her elbows,
-she lifted her face toward the pale, brooding moon, and gave a long-drawn-out
-whine.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Listen, uncle, it is whining,&rdquo; said the curly-haired lad at the
-gate.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The agreeable tenor voice trembled perceptibly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Whining again, the accursed one,&rdquo; said the hoarse, harsh voice
-slowly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They rose from the bench. The gate latch clicked.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They went silently across the courtyard and the vegetable garden, the two of
-them. The older man, black-bearded and powerful, walked in front, a gun in his
-hand. The curly-headed lad followed tremblingly, and looked constantly behind.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Near the bathhouse, in the grass, lay a huge white dog, whining piteously. Its
-head, black on the crown, was raised to the moon, which pursued its way in the
-cold sky; its hind legs were strangely thrown backward, while the front ones,
-firm and straight, pressed hard against the ground.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the pale green and unreal light of the moon it seemed enormous, so huge a
-dog was surely never seen on earth. It was thick and fat. The black spot, which
-began at the head and stretched in uneven strands down the entire spine, seemed
-like a woman&rsquo;s loosened hair. No tail was visible, presumably it was
-turned under. The fur on the body was so short that in the distance the dog
-seemed wholly naked, and its hide shone dimly in the moonlight, so that
-altogether it resembled the body of a nude woman, who lay in the grass and
-bayed at the moon.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The man with the black beard took aim. The curly-haired lad crossed himself and
-mumbled something.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The discharge of a rifle sounded in the night air. The dog gave a groan, jumped
-up on its hind legs, became a naked woman, who, her body covered with blood,
-started to run, all the while groaning, weeping and raising cries of distress.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The black-bearded one and the curly-haired one threw themselves in the grass,
-and began to moan in wild terror.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap05"></a>LIGHT AND SHADOWS</h2>
-
-<h3>I</h3>
-
-<p>
-Volodya Lovlev, a pale meagre lad of twelve, had returned home from school and
-was waiting for his dinner. He was standing in the drawing-room at the piano,
-and was turning over the pages of the latest number of the <i>Niva</i> which
-had come only that morning.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A leaflet of thin grey paper fell out; it was an announcement issued by an
-illustrated journal. It enumerated the future contributors&mdash;the list
-contained about fifty well-known literary names; it praised at some length the
-journal as a whole and in detail its many-sidedness, and it presented several
-specimen illustrations.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya began to turn the pages of the leaflet in an absent way and to look at
-the miniature pictures. His large eyes, looked wearily out of his pale face.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-One page suddenly caught his attention, and his wide eyes opened slightly
-wider. Running from top to bottom were six drawings of hands throwing shadows
-in dark silhouette upon a white wall&mdash;the shadows representing the head of
-a girl with an amusing three-cornered hat, the head of a donkey, of a bull, the
-sitting figure of a squirrel, and other similar things.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya smiled and looked very intently at them. He was quite familiar with
-this amusement. He could hold the fingers of one hand so as to cast a
-silhouette of a hare&rsquo;s head on the wall. But this was quite another
-matter, something that Volodya had not seen before; its interest for him was
-that here were quite complex figures cast by using both hands.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya suddenly wished to reproduce these shadows. Of course there was no use
-trying now, in the uncertain light of a late autumn afternoon.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He had better try it later in his own room. In any case, it was of no use to
-any one.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Just then he heard the approaching footsteps and voice of his mother. He
-flushed for some reason or other and quickly put the leaflet into his pocket,
-and left the piano to meet her. She looked at him with a caressing smile as she
-came toward him; her pale, handsome face greatly resembled his, and she had the
-same large eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She asked him, as she always did: &ldquo;Well, what&rsquo;s the news
-to-day?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;There&rsquo;s nothing new,&rdquo; said Volodya dejectedly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But it occurred to him at once that he was being ungracious, and he felt
-ashamed. He smiled genially and began to recall what had happened at school;
-but this only made him feel sadder.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Pruzhinin has again distinguished himself,&rdquo; and he began to tell
-about the teacher who was disliked by his pupils for his rudeness.
-&ldquo;Lentyev was reciting his lesson and made a mess of it, and so Pruzhinin
-said to him: &lsquo;Well, that&rsquo;s enough; sit down,
-blockhead!&rsquo;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Nothing escapes you,&rdquo; said his mother, smiling.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;He&rsquo;s always rude.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-After a brief silence Volodya sighed, then complained: &ldquo;They are always
-in a hurry.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Who?&rdquo; asked his mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I mean the masters. Every one is anxious to finish his course quickly
-and to make a good show at the examination. And if you ask a question you are
-immediately suspected of trying to take up the time until the bell rings, and
-to avoid having questions put to you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do you talk much after the lessons?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, yes&mdash;but there&rsquo;s the same hurry after the lessons to
-get home, or to study the lessons in the girls&rsquo; class-rooms. And
-everything is done in a hurry&mdash;you are no sooner done with the geometry
-than you must study your Greek.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That&rsquo;s to keep you from yawning.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yawning! I&rsquo;m more like a squirrel going round on its cage-wheel.
-It&rsquo;s exasperating.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His mother smiled lightly.
-</p>
-
-<h3>II</h3>
-
-<p>
-After dinner Volodya went to his room to prepare his lessons. His mother saw
-that the room was comfortable, that nothing was lacking in it. No one ever
-disturbed Volodya here; even his mother refrained from coming in at this time.
-She would come in later, to help Volodya if he needed help.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya was an industrious and even a clever pupil. But he found it difficult
-to-day to apply himself. No matter what lesson he tried he could not help
-remembering something unpleasant; he would recall the teacher of each
-particular subject, his sarcastic or rude remark, which propped in passings had
-entered in the impressionable boy&rsquo;s mind.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Several of his recent lessons happened to turn out poorly; the teachers
-appeared dissatisfied, and they grumbled incessantly. Their mood communicated
-itself to Volodya, and his books and copy-books inspired him at this moment
-with a deep confusion and unrest.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He passed hastily from the first lesson to the second and to the third; this
-bother with trifles for the sake of not appearing &ldquo;a blockhead&rdquo; the
-next day seemed to him both silly and unnecessary. The thought perturbed him.
-He began to yawn from tedium and from sadness, and to dangle his feet
-impatiently; he simply could not sit still.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But he knew too well that the lessons must be learnt, that this was very
-important, that his future depended upon it; and so he went on conscientiously
-with the tedious business.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya made a blot on the copy-book, and he put his pen aside. He looked at
-the blot, and decided that it could be erased with a penknife. He was glad of
-the distraction.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Not finding the penknife on the table he put his hand into his pocket and
-rummaged there. Among all such rubbish as is to be found in a boy&rsquo;s
-pocket he felt his penknife and pulled it out, together with some sort of
-leaflet.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He did not see at first what the paper was he held in his hands, but on looking
-at it he suddenly remembered that this was the little book with the shadows,
-and quite as suddenly he grew cheerful and animated.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And there it was&mdash;that same little leaflet which he had forgotten when he
-began his lessons.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He jumped briskly off his chair, moved the lamp nearer the wall, looked
-cautiously at the closed door&mdash;as though afraid of some one
-entering&mdash;and, turning the leaflet to the familiar page, began to study
-the first drawing with great intentness, and to arrange his fingers according
-to directions. The first shadow came out as a confused shape, not at all what
-it should have been. Volodya moved the lamp, now here, now there; he bent and
-he stretched his fingers; and he was at last rewarded by seeing a woman&rsquo;s
-head with a three-cornered hat.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya grew cheerful. He inclined his hand somewhat and moved his fingers very
-slightly&mdash;the head bowed, smiled, and grimaced amusingly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya proceeded with the second figure, then with the others. All were hard
-at the beginning, but he managed them somehow in the end.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He spent a half-hour in this occupation, and forgot all about his lessons, the
-school, and the whole world.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Suddenly he heard familiar footsteps behind the door. Volodya flushed; he
-stuffed the leaflet into his pocket and quickly moved the lamp to its place,
-almost overturning it; then he sat down and bent over his copy-book. His mother
-entered.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go and have tea, Volodenka,&rdquo; she said to him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya pretended that he was looking at the blot and that he was about to open
-his penknife. His mother gently put her hands on his head. Volodya threw the
-knife aside and pressed his flushing face against his mother. Evidently she
-noticed nothing, and this made Volodya glad. Still, he felt ashamed, as though
-he had actually been caught at some stupid prank.
-</p>
-
-<h3>III</h3>
-
-<p>
-The samovar stood upon the round table in the dining-room and quietly hummed
-its garrulous song. The hanging-lamp diffused its light upon the white
-tablecloth and upon the dark walls, filling the room with dream and mystery.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya&rsquo;s mother seemed wistful as she leant her handsome, pale face
-forward over the table. Volodya was leaning on his arm, and was stirring the
-small spoon in his glass. It was good to watch the tea&rsquo;s sweet eddies and
-to see the little bubbles rise to the surface. The little silver spoon quietly
-tinkled.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The boiling water, sputtering, ran from the tap into his mother&rsquo;s cup.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A light shadow was cast by the little spoon upon the saucer and the tablecloth,
-and it lost itself in the glass of tea. Volodya watched it intently: the
-shadows thrown by the tiny little eddies and bubbles recalled something to
-him&mdash;precisely what, Volodya could not say. He held up and he turned the
-little spoon, and he ran his fingers over it&mdash;but nothing came of it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;All the same,&rdquo; he stubbornly insisted to himself,
-&ldquo;it&rsquo;s not with fingers alone that shadows can be made. They are
-possible with anything. But the thing is to adjust oneself to one&rsquo;s
-material.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And Volodya began to examine the shadows of the samovar, of the chairs, of his
-mother&rsquo;s head, as well as the shadows cast on the table by the dishes;
-and he tried to catch a resemblance in all these shadows to something. His
-mother was speaking&mdash;Volodya was not listening properly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How is Lesha Sitnikov getting on at school?&rdquo; asked his mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya was studying then the shadow of the milk-jug. He gave a start, and
-answered hastily: &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a tom-cat.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Volodya, you must be asleep,&rdquo; said his astonished mother.
-&ldquo;What tom-cat?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya grew red.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what&rsquo;s got into my head,&rdquo; he said.
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry, mother, I wasn&rsquo;t listening.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>IV</h3>
-
-<p>
-The next evening, before tea, Volodya again thought of his shadows, and gave
-himself up to them. One shadow insisted on turning out badly, no matter how
-hard he stretched and bent his fingers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya was so absorbed in this that he did not hear his mother coming. At the
-creaking of the door he quickly put the leaflet into his pocket and turned
-away, confused, from the wall. But his mother was already looking at his hands,
-and a tremor of fear lit up her eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What are you doing, Volodya? What have you hidden?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Nothing, really,&rdquo; muttered Volodya, flushing and changing colour
-rapidly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It flashed upon her that Volodya wished to smoke, and that he had hidden a
-cigarette.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Volodya, show me at once what you are hiding,&rdquo; she said in a
-frightened voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Really, mamma....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She caught Volodya by the elbow.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Must I feel in your pocket myself?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya grew even redder, and pulled the little book out of his pocket.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Here it is,&rdquo; he said, giving it to his mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, what is it?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, here,&rdquo; he explained, &ldquo;on this side are the drawings,
-and here, as you see, are the shadows. I was trying to throw them on the wall,
-and I haven&rsquo;t succeeded very well.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What is there to hide here!&rdquo; said his mother, becoming more
-tranquil. &ldquo;Now show me what they look like.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya, taken aback, began obediently to show his mother the shadows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now this is the profile of a bald-headed man. And this is the head of a
-hare.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And so this is how you are studying your lessons!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Only for a little, mother.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;For a little! Why are you blushing then, my dear? Well, I shan&rsquo;t
-say anything more. I think I can depend on you to do what is right.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His mother moved her hand over his short, bristling hair, whereupon Volodya
-laughed and hid his flushing face under his mother&rsquo;s elbow.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then his mother left him, and for a long time Volodya felt awkward and ashamed.
-His mother had caught him doing something that he himself would have ridiculed
-had he caught any of his companions doing it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya knew that he was a clever lad, and he deemed himself serious; and this
-was, after all, a game fit only for little girls when they got together.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He pushed the little book with the shadows deeper into the table-drawer, and
-did not take it out again for more than a week; indeed, he thought little about
-the shadows that week. Only in the evening sometimes, in changing from one
-lesson to another, he would smile at the recollection of the girl in the
-hat&mdash;there were, indeed, moments when he put his hand in the drawer to get
-the little book, but he always quickly remembered the shame he experienced when
-his mother first found him out, and this made him resume his work at once.
-</p>
-
-<h3>V</h3>
-
-<p>
-Volodya and his mother lived in their own house on the outskirts of the
-district town. Eugenia Stepanovna had been a widow for nine years. She was now
-thirty-five years old; she seemed young and handsome, and Volodya loved her
-tenderly. She lived entirely for her son, studied ancient languages for his
-sake, and shared all his school cares. A quiet and gentle woman, she looked
-somewhat apprehensively upon the world out of her large, benign eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They had one domestic. Praskovya was a widow; she was gruff, sturdy, and
-strong; she was forty-five years old, but in her stern taciturnity she was more
-like a woman a hundred years old.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Whenever Volodya looked at her morose, stony face he wondered what she was
-thinking of in her kitchen during the long winter evenings, as the cold
-knitting-needles, clinking, shifted in her bony fingers with a regular
-movement, and her dry lips stirred yet uttered no sound. Was she recalling her
-drunken husband, or her children who had died earlier? or was she musing upon
-her lonely and homeless old age?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her stony face seemed hopelessly gloomy and austere.
-</p>
-
-<h3>VI</h3>
-
-<p>
-It was a long autumn evening. On the other side of the wall were the wind and
-the rain.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-How wearily, how indifferently the lamp flared! Volodya, propping himself up on
-his elbow, leant his whole body over to the left and looked at the white wall
-and at the white window-blinds.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The pale flowers were almost invisible on the wall-paper ... the wall was a
-melancholy white....
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The shaded lamp subdued the bright glare of light. The entire upper portion of
-the room was twilit.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya lifted his right arm. A long, faintly outlined, confused shadow crept
-across the shaded wall.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was the shadow of an angel, flying heaven-ward from a depraved and afflicted
-world; it was a translucent shadow, spreading its broad wings and reposing its
-bowed head sadly upon its breast.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Would not the angel, with his gentle hands, carry away with him something
-significant yet despised of this world?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya sighed. He let his arm fall languidly. He let his depressed eyes rest
-on his books.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was a long autumn evening.... The wall was a melancholy white.... On the
-other side of the wall something wept and rustled.
-</p>
-
-<h3>VII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Volodya&rsquo;s mother found him a second time with the shadows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This time the bull&rsquo;s head was a success, and he was delighted. He made
-the bull stretch out his neck, and the bull lowed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His mother was less pleased.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So this is how you are taking up your time,&rdquo; she said
-reproachfully.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;For a little, mamma,&rdquo; whispered Volodya, embarrassed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You might at least save this for a more suitable time,&rdquo; his mother
-went on. &ldquo;And you are no longer a little boy. Aren&rsquo;t you ashamed to
-waste your time on such nonsense!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, dear, I shan&rsquo;t do it again.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Volodya found it difficult to keep his promise. He enjoyed making shadows,
-and the desire to make them came to him often, especially during an
-uninteresting lesson.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This amusement occupied much of his time on some evenings and interfered with
-his lessons. He had to make up for it afterwards and to lose some sleep. How
-could he give up his amusement?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya succeeded in evolving several new figures, and not by means of the
-fingers alone. These figures lived on the wall, and it even seemed to Volodya
-at times that they talked to him and entertained him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Volodya was a dreamer even before then.
-</p>
-
-<h3>VIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-It was night. Volodya&rsquo;s room was dark. He had gone to bed but he could
-not sleep. He was lying on his back and was looking at the ceiling.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Some one was walking in the street with a lantern. His shadow traversed the
-ceiling, among the red spots of light thrown by the lantern. It was evident
-that the lantern swung in the hands of the passer-by&mdash;the shadow wavered
-and seemed agitated.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya felt a sadness and a fear. He quickly pulled the bed-cover over his
-head, and, trembling in his haste, he turned on his right side and began to
-encourage himself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He then felt soothed and warm. His mind began to weave sweet, naïve fancies,
-the fancies which visited him usually before sleep.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Often when he went to bed he felt suddenly afraid; he felt as though he were
-becoming smaller and weaker. He would then hide among the pillows, and
-gradually became soothed and loving, and wished his mother were there that he
-might put his arms round her neck and kiss her.
-</p>
-
-<h3>IX</h3>
-
-<p>
-The grey twilight was growing denser. The shadows merged. Volodya felt
-depressed. But here was the lamp. The light poured itself on the green
-tablecloth, the vague, beloved shadows appeared on the wall.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya suddenly felt glad and animated, and made haste to get the little grey
-book. The bull began to low ... the young lady to laugh uproariously.... What
-evil, round eyes the bald-headed gentleman was making!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then he tried his own. It was the steppe. Here was a wayfarer with his
-knapsack. Volodya seemed to hear the endless, monotonous song of the road....
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya felt both joy and sadness.
-</p>
-
-<h3>X</h3>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Volodya, it&rsquo;s the third time I&rsquo;ve seen you with the little
-book. Do you spend whole evenings admiring your fingers?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya stood uneasily at the table, like a truant caught, and he turned the
-pages of the leaflet with hot fingers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Give it to me,&rdquo; said his mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya, confused, put out his hand with the leaflet. His mother took it, said
-nothing, and went out; while Volodya sat down over his copy-books.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He felt ashamed that, by his stubbornness, he had offended his mother, and he
-felt vexed that she had taken the booklet from him; he was even more vexed at
-himself for letting the matter go so far. He felt his awkward position, and his
-vexation with his mother troubled him: he had scruples in being angry with her,
-yet he couldn&rsquo;t help it. And because he had scruples he felt even more
-angry.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, let her take it,&rdquo; he said to himself at last, &ldquo;I can
-get along without it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, in truth, Volodya had the figures in his memory, and used the little book
-merely for verification.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XI</h3>
-
-<p>
-In the meantime his mother opened the little book with the shadows&mdash;and
-became lost in thought.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I wonder what&rsquo;s fascinating about them?&rdquo; she mused.
-&ldquo;It is strange that such a good, clever boy should suddenly, become
-wrapped up in such nonsense! No, that means it&rsquo;s not mere nonsense. What,
-then, is it?&rdquo; she pursued her questioning of herself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A strange fear took possession of her; she felt malignant toward these black
-pictures, yet quailed before them.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She rose and lighted a candle. She approached the wall, the little grey book
-still in her hand, and paused in her wavering agitation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, it is important to get to the bottom of this,&rdquo; she resolved,
-and began to reproduce the shadows from the first to the last.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She persisted most patiently with her hands and her fingers, until she
-succeeded in reproducing the figure she desired. A confused, apprehensive
-feelings stirred within her. She tried to conquer it. But her fear fascinated
-her as it grew stronger. Her hands trembled, while her thought, cowed by
-life&rsquo;s twilight, ran on to meet the approaching sorrows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She suddenly heard her son&rsquo;s footsteps. She trembled, hid the little
-book, and blew out the candle.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya entered and stopped in the doorway, confused by the stern look of his
-mother as she stood by the wall in a strange, uneasy attitude.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What do you want?&rdquo; asked his mother in a harsh, uneven voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A vague conjecture ran across Volodya&rsquo;s mind, but he quickly repelled it
-and began to talk to his mother.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Then Volodya left her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She paced up and down the room a number of times. She noticed that her shadow
-followed her on the floor, and, strange to say, it was the first time in her
-life that her own shadow had made her uneasy. The thought that there was a
-shadow assailed her mind unceasingly&mdash;and Eugenia Stepanovna, for some
-reason, was afraid of this thought, and even tried not to look at her shadow.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the shadow crept after her and taunted her. Eugenia Stepanovna tried to
-think of something else&mdash;but in vain.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She suddenly paused, pale and agitated.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, it&rsquo;s a shadow, a shadow!&rdquo; she exclaimed aloud,
-stamping her foot with a strange irritation, &ldquo;what of it?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then all at once she reflected that it was stupid to make a fuss and to stamp
-her feet, and she became quiet.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She approached the mirror. Her face was paler than usual, and her lips
-quivered with a kind of strange hate.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s nerves,&rdquo; she thought; &ldquo;I must take myself in
-hand.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>XIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Twilight was falling. Volodya grew pensive.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go for a stroll, Volodya,&rdquo; said his mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But in the street there were also shadows everywhere, mysterious, elusive
-evening shadows; and they whispered in Volodya&rsquo;s ear something that was
-familiar and infinitely sad.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the clouded sky two or three stars looked out, and they seemed equally
-distant and equally strange to Volodya and to the shadows that surrounded him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma,&rdquo; he said, oblivious of the fact that he had interrupted her
-as she was telling him something, &ldquo;what a pity that it is impossible to
-reach those stars.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His mother looked up at the sky and answered: &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t see that
-it&rsquo;s necessary. Our place is on earth. It is better for us here.
-It&rsquo;s quite another thing there.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How faintly they glimmer! They ought to be glad of it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;If they shone more strongly they would cast shadows.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh, Volodya, why do you think only of shadows?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t mean to, mamma,&rdquo; said Volodya in a penitent voice.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XIV</h3>
-
-<p>
-Volodya worked harder than ever at his lessons; he was afraid to hurt his
-mother by being lazy. But he employed all his invention in grouping the objects
-on his table in a way that would produce new and ever more fantastic shadows.
-He put this here and that there&mdash;anything that came to his hands&mdash;and
-he rejoiced when outlines appeared on the white wall that his mind could grasp.
-There was an intimacy between him and these shadowy outlines, and they were
-very dear to him. They were not dumb, they spoke to him, and Volodya understood
-their inarticulate speech.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He understood why the dejected wayfarer murmured as he wandered upon the long
-road, the autumn wetness under his feet, a stick in his trembling hand, a
-knapsack on his bowed back.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He understood why the snow-covered forest, its boughs crackling with frost,
-complained, as it stood sadly dreaming in the winter stillness; and he
-understood why the lonely crow cawed on the old oak, and why the bustling
-squirrel looked sadly out of its tree-hollow.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He understood why the decrepit and homeless old beggar-women sobbed in the
-dismal autumn wind, as they shivered in their rags in the crowded graveyard,
-among the crumbling crosses and the hopelessly black tombs.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There was self-forgetfulness in this, and also tormenting woe!
-</p>
-
-<h3>XV</h3>
-
-<p>
-Volodya&rsquo;s mother observed that he continued to play.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She said to him after dinner: &ldquo;At least, you might get interested in
-something else.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;In what?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You might read.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No sooner do I begin to read than I want to cast shadows.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;If you&rsquo;d only try something else&mdash;say soap-bubbles.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya smiled sadly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No sooner do the bubbles fly up than the shadows follow them on the
-wall.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Volodya, unless you take care your nerves will be shattered. Already you
-have grown thinner because of this.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, you exaggerate.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, Volodya.... Don&rsquo;t I know that you&rsquo;ve begun to sleep
-badly and to talk nonsense in your sleep. Now, just think, suppose you
-die!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What are you saying!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;God forbid, but if you go mad, or die, I shall suffer horribly.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya laughed and threw himself on his mother&rsquo;s neck.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma dear, I shan&rsquo;t die. I won&rsquo;t do it again.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She saw that he was crying now.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That will do,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;God is merciful. Now you see how
-nervous you are. You&rsquo;re laughing and crying at the same time.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>XVI</h3>
-
-<p>
-Volodya&rsquo;s mother began to look at him with careful and anxious eyes.
-Every trifle now agitated her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She noticed that Volodya&rsquo;s head was somewhat asymmetrical: his one ear
-was higher than the other, his chin slightly turned to one side. She looked in
-the mirror, and further remarked that Volodya had inherited this too from her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It may be,&rdquo; she thought, &ldquo;one of the characteristics of
-unfortunate heredity&mdash;degeneration; in which case where is the root of the
-evil? Is it my fault or his father&rsquo;s?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Eugenia Stepanovna recalled her dead husband. He was a most kind-hearted and
-most lovable man, somewhat weak-willed, with rash impulses. He was by nature a
-zealot and a mystic, and he dreamt of a social Utopia, and went among the
-people. He had been rather given to tippling the last years of his life.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He died young; he was but thirty-five years old.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya&rsquo;s mother even took her boy to the doctor and described his
-symptoms. The doctor, a cheerful young man, listened to her, then laughed and
-gave counsel concerning diet and way of life, throwing in a few witty remarks;
-he wrote out a prescription in a happy, off-hand way, and he added playfully,
-with a slap on Volodya&rsquo;s shoulder: &ldquo;But the very best medicine
-would be&mdash;a birch.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya&rsquo;s mother felt the affront deeply, but she followed all the rest
-of the instructions faithfully.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XVII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Volodya was sitting in his class. He felt depressed. He listened inattentively.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He raised his eyes. A shadow was moving along the ceiling near the front wall.
-Volodya observed that it came in through the first window. To begin with it
-fell from the window toward the centre of the class-room, but later it started
-forward rather quickly away from Volodya&mdash;evidently some one was walking
-in the street, just by the window. While this shadow was still moving another
-shadow came through the second window, falling, as did the first one, toward
-the back wall, but later it began to turn quickly toward the front wall. The
-same thing happened at the third and the fourth windows; the shadows fell in
-the class-room on the ceiling, and in the degree that the passer-by moved
-forward they retreated backward.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;This,&rdquo; thought Volodya, &ldquo;is not at all the same as in an
-open place, where the shadow follows the man; when the man goes forward, the
-shadow glides behind, and other shadows again meet him in the front.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya turned his eyes on the gaunt figure of the tutor. His callous, yellow
-face annoyed Volodya. He looked for his shadow and found it on the wall, just
-behind the tutor&rsquo;s chair. The monstrous shape bent over and rocked from
-side to side, but it had neither a yellow face nor a malignant smile, and
-Volodya looked at it with joy. His thoughts scampered off somewhere far away,
-and he heard not a single thing of what was being said.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Lovlev!&rdquo; His tutor called his name.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya rose, as was the custom, and stood looking stupidly at the tutor. He
-had such an absent look that his companions tittered, while the tutor&rsquo;s
-face assumed a critical expression.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya heard the tutor attack him with sarcasm and abuse. He trembled from
-shame and from weakness. The tutor announced that he would give Volodya
-&ldquo;one&rdquo; for his ignorance and his inattention, and he asked him to
-sit down.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya smiled in a dull way, and tried to think what had happened to him.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XVIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-The &ldquo;one&rdquo; was the first in Volodya&rsquo;s life! It made him feel
-rather strange.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Lovlev!&rdquo; his comrades taunted him, laughing and nudging him,
-&ldquo;you caught it that time! Congratulations!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya felt awkward. He did not yet know how to behave in these circumstances.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What if I have,&rdquo; he answered peevishly, &ldquo;what business is it
-of yours?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Lovlev!&rdquo; the lazy Snegirev shouted, &ldquo;our regiment has been
-reinforced!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His first &ldquo;one&rdquo;! And he had yet to tell his mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He felt ashamed and humiliated. He felt as though he bore in the knapsack on
-his back a strangely heavy and awkward burden&mdash;the &ldquo;one&rdquo; stuck
-clumsily in his consciousness and seemed to fit in with nothing else in his
-mind.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;One&rdquo;!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He could not get used to the thought about the &ldquo;one,&rdquo; and yet could
-not think of anything else. When the policeman, who stood near the school,
-looked at him with his habitual severity Volodya could not help thinking:
-&ldquo;What if you knew that I&rsquo;ve received &lsquo;one&rsquo;!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was all so awkward and so unusual. Volodya did not know how to hold his head
-and where to put his hands; there was uneasiness in his whole bearing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Besides, he had to assume a care-free look before his comrades and to talk of
-something else!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His comrades! Volodya was convinced that they were all very glad because of his
-&ldquo;one.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>XIX</h3>
-
-<p>
-Volodya&rsquo;s mother looked at the &ldquo;one&rdquo; and turned her
-uncomprehending eyes on her son. Then again she glanced at the report and
-exclaimed quietly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Volodya!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya stood before her, and he felt intensely small. He looked at the folds
-of his mother&rsquo;s dress and at his mother&rsquo;s pale hands; his trembling
-eyelids were conscious of her frightened glances fixed upon them.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What&rsquo;s this?&rdquo; she asked.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you worry, mamma,&rdquo; burst out Volodya suddenly;
-&ldquo;after all, it&rsquo;s my first!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Your first!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It may happen to any one. And really it was all an accident.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh, Volodya, Volodya!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya began to cry and to rub his tears, child-like, over his face with the
-palm of his hand.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma darling, don&rsquo;t be angry,&rdquo; he whispered.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what comes of your shadows,&rdquo; said his mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya felt the tears in her voice. His heart was touched. He glanced at his
-mother. She was crying. He turned quickly toward her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, mamma,&rdquo; he kept on repeating, while kissing her hands,
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll drop the shadows, really I will.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>XX</h3>
-
-<p>
-Volodya made a strong effort of the will and refrained from the shadows,
-despite strong temptation. He tried to make amends for his neglected lessons.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the shadows beckoned to him persistently. In vain he ceased to invite them
-with his fingers, in vain he ceased to arrange objects that would cast a new
-shadow on the wall; the shadows themselves surrounded him&mdash;they were
-unavoidable, importunate shadows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Objects themselves no longer interested Volodya, he almost ceased to see them;
-all his attention was centred on their shadows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When he was walking home and the sun happened to peep through the autumn
-clouds, as through smoky vestments, he was overjoyed because there was
-everywhere an awakening of the shadows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The shadows from the lamplight hovered near him in the evening at home.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The shadows were everywhere. There were the sharp shadows from the flames,
-there were the fainter shadows from diffused daylight. All of them crowded
-toward Volodya, recrossed each other, and enveloped him in an unbreakable
-network.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Some of the shadows were incomprehensible, mysterious; others reminded him of
-something, suggested something. But there were also the beloved, the intimate,
-the familiar shadows; these Volodya himself, however casually, sought out and
-caught everywhere from among the confused wavering of the others, the more
-remote shadows. But they were sad, these beloved, familiar shadows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Whenever Volodya found himself seeking these shadows his conscience tormented
-him, and he went to his mother to make a clean breast of it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Once it happened that Volodya could not conquer his temptation. He stood up
-close to the wall and made a shadow of the bull. His mother found him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Again!&rdquo; she exclaimed angrily. &ldquo;I really shall have to ask
-the director to put you into the small room.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya flushed violently and answered morosely: &ldquo;There is a wall there
-also. The walls are everywhere.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Volodya,&rdquo; exclaimed his mother sorrowfully, &ldquo;what are you
-saying!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Volodya already repented of his rudeness, and he was crying.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, I don&rsquo;t know myself what&rsquo;s happening to me!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXI</h3>
-
-<p>
-Volodya&rsquo;s mother had not yet conquered her superstitious dread of
-shadows. She began very often to think that she, like Volodya, was losing
-herself in the contemplation of shadows. Then she tried to comfort herself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What stupid thoughts!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Thank God, all will pass
-happily; he will be like this a little while, then he will stop.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But her heart trembled with a secret fear, and her thought, frightened of life
-persistently ran to meet approaching sorrows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She began in the melancholy moments of waking to examine her soul, and all her
-life would pass before her; she saw its emptiness, its futility, and its
-aimlessness. It seemed but a senseless glimmer of shadows, which merged in the
-denser twilight.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why have I lived?&rdquo; she asked herself. &ldquo;Was it for my son?
-But why? That he too shall become a prey to shadows, a maniac with a narrow
-horizon, chained to his illusions, to restless appearances upon a lifeless
-wall? And he too will enter upon life, and he will make of life a chain of
-impressions, phantasmic and futile, like a dream.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She sat down in the armchair by the window, and she thought and thought. Her
-thoughts were bitter, oppressive. She began, in her despair, to wring her
-beautiful white hands.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then her thoughts wandered. She looked at her outstretched hands, and began to
-imagine what sort of shapes they would cast on the wall in their present
-attitude. She suddenly paused and jumped up from her chair in fright.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My God!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;This is madness.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXII</h3>
-
-<p>
-She watched Volodya at dinner.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How pale and thin he has grown,&rdquo; she said to herself, &ldquo;since
-the unfortunate little book fell into his hands. He&rsquo;s changed
-entirely&mdash;in character and in everything else. It is said that character
-changes before death. What if he dies? But no, no. God forbid!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The spoon trembled in her hand. She looked up at the ikon with timid eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Volodya, why don&rsquo;t you finish your soup?&rdquo; she asked, looking
-frightened.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t feel like it, mamma.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Volodya, darling, do as I tell you; it is bad for you not to eat your
-soup.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya gave a tired smile and slowly finished his soup. His mother had filled
-his plate fuller than usual. He leant back in his chair and was on the point of
-saying that the soup was not good. But his mother&rsquo;s worried look
-restrained him, and he merely smiled weakly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And now I&rsquo;ve had enough,&rdquo; he said.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh no, Volodya, I have all your favourite dishes to-day.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya sighed sadly. He knew that when his mother spoke of his favourite
-dishes it meant that she would coax him to eat. He guessed that even after tea
-his mother would prevail upon him, as she did the day before, to eat meat.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-In the evening Volodya&rsquo;s mother said to him: &ldquo;Volodya dear,
-you&rsquo;ll waste your time again; perhaps you&rsquo;d better keep the door
-open!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya began his lessons. But he felt vexed because the door had been left
-open at his back, and because his mother went past it now and then.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I cannot go on like this,&rdquo; he shouted, moving his chair noisily.
-&ldquo;I cannot do anything when the door is wide open.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Volodya, is there any need to shout so?&rdquo; his mother reproached him
-softly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya already felt repentant, and he began to cry.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you see, Volodenka, that I&rsquo;m worried about you, and
-that I want to save you from your thoughts.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, sit here with me,&rdquo; said Volodya.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His mother took a book and sat down at Volodya&rsquo;s table. For a few minutes
-Volodya worked calmly. But gradually the presence of his mother began to annoy
-him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;m being watched just like a sick man,&rdquo; he thought
-spitefully.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His thoughts were constantly interrupted, and he was biting his lips. His
-mother remarked this at last, and she left the room.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Volodya felt no relief. He was tormented with regret at showing his
-impatience. He tried to go on with his work but he could not. Then he went to
-his mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, why did you leave me?&rdquo; he asked timidly.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXIV</h3>
-
-<p>
-It was the eve of a holiday. The little image-lamps burned before the ikons.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was late and it was quiet. Volodya&rsquo;s mother was not asleep. In the
-mysterious dark of her bedroom she fell on her knees, she prayed and she wept,
-sobbing out now and then like a child.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her braids of hair trailed upon her white dress; her shoulders trembled. She
-raised her hands to her breast in a praying posture, and she looked with
-tearful eyes at the ikon. The image-lamp moved almost imperceptibly on its
-chains with her passionate breathing. The shadows rocked, they crowded in the
-corners, they stirred behind the reliquary, and they murmured mysteriously.
-There was a hopeless yearning in their murmurings and an incomprehensible
-sadness in their wavering movements.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At last she rose, looking pale, with strange, widely dilated eyes, and she
-reeled slightly on her benumbed legs.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She went quietly to Volodya. The shadows surrounded her, they rustled softly
-behind her back, they crept at her feet, and some of them, as fine as the
-threads of a spider&rsquo;s web, fell upon her shoulders and, looking into her
-large eyes, murmured incomprehensibly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She approached her son&rsquo;s bed cautiously. His face was pale in the light
-of the image-lamp. Strange, sharp shadows lay upon him. His breathing was
-inaudible; he slept so tranquilly that his mother was frightened.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She stood there in the midst of the vague shadows, and she felt upon her the
-breath of vague fears.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXV</h3>
-
-<p>
-The high vaults of the church were dark and mysterious. The evening chants rose
-toward these vaults and resounded there with an exultant sadness. The dark
-images, lit up by the yellow flickers of wax candles, looked stern and
-mysterious. The warm breathing of the wax and of the incense filled the air
-with lofty sorrow.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Eugenia Stepanovna placed a candle before the ikon of the Mother of God. Then
-she knelt down. But her prayer was distraught.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She looked at her candle. Its flame wavered. The shadows from the candles fell
-on Eugenia Stepanovna&rsquo;s black dress and on the floor, and rocked
-unsteadily. The shadows hovered on the walls of the church and lost themselves
-in the heights between the dark vaults, where the exultant, sad songs
-resounded.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXVI</h3>
-
-<p>
-It was another night.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya awoke suddenly. The darkness enveloped him, and it stirred without
-sound. He freed his hands, then raised them, and followed their movements with
-his eyes. He did not see his hands in the darkness, but he imagined that he saw
-them wanly stirring before him. They were dark and mysterious, and they held in
-them the affliction and the murmur of lonely yearning.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His mother also did not sleep; her grief tormented her. She lit a candle and
-went quietly toward her son&rsquo;s room to see how he slept. She opened the
-door noiselessly and looked timidly at Volodya&rsquo;s bed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A streak of yellow light trembled on the wall and intersected Volodya&rsquo;s
-red bed-cover. The lad stretched his arms toward the light and, with a beating
-heart, followed the shadows. He did not even ask himself where the light came
-from. He was wholly obsessed by the shadows. His eyes were fixed on the wall,
-and there was a gleam of madness in them.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The streak of light broadened, the shadows moved in a startled way; they were
-morose and hunch-backed, like homeless, roaming women who were hurrying to
-reach somewhere with old burdens that dragged them down.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya&rsquo;s mother, trembling with fright, approached the bed and quietly
-aroused her son.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Volodya!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya came to himself. For some seconds he glanced at his mother with large
-eyes, then he shivered from head to foot and, springing out of bed, fell at his
-mother&rsquo;s feet, embraced her knees, and wept.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What dreams you do dream, Volodya!&rdquo; exclaimed his mother
-sorrowfully.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXVII</h3>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Volodya,&rdquo; said his mother to him at breakfast, &ldquo;you must
-stop it, darling; you will become a wreck if you spend your nights also with
-the shadows.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The pale lad lowered his head in dejection. His lips quivered nervously.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell you what we&rsquo;ll do,&rdquo; continued his mother.
-&ldquo;Perhaps we had better play a little while together with the shadows each
-evening, and then we will study your lessons. What do you say?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya grew somewhat animated.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, you&rsquo;re a darling!&rdquo; he said shyly.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXVIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-In the street Volodya felt drowsy and timid. The fog was spreading; it was cold
-and dismal. The outlines of the houses looked strange in the mist. The morose,
-human silhouettes moved through the filmy atmosphere like ominous, unkindly
-shadows. Everything seemed so intensely unreal. The cab-horse, which stood
-drowsily at the street-crossing, appeared like a huge fabulous beast.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The policeman gave Volodya a hostile look. The crow on the low roof foreboded
-sorrow in Volodya&rsquo;s ear. But sorrow was already in his heart; it made him
-sad to note how everything was hostile to him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A small dog with an unhealthy coat barked at him from behind a gate and Volodya
-felt a strange depression. And the urchins of the street seemed ready to laugh
-at him and to humiliate him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the past he would have settled scores with them as they deserved, but now
-fear lived in his breast; it robbed his arms of their strength and caused them
-to hang by his sides.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When Volodya returned home Praskovya opened the door to him, and she looked at
-him with moroseness and hostility. Volodya felt uneasy. He quickly went into
-the house, and refrained from looking at Praskovya&rsquo;s depressing face
-again.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXIX</h3>
-
-<p>
-His mother was sitting alone. It was twilight, and she felt sad.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A light suddenly glimmered somewhere.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya ran in, animated, cheerful, and with large, somewhat wild eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, the lamp has been lit; let&rsquo;s play a little.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She smiled and followed Volodya.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, I&rsquo;ve thought of a new figure,&rdquo; said Volodya
-excitedly, as he placed the lamp in the desired position. &ldquo;Look.... Do
-you see? This is the steppe, covered with snow, and the snow falls&mdash;a
-regular storm.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya raised his hands and arranged them.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now look, here is an old man, a wayfarer. He is up to his knees in snow.
-It is difficult to walk. He is alone. It is an open field. The village is far
-away. He is tired, he is cold; it is terrible. He is all bent&mdash;he&rsquo;s
-such an old man.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya&rsquo;s mother helped him with his fingers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; exclaimed Volodya in great joy. &ldquo;The wind is tearing
-his cap off, it is blowing his hair loose, it has thrown him in the snow. The
-drifts are getting higher. Mamma, mamma, do you hear?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a blinding storm.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And he?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The old man?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do you hear, he is moaning?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Help!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Both of them, pale, were looking at the wall. Volodya&rsquo;s hands shook, the
-old man fell.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His mother was the first to arouse herself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And now it&rsquo;s time to work,&rdquo; she said.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXX</h3>
-
-<p>
-It was morning. Volodya&rsquo;s mother was alone. Rapt in her confused, dismal
-thoughts, she was walking from one room to another. Her shadow outlined itself
-vaguely on the white door in the light of the mist-dimmed sun. She stopped at
-the door and lifted her arm with a large, curious movement. The shadow on the
-door wavered and began to murmur something familiar and sad. A strange feeling
-of comfort came over Eugenia Stepanovna as she stood, a wild smile on her face,
-before the door and moved both her hands, watching the trembling shadows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then she heard Praskovya coming, and she realized that she was doing an absurd
-thing. Once more she felt afraid and sad.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We ought to make a change,&rdquo; she thought, &ldquo;and go elsewhere,
-somewhere farther away, to a new atmosphere. We must run away from here, simply
-run away!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And suddenly she remembered Volodya&rsquo;s words: &ldquo;There is a wall there
-also. The walls are everywhere.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;There is nowhere to run!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In her despair she wrung her pale, beautiful hands.
-</p>
-
-<h3>XXXI</h3>
-
-<p>
-It was evening.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A lighted lamp stood on the floor in Volodya&rsquo;s room. Just behind it, near
-the wall, sat Volodya and his mother. They were looking at the wall and were
-making strange movements with their hands.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shadows stirred and trembled upon the wall.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Volodya and his mother understood them. Both were smiling sadly and were saying
-weird and impossible things to each other. Their faces were peaceful and their
-eyes looked clear; their joyousness was hopelessly sorrowful and their sorrow
-was wildly joyous.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In their eyes was a glimmer of madness, blessed madness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The night was descending upon them.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap06"></a>THE GLIMMER OF HUNGER</h2>
-
-<p>
-Sergei Matveyevich Moshkin had dined very well that day&mdash;that is
-comparatively well&mdash;when you stop to consider that he was only a village
-schoolmaster who had lost his place, and had been knocking about already a year
-or so on strange stairways, in search of work. Nevertheless, the glimmer of
-hunger persisted in his dark, sad eyes, and it gave his lean, smooth face a
-kind of unlooked-for significance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin spent his last three-rouble note on this dinner, and now a few coppers
-jingled in his pocket, while his purse contained a smooth fifteen-copeck piece.
-He banqueted out of sheer joy. He knew quite well that it was stupid to rejoice
-prematurely and without sufficient cause. But he had been seeking work so long,
-and had been having such a time of it, that even the shadow of a hope gave him
-joy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin had put an advertisement in the <i>Novo Vremya</i>. He announced
-himself a pedagogue who had command of the pen; he based his claim on the fact
-that he corresponded for a provincial newspaper. This, indeed, was why he had
-lost his place; it was discovered that he had written articles reflecting
-unfavourably on the authorities; the chief official of the district called the
-attention of the inspector of public schools to this, and the inspector, of
-course, would not brook such doings by any of his staff.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We don&rsquo;t want that kind,&rdquo; the inspector said to him in a
-personal interview.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin asked: &ldquo;What kind do you want?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The inspector, without replying to this irrelevant question, remarked dryly:
-&ldquo;Good-bye. I hope to meet you in the next world.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin stated further in his advertisement that he wished to be a secretary, a
-permanent collaborator on a newspaper, a private tutor; also that he was
-willing to accompany his employer to the Caucasus or the Crimea, and to make
-himself useful in the house, etc. He gave an assurance of his reasonableness,
-and that he had no objections to travelling.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He waited. One postcard came. It inspired him with hope; he hardly knew why.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It came in the morning while Moshkin was drinking his tea. The landlady brought
-it in herself. There was a glitter in her dark, snake-like eyes as she remarked
-tauntingly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s some correspondence for Mr. Sergei Matveyevich
-Moshkin.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And while he was reading she smoothed her black hair down her triangular yellow
-forehead, and hissed: &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the good of getting letters? Much
-better if you paid for your board and lodging. A letter won&rsquo;t feed your
-hunger; you ought to go among people, look for a job and not expect things to
-come to you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He read:
-</p>
-
-<p class="letter">
-&ldquo;<i>Be so good as to come in for a talk, between</i> 6 <i>and</i> 7 <i>in
-the evening, at Row</i> 6, <i>House</i> 78, <i>Apartment</i> 57.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There was no signature.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin glanced angrily at his landlady. She was broad and erect, and as she
-stood there at the door quite calm, with lowered arms, she was like a doll; she
-seemed deliberately malicious, and she looked at him with her motionless,
-anger-provoking eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin exclaimed: &ldquo;Basta!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He hit the table with his fist. Then he rose, and paced up and down the room.
-He kept on repeating: &ldquo;Basta!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The landlady asked quietly and spitefully: &ldquo;Are you going to pay or not,
-you Kazan and Astrakhan correspondent, you impudent face?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin stopped in front of her, put out his empty palm, and said:
-&ldquo;That&rsquo;s all I have.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He said nothing about his last three-rouble note. The landlady hissed:
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not hard on you, but I need money. Wood&rsquo;s seven roubles
-a load now, how am I to pay it? You can&rsquo;t live on nothing. Can&rsquo;t
-you find some one to look after you? You&rsquo;re a young man of ability, and
-you have quite a charming appearance. You can always get hold of some goose or
-other. But how am I to pay? Whichever way you turn you&rsquo;ve got to put down
-money.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin replied: &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t worry, Praskovya Petrovna, I am getting a
-job to-night, and I&rsquo;ll pay what I owe you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He began to pace the room again, making a flapping noise with his slippers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The landlady paused at the door, and kept on with her grumbling. When she went
-at last, she cried out: &ldquo;Another in my place would have shown you the
-door long ago.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-For some time after she had left there still remained in his memory her
-strange, erect figure, with relaxed arms; her broad, yellow forehead, shaped
-like a triangle under her smoothly-oiled hair; her worn yellow dress, cut away
-like a narrow triangle, and her red, sniffling nose shaped like a small
-triangle. Three triangles in all.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-All day long Moshkin was hungry, cheerful, and indignant. He walked aimlessly
-in the streets. He looked at the girls, and they all seemed to him to be
-lovable, happy, and accessible&mdash;to the rich. He stopped before the shop
-windows, where expensive goods were displayed. The glimmer of hunger in his
-eyes grew keener and keener.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He bought a newspaper. He read as he sat on a form in the square, where the
-children laughed and ran, where the nurses tried to look fashionable, where
-there was a smell of dust and of consumptive trees&mdash;and where the smells
-of the street and of the garden mingled unpleasantly, reminding him of the
-smell of gutta-percha. Moshkin was very much struck by an account in the
-newspaper of a hungry fanatic who had slashed a picture by a celebrated artist
-in the museum.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now that&rsquo;s something I can understand!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin walked briskly along the path. He repeated: &ldquo;Now that&rsquo;s
-something I can understand!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And afterwards, as he walked in the streets and looked at the huge and stately
-houses, at the exposed wealth of the shops, at the elegant dress of the people
-of fashion, at the swiftly moving carriages, at all these beauties and comforts
-of life, accessible to all who have money, and inaccessible to him&mdash;as he
-looked and observed and envied, he felt more and more keenly the mood of
-destructive rage.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now that&rsquo;s something I can understand!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He walked up to a stout and pompous house-porter, and shouted: &ldquo;Now
-that&rsquo;s something I can understand!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The porter looked at him with silent scorn. Moshkin laughed joyously, and said:
-&ldquo;Clever chaps those anarchists!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Be off with you!&rdquo; exclaimed the porter angrily. &ldquo;And see
-that you don&rsquo;t over-eat yourself.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin was about to leave him but stopped short in fright. There was a
-policeman quite near, and his white gloves stood out with startling sharpness.
-Moshkin thought in his sadness:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A bomb might come in handy here.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The porter spat angrily after him, and turned away.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin walked on. At six o&rsquo;clock he entered a restaurant of the middle
-rank. He chose a table by the window. He had some vodka, and followed it with
-anchovies. He ordered a seventy-five copeck dinner. He had a bottle of chablis
-on ice; after dinner a liqueur. He got slightly intoxicated. His head went
-round at the sound of music. He did not take his change. He left, reeling
-slightly, accompanied respectfully by a porter, into whose hand he stuck a
-twenty-copeck piece.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He looked at his nickelled watch. It was just past seven. It was time to go. He
-had to make haste. They might hire another. He strode impetuously toward his
-destination.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He was hindered by: dug up pavements; superannuated, eternally somnolent
-cabbies, at street crossings; passers-by, especially <i>muzhiks</i> and women;
-those who came toward him, without stepping aside at all, or who stepped aside
-more often to the left than to the right&mdash;while those whom he had to
-overtake joggled along indifferently on the narrow way, and it was hard to tell
-at once on which side to pass them; beggars&mdash;these clung to him; and the
-mechanical process of walking itself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-How difficult to conquer space and time when one is in a hurry! Truly the earth
-drew him to itself and he purchased every step with violence and exhaustion. He
-felt pains in his legs. This increased his spite, and intensified the glimmer
-of hunger in his eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin thought:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to chuck it all to the devil! To all the devils!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At last he got there.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Here was the Row, and here was House No. 78. It was a four-storey house, in a
-state of neglect; the two approaches had a gloomy look, the gates in the middle
-stood wide agape. He looked at the plates at the approaches; the first numbers
-were here, and there was no No. 57. No one was in sight. There was a white
-button at the gates; and on the brass plate, below, buried under dirt, was the
-word &ldquo;porter.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He pressed the button and entered the gate to look for the directory of the
-tenants. Before he had got that far he was met by the porter, a man of
-insinuating appearance, with a black beard.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Where is apartment No. 57?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin asked the question in a careless manner, borrowed from the district
-official who had caused him to lose his place. He also knew from experience
-that one must address porters just like this, and not like that. Wandering in
-strange gates and on strange staircases gives one a certain polish.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The porter asked somewhat suspiciously: &ldquo;Who do you want?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin drawled out his words with artless carelessness: &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t
-exactly know. I&rsquo;ve come in answer to an announcement. I&rsquo;ve received
-a letter, but the name is not signed. Only the address is given. Who lives at
-No. 57?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Madame Engelhardova,&rdquo; said the porter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Engelhardt?&rdquo; asked Moshkin.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The porter repeated: &ldquo;Engelhardova.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin smiled. &ldquo;And what&rsquo;s her Russian name?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Elena Petrovna,&rdquo; the porter answered.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Is she a bad-tempered hag?&rdquo; asked Moshkin for some reason or
-other.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No-o, she&rsquo;s a young lady. Quite stylish. Turn to the right of the
-gate.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Only the first numbers are given there,&rdquo; said Moshkin.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The porter said: &ldquo;No, you&rsquo;ll also find 57 there. At the very
-bottom.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin asked: &ldquo;What does she do? Does she run a business of some sort? A
-school? Or a journal?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-No. Madame Engelhardova had neither a school, nor a journal.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She lives on her capital,&rdquo; explained the porter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Engelhardova&rsquo;s maid, who looked like a village girl, led him into
-the drawing-room, to the right of the dark ante-room, and asked him to wait.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He waited. It was tedious and annoying. He began to examine the contents of the
-elaborately furnished room. There were arm-chairs, tables, stools, folding
-screens, fire-screens, book-shelves, and small columns upon which rested busts,
-lamps, and artistic gew-gaws; there were mirrors, lithographs, and clocks on
-the walls; while the windows were decorated with hangings and flowers. All
-these made the room crowded, oppressive and dark. Moshkin paced through this
-depression over the rugs. He looked at the pictures and the statues with hate.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to chuck all this to the devil! To all the devils!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But when the mistress of the house walked in suddenly he lowered his eyes, and
-hid his glimmer of hunger.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She was young, pink, and tall and quite good-looking. She walked quickly and
-with decision, like the mistress of a village house, and swung, not altogether
-gracefully, her strong, handsome white arms bared from above the elbows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She came to him and held out her hand, a little high&mdash;to be pressed, or to
-be kissed, as he chose. He kissed it. There was spite in his kiss. He did it
-with a quick, resounding smack, and one of his teeth scratched her skin
-slightly, so that she winced. But she said nothing. She walked toward the
-divan, got behind the table and sat down. She showed him an armchair.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When he had seated himself, she asked him: &ldquo;Was that your announcement in
-yesterday&rsquo;s paper?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He said: &ldquo;Mine.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He reconsidered, and said more politely: &ldquo;Yes, mine.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He felt vexed, and he thought to himself: &ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to send her to
-the devil!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She went on talking. She asked him what he could do, where he had studied,
-where he had worked. She approached the subject very cautiously, as though
-afraid to say too much before the proper time.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He gathered that she wished to publish a journal&mdash;she had not yet decided
-what sort. Some sort. A small one. She was negotiating for the purchase of a
-property. Of the nature of the journal she said nothing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She needed some one for the office. As he had said in his announcement that he
-was a pedagogue she thought that he had taught in one of the higher schools.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In any case, she wanted some one to keep the books in the office, to receive
-subscriptions, to carry on the editorial and the office correspondence, to
-receive money by post, to put the journals in wrappers, to send them to the
-post, to read proofs, and something else ... and still something else....
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young woman spoke for half an hour. She recounted the various duties in an
-unintelligent way.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You need several people for all these tasks,&rdquo; said Moshkin
-sharply.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young woman grew red with vexation. She made a wry face as she remarked
-eagerly: &ldquo;The journal will be a small one, of a special nature. If I
-hired several people for such a small undertaking they would have nothing to
-do.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He smiled, and observed: &ldquo;Well, anyhow there&rsquo;ll be no chance for
-boredom. How many hours a day will you want me to work?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, let us say from nine in the morning until seven in the evening.
-Sometimes, when the work is in a hurry you might remain a little longer, or you
-might come in on a holiday&mdash;I believe you are free?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How much do you think of paying?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Would eighteen roubles a month be enough for you?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He reflected a while, then he laughed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Too little.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t afford more than twenty-two.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Very well.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He rose suddenly in his rage, thrust his hand into his pocket, drew out the
-latchkey to his house, and said quietly but resolutely: &ldquo;Hands up!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; exclaimed the young woman, and she quickly raised her arms.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She was sitting on the divan. She was pale and trembling.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They formed a contrast&mdash;she large and strong; and he small and meagre.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The sleeves of her dress fell to her shoulders, and the two bare white arms,
-stretching upward, seemed like the plump legs of a woman acrobat practising at
-home. She was evidently strong enough to hold up her arms for a long time. But
-her frightened face betrayed the deep terror of her ordeal.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin, enjoying her plight, uttered slowly and sternly: &ldquo;Move, if you
-dare! Or give a single whisper!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He approached a picture.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How much does this cost?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Two hundred and twenty, without the frame,&rdquo; said the young woman
-in a trembling voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He searched in his pocket and found a penknife. He cut the picture from top to
-bottom, and from right to left.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; the young woman cried out.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He approached a small marble head.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What does this cost?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Three hundred.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He used his latchkey, and struck off the ear and the nose, and he mutilated the
-cheeks. The young woman sighed quietly; and it was pleasant to hear her quiet
-sighing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He cut up a few more pictures, and the armchair coverings, and broke a few of
-the gew-gaws.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He then approached the young woman, and exclaimed: &ldquo;Get under the
-divan!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She obeyed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Lie there quietly, until some one comes. Or else I&rsquo;ll throw a
-bomb.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He left. He met no one, either in the ante-room, or on the stairs.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The same house-porter stood at the gates. Moshkin went up to him and said:
-&ldquo;What a strange young lady you have in your house.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She doesn&rsquo;t know how to behave. She loves a brawl. You had better
-go to her.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No use my going as long as I&rsquo;m not called.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Just as you please.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He left. The glimmer of hunger grew fainter in his eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moshkin continued to walk the streets. His mind realized in a slow, dull way
-the drawing-room scene, the mutilated pictures, and the young woman under the
-divan.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The dull waters of the canal lured him. The receding light of the setting sun
-made their surface beautiful and sad, like the music of a mad composer. How
-rough the stone slabs were on the canal&rsquo;s banks, and how dusty the stones
-of the pavements, and what stupid and dirty children ran to meet him!
-Everything seemed shut against him and everything seemed hostile to him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The green, golden waters of the canal lured him, and the glimmer of hunger in
-his eyes went out for ever.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-What a noise the swift splash of water made, as, ring after ring, the dead
-black rings spread out and out, and cut the green golden waters of the canal.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap07"></a>HIDE AND SEEK</h2>
-
-<h3>I</h3>
-
-<p>
-Everything in Lelechka&rsquo;s nursery was bright, pretty, and cheerful.
-Lelechka&rsquo;s sweet voice charmed her mother. Lelechka was a delightful
-child. There was no other such child, there never had been, and there never
-would be. Lelechka&rsquo;s mother, Serafima Alexandrovna, was sure of that.
-Lelechka&rsquo;s eyes were dark and large, her cheeks were rosy, her lips were
-made for kisses and for laughter. But it was not these charms in Lelechka that
-gave her mother the keenest joy. Lelechka was her mother&rsquo;s only child.
-That was why every movement of Lelechka&rsquo;s bewitched her mother. It was
-great bliss to hold Lelechka on her knees and to fondle her; to feel the little
-girl in her arms&mdash;a thing as lively and as bright as a little bird.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-To tell the truth, Serafima Alexandrovna felt happy only in the nursery. She
-felt cold with her husband.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Perhaps it was because he himself loved the cold&mdash;he loved to drink cold
-water, and to breathe cold air. He was always fresh and cool, with a frigid
-smile, and wherever he passed cold currents seemed to move in the air.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The Nesletyevs, Sergei Modestovich and Serafima Alexandrovna, had married
-without love or calculation, because it was the accepted thing. He was a young
-man of thirty-five, she a young woman of twenty-five; both were of the same
-circle and well brought up; he was expected to take a wife, and the time had
-come for her to take a husband.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It even seemed to Serafima Alexandrovna that she was in love with her future
-husband, and this made her happy. He looked handsome and well-bred; his
-intelligent grey eyes always preserved a dignified expression; and he fulfilled
-his obligations of a fiancé with irreproachable gentleness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The bride was also good-looking; she was a tall, dark-eyed, dark-haired girl,
-somewhat timid but very tactful. He was not after her dowry, though it pleased
-him to know that she had something. He had connexions, and his wife came of
-good, influential people. This might, at the proper opportunity, prove useful.
-Always irreproachable and tactful, Nesletyev got on in his position not so fast
-that any one should envy him, nor yet so slow that he should envy any one
-else&mdash;everything came in the proper measure and at the proper time.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-After their marriage there was nothing in the manner of Sergei Modestovich to
-suggest anything wrong to his wife. Later, however, when his wife was about to
-have a child, Sergei Modestovich established connexions elsewhere of a light
-and temporary nature. Serafima Alexandrovna found this out, and, to her own
-astonishment, was not particularly hurt; she awaited her infant with a restless
-anticipation that swallowed every other feeling.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A little girl was born; Serafima Alexandrovna gave herself up to her. At the
-beginning she used to tell her husband, with rapture, of all the joyous details
-of Lelechka&rsquo;s existence. But she soon found that he listened to her
-without the slightest interest, and only from the habit of politeness. Serafima
-Alexandrovna drifted farther and farther away from him. She loved her little
-girl with the ungratified passion that other women, deceived in their husbands,
-show their chance young lovers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Mamochka</i>, let&rsquo;s play <i>priatki</i>,&rdquo; (hide and
-seek), cried Lelechka, pronouncing the <i>r</i> like the <i>l</i>, so that the
-word sounded &ldquo;pliatki.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This charming inability to speak always made Serafima Alexandrovna smile with
-tender rapture. Lelechka then ran away, stamping with her plump little legs
-over the carpets, and hid herself behind the curtains near her bed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Tiu-tiu, mamochka</i>!&rdquo; she cried out in her sweet, laughing
-voice, as she looked out with a single roguish eye.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Where is my baby girl?&rdquo; the mother asked, as she looked for
-Lelechka and made believe that she did not see her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And Lelechka poured out her rippling laughter in her hiding place. Then she
-came out a little farther, and her mother, as though she had only just caught
-sight of her, seized her by her little shoulders and exclaimed joyously:
-&ldquo;Here she is, my Lelechka!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lelechka laughed long and merrily, her head close to her mother&rsquo;s knees,
-and all of her cuddled up between her mother&rsquo;s white hands. Her
-mother&rsquo;s eyes glowed with passionate emotion.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now, <i>mamochka</i>, you hide,&rdquo; said Lelechka, as she ceased
-laughing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her mother went to hide. Lelechka turned away as though not to see, but watched
-her <i>mamochka</i> stealthily all the time. Mamma hid behind the cupboard, and
-exclaimed: &ldquo;<i>Tiu-tiu</i>, baby girl!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lelechka ran round the room and looked into all the corners, making believe, as
-her mother had done before, that she was seeking&mdash;though she really knew
-all the time where her <i>mamochka</i> was standing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s my <i>mamochka</i>?&rdquo; asked Lelechka.
-&ldquo;She&rsquo;s not here, and she&rsquo;s not here,&rdquo; she kept on
-repeating, as she ran from corner to corner.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her mother stood, with suppressed breathing, her head pressed against the wall,
-her hair somewhat disarranged. A smile of absolute bliss played on her red
-lips.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The nurse, Fedosya, a good-natured and fine-looking, if somewhat stupid woman,
-smiled as she looked at her mistress with her characteristic expression, which
-seemed to say that it was not for her to object to gentlewomen&rsquo;s
-caprices. She thought to herself: &ldquo;The mother is like a little child
-herself&mdash;look how excited she is.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lelechka was getting nearer her mother&rsquo;s corner. Her mother was growing
-more absorbed every moment by her interest in the game; her heart beat with
-short quick strokes, and she pressed even closer to the wall, disarranging her
-hair still more. Lelechka suddenly glanced toward her mother&rsquo;s corner and
-screamed with joy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve found &rsquo;oo,&rdquo; she cried out loudly and joyously,
-mispronouncing her words in a way that again made her mother happy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She pulled her mother by her hands to the middle of the room, they were merry
-and they laughed; and Lelechka again hid her head against her mother&rsquo;s
-knees, and went on lisping and lisping, without end, her sweet little words, so
-fascinating yet so awkward.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sergei Modestovich was coming at this moment toward the nursery. Through the
-half-closed doors he heard the laughter, the joyous outcries, the sound of
-romping. He entered the nursery, smiling his genial cold smile; he was
-irreproachably dressed, and he looked fresh and erect, and he spread round him
-an atmosphere of cleanliness, freshness and coldness. He entered in the midst
-of the lively game, and he confused them all by his radiant coldness. Even
-Fedosya felt abashed, now for her mistress, now for herself. Serafima
-Alexandrovna at once became calm and apparently cold&mdash;and this mood
-communicated itself to the little girl, who ceased to laugh, but looked
-instead, silently and intently, at her father.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sergei Modestovich gave a swift glance round the room. He liked coming here,
-where everything was beautifully arranged; this was done by Serafima
-Alexandrovna, who wished to surround her little girl, from her very infancy,
-only with the loveliest things. Serafima Alexandrovna dressed herself
-tastefully; this, too, she did for Lelechka, with the same end in view. One
-thing Sergei Modestovich had not become reconciled to, and this was his
-wife&rsquo;s almost continuous presence in the nursery.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s just as I thought.... I knew that I&rsquo;d find you
-here,&rdquo; he said with a derisive and condescending smile.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They left the nursery together. As he followed his wife through the door Sergei
-Modestovich said rather indifferently, in an incidental way, laying no stress
-on his words: &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you think that it would be well for the little
-girl if she were sometimes without your company? Merely, you see, that the
-child should feel its own individuality,&rdquo; he explained in answer to
-Serafima Alexandrovna&rsquo;s puzzled glance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She&rsquo;s still so little,&rdquo; said Serafima Alexandrovna.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;In any case, this is but my humble opinion. I don&rsquo;t insist.
-It&rsquo;s your kingdom there.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll think it over,&rdquo; his wife answered, smiling, as he did,
-coldly but genially.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then they began to talk of something else.
-</p>
-
-<h3>II</h3>
-
-<p>
-Nurse Fedosya, sitting in the kitchen that evening, was telling the silent
-housemaid Darya and the talkative old cook Agathya about the young lady of the
-house, and how the child loved to play <i>priatki</i> with her
-mother&mdash;&ldquo;She hides her little face, and cries
-&lsquo;<i>tiu-tiu</i>&rsquo;!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And the <i>barinya</i><a href="#linknote-5" name="linknoteref-5"
-id="linknoteref-5">[1]</a> herself is like a little one,&rdquo; added Fedosya,
-smiling.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Agathya listened and shook her head ominously; while her face became grave and
-reproachful.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That the <i>barinya</i> does it, well, that&rsquo;s one thing; but that
-the young lady does it, that&rsquo;s bad.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why?&rdquo; asked Fedosya with curiosity.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This expression of curiosity gave her face the look of a wooden,
-roughly-painted doll.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, that&rsquo;s bad,&rdquo; repeated Agathya with conviction.
-&ldquo;Terribly bad!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; said Fedosya, the ludicrous expression of curiosity on her
-face becoming more emphatic.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She&rsquo;ll hide, and hide, and hide away,&rdquo; said Agathya, in a
-mysterious whisper, as she looked cautiously toward the door.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What are you saying?&rdquo; exclaimed Fedosya, frightened.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the truth I&rsquo;m saying, remember my words,&rdquo; Agathya
-went on with the same assurance and secrecy. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s the surest
-sign.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old woman had invented this sign, quite suddenly, herself; and she was
-evidently very proud of it.
-</p>
-
-<p class="footnote">
-<a name="linknote-5" id="linknote-5"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-5">[1]</a> 
-Gentlewoman.
-</p>
-
-<h3>III</h3>
-
-<p>
-Lelechka was asleep, and Serafima Alexandrovna was sitting in her own room,
-thinking with joy and tenderness of Lelechka. Lelechka was in her thoughts,
-first a sweet, tiny girl, then a sweet, big girl, then again a delightful
-little girl; and so until the end she remained mamma&rsquo;s little Lelechka.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Serafima Alexandrovna did not even notice that Fedosya came up to her and
-paused before her. Fedosya had a worried, frightened look.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Barinya, barinya</i>&rdquo; she said quietly, in a trembling voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Serafima Alexandrovna gave a start. Fedosya&rsquo;s face made her anxious.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What is it, Fedosya?&rdquo; she asked with great concern. &ldquo;Is
-there anything wrong with Lelechka?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, <i>barinya</i>,&rdquo; said Fedosya, as she gesticulated with her
-hands to reassure her mistress and to make her sit down. &ldquo;Lelechka is
-asleep, may God be with her! Only I&rsquo;d like to say something&mdash;you
-see&mdash;Lelechka is always hiding herself&mdash;that&rsquo;s not good.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Fedosya looked at her mistress with fixed eyes, which had grown round from
-fright.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why not good?&rdquo; asked Serafima Alexandrovna, with vexation,
-succumbing involuntarily to vague fears.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t tell you how bad it is,&rdquo; said Fedosya, and her face
-expressed the most decided confidence.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Please speak in a sensible way,&rdquo; observed Serafima Alexandrovna
-dryly. &ldquo;I understand nothing of what you are saying.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You see, <i>barinya</i>, it&rsquo;s a kind of omen,&rdquo; explained
-Fedosya abruptly, in a shamefaced way.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; said Serafima Alexandrovna.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She did not wish to hear any further as to the sort of omen it was, and what it
-foreboded. But, somehow, a sense of fear and of sadness crept into her mood,
-and it was humiliating to feel that an absurd tale should disturb her beloved
-fancies, and should agitate her so deeply.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Of course I know that gentlefolk don&rsquo;t believe in omens, but
-it&rsquo;s a bad omen, <i>barinya</i>,&rdquo; Fedosya went on in a doleful
-voice, &ldquo;the young lady will hide, and hide....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Suddenly she burst into tears, sobbing out loudly: &ldquo;She&rsquo;ll hide,
-and hide, and hide away, angelic little soul, in a damp grave,&rdquo; she
-continued, as she wiped her tears with her apron and blew her nose.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Who told you all this?&rdquo; asked Serafima Alexandrovna in an austere
-low voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Agathya says so, <i>barinya</i>&rdquo; answered Fedosya;
-&ldquo;it&rsquo;s she that knows.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Knows!&rdquo; exclaimed Serafima Alexandrovna in irritation, as though
-she wished to protect herself somehow from this sudden anxiety. &ldquo;What
-nonsense! Please don&rsquo;t come to me with any such notions in the future.
-Now you may go.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Fedosya, dejected, her feelings hurt, left her mistress.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What nonsense! As though Lelechka could die!&rdquo; thought Serafima
-Alexandrovna to herself, trying to conquer the feeling of coldness and fear
-which took possession of her at the thought of the possible death of Lelechka.
-Serafima Alexandrovna, upon reflection, attributed these women&rsquo;s beliefs
-in omens to ignorance. She saw clearly that there could be no possible
-connexion between a child&rsquo;s quite ordinary diversion and the continuation
-of the child&rsquo;s life. She made a special effort that evening to occupy her
-mind with other matters, but her thoughts returned involuntarily to the fact
-that Lelechka loved to hide herself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When Lelechka, was still quite small, and had learned to distinguish between
-her mother and her nurse, she sometimes, sitting in her nurse&rsquo;s arms,
-made a sudden roguish grimace, and hid her laughing face in the nurse&rsquo;s
-shoulder. Then she would look out with a sly glance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Of late, in those rare moments of the <i>barinya&rsquo;s</i> absence from the
-nursery, Fedosya had again taught Lelechka to hide; and when Lelechka&rsquo;s
-mother, on coming in, saw how lovely the child looked when she was hiding, she
-herself began to play hide and seek with her tiny daughter.
-</p>
-
-<h3>IV</h3>
-
-<p>
-The next day Serafima Alexandrovna, absorbed in her joyous cares for Lelechka,
-had forgotten Fedosya&rsquo;s words of the day before.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But when she returned to the nursery, after having ordered the dinner, and she
-heard Lelechka suddenly cry &ldquo;<i>Tiu-tiu</i>!&rdquo; from under the table,
-a feeling of fear suddenly took hold of her. Though she reproached herself at
-once for this unfounded, superstitious dread, nevertheless she could not enter
-wholeheartedly into the spirit of Lelechka&rsquo;s favourite game, and she
-tried to divert Lelechka&rsquo;s attention to something else.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lelechka was a lovely and obedient child. She eagerly complied with her
-mother&rsquo;s new wishes. But as she had got into the habit of hiding from her
-mother in some corner, and of crying out &ldquo;<i>Tiu-tiu</i>!&rdquo; so even
-that day she returned more than once to the game.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Serafima Alexandrovna tried desperately to amuse Lelechka. This was not so easy
-because restless, threatening thoughts obtruded themselves constantly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why does Lelechka keep on recalling the <i>tiu-tiu</i>? Why does she not
-get tired of the same thing&mdash;of eternally closing her eyes, and of hiding
-her face? Perhaps,&rdquo; thought Serafima Alexandrovna, &ldquo;she is not as
-strongly drawn to the world as other children, who are attracted by many
-things. If this is so, is it not a sign of organic weakness? Is it not a germ
-of the unconscious non-desire to live?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Serafima Alexandrovna was tormented by presentiments. She felt ashamed of
-herself for ceasing to play hide and seek with Lelechka before Fedosya. But
-this game had become agonizing to her, all the more agonizing because she had a
-real desire to play it, and because something drew her very strongly to hide
-herself from Lelechka and to seek out the hiding child. Serafima Alexandrovna
-herself began the game once or twice, though she played it with a heavy heart.
-She suffered as though committing an evil deed with full consciousness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was a sad day for Serafima Alexandrovna.
-</p>
-
-<h3>V</h3>
-
-<p>
-Lelechka was about to fall asleep. No sooner had she climbed into her little
-bed, protected by a network on all sides, than her eyes began to close from
-fatigue. Her mother covered her with a blue blanket. Lelechka drew her sweet
-little hands from under the blanket and stretched them out to embrace her
-mother. Her mother bent down. Lelechka, with a tender expression on her sleepy
-face, kissed her mother and let her head fall on the pillow. As her hands hid
-themselves under the blanket Lelechka whispered: &ldquo;The hands
-<i>tiu-tiu</i>!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The mother&rsquo;s heart seemed to stop&mdash;Lelechka lay there so small, so
-frail, so quiet. Lelechka smiled gently, closed her eyes and said quietly:
-&ldquo;The eyes <i>tiu-tiu</i>!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then even more quietly: &ldquo;Lelechka <i>tiu-tiu!</i>&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-With these words she fell asleep, her face pressing the pillow. She seemed so
-small and so frail under the blanket that covered her. Her mother looked at her
-with sad eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Serafima Alexandrovna remained standing over Lelechka&rsquo;s bed a long while,
-and she kept looking at Lelechka with tenderness and fear.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;m a mother: is it possible that I shouldn&rsquo;t be able to
-protect her?&rdquo; she thought, as she imagined the various ills that might
-befall Lelechka.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She prayed long that night, but the prayer did not relieve her sadness.
-</p>
-
-<h3>VI</h3>
-
-<p>
-Several days passed. Lelechka caught cold. The fever came upon her at night.
-When Serafima Alexandrovna, awakened by Fedosya, came to Lelechka and saw her
-looking so hot, so restless, and so tormented, she instantly recalled the evil
-omen, and a hopeless despair took possession of her from the first moments.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A doctor was called, and everything was done that is usual on such
-occasions&mdash;but the inevitable happened. Serafima Alexandrovna tried to
-console herself with the hope that Lelechka would get well, and would again
-laugh and play&mdash;yet this seemed to her an unthinkable happiness! And
-Lelechka grew feebler from hour to hour.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-All simulated tranquillity, so as not to frighten Serafima Alexandrovna, but
-their masked faces only made her sad.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Nothing made her so unhappy as the reiterations of Fedosya, uttered between
-sobs: &ldquo;She hid herself and hid herself, our Lelechka!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the thoughts of Serafima Alexandrovna were confused, and she could not
-quite grasp what was happening.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Fever was consuming Lelechka, and there were times when she lost consciousness
-and spoke in delirium. But when she returned to herself she bore her pain and
-her fatigue with gentle good nature; she smiled feebly at her <i>mamochka</i>,
-so that her <i>mamochka</i> should not see how much she suffered. Three days
-passed, torturing like a nightmare. Lelechka grew quite feeble She did not know
-that she was dying.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She glanced at her mother with her dimmed eyes, and lisped in a scarcely
-audible, hoarse voice: &ldquo;<i>Tiu-tiu, mamochka</i>! Make <i>tiu-tiu,
-mamochka</i>!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Serafima Alexandrovna hid her face behind the curtains near Lelechka&rsquo;s
-bed. How tragic!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Mamochka</i>!&rdquo; called Lelechka in an almost inaudible voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lelechka&rsquo;s mother bent over her, and Lelechka, her vision grown still
-more dim, saw her mother&rsquo;s pale, despairing face for the last time.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A white <i>mamochka</i>!&rdquo; whispered Lelechka.
-<i>Mamochka&rsquo;s</i> white face became blurred, and everything grew dark
-before Lelechka. She caught the edge of the bed-cover feebly with her hands and
-whispered: &ldquo;<i>Tiu-tiu</i>!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Something rattled in her throat; Lelechka opened and again closed her rapidly
-paling lips, and died.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Serafima Alexandrovna was in dumb despair as she left Lelechka, and went out of
-the room. She met her husband.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Lelechka is dead,&rdquo; she said in a quiet, dull voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sergei Modestovich looked anxiously at her pale face. He was struck by the
-strange stupor in her formerly animated handsome features.
-</p>
-
-<h3>VII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Lelechka was dressed, placed in a little coffin, and carried into the parlour.
-Serafima Alexandrovna was standing by the coffin and looking dully at her dead
-child. Sergei Modestovich went to his wife and, consoling her with cold, empty
-words, tried to draw her away from the coffin. Serafima Alexandrovna smiled.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Go away,&rdquo; she said quietly. &ldquo;Lelechka is playing.
-She&rsquo;ll be up in a minute.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Sima, my dear, don&rsquo;t agitate yourself,&rdquo; said Sergei
-Modestovich in a whisper. &ldquo;You must resign yourself to your fate.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She&rsquo;ll be up in a minute,&rdquo; persisted Serafima Alexandrovna,
-her eyes fixed on the dead little girl.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sergei Modestovich looked round him cautiously: he was afraid of the unseemly
-and of the ridiculous.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Sima, don&rsquo;t agitate yourself,&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;This
-would be a miracle, and miracles do not happen in the nineteenth
-century.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-No sooner had he said these words than Sergei Modestovich felt their
-irrelevance to what had happened. He was confused and annoyed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He took his wife by the arm, and cautiously led her away from the coffin. She
-did not oppose him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her face seemed tranquil and her eyes were dry. She went into the nursery and
-began to walk round the room, looking into those places where Lelechka used to
-hide herself. She walked all about the room, and bent now and then to look
-under the table or under the bed, and kept on repeating cheerfully:
-&ldquo;Where is my little one? Where is my Lelechka?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-After she had walked round the room once she began to make her quest anew.
-Fedosya, motionless, with dejected face, sat in a corner, and looked frightened
-at her mistress; then she suddenly burst out sobbing, and she wailed loudly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She hid herself, and hid herself, our Lelechka, our angelic little
-soul!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Serafima Alexandrovna trembled, paused, cast a perplexed look at Fedosya, began
-to weep, and left the nursery quietly.
-</p>
-
-<h3>VIII</h3>
-
-<p>
-Sergei Modestovich hurried the funeral. He saw that Serafima Alexandrovna was
-terribly shocked by her sudden misfortune, and as he feared for her reason he
-thought she would more readily be diverted and consoled when Lelechka was
-buried.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Next morning Serafima Alexandrovna dressed with particular care&mdash;for
-Lelechka. When she entered the parlour there were several people between her
-and Lelechka. The priest and deacon paced up and down the room; clouds of blue
-smoke drifted in the air, and there was a smell of incense. There was an
-oppressive feeling of heaviness in Serafima Alexandrovna&rsquo;s head as she
-approached Lelechka. Lelechka lay there still and pale, and smiled
-pathetically. Serafima Alexandrovna laid her cheek upon the edge of
-Lelechka&rsquo;s coffin, and whispered: &ldquo;<i>Tiu-tiu</i>, little
-one!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The little one did not reply. Then there was some kind of stir and confusion
-around Serafima Alexandrovna; strange, unnecessary faces bent over her, some
-one held her&mdash;and Lelechka was carried away somewhere.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Serafima Alexandrovna stood up erect, sighed in a lost way, smiled, and called
-loudly: &ldquo;Lelechka!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lelechka was being carried out. The mother threw herself after the coffin with
-despairing sobs, but she was held back. She sprang behind the door, through
-which Lelechka had passed, sat down there on the floor, and as she looked
-through the crevice, she cried out: &ldquo;Lelechka, <i>tiu-tiu</i>!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then she put her head out from behind the door, and began to laugh.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lelechka was quickly carried away from her mother, and those who carried her
-seemed to run rather than to walk.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap08"></a>THE SMILE</h2>
-
-<h3>I</h3>
-
-<p>
-Some fifteen boys and girls and several young men and women had gathered in the
-garden belonging to the Semiboyarinov cottage to celebrate the birthday of one
-of the sons of the house, Lesha by name, a student of the second class.
-Lesha&rsquo;s birthday was made indeed an occasion for bringing eligible young
-men to the house for his grown sisters&rsquo; sake.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-All were merry and smiling&mdash;the older members of the party as well as the
-young boys and girls, who ran up and down the yellow sand of the well-kept
-footpaths; a pale, unimpressive boy, who was sitting alone on a bench under a
-lilac bush and looking silently at the other boys, was also smiling. His
-loneliness, his silence, and his well-worn though clean clothes, all pointed to
-his poverty and to his embarrassment in the company of these lively,
-well-dressed children. His face was timid and thin, his chest sunken, and his
-lean hands lay so meekly that it aroused one&rsquo;s pity to look at him.
-Still, he smiled; but even his smile seemed pitiful; it was as though it
-depressed him to watch the games and the happiness of other children, or as
-though he were afraid to annoy others by his sad looks and his poor dress.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He was called Grisha Igumnov. His father had died not long ago; Grisha&rsquo;s
-mother occasionally sent her son to her rich relatives with whom he always felt
-depressed and uneasy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why do you sit alone? Get up and run about!&rdquo; said the blue-eyed
-Lydochka Semiboyarinov as she passed him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha did not dare to disobey; his heart beat violently, his face became
-covered with small beads of perspiration. He approached the happy, red-cheeked
-boys timidly. They looked at him unfriendlily as at a stranger, and Grisha
-himself felt at once that he was not like them: he could not speak so boldly
-and so loudly; and he had neither such yellow boots, nor such a round little
-cap with a woolly red visor turned jauntily upwards as the boy nearest to him
-had.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The boys continued to talk among themselves as though there were no Grisha.
-Grisha stood near them in an uneasy pose; his thin shoulders stooped somewhat,
-his slender fingers held fast to his narrow girdle, and he smiled timidly. He
-did not know what to do, and in his confusion did not hear what the lively boys
-were saying. They finished their conversation and scattered suddenly. Grisha,
-his timid, guilty smile still on his face, walked back uneasily on the sandy
-path and sat down once more on the bench. He was ashamed because he had walked
-up to the boys, yet had not spoken to any one, and because nothing had come of
-it. As he sat down he looked timidly round him&mdash;no one paid him the
-slightest attention, and no one laughed at him. Grisha grew calm.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Just then two little girls, their arms round each other, passed him. Under
-their fixed stare Grisha shrank, grew red, and smiled guiltily.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When the little girls had passed by the youngest of them, with fair hair, asked
-loudly: &ldquo;Who&rsquo;s this ugly duckling?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The elder girl, who was red-cheeked and black-browed, laughed and answered:
-&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know. We had better ask Lydochka. It&rsquo;s most likely a
-poor relation.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What an absurd boy,&rdquo; said the little blonde. &ldquo;He spreads his
-ears out, and sits there and smiles.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They disappeared behind the bushes at the turn of the path, and Grisha no
-longer heard their voices. He felt hurt, and when he thought that he might have
-to sit there a long time, until his mother should come for him, he was sick at
-heart.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A big-eyed, slender student with a stubborn crest of hair sticking up from his
-high forehead noticed that Grisha was sitting alone there like an orphan, and
-he wished to be kind to him, and to make him feel more at his ease; so he sat
-down near him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What&rsquo;s your name?&rdquo; he asked.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha told him quietly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And my name is Mitya,&rdquo; said the student. &ldquo;Are you here
-alone, or with any one?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;With mother,&rdquo; whispered Grisha.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why do you sit here all by yourself?&rdquo; asked Mitya.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha stirred nervously, and did not know what to say.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you play?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mitya did not hear him so he asked: &ldquo;What did you say?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t feel like it,&rdquo; said Grisha somewhat more loudly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The student, astonished, continued: &ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you feel like
-it?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha again did not know what to say; he smiled in a lost way. Mitya was
-looking at him attentively. Glances of strangers always embarrassed Grisha; it
-was as though he feared that they might find something absurd in his
-appearance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mitya was silent for a while, as he thought of something else that he might
-ask.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What do you collect?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve got a
-collection of something, haven&rsquo;t you? We all collect: I&mdash;stamps,
-Katya Pokrivalova&mdash;shells, Lesha&mdash;butterflies. What do you
-collect?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; said Grisha, flushing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, well,&rdquo; said Mitya with artless astonishment. &ldquo;So you
-collect nothing! That&rsquo;s very curious.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha felt ashamed that he was not collecting anything, and that he had
-disclosed the fact.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I, too, must collect something!&rdquo; he thought to himself, but he
-could not decide to say this aloud.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mitya sat a little longer, then left him. Grisha felt a relief. But a new
-ordeal was in store for him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The nurse engaged by the Semiboyarinovs for their youngest son was strolling
-along the garden paths with the one-year-old child in her arms. She wished to
-rest, and chose the same bench upon which Grisha was sitting. He again felt
-uneasy. He looked straight before him, and could not even decide to move away
-from the nurse to the other end of the bench.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The infant&rsquo;s attention soon became drawn to Grisha&rsquo;s protruding
-ears, and he leant forward towards one of them. The nurse, a robust,
-red-cheeked woman, concluded that Grisha would not mind. She brought her charge
-nearer to Grisha, and the pink infant caught Grisha&rsquo;s ear with his fat
-little hand. Grisha was paralysed with confusion, but could not decide to
-protest. The child, laughing loudly and merrily, now let go Grisha&rsquo;s ear,
-now caught hold of it again. The red-cheeked nurse, who enjoyed the game not
-less than the infant, kept on repeating: &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go for him!
-Let&rsquo;s give it to him!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-One of the boys saw the scene, and told the other boys that little Georgik was
-obstreperous with the quiet boy who was sitting so long on the bench. The
-children gathered round Georgik and Grisha, and laughed noisily. Grisha tried
-to show that he didn&rsquo;t mind, that he felt no pain, and that he also
-enjoyed the fun. But it grew harder and harder for him to smile, and he had a
-very strong desire to cry. He knew that he ought not to cry, that it was a
-disgrace, and he restrained himself with an effort.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Happily he was soon delivered. The blue-eyed Lydochka, upon hearing the
-children&rsquo;s boisterous laughter, went to see what had happened. She
-reproached the nurse: &ldquo;Aren&rsquo;t you ashamed to go on like
-this?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She herself had difficulty to keep from laughing at Grisha&rsquo;s pitiful,
-confused face. But she restrained herself, and upheld her dignity as a grown
-young woman before the nurse and the children.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The nurse rose and said, laughing: &ldquo;Georginka did it quite gently. The
-boy himself didn&rsquo;t say that it hurt him.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You mustn&rsquo;t do such things,&rdquo; said Lydochka sternly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Georgik, unhappy because they had taken him away from Grisha, raised a cry.
-Lydochka took him in her arms and carried him away to quiet him. The nurse
-followed her. But the boys and the girls remained. They thronged round Grisha
-and eyed him unceremoniously.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Perhaps he&rsquo;s got stuck-on ears,&rdquo; suggested one of the boys,
-&ldquo;that&rsquo;s why he doesn&rsquo;t feel any pain.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I rather think you like to be held by your ears,&rdquo; said another.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Tell us,&rdquo; said the little girl with the large blue eyes,
-&ldquo;which ear does your mother catch hold of most?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;His ears have been stretched out to order in a workshop,&rdquo; cried a
-merry youngster, and laughed loudly at his own joke.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No,&rdquo; another corrected him, &ldquo;he was born like that. When he
-was very small he was led not by his hand but by his ear.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha looked at his tormentors like a small beast at bay, with a fixed smile
-on his face, when, suddenly, wholly unexpectedly to the cheerful company, he
-burst into tears. Many small drops fell on his jacket. The children grew quiet
-at once. They became uneasy. They exchanged embarrassed glances, and looked
-silently at Grisha as he wiped the tears from his face with his thin hands; he
-appeared to be ashamed of his tears.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why should he be offended?&rdquo; said the beautiful, flaxen-haired
-Katya angrily. &ldquo;Who&rsquo;s done him any harm? The ugly duckling!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;He&rsquo;s not an ugly duckling. You&rsquo;re an ugly duckling
-yourself,&rdquo; intervened Mitya.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t stand rude people,&rdquo; said Katya, growing red with
-vexation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A little, brown-faced girl in a red dress looked long at Grisha, and knitted
-her brows as in reflection. Then she scanned the other children with her
-perplexed eyes, and asked quietly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why then did he smile?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>II</h3>
-
-<p>
-It was not often that Grisha&rsquo;s wardrobe received important additions. His
-mother could not afford it; hence, every item gave Grisha great joy. The autumn
-cold came, and Grisha&rsquo;s mother bought an overcoat, a hat and mittens. The
-mittens pleased Grisha more than anything else.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-On the holiday, after Mass, he put on his new things and went out to play. He
-loved to walk about in the streets, and he used to go out alone; his mother had
-no time to go out with him. She looked proudly out of the window as Grisha
-walked gravely by. She recalled at that moment her well-to-do relatives who had
-promised her so much, and had done so little, and she thought: &ldquo;Well,
-I&rsquo;ve managed it without them, thank God!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was a cold, clear day; the sun did not shine with its full brightness; the
-waters of the canals in the city were covered with their first thin ice. Grisha
-walked the streets, rejoicing in this brisk cold, in his new clothes, and with
-his naïve fancies; he always loved to dream when he was alone, and he dreamt
-always of great deeds, of fame, of a bright, happy life in a rich house, indeed
-of everything that was unlike the sad reality.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As Grisha stood on the bank of the canal and looked through the iron railings
-at the thin ice that floated on the surface, he was approached by a street
-urchin in threadbare attire, and with hands red from the cold. He entered into
-conversation with Grisha. Grisha was not afraid of him, and even pitied him
-because of his benumbed hands. His new acquaintance informed him that he was
-called Mishka, but that his family name was Babushkin, because he and his
-mother lived with his <i>babushka</i>.<a href="#linknote-6"
-name="linknoteref-6" id="linknoteref-6">[1]</a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But then what is your mother&rsquo;s family name?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My mother&rsquo;s name?&rdquo; repeated Mishka, smiling.
-&ldquo;She&rsquo;s called Matushkin, because my <i>babushka</i> is no
-<i>babushka</i> to her, but is her <i>matushka.</i>&rdquo;<a href="#linknote-7"
-name="linknoteref-7" id="linknoteref-7">[2]</a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That&rsquo;s strange,&rdquo; said Grisha with astonishment. &ldquo;My
-mother and I have one family name; we are called the Igumnovs.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That&rsquo;s because,&rdquo; explained Mishka with animation,
-&ldquo;your grandfather was an <i>igumen</i>.&rdquo;<a href="#linknote-8"
-name="linknoteref-8" id="linknoteref-8">[3]</a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Grisha, &ldquo;my grandfather was a colonel.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;All the same it&rsquo;s likely that his father, or some one else was an
-<i>igumen</i>, and so you have all become the Igumnovs.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha did not know who his great-grandfather was, so he said nothing, Mishka
-kept on eyeing his mittens.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You have handsome mittens,&rdquo; he said.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;New ones,&rdquo; Grisha explained, with a joyous smile.
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the first time I&rsquo;ve put them on; d&rsquo;you see, here
-is a little string drawn through!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, you&rsquo;re a lucky one! And are they quite warm?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Rather!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have also mittens at home, but I haven&rsquo;t put them on because I
-don&rsquo;t like them. They are yellow, and I don&rsquo;t like yellow ones. Let
-me put yours on, and I&rsquo;ll run along and show them to my <i>babushka</i>,
-and ask her to get me a pair like them.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mishka looked at Grisha pleadingly, and his eyes sparkled enviously.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t keep me waiting long?&rdquo; asked Grisha.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, I live quite near here, just round the corner. Don&rsquo;t be
-afraid! Upon my word, in a minute!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha trustfully took off his mittens and gave them to Mishka.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be back in a minute, wait here, don&rsquo;t go away,&rdquo;
-exclaimed Mishka, as he ran off with Grisha&rsquo;s mittens. He disappeared
-round the corner, and Grisha was left waiting. He did not imagine that Mishka
-would fool him; he thought that he would simply run home, show his mittens, and
-return with them. He stood there long and waited, and Mishka did not even dream
-of returning.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The short autumn day was already darkening; Grisha&rsquo;s mother, restless
-because of her boy&rsquo;s long absence, went out to look for him. Grisha at
-last understood that Mishka would not return. The poor boy turned sadly toward
-home and he met his mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Grisha, what have you done with yourself&rdquo; she asked, angry and
-glad at finding her son.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha did not reply. He seemed embarrassed as he rubbed his hands, red with
-cold. His mother then noticed that he did not wear his mittens.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Where are your mittens?&rdquo; she asked angrily, as she searched his
-overcoat pockets.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Grisha smiled and said: &ldquo;I lent them to a boy for a short time, and he
-didn&rsquo;t bring them back.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p class="footnote">
-<a name="linknote-6" id="linknote-6"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-6">[1]</a> 
-Grandmother.
-</p>
-
-<p class="footnote">
-<a name="linknote-7" id="linknote-7"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-7">[2]</a> 
-Mother.
-</p>
-
-<p class="footnote">
-<a name="linknote-8" id="linknote-8"></a> <a href="#linknoteref-8">[3]</a> 
-An abbot.
-</p>
-
-<h3>III</h3>
-
-<p>
-Years passed after years. The bold and pushing children who once had gathered
-on Lesha Semiboyarinov&rsquo;s birthday became bold and pushing men and women,
-and the urchin who had fooled Grisha, it goes without saying, found his way in
-life&mdash;while Grisha, of course, became a failure. As in his childhood, he
-went on dreaming, and in his dreams he conquered his kingdom; but in real life
-he could not protect himself from any enterprising person who pushed him
-unceremoniously out of his way. His relations with women were equally
-unsuccessful, and his faint-hearted attentions were not once rewarded by a
-responsive feeling. He had no friends. His mother alone loved him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Igumnov rejoiced when he found a position at a small salary, because his mother
-could live calmly now without worrying about a crust of bread. But his
-happiness was of short duration; soon his mother died. Grisha fell into
-depression, lost his spirits. Life seemed to him to be aimless. Apathy took
-hold of him; he had no interest in his work. He lost his place, and was soon in
-great need.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Igumnov finally pawned his last possession, his mother&rsquo;s ring; as he
-walked out of the place he smiled&mdash;and his smile kept him from bursting
-into tears of self-pity.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He had to see various people and to ask them for work. But Igumnov was not good
-at this. He was backward and quiet, and he experienced a helpless confusion
-that prevented him from persisting in his dealings with men. While yet on the
-stairway of a man&rsquo;s house a fear would seize him, his heart would beat
-painfully, his legs would grow heavy, and his hand would stretch toward the
-bell irresolutely.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-During one of his most depressing and hungry days Igumnov sat in the sumptuous
-private office of Aleksei Stepanovich Semiboyarinov, the father of the same
-Lesha whose birthday party remained memorable to him. Igumnov had already sent
-a letter to Aleksei Stepanovich: after all it was much easier to ask on paper
-than by word of mouth. And now he came for his answer.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-From the restless, solicitous manner of Semiboyarinov, a small, dry, old man,
-with closely-cut, silver-grey hair, he guessed that he would have a refusal.
-This made him feel wretched, but he could not help smiling an artless pleasant
-smile, as though he wished to show that it did not matter in the least, that he
-really did not count on anything. The smile evidently irritated Semiboyarinov.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve got your letter, my dear fellow,&rdquo; said he at last in
-his dry, deliberate voice. &ldquo;But there&rsquo;s nothing that I can see just
-now.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Nothing?&rdquo; mumbled Igumnov, growing red.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Absolutely nothing, my dear fellow. Every place is taken. And I
-don&rsquo;t see anything in prospect for the near future. Perhaps something
-might be done for you at New Year.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be glad of a chance even then,&rdquo; said Igumnov, smiling
-in such a way as to suggest that a mere eight months was of no account to him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, I&rsquo;ll be very glad to do something then. If it depended upon
-me you&rsquo;d get your place to-day. I&rsquo;d like very much to be of use to
-you, my good man.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Igumnov.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But tell me,&rdquo; asked Semiboyarinov sympathetically, &ldquo;why did
-you leave your old place?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;They found no use for me,&rdquo; answered Igumnov, confused.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No use for you? Well, I hope we&rsquo;ll find some use for you. Let me
-have your address, my good fellow.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Semiboyarinov began to rummage on his table for a piece of paper. Igumnov just
-then caught sight of his own letter under a marble paper-weight.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My address is in the letter,&rdquo; he said.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So it is!&rdquo; said his host briskly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll make a note of
-it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have the habit,&rdquo; observed Igumnov, rising from his place,
-&ldquo;always to write my address at the beginning of a letter.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A European habit,&rdquo; commended his host.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Igumnov took his leave and went out smiling, proud of his European habits,
-which, however, did not prevent him from feeling hungry. He was almost glad
-that the unpleasant conversation was at an end. He recalled all the polite
-words, and especially those that contained the promise; foolish hopes awakened
-in him. But a few minutes later, as he was walking in the street, he realized
-that the promise would come to nothing. Besides, it was made for the future,
-and he had need of food now, and he must go to his lodgings with a heavy
-heart&mdash;what would his landlady say? What could he say to her?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Igumnov began to walk more slowly, then he turned in the opposite direction.
-Lost in gloom, he walked on, pale and hungry, through the noisy streets of the
-capital, past busy satiated people. His smile vanished. The look of dark
-despair gave a certain significance to his usually little expressive features.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He was now close to the Niva. The huge dome of the Isakiyevski Cathedral glowed
-golden in the wide expanse of blue sky. The large open squares and streets were
-enveloped in the gentle, scarcely perceptible, dust-like haze of the rays of
-the setting sun. The din of carriages was softened in these magnificent open
-spaces. Everything seemed strange and hostile to the hungry, helpless man. The
-beautiful, rich-coloured fruits behind the shop windows could not have been
-more inaccessible if they were under the watch of a strong guard.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Children were playing merrily in the green square. Igumnov looked at them and
-smiled. Unpleasant memories of his own childhood tormented him with an intense
-pity for himself. He reflected that it was only left to him to die. The thought
-frightened him. And again he reflected: &ldquo;Why shouldn&rsquo;t I die?
-Wasn&rsquo;t there a time when I did not exist? I shall have rest, eternal
-oblivion.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Fragments of wise strange thoughts came to him and soothed him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Igumnov was now on the embankment. He leant against the granite parapet and
-watched the restless waters of the river. A single move, he thought, and
-everything would be ended. But it was terrible to think of drowning, of
-struggling with one&rsquo;s mouth full of water, of being strangled by these
-heavy, cold sweeps of water, of battling helplessly, and of at last sinking
-from sheer exhaustion to the bottom, there to be carried by the undercurrents,
-and at last to be cast out, a shapeless corpse, upon some coast of the sea.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Igumnov shivered and moved away from the river. He suddenly espied not far away
-his former colleague Kurkov. Smartly dressed, cheerful and self-satisfied,
-Kurkov was walking slowly and swinging a thin cane with a fancy handle.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah, Grigory Petrovich!&rdquo; he exclaimed, as though he were glad of
-the meeting. &ldquo;Are you strolling, or are you on business?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, I&rsquo;m strolling, that is on business,&rdquo; said Igumnov.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I think we are going the same way?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They walked on together. Kurkov&rsquo;s cheerful chatter only intensified
-Igumnov&rsquo;s mood. Moving his shoulders nervously he addressed Kurkov with
-sudden resolution: &ldquo;Nikolai Sergeyevich, do you happen to have a rouble
-on you?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A rouble?&rdquo; said Kurkov in astonishment. &ldquo;Why do you want
-it?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Igumnov flushed, and began to explain in stammers. &ldquo;You see, I ... just
-one rouble is lacking.... I have to get something ... something, you
-see....&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He breathed heavily in his agitation. He grew silent, and smiled a pitiful,
-fixed smile.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That means I shan&rsquo;t get it back,&rdquo; thought Kurkov.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And now he spoke no longer in the same careless tone as before.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to, but I haven&rsquo;t any spare cash, not a copeck. I
-had to borrow some yesterday myself.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, if you haven&rsquo;t it, you can&rsquo;t help it,&rdquo; mumbled
-Igumnov, and continued to smile. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll simply have to get along
-without it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His smile irritated Kurkov, perhaps because it was such a pitiful, helpless
-affair.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why does he smile?&rdquo; thought Kurkov in vexation.
-&ldquo;Doesn&rsquo;t he believe me? Well, I don&rsquo;t care if he
-doesn&rsquo;t&mdash;I don&rsquo;t own the Government exchequer.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you come in sometimes and see us?&rdquo; he asked
-Igumnov in a careless, dry manner, as he looked elsewhere.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I am always meaning to. Of course I&rsquo;ll come in,&rdquo; answered
-Igumnov in a trembling voice. &ldquo;What about to-day?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There rose before him a picture of the cosy dining-room of the Kurkovs, the
-hospitable hostess, the samovar on the table and the various tasty tit-bits.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;To-day?&rdquo; asked Kurkov in the same careless, dry voice. &ldquo;No,
-we shan&rsquo;t be home to-day. But do step in some day before long. Well, I
-must turn up this lane. Good-bye!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he made haste to cross the wooden walk of the embankment. Igumnov looked
-after him, and smiled. Slow, incoherent thoughts crept through his brain.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As Kurkov disappeared up the lane Igumnov again approached the granite parapet,
-and, trembling in cold terror, began slowly and awkwardly to climb over it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There was no one near.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap09"></a>THE HOOP</h2>
-
-<h3>I</h3>
-
-<p>
-A woman was taking her morning stroll in a lonely suburban street; a boy of
-four was with her. She was young and smart and she was smiling brightly; she
-was casting affectionate glances at her son, whose red cheeks beamed with
-happiness. The boy was bowling a hoop; a large, new, bright yellow hoop. He ran
-after his hoop awkwardly, laughed uproariously with joy, thrust forward his
-plump little legs, bare at the knee, and flourished his stick. He needn&rsquo;t
-have raised his stick so high above his head&mdash;but what of that?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-What happiness! He had never had a hoop before; how briskly it made him run!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And nothing of this had existed for him before; everything was new to
-him&mdash;the streets in early morning, the merry sun, and the distant din of
-the city. Everything was new to the boy&mdash;and joyous and pure.
-</p>
-
-<h3>II</h3>
-
-<p>
-A shabbily dressed old man, with coarse hands stood at the street crossing. He
-pressed close to the wall to let the woman and the boy pass. The old man looked
-at the boy with dull eyes and smiled stupidly. Confused, sluggish thoughts
-struggled within his almost bald head.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A little gentleman!&rdquo; said he to himself. &ldquo;Quite a small
-fellow. And simply bursting with joy. Just look at him cutting his
-paces!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He could not quite understand it. Somehow it seemed strange to him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Here was a child&mdash;a thing to be pulled about by the hair! Play is
-mischief. Children, as every one knows, are mischief-makers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And there was the mother&mdash;she uttered no reproach, she made no fuss, she
-did not scold. She was smart and bright. It was quite easy to see that they
-were used to warmth and comfort.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-On the other hand, when he, the old man, was a boy he lived a dog&rsquo;s life!
-There was nothing particularly rosy in his life even now; though, to be sure,
-he was no longer thrashed and he had plenty to eat. He recalled his younger
-days&mdash;their hunger, their cold, their drubbings. He had never had fun with
-a hoop, or other playthings of well-to-do folks. Thus passed all his
-life&mdash;in poverty, in care, in misery. And he could recall
-nothing&mdash;not a single joy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He smiled with his toothless mouth at the boy, and he envied him. He reflected:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What a silly sport!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But envy tormented him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He went to work&mdash;to the factory where he had worked from childhood, where
-he had grown old. And all day he thought of the boy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was a fixed, deep-rooted thought. He simply could not get the boy out of his
-mind. He saw him running, laughing, stamping his feet, bowling the hoop. What
-plump little legs he had, bared at the knee!...
-</p>
-
-<p>
-All day long, amid the din of the factory wheels, the boy with the hoop
-appeared to him. And at night he saw the boy in a dream.
-</p>
-
-<h3>III</h3>
-
-<p>
-Next morning his reveries again pursued the old man.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The machines were clattering, the labour was monotonous, automatic. The hands
-were busy at their accustomed tasks; the toothless mouth was smiling at a
-diverting fancy. The air was thick with dust, and under the high ceiling strap
-after strap, with hissing sound, glided quickly from wheel to wheel, endless in
-number. The far corners were invisible for the dense escaping vapours. Men
-emerged here and there like phantoms, and the human voice was not heard for the
-incessant din of the machines.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old man&rsquo;s fancy was at work&mdash;he had become a little boy for the
-moment, his mother was a gentlewoman, and he had his hoop and his little stick;
-he was playing, driving the hoop with the little stick. He wore a white
-costume, his little legs were plump, bare at the knee....
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The days passed; the work went on, the fancy persisted.
-</p>
-
-<h3>IV</h3>
-
-<p>
-The old man was returning from work one evening when he saw the hoop of an old
-barrel lying in the street. It was a rough, dirty object. The old man trembled
-with happiness, and tears appeared in his dull eyes. A sudden, almost
-irresistible desire took possession of him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He glanced cautiously around him; then he bent down, picked up the hoop with
-trembling hands, and smiling shamefacedly, carried it home with him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-No one noticed him, no one questioned him. Whose concern was it? A ragged old
-man was carrying an old, battered, useless hoop&mdash;who cared?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He carried it stealthily, afraid of ridicule. Why he picked it up and why he
-carried it, he himself could not tell. Still, it was like the boy&rsquo;s hoop,
-and this was enough. There was no harm in it lying about.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He could look at it; he could touch it. It would stimulate his reveries; the
-whistle and turmoil of the factory would grow fainter, the escaping vapours
-less dense....
-</p>
-
-<p>
-For several days the hoop lay under the bed in the old man&rsquo;s poor,
-cramped quarters. Sometimes he would take it from its place and look at it; the
-dirty, grey hoop soothed the old man, and the sight of it quickened his
-persistent thoughts about the happy little boy.
-</p>
-
-<h3>V</h3>
-
-<p>
-It was a clear, warm morning, and the birds were chirping away in the
-consumptive urban trees somewhat more cheerfully than usual. The old man rose
-early, took his hoop, and walked a little distance out of town.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He coughed as he made his way among the old trees and the thorny bushes in the
-woods. The trees, covered with their dry, blackish, bursting bark, seemed to
-him incomprehensibly and sternly silent. The odours were strange, the insects
-astonishing, the ferns of gigantic growth. There was neither dust nor din here,
-and the gentle, exquisite morning mist lay behind the trees. The old feet
-glided over the dry leaves and stumbled across the old gnarled roots.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The old man broke off a dry limb and hung his hoop upon it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He came upon an opening, full of daylight and of calm. The dewdrops, countless
-and opalescent, gleamed upon the green blades of newly mown grass.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Suddenly the old man let the hoop slide off the stick. He struck with the
-stick, and sent the hoop rolling across the green lawn. The old man laughed,
-brightened at once, and pursued the hoop like that little boy. He kicked up his
-feet and drove the hoop with his stick, which he flourished high over his head,
-just as that little boy did.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It seemed to him that he was small, beloved, and happy. It seemed to him that
-he was being looked after by his mother, who was following close behind and
-smiling. Like a child on his first outing, he felt refreshed on the bright
-grass, and on the still mosses.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His goat-like, dust-grey beard, that harmonized with his sallow face, trembled,
-while his cough mingled with his laughter, and raucous sounds came from his
-toothless mouth.
-</p>
-
-<h3>VI</h3>
-
-<p>
-And the old man grew to love his morning hour in the woods with the hoop.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He sometimes thought he might be discovered, and ridiculed&mdash;and this
-aroused him to a keen sense of shame. This shame resembled fear; he would grow
-numb, and his knees would give way under him. He would look round him with
-fright and timidity.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But no&mdash;there was no one to be seen, or to be heard....
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And having diverted himself to his heart&rsquo;s content he would return to the
-city, smiling gently and joyously.
-</p>
-
-<h3>VII</h3>
-
-<p>
-No one had ever found him out. And nothing unusual ever happened. The old man
-played peacefully for several days, and one very dewy morning he caught cold.
-He went to bed, and soon died. Dying in the factory hospital, among strangers,
-indifferent people, he smiled serenely.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His memories soothed him. He, too, had been a child; he, too, had laughed and
-scampered across the green grass, among the dark trees&mdash;his beloved mother
-had followed him with her eyes.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap10"></a>THE SEARCH</h2>
-
-<h3>I</h3>
-
-<p>
-The pleasant in life has a way of mixing with the unpleasant. It is pleasant to
-be a student of the first class, for it gives one a certain standing in the
-world. But even the life of a student of the first class is not free from
-unpleasantness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The first thing of which Shura was conscious when he awoke one morning was that
-something was tearing on his person. He felt uncomfortable. As he turned on his
-side he was even more clearly aware of the damage that his shirt had suffered.
-There was a large gap under the armpits, and presently he realized that it
-extended down to the very bottom.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura was sad. He remembered having told his mother only the day before about
-the condition of his shirt.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Wear it another day, Shurochka,&rdquo; she answered him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura frowned and said rather sadly: &ldquo;Mother, it won&rsquo;t stand
-another day&rsquo;s wear. To-morrow I shall be a ragamuffin.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Without looking up from her work she grumbled.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Let me have some peace. I have already promised you a change to-morrow
-evening. If you&rsquo;d only be less mischievous your clothes would last
-longer. You&rsquo;d wear out iron.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura, who was a quiet lad, growled back in reply:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;One simply couldn&rsquo;t be less mischievous than I. Only sometimes you
-can&rsquo;t help it, and then in a reasonable sort of way.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His request went unheeded. And here was the consequence. His shirt was torn to
-its very hem. It was now good for nothing, all for want of a little foresight.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He jumped out of bed, and ran semi-nude into the next-room, where his mother
-was making ready to go out to bring back some paying homework. The thought of
-going to school in discomfort and of waiting till evening vexed him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What did I tell you?&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;You wouldn&rsquo;t give
-me a shirt when I asked you yesterday. Now look what&rsquo;s happened!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Deeply annoyed, she looked at Shura and complained.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Aren&rsquo;t you ashamed to run about like that? I fear I&rsquo;ll never
-drum any sense into you. You always come bothering me when I&rsquo;m in a
-hurry.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Still, it was quite evident that it would not do to let the lad go in tatters.
-She found a brand new shirt and gave it to Shura somewhat reluctantly, as she
-had intended giving him one of the old ones, which were not due to arrive from
-the laundry until the evening.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura was overjoyed. The new linen gave him a pleasant sensation, its harsh
-cold surface tickled the skin most pleasantly. He laughed, and he pranced about
-the room as he dressed; and his mother was not there to scold him.
-</p>
-
-<h3>II</h3>
-
-<p>
-The school, as always, seemed such a strange place. It was both gay and
-depressing, and hummed with a kind of unnatural industry. It was gay in the
-intervals between the lessons, and extremely tedious during the lessons.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The subjects of study were most singular and useless. They concerned: folk, who
-had died long ago and did no good while they lived, and whom, for some unknown
-reason, it was necessary to recall after all these centuries, although some of
-the personages had never even existed; verbs, which were conjugated with
-something; nouns, which were declined for some purpose or other, though no use
-could be found for them in living speech; figures, which call for proofs of
-something which need not be proven at all; and much else, equally
-inconsequential and absurd. And there was nothing in all this that one could
-not do without; there was no correlation of facts, there was no straightforward
-answer to the eternal question: Why and Wherefore?
-</p>
-
-<h3>III</h3>
-
-<p>
-That morning early, in the assembly room, Mitya Krinin asked Shura:
-&ldquo;Well, have you brought it?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura recalled that he had promised to bring Krinin a book of popular songs. He
-replied: &ldquo;Just a moment. I&rsquo;ve left it in my overcoat.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He ran into the dressing-room. The bells suddenly rang out in all parts of the
-building, calling the students to prayer, without which the lessons could
-hardly be expected to begin.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura made haste. He put his hand in the overcoat pocket, found nothing; then,
-on discovering that it was some one else&rsquo;s overcoat, he exclaimed in
-vexation:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;There now, that&rsquo;s something new&mdash;my hand in another
-boy&rsquo;s overcoat!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he began to search in his own.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There was an outburst of derisive laughter. He looked around, startled, to find
-there the mischievous Dutikov, who called out in his unpleasant voice:
-&ldquo;So, my boy, you&rsquo;re going through other people&rsquo;s
-pockets!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura growled back angrily: &ldquo;It&rsquo;s not your affair. Anyway,
-I&rsquo;m not going through yours.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He found his book and ran back to the assembly room, where the students were
-already ranging themselves for the service, forming into long rows, according
-to height. The smaller students stood in front, near to the ikons, the taller
-behind; and in each row, in gradation, the lads on the right were taller than
-those on the left. The school faculty considered it necessary for them to pray
-in rows, and according to height; otherwise the prayer might come to nothing.
-Apart from them, there was a group of boys more proficient in chanting, and the
-leader of these, at the beginning of each chant, changed his voice several
-times&mdash;this was called &ldquo;setting the tone.&rdquo; The singing was
-loud, rapid, expressionless; they might have all been beating drums. The head
-student was reading in the prayer book the prayers which it was customary to
-read and not to sing&mdash;and his reading was just as loud, just as
-expressionless. In a word, it was the same as ever.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But after prayers something happened.
-</p>
-
-<h3>IV</h3>
-
-<p>
-Student Epiphanov, of the second class, brought with him to school that morning
-a pearl-handled penknife and a silver rouble, and now these were nowhere to be
-found. He raised a cry and went to complain.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-An investigation was started.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Dutikov reported that he had seen Shura Dolinin going through the pockets of
-some one&rsquo;s overcoat. Shura was called into the cabinet of the director.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sergey Ivanovich, the director, fixed his suspicious eyes on the lad. The old
-tutor, who saw an excellent chance of catching a thief, and incidentally of
-balancing accounts somewhat for tricks that had been played upon him by the
-mischievous lads, experienced malicious pleasure and pounced upon the confused,
-flushing lad with questions.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why were you in the dressing-room during prayer?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Before prayer, Sergey Ivanovich,&rdquo; whimpered Shura in a voice
-squeaky from fright.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Very well, before prayer,&rdquo; said the director with irony in his
-voice. &ldquo;What I want to know is why were you there?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura explained.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The director continued: &ldquo;Very well, after a book. But why in some one
-else&rsquo;s pocket?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It was a mistake,&rdquo; said Shura, distressed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A nice mistake,&rdquo; remarked the director dryly. &ldquo;Now confess,
-haven&rsquo;t you taken by mistake a penknife and a rouble. By mistake, mind
-you? Look through your pockets, my lad.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura began to cry, and said through his tears: &ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t stolen
-anything.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The director smiled. It was pleasant to provoke tears. Such beautiful and such
-large childish tears trickled down the pink cheeks in three separate streams:
-two streams of tears came from one eye, and only one from the other.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;If you haven&rsquo;t stolen anything why do you cry?&rdquo; said the
-director in a bantering tone. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t even say that you have
-stolen. I assume that you merely made a mistake: caught hold of something that
-came into your hand, and then forgot all about it. Suppose you look through
-your pockets.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura quickly drew from his pockets all the absurd trifles usually found on
-boys, and then turned both his pockets inside out.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; he said sadly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The director gave him a searching look.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are sure it hasn&rsquo;t dropped down in your clothes
-somewhere&mdash;the knife might have slipped into your boots, eh?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He rang. The watchman came.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura was crying. And everything round him seemed to float in a rose mist, in
-the incomprehensible mental void of his degradation. They turned Shura about,
-felt him all over, searched him. Little by little they undressed him. First
-they took off his boots and shook them out; they did the same with his
-stockings. His belt, blouse and breeches followed. Everything was shaken out
-and searched.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And through all this torment of shame, through all this indignity of a
-degrading and needless ceremony there penetrated one resplendent ray of joy;
-the torn shirt was at home, and the new, clean one rustled in the coarse hands
-of the zealous pedagogue.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Shura stood in his shirt, crying. Behind the door he could hear tumultuous
-voices and cries of joy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The door burst open, and a little, red-cheeked, smiling chap entered hurriedly.
-And through his shame, through his tears, and through his joy about the new
-shirt, Shura heard a confused and panting voice say:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s been found, Sergey Ivanovich. On Epiphanov himself. There was
-a hole in his pocket&mdash;the penknife and rouble slipped down into his
-boot.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, suddenly, they became gentle with Shura. They stroked his head, comforted
-him, and helped him to dress.
-</p>
-
-<h3>V</h3>
-
-<p>
-Now he cried, now he laughed. At home he again cried and laughed. He
-complained:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I was entirely undressed. It would have been nice, wouldn&rsquo;t it, if
-I had been wearing that torn shirt!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Later&mdash;yes, what happened later? His mother would go to the director. She
-wished to make a scene. Afterwards she would lodge a complaint against him. But
-she recalled, in the street, that her boy was a non-paying student. There was
-no scene. Besides, the director received her pleasantly. He was so apologetic.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The impression of his degradation remained with the boy. All its incidents had
-impressed themselves upon him: he had been suspected of theft, and searched,
-and he had stood, almost naked, undergoing the scrutiny of an officious person.
-Shameful? Let us, by all means, console ourselves that it is an experience
-useful to life.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Weeping, the mother said: &ldquo;Who knows&mdash;perhaps when you grow up,
-something of the sort will really happen. We&rsquo;ve heard of such things in
-our time.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="chap11"></a>THE WHITE MOTHER</h2>
-
-<h3>I</h3>
-
-<p>
-Easter was near. Esper Constantinovich Saksaoolov was in a painful and
-undecided state of mind. It seemed to have begun when he was asked at the
-Gorodischevs: &ldquo;Where are you greeting the holiday?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov, for some reason, did not reply at once. The housewife, who was
-stout, short-sighted and fussy, went on: &ldquo;Come to us.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov felt vexed&mdash;most likely at the young girl, who at the words of
-her mother gave him a quick glance, then averted it, and continued her
-conversation with a professor&rsquo;s young assistant.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mothers of grown daughters saw a possible husband in Saksaoolov, which annoyed
-him. He considered himself an old bachelor at thirty-seven.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He answered sharply: &ldquo;Thank you. But I always pass that night at
-home.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The girl glanced at him with a smile and asked: &ldquo;With whom?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Alone,&rdquo; answered Saksaoolov with a shade of astonishment in his
-voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a misanthrope,&rdquo; said Madame Gorodischeva, with a sour
-smile.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov valued his freedom. It seemed strange to him, whenever he thought of
-it, that he had been so near marriage once. He had lived long in his small but
-tastefully furnished apartment, had got used to his man attendant, the elderly
-and steady Fedota, and to Fedota&rsquo;s not less reliable spouse, who cooked
-his dinner; and he persuaded himself that he ought to remain single out of
-memory to his first love. In truth, his heart was growing cold from
-indifference born of a lonely, incomplete life.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He had his own fortune, his father and mother had died long ago, and he had no
-near relatives. He lived methodically and quietly; had something to do with a
-government department; was intimately acquainted with contemporary literature
-and art; and was something of an epicurean&mdash;but life itself seemed to him
-to be empty and aimless. Were it not that one pure, radiant fancy visited him
-at times he would have become entirely cold, like many others.
-</p>
-
-<h3>II</h3>
-
-<p>
-His first and only love, which ended before it had time to blossom, wrapt him
-closely in sad and sweet reveries, usually in the evenings. Five years earlier
-he had met a young girl who left an indelible impression upon him. She was
-pale, gentle, slender, with blue eyes, and fair wavy hair. She almost seemed to
-him not to belong to this earth, but was like a creature of air and mist, blown
-for a brief moment by fate into the city turmoil. Her movements were slow; her
-gentle, clear voice was soft, like the murmur of a brook purling over stones.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov, whether by chance or not, saw her always in a white dress. The
-impression of white had become inseparable from his thought of her. Her very
-name, Tamar, suggested to him something as white as the snow on the mountain
-tops.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He began to visit her at the house of her parents. More than once he had
-resolved to say to her those words which bind human fates together. But she
-never let him go on; she would always grow frightened and shy, and she would
-rise and leave him. What frightened her? Saksaoolov read signs of virgin love
-in her face; her eyes grew brighter when he entered, and a light flush suffused
-her cheeks.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But one never-to-be-forgotten day she listened to him. It was in the early
-spring. The ice on the river was gone, and the trees were covered with a soft
-green veil. Tamar and Saksaoolov were sitting before the window in the city
-house, and looking out on the Niva. He spoke, scarcely knowing what he said,
-but his words were both gentle and terrible to her. She grew pale, smiled
-vaguely, and rose. Her slender hand trembled on the carved top of the chair.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;To-morrow,&rdquo; Tamar said quietly, and went out.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov gazed with intense feeling toward the door behind which Tamar had
-disappeared. His head was in a whirl. His eye fell upon a sprig of white lilac;
-he picked it up almost absently, and left without bidding his hosts good-bye.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He could not sleep that night. He stood at the window and looked out into the
-far-stretching streets, at first dark, then lighter at dawn; he smiled and
-pressed the sprig of lilac between his fingers. When it grew light he noticed
-that the floor of the room was strewn with white petals of lilac. This seemed
-both curious and of happy omen to Saksaoolov. He felt the cool of the breeze on
-his heated face. He took a bath and he felt refreshed. Then he went to Tamar.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They told him that she was ill, that she had caught a cold somewhere. And
-Saksaoolov never saw her again; she died within two weeks. He did not go to her
-funeral. Her death left him quite calm, and he no longer knew whether he had
-loved her or whether it was a short, passing fascination.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He mused about her sometimes in the evening; but he gradually learned to forget
-her; and Saksaoolov had no portrait of her. But after a few years&mdash;more
-precisely, only a year ago&mdash;in the spring, upon seeing a sprig of lilac
-sadly out of place among rich eatables in a restaurant window, he remembered
-Tamar. And from that time on he loved to think of Tamar again during the
-evenings.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sometimes, as he fell into a light sleep, he dreamt that Tamar came to him, sat
-opposite him, and looked at him with unaverted, fond eyes; and that she had
-something to tell him. And it was painful to feel Tamar&rsquo;s expectant
-glance upon him, and not know what she wanted of him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Now, leaving the Gorodischevs, he thought timidly: &ldquo;She will come to give
-me the kiss of Easter.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A feeling of fear and loneliness took hold of him with such intensity that the
-idea came to him: &ldquo;Perhaps it would be well to marry so as not to be
-alone on holy, mysterious nights.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He thought of Valeria Mikhailovna, the Gorodischev girl. She was by no means a
-beauty, but she was always dressed becomingly to set off her looks. She
-apparently liked him, and was not likely to reject him if he asked her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The throng and din in the street distracted him and his usual somewhat ironic
-mood swayed his thoughts of the Gorodischev girl. Could he prove false to
-Tamar&rsquo;s memory for any one else? Everything in the world seemed so paltry
-to him that he wished no one but Tamar to give him the kiss of Easter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But,&rdquo; thought he, &ldquo;she will again look at me with
-expectancy. White, gentle Tamar, what does she want? Will her gentle lips kiss
-me?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>III</h3>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov thought sadly of Tamar as he wandered in the streets, and looking
-into the faces of the passers-by he thought many of the older people
-unpleasantly coarse. He recalled that there was no one with whom he would
-exchange the kiss of Easter with real desire and joy. There would be many
-coarse lips and prickly beards, smelling of wine, to kiss the first day.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was much pleasanter to kiss the children. Children&rsquo;s faces grew lovely
-in Saksaoolov&rsquo;s eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He walked a long time, and when he was tired he entered a church enclosure just
-off the noisy street. A pale lad sat on a form and looked up frightened at
-Saksaoolov; then he once more began to gaze absently before him. His blue eyes
-were gentle and sad, like Tamar&rsquo;s. He was so small that his feet
-projected from the seat.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov, who sat near him, began to eye him, half with pity, half with
-curiosity. There was something in this youngster that stirred his memory with
-joy, and at the same time excited him. In appearance he was a most ordinary
-urchin; he had on ragged clothes, a white fur cap on his bright hair, and a
-pair of dirty boots, worse for wear.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He sat long on the form, then he rose suddenly and gave a cry. He ran out of
-the gate into the street, then stopped, turned quickly in another direction,
-and again stopped. It was clear that he did not know which way to turn. He
-began to weep quietly, making no ado, and large tears ran down his cheeks. A
-crowd gathered. A policeman came. They began to ask him where he lived.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;At the Gliukhov house,&rdquo; he lisped in a childlike but indistinct
-tone.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;In what street,&rdquo; the policeman asked.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The boy did not know, and only kept on repeating: &ldquo;At the Gliukhov
-house.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young and good-natured policeman thought awhile, and decided that there was
-no such house near.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;With whom do you live?&rdquo; asked a gruff workman. &ldquo;With your
-father?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have no father,&rdquo; answered the boy, as he scanned the faces round
-him with his tearful eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So you&rsquo;ve got no father, that&rsquo;s how it is,&rdquo; said the
-workman gravely, and shook his head. &ldquo;Then where&rsquo;s your
-mother?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have a mother,&rdquo; the boy replied.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What&rsquo;s her name?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma,&rdquo; said the boy; then, upon reflection, he added,
-&ldquo;black mamma.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Some one laughed in the crowd.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Black? I wonder whether that&rsquo;s the name of the family?&rdquo;
-suggested the gruff workman.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;First it was a white mamma, and now it&rsquo;s a black mamma,&rdquo;
-said the boy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no making head or tail of this,&rdquo; decided the
-policeman. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll take him to the station. They&rsquo;ll telephone
-about it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He went to the gate and rang. But the house-porter had already seen the
-policeman and, besom in hand, he was coming to the gate. The policeman ordered
-him to take the boy to the station. But the boy suddenly bethought himself, and
-cried out: &ldquo;Never mind, let me go, I&rsquo;ll find the way myself.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Perhaps he was frightened of the house-porter&rsquo;s besom, or perhaps he had
-really recalled something; at any rate he ran off so hard that Saksaoolov
-almost lost sight of him. But soon the boy walked more quietly. He turned
-street corners and ran from one side to the other searching for, but not
-finding, his home. Saksaoolov followed him in silence. He was not an adept at
-talking to children.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At last the boy grew tired. He stopped before a lamp-post and leant against it.
-Tears gleamed in his eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My dear boy,&rdquo; said Saksaoolov, &ldquo;haven&rsquo;t you found it
-yet?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The lad looked at him with his sad, soft eyes, and Saksaoolov suddenly
-understood what had impelled him to follow the boy with such resolution. There
-was something in the face and glance of the little wanderer that gave him an
-unusual likeness to Tamar.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My dear boy, what&rsquo;s your name?&rdquo; asked Saksaoolov in a tender
-and agitated voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Lesha,&rdquo; said the boy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Tell me, dear Lesha, do you live with your mother?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, with mamma. Only now it&rsquo;s a black mamma&mdash;and before it
-was a white mamma.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov thought that by black mamma he meant a nun.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How did you get lost?&rdquo; he asked.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I walked with mamma, and we walked and walked. She told me to sit down
-and wait, and then she went away. And I got frightened.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Who is your mother?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My mamma? She&rsquo;s so black and so angry.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What does she do?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The boy thought awhile.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She drinks coffee,&rdquo; he said.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What else does she do?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She quarrels with the lodgers,&rdquo; answered Lesha after a pause.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And where is your white mamma?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She was carried away. She was put into a coffin and carried away. And
-papa was carried away.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The boy pointed into the distance somewhere and burst into tears.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What&rsquo;s to be done with him?&rdquo; thought Saksaoolov.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then suddenly the boy began to run again. After he had turned a few corners he
-went more quietly. Saksaoolov overtook him a second time. The lad&rsquo;s face
-expressed a strange mixture of joy and fear.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s the Gliukhov house,&rdquo; he said to Saksaoolov, as he
-pointed to a huge, five-storeyed monstrosity.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At this moment there appeared at the gates of the Gliukhov house a
-black-haired, black-eyed woman in a black dress, a black kerchief with white
-dots on her head. The boy shrank back in fear.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma,&rdquo; he whispered.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His stepmother looked at him with astonishment.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How did you get here, you young whelp!&rdquo; she shrieked out. &ldquo;I
-told you to sit on the bench, didn&rsquo;t I?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She seemed to be on the point of whipping him when she noticed that some sort
-of gentleman, serious and dignified in appearance, was watching them, and she
-spoke more softly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t I leave you for a half-hour anywhere without you taking to
-your heels? I&rsquo;ve walked my feet off looking for you, you young
-whelp!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She caught the child&rsquo;s very small hand in her own huge one and dragged
-him within the gate. Saksaoolov made a note of the house number and the name of
-the street, and went home.
-</p>
-
-<h3>IV</h3>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov liked to listen to the opinions of Fedota. When he returned home he
-told him about the boy Lesha.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She did it on purpose,&rdquo; decided Fedota. &ldquo;Just think what a
-witch she is to take the boy such a way from home!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why should she?&rdquo; Saksaoolov asked.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s simple enough. What can you expect of a stupid woman! She
-thought the boy would get lost somewhere, and some one would pick him up. After
-all, she&rsquo;s a stepmother. What&rsquo;s a homeless child to her?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov was incredulous. He observed: &ldquo;But the police would have found
-her out.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Of course they would; but you can&rsquo;t tell, she may have meant to
-leave town; then find her if you can.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov smiled.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Really,&rdquo; he thought, &ldquo;my Fedota should be a district
-attorney.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He fell into a doze that evening as he sat reading before a lamp. Tamar
-appeared to him&mdash;the gentle, white Tamar&mdash;and sat down beside him.
-Her face was strangely like Lesha&rsquo;s face. She looked steadily and
-persistently, and awaited something. It tormented Saksaoolov to see her bright,
-pleading eyes, and not to know what she wanted. He rose quickly and went to the
-armchair where he thought he saw Tamar sitting. He stopped before her and asked
-loudly and with emotion:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What do you wish? Tell me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But she was no longer there.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It was only a dream,&rdquo; thought Saksaoolov sadly.
-</p>
-
-<h3>V</h3>
-
-<p>
-The next day, as he was leaving the academy exhibition, Saksaoolov met the
-Gorodischevs. He told the girl about Lesha.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Poor boy,&rdquo; said Valeria Mikhailovna quietly. &ldquo;His stepmother
-is trying to get rid of him.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That&rsquo;s yet to be proved,&rdquo; said Saksaoolov.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He felt annoyed that every one, including Fedota and Valeria, should look so
-tragically upon a simple incident.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That&rsquo;s quite evident,&rdquo; said Valeria Mikhailovna warmly.
-&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no father, and only a stepmother to whom he is simply a
-burden. No good will come of it&mdash;the boy will have a sad end.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You take too gloomy a view of the matter,&rdquo; observed Saksaoolov,
-with a smile.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You ought to take him to yourself,&rdquo; Valeria Mikhailovna advised
-him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I?&rdquo; asked Saksaoolov with astonishment.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are living alone,&rdquo; Valeria Mikhailovna persisted. &ldquo;You
-have no one. Here&rsquo;s a chance for you to do a good deed at Eastertime! At
-least, you&rsquo;ll have some one with whom to exchange the kiss of
-Easter.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I beg you to tell me, Valeria Mikhailovna, what am I to do with a
-child?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You might engage a governess. Fate itself is sending the boy to
-you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov looked with amazement and involuntary tenderness at the girl&rsquo;s
-flushed, animated face.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When Tamar again appeared to him that evening he seemed already to know her
-wish. It was as though, in the silence of the room, he heard her tranquilly
-spoken words: &ldquo;Do as she advised you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov rose joyously and rubbed his drowsy eyes with his hand. He saw a
-sprig of white lilac on the table, and was astonished. How did it come there?
-Did Tamar leave it there as a sign of her wish?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he suddenly thought that if he married the Gorodischeva girl and took Lesha
-into his house he would be carrying out the will of Tamar. He breathed in the
-lilac&rsquo;s aroma happily. He suddenly remembered that he himself had bought
-the sprig of lilac that same day.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then he argued with himself: &ldquo;It really doesn&rsquo;t matter that I had
-bought it myself; its real significance is that I had an impulse to buy it; and
-that later I forgot that I had bought it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>VI</h3>
-
-<p>
-Next morning he went to fetch Lesha. The boy met him at the gate and showed him
-where he lived. Lesha&rsquo;s black mamma was drinking coffee, and was
-quarrelling with her red-nosed lodger. Saksaoolov learnt something about Lesha
-from her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The lad lost his mother when he was three. His father married this black woman,
-and himself died within a year. The black woman, Irina Ivanovna, had her own
-son, now a year old. She was about to marry again. The wedding would take place
-in a few days and after the ceremony she would go with her husband to the
-provinces. Lesha was a stranger to her and she would rather do without him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Give him to me,&rdquo; suggested Saksaoolov.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;With great pleasure,&rdquo; said Irina Ivanovna with unconcealed and
-malignant joy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She added after a short silence: &ldquo;Only you will pay for his
-clothes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And so Lesha was presently installed at Saksaoolov&rsquo;s. The Gorodischeva
-girl helped in the finding of a governess and in other details of Lesha&rsquo;s
-comfort. This required her to visit Saksaoolov&rsquo;s apartments. She assumed
-a different appearance in Saksaoolov&rsquo;s eyes as she busied herself in
-these various cares. It was as though the door to her soul opened itself to
-him. Her eyes had become beaming and gentle, and she was permeated with almost
-the same tranquillity that breathed from Tamar.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-VII
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lesha&rsquo;s stories about the white mamma won over Fedota and his wife. As
-they put him to bed on Easter eve, they hung a white candied egg above his
-head.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s from the white mamma,&rdquo; said Christina, &ldquo;only you
-darling mustn&rsquo;t touch it; at least not until the resurrection, when
-you&rsquo;ll hear the bell ring.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lesha lay down obediently. He looked long at the egg of joy and at last fell
-asleep.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov was sitting alone in another room. Just before midnight an
-unconquerable drowsiness again closed his eyes, and he was glad that he would
-soon see Tamar.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At last she came, all in white, joyous, bringing with her glad tidings from
-afar. She smiled gently, then bent over him, and&mdash;unspeakable
-happiness!&mdash;Saksaoolov&rsquo;s lips felt a tender contact.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A sweet voice said softly: &ldquo;<i>Christoss Voskress!</i>&rdquo; (Christ has
-risen).
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov, without opening his eyes stretched out his arms and embraced a
-slender, gentle body. It was Lesha who climbed on his knees and gave him the
-kiss of Easter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The church bell had awakened the boy. He seized the white egg and ran to
-Saksaoolov.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saksaoolov opened his eyes. Lesha laughed as he showed him the egg.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;White mamma has sent it,&rdquo; he lisped, &ldquo;and I&rsquo;ll give it
-to you, and you can give it to Aunt Valeria.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Very well, my dear boy, I&rsquo;ll do as you say,&rdquo; said
-Saksaoolov.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He put Lesha to bed, then went to Valeria Mikhailovna with Lesha&rsquo;s white
-egg, a gift from the white mamma, but which really seemed to him at that moment
-to be a gift from Tamar herself.
-</p>
-
-<h4>THE END</h4>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
-
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-  "DATA": {
-    "CREDIT": "Produced by Marc D'Hooghe (Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.)"
-  }
-}
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-
-The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Old House and Other Tales, by Feodor Sologub
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
-the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-Title: The Old House and Other Tales
-
-Author: Feodor Sologub
-
-Release Date: March 10, 2015 [EBook #48452]
-Last updated: November 15, 2019
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD HOUSE AND OTHER TALES ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org
-(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.)
-
-cover
-
-frontispiece
-
-
-
-
-The Old House
-
-and Other Tales
-
-by Feodor Sologub
-
-AUTHORISED TRANSLATION FROM THE RUSSIAN
-
-BY JOHN COURNOS
-
-_SECOND IMPRESSION_
-
-LONDON
-
-MARTIN SECKER
-
-NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET
-
-ADELPHI
-
-1916
-
-_Acknowledgments are due to the Editor of “The New Statesman” for
-permission to republish The White Dog and The Hoop, which first appeared in
-that periodical_.
-
-Contents
-
- INTRODUCTION
- THE OLD HOUSE
- THE UNITER OF SOULS
- THE INVOKER OF THE BEAST
- THE WHITE DOG
- LIGHT AND SHADOWS
- THE GLIMMER OF HUNGER
- HIDE AND SEEK
- THE SMILE
- THE HOOP
- THE SEARCH
- THE WHITE MOTHER
-
-
-
-
-INTRODUCTION
-
-
-_“Sologub” is a pseudonym—the author’s real name is Feodor Kuzmich
-Teternikov. He was born in 1863. He completed a scholastic course at
-Petrograd. His first published story appeared in the periodical
-“Severny Viestnik” in 1894, but it was not until about a dozen years
-later that he came into his fame, which he has since then further
-enhanced_.
-
-_This is all the biographical knowledge we have of a living novelist
-whose place in Russian literature is secure beyond all question; the
-scantiness of our knowledge is all the more amazing when we consider
-that the author is over fifty, and that his complete works are in their
-twentieth volume_.
-
-_These include almost every possible form of literary expression—the
-fairy tale, the poem, the play, the essay, the novel, and the short
-story. Sologub’s place as a poet is hardly less assured than his place
-as a novelist_.
-
-_How little importance Sologub attaches to personal_ réclame _may be
-gathered from his answer to repeated requests for a nutshell
-“autobiography” a type of document in vogue in Russia; Maxim Gorky’s
-impressive model, I believe, is quite familiar to English readers_.
-
-_“I cannot give you my autobiography,” Sologub wrote to the editor of a
-literary almanac, “as I do not think that my personality can be of
-sufficient interest to any one. And I haven’t the time to waste on such
-unnecessary business as an autobiography.”_
-
-_At the beginning of his Complete Works, however, there is a poem in
-prose, a kind of spiritual autobiography in which he insists that all
-life is a miracle, and that his own surely is also. “I simply and
-calmly reveal my soul ... in the hope that the intimate part of me
-shall become the universal.” After such an avowal the reader will know
-where to look for the author’s personality_.
-
-_In studying his work, one finds that he has both realism and fantasy.
-But while he is sometimes wholly realistic, he is seldom wholly
-fantastic. His fantasy has always its foundations in reality. His
-realism is as grey as that of Chekhov, whose logical successor he has
-been acclaimed by Russian criticism. But it is his prodigious fantasy
-that makes the point of his departure from the Chekhovian formula. When
-he combines the two qualities, the strange reconciliation thus effected
-produces a result as original as it is rich in “the meaning of life.”
-Sologub himself says somewhere_:
-
-_“I take a piece of life, coarse and poor, and make of it a delightful
-legend_.”
-
-_This sentence establishes the distinction between the two writers.
-Life for Chekhov may contain its delightful characters, life itself is
-seldom a delightful legend_.
-
-_Actually, Sologub sees life more greyly than Chekhov; perhaps it is
-this sense of grief “too great to be borne” that compels him to grope
-for an outlet, for some kind of relief. Already in his earliest novel
-one of the characters gives utterance to the significant words_:
-
-“_Once you prove that life has no meaning, life becomes impossible_.”
-
-_This relief is to be found within oneself in the “inner life”; that is
-in the imagination, “imagination the great consoler” as Renan has said.
-Imagination is everything; it is, indeed, the invoker of all beauty;
-and admiration of beauty is the one escape out of life. The author,
-“with whatever words he can find, speaks of one thing. Patiently calls
-towards the one thing....” Writing of the sadness of life, he envelops
-this sadness in the beauty evoked by his imagination as in a flame, and
-withers it up. One finds him rejoicing that there is a life other than
-“this ordinary, coarse, tedious, sunlight life,” that there is a life
-that is “nocturnal, prodigious, resembling a fairy tale.”_
-
-_It may sound like a startling antinomy to say that at his happiest
-Sologub is a compound of Chekhov and Poe. It could be put in another
-way: if Poe were a Russian, he might have written as Sologub writes.
-This is to say that the mystery with which Sologub endows his tales is
-never there for its own sake, but as a most intense symbol of reality._
-
-_Consider a story like “The Invoker of the Beast.” As a story of
-reincarnation it is a masterpiece of mystery. The reader, anxious for a
-good tale merely, may let the matter rest there. But can he? Can he
-listen to Gurov, who, while living through, in his delirium, his
-previous existence, is so insistent about the “invincibility of his
-walls”—and yet remain unmoved to the deep meaning of Gurov’s cry? Are
-not the seemingly imperishable walls, within which Gurov thought
-himself secure from the Beast, a symbol of our own subtle insecurity?
-Is not our own Beast—be it some unexpected latent circumstance, or some
-unlooked-for yet inevitable consequence of a past action, on the part
-of our ancestors or of ourselves—ready to pounce upon us and ravage our
-hearts, after a long and relentless pursuit, from which in the end
-there is no escape?_
-
-_Again, to one who has read most of Sologub’s productions, the story of
-the Beast is interesting, because it contains, as it were, a synthesis
-of the author’s tendencies. Its separate motifs are repeated in
-variation in many of his other stories. There is the boy Timarides,
-whom the author loves. Why?_
-
-_Because Timarides is a child, because he is beautiful, trustful, and
-ready to do daring deeds. Timarides perhaps stands for the young
-generation reproaching the old for its neglect, its forgetfulness of
-its promises, its settling in a groove, its stripping itself of its
-happiest illusions_.
-
-_And throughout his work, Sologub reiterates his affection for children
-and the childlike. When he loves or pities an older person, he endows
-him with childlike attributes. He does this in the little story, “The
-Hoop.” Does the old man seem absurd to us? If so, it is to be inferred
-that the fault is with ourselves. We have grown too sophisticated_.
-
-_Here, again, Chekhov and Sologub meet. Chekhov loves the unpractical
-people, because they are usually more lovable personalities than the
-successful, practical ones; Sologub loves the absurd, the childlike,
-the quixotic, for the same reason_.
-
-_Rather than have them grow up and therefore become unlovable, Sologub
-makes some of his children die young. There is, for example, in one of
-his stories, sweet Rayechka, who died in a fall, and upon whom the boy,
-Mitya, recalling her, muses in this fashion: “Had Rayechka lived to
-grow up, she might have become a housemaid like Darya, pomaded her
-hair, and squinted her cunning eyes.”_
-
-_In “The Old House” it is the children once more who are the
-revolutionaries—trustful, adorable, and daring. In “The White Mother”
-the bachelor, Saksaoolov, is redeemed through the boy, Lesha, who
-resembles his dead sweetheart_.
-
-_Schoolmasters and schoolchildren are among the characters who frequent
-the pages of Sologub’s books. Sologub, it should be remembered, began
-life as a schoolmaster. The story “Light and Shadows” is, perhaps, a
-reflection upon our educational system which crams the young mind with
-a multitude of useless facts and starves the imagination; we see the
-reaction of the system on the delicate organism of a sensitive and
-imaginative child_.
-
-_Mothers share the author’s affection for their children; but, like
-schoolmasters, mothers, unfortunately, are of two kinds. The world has
-its “black mammas” as well as its “white mammas.”_
-
-_There are few writers who are so subtle, so insinuating, and so
-seductive, in their power to make the reader think; few writers who
-give so great a stimulus to the imagination_.
-
-_With Chekhov, Russian fiction turns definitely to town life for its
-material; nevertheless, the changes which the modern industrial system
-has brought about have in no wise weakened the mystic force of Russian
-literature. Sologub is a mystic, a mystic of Russian tradition; and
-Sologub is a product of Petrograd_.
-
-_JOHN COURNOS_
-
-
-
-
-THE OLD HOUSE[1]
-
-I
-
-
-It was an old, large, one-storied house, with a mezzanine. It stood in
-a village, eleven versts from a railway station, and about fifty versts
-from the district town. The garden which surrounded the house seemed
-lost in drowsiness, while beyond it stretched vistas and vistas of
-inexpressibly dull, infinitely depressing fields.
-
-Once this house had been painted lavender, but now it was faded. Its
-roof, once red, had turned dark brown. But the pillars of the terrace
-were still quite strong, the little arbours in the garden were intact,
-and there was an Aphrodite in the shrubbery.
-
-It seemed as if the old house were full of memories. It stood, as it
-were, dreaming, recalling, lapsing finally into a mood of sorrow at the
-overwhelming flood of doleful memories.
-
-Everything in this house was as before, as in those days when the whole
-family lived there together in the summer, when Borya was yet alive.
-
-Now, in the old manor, lived only women: Borya’s grandmother, Elena
-Kirillovna Vodolenskaya; Borya’s mother, Sofia Alexandrovna Ozoreva;
-and Borya’s sister, Natalya Vasilyevna. The old grandmother, and the
-mother, and the young girl appeared tranquil, and at times even
-cheerful. It was the second year of their awaiting in the old house the
-youngest of the family, Boris. Boris who was no longer among the
-living.
-
-They hardly spoke of him to one another; yet their thoughts, their
-memories, and their musings of him filled their days. At times dark
-threads of grief stole in among the even woof of these thoughts and
-reveries; and tears fell bitterly and ceaselessly.
-
-When the midday sun rested overhead, when the sad moon beckoned, when
-the rosy dawn blew its cool breezes, when the evening sun blazed its
-red laughter—these were the four points between which their spirits
-fluctuated from evening joy to high midday sorrow. Swayed
-involuntarily, all three of them felt the sympathy and antipathy of the
-hours, each mood in turn.
-
-The happiness of dawn, the bright, midday sadness, the joy of dusk, the
-pale pining of night. The four emotions lifted them infinitely higher
-than the rope upon which Borya had swung, upon which Borya had died.
-
- [1] In collaboration with Anastasya Chebotarevskaya.
-
-II
-
-At pale-rose dawn, when the merrily green, harmoniously white birches
-bend their wet branches before the windows, just beyond the little
-patch of sand by the round flower-bed; at pale-rose dawn—when a fresh
-breeze comes blowing from the bathing pond—then wakes Natasha, the
-first of the three.
-
-What a joy it is to wake at dawn! To throw aside the cool cover of
-muslin, to rest upon the elbow, upon one’s side, and to look out of the
-window with large, dark, sad eyes.
-
-Out of the window the sky is visible, seeming quite low over the white
-distant birches. A pale vermilion sunrise brightly suffuses its soft
-fire through the thin mist which stretches over the earth. There is in
-its quiet, gently joyous flame a great tension of young fears and of
-half-conscious desires; what tension, what happiness, and what sadness!
-It smiles through the dew of sweet morning tears, over white
-lilies-of-the-valley, over the blue violets of the broad fields.
-
-Wherefore tears! To what end the grief of night!
-
-There, close to the window, hangs a sprig of sweet-flag, banishing all
-evil. It was put there by the grandmother, and the old nurse insists on
-its staying there. It trembles in the air, the sprig of sweet-flag, and
-smiles its dry green smile.
-
-Natasha’s face lapses into a quiet, rosy serenity.
-
-The earth awakes in its fresh morning vigour. The voices of
-newly-roused life reach Natasha. Here the restless twitter of birds
-comes from among the swaying damp branches. There in the distance can
-be heard the prolonged trill of a horn. Elsewhere, quite near, on the
-path by the window, there are sounds of something walking with a heavy,
-stamping tread. The cheerful neighing of a foal is heard, and from
-another quarter the protracted lowing of sullen cows.
-
-III
-
-Natasha rises, smiles at something, and goes quickly to the window. Her
-window looks down upon the earth from a height. It is in three
-sections, in the mezzanine. Natasha does not draw the curtains across
-it at night, so as not to hide from her drowsing eyes the comforting
-glimmer of the stars and the witching face of the moon.
-
-What happiness it is to open the window, to fling it wide open with a
-vigorous thrust of the hand! From the direction of the river the
-gentlest of morning breezes comes blowing into Natasha’s face, still
-somewhat rapt in sleep. Beyond the garden and the hedges she can see
-the broad fields beloved from childhood. Spread over them are sloping
-hillocks, rows of ploughed soil, green groves, and clusters of
-shrubbery.
-
-The river winds its way among the green, full of capricious turnings.
-White tufts of mist, dispersing gradually, hang over it like fragments
-of a torn veil. The stream, visible in places, is more often hidden by
-some projection of its low bank, but in the far distance its path is
-marked by dense masses of willow-herb, which stand out dark green
-against the bright grass.
-
-Natasha washed herself quickly; it was pleasant to feel the cold water
-upon her shoulders and upon her neck. Then, childlike, she prayed
-diligently before the ikon in the dark corner, her knees not upon the
-rug but upon the bare floor, in the hope that it might please God.
-
-She repeated her daily prayer:
-
-“Perform a miracle, O Lord!”
-
-And she bent her face to the floor.
-
-She rose. Then quickly she put on her gay, light dress with broad
-shoulder-straps, cut square on the breast, and a leather belt, drawn in
-at the back with a large buckle. Quickly she plaited her dark braids,
-and deftly wound them round her head. With a flourish she stuck into
-them horn combs and hairpins, the first that came to her hand. She
-threw over her shoulders a grey, knitted kerchief, pleasantly soft in
-texture, and made haste to go out onto the terrace of the old house.
-
-The narrow inner staircase creaked gently under Natasha’s light step.
-It was pleasant to feel the contact of the cold hard floor of planks
-under her warm feet.
-
-When Natasha descended and passed down the corridor and through the
-dining-room, she walked on tip-toe so as to awaken neither her mother
-nor her grandmother. Upon her face was a sweet expression of cheerful
-preoccupation, and between her brows a slight contraction. This
-contraction had remained as it was formed in those other days.
-
-The curtains in the dining-room were still drawn. The room seemed dark
-and oppressive. She wanted to run through quickly, past the large
-drawn-out table. She had no wish to stop at the sideboard to snatch
-something to eat.
-
-Quicker, quicker! Toward freedom, toward the open, toward the smiles of
-the careless dawn which does not think of wearisome yesterdays.
-
-IV
-
-It was bright and refreshing on the terrace. Natasha’s light-coloured
-dress suddenly kindled with the pale-rose smiles of the early sun. A
-soft breeze blew from the garden. It caressed and kissed Natasha’s
-feet.
-
-Natasha seated herself in a wicker chair, and leant her slender rosy
-elbows upon the broad parapet of the terrace. She directed her gaze
-toward the gate between the hedges beyond which the grey silent road
-was visible, gently serene in the pale rose light.
-
-Natasha looked long, intently, with a steady pensive gaze in her dark
-eyes. A small vein quivered at the left corner of her mouth. The left
-brow trembled almost imperceptibly. The vertical contraction between
-her eyes defined itself rather sharply. Equal to the fixity of the
-tremulous, ruby-like flame of the rising sun, was the fixed vision of
-her very intent, motionless eyes.
-
-If an observer were to give a long and searching look at Natasha as she
-sat there in the sunrise, it would seem to him that she was not
-observing what was before her, but that her intent gaze was fixed on
-something very far away, at something that was not in sight.
-
-It was as though she wished to see some one who was not there, some one
-she was waiting for, some one who will come—who will come to-day. Only
-let the miracle happen. Yes, the miracle!
-
-V
-
-Natasha’s grey daily routine was before her. It was always the same,
-always in the same place. And as yesterday, as to-morrow, as always,
-the same people. Eternal unchanging people.
-
-A _muzhik_ walked along with a monotonous swing, the iron heels of his
-boots striking the hard clay of the road with a resounding clang. A
-peasant woman walked unsteadily by, softly rustling her way through the
-dewy grass, showing her sunburnt legs. Regarding the old house with a
-kind of awe, a number of sweet, sunburnt, dirty, white-haired urchins
-ran by.
-
-Past the house, always past it. No one thought of stopping at the gate.
-And no one saw the young girl behind that pillar of the terrace.
-
-Sweet-briar bloomed near the gate. It let fall its first pale-rose
-petals on the yellow sandy path, petals of heavenly innocence even in
-their actual fall. The roses in the garden exhaled their sweet,
-passionate perfume. At the terrace itself, reflecting the light of the
-sky, they flaunted their bright rosy smiles, their aromatic shameless
-dreams and desires, innocent as all was innocent in the primordial
-paradise, innocent as only the perfumes of roses are innocent upon this
-earth. White tobacco plants and red poppies bloomed in one part of the
-garden. And just beyond a marble Aphrodite gleamed white, like some
-eternal emblem of beauty, in the green, refreshing, aromatic, joyous
-life of this passing day.
-
-Natasha said quietly to herself: “He must have changed a great deal.
-Perhaps I shan’t know him when he comes.”
-
-And quietly she answered herself: “But I would know him at once by his
-voice and his eyes.”
-
-And listening intently she seemed to hear his deep, sonorous voice.
-Then she seemed to see his dark eyes, and their flaming, dauntless,
-youthfully-bold glance. And again she listened intently and gave a
-searching look into the great distance. She bent down lightly, and
-inclined her sensitive ear toward something while her glance, pensive
-and motionless, seemed no less fixed. It was as though she had stopped
-suddenly in an attitude, tense and not a little wild.
-
-The rosy smile of the now blazing sunrise timidly played on Natasha’s
-pale face.
-
-VI
-
-A voice in the distance gave a cry, and there was an answering echo.
-
-Natasha shivered. She started, sighed, and then rose. Down the low,
-broad steps she descended into the garden, and found herself on the
-sandy path. The fine grey sand grated under her small and narrow feet,
-which left behind their delicate traces.
-
-Natasha approached the white marble statue.
-
-For a long time she gazed upon the tranquil beauty of the goddess’s
-face, so remote from her own tedious, dried-up life, and then upon the
-ever-youthful form, nude and unashamed, radiating freedom. Roses
-bloomed at the foot of the plain pedestal. They added the enchantment
-of their brief aromatic existence to the enchantment of eternal beauty.
-
-Very quietly Natasha addressed the Aphrodite.
-
-“If he should come to-day, I will put into the buttonhole of his jacket
-the most scarlet, the most lovely of these roses. He is swarthy, and
-his eyes are dark—yes, I shall take the most scarlet of your roses!”
-
-The goddess smiled. Gathering up with her beautiful hands the serene
-draperies which fell about her knees, silently but unmistakably she
-answered, “Yes.”
-
-And Natasha said again: “I will plait a wreath of scarlet roses, and I
-will let down my hair, my long, dark hair; and I will put on the
-wreath, and I will dance and laugh and sing, to comfort him, to make
-him joyous.”
-
-And again the goddess said to her, “Yes.”
-
-Natasha spoke again: “You will remember him. You will recognize him.
-You gods remember everything. Only we people forget. In order to
-destroy and to create—ourselves and you.”
-
-And in the silence of the white marble was clear the eternal “Yes,” the
-comforting answer, “Yes.”
-
-Natasha sighed and took her eyes from the statue. The sunrise blazed
-into a flame; the joyous garden smiled with the radiations of dawn’s
-ever-youthful, triumphant laughter.
-
-VII
-
-Then Natasha went quietly toward the gate. There again she looked a
-long time down the road. She had her hand on the gate in an attitude of
-expectation, ready, as it were, to swing it wide open before him who
-was coming, before him whom she awaited.
-
-Stirring the grey dust of the road the refreshing early wind blew
-softly into Natasha’s face, and whispered in her ears persistent, evil
-and ominous things, as though it envied her expectation, her tense
-calm.
-
-O wind, you who blow everywhere, you know all, you come and you go at
-will, and you pursue your way into the endless beyond.
-
-O wind, you who blow everywhere, perchance you have flown into the
-regions where he is? Perchance you have brought tidings of him?
-
-If you would but bring hither a single sigh from him, or bear one hence
-to him; if but the light, pale shadow of a word.
-
-When the early wind blows a flush comes to Natasha’s face, and a flame
-to her eyes; her red lips quiver, a few tears appear, her slender form
-sways slightly—all this when the wind blows, the cool, the desolate,
-the unmindful, the infinitely wise wind. It blows, and in its blowing
-there is the sense of fleeting, irrevocable time.
-
-It blows, and it stings, and it brings sadness, and pitilessly it goes
-on.
-
-It goes on, and the frail dust falls back in the road, grey-rose yet
-dim in the dawn. It has wiped out all its traces, it has forgotten all
-who have walked upon it, and it lies faintly rose in the dawn.
-
-There is a gnawing at the heart from the sweet sadness of expectation.
-Some one seems to stand near Natasha, whispering in her ear: “He will
-come. He is on the way. Go and meet him.”
-
-VIII
-
-Natasha opens the gate and goes quickly down the road in the direction
-of the distant railway station. Having walked as far as the hillock by
-the river, one and a half versts away, Natasha pauses and looks into
-the distance.
-
-A clear view of the road is to be had from this hillock. Somewhere
-below, among the meadows, a curlew gives a sharp cry. The pleasant
-smell of the damp grass fills the air.
-
-The sun is rising. Suddenly everything becomes white, bright, and
-clear. Joyousness fills the great open expanse. On the top of the
-hillock the morning wind blows more strongly and more sweetly. It seems
-to have forgotten its desolation and its grief.
-
-The grass is quite wet with dew. How gently it clings to her ankles. It
-is resplendent in its multi-coloured, gem-like, tear-like glitter.
-
-The red sun rises slowly but triumphantly above the blue mist of the
-horizon. In its bright red flame there is a hidden foreboding of quiet
-melancholy.
-
-Natasha lowers her glance upon the wet grass. Sweet little flowers! She
-recognizes the flower of faithfulness, the blue periwinkle.
-
-Here also, quite near, reminiscent of death, is the black madwort. But
-what of that? Is it not everywhere? Soothe us, soothe us, little blue
-flowers!
-
-“I will not pluck a single one of you; not one of you will I plait into
-my wreath.”
-
-She stands, waiting, watching.
-
-Were he to show himself in the road she would recognize him even in the
-distance. But no—there is no one. The road is deserted, and the misty
-distances are dumb.
-
-IX
-
-Natasha remains standing a little while, then turns back. Her feet sink
-in the wet grass. The tall stalks half wind themselves round her ankles
-and rustle against the hem of her light-coloured dress. Natasha’s
-graceful arms, half hidden by the grey knitted kerchief, hang subdued
-at her sides. Her eyes have already lost their fixed expression, and
-have begun to jump from object to object.
-
-How often have they walked this road, all together, her little sisters,
-and Borya! They were noisy with merriment. What did they not talk
-about! Their quarrels! What proud songs they sang! Now she was alone,
-and there was no sign of Borya.
-
-Why were they waiting for him? In what manner would he come? She did
-not know. Perhaps she would not recognize him.
-
-There awakens in Natasha’s heart a presentiment of bitter thoughts.
-With a heavy rustle an evil serpent begins to stir in the darkness of
-her wearied memory.
-
-Slowly and sorrowfully Natasha turns her steps homeward. Her eyes are
-drowsy and seem to look aimlessly, with fallen and fatigued glances.
-The grass now seems disagreeably damp, the wind malicious; her feet
-feel the wet, and the hem of her thin dress has grown heavy with
-moisture. The new light of a new day, resplendent, glimmering with the
-play of the laughing dew, resounding with the hum of birds and the
-voices of human folk, becomes again for Natasha tiresomely blatant.
-
-What does a new day matter? Why invoke the unattainable?
-
-The murmur of pitiless memory, at first faint, grows more audible. The
-heavy burden of insurmountable sorrow falls on the heart like an
-aspen-grey weight. The heart feels proudly the pressure of the
-inexpressibly painful foreboding of tears.
-
-As she nears the house Natasha increases her pace. Faster and yet
-faster, in response to the growing beat of her sorrowful heart, she is
-running over the dry clay of the road, over the wet grass of the
-bypath, trodden by pedestrians, over the moist, crunching, sandy
-footpaths of the garden, which still treasure the gentle traces left by
-her at dawn. Natasha runs across the warm planks, as yet unswept of
-dust and litter. And she no longer tries to step lightly and inaudibly.
-She stumbles across the astonished, open-mouthed Glasha. She runs
-impetuously and noisily up the stairway to her room, and throws herself
-on the bed. She pulls the coverlet over her head, and falls asleep.
-
-X
-
-Borya’s grandmother, Elena Kirillovna, sleeps below. She is old, and
-she cannot sleep in the morning; but never in all her life has she
-risen early; so even now she is awake only a little later than Natasha.
-Elena Kirillovna, straight, thin, motionless, the back of her head
-resting on the pillow, lies for a long time waiting for the maid to
-bring her a cup of coffee—she has long ago accustomed herself to have
-her coffee in bed.
-
-Elena Kirillovna has a dry, yellow face, marked with many wrinkles; but
-her eyes are still sparkling, and her hair is black, especially by day,
-when she uses a cosmetic.
-
-The maid Glasha is habitually late. She sleeps well in the morning, for
-in the evening she loves to stroll over to the bridge in the village.
-The harmonica makes merry there, and on holidays all sorts of jolly
-folk and maidens dance and sing.
-
-Elena Kirillovna rings a number of times. In the end the unanswering
-stillness behind the door begins to irritate her. Sadly she turns on
-her side, grumbling. She stretches her dry, yellow hand forward and
-with a kind of concentrated intentness presses her bent, bony finger a
-long time on the white bell-button lying on the little round table at
-her head.
-
-At last Glasha hears the prolonged, jarring ring above her head. She
-jumps quickly from her bed, and anxiously gropes about for something or
-other in her narrow quarters under the stairway of the mezzanine; then
-she throws a skirt over her head, and hurries to her old mistress.
-While running she arranges somehow her heavy, tangled braids.
-
-Glasha’s face is angry and sleepy. She reels in her drowsiness. On the
-way to her mistress’s bedroom the morning air refreshes her a little.
-She faces her mistress looking more or less normal.
-
-Glasha has on a pink skirt and a white blouse. In the semi-darkness of
-the curtained windows her sunburnt arms and strong legs seem almost
-white. Young, strong, rustic and impetuous, she suddenly appears before
-her old mistress’s bed, her vigorous tread causing the heavy metal bed
-with its nickelled posts and surmounting knobs to rattle slightly, and
-the tumbler on the small round table to tinkle against the flagon.
-
-XI
-
-Elena Kirillovna greets Glasha with her customary observation:
-
-“Glasha, when am I to have my coffee? I ring and ring, and no one
-comes. You, girl, seem to sleep like the dead.”
-
-Glasha’s face assumes a look of astonishment and fear. Restraining a
-yawn, she bends down to put a disarranged rug in order, and puts a pair
-of soft, worn slippers closer to the bed. Then assuming an excessively
-tender, deferential tone which old gentlewomen like in their servants,
-she remarks:
-
-“Forgive me, _barinya_,[2] it shan’t take a minute. But how early you
-are awake to-day, _barinya_! Did you have a bad night?”
-
-Elena Kirillovna replies:
-
-“What sort of sleep can one except at my age! Get me my coffee a little
-more quickly, and I will try to get up.”
-
-She now speaks more calmly, despite the capricious note in her voice.
-
-Glasha replies heartily:
-
-“This very minute, _barinya_. You shall have it at once.”
-
-And she turns about to go out.
-
-Elena Kirillovna stops her with an angry exclamation:
-
-“Glasha, where are you going? You seem to forget, no matter how often I
-tell you! Draw the curtains aside.”
-
-Glasha, with some agility, thrusts back the curtains of the two windows
-and flies out of the room. She is rather low of stature and slender,
-and one can tell from her face that she is intelligent, but the sound
-of her rapid footsteps is measured and heavy, giving the impression
-that the runner is large, powerful, heavy, and capable of doing
-everything but what requires lightness. The mistress grumbles, looking
-after her:
-
-“Lord, how she stamps with her feet! She spares neither the floor nor
-her own heels!”
-
- [2] Means “gentlewoman,” and is a common form of salutation from
- servant to mistress.
-
-XII
-
-At last the sound of Glasha’s feet dies away in the echoing silence of
-the long corridor. The old lady lies, waiting, thinking. She is once
-more straight and motionless under her bed-cover, and very yellow and
-very still. Her whole life seems to be concentrated in the living
-sparkle of her keen eyes.
-
-The sun, still low, throws a subdued rosy light on the wall facing her.
-The bedroom is lit-up and quiet. Swift atoms of dust are dancing about
-in the air. There is a glitter on the glass of the photographic
-portraits which hang on the wall, as well as on the narrow gilt rims of
-their black frames.
-
-Elena Kirillovna looks at the portraits. Her keen, youthfully sparkling
-eyes carefully scrutinize the beloved faces. Many of these are no
-longer upon the earth.
-
-Borya’s portrait is a large one, in a broad dark frame. It is a young
-face, the face of a seventeen-year-old lad, quite smooth and with dark
-eyes. The upper lip shows a small but vigorous growth of hair. The lips
-are tightly compressed and the entire face gives the impression of an
-indomitable will.
-
-Elena Kirillovna looks long at the portrait, and recalls Borya. Of all
-her grandsons she loved him best. And now she is recalling him. She
-sees him as he had once looked. Where is he now? Before long Borya will
-return. She will be overjoyed, her eyes will have their fill of him.
-But how soon?
-
-It comforts the old woman to think, “It can’t be very long.”
-
-Some one has just run past her window, giving a shrill cry.
-
-Elena Kirillovna, turning in her bed, looks out of the window.
-
-The white acacia trees before the window, gaily rustling their leaves,
-smile innocently, naïvely and cheerily. Behind them, looming densely,
-are the tops of the birches and of the limes. Some of the branches lean
-toward the window. Their harsh rustle evokes a memory in Elena
-Kirillovna.
-
-If Borya were but to cry out like that! He had loved this garden. He
-had loved the white bloom of the acacia trees, and he had loved to
-gather the little field flowers. He used to bring her some. He liked
-cornflowers specially.
-
-XIII
-
-At last Glasha has come with the coffee. She has placed a silver tray
-on the little round table near the bed. Above the broad blue-and-gold
-porcelain cup rises a thin bluish cloud of steam.
-
-Elena Kirillovna draws her scant body higher upon the pillows, and sits
-upright in her bed; she seems straight, dry, and thin in her white
-night-jacket. With trembling hands she very fastidiously rearranges the
-ribbons of her white ruffled nightcap.
-
-Glasha, with great solicitude and skill, has placed a number of pillows
-at her back, and these piled up high make a soft wall of comfort.
-
-The little silver spoon held by the old dry fingers rings with fragile
-laughter as it stirs the sugar in the cup. Afterwards out of a small
-milk-jug comes a generous helping of boiled milk. And Glasha, having
-shifted somewhat to the side in order to catch a stealthy look of
-herself in the mirror, goes out.
-
-Elena Kirillovna sips her coffee slowly. She breaks a sugared biscuit,
-throws half of it in the cup, and leaves it there for a time. Then,
-when it is completely softened, she carefully takes it out with the
-little spoon.
-
-Elena Kirillovna’s teeth are still quite strong. She is very proud of
-this; nevertheless she has preferred of late to eat softer things. She
-munches away at the wet biscuit. Her face expresses gratification. Her
-small, keen eyes sparkle merrily.
-
-When the coffee is finished Elena Kirillovna lies down again. She dozes
-for half an hour on her back, under the bed-cover. Then she rings again
-and waits.
-
-XIV
-
-Glasha comes in. She has had time to comb her hair and to put on a pink
-blouse, and this makes her seem even thinner. As she is in no haste her
-footfalls sound even heavier than before.
-
-Glasha approaches her mistress’s bed and silently throws the bed-cover
-aside. She helps Elena Kirillovna to sit on the bed, holding her up
-under the arm. Then, getting down on her knees, she helps her mistress
-to put on her long black stockings and her soft grey slippers.
-
-Elena Kirillovna holds on to Glasha’s shoulder with her trembling,
-nervous hands. She envies Glasha’s youth, strength, and naïve
-simplicity. Grumbling under her breath at her unfortunate lot, Elena
-Kirillovna imagines in her dejection that she would be willing to
-sacrifice all her comfort to become like Glasha, a common servant-maid
-with coarse hands and feet red from rough usage and the wet—if she
-could but possess the youth, the cheerfulness, the sang-froid, and the
-happiness attainable upon this earth only by the stupid.
-
-The old woman grumbles often at her fate, but is quite unwilling to
-give up a single one of her gentlewoman’s habits.
-
-Glasha says, “All ready, _barinya._”
-
-“Now my capote, Glasha,” Elena Kirillovna says as she gets up.
-
-But Glasha herself knows what is wanted. She deftly puts on Elena
-Kirillovna’s shoulders a white flannel robe.
-
-“Now you may go, Glashenka. I will ring if I want you again.”
-
-XV
-
-Glasha goes. She hurries to the veranda staircase.
-
-Here she washes herself a second time in a clay turn-over basin, which
-is attached by a rope to one of the posts of the veranda; she quickly
-plunges her face and hands in the water that had been left there
-overnight. She splashes the water a long way off on the green grass, on
-the lilac-grey planks of the staircase and on her feet, which are red
-from the early morning freshness and from the tender contact with the
-dewy grass in the vegetable garden. She laughs happily at
-herself—because she is a young, healthy girl, because the early morning
-freshness caresses the length of her strong, swift body with brisk cool
-strokes; and finally, because not far away, in the village, there is a
-lively and handsome young fellow, not unlike herself, who pays
-attention to her and whom she is rather fond of. It is true that her
-mother scolds her on his account, because the young man is poor. But
-what’s that to Glasha? Not for nothing is there an adage:
-
-“Without bread ’tis very sad,
-Still sadder ’tis without a lad.”
-
-
-Glasha laughs loudly and merrily.
-
-Stepanida cries at her from the kitchen window: “Glash, Glash, why do
-you neigh like a horse?”
-
-Glasha laughs, makes no reply, and goes off.
-
-Stepanida puts her simple, red face out of the window and asks: “I
-wonder what’s the matter with her.”
-
-She receives no answer, for there is no one to reply. Out of doors all
-is deserted. Only somewhere from behind the barn the languid voices of
-working-men can be heard.
-
-XVI
-
-In the meantime Elena Kirillovna kneels down with a sigh before the
-ikon in her bedroom. She prays a long time. Conscientiously she repeats
-all the prayers she knows. Her dry, raspberry-coloured lips stir
-slightly. Her face has a severe, concentrated expression. All her
-wrinkles seem also austere, weary, callous.
-
-There are many words in her prayers—holy, lofty, touching words. But
-because of their frequent repetition their meaning has become, as it
-were, hardened, stereotyped and ordinary; the tears which appear in her
-eyes are habitual tears wrung out by her antique emotion, and have no
-relation to the secret trepidation of impossible hopes which have
-stolen into the old woman’s heart of late.
-
-Diligently her lips murmur prayers each day for the forgiveness of
-sins, voluntary and involuntary, committed in deed, in word, or in
-thought; prayers for the purification of our souls of all defilement;
-and again words concerning our impieties, our evil actions, our
-disregard of commandments, our general unworthiness, our worldly
-frailty, and the temptations of Satan; and again concerning the
-accursed soul and the accursed body and the sensual life; and her words
-embrace only universal evil and all-pervading depravity. Surely these
-prayers were composed for Titans, created to reconstruct the universe,
-but who, out of shamefaced indolence, are attending to this business
-with their arms hanging at their sides.
-
-And not a word does she utter of her own, her personal affliction, of
-what is in her soul.
-
-The old, dried-up lips mumble of mercy, of generosity, of brotherly
-love, of the holy life—of all those lofty regions pouring out their
-bounty upon all creation. And not a word of the miracle, awaited
-eagerly and with trepidation.
-
-But here are words for those who are in prison and in exile; it is a
-prayer for their liberation, for their redemption.
-
-Here is something at last about Borya.
-
-Freedom and redemption....
-
-But the prayer runs on and on, and it is again for strangers, for
-distant people, for the universal; only for an instant, and then
-lightly, does she pause to put in something for herself, for her
-desire, for what is in her heart.
-
-Then for the dead—for those others, the long since departed, the almost
-forgotten, the resurrected only in word in the hour of these strangers,
-prayed for in this easy, gliding way all the world over where piety
-reigns.
-
-The prayers are ended. Elena Kirillovna lingers for a moment. She has
-an air of having forgotten to say something indispensable.
-
-What else? Or has she said all?
-
-“All”—some one seems to say simply, softly and inexorably.
-
-Elena Kirillovna rises from her knees. She goes to the window. Her soul
-is calm and self-contained. The prayer has not left her in a mood of
-piety, but has relieved her weary soul for a brief time of its
-material, matter-of-fact existence.
-
-XVII
-
-Elena Kirillovna looks out of the window. She is returning, as it were,
-once more from some dark, abstract world to the bright,
-profusely-coloured, resonant impressions of a rough, cheery, not
-altogether disagreeable life.
-
-Small white clouds tinged with red float slowly in the heights and
-merge imperceptibly in the vivid blue. Ablaze like a piece of coal at
-red heat their soul seems to fuse with their cold white bodies, to
-consume them as well as itself with fire, and to sink exhausted in the
-cold blue heights. The sun, as yet invisible behind the left wing of
-the house, has already begun to pour upon the garden its warm and
-glowing waves of laughter, joy and light, animating the flowers and
-birds.
-
-“Well, it’s time to dress,” Elena Kirillovna says to herself.
-
-She rings.
-
-Soon Glasha appears and helps Elena Kirillovna to dress.
-
-At last she is ready. She casts a final look in the mirror to see that
-everything is in order.
-
-Elena Kirillovna’s hair is very neatly combed, and lightly brushed down
-with a cosmetic. This makes it shine and appear as though it were glued
-together. At her every movement in the light there is visible, from
-right to left, a slender silver thread, due to the reflection of light
-at the parting of the smoothed coiffure. Her face shows slight traces
-of powder.
-
-Elena Kirillovna’s dress is always of a light colour, when not actually
-white, and of the simplest cut. The small soft ruffle of the broad
-collar hides her neck and chin. She has already substituted for her
-dressing slippers a pair of light summer shoes.
-
-XVIII
-
-Elena Kirillovna enters the dining-room. She looks on as the table is
-being laid for breakfast. She always notes the slightest disorder. She
-grumbles quietly as she picks up something from one place on the table
-and puts it in another.
-
-Then she goes into the large, unused front room, with its closed door
-on to the staircase of the front façade. She walks along the corridor
-to the vestibule and to the back staircase. She stops on the high
-landing, wrinkles up her face from the sun, and looks down to see what
-is going on in the yard. Small, quite erect, like a young school-girl
-with a yellow, wrinkled face which expresses at the moment a severe
-domestic concern, she stands, looks on, and is silent; she is, it
-seems, unnecessary here. No one pays her the slightest attention.
-
-“Good morning, Stepanida,” she calls out. Stepanida, a buxom,
-red-cheeked maid in a bright red dress, under which is visible a strip
-of her white chemise and her stout sunburnt legs, is attending to the
-samovar at the bottom of the stairs, and is vigorously blowing to set
-the fire going. Upon her head is a neatly-arranged green kerchief,
-which hides her folded braids of hair like a head-dress.
-
-The bulging sides of the samovar glow radiantly in the sun. Its bent
-chimney sends out a curl of blue smoke, which smells sharply,
-pungently, and not altogether disagreeably, of juniper and tar.
-
-In answer to the old mistress’s greeting Stepanida raises her broad,
-cheerfully-preoccupied face, with its small, dark brown eyes, and says
-in prolonged caressing tones, sing-song fashion:
-
-“Good morning to you, _matushka barinya_.[3] It’s a fine morning, to be
-sure. How warm it is, by the grace of God! And you’re up early,
-_matushka barinya_!”
-
-Her words are indeed honeyed, and above in the sweet air an early,
-shaggy bee hovers, with a thick buzzing, tremulously golden in the
-clear, fluid haze of the early, gentle sun. Silent again, Stepanida is
-once more busy with the samovar; the disenchanted bee flies away, its
-buzzing growing less and less audible behind the fence.
-
-The pungent smell of tar causes Elena Kirillovna to frown. She says:
-
-“What makes the thing smell so strongly? You had better leave it for a
-while, or you will get giddy.”
-
-Stepanida, without moving, answers languidly and indifferently:
-
-“It’s nothing, _barinya_. We are used to it. It’s but a slight smell,
-and it is the juniper.”
-
-Through the blue, curling smoke of juniper her sweet voice seems dull
-and bitter. There is a tickling at Elena Kirillovna’s throat. There is
-a slight giddiness in her head. Elena Kirillovna makes haste to go. She
-descends the staircase, and proceeds upon her customary morning stroll.
-
- [3] Literally: “Little mother—gentlewoman.”
-
-XIX
-
-Glasha soon overtakes her. With an exaggerated loudness she runs
-stamping down the stairs, showing a wing-like glimmer of her strong
-legs from under the pink skirt, set a-flutter by her vigorous movement.
-She calls out in a clear, solicitously joyous voice:
-
-“_Barinya_, you have come out! The sun will scorch you. I’ve fetched
-your hat.”
-
-The yellow straw hat, with its lavender ribbon, glimmers in Glasha’s
-hands like some strange, low-fluttering bird.
-
-Elena Kirillovna, as she puts the hat on, says: “Why do you run about
-in such disorder! You ought to tidy yourself—you know whom we are
-expecting.”
-
-Glasha is silent, and her face assumes a compassionate expression. For
-a long time she looks after her strolling mistress, then she smiles and
-walks back.
-
-Stepanida asks her in a loud whisper: “Well, is she still expecting her
-grandson?”
-
-“Rather!” Glasha replies compassionately. “And it’s simply pitiful to
-look at them. They never stop thinking about him.”
-
-In the meanwhile Elena Kirillovna makes her way across the vegetable
-garden, past the labourers and the servants in the stockyard, and then
-across the field. Near the garden fence she enters the road.
-
-There, not far from the garden, in the shade of an old, spreading lime,
-stands a bench—a board upon two supports, which still shows traces of
-having been once painted green. From this place a view is to be had of
-the road, of the garden, and of the house.
-
-Elena Kirillovna seats herself upon the bench. She looks out on the
-road. She sits quietly, seeming so small, so slender, and so erect. She
-waits a long time. She falls into a doze.
-
-Through the thin haze of slumber she can see a beloved, smooth face
-smiling, and she can hear a quiet, dear voice calling:
-
-“Grandma!”
-
-She gives a start and opens her eyes. There is no one there. But she
-waits. She believes and waits.
-
-XX
-
-There is a lightness in the air. The road is radiant and tranquil. A
-gentle, refreshing breeze softly passes and repasses her. The sun is
-warming her old bones, it is caressing her lean back through her dress.
-Everything round her rejoices in the green, the golden, and the blue.
-The foliage of the birches, of the willows, and of the limes in full
-bloom is rustling quietly. From the fields comes the honeyed smell of
-clover.
-
-Oh, how light and lovely the air is upon the earth!
-
-How beautiful thou art, my earth, my golden, my emerald, my sapphire
-earth! Who, born to thy heritage would care to die, would care to close
-his eyes upon thy serene beauties and upon thy magnificent spaces? Who,
-resting in thee, damp Mother Earth, would not wish to rise, would not
-wish to return to thy enchantments and to thy delights? And what stern
-fate shall drive one who is aflame with life-thirst to seek the shelter
-of death?
-
-Upon the road where once he walked he shall walk again. Upon the earth,
-which still preserves his footprints, he shall walk again. Borya, the
-grandmother’s beloved Borya, shall return.
-
-A golden bee flies by. It seems to say, the golden bee, that Borya will
-return to the quiet of the old house and will taste the fragrant
-honey—the sweet gift of the wise bees, buzzing under the sun upon the
-beloved earth. The old grandmother, in her joy, will place before the
-ikon of the Virgin a candle of the purest bees’-wax—a gift of the wise
-bees, buzzing away among the gold of the sun’s rays—a gift to man and a
-gift to God.
-
-Women and girls of the village pass by with their sunburnt, wind-swept
-faces. They greet the _barinya_ and look at her with compassion. Elena
-Kirillovna smiles at them, and addresses them in her usual gentle
-manner:
-
-“Good morning, my dears!”
-
-They pass by. Their loud voices die away in the distance, and Elena
-Kirillovna soon forgets them. They will pass by once more that day,
-when the time comes. They will pass by. They will return. Upon the
-road, where their dusty footprints remain, they will pass by once more.
-
-XXI
-
-Elena Kirillovna suddenly awoke from her drowse and looked at the
-things before her with a perplexed gaze. Everything seemed to be clear,
-bright, free from care—and relentless.
-
-Inevitably the triumphant sun rose higher in the heavens’ dome. Grown
-powerful, wise and resplendent, it seemed indifferent now to oppressive
-earthly melancholy and to sweet earthly delights. And its laughter was
-high, joyless, and sorrowless.
-
-Everything as before was green, blue and gold, many-toned and vividly
-tinted; truly all the objects of nature showed the real colour of their
-souls in honour of this feast of light. But the fine dust upon the
-silent road had already lost its rose tinge, and stirred before the
-wind like a grey, depressing veil. And when the wind calmed down, the
-dust slowly fell back upon the road, like a grey, blind serpent which,
-trailing its fat, fantastic belly, falls back exhausted, gasping its
-last breath.
-
-All monotony had become wearisome. This inevitable recurrence of lucid
-moments began to torment Elena Kirillovna with the grey foreboding of
-sadness, of bitter tears, of unanswered prayers, and of a profound
-hopelessness.
-
-XXII
-
-Glasha appeared at the garden gate. She glanced cheerfully along both
-sides of the road. Walking more slowly she approached Elena Kirillovna
-deferentially.
-
-Glasha looked quite ordinary now, stiff-mannered and stupid. There was
-nothing to envy in her. Her dress too was quite common-place. Her
-braids were arranged upon her head quite like a young lady’s, and held
-fast by three combs of transparent bone. Her blouse was
-light-coloured—pink stripes and lavender flowers on a ground of
-white—its short sleeves reached the elbows. She wore a neat blue skirt
-and a white apron.
-
-Elena Kirillovna asked:
-
-“Well, what is it, Glashenka? Is Sonyushka up yet?”
-
-Glasha replied in a respectful voice:
-
-“Sofia Alexandrovna is getting up. She wants me to ask you if we shall
-lay the table on the terrace?”
-
-“Yes, yes, let it be on the terrace. And how is Natashenka?” asked
-Elena Kirillovna, looking anxiously at Glasha.
-
-“The young lady is asleep,” answered Glasha. “To-day again, quite
-early, she went out for a walk straight from bed, without so much as a
-bite of something. Her skirt’s wet with dew. She might have caught a
-cold. And now she sleeps. If you’d but talk to her.”
-
-Elena Kirillovna said irresolutely:
-
-“Very well. I had better be going. All right, Glasha.”
-
-Glasha goes. Elena Kirillovna rises slowly from the bench, as though
-she regretted moving from the spot where she saw Borya in a half-dream.
-Slowly she walks toward the house.
-
-Having reached the gate she pauses, and again looks for some moments
-down the road, in the direction of the station.
-
-A cart rumbles by noisily over the travelled road. The _muzhik_ barely
-holds the reins and rocks from side to side sleepily. The harnessed
-horse swings its tail and its head. A white-haired urchin, in broad
-blue breeches, lets his brown feet hang over the edge of the cart and
-stares with his bright hazel eyes at a gaunt, evil-looking dog which
-runs after, barking hoarsely.
-
-Elena Kirillovna gives a sigh—there is as yet no Borya—and enters the
-garden.
-
-Glasha’s light-coloured blouse glimmers on the terrace. There is a
-rattle of dishes. The grumbling chatter of Borya’s old nurse is also
-audible.
-
-XXIII
-
-The last to awake, with the sun quite high and scorching, is Borya’s
-mother, Sofia Alexandrovna. Through the thin bright curtains, drawn for
-the night across the windows, the light fills her bedroom.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna awakes with a start, as though some one had touched
-her suddenly or had called to her. With her right hand she impetuously
-throws aside her light white bed-cover. Quickly she sits up in bed,
-holding her hands over her bent knees. For a moment she looks before
-her at a bare place in the simple pattern of the bright green hangings.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna’s eyes are dark, wide open, with black, fiery pupils
-which seem lost in the abysmal, depths of their own sorrowful gaze. Her
-face is long, its skin smooth and colourless, though quite fresh and
-almost free of wrinkles. The lips are a vivid red.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna’s expression is like that of one faced suddenly with
-a tragic apparition. She rocks herself back and forward.
-
-Then, abruptly, she jumps out of bed with a single spring. She runs to
-the washing-basin of marble mounted on a red stand. She washes herself
-quickly, as though in haste to go somewhere. Now she is at the window.
-The curtains are flung violently aside. She peers anxiously to see what
-the outlook is—whether there are any clouds in the sky that might bring
-rain and make the road muddy, the road upon which Borya would return
-home.
-
-The heavens are tremulously joyous. The birches are rustling quietly.
-The sparrows are twittering. Everything is green, bright, quivering;
-everything palpitates under the tension of hopes and anticipations.
-Voices are audible; cries of good cheer and sounds of laughter. One of
-the laughers runs by, as though making haste to live.
-
-A torrent of tears floods Sofia Alexandrovna’s eyes. Her breast heaves
-visibly under the white linen chemise.
-
-XXIV
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna goes to the image. She thrusts aside with her foot
-the small velvet rug which Glasha had purposely laid there the day
-before. She throws herself down on her knees before the image. You hear
-her knees strike the floor softly. Sofia Alexandrovna quietly crosses
-herself, bends her face to the floor, and mutters passionately:
-
-“O Lord, Thou knowest, Thou knowest all, Thou canst do all. Do this, O
-Lord, return him to us, to his mother, return him to-day.”
-
-Her prayer is warm and passionate, quite unlike a prayer. Its words are
-disconnected, and they fall confusedly, like small, broken tears. Her
-naked feet come in contact with the cold, painted floor. And the
-entire, warm, prostrate body of the weeping woman is throbbing and
-trembling on the boards. Her head repeatedly strikes the boards,
-loosening her dark braids of hair.
-
-She does not pray long. The torrents of tears have cleansed her soul,
-as it were; and she becomes at once cheerful and tranquil.
-
-She rises quite, as suddenly, and rings. She seats herself on the edge
-of the bed, and dries her tears with a soft handkerchief. Then she
-laughs silently. She swings one of her feet impatiently, striking the
-rug in front of the bed with the toes. Her eyes wander about the room,
-but seem to observe nothing.
-
-Glasha had only just begun to dress, and she had only tied the strings
-of her apron round her slender waist. The sharp impatient ring causes
-her to start. She runs to the _barinya_, seizing quickly at the same
-time a pair of blackened boots and some clothes from the laundry.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna cries in an urgent voice:
-
-“Now be quick, Glasha. Help me on with my things.”
-
-She looks on impatiently as Glasha puts down her burden.
-
-The daily ceremony is gone through quickly. Sofia Alexandrovna dresses
-herself. Glasha only draws on her boots, and hooks up her dress behind.
-
-Soon Sofia Alexandrovna is quite ready. She gives a brief, vacant look
-in the mirror.
-
-Her pale face still seems to be young and handsome. She is slender,
-like her mother, and small in stature. She has on a closely fitting
-white dress with short, wide sleeves. Her coiffure is arranged in a
-Greek knot, held fast with a red ribbon. Her slender, shapely feet are
-clad in coloured silk stockings and white shoes with silver buckles.
-
-XXV
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna goes quickly into the dining-room. She pours herself
-a glass of fresh milk out of a jug on the table. She drinks it
-standing, and munches a piece of black bread with it.
-
-She orders the things for dinner at the same time. She chooses dishes
-loved by Borya. She stops to recollect whether Borya likes this, or
-does not like that.
-
-Stepanida listens to her sadly, and replies in a tearful voice:
-
-“Yes, I know! Why shouldn’t I know? It’s not the first time.”
-
-Glasha asks something. The old, tottering nurse rattles on rather
-volubly. Sofia Alexandrovna answers them mechanically and rapidly. She
-seems all the while to be listening intently, either for the sound of a
-distant little bell, or for the rumble of wheels on the road. She makes
-her way out in haste. And she no longer listens to what is being said
-to her. She goes out.
-
-She enters Borya’s study. Everything there is as in the old days, and
-in order. When Borya comes back he will find everything in its place.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna, with great concern, takes a rapid look round the
-room. She wishes to see whether everything is in its place, whether the
-dust has been swept, whether the rug has been laid before the bed, and
-whether the inkstand has been filled with ink. She herself changes the
-water in the vase which holds the cornflowers. If anything is out of
-place she gives way to tears, then rings for Glasha, and heaps
-reproaches upon her.
-
-Glasha’s face assumes a frightened, compassionate look. In a most
-humble manner she begs forgiveness.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna remonstrates with her:
-
-“How can you be so careless, Glasha? You know that we are expecting him
-every minute. Suppose he should suddenly come in and find this
-disorder.”
-
-Glasha replies humbly:
-
-“Forgive me, _barinya_. Don’t think any more about it. I’ll quickly put
-everything to rights.”
-
-As she goes out she wipes away two or three tears with her white apron.
-
-XXVI
-
-With the same undue haste Sofia Alexandrovna goes into the garden. She
-sees nothing, neither the white Aphrodite nor her roses, on her way to
-the little arbour from which, overlooking a corner of the garden, the
-road is visible. Vividly green in the sun, a four-sloped roof covers
-the arbour, while hangings of coarse cloth, with a red border, serve as
-a protection against inquisitive eyes.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna looks down the road with dark, hungry eyes. She
-waits impatiently, listening to the rapid, uneven beat of her heart;
-she waits: Borya will surely come in sight.
-
-The wind blows into her face, and partly conceals it with the hangings;
-her face is pale, and her eyes are dry. The sun warmly kisses her
-slender arms, which lie motionless on the broad, lavender-grey parapet
-of the arbour. Everything is bright, green and gay in the fields, but
-her eyes are fixed on the grey serpent of dust trailing among the
-freedom of the fields.
-
-If they await him like this surely Borya will come.
-
-But there is no sign of him. In vain her hungry glances penetrate the
-open waste. There is no Borya. More fixed and piercing grows her glance
-of infinite longing upon the road—but there is no Borya.
-
-Everything is as before, as yesterday, as always. Tranquil, serene and
-pitiless.
-
-XXVII
-
-The hour of the early luncheon came. All three sat at the table on the
-terrace. There was a fourth place laid, and a fourth chair, for who
-could tell whether Borya might not arrive at luncheon time!
-
-The sun was already high. The day was turning sultry. The fragrance of
-the red roses at the foot of the goddess’s pedestal became ever more
-passionate. And the smile of the marble-white Aphrodite was even more
-clear and serene, as she let fall her draperies with a marvellous grace
-born of eternal movement. In the bright sunshine the sand on the
-footpaths seemed yellow-white. The trees cast austere dark shadows.
-They seemed to exhale an odour of the soil, of sap, and of warmth.
-
-The women sat so that each one of them, looking beyond the drawn
-hangings of the terrace and over the bushes, could see the short narrow
-path ending at the garden gate, where a part of the road was also
-visible; they could not fail to observe every passer-by and every
-vehicle.
-
-But during this hour of the day hardly anyone ever walked or drove by
-the old house.
-
-Glasha waited on them. She had on a newly-laundered cap with starched
-ribbons and plaited frills fitting tightly over her hair. The
-snow-white cap shone pleasantly above Glasha’s fresh, sunburnt face.
-
-In the garden, on a form just under the terrace, sat Borya’s old nurse,
-dressed in a dark lavender blouse, black skirt, with a dark blue
-kerchief over her head. She was warming her old bones in the sun, and
-listening to the conversation on the terrace; now she grumbled, now she
-dozed.
-
-Broad-boned and stout, she had a round, amiable face, and even through
-the compact network of wrinkles there were palpable suggestions of
-former beauty. Her eyes were clear. The grey hair was flatly combed
-down. Her figure and her face wore a settled expression of languid good
-nature.
-
-XXVIII
-
-As always, they eat and drink, and they keep up a cheerful and friendly
-chatter. Sometimes two of them speak together. A stranger in the garden
-might conclude that a large company is gathered on the terrace.
-
-Frequently Borya’s name is mentioned.
-
-“To be sure, Borya likes....”
-
-“Perhaps Borya will bring....”
-
-“It is strange Borya is not yet here....”
-
-“Perhaps Borya will come in the evening....”
-
-“We must ask Borya whether he has read....”
-
-“It is possible this is not new to Borya....”
-
-While below, under the terrace, the old nurse, each time she hears
-Borya’s name, crosses herself and mumbles:
-
-“O Lord, rest the soul of thy servant, Boris.”
-
-At first her voice is low, but it gradually grows louder and louder.
-Finally the three women at the table can hear her words. They tremble
-slightly and exchange anxious glances, into which steals an expression
-of perplexed fear. So they begin to speak even louder, and to laugh
-even more merrily. They permit no intervals of silence, and the hum of
-their talk and laughter prevents for the time their hearing the nurse’s
-mumbling in the garden.
-
-But their voices inevitably fall after a mention of the beloved name,
-and now again they hear the tranquil, terrible words:
-
-“O Lord, rest the soul....”
-
-They sit at luncheon long, but they talk more industriously than they
-eat. They glance nervously toward the gate. It seems a terrible thing
-to have to leave the table and to go somewhere while Borya is not yet
-with them.
-
-XXIX
-
-Toward the end of luncheon the post arrives. Grisha, a
-fourteen-year-old youngster, goes for it daily to the station on
-horseback. Raising clouds of dust he jumps off briskly at the gate.
-Leaving his horse he enters the garden carrying a black leather bag,
-and smiles broadly at something or other. Ascending the long steps of
-the terrace he announces loudly and joyously:
-
-“I’ve fetched the post!”
-
-He is cheery, sunburnt, perspiring. He smells of the sun, of the soil,
-of dust and tar. His hands and feet are as large as a man’s. His lips
-are soft and pouting, like those of a sweet-tempered foal. At the
-opening of his shirt, cut on the slant, buttons are missing, exposing a
-strip of his sunburnt chest and a piece of grey string.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna rises abruptly from her place. She takes the bag
-from Grisha, and throws it quickly on the table. A pile of stamped
-wrappers comes pouring upon the white cloth. The three women bend over
-the table and rummage for letters. But letters come only rarely.
-
-Knitting her brows Natasha looks at the smiling youngster and asks:
-
-“No letters, Grisha?”
-
-Grisha, shuffling his feet, brick-red from the sun, smiles and answers,
-as always, in the same words:
-
-“The letters are being written, _barishnya_.”
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna says impatiently:
-
-“You may go, Grisha.”
-
-Grisha goes. The women open their newspapers.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna takes up the _Rech_ and scans it rapidly,
-occasionally mentioning something that has attracted her notice.
-
-Natasha is looking over _Slovo_. She reads silently, slowly, and
-attentively.
-
-Elena Kirillovna has the _Russkiya Vedomosti._ She tears the wrapper
-open slowly and spreads the entire sheet on the table. She reads on,
-quickly running her eyes over the lines.
-
-XXX
-
-Groaning, the old nurse slowly ascends the steps. Sofia Alexandrovna
-pauses from her reading a moment and looks with fear at the old woman.
-Natasha gives a nervous start and turns away. Elena Kirillovna reads on
-calmly, without looking at the nurse.
-
-The nurse sighs, sits down on the bench at the entrance, and asks in a
-monotone the one and the same question that she asks each day:
-
-“And how many folk are there in this morning’s paper that’s been
-ordered to die? And how many are there that’s been hanged?”
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna drops the paper, and suddenly rising, very pale,
-looks upon the old woman. She is quivering from head to foot. Elena
-Kirillovna, folding the paper, pushes it aside and looks straight
-before her with arrested eyes. Natasha rises; she turns her face, which
-has suddenly grown pale, toward the old woman, and utters in a kind of
-wooden voice that does not seem like her own:
-
-“In Ekaterinoslav—seven; in Moscow—one.”
-
-Or other towns, and other figures—such as fresh newspaper lists bring
-each day.
-
-The nurse rises and crosses herself piously. She mutters:
-
-“O Lord, rest the souls of Thy servants! And give them eternal life!”
-
-Then Sofia Alexandrovna cries out in despair:
-
-“Oh Borya, Borya, my Borya!”
-
-Her face is as pale as though there were not a single drop of blood
-left under her dull, elastic skin.
-
-Wringing her hands with a convulsive movement, she looks with terror at
-Elena Kirillovna and at her daughter. Elena Kirillovna turns aside,
-and, looking at the old nurse, shakes her head reproachfully, while in
-her eyes, like drops of early evening dew, appear a few scant tears.
-
-Natasha, looking determinedly at her mother, says with pale, quivering
-lips:
-
-“Mamma, calm yourself.”
-
-Suddenly her voice becomes cold and wooden again as though some evil
-stranger compelled her each day to utter her words slowly and
-deliberately.
-
-“You yourself know, mamma, that Borya was hanged a full year ago!”
-
-She looks at her mother with the motionless, pathetic gaze of her very
-dark eyes, and repeats:
-
-“You yourself know this, mamma!”
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna’s eyes are widely dilated; dull, there is terror in
-them, and the deep pupils burn with an impercipient lustre in their
-dark depths. She repeats almost soundlessly, looking straight into
-Natasha’s eyes:
-
-“Hanged!”
-
-She resumes her place, looks out of her sad eyes at the white Aphrodite
-and the red roses at the goddess’s feet, and is silent. Her face is
-white and rigid, her lips are red and tightly set; there is a
-suggestion of latent madness in the still lustre of her eyes.
-
-Before the image of eternal beauty, before the fragrance of the
-short-lived, exultant roses, she is hardening as it were into an image
-of the eternal grief of a disconsolate mother.
-
-XXXI
-
-Elena Kirillovna quietly descends the narrow side staircase into the
-garden. She sits down on a bench somewhat away from the house, looks
-upon the green bedecked pond and weeps.
-
-Natasha goes into her room in the mezzanine. She opens a book and tries
-to read. But she finds it impossible. She puts the book aside and looks
-out of the window, and her eyes are dimmed.
-
-Higher and higher above the old house rises the pitiless, bright
-Dragon. His joyous laughter rings in the merry heights, encloses, as in
-a flaming circle, the depressing silence of the house. The
-well-directed rays shoot out like sharp-plumed arrows, and the air is
-tremulous with eternal, inexhaustible anger. No one is being awaited.
-No one will come. Borya has died. The relentless wheel of time knows no
-turning back.
-
-So the day is passing—clearly and brightly. The dazzling white light
-says there is nothing to hope for.
-
-XXXII
-
-Natasha sits in her room before an open window. A book is lying on the
-window-sill. She has no desire to read.
-
-Every line in the book reminds her of him, of unfinished conversations,
-of heated discussions, of what had been, of what is no more.
-
-The memories become brighter and brighter, and reach at last a
-clearness and fullness of vision, overwhelming her soul.
-
-The fiery Dragon, obscured by a leaden grey cloud, becomes a little
-dim. Dimness also creeps into the memory of him. It seems as though the
-heavens are being traversed by the cold, clear, tranquil moon. Her face
-is pale, but not from sadness. Her rays have cast a spell upon the
-sleeping earth and upon the unattainably high heavens.
-
-The moon has bewitched the fields and also the valleys, which are full
-of mist. There is a dull glimmer in the drops of cool, tranquil dew
-upon the slumbering grass.
-
-There is in this fantastic glimmer the resurrection of that which has
-died—of that past tenderness and love which inspired deeds requiring
-superhuman strength. There come again to the lips proud, long-unsung
-hymns, and vows of action and loyalty.
-
-And what of that evil, vigilant, and instigating eye; and what of the
-traitor whose words mingled with the passionate words of the young
-people! Not even the waters of all the cold oceans can quench the fire
-of daring love, and all the cunning poisons of the earth cannot poison
-it.
-
-Bewitched with the lunar mystery, the wood stands expectant, nebulous,
-silent. Incomprehensible and inaccessible to men is its slow, sure
-experience, and the secret of its forged desires.
-
-Into its lunar silence men have brought the revolt, the speech and
-laughter of youth; but, overcome by the lunar mystery, they are
-suddenly grown silent and meditative.
-
-The open glade in the woods, enchanted by the green, cold light of the
-moon, seems very white. Along the edge of the glade lie the shadows of
-the trees; they seem unreal and nebulous and mysteriously still.
-
-The moon, very slowly, almost stealthily, is rising higher in the pale
-blue dome. Round, cold, half lost in the milk-white mist as behind a
-thin veil, she disperses by her dispassionate gaze the nebulous, silent
-tops of the slumbering trees, and looks down upon the glade with the
-motionless, inquisitive glance of her white eyes.
-
-The thin particles of dew scattered over the cold grasses vanish—the
-white nocturnal haze drinks them greedily. The air is oppressively
-sweet. On the edge of the glade a number of slender, erect,
-white-limbed birches emerge out of the mist; they are still asleep, and
-as innocent as their girl companions who rest beneath them in their
-green-white dresses.
-
-XXXIII
-
-Reposing under the slender birches in the glade is a party of girls,
-young men and grown-up people. One sits on the stump of a felled tree,
-another on the trunk of an old birch struck down in a storm, a third
-lies upon an overcoat spread on the grass, a fourth rests his back
-against a young birch. There is a single, slight glow of a cigarette,
-but this, too, goes out.
-
-In the luminous, haunting mist everything seems white, translucent,
-fabulously impressive. And it seems as though the birches in the glade
-and the moon in the sky are waiting for something.
-
-Here is Natasha. Here is also Natasha’s friend, a college girl from
-Moscow, white-skinned, sharp-featured, looking like a healthy little
-wild beast. Then there are Borya and his friend, both in linen jackets,
-both lean, with pale faces and dark, flaming eyes.
-
-And there is yet another—a tall, stout figure in a dark blouse. He has
-an air of self-confidence and seems to be the most knowing, the most
-experienced, the most able of those present.
-
-He is surrounded by the grown-up people and the girls, and he is being
-questioned. Cheery, good-natured, impatient voices appeal to him.
-
-“Do sing for us the _International_.”
-
-Borya, a lad with pale, frowning forehead, and blue-black circles under
-his eyes, looks into the other’s face and implores more heartily than
-the rest.
-
-The tall, broad-chested Mikhail Lvovich looks askance and stubbornly
-refuses to sing.
-
-“I can’t,” he says gruffly. “My throat is not in condition.”
-
-Borya and Natasha insist.
-
-Mikhail Lvovich then makes a gesture with his hand and accedes not less
-gruffly.
-
-“Very well, I’ll sing.”
-
-Every one is overjoyed.
-
-Mikhail Lvovich poses himself on his knees. Above the mist-white glade,
-above the white-faced lads, above the white mist itself, there rises
-toward the witching moon, floating tranquilly in the skies, the words
-of that proud, passionate hymn:
-
-“Arise, ye branded with a curse!”
-
-Mikhail Lvovich sings. His eyes are fixed on the ground, upon the cold
-grass, white in the glamorous light of the full, clear moon. It is hard
-to tell whether he does not wish to or cannot look straight into the
-eyes of these girls and boys—into these trusting, clean eyes.
-
-And they have gathered round him, how closely they have nestled round
-him, these pure-spirited young girls; and the young lads, their knees
-in the grass, follow every movement of his lips, and join in quietly.
-The bold melody grows, gains in volume. Like an exultant prophecy ring
-the eloquent words:
-
-In the International
-As brothers all men shall meet.
-
-XXXIV
-
-Mikhail has finished the song. For a time no one speaks. Then the
-agitated voices all ring out together, stirring the heavy silence of
-the woods.
-
-Clear, girlish eyes are looking earnestly upon Mikhail Lvovich’s morose
-set face. A clear, girlish voice implores insistently and gently:
-
-“Sing again, please. Be a dear. Sing it once more. I will make a note
-of the words. I want to know them by heart.”
-
-Natasha approaches nearer and says quietly:
-
-“We will all of us learn the words and sing them each day, like a
-prayer. We shall do it with a full heart.”
-
-Mikhail Lvovich at last lifts his eyes. They are small, sparkling,
-shrewd. This time they have fixed themselves severely and inquisitively
-on Natasha’s face, which suddenly has become confused at this
-snake-like glance.
-
-Mikhail Lvovich addresses her gruffly.
-
-“It doesn’t require much bravery to sing on the quiet, in the woods.
-Any one can do that.”
-
-Natasha’s face becomes pale. Dark flames of unchildish determination
-kindle in her eyes. Excitedly she cries:
-
-“We will learn the words, and we will sing them where they are wanted.
-My God, are we to depend upon words, and upon words alone? We are ready
-for deeds.”
-
-Borya repeats after her: “We are ready. We shall do all that is
-necessary. Yes, even die if need be.”
-
-Mikhail Lvovich says with a calm assurance:
-
-“Yes, I know.”
-
-In his eyes, fixed intently upon the ground, a dim, small flame is
-visible.
-
-XXXV
-
-There is a short silence. Then a thin voice is heard. It is the girl,
-slender as a young birch, with the sharp, cheerful little face, who is
-speaking.
-
-“My God! What strength! What eloquence!”
-
-Mikhail Lvovich slowly turns his face toward her. He smiles severely
-and says nothing.
-
-The girl has her hands clasped across her knees. It is an extremely
-pretty pose. Her face has suddenly assumed a very grave air, breathing
-passionate entreaty and fiery determination. She exclaims fervently:
-
-“Let’s all sing the chorus! Mikhail Lvovich will teach us. You will
-teach us, Mikhail Lvovich, won’t you?”
-
-“Very well,” Mikhail Lvovich replies with his usual severe dignity.
-
-He casts his dull, heavy gaze round the crowded circle of delighted
-young faces. He alone sits with his back to the open glade and to the
-witching moon. His face, now in the shade, has become even more
-significant. And his whole bearing is one of imposing solemnity.
-
-The faces of the younger people are white in the moonlight. Their
-garments are luminously bright. Their voices are brilliantly clear. In
-their simple trust there is the sense of an avowal.
-
-“Well, let us begin!” exclaims the slender girl, somewhat agitated.
-
-Mikhail Lvovich raises his hand with a solemn gesture and begins:
-
-“Arise, ye branded with a curse!”
-
-The children sing with a will, mingling their high, clear voices with
-Mikhail Lvovich’s deep, low voice. Their young voices are blazing with
-the passionate flame of freedom and revolt. Higher and still higher,
-above the white mists, above the black forest, toward the silver clouds
-and the quiet glimmering stars, toward the aspectful moon, rise the
-sounds of the invocation.
-
-And the white-trunked birches, the milk-white moon, motionless in the
-sky, the white, silvery grass, pressed down by children’s knees—all is
-still, all is silent, all is harkening with a sensitive ear. Everything
-around listens with poignant and solemn intentness to the song of these
-luminous children who, bathed in the translucent silver of the cool,
-lunar glimmer, their knees on the grass, their eyes burning in their
-uplifted faces, are repeating faithfully the words sung by the tall,
-self-contained young man whose dark face with fixed glance gazes
-morosely on the ground. They repeat after him:
-
-In the International
-As brothers all men shall meet.
-
-
-The strange foreign word, un-Russian in its ring, suggests to them the
-lofty, holy designation of a promised land, a new land under new skies,
-a land in which they have faith.
-
-After the hymn there is silence, a holy silence, solemn and palpable,
-reaching from the earth to the heavens. They might have been in the
-temple of a new, as yet unknown religion, in a mystic moment of
-sacrificial rites.
-
-XXXVI
-
-Mikhail Lvovich is the first to break the silence. He speaks slowly,
-looking at no one and directing his heavy gaze above the children’s
-pale faces, beyond the flaming ring of their glances:
-
-“My friends, you know the sort of time this is. Each one of us can be
-of use. If any one of us is sent I hope that none will tremble for his
-precious life, and that none will be deterred by the thought of a
-mother’s sorrow.”
-
-The children exclaim:
-
-“None! None! If they would but send us!”
-
-“What is the sorrow of a single mother compared to the suffering of an
-entire nation!” thinks Natasha proudly.
-
-There rises up for an instant a mental image of the ashen-pale face of
-her mother, her intensely dark, eloquent eyes. A sharp pain, lasting a
-moment, pierces her heart. What of that? It is, after all, but a single
-instant of weakness. A proud will shall conquer this slight suffering
-of a single relative by conferring great love upon the many, the
-strangers, the grievous sufferers.
-
-What is the woe of one mother! Let Niobe weep eternally for her
-children, killed by the burning, poisoned arrows of the high Dragon;
-let Rachel remain unconsoled for ever—what is the woe of a poor mother?
-Serene is Apollo’s face, radiant is Apollo’s dream.
-
-Yet how painful, how painful! A dimness comes over the transcendent
-idea, as though the dark countenance of the ominous figure who sang the
-proud hymn has dimmed the moon and has cast an austere shadow upon the
-heart itself.
-
-And now there is no moon, and no night, and no white glade in the mist
-in the forest. The bright day stares again at Natasha, she is at the
-window, the book lies before her, the old house is depressingly silent.
-The cloud has disappeared, the heavens are clear again, the evil Dragon
-is once more aiming his flaming arrows, he reiterates his conquest
-anew.
-
-This cruel melancholy must be faced. Sting, accursed Dragon, burn,
-torment. Rejoice, conqueror! But even he must soon go to his setting,
-and, dying, pour out his blood upon half the heavens.
-
-XXXVII
-
-Natasha, a yellow straw hat upon her head, is now walking in the field.
-The ground is hot, the sky is blue, the air is sultry and the wind
-asleep; the corn is yellow, the grass is green. Bathed again in the
-bright heat, Natasha prods her sweetly fatiguing memories, which cast
-into oblivion this dismal day.
-
-She goes on—and there stretches before her, even as on a day long ago,
-the hot golden field, with its tall stalks inclining their heads in the
-heat. It is the revival of a former stifling, sultry midday.
-
-That was in the days when Natasha still loved the good, human sun, the
-source of life and joy, the eternal, the untiring herald of labours and
-deeds, of deeds beyond the powers of man.
-
-Oh, the treacherous speech of the Serpent Tempter! He turns our heads
-and he entices, and he makes our poor earth seem like some fabulous
-kingdom.
-
-Again there is a slight wavering stir in the sea of the heat-exhausted
-ears of rye, studded over with little blue flowers which lower timidly
-their sweetly-dazed heads from sultriness.
-
-Natasha and her brother Boris are walking together, on an inviting
-narrow path among the golden waves of rye.
-
-How high the rye is! One can barely see the green roof of the old house
-on the right for the tall stalks, and the semi-circular window in the
-mezzanine: and on the left the little grey, rough huts of the village.
-
-Natasha and Boris follow one another. All around them the dry ears of
-rye waver and rustle, and among them are the blue-eyed little
-cornflowers. The two fragilely slender human silhouettes answered to
-the same wavering motion.
-
-Natasha goes ahead. She turns to see why Boris has lagged behind. The
-boy, brown and slender, with large burning eyes, attired in his linen
-jacket, is gathering the little blue flowers. He has already gathered
-almost as many as his hands can hold.
-
-XXXVIII
-
-Natasha, laughing, says to her brother: “Enough, my dear, enough. I
-shan’t be able to carry them all.”
-
-“You’ll do it easily enough, never fear!” Boris answers cheerfully.
-
-Natasha stretches out her sunburnt hand to take the flowers. The sheaf
-of blue cornflowers, spreading across her breast, almost hides her, she
-is so slender.
-
-Again Boris addresses her cheerfully: “Well, is it heavy?”
-
-Natasha laughs. Her face lights up with the joy of gratitude, and with
-a cheerful, childlike determination. “I will carry these, but no more!”
-she says.
-
-“I want to gather as many as possible for you.” Boris’s voice is
-serious; “because you know we may not see each other for some time.”
-There is a quaver in his voice as he says this.
-
-“Perhaps, never,” Natasha, growing pensive, replies.
-
-Both faces become sad and careworn.
-
-Boris, frowning, glances sideways, and asks: “Natasha, are you going
-with him?”
-
-Natasha knows that Boris is inquiring about Mikhail Lvovich, who is now
-sending her on a dangerous business, and who has also promised to send
-Boris on some foolhardy errand. The brave are so often foolhardy.
-
-“No, I am going alone,” Natasha replies, “he will only lead me later to
-the spot.”
-
-Boris looks at Natasha with gloomy, envious eyes, and asks rather
-cautiously: “Are you frightened, Natasha?”
-
-Natasha smiles. And what pride there is in her smile! She speaks, and
-her voice is tranquil: “No, Boris, I feel happy.”
-
-Boris observes that her face is really happy, and that her dark,
-flaming eyes are cheerful enough. Looking at her thus, her tranquillity
-communicates itself to him, and inspires him with a calm confidence in
-himself and in the business in hand.
-
-The children go farther. Boris again gathers the cornflowers. Natasha
-is musing about something. She has broken off an ear of rye, and is
-absently nibbling at the grain.
-
-XXXIX
-
-It is a long, hot, sultry day. The inexorable Dragon looks down
-indifferently upon the children. Unwearying, he aims his bright, vivid
-shafts at the sunburnt, fiery-eyed lad and at the slender, erect,
-black-eyed girl. His blazing shafts are evil, and they are well aimed;
-and his strong clear light is pitiless—but she walks on, and in her
-eyes there is hope, and in her eyes there is resolution, and in her
-dark eyes there is a flame which sets the soul afire to achieve deeds
-beyond the powers of man.
-
-Natasha suddenly pauses at the end of the path by the dusty road. Her
-eyes look at Boris full of tender admiration. It is evident that she
-desires to stamp upon her memory all the beloved features of the
-familiar tanned face—the curve of the dense brows, the rigid set of the
-red lips, the firm outlines of the chin, the stern profile.
-
-Natasha sighs lightly and addresses Boris gently and cheerfully:
-
-“Enough, dearest. They may not let me into the train with a heap like
-this. They will say: ‘This should be put in the luggage van.’”
-
-Both laugh carelessly. And still Boris is loath to leave the
-cornflowers. He says:
-
-“Only a few more. I want you to have a gigantic bouquet.”
-
-“You would have everything gigantic!” Natasha returns good-humouredly.
-
-But her face is serious. She knows how deep this quality is in him, and
-how significant. Boris looks at her, and in answer repeats his
-favourite, his most intimate thought:
-
-“Yes, it is true. I love all bigness, all immoderation. In everything!
-In everything! If we only acted like this always! And gave ourselves
-wholly to a thing! Oh, how different life would be!”
-
-Natasha, lost in thought, repeats: “Yes, big things, things beyond the
-powers of man. To make life lavish. Only no stinginess, no trembling
-for one’s skin. Far better to die—to gather all life into one little
-knot, and to throw it away!”
-
-“Yes, yes,” says Boris, and his eyes, dark as night, glow with the fury
-of a yet distant storm. “We must have no care for lives, but be lavish
-with them, lavish to the end—only then may we reach our goal!”
-
-They cross the road and again walk calmly along a narrow path. Her
-dress is white among the golden waves. Natasha stretches out her
-slender hand, the ears of rye rustle dryly and solid seeds of ripe rye
-fall into it. They are struck from above by the vivid shafts of the
-pitiless Dragon.
-
-The children are walking on, conscious of their vow. They go
-trustingly, and they do not know that he who sends them is a traitor,
-and that their sacrifice is vain.
-
-XL
-
-What is this dry rustling all around? It is the rye. But where are the
-little cornflowers, where is Boris? The little blue-eyed flowers are in
-the rye, and Boris has been hanged.
-
-“And I?” Natasha asks herself in a strange, oppressive perplexity. She
-looks round her like one just awakened.
-
-“Why am I here?”
-
-She answers herself: “I escaped. A lucky chance saved me.”
-
-Natasha is oppressed by the thought. How had she survived it? “Far
-better if I had perished!”
-
-It all happened very simply. Natasha, being Number Three, was placed at
-the railway station itself, her duty being contingent on the failure of
-Number One and Number Two. But the first was successful, though he
-himself perished in the explosion.
-
-The second, upon hearing the explosion not far away, lost his presence
-of mind. He ran to save himself. He caught a cab, and got off near the
-river. Here he hired a row-boat. When near the middle of the river, he
-threw the bomb into the water. The man who rowed had guessed that
-something was wrong. Besides, he had been seen from the Government
-steamer and from the banks. Number Two was taken, tried and hanged.
-
-Natasha did not betray herself in any way. She walked calmly, without
-haste, bearing her dangerous burden, observed by no one. She mixed
-freely with the passing crowd. She delivered the bomb at the appointed
-place.
-
-A few days later she left for home. She had not been followed. Natasha
-was awaiting a second commission, and quite suddenly she abandoned the
-business, because her trust in it had died.
-
-It happened even before Borya was hanged. But her decision came finally
-in those nightmare days when, quickly and unexpectedly, his life came
-to an end.
-
-Those were terrible days.
-
-But, no, it is better not to think of them, it is better not to
-remember them. To remember them is to suffer. Far better to remember
-other things, things cloudless and long past.
-
-XLI
-
-Oh magic mirror of memory, so much is reflected in thee! Beloved images
-pass by with a kind of glimmer.
-
-There were the flowers, which they themselves looked after. There was
-one flower-bed which they cared for with especial tenderness. There was
-the fresh, intoxicating evening aroma of gilliflower. There was the
-cluster of jasmine, dewy at dawn, so sweetly and so gently fragrant,
-that one wished to weep in its presence, as the grass weeps its tears
-of dew at golden dawn.
-
-Then there was the open space in the garden, and the giant-stride in
-the centre. What gigantic steps they took! How fast and how high she
-flew round with Boris!
-
-How glorious were the feast-days to the childish hearts. There was
-Christmas Eve, with its tree, and candles upon the green branches, with
-all the many-coloured glitter of golden nuts, red, green and blue
-trimmings, snow-white foils of cotton-wool, offerings which gladdened
-with their unexpectedness. Then in the daytime there is real snow,
-glittering like salt, and crunching under one’s feet; the frost pinches
-the cheeks, the sun is shining, their mittens are of the softest down,
-their hats are white and soft, the sleds are flying down hillocks—oh,
-what joy!
-
-And now Easter is here. What a solemn night! Then the joyous chanting
-of matins. The candle flames are everywhere, there seems to be no end
-to them. There is a smell of Easter cakes. There are Easter eggs
-painted in all colours. Every one is kissing each other. Every one is
-happy.
-
-“_Christoss Voskress!_”
-
-“_Voistinu Voskress!_”
-
-But the dear dead do not stir.
-
-No. The beloved memories do not break the continuity of the circle, the
-resurrection of the others—the fearsome, tragic memories. Inevitably
-the vision leads on to the last terrible moments.
-
-XLII
-
-They lived in the capital that winter. Boris was studying his final
-term in the _gymnasia_. For Christmas he went to another city: to
-relatives, he said.
-
-Natasha was suspicious. But he did not tell her the truth.
-
-“Really, nothing,” he answered to all her questions. “No one is sending
-me. I am going of my own accord. To see Aunt Liuba.”
-
-And Natasha did not insist.
-
-For several days she did not get any letters from him. But she did not
-worry. Boris disliked writing letters. They thought he was enjoying
-himself.
-
-It was an evening in early January. Her mother and grandmother had gone
-out visiting. Natasha, pleading a headache, remained at home.
-
-“I’ll lie down on the sofa. It will pass away.”
-
-The truth was she thought the home of her affected, worldly relatives a
-dull place, and she had no desire to go there.
-
-The maid had leave to go out. Natasha remained in the house alone. She
-lay down in her room on the sofa with an interesting new book.
-
-After the cheer and ease of the holidays, Natasha felt in good spirits.
-She was comfortable, tranquil and cheerful. The hangings on the windows
-were impenetrably opaque. The lamp, burning brightly and evenly,
-concealed its garish white blaze from her eyes under its trimmed,
-beaded shade. The whole small room was lost in a luminous twilight.
-
-At last, however, page after page of running lines of print tired
-Natasha. She dropped into a doze, and was shortly sound asleep. The
-open book fell softly on the rug.
-
-XLIII
-
-Suddenly a bell rings. Natasha gives a start.
-
-Ours? No. The bell rang so timidly, so hesitatingly. It was as though
-she heard it ring in a dream, and not in reality; again, it might have
-been the ring of some mischievous urchin.
-
-Perhaps she had only imagined it. It is so comfortable to doze. She
-feels too lazy to get up. Let them ring.
-
-But here is a second ring, more insistent and louder.
-
-Natasha jumps up and runs into the vestibule, rearranging her hair on
-the way. Remembering that she is alone in the house she does not open
-the door, but asks: “Who’s there?”
-
-From behind the door she can hear the low, somewhat hoarse voice of the
-telegraph boy: “A telegram.”
-
-Her heart begins to beat with fright. It is always terrible to receive
-telegrams. For only good news travels slowly. Bad news makes haste.
-
-Natasha puts one end of the door-chain to a little hook in the door.
-Then she opens the door partly and looks out. There stands the
-messenger in his uniform, with a metal plate in his cap. He hands her
-the telegram.
-
-“Sign here, miss.”
-
-The grey-white, dry paper trembles in Natasha’s hands. Natasha feels a
-sudden tug at her heart. She speaks incoherently:
-
-“What is it? Oh my God! Sign, did you say?”
-
-She runs to the table. Her hands tremble. She has managed somehow to
-scrawl her family name “Ozoreva,” the pen hesitating and scratching
-upon the grey paper.
-
-“Here is the signature.”
-
-Across the little door-chain she thrusts the signed paper and a tip
-into the hand of the messenger. Then she bangs the door to after him.
-Now she is in front of the lamp. What can it be?
-
-Tearing the seal open she reads. Terrible words. Such simple, yet such
-incomprehensible words. Because they are about Boris.
-
-“_Boris has shot ——. Arrested with comrades. Military trial to-morrow.
-Death sentence threatened_.”
-
-XLIV
-
-Natasha re-reads the telegram. A sudden terror, strangely akin to
-shame, for a moment strikes at her heart. She can hear the heavy beat
-of blood in her temples. She is, as it were, being strangled from all
-sides; she can hardly breathe; the walls seem to have come together,
-oppressing her on all sides; and the rapid, pale, pencilled strokes
-seem also to have run together into one jumble on the grey paper.
-
-Certain thoughts, one after the other, slowly make way into Natasha’s
-dimmed consciousness—oppressive, evil, pitiless thoughts.
-
-Stupefied, she wonders how she shall tell her mother. She observes that
-her hands tremble. She recalls the telephone number of the Lareyevs,
-where her mother undoubtedly is.
-
-Then terror seizes her anew; she shivers violently from head to foot as
-with ague. Her mind is a whirl of confusion.
-
-“No, it is a mistake! It cannot be. It is a cruel, senseless mistake!
-It is some one’s stupid, cruel joke.”
-
-Boris, our beloved boy, with his fine honest eyes—think of him hanging!
-There will be a rattle in his throat, as strangling, he will swing in
-the noose. With sharp, clutching pain, the gentle, childish neck will
-tighten; the sunburnt face will grow purple; the swollen tongue will
-creep out all in froth, and the widely dilated eyes will reflect the
-terror of cruel death.
-
-No, no, it cannot be! It is a mistake! But who can be malicious enough
-to make such a mistake?
-
-And then where is Boris?
-
-Her cold reasoning says that it is so, that no mistake has been made.
-The words are clear, the address is correct—yes, yes! It was really to
-be expected. Here it is, this lavishness of life which he dreamt of,
-which they both dreamt of. “I love all immoderation. To be lavish—only
-then we may reach our goal!”
-
-Her legs tremble. She feels herself terribly weak. She sits down on the
-sofa.
-
-Oh God, what’s to be done? How is she to tell her mother this terrible
-thing?
-
-Or should she conceal it? And do everything that could be done by
-herself? But no, she could do ridiculously little herself!
-
-It is necessary to tell. It must be done quickly. She must not lose an
-instant. Perhaps it is still possible to save Boris, by going, by
-petitioning.
-
-Why is she sitting still then? It is necessary to act at once.
-
-Natasha seizes the telephone. What a long time the operator takes to
-answer.
-
-At last she is connected. She can hear sounds of music and the hum of
-voices.
-
-A cheerful, familiar voice asks:
-
-“Who’s there?”
-
-“It is Natasha Ozoreva.”
-
-“Good evening, Natasha,” says Marusya Lareyeva loudly. “What a pity you
-did not come. We are having a fine time.”
-
-“Good evening, dear Marusya. Is mamma with you?”
-
-“Yes, she is here. Shall I call her?”
-
-“No, no, for God’s sake. Let some one break it to her....”
-
-“Has anything happened?”
-
-“Marusya, a terrible misfortune. Our Boris has been arrested.”
-
-“My God! For what?”
-
-“I don’t know. He’ll have a military trial. I feel desperate. It’s so
-terrible. For God’s sake, don’t frighten mother too much. Tell her to
-come home at once, please.”
-
-“Oh, my God, how awful!”
-
-“Oh, Marusya, dearest, for God’s sake, be quick.”
-
-“I’ll tell my mother at once. Wait at the telephone, Natasha.”
-
-Natasha holds the receiver to her ear and waits. She hears the noise of
-footsteps. Some one has begun to sing.
-
-Then again the same voice, extremely agitated:
-
-“Natasha, do you hear? Your mother wants to speak to you herself.”
-
-Natasha trembles with fright. Good God, what shall she tell her mother!
-She inquires:
-
-“What? Is she coming herself to the telephone?” she asks.
-
-“Yes, yes. Your mother is here now.”
-
-XLV
-
-The voice of Sofia Alexandrovna, terribly agitated, is heard:
-
-“Natasha, is that you? For God’s sake, what has happened?”
-
-Natasha replies:
-
-“Yes, mamma, it is I. A telegram has come. Mamma, don’t be frightened,
-it must be a mistake.”
-
-This time the voice is more controlled.
-
-“Read me the telegram at once.”
-
-“Just a moment. I’ll get it,” says Natasha.
-
-The telegram is read.
-
-“What, a military trial?”
-
-“Yes, military.”
-
-“To-morrow?”
-
-“Yes, yes, to-morrow.”
-
-“Death sentence threatened?”
-
-“Mamma, please be yourself, for God’s sake. Perhaps something can be
-done.”
-
-“We must go there. Get the things ready, Natasha. Mother and I are
-returning at once, and we will take the first train out.”
-
-The conversation is at an end.
-
-Natasha is alone. She runs about the deserted house, letting things
-fall in the poignant silence. She is busy with travelling bags and with
-pillows.
-
-She stops to look at the time-table. There is a train at half-past
-twelve. Yes, there is still time to catch it.
-
-Then the bell rings, frightening her even more than the earlier ring.
-The mother and the grandmother have arrived, pale and distraught.
-
-XLVI
-
-A sleepless, wearisome journey in the train. The wheels roll on with a
-measured, jarring sound. Stops are made. How slow it all is! How
-agonizing! If only it would be quicker, quicker!
-
-Or were it better to wish that time should be arrested? That its huge,
-shaggy wings outspread and flapping above the world should suddenly
-become motionless? That its owlish glance should be stilled for ever in
-the instant just before the terrible word is said?
-
-They reach their destination in the morning. At the station, a dirty,
-dejected place, they are met by a cousin of Natasha’s, an attorney by
-profession. From his pale, worried face, they guess that everything is
-over.
-
-He talks quickly and incoherently. He comforts them with hopes in which
-he himself does not believe. The trial had been held early that
-morning. Boris and both his comrades—all of the same green youth—had
-been sentenced to die by hanging. The court would entertain no appeal.
-The only hope lay in the district general. He was really not a bad man
-at heart. Perhaps, by imploring, he might be induced to lighten the
-sentence to that of hard labour for an indefinite period.
-
-Poor mothers! What is it they implore?
-
-XLVII
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna and Natasha arrived at the general’s. They waited
-long in the quiet, cold-looking reception-room; the glossy parquet
-floor shone, portraits in heavy gilt frames hung on the walls, and the
-careful steps of uniformed officials, coming through a large white
-door, resounded from time to time.
-
-At last they were received. The general listened most amiably, but
-declined emphatically to do anything. He rose, clinked his spurs, and
-stretched himself to his full height; He stood there tall, erect, his
-breast decorated with orders, his head grey, his face ruddy, with black
-eyebrows and broad nose.
-
-In vain the humiliating entreaties.
-
-Pale, the proud mother knelt before the general and, weeping bitterly,
-she kissed his hands and at last threw herself at his feet—all in vain.
-She received the cold answer:
-
-“I am sorry, madam, it is impossible. I understand your affliction, I
-sympathize fully; with your sorrow, but what can I do? Whose fault is
-it? Upon me lies a great responsibility toward my Emperor and my
-country. I have my duty—I can’t help you. It is against yourself that
-you ought to bring your reproaches—you’ve brought him up.”
-
-Of what avail the tears of a poor mother? Strike thy head upon the
-parquet floor, bend thy face to the black glitter of his boots; or else
-depart, proud and silent. It is all the same, he can do nothing. Thy
-tears and thy entreaties do not touch him, thy curses do not offend
-him. He is a kind man, he is the loving father of a family, but his
-upright martial soul does not tremble before the word death. More than
-once he had risked his life boldly in battle—what is the life of a
-conspirator to him?
-
-“But he is a mere boy!”
-
-“No, madam, this is not a childish prank. I am sorry.”
-
-He walks away. She hears the measured clinking of his spurs. The
-parquet floor reflects dimly his tall, erect figure.
-
-“General, have pity!”
-
-The cold, white door has swung to after him. She hears the quiet,
-pleasant voice of a young official. He raises her from the floor and
-helps her to find her way out.
-
-XLVIII
-
-They granted a last meeting. A few minutes passed in questions,
-answers, embraces, and tears.
-
-Boris said very little.
-
-“Don’t cry, mamma. I am not afraid. There is nothing else they can do.
-They don’t feed you at all badly here. Remember me to all. And you,
-Natasha, take care of mother. One sacrifice is enough from our family.
-Well, good-bye.”
-
-He seemed somehow callous and distant. He seemed to be thinking of
-something else, of something he could tell no one. And his words had an
-external ring, as though merely to make conversation.
-
-That night, before daybreak, Boris was hanged. The scaffold was set up
-in the gaol courtyard. The spot where he was buried was kept secret.
-
-The mother implored the next day: “Show me his grave at least!”
-
-What was there to show! He was laid in a coffin, he was put into a hole
-in the earth and the soil that covered him was smoothed down to its
-original level—we all know how such culprits are buried.
-
-“Tell me at least how he died.”
-
-“Well, he was a brave one. He was calm, a bit serious. And he refused a
-priest, and would not kiss the cross.”
-
-They returned home. A fog of melancholy hung over them, and within them
-there lit up a spark of mad hope—no, Borya is not dead, Borya will
-return.
-
-XLIX
-
-The thought that Boris had been hanged could not enter into their
-habitual, everyday thoughts. Only in the hour when the sun was at its
-zenith, and in the hour of the midnight moon, it would penetrate their
-awakened consciousness like a sharp poniard. Again it would pierce the
-soul with a sharp, tormenting pain, and again it would vanish in the
-dim mist of dawn with a kind of dull agony. And again, the same
-unreasonable conviction would awake in their hearts.
-
-No, Borya will return. The bell will suddenly ring, and the door will
-be opened to him.
-
-“Oh, Borya! Where have you been wandering?”
-
-How we shall kiss him! And how much there will be to tell!
-
-“What does it matter where you have been wandering. You have been
-wandering, and, you have been found, like the prodigal son.”
-
-How happy all will be!
-
-The old nurse will not be consoled. She wails:
-
-“Boryushka, Boryushka, my incomparable one! I say to him: ‘Boryushka,
-I’m going to the poor-house!’ And he says to me: ‘No,’ says he,
-‘_nyanechka_,[4] I’ll not let you go to the poor-house. I,’ he says,
-‘will let you stop with me, _nyanechka_; only wait till I grow up,’
-says he, ‘and you can live with me.’ Oh, Boryushka, what’s this you’ve
-done!”
-
-In the morning the old nurse enters the vestibule. Whose grey overcoat
-is it that she sees hanging on the rack? It is Borya’s, his _gymnasia_
-uniform. Has he then not gone to the _gymnasia_ to-day?
-
-She wanders into the dining-room, making a muffled noise with her soft
-slippers.
-
-“Natashenka, is Boryushka home to-day? His overcoat’s there on the
-rack. Or is he sick?”
-
-“_Nyanechka_!” exclaims Natasha.
-
-And, frightened, she looks at her mother.
-
-The old nurse has suddenly remembered. She is crying. The grey head
-shivers in its black wrap. The old woman wails:
-
-“I go there and I look, what’s that I see? Borya’s overcoat. I say to
-myself, Borya’s gone to the _gymnasia_, why’s his overcoat here? It’s
-no holiday. Oh, my Boryushka is gone!”
-
-She wails louder and louder. Then the old woman falls to the floor and
-begins to beat the boards with her head.
-
-“Borechka, my own Borechka! If the Lord had only taken me, an old
-woman, instead of him. What’s the use of life to me? I drag along, of
-no cheer to myself or to any one else.”
-
-Natasha, helpless, tries to quiet her.
-
-“_Nyanechka_, dearest, rest a little.”
-
-“May Thou rest me, O Lord! My heart told me something was wrong. I’ve
-been dreaming all sorts of bad dreams. These black dreams have come
-true! Oh, Borechka, my own!”
-
-The old woman continues to beat her head and to wail. Natasha implores
-her mother:
-
-“For God’s sake, mamma, have Borya’s overcoat taken from the rack.”
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna looks at her with her dark, smouldering eyes and
-says morosely:
-
-“Why? It had better hang there. He might suddenly need it.”
-
-Oh, hateful memories! As long as the evil Dragon reigns in the heavens
-it is impossible to escape them.
-
-Natasha roams restlessly, she can find no place for herself. She is off
-to the woods; she recalls Boris there, and that he has been hanged. She
-is off to the river; she recalls Boris there, and that he is no more.
-She is back at home, and the walls of the old house recall Boris to
-her, and that he will not return.
-
-Like a pale shadow the mother wanders along the walks of the garden,
-choosing to pause there where the shade is densest. The old grandmother
-sits upon a bench and finishes the reading of the newspapers. It is the
-same every day.
-
- [4] Little nurse.
-
-L
-
-And now the evening is approaching. The sun is low and red. It looks
-straight into people’s eyes as though, while expiring, it were begging
-for mercy. A breeze blows from the river, and it brings the laughter of
-white water nymphs.
-
-A number of noisy urchins are running in the road; their shirt-tails
-flap merrily in the wind, while their sleeves are filled with wind like
-balloons. The sound of a harmonica comes from the distance, and its
-song runs on very merrily. The corncrake screeches in the field, and
-its call resembles a general’s loud snore.
-
-The old house once more casts and arranges its long dark shadows
-disturbed by the intrusive day. Its windows blaze forth with the red
-fire of the evening sun.
-
-The gilliflower exhales its seductive aroma in some of the distant
-paths. The roses seem even redder in the sunset, and more sweet. The
-eternal Aphrodite—the naked marble of her proud body taking on a rose
-tint—smiles again, and lets fall her draperies as fascinatingly as
-ever.
-
-And everything is directed as before toward cherished, unreasonable
-hopes. Enfeebled by the day’s heat, and by the sadness of the bright
-day, the harassed soul has exhausted its measure of suffering, and it
-falls from the iron embrace of sorrow to the beloved dark earth of the
-past, once more besprinkled with dreamily refreshing dew.
-
-And again, as at dawn, the three women in the old house await Boris, or
-a short time happy in their madness.
-
-They await him, and they chat of him, until, from behind the trees of
-the dark wood, the cold moon shows her ever sad face. The dead moon is
-under a white shroud of mist.
-
-Then again they remember that Borya has been hanged, and they meet at
-the green-covered pond to weep for him.
-
-LI
-
-Natasha is the first to leave the house. She has on a white dress and a
-black cloak. Her black hair is covered with a thin black kerchief. Her
-very deep dark eyes shine with flame-like brightness. She stands, her
-pale face uplifted toward the moon. She awaits the other two.
-
-Elena Kirillovna and Sofia Alexandrovna arrive together.
-
-Elena Kirillovna leaves the house slightly earlier, but Sofia
-Alexandrovna runs after her and overtakes her almost at the pond. They
-wear black cloaks, black kerchiefs on their heads, and black shoes.
-
-Natasha begins:
-
-“On the night before the execution he did not sleep. The moon, just as
-clear as to-night’s, looked into the narrow window of his cell. On the
-floor the moon sadly outlined a green rhomb, intersected lengthwise and
-crosswise by narrow dark strokes. Boris walked up and down his cell,
-and looked now at the moon, now at the green rhomb, and thought—I wish
-I knew his thoughts that night.”
-
-Her remark has a quite tranquil sound. It might have been about a
-stranger.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna now and again wrings her hands, and as she begins to
-speak her voice is agitated and heavy with grief:
-
-“What can one think at such moments! The moon, long dead, looks in.
-There are five steps from the door to the window, four steps across.
-The mind springs feverishly from object to object. That the execution
-is to take place on the morrow is the one thing you try not to think
-of. Stubbornly you repel the thought. But it remains, it refuses to
-depart, it throttles the soul with an oppressive, horrible nightmare.
-The anguish is intense and enfeebling. But I do not wish my gaolers and
-all these officials who are come to me to see my anguish. I will be
-calm. And yet what anguish—if only, lifting up my pale face, I could
-cry aloud to the pale moon!”
-
-Elena Kirillovna whispers faintly:
-
-“Terrible, Sonyushka.”
-
-There are tears in her voice—simple, old-womanish, grandmotherly tears.
-
-LII
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna, ignoring the interruption, continues:
-
-“Why should I really go to my death boldly and resolutely? Is it not
-all the same? I shall die in the courtyard, in the dark of night.
-Whether I die boldly, or weep like a coward, or beg for mercy, or
-resist the executioner—is it not all the same? No one will know how I
-died. I shall face death alone. Why should I really suffer this wild
-anguish? I will raise up my voice to wail and to weep, and I will shake
-the whole gaol with my despairing cries, and I will awake the town, the
-so-called free town, which is only a larger gaol—so that I shall not
-suffer alone, but that others shall share in my last agony, in my last
-dread. But no, I won’t do that. It is my fate to die alone.”
-
-Natasha rises, trembles, presses her mother’s cold hand in hers, and
-says:
-
-“Mamma, mamma, it is terrible, if alone. No, don’t say that he felt
-alone. We shall be with him.”
-
-Elena Kirillovna whispers:
-
-“Yes, Sonyushka, it would be terrible alone. In such moments!”
-
-“We are with him,” insists Natasha vehemently. “We are with him now.”
-
-A smile is on Sofia Alexandrovna’s lips, a smile such as a dying person
-smiles to greet his last consolation. Sofia Alexandrovna speaks:
-
-“My last consolation is the thought that I am not alone. He is with me.
-These walls are unrealities, this gaol built by men is a lie. What is
-real and true is my suffering and I am one with them in my grief. A
-poor consolation! And yet I, just think, this extraordinary I, Boris, I
-am dying.”
-
-“I am dying,” repeats Natasha.
-
-Her voice is clouded, and it is fraught with despair. And all three
-remain silent for a brief while, overcome by the spell of these tragic
-words.
-
-LIII
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna speaks again. Her voice sounds tranquil, deliberate,
-measured:
-
-“There is no consolation for the dying. His grief is boundless. The
-cold moon continues to torment him. A moan struggles to break from his
-throat, a moan like the wild baying of a caged beast.”
-
-Natasha speaks sadly:
-
-“But he is not alone, not alone. We are with him in his grief.”
-
-Her eyes, darker than a dark night, look up toward the lifeless moon,
-and the green enchantress, reflected in them, torments her with a dull
-pain.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna smiles—and her smile is dead—and with the voice of
-inconsolable sorrow she speaks again slowly and calmly:
-
-“We are with him only in his despair, in his pitiful inconsolability,
-in his dark solitude. But he was alone, alone, when he was strangled by
-the hand of a hired hangman; strangled in that dark enclosure which it
-is not for us to demolish. And the dead moon tormented him, as it
-torments us. She tempted him with the mad desire to moan wildly, like a
-wild beast before dying. And now we, in this hour, under this moon—are
-we not also tormented by the same mad desire to run, to run far from
-people, and to moan and to wail, and to flee from a grief too great to
-be borne!”
-
-She rises abruptly and walks away, wringing her beautiful white hands.
-She walks fast, almost runs, driven as it were by some strange, furious
-will not her own. Natasha follows her with the measured yet rapid,
-deliberate, mechanical gait of an automaton. And behind them trips
-along Elena Kirillovna, who lets fall a few scant tears on her black
-cloak.
-
-The moon follows them callously in their hurried journey across the
-garden, across the field, into that wood, into that still glade, where
-once the children sang their proud hymn, and where they let their mad
-desires be known to one who was to betray them for a price—young blood
-for gold.
-
-The grass in the fields is wet with dew. The river is white with mist.
-The high moon is clear and cold. Everywhere it is quiet, as though all
-the earthly rustlings and noises had lost themselves in the moon’s dead
-light.
-
-LIV
-
-And here is the glade. “Natasha, do you remember? How warmly they all
-sang _Arise, ye branded with a curse!_ Natasha, will you sing it again?
-Do. Is it a torture?”
-
-“I’ll sing,” replies Natasha quietly.
-
-She sings in a low voice, almost to herself. The mother listens, and
-the grandmother listens—but what have the birches and the grass and the
-clear moon to do with human songs!
-
-In the International
-As brothers all men shall meet!
-
-
-Her song is at an end. The wood is silent. The moon waits. The mist is
-pensive. The birches seem to listen. The sky is clear.
-
-Ah, for whom is all this life? Who calls? Who responds? Or is it all
-the play of the dead?
-
-Loudly wailing, the mother calls: “Borya, Borya!”
-
-Overflowing with tears Elena Kirillovna replies: “Borya won’t come.
-There is no Borya.”
-
-Natasha stretches out her arms toward the lifeless moon, and cries out:
-“Borya has been hanged!”
-
-All three now stand side by side, looking at the moon, and weeping.
-Louder grows their sobbing, fiercer the note of despair. Their moans
-merge finally into a prolonged, wild wailing, which can be heard for
-some distance.
-
-The dog at the forester’s hut is restless. Trembling with all his lean
-body, his short hair bristling, he has pricked up his ears. Rising, he
-stretches his slender limbs. His sharp muzzle, showing its teeth, is
-uplifted to the tormenting moon. His eyes burn with a yearning flame.
-The dog bays in answer to the distant wail of the women in the wood.
-
-People are asleep.
-
-
-
-THE UNITER OF SOULS
-
-
-Garmonov was extremely young, and had not yet learnt to time his
-visits; he usually came at the wrong hour and did not know when to
-leave. He realized at last that he was boring Sonpolyev almost to
-madness. It dawned upon him that he was taking Sonpolyev from his work.
-He recalled that Sonpolyev had borne himself with a constrained
-politeness toward him, and that at times a caustic phrase escaped his
-lips.
-
-Garmonov grew painfully red, a sudden flame spread itself under the
-smooth skin of his drawn cheeks. He rose irresolutely. Then he sat down
-again, for he saw that Sonpolyev was about to say something. Sonpolyev
-took up the thread of the conversation in a depressed voice:
-
-“So you’ve put a mask on! What do you want me to understand by that?”
-
-Garmonov muttered in a confused way:
-
-“It’s necessary to dissemble sometimes.”
-
-Sonpolyev would not listen further, but gave way to his irritation:
-
-“What do you understand about it? What do you know of masks? There is
-no mask without a responding soul. It is impossible to put on a mask
-without harmonizing your soul with its soul. Otherwise the mask is
-uncovered.”
-
-Sonpolyev grew silent, and looked miserably before him. He did not look
-at Garmonov. He felt again a strange, instinctive hate for him, such as
-he felt at their first meeting. He had always tried to hide this hate
-under a mask of great heartiness; he had urged Garmonov most earnestly
-to visit him, and praised Garmonov’s verses to every one. But from time
-to time he spoke coarse, malicious words to the timid young man, who
-then flushed violently and shrank back within himself. Sonpolyev was
-quick to pity him, but soon again he detested his cautious, sluggish
-ways; he thought him secretive and cunning.
-
-Garmonov rose, said good-bye, and went out. Sonpolyev was left alone.
-He felt miserable because his work had been interrupted. He no longer
-felt in the same working mood. A secret malice tormented him. Why
-should this seemingly insignificant youth, Garmonov, evoke such
-bitterness in him? He had a large mouth, a long, very smooth face; his
-movements were slow, his voice had a drawl; there was something
-ambiguous about him, and enigmatical.
-
-Sonpolyev began sadly to pace the room. He stopped before the wall, and
-began to speak. There are many people nowadays who have long
-conversations with the wall—the wall, indeed, makes an interested
-interlocutor, and a faithful one.
-
-“It is possible,” he said, “to hate so strongly and so poignantly only
-that which is near to one. But in what does this devilish nearness
-consist? By what impure magic has some demon bound our souls together?
-Souls so unlike one another! Mine, that of a man of action with a bent
-for repose; and his, the soul of a large-mouthed fledgling, who is as
-cunning as a conspirator, and as cautious as a coward. And what is
-there in his character that conflicts so strangely with his appearance?
-Who has stolen the best and most needful part from this moly-coddle’s
-soul?”
-
-He spoke quietly, almost in a murmur. Then he exclaimed as though in a
-rage:
-
-“Who has done this? Man, or the enemy of man?”
-
-And he heard the strange answer:
-
-“I!”
-
-Some one spoke this word in a clear, shrill voice. It was like the
-sharp yet subdued ring of rusty steel. Sonpolyev trembled nervously. He
-looked round him. There was no one in the room.
-
-He sat down in the arm-chair and looked, scowling, on the table, buried
-under books and papers; and he waited. He awaited something. The
-waiting grew painful. He said loudly:
-
-“Well, why do you hide? You’ve begun to speak, you might as well
-appear. What do you wish to say? What is it?”
-
-He began to listen intently. His nerves were strained. It seemed as
-though the slightest noise would have sounded like an archangel’s
-trumpet.
-
-Then there was sudden laughter. It was sharp, and it was like the sound
-of rusty metal. The spring of some elaborate toy seemed to unwind
-itself, and trembled and tinkled in the subdued quiet of the evening.
-Sonpolyev put the palms of his hands over his temples, and rested upon
-his elbows. He listened intently. The laugh died away with mechanical
-evenness. It was evident that it came from somewhere quite near,
-perhaps from the table itself.
-
-Sonpolyev waited. He gazed with intent eyes at the bronze inkstand. He
-asked derisively: “Ink sprite, was it not you that laughed?”
-
-The sharp voice, quite unlike the muffled voice of phantoms, answered
-with the same derision: “No, you are mistaken; and you are not very
-brilliant. I am not an ink sprite. Don’t you know the rustling voices
-of ink sprites? You are a poor observer.”
-
-And again there was laughter, again the rusty spring tinkled as it
-unwound itself.
-
-Sonpolyev said: “I don’t know who you are—and how should I know! I
-cannot see you. Only I think that you are like the rest of your
-fraternity: you are always near us, you poke your noses into
-everything, and you bring sadness and evil spells upon us; yet you dare
-not show yourselves before our eyes.”
-
-The metallic voice replied: “The fact is, I came to have a talk with
-you. I love to talk with such as yourself—with half-folk.”
-
-The voice grew silent, and Sonpolyev waited for it to laugh. He
-thought: “He must punctuate his every phrase with that hideous
-laughter.”
-
-Indeed, he was not mistaken. The strange visitor really talked in this
-way: first he would speak a few words, then he would burst out into his
-sharp, rusty laughter. It seemed as though he used his words to wind up
-the spring, and that later the spring relaxed itself with his laughter.
-
-And while his laughter was still dying away with mechanical evenness
-the guest showed himself from behind the inkstand.
-
-He was small, and was no taller from head to foot than the fourth
-finger. He was grey-steel in colour. Owing to his small stature and to
-his rapid movements it was hard to tell whether the dim glow came from
-the body, or from a garment that stretched lightly over it. In any case
-it was something smooth, something expressly simple. The body seemed
-like a slender keg, broader at the belt, narrower at the shoulders and
-below. The arms and legs were of equal length and thickness, and of
-like nimbleness and flexibility; it seemed as though the arms were very
-long and thick, and the legs disproportionately short and thin. The
-neck was short. The face was hardy. The legs were widely astride. At
-the end of the back something was visible in the nature of a tail or a
-thick cone; like growths were upon the sides, under the elbows. The
-strange figure moved quickly, nimbly, and surely.
-
-The monster sat down on the bronze ridge of the inkstand, pushing aside
-the wooden pen-holder with his foot in order to be more comfortable. He
-grew quiet.
-
-Sonpolyev examined his face. It was lean, grey, and smooth. His eyes
-were small and glowed brightly. His mouth was large. His ears stuck out
-and were pointed at the top.
-
-He sat there, grasping the ridge with his hands, like a monkey.
-Sonpolyev asked: “Gracious guest, what do you want to say to me?”
-
-And in answer a slight voice—mechanically even, unpleasantly sharp and
-rather rusty in tone—made itself heard: “Man with a single head and a
-single soul, recall your past, your primitive experience of those
-ancient days when you and he lived in the same body.”
-
-And again there was laughter, shrill and sharp, piercing the ear.
-
-While he was still laughing, the guest, with mechanical agility, turned
-a somersault; he stood on his hands, and Sonpolyev saw for the first
-time what he had taken for a tail was really a second head. This head
-did not differ in any way, as far as he could see, from the other head.
-Whether the heads were too small for him to observe, or whether the
-heads did not actually differ, it was quite certain that Sonpolyev did
-not see the slightest distinction between them. The arms reversed
-themselves as on hinges, and became quite like the legs; the first
-head, then losing its colour, hid itself between these arm-legs; while
-the former legs reversed themselves mechanically and became the arms.
-
-Sonpolyev looked at his strange guest with astonishment. The guest made
-wry faces and danced. And when at last he grew still and his laughter
-gradually died away, the second head began to speak: “How many souls
-have you, and how many consciousnesses? Can you tell me that? You pride
-yourself on the amazing differentiation of your organs, you have an
-idea that each member of your body fulfils its own well-defined
-functions. But tell me, stupid man, have you anything whereby to
-preserve the memory of your previous existences? The other head
-contains the rest of you, your early memories and your earlier
-experience. You argue subtly and craftily across the threshold of your
-pitiful consciousness, but your misfortune is that you have only one
-head.”
-
-The guest burst out again into rusty, metallic laughter, and he laughed
-this time rather long. He laughed and he danced at the same time. He
-turned somersaults, or he rested upon one arm and upon one leg, thereby
-causing one of his sides to turn upward—until it was impossible to
-distinguish any of his four extremities. Afterwards his limbs again
-turned mechanically, and it became obvious that the growths on his
-sides were also heads. Each head spoke and laughed in its turn. Each
-head grimaced, mocked at him.
-
-Sonpolyev exclaimed in great fury: “Be silent!”
-
-The guest danced, shouted, and laughed.
-
-Sonpolyev thought: “I must catch him and crush him. Or I must smash the
-monster with a blow of the heavy press.”
-
-But the guest continued to laugh and to make wry faces.
-
-“I dare not take him with my hands,” thought Sonpolyev. “He might burn
-or scorch me. A knife would be better.”
-
-He opened his penknife. Then he quickly directed its sharp point toward
-the middle of his guest’s body. The four-headed monster gathered
-himself into a ball, flapped his four paws, and burst into piercing
-laughter. Sonpolyev threw his knife on the table, and exclaimed:
-“Hateful monster! What do you want of me?”
-
-The guest jumped upon the sharply pointed lid of the inkstand, perched
-himself upon one foot, stretched his arms upward, and exclaimed in an
-ugly, shrill voice: “Man with one head, recall your remote past when
-you and he were in the same body. The time you shared together in a
-dangerous adventure. Recall the dance of that terrible hour.”
-
-Suddenly it grew dark. The laughter resounded, hoarse and hideous. The
-head was going round....
-
-Light columns moved forward out of the darkness. The ceiling was low.
-The torches glowed dimly. The red tongues of flame wavered in the
-scented air. The flute poured out its notes. Handsome young limbs moved
-in measure to its music.
-
-And it seemed to Sonpolyev that he was young and powerful, and that he
-was dancing round a banqueting table. A shrivelled, insolent, drunken
-face was looking at him; the banqueter was laughing uproariously, he
-was happy, and the dance of the half-naked youths pleased him.
-Sonpolyev felt that a furious rage was strangling him, and was
-hindering him from carrying out his project. He danced past the
-carousing man and his hands trembled. A reddish mist of hate dimmed his
-sight.
-
-His second soul wakened at the same time; it was the cunning, the
-sidling, the feline soul. This time the youth smiled at the happy man;
-he floated gracefully past him, a sweet, gentle boy. The banqueter
-laughed loudly. The youth’s naked limbs and bared torso cheered the
-lord of the feast.
-
-And again there was hate, which dimmed his eyes with a red haze, and
-caused his hands to tremble with fury.
-
-Some one whispered angrily: “Are we going to twirl so long fruitlessly?
-It is time. It is time. Put an end to it!”
-
-The friendly spirits prevailed. The two souls flowed together. Hate and
-cunning became one. There was a light, floating movement, then a
-powerful stroke; nimble feet swept the youth into the swift, beautiful
-dance. There was a hoarse outcry. Then an uproar. Everything became
-confused....
-
-And again there was darkness.
-
-Sonpolyev awoke: the same small monster was dancing on the table,
-grimacing and laughing uproariously.
-
-Sonpolyev asked: “What’s the meaning of this?”
-
-His guest replied: “Two souls once dwelt in this youth, and one of them
-is now yours; it is a soul of exultant emotions and of passionate
-desires, it is an ever insatiable, trembling soul.”
-
-Then there was laughter, jarring on the ear. The monster danced on.
-
-Sonpolyev shouted: “Stop, you dance devil! It seems to me you wish to
-say that the second soul of this primitive youth lives in the feeble
-body of this despicable, smooth-faced youngster?”
-
-The guest stopped laughing and exclaimed:
-
-“Man, you have at last understood what I wished to tell you. Now
-perhaps you will guess who I am, and why I have come.”
-
-Sonpolyev waited until the trembling, shrill laughter ceased, and he
-answered his guest:
-
-“You are the uniter of souls. But why did you not join us at our
-birth?”
-
-The monster hissed, curled up, then stopped and threw upward one of his
-side heads and exclaimed:
-
-“We can repair this if you like. Do you wish it?”
-
-“I wish it,” Sonpolyev replied quickly.
-
-“Call him to you on New Year’s Eve, and call me. This hair will enable
-you to summon me.”
-
-The monster ran quickly to the lamp, and placing upon its stand a
-short, thin black hair continued speaking: “When you light it I’ll
-come. But you ought to know that neither you nor he will preserve
-afterward a separate existence. And the man who will depart from here
-shall contain both souls, but it will be neither you nor he.”
-
-Then he disappeared. His shrill, rusty laughter still resounded and
-tormented the ear, but Sonpolyev no longer saw any one before him. Only
-a black hair on the flat stand of the lamp reminded him of his guest.
-
-Sonpolyev took the hair and put it into his purse.
-
-The last day of the year was approaching midnight.
-
-Garmonov was sitting once more at Sonpolyev’s. They spoke quietly, in
-subdued voices. It was painful. Sonpolyev asked: “You do not regret
-coming to my lonely party?”
-
-The smooth-faced young man smiled, and this made his teeth seem very
-white. He drawled out his words very slowly, and what he said was so
-tedious and so empty that Sonpolyev had no desire to listen to him.
-Sonpolyev, without continuing the conversation, asked quite bluntly:
-“You remember your earlier existence?”
-
-“Not very well,” answered Garmonov.
-
-It was clear that he did not understand the question, and that he
-thought Sonpolyev had asked him about his childhood.
-
-Sonpolyev frowned in his vexation. He began to explain what he wished
-to say. He felt that his speech was involved and long. And this vexed
-him still more.
-
-But Garmonov had understood. He grew cheerful. He flushed slightly. His
-words had a more animated sound than usual: “Yes, yes, I sometimes feel
-that I have lived before. It is such a strange feeling. It’s as though
-that life was fuller, bolder and freer; and that I dared to do things
-that I dare not do now.
-
-“And isn’t it true,” asked Sonpolyev in some agitation, “that you feel
-as though you had lost something, as though you now lack the most
-significant part of your being?”
-
-“Yes,” answered Garmonov with emphasis. “That’s precisely my feeling.”
-
-“Would you like to restore this missing part?” Sonpolyev continued to
-question. “To be once more as before, whole and bold; to contain in one
-body—which shall feel itself light and young and free—the fullness of
-life and the union of the antagonistic identities of our human breed.
-To be, indeed, more than whole; to feel as it were, in one’s breast,
-the beating of a doubled heart; to be this and that; to join two
-clashing souls within oneself, and to wrest the necessary manhood and
-hardihood for great deeds from the fiery struggle of intense
-contradictions.”
-
-“Yes, yes,” said Garmonov, “I, too, sometimes dream about this.”
-
-Sonpolyev was afraid to look at the irresolute, confused, smooth face
-of his young visitor. He vaguely feared that Garmonov’s face would
-disconcert him. He made haste.
-
-Besides, midnight was approaching. Sonpolyev said quietly: “I have the
-means in my hands to realize this dream. Do you wish to have it
-realized?”
-
-“I should like to,” said Garmonov irresolutely.
-
-Sonpolyev raised his eyes. He looked at Garmonov with firmness and
-decision, as though he demanded something urgent and indispensable from
-him. He looked with a fixed intentness into the dark youthful eyes,
-which should have flamed fire, but instead they were the cold, crafty
-eyes of a little man with half a soul.
-
-But it seemed to Sonpolyev that under his fixed fiery gaze Garmonov’s
-eyes were becoming inflamed with enthusiasm and burning wrath. The
-young man’s smooth face had suddenly become significant and stern.
-
-“Do you wish it?” Sonpolyev asked him once more.
-
-Garmonov replied quickly, with decision:
-
-“I wish it.”
-
-And then a strange, sharp, shrill voice pronounced: “Oh, small and
-cunning man; you who once during your ancient existence did a deed of
-great hardihood—that was when you joined your crafty soul to the
-flaming soul of an indignant man—tell us in this great, rare hour, have
-you firmly decided to merge your soul with the other, the different
-soul?”
-
-And Garmonov answered even more quickly and more decisively: “I wish
-to!”
-
-Sonpolyev listened to the shrill voice of the questioner. He recognized
-him. He was not mistaken: the “I wish to!” of Garmonov had already lost
-itself in the rusty, metallic laughter of that extraordinary visitor.
-
-Sonpolyev waited until the laughter ceased; then he said: “But you
-should know that you will have to reject all dissembling. And all the
-joys of separate existence. Once I achieve my magic we shall both
-perish, and we shall set free our souls, or rather we shall fuse them
-together, and there shall be neither I nor you—there will be one in our
-place, and he shall be fiery in his conception, and cold in his
-execution. Both of us will have to go, in order to give a place to him,
-in whom both of us will be united. My friend, have you resolved upon
-this terrible thing? It is a great and terrible thing.”
-
-Garmonov smiled a strange, faltering smile. But the fiery glance of
-Sonpolyev extinguished the smile; and the young man, as if submitting
-to some inevitable and fated command, pronounced in a dim, lifeless
-voice: “I have decided. I wish it. I am not afraid.”
-
-Sonpolyev took the hair out of his wallet with trembling fingers. He
-lit a candle. Behind it hid the four-headed visitor. His grey body
-seemed to quake; and it vacillated in the wavering flame that fondled
-in its flickering embraces the white body of the submissive candle.
-
-Garmonov opened his eyes wide, and they steadfastly followed
-Sonpolyev’s movements. Sonpolyev put one end of the hair to the flame.
-The hair curled slightly, grew red, gave a flare. It burned very
-slowly, with a quiet rhythmic crackle, which resembled the laugh of the
-nocturnal guest.
-
-The words of the strange guest were simple but terrible. At first
-Sonpolyev was barely conscious of them; he was so agitated and so
-absorbed by the burning of the magic hair that he could see no
-connexion with the simple, familiar words of the monster. Suddenly
-terror came upon him. He had understood. There was derision in those
-simple, terribly simple words.
-
-“Little soul, failing little soul, timid little soul.”
-
-Sonpolyev, frightened, looked at Garmonov. The smooth-faced young man
-sat there strangely shrunken. His face was pale. Beads of perspiration
-showed on his forehead. A pitiful, forced smile twisted his lips. When
-he saw that Sonpolyev was looking at him he shrank even more, and
-whispered in a broken, hollow voice, as though against his will: “It is
-terrible. It is painful. It is unnecessary.”
-
-Suddenly he hunched like a cat—a cunning, timid, evil cat—and sprang
-forward; thus deformed, he pushed out his over-red lips and blew upon
-the almost consumed hair. The flame flickered upward, trembled and
-died. A tiny cloud of blue smoke spread itself in the still air. The
-shrill laughter of the nocturnal guest pierced the ears.
-
-The hideous words resounded: “Miscarried! Miscarried!”
-
-Garmonov sat down. He smiled guiltily and cunningly. Sonpolyev looked
-at him with unseeing eyes.
-
-The clock began to strike in the next room. And to each stroke the
-uniter of souls responded with the hoarse outcry: “Miscarried!”
-
-And he laughed again his metallic laughter like a wound-up spring. He
-whirled round and grimaced; he seemed to lose himself in the lifeless
-yellow electric light.
-
-At the twelfth stroke, the last voice of the passing year, the hideous
-voice grew silent.
-
-“Miscarried!”
-
-And the horrible laughter of the vanishing monster died away. Garmonov,
-truly rejoicing over his deliverance from an unhappy fate, rose, and
-said: “A happy New Year!”
-
-
-
-INVOKER OF THE BEAST
-
-I
-
-It was quiet and tranquil, and neither joyous nor sad. There was an
-electric light in the room. The walls seemed impregnable. The window
-was overhung by heavy, dark-green draperies, even denser in tone than
-the green of the wall-paper. Both doors—the large one at the side, and
-the small one in the depth of the alcove that faced the window—were
-securely bolted. And there, behind them, reigned darkness and
-desolation in the broad corridor as well as in the spacious and cold
-reception-room, where melancholy plants yearned for their native soil.
-
-Gurov was lying on the divan. A book was in his hands. He often paused
-in his reading. He meditated and mused during these pauses, and it was
-always about the same thing. Always about _them_.
-
-They hovered near him. This he had noticed long ago. They were hiding.
-Their manner; was importunate. They rustled very quietly. For a long
-time they remained invisible to the eye. But one day, when Gurov awoke
-rather tired; sad and pale, and languidly turned on the electric light
-to dissipate the greyish gloom of an early winter morning—he espied one
-of them suddenly.
-
-Small, grey, shifty and nimble, _he_ flashed by, and in the twinkling
-of an eye disappeared.
-
-And thereafter, in the morning, or in the evening, Gurov grew used to
-seeing these small, shifty, house sprites run past him. This time he
-did not doubt that they would appear.
-
-To begin with he felt a slight headache, afterwards a sudden flash of
-heat, then of cold. Then, out of the corner, there emerged the long,
-slender Fever with her ugly, yellow face and her bony dry hands; she
-lay down at his side, and embraced him, and fell to kissing him and to
-laughing. And these rapid kisses of the affectionate and cunning Fever,
-and these slow approaches of the slight headache were agreeable.
-
-Feebleness spread itself over, the whole body, and lassitude also. This
-too was agreeable. It made him feel as though all the turmoil of life
-had receded into the distance. And people also became far away,
-unimportant, even unnecessary. He preferred to be with these quiet
-ones, these house sprites.
-
-Gurov had not been out for some days. He had locked himself in at home.
-He did not permit any one to come to him. He was alone. He thought
-about them. He awaited them.
-
-II
-
-This tedious waiting was cut short in a strange and unexpected manner.
-He heard the slamming of a distant door, and presently he became aware
-of the sound of unhurried footfalls which came from the direction of
-the reception-room, just behind the door of his room. Some one was
-approaching with a sure and nimble step.
-
-Gurov turned his head toward the door. A gust of cold entered the room.
-Before him stood a boy, most strange and wild in aspect. He was dressed
-in linen draperies, half-nude, barefoot, smooth-skinned, sun-tanned,
-with black tangled hair and dark, burning eyes. An amazingly perfect,
-handsome face; handsome to a degree which made it terrible to gaze upon
-its beauty. And it portrayed neither good nor evil.
-
-Gurov was not astonished. A masterful mood took hold of him. He could
-hear the house sprites scampering away to conceal themselves.
-
-The boy began to speak.
-
-“Aristomarchon! Perhaps you have forgotten your promise? Is this the
-way of valiant men? You left me when I was in mortal danger, you had
-made me a promise, which it is evident you did not intend to keep. I
-have sought for you such a long time! And here I have found you, living
-at your ease, and in luxury.”
-
-Gurov fixed a perplexed gaze upon the half-nude, handsome lad; and
-turgid memories awoke in his soul. Something long since submerged arose
-in dim outlines and tormented his memory, which struggled to find a
-solution to the strange apparition; a solution, moreover, which seemed
-so near and so intimate.
-
-And what of the invincibility of his walls? Something had happened
-round him, some mysterious transformation had taken place. But Gurov,
-engulfed in his vain exertions to recall something very near to him and
-yet slipping away in the tenacious embrace of ancient memory, had not
-yet succeeded in grasping the nature of the change that he felt had
-taken place. He turned to the wonderful boy.
-
-“Tell me, gracious boy, simply and clearly, without unnecessary
-reproaches, what had I promised you, and when had I left you in a time
-of mortal danger? I swear to you, by all the holies, that my conscience
-could never have permitted me such a mean action as you reproach me
-with.”
-
-The boy shook his head. In a sonorous voice, suggestive of the
-melodious outpouring of a stringed instrument, he said: “Aristomarchon,
-you always have been a man skilful with words, and not less skilful in
-matters requiring daring and prudence. If I have said that you left me
-in a moment of mortal danger I did not intend it as a reproach, and I
-do not understand why you speak of your conscience. Our projected
-affair was difficult and dangerous, but who can hear us now; before
-whom, with your craftily arranged words and your dissembling ignorance
-of what happened this morning at sunrise, can you deny that you had
-given me a promise?”
-
-The electric light grew dim. The ceiling seemed to darken and to recede
-into height. There was a smell of grass; its forgotten name, once, long
-ago, suggested something gentle and joyous. A breeze blew. Gurov raised
-himself, and asked: “What sort of an affair had we two contrived?
-Gracious boy, I deny nothing. Only I don’t know what you are speaking
-of. I don’t remember.”
-
-Gurov felt as though the boy were looking at him, yet not directly. He
-felt also vaguely conscious of another presence no less unfamiliar and
-alien than that of this curious stranger, and it seemed to him that the
-unfamiliar form of this other presence coincided with his own form. An
-ancient soul, as it were, had taken possession of Gurov and enveloped
-him in the long-lost freshness of its vernal attributes.
-
-It was growing darker, and there was increasing purity and coolness in
-the air. There rose up in his soul the joy and ease of pristine
-existence. The stars glowed brilliantly in the dark sky. The boy spoke.
-
-“We had undertaken to kill the Beast. I tell you this under the
-multitudinous gaze of the all-seeing sky. Perhaps you were frightened.
-That’s quite likely too! We had planned a great, terrible affair, that
-our names might be honoured by future generations.”
-
-Soft, tranquil, and monotonous was the sound of a stream which purled
-its way in the nocturnal silence. The stream was invisible, but its
-nearness was soothing and refreshing. They stood under the broad
-shelter of a tree and continued the conversation begun at some other
-time.
-
-Gurov asked: “Why do you say that I had left you in a moment of mortal
-danger? Who am I that I should be frightened and run away?”
-
-The boy burst into a laugh. His mirth had the sound of music, and as it
-passed into speech his voice still quavered with sweet, melodious
-laughter.
-
-“Aristomarchon, how cleverly you feign to have forgotten all! I don’t
-understand what makes you do this, and with such a mastery that you
-bring reproaches against yourself which I have not even dreamt of. You
-had left me in a moment of mortal danger because it had to be, and you
-could not have helped me otherwise than by forsaking me at the moment.
-You will surely not remain stubborn in your denial when I remind you of
-the words of the Oracle?”
-
-Gurov suddenly remembered. A brilliant light, as it were, unexpectedly
-illumined the dark domain of things forgotten. And in wild ecstasy, in
-a loud and joyous voice, he exclaimed: “_One_ shall kill the Beast!”
-
-The boy laughed. And Aristomarchon asked: “Did you kill the Beast,
-Timarides?”
-
-“With what?” exclaimed Timarides. “However strong my hands are, I was
-not one who could kill the Beast with a blow of the fist. We,
-Aristomarchon, had not been prudent and we were unarmed. We were
-playing in the sand by the stream. The Beast came upon us suddenly and
-he laid his paw upon me. It was for me to offer up my life as a sweet
-sacrifice to glory and to a noble cause; it was for you to execute our
-plan. And while he was tormenting my defenceless and unresisting body,
-you, fleet-footed Aristomarchon, could have run for your lance, and
-killed the now blood-intoxicated Beast. But the Beast did not accept my
-sacrifice. I lay under him, quiescent and still, gazing into his
-bloodshot eyes. He held his heavy paw on my shoulder, his breath came
-in hot, uneven gasps, and he sent out low snarls. Afterwards, he put
-out his huge, hot tongue and licked my face; then he left me.”
-
-“Where is he now?” asked Aristomarchon.
-
-In a voice strangely tranquil and strangely sonorous in the quiet
-arrested stillness of the humid air, Timarides replied: “He followed
-me. I do not know how long I have been wandering until I found you. He
-followed me. I led him on by the smell of my blood. I do not know why
-he has not touched me until now. But here I have enticed him to you.
-You had better get the weapon which you had hidden so carefully and
-kill the Beast, while I in my turn will leave you in the moment of
-mortal danger, eye to eye with the enraged creature. Here’s luck to
-you, Aristomarchon!”
-
-As soon as he uttered these words Timarides, started, to run. For a
-short time his cloak was visible in the darkness, a glimmering patch of
-white. And then he disappeared. In the same instant the air resounded
-with the savage bellowing of the Beast, and his ponderous tread became
-audible. Pushing aside the growth of shrubs there emerged from the
-darkness the huge, monstrous head of the Beast, flashing a livid fire
-out of its two enormous, flaming eyes. And in the dark silence of
-nocturnal trees the towering ferocious shape of the Beast loomed
-ominously as it approached Aristomarchon.
-
-Terror filled Aristomarchon’s heart.
-
-“Where is the lance?” was the thought that quickly flashed across his
-brain.
-
-And in that instant, feeling the fresh night breeze on his face,
-Aristomarchon realized that he was running from the Beast. His
-ponderous springs and his spasmodic roars resounded closer and closer
-behind him. And as the Beast came up with him a loud cry rent the
-silence of the night. The cry came from Aristomarchon, who, recalling
-then some ancient and terrible words, pronounced loudly the incantation
-of the walls.
-
-And thus enchanted the walls erected themselves around him....
-
-III
-
-Enchanted, the walls stood firm and were lit up. A dreary light was
-cast upon them by the dismal electric lamp. Gurov was in his usual
-surroundings.
-
-Again came the nimble Fever and kissed him with her yellow, dry lips,
-and caressed him with her dry, bony hands, which exhaled heat and cold.
-The same thin volume, with its white pages, lay on the little table
-beside the divan where, as before, Gurov rested in the caressing
-embrace of the affectionate Fever, who showered upon him her rapid
-kisses. And again there stood beside him, laughing and rustling, the
-tiny house sprites.
-
-Gurov said loudly and indifferently: “The incantation of the walls!”
-
-Then he paused. But in what consisted this incantation? He had
-forgotten the words. Or had they never existed at all?
-
-The little, shifty, grey demons danced round the slender volume with
-its ghostly white pages, and kept on repeating with their rustling
-voices: “Our walls are strong. We are in the walls. We have nothing to
-fear from the outside.”
-
-In their midst stood one of them, a tiny object like themselves, yet
-different from the rest. He was all black. His mantle fell from his
-shoulders in folds of smoke and flame. His eyes flashed like lightning.
-Terror and joy alternated quickly.
-
-Gurov spoke: “Who are you?”
-
-The black demon answered: “I am the Invoker of the Beast. In one of
-your long-past existences you left the lacerated body of Timarides on
-the banks of a forest stream. The Beast had satiated himself on the
-beautiful body of your friend; he had gorged himself on the flesh that
-might have partaken of the fullness of earthly happiness; a creature of
-superhuman perfection had perished in order to gratify for a moment the
-appetite of the ravenous and ever insatiable Beast. And the blood, the
-wonderful blood, the sacred wine of happiness and joy, the wine of
-superhuman bliss—what had been the fate of this wonderful blood? Alas!
-The thirsty, ceaselessly thirsty Beast drank of it to gratify his
-momentary desire, and is thirsty anew. You had left the body of
-Timarides, mutilated by the Beast, on the banks of the forest stream;
-you forgot the promise you had given your valorous friend, and even the
-words of the ancient Oracle had not banished fear from your heart. And
-do you think that you are safe, that the Beast will not find you?”
-
-There was austerity in the sound of his voice. While he was speaking
-the house sprites gradually ceased their dance; the little, grey house
-sprites stopped to listen to the Invoker of the Beast.
-
-Gurov then said in reply: “I am not worried about the Beast! I have
-pronounced eternal enchantment upon my walls and the Beast shall never
-penetrate hither, into my enclosure.”
-
-The little grey ones were overjoyed, their voices tinkled with
-merriment and laughter; having gathered round, hand in hand, in a
-circle, they were on the point of bursting forth once more into dance,
-when the voice of the Invoker of the Beast rang out again, sharp and
-austere.
-
-“But I am here. I am here because I have found you. I am here because
-the incantation of the walls is dead. I am here because Timarides is
-waiting and importuning me. Do you hear the gentle laugh of the brave,
-trusting lad? Do you hear the terrible bellowing of the Beast?”
-
-From behind the wall, approaching nearer, could be heard the fearsome
-bellowing of the Beast.
-
-“The Beast is bellowing behind the wall, the invincible wall!”
-exclaimed Gurov in terror. “My walls are enchanted for ever, and
-impregnable against foes.”
-
-Then spoke the black demon, and there was an imperious ring in his
-voice: “I tell you, man, the incantation of the walls is dead. And if
-you think you can save yourself by pronouncing the incantation of the
-walls, why then don’t you utter the words?”
-
-A cold shiver passed down Gurov’s spine. The incantation! He had
-forgotten the words of the ancient spell. And what mattered it? Was not
-the ancient incantation dead—dead?
-
-Everything about him confirmed with irrefutable evidence the death of
-the ancient incantation of the walls—because the walls, and the light
-and the shade which fell upon them, seemed dead and wavering. The
-Invoker of the Beast spoke terrible words. And Gurov’s mind was now in
-a whirl, now in pain, and the affectionate Fever did not cease to
-torment him with her passionate kisses. Terrible words resounded,
-almost deadening his senses—while the Invoker of the Beast grew larger
-and larger, and hot fumes breathed from him, and grim terror. His eyes
-ejected fire, and when at last he grew so tall as to screen off the
-electric light, his black cloak suddenly fell from his shoulders. And
-Gurov recognized him—it was the boy Timarides.
-
-“Will you kill the Beast?” asked Timarides in a sonorous voice. “I have
-enticed him, I have led him to you, I have destroyed the incantation of
-the walls. The cowardly gift of inimical gods, the incantation of the
-walls, had turned into naught my sacrifice, and had saved you from your
-action. But the ancient incantation of the walls is dead—be quick,
-then, to take hold of your sword and kill the Beast. I have been a
-boy—I have become the Invoker of the Beast. He had drunk of my blood,
-and now he thirsts anew; he had partaken also of my flesh, and he is
-hungry again, the insatiable, pitiless Beast. I have called him to you,
-and you, in fulfilment of your promise, may kill the Beast. Or die
-yourself.”
-
-He vanished. A terrible bellowing shook the walls. A gust of icy
-moisture blew across to Gurov.
-
-The wall facing the spot where Gurov lay opened, and the huge,
-ferocious and monstrous Beast entered. Bellowing savagely, he
-approached Gurov and laid his ponderous paw upon his breast. Straight
-into his heart plunged the pitiless claws. A terrible pain shot through
-his whole body. Shifting his blood-red eyes the Beast inclined his head
-toward Gurov and, crumbling the bones of his victim with his teeth,
-began to devour his yet-palpitating heart.
-
-
-
-THE WHITE DOG
-
-
-Everything grew irksome for Alexandra Ivanovna in the workshop of this
-out-of-the-way town—the patterns, the clatter of machines, the
-complaints of the customers; it was the shop in which she had served as
-apprentice and now for several years as cutter. Everything irritated
-Alexandra Ivanovna; she quarrelled with every one and abused the
-innocent apprentice. Among others to suffer from her outbursts of
-temper was Tanechka, the youngest of the seamstresses, who only lately
-had been an apprentice. In the beginning Tanechka submitted to her
-abuse in silence. In the end she revolted, and, addressing herself to
-her assailant, said, quite calmly and affably, so that every one
-laughed:
-
-“Alexandra Ivanovna, you are a downright dog!”
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna felt humiliated.
-
-“You are a dog yourself!” she exclaimed.
-
-Tanechka sat there sewing. She paused now and then from her work and
-said in a calm, deliberate manner:
-
-“You always whine.... Certainly, you are a dog.... You have a dog’s
-snout.... And a dog’s ears.... And a wagging tail.... The mistress will
-soon drive you out of doors, because you are the most detestable of
-dogs, a poodle.”
-
-Tanechka was a young, plump, rosy-cheeked girl with an innocent,
-good-natured face, which revealed, however, a trace of cunning. She sat
-there so demure, barefooted, still dressed in her apprentice clothes;
-her eyes were clear, and her brows were highly arched on her fine
-curved white forehead, framed by straight, dark chestnut hair, which in
-the distance looked black. Tanechka’s voice was clear, even, sweet,
-insinuating, and if one could have heard its sound only, and not given
-heed to the words, it would have given the impression that she was
-paying Alexandra Ivanovna compliments.
-
-The other seamstresses laughed, the apprentices chuckled, they covered
-their faces with their black aprons and cast side glances at Alexandra
-Ivanovna. As for Alexandra Ivanovna, she was livid with rage.
-
-“Wretch!” she exclaimed. “I will pull your ears for you! I won’t leave
-a hair on your head.”
-
-Tanechka replied in a gentle voice:
-
-“The paws are a trifle short.... The poodle bites as well as barks....
-It may be necessary to buy a muzzle.”
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna made a movement toward Tanechka. But before Tanechka
-had time to lay aside her work and get up, the mistress of the
-establishment, a large, serious-looking woman, entered, rustling her
-dress.
-
-She said sternly: “Alexandra Ivanovna, what do you mean by making such
-a fuss?”
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna, much agitated, replied: “Irina Petrovna, I wish you
-would forbid her to call me a dog!”
-
-Tanechka in her turn complained: “She is always snarling at something
-or other. Always quibbling at the smallest trifles.”
-
-But the mistress looked at her sternly and said: “Tanechka, I can see
-through you. Are you sure you didn’t begin? You needn’t think that
-because you are a seamstress now you are an important person. If it
-weren’t for your mother’s sake——”
-
-Tanechka grew red, but preserved her innocent and affable manner. She
-addressed her mistress in a subdued voice: “Forgive me, Irina Petrovna,
-I will not do it again. But it wasn’t altogether my fault....”
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna returned home almost ill with rage. Tanechka had
-guessed her weakness.
-
-“A dog! Well, then I am a dog,” thought Alexandra Ivanovna, “but it is
-none of her affair! Have I looked to see whether she is a serpent or a
-fox? It is easy to find one out, but why make a fuss about it? Is a dog
-worse than any other animal?”
-
-The clear summer night languished and sighed, a soft breeze from the
-adjacent fields occasionally blew down the peaceful streets. The moon
-rose clear and full, that very same moon which rose long ago at another
-place, over the broad desolate steppe, the home of the wild, of those
-who ran free, and whined in their ancient earthly travail. The very
-same, as then and in that region.
-
-And now, as then, glowed eyes sick with longing; and her heart, still
-wild, not forgetting in town the great spaciousness of the steppe felt
-oppressed; her throat was troubled with a tormenting desire to howl
-like a wild thing.
-
-She was about to undress, but what was the use? She could not sleep,
-anyway.
-
-She went into the passage. The warm planks of the floor bent and
-creaked under her, and small shavings and sand which covered them
-tickled her feet not unpleasantly.
-
-She went out on the doorstep. There sat the _babushka_ Stepanida, a
-black figure in her black shawl, gaunt and shrivelled. She sat with her
-head bent, and it seemed as though she were warming herself in the rays
-of the cold moon.
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna sat down beside her. She kept looking at the old
-woman sideways. The large curved nose of her companion seemed to her
-like the beak of an old bird.
-
-“A crow?” Alexandra Ivanovna asked herself.
-
-She smiled, forgetting for the moment her longing and her fears. Shrewd
-as the eyes of a dog her own lighted up with the joy of her discovery.
-In the pale green light of the moon the wrinkles of her faded face
-became altogether invisible, and she seemed once more young and merry
-and light-hearted, just as she was ten years ago, when the moon had not
-yet called upon her to bark and bay of nights before the windows of the
-dark bathhouse.
-
-She moved closer to the old woman, and said affably: “_Babushka_
-Stepanida, there is something I have been wanting to ask you.”
-
-The old woman turned to her, her dark face furrowed with wrinkles, and
-asked in a sharp, oldish voice that sounded like a caw:
-
-“Well, my dear? Go ahead and ask.”
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna gave a repressed laugh; her thin shoulders suddenly
-trembled from a chill that ran down her spine.
-
-She spoke very quietly: “_Babushka_ Stepanida, it seems to me—tell me
-is it true?—I don’t know exactly how to put it—but you, _babushka_,
-please don’t take offence—it is not from malice that I——”
-
-“Go on, my dear, never fear, say it,” said the old woman.
-
-She looked at Alexandra Ivanovna with glowing, penetrating eyes.
-
-“It seems to me, _babushka_—please, now, don’t take offence—as though
-you, _babushka_ were a crow.”
-
-The old woman turned away. She was silent and merely nodded her head.
-She had the appearance of one who had recalled something. Her head,
-with its sharply outlined nose, bowed and nodded, and at last it seemed
-to Alexandra Ivanovna that the old woman was dozing. Dozing, and
-mumbling something under her nose. Nodding her head and mumbling some
-old forgotten words—old magic words.
-
-An intense quiet reigned out of doors. It was neither light nor dark,
-and everything seemed bewitched with the inarticulate mumbling of old
-forgotten words. Everything languished and seemed lost in apathy. Again
-a longing oppressed her heart. And it was neither a dream nor an
-illusion. A thousand perfumes, imperceptible by day, became subtly
-distinguishable, and they recalled something ancient and primitive,
-something forgotten in the long ages.
-
-In a barely audible voice the old woman mumbled: “Yes, I am a crow.
-Only I have no wings. But there are times when I caw, and I caw, and
-tell of woe. And I am given to forebodings, my dear; each time I have
-one I simply must caw. People are not particularly anxious to hear me.
-And when I see a doomed person I have such a strong desire to caw.”
-
-The old woman suddenly made a sweeping movement with her arms, and in a
-shrill voice cried out twice: “Kar-r, Kar-r!”
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna shuddered, and asked: “_Babushka_, at whom are you
-cawing?”
-
-The old woman answered: “At you, my dear—at you.”
-
-It had become too painful to sit with the old woman any longer.
-Alexandra Ivanovna went to her own room. She sat down before the open
-window and listened to two voices at the gate.
-
-“It simply won’t stop whining!” said a low and harsh voice.
-
-“And uncle, did you see——?” asked an agreeable young tenor.
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna recognized in this last the voice of the
-curly-headed, somewhat red, freckled-faced lad who lived in the same
-court.
-
-A brief and depressing silence followed. Then she heard a hoarse and
-harsh voice say suddenly: “Yes, I saw. It’s very large—and white. Lies
-near the bathhouse, and bays at the moon.”
-
-The voice gave her an image of the man, of his shovel-shaped beard, his
-low, furrowed forehead, his small, piggish eyes, and his spread-out fat
-legs.
-
-“And why does it bay, uncle?” asked the agreeable voice.
-
-And again the hoarse voice did not reply at once.
-
-“Certainly to no good purpose—and where it came from is more than I can
-say.”
-
-“Do you think, uncle, it may be a were-wolf?” asked the agreeable
-voice.
-
-“I should not advise you to investigate,” replied the hoarse voice.
-
-She could not quite understand what these words implied, nor did she
-wish to think of them. She did not feel inclined to listen further.
-What was the sound and significance of human words to _her_?
-
-The moon looked straight into her face, and persistently called her and
-tormented her. Her heart was restless with a dark longing, and she
-could not sit still.
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna quickly undressed herself. Naked, all white, she
-silently stole through the passage; she then opened the outer
-door—there was no one on the step or outside—and ran quickly across the
-court and the vegetable garden, and reached the bathhouse. The sharp
-contact of her body with the cold air and her feet with the cold ground
-gave her pleasure. But soon her body was warm.
-
-She lay down in the grass, on her stomach. Then, raising herself on her
-elbows, she lifted her face toward the pale, brooding moon, and gave a
-long-drawn-out whine.
-
-“Listen, uncle, it is whining,” said the curly-haired lad at the gate.
-
-The agreeable tenor voice trembled perceptibly.
-
-“Whining again, the accursed one,” said the hoarse, harsh voice slowly.
-
-They rose from the bench. The gate latch clicked.
-
-They went silently across the courtyard and the vegetable garden, the
-two of them. The older man, black-bearded and powerful, walked in
-front, a gun in his hand. The curly-headed lad followed tremblingly,
-and looked constantly behind.
-
-Near the bathhouse, in the grass, lay a huge white dog, whining
-piteously. Its head, black on the crown, was raised to the moon, which
-pursued its way in the cold sky; its hind legs were strangely thrown
-backward, while the front ones, firm and straight, pressed hard against
-the ground.
-
-In the pale green and unreal light of the moon it seemed enormous, so
-huge a dog was surely never seen on earth. It was thick and fat. The
-black spot, which began at the head and stretched in uneven strands
-down the entire spine, seemed like a woman’s loosened hair. No tail was
-visible, presumably it was turned under. The fur on the body was so
-short that in the distance the dog seemed wholly naked, and its hide
-shone dimly in the moonlight, so that altogether it resembled the body
-of a nude woman, who lay in the grass and bayed at the moon.
-
-The man with the black beard took aim. The curly-haired lad crossed
-himself and mumbled something.
-
-The discharge of a rifle sounded in the night air. The dog gave a
-groan, jumped up on its hind legs, became a naked woman, who, her body
-covered with blood, started to run, all the while groaning, weeping and
-raising cries of distress.
-
-The black-bearded one and the curly-haired one threw themselves in the
-grass, and began to moan in wild terror.
-
-
-
-LIGHT AND SHADOWS
-
-I
-
-Volodya Lovlev, a pale meagre lad of twelve, had returned home from
-school and was waiting for his dinner. He was standing in the
-drawing-room at the piano, and was turning over the pages of the latest
-number of the _Niva_ which had come only that morning.
-
-A leaflet of thin grey paper fell out; it was an announcement issued by
-an illustrated journal. It enumerated the future contributors—the list
-contained about fifty well-known literary names; it praised at some
-length the journal as a whole and in detail its many-sidedness, and it
-presented several specimen illustrations.
-
-Volodya began to turn the pages of the leaflet in an absent way and to
-look at the miniature pictures. His large eyes, looked wearily out of
-his pale face.
-
-One page suddenly caught his attention, and his wide eyes opened
-slightly wider. Running from top to bottom were six drawings of hands
-throwing shadows in dark silhouette upon a white wall—the shadows
-representing the head of a girl with an amusing three-cornered hat, the
-head of a donkey, of a bull, the sitting figure of a squirrel, and
-other similar things.
-
-Volodya smiled and looked very intently at them. He was quite familiar
-with this amusement. He could hold the fingers of one hand so as to
-cast a silhouette of a hare’s head on the wall. But this was quite
-another matter, something that Volodya had not seen before; its
-interest for him was that here were quite complex figures cast by using
-both hands.
-
-Volodya suddenly wished to reproduce these shadows. Of course there was
-no use trying now, in the uncertain light of a late autumn afternoon.
-
-He had better try it later in his own room. In any case, it was of no
-use to any one.
-
-Just then he heard the approaching footsteps and voice of his mother.
-He flushed for some reason or other and quickly put the leaflet into
-his pocket, and left the piano to meet her. She looked at him with a
-caressing smile as she came toward him; her pale, handsome face greatly
-resembled his, and she had the same large eyes.
-
-She asked him, as she always did: “Well, what’s the news to-day?”
-
-“There’s nothing new,” said Volodya dejectedly.
-
-But it occurred to him at once that he was being ungracious, and he
-felt ashamed. He smiled genially and began to recall what had happened
-at school; but this only made him feel sadder.
-
-“Pruzhinin has again distinguished himself,” and he began to tell about
-the teacher who was disliked by his pupils for his rudeness. “Lentyev
-was reciting his lesson and made a mess of it, and so Pruzhinin said to
-him: ‘Well, that’s enough; sit down, blockhead!’”
-
-“Nothing escapes you,” said his mother, smiling.
-
-“He’s always rude.”
-
-After a brief silence Volodya sighed, then complained: “They are always
-in a hurry.”
-
-“Who?” asked his mother.
-
-“I mean the masters. Every one is anxious to finish his course quickly
-and to make a good show at the examination. And if you ask a question
-you are immediately suspected of trying to take up the time until the
-bell rings, and to avoid having questions put to you.”
-
-“Do you talk much after the lessons?”
-
-“Well, yes—but there’s the same hurry after the lessons to get home, or
-to study the lessons in the girls’ class-rooms. And everything is done
-in a hurry—you are no sooner done with the geometry than you must study
-your Greek.”
-
-“That’s to keep you from yawning.”
-
-“Yawning! I’m more like a squirrel going round on its cage-wheel. It’s
-exasperating.”
-
-His mother smiled lightly.
-
-II
-
-After dinner Volodya went to his room to prepare his lessons. His
-mother saw that the room was comfortable, that nothing was lacking in
-it. No one ever disturbed Volodya here; even his mother refrained from
-coming in at this time. She would come in later, to help Volodya if he
-needed help.
-
-Volodya was an industrious and even a clever pupil. But he found it
-difficult to-day to apply himself. No matter what lesson he tried he
-could not help remembering something unpleasant; he would recall the
-teacher of each particular subject, his sarcastic or rude remark, which
-propped in passings had entered in the impressionable boy’s mind.
-
-Several of his recent lessons happened to turn out poorly; the teachers
-appeared dissatisfied, and they grumbled incessantly. Their mood
-communicated itself to Volodya, and his books and copy-books inspired
-him at this moment with a deep confusion and unrest.
-
-He passed hastily from the first lesson to the second and to the third;
-this bother with trifles for the sake of not appearing “a blockhead”
-the next day seemed to him both silly and unnecessary. The thought
-perturbed him. He began to yawn from tedium and from sadness, and to
-dangle his feet impatiently; he simply could not sit still.
-
-But he knew too well that the lessons must be learnt, that this was
-very important, that his future depended upon it; and so he went on
-conscientiously with the tedious business.
-
-Volodya made a blot on the copy-book, and he put his pen aside. He
-looked at the blot, and decided that it could be erased with a
-penknife. He was glad of the distraction.
-
-Not finding the penknife on the table he put his hand into his pocket
-and rummaged there. Among all such rubbish as is to be found in a boy’s
-pocket he felt his penknife and pulled it out, together with some sort
-of leaflet.
-
-He did not see at first what the paper was he held in his hands, but on
-looking at it he suddenly remembered that this was the little book with
-the shadows, and quite as suddenly he grew cheerful and animated.
-
-And there it was—that same little leaflet which he had forgotten when
-he began his lessons.
-
-He jumped briskly off his chair, moved the lamp nearer the wall, looked
-cautiously at the closed door—as though afraid of some one
-entering—and, turning the leaflet to the familiar page, began to study
-the first drawing with great intentness, and to arrange his fingers
-according to directions. The first shadow came out as a confused shape,
-not at all what it should have been. Volodya moved the lamp, now here,
-now there; he bent and he stretched his fingers; and he was at last
-rewarded by seeing a woman’s head with a three-cornered hat.
-
-Volodya grew cheerful. He inclined his hand somewhat and moved his
-fingers very slightly—the head bowed, smiled, and grimaced amusingly.
-
-Volodya proceeded with the second figure, then with the others. All
-were hard at the beginning, but he managed them somehow in the end.
-
-He spent a half-hour in this occupation, and forgot all about his
-lessons, the school, and the whole world.
-
-Suddenly he heard familiar footsteps behind the door. Volodya flushed;
-he stuffed the leaflet into his pocket and quickly moved the lamp to
-its place, almost overturning it; then he sat down and bent over his
-copy-book. His mother entered.
-
-“Let’s go and have tea, Volodenka,” she said to him.
-
-Volodya pretended that he was looking at the blot and that he was about
-to open his penknife. His mother gently put her hands on his head.
-Volodya threw the knife aside and pressed his flushing face against his
-mother. Evidently she noticed nothing, and this made Volodya glad.
-Still, he felt ashamed, as though he had actually been caught at some
-stupid prank.
-
-III
-
-The samovar stood upon the round table in the dining-room and quietly
-hummed its garrulous song. The hanging-lamp diffused its light upon the
-white tablecloth and upon the dark walls, filling the room with dream
-and mystery.
-
-Volodya’s mother seemed wistful as she leant her handsome, pale face
-forward over the table. Volodya was leaning on his arm, and was
-stirring the small spoon in his glass. It was good to watch the tea’s
-sweet eddies and to see the little bubbles rise to the surface. The
-little silver spoon quietly tinkled.
-
-The boiling water, sputtering, ran from the tap into his mother’s cup.
-
-A light shadow was cast by the little spoon upon the saucer and the
-tablecloth, and it lost itself in the glass of tea. Volodya watched it
-intently: the shadows thrown by the tiny little eddies and bubbles
-recalled something to him—precisely what, Volodya could not say. He
-held up and he turned the little spoon, and he ran his fingers over
-it—but nothing came of it.
-
-“All the same,” he stubbornly insisted to himself, “it’s not with
-fingers alone that shadows can be made. They are possible with
-anything. But the thing is to adjust oneself to one’s material.”
-
-And Volodya began to examine the shadows of the samovar, of the chairs,
-of his mother’s head, as well as the shadows cast on the table by the
-dishes; and he tried to catch a resemblance in all these shadows to
-something. His mother was speaking—Volodya was not listening properly.
-
-“How is Lesha Sitnikov getting on at school?” asked his mother.
-
-Volodya was studying then the shadow of the milk-jug. He gave a start,
-and answered hastily: “It’s a tom-cat.”
-
-“Volodya, you must be asleep,” said his astonished mother. “What
-tom-cat?”
-
-Volodya grew red.
-
-“I don’t know what’s got into my head,” he said. “I’m sorry, mother, I
-wasn’t listening.”
-
-IV
-
-The next evening, before tea, Volodya again thought of his shadows, and
-gave himself up to them. One shadow insisted on turning out badly, no
-matter how hard he stretched and bent his fingers.
-
-Volodya was so absorbed in this that he did not hear his mother coming.
-At the creaking of the door he quickly put the leaflet into his pocket
-and turned away, confused, from the wall. But his mother was already
-looking at his hands, and a tremor of fear lit up her eyes.
-
-“What are you doing, Volodya? What have you hidden?”
-
-“Nothing, really,” muttered Volodya, flushing and changing colour
-rapidly.
-
-It flashed upon her that Volodya wished to smoke, and that he had
-hidden a cigarette.
-
-“Volodya, show me at once what you are hiding,” she said in a
-frightened voice.
-
-“Really, mamma....”
-
-She caught Volodya by the elbow.
-
-“Must I feel in your pocket myself?”
-
-Volodya grew even redder, and pulled the little book out of his pocket.
-
-“Here it is,” he said, giving it to his mother.
-
-“Well, what is it?”
-
-“Well, here,” he explained, “on this side are the drawings, and here,
-as you see, are the shadows. I was trying to throw them on the wall,
-and I haven’t succeeded very well.”
-
-“What is there to hide here!” said his mother, becoming more tranquil.
-“Now show me what they look like.”
-
-Volodya, taken aback, began obediently to show his mother the shadows.
-
-“Now this is the profile of a bald-headed man. And this is the head of
-a hare.”
-
-“And so this is how you are studying your lessons!”
-
-“Only for a little, mother.”
-
-“For a little! Why are you blushing then, my dear? Well, I shan’t say
-anything more. I think I can depend on you to do what is right.”
-
-His mother moved her hand over his short, bristling hair, whereupon
-Volodya laughed and hid his flushing face under his mother’s elbow.
-
-Then his mother left him, and for a long time Volodya felt awkward and
-ashamed. His mother had caught him doing something that he himself
-would have ridiculed had he caught any of his companions doing it.
-
-Volodya knew that he was a clever lad, and he deemed himself serious;
-and this was, after all, a game fit only for little girls when they got
-together.
-
-He pushed the little book with the shadows deeper into the
-table-drawer, and did not take it out again for more than a week;
-indeed, he thought little about the shadows that week. Only in the
-evening sometimes, in changing from one lesson to another, he would
-smile at the recollection of the girl in the hat—there were, indeed,
-moments when he put his hand in the drawer to get the little book, but
-he always quickly remembered the shame he experienced when his mother
-first found him out, and this made him resume his work at once.
-
-V
-
-Volodya and his mother lived in their own house on the outskirts of the
-district town. Eugenia Stepanovna had been a widow for nine years. She
-was now thirty-five years old; she seemed young and handsome, and
-Volodya loved her tenderly. She lived entirely for her son, studied
-ancient languages for his sake, and shared all his school cares. A
-quiet and gentle woman, she looked somewhat apprehensively upon the
-world out of her large, benign eyes.
-
-They had one domestic. Praskovya was a widow; she was gruff, sturdy,
-and strong; she was forty-five years old, but in her stern taciturnity
-she was more like a woman a hundred years old.
-
-Whenever Volodya looked at her morose, stony face he wondered what she
-was thinking of in her kitchen during the long winter evenings, as the
-cold knitting-needles, clinking, shifted in her bony fingers with a
-regular movement, and her dry lips stirred yet uttered no sound. Was
-she recalling her drunken husband, or her children who had died
-earlier? or was she musing upon her lonely and homeless old age?
-
-Her stony face seemed hopelessly gloomy and austere.
-
-VI
-
-It was a long autumn evening. On the other side of the wall were the
-wind and the rain.
-
-How wearily, how indifferently the lamp flared! Volodya, propping
-himself up on his elbow, leant his whole body over to the left and
-looked at the white wall and at the white window-blinds.
-
-The pale flowers were almost invisible on the wall-paper ... the wall
-was a melancholy white....
-
-The shaded lamp subdued the bright glare of light. The entire upper
-portion of the room was twilit.
-
-Volodya lifted his right arm. A long, faintly outlined, confused shadow
-crept across the shaded wall.
-
-It was the shadow of an angel, flying heaven-ward from a depraved and
-afflicted world; it was a translucent shadow, spreading its broad wings
-and reposing its bowed head sadly upon its breast.
-
-Would not the angel, with his gentle hands, carry away with him
-something significant yet despised of this world?
-
-Volodya sighed. He let his arm fall languidly. He let his depressed
-eyes rest on his books.
-
-It was a long autumn evening.... The wall was a melancholy white.... On
-the other side of the wall something wept and rustled.
-
-VII
-
-Volodya’s mother found him a second time with the shadows.
-
-This time the bull’s head was a success, and he was delighted. He made
-the bull stretch out his neck, and the bull lowed.
-
-His mother was less pleased.
-
-“So this is how you are taking up your time,” she said reproachfully.
-
-“For a little, mamma,” whispered Volodya, embarrassed.
-
-“You might at least save this for a more suitable time,” his mother
-went on. “And you are no longer a little boy. Aren’t you ashamed to
-waste your time on such nonsense!”
-
-“Mamma, dear, I shan’t do it again.”
-
-But Volodya found it difficult to keep his promise. He enjoyed making
-shadows, and the desire to make them came to him often, especially
-during an uninteresting lesson.
-
-This amusement occupied much of his time on some evenings and
-interfered with his lessons. He had to make up for it afterwards and to
-lose some sleep. How could he give up his amusement?
-
-Volodya succeeded in evolving several new figures, and not by means of
-the fingers alone. These figures lived on the wall, and it even seemed
-to Volodya at times that they talked to him and entertained him.
-
-But Volodya was a dreamer even before then.
-
-VIII
-
-It was night. Volodya’s room was dark. He had gone to bed but he could
-not sleep. He was lying on his back and was looking at the ceiling.
-
-Some one was walking in the street with a lantern. His shadow traversed
-the ceiling, among the red spots of light thrown by the lantern. It was
-evident that the lantern swung in the hands of the passer-by—the shadow
-wavered and seemed agitated.
-
-Volodya felt a sadness and a fear. He quickly pulled the bed-cover over
-his head, and, trembling in his haste, he turned on his right side and
-began to encourage himself.
-
-He then felt soothed and warm. His mind began to weave sweet, naïve
-fancies, the fancies which visited him usually before sleep.
-
-Often when he went to bed he felt suddenly afraid; he felt as though he
-were becoming smaller and weaker. He would then hide among the pillows,
-and gradually became soothed and loving, and wished his mother were
-there that he might put his arms round her neck and kiss her.
-
-IX
-
-The grey twilight was growing denser. The shadows merged. Volodya felt
-depressed. But here was the lamp. The light poured itself on the green
-tablecloth, the vague, beloved shadows appeared on the wall.
-
-Volodya suddenly felt glad and animated, and made haste to get the
-little grey book. The bull began to low ... the young lady to laugh
-uproariously.... What evil, round eyes the bald-headed gentleman was
-making!
-
-Then he tried his own. It was the steppe. Here was a wayfarer with his
-knapsack. Volodya seemed to hear the endless, monotonous song of the
-road....
-
-Volodya felt both joy and sadness.
-
-X
-
-“Volodya, it’s the third time I’ve seen you with the little book. Do
-you spend whole evenings admiring your fingers?”
-
-Volodya stood uneasily at the table, like a truant caught, and he
-turned the pages of the leaflet with hot fingers.
-
-“Give it to me,” said his mother.
-
-Volodya, confused, put out his hand with the leaflet. His mother took
-it, said nothing, and went out; while Volodya sat down over his
-copy-books.
-
-He felt ashamed that, by his stubbornness, he had offended his mother,
-and he felt vexed that she had taken the booklet from him; he was even
-more vexed at himself for letting the matter go so far. He felt his
-awkward position, and his vexation with his mother troubled him: he had
-scruples in being angry with her, yet he couldn’t help it. And because
-he had scruples he felt even more angry.
-
-“Well, let her take it,” he said to himself at last, “I can get along
-without it.”
-
-And, in truth, Volodya had the figures in his memory, and used the
-little book merely for verification.
-
-XI
-
-In the meantime his mother opened the little book with the shadows—and
-became lost in thought.
-
-“I wonder what’s fascinating about them?” she mused. “It is strange
-that such a good, clever boy should suddenly, become wrapped up in such
-nonsense! No, that means it’s not mere nonsense. What, then, is it?”
-she pursued her questioning of herself.
-
-A strange fear took possession of her; she felt malignant toward these
-black pictures, yet quailed before them.
-
-She rose and lighted a candle. She approached the wall, the little grey
-book still in her hand, and paused in her wavering agitation.
-
-“Yes, it is important to get to the bottom of this,” she resolved, and
-began to reproduce the shadows from the first to the last.
-
-She persisted most patiently with her hands and her fingers, until she
-succeeded in reproducing the figure she desired. A confused,
-apprehensive feelings stirred within her. She tried to conquer it. But
-her fear fascinated her as it grew stronger. Her hands trembled, while
-her thought, cowed by life’s twilight, ran on to meet the approaching
-sorrows.
-
-She suddenly heard her son’s footsteps. She trembled, hid the little
-book, and blew out the candle.
-
-Volodya entered and stopped in the doorway, confused by the stern look
-of his mother as she stood by the wall in a strange, uneasy attitude.
-
-“What do you want?” asked his mother in a harsh, uneven voice.
-
-A vague conjecture ran across Volodya’s mind, but he quickly repelled
-it and began to talk to his mother.
-
-XII
-
-Then Volodya left her.
-
-She paced up and down the room a number of times. She noticed that her
-shadow followed her on the floor, and, strange to say, it was the first
-time in her life that her own shadow had made her uneasy. The thought
-that there was a shadow assailed her mind unceasingly—and Eugenia
-Stepanovna, for some reason, was afraid of this thought, and even tried
-not to look at her shadow.
-
-But the shadow crept after her and taunted her. Eugenia Stepanovna
-tried to think of something else—but in vain.
-
-She suddenly paused, pale and agitated.
-
-“Well, it’s a shadow, a shadow!” she exclaimed aloud, stamping her foot
-with a strange irritation, “what of it?”
-
-Then all at once she reflected that it was stupid to make a fuss and to
-stamp her feet, and she became quiet.
-
-She approached the mirror. Her face was paler than usual, and her lips
-quivered with a kind of strange hate.
-
-“It’s nerves,” she thought; “I must take myself in hand.”
-
-XIII
-
-Twilight was falling. Volodya grew pensive.
-
-“Let’s go for a stroll, Volodya,” said his mother.
-
-But in the street there were also shadows everywhere, mysterious,
-elusive evening shadows; and they whispered in Volodya’s ear something
-that was familiar and infinitely sad.
-
-In the clouded sky two or three stars looked out, and they seemed
-equally distant and equally strange to Volodya and to the shadows that
-surrounded him.
-
-“Mamma,” he said, oblivious of the fact that he had interrupted her as
-she was telling him something, “what a pity that it is impossible to
-reach those stars.”
-
-His mother looked up at the sky and answered: “I don’t see that it’s
-necessary. Our place is on earth. It is better for us here. It’s quite
-another thing there.”
-
-“How faintly they glimmer! They ought to be glad of it.”
-
-“Why?”
-
-“If they shone more strongly they would cast shadows.”
-
-“Oh, Volodya, why do you think only of shadows?”
-
-“I didn’t mean to, mamma,” said Volodya in a penitent voice.
-
-XIV
-
-Volodya worked harder than ever at his lessons; he was afraid to hurt
-his mother by being lazy. But he employed all his invention in grouping
-the objects on his table in a way that would produce new and ever more
-fantastic shadows. He put this here and that there—anything that came
-to his hands—and he rejoiced when outlines appeared on the white wall
-that his mind could grasp. There was an intimacy between him and these
-shadowy outlines, and they were very dear to him. They were not dumb,
-they spoke to him, and Volodya understood their inarticulate speech.
-
-He understood why the dejected wayfarer murmured as he wandered upon
-the long road, the autumn wetness under his feet, a stick in his
-trembling hand, a knapsack on his bowed back.
-
-He understood why the snow-covered forest, its boughs crackling with
-frost, complained, as it stood sadly dreaming in the winter stillness;
-and he understood why the lonely crow cawed on the old oak, and why the
-bustling squirrel looked sadly out of its tree-hollow.
-
-He understood why the decrepit and homeless old beggar-women sobbed in
-the dismal autumn wind, as they shivered in their rags in the crowded
-graveyard, among the crumbling crosses and the hopelessly black tombs.
-
-There was self-forgetfulness in this, and also tormenting woe!
-
-XV
-
-Volodya’s mother observed that he continued to play.
-
-She said to him after dinner: “At least, you might get interested in
-something else.”
-
-“In what?”
-
-“You might read.”
-
-“No sooner do I begin to read than I want to cast shadows.”
-
-“If you’d only try something else—say soap-bubbles.”
-
-Volodya smiled sadly.
-
-“No sooner do the bubbles fly up than the shadows follow them on the
-wall.”
-
-“Volodya, unless you take care your nerves will be shattered. Already
-you have grown thinner because of this.”
-
-“Mamma, you exaggerate.”
-
-“No, Volodya.... Don’t I know that you’ve begun to sleep badly and to
-talk nonsense in your sleep. Now, just think, suppose you die!”
-
-“What are you saying!”
-
-“God forbid, but if you go mad, or die, I shall suffer horribly.”
-
-Volodya laughed and threw himself on his mother’s neck.
-
-“Mamma dear, I shan’t die. I won’t do it again.”
-
-She saw that he was crying now.
-
-“That will do,” she said. “God is merciful. Now you see how nervous you
-are. You’re laughing and crying at the same time.”
-
-XVI
-
-Volodya’s mother began to look at him with careful and anxious eyes.
-Every trifle now agitated her.
-
-She noticed that Volodya’s head was somewhat asymmetrical: his one ear
-was higher than the other, his chin slightly turned to one side. She
-looked in the mirror, and further remarked that Volodya had inherited
-this too from her.
-
-“It may be,” she thought, “one of the characteristics of unfortunate
-heredity—degeneration; in which case where is the root of the evil? Is
-it my fault or his father’s?”
-
-Eugenia Stepanovna recalled her dead husband. He was a most
-kind-hearted and most lovable man, somewhat weak-willed, with rash
-impulses. He was by nature a zealot and a mystic, and he dreamt of a
-social Utopia, and went among the people. He had been rather given to
-tippling the last years of his life.
-
-He died young; he was but thirty-five years old.
-
-Volodya’s mother even took her boy to the doctor and described his
-symptoms. The doctor, a cheerful young man, listened to her, then
-laughed and gave counsel concerning diet and way of life, throwing in a
-few witty remarks; he wrote out a prescription in a happy, off-hand
-way, and he added playfully, with a slap on Volodya’s shoulder: “But
-the very best medicine would be—a birch.”
-
-Volodya’s mother felt the affront deeply, but she followed all the rest
-of the instructions faithfully.
-
-XVII
-
-Volodya was sitting in his class. He felt depressed. He listened
-inattentively.
-
-He raised his eyes. A shadow was moving along the ceiling near the
-front wall. Volodya observed that it came in through the first window.
-To begin with it fell from the window toward the centre of the
-class-room, but later it started forward rather quickly away from
-Volodya—evidently some one was walking in the street, just by the
-window. While this shadow was still moving another shadow came through
-the second window, falling, as did the first one, toward the back wall,
-but later it began to turn quickly toward the front wall. The same
-thing happened at the third and the fourth windows; the shadows fell in
-the class-room on the ceiling, and in the degree that the passer-by
-moved forward they retreated backward.
-
-“This,” thought Volodya, “is not at all the same as in an open place,
-where the shadow follows the man; when the man goes forward, the shadow
-glides behind, and other shadows again meet him in the front.”
-
-Volodya turned his eyes on the gaunt figure of the tutor. His callous,
-yellow face annoyed Volodya. He looked for his shadow and found it on
-the wall, just behind the tutor’s chair. The monstrous shape bent over
-and rocked from side to side, but it had neither a yellow face nor a
-malignant smile, and Volodya looked at it with joy. His thoughts
-scampered off somewhere far away, and he heard not a single thing of
-what was being said.
-
-“Lovlev!” His tutor called his name.
-
-Volodya rose, as was the custom, and stood looking stupidly at the
-tutor. He had such an absent look that his companions tittered, while
-the tutor’s face assumed a critical expression.
-
-Volodya heard the tutor attack him with sarcasm and abuse. He trembled
-from shame and from weakness. The tutor announced that he would give
-Volodya “one” for his ignorance and his inattention, and he asked him
-to sit down.
-
-Volodya smiled in a dull way, and tried to think what had happened to
-him.
-
-XVIII
-
-The “one” was the first in Volodya’s life! It made him feel rather
-strange.
-
-“Lovlev!” his comrades taunted him, laughing and nudging him, “you
-caught it that time! Congratulations!”
-
-Volodya felt awkward. He did not yet know how to behave in these
-circumstances.
-
-“What if I have,” he answered peevishly, “what business is it of
-yours?”
-
-“Lovlev!” the lazy Snegirev shouted, “our regiment has been
-reinforced!”
-
-His first “one”! And he had yet to tell his mother.
-
-He felt ashamed and humiliated. He felt as though he bore in the
-knapsack on his back a strangely heavy and awkward burden—the “one”
-stuck clumsily in his consciousness and seemed to fit in with nothing
-else in his mind.
-
-“One”!
-
-He could not get used to the thought about the “one,” and yet could not
-think of anything else. When the policeman, who stood near the school,
-looked at him with his habitual severity Volodya could not help
-thinking: “What if you knew that I’ve received ‘one’!”
-
-It was all so awkward and so unusual. Volodya did not know how to hold
-his head and where to put his hands; there was uneasiness in his whole
-bearing.
-
-Besides, he had to assume a care-free look before his comrades and to
-talk of something else!
-
-His comrades! Volodya was convinced that they were all very glad
-because of his “one.”
-
-XIX
-
-Volodya’s mother looked at the “one” and turned her uncomprehending
-eyes on her son. Then again she glanced at the report and exclaimed
-quietly:
-
-“Volodya!”
-
-Volodya stood before her, and he felt intensely small. He looked at the
-folds of his mother’s dress and at his mother’s pale hands; his
-trembling eyelids were conscious of her frightened glances fixed upon
-them.
-
-“What’s this?” she asked.
-
-“Don’t you worry, mamma,” burst out Volodya suddenly; “after all, it’s
-my first!”
-
-“Your first!”
-
-“It may happen to any one. And really it was all an accident.”
-
-“Oh, Volodya, Volodya!”
-
-Volodya began to cry and to rub his tears, child-like, over his face
-with the palm of his hand.
-
-“Mamma darling, don’t be angry,” he whispered.
-
-“That’s what comes of your shadows,” said his mother.
-
-Volodya felt the tears in her voice. His heart was touched. He glanced
-at his mother. She was crying. He turned quickly toward her.
-
-“Mamma, mamma,” he kept on repeating, while kissing her hands, “I’ll
-drop the shadows, really I will.”
-
-XX
-
-Volodya made a strong effort of the will and refrained from the
-shadows, despite strong temptation. He tried to make amends for his
-neglected lessons.
-
-But the shadows beckoned to him persistently. In vain he ceased to
-invite them with his fingers, in vain he ceased to arrange objects that
-would cast a new shadow on the wall; the shadows themselves surrounded
-him—they were unavoidable, importunate shadows.
-
-Objects themselves no longer interested Volodya, he almost ceased to
-see them; all his attention was centred on their shadows.
-
-When he was walking home and the sun happened to peep through the
-autumn clouds, as through smoky vestments, he was overjoyed because
-there was everywhere an awakening of the shadows.
-
-The shadows from the lamplight hovered near him in the evening at home.
-
-The shadows were everywhere. There were the sharp shadows from the
-flames, there were the fainter shadows from diffused daylight. All of
-them crowded toward Volodya, recrossed each other, and enveloped him in
-an unbreakable network.
-
-Some of the shadows were incomprehensible, mysterious; others reminded
-him of something, suggested something. But there were also the beloved,
-the intimate, the familiar shadows; these Volodya himself, however
-casually, sought out and caught everywhere from among the confused
-wavering of the others, the more remote shadows. But they were sad,
-these beloved, familiar shadows.
-
-Whenever Volodya found himself seeking these shadows his conscience
-tormented him, and he went to his mother to make a clean breast of it.
-
-Once it happened that Volodya could not conquer his temptation. He
-stood up close to the wall and made a shadow of the bull. His mother
-found him.
-
-“Again!” she exclaimed angrily. “I really shall have to ask the
-director to put you into the small room.”
-
-Volodya flushed violently and answered morosely: “There is a wall there
-also. The walls are everywhere.”
-
-“Volodya,” exclaimed his mother sorrowfully, “what are you saying!”
-
-But Volodya already repented of his rudeness, and he was crying.
-
-“Mamma, I don’t know myself what’s happening to me!”
-
-XXI
-
-Volodya’s mother had not yet conquered her superstitious dread of
-shadows. She began very often to think that she, like Volodya, was
-losing herself in the contemplation of shadows. Then she tried to
-comfort herself.
-
-“What stupid thoughts!” she said. “Thank God, all will pass happily; he
-will be like this a little while, then he will stop.”
-
-But her heart trembled with a secret fear, and her thought, frightened
-of life persistently ran to meet approaching sorrows.
-
-She began in the melancholy moments of waking to examine her soul, and
-all her life would pass before her; she saw its emptiness, its
-futility, and its aimlessness. It seemed but a senseless glimmer of
-shadows, which merged in the denser twilight.
-
-“Why have I lived?” she asked herself. “Was it for my son? But why?
-That he too shall become a prey to shadows, a maniac with a narrow
-horizon, chained to his illusions, to restless appearances upon a
-lifeless wall? And he too will enter upon life, and he will make of
-life a chain of impressions, phantasmic and futile, like a dream.”
-
-She sat down in the armchair by the window, and she thought and
-thought. Her thoughts were bitter, oppressive. She began, in her
-despair, to wring her beautiful white hands.
-
-Then her thoughts wandered. She looked at her outstretched hands, and
-began to imagine what sort of shapes they would cast on the wall in
-their present attitude. She suddenly paused and jumped up from her
-chair in fright.
-
-“My God!” she exclaimed. “This is madness.”
-
-XXII
-
-She watched Volodya at dinner.
-
-“How pale and thin he has grown,” she said to herself, “since the
-unfortunate little book fell into his hands. He’s changed entirely—in
-character and in everything else. It is said that character changes
-before death. What if he dies? But no, no. God forbid!”
-
-The spoon trembled in her hand. She looked up at the ikon with timid
-eyes.
-
-“Volodya, why don’t you finish your soup?” she asked, looking
-frightened.
-
-“I don’t feel like it, mamma.”
-
-“Volodya, darling, do as I tell you; it is bad for you not to eat your
-soup.”
-
-Volodya gave a tired smile and slowly finished his soup. His mother had
-filled his plate fuller than usual. He leant back in his chair and was
-on the point of saying that the soup was not good. But his mother’s
-worried look restrained him, and he merely smiled weakly.
-
-“And now I’ve had enough,” he said.
-
-“Oh no, Volodya, I have all your favourite dishes to-day.”
-
-Volodya sighed sadly. He knew that when his mother spoke of his
-favourite dishes it meant that she would coax him to eat. He guessed
-that even after tea his mother would prevail upon him, as she did the
-day before, to eat meat.
-
-XXIII
-
-In the evening Volodya’s mother said to him: “Volodya dear, you’ll
-waste your time again; perhaps you’d better keep the door open!”
-
-Volodya began his lessons. But he felt vexed because the door had been
-left open at his back, and because his mother went past it now and
-then.
-
-“I cannot go on like this,” he shouted, moving his chair noisily. “I
-cannot do anything when the door is wide open.”
-
-“Volodya, is there any need to shout so?” his mother reproached him
-softly.
-
-Volodya already felt repentant, and he began to cry.
-
-“Don’t you see, Volodenka, that I’m worried about you, and that I want
-to save you from your thoughts.”
-
-“Mamma, sit here with me,” said Volodya.
-
-His mother took a book and sat down at Volodya’s table. For a few
-minutes Volodya worked calmly. But gradually the presence of his mother
-began to annoy him.
-
-“I’m being watched just like a sick man,” he thought spitefully.
-
-His thoughts were constantly interrupted, and he was biting his lips.
-His mother remarked this at last, and she left the room.
-
-But Volodya felt no relief. He was tormented with regret at showing his
-impatience. He tried to go on with his work but he could not. Then he
-went to his mother.
-
-“Mamma, why did you leave me?” he asked timidly.
-
-XXIV
-
-It was the eve of a holiday. The little image-lamps burned before the
-ikons.
-
-It was late and it was quiet. Volodya’s mother was not asleep. In the
-mysterious dark of her bedroom she fell on her knees, she prayed and
-she wept, sobbing out now and then like a child.
-
-Her braids of hair trailed upon her white dress; her shoulders
-trembled. She raised her hands to her breast in a praying posture, and
-she looked with tearful eyes at the ikon. The image-lamp moved almost
-imperceptibly on its chains with her passionate breathing. The shadows
-rocked, they crowded in the corners, they stirred behind the reliquary,
-and they murmured mysteriously. There was a hopeless yearning in their
-murmurings and an incomprehensible sadness in their wavering movements.
-
-At last she rose, looking pale, with strange, widely dilated eyes, and
-she reeled slightly on her benumbed legs.
-
-She went quietly to Volodya. The shadows surrounded her, they rustled
-softly behind her back, they crept at her feet, and some of them, as
-fine as the threads of a spider’s web, fell upon her shoulders and,
-looking into her large eyes, murmured incomprehensibly.
-
-She approached her son’s bed cautiously. His face was pale in the light
-of the image-lamp. Strange, sharp shadows lay upon him. His breathing
-was inaudible; he slept so tranquilly that his mother was frightened.
-
-She stood there in the midst of the vague shadows, and she felt upon
-her the breath of vague fears.
-
-XXV
-
-The high vaults of the church were dark and mysterious. The evening
-chants rose toward these vaults and resounded there with an exultant
-sadness. The dark images, lit up by the yellow flickers of wax candles,
-looked stern and mysterious. The warm breathing of the wax and of the
-incense filled the air with lofty sorrow.
-
-Eugenia Stepanovna placed a candle before the ikon of the Mother of
-God. Then she knelt down. But her prayer was distraught.
-
-She looked at her candle. Its flame wavered. The shadows from the
-candles fell on Eugenia Stepanovna’s black dress and on the floor, and
-rocked unsteadily. The shadows hovered on the walls of the church and
-lost themselves in the heights between the dark vaults, where the
-exultant, sad songs resounded.
-
-XXVI
-
-It was another night.
-
-Volodya awoke suddenly. The darkness enveloped him, and it stirred
-without sound. He freed his hands, then raised them, and followed their
-movements with his eyes. He did not see his hands in the darkness, but
-he imagined that he saw them wanly stirring before him. They were dark
-and mysterious, and they held in them the affliction and the murmur of
-lonely yearning.
-
-His mother also did not sleep; her grief tormented her. She lit a
-candle and went quietly toward her son’s room to see how he slept. She
-opened the door noiselessly and looked timidly at Volodya’s bed.
-
-A streak of yellow light trembled on the wall and intersected Volodya’s
-red bed-cover. The lad stretched his arms toward the light and, with a
-beating heart, followed the shadows. He did not even ask himself where
-the light came from. He was wholly obsessed by the shadows. His eyes
-were fixed on the wall, and there was a gleam of madness in them.
-
-The streak of light broadened, the shadows moved in a startled way;
-they were morose and hunch-backed, like homeless, roaming women who
-were hurrying to reach somewhere with old burdens that dragged them
-down.
-
-Volodya’s mother, trembling with fright, approached the bed and quietly
-aroused her son.
-
-“Volodya!”
-
-Volodya came to himself. For some seconds he glanced at his mother with
-large eyes, then he shivered from head to foot and, springing out of
-bed, fell at his mother’s feet, embraced her knees, and wept.
-
-“What dreams you do dream, Volodya!” exclaimed his mother sorrowfully.
-
-XXVII
-
-“Volodya,” said his mother to him at breakfast, “you must stop it,
-darling; you will become a wreck if you spend your nights also with the
-shadows.”
-
-The pale lad lowered his head in dejection. His lips quivered
-nervously.
-
-“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” continued his mother. “Perhaps we had
-better play a little while together with the shadows each evening, and
-then we will study your lessons. What do you say?”
-
-Volodya grew somewhat animated.
-
-“Mamma, you’re a darling!” he said shyly.
-
-XXVIII
-
-In the street Volodya felt drowsy and timid. The fog was spreading; it
-was cold and dismal. The outlines of the houses looked strange in the
-mist. The morose, human silhouettes moved through the filmy atmosphere
-like ominous, unkindly shadows. Everything seemed so intensely unreal.
-The cab-horse, which stood drowsily at the street-crossing, appeared
-like a huge fabulous beast.
-
-The policeman gave Volodya a hostile look. The crow on the low roof
-foreboded sorrow in Volodya’s ear. But sorrow was already in his heart;
-it made him sad to note how everything was hostile to him.
-
-A small dog with an unhealthy coat barked at him from behind a gate and
-Volodya felt a strange depression. And the urchins of the street seemed
-ready to laugh at him and to humiliate him.
-
-In the past he would have settled scores with them as they deserved,
-but now fear lived in his breast; it robbed his arms of their strength
-and caused them to hang by his sides.
-
-When Volodya returned home Praskovya opened the door to him, and she
-looked at him with moroseness and hostility. Volodya felt uneasy. He
-quickly went into the house, and refrained from looking at Praskovya’s
-depressing face again.
-
-XXIX
-
-His mother was sitting alone. It was twilight, and she felt sad.
-
-A light suddenly glimmered somewhere.
-
-Volodya ran in, animated, cheerful, and with large, somewhat wild eyes.
-
-“Mamma, the lamp has been lit; let’s play a little.”
-
-She smiled and followed Volodya.
-
-“Mamma, I’ve thought of a new figure,” said Volodya excitedly, as he
-placed the lamp in the desired position. “Look.... Do you see? This is
-the steppe, covered with snow, and the snow falls—a regular storm.”
-
-Volodya raised his hands and arranged them.
-
-“Now look, here is an old man, a wayfarer. He is up to his knees in
-snow. It is difficult to walk. He is alone. It is an open field. The
-village is far away. He is tired, he is cold; it is terrible. He is all
-bent—he’s such an old man.”
-
-Volodya’s mother helped him with his fingers.
-
-“Oh!” exclaimed Volodya in great joy. “The wind is tearing his cap off,
-it is blowing his hair loose, it has thrown him in the snow. The drifts
-are getting higher. Mamma, mamma, do you hear?”
-
-“It’s a blinding storm.”
-
-“And he?”
-
-“The old man?”
-
-“Do you hear, he is moaning?”
-
-“Help!”
-
-Both of them, pale, were looking at the wall. Volodya’s hands shook,
-the old man fell.
-
-His mother was the first to arouse herself.
-
-“And now it’s time to work,” she said.
-
-XXX
-
-It was morning. Volodya’s mother was alone. Rapt in her confused,
-dismal thoughts, she was walking from one room to another. Her shadow
-outlined itself vaguely on the white door in the light of the
-mist-dimmed sun. She stopped at the door and lifted her arm with a
-large, curious movement. The shadow on the door wavered and began to
-murmur something familiar and sad. A strange feeling of comfort came
-over Eugenia Stepanovna as she stood, a wild smile on her face, before
-the door and moved both her hands, watching the trembling shadows.
-
-Then she heard Praskovya coming, and she realized that she was doing an
-absurd thing. Once more she felt afraid and sad.
-
-“We ought to make a change,” she thought, “and go elsewhere, somewhere
-farther away, to a new atmosphere. We must run away from here, simply
-run away!”
-
-And suddenly she remembered Volodya’s words: “There is a wall there
-also. The walls are everywhere.”
-
-“There is nowhere to run!”
-
-In her despair she wrung her pale, beautiful hands.
-
-XXXI
-
-It was evening.
-
-A lighted lamp stood on the floor in Volodya’s room. Just behind it,
-near the wall, sat Volodya and his mother. They were looking at the
-wall and were making strange movements with their hands.
-
-Shadows stirred and trembled upon the wall.
-
-Volodya and his mother understood them. Both were smiling sadly and
-were saying weird and impossible things to each other. Their faces were
-peaceful and their eyes looked clear; their joyousness was hopelessly
-sorrowful and their sorrow was wildly joyous.
-
-In their eyes was a glimmer of madness, blessed madness.
-
-The night was descending upon them.
-
-
-
-THE GLIMMER OF HUNGER
-
-
-Sergei Matveyevich Moshkin had dined very well that day—that is
-comparatively well—when you stop to consider that he was only a village
-schoolmaster who had lost his place, and had been knocking about
-already a year or so on strange stairways, in search of work.
-Nevertheless, the glimmer of hunger persisted in his dark, sad eyes,
-and it gave his lean, smooth face a kind of unlooked-for significance.
-
-Moshkin spent his last three-rouble note on this dinner, and now a few
-coppers jingled in his pocket, while his purse contained a smooth
-fifteen-copeck piece. He banqueted out of sheer joy. He knew quite well
-that it was stupid to rejoice prematurely and without sufficient cause.
-But he had been seeking work so long, and had been having such a time
-of it, that even the shadow of a hope gave him joy.
-
-Moshkin had put an advertisement in the _Novo Vremya_. He announced
-himself a pedagogue who had command of the pen; he based his claim on
-the fact that he corresponded for a provincial newspaper. This, indeed,
-was why he had lost his place; it was discovered that he had written
-articles reflecting unfavourably on the authorities; the chief official
-of the district called the attention of the inspector of public schools
-to this, and the inspector, of course, would not brook such doings by
-any of his staff.
-
-“We don’t want that kind,” the inspector said to him in a personal
-interview.
-
-Moshkin asked: “What kind do you want?”
-
-The inspector, without replying to this irrelevant question, remarked
-dryly: “Good-bye. I hope to meet you in the next world.”
-
-Moshkin stated further in his advertisement that he wished to be a
-secretary, a permanent collaborator on a newspaper, a private tutor;
-also that he was willing to accompany his employer to the Caucasus or
-the Crimea, and to make himself useful in the house, etc. He gave an
-assurance of his reasonableness, and that he had no objections to
-travelling.
-
-He waited. One postcard came. It inspired him with hope; he hardly knew
-why.
-
-It came in the morning while Moshkin was drinking his tea. The landlady
-brought it in herself. There was a glitter in her dark, snake-like eyes
-as she remarked tauntingly:
-
-“Here’s some correspondence for Mr. Sergei Matveyevich Moshkin.”
-
-And while he was reading she smoothed her black hair down her
-triangular yellow forehead, and hissed: “What’s the good of getting
-letters? Much better if you paid for your board and lodging. A letter
-won’t feed your hunger; you ought to go among people, look for a job
-and not expect things to come to you.”
-
-He read:
-
-“_Be so good as to come in for a talk, between_ 6 _and_ 7 _in the
-evening, at Row_ 6, _House_ 78, _Apartment_ 57.”
-
-
-There was no signature.
-
-Moshkin glanced angrily at his landlady. She was broad and erect, and
-as she stood there at the door quite calm, with lowered arms, she was
-like a doll; she seemed deliberately malicious, and she looked at him
-with her motionless, anger-provoking eyes.
-
-Moshkin exclaimed: “Basta!”
-
-He hit the table with his fist. Then he rose, and paced up and down the
-room. He kept on repeating: “Basta!”
-
-The landlady asked quietly and spitefully: “Are you going to pay or
-not, you Kazan and Astrakhan correspondent, you impudent face?”
-
-Moshkin stopped in front of her, put out his empty palm, and said:
-“That’s all I have.”
-
-He said nothing about his last three-rouble note. The landlady hissed:
-“I’m not hard on you, but I need money. Wood’s seven roubles a load
-now, how am I to pay it? You can’t live on nothing. Can’t you find some
-one to look after you? You’re a young man of ability, and you have
-quite a charming appearance. You can always get hold of some goose or
-other. But how am I to pay? Whichever way you turn you’ve got to put
-down money.”
-
-Moshkin replied: “Don’t worry, Praskovya Petrovna, I am getting a job
-to-night, and I’ll pay what I owe you.”
-
-He began to pace the room again, making a flapping noise with his
-slippers.
-
-The landlady paused at the door, and kept on with her grumbling. When
-she went at last, she cried out: “Another in my place would have shown
-you the door long ago.”
-
-For some time after she had left there still remained in his memory her
-strange, erect figure, with relaxed arms; her broad, yellow forehead,
-shaped like a triangle under her smoothly-oiled hair; her worn yellow
-dress, cut away like a narrow triangle, and her red, sniffling nose
-shaped like a small triangle. Three triangles in all.
-
-All day long Moshkin was hungry, cheerful, and indignant. He walked
-aimlessly in the streets. He looked at the girls, and they all seemed
-to him to be lovable, happy, and accessible—to the rich. He stopped
-before the shop windows, where expensive goods were displayed. The
-glimmer of hunger in his eyes grew keener and keener.
-
-He bought a newspaper. He read as he sat on a form in the square, where
-the children laughed and ran, where the nurses tried to look
-fashionable, where there was a smell of dust and of consumptive
-trees—and where the smells of the street and of the garden mingled
-unpleasantly, reminding him of the smell of gutta-percha. Moshkin was
-very much struck by an account in the newspaper of a hungry fanatic who
-had slashed a picture by a celebrated artist in the museum.
-
-“Now that’s something I can understand!”
-
-Moshkin walked briskly along the path. He repeated: “Now that’s
-something I can understand!”
-
-And afterwards, as he walked in the streets and looked at the huge and
-stately houses, at the exposed wealth of the shops, at the elegant
-dress of the people of fashion, at the swiftly moving carriages, at all
-these beauties and comforts of life, accessible to all who have money,
-and inaccessible to him—as he looked and observed and envied, he felt
-more and more keenly the mood of destructive rage.
-
-“Now that’s something I can understand!”
-
-He walked up to a stout and pompous house-porter, and shouted: “Now
-that’s something I can understand!”
-
-The porter looked at him with silent scorn. Moshkin laughed joyously,
-and said: “Clever chaps those anarchists!”
-
-“Be off with you!” exclaimed the porter angrily. “And see that you
-don’t over-eat yourself.”
-
-Moshkin was about to leave him but stopped short in fright. There was a
-policeman quite near, and his white gloves stood out with startling
-sharpness. Moshkin thought in his sadness:
-
-“A bomb might come in handy here.”
-
-The porter spat angrily after him, and turned away.
-
-Moshkin walked on. At six o’clock he entered a restaurant of the middle
-rank. He chose a table by the window. He had some vodka, and followed
-it with anchovies. He ordered a seventy-five copeck dinner. He had a
-bottle of chablis on ice; after dinner a liqueur. He got slightly
-intoxicated. His head went round at the sound of music. He did not take
-his change. He left, reeling slightly, accompanied respectfully by a
-porter, into whose hand he stuck a twenty-copeck piece.
-
-He looked at his nickelled watch. It was just past seven. It was time
-to go. He had to make haste. They might hire another. He strode
-impetuously toward his destination.
-
-He was hindered by: dug up pavements; superannuated, eternally
-somnolent cabbies, at street crossings; passers-by, especially
-_muzhiks_ and women; those who came toward him, without stepping aside
-at all, or who stepped aside more often to the left than to the
-right—while those whom he had to overtake joggled along indifferently
-on the narrow way, and it was hard to tell at once on which side to
-pass them; beggars—these clung to him; and the mechanical process of
-walking itself.
-
-How difficult to conquer space and time when one is in a hurry! Truly
-the earth drew him to itself and he purchased every step with violence
-and exhaustion. He felt pains in his legs. This increased his spite,
-and intensified the glimmer of hunger in his eyes.
-
-Moshkin thought:
-
-“I’d like to chuck it all to the devil! To all the devils!”
-
-At last he got there.
-
-Here was the Row, and here was House No. 78. It was a four-storey
-house, in a state of neglect; the two approaches had a gloomy look, the
-gates in the middle stood wide agape. He looked at the plates at the
-approaches; the first numbers were here, and there was no No. 57. No
-one was in sight. There was a white button at the gates; and on the
-brass plate, below, buried under dirt, was the word “porter.”
-
-He pressed the button and entered the gate to look for the directory of
-the tenants. Before he had got that far he was met by the porter, a man
-of insinuating appearance, with a black beard.
-
-“Where is apartment No. 57?”
-
-Moshkin asked the question in a careless manner, borrowed from the
-district official who had caused him to lose his place. He also knew
-from experience that one must address porters just like this, and not
-like that. Wandering in strange gates and on strange staircases gives
-one a certain polish.
-
-The porter asked somewhat suspiciously: “Who do you want?”
-
-Moshkin drawled out his words with artless carelessness: “I don’t
-exactly know. I’ve come in answer to an announcement. I’ve received a
-letter, but the name is not signed. Only the address is given. Who
-lives at No. 57?”
-
-“Madame Engelhardova,” said the porter.
-
-“Engelhardt?” asked Moshkin.
-
-The porter repeated: “Engelhardova.”
-
-Moshkin smiled. “And what’s her Russian name?”
-
-“Elena Petrovna,” the porter answered.
-
-“Is she a bad-tempered hag?” asked Moshkin for some reason or other.
-
-“No-o, she’s a young lady. Quite stylish. Turn to the right of the
-gate.”
-
-“Only the first numbers are given there,” said Moshkin.
-
-The porter said: “No, you’ll also find 57 there. At the very bottom.”
-
-Moshkin asked: “What does she do? Does she run a business of some sort?
-A school? Or a journal?”
-
-No. Madame Engelhardova had neither a school, nor a journal.
-
-“She lives on her capital,” explained the porter.
-
-Madame Engelhardova’s maid, who looked like a village girl, led him
-into the drawing-room, to the right of the dark ante-room, and asked
-him to wait.
-
-He waited. It was tedious and annoying. He began to examine the
-contents of the elaborately furnished room. There were arm-chairs,
-tables, stools, folding screens, fire-screens, book-shelves, and small
-columns upon which rested busts, lamps, and artistic gew-gaws; there
-were mirrors, lithographs, and clocks on the walls; while the windows
-were decorated with hangings and flowers. All these made the room
-crowded, oppressive and dark. Moshkin paced through this depression
-over the rugs. He looked at the pictures and the statues with hate.
-
-“I’d like to chuck all this to the devil! To all the devils!”
-
-But when the mistress of the house walked in suddenly he lowered his
-eyes, and hid his glimmer of hunger.
-
-She was young, pink, and tall and quite good-looking. She walked
-quickly and with decision, like the mistress of a village house, and
-swung, not altogether gracefully, her strong, handsome white arms bared
-from above the elbows.
-
-She came to him and held out her hand, a little high—to be pressed, or
-to be kissed, as he chose. He kissed it. There was spite in his kiss.
-He did it with a quick, resounding smack, and one of his teeth
-scratched her skin slightly, so that she winced. But she said nothing.
-She walked toward the divan, got behind the table and sat down. She
-showed him an armchair.
-
-When he had seated himself, she asked him: “Was that your announcement
-in yesterday’s paper?”
-
-He said: “Mine.”
-
-He reconsidered, and said more politely: “Yes, mine.”
-
-He felt vexed, and he thought to himself: “I’d like to send her to the
-devil!”
-
-She went on talking. She asked him what he could do, where he had
-studied, where he had worked. She approached the subject very
-cautiously, as though afraid to say too much before the proper time.
-
-He gathered that she wished to publish a journal—she had not yet
-decided what sort. Some sort. A small one. She was negotiating for the
-purchase of a property. Of the nature of the journal she said nothing.
-
-She needed some one for the office. As he had said in his announcement
-that he was a pedagogue she thought that he had taught in one of the
-higher schools.
-
-In any case, she wanted some one to keep the books in the office, to
-receive subscriptions, to carry on the editorial and the office
-correspondence, to receive money by post, to put the journals in
-wrappers, to send them to the post, to read proofs, and something else
-... and still something else....
-
-The young woman spoke for half an hour. She recounted the various
-duties in an unintelligent way.
-
-“You need several people for all these tasks,” said Moshkin sharply.
-
-The young woman grew red with vexation. She made a wry face as she
-remarked eagerly: “The journal will be a small one, of a special
-nature. If I hired several people for such a small undertaking they
-would have nothing to do.”
-
-He smiled, and observed: “Well, anyhow there’ll be no chance for
-boredom. How many hours a day will you want me to work?”
-
-“Well, let us say from nine in the morning until seven in the evening.
-Sometimes, when the work is in a hurry you might remain a little
-longer, or you might come in on a holiday—I believe you are free?”
-
-“How much do you think of paying?”
-
-“Would eighteen roubles a month be enough for you?”
-
-He reflected a while, then he laughed.
-
-“Too little.”
-
-“I can’t afford more than twenty-two.”
-
-“Very well.”
-
-He rose suddenly in his rage, thrust his hand into his pocket, drew out
-the latchkey to his house, and said quietly but resolutely: “Hands up!”
-
-“Oh!” exclaimed the young woman, and she quickly raised her arms.
-
-She was sitting on the divan. She was pale and trembling.
-
-They formed a contrast—she large and strong; and he small and meagre.
-
-The sleeves of her dress fell to her shoulders, and the two bare white
-arms, stretching upward, seemed like the plump legs of a woman acrobat
-practising at home. She was evidently strong enough to hold up her arms
-for a long time. But her frightened face betrayed the deep terror of
-her ordeal.
-
-Moshkin, enjoying her plight, uttered slowly and sternly: “Move, if you
-dare! Or give a single whisper!”
-
-He approached a picture.
-
-“How much does this cost?”
-
-“Two hundred and twenty, without the frame,” said the young woman in a
-trembling voice.
-
-He searched in his pocket and found a penknife. He cut the picture from
-top to bottom, and from right to left.
-
-“Oh!” the young woman cried out.
-
-He approached a small marble head.
-
-“What does this cost?”
-
-“Three hundred.”
-
-He used his latchkey, and struck off the ear and the nose, and he
-mutilated the cheeks. The young woman sighed quietly; and it was
-pleasant to hear her quiet sighing.
-
-He cut up a few more pictures, and the armchair coverings, and broke a
-few of the gew-gaws.
-
-He then approached the young woman, and exclaimed: “Get under the
-divan!”
-
-She obeyed.
-
-“Lie there quietly, until some one comes. Or else I’ll throw a bomb.”
-
-He left. He met no one, either in the ante-room, or on the stairs.
-
-The same house-porter stood at the gates. Moshkin went up to him and
-said: “What a strange young lady you have in your house.”
-
-“Why?”
-
-“She doesn’t know how to behave. She loves a brawl. You had better go
-to her.”
-
-“No use my going as long as I’m not called.”
-
-“Just as you please.”
-
-He left. The glimmer of hunger grew fainter in his eyes.
-
-Moshkin continued to walk the streets. His mind realized in a slow,
-dull way the drawing-room scene, the mutilated pictures, and the young
-woman under the divan.
-
-The dull waters of the canal lured him. The receding light of the
-setting sun made their surface beautiful and sad, like the music of a
-mad composer. How rough the stone slabs were on the canal’s banks, and
-how dusty the stones of the pavements, and what stupid and dirty
-children ran to meet him! Everything seemed shut against him and
-everything seemed hostile to him.
-
-The green, golden waters of the canal lured him, and the glimmer of
-hunger in his eyes went out for ever.
-
-What a noise the swift splash of water made, as, ring after ring, the
-dead black rings spread out and out, and cut the green golden waters of
-the canal.
-
-
-
-HIDE AND SEEK
-
-I
-
-Everything in Lelechka’s nursery was bright, pretty, and cheerful.
-Lelechka’s sweet voice charmed her mother. Lelechka was a delightful
-child. There was no other such child, there never had been, and there
-never would be. Lelechka’s mother, Serafima Alexandrovna, was sure of
-that. Lelechka’s eyes were dark and large, her cheeks were rosy, her
-lips were made for kisses and for laughter. But it was not these charms
-in Lelechka that gave her mother the keenest joy. Lelechka was her
-mother’s only child. That was why every movement of Lelechka’s
-bewitched her mother. It was great bliss to hold Lelechka on her knees
-and to fondle her; to feel the little girl in her arms—a thing as
-lively and as bright as a little bird.
-
-To tell the truth, Serafima Alexandrovna felt happy only in the
-nursery. She felt cold with her husband.
-
-Perhaps it was because he himself loved the cold—he loved to drink cold
-water, and to breathe cold air. He was always fresh and cool, with a
-frigid smile, and wherever he passed cold currents seemed to move in
-the air.
-
-The Nesletyevs, Sergei Modestovich and Serafima Alexandrovna, had
-married without love or calculation, because it was the accepted thing.
-He was a young man of thirty-five, she a young woman of twenty-five;
-both were of the same circle and well brought up; he was expected to
-take a wife, and the time had come for her to take a husband.
-
-It even seemed to Serafima Alexandrovna that she was in love with her
-future husband, and this made her happy. He looked handsome and
-well-bred; his intelligent grey eyes always preserved a dignified
-expression; and he fulfilled his obligations of a fiancé with
-irreproachable gentleness.
-
-The bride was also good-looking; she was a tall, dark-eyed, dark-haired
-girl, somewhat timid but very tactful. He was not after her dowry,
-though it pleased him to know that she had something. He had
-connexions, and his wife came of good, influential people. This might,
-at the proper opportunity, prove useful. Always irreproachable and
-tactful, Nesletyev got on in his position not so fast that any one
-should envy him, nor yet so slow that he should envy any one
-else—everything came in the proper measure and at the proper time.
-
-After their marriage there was nothing in the manner of Sergei
-Modestovich to suggest anything wrong to his wife. Later, however, when
-his wife was about to have a child, Sergei Modestovich established
-connexions elsewhere of a light and temporary nature. Serafima
-Alexandrovna found this out, and, to her own astonishment, was not
-particularly hurt; she awaited her infant with a restless anticipation
-that swallowed every other feeling.
-
-A little girl was born; Serafima Alexandrovna gave herself up to her.
-At the beginning she used to tell her husband, with rapture, of all the
-joyous details of Lelechka’s existence. But she soon found that he
-listened to her without the slightest interest, and only from the habit
-of politeness. Serafima Alexandrovna drifted farther and farther away
-from him. She loved her little girl with the ungratified passion that
-other women, deceived in their husbands, show their chance young
-lovers.
-
-“_Mamochka_, let’s play _priatki_,” (hide and seek), cried Lelechka,
-pronouncing the _r_ like the _l_, so that the word sounded “pliatki.”
-
-This charming inability to speak always made Serafima Alexandrovna
-smile with tender rapture. Lelechka then ran away, stamping with her
-plump little legs over the carpets, and hid herself behind the curtains
-near her bed.
-
-“_Tiu-tiu, mamochka_!” she cried out in her sweet, laughing voice, as
-she looked out with a single roguish eye.
-
-“Where is my baby girl?” the mother asked, as she looked for Lelechka
-and made believe that she did not see her.
-
-And Lelechka poured out her rippling laughter in her hiding place. Then
-she came out a little farther, and her mother, as though she had only
-just caught sight of her, seized her by her little shoulders and
-exclaimed joyously: “Here she is, my Lelechka!”
-
-Lelechka laughed long and merrily, her head close to her mother’s
-knees, and all of her cuddled up between her mother’s white hands. Her
-mother’s eyes glowed with passionate emotion.
-
-“Now, _mamochka_, you hide,” said Lelechka, as she ceased laughing.
-
-Her mother went to hide. Lelechka turned away as though not to see, but
-watched her _mamochka_ stealthily all the time. Mamma hid behind the
-cupboard, and exclaimed: “_Tiu-tiu_, baby girl!”
-
-Lelechka ran round the room and looked into all the corners, making
-believe, as her mother had done before, that she was seeking—though she
-really knew all the time where her _mamochka_ was standing.
-
-“Where’s my _mamochka_?” asked Lelechka. “She’s not here, and she’s not
-here,” she kept on repeating, as she ran from corner to corner.
-
-Her mother stood, with suppressed breathing, her head pressed against
-the wall, her hair somewhat disarranged. A smile of absolute bliss
-played on her red lips.
-
-The nurse, Fedosya, a good-natured and fine-looking, if somewhat stupid
-woman, smiled as she looked at her mistress with her characteristic
-expression, which seemed to say that it was not for her to object to
-gentlewomen’s caprices. She thought to herself: “The mother is like a
-little child herself—look how excited she is.”
-
-Lelechka was getting nearer her mother’s corner. Her mother was growing
-more absorbed every moment by her interest in the game; her heart beat
-with short quick strokes, and she pressed even closer to the wall,
-disarranging her hair still more. Lelechka suddenly glanced toward her
-mother’s corner and screamed with joy.
-
-“I’ve found ’oo,” she cried out loudly and joyously, mispronouncing her
-words in a way that again made her mother happy.
-
-She pulled her mother by her hands to the middle of the room, they were
-merry and they laughed; and Lelechka again hid her head against her
-mother’s knees, and went on lisping and lisping, without end, her sweet
-little words, so fascinating yet so awkward.
-
-Sergei Modestovich was coming at this moment toward the nursery.
-Through the half-closed doors he heard the laughter, the joyous
-outcries, the sound of romping. He entered the nursery, smiling his
-genial cold smile; he was irreproachably dressed, and he looked fresh
-and erect, and he spread round him an atmosphere of cleanliness,
-freshness and coldness. He entered in the midst of the lively game, and
-he confused them all by his radiant coldness. Even Fedosya felt
-abashed, now for her mistress, now for herself. Serafima Alexandrovna
-at once became calm and apparently cold—and this mood communicated
-itself to the little girl, who ceased to laugh, but looked instead,
-silently and intently, at her father.
-
-Sergei Modestovich gave a swift glance round the room. He liked coming
-here, where everything was beautifully arranged; this was done by
-Serafima Alexandrovna, who wished to surround her little girl, from her
-very infancy, only with the loveliest things. Serafima Alexandrovna
-dressed herself tastefully; this, too, she did for Lelechka, with the
-same end in view. One thing Sergei Modestovich had not become
-reconciled to, and this was his wife’s almost continuous presence in
-the nursery.
-
-“It’s just as I thought.... I knew that I’d find you here,” he said
-with a derisive and condescending smile.
-
-They left the nursery together. As he followed his wife through the
-door Sergei Modestovich said rather indifferently, in an incidental
-way, laying no stress on his words: “Don’t you think that it would be
-well for the little girl if she were sometimes without your company?
-Merely, you see, that the child should feel its own individuality,” he
-explained in answer to Serafima Alexandrovna’s puzzled glance.
-
-“She’s still so little,” said Serafima Alexandrovna.
-
-“In any case, this is but my humble opinion. I don’t insist. It’s your
-kingdom there.”
-
-“I’ll think it over,” his wife answered, smiling, as he did, coldly but
-genially.
-
-Then they began to talk of something else.
-
-II
-
-Nurse Fedosya, sitting in the kitchen that evening, was telling the
-silent housemaid Darya and the talkative old cook Agathya about the
-young lady of the house, and how the child loved to play _priatki_ with
-her mother—“She hides her little face, and cries ‘_tiu-tiu_’!”
-
-“And the _barinya_[1] herself is like a little one,” added Fedosya,
-smiling.
-
-Agathya listened and shook her head ominously; while her face became
-grave and reproachful.
-
-“That the _barinya_ does it, well, that’s one thing; but that the young
-lady does it, that’s bad.”
-
-“Why?” asked Fedosya with curiosity.
-
-This expression of curiosity gave her face the look of a wooden,
-roughly-painted doll.
-
-“Yes, that’s bad,” repeated Agathya with conviction. “Terribly bad!”
-
-“Well?” said Fedosya, the ludicrous expression of curiosity on her face
-becoming more emphatic.
-
-“She’ll hide, and hide, and hide away,” said Agathya, in a mysterious
-whisper, as she looked cautiously toward the door.
-
-“What are you saying?” exclaimed Fedosya, frightened.
-
-“It’s the truth I’m saying, remember my words,” Agathya went on with
-the same assurance and secrecy. “It’s the surest sign.”
-
-The old woman had invented this sign, quite suddenly, herself; and she
-was evidently very proud of it.
-
- [1] Gentlewoman.
-
-III
-
-Lelechka was asleep, and Serafima Alexandrovna was sitting in her own
-room, thinking with joy and tenderness of Lelechka. Lelechka was in her
-thoughts, first a sweet, tiny girl, then a sweet, big girl, then again
-a delightful little girl; and so until the end she remained mamma’s
-little Lelechka.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna did not even notice that Fedosya came up to her
-and paused before her. Fedosya had a worried, frightened look.
-
-“_Barinya, barinya_” she said quietly, in a trembling voice.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna gave a start. Fedosya’s face made her anxious.
-
-“What is it, Fedosya?” she asked with great concern. “Is there anything
-wrong with Lelechka?”
-
-“No, _barinya_,” said Fedosya, as she gesticulated with her hands to
-reassure her mistress and to make her sit down. “Lelechka is asleep,
-may God be with her! Only I’d like to say something—you see—Lelechka is
-always hiding herself—that’s not good.”
-
-Fedosya looked at her mistress with fixed eyes, which had grown round
-from fright.
-
-“Why not good?” asked Serafima Alexandrovna, with vexation, succumbing
-involuntarily to vague fears.
-
-“I can’t tell you how bad it is,” said Fedosya, and her face expressed
-the most decided confidence.
-
-“Please speak in a sensible way,” observed Serafima Alexandrovna dryly.
-“I understand nothing of what you are saying.”
-
-“You see, _barinya_, it’s a kind of omen,” explained Fedosya abruptly,
-in a shamefaced way.
-
-“Nonsense!” said Serafima Alexandrovna.
-
-She did not wish to hear any further as to the sort of omen it was, and
-what it foreboded. But, somehow, a sense of fear and of sadness crept
-into her mood, and it was humiliating to feel that an absurd tale
-should disturb her beloved fancies, and should agitate her so deeply.
-
-“Of course I know that gentlefolk don’t believe in omens, but it’s a
-bad omen, _barinya_,” Fedosya went on in a doleful voice, “the young
-lady will hide, and hide....”
-
-Suddenly she burst into tears, sobbing out loudly: “She’ll hide, and
-hide, and hide away, angelic little soul, in a damp grave,” she
-continued, as she wiped her tears with her apron and blew her nose.
-
-“Who told you all this?” asked Serafima Alexandrovna in an austere low
-voice.
-
-“Agathya says so, _barinya_” answered Fedosya; “it’s she that knows.”
-
-“Knows!” exclaimed Serafima Alexandrovna in irritation, as though she
-wished to protect herself somehow from this sudden anxiety. “What
-nonsense! Please don’t come to me with any such notions in the future.
-Now you may go.”
-
-Fedosya, dejected, her feelings hurt, left her mistress.
-
-“What nonsense! As though Lelechka could die!” thought Serafima
-Alexandrovna to herself, trying to conquer the feeling of coldness and
-fear which took possession of her at the thought of the possible death
-of Lelechka. Serafima Alexandrovna, upon reflection, attributed these
-women’s beliefs in omens to ignorance. She saw clearly that there could
-be no possible connexion between a child’s quite ordinary diversion and
-the continuation of the child’s life. She made a special effort that
-evening to occupy her mind with other matters, but her thoughts
-returned involuntarily to the fact that Lelechka loved to hide herself.
-
-When Lelechka, was still quite small, and had learned to distinguish
-between her mother and her nurse, she sometimes, sitting in her nurse’s
-arms, made a sudden roguish grimace, and hid her laughing face in the
-nurse’s shoulder. Then she would look out with a sly glance.
-
-Of late, in those rare moments of the _barinya’s_ absence from the
-nursery, Fedosya had again taught Lelechka to hide; and when Lelechka’s
-mother, on coming in, saw how lovely the child looked when she was
-hiding, she herself began to play hide and seek with her tiny daughter.
-
-IV
-
-The next day Serafima Alexandrovna, absorbed in her joyous cares for
-Lelechka, had forgotten Fedosya’s words of the day before.
-
-But when she returned to the nursery, after having ordered the dinner,
-and she heard Lelechka suddenly cry “_Tiu-tiu_!” from under the table,
-a feeling of fear suddenly took hold of her. Though she reproached
-herself at once for this unfounded, superstitious dread, nevertheless
-she could not enter wholeheartedly into the spirit of Lelechka’s
-favourite game, and she tried to divert Lelechka’s attention to
-something else.
-
-Lelechka was a lovely and obedient child. She eagerly complied with her
-mother’s new wishes. But as she had got into the habit of hiding from
-her mother in some corner, and of crying out “_Tiu-tiu_!” so even that
-day she returned more than once to the game.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna tried desperately to amuse Lelechka. This was not
-so easy because restless, threatening thoughts obtruded themselves
-constantly.
-
-“Why does Lelechka keep on recalling the _tiu-tiu_? Why does she not
-get tired of the same thing—of eternally closing her eyes, and of
-hiding her face? Perhaps,” thought Serafima Alexandrovna, “she is not
-as strongly drawn to the world as other children, who are attracted by
-many things. If this is so, is it not a sign of organic weakness? Is it
-not a germ of the unconscious non-desire to live?”
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna was tormented by presentiments. She felt ashamed
-of herself for ceasing to play hide and seek with Lelechka before
-Fedosya. But this game had become agonizing to her, all the more
-agonizing because she had a real desire to play it, and because
-something drew her very strongly to hide herself from Lelechka and to
-seek out the hiding child. Serafima Alexandrovna herself began the game
-once or twice, though she played it with a heavy heart. She suffered as
-though committing an evil deed with full consciousness.
-
-It was a sad day for Serafima Alexandrovna.
-
-V
-
-Lelechka was about to fall asleep. No sooner had she climbed into her
-little bed, protected by a network on all sides, than her eyes began to
-close from fatigue. Her mother covered her with a blue blanket.
-Lelechka drew her sweet little hands from under the blanket and
-stretched them out to embrace her mother. Her mother bent down.
-Lelechka, with a tender expression on her sleepy face, kissed her
-mother and let her head fall on the pillow. As her hands hid themselves
-under the blanket Lelechka whispered: “The hands _tiu-tiu_!”
-
-The mother’s heart seemed to stop—Lelechka lay there so small, so
-frail, so quiet. Lelechka smiled gently, closed her eyes and said
-quietly: “The eyes _tiu-tiu_!”
-
-Then even more quietly: “Lelechka _tiu-tiu!_”
-
-With these words she fell asleep, her face pressing the pillow. She
-seemed so small and so frail under the blanket that covered her. Her
-mother looked at her with sad eyes.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna remained standing over Lelechka’s bed a long
-while, and she kept looking at Lelechka with tenderness and fear.
-
-“I’m a mother: is it possible that I shouldn’t be able to protect her?”
-she thought, as she imagined the various ills that might befall
-Lelechka.
-
-She prayed long that night, but the prayer did not relieve her sadness.
-
-VI
-
-Several days passed. Lelechka caught cold. The fever came upon her at
-night. When Serafima Alexandrovna, awakened by Fedosya, came to
-Lelechka and saw her looking so hot, so restless, and so tormented, she
-instantly recalled the evil omen, and a hopeless despair took
-possession of her from the first moments.
-
-A doctor was called, and everything was done that is usual on such
-occasions—but the inevitable happened. Serafima Alexandrovna tried to
-console herself with the hope that Lelechka would get well, and would
-again laugh and play—yet this seemed to her an unthinkable happiness!
-And Lelechka grew feebler from hour to hour.
-
-All simulated tranquillity, so as not to frighten Serafima
-Alexandrovna, but their masked faces only made her sad.
-
-Nothing made her so unhappy as the reiterations of Fedosya, uttered
-between sobs: “She hid herself and hid herself, our Lelechka!”
-
-But the thoughts of Serafima Alexandrovna were confused, and she could
-not quite grasp what was happening.
-
-Fever was consuming Lelechka, and there were times when she lost
-consciousness and spoke in delirium. But when she returned to herself
-she bore her pain and her fatigue with gentle good nature; she smiled
-feebly at her _mamochka_, so that her _mamochka_ should not see how
-much she suffered. Three days passed, torturing like a nightmare.
-Lelechka grew quite feeble She did not know that she was dying.
-
-She glanced at her mother with her dimmed eyes, and lisped in a
-scarcely audible, hoarse voice: “_Tiu-tiu, mamochka_! Make _tiu-tiu,
-mamochka_!”
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna hid her face behind the curtains near Lelechka’s
-bed. How tragic!
-
-“_Mamochka_!” called Lelechka in an almost inaudible voice.
-
-Lelechka’s mother bent over her, and Lelechka, her vision grown still
-more dim, saw her mother’s pale, despairing face for the last time.
-
-“A white _mamochka_!” whispered Lelechka. _Mamochka’s_ white face
-became blurred, and everything grew dark before Lelechka. She caught
-the edge of the bed-cover feebly with her hands and whispered:
-“_Tiu-tiu_!”
-
-Something rattled in her throat; Lelechka opened and again closed her
-rapidly paling lips, and died.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna was in dumb despair as she left Lelechka, and
-went out of the room. She met her husband.
-
-“Lelechka is dead,” she said in a quiet, dull voice.
-
-Sergei Modestovich looked anxiously at her pale face. He was struck by
-the strange stupor in her formerly animated handsome features.
-
-VII
-
-Lelechka was dressed, placed in a little coffin, and carried into the
-parlour. Serafima Alexandrovna was standing by the coffin and looking
-dully at her dead child. Sergei Modestovich went to his wife and,
-consoling her with cold, empty words, tried to draw her away from the
-coffin. Serafima Alexandrovna smiled.
-
-“Go away,” she said quietly. “Lelechka is playing. She’ll be up in a
-minute.”
-
-“Sima, my dear, don’t agitate yourself,” said Sergei Modestovich in a
-whisper. “You must resign yourself to your fate.”
-
-“She’ll be up in a minute,” persisted Serafima Alexandrovna, her eyes
-fixed on the dead little girl.
-
-Sergei Modestovich looked round him cautiously: he was afraid of the
-unseemly and of the ridiculous.
-
-“Sima, don’t agitate yourself,” he repeated. “This would be a miracle,
-and miracles do not happen in the nineteenth century.”
-
-No sooner had he said these words than Sergei Modestovich felt their
-irrelevance to what had happened. He was confused and annoyed.
-
-He took his wife by the arm, and cautiously led her away from the
-coffin. She did not oppose him.
-
-Her face seemed tranquil and her eyes were dry. She went into the
-nursery and began to walk round the room, looking into those places
-where Lelechka used to hide herself. She walked all about the room, and
-bent now and then to look under the table or under the bed, and kept on
-repeating cheerfully: “Where is my little one? Where is my Lelechka?”
-
-After she had walked round the room once she began to make her quest
-anew. Fedosya, motionless, with dejected face, sat in a corner, and
-looked frightened at her mistress; then she suddenly burst out sobbing,
-and she wailed loudly:
-
-“She hid herself, and hid herself, our Lelechka, our angelic little
-soul!”
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna trembled, paused, cast a perplexed look at
-Fedosya, began to weep, and left the nursery quietly.
-
-VIII
-
-Sergei Modestovich hurried the funeral. He saw that Serafima
-Alexandrovna was terribly shocked by her sudden misfortune, and as he
-feared for her reason he thought she would more readily be diverted and
-consoled when Lelechka was buried.
-
-Next morning Serafima Alexandrovna dressed with particular care—for
-Lelechka. When she entered the parlour there were several people
-between her and Lelechka. The priest and deacon paced up and down the
-room; clouds of blue smoke drifted in the air, and there was a smell of
-incense. There was an oppressive feeling of heaviness in Serafima
-Alexandrovna’s head as she approached Lelechka. Lelechka lay there
-still and pale, and smiled pathetically. Serafima Alexandrovna laid her
-cheek upon the edge of Lelechka’s coffin, and whispered: “_Tiu-tiu_,
-little one!”
-
-The little one did not reply. Then there was some kind of stir and
-confusion around Serafima Alexandrovna; strange, unnecessary faces bent
-over her, some one held her—and Lelechka was carried away somewhere.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna stood up erect, sighed in a lost way, smiled, and
-called loudly: “Lelechka!”
-
-Lelechka was being carried out. The mother threw herself after the
-coffin with despairing sobs, but she was held back. She sprang behind
-the door, through which Lelechka had passed, sat down there on the
-floor, and as she looked through the crevice, she cried out: “Lelechka,
-_tiu-tiu_!”
-
-Then she put her head out from behind the door, and began to laugh.
-
-Lelechka was quickly carried away from her mother, and those who
-carried her seemed to run rather than to walk.
-
-
-
-THE SMILE
-
-I
-
-Some fifteen boys and girls and several young men and women had
-gathered in the garden belonging to the Semiboyarinov cottage to
-celebrate the birthday of one of the sons of the house, Lesha by name,
-a student of the second class. Lesha’s birthday was made indeed an
-occasion for bringing eligible young men to the house for his grown
-sisters’ sake.
-
-All were merry and smiling—the older members of the party as well as
-the young boys and girls, who ran up and down the yellow sand of the
-well-kept footpaths; a pale, unimpressive boy, who was sitting alone on
-a bench under a lilac bush and looking silently at the other boys, was
-also smiling. His loneliness, his silence, and his well-worn though
-clean clothes, all pointed to his poverty and to his embarrassment in
-the company of these lively, well-dressed children. His face was timid
-and thin, his chest sunken, and his lean hands lay so meekly that it
-aroused one’s pity to look at him. Still, he smiled; but even his smile
-seemed pitiful; it was as though it depressed him to watch the games
-and the happiness of other children, or as though he were afraid to
-annoy others by his sad looks and his poor dress.
-
-He was called Grisha Igumnov. His father had died not long ago;
-Grisha’s mother occasionally sent her son to her rich relatives with
-whom he always felt depressed and uneasy.
-
-“Why do you sit alone? Get up and run about!” said the blue-eyed
-Lydochka Semiboyarinov as she passed him.
-
-Grisha did not dare to disobey; his heart beat violently, his face
-became covered with small beads of perspiration. He approached the
-happy, red-cheeked boys timidly. They looked at him unfriendlily as at
-a stranger, and Grisha himself felt at once that he was not like them:
-he could not speak so boldly and so loudly; and he had neither such
-yellow boots, nor such a round little cap with a woolly red visor
-turned jauntily upwards as the boy nearest to him had.
-
-The boys continued to talk among themselves as though there were no
-Grisha. Grisha stood near them in an uneasy pose; his thin shoulders
-stooped somewhat, his slender fingers held fast to his narrow girdle,
-and he smiled timidly. He did not know what to do, and in his confusion
-did not hear what the lively boys were saying. They finished their
-conversation and scattered suddenly. Grisha, his timid, guilty smile
-still on his face, walked back uneasily on the sandy path and sat down
-once more on the bench. He was ashamed because he had walked up to the
-boys, yet had not spoken to any one, and because nothing had come of
-it. As he sat down he looked timidly round him—no one paid him the
-slightest attention, and no one laughed at him. Grisha grew calm.
-
-Just then two little girls, their arms round each other, passed him.
-Under their fixed stare Grisha shrank, grew red, and smiled guiltily.
-
-When the little girls had passed by the youngest of them, with fair
-hair, asked loudly: “Who’s this ugly duckling?”
-
-The elder girl, who was red-cheeked and black-browed, laughed and
-answered: “I don’t know. We had better ask Lydochka. It’s most likely a
-poor relation.”
-
-“What an absurd boy,” said the little blonde. “He spreads his ears out,
-and sits there and smiles.”
-
-They disappeared behind the bushes at the turn of the path, and Grisha
-no longer heard their voices. He felt hurt, and when he thought that he
-might have to sit there a long time, until his mother should come for
-him, he was sick at heart.
-
-A big-eyed, slender student with a stubborn crest of hair sticking up
-from his high forehead noticed that Grisha was sitting alone there like
-an orphan, and he wished to be kind to him, and to make him feel more
-at his ease; so he sat down near him.
-
-“What’s your name?” he asked.
-
-Grisha told him quietly.
-
-“And my name is Mitya,” said the student. “Are you here alone, or with
-any one?”
-
-“With mother,” whispered Grisha.
-
-“Why do you sit here all by yourself?” asked Mitya.
-
-Grisha stirred nervously, and did not know what to say.
-
-“Why don’t you play?”
-
-“I don’t want to.”
-
-Mitya did not hear him so he asked: “What did you say?”
-
-“I don’t feel like it,” said Grisha somewhat more loudly.
-
-The student, astonished, continued: “Why don’t you feel like it?”
-
-Grisha again did not know what to say; he smiled in a lost way. Mitya
-was looking at him attentively. Glances of strangers always embarrassed
-Grisha; it was as though he feared that they might find something
-absurd in his appearance.
-
-Mitya was silent for a while, as he thought of something else that he
-might ask.
-
-“What do you collect?” he asked. “You’ve got a collection of something,
-haven’t you? We all collect: I—stamps, Katya Pokrivalova—shells,
-Lesha—butterflies. What do you collect?”
-
-“Nothing,” said Grisha, flushing.
-
-“Well, well,” said Mitya with artless astonishment. “So you collect
-nothing! That’s very curious.”
-
-Grisha felt ashamed that he was not collecting anything, and that he
-had disclosed the fact.
-
-“I, too, must collect something!” he thought to himself, but he could
-not decide to say this aloud.
-
-Mitya sat a little longer, then left him. Grisha felt a relief. But a
-new ordeal was in store for him.
-
-The nurse engaged by the Semiboyarinovs for their youngest son was
-strolling along the garden paths with the one-year-old child in her
-arms. She wished to rest, and chose the same bench upon which Grisha
-was sitting. He again felt uneasy. He looked straight before him, and
-could not even decide to move away from the nurse to the other end of
-the bench.
-
-The infant’s attention soon became drawn to Grisha’s protruding ears,
-and he leant forward towards one of them. The nurse, a robust,
-red-cheeked woman, concluded that Grisha would not mind. She brought
-her charge nearer to Grisha, and the pink infant caught Grisha’s ear
-with his fat little hand. Grisha was paralysed with confusion, but
-could not decide to protest. The child, laughing loudly and merrily,
-now let go Grisha’s ear, now caught hold of it again. The red-cheeked
-nurse, who enjoyed the game not less than the infant, kept on
-repeating: “Let’s go for him! Let’s give it to him!”
-
-One of the boys saw the scene, and told the other boys that little
-Georgik was obstreperous with the quiet boy who was sitting so long on
-the bench. The children gathered round Georgik and Grisha, and laughed
-noisily. Grisha tried to show that he didn’t mind, that he felt no
-pain, and that he also enjoyed the fun. But it grew harder and harder
-for him to smile, and he had a very strong desire to cry. He knew that
-he ought not to cry, that it was a disgrace, and he restrained himself
-with an effort.
-
-Happily he was soon delivered. The blue-eyed Lydochka, upon hearing the
-children’s boisterous laughter, went to see what had happened. She
-reproached the nurse: “Aren’t you ashamed to go on like this?”
-
-She herself had difficulty to keep from laughing at Grisha’s pitiful,
-confused face. But she restrained herself, and upheld her dignity as a
-grown young woman before the nurse and the children.
-
-The nurse rose and said, laughing: “Georginka did it quite gently. The
-boy himself didn’t say that it hurt him.”
-
-“You mustn’t do such things,” said Lydochka sternly.
-
-Georgik, unhappy because they had taken him away from Grisha, raised a
-cry. Lydochka took him in her arms and carried him away to quiet him.
-The nurse followed her. But the boys and the girls remained. They
-thronged round Grisha and eyed him unceremoniously.
-
-“Perhaps he’s got stuck-on ears,” suggested one of the boys, “that’s
-why he doesn’t feel any pain.”
-
-“I rather think you like to be held by your ears,” said another.
-
-“Tell us,” said the little girl with the large blue eyes, “which ear
-does your mother catch hold of most?”
-
-“His ears have been stretched out to order in a workshop,” cried a
-merry youngster, and laughed loudly at his own joke.
-
-“No,” another corrected him, “he was born like that. When he was very
-small he was led not by his hand but by his ear.”
-
-Grisha looked at his tormentors like a small beast at bay, with a fixed
-smile on his face, when, suddenly, wholly unexpectedly to the cheerful
-company, he burst into tears. Many small drops fell on his jacket. The
-children grew quiet at once. They became uneasy. They exchanged
-embarrassed glances, and looked silently at Grisha as he wiped the
-tears from his face with his thin hands; he appeared to be ashamed of
-his tears.
-
-“Why should he be offended?” said the beautiful, flaxen-haired Katya
-angrily. “Who’s done him any harm? The ugly duckling!”
-
-“He’s not an ugly duckling. You’re an ugly duckling yourself,”
-intervened Mitya.
-
-“I can’t stand rude people,” said Katya, growing red with vexation.
-
-A little, brown-faced girl in a red dress looked long at Grisha, and
-knitted her brows as in reflection. Then she scanned the other children
-with her perplexed eyes, and asked quietly:
-
-“Why then did he smile?”
-
-II
-
-It was not often that Grisha’s wardrobe received important additions.
-His mother could not afford it; hence, every item gave Grisha great
-joy. The autumn cold came, and Grisha’s mother bought an overcoat, a
-hat and mittens. The mittens pleased Grisha more than anything else.
-
-On the holiday, after Mass, he put on his new things and went out to
-play. He loved to walk about in the streets, and he used to go out
-alone; his mother had no time to go out with him. She looked proudly
-out of the window as Grisha walked gravely by. She recalled at that
-moment her well-to-do relatives who had promised her so much, and had
-done so little, and she thought: “Well, I’ve managed it without them,
-thank God!”
-
-It was a cold, clear day; the sun did not shine with its full
-brightness; the waters of the canals in the city were covered with
-their first thin ice. Grisha walked the streets, rejoicing in this
-brisk cold, in his new clothes, and with his naïve fancies; he always
-loved to dream when he was alone, and he dreamt always of great deeds,
-of fame, of a bright, happy life in a rich house, indeed of everything
-that was unlike the sad reality.
-
-As Grisha stood on the bank of the canal and looked through the iron
-railings at the thin ice that floated on the surface, he was approached
-by a street urchin in threadbare attire, and with hands red from the
-cold. He entered into conversation with Grisha. Grisha was not afraid
-of him, and even pitied him because of his benumbed hands. His new
-acquaintance informed him that he was called Mishka, but that his
-family name was Babushkin, because he and his mother lived with his
-_babushka_.[1]
-
-“But then what is your mother’s family name?”
-
-“My mother’s name?” repeated Mishka, smiling. “She’s called Matushkin,
-because my _babushka_ is no _babushka_ to her, but is her
-_matushka._”[2]
-
-“That’s strange,” said Grisha with astonishment. “My mother and I have
-one family name; we are called the Igumnovs.”
-
-“That’s because,” explained Mishka with animation, “your grandfather
-was an _igumen_.”[3]
-
-“No,” said Grisha, “my grandfather was a colonel.”
-
-“All the same it’s likely that his father, or some one else was an
-_igumen_, and so you have all become the Igumnovs.”
-
-Grisha did not know who his great-grandfather was, so he said nothing,
-Mishka kept on eyeing his mittens.
-
-“You have handsome mittens,” he said.
-
-“New ones,” Grisha explained, with a joyous smile. “It’s the first time
-I’ve put them on; d’you see, here is a little string drawn through!”
-
-“Well, you’re a lucky one! And are they quite warm?”
-
-“Rather!”
-
-“I have also mittens at home, but I haven’t put them on because I don’t
-like them. They are yellow, and I don’t like yellow ones. Let me put
-yours on, and I’ll run along and show them to my _babushka_, and ask
-her to get me a pair like them.”
-
-Mishka looked at Grisha pleadingly, and his eyes sparkled enviously.
-
-“You won’t keep me waiting long?” asked Grisha.
-
-“No, I live quite near here, just round the corner. Don’t be afraid!
-Upon my word, in a minute!”
-
-Grisha trustfully took off his mittens and gave them to Mishka.
-
-“I’ll be back in a minute, wait here, don’t go away,” exclaimed Mishka,
-as he ran off with Grisha’s mittens. He disappeared round the corner,
-and Grisha was left waiting. He did not imagine that Mishka would fool
-him; he thought that he would simply run home, show his mittens, and
-return with them. He stood there long and waited, and Mishka did not
-even dream of returning.
-
-The short autumn day was already darkening; Grisha’s mother, restless
-because of her boy’s long absence, went out to look for him. Grisha at
-last understood that Mishka would not return. The poor boy turned sadly
-toward home and he met his mother.
-
-“Grisha, what have you done with yourself” she asked, angry and glad at
-finding her son.
-
-Grisha did not reply. He seemed embarrassed as he rubbed his hands, red
-with cold. His mother then noticed that he did not wear his mittens.
-
-“Where are your mittens?” she asked angrily, as she searched his
-overcoat pockets.
-
-Grisha smiled and said: “I lent them to a boy for a short time, and he
-didn’t bring them back.”
-
- [1] Grandmother.
-
-
- [2] Mother.
-
-
- [3] An abbot.
-
-III
-
-Years passed after years. The bold and pushing children who once had
-gathered on Lesha Semiboyarinov’s birthday became bold and pushing men
-and women, and the urchin who had fooled Grisha, it goes without
-saying, found his way in life—while Grisha, of course, became a
-failure. As in his childhood, he went on dreaming, and in his dreams he
-conquered his kingdom; but in real life he could not protect himself
-from any enterprising person who pushed him unceremoniously out of his
-way. His relations with women were equally unsuccessful, and his
-faint-hearted attentions were not once rewarded by a responsive
-feeling. He had no friends. His mother alone loved him.
-
-Igumnov rejoiced when he found a position at a small salary, because
-his mother could live calmly now without worrying about a crust of
-bread. But his happiness was of short duration; soon his mother died.
-Grisha fell into depression, lost his spirits. Life seemed to him to be
-aimless. Apathy took hold of him; he had no interest in his work. He
-lost his place, and was soon in great need.
-
-Igumnov finally pawned his last possession, his mother’s ring; as he
-walked out of the place he smiled—and his smile kept him from bursting
-into tears of self-pity.
-
-He had to see various people and to ask them for work. But Igumnov was
-not good at this. He was backward and quiet, and he experienced a
-helpless confusion that prevented him from persisting in his dealings
-with men. While yet on the stairway of a man’s house a fear would seize
-him, his heart would beat painfully, his legs would grow heavy, and his
-hand would stretch toward the bell irresolutely.
-
-During one of his most depressing and hungry days Igumnov sat in the
-sumptuous private office of Aleksei Stepanovich Semiboyarinov, the
-father of the same Lesha whose birthday party remained memorable to
-him. Igumnov had already sent a letter to Aleksei Stepanovich: after
-all it was much easier to ask on paper than by word of mouth. And now
-he came for his answer.
-
-From the restless, solicitous manner of Semiboyarinov, a small, dry,
-old man, with closely-cut, silver-grey hair, he guessed that he would
-have a refusal. This made him feel wretched, but he could not help
-smiling an artless pleasant smile, as though he wished to show that it
-did not matter in the least, that he really did not count on anything.
-The smile evidently irritated Semiboyarinov.
-
-“I’ve got your letter, my dear fellow,” said he at last in his dry,
-deliberate voice. “But there’s nothing that I can see just now.”
-
-“Nothing?” mumbled Igumnov, growing red.
-
-“Absolutely nothing, my dear fellow. Every place is taken. And I don’t
-see anything in prospect for the near future. Perhaps something might
-be done for you at New Year.”
-
-“I’ll be glad of a chance even then,” said Igumnov, smiling in such a
-way as to suggest that a mere eight months was of no account to him.
-
-“Yes, I’ll be very glad to do something then. If it depended upon me
-you’d get your place to-day. I’d like very much to be of use to you, my
-good man.”
-
-“Thank you,” said Igumnov.
-
-“But tell me,” asked Semiboyarinov sympathetically, “why did you leave
-your old place?”
-
-“They found no use for me,” answered Igumnov, confused.
-
-“No use for you? Well, I hope we’ll find some use for you. Let me have
-your address, my good fellow.”
-
-Semiboyarinov began to rummage on his table for a piece of paper.
-Igumnov just then caught sight of his own letter under a marble
-paper-weight.
-
-“My address is in the letter,” he said.
-
-“So it is!” said his host briskly. “I’ll make a note of it.”
-
-“I have the habit,” observed Igumnov, rising from his place, “always to
-write my address at the beginning of a letter.”
-
-“A European habit,” commended his host.
-
-Igumnov took his leave and went out smiling, proud of his European
-habits, which, however, did not prevent him from feeling hungry. He was
-almost glad that the unpleasant conversation was at an end. He recalled
-all the polite words, and especially those that contained the promise;
-foolish hopes awakened in him. But a few minutes later, as he was
-walking in the street, he realized that the promise would come to
-nothing. Besides, it was made for the future, and he had need of food
-now, and he must go to his lodgings with a heavy heart—what would his
-landlady say? What could he say to her?
-
-Igumnov began to walk more slowly, then he turned in the opposite
-direction. Lost in gloom, he walked on, pale and hungry, through the
-noisy streets of the capital, past busy satiated people. His smile
-vanished. The look of dark despair gave a certain significance to his
-usually little expressive features.
-
-He was now close to the Niva. The huge dome of the Isakiyevski
-Cathedral glowed golden in the wide expanse of blue sky. The large open
-squares and streets were enveloped in the gentle, scarcely perceptible,
-dust-like haze of the rays of the setting sun. The din of carriages was
-softened in these magnificent open spaces. Everything seemed strange
-and hostile to the hungry, helpless man. The beautiful, rich-coloured
-fruits behind the shop windows could not have been more inaccessible if
-they were under the watch of a strong guard.
-
-Children were playing merrily in the green square. Igumnov looked at
-them and smiled. Unpleasant memories of his own childhood tormented him
-with an intense pity for himself. He reflected that it was only left to
-him to die. The thought frightened him. And again he reflected: “Why
-shouldn’t I die? Wasn’t there a time when I did not exist? I shall have
-rest, eternal oblivion.”
-
-Fragments of wise strange thoughts came to him and soothed him.
-
-Igumnov was now on the embankment. He leant against the granite parapet
-and watched the restless waters of the river. A single move, he
-thought, and everything would be ended. But it was terrible to think of
-drowning, of struggling with one’s mouth full of water, of being
-strangled by these heavy, cold sweeps of water, of battling helplessly,
-and of at last sinking from sheer exhaustion to the bottom, there to be
-carried by the undercurrents, and at last to be cast out, a shapeless
-corpse, upon some coast of the sea.
-
-Igumnov shivered and moved away from the river. He suddenly espied not
-far away his former colleague Kurkov. Smartly dressed, cheerful and
-self-satisfied, Kurkov was walking slowly and swinging a thin cane with
-a fancy handle.
-
-“Ah, Grigory Petrovich!” he exclaimed, as though he were glad of the
-meeting. “Are you strolling, or are you on business?”
-
-“Yes, I’m strolling, that is on business,” said Igumnov.
-
-“I think we are going the same way?”
-
-They walked on together. Kurkov’s cheerful chatter only intensified
-Igumnov’s mood. Moving his shoulders nervously he addressed Kurkov with
-sudden resolution: “Nikolai Sergeyevich, do you happen to have a rouble
-on you?”
-
-“A rouble?” said Kurkov in astonishment. “Why do you want it?”
-
-Igumnov flushed, and began to explain in stammers. “You see, I ... just
-one rouble is lacking.... I have to get something ... something, you
-see....”
-
-He breathed heavily in his agitation. He grew silent, and smiled a
-pitiful, fixed smile.
-
-“That means I shan’t get it back,” thought Kurkov.
-
-And now he spoke no longer in the same careless tone as before.
-
-“I’d like to, but I haven’t any spare cash, not a copeck. I had to
-borrow some yesterday myself.”
-
-“Well, if you haven’t it, you can’t help it,” mumbled Igumnov, and
-continued to smile. “I’ll simply have to get along without it.”
-
-His smile irritated Kurkov, perhaps because it was such a pitiful,
-helpless affair.
-
-“Why does he smile?” thought Kurkov in vexation. “Doesn’t he believe
-me? Well, I don’t care if he doesn’t—I don’t own the Government
-exchequer.”
-
-“Why don’t you come in sometimes and see us?” he asked Igumnov in a
-careless, dry manner, as he looked elsewhere.
-
-“I am always meaning to. Of course I’ll come in,” answered Igumnov in a
-trembling voice. “What about to-day?”
-
-There rose before him a picture of the cosy dining-room of the Kurkovs,
-the hospitable hostess, the samovar on the table and the various tasty
-tit-bits.
-
-“To-day?” asked Kurkov in the same careless, dry voice. “No, we shan’t
-be home to-day. But do step in some day before long. Well, I must turn
-up this lane. Good-bye!”
-
-And he made haste to cross the wooden walk of the embankment. Igumnov
-looked after him, and smiled. Slow, incoherent thoughts crept through
-his brain.
-
-As Kurkov disappeared up the lane Igumnov again approached the granite
-parapet, and, trembling in cold terror, began slowly and awkwardly to
-climb over it.
-
-There was no one near.
-
-
-
-THE HOOP
-
-I
-
-A woman was taking her morning stroll in a lonely suburban street; a
-boy of four was with her. She was young and smart and she was smiling
-brightly; she was casting affectionate glances at her son, whose red
-cheeks beamed with happiness. The boy was bowling a hoop; a large, new,
-bright yellow hoop. He ran after his hoop awkwardly, laughed
-uproariously with joy, thrust forward his plump little legs, bare at
-the knee, and flourished his stick. He needn’t have raised his stick so
-high above his head—but what of that?
-
-What happiness! He had never had a hoop before; how briskly it made him
-run!
-
-And nothing of this had existed for him before; everything was new to
-him—the streets in early morning, the merry sun, and the distant din of
-the city. Everything was new to the boy—and joyous and pure.
-
-II
-
-A shabbily dressed old man, with coarse hands stood at the street
-crossing. He pressed close to the wall to let the woman and the boy
-pass. The old man looked at the boy with dull eyes and smiled stupidly.
-Confused, sluggish thoughts struggled within his almost bald head.
-
-“A little gentleman!” said he to himself. “Quite a small fellow. And
-simply bursting with joy. Just look at him cutting his paces!”
-
-He could not quite understand it. Somehow it seemed strange to him.
-
-Here was a child—a thing to be pulled about by the hair! Play is
-mischief. Children, as every one knows, are mischief-makers.
-
-And there was the mother—she uttered no reproach, she made no fuss, she
-did not scold. She was smart and bright. It was quite easy to see that
-they were used to warmth and comfort.
-
-On the other hand, when he, the old man, was a boy he lived a dog’s
-life! There was nothing particularly rosy in his life even now; though,
-to be sure, he was no longer thrashed and he had plenty to eat. He
-recalled his younger days—their hunger, their cold, their drubbings. He
-had never had fun with a hoop, or other playthings of well-to-do folks.
-Thus passed all his life—in poverty, in care, in misery. And he could
-recall nothing—not a single joy.
-
-He smiled with his toothless mouth at the boy, and he envied him. He
-reflected:
-
-“What a silly sport!”
-
-But envy tormented him.
-
-He went to work—to the factory where he had worked from childhood,
-where he had grown old. And all day he thought of the boy.
-
-It was a fixed, deep-rooted thought. He simply could not get the boy
-out of his mind. He saw him running, laughing, stamping his feet,
-bowling the hoop. What plump little legs he had, bared at the knee!...
-
-All day long, amid the din of the factory wheels, the boy with the hoop
-appeared to him. And at night he saw the boy in a dream.
-
-III
-
-Next morning his reveries again pursued the old man.
-
-The machines were clattering, the labour was monotonous, automatic. The
-hands were busy at their accustomed tasks; the toothless mouth was
-smiling at a diverting fancy. The air was thick with dust, and under
-the high ceiling strap after strap, with hissing sound, glided quickly
-from wheel to wheel, endless in number. The far corners were invisible
-for the dense escaping vapours. Men emerged here and there like
-phantoms, and the human voice was not heard for the incessant din of
-the machines.
-
-The old man’s fancy was at work—he had become a little boy for the
-moment, his mother was a gentlewoman, and he had his hoop and his
-little stick; he was playing, driving the hoop with the little stick.
-He wore a white costume, his little legs were plump, bare at the
-knee....
-
-The days passed; the work went on, the fancy persisted.
-
-IV
-
-The old man was returning from work one evening when he saw the hoop of
-an old barrel lying in the street. It was a rough, dirty object. The
-old man trembled with happiness, and tears appeared in his dull eyes. A
-sudden, almost irresistible desire took possession of him.
-
-He glanced cautiously around him; then he bent down, picked up the hoop
-with trembling hands, and smiling shamefacedly, carried it home with
-him.
-
-No one noticed him, no one questioned him. Whose concern was it? A
-ragged old man was carrying an old, battered, useless hoop—who cared?
-
-He carried it stealthily, afraid of ridicule. Why he picked it up and
-why he carried it, he himself could not tell. Still, it was like the
-boy’s hoop, and this was enough. There was no harm in it lying about.
-
-He could look at it; he could touch it. It would stimulate his
-reveries; the whistle and turmoil of the factory would grow fainter,
-the escaping vapours less dense....
-
-For several days the hoop lay under the bed in the old man’s poor,
-cramped quarters. Sometimes he would take it from its place and look at
-it; the dirty, grey hoop soothed the old man, and the sight of it
-quickened his persistent thoughts about the happy little boy.
-
-V
-
-It was a clear, warm morning, and the birds were chirping away in the
-consumptive urban trees somewhat more cheerfully than usual. The old
-man rose early, took his hoop, and walked a little distance out of
-town.
-
-He coughed as he made his way among the old trees and the thorny bushes
-in the woods. The trees, covered with their dry, blackish, bursting
-bark, seemed to him incomprehensibly and sternly silent. The odours
-were strange, the insects astonishing, the ferns of gigantic growth.
-There was neither dust nor din here, and the gentle, exquisite morning
-mist lay behind the trees. The old feet glided over the dry leaves and
-stumbled across the old gnarled roots.
-
-The old man broke off a dry limb and hung his hoop upon it.
-
-He came upon an opening, full of daylight and of calm. The dewdrops,
-countless and opalescent, gleamed upon the green blades of newly mown
-grass.
-
-Suddenly the old man let the hoop slide off the stick. He struck with
-the stick, and sent the hoop rolling across the green lawn. The old man
-laughed, brightened at once, and pursued the hoop like that little boy.
-He kicked up his feet and drove the hoop with his stick, which he
-flourished high over his head, just as that little boy did.
-
-It seemed to him that he was small, beloved, and happy. It seemed to
-him that he was being looked after by his mother, who was following
-close behind and smiling. Like a child on his first outing, he felt
-refreshed on the bright grass, and on the still mosses.
-
-His goat-like, dust-grey beard, that harmonized with his sallow face,
-trembled, while his cough mingled with his laughter, and raucous sounds
-came from his toothless mouth.
-
-VI
-
-And the old man grew to love his morning hour in the woods with the
-hoop.
-
-He sometimes thought he might be discovered, and ridiculed—and this
-aroused him to a keen sense of shame. This shame resembled fear; he
-would grow numb, and his knees would give way under him. He would look
-round him with fright and timidity.
-
-But no—there was no one to be seen, or to be heard....
-
-And having diverted himself to his heart’s content he would return to
-the city, smiling gently and joyously.
-
-VII
-
-No one had ever found him out. And nothing unusual ever happened. The
-old man played peacefully for several days, and one very dewy morning
-he caught cold. He went to bed, and soon died. Dying in the factory
-hospital, among strangers, indifferent people, he smiled serenely.
-
-His memories soothed him. He, too, had been a child; he, too, had
-laughed and scampered across the green grass, among the dark trees—his
-beloved mother had followed him with her eyes.
-
-
-
-THE SEARCH
-
-I
-
-The pleasant in life has a way of mixing with the unpleasant. It is
-pleasant to be a student of the first class, for it gives one a certain
-standing in the world. But even the life of a student of the first
-class is not free from unpleasantness.
-
-The first thing of which Shura was conscious when he awoke one morning
-was that something was tearing on his person. He felt uncomfortable. As
-he turned on his side he was even more clearly aware of the damage that
-his shirt had suffered. There was a large gap under the armpits, and
-presently he realized that it extended down to the very bottom.
-
-Shura was sad. He remembered having told his mother only the day before
-about the condition of his shirt.
-
-“Wear it another day, Shurochka,” she answered him.
-
-Shura frowned and said rather sadly: “Mother, it won’t stand another
-day’s wear. To-morrow I shall be a ragamuffin.”
-
-Without looking up from her work she grumbled.
-
-“Let me have some peace. I have already promised you a change to-morrow
-evening. If you’d only be less mischievous your clothes would last
-longer. You’d wear out iron.”
-
-Shura, who was a quiet lad, growled back in reply:
-
-“One simply couldn’t be less mischievous than I. Only sometimes you
-can’t help it, and then in a reasonable sort of way.”
-
-His request went unheeded. And here was the consequence. His shirt was
-torn to its very hem. It was now good for nothing, all for want of a
-little foresight.
-
-He jumped out of bed, and ran semi-nude into the next-room, where his
-mother was making ready to go out to bring back some paying homework.
-The thought of going to school in discomfort and of waiting till
-evening vexed him.
-
-“What did I tell you?” he exclaimed. “You wouldn’t give me a shirt when
-I asked you yesterday. Now look what’s happened!”
-
-Deeply annoyed, she looked at Shura and complained.
-
-“Aren’t you ashamed to run about like that? I fear I’ll never drum any
-sense into you. You always come bothering me when I’m in a hurry.”
-
-Still, it was quite evident that it would not do to let the lad go in
-tatters. She found a brand new shirt and gave it to Shura somewhat
-reluctantly, as she had intended giving him one of the old ones, which
-were not due to arrive from the laundry until the evening.
-
-Shura was overjoyed. The new linen gave him a pleasant sensation, its
-harsh cold surface tickled the skin most pleasantly. He laughed, and he
-pranced about the room as he dressed; and his mother was not there to
-scold him.
-
-II
-
-The school, as always, seemed such a strange place. It was both gay and
-depressing, and hummed with a kind of unnatural industry. It was gay in
-the intervals between the lessons, and extremely tedious during the
-lessons.
-
-The subjects of study were most singular and useless. They concerned:
-folk, who had died long ago and did no good while they lived, and whom,
-for some unknown reason, it was necessary to recall after all these
-centuries, although some of the personages had never even existed;
-verbs, which were conjugated with something; nouns, which were declined
-for some purpose or other, though no use could be found for them in
-living speech; figures, which call for proofs of something which need
-not be proven at all; and much else, equally inconsequential and
-absurd. And there was nothing in all this that one could not do
-without; there was no correlation of facts, there was no
-straightforward answer to the eternal question: Why and Wherefore?
-
-III
-
-That morning early, in the assembly room, Mitya Krinin asked Shura:
-“Well, have you brought it?”
-
-Shura recalled that he had promised to bring Krinin a book of popular
-songs. He replied: “Just a moment. I’ve left it in my overcoat.”
-
-He ran into the dressing-room. The bells suddenly rang out in all parts
-of the building, calling the students to prayer, without which the
-lessons could hardly be expected to begin.
-
-Shura made haste. He put his hand in the overcoat pocket, found
-nothing; then, on discovering that it was some one else’s overcoat, he
-exclaimed in vexation:
-
-“There now, that’s something new—my hand in another boy’s overcoat!”
-
-And he began to search in his own.
-
-There was an outburst of derisive laughter. He looked around, startled,
-to find there the mischievous Dutikov, who called out in his unpleasant
-voice: “So, my boy, you’re going through other people’s pockets!”
-
-Shura growled back angrily: “It’s not your affair. Anyway, I’m not
-going through yours.”
-
-He found his book and ran back to the assembly room, where the students
-were already ranging themselves for the service, forming into long
-rows, according to height. The smaller students stood in front, near to
-the ikons, the taller behind; and in each row, in gradation, the lads
-on the right were taller than those on the left. The school faculty
-considered it necessary for them to pray in rows, and according to
-height; otherwise the prayer might come to nothing. Apart from them,
-there was a group of boys more proficient in chanting, and the leader
-of these, at the beginning of each chant, changed his voice several
-times—this was called “setting the tone.” The singing was loud, rapid,
-expressionless; they might have all been beating drums. The head
-student was reading in the prayer book the prayers which it was
-customary to read and not to sing—and his reading was just as loud,
-just as expressionless. In a word, it was the same as ever.
-
-But after prayers something happened.
-
-IV
-
-Student Epiphanov, of the second class, brought with him to school that
-morning a pearl-handled penknife and a silver rouble, and now these
-were nowhere to be found. He raised a cry and went to complain.
-
-An investigation was started.
-
-Dutikov reported that he had seen Shura Dolinin going through the
-pockets of some one’s overcoat. Shura was called into the cabinet of
-the director.
-
-Sergey Ivanovich, the director, fixed his suspicious eyes on the lad.
-The old tutor, who saw an excellent chance of catching a thief, and
-incidentally of balancing accounts somewhat for tricks that had been
-played upon him by the mischievous lads, experienced malicious pleasure
-and pounced upon the confused, flushing lad with questions.
-
-“Why were you in the dressing-room during prayer?”
-
-“Before prayer, Sergey Ivanovich,” whimpered Shura in a voice squeaky
-from fright.
-
-“Very well, before prayer,” said the director with irony in his voice.
-“What I want to know is why were you there?”
-
-Shura explained.
-
-The director continued: “Very well, after a book. But why in some one
-else’s pocket?”
-
-“It was a mistake,” said Shura, distressed.
-
-“A nice mistake,” remarked the director dryly. “Now confess, haven’t
-you taken by mistake a penknife and a rouble. By mistake, mind you?
-Look through your pockets, my lad.”
-
-Shura began to cry, and said through his tears: “I haven’t stolen
-anything.”
-
-The director smiled. It was pleasant to provoke tears. Such beautiful
-and such large childish tears trickled down the pink cheeks in three
-separate streams: two streams of tears came from one eye, and only one
-from the other.
-
-“If you haven’t stolen anything why do you cry?” said the director in a
-bantering tone. “I don’t even say that you have stolen. I assume that
-you merely made a mistake: caught hold of something that came into your
-hand, and then forgot all about it. Suppose you look through your
-pockets.”
-
-Shura quickly drew from his pockets all the absurd trifles usually
-found on boys, and then turned both his pockets inside out.
-
-“Nothing,” he said sadly.
-
-The director gave him a searching look.
-
-“You are sure it hasn’t dropped down in your clothes somewhere—the
-knife might have slipped into your boots, eh?”
-
-He rang. The watchman came.
-
-Shura was crying. And everything round him seemed to float in a rose
-mist, in the incomprehensible mental void of his degradation. They
-turned Shura about, felt him all over, searched him. Little by little
-they undressed him. First they took off his boots and shook them out;
-they did the same with his stockings. His belt, blouse and breeches
-followed. Everything was shaken out and searched.
-
-And through all this torment of shame, through all this indignity of a
-degrading and needless ceremony there penetrated one resplendent ray of
-joy; the torn shirt was at home, and the new, clean one rustled in the
-coarse hands of the zealous pedagogue.
-
-Shura stood in his shirt, crying. Behind the door he could hear
-tumultuous voices and cries of joy.
-
-The door burst open, and a little, red-cheeked, smiling chap entered
-hurriedly. And through his shame, through his tears, and through his
-joy about the new shirt, Shura heard a confused and panting voice say:
-
-“It’s been found, Sergey Ivanovich. On Epiphanov himself. There was a
-hole in his pocket—the penknife and rouble slipped down into his boot.”
-
-Then, suddenly, they became gentle with Shura. They stroked his head,
-comforted him, and helped him to dress.
-
-V
-
-Now he cried, now he laughed. At home he again cried and laughed. He
-complained:
-
-“I was entirely undressed. It would have been nice, wouldn’t it, if I
-had been wearing that torn shirt!”
-
-Later—yes, what happened later? His mother would go to the director.
-She wished to make a scene. Afterwards she would lodge a complaint
-against him. But she recalled, in the street, that her boy was a
-non-paying student. There was no scene. Besides, the director received
-her pleasantly. He was so apologetic.
-
-The impression of his degradation remained with the boy. All its
-incidents had impressed themselves upon him: he had been suspected of
-theft, and searched, and he had stood, almost naked, undergoing the
-scrutiny of an officious person. Shameful? Let us, by all means,
-console ourselves that it is an experience useful to life.
-
-Weeping, the mother said: “Who knows—perhaps when you grow up,
-something of the sort will really happen. We’ve heard of such things in
-our time.”
-
-
-
-THE WHITE MOTHER
-
-I
-
-Easter was near. Esper Constantinovich Saksaoolov was in a painful and
-undecided state of mind. It seemed to have begun when he was asked at
-the Gorodischevs: “Where are you greeting the holiday?”
-
-Saksaoolov, for some reason, did not reply at once. The housewife, who
-was stout, short-sighted and fussy, went on: “Come to us.”
-
-Saksaoolov felt vexed—most likely at the young girl, who at the words
-of her mother gave him a quick glance, then averted it, and continued
-her conversation with a professor’s young assistant.
-
-Mothers of grown daughters saw a possible husband in Saksaoolov, which
-annoyed him. He considered himself an old bachelor at thirty-seven.
-
-He answered sharply: “Thank you. But I always pass that night at home.”
-
-The girl glanced at him with a smile and asked: “With whom?”
-
-“Alone,” answered Saksaoolov with a shade of astonishment in his voice.
-
-“You’re a misanthrope,” said Madame Gorodischeva, with a sour smile.
-
-Saksaoolov valued his freedom. It seemed strange to him, whenever he
-thought of it, that he had been so near marriage once. He had lived
-long in his small but tastefully furnished apartment, had got used to
-his man attendant, the elderly and steady Fedota, and to Fedota’s not
-less reliable spouse, who cooked his dinner; and he persuaded himself
-that he ought to remain single out of memory to his first love. In
-truth, his heart was growing cold from indifference born of a lonely,
-incomplete life.
-
-He had his own fortune, his father and mother had died long ago, and he
-had no near relatives. He lived methodically and quietly; had something
-to do with a government department; was intimately acquainted with
-contemporary literature and art; and was something of an epicurean—but
-life itself seemed to him to be empty and aimless. Were it not that one
-pure, radiant fancy visited him at times he would have become entirely
-cold, like many others.
-
-II
-
-His first and only love, which ended before it had time to blossom,
-wrapt him closely in sad and sweet reveries, usually in the evenings.
-Five years earlier he had met a young girl who left an indelible
-impression upon him. She was pale, gentle, slender, with blue eyes, and
-fair wavy hair. She almost seemed to him not to belong to this earth,
-but was like a creature of air and mist, blown for a brief moment by
-fate into the city turmoil. Her movements were slow; her gentle, clear
-voice was soft, like the murmur of a brook purling over stones.
-
-Saksaoolov, whether by chance or not, saw her always in a white dress.
-The impression of white had become inseparable from his thought of her.
-Her very name, Tamar, suggested to him something as white as the snow
-on the mountain tops.
-
-He began to visit her at the house of her parents. More than once he
-had resolved to say to her those words which bind human fates together.
-But she never let him go on; she would always grow frightened and shy,
-and she would rise and leave him. What frightened her? Saksaoolov read
-signs of virgin love in her face; her eyes grew brighter when he
-entered, and a light flush suffused her cheeks.
-
-But one never-to-be-forgotten day she listened to him. It was in the
-early spring. The ice on the river was gone, and the trees were covered
-with a soft green veil. Tamar and Saksaoolov were sitting before the
-window in the city house, and looking out on the Niva. He spoke,
-scarcely knowing what he said, but his words were both gentle and
-terrible to her. She grew pale, smiled vaguely, and rose. Her slender
-hand trembled on the carved top of the chair.
-
-“To-morrow,” Tamar said quietly, and went out.
-
-Saksaoolov gazed with intense feeling toward the door behind which
-Tamar had disappeared. His head was in a whirl. His eye fell upon a
-sprig of white lilac; he picked it up almost absently, and left without
-bidding his hosts good-bye.
-
-He could not sleep that night. He stood at the window and looked out
-into the far-stretching streets, at first dark, then lighter at dawn;
-he smiled and pressed the sprig of lilac between his fingers. When it
-grew light he noticed that the floor of the room was strewn with white
-petals of lilac. This seemed both curious and of happy omen to
-Saksaoolov. He felt the cool of the breeze on his heated face. He took
-a bath and he felt refreshed. Then he went to Tamar.
-
-They told him that she was ill, that she had caught a cold somewhere.
-And Saksaoolov never saw her again; she died within two weeks. He did
-not go to her funeral. Her death left him quite calm, and he no longer
-knew whether he had loved her or whether it was a short, passing
-fascination.
-
-He mused about her sometimes in the evening; but he gradually learned
-to forget her; and Saksaoolov had no portrait of her. But after a few
-years—more precisely, only a year ago—in the spring, upon seeing a
-sprig of lilac sadly out of place among rich eatables in a restaurant
-window, he remembered Tamar. And from that time on he loved to think of
-Tamar again during the evenings.
-
-Sometimes, as he fell into a light sleep, he dreamt that Tamar came to
-him, sat opposite him, and looked at him with unaverted, fond eyes; and
-that she had something to tell him. And it was painful to feel Tamar’s
-expectant glance upon him, and not know what she wanted of him.
-
-Now, leaving the Gorodischevs, he thought timidly: “She will come to
-give me the kiss of Easter.”
-
-A feeling of fear and loneliness took hold of him with such intensity
-that the idea came to him: “Perhaps it would be well to marry so as not
-to be alone on holy, mysterious nights.”
-
-He thought of Valeria Mikhailovna, the Gorodischev girl. She was by no
-means a beauty, but she was always dressed becomingly to set off her
-looks. She apparently liked him, and was not likely to reject him if he
-asked her.
-
-The throng and din in the street distracted him and his usual somewhat
-ironic mood swayed his thoughts of the Gorodischev girl. Could he prove
-false to Tamar’s memory for any one else? Everything in the world
-seemed so paltry to him that he wished no one but Tamar to give him the
-kiss of Easter.
-
-“But,” thought he, “she will again look at me with expectancy. White,
-gentle Tamar, what does she want? Will her gentle lips kiss me?”
-
-III
-
-Saksaoolov thought sadly of Tamar as he wandered in the streets, and
-looking into the faces of the passers-by he thought many of the older
-people unpleasantly coarse. He recalled that there was no one with whom
-he would exchange the kiss of Easter with real desire and joy. There
-would be many coarse lips and prickly beards, smelling of wine, to kiss
-the first day.
-
-It was much pleasanter to kiss the children. Children’s faces grew
-lovely in Saksaoolov’s eyes.
-
-He walked a long time, and when he was tired he entered a church
-enclosure just off the noisy street. A pale lad sat on a form and
-looked up frightened at Saksaoolov; then he once more began to gaze
-absently before him. His blue eyes were gentle and sad, like Tamar’s.
-He was so small that his feet projected from the seat.
-
-Saksaoolov, who sat near him, began to eye him, half with pity, half
-with curiosity. There was something in this youngster that stirred his
-memory with joy, and at the same time excited him. In appearance he was
-a most ordinary urchin; he had on ragged clothes, a white fur cap on
-his bright hair, and a pair of dirty boots, worse for wear.
-
-He sat long on the form, then he rose suddenly and gave a cry. He ran
-out of the gate into the street, then stopped, turned quickly in
-another direction, and again stopped. It was clear that he did not know
-which way to turn. He began to weep quietly, making no ado, and large
-tears ran down his cheeks. A crowd gathered. A policeman came. They
-began to ask him where he lived.
-
-“At the Gliukhov house,” he lisped in a childlike but indistinct tone.
-
-“In what street,” the policeman asked.
-
-The boy did not know, and only kept on repeating: “At the Gliukhov
-house.”
-
-The young and good-natured policeman thought awhile, and decided that
-there was no such house near.
-
-“With whom do you live?” asked a gruff workman. “With your father?”
-
-“I have no father,” answered the boy, as he scanned the faces round him
-with his tearful eyes.
-
-“So you’ve got no father, that’s how it is,” said the workman gravely,
-and shook his head. “Then where’s your mother?”
-
-“I have a mother,” the boy replied.
-
-“What’s her name?”
-
-“Mamma,” said the boy; then, upon reflection, he added, “black mamma.”
-
-Some one laughed in the crowd.
-
-“Black? I wonder whether that’s the name of the family?” suggested the
-gruff workman.
-
-“First it was a white mamma, and now it’s a black mamma,” said the boy.
-
-“There’s no making head or tail of this,” decided the policeman. “I’ll
-take him to the station. They’ll telephone about it.”
-
-He went to the gate and rang. But the house-porter had already seen the
-policeman and, besom in hand, he was coming to the gate. The policeman
-ordered him to take the boy to the station. But the boy suddenly
-bethought himself, and cried out: “Never mind, let me go, I’ll find the
-way myself.”
-
-Perhaps he was frightened of the house-porter’s besom, or perhaps he
-had really recalled something; at any rate he ran off so hard that
-Saksaoolov almost lost sight of him. But soon the boy walked more
-quietly. He turned street corners and ran from one side to the other
-searching for, but not finding, his home. Saksaoolov followed him in
-silence. He was not an adept at talking to children.
-
-At last the boy grew tired. He stopped before a lamp-post and leant
-against it. Tears gleamed in his eyes.
-
-“My dear boy,” said Saksaoolov, “haven’t you found it yet?”
-
-The lad looked at him with his sad, soft eyes, and Saksaoolov suddenly
-understood what had impelled him to follow the boy with such
-resolution. There was something in the face and glance of the little
-wanderer that gave him an unusual likeness to Tamar.
-
-“My dear boy, what’s your name?” asked Saksaoolov in a tender and
-agitated voice.
-
-“Lesha,” said the boy.
-
-“Tell me, dear Lesha, do you live with your mother?”
-
-“Yes, with mamma. Only now it’s a black mamma—and before it was a white
-mamma.”
-
-Saksaoolov thought that by black mamma he meant a nun.
-
-“How did you get lost?” he asked.
-
-“I walked with mamma, and we walked and walked. She told me to sit down
-and wait, and then she went away. And I got frightened.”
-
-“Who is your mother?”
-
-“My mamma? She’s so black and so angry.”
-
-“What does she do?”
-
-The boy thought awhile.
-
-“She drinks coffee,” he said.
-
-“What else does she do?”
-
-“She quarrels with the lodgers,” answered Lesha after a pause.
-
-“And where is your white mamma?”
-
-“She was carried away. She was put into a coffin and carried away. And
-papa was carried away.”
-
-The boy pointed into the distance somewhere and burst into tears.
-
-“What’s to be done with him?” thought Saksaoolov.
-
-Then suddenly the boy began to run again. After he had turned a few
-corners he went more quietly. Saksaoolov overtook him a second time.
-The lad’s face expressed a strange mixture of joy and fear.
-
-“Here’s the Gliukhov house,” he said to Saksaoolov, as he pointed to a
-huge, five-storeyed monstrosity.
-
-At this moment there appeared at the gates of the Gliukhov house a
-black-haired, black-eyed woman in a black dress, a black kerchief with
-white dots on her head. The boy shrank back in fear.
-
-“Mamma,” he whispered.
-
-His stepmother looked at him with astonishment.
-
-“How did you get here, you young whelp!” she shrieked out. “I told you
-to sit on the bench, didn’t I?”
-
-She seemed to be on the point of whipping him when she noticed that
-some sort of gentleman, serious and dignified in appearance, was
-watching them, and she spoke more softly.
-
-“Can’t I leave you for a half-hour anywhere without you taking to your
-heels? I’ve walked my feet off looking for you, you young whelp!”
-
-She caught the child’s very small hand in her own huge one and dragged
-him within the gate. Saksaoolov made a note of the house number and the
-name of the street, and went home.
-
-IV
-
-Saksaoolov liked to listen to the opinions of Fedota. When he returned
-home he told him about the boy Lesha.
-
-“She did it on purpose,” decided Fedota. “Just think what a witch she
-is to take the boy such a way from home!”
-
-“Why should she?” Saksaoolov asked.
-
-“It’s simple enough. What can you expect of a stupid woman! She thought
-the boy would get lost somewhere, and some one would pick him up. After
-all, she’s a stepmother. What’s a homeless child to her?”
-
-Saksaoolov was incredulous. He observed: “But the police would have
-found her out.”
-
-“Of course they would; but you can’t tell, she may have meant to leave
-town; then find her if you can.”
-
-Saksaoolov smiled.
-
-“Really,” he thought, “my Fedota should be a district attorney.”
-
-He fell into a doze that evening as he sat reading before a lamp. Tamar
-appeared to him—the gentle, white Tamar—and sat down beside him. Her
-face was strangely like Lesha’s face. She looked steadily and
-persistently, and awaited something. It tormented Saksaoolov to see her
-bright, pleading eyes, and not to know what she wanted. He rose quickly
-and went to the armchair where he thought he saw Tamar sitting. He
-stopped before her and asked loudly and with emotion:
-
-“What do you wish? Tell me.”
-
-But she was no longer there.
-
-“It was only a dream,” thought Saksaoolov sadly.
-
-V
-
-The next day, as he was leaving the academy exhibition, Saksaoolov met
-the Gorodischevs. He told the girl about Lesha.
-
-“Poor boy,” said Valeria Mikhailovna quietly. “His stepmother is trying
-to get rid of him.”
-
-“That’s yet to be proved,” said Saksaoolov.
-
-He felt annoyed that every one, including Fedota and Valeria, should
-look so tragically upon a simple incident.
-
-“That’s quite evident,” said Valeria Mikhailovna warmly. “There’s no
-father, and only a stepmother to whom he is simply a burden. No good
-will come of it—the boy will have a sad end.”
-
-“You take too gloomy a view of the matter,” observed Saksaoolov, with a
-smile.
-
-“You ought to take him to yourself,” Valeria Mikhailovna advised him.
-
-“I?” asked Saksaoolov with astonishment.
-
-“You are living alone,” Valeria Mikhailovna persisted. “You have no
-one. Here’s a chance for you to do a good deed at Eastertime! At least,
-you’ll have some one with whom to exchange the kiss of Easter.”
-
-“I beg you to tell me, Valeria Mikhailovna, what am I to do with a
-child?”
-
-“You might engage a governess. Fate itself is sending the boy to you.”
-
-Saksaoolov looked with amazement and involuntary tenderness at the
-girl’s flushed, animated face.
-
-When Tamar again appeared to him that evening he seemed already to know
-her wish. It was as though, in the silence of the room, he heard her
-tranquilly spoken words: “Do as she advised you.”
-
-Saksaoolov rose joyously and rubbed his drowsy eyes with his hand. He
-saw a sprig of white lilac on the table, and was astonished. How did it
-come there? Did Tamar leave it there as a sign of her wish?
-
-And he suddenly thought that if he married the Gorodischeva girl and
-took Lesha into his house he would be carrying out the will of Tamar.
-He breathed in the lilac’s aroma happily. He suddenly remembered that
-he himself had bought the sprig of lilac that same day.
-
-Then he argued with himself: “It really doesn’t matter that I had
-bought it myself; its real significance is that I had an impulse to buy
-it; and that later I forgot that I had bought it.”
-
-VI
-
-Next morning he went to fetch Lesha. The boy met him at the gate and
-showed him where he lived. Lesha’s black mamma was drinking coffee, and
-was quarrelling with her red-nosed lodger. Saksaoolov learnt something
-about Lesha from her.
-
-The lad lost his mother when he was three. His father married this
-black woman, and himself died within a year. The black woman, Irina
-Ivanovna, had her own son, now a year old. She was about to marry
-again. The wedding would take place in a few days and after the
-ceremony she would go with her husband to the provinces. Lesha was a
-stranger to her and she would rather do without him.
-
-“Give him to me,” suggested Saksaoolov.
-
-“With great pleasure,” said Irina Ivanovna with unconcealed and
-malignant joy.
-
-She added after a short silence: “Only you will pay for his clothes.”
-
-And so Lesha was presently installed at Saksaoolov’s. The Gorodischeva
-girl helped in the finding of a governess and in other details of
-Lesha’s comfort. This required her to visit Saksaoolov’s apartments.
-She assumed a different appearance in Saksaoolov’s eyes as she busied
-herself in these various cares. It was as though the door to her soul
-opened itself to him. Her eyes had become beaming and gentle, and she
-was permeated with almost the same tranquillity that breathed from
-Tamar.
-
-VII
-
-Lesha’s stories about the white mamma won over Fedota and his wife. As
-they put him to bed on Easter eve, they hung a white candied egg above
-his head.
-
-“It’s from the white mamma,” said Christina, “only you darling mustn’t
-touch it; at least not until the resurrection, when you’ll hear the
-bell ring.”
-
-Lesha lay down obediently. He looked long at the egg of joy and at last
-fell asleep.
-
-Saksaoolov was sitting alone in another room. Just before midnight an
-unconquerable drowsiness again closed his eyes, and he was glad that he
-would soon see Tamar.
-
-At last she came, all in white, joyous, bringing with her glad tidings
-from afar. She smiled gently, then bent over him, and—unspeakable
-happiness!—Saksaoolov’s lips felt a tender contact.
-
-A sweet voice said softly: “_Christoss Voskress!_” (Christ has risen).
-
-Saksaoolov, without opening his eyes stretched out his arms and
-embraced a slender, gentle body. It was Lesha who climbed on his knees
-and gave him the kiss of Easter.
-
-The church bell had awakened the boy. He seized the white egg and ran
-to Saksaoolov.
-
-Saksaoolov opened his eyes. Lesha laughed as he showed him the egg.
-
-“White mamma has sent it,” he lisped, “and I’ll give it to you, and you
-can give it to Aunt Valeria.”
-
-“Very well, my dear boy, I’ll do as you say,” said Saksaoolov.
-
-He put Lesha to bed, then went to Valeria Mikhailovna with Lesha’s
-white egg, a gift from the white mamma, but which really seemed to him
-at that moment to be a gift from Tamar herself.
-
-THE END
-
-
-
-
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-Project Gutenberg's The Old House and Other Tales, by Feodor Sologub
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
-the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-Title: The Old House and Other Tales
-
-Author: Feodor Sologub
-
-Translator: John Cournos
-
-Release Date: March 10, 2015 [EBook #48452]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD HOUSE AND OTHER TALES ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org
-(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.)
-
-
-
-
-
-THE OLD HOUSE
-
-AND OTHER TALES
-
-BY
-
-FEODOR SOLOGUB
-
-AUTHORISED TRANSLATION FROM THE RUSSIAN
-
-BY JOHN COURNOS
-
-_SECOND IMPRESSION_
-
-LONDON
-
-MARTIN SECKER
-
-NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET
-
-ADELPHI
-
-1916
-
-
-      _Acknowledgments are due to the Editor of The New
-      Statesman for permission to republish The White Dog and
-      The Hoop, which first appeared in that periodical_.
-
-
-    CONTENTS
-
-    THE OLD HOUSE
-    THE UNITER OF SOULS
-    THE INVOKER OF THE BEAST
-    THE WHITE DOG
-    LIGHT AND SHADOWS
-    THE GLIMMER OF HUNGER
-    HIDE AND SEEK
-    THE SMILE
-    THE HOOP
-    THE SEARCH
-    THE WHITE MOTHER
-
-
-
-INTRODUCTION
-
-
-_"Sologub" is a pseudonym--the author's real name is Feodor Kuzmich
-Teternikov. He was born in 1863. He completed a scholastic course
-at Petrograd. His first published story appeared in the periodical
-"Severny Viestnik" in 1894, but it was not until about a dozen years
-later that he came into his fame, which he has since then further
-enhanced_.
-
-_This is all the biographical knowledge we have of a living novelist
-whose place in Russian literature is secure beyond all question; the
-scantiness of our knowledge is all the more amazing when we consider
-that the author is over fifty, and that his complete works are in their
-twentieth volume_.
-
-_These include almost every possible form of literary expression--the
-fairy tale, the poem, the play, the essay, the novel, and the short
-story. Sologub's place as a poet is hardly less assured than his place
-as a novelist_.
-
-_How little importance Sologub attaches to personal_ r�clame _may
-be gathered from his answer to repeated requests for a nutshell
-"autobiography" a type of document in vogue in Russia; Maxim Gorky's
-impressive model, I believe, is quite familiar to English readers_.
-
-_"I cannot give you my autobiography," Sologub wrote to the editor of
-a literary almanac, "as I do not think that my personality can be of
-sufficient interest to any one. And I haven't the time to waste on such
-unnecessary business as an autobiography."_
-
-_At the beginning of his Complete Works, however, there is a poem in
-prose, a kind of spiritual autobiography in which he insists that all
-life is a miracle, and that his own surely is also. "I simply and
-calmly reveal my soul ... in the hope that the intimate part of me
-shall become the universal." After such an avowal the reader will know
-where to look for the author's personality_.
-
-_In studying his work, one finds that he has both realism and fantasy.
-But while he is sometimes wholly realistic, he is seldom wholly
-fantastic. His fantasy has always its foundations in reality. His
-realism is as grey as that of Chekhov, whose logical successor he has
-been acclaimed by Russian criticism. But it is his prodigious fantasy
-that makes the point of his departure from the Chekhovian formula. When
-he combines the two qualities, the strange reconciliation thus effected
-produces a result as original as it is rich in "the meaning of life."
-Sologub himself says somewhere_:
-
-_"I take a piece of life, coarse and poor, and make of it a delightful
-legend_."
-
-_This sentence establishes the distinction between the two writers.
-Life for Chekhov may contain its delightful characters, life itself is
-seldom a delightful legend_.
-
-_Actually, Sologub sees life more greyly than Chekhov; perhaps it is
-this sense of grief "too great to be borne" that compels him to grope
-for an outlet, for some kind of relief. Already in his earliest novel
-one of the characters gives utterance to the significant words_:
-
-"_Once you prove that life has no meaning, life becomes impossible_."
-
-_This relief is to be found within oneself in the "inner life"; that is
-in the imagination, "imagination the great consoler" as Renan has said.
-Imagination is everything; it is, indeed, the invoker of all beauty;
-and admiration of beauty is the one escape out of life. The author,
-"with whatever words he can find, speaks of one thing. Patiently calls
-towards the one thing...." Writing of the sadness of life, he envelops
-this sadness in the beauty evoked by his imagination as in a flame, and
-withers it up. One finds him rejoicing that there is a life other than
-"this ordinary, coarse, tedious, sunlight life," that there is a life
-that is "nocturnal, prodigious, resembling a fairy tale."_
-
-_It may sound like a startling antinomy to say that at his happiest
-Sologub is a compound of Chekhov and Poe. It could be put in another
-way: if Poe were a Russian, he might have written as Sologub writes.
-This is to say that the mystery with which Sologub endows his tales is
-never there for its own sake, but as a most intense symbol of reality._
-
-_Consider a story like "The Invoker of the Beast." As a story of
-reincarnation it is a masterpiece of mystery. The reader, anxious for
-a good tale merely, may let the matter rest there. But can he? Can
-he listen to Gurov, who, while living through, in his delirium, his
-previous existence, is so insistent about the "invincibility of his
-walls"--and yet remain unmoved to the deep meaning of Gurov's cry?
-Are not the seemingly imperishable walls, within which Gurov thought
-himself secure from the Beast, a symbol of our own subtle insecurity?
-Is not our own Beast--be it some unexpected latent circumstance, or
-some unlooked-for yet inevitable consequence of a past action, on the
-part of our ancestors or of ourselves--ready to pounce upon us and
-ravage our hearts, after a long and relentless pursuit, from which in
-the end there is no escape?_
-
-_Again, to one who has read most of Sologub's productions, the story
-of the Beast is interesting, because it contains, as it were, a
-synthesis of the author's tendencies. Its separate motifs are repeated
-in variation in many of his other stories. There is the boy Timarides,
-whom the author loves. Why?_
-
-_Because Timarides is a child, because he is beautiful, trustful,
-and ready to do daring deeds. Timarides perhaps stands for the young
-generation reproaching the old for its neglect, its forgetfulness of
-its promises, its settling in a groove, its stripping itself of its
-happiest illusions_.
-
-_And throughout his work, Sologub reiterates his affection for children
-and the childlike. When he loves or pities an older person, he endows
-him with childlike attributes. He does this in the little story, "The
-Hoop." Does the old man seem absurd to us? If so, it is to be inferred
-that the fault is with ourselves. We have grown too sophisticated_.
-
-_Here, again, Chekhov and Sologub meet. Chekhov loves the unpractical
-people, because they are usually more lovable personalities than the
-successful, practical ones; Sologub loves the absurd, the childlike,
-the quixotic, for the same reason_.
-
-_Rather than have them grow up and therefore become unlovable, Sologub
-makes some of his children die young. There is, for example, in one
-of his stories, sweet Rayechka, who died in a fall, and upon whom the
-boy, Mitya, recalling her, muses in this fashion: "Had Rayechka lived
-to grow up, she might have become a housemaid like Darya, pomaded her
-hair, and squinted her cunning eyes."_
-
-_In "The Old House" it is the children once more who are the
-revolutionaries--trustful, adorable, and daring. In "The White Mother"
-the bachelor, Saksaoolov, is redeemed through the boy, Lesha, who
-resembles his dead sweetheart_.
-
-_Schoolmasters and schoolchildren are among the characters who frequent
-the pages of Sologub's books. Sologub, it should be remembered, began
-life as a schoolmaster. The story "Light and Shadows" is, perhaps,
-a reflection upon our educational system which crams the young mind
-with a multitude of useless facts and starves the imagination; we see
-the reaction of the system on the delicate organism of a sensitive and
-imaginative child_.
-
-_Mothers share the author's affection for their children; but, like
-schoolmasters, mothers, unfortunately, are of two kinds. The world has
-its "black mammas" as well as its "white mammas."_
-
-_There are few writers who are so subtle, so insinuating, and so
-seductive, in their power to make the reader think; few writers who
-give so great a stimulus to the imagination_.
-
-_With Chekhov, Russian fiction turns definitely to town life for its
-material; nevertheless, the changes which the modern industrial system
-has brought about have in no wise weakened the mystic force of Russian
-literature. Sologub is a mystic, a mystic of Russian tradition; and
-Sologub is a product of Petrograd_.
-
-                                              _JOHN COURNOS_
-
-
-
-
-THE OLD HOUSE [1]
-
-
-
-I
-
-
-It was an old, large, one-storied house, with a mezzanine. It stood in
-a village, eleven versts from a railway station, and about fifty versts
-from the district town. The garden which surrounded the house seemed
-lost in drowsiness, while beyond it stretched vistas and vistas of
-inexpressibly dull, infinitely depressing fields.
-
-Once this house had been painted lavender, but now it was faded. Its
-roof, once red, had turned dark brown. But the pillars of the terrace
-were still quite strong, the little arbours in the garden were intact,
-and there was an Aphrodite in the shrubbery.
-
-It seemed as if the old house were full of memories. It stood, as it
-were, dreaming, recalling, lapsing finally into a mood of sorrow at the
-overwhelming flood of doleful memories.
-
-Everything in this house was as before, as in those days when the whole
-family lived there together in the summer, when Borya was yet alive.
-
-Now, in the old manor, lived only women: Borya's grandmother, Elena
-Kirillovna Vodolenskaya; Borya's mother, Sofia Alexandrovna Ozoreva;
-and Borya's sister, Natalya Vasilyevna. The old grandmother, and
-the mother, and the young girl appeared tranquil, and at times even
-cheerful. It was the second year of their awaiting in the old house the
-youngest of the family, Boris. Boris who was no longer among the living.
-
-They hardly spoke of him to one another; yet their thoughts, their
-memories, and their musings of him filled their days. At times dark
-threads of grief stole in among the even woof of these thoughts and
-reveries; and tears fell bitterly and ceaselessly.
-
-When the midday sun rested overhead, when the sad moon beckoned, when
-the rosy dawn blew its cool breezes, when the evening sun blazed
-its red laughter--these were the four points between which their
-spirits fluctuated from evening joy to high midday sorrow. Swayed
-involuntarily, all three of them felt the sympathy and antipathy of the
-hours, each mood in turn.
-
-The happiness of dawn, the bright, midday sadness, the joy of dusk, the
-pale pining of night. The four emotions lifted them infinitely higher
-than the rope upon which Borya had swung, upon which Borya had died.
-
-
-[1] In collaboration with Anastasya Chebotarevskaya.
-
-
-
-II
-
-
-At pale-rose dawn, when the merrily green, harmoniously white birches
-bend their wet branches before the windows, just beyond the little
-patch of sand by the round flower-bed; at pale-rose dawn--when a fresh
-breeze comes blowing from the bathing pond--then wakes Natasha, the
-first of the three.
-
-What a joy it is to wake at dawn! To throw aside the cool cover of
-muslin, to rest upon the elbow, upon one's side, and to look out of the
-window with large, dark, sad eyes.
-
-Out of the window the sky is visible, seeming quite low over the white
-distant birches. A pale vermilion sunrise brightly suffuses its soft
-fire through the thin mist which stretches over the earth. There is
-in its quiet, gently joyous flame a great tension of young fears and
-of half-conscious desires; what tension, what happiness, and what
-sadness! It smiles through the dew of sweet morning tears, over white
-lilies-of-the-valley, over the blue violets of the broad fields.
-
-Wherefore tears! To what end the grief of night!
-
-There, close to the window, hangs a sprig of sweet-flag, banishing all
-evil. It was put there by the grandmother, and the old nurse insists on
-its staying there. It trembles in the air, the sprig of sweet-flag, and
-smiles its dry green smile.
-
-Natasha's face lapses into a quiet, rosy serenity.
-
-The earth awakes in its fresh morning vigour. The voices of
-newly-roused life reach Natasha. Here the restless twitter of birds
-comes from among the swaying damp branches. There in the distance can
-be heard the prolonged trill of a horn. Elsewhere, quite near, on the
-path by the window, there are sounds of something walking with a heavy,
-stamping tread. The cheerful neighing of a foal is heard, and from
-another quarter the protracted lowing of sullen cows.
-
-
-
-III
-
-
-Natasha rises, smiles at something, and goes quickly to the window.
-Her window looks down upon the earth from a height. It is in three
-sections, in the mezzanine. Natasha does not draw the curtains across
-it at night, so as not to hide from her drowsing eyes the comforting
-glimmer of the stars and the witching face of the moon.
-
-What happiness it is to open the window, to fling it wide open with
-a vigorous thrust of the hand! From the direction of the river the
-gentlest of morning breezes comes blowing into Natasha's face, still
-somewhat rapt in sleep. Beyond the garden and the hedges she can
-see the broad fields beloved from childhood. Spread over them are
-sloping hillocks, rows of ploughed soil, green groves, and clusters of
-shrubbery.
-
-The river winds its way among the green, full of capricious turnings.
-White tufts of mist, dispersing gradually, hang over it like fragments
-of a torn veil. The stream, visible in places, is more often hidden
-by some projection of its low bank, but in the far distance its path
-is marked by dense masses of willow-herb, which stand out dark green
-against the bright grass.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Natasha washed herself quickly; it was pleasant to feel the cold water
-upon her shoulders and upon her neck. Then, childlike, she prayed
-diligently before the ikon in the dark corner, her knees not upon the
-rug but upon the bare floor, in the hope that it might please God.
-
-She repeated her daily prayer:
-
-"Perform a miracle, O Lord!"
-
-And she bent her face to the floor.
-
-She rose. Then quickly she put on her gay, light dress with broad
-shoulder-straps, cut square on the breast, and a leather belt, drawn in
-at the back with a large buckle. Quickly she plaited her dark braids,
-and deftly wound them round her head. With a flourish she stuck into
-them horn combs and hairpins, the first that came to her hand. She
-threw over her shoulders a grey, knitted kerchief, pleasantly soft in
-texture, and made haste to go out onto the terrace of the old house.
-
-The narrow inner staircase creaked gently under Natasha's light step.
-It was pleasant to feel the contact of the cold hard floor of planks
-under her warm feet.
-
-When Natasha descended and passed down the corridor and through the
-dining-room, she walked on tip-toe so as to awaken neither her mother
-nor her grandmother. Upon her face was a sweet expression of cheerful
-preoccupation, and between her brows a slight contraction. This
-contraction had remained as it was formed in those other days.
-
-The curtains in the dining-room were still drawn. The room seemed dark
-and oppressive. She wanted to run through quickly, past the large
-drawn-out table. She had no wish to stop at the sideboard to snatch
-something to eat.
-
-Quicker, quicker! Toward freedom, toward the open, toward the smiles of
-the careless dawn which does not think of wearisome yesterdays.
-
-
-
-IV
-
-
-It was bright and refreshing on the terrace. Natasha's light-coloured
-dress suddenly kindled with the pale-rose smiles of the early sun. A
-soft breeze blew from the garden. It caressed and kissed Natasha's feet.
-
-Natasha seated herself in a wicker chair, and leant her slender rosy
-elbows upon the broad parapet of the terrace. She directed her gaze
-toward the gate between the hedges beyond which the grey silent road
-was visible, gently serene in the pale rose light.
-
-Natasha looked long, intently, with a steady pensive gaze in her dark
-eyes. A small vein quivered at the left corner of her mouth. The left
-brow trembled almost imperceptibly. The vertical contraction between
-her eyes defined itself rather sharply. Equal to the fixity of the
-tremulous, ruby-like flame of the rising sun, was the fixed vision of
-her very intent, motionless eyes.
-
-If an observer were to give a long and searching look at Natasha as
-she sat there in the sunrise, it would seem to him that she was not
-observing what was before her, but that her intent gaze was fixed on
-something very far away, at something that was not in sight.
-
-It was as though she wished to see some one who was not there, some one
-she was waiting for, some one who will come--who will come to-day. Only
-let the miracle happen. Yes, the miracle!
-
-
-
-V
-
-
-Natasha's grey daily routine was before her. It was always the same,
-always in the same place. And as yesterday, as to-morrow, as always,
-the same people. Eternal unchanging people.
-
-A _muzhik_ walked along with a monotonous swing, the iron heels of his
-boots striking the hard clay of the road with a resounding clang. A
-peasant woman walked unsteadily by, softly rustling her way through the
-dewy grass, showing her sunburnt legs. Regarding the old house with a
-kind of awe, a number of sweet, sunburnt, dirty, white-haired urchins
-ran by.
-
-Past the house, always past it. No one thought of stopping at the gate.
-And no one saw the young girl behind that pillar of the terrace.
-
-Sweet-briar bloomed near the gate. It let fall its first pale-rose
-petals on the yellow sandy path, petals of heavenly innocence even
-in their actual fall. The roses in the garden exhaled their sweet,
-passionate perfume. At the terrace itself, reflecting the light of the
-sky, they flaunted their bright rosy smiles, their aromatic shameless
-dreams and desires, innocent as all was innocent in the primordial
-paradise, innocent as only the perfumes of roses are innocent upon this
-earth. White tobacco plants and red poppies bloomed in one part of the
-garden. And just beyond a marble Aphrodite gleamed white, like some
-eternal emblem of beauty, in the green, refreshing, aromatic, joyous
-life of this passing day.
-
-Natasha said quietly to herself: "He must have changed a great deal.
-Perhaps I shan't know him when he comes."
-
-And quietly she answered herself: "But I would know him at once by his
-voice and his eyes."
-
-And listening intently she seemed to hear his deep, sonorous voice.
-Then she seemed to see his dark eyes, and their flaming, dauntless,
-youthfully-bold glance. And again she listened intently and gave a
-searching look into the great distance. She bent down lightly, and
-inclined her sensitive ear toward something while her glance, pensive
-and motionless, seemed no less fixed. It was as though she had stopped
-suddenly in an attitude, tense and not a little wild.
-
-The rosy smile of the now blazing sunrise timidly played on Natasha's
-pale face.
-
-
-
-VI
-
-
-A voice in the distance gave a cry, and there was an answering echo.
-
-Natasha shivered. She started, sighed, and then rose. Down the low,
-broad steps she descended into the garden, and found herself on the
-sandy path. The fine grey sand grated under her small and narrow feet,
-which left behind their delicate traces.
-
-Natasha approached the white marble statue.
-
-For a long time she gazed upon the tranquil beauty of the goddess's
-face, so remote from her own tedious, dried-up life, and then upon
-the ever-youthful form, nude and unashamed, radiating freedom. Roses
-bloomed at the foot of the plain pedestal. They added the enchantment
-of their brief aromatic existence to the enchantment of eternal beauty.
-
-Very quietly Natasha addressed the Aphrodite.
-
-"If he should come to-day, I will put into the buttonhole of his jacket
-the most scarlet, the most lovely of these roses. He is swarthy, and
-his eyes are dark--yes, I shall take the most scarlet of your roses!"
-
-The goddess smiled. Gathering up with her beautiful hands the serene
-draperies which fell about her knees, silently but unmistakably she
-answered, "Yes."
-
-And Natasha said again: "I will plait a wreath of scarlet roses, and
-I will let down my hair, my long, dark hair; and I will put on the
-wreath, and I will dance and laugh and sing, to comfort him, to make
-him joyous."
-
-And again the goddess said to her, "Yes."
-
-Natasha spoke again: "You will remember him. You will recognize him.
-You gods remember everything. Only we people forget. In order to
-destroy and to create--ourselves and you."
-
-And in the silence of the white marble was clear the eternal "Yes," the
-comforting answer, "Yes."
-
-Natasha sighed and took her eyes from the statue. The sunrise blazed
-into a flame; the joyous garden smiled with the radiations of dawn's
-ever-youthful, triumphant laughter.
-
-
-
-VII
-
-
-Then Natasha went quietly toward the gate. There again she looked a
-long time down the road. She had her hand on the gate in an attitude
-of expectation, ready, as it were, to swing it wide open before him who
-was coming, before him whom she awaited.
-
-Stirring the grey dust of the road the refreshing early wind blew
-softly into Natasha's face, and whispered in her ears persistent, evil
-and ominous things, as though it envied her expectation, her tense calm.
-
-O wind, you who blow everywhere, you know all, you come and you go at
-will, and you pursue your way into the endless beyond.
-
-O wind, you who blow everywhere, perchance you have flown into the
-regions where he is? Perchance you have brought tidings of him?
-
-If you would but bring hither a single sigh from him, or bear one hence
-to him; if but the light, pale shadow of a word.
-
-When the early wind blows a flush comes to Natasha's face, and a flame
-to her eyes; her red lips quiver, a few tears appear, her slender form
-sways slightly--all this when the wind blows, the cool, the desolate,
-the unmindful, the infinitely wise wind. It blows, and in its blowing
-there is the sense of fleeting, irrevocable time.
-
-It blows, and it stings, and it brings sadness, and pitilessly it goes
-on.
-
-It goes on, and the frail dust falls back in the road, grey-rose yet
-dim in the dawn. It has wiped out all its traces, it has forgotten all
-who have walked upon it, and it lies faintly rose in the dawn.
-
-There is a gnawing at the heart from the sweet sadness of expectation.
-Some one seems to stand near Natasha, whispering in her ear: "He will
-come. He is on the way. Go and meet him."
-
-
-
-VIII
-
-
-Natasha opens the gate and goes quickly down the road in the direction
-of the distant railway station. Having walked as far as the hillock by
-the river, one and a half versts away, Natasha pauses and looks into
-the distance.
-
-A clear view of the road is to be had from this hillock. Somewhere
-below, among the meadows, a curlew gives a sharp cry. The pleasant
-smell of the damp grass fills the air.
-
-The sun is rising. Suddenly everything becomes white, bright, and
-clear. Joyousness fills the great open expanse. On the top of the
-hillock the morning wind blows more strongly and more sweetly. It seems
-to have forgotten its desolation and its grief.
-
-The grass is quite wet with dew. How gently it clings to her ankles. It
-is resplendent in its multi-coloured, gem-like, tear-like glitter.
-
-The red sun rises slowly but triumphantly above the blue mist of the
-horizon. In its bright red flame there is a hidden foreboding of quiet
-melancholy.
-
-Natasha lowers her glance upon the wet grass. Sweet little flowers! She
-recognizes the flower of faithfulness, the blue periwinkle.
-
-Here also, quite near, reminiscent of death, is the black madwort. But
-what of that? Is it not everywhere? Soothe us, soothe us, little blue
-flowers!
-
-"I will not pluck a single one of you; not one of you will I plait into
-my wreath."
-
-She stands, waiting, watching.
-
-Were he to show himself in the road she would recognize him even in the
-distance. But no--there is no one. The road is deserted, and the misty
-distances are dumb.
-
-
-
-IX
-
-
-Natasha remains standing a little while, then turns back. Her feet sink
-in the wet grass. The tall stalks half wind themselves round her ankles
-and rustle against the hem of her light-coloured dress. Natasha's
-graceful arms, half hidden by the grey knitted kerchief, hang subdued
-at her sides. Her eyes have already lost their fixed expression, and
-have begun to jump from object to object.
-
-How often have they walked this road, all together, her little sisters,
-and Borya! They were noisy with merriment. What did they not talk
-about! Their quarrels! What proud songs they sang! Now she was alone,
-and there was no sign of Borya.
-
-Why were they waiting for him? In what manner would he come? She did
-not know. Perhaps she would not recognize him.
-
-There awakens in Natasha's heart a presentiment of bitter thoughts.
-With a heavy rustle an evil serpent begins to stir in the darkness of
-her wearied memory.
-
-Slowly and sorrowfully Natasha turns her steps homeward. Her eyes are
-drowsy and seem to look aimlessly, with fallen and fatigued glances.
-The grass now seems disagreeably damp, the wind malicious; her feet
-feel the wet, and the hem of her thin dress has grown heavy with
-moisture. The new light of a new day, resplendent, glimmering with the
-play of the laughing dew, resounding with the hum of birds and the
-voices of human folk, becomes again for Natasha tiresomely blatant.
-
-What does a new day matter? Why invoke the unattainable?
-
-The murmur of pitiless memory, at first faint, grows more audible.
-The heavy burden of insurmountable sorrow falls on the heart like
-an aspen-grey weight. The heart feels proudly the pressure of the
-inexpressibly painful foreboding of tears.
-
-As she nears the house Natasha increases her pace. Faster and yet
-faster, in response to the growing beat of her sorrowful heart, she
-is running over the dry clay of the road, over the wet grass of the
-bypath, trodden by pedestrians, over the moist, crunching, sandy
-footpaths of the garden, which still treasure the gentle traces left
-by her at dawn. Natasha runs across the warm planks, as yet unswept of
-dust and litter. And she no longer tries to step lightly and inaudibly.
-She stumbles across the astonished, open-mouthed Glasha. She runs
-impetuously and noisily up the stairway to her room, and throws herself
-on the bed. She pulls the coverlet over her head, and falls asleep.
-
-
-
-X
-
-
-Borya's grandmother, Elena Kirillovna, sleeps below. She is old, and
-she cannot sleep in the morning; but never in all her life has she
-risen early; so even now she is awake only a little later than Natasha.
-Elena Kirillovna, straight, thin, motionless, the back of her head
-resting on the pillow, lies for a long time waiting for the maid to
-bring her a cup of coffee--she has long ago accustomed herself to have
-her coffee in bed.
-
-Elena Kirillovna has a dry, yellow face, marked with many wrinkles; but
-her eyes are still sparkling, and her hair is black, especially by day,
-when she uses a cosmetic.
-
-The maid Glasha is habitually late. She sleeps well in the morning, for
-in the evening she loves to stroll over to the bridge in the village.
-The harmonica makes merry there, and on holidays all sorts of jolly
-folk and maidens dance and sing.
-
-Elena Kirillovna rings a number of times. In the end the unanswering
-stillness behind the door begins to irritate her. Sadly she turns on
-her side, grumbling. She stretches her dry, yellow hand forward and
-with a kind of concentrated intentness presses her bent, bony finger a
-long time on the white bell-button lying on the little round table at
-her head.
-
-At last Glasha hears the prolonged, jarring ring above her head. She
-jumps quickly from her bed, and anxiously gropes about for something
-or other in her narrow quarters under the stairway of the mezzanine;
-then she throws a skirt over her head, and hurries to her old mistress.
-While running she arranges somehow her heavy, tangled braids.
-
-Glasha's face is angry and sleepy. She reels in her drowsiness. On the
-way to her mistress's bedroom the morning air refreshes her a little.
-She faces her mistress looking more or less normal.
-
-Glasha has on a pink skirt and a white blouse. In the semi-darkness of
-the curtained windows her sunburnt arms and strong legs seem almost
-white. Young, strong, rustic and impetuous, she suddenly appears before
-her old mistress's bed, her vigorous tread causing the heavy metal bed
-with its nickelled posts and surmounting knobs to rattle slightly, and
-the tumbler on the small round table to tinkle against the flagon.
-
-
-
-XI
-
-
-Elena Kirillovna greets Glasha with her customary observation:
-
-"Glasha, when am I to have my coffee? I ring and ring, and no one
-comes. You, girl, seem to sleep like the dead."
-
-Glasha's face assumes a look of astonishment and fear. Restraining a
-yawn, she bends down to put a disarranged rug in order, and puts a pair
-of soft, worn slippers closer to the bed. Then assuming an excessively
-tender, deferential tone which old gentlewomen like in their servants,
-she remarks:
-
-"Forgive me, _barinya_,[2] it shan't take a minute. But how early you
-are awake to-day, _barinya_! Did you have a bad night?"
-
-Elena Kirillovna replies:
-
-"What sort of sleep can one except at my age! Get me my coffee a
-little more quickly, and I will try to get up."
-
-She now speaks more calmly, despite the capricious note in her voice.
-
-Glasha replies heartily:
-
-"This very minute, _barinya_. You shall have it at once."
-
-And she turns about to go out.
-
-Elena Kirillovna stops her with an angry exclamation:
-
-"Glasha, where are you going? You seem to forget, no matter how often I
-tell you! Draw the curtains aside."
-
-Glasha, with some agility, thrusts back the curtains of the two windows
-and flies out of the room. She is rather low of stature and slender,
-and one can tell from her face that she is intelligent, but the sound
-of her rapid footsteps is measured and heavy, giving the impression
-that the runner is large, powerful, heavy, and capable of doing
-everything but what requires lightness. The mistress grumbles, looking
-after her:
-
-"Lord, how she stamps with her feet! She spares neither the floor nor
-her own heels!"
-
-
-[2] Means "gentlewoman," and is a common form of salutation from
-servant to mistress.
-
-
-
-XII
-
-
-At last the sound of Glasha's feet dies away in the echoing silence
-of the long corridor. The old lady lies, waiting, thinking. She is
-once more straight and motionless under her bed-cover, and very yellow
-and very still. Her whole life seems to be concentrated in the living
-sparkle of her keen eyes.
-
-The sun, still low, throws a subdued rosy light on the wall facing
-her. The bedroom is lit-up and quiet. Swift atoms of dust are dancing
-about in the air. There is a glitter on the glass of the photographic
-portraits which hang on the wall, as well as on the narrow gilt rims of
-their black frames.
-
-Elena Kirillovna looks at the portraits. Her keen, youthfully sparkling
-eyes carefully scrutinize the beloved faces. Many of these are no
-longer upon the earth.
-
-Borya's portrait is a large one, in a broad dark frame. It is a young
-face, the face of a seventeen-year-old lad, quite smooth and with dark
-eyes. The upper lip shows a small but vigorous growth of hair. The lips
-are tightly compressed and the entire face gives the impression of an
-indomitable will.
-
-Elena Kirillovna looks long at the portrait, and recalls Borya. Of all
-her grandsons she loved him best. And now she is recalling him. She
-sees him as he had once looked. Where is he now? Before long Borya will
-return. She will be overjoyed, her eyes will have their fill of him.
-But how soon?
-
-It comforts the old woman to think, "It can't be very long."
-
-Some one has just run past her window, giving a shrill cry.
-
-Elena Kirillovna, turning in her bed, looks out of the window.
-
-The white acacia trees before the window, gaily rustling their leaves,
-smile innocently, na�vely and cheerily. Behind them, looming densely,
-are the tops of the birches and of the limes. Some of the branches
-lean toward the window. Their harsh rustle evokes a memory in Elena
-Kirillovna.
-
-If Borya were but to cry out like that! He had loved this garden. He
-had loved the white bloom of the acacia trees, and he had loved to
-gather the little field flowers. He used to bring her some. He liked
-cornflowers specially.
-
-
-
-XIII
-
-
-At last Glasha has come with the coffee. She has placed a silver tray
-on the little round table near the bed. Above the broad blue-and-gold
-porcelain cup rises a thin bluish cloud of steam.
-
-Elena Kirillovna draws her scant body higher upon the pillows, and sits
-upright in her bed; she seems straight, dry, and thin in her white
-night-jacket. With trembling hands she very fastidiously rearranges the
-ribbons of her white ruffled nightcap.
-
-Glasha, with great solicitude and skill, has placed a number of pillows
-at her back, and these piled up high make a soft wall of comfort.
-
-The little silver spoon held by the old dry fingers rings with fragile
-laughter as it stirs the sugar in the cup. Afterwards out of a small
-milk-jug comes a generous helping of boiled milk. And Glasha, having
-shifted somewhat to the side in order to catch a stealthy look of
-herself in the mirror, goes out.
-
-Elena Kirillovna sips her coffee slowly. She breaks a sugared biscuit,
-throws half of it in the cup, and leaves it there for a time. Then,
-when it is completely softened, she carefully takes it out with the
-little spoon.
-
-Elena Kirillovna's teeth are still quite strong. She is very proud of
-this; nevertheless she has preferred of late to eat softer things. She
-munches away at the wet biscuit. Her face expresses gratification. Her
-small, keen eyes sparkle merrily.
-
-When the coffee is finished Elena Kirillovna lies down again. She dozes
-for half an hour on her back, under the bed-cover. Then she rings again
-and waits.
-
-
-
-XIV
-
-
-Glasha comes in. She has had time to comb her hair and to put on a pink
-blouse, and this makes her seem even thinner. As she is in no haste her
-footfalls sound even heavier than before.
-
-Glasha approaches her mistress's bed and silently throws the bed-cover
-aside. She helps Elena Kirillovna to sit on the bed, holding her up
-under the arm. Then, getting down on her knees, she helps her mistress
-to put on her long black stockings and her soft grey slippers.
-
-Elena Kirillovna holds on to Glasha's shoulder with her trembling,
-nervous hands. She envies Glasha's youth, strength, and na�ve
-simplicity. Grumbling under her breath at her unfortunate lot, Elena
-Kirillovna imagines in her dejection that she would be willing to
-sacrifice all her comfort to become like Glasha, a common servant-maid
-with coarse hands and feet red from rough usage and the wet--if she
-could but possess the youth, the cheerfulness, the sang-froid, and the
-happiness attainable upon this earth only by the stupid.
-
-The old woman grumbles often at her fate, but is quite unwilling to
-give up a single one of her gentlewoman's habits.
-
-Glasha says, "All ready, _barinya._"
-
-"Now my capote, Glasha," Elena Kirillovna says as she gets up.
-
-But Glasha herself knows what is wanted. She deftly puts on Elena
-Kirillovna's shoulders a white flannel robe.
-
-"Now you may go, Glashenka. I will ring if I want you again."
-
-
-
-XV
-
-
-Glasha goes. She hurries to the veranda staircase.
-
-Here she washes herself a second time in a clay turn-over basin,
-which is attached by a rope to one of the posts of the veranda; she
-quickly plunges her face and hands in the water that had been left
-there overnight. She splashes the water a long way off on the green
-grass, on the lilac-grey planks of the staircase and on her feet,
-which are red from the early morning freshness and from the tender
-contact with the dewy grass in the vegetable garden. She laughs happily
-at herself--because she is a young, healthy girl, because the early
-morning freshness caresses the length of her strong, swift body with
-brisk cool strokes; and finally, because not far away, in the village,
-there is a lively and handsome young fellow, not unlike herself, who
-pays attention to her and whom she is rather fond of. It is true that
-her mother scolds her on his account, because the young man is poor.
-But what's that to Glasha? Not for nothing is there an adage:
-
-    "Without bread 'tis very sad,
-    Still sadder 'tis without a lad."
-
-Glasha laughs loudly and merrily.
-
-Stepanida cries at her from the kitchen window: "Glash, Glash, why do
-you neigh like a horse?"
-
-Glasha laughs, makes no reply, and goes off.
-
-Stepanida puts her simple, red face out of the window and asks: "I
-wonder what's the matter with her."
-
-She receives no answer, for there is no one to reply. Out of doors all
-is deserted. Only somewhere from behind the barn the languid voices of
-working-men can be heard.
-
-
-
-XVI
-
-
-In the meantime Elena Kirillovna kneels down with a sigh before the
-ikon in her bedroom. She prays a long time. Conscientiously she
-repeats all the prayers she knows. Her dry, raspberry-coloured lips
-stir slightly. Her face has a severe, concentrated expression. All her
-wrinkles seem also austere, weary, callous.
-
-There are many words in her prayers--holy, lofty, touching words. But
-because of their frequent repetition their meaning has become, as it
-were, hardened, stereotyped and ordinary; the tears which appear in
-her eyes are habitual tears wrung out by her antique emotion, and have
-no relation to the secret trepidation of impossible hopes which have
-stolen into the old woman's heart of late.
-
-Diligently her lips murmur prayers each day for the forgiveness of
-sins, voluntary and involuntary, committed in deed, in word, or in
-thought; prayers for the purification of our souls of all defilement;
-and again words concerning our impieties, our evil actions, our
-disregard of commandments, our general unworthiness, our worldly
-frailty, and the temptations of Satan; and again concerning the
-accursed soul and the accursed body and the sensual life; and her words
-embrace only universal evil and all-pervading depravity. Surely these
-prayers were composed for Titans, created to reconstruct the universe,
-but who, out of shamefaced indolence, are attending to this business
-with their arms hanging at their sides.
-
-And not a word does she utter of he r own, her personal affliction, of
-what is in her soul.
-
-The old, dried-up lips mumble of mercy, of generosity, of brotherly
-love, of the holy life--of all those lofty regions pouring out their
-bounty upon all creation. And not a word of the miracle, awaited
-eagerly and with trepidation.
-
-But here are words for those who are in prison and in exile; it is a
-prayer for their liberation, for their redemption.
-
-Here is something at last about Borya.
-
-Freedom and redemption....
-
-But the prayer runs on and on, and it is again for strangers, for
-distant people, for the universal; only for an instant, and then
-lightly, does she pause to put in something for herself, for her
-desire, for what is in her heart.
-
-Then for the dead--for those others, the long since departed, the
-almost forgotten, the resurrected only in word in the hour of these
-strangers, prayed for in this easy, gliding way all the world over
-where piety reigns.
-
-The prayers are ended. Elena Kirillovna lingers for a moment. She has
-an air of having forgotten to say something indispensable.
-
-What else? Or has she said all?
-
-"All"--some one seems to say simply, softly and inexorably.
-
-Elena Kirillovna rises from her knees. She goes to the window. Her
-soul is calm and self-contained. The prayer has not left her in a mood
-of piety, but has relieved her weary soul for a brief time of its
-material, matter-of-fact existence.
-
-
-
-XVII
-
-
-Elena Kirillovna looks out of the window. She is returning, as it
-were, once more from some dark, abstract world to the bright,
-profusely-coloured, resonant impressions of a rough, cheery, not
-altogether disagreeable life.
-
-Small white clouds tinged with red float slowly in the heights and
-merge imperceptibly in the vivid blue. Ablaze like a piece of coal at
-red heat their soul seems to fuse with their cold white bodies, to
-consume them as well as itself with fire, and to sink exhausted in
-the cold blue heights. The sun, as yet invisible behind the left wing
-of the house, has already begun to pour upon the garden its warm and
-glowing waves of laughter, joy and light, animating the flowers and
-birds.
-
-"Well, it's time to dress," Elena Kirillovna says to herself.
-
-She rings.
-
-Soon Glasha appears and helps Elena Kirillovna to dress.
-
-At last she is ready. She casts a final look in the mirror to see that
-everything is in order.
-
-Elena Kirillovna's hair is very neatly combed, and lightly brushed down
-with a cosmetic. This makes it shine and appear as though it were glued
-together. At her every movement in the light there is visible, from
-right to left, a slender silver thread, due to the reflection of light
-at the parting of the smoothed coiffure. Her face shows slight traces
-of powder.
-
-Elena Kirillovna's dress is always of a light colour, when not actually
-white, and of the simplest cut. The small soft ruffle of the broad
-collar hides her neck and chin. She has already substituted for her
-dressing slippers a pair of light summer shoes.
-
-
-
-XVIII
-
-
-Elena Kirillovna enters the dining-room. She looks on as the table is
-being laid for breakfast. She always notes the slightest disorder. She
-grumbles quietly as she picks up something from one place on the table
-and puts it in another.
-
-Then she goes into the large, unused front room, with its closed door
-on to the staircase of the front fa�ade. She walks along the corridor
-to the vestibule and to the back staircase. She stops on the high
-landing, wrinkles up her face from the sun, and looks down to see what
-is going on in the yard. Small, quite erect, like a young school-girl
-with a yellow, wrinkled face which expresses at the moment a severe
-domestic concern, she stands, looks on, and is silent; she is, it
-seems, unnecessary here. No one pays her the slightest attention.
-
-"Good morning, Stepanida," she calls out. Stepanida, a buxom,
-red-cheeked maid in a bright red dress, under which is visible a strip
-of her white chemise and her stout sunburnt legs, is attending to the
-samovar at the bottom of the stairs, and is vigorously blowing to set
-the fire going. Upon her head is a neatly-arranged green kerchief,
-which hides her folded braids of hair like a head-dress.
-
-The bulging sides of the samovar glow radiantly in the sun. Its
-bent chimney sends out a curl of blue smoke, which smells sharply,
-pungently, and not altogether disagreeably, of juniper and tar.
-
-In answer to the old mistress's greeting Stepanida raises her broad,
-cheerfully-preoccupied face, with its small, dark brown eyes, and says
-in prolonged caressing tones, sing-song fashion:
-
-"Good morning to you, _matushka barinya_.[3] It's a fine morning, to
-be sure. How warm it is, by the grace of God! And you're up early,
-_matushka barinya_!"
-
-Her words are indeed honeyed, and above in the sweet air an early,
-shaggy bee hovers, with a thick buzzing, tremulously golden in the
-clear, fluid haze of the early, gentle sun. Silent again, Stepanida is
-once more busy with the samovar; the disenchanted bee flies away, its
-buzzing growing less and less audible behind the fence.
-
-The pungent smell of tar causes Elena Kirillovna to frown. She says:
-
-"What makes the thing smell so strongly? You had better leave it for a
-while, or you will get giddy."
-
-Stepanida, without moving, answers languidly and indifferently:
-
-"It's nothing, _barinya_. We are used to it. It's but a slight smell,
-and it is the juniper."
-
-Through the blue, curling smoke of juniper her sweet voice seems dull
-and bitter. There is a tickling at Elena Kirillovna's throat. There is
-a slight giddiness in her head. Elena Kirillovna makes haste to go. She
-descends the staircase, and proceeds upon her customary morning stroll.
-
-
-[3] Literally: "Little mother--gentlewoman."
-
-
-
-XIX
-
-
-Glasha soon overtakes her. With an exaggerated loudness she runs
-stamping down the stairs, showing a wing-like glimmer of her strong
-legs from under the pink skirt, set a-flutter by her vigorous movement.
-She calls out in a clear, solicitously joyous voice:
-
-"_Barinya_, you have come out! The sun will scorch you. I've fetched
-your hat."
-
-The yellow straw hat, with its lavender ribbon, glimmers in Glasha's
-hands like some strange, low-fluttering bird.
-
-Elena Kirillovna, as she puts the hat on, says: "Why do you run about
-in such disorder! You ought to tidy yourself--you know whom we are
-expecting."
-
-Glasha is silent, and her face assumes a compassionate expression. For
-a long time she looks after her strolling mistress, then she smiles and
-walks back.
-
-Stepanida asks her in a loud whisper: "Well, is she still expecting her
-grandson?"
-
-"Rather!" Glasha replies compassionately. "And it's simply pitiful to
-look at them. They never stop thinking about him."
-
-In the meanwhile Elena Kirillovna makes her way across the vegetable
-garden, past the labourers and the servants in the stockyard, and then
-across the field. Near the garden fence she enters the road.
-
-There, not far from the garden, in the shade of an old, spreading lime,
-stands a bench--a board upon two supports, which still shows traces of
-having been once painted green. From this place a view is to be had of
-the road, of the garden, and of the house.
-
-Elena Kirillovna seats herself upon the bench. She looks out on the
-road. She sits quietly, seeming so small, so slender, and so erect. She
-waits a long time. She falls into a doze.
-
-Through the thin haze of slumber she can see a beloved, smooth face
-smiling, and she can hear a quiet, dear voice calling:
-
-"Grandma!"
-
-She gives a start and opens her eyes. There is no one there. But she
-waits. She believes and waits.
-
-
-
-XX
-
-
-There is a lightness in the air. The road is radiant and tranquil. A
-gentle, refreshing breeze softly passes and repasses her. The sun is
-warming her old bones, it is caressing her lean back through her dress.
-Everything round her rejoices in the green, the golden, and the blue.
-The foliage of the birches, of the willows, and of the limes in full
-bloom is rustling quietly. From the fields comes the honeyed smell of
-clover.
-
-Oh, how light and lovely the air is upon the earth!
-
-How beautiful thou art, my earth, my golden, my emerald, my sapphire
-earth! Who, born to thy heritage would care to die, would care to close
-his eyes upon thy serene beauties and upon thy magnificent spaces? Who,
-resting in thee, damp Mother Earth, would not wish to rise, would not
-wish to return to thy enchantments and to thy delights? And what stern
-fate shall drive one who is aflame with life-thirst to seek the shelter
-of death?
-
-Upon the road where once he walked he shall walk again. Upon the earth,
-which still preserves his footprints, he shall walk again. Borya, the
-grandmother's beloved Borya, shall return.
-
-A golden bee flies by. It seems to say, the golden bee, that Borya
-will return to the quiet of the old house and will taste the fragrant
-honey--the sweet gift of the wise bees, buzzing under the sun upon the
-beloved earth. The old grandmother, in her joy, will place before the
-ikon of the Virgin a candle of the purest bees'-wax--a gift of the wise
-bees, buzzing away among the gold of the sun's rays--a gift to man and
-a gift to God.
-
-"Women and girls of the village pass by with their sunburnt, wind-swept
-faces. They greet the _barinya_ and look at her with compassion. Elena
-Kirillovna smiles at them, and addresses them in her usual gentle
-manner:
-
-"Good morning, my dears!"
-
-They pass by. Their loud voices die away in the distance, and Elena
-Kirillovna soon forgets them. They will pass by once more that day,
-when the time comes. They will pass by. They will return. Upon the
-road, where their dusty footprints remain, they will pass by once more.
-
-
-
-XXI
-
-
-Elena Kirillovna suddenly awoke from her drowse and looked at the
-things before her with a perplexed gaze. Everything seemed to be clear,
-bright, free from care--and relentless.
-
-Inevitably the triumphant sun rose higher in the heavens' dome.
-Grown powerful, wise and resplendent, it seemed indifferent now to
-oppressive earthly melancholy and to sweet earthly delights. And its
-laughter was high, joyless, and sorrowless.
-
-Everything as before was green, blue and gold, many-toned and vividly
-tinted; truly all the objects of nature showed the real colour of their
-souls in honour of this feast of light. But the fine dust upon the
-silent road had already lost its rose tinge, and stirred before the
-wind like a grey, depressing veil. And when the wind calmed down, the
-dust slowly fell back upon the road, like a grey, blind serpent which,
-trailing its fat, fantastic belly, falls back exhausted, gasping its
-last breath.
-
-All monotony had become wearisome. This inevitable recurrence of lucid
-moments began to torment Elena Kirillovna with the grey foreboding of
-sadness, of bitter tears, of unanswered prayers, and of a profound
-hopelessness.
-
-
-
-XXII
-
-
-Glasha appeared at the garden gate. She glanced cheerfully along both
-sides of the road. Walking more slowly she approached Elena Kirillovna
-deferentially.
-
-Glasha looked quite ordinary now, stiff-mannered and stupid. There
-was nothing to envy in her. Her dress too was quite common-place.
-Her braids were arranged upon her head quite like a young lady's,
-and held fast by three combs of transparent bone. Her blouse was
-light-coloured--pink stripes and lavender flowers on a ground of
-white--its short sleeves reached the elbows. She wore a neat blue skirt
-and a white apron.
-
-Elena Kirillovna asked:
-
-"Well, what is it, Glashenka? Is Sonyushka up yet?"
-
-Glasha replied in a respectful voice:
-
-"Sofia Alexandrovna is getting up. She wants me to ask you if we shall
-lay the table on the terrace?"
-
-"Yes, yes, let it be on the terrace. And how is Natashenka?" asked
-Elena Kirillovna, looking anxiously at Glasha.
-
-"The young lady is asleep," answered Glasha. "To-day again, quite
-early, she went out for a walk straight from bed, without so much as a
-bite of something. Her skirt's wet with dew. She might have caught a
-cold. And now she sleeps. If you'd but talk to her."
-
-Elena Kirillovna said irresolutely:
-
-"Very well. I had better be going. All right, Glasha."
-
-Glasha goes. Elena Kirillovna rises slowly from the bench, as though
-she regretted moving from the spot where she saw Borya in a half-dream.
-Slowly she walks toward the house.
-
-Having reached the gate she pauses, and again looks for some moments
-down the road, in the direction of the station.
-
-A cart rumbles by noisily over the travelled road. The _muzhik_ barely
-holds the reins and rocks from side to side sleepily. The harnessed
-horse swings its tail and its head. A white-haired urchin, in broad
-blue breeches, lets his brown feet hang over the edge of the cart and
-stares with his bright hazel eyes at a gaunt, evil-looking dog which
-runs after, barking hoarsely.
-
-Elena Kirillovna gives a sigh--there is as yet no Borya--and enters the
-garden.
-
-Glasha's light-coloured blouse glimmers on the terrace. There is a
-rattle of dishes. The grumbling chatter of Borya's old nurse is also
-audible.
-
-
-
-XXIII
-
-
-The last to awake, with the sun quite high and scorching, is Borya's
-mother, Sofia Alexandrovna. Through the thin bright curtains, drawn for
-the night across the windows, the light fills her bedroom.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna awakes with a start, as though some one had touched
-her suddenly or had called to her. With her right hand she impetuously
-throws aside her light white bed-cover. Quickly she sits up in bed,
-holding her hands over her bent knees. For a moment she looks before
-her at a bare place in the simple pattern of the bright green hangings.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna's eyes are dark, wide open, with black, fiery pupils
-which seem lost in the abysmal, depths of their own sorrowful gaze. Her
-face is long, its skin smooth and colourless, though quite fresh and
-almost free of wrinkles. The lips are a vivid red.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna's expression is like that of one faced suddenly with
-a tragic apparition. She rocks herself back and forward.
-
-Then, abruptly, she jumps out of bed with a single spring. She runs to
-the washing-basin of marble mounted on a red stand. She washes herself
-quickly, as though in haste to go somewhere. Now she is at the window.
-The curtains are flung violently aside. She peers anxiously to see what
-the outlook is--whether there are any clouds in the sky that might
-bring rain and make the road muddy, the road upon which Borya would
-return home.
-
-The heavens are tremulously joyous. The birches are rustling quietly.
-The sparrows are twittering. Everything is green, bright, quivering;
-everything palpitates under the tension of hopes and anticipations.
-Voices are audible; cries of good cheer and sounds of laughter. One of
-the laughers runs by, as though making haste to live.
-
-A torrent of tears floods Sofia Alexandrovna's eyes. Her breast heaves
-visibly under the white linen chemise.
-
-
-
-XXIV
-
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna goes to the image. She thrusts aside with her foot
-the small velvet rug which Glasha had purposely laid there the day
-before. She throws herself down on her knees before the image. You hear
-her knees strike the floor softly. Sofia Alexandrovna quietly crosses
-herself, bends her face to the floor, and mutters passionately:
-
-"O Lord, Thou knowest, Thou knowest all, Thou canst do all. Do this, O
-Lord, return him to us, to his mother, return him to-day."
-
-Her prayer is warm and passionate, quite unlike a prayer. Its words
-are disconnected, and they fall confusedly, like small, broken tears.
-Her naked feet come in contact with the cold, painted floor. And the
-entire, warm, prostrate body of the weeping woman is throbbing and
-trembling on the boards. Her head repeatedly strikes the boards,
-loosening her dark braids of hair.
-
-She does not pray long. The torrents of tears have cleansed her soul,
-as it were; and she becomes at once cheerful and tranquil.
-
-She rises quite, as suddenly, and rings. She seats herself on the edge
-of the bed, and dries her tears with a soft handkerchief. Then she
-laughs silently. She swings one of her feet impatiently, striking the
-rug in front of the bed with the toes. Her eyes wander about the room,
-but seem to observe nothing.
-
-Glasha had only just begun to dress, and she had only tied the strings
-of her apron round her slender waist. The sharp impatient ring causes
-her to start. She runs to the _barinya_, seizing quickly at the same
-time a pair of blackened boots and some clothes from the laundry.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna cries in an urgent voice:
-
-"Now be quick, Glasha. Help me on with my things."
-
-She looks on impatiently as Glasha puts down her burden.
-
-The daily ceremony is gone through quickly. Sofia Alexandrovna dresses
-herself. Glasha only draws on her boots, and hooks up her dress behind.
-
-Soon Sofia Alexandrovna is quite ready. She gives a brief, vacant look
-in the mirror.
-
-Her pale face still seems to be young and handsome. She is slender,
-like her mother, and small in stature. She has on a closely fitting
-white dress with short, wide sleeves. Her coiffure is arranged in a
-Greek knot, held fast with a red ribbon. Her slender, shapely feet are
-clad in coloured silk stockings and white shoes with silver buckles.
-
-
-
-XXV
-
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna goes quickly into the dining-room. She pours
-herself a glass of fresh milk out of a jug on the table. She drinks it
-standing, and munches a piece of black bread with it.
-
-She orders the things for dinner at the same time. She chooses dishes
-loved by Borya. She stops to recollect whether Borya likes this, or
-does not like that.
-
-Stepanida listens to her sadly, and replies in a tearful voice:
-
-"Yes, I know! Why shouldn't I know? It's not the first time."
-
-Glasha asks something. The old, tottering nurse rattles on rather
-volubly. Sofia Alexandrovna answers them mechanically and rapidly. She
-seems all the while to be listening intently, either for the sound of a
-distant little bell, or for the rumble of wheels on the road. She makes
-her way out in haste. And she no longer listens to what is being said
-to her. She goes out.
-
-She enters Borya's study. Everything there is as in the old days, and
-in order. When Borya comes back he will find everything in its place.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna, with great concern, takes a rapid look round the
-room. She wishes to see whether everything is in its place, whether
-the dust has been swept, whether the rug has been laid before the bed,
-and whether the inkstand has been filled with ink. She herself changes
-the water in the vase which holds the cornflowers. If anything is out
-of place she gives way to tears, then rings for Glasha, and heaps
-reproaches upon her.
-
-Glasha's face assumes a frightened, compassionate look. In a most
-humble manner she begs forgiveness.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna remonstrates with her:
-
-"How can you be so careless, Glasha? You know that we are expecting
-him every minute. Suppose he should suddenly come in and find this
-disorder."
-
-Glasha replies humbly:
-
-"Forgive me, _barinya_. Don't think any more about it. I'll quickly put
-everything to rights."
-
-As she goes out she wipes away two or three tears with her white apron.
-
-
-
-XXVI
-
-
-With the same undue haste Sofia Alexandrovna goes into the garden. She
-sees nothing, neither the white Aphrodite nor her roses, on her way to
-the little arbour from which, overlooking a corner of the garden, the
-road is visible. Vividly green in the sun, a four-sloped roof covers
-the arbour, while hangings of coarse cloth, with a red border, serve as
-a protection against inquisitive eyes.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna looks down the road with dark, hungry eyes. She
-waits impatiently, listening to the rapid, uneven beat of her heart;
-she waits: Borya will surely come in sight.
-
-The wind blows into her face, and partly conceals it with the hangings;
-her face is pale, and her eyes are dry. The sun warmly kisses her
-slender arms, which lie motionless on the broad, lavender-grey parapet
-of the arbour. Everything is bright, green and gay in the fields, but
-her eyes are fixed on the grey serpent of dust trailing among the
-freedom of the fields.
-
-If they await him like this surely Borya will come.
-
-But there is no sign of him. In vain her hungry glances penetrate the
-open waste. There is no Borya. More fixed and piercing grows her glance
-of infinite longing upon the road--but there is no Borya.
-
-Everything is as before, as yesterday, as always. Tranquil, serene and
-pitiless.
-
-
-
-XXVII
-
-
-The hour of the early luncheon came. All three sat at the table on the
-terrace. There was a fourth place laid, and a fourth chair, for who
-could tell whether Borya might not arrive at luncheon time!
-
-The sun was already high. The day was turning sultry. The fragrance
-of the red roses at the foot of the goddess's pedestal became ever
-more passionate. And the smile of the marble-white Aphrodite was even
-more clear and serene, as she let fall her draperies with a marvellous
-grace born of eternal movement. In the bright sunshine the sand on the
-footpaths seemed yellow-white. The trees cast austere dark shadows.
-They seemed to exhale an odour of the soil, of sap, and of warmth.
-
-The women sat so that each one of them, looking beyond the drawn
-hangings of the terrace and over the bushes, could see the short
-narrow path ending at the garden gate, where a part of the road was
-also visible; they could not fail to observe every passer-by and every
-vehicle.
-
-But during this hour of the day hardly anyone ever walked or drove by
-the old house.
-
-Glasha waited on them. She had on a newly-laundered cap with starched
-ribbons and plaited frills fitting tightly over her hair. The
-snow-white cap shone pleasantly above Glasha's fresh, sunburnt face.
-
-In the garden, on a form just under the terrace, sat Borya's old nurse,
-dressed in a dark lavender blouse, black skirt, with a dark blue
-kerchief over her head. She was warming her old bones in the sun, and
-listening to the conversation on the terrace; now she grumbled, now she
-dozed.
-
-Broad-boned and stout, she had a round, amiable face, and even through
-the compact network of wrinkles there were palpable suggestions of
-former beauty. Her eyes were clear. The grey hair was flatly combed
-down. Her figure and her face wore a settled expression of languid good
-nature.
-
-
-
-XXVIII
-
-
-As always, they eat and drink, and they keep up a cheerful and friendly
-chatter. Sometimes two of them speak together. A stranger in the garden
-might conclude that a large company is gathered on the terrace.
-
-Frequently Borya's name is mentioned.
-
-"To be sure, Borya likes...."
-
-"Perhaps Borya will bring...."
-
-"It is strange Borya is not yet here...."
-
-"Perhaps Borya will come in the evening...."
-
-"We must ask Borya whether he has read...."
-
-"It is possible this is not new to Borya...."
-
-While below, under the terrace, the old nurse, each time she hears
-Borya's name, crosses herself and mumbles:
-
-"O Lord, rest the soul of thy servant, Boris."
-
-At first her voice is low, but it gradually grows louder and louder.
-Finally the three women at the table can hear her words. They tremble
-slightly and exchange anxious glances, into which steals an expression
-of perplexed fear. So they begin to speak even louder, and to laugh
-even more merrily. They permit no intervals of silence, and the hum of
-their talk and laughter prevents for the time their hearing the nurse's
-mumbling in the garden.
-
-But their voices inevitably fall after a mention of the beloved name,
-and now again they hear the tranquil, terrible words:
-
-"O Lord, rest the soul...."
-
-They sit at luncheon long, but they talk more industriously than they
-eat. They glance nervously toward the gate. It seems a terrible thing
-to have to leave the table and to go somewhere while Borya is not yet
-with them.
-
-
-
-XXIX
-
-
-Toward the end of luncheon the post arrives. Grisha, a
-fourteen-year-old youngster, goes for it daily to the station on
-horseback. Raising clouds of dust he jumps off briskly at the gate.
-Leaving his horse he enters the garden carrying a black leather bag,
-and smiles broadly at something or other. Ascending the long steps of
-the terrace he announces loudly and joyously:
-
-"I've fetched the post!"
-
-He is cheery, sunburnt, perspiring. He smells of the sun, of the soil,
-of dust and tar. His hands and feet are as large as a man's. His lips
-are soft and pouting, like those of a sweet-tempered foal. At the
-opening of his shirt, cut on the slant, buttons are missing, exposing a
-strip of his sunburnt chest and a piece of grey string.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna rises abruptly from her place. She takes the bag
-from Grisha, and throws it quickly on the table. A pile of stamped
-wrappers comes pouring upon the white cloth. The three women bend over
-the table and rummage for letters. But letters come only rarely.
-
-Knitting her brows Natasha looks at the smiling youngster and asks:
-
-"No letters, Grisha?"
-
-Grisha, shuffling his feet, brick-red from the sun, smiles and answers,
-as always, in the same words:
-
-"The letters are being written, _barishnya_."
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna says impatiently:
-
-"You may go, Grisha."
-
-Grisha goes. The women open their newspapers.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna takes up the _Rech_ and scans it rapidly,
-occasionally mentioning something that has attracted her notice.
-
-Natasha is looking over _Slovo_. She reads silently, slowly, and
-attentively.
-
-Elena Kirillovna has the _Russkiya Vedomosti._ She tears the wrapper
-open slowly and spreads the entire sheet on the table. She reads on,
-quickly running her eyes over the lines.
-
-
-
-XXX
-
-
-Groaning, the old nurse slowly ascends the steps. Sofia Alexandrovna
-pauses from her reading a moment and looks with fear at the old woman.
-Natasha gives a nervous start and turns away. Elena Kirillovna reads on
-calmly, without looking at the nurse.
-
-The nurse sighs, sits down on the bench at the entrance, and asks in a
-monotone the one and the same question that she asks each day:
-
-"And how many folk are there in this morning's paper that's been
-ordered to die? And how many are there that's been hanged?"
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna drops the paper, and suddenly rising, very pale,
-looks upon the old woman. She is quivering from head to foot. Elena
-Kirillovna, folding the paper, pushes it aside and looks straight
-before her with arrested eyes. Natasha rises; she turns her face, which
-has suddenly grown pale, toward the old woman, and utters in a kind of
-wooden voice that does not seem like her own:
-
-"In Ekaterinoslav--seven; in Moscow--one."
-
-Or other towns, and other figures--such as fresh newspaper lists bring
-each day.
-
-The nurse rises and crosses herself piously. She mutters:
-
-"O Lord, rest the souls of Thy servants! And give them eternal life!"
-
-Then Sofia Alexandrovna cries out in despair:
-
-"Oh Borya, Borya, my Borya!"
-
-Her face is as pale as though there were not a single drop of blood
-left under her dull, elastic skin.
-
-Wringing her hands with a convulsive movement, she looks with terror
-at Elena Kirillovna and at her daughter. Elena Kirillovna turns aside,
-and, looking at the old nurse, shakes her head reproachfully, while in
-her eyes, like drops of early evening dew, appear a few scant tears.
-
-Natasha, looking determinedly at her mother, says with pale, quivering
-lips:
-
-"Mamma, calm yourself."
-
-Suddenly her voice becomes cold and wooden again as though some
-evil stranger compelled her each day to utter her words slowly and
-deliberately.
-
-"You yourself know, mamma, that Borya was hanged a full year ago!"
-
-She looks at her mother with the motionless, pathetic gaze of her very
-dark eyes, and repeats:
-
-"You yourself know this, mamma!"
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna's eyes are widely dilated; dull, there is terror in
-them, and the deep pupils burn with an impercipient lustre in their
-dark depths. She repeats almost soundlessly, looking straight into
-Natasha's eyes:
-
-"Hanged!"
-
-She resumes her place, looks out of her sad eyes at the white Aphrodite
-and the red roses at the goddess's feet, and is silent. Her face
-is white and rigid, her lips are red and tightly set; there is a
-suggestion of latent madness in the still lustre of her eyes.
-
-Before the image of eternal beauty, before the fragrance of the
-short-lived, exultant roses, she is hardening as it were into an image
-of the eternal grief of a disconsolate mother.
-
-
-
-XXXI
-
-
-Elena Kirillovna quietly descends the narrow side staircase into the
-garden. She sits down on a bench somewhat away from the house, looks
-upon the green bedecked pond and weeps.
-
-Natasha goes into her room in the mezzanine. She opens a book and tries
-to read. But she finds it impossible. She puts the book aside and looks
-out of the window, and her eyes are dimmed.
-
-Higher and higher above the old house rises the pitiless, bright
-Dragon. His joyous laughter rings in the merry heights, encloses,
-as in a flaming circle, the depressing silence of the house. The
-well-directed rays shoot out like sharp-plumed arrows, and the air is
-tremulous with eternal, inexhaustible anger. No one is being awaited.
-No one will come. Borya has died. The relentless wheel of time knows no
-turning back.
-
-So the day is passing--clearly and brightly. The dazzling white light
-says there is nothing to hope for.
-
-
-
-XXXII
-
-
-Natasha sits in her room before an open window. A book is lying on the
-window-sill. She has no desire to read.
-
-Every line in the book reminds her of him, of unfinished conversations,
-of heated discussions, of what had been, of what is no more.
-
-The memories become brighter and brighter, and reach at last a
-clearness and fullness of vision, overwhelming her soul.
-
-The fiery Dragon, obscured by a leaden grey cloud, becomes a little
-dim. Dimness also creeps into the memory of him. It seems as though
-the heavens are being traversed by the cold, clear, tranquil moon. Her
-face is pale, but not from sadness. Her rays have cast a spell upon the
-sleeping earth and upon the unattainably high heavens.
-
-The moon has bewitched the fields and also the valleys, which are full
-of mist. There is a dull glimmer in the drops of cool, tranquil dew
-upon the slumbering grass.
-
-There is in this fantastic glimmer the resurrection of that which has
-died--of that past tenderness and love which inspired deeds requiring
-superhuman strength. There come again to the lips proud, long-unsung
-hymns, and vows of action and loyalty.
-
-And what of that evil, vigilant, and instigating eye; and what of the
-traitor whose words mingled with the passionate words of the young
-people! Not even the waters of all the cold oceans can quench the fire
-of daring love, and all the cunning poisons of the earth cannot poison
-it.
-
-Bewitched with the lunar mystery, the wood stands expectant, nebulous,
-silent. Incomprehensible and inaccessible to men is its slow, sure
-experience, and the secret of its forged desires.
-
-Into its lunar silence men have brought the revolt, the speech and
-laughter of youth; but, overcome by the lunar mystery, they are
-suddenly grown silent and meditative.
-
-The open glade in the woods, enchanted by the green, cold light of the
-moon, seems very white. Along the edge of the glade lie the shadows of
-the trees; they seem unreal and nebulous and mysteriously still.
-
-The moon, very slowly, almost stealthily, is rising higher in the pale
-blue dome. Round, cold, half lost in the milk-white mist as behind a
-thin veil, she disperses by her dispassionate gaze the nebulous, silent
-tops of the slumbering trees, and looks down upon the glade with the
-motionless, inquisitive glance of her white eyes.
-
-The thin particles of dew scattered over the cold grasses vanish--the
-white nocturnal haze drinks them greedily. The air is oppressively
-sweet. On the edge of the glade a number of slender, erect,
-white-limbed birches emerge out of the mist; they are still asleep, and
-as innocent as their girl companions who rest beneath them in their
-green-white dresses.
-
-
-
-XXXIII
-
-
-Reposing under the slender birches in the glade is a party of girls,
-young men and grown-up people. One sits on the stump of a felled tree,
-another on the trunk of an old birch struck down in a storm, a third
-lies upon an overcoat spread on the grass, a fourth rests his back
-against a young birch. There is a single, slight glow of a cigarette,
-but this, too, goes out.
-
-In the luminous, haunting mist everything seems white, translucent,
-fabulously impressive. And it seems as though the birches in the glade
-and the moon in the sky are waiting for something.
-
-Here is Natasha. Here is also Natasha's friend, a college girl from
-Moscow, white-skinned, sharp-featured, looking like a healthy little
-wild beast. Then there are Borya and his friend, both in linen jackets,
-both lean, with pale faces and dark, flaming eyes.
-
-And there is yet another--a tall, stout figure in a dark blouse. He has
-an air of self-confidence and seems to be the most knowing, the most
-experienced, the most able of those present.
-
-He is surrounded by the grown-up people and the girls, and he is being
-questioned. Cheery, good-natured, impatient voices appeal to him.
-
-"Do sing for us the _International_."
-
-Borya, a lad with pale, frowning forehead, and blue-black circles under
-his eyes, looks into the other's face and implores more heartily than
-the rest.
-
-The tall, broad-chested Mikhail Lvovich looks askance and stubbornly
-refuses to sing.
-
-"I can't," he says gruffly. "My throat is not in condition."
-
-Borya and Natasha insist.
-
-Mikhail Lvovich then makes a gesture with his hand and accedes not less
-gruffly.
-
-"Very well, I'll sing."
-
-Every one is overjoyed.
-
-Mikhail Lvovich poses himself on his knees. Above the mist-white glade,
-above the white-faced lads, above the white mist itself, there rises
-toward the witching moon, floating tranquilly in the skies, the words
-of that proud, passionate hymn:
-
-"Arise, ye branded with a curse!"
-
-Mikhail Lvovich sings. His eyes are fixed on the ground, upon the cold
-grass, white in the glamorous light of the full, clear moon. It is hard
-to tell whether he does not wish to or cannot look straight into the
-eyes of these girls and boys--into these trusting, clean eyes.
-
-And they have gathered round him, how closely they have nestled round
-him, these pure-spirited young girls; and the young lads, their knees
-in the grass, follow every movement of his lips, and join in quietly.
-The bold melody grows, gains in volume. Like an exultant prophecy ring
-the eloquent words:
-
-    In the International
-    As brothers all men shall meet.
-
-
-
-XXXIV
-
-
-Mikhail has finished the song. For a time no one speaks. Then the
-agitated voices all ring out together, stirring the heavy silence of
-the woods.
-
-Clear, girlish eyes are looking earnestly upon Mikhail Lvovich's morose
-set face. A clear, girlish voice implores insistently and gently:
-
-"Sing again, please. Be a dear. Sing it once more. I will make a note
-of the words. I want to know them by heart."
-
-Natasha approaches nearer and says quietly:
-
-"We will all of us learn the words and sing them each day, like a
-prayer. We shall do it with a full heart."
-
-Mikhail Lvovich at last lifts his eyes. They are small, sparkling,
-shrewd. This time they have fixed themselves severely and inquisitively
-on Natasha's face, which suddenly has become confused at this
-snake-like glance.
-
-Mikhail Lvovich addresses her gruffly.
-
-"It doesn't require much bravery to sing on the quiet, in the woods.
-Any one can do that."
-
-Natasha's face becomes pale. Dark flames of unchildish determination
-kindle in her eyes. Excitedly she cries:
-
-"We will learn the words, and we will sing them where they are wanted.
-My God, are we to depend upon words, and upon words alone? We are ready
-for deeds."
-
-Borya repeats after her: "We are ready. We shall do all that is
-necessary. Yes, even die if need be."
-
-Mikhail Lvovich says with a calm assurance:
-
-"Yes, I know."
-
-In his eyes, fixed intently upon the ground, a dim, small flame is
-visible.
-
-
-
-XXXV
-
-
-There is a short silence. Then a thin voice is heard. It is the girl,
-slender as a young birch, with the sharp, cheerful little face, who is
-speaking.
-
-"My God! What strength! What eloquence!"
-
-Mikhail Lvovich slowly turns his face toward her. He smiles severely
-and says nothing.
-
-The girl has her hands clasped across her knees. It is an extremely
-pretty pose. Her face has suddenly assumed a very grave air, breathing
-passionate entreaty and fiery determination. She exclaims fervently:
-
-"Let's all sing the chorus! Mikhail Lvovich will teach us. You will
-teach us, Mikhail Lvovich, won't you?"
-
-"Very well," Mikhail Lvovich replies with his usual severe dignity.
-
-He casts his dull, heavy gaze round the crowded circle of delighted
-young faces. He alone sits with his back to the open glade and to
-the witching moon. His face, now in the shade, has become even more
-significant. And his whole bearing is one of imposing solemnity.
-
-The faces of the younger people are white in the moonlight. Their
-garments are luminously bright. Their voices are brilliantly clear. In
-their simple trust there is the sense of an avowal.
-
-"Well, let us begin!" exclaims the slender girl, somewhat agitated.
-
-Mikhail Lvovich raises his hand with a solemn gesture and begins:
-
-"Arise, ye branded with a curse!"
-
-The children sing with a will, mingling their high, clear voices with
-Mikhail Lvovich's deep, low voice. Their young voices are blazing with
-the passionate flame of freedom and revolt. Higher and still higher,
-above the white mists, above the black forest, toward the silver
-clouds and the quiet glimmering stars, toward the aspectful moon, rise
-the sounds of the invocation.
-
-And the white-trunked birches, the milk-white moon, motionless in the
-sky, the white, silvery grass, pressed down by children's knees--all is
-still, all is silent, all is harkening with a sensitive ear. Everything
-around listens with poignant and solemn intentness to the song of
-these luminous children who, bathed in the translucent silver of the
-cool, lunar glimmer, their knees on the grass, their eyes burning in
-their uplifted faces, are repeating faithfully the words sung by the
-tall, self-contained young man whose dark face with fixed glance gazes
-morosely on the ground. They repeat after him:
-
-    In the International
-    As brothers all men shall meet.
-
-The strange foreign word, un-Russian in its ring, suggests to them the
-lofty, holy designation of a promised land, a new land under new skies,
-a land in which they have faith.
-
-After the hymn there is silence, a holy silence, solemn and palpable,
-reaching from the earth to the heavens. They might have been in
-the temple of a new, as yet unknown religion, in a mystic moment of
-sacrificial rites.
-
-
-
-XXXVI
-
-
-Mikhail Lvovich is the first to break the silence. He speaks slowly,
-looking at no one and directing his heavy gaze above the children's
-pale faces, beyond the flaming ring of their glances:
-
-"My friends, you know the sort of time this is. Each one of us can be
-of use. If any one of us is sent I hope that none will, tremble for
-his precious life, and that none will be deterred by the thought of a
-mother's sorrow."
-
-The children exclaim:
-
-"None! None! If they would but send us!"
-
-"What is the sorrow of a single mother compared to the suffering of an
-entire nation!" thinks Natasha proudly.
-
-There rises up for an instant a mental image of the ashen-pale face of
-her mother, her intensely dark, eloquent eyes. A sharp pain, lasting
-a moment, pierces her heart. What of that? It is, after all, but a
-single instant of weakness. A proud will shall conquer this slight
-suffering of a single relative by conferring great love upon the many,
-the strangers, the grievous sufferers.
-
-What is the woe of one mother! Let Niobe weep eternally for her
-children, killed by the burning, poisoned arrows of the high Dragon;
-let Rachel remain unconsoled for ever--what is the woe of a poor
-mother? Serene is Apollo's face, radiant is Apollo's dream.
-
-Yet how painful, how painful! A dimness comes over the transcendent
-idea, as though the dark countenance of the ominous figure who sang the
-proud hymn has dimmed the moon and has cast an austere shadow upon the
-heart itself.
-
-And now there is no moon, and no night, and no white glade in the mist
-in the forest. The bright day stares again at Natasha, she is at the
-window, the book lies before her, the old house is depressingly silent.
-The cloud has disappeared, the heavens are clear again, the evil Dragon
-is once more aiming his flaming arrows, he reiterates his conquest anew.
-
-This cruel melancholy must be faced. Sting, accursed Dragon, burn,
-torment. Rejoice, conqueror! But even he must soon go to his setting,
-and, dying, pour out his blood upon half the heavens.
-
-
-
-XXXVII
-
-
-Natasha, a yellow straw hat upon her head, is now walking in the field.
-The ground is hot, the sky is blue, the air is sultry and the wind
-asleep; the corn is yellow, the grass is green. Bathed again in the
-bright heat, Natasha prods her sweetly fatiguing memories, which cast
-into oblivion this dismal day.
-
-She goes on--and there stretches before her, even as on a day long ago,
-the hot golden field, with its tall stalks inclining their heads in the
-heat. It is the revival of a former stifling, sultry midday.
-
-That was in the days when Natasha still loved the good, human sun, the
-source of life and joy, the eternal, the untiring herald of labours and
-deeds, of deeds beyond the powers of man.
-
-Oh, the treacherous speech of the Serpent Tempter! He turns our heads
-and he entices, and he makes our poor earth seem like some fabulous
-kingdom.
-
-Again there is a slight wavering stir in the sea of the heat-exhausted
-ears of rye, studded over with little blue flowers which lower timidly
-their sweetly-dazed heads from sultriness.
-
-Natasha and her brother Boris are walking together, on an inviting
-narrow path among the golden waves of rye.
-
-How high the rye is! One can barely see the green roof of the old house
-on the right for the tall stalks, and the semi-circular window in the
-mezzanine: and on the left the little grey, rough huts of the village.
-
-Natasha and Boris follow one another. All around them the dry ears
-of rye waver and rustle, and among them are the blue-eyed little
-cornflowers. The two fragilely slender human silhouettes answered to
-the same wavering motion.
-
-Natasha goes ahead. She turns to see why Boris has lagged behind. The
-boy, brown and slender, with large burning eyes, attired in his linen
-jacket, is gathering the little blue flowers. He has already gathered
-almost as many as his hands can hold.
-
-
-
-XXXVIII
-
-
-Natasha, laughing, says to her brother: "Enough, my dear, enough. I
-shan't be able to carry them all."
-
-"You'll do it easily enough, never fear!" Boris answers cheerfully.
-
-Natasha stretches out her sunburnt hand to take the flowers. The sheaf
-of blue cornflowers, spreading across her breast, almost hides her, she
-is so slender.
-
-Again Boris addresses her cheerfully: "Well, is it heavy?"
-
-Natasha laughs. Her face lights up with the joy of gratitude, and with
-a cheerful, childlike determination. "I will carry these, but no more!"
-she says.
-
-"I want to gather as many as possible for you." Boris's voice is
-serious; "because you know we may not see each other for some time."
-There is a quaver in his voice as he says this.
-
-"Perhaps, never," Natasha, growing pensive, replies.
-
-Both faces become sad and careworn.
-
-Boris, frowning, glances sideways, and asks: "Natasha, are you going
-with him?"
-
-Natasha knows that Boris is inquiring about Mikhail Lvovich, who is
-now sending her on a dangerous business, and who has also promised to
-send Boris on some foolhardy errand. The brave are so often foolhardy.
-
-"No, I am going alone," Natasha replies, "he will only lead me later to
-the spot."
-
-Boris looks at Natasha with gloomy, envious eyes, and asks rather
-cautiously: "Are you frightened, Natasha?"
-
-Natasha smiles. And what pride there is in her smile! She speaks, and
-her voice is tranquil: "No, Boris, I feel happy."
-
-Boris observes that her face is really happy, and that her dark,
-flaming eyes are cheerful enough. Looking at her thus, her tranquillity
-communicates itself to him, and inspires him with a calm confidence in
-himself and in the business in hand.
-
-The children go farther. Boris again gathers the cornflowers. Natasha
-is musing about something. She has broken off an ear of rye, and is
-absently nibbling at the grain.
-
-
-
-XXXIX
-
-
-It is a long, hot, sultry day. The inexorable Dragon looks down
-indifferently upon the children. Unwearying, he aims his bright, vivid
-shafts at the sunburnt, fiery-eyed lad and at the slender, erect,
-black-eyed girl. His blazing shafts are evil, and they are well aimed;
-and his strong clear light is pitiless--but she walks on, and in her
-eyes there is hope, and in her eyes there is resolution, and in her
-dark eyes there is a flame which sets the soul afire to achieve deeds
-beyond the powers of man.
-
-Natasha suddenly pauses at the end of the path by the dusty road.
-Her eyes look at Boris full of tender admiration. It is evident that
-she desires to stamp upon her memory all the beloved features of the
-familiar tanned face--the curve of the dense brows, the rigid set of
-the red lips, the firm outlines of the chin, the stern profile.
-
-Natasha sighs lightly and addresses Boris gently and cheerfully:
-
-"Enough, dearest. They may not let me into the train with a heap like
-this. They will say: 'This should be put in the luggage van.'"
-
-Both laugh carelessly. And still Boris is loath to leave the
-cornflowers. He says:
-
-"Only a few more. I want you to have a gigantic bouquet."
-
-"You would have everything gigantic!" Natasha returns good-humouredly.
-
-But her face is serious. She knows how deep this quality is in him,
-and how significant. Boris looks at her, and in answer repeats his
-favourite, his most intimate thought:
-
-"Yes, it is true. I love all bigness, all immoderation. In everything!
-In everything! If we only acted like this always! And gave ourselves
-wholly to a thing! Oh, how different life would be!"
-
-Natasha, lost in thought, repeats: "Yes, big things, things beyond the
-powers of man. To make life lavish. Only no stinginess, no trembling
-for one's skin. Far better to die--to gather all life into one little
-knot, and to throw it away!"
-
-"Yes, yes," says Boris, and his eyes, dark as night, glow with the fury
-of a yet distant storm. "We must have no care for lives, but be lavish
-with them, lavish to the end--only then may we reach our goal!"
-
-They cross the road and again walk calmly along a narrow path. Her
-dress is white among the golden waves. Natasha stretches out her
-slender hand, the ears of rye rustle dryly and solid seeds of ripe rye
-fall into it. They are struck from above by the vivid shafts of the
-pitiless Dragon.
-
-The children are walking on, conscious of their vow. They go
-trustingly, and they do not know that he who sends them is a traitor,
-and that their sacrifice is vain.
-
-
-
-XL
-
-
-What is this dry rustling all around? It is the rye. But where are the
-little cornflowers, where is Boris? The little blue-eyed flowers are in
-the rye, and Boris has been hanged.
-
-"And I?" Natasha asks herself in a strange, oppressive perplexity. She
-looks round her like one just awakened.
-
-"Why am I here?"
-
-She answers herself: "I escaped. A lucky chance saved me."
-
-Natasha is oppressed by the thought. How had she survived it? "Far
-better if I had perished!"
-
-It all happened very simply. Natasha, being Number Three, was placed at
-the railway station itself, her duty being contingent on the failure
-of Number One and Number Two. But the first was successful, though he
-himself perished in the explosion.
-
-The second, upon hearing the explosion not far away, lost his presence
-of mind. He ran to save himself. He caught a cab, and got off near the
-river. Here he hired a row-boat. When near the middle of the river,
-he threw the bomb into the water. The man who rowed had guessed that
-something was wrong. Besides, he had been seen from the Government
-steamer and from the banks. Number Two was taken, tried and hanged.
-
-Natasha did not betray herself in any way. She walked calmly, without
-haste, bearing her dangerous burden, observed by no one. She mixed
-freely with the passing crowd. She delivered the bomb at the appointed
-place.
-
-A few days later she left for home. She had not been followed. Natasha
-was awaiting a second commission, and quite suddenly she abandoned the
-business, because her trust in it had died.
-
-It happened even before Borya was hanged. But her decision came finally
-in those nightmare days when, quickly and unexpectedly, his life came
-to an end.
-
-Those were terrible days.
-
-But, no, it is better not to think of them, it is better not to
-remember them. To remember them is to suffer. Far better to remember
-other things, things cloudless and long past.
-
-
-
-XLI
-
-
-Oh magic mirror of memory, so much is reflected in thee! Beloved images
-pass by with a kind of glimmer.
-
-There were the flowers, which they themselves looked after. There was
-one flower-bed which they cared for with especial tenderness. There was
-the fresh, intoxicating evening aroma of gilliflower. There was the
-cluster of jasmine, dewy at dawn, so sweetly and so gently fragrant,
-that one wished to weep in its presence, as the grass weeps its tears
-of dew at golden dawn.
-
-Then there was the open space in the garden, and the giant-stride in
-the centre. What gigantic steps they took! How fast and how high she
-flew round with Boris!
-
-How glorious were the feast-days to the childish hearts. There was
-Christmas Eve, with its tree, and candles upon the green branches,
-with all the many-coloured glitter of golden nuts, red, green and blue
-trimmings, snow-white foils of cotton-wool, offerings which gladdened
-with their unexpectedness. Then in the daytime there is real snow,
-glittering like salt, and crunching under one's feet; the frost pinches
-the cheeks, the sun is shining, their mittens are of the softest down,
-their hats are white and soft, the sleds are flying down hillocks--oh,
-what joy!
-
-And now Easter is here. What a solemn night! Then the joyous chanting
-of matins. The candle flames are everywhere, there seems to be no
-end to them. There is a smell of Easter cakes. There are Easter eggs
-painted in all colours. Every one is kissing each other. Every one is
-happy.
-
-"_Christoss Voskress!_"
-
-"_Voistinu Voskress!_"
-
-But the dear dead do not stir.
-
-No. The beloved memories do not break the continuity of the circle, the
-resurrection of the others--the fearsome, tragic memories. Inevitably
-the vision leads on to the last terrible moments.
-
-
-
-XLII
-
-
-They lived in the capital that winter. Boris was studying his final
-term in the _gymnasia_. For Christmas he went to another city: to
-relatives, he said.
-
-Natasha was suspicious. But he did not tell her the truth.
-
-"Really, nothing," he answered to all her questions. "No one is sending
-me. I am going of my own accord. To see Aunt Liuba."
-
-And Natasha did not insist.
-
-For several days she did not get any letters from him. But she did not
-worry. Boris disliked writing letters. They thought he was enjoying
-himself.
-
-It was an evening in early January. Her mother and grandmother had gone
-out visiting. Natasha, pleading a headache, remained at home.
-
-"I'll lie down on the sofa. It will pass away."
-
-The truth was she thought the home of her affected, worldly relatives a
-dull place, and she had no desire to go there.
-
-The maid had leave to go out. Natasha remained in the house alone. She
-lay down in her room on the sofa with an interesting new book.
-
-After the cheer and ease of the holidays, Natasha felt in good
-spirits. She was comfortable, tranquil and cheerful. The hangings
-on the windows were impenetrably opaque. The lamp, burning brightly
-and evenly, concealed its garish white blaze from her eyes under its
-trimmed, beaded shade. The whole small room was lost in a luminous
-twilight.
-
-At last, however, page after page of running lines of print tired
-Natasha. She dropped into a doze, and was shortly sound asleep. The
-open book fell softly on the rug.
-
-
-
-XLIII
-
-
-Suddenly a bell rings. Natasha gives a start.
-
-Ours? No. The bell rang so timidly, so hesitatingly. It was as though
-she heard it ring in a dream, and not in reality; again, it might have
-been the ring of some mischievous urchin.
-
-Perhaps she had only imagined it. It is so comfortable to doze. She
-feels too lazy to get up. Let them ring.
-
-But here is a second ring, more insistent and louder.
-
-Natasha jumps up and runs into the vestibule, rearranging her hair on
-the way. Remembering that she is alone in the house she does not open
-the door, but asks: "Who's there?"
-
-From behind the door she can hear the low, somewhat hoarse voice of the
-telegraph boy: "A telegram."
-
-Her heart begins to beat with fright. It is always terrible to receive
-telegrams. For only good news travels slowly. Bad news makes haste.
-
-Natasha puts one end of the door-chain to a little hook in the door.
-Then she opens the door partly and looks out. There stands the
-messenger in his uniform, with a metal plate in his cap. He hands her
-the telegram.
-
-"Sign here, miss."
-
-The grey-white, dry paper trembles in Natasha's hands. Natasha feels a
-sudden tug at her heart. She speaks incoherently:
-
-"What is it? Oh my God! Sign, did you say?"
-
-She runs to the table. Her hands tremble. She has managed somehow to
-scrawl her family name "Ozoreva," the pen hesitating and scratching
-upon the grey paper.
-
-"Here is the signature."
-
-Across the little door-chain she thrusts the signed paper and a tip
-into the hand of the messenger. Then she bangs the door to after him.
-Now she is in front of the lamp. What can it be?
-
-Tearing the seal open she reads. Terrible words. Such simple, yet such
-incomprehensible words. Because they are about Boris.
-
-"_Boris has shot ----. Arrested with comrades Military trial to-morrow.
-Death sentence threatened_."
-
-
-
-XLIV
-
-
-Natasha re-reads the telegram. A sudden terror, strangely akin to
-shame, for a moment strikes at her heart. She can hear the heavy beat
-of blood in her temples. She is, as it were, being strangled from all
-sides; she can hardly breathe; the walls seem to have come together,
-oppressing her on all sides; and the rapid, pale, pencilled strokes
-seem also to have run together into one jumble on the grey paper.
-
-Certain thoughts, one after the other, slowly make way into Natasha's
-dimmed consciousness--oppressive, evil, pitiless thoughts.
-
-Stupefied, she wonders how she shall tell her mother. She observes that
-her hands tremble. She recalls the telephone number of the Lareyevs,
-where her mother undoubtedly is.
-
-Then terror seizes her anew; she shivers violently from head to foot as
-with ague. Her mind is a whirl of confusion.
-
-"No, it is a mistake! It cannot be. It is a cruel, senseless mistake!
-It is some one's stupid, cruel joke."
-
-Boris, our beloved boy, with his fine honest eyes--think of him
-hanging! There will be a rattle in his throat, as strangling, he will
-swing in the noose. With sharp, clutching pain, the gentle, childish
-neck will tighten; the sunburnt face will grow purple; the swollen
-tongue will creep out all in froth, and the widely dilated eyes will
-reflect the terror of cruel death.
-
-No, no, it cannot be! It is a mistake! But who can be malicious enough
-to make such a mistake?
-
-And then where is Boris?
-
-Her cold reasoning says that it is so, that no mistake has been made.
-The words are clear, the address is correct--yes, yes! It was really to
-be expected. Here it is, this lavishness of life which he dreamt of,
-which they both dreamt of. "I love all immoderation. To be lavish--only
-then we may reach our goal!"
-
-Her legs tremble. She feels herself terribly weak. She sits down on the
-sofa.
-
-Oh God, what's to be done? How is she to tell her mother this terrible
-thing?
-
-Or should she conceal it? And do everything that could be done by
-herself? But no, she could do ridiculously little herself!
-
-It is necessary to tell. It must be done quickly. She must not lose
-an instant. Perhaps it is still possible to save Boris, by going, by
-petitioning.
-
-Why is she sitting still then? It is necessary to act at once.
-
-Natasha seizes the telephone. What a long time the operator takes to
-answer.
-
-At last she is connected. She can hear sounds of music and the hum of
-voices.
-
-A cheerful, familiar voice asks:
-
-"Who's there?"
-
-"It is Natasha Ozoreva."
-
-"Good evening, Natasha," says Marusya Lareyeva loudly. "What a pity you
-did not come. We are having a fine time."
-
-"Good evening, dear Marusya. Is mamma with you?"
-
-"Yes, she is here. Shall I call her?"
-
-"No, no, for God's sake. Let some one break it to her...."
-
-"Has anything happened?"
-
-"Marusya, a terrible misfortune. Our Boris has been arrested."
-
-"My God! For what?"
-
-"I don't know. He'll have a military trial. I feel desperate. It's so
-terrible. For God's sake, don't frighten mother too much. Tell her to
-come home at once, please."
-
-"Oh, my God, how awful!"
-
-"Oh, Marusya, dearest, for God's sake, be quick."
-
-"I'll tell my mother at once. Wait at the telephone, Natasha."
-
-Natasha holds the receiver to her ear and waits. She hears the noise of
-footsteps. Some one has begun to sing.
-
-Then again the same voice, extremely agitated:
-
-"Natasha, do you hear? Your mother wants to speak to you herself."
-
-Natasha trembles with fright. Good God, what shall she tell her mother!
-She inquires:
-
-"What? Is she coining herself to the telephone?" she asks.
-
-"Yes, yes. Your mother is here now."
-
-
-
-XLV
-
-
-The voice of Sofia Alexandrovna, terribly agitated, is heard:
-
-"Natasha, is that you? For God's sake, what has happened?"
-
-Natasha replies:
-
-"Yes, mamma, it is I. A telegram has come. Mamma, don't be frightened,
-it must be a mistake."
-
-This time the voice is more controlled.
-
-"Read me the telegram at once."
-
-"Just a moment. I'll get it," says Natasha.
-
-The telegram is read.
-
-"What, a military trial?"
-
-"Yes, military."
-
-"To-morrow?"
-
-"Yes, yes, to-morrow."
-
-"Death sentence threatened?"
-
-"Mamma, please be yourself, for God's sake. Perhaps something can be
-done."
-
-"We must go there. Get the things ready, Natasha. Mother and I are
-returning at once, and we will take the first train out."
-
-The conversation is at an end.
-
-Natasha is alone. She runs about the deserted house, letting things
-fall in the poignant silence. She is busy with travelling bags and with
-pillows.
-
-She stops to look at the time-table. There is a train at half-past
-twelve. Yes, there is still time to catch it.
-
-Then the bell rings, frightening her even more than the earlier ring.
-The mother and the grandmother have arrived, pale and distraught.
-
-
-
-XLVI
-
-
-A sleepless, wearisome journey in the train. The wheels roll on with
-a measured, jarring sound. Stops are made. How slow it all is! How
-agonizing! If only it would be quicker, quicker!
-
-Or were it better to wish that time should be arrested? That its huge,
-shaggy wings outspread and flapping above the world should suddenly
-become motionless? That its owlish glance should be stilled for ever in
-the instant just before the terrible word is said?
-
-They reach their destination in the morning. At the station, a dirty,
-dejected place, they are met by a cousin of Natasha's, an attorney by
-profession. From his pale, worried face, they guess that everything is
-over.
-
-He talks quickly and incoherently. He comforts them with hopes in
-which he himself does not believe. The trial had been held early that
-morning. Boris and both his comrades--all of the same green youth--had
-been sentenced to die by hanging. The court would entertain no appeal.
-The only hope lay in the district general. He was really not a bad man
-at heart. Perhaps, by imploring, he might be induced to lighten the
-sentence to that of hard labour for an indefinite period.
-
-Poor mothers! What is it they implore?
-
-
-
-XLVII
-
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna and Natasha arrived at the general's. They waited
-long in the quiet, cold-looking reception-room; the glossy parquet
-floor shone, portraits in heavy gilt frames hung on the walls, and the
-careful steps of uniformed officials, coming through a large white
-door, resounded from time to time.
-
-At last they were received. The general listened most amiably, but
-declined emphatically to do anything. He rose, clinked his spurs, and
-stretched himself to his full height; He stood there tall, erect, his
-breast decorated with orders, his head grey, his face ruddy, with black
-eyebrows and broad nose.
-
-In vain the humiliating entreaties.
-
-Pale, the proud mother knelt before the general and, weeping bitterly,
-she kissed his hands and at last threw herself at his feet--all in
-vain. She received the cold answer:
-
-"I am sorry, madam, it is impossible. I understand your affliction,
-I sympathize fully; with your sorrow, but what can I do? Whose fault
-is it? Upon me lies a great responsibility toward my Emperor and my
-country. I have my duty--I can't help you. It is against yourself that
-you ought to bring your reproaches--you've brought him up."
-
-Of what avail the tears of a poor mother? Strike thy head upon the
-parquet floor, bend thy face to the black glitter of his boots; or else
-depart, proud and silent. It is all the same, he can do nothing. Thy
-tears and thy entreaties do not touch him, thy curses do not offend
-him. He is a kind man, he is the loving father of a family, but his
-upright martial soul does not tremble before the word death. More than
-once he had risked his life boldly in battle--what is the life of a
-conspirator to him?
-
-"But he is a mere boy!"
-
-"No, madam, this is not a childish prank. I am sorry."
-
-He walks away. She hears the measured clinking of his spurs. The
-parquet floor reflects dimly his tall, erect figure.
-
-"General, have pity!"
-
-The cold, white door has swung to after him. She hears the quiet,
-pleasant voice of a young official. He raises her from the floor and
-helps her to find her way out.
-
-
-
-XLVIII
-
-
-They granted a last meeting. A few minutes passed in questions,
-answers, embraces, and tears.
-
-Boris said very little.
-
-"Don't cry, mamma. I am not afraid. There is nothing else they can do.
-They don't feed you at all badly here. Remember me to all. And you,
-Natasha, take care of mother. One sacrifice is enough from our family.
-Well, good-bye."
-
-He seemed somehow callous and distant. He seemed to be thinking of
-something else, of something he could tell no one. And his words had an
-external ring, as though merely to make conversation.
-
-That night, before daybreak, Boris was hanged. The scaffold was set up
-in the gaol courtyard. The spot where he was buried was kept secret.
-
-The mother implored the next day: "Show me his grave at least!"
-
-What was there to show! He was laid in a coffin, he was put into a hole
-in the earth and the soil that covered him was smoothed down to its
-original level--we all know how such culprits are buried.
-
-"Tell me at least how he died."
-
-"Well, he was a brave one. He was calm, a bit serious. And he refused a
-priest, and would not kiss the cross."
-
-They returned home. A fog of melancholy hung over them, and within them
-there lit up a spark of mad hope--no, Borya is not dead, Borya will
-return.
-
-
-
-XLIX
-
-
-The thought that Boris had been hanged could not enter into their
-habitual, everyday thoughts. Only in the hour when the sun was at its
-zenith, and in the hour of the midnight moon, it would penetrate their
-awakened consciousness like a sharp poniard. Again it would pierce
-the soul with a sharp, tormenting pain, and again it would vanish in
-the dim mist of dawn with a kind of dull agony. And again, the same
-unreasonable conviction would awake in their hearts.
-
-No, Borya will return. The bell will suddenly ring, and the door will
-be opened to him.
-
-"Oh, Borya! Where have you been wandering?"
-
-How we shall kiss him! And how much there will be to tell!
-
-"What does it matter where you have been wandering. You have been
-wandering, and, you have been found, like the prodigal son."
-
-How happy all will be!
-
-The old nurse will not be consoled. She wails:
-
-"Boryushka, Boryushka, my incomparable one! I say to him: 'Boryushka,
-I'm going to the poor-house!' And he says to me: 'No,' says he,
-'_nyanechka_,[4] I'll not let you go to the poor-house. I,' he says,
-'will let you stop with me, _nyanechka_; only wait till I grow up,'
-says he, 'and you can live with me.' Oh, Boryushka, what's this you've
-done!"
-
-In the morning the old nurse enters the vestibule. Whose grey overcoat
-is it that she sees hanging on the rack? It is Borya's, his _gymnasia_
-uniform. Has he then not gone to the _gymnasia_ to-day?
-
-She wanders into the dining-room, making a muffled noise with her soft
-slippers.
-
-"Natashenka, is Boryushka home to-day? His overcoat's there on the
-rack. Or is he sick?"
-
-"_Nyanechka_!" exclaims Natasha.
-
-And, frightened, she looks at her mother.
-
-The old nurse has suddenly remembered. She is crying. The grey head
-shivers in its black wrap. The old woman wails:
-
-"I go there and I look, what's that I see? Borya's overcoat. I say to
-myself, Borya's gone to the _gymnasia_, why's his overcoat here? It's
-no holiday. Oh, my Boryushka is gone!"
-
-She wails louder and louder. Then the old woman falls to the floor and
-begins to beat the boards with her head.
-
-"Borechka, my own Borechka! If the Lord had only taken me, an old
-woman, instead of him. What's the use of life to me? I drag along, of
-no cheer to myself or to any one else."
-
-Natasha, helpless, tries to quiet her.
-
-"_Nyanechka_, dearest, rest a little."
-
-"May Thou rest me, O Lord! My heart told me something was wrong. I've
-been dreaming all sorts of bad dreams. These black dreams have come
-true! Oh, Borechka, my own!"
-
-The old woman continues to beat her head and to wail. Natasha implores
-her mother:
-
-"For God's sake, mamma, have Borya's overcoat taken from the rack."
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna looks at her with her dark, smouldering eyes and
-says morosely:
-
-"Why? It had better hang there. He might suddenly need it."
-
-Oh, hateful memories! As long as the evil Dragon reigns in the heavens
-it is impossible to escape them.
-
-Natasha roams restlessly, she can find no place for herself. She is
-off to the woods; she recalls Boris there, and that he has been hanged.
-She is off to the river; she recalls Boris there, and that he is no
-more. She is back at home, and the walls of the old house recall Boris
-to her, and that he will not return.
-
-Like a pale shadow the mother wanders along the walks of the garden,
-choosing to pause there where the shade is densest. The old grandmother
-sits upon a bench and finishes the reading of the newspapers. It is the
-same every day.
-
-
-[4] Little nurse.
-
-
-
-L
-
-
-And now the evening is approaching. The sun is low and red. It looks
-straight into people's eyes as though, while expiring, it were begging
-for mercy. A breeze blows from the river, and it brings the laughter of
-white water nymphs.
-
-A number of noisy urchins are running in the road; their shirt-tails
-flap merrily in the wind, while their sleeves are filled with wind like
-balloons. The sound of a harmonica comes from the distance, and its
-song runs on very merrily. The corncrake screeches in the field, and
-its call resembles a general's loud snore.
-
-The old house once more casts and arranges its long dark shadows
-disturbed by the intrusive day. Its windows blaze forth with the red
-fire of the evening sun.
-
-The gilliflower exhales its seductive aroma in some of the distant
-paths. The roses seem even redder in the sunset, and more sweet. The
-eternal Aphrodite--the naked marble of her proud body taking on a rose
-tint--smiles again, and lets fall her draperies as fascinatingly as
-ever.
-
-And everything is directed as before toward cherished, unreasonable
-hopes. Enfeebled by the day's heat, and by the sadness of the bright
-day, the harassed soul has exhausted its measure of suffering, and it
-falls from the iron embrace of sorrow to the beloved dark earth of the
-past, once more besprinkled with dreamily refreshing dew.
-
-And again, as at dawn, the three women in the old house await Boris, or
-a short time happy in their madness.
-
-They await him, and they chat of him, until, from behind the trees of
-the dark wood, the cold moon shows her ever sad face. The dead moon is
-under a white shroud of mist.
-
-Then again they remember that Borya has been hanged, and they meet at
-the green-covered pond to weep for him.
-
-
-
-LI
-
-
-Natasha is the first to leave the house. She has on a white dress and a
-black cloak. Her black hair is covered with a thin black kerchief. Her
-very deep dark eyes shine with flame-like brightness. She stands, her
-pale face uplifted toward the moon. She awaits the other two.
-
-Elena Kirillovna and Sofia Alexandrovna arrive together.
-
-Elena Kirillovna leaves the house slightly earlier, but Sofia
-Alexandrovna runs after her and overtakes her almost at the pond. They
-wear black cloaks, black kerchiefs on their heads, and black shoes.
-
-Natasha begins:
-
-"On the night before the execution he did not sleep. The moon, just as
-clear as to-night's, looked into the narrow window of his cell. On the
-floor the moon sadly outlined a green rhomb, intersected lengthwise and
-crosswise by narrow dark strokes. Boris walked up and down his cell,
-and looked now at the moon, now at the green rhomb, and thought--I wish
-I knew his thoughts that night."
-
-Her remark has a quite tranquil sound. It might have been about a
-stranger.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna now and again wrings her hands, and as she begins to
-speak her voice is agitated and heavy with grief:
-
-"What can one think at such moments! The moon, long dead, looks in.
-There are five steps from the door to the window, four steps across.
-The mind springs feverishly from object to object. That the execution
-is to take place on the morrow is the one thing you try not to think
-of. Stubbornly you repel the thought. But it remains, it refuses to
-depart, it throttles the soul with an oppressive, horrible nightmare.
-The anguish is intense and enfeebling. But I do not wish my gaolers and
-all these officials who are come to me to see my anguish. I will be
-calm. And yet what anguish--if only, lifting up my pale face, I could
-cry aloud to the pale moon!"
-
-Elena Kirillovna whispers faintly:
-
-"Terrible, Sonyushka."
-
-There are tears in her voice--simple, old-womanish, grandmotherly tears.
-
-
-
-LII
-
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna, ignoring the interruption, continues:
-
-"Why should I really go to my death boldly and resolutely? Is it not
-all the same? I shall die in the courtyard, in the dark of night.
-Whether I die boldly, or weep like a coward, or beg for mercy, or
-resist the executioner--is it not all the same? No one will know how I
-died. I shall face death alone. Why should I really suffer this wild
-anguish? I will raise up my voice to wail and to weep, and I will shake
-the whole gaol with my despairing cries, and I will awake the town, the
-so-called free town, which is only a larger gaol--so that I shall not
-suffer alone, but that others shall share in my last agony, in my last
-dread. But no, I won't do that. It is my fate to die alone."
-
-Natasha rises, trembles, presses her mother's cold hand in hers, and
-says:
-
-"Mamma, mamma, it is terrible, if alone. No, don't say that he felt
-alone. We shall be with him."
-
-Elena Kirillovna whispers:
-
-"Yes, Sonyushka, it would be terrible alone. In such moments!"
-
-"We are with him," insists Natasha vehemently. "We are with him now."
-
-A smile is on Sofia Alexandrovna's lips, a smile such as a dying person
-smiles to greet his last consolation. Sofia Alexandrovna speaks:
-
-"My last consolation is the thought that I am not alone. He is with
-me. These walls are unrealities, this gaol built by men is a lie. What
-is real and true is my suffering and I am one with them in my grief. A
-poor consolation! And yet I, just think, this extraordinary I, Boris, I
-am dying."
-
-"I am dying," repeats Natasha.
-
-Her voice is clouded, and it is fraught with despair. And all three
-remain silent for a brief while, overcome by the spell of these tragic
-words.
-
-
-
-LIII
-
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna speaks again. Her voice sounds tranquil, deliberate,
-measured:
-
-"There is no consolation for the dying. His grief is boundless. The
-cold moon continues to torment him. A moan struggles to break from his
-throat, a moan like the wild baying of a caged beast."
-
-Natasha speaks sadly:
-
-"But he is not alone, not alone. We are with him in his grief."
-
-Her eyes, darker than a dark night, look up toward the lifeless moon,
-and the green enchantress, reflected in them, torments her with a dull
-pain.
-
-Sofia Alexandrovna smiles--and her smile is dead--and with the voice of
-inconsolable sorrow she speaks again slowly and calmly:
-
-"We are with him only in his despair, in his pitiful inconsolability,
-in his dark solitude. But he was alone, alone, when he was strangled
-by the hand of a hired hangman; strangled in that dark enclosure which
-it is not for us to demolish. And the dead moon tormented him, as it
-torments us. She tempted him with the mad desire to moan wildly,
-like a wild beast before dying. And now we, in this hour, under this
-moon--are we not also tormented by the same mad desire to run, to run
-far from people, and to moan and to wail, and to flee from a grief too
-great to be borne!"
-
-She rises abruptly and walks away, wringing her beautiful white hands.
-She walks fast, almost runs, driven as it were by some strange, furious
-will not her own. Natasha follows her with the measured yet rapid,
-deliberate, mechanical gait of an automaton. And behind them trips
-along Elena Kirillovna, who lets fall a few scant tears on her black
-cloak.
-
-The moon follows them callously in their hurried journey across the
-garden, across the field, into that wood, into that still glade, where
-once the children sang their proud hymn, and where they let their mad
-desires be known to one who was to betray them for a price--young blood
-for gold.
-
-The grass in the fields is wet with dew. The river is white with mist.
-The high moon is clear and cold. Everywhere it is quiet, as though all
-the earthly rustlings and noises had lost themselves in the moon's dead
-light.
-
-
-
-LIV
-
-
-And here is the glade. "Natasha, do you remember? How warmly they all
-sang _Arise, ye branded with a curse!_ Natasha, will you sing it again?
-Do. Is it a torture?"
-
-"I'll sing," replies Natasha quietly.
-
-She sings in a low voice, almost to herself. The mother listens, and
-the grandmother listens--but what have the birches and the grass and
-the clear moon to do with human songs!
-
-    In the International
-    As brothers all men shall meet!
-
-Her song is at an end. The wood is silent. The moon waits. The mist is
-pensive. The birches seem to listen. The sky is clear.
-
-Ah, for whom is all this life? Who calls? Who responds? Or is it all
-the play of the dead?
-
-Loudly wailing, the mother calls: "Borya, Borya!"
-
-Overflowing with tears Elena Kirillovna replies: "Borya won't come.
-There is no Borya."
-
-Natasha stretches out her arms toward the lifeless moon, and cries
-out: "Borya has been hanged!"
-
-All three now stand side by side, looking at the moon, and weeping.
-Louder grows their sobbing, fiercer the note of despair. Their moans
-merge finally into a prolonged, wild wailing, which can be heard for
-some distance.
-
-The dog at the forester's hut is restless. Trembling with all his lean
-body, his short hair bristling, he has pricked up his ears. Rising, he
-stretches his slender limbs. His sharp muzzle, showing its teeth, is
-uplifted to the tormenting moon. His eyes burn with a yearning flame.
-The dog bays in answer to the distant wail of the women in the wood.
-
-People are asleep.
-
-
-
-
-THE UNITER OF SOULS
-
-
-Garmonov was extremely young, and had not yet learnt to time his
-visits; he usually came at the wrong hour and did not know when to
-leave. He realized at last that he was boring Sonpolyev almost to
-madness. It dawned upon him that he was taking Sonpolyev from his
-work. He recalled that Sonpolyev had borne himself with a constrained
-politeness toward him, and that at times a caustic phrase escaped his
-lips.
-
-Garmonov grew painfully red, a sudden flame spread itself under the
-smooth skin of his drawn cheeks. He rose irresolutely. Then he sat down
-again, for he saw that Sonpolyev was about to say something. Sonpolyev
-took up the thread of the conversation in a depressed voice:
-
-"So you've put a mask on! What do you want me to understand by that?"
-
-Garmonov muttered in a confused way:
-
-"It's necessary to dissemble sometimes."
-
-Sonpolyev would not listen further, but gave way to his irritation:
-
-"What do you understand about it? What do you know of masks? There is
-no mask without a responding soul. It is impossible to put on a mask
-without harmonizing your soul with its soul. Otherwise the mask is
-uncovered."
-
-Sonpolyev grew silent, and looked miserably before him. He did not look
-at Garmonov. He felt again a strange, instinctive hate for him, such as
-he felt at their first meeting. He had always tried to hide this hate
-under a mask of great heartiness; he had urged Garmonov most earnestly
-to visit him, and praised Garmonov's verses to every one. But from time
-to time he spoke coarse, malicious words to the timid young man, who
-then flushed violently and shrank back within himself. Sonpolyev was
-quick to pity him, but soon again he detested his cautious, sluggish
-ways; he thought him secretive and cunning.
-
-Garmonov rose, said good-bye, and went out. Sonpolyev was left alone.
-He felt miserable because his work had been interrupted. He no longer
-felt in the same working mood. A secret malice tormented him. Why
-should this seemingly insignificant youth, Garmonov, evoke such
-bitterness in him? He had a large mouth, a long, very smooth face;
-his movements were slow, his voice had a drawl; there was something
-ambiguous about him, and enigmatical.
-
-Sonpolyev began sadly to pace the room. He stopped before the wall,
-and began to speak. There are many people nowadays who have long
-conversations with the wall--the wall, indeed, makes an interested
-interlocutor, and a faithful one.
-
-"It is possible," he said, "to hate so strongly and so poignantly only
-that which is near to one. But in what does this devilish nearness
-consist? By what impure magic has some demon bound our souls together?
-Souls so unlike one another! Mine, that of a man of action with a bent
-for repose; and his, the soul of a large-mouthed fledgling, who is as
-cunning as a conspirator, and as cautious as a coward. And what is
-there in his character that conflicts so strangely with his appearance?
-Who has stolen the best and most needful part from this moly-coddle's
-soul?"
-
-He spoke quietly, almost in a murmur. Then he exclaimed as though in a
-rage:
-
-"Who has done this? Man, or the enemy of man?"
-
-And he heard the strange answer:
-
-"I!"
-
-Some one spoke this word in a clear, shrill voice. It was like the
-sharp yet subdued ring of rusty steel. Sonpolyev trembled nervously. He
-looked round him. There was no one in the room.
-
-He sat down in the arm-chair and looked, scowling, on the table, buried
-under books and papers; and he waited. He awaited something. The
-waiting grew painful. He said loudly:
-
-"Well, why do you hide? You've begun to speak, you might as well
-appear. What do you wish to say? What is it?"
-
-He began to listen intently. His nerves were strained. It seemed as
-though the slightest noise would have sounded like an archangel's
-trumpet.
-
-Then there was sudden laughter. It was sharp, and it was like the sound
-of rusty metal. The spring of some elaborate toy seemed to unwind
-itself, and trembled and tinkled in the subdued quiet of the evening.
-Sonpolyev put the palms of his hands over his temples, and rested upon
-his elbows. He listened intently. The laugh died away with mechanical
-evenness. It was evident that it came from somewhere quite near,
-perhaps from the table itself.
-
-Sonpolyev waited. He gazed with intent eyes at the bronze inkstand. He
-asked derisively: "Ink sprite, was it not you that laughed?"
-
-The sharp voice, quite unlike the muffled voice of phantoms, answered
-with the same derision: "No, you are mistaken; and you are not very
-brilliant. I am not an ink sprite. Don't you know the rustling voices
-of ink sprites? You are a poor observer."
-
-And again there was laughter, again the rusty spring tinkled as it
-unwound itself.
-
-Sonpolyev said: "I don't know who you are--and how should I know!
-I cannot see you. Only I think that you are like the rest of your
-fraternity: you are always near us, you poke your noses into
-everything, and you bring sadness and evil spells upon us; yet you dare
-not show yourselves before our eyes."
-
-The metallic voice replied: "The fact is, I came to have a talk with
-you. I love to talk with such as yourself--with half-folk."
-
-The voice grew silent, and Sonpolyev waited for it to laugh. He
-thought: "He must punctuate his every phrase with that hideous
-laughter."
-
-Indeed, he was not mistaken. The strange visitor really talked in this
-way: first he would speak a few words, then he would burst out into his
-sharp, rusty laughter. It seemed as though he used his words to wind up
-the spring, and that later the spring relaxed itself with his laughter.
-
-And while his laughter was still dying away with mechanical evenness
-the guest showed himself from behind the inkstand.
-
-He was small, and was no taller from head to foot than the fourth
-finger. He was grey-steel in colour. Owing to his small stature and to
-his rapid movements it was hard to tell whether the dim glow came from
-the body, or from a garment that stretched lightly over it. In any case
-it was something smooth, something expressly simple. The body seemed
-like a slender keg, broader at the belt, narrower at the shoulders and
-below. The arms and legs were of equal length and thickness, and of
-like nimbleness and flexibility; it seemed as though the arms were very
-long and thick, and the legs disproportionately short and thin. The
-neck was short. The face was hardy. The legs were widely astride. At
-the end of the back something was visible in the nature of a tail or
-a thick cone; like growths were upon the sides, under the elbows. The
-strange figure moved quickly, nimbly, and surely.
-
-The monster sat down on the bronze ridge of the inkstand, pushing aside
-the wooden pen-holder with his foot in order to be more comfortable. He
-grew quiet.
-
-Sonpolyev examined his face. It was lean, grey, and smooth. His eyes
-were small and glowed brightly. His mouth was large. His ears stuck out
-and were pointed at the top.
-
-He sat there, grasping the ridge with his hands, like a monkey.
-Sonpolyev asked: "Gracious guest, what do you want to say to me?"
-
-And in answer a slight voice--mechanically even, unpleasantly sharp and
-rather rusty in tone--made itself heard: "Man with a single head and
-a single soul, recall your past, your primitive experience of those
-ancient days when you and he lived in the same body."
-
-And again there was laughter, shrill and sharp, piercing the ear.
-
-While he was still laughing, the guest, with mechanical agility, turned
-a somersault; he stood on his hands, and Sonpolyev saw for the first
-time what he had taken for a tail was really a second head. This head
-did not differ in any way, as far as he could see, from the other head.
-Whether the heads were too small for him to observe, or whether the
-heads did not actually differ, it was quite certain that Sonpolyev
-did not see the slightest distinction between them. The arms reversed
-themselves as on hinges, and became quite like the legs; the first
-head, then losing its colour, hid itself between these arm-legs; while
-the former legs reversed themselves mechanically and became the arms.
-
-Sonpolyev looked at his strange guest with astonishment. The guest
-made wry faces and danced. And when at last he grew still and his
-laughter gradually died away, the second head began to speak: "How
-many souls have you, and how many consciousnesses? Can you tell me
-that? You pride yourself on the amazing differentiation of your
-organs, you have an idea that each member of your body fulfils its own
-well-defined functions. But tell me, stupid man, have you anything
-whereby to preserve the memory of your previous existences? The other
-head contains the rest of you, your early memories and your earlier
-experience. You argue subtly and craftily across the threshold of your
-pitiful consciousness, but your misfortune is that you have only one
-head."
-
-The guest burst out again into rusty, metallic laughter, and he laughed
-this time rather long. He laughed and he danced at the same time. He
-turned somersaults, or he rested upon one arm and upon one leg, thereby
-causing one of his sides to turn upward--until it was impossible to
-distinguish any of his four extremities. Afterwards his limbs again
-turned mechanically, and it became obvious that the growths on his
-sides were also heads. Each head spoke and laughed in its turn. Each
-head grimaced, mocked at him.
-
-Sonpolyev exclaimed in great fury: "Be silent!"
-
-The guest danced, shouted, and laughed.
-
-Sonpolyev thought: "I must catch him and crush him. Or I must smash
-the monster with a blow of the heavy press."
-
-But the guest continued to laugh and to make wry faces.
-
-"I dare not take him with my hands," thought Sonpolyev. "He might burn
-or scorch me. A knife would be better."
-
-He opened his penknife. Then he quickly directed its sharp point toward
-the middle of his guest's body. The four-headed monster gathered
-himself into a ball, flapped his four paws, and burst into piercing
-laughter. Sonpolyev threw his knife on the table, and exclaimed:
-"Hateful monster! What do you want of me?"
-
-The guest jumped upon the sharply pointed lid of the inkstand, perched
-himself upon one foot, stretched his arms upward, and exclaimed in an
-ugly, shrill voice: "Man with one head, recall your remote past when
-you and he were in the same body. The time you shared together in a
-dangerous adventure. Recall the dance of that terrible hour."
-
-Suddenly it grew dark. The laughter resounded, hoarse and hideous. The
-head was going round....
-
-Light columns moved forward out of the darkness. The ceiling was low.
-The torches glowed dimly. The red tongues of flame wavered in the
-scented air. The flute poured out its notes. Handsome young limbs moved
-in measure to its music.
-
-And it seemed to Sonpolyev that he was young and powerful, and that he
-was dancing round a banqueting table. A shrivelled, insolent, drunken
-face was looking at him; the banqueter was laughing uproariously,
-he was happy, and the dance of the half-naked youths pleased him.
-Sonpolyev felt that a furious rage was strangling him, and was
-hindering him from carrying out his project. He danced past the
-carousing man and his hands trembled. A reddish mist of hate dimmed his
-sight.
-
-His second soul wakened at the same time; it was the cunning, the
-sidling, the feline soul. This time the youth smiled at the happy man;
-he floated gracefully past him, a sweet, gentle boy. The banqueter
-laughed loudly. The youth's naked limbs and bared torso cheered the
-lord of the feast.
-
-And again there was hate, which dimmed his eyes with a red haze, and
-caused his hands to tremble with fury.
-
-Some one whispered angrily: "Are we going to twirl so long
-fruitlessly? It is time. It is time. Put an end to it!"
-
-The friendly spirits prevailed. The two souls flowed together. Hate
-and cunning became one. There was a light, floating movement, then a
-powerful stroke; nimble feet swept the youth into the swift, beautiful
-dance. There was a hoarse outcry. Then an uproar. Everything became
-confused....
-
-And again there was darkness.
-
-Sonpolyev awoke: the same small monster was dancing on the table,
-grimacing and laughing uproariously.
-
-Sonpolyev asked: "What's the meaning of this?"
-
-His guest replied: "Two souls once dwelt! in this youth, and one of
-them is now yours; it is a soul of exultant emotions and of passionate
-desires, it is an ever insatiable, trembling soul."
-
-Then there was laughter, jarring on the ear. The monster danced on.
-
-Sonpolyev shouted: "Stop, you dance devil! It seems to me you wish to
-say that the second soul of this primitive youth lives in the feeble
-body of this despicable, smooth-faced youngster?"
-
-The guest stopped laughing and exclaimed:
-
-"Man, you have at last understood what I wished to tell you. Now
-perhaps you will guess who I am, and why I have come."
-
-Sonpolyev waited until the trembling, shrill laughter ceased, and he
-answered his guest:
-
-"You are the uniter of souls. But why did you not join us at our birth?"
-
-The monster hissed, curled up, then stopped and threw upward one of his
-side heads and exclaimed:
-
-"We can repair this if you like. Do you wish it?"
-
-"I wish it," Sonpolyev replied quickly. "Call him to you on New Year's
-Eve, and call me. This hair will enable you to summon me."
-
-The monster ran quickly to the lamp, and placing upon its stand a
-short, thin black hair continued speaking: "When you light it I'll
-come. But you ought to know that! neither you nor he will preserve
-afterward a separate existence. And the man who will depart from here
-shall contain both souls, but it will be neither you nor he."
-
-Then he disappeared. His shrill, rusty laughter still resounded and
-tormented the ear, but Sonpolyev no longer saw any one before him.
-Only a black hair on the flat stand of the lamp reminded him of his
-guest.
-
-Sonpolyev took the hair and put it into his purse.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-The last day of the year was approaching midnight.
-
-Garmonov was sitting once more at Sonpolyev's. They spoke quietly, in
-subdued voices. It was painful. Sonpolyev asked: "You do not regret
-coming to my lonely party?"
-
-The smooth-faced young man smiled, and this made his teeth seem very
-white. He drawled out his words very slowly, and what he said was so
-tedious and so empty that Sonpolyev had no desire to listen to him.
-Sonpolyev, without continuing the conversation, asked quite bluntly:
-"You remember your earlier existence?"
-
-"Not very well," answered Garmonov.
-
-It was clear that he did not understand the question, and that he
-thought Sonpolyev had asked him about his childhood.
-
-Sonpolyev frowned in his vexation. He began to explain what he wished
-to say. He felt that his speech was involved and long. And this vexed
-him still more.
-
-But Garmonov had understood. He grew cheerful. He flushed slightly. His
-words had a more animated sound than usual: "Yes, yes, I sometimes feel
-that I have lived before. It is such a strange feeling. It's as though
-that life was fuller, bolder and freer; and that I dared to do things
-that I dare not do now.
-
-"And isn't it true," asked Sonpolyev in some agitation, "that you feel
-as though you had lost something, as though you now lack the most
-significant part of your being?"
-
-"Yes," answered Garmonov with emphasis. "That's precisely my feeling."
-
-"Would you like to restore this missing part?" Sonpolyev continued to
-question. "To be once more as before, whole and bold; to contain in one
-body--which shall feel, itself light and young and free--the fullness
-of life and the union of the antagonistic identities of our human
-breed. To be, indeed, more than whole; to feel as it were, in one's
-breast, the beating of a doubled heart; to be this and that; to join
-two clashing souls within oneself, and to wrest the necessary manhood
-and hardihood for great deeds from the fiery struggle of intense
-contradictions."
-
-"Yes, yes," said Garmonov, "I, too, sometimes dream about this."
-
-Sonpolyev was afraid to look at the irresolute, confused, smooth face
-of his young visitor. He vaguely feared that Garmonov's face would
-disconcert him. He made haste.
-
-Besides, midnight was approaching. Sonpolyev said quietly: "I have
-the means in my hands to realize this dream. Do you wish to have it
-realized?"
-
-"I should like to," said Garmonov irresolutely.
-
-Sonpolyev raised his eyes. He looked at Garmonov with firmness and
-decision, as though he demanded something urgent and indispensable from
-him. He looked with a fixed intentness into the dark youthful eyes,
-which should have flamed fire, but instead they were the cold, crafty
-eyes of a little man with half a soul.
-
-But it seemed to Sonpolyev that under his fixed fiery gaze Garmonov's
-eyes were becoming inflamed with enthusiasm and burning wrath. The
-young man's smooth face had suddenly become significant and stern.
-
-"Do you wish it?" Sonpolyev asked him once more.
-
-Garmonov replied quickly, with decision:
-
-"I wish it."
-
-And then a strange, sharp, shrill voice pronounced: "Oh, small and
-cunning man; you who once during your ancient existence did a deed
-of great hardihood--that was when you joined your crafty soul to
-the flaming soul of an indignant man--tell us in this great, rare
-hour, have you firmly decided to merge your soul with the other, the
-different soul?"
-
-And Garmonov answered even more quickly and more decisively: "I wish
-to!"
-
-Sonpolyev listened to the shrill voice of the questioner. He recognized
-him. He was not mistaken: the "I wish to!" of Garmonov had already lost
-itself in the rusty, metallic laughter of that extraordinary visitor.
-
-Sonpolyev waited until the laughter ceased; then he said: "But you
-should know that you will have to reject all dissembling. And all the
-joys of separate existence. Once I achieve my magic we shall both
-perish, and we shall set free our souls, or rather we shall fuse them
-together, and there shall be neither I nor you--there will be one in
-our place, and he shall be fiery in his conception, and cold in his
-execution. Both of us will have to go, in order to give a place to him,
-in whom both of us will be united. My friend, have you resolved upon
-this terrible thing? It is a great and terrible thing."
-
-Garmonov smiled a strange, faltering smile. But the fiery glance of
-Sonpolyev extinguished the smile; and the young man, as if submitting
-to some inevitable and fated command, pronounced in a dim, lifeless
-voice: "I have decided. I wish it. I am not afraid."
-
-Sonpolyev took the hair out of his wallet with trembling fingers. He
-lit a candle. Behind it hid the four-headed visitor. His grey body
-seemed to quake; and it vacillated in the wavering flame that fondled
-in its flickering embraces the white body of the submissive candle.
-
-Garmonov opened his eyes wide, and they steadfastly followed
-Sonpolyev's movements. Sonpolyev put one end of the hair to the flame.
-The hair curled slightly, grew red, gave a flare. It burned very
-slowly, with a quiet rhythmic crackle, which resembled the laugh of the
-nocturnal guest.
-
-The words of the strange guest were simple but terrible. At first
-Sonpolyev was barely conscious of them; he was so agitated and so
-absorbed by the burning of the magic hair that he could see no
-connexion with the simple, familiar words of the monster. Suddenly
-terror came upon him. He had understood. There was derision in those
-simple, terribly simple words.
-
-"Little soul, failing little soul, timid little soul." Sonpolyev,
-frightened, looked at Garmonov. The smooth-faced young man sat there
-strangely shrunken. His face was pale. Beads of perspiration showed on
-his forehead. A pitiful, forced smile twisted his lips. When he saw
-that Sonpolyev was looking at him he shrank even more, and whispered in
-a broken, hollow voice, as though against his will: "It is terrible. It
-is painful. It is unnecessary."
-
-Suddenly he hunched like a cat--a cunning, timid, evil cat--and sprang
-forward; thus deformed, he pushed out his over-red lips and blew upon
-the almost consumed hair. The flame flickered upward, trembled and
-died. A tiny cloud of blue smoke spread itself in the still air. The
-shrill laughter of the nocturnal guest pierced the ears.
-
-The hideous words resounded: "Miscarried! Miscarried!"
-
-Garmonov sat down. He smiled guiltily and cunningly. Sonpolyev looked
-at him with unseeing eyes.
-
-The clock began to strike in the next room. And to each stroke the
-uniter of souls responded with the hoarse outcry: "Miscarried!"
-
-And he laughed again his metallic laughter like a wound-up spring. He
-whirled round and grimaced; he seemed to lose himself in the lifeless
-yellow electric light.
-
-At the twelfth stroke, the last voice of the passing year, the hideous
-voice grew silent.
-
-"Miscarried!"
-
-And the horrible laughter of the vanishing monster died away. Garmonov,
-truly rejoicing over his deliverance from an unhappy fate, rose, and
-said: "A happy New Year!"
-
-
-
-
-INVOKER OF THE BEAST
-
-
-
-I
-
-
-It was quiet and tranquil, and neither joyous nor sad. There was an
-electric light in the room. The walls seemed impregnable. The window
-was overhung by heavy, dark-green draperies, even denser in tone than
-the green of the wall-paper. Both doors--the large one at the side, and
-the small one in the depth of the alcove that faced the window--were
-securely bolted. And there, behind them, reigned darkness and
-desolation in the broad corridor as well as in the spacious and cold
-reception-room, where melancholy plants yearned for their native soil.
-
-Gurov was lying on the divan. A book was in his hands. He often paused
-in his reading. He meditated and mused during these pauses, and it was
-always about the same thing. Always about _them_.
-
-They hovered near him. This he had noticed long ago. They were hiding.
-Their manner; was importunate. They rustled very quietly. For a long
-time they remained invisible to the eye. But one day, when Gurov awoke
-rather tired; sad and pale, and languidly turned on the electric light
-to dissipate the greyish gloom of an early winter morning--he espied
-one of them suddenly.
-
-Small, grey, shifty and nimble, _he_ flashed by, and in the twinkling
-of an eye disappeared.
-
-And thereafter, in the morning, or in the evening, Gurov grew used to
-seeing these small, shifty, house sprites run past him. This time he
-did not doubt that they would appear.
-
-To begin with he felt a slight headache, afterwards a sudden flash of
-heat, then of cold. Then, out of the corner, there emerged the long,
-slender Fever with her ugly, yellow face and her bony dry hands; she
-lay down at his side, and embraced him, and fell to kissing him and to
-laughing. And these rapid kisses of the affectionate and cunning Fever,
-and these slow approaches of the slight headache were agreeable.
-
-Feebleness spread itself over, the whole body, and lassitude also.
-This too was agreeable. It made him feel as though all the turmoil of
-life had receded into the distance. And people also became far away,
-unimportant, even unnecessary. He preferred to be with these quiet
-ones, these house sprites.
-
-Gurov had not been out for some days. He had locked himself in at home.
-He did not permit any one to come to him. He was alone. He thought
-about them. He awaited them.
-
-
-
-II
-
-
-This tedious waiting was cut short in a strange and unexpected manner.
-He heard the slamming of a distant door, and presently he became aware
-of the sound of unhurried footfalls which came from the direction of
-the reception-room, just behind the door of his room. Some one was
-approaching with a sure and nimble step.
-
-Gurov turned his head toward the door. A gust of cold entered the room.
-Before him stood a boy, most strange and wild in aspect. He was dressed
-in linen draperies, half-nude, barefoot, smooth-skinned, sun-tanned,
-with black tangled hair and dark, burning eyes. An amazingly perfect,
-handsome face; handsome to a degree which made it terrible to gaze
-upon its beauty. And it portrayed neither good nor evil.
-
-Gurov was not astonished. A masterful mood took hold of him. He could
-hear the house sprites scampering away to conceal themselves.
-
-The boy began to speak.
-
-"Aristomarchon! Perhaps you have forgotten your promise? Is this the
-way of valiant men? You left me when I was in mortal danger, you had
-made me a promise, which it is evident you did not intend to keep. I
-have sought for you such a long time! And here I have found you, living
-at your ease, and in luxury."
-
-Gurov fixed a perplexed gaze upon the half-nude, handsome lad; and
-turgid memories awoke in his soul. Something long since submerged arose
-in dim outlines and tormented his memory, which struggled to find a
-solution to the strange apparition; a solution, moreover, which seemed
-so near and so intimate.
-
-And what of the invincibility of his walls? Something had happened
-round him, some mysterious transformation had taken place. But Gurov,
-engulfed in his vain exertions to recall something very near to him and
-yet slipping away in the tenacious embrace of ancient memory, had not
-yet succeeded in grasping the nature of the change that he felt had
-taken place. He turned to the wonderful boy.
-
-"Tell me, gracious boy, simply and clearly, without unnecessary
-reproaches, what had I promised you, and when had I left you in a time
-of mortal danger? I swear to you, by all the holies, that my conscience
-could never have permitted me such a mean action as you reproach me
-with."
-
-The boy shook his head. In a sonorous voice, suggestive of the
-melodious outpouring of a stringed instrument, he said: "Aristomarchon,
-you always have been a man skilful with words, and not less skilful in
-matters requiring daring and prudence. If I have said that you left me
-in a moment of mortal danger I did not intend it as a reproach, and
-I do not understand why you speak of your conscience. Our projected
-affair was difficult and dangerous, but who can hear us now; before
-whom, with your craftily arranged words and your dissembling ignorance
-of what happened this morning at sunrise, can you deny that you had
-given me a promise?"
-
-The electric light grew dim. The ceiling seemed to darken and to recede
-into height. There was a smell of grass; its forgotten name, once, long
-ago, suggested something gentle and joyous. A breeze blew. Gurov raised
-himself, and asked: "What sort of an affair had we two contrived?
-Gracious boy, I deny nothing. Only I don't know what you are speaking
-of. I don't remember."
-
-Gurov felt as though the boy were looking at him, yet not directly. He
-felt also vaguely conscious of another presence no less unfamiliar and
-alien than that of this curious stranger, and it seemed to him that the
-unfamiliar form of this other presence coincided with his own form. An
-ancient soul, as it were, had taken possession of Gurov and enveloped
-him in the long-lost freshness of its vernal attributes.
-
-It was growing darker, and there was increasing purity and coolness
-in the air. There rose up in his soul the joy and ease of pristine
-existence. The stars glowed brilliantly in the dark sky. The boy spoke.
-
-"We had undertaken to kill the Beast. I tell you this under the
-multitudinous gaze of the all-seeing sky. Perhaps you were frightened.
-That's quite likely too! We had planned a great, terrible affair, that
-our names might be honoured by future generations."
-
-Soft, tranquil, and monotonous was the sound of a stream which purled
-its way in the nocturnal silence. The stream was invisible, but its
-nearness was soothing and refreshing. They stood under the broad
-shelter of a tree and continued the conversation begun at some other
-time.
-
-Gurov asked: "Why do you say that I had left you in a moment of mortal
-danger? Who am I that I should be frightened and run away?"
-
-The boy burst into a laugh. His mirth had the sound of music, and as
-it passed into speech his voice still quavered with sweet, melodious
-laughter.
-
-"Aristomarchon, how cleverly you feign to have forgotten all! I don't
-understand what makes you do this, and with such a mastery that you
-bring reproaches against yourself which I have not even dreamt of. You
-had left me in a moment of mortal danger because it had to be, and you
-could not have helped me otherwise than by forsaking me at the moment.
-You will surely not remain stubborn in your denial when I remind you
-of the words of the Oracle?"
-
-Gurov suddenly remembered. A brilliant light, as it were, unexpectedly
-illumined the dark domain of things forgotten. And in wild ecstasy, in
-a loud and joyous voice, he exclaimed: "_One_ shall kill the Beast!"
-
-The boy laughed. And Aristomarchon asked: "Did you kill the Beast,
-Timarides?"
-
-"With what?" exclaimed Timarides. "However strong my hands are, I
-was not one who could kill the Beast with a blow of the fist. We,
-Aristomarchon, had not been prudent and we were unarmed. We were
-playing in the sand by the stream. The Beast came upon us suddenly and
-he laid his paw upon me. It was for me to offer up my life as a sweet
-sacrifice to glory and to a noble cause; it was for you to execute our
-plan. And while he was tormenting my defenceless and unresisting body,
-you, fleet-footed Aristomarchon, could have run for your lance, and
-killed the now blood-intoxicated Beast. But the Beast did not accept
-my sacrifice. I lay under him, quiescent and still, gazing into his
-bloodshot eyes. He held his heavy paw on my shoulder, his breath came
-in hot, uneven gasps, and he sent out low snarls. Afterwards, he put
-out his huge, hot tongue and licked my face; then he left me."
-
-"Where is he now?" asked Aristomarchon.
-
-In a voice strangely tranquil and strangely sonorous in the quiet
-arrested stillness of the humid air, Timarides replied: "He followed
-me. I do not know how long I have been wandering until I found you.
-He followed me. I led him on by the smell of my blood. I do not know
-why he has not touched me until now. But here I have enticed him to
-you. You had better get the weapon which you had hidden so carefully
-and kill the Beast, while I in my turn will leave you in the moment of
-mortal danger, eye to eye with the enraged creature. Here's luck to
-you, Aristomarchon!"
-
-As soon as he uttered these words Timarides, started, to run. For a
-short time his cloak was visible in the darkness, a glimmering patch of
-white. And then he disappeared. In the same instant the air resounded
-with the savage bellowing of the Beast, and his ponderous tread became
-audible. Pushing aside the growth of shrubs there emerged from the
-darkness the huge, monstrous head of the Beast, flashing a livid
-fire out of its two enormous, flaming eyes. And in the dark silence
-of nocturnal trees the towering ferocious shape of the Beast loomed
-ominously as it approached Aristomarchon.
-
-Terror filled Aristomarchon's heart.
-
-"Where is the lance?" was the thought that quickly flashed across his
-brain.
-
-And in that instant, feeling the fresh night breeze on his face,
-Aristomarchon realized that he was running from the Beast. His
-ponderous springs and his spasmodic roars resounded closer and closer
-behind him. And as the Beast came up with him a loud cry rent the
-silence of the night. The cry came from Aristomarchon, who, recalling
-then some ancient and terrible words, pronounced loudly the incantation
-of the walls.
-
-And thus enchanted the walls erected themselves around him....
-
-
-
-III
-
-
-Enchanted, the walls stood firm and were lit up. A dreary light was
-cast upon them by the dismal electric lamp. Gurov was in his usual
-surroundings.
-
-Again came the nimble Fever and kissed him with her yellow, dry lips,
-and caressed him with her dry, bony hands, which exhaled heat and
-cold. The same thin volume, with its white pages, lay on the little
-table beside the divan where, as before, Gurov rested in the caressing
-embrace of the affectionate Fever, who showered upon him her rapid
-kisses. And again there stood beside him, laughing and rustling, the
-tiny house sprites.
-
-Gurov said loudly and indifferently: "The incantation of the walls!"
-
-Then he paused. But in what consisted this incantation? He had
-forgotten the words. Or had they never existed at all?
-
-The little, shifty, grey demons danced round the slender volume with
-its ghostly white pages, and kept on repeating with their rustling
-voices: "Our walls are strong. We are in the walls. We have nothing to
-fear from the outside."
-
-In their midst stood one of them, a tiny object like themselves, yet
-different from the rest. He was all black. His mantle fell from his
-shoulders in folds of smoke and flame. His eyes flashed like lightning.
-Terror and joy alternated quickly.
-
-Gurov spoke: "Who are you?"
-
-The black demon answered: "I am the Invoker of the Beast. In one of
-your long-past existences you left the lacerated body of Timarides on
-the banks of a forest stream. The Beast had satiated himself on the
-beautiful body of your friend; he had gorged himself on the flesh that
-might have partaken of the fullness of earthly happiness; a creature
-of superhuman perfection had perished in order to gratify for a moment
-the appetite of the ravenous and ever insatiable Beast. And the blood,
-the wonderful blood, the sacred wine of happiness and joy, the wine
-of superhuman bliss--what had been the fate of this wonderful blood?
-Alas! The thirsty, ceaselessly thirsty Beast drank of it to gratify
-his momentary desire, and is thirsty anew. You had left the body of
-Timarides, mutilated by the Beast, on the banks of the forest stream;
-you forgot the promise you had given your valorous friend, and even the
-words of the ancient Oracle had not banished fear from your heart. And
-do you think that you are safe, that the Beast will not find you?"
-
-There was austerity in the sound of his voice. While he was speaking
-the house sprites gradually ceased their dance; the little, grey house
-sprites stopped to listen to the Invoker of the Beast.
-
-Gurov then said in reply: "I am not worried about the Beast! I have
-pronounced eternal enchantment upon my walls and the Beast shall never
-penetrate hither, into my enclosure."
-
-The little grey ones were overjoyed, their voices tinkled with
-merriment and laughter; having gathered round, hand in hand, in a
-circle, they were on the point of bursting forth once more into dance,
-when the voice of the Invoker of the Beast rang out again, sharp and
-austere.
-
-"But I am here. I am here because I have found you. I am here because
-the incantation of the walls is dead. I am here because Timarides is
-waiting and importuning me. Do you hear the gentle laugh of the brave,
-trusting lad? Do you hear the terrible bellowing of the Beast?"
-
-From behind the wall, approaching nearer, could be heard the fearsome
-bellowing of the Beast.
-
-"The Beast is bellowing behind the wall, the invincible wall!"
-exclaimed Gurov in terror. "My walls are enchanted for ever, and
-impregnable against foes."
-
-Then spoke the black demon, and there was an imperious ring in his
-voice: "I tell you, man, the incantation of the walls is dead. And if
-you think you can save yourself by pronouncing the incantation of the
-walls, why then don't you utter the words?"
-
-A cold shiver passed down Gurov's spine. The incantation! He had
-forgotten the words of the ancient spell. And what mattered it? Was not
-the ancient incantation dead--dead?
-
-Everything about him confirmed with irrefutable evidence the death
-of the ancient incantation of the walls--because the walls, and the
-light and the shade which fell upon them, seemed dead and wavering.
-The Invoker of the Beast spoke terrible words. And Gurov's mind was
-now in a whirl, now in pain, and the affectionate Fever did not cease
-to torment him with her passionate kisses. Terrible words resounded,
-almost deadening his senses--while the Invoker of the Beast grew larger
-and larger, and hot fumes breathed from him, and grim terror. His eyes
-ejected fire, and when at last he grew so tall as to screen off the
-electric light, his black cloak suddenly fell from his shoulders. And
-Gurov recognized him--it was the boy Timarides.
-
-"Will you kill the Beast?" asked Timarides in a sonorous voice. "I have
-enticed him, I have led him to you, I have destroyed the incantation of
-the walls. The cowardly gift of inimical gods, the incantation of the
-walls, had turned into naught my sacrifice, and had saved you from your
-action. But the ancient incantation of the walls is dead--be quick,
-then, to take hold of your sword and kill the Beast. I have been a
-boy--I have become the Invoker of the Beast. He had drunk of my blood,
-and now he thirsts anew; he had partaken also of my flesh, and he is
-hungry again, the insatiable, pitiless Beast. I have called him to you,
-and you, in fulfilment of your promise, may kill the Beast. Or die
-yourself."
-
-He vanished. A terrible bellowing shook the walls. A gust of icy
-moisture blew across to Gurov.
-
-The wall facing the spot where Gurov lay opened, and the huge,
-ferocious and monstrous Beast entered. Bellowing savagely, he
-approached Gurov and laid his ponderous paw upon his breast. Straight
-into his heart plunged the pitiless claws. A terrible pain shot through
-his whole body. Shifting his blood-red eyes the Beast inclined his head
-toward Gurov and, crumbling the bones of his victim with his teeth,
-began to devour his yet-palpitating heart.
-
-
-
-
-THE WHITE DOG
-
-
-Everything grew irksome for Alexandra Ivanovna in the workshop of
-this out-of-the-way town--the patterns, the clatter of machines, the
-complaints of the customers; it was the shop in which she had served as
-apprentice and now for several years as cutter. Everything irritated
-Alexandra Ivanovna; she quarrelled with every one and abused the
-innocent apprentice Among others to suffer from her outbursts of temper
-was Tanechka, the youngest of the seamstresses, who only lately had
-been an apprentice. In the beginning Tanechka submitted to her abuse
-in silence. In the end she revolted, and, addressing herself to her
-assailant, said, quite calmly and affably, so that every one laughed:
-
-"Alexandra Ivanovna, you are a downright dog!"
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna felt humiliated.
-
-"You are a dog yourself!" she exclaimed.
-
-Tanechka sat there sewing. She paused now and then from her work and
-said in a calm, deliberate manner:
-
-"You always whine.... Certainly, you are a dog.... You have a dog's
-snout.... And a dog's ears.... And a wagging tail.... The mistress
-will soon drive you out of doors, because you are the most detestable
-of dogs, a poodle."
-
-Tanechka was a young, plump, rosy-cheeked girl with an innocent,
-good-natured face, which revealed, however, a trace of cunning. She sat
-there so demure, barefooted, still dressed in her apprentice clothes;
-her eyes were clear, and her brows were highly arched on her fine
-curved white forehead, framed by straight, dark chestnut hair, which
-in the distance looked black. Tanechka's voice was clear, even, sweet,
-insinuating, and if one could have heard its sound only, and not given
-heed to the words, it would have given the impression that she was
-paying Alexandra Ivanovna compliments.
-
-The other seamstresses laughed, the apprentices chuckled, they covered
-their faces with their black aprons and cast side glances at Alexandra
-Ivanovna. As for Alexandra Ivanovna, she was livid with rage.
-
-"Wretch!" she exclaimed. "I will pull your ears for you! I won't leave
-a hair on your head."
-
-Tanechka replied in a gentle voice:
-
-"The paws are a trifle short.... The poodle bites as well as barks....
-It may be necessary to buy a muzzle."
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna made a movement toward Tanechka. But before Tanechka
-had time to lay aside her work and get up, the mistress of the
-establishment, a large, serious-looking woman, entered, rustling her
-dress.
-
-She said sternly: "Alexandra Ivanovna, what do you mean by making such
-a fuss?"
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna, much agitated, replied: "Irina Petrovna, I wish you
-would forbid her to call me a dog!"
-
-Tanechka in her turn complained: "She is always snarling at something
-or other. Always quibbling at the smallest trifles."
-
-But the mistress looked at her sternly and said: "Tanechka, I can see
-through you. Are you sure you didn't begin? You needn't think that
-because you are a seamstress now you are an important person. If it
-weren't for your mother's sake----"
-
-Tanechka grew red, but preserved her innocent and affable manner. She
-addressed her mistress in a subdued voice: "Forgive me, Irina Petrovna,
-I will not do it again. But it wasn't altogether my fault...."
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna returned home almost ill with rage. Tanechka had
-guessed her weakness.
-
-"A dog! Well, then I am a dog," thought Alexandra Ivanovna, "but it is
-none of her affair! Have I looked to see whether she is a serpent or a
-fox? It is easy to find one out, but why make a fuss about it? Is a dog
-worse than any other animal?"
-
-The clear summer night languished and sighed, a soft breeze from the
-adjacent fields occasionally blew down the peaceful streets. The moon
-rose clear and full, that very same moon which rose long ago at another
-place, over the broad desolate steppe, the home of the wild, of those
-who ran free, and whined in their ancient earthly travail. The very
-same, as then and in that region.
-
-And now, as then, glowed eyes sick with longing; and her heart, still
-wild, not forgetting in town the great spaciousness of the stepped
-felt oppressed; her throat was troubled with a tormenting desire to
-howl like a wild thing.
-
-She was about to undress, but what was the use? She could not sleep,
-anyway.
-
-She went into the passage. The warm planks of the floor bent and
-creaked under her, and small shavings and sand which covered them
-tickled her feet not unpleasantly.
-
-She went out on the doorstep. There sat the _babushka_ Stepanida, a
-black figure in her black shawl, gaunt and shrivelled. She sat with her
-head bent, and it seemed as though she were warming herself in the rays
-of the cold moon.
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna sat down beside her. She kept looking at the old
-woman sideways. The large curved nose of her companion seemed to her
-like the beak of an old bird.
-
-"A crow?" Alexandra Ivanovna asked herself.
-
-She smiled, forgetting for the moment her longing and her fears. Shrewd
-as the eyes of a dog her own lighted up with the joy of her discovery.
-In the pale green light of the moon the wrinkles of her faded face
-became altogether invisible, and she seemed once more young and merry
-and light-hearted, just as she was ten years ago, when the moon had not
-yet called upon her to bark and bay of nights before the windows of the
-dark bathhouse.
-
-She moved closer to the old woman, and said affably: "_Babushka_
-Stepanida, there is something I have been wanting to ask you."
-
-The old woman turned to her, her dark face furrowed with wrinkles, and
-asked in a sharp, oldish voice that sounded like a caw:
-
-"Well, my dear? Go ahead and ask."
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna gave a repressed laugh; her thin shoulders suddenly
-trembled from a chill that ran down her spine.
-
-She spoke very quietly: "_Babushka_ Stepanida, it seems to me--tell me
-is it true?--I don't know exactly how to put it--but you, _babushka_,
-please don't take offence--it is not from malice that I----"
-
-"Go on, my dear, never fear, say it," said the old woman.
-
-She looked at Alexandra Ivanovna with glowing, penetrating eyes.
-
-"It seems to me, _babushka_--please, now, don't take offence--as
-though you, _babushka_ were a crow."
-
-The old woman turned away. She was silent and merely nodded her head.
-She had the appearance of one who had recalled something. Her head,
-with its sharply outlined nose, bowed and nodded, and at last it seemed
-to Alexandra Ivanovna that the old woman was dozing. Dozing, and
-mumbling something under her nose. Nodding her head and mumbling some
-old forgotten words--old; magic words.
-
-An intense quiet reigned out of doors. It was neither light nor dark,
-and everything seemed bewitched with the inarticulate mumbling of old
-forgotten words. Everything languished and seemed lost in apathy.
-Again a longing oppressed her heart. And it was neither a dream nor
-an illusion. A thousand perfumes, imperceptible by day, became subtly
-distinguishable, and they recalled something ancient and primitive,
-something forgotten in the long ages.
-
-In a barely audible voice the old woman mumbled: "Yes, I am a crow.
-Only I have no wings. But there are times when I caw, and I caw, and
-tell of woe. And I am given to forebodings, my dear; each time I have
-one I simply must caw. People are not particularly anxious to hear me.
-And when I see a doomed person I have such a strong desire to caw."
-
-The old woman suddenly made a sweeping movement with her arms, and in a
-shrill voice cried out twice: "Kar-r, Kar-r!"
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna shuddered, and asked: "_Babushka_, at whom are you
-cawing?"
-
-The old woman answered: "At you, my dear--at you."
-
-It had become too painful to sit with the old woman any longer.
-Alexandra Ivanovna went to her own room. She sat down before the open
-window and listened to two voices at the gate.
-
-"It simply won't stop whining!" said a low and harsh voice.
-
-"And uncle, did you see----?" asked an agreeable young tenor.
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna recognized in this last the voice of the
-curly-headed, somewhat red, freckled-faced lad who lived in the same
-court.
-
-A brief and depressing silence followed. Then she heard a hoarse and
-harsh voice say suddenly: "Yes, I saw. It's very large--and white.
-Lies near the bathhouse, and bays at the moon."
-
-The voice gave her an image of the man, of his shovel-shaped beard, his
-low, furrowed forehead, his small, piggish eyes, and his spread-out fat
-legs.
-
-"And why does it bay, uncle?" asked the agreeable voice.
-
-And again the hoarse voice did not reply at once.
-
-"Certainly to no good purpose--and where it came from is more than I
-can say."
-
-"Do you think, uncle, it may be a were-wolf?" asked the agreeable voice.
-
-"I should not advise you to investigate," replied the hoarse voice.
-
-She could not quite understand what these words implied, nor did she
-wish to think of them. She did not feel inclined to listen further.
-What was the sound and significance of human words to _her_?
-
-The moon looked straight into her face, and persistently called her and
-tormented; her. Her heart was restless with a dark longing, and she
-could not sit still.
-
-Alexandra Ivanovna quickly undressed herself. Naked, all white,
-she silently stole through the passage; she then opened the outer
-door--there was no one on the step or outside--and ran quickly across
-the court and the vegetable garden, and reached the bathhouse. The
-sharp contact of her body with the cold air and her feet with the cold
-ground gave her pleasure. But soon her body was warm.
-
-She lay down in the grass, on her stomach. Then, raising herself on her
-elbows, she lifted her face toward the pale, brooding moon, and gave a
-long-drawn-out whine.
-
-"Listen, uncle, it is whining," said the curly-haired lad at the gate.
-
-The agreeable tenor voice trembled perceptibly.
-
-"Whining again, the accursed one," said the hoarse, harsh voice slowly.
-
-They rose from the bench. The gate latch clicked.
-
-They went silently across the courtyard and the vegetable garden, the
-two of them. The older man, black-bearded and powerful, walked in
-front, a gun in his hand. The curly-headed lad followed tremblingly,
-and looked constantly behind.
-
-Near the bathhouse, in the grass, lay a huge white dog, whining
-piteously. Its head, black on the crown, was raised to the moon, which
-pursued its way in the cold sky; its hind legs were strangely thrown
-backward, while the front ones, firm and straight, pressed hard against
-the ground.
-
-In the pale green and unreal light of the moon it seemed enormous, so
-huge a dog was surely never seen on earth. It was thick and fat. The
-black spot, which began at the head and stretched in uneven strands
-down the entire spine, seemed like a woman's loosened hair. No tail was
-visible, presumably it was turned under. The fur on the body was so
-short that in the distance the dog seemed wholly naked, and its hide
-shone dimly in the moonlight, so that altogether it resembled the body
-of a nude woman, who lay in the grass and bayed at the moon.
-
-The man with the black beard took aim. The curly-haired lad crossed
-himself and mumbled something.
-
-The discharge of a rifle sounded in the night air. The dog gave a
-groan, jumped up on its hind legs, became a naked woman, who, her body
-covered with blood, started to run, all the while groaning, weeping
-and raising cries of distress.
-
-The black-bearded one and the curly-haired one threw themselves in the
-grass, and began to moan in wild terror.
-
-
-
-
-LIGHT AND SHADOWS
-
-
-
-I
-
-
-Volodya Lovlev, a pale meagre lad of twelve, had returned home
-from school and was waiting for his dinner. He was standing in the
-drawing-room at the piano, and was turning over the pages of the latest
-number of the _Niva_ which had come only that morning.
-
-A leaflet of thin grey paper fell out; it was an announcement issued by
-an illustrated journal. It enumerated the future contributors--the list
-contained about fifty well-known literary names; it praised at some
-length the journal as a whole and in detail its many-sidedness, and it
-presented several specimen illustrations.
-
-Volodya began to turn the pages of the leaflet in an absent way and to
-look at the miniature pictures. His large eyes, looked wearily out of
-his pale face.
-
-One page suddenly caught his attention, and his wide eyes opened
-slightly wider. Running from top to bottom were six drawings of hands
-throwing shadows in dark silhouette upon a white wall--the shadows
-representing the head of a girl with an amusing three-cornered hat,
-the head of a donkey, of a bull, the sitting figure of a squirrel, and
-other similar things.
-
-Volodya smiled and looked very intently at them. He was quite familiar
-with this amusement. He could hold the fingers of one hand so as to
-cast a silhouette of a hare's head on the wall. But this was quite
-another matter, something that Volodya had not seen before; its
-interest for him was that here were quite complex figures cast by using
-both hands.
-
-Volodya suddenly wished to reproduce these shadows. Of course there was
-no use trying now, in the uncertain light of a late autumn afternoon.
-
-He had better try it later in his own room. In any case, it was of no
-use to any one.
-
-Just then he heard the approaching footsteps and voice of his mother.
-He flushed for some reason or other and quickly put the leaflet into
-his pocket, and left the piano to meet her. She looked at him with
-a caressing smile as she came toward him; her pale, handsome face
-greatly resembled his, and she had the same large eyes.
-
-She asked him, as she always did: "Well, what's the news to-day?"
-
-"There's nothing new," said Volodya dejectedly.
-
-But it occurred to him at once that he was being ungracious, and he
-felt ashamed. He smiled genially and began to recall what had happened
-at school; but this only made him feel sadder.
-
-"Pruzhinin has again distinguished himself," and he began to tell about
-the teacher who was disliked by his pupils for his rudeness. "Lentyev
-was reciting his lesson and made a mess of it, and so Pruzhinin said to
-him: 'Well, that's enough; sit down, blockhead!'"
-
-"Nothing escapes you," said his mother, smiling.
-
-"He's always rude."
-
-After a brief silence Volodya sighed, then complained: "They are always
-in a hurry."
-
-"Who?" asked his mother.
-
-"I mean the masters. Every one is anxious to finish his course quickly
-and to make a good show at the examination. And if you ask a question
-you are immediately suspected of trying to take up the time until the
-bell rings, and to avoid having questions put to you."
-
-"Do you talk much after the lessons?"
-
-"Well, yes--but there's the same hurry after the lessons to get home,
-or to study the lessons in the girls' class-rooms. And everything is
-done in a hurry--you are no sooner done with the geometry than you must
-study your Greek."
-
-"That's to keep you from yawning."
-
-"Yawning! I'm more like a squirrel going round on its cage-wheel. It's
-exasperating."
-
-His mother smiled lightly.
-
-
-
-II
-
-
-After dinner Volodya went to his room to prepare his lessons. His
-mother saw that the room was comfortable, that nothing was lacking in
-it. No one ever disturbed Volodya here; even his mother refrained from
-coming in at this time. She would come in later, to help Volodya if he
-needed help.
-
-Volodya was an industrious and even a clever pupil. But he found it
-difficult to-day to apply himself. No matter what lesson he tried he
-could not help remembering something unpleasant; he would recall the
-teacher of each particular subject, his sarcastic or rude remark, which
-propped in passings had entered in the impressionable boy's mind.
-
-Several of his recent lessons happened to turn out poorly; the teachers
-appeared dissatisfied, and they grumbled incessantly. Their mood
-communicated itself to Volodya, and his books and copy-books inspired
-him at this moment with a deep confusion and unrest.
-
-He passed hastily from the first lesson to the second and to the third;
-this bother with trifles for the sake of not appearing "a blockhead"
-the next day seemed to him both silly and unnecessary. The thought
-perturbed him. He began to yawn from tedium and from sadness, and to
-dangle his feet impatiently; he simply could not sit still.
-
-But he knew too well that the lessons must be learnt, that this was
-very important, that his future depended upon it; and so he went on
-conscientiously with the tedious business.
-
-Volodya made a blot on the copy-book, and he put his pen aside.
-He looked at the blot, and decided that it could be erased with a
-penknife. He was glad of the distraction.
-
-Not finding the penknife on the table he put his hand into his pocket
-and rummaged there. Among all such rubbish as is to be found in a boy's
-pocket he felt his penknife and pulled it out, together with some sort
-of leaflet.
-
-He did not see at first what the paper was he held in his hands, but on
-looking at it he suddenly remembered that this was the little book with
-the shadows, and quite as suddenly he grew cheerful and animated.
-
-And there it was--that same little leaflet which he had forgotten when
-he began his lessons.
-
-He jumped briskly off his chair, moved the lamp nearer the wall,
-looked cautiously at the closed door--as though afraid of some one
-entering--and, turning the leaflet to the familiar page, began to study
-the first drawing with great intentness, and to arrange his fingers
-according to directions. The first shadow came out as a confused shape,
-not at all what it should have been. Volodya moved the lamp, now here,
-now there; he bent and he stretched his fingers; and he was at last
-rewarded by seeing a woman's head with a three-cornered hat.
-
-Volodya grew cheerful. He inclined his hand somewhat and moved his
-fingers very slightly--the head bowed, smiled, and grimaced amusingly.
-
-Volodya proceeded with the second figure, then with the others. All
-were hard at the beginning, but he managed them somehow in the end.
-
-He spent a half-hour in this occupation, and forgot all about his
-lessons, the school, and the whole world.
-
-Suddenly he heard familiar footsteps behind the door. Volodya flushed;
-he stuffed the leaflet into his pocket and quickly moved the lamp to
-its place, almost overturning it; then he sat down and bent over his
-copy-book. His mother entered.
-
-"Let's go and have tea, Volodenka," she said to him.
-
-Volodya pretended that he was looking at the blot and that he was about
-to open his penknife. His mother gently put her hands on his head.
-Volodya threw the knife aside and pressed his flushing face against
-his mother. Evidently she noticed nothing, and this made Volodya glad.
-Still, he felt ashamed, as though he had actually been caught at some
-stupid prank.
-
-
-
-III
-
-
-The samovar stood upon the round table in the dining-room and quietly
-hummed its garrulous song. The hanging-lamp diffused its light upon the
-white tablecloth and upon the dark walls, filling the room with dream
-and mystery.
-
-Volodya's mother seemed wistful as she leant her handsome, pale face
-forward over the table. Volodya was leaning on his arm, and was
-stirring the small spoon in his glass. It was good to watch the tea's
-sweet eddies and to see the little bubbles rise to the surface. The
-little silver spoon quietly tinkled.
-
-The boiling water, sputtering, ran from the tap into his mother's cup.
-
-A light shadow was cast by the little spoon upon the saucer and the
-tablecloth, and it lost itself in the glass of tea. Volodya watched
-it intently: the shadows thrown by the tiny little eddies and bubbles
-recalled something to him--precisely what, Volodya could not say. He
-held up and he turned the little spoon, and he ran his fingers over
-it--but nothing came of it.
-
-"All the same," he stubbornly insisted to himself, "it's not with
-fingers alone that shadows can be made. They are possible with
-anything. But the thing is to adjust oneself to one's material."
-
-And Volodya began to examine the shadows of the samovar, of the chairs,
-of his mother's head, as well as the shadows cast on the table by the
-dishes; and he tried to catch a resemblance in all these shadows to
-something. His mother was speaking--Volodya was not listening properly.
-
-"How is Lesha Sitnikov getting on at school?" asked his mother.
-
-Volodya was studying then the shadow of the milk-jug. He gave a start,
-and answered hastily: "It's a tom-cat."
-
-"Volodya, you must be asleep," said his astonished mother. "What
-tom-cat?" Volodya grew red.
-
-"I don't know what's got into my head," he said. "I'm sorry, mother, I
-wasn't listening."
-
-
-
-IV
-
-
-The next evening, before tea, Volodya again thought of his shadows, and
-gave himself up to them. One shadow insisted on turning out badly, no
-matter how hard he stretched and bent his fingers.
-
-Volodya was so absorbed in this that he did not hear his mother coming.
-At the creaking of the door he quickly put the leaflet into his pocket
-and turned away, confused, from the wall. But his mother was already
-looking at his hands, and a tremor of fear lit up her eyes.
-
-"What are you doing, Volodya? What have you hidden?"
-
-"Nothing, really," muttered Volodya, flushing and changing colour
-rapidly.
-
-It flashed upon her that Volodya wished to smoke, and that he had
-hidden a cigarette.
-
-"Volodya, show me at once what you are hiding," she said in a
-frightened voice.
-
-"Really, mamma...."
-
-She caught Volodya by the elbow.
-
-"Must I feel in your pocket myself?"
-
-Volodya grew even redder, and pulled the little book out of his pocket.
-
-"Here it is," he said, giving it to his mother.
-
-"Well, what is it?"
-
-"Well, here," he explained, "on this side are the drawings, and here,
-as you see, are the shadows. I was trying to throw them on the wall,
-and I haven't succeeded very well."
-
-"What is there to hide here!" said his mother, becoming more tranquil.
-"Now show me what they look like."
-
-Volodya, taken aback, began obediently to show his mother the shadows.
-
-"Now this is the profile of a bald-headed man. And this is the head of
-a hare."
-
-"And so this is how you are studying your lessons!"
-
-"Only for a little, mother."
-
-"For a little! Why are you blushing then, my dear? Well, I shan't say
-anything more. I think I can depend on you to do what is right."
-
-His mother moved her hand over his short, bristling hair, whereupon
-Volodya laughed and hid his flushing face under his mother's elbow.
-
-Then his mother left him, and for a long time Volodya felt awkward and
-ashamed. His mother had caught him doing something that he himself
-would have ridiculed had he caught any of his companions doing it.
-
-Volodya knew that he was a clever lad, and he deemed himself serious;
-and this was, after all, a game fit only for little girls when they got
-together.
-
-He pushed the little book with the shadows deeper into the
-table-drawer, and did not take it out again for more than a week;
-indeed, he thought little about the shadows that week. Only in the
-evening sometimes, in changing from one lesson to another, he would
-smile at the recollection of the girl in the hat--there were, indeed,
-moments when he put his hand in the drawer to get the little book, but
-he always quickly remembered the shame he experienced when his mother
-first found him out, and this made him resume his work at once.
-
-
-
-V
-
-
-Volodya and his mother lived in their own house on the outskirts of
-the district town. Eugenia Stepanovna had been a widow for nine years.
-She was now thirty-five years old; she seemed young and handsome, and
-Volodya loved her tenderly. She lived entirely for her son, studied
-ancient languages for his sake, and shared all his school cares. A
-quiet and gentle woman, she looked somewhat apprehensively upon the
-world out of her large, benign eyes.
-
-They had one domestic. Praskovya was a widow; she was gruff, sturdy,
-and strong; she was forty-five years old, but in her stern taciturnity
-she was more like a woman a hundred years old.
-
-Whenever Volodya looked at her morose, stony face he wondered what she
-was thinking of in her kitchen during the long winter evenings, as
-the cold knitting-needles, clinking, shifted in her bony fingers with
-a regular movement, and her dry lips stirred yet uttered no sound.
-Was she recalling her drunken husband, or her children who had died
-earlier? or was she musing upon her lonely and homeless old age?
-
-Her stony face seemed hopelessly gloomy and austere.
-
-
-
-VI
-
-
-It was a long autumn evening. On the other side of the wall were the
-wind and the rain.
-
-How wearily, how indifferently the lamp flared! Volodya, propping
-himself up on his elbow, leant his whole body over to the left and
-looked at the white wall and at the white window-blinds.
-
-The pale flowers were almost invisible on the wall-paper ... the wall
-was a melancholy white....
-
-The shaded lamp subdued the bright glare of light. The entire upper
-portion of the room was twilit.
-
-Volodya lifted his right arm. A long, faintly outlined, confused shadow
-crept across the shaded wall.
-
-It was the shadow of an angel, flying heaven-ward from a depraved and
-afflicted world; it was a translucent shadow, spreading its broad wings
-and reposing its bowed head sadly upon its breast.
-
-Would not the angel, with his gentle hands, carry away with him
-something significant yet despised of this world?
-
-Volodya sighed. He let his arm fall languidly. He let his depressed
-eyes rest on his books.
-
-It was a long autumn evening.... The wall was a melancholy white.... On
-the other side of the wall something wept and rustled.
-
-
-
-VII
-
-
-Volodya's mother found him a second time with the shadows.
-
-This time the bull's head was a success, and he was delighted. He made
-the bull stretch out his neck, and the bull lowed.
-
-His mother was less pleased.
-
-"So this is how you are taking up your time," she said reproachfully.
-
-"For a little, mamma," whispered Volodya, embarrassed.
-
-"You might at least save this for a more suitable time," his mother
-went on. "And you are no longer a little boy. Aren't you ashamed to
-waste your time on such nonsense!"
-
-"Mamma, dear, I shan't do it again."
-
-But Volodya found it difficult to keep his promise. He enjoyed making
-shadows, and the desire to make them came to him often, especially
-during an uninteresting lesson.
-
-This amusement occupied much of his time on some evenings and
-interfered with his lessons. He had to make up for it afterwards and to
-lose some sleep. How could he give up his amusement?
-
-Volodya succeeded in evolving several new figures, and not by means of
-the fingers alone. These figures lived on the wall, and it even seemed
-to Volodya at times that they talked to him and entertained him.
-
-But Volodya was a dreamer even before then.
-
-
-
-VIII
-
-
-It was night. Volodya's room was dark. He had gone to bed but he could
-not sleep. He was lying on his back and was looking at the ceiling.
-
-Some one was walking in the street with a lantern. His shadow traversed
-the ceiling, among the red spots of light thrown by the lantern. It
-was evident that the lantern swung in the hands of the passer-by--the
-shadow wavered and seemed agitated.
-
-Volodya felt a sadness and a fear. He quickly pulled the bed-cover over
-his head, and, trembling in his haste, he turned on his right side and
-began to encourage himself.
-
-He then felt soothed and warm. His mind began to weave sweet, na�ve
-fancies, the fancies which visited him usually before sleep.
-
-Often when he went to bed he felt suddenly afraid; he felt as though he
-were becoming smaller and weaker. He would then hide among the pillows,
-and gradually became soothed and loving, and wished his mother were
-there that he might put his arms round her neck and kiss her.
-
-
-
-IX
-
-
-The grey twilight was growing denser. The shadows merged. Volodya felt
-depressed. But here was the lamp. The light poured itself on the green
-tablecloth, the vague, beloved shadows appeared on the wall.
-
-Volodya suddenly felt glad and animated, and made haste to get the
-little grey book. The bull began to low ... the young lady to laugh
-uproariously.... What evil, round eyes the bald-headed gentleman was
-making!
-
-Then he tried his own. It was the steppe. Here was a wayfarer with his
-knapsack. Volodya seemed to hear the endless, monotonous song of the
-road....
-
-Volodya felt both joy and sadness.
-
-
-
-X
-
-
-"Volodya, it's the third time I've seen you with the little book. Do
-you spend whole evenings admiring your fingers?"
-
-Volodya stood uneasily at the table, like a truant caught, and he
-turned the pages of the leaflet with hot fingers.
-
-"Give it to me," said his mother.
-
-Volodya, confused, put out his hand with the leaflet. His mother
-took it, said nothing, and went out; while Volodya sat down over his
-copy-books.
-
-He felt ashamed that, by his stubbornness, he had offended his mother,
-and he felt vexed that she had taken the booklet from him; he was even
-more vexed at himself for letting the matter go so far. He felt his
-awkward position, and his vexation with his mother troubled him: he had
-scruples in being angry with her, yet he couldn't help it. And because
-he had scruples he felt even more angry.
-
-"Well, let her take it," he said to himself at last, "I can get along
-without it."
-
-And, in truth, Volodya had the figures in his memory, and used the
-little book merely for verification.
-
-
-
-XI
-
-
-In the meantime his mother opened the little book with the shadows--and
-became lost in thought.
-
-"I wonder what's fascinating about them?" she mused. "It is strange
-that such a good, clever boy should suddenly, become wrapped up in such
-nonsense! No, that means it's not mere nonsense. What, then, is it?"
-she pursued her questioning of herself.
-
-A strange fear took possession of her; she felt malignant toward these
-black pictures, yet quailed before them.
-
-She rose and lighted a candle. She approached the wall, the little grey
-book still in her hand, and paused in her wavering agitation.
-
-"Yes, it is important to get to the bottom of this," she resolved, and
-began to reproduce the shadows from the first to the last.
-
-She persisted most patiently with her hands and her fingers, until
-she succeeded in reproducing the figure she desired. A confused,
-apprehensive feelings stirred within her. She tried to conquer it. But
-her fear fascinated her as it grew stronger. Her hands trembled, while
-her thought, cowed by life's twilight, ran on to meet the approaching
-sorrows.
-
-She suddenly heard her son's footsteps. She trembled, hid the little
-book, and blew out the candle.
-
-Volodya entered and stopped in the doorway, confused by the stern look
-of his mother as she stood by the wall in a strange, uneasy attitude.
-
-"What do you want?" asked his mother in a harsh, uneven voice.
-
-A vague conjecture ran across Volodya's mind, but he quickly repelled
-it and began to talk to his mother.
-
-
-
-XII
-
-
-Then Volodya left her.
-
-She paced up and down the room a number of times. She noticed that her
-shadow followed her on the floor, and, strange to say, it was the first
-time in her life that her own shadow had made her uneasy. The thought
-that there was a shadow assailed her mind unceasingly--and Eugenia
-Stepanovna, for some reason, was afraid of this thought, and even tried
-not to look at her shadow.
-
-But the shadow crept after her and taunted her. Eugenia Stepanovna
-tried to think of something else--but in vain.
-
-She suddenly paused, pale and agitated.
-
-"Well, it's a shadow, a shadow!" she exclaimed aloud, stamping her foot
-with a strange irritation, "what of it?"
-
-Then all at once she reflected that it was stupid to make a fuss and to
-stamp her feet, and she became quiet.
-
-She approached the mirror. Her face was; paler than usual, and her lips
-quivered with a kind of strange hate.
-
-"It's nerves," she thought; "I must take myself in hand."
-
-
-
-XIII
-
-
-Twilight was falling. Volodya grew pensive.
-
-"Let's go for a stroll, Volodya," said his mother.
-
-But in the street there were also shadows everywhere, mysterious,
-elusive evening shadows; and they whispered in Volodya's ear something
-that was familiar and infinitely sad.
-
-In the clouded sky two or three stars looked out, and they seemed
-equally distant and equally strange to Volodya and to the shadows that
-surrounded him.
-
-"Mamma," he said, oblivious of the fact that he had interrupted her as
-she was telling him something, "what a pity that it is impossible to
-reach those stars."
-
-His mother looked up at the sky and answered: "I don't see that it's
-necessary. Our place is on earth. It is better for us here. It's quite
-another thing there."
-
-"How faintly they glimmer! They ought to be glad of it."
-
-"Why?"
-
-"If they shone more strongly they would cast shadows."
-
-"Oh, Volodya, why do you think only of shadows?"
-
-"I didn't mean to, mamma," said Volodya in a penitent voice.
-
-
-
-XIV
-
-
-Volodya worked harder than ever at his lessons; he was afraid to hurt
-his mother by being lazy. But he employed all his invention in grouping
-the objects on his table in a way that would produce new and ever more
-fantastic shadows. He put this here and that there--anything that came
-to his hands--and he rejoiced when outlines appeared on the white wall
-that his mind could grasp. There was an intimacy between him and these
-shadowy outlines, and they were very dear to him. They were not dumb,
-they spoke to him, and Volodya understood their inarticulate speech.
-
-He understood why the dejected wayfarer murmured as he wandered upon
-the long road, the autumn wetness under his feet, a stick in his
-trembling hand, a knapsack on his bowed back.
-
-He understood why the snow-covered forest, its boughs crackling with
-frost, complained, as it stood sadly dreaming in the winter stillness;
-and he understood why the lonely crow cawed on the old oak, and why the
-bustling squirrel looked sadly out of its tree-hollow.
-
-He understood why the decrepit and homeless old beggar-women sobbed in
-the dismal autumn wind, as they shivered in their rags in the crowded
-graveyard, among the crumbling crosses and the hopelessly black tombs.
-
-There was self-forgetfulness in this, and also tormenting woe!
-
-
-
-XV
-
-
-Volodya's mother observed that he continued to play.
-
-She said to him after dinner: "At least, you might get interested in
-something else."
-
-"In what?"
-
-"You might read."
-
-"No sooner do I begin to read than I want to cast shadows."
-
-"If you'd only try something else--say soap-bubbles."
-
-Volodya smiled sadly.
-
-"No sooner do the bubbles fly up than the shadows follow them on the
-wall."
-
-"Volodya, unless you take care your nerves will be shattered. Already
-you have grown thinner because of this."
-
-"Mamma, you exaggerate."
-
-"No, Volodya.... Don't I know that you've begun to sleep badly and to
-talk nonsense in your sleep. Now, just think, suppose you die!"
-
-"What are you saying!"
-
-"God forbid, but if you go mad, or die, I shall suffer horribly."
-
-Volodya laughed and threw himself on his mother's neck.
-
-"Mamma dear, I shan't die. I won't do it again."
-
-She saw that he was crying now.
-
-"That will do," she said. "God is merciful. Now you see how nervous you
-are. You're laughing and crying at the same time."
-
-
-
-XVI
-
-
-Volodya's mother began to look at him with careful and anxious eyes.
-Every trifle now agitated her.
-
-She noticed that Volodya's head was somewhat asymmetrical: his one ear
-was higher than the other, his chin slightly turned to one side. She
-looked in the mirror, and further remarked that Volodya had inherited
-this too from her.
-
-"It may be," she thought, "one of the characteristics of unfortunate
-heredity--degeneration; in which case where is the root of the evil? Is
-it my fault or his father's?"
-
-Eugenia Stepanovna recalled her dead husband. He was a most
-kind-hearted and most lovable man, somewhat weak-willed, with rash
-impulses. He was by nature a zealot and a mystic, and he dreamt of a
-social Utopia, and went among the people. He had been rather given to
-tippling the last years of his life.
-
-He died young; he was but thirty-five years old.
-
-Volodya's mother even took her boy to the doctor and described his
-symptoms. The doctor, a cheerful young man, listened to her, then
-laughed and gave counsel concerning diet and way of life, throwing in
-a few witty remarks; he wrote out a prescription in a happy, off-hand
-way, and he added playfully, with a slap on Volodya's shoulder: "But
-the very best medicine would be--a birch."
-
-Volodya's mother felt the affront deeply, but she followed all the rest
-of the instructions faithfully.
-
-
-
-XVII
-
-
-Volodya was sitting in his class. He felt depressed. He listened
-inattentively.
-
-He raised his eyes. A shadow was moving along the ceiling near the
-front wall. Volodya observed that it came in through the first
-window. To begin with it fell from the window toward the centre of
-the class-room, but later it started forward rather quickly away from
-Volodya--evidently some one was walking in the street, just by the
-window. While this shadow was still moving another shadow came through
-the second window, falling, as did the first one, toward the back wall,
-but later it began to turn quickly toward the front wall. The same
-thing happened at the third and the fourth windows; the shadows fell
-in the class-room on the ceiling, and in the degree that the passer-by
-moved forward they retreated backward.
-
-"This," thought Volodya, "is not at all the same as in an open place,
-where the shadow follows the man; when the man goes forward, the shadow
-glides behind, and other shadows again meet him in the front."
-
-Volodya turned his eyes on the gaunt figure of the tutor. His callous,
-yellow face annoyed Volodya. He looked for his shadow and found it
-on the wall, just behind the tutor's chair. The monstrous shape bent
-over and rocked from side to side, but it had neither a yellow face
-nor a malignant smile, and Volodya looked at it with joy. His thoughts
-scampered off somewhere far away, and he heard not a single thing of
-what was being said.
-
-"Lovlev!" His tutor called his name.
-
-Volodya rose, as was the custom, and stood looking stupidly at the
-tutor. He had such an absent look that his companions tittered, while
-the tutor's face assumed a critical expression.
-
-Volodya heard the tutor attack him with sarcasm and abuse. He trembled
-from shame and from weakness. The tutor announced that he would give
-Volodya "one" for his ignorance and his inattention, and he asked him
-to sit down.
-
-Volodya smiled in a dull way, and tried to think what had happened to
-him.
-
-
-
-XVIII
-
-
-The "one" was the first in Volodya's life! It made him feel rather
-strange.
-
-"Lovlev!" his comrades taunted him, laughing and nudging him, "you
-caught it that time! Congratulations!"
-
-Volodya felt awkward. He did not yet know how to behave in these
-circumstances.
-
-"What if I have," he answered peevishly, "what business is it of yours?"
-
-"Lovlev!" the lazy Snegirev shouted, "our regiment has been reinforced!"
-
-His first "one"! And he had yet to tell his mother.
-
-He felt ashamed and humiliated. He felt as though he bore in the
-knapsack on his back a strangely heavy and awkward burden--the "one"
-stuck clumsily in his consciousness and seemed to fit in with nothing
-else in his mind.
-
-"One"!
-
-He could not get used to the thought about the "one," and yet could
-not think of anything else. When the policeman, who stood near the
-school, looked at him with his habitual severity Volodya could not help
-thinking: "What if you knew that I've received 'one'!"
-
-It was all so awkward and so unusual. Volodya did not know how to hold
-his head and where to put his hands; there was uneasiness in his whole
-bearing.
-
-Besides, he had to assume a care-free look before his comrades and to
-talk of something else!
-
-His comrades! Volodya was convinced that they were all very glad
-because of his "one."
-
-
-
-XIX
-
-
-Volodya's mother looked at the "one" and turned her uncomprehending
-eyes on her son. Then again she glanced at the report and exclaimed
-quietly:
-
-"Volodya!"
-
-Volodya stood before her, and he felt intensely small. He looked at
-the folds of his mother's dress and at his mother's pale hands; his
-trembling eyelids were conscious of her frightened glances fixed upon
-them.
-
-"What's this?" she asked.
-
-"Don't you worry, mamma," burst out Volodya suddenly; "after all, it's
-my first!"
-
-"Your first!"
-
-"It may happen to any one. And really it was all an accident."
-
-"Oh, Volodya, Volodya!"
-
-Volodya began to cry and to rub his tears, child-like, over his face
-with the palm of his hand.
-
-"Mamma darling, don't be angry," he whispered.
-
-"That's what comes of your shadows," said his mother.
-
-Volodya felt the tears in her voice. His heart was touched. He glanced
-at his mother. She was crying. He turned quickly toward her.
-
-"Mamma, mamma," he kept on repeating, while kissing her hands, "I'll
-drop the shadows, really I will."
-
-
-
-XX
-
-
-Volodya made a strong effort of the will and refrained from the
-shadows, despite strong temptation. He tried to make amends for his
-neglected lessons.
-
-But the shadows beckoned to him persistently. In vain he ceased to
-invite them with his fingers, in vain he ceased to arrange objects that
-would cast a new shadow on the wall; the shadows themselves surrounded
-him--they were unavoidable, importunate shadows.
-
-Objects themselves no longer interested Volodya, he almost ceased to
-see them; all his attention was centred on their shadows.
-
-When he was walking home and the sun happened to peep through the
-autumn clouds, as through smoky vestments, he was overjoyed because
-there was everywhere an awakening of the shadows.
-
-The shadows from the lamplight hovered near him in the evening at home.
-
-The shadows were everywhere. There were the sharp shadows from the
-flames, there were the fainter shadows from diffused daylight. All of
-them crowded toward Volodya, recrossed each other, and enveloped him in
-an unbreakable network.
-
-Some of the shadows were incomprehensible, mysterious; others reminded
-him of something, suggested something. But there were also the beloved,
-the intimate, the familiar shadows; these Volodya himself, however
-casually, sought out and caught everywhere from among the confused
-wavering of the others, the more remote shadows. But they were sad,
-these beloved, familiar shadows.
-
-Whenever Volodya found himself seeking these shadows his conscience
-tormented him, and he went to his mother to make a clean breast of it.
-
-Once it happened that Volodya could not conquer his temptation. He
-stood up close to the wall and made a shadow of the bull. His mother
-found him.
-
-"Again!" she exclaimed angrily. "I really shall have to ask the
-director to put you into the small room."
-
-Volodya flushed violently and answered morosely: "There is a wall there
-also. The walls are everywhere."
-
-"Volodya," exclaimed his mother sorrowfully, "what are you saying!"
-
-But Volodya already repented of his rudeness, and he was crying.
-
-"Mamma, I don't know myself what's happening to me!"
-
-
-
-XXI
-
-
-Volodya's mother had not yet conquered her superstitious dread of
-shadows. She began very often to think that she, like Volodya, was
-losing herself in the contemplation of shadows. Then she tried to
-comfort herself.
-
-"What stupid thoughts!" she said. "Thank God, all will pass happily; he
-will be like this a little while, then he will stop."
-
-But her heart trembled with a secret fear, and her thought, frightened
-of life persistently ran to meet approaching sorrows.
-
-She began in the melancholy moments of waking to examine her soul,
-and all her life would pass before her; she saw its emptiness, its
-futility, and its aimlessness. It seemed but a senseless glimmer of
-shadows, which merged in the denser twilight.
-
-"Why have I lived?" she asked herself. "Was it for my son? But why?
-That he too shall become a prey to shadows, a maniac with a narrow
-horizon, chained to his illusions, to restless appearances upon a
-lifeless wall? And he too will enter upon life, and he will make of
-life a chain of impressions, phantasmic and futile, like a dream."
-
-She sat down in the armchair by the window, and she thought and
-thought. Her thoughts were bitter, oppressive. She began, in her
-despair, to wring her beautiful white hands.
-
-Then her thoughts wandered. She looked at her outstretched hands, and
-began to imagine what sort of shapes they would cast on the wall in
-their present attitude. She suddenly paused and jumped up from her
-chair in fright.
-
-"My God!" she exclaimed. "This is madness."
-
-
-
-XXII
-
-
-She watched Volodya at dinner.
-
-"How pale and thin he has grown," she said to herself, "since the
-unfortunate little book fell into his hands. He's changed entirely--in
-character and in everything else. It is said that character changes
-before death. What if he dies? But no, no. God forbid!"
-
-The spoon trembled in her hand. She looked up at the ikon with timid
-eyes.
-
-"Volodya, why don't you finish your soup?" she asked, looking
-frightened.
-
-"I don't feel like it, mamma."
-
-"Volodya, darling, do as I tell you; it is bad for you not to eat your
-soup."
-
-Volodya gave a tired smile and slowly finished his soup. His mother had
-filled his plate fuller than usual. He leant back in his chair and was
-on the point of saying that the soup was not good. But his mother's
-worried look restrained him, and he merely smiled weakly.
-
-"And now I've had enough," he said.
-
-"Oh no, Volodya, I have all your favourite dishes to-day."
-
-Volodya sighed sadly. He knew that when his mother spoke of his
-favourite dishes it meant that she would coax him to eat. He guessed
-that even after tea his mother would prevail upon him, as she did the
-day before, to eat meat.
-
-
-
-XXIII
-
-
-In the evening Volodya's mother said to him: "Volodya dear, you'll
-waste your time again; perhaps you'd better keep the door open!"
-
-Volodya began his lessons. But he felt vexed because the door had been
-left open at his back, and because his mother went past it now and
-theft.
-
-"I cannot go on like this," he shouted, moving his chair noisily. "I
-cannot do anything when the door is wide open."
-
-"Volodya, is there any need to shout so?" his mother reproached him
-softly.
-
-Volodya already felt repentant, and he began to cry.
-
-"Don't you see, Volodenka, that I'm worried about you, and that I want
-to save you from your thoughts."
-
-"Mamma, sit here with me," said Volodya.
-
-His mother took a book and sat down at Volodya's table. For a few
-minutes Volodya worked calmly. But gradually the presence of his mother
-began to annoy him.
-
-"I'm being watched just like a sick man," he thought spitefully.
-
-His thoughts were constantly interrupted, and he was biting his lips.
-His mother remarked this at last, and she left the room.
-
-But Volodya felt no relief. He was tormented with regret at showing his
-impatience. He tried to go on with his work but he could not. Then he
-went to his mother.
-
-"Mamma, why did you leave me?" he asked timidly.
-
-
-
-XXIV
-
-
-It was the eve of a holiday. The little image-lamps burned before the
-ikons.
-
-It was late and it was quiet. Volodya's mother was not asleep. In the
-mysterious dark of her bedroom she fell on her knees, she prayed and
-she wept, sobbing out now and then like a child.
-
-Her braids of hair trailed upon her white dress; her shoulders
-trembled. She raised her hands to her breast in a praying posture,
-and she looked with tearful eyes at the ikon. The image-lamp moved
-almost imperceptibly on its chains with her passionate breathing.
-The shadows rocked, they crowded in the corners, they stirred behind
-the reliquary, and they murmured mysteriously. There was a hopeless
-yearning in their murmurings and an incomprehensible sadness in their
-wavering movements.
-
-At last she rose, looking pale, with strange, widely dilated eyes, and
-she reeled slightly on her benumbed legs.
-
-She went quietly to Volodya. The shadows surrounded her, they rustled
-softly behind her back, they crept at her feet, and some of them, as
-fine as the threads of a spider's web, fell upon her shoulders and,
-looking into her large eyes, murmured incomprehensibly.
-
-She approached her son's bed cautiously. His face was pale in the light
-of the image-lamp. Strange, sharp shadows lay upon him. His breathing
-was inaudible; he slept so tranquilly that his mother was frightened.
-
-She stood there in the midst of the vague shadows, and She felt upon
-her the breath of vague fears.
-
-
-
-XXV
-
-
-The high vaults of the church were dark and mysterious. The evening
-chants rose toward these vaults and resounded there with an exultant
-sadness. The dark images, lit up by the yellow flickers of wax candles,
-looked stern and mysterious. The warm breathing of the wax and of the
-incense filled the air with lofty sorrow.
-
-Eugenia Stepanovna placed a candle before the ikon of the Mother of
-God. Then she knelt down. But her prayer was distraught.
-
-She looked at her candle. Its flame wavered. The shadows from the
-candles fell on Eugenia Stepanovna's black dress and on the floor,
-and rocked unsteadily. The shadows hovered on the walls of the church
-and lost themselves in the heights between the dark vaults, where the
-exultant, sad songs resounded.
-
-
-
-XXVI
-
-
-It was another night.
-
-Volodya awoke suddenly. The darkness enveloped him, and it stirred
-without sound. He freed his hands, then raised them, and followed their
-movements with his eyes. He did not see his hands in the darkness, but
-he imagined that he saw them wanly stirring before him. They were dark
-and mysterious, and they held in them the affliction and the murmur of
-lonely yearning.
-
-His mother also did not sleep; her grief tormented her. She lit a
-candle and went quietly toward her son's room to see how he slept. She
-opened the door noiselessly and looked timidly at Volodya's bed.
-
-A streak of yellow light trembled on the wall and intersected Volodya's
-red bed-cover. The lad stretched his arms toward the light and, with a
-beating heart, followed the shadows. He did not even ask himself where
-the light came from. He was wholly obsessed by the shadows. His eyes
-were fixed on the wall, and there was a gleam of madness in them.
-
-The streak of light broadened, the shadows moved in a startled way;
-they were morose and hunch-backed, like homeless, roaming women who
-were hurrying to reach somewhere with old burdens that dragged them
-down.
-
-Volodya's mother, trembling with fright, approached the bed and quietly
-aroused her son.
-
-"Volodya!"
-
-Volodya came to himself. For some seconds he glanced at his mother with
-large eyes, then he shivered from head to foot and, springing out of
-bed, fell at his mother's feet, embraced her knees, and wept.
-
-"What dreams, you do dream, Volodya!" exclaimed his mother sorrowfully.
-
-
-
-XXVII
-
-
-"Volodya," said his mother to him at breakfast, "you must stop it,
-darling; you; will become a wreck if you spend your nights also with
-the shadows."
-
-The pale lad lowered his head in dejection. His lips quivered nervously.
-
-"I'll tell you what we'll do," continued his mother. "Perhaps we had
-better play a little while together with the shadows each evening, and
-then we will study your lessons. What do you say?"
-
-Volodya grew somewhat animated.
-
-"Mamma, you're a darling!" he said shyly.
-
-
-
-XXVIII
-
-
-In the street Volodya felt drowsy and timid. The fog was spreading; it
-was cold and dismal. The outlines of the houses looked strange in the
-mist. The morose, human silhouettes moved through the filmy atmosphere
-like ominous, unkindly shadows. Everything seemed so intensely unreal.
-The cab-horse, which stood drowsily at the street-crossing, appeared
-like a huge fabulous beast.
-
-The policeman gave Volodya a hostile look. The crow on the low roof
-foreboded sorrow in Volodya's ear. But sorrow was already in his heart;
-it made him sad to note how everything was hostile to him.
-
-A small dog with an unhealthy coat barked at him from behind a gate and
-Volodya felt a strange depression. And the urchins of the street seemed
-ready to laugh at him and to humiliate him.
-
-In the past he would have settled scores with them as they deserved,
-but now fear lived in his breast; it robbed his arms of their strength
-and caused them to hang by his sides.
-
-When Volodya returned home Praskovya opened the door to him, and she
-looked at him with moroseness and hostility. Volodya felt uneasy. He
-quickly went into the house, and refrained from looking at Praskovya's
-depressing face again.
-
-
-
-XXIX
-
-
-His mother was sitting alone. It was twilight, and she felt sad.
-
-A light suddenly glimmered somewhere.
-
-Volodya ran in, animated, cheerful, and with large, somewhat wild eyes.
-
-"Mamma, the lamp has been lit; let's play a little."
-
-She smiled and followed Volodya.
-
-"Mamma, I've thought of a new figure," said Volodya excitedly, as he
-placed the lamp in the desired position. "Look.... Do you see? This is
-the steppe, covered with snow, and the snow falls--a regular storm."
-
-Volodya raised his hands and arranged them.
-
-"Now look, here is an old man, a wayfarer. He is up to his knees in
-snow. It is difficult to walk. He is alone. It is an open field. The
-village is far away. He is tired, he is cold; it is terrible. He is all
-bent--he's such an old man."
-
-Volodya's mother helped him with his fingers.
-
-"Oh!" exclaimed Volodya in great joy.
-
-"The wind is tearing his cap off, it is blowing his hair loose, it has
-thrown him in the snow. The drifts are getting higher. Mamma, mamma, do
-you hear?"
-
-"It's a blinding storm."
-
-"And he?"
-
-"The old man?"
-
-"Do you hear, he is moaning?"
-
-"Help!"
-
-Both of them, pale, were looking at the wall. Volodya's hands shook,
-the old man fell.
-
-His mother was the first to arouse herself.
-
-"And now it's time to work," she said.
-
-
-
-XXX
-
-
-It was morning. Volodya's mother was alone. Rapt in her confused,
-dismal thoughts, she was walking from one room to another. Her
-shadow outlined itself vaguely on the white door in the light of the
-mist-dimmed sun. She stopped at the door and lifted her arm with a
-large, curious movement. The shadow on the door wavered and began to
-murmur something familiar and sad. A strange feeling, of comfort came
-over Eugenia Stepanovna as she stood, a wild smile on her face, before
-the door and moved both her hands, watching the trembling shadows.
-
-Then she heard Praskovya coming, and she realized that she was doing an
-absurd thing. Once more she felt afraid and sad.
-
-"We ought to make a change," she thought, "and go elsewhere, somewhere
-farther away, to a new atmosphere. We must run away from here, simply
-run away!"
-
-And suddenly she remembered Volodya's words: "There is a wall there
-also. The walls are everywhere."
-
-"There is nowhere to run!"
-
-In her despair she wrung her pale, beautiful hands.
-
-
-
-XXXI
-
-
-It was evening.
-
-A lighted lamp stood on the floor in Volodya's room. Just behind it,
-near the wall, sat Volodya and his mother. They were looking at the
-wall and were making strange movements with their hands.
-
-Shadows stirred and trembled upon the wall.
-
-Volodya and his mother understood them. Both were smiling sadly and
-were saying weird and impossible things to each other. Their faces
-were peaceful and their eyes looked clear; their joyousness was
-hopelessly sorrowful and their sorrow was wildly joyous.
-
-In their eyes was a glimmer of madness, blessed madness.
-
-The night was descending upon them.
-
-
-
-
-THE GLIMMER OF HUNGER
-
-
-Sergei Matveyevich Moshkin had dined very well that day--that is
-comparatively well--when you stop to consider that he was only a
-village schoolmaster who had lost his place, and had been knocking
-about already a year or so on strange stairways, in search of work.
-Nevertheless, the glimmer of hunger persisted in his dark, sad eyes,
-and it gave his lean, smooth face a kind of unlooked-for significance.
-
-Moshkin spent his last three-rouble note on this dinner, and now a
-few coppers jingled in his pocket, while his purse contained a smooth
-fifteen-copeck piece. He banqueted out of sheer joy. He knew quite well
-that it was stupid to rejoice prematurely and without sufficient cause.
-But he had been seeking work so long, and had been having such a time
-of it, that even the shadow of a hope gave him joy.
-
-Moshkin had put an advertisement in the _Novo Vremya_. He announced
-himself a pedagogue who had command of the pen; he based his claim on
-the fact that he corresponded for a provincial newspaper. This, indeed,
-was why he had lost his place; it was discovered that he had written
-articles reflecting unfavourably on the authorities; the chief official
-of the district called the attention of the inspector of public schools
-to this, and the inspector, of course, would not brook such doings by
-any of his staff.
-
-"We don't want that kind," the inspector said to him in a personal
-interview.
-
-Moshkin asked: "What kind do you want?"
-
-The inspector, without replying to this irrelevant question, remarked
-dryly: "Good-bye. I hope to meet you in the next world."
-
-Moshkin stated further in his advertisement that he wished to be a
-secretary, a permanent collaborator on a newspaper, a private tutor;
-also that he was willing to accompany his employer to the Caucasus
-or the Crimea, and to make himself useful in the house, etc. He gave
-an assurance of his reasonableness, and that he had no objections to
-travelling.
-
-He waited. One postcard came. It inspired him with hope; he hardly knew
-why.
-
-It came in the morning while Moshkin was drinking his tea. The landlady
-brought it in herself. There was a glitter in her dark, snake-like eyes
-as she remarked tauntingly:
-
-"Here's some correspondence for Mr. Sergei Matveyevich Moshkin."
-
-And while he was reading she smoothed her black hair down her
-triangular yellow forehead, and hissed: "What's the good of getting
-letters? Much better if you paid for your board and lodging. A letter
-won't feed your hunger; you ought to go among people, look for a job
-and not expect things to come to you."
-
-He read:
-
-"_Be so good as to come in for a talk, between_ 6 _and_ 7 _in the
-evening, at Row_ 6, _House_ 78, _Apartment_ 57."
-
-There was no signature.
-
-Moshkin glanced angrily at his landlady. She was broad and erect, and
-as she stood there at the door quite calm, with lowered arms, she was
-like a doll; she seemed deliberately malicious, and she looked at him
-with her motionless, anger-provoking eyes.
-
-Moshkin exclaimed: "Basta!"
-
-He hit the table with his fist. Then he rose, and paced up and down the
-room. He kept on repeating: "Basta!"
-
-The landlady asked quietly and spitefully: "Are you going to pay or
-not, you Kazan and Astrakhan correspondent, you impudent face?"
-
-Moshkin stopped in front of her, put out his empty palm, and said:
-"That's all I have."
-
-He said nothing about his last three-rouble note. The landlady hissed:
-"I'm not hard on you, but I need money. Wood's seven roubles a load
-now, how am I to pay it? You can't live on nothing. Can't you find some
-one to look after you? You're a young man of ability, and you have
-quite a charming appearance. You can always get hold of some goose or
-other. But how am I to pay? Whichever way you turn you've got to put
-down money."
-
-Moshkin replied: "Don't worry, Praskovya Petrovna, I am getting a job
-to-night, and I'll pay what I owe you."
-
-He began to pace the room again, making a flapping noise with his
-slippers.
-
-The landlady paused at the door, and kept on with her grumbling. When
-she went at last, she cried out: "Another in my place would have shown
-you the door long ago."
-
-For some time after she had left there still remained in his memory her
-strange, erect figure, with relaxed arms; her broad, yellow forehead,
-shaped like a triangle under her smoothly-oiled hair; her worn yellow
-dress, cut away like a narrow triangle, and her red, sniffling nose
-shaped like a small triangle. Three triangles in all.
-
-All day long Moshkin was hungry, cheerful, and indignant. He walked
-aimlessly in the streets. He looked at the girls, and they all seemed
-to him to be lovable, happy, and accessible--to the rich. He stopped
-before the shop windows, where expensive goods were displayed. The
-glimmer of hunger in his eyes grew keener and keener.
-
-He bought a newspaper. He read as he sat on a form in the square,
-where the children laughed and ran, where the nurses tried to look
-fashionable, where there was a smell of dust and of consumptive
-trees--and where the smells of the street and of the garden mingled
-unpleasantly, reminding him of the smell of gutta-percha. Moshkin was
-very much struck by an account in the newspaper of a hungry fanatic who
-had slashed a picture by a celebrated artist in the museum.
-
-"Now that's something I can understand!"
-
-Moshkin walked briskly along the path. He repeated: "Now that's
-something I can understand!"
-
-And afterwards, as he walked in the streets and looked at the huge and
-stately houses, at the exposed wealth of the shops, at the elegant
-dress of the people of fashion, at the swiftly moving carriages, at all
-these beauties and comforts of life, accessible to all who have money,
-and inaccessible to him--as he looked and observed and envied, he felt
-more and more keenly the mood of destructive rage.
-
-"Now that's something I can understand!"
-
-He walked up to a stout and pompous house-porter, and shouted: "Now
-that's something I can understand!"
-
-The porter looked at him with silent scorn. Moshkin laughed joyously,
-and said: "Clever chaps those anarchists!"
-
-"Be off with you!" exclaimed the porter angrily. "And see that you
-don't over-eat yourself."
-
-Moshkin was about to leave him but stopped short in fright. There was
-a policeman quite near, and his white gloves stood out with startling
-sharpness. Moshkin thought in his sadness:
-
-"A bomb might come in handy here."
-
-The porter spat angrily after him, and turned away.
-
-Moshkin walked on. At six o'clock he entered a restaurant of the middle
-rank. He chose a table by the window. He had some vodka, and followed
-it with anchovies. He ordered a seventy-five copeck dinner. He had
-a bottle of chablis on ice; after dinner a liqueur. He got slightly
-intoxicated. His head went round at the sound of music. He did not take
-his change. He left, reeling slightly, accompanied respectfully by a
-porter, into whose hand he stuck a twenty-copeck piece.
-
-He looked at his nickelled watch. It was just past seven. It was
-time to go. He had to make haste. They might hire another. He strode
-impetuously toward his destination.
-
-He was hindered by: dug up pavements; superannuated, eternally
-somnolent cabbies, at street crossings; passers-by, especially
-_muzhiks_ and women; those who came toward him, without stepping
-aside at all, or who stepped aside more often to the left than to the
-right--while those whom he had to overtake joggled along indifferently
-on the narrow way, and it was hard to tell at once on which side to
-pass them; beggars--these clung to him; and the mechanical process of
-walking itself.
-
-How difficult to conquer space and time when one is in a hurry! Truly
-the earth drew him to itself and he purchased every step with violence
-and exhaustion. He felt pains in his legs. This increased his spite,
-and intensified the glimmer of hunger in his eyes.
-
-Moshkin thought:
-
-"I'd like to chuck it all to the devil! To all the devils!"
-
-At last he got there.
-
-Here was the Row, and here was House No. 78. It was a four-storey
-house, in a state of neglect; the two approaches had a gloomy look,
-the gates in the middle stood wide agape. He looked at the plates at
-the approaches; the first numbers were here, and there was no No. 57.
-No one was in sight. There was a white button at the gates; and on the
-brass plate, below, buried under dirt, was the word "porter."
-
-He pressed the button and entered the gate to look for the directory of
-the tenants. Before he had got that far he was met by the porter, a man
-of insinuating appearance, with a black beard.
-
-"Where is apartment No. 57?"
-
-Moshkin asked the question in a careless manner, borrowed from the
-district official who had caused him to lose his place. He also knew
-from experience that one must address porters just like this, and not
-like that. Wandering in strange gates and on strange staircases gives
-one a certain polish.
-
-The porter asked somewhat suspiciously: "Who do you want?"
-
-Moshkin drawled out his words with artless carelessness: "I don't
-exactly know. I've come in answer to an announcement. I've received
-a letter, but the name is not signed. Only the address is given. Who
-lives at No. 57?"
-
-"Madame Engelhardova," said the porter.
-
-"Engelhardt?" asked Moshkin.
-
-The porter repeated: "Engelhardova."
-
-Moshkin smiled. "And what's her Russian name?"
-
-"Elena Petrovna," the porter answered.
-
-"Is she a bad-tempered hag?" asked Moshkin for some reason or other.
-
-"No-o, she's a young lady. Quite stylish. Turn to the right of the
-gate."
-
-"Only the first numbers are given there," said Moshkin.
-
-The porter said: "No, you'll also find 57 there. At the very bottom."
-
-Moshkin asked: "What does she do? Does she run a business of some sort?
-A school? Or a journal?"
-
-No. Madame Engelhardova had neither a school, nor a journal.
-
-"She lives on her capital," explained the porter.
-
-Madame Engelhardova's maid, who looked like a village girl, led him
-into the drawing-room, to the right of the dark ante-room, and asked
-him to wait.
-
-He waited. It was tedious and annoying. He began to examine the
-contents of the elaborately furnished room. There were arm-chairs,
-tables, stools, folding screens, fire-screens, book-shelves, and small
-columns upon which rested busts, lamps, and artistic gew-gaws; there
-were mirrors, lithographs, and clocks on the walls; while the windows
-were decorated with hangings and flowers. All these made the room
-crowded, oppressive and dark. Moshkin paced through this depression
-over the rugs. He looked at the pictures and the statues with hate.
-
-"I'd like to chuck all this to the devil! To all the devils!"
-
-But when the mistress of the house walked in suddenly he lowered his
-eyes, and hid his glimmer of hunger.
-
-She was young, pink, and tall and quite good-looking. She walked
-quickly and with decision, like the mistress of a village house, and
-swung, not altogether gracefully, her strong, handsome white arms bared
-from above the elbows.
-
-She came to him and held out her hand, a little high--to be pressed,
-or to be kissed, as he chose. He kissed it. There was spite in his
-kiss. He did it with a quick, resounding smack, and one of his teeth
-scratched her skin slightly, so that she winced. But she said nothing.
-She walked toward the divan, got behind the table and sat down. She
-showed him an armchair.
-
-When he had seated himself, she asked him: "Was that your announcement
-in yesterday's paper?"
-
-He said: "Mine."
-
-He reconsidered, and said more politely: "Yes, mine."
-
-He felt vexed, and he thought to himself: "I'd like to send her to the
-devil!"
-
-She went on talking. She asked him what he could do, where he had
-studied, where he had worked. She approached the subject very
-cautiously, as though afraid to say too much before the proper time.
-
-He gathered that she wished to publish a journal--she had not yet
-decided what sort. Some sort. A small one. She was negotiating for the
-purchase of a property. Of the nature of the journal she said nothing.
-
-She needed some one for the office. As he had said in his announcement
-that he was a pedagogue she thought that he had taught in one of the
-higher schools.
-
-In any case, she wanted some one to keep the books in the office,
-to receive subscriptions, to carry on the editorial and the office
-correspondence, to receive money by post, to put the journals in
-wrappers, to send them to the post, to read proofs, and something else
-... and still something else....
-
-The young woman spoke for half an hour. She recounted the various
-duties in an unintelligent way.
-
-"You need several people for all these tasks," said Moshkin sharply.
-
-The young woman grew red with vexation. She made a wry face as she
-remarked eagerly: "The journal will be a small one, of a special
-nature. If I hired several people for such a small undertaking they
-would have nothing to do."
-
-He smiled, and observed: "Well, anyhow there'll be no chance for
-boredom. How many hours a day will you want me to work?"
-
-"Well, let us say from nine in the morning until seven in the evening.
-Sometimes, when the work is in a hurry you might remain a little
-longer, or you might come in on a holiday--I believe you are free?"
-
-"How much do you think of paying?"
-
-"Would eighteen roubles a month be enough for you?"
-
-He reflected a while, then he laughed.
-
-"Too little."
-
-"I can't afford more than twenty-two."
-
-"Very well."
-
-He rose suddenly in his rage, thrust his hand into his pocket, drew out
-the latchkey to his house, and said quietly but resolutely: "Hands up!"
-
-"Oh!" exclaimed the young woman, and she quickly raised her arms.
-
-She was sitting on the divan. She was pale and trembling.
-
-They formed a contrast--she large and strong; and he small and meagre.
-
-The sleeves of her dress fell to her shoulders, and the two bare white
-arms, stretching upward, seemed like the plump legs of a woman acrobat
-practising at home. She was evidently strong enough to hold up her arms
-for a long time. But her frightened face betrayed the deep terror of
-her ordeal.
-
-Moshkin, enjoying her plight, uttered slowly and sternly: "Move, if you
-dare! Or give a single whisper!"
-
-He approached a picture.
-
-"How much does this cost?"
-
-"Two hundred and twenty, without the frame," said the young woman in a
-trembling voice.
-
-He searched in his pocket and found a penknife. He cut the picture from
-top to bottom, and from right to left.
-
-"Oh!" the young woman cried out.
-
-He approached a small marble head.
-
-"What does this cost?"
-
-"Three hundred."
-
-He used his latchkey, and struck off the ear and the nose, and he
-mutilated the cheeks. The young woman sighed quietly; and it was
-pleasant to hear her quiet sighing.
-
-He cut up a few more pictures, and the armchair coverings, and broke a
-few of the gew-gaws.
-
-He then approached the young woman, and exclaimed: "Get under the
-divan!"
-
-She obeyed.
-
-"Lie there quietly, until some one comes. Or else I'll throw a bomb."
-
-He left. He met no one, either in the ante-room, or on the stairs.
-
-The same house-porter stood at the gates. Moshkin went up to him and
-said: "What a strange young lady you have in your house."
-
-"Why?"
-
-"She doesn't know how to behave. She loves a brawl. You had better go
-to her."
-
-"No use my going as long as I'm not called."
-
-"Just as you please."
-
-He left. The glimmer of hunger grew fainter in his eyes.
-
-Moshkin continued to walk the streets. His mind realized in a slow,
-dull way the drawing-room scene, the mutilated pictures, and the young
-woman under the divan.
-
-The dull waters of the canal lured him. The receding light of the
-setting sun made their surface beautiful and sad, like the music of
-a mad composer. How rough the stone slabs were on the canal's banks,
-and how dusty the stones of the pavements, and what stupid and dirty
-children ran to meet him! Everything seemed shut against him and
-everything seemed hostile to him.
-
-The green, golden waters of the canal lured him, and the glimmer of
-hunger in his eyes went out for ever.
-
-What a noise the swift splash of water made, as, ring after ring, the
-dead black rings spread out and out, and cut the green golden waters of
-the canal.
-
-
-
-
-HIDE AND SEEK
-
-
-
-I
-
-
-Everything in Lelechka's nursery was bright, pretty, and cheerful.
-Lelechka's sweet voice charmed her mother. Lelechka was a delightful
-child. There was no other such child, there never had been, and there
-never would be. Lelechka's mother, Serafima Alexandrovna, was sure
-of that. Lelechka's eyes were dark and large, her cheeks were rosy,
-her lips were made for kisses and for laughter. But it was not these
-charms in Lelechka that gave her mother the keenest joy. Lelechka was
-her mother's only child. That was why every movement of Lelechka's
-bewitched her mother. It was great bliss to hold Lelechka on her knees
-and to fondle her; to feel the little girl in her arms--a thing as
-lively and as bright as a little bird.
-
-To tell the truth, Serafima Alexandrovna felt happy only in the
-nursery. She felt cold with her husband.
-
-Perhaps it was because he himself loved the cold--he loved to drink
-cold water, and to breathe cold air. He was always fresh and cool, with
-a frigid smile, and wherever he passed cold currents seemed to move in
-the air.
-
-The Nesletyevs, Sergei Modestovich and Serafima Alexandrovna, had
-married without love or calculation, because it was the accepted thing.
-He was a young man of thirty-five, she a young woman of twenty-five;
-both were of the same circle and well brought up; he was expected to
-take a wife, and the time had come for her to take a husband.
-
-It even seemed to Serafima Alexandrovna that she was in love with
-her future husband, and this made her happy. He looked handsome and
-well-bred; his intelligent grey eyes always preserved a dignified
-expression; and he fulfilled his obligations of a fianc� with
-irreproachable gentleness.
-
-The bride was also good-looking; she was a tall, dark-eyed,
-dark-haired girl, somewhat timid but very tactful. He was not after
-her dowry, though it pleased him to know that she had something. He
-had connexions, and his wife came of good, influential people. This
-might, at the proper opportunity, prove useful. Always irreproachable
-and tactful, Nesletyev got on in his position not so fast that any
-one should envy him, nor yet so slow that he should envy any one
-else--everything came in the proper measure and at the proper time.
-
-After their marriage there was nothing in the manner of Sergei
-Modestovich to suggest anything wrong to his wife. Later, however, when
-his wife was about to have a child, Sergei Modestovich established
-connexions elsewhere of a light and temporary nature. Serafima
-Alexandrovna found this out, and, to her own astonishment, was not
-particularly hurt; she awaited her infant with a restless anticipation
-that swallowed every other feeling.
-
-A little girl was born; Serafima Alexandrovna gave herself up to her.
-At the beginning she used to tell her husband, with rapture, of all
-the joyous details of Lelechka's existence. But she soon found that
-he listened to her without the slightest interest, and only from the
-habit of politeness. Serafima Alexandrovna drifted farther and farther
-away from him. She loved her little girl with the ungratified passion
-that other women, deceived in their husbands, show their chance young
-lovers.
-
-"_Mamochka_, let's play _priatki_," (hide and seek), cried Lelechka,
-pronouncing the _r_ like the _l_, so that the word sounded "pliatki."
-
-This charming inability to speak always made Serafima Alexandrovna
-smile with tender rapture. Lelechka then ran away, stamping with her
-plump little legs over the carpets, and hid herself behind the curtains
-near her bed.
-
-"_Tiu-tiu, mamochka_!" she cried out in her sweet, laughing voice, as
-she looked out with a single roguish eye.
-
-"Where is my baby girl?" the mother asked, as she looked for Lelechka
-and made believe that she did not see her.
-
-And Lelechka poured out her rippling laughter in her hiding place.
-Then she came out a little farther, and her mother, as though she had
-only just caught sight of her, seized her by her little shoulders and
-exclaimed joyously: "Here she is, my Lelechka!"
-
-Lelechka laughed long and merrily, her head close to her mother's
-knees, and all of her cuddled up between her mother's white hands. Her
-mother's eyes glowed with passionate emotion.
-
-"Now, _mamochka_, you hide," said Lelechka, as she ceased laughing.
-
-Her mother went to hide. Lelechka turned away as though not to see, but
-watched her _mamochka_ stealthily all the time. Mamma hid behind the
-cupboard, and exclaimed: "_Tiu-tiu_, baby girl!"
-
-Lelechka ran round the room and looked into all the corners, making
-believe, as her mother had done before, that she was seeking--though
-she really knew all the time where her _mamochka_ was standing.
-
-"Where's my _mamochka_?" asked Lelechka. "She's not here, and she's not
-here," she kept on repeating, as she ran from corner to corner.
-
-Her mother stood, with suppressed breathing, her head pressed against
-the wall, her hair somewhat disarranged. A smile of absolute bliss
-played on her red lips.
-
-The nurse, Fedosya, a good-natured and fine-looking, if somewhat stupid
-woman, smiled as she looked at her mistress with her characteristic
-expression, which seemed to say that it was not for her to object to
-gentlewomen's caprices. She thought to herself: "The mother is like a
-little child herself--look how excited she is."
-
-Lelechka was getting nearer her mother's corner. Her mother was growing
-more absorbed every moment by her interest in the game; her heart beat
-with short quick strokes, and she pressed even closer to the wall,
-disarranging her hair still more. Lelechka suddenly glanced toward her
-mother's corner and screamed with joy.
-
-"I've found 'oo," she cried out loudly and joyously, mispronouncing her
-words in a way that again made her mother happy.
-
-She pulled her mother by her hands to the middle of the room, they were
-merry and they laughed; and Lelechka again hid her head against her
-mother's knees, and went on lisping and lisping, without end, her sweet
-little words, so fascinating yet so awkward.
-
-Sergei Modestovich was coming at this moment toward the nursery.
-Through the half-closed doors he heard the laughter, the joyous
-outcries, the sound of romping. He entered the nursery, smiling his
-genial cold smile; he was irreproachably dressed, and he looked fresh
-and erect, and he spread round him an atmosphere of cleanliness,
-freshness and coldness. He entered in the midst of the lively game,
-and he confused them all by his radiant coldness. Even Fedosya felt
-abashed, now for her mistress, now for herself. Serafima Alexandrovna
-at once became calm and apparently cold--and this mood communicated
-itself to the little girl, who ceased to laugh, but looked instead,
-silently and intently, at her father.
-
-Sergei Modestovich gave a swift glance round the room. He liked coming
-here, where everything was beautifully arranged; this was done by
-Serafima Alexandrovna, who wished to surround her little girl, from her
-very infancy, only with the loveliest things. Serafima Alexandrovna
-dressed herself tastefully; this, too, she did for Lelechka, with
-the same end in view. One thing Sergei Modestovich had not become
-reconciled to, and this was his wife's almost continuous presence in
-the nursery.
-
-"It's just as I thought.... I knew that I'd find you here," he said
-with a derisive and condescending smile.
-
-They left the nursery together. As he followed his wife through the
-door Sergei Modestovich said rather indifferently, in an incidental
-way, laying no stress on his words: "Don't you think that it would be
-well for the little girl if she were sometimes without your company?
-Merely, you see, that the child should feel its own individuality," he
-explained in answer to Serafima Alexandrovna's puzzled glance.
-
-"She's still so little," said Serafima Alexandrovna.
-
-"In any case, this is but my humble opinion. I don't insist. It's your
-kingdom there."
-
-"I'll think it over," his wife answered, smiling, as he did, coldly but
-genially.
-
-Then they began to talk of something else.
-
-
-
-II
-
-
-Nurse Fedosya, sitting in the kitchen that evening, was telling the
-silent housemaid Darya and the talkative old cook Agathya about the
-young lady of the house, and how the child loved to play _priatki_ with
-her mother--"She hides' her little face, and cries '_tiu-tiu_'!"
-
-"And the _barinya_[1] herself is like a little one," added Fedosya,
-smiling.
-
-Agathya listened and shook her head ominously; while her face became
-grave and reproachful.
-
-"That the _barinya_ does it, well, that's one thing; but that the young
-lady does it, that's bad."
-
-"Why?" asked Fedosya with curiosity.
-
-This expression of curiosity gave her face the look of a wooden,
-roughly-painted doll.
-
-"Yes, that's bad," repeated Agathya with conviction. "Terribly bad!"
-
-"Well?" said Fedosya, the ludicrous expression of curiosity on her face
-becoming more emphatic.
-
-"She'll hide, and hide, and hide away," said Agathya, in a mysterious
-whisper, as she looked cautiously toward the door.
-
-"What are you saying?" exclaimed Fedosya, frightened.
-
-"It's the truth I'm saying, remember my words," Agathya went on with
-the same assurance and secrecy. "It's the surest sign."
-
-The old woman had invented this sign, quite suddenly, herself; and she
-was evidently very proud of it.
-
-
-[1] Gentlewoman.
-
-
-
-III
-
-
-Lelechka was asleep, and Serafima Alexandrovna was sitting in her own
-room, thinking with joy and tenderness of Lelechka. Lelechka was in
-her thoughts, first a sweet, tiny girl, then a sweet, big girl, then
-again a delightful little girl; and so until the end she remained
-mamma's little Lelechka.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna did not even notice that Fedosya came up to her
-and paused before her. Fedosya had a worried, frightened look.
-
-"_Barinya, barinya_" she said quietly, in a trembling voice.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna gave a start. Fedosya's face made her anxious.
-
-"What is it, Fedosya?" she asked with great concern. "Is there anything
-wrong with Lelechka?"
-
-"No, _barinya_," said Fedosya, as she gesticulated with her hands to
-reassure her mistress and to make her sit down. "Lelechka is asleep,
-may God be with her! Only I'd like to say something--you see--Lelechka
-is always hiding herself--that's not good."
-
-Fedosya looked at her mistress with fixed eyes, which had grown round
-from fright.
-
-"Why not good?" asked Serafima Alexandrovna, with vexation, succumbing
-involuntarily to vague fears.
-
-"I can't tell you how bad it is," said Fedosya, and her face expressed
-the most decided confidence.
-
-"Please speak in a sensible way," observed Serafima Alexandrovna dryly.
-"I understand nothing of what you are saying."
-
-"You see, _barinya_, it's a kind of omen," explained Fedosya abruptly,
-in a shamefaced way.
-
-"Nonsense!" said Serafima Alexandrovna.
-
-She did not wish to hear any further as to the sort of omen it was,
-and what it foreboded. But, somehow, a sense of fear and of sadness
-crept into her mood, and it was humiliating to feel that an absurd tale
-should disturb her beloved fancies, and should agitate her so deeply.
-
-"Of course I know that gentlefolk don't believe in omens, but it's a
-bad omen, _barinya_," Fedosya went on in a doleful voice, "the young
-lady will hide, and hide...."
-
-Suddenly she burst into tears, sobbing out loudly: "She'll hide,
-and hide, and hide away, angelic little soul, in a damp grave," she
-continued, as she wiped her tears with her apron and blew her nose.
-
-"Who told you all this?" asked Serafima Alexandrovna in an austere low
-voice.
-
-"Agathya says so, _barinya_" answered Fedosya; "it's she that knows."
-
-"Knows!" exclaimed Serafima Alexandrovna in irritation, as though she
-wished to protect herself somehow from this sudden anxiety. "What
-nonsense! Please don't come to me with any such notions in the future.
-Now you may go."
-
-Fedosya, dejected, her feelings hurt, left her mistress.
-
-"What nonsense! As though Lelechka could die!" thought Serafima
-Alexandrovna to herself, trying to conquer the feeling of coldness and
-fear which took possession of her at the thought of the possible death
-of Lelechka. Serafima Alexandrovna, upon reflection, attributed these
-women's beliefs in omens to ignorance. She saw clearly that there could
-be no possible connexion between a child's quite ordinary diversion
-and the continuation of the child's life. She made a special effort
-that evening to occupy her mind with other matters, but her thoughts
-returned involuntarily to the fact that Lelechka loved to hide herself.
-
-When Lelechka, was still quite small, and had learned to distinguish
-between her mother and her nurse, she sometimes, sitting in her
-nurse's arms, made a sudden roguish grimace, and hid her laughing face
-in the nurse's shoulder. Then she would look out with a sly glance.
-
-Of late, in those rare moments of the _barinya's_ absence from the
-nursery, Fedosya had again taught Lelechka to hide; and when Lelechka's
-mother, on coming in, saw how lovely the child looked when she was
-hiding, she herself began to play hide and seek with her tiny daughter.
-
-
-
-IV
-
-
-The next day Serafima Alexandrovna, absorbed in her joyous cares for
-Lelechka, had forgotten Fedosya's words of the day before.
-
-But when she returned to the nursery, after having ordered the dinner,
-and she heard Lelechka suddenly cry "_Tiu-tiu_!" from under the table,
-a feeling of fear suddenly took hold of her. Though she reproached
-herself at once for this unfounded, superstitious dread, nevertheless
-she could not enter wholeheartedly into the spirit of Lelechka's
-favourite game, and she tried to divert Lelechka's attention to
-something else.
-
-Lelechka was a lovely and obedient child. She eagerly complied with her
-mother's new wishes. But as she had got into the habit of hiding from
-her mother in some corner, and of crying out "_Tiu-tiu_!" so even that
-day she returned more than once to the game.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna tried desperately to amuse Lelechka. This was
-not so easy because restless, threatening thoughts obtruded themselves
-constantly.
-
-"Why does Lelechka keep on recalling the _tiu-tiu_? Why does she not
-get tired of the same thing--of eternally closing her eyes, and of
-hiding her face? Perhaps," thought Serafima Alexandrovna, "she is not
-as strongly drawn to the world as other children, who are attracted by
-many things. If this is so, is it not a sign of organic weakness? Is it
-not a germ of the unconscious non-desire to live?"
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna was tormented by presentiments. She felt ashamed
-of herself for ceasing to play hide and seek with Lelechka before
-Fedosya. But this game had become agonizing to her, all the more
-agonizing because she had a real desire to play it, and because
-something drew her very strongly to hide herself from Lelechka and to
-seek out the hiding child. Serafima Alexandrovna herself began the game
-once or twice, though she played it with a heavy heart. She suffered as
-though committing an evil deed with full consciousness.
-
-It was a sad day for Serafima Alexandrovna.
-
-
-
-V
-
-
-Lelechka was about to fall asleep. No sooner had she climbed into
-her little bed, protected by a network on all sides, than her eyes
-began to close from fatigue. Her mother covered her with a blue
-blanket. Lelechka drew her sweet little hands from under the blanket
-and stretched them out to embrace her mother. Her mother bent down.
-Lelechka, with a tender expression on her sleepy face, kissed her
-mother and let her head fall on the pillow. As her hands hid themselves
-under the blanket Lelechka whispered: "The hands _tiu-tiu_!"
-
-The mother's heart seemed to stop--Lelechka lay there so small, so
-frail, so quiet. Lelechka smiled gently, closed her eyes and said
-quietly: "The eyes _tiu-tiu_!"
-
-Then even more quietly: "Lelechka _tiu-tiu!_"
-
-With these words she fell asleep, her face pressing the pillow. She
-seemed so small and so frail under the blanket that covered her. Her
-mother looked at her with sad eyes.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna remained standing over Lelechka's bed a long
-while, and she kept looking at Lelechka with tenderness and fear.
-
-"I'm a mother: is it possible that I shouldn't be able to protect
-her?" she thought, as she imagined the various ills that might befall
-Lelechka.
-
-She prayed long that night, but the prayer did not relieve her sadness.
-
-
-
-VI
-
-
-Several days passed. Lelechka caught cold. The fever came upon her
-at night. When Serafima Alexandrovna, awakened by Fedosya, came to
-Lelechka and saw her looking so hot, so restless, and so tormented,
-she instantly recalled the evil omen, and a hopeless despair took
-possession of her from the first moments.
-
-A doctor was called, and everything was done that is usual on such
-occasions--but the inevitable happened. Serafima Alexandrovna tried to
-console herself with the hope that Lelechka would get well, and would
-again laugh and play--yet this seemed to her an unthinkable happiness!
-And Lelechka grew; feebler from hour to hour.
-
-All simulated tranquillity, so as not to frighten Serafima
-Alexandrovna, but their masked faces only made her sad.
-
-Nothing made her so unhappy as the reiterations of Fedosya, uttered
-between sobs: "She hid herself and hid herself, our Lelechka!"
-
-But the thoughts of Serafima Alexandrovna were confused, and she could
-not quite grasp what was happening.
-
-Fever was consuming Lelechka, and there were times when she lost
-consciousness and spoke in delirium. But when she returned to herself
-she bore her pain and her fatigue with gentle good nature; she smiled
-feebly at her _mamochka_, so that her _mamochka_ should not see how
-much she suffered. Three days passed, torturing like a nightmare.
-Lelechka grew quite feeble She did not know that she was dying.
-
-She glanced at her mother with her dimmed eyes, and lisped in a
-scarcely audible, hoarse voice: "_Tiu-tiu, mamochka_! Make _tiu-tiu,
-mamochka_!"
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna hid her face behind the curtains near Lelechka's
-bed. How tragic!
-
-"_Mamochka_!" called Lelechka in an almost inaudible voice.
-
-Lelechka's mother bent over her, and Lelechka, her vision grown still
-more dim, saw her mother's pale, despairing face for the last time.
-
-"A white _mamochka_!" whispered Lelechka. _Mamochka's_ white face
-became blurred, and everything grew dark before Lelechka. She caught
-the edge of the bed-cover feebly with her hands and whispered:
-"_Tiu-tiu_!"
-
-Something rattled in her throat; Lelechka opened and again closed her
-rapidly paling lips, and died.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna was in dumb despair as she left Lelechka, and
-went out of the room. She met her husband.
-
-"Lelechka is dead," she said in a quiet, dull voice.
-
-Sergei Modestovich looked anxiously at her pale face. He was struck by
-the strange stupor in her formerly animated handsome features.
-
-
-
-VII
-
-
-Lelechka was dressed, placed in a little coffin, and carried into the
-parlour. Serafima Alexandrovna was standing by the coffin and looking
-dully at her dead child. Sergei Modestovich went to his wife and,
-consoling her with cold, empty words, tried to draw her away from the
-coffin. Serafima Alexandrovna smiled.
-
-"Go away," she said quietly. "Lelechka is playing. She'll be up in a
-minute."
-
-"Sima, my dear, don't agitate yourself," said Sergei Modestovich in a
-whisper. "You must resign yourself to your fate."
-
-"She'll be up in a minute," persisted Serafima Alexandrovna, her eyes
-fixed on the dead little girl.
-
-Sergei Modestovich looked round him cautiously: he was afraid of the
-unseemly and of the ridiculous.
-
-"Sima, don't agitate yourself," he repeated. "This would be a miracle,
-and miracles do not happen in the nineteenth century."
-
-No sooner had he said these words than Sergei Modestovich felt their
-irrelevance to what had happened. He was confused and annoyed.
-
-He took his wife by the arm, and cautiously led her away from the
-coffin. She did not oppose him.
-
-Her face seemed tranquil and her eyes were dry. She went into the
-nursery and began to walk round the room, looking into those places
-where Lelechka used to hide herself. She walked all about the room, and
-bent now and then to look under the table or under the bed, and kept on
-repeating cheerfully: "Where is my little one? Where is my Lelechka?"
-After she had walked round the room once she began to make her quest
-anew. Fedosya, motionless, with dejected face, sat in a corner, and
-looked frightened at her mistress; then she suddenly burst out sobbing,
-and she wailed loudly:
-
-"She hid herself, and hid herself, our Lelechka, our angelic little
-soul!"
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna trembled, paused, cast a perplexed look at
-Fedosya, began to weep, and left the nursery quietly.
-
-
-
-VIII
-
-
-Sergei Modestovich hurried the funeral. He saw that Serafima
-Alexandrovna was terribly shocked by her sudden misfortune, and as he
-feared for her reason he thought she would more readily be diverted and
-consoled when Lelechka was buried.
-
-Next morning Serafima Alexandrovna dressed with particular care--for
-Lelechka. When she entered the parlour there were several people
-between her and Lelechka. The priest and deacon paced up and down the
-room; clouds of blue smoke drifted in the air, and there was a smell
-of incense. There was an oppressive feeling of heaviness in Serafima
-Alexandrovna's head as she approached Lelechka. Lelechka lay there
-still and pale, and smiled pathetically. Serafima Alexandrovna laid her
-cheek upon the edge of Lelechka's coffin, and whispered: "_Tiu-tiu_,
-little one!"
-
-The little one did not reply. Then there was some kind of stir and
-confusion around Serafima Alexandrovna; strange, unnecessary faces
-bent over her, some one held her--and Lelechka was carried away
-somewhere.
-
-Serafima Alexandrovna stood up erect, sighed in a lost way, smiled, and
-called loudly: "Lelechka!"
-
-Lelechka was being carried out. The mother threw herself after the
-coffin with despairing sobs, but she was held back. She sprang behind
-the door, through which Lelechka had passed, sat down there on the
-floor, and as she looked through the crevice, she cried out: "Lelechka,
-_tiu-tiu_!"
-
-Then she put her head out from behind the door, and began to laugh.
-
-Lelechka was quickly carried away from her mother, and those who
-carried her seemed to run rather than to walk.
-
-
-
-
-THE SMILE.
-
-
-I
-
-Some fifteen boys and girls and several young men and women had
-gathered in the garden belonging to the Semiboyarinov cottage to
-celebrate the birthday of one of the sons of the house, Lesha by name,
-a student of the second class. Lesha's birthday was made indeed an
-occasion for bringing eligible young men to the house for his grown
-sisters' sake.
-
-All were merry and smiling--the older members of the party as well as
-the young boys and girls, who ran up and down the yellow sand of the
-well-kept footpaths; a pale, unimpressive boy, who was sitting alone
-on a bench under a lilac bush and looking silently at the other boys,
-was also smiling. His loneliness, his silence, and his well-worn though
-clean clothes, all pointed to his poverty and to his embarrassment in
-the company of these lively, well-dressed children. His face was timid
-and thin, his chest sunken, and his lean hands lay so meekly that it
-aroused one's pity to look at him. Still, he smiled; but even his smile
-seemed pitiful; it was as though it depressed him to watch the games
-and the happiness of other children, or as though he were afraid to
-annoy others by his sad looks and his poor dress.
-
-He was called Grisha Igumnov. His father had died not long ago;
-Grisha's mother occasionally sent her son to her rich relatives with
-whom he always felt depressed and uneasy.
-
-"Why do you sit alone? Get up and run about!" said the blue-eyed
-Lydochka Semiboyarinov as she passed him.
-
-Grisha did not dare to disobey; his heart beat violently, his face
-became covered with small beads of perspiration. He approached the
-happy, red-cheeked boys timidly. They looked at him unfriendlily as
-at a stranger, and Grisha himself felt at once that he was not like
-them: he could not speak so boldly and so loudly; and he had neither
-such yellow boots, nor such a round little cap with a woolly red visor
-turned jauntily upwards as the boy nearest to him had.
-
-The boys continued to talk among themselves as though there were no
-Grisha. Grisha stood near them in an uneasy pose; his thin shoulders
-stooped somewhat, his slender fingers held fast to his narrow girdle,
-and he smiled timidly. He did not know what to do, and in his confusion
-did not hear what the lively boys were saying. They finished their
-conversation and scattered suddenly. Grisha, his timid, guilty smile
-still on his face, walked back uneasily on the sandy path and sat down
-once more on the bench. He was ashamed because he had walked up to the
-boys, yet had not spoken to any one, and because nothing had come of
-it. As he sat down he looked timidly round him--no one paid him the
-slightest attention, and no one laughed at him. Grisha grew calm.
-
-Just then two little girls, their arms round each other, passed him.
-Under their fixed stare Grisha shrank, grew red, and smiled guiltily.
-
-When the little girls had passed by the youngest of them, with fair
-hair, asked loudly:
-
-"Who's this ugly duckling?"
-
-The elder girl, who was red-cheeked and black-browed, laughed and
-answered: "I don't know. We had better ask Lydochka. It's most likely
-a poor relation."
-
-"What an absurd boy," said the little blonde. "He spreads his ears out,
-and sits there and smiles."
-
-They disappeared behind the bushes at the turn of the path, and Grisha
-no longer heard their voices. He felt hurt, and when he thought that he
-might have to sit there a long time, until his mother should come for
-him, he was sick at heart.
-
-A big-eyed, slender student with a stubborn crest of hair sticking up
-from his high forehead noticed that Grisha was sitting alone there like
-an orphan, and he wished to be kind to him, and to make him feel more
-at his ease; so he sat down near him.
-
-"What's your name?" he asked.
-
-Grisha told him quietly.
-
-"And my name is Mitya," said the student. "Are you here alone, or with
-any one?"
-
-"With mother," whispered Grisha.
-
-"Why do you sit here all by yourself?" asked Mitya.
-
-Grisha stirred nervously, and did not know what to say.
-
-"Why don't you play?"
-
-"I don't want to."
-
-Mitya did not hear him so he asked: "What did you say?"
-
-"I don't feel like it," said Grisha somewhat more loudly.
-
-The student, astonished, continued: "Why don't you feel like it?"
-
-Grisha again did not know what to say; he smiled in a lost way. Mitya
-was looking at him attentively. Glances of strangers always embarrassed
-Grisha; it was as though he feared that they might find something
-absurd in his appearance.
-
-Mitya was silent for a while, as he thought of something else that he
-might ask.
-
-"What do you collect?" he asked. "You've got a collection of something,
-haven't you? We all collect: I--stamps, Katya Pokrivalova--shells,
-Lesha--butterflies. What do you collect?"
-
-"Nothing," said Grisha, flushing.
-
-"Well, well," said Mitya with artless astonishment. "So you collect
-nothing! That's very curious."
-
-Grisha felt ashamed that he was not collecting anything, and that he
-had disclosed the fact.
-
-"I, too, must collect something!" he thought to himself, but he could
-not decide to say this aloud.
-
-Mitya sat a little longer, then left him. Grisha felt a relief. But a
-new ordeal was in store for him.
-
-The nurse engaged by the Semiboyarinovs for their youngest son was
-strolling along the garden paths with the one-year-old child in her
-arms. She wished to rest, and chose the same bench upon which Grisha
-was sitting. He again felt uneasy. He looked straight before him, and
-could not even decide to move away from the nurse to the other end of
-the bench.
-
-The infant's attention soon became drawn to Grisha's protruding
-ears, and he leant forward towards one of them. The nurse, a robust,
-red-cheeked woman, concluded that Grisha would not mind. She brought
-her charge nearer to Grisha, and the pink infant caught Grisha's ear
-with his fat little hand. Grisha was paralysed with confusion, but
-could not decide to protest. The child, laughing loudly and merrily,
-now let go Grisha's ear, now caught hold of it again. The red-cheeked
-nurse, who enjoyed the game not less than the infant, kept on
-repeating: "Let's go for him! Let's give it to him!"
-
-One of the boys saw the scene, and told the other boys that little
-Georgik was obstreperous with the quiet boy who was sitting so long on
-the bench. The children gathered round Georgik and Grisha, and laughed
-noisily. Grisha tried to show that he didn't mind, that he felt no
-pain, and that he also enjoyed the fun. But it grew harder and harder
-for him to smile, and he had a very strong desire to cry. He knew that
-he ought not to cry, that it was a disgrace, and he restrained himself
-with an effort.
-
-Happily he was soon delivered. The blue-eyed Lydochka, upon hearing
-the children's boisterous laughter, went to see what had happened. She
-reproached the nurse: "Aren't you ashamed to go on like this?"
-
-She herself had difficulty to keep from laughing at Grisha's pitiful,
-confused face. But she restrained herself, and upheld her dignity as a
-grown young woman before the nurse and the children.
-
-The nurse rose and said, laughing: "Georginka did it quite gently. The
-boy himself didn't say that it hurt him."
-
-"You mustn't do such things," said Lydochka sternly.
-
-Georgik, unhappy because they had taken him away from Grisha, raised
-a cry. Lydochka took him in her arms and carried him away to quiet
-him. The nurse followed her. But the boys and the girls remained. They
-thronged round Grisha and eyed him unceremoniously.
-
-"Perhaps he's got stuck-on ears," suggested one of the boys, "that's
-why he doesn't feel any pain."
-
-"I rather think you like to be held by your ears," said another.
-
-"Tell us," said the little girl with the large blue eyes, "which ear
-does your mother catch hold of most?"
-
-"His ears have been stretched out to order in a workshop," cried a
-merry youngster, and laughed loudly at his own joke.
-
-"No," another corrected him, "he was born like that. When he was very
-small he was led not by his hand but by his ear."
-
-Grisha looked at his tormentors like a small beast at bay, with a fixed
-smile on his face, when, suddenly, wholly unexpectedly to the cheerful
-company, he burst into tears. Many small drops fell on his jacket.
-The children grew quiet at once. They became uneasy. They exchanged
-embarrassed glances, and looked silently at Grisha as he wiped the
-tears from his face with his thin hands; he appeared to be ashamed of
-his tears.
-
-"Why should he be offended?" said the beautiful, flaxen-haired Katya
-angrily. "Who's done him any harm? The ugly duckling!"
-
-"He's not an ugly duckling. You're an ugly duckling yourself,"
-intervened Mitya.
-
-"I can't stand rude people," said Katya, growing red with vexation.
-
-A little, brown-faced girl in a red dress looked long at Grisha, and
-knitted her brows as in reflection. Then she scanned the other children
-with her perplexed eyes, and asked quietly:
-
-"Why then did he smile?"
-
-
-
-II
-
-
-It was not often that Grisha's wardrobe received important additions.
-His mother could not afford it; hence, every item gave Grisha great
-joy. The autumn cold came, and Grisha's mother bought an overcoat, a
-hat and mittens. The mittens pleased Grisha more than anything else.
-
-On the holiday, after Mass, he put on his new things and went out to
-play. He loved to walk about in the streets, and he used to go out
-alone; his mother had no time to go out with him. She looked proudly
-out of the window as Grisha walked gravely by. She recalled at that
-moment her well-to-do relatives who had promised her so much, and had
-done so little, and she thought: "Well, I've managed it without them,
-thank God!"
-
-It was a cold, clear day; the sun did not shine with its full
-brightness; the waters of the canals in the city were covered with
-their first thin ice. Grisha walked the streets, rejoicing in this
-brisk cold, in his new clothes, and with his na�ve fancies; he always
-loved to dream when he was alone, and he dreamt always of great deeds,
-of fame, of a bright, happy life in a rich house, indeed of everything
-that was unlike the sad reality.
-
-As Grisha stood on the bank of the canal and looked through the iron
-railings at the thin ice that floated on the surface, he was approached
-by a street urchin in threadbare attire, and with hands red from the
-cold. He entered into conversation with Grisha. Grisha was not afraid
-of him, and even pitied him because of his benumbed hands. His new
-acquaintance informed him that he was called Mishka, but that his
-family name was Babushkin, because he and his mother lived with his
-_babushka_.[1]
-
-"But then what is your mother's family name?"
-
-"My mother's name?" repeated Mishka, smiling. "She's called
-Matushkin, because my _babushka_ is no _babushka_ to her, but is her
-_matushka._"[2]
-
-"That's strange," said Grisha with astonishment. "My mother and I have
-one family name; we are called the Igumnovs."
-
-"That's because," explained Mishka with animation, "your grandfather
-was an _igumen_."[3]
-
-"No," said Grisha, "my grandfather was a colonel."
-
-"All the same it's likely that his father, or some one else was an
-_igumen_, and so you have all become the Igumnovs."
-
-Grisha did not know who his great-grandfather was, so he said nothing,
-Mishka kept on eyeing his mittens.
-
-"You have handsome mittens," he said.
-
-"New ones," Grisha explained, with a joyous smile. "It's the first time
-I've put them on; d'you see, here is a little string drawn through!"
-
-"Well, you're a lucky one! And are they quite warm?"
-
-"Rather!"
-
-"I have also mittens at home, but I haven't put them on because I don't
-like them. They are yellow, and I don't like yellow ones. Let me put
-yours on, and I'll run along and show them to my _babushka_, and ask
-her to get me a pair like them."
-
-Mishka looked at Grisha pleadingly, and his eyes sparkled enviously.
-
-"You won't keep me waiting long?" asked Grisha.
-
-"No, I live quite near here, just round the corner. Don't be afraid!
-Upon my word, in a minute!"
-
-Grisha trustfully took off his mittens and gave them to Mishka.
-
-"I'll be back in a minute, wait here, don't go away," exclaimed Mishka,
-as he ran off with Grisha's mittens. He disappeared round the corner,
-and Grisha was left waiting. He did not imagine that Mishka would fool
-him; he thought that he would simply run home, show his mittens, and
-return with them. He stood there long and waited, and Mishka did not
-even dream of returning.
-
-The short autumn day was already darkening; Grisha's mother, restless
-because of her boy's long absence, went out to look for him. Grisha at
-last understood that Mishka would not return. The poor boy turned sadly
-toward home and he met his mother.
-
-"Grisha, what have you done with yourself" she asked, angry and glad at
-finding her son.
-
-Grisha did not reply. He seemed embarrassed as he rubbed his hands, red
-with cold. His mother then noticed that he did not wear his mittens.
-
-"Where are your mittens?" she asked angrily, as she searched his
-overcoat pockets.
-
-Grisha smiled and said: "I lent them to a boy for a short time, and he
-didn't bring them back."
-
-
-[1] Grandmother.
-
-[2] Mother.
-
-[3] An abbot.
-
-
-
-III
-
-
-Years passed after years. The bold and pushing children who once had
-gathered on Lesha Semiboyarinov's birthday became bold and pushing
-men and women, and the urchin who had fooled Grisha, it goes without
-saying, found his way in life--while Grisha, of course, became a
-failure. As in his childhood, he went on dreaming, and in his dreams he
-conquered his kingdom; but in real life he could not protect himself
-from any enterprising person who pushed him unceremoniously out of
-his way. His relations with women were equally unsuccessful, and
-his faint-hearted attentions were not once rewarded by a responsive
-feeling. He had no friends. His mother alone loved him.
-
-Igumnov rejoiced when he found a position at a small salary, because
-his mother could live calmly now without worrying about a I crust of
-bread. But his happiness was of short duration; soon his mother died.
-Grisha fell into depression, lost his spirits. Life seemed to him to be
-aimless. Apathy took hold of him; he had no interest in his work. He
-lost his place, and was soon in great need.
-
-Igumnov finally pawned his last possession, his mother's ring; as he
-walked out of the place he smiled--and his smile kept him from bursting
-into tears of self-pity.
-
-He had to see various people and to ask them for work. But Igumnov
-was not good at this. He was backward and quiet, and he experienced a
-helpless confusion that prevented him from persisting in his dealings
-with men. While yet on the stairway of a man's house a fear would seize
-him, his heart would beat painfully, his legs would grow heavy, and his
-hand would stretch toward the bell irresolutely.
-
-During one of his most depressing and hungry days Igumnov sat in the
-sumptuous private office of Aleksei Stepanovich Semiboyarinov, the
-father of the same Lesha whose birthday party remained memorable to
-him. Igumnov had already sent a letter to Aleksei Stepanovich: after
-all it was much easier to ask on paper than by word of mouth. And now
-he came for his answer.
-
-From the restless, solicitous manner of Semiboyarinov, a small, dry,
-old man, with closely-cut, silver-grey hair, he guessed that he would
-have a refusal. This made him feel wretched, but he could not help
-smiling an artless pleasant smile, as though he wished to show that it
-did not matter in the least, that he really did not count on anything.
-The smile evidently irritated Semiboyarinov.
-
-"I've got your letter, my dear fellow," said he at last in his dry,
-deliberate voice. "But there's nothing that I can see just now."
-
-"Nothing?" mumbled Igumnov, growing red.
-
-"Absolutely nothing, my dear fellow. Every place is taken. And I don't
-see anything in prospect for the near future. Perhaps something might
-be done for you at New Year."
-
-"I'll be glad of a chance even then," said Igumnov, smiling in such a
-way as to suggest that a mere eight months was of no account to him.
-
-"Yes, I'll be very glad to do something then. If it depended upon me
-you'd get your place to-day. I'd like very much to be of use to you, my
-good man."
-
-"Thank you," said Igumnov.
-
-"But tell me," asked Semiboyarinov sympathetically, "why did you leave
-your old place?"
-
-"They found no use for me," answered Igumnov, confused.
-
-"No use for you? Well, I hope we'll find some use for you. Let me have
-your address, my good fellow."
-
-Semiboyarinov began to rummage on his table for a piece of paper.
-Igumnov just then caught sight of his own letter under a marble
-paper-weight.
-
-"My address is in the letter," he said.
-
-"So it is!" said his host briskly. "I'll make a note of it."
-
-"I have the habit," observed Igumnov, rising from his place, "always to
-write my address at the beginning of a letter."
-
-"A European habit," commended his host.
-
-Igumnov took his leave and went out smiling, proud of his European
-habits, which, however, did not prevent him from feeling hungry. He
-was almost glad that the unpleasant conversation was at an end. He
-recalled all the polite words, and especially those that contained the
-promise; foolish hopes awakened in him. But a few minutes later, as he
-was walking in the street, he realized that the promise would come to
-nothing. Besides, it was made for the future, and he had need of food
-now, and he must go to his lodgings with a heavy heart--what would his
-landlady say? What could he say to her?
-
-Igumnov began to walk more slowly, then he turned in the opposite
-direction. Lost in gloom, he walked on, pale and hungry, through the
-noisy streets of the capital, past busy satiated people. His smile
-vanished. The look of dark despair gave a certain significance to his
-usually little expressive features.
-
-He was now close to the Niva. The huge dome of the Isakiyevski
-Cathedral glowed golden in the wide expanse of blue sky. The large open
-squares and streets were enveloped in the gentle, scarcely perceptible,
-dust-like haze of the rays of the setting sun. The din of carriages was
-softened in these magnificent open spaces. Everything seemed strange
-and hostile to the hungry, helpless man. The beautiful, rich-coloured
-fruits behind the shop windows could not have been more inaccessible if
-they were under the watch of a strong guard.
-
-Children were playing merrily in the green square. Igumnov looked at
-them and smiled. Unpleasant memories of his own childhood tormented him
-with an intense pity for himself. He reflected that it was only left
-to him to die. The thought frightened him. And again he reflected: "Why
-shouldn't I die? Wasn't there a time when I did not exist? I shall have
-rest, eternal oblivion."
-
-Fragments of wise strange thoughts came to him and soothed him.
-
-Igumnov was now on the embankment. He leant against the granite parapet
-and watched the restless waters of the river. A single move, he
-thought, and everything would be ended. But it was terrible to think
-of drowning, of struggling with one's mouth full of water, of being
-strangled by these heavy, cold sweeps of water, of battling helplessly,
-and of at last sinking from sheer exhaustion to the bottom, there to be
-carried by the undercurrents, and at last to be cast out, a shapeless
-corpse, upon some coast of the sea.
-
-Igumnov shivered and moved away from the river. He suddenly espied not
-far away his former colleague Kurkov. Smartly dressed, cheerful and
-self-satisfied, Kurkov was walking slowly and swinging a thin cane with
-a fancy handle.
-
-"Ah, Grigory Petrovich!" he exclaimed, as though he were glad of the
-meeting. "Are you strolling, or are you on business?"
-
-"Yes, I'm strolling, that is on business," said Igumnov.
-
-"I think we are going the same way?"
-
-They walked on together. Kurkov's cheerful chatter only intensified
-Igumnov's mood. Moving his shoulders nervously he addressed Kurkov with
-sudden resolution: "Nikolai Sergeyevich, do you happen to have a rouble
-on you?"
-
-"A rouble?" said Kurkov in astonishment. "Why do you want it?"
-
-Igumnov flushed, and began to explain in stammers. "You see, I ... just
-one rouble is lacking.... I have to get something ... something, you
-see...."
-
-He breathed heavily in his agitation. He grew silent, and smiled a
-pitiful, fixed smile.
-
-"That means I shan't get it back," thought Kurkov.
-
-And now he spoke no longer in the same careless tone as before.
-
-"I'd like to, but I haven't any spare cash, not a copeck. I had to
-borrow some yesterday myself."
-
-"Well, if you haven't it, you can't help it," mumbled Igumnov, and
-continued to smile. "I'll simply have to get along without it."
-
-His smile irritated Kurkov, perhaps because it was such a pitiful,
-helpless affair.
-
-"Why does he smile?" thought Kurkov in vexation. "Doesn't he believe
-me? Well, I don't care if he doesn't--I don't own the Government
-exchequer."
-
-"Why don't you come in sometimes and see us?" he asked Igumnov in a
-careless, dry manner, as he looked elsewhere.
-
-"I am always meaning to. Of course I'll come in," answered Igumnov in a
-trembling voice. "What about to-day?"
-
-There rose before him a picture of the cosy dining-room of the Kurkovs,
-the hospitable hostess, the samovar on the table and the various tasty
-tit-bits.
-
-"To-day?" asked Kurkov in the same careless, dry voice. "No, we shan't
-be home to-day. But do step in some day before long. Well, I must turn
-up this lane. Good-bye!"
-
-And he made haste to cross the wooden walk of the embankment. Igumnov
-looked after him, and smiled. Slow, incoherent thoughts crept through
-his brain.
-
-As Kurkov disappeared up the lane Igumnov again approached the granite
-parapet, and, trembling in cold terror, began slowly and awkwardly to
-climb over it.
-
-There was no one near.
-
-
-
-
-THE HOOP
-
-
-
-I
-
-
-A woman was taking her morning stroll in a lonely suburban street; a
-boy of four was with her. She was young and smart and she was smiling
-brightly; she was casting affectionate glances at her son, whose red
-cheeks beamed with happiness. The boy was bowling a hoop; a large,
-new, bright yellow hoop. He ran after his hoop awkwardly, laughed
-uproariously with joy, thrust forward his plump little legs, bare at
-the knee, and flourished his stick. He needn't have raised his stick so
-high above his head--but what of that?
-
-What happiness! He had never had a hoop before; how briskly it made him
-run!
-
-And nothing of this had existed for him before; everything was new to
-him--the streets in early morning, the merry sun, and the distant din
-of the city. Everything was new to the boy--and joyous and pure.
-
-
-
-II
-
-
-A shabbily dressed old man, with coarse hands stood at the street
-crossing. He pressed close to the wall to let the woman and the boy
-pass. The old man looked at the boy with dull eyes and smiled stupidly.
-Confused, sluggish thoughts struggled within his almost bald head.
-
-"A little gentleman!" said he to himself. "Quite a small fellow. And
-simply bursting with joy. Just look at him cutting his paces!"
-
-He could not quite understand it. Somehow it seemed strange to him.
-
-Here was a child--a thing to be pulled about by the hair! Play is
-mischief. Children, as every one knows, are mischief-makers.
-
-And there was the mother--she uttered no reproach, she made no fuss,
-she did not scold. She was smart and bright. It was quite easy to see
-that they were used to warmth and comfort.
-
-On the other hand, when he, the old man, was a boy he lived a dog's
-life! There was nothing particularly rosy in his life even now; though,
-to be sure, he was no longer thrashed and he had plenty to eat. He
-recalled his younger days--their hunger, their cold, their drubbings.
-He had never had fun with a hoop, or other playthings of well-to-do
-folks. Thus passed all his life--in poverty, in care, in misery. And he
-could recall nothing--not a single joy.
-
-He smiled with his toothless mouth at the boy, and he envied him. He
-reflected:
-
-"What a silly sport!"
-
-But envy tormented him.
-
-He went to work--to the factory where he had worked from childhood,
-where he had grown old. And all day he thought of the boy.
-
-It was a fixed, deep-rooted thought. He simply could not get the boy
-out of his mind. He saw him running, laughing, stamping his feet,
-bowling the hoop. What plump little legs he had, bared at the knee!...
-
-All day long, amid the din of the factory wheels, the boy with the hoop
-appeared to him. And at night he saw the boy in a dream.
-
-
-
-III
-
-
-Next morning his reveries again pursued the old man.
-
-The machines were clattering, the labour was monotonous, automatic.
-The hands were busy at their accustomed tasks; the toothless mouth
-was smiling at a diverting fancy. The air was thick with dust, and
-under the high ceiling strap after strap, with hissing sound, glided
-quickly from wheel to wheel, endless in number. The far corners were
-invisible for the dense escaping vapours. Men emerged here and there
-like phantoms, and the human voice was not heard for the incessant din
-of the machines.
-
-The old man's fancy was at work--he had become a little boy for the
-moment, his mother was a gentlewoman, and he had his hoop and his
-little stick; he was playing, driving the hoop with the little stick.
-He wore a white costume, his little legs were plump, bare at the
-knee....
-
-The days passed; the work went on, the fancy persisted.
-
-
-
-IV
-
-
-The old man was returning from work one evening when he saw the hoop of
-an old barrel lying in the street. It was a rough, dirty object. The
-old man trembled with happiness, and tears appeared in his dull eyes.
-A sudden, almost irresistible desire took possession of him.
-
-He glanced cautiously around him; then he bent down, picked up the hoop
-with trembling hands, and smiling shamefacedly, carried it home with
-him.
-
-No one noticed him, no one questioned him. Whose concern was it? A
-ragged old man was carrying an old, battered, useless hoop--who cared?
-
-He carried it stealthily, afraid of ridicule. Why he picked it up and
-why he carried it, he himself could not tell. Still, it was like the
-boy's hoop, and this was enough. There was no harm in it lying about.
-
-He could look at it; he could touch it. It would stimulate his
-reveries; the whistle and turmoil of the factory would grow fainter,
-the escaping vapours less dense....
-
-For several days the hoop lay under the bed in the old man's poor,
-cramped quarters. Sometimes he would take it from its place and look
-at it; the dirty, grey hoop soothed the old man, and the sight of it
-quickened his persistent thoughts about the happy little boy.
-
-
-
-V
-
-
-It was a clear, warm morning, and the birds were chirping away in the
-consumptive urban trees somewhat more cheerfully than usual. The old
-man rose early, took his hoop, and walked a little distance out of town.
-
-He coughed as he made his way among the old trees and the thorny bushes
-in the woods. The trees, covered with their dry, blackish, bursting
-bark, seemed to him incomprehensibly and sternly silent. The odours
-were strange, the insects astonishing, the ferns of gigantic growth.
-There was neither dust nor din here, and the gentle, exquisite morning
-mist lay behind the trees. The old feet glided over the dry leaves and
-stumbled across the old gnarled roots.
-
-The old man broke off a dry limb and hung his hoop upon it.
-
-He came upon an opening, full of daylight and of calm. The dewdrops,
-countless and opalescent, gleamed upon the green blades of newly mown
-grass.
-
-Suddenly the old man let the hoop slide off the stick. He struck with
-the stick, and sent the hoop rolling across the green lawn. The old
-man laughed, brightened at once, and pursued the hoop like that little
-boy. He kicked up his feet and drove the hoop with his stick, which he
-flourished high over his head, just as that little boy did.
-
-It seemed to him that he was small, beloved, and happy. It seemed to
-him that he was being looked after by his mother, who was following
-close behind and smiling. Like a child on his first outing, he felt
-refreshed on the bright grass, and on the still mosses.
-
-His goat-like, dust-grey beard, that harmonized with his sallow face,
-trembled, while his cough mingled with his laughter, and raucous sounds
-came from his toothless mouth.
-
-
-
-VI
-
-
-And the old man grew to love his morning hour in the woods with the
-hoop.
-
-He sometimes thought he might be discovered, and ridiculed--and this
-aroused him to a keen sense of shame. This shame resembled fear; he
-would grow numb, and his knees would give way under him. He would look
-round him with fright and timidity.
-
-
-But no--there was no one to be seen, or to be heard....
-
-And having diverted himself to his heart's content he would return to
-the city, smiling gently and joyously.
-
-
-
-VII
-
-
-No one had ever found him out. And nothing unusual ever happened. The
-old man played peacefully for several days, and one very dewy morning
-he caught cold. He went to bed, and soon died. Dying in the factory
-hospital, among strangers, indifferent people, he smiled serenely.
-
-His memories soothed him. He, too, had been a child; he, too, had
-laughed and scampered across the green grass, among the dark trees--his
-beloved mother had followed him with her eyes.
-
-
-
-
-THE SEARCH
-
-
-I
-
-
-The pleasant in life has a way of mixing with the unpleasant. It is
-pleasant to be a student of the first class, for it gives one a certain
-standing in the world. But even the life of a student of the first
-class is not free from unpleasantness.
-
-The first thing of which Shura was conscious when he awoke one morning
-was that something was tearing on his person. He felt uncomfortable. As
-he turned on his side he was even more clearly aware of the damage that
-his shirt had suffered. There was a large gap under the armpits, and
-presently he realized that it extended down to the very bottom.
-
-Shura was sad. He remembered having told his mother only the day before
-about the condition of his shirt.
-
-"Wear it another day, Shurochka," she answered him.
-
-Shura frowned and said rather sadly: "Mother, it won't stand another
-day's wear. To-morrow I shall be a ragamuffin."
-
-Without looking up from her work she grumbled.
-
-"Let me have some peace. I have already promised you a change to-morrow
-evening. If you'd only be less mischievous your clothes would last
-longer. You'd wear out iron."
-
-Shura, who was a quiet lad, growled back in reply:
-
-"One simply couldn't be less mischievous than I. Only sometimes you
-can't help it, and then in a reasonable sort of way."
-
-His request went unheeded. And here was the consequence. His shirt was
-torn to its very hem. It was now good for nothing, all for want of a
-little foresight.
-
-He jumped out of bed, and ran semi-nude into the next-room, where his
-mother was making ready to go out to bring back some paying homework.
-The thought of going to school in discomfort and of waiting till
-evening vexed him.
-
-"What did I tell you?" he exclaimed. "You wouldn't give me a shirt when
-I asked you yesterday. Now look what's happened!"
-
-Deeply annoyed, she looked at Shura and complained.
-
-"Aren't you ashamed to run about like that? I fear I'll never drum any
-sense into you. You always come bothering me when I'm in a hurry."
-
-Still, it was quite evident that it would not do to let the lad go in
-tatters. She found a brand new shirt and gave it to Shura somewhat
-reluctantly, as she had intended giving him one of the old ones, which
-were not due to arrive from the laundry until the evening.
-
-Shura was overjoyed. The new linen gave him a pleasant sensation, its
-harsh cold surface tickled the skin most pleasantly. He laughed, and he
-pranced about the room as he dressed; and his mother was not there to
-scold him.
-
-
-
-II
-
-
-The school, as always, seemed such a strange place. It was both gay and
-depressing, and hummed with a kind of unnatural industry. It was gay
-in the intervals between the lessons, and extremely tedious during the
-lessons.
-
-The subjects of study were most singular and useless. They concerned:
-folk, who had died long ago and did no good while they lived, and
-whom, for some unknown reason, it was necessary to recall after all
-these centuries, although some of the personages had never even
-existed; verbs, which were conjugated with something; nouns, which
-were declined for some purpose or other, though no use could be
-found for them in living speech; figures, which call for proofs of
-something which need not be proven at all; and much else, equally
-inconsequential and absurd. And there was nothing in all this that one
-could not do without; there was no correlation of facts, there was no
-straightforward answer to the eternal question: Why and Wherefore?
-
-
-
-III
-
-
-That morning early, in the assembly room, Mitya Krinin asked Shura:
-"Well, have you brought it?"
-
-Shura recalled that he had promised to bring Krinin a book of popular
-songs. He replied: "Just a moment. I've left it in my overcoat."
-
-He ran into the dressing-room. The bells suddenly rang out in all parts
-of the building, calling the students to prayer, without which the
-lessons could hardly be expected to begin.
-
-Shura made haste. He put his hand in the overcoat pocket, found
-nothing; then, on discovering that it was some one else's overcoat, he
-exclaimed in vexation:
-
-"There now, that's something new--my hand in another boy's overcoat!"
-
-And he began to search in his own.
-
-There was an outburst of derisive laughter. He looked around, startled,
-to find there the mischievous Dutikov, who called out in his unpleasant
-voice: "So, my boy, you're going through other people's pockets!"
-
-Shura growled back angrily: "It's not your affair. Anyway, I'm not
-going through yours."
-
-He found his book and ran back to the assembly room, where the students
-were already ranging themselves for the service, forming into long
-rows, according to height. The smaller students stood in front, near to
-the ikons, the taller behind; and in each row, in gradation, the lads
-on the right were taller than those on the left. The school faculty
-considered it necessary for them to pray in rows, and according to
-height; otherwise the prayer might come to nothing. Apart from them,
-there was a group of boys more proficient in chanting, and the leader
-of these, at the beginning of each chant, changed his voice several
-times--this was called "setting the tone." The singing was loud,
-rapid, expressionless; they might have all been beating drums. The
-head student was reading in the prayer book the prayers which it was
-customary to read and not to sing--and his reading was just as loud,
-just as expressionless. In a word, it was the same as ever.
-
-But after prayers something happened.
-
-
-
-IV
-
-
-Student Epiphanov, of the second class, brought with him to school that
-morning a pearl-handled penknife and a silver rouble, and now these
-were nowhere to be found. He raised a cry and went to complain.
-
-An investigation was started.
-
-Dutikov reported that he had seen Shura Dolinin going through the
-pockets of some one's overcoat. Shura was called into the cabinet of
-the director.
-
-Sergey Ivanovich, the director, fixed his suspicious eyes on the lad.
-The old tutor, who saw an excellent chance of catching a thief, and
-incidentally of balancing accounts somewhat for tricks that had been
-played upon him by the mischievous lads, experienced malicious pleasure
-and pounced upon the confused, flushing lad with questions.
-
-"Why were you in the dressing-room during prayer?"
-
-"Before prayer, Sergey Ivanovich," whimpered Shura in a voice squeaky
-from fright.
-
-"Very well, before prayer," said the director with irony in his voice.
-"What I want to know is why were you there?"
-
-Shura explained.
-
-The director continued: "Very well, after a book. But why in some one
-else's pocket?"
-
-"It was a mistake," said Shura, distressed.
-
-"A nice mistake," remarked the director dryly. "Now confess, haven't
-you taken by mistake a penknife and a rouble. By mistake, mind you?
-Look through your pockets, my lad."
-
-Shura began to cry, and said through his tears: "I haven't stolen
-anything."
-
-The director smiled. It was pleasant to provoke tears. Such beautiful
-and such large childish tears trickled down the pink cheeks in three
-separate streams: two streams of tears came from one eye, and only one
-from the other.
-
-"If you haven't stolen anything why do you cry?" said the director in a
-bantering tone. "I don't even say that you have stolen. I assume that
-you merely made a mistake: caught hold of something that came into
-your hand, and then forgot all about it. Suppose you look through your
-pockets."
-
-Shura quickly drew from his pockets all the absurd trifles usually
-found on boys, and then turned both his pockets inside out.
-
-"Nothing," he said sadly.
-
-The director gave him a searching look.
-
-"You are sure it hasn't dropped down in your clothes somewhere--the
-knife might have slipped into your boots, eh?"
-
-He rang. The watchman came.
-
-Shura was crying. And everything round him seemed to float in a rose
-mist, in the incomprehensible mental void of his degradation. They
-turned Shura about, felt him all over, searched him. Little by little
-they undressed him. First they took off his boots and shook them out;
-they did the same with his stockings. His belt, blouse and breeches
-followed. Everything was shaken out and searched.
-
-And through all this torment of shame, through all this indignity of a
-degrading and needless ceremony there penetrated one resplendent ray of
-joy; the torn shirt was at home, and the new, clean one rustled in the
-coarse hands of the zealous pedagogue.
-
-Shura stood in his shirt, crying. Behind the door he could hear
-tumultuous voices and cries of joy.
-
-The door burst open, and a little, red-cheeked, smiling chap entered
-hurriedly. And through his shame, through his tears, and through his
-joy about the new shirt, Shura heard a confused and panting voice say:
-
-"It's been found, Sergey Ivanovich. On Epiphanov himself. There was a
-hole in his pocket--the penknife and rouble slipped down into his boot."
-
-Then, suddenly, they became gentle with Shura. They stroked his head,
-comforted him, and helped him to dress.
-
-
-
-V
-
-
-Now he cried, now he laughed. At home he again cried and laughed. He
-complained:
-
-"I was entirely undressed. It would have been nice, wouldn't it, if I
-had been wearing that torn shirt!"
-
-Later--yes, what happened later? His mother would go to the director.
-She wished to make a scene. Afterwards she would lodge a complaint
-against him. But she recalled, in the street, that her boy was
-non-paying student. There was no scene. Besides, the director received
-her pleasantly. He was so apologetic.
-
-The impression of his degradation remained with the boy. All its
-incidents had impressed themselves upon him: he had been suspected
-of theft, and searched, and he had stood, almost naked, undergoing
-the scrutiny of an officious person. Shameful? Let us, by all means,
-console ourselves that it is an experience useful to life.
-
-Weeping, the mother said: "Who knows--perhaps when you grow up,
-something of the sort will really happen. We've heard of such things in
-our time."
-
-
-
-
-THE WHITE MOTHER
-
-
-
-I
-
-
-Easter was near. Esper Constantinovich Saksaoolov was in a painful and
-undecided state of mind. It seemed to have begun when he was asked at
-the Gorodischevs: "Where are you greeting the holiday?"
-
-Saksaoolov, for some reason, did not reply at once. The housewife, who
-was stout, short-sighted and fussy, went on: "Come to us."
-
-Saksaoolov felt vexed--most likely at the young girl, who at the words
-of her mother gave him a quick glance, then averted it, and continued
-her conversation with a professor's young assistant.
-
-Mothers of grown daughters saw a possible husband in Saksaoolov, which
-annoyed him. He considered himself an old bachelor at thirty-seven.
-
-He answered sharply: "Thank you. But I always pass that night at home."
-
-The girl glanced at him with a smile and asked: "With whom?"
-
-"Alone," answered Saksaoolov with a shade of astonishment in his voice.
-
-"You're a misanthrope," said Madame Gorodischeva, with a sour smile.
-
-Saksaoolov valued his freedom. It seemed strange to him, whenever he
-thought of it, that he had been so near marriage once. He had lived
-long in his small but tastefully furnished apartment, had got used to
-his man attendant, the elderly and steady Fedota, and to Fedota's not
-less reliable spouse, who cooked his dinner; and he persuaded himself
-that he ought to remain single out of memory to his first love. In
-truth, his heart was growing cold from indifference born of a lonely,
-incomplete life.
-
-He had his own fortune, his father and mother had died long ago, and he
-had no near relatives. He lived methodically and quietly; had something
-to do with a government department; was intimately acquainted with
-contemporary literature and art; and was something of an epicurean--but
-life itself seemed to him to be empty and aimless. Were it not that one
-pure, radiant fancy visited him at times he would have become entirely
-cold, like many others.
-
-
-
-II
-
-
-His first and only love, which ended before it had time to blossom,
-wrapt him closely in sad and sweet reveries, usually in the evenings.
-Five years earlier he had met a young girl who left an indelible
-impression upon him. She was pale, gentle, slender, with blue eyes, and
-fair wavy hair. She almost seemed to him not to belong to this earth,
-but was like a creature of air and mist, blown for a brief moment by
-fate into the city turmoil. Her movements were slow; her gentle, clear
-voice was soft, like the murmur of a brook purling over stones.
-
-Saksaoolov, whether by chance or not, saw her always in a white dress.
-The impression of white had become inseparable from his thought of her.
-Her very name, Tamar, suggested to him something as white as the snow
-on the mountain tops.
-
-He began to visit her at the house of her parents. More than once he
-had resolved to say to her those words which bind human fates together.
-But she never let him go on; she would always grow frightened and shy,
-and she would rise and leave him. What frightened her? Saksaoolov
-read signs of virgin love in her face; her eyes grew brighter when he
-entered, and a light flush suffused her cheeks.
-
-But one never-to-be-forgotten day she listened to him. It was in the
-early spring. The ice on the river was gone, and the trees were covered
-with a soft green veil. Tamar and Saksaoolov were sitting before the
-window in the city house, and looking out on the Niva. He spoke,
-scarcely knowing what he said, but his words were both gentle and
-terrible to her. She grew pale, smiled vaguely, and rose. Her slender
-hand trembled on the carved top of the chair.
-
-"To-morrow," Tamar said quietly, and went out.
-
-Saksaoolov gazed with intense feeling toward the door behind which
-Tamar had disappeared. His head was in a whirl. His eye fell upon a
-sprig of white lilac; he picked it up almost absently, and left without
-bidding his hosts good-bye.
-
-He could not sleep that night. He stood at the window and looked out
-into the far-stretching streets, at first dark, then lighter at dawn;
-he smiled and pressed the sprig of lilac between his fingers. When
-it grew light he noticed that the floor of the room was strewn with
-white petals of lilac. This seemed both curious and of happy omen to
-Saksaoolov. He felt the cool of the breeze on his heated face. He took
-a bath and he felt refreshed. Then he went to Tamar.
-
-They told him that she was ill, that she had caught a cold somewhere.
-And Saksaoolov never saw her again; she died within two weeks. He
-did not go to her funeral. Her death left him quite calm, and he no
-longer knew whether he had loved her or whether it was a short, passing
-fascination.
-
-He mused about her sometimes in the evening; but he gradually learned
-to forget her; and Saksaoolov had no portrait of her. But after a few
-years--more precisely, only a year ago--in the spring, upon seeing a
-sprig of lilac sadly out of place among rich eatables in a restaurant
-window, he remembered Tamar. And from that time on he loved to think of
-Tamar again during the evenings.
-
-Sometimes, as he fell into a light sleep, he dreamt that Tamar came to
-him, sat opposite him, and looked at him with unaverted, fond eyes; and
-that she had something to tell him. And it was painful to feel Tamar's
-expectant glance upon him, and not know what she wanted of him.
-
-Now, leaving the Gorodischevs, he thought timidly: "She will come to
-give me the kiss of Easter."
-
-A feeling of fear and loneliness took hold of him with such intensity
-that the idea came to him: "Perhaps it would be well to marry so as not
-to be alone on holy, mysterious nights."
-
-He thought of Valeria Mikhailovna, the Gorodischev girl. She was by no
-means a beauty, but she was always dressed becomingly to set off her
-looks. She apparently liked him, and was not likely to reject him if he
-asked her.
-
-The throng and din in the street distracted him and his usual somewhat
-ironic mood swayed his thoughts of the Gorodischev girl. Could he prove
-false to Tamar's memory for any one else? Everything in the world
-seemed so paltry to him that he wished no one but Tamar to give him the
-kiss of Easter.
-
-"But," thought he, "she will again look at me with expectancy. White,
-gentle Tamar, what does she want? Will her gentle lips kiss me?"
-
-
-
-III
-
-
-Saksaoolov thought sadly of Tamar as he wandered in the streets, and
-looking into the faces of the passers-by he thought many of the older
-people unpleasantly coarse. He recalled that there was no one with whom
-he would exchange the kiss of Easter with real desire and joy. There
-would be many coarse lips and prickly beards, smelling of wine, to kiss
-the first day.
-
-It was much pleasanter to kiss the children. Children's faces grew
-lovely in Saksaoolov's eyes.
-
-He walked a long time, and when he was tired he entered a church
-enclosure just off the noisy street. A pale lad sat on a form and
-looked up frightened at Saksaoolov; then he once more began to gaze
-absently before him. His blue eyes were gentle and sad, like Tamar's.
-He was so small that his feet projected from the seat.
-
-Saksaoolov, who sat near him, began to eye him, half with pity, half
-with curiosity. There was something in this youngster that stirred his
-memory with joy, and at the same time excited him. In appearance he was
-a most ordinary urchin; he had on ragged clothes, a white fur cap on
-his bright hair, and a pair of dirty boots, worse for wear.
-
-He sat long on the form, then he rose suddenly and gave a cry. He
-ran out of the gate into the street, then stopped, turned quickly in
-another direction, and again stopped. It was clear that he did not know
-which way to turn. He began to weep quietly, making no ado, and large
-tears ran down his cheeks. A crowd gathered. A policeman came. They
-began to ask him where he lived.
-
-"At the Gliukhov house," he lisped in a childlike but indistinct tone.
-
-"In what street," the policeman asked.
-
-The boy did not know, and only kept on repeating: "At the Gliukhov
-house."
-
-The young and good-natured policeman thought awhile, and decided that
-there was no such house near.
-
-"With whom do you live?" asked a gruff workman. "With your father?"
-
-"I have no father," answered the boy, as he scanned the faces round him
-with his tearful eyes.
-
-"So you've got no father, that's how it is," said the workman gravely,
-and shook his head. "Then where's your mother?"
-
-"I have a mother," the boy replied.
-
-"What's her name?"
-
-"Mamma," said the boy; then, upon reflection, he added, "black mamma."
-
-Some one laughed in the crowd.
-
-"Black? I wonder whether that's the name of the family?" suggested the
-gruff workman.
-
-"First it was a white mamma, and now it's a black mamma," said the boy.
-
-"There's no making head or tail of this," decided the policeman. "I'll
-take him to the station. They'll telephone about it."
-
-He went to the gate and rang. But the house-porter had already seen the
-policeman and, besom in hand, he was coming to the gate. The policeman
-ordered him to take the boy to the station. But the boy suddenly
-bethought himself, and cried out: "Never mind, let me go, I'll find the
-way myself."
-
-Perhaps he was frightened of the house-porter's besom, or perhaps he
-had really recalled something; at any rate he ran off so hard that
-Saksaoolov almost lost sight of him. But soon the boy walked more
-quietly. He turned street corners and ran from one side to the other
-searching for, but not finding, his home. Saksaoolov followed him in
-silence. He was not an adept at talking to children.
-
-At last the boy grew tired. He stopped before a lamp-post and leant
-against it. Tears gleamed in his eyes.
-
-"My dear boy," said Saksaoolov, "haven't you found it yet?"
-
-The lad looked at him with his sad, soft eyes, and Saksaoolov
-suddenly understood what had impelled him to follow the boy with such
-resolution. There was something in the face and glance of the little
-wanderer that gave him an unusual likeness to Tamar.
-
-"My dear boy, what's your name?" asked Saksaoolov in a tender and
-agitated voice.
-
-"Lesha," said the boy.
-
-"Tell me, dear Lesha, do you live with your mother?"
-
-"Yes, with mamma. Only now it's a black mamma--and before it was a
-white mamma."
-
-Saksaoolov thought that by black mamma he meant a nun.
-
-"How did you get lost?" he asked.
-
-"I walked with mamma, and we walked and walked. She told me to sit down
-and wait, and then she went away. And I got frightened."
-
-"Who is your mother?"
-
-"My--mamma? She's so black and so angry."
-
-"What does she do?"
-
-The boy thought awhile.
-
-"She drinks coffee," he said.
-
-"What else does she do?"
-
-"She quarrels with the lodgers," answered Lesha after a pause.
-
-"And where is your white mamma?"
-
-"She was carried away. She was put into a coffin and carried away. And
-papa was carried away."
-
-The boy pointed into the distance somewhere and burst into tears.
-
-"What's to be done with him?" thought Saksaoolov.
-
-Then suddenly the boy began to run again. After he had turned a few
-corners he went more quietly. Saksaoolov overtook him a second time.
-The lad's face expressed a strange mixture of joy and fear.
-
-"Here's the Gliukhov house," he said to Saksaoolov, as he pointed to a
-huge, five-storeyed monstrosity.
-
-At this moment there appeared at the gates of the Gliukhov house a
-black-haired, black-eyed woman in a black dress, a black kerchief with
-white dots on her head. The boy shrank back in fear.
-
-"Mamma," he whispered.
-
-His stepmother looked at him with astonishment.
-
-"How did you get here, you young whelp!" she shrieked out. "I told you
-to sit on the bench, didn't I?"
-
-She seemed to be on the point of whipping him when she noticed that
-some sort of gentleman, serious and dignified in appearance, was
-watching them, and she spoke more softly.
-
-"Can't I leave you for a half-hour anywhere without you taking to your
-heels? I've walked my feet off looking for you, you young whelp!"
-
-She caught the child's very small hand in her own huge one and dragged
-him within the gate. Saksaoolov made a note of the house number and the
-name of the street, and went home.
-
-
-
-IV
-
-
-Saksaoolov liked to listen to the opinions of Fedota. When he returned
-home he told him about the boy Lesha.
-
-"She did it on purpose," decided Fedota. "Just think what a witch she
-is to take the boy such a way from home!"
-
-"Why should she?" Saksaoolov asked.
-
-"It's simple enough. What can you expect of a stupid woman! She thought
-the boy would get lost somewhere, and some one would pick him up. After
-all, she's a stepmother. What's a homeless child to her?"
-
-Saksaoolov was incredulous. He observed: "But the police would have
-found her out."
-
-"Of course they would; but you can't tell, she may have meant to leave
-town; then find her if you can."
-
-Saksaoolov smiled.
-
-"Really," he thought, "my Fedota should be a district attorney."
-
-He fell into a doze that evening as he sat reading before a lamp.
-Tamar appeared to him--the gentle, white Tamar--and sat down beside
-him. Her face was strangely like Lesha's face. She looked steadily and
-persistently, and awaited something. It tormented Saksaoolov to see her
-bright, pleading eyes, and not to know what she wanted. He rose quickly
-and went to the armchair where he thought he saw Tamar sitting. He
-stopped before her and asked loudly and with emotion:
-
-"What do you wish? Tell me."
-
-But she was no longer there.
-
-"It was only a dream," thought Saksaoolov sadly.
-
-
-
-V
-
-
-The next day, as he was leaving the academy exhibition, Saksaoolov met
-the Gorodischevs. He told the girl about Lesha.
-
-"Poor boy," said Valeria Mikhailovna quietly. "His stepmother is trying
-to get rid of him."
-
-"That's yet to be proved," said Saksaoolov.
-
-He felt annoyed that every one, including Fedota and Valeria, should
-look so tragically upon a simple incident.
-
-"That's quite evident," said Valeria Mikhailovna warmly. "There's no
-father, and only a stepmother to whom he is simply a burden. No good
-will come of it--the boy will have a sad end."
-
-"You take too gloomy a view of the matter," observed Saksaoolov, with a
-smile.
-
-"You ought to take him to yourself," Valeria Mikhailovna advised him.
-
-"I?" asked Saksaoolov with astonishment.
-
-"You are living alone," Valeria Mikhailovna persisted. "You have no
-one. Here's a chance for you to do a good deed at Eastertime! At
-least, you'll have some one with whom to exchange the kiss of Easter."
-
-"I beg you to tell me, Valeria Mikhailovna, what am I to do with a
-child?"
-
-"You might engage a governess. Fate itself is sending the boy to you."
-
-Saksaoolov looked with amazement and involuntary tenderness at the
-girl's flushed, animated face.
-
-When Tamar again appeared to him that evening he seemed already to know
-her wish. It was as though, in the silence of the room, he heard her
-tranquilly spoken words: "Do as she advised you."
-
-Saksaoolov rose joyously and rubbed his drowsy eyes with his hand. He
-saw a sprig of white lilac on the table, and was astonished. How did it
-come there? Did Tamar leave it there as a sign of her wish?
-
-And he suddenly thought that if he married the Gorodischeva girl and
-took Lesha into his house he would be carrying out the will of Tamar.
-He breathed in the lilac's aroma happily. He suddenly remembered that
-he himself had bought the sprig of lilac that same day.
-
-Then he argued with himself: "It really doesn't matter that I had
-bought it myself; its real significance is that I had an impulse to buy
-it; and that later I forgot that I had bought it."
-
-
-
-VI
-
-
-Next morning he went to fetch Lesha. The boy met him at the gate and
-showed him where he lived. Lesha's black mamma was drinking coffee, and
-was quarrelling with her red-nosed lodger. Saksaoolov learnt something
-about Lesha from her.
-
-The lad lost his mother when he was three. His father married this
-black woman, and himself died within a year. The black woman, Irina
-Ivanovna, had her own son, now a year old. She was about to marry
-again. The wedding would take place in a few days and after the
-ceremony she would go with her husband to the provinces. Lesha was a
-stranger to her and she would rather do without him.
-
-"Give him to me," suggested Saksaoolov.
-
-"With great pleasure," said Irina Ivanovna with unconcealed and
-malignant joy.
-
-She added after a short silence: "Only you will pay for his clothes."
-
-And so Lesha was presently installed at Saksaoolov's. The Gorodischeva
-girl helped in the finding of a governess and in other details of
-Lesha's comfort. This required her to visit Saksaoolov's apartments.
-She assumed a different appearance in Saksaoolov's eyes as she busied
-herself in these various cares. It was as though the door to her soul
-opened itself to him. Her eyes had become beaming and gentle, and she
-was permeated with almost the same tranquillity that breathed from
-Tamar.
-
-
-
-VII
-
-
-Lesha's stories about the white mamma won over Fedota and his wife. As
-they put him to bed on Easter eve, they hung a white candied egg above
-his head.
-
-"It's from the white mamma," said Christina, "only you darling mustn't
-touch it; at least not until the resurrection, when you'll hear the
-bell ring."
-
-Lesha lay down obediently. He looked long at the egg of joy and at last
-fell asleep.
-
-Saksaoolov was sitting alone in another room. Just before midnight an
-unconquerable drowsiness again closed his eyes, and he was glad that he
-would soon see Tamar.
-
-At last she came, all in white, joyous, bringing with her glad tidings
-from afar. She smiled gently, then bent over him, and--unspeakable
-happiness!--Saksaoolov's lips felt a tender contact.
-
-A sweet voice said softly: "_Christoss Voskress!_" (Christ has risen).
-
-Saksaoolov, without opening his eyes stretched out his arms and
-embraced a slender, gentle body. It was Lesha who climbed on his knees
-and gave him the kiss of Easter.
-
-The church bell had awakened the boy. He seized the white egg and ran
-to Saksaoolov.
-
-Saksaoolov opened his eyes. Lesha laughed as he showed him the egg.
-
-"White mamma has sent it," he lisped, "and I'll give it to you, and you
-can give it to Aunt Valeria."
-
-"Very well, my dear boy, I'll do as you say," said Saksaoolov.
-
-He put Lesha to bed, then went to Valeria Mikhailovna with Lesha's
-white egg, a gift from the white mamma, but which really seemed to him
-at that moment to be a gift from Tamar herself.
-
-
-THE END
-
-
-
-
-
-End of Project Gutenberg's The Old House and Other Tales, by Feodor Sologub
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author	nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>	2025-02-27 16:11:33 -0800
committer	nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>	2025-02-27 16:11:33 -0800
commit	a383b3da5e6d671353d674410622b8ecc0a0f77c (patch)
tree	b7e506bb7f749b3ed4f3899f9d95064613bdcd0c
parent	abb908aceef648a2af96737fc2c466e3ff0118d6 (diff)