A RECKLESS CHARACTER And Other Stories BY IVÁN TURGÉNIEFF Translated from the Russian byISABEL F. HAPGOOD NEW YORK, CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, 1907. CONTENTS: A RECKLESS CHARACTERTHE DREAMFATHER ALEXYÉI'S STORYOLD PORTRAITSTHE SONG OF LOVE TRIUMPHANTCLARA MÍLITCHPOEMS IN PROSEENDNOTES A RECKLESS CHARACTER[1] (1881) I There were eight of us in the room, and we were discussing contemporarymatters and persons, "I do not understand these gentlemen!" remarked A. --"They are fellows ofa reckless sort. .. . Really, desperate. .. . There has never been anythingof the kind before. " "Yes, there has, " put in P. , a grey-haired old man, who had been bornabout the twenties of the present century;--"there were reckless men indays gone by also. Some one said of the poet Yázykoff, that he hadenthusiasm which was not directed to anything, an objectless enthusiasm;and it was much the same with those people--their recklessness waswithout an object. But see here, if you will permit me, I will narrateto you the story of my grandnephew, Mísha Pólteff. It may serve as asample of the recklessness of those days. " He made his appearance in God's daylight in the year 1828, I remember, on his father's ancestral estate, in one of the most remote nooks of aremote government of the steppes. I still preserve a distinctrecollection of Mísha's father, Andréi Nikoláevitch Pólteff. He was agenuine, old-fashioned landed proprietor, a pious inhabitant of thesteppes, sufficiently well educated, --according to the standards of thatepoch, --rather crack-brained, if the truth must be told, and subject, inaddition, to epileptic fits. .. . That also is an old-fashioned malady. .. . However, Andréi Nikoláevitch's attacks were quiet, and they generallyterminated in a sleep and in a fit of melancholy. --He was kind of heart, courteous in manner, not devoid of some pomposity: I have alwayspictured to myself the Tzar Mikhaíl Feódorovitch as just that sort of aman. Andréi Nikoláevitch's whole life flowed past in the punctual dischargeof all the rites established since time immemorial, in strict conformitywith all the customs of ancient-orthodox, Holy-Russian life. He rose andwent to bed, he ate and went to the bath, he waxed merry or wrathful (hedid both the one and the other rarely, it is true), he even smoked hispipe, he even played cards (two great innovations!), not as suited hisfancy, not after his own fashion, but in accordance with the rule andtradition handed down from his ancestors, in proper and dignified style. He himself was tall of stature, of noble mien and brawny; he had aquiet and rather hoarse voice, as is frequently the case with virtuousRussians; he was neat about his linen and his clothing, wore whiteneckerchiefs and long-skirted coats of snuff-brown hue, but his nobleblood made itself manifest notwithstanding; no one would have taken himfor a priest's son or a merchant! Andréi Nikoláevitch always knew, inall possible circumstances and encounters, precisely how he ought to actand exactly what expressions he must employ; he knew when he ought totake medicine, and what medicine to take, which symptoms he should heedand which might be disregarded . .. In a word, he knew everything that itwas proper to do. .. . It was as though he said: "Everything has beenforeseen and decreed by the old men--the only thing is not to deviseanything of your own. .. . And the chief thing of all is, don't go even asfar as the threshold without God's blessing!"--I am bound to admit thatdeadly tedium reigned in his house, in those low-ceiled, warm, darkrooms which so often resounded from the chanting of vigils andprayer-services, [2] with an odour of incense and fasting-viands, [3]which almost never left them! Andréi Nikoláevitch had married, when he was no longer in his firstyouth, a poor young noblewoman of the neighbourhood, a very nervous andsickly person, who had been reared in one of the government institutesfor gentlewomen. She played far from badly on the piano; she spokeFrench in boarding-school fashion; she was given to enthusiasm, andstill more addicted to melancholy, and even to tears. .. . In a word, shewas of an uneasy character. As she considered that her life had beenruined, she could not love her husband, who, "as a matter of course, "did not understand her; but she respected, she tolerated him; and as shewas a thoroughly honest and perfectly cold being, she never once so muchas thought of any other "object. " Moreover, she was constantly engrossedby anxieties: in the first place, over her really feeble health; in thesecond place, over the health of her husband, whose fits always inspiredher with something akin to superstitious terror; and, in conclusion, over her only son, Mísha, whom she reared herself with great zeal. Andréi Nikoláevitch did not prevent his wife's busying herself withMísha--but on one condition: she was never, under any circumstances, todepart from the limits, which had been defined once for all, whereineverything in his house must revolve! Thus, for example: during theChristmas holidays and Vasíly's evening preceding the New Year, Míshawas not only permitted to dress up in costume along with the other"lads, "--doing so was even imposed upon him as an obligation. .. . [4]On the other hand, God forbid that he should do it at any other time!And so forth, and so forth. II I remember this Mísha at the age of thirteen. He was a very comely ladwith rosy little cheeks and soft little lips (and altogether he was softand plump), with somewhat prominent, humid eyes; carefully brushed andcoifed--a regular little girl!--There was only one thing about him whichdispleased me: he laughed rarely; but when he did laugh his teeth, whichwere large, white, and pointed like those of a wild animal, displayedthemselves unpleasantly; his very laugh had a sharp and evenfierce--almost brutal--ring to it; and evil flashes darted athwart hiseyes. His mother always boasted of his being so obedient and polite, andthat he was not fond of consorting with naughty boys, but always wasmore inclined to feminine society. "He is his mother's son, an effeminate fellow, " his father, AndréiNikoláevitch, was wont to say of him:--"but, on the other hand, helikes to go to God's church. .. . And that delights me. " Only one old neighbour, a former commissary of the rural police, oncesaid in my presence concerning Mísha:--"Good gracious! he will turn outa rebel. " And I remember that that word greatly surprised me at thetime. The former commissary of police, it is true, had a habit ofdescrying rebels everywhere. Just this sort of exemplary youth did Mísha remain until the age ofeighteen, --until the death of his parents, whom he lost on almost oneand the same day. As I resided constantly in Moscow, I heard nothingabout my young relative. Some one who came to town from his governmentdid, it is true, inform me that Mísha had sold his ancestral estate fora song; but this bit of news seemed to me altogether tooincredible!--And lo! suddenly, one autumn morning, into the courtyard ofmy house dashes a calash drawn by a pair of splendid trotters, with amonstrous coachman on the box; and in the calash, wrapped in a cloak ofmilitary cut with a two-arshín[5] beaver collar, and a fatigue-cap overone ear--_à la diable m'emporte_--sits Mísha! On catching sight of me (I was standing at the drawing-room window andstaring in amazement at the equipage which had dashed in), he burst intohis sharp laugh, and jauntily shaking the lapels of his cloak, hesprang out of the calash and ran into the house. "Mísha! Mikhaíl Andréevitch!" I was beginning . .. "is it you?" "Call me 'thou' and 'Mísha, '" he interrupted me. --"'Tis I . .. 'tis I, inperson. .. . I have come to Moscow . .. To take a look at people . .. And toshow myself. So I have dropped in on you. --What do you think of mytrotters?. .. Hey?" Again he laughed loudly. Although seven years had elapsed since I had seen Mísha for the lasttime, yet I recognised him on the instant. --His face remained thoroughlyyouthful and as comely as of yore; his moustache had not even sprouted;but under his eyes on his cheeks a puffiness had made its appearance, and an odour of liquor proceeded from his mouth. "And hast thou been long in Moscow?" I inquired. --"I supposed that thouwert off there in the country, managing thy estate. .. . " "Eh! I immediately got rid of the village!--As soon as my parentsdied, --may the kingdom of heaven be theirs, "--(Mísha crossed himselfwith sincerity, without the slightest hypocrisy)--"I instantly, withoutthe slightest delay . .. _ein, zwei, drei_! Ha-ha! I let it go cheap, therascally thing! Such a scoundrel turned up. --Well, never mind! At allevents, I shall live at my ease--and amuse others. --But why do you stareat me so?--Do you really think that I ought to have spun the affair outindefinitely?. .. My dear relative, can't I have a drink?" Mísha talked with frightful rapidity, hurriedly and at the same time asthough half asleep. "Good mercy, Mísha!"--I shouted: "Have the fear of God before thineeyes! How dreadful is thine aspect, in what a condition thou art! Andthou wishest another drink! And to sell such a fine estate for asong!. .. " "I always fear God and remember him, " he caught me up. --"And he 'sgood--God, I mean. .. . He'll forgive! And I also am good. .. . I have neverinjured any one in my life as yet. And a drink is good also; and as forhurting . .. It won't hurt anybody, either. And as for my looks, they areall right. .. . If thou wishest, uncle, I'll walk a line on the floor. Orshall I dance a bit?" "Akh, please drop that!--What occasion is there for dancing? Thou hadstbetter sit down. " "I don't mind sitting down. .. . But why don't you say something about mygreys? Just look at them, they're regular lions! I'm hiring them for thetime being, but I shall certainly buy them together with the coachman. It is incomparably cheaper to own one's horses. And I did have themoney, but I dropped it last night at faro. --Never mind, I'll retrievemy fortunes to-morrow. Uncle . .. How about that drink?" I still could not collect myself. --"Good gracious! Mísha, how old artthou? Thou shouldst not be occupying thyself with horses, or withgambling . .. Thou shouldst enter the university or the service. " Mísha first roared with laughter again, then he emitted a prolongedwhistle. "Well, uncle, I see that thou art in a melancholy frame of mind justnow. I'll call another time. --But see here: just look in at Sokólniki[6]some evening. I have pitched my tent there. The Gipsies sing. .. . Well, well! One can hardly restrain himself! And on the tent there is apennant, and on the pennant is written in bi-i-ig letters: 'The Band ofPoltéva[7] Gipsies. ' The pennant undulates like a serpent; the lettersare gilded; any one can easily read them. The entertainment is whateverany one likes!. .. They refuse nothing. It has kicked up a dust all overMoscow . .. My respects. .. . Well? Will you come? I've got a Gipsythere--a regular asp! Black as my boot, fierce as a dog, and eyes . .. Regular coals of fire! One can't possibly make out whether she iskissing or biting. .. . Will you come, uncle?. .. Well, farewell for thepresent!" And abruptly embracing me and kissing me with a smack on my shoulder, Mísha darted out into the court to his calash, waving his cap over hishead, and uttering a yell; the monstrous coachman[8] bestowed upon himan oblique glance across his beard, the trotters dashed forward, and alldisappeared! On the following day, sinful man that I am, I did go to Sokólniki, andactually did see the tent with the pennant and the inscription. Thetent-flaps were raised; an uproar, crashing, squealing, proceededthence. A crowd of people thronged around it. On the ground, on anoutspread rug, sat the Gipsy men and Gipsy women, singing, and thumpingtambourines; and in the middle of them, with a guitar in his hands, cladin a red-silk shirt and full trousers of velvet, Mísha was gyrating likea whirligig. --"Gentlemen! Respected sirs! Pray enter! The performance isabout to begin! Free!"--he was shouting in a cracked voice. --"Hey there!Champagne! Bang! In the forehead! On the ceiling! Akh, thou rascal, Paulde Kock!"--Luckily, he did not catch sight of me, and I hastily beat aretreat. I shall not dilate, gentlemen, on my amazement at the sight of such achange. And, as a matter of fact, how could that peaceable, modest ladsuddenly turn into a tipsy good-for-nothing? Was it possible that allthis had been concealed within him since his childhood, and hadimmediately come to the surface as soon as the weight of parentalauthority had been removed from him?--And that he had kicked up a dustin Moscow, as he had expressed it, there could be no possible doubt, either. I had seen rakes in my day; but here something frantic, somefrenzy of self-extermination, some sort of recklessness, had made itselfmanifest! III This diversion lasted for two months. .. . And lo! again I am standing atthe window of the drawing-room and looking out into the courtyard. .. . Suddenly--what is this?. .. Through the gate with quiet step enters anovice. .. . His conical cap is pulled down on his brow, his hair iscombed smoothly and flows from under it to right and left . .. He wears along cassock and a leather girdle. .. . Can it be Mísha? It is! I go out on the steps to meet him. .. . "What is the meaning of thismasquerade?" I ask. "It is not a masquerade, uncle, " Mísha answers me, with a deepsigh;--"but as I have squandered all my property to the last kopék, andas a mighty repentance has seized upon me, I have made up my mind tobetake myself to the Tróitzko-Sérgieva Lávra, [9] to pray away my sins. For what asylum is now left to me?. .. And so I have come to bid youfarewell, uncle, like the Prodigal Son. .. . " I gazed intently at Mísha. His face was the same as ever, fresh and rosy(by the way, it never changed to the very end), and his eyes were humidand caressing and languishing, and his hands were small and white. .. . But he reeked of liquor. "Very well!" I said at last: "It is a good move if there is no otherissue. But why dost thou smell of liquor?" "Old habit, " replied Mísha, and suddenly burst out laughing, butimmediately caught himself up, and making a straight, low, monasticobeisance, he added:--"Will not you contribute something for thejourney? For I am going to the monastery on foot. .. . " "When?" "To-day . .. At once. " "Why art thou in such a hurry?" "Uncle! my motto has always been 'Hurry! Hurry!'" "But what is thy motto now?" "It is the same now. .. . Only '_Hurry_--to good!'" So Mísha went away, leaving me to meditate over the mutability of humandestinies. But he speedily reminded me of his existence. A couple of months afterhis visit I received a letter from him, --the first of those letters withwhich he afterward favoured me. And note this peculiarity: I have rarelybeheld a neater, more legible handwriting than was possessed by thisunmethodical man. The style of his letters also was very regular, andslightly florid. The invariable appeals for assistance alternated withpromises of amendment, with honourable words and with oaths. .. . All thisappeared to be--and perhaps was--sincere. Mísha's signature at the endof his letters was always accompanied by peculiar flourishes, lines anddots, and he used a great many exclamation-points. In that first letterMísha informed me of a new "turn in his fortune. " (Later on he calledthese turns "dives" . .. And he dived frequently. ) He had gone off to theCaucasus to serve the Tzar and fatherland "with his breast, " in thecapacity of a yunker. And although a certain benevolent aunt hadcommiserated his poverty-stricken condition and had sent him aninsignificant sum, nevertheless he asked me to help him to equiphimself. I complied with his request, and for a period of two yearsthereafter I heard nothing about him. I must confess that I entertainedstrong doubts as to his having gone to the Caucasus. But it turned outthat he really had gone thither, had entered the T---- regiment asyunker, through influence, and had served in it those two years. Wholelegends were fabricated there about him. One of the officers in hisregiment communicated them to me. IV I learned a great deal which I had not expected from him. I was notsurprised, of course, that he had proved to be a poor, even a downrightworthless military man and soldier; but what I had not expected was, that he had displayed no special bravery; that in battle he wore adejected and languid aspect, as though he were partly bored, partlydaunted. All discipline oppressed him, inspired him with sadness; he wasaudacious to recklessness when it was a question of himself personally;there was no wager too crazy for him to accept; but do evil to others, kill, fight, he could not, perhaps because he had a good heart, --andperhaps because his "cotton-wool" education (as he expressed it) hadenervated him. He was ready to exterminate himself in any sort of way atany time. .. . But others--no. "The devil only can make him out, " hiscomrades said of him:--"he's puny, a rag---and what a reckless fellow heis--a regular dare-devil!"--I happened afterward to ask Mísha what evilspirit prompted him, made him indulge in drinking-bouts, risk his life, and so forth. He always had one answer: "Spleen. " "But why hast thou spleen?" "Just because I have, good gracious! One comes to himself, recovers hissenses, and begins to meditate about poverty, about injustice, aboutRussia. .. . Well, and that settles it! Immediately one feels such spleenthat he is ready to send a bullet into his forehead! One goes on acarouse instinctively. " "But why hast thou mixed up Russia with this?" "What else could I do? Nothing!--That's why I am afraid to think. " "All that--that spleen--comes of thy idleness. " "But I don't know how to do anything, uncle! My dear relative! Here now, if it were a question of taking and staking my life on a card, --losingmy all and shooting myself, bang! in the neck!--I can do that!--Herenow, tell me what to do, what to risk my life for. --I'll do it this veryminute!. .. " "But do thou simply live. .. . Why risk thy life?" "I can't!--You will tell me that I behave recklessly. What else can Ido?. .. One begins to think--and, O Lord, what comes into his head! 'T isonly the Germans who think!. .. " What was the use of arguing with him? He was a reckless man--and that isall there is to say! I will repeat to you two or three of the Caucasian legends to which Ihave alluded. One day, in the company of the officers, Mísha began tobrag of a Circassian sabre which he had obtained in barter. --"A genuinePersian blade!"--The officers expressed doubt as to whether it werereally genuine. Mísha began to dispute. --"See here, " he exclaimed atlast, --"they say that the finest judge of Circassian sabres is one-eyedAbdulka. I will go to him and ask. "--The officers were dumbfounded. "What Abdulka? The one who lives in the mountains? The one who is not atpeace with us? Abdul-Khan?" "The very man. " "But he will take thee for a scout, he will place thee in thebug-house, --or he will cut off thy head with that same sabre. And howwilt thou make thy way to him? They will seize thee immediately. " "But I will go to him, nevertheless. " "We bet that thou wilt not go!" "I take your bet!" And Mísha instantly saddled his horse and rode off to Abdulka. He wasgone for three days. All were convinced that he had come to somedreadful end. And behold! he came back, somewhat tipsy, and with asabre, only not the one which he had carried away with him, butanother. They began to question him. "It's all right, " said he. "Abdulka is a kind man. At first he reallydid order fetters to be riveted on my legs, and was even preparing toimpale me on a stake. But I explained to him why I had come. 'Do notexpect any ransom from me, ' said I. 'I haven't a farthing to myname--and I have no relatives. '--Abdulka was amazed; he stared at mewith his solitary eye. -'Well, ' says he, 'thou art the chief of heroes, Russian! Am I to believe thee?'--'Believe me, ' said I; 'I never lie'(and Mísha really never did lie). --Abdulka looked at me again. -'And dostthou know how to drink wine?'-'I do, ' said I; 'as much as thou wiltgive, so much will I drink. '--Again Abdulka was astonished, andmentioned Allah. And then he ordered his daughter, or some prettymaiden, whoever she was, --anyhow, she had the gaze of a jackal, --tofetch a leathern bottle of wine. --And I set to work. --'But thy sabre isspurious, ' says he; 'here, take this genuine one. And now thou and I arefriends. '--And you have lost your wager, gentlemen, so pay up. " A second legend concerning Mísha runs as follows. He was passionatelyfond of cards; but as he had no money and did not pay his gambling debts(although he was never a sharper), no one would any longer sit down toplay with him. So one day he began to importune a brother officer, andinsisted upon the latter's playing with him. "But thou wilt be sure to lose, and thou wilt not pay. " "I will not pay in money, that's true--but I will shoot a hole throughmy left hand with this pistol here!" "But what profit is there for me in that?" "No profit whatever--but it's a curious thing, nevertheless. " This conversation took place after a carouse, in the presence ofwitnesses. Whether Mísha's proposal really did strike the officer ascurious or not, --at all events, he consented. The cards were brought, the game began. Mísha was lucky; he won one hundred rubles. Andthereupon his opponent smote himself on the forehead. "What a blockhead I am!" he cried. --"On what a bait was I caught! Ifthou hadst lost, much thou wouldst have shot thyself through thehand!--so it's just an assault on my pocket!" "That's where thou art mistaken, " retorted Mísha:--"I have won--but I'llshoot the hole through my hand. " He seized his pistol, and bang! shot himself through the hand. Thebullet went clear through . .. And a week later the wound was completelyhealed! On another occasion still, Mísha is riding along the road by night withhis comrades. .. . And they see yawning, right by the side of the road, anarrow ravine in the nature of a cleft, dark, very dark, and the bottomof it not visible. "Here now, " says one comrade, "Mísha is reckless enough about somethings, but he will not leap into this ravine. " "Yes, I will!" "No, thou wilt not, because it is, probably, ten fathoms deep, and thoumightest break thy neck. " His friend knew how to attack him--through his vanity. .. . Mísha had agreat deal of it. "But I will leap, nevertheless! Wilt thou bet on it? Ten rubles. " "All right!" And before his comrade had managed to finish the last word Mísha flewoff his horse into the ravine, and crashed down on the stones. They wereall fairly petrified with horror. .. . A good minute passed, and theyheard Mísha's voice proceeding as though from the bowels of the earth, and very dull: "I'm whole! I landed on sand. .. . But the descent was long! Ten rubles onyou!" "Climb out!" shouted his comrades. "Yes, climb out!"--returned Mísha. "Damn it! One can't climb out ofhere! You will have to ride off now for ropes and lanterns. And in themeanwhile, so that I may not find the waiting tedious, toss me down aflask. .. . " And so Mísha had to sit for five hours at the bottom of the ravine; andwhen they dragged him out, it appeared that he had a dislocatedshoulder. But this did not daunt him in the least. On the following daya blacksmith bone-setter set his shoulder, and he used it as thoughnothing were the matter. Altogether, his health was remarkable, unprecedented. I have alreadytold you that until his death he preserved an almost childish freshnessof complexion. He did not know what it was to be ill, in spite of allhis excesses; the vigour of his constitution was not affected in asingle instance. Where any other man would have fallen dangerously ill, or even have died, he merely shook himself like a duck in the water, andbecame more blooming than ever. Once--that also was in the Caucasus. .. . This legend is improbable, it is true, but from it one can judge whatMísha was regarded as capable of doing. .. . So then, once, in theCaucasus, when in a state of intoxication, he fell into a small streamthat covered the lower part of his body; his head and arms remainedexposed on the bank. The affair took place in winter; a rigorous frostset in; and when he was found on the following morning, his legs andbody were visible beneath a stout crust of ice which had frozen over inthe course of the night--and he never even had a cold in the head inconsequence! On another occasion (this happened in Russia, nearOrél, [10] and also during a severe frost), he chanced to go to asuburban eating-house in company with seven young theological students. These theological students were celebrating their graduationexamination, and had invited Mísha, as a charming fellow, "a man with asigh, " as it was called then. They drank a great deal; and when, atlast, the merry crew were preparing to depart, Mísha, dead drunk, wasfound to be already in a state of unconsciousness. The whole seventheological students had between them only one tróika sledge with a highback;[11]--where were they to put the helpless body? Then one of theyoung men, inspired by classical reminiscences, suggested that Mísha betied by the feet to the back of the sledge, as Hector was to the chariotof Achilles! The suggestion was approved . .. And bouncing over thehummocks, sliding sideways down the declivities, with his feet strung upin the air, and his head dragging through the snow, our Mísha traversedon his back the distance of two versts which separated the restaurantfrom the town, and never even so much as coughed or frowned. With suchmarvellous health had nature endowed him! V Leaving the Caucasus, he presented himself once more in Moscow, in aCircassian coat, with cartridge-pouches on the breast, a dagger in hisbelt, and a tall fur cap on his head. From this costume he did not partuntil the end, although he was no longer in the military service, fromwhich he had been dismissed for not reporting on time. He called on me, borrowed a little money . .. And then began his "divings, " his progressthrough the tribulations, [12] or, as he expressed it, "through the sevenSemyóns";[13] then began his sudden absences and returns, thedespatching of beautifully-written letters addressed to all possiblepersons, beginning with the Metropolitan and ending with riding-mastersand midwives! Then began the visits to acquaintances and strangers! Andhere is one point which must be noted: in making his calls he did notcringe and did not importune; but, on the contrary, he behaved himselfin decorous fashion, and even wore a cheery and pleasant aspect, although an ingrained odour of liquor accompanied him everywhere--andhis Oriental costume was gradually reduced to rags. "Give--God will reward you--although I do not deserve it, " he wasaccustomed to say, smiling brightly and blushing openly. "If you do notgive, you will be entirely in the right, and I shall not be angry in theleast. I shall support myself. God will provide! For there are many, very many people who are poorer and more worthy than I!" Mísha enjoyed particular success with women; he understood how to arousetheir compassion. And do not think that he was or imagined himself to bea Lovelace. .. . Oh, no! In that respect he was very modest. Whether hehad inherited from his parents such cold blood, or whether herein wasexpressed his disinclination to do evil to any one, --since, according tohis ideas, to consort with a woman means inevitably to insult thewoman, --I will not take it upon myself to decide; only, in his relationswith the fair sex he was extremely delicate. The women felt this, andall the more willingly did they pity and aid him until he, at last, repelled them by his sprees and hard drinking, by the recklessness ofwhich I have already spoken. .. . I cannot hit upon any other word. On the other hand, in other respects he had already lost all delicacyand had gradually descended to the extreme depths of degradation. Heonce went so far that in the Assembly of Nobility of T---- he placed onthe table a jug with the inscription: "Any one who finds it agreeable to tweak the nose of hereditarynobleman[14] Pólteff (whose authentic documents are herewith appended)may satisfy his desire, on condition that he puts a ruble in this jug. " And it is said that there were persons who did care to tweak thenobleman's nose! It is true that he first all but throttled one amateurwho, having put but one ruble in the jug, tweaked his nose twice, andthen made him sue for pardon; it is true also that he immediatelydistributed to other tatterdemalions a portion of the money thussecured . .. But, nevertheless, what outrageous conduct! In the course of his wanderings through the seven Semyóns he had alsoreached his ancestral nest, which he had sold for a song to a speculatorand usurer well known at that period. The speculator was at home, and onlearning of the arrival of the former owner, who had been transformedinto a tramp, he gave orders that he was not to be admitted into thehouse, and that in case of need he was to be flung out by the scruff ofthe neck. Mísha declared that he would not enter the house, defiled asit was by the presence of a scoundrel; that he would allow no one tothrow him out; but that he was on his way to the churchyard to salutethe dust of his ancestors. This he did. At the churchyard he was joinedby an old house-serf, who had formerly been his man-nurse. Thespeculator had deprived the old man of his monthly stipend and expelledhim from the home farm; from that time forth the man sought shelter inthe kennel of a peasant. Mísha had managed his estate for so short atime that he had not succeeded in leaving behind him a specially goodmemory of himself; but the old servitor had not been able to resist, nevertheless, and on hearing of his young master's arrival, he hadimmediately hastened to the churchyard, had found Mísha seated on theground among the mortuary stones, had begged leave to kiss his hand inmemory of old times, and had even melted into tears as he gazed at therags wherewith the once petted limbs of his nursling were swathed. Míshalooked long and in silence at the old man. "Timoféi!" he said at last. Timoféi gave a start. "What do you wish?" "Hast thou a spade?" "I can get one. .. . But what do you want with a spade, MikhaíloAndréitch?" "I want to dig a grave for myself here, Timoféi; and lie down hereforever between my parents. For this is the only spot which is left tome in the world. Fetch the spade!" "I obey, " said Timoféi; and went off and brought it. And Mísha immediately began to dig up the earth, while Timoféi stood bywith his chin propped on his hand, repeating: "That's the only thingleft for thee and me, master!" And Mísha dug and dug, inquiring from time to time: "Life isn't worthliving, is it, Timoféi?" "It is not, dear little father. " The hole had already grown fairly deep. People saw Mísha's work and ranto report about it to the speculator-owner. At first the speculator flewinto a rage, and wanted to send for the police. "What hypocrisy!" hesaid. But afterward, reflecting, probably, that it would be inconvenientto have a row with that lunatic, and that a scandal might be the result, he betook himself in person to the churchyard, and approaching thetoiling Mísha, he made a polite obeisance to him. The latter continuedto dig, as though he had not noticed his successor. "Mikhaíl Andréitch, " began the speculator, "permit me to inquire whatyou are doing there?" "As you see--I am digging a grave for myself. " "Why are you doing that?" "Because I do not wish to live any longer. " The speculator fairly flung apart his hands in surprise. --"You do notwish to live?" Mísha cast a menacing glance at the speculator:--"Does that surpriseyou? Are not you the cause of it all?. .. Is it not you?. .. Is it notthou?. .. [15] Is it not thou, Judas, who hast robbed me, by takingadvantage of my youth? Dost not thou skin the peasants? Is it not thouwho hast deprived this decrepit old man of his daily bread? Is it notthou?. .. O Lord! Everywhere there is injustice, and oppression, andvillainy. .. . So down with everything, --and with me also! I don't wish tolive--I don't wish to live any longer in Russia!"--And the spade madeswifter progress than ever in Mísha's hands. "The devil knows the meaning of this!" thought the speculator: "heactually is burying himself. "--"Mikhaíl Andréitch, "--he began afresh, "listen; I really am guilty toward you; people did not represent youproperly to me. " Mísha went on digging. "But why this recklessness?" Mísha went on digging--and flung the dirt on the speculator, as much asto say: "Take that, earth-devourer!" "Really, you have no cause for this. Will not you come to my house toeat and rest?" Mísha raised his head a little. "Now you're talking! And will there beanything to drink?" The speculator was delighted. --"Good gracious!. .. I should think so!" "And dost thou invite Timoféi also?" "But why . .. Well, I invite him also. " Mísha reflected. --"Only look out . .. For thou didst turn me out ofdoors. .. . Don't think thou art going to get off with one bottle!" "Do not worry . .. There will be as much as you wish of everything. " Mísha flung aside his spade. .. . "Well, Timósha, " he said, addressing hisold man-nurse, "let us honour the host. .. . Come along!" "I obey, " replied the old man. And all three wended their way toward the house. The speculator knew with whom he had to deal. Mísha made him promise asa preliminary, it is true, that he would "allow all privileges" to thepeasants;--but an hour later that same Mísha, together with Timoféi, both drunk, danced a gallopade through those rooms where the pious shadeof Andréi Nikoláitch seemed still to be hovering; and an hour laterstill, Mísha, so sound asleep that he could not be waked (liquor was hisgreat weakness), was placed in a peasant-cart, together with his kazákcap and his dagger, and sent off to the town, five-and-twenty verstsdistant, --and there was found under a fence. .. . Well, and Timoféi, whostill kept his feet and merely hiccoughed, was "pitched out neck andcrop, " as a matter of course. The master had made a failure of hisattempt. So they might as well let the servant pay the penalty! VI Again considerable time elapsed and I heard nothing of Mísha. .. . Godknows where he had vanished. --One day, as I was sitting before thesamovár at a posting-station on the T---- highway, waiting for horses, I suddenly heard, under the open window of the station-room, a hoarsevoice uttering in French:--"_Monsieur . .. Monsieur . .. Prenez pitié d'unpauvre gentilhomme ruiné!_". .. . I raised my head and looked. .. . The kazákcap with the fur peeled off, the broken cartridge-pouches on thetattered Circassian coat, the dagger in a cracked sheath, the bloatedbut still rosy face, the dishevelled but still thick hair. .. . My God!It was Mísha! He had already come to begging alms on the highways!--Iinvoluntarily uttered an exclamation. He recognised me, shuddered, turned away, and was about to withdraw from the window. I stoppedhim . .. But what was there that I could say to him? Certainly I couldnot read him a lecture!. .. In silence I offered him a five-rublebank-note. With equal silence he grasped it in his still white andplump, though trembling and dirty hand, and disappeared round thecorner of the house. They did not furnish me with horses very promptly, and I had time toindulge in cheerless meditations on the subject of my unexpectedencounter with Mísha. I felt conscience-stricken that I had let him goin so unsympathetic a manner. --At last I proceeded on my journey, andafter driving half a verst from the posting-station I observed, ahead ofme on the road, a crowd of people moving along with a strange and as itwere measured tread. I overtook this crowd, --and what did I see?--Twelvebeggars, with wallets on their shoulders, were walking by twos, singingand skipping as they went, ---and at their head danced Mísha, stampingtime with his feet and saying: "Natchiki-tchikaldi, tchuk-tchuk-tchuk!Natchiki-tchikaldi, tchuk-tchuk-tchuk!" As soon as my calash came on a level with him, and he caught sight ofme, he immediately began to shout, "Hurrah! Halt, draw up in line! Eyesfront, my guard of the road!" The beggars took up his cry and halted, --while he, with his habituallaugh, sprang upon the carriage-step, and again yelled: "Hurrah!" "What is the meaning of this?" I asked, with involuntary amazement. "This? This is my squad, my army; all beggars, God's people, my friends!Each one of them, thanks to your kindness, has quaffed a cup of liquor:and now we are all rejoicing and making merry!. .. Uncle! 'Tis only withthe beggars and God's poor that one can live in the world, you know . .. By God, that's so!" I made him no reply . .. But this time he seemed to me such agood-natured soul, his face expressed such childlike ingenuousness . .. Alight suddenly seemed to dawn upon me, and there came a prick at myheart. .. . "Get into the calash with me, " I said to him. He was amazed. .. . "What? Get into the calash?" "Get in, get in!" I repeated. "I want to make thee a proposition. Getin!. .. Drive on with me. " "Well, you command. "--He got in. --"Come, and as for you, my dearfriends, respected comrades, " he added to the beggars: "good-bye! Untilwe meet again!"--Mísha took off his kazák cap and made a low bow. --Thebeggars all seemed to be dumbfounded. .. . I ordered the coachman to whipup the horses, and the calash rolled on. This is what I wished to propose to Mísha: the idea had suddenlyoccurred to me to take him into my establishment, into my country-house, which was situated about thirty versts from that posting-station, --tosave him, or, at least, to make an effort to save him. "Hearken, Mísha, " said I; "wilt thou settle down with me?. .. Thou shalthave everything provided for thee, clothes and under-linen shall be madefor thee, thou shalt be properly fitted out, and thou shalt receivemoney for tobacco and so forth, only on one condition: not to drinkliquor!. .. Dost thou accept?" Mísha was even frightened with joy. He opened his eyes very wide, turnedcrimson, and suddenly falling on my shoulder, he began to kiss me and torepeat in a spasmodic voice:--"Uncle . .. Benefactor. .. . May God rewardyou!. .. " He melted into tears at last, and doffing his kazák cap, beganto wipe his eyes, his nose, and his lips with it. "Look out, " I said to him. "Remember the condition--not to drinkliquor!" "Why, damn it!" he exclaimed, flourishing both hands, and as a resultof that energetic movement I was still more strongly flooded with thatspirituous odour wherewith he was thoroughly impregnated. .. . "You see, dear uncle, if you only knew my life. .. . If it were not for grief, cruelFate, you know. .. . But now I swear, --I swear that I will reform, andwill prove. .. . Uncle, I have never lied--ask any one you like if Ihave. .. . I am an honourable, but an unhappy man, uncle; I have neverknown kindness from any one. .. . " At this point he finally dissolved in sobs. I tried to soothe him andsucceeded, for when we drove up to my house Mísha had long been sleepingthe sleep of the dead, with his head resting on my knees. VII He was immediately allotted a special room, and also immediately, as thefirst measure, taken to the bath, which was absolutely indispensable. All his garments, and his dagger and tall kazák cap and hole-riddenshoes, were carefully laid away in the storehouse; clean linen was puton him, slippers, and some of my clothing, which, as is always the casewith paupers, exactly fitted his build and stature. When he came to thetable, washed, neat, fresh, he seemed so much touched, and so happy, hewas beaming all over with such joyful gratitude, that I felt emotionand joy. .. . His face was completely transfigured. Little boys of twelvewear such faces at Easter, after the Communion, when, thickly pomaded, clad in new round-jackets and starched collars, they go to exchange theEaster greeting with their parents. Mísha kept feeling of himselfcautiously and incredulously, and repeating:--"What is this?. .. Am not Iin heaven?"--And on the following day he announced that he had not beenable to sleep all night for rapture! In my house there was then living an aged aunt with her niece. They wereboth greatly agitated when they heard of Mísha's arrival; they did notunderstand how I could have invited him to my house! He bore a very badreputation. But, in the first place, I knew that he was always verypolite to ladies; and, in the second place, I trusted to his promise toreform. And, as a matter of fact, during the early days of his sojournunder my roof Mísha not only justified my expectations, but exceededthem; and he simply enchanted my ladies. He played picquet with the oldlady; he helped her to wind yarn; he showed her two new games ofpatience; he accompanied the niece, who had a small voice, on the piano;he read her French and Russian poetry; he narrated diverting butdecorous anecdotes to both ladies;--in a word, he was serviceable tothem in all sorts of ways, so that they repeatedly expressed to me theirsurprise, while the old woman even remarked: "How unjust peoplesometimes are!. .. What all have not they said about him . .. While he isso discreet and polite . .. Poor Mísha!" It is true that at table "poor Mísha" licked his lips in apeculiarly-hasty way every time he even looked at a bottle. But all Ihad to do was to shake my finger, and he would roll up his eyes, andpress his hand to his heart . .. As much as to say: "I have sworn. .. . " "I am regenerated now!" he assured me. --"Well, God grant it!" I thoughtto myself. .. . But this regeneration did not last long. During the early days he was very loquacious and jolly. But beginningwith the third day he quieted down, somehow, although, as before, hekept close to the ladies and amused them. A half-sad, half-thoughtfulexpression began to flit across his face, and the face itself grew paleand thin. "Art thou ill?" I asked him. "Yes, " he answered;--"my head aches a little. " On the fourth day he became perfectly silent; he sat in a corner most ofthe time, with dejectedly drooping head; and by his downcast aspectevoked a feeling of compassion in the two ladies, who now, in theirturn, tried to divert him. At table he ate nothing, stared at hisplate, and rolled bread-balls. On the fifth day the feeling of pity inthe ladies began to be replaced by another--by distrust and even fear. Mísha had grown wild, he avoided people and kept walking along the wall, as though creeping stealthily, and suddenly darting glances around him, as though some one had called him. And what had become of his rosycomplexion? It seemed to be covered with earth. "Art thou still ill?" I asked him. "No; I am well, " he answered abruptly. "Art thou bored?" "Why should I be bored?"--But he turned away and would not look me inthe eye. "Or hast thou grown melancholy again?"--To this he made no reply. On the following day my aunt ran into my study in a state of greatexcitement, and declared that she and her niece would leave my house ifMísha were to remain in it. "Why so?" "Why, we feel afraid of him. .. . He is not a man, --he is a wolf, aregular wolf. He stalks and stalks about, saying never a word, and hassuch a wild look. .. . He all but gnashes his teeth. My Kátya is such anervous girl, as thou knowest. .. . She took a great interest in him thefirst day. .. . I am afraid for her and for myself. .. . " I did not know what reply to make to my aunt. But I could not expelMísha, whom I had invited in. He himself extricated me from this dilemma. That very day--before I had even left my study--I suddenly heard a dulland vicious voice behind me. "Nikolái Nikoláitch, hey there, Nikolái Nikoláitch!" I looked round. In the doorway stood Mísha, with a terrible, lowering, distorted visage. "Nikolái Nikoláitch, " he repeated . .. (it was no longer "dear uncle"). "What dost thou want?" "Let me go . .. This very moment!" "What?" "Let me go, or I shall commit a crime, --set the house on fire or cutsome one's throat. "--Mísha suddenly fell to shaking. --"Order them torestore my garments, and give me a cart to carry me to the highway, andgive me a trifling sum of money!" "But art thou dissatisfied with anything?" I began. "I cannot live thus!" he roared at the top of his voice. --"I cannot livein your lordly, thrice-damned house! I hate, I am ashamed to live sotranquilly!. .. How do _you_ manage to endure it?!" "In other words, " I interposed, "thou wishest to say that thou canst notlive without liquor. .. . " "Well, yes! well, yes!" he yelled again. --"Only let me go to mybrethren, to my friends, to the beggars!. .. Away from your noble, decorous, repulsive race!" I wanted to remind him of his promise on oath, but the criminalexpression of Mísha's face, his unrestrained voice, the convulsivetrembling of all his limbs--all this was so frightful that I made hasteto get rid of him. I informed him that he should receive his clothing atonce, that a cart should be harnessed for him; and taking from a casketa twenty-ruble bank-note, I laid it on the table. Mísha was alreadybeginning to advance threateningly upon me, but now he suddenly stoppedshort, his face instantaneously became distorted, and flushed up; hesmote his breast, tears gushed from his eyes, and he stammered, --"Uncle!--Angel! I am a lost man, you see!---Thanks! Thanks!"--Heseized the bank-note and rushed out of the room. An hour later he was already seated in a cart, again clad in hisCircassian coat, again rosy and jolly; and when the horses started offhe uttered a yell, tore off his tall kazák cap, and waving it above hishead, he made bow after bow. Immediately before his departure heembraced me long and warmly, stammering:--"Benefactor, benefactor!. .. Itwas impossible to save me!" He even ran in to see the ladies, and kissedtheir hands over and over again, went down on his knees, appealed toGod, and begged forgiveness! I found Kátya in tears later on. But the coachman who had driven Mísha reported to me, on his return, that he had taken him to the first drinking establishment on thehighway, and that there he "had got stranded, " had begun to stand treatto every one without distinction, and had soon arrived at a state ofinebriation. Since that time I have never met Mísha, but I learned his final fate inthe following manner. VIII Three years later I again found myself in the country; suddenly aservant entered and announced that Madame Pólteff was inquiring for me. I knew no Madame Pólteff, and the servant who made the announcement wasgrinning in a sarcastic sort of way, for some reason or other. In replyto my questioning glance he said that the lady who was asking for me wasyoung, poorly clad, and had arrived in a peasant-cart drawn by onehorse which she was driving herself! I ordered that Madame Pólteffshould be requested to do me the favour to step into my study. I beheld a woman of five-and-twenty, --belonging to the petty burgherclass, to judge from her attire, --with a large kerchief on her head. Herface was simple, rather round in contour, not devoid of agreeability;her gaze was downcast and rather melancholy, her movements wereembarrassed. "Are you Madame Pólteff?" I asked, inviting her to be seated. "Just so, sir, " she answered, in a low voice, and without sittingdown. --"I am the widow of your nephew, Mikhaíl Andréevitch Pólteff. " "Is Mikhaíl Andréevitch dead? Has he been dead long?--But sit down, Ibeg of you. " She dropped down on a chair. "This is the second month since he died. " "And were you married to him long ago?" "I lived with him one year in all. " "And whence come you now?" "I come from the vicinity of Túla. .. . There is a village there calledZnámenskoe-Glúshkovo--perhaps you deign to know it. I am the daughter ofthe sexton there. Mikhaíl Andréitch and I lived there. .. . He settleddown with my father. We lived together a year in all. " The young woman'slips twitched slightly, and she raised her hand to them. She seemed tobe getting ready to cry, but conquered herself, and cleared her throat. "The late Mikhaíl Andréitch, before his death, " she went on, "bade me goto you. 'Be sure to go, ' he said. And he told me that I was to thank youfor all your goodness, and transmit to you . .. This . .. Trifle" (shedrew from her pocket a small package), "which he always carried on hisperson. .. . And Mikhaíl Andréitch said, Wouldn't you be so kind as toaccept it in memory--that you must not scorn it. .. . 'I have nothing elseto give him, ' . .. Meaning you . .. He said. .. . " In the packet was a small silver cup with the monogram of Mikhaíl'smother. This tiny cup I had often seen in Mikhaíl's hands; and once hehad even said to me, in speaking of a pauper, that he must be strippedbare, since he had neither cup nor bowl, "while I have this here, " hesaid. I thanked her, took the cup and inquired, "Of what malady did MikhaílAndréitch die?--Probably. .. . " Here I bit my tongue, but the young woman understood my unspokenthought. .. . She darted a swift glance at me, then dropped her eyes, smiled sadly, and immediately said, "Akh, no! He had abandoned thatentirely from the time he made my acquaintance. .. . Only, what health hadhe?!. .. It was utterly ruined. As soon as he gave up drinking, hismalady immediately manifested itself. He became so steady, he was alwayswanting to help my father, either in the household affairs, or in thevegetable garden . .. Or whatever other work happened to be on hand . .. In spite of the fact that he was of noble birth. Only, where was he toget the strength?. .. And he would have liked to busy himself in thedepartment of writing also, --he knew how to do that beautifully, as youare aware; but his hands shook so, and he could not hold the penproperly. .. . He was always reproaching himself: 'I'm an idle dog, ' hesaid. 'I have done no one any good, I have helped no one, I have nottoiled!' He was very much afflicted over that same. .. . He used to say, 'Our people toil, but what are we doing?. .. ' Akh, Nikolái Nikoláitch, hewas a fine man--and he loved me . .. And I. .. . Akh, forgive me. .. . " Here the young woman actually burst into tears. I would have liked tocomfort her, but I did not know how. "Have you a baby?" I asked at last. She sighed. --"No, I have not. .. . How could I have?"--And here tearsstreamed worse than before. So this was the end of Mísha's wanderings through tribulations [old P. Concluded his story]. --You will agree with me, gentlemen, as a matter ofcourse, that I had a right to call him reckless; but you will probablyalso agree with me that he did not resemble the reckless fellows of thepresent day, although we must suppose that any philosopher would findtraits of similarity between him and them. In both cases there is thethirst for self-annihilation, melancholy, dissatisfaction. .. . And whatthat springs from I will permit precisely that philosopher to decide. THE DREAM (1876) I I was living with my mother at the time, in a small seaport town. I wasjust turned seventeen, and my mother was only thirty-five; she hadmarried very young. When my father died I was only seven years old; butI remembered him well. My mother was a short, fair-haired woman, with acharming, but permanently-sad face, a quiet, languid voice, and timidmovements. In her youth she had borne the reputation of a beauty, and aslong as she lived she remained attractive and pretty. I have neverbeheld more profound, tender, and melancholy eyes. I adored her, and sheloved me. .. . But our life was not cheerful; it seemed as though somemysterious, incurable and undeserved sorrow were constantly sapping theroot of her existence. This sorrow could not be explained by grief formy father alone, great as that was, passionately as my mother had lovedhim, sacredly as she cherished his memory. .. . No! there was somethingelse hidden there which I did not understand, but which I felt, --feltconfusedly and strongly as soon as I looked at those quiet, impassiveeyes, at those very beautiful but also impassive lips, which were notbitterly compressed, but seemed to have congealed for good and all. I have said that my mother loved me; but there were moments when shespurned me, when my presence was burdensome, intolerable to her. At suchtimes she felt, as it were, an involuntary aversion for me--and wasterrified afterward, reproaching herself with tears and clasping me toher heart. I attributed these momentary fits of hostility to hershattered health, to her unhappiness. .. . These hostile sentiments mighthave been evoked, it is true, in a certain measure, by some strangeoutbursts, which were incomprehensible even to me myself, of wicked andcriminal feelings which occasionally arose in me. .. . But these outbursts did not coincide with the moments of repulsion. --Mymother constantly wore black, as though she were in mourning. We livedon a rather grand scale, although we associated with no one. II My mother concentrated upon me all her thoughts and cares. Her life wasmerged in my life. Such relations between parents and children are notalways good for the children . .. They are more apt to be injurious. Moreover I was my mother's only child . .. And only children generallydevelop irregularly. In rearing them the parents do not think ofthemselves so much as they do of them. .. . That is not practical. I didnot get spoiled, and did not grow obstinate (both these things happenwith only children), but my nerves were unstrung before their time; inaddition to which I was of rather feeble health--I took after my mother, to whom I also bore a great facial resemblance. I shunned the society oflads of my own age; in general, I was shy of people; I even talked verylittle with my mother. I was fonder of reading than of anything else, and of walking alone--and dreaming, dreaming! What my dreams were aboutit would be difficult to say. It sometimes seemed to me as though I werestanding before a half-open door behind which were concealed hiddensecrets, --standing and waiting, and swooning with longing--yet notcrossing the threshold; and always meditating as to what there wasyonder ahead of me--and always waiting and longing . .. Or falling intoslumber. If the poetic vein had throbbed in me I should, in allprobability, have taken to writing verses; if I had felt an inclinationto religious devoutness I might have become a monk; but there wasnothing of the sort about me, and I continued to dream--and to wait. III I have just mentioned that I sometimes fell asleep under the inspirationof obscure thoughts and reveries. On the whole, I slept a great deal, and dreams played a prominent part in my life; I beheld visions almostevery night. I did not forget them, I attributed to them significance, Iregarded them as prophetic, I strove to divine their secret import. Someof them were repeated from time to time, which always seemed to mewonderful and strange. I was particularly perturbed by one dream. Itseems to me that I am walking along a narrow, badly-paved street in anancient town, between many-storied houses of stone, with sharp-pointedroofs. I am seeking my father who is not dead, but is, for some reason, hiding from us, and is living in one of those houses. And so I enter alow, dark gate, traverse a long courtyard encumbered with beams andplanks, and finally make my way into a small chamber with two circularwindows. In the middle of the room stands my father, clad in adressing-gown and smoking a pipe. He does not in the least resemble myreal father: he is tall, thin, black-haired, he has a hooked nose, surly, piercing eyes; in appearance he is about forty years of age. Heis displeased because I have hunted him up; and I also am not in theleast delighted at the meeting--and I stand still, in perplexity. Heturns away slightly, begins to mutter something and to pace to and frowith short steps. .. . Then he retreats a little, without ceasing tomutter, and keeps constantly casting glances behind him, over hisshoulder; the room widens out and vanishes in a fog. .. . I suddenly growterrified at the thought that I am losing my father again. I rush afterhim--but I no longer see him, and can only hear his angry, bear-likegrowl. .. . My heart sinks within me. I wake up, and for a long timecannot get to sleep again. .. . All the following day I think about thatdream and, of course, am unable to arrive at any conclusion. IV The month of June had come. The town in which my mother and I livedbecame remarkably animated at that season. A multitude of vesselsarrived at the wharves, a multitude of new faces presented themselves onthe streets. I loved at such times to stroll along the quay, past thecoffee-houses and inns, to scan the varied faces of the sailors andother people who sat under the canvas awnings, at little white tableswith pewter tankards filled with beer. One day, as I was passing in front of a coffee-house, I caught sight ofa man who immediately engrossed my entire attention. Clad in a longblack coat of peasant cut, with a straw hat pulled down over his eyes, he was sitting motionless, with his arms folded on his chest. Thinrings of black hair descended to his very nose; his thin lips grippedthe stem of a short pipe. This man seemed so familiar to me, everyfeature of his swarthy, yellow face, his whole figure, were soindubitably stamped on my memory, that I could not do otherwise thanhalt before him, could not help putting to myself the question: "Who isthis man? Where have I seen him?" He probably felt my intent stare, forhe turned his black, piercing eyes upon me. .. . I involuntarily uttered acry of surprise. .. . This man was the father whom I had sought out, whom I had beheld in mydream! There was no possibility of making a mistake, --the resemblance was toostriking. Even the long-skirted coat, which enveloped his gaunt limbs, reminded me, in colour and form, of the dressing-gown in which my fatherhad presented himself to me. "Am not I dreaming?" I thought to myself. .. . "No. .. . It is daylight now, a crowd is roaring round me, the sun is shining brightly in the bluesky, and I have before me, not a phantom, but a living man. " I stepped up to an empty table, ordered myself a tankard of beer and anewspaper, and seated myself at a short distance from this mysteriousbeing. V Placing the sheets of the newspaper on a level with my face, I continuedto devour the stranger with my eyes. --He hardly stirred, and only raisedhis drooping head a little from time to time. He was evidently waitingfor some one. I gazed and gazed. .. . Sometimes it seemed to me that I hadinvented the whole thing, that in reality there was no resemblancewhatever, that I had yielded to the semi-involuntary deception of theimagination . .. But "he" would suddenly turn a little on his chair, raise his hand slightly, and again I almost cried aloud, again I beheldbefore me my "nocturnal" father! At last he noticed my importunateattention, and, first with surprise, then with vexation, he glanced inmy direction, started to rise, and knocked down a small cane which hehad leaned against the table. I instantly sprang to my feet, picked itup and handed it to him. My heart was beating violently. He smiled in a constrained way, thanked me, and putting his face closeto my face, he elevated his eyebrows and parted his lips a little, asthough something had struck him. "You are very polite, young man, " he suddenly began, in a dry, sharp, snuffling voice. --"That is a rarity nowadays. Allow me to congratulateyou. You have been well brought up. " I do not remember precisely what answer I made to him; but theconversation between us was started. I learned that he was afellow-countryman of mine, that he had recently returned from America, where he had lived many years, and whither he was intending to returnshortly. He said his name was Baron. .. . I did not catch the name well. He, like my "nocturnal" father, wound up each of his remarks with anindistinct, inward growl. He wanted to know my name. .. . On hearing it heagain showed signs of surprise. Then he asked me if I had been livinglong in that town, and with whom? I answered him that I lived with mymother. "And your father?" "My father died long ago. " He inquired my mother's Christian name, and immediately burst into anawkward laugh--and then excused himself, saying that he had thatAmerican habit, and that altogether he was a good deal of an eccentric. Then he asked where we lived. I told him. VI The agitation which had seized upon me at the beginning of ourconversation had gradually subsided; I thought our intimacy ratherstrange--that was all. I did not like the smile with which the baronquestioned me; neither did I like the expression of his eyes when hefairly stabbed them into me. .. . There was about them something rapaciousand condescending . .. Something which inspired dread. I had not seenthose eyes in my dream. The baron had a strange face! It was pallid, fatigued, and, at the same time, youthful in appearance, but with adisagreeable youthfulness! Neither had my "nocturnal" father that deepscar, which intersected his whole forehead in a slanting direction, andwhich I did not notice until I moved closer to him. Before I had had time to impart to the baron the name of the street andthe number of the house where we lived, a tall negro, wrapped up in acloak to his very eyes, approached him from behind and tapped him softlyon the shoulder. The baron turned round, said: "Aha! At last!" andnodding lightly to me, entered the coffee-house with the negro. Iremained under the awning. I wished to wait until the baron should comeout again, not so much for the sake of entering again into conversationwith him (I really did not know what topic I could start with), as forthe purpose of again verifying my first impression. --But half an hourpassed; an hour passed. .. . The baron did not make his appearance. Ientered the coffee-house, I made the circuit of all the rooms--butnowhere did I see either the baron or the negro. .. . Both of them musthave taken their departure through the back door. My head had begun to ache a little, and with the object of refreshingmyself I set out along the seashore to the extensive park outside thetown, which had been laid out ten years previously. After havingstrolled for a couple of hours in the shade of the huge oaks andplaintain-trees, I returned home. VII Our maid-servant flew to meet me, all tremulous with agitation, as soonas I made my appearance in the anteroom. I immediately divined, from theexpression of her face, that something unpleasant had occurred in ourhouse during my absence. --And, in fact, I learned that half an hourbefore a frightful shriek had rung out from my mother's bedroom. Whenthe maid rushed in she found her on the floor in a swoon which lastedfor several minutes. My mother had recovered consciousness at last, buthad been obliged to go to bed, and wore a strange, frightened aspect;she had not uttered a word, she had not replied to questions--she haddone nothing but glance around her and tremble. The servant had sent thegardener for a doctor. The doctor had come and had prescribed a soothingpotion, but my mother had refused to say anything to him either. Thegardener asserted that a few moments after the shriek had rung out frommy mother's room he had seen a strange man run hastily across theflower-plots of the garden to the street gate. (We lived in a one-storyhouse, whose windows looked out upon a fairly large garden. ) Thegardener had not been able to get a good look at the man's face; but thelatter was gaunt, and wore a straw hat and a long-skirted coat. .. . "Thebaron's costume!" immediately flashed into my head. --The gardener hadbeen unable to overtake him; moreover, he had been summoned, withoutdelay, to the house and despatched for the doctor. I went to my mother's room; she was lying in bed, whiter than the pillowon which her head rested. .. . At sight of me she smiled faintly, and putout her hand to me. I sat down by her side, and began to question her;at first she persistently parried my questions; but at last sheconfessed that she had seen something which had frightened her greatly. "Did some one enter here?" I asked. "No, " she answered hastily, "no one entered, but it seemed to me . .. Ithought I saw . .. A vision. .. . " She ceased speaking and covered her eyes with her hand. I was on thepoint of communicating to her what I had heard from the gardener--andmy meeting with the baron also, by the way . .. But, for some reason orother, the words died on my lips. Nevertheless I did bring myself to remark to my mother that visions donot manifest themselves in the daylight. .. . "Stop, " she whispered, "please stop; do not torture me now. Some daythou shalt know. .. . " Again she relapsed into silence. Her hands werecold, and her pulse beat fast and unevenly. I gave her a dose of hermedicine and stepped a little to one side, in order not to disturb her. She did not rise all day. She lay motionless and quiet, only sighingdeeply from time to time, and opening her eyes in a timorousfashion. --Every one in the house was perplexed. VIII Toward night a slight fever made its appearance, and my mother sent meaway. I did not go to my own chamber, however, but lay down in theadjoining room on the divan. Every quarter of an hour I rose, approachedthe door on tiptoe, and listened. .. . Everything remained silent--but mymother hardly slept at all that night. When I went into her room earlyin the morning her face appeared to me to be swollen, and her eyes wereshining with an unnatural brilliancy. In the course of the day shebecame a little easier, but toward evening the fever increased again. Up to that time she had maintained an obstinate silence, but now shesuddenly began to talk in a hurried, spasmodic voice. She was notdelirious, there was sense in her words, but there was no coherency inthem. Not long before midnight she raised herself up in bed with aconvulsive movement (I was sitting beside her), and with the samehurried voice she began to narrate to me, continually drinking water ingulps from a glass, feebly flourishing her hands, and not once lookingat me the while. .. . At times she paused, exerted an effort over herself, and went on again. .. . All this was strange, as though she were doing itin her sleep, as though she herself were not present, but as though someother person were speaking with her lips, or making her speak. IX "Listen to what I have to tell thee, " she began. "Thou art no longer ayoung boy; thou must know all. I had a good friend. .. . She married a manwhom she loved with all her heart, and she was happy with her husband. But during the first year of their married life they both went to thecapital to spend a few weeks and enjoy themselves. They stopped at agood hotel and went out a great deal to theatres and assemblies. Myfriend was very far from homely; every one noticed her, all the youngmen paid court to her; but among them was one in particular . .. Anofficer. He followed her unremittingly, and wherever she went she beheldhis black, wicked eyes. He did not make her acquaintance, and did notspeak to her even once; he merely kept staring at her in a very strange, insolent way. All the pleasures of the capital were poisoned by hispresence. She began to urge her husband to depart as speedily aspossible, and they had fully made up their minds to the journey. One dayher husband went off to the club; some officers--officers who belongedto the same regiment as this man--had invited him to play cards. .. . Forthe first time she was left alone. Her husband did not return for a longtime; she dismissed her maid and went to bed. .. . And suddenly a greatdread came upon her, so that she even turned cold all over and began totremble. It seemed to her that she heard a faint tapping on the otherside of the wall--like the noise a dog makes when scratching--and shebegan to stare at that wall. In the corner burned a shrine-lamp; thechamber was all hung with silken stuff. .. . Suddenly something began tomove at that point, rose, opened. .. . And straight out of the wall, allblack and long, stepped forth that dreadful man with the wicked eyes! "She tried to scream and could not. She was benumbed with fright. Headvanced briskly toward her, like a rapacious wild beast, flungsomething over her head, something stifling, heavy and white. .. . Whathappened afterward I do not remember. .. . I do not remember! It was likedeath, like murder. .. . When that terrible fog dispersed at last--whenI . .. My friend recovered her senses, there was no one in the room. Again--and for a long time--she was incapable of crying out, but she didshriek at last . .. Then again everything grew confused. .. . "Then she beheld by her side her husband, who had been detained at theclub until two o'clock. .. . His face was distorted beyond recognition. Hebegan to question her, but she said nothing. .. . Then she fell ill. .. . But I remember that when she was left alone in the room she examinedthat place in the wall. .. . Under the silken hangings there proved to bea secret door. And her wedding-ring had disappeared from her hand. Thisring was of an unusual shape. Upon it seven tiny golden stars alternatedwith seven tiny silver stars; it was an ancient family heirloom. Herhusband asked her what had become of her ring; she could make no reply. Her husband thought that she had dropped it somewhere, hunted everywherefor it, but nowhere could he find it. Gloom descended upon him, hedecided to return home as speedily as possible, and as soon as thedoctor permitted they quitted the capital. .. . But imagine! On the veryday of their departure they suddenly encountered, on the street, alitter. .. . In that litter lay a man who had just been killed, with acleft skull---and just imagine! that man was that same dreadfulnocturnal visitor with the wicked eyes. .. . He had been killed over agame of cards! "Then my friend went away to the country, and became a mother for thefirst time . .. And lived several years with her husband. He neverlearned anything about that matter, and what could she say? She herselfknew nothing. But her former happiness had vanished. Darkness hadinvaded their life--and that darkness was never dispelled. .. . They hadno other children either before or after . .. But that son. .. . " My mother began to tremble all over, and covered her face with herhands. "But tell me now, " she went on, with redoubled force, "whether my friendwas in any way to blame? With what could she reproach herself? She waspunished, but had not she the right to declare, in the presence of Godhimself, that the punishment which overtook her was unjust? Then why canthe past present itself to her, after the lapse of so many years, in sofrightful an aspect, as though she were a sinner tortured by thegnawings of conscience? Macbeth slew Banquo, so it is not to bewondered at that he should have visions . .. But I. .. . " But my mother's speech became so entangled and confused that I ceased tounderstand her . .. I no longer had any doubt that she was raving indelirium. X Any one can easily understand what a shattering effect my mother'snarration produced upon me! I had divined, at her very first word, thatshe was speaking of herself, and not of any acquaintance of hers; herslip of the tongue only confirmed me in my surmise. So it really was myfather whom I had sought out in my dream, whom I had beheld when wideawake! He had not been killed, as my mother had supposed, but merelywounded. .. . And he had come to her, and had fled, affrighted by herfright. Everything suddenly became clear to me; the feeling ofinvoluntary repugnance for me which sometimes awoke in my mother, andher constant sadness, and our isolated life. .. . I remember that my headreeled, and I clutched at it with both hands, as though desirous ofholding it firmly in its place. But one thought had become riveted in itlike a nail. I made up my mind, without fail, at any cost, to find thatman again! Why? With what object?--I did not account to myself forthat; but to find him . .. To find him--that had become for me a questionof life or death! On the following morning my mother regained her composure at last . .. The fever passed off . .. She fell asleep. Committing her to the care ofour landlord and landlady and the servants, I set out on my quest. XI First of all, as a matter of course, I betook myself to the coffee-housewhere I had met the baron; but in the coffee-house no one knew him orhad even noticed him; he was a chance visitor. The proprietors hadnoticed the negro--his figure had been too striking to escape notice;but who he was, where he stayed, no one knew either. Leaving my address, in case of an emergency, at the coffee-house, I began to walk about thestreets and the water-front of the town, the wharves, the boulevards; Ilooked into all the public institutions, and nowhere did I find any onewho resembled either the baron or his companion. .. . As I had not caughtthe baron's name, I was deprived of the possibility of appealing to thepolice; but I privately gave two or three guardians of public order tounderstand (they gazed at me in surprise, it is true, and did notentirely believe me) that I would lavishly reward their zeal if theyshould be successful in coming upon the traces of those two individuals, whose personal appearance I tried to describe as minutely as possible. Having strolled about in this manner until dinner-time, I returned homethoroughly worn out. My mother had got out of bed; but with her habitualmelancholy there was mingled a new element, a sort of pensiveperplexity, which cut me to the heart like a knife. I sat with her allthe evening. We said hardly anything; she laid out her game of patience, I silently looked at her cards. She did not refer by a single word toher story, or to what had happened the day before. It was as though wehad both entered into a compact not to touch upon those strange andterrifying occurrences. .. . She appeared to be vexed with herself andashamed of what had involuntarily burst from her; but perhaps she didnot remember very clearly what she had said in her semi-fevereddelirium, and hoped that I would spare her. .. . And, in fact, I did spareher, and she was conscious of it; as on the preceding day she avoidedmeeting my eyes. A frightful storm had suddenly sprung up out of doors. The wind howledand tore in wild gusts, the window-panes rattled and quivered;despairing shrieks and groans were borne through the air, as thoughsomething on high had broken loose and were flying with mad weepingover the shaking houses. Just before dawn I lost myself in a doze . .. When suddenly it seemed to me as though some one had entered my room andcalled me, had uttered my name, not in a loud, but in a decided voice. Iraised my head and saw no one; but, strange to relate! I not only wasnot frightened--I was delighted; there suddenly arose within me theconviction that now I should, without fail, attain my end. I hastilydressed myself and left the house. XII The storm had subsided . .. But its last flutterings could still be felt. It was early; there were no people in the streets; in many placesfragments of chimneys, tiles, boards of fences which had been rentasunder, the broken boughs of trees, lay strewn upon the ground. .. . "What happened at sea last night?" I involuntarily thought at the sightof the traces left behind by the storm. I started to go to the port, butmy feet bore me in another direction, as though in obedience to anirresistible attraction. Before ten minutes had passed I found myself ina quarter of the town which I had never yet visited. I was walking, notfast, but without stopping, step by step, with a strange sensation at myheart; I was expecting something remarkable, impossible, and, at thesame time, I was convinced that that impossible thing would come topass. XIII And lo, it came to pass, that remarkable, that unexpected thing! Twentypaces in front of me I suddenly beheld that same negro who had spoken tothe baron in my presence at the coffee-house! Enveloped in the samecloak which I had then noticed on him, he seemed to have popped up outof the earth, and with his back turned toward me was walking with briskstrides along the narrow sidewalk of the crooked alley! I immediatelydashed in pursuit of him, but he redoubled his gait, although he did notglance behind him, and suddenly made an abrupt turn around the corner ofa projecting house. I rushed to that corner and turned it as quickly asthe negro had done. .. . Marvellous to relate! Before me stretched a long, narrow, and perfectly empty street; the morning mist filled it with itsdim, leaden light, --but my gaze penetrated to its very extremity. Icould count all its buildings . .. And not a single living being wasanywhere astir! The tall negro in the cloak had vanished as suddenly ashe had appeared! I was amazed . .. But only for a moment. Another feelingimmediately took possession of me; that street which stretched outbefore my eyes, all dumb and dead, as it were, --I recognised it! It wasthe street of my dream. I trembled and shivered--the morning was sochilly--and instantly, without the slightest wavering, with a certainterror of confidence, I went onward. I began to seek with my eyes. .. . Yes, there it is, yonder, on the right, with a corner projecting on the sidewalk--yonder is the house of mydream, yonder is the ancient gate with the stone scrolls on eachside. .. . The house is not circular, it is true, but square . .. But thatis a matter of no importance. .. . I knock at the gate, I knock once, twice, thrice, ever more and more loudly. .. . The gate opens slowly, witha heavy screech, as though yawning. In front of me stands a youngserving-maid with a dishevelled head and sleepy eyes. She has evidentlyjust waked up. "Does the baron live here?" I inquire, as I run a swift glance over thedeep, narrow courtyard. .. . It is there; it is all there . .. There arethe planks which I had seen in my dream. "No, " the maid answers me, "the baron does not live here. " "What dost thou mean by that? It is impossible!" "He is not here now. He went away yesterday. " "Whither?" "To America. " "To America!" I involuntarily repeated. "But he is coming back?" The maid looked suspiciously at me. "I don't know. Perhaps he will not come back at all. " "But has he been living here long?" "No, not long; about a week. Now he is not here at all. " "But what was the family name of that baron?" The maid-servant stared at me. "Don't you know his name? We simply called him the baron. Hey, there!Piótr!" she cried, perceiving that I was pushing my way in. --"comehither: some stranger or other is asking all sorts of questions. " From the house there presented itself the shambling figure of a robustlabourer. "What's the matter? What's wanted?" he inquired in a hoarse voice, --andhaving listened to me with a surly mien, he repeated what themaid-servant had said. "But who does live here?" I said. "Our master. " "And who is he?" "A carpenter. They are all carpenters in this street. " "Can he be seen?" "Impossible now, he is asleep. " "And cannot I go into the house?" "No; go your way. " "Well, and can I see your master a little later?" "Why not? Certainly. He can always be seen. .. . That's his business as adealer. Only, go your way now. See how early it is. " "Well, and how about that negro?" I suddenly asked. The labourer stared in amazement, first at me, then at the maid-servant. "What negro?" he said at last. --"Go away, sir. You can come back later. Talk with the master. " I went out into the street. The gate was instantly banged behind me, heavily and sharply, without squeaking this time. I took good note of the street and house and went away, but not home. --Ifelt something in the nature of disenchantment. Everything which hadhappened to me was so strange, so remarkable--and yet, how stupidly ithad been ended! I had been convinced that I should behold in that housethe room which was familiar to me--and in the middle of it my father, the baron, in a dressing-gown and with a pipe. .. . And instead of that, the master of the house was a carpenter, and one might visit him as muchas one pleased, --and order furniture of him if one wished! But my father had gone to America! And what was left for me to donow?. .. Tell my mother everything, or conceal forever the very memory ofthat meeting? I was absolutely unable to reconcile myself to the thoughtthat such a senseless, such a commonplace ending should be tacked on tosuch a supernatural, mysterious beginning! I did not wish to return home, and walked straight ahead, following mynose, out of the town. XIV I walked along with drooping head, without a thought, almost withoutsensation, but wholly engrossed in myself. --A measured, dull and angryroar drew me out of my torpor. I raised my head: it was the sea roaringand booming fifty paces from me. Greatly agitated by the nocturnalstorm, the sea was a mass of white-caps to the very horizon, and steepcrests of long breakers were rolling in regularly and breaking on theflat shore, I approached it, and walked along the very line left by theebb and flow on the yellow, ribbed sand, strewn with fragments oftrailing seawrack, bits of shells, serpent-like ribbons of eel-grass. Sharp-winged gulls with pitiful cry, borne on the wind from the distantaerial depths, soared white as snow against the grey, cloudy sky, swooped down abruptly, and as though skipping from wave to wave, departed again and vanished like silvery flecks in the strips ofswirling foam. Some of them, I noticed, circled persistently around alarge isolated boulder which rose aloft in the midst of the monotonousexpanse of sandy shores. Coarse seaweed grew in uneven tufts on one sideof the rock; and at the point where its tangled stems emerged from theyellow salt-marsh, there was something black, and long, and arched, andnot very large. .. . I began to look more intently. .. . Some dark objectwas lying there--lying motionless beside the stone. .. . That objectbecame constantly clearer and more distinct the nearer I approached. .. . I was only thirty paces from the rock now. .. . Why, that was the outlineof a human body! It was a corpse; it was a drowned man, cast up by thesea! I went clear up to the rock. It was the corpse of the baron, my father! I stopped short, as thoughrooted to the spot. Then only did I understand that ever since daybreakI had been guided by some unknown forces--that I was in theirpower, --and for the space of several minutes there was nothing in mysoul save the ceaseless crashing of the sea, and a dumb terror in thepresence of the Fate which held me in its grip. .. . XV He was lying on his back, bent a little to one side, with his left armthrown above his head . .. The right was turned under his bent body. Thesticky slime had sucked in the tips of his feet, shod in tall sailor'sboots; the short blue pea-jacket, all impregnated with sea-salt, had notunbuttoned; a red scarf encircled his neck in a hard knot. The swarthyface, turned skyward, seemed to be laughing; from beneath the upturnedupper lip small close-set teeth were visible; the dim pupils of thehalf-closed eyes were hardly to be distinguished from the darkenedwhites; covered with bubbles of foam the dirt-encrusted hair spread outover the ground and laid bare the smooth forehead with the purplish lineof the scar; the narrow nose rose up like a sharp, white streak betweenthe sunken cheeks. The storm of the past night had done its work. .. . Hehad not beheld America! The man who had insulted my mother, who hadmarred her life, my father--yes! my father, I could cherish no doubt asto that--lay stretched out helpless in the mud at my feet. I experienceda sense of satisfied vengeance, and compassion, and repulsion, andterror most of all . .. Of twofold terror; terror of what I had seen, andof what had come to pass. That evil, that criminal element of which Ihave already spoken, those incomprehensible spasms rose up withinme . .. Stifled me. "Aha!" I thought to myself: "so that is why I am what I am. .. . That iswhere blood tells!" I stood beside the corpse and gazed and waited, tosee whether those dead pupils would not stir, whether those benumbedlips would not quiver. No! everything was motionless; the very seaweed, among which the surf had cast him, seemed to have congealed; even thegulls had flown away--there was not a fragment anywhere, not a plank orany broken rigging. There was emptiness everywhere . .. Only he--andI--and the foaming sea in the distance. I cast a glance behind me; thesame emptiness was there; a chain of hillocks on the horizon . .. Thatwas all! I dreaded to leave that unfortunate man in that loneliness, in the oozeof the shore, to be devoured by fishes and birds; an inward voice toldme that I ought to hunt up some men and call them thither, if not toaid--that was out of the question--at least for the purpose of layinghim out, of bearing him beneath an inhabited roof. .. . But indescribableterror suddenly took possession of me. It seemed to me as though thatdead man knew that I had come thither, that he himself had arranged thatlast meeting--it even seemed as though I could hear that dull, familiarmuttering. .. . I ran off to one side . .. Looked behind me once more. .. . Something shining caught my eye; it brought me to a standstill. It wasa golden hoop on the outstretched hand of the corpse. .. . I recognised mymother's wedding-ring. I remember how I forced myself to return, to goclose, to bend down. .. . I remember the sticky touch of the cold fingers, I remember how I panted and puckered up my eyes and gnashed my teeth, asI tugged persistently at the ring. .. . At last I got it off--and I fled--fled away, in headlong flight, --andsomething darted after me, and overtook me and caught me. XVI Everything which I had gone through and endured was, probably, writtenon my face when I returned home. My mother suddenly rose upright as soonas I entered her room, and gazed at me with such insistent inquiry that, after having unsuccessfully attempted to explain myself, I ended bysilently handing her the ring. She turned frightfully pale, her eyesopened unusually wide and turned dim like _his_. --She uttered a faintcry, seized the ring, reeled, fell upon my breast, and fairly swoonedthere, with her head thrown back and devouring me with those wide, madeyes. I encircled her waist with both arms, and standing still on onespot, never stirring, I slowly narrated everything, without theslightest reservation, to her, in a quiet voice: my dream and themeeting, and everything, everything. .. . She heard me out to the end, only her breast heaved more and more strongly, and her eyes suddenlygrew more animated and drooped. Then she put the ring on her fourthfinger, and, retreating a little, began to get out a mantilla and a hat. I asked where she was going. She raised a surprised glance to me andtried to answer, but her voice failed her. She shuddered several times, rubbed her hands as though endeavouring to warm herself, and at last shesaid: "Let us go at once thither. " "Whither, mother dear?" "Where he is lying. .. . I want to see . .. I want to know . .. I shallidentify. .. . " I tried to persuade her not to go; but she was almost in hysterics. Iunderstood that it was impossible to oppose her desire, and we set out. XVII And lo, again I am walking over the sand of the dunes, but I am nolonger alone, I am walking arm in arm with my mother. The sea hasretreated, has gone still further away; it is quieting down; but evenits diminished roar is menacing and ominous. Here, at last, the solitaryrock has shown itself ahead of us--and there is the seaweed. I lookintently, I strive to distinguish that rounded object lying on theground--but I see nothing. We approach closer. I involuntarily retard mysteps. But where is that black, motionless thing? Only the stalks of theseaweed stand out darkly against the sand, which is already dry. .. . Wego to the very rock. .. . The corpse is nowhere to be seen, and only onthe spot where it had lain there still remains a depression, and one canmake out where the arms and legs lay. .. . Round about the seaweed seemstousled, and the traces of one man's footsteps are discernible; they goacross the down, then disappear on reaching the flinty ridge. My mother and I exchange glances and are ourselves frightened at what weread on our own faces. .. . Can he have got up of himself and gone away? "But surely thou didst behold him dead?" she asks in a whisper. I can only nod my head. Three hours have not elapsed since I stumbledupon the baron's body. .. . Some one had discovered it and carried itaway. --I must find out who had done it, and what had become of him. But first of all I must attend to my mother. XVIII While she was on her way to the fatal spot she was in a fever, but shecontrolled herself. The disappearance of the corpse had startled her asthe crowning misfortune. She was stupefied. I feared for her reason. With great difficulty I got her home. I put her to bed again; again Icalled the doctor for her; but as soon as my mother partly recovered hersenses she at once demanded that I should instantly set out in search of"that man. " I obeyed. But, despite all possible measures, I discoverednothing. I went several times to the police-office, I visited all thevillages in the neighbourhood, I inserted several advertisements in thenewspapers, I made inquiries in every direction--all in vain! It is truethat I did hear that a drowned man had been found at one of the hamletson the seashore. .. . I immediately hastened thither, but he was alreadyburied, and from all the tokens he did not resemble the baron. I foundout on what ship he had sailed for America. At first every one waspositive that that ship had perished during the tempest; but severalmonths afterward rumours began to circulate to the effect that it hadbeen seen at anchor in the harbour of New York. Not knowing what to do, I set about hunting up the negro whom I had seen. --I offered him, through the newspapers, a very considerable sum of money if he wouldpresent himself at our house. A tall negro in a cloak actually did cometo the house in my absence. .. . But after questioning the servant-maid, he suddenly went away and returned no more. And thus the trace of my . .. My father grew cold; thus did it vanishirrevocably in the mute gloom. My mother and I never spoke of him. Only, one day, I remember that she expressed surprise at my never havingalluded before to my strange dream; and then she added: "Of course, itreally . .. " and did not finish her sentence. My mother was ill for a long time, and after her convalescence ourformer relations were not reëstablished. She felt awkward in my presenceuntil the day of her death. .. . Precisely that, awkward. And there was noway of helping her in her grief. Everything becomes smoothed down, thememories of the most tragic family events gradually lose their force andvenom; but if a feeling of awkwardness has been set up between twoclosely-connected persons, it is impossible to extirpate it! I have never again had that dream which had been wont so to disturb me;I no longer "search for" my father; but it has sometimes seemed tome--and it seems so to me to this day--that in my sleep I hear distantshrieks, unintermittent, melancholy plaints; they resound somewherebehind a lofty wall, across which it is impossible to clamber; theyrend my heart--and I am utterly unable to comprehend what it is: whetherit is a living man groaning, or whether I hear the wild, prolonged roarof the troubled sea. And now it passes once more into that beast-likegrowl--and I awake with sadness and terror in my soul. FATHER ALEXYÉI'S STORY (1877) Twenty years ago I was obliged--in my capacity of private inspector--tomake the circuit of all my aunt's rather numerous estates. The parishpriests, with whom I regarded it as my duty to make acquaintance, provedto be individuals of pretty much one pattern, and made after one model, as it were. At length, in about the last of the estates which I wasinspecting, I hit upon a priest who did not resemble his brethren. Hewas a very aged man, almost decrepit; and had it not been for the urgententreaties of his parishioners, who loved and respected him, he wouldlong before have petitioned to be retired that he might rest. Twopeculiarities impressed me in Father Alexyéi (that was the priest'sname). In the first place, he not only asked nothing for himself butannounced plainly that he required nothing; and, in the second place, Ihave never beheld in any human face a more sorrowful, thoroughlyindifferent--what is called an "overwhelmed"--expression. The featuresof that face were of the ordinary rustic type: a wrinkled forehead, small grey eyes, a large nose, a wedge-shaped beard, a swarthy, sunburned skin. .. . But the expression! . .. The expression!. .. In thatdim gaze life barely burned, and sadly at that; and his voice also was, somehow, lifeless and dim. I fell ill and kept my bed for several days. Father Alexyéi dropped into see me in the evenings, not to chat, but to play "fool. "[16] The gameof cards seemed to divert him more than it did me. One day, after havingbeen left "the fool" several times in succession (which delighted FatherAlexyéi not a little), I turned the conversation on his past life, onthe afflictions which had left on him such manifest traces. FatherAlexyéi remained obdurate for a long time at first, but ended byrelating to me his story. He must have taken a liking to me for somereason or other. Otherwise he would not have been so frank with me. I shall endeavour to transmit his story in his own words. Father Alexyéitalked very simply and intelligently, without any seminary or provincialtricks and turns of speech. It was not the first time I had noticed thatRussians, of all classes and callings, who have been violently shatteredand humbled express themselves precisely in such language. . .. I had a good and sedate wife [thus he began], I loved her heartily, and we begat eight children. One of my sons became a bishop, and diednot so very long ago, in his diocese. I shall now tell you about myother son, --Yákoff was his name. I sent him to the seminary in the townof T----, and soon began to receive the most comforting reports abouthim. He was the best pupil in all the branches! Even at home, in hisboyhood, he had been distinguished for his diligence and discretion; awhole day would sometimes pass without one's hearing him . .. He would besitting all the time over his book, reading. He never caused me and mywife[17] the slightest displeasure; he was a meek lad. Only sometimes hewas thoughtful beyond his years, and his health was rather weak. Oncesomething remarkable happened to him. He left the house at daybreak, onSt. Peter's day, [18] and was gone almost all the morning. At last hereturned. My wife and I ask him: "Where hast thou been?" "I have been for a ramble in the forest, " says he, "and there I met acertain little green old man, who talked a great deal with me, and gaveme such savoury nuts!" "What little green old man art thou talking about?" we ask him. "I don't know, " says he; "I never saw him before. He was a little oldman with a hump, and he kept shifting from one to the other of hislittle feet, and laughing--and he was all green, just like a leaf. " "What, " say we, "and was his face green also?" "Yes, his face, and his hair, and even his eyes. " Our son had never lied to us; but this time my wife and I had ourdoubts. "Thou must have fallen asleep in the forest, in the heat of the day, andhave seen that old man in thy dreams. " "I wasn't asleep at all, " says he. "Why, don't you believe me?" sayshe. "See here, I have one of the nuts left in my pocket. " Yákoff pulled the nut out of his pocket and showed it to us. --The kernelwas small, in the nature of a chestnut, and rather rough; it did notresemble our ordinary nuts. I laid it aside, and intended to show it tothe doctor . .. But it got lost. .. . I did not find it again. Well, sir, so we sent him to the seminary, and, as I have alreadyinformed you, he rejoiced us by his success. So my spouse and I assumedthat he would turn out a fine man! When he came for a sojourn at home itwas a pleasure to look at him; he was so comely, and there was nomischief about him;--every one liked him, every one congratulated us. Only he was still rather thin of body, and there was no real goodrosiness in his face. So then, he was already in his nineteenth year, and his education would soon be finished. When suddenly we receive fromhim a letter. --He writes to us: "Dear father and mother, be not wrothwith me, permit me to be a layman;[19] my heart does not incline to theecclesiastical profession, I dread the responsibility, I am afraid Ishall sin--doubts have taken hold upon me! Without your parentalpermission and blessing I shall venture on nothing--but one thing I willtell you; I am afraid of myself, for I have begun to think a greatdeal. " I assure you, my dear sir, that this letter made me very sad, --as thougha boar-spear had pricked my heart, --for I saw that I should have no oneto take my place![20] My eldest son was a monk; and this one wanted toabandon his vocation altogether. I was also pained because priests fromour family have lived in our parish for close upon two hundred years. But I thought to myself: "There's no use in kicking against the pricks;evidently, so it was predestined for him. What sort of a pastor would hebe if he has admitted doubt to his mind?" I took counsel with my wife, and wrote to him in the following sense: "Think it over well, my son Yákoff; measure ten times before you cutoff once--there are great difficulties in the worldly service, cold andhunger, and scorn for our caste! And thou must know beforehand that noone will lend a hand to aid; so see to it that thou dost not repineafterward. My desire, as thou knowest, has always been that thoushouldst succeed me; but if thou really hast come to cherish doubts asto thy calling and hast become unsteady in the faith, then it is not myplace to restrain thee. The Lord's will be done! Thy mother and I willnot refuse thee our blessing. " Yákoff answered me with a grateful letter. "Thou hast rejoiced me, dearfather, " said he. "It is my intention to devote myself to the professionof learning, and I have some protection; I shall enter the universityand become a doctor, for I feel a strong bent for science. " I readYáshka's letter and became sadder than before; but I did not share mygrief with any one. My old woman caught a severe cold about that timeand died--from that same cold, or the Lord took her to Himself becauseHe loved her, I know not which. I used to weep and weep because I was alonely widower--but what help was there for that?[21] So it had to be, you know. And I would have been glad to go into the earth . .. But it ishard . .. It will not open. And I was expecting my son; for he hadnotified me: "Before I go to Moscow, " he said, "I shall look in athome. " And he did come to the parental roof, but did not remain therelong. It seemed as though something were urging him on; he would haveliked, apparently, to fly on wings to Moscow, to his beloved university!I began to question him as to his doubts. "What was the cause of them?"I asked. But I did not get much out of him. One idea had pushed itselfinto his head, and that was the end of it! "I want to help myneighbours, " he said. --Well, sir, he left me. I don't believe he took apenny with him, only a few clothes. He had such reliance on himself! Andnot without reason. He passed an excellent examination, matriculated asstudent, obtained lessons in private houses. .. . He was very strong onthe ancient languages! And what think you? He took it into his head tosend me money. I cheered up a little, --not on account of the money, ofcourse, --I sent that back to him, and even scolded him; but I cheered upbecause I saw that the young fellow would make his way in the world. Butmy rejoicing did not last long. .. . He came to me for his first vacation. .. . And, what marvel is this? I donot recognise my Yákoff! He had grown so tiresome and surly, --youcouldn't get a word out of him. And his face had changed also: he hadgrown about ten years older. He had been taciturn before, there's nodenying that! At the slightest thing he would grow shy and blush like agirl. .. . But when he raised his eyes, you could see that all was brightin his soul! But now it was quite different. He was not shy, but he heldaloof, like a wolf, and was always looking askance. He had neither asmile nor a greeting for any one--he was just like a stone! If Iundertook to interrogate him, he would either remain silent or snarl. Ibegan to wonder whether he had taken to drink--which God forbid!--or hadconceived a passion for cards; or whether something in the line of aweakness for women had happened to him. In youth love-longings actpowerfully, --well, and in such a large city as Moscow bad examples andoccasions are not lacking. But no; nothing of that sort was discernible. His drink was kvas[22] and water; he never looked at the female sex--andhad no intercourse with people in general. And what was most bitter ofall to me, he did not have his former confidence in me; a sort ofindifference had made its appearance, just as though everything belongingto him had become loathsome to him. I turned the conversation on thesciences, on the university, but even there could get no real answer. Hewent to church, but he was not devoid of peculiarities there also;everywhere he was grim and scowling, but in church he seemed alwaysto be grinning. After this fashion he spent six weeks with me, then went back to Moscow. From Moscow he wrote to me twice, and it seemed to me, from his letters, as though he were regaining his sensibilities. But picture to yourselfmy surprise, my dear sir! Suddenly, in the very middle of the winter, just before the Christmas holidays, he presents himself before me! "How didst thou get here? How is this? What's the matter? I know thatthou hast no vacation at this time. --Dost thou come from Moscow?"--Iask. "Yes. " "And how about . .. The university?" "I have left the university. " "Thou hast left it?" "Just so. " "For good?" "For good. " "But art thou ill, pray, Yákoff?" "No, father, " says he, "I am not ill; but just don't bother me andquestion me, dear father, or I will go away from here--and that's thelast thou wilt ever see of me. " Yákoff tells me that he is not ill, but his face is such that I amfairly frightened. It was dreadful, dark--not human, actually!--Hischeeks were drawn, his cheek-bones projected, he was mere skin and bone;his voice sounded as though it proceeded from a barrel . .. While hiseyes. .. . O Lord and Master! what eyes!--menacing, wild, incessantlydarting from side to side, and it was impossible to catch them; hisbrows were knit, his lips seemed to be twisted on one side. .. . What hadhappened to my Joseph Most Fair, [23] to my quiet lad? I cannotcomprehend it. "Can he have gone crazy?" I say to myself. He roams aboutlike a spectre by night, he does not sleep, --and then, all of a sudden, he will take to staring into a corner as though he were completelybenumbed. .. . It was enough to scare one! Although he had threatened to leave the house if I did not leave him inpeace, yet surely I was his father! My last hope was ruined--yet I wasto hold my tongue! So one day, availing myself of an opportunity, Ibegan to entreat Yákoff with tears, I began to adjure him by the memoryof his dead mother: "Tell me, " I said, "as thy father in the flesh and in the spirit, Yásha, what aileth thee? Do not kill me; explain thyself, lighten thy heart!Can it be that thou hast ruined some Christian soul? If so, repent!" "Well, dear father, " he suddenly says to me (this took place towardnightfall), "thou hast moved me to compassion. I will tell thee thewhole truth. I have not ruined any Christian soul--but my own soul isgoing to perdition. " "How is that?" "In this way. .. . " And thereupon Yákoff raised his eyes to mine for thefirst time. --"It is going on four months now, " he began. .. . But suddenlyhe broke off and began to breathe heavily. "What about the fourth month? Tell me, do not make me suffer!" "This is the fourth month that I have been seeing him. " "Him? Who is he?" "Why, the person . .. Whom it is awkward to mention at night. " I fairly turned cold all over and fell to quaking. "What?!" I said, "dost thou see _him_?" "Yes. " "And dost thou see him now?" "Yes. " "Where?" And I did not dare to turn round, and we both spoke in awhisper. "Why, yonder . .. " and he indicated the spot with his eyes . .. "yonder, in the corner. " I summoned up my courage and looked at the corner; there was nothingthere. "Why, good gracious, there is nothing there, Yákoff!" "_Thou_ dost not see him, but I do. " Again I glanced round . .. Again nothing. Suddenly there recurred to mymind the little old man in the forest who had given him the chestnut. "What does he look like?" I said. .. . "Is he green?" "No, he is not green, but black. " "Has he horns?" "No, he is like a man, --only all black. " As Yákoff speaks he displays his teeth in a grin and turns as pale as acorpse, and huddles up to me in terror; and his eyes seem on the pointof popping out of his head, and he keeps staring at the corner. "Why, it is a shadow glimmering faintly, " I say. "That is the blacknessfrom a shadow, but thou mistakest it for a man. " "Nothing of the sort!--And I see his eyes: now he is rolling up thewhites, now he is raising his hand, he is calling me. " "Yákoff, Yákoff, thou shouldst try to pray; this obsession woulddisperse. Let God arise and His enemies shall be scattered!" "I have tried, " says he, "but it has no effect. " "Wait, wait, Yákoff, do not lose thy courage. I will fumigate withincense; I will recite a prayer; I will sprinkle holy water aroundthee. " Yákoff merely waved his hand. "I believe neither in thy incense nor inholy water; they don't help worth a farthing. I cannot get rid of himnow. Ever since he came to me last summer, on one accursed day, he hasbeen my constant visitor, and he cannot be driven away, Understand this, father, and do not wonder any longer at my behaviour--and do not tormentme. " "On what day did he come to thee?" I ask him, and all the while I ammaking the sign of the cross over him. "Was it not when thou didst writeabout thy doubts?" Yákoff put away my hand. "Let me alone, dear father, " says he, "don't excite me to wrath lestworse should come of it. I'm not far from laying hands on myself, as itis. " You can imagine, my dear sir, how I felt when I heard that. .. . Iremember that I wept all night. "How have I deserved such wrath from theLord?" I thought to myself. At this point Father Alexyéi drew from his pocket a checked handkerchiefand began to blow his nose, and stealthily wiped his eyes, by the way. A bad time began for us then [he went on]. I could think of but onething: how to prevent him from running away, or--which the Lordforbid!--of actually doing himself some harm! I watched his every step, and was afraid to enter into conversation. --And there dwelt near us atthat time a neighbour, the widow of a colonel, Márfa Sávishna was hername; I cherished a great respect for her, because she was a quiet, sensible woman, in spite of the fact that she was young and comely. Iwas in the habit of going to her house frequently, and she did notdespise my vocation. [24] Not knowing, in my grief and anguish, what todo, I just told her all about it. --At first she was greatly alarmed, andeven thoroughly frightened; but later on she became thoughtful. For along time she deigned to sit thus, in silence; and then she expressed awish to see my son and converse with him. And I felt that I oughtwithout fail to comply with her wish; for it was not feminine curiositywhich prompted it in this case, but something else. On returning home I began to persuade Yákoff. "Come with me to see thecolonel's widow, " I said to him. He began to flourish his legs and arms! "I won't go to her, " says he, "not on any account! What shall I talk toher about?" He even began to shout at me. But at last I conquered him, and hitching up my little sledge, I drove him to Márfa Sávishna's, and, according to our compact, I left him alone with her. I was surprised athis having consented so speedily. Well, never mind, --we shall see. Threeor four hours later my Yákoff returns. "Well, " I ask, "how did our little neighbour please thee?" He made me no answer. I asked him again. "She is a virtuous woman, " I said. --"I suppose she was amiable withthee?" "Yes, " he says, "she is not like the others. " I saw that he seemed to have softened a little. And I made up my mind toquestion him then and there. .. . "And how about the obsession?" I said. Yákoff looked at me as though I had lashed him with a whip, and againmade no reply. I did not worry him further, and left the room; and anhour later I went to the door and peeped through the keyhole. .. . Andwhat do you think?--My Yásha was asleep! He was lying on the couch andsleeping. I crossed myself several times in succession. "May the Lordsend Márfa Sávishna every blessing!" I said. "Evidently, she has managedto touch his embittered heart, the dear little dove!" The next day I see Yákoff take his cap. .. . I think to myself: "Shall Iask him whither he is going?--But no, better not ask . .. It certainlymust be to her!". .. And, in point of fact, Yákoff did set off for MárfaSávishna's house--and sat with her still longer than before; and on theday following he did it again! Then again, the next day but one! Myspirits began to revive, for I saw that a change was coming over my son, and his face had grown quite different, and it was becoming possible tolook into his eyes: he did not turn away. He was just as depressed asever, but his former despair and terror had disappeared. But before Ihad recovered my cheerfulness to any great extent everything again brokeoff short! Yákoff again became wild, and again it was impossible toapproach him. He sat locked up in his little room, and went no more tothe widow's. "Can it be possible, " I thought, "that he has hurt her feelings in someway, and she has forbidden him the house?--But no, " I thought . .. "although he is unhappy he would not dare to do such a thing; andbesides, she is not that sort of woman. " At last I could endure it no longer, and I interrogated him: "Well, Yákoff, how about our neighbour?. .. Apparently thou hast forgotten heraltogether. " But he fairly roared at me:--"Our neighbour? Dost thou want _him_ tojeer at me?" "What?" I say. --Then he even clenched his fists and . .. Got perfectlyfurious. "Yes!" he says; and formerly he had only towered up after a fashion, butnow he began to laugh and show his teeth. --"Away! Begone!" To whom these words were addressed I know not! My legs would hardly bearme forth, to such a degree was I frightened. Just imagine: his face wasthe colour of red copper, he was foaming at the mouth, his voice washoarse, exactly as though some one were choking him!. .. And that verysame day I went--I, the orphan of orphans--to Márfa Sávishna . .. Andfound her in great affliction. Even her outward appearance had undergonea change: she had grown thin in the face. But she would not talk with meabout my son. Only one thing she did say: that no human aid could effectanything in that case. "Pray, father, " she said, --and then she presentedme with one hundred rubles, --"for the poor and sick of your parish, " shesaid. And again she repeated: "Pray!"--O Lord! As if I had not prayedwithout that--prayed day and night! Here Father Alexyéi again pulled out his handkerchief, and again wipedaway his tears, but not by stealth this time, and after resting for alittle while, he resumed his cheerless narrative. Yákoff and I then began to descend as a snowball rolls down hill, andboth of us could see that an abyss lay at the foot of the hill; but howwere we to hold back, and what measures could we take? And it wasutterly impossible to conceal this; my entire parish was greatlydisturbed, and said: "The priest's son has gone mad; he is possessed ofdevils, --and the authorities ought to be informed of all this. "--Andpeople infallibly would have informed the authorities had not myparishioners taken pity on me . .. For which I thank them. In themeantime winter was drawing to an end, and spring was approaching. --Andsuch a spring as God sent!--fair and bright, such as even the old peoplecould not remember: the sun shone all day long, there was no wind, andthe weather was warm! And then a happy thought occurred to me: topersuade Yákoff to go off with me to do reverence to Mitrofány, inVorónezh. "If that last remedy is of no avail, " I thought, "well, then, there is but one hope left--the grave!" So I was sitting one day on the porch just before evening, and thesunset glow was flaming in the sky, and the larks were warbling, and theapple-trees were in bloom, and the grass was growing green. .. . I wassitting and meditating how I could communicate my intention to Yákoff. Suddenly, lo and behold! he came out on the porch; he stood, gazedaround, sighed, and sat down on the step by my side. I was evenfrightened out of joy, but I did nothing except hold my tongue. But hesits and looks at the sunset glow, and not a word does he utter either. But it seemed to me as though he had become softened, the furrows on hisbrow had been smoothed away, his eyes had even grown bright. .. . A littlemore, it seemed, and a tear would have burst forth! On beholding such achange in him I--excuse me!--grew bold. "Yákoff, " I said to him, "do thou hearken to me without anger. .. . " Andthen I informed him of my intention; how we were both to go to SaintMitrofány on foot; and it is about one hundred and fifty versts toVorónezh from our parts; and how pleasant it would be for us two, in thespring chill, having risen before dawn, to walk and walk over the greengrass, along the highway; and how, if we made proper obeisance andprayed before the shrine of the holy man, perhaps--who knows?--the LordGod would show mercy upon us, and he would receive healing, of whichthere had already been many instances. And just imagine my happiness, mydear sir! "Very well, " says Yákoff, only he does not turn round, but keeps ongazing at the sky. --"I consent. Let us go. " I was fairly stupefied. .. . "My friend, " I say, "my dear little dove, my benefactor!". .. But he asksme: "When shall we set out?" "Why, to-morrow, if thou wilt, " I say. So on the following day we started. We slung wallets over our shoulders, took staves in our hands, and set forth. For seven whole days we trudgedon, and all the while the weather favoured us, and was even downrightwonderful! There was neither sultry heat nor rain; the flies did notbite, the dust did not make us itch. And every day my Yákoff acquired abetter aspect. I must tell you that Yákoff had not been in the habit ofseeing _that one_ in the open air, but had felt him behind him, close tohis back, or his shadow had seemed to be gliding alongside, whichtroubled my son greatly. But on this occasion nothing of that sorthappened, and nothing made its appearance. We talked very littletogether . .. But how greatly at our ease we felt--especially I! I sawthat my poor boy was coming to life again. I cannot describe to you, mydear sir, what my feelings were then. --Well, we reached Vorónezh atlast. We cleaned up ourselves and washed ourselves, and went to thecathedral, to the holy man. For three whole days we hardly left thetemple. How many prayer-services we celebrated, how many candles weplaced before the holy pictures! And everything was going well, everything was fine; the days were devout, the nights were tranquil; myYákoff slept like an infant. He began to talk to me of his own accord. He would ask: "Dost thou see nothing, father dear?" and smile. "No, Isee nothing, " I would answer. --What more could be demanded? My gratitudeto the saint was unbounded. Three days passed; I said to Yákoff: "Well, now, dear son, the matterhas been set in order; there's a festival in our street. One thingremains to be done; do thou make thy confession and receive thecommunion; and then, with God's blessing, we will go our way, and afterhaving got duly rested, and worked a bit on the farm to increase thystrength, thou mayest bestir thyself and find a place--and MárfaSávishna will certainly help us in that, " I said. "No, " said Yákoff, "why should we trouble her? But I will take her aring from Mitrofány's hand. " Thereupon I was greatly encouraged. "See to it, " I said, "that thoutakest a silver ring, not a gold one, --not a wedding-ring!" My Yákoff flushed up and merely repeated that it was not proper totrouble her, but immediately assented to all the rest. --We went to thecathedral on the following day; my Yákoff made his confession, andprayed so fervently before it! And then he went forward to take thecommunion. I was standing a little to one side, and did not feel theearth under me for joy. .. . It is no sweeter for the angels in heaven!But as I look--what is the meaning of that?--My Yákoff has received thecommunion, but does not go to sip the warm water and wine![25] He isstanding with his back to me. .. . I go to him. "Yákoff, " I say, "why art thou standing here?" He suddenly wheels round. Will you believe it, I sprang back, sofrightened was I!--His face had been dreadful before, but now it hadbecome ferocious, frightful! He was as pale as death, his hair stood onend, his eyes squinted. .. . I even lost my voice with terror. I tried tospeak and could not; I was perfectly benumbed. .. . And he fairly rushedout of the church! I ran after him . .. But he fled straight to thetavern where we had put up, flung his wallet over his shoulder, and awayhe flew! "Whither?" I shouted to him. "Yákoff, what aileth thee? Stop, wait!" But Yákoff never uttered a word in reply to me, but ran like a hare, andit was utterly impossible to overtake him! He disappeared from sight. Iimmediately turned back, hired a cart, and trembled all over, and all Icould say was: "O Lord!" and, "O Lord!" And I understood nothing: somecalamity had descended upon us! I set out for home, for I thought, "Hehas certainly fled thither. "--And so he had. Six versts out of the townI espied him; he was striding along the highway. I overtook him, jumpedout of the cart, and rushed to him. "Yásha! Yásha!"--He halted, turned his face toward me, but kept his eyesfixed on the ground and compressed his lips. And say what I would tohim, he stood there just like a statue, and one could just see that hewas breathing. And at last he trudged on again along the highway. --Whatwas there to do? I followed him. .. . Akh, what a journey that was, my dear sir! Great as had been our joy onthe way to Vorónezh, just so great was the horror of the return! I wouldtry to speak to him, and he would begin to gnash his teeth at me overhis shoulder, precisely like a tiger or a hyena! Why I did not go mad Ido not understand to this day! And at last, one night, in a peasant'schicken-house, he was sitting on the platform over the oven and danglinghis feet and gazing about on all sides, when I fell on my knees beforehim and began to weep, and besought him with bitter entreaty: "Do not slay thy old father outright, " I said; "do not let him fallinto despair--tell me what has happened to thee?" He glanced at me as though he did not see who was before him, andsuddenly began to speak, but in such a voice that it rings in my earseven now. "Listen, daddy, " said he. "Dost thou wish to know the whole truth? WhenI had taken the communion, thou wilt remember, and still held theparticle[26] in my mouth, suddenly _he_ (and that was in the church, inthe broad daylight!) stood in front of me, just as though he had sprungout of the ground, and whispered to me . .. (but he had never spoken tome before)--whispered: 'Spit it out, and grind it to powder!' I did so;I spat it out, and ground it under foot. And now it must be that I amlost forever, for every sin shall be forgiven, save the sin against theHoly Spirit. .. . " And having uttered these dreadful words, my son threw himself back onthe platform and I dropped down on the floor of the hut. .. . My legsfailed me. .. . Father Alexyéi paused for a moment, and covered his eyes with his hand. But why should I weary you longer [he went on], and myself? My son and Idragged ourselves home, and there he soon afterward expired, and I lostmy Yásha. For several days before his death he neither ate nor drank, but kept running back and forth in the room and repeating that therecould be no forgiveness for his sin. .. . But he never saw _him_ again. "He has ruined my soul, " he said; "and why should he come any morenow?" And when Yákoff took to his bed, he immediately sank intounconsciousness, and thus, without repentance, like a senseless worm, he went from this life to life eternal. .. . But I will not believe that the Lord judged harshly. .. . And among other reasons why I do not believe it is, that he looked sowell in his coffin; he seemed to have grown young again and resembledthe Yákoff of days gone by. His face was so tranquil and pure, his haircurled in little rings, and there was a smile on his lips. MárfaSávishna came to look at him, and said the same thing. She encircled himall round with flowers, and laid flowers on his heart, and set up thegravestone at her own expense. And I was left alone. .. . And that is why, my dear sir, you have beheldsuch great grief on my face. .. . It will never pass off---and it cannot. I wanted to speak a word of comfort to Father Alexyéi . .. But couldthink of none. We parted soon after. OLD PORTRAITS[27] (1881) About forty versts from our village there dwelt, many years ago, thegreat-uncle of my mother, a retired Sergeant of the Guards and a fairlywealthy landed proprietor, Alexyéi Sergyéitch Telyégin, on his ancestralestate, Sukhodól. He never went anywhere himself, and therefore did notvisit us; but I was sent to pay my respects to him a couple of times ayear, at first with my governor, and later on alone. Alexyéi Sergyéitchalways received me very cordially, and I spent three or four days withhim. He was already an old man when I made his acquaintance; I rememberthat I was twelve years old at my first visit, and he was already overseventy. He had been born under the Empress Elizabeth, in the last yearof her reign. He lived alone with his wife, Malánya Pávlovna; she wasten years younger than he. They had had two daughters who had beenmarried long before, and rarely visited Sukhodól; there had beenquarrels between them and their parents, [28] and Alexyéi Sergyéitchhardly ever mentioned them. I see that ancient, truly noble steppe home as though it stood before menow. Of one story, with a huge mezzanine, [29] erected at the beginningof the present century from wonderfully thick pine beams--such beamswere brought at that epoch from the Zhízdrin pine forests; there is notrace of them nowadays!--it was very spacious and contained a multitudeof rooms, which were decidedly low-ceiled and dark, it is true, and thewindows were mere slits in the walls, for the sake of warmth. As wasproper, the offices and the house-serfs' cottages surrounded themanor-house on all sides, and a park adjoined it, small but with finefruit-trees, pellucid apples and seedless pears; for ten versts roundabout stretched out the flat, black-loam steppe. There was no loftyobject for the eye: neither a tree nor a belfry; only here and there awindmill reared itself aloft with holes in its wings; it was a regularSukhodól! (Dry Valley). Inside the house the rooms were filled withordinary, plain furniture; rather unusual was a verst-post which stoodon a window-sill in the hall, and bore the following inscription: "If thou walkest 68 times around this hall, [30] thou wilt have gone averst; if thou goest 87 times from the extreme corner of thedrawing-room to the right corner of the billiard-room, thou wilt havegone a verst, "--and so forth. But what most impressed the guest whoarrived for the first time was the great number of pictures hung on thewalls, for the most part the work of so-called Italian masters: ancientlandscapes, and mythological and religious subjects. But as all thesepictures had turned very black, and had even become warped, all that metthe eye was patches of flesh-colour, or a billowy red drapery on aninvisible body--or an arch which seemed suspended in the air, or adishevelled tree with blue foliage, or the bosom of a nymph with a largenipple, like the cover of a soup-tureen; a sliced watermelon, with blackseeds; a turban, with a feather above a horse's head; or the gigantic, light-brown leg of some apostle or other, with a muscular calf andup-turned toes, suddenly protruded itself. In the drawing-room, in theplace of honour, hung a portrait of the Empress Katherine II, fulllength, a copy from Lampi's well-known portrait--the object of specialreverence, one may say adoration, for the master of the house. From theceiling depended crystal chandeliers in bronze fittings, very small andvery dusty. Alexyéi Sergyéitch himself was a very squat, pot-bellied, little oldman, with a plump, but agreeable face all of one colour, with sunkenlips and very vivacious little eyes beneath lofty eyebrows. He brushedhis scanty hair over the back of his head; it was only since the year1812 that he had discarded powder. Alexyéi Sergyéitch always wore a grey"redingote" with three capes which fell over his shoulders, a stripedwaistcoat, chamois-leather breeches and dark-red morocco short bootswith a heart-shaped cleft, and a tassel at the top of the leg; he wore awhite muslin neckerchief, a frill, lace cuffs, and two golden English"onions, "[31] one in each pocket of his waistcoat. In his right hand hegenerally held an enamelled snuff-box with "Spanish" snuff, while hisleft rested on a cane with a silver handle which had been worn quitesmooth with long use. Alexyéi Sergyéitch had a shrill, nasal voice, andwas incessantly smiling, amiably, but somewhat patronisingly, notwithout a certain self-satisfied pompousness. He also laughed in anamiable manner, with a fine, thin laugh like a string of wax pearls. Hewas courteous and affable, in the ancient manner of Katherine's day, andmoved his hands slowly and with a circular motion, also in ancientstyle. On account of his weak legs he could not walk, but he was wontto trip with hurried little steps from one arm-chair to anotherarm-chair, in which he suddenly seated himself--or, rather, he fell intoit, as softly as though he had been a pillow. As I have already said, Alexyéi Sergyéitch never went anywhere, andassociated very little with the neighbours, although he was fond ofsociety, --for he was loquacious! He had plenty of society in his ownhouse, it is true: divers Nikanór Nikanóritches, SevastyéiSevastyéitches, Fedúlitches, and Mikhéitches, all poverty-stricken pettynobles, in threadbare kazák coats and short jackets, frequently from hisown noble shoulders, dwelt beneath his roof, not to mention the poorgentlewomen in cotton-print gowns, with black kerchiefs on theirshoulders, and worsted reticules in their tightly-clenchedfingers, --divers Avdótiya Sávishnas, Pelagéya Mirónovnas, and plainFeklúskas and Arínkas, who received asylum in the women's wing. No lessthan fifteen persons ever sat down to Alexyéi Sergyéitch's table . .. Hewas so hospitable!--Among all these parasites two individuals stoodforth with special prominence: a dwarf named Janus or the Two-faced, aDane, --or, as some asserted, of Jewish extraction, --and crazy Prince L. In contrast to the customs of that day the dwarf did not in the leastserve as a butt for the guests, and was not a jester; on the contrary, he maintained constant silence, wore an irate and surly mien, contracted his brows in a frown, and gnashed his teeth as soon as anyone addressed a question to him. Alexyéi Sergyéitch also called him aphilosopher, and even respected him. At table he was always the first tobe served after the guests and the master and mistress of thehouse. --"God has wronged him, " Alexyéi Sergyéitch was wont to say: "thatwas the Lord's will; but it is not my place to wrong him. " "Why is he a philosopher?" I asked one day. (Janus did not like me. Nosooner would I approach him, than he would begin to snarl and growlhoarsely, "Stranger! don't bother me!") "But God have mercy, why isn't he a philosopher?" replied AlexyéiSergyéitch. "Just observe, my little gentleman, how finely he holds histongue!" "But why is he two-faced?" "Because, my young sir, he has one face outside; there it is for you, ninny, and judge it. .. . But the other, the real one, he hides. And I amthe only one who knows that face, and for that I love him. .. . Because 'tis a good face. Thou, for example, gazest and beholdest nothing . .. Buteven without words, I see when he is condemning me for anything; for heis strict! And always with reason. Which thing thou canst notunderstand, young sir; but just believe me, an old man!" The true history of the two-faced Janus--whence he had come, how he hadgot into Alexyéi Sergyéitch's house--no one knew. On the other hand, thestory of Prince L. Was well known to all. As a young man of twenty, hehad come from a wealthy and distinguished family to Petersburg, to servein a regiment of the Guards; the Empress Katherine noticed him at thefirst Court reception, and halting in front of him and pointing to himwith her fan, she said, in a loud voice, addressing one of herfavourites: "Look, Adám Vasílievitch, see what a beauty! A regulardoll!" The blood flew to the poor young fellow's head. On reaching homehe ordered his calash to be harnessed up, and donning his ribbon of theOrder of Saint Anna, he started out to drive all over the town, asthough he had actually fallen into luck. --"Crush every one who does notget out of the way!" he shouted to his coachman. --All this wasimmediately brought to the Empress's knowledge; an order was issued thathe was to be adjudged insane and given in charge of his two brothers;and the latter, without the least delay, carried him off to the countryand chained him up in a stone bag. --As they were desirous to make use ofhis property, they did not release the unfortunate man even when herecovered his senses and came to himself, but continued to keep himincarcerated until he really did lose his mind. --But their wickednessprofited them nothing. Prince L. Outlived his brothers, and after longsufferings, found himself under the guardianship of Alexyéi Sergyéitch, who was a connection of his. He was a fat, perfectly bald man, with along, thin nose and blue goggle-eyes. He had got entirely out of the wayof speaking--he merely mumbled something unintelligible; but he sang theancient Russian ballads admirably, having retained, to extreme old age, his silvery freshness of voice, and in his singing he enunciated everyword clearly and distinctly. Something in the nature of fury came overhim at times, and then he became terrifying. He would stand in onecorner, with his face to the wall, and all perspiring andcrimson, --crimson all over his bald head to the nape of his neck. Emitting a malicious laugh, and stamping his feet, he would issue ordersthat some one was to be castigated, --probably his brothers. --"Thrash!"--he yelled hoarsely, choking and coughing with laughter, --"scourge, sparenot, thrash, thrash, thrash the monsters my malefactors! That's right!That's right!" Just before he died he greatly amazed and frightenedAlexyéi Sergyéitch. He entered the latter's room all pale and quiet, andinclining his body in obeisance to the girdle, he first returned thanksfor the asylum and oversight, and then requested that a priest might besent for; for Death had come to him--he had beheld her--and he mustpardon all men and whiten himself. "How was it that thou didst see her?" muttered the astounded AlexyéiSergyéitch, who now heard a coherent speech from him for the firsttime. --"What is she like? Has she a scythe?" "No, " replied Prince L. --"She's a plain old woman in a loose gown--onlyshe has but one eye in her forehead, and that eye has no lid. " And on the following day Prince L. Actually expired, after havingfulfilled all his religious obligations and taken leave of every oneintelligently and with emotion. "That's the way I shall die also, " Alexyéi Sergyéitch was wont toremark. And, in fact, something similar happened with him--of which, later on. But now let us return to our former subject. Alexyéi Sergyéitch did notconsort with the neighbours, as I have already said; and they did notlike him any too well, calling him eccentric, arrogant, a mocker, andeven a Martinist who did not recognise the authorities, withoutthemselves understanding, of course, the meaning of the last word. To acertain extent the neighbours were right. Alexyéi Sergyéitch had residedfor nearly seventy years in succession in his Sukhodól, having almost nodealings whatever with the superior authorities, with the militaryofficials, or the courts. "The court is for the bandit, the militaryofficer for the soldier, " he was wont to say; "but I, God be thanked, amneither a bandit nor a soldier. " Alexyéi Sergyéitch really was somewhateccentric, but the soul within him was not of the petty sort. I willnarrate a few things about him. I never found out authoritatively what were his political views, if, indeed, one can apply to him such a very new-fangled expression; but hewas, in his way, rather an aristocrat than a nobly-born master of serfs. More than once he complained because God had not given him a son andheir "for the honour of the race, for the continuation of the family. "On the wall of his study hung the genealogical tree of the Telyégins, with very profuse branches, and multitudinous circles in the shape ofapples, enclosed in a gilt frame. "We Telyégins, "[32] he said, "are a very ancient stock, existing fromremote antiquity; there have been a great many of us Telyégins, but wehave not run after foreigners, we have not bowed our backs, we have notwearied ourselves by standing on the porches of the mighty, we have notnourished ourselves on the courts, we have not earned wages, we have notpined for Moscow, we have not intrigued in Peter;[33] we have satstill, each on his place, his own master on his own land . .. Thrifty, domesticated birds, my dear sir!--Although I myself have served in theGuards, yet it was not for long, I thank you!" Alexyéi Sergyéitch preferred the olden days. --"Things were freer then, more seemly, I assure you on my honour! But ever since the year onethousand and eight hundred" (why precisely from that year he did notexplain), "this warring and this soldiering have come into fashion, mydear fellow. These military gentlemen have mounted upon their heads somesort of plumes made of cocks' tails, and made themselves like cocks;they have drawn their necks up tightly, very tightly . .. They speak inhoarse tones, their eyes are popping out of their heads--and how canthey help being hoarse? The other day some police corporal or other cameto see me. --'I have come to you, Your Well-Born, ' quoth he. .. . (A prettyway he had chosen to surprise me! . .. For I know myself that I amwell-born. .. . ) 'I have a matter of business with you. ' But I said to him:'Respected sir, first undo the hooks on thy collar. Otherwise, which Godforbid, thou wilt sneeze! Akh, what will become of thee! What willbecome of thee!--Thou wilt burst like a puff-ball. .. . And I shall beresponsible for it!' And how they drink, those militarygentlemen--o-ho-ho! I generally give orders that they shall be servedwith champagne from the Don, because Don champagne and Pontacq are allthe same to them; it slips down their throats so smoothly and sofast--how are they to distinguish the difference? And here's anotherthing: they have begun to suck that sucking-bottle, to smoke tobacco. Amilitary man will stick that same sucking-bottle under his moustache, between his lips, and emit smoke through his nostrils, his mouth, andeven his ears--and think himself a hero! There are my horridsons-in-law, for example; although one of them is a senator, and theother is some sort of a curator, they suck at the sucking-bottlealso, --and yet they regard themselves as clever men!. .. " Alexyéi Sergyéitch could not endure smoking tobacco, nor dogs, especially small dogs. --"Come, if thou art a Frenchman, then keep alap-dog. Thou runnest, thou skippest hither and thither, and it followsthee, with its tail in the air . .. But of what use is it to fellows likeme?"--He was very neat and exacting. He never spoke of the EmpressKatherine otherwise than with enthusiasm, and in a lofty, somewhatbookish style: "She was a demi-god, not a human being!--Only contemplateyon smile, my good sir, " he was wont to add, pointing at the Lampiportrait, "and admit that she was a demi-god! I, in my lifetime, havebeen so happy as to have been vouchsafed the bliss of beholding yonsmile, and to all eternity it will never be erased from my heart!"--Andthereupon he would impart anecdotes from the life of Katherine such asit has never been my lot to read or hear anywhere. Here is one of them. Alexyéi Sergyéitch did not permit the slightest hint at the failings ofthe great Empress. "Yes, and in conclusion, " he cried: "is it possibleto judge her as one judges other people?--One day, as she was sitting inher powder-mantle, at the time of her morning toilet, she gave ordersthat her hair should be combed out. .. . And what happened? Thewaiting-woman passes the comb through it, and electric sparks fly fromit in a perfect shower!--Then she called to her the body physician, Rodgerson, who was present on duty, and says to him: 'I know that peoplecondemn me for certain actions; but dost thou see this electricity?Consequently, with such a nature and constitution as mine, thou mayestthyself judge, for thou art a physician, that it is unjust to condemnme, but they should understand me!'" The following incident was ineffaceably retained in the memory ofAlexyéi Sergyéitch. He was standing one day on the inner watch in thepalace, and he was only sixteen years of age. And lo, the Empress passeshim--he presents arms. .. . "And she, " cried Alexyéi Sergyéitch, again withrapture, "smiling at my youth and my zeal, deigned to give me her handto kiss, and patted me on the cheek, and inquired who I was, and whenceI came, and from what family? And then . .. " (here the old man's voicegenerally broke) . .. "then she bade me give my mother her complimentsand thank her for rearing her children so well. And whether I was inheaven or on earth, and how and whither she withdrew, --whether shesoared up on high, or passed into another room, --I know not to thisday!" I often tried to question Alexyéi Sergyéitch about those olden days, about the men who surrounded the Empress. .. . But he generally evaded thesubject. "What's the use of talking about old times?"--he said . .. "oneonly tortures himself. One says to himself, --'Thou wert a young manthen, but now thy last teeth have vanished from thy mouth. ' And there'sno denying it--the old times were good . .. Well, and God be with them!And as for those men--I suppose, thou fidgety child, that thou arttalking about the accidental men? Thou hast seen a bubble spring forthon water? So long as it is whole and lasts, what beautiful colours playupon it! Red and yellow and blue; all one can say is, ''Tis a rainbowor a diamond!'--But it soon bursts, and no trace of it remains. Andthat's what those men were like. " "Well, and how about Potyómkin?" I asked one day. Alexyéi Sergyéitch assumed a pompous mien. "Potyómkin, GrigóryAlexándritch, was a statesman, a theologian, a nursling of Katherine's, her offspring, one must say. .. . But enough of that, my little sir!" Alexyéi Sergyéitch was a very devout man and went to church regularly, although it was beyond his strength. There was no superstitionperceptible in him; he ridiculed signs, the evil eye, and other"twaddle, " yet he did not like it when a hare ran across his path, andit was not quite agreeable for him to meet a priest. [34] He was veryrespectful to ecclesiastical persons, nevertheless, and asked theirblessing, and even kissed their hand every time, but he talked with themreluctantly. --"They emit a very strong odour, " he explained; "but I, sinful man that I am, have grown effeminate beyond measure;--their hairis so long[35] and oily, and they comb it out in all directions, thinking thereby to show me respect, and they clear their throats loudlyin the middle of conversation, either out of timidity or because theywish to please me in that way also. Well, but they remind me of my hourof death. But be that as it may, I want to live a while longer. Only, little sir, don't repeat these remarks of mine; respect theecclesiastical profession--only fools do not respect it; and I am toblame for talking nonsense in my old age. " Alexyéi Sergyéitch had received a scanty education, [36] like all noblesof that epoch; but he had completed it, to a certain degree, by reading. He read only Russian books of the end of the last century; he consideredthe newer writers unleavened and weak in style. During his reading heplaced beside him, on a round, one-legged little table, a silver jugfilled with a special effervescent kvas flavoured with mint, whosepleasant odour disseminated itself through all the rooms. He placedlarge, round spectacles on the tip of his nose; but in his later yearshe did not so much read as stare thoughtfully over the rims of thespectacles, elevating his brows, mowing with his lips and sighing. OnceI caught him weeping, with a book on his knees, which greatly surprisedme, I admit. He recalled the following wretched doggerel: O all-conquering race of man! Rest is unknown to thee! Thou findest it only When thou swallowest the dust of the grave. .. . Bitter, bitter is this rest! Sleep, ye dead. .. . But weep, ye living! These verses were composed by a certain Górmitch-Gormítzky, a rovingpoetaster, whom Alexyéi Sergyéitch had harboured in his house because heseemed to him a delicate and even subtle man; he wore shoes with knotsof ribbon, pronounced his _o's_ broadly, and, raising his eyes toheaven, he sighed frequently. In addition to all these merits, Górmitch-Gormítzky spoke French passably well, for he had been educatedin a Jesuit college, while Alexyéi Sergyéitch only "understood" it. Buthaving once drunk himself dead-drunk in a dram-shop, this same subtleGormítzky displayed outrageous violence. He thrashed "to flinders"Alexyéi Sergyéitch's valet, the cook, two laundresses who happenedalong, and even an independent carpenter, and smashed several panes inthe windows, yelling lustily the while: "Here now, I'll just show theseRussian sluggards, these unlicked katzápy!"[37]--And what strength thatpuny little man displayed! Eight men could hardly control him! For thisturbulence Alexyéi Sergyéitch gave orders that the rhymster should beflung out of the house, after he had preliminarily been rolled in thesnow (it happened in the winter), to sober him. "Yes, " Alexyéi Sergyéitch was wont to say, "my day is over; the horse isworn out. I used to keep poets at my expense, and I used to buy picturesand books from the Jews--and my geese were quite as good as those ofMukhán, and I had genuine slate-coloured tumbler-pigeons. .. . I was anamateur of all sorts of things! Except that I never was a dog-fancier, because of the drunkenness and the clownishness! I was mettlesome, untamable! God forbid that a Telyégin should be anything but first-classin everything! And I had a splendid horse-breeding establishment. .. . Andthose horses came . .. Whence, thinkest thou, my little sir?--From thosevery renowned studs of the Tzar Iván Alexyéitch, the brother of Peterthe Great. .. . I'm telling you the truth! All stallions, dark brown incolour, with manes to their knees, tails to their hoofs. .. . Lions!Vanity of vanities, all is vanity! But what's the use of regretting it?Every man has his limit fixed for him. --You cannot fly higher thanheaven, nor live in the water, nor escape from the earth. .. . Let us liveon a while longer, at any rate!" And again the old man smiled and took a pinch of his Spanish tobacco. His peasants loved him. Their master was kind, according to them, andnot a heart-breaker. --Only, they also repeated that he was a worn-outsteed. Formerly Alexyéi Sergyéitch had gone into everything himself: hehad ridden out into the fields, and to the flour-mill, and to theoil-mill and the storehouses, and looked in to the peasants' cottages;every one was familiar with his racing-drozhky, [38] upholstered incrimson plush and drawn by a well-grown horse with a broad blazeextending clear across its forehead, named "Lantern"--from that samefamous breeding establishment. Alexyéi Sergyéitch drove him himself withthe ends of the reins wound round his fists. But when his seventiethbirthday came the old man gave up everything, and entrusted themanagement of his estate to the peasant bailiff Antíp, of whom hesecretly stood in awe and called Micromegas (memories of Voltaire!), orsimply "robber. " "Well, robber, hast thou gathered a big lot of stolen goods?" he wouldsay, looking the robber straight in the eye. "Everything is according to your grace, " Antíp would reply merrily. "Grace is all right, only just look out for thyself, Micromegas! Don'tdare to touch my peasants, my subjects behind my back! They will makecomplaint . .. My cane is not far off, seest thou?" "I always keep your little cane well in mind, dear little father AlexyéiSergyéitch, " replied Antíp-Micromegas, stroking his beard. "That's right, keep it in mind!" and master and bailiff laughed in eachother's faces. With his house-serfs, with his serfs in general, with his "subjects"(Alexyéi Sergyéitch loved that word), he dealt gently. --"Because, judgefor thyself, little nephew, if thou hast nothing of thine own save thecross on thy neck, [39] and that a brass one, don't hanker after otherfolks' things. .. . What sense is there in that?" There is no denying thefact that no one even thought of the so-called problem of the serfs atthat epoch; and it could not disturb Alexyéi Sergyéitch. He very calmlyruled his "subjects"; but he condemned bad landed proprietors and calledthem the enemies of their class. He divided the nobles in general into three categories: the judicious, "of whom there are not many"; the profligate, "of whom there is a goodlynumber"; and the licentious, "of whom there are enough to dam a pond. "And if any one of them was harsh and oppressive to his subjects, thatman was guilty in the sight of God, and culpable in the sight ofmen!--Yes; the house-serfs led an easy life in the old man's house; the"subjects behind his back" were less well off, as a matter of course, despite the cane wherewith he threatened Micromegas. --And how many therewere of them--of those house-serfs--in his manor! And for the most partthey were old, sinewy, hairy, grumbling, stoop-shouldered, clad inlong-skirted nankeen kaftans, and imbued with a strong acrid odour! Andin the women's department nothing was to be heard but the trampling ofbare feet, and the rustling of petticoats. --The head valet was namedIrinárkh, and Alexyéi Sergyéitch always summoned him with along-drawn-out call: "I-ri-na-a-árkh!"--He called the others: "Youngfellow! Boy! What subject is there?!"--He could not endure bells. "Godhave mercy, this is no tavern!" And what amazed me was, that no matterat what time Alexyéi Sergyéitch called his valet, the man instantlypresented himself, just as though he had sprung out of the earth, andplacing his heels together, and putting his hands behind his back, stoodbefore his master a grim and, as it were, an irate but zealous servant! Alexyéi Sergyéitch was lavish beyond his means; but he did not like tobe called "benefactor. "--"What sort of a benefactor am I to you, sir?. .. I'm doing myself a favour, not you, my good sir!" (When he was angry orindignant he always called people "you. ")--"To a beggar give once, givetwice, give thrice, " he was wont to say. .. . "Well, and if he returns forthe fourth time--give to him yet again, only add therewith: 'My goodman, thou shouldst work with something else besides thy mouth all thetime. '" "Uncle, " I used to ask him, "what if the beggar should return for thefifth time after that?" "Why, then, do thou give to him for the fifth time. " The sick people who appealed to him for aid he had cured at his ownexpense, although he himself did not believe in doctors, and never sentfor them. --"My deceased mother, " he asserted, "used to heal all maladieswith olive-oil and salt; she both administered it internally and rubbedit on externally, and everything passed off splendidly. And who was mymother? She had her birth under Peter the First--only think of that!" Alexyéi Sergyéitch was a Russian man in every respect; he loved Russianviands, he loved Russian songs, but the accordion, "a factoryinvention, " he detested; he loved to watch the maidens in their choralsongs, the women in their dances. In his youth, it was said, he had sungrollickingly and danced with agility. He loved to steam himself in thebath, --and steamed himself so energetically that Irinárkh, who servedhim as bath-attendant, thrashed him with a birch-besom soaked in beer, rubbed him down with shredded linden bark, [40] then with a bit ofwoollen cloth, rolled a soap bladder over his master's shoulders, --thisfaithfully-devoted Irinárkh was accustomed to say every time, as heclimbed down from the shelf as red as "a new brass statue": "Well, forthis time I, the servant of God, Irinárkh Tolobyéeff, am still whole. .. . What will happen next time?" And Alexyéi Sergyéitch spoke splendid Russian, somewhat old-fashioned, but piquant and pure as spring water, constantly interspersing hisspeech with his pet words: "honour bright, " "God have mercy, " "at anyrate, " "sir, " and "little sir. ". .. Enough concerning him, however. Let us talk about Alexyéi Sergyéitch'sspouse, Malánya Pávlovna. Malánya Pávlovna was a native of Moscow, and had been accounted thegreatest beauty in town, _la Vénus de Moscou_. --When I knew her she wasalready a gaunt old woman, with delicate but insignificant features, little curved hare-like teeth in a tiny little mouth, with a multitudeof tight little curls on her forehead, and dyed eyebrows. She constantlywore a pyramidal cap with rose-coloured ribbons, a high ruff around herneck, a short white gown and prunella shoes with red heels; and over hergown she wore a jacket of blue satin, with the sleeve depending fromthe right shoulder. She had worn precisely such a toilet on St. Peter'sday, 1789! On that day, being still a maiden, she had gone with herrelatives to the Khodýnskoe Field, [41] to see the famous prize-fightarranged by the Orlóffs. "And Count Alexyéi Grigórievitch . .. " (oh, how many times did I hearthat tale!), . .. "having descried me, approached, made a low obeisance, holding his hat in both hands, and spake thus: 'My stunning beauty, whydost thou allow that sleeve to hang from thy shoulder? Is it that thouwishest to have a match at fisticuffs with me?. .. With pleasure; only Itell thee beforehand that thou hast vanquished me--I surrender!--and Iam thy captive!'--and every one stared at us and marvelled. " And so she had worn that style of toilet ever since. "Only, I wore no cap then, but a hat _à la bergère de Trianon_; andalthough I was powdered, yet my hair gleamed through it like gold!" Malánya Pávlovna was stupid to sanctity, as the saying goes; shechattered at random, and did not herself quite know what issued from hermouth--but it was chiefly about Orlóff. --Orlóff had become, one may say, the principal interest of her life. She usually entered--no! shefloated into--the room, moving her head in a measured way like apeacock, came to a halt in the middle of it, with one foot turned out ina strange sort of way, and holding the pendent sleeve in two fingers(that must have been the pose which had pleased Orlóff once on a time), she looked about her with arrogant carelessness, as befits a beauty, --she even sniffed and whispered "The idea!" exactly as though someimportant cavalier-adorer were besieging her with compliments, --thensuddenly walked on, clattering her heels and shrugging her shoulders. --She also took Spanish snuff out of a tiny bonbon box, scooping it outwith a tiny golden spoon, and from time to time, especially when a newperson made his appearance, she raised--not to her eyes, but to her nose(her vision was excellent)--a double lorgnette in the shape of a pair ofhorns, showing off and twisting about her little white hand with onefinger standing out apart. How many times did Malánya Pávlovna describe to me her wedding in theChurch of the Ascension, "which is on the Arbát Square--such a finechurch!--and all Moscow was present at it . .. There was such a crush! 'Twas frightful! There were equipages drawn by six horses, goldencarriages, runners . .. One of Count Zavadóvsky's runners even fell underthe wheels! And the bishop himself married us, [42] and what an addresshe delivered! Everybody wept--wherever I looked there was nothing buttears, tears . .. And the Governor-General's horses weretiger-coloured. .. . And how many, many flowers people brought!. .. Theyoverwhelmed us with flowers! And one foreigner, a rich, very rich man, shot himself for love on that occasion, and Orlóff was present also. .. . And approaching Alexyéi Sergyéitch he congratulated him and called him alucky dog. .. . 'Thou art a lucky dog, brother gaper!' he said. And inreply Alexyéi Sergyéitch made such a wonderful obeisance, and swept theplume of his hat along the floor from left to right . .. As much as tosay: 'There is a line drawn now, Your Radiance, between you and myspouse which you must not step across!'--And Orlóff, AlexyéiGrigórievitch, immediately understood and lauded him. --Oh, what a man hewas! What a man! And then, on another occasion, Alexis and I were at aball in his house--I was already married--and what magnificent diamondbuttons he wore! And I could not restrain myself, but praised them. 'What splendid diamonds you have, Count!' And thereupon he took a knifefrom the table, cut off one button and presented it to me--saying: 'Youhave in your eyes, my dear little dove, diamonds a hundredfold finer;just stand before the mirror and compare them. ' And I did stand there, and he stood beside me. --'Well? Who is right?'--says he--and keepsrolling his eyes all round me. And then Alexyéi Sergyéitch was greatlydismayed; but I said to him: 'Alexis, ' I said to him, 'please do not bedismayed; thou shouldst know me better!' And he answered me: 'Be atease, Mélanie!'--And those same diamonds I now have encircling amedallion of Alexyéi Grigórievitch--I think, my dear, that thou hastseen me wear it on my shoulder on festival days, on a ribbon of St. George--because he was a very brave hero, a cavalier of the Order of St. George: he burned the Turks!"[43] Notwithstanding all this, Malánya Pávlovna was a very kind woman; shewas easy to please. --"She doesn't nag you, and she doesn't sneer atyou, " the maids said of her. --Malánya Pávlovna was passionately fond ofall sweets, and a special old woman, who occupied herself with nothingbut the preserves, and therefore was called the preserve-woman, broughtto her, half a score of times in a day, a Chinese plate now withcandied rose-leaves, again with barberries in honey, or orange sherbet. Malánya Pávlovna feared solitude--dreadful thoughts come then--and wasalmost constantly surrounded by female hangers-on whom she urgentlyentreated: "Talk, talk! Why do you sit there and do nothing but warmyour seats?"--and they began to twitter like canary-birds. Being no lessdevout than Alexyéi Sergyéitch, she was very fond of praying; but as, according to her own words, she had not learned to recite prayers well, she kept for that purpose the widow of a deacon, who prayed so tastily!She would never stumble to all eternity! And, in fact, that deacon'swidow understood how to utter prayerful words in an irrepressible sortof way, without a break even when she inhaled or exhaled her breath--andMalánya Pávlovna listened and melted with emotion. She had another widowalso attached to her service; the latter's duty consisted in telling herstories at night, --"but only old ones, " entreated Malánya Pávlovna, "those I already know; all the new ones are spurious. " Malánya Pávlovna was very frivolous and sometimes suspicious. All of asudden she would take some idea into her head. She did not like thedwarf Janus, for example; it always seemed to her as though he wouldsuddenly start in and begin to shriek: "But do you know who I am? ABuryát Prince! So, then, submit!"--And if she did not, he would set fireto the house out of melancholy. Malánya Pávlovna was as lavish asAlexyéi Sergyéitch; but she never gave money--she did not wish to soilher pretty little hands--but kerchiefs, ear-rings, gowns, ribbons, orshe would send a patty from the table, or a bit of the roast, or if notthat, a glass of wine. She was also fond of regaling the peasant-womenon holidays. They would begin to dance, and she would click her heelsand strike an attitude. Alexyéi Sergyéitch was very well aware that his wife was stupid; but hehad trained himself, almost from the first year of his married life, topretend that she was very keen of tongue and fond of saying stingingthings. As soon as she got to chattering he would immediately shake hislittle finger at her and say: "Okh, what a naughty little tongue! What anaughty little tongue! Won't it catch it in the next world! It will bepierced with red-hot needles!"--But Malánya Pávlovna did not takeoffence at this; on the contrary, she seemed to feel flattered athearing such remarks--as much as to say: "Well, I can't help it! Itisn't my fault that I was born witty!" Malánya Pávlovna worshipped her husband, and all her life remained anexemplary and faithful wife. But there had been an "object" in her lifealso, a young nephew, a hussar, who had been slain, so she assumed, ina duel on her account---but, according to more trustworthy information, he had died from a blow received on the head from a billiard-cue, intavern company. The water-colour portrait of this "object" was preservedby her in a secret casket. Malánya Pávlovna crimsoned to the very earsevery time she alluded to Kapítonushka--that was the "object's"name;--while Alexyéi Sergyéitch scowled intentionally, again menaced hiswife with his little finger and said, "Trust not a horse in the meadow, a wife in the house! Okh, that Kapítonushka, Kupidónushka!"--ThenMalánya Pávlovna bristled up all over and exclaimed: "Alexis, shame on you, Alexis!--You yourself probably flirted withdivers little ladies in your youth--and so you take it for granted. .. . " "Come, that will do, that will do, Malániushka, " Alexyéi Sergyéitchinterrupted her, with a smile;--"thy gown is white, and thy soul iswhiter still!" "It is whiter, Alexis; it is whiter!" "Okh, what a naughty little tongue, on my honour, what a naughty littletongue!" repeated Alexyéi Sergyéitch, tapping her on the cheek. To mention Malánya Pávlovna's "convictions" would be still more out ofplace than to mention those of Alexyéi Sergyéitch; but I once chanced tobe the witness of a strange manifestation of my aunt's hidden feelings. I once chanced, in the course of conversation, to mention the well-knownSheshkóvsky. [44] Malánya Pávlovna suddenly became livid in the face, --aslivid as a corpse, --turned green, despite the layer of paint and powder, and in a dull, entirely-genuine voice (which very rarely happened withher--as a general thing she seemed always somewhat affected, assumed anartificial tone and lisped) said: "Okh! whom hast thou mentioned! And atnightfall, into the bargain!--Don't utter that name!" I was amazed; whatsignificance could that name possess for such an inoffensive andinnocent being, who would not have known how to devise, much less toexecute, anything reprehensible?--This alarm, which revealed itselfafter a lapse of nearly half a century, induced in me reflections whichwere not altogether cheerful. Alexyéi Sergyéitch died in his eighty-eighth year, in the year 1848, which evidently disturbed even him. And his death was rather strange. That morning he had felt well, although he no longer quitted hisarm-chair at all. But suddenly he called to his wife: "Malániushka, comehither!" "What dost thou want, Alexis?" "It is time for me to die, that's what, my darling. " "God be with you, Alexyéi Sergyéitch! Why so?" "This is why. In the first place, one must show moderation; and morethan that; I was looking at my legs a little while ago . .. They werestrange legs--and that settles it!--I looked at my hands---and thosewere strange also! I looked at my belly--and the belly belonged to someone else!--Which signifies that I am devouring some other person'slife. [45] Send for the priest; and in the meanwhile, lay me on my bed, from which I shall not rise again. " Malánya Pávlovna was in utter consternation, but she put the old man tobed, and sent for the priest. Alexyéi Sergyéitch made his confession, received the holy communion, took leave of the members of his household, and began to sink into a stupor. Malánya Pávlovna was sitting beside hisbed. "Alexis!" she suddenly shrieked, "do not frighten me, do not close thydear eyes! Hast thou any pain?" The old man looked at his wife. --"No, I have no pain . .. But I findit . .. Rather difficult . .. Difficult to breathe. " Then, after a briefpause:--"Malániushka, " he said, "now life has galloped past--but dostthou remember our wedding . .. What a fine young couple we were?" "We were, my beauty, Alexis my incomparable one!" Again the old man remained silent for a space. "And shall we meet again in the other world, Malániushka?" "I shall pray to God that we may, Alexis. "--And the old woman burst intotears. "Come, don't cry, silly one; perchance the Lord God will make us youngagain there--and we shall again be a fine young pair!" "He will make us young, Alexis!" "Everything is possible to Him, to the Lord, " remarked AlexyéiSergyéitch. --"He is a worker of wonders!--I presume He will make thee aclever woman also. .. . Come, my dear, I was jesting; give me thy hand tokiss. " "And I will kiss thine. " And the two old people kissed each other's hands. Alexyéi Sergyéitch began to quiet down and sink into a comatose state. Malánya Pávlovna gazed at him with emotion, brushing the tears from hereyelashes with the tip of her finger. She sat thus for a couple ofhours. "Has he fallen asleep?" asked in a whisper the old woman who knew how topray so tastily, peering out from behind Irinárkh, who was standing asmotionless as a pillar at the door, and staring intently at his dyingmaster. "Yes, " replied Malánya Pávlovna, also in a whisper. And suddenly AlexyéiSergyéitch opened his eyes. "My faithful companion, " he stammered, "my respected spouse, I wouldlike to bow myself to thy feet for all thy love and faithfulness--buthow am I to rise? Let me at least sign thee with the cross. " Malánya Pávlovna drew nearer, bent over. .. . But the hand which had beenraised fell back powerless on the coverlet, and a few moments laterAlexyéi Sergyéitch ceased to be. His daughters with their husbands only arrived in time for the funeral;neither one of them had any children. Alexyéi Sergyéitch had notdiscriminated against them in his will, although he had not referred tothem on his death-bed. "My heart is locked against them, " he had said to me one day. Knowinghis kind-heartedness, I was surprised at his words. --It is a difficultmatter to judge between parents and children. --"A vast ravine beginswith a tiny rift, " Alexyéi Sergyéitch had said to me on anotheroccasion, referring to the same subject. "A wound an arshín long willheal over, but if you cut off so much as a nail, it will not growagain!" I have an idea that the daughters were ashamed of their eccentric oldfolks. A month later Malánya Pávlovna expired also. She hardly rose from herbed again after the day of Alexyéi Sergyéitch's death, and did notarray herself; but they buried her in the blue jacket, and with themedal of Orlóff on her shoulder, only minus the diamonds. The daughtersshared those between them, under the pretext that those diamonds were tobe used for the setting of holy pictures; but as a matter of fact theyused them to adorn their own persons. And now how vividly do my old people stand before me, and what a goodmemory I cherish of them! And yet, during my very last visit to them (Iwas already a student at the time) an incident occurred which injectedsome discord into the harmoniously-patriarchal mood with which theTelyégin house inspired me. Among the number of the household serfs was a certain Iván, nicknamed"Sukhíkh--the coachman, or the little coachman, as he was called, onaccount of his small size, in spite of his years, which were not few. Hewas a tiny scrap of a man, nimble, snub-nosed, curly-haired, with aperennial smile on his infantile countenance, and little, mouse-likeeyes. He was a great joker and buffoon; he was able to acquire anytrick; he set off fireworks, snakes, played all card-games, galloped hishorse while standing erect on it, flew higher than any one else in theswing, and even knew how to present Chinese shadows. There was no onewho could amuse children better than he, and he would have been onlytoo glad to occupy himself with them all day long. When he got tolaughing he set the whole house astir. People would answer him from thispoint and that--every one would join in. .. . They would both abuse himand laugh. --Iván danced marvellously--especially 'the fish. '--The choruswould thunder out a dance tune, the young fellow would step into themiddle of the circle, and begin to leap and twist about and stamp hisfeet, and then come down with a crash on the ground--and there representthe movements of a fish which has been thrown out of the water upon thedry land; and he would writhe about this way and that, and even bringhis heels up to his neck; and then, when he sprang to his feet and beganto shout, the earth would simply tremble beneath him! Alexyéi Sergyéitchwas extremely fond of choral songs and dances, as I have already said;he could never refrain from shouting: 'Send hither Vániushka! the littlecoachman! Give us 'the fish, ' be lively!'--and a minute later he wouldwhisper in ecstasy: 'Akh, what a devil of a man he is!'" Well, then, --on my last visit this same Iván Sukhíkh comes to me in myroom, and without uttering a word plumps down on his knees. "What is the matter with thee, Iván?" "Save me, master!" "Why, what's the trouble?" And thereupon Iván related to me his grief. He had been swapped twenty years previously by the Messrs. Sukhóy foranother serf, a man belonging to the Telyégins--he had simply beenexchanged, without any formalities and documents. The man who had beengiven in exchange for him had died, but the Messrs. Sukhóy had forgottenall about Iván and had left him in Alexyéi Sergyéitch's house as hisproperty; his nickname alone served as a reminder of hisorigin. [46]--But lo and behold! his former owners had died also, theirestate had fallen into other hands, and the new owner, concerning whomrumours were in circulation to the effect that he was a cruel man, atorturer, having learned that one of his serfs was to be found atAlexyéi Sergyéitch's without any passport and right, began to demand hisreturn; in case of refusal he threatened to have recourse to the courtsand a penalty--and he did not threaten idly, as he himself held the rankof Privy Councillor, [47] and had great weight in the government. [48]Iván, in his affright, darted to Alexyéi Sergyéitch. The old man wassorry for his dancer, and he offered to buy Iván from the privycouncillor at a good price; but the privy councillor would not hear ofsuch a thing; he was a Little Russian and obstinate as the devil. Thepoor fellow had to be surrendered. "I have got used to living here, I have made myself at home here, I haveeaten bread here, and here I wish to die, " Ivan said to me--and therewas no grin on his face now; on the contrary, he seemed turned intostone. .. . "But now I must go to that malefactor. .. . Am I a dog that I amto be driven from one kennel to another with a slip-noose round myneck--and a 'take that'? Save me, master; entreat your uncle, --rememberhow I have always amused you. .. . Or something bad will surely come ofit; the matter will not pass off without sin. " "Without what sin, Iván?" "Why, I will kill that gentleman. --When I arrive I shall say to him:'Let me go back, master; otherwise, look out, beware. .. . I will killyou. '" If a chaffinch or a bullfinch could talk and had begun to assure me thatit would claw another bird, it would not have caused me greaterastonishment than did Iván on that occasion. --What! Ványa Sukhíkh, thatdancer, jester, buffoon, that favourite of the children, and a childhimself--that kindest-hearted of beings--a murderer! What nonsense! Idid not believe him for a single moment. I was startled in the extremethat he should have been able to utter such a word! Nevertheless, Ibetook myself to Alexyéi Sergyéitch. I did not repeat to him what Ivánhad said to me, but I tried in every way to beg him to see whether hecould not set the matter right. "My little sir, " the old man replied to me, "I would be only toodelighted, but how can I?--I have offered that Topknot[49] hugeremuneration. I offered him three hundred rubles, I assure thee on myhonour! but in vain. What is one to do? We had acted illegally, onfaith, after the ancient fashion . .. And now see what a bad thing hascome of it! I am sure that Topknot will take Iván from me by force thefirst thing we know; he has a strong hand, the Governor eats sourcabbage-soup with him--the Topknot will send a soldier! I'm afraid ofthose soldiers! In former days, there's no denying it, I would havedefended Iván, --but just look at me now, how decrepit I have grown. Howam I to wage war?"--And, in fact, during my last visit I found thatAlexyéi Sergyéitch had aged very greatly; even the pupils of his eyeshad acquired a milky hue--like that in infants--and on his lips thereappeared not the discerning smile of former days, but thatstrainedly-sweet, unconscious smirk which never leaves the faces of veryold people even in their sleep. I imparted Alexyéi Sergyéitch's decision to Iván. He stood a while, heldhis peace, and shook his head. --"Well, " he said at last, "what is fatedto be cannot be avoided. Only my word is firm. That is to say: only onething remains for me . .. Play the wag to the end. --Master, please giveme something for liquor!" I gave it; he drank himself drunk--and on thatsame day he danced "the fish" in such wise that the maidens and marriedwomen fairly squealed with delight, so whimsically amusing was he. The next day I went home, and three months later--when I was already inPetersburg--I learned that Iván had actually kept his word!--He had beensent to his new master; his master had summoned him to his study andannounced to him that he was to serve as his coachman, that he entrustedhim with a tróika of Vyátka horses, [50] and that he should exact astrict account from him if he treated them badly, and, in general, if hewere not punctual. --"I'm not fond of jesting, " he said. --Iván listenedto his master, first made obeisance to his very feet, and then informedhim that it was as his mercy liked, but he could not be hisservant. --"Release me on quit-rent, Your High-Born, " he said, "or make asoldier of me; otherwise there will be a catastrophe before long. " The master flared up. --"Akh, damn thee! What is this thou darest to sayto me?--Know, in the first place, that I am 'Your Excellency, ' and not'Your High-Born'; in the second place, thou art beyond the age, and thysize is not such that I can hand thee over as a soldier; and, inconclusion, --what calamity art thou threatening me with? Art thoupreparing to commit arson?" "No, your Excellency, not to commit arson. " "To kill me, then, pray?" Iván maintained a stubborn silence. --"I will not be your servant, " hesaid at last. "Here, then, I'll show thee, " roared the gentleman, "whether thou wiltbe my servant or not!"--And after having cruelly flogged Iván, henevertheless ordered that the tróika of Vyátka horses should be placedin his charge, and appointed him a coachman at the stables. Iván submitted, to all appearances; he began to drive as coachman. As hewas a proficient in that line his master speedily took a fancy tohim, --the more so as Iván behaved very discreetly and quietly, and thehorses throve under his care; he tended them so that they became asplump as cucumbers, --one could never leave off admiring them! The masterbegan to drive out more frequently with him than with the othercoachmen. He used to ask: "Dost thou remember, Iván, how unpleasant wasthy first meeting with me? I think thou hast got rid of thy folly?" Butto these words Iván never made any reply. So, then, one day, just before the Epiphany, the master set out for thetown with Iván in his tróika with bells, in a broad sledge lined withrugs. The horses began to ascend a hill at a walk, while Iván descendedfrom the box and went back to the sledge, as though he had droppedsomething. --The cold was very severe. The master sat there all wrappedup, and with his beaver cap drawn down over his ears. Then Iván pulled ahatchet out from under the skirts of his coat, approached his masterfrom behind, knocked off his cap, and saying: "I warned thee, PiótrPetróvitch--now thou hast thyself to thank for this!"--he laid open hishead with one slash. Then he brought the horses to a standstill, put thecap back on his murdered master's head, and again mounting the box, hedrove him to the town, straight to the court-house. "Here's the general from Sukhóy for you, murdered; and I killed him. --Itold him I would do it, and I have done it. Bind me!" They seized Iván, tried him, condemned him to the knout and then topenal servitude. --The merry, bird-like dancer reached the mines--andthere vanished forever. .. . Yes; involuntarily--although in a different sense, --one repeats withAlexyéi Sergyéitch:--"The old times were good . .. Well, yes, but God bewith them! I want nothing to do with them!" THE SONG OF LOVE TRIUMPHANT (1881) MDXLII DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF GUSTAVE FLAUBERT Wage du zu irren und zu träumen! SCHILLER. The following is what I read in an Italian manuscript: I About the middle of the sixteenth century there dwelt in Ferrara--(itwas then flourishing under the sceptre of its magnificent dukes, thepatrons of the arts and of poetry)--there dwelt two young men, namedFabio and Muzio. Of the same age and nearly related, they were almostnever separated; a sincere friendship had united them since their earlychildhood, and a similarity of fate had strengthened this bond. Bothbelonged to ancient families; both were wealthy, independent, andwithout family; the tastes and inclinations of both were similar. Muziooccupied himself with music, Fabio with painting. All Ferrara was proudof them as the finest ornaments of the Court, of society, and of thecity. But in personal appearance they did not resemble each other, although both were distinguished for their stately, youthful beauty. Fabio was the taller of the two, white of complexion, with ruddy-goldhair, and had blue eyes. Muzio, on the contrary, had a swarthy face, black hair, and in his dark-brown eyes there was not that merry gleam, on his lips not that cordial smile, which Fabio had; his thick eyebrowsover-hung his narrow eyelids, while Fabio's golden brows rose in slenderarches on his pure, smooth forehead. Muzio was less animated inconversation also; nevertheless both friends were equally favoured bythe ladies; for not in vain were they models of knightly courtesy andlavishness. At one and the same time with them there dwelt in Ferrara a maiden namedValeria. She was considered one of the greatest beauties in the city, although she was to be seen only very rarely, as she led a retired lifeand left her house only to go to church;--and on great festivals for awalk. She lived with her mother, a nobly-born but not wealthy widow, whohad no other children. Valeria inspired in every one whom she met afeeling of involuntary amazement and of equally involuntary tenderrespect: so modest was her mien, so little aware was she, to allappearance, of the full force of her charms. Some persons, it is true, thought her rather pale; the glance of her eyes, which were almostalways lowered, expressed a certain shyness and even timidity; her lipssmiled rarely, and then but slightly; hardly ever did any one hear hervoice. But a rumour was in circulation to the effect that it was verybeautiful, and that, locking herself in her chamber, early in themorning, while everything in the city was still sleeping, she loved towarble ancient ballads to the strains of a lute, upon which she herselfplayed. Despite the pallor of her face, Valeria was in blooming health;and even the old people, as they looked on her, could not refrain fromthinking:--"Oh, how happy will be that young man for whom this bud stillfolded in its petals, still untouched and virgin, shall at last unfolditself!" II Fabio and Muzio beheld Valeria for the first time at a sumptuous popularfestival, got up at the command of the Duke of Ferrara, Ercole, son ofthe famous Lucrezia Borgia, in honour of some distinguished grandees whohad arrived from Paris on the invitation of the Duchess, the daughter ofLouis XII, King of France. Side by side with her mother sat Valeria inthe centre of an elegant tribune, erected after drawings by Palladiuson the principal square of Ferrara for the most honourable ladies of thecity. Both Fabio and Muzio fell passionately in love with her that day;and as they concealed nothing from each other, each speedily learnedwhat was going on in his comrade's heart. They agreed between themselvesthat they would both try to make close acquaintance with Valeria, and ifshe should deign to choose either one of them the other should submitwithout a murmur to her decision. Several weeks later, thanks to the fine reputation which they rightfullyenjoyed, they succeeded in penetrating into the not easily accessiblehouse of the widow; she gave them permission to visit her. From thattime forth they were able to see Valeria almost every day and toconverse with her;--and with every day the flame kindled in the heartsof both young men blazed more and more vigorously. But Valeria displayedno preference for either of them, although their presence evidentlypleased her. With Muzio she occupied herself with music; but she chattedmore with Fabio: she was less shy with him. At last they decided tolearn their fate definitely, and sent to Valeria a letter wherein theyasked her to explain herself and say on whom she was prepared to bestowher hand. Valeria showed this letter to her mother, and informed herthat she was content to remain unmarried; but if her mother thought itwas time for her to marry, she would wed the man of her mother'schoice. The honourable widow shed a few tears at the thought of partingfrom her beloved child; but there was no reason for rejecting thesuitors: she considered them both equally worthy of her daughter's hand. But as she secretly preferred Fabio, and suspected that he was more toValeria's taste also, she fixed upon him. On the following day Fabiolearned of his happiness: and all that was left to Muzio was to keep hisword and submit. This he did; but he was not able to be a witness to the triumph of hisfriend, his rival. He immediately sold the greater part of his property, and collecting a few thousand ducats, he set off on a long journey tothe Orient. On taking leave of Fabio he said to him that he would notreturn until he should feel that the last traces of passion in him hadvanished. It was painful for Fabio to part from the friend of hischildhood and his youth . .. But the joyful anticipation of approachingbliss speedily swallowed up all other sentiments--and he surrenderedhimself completely to the transports of happy love. He soon married Valeria, and only then did he learn the full value ofthe treasure which it had fallen to his lot to possess. He had a verybeautiful villa at a short distance from Ferrara; he removed thitherwith his wife and her mother. A bright time then began for them. Weddedlife displayed in a new and captivating light all Valeria's perfections. Fabio became a remarkable artist, ---no longer a mere amateur, but amaster. Valeria's mother rejoiced and returned thanks to God as shegazed at the happy pair. Four years flew by unnoticed like a blissfuldream. One thing alone was lacking to the young married couple, onething caused them grief: they had no children . .. But hope had notdeserted them. Toward the end of the fourth year a great, and this timea genuine grief, visited them: Valeria's mother died, after an illnessof a few days. Valeria shed many tears; for a long time she could not reconcile herselfto her loss. But another year passed; life once more asserted its rightsand flowed on in its former channel. And, lo! one fine summer evening, without having forewarned any one, Muzio returned to Ferrara. III During the whole five years which had elapsed since his departure, noone had known anything about him. All rumours concerning him had diedout, exactly as though he had vanished from the face of the earth. WhenFabio met his friend on one of the streets in Ferrara he came nearcrying out aloud, first from fright, then from joy, and immediatelyinvited him to his villa. There, in the garden, was a spacious, detachedpavilion; he suggested that his friend should settle down in thatpavilion. Muzio gladly accepted, and that same day removed thither withhis servant, a dumb Malay--dumb but not deaf, and even, judging from thevivacity of his glance, a very intelligent man. .. . His tongue had beencut out. Muzio had brought with him scores of chests filled with diversprecious things which he had collected during his prolonged wanderings. Valeria was delighted at Muzio's return; and he greeted her in acheerfully-friendly but composed manner. From everything it was obviousthat he had kept the promise made to Fabio. In the course of the day hesucceeded in installing himself in his pavilion; with the aid of hisMalay he set out the rarities he had brought--rugs, silken tissues, garments of velvet and brocade, weapons, cups, dishes, and beakersadorned with enamel, articles of gold and silver set with pearls andturquoises, carved caskets of amber and ivory, faceted flasks, spices, perfumes, pelts of wild beasts, the feathers of unknown birds, and amultitude of other objects, the very use of which seemed mysterious andincomprehensible. Among the number of all these precious things therewas one rich pearl necklace which Muzio had received from the Shah ofPersia for a certain great and mysterious service; he asked Valeria'spermission to place this necklace on her neck with his own hand; itseemed to her heavy, and as though endowed with a strange sort of warmth. .. It fairly adhered to the skin. Toward evening, after dinner, as theysat on the terrace of the villa, in the shade of oleanders and laurels, Muzio began to narrate his adventures. He told of the distant landswhich he had seen, of mountains higher than the clouds, of rivers likeunto seas; he told of vast buildings and temples, of trees thousands ofyears old, of rainbow-hued flowers and birds; he enumerated the citiesand peoples he had visited. .. . (their very names exhaled somethingmagical). All the Orient was familiar to Muzio: he had traversed Persiaand Arabia, where the horses are more noble and beautiful than all otherliving creatures; he had penetrated the depths of India, where is a raceof people resembling magnificent plants; he had attained to the confinesof China and Tibet, where a living god, the Dalai Lama by name, dwellsupon earth in the form of a speechless man with narrow eyes. Marvellouswere his tales! Fabio and Valeria listened to him as though enchanted. In point of fact, Muzio's features had undergone but little change:swarthy from childhood, his face had grown still darker, --had beenburned beneath the rays of a more brilliant sun, --his eyes seemed moredeeply set than of yore, that was all; but the expression of that facehad become different: concentrated, grave, it did not grow animated evenwhen he alluded to the dangers to which he had been subjected by nightin the forests, deafened by the roar of tigers, by day on deserted roadswhere fanatics lie in wait for travellers and strangle them in honour ofan iron goddess who demands human blood. And Muzio's voice had grownmore quiet and even; the movements of his hands, of his whole body, hadlost the flourishing ease which is peculiar to the Italian race. With the aid of his servant, the obsequiously-alert Malay, he showed hishost and hostess several tricks which he had been taught by the Brahminsof India. Thus, for example, having preliminarily concealed himselfbehind a curtain, he suddenly appeared sitting in the air, with his legsdoubled up beneath him, resting the tips of his fingers lightly on abamboo rod set upright, which not a little amazed and even alarmed Fabioand Valeria. .. . "Can it be that he is a magician?" the thought occurredto her. --But when he set to calling out tame snakes from a coveredbasket by whistling on a small flute, --when, wiggling their fangs, theirdark, flat heads made their appearance from beneath the motley stuff, Valeria became frightened and begged Muzio to hide away those horrors asquickly as possible. At supper Muzio regaled his friends with wine of Shiraz from a roundflask with a long neck; extremely fragrant and thick, of a golden hue, with greenish lights, it sparkled mysteriously when poured into the tinyjasper cups. In taste it did not resemble European wines: it was verysweet and spicy; and, quaffed slowly, in small sips, it produced in allthe limbs a sensation of agreeable drowsiness. Muzio made Fabio andValeria drink a cup apiece, and drank one himself. Bending over her cup, he whispered something and shook his fingers. Valeria noticed this; butas there was something strange and unprecedented in all Muzio's ways ingeneral, and in all his habits, she merely thought: "I wonder if he hasnot accepted in India some new faith, or whether they have such customsthere?"--Then, after a brief pause, she asked him: "Had he continued tooccupy himself with music during the time of his journeys?"--In replyMuzio ordered the Malay to bring him his Indian violin. It resembledthose of the present day, only, instead of four strings it had three; abluish snake-skin was stretched across its top, and the slender bow ofreed was semi-circular in form, and on its very tip glittered a pointeddiamond. Muzio first played several melancholy airs, --which were, according tohis assertion, popular ballads, --strange and even savage to the Italianear; the sound of the metallic strings was plaintive and feeble. Butwhen Muzio began the last song, that same sound suddenly strengthened, quivered powerfully and resonantly; the passionate melody poured forthfrom beneath the broadly-handled bow, --poured forth with beautifulundulations, like the snake which had covered the top of the violin withits skin; and with so much fire, with so much triumphant joy did thissong beam and blaze that both Fabio and Valeria felt a tremor at theirheart, and the tears started to their eyes . .. While Muzio, with hishead bent down and pressed against his violin, with pallid cheeks, andbrows contracted into one line, seemed still more concentrated andserious than ever, and the diamond at the tip of the bow scatteredray-like sparks in its flight, as though it also were kindled with thefire of that wondrous song. And when Muzio had finished and, stillholding the violin tightly pressed between his chin and his shoulder, dropped his hand which held the bow--"What is that? What hast thou beenplaying to us?" Fabio exclaimed. --Valeria uttered not a word, but herwhole being seemed to repeat her husband's question. Muzio laid theviolin on the table, and lightly shaking back his hair, said, with acourteous smile: "That? That melody . .. That song I heard once on theisland of Ceylon. That song is known there, among the people, as thesong of happy, satisfied love. " "Repeat it, " whispered Fabio. "No; it is impossible to repeat it, " replied Muzio. "And it is late now. Signora Valeria ought to rest; and it is high time for me also. .. . I amweary. " All day long Muzio had treated Valeria in a respectfully-simple manner, like a friend of long standing; but as he took leave he pressed her handvery hard, jamming his fingers into her palm, staring so intently intoher face the while that she, although she did not raise her eyelids, felt conscious of that glance on her suddenly-flushing cheeks. She saidnothing to Muzio, but drew away her hand, and when he was gone shestared at the door through which he had made his exit. She recalled how, in former years also, she had been afraid of him . .. And now she wasperplexed. Muzio went off to his pavilion; the husband and wife withdrewto their bed-chamber. IV Valeria did not soon fall asleep; her blood was surging softly andlanguidly, and there was a faint ringing in her head . .. From thatstrange wine, as she supposed, and, possibly, also from Muzio's tales, from his violin playing. .. . Toward morning she fell asleep at last, andhad a remarkable dream. It seems to her that she enters a spacious room with a low, vaultedceiling. .. . She has never seen such a room in her life. All the wallsare set with small blue tiles bearing golden patterns; slender carvedpillars of alabaster support the marble vault; this vault and thepillars seem semi-transparent. .. . A pale, rose-coloured light penetratesthe room from all directions, illuminating all the objects mysteriouslyand monotonously; cushions of gold brocade lie on a narrow rug in thevery middle of the floor, which is as smooth as a mirror. In thecorners, barely visible, two tall incense-burners, representingmonstrous animals, are smoking; there are no windows anywhere; the door, screened by a velvet drapery, looms silently black in a niche of thewall. And suddenly this curtain softly slips aside, moves away . .. AndMuzio enters. He bows, opens his arms, smiles. .. . His harsh armsencircle Valeria's waist; his dry lips have set her to burning allover. .. . She falls prone on the cushions. .. . * * * * * Moaning with fright, Valeria awoke after long efforts. --Still notcomprehending where she is and what is the matter with her, she halfraises herself up in bed and looks about her. .. . A shudder runs throughher whole body. .. . Fabio is lying beside her. He is asleep; but hisface, in the light of the round, clear moon, is as pale as that of acorpse . .. It is more melancholy than the face of a corpse. Valeriaawoke her husband--and no sooner had he cast a glance at her than heexclaimed: "What is the matter with thee?" "I have seen . .. I have seen a dreadful dream, " she whispered, stilltrembling. .. . But at that moment, from the direction of the pavilion, strong soundswere wafted to them--and both Fabio and Valeria recognised the melodywhich Muzio had played to them, calling it the Song of LoveTriumphant. --Fabio cast a glance of surprise at Valeria. .. . She closedher eyes, and turned away--and both, holding their breath, listened tothe song to the end. When the last sound died away the moon went behinda cloud, it suddenly grew dark in the room. .. . The husband and wifedropped their heads on their pillows, without exchanging a word, andneither of them noticed when the other fell asleep. V On the following morning Muzio came to breakfast; he seemed pleased, and greeted Valeria merrily. She answered him with confusion, --scrutinised him closely, and was startled by that pleased, merryface, those piercing and curious eyes. Muzio was about to begin hisstories again . .. But Fabio stopped him at the first word. "Evidently, thou wert not able to sleep in a new place? My wife and Iheard thee playing the song of last night. " "Yes? Did you hear it?"--said Muzio. --"I did play it, in fact; but I hadbeen asleep before that, and I had even had a remarkable dream. " Valeria pricked up her ears. --"What sort of a dream?" inquired Fabio. "I seemed, " replied Muzio, without taking his eyes from Valeria, "to seemyself enter a spacious apartment with a vaulted ceiling, decorated inOriental style. Carved pillars supported the vault; the walls werecovered with tiles, and although there were no windows nor candles, yetthe whole room was filled with a rosy light, just as though it had allbeen built of transparent stone. In the corners Chinese incense-burnerswere smoking; on the floor lay cushions of brocade, along a narrow rug. I entered through a door hung with a curtain, and from another doordirectly opposite a woman whom I had once loved made her appearance. Andshe seemed to me so beautiful that I became all aflame with my love ofdays gone by. .. . " Muzio broke off significantly. Valeria sat motionless, only palingslowly . .. And her breathing grew more profound. "Then, " pursued Muzio, "I woke up and played that song. " "But who was the woman?" said Fabio. "Who was she? The wife of an East Indian. I met her in the city ofDelhi. .. . She is no longer among the living. She is dead. " "And her husband?" asked Fabio, without himself knowing why he did so. "Her husband is dead also, they say. I soon lost sight of them. " "Strange!" remarked Fabio. --"My wife also had a remarkable dream lastnight--which she did not relate to me, " added Fabio. But at this point Valeria rose and left the room. Immediately afterbreakfast Muzio also went away, asserting that he was obliged to go toFerrara on business, and that he should not return before evening. VI Several weeks before Muzio's return Fabio had begun a portrait of hiswife, depicting her with the attributes of Saint Cecilia. --He had madenoteworthy progress in his art; the famous Luini, the pupil of Leonardoda Vinci, had come to him in Ferrara, and aiding him with his ownadvice, had also imparted to him the precepts of his great master. Theportrait was almost finished; it only remained for him to complete theface by a few strokes of the brush, and then Fabio might feel justlyproud of his work. When Muzio departed to Ferrara, Fabio betook himself to his studio, where Valeria was generally awaiting him; but he did not find her there;he called to her--she did not respond. A secret uneasiness tookpossession of Fabio; he set out in quest of her. She was not in thehouse; Fabio ran into the garden--and there, in one of the most remotealleys, he descried Valeria. With head bowed upon her breast, and handsclasped on her knees, she was sitting on a bench, and behind her, standing out against the dark green of a cypress, a marble satyr, withface distorted in a malicious smile, was applying his pointed lips tohis reed-pipes. Valeria was visibly delighted at her husband'sappearance, and in reply to his anxious queries she said that she had aslight headache, but that it was of no consequence, and that she wasready for the sitting. Fabio conducted her to his studio, posed her, andtook up his brush; but, to his great vexation, he could not possiblyfinish the face as he would have liked. And that not because it wassomewhat pale and seemed fatigued . .. No; but he did not find in itthat day the pure, holy expression which he so greatly loved in it, andwhich had suggested to him the idea of representing Valeria in the formof Saint Cecilia. At last he flung aside his brush, told his wife thathe was not in the mood, that ft would do her good to lie down for awhile, as she was not feeling quite well, to judge by her looks, --andturned his easel so that the portrait faced the wall. Valeria agreedwith him that she ought to rest, and repeating her complaint ofheadache, she retired to her chamber. Fabio remained in the studio. He felt a strange agitation which wasincomprehensible even to himself. Muzio's sojourn under his roof, asojourn which he, Fabio, had himself invited, embarrassed him. And itwas not that he was jealous . .. Was it possible to be jealous ofValeria?--but in his friend he did not recognise his former comrade. Allthat foreign, strange, new element which Muzio had brought with him fromthose distant lands--and which, apparently, had entered into his veryflesh and blood, ---all those magical processes, songs, strangebeverages, that dumb Malay, even the spicy odour which emanated fromMuzio's garments, from his hair, his breath, --all this inspired in Fabioa feeling akin to distrust, nay, even to timidity. And why did thatMalay, when serving at table, gaze upon him, Fabio, with suchdisagreeable intentness? Really, one might suppose that he understoodItalian. Muzio had said concerning him, that that Malay, in paying thepenalty with his tongue, had made a great sacrifice, and in compensationnow possessed great power. --What power? And how could he have acquiredit at the cost of his tongue? All this was very strange! Veryincomprehensible! Fabio went to his wife in her chamber; she was lying on the bed fullydressed, but was not asleep. --On hearing his footsteps she started, thenrejoiced again to see him, as she had done in the garden. Fabio sat downby the bed, took Valeria's hand, and after a brief pause, he asked her, "What was that remarkable dream which had frightened her during the pastnight? And had it been in the nature of that dream which Muzio hadrelated?" Valeria blushed and said hastily--"Oh, no! no! I saw . .. Some sort of amonster, which tried to rend me. " "A monster? In the form of a man?" inquired Fabio. "No, a wild beast . .. A wild beast!"--And Valeria turned away and hidher flaming face in the pillows. Fabio held his wife's hand for a whilelonger; silently he raised it to his lips, and withdrew. The husband and wife passed a dreary day. It seemed as though somethingdark were hanging over their heads . .. But what it was, they could nottell. They wanted to be together, as though some danger were menacingthem;--but what to say to each other, they did not know. Fabio made aneffort to work at the portrait, to read Ariosto, whose poem, which hadrecently made its appearance in Ferrara, was already famous throughoutItaly; but he could do nothing. .. . Late in the evening, just in time forsupper, Muzio returned. VII He appeared calm and contented--but related few stories; he chieflyinterrogated Fabio concerning their mutual acquaintances of former days, the German campaign, the Emperor Charles; he spoke of his desire to goto Rome, to have a look at the new Pope. Again he offered Valeria wineof Shiraz--and in reply to her refusal he said, as though to himself, "It is not necessary now. " On returning with his wife to their bedroom Fabio speedily fellasleep . .. And waking an hour later was able to convince himself that noone shared his couch: Valeria was not with him. He hastily rose, and atthe selfsame moment he beheld his wife, in her night-dress, enter theroom from the garden. The moon was shining brightly, although not longbefore a light shower had passed over. --With widely-opened eyes, and anexpression of secret terror on her impassive face, Valeria approachedthe bed, and fumbling for it with her hands, which were outstretched infront of her, she lay down hurriedly and in silence. Fabio asked her aquestion, but she made no reply; she seemed to be asleep. He touchedher, and felt rain-drops on her clothing, on her hair, and grains ofsand on the soles of her bare feet. Then he sprang up and rushed intothe garden through the half-open door. The moonlight, brilliant toharshness, inundated all objects. Fabio looked about him and descried onthe sand of the path traces of two pairs of feet; one pair was bare; andthose tracks led to an arbour covered with jasmin, which stood apart, between the pavilion and the house. He stopped short in perplexity; andlo! suddenly the notes of that song which he had heard on the precedingnight again rang forth! Fabio shuddered, and rushed into thepavilion. .. . Muzio was standing in the middle of the room, playing onhis violin. Fabio darted to him. "Thou hast been in the garden, thou hast been out, thy clothing is dampwith rain. " "No. .. . I do not know . .. I do not think . .. That I have been out ofdoors . .. " replied Muzio, in broken accents, as though astonished atFabio's advent, and at his agitation. Fabio grasped him by the arm. --"And why art thou playing that melodyagain? Hast thou had another dream?" Muzio glanced at Fabio with the same surprise as before, and made noanswer. "Come, answer me!" "The moon is steel, like a circular shield. .. . The river gleams like a snake. .. . The friend is awake, the enemy sleeps-- The hawk seizes the chicken in his claws. .. . Help!" mumbled Muzio, in a singsong, as though in a state of unconsciousness. Fabio retreated a couple of paces, fixed his eyes on Muzio, meditatedfor a space . .. And returned to his house, to the bed-chamber. With her head inclined upon her shoulder, and her arms helplesslyoutstretched, Valeria was sleeping heavily. He did not speedily succeedin waking her . .. But as soon as she saw him she flung herself on hisneck, and embraced him convulsively; her whole body was quivering. "What aileth thee, my dear one, what aileth thee?" said Fabiorepeatedly, striving to soothe her. But she continued to lie as in a swoon on his breast. "Akh, whatdreadful visions I see!" she whispered, pressing her face against him. Fabio attempted to question her . .. But she merely trembled. .. . The window-panes were reddening with the first gleams of dawn when, atlast, she fell asleep in his arms. VIII On the following day Muzio disappeared early in the morning, and Valeriainformed her husband that she intended to betake herself to theneighbouring monastery, where dwelt her spiritual father--an aged andstately monk, in whom she cherished unbounded confidence. To Fabio'squestions she replied that she desired to alleviate by confession hersoul, which was oppressed with the impressions of the last few days. Ashe gazed at Valeria's sunken visage, as he listened to her faint voice, Fabio himself approved of her plan: venerable Father Lorenzo might beable to give her useful advice, disperse her doubts. .. . Under theprotection of four escorts, Valeria set out for the monastery, but Fabioremained at home; and while awaiting the return of his wife, he roamedabout the garden, trying to understand what had happened to her, andfeeling the unremitting terror and wrath and pain of indefinitesuspicions. .. . More than once he entered the pavilion; but Muzio had notreturned, and the Malay stared at Fabio like a statue, with anobsequious inclination of his head, and a far-away grin--at least, so itseemed to Fabio--a far-away grin on his bronze countenance. In the meantime Valeria had narrated everything in confession to herconfessor, being less ashamed than frightened. The confessor listened toher attentively, blessed her, absolved her from her involuntarysins, --but thought to himself: "Magic, diabolical witchcraft . .. Thingscannot be left in this condition". .. . And accompanied Valeria to hervilla, ostensibly for the purpose of definitely calming and comfortingher. At the sight of the confessor Fabio was somewhat startled; but theexperienced old man had already thought out beforehand how he ought toproceed. On being left alone with Fabio, he did not, of course, betraythe secrets of the confessional; but he advised him to banish from hishouse, if that were possible, his invited guest who, by his tales, songs, and his whole conduct, had upset Valeria's imagination. Moreover, in the old man's opinion, Muzio had not been firm in the faith in daysgone by, as he now recalled to mind; and after having sojourned so longin regions not illuminated by the light of Christianity, he might havebrought thence the infection of false doctrines; he might even havedabbled in magic; and therefore, although old friendship did assert itsrights, still wise caution pointed to parting as indispensable. Fabio thoroughly agreed with the venerable monk. Valeria even beamed allover when her husband communicated to her her confessor's counsel; andaccompanied by the good wishes of both husband and wife, and providedwith rich gifts for the monastery and the poor, Father Lorenzo wendedhis way home. Fabio had intended to have an explanation with Muzio directly aftersupper, but his strange guest did not return to supper. Then Fabiodecided to defer the interview with Muzio until the following day, andhusband and wife withdrew to their bed-chamber. IX Valeria speedily fell asleep; but Fabio could not get to sleep. In thenocturnal silence all that he had seen, all that he had felt, presenteditself to him in a still more vivid manner; with still greaterpersistence did he ask himself questions, to which, as before, he foundno answer. Was Muzio really a magician? And had he already poisonedValeria? She was ill . .. But with what malady? While he was engrossed inpainful meditations, with his head propped on his hand and restraininghis hot breathing, the moon again rose in the cloudless sky; andtogether with its rays, through the semi-transparent window-panes, inthe direction of the pavilion, there began to stream in--or did Fabiomerely imagine it?--there began to stream in a breath resembling afaint, perfumed current of air. .. . Now an importunate, passionate whisper began to make itself heard . .. And at that same moment he noticed that Valeria was beginning to stirslightly. He started, gazed; she rose, thrust first one foot, then theother from the bed, and, like a somnambulist, with her dull eyesstrained straight ahead, and her arms extended before her, she advancedtoward the door into the garden! Fabio instantly sprang through theother door of the bedroom, and briskly running round the corner of thehouse, he closed the one which led into the garden. .. . He had barelysucceeded in grasping the handle when he felt some one trying to openthe door from within, throwing their force against it . .. More and morestrongly . .. Then frightened moans resounded. * * * * * "But Muzio cannot have returned from the town, surely, " flashed throughFabio's head, and he darted into the pavilion. .. . What did he behold? Coming to meet him, along the path brilliantly flooded with the radianceof the moonlight, also with arms outstretched and lifeless eyes staringwidely--was Muzio. .. . Fabio ran up to him, but the other, withoutnoticing him, walked on, advancing with measured steps, and hisimpassive face was smiling in the moonlight like the face of the Malay. Fabio tried to call him by name . .. But at that moment he heard a windowbang in the house behind him. .. . He glanced round. .. . In fact, the window of the bedroom was open from top to bottom, and withone foot thrust across the sill stood Valeria in the window . .. And herarms seemed to be seeking Muzio, her whole being was drawn toward him. Unspeakable wrath flooded Fabio's breast in a suddenly-invadingtorrent. --"Accursed sorcerer!" he yelled fiercely, and seizing Muzio bythe throat with one hand, he fumbled with the other for the dagger inhis belt, and buried its blade to the hilt in his side. Muzio uttered a piercing shriek, and pressing the palm of his hand tothe wound, fled, stumbling, back to the pavilion. .. . But at that sameinstant, when Fabio stabbed him, Valeria uttered an equally piercingshriek and fell to the ground like one mowed down. Fabio rushed to her, raised her up, carried her to the bed, spoke toher. .. . For a long time she lay motionless; but at last she opened her eyes, heaved a deep sigh, convulsively and joyously, like a person who hasjust been saved from inevitable death, --caught sight of her husband, andencircling his neck with her arms, pressed herself to his breast. "Thou, thou, it is thou, " she stammered. Gradually the clasp of her armsrelaxed, her head sank backward, and whispering, with a blissfulsmile:--"Thank God, all is over. .. . But how weary I am!"--she fell intoa profound but not heavy slumber. X Fabio sank down beside her bed, and never taking his eyes from her pale, emaciated, but already tranquil face, he began to reflect upon what hadtaken place . .. And also upon how he ought to proceed now. What was heto do? If he had slain Muzio--and when he recalled how deeply the bladeof his dagger had penetrated he could not doubt that he had doneso--then it was impossible to conceal the fact. He must bring it to theknowledge of the Duke, of the judges . .. But how was he to explain, howwas he to narrate such an incomprehensible affair? He, Fabio, had slainin his own house his relative, his best friend! People would ask, "Whatfor? For what cause?. .. " But what if Muzio were not slain?--Fabio hadnot the strength to remain any longer in uncertainty, and having madesure that Valeria was asleep, he cautiously rose from his arm-chair, left the house, and directed his steps toward the pavilion. All wassilent in it; only in one window was a light visible. With sinking hearthe opened the outer door--(a trace of bloody fingers still clung to it, and on the sand of the path drops of blood made black patches)--raversed the first dark chamber . .. And halted on the threshold, petrified with astonishment. In the centre of the room, on a Persian rug, with a brocade cushionunder his head, covered with a wide scarlet shawl with black figures, lay Muzio, with all his limbs stiffly extended. His face, yellow as wax, with closed eyes and lids which had become blue, was turned toward theceiling, and no breath was to be detected: he seemed to be dead. At hisfeet, also enveloped in a scarlet shawl, knelt the Malay. He held in hisleft hand a branch of some unfamiliar plant, resembling a fern, andbending slightly forward, he was gazing at his master, never taking hiseyes from him. A small torch, thrust into the floor, burned with agreenish flame, and was the only light in the room. Its flame did notflicker nor smoke. The Malay did not stir at Fabio's entrance, but merely darted a glanceat him and turned his eyes again upon Muzio. From time to time heraised himself a little, and lowered the branch, waving it through theair, --and his dumb lips slowly parted and moved, as though utteringinaudible words. Between Muzio and the Malay there lay upon the floorthe dagger with which Fabio had stabbed his friend. The Malay smote theblood-stained blade with his bough. One minute passed . .. Then another. Fabio approached the Malay, and bending toward him, he said in a lowvoice: "Is he dead?"--The Malay bowed his head, and disengaging hisright hand from beneath the shawl, pointed imperiously to the door. Fabio was about to repeat his question, but the imperious hand repeatedits gesture, and Fabio left the room, raging arid marvelling butsubmitting. He found Valeria asleep, as before, with a still more tranquil face. Hedid not undress, but seated himself by the window, propped his head onhis hand, and again became immersed in thought. The rising sun found himstill in the same place. Valeria had not wakened. XI Fabio was intending to wait until she should awake, and then go toFerrara--when suddenly some one tapped lightly at the door of thebedroom. Fabio went out and beheld before him his aged major-domo, Antonio. "Signor, " began the old man, "the Malay has just informed us that SignorMuzio is ailing and desires to remove with all his effects to the town;and therefore he requests that you will furnish him with the aid of somepersons to pack his things--and that you will send, about dinner-time, both pack-and saddle-horses and a few men as guard. Do you permit?" "Did the Malay tell thee that?" inquired Fabio. "In what manner? For heis dumb. " "Here, signor, is a paper on which he wrote all this in our language, very correctly. " "And Muzio is ill, sayest thou?" "Yes, very ill, and he cannot be seen. " "Has not a physician been sent for?" "No; the Malay would not allow it. " "And was it the Malay who wrote this for thee?" "Yes, it was he. " Fabio was silent for a space. "Very well, take the necessary measures, " he said at last. Antonio withdrew. Fabio stared after his servant in perplexity. --"So he was notkilled?"--he thought . .. And he did not know whether to rejoice or togrieve. --"He is ill?"--But a few hours ago he had beheld him a corpse! Fabio returned to Valeria. She was awake, and raised her head. Thehusband and wife exchanged a long, significant look. "Is he already dead?" said Valeria suddenly. --Fabio shuddered. "What . .. He is not?--Didst thou. .. . Has he gone away?" she went on. Fabio's heart was relieved. --"Not yet; but he is going away to-day. " "And I shall never, never see him again?" "Never. " "And those visions will not be repeated?" "No. " Valeria heaved another sigh of relief; a blissful smile again made itsappearance on her lips. She put out both hands to her husband. "And we shall never speak of him, never, hearest thou, my dear one. AndI shall not leave this room until he is gone. But now do thou send me myserving-women . .. And stay: take that thing!"--she pointed to a pearlnecklace which lay on the night-stand, the necklace which Muzio hadgiven her, ---"and throw it immediately into our deep well. Embrace me--Iam thy Valeria--and do not come to me until . .. That man is gone. " Fabio took the necklace--its pearls seemed to have grown dim--andfulfilled his wife's behest. Then he began to roam about the garden, gazing from a distance at the pavilion, around which the bustle ofpacking was already beginning. Men were carrying out chests, ladinghorses . .. But the Malay was not among them. An irresistible feelingdrew Fabio to gaze once more on what was going on in the pavilion. Herecalled the fact that in its rear façade there was a secret doorthrough which one might penetrate to the interior of the chamber whereMuzio had been lying that morning. He stole up to that door, found itunlocked, and pushing aside the folds of a heavy curtain, darted in anirresolute glance. XII Muzio was no longer lying on the rug. Dressed in travelling attire, hewas sitting in an arm-chair, but appeared as much of a corpse as atFabio's first visit. The petrified head had fallen against the back ofthe chair, the hands lay flat, motionless, and yellow on the knees. Hisbreast did not heave. Round about the chair, on the floor strewn withdried herbs, stood several flat cups filled with a dark liquid whichgave off a strong, almost suffocating odour, --the odour of musk. Aroundeach cup was coiled a small, copper-coloured serpent, which gleamed hereand there with golden spots; and directly in front of Muzio, a couple ofpaces distant from him, rose up the tall figure of the Malay, clothed ina motley-hued mantle of brocade, girt about with a tiger's tail, with atall cap in the form of a horned tiara on his head. But he was not motionless: now he made devout obeisances and seemed tobe praying, again he drew himself up to his full height, even stood ontiptoe; now he threw his hands apart in broad and measured sweep, now hewaved them urgently in the direction of Muzio, and seemed to be menacingor commanding with them, as he contracted his brows in a frown andstamped his foot. All these movements evidently cost him great effort, and even caused him suffering: he breathed heavily, the sweat streamedfrom his face. Suddenly he stood stock-still on one spot, and inhalingthe air into his lungs and scowling, he stretched forward, then drewtoward him his clenched fists, as though he were holding reins inthem . .. And to Fabio's indescribable horror, Muzio's head slowlyseparated itself from the back of the chair and reached out after theMalay's hands. .. . The Malay dropped his hands, and Muzio's head againsank heavily backward; the Malay repeated his gestures, and the obedienthead repeated them after him. The dark liquid in the cups began toseethe with a faint sound; the very cups themselves emitted a fainttinkling, and the copper snakes began to move around each of them inundulating motion. Then the Malay advanced a pace, and elevating hiseyebrows very high and opening his eyes until they were of huge size, henodded his head at Muzio . .. And the eyelids of the corpse began toflutter, parted unevenly, and from beneath them the pupils, dull as lead, revealed themselves. With proud triumph and joy--a joy that was almostmalicious--beamed the face of the Malay; he opened his lips widely, andfrom the very depths of his throat a prolonged roar wrested itself withan effort. .. . Muzio's lips parted also, and a faint groan trembled onthem in reply to that inhuman sound. But at this point Fabio could endure it no longer: he fancied that hewas witnessing some devilish incantations! He also uttered a shriek andstarted off at a run homeward, without looking behind him, --homeward asfast as he could go, praying and crossing himself as he ran. XIII Three hours later Antonio presented himself before him with the reportthat everything was ready, all the things were packed, and Signor Muziowas preparing to depart. Without uttering a word in answer to hisservant, Fabio stepped out on the terrace, whence the pavilion wasvisible. Several pack-horses were grouped in front of it; at the porchitself a powerful black stallion, with a roomy saddle adapted for tworiders, was drawn up. There also stood the servants with bared heads andthe armed escort. The door of the pavilion opened and, supported by theMalay, Muzio made his appearance. His face was deathlike, and his armshung down like those of a corpse, --but he walked . .. Yes! he put onefoot before the other, and once mounted on the horse, he held himselfupright, and got hold of the reins by fumbling. The Malay thrust hisfeet into the stirrups, sprang up behind him on the saddle, encircledhis waist with his arm, --and the whole procession set out. The horsesproceeded at a walk, and when they made the turn in front of the house, Fabio fancied that on Muzio's dark countenance two small white patchesgleamed. .. . Could it be that he had turned his eyes that way?--The Malayalone saluted him . .. Mockingly, but as usual. Did Valeria see all this? The shutters of her windows were closed . .. But perhaps she was standing behind them. XIV At dinner-time she entered the dining-room, and was very quiet andaffectionate; but she still complained of being weary. Yet there was noagitation about her, nor any of her former constant surprise and secretfear; and when, on the day after Muzio's departure, Fabio again setabout her portrait, he found in her features that pure expression, thetemporary eclipse of which had so disturbed him . .. And his brush flewlightly and confidently over the canvas. Husband and wife began to live their life as of yore. Muzio had vanishedfor them as though he had never existed. And both Fabio and Valeriaseemed to have entered into a compact not to recall him by a singlesound, not to inquire about his further fate; and it remained a mysteryfor all others as well. Muzio really did vanish, as though he had sunkthrough the earth. One day Fabio thought himself bound to relate toValeria precisely what had occurred on that fateful night . .. But she, probably divining his intention, held her breath, and her eyes narrowedas though she were anticipating a blow. .. . And Fabio understood her: hedid not deal her that blow. One fine autumnal day Fabio was putting the finishing touches to thepicture of his Cecilia; Valeria was sitting at the organ, and herfingers were wandering over the keys. .. . Suddenly, contrary to her ownvolition, from beneath her fingers rang out that Song of Love Triumphantwhich Muzio had once played, --and at that same instant, for the firsttime since her marriage, she felt within her the palpitation of a new, germinating life. .. . Valeria started and stopped short. .. . What was the meaning of this? Could it be. .. . With this word the manuscript came to an end. CLARA MÍLITCH A TALE (1882) I In the spring of 1878 there lived in Moscow, in a small wooden house onShabólovka Street, a young man five-and-twenty years of age, YákoffArátoff by name. With him lived his aunt, an old maid, over fifty yearsof age, his father's sister, Platonída Ivánovna. She managed hishousekeeping and took charge of his expenditures, of which Arátoff wasutterly incapable. He had no other relations. Several years before, hisfather, a petty and not wealthy noble of the T---- government, hadremoved to Moscow, together with him and Platonída Ivánovna who, by theway, was always called Platósha; and her nephew called her so too. Whenhe quitted the country where all of them had constantly dwelt hitherto, old Arátoff had settled in the capital with the object of placing hisson in the university, for which he had himself prepared him; hepurchased for a trifling sum a small house on one of the remote streets, and installed himself therein with all his books and "preparations. " Andof books and preparations he had many, for he was a man not devoid oflearning . .. "a supernatural eccentric, " according to the words of hisneighbours. He even bore among them the reputation of a magician: he hadeven received the nickname of "the insect-observer. " He busied himselfwith chemistry, mineralogy, entomology, botany, and medicine; he treatedvoluntary patients with herbs and metallic powders of his ownconcoction, after the method of Paracelsus. With those same powders hehad sent into the grave his young, pretty, but already too delicatewife, whom he had passionately loved, and by whom he had had an onlyson. With those same metallic powders he had wrought considerable havocwith the health of his son also, which, on the contrary, he had wishedto reinforce, as he detected in his organisation anæmia and a tendencyto consumption inherited from his mother. The title of "magician" he hadacquired, among other things, from the fact that he considered himself agreat-grandson--not in the direct line, of course--of the famous Bruce, in whose honour he had named his son Yákoff. [51] He was the sort of manwho is called "very good-natured, " but of a melancholy temperament, fussy, and timid, with a predilection for everything that was mysteriousor mystical. .. . "Ah!" uttered in a half-whisper was his customaryexclamation; and he died with that exclamation on his lips, two yearsafter his removal to Moscow. His son Yákoff did not, in outward appearance, resemble his father, whohad been homely in person, clumsy and awkward; he reminded one rather ofhis mother. There were the same delicate, pretty features, the same softhair of ashblonde hue, the same plump, childish lips, and large, languishing, greenish-grey eyes, and feathery eyelashes. On the otherhand in disposition he resembled his father; and his face, which did notresemble his father's, bore the stamp of his father's expression; and hehad angular arms, and a sunken chest, like old Arátoff, who, by the way, should hardly be called an old man, since he did not last to the age offifty. During the latter's lifetime Yákoff had already entered theuniversity, in the physico-mathematical faculty; but he did not finishhis course, --not out of idleness, but because, according to his ideas, aperson can learn no more in the university than he can teach himself athome; and he did not aspire to a diploma, as he was not intending toenter the government service. He avoided his comrades, made acquaintancewith hardly any one, was especially shy of women, and lived a veryisolated life, immersed in his books. He was shy of women, although hehad a very tender heart, and was captivated by beauty. .. . He evenacquired the luxury of an English keepsake, and (Oh, for shame!) admiredthe portraits of divers, bewitching Gulnares and Medoras which "adorned"it. .. . But his inborn modesty constantly restrained him. At home heoccupied his late father's study, which had also been his bedroom; andhis bed was the same on which his father had died. The great support of his whole existence, his unfailing comrade andfriend, was his aunt, that Platósha, with whom he exchanged barely tenwords a day, but without whom he could not take a step. She was along-visaged, long-toothed being, with pale eyes in a pale face, and anunvarying expression partly of sadness, partly of anxious alarm. Eternally attired in a grey gown, and a grey shawl which was redolent ofcamphor, she wandered about the house like a shadow, with noiselessfootsteps; she sighed, whispered prayers--especially one, her favourite, which consisted of two words: "Lord, help!"--and managed thehousekeeping very vigorously, hoarding every kopék and buying everythingherself. She worshipped her nephew; she was constantly fretting abouthis health, was constantly in a state of alarm, not about herself butabout him, and as soon as she thought there was anything the matter withhim, she would quietly approach and place on his writing-table a cup ofherb-tea, or stroke his back with her hands, which were as soft aswadding. This coddling did not annoy Yákoff, but he did not drink the herb-tea, and only nodded approvingly. But neither could he boast of his health. He was extremely sensitive, nervous, suspicious; he suffered frompalpitation of the heart, and sometimes from asthma. Like his father, hebelieved that there existed in nature and in the soul of man secrets, ofwhich glimpses may sometimes be caught, though they cannot beunderstood; he believed in the presence of certain forces andinfluences, sometimes well-disposed but more frequently hostile . .. Andhe also believed in science, --in its dignity and worth. Of late he hadconceived a passion for photography. The odour of the ingredients usedin that connection greatly disturbed his old aunt, --again not on her ownbehalf, but for Yásha's sake, on account of his chest. But with all hisgentleness of disposition he possessed no small portion of stubbornness, and he diligently pursued his favourite occupation. "Platósha"submitted, and merely sighed more frequently than ever, and whispered"Lord, help!" as she gazed at his fingers stained with iodine. Yákoff, as has already been stated, shunned his comrades; but with oneof them he struck up a rather close friendship, and saw him frequently, even after that comrade, on leaving the university, entered thegovernment service, which, however, was not very exacting: to use hisown words, he had "tacked himself on" to the building of the Church ofthe Saviour[52] without, of course, knowing anything whatever aboutarchitecture. Strange to say, that solitary friend of Arátoff's, Kupferby name, a German who was Russified to the extent of not knowing asingle word of German, and even used the epithet "German"[53] as a termof opprobrium, --that friend had, to all appearance, nothing in commonwith him. He was a jolly, rosy-cheeked young fellow with black, curlyhair, loquacious, and very fond of that feminine society which Arátoffso shunned. Truth to tell, Kupfer breakfasted and dined with him ratheroften, and even--as he was not a rich man--borrowed small sums of moneyfrom him; but it was not that which made the free-and-easy German sodiligently frequent the little house on Shabólovka Street. He had takena liking to Yákoff's spiritual purity, his "ideality, "--possibly as acontrast to what he daily encountered and beheld;--or, perhaps, in thatsame attraction toward "ideality" the young man's German blood revealeditself. And Yákoff liked Kupfer's good-natured frankness; and inaddition to this, his tales of the theatres, concerts, and balls whichhe constantly attended--in general of that alien world into which Yákoffcould not bring himself to penetrate--secretly interested and evenexcited the young recluse, yet without arousing in him a desire to testall this in his own experience. And Platósha liked Kupfer; she sometimesthought him too unceremonious, it is true; but instinctively feeling andunderstanding that he was sincerely attached to her beloved Yásha, shenot only tolerated the noisy visitor, but even felt a kindness for him. II At the time of which we are speaking, there was in Moscow a certainwidow, a Georgian Princess, --a person of ill-defined standing and almosta suspicious character. She was about forty years of age; in her youthshe had, probably, bloomed with that peculiar oriental beauty, which soquickly fades; now she powdered and painted herself, and dyed her hair ayellow hue. Various, not altogether favourable, and not quite definite, rumours were in circulation about her; no one had known her husband--andin no one city had she lived for any length of time. She had neitherchildren nor property; but she lived on a lavish scale, --on credit orotherwise. She held a salon, as the saying is, and received a decidedlymixed company--chiefly composed of young men. Her whole establishment, beginning with her own toilette, furniture, and table, and ending withher equipage and staff of servants, bore a certain stamp of inferiority, artificiality, transitoriness . .. But neither the Princess herself norher guests, apparently, demanded anything better. The Princess wasreputed to be fond of music and literature, to be a patroness of actorsand artists; and she really did take an interest in these "questions, "even to an enthusiastic degree--and even to a pitch of rapture which wasnot altogether simulated. She indubitably did possess the æstheticchord. Moreover, she was very accessible, amiable, devoid ofpretensions, of affectation, and--a fact which many did not suspect--inreality extremely kind, tender-hearted and obliging. .. . Rare qualities, and therefore all the more precious, precisely in individuals of thatstamp. "A frivolous woman!" one clever person said concerning her, "and shewill infallibly get into paradise! For she forgives everything--andeverything will be forgiven her!"--It was also said concerning her thatwhen she disappeared from any town, she always left behind her as manycreditors as persons whom she had loaded with benefits. A soft heart canbe pressed in any direction you like. Kupfer, as was to be expected, was a visitor at her house, and becamevery intimate with her . .. Altogether too intimate, so malicious tonguesasserted. But he always spoke of her not only in a friendly manner, butalso with respect; he lauded her as a woman of gold--interpret that asyou please!--and was a firm believer in her love for art, and in hercomprehension of art!--So then, one day after dinner, at the Arátoffs', after having discussed the Princess and her evening gatherings, he beganto urge Yákoff to break in upon his life of an anchorite for once, andpermit him, Kupfer, to introduce him to his friend. At first Yákoffwould not hear to anything of the sort. "Why, what idea hast thou got into thy head?" exclaimed Kupfer at last. "What sort of a presentation is in question? I shall simply take thee, just as thou art now sitting there, in thy frock-coat, and conduct theeto her evening. They do not stand on ceremony in the least there, brother! Here now, thou art learned, and thou art fond of music" (thereactually was in Arátoff's study a small piano, on which he occasionallystruck a few chords in diminished sevenths)--"and in her house there isany quantity of that sort of thing!. .. And there thou wilt meetsympathetic people, without any airs! And, in conclusion, it is notright that at thy age, with thy personal appearance" (Arátoff droppedhis eyes and waved his hand)--"yes, yes, with thy personal appearance, thou shouldst shun society, the world, in this manner! I'm not going totake thee to call on generals, seest thou! Moreover, I don't know anygenerals myself!. .. Don't be stubborn, my dear fellow! Morality is agood thing, a thing worthy of respect. .. . But why give thyself up toasceticism? Assuredly, thou art not preparing to become a monk!" Arátoff continued, nevertheless, to resist; but Platonída Ivánovnaunexpectedly came to Kupfer's assistance. Although she did not quiteunderstand the meaning of the word "asceticism, " still she also thoughtthat it would not be a bad idea for Yáshenka to divert himself, to takea look at people, --and show himself. --"The more so, " she added, "that Ihave confidence in Feódor Feódoritch! He will not take thee to any badplace!. .. " "I'll restore him to thee in all his pristine purity!" cried Kupfer, atwhom Platonída Ivánovna, in spite of her confidence, kept castinguneasy glances; Arátoff blushed to his very ears--but he ceased toobject. It ended in Kupfer taking him, on the following day, to the Princess'sevening assembly. But Arátoff did not remain there long. In the firstplace, he found at her house about twenty guests, men and women, whowere, presumably, sympathetic, but who were strangers to him, nevertheless; and this embarrassed him, although he was obliged to talkvery little: but he feared this most of all. In the second place, he didnot like the hostess herself, although she welcomed him very cordiallyand unaffectedly. Everything about her displeased him; her painted face, and her churned-up curls, and her hoarsely-mellifluous voice, her shrilllaugh, her way of rolling up her eyes, her too _décolleté_ bodice--andthose plump, shiny fingers with a multitude of rings!. .. Slinking offinto a corner, he now swiftly ran his eyes over the faces of all theguests, as though he did not even distinguish one from another; again hestared persistently at his own feet. But when, at last, an artist whohad just come to town, with a drink-sodden countenance, extremely longhair, and a bit of glass under his puckered brow, seated himself at thepiano, and bringing down his hands on the keys and his feet on thepedals, with a flourish, began to bang out a fantasia by Liszt on aWagnerian theme, Arátoff could stand it no longer, and slipped away, bearing in his soul a confused and oppressive impression, athwart which, nevertheless, there pierced something which he did not understand, butwhich was significant and even agitating. III Kupfer came on the following day to dinner; but he did not enlarge uponthe preceding evening, he did not even reproach Arátoff for his hastyflight, and merely expressed regret that he had not waited for supper, at which champagne had been served! (of Nízhegorod[54] fabrication, wemay remark in parenthesis). Kupfer probably understood that he had made a mistake in trying torouse his friend, and that Arátoff was a man who positively was notadapted to that sort of society and manner of life. On his side, Arátoffalso did not allude to the Princess or to the night before. PlatonídaIvánovna did not know whether to rejoice at the failure of this firstattempt or to regret it. She decided, at last, that Yásha's health mightsuffer from such expeditions, and regained her complacency. Kupfer wentaway directly after dinner, and did not show himself again for a wholeweek. And that not because he was sulking at Arátoff for the failure ofhis introduction, --the good-natured fellow was incapable of such athing, --but he had, evidently, found some occupation which engrossed allhis time, all his thoughts;--for thereafter he rarely came to theArátoffs', wore an abstracted aspect, and soon vanished. .. . Arátoffcontinued to live on as before; but some hitch, if we may so expressourselves, had secured lodgment in his soul. He still recalled somethingor other, without himself being quite aware what it was precisely, --andthat "something" referred to the evening which he had spent at thePrincess's house. Nevertheless, he had not the slightest desire toreturn to it; and society, a section of which he had inspected in herhouse, repelled him more than ever. Thus passed six weeks. And lo! one morning, Kupfer again presented himself to him, this timewith a somewhat embarrassed visage. "I know, " he began, with a forced laugh, "that thy visit that eveningwas not to thy taste; but I hope that thou wilt consent to my proposalnevertheless . .. And wilt not refuse my request. " "What art thou talking about?" inquired Arátoff. "See here, " pursued Kupfer, becoming more and more animated; "thereexists here a certain society of amateurs and artists, which from timeto time organises readings, concerts, even theatrical representations, for philanthropic objects. .. . " "And the Princess takes part?" interrupted Arátoff. "The Princess always takes part in good works--but that is of noconsequence. We have got up a literary and musical morning . .. And atthat performance thou mayest hear a young girl . .. A remarkable younggirl!--We do not quite know, as yet, whether she will turn out a Rachelor a Viardot . .. For she sings splendidly, and declaims and acts. .. . Shehas talent of the first class, my dear fellow! I am notexaggerating. --So here now . .. Wilt not thou take a ticket?--Five rublesif thou wishest the first row. " "And where did this wonderful young girl come from?" asked Arátoff. Kupfer grinned. --"That I cannot say. .. . Of late she has found an asylumwith the Princess. The Princess, as thou knowest, is a patron of allsuch people. .. . And it is probable that thou sawest her that evening. " Arátoff started inwardly, faintly . .. But made no answer. "She has even acted somewhere in country districts, " went on Kupfer, "and, on the whole, she was created for the theatre. Thou shalt see forthyself!" "Is her name Clara?" asked Arátoff. "Yes, Clara. .. . " "Clara!" interrupted Arátoff again. --"It cannot be!" "Why not?--Clara it is, . .. Clara Mílitch; that is not her real name . .. But that is what she is called. She is to sing a romance by Glinka . .. And one by Tchaikóvsky, and then she will recite the letter from 'EvgényOnyégin'[55]--Come now! Wilt thou take a ticket?" "But when is it to be?" "To-morrow . .. To-morrow, at half-past one, in a private hall, onOstozhyónka Street. .. . I will come for thee. A ticket at five rubles?. .. Here it is. .. . No, this is a three-ruble ticket. --Here it is. --And hereis the affiche. [56]--I am one of the managers. " Arátoff reflected. Platonída Ivánovna entered the room at that momentand, glancing at his face, was suddenly seized with agitation. --"Yásha, "she exclaimed, "what ails thee? Why art thou so excited? FeódorFeódorovitch, what hast thou been saying to him?" But Arátoff did not give his friend a chance to answer his aunt'squestion, and hastily seizing the ticket which was held out to him, heordered Platonída Ivánovna to give Kupfer five rubles on the instant. She was amazed, and began to blink her eyes. .. . Nevertheless, she handedKupfer the money in silence. Yáshenka had shouted at her in a verysevere manner. "She's a marvel of marvels, I tell thee!" cried Kupfer, darting towardthe door. --"Expect me to-morrow!" "Has she black eyes?" called Arátoff after him. "As black as coal!" merrily roared Kupfer, and disappeared. Arátoff went off to his own room, while Platonída Ivánovna remainedrooted to the spot, repeating: "Help, Lord! Lord, help!" IV The large hall in a private house on Ostozhyónka Street was already halffilled with spectators when Arátoff and Kupfer arrived. Theatricalrepresentations were sometimes given in that hall, but on this occasionneither stage-scenery nor curtain were visible. Those who had organisedthe "morning" had confined themselves to erecting a platform at one end, placing thereon a piano and a couple of music-racks, a few chairs, atable with a carafe of water and a glass, and hanging a curtain of redcloth over the door which led to the room set apart for the artists. Inthe first row the Princess was already seated, clad in a bright greengown; Arátoff placed himself at some distance from her, after barelyexchanging a bow with her. The audience was what is called motley; itconsisted chiefly of young men from various institutions of learning. Kupfer, in his quality of a manager, with a white ribbon on the lapel ofhis dress-coat, bustled and fussed about with all his might; thePrincess was visibly excited, kept looking about her, launching smilesin all directions, and chatting with her neighbours . .. There were onlymen in her immediate vicinity. The first to make his appearance on the platform was a flute-player ofconsumptive aspect, who spat out . .. That is to say, piped out a piecewhich was consumptive like himself. Two persons shouted "Bravo!" Then afat gentleman in spectacles, very sedate and even grim of aspect, recited in a bass voice a sketch by Shtchedrín;[57] the audienceapplauded the sketch, not him. --Then the pianist, who was already knownto Arátoff, presented himself, and pounded out the same Liszt fantasia;the pianist was favoured with a recall. He bowed, with his hand restingon the back of a chair, and after each bow he tossed back his hairexactly like Liszt! At last, after a decidedly long intermission, thered cloth over the door at the rear of the platform moved, was drawnwidely apart, and Clara Mílitch made her appearance. The hall rang withapplause. With unsteady steps she approached the front of the platform, came to a halt, and stood motionless, with her large, red, unglovedhands crossed in front of her, making no curtsey, neither bending herhead nor smiling. She was a girl of nineteen, tall, rather broad-shouldered, but wellbuilt. Her face was swarthy, partly Hebrew, partly Gipsy in type; hereyes were small and black beneath thick brows which almost met, her nosewas straight, slightly up-turned, her lips were thin with a beautifulbut sharp curve; she had a huge braid of black hair, which was heavyeven to the eye, a low, impassive, stony brow, tiny ears . .. Her wholecountenance was thoughtful, almost surly. A passionate, self-willednature, --not likely to be either kindly or even intelligent, --butgifted, was manifested by everything about her. For a while she did not raise her eyes, but suddenly gave a start andsent her intent but not attentive glance, which seemed to be buried inherself, along the rows of spectators. "What tragic eyes!" remarked a certain grey-haired fop, who sat behindArátoff, with the face of a courtesan from Revel, --one of Moscow'swell-known first-nighters and rounders. The fop was stupid and intendedto utter a bit of nonsense . .. But he had spoken the truth! Arátoff, whohad never taken his eyes from Clara since she had made her appearance, only then recalled that he actually had seen her at the Princess's; andhad not only seen her, but had even noticed that she had several timeslooked at him with particular intentness out of her dark, watchful eyes. And on this occasion also . .. Or did he merely fancy that it was so?--oncatching sight of him in the first row, she seemed to be delighted, seemed to blush--and again she gazed intently at him. Then, withoutturning round, she retreated a couple of paces in the direction of thepiano, at which the accompanist, the long-haired foreigner, was alreadyseated. She was to execute Glinka's romance, "As soon as I recognisedthee. .. . " She immediately began to sing, without altering the positionof her hands and without glancing at the notes. Her voice was soft andresonant, --a contralto, --she pronounced her words distinctly andforcibly, and sang monotonously, without shading but with strongexpression. "The lass sings with conviction, " remarked the same fop who sat behindArátoff, --and again he spoke the truth. Shouts of "Bis!" "Bravo!" resounded all about, but she merely darted aswift glance at Arátoff, who was neither shouting nor clapping, --he hadnot been particularly pleased by her singing, --made a slight bow andwithdrew, without taking the arm of the hairy pianist which he hadcrooked out like a cracknel. She was recalled . .. But it was some timebefore she made her appearance, advanced to the piano with the sameuncertain tread as before, and after whispering a couple of words to heraccompanist, who was obliged to get and place on the rack before him notthe music he had prepared but something else, --she began Tchaikóvsky'sromance: "No, only he who hath felt the thirst of meeting". .. . Thisromance she sang in a different way from the first--in an undertone, asthough she were weary . .. And only in the line before the last, "He willunderstand how I have suffered, "--did a ringing, burning cry burst fromher. The last line, "And how I suffer. .. . " she almost whispered, sadlyprolonging the final word. This romance produced a slighter impressionon the audience than Glinka's; but there was a great deal ofapplause. .. . Kupfer, in particular, distinguished himself: he broughthis hands together in a peculiar manner, in the form of a cask, when heclapped, thereby producing a remarkably sonorous noise. The Princessgave him a large, dishevelled bouquet, which he was to present to thesongstress; but the latter did not appear to perceive Kupfer's bowedfigure, and his hand outstretched with the bouquet, and she turned andwithdrew, again without waiting for the pianist, who had sprung to hisfeet with still greater alacrity than before to escort her, and who, being thus left in the lurch, shook his hair as Liszt himself, in allprobability, never shook his! During the whole time she was singing Arátoff had been scanning Clara'sface. It seemed to him that her eyes, athwart her contracted lashes, were again turned on him. But he was particularly struck by theimpassiveness of that face, that forehead, those brows, and only whenshe uttered her passionate cry did he notice a row of white, closely-setteeth gleaming warmly from between her barely parted lips. Kupferstepped up to him. "Well, brother, what dost thou think of her?" he asked, all beaming withsatisfaction. "She has a fine voice, " replied Arátoff, "but she does not know how tosing yet, she has had no real school. " (Why he said this and what hemeant by "school" the Lord only knows!) Kupfer was surprised. --"She has no school, " he repeated slowly. .. . "Well, now. .. . She can still study. But on the other hand, what soul!But just wait until thou hast heard her recite Tatyána's letter. " He ran away from Arátoff, and the latter thought: "Soul! With thatimpassive face!"--He thought that she bore herself and moved like ahypnotised person, like a somnambulist. .. . And, at the same time, shewas indubitably. .. . Yes! she was indubitably staring at him. Meanwhile the "morning" went on. The fat man in spectacles presentedhimself again; despite his serious appearance he imagined that he was acomic artist and read a scene from Gógol, this time without evoking asingle token of approbation. The flute-player flitted past once more;again the pianist thundered; a young fellow of twenty, pomaded andcurled, but with traces of tears on his cheeks, sawed out somevariations on his fiddle. It might have appeared strange that in theintervals between the recitations and the music the abrupt notes of aFrench horn were wafted, now and then, from the artists' room; but thisinstrument was not used, nevertheless. It afterward came out that theamateur who had offered to perform on it had been seized with a panic atthe moment when he should have made his appearance before the audience. So at last, Clara Mílitch appeared again. She held in her hand a small volume of Púshkin; but during her readingshe never once glanced at it. .. . She was obviously frightened; thelittle book shook slightly in her fingers. Arátoff also observed theexpression of dejection which _now_ overspread her stern features. Thefirst line: "I write to you . .. What would you more?" she uttered withextreme simplicity, almost ingenuously, --stretching both arms out infront of her with an ingenuous, sincere, helpless gesture. Then shebegan to hurry a little; but beginning with the line: "Another! Nay! tonone on earth could I have given e'er my heart!" she regained herself-possession, and grew animated; and when she reached the words:"All, all life hath been a pledge of faithful meeting thus withthee, "--her hitherto rather dull voice rang out enthusiastically andboldly, and her eyes riveted themselves on Arátoff with a boldness anddirectness to match. She went on with the same enthusiasm, and onlytoward the close did her voice again fall, and in it and in her face herprevious dejection was again depicted. She made a complete muddle, asthe saying is, of the last four lines, --the little volume of Púshkinsuddenly slipped from her hands, and she beat a hasty retreat. The audience set to applauding and recalling her in desperatefashion. .. . One theological student, --a Little Russian, --among others, bellowed so loudly: "Muíluitch! Muíluitch!"[58] that his neighbourpolitely and sympathetically begged him to "spare himself, as a futureproto-deacon!"[59] But Arátoff immediately rose and betook himself tothe entrance. Kupfer overtook him. .. . "Good gracious, whither art thou going?" he yelled:--"I'll introducethee to Clara if thou wishest--shall I?" "No, thanks, " hastily replied Arátoff, and set off homeward almost at arun. V Strange emotions, which were not clear even to himself, agitated him. Inreality, Clara's recitation had not altogether pleased him either . .. Altogether he could not tell precisely why. It had troubled him, thatrecitation, it had seemed to him harsh, unmelodious. .. . Somehow itseemed to have broken something within him, to have exerted some sort ofviolence. And those importunate, persistent, almost insolentglances--what had caused them? What did they signify? Arátoff's modesty did permit him even a momentary thought that he mighthave pleased that strange young girl, that he might have inspired herwith a sentiment akin to love, to passion!. .. And he had imagined tohimself quite otherwise that as yet unknown woman, that young girl, towhom he would surrender himself wholly, and who would love him, becomehis bride, his wife. .. . He rarely dreamed of this: he was chaste both inbody and soul;--but the pure image which rose up in his imagination atsuch times was evoked under another form, --the form of his dead mother, whom he barely remembered, though he cherished her portrait like asacred treasure. That portrait had been painted in water-colours, in arather inartistic manner, by a friendly neighbour, but the likeness wasstriking, as every one averred. The woman, the young girl, whom as yethe did not so much as venture to expect, must possess just such a tenderprofile, just such kind, bright eyes, just such silky hair, just such asmile, just such a clear understanding. .. . But this was a black-visaged, swarthy creature, with coarse hair, and amoustache on her lip; she must certainly be bad-tempered, giddy. .. . "Agipsy" (Arátoff could not devise a worse expression)--what was she tohim? And in the meantime, Arátoff was unable to banish from his mind thatblack-visaged gipsy, whose singing and recitation and even whosepersonal appearance were disagreeable to him. He was perplexed, he wasangry with himself. Not long before this he had read Walter Scott'sromance "Saint Ronan's Well" (there was a complete edition of WalterScott's works in the library of his father, who revered the Englishromance-writer as a serious, almost a learned author). The heroine ofthat romance is named Clara Mowbray. A poet of the '40's, Krásoff, wrotea poem about her, which wound up with the words: "Unhappy Clara! foolish Clara! Unhappy Clara Mowbray!" Arátoff was acquainted with this poem also. .. . And now these words keptincessantly recurring to his memory. .. . "Unhappy Clara! foolishClara!. .. " (That was why he had been so surprised when Kupfer mentionedClara Mílitch to him. ) Even Platósha noticed, not precisely a change inYákoff's frame of mind--as a matter of fact, no change had takenplace--but something wrong about his looks, in his remarks. Shecautiously interrogated him about the literary morning at which he hadbeen present;--she whispered, sighed, scrutinised him from in front, scrutinised him from the side, from behind--and suddenly, slapping herhands on her thighs, she exclaimed: "Well, Yáshal--I see what the trouble is!" "What dost thou mean?" queried Arátoff in his turn. "Thou hast certainly met at that morning some one of thosetail-draggers" (that was what Platonída Ivánovna called all ladies whowore fashionable gowns). .. . "She has a comely face--and she puts on airslike _this_, --and twists her face like _this_" (Platósha depicted allthis in her face), "and she makes her eyes go round like this. .. . " (shemimicked this also, describing huge circles in the air with herforefinger). .. . "And it made an impression on thee, because thou art notused to it. .. . But that does not signify anything, Yásha . .. It does notsignify anything! Drink a cup of herb-tea when thou goest to bed, andthat will be the end of it!. .. Lord, help!" Platósha ceased speaking and took herself off. .. . She probably had nevermade such a long and animated speech before since she was born . .. ButArátoff thought: "I do believe my aunt is right. .. . It is all because I am not used tosuch things. .. . " (He really had attracted the attention of the femalesex to himself for the first time . .. At any rate, he had never noticedit before. ) "I must not indulge myself. " So he set to work at his books, and drank some linden-flower tea when hewent to bed, and even slept well all that night, and had no dreams. Onthe following morning he busied himself with his photography, as thoughnothing had happened. .. . But toward evening his spiritual serenity was again disturbed. VI To wit: a messenger brought him a note, written in a large, irregularfeminine hand, which ran as follows: "If you guess who is writing to you, and if it does not bore you, cometo-morrow, after dinner, to the Tver boulevard--about five o'clock--andwait. You will not be detained long. But it is very important. Come. " There was no signature. Arátoff instantly divined who his correspondentwas, and that was precisely what disturbed him. --"What nonsense!" hesaid, almost aloud. "This is too much! Of course I shall notgo. "--Nevertheless, he ordered the messenger to be summoned, and fromhim he learned merely that the letter had been handed to him on thestreet by a maid. Having dismissed him, Arátoff reread the letter, andflung it on the floor. .. . But after a while he picked it up and read itover again; a second time he cried: "Nonsense!" He did not throw theletter on the floor this time, however, but put it away in a drawer. Arátoff went about his customary avocations, busying himself now withone, now with another; but his work did not make progress, was not asuccess. Suddenly he noticed that he was waiting for Kupfer, that hewanted to interrogate him, or even communicate something to him. .. . ButKupfer did not make his appearance. Then Arátoff got Púshkin and readTatyána's letter and again felt convinced that that "gipsy" had not inthe least grasped the meaning of the letter. But there was that jesterKupfer shouting: "A Rachel! A Viardot!" Then he went to his piano, raised the cover in an abstracted sort of way, tried to search out inhis memory the melody of Tchaikóvsky's romance; but he immediatelybanged to the piano-lid with vexation and went to his aunt, in her ownroom, which was always kept very hot, and was forever redolent of mint, sage, and other medicinal herbs, and crowded with such a multitude ofrugs, étagères, little benches, cushions and various articles ofsoftly-stuffed furniture that it was difficult for an inexperiencedperson to turn round in it, and breathing was oppressive. PlatonídaIvánovna was sitting by the window with her knitting-needles in her hand(she was knitting a scarf for Yáshenka--the thirty-eighth, by actualcount, during the course of his existence!)--and was greatly surprised. Arátoff rarely entered her room, and if he needed anything he alwaysshouted in a shrill voice from his study: "Aunt Platósha!"--But she madehim sit down and, in anticipation of his first words, pricked up herears, as she stared at him through her round spectacles with one eye, and above them with the other. She did not inquire after his health, anddid not offer him tea, for she saw that he had not come for that. Arátoff hesitated for a while . .. Then began to talk . .. To talk abouthis mother, about the way she had lived with his father, and how hisfather had made her acquaintance. He knew all this perfectly well . .. But he wanted to talk precisely about that. Unluckily for him, Platóshadid not know how to converse in the least; she made very brief replies, as though she suspected that Yásha had not come for that purpose. "Certainly!"--she kept repeating hurriedly, as she plied herknitting-needles almost in an angry way. "Every one knows that thymother was a dove . .. A regular dove. .. . And thy father loved her as ahusband should love, faithfully and honourably, to the very grave; andhe never loved any other woman, "--she added, elevating her voice andremoving her spectacles. "And was she of a timid disposition?" asked Arátoff, after a shortpause. "Certainly she was. As is fitting for the female sex. The bold ones area recent invention. " "And were there no bold ones in your time?" "There were such even in our day . .. Of course there were! But who werethey? Some street-walker, or shameless hussy or other. She would dragher skirts about, and fling herself hither and thither at random. .. . What did she care? What anxiety had she? If a young fool came along, hefell into her hands. But steady-going people despised them. Dost thouremember ever to have beheld such in our house?" Arátoff made no reply and returned to his study. Platonída Ivánovnagazed after him, shook her head and again donned her spectacles, againset to work on her scarf . .. But more than once she fell into thoughtand dropped her knitting-needles on her knee. And Arátoff until nightfall kept again and again beginning, with thesame vexation, the same ire as before, to think about "the gipsy, " theappointed tryst, to which he certainly would not go! During the nightalso she worried him. He kept constantly seeing her eyes, now narrowed, now widely opened, with their importunate gaze riveted directly on him, and those impassive features with their imperious expression. On the following morning he again kept expecting Kupfer, for some reasonor other; he came near writing him a letter . .. However, he didnothing . .. But spent most of his time pacing to and fro in his study. Not for one instant did he even admit to himself the thought that hewould go to that stupid "rendezvous" . .. And at half-past four, afterhaving swallowed his dinner in haste, he suddenly donned his overcoatand pulling his cap down on his brows, he stole out of the house withoutletting his aunt see him and wended his way to the Tver boulevard. VII Arátoff found few pedestrians on the boulevard. The weather was raw andquite cold. He strove not to think of what he was doing. He forcedhimself to turn his attention to all the objects he came across andpretended to assure himself that he had come out to walk precisely likethe other people. .. . The letter of the day before was in hisside-pocket, and he was uninterruptedly conscious of its presence. Hewalked the length of the boulevard a couple of times, darting keenglances at every feminine form which approached him, and his heartthumped, thumped violently. .. . He began to feel tired, and sat down on abench. And suddenly the idea occurred to him: "Come now, what if thatletter was not written by her but by some one else, by some otherwoman?" In point of fact, that should have made no difference to him . .. And yet he was forced to admit to himself that he did not wish this. "Itwould be very stupid, " he thought, "still more stupid than _that_!" Anervous restlessness began to take possession of him; he began to feelchilly, not outwardly but inwardly. Several times he drew out his watchfrom his waistcoat pocket, glanced at the face, put it back again, --andevery time forgot how many minutes were lacking to five o'clock. Itseemed to him as though every one who passed him stared at him in apeculiar manner, surveying him with a certain sneering surprise andcuriosity. A wretched little dog ran up, sniffed at his legs and beganto wag its tail. He flourished his arms angrily at it. He was mostannoyed of all by a small boy from a factory in a bed-ticking jacket, who seated himself on the bench and first whistled, then scratched hishead, dangling his legs, encased in huge, broken boots, the while, andstaring at him from time to time. "His employer is certainly expectinghim, " thought Arátoff, "and here he is, the lazy dog, wasting his timeidling about. .. . " But at that same moment it seemed to him as though some one hadapproached and taken up a stand close behind him . .. A warm currentemanated thence. .. . He glanced round. .. . It was she! He recognised her immediately, although a thick, dark-blue veilconcealed her features. He instantly sprang from the bench, and remainedstanding there, unable to utter a word. She also maintained silence. Hefelt greatly agitated . .. But her agitation was as great as his: Arátoffcould not help seeing even through the veil how deadly pale she grew. But she was the first to speak. "Thank you, " she began in a broken voice, "thank you for coming. I didnot hope. .. . " She turned away slightly and walked along the boulevard. Arátoff followed her. "Perhaps you condemn me, " she went on, without turning her head. --"As amatter of fact, my action is very strange. .. . But I have heard a greatdeal about you . .. But no! I . .. That was not the cause. .. . If you onlyknew. .. . I wanted to say so much to you, my God!. .. But how am I to doit?. .. How am I to do it!" Arátoff walked by her side, but a little in the rear. He did not see herface; he saw only her hat and a part of her veil . .. And her long, threadbare cloak. All his vexation against her and against himselfsuddenly returned to him; all the absurdity, all the awkwardness of thistryst, of these explanations between utter strangers, on a publicboulevard, suddenly presented itself to him. "I have come hither at your behest, " he began in his turn, "I have come, my dear madame" (her shoulders quivered softly, she turned into a sidepath, and he followed her), "merely for the sake of having anexplanation, of learning in consequence of what strange misunderstandingyou were pleased to appeal to me, a stranger to you, who . .. Who only_guessed_, as you expressed it in your letter, that it was precisely youwho had written to him . .. Because he guessed that you had tried, in thecourse of that literary morning to show him too much . .. Too muchobvious attention. " Arátoff uttered the whole of this little speech in the same resonant butfirm voice in which men who are still very young answer at examinationson questions for which they are well prepared. .. . He was indignant; hewas angry. .. . And that wrath had loosed his tongue which was not veryfluent on ordinary occasions. She continued to advance along the path with somewhat lagging steps. .. . Arátoff followed her as before, and as before saw only her little oldmantilla and her small hat, which was not quite new either. His vanitysuffered at the thought that she must now be thinking: "All I had to dowas to make a sign, and he immediately hastened to me!" Arátoff lapsed into silence . .. He expected that she would reply to him;but she did not utter a word. "I am ready to listen to you, " he began again, "and I shall even be veryglad if I can be of service to you in any way . .. Although, I mustconfess, nevertheless, that I find it astonishing . .. That consideringmy isolated life. .. . " But at his last words Clara suddenly turned to him and he beheld thesame startled, profoundly-sorrowful visage, with the same large, brighttears in its eyes, with the same woful expression around the partedlips; and the visage was so fine thus that he involuntarily broke offshort and felt within himself something akin to fright, and pity andforbearance. "Akh, why . .. Why are you like this? . .. " she said with irresistiblysincere and upright force--and what a touching ring there was to hervoice!--"Is it possible that my appeal to you can have offended you?. .. Is it possible that you have understood nothing?. .. Ah, yes! You havenot understood anything, you have not understood what I said to you. Godknows what you have imagined about me, you have not even reflected whatit cost me to write to you!. .. You have been anxious only on your ownaccount, about your own dignity, your own peace!. .. But did I. .. . " (sheso tightly clenched her hands which she had raised to her lips that herfingers cracked audibly). .. . "As though I had made any demands upon you, as though explanations were requisite to begin with. .. . 'My dearmadame'. .. . 'I even find it astonishing'. .. . 'If I can be of service toyou'. .. . Akh, how foolish I have been!--I have been deceived in you, inyour face!. .. When I saw you for the first time. .. . There. .. . There youstand. .. . And not one word do you utter! Have you really not a word tosay?" She had been imploring. .. . Her face suddenly flushed, and as suddenlyassumed an evil and audacious expression, --"O Lord! how stupid thisis!"--she cried suddenly, with a harsh laugh. --"How stupid our tryst is!How stupid I am! . .. And you, too!. .. Fie!" She made a disdainful gesture with her hand as though sweeping him outof her path, and passing around him she ran swiftly from the boulevardand disappeared. That gesture of the hand, that insulting laugh, that final exclamationinstantly restored Arátoff to his former frame of mind and stifled inhim the feeling which had risen in his soul when she turned to him withtears in her eyes. Again he waxed wroth, and came near shouting afterthe retreating girl: "You may turn out a good actress, but why have youtaken it into your head to play a comedy on me?" With great strides he returned home, and although he continued to beindignant and to rage all the way thither, still, at the same time, athwart all these evil, hostile feelings there forced its way the memoryof that wondrous face which he had beheld only for the twinkling of aneye. .. . He even put to himself the question: "Why did not I answer herwhen she demanded from me at least one word?"--"I did not have time, ". .. He thought. .. . "She did not give me a chance to utter that word. .. . And what would I have uttered?" But he immediately shook his head and said, "An actress!" And yet, at the same time, the vanity of the inexperienced, nervousyouth, which had been wounded at first, now felt rather flattered atthe passion which he had inspired. .. . "But on the other hand, " he pursued his reflections, "all that is at anend of course. .. . I must have appeared ridiculous to her. ". .. . This thought was disagreeable to him, and again he grew angry . .. Bothat her . .. And at himself. On reaching home he locked himself in hisstudy. He did not wish to encounter Platósha. The kind old woman came tohis door a couple of times, applied her ear to the key-hole, and merelysighed and whispered her prayer. .. . "It has begun!" she thought. .. . "And he is only five-and-twenty. .. . Akh, it is early, early!" VIII Akátoff was very much out of sorts all the following day. "What is the matter, Yásha?" Platonída Ivánovna said to him. "Thouseemest to be tousled to-day, somehow. ". .. In the old woman's peculiarlanguage this quite accurately defined Arátoff's moral condition. Hecould not work, but even he himself did not know what he wanted. Now hewas expecting Kupfer again (he suspected that it was precisely fromKupfer that Clara had obtained his address . .. And who else could have"talked a great deal" about him?); again he wondered whether hisacquaintance with her was to end in that way? . .. Again he imagined thatshe would write him another letter; again he asked himself whether heought not to write her a letter, in which he might explain everything toher, ---as he did not wish to leave an unpleasant impression ofhimself. .. . But, in point of fact, _what_ was he to explain?--Now hearoused in himself something very like disgust for her, for herpersistence, her boldness; again that indescribably touching facepresented itself to him and her irresistible voice made itself heard;and yet again he recalled her singing, her recitation--and did not knowwhether he was right in his wholesale condemnation. --In one word: he wasa tousled man! At last he became bored with all this and decided, as thesaying is, "to take it upon himself" and erase all that affair, as itundoubtedly was interfering with his avocations and disturbing his peaceof mind. --He did not find it so easy to put his resolution intoeffect. .. . More than a week elapsed before he got back again into hisordinary rut. Fortunately, Kupfer did not present himself at all, anymore than if he had not been in Moscow. Not long before the "affair"Arátoff had begun to busy himself with painting for photographic ends;he devoted himself to this with redoubled zeal. Thus, imperceptibly, with a few "relapses" as the doctors express it, consisting, for example in the fact that he once came very near going tocall on the Princess, two weeks . .. Three weeks passed . .. And Arátoffbecame once more the Arátoff of old. Only deep down, under the surfaceof his life, something heavy and dark secretly accompanied him in allhis comings and goings. Thus does a large fish which has just beenhooked, but has not yet been drawn out, swim along the bottom of a deepriver under the very boat wherein sits the fisherman with his stout rodin hand. And lo! one day as he was skimming over some not quite fresh numbers ofthe _Moscow News, _ Arátoff hit upon the following correspondence: "With great sorrow, " wrote a certain local literary man from Kazán, "weinsert in our theatrical chronicle the news of the sudden death of ourgifted actress, Clara Mílitch, who had succeeded in the brief space ofher engagement in becoming the favourite of our discriminating public. Our sorrow is all the greater because Miss Mílitch herself put an end toher young life, which held so much of promise, by means of poison. Andthis poisoning is all the more dreadful because the actress took thepoison on the stage itself! They barely got her home, where, touniversal regret, she died. Rumours are current in the town to theeffect that unrequited love led her to that terrible deed. " Arátoff softly laid the newspaper on the table. To all appearances heremained perfectly composed . .. But something smote him simultaneouslyin his breast and in his head, and then slowly diffused itself throughall his members. He rose to his feet, stood for a while on one spot, andagain seated himself, and again perused the letter. Then he rose oncemore, lay down on his bed and placing his hands under his head, hestared for a long time at the wall like one dazed. Little by little thatwall seemed to recede . .. To vanish . .. And he beheld before him theboulevard beneath grey skies and _her_ in her black mantilla . .. Thenher again on the platform . .. He even beheld himself by her side. --Thatwhich had smitten him so forcibly in the breast at the first moment, nowbegan to rise up . .. To rise up in his throat. .. . He tried to cough, tocall some one, but his voice failed him, and to his own amazement, tearswhich he could not restrain gushed from his eyes. .. . What had evokedthose tears? Pity? Regret? Or was it simply that his nerves had beenunable to withstand the sudden shock? Surely, she was nothing to him?Was not that the fact? "But perhaps that is not true, " the thought suddenly occurred to him. "Imust find out! But from whom? From the Princess?--No, from Kupfer . .. From Kupfer? But they say he is not in Moscow. --Never mind! I must applyto him first!" With these ideas in his head Arátoff hastily dressed himself, summoned acab and dashed off to Kupfer. IX He had not hoped to find him . .. But he did. Kupfer actually had beenabsent from Moscow for a time, but had returned about a week previouslyand was even preparing to call on Arátoff again. He welcomed him withhis customary cordiality, and began to explain something to him . .. ButArátoff immediately interrupted him with the impatient question: "Hast thou read it?--Is it true?" "Is what true?" replied the astounded Kupfer. "About Clara Mílitch?" Kupfer's face expressed compassion. --"Yes, yes, brother, it is true; shehas poisoned herself. It is such a misfortune!" Arátoff held his peace for a space. --"But hast thou also read it in thenewspaper?" he asked:--"Or perhaps thou hast been to Kazán thyself?" "I have been to Kazán, in fact; the Princess and I conducted herthither. She went on the stage there, and had great success. Only I didnot remain there until the catastrophe. .. . I was in Yaroslávl. " "In Yaroslávl?" "Yes; I escorted the Princess thither. .. . She has settled in Yaroslávlnow. " "But hast thou trustworthy information?" "The most trustworthy sort . .. At first hand! I made acquaintance inKazán with her family. --But stay, my dear fellow . .. This news seems toagitate thee greatly. --But I remember that Clara did not please theethat time! Thou wert wrong! She was a splendid girl--only her head! Shehad an ungovernable head! I was greatly distressed about her!" Arátoff did not utter a word, but dropped down on a chair, and afterwaiting a while he asked Kupfer to tell him . .. He hesitated. "What?" asked Kupfer. "Why . .. Everything, " replied Arátoff slowly. --"About her family, forinstance . .. And so forth. Everything thou knowest!" "But does that interest thee?--Certainly!" Kupfer, from whose face it was impossible to discern that he hadgrieved so greatly over Clara, began his tale. From his words Arátoff learned that Clara Mílitch's real name had beenKaterína Milovídoff; that her father, now dead, had been an officialteacher of drawing in Kazán, had painted bad portraits and officialimages, and moreover had borne the reputation of being a drunkard and adomestic tyrant . .. "and a _cultured_ man into the bargain!". .. . (HereKupfer laughed in a self-satisfied manner, by way of hinting at the punhe had made);[60]--that he had left at his death, in the first place, awidow of the merchant class, a thoroughly stupid female, straight out ofone of Ostróvsky's comedies;[61] and in the second place, a daughtermuch older than Clara and bearing no resemblance to her--a very clevergirl and "greatly developed, my dear fellow!" That the two--widow anddaughter--lived in easy circumstances, in a decent little house whichhad been acquired by the sale of those wretched portraits and holypictures; that Clara . .. Or Kátya, whichever you choose to call her, hadastonished every one ever since her childhood by her talent, but was ofan insubordinate, capricious disposition, and was constantly quarrellingwith her father; that having an inborn passion for the theatre, she hadrun away from the parental house at the age of sixteen with anactress. .. . "With an actor?" interjected Arátoff. "No, not with an actor, but an actress; to whom she had becomeattached. .. . This actress had a protector, it is true, a wealthygentleman already elderly, who only refrained from marrying her becausehe was already married--while the actress, it appeared, was marriedalso. " Further, Kupfer informed Arátoff that, prior to her arrival in Moscow, Clara had acted and sung in provincial theatres; that on losing herfriend the actress (the gentleman had died also, it seems, or had madeit up with his wife--precisely which Kupfer did not quite remember . .. ), she had made the acquaintance of the Princess, "that woman of gold, whomthou, my friend Yákoff Andréitch, " the narrator added with feeling, "wert not able to appreciate at her true worth"; that finally Clara hadbeen offered an engagement in Kazán, and had accepted it, although shehad previously declared that she would never leave Moscow!--But how thepeople of Kazán had loved her--it was fairly amazing! At everyrepresentation she received bouquets and gifts! bouquets and gifts!--Aflour merchant, the greatest bigwig in the government, had evenpresented her with a golden inkstand!--Kupfer narrated all this withgreat animation, but without, however, displaying any specialsentimentality, and interrupting his speech with the question:--"Whydost thou want to know that?" . .. Or "To what end is that?" whenArátoff, after listening to him with devouring attention, demanded moreand still more details. Everything was said at last, and Kupfer ceasedspeaking, rewarding himself for his toil with a cigar. "But why did she poison herself?" asked Arátoff. "The newspaperstated. .. . " Kupfer waved his hands. --"Well. .. . That I cannot say. .. . I don't know. But the newspaper lies, Clara behaved in an exemplary manner . .. She hadno love-affairs. .. . And how could she, with her pride! She was as proudas Satan himself, and inaccessible! An insubordinate head! Firm as arock! If thou wilt believe me, --I knew her pretty intimately, seestthou, --I never beheld a tear in her eyes!" "But I did, " thought Arátoff to himself. "Only there is this to be said, " went on Kupfer:--"I noticed a greatchange in her of late: she became so depressed, she would remain silentfor hours at a time; you couldn't get a word out of her. I once askedher: 'Has any one offended you, Katerína Semyónovna?' Because I knew herdisposition: she could not endure an insult. She held her peace, andthat was the end of it! Even her success on the stage did not cheer herup; they would shower her with bouquets . .. And she would not smile! Shegave one glance at the gold inkstand, --and put it aside!--She complainedthat no one would write her a genuine part, as she conceived it. And shegave up singing entirely. I am to blame, brother!. .. I repeated to herthat thou didst not think she had any _school_. But nevertheless . .. Whyshe poisoned herself is incomprehensible! And the way she did ittoo. .. . " "In what part did she have the greatest success?". .. . Arátoff wanted tofind out what part she had played that last time, but for some reason orother he asked something else. "In Ostróvsky's' Grúnya'[62] I believe. But I repeat to thee: she had nolove-affairs! Judge for thyself by one thing: she lived in her mother'shouse. .. . Thou knowest what some of those merchants' houses are like; aglass case filled with holy images in every corner and a shrine lamp infront of the case; deadly, stifling heat; a sour odour; in thedrawing-room nothing but chairs ranged along the wall, and geraniums inthe windows;--and when a visitor arrives, the hostess begins to groan asthough an enemy were approaching. What chance is there for love-making, and amours in such a place? Sometimes it happened that they would noteven admit me. Their maid-servant, a robust peasant-woman, in a Turkeyred cotton sarafan, [63] and pendulous breasts, would place herselfacross the path in the anteroom and roar: 'Whither away?' No, Ipositively cannot understand what made her poison herself. She must havegrown tired of life, " Kupfer philosophically wound up his remarks. Arátoff sat with drooping head. --"Canst thou give me the address ofthat house in Kazán?" he said at last. "I can; but what dost thou want of it?--Dost thou wish to send a letterthither?" "Perhaps so. " "Well, as thou wilt. Only the old woman will not answer thee. Her sistermight . .. The clever sister!--But again, brother, I marvel at thee! Suchindifference formerly . .. And now so much attention! All that comes ofliving a solitary life, my dear fellow!" Arátoff made no reply to this remark and went away, after havingprocured the address in Kazán. Agitation, surprise, expectation had been depicted on his face when hewent to Kupfer. .. . Now he advanced with an even gait, downcast eyes, andhat pulled low down over his brows; almost every one he met followed himwith a searching gaze . .. But he paid no heed to the passers-by . .. Itwas quite different from what it had been on the boulevard!. .. "Unhappy Clara! Foolish Clara!" resounded in his soul. X Nevertheless, Arátoff passed the following day in a fairly tranquilmanner. He was even able to devote himself to his customary occupations. There was only one thing: both during his busy time and in his leisuremoments he thought incessantly of Clara, of what Kupfer had told him theday before. Truth to tell, his thoughts were also of a decidedly pacificnature. It seemed to him that that strange young girl interested himfrom a psychological point of view, as something in the nature of apuzzle, over whose solution it was worth while to cudgel one'sbrains, --"She ran away from home with a kept actress, " he thought, "sheplaced herself under the protection of that Princess, in whose house shelived, --and had no love-affairs? It is improbable!. .. Kupfer says it waspride! But, in the first place, we know" (Arátoff should have said: "wehave read in books") . .. "that pride is compatible with light-mindedconduct; and in the second place, did not she, such a proud person, appoint a meeting with a man who might show her scorn . .. And appoint itin a public place, into the bargain . .. On the boulevard!"--At thispoint there recurred to Arátoff's mind the whole scene on the boulevard, and he asked himself: "Had he really shown scorn for Clara?"--"No, " hedecided. .. . That was another feeling . .. A feeling of perplexity . .. Ofdistrust, in short!--"Unhappy Clara!" again rang through hisbrain. --"Yes, she was unhappy, " he decided again . .. That was the mostfitting word. "But if that is so, I was unjust. She spoke truly when she said that Idid not understand her. 'Tis a pity!--It may be that a very remarkablebeing has passed so close to me . .. And I did not take advantage of theopportunity, but repulsed her. .. . Well, never mind! My life is stillbefore me. I shall probably have other encounters of a different sort! "But what prompted her to pick out _me_ in particular?"--He cast aglance at a mirror which he was passing at the moment. "What is therepeculiar about me? And what sort of a beauty am I?--My face is likeeverybody else's face. .. . However, she was not a beauty either. "She was not a beauty . .. But what an expressive face she had! Impassive. .. But expressive! I have never before seen such a face. --And she hastalent . .. That is to say, she had talent, undoubted talent. Wild, untrained, even coarse . .. But undoubted. --And in that case also I wasunjust to her. "--Arátoff mentally transported himself to the musicalmorning . .. And noticed that he remembered with remarkable distinctnessevery word she had sung or recited, every intonation. .. . That would nothave been the case had she been devoid of talent. "And now all that is in the grave, where she has thrust herself. .. . ButI have nothing to do with that. .. . I am not to blame! It would even beabsurd to think that I am to blame. "--Again it flashed into Arátoff'smind that even had she had "anything of that sort" about her, hisconduct during the interview would indubitably have disenchanted her. That was why she had broken into such harsh laughter at parting. --Andwhere was the proof that she had poisoned herself on account of anunhappy love? It is only newspaper correspondents who attribute everysuch death to unhappy love!--But life easily becomes repulsive to peoplewith character, like Clara . .. And tiresome. Yes, tiresome. Kupfer wasright: living simply bored her. "In spite of her success, of her ovations?"--Arátoff meditated. --Thepsychological analysis to which he surrendered himself was evenagreeable to him. Unaccustomed as he had been, up to this time, to allcontact with women, he did not suspect how significant for him was thistense examination of a woman's soul. "Consequently, " he pursued his meditations, "art did not satisfy her, did not fill the void of her life. Genuine artists exist only for art, for the theatre. .. . Everything else pales before that which they regardas their vocation. .. . She was a dilettante!" Here Arátoff again became thoughtful. --No, the word "dilettante" did notconsort with that face, with the expression of that face, of thoseeyes. .. . And again there rose up before him the image of Clara with hertear-filled eyes riveted upon him, and her clenched hands raised to herlips. .. . "Akh, I won't think of it, I won't think of it . .. " he whispered. .. . "What is the use?" In this manner the whole day passed. During dinner Arátoff chatted agreat deal with Platósha, questioned her about old times, which, by theway, she recalled and transmitted badly, as she was not possessed of avery glib tongue, and had noticed hardly anything in the course of herlife save her Yáshka. She merely rejoiced that he was so good-naturedand affectionate that day!--Toward evening Arátoff quieted down to sucha degree that he played several games of trumps with his aunt. Thus passed the day . .. But the night was quite another matter! XI It began well; he promptly fell asleep, and when his aunt entered hisroom on tiptoe for the purpose of making the sign of the cross over himthrice as he slept--she did this every night--he was lying and breathingas quietly as a child. --But before daybreak he had a vision. He dreamed that he was walking over the bare steppes, sown with stones, beneath a low-hanging sky. Between the stones wound a path; he wasadvancing along it. Suddenly there rose up in front of him something in the nature of adelicate cloud. He looked intently at it; the little cloud turned into awoman in a white gown, with a bright girdle about her waist. She washurrying away from him. He did not see either her face or her hair . .. Along piece of tissue concealed them. But he felt bound to overtake herand look into her eyes. Only, no matter how much haste he made, shestill walked more quickly than he. On the path lay a broad, flat stone, resembling a tomb-stone. It barredher way. The woman came to a halt. Arátoff ran up to her. She turnedtoward him--but still he could not see her eyes . .. They were closed. Her face was white, --white as snow; her arms hung motionless. Sheresembled a statue. Slowly, without bending a single limb, she leaned backward and sank downon that stone. .. . And now Arátoff was lying beside her, outstretchedlike a mortuary statue, --and his hands were folded like those of acorpse. But at this point the woman suddenly rose to her feet and went away. Arátoff tried to rise also . .. But he could not stir, he could notunclasp his hands, and could only gaze after her in despair. Then the woman suddenly turned round, and he beheld bright, vivaciouseyes in a living face, which was strange to him, however. She waslaughing, beckoning to him with her hand . .. And still he was unable tomove. She laughed yet once again, and swiftly retreated, merrily nodding herhead, on which a garland of tiny roses gleamed crimson. Arátoff strove to shout, strove to break that frightful nightmare. .. . Suddenly everything grew dark round about . .. And the woman returned tohim. But she was no longer a statue whom he knew not . .. She was Clara. Shehalted in front of him, folded her arms, and gazed sternly andattentively at him. Her lips were tightly compressed, but it seemed toArátoff that he heard the words: "If thou wishest to know who I am, go thither!" "Whither?" he asked. "Thither!"--the moaning answer made itself audible. --"Thither!" Arátoff awoke. He sat up in bed, lighted a candle which stood on his night-stand, butdid not rise, and sat there for a long time slowly gazing about him. Itseemed to him that something had taken place within him since he went tobed; that something had taken root within him . .. Something had takenpossession of him. "But can that be possible?" he whisperedunconsciously. "Can it be that such a power exists?" He could not remain in bed. He softly dressed himself and paced hischamber until daylight. And strange to say! He did not think about Clarafor a single minute, --and he did not think about her because he had madeup his mind to set off for Kazán that very day! He thought only of that journey, of how it was to be made, and what heought to take with him, --and how he would there ferret out and find outeverything, --and regain his composure. "If thou dost not go, " he argued with himself, "thou wilt surely losethy reason!" He was afraid of that; he was afraid of his nerves. He wasconvinced that as soon as he should see all that with his own eyes, allobsessions would flee like a nocturnal nightmare. --"And the journey willoccupy not more than a week in all, " he thought. .. . "What is a week? Andthere is no other way of ridding myself of it. " The rising sun illuminated his room; but the light of day did notdisperse the shades of night which weighed upon him, did not alter hisdecision. Platósha came near having an apoplectic stroke when he communicated hisdecision to her. She even squatted down on her heels . .. Her legs gaveway under her. "To Kazán? Why to Kazán?" she whispered, protruding hereyes which were already blind enough without that. She would not havebeen any more astounded had she learned that her Yásha was going tomarry the neighbouring baker's daughter, or depart to America. --"Andshalt thou stay long in Kazán?" "I shall return at the end of a week, " replied Arátoff, as he stoodhalf-turned away from his aunt, who was still sitting on the floor. Platósha tried to remonstrate again, but Arátoff shouted at her in anutterly unexpected and unusual manner: "I am not a baby, " he yelled, turning pale all over, while his lipsquivered and his eyes flashed viciously. --"I am six-and-twenty years ofage. I know what I am about, --I am free to do as I please!--I will notpermit any one. .. . Give me money for the journey; prepare a trunk withlinen and clothing . .. And do not bother me! I shall return at the endof a week, Platósha, " he added, in a softer tone. Platósha rose to her feet, grunting, and, making no further opposition, wended her way to her chamber. Yásha had frightened her. --"I have not ahead on my shoulders, " she remarked to the cook, who was helping her topack Yásha's things, --"not a head--but a bee-hive . .. And what bees arebuzzing there I do not know! He is going away to Kazán, my mother, toKa-zá-án!" The cook, who had noticed their yard-porter talking for a long time tothe policeman about something, wanted to report this circumstance to hermistress, but she did not dare, and merely thought to herself: "ToKazán? If only it isn't some place further away!"--And PlatonídaIvánovna was so distracted that she did not even utter her customaryprayer. --In such a catastrophe as this even the Lord God could be of noassistance! That same day Arátoff set off for Kazán. XII No sooner had he arrived in that town and engaged a room at the hotel, than he dashed off in search of the widow Milovídoff's house. During thewhole course of his journey he had been in a sort of stupor, which, nevertheless, did not in the least prevent his taking all propermeasures, --transferring himself at Nizhni Nóvgorod from the railway tothe steamer, eating at the stations, and so forth. As before, he wasconvinced that everything would be cleared up _there_, and accordinglyhe banished from his thoughts all memories and speculations, contentinghimself with one thing, --the mental preparation of the speech in whichhe was to set forth to Clara Mílitch's family the real reason of histrip. --And now, at last, he had attained to the goal of his yearning, and ordered the servant to announce him. He was admitted--with surpriseand alarm--but he was admitted. The widow Milovídoff's house proved to be in fact just as Kupfer haddescribed it; and the widow herself really did resemble one ofOstróvsky's women of the merchant class, although she was of officialrank; her husband had been a Collegiate Assessor. [64] Not without somedifficulty did Arátoff, after having preliminarily excused himself forhis boldness, and the strangeness of his visit, make the speech which hehad prepared, to the effect that he wished to collect all the necessaryinformation concerning the gifted actress who had perished at such anearly age; that he was actuated not by idle curiosity, but by a profoundsympathy for her talent, of which he was a worshipper (he said exactlythat--"a worshipper"); that, in conclusion, it would be a sin to leavethe public in ignorance of the loss it had sustained, --and why its hopeshad not been realized! Madame Milovídoff did not interrupt Arátoff; it is hardly probable thatshe understood very clearly what this strange visitor was saying to her, and she merely swelled a little with pride, and opened her eyes widelyat him on perceiving that he had a peaceable aspect, and was decentlyclad, and was not some sort of swindler . .. And was not asking for anymoney. "Are you saying that about Kátya?" she asked, as soon as Arátoff ceasedspeaking. "Exactly so . .. About your daughter. " "And you have come from Moscow for that purpose?" "Yes, from Moscow. " "Merely for that?" "Merely for that. " Madame Milovídoff suddenly took fright. --"Why, you--are an author? Doyou write in the newspapers?" "No, I am not an author, --and up to the present time, I have neverwritten for the newspapers. " The widow bent her head. She was perplexed. "Consequently . .. It is for your own pleasure?" she suddenly inquired. Arátoff did not immediately hit upon the proper answer. "Out of sympathy, out of reverence for talent, " he said at last. The word "reverence" pleased Madame Milovídoff. "Very well!" sheejaculated with a sigh. .. . "Although I am her mother, and grieved verygreatly over her. .. . It was such a catastrophe, you know!. .. Still, Imust say, that she was always a crazy sort of girl, and ended up in thesame way! Such a disgrace. .. . Judge for yourself: what sort of a thingis that for a mother? We may be thankful that they even buried her inChristian fashion. .. . " Madame Milovídoff crossed herself. --"From thetime she was a small child she submitted to no one, --she abandoned thepaternal roof . .. And finally, it is enough to say that she became anactress! Every one knows that I did not turn her out of the house; for Iloved her! For I am her mother, all the same! She did not have to livewith strangers, --and beg alms!. .. " Here the widow melted intotears. --"But if you, sir, " she began afresh, wiping her eyes with theends of her kerchief, "really have that intention, and if you will notconcoct anything dishonourable about us, --but if, on the contrary, youwish to show us a favour, --then you had better talk with my otherdaughter. She will tell you everything better than I can. .. . ""Ánnotchka!" called Madame Milovídoff:--"Ánnotchka, come hither! There'ssome gentleman or other from Moscow who wants to talk about Kátya!" There was a crash in the adjoining room, but no oneappeared. --"Ánnotchka!" cried the widow again--"Anna Semyónovna! comehither, I tell thee!" The door opened softly and on the threshold appeared a girl no longeryoung, of sickly aspect, and homely, but with very gentle and sorrowfuleyes. Arátoff rose from his seat to greet her, and introduced himself, at the same time mentioning his friend Kupfer. --"Ah! FeódorFeódoritch!" ejaculated the girl softly, as she softly sank down on achair. "Come, now, talk with the gentleman, " said Madame Milovídoff, risingponderously from her seat: "He has taken the trouble to come expresslyfrom Moscow, --he wishes to collect information about Kátya. But you mustexcuse me, sir, " she added, turning to Arátoff. .. . "I shall go away, toattend to domestic affairs. You can have a good explanation withÁnnotchka--she will tell you about the theatre . .. And all that sort ofthing. She's my clever, well-educated girl: she speaks French and readsbooks quite equal to her dead sister. And she educated her sister, I maysay. .. . She was the elder--well, and so she taught her. " Madame Milovídoff withdrew. When Arátoff was left alone with AnnaSemyónovna he repeated his speech; but from the first glance heunderstood that he had to deal with a girl who really was cultured, notwith a merchant's daughter, --and so he enlarged somewhat, and employeddifferent expressions;--and toward the end he became agitated, flushed, and felt conscious that his heart was beating hard. Anna Semyónovnalistened to him in silence, with her hands folded; the sad smile did notleave her face . .. Bitter woe which had not ceased to cause pain, wasexpressed in that smile. "Did you know my sister?" she asked Arátoff. "No; properly speaking, I did not know her, " he replied. "I saw andheard your sister once . .. But all that was needed was to hear and seeyour sister once, in order to. .. . " "Do you mean to write her biography?" Anna put another question. Arátoff had not expected that word; nevertheless, he immediatelyanswered "Why not?" But the chief point was that he wished to acquaintthe public. .. . Anna stopped him with a gesture of her hand. "To what end? The public caused her much grief without that; and Kátyahad only just begun to live. But if you yourself" (Anna looked at himand again smiled that same sad smile, only now it was more cordial . .. Apparently she was thinking: "Yes, thou dost inspire me withconfidence") . .. "if you yourself cherish such sympathy for her, thenpermit me to request that you come to us this evening . .. After dinner. I cannot now . .. So suddenly. .. . I will collect my forces. .. . I willmake an effort. .. . Akh, I loved her too greatly!" Anna turned away; she was on the point of bursting into sobs. Arátoff rose alertly from his chair, thanked her for her proposal, saidthat he would come without fail . .. Without fail! and went away, bearingin his soul an impression of a quiet voice, of gentle and sorrowfuleyes--and burning with the languor of anticipation. XIII Arátoff returned to the Milovídoffs' house that same day, and conversedfor three whole hours with Anna Semyónovna. Madame Milovídoff went tobed immediately after dinner--at two o'clock--and "rested" until eveningtea, at seven o'clock. Arátoff's conversation with Clara's sister wasnot, properly speaking, a conversation: she did almost the whole of thetalking, at first with hesitation, with confusion, but afterward withuncontrollable fervour. She had, evidently, idolised her sister. Theconfidence wherewith Arátoff had inspired her waxed and strengthened;she was no longer embarrassed; she even fell to weeping softly, twice, in his presence. He seemed to her worthy of her frank revelations andeffusions. Nothing of that sort had ever before come into her own dulllife!. .. And he . .. He drank in her every word. This, then, is what he learned . .. Much of it, as a matter of course, from what she refrained from saying . .. And much he filled out forhimself. In her youth Clara had been, without doubt, a disagreeable child; and asa young girl she had been only a little softer: self-willed, hot-tempered, vain, she had not got on particularly well with herfather, whom she despised for his drunkenness and incapacity. He wasconscious of this and did not pardon it in her. Her musical facultiesshowed themselves at an early age; her father repressed them, recognising painting as the sole art, --wherein he himself had had solittle success, but which had nourished him and his family. Clara hadloved her mother . .. In a careless way, as she would have loved a nurse;she worshipped her sister, although she squabbled with her, and bither. .. . It is true that afterward she had been wont to go down on herknees before her and kiss the bitten places. She was all fire, allpassion, and all contradiction: vengeful and kind-hearted, magnanimousand rancorous; "she believed in Fate, and did not believe in God" (thesewords Anna whispered with terror); she loved everything that wasbeautiful, and dressed herself at haphazard; she could not endure tohave young men pay court to her, but in books she read only those pageswhere love was the theme; she did not care to please, she did not likepetting and never forgot caresses as she never forgot offences; she wasafraid of death, and she had killed herself! She had been wont to saysometimes, "I do not meet the sort of man I want--and the others I willnot have!"--"Well, and what if you should meet the right sort?" Anna hadasked her. --"If I do . .. I shall take him. "--"But what if he will notgive himself?"--"Well, then . .. I will make an end of myself. It willmean that I am good for nothing. " Clara's father . .. (he sometimes asked his wife when he was drunk: "Whowas the father of that black-visaged little devil of thine?--I wasnot!")--Clara's father, in the endeavour to get her off his hands aspromptly as possible, undertook to betroth her to a wealthy youngmerchant, a very stupid fellow, --one of the "cultured" sort. Two weeksbefore the wedding (she was only sixteen years of age), she walked up toher betrothed, folded her arms, and drumming with her fingers on herelbows (her favourite pose), she suddenly dealt him a blow, bang! on hisrosy cheek with her big, strong hand! He sprang to his feet, and merelygasped, --it must be stated that he was dead in love with her. .. . Heasked: "What is that for?" She laughed and left the room. --"I waspresent in the room, " narrated Anna, "and was a witness. I ran after herand said to her: 'Good gracious, Kátya, why didst thou do that?'--Butshe answered me: 'If he were a real man he would have thrashed me, butas it is, he is a wet hen!' And he asks what it is for, to boot. If heloved me and did not avenge himself, then let him bear it and not ask:'what is that for?' He'll never get anything of me, unto ages of ages!'And so she did not marry him. Soon afterward she made the acquaintanceof that actress, and left our house. My mother wept, but my father onlysaid: 'Away with the refractory goat from the flock!' and would take notrouble, or try to hunt her up. Father did not understand Clara. On theeve of her flight, " added Anna, "she almost strangled me in her embrace, and kept repeating: 'I cannot! I cannot do otherwise!. .. My heart maybreak in two, but I cannot! our cage is too small . .. It is not largeenough for my wings! And one cannot escape his fate'". .. . "After that, " remarked Anna, "we rarely saw each other. .. . When fatherdied she came to us for a couple of days, took nothing from theinheritance, and again disappeared. She found it oppressive with us. .. . I saw that. Then she returned to Kazán as an actress. " Arátoff began to interrogate Anna concerning the theatre, the parts inwhich Clara had appeared, her success. .. . Anna answered in detail, butwith the same sad, although animated enthusiasm. She even showed Arátoffa photographic portrait, which represented Clara in the costume of oneof her parts. In the portrait she was looking to one side, as thoughturning away from the spectators; the ribbon intertwined with her thickhair fell like a serpent on her bare arm. Arátoff gazed long at thatportrait, thought it a good likeness, inquired whether Clara had nottaken part in public readings, and learned that she had not; that sherequired the excitement of the theatre, of the stage . .. But anotherquestion was burning on his lips. "Anna Semyónovna!" he exclaimed at last, not loudly, but with peculiarforce, "tell me, I entreat you, why she . .. Why she made up her mind tothat frightful step?" Anna dropped her eyes. --"I do not know!" she said, after the lapse ofseveral minutes. --"God is my witness, I do not know!" she continuedimpetuously, perceiving that Arátoff had flung his hands apart as thoughhe did not believe her. .. . "From the very time she arrived here sheseemed to be thoughtful, gloomy. Something must infallibly have happenedto her in Moscow, which I was not able to divine! But, on the contrary, on that fatal day, she seemed . .. If not more cheerful, at any rate moretranquil than usual. I did not even have any forebodings, " added Annawith a bitter smile, as though reproaching herself for that. "You see, " she began again, "it seemed to have been written in Kátya'sfate, that she should be unhappy. She was convinced of it herself fromher early youth. She would prop her head on her hand, meditate, and say:'I shall not live long!' She had forebodings. Just imagine, she even sawbeforehand, --sometimes in a dream, sometimes in ordinary wise, --what wasgoing to happen to her! 'I cannot live as I wish, so I will not live atall, ' . .. Was her adage. --'Our life is in our own hands, you know!' Andshe proved it. " Anna covered her face with her hands and ceased speaking. "Anna Semyónovna, " began Arátoff, after waiting a little: "perhaps youhave heard to what the newspapers attributed. .. . " "To unhappy love?" interrupted Anna, removing her hands from her facewith a jerk. "That is a calumny, a calumny, a lie!. .. My unsullied, unapproachable Kátya . .. Kátya! . .. And an unhappy, rejected love? Andwould not I have known about that?. .. Everybody, everybody fell in lovewith her . .. But she. .. . And whom could she have fallen in love withhere? Who, out of all these men, was worthy of her? Who had attained tothat ideal of honour, uprightness, purity, --most of all, purity, --whichshe constantly held before her, in spite of all her defects?. .. Rejecther . .. Her. .. . " Anna's voice broke. .. . Her fingers trembled slightly. Suddenly sheflushed scarlet all over . .. Flushed with indignation, and at thatmoment--and only at that moment--did she resemble her sister. Arátoff attempted to apologise. "Listen, " broke in Anna once more:--"I insist upon it that you shall notbelieve that calumny yourself, and that you shall dissipate it, ifpossible! Here, you wish to write an article about her, or something ofthat sort:--here is an opportunity for you to defend her memory! That iswhy I am talking so frankly with you. Listen: Kátya left a diary. .. . " Arátoff started. --"A diary, " he whispered. "Yes, a diary . .. That is to say, a few pages only. --Kátya was not fondof writing . .. For whole months together she did not write at all . .. And her letters were so short! But she was always, always truthful, shenever lied. .. . Lie, forsooth, with her vanity! I . .. I will show youthat diary! You shall see for yourself whether it contains a single hintof any such unhappy love!" Anna hastily drew from the table-drawer a thin copy-book, about tenpages in length, no more, and offered it to Arátoff. The latter graspedit eagerly, recognised the irregular, bold handwriting, --the handwritingof that anonymous letter, --opened it at random, and began at thefollowing lines: "Moscow--Tuesday . .. June. I sang and recited at a literary morning. To-day is a significant day for me. _It must decide my fate_. " (These words were doubly underlined. ) "Once more I have seen. .. . " Here followed several lines which had been carefully blotted out. --And then: "No! no! no!. .. I must return to my former idea, if only. .. . " Arátoff dropped the hand in which he held the book, and his head sankquietly on his breast. "Read!" cried Anna. --"Why don't you read? Read from the beginning. .. . You can read the whole of it in five minutes, though this diary extendsover two whole years. In Kazán she wrote nothing. .. . " Arátoff slowly rose from his chair, and fairly crashed down on his kneesbefore Anna! She was simply petrified with amazement and terror. "Give . .. Give me this diary, " said Arátoff in a fainting voice. --"Giveit to me . .. And the photograph . .. You must certainly have another--butI will return the diary to you. .. . But I must, I must. .. . " In his entreaty, in the distorted features of his face there wassomething so despairing that it even resembled wrath, suffering. .. . Andin reality he was suffering. It seemed as though he had not been able toforesee that such a calamity would descend upon him, and was excitedlybegging to be spared, to be saved. .. . "Give it to me, " he repeated. "But . .. You . .. You were not in love with my sister?" said Anna atlast. Arátoff continued to kneel. "I saw her twice in all . .. Believe me!. .. And if I had not beenimpelled by causes which I myself cannot clearly either understand orexplain . .. If some power that is stronger than I were not upon me. .. . Iwould not have asked you. .. . I would not have come hither. .. . I must . .. I ought . .. Why, you said yourself that I was bound to restore herimage!" "And you were not in love with my sister?" asked Anna for the secondtime. Arátoff did not reply at once, and turned away slightly, as though withpain. "Well, yes! I was! I was!--And I am in love with her now. .. . " heexclaimed with the same desperation as before. Footsteps became audible in the adjoining room. "Rise . .. Rise . .. " said Anna hastily. "My mother is coming. " Arátoff rose. "And take the diary and the picture. God be with you!--Poor, poorKátya!. .. But you must return the diary to me, " she added withanimation. --"And if you write anything, you must be sure to send it tome. .. . Do you hear?" The appearance of Madame Milovídoff released Arátoff from the necessityof replying. --He succeeded, nevertheless, in whispering:--"You are anangel! Thanks! I will send all that I write. .. . " Madame Milovídoff was too drowsy to divine anything. And so Arátoff leftKazán with the photographic portrait in the side-pocket of his coat. Hehad returned the copy-book to Anna, but without her having detected it, he had cut out the page on which stood the underlined words. On his way back to Moscow he was again seized with a sort of stupor. Although he secretly rejoiced that he had got what he went for, yet herepelled all thoughts of Clara until he should reach home again. Hemeditated a great deal more about her sister Anna. --"Here now, " he saidto himself, "is a wonderful, sympathetic being! What a delicatecomprehension of everything, what a loving heart, what absence ofegoism! And how comes it that such girls bloom with us, and in theprovinces, --and in such surroundings into the bargain! She is bothsickly, and ill-favoured, and not young, --but what a capital wife shewould make for an honest, well-educated man! That is the person withwhom one ought to fall in love!. .. " Arátoff meditated thus . .. But onhis arrival in Moscow the matter took quite another turn. XIV Platonída Ivánova was unspeakably delighted at the return of her nephew. She had thought all sorts of things during his absence!--"At the veryleast he has gone to Siberia!" she whispered, as she sat motionless inher little chamber: "for a year at the very least!"--Moreover the cookhad frightened her by imparting the most authentic news concerning thedisappearance of first one, then another young man from theneighbourhood. Yásha's complete innocence and trustworthiness did not inthe least serve to calm the old woman. --"Because . .. Much thatsignifies!--he busies himself with photography . .. Well, and that isenough! Seize him!" And now here was her Yáshenka come back to her safeand sound! She did notice, it is true, that he appeared to have grownthin, and his face seemed to be sunken--that was comprehensible . .. Hehad had no one to look after him. But she did not dare to question himconcerning his trip. At dinner she inquired: "And is Kazán a nice town?" "Yes, " replied Arátoff. "Tatárs live there, I believe?" "Not Tatárs only. " "And hast not thou brought a khalát[65] thence?" "No, I have not. " And there the conversation ended. But as soon as Arátoff found himself alone in his study he immediatelyfelt as though something were embracing him round about, as though hewere again in _the power_, --precisely that, in the power of anotherlife, of another being. Although he had told Anna--in that outburst ofsudden frenzy--that he was in love with Clara, that word now seemed tohim devoid of sense and whimsical. --No, he was not in love; and howcould he fall in love with a dead woman, whom, even during her lifetimehe had not liked, whom he had almost forgotten?--No! But he was in thepower of . .. In _her_ power . .. He no longer belonged to himself. He hadbeen _taken possession of_. Taken possession of to such a point that hewas no longer trying to free himself either by ridiculing his ownstupidity, or by arousing in himself if not confidence, at least hopethat all this would pass over, that it was nothing but nerves, --or byseeking proofs of it, --or in any other way!--"If I meet him I shall takehim" he recalled Clara's words reported by Anna . .. And so now he hadbeen taken. But was not she dead? Yes; her body was dead . .. But how about hersoul?--Was not that immortal . .. Did it require bodily organs tomanifest its power? Magnetism has demonstrated to us the influence ofthe living human soul upon another living human soul. .. . Why should notthat influence be continued after death, if the soul remains alive?--Butwith what object? What might be the result of this?--But do we, ingeneral, realise the object of everything which goes on around us? These reflections occupied Arátoff to such a degree that at tea hesuddenly asked Platósha whether she believed in the immortality of thesoul. She did not understand at first what it was he had asked; butafterward she crossed herself and replied, "of course. How could thesoul be otherwise than immortal?" "But if that is so, can it act after death?" Arátoff put a secondquestion. The old woman replied that it could . .. That is to say, it can pray forus; when it shall have passed through all sorts of tribulations, and isawaiting the Last Judgment. But during the first forty days it onlyhovers around the spot where its death occurred. "During the first forty days?" "Yes; and after that come its tribulations. "[66] Arátoff was surprised at his aunt's erudition, and went off to his ownroom. --And again he felt the same thing, that same power upon him. Thepower was manifested thus--that the image of Clara incessantly presenteditself to him, in its most minute details, --details which he did notseem to have observed during her lifetime; he saw . .. He saw herfingers, her nails, the bands of hair on her cheeks below her temples, asmall mole under the left eye; he saw the movement of her lips, hernostrils, her eyebrows . .. And what sort of a gait she had, and how sheheld her head a little on the right side . .. He saw everything!--He didnot admire all this at all; he simply could not help thinking about itand seeing it. --Yet he did not dream about her during the first nightafter his return . .. He was very weary and slept like one slain. On theother hand, no sooner did he awake than she again entered his room, andthere she remained, as though she had been its owner; just as though shehad purchased for herself that right by her voluntary death, withoutasking him or requiring his permission. He took her photograph; he began to reproduce it, to enlarge it. Then itoccurred to him to arrange it for the stereoscope. It cost him a greatdeal of trouble, but at last he succeeded. He fairly started when hebeheld through the glass her figure which had acquired the semblance ofbodily substance. But that figure was grey, as though covered withdust . .. And moreover, the eyes . .. The eyes still gazed aside, asthough they were averting themselves. He began to gaze at them for along, long time, as though expecting that they might, at any moment, turn themselves in his direction . .. He even puckered up his eyesdeliberately . .. But the eyes remained motionless, and the whole figureassumed the aspect of a doll. He went away, threw himself into anarm-chair, got out the leaf which he had torn from her diary, with theunderlined words, and thought: "They say that people in love kiss thelines which have been written by a beloved hand; but I have no desire todo that--and the chirography appears to me ugly into the bargain. But inthat line lies my condemnation. "--At this point there flashed into hismind the promise he had made to Anna about the article. He seatedhimself at his table, and set about writing it; but everything he wroteturned out so rhetorical . .. Worst of all, so artificial . .. Just asthough he did not believe in what he was writing, or in his own feelings. .. And Clara herself seemed to him unrecognisable, incomprehensible!She would not yield herself to him. "No, " he thought, throwing aside his pen, "either I have no talent forwriting in general, or I must wait a while yet!" He began to call to mind his visit to the Milovídoffs, and all thenarration of Anna, of that kind, splendid Anna. .. . The word she haduttered: "unsullied!" suddenly struck him. It was exactly as thoughsomething had scorched and illuminated him. "Yes, " he said aloud, "she was unsullied and I am unsullied. .. . That iswhat has given her this power!" Thoughts concerning the immortality of the soul, the life beyond thegrave, again visited him. "Is it not said in the Bible: 'O death, whereis thy sting?' And in Schiller: 'And the dead also shall live!' (_Auchdie Todten sollen leben!_)--Or here again, in Mickiewicz, 'I shall loveuntil life ends . .. And after life ends!'--While one English writer hassaid: 'Love is stronger than death!'"--The biblical sentence acted withpeculiar force on Arátoff. He wanted to look up the place where thosewords were to be found. .. . He had no Bible; he went to borrow one fromPlatósha. She was astonished; but she got out an old, old book in awarped leather binding with brass clasps, all spotted with wax, andhanded it to Arátoff. He carried it off to his own room, but for a longtime could not find that verse . .. But on the other hand, he hit uponanother: "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends". .. . (the Gospel of John, Chap. XV, verse 13). He thought: "That is not properly expressed. --It should read: 'Greater_power_ hath no man!'". .. . "But what if she did not set her soul on me at all? What if she killedherself merely because life had become a burden to her?--What if she, inconclusion, did not come to that tryst with the object of obtainingdeclarations of love at all?" But at that moment Clara before her parting on the boulevard rose upbefore him. .. . He recalled that sorrowful expression on her face, andthose tears, and those words:--"Akh, you have understood nothing!" No! He could not doubt for what object and for what person she had laiddown her life. .. . Thus passed that day until nightfall. XV Arátoff went early to bed, without feeling particularly sleepy; but hehoped to find rest in bed. The strained condition of his nerves causedhim a fatigue which was far more intolerable than the physical wearinessof the journey and the road. But great as was his fatigue, he could notget to sleep. He tried to read . .. But the lines got entangled beforehis eyes. He extinguished his candle, and darkness took possession ofhis chamber. --But he continued to lie there sleepless, with closedeyes. .. . And now it seemed to him that some one was whispering in hisear. .. . "It is the beating of my heart, the rippling of the blood, " hethought. .. . But the whisper passed into coherent speech. Some one wastalking Russian hurriedly, plaintively, and incomprehensibly. It wasimpossible to distinguish a single separate word. .. . But it was Clara'svoice! Arátoff opened his eyes, rose up in bed, propped himself on hiselbows. .. . The voice grew fainter, but continued its plaintive, hurried, unintelligible speech as before. .. . It was indubitably Clara's voice! Some one's fingers ran over the keys of the piano in light arpeggios. .. . Then the voice began to speak again. More prolonged sounds madethemselves audible . .. Like moans . .. Always the same. And then wordsbegan to detach themselves. .. . "Roses . .. Roses . .. Roses. ". .. . "Roses, " repeated Arátoff in a whisper. -- "Akh, yes! The roses which I saw on the head of that woman in mydream. .. . " "Roses, " was audible again. "Is it thou?" asked Arátoff, whispering as before. The voice suddenly ceased. Arátoff waited . .. Waited--and dropped his head on his pillow. "Ahallucination of hearing, " he thought. "Well, and what if . .. What ifshe really is here, close to me?. .. What if I were to see her, would Ibe frightened? But why should I be frightened? Why should I rejoice?Possibly because it would be a proof that there is another world, thatthe soul is immortal. --But, however, even if I were to see anything, that also might be a hallucination of the sight". .. . Nevertheless he lighted his candle, and shot a glance over the wholeroom not without some trepidation . .. And descried nothing unusual init. He rose, approached the stereoscope . .. And there again was the samegrey doll, with eyes which gazed to one side. The feeling of alarm inArátoff was replaced by one of vexation. He had been, as it were, deceived in his expectations . .. And those same expectations appeared tohim absurd. --"Well, this is downright stupid!" he muttered as he gotback into bed, and blew out his light. Again profound darkness reignedin the room. Arátoff made up his mind to go to sleep this time. .. . But a newsensation had cropped up within him. It seemed to him as though some onewere standing in the middle of the room, not far from him, and breathingin a barely perceptible manner. He hastily turned round, opened hiseyes. .. . But what could be seen in that impenetrable darkness?--He beganto fumble for a match on his night-stand . .. And suddenly it seemed tohim as though some soft, noiseless whirlwind dashed across the wholeroom, above him, through him--and the words: "'Tis I!" rang plainly inhis ears. "'Tis I! 'Tis I!. .. " Several moments passed before he succeeded in lighting a match. Again there was no one in the room, and he no longer heard anythingexcept the violent beating of his own heart. He drank a glass of water, and remained motionless, with his head resting on his hand. He said to himself: "I will wait. Either this is all nonsense . .. Or sheis here. She will not play with me like a cat with a mouse!" He waited, waited a long time . .. So long that the hand on which he was proppinghis head became numb . .. But not a single one of his previous sensationswas repeated. A couple of times his eyes closed. .. . He immediatelyopened them . .. At least, it seemed to him that he opened them. Gradually they became riveted on the door and so remained. The candleburned out and the room became dark once more . .. But the door gleamedlike a long, white spot in the midst of the gloom. And lo! that spotbegan to move, it contracted, vanished . .. And in its place, on thethreshold, a female form made its appearance. Arátoff looked at itintently . .. It was Clara! And this time she was gazing straight at him, she moved toward him. .. . On her head was a wreath of red roses. .. . Itkept undulating, rising. .. . Before him stood his aunt in her nightcap, with a broad red ribbon, andin a white wrapper. "Platósha!" he enunciated with difficulty. --"Is it you?" "It is I, " replied Platonída Ivánovna. .. . "It is I, Yashyónotchek, it isI. " "Why have you come?" "Why, thou didst wake me. At first thou seemedst to be moaning all thewhile . .. And then suddenly thou didst begin to shout: 'Save me! Helpme!'" "I shouted?" "Yes, thou didst shout, and so hoarsely: 'Save me!'--I thought: 'O Lord!Can he be ill?' So I entered. Art thou well?" "Perfectly well. " "Come, that means that thou hast had a bad dream. I will fumigate withincense if thou wishest--shall I?" Again Arátoff gazed intently at his aunt, and burst into a loudlaugh. .. . The figure of the kind old woman in nightcap and wrapper, withher frightened, long-drawn face, really was extremely comical. All thatmysterious something which had surrounded him, had stifled him, allthose delusions dispersed on the instant. "No, Platósha, my dear, it is not necessary, " he said. --"Forgive me forhaving involuntarily alarmed you. May your rest be tranquil--and I willgo to sleep also. " Platonída Ivánovna stood a little while longer on the spot where shewas, pointed at the candle, grumbled: "Why dost thou not extinguishit? . .. There will be a catastrophe before long!"--and as she retired, could not refrain from making the sign of the cross over him from afar. Arátoff fell asleep immediately, and slept until morning. He rose in afine frame of mind . .. Although he regretted something. .. . He feltlight and free. "What romantic fancies one does devise, " he said tohimself with a smile. He did not once glance either at the stereoscopeor the leaf which he had torn out. But immediately after breakfast heset off to see Kupfer. What drew him thither . .. He dimly recognised. XVI Arátoff found his sanguine friend at home. He chatted a little with him, reproached him for having quite forgotten him and his aunt, listened tofresh laudations of the golden woman, the Princess, from whom Kupfer hadjust received, --from Yaroslávl, --a skull-cap embroidered withfish-scales . .. And then suddenly sitting down in front of Kupfer, andlooking him straight in the eye, he announced that he had been to Kazán. "Thou hast been to Kazán? Why so?" "Why, because I wished to collect information about that . .. ClaraMílitch. " "The girl who poisoned herself?" "Yes. " Kupfer shook his head. --"What a fellow thou art! And such a sly one!Thou hast travelled a thousand versts there and back . .. And all forwhat? Hey? If there had only been some feminine interest there! Then Icould understand everything! every sort of folly!"--Kupfer ruffled uphis hair. --"But for the sake of collecting materials, as you learned menput it. .. . No, I thank you! That's what the committee of statisticsexists for!--Well, and what about it--didst thou make acquaintance withthe old woman and with her sister? She's a splendid girl, isn't she?" "Splendid, " assented Arátoff. --"She communicated to me many curiousthings. " "Did she tell thee precisely how Clara poisoned herself?" "Thou meanest . .. What dost thou mean?" "Why, in what manner?" "No. .. . She was still in such affliction. .. . I did not dare to questionher too much. But was there anything peculiar about it?" "Of course there was. Just imagine: she was to have acted that veryday--and she did act. She took a phial of poison with her to thetheatre, drank it before the first act, and in that condition playedthrough the whole of that act. With the poison inside her! What dostthou think of that strength of will? What character, wasn't it? And theysay that she never sustained her role with so much feeling, with so muchwarmth! The audience suspected nothing, applauded, recalled her. .. . Butas soon as the curtain fell she dropped down where she stood on thestage. She began to writhe . .. And writhe . .. And at the end of an hourher spirit fled! But is it possible I did not tell thee that? It wasmentioned in the newspapers also. " Arátoff's hands suddenly turned cold and his chest began to heave. "No, thou didst not tell me that, " he said at last. --"And dost thou not knowwhat the piece was?" Kupfer meditated. --"I was told the name of the piece . .. A young girlwho has been betrayed appears in it. .. . It must be some drama or other. Clara was born for dramatic parts. Her very appearance. .. . But where artthou going?" Kupfer interrupted himself, perceiving that Arátoff waspicking up his cap. "I do not feel quite well, " replied Arátoff. "Good-bye. .. . I will dropin some other time. " Kupfer held him back and looked him in the face. --"What a nervous fellowthou art, brother! Just look at thyself. .. . Thou hast turned as white asclay. " "I do not feel well, " repeated Arátoff, freeing himself from Kupfer'shands and going his way. Only at that moment did it become clear to himthat he had gone to Kupfer with the sole object of talking aboutClara. .. . "About foolish, about unhappy Clara". .. . But on reaching home he speedily recovered his composure to a certainextent. The circumstances which had attended Clara's death at first exerted ashattering impression upon him . .. But later on that acting "with thepoison inside her, " as Kupfer had expressed it, seemed to him amonstrous phrase, a piece of bravado, and he tried not to think of it, fearing to arouse within himself a feeling akin to aversion. But atdinner, as he sat opposite Platósha, he suddenly remembered hernocturnal apparition, recalled that bob-tailed wrapper, that cap withthe tall ribbon (and why should there be a ribbon on a night-cap?), thewhole of that ridiculous figure, at which all his visions had dispersedinto dust, as though at the whistle of the machinist in a fantasticballet! He even made Platósha repeat the tale of how she had heard himshout, had taken fright, had leaped out of bed, had not been able atonce to find either her own door or his, and so forth. In the evening heplayed cards with her and went off to his own room in a somewhat sad butfairly tranquil state of mind. Arátoff did not think about the coming night, and did not fear it; hewas convinced that he should pass it in the best possible manner. Thethought of Clara awoke in him from time to time; but he immediatelyremembered that she had killed herself in a "spectacular" manner, andturned away. That "outrageous" act prevented other memories from risingin him. Giving a cursory glance at the stereoscope it seemed to him thatshe was looking to one side because she felt ashamed. Directly over thestereoscope on the wall, hung the portrait of his mother. Arátoffremoved it from its nail, kissed it, and carefully put it away in adrawer. Why did he do this? Because that portrait must not remain in thevicinity of that woman . .. Or for some other reason--Arátoff did notquite know. But his mother's portrait evoked in him memories of hisfather . .. Of that father whom he had seen dying in that same room, onthat very bed. "What dost thou think about all this, father?" hementally addressed him. "Thou didst understand all this; thou didst alsobelieve in Schiller's world of spirits. --Give me counsel!" "My father has given me counsel to drop all these follies, " said Arátoffaloud, and took up a book. But he was not able to read long, and feelinga certain heaviness all through his body, he went to bed earlier thanusual, in the firm conviction that he should fall asleep immediately. And so it came about . .. But his hopes for a peaceful night were notrealised. XVII Before the clock struck midnight he had a remarkable, a menacing dream. It seemed to him that he was in a sumptuous country-house of which hewas the owner. He had recently purchased the house, and all the estatesattached to it. And he kept thinking: "It is well, now it is well, butdisaster is coming!" Beside him was hovering a tiny little man, hismanager; this man kept making obeisances, and trying to demonstrate toArátoff how admirably everything about his house and estate wasarranged. --"Please, please look, " he kept reiterating, grinning at everyword, "how everything is flourishing about you! Here are horses . .. Whatmagnificent horses!" And Arátoff saw a row of huge horses. They werestanding with their backs to him, in stalls; they had wonderful manesand tails . .. But as soon as Arátoff walked past them the horses turnedtheir heads toward him and viciously displayed their teeth. "It is well, " thought Arátoff, "but disaster is coming!" "Please, please, " repeated his manager again; "please come into thegarden; see what splendid apples we have!" The apples really were splendid, red, and round; but as soon as Arátofflooked at them, they began to shrivel and fall. .. . "Disaster is coming!"he thought. "And here is the lake, " murmurs the manager: "how blue and smooth it is!And here is a little golden boat!. .. Would you like to have a sail init?. .. It moves of itself. " "I will not get into it!" thought Arátoff; "a disaster is coming!" andnevertheless he did seat himself in the boat. On the bottom, writhing, lay a little creature resembling an ape; in its paws it was holding aphial filled with a dark liquid. "Pray do not feel alarmed, " shouted the manager from the shore. .. . "Thatis nothing! That is death! A prosperous journey!" The boat darted swiftly onward . .. But suddenly a hurricane arose, notlike the one of the day before, soft and noiseless--no; it is a black, terrible, howling hurricane!--Everything is in confusion roundabout;--and amid the swirling gloom Arátoff beholds Clara in theatricalcostume: she is raising the phial to her lips, a distant "Bravo! bravo!"is audible, and a coarse voice shouts in Arátoff's ear: "Ah! And didst thou think that all this would end in a comedy?--No! itis a tragedy! a tragedy!" Arátoff awoke all in a tremble. It was not dark in the room. .. . A faintand melancholy light streamed from somewhere or other, impassivelyilluminating all objects. Arátoff did not try to account to himself forthe light. .. . He felt but one thing: Clara was there in that room . .. Hefelt her presence . .. He was again and forever in her power! A shriek burst from his lips: "Clara, art thou here?" "Yes!" rang out clearly in the middle of the room illuminated with themotionless light. Arátoff doubly repeated his question. .. . "Yes!" was audible once more. "Then I want to see thee!" he cried, springing out of bed. For several moments he stood in one spot, treading the cold floor withhis bare feet. His eyes roved: "But where? Where?" whispered hislips. .. . Nothing was to be seen or heard. He looked about him, and noticed that the faint light which filled theroom proceeded from a night-light, screened by a sheet of paper, andplaced in one corner, probably by Platósha while he was asleep. He evendetected the odour of incense also, in all probability, the work of herhands. He hastily dressed himself. Remaining in bed, sleeping, was not to bethought of. --Then he took up his stand in the centre of the room andfolded his arms. The consciousness of Clara's presence was stronger thanever within him. And now he began to speak, in a voice which was not loud, but with thesolemn deliberation wherewith exorcisms are uttered: "Clara, "--thus did he begin, --"if thou art really here, if thou seestme, if thou hearest me, reveal thyself!. .. If that power which I feelupon me is really thy power, --reveal thyself! If thou understandest howbitterly I repent of not having understood thee, of having repulsedthee, --reveal thyself!--If that which I have heard is really thy voice;if the feeling which has taken possession of me is love; if thou art nowconvinced that I love thee, --I who up to this time have not loved, andhave not known a single woman;--if thou knowest that after thy death Ifell passionately, irresistibly in love with thee, if thou dost not wishme to go mad--reveal thyself!" No sooner had Arátoff uttered this last word than he suddenly felt someone swiftly approach him from behind, as on that occasion upon theboulevard--and lay a hand upon his shoulder. He wheeled round--and sawno one. But the consciousness of _her_ presence became so distinct, soindubitable, that he cast another hasty glance behind him. .. . What was that?! In his arm-chair, a couple of paces from him, sat awoman all in black. Her head was bent to one side, as in thestereoscope. .. . It was she! It was Clara! But what a stern, what amournful face! Arátoff sank down gently upon his knees. --Yes, he was right, then;neither fear, nor joy was in him, nor even surprise. .. . His heart evenbegan to beat more quietly;--The only thing in him was the feeling: "Ah!At last! At last!" "Clara, " he began in a faint but even tone, "why dost thou not look atme? I know it is thou . .. But I might, seest thou, think that myimagination had created an image like _that one_. .. . " (He pointed in thedirection of the stereoscope). .. . "Prove to me that it is thou. .. . Turntoward me, look at me, Clara!" Clara's hand rose slowly . .. And fell again. "Clara! Clara! Turn toward me!" And Clara's head turned slowly, her drooping lids opened, and the darkpupils of her eyes were fixed on Arátoff. He started back, and uttered a tremulous, long-drawn: "Ah!" Clara gazed intently at him . .. But her eyes, her features preservedtheir original thoughtfully-stern, almost displeased expression. Withprecisely that expression she had presented herself on the platform uponthe day of the literary morning, before she had caught sight of Arátoff. And now, as on that occasion also, she suddenly flushed scarlet, herface grew animated, her glance flashed, and a joyful, triumphant smileparted her lips. .. . "I am forgiven!"--cried Arátoff. --"Thou hast conquered. .. . So take me!For I am thine, and thou art mine!" He darted toward her, he tried to kiss those smiling, those triumphantlips, --and he did kiss them, he felt their burning touch, he felt eventhe moist chill of her teeth, and a rapturous cry rang through thehalf-dark room. Platonída Ivánovna ran in and found him in a swoon. He was on his knees;his head was lying on the arm-chair; his arms, outstretched before him, hung powerless; his pale face breathed forth the intoxication ofboundless happiness. Platonída Ivánovna threw herself beside him, embraced him, stammered:"Yásha! Yáshenka! Yashenyónotchek!!"[67] tried to lift him up with herbony arms . .. He did not stir. Then Platonída Ivánovna set to screamingin an unrecognisable voice. The maid-servant ran in. Together theymanaged somehow to lift him up, seated him in a chair, and began to dashwater on him--and water in which a holy image had been washed atthat. .. . He came to himself; but merely smiled in reply to his aunt's queries, and with such a blissful aspect that she became more perturbed thanever, and kept crossing first him and then herself. .. . At last Arátoffpushed away her hand, and still with the same beatific expression on hiscountenance, he said:-- "What is the matter with you, Platósha?" "What ails thee, Yáshenka?" "Me?--I am happy . .. Happy, Platósha . .. That is what ails me. But now Iwant to go to bed and sleep. " He tried to rise, but felt such a weakness in his legs and in all hisbody that he was not in a condition to undress and get into bed himselfwithout the aid of his aunt and of the maid-servant. But he fell asleepvery quickly, preserving on his face that same blissfully-rapturousexpression. Only his face was extremely pale. XVIII When Platonída Ivánovna entered his room on the following morning he wasin the same condition . .. But his weakness had not passed off, and heeven preferred to remain in bed. Platonída Ivánovna did not like thepallor of his face in particular. "What does it mean, O Lord!" she thought. "There isn't a drop of bloodin his face, he refuses his beef-tea; he lies there and laughs, andkeeps asserting that he is quite well!" He refused breakfast also. --"Why dost thou do that, Yásha?" she askedhim; "dost thou intend to lie like this all day?" "And what if I do?" replied Arátoff, affectionately. This very affection also did not please Platonída Ivánovna. Arátoffwore the aspect of a man who has learned a great secret, which is veryagreeable to him, and is jealously clinging to it and reserving it forhimself. He was waiting for night, not exactly with impatience but withcuriosity. "What comes next?" he asked himself;--"what will happen?" He had ceasedto be surprised, to be perplexed; he cherished no doubt as to his havingentered into communication with Clara; that they loved each other . .. Hedid not doubt, either. Only . .. What can come of such a love?--Herecalled that kiss . .. And a wondrous chill coursed swiftly and sweetlythrough all his limbs. --"Romeo and Juliet did not exchange such a kissas that!" he thought. "But the next time I shall hold out better. .. . Ishall possess her. .. . She will come with the garland of tiny roses inher black curls. .. . "But after that what? For we cannot live together, can we? ConsequentlyI must die in order to be with her? Was not that what she came for, --andis it not in _that_ way she wishes to take me? "Well, and what of that? If I must die, I must. Death does not terrifyme in the least now. For it cannot annihilate me, can it? On thecontrary, only _thus_ and _there_ shall I be happy . .. As I have neverbeen happy in my lifetime, as she has never been in hers. .. . For we areboth unsullied!--Oh, that kiss!" * * * * * Platonída Ivánovna kept entering Arátoff's room; she did not worry himwith questions, she merely took a look at him, whispered, sighed, andwent out again. --But now he refused his dinner also. .. . Things weregetting quite too bad. The old woman went off to her friend, the medicalman of the police-district, in whom she had faith simply because he didnot drink and was married to a German woman. Arátoff was astonished whenshe brought the man to him; but Platonída Ivánovna began so insistentlyto entreat her Yáshenka to permit Paramón Paramónitch (that was themedical man's name) to examine him--come, now, just for her sake!--thatArátoff consented. Paramón Paramónitch felt his pulse, looked at histongue, interrogated him after a fashion, and finally announced that itwas indispensably necessary to "auscultate" him. Arátoff was in such asubmissive frame of mind that he consented to this also. The doctordelicately laid bare his breast, delicately tapped it, listened, smiled, prescribed some drops and a potion, but chief of all, advised him to bequiet, and refrain from violent emotions. "You don't say so!" thought Arátoff. .. . "Well, brother, thou hastbethought thyself too late!" "What ails Yásha?" asked Platonída Ivánovna, as she handed ParamónParamónitch a three-ruble bank-note on the threshold. The districtdoctor, who, like all contemporary doctors, --especially those of themwho wear a uniform, --was fond of showing off his learned terminology, informed her that her nephew had all the dioptric symptoms of nervouscardialgia, and that febris was present also. "But speak more simply, dear little father, " broke in PlatonídaIvánovna; "don't scare me with Latin; thou art not in an apothecary'sshop!" "His heart is out of order, " explained the doctor;--"well, and he hasfever also, " . .. And he repeated his advice with regard to repose andmoderation. "But surely there is no danger?" sternly inquired Platonída Ivánovna, asmuch as to say: "Look out and don't try your Latin on me again!" "Not at present!" The doctor went away, and Platonída Ivánovna took to grieving. .. . Nevertheless she sent to the apothecary for the medicine, which Arátoffwould not take, despite her entreaties. He even refused herb-tea. "What makes you worry so, dear?" he said to her. "I assure you I am nowthe most perfectly healthy and happy man in the whole world!" Platonída Ivánovna merely shook her head. Toward evening he becameslightly feverish; yet he still insisted upon it that she should notremain in his room, and should go away to her own to sleep. PlatonídaIvánovna obeyed, but did not undress, and did not go to bed; she sat upin an arm-chair and kept listening and whispering her prayer. She was beginning to fall into a doze, when suddenly a dreadful, piercing shriek awakened her. She sprang to her feet, rushed intoArátoff's study, and found him lying on the floor, as upon the nightbefore. But he did not come to himself as he had done the night before, workover him as they would. That night he was seized with a high fever, complicated by inflammation of the heart. A few days later he died. A strange circumstance accompanied his second swoon. When they liftedhim up and put him to bed, there proved to be a small lock of woman'sblack hair clutched in his right hand. Where had that hair come from?Anna Semyónovna had such a lock, which she had kept after Clara's death;but why should she have given to Arátoff an object which was so preciousto her? Could she have laid it into the diary, and not noticed the factwhen she gave him the book? In the delirium which preceded his death Arátoff called himselfRomeo . .. After the poison; he talked about a marriage contracted, consummated;--said that now he knew the meaning of delight. Especiallydreadful for Platonída Ivánovna was the moment when Arátoff, recoveringconsciousness, and seeing her by his bedside, said to her: "Aunty, why art thou weeping? Is it because I must die? But dost thounot know that love is stronger than death?. .. Death! O Death, where isthy sting? Thou must not weep, but rejoice, even as I rejoice. .. . " And again the face of the dying man beamed with that same blissful smilewhich had made the poor old woman shudder so. POEMS IN PROSE (1878-1882) _From the Editor of the "European Messenger_" In compliance with our request, Iván Sergyéevitch Turgénieff has givenhis consent to our sharing now with the readers of our journal, withoutdelay, those passing comments, thoughts, images which he had noted down, under one impression or another of current existence, during the lastfive years, --those which belong to him personally, and those whichpertain to society in general. They, like many others, have not found aplace in those finished productions of the past which have already beenpresented to the world, and have formed a complete collection inthemselves. From among these the author has made fifty selections. In the letter accompanying the pages which we are now about to print, I. S. Turgénieff says, in conclusion: ". .. Let not your reader peruse these 'Poems in Prose' at one sitting;he will probably be bored, and the book will fall from his hands. Butlet him read them separately, --to-day one, to-morrow another, --and thenperchance some one of them may leave some trace behind in his soul. .. . " The pages have no general title; the author has written on theirwrapper: "Senilia--An Old Man's Jottings, "--but we have preferred thewords carelessly dropped by the author in the end of his letter to us, quoted above, --"Poems in Prose"--and we print the pages under thatgeneral title. In our opinion, it fully expresses the source from whichsuch comments might present themselves to the soul of an author wellknown for his sensitiveness to the various questions of life, as well asthe impression which they may produce on the reader, "leaving behind inhis soul" many things. They are, in reality, poems in spite of the factthat they are written in prose. We place them in chronological order, beginning with the year 1878. M. S. [68] October 28, 1882. I (1878) THE VILLAGE The last day of July; for a thousand versts round about lies Russia, thefatherland. The whole sky is suffused with an even azure; there is only one littlecloud in it, which is half floating, half melting. There is no wind, itis warm . .. The air is like new milk! Larks are carolling; large-cropped pigeons are cooing; the swallows dartpast in silence; the horses neigh and munch, the dogs do not bark, butstand peaceably wagging their tails. And there is an odour of smoke abroad, and of grass, --and a tiny whiffof tan, --and another of leather. --The hemp-patches, also, are in theirglory, and emit their heavy but agreeable fragrance. A deep but not long ravine. Along its sides, in several rows, growbulky-headed willows, stripped bare at the bottom. Through the ravineruns a brook; on its bottom tiny pebbles seem to tremble athwart itspellucid ripples. --Far away, at the spot where the rims of earth and skycome together, is the bluish streak of a large river. Along the ravine, on one side are neat little storehouses, and buildingswith tightly-closed doors; on the other side are five or six pine-logcottages with board roofs. Over each roof rises a tall pole with astarling house; over each tiny porch is an openwork iron horse's headwith a stiff mane. [69] The uneven window-panes sparkle with the hues ofthe rainbow. Jugs holding bouquets are painted on the shutters. In frontof each cottage stands sedately a precise little bench; on the earthenbanks around the foundations of the house cats lie curled in balls, withtheir transparent ears pricked up on the alert; behind the loftythresholds the anterooms look dark and cool. I am lying on the very brink of the ravine, on an outspread horse-cloth;round about are whole heaps of new-mown hay, which is fragrant to thepoint of inducing faintness. The sagacious householders have spread outthe hay in front of their cottages: let it dry a little more in the hotsun, and then away with it to the barn! It will be a glorious place fora nap! The curly heads of children project from each haycock; crested hens aresearching in the hay for gnats and small beetles; a white-toothed puppyis sprawling among the tangled blades of grass. Ruddy-curled youths in clean, low-girt shirts, and heavy boots withborders, are bandying lively remarks as they stand with their breastsresting on the unhitched carts, and display their teeth in a grin. From a window a round-faced lass peeps out; she laughs, partly at theirwords, and partly at the pranks of the children in the heaped-up hay. Another lass with her sturdy arms is drawing a huge, dripping bucketfrom the well. .. . The bucket trembles and rocks on the rope, scatteringlong, fiery drops. In front of me stands an aged housewife in a new-checked petticoat ofhomespun and new peasant-shoes. Large inflated beads in three rows encircle her thin, swarthy neck; hergrey hair is bound about with a yellow kerchief with red dots; it droopslow over her dimmed eyes. But her aged eyes smile in cordial wise; her whole wrinkled face smiles. The old woman must be in her seventh decade . .. And even now it can beseen that she was a beauty in her day! With the sunburned fingers of her right hand widely spread apart, sheholds a pot of cool, unskimmed milk, straight from the cellar; the sidesof the pot are covered with dewdrops, like small pearl beads. On thepalm of her left hand the old woman offers me a big slice of bread stillwarm from the oven. As much as to say: "Eat, and may health be thine, thou passing guest!" A cock suddenly crows and busily flaps his wings; an imprisoned calflows without haste, in reply. "Hey, what fine oats!" the voice of my coachman makes itself heard. .. . O Russian contentment, repose, plenty! O free village! O tranquillityand abundance! And I thought to myself: "What care we for the cross on the dome ofSaint Sophia in Constantinople, and all the other things for which westrive, we people of the town?" February, 1878. A CONVERSATION "Never yet has human foot trod either the Jungfrau or the Finsteraarhorn. " The summits of the Alps. .. . A whole chain of steep cliffs. .. . The veryheart of the mountains. Overhead a bright, mute, pale-green sky. A hard, cruel frost; firm, sparkling snow; from beneath the snow project grim blocks of ice-bound, wind-worn cliffs. Two huge masses, two giants rise aloft, one on each side of the horizon:the Jungfrau and the Finsteraarhorn. And the Jungfrau says to its neighbour: "What news hast thou to tell?Thou canst see better. --What is going on there below?" Several thousand years pass by like one minute. And the Finsteraarhornrumbles in reply: "Dense clouds veil the earth. .. . Wait!" More thousands of years elapse, as it were one minute. "Well, what now?" inquires the Jungfrau. "Now I can see; down yonder, below, everything is still the same:party-coloured, tiny. The waters gleam blue; the forests are black;heaps of stones piled up shine grey. Around them small beetles are stillbustling, --thou knowest, those two-legged beetles who have as yet beenunable to defile either thou or me. " "Men?" "Yes, men. " Thousands of years pass, as it were one minute. "Well, and what now?" asks the Jungfrau. "I seem to see fewer of the little beetles, " thunders theFinsteraarhorn. "Things have become clearer down below; the waters havecontracted; the forests have grown thinner. " More thousands of years pass, as it were one minute. "What dost thou see?" says the Jungfrau. "Things seem to have grown clearer round us, close at hand, " repliesthe Finsteraarhorn; "well, and yonder, far away, in the valleys there isstill a spot, and something is moving. " "And now?" inquires the Jungfrau, after other thousands of years, whichare as one minute. "Now it is well, " replies the Finsteraarhorn; "it is clean everywhere, quite white, wherever one looks. .. . Everywhere is our snow, level snowand ice. Everything is congealed. It is well now, and calm. " "Good, " said the Jungfrau. --"But thou and I have chattered enough, oldfellow. It is time to sleep. " "It is time!" The huge mountains slumber; the green, clear heaven slumbers over theearth which has grown dumb forever. February, 1878. THE OLD WOMAN I was walking across a spacious field, alone. And suddenly I thought I heard light, cautious footsteps behind myback. .. . Some one was following me. I glanced round and beheld a tiny, bent old woman, all enveloped in greyrags. The old woman's face was visible from beneath them: a yellow, wrinkled, sharp-nosed, toothless face. I stepped up to her. .. . She halted. "Who art thou? What dost thou want? Art thou a beggar? Dost thou expectalms?" The old woman made no answer. I bent down to her and perceived that bothher eyes were veiled with a semi-transparent, whitish membrane or film, such as some birds have; therewith they protect their eyes from toobrilliant a light. But in the old woman's case that film did not move and reveal thepupils . .. From which I inferred that she was blind. "Dost thou want alms?" I repeated my question. --"Why art thou followingme?"--But, as before, the old woman did not answer, and merely shrankback almost imperceptibly. I turned from her and went my way. And lo! again I hear behind me those same light, measured footstepswhich seem to be creeping stealthily up. "There's that woman again!" I said to myself. --"Why has she attachedherself to me?"--But at this point I mentally added: "Probably, owing toher blindness, she has lost her way, and now she is guiding herself bythe sound of my steps, in order to come out, in company with me, at someinhabited place. Yes, yes; that is it. " But a strange uneasiness gradually gained possession of my thoughts: itbegan to seem to me as though that old woman were not only followingme, but were guiding me, --that she was thrusting me now to the right, now to the left, and that I was involuntarily obeying her. Still I continue to walk on . .. But now, in front of me, directly in myroad, something looms up black and expands . .. Some sort of pit. .. . "Thegrave!" flashes through my mind. --"That is where she is driving me!" I wheel abruptly round. Again the old woman is before me . .. But shesees! She gazes at me with large, evil eyes which bode me ill . .. Theeyes of a bird of prey. .. . I bend down to her face, to her eyes. .. . Again there is the same film, the same blind, dull visage as before. .. . "Akh!" I think . .. "this old woman is my Fate--that Fate which no mancan escape! "I cannot get away! I cannot get away!--What madness. .. . I must make aneffort. " And I dart to one side, in a different direction. I advance briskly. .. . But the light footsteps, as before, rustle behindme, close, close behind me. .. . And in front of me again the pit yawns. Again I turn in another direction. .. . And again there is the samerustling behind me, the same menacing spot in front of me. And no matter in what direction I dart, like a hare pursued . .. It isalways the same, the same! "Stay!" I think. --"I will cheat her! I will not go anywhere atall!"--and I instantaneously sit down on the ground. The old woman stands behind me, two paces distant. --I do not hear her, but I feel that she is there. And suddenly I behold that spot which had loomed black in the distance, gliding on, creeping up to me itself! O God! I glance behind me. .. . The old woman is looking straight at me, and her toothless mouth is distorted in a grin. .. . "Thou canst not escape!" February, 1878. THE DOG There are two of us in the room, my dog and I. .. . A frightful storm israging out of doors. The dog is sitting in front of me, and gazing straight into my eyes. And I, also, am looking him straight in the eye. He seems to be anxious to say something to me. He is dumb, he has nowords, he does not understand himself--but I understand him. I understand that, at this moment, both in him and in me there dwellsone and the same feeling, that there is no difference whatever betweenus. We are exactly alike; in each of us there burns and glows theselfsame tremulous flame. Death is swooping down upon us, it is waving its cold, broad wings. .. . "And this is the end!" Who shall decide afterward, precisely what sort of flame burned in eachone of us? No! it is not an animal and a man exchanging glances. .. . It is two pairs of eyes exactly alike fixed on each other. And in each of those pairs, in the animal and in the man, one and thesame life is huddling up timorously to the other. February, 1878. THE RIVAU I had a comrade-rival; not in our studies, not in the service or inlove; but our views did not agree on any point, and every time we met, interminable arguments sprang up. We argued about art, religion, science, about the life of earth andmatters beyond the grave, --especially life beyond the grave. He was a believer and an enthusiast. One day he said to me: "Thoulaughest at everything; but if I die before thee, I will appear to theefrom the other world. .. . We shall see whether thou wilt laugh then. " And, as a matter of fact, he did die before me, while he was still youngin years; but years passed, and I had forgotten his promise, --histhreat. One night I was lying in bed, and could not get to sleep, neither did Iwish to do so. It was neither light nor dark in the room; I began to stare into thegrey half-gloom. And suddenly it seemed to me that my rival was standing between the twowindows, and nodding his head gently and sadly downward from above. I was not frightened, I was not even surprised . .. But rising upslightly in bed, and propping myself on my elbow, I began to gaze withredoubled attention at the figure which had so unexpectedly presenteditself. The latter continued to nod its head. "What is it?" I said at last. --"Art thou exulting? Or art thoupitying?--What is this--a warning or a reproach?. .. Or dost thou wish togive me to understand that thou wert in the wrong? That we were both inthe wrong? What art thou experiencing? The pains of hell? The bliss ofparadise? Speak at least one word!" But my rival did not utter a single sound--and only went on nodding hishead sadly and submissively, as before, downward from above. I burst out laughing . .. He vanished. February, 1878. THE BEGGAR MAN I was passing along the street when a beggar, a decrepit old man, stopped me. Swollen, tearful eyes, blue lips, bristling rags, unclean sores. .. . Oh, how horribly had poverty gnawed that unhappy being! He stretched out to me a red, bloated, dirty hand. .. . He moaned, hebellowed for help. I began to rummage in all my pockets. .. . Neither purse, nor watch, noreven handkerchief did I find. .. . I had taken nothing with me. And the beggar still waited . .. And extended his hand, which swayed andtrembled feebly. Bewildered, confused, I shook that dirty, tremulous hand heartily. .. . "Blame me not, brother; I have nothing, brother. " The beggar man fixed his swollen eyes upon me; his blue lips smiled--andin his turn he pressed my cold fingers. "Never mind, brother, " he mumbled. "Thanks for this also, brother. --Thisalso is an alms, brother. " I understood that I had received an alms from my brother. February, 1878. "THOU SHALT HEAR THE JUDGMENT OF THE DULLARD. .. . " _Púshkin_ "Thou shalt hear the judgment of the dullard. .. . " Thou hast alwaysspoken the truth, thou great writer of ours; thou hast spoken it thistime, also. "The judgment of the dullard and the laughter of the crowd. ". .. Who isthere that has not experienced both the one and the other? All this can--and must be borne; and whosoever hath the strength, --lethim despise it. But there are blows which beat more painfully on the heart itself. .. . Aman has done everything in his power; he has toiled arduously, lovingly, honestly. .. . And honest souls turn squeamishly away from him; honestfaces flush with indignation at his name. "Depart! Begone!" honest youngvoices shout at him. --"We need neither thee nor thy work, thou artdefiling our dwelling--thou dost not know us and dost not understandus. .. . Thou art our enemy!" What is that man to do then? Continue to toil, make no effort to defendhimself--and not even expect a more just estimate. In former days tillers of the soil cursed the traveller who brought thempotatoes in place of bread, the daily food of the poor man. .. . Theysnatched the precious gift from the hands outstretched to them, flung itin the mire, trod it under foot. Now they subsist upon it--and do not even know the name of theirbenefactor. So be it! What matters his name to them? He, although he be nameless, has saved them from hunger. Let us strive only that what we offer may be equally useful food. Bitter is unjust reproach in the mouths of people whom one loves. .. . Buteven that can be endured. .. . "Beat me--but hear me out!" said the Athenian chieftain to the Spartanchieftain. "Beat me--but be healthy and full fed!" is what we ought to say. February, 1878. THE CONTENTED MAN Along a street of the capital is skipping a man who is still young. --Hismovements are cheerful, alert; his eyes are beaming, his lips aresmiling, his sensitive face is pleasantly rosy. .. . He is all contentmentand joy. What has happened to him? Has he come into an inheritance? Has he beenelevated in rank? Is he hastening to a love tryst? Or, simply, has hebreakfasted well, and is it a sensation of health, a sensation offull-fed strength which is leaping for joy in all his limbs? Or they mayhave hung on his neck thy handsome, eight-pointed cross, O Polish KingStanislaus! No. He has concocted a calumny against an acquaintance, he hasassiduously disseminated it, he has heard it--that same calumny--fromthe mouth of another acquaintance--and _has believed it himself_. Oh, how contented, how good even at this moment is that nice, highly-promising young man. February, 1878. THE RULE OF LIFE "If you desire thoroughly to mortify and even to injure an opponent, "said an old swindler to me, "reproach him with the very defect or viceof which you feel conscious in yourself. --Fly into a rage . .. Andreproach him! "In the first place, that makes other people think that you do notpossess that vice. "In the second place, your wrath may even be sincere. .. . You may profitby the reproaches of your own conscience. "If, for example, you are a renegade, reproach your adversary withhaving no convictions! "If you yourself are a lackey in soul, say to him with reproof that heis a lackey . .. The lackey of civilisation, of Europe, of socialism!" "You may even say, the lackey of non-lackeyism!" I remarked. "You may do that also, " chimed in the old rascal. February, 1878. THE END OF THE WORLD A DREAM It seems to me as though I am somewhere in Russia, in the wilds, in aplain country house. The chamber is large, low-ceiled, with three windows; the walls aresmeared with white paint; there is no furniture. In front of the houseis a bare plain; gradually descending, it recedes into the distance; thegrey, monotoned sky hangs over it like a canopy. I am not alone; half a score of men are with me in the room. All plainfolk, plainly clad; they are pacing up and down in silence, as though bystealth. They avoid one another, and yet they are incessantly exchanginguneasy glances. Not one of them knows why he has got into this house, or who the men arewith him. On all faces there is disquiet and melancholy . .. All, inturn, approach the windows and gaze attentively about them, as thoughexpecting something from without. Then again they set to roaming up and down. Among us a lad of shortstature is running about; from time to time he screams in a shrill, monotonous voice: "Daddy, I'm afraid!"--This shrill cry makes me sick atheart--and I also begin to be afraid. .. . Of what? I myself do not know. Only I feel that a great, great calamity is on its way, and is drawingnear. And the little lad keeps screaming. Akh, if I could only get away fromhere! How stifling it is! How oppressive!. .. But it is impossible toescape. That sky is like a shroud. And there is no wind. .. . Is the air dead? Suddenly the boy ran to the window and began to scream with the sameplaintive voice as usual: "Look! Look! The earth has fallen in!" "What? Fallen in?"--In fact: there had been a plain in front of thehouse, but now the house is standing on the crest of a frightfulmountain!--The horizon has fallen, has gone down, and from the veryhouse itself a black, almost perpendicular declivity descends. We have all thronged to the window. .. . Horror freezes ourhearts. --"There it is . .. There it is!" whispers my neighbour. And lo! along the whole distant boundary of the earth something hasbegun to stir, some small, round hillocks have begun to rise and fall. "It is the sea!" occurs to us all at one and the same moment. --"It willdrown us all directly. .. . Only, how can it wax and rise up? On thatprecipice?" And nevertheless it does wax, and wax hugely. .. . It is no longerseparate hillocks which are tumbling in the distance. .. . A dense, monstrous wave engulfs the entire circle of the horizon. It is flying, flying upon us!--Like an icy hurricane it sweeps on, swirling with the outer darkness. Everything round about has begun toquiver, --and yonder, in that oncoming mass, --there are crashing andthunder, and a thousand-throated, iron barking. .. . Ha! What a roaring and howling! It is the earth roaring with terror. .. . It is the end of it! The end of all things! The boy screamed once more. .. . I tried to seize hold of my comrades, butwe, all of us, were already crushed, buried, drowned, swept away by thaticy, rumbling flood, as black as ink. Darkness . .. Eternal darkness! Gasping for breath, I awoke. March, 1878. MASHA When I was living in Petersburg, --many years ago, --whenever I hadoccasion to hire a public cabman I entered into conversation with him. I was specially fond of conversing with the night cabmen, --poorpeasants of the suburbs, who have come to town with their ochre-tintedlittle sledges and miserable little nags in the hope of supportingthemselves and collecting enough money to pay their quit-rent to theirowners. So, then, one day I hired such a cabman. .. . He was a youth of twentyyears, tall, well-built, a fine, dashing young fellow; he had blue eyesand rosy cheeks; his red-gold hair curled in rings beneath a wretchedlittle patched cap, which was pulled down over his very eyebrows. Andhow in the world was that tattered little coat ever got upon thoseshoulders of heroic mould! But the cabman's handsome, beardless face seemed sad and lowering. I entered into conversation with him. Sadness was discernible in hisvoice also. "What is it, brother?" I asked him. --"Why art not thou cheerful? Hastthou any grief?" The young fellow did not reply to me at once. "I have, master, I have, " he said at last. --"And such a grief that itwould be better if I were not alive. My wife is dead. " "Didst thou love her . .. Thy wife?" The young fellow turned toward me; only he bent his head a little. "I did, master. This is the eighth month since . .. But I cannot forget. It is eating away my heart . .. So it is! And why must she die? She wasyoung! Healthy!. .. In one day the cholera settled her. " "And was she of a good disposition?" "Akh, master!" sighed the poor fellow, heavily. --"And on what friendlyterms she and I lived together! She died in my absence. When I heardhere that they had already buried her, I hurried immediately to thevillage, home. It was already after midnight when I arrived. I enteredmy cottage, stopped short in the middle of it, and said so softly:'Masha! hey, Masha!' Only a cricket shrilled. --Then I fell to weeping, and sat down on the cottage floor, and how I did beat my palm againstthe ground!--'Thy bowels are insatiable!' I said. .. . 'Thou hast devouredher . .. Devour me also!'--Akh, Masha!" "Masha, " he added in a suddenly lowered voice. And without letting hisrope reins out of his hands, he squeezed a tear out of his eye with hismitten, shook it off, flung it to one side, shrugged his shoulders--anddid not utter another word. As I alighted from the sledge I gave him an extra fifteen kopéks. Hemade me a low obeisance, grasping his cap in both hands, and drove offat a foot-pace over the snowy expanse of empty street, flooded with thegrey mist of the January frost. April, 1878. THE FOOL Once upon a time a fool lived in the world. For a long time he lived in clover; but gradually rumours began to reachhim to the effect that he bore the reputation everywhere of a brainlessninny. The fool was disconcerted and began to fret over the question how he wasto put an end to those unpleasant rumours. A sudden idea at last illumined his dark little brain. .. . And withoutthe slightest delay he put it into execution. An acquaintance met him on the street and began to praise a well-knownartist. .. . "Good gracious!" exclaimed the fool, "that artist wasrelegated to the archives long ago. .. . Don't you know that?--I did notexpect that of you. .. . You are behind the times. " The acquaintance was frightened, and immediately agreed with the fool. "What a fine book I have read to-day!" said another acquaintance to him. "Good gracious!" cried the fool. --"Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Thatbook is good for nothing; everybody dropped it in disgust longago. --Don't you know that?--You are behind the times. " And that acquaintance also was frightened and agreed with the fool. "What a splendid man my friend N. N. Is!" said a third acquaintance tothe fool. --"There's a truly noble being for you!" "Good gracious!"--exclaimed the fool, --"it is well known that N. N. Is ascoundrel! He has robbed all his relatives. Who is there that does notknow it? You are behind the times. " The third acquaintance also took fright and agreed with the fool, andrenounced his friend. And whosoever or whatsoever was praised in thefool's presence, he had the same retort for all. He even sometimes added reproachfully: "And do you still believe in theauthorities?" "A malicious person! A bilious man!" his acquaintances began to sayabout the fool. --"But what a head!" "And what a tongue!" added others. "Oh, yes; he is talented!" It ended in the publisher of a newspaper proposing to the fool that heshould take charge of his critical department. And the fool began to criticise everything and everybody, without makingthe slightest change in his methods, or in his exclamations. Now he, who formerly shrieked against authorities, is an authorityhimself, --and the young men worship him and fear him. But what are they to do, poor fellows? Although it is notproper--generally speaking--to worship . .. Yet in this case, if one doesnot do it, he will find himself classed among the men who are behindthe times! There is a career for fools among cowards. April, 1878. AN ORIENTAL LEGEND Who in Bagdad does not know the great Giaffar, the sun of the universe? One day, many years ago, when he was still a young man, Giaffar wasstrolling in the suburbs of Bagdad. Suddenly there fell upon his ear a hoarse cry: some one was callingdesperately for help. Giaffar was distinguished among the young men of his own age for hisgood sense and prudence; but he had a compassionate heart, and hetrusted to his strength. He ran in the direction of the cry, and beheld a decrepit old man pinnedagainst the wall of the city by two brigands who were robbing him. Giaffar drew his sword and fell upon the malefactors. One he slew, theother he chased away. The old man whom he had liberated fell at his rescuer's feet, andkissing the hem of his garment, exclaimed: "Brave youth, thy magnanimityshall not remain unrewarded. In appearance I am a beggar; but only inappearance. I am not a common man. --Come to-morrow morning early to thechief bazaar; I will await thee there at the fountain--and thou shaltconvince thyself as to the justice of my words. " Giaffar reflected: "In appearance this man is a beggar, it is true; butall sorts of things happen. Why should not I try the experiment?"--andhe answered: "Good, my father, I will go. " The old man looked him in the eye and went away. On the following morning, just as day was breaking, Giaffar set out forthe bazaar. The old man was already waiting for him, with his elbowsleaning on the marble basin of the fountain. Silently he took Giaffar by the hand and led him to a small garden, surrounded on all sides by high walls. In the very centre of this garden, on a green lawn, grew a tree ofextraordinary aspect. It resembled a cypress; only its foliage was of azure hue. Three fruits--three apples--hung on the slender up-curving branches. Oneof medium size was oblong in shape, of a milky-white hue; another waslarge, round, and bright red; the third was small, wrinkled andyellowish. The whole tree was rustling faintly, although there was no wind. Ittinkled delicately and plaintively, as though it were made of glass; itseemed to feel the approach of Giaffar. "Youth!"--said the old man, "pluck whichever of these fruits thou wilt, and know that if thou shalt pluck and eat the white one, thou shaltbecome more wise than all men; if thou shalt pluck and eat the red one, thou shalt become as rich as the Hebrew Rothschild; if thou shalt pluckand eat the yellow one, thou shalt please old women. Decide! . .. Anddelay not. In an hour the fruits will fade, and the tree itself willsink into the dumb depths of the earth!" Giaffar bowed his head and thought. --"What am I to do?" he articulatedin a low tone, as though arguing with himself. --"If one becomes toowise, he will not wish to live, probably; if he becomes richer than allmen, all will hate him; I would do better to pluck and eat the third, the shrivelled apple!" And so he did; and the old man laughed a toothless laugh and said: "Oh, most wise youth! Thou hast chosen the good part!--What use hast thou forthe white apple? Thou art wiser than Solomon as thou art. --And neitherdost thou need the red apple. .. . Even without it thou shalt be rich. Only no one will be envious of thy wealth. " "Inform me, old man, " said Giaffar, with a start, "where the respectedmother of our God-saved Caliph dwelleth?" The old man bowed to the earth, and pointed out the road to the youth. Who in Bagdad doth not know the sun of the universe, the great, thecelebrated Giaffar? April, 1878. TWO FOUR-LINE STANZAS There existed once a city whose inhabitants were so passionately fond ofpoetry that if several weeks passed and no beautiful new verses had madetheir appearance they regarded that poetical dearth as a publiccalamity. At such times they donned their worst garments, sprinkled ashes on theirheads, and gathering in throngs on the public squares, they shed tears, and murmured bitterly against the Muse for having abandoned them. On one such disastrous day the young poet Junius, presented himself onthe square, filled to overflowing with the sorrowing populace. With swift steps he ascended a specially-constructed tribune and made asign that he wished to recite a poem. The lictors immediately brandished their staves. "Silence! Attention!"they shouted in stentorian tones. "Friends! Comrades!" began Junius, in a loud, but not altogether firmvoice: "Friends! Comrades! Ye lovers of verses! Admirers of all that is graceful and fair! Be not cast down by a moment of dark sadness! The longed-for instant will come . .. And light will disperse the gloom!"[70] Junius ceased speaking . .. And in reply to him, from all points of thesquare, clamour, whistling, and laughter arose. All the faces turned toward him flamed with indignation, all eyesflashed with wrath, all hands were uplifted, menaced, were clenched intofists. "A pretty thing he has thought to surprise us with!" roared angryvoices. "Away from the tribune with the talentless rhymster! Away withthe fool! Hurl rotten apples, bad eggs, at the empty-pated idiot! Giveus stones! Fetch stones!" Junius tumbled headlong from the tribune . .. But before he had succeededin fleeing to his own house, outbursts of rapturous applause, cries oflaudation and shouts reached his ear. Filled with amazement, but striving not to be detected (for it isdangerous to irritate an enraged wild beast), Junius returned to thesquare. And what did he behold? High above the throng, above its shoulders, on a flat gold shield, stoodhis rival, the young poet Julius, clad in a purple mantle, with alaurel wreath on his waving curls. .. . And the populace round about wasroaring: "Glory! Glory! Glory to the immortal Julius! He hath comfortedus in our grief, in our great woe! He hath given us verses sweeter thanhoney, more melodious than the cymbals, more fragrant than the rose, more pure than heaven's azure! Bear him in triumph; surround hisinspired head with a soft billow of incense; refresh his brow with thewaving of palm branches; lavish at his feet all the spices of Arabia!Glory!" Junius approached one of the glorifiers. --"Inform me, O myfellow-townsman! With what verses hath Julius made you happy?--Alas, Iwas not on the square when he recited them! Repeat them, if thou canstrecall them, I pray thee!" "Such verses--and not recall them?" briskly replied the maninterrogated. --"For whom dost thou take me? Listen--and rejoice, rejoicetogether with us!" 'Ye lovers of verses!'--thus began the divine Julius. .. . "'Ye lovers of verses! Comrades! Friends! Admirers of all that is graceful, melodious, tender! Be not east down by a moment of heavy grief! The longed-for moment will come--and day will chase away the night!' "What dost thou think of that?" "Good gracious!" roared Junius. "Why, those are my lines!--Julius musthave been in the crowd when I recited them; he heard and repeated them, barely altering--and that, of course, not for the better--a fewexpressions!" "Aha! Now I recognise thee. .. . Thou art Junius, " retorted the citizenwhom he had accosted, knitting his brows. --"Thou art either envious or afool!. .. Only consider just one thing, unhappy man! Julius says in suchlofty style: 'And day will chase away the night!'. .. . But with thee itis some nonsense or other: 'And the light will disperse thegloom!?'--What light?! What darkness?!" "But is it not all one and the same thing. .. . " Junius was beginning. .. . "Add one word more, " the citizen interrupted him, "and I will shout tothe populace, and it will rend thee asunder. " Junius prudently held his peace, but a grey-haired old man, who hadoverheard his conversation with the citizen, stepped up to the poorpoet, and laying his hand on his shoulder, said: "Junius! Thou hast said thy say at the wrong time; but the other mansaid his at the right time. --consequently, he is in the right, while forthee there remain the consolations of thine own conscience. " But while his conscience was consoling Junius to the best of itsability, --and in a decidedly-unsatisfactory way, if the truth must betold, --far away, amid the thunder and patter of jubilation, in thegolden dust of the all-conquering sun, gleaming with purple, darklingwith laurel athwart the undulating streams of abundant incense, withmajestic leisureliness, like an emperor marching to his empire, theproudly-erect figure of Julius moved forward with easy grace . .. Andlong branches of the palm-tree bent in turn before him, as thoughexpressing by their quiet rising, their submissive obeisance, thatincessantly-renewed adoration which filled to overflowing the hearts ofhis fellow-citizens whom he had enchanted! April, 1878. THE SPARROW I had returned from the chase and was walking along one of the alleys inthe garden. My hound was running on in front of me. Suddenly he retarded his steps and began to crawl stealthily along asthough he detected game ahead. I glanced down the alley and beheld a young sparrow, with a yellow ringaround its beak and down on its head. It had fallen from the nest (thewind was rocking the trees of the alley violently), and sat motionless, impotently expanding its barely-sprouted little wings. My hound was approaching it slowly when, suddenly wrenching itself froma neighbouring birch, an old black-breasted sparrow fell like a stone infront of my dog's very muzzle--and, with plumage all ruffled, contorted, with a despairing and pitiful cry, gave a couple of hops in thedirection of the yawning jaws studded with big teeth. It had flung itself down to save, it was shielding, its offspring . .. But the whole of its tiny body was throbbing with fear, its voice waswild and hoarse, it was swooning, it was sacrificing itself! What a huge monster the dog must have appeared to it! And yet it couldnot have remained perched on its lofty, secure bough. .. . A force greaterthan its own will had hurled it thence. My Trésor stopped short, retreated. .. . Evidently he recognised thatforce. I hastened to call off the discomfited hound, and withdrew withreverence. Yes; do not laugh. I felt reverential before that tiny, heroic bird, before its loving impulse. Love, I thought, is stronger than death. --Only by it, only by love, doeslife support itself and move. April, 1878. THE SKULLS A sumptuous, luxuriously illuminated ball-room; a multitude ofcavaliers and ladies. All faces are animated, all speeches are brisk. .. . A rattlingconversation is in progress about a well-known songstress. The peopleare lauding her as divine, immortal. .. . Oh, how finely she had executedher last trill that evening! And suddenly--as though at the wave of a magic wand--from all the heads, from all the faces, a thin shell of skin flew off, and instantly therewas revealed the whiteness of skulls, the naked gums and cheek-bonesdimpled like bluish lead. With horror did I watch those gums and cheek-bones moving andstirring, --those knobby, bony spheres turning this way and that, as theygleamed in the light of the lamps and candles, and smaller spheres--thespheres of the eyes bereft of sense--rolling in them. I dared not touch my own face, I dared not look at myself in a mirror. But the skulls continued to turn this way and that, as before. .. . Andwith the same clatter as before, the brisk tongues, flashing like redrags from behind the grinning teeth, murmured on, how wonderfully, howincomparably the immortal . .. Yes, the immortal songstress had executedher last trill! April, 1878. THE TOILER AND THE LAZY MAN A CONVERSATION THE TOILER Why dost thou bother us? What dost thou want? Thou art not one of us. .. . Go away! THE LAZY MAN[71] I am one of you, brethren! THE TOILER Nothing of the sort; thou art not one of us! What an invention! Justlook at my hands. Dost thou see how dirty they are? And they stink ofdung, and tar, --while thy hands are white. And of what do they smell? THE LAZY MAN--_offering his hands_ Smell. THE TOILER--_smelling the hands_ What's this? They seem to give off an odour of iron. THE LAZY MAN Iron it is. For the last six years I have worn fetters on them. THE TOILER And what was that for? THE LAZY MAN Because I was striving for your welfare, I wanted to liberate you, thecoarse, uneducated people; I rebelled against your oppressors, Imutinied. .. . Well, and so they put me in prison. THE TOILER They put you in prison? It served you right for rebelling! _Two Years Later_ THE SAME TOILER TO ANOTHER TOILER Hearken, Piótra!. .. Dost remember one of those white-handed lazy men wastalking to thee the summer before last? THE OTHER TOILER I remember. .. . What of it? FIRST TOILER They're going to hang him to-day, I hear; that's the order which hasbeen issued. SECOND TOILER Has he kept on rebelling? FIRST TOILER He has. SECOND TOILER Yes. .. . Well, see here, brother Mitry: can't we get hold of a bit ofthat rope with which they are going to hang him? Folks say that thatbrings the greatest good luck to a house. FIRST TOILER Thou'rt right about that. We must try, brother Piótra. April, 1878. THE ROSE The last days of August. .. . Autumn had already come. The sun had set. A sudden, violent rain, without thunder and withoutlightning, had just swooped down upon our broad plain. The garden in front of the house burned and smoked, all flooded with theheat of sunset and the deluge of rain. She was sitting at a table in the drawing-room and staring with stubbornthoughtfulness into the garden, through the half-open door. I knew what was going on then in her soul. I knew that after a briefthough anguished conflict, she would that same instant yield to thefeeling which she could no longer control. Suddenly she rose, walked out briskly into the garden and disappeared. One hour struck . .. Then another; she did not return. Then I rose, and emerging from the house, I bent my steps to the alleydown which--I had no doubt as to that--she had gone. Everything had grown dark round about; night had already descended. Buton the damp sand of the path, gleaming scarlet amid the encirclinggloom, a rounded object was visible. I bent down. It was a young, barely-budded rose. Two hours before I hadseen that same rose on her breast. I carefully picked up the flower which had fallen in the mire, andreturning to the drawing-room, I laid it on the table, in front of herarm-chair. And now, at last, she returned, and traversing the whole length of theroom with her light footsteps, she seated herself at the table. Her face had grown pale and animated; swiftly, with merry confusion, herlowered eyes, which seemed to have grown smaller, darted about in alldirections. She caught sight of the rose, seized it, glanced at its crumpled petals, glanced at me--and her eyes, coming to a sudden halt, glittered withtears. "What are you weeping about?" I asked. "Why, here, about this rose. Look what has happened to it. " At this point I took it into my head to display profundity of thought. "Your tears will wash away the mire, " I said with a significantexpression. "Tears do not wash, tears scorch, " she replied, and, turning toward thefireplace, she tossed the flower into the expiring flame. "The fire will scorch it still better than tears, " she exclaimed, notwithout audacity, --and her beautiful eyes, still sparkling with tears, laughed boldly and happily. I understood that she had been scorched also. April, 1878. IN MEMORY OF J. P. VRÉVSKY In the mire, on damp, stinking straw, under the pent-house of an oldcarriage-house which had been hastily converted into a field militaryhospital in a ruined Bulgarian hamlet, she had been for more than afortnight dying of typhus fever. She was unconscious--and not a single physician had even glanced at her;the sick soldiers whom she had nursed as long as she could keep on herfeet rose by turns from their infected lairs, in order to raise to herparched lips a few drops of water in a fragment of a broken jug. She was young, handsome; high society knew her; even dignitariesinquired about her. The ladies envied her, the men courted her . .. Twoor three men loved her secretly and profoundly. Life smiled upon her;but there are smiles which are worse than tears, A tender, gentle heart . .. And such strength, such a thirst forsacrifice! To help those who needed help . .. She knew no other happiness. .. She knew no other and she tasted no other. Every other happinesspassed her by. But she had long since become reconciled to that, and allflaming with the fire of inextinguishable faith, she dedicated herselfto the service of her fellow-men. What sacred treasures she held hiddenthere, in the depths of her soul, in her own secret recesses, no oneever knew--and now no one will ever know. And to what end? The sacrifice has been made . .. The deed is done. But it is sorrowful to think that no one said "thank you" even to hercorpse, although she herself was ashamed of and shunned all thanks. May her dear shade be not offended by this tardy blossom, which Iventure to lay upon her grave! September, 1878. THE LAST MEETING We were once close, intimate friends. .. . But there came an evil momentand we parted like enemies. Many years passed. .. . And lo! on entering the town where he lived Ilearned that he was hopelessly ill, and wished to see me. I went to him, I entered his chamber. .. . Our glances met. I hardly recognised him. O God! How disease had changed him! Yellow, shrivelled, with his head completely bald, and a narrow, greybeard, he was sitting in nothing but a shirt, cut out expressly. .. . Hecould not bear the pressure of the lightest garment. Abruptly heextended to me his frightfully-thin hand, which looked as though it hadbeen gnawed away, with an effort whispered several incomprehensiblewords--whether of welcome or of reproach, who knows? His exhausted chestheaved; over the contracted pupils of his small, inflamed eyes twoscanty tears of martyrdom flowed down. My heart sank within me. .. . I sat down on a chair beside him, andinvoluntarily dropping my eyes in the presence of that horror anddeformity, I also put out my hand. But it seemed to me that it was not his hand which grasped mine. It seemed to me as though there were sitting between us a tall, quiet, white woman. A long veil enveloped her from head to foot. Her deep, paleeyes gazed nowhere; her pale, stern lips uttered no sound. .. . That woman joined our hands. .. . She reconciled us forever. Yes. .. . It was Death who had reconciled us. .. . April, 1878. THE VISIT I was sitting at the open window . .. In the morning, early in themorning, on the first of May. The flush of dawn had not yet begun; but the dark, warm night wasalready paling, already growing chill. No fog had risen, no breeze was straying, everything was of one hue andsilent . .. But one could scent the approach of the awakening, and in therarefied air the scent of the dew's harsh dampness was abroad. Suddenly, into my chamber, through the open window, flew a large bird, lightly tinkling and rustling. I started, looked more intently. .. . It was not a bird: it was a tiny, winged woman, clad in a long, close-fitting robe which billowed out atthe bottom. She was all grey, the hue of mother-of-pearl; only the inner side of herwings glowed with a tender flush of scarlet, like a rose bursting intoblossom; a garland of lilies-of-the-valley confined the scattered curlsof her small, round head, --and two peacock feathers quivered amusingly, like the feelers of a butterfly, above the fair, rounded littleforehead. She floated past a couple of times close to the ceiling: her tiny facewas laughing; laughing also were her huge, black, luminous eyes. Themerry playfulness of her capricious flight shivered their diamond rays. She held in her hand a long frond of a steppe flower--"Imperialsceptre"[72] the Russian folk call it; and it does, indeed, resemble asceptre. As she flew rapidly above me she touched my head with that flower. I darted toward her. .. . But she had already fluttered through thewindow, and away she flew headlong. .. . In the garden, in the wilderness of the lilac-bushes, a turtle-dovegreeted her with its first cooing; and at the spot where she hadvanished the milky-white sky flushed a soft crimson. I recognised thee, goddess of fancy! Thou hast visited me byaccident--thou hast flown in to young poets. O poetry! O youth! O virginal beauty of woman! Only for an instant canye gleam before me, --in the early morning of the early spring! May, 1878. NECESSITAS--VIS--LIBERTAS A BAS-RELIEF A tall, bony old woman with an iron face and a dull, impassive gaze iswalking along with great strides, and pushing before her, with her handas harsh as a stick, another woman. This woman, of vast size, powerful, corpulent, with the muscles of aHercules, and a tiny head on a bull-like neck-and blind--is pushing onin her turn a small, thin young girl. This girl alone has eyes which see; she resists, turns backward, elevates her thin red arms; her animated countenance expressesimpatience and hardihood. .. . She does not wish to obey, she does notwish to advance in the direction whither she is being impelled . .. And, nevertheless, she must obey and advance. _Necessitas--Vis--Libertas_: Whoever likes may interpret this. May, 1878. ALMS In the vicinity of a great city, on the broad, much-travelled road, anaged, ailing man was walking. He was staggering as he went; his emaciated legs, entangling themselves, trailing and stumbling, trod heavily and feebly, exactly as though theybelonged to some one else; his clothing hung on him in rags; his barehead drooped upon his breast. .. . He was exhausted. He squatted down on a stone by the side of the road, bent forward, propped his elbows on his knees, covered his face with both hands, andbetween his crooked fingers the tears dripped on the dry, grey dust. He was remembering. .. . He remembered how he had once been healthy and rich, --and how he hadsquandered his health, and distributed his wealth to others, friends andenemies. .. . And lo! now he had not a crust of bread, and every one hadabandoned him, his friends even more promptly than his enemies. .. . Couldhe possibly humble himself to the point of asking alms? And he feltbitter and ashamed at heart. And the tears still dripped and dripped, mottling the grey dust. Suddenly he heard some one calling him by name. He raised his wearyhead and beheld in front of him a stranger: a face calm and dignified, but not stern; eyes not beaming, but bright; a gaze penetrating, but notevil. "Thou hast given away all thy wealth, " an even voice made itselfheard. .. . "But surely thou art not regretting that thou hast done good?" "I do not regret it, " replied the old man, with a sigh, "only here am Idying now. " "And if there had been no beggars in the world to stretch out theirhands to thee, " pursued the stranger, "thou wouldst have had no one towhom to show thy beneficence; thou wouldst not have been able toexercise thyself therein?" The old man made no reply, and fell into thought. "Therefore, be not proud now, my poor man, " spoke up the stranger again. "Go, stretch out thy hand, afford to other good people the possibilityof proving by their actions that they are good. " The old man started, and raised his eyes . .. But the stranger hadalready vanished, --but far away, on the road, a wayfarer made hisappearance. The old man approached him, and stretched out his hand. --The wayfarerturned away with a surly aspect and gave him nothing. But behind him came another, and this one gave the old man a small alms. And the old man bought bread for himself with the copper coins which hadbeen given him, and sweet did the bit which he had begged seem to him, and there was no shame in his heart--but, on the contrary, a tranquiljoy overshadowed him. May, 1878. THE INSECT I dreamed that a score of us were sitting in a large room with openwindows. Among us were women, children, old men. .. . We were all talking aboutsome very unfamiliar subject--talking noisily and unintelligibly. Suddenly, with a harsh clatter, a huge insect, about three inches and ahalf long, flew into the room . .. Flew in, circled about and alighted onthe wall. It resembled a fly or a wasp. --Its body was of a dirty hue; its flat, hard wings were of the same colour; it had extended, shaggy claws and abig, angular head, like that of a dragon-fly; and that head and theclaws were bright red, as though bloody. This strange insect kept incessantly turning its head downward, upward, to the right, to the left, and moving its claws about . .. Then suddenlyit wrested itself from the wall, flew clattering through the room, --andagain alighted, again began to move in terrifying and repulsive manner, without stirring from the spot. It evoked in all of us disgust, alarm, even terror. .. . None of us had ever seen anything of the sort; we allcried: "Expel that monster!" We all flourished our handkerchiefs at itfrom a distance . .. For no one could bring himself to approach it . .. And when the insect had flown in we had all involuntarily got out of theway. Only one of our interlocutors, a pale-faced man who was still young, surveyed us all with surprise. --He shrugged his shoulders, he smiled, hepositively could not understand what had happened to us and why we wereso agitated. He had seen no insect, he had not heard the ominous clatterof its wings. Suddenly the insect seemed to rivet its attention on him, soared intothe air, and swooping down upon his head, stung him on the brow, alittle above the eyes. .. . The young man emitted a faint cry and felldead. The dreadful fly immediately flew away. .. . Only then did we divine whatsort of a visitor we had had. May, 1878. CABBAGE-SOUP The son of a widowed peasant-woman died--a young fellow aged twenty, thebest labourer in the village. The lady-proprietor of that village, on learning of the peasant-woman'saffliction, went to call upon her on the very day of the funeral. She found her at home. Standing in the middle of her cottage, in front of the table, she wasladling out empty[73] cabbage-soup from the bottom of a smoke-begrimedpot, in a leisurely way, with her right hand (her left hung limply byher side), and swallowing spoonful after spoonful. The woman's face had grown sunken and dark; her eyes were red andswollen . .. But she carried herself independently and uprightly, as inchurch. [74] "O Lord!" thought the lady; "she can eat at such a moment . .. But whatcoarse feelings they have!" And then the lady-mistress recalled how, when she had lost her ownlittle daughter, aged nine months, a few years before, she had refused, out of grief, to hire a very beautiful villa in the vicinity ofPetersburg, and had passed the entire summer in town!--But thepeasant-woman continued to sip her cabbage-soup. At last the lady could endure it no longer. --"Tatyána!" said she. .. . "Good gracious!--I am amazed! Is it possible that thou didst not lovethy son? How is it that thy appetite has not disappeared?--How canstthou eat that cabbage-soup?" "My Vásya is dead, " replied the woman softly, and tears of sufferingagain began to stream down her sunken cheeks, --"and, of course, my ownend has come also: my head has been taken away from me while I am stillalive. But the cabbage-soup must not go to waste; for it is salted" The lady-mistress merely shrugged her shoulders and went away. She gotsalt cheaply. May, 1878. THE AZURE REALM O azure realm! O realm of azure, light, youth, and happiness! I havebeheld thee . .. In my dreams. There were several of us in a beautiful, decorated boat. Like the breastof a swan the white sail towered aloft beneath fluttering pennants. I did not know who my companions were; but with all my being I felt thatthey were as young, as merry, as happy as I was! And I paid no heed to them. All about me I beheld only the shorelessazure sea, all covered with a fine rippling of golden scales, andover-head an equally shoreless azure sea, and in it, triumphantly and, as it were, smilingly, rolled on the friendly sun. And among us, from time to time, there arose laughter, ringing andjoyous as the laughter of the gods! Or suddenly, from some one's lips, flew forth words, verses replete withwondrous beauty and with inspired power . .. So that it seemed as thoughthe very sky resounded in reply to them, and round about the seathrobbed with sympathy. .. . And then blissful silence began again. Diving lightly through the soft waves, our swift boat glided on. It wasnot propelled by the breeze; it was ruled by our own sportive hearts. Whithersoever we wished, thither did it move, obediently, as though itwere gifted with life. We encountered islands, magical, half-transparent islands with the huesof precious stones, jacinths and emeralds. Intoxicating perfumes werewafted from the surrounding shores; some of these islands pelted us witha rain of white roses and lilies-of-the-valley; from others there roseup suddenly long-winged birds, clothed in rainbow hues. The birds circled over our heads, the lilies and roses melted in thepearly foam, which slipped along the smooth sides of our craft. In company with the flowers and the birds, sweet, sweet sounds werewafted to our ears. .. . We seemed to hear women's voices in them. .. . Andeverything round about, --the sky, the sea, the bellying of the sail upaloft, the purling of the waves at the stern, --everything spoke of love, of blissful love. And she whom each one of us loved--she was there . .. Invisibly and nearat hand. Yet another moment and lo! her eyes would beam forth, her smilewould blossom out. .. . Her hand would grasp thy hand, and draw thee afterher into an unfading paradise! O azure realm! I have beheld thee . .. In my dream! June, 1878. TWO RICH MEN When men in my presence extol Rothschild, who out of his vast revenuesallots whole thousands for the education of children, the cure of thesick, the care of the aged, I laud and melt in admiration. But while I laud and melt I cannot refrain from recalling apoverty-stricken peasant's family which received an orphaned niece intoits wretched, tumble-down little hovel. "If we take Kátka, " said the peasant-woman; "we shall spend our lastkopéks on her, and there will be nothing left wherewith to buy salt forour porridge. " "But we will take her . .. And unsalted porridge, " replied thepeasant-man, her husband. Rothschild is a long way behind that peasant-man! July, 1878. THE OLD MAN The dark, distressing days have come. .. . One's own maladies, the ailments of those dear to him, cold and thegloom of old age. Everything which thou hast loved, to which thou hastsurrendered thyself irrevocably, collapses and falls into ruins. Theroad has taken a turn down hill. But what is to be done? Grieve? Lament? Thou wilt help neither thyselfnor others in that way. .. . On the withered, bent tree the foliage is smaller, more scanty--but theverdure is the same as ever. Do thou also shrivel up, retire into thyself, into thy memories, andthere, deep, very deep within, at the very bottom of thy concentratedsoul, thy previous life, accessible to thee alone, will shine forthbefore thee with its fragrant, still fresh verdure, and the caress andstrength of the springtime! But have a care . .. Do not look ahead, poor old man! July, 1878. THE CORRESPONDENT Two friends are sitting at a table and drinking tea. A sudden noise has arisen in the street. Plaintive moans, violent oaths, outbursts of malicious laughter have become audible. "Some one is being beaten, " remarked one of the friends, after havingcast a glance out of the window. "A criminal? A murderer?" inquired the other. --"See here, no matter whoit is, such chastisement without trial is not to be tolerated. Let us goand defend him. " "But it is not a murderer who is being beaten. " "Not a murderer? A thief, then? Never mind, let us go, let us rescue himfrom the mob. " "It is not a thief, either. " "Not a thief? Is it, then, a cashier, a railway employee, an armycontractor, a Russian Mæcenas, a lawyer, a well-intentioned editor, apublic philanthropist?. .. At any rate, let us go, let us aid him!" "No . .. They are thrashing a correspondent. " "A correspondent?--Well, see here now, let's drink a glass of teafirst. " July, 1878. TWO BROTHERS It was a vision. .. . Two angels presented themselves before me . .. Two spirits. I say angels . .. Spirits, because neither of them had any garments ontheir naked bodies, and from the shoulders of both sprang long, powerfulwings. Both are youths. One is rather plump, smooth of skin, with black curls. He has languishing brown eyes with thick eyelashes; his gaze isingratiating, cheerful, and eager. A charming, captivating countenance atrifle bold, a trifle malicious. His full red lips tremble slightly. Theyouth smiles like one who has authority, --confidently and lazily; asumptuous garland of flowers rests lightly on his shining hair, almosttouching his velvet eyebrows. The spotted skin of a leopard, pinned witha golden dart, hangs lightly from his plump shoulders down upon hiscurving hips. The feathers of his wings gleam with changeable tints ofrose-colour; their tips are of a brilliant red, just as though they hadbeen dipped in fresh, crimson blood. From time to time they palpitateswiftly, with a pleasant silvery sound, the sound of rain in springtime. The other is gaunt and yellow of body. His ribs are faintly discernibleat every breath. His hair is fair, thin, straight; his eyes are huge, round, pale grey in colour . .. His gaze is uneasy and strangely bright. All his features are sharp-cut: his mouth is small, half open, withfish-like teeth; his nose is solid, aquiline; his chin projecting, covered with a whitish down. Those thin lips have never once smiled. It is a regular, terrible, pitiless face! Moreover, the face of thefirst youth, --of the beauty, --although it is sweet and charming, doesnot express any compassion either. Around the head of the second arefastened a few empty, broken ears of grain intertwined with witheredblades of grass. A coarse grey fabric encircles his loins; the wings athis back, of a dull, dark-blue colour, wave softly and menacingly. Both youths appeared to be inseparable companions. Each leaned on the other's shoulder. The soft little hand of the firstrested like a cluster of grapes on the harsh collar-bone of the second;the slender, bony hand of the second, with its long, thin fingers, layoutspread, like a serpent, on the womanish breast of the first. And I heard a voice. This is what it uttered: "Before thee stand Love and Hunger---own brothers, the two fundamentalbases of everything living. "Everything which lives moves, for the purpose of obtaining food; andeats, for the purpose of reproducing itself. "Love and Hunger have one and the same object; it is necessary that lifeshould not cease, --one's own life and the life of others are the samething, the universal life. " August, 1878. THE EGOIST He possessed everything which was requisite to make him the scourge ofhis family. He had been born healthy, he had been born rich--and during the wholecourse of his long life he had remained rich and healthy; he had nevercommitted a single crime; he had never stumbled into any blunder; he hadnot made a single slip of the tongue or mistake. He was irreproachably honest!. .. And proud in the consciousness of hishonesty, he crushed every one with it: relatives, friends, andacquaintances. His honesty was his capital . .. And he exacted usurious interest fromit. Honesty gave him the right to be pitiless and not to do any good deedwhich was not prescribed;--and he was pitiless, and he did no good . .. Because good except by decree is not good. He never troubled himself about any one, except his own very exemplaryself, and he was genuinely indignant if others did not take equallyassiduous care of it! And, at the same time, he did not consider himself an egoist, andupbraided and persecuted egoists and egoism more than anythingelse!--Of course! Egoism in other people interfered with his own. Not being conscious of a single failing, he did not understand, he didnot permit, a weakness in any one else. Altogether, he did notunderstand anybody or anything, for he was completely surrounded byhimself on all sides, above and below, behind and before. He did not even understand the meaning of forgiveness. He never had hadoccasion to forgive himself. .. . Then how was he to forgive others? Before the bar of his own conscience, before the face of his own God, he, that marvel, that monster of virtue, rolled up his eyes, and in afirm, clear voice uttered: "Yes; I am a worthy, a moral man!" He repeated these words on his death-bed, and nothing quivered even thenin his stony heart, --in that heart devoid of a fleck or a crack. O monstrosity of self-satisfied, inflexible, cheaply-acquiredvirtue--thou art almost more repulsive than the undisguised monstrosityof vice! December, 1878. THE SUPREME BEING'S FEAST One day the Supreme Being took it into his head to give a great feast inhis azure palace. He invited all the virtues as guests. Only the virtues . .. He invited nomen . .. Only ladies. Very many of them assembled, great and small. The petty virtues weremore agreeable and courteous than the great ones; but all seemed wellpleased, and chatted politely among themselves, as befits near relativesand friends. But lo! the Supreme Being noticed two very beautiful ladies who, apparently, were entirely unacquainted with each other. The host took one of these ladies by the hand and led her to the other. "Beneficence!" said he, pointing to the first. "Gratitude!" he added, pointing to the second. The two virtues were unspeakably astonished; ever since the world hasexisted--and it has existed a long time--they had never met before. December, 1878. THE SPHINX Yellowish-grey, friable at the top, firm below, creaking sand . .. Sandwithout end, no matter in which direction one gazes! And above this sand, above this sea of dead dust, the huge head of theEgyptian Sphinx rears itself aloft. What is it that those vast, protruding lips, those impassively-dilated, up-turned nostrils, and those eyes, those long, half-sleepy, half-watchful eyes, beneath the double arch of the lofty brows, aretrying to say? For they are trying to say something! They even speak--but only[Oe]dipus can solve the riddle and understand their mute speech. Bah! Yes, I recognise those features . .. There is nothing Egyptian aboutthe low white forehead, the prominent cheek-bones, the short, straightnose, the fine mouth with its white teeth, the soft moustache andcurling beard, --and those small eyes set far apart . .. And on the headthe cap of hair furrowed with a parting. .. . Why, it is thou, Karp, Sídor, Semyón, thou petty peasant of Yaroslávl, or of Ryazán, myfellow-countryman, the kernel of Russia! Is it long since thou didstbecome the Sphinx? Or dost thou also wish to say something? Yes; and thou also art aSphinx. And thy eyes--those colourless but profound eyes--speak also. .. . Andtheir speeches are equally dumb and enigmatic. Only where is thine [Oe]dipus? Alas! 'Tis not sufficient to don a cap to become thine [Oe]dipus, OSphinx of All the Russias! December, 1878. NYMPHS I was standing in front of a chain of beautiful mountains spread out ina semi-circle; the young, verdant forest clothed them from summit tobase. The southern sky hung transparently blue above us; on high the sunbeamed radiantly; below, half hidden in the grass, nimble brooks werebabbling. And there recurred to my mind an ancient legend about how, in the firstcentury after the birth of Christ, a Grecian ship was sailing over theAegean Sea. It was midday. .. . The weather was calm. And suddenly, high up, over thehead of the helmsman, some one uttered distinctly: "When thou shalt sailpast the islands, cry in a loud voice, 'Great Pan is dead!'" The helmsman was amazed . .. And frightened. But when the ship ran pastthe islands he called out: "Great Pan is dead!" And thereupon, immediately, in answer to his shout, along the wholelength of the shore (for the island was uninhabited), there resoundedloud sobbing groans, prolonged wailing cries: "He is dead! Great Pan isdead!" This legend recurred to my mind . .. And a strange thought flashed acrossmy brain. --"What if I were to shout that call?" But in view of the exultation which surrounded me I could not think ofdeath, and with all the force at my command I shouted: "He is risen!Great Pan is risen!" And instantly, --oh, marvel!--in reply to my exclamation, along the wholewide semi-circle of verdant mountains there rolled a vigorous laughter, there arose a joyous chattering and splashing. "He is risen! Pan isrisen!" rustled youthful voices. --Everything there in front of mesuddenly broke into laughter more brilliant than the sun on high, moresportive than the brooks which were babbling beneath the grass. Thehurried tramp of light footsteps became audible; athwart the green groveflitted the marble whiteness of waving tunics, the vivid scarlet ofnaked bodies. .. . It was nymphs, nymphs, dryads, bacchantes, running downfrom the heights into the plain. .. . They made their appearance simultaneously along all the borders of theforest. Curls fluttered on divine heads, graceful arms uplifted garlandsand cymbals, and laughter, sparkling, Olympian laughter, rippled androlled among them. .. . In front floats a goddess. She is taller and handsomer than all therest;--on her shoulders is a quiver; in her hands is a bow; upon hercurls, caught high, is the silvery sickle of the moon. .. . Diana, is it thou? But suddenly the goddess halted . .. And immediately, following herexample, all the nymphs came to a halt also. The ringing laughter diedaway. I saw how the face of the goddess, suddenly rendered dumb, becamecovered with a deathly pallor; I saw how her feet grew petrified, howinexpressible terror parted her lips, strained wide her eyes, which werefixed on the remote distance. .. . What had she descried? Where was shegazing? I turned in the direction in which she was gazing. .. . At the very edge of the sky, beyond the low line of the fields, a goldencross was blazing like a spark of fire on the white belfry of aChristian church. .. . The goddess had caught sight of that cross. I heard behind me a long, uneven sigh, like the throbbing of a brokenharp-string, --and when I turned round again, no trace of the nymphsremained. .. . The broad forest gleamed green as before, and only inspots, athwart the close network of the branches, could tufts ofsomething white be seen melting away. Whether these were the tunics ofthe nymphs, or a vapour was rising up from the bottom of the valley, Iknow not. But how I regretted the vanished goddesses! December, 1878. ENEMY AND FRIEND A captive condemned to perpetual incarceration broke out of prison andstarted to run at a headlong pace. .. . After him, on his very heels, darted the pursuit. He ran with all his might. .. . His pursuers began to fall behind. But lo! in front of him was a river with steep banks, --a narrow, butdeep river. .. . And he did not know how to swim! From one shore to the other a thin, rotten board had been thrown. Thefugitive had already set foot upon it. .. . But it so happened that justat this point, beside the river, his best friend and his most cruelenemy were standing. The enemy said nothing and merely folded his arms; on the other hand, the friend shouted at the top of his voice:--"Good heavens! What artthou doing? Come to thy senses, thou madman! Dost thou not see thatthe board is completely rotten?--It will break beneath thy weight, andthou wilt infallibly perish!" "But there is no other way of crossing . .. And hearest thou thepursuit?" groaned in desperation the unhappy wight, as he stepped uponthe board. "I will not permit it!. .. No, I will not permit thee to perish!"--roaredhis zealous friend, snatching the plank from beneath the feet of thefugitive. --The latter instantly tumbled headlong into the tumultuouswaters--and was drowned. The enemy smiled with satisfaction, and went his way; but the friend satdown on the shore and began to weep bitterly over his poor . .. Poorfriend! "He would not heed me! He would not heed me!" he whispered dejectedly. "However!" he said at last. "He would have been obliged to languish allhis life in that frightful prison! At all events, he is not sufferingnow! Now he is better off! Evidently, so had his Fate decreed! "And yet, it is a pity, from a human point of view!" And the good soul continued to sob inconsolably over his unlucky friend. December, 1878. CHRIST I saw myself as a youth, almost a little boy, in a low-ceiled countrychurch. --Slender wax tapers burned like red spots in front of theancient holy pictures. An aureole of rainbow hues encircled each tiny flame. --It was dark anddim in the church. .. . But a mass of people stood in front of me. All reddish, peasant heads. From time to time they would begin to surge, to fall, to rise again, like ripe ears of grain when the summer breezeflits across them in a slow wave. Suddenly some man or other stepped from behind and took up his standalongside me. I did not turn toward him, but I immediately felt that that manwas--Christ. Emotion, curiosity, awe took possession of me simultaneously. I forcedmyself to look at my neighbour. He had a face like that of everybody else, --a face similar to all humanfaces. His eyes gazed slightly upward, attentively and gently. His lipswere closed, but not compressed; the upper lip seemed to rest upon thelower; his small beard was parted in the middle. His hands were clasped, and did not move. And his garments were like those of every one else. "Christ, forsooth!" I thought to myself. "Such a simple, simple man! Itcannot be!" I turned away. --But before I had time to turn my eyes from that simpleman it again seemed to me that it was Christ in person who was standingbeside me. Again I exerted an effort over myself. .. . And again I beheld the sameface, resembling all human faces, the same ordinary, althoughunfamiliar, features. And suddenly dread fell upon me, and I came to myself. Only then did Iunderstand that precisely such a face--a face like all human faces--isthe face of Christ. December, 1878. II 1879-1882 THE STONE Have you seen an old, old stone on the seashore, when the brisk wavesare beating upon it from all sides, at high tide, on a sunny springday--beating and sparkling and caressing it, and drenching its mossyhead with crumbling pearls of glittering foam? The stone remains the same stone, but brilliant colours start forth uponits surly exterior. They bear witness to that distant time when the molten granite was onlyjust beginning to harden and was all glowing with fiery hues. Thus also did young feminine souls recently attack my old heart from allquarters, --and beneath their caressing touch it glowed once more withcolours which faded long ago, --with traces of its pristine fire! The waves have retreated . .. But the colours have not yet grown dim, although a keen breeze is drying them. May, 1879. DOVES I was standing on the crest of a sloping hill; in front of me layoutspread, and motley of hue, the ripe rye, now like a golden, againlike a silvery sea. But no surge was coursing across this sea; no sultry breeze was blowing;a great thunder-storm was brewing. Round about me the sun was still shining hotly and dimly; but in thedistance, beyond the rye, not too far away, a dark-blue thunder-cloudlay in a heavy mass over one half of the horizon. Everything was holding its breath . .. Everything was languishing beneaththe ominous gleam of the sun's last rays. Not a single bird was to beseen or heard; even the sparrows had hidden themselves. Only somewhere, close at hand, a solitary huge leaf of burdock was whispering andflapping. How strongly the wormwood on the border-strips[75] smells! I glanced atthe blue mass . .. And confusion ensued in my soul. "Well, be quick, then, be quick!" I thought. "Flash out, ye golden serpent! Rumble, yethunder! Move on, advance, discharge thy water, thou evil thunder-cloud;put an end to this painful torment!" But the storm-cloud did not stir. As before, it continued to crush thedumb earth . .. And seemed merely to wax larger and darker. And lo! through its bluish monotony there flashed something smooth andeven; precisely like a white handkerchief, or a snowball. It was a whitedove flying from the direction of the village. It flew, and flew onward, always straight onward . .. And vanished behindthe forest. Several moments passed--the same cruel silence still reigned. .. . Butbehold! Now _two_ handkerchiefs are fluttering, _two_ snowballs arefloating back; it is _two_ white doves wending their way homeward ineven flight. And now, at last, the storm has broken loose--and the fun begins! I could hardly reach home. --The wind shrieked and darted about like amad thing; low-hanging rusty-hued clouds swirled onward, as though rentin bits; everything whirled, got mixed up, lashed and rocked with theslanting columns of the furious downpour; the lightning flashes blindedwith their fiery green hue; abrupt claps of thunder were discharged likecannon; there was a smell of sulphur. .. . But under the eaves, on the very edge of a garret window, side by sidesit the two white doves, --the one which flew after its companion, andthe one which it brought and, perhaps, saved. Both have ruffled up their plumage, and each feels with its wing thewing of its neighbour. .. . It is well with them! And it is well with me as I gaze at them. .. . Although I am alone . .. Alone, as always. May, 1879. TO-MORROW! TO-MORROW! How empty, and insipid, and insignificant is almost every day which wehave lived through! How few traces it leaves behind it! In what athoughtlessly-stupid manner have those hours flown past, one afteranother! And, nevertheless, man desires to exist; he prizes life, he hopes in it, in himself, in the future. .. . Oh, what blessings he expects from thefuture! And why does he imagine that other future days will not resemble the onewhich has just passed? But he does not imagine this. On the whole, he is not fond ofthinking--and it is well that he does not. "There, now, to-morrow, to-morrow!" he comforts himself--until that"to-morrow" over-throws him into the grave. Well--and once in the grave, --one ceases, willy-nilly, to think. May, 1879. NATURE I dreamed that I had entered a vast subterranean chamber with a lofty, arched roof. It was completely filled by some sort of even light, alsosubterranean. In the very centre of the chamber sat a majestic woman in a flowing robegreen in hue. With her head bowed on her hand, she seemed to be immersedin profound meditation. I immediately understood that this woman was Nature itself, --andreverent awe pierced my soul with an instantaneous chill. I approached the seated woman, and making a respectful obeisance, "O ourcommon mother, " I exclaimed, "what is the subject of thy meditation? Artthou pondering the future destinies of mankind? As to how it is toattain the utmost possible perfection and bliss?" The woman slowly turned her dark, lowering eyes upon me. Her lips moved, and a stentorian voice, like unto the clanging of iron, rang out: "I am thinking how I may impart more power to the muscles in the legs ofa flea, so that it may more readily escape from its enemies. Theequilibrium of attack and defence has been destroyed. .. . It must berestored. " "What!" I stammered, in reply. --"So that is what thou art thinkingabout? But are not we men thy favourite children?" The woman knit her brows almost imperceptibly. --"All creatures are mychildren, " she said, "and I look after all of them alike, --and Iannihilate them in identically the same way. " "But good . .. Reason . .. Justice. .. . " I stammered again. "Those are the words of men, " rang out the iron voice. "I know neithergood nor evil. .. . Reason is no law to me--and what is justice?--I havegiven thee life, --I take it away and give it to others; whether worms ormen . .. It makes no difference to me. .. . But in the meantime, do thoudefend thyself, and hinder me not!" I was about to answer . .. But the earth round about me uttered a dullgroan and trembled--and I awoke. August, 1879. "HANG HIM!" "It happened in the year 1803, " began my old friend, "not long beforeAusterlitz. The regiment of which I was an officer was quartered inMoravia. "We were strictly forbidden to harry and oppress the inhabitants; andthey looked askance on us as it was, although we were regarded asallies. "I had an orderly, a former serf of my mother's, Egór by name. He was anhonest and peaceable fellow; I had known him from his childhood andtreated him like a friend. "One day, in the house where I dwelt, abusive shrieks and howls arose:the housewife had been robbed of two hens, and she accused my orderly ofthe theft. He denied it, and called upon me to bear witness whether 'he, Egór Avtamónoff, would steal!' I assured the housewife of Egór'shonesty, but she would listen to nothing. "Suddenly the energetic trampling of horses' hoofs resounded along thestreet: it was the Commander-in-Chief himself riding by with his staff. He was proceeding at a foot-pace, --a fat, pot-bellied man, with droopinghead and epaulets dangling on his breast. "The housewife caught sight of him, and flinging herself across hishorse's path, she fell on her knees and, all distraught, with headuncovered, began loudly to complain of my orderly, pointing to him withher hand: "'Sir General!' she shrieked. 'Your Radiance! Judge! Help! Save! Thissoldier has robbed me!' "Egór was standing on the threshold of the house, drawn up in militarysalute, with his cap in his hand, --and had even protruded his breast andturned out his feet, like a sentry, --and not a word did he utter!Whether he was daunted by all that mass of generals halting there in themiddle of the street, or whether he was petrified in the presence of thecalamity which had overtaken him, --at any rate, there stood my Egórblinking his eyes, and white as clay! "The Commander-in-Chief cast an abstracted and surly glance at him, bellowing wrathfully: 'Well, what hast thou to say?'. .. . Egór stood likea statue and showed his teeth! If looked at in profile, it was exactlyas though the man were laughing. "Then the Commander-in-Chief said abruptly: 'Hang him!'--gave his horsea dig in the ribs and rode on, first at a foot-pace, as before, then ata brisk trot. The whole staff dashed after him; only one adjutant, turning round in his saddle, took a close look at Egór. "It was impossible to disobey. .. . Egór was instantly seized and led toexecution. "Thereupon he turned deadly pale, and only exclaimed a couple of times, with difficulty, 'Good heavens! Good heavens!'--and then, in a lowvoice--'God sees it was not I!' "He wept bitterly, very bitterly, as he bade me farewell. I was indespair. --'Egór! Egór!' I cried, 'why didst thou say nothing to thegeneral?' "'God sees it was not I, ' repeated the poor fellow, sobbing. --Thehousewife herself was horrified. She had not in the least expected sucha dreadful verdict, and fell to shrieking in her turn. She began toentreat each and all to spare him, she declared that her hens had beenfound, that she was prepared to explain everything herself. .. . "Of course, this was of no use whatsoever. Military regulations, sir!Discipline!--The housewife sobbed more and more loudly. "Egór, whom the priest had already confessed and communicated, turned tome: "'Tell her, Your Well-Born, that she must not do herself an injury. .. . For I have already forgiven her. '" As my friend repeated these last words of his servant, he whispered:"Egórushka[76] darling, just man!"--and the tears dripped down his agedcheeks. August, 1879. WHAT SHALL I THINK?. .. What shall I think when I come to die, --if I am then in a condition tothink? Shall I think what a bad use I have made of my life, how I have dozedit through, how I have not known how to relish its gifts? "What? Is this death already? So soon? Impossible! Why, I have notsucceeded in accomplishing anything yet. .. . I have only been preparingto act!" Shall I recall the past, pause over the thought of the few brightmoments I have lived through, over beloved images and faces? Will my evil deeds present themselves before my memory, and will thecorrosive grief of a belated repentance descend upon my soul? Shall I think of what awaits me beyond the grave . .. Yes, and whetheranything at all awaits me there? No . .. It seems to me that I shall try not to think, and shall compel mymind to busy itself with some nonsense or other, if only to divert myown attention from the menacing darkness which looms up black ahead. In my presence one dying person kept complaining that they would notgive him red-hot nuts to gnaw . .. And only in the depths of his dimmingeyes was there throbbing and palpitating something, like the wing of abird wounded unto death. .. . August, 1879. "HOW FAIR, HOW FRESH WERE THE ROSES" Somewhere, some time, long, long ago, I read a poem. I speedily forgotit . .. But its first line lingered in my memory: "How fair, how fresh were the roses. .. . " It is winter now; the window-panes are coated with ice; in the warmchamber a single candle is burning. I am sitting curled up in onecorner; and in my brain there rings and rings: "How fair, how fresh were the roses. .. . " And I behold myself in front of the low window of a Russian house in thesuburbs. The summer evening is melting and merging into night, there isa scent of mignonette and linden-blossoms abroad in the warm air;--andin the window, propped on a stiffened arm, and with her head bent on hershoulder, sits a young girl, gazing mutely and intently at the sky, asthough watching for the appearance of the first stars. How ingenuouslyinspired are the thoughtful eyes; how touchingly innocent are theparted, questioning lips; how evenly breathes her bosom, not yet fullydeveloped and still unagitated by anything; how pure and tender are thelines of the young face! I do not dare to address her, but how dear sheis to me, how violently my heart beats! "How fair, how fresh were the roses. .. . " And in the room everything grows darker and darker. .. . The candle whichhas burned low begins to flicker; white shadows waver across the lowceiling; the frost creaks and snarls beyond the wall--and I seem to heara tedious, senile whisper: "How fair, how fresh were the roses. .. . " Other images rise up before me. .. . I hear the merry murmur of family, ofcountry life. Two red-gold little heads, leaning against each other, gaze bravely at me with their bright eyes; the red cheeks quiver withsuppressed laughter; their hands are affectionately intertwined; theiryoung, kind voices ring out, vying with each other; and a little furtheraway, in the depths of a snug room, other hands, also young, are flyingabout, with fingers entangled, over the keys of a poor little old piano, and the Lanner waltz cannot drown the grumbling of the patriarchalsamovár. .. . "How fair, how fresh were the roses. .. . " The candle flares up and dies out. .. . Who is that coughing yonder sohoarsely and dully? Curled up in a ring, my aged dog, my sole companion, is nestling and quivering at my feet. .. . I feel cold. .. . I am shivering. .. And they are all dead . .. All dead. .. . "How fair, how fresh were the roses. " Septembers 1879. A SEA VOYAGE I sailed from Hamburg to London on a small steamer. There were two of uspassengers: I and a tiny monkey, a female of the ouistiti breed, which aHamburg merchant was sending as a gift to his English partner. She was attached by a slender chain to one of the benches on the deck, and threw herself about and squeaked plaintively, like a bird. Every time I walked past she stretched out to me her black, cold littlehand, and gazed at me with her mournful, almost human little eyes. --Itook her hand, and she ceased to squeak and fling herself about. There was a dead calm. The sea spread out around us in a motionlessmirror of leaden hue. It seemed small; a dense fog lay over it, shrouding even the tips of the masts, and blinding and wearying the eyeswith its soft gloom. The sun hung like a dim red spot in this gloom; butjust before evening it became all aflame and glowed mysteriously andstrangely scarlet. Long, straight folds, like the folds of heavy silken fabrics, flowedaway from the bow of the steamer, one after another, growing ever wider, wrinkling and broadening, becoming smoother at last, swaying andvanishing. The churned foam swirled under the monotonous beat of thepaddle-wheels; gleaming white like milk, and hissing faintly, it wasbroken up into serpent-like ripples, and then flowed together at adistance, and vanished likewise, swallowed up in the gloom. A small bell at the stern jingled as incessantly and plaintively as thesqueaking cry of the monkey. Now and then a seal came to the surface, and turning an abruptsomersault, darted off beneath the barely-disturbed surface. And the captain, a taciturn man with a surly, sunburned face, smoked ashort pipe and spat angrily into the sea, congealed in impassivity. To all my questions he replied with an abrupt growl. I was compelled, willy-nilly, to have recourse to my solitary fellow-traveller--themonkey. I sat down beside her; she ceased to whine, and again stretched out herhand to me. The motionless fog enveloped us both with a soporific humidity; andequally immersed in one unconscious thought, we remained there side byside, like blood-relatives. I smile now . .. But then another feeling reigned in me. We are all children of one mother--and it pleased me that the poorlittle beastie should quiet down so confidingly and nestle up to me, asthough to a relative. November, 1879. N. N. Gracefully and quietly dost thou walk along the path of life, withouttears and without smiles, barely animated by an indifferent attention. Thou art kind and clever . .. And everything is alien to thee--and no oneis necessary to thee. Thou art very beautiful--and no one can tell whether thou prizest thybeauty or not. --Thou art devoid of sympathy thyself and demandest nosympathy. Thy gaze is profound, and not thoughtful; emptiness lies in that brightdepth. Thus do the stately shades pass by without grief and without joy in theElysian Fields, to the dignified sounds of Gluck's melodies. November, 1879. STAY! Stay! As I now behold thee remain thou evermore in my memory! From thy lips the last inspired sound hath burst forth--thine eyes donot gleam and flash, they are dusky, weighted with happiness, with theblissful consciousness of that beauty to which thou hast succeeded ingiving expression, --of that beauty in quest of which thou stretchestforth, as it were, thy triumphant, thine exhausted hands! What light, more delicate and pure than the sunlight, hath been diffusedover all thy limbs, over the tiniest folds of thy garments? What god, with his caressing inflatus, hath tossed back thy dishevelledcurls? His kiss burneth on thy brow, grown pale as marble! Here it is--the open secret, the secret of poetry, of life, of love!Here it is, here it is--immortality! There is no other immortality--andno other is needed. --At this moment thou art deathless. I will pass, --and again thou art a pinch of dust, a woman, a child. .. . But what is that to thee!--At this moment thou hast become loftier thanall transitory, temporal things, thou hast stepped out of theirsphere. --This _thy_ moment will never end. Stay! And let me be the sharer of thy immortality, drop into my soul thereflection of thine eternity! November, 1879. THE MONK I used to know a monk, a hermit, a saint. He lived on the sweetness ofprayer alone, --and as he quaffed it, he knelt so long on the cold floorof the church that his legs below the knee swelled and became likeposts. He had no sensation in them, he knelt--and prayed. I understood him--and, perhaps, I envied him; but let him alsounderstand me and not condemn me--me, to whom his joys are inaccessible. He strove to annihilate himself, his hated _ego_; but the fact that I donot pray does not arise from self-conceit. My ego is, perchance, even more burdensome and repulsive to me than hisis to him. He found a means of forgetting himself . .. And I find a means to do thesame, but not so constantly. He does not lie . .. And neither do I lie. November, 1879. WE SHALL STILL FIGHT ON! What an insignificant trifle can sometimes put the whole man back intune! Full of thought, I was walking one day along the highway. Heavy forebodings oppressed my breast; melancholy seized hold upon me. I raised my head. .. . Before me, between two rows of lofty poplars, theroad stretched out into the distance. Across it, across that same road, a whole little family of sparrows washopping, hopping boldly, amusingly, confidently! One of them in particular fairly set his wings akimbo, thrusting out hiscrop, and twittering audaciously, as though the very devil was no matchfor him! A conqueror--and that is all there is to be said. But in the meantime, high up in the sky, was soaring a hawk who, possibly, was fated to devour precisely that same conqueror. I looked, laughed, shook myself--and the melancholy thoughts instantlyfled. I felt daring, courage, a desire for life. And let _my_ hawk soar over _me_ if he will. .. . "We will still fight on, devil take it!" November, 1879. PRAYER No matter what a man may pray for he is praying for a miracle. --Everyprayer amounts to the following: "Great God, cause that two and two maynot make four. " Only such a prayer is a genuine prayer from a person to a person. Topray to the Universal Spirit, to the Supreme Being of Kant, of Hegel--toa purified, amorphous God, is impossible and unthinkable. But can even a personal, living God with a form cause that two and twoshall not make four? Every believer is bound to reply, "He can, " and is bound to convincehimself of this. But what if his reason revolts against such an absurdity? In that case Shakspeare will come to his assistance: "There are manythings in the world, friend Horatio. .. . " and so forth. And if people retort in the name of truth, --all he has to do is torepeat the famous question: "What is truth?" And therefore, let us drink and be merry--and pray. July, 1881. THE RUSSIAN LANGUAGE In days of doubt, in days of painful meditations concerning thedestinies of my fatherland, thou alone art my prop and my support, Ogreat, mighty, just and free Russian language!--Were it not for thee, how could one fail to fall into despair at the sight of all that goes onat home?--But it is impossible to believe that such a language was notbestowed upon a great people! June, 1882. ENDNOTES: [1] See endnote to "Old Portraits, " in this volume. --TRANSLATOR. [2] The Vigil-service (consisting of Vespers and Matins, or Compline andMatins) may be celebrated in unconsecrated buildings, and the devout notinfrequently have it, as well as prayer-services, at home. --TRANSLATOR. [3] Meaning the odour of the oil which must be used in preparing food, instead of butter, during the numerous fasts. --TRANSLATOR. [4] The custom of thus dressing up as bears, clowns, and so forth, andvisiting all the houses in the neighbourhood, is still kept up in rusticlocalities. St. Vasíly's (Basil's) day falls on January 1. --TRANSLATOR. [5] An arshín is twenty-eight inches. --TRANSLATOR [6] A park for popular resort in the suburbs of Moscow. --TRANSLATOR [7] Incorrectly written for Poltáva. --TRANSLATOR [8] The fatter the coachman, the more stylish he is. If he is not fatnaturally, he adds cushions under his coat. --TRANSLATOR. [9] That is, to the Trinity monastery of the first class founded by St. Sergius in 1340. It is situated about forty miles from Moscow, and isthe most famous monastery in the country next to the Catacombs Monasteryat Kíeff. --TRANSLATOR. [10] Pronounced _Aryól_. --TRANSLATOR. [11] Such a sledge, drawn by the national team of three horses, willhold five or six persons closely packed. --TRANSLATOR. [12] The word he used, _mytárstvo_, has a peculiar meaning. It refersspecifically to the experiences of the soul when it leaves the body. According to the teaching of divers ancient fathers of the church, thesoul, as soon as it leaves the body, is confronted by accusing demons, who arraign it with all the sins, great and small, which it hascommitted during its earthly career. If its good deeds, alms, prayers, and so forth (added to the grace of God), offset the evil, the demonsare forced to renounce their claims. These demons assault the soul inrelays, each "trial, " "suffering, " or "tribulation" being a _mytárstvo_. One ancient authority enumerates twenty such trials. The soul isaccompanied and defended in its trials by angels, who plead its cause. Eventually, they conduct it into the presence of God, who then assignsto it a temporary abode of bliss or woe until the day of judgment. Thederivation of this curious and utterly untranslatable word is asfollows: _Mytár_ means a publican or tax-gatherer. As the publicans, under the Roman sway over the Jews, indulged in various sorts ofviolence, abuses, and inhuman conduct, calling every one to strictaccount, and even stationing themselves at the city gates to interceptall who came and went, _mytárstvo_ represents, in general, the taxing ortesting of the soul, which must pay a ransom before it is released fromits trials and preliminary tribulations. --TRANSLATOR. [13] A folk-tale narrates how the Tzar Arkhídei obtained his beauteousbride by the aid of seven brothers called "The Seven Semyóns, " who werehis peasants. The bride was distant a ten years' journey; but each ofthe brothers had a different "trade, " by the combined means of whichthey were enabled to overcome time and space and get the bride for theirmaster. --TRANSLATOR. [14] The word used in Russian indicates not only that he was ahereditary noble, but that his nobility was ancient--a matter of somemoment in a country where nobility, both personal and hereditary, can bewon in the service of the state. --TRANSLATOR. [15] The change to _thou_ is made to express disrespect. --TRANSLATOR. [16] A simple card-game. --TRANSLATOR. [17] The word used is _popadyá_, the feminine form of _pop(e)_, orpriest. _Svyashtchénnik_ is, however, more commonly used for priest. --TRANSLATOR. [18] June 29 (O. S. ), July 12 (N. S. ). --TRANSLATOR. [19] In former days the sons of priests generally became priests. It isstill so, in a measure. --TRANSLATOR. [20] Therefore, there would be no one to maintain his widow anddaughters, unless some young man could be found to marry one of thedaughters, be ordained, take the parish, and assume the support of thefamily. --TRANSLATOR. [21] Parish priests (the White Clergy) must marry before they areordained sub-deacon, and are not allowed to remarry in the Holy CatholicChurch of the East. --TRANSLATOR. [22] A sourish, non-intoxicating beverage, prepared by putting water onrye meal or the crusts of sour black rye bread and allowing it toferment. --TRANSLATOR. [23] One of the ancient religious ballads sung by the "wanderingcripples. " Joseph (son of Jacob) is called by this appellation, and alsoa "tzarévitch, " or king's son. For a brief account of these ballads see:"The Epic Songs of Russia" (Introduction), and Chapter I in "A Survey ofRussian Literature" (I. F. Hapgood). This particular ballad is mentionedon page 22 of the last-named book. --TRANSLATOR. (N. B. This note is placed here because there is no other book in Englishwhere any information whatever can be had concerning these ballads orthis ballad. --I. F. H. ) [24] Ecclesiastics are regarded as plebeians by the gentry or nobles inRussia. --TRANSLATOR. [25] In the Catholic Church of the East the communion is receivedfasting. A little to one side of the priest stands a cleric holding aplatter of blessed bread, cut in small bits, and a porringer of warmwater and wine, which (besides their symbolical significance) are takenby each communicant after the Holy Elements, in order that there may besomething interposed between the sacrament and ordinaryfood. --TRANSLATOR. [26] That is, the particle of bread dipped in the wine, which isplaced in the mouth by the priest with the sacramental spoon. --TRANSLATOR. [27] Turgénieff labelled this story and "A Reckless Character, ""Fragments from My Own Memoirs and Those of Other People. " In afoot-note he begs the reader not to mistake the "I" for the author's ownpersonality, as it was adopted merely for convenience ofnarration. --TRANSLATOR. [28] The Russian expression is: "A black cat had run betweenthem. "--TRANSLATOR. [29] In Russia a partial second story, over the centre, or the centreand ends of the main story, is called thus. --TRANSLATOR. [30] In Russian houses the "hall" is a combined ball-room, music-room, play-room, and exercising-ground; not the entrance hall. --TRANSLATOR. [31] We should call such a watch a "turnip. "--TRANSLATOR. [32] The author is slightly sarcastic in the name he has chosen for thisfamily, which is derived from _telyéga_, a peasant-cart. --TRANSLATOR. [33] St. Petersburg. --TRANSLATOR. [34] Both these are bad omens, according to superstitiousRussians. --TRANSLATOR. [35] Priests and monks in Russia wear their hair and beards long toresemble the pictures of Christ. Missionaries in foreign lands arepermitted to conform to the custom of the country and cut itshort. --TRANSLATOR. [36] "Had been educated on copper coins" is the Russian expression. Thatis, had received a cheap education. --TRANSLATOR. [37] The nickname generally applied by the Little Russians to the GreatRussians. --TRANSLATOR. [38] The racing-drozhky is frequently used in the country. It consistsof a plank, without springs, mounted on four small wheels of equal size. The driver sits flat on the plank, which may or may not beupholstered. --TRANSLATOR. [39] The baptismal cross. --TRANSLATOR. [40] The bath-besom is made of birch-twigs with the leaves attached, andis soaked in hot water (or in beer) to keep it soft. The massageadministered with the besom is delightful. The peasants often use besomsof nettles, as a luxury. The shredded linden bark is used as asponge. --TRANSLATOR. [41] The great manoeuvre plain, near which the Moscow garrison islodged, in the vicinity of Petróvsky Park and Palace. Here the disastertook place during the coronation festivities of the presentEmperor. --TRANSLATOR. [42] It is very rarely that a bishop performs the marriage ceremony. Allbishops are monks; and monks are not supposed to perform ceremoniesconnected with the things which they have renounced. The exceptions arewhen monks are appointed parish priests (as in some of the Americanparishes, for instance), and, therefore, must fulfil the obligations ofa married parish priest; or when the chaplain-monk on war-ships iscalled upon, at times, to minister to scattered Orthodox, in a portwhich has no settled priest. --TRANSLATOR. [43] The Order of St. George, with its black and orange ribbon, must bewon by great personal bravery--like the Victoria Cross. --TRANSLATOR. [44] Head of the Secret Service under Alexander I. --TRANSLATOR. [45] That is, living too long. --TRANSLATOR. [46] _Sukhóy_, dry; _Sukhíkh_, genitive plural (proper names aredeclinable), meaning, "one of the Sukhóys. "--TRANSLATOR. [47] The third from the top in the Table of Ranks instituted by Peterthe Great. --TRANSLATOR. [48] Corresponding, in a measure, to an American State. --TRANSLATOR. [49] The Great Russians' scornful nickname for a LittleRussian. --TRANSLATOR. [50] Each coachman has his own pair or tróika of horses to attend to, and has nothing to do with any other horses which may be in thestable. --TRANSLATOR. [51] Yákoff (James) Daniel Bruce, a Russian engineer, of Scottishextraction, born in Moscow, 1670, became Grand Master of the Artilleryin 1711, and died in 1735. --TRANSLATOR. [52] The great cathedral in commemoration of the Russian triumph inthe war of 1812, which was begun in 1837, and completed in 1883. --TRANSLATOR. [53] _Nyémetz_, "the dumb one, " meaning any one unable to speak Russian(hence, any foreigner), is the specific word for a German. --TRANSLATOR. [54] Short for Nízhni Nóvgorod. --TRANSLATOR. [55] The famous letter from the heroine, Tatyána, to the hero, EvgényOnyégin, in Pushkin's celebrated poem. The music to the opera of thesame name, which has this poem for its basis, is by Tchaikóvsky. --TRANSLATOR. [56] Advertisements of theatres, concerts, and amusements in general, are not published in the daily papers, but in an _affiche_, printedevery morning, for which a separate subscription is necessary. --TRANSLATOR. [57] M. E. Saltikóff wrote his famous satires under the name ofShtchedrín. --TRANSLATOR. [58] The Little Russians (among other peculiarities of pronunciationattached to their dialect) use the guttural instead of the clear_i_. --TRANSLATOR. [59] A bishop or priest in the Russian Church is not supposed to speakloudly, no matter how fine a voice he may possess. The deacon, on thecontrary, or the proto-deacon (attached to a cathedral) is supposed tohave a huge voice, and, especially at certain points, to roar at the topof his lungs. He sometimes cracks his voice--which is what thesympathetic neighbour was hinting at here. --TRANSLATOR. [60] An image, or holy picture, is _óbraz_; the adjective "cultured" isderived from the same word in its sense of pattern, model--_obrazóvanny_. --TRANSLATOR. [61] Ostróvsky's comedies of life in the merchant class are irresistiblyamusing, talented, and true to nature. --TRANSLATOR. [62] Turgénieff probably means Grúsha (another form for the diminutiveof Agrippína, in Russian Agrafénya). The play is "Live as YouCan. "--TRANSLATOR. [63] A full gown gathered into a narrow band just under the armpits andsuspended over the shoulders by straps of the same. --TRANSLATOR. [64] The eighth from the top in the Table of Ranks won by service to thestate, which Peter the Great instituted. A sufficiently high grade inthat table confers hereditary nobility; the lower grades carry onlypersonal nobility. --TRANSLATOR. [65] The long Tatár coat, with large sleeves, and flaring, biasskirts. ---TRANSLATOR. [66] See note on page 24. --TRANSLATOR. [67] Diminutives of Yákoff, implying great affection. --TRANSLATOR. [68] Mikhaíl Stasiulévitch. --TRANSLATOR. [69] The favourite decoration in rustic architecture. --TRANSLATOR. [70] These lines do not rhyme in the original. --TRANSLATOR. [71] "The white-handed man" would be the literaltranslation. --TRANSLATOR. [72] The pretty name for what we call mullein. --TRANSLATOR. [73] That is, made without meat. --TRANSLATOR. [74] The ideal bearing in church is described as standing "like acandle"; that is, very straight and motionless. --TRANSLATOR. [75] Strips of grass left as boundaries between the tilled fieldsallotted to different peasants. --TRANSLATOR. [76] The affectionate diminutive. --TRANSLATOR.