THE TALES OF CHEKHOV

VOLUME 4

THE PARTY AND OTHER STORIES

BY

ANTON TCHEKHOV

Translated by CONSTANCE GARNETT

CONTENTS

THE PARTYTERRORA WOMAN'S KINGDOMA PROBLEMTHE KISS'ANNA ON THE NECK'THE TEACHER OF LITERATURENOT WANTEDTYPHUSA MISFORTUNEA TRIFLE FROM LIFE

THE PARTY

I

AFTER the festive dinner with its eight courses and its endlessconversation, Olga Mihalovna, whose husband's name-day was beingcelebrated, went out into the garden. The duty of smiling and talkingincessantly, the clatter of the crockery, the stupidity of theservants, the long intervals between the courses, and the stays shehad put on to conceal her condition from the visitors, wearied herto exhaustion. She longed to get away from the house, to sit in theshade and rest her heart with thoughts of the baby which was to beborn to her in another two months. She was used to these thoughtscoming to her as she turned to the left out of the big avenue intothe narrow path. Here in the thick shade of the plums and cherry-treesthe dry branches used to scratch her neck and shoulders; a spider'sweb would settle on her face, and there would rise up in her mindthe image of a little creature of undetermined sex and undefinedfeatures, and it began to seem as though it were not the spider'sweb that tickled her face and neck caressingly, but that littlecreature. When, at the end of the path, a thin wicker hurdle cameinto sight, and behind it podgy beehives with tiled roofs; when inthe motionless, stagnant air there came a smell of hay and honey, and a soft buzzing of bees was audible, then the little creaturewould take complete possession of Olga Mihalovna. She used to sitdown on a bench near the shanty woven of branches, and fall tothinking. 

This time, too, she went on as far as the seat, sat down, and beganthinking; but instead of the little creature there rose up in herimagination the figures of the grown-up people whom she had justleft. She felt dreadfully uneasy that she, the hostess, had desertedher guests, and she remembered how her husband, Pyotr Dmitritch, and her uncle, Nikolay Nikolaitch, had argued at dinner about trialby jury, about the press, and about the higher education of women. Her husband, as usual, argued in order to show off his Conservativeideas before his visitors--and still more in order to disagreewith her uncle, whom he disliked. Her uncle contradicted him andwrangled over every word he uttered, so as to show the company thathe, Uncle Nikolay Nikolaitch, still retained his youthful freshnessof spirit and free-thinking in spite of his fifty-nine years. Andtowards the end of dinner even Olga Mihalovna herself could notresist taking part and unskilfully attempting to defend universityeducation for women--not that that education stood in need of herdefence, but simply because she wanted to annoy her husband, whoto her mind was unfair. The guests were wearied by this discussion, but they all thought it necessary to take part in it, and talked agreat deal, although none of them took any interest in trial byjury or the higher education of women. . . . 

Olga Mihalovna was sitting on the nearest side of the hurdle nearthe shanty. The sun was hidden behind the clouds. The trees and theair were overcast as before rain, but in spite of that it was hotand stifling. The hay cut under the trees on the previous day waslying ungathered, looking melancholy, with here and there a patchof colour from the faded flowers, and from it came a heavy, sicklyscent. It was still. The other side of the hurdle there was amonotonous hum of bees. . . . 

Suddenly she heard footsteps and voices; some one was coming alongthe path towards the beehouse. 

"How stifling it is!" said a feminine voice. "What do you think--is it going to rain, or not?"

"It is going to rain, my charmer, but not before night, " a veryfamiliar male voice answered languidly. "There will be a good rain. "

Olga Mihalovna calculated that if she made haste to hide in theshanty they would pass by without seeing her, and she would nothave to talk and to force herself to smile. She picked up her skirts, bent down and crept into the shanty. At once she felt upon her face, her neck, her arms, the hot air as heavy as steam. If it had notbeen for the stuffiness and the close smell of rye bread, fennel, and brushwood, which prevented her from breathing freely, it wouldhave been delightful to hide from her visitors here under thethatched roof in the dusk, and to think about the little creature. It was cosy and quiet. 

"What a pretty spot!" said a feminine voice. "Let us sit here, PyotrDmitritch. "

Olga Mihalovna began peeping through a crack between two branches. She saw her husband, Pyotr Dmitritch, and Lubotchka Sheller, a girlof seventeen who had not long left boarding-school. Pyotr Dmitritch, with his hat on the back of his head, languid and indolent fromhaving drunk so much at dinner, slouched by the hurdle and rakedthe hay into a heap with his foot; Lubotchka, pink with the heatand pretty as ever, stood with her hands behind her, watching thelazy movements of his big handsome person. 

Olga Mihalovna knew that her husband was attractive to women, anddid not like to see him with them. There was nothing out of the wayin Pyotr Dmitritch's lazily raking together the hay in order to sitdown on it with Lubotchka and chatter to her of trivialities; therewas nothing out of the way, either, in pretty Lubotchka's lookingat him with her soft eyes; but yet Olga Mihalovna felt vexed withher husband and frightened and pleased that she could listen tothem. 

"Sit down, enchantress, " said Pyotr Dmitritch, sinking down on thehay and stretching. "That's right. Come, tell me something. "

"What next! If I begin telling you anything you will go to sleep. "

"Me go to sleep? Allah forbid! Can I go to sleep while eyes likeyours are watching me?"

In her husband's words, and in the fact that he was lolling withhis hat on the back of his head in the presence of a lady, therewas nothing out of the way either. He was spoilt by women, knewthat they found him attractive, and had adopted with them a specialtone which every one said suited him. With Lubotchka he behaved aswith all women. But, all the same, Olga Mihalovna was jealous. 

"Tell me, please, " said Lubotchka, after a brief silence--"is ittrue that you are to be tried for something?"

"I? Yes, I am . . . Numbered among the transgressors, my charmer. "

"But what for?"

"For nothing, but just . . . It's chiefly a question of politics, "yawned Pyotr Dmitritch--"the antagonisms of Left and Right. I, an obscurantist and reactionary, ventured in an official paper tomake use of an expression offensive in the eyes of such immaculateGladstones as Vladimir Pavlovitch Vladimirov and our local justiceof the peace--Kuzma Grigoritch Vostryakov. "

Pytor Dmitritch yawned again and went on:

"And it is the way with us that you may express disapproval of thesun or the moon, or anything you like, but God preserve you fromtouching the Liberals! Heaven forbid! A Liberal is like the poisonousdry fungus which covers you with a cloud of dust if you accidentallytouch it with your finger. "

"What happened to you?"

"Nothing particular. The whole flare-up started from the meresttrifle. A teacher, a detestable person of clerical associations, hands to Vostryakov a petition against a tavern-keeper, charginghim with insulting language and behaviour in a public place. Everything showed that both the teacher and the tavern-keeper weredrunk as cobblers, and that they behaved equally badly. If therehad been insulting behaviour, the insult had anyway been mutual. Vostryakov ought to have fined them both for a breach of the peaceand have turned them out of the court--that is all. But that'snot our way of doing things. With us what stands first is not theperson--not the fact itself, but the trade-mark and label. Howevergreat a rascal a teacher may be, he is always in the right becausehe is a teacher; a tavern-keeper is always in the wrong because heis a tavern-keeper and a money-grubber. Vostryakov placed thetavern-keeper under arrest. The man appealed to the Circuit Court;the Circuit Court triumphantly upheld Vostryakov's decision. Well, I stuck to my own opinion. . . . Got a little hot. . . . That wasall. "

Pyotr Dmitritch spoke calmly with careless irony. In reality thetrial that was hanging over him worried him extremely. Olga Mihalovnaremembered how on his return from the unfortunate session he hadtried to conceal from his household how troubled he was, and howdissatisfied with himself. As an intelligent man he could not helpfeeling that he had gone too far in expressing his disagreement;and how much lying had been needful to conceal that feeling fromhimself and from others! How many unnecessary conversations therehad been! How much grumbling and insincere laughter at what was notlaughable! When he learned that he was to be brought up before theCourt, he seemed at once harassed and depressed; he began to sleepbadly, stood oftener than ever at the windows, drumming on the paneswith his fingers. And he was ashamed to let his wife see that hewas worried, and it vexed her. 

"They say you have been in the province of Poltava?" Lubotchkaquestioned him. 

"Yes, " answered Pyotr Dmitritch. "I came back the day beforeyesterday. "

"I expect it is very nice there. "

"Yes, it is very nice, very nice indeed; in fact, I arrived justin time for the haymaking, I must tell you, and in the Ukraine thehaymaking is the most poetical moment of the year. Here we have abig house, a big garden, a lot of servants, and a lot going on, sothat you don't see the haymaking; here it all passes unnoticed. There, at the farm, I have a meadow of forty-five acres as flat asmy hand. You can see the men mowing from any window you stand at. They are mowing in the meadow, they are mowing in the garden. Thereare no visitors, no fuss nor hurry either, so that you can't helpseeing, feeling, hearing nothing but the haymaking. There is a smellof hay indoors and outdoors. There's the sound of the scythes fromsunrise to sunset. Altogether Little Russia is a charming country. Would you believe it, when I was drinking water from the rusticwells and filthy vodka in some Jew's tavern, when on quiet eveningsthe strains of the Little Russian fiddle and the tambourines reachedme, I was tempted by a fascinating idea--to settle down on myplace and live there as long as I chose, far away from CircuitCourts, intellectual conversations, philosophizing women, longdinners. . . . "

Pyotr Dmitritch was not lying. He was unhappy and really longed torest. And he had visited his Poltava property simply to avoid seeinghis study, his servants, his acquaintances, and everything thatcould remind him of his wounded vanity and his mistakes. 

Lubotchka suddenly jumped up and waved her hands about in horror. 

"Oh! A bee, a bee!" she shrieked. "It will sting!"

"Nonsense; it won't sting, " said Pyotr Dmitritch. "What a cowardyou are!"

"No, no, no, " cried Lubotchka; and looking round at the bees, shewalked rapidly back. 

Pyotr Dmitritch walked away after her, looking at her with a softenedand melancholy face. He was probably thinking, as he looked at her, of his farm, of solitude, and--who knows?--perhaps he was eventhinking how snug and cosy life would be at the farm if his wifehad been this girl--young, pure, fresh, not corrupted by highereducation, not with child. . . . 

When the sound of their footsteps had died away, Olga Mihalovnacame out of the shanty and turned towards the house. She wanted tocry. She was by now acutely jealous. She could understand that herhusband was worried, dissatisfied with himself and ashamed, andwhen people are ashamed they hold aloof, above all from those nearestto them, and are unreserved with strangers; she could understand, also, that she had nothing to fear from Lubotchka or from thosewomen who were now drinking coffee indoors. But everything in generalwas terrible, incomprehensible, and it already seemed to OlgaMihalovna that Pyotr Dmitritch only half belonged to her. 

"He has no right to do it!" she muttered, trying to formulate herjealousy and her vexation with her husband. "He has no right atall. I will tell him so plainly!"

She made up her mind to find her husband at once and tell him allabout it: it was disgusting, absolutely disgusting, that he wasattractive to other women and sought their admiration as though itwere some heavenly manna; it was unjust and dishonourable that heshould give to others what belonged by right to his wife, that heshould hide his soul and his conscience from his wife to revealthem to the first pretty face he came across. What harm had hiswife done him? How was she to blame? Long ago she had been sickenedby his lying: he was for ever posing, flirting, saying what he didnot think, and trying to seem different from what he was and whathe ought to be. Why this falsity? Was it seemly in a decent man?If he lied he was demeaning himself and those to whom he lied, andslighting what he lied about. Could he not understand that if heswaggered and posed at the judicial table, or held forth at dinneron the prerogatives of Government, that he, simply to provoke heruncle, was showing thereby that he had not a ha'p'orth of respectfor the Court, or himself, or any of the people who were listeningand looking at him?

Coming out into the big avenue, Olga Mihalovna assumed an expressionof face as though she had just gone away to look after some domesticmatter. In the verandah the gentlemen were drinking liqueur andeating strawberries: one of them, the Examining Magistrate--astout elderly man, _blagueur_ and wit--must have been tellingsome rather free anecdote, for, seeing their hostess, he suddenlyclapped his hands over his fat lips, rolled his eyes, and sat down. Olga Mihalovna did not like the local officials. She did not carefor their clumsy, ceremonious wives, their scandal-mongering, theirfrequent visits, their flattery of her husband, whom they all hated. Now, when they were drinking, were replete with food and showed nosigns of going away, she felt their presence an agonizing weariness;but not to appear impolite, she smiled cordially to the Magistrate, and shook her finger at him. She walked across the dining-room anddrawing-room smiling, and looking as though she had gone to givesome order and make some arrangement. "God grant no one stops me, "she thought, but she forced herself to stop in the drawing-room tolisten from politeness to a young man who was sitting at the pianoplaying: after standing for a minute, she cried, "Bravo, bravo, M. Georges!" and clapping her hands twice, she went on. 

She found her husband in his study. He was sitting at the table, thinking of something. His face looked stern, thoughtful, and guilty. This was not the same Pyotr Dmitritch who had been arguing at dinnerand whom his guests knew, but a different man--wearied, feelingguilty and dissatisfied with himself, whom nobody knew but his wife. He must have come to the study to get cigarettes. Before him layan open cigarette-case full of cigarettes, and one of his hands wasin the table drawer; he had paused and sunk into thought as he wastaking the cigarettes. 

Olga Mihalovna felt sorry for him. It was as clear as day that thisman was harassed, could find no rest, and was perhaps strugglingwith himself. Olga Mihalovna went up to the table in silence: wantingto show that she had forgotten the argument at dinner and was notcross, she shut the cigarette-case and put it in her husband's coatpocket. 

"What should I say to him?" she wondered; "I shall say that lyingis like a forest--the further one goes into it the more difficultit is to get out of it. I will say to him, 'You have been carriedaway by the false part you are playing; you have insulted peoplewho were attached to you and have done you no harm. Go and apologizeto them, laugh at yourself, and you will feel better. And if youwant peace and solitude, let us go away together. '"

Meeting his wife's gaze, Pyotr Dmitritch's face immediately assumedthe expression it had worn at dinner and in the garden--indifferentand slightly ironical. He yawned and got up. 

"It's past five, " he said, looking at his watch. "If our visitorsare merciful and leave us at eleven, even then we have another sixhours of it. It's a cheerful prospect, there's no denying!"

And whistling something, he walked slowly out of the study with hisusual dignified gait. She could hear him with dignified firmnesscross the dining-room, then the drawing-room, laugh with dignifiedassurance, and say to the young man who was playing, "Bravo! bravo!"Soon his footsteps died away: he must have gone out into the garden. And now not jealousy, not vexation, but real hatred of his footsteps, his insincere laugh and voice, took possession of Olga Mihalovna. She went to the window and looked out into the garden. Pyotr Dmitritchwas already walking along the avenue. Putting one hand in his pocketand snapping the fingers of the other, he walked with confidentswinging steps, throwing his head back a little, and looking asthough he were very well satisfied with himself, with his dinner, with his digestion, and with nature. . . . 

Two little schoolboys, the children of Madame Tchizhevsky, who hadonly just arrived, made their appearance in the avenue, accompaniedby their tutor, a student wearing a white tunic and very narrowtrousers. When they reached Pyotr Dmitritch, the boys and the studentstopped, and probably congratulated him on his name-day. With agraceful swing of his shoulders, he patted the children on theircheeks, and carelessly offered the student his hand without lookingat him. The student must have praised the weather and compared itwith the climate of Petersburg, for Pyotr Dmitritch said in a loudvoice, in a tone as though he were not speaking to a guest, but toan usher of the court or a witness:

"What! It's cold in Petersburg? And here, my good sir, we have asalubrious atmosphere and the fruits of the earth in abundance. Eh?What?"

And thrusting one hand in his pocket and snapping the fingers ofthe other, he walked on. Till he had disappeared behind the nutbushes, Olga Mihalovna watched the back of his head in perplexity. How had this man of thirty-four come by the dignified deportmentof a general? How had he come by that impressive, elegant manner?Where had he got that vibration of authority in his voice? Wherehad he got these "what's, " "to be sure's, " and "my good sir's"?

Olga Mihalovna remembered how in the first months of her marriageshe had felt dreary at home alone and had driven into the town tothe Circuit Court, at which Pyotr Dmitritch had sometimes presidedin place of her godfather, Count Alexey Petrovitch. In the presidentialchair, wearing his uniform and a chain on his breast, he wascompletely changed. Stately gestures, a voice of thunder, "what, ""to be sure, " careless tones. . . . Everything, all that was ordinaryand human, all that was individual and personal to himself thatOlga Mihalovna was accustomed to seeing in him at home, vanishedin grandeur, and in the presidential chair there sat not PyotrDmitritch, but another man whom every one called Mr. President. This consciousness of power prevented him from sitting still in hisplace, and he seized every opportunity to ring his bell, to glancesternly at the public, to shout. . . . Where had he got his short-sightand his deafness when he suddenly began to see and hear withdifficulty, and, frowning majestically, insisted on people speakinglouder and coming closer to the table? From the height of hisgrandeur he could hardly distinguish faces or sounds, so that itseemed that if Olga Mihalovna herself had gone up to him he wouldhave shouted even to her, "Your name?" Peasant witnesses he addressedfamiliarly, he shouted at the public so that his voice could beheard even in the street, and behaved incredibly with the lawyers. If a lawyer had to speak to him, Pyotr Dmitritch, turning a littleaway from him, looked with half-closed eyes at the ceiling, meaningto signify thereby that the lawyer was utterly superfluous and thathe was neither recognizing him nor listening to him; if a badly-dressedlawyer spoke, Pyotr Dmitritch pricked up his ears and looked theman up and down with a sarcastic, annihilating stare as though tosay: "Queer sort of lawyers nowadays!"

"What do you mean by that?" he would interrupt. 

If a would-be eloquent lawyer mispronounced a foreign word, saying, for instance, "factitious" instead of "fictitious, " Pyotr Dmitritchbrightened up at once and asked, "What? How? Factitious? What doesthat mean?" and then observed impressively: "Don't make use of wordsyou do not understand. " And the lawyer, finishing his speech, wouldwalk away from the table, red and perspiring, while Pyotr Dmitritch;with a self-satisfied smile, would lean back in his chair triumphant. In his manner with the lawyers he imitated Count Alexey Petrovitcha little, but when the latter said, for instance, "Counsel for thedefence, you keep quiet for a little!" it sounded paternallygood-natured and natural, while the same words in Pyotr Dmitritch'smouth were rude and artificial. 

II

There were sounds of applause. The young man had finished playing. Olga Mihalovna remembered her guests and hurried into the drawing-room. 

"I have so enjoyed your playing, " she said, going up to the piano. "I have so enjoyed it. You have a wonderful talent! But don't youthink our piano's out of tune?"

At that moment the two schoolboys walked into the room, accompaniedby the student. 

"My goodness! Mitya and Kolya, " Olga Mihalovna drawled joyfully, going to meet them: "How big they have grown! One would not knowyou! But where is your mamma?"

"I congratulate you on the name-day, " the student began in afree-and-easy tone, "and I wish you all happiness. EkaterinaAndreyevna sends her congratulations and begs you to excuse her. She is not very well. "

"How unkind of her! I have been expecting her all day. Is it longsince you left Petersburg?" Olga Mihalovna asked the student. "Whatkind of weather have you there now?" And without waiting for ananswer, she looked cordially at the schoolboys and repeated:

"How tall they have grown! It is not long since they used to comewith their nurse, and they are at school already! The old grow olderwhile the young grow up. . . . Have you had dinner?"

"Oh, please don't trouble!" said the student. 

"Why, you have not had dinner?"

"For goodness' sake, don't trouble!"

"But I suppose you are hungry?" Olga Mihalovna said it in a harsh, rude voice, with impatience and vexation--it escaped her unawares, but at once she coughed, smiled, and flushed crimson. "How tallthey have grown!" she said softly. 

"Please don't trouble!" the student said once more. 

The student begged her not to trouble; the boys said nothing;obviously all three of them were hungry. Olga Mihalovna took theminto the dining-room and told Vassily to lay the table. 

"How unkind of your mamma!" she said as she made them sit down. "She has quite forgotten me. Unkind, unkind, unkind . . . You musttell her so. What are you studying?" she asked the student. 

"Medicine. "

"Well, I have a weakness for doctors, only fancy. I am very sorrymy husband is not a doctor. What courage any one must have to performan operation or dissect a corpse, for instance! Horrible! Aren'tyou frightened? I believe I should die of terror! Of course, youdrink vodka?"

"Please don't trouble. "

"After your journey you must have something to drink. Though I ama woman, even I drink sometimes. And Mitya and Kolya will drinkMalaga. It's not a strong wine; you need not be afraid of it. Whatfine fellows they are, really! They'll be thinking of getting marriednext. "

Olga Mihalovna talked without ceasing; she knew by experience thatwhen she had guests to entertain it was far easier and more comfortableto talk than to listen. When you talk there is no need to strainyour attention to think of answers to questions, and to change yourexpression of face. But unawares she asked the student a seriousquestion; the student began a lengthy speech and she was forced tolisten. The student knew that she had once been at the University, and so tried to seem a serious person as he talked to her. 

"What subject are you studying?" she asked, forgetting that she hadalready put that question to him. 

"Medicine. "

Olga Mihalovna now remembered that she had been away from the ladiesfor a long while. 

"Yes? Then I suppose you are going to be a doctor?" she said, gettingup. "That's splendid. I am sorry I did not go in for medicine myself. So you will finish your dinner here, gentlemen, and then come intothe garden. I will introduce you to the young ladies. "

She went out and glanced at her watch: it was five minutes to six. And she wondered that the time had gone so slowly, and thought withhorror that there were six more hours before midnight, when theparty would break up. How could she get through those six hours?What phrases could she utter? How should she behave to her husband?

There was not a soul in the drawing-room or on the verandah. Allthe guests were sauntering about the garden. 

"I shall have to suggest a walk in the birchwood before tea, orelse a row in the boats, " thought Olga Mihalovna, hurrying to thecroquet ground, from which came the sounds of voices and laughter. 

"And sit the old people down to _vint_. . . . " She met Grigory thefootman coming from the croquet ground with empty bottles. 

"Where are the ladies?" she asked. 

"Among the raspberry-bushes. The master's there, too. "

"Oh, good heavens!" some one on the croquet lawn shouted withexasperation. "I have told you a thousand times over! To know theBulgarians you must see them! You can't judge from the papers!"

Either because of the outburst or for some other reason, OlgaMihalovna was suddenly aware of a terrible weakness all over, especially in her legs and in her shoulders. She felt she could notbear to speak, to listen, or to move. 

"Grigory, " she said faintly and with an effort, "when you have toserve tea or anything, please don't appeal to me, don't ask meanything, don't speak of anything. . . . Do it all yourself, and. . . And don't make a noise with your feet, I entreat you. . . . Ican't, because . . . "

Without finishing, she walked on towards the croquet lawn, but onthe way she thought of the ladies, and turned towards theraspberry-bushes. The sky, the air, and the trees looked gloomyagain and threatened rain; it was hot and stifling. An immense flockof crows, foreseeing a storm, flew cawing over the garden. The pathswere more overgrown, darker, and narrower as they got nearer thekitchen garden. In one of them, buried in a thick tangle of wildpear, crab-apple, sorrel, young oaks, and hopbine, clouds of tinyblack flies swarmed round Olga Mihalovna. She covered her face withher hands and began forcing herself to think of the little creature. . . . There floated through her imagination the figures of Grigory, Mitya, Kolya, the faces of the peasants who had come in the morningto present their congratulations. 

She heard footsteps, and she opened her eyes. Uncle Nikolay Nikolaitchwas coming rapidly towards her. 

"It's you, dear? I am very glad . . . " he began, breathless. "Acouple of words. . . . " He mopped with his handkerchief his redshaven chin, then suddenly stepped back a pace, flung up his handsand opened his eyes wide. "My dear girl, how long is this goingon?" he said rapidly, spluttering. "I ask you: is there no limitto it? I say nothing of the demoralizing effect of his martinetviews on all around him, of the way he insults all that is sacredand best in me and in every honest thinking man--I will say nothingabout that, but he might at least behave decently! Why, he shouts, he bellows, gives himself airs, poses as a sort of Bonaparte, doesnot let one say a word. . . . I don't know what the devil's thematter with him! These lordly gestures, this condescending tone;and laughing like a general! Who is he, allow me to ask you? I askyou, who is he? The husband of his wife, with a few paltry acresand the rank of a titular who has had the luck to marry an heiress!An upstart and a _junker_, like so many others! A type out ofShtchedrin! Upon my word, it's either that he's suffering frommegalomania, or that old rat in his dotage, Count Alexey Petrovitch, is right when he says that children and young people are a longtime growing up nowadays, and go on playing they are cabmen andgenerals till they are forty!"

"That's true, that's true, " Olga Mihalovna assented. "Let me pass. "

"Now just consider: what is it leading to?" her uncle went on, barring her way. "How will this playing at being a general and aConservative end? Already he has got into trouble! Yes, to standhis trial! I am very glad of it! That's what his noise and shoutinghas brought him to--to stand in the prisoner's dock. And it's notas though it were the Circuit Court or something: it's the CentralCourt! Nothing worse could be imagined, I think! And then he hasquarrelled with every one! He is celebrating his name-day, and look, Vostryakov's not here, nor Yahontov, nor Vladimirov, nor Shevud, nor the Count. . . . There is no one, I imagine, more Conservativethan Count Alexey Petrovitch, yet even he has not come. And he neverwill come again. He won't come, you will see!"

"My God! but what has it to do with me?" asked Olga Mihalovna. 

"What has it to do with you? Why, you are his wife! You are clever, you have had a university education, and it was in your power tomake him an honest worker!"

"At the lectures I went to they did not teach us how to influencetiresome people. It seems as though I should have to apologize toall of you for having been at the University, " said Olga Mihalovnasharply. "Listen, uncle. If people played the same scales over andover again the whole day long in your hearing, you wouldn't be ableto sit still and listen, but would run away. I hear the same thingover again for days together all the year round. You must have pityon me at last. "

Her uncle pulled a very long face, then looked at her searchinglyand twisted his lips into a mocking smile. 

"So that's how it is, " he piped in a voice like an old woman's. "Ibeg your pardon!" he said, and made a ceremonious bow. "If you havefallen under his influence yourself, and have abandoned yourconvictions, you should have said so before. I beg your pardon!"

"Yes, I have abandoned my convictions, " she cried. "There; make themost of it!"

"I beg your pardon!"

Her uncle for the last time made her a ceremonious bow, a littleon one side, and, shrinking into himself, made a scrape with hisfoot and walked back. 

"Idiot!" thought Olga Mihalovna. "I hope he will go home. "

She found the ladies and the young people among the raspberries inthe kitchen garden. Some were eating raspberries; others, tired ofeating raspberries, were strolling about the strawberry beds orforaging among the sugar-peas. A little on one side of the raspberrybed, near a branching appletree propped up by posts which had beenpulled out of an old fence, Pyotr Dmitritch was mowing the grass. His hair was falling over his forehead, his cravat was untied. Hiswatch-chain was hanging loose. Every step and every swing of thescythe showed skill and the possession of immense physical strength. Near him were standing Lubotchka and the daughters of a neighbour, Colonel Bukryeev--two anaemic and unhealthily stout fair girls, Natalya and Valentina, or, as they were always called, Nata andVata, both wearing white frocks and strikingly like each other. Pyotr Dmitritch was teaching them to mow. 

"It's very simple, " he said. "You have only to know how to hold thescythe and not to get too hot over it--that is, not to use moreforce than is necessary! Like this. . . . Wouldn't you like to try?"he said, offering the scythe to Lubotchka. "Come!"

Lubotchka took the scythe clumsily, blushed crimson, and laughed. 

"Don't be afraid, Lubov Alexandrovna!" cried Olga Mihalovna, loudenough for all the ladies to hear that she was with them. "Don'tbe afraid! You must learn! If you marry a Tolstoyan he will makeyou mow. "

Lubotchka raised the scythe, but began laughing again, and, helplesswith laughter, let go of it at once. She was ashamed and pleasedat being talked to as though grown up. Nata, with a cold, seriousface, with no trace of smiling or shyness, took the scythe, swungit and caught it in the grass; Vata, also without a smile, as coldand serious as her sister, took the scythe, and silently thrust itinto the earth. Having done this, the two sisters linked arms andwalked in silence to the raspberries. 

Pyotr Dmitritch laughed and played about like a boy, and thischildish, frolicsome mood in which he became exceedingly good-naturedsuited him far better than any other. Olga Mihalovna loved him whenhe was like that. But his boyishness did not usually last long. Itdid not this time; after playing with the scythe, he for some reasonthought it necessary to take a serious tone about it. 

"When I am mowing, I feel, do you know, healthier and more normal, "he said. "If I were forced to confine myself to an intellectuallife I believe I should go out of my mind. I feel that I was notborn to be a man of culture! I ought to mow, plough, sow, drive outthe horses. "

And Pyotr Dmitritch began a conversation with the ladies about theadvantages of physical labour, about culture, and then about thepernicious effects of money, of property. Listening to her husband, Olga Mihalovna, for some reason, thought of her dowry. 

"And the time will come, I suppose, " she thought, "when he will notforgive me for being richer than he. He is proud and vain. Maybehe will hate me because he owes so much to me. "

She stopped near Colonel Bukryeev, who was eating raspberries andalso taking part in the conversation. 

"Come, " he said, making room for Olga Mihalovna and Pyotr Dmitritch. "The ripest are here. . . . And so, according to Proudhon, " he wenton, raising his voice, "property is robbery. But I must confess Idon't believe in Proudhon, and don't consider him a philosopher. The French are not authorities, to my thinking--God bless them!"

"Well, as for Proudhons and Buckles and the rest of them, I am weakin that department, " said Pyotr Dmitritch. "For philosophy you mustapply to my wife. She has been at University lectures and knows allyour Schopenhauers and Proudhons by heart. . . . "

Olga Mihalovna felt bored again. She walked again along a littlepath by apple and pear trees, and looked again as though she wason some very important errand. She reached the gardener's cottage. In the doorway the gardener's wife, Varvara, was sitting togetherwith her four little children with big shaven heads. Varvara, too, was with child and expecting to be confined on Elijah's Day. Aftergreeting her, Olga Mihalovna looked at her and the children insilence and asked:

"Well, how do you feel?"

"Oh, all right. . . . "

A silence followed. The two women seemed to understand each otherwithout words. 

"It's dreadful having one's first baby, " said Olga Mihalovna aftera moment's thought. "I keep feeling as though I shall not get throughit, as though I shall die. "

"I fancied that, too, but here I am alive. One has all sorts offancies. "

Varvara, who was just going to have her fifth, looked down a littleon her mistress from the height of her experience and spoke in arather didactic tone, and Olga Mihalovna could not help feeling herauthority; she would have liked to have talked of her fears, of thechild, of her sensations, but she was afraid it might strike Varvaraas naïve and trivial. And she waited in silence for Varvara to saysomething herself. 

"Olya, we are going indoors, " Pyotr Dmitritch called from theraspberries. 

Olga Mihalovna liked being silent, waiting and watching Varvara. She would have been ready to stay like that till night withoutspeaking or having any duty to perform. But she had to go. She hadhardly left the cottage when Lubotchka, Nata, and Vata came runningto meet her. The sisters stopped short abruptly a couple of yardsaway; Lubotchka ran right up to her and flung herself on her neck. 

"You dear, darling, precious, " she said, kissing her face and herneck. "Let us go and have tea on the island!"

"On the island, on the island!" said the precisely similar Nata andVata, both at once, without a smile. 

"But it's going to rain, my dears. "

"It's not, it's not, " cried Lubotchka with a woebegone face. "They'veall agreed to go. Dear! darling!"

"They are all getting ready to have tea on the island, " said PyotrDmitritch, coming up. "See to arranging things. . . . We will allgo in the boats, and the samovars and all the rest of it must besent in the carriage with the servants. "

He walked beside his wife and gave her his arm. Olga Mihalovna hada desire to say something disagreeable to her husband, somethingbiting, even about her dowry perhaps--the crueller the better, she felt. She thought a little, and said:

"Why is it Count Alexey Petrovitch hasn't come? What a pity!"

"I am very glad he hasn't come, " said Pyotr Dmitritch, lying. "I'msick to death of that old lunatic. "

"But yet before dinner you were expecting him so eagerly!"

III

Half an hour later all the guests were crowding on the bank nearthe pile to which the boats were fastened. They were all talkingand laughing, and were in such excitement and commotion that theycould hardly get into the boats. Three boats were crammed withpassengers, while two stood empty. The keys for unfastening thesetwo boats had been somehow mislaid, and messengers were continuallyrunning from the river to the house to look for them. Some saidGrigory had the keys, others that the bailiff had them, while otherssuggested sending for a blacksmith and breaking the padlocks. Andall talked at once, interrupting and shouting one another down. Pyotr Dmitritch paced impatiently to and fro on the bank, shouting:

"What the devil's the meaning of it! The keys ought always to belying in the hall window! Who has dared to take them away? Thebailiff can get a boat of his own if he wants one!"

At last the keys were found. Then it appeared that two oars weremissing. Again there was a great hullabaloo. Pyotr Dmitritch, whowas weary of pacing about the bank, jumped into a long, narrow boathollowed out of the trunk of a poplar, and, lurching from side toside and almost falling into the water, pushed off from the bank. The other boats followed him one after another, amid loud laughterand the shrieks of the young ladies. 

The white cloudy sky, the trees on the riverside, the boats withthe people in them, and the oars, were reflected in the water asin a mirror; under the boats, far away below in the bottomlessdepths, was a second sky with the birds flying across it. The bankon which the house and gardens stood was high, steep, and coveredwith trees; on the other, which was sloping, stretched broad greenwater-meadows with sheets of water glistening in them. The boatshad floated a hundred yards when, behind the mournfully droopingwillows on the sloping banks, huts and a herd of cows came intosight; they began to hear songs, drunken shouts, and the strainsof a concertina. 

Here and there on the river fishing-boats were scattered about, setting their nets for the night. In one of these boats was thefestive party, playing on home-made violins and violoncellos. 

Olga Mihalovna was sitting at the rudder; she was smiling affablyand talking a great deal to entertain her visitors, while she glancedstealthily at her husband. He was ahead of them all, standing uppunting with one oar. The light sharp-nosed canoe, which all theguests called the "death-trap"--while Pyotr Dmitritch, for somereason, called it _Penderaklia_--flew along quickly; it had abrisk, crafty expression, as though it hated its heavy occupant andwas looking out for a favourable moment to glide away from underhis feet. Olga Mihalovna kept looking at her husband, and she loathedhis good looks which attracted every one, the back of his head, hisattitude, his familiar manner with women; she hated all the womensitting in the boat with her, was jealous, and at the same time wastrembling every minute in terror that the frail craft would upsetand cause an accident. 

"Take care, Pyotr!" she cried, while her heart fluttered with terror. "Sit down! We believe in your courage without all that!"

She was worried, too, by the people who were in the boat with her. They were all ordinary good sort of people like thousands of others, but now each one of them struck her as exceptional and evil. Ineach one of them she saw nothing but falsity. "That young man, " shethought, "rowing, in gold-rimmed spectacles, with chestnut hair anda nice-looking beard: he is a mamma's darling, rich, and well-fed, and always fortunate, and every one considers him an honourable, free-thinking, advanced man. It's not a year since he left theUniversity and came to live in the district, but he already talksof himself as 'we active members of the Zemstvo. ' But in anotheryear he will be bored like so many others and go off to Petersburg, and to justify running away, will tell every one that the Zemstvosare good-for-nothing, and that he has been deceived in them. Whilefrom the other boat his young wife keeps her eyes fixed on him, andbelieves that he is 'an active member of the Zemstvo, ' just as ina year she will believe that the Zemstvo is good-for-nothing. Andthat stout, carefully shaven gentleman in the straw hat with thebroad ribbon, with an expensive cigar in his mouth: he is fond ofsaying, 'It is time to put away dreams and set to work!' He hasYorkshire pigs, Butler's hives, rape-seed, pine-apples, a dairy, acheese factory, Italian bookkeeping by double entry; but everysummer he sells his timber and mortgages part of his land to spendthe autumn with his mistress in the Crimea. And there's Uncle NikolayNikolaitch, who has quarrelled with Pyotr Dmitritch, and yet forsome reason does not go home. "

Olga Mihalovna looked at the other boats, and there, too, she sawonly uninteresting, queer creatures, affected or stupid people. Shethought of all the people she knew in the district, and could notremember one person of whom one could say or think anything good. They all seemed to her mediocre, insipid, unintelligent, narrow, false, heartless; they all said what they did not think, and didwhat they did not want to. Dreariness and despair were stiflingher; she longed to leave off smiling, to leap up and cry out, "Iam sick of you, " and then jump out and swim to the bank. 

"I say, let's take Pyotr Dmitritch in tow!" some one shouted. 

"In tow, in tow!" the others chimed in. "Olga Mihalovna, take yourhusband in tow. "

To take him in tow, Olga Mihalovna, who was steering, had to seizethe right moment and to catch bold of his boat by the chain at thebeak. When she bent over to the chain Pyotr Dmitritch frowned andlooked at her in alarm. 

"I hope you won't catch cold, " he said. 

"If you are uneasy about me and the child, why do you torment me?"thought Olga Mihalovna. 

Pyotr Dmitritch acknowledged himself vanquished, and, not caringto be towed, jumped from the _Penderaklia_ into the boat which wasoverful already, and jumped so carelessly that the boat lurchedviolently, and every one cried out in terror. 

"He did that to please the ladies, " thought Olga Mihalovna; "heknows it's charming. " Her hands and feet began trembling, as shesupposed, from boredom, vexation from the strain of smiling and thediscomfort she felt all over her body. And to conceal this tremblingfrom her guests, she tried to talk more loudly, to laugh, to move. 

"If I suddenly begin to cry, " she thought, "I shall say I havetoothache. . . . "

But at last the boats reached the "Island of Good Hope, " as theycalled the peninsula formed by a bend in the river at an acuteangle, covered with a copse of old birch-trees, oaks, willows, andpoplars. The tables were already laid under the trees; the samovarswere smoking, and Vassily and Grigory, in their swallow-tails andwhite knitted gloves, were already busy with the tea-things. On theother bank, opposite the "Island of Good Hope, " there stood thecarriages which had come with the provisions. The baskets and parcelsof provisions were carried across to the island in a little boatlike the _Penderaklia_. The footmen, the coachmen, and even thepeasant who was sitting in the boat, had the solemn expressionbefitting a name-day such as one only sees in children and servants. 

While Olga Mihalovna was making the tea and pouring out the firstglasses, the visitors were busy with the liqueurs and sweet things. Then there was the general commotion usual at picnics over drinkingtea, very wearisome and exhausting for the hostess. Grigory andVassily had hardly had time to take the glasses round before handswere being stretched out to Olga Mihalovna with empty glasses. Oneasked for no sugar, another wanted it stronger, another weak, afourth declined another glass. And all this Olga Mihalovna had toremember, and then to call, "Ivan Petrovitch, is it without sugarfor you?" or, "Gentlemen, which of you wanted it weak?" But theguest who had asked for weak tea, or no sugar, had by now forgottenit, and, absorbed in agreeable conversation, took the first glassthat came. Depressed-looking figures wandered like shadows at alittle distance from the table, pretending to look for mushroomsin the grass, or reading the labels on the boxes--these were thosefor whom there were not glasses enough. "Have you had tea?" OlgaMihalovna kept asking, and the guest so addressed begged her notto trouble, and said, "I will wait, " though it would have suitedher better for the visitors not to wait but to make haste. 

Some, absorbed in conversation, drank their tea slowly, keepingtheir glasses for half an hour; others, especially some who haddrunk a good deal at dinner, would not leave the table, and kepton drinking glass after glass, so that Olga Mihalovna scarcely hadtime to fill them. One jocular young man sipped his tea through alump of sugar, and kept saying, "Sinful man that I am, I love toindulge myself with the Chinese herb. " He kept asking with a heavysigh: "Another tiny dish of tea more, if you please. " He drank agreat deal, nibbled his sugar, and thought it all very amusing andoriginal, and imagined that he was doing a clever imitation of aRussian merchant. None of them understood that these trifles wereagonizing to their hostess, and, indeed, it was hard to understandit, as Olga Mihalovna went on all the time smiling affably andtalking nonsense. 

But she felt ill. . . . She was irritated by the crowd of people, the laughter, the questions, the jocular young man, the footmenharassed and run off their legs, the children who hung round thetable; she was irritated at Vata's being like Nata, at Kolya's beinglike Mitya, so that one could not tell which of them had had teaand which of them had not. She felt that her smile of forcedaffability was passing into an expression of anger, and she feltevery minute as though she would burst into tears. 

"Rain, my friends, " cried some one. 

Every one looked at the sky. 

"Yes, it really is rain . . . " Pyotr Dmitritch assented, and wipedhis cheek. 

Only a few drops were falling from the sky--the real rain had notbegun yet; but the company abandoned their tea and made haste toget off. At first they all wanted to drive home in the carriages, but changed their minds and made for the boats. On the pretext thatshe had to hasten home to give directions about the supper, OlgaMihalovna asked to be excused for leaving the others, and went homein the carriage. 

When she got into the carriage, she first of all let her face restfrom smiling. With an angry face she drove through the village, andwith an angry face acknowledged the bows of the peasants she met. When she got home, she went to the bedroom by the back way and laydown on her husband's bed. 

"Merciful God!" she whispered. "What is all this hard labour for?Why do all these people hustle each other here and pretend thatthey are enjoying themselves? Why do I smile and lie? I don'tunderstand it. "

She heard steps and voices. The visitors had come back. 

"Let them come, " thought Olga Mihalovna; "I shall lie a littlelonger. "

But a maid-servant came and said:

"Marya Grigoryevna is going, madam. "

Olga Mihalovna jumped up, tidied her hair and hurried out of theroom. 

"Marya Grigoryevna, what is the meaning of this?" she began in aninjured voice, going to meet Marya Grigoryevna. "Why are you insuch a hurry?"

"I can't help it, darling! I've stayed too long as it is; my childrenare expecting me home. "

"It's too bad of you! Why didn't you bring your children with you?"

"If you will let me, dear, I will bring them on some ordinary day, but to-day . . . "

"Oh, please do, " Olga Mihalovna interrupted; "I shall be delighted!Your children are so sweet! Kiss them all for me. . . . But, really, I am offended with you! I don't understand why you are in such ahurry!"

"I really must, I really must. . . . Good-bye, dear. Take care ofyourself. In your condition, you know . . . "

And the ladies kissed each other. After seeing the departing guestto her carriage, Olga Mihalovna went in to the ladies in thedrawing-room. There the lamps were already lighted and the gentlemenwere sitting down to cards. 

IV

The party broke up after supper about a quarter past twelve. Seeingher visitors off, Olga Mihalovna stood at the door and said:

"You really ought to take a shawl! It's turning a little chilly. Please God, you don't catch cold!"

"Don't trouble, Olga Mihalovna, " the ladies answered as they gotinto the carriage. "Well, good-bye. Mind now, we are expecting you;don't play us false!"

"Wo-o-o!" the coachman checked the horses. 

"Ready, Denis! Good-bye, Olga Mihalovna!"

"Kiss the children for me!"

The carriage started and immediately disappeared into the darkness. In the red circle of light cast by the lamp in the road, a freshpair or trio of impatient horses, and the silhouette of a coachmanwith his hands held out stiffly before him, would come into view. Again there began kisses, reproaches, and entreaties to come againor to take a shawl. Pyotr Dmitritch kept running out and helpingthe ladies into their carriages. 

"You go now by Efremovshtchina, " he directed the coachman; "it'snearer through Mankino, but the road is worse that way. You mighthave an upset. . . . Good-bye, my charmer. _Mille_ compliments toyour artist!"

"Good-bye, Olga Mihalovna, darling! Go indoors, or you will catchcold! It's damp!"

"Wo-o-o! you rascal!"

"What horses have you got here?" Pyotr Dmitritch asked. 

"They were bought from Haidorov, in Lent, " answered the coachman. 

"Capital horses. . . . "

And Pyotr Dmitritch patted the trace horse on the haunch. 

"Well, you can start! God give you good luck!"

The last visitor was gone at last; the red circle on the roadquivered, moved aside, contracted and went out, as Vassily carriedaway the lamp from the entrance. On previous occasions when theyhad seen off their visitors, Pyotr Dmitritch and Olga Mihalovna hadbegun dancing about the drawing-room, facing each other, clappingtheir hands and singing: "They've gone! They've gone!" But now OlgaMihalovna was not equal to that. She went to her bedroom, undressed, and got into bed. 

She fancied she would fall asleep at once and sleep soundly. Herlegs and her shoulders ached painfully, her head was heavy from thestrain of talking, and she was conscious, as before, of discomfortall over her body. Covering her head over, she lay still for threeor four minutes, then peeped out from under the bed-clothes at thelamp before the ikon, listened to the silence, and smiled. 

"It's nice, it's nice, " she whispered, curling up her legs, whichfelt as if they had grown longer from so much walking. "Sleep, sleep. . . . "

Her legs would not get into a comfortable position; she felt uneasyall over, and she turned on the other side. A big fly blew buzzingabout the bedroom and thumped against the ceiling. She could hear, too, Grigory and Vassily stepping cautiously about the drawing-room, putting the chairs back in their places; it seemed to Olga Mihalovnathat she could not go to sleep, nor be comfortable till those soundswere hushed. And again she turned over on the other side impatiently. 

She heard her husband's voice in the drawing-room. Some one mustbe staying the night, as Pyotr Dmitritch was addressing some oneand speaking loudly:

"I don't say that Count Alexey Petrovitch is an impostor. But hecan't help seeming to be one, because all of you gentlemen attemptto see in him something different from what he really is. Hiscraziness is looked upon as originality, his familiar manners asgood-nature, and his complete absence of opinions as Conservatism. Even granted that he is a Conservative of the stamp of '84, whatafter all is Conservatism?"

Pyotr Dmitritch, angry with Count Alexey Petrovitch, his visitors, and himself, was relieving his heart. He abused both the Count andhis visitors, and in his vexation with himself was ready to speakout and to hold forth upon anything. After seeing his guest to hisroom, he walked up and down the drawing-room, walked through thedining-room, down the corridor, then into his study, then againwent into the drawing-room, and came into the bedroom. Olga Mihalovnawas lying on her back, with the bed-clothes only to her waist (bynow she felt hot), and with an angry face, watched the fly that wasthumping against the ceiling. 

"Is some one staying the night?" she asked. 

"Yegorov. "

Pyotr Dmitritch undressed and got into his bed. 

Without speaking, he lighted a cigarette, and he, too, fell towatching the fly. There was an uneasy and forbidding look in hiseyes. Olga Mihalovna looked at his handsome profile for five minutesin silence. It seemed to her for some reason that if her husbandwere suddenly to turn facing her, and to say, "Olga, I am unhappy, "she would cry or laugh, and she would be at ease. She fancied thather legs were aching and her body was uncomfortable all over becauseof the strain on her feelings. 

"Pyotr, what are you thinking of?" she said. 

"Oh, nothing . . . " her husband answered. 

"You have taken to having secrets from me of late: that's not right. "

"Why is it not right?" answered Pyotr Dmitritch drily and not atonce. "We all have our personal life, every one of us, and we arebound to have our secrets. "

"Personal life, our secrets . . . That's all words! Understand youare wounding me!" said Olga Mihalovna, sitting up in bed. "If youhave a load on your heart, why do you hide it from me? And why doyou find it more suitable to open your heart to women who are nothingto you, instead of to your wife? I overheard your outpourings toLubotchka by the bee-house to-day. "

"Well, I congratulate you. I am glad you did overhear it. "

This meant "Leave me alone and let me think. " Olga Mihalovna wasindignant. Vexation, hatred, and wrath, which had been accumulatingwithin her during the whole day, suddenly boiled over; she wantedat once to speak out, to hurt her husband without putting it offtill to-morrow, to wound him, to punish him. . . . Making an effortto control herself and not to scream, she said:

"Let me tell you, then, that it's all loathsome, loathsome, loathsome!I've been hating you all day; you see what you've done. "

Pyotr Dmitritch, too, got up and sat on the bed. 

"It's loathsome, loathsome, loathsome, " Olga Mihalovna went on, beginning to tremble all over. "There's no need to congratulate me;you had better congratulate yourself! It's a shame, a disgrace. Youhave wrapped yourself in lies till you are ashamed to be alone inthe room with your wife! You are a deceitful man! I see through youand understand every step you take!"

"Olya, I wish you would please warn me when you are out of humour. Then I will sleep in the study. "

Saying this, Pyotr Dmitritch picked up his pillow and walked outof the bedroom. Olga Mihalovna had not foreseen this. For someminutes she remained silent with her mouth open, trembling all overand looking at the door by which her husband had gone out, andtrying to understand what it meant. Was this one of the devices towhich deceitful people have recourse when they are in the wrong, or was it a deliberate insult aimed at her pride? How was she totake it? Olga Mihalovna remembered her cousin, a lively youngofficer, who often used to tell her, laughing, that when "his spousenagged at him" at night, he usually picked up his pillow and wentwhistling to spend the night in his study, leaving his wife in afoolish and ridiculous position. This officer was married to a rich, capricious, and foolish woman whom he did not respect but simplyput up with. 

Olga Mihalovna jumped out of bed. To her mind there was only onething left for her to do now; to dress with all possible haste andto leave the house forever. The house was her own, but so much theworse for Pyotr Dmitritch. Without pausing to consider whether thiswas necessary or not, she went quickly to the study to inform herhusband of her intention ("Feminine logic!" flashed through hermind), and to say something wounding and sarcastic at parting. . . . 

Pyotr Dmitritch was lying on the sofa and pretending to read anewspaper. There was a candle burning on a chair near him. His facecould not be seen behind the newspaper. 

"Be so kind as to tell me what this means? I am asking you. "

"Be so kind . . . " Pyotr Dmitritch mimicked her, not showing hisface. "It's sickening, Olga! Upon my honour, I am exhausted and notup to it. . . . Let us do our quarrelling to-morrow. "

"No, I understand you perfectly!" Olga Mihalovna went on. "You hateme! Yes, yes! You hate me because I am richer than you! You willnever forgive me for that, and will always be lying to me!" ("Femininelogic!" flashed through her mind again. ) "You are laughing at menow. . . . I am convinced, in fact, that you only married me inorder to have property qualifications and those wretched horses. . . . Oh, I am miserable!"

Pyotr Dmitritch dropped the newspaper and got up. The unexpectedinsult overwhelmed him. With a childishly helpless smile he lookeddesperately at his wife, and holding out his hands to her as thoughto ward off blows, he said imploringly:

"Olya!"

And expecting her to say something else awful, he leaned back inhis chair, and his huge figure seemed as helplessly childish as hissmile. 

"Olya, how could you say it?" he whispered. 

Olga Mihalovna came to herself. She was suddenly aware of herpassionate love for this man, remembered that he was her husband, Pyotr Dmitritch, without whom she could not live for a day, and wholoved her passionately, too. She burst into loud sobs that soundedstrange and unlike her, and ran back to her bedroom. 

She fell on the bed, and short hysterical sobs, choking her andmaking her arms and legs twitch, filled the bedroom. Rememberingthere was a visitor sleeping three or four rooms away, she buriedher head under the pillow to stifle her sobs, but the pillow rolledon to the floor, and she almost fell on the floor herself when shestooped to pick it up. She pulled the quilt up to her face, but herhands would not obey her, but tore convulsively at everything sheclutched. 

She thought that everything was lost, that the falsehood she hadtold to wound her husband had shattered her life into fragments. Her husband would not forgive her. The insult she had hurled at himwas not one that could be effaced by any caresses, by any vows. . . . How could she convince her husband that she did not believewhat she had said?

"It's all over, it's all over!" she cried, not noticing that thepillow had slipped on to the floor again. "For God's sake, for God'ssake!"

Probably roused by her cries, the guest and the servants were nowawake; next day all the neighbourhood would know that she had beenin hysterics and would blame Pyotr Dmitritch. She made an effortto restrain herself, but her sobs grew louder and louder everyminute. 

"For God's sake, " she cried in a voice not like her own, and notknowing why she cried it. "For God's sake!"

She felt as though the bed were heaving under her and her feet wereentangled in the bed-clothes. Pyotr Dmitritch, in his dressing-gown, with a candle in his hand, came into the bedroom. 

"Olya, hush!" he said. 

She raised herself, and kneeling up in bed, screwing up her eyesat the light, articulated through her sobs:

"Understand . . . Understand! . . . . "

She wanted to tell him that she was tired to death by the party, by his falsity, by her own falsity, that it had all worked together, but she could only articulate:

"Understand . . . Understand!"

"Come, drink!" he said, handing her some water. 

She took the glass obediently and began drinking, but the watersplashed over and was spilt on her arms, her throat and knees. 

"I must look horribly unseemly, " she thought. 

Pyotr Dmitritch put her back in bed without a word, and covered herwith the quilt, then he took the candle and went out. 

"For God's sake!" Olga Mihalovna cried again. "Pyotr, understand, understand!"

Suddenly something gripped her in the lower part of her body andback with such violence that her wailing was cut short, and she bitthe pillow from the pain. But the pain let her go again at once, and she began sobbing again. 

The maid came in, and arranging the quilt over her, asked in alarm:

"Mistress, darling, what is the matter?"

"Go out of the room, " said Pyotr Dmitritch sternly, going up to thebed. 

"Understand . . . Understand! . . . " Olga Mihalovna began. 

"Olya, I entreat you, calm yourself, " he said. "I did not mean tohurt you. I would not have gone out of the room if I had known itwould have hurt you so much; I simply felt depressed. I tell you, on my honour . . . "

"Understand! . . . You were lying, I was lying. . . . "

"I understand. . . . Come, come, that's enough! I understand, " saidPyotr Dmitritch tenderly, sitting down on her bed. "You said thatin anger; I quite understand. I swear to God I love you beyondanything on earth, and when I married you I never once thought ofyour being rich. I loved you immensely, and that's all . . . Iassure you. I have never been in want of money or felt the valueof it, and so I cannot feel the difference between your fortune andmine. It always seemed to me we were equally well off. And that Ihave been deceitful in little things, that . . . Of course, is true. My life has hitherto been arranged in such a frivolous way that ithas somehow been impossible to get on without paltry lying. Itweighs on me, too, now. . . . Let us leave off talking about it, for goodness' sake!"

Olga Mihalovna again felt in acute pain, and clutched her husbandby the sleeve. 

"I am in pain, in pain, in pain . . . " she said rapidly. "Oh, whatpain!"

"Damnation take those visitors!" muttered Pyotr Dmitritch, gettingup. "You ought not to have gone to the island to-day!" he cried. "What an idiot I was not to prevent you! Oh, my God!"

He scratched his head in vexation, and, with a wave of his hand, walked out of the room. 

Then he came into the room several times, sat down on the bed besideher, and talked a great deal, sometimes tenderly, sometimes angrily, but she hardly heard him. Her sobs were continually interrupted byfearful attacks of pain, and each time the pain was more acute andprolonged. At first she held her breath and bit the pillow duringthe pain, but then she began screaming on an unseemly piercing note. Once seeing her husband near her, she remembered that she hadinsulted him, and without pausing to think whether it were reallyPyotr Dmitritch or whether she were in delirium, clutched his handin both hers and began kissing it. 

"You were lying, I was lying . . . " she began justifying herself. "Understand, understand. . . . They have exhausted me, driven meout of all patience. "

"Olya, we are not alone, " said Pyotr Dmitritch. 

Olga Mihalovna raised her head and saw Varvara, who was kneelingby the chest of drawers and pulling out the bottom drawer. The topdrawers were already open. Then Varvara got up, red from the strainedposition, and with a cold, solemn face began trying to unlock abox. 

"Marya, I can't unlock it!" she said in a whisper. "You unlock it, won't you?"

Marya, the maid, was digging a candle end out of the candlestickwith a pair of scissors, so as to put in a new candle; she went upto Varvara and helped her to unlock the box. 

"There should be nothing locked . . . " whispered Varvara. "Unlockthis basket, too, my good girl. Master, " she said, "you should sendto Father Mihail to unlock the holy gates! You must!"

"Do what you like, " said Pyotr Dmitritch, breathing hard, "only, for God's sake, make haste and fetch the doctor or the midwife! HasVassily gone? Send some one else. Send your husband!"

"It's the birth, " Olga Mihalovna thought. "Varvara, " she moaned, "but he won't be born alive!"

"It's all right, it's all right, mistress, " whispered Varvara. "Please God, he will be alive! he will be alive!"

When Olga Mihalovna came to herself again after a pain she was nolonger sobbing nor tossing from side to side, but moaning. She couldnot refrain from moaning even in the intervals between the pains. The candles were still burning, but the morning light was comingthrough the blinds. It was probably about five o'clock in themorning. At the round table there was sitting some unknown womanwith a very discreet air, wearing a white apron. From her wholeappearance it was evident she had been sitting there a long time. Olga Mihalovna guessed that she was the midwife. 

"Will it soon be over?" she asked, and in her voice she heard apeculiar and unfamiliar note which had never been there before. "Imust be dying in childbirth, " she thought. 

Pyotr Dmitritch came cautiously into the bedroom, dressed for theday, and stood at the window with his back to his wife. He liftedthe blind and looked out of window. 

"What rain!" he said. 

"What time is it?" asked Olga Mihalovna, in order to hear theunfamiliar note in her voice again. 

"A quarter to six, " answered the midwife. 

"And what if I really am dying?" thought Olga Mihalovna, lookingat her husband's head and the window-panes on which the rain wasbeating. "How will he live without me? With whom will he have teaand dinner, talk in the evenings, sleep?"

And he seemed to her like a forlorn child; she felt sorry for himand wanted to say something nice, caressing and consolatory. Sheremembered how in the spring he had meant to buy himself someharriers, and she, thinking it a cruel and dangerous sport, hadprevented him from doing it. 

"Pyotr, buy yourself harriers, " she moaned. 

He dropped the blind and went up to the bed, and would have saidsomething; but at that moment the pain came back, and Olga Mihalovnauttered an unseemly, piercing scream. 

The pain and the constant screaming and moaning stupefied her. Sheheard, saw, and sometimes spoke, but hardly understood anything, and was only conscious that she was in pain or was just going tobe in pain. It seemed to her that the nameday party had been long, long ago--not yesterday, but a year ago perhaps; and that her newlife of agony had lasted longer than her childhood, her school-days, her time at the University, and her marriage, and would go on fora long, long time, endlessly. She saw them bring tea to the midwife, and summon her at midday to lunch and afterwards to dinner; she sawPyotr Dmitritch grow used to coming in, standing for long intervalsby the window, and going out again; saw strange men, the maid, Varvara, come in as though they were at home. . . . Varvara saidnothing but, "He will, he will, " and was angry when any one closedthe drawers and the chest. Olga Mihalovna saw the light change inthe room and in the windows: at one time it was twilight, then thicklike fog, then bright daylight as it had been at dinner-time theday before, then again twilight . . . And each of these changeslasted as long as her childhood, her school-days, her life at theUniversity. . . . 

In the evening two doctors--one bony, bald, with a big red beard;the other with a swarthy Jewish face and cheap spectacles--performedsome sort of operation on Olga Mihalovna. To these unknown mentouching her body she felt utterly indifferent. By now she had nofeeling of shame, no will, and any one might do what he would withher. If any one had rushed at her with a knife, or had insultedPyotr Dmitritch, or had robbed her of her right to the littlecreature, she would not have said a word. 

They gave her chloroform during the operation. When she came toagain, the pain was still there and insufferable. It was night. AndOlga Mihalovna remembered that there had been just such a nightwith the stillness, the lamp, with the midwife sitting motionlessby the bed, with the drawers of the chest pulled out, with PyotrDmitritch standing by the window, but some time very, very longago. . . . 

V

"I am not dead . . . " thought Olga Mihalovna when she began tounderstand her surroundings again, and when the pain was over. 

A bright summer day looked in at the widely open windows; in thegarden below the windows, the sparrows and the magpies never ceasedchattering for one instant. 

The drawers were shut now, her husband's bed had been made. Therewas no sign of the midwife or of the maid, or of Varvara in theroom, only Pyotr Dmitritch was standing, as before, motionless bythe window looking into the garden. There was no sound of a child'scrying, no one was congratulating her or rejoicing, it was evidentthat the little creature had not been born alive. 

"Pyotr!"

Olga Mihalovna called to her husband. 

Pyotr Dmitritch looked round. It seemed as though a long time musthave passed since the last guest had departed and Olga Mihalovnahad insulted her husband, for Pyotr Dmitritch was perceptibly thinnerand hollow-eyed. 

"What is it?" he asked, coming up to the bed. 

He looked away, moved his lips and smiled with childlike helplessness. 

"Is it all over?" asked Olga Mihalovna. 

Pyotr Dmitritch tried to make some answer, but his lips quiveredand his mouth worked like a toothless old man's, like Uncle NikolayNikolaitch's. 

"Olya, " he said, wringing his hands; big tears suddenly droppingfrom his eyes. "Olya, I don't care about your property qualification, nor the Circuit Courts . . . " (he gave a sob) "nor particular views, nor those visitors, nor your fortune. . . . I don't care aboutanything! Why didn't we take care of our child? Oh, it's no goodtalking!"

With a despairing gesture he went out of the bedroom. 

But nothing mattered to Olga Mihalovna now, there was a mistinessin her brain from the chloroform, an emptiness in her soul. . . . The dull indifference to life which had overcome her when the twodoctors were performing the operation still had possession of her. 

TERROR

My Friend's Story

DMITRI PETROVITCH SILIN had taken his degree and entered thegovernment service in Petersburg, but at thirty he gave up his postand went in for agriculture. His farming was fairly successful, andyet it always seemed to me that he was not in his proper place, andthat he would do well to go back to Petersburg. When sunburnt, greywith dust, exhausted with toil, he met me near the gates or at theentrance, and then at supper struggled with sleepiness and his wifetook him off to bed as though he were a baby; or when, overcominghis sleepiness, he began in his soft, cordial, almost imploringvoice, to talk about his really excellent ideas, I saw him not asa farmer nor an agriculturist, but only as a worried and exhaustedman, and it was clear to me that he did not really care for farming, but that all he wanted was for the day to be over and "Thank Godfor it. "

I liked to be with him, and I used to stay on his farm for two orthree days at a time. I liked his house, and his park, and his bigfruit garden, and the river--and his philosophy, which was clear, though rather spiritless and rhetorical. I suppose I was fond ofhim on his own account, though I can't say that for certain, as Ihave not up to now succeeded in analysing my feelings at that time. He was an intelligent, kind-hearted, genuine man, and not a bore, but I remember that when he confided to me his most treasured secretsand spoke of our relation to each other as friendship, it disturbedme unpleasantly, and I was conscious of awkwardness. In his affectionfor me there was something inappropriate, tiresome, and I shouldhave greatly preferred commonplace friendly relations. 

The fact is that I was extremely attracted by his wife, MaryaSergeyevna. I was not in love with her, but I was attracted by herface, her eyes, her voice, her walk. I missed her when I did notsee her for a long time, and my imagination pictured no one at thattime so eagerly as that young, beautiful, elegant woman. I had nodefinite designs in regard to her, and did not dream of anythingof the sort, yet for some reason, whenever we were left alone, Iremembered that her husband looked upon me as his friend, and Ifelt awkward. When she played my favourite pieces on the piano ortold me something interesting, I listened with pleasure, and yetat the same time for some reason the reflection that she loved herhusband, that he was my friend, and that she herself looked uponme as his friend, obtruded themselves upon me, my spirits flagged, and I became listless, awkward, and dull. She noticed this changeand would usually say:

"You are dull without your friend. We must send out to the fieldsfor him. "

And when Dmitri Petrovitch came in, she would say:

"Well, here is your friend now. Rejoice. "

So passed a year and a half. 

It somehow happened one July Sunday that Dmitri Petrovitch and I, having nothing to do, drove to the big village of Klushino to buythings for supper. While we were going from one shop to another thesun set and the evening came on--the evening which I shall probablynever forget in my life. After buying cheese that smelt like soap, and petrified sausages that smelt of tar, we went to the tavern toask whether they had any beer. Our coachman went off to the blacksmithto get our horses shod, and we told him we would wait for him nearthe church. We walked, talked, laughed over our purchases, while aman who was known in the district by a very strange nickname, "FortyMartyrs, " followed us all the while in silence with a mysteriousair like a detective. This Forty Martyrs was no other than GavrilSyeverov, or more simply Gavryushka, who had been for a short timein my service as a footman and had been dismissed by me fordrunkenness. He had been in Dmitri Petrovitch's service, too, andby him had been dismissed for the same vice. He was an inveteratedrunkard, and indeed his whole life was as drunk and disorderly ashimself. His father had been a priest and his mother of noble rank, so by birth he belonged to the privileged class; but however carefullyI scrutinized his exhausted, respectful, and always perspiring face, his red beard now turning grey, his pitifully torn reefer jacketand his red shirt, I could not discover in him the faintest traceof anything we associate with privilege. He spoke of himself as aman of education, and used to say that he had been in a clericalschool, but had not finished his studies there, as he had beenexpelled for smoking; then he had sung in the bishop's choir andlived for two years in a monastery, from which he was also expelled, but this time not for smoking but for "his weakness. " He had walkedall over two provinces, had presented petitions to the Consistory, and to various government offices, and had been four times on histrial. At last, being stranded in our district, he had served as afootman, as a forester, as a kennelman, as a sexton, had married acook who was a widow and rather a loose character, and had sohopelessly sunk into a menial position, and had grown so used tofilth and dirt, that he even spoke of his privileged origin with acertain scepticism, as of some myth. At the time I am describing, he was hanging about without a job, calling himself a carrier anda huntsman, and his wife had disappeared and made no sign. 

From the tavern we went to the church and sat in the porch, waitingfor the coachman. Forty Martyrs stood a little way off and put hishand before his mouth in order to cough in it respectfully if needbe. By now it was dark; there was a strong smell of evening dampness, and the moon was on the point of rising. There were only two cloudsin the clear starry sky exactly over our heads: one big one and onesmaller; alone in the sky they were racing after one another likemother and child, in the direction where the sunset was glowing. 

"What a glorious day!" said Dmitri Petrovitch. 

"In the extreme . . . " Forty Martyrs assented, and he coughedrespectfully into his hand. "How was it, Dmitri Petrovitch, youthought to visit these parts?" he asked in an ingratiating voice, evidently anxious to get up a conversation. 

Dmitri Petrovitch made no answer. Forty Martyrs heaved a deep sighand said softly, not looking at us:

"I suffer solely through a cause to which I must answer to AlmightyGod. No doubt about it, I am a hopeless and incompetent man; butbelieve me, on my conscience, I am without a crust of bread andworse off than a dog. . . . Forgive me, Dmitri Petrovitch. "

Silin was not listening, but sat musing with his head propped onhis fists. The church stood at the end of the street on the highriver-bank, and through the trellis gate of the enclosure we couldsee the river, the water-meadows on the near side of it, and thecrimson glare of a camp fire about which black figures of men andhorses were moving. And beyond the fire, further away, there wereother lights, where there was a little village. They were singingthere. On the river, and here and there on the meadows, a mist wasrising. High narrow coils of mist, thick and white as milk, weretrailing over the river, hiding the reflection of the stars andhovering over the willows. Every minute they changed their form, and it seemed as though some were embracing, others were bowing, others lifting up their arms to heaven with wide sleeves likepriests, as though they were praying. . . . Probably they remindedDmitri Petrovitch of ghosts and of the dead, for he turned facingme and asked with a mournful smile:

"Tell me, my dear fellow, why is it that when we want to tell someterrible, mysterious, and fantastic story, we draw our material, not from life, but invariably from the world of ghosts and of theshadows beyond the grave. "

"We are frightened of what we don't understand. "

"And do you understand life? Tell me: do you understand life betterthan the world beyond the grave?"

Dmitri Petrovitch was sitting quite close to me, so that I felt hisbreath upon my cheek. In the evening twilight his pale, lean faceseemed paler than ever and his dark beard was black as soot. Hiseyes were sad, truthful, and a little frightened, as though he wereabout to tell me something horrible. He looked into my eyes andwent on in his habitual imploring voice:

"Our life and the life beyond the grave are equally incomprehensibleand horrible. If any one is afraid of ghosts he ought to be afraid, too, of me, and of those lights and of the sky, seeing that, if youcome to reflect, all that is no less fantastic and beyond our graspthan apparitions from the other world. Prince Hamlet did not killhimself because he was afraid of the visions that might haunt hisdreams after death. I like that famous soliloquy of his, but, tobe candid, it never touched my soul. I will confess to you as afriend that in moments of depression I have sometimes pictured tomyself the hour of my death. My fancy invented thousands of thegloomiest visions, and I have succeeded in working myself up to anagonizing exaltation, to a state of nightmare, and I assure youthat that did not seem to me more terrible than reality. What Imean is, apparitions are terrible, but life is terrible, too. Idon't understand life and I am afraid of it, my dear boy; I don'tknow. Perhaps I am a morbid person, unhinged. It seems to a sound, healthy man that he understands everything he sees and hears, butthat 'seeming' is lost to me, and from day to day I am poisoningmyself with terror. There is a disease, the fear of open spaces, but my disease is the fear of life. When I lie on the grass andwatch a little beetle which was born yesterday and understandsnothing, it seems to me that its life consists of nothing else butfear, and in it I see myself. "

"What is it exactly you are frightened of?" I asked. 

"I am afraid of everything. I am not by nature a profound thinker, and I take little interest in such questions as the life beyond thegrave, the destiny of humanity, and, in fact, I am rarely carriedaway to the heights. What chiefly frightens me is the common routineof life from which none of us can escape. I am incapable ofdistinguishing what is true and what is false in my actions, andthey worry me. I recognize that education and the conditions oflife have imprisoned me in a narrow circle of falsity, that my wholelife is nothing else than a daily effort to deceive myself and otherpeople, and to avoid noticing it; and I am frightened at the thoughtthat to the day of my death I shall not escape from this falsity. To-day I do something and to-morrow I do not understand why I didit. I entered the service in Petersburg and took fright; I camehere to work on the land, and here, too, I am frightened. . . . Isee that we know very little and so make mistakes every day. We areunjust, we slander one another and spoil each other's lives, wewaste all our powers on trash which we do not need and which hindersus from living; and that frightens me, because I don't understandwhy and for whom it is necessary. I don't understand men, my dearfellow, and I am afraid of them. It frightens me to look at thepeasants, and I don't know for what higher objects they are sufferingand what they are living for. If life is an enjoyment, then theyare unnecessary, superfluous people; if the object and meaning oflife is to be found in poverty and unending, hopeless ignorance, Ican't understand for whom and what this torture is necessary. Iunderstand no one and nothing. Kindly try to understand this specimen, for instance, " said Dmitri Petrovitch, pointing to Forty Martyrs. "Think of him!"

Noticing that we were looking at him, Forty Martyrs cougheddeferentially into his fist and said:

"I was always a faithful servant with good masters, but the greattrouble has been spirituous liquor. If a poor fellow like me wereshown consideration and given a place, I would kiss the ikon. Myword's my bond. "

The sexton walked by, looked at us in amazement, and began pullingthe rope. The bell, abruptly breaking upon the stillness of theevening, struck ten with a slow and prolonged note. 

"It's ten o'clock, though, " said Dmitri Petrovitch. "It's time wewere going. Yes, my dear fellow, " he sighed, "if only you knew howafraid I am of my ordinary everyday thoughts, in which one wouldhave thought there should be nothing dreadful. To prevent myselfthinking I distract my mind with work and try to tire myself outthat I may sleep sound at night. Children, a wife--all that seemsordinary with other people; but how that weighs upon me, my dearfellow!"

He rubbed his face with his hands, cleared his throat, and laughed. 

"If I could only tell you how I have played the fool in my life!"he said. "They all tell me that I have a sweet wife, charmingchildren, and that I am a good husband and father. They think I amvery happy and envy me. But since it has come to that, I will tellyou in secret: my happy family life is only a grievous misunderstanding, and I am afraid of it. " His pale face was distorted by a wry smile. He put his arm round my waist and went on in an undertone:

"You are my true friend; I believe in you and have a deep respectfor you. Heaven gave us friendship that we may open our hearts andescape from the secrets that weigh upon us. Let me take advantageof your friendly feeling for me and tell you the whole truth. Myhome life, which seems to you so enchanting, is my chief misery andmy chief terror. I got married in a strange and stupid way. I musttell you that I was madly in love with Masha before I married her, and was courting her for two years. I asked her to marry me fivetimes, and she refused me because she did not care for me in theleast. The sixth, when burning with passion I crawled on my kneesbefore her and implored her to take a beggar and marry me, sheconsented. . . . What she said to me was: 'I don't love you, but Iwill be true to you. . . . ' I accepted that condition with rapture. At the time I understood what that meant, but I swear to God I don'tunderstand it now. 'I don't love you, but I will be true to you. 'What does that mean? It's a fog, a darkness. I love her now asintensely as I did the day we were married, while she, I believe, is as indifferent as ever, and I believe she is glad when I go awayfrom home. I don't know for certain whether she cares for me or not--I don't know, I don't know; but, as you see, we live under thesame roof, call each other 'thou, ' sleep together, have children, our property is in common. . . . What does it mean, what does itmean? What is the object of it? And do you understand it at all, my dear fellow? It's cruel torture! Because I don't understand ourrelations, I hate, sometimes her, sometimes myself, sometimes bothat once. Everything is in a tangle in my brain; I torment myselfand grow stupid. And as though to spite me, she grows more beautifulevery day, she is getting more wonderful. . . I fancy her hair ismarvellous, and her smile is like no other woman's. I love her, andI know that my love is hopeless. Hopeless love for a woman by whomone has two children! Is that intelligible? And isn't it terrible?Isn't it more terrible than ghosts?"

He was in the mood to have talked on a good deal longer, but luckilywe heard the coachman's voice. Our horses had arrived. We got intothe carriage, and Forty Martyrs, taking off his cap, helped us bothinto the carriage with an expression that suggested that he hadlong been waiting for an opportunity to come in contact with ourprecious persons. 

"Dmitri Petrovitch, let me come to you, " he said, blinking furiouslyand tilting his head on one side. "Show divine mercy! I am dyingof hunger!"

"Very well, " said Silin. "Come, you shall stay three days, and thenwe shall see. "

"Certainly, sir, " said Forty Martyrs, overjoyed. "I'll come today, sir. "

It was a five miles' drive home. Dmitri Petrovitch, glad that hehad at last opened his heart to his friend, kept his arm round mywaist all the way; and speaking now, not with bitterness and notwith apprehension, but quite cheerfully, told me that if everythinghad been satisfactory in his home life, he should have returned toPetersburg and taken up scientific work there. The movement whichhad driven so many gifted young men into the country was, he said, a deplorable movement. We had plenty of rye and wheat in Russia, but absolutely no cultured people. The strong and gifted among theyoung ought to take up science, art, and politics; to act otherwisemeant being wasteful. He generalized with pleasure and expressedregret that he would be parting from me early next morning, as hehad to go to a sale of timber. 

And I felt awkward and depressed, and it seemed to me that I wasdeceiving the man. And at the same time it was pleasant to me. Igazed at the immense crimson moon which was rising, and picturedthe tall, graceful, fair woman, with her pale face, always well-dressedand fragrant with some special scent, rather like musk, and forsome reason it pleased me to think she did not love her husband. 

On reaching home, we sat down to supper. Marya Sergeyevna, laughing, regaled us with our purchases, and I thought that she certainly hadwonderful hair and that her smile was unlike any other woman's. Iwatched her, and I wanted to detect in every look and movement thatshe did not love her husband, and I fancied that I did see it. 

Dmitri Petrovitch was soon struggling with sleep. After supper hesat with us for ten minutes and said:

"Do as you please, my friends, but I have to be up at three o'clocktomorrow morning. Excuse my leaving you. "

He kissed his wife tenderly, pressed my hand with warmth andgratitude, and made me promise that I would certainly come thefollowing week. That he might not oversleep next morning, he wentto spend the night in the lodge. 

Marya Sergeyevna always sat up late, in the Petersburg fashion, andfor some reason on this occasion I was glad of it. 

"And now, " I began when we were left alone, "and now you'll be kindand play me something. "

I felt no desire for music, but I did not know how to begin theconversation. She sat down to the piano and played, I don't rememberwhat. I sat down beside her and looked at her plump white hands andtried to read something on her cold, indifferent face. Then shesmiled at something and looked at me. 

"You are dull without your friend, " she said. 

I laughed. 

"It would be enough for friendship to be here once a month, but Iturn up oftener than once a week. "

Saying this, I got up and walked from one end of the room to theother. She too got up and walked away to the fireplace. 

"What do you mean to say by that?" she said, raising her large, clear eyes and looking at me. 

I made no answer. 

"What you say is not true, " she went on, after a moment's thought. "You only come here on account of Dmitri Petrovitch. Well, I amvery glad. One does not often see such friendships nowadays. "

"Aha!" I thought, and, not knowing what to say, I asked: "Would youcare for a turn in the garden?"

I went out upon the verandah. Nervous shudders were running overmy head and I felt chilly with excitement. I was convinced now thatour conversation would be utterly trivial, and that there was nothingparticular we should be able to say to one another, but that, thatnight, what I did not dare to dream of was bound to happen--thatit was bound to be that night or never. 

"What lovely weather!" I said aloud. 

"It makes absolutely no difference to me, " she answered. 

I went into the drawing-room. Marya Sergeyevna was standing, asbefore, near the fireplace, with her hands behind her back, lookingaway and thinking of something. 

"Why does it make no difference to you?" I asked. 

"Because I am bored. You are only bored without your friend, but Iam always bored. However . . . That is of no interest to you. "

I sat down to the piano and struck a few chords, waiting to hearwhat she would say. 

"Please don't stand on ceremony, " she said, looking angrily at me, and she seemed as though on the point of crying with vexation. "Ifyou are sleepy, go to bed. Because you are Dmitri Petrovitch'sfriend, you are not in duty bound to be bored with his wife'scompany. I don't want a sacrifice. Please go. "

I did not, of course, go to bed. She went out on the verandah whileI remained in the drawing-room and spent five minutes turning overthe music. Then I went out, too. We stood close together in theshadow of the curtains, and below us were the steps bathed inmoonlight. The black shadows of the trees stretched across theflower beds and the yellow sand of the paths. 

"I shall have to go away tomorrow, too, " I said. 

"Of course, if my husband's not at home you can't stay here, " shesaid sarcastically. "I can imagine how miserable you would be ifyou were in love with me! Wait a bit: one day I shall throw myselfon your neck. . . . I shall see with what horror you will run awayfrom me. That would be interesting. "

Her words and her pale face were angry, but her eyes were full oftender passionate love. I already looked upon this lovely creatureas my property, and then for the first time I noticed that she hadgolden eyebrows, exquisite eyebrows. I had never seen such eyebrowsbefore. The thought that I might at once press her to my heart, caress her, touch her wonderful hair, seemed to me such a miraclethat I laughed and shut my eyes. 

"It's bed-time now. . . . A peaceful night, " she said. 

"I don't want a peaceful night, " I said, laughing, following herinto the drawing-room. "I shall curse this night if it is a peacefulone. "

Pressing her hand, and escorting her to the door, I saw by her facethat she understood me, and was glad that I understood her, too. 

I went to my room. Near the books on the table lay Dmitri Petrovitch'scap, and that reminded me of his affection for me. I took my stickand went out into the garden. The mist had risen here, too, and thesame tall, narrow, ghostly shapes which I had seen earlier on theriver were trailing round the trees and bushes and wrapping aboutthem. What a pity I could not talk to them!

In the extraordinarily transparent air, each leaf, each drop of dewstood out distinctly; it was all smiling at me in the stillnesshalf asleep, and as I passed the green seats I recalled the wordsin some play of Shakespeare's: "How sweetly falls the moonlight onyon seat!"

There was a mound in the garden; I went up it and sat down. I wastormented by a delicious feeling. I knew for certain that in amoment I should hold in my arms, should press to my heart hermagnificent body, should kiss her golden eyebrows; and I wanted todisbelieve it, to tantalize myself, and was sorry that she had costme so little trouble and had yielded so soon. 

But suddenly I heard heavy footsteps. A man of medium height appearedin the avenue, and I recognized him at once as Forty Martyrs. Hesat down on the bench and heaved a deep sigh, then crossed himselfthree times and lay down. A minute later he got up and lay on theother side. The gnats and the dampness of the night prevented hissleeping. 

"Oh, life!" he said. "Wretched, bitter life!"

Looking at his bent, wasted body and hearing his heavy, noisy sighs, I thought of an unhappy, bitter life of which the confession hadbeen made to me that day, and I felt uneasy and frightened at myblissful mood. I came down the knoll and went to the house. 

"Life, as he thinks, is terrible, " I thought, "so don't stand onceremony with it, bend it to your will, and until it crushes you, snatch all you can wring from it. "

Marya Sergeyevna was standing on the verandah. I put my arms roundher without a word, and began greedily kissing her eyebrows, hertemples, her neck. . . . 

In my room she told me she had loved me for a long time, more thana year. She vowed eternal love, cried and begged me to take heraway with me. I repeatedly took her to the window to look at herface in the moonlight, and she seemed to me a lovely dream, and Imade haste to hold her tight to convince myself of the truth of it. It was long since I had known such raptures. . . . Yet somewherefar away at the bottom of my heart I felt an awkwardness, and I wasill at ease. In her love for me there was something incongruous andburdensome, just as in Dmitri Petrovitch's friendship. It was agreat, serious passion with tears and vows, and I wanted nothingserious in it--no tears, no vows, no talk of the future. Let thatmoonlight night flash through our lives like a meteor and--_basta!_

At three o'clock she went out of my room, and, while I was standingin the doorway, looking after her, at the end of the corridor DmitriPetrovitch suddenly made his appearance; she started and stood asideto let him pass, and her whole figure was expressive of repulsion. He gave a strange smile, coughed, and came into my room. 

"I forgot my cap here yesterday, " he said without looking at me. 

He found it and, holding it in both hands, put it on his head; thenhe looked at my confused face, at my slippers, and said in a strange, husky voice unlike his own:

"I suppose it must be my fate that I should understand nothing. . . . If you understand anything, I congratulate you. It's all darknessbefore my eyes. "

And he went out, clearing his throat. Afterwards from the window Isaw him by the stable, harnessing the horses with his own hands. His hands were trembling, he was in nervous haste and kept lookinground at the house; probably he was feeling terror. Then he gotinto the gig, and, with a strange expression as though afraid ofbeing pursued, lashed the horses. 

Shortly afterwards I set off, too. The sun was already rising, andthe mist of the previous day clung timidly to the bushes and thehillocks. On the box of the carriage was sitting Forty Martyrs; hehad already succeeded in getting drunk and was muttering tipsynonsense. 

"I am a free man, " he shouted to the horses. "Ah, my honeys, I ama nobleman in my own right, if you care to know!"

The terror of Dmitri Petrovitch, the thought of whom I could notget out of my head, infected me. I thought of what had happened andcould make nothing of it. I looked at the rooks, and it seemed sostrange and terrible that they were flying. 

"Why have I done this?" I kept asking myself in bewilderment anddespair. "Why has it turned out like this and not differently? Towhom and for what was it necessary that she should love me inearnest, and that he should come into my room to fetch his cap?What had a cap to do with it?"

I set off for Petersburg that day, and I have not seen DmitriPetrovitch nor his wife since. I am told that they are still livingtogether. 

A WOMAN'S KINGDOM

I

Christmas Eve

HERE was a thick roll of notes. It came from the bailiff at theforest villa; he wrote that he was sending fifteen hundred roubles, which he had been awarded as damages, having won an appeal. AnnaAkimovna disliked and feared such words as "awarded damages" and"won the suit. " She knew that it was impossible to do without thelaw, but for some reason, whenever Nazaritch, the manager of thefactory, or the bailiff of her villa in the country, both of whomfrequently went to law, used to win lawsuits of some sort for herbenefit, she always felt uneasy and, as it were, ashamed. On thisoccasion, too, she felt uneasy and awkward, and wanted to put thatfifteen hundred roubles further away that it might be out of hersight. 

She thought with vexation that other girls of her age--she wasin her twenty-sixth year--were now busy looking after theirhouseholds, were weary and would sleep sound, and would wake uptomorrow morning in holiday mood; many of them had long been marriedand had children. Only she, for some reason, was compelled to sitlike an old woman over these letters, to make notes upon them, towrite answers, then to do nothing the whole evening till midnight, but wait till she was sleepy; and tomorrow they would all day longbe coming with Christmas greetings and asking for favours; and theday after tomorrow there would certainly be some scandal at thefactory--some one would be beaten or would die of drinking toomuch vodka, and she would be fretted by pangs of conscience; andafter the holidays Nazaritch would turn off some twenty of theworkpeople for absence from work, and all of the twenty would hangabout at the front door, without their caps on, and she would beashamed to go out to them, and they would be driven away like dogs. And all her acquaintances would say behind her back, and write toher in anonymous letters, that she was a millionaire and exploiter--that she was devouring other men's lives and sucking the bloodof the workers. 

Here there lay a heap of letters read through and laid aside already. They were all begging letters. They were from people who were hungry, drunken, dragged down by large families, sick, degraded, despised. . . . Anna Akimovna had already noted on each letter, three roublesto be paid to one, five to another; these letters would go the sameday to the office, and next the distribution of assistance wouldtake place, or, as the clerks used to say, the beasts would be fed. 

They would distribute also in small sums four hundred and seventyroubles--the interest on a sum bequeathed by the late AkimIvanovitch for the relief of the poor and needy. There would be ahideous crush. From the gates to the doors of the office there wouldstretch a long file of strange people with brutal faces, in rags, numb with cold, hungry and already drunk, in husky voices callingdown blessings upon Anna Akimovna, their benefactress, and herparents: those at the back would press upon those in front, andthose in front would abuse them with bad language. The clerk wouldget tired of the noise, the swearing, and the sing-song whining andblessing; would fly out and give some one a box on the ear to thedelight of all. And her own people, the factory hands, who receivednothing at Christmas but their wages, and had already spent everyfarthing of it, would stand in the middle of the yard, looking onand laughing--some enviously, others ironically. 

"Merchants, and still more their wives, are fonder of beggars thanthey are of their own workpeople, " thought Anna Akimovna. "It'salways so. "

Her eye fell upon the roll of money. It would be nice to distributethat hateful, useless money among the workpeople tomorrow, but itdid not do to give the workpeople anything for nothing, or theywould demand it again next time. And what would be the good offifteen hundred roubles when there were eighteen hundred workmenin the factory besides their wives and children? Or she might, perhaps, pick out one of the writers of those begging letters--some luckless man who had long ago lost all hope of anything better, and give him the fifteen hundred. The money would come upon thepoor creature like a thunder-clap, and perhaps for the first timein his life he would feel happy. This idea struck Anna Akimovna asoriginal and amusing, and it fascinated her. She took one letterat random out of the pile and read it. Some petty official calledTchalikov had long been out of a situation, was ill, and living inGushtchin's Buildings; his wife was in consumption, and he had fivelittle girls. Anna Akimovna knew well the four-storeyed house, Gushtchin's Buildings, in which Tchalikov lived. Oh, it was a horrid, foul, unhealthy house!

"Well, I will give it to that Tchalikov, " she decided. "I won'tsend it; I had better take it myself to prevent unnecessary talk. Yes, " she reflected, as she put the fifteen hundred roubles in herpocket, "and I'll have a look at them, and perhaps I can do somethingfor the little girls. "

She felt light-hearted; she rang the bell and ordered the horsesto be brought round. 

When she got into the sledge it was past six o'clock in the evening. The windows in all the blocks of buildings were brightly lightedup, and that made the huge courtyard seem very dark: at the gates, and at the far end of the yard near the warehouses and the workpeople'sbarracks, electric lamps were gleaming. 

Anna Akimovna disliked and feared those huge dark buildings, warehouses, and barracks where the workmen lived. She had only oncebeen in the main building since her father's death. The high ceilingswith iron girders; the multitude of huge, rapidly turning wheels, connecting straps and levers; the shrill hissing; the clank ofsteel; the rattle of the trolleys; the harsh puffing of steam; thefaces--pale, crimson, or black with coal-dust; the shirts soakedwith sweat; the gleam of steel, of copper, and of fire; the smellof oil and coal; and the draught, at times very hot and at timesvery cold--gave her an impression of hell. It seemed to her asthough the wheels, the levers, and the hot hissing cylinders weretrying to tear themselves away from their fastenings to crush themen, while the men, not hearing one another, ran about with anxiousfaces, and busied themselves about the machines, trying to stoptheir terrible movement. They showed Anna Akimovna something andrespectfully explained it to her. She remembered how in the forgea piece of red-hot iron was pulled out of the furnace; and how anold man with a strap round his head, and another, a young man in ablue shirt with a chain on his breast, and an angry face, probablyone of the foremen, struck the piece of iron with hammers; and howthe golden sparks had been scattered in all directions; and how, alittle afterwards, they had dragged out a huge piece of sheet-ironwith a clang. The old man had stood erect and smiled, while theyoung man had wiped his face with his sleeve and explained somethingto her. And she remembered, too, how in another department an oldman with one eye had been filing a piece of iron, and how the ironfilings were scattered about; and how a red-haired man in blackspectacles, with holes in his shirt, had been working at a lathe, making something out of a piece of steel: the lathe roared andhissed and squeaked, and Anna Akimovna felt sick at the sound, andit seemed as though they were boring into her ears. She looked, listened, did not understand, smiled graciously, and felt ashamed. To get hundreds of thousands of roubles from a business which onedoes not understand and cannot like--how strange it is!

And she had not once been in the workpeople's barracks. There, shewas told, it was damp; there were bugs, debauchery, anarchy. It wasan astonishing thing: a thousand roubles were spent annually onkeeping the barracks in good order, yet, if she were to believe theanonymous letters, the condition of the workpeople was growing worseand worse every year. 

"There was more order in my father's day, " thought Anna Akimovna, as she drove out of the yard, "because he had been a workman himself. I know nothing about it and only do silly things. "

She felt depressed again, and was no longer glad that she had come, and the thought of the lucky man upon whom fifteen hundred roubleswould drop from heaven no longer struck her as original and amusing. To go to some Tchalikov or other, when at home a business worth amillion was gradually going to pieces and being ruined, and theworkpeople in the barracks were living worse than convicts, meantdoing something silly and cheating her conscience. Along the highroadand across the fields near it, workpeople from the neighbouringcotton and paper factories were walking towards the lights of thetown. There was the sound of talk and laughter in the frosty air. Anna Akimovna looked at the women and young people, and she suddenlyfelt a longing for a plain rough life among a crowd. She recalledvividly that far-away time when she used to be called Anyutka, whenshe was a little girl and used to lie under the same quilt with hermother, while a washerwoman who lodged with them used to wash clothesin the next room; while through the thin walls there came from theneighbouring flats sounds of laughter, swearing, children's crying, the accordion, and the whirr of carpenters' lathes and sewing-machines;while her father, Akim Ivanovitch, who was clever at almost everycraft, would be soldering something near the stove, or drawing orplaning, taking no notice whatever of the noise and stuffiness. Andshe longed to wash, to iron, to run to the shop and the tavern asshe used to do every day when she lived with her mother. She oughtto have been a work-girl and not the factory owner! Her big housewith its chandeliers and pictures; her footman Mishenka, with hisglossy moustache and swallowtail coat; the devout and dignifiedVarvarushka, and smooth-tongued Agafyushka; and the young peopleof both sexes who came almost every day to ask her for money, andwith whom she always for some reason felt guilty; and the clerks, the doctors, and the ladies who were charitable at her expense, whoflattered her and secretly despised her for her humble origin--how wearisome and alien it all was to her!

Here was the railway crossing and the city gate; then came housesalternating with kitchen gardens; and at last the broad street wherestood the renowned Gushtchin's Buildings. The street, usually quiet, was now on Christmas Eve full of life and movement. The eating-housesand beer-shops were noisy. If some one who did not belong to thatquarter but lived in the centre of the town had driven through thestreet now, he would have noticed nothing but dirty, drunken, andabusive people; but Anna Akimovna, who had lived in those parts allher life, was constantly recognizing in the crowd her own fatheror mother or uncle. Her father was a soft fluid character, a littlefantastical, frivolous, and irresponsible. He did not care formoney, respectability, or power; he used to say that a working manhad no time to keep the holy-days and go to church; and if it hadnot been for his wife, he would probably never have gone to confession, taken the sacrament or kept the fasts. While her uncle, IvanIvanovitch, on the contrary, was like flint; in everything relatingto religion, politics, and morality, he was harsh and relentless, and kept a strict watch, not only over himself, but also over allhis servants and acquaintances. God forbid that one should go intohis room without crossing oneself before the ikon! The luxuriousmansion in which Anna Akimovna now lived he had always kept lockedup, and only opened it on great holidays for important visitors, while he lived himself in the office, in a little room covered withikons. He had leanings towards the Old Believers, and was continuallyentertaining priests and bishops of the old ritual, though he hadbeen christened, and married, and had buried his wife in accordancewith the Orthodox rites. He disliked Akim, his only brother and hisheir, for his frivolity, which he called simpleness and folly, andfor his indifference to religion. He treated him as an inferior, kept him in the position of a workman, paid him sixteen roubles amonth. Akim addressed his brother with formal respect, and on thedays of asking forgiveness, he and his wife and daughter bowed downto the ground before him. But three years before his death IvanIvanovitch had drawn closer to his brother, forgave his shortcomings, and ordered him to get a governess for Anyutka. 

There was a dark, deep, evil-smelling archway under Gushtchin'sBuildings; there was a sound of men coughing near the walls. Leavingthe sledge in the street, Anna Akimovna went in at the gate andthere inquired how to get to No. 46 to see a clerk called Tchalikov. She was directed to the furthest door on the right in the thirdstory. And in the courtyard and near the outer door, and even onthe stairs, there was still the same loathsome smell as under thearchway. In Anna Akimovna's childhood, when her father was a simpleworkman, she used to live in a building like that, and afterwards, when their circumstances were different, she had often visited themin the character of a Lady Bountiful. The narrow stone staircasewith its steep dirty steps, with landings at every story; the greasyswinging lanterns; the stench; the troughs, pots, and rags on thelandings near the doors, --all this had been familiar to her longago. . . . One door was open, and within could be seen Jewish tailorsin caps, sewing. Anna Akimovna met people on the stairs, but itnever entered her head that people might be rude to her. She wasno more afraid of peasants or workpeople, drunk or sober, than ofher acquaintances of the educated class. 

There was no entry at No. 46; the door opened straight into thekitchen. As a rule the dwellings of workmen and mechanics smell ofvarnish, tar, hides, smoke, according to the occupation of thetenant; the dwellings of persons of noble or official class whohave come to poverty may be known by a peculiar rancid, sour smell. This disgusting smell enveloped Anna Akimovna on all sides, and asyet she was only on the threshold. A man in a black coat, no doubtTchalikov himself, was sitting in a corner at the table with hisback to the door, and with him were five little girls. The eldest, a broad-faced thin girl with a comb in her hair, looked aboutfifteen, while the youngest, a chubby child with hair that stoodup like a hedge-hog, was not more than three. All the six wereeating. Near the stove stood a very thin little woman with a yellowface, far gone in pregnancy. She was wearing a skirt and a whiteblouse, and had an oven fork in her hand. 

"I did not expect you to be so disobedient, Liza, " the man wassaying reproachfully. "Fie, fie, for shame! Do you want papa towhip you--eh?"

Seeing an unknown lady in the doorway, the thin woman started, andput down the fork. 

"Vassily Nikititch!" she cried, after a pause, in a hollow voice, as though she could not believe her eyes. 

The man looked round and jumped up. He was a flat-chested, bony manwith narrow shoulders and sunken temples. His eyes were small andhollow with dark rings round them, he had a wide mouth, and a longnose like a bird's beak--a little bit bent to the right. His beardwas parted in the middle, his moustache was shaven, and this madehim look more like a hired footman than a government clerk. 

"Does Mr. Tchalikov live here?" asked Anna Akimovna. 

"Yes, madam, " Tchalikov answered severely, but immediately recognizingAnna Akimovna, he cried: "Anna Akimovna!" and all at once he gaspedand clasped his hands as though in terrible alarm. "Benefactress!"

With a moan he ran to her, grunting inarticulately as though hewere paralyzed--there was cabbage on his beard and he smelt ofvodka--pressed his forehead to her muff, and seemed as though hewere in a swoon. 

"Your hand, your holy hand!" he brought out breathlessly. "It's adream, a glorious dream! Children, awaken me!"

He turned towards the table and said in a sobbing voice, shakinghis fists:

"Providence has heard us! Our saviour, our angel, has come! We aresaved! Children, down on your knees! on your knees!"

Madame Tchalikov and the little girls, except the youngest one, began for some reason rapidly clearing the table. 

"You wrote that your wife was very ill, " said Anna Akimovna, andshe felt ashamed and annoyed. "I am not going to give them thefifteen hundred, " she thought. 

"Here she is, my wife, " said Tchalikov in a thin feminine voice, as though his tears had gone to his head. "Here she is, unhappycreature! With one foot in the grave! But we do not complain, madam. Better death than such a life. Better die, unhappy woman!"

"Why is he playing these antics?" thought Anna Akimovna withannoyance. "One can see at once he is used to dealing with merchants. "

"Speak to me like a human being, " she said. "I don't care forfarces. ''

"Yes, madam; five bereaved children round their mother's coffinwith funeral candles--that's a farce? Eh?" said Tchalikov bitterly, and turned away. 

"Hold your tongue, " whispered his wife, and she pulled at his sleeve. "The place has not been tidied up, madam, " she said, addressingAnna Akimovna; "please excuse it . . . You know what it is wherethere are children. A crowded hearth, but harmony. "

"I am not going to give them the fifteen hundred, " Anna Akimovnathought again. 

And to escape as soon as possible from these people and from thesour smell, she brought out her purse and made up her mind to leavethem twenty-five roubles, not more; but she suddenly felt ashamedthat she had come so far and disturbed people for so little. 

"If you give me paper and ink, I will write at once to a doctor whois a friend of mine to come and see you, " she said, flushing red. "He is a very good doctor. And I will leave you some money formedicine. "

Madame Tchalikov was hastening to wipe the table. 

"It's messy here! What are you doing?" hissed Tchalikov, lookingat her wrathfully. "Take her to the lodger's room! I make bold toask you, madam, to step into the lodger's room, " he said, addressingAnna Akimovna. "It's clean there. "

"Osip Ilyitch told us not to go into his room!" said one of thelittle girls, sternly. 

But they had already led Anna Akimovna out of the kitchen, througha narrow passage room between two bedsteads: it was evident fromthe arrangement of the beds that in one two slept lengthwise, andin the other three slept across the bed. In the lodger's room, thatcame next, it really was clean. A neat-looking bed with a red woollenquilt, a pillow in a white pillow-case, even a slipper for thewatch, a table covered with a hempen cloth and on it, an inkstandof milky-looking glass, pens, paper, photographs in frames--everything as it ought to be; and another table for rough work, onwhich lay tidily arranged a watchmaker's tools and watches takento pieces. On the walls hung hammers, pliers, awls, chisels, nippers, and so on, and there were three hanging clocks which were ticking;one was a big clock with thick weights, such as one sees ineating-houses. 

As she sat down to write the letter, Anna Akimovna saw facing heron the table the photographs of her father and of herself. Thatsurprised her. 

"Who lives here with you?" she asked. 

"Our lodger, madam, Pimenov. He works in your factory. "

"Oh, I thought he must be a watchmaker. "

"He repairs watches privately, in his leisure hours. He is anamateur. "

After a brief silence during which nothing could be heard but theticking of the clocks and the scratching of the pen on the paper, Tchalikov heaved a sigh and said ironically, with indignation:

"It's a true saying: gentle birth and a grade in the service won'tput a coat on your back. A cockade in your cap and a noble title, but nothing to eat. To my thinking, if any one of humble class helpsthe poor he is much more of a gentleman than any Tchalikov who hassunk into poverty and vice. "

To flatter Anna Akimovna, he uttered a few more disparaging phrasesabout his gentle birth, and it was evident that he was humblinghimself because he considered himself superior to her. Meanwhileshe had finished her letter and had sealed it up. The letter wouldbe thrown away and the money would not be spent on medicine--thatshe knew, but she put twenty-five roubles on the table all the same, and after a moment's thought, added two more red notes. She saw thewasted, yellow hand of Madame Tchalikov, like the claw of a hen, dart out and clutch the money tight. 

"You have graciously given this for medicine, " said Tchalikov in aquivering voice, "but hold out a helping hand to me also . . . Andthe children!" he added with a sob. "My unhappy children! I am notafraid for myself; it is for my daughters I fear! It's the hydraof vice that I fear!"

Trying to open her purse, the catch of which had gone wrong, AnnaAkimovna was confused and turned red. She felt ashamed that peopleshould be standing before her, looking at her hands and waiting, and most likely at the bottom of their hearts laughing at her. Atthat instant some one came into the kitchen and stamped his feet, knocking the snow off. 

"The lodger has come in, " said Madame Tchalikov. 

Anna Akimovna grew even more confused. She did not want any onefrom the factory to find her in this ridiculous position. As ill-luckwould have it, the lodger came in at the very moment when, havingbroken the catch at last, she was giving Tchalikov some notes, andTchalikov, grunting as though he were paraylzed, was feeling aboutwith his lips where he could kiss her. In the lodger she recognizedthe workman who had once clanked the sheet-iron before her in theforge, and had explained things to her. Evidently he had come instraight from the factory; his face looked dark and grimy, and onone cheek near his nose was a smudge of soot. His hands were perfectlyblack, and his unbelted shirt shone with oil and grease. He was aman of thirty, of medium height, with black hair and broad shoulders, and a look of great physical strength. At the first glance AnnaAkimovna perceived that he must be a foreman, who must be receivingat least thirty-five roubles a month, and a stern, loud-voiced manwho struck the workmen in the face; all this was evident from hismanner of standing, from the attitude he involuntarily assumed atonce on seeing a lady in his room, and most of all from the factthat he did not wear top-boots, that he had breast pockets, and apointed, picturesquely clipped beard. Her father, Akim Ivanovitch, had been the brother of the factory owner, and yet he had beenafraid of foremen like this lodger and had tried to win their favour. 

"Excuse me for having come in here in your absence, " said AnnaAkimovna. 

The workman looked at her in surprise, smiled in confusion and didnot speak. 

"You must speak a little louder, madam . . . . " said Tchalikovsoftly. "When Mr. Pimenov comes home from the factory in the eveningshe is a little hard of hearing. "

But Anna Akimovna was by now relieved that there was nothing morefor her to do here; she nodded to them and went rapidly out of theroom. Pimenov went to see her out. 

"Have you been long in our employment?" she asked in a loud voice, without turning to him. 

"From nine years old. I entered the factory in your uncle's time. "

"That's a long while! My uncle and my father knew all the workpeople, and I know hardly any of them. I had seen you before, but I did notknow your name was Pimenov. "

Anna Akimovna felt a desire to justify herself before him, to pretendthat she had just given the money not seriously, but as a joke. 

"Oh, this poverty, " she sighed. "We give charity on holidays andworking days, and still there is no sense in it. I believe it isuseless to help such people as this Tchalikov. "

"Of course it is useless, " he agreed. "However much you give him, he will drink it all away. And now the husband and wife will besnatching it from one another and fighting all night, " he addedwith a laugh. 

"Yes, one must admit that our philanthropy is useless, boring, andabsurd. But still, you must agree, one can't sit with one's handin one's lap; one must do something. What's to be done with theTchalikovs, for instance?"

She turned to Pimenov and stopped, expecting an answer from him;he, too, stopped and slowly, without speaking, shrugged his shoulders. Obviously he knew what to do with the Tchalikovs, but the treatmentwould have been so coarse and inhuman that he did not venture toput it into words. And the Tchalikovs were to him so utterlyuninteresting and worthless, that a moment later he had forgottenthem; looking into Anna Akimovna's eyes, he smiled with pleasure, and his face wore an expression as though he were dreaming aboutsomething very pleasant. Only, now standing close to him, AnnaAkimovna saw from his face, and especially from his eyes, howexhausted and sleepy he was. 

"Here, I ought to give him the fifteen hundred roubles!" she thought, but for some reason this idea seemed to her incongruous and insultingto Pimenov. 

"I am sure you are aching all over after your work, and you cometo the door with me, " she said as they went down the stairs. "Gohome. "

But he did not catch her words. When they came out into the street, he ran on ahead, unfastened the cover of the sledge, and helpingAnna Akimovna in, said:

"I wish you a happy Christmas!"

II

Christmas Morning

"They have left off ringing ever so long! It's dreadful; you won'tbe there before the service is over! Get up!"

"Two horses are racing, racing . . . " said Anna Akimovna, and shewoke up; before her, candle in hand, stood her maid, red-hairedMasha. "Well, what is it?"

"Service is over already, " said Masha with despair. "I have calledyou three times! Sleep till evening for me, but you told me yourselfto call you!"

Anna Akimovna raised herself on her elbow and glanced towards thewindow. It was still quite dark outside, and only the lower edgeof the window-frame was white with snow. She could hear a low, mellow chime of bells; it was not the parish church, but somewherefurther away. The watch on the little table showed three minutespast six. 

"Very well, Masha. . . . In three minutes . . . " said Anna Akimovnain an imploring voice, and she snuggled under the bed-clothes. 

She imagined the snow at the front door, the sledge, the dark sky, the crowd in the church, and the smell of juniper, and she feltdread at the thought; but all the same, she made up her mind thatshe would get up at once and go to early service. And while she waswarm in bed and struggling with sleep--which seems, as though tospite one, particularly sweet when one ought to get up--and whileshe had visions of an immense garden on a mountain and then Gushtchin'sBuildings, she was worried all the time by the thought that sheought to get up that very minute and go to church. 

But when she got up it was quite light, and it turned out to behalf-past nine. There had been a heavy fall of snow in the night;the trees were clothed in white, and the air was particularly light, transparent, and tender, so that when Anna Akimovna looked out ofthe window her first impulse was to draw a deep, deep breath. Andwhen she had washed, a relic of far-away childish feelings--joythat today was Christmas--suddenly stirred within her; after thatshe felt light-hearted, free and pure in soul, as though her soul, too, had been washed or plunged in the white snow. Masha came in, dressed up and tightly laced, and wished her a happy Christmas;then she spent a long time combing her mistress's hair and helpingher to dress. The fragrance and feeling of the new, gorgeous, splendid dress, its faint rustle, and the smell of fresh scent, excited Anna Akimoyna. 

"Well, it's Christmas, " she said gaily to Masha. "Now we will tryour fortunes. "

"Last year, I was to marry an old man. It turned up three times thesame. "

"Well, God is merciful. "

"Well, Anna Akimovna, what I think is, rather than neither one thingnor the other, I'd marry an old man, " said Masha mournfully, andshe heaved a sigh. "I am turned twenty; it's no joke. "

Every one in the house knew that red-haired Masha was in love withMishenka, the footman, and this genuine, passionate, hopeless lovehad already lasted three years. 

"Come, don't talk nonsense, " Anna Akimovna consoled her. "I am goingon for thirty, but I am still meaning to marry a young man. "

While his mistress was dressing, Mishenka, in a new swallow-tailand polished boots, walked about the hall and drawing-room andwaited for her to come out, to wish her a happy Christmas. He hada peculiar walk, stepping softly and delicately; looking at hisfeet, his hands, and the bend of his head, it might be imaginedthat he was not simply walking, but learning to dance the firstfigure of a quadrille. In spite of his fine velvety moustache andhandsome, rather flashy appearance, he was steady, prudent, anddevout as an old man. He said his prayers, bowing down to the ground, and liked burning incense in his room. He respected people of wealthand rank and had a reverence for them; he despised poor people, andall who came to ask favours of any kind, with all the strength ofhis cleanly flunkey soul. Under his starched shirt he wore a flannel, winter and summer alike, being very careful of his health; his earswere plugged with cotton-wool. 

When Anna Akimovna crossed the hall with Masha, he bent his headdownwards a little and said in his agreeable, honeyed voice:

"I have the honour to congratulate you, Anna Akimovna, on the mostsolemn feast of the birth of our Lord. "

Anna Akimovna gave him five roubles, while poor Masha was numb withecstasy. His holiday get-up, his attitude, his voice, and what hesaid, impressed her by their beauty and elegance; as she followedher mistress she could think of nothing, could see nothing, shecould only smile, first blissfully and then bitterly. The upperstory of the house was called the best or visitors' half, while thename of the business part--old people's or simply women's part--was given to the rooms on the lower story where Aunt TatyanaIvanovna kept house. In the upper part the gentry and educatedvisitors were entertained; in the lower story, simpler folk and theaunt's personal friends. Handsome, plump, and healthy, still youngand fresh, and feeling she had on a magnificent dress which seemedto her to diffuse a sort of radiance all about her, Anna Akimovnawent down to the lower story. Here she was met with reproaches forforgetting God now that she was so highly educated, for sleepingtoo late for the service, and for not coming downstairs to breakthe fast, and they all clasped their hands and exclaimed with perfectsincerity that she was lovely, wonderful; and she believed it, laughed, kissed them, gave one a rouble, another three or fiveaccording to their position. She liked being downstairs. Whereverone looked there were shrines, ikons, little lamps, portraits ofecclesiastical personages--the place smelt of monks; there was arattle of knives in the kitchen, and already a smell of somethingsavoury, exceedingly appetizing, was pervading all the rooms. Theyellow-painted floors shone, and from the doors narrow rugs withbright blue stripes ran like little paths to the ikon corner, andthe sunshine was simply pouring in at the windows. 

In the dining-room some old women, strangers, were sitting; inVarvarushka's room, too, there were old women, and with them a deafand dumb girl, who seemed abashed about something and kept saying, "Bli, bli! . . . " Two skinny-looking little girls who had beenbrought out of the orphanage for Christmas came up to kiss AnnaAkimovna's hand, and stood before her transfixed with admirationof her splendid dress; she noticed that one of the girls squinted, and in the midst of her light-hearted holiday mood she felt a sickpang at her heart at the thought that young men would despise thegirl, and that she would never marry. In the cook Agafya's room, five huge peasants in new shirts were sitting round the samovar;these were not workmen from the factory, but relations of the cook. Seeing Anna Akimovna, all the peasants jumped up from their seats, and from regard for decorum, ceased munching, though their mouthswere full. The cook Stepan, in a white cap, with a knife in hishand, came into the room and gave her his greetings; porters inhigh felt boots came in, and they, too, offered their greetings. The water-carrier peeped in with icicles on his beard, but did notventure to come in. 

Anna Akimovna walked through the rooms followed by her retinue--the aunt, Varvarushka, Nikandrovna, the sewing-maid Marfa Petrovna, and the downstairs Masha. Varvarushka--a tall, thin, slenderwoman, taller than any one in the house, dressed all in black, smelling of cypress and coffee--crossed herself in each roombefore the ikon, bowing down from the waist. And whenever one lookedat her one was reminded that she had already prepared her shroudand that lottery tickets were hidden away by her in the same box. 

"Anyutinka, be merciful at Christmas, " she said, opening the doorinto the kitchen. "Forgive him, bless the man! Have done with it!"

The coachman Panteley, who had been dismissed for drunkenness inNovember, was on his knees in the middle of the kitchen. He was agood-natured man, but he used to be unruly when he was drunk, andcould not go to sleep, but persisted in wandering about the buildingsand shouting in a threatening voice, "I know all about it!" Nowfrom his beefy and bloated face and from his bloodshot eyes it couldbe seen that he had been drinking continually from November tillChristmas. 

"Forgive me, Anna Akimovna, " he brought out in a hoarse voice, striking his forehead on the floor and showing his bull-like neck. 

"It was Auntie dismissed you; ask her. "

"What about auntie?" said her aunt, walking into the kitchen, breathing heavily; she was very stout, and on her bosom one mighthave stood a tray of teacups and a samovar. "What about auntie now?You are mistress here, give your own orders; though these rascalsmight be all dead for all I care. Come, get up, you hog!" she shoutedat Panteley, losing patience. "Get out of my sight! It's the lasttime I forgive you, but if you transgress again--don't ask formercy!"

Then they went into the dining-room to coffee. But they had hardlysat down, when the downstairs Masha rushed headlong in, saying withhorror, "The singers!" And ran back again. They heard some oneblowing his nose, a low bass cough, and footsteps that sounded likehorses' iron-shod hoofs tramping about the entry near the hall. Forhalf a minute all was hushed. . . . The singers burst out so suddenlyand loudly that every one started. While they were singing, thepriest from the almshouses with the deacon and the sexton arrived. Putting on the stole, the priest slowly said that when they wereringing for matins it was snowing and not cold, but that the frostwas sharper towards morning, God bless it! and now there must betwenty degrees of frost. 

"Many people maintain, though, that winter is healthier than summer, "said the deacon; then immediately assumed an austere expression andchanted after the priest. "Thy Birth, O Christ our Lord. . . . "

Soon the priest from the workmen's hospital came with the deacon, then the Sisters from the hospital, children from the orphanage, and then singing could be heard almost uninterruptedly. They sang, had lunch, and went away. 

About twenty men from the factory came to offer their Christmasgreetings. They were only the foremen, mechanicians, and theirassistants, the pattern-makers, the accountant, and so on--allof good appearance, in new black coats. They were all first-ratemen, as it were picked men; each one knew his value--that is, knew that if he lost his berth today, people would be glad to takehim on at another factory. Evidently they liked Auntie, as theybehaved freely in her presence and even smoked, and when they hadall trooped in to have something to eat, the accountant put his armround her immense waist. They were free-and-easy, perhaps, partlyalso because Varvarushka, who under the old masters had wieldedgreat power and had kept watch over the morals of the clerks, hadnow no authority whatever in the house; and perhaps because manyof them still remembered the time when Auntie Tatyana Ivanovna, whose brothers kept a strict hand over her, had been dressed likea simple peasant woman like Agafya, and when Anna Akimovna used torun about the yard near the factory buildings and every one usedto call her Anyutya. 

The foremen ate, talked, and kept looking with amazement at AnnaAkimovna, how she had grown up and how handsome she had become! Butthis elegant girl, educated by governesses and teachers, was astranger to them; they could not understand her, and they instinctivelykept closer to "Auntie, " who called them by their names, continuallypressed them to eat and drink, and, clinking glasses with them, hadalready drunk two wineglasses of rowanberry wine with them. AnnaAkimovna was always afraid of their thinking her proud, an upstart, or a crow in peacock's feathers; and now while the foremen werecrowding round the food, she did not leave the dining-room, buttook part in the conversation. She asked Pimenov, her acquaintanceof the previous day:

"Why have you so many clocks in your room?"

"I mend clocks, " he answered. "I take the work up between times, on holidays, or when I can't sleep. "

"So if my watch goes wrong I can bring it to you to be repaired?"Anna Akimovna asked, laughing. 

"To be sure, I will do it with pleasure, " said Pimenov, and therewas an expression of tender devotion in his face, when, not herselfknowing why, she unfastened her magnificent watch from its chainand handed it to him; he looked at it in silence and gave it back. "To be sure, I will do it with pleasure, " he repeated. "I don'tmend watches now. My eyes are weak, and the doctors have forbiddenme to do fine work. But for you I can make an exception. "

"Doctors talk nonsense, " said the accountant. They all laughed. "Don't you believe them, " he went on, flattered by the laughing;"last year a tooth flew out of a cylinder and hit old Kalmykov sucha crack on the head that you could see his brains, and the doctorsaid he would die; but he is alive and working to this day, onlyhe has taken to stammering since that mishap. "

"Doctors do talk nonsense, they do, but not so much, " sighed Auntie. "Pyotr Andreyitch, poor dear, lost his sight. Just like you, heused to work day in day out at the factory near the hot furnace, and he went blind. The eyes don't like heat. But what are we talkingabout?" she said, rousing herself. "Come and have a drink. My bestwishes for Christmas, my dears. I never drink with any one else, but I drink with you, sinful woman as I am. Please God!"

Anna Akimovna fancied that after yesterday Pimenov despised her asa philanthropist, but was fascinated by her as a woman. She lookedat him and thought that he behaved very charmingly and was nicelydressed. It is true that the sleeves of his coat were not quitelong enough, and the coat itself seemed short-waisted, and histrousers were not wide and fashionable, but his tie was tiedcarelessly and with taste and was not as gaudy as the others'. Andhe seemed to be a good-natured man, for he ate submissively whateverAuntie put on his plate. She remembered how black he had been theday before, and how sleepy, and the thought of it for some reasontouched her. 

When the men were preparing to go, Anna Akimovna put out her handto Pimenov. She wanted to ask him to come in sometimes to see her, without ceremony, but she did not know how to--her tongue wouldnot obey her; and that they might not think she was attracted byPimenov, she shook hands with his companions, too. 

Then the boys from the school of which she was a patroness came. They all had their heads closely cropped and all wore grey blousesof the same pattern. The teacher--a tall, beardless young manwith patches of red on his face--was visibly agitated as he formedthe boys into rows; the boys sang in tune, but with harsh, disagreeablevoices. The manager of the factory, Nazaritch, a bald, sharp-eyedOld Believer, could never get on with the teachers, but the one whowas now anxiously waving his hands he despised and hated, thoughhe could not have said why. He behaved rudely and condescendinglyto the young man, kept back his salary, meddled with the teaching, and had finally tried to dislodge him by appointing, a fortnightbefore Christmas, as porter to the school a drunken peasant, adistant relation of his wife's, who disobeyed the teacher and saidrude things to him before the boys. 

Anna Akimovna was aware of all this, but she could be of no help, for she was afraid of Nazaritch herself. Now she wanted at leastto be very nice to the schoolmaster, to tell him she was very muchpleased with him; but when after the singing he began apologizingfor something in great confusion, and Auntie began to address himfamiliarly as she drew him without ceremony to the table, she felt, for some reason, bored and awkward, and giving orders that thechildren should be given sweets, went upstairs. 

"In reality there is something cruel in these Christmas customs, "she said a little while afterwards, as it were to herself, lookingout of window at the boys, who were flocking from the house to thegates and shivering with cold, putting their coats on as they ran. "At Christmas one wants to rest, to sit at home with one's ownpeople, and the poor boys, the teacher, and the clerks and foremen, are obliged for some reason to go through the frost, then to offertheir greetings, show their respect, be put to confusion . . . "

Mishenka, who was standing at the door of the drawing-room andoverheard this, said:

"It has not come from us, and it will not end with us. Of course, I am not an educated man, Anna Akimovna, but I do understand thatthe poor must always respect the rich. It is well said, 'God marksthe rogue. ' In prisons, night refuges, and pot-houses you never seeany but the poor, while decent people, you may notice, are alwaysrich. It has been said of the rich, 'Deep calls to deep. '"

"You always express yourself so tediously and incomprehensibly, "said Anna Akimovna, and she walked to the other end of the bigdrawing-room. 

It was only just past eleven. The stillness of the big room, onlybroken by the singing that floated up from below, made her yawn. The bronzes, the albums, and the pictures on the walls, representinga ship at sea, cows in a meadow, and views of the Rhine, were soabsolutely stale that her eyes simply glided over them withoutobserving them. The holiday mood was already growing tedious. Asbefore, Anna Akimovna felt that she was beautiful, good-natured, and wonderful, but now it seemed to her that that was of no use toany one; it seemed to her that she did not know for whom and forwhat she had put on this expensive dress, too, and, as alwayshappened on all holidays, she began to be fretted by loneliness andthe persistent thought that her beauty, her health, and her wealth, were a mere cheat, since she was not wanted, was of no use to anyone, and nobody loved her. She walked through all the rooms, hummingand looking out of window; stopping in the drawing-room, she couldnot resist beginning to talk to Mishenka. 

"I don't know what you think of yourself, Misha, " she said, andheaved a sigh. "Really, God might punish you for it. "

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. Excuse my meddling in your affairs. But itseems you are spoiling your own life out of obstinacy. You'll admitthat it is high time you got married, and she is an excellent anddeserving girl. You will never find any one better. She's a beauty, clever, gentle, and devoted. . . . And her appearance! . . . If shebelonged to our circle or a higher one, people would be falling inlove with her for her red hair alone. See how beautifully her hairgoes with her complexion. Oh, goodness! You don't understand anything, and don't know what you want, " Anna Akimovna said bitterly, andtears came into her eyes. "Poor girl, I am so sorry for her! I knowyou want a wife with money, but I have told you already I will giveMasha a dowry. "

Mishenka could not picture his future spouse in his imaginationexcept as a tall, plump, substantial, pious woman, stepping like apeacock, and, for some reason, with a long shawl over her shoulders;while Masha was thin, slender, tightly laced, and walked with littlesteps, and, worst of all, she was too fascinating and at timesextremely attractive to Mishenka, and that, in his opinion, wasincongruous with matrimony and only in keeping with loose behaviour. When Anna Akimovna had promised to give Masha a dowry, he hadhesitated for a time; but once a poor student in a brown overcoatover his uniform, coming with a letter for Anna Akimovna, wasfascinated by Masha, and could not resist embracing her near thehat-stand, and she had uttered a faint shriek; Mishenka, standingon the stairs above, had seen this, and from that time had begunto cherish a feeling of disgust for Masha. A poor student! Whoknows, if she had been embraced by a rich student or an officer theconsequences might have been different. 

"Why don't you wish it?" Anna Akimovna asked. "What more do youwant?"

Mishenka was silent and looked at the arm-chair fixedly, and raisedhis eyebrows. 

"Do you love some one else?"

Silence. The red-haired Masha came in with letters and visitingcards on a tray. Guessing that they were talking about her, sheblushed to tears. 

"The postmen have come, " she muttered. "And there is a clerk calledTchalikov waiting below. He says you told him to come to-day forsomething. "

"What insolence!" said Anna Akimovna, moved to anger. "I gave himno orders. Tell him to take himself off; say I am not at home!"

A ring was heard. It was the priests from her parish. They werealways shown into the aristocratic part of the house--that is, upstairs. After the priests, Nazaritch, the manager of the factory, came to pay his visit, and then the factory doctor; then Mishenkaannounced the inspector of the elementary schools. Visitors keptarriving. 

When there was a moment free, Anna Akimovna sat down in a deeparm-chair in the drawing-room, and shutting her eyes, thought thather loneliness was quite natural because she had not married andnever would marry. . . . But that was not her fault. Fate itselfhad flung her out of the simple working-class surroundings in which, if she could trust her memory, she had felt so snug and at home, into these immense rooms, where she could never think what to dowith herself, and could not understand why so many people keptpassing before her eyes. What was happening now seemed to hertrivial, useless, since it did not and could not give her happinessfor one minute. 

"If I could fall in love, " she thought, stretching; the very thoughtof this sent a rush of warmth to her heart. "And if I could escapefrom the factory . . . " she mused, imagining how the weight of thosefactory buildings, barracks, and schools would roll off her conscience, roll off her mind. . . . Then she remembered her father, and thoughtif he had lived longer he would certainly have married her to aworking man--to Pimenov, for instance. He would have told her tomarry, and that would have been all about it. And it would havebeen a good thing; then the factory would have passed into capablehands. 

She pictured his curly head, his bold profile, his delicate, ironicallips and the strength, the tremendous strength, in his shoulders, in his arms, in his chest, and the tenderness with which he hadlooked at her watch that day. 

"Well, " she said, "it would have been all right. I would have marriedhim. "

"Anna Akimovna, " said Mishenka, coming noiselessly into thedrawing-room. 

"How you frightened me!" she said, trembling all over. "What do youwant?"

"Anna Akimovna, " he said, laying his hand on his heart and raisinghis eyebrows, "you are my mistress and my benefactress, and no onebut you can tell me what I ought to do about marriage, for you areas good as a mother to me. . . . But kindly forbid them to laughand jeer at me downstairs. They won't let me pass without it. "

"How do they jeer at you?"

"They call me Mashenka's Mishenka. "

"Pooh, what nonsense!" cried Anna Akimovna indignantly. "How stupidyou all are! What a stupid you are, Misha! How sick I am of you! Ican't bear the sight of you. "

III

Dinner

Just as the year before, the last to pay her visits were Krylin, an actual civil councillor, and Lysevitch, a well-known barrister. It was already dark when they arrived. Krylin, a man of sixty, witha wide mouth and with grey whiskers close to his ears, with a facelike a lynx, was wearing a uniform with an Anna ribbon, and whitetrousers. He held Anna Akimovna's hand in both of his for a longwhile, looked intently in her face, moved his lips, and at lastsaid, drawling upon one note:

"I used to respect your uncle . . . And your father, and enjoyedthe privilege of their friendship. Now I feel it an agreeable duty, as you see, to present my Christmas wishes to their honoured heiressin spite of my infirmities and the distance I have to come. . . . And I am very glad to see you in good health. "

The lawyer Lysevitch, a tall, handsome fair man, with a slightsprinkling of grey on his temples and beard, was distinguished byexceptionally elegant manners; he walked with a swaying step, bowedas it were reluctantly, and shrugged his shoulders as he talked, and all this with an indolent grace, like a spoiled horse freshfrom the stable. He was well fed, extremely healthy, and very welloff; on one occasion he had won forty thousand roubles, but concealedthe fact from his friends. He was fond of good fare, especiallycheese, truffles, and grated radish with hemp oil; while in Parishe had eaten, so he said, baked but unwashed guts. He spoke smoothly, fluently, without hesitation, and only occasionally, for the sakeof effect, permitted himself to hesitate and snap his fingers asif picking up a word. He had long ceased to believe in anything hehad to say in the law courts, or perhaps he did believe in it, butattached no kind of significance to it; it had all so long beenfamiliar, stale, ordinary. . . . He believed in nothing but whatwas original and unusual. A copy-book moral in an original formwould move him to tears. Both his notebooks were filled withextraordinary expressions which he had read in various authors; andwhen he needed to look up any expression, he would search nervouslyin both books, and usually failed to find it. Anna Akimovna's fatherhad in a good-humoured moment ostentatiously appointed him legaladviser in matters concerning the factory, and had assigned him asalary of twelve thousand roubles. The legal business of the factoryhad been confined to two or three trivial actions for recoveringdebts, which Lysevitch handed to his assistants. 

Anna Akimovna knew that he had nothing to do at the factory, butshe could not dismiss him--she had not the moral courage; andbesides, she was used to him. He used to call himself her legaladviser, and his salary, which he invariably sent for on the firstof the month punctually, he used to call "stern prose. " Anna Akimovnaknew that when, after her father's death, the timber of her forestwas sold for railway sleepers, Lysevitch had made more than fifteenthousand out of the transaction, and had shared it with Nazaritch. When first she found out they had cheated her she had wept bitterly, but afterwards she had grown used to it. 

Wishing her a happy Christmas, and kissing both her hands, he lookedher up and down, and frowned. 

"You mustn't, " he said with genuine disappointment. "I have toldyou, my dear, you mustn't!"

"What do you mean, Viktor Nikolaitch?"

"I have told you you mustn't get fat. All your family have anunfortunate tendency to grow fat. You mustn't, " he repeated in animploring voice, and kissed her hand. "You are so handsome! You areso splendid! Here, your Excellency, let me introduce the one womanin the world whom I have ever seriously loved. "

"There is nothing surprising in that. To know Anna Akimovna at yourage and not to be in love with her, that would be impossible. "

"I adore her, " the lawyer continued with perfect sincerity, butwith his usual indolent grace. "I love her, but not because I am aman and she is a woman. When I am with her I always feel as thoughshe belongs to some third sex, and I to a fourth, and we float awaytogether into the domain of the subtlest shades, and there we blendinto the spectrum. Leconte de Lisle defines such relations betterthan any one. He has a superb passage, a marvellous passage. . . . "

Lysevitch rummaged in one notebook, then in the other, and, notfinding the quotation, subsided. They began talking of the weather, of the opera, of the arrival, expected shortly, of Duse. AnnaAkimovna remembered that the year before Lysevitch and, she fancied, Krylin had dined with her, and now when they were getting ready togo away, she began with perfect sincerity pointing out to them inan imploring voice that as they had no more visits to pay, theyought to remain to dinner with her. After some hesitation thevisitors agreed. 

In addition to the family dinner, consisting of cabbage soup, suckingpig, goose with apples, and so on, a so-called "French" or "chef's"dinner used to be prepared in the kitchen on great holidays, incase any visitor in the upper story wanted a meal. When they heardthe clatter of crockery in the dining-room, Lysevitch began tobetray a noticeable excitement; he rubbed his hands, shrugged hisshoulders, screwed up his eyes, and described with feeling whatdinners her father and uncle used to give at one time, and amarvellous _matelote_ of turbots the cook here could make: it wasnot a _matelote_, but a veritable revelation! He was already gloatingover the dinner, already eating it in imagination and enjoying it. When Anna Akimovna took his arm and led him to the dining-room, hetossed off a glass of vodka and put a piece of salmon in his mouth;he positively purred with pleasure. He munched loudly, disgustingly, emitting sounds from his nose, while his eyes grew oily and rapacious. 

The _hors d'oeuvres_ were superb; among other things, there werefresh white mushrooms stewed in cream, and sauce _provençale_ madeof fried oysters and crayfish, strongly flavoured with some bitterpickles. The dinner, consisting of elaborate holiday dishes, wasexcellent, and so were the wines. Mishenka waited at table withenthusiasm. When he laid some new dish on the table and lifted theshining cover, or poured out the wine, he did it with the solemnityof a professor of black magic, and, looking at his face and hismovements suggesting the first figure of a quadrille, the lawyerthought several times, "What a fool!"

After the third course Lysevitch said, turning to Anna Akimovna:

"The _fin de siècle_ woman--I mean when she is young, and ofcourse wealthy--must be independent, clever, elegant, intellectual, bold, and a little depraved. Depraved within limits, a little; forexcess, you know, is wearisome. You ought not to vegetate, my dear;you ought not to live like every one else, but to get the fullsavour of life, and a slight flavour of depravity is the sauce oflife. Revel among flowers of intoxicating fragrance, breathe theperfume of musk, eat hashish, and best of all, love, love, love. . . . To begin with, in your place I would set up seven lovers--onefor each day of the week; and one I would call Monday, one Tuesday, the third Wednesday, and so on, so that each might know his day. "

This conversation troubled Anna Akimovna; she ate nothing and onlydrank a glass of wine. 

"Let me speak at last, " she said. "For myself personally, I can'tconceive of love without family life. I am lonely, lonely as themoon in the sky, and a waning moon, too; and whatever you may say, I am convinced, I feel that this waning can only be restored bylove in its ordinary sense. It seems to me that such love woulddefine my duties, my work, make clear my conception of life. I wantfrom love peace of soul, tranquillity; I want the very opposite ofmusk, and spiritualism, and _fin de siècle_ . . . In short"--shegrew embarrassed--"a husband and children. "

"You want to be married? Well, you can do that, too, " Lysevitchassented. "You ought to have all experiences: marriage, and jealousy, and the sweetness of the first infidelity, and even children. . . . But make haste and live--make haste, my dear: time is passing;it won't wait. "

"Yes, I'll go and get married!" she said, looking angrily at hiswell-fed, satisfied face. "I will marry in the simplest, mostordinary way and be radiant with happiness. And, would you believeit, I will marry some plain working man, some mechanic or draughtsman. "

"There is no harm in that, either. The Duchess Josiana loved Gwinplin, and that was permissible for her because she was a grand duchess. Everything is permissible for you, too, because you are an exceptionalwoman: if, my dear, you want to love a negro or an Arab, don'tscruple; send for a negro. Don't deny yourself anything. You oughtto be as bold as your desires; don't fall short of them. "

"Can it be so hard to understand me?" Anna Akimovna asked withamazement, and her eyes were bright with tears. "Understand, I havean immense business on my hands--two thousand workmen, for whomI must answer before God. The men who work for me grow blind anddeaf. I am afraid to go on like this; I am afraid! I am wretched, and you have the cruelty to talk to me of negroes and . . . And yousmile!" Anna Akimovna brought her fist down on the table. "To goon living the life I am living now, or to marry some one as idleand incompetent as myself, would be a crime. I can't go on livinglike this, " she said hotly, "I cannot!"

"How handsome she is!" said Lysevitch, fascinated by her. "My God, how handsome she is! But why are you angry, my dear? Perhaps I amwrong; but surely you don't imagine that if, for the sake of ideasfor which I have the deepest respect, you renounce the joys of lifeand lead a dreary existence, your workmen will be any the betterfor it? Not a scrap! No, frivolity, frivolity!" he said decisively. "It's essential for you; it's your duty to be frivolous and depraved!Ponder that, my dear, ponder it. "

Anna Akimovna was glad she had spoken out, and her spirits rose. She was pleased she had spoken so well, and that her ideas were sofine and just, and she was already convinced that if Pimenov, forinstance, loved her, she would marry him with pleasure. 

Mishenka began to pour out champagne. 

"You make me angry, Viktor Nikolaitch, " she said, clinking glasseswith the lawyer. "It seems to me you give advice and know nothingof life yourself. According to you, if a man be a mechanic or adraughtsman, he is bound to be a peasant and an ignoramus! But theyare the cleverest people! Extraordinary people!"

"Your uncle and father . . . I knew them and respected them . . . "Krylin said, pausing for emphasis (he had been sitting upright asa post, and had been eating steadily the whole time), "were peopleof considerable intelligence and . . . Of lofty spiritual qualities. "

"Oh, to be sure, we know all about their qualities, " the lawyermuttered, and asked permission to smoke. 

When dinner was over Krylin was led away for a nap. Lysevitchfinished his cigar, and, staggering from repletion, followed AnnaAkimovna into her study. Cosy corners with photographs and fans onthe walls, and the inevitable pink or pale blue lanterns in themiddle of the ceiling, he did not like, as the expression of aninsipid and unoriginal character; besides, the memory of certainof his love affairs of which he was now ashamed was associated withsuch lanterns. Anna Akimovna's study with its bare walls and tastelessfurniture pleased him exceedingly. It was snug and comfortable forhim to sit on a Turkish divan and look at Anna Akimovna, who usuallysat on the rug before the fire, clasping her knees and looking intothe fire and thinking of something; and at such moments it seemedto him that her peasant Old Believer blood was stirring within her. 

Every time after dinner when coffee and liqueurs were handed, hegrew livelier and began telling her various bits of literary gossip. He spoke with eloquence and inspiration, and was carried away byhis own stories; and she listened to him and thought every timethat for such enjoyment it was worth paying not only twelve thousand, but three times that sum, and forgave him everything she dislikedin him. He sometimes told her the story of some tale or novel hehad been reading, and then two or three hours passed unnoticed likea minute. Now he began rather dolefully in a failing voice with hiseyes shut. 

"It's ages, my dear, since I have read anything, " he said when sheasked him to tell her something. "Though I do sometimes read JulesVerne. "

"I was expecting you to tell me something new. "

"H'm! . . . New, " Lysevitch muttered sleepily, and he settled himselffurther back in the corner of the sofa. "None of the new literature, my dear, is any use for you or me. Of course, it is bound to besuch as it is, and to refuse to recognize it is to refuse to recognize--would mean refusing to recognize the natural order of things, and I do recognize it, but . . . " Lysevitch seemed to have fallenasleep. But a minute later his voice was heard again:

"All the new literature moans and howls like the autumn wind in thechimney. 'Ah, unhappy wretch! Ah, your life may be likened to aprison! Ah, how damp and dark it is in your prison! Ah, you willcertainly come to ruin, and there is no chance of escape for you!'That's very fine, but I should prefer a literature that would tellus how to escape from prison. Of all contemporary writers, however, I prefer Maupassant. " Lysevitch opened his eyes. "A fine writer, aperfect writer!" Lysevitch shifted in his seat. "A wonderful artist!A terrible, prodigious, supernatural artist!" Lysevitch got up fromthe sofa and raised his right arm. "Maupassant!" he said rapturously. "My dear, read Maupassant! one page of his gives you more than allthe riches of the earth! Every line is a new horizon. The softest, tenderest impulses of the soul alternate with violent tempestuoussensations; your soul, as though under the weight of forty thousandatmospheres, is transformed into the most insignificant little bitof some great thing of an undefined rosy hue which I fancy, if onecould put it on one's tongue, would yield a pungent, voluptuoustaste. What a fury of transitions, of motives, of melodies! Yourest peacefully on the lilies and the roses, and suddenly a thought--a terrible, splendid, irresistible thought--swoops down uponyou like a locomotive, and bathes you in hot steam and deafens youwith its whistle. Read Maupassant, dear girl; I insist on it. "

Lysevitch waved his arms and paced from corner to corner in violentexcitement. 

"Yes, it is inconceivable, " he pronounced, as though in despair;"his last thing overwhelmed me, intoxicated me! But I am afraid youwill not care for it. To be carried away by it you must savour it, slowly suck the juice from each line, drink it in. . . . You mustdrink it in! . . . "

After a long introduction, containing many words such as dæmonicsensuality, a network of the most delicate nerves, simoom, crystal, and so on, he began at last telling the story of the novel. He didnot tell the story so whimsically, but told it in minute detail, quoting from memory whole descriptions and conversations; thecharacters of the novel fascinated him, and to describe them hethrew himself into attitudes, changed the expression of his faceand voice like a real actor. He laughed with delight at one momentin a deep bass, and at another, on a high shrill note, clasped hishands and clutched at his head with an expression which suggestedthat it was just going to burst. Anna Akimovna listened enthralled, though she had already read the novel, and it seemed to her everso much finer and more subtle in the lawyer's version than in thebook itself. He drew her attention to various subtleties, andemphasized the felicitous expressions and the profound thoughts, but she saw in it, only life, life, life and herself, as though shehad been a character in the novel. Her spirits rose, and she, too, laughing and clasping her hands, thought that she could not go onliving such a life, that there was no need to have a wretched lifewhen one might have a splendid one. She remembered her words andthoughts at dinner, and was proud of them; and when Pimenov suddenlyrose up in her imagination, she felt happy and longed for him tolove her. 

When he had finished the story, Lysevitch sat down on the sofa, exhausted. 

"How splendid you are! How handsome!" he began, a little whileafterwards in a faint voice as if he were ill. "I am happy nearyou, dear girl, but why am I forty-two instead of thirty? Yourtastes and mine do not coincide: you ought to be depraved, and Ihave long passed that phase, and want a love as delicate andimmaterial as a ray of sunshine--that is, from the point of viewof a woman of your age, I am of no earthly use. "

In his own words, he loved Turgenev, the singer of virginal loveand purity, of youth, and of the melancholy Russian landscape; buthe loved virginal love, not from knowledge but from hearsay, assomething abstract, existing outside real life. Now he assuredhimself that he loved Anna Akimovna platonically, ideally, thoughhe did not know what those words meant. But he felt comfortable, snug, warm. Anna Akimovna seemed to him enchanting, original, andhe imagined that the pleasant sensation that was aroused in him bythese surroundings was the very thing that was called platonic love. 

He laid his cheek on her hand and said in the tone commonly usedin coaxing little children:

"My precious, why have you punished me?"

"How? When?"

"I have had no Christmas present from you. "

Anna Akimovna had never heard before of their sending a Christmasbox to the lawyer, and now she was at a loss how much to give him. But she must give him something, for he was expecting it, thoughhe looked at her with eyes full of love. 

"I suppose Nazaritch forgot it, " she said, "but it is not too lateto set it right. "

She suddenly remembered the fifteen hundred she had received theday before, which was now lying in the toilet drawer in her bedroom. And when she brought that ungrateful money and gave it to the lawyer, and he put it in his coat pocket with indolent grace, the wholeincident passed off charmingly and naturally. The sudden reminderof a Christmas box and this fifteen hundred was not unbecoming inLysevitch. 

"Merci, " he said, and kissed her finger. 

Krylin came in with blissful, sleepy face, but without his decorations. 

Lysevitch and he stayed a little longer and drank a glass of teaeach, and began to get ready to go. Anna Akimovna was a littleembarrassed. . . . She had utterly forgotten in what departmentKrylin served, and whether she had to give him money or not; andif she had to, whether to give it now or send it afterwards in anenvelope. 

"Where does he serve?" she whispered to Lysevitch. 

"Goodness knows, " muttered Lysevitch, yawning. 

She reflected that if Krylin used to visit her father and her uncleand respected them, it was probably not for nothing: apparently hehad been charitable at their expense, serving in some charitableinstitution. As she said good-bye she slipped three hundred roublesinto his hand; he seemed taken aback, and looked at her for a minutein silence with his pewtery eyes, but then seemed to understand andsaid:

"The receipt, honoured Anna Akimovna, you can only receive on theNew Year. "

Lysevitch had become utterly limp and heavy, and he staggered whenMishenka put on his overcoat. 

As he went downstairs he looked like a man in the last stage ofexhaustion, and it was evident that he would drop asleep as soonas he got into his sledge. 

"Your Excellency, " he said languidly to Krylin, stopping in themiddle of the staircase, "has it ever happened to you to experiencea feeling as though some unseen force were drawing you out longerand longer? You are drawn out and turn into the finest wire. Subjectively this finds expression in a curious voluptuous feelingwhich is impossible to compare with anything. "

Anna Akimovna, standing at the top of the stairs, saw each of themgive Mishenka a note. 

"Good-bye! Come again!" she called to them, and ran into her bedroom. 

She quickly threw off her dress, that she was weary of already, puton a dressing-gown, and ran downstairs; and as she ran downstairsshe laughed and thumped with her feet like a school-boy; she had agreat desire for mischief. 

IV

Evening

Auntie, in a loose print blouse, Varvarushka and two old women, were sitting in the dining-room having supper. A big piece of saltmeat, a ham, and various savouries, were lying on the table beforethem, and clouds of steam were rising from the meat, which lookedparticularly fat and appetizing. Wine was not served on the lowerstory, but they made up for it with a great number of spirits andhome-made liqueurs. Agafyushka, the fat, white-skinned, well-fedcook, was standing with her arms crossed in the doorway and talkingto the old women, and the dishes were being handed by the downstairsMasha, a dark girl with a crimson ribbon in her hair. The old womenhad had enough to eat before the morning was over, and an hourbefore supper had had tea and buns, and so they were now eatingwith effort--as it were, from a sense of duty. 

"Oh, my girl!" sighed Auntie, as Anna Akimovna ran into the dining-roomand sat down beside her. "You've frightened me to death!"

Every one in the house was pleased when Anna Akimovna was in goodspirits and played pranks; this always reminded them that the oldmen were dead and that the old women had no authority in the house, and any one could do as he liked without any fear of being sharplycalled to account for it. Only the two old women glanced askanceat Anna Akimovna with amazement: she was humming, and it was a sinto sing at table. 

"Our mistress, our beauty, our picture, " Agafyushka began chantingwith sugary sweetness. "Our precious jewel! The people, the peoplethat have come to-day to look at our queen. Lord have mercy uponus! Generals, and officers and gentlemen. . . . I kept looking outof window and counting and counting till I gave it up. "

"I'd as soon they did not come at all, " said Auntie; she lookedsadly at her niece and added: "They only waste the time for my poororphan girl. "

Anna Akimovna felt hungry, as she had eaten nothing since themorning. They poured her out some very bitter liqueur; she drankit off, and tasted the salt meat with mustard, and thought itextraordinarily nice. Then the downstairs Masha brought in theturkey, the pickled apples and the gooseberries. And that pleasedher, too. There was only one thing that was disagreeable: there wasa draught of hot air from the tiled stove; it was stiflingly closeand every one's cheeks were burning. After supper the cloth wastaken off and plates of peppermint biscuits, walnuts, and raisinswere brought in. 

"You sit down, too . . . No need to stand there!" said Auntie tothe cook. 

Agafyushka sighed and sat down to the table; Masha set a wineglassof liqueur before her, too, and Anna Akimovna began to feel asthough Agafyushka's white neck were giving out heat like the stove. They were all talking of how difficult it was nowadays to getmarried, and saying that in old days, if men did not court beauty, they paid attention to money, but now there was no making out whatthey wanted; and while hunchbacks and cripples used to be left oldmaids, nowadays men would not have even the beautiful and wealthy. Auntie began to set this down to immorality, and said that peoplehad no fear of God, but she suddenly remembered that Ivan Ivanitch, her brother, and Varvarushka--both people of holy life--hadfeared God, but all the same had had children on the sly, and hadsent them to the Foundling Asylum. She pulled herself up and changedthe conversation, telling them about a suitor she had once had, afactory hand, and how she had loved him, but her brothers had forcedher to marry a widower, an ikon-painter, who, thank God, had diedtwo years after. The downstairs Masha sat down to the table, too, and told them with a mysterious air that for the last week someunknown man with a black moustache, in a great-coat with an astrachancollar, had made his appearance every morning in the yard, hadstared at the windows of the big house, and had gone on further--to the buildings; the man was all right, nice-looking. 

All this conversation made Anna Akimovna suddenly long to be married--long intensely, painfully; she felt as though she would givehalf her life and all her fortune only to know that upstairs therewas a man who was closer to her than any one in the world, that heloved her warmly and was missing her; and the thought of suchcloseness, ecstatic and inexpressible in words, troubled her soul. And the instinct of youth and health flattered her with lyingassurances that the real poetry of life was not over but still tocome, and she believed it, and leaning back in her chair (her hairfell down as she did so), she began laughing, and, looking at her, the others laughed, too. And it was a long time before this causelesslaughter died down in the dining-room. 

She was informed that the Stinging Beetle had come. This was apilgrim woman called Pasha or Spiridonovna--a thin little womanof fifty, in a black dress with a white kerchief, with keen eyes, sharp nose, and a sharp chin; she had sly, viperish eyes and shelooked as though she could see right through every one. Her lipswere shaped like a heart. Her viperishness and hostility to everyone had earned her the nickname of the Stinging Beetle. 

Going into the dining-room without looking at any one, she made forthe ikons and chanted in a high voice "Thy Holy Birth, " then shesang "The Virgin today gives birth to the Son, " then "Christ isborn, " then she turned round and bent a piercing gaze upon all ofthem. 

"A happy Christmas, " she said, and she kissed Anna Akimovna on theshoulder. "It's all I could do, all I could do to get to you, mykind friends. " She kissed Auntie on the shoulder. "I should havecome to you this morning, but I went in to some good people to reston the way. 'Stay, Spiridonovna, stay, ' they said, and I did notnotice that evening was coming on. "

As she did not eat meat, they gave her salmon and caviare. She atelooking from under her eyelids at the company, and drank threeglasses of vodka. When she had finished she said a prayer and boweddown to Anna Akimovna's feet. 

They began to play a game of "kings, " as they had done the yearbefore, and the year before that, and all the servants in bothstories crowded in at the doors to watch the game. Anna Akimovnafancied she caught a glimpse once or twice of Mishenka, with apatronizing smile on his face, among the crowd of peasant men andwomen. The first to be king was Stinging Beetle, and Anna Akimovnaas the soldier paid her tribute; and then Auntie was king and AnnaAkimovna was peasant, which excited general delight, and Agafyushkawas prince, and was quite abashed with pleasure. Another game wasgot up at the other end of the table--played by the two Mashas, Varvarushka, and the sewing-maid Marfa Ptrovna, who was waked onpurpose to play "kings, " and whose face looked cross and sleepy. 

While they were playing they talked of men, and of how difficultit was to get a good husband nowadays, and which state was to bepreferred--that of an old maid or a widow. 

"You are a handsome, healthy, sturdy lass, " said Stinging Beetleto Anna Akimovna. "But I can't make out for whose sake you areholding back. "

"What's to be done if nobody will have me?"

"Or maybe you have taken a vow to remain a maid?" Stinging Beetlewent on, as though she did not hear. "Well, that's a good deed. . . . Remain one, " she repeated, looking intently and maliciously ather cards. "All right, my dear, remain one. . . . Yes . . . Onlymaids, these saintly maids, are not all alike. " She heaved a sighand played the king. "Oh, no, my girl, they are not all alike! Somereally watch over themselves like nuns, and butter would not meltin their mouths; and if such a one does sin in an hour of weakness, she is worried to death, poor thing! so it would be a sin to condemnher. While others will go dressed in black and sew their shroud, and yet love rich old men on the sly. Yes, y-es, my canary birds, some hussies will bewitch an old man and rule over him, my doves, rule over him and turn his head; and when they've saved up moneyand lottery tickets enough, they will bewitch him to his death. "

Varvarushka's only response to these hints was to heave a sigh andlook towards the ikons. There was an expression of Christian meeknesson her countenance. 

"I know a maid like that, my bitterest enemy, " Stinging Beetle wenton, looking round at every one in triumph; "she is always sighing, too, and looking at the ikons, the she-devil. When she used to rulein a certain old man's house, if one went to her she would give onea crust, and bid one bow down to the ikons while she would sing:'In conception Thou dost abide a Virgin . . . !' On holidays shewill give one a bite, and on working days she will reproach one forit. But nowadays I will make merry over her! I will make as merryas I please, my jewel. "

Varvarushka glanced at the ikons again and crossed herself. 

"But no one will have me, Spiridonovna, " said Anna Akimovna tochange the conversation. "What's to be done?"

"It's your own fault. You keep waiting for highly educated gentlemen, but you ought to marry one of your own sort, a merchant. "

"We don't want a merchant, " said Auntie, all in a flutter. "Queenof Heaven, preserve us! A gentleman will spend your money, but thenhe will be kind to you, you poor little fool. But a merchant willbe so strict that you won't feel at home in your own house. You'llbe wanting to fondle him and he will be counting his money, andwhen you sit down to meals with him, he'll grudge you every mouthful, though it's your own, the lout! . . . Marry a gentleman. "

They all talked at once, loudly interrupting one another, and Auntietapped on the table with the nutcrackers and said, flushed andangry:

"We won't have a merchant; we won't have one! If you choose amerchant I shall go to an almshouse. "

"Sh . . . Sh! . . . Hush!" cried Stinging Beetle; when all weresilent she screwed up one eye and said: "Do you know what, Annushka, my birdie . . . ? There is no need for you to get married reallylike every one else. You're rich and free, you are your own mistress;but yet, my child, it doesn't seem the right thing for you to bean old maid. I'll find you, you know, some trumpery and simple-wittedman. You'll marry him for appearances and then have your fling, bonny lass! You can hand him five thousand or ten maybe, and packhim off where he came from, and you will be mistress in your ownhouse--you can love whom you like and no one can say anything toyou. And then you can love your highly educated gentleman. You'llhave a jolly time!" Stinging Beetle snapped her fingers and gave awhistle. 

"It's sinful, " said Auntie. 

"Oh, sinful, " laughed Stinging Beetle. "She is educated, sheunderstands. To cut some one's throat or bewitch an old man--that's a sin, that's true; but to love some charming young friendis not a sin at all. And what is there in it, really? There's nosin in it at all! The old pilgrim women have invented all that tomake fools of simple folk. I, too, say everywhere it's a sin; Idon't know myself why it's a sin. " Stinging Beetle emptied her glassand cleared her throat. "Have your fling, bonny lass, " this timeevidently addressing herself. "For thirty years, wenches, I havethought of nothing but sins and been afraid, but now I see I havewasted my time, I've let it slip by like a ninny! Ah, I have beena fool, a fool!" She sighed. "A woman's time is short and every dayis precious. You are handsome, Annushka, and very rich; but as soonas thirty-five or forty strikes for you your time is up. Don'tlisten to any one, my girl; live, have your fling till you areforty, and then you will have time to pray forgiveness--therewill be plenty of time to bow down and to sew your shroud. A candleto God and a poker to the devil! You can do both at once! Well, howis it to be? Will you make some little man happy?"

"I will, " laughed Anna Akimovna. "I don't care now; I would marrya working man. "

"Well, that would do all right! Oh, what a fine fellow you wouldchoose then!" Stinging Beetle screwed up her eyes and shook herhead. "O--o--oh!"

"I tell her myself, " said Auntie, "it's no good waiting for agentleman, so she had better marry, not a gentleman, but some onehumbler; anyway we should have a man in the house to look afterthings. And there are lots of good men. She might have some one outof the factory. They are all sober, steady men. . . . "

"I should think so, " Stinging Beetle agreed. "They are capitalfellows. If you like, Aunt, I will make a match for her with VassilyLebedinsky?"

"Oh, Vasya's legs are so long, " said Auntie seriously. "He is solanky. He has no looks. "

There was laughter in the crowd by the door. 

"Well, Pimenov? Would you like to marry Pimenov?" Stinging Beetleasked Anna Akimovna. 

"Very good. Make a match for me with Pimenov. "

"Really?"

"Yes, do!" Anna Akimovna said resolutely, and she struck her fiston the table. "On my honour, I will marry him. "

"Really?"

Anna Akimovna suddenly felt ashamed that her cheeks were burningand that every one was looking at her; she flung the cards togetheron the table and ran out of the room. As she ran up the stairs and, reaching the upper story, sat down to the piano in the drawing-room, a murmur of sound reached her from below like the roar of the sea;most likely they were talking of her and of Pimenov, and perhapsStinging Beetle was taking advantage of her absence to insultVarvarushka and was putting no check on her language. 

The lamp in the big room was the only light burning in the upperstory, and it sent a glimmer through the door into the darkdrawing-room. It was between nine and ten, not later. Anna Akimovnaplayed a waltz, then another, then a third; she went on playingwithout stopping. She looked into the dark corner beyond the piano, smiled, and inwardly called to it, and the idea occurred to herthat she might drive off to the town to see some one, Lysevitch forinstance, and tell him what was passing in her heart. She wantedto talk without ceasing, to laugh, to play the fool, but the darkcorner was sullenly silent, and all round in all the rooms of theupper story it was still and desolate. 

She was fond of sentimental songs, but she had a harsh, untrainedvoice, and so she only played the accompaniment and sang hardlyaudibly, just above her breath. She sang in a whisper one song afteranother, for the most part about love, separation, and frustratedhopes, and she imagined how she would hold out her hands to him andsay with entreaty, with tears, "Pimenov, take this burden from me!"And then, just as though her sins had been forgiven, there wouldbe joy and comfort in her soul, and perhaps a free, happy life wouldbegin. In an anguish of anticipation she leant over the keys, witha passionate longing for the change in her life to come at oncewithout delay, and was terrified at the thought that her old lifewould go on for some time longer. Then she played again and sanghardly above her breath, and all was stillness about her. There wasno noise coming from downstairs now, they must have gone to bed. It had struck ten some time before. A long, solitary, wearisomenight was approaching. 

Anna Akimovna walked through all the rooms, lay down for a whileon the sofa, and read in her study the letters that had come thatevening; there were twelve letters of Christmas greetings and threeanonymous letters. In one of them some workman complained in ahorrible, almost illegible handwriting that Lenten oil sold in thefactory shop was rancid and smelt of paraffin; in another, some onerespectfully informed her that over a purchase of iron Nazaritchhad lately taken a bribe of a thousand roubles from some one; in athird she was abused for her inhumanity. 

The excitement of Christmas was passing off, and to keep it up AnnaAkimovna sat down at the piano again and softly played one of thenew waltzes, then she remembered how cleverly and creditably shehad spoken at dinner today. She looked round at the dark windows, at the walls with the pictures, at the faint light that came fromthe big room, and all at once she began suddenly crying, and shefelt vexed that she was so lonely, and that she had no one to talkto and consult. To cheer herself she tried to picture Pimenov inher imagination, but it was unsuccessful. 

It struck twelve. Mishenka, no longer wearing his swallow-tail butin his reefer jacket, came in, and without speaking lighted twocandles; then he went out and returned a minute later with a cupof tea on a tray. 

"What are you laughing at?" she asked, noticing a smile on his face. 

"I was downstairs and heard the jokes you were making about Pimenov. . . " he said, and put his hand before his laughing mouth. "If hewere sat down to dinner today with Viktor Nikolaevitch and thegeneral, he'd have died of fright. " Mishenka's shoulders were shakingwith laughter. "He doesn't know even how to hold his fork, I bet. "

The footman's laughter and words, his reefer jacket and moustache, gave Anna Akimovna a feeling of uncleanness. She shut her eyes toavoid seeing him, and, against her own will, imagined Pimenov diningwith Lysevitch and Krylin, and his timid, unintellectual figureseemed to her pitiful and helpless, and she felt repelled by it. And only now, for the first time in the whole day, she realizedclearly that all she had said and thought about Pimenov and marryinga workman was nonsense, folly, and wilfulness. To convince herselfof the opposite, to overcome her repulsion, she tried to recallwhat she had said at dinner, but now she could not see anything init: shame at her own thoughts and actions, and the fear that shehad said something improper during the day, and disgust at her ownlack of spirit, overwhelmed her completely. She took up a candleand, as rapidly as if some one were pursuing her, ran downstairs, woke Spiridonovna, and began assuring her she had been joking. Thenshe went to her bedroom. Red-haired Masha, who was dozing in anarm-chair near the bed, jumped up and began shaking up the pillows. Her face was exhausted and sleepy, and her magnificent hair hadfallen on one side. 

"Tchalikov came again this evening, " she said, yawning, "but I didnot dare to announce him; he was very drunk. He says he will comeagain tomorrow. "

"What does he want with me?" said Anna Akimovna, and she flung hercomb on the floor. "I won't see him, I won't. "

She made up her mind she had no one left in life but this Tchalikov, that he would never leave off persecuting her, and would remind herevery day how uninteresting and absurd her life was. So all she wasfit for was to help the poor. Oh, how stupid it was!

She lay down without undressing, and sobbed with shame and depression:what seemed to her most vexatious and stupid of all was that herdreams that day about Pimenov had been right, lofty, honourable, but at the same time she felt that Lysevitch and even Krylin werenearer to her than Pimenov and all the workpeople taken together. She thought that if the long day she had just spent could have beenrepresented in a picture, all that had been bad and vulgar--as, for instance, the dinner, the lawyer's talk, the game of "kings"--would have been true, while her dreams and talk about Pimenovwould have stood out from the whole as something false, as out ofdrawing; and she thought, too, that it was too late to dream ofhappiness, that everything was over for her, and it was impossibleto go back to the life when she had slept under the same quilt withher mother, or to devise some new special sort of life. 

Red-haired Masha was kneeling before the bed, gazing at her inmournful perplexity; then she, too, began crying, and laid her faceagainst her mistress's arm, and without words it was clear why shewas so wretched. 

"We are fools!" said Anna Akimovna, laughing and crying. "We arefools! Oh, what fools we are!"

A PROBLEM

THE strictest measures were taken that the Uskovs' family secretmight not leak out and become generally known. Half of the servantswere sent off to the theatre or the circus; the other half weresitting in the kitchen and not allowed to leave it. Orders weregiven that no one was to be admitted. The wife of the Colonel, hersister, and the governess, though they had been initiated into thesecret, kept up a pretence of knowing nothing; they sat in thedining-room and did not show themselves in the drawing-room or thehall. 

Sasha Uskov, the young man of twenty-five who was the cause of allthe commotion, had arrived some time before, and by the advice ofkind-hearted Ivan Markovitch, his uncle, who was taking his part, he sat meekly in the hall by the door leading to the study, andprepared himself to make an open, candid explanation. 

The other side of the door, in the study, a family council was beingheld. The subject under discussion was an exceedingly disagreeableand delicate one. Sasha Uskov had cashed at one of the banks a falsepromissory note, and it had become due for payment three days before, and now his two paternal uncles and Ivan Markovitch, the brotherof his dead mother, were deciding the question whether they shouldpay the money and save the family honour, or wash their hands ofit and leave the case to go for trial. 

To outsiders who have no personal interest in the matter suchquestions seem simple; for those who are so unfortunate as to haveto decide them in earnest they are extremely difficult. The uncleshad been talking for a long time, but the problem seemed no nearerdecision. 

"My friends!" said the uncle who was a colonel, and there was anote of exhaustion and bitterness in his voice. "Who says thatfamily honour is a mere convention? I don't say that at all. I amonly warning you against a false view; I am pointing out thepossibility of an unpardonable mistake. How can you fail to see it?I am not speaking Chinese; I am speaking Russian!"

"My dear fellow, we do understand, " Ivan Markovitch protested mildly. 

"How can you understand if you say that I don't believe in familyhonour? I repeat once more: fa-mil-y ho-nour fal-sely un-der-stoodis a prejudice! Falsely understood! That's what I say: whatever maybe the motives for screening a scoundrel, whoever he may be, andhelping him to escape punishment, it is contrary to law and unworthyof a gentleman. It's not saving the family honour; it's civiccowardice! Take the army, for instance. . . . The honour of thearmy is more precious to us than any other honour, yet we don'tscreen our guilty members, but condemn them. And does the honourof the army suffer in consequence? Quite the opposite!"

The other paternal uncle, an official in the Treasury, a taciturn, dull-witted, and rheumatic man, sat silent, or spoke only of thefact that the Uskovs' name would get into the newspapers if thecase went for trial. His opinion was that the case ought to behushed up from the first and not become public property; but, apartfrom publicity in the newspapers, he advanced no other argument insupport of this opinion. 

The maternal uncle, kind-hearted Ivan Markovitch, spoke smoothly, softly, and with a tremor in his voice. He began with saying thatyouth has its rights and its peculiar temptations. Which of us hasnot been young, and who has not been led astray? To say nothing ofordinary mortals, even great men have not escaped errors and mistakesin their youth. Take, for instance, the biography of great writers. Did not every one of them gamble, drink, and draw down upon himselfthe anger of right-thinking people in his young days? If Sasha'serror bordered upon crime, they must remember that Sasha had receivedpractically no education; he had been expelled from the high schoolin the fifth class; he had lost his parents in early childhood, andso had been left at the tenderest age without guidance and good, benevolent influences. He was nervous, excitable, had no firm groundunder his feet, and, above all, he had been unlucky. Even if hewere guilty, anyway he deserved indulgence and the sympathy of allcompassionate souls. He ought, of course, to be punished, but hewas punished as it was by his conscience and the agonies he wasenduring now while awaiting the sentence of his relations. Thecomparison with the army made by the Colonel was delightful, anddid credit to his lofty intelligence; his appeal to their feelingof public duty spoke for the chivalry of his soul, but they mustnot forget that in each individual the citizen is closely linkedwith the Christian. . . . 

"Shall we be false to civic duty, " Ivan Markovitch exclaimedpassionately, "if instead of punishing an erring boy we hold outto him a helping hand?"

Ivan Markovitch talked further of family honour. He had not thehonour to belong to the Uskov family himself, but he knew theirdistinguished family went back to the thirteenth century; he didnot forget for a minute, either, that his precious, beloved sisterhad been the wife of one of the representatives of that name. Inshort, the family was dear to him for many reasons, and he refusedto admit the idea that, for the sake of a paltry fifteen hundredroubles, a blot should be cast on the escutcheon that was beyondall price. If all the motives he had brought forward were notsufficiently convincing, he, Ivan Markovitch, in conclusion, beggedhis listeners to ask themselves what was meant by crime? Crime isan immoral act founded upon ill-will. But is the will of man free?Philosophy has not yet given a positive answer to that question. Different views were held by the learned. The latest school ofLombroso, for instance, denies the freedom of the will, and considersevery crime as the product of the purely anatomical peculiaritiesof the individual. 

"Ivan Markovitch, " said the Colonel, in a voice of entreaty, "weare talking seriously about an important matter, and you bring inLombroso, you clever fellow. Think a little, what are you sayingall this for? Can you imagine that all your thunderings and rhetoricwill furnish an answer to the question?"

Sasha Uskov sat at the door and listened. He felt neither terror, shame, nor depression, but only weariness and inward emptiness. Itseemed to him that it made absolutely no difference to him whetherthey forgave him or not; he had come here to hear his sentence andto explain himself simply because kind-hearted Ivan Markovitch hadbegged him to do so. He was not afraid of the future. It made nodifference to him where he was: here in the hall, in prison, or inSiberia. 

"If Siberia, then let it be Siberia, damn it all!"

He was sick of life and found it insufferably hard. He was inextricablyinvolved in debt; he had not a farthing in his pocket; his familyhad become detestable to him; he would have to part from his friendsand his women sooner or later, as they had begun to be too contemptuousof his sponging on them. The future looked black. 

Sasha was indifferent, and was only disturbed by one circumstance;the other side of the door they were calling him a scoundrel and acriminal. Every minute he was on the point of jumping up, burstinginto the study and shouting in answer to the detestable metallicvoice of the Colonel:

"You are lying!"

"Criminal" is a dreadful word--that is what murderers, thieves, robbers are; in fact, wicked and morally hopeless people. And Sashawas very far from being all that. . . . It was true he owed a greatdeal and did not pay his debts. But debt is not a crime, and it isunusual for a man not to be in debt. The Colonel and Ivan Markovitchwere both in debt. . . . 

"What have I done wrong besides?" Sasha wondered. 

He had discounted a forged note. But all the young men he knew didthe same. Handrikov and Von Burst always forged IOU's from theirparents or friends when their allowances were not paid at the regulartime, and then when they got their money from home they redeemedthem before they became due. Sasha had done the same, but had notredeemed the IOU because he had not got the money which Handrikovhad promised to lend him. He was not to blame; it was the fault ofcircumstances. It was true that the use of another person's signaturewas considered reprehensible; but, still, it was not a crime but agenerally accepted dodge, an ugly formality which injured no oneand was quite harmless, for in forging the Colonel's signature Sashahad had no intention of causing anybody damage or loss. 

"No, it doesn't mean that I am a criminal . . . " thought Sasha. "And it's not in my character to bring myself to commit a crime. Iam soft, emotional. . . . When I have the money I help the poor. . . . "

Sasha was musing after this fashion while they went on talking theother side of the door. 

"But, my friends, this is endless, " the Colonel declared, gettingexcited. "Suppose we were to forgive him and pay the money. Youknow he would not give up leading a dissipated life, squanderingmoney, making debts, going to our tailors and ordering suits in ournames! Can you guarantee that this will be his last prank? As faras I am concerned, I have no faith whatever in his reforming!"

The official of the Treasury muttered something in reply; after himIvan Markovitch began talking blandly and suavely again. The Colonelmoved his chair impatiently and drowned the other's words with hisdetestable metallic voice. At last the door opened and Ivan Markovitchcame out of the study; there were patches of red on his lean shavenface. 

"Come along, " he said, taking Sasha by the hand. "Come and speakfrankly from your heart. Without pride, my dear boy, humbly andfrom your heart. "

Sasha went into the study. The official of the Treasury was sittingdown; the Colonel was standing before the table with one hand inhis pocket and one knee on a chair. It was smoky and stifling inthe study. Sasha did not look at the official or the Colonel; hefelt suddenly ashamed and uncomfortable. He looked uneasily at IvanMarkovitch and muttered:

"I'll pay it . . . I'll give it back. . . . "

"What did you expect when you discounted the IOU?" he heard ametallic voice. 

"I . . . Handrikov promised to lend me the money before now. "

Sasha could say no more. He went out of the study and sat down againon the chair near the door. 

He would have been glad to go away altogether at once, but he waschoking with hatred and he awfully wanted to remain, to tear theColonel to pieces, to say something rude to him. He sat trying tothink of something violent and effective to say to his hated uncle, and at that moment a woman's figure, shrouded in the twilight, appeared at the drawing-room door. It was the Colonel's wife. Shebeckoned Sasha to her, and, wringing her hands, said, weeping:

"_Alexandre_, I know you don't like me, but . . . Listen to me;listen, I beg you. . . . But, my dear, how can this have happened?Why, it's awful, awful! For goodness' sake, beg them, defend yourself, entreat them. "

Sasha looked at her quivering shoulders, at the big tears that wererolling down her cheeks, heard behind his back the hollow, nervousvoices of worried and exhausted people, and shrugged his shoulders. He had not in the least expected that his aristocratic relationswould raise such a tempest over a paltry fifteen hundred roubles!He could not understand her tears nor the quiver of their voices. 

An hour later he heard that the Colonel was getting the best of it;the uncles were finally inclining to let the case go for trial. 

"The matter's settled, " said the Colonel, sighing. "Enough. "

After this decision all the uncles, even the emphatic Colonel, became noticeably depressed. A silence followed. 

"Merciful Heavens!" sighed Ivan Markovitch. "My poor sister!"

And he began saying in a subdued voice that most likely his sister, Sasha's mother, was present unseen in the study at that moment. Hefelt in his soul how the unhappy, saintly woman was weeping, grieving, and begging for her boy. For the sake of her peace beyond the grave, they ought to spare Sasha. 

The sound of a muffled sob was heard. Ivan Markovitch was weepingand muttering something which it was impossible to catch throughthe door. The Colonel got up and paced from corner to corner. Thelong conversation began over again. 

But then the clock in the drawing-room struck two. The family councilwas over. To avoid seeing the person who had moved him to suchwrath, the Colonel went from the study, not into the hall, but intothe vestibule. . . . Ivan Markovitch came out into the hall. . . . He was agitated and rubbing his hands joyfully. His tear-stainedeyes looked good-humoured and his mouth was twisted into a smile. 

"Capital, " he said to Sasha. "Thank God! You can go home, my dear, and sleep tranquilly. We have decided to pay the sum, but on conditionthat you repent and come with me tomorrow into the country and setto work. "

A minute later Ivan Markovitch and Sasha in their great-coats andcaps were going down the stairs. The uncle was muttering somethingedifying. Sasha did not listen, but felt as though some uneasyweight were gradually slipping off his shoulders. They had forgivenhim; he was free! A gust of joy sprang up within him and sent asweet chill to his heart. He longed to breathe, to move swiftly, to live! Glancing at the street lamps and the black sky, he rememberedthat Von Burst was celebrating his name-day that evening at the"Bear, " and again a rush of joy flooded his soul. . . . 

"I am going!" he decided. 

But then he remembered he had not a farthing, that the companionshe was going to would despise him at once for his empty pockets. He must get hold of some money, come what may!

"Uncle, lend me a hundred roubles, " he said to Ivan Markovitch. 

His uncle, surprised, looked into his face and backed against alamp-post. 

"Give it to me, " said Sasha, shifting impatiently from one foot tothe other and beginning to pant. "Uncle, I entreat you, give me ahundred roubles. "

His face worked; he trembled, and seemed on the point of attackinghis uncle. . . . 

"Won't you?" he kept asking, seeing that his uncle was still amazedand did not understand. "Listen. If you don't, I'll give myself uptomorrow! I won't let you pay the IOU! I'll present another falsenote tomorrow!"

Petrified, muttering something incoherent in his horror, IvanMarkovitch took a hundred-rouble note out of his pocket-book andgave it to Sasha. The young man took it and walked rapidly awayfrom him. . . . 

Taking a sledge, Sasha grew calmer, and felt a rush of joy withinhim again. The "rights of youth" of which kind-hearted Ivan Markovitchhad spoken at the family council woke up and asserted themselves. Sasha pictured the drinking-party before him, and, among the bottles, the women, and his friends, the thought flashed through his mind:

"Now I see that I am a criminal; yes, I am a criminal. "

THE KISS

AT eight o'clock on the evening of the twentieth of May all the sixbatteries of the N---- Reserve Artillery Brigade halted for thenight in the village of Myestetchki on their way to camp. When thegeneral commotion was at its height, while some officers were busilyoccupied around the guns, while others, gathered together in thesquare near the church enclosure, were listening to the quartermasters, a man in civilian dress, riding a strange horse, came into sightround the church. The little dun-coloured horse with a good neckand a short tail came, moving not straight forward, but as it weresideways, with a sort of dance step, as though it were being lashedabout the legs. When he reached the officers the man on the horsetook off his hat and said:

"His Excellency Lieutenant-General von Rabbek invites the gentlemento drink tea with him this minute. . . . "

The horse turned, danced, and retired sideways; the messenger raisedhis hat once more, and in an instant disappeared with his strangehorse behind the church. 

"What the devil does it mean?" grumbled some of the officers, dispersing to their quarters. "One is sleepy, and here this VonRabbek with his tea! We know what tea means. "

The officers of all the six batteries remembered vividly an incidentof the previous year, when during manoeuvres they, together withthe officers of a Cossack regiment, were in the same way invitedto tea by a count who had an estate in the neighbourhood and was aretired army officer: the hospitable and genial count made much ofthem, fed them, and gave them drink, refused to let them go to theirquarters in the village and made them stay the night. All that, ofcourse, was very nice--nothing better could be desired, but theworst of it was, the old army officer was so carried away by thepleasure of the young men's company that till sunrise he was tellingthe officers anecdotes of his glorious past, taking them over thehouse, showing them expensive pictures, old engravings, rare guns, reading them autograph letters from great people, while the wearyand exhausted officers looked and listened, longing for their bedsand yawning in their sleeves; when at last their host let them go, it was too late for sleep. 

Might not this Von Rabbek be just such another? Whether he were ornot, there was no help for it. The officers changed their uniforms, brushed themselves, and went all together in search of the gentleman'shouse. In the square by the church they were told they could getto His Excellency's by the lower path--going down behind thechurch to the river, going along the bank to the garden, and therean avenue would taken them to the house; or by the upper way--straight from the church by the road which, half a mile from thevillage, led right up to His Excellency's granaries. The officersdecided to go by the upper way. 

"What Von Rabbek is it?" they wondered on the way. "Surely not theone who was in command of the N---- cavalry division at Plevna?"

"No, that was not Von Rabbek, but simply Rabbe and no 'von. '"

"What lovely weather!"

At the first of the granaries the road divided in two: one branchwent straight on and vanished in the evening darkness, the otherled to the owner's house on the right. The officers turned to theright and began to speak more softly. . . . On both sides of theroad stretched stone granaries with red roofs, heavy and sullen-looking, very much like barracks of a district town. Ahead of them gleamedthe windows of the manor-house. 

"A good omen, gentlemen, " said one of the officers. "Our setter isthe foremost of all; no doubt he scents game ahead of us! . . . "

Lieutenant Lobytko, who was walking in front, a tall and stalwartfellow, though entirely without moustache (he was over five-and-twenty, yet for some reason there was no sign of hair on his round, well-fedface), renowned in the brigade for his peculiar faculty for diviningthe presence of women at a distance, turned round and said:

"Yes, there must be women here; I feel that by instinct. "

On the threshold the officers were met by Von Rabbek himself, acomely-looking man of sixty in civilian dress. Shaking hands withhis guests, he said that he was very glad and happy to see them, but begged them earnestly for God's sake to excuse him for notasking them to stay the night; two sisters with their children, some brothers, and some neighbours, had come on a visit to him, sothat he had not one spare room left. 

The General shook hands with every one, made his apologies, andsmiled, but it was evident by his face that he was by no means sodelighted as their last year's count, and that he had invited theofficers simply because, in his opinion, it was a social obligationto do so. And the officers themselves, as they walked up the softlycarpeted stairs, as they listened to him, felt that they had beeninvited to this house simply because it would have been awkward notto invite them; and at the sight of the footmen, who hastened tolight the lamps in the entrance below and in the anteroom above, they began to feel as though they had brought uneasiness anddiscomfort into the house with them. In a house in which two sistersand their children, brothers, and neighbours were gathered together, probably on account of some family festivity, or event, how couldthe presence of nineteen unknown officers possibly be welcome?

At the entrance to the drawing-room the officers were met by a tall, graceful old lady with black eyebrows and a long face, very muchlike the Empress Eugénie. Smiling graciously and majestically, shesaid she was glad and happy to see her guests, and apologized thather husband and she were on this occasion unable to invite _messieursles officiers_ to stay the night. From her beautiful majestic smile, which instantly vanished from her face every time she turned awayfrom her guests, it was evident that she had seen numbers of officersin her day, that she was in no humour for them now, and if sheinvited them to her house and apologized for not doing more, it wasonly because her breeding and position in society required it ofher. 

When the officers went into the big dining-room, there were abouta dozen people, men and ladies, young and old, sitting at tea atthe end of a long table. A group of men was dimly visible behindtheir chairs, wrapped in a haze of cigar smoke; and in the midstof them stood a lanky young man with red whiskers, talking loudly, with a lisp, in English. Through a door beyond the group could beseen a light room with pale blue furniture. 

"Gentlemen, there are so many of you that it is impossible tointroduce you all!" said the General in a loud voice, trying tosound very cheerful. "Make each other's acquaintance, gentlemen, without any ceremony!"

The officers--some with very serious and even stern faces, otherswith forced smiles, and all feeling extremely awkward--somehowmade their bows and sat down to tea. 

The most ill at ease of them all was Ryabovitch--a little officerin spectacles, with sloping shoulders, and whiskers like a lynx's. While some of his comrades assumed a serious expression, whileothers wore forced smiles, his face, his lynx-like whiskers, andspectacles seemed to say: "I am the shyest, most modest, and mostundistinguished officer in the whole brigade!" At first, on goinginto the room and sitting down to the table, he could not fix hisattention on any one face or object. The faces, the dresses, thecut-glass decanters of brandy, the steam from the glasses, themoulded cornices--all blended in one general impression thatinspired in Ryabovitch alarm and a desire to hide his head. Like alecturer making his first appearance before the public, he saweverything that was before his eyes, but apparently only had a dimunderstanding of it (among physiologists this condition, when thesubject sees but does not understand, is called psychical blindness). After a little while, growing accustomed to his surroundings, Ryabovitch saw clearly and began to observe. As a shy man, unusedto society, what struck him first was that in which he had alwaysbeen deficient--namely, the extraordinary boldness of his newacquaintances. Von Rabbek, his wife, two elderly ladies, a younglady in a lilac dress, and the young man with the red whiskers, whowas, it appeared, a younger son of Von Rabbek, very cleverly, asthough they had rehearsed it beforehand, took seats between theofficers, and at once got up a heated discussion in which thevisitors could not help taking part. The lilac young lady hotlyasserted that the artillery had a much better time than the cavalryand the infantry, while Von Rabbek and the elderly ladies maintainedthe opposite. A brisk interchange of talk followed. Ryabovitchwatched the lilac young lady who argued so hotly about what wasunfamiliar and utterly uninteresting to her, and watched artificialsmiles come and go on her face. 

Von Rabbek and his family skilfully drew the officers into thediscussion, and meanwhile kept a sharp lookout over their glassesand mouths, to see whether all of them were drinking, whether allhad enough sugar, why some one was not eating cakes or not drinkingbrandy. And the longer Ryabovitch watched and listened, the morehe was attracted by this insincere but splendidly disciplined family. 

After tea the officers went into the drawing-room. LieutenantLobytko's instinct had not deceived him. There were a great numberof girls and young married ladies. The "setter" lieutenant was soonstanding by a very young, fair girl in a black dress, and, bendingdown to her jauntily, as though leaning on an unseen sword, smiledand shrugged his shoulders coquettishly. He probably talked veryinteresting nonsense, for the fair girl looked at his well-fed facecondescendingly and asked indifferently, "Really?" And from thatuninterested "Really?" the setter, had he been intelligent, mighthave concluded that she would never call him to heel. 

The piano struck up; the melancholy strains of a valse floated outof the wide open windows, and every one, for some reason, rememberedthat it was spring, a May evening. Every one was conscious of thefragrance of roses, of lilac, and of the young leaves of the poplar. Ryabovitch, in whom the brandy he had drunk made itself felt, underthe influence of the music stole a glance towards the window, smiled, and began watching the movements of the women, and it seemed to himthat the smell of roses, of poplars, and lilac came not from thegarden, but from the ladies' faces and dresses. 

Von Rabbek's son invited a scraggy-looking young lady to dance, andwaltzed round the room twice with her. Lobytko, gliding over theparquet floor, flew up to the lilac young lady and whirled her away. Dancing began. . . . Ryabovitch stood near the door among those whowere not dancing and looked on. He had never once danced in hiswhole life, and he had never once in his life put his arm round thewaist of a respectable woman. He was highly delighted that a manshould in the sight of all take a girl he did not know round thewaist and offer her his shoulder to put her hand on, but he couldnot imagine himself in the position of such a man. There were timeswhen he envied the boldness and swagger of his companions and wasinwardly wretched; the consciousness that he was timid, that he wasround-shouldered and uninteresting, that he had a long waist andlynx-like whiskers, had deeply mortified him, but with years he hadgrown used to this feeling, and now, looking at his comrades dancingor loudly talking, he no longer envied them, but only felt touchedand mournful. 

When the quadrille began, young Von Rabbek came up to those whowere not dancing and invited two officers to have a game at billiards. The officers accepted and went with him out of the drawing-room. Ryabovitch, having nothing to do and wishing to take part in thegeneral movement, slouched after them. From the big drawing-roomthey went into the little drawing-room, then into a narrow corridorwith a glass roof, and thence into a room in which on their entrancethree sleepy-looking footmen jumped up quickly from the sofa. Atlast, after passing through a long succession of rooms, young VonRabbek and the officers came into a small room where there was abilliard-table. They began to play. 

Ryabovitch, who had never played any game but cards, stood near thebilliard-table and looked indifferently at the players, while theyin unbuttoned coats, with cues in their hands, stepped about, madepuns, and kept shouting out unintelligible words. 

The players took no notice of him, and only now and then one ofthem, shoving him with his elbow or accidentally touching him withthe end of his cue, would turn round and say "Pardon!" Before thefirst game was over he was weary of it, and began to feel he wasnot wanted and in the way. . . . He felt disposed to return to thedrawing-room, and he went out. 

On his way back he met with a little adventure. When he had gonehalf-way he noticed he had taken a wrong turning. He distinctlyremembered that he ought to meet three sleepy footmen on his way, but he had passed five or six rooms, and those sleepy figures seemedto have vanished into the earth. Noticing his mistake, he walkedback a little way and turned to the right; he found himself in alittle dark room which he had not seen on his way to the billiard-room. After standing there a little while, he resolutely opened the firstdoor that met his eyes and walked into an absolutely dark room. Straight in front could be seen the crack in the doorway throughwhich there was a gleam of vivid light; from the other side of thedoor came the muffled sound of a melancholy mazurka. Here, too, asin the drawing-room, the windows were wide open and there was asmell of poplars, lilac and roses. . . . 

Ryabovitch stood still in hesitation. . . . At that moment, to hissurprise, he heard hurried footsteps and the rustling of a dress, a breathless feminine voice whispered "At last!" And two soft, fragrant, unmistakably feminine arms were clasped about his neck;a warm cheek was pressed to his cheek, and simultaneously there wasthe sound of a kiss. But at once the bestower of the kiss uttereda faint shriek and skipped back from him, as it seemed to Ryabovitch, with aversion. He, too, almost shrieked and rushed towards the gleamof light at the door. . . . 

When he went back into the drawing-room his heart was beating andhis hands were trembling so noticeably that he made haste to hidethem behind his back. At first he was tormented by shame and dreadthat the whole drawing-room knew that he had just been kissed andembraced by a woman. He shrank into himself and looked uneasilyabout him, but as he became convinced that people were dancing andtalking as calmly as ever, he gave himself up entirely to the newsensation which he had never experienced before in his life. Somethingstrange was happening to him. . . . His neck, round which soft, fragrant arms had so lately been clasped, seemed to him to beanointed with oil; on his left cheek near his moustache where theunknown had kissed him there was a faint chilly tingling sensationas from peppermint drops, and the more he rubbed the place the moredistinct was the chilly sensation; all over, from head to foot, hewas full of a strange new feeling which grew stronger and stronger. . . . He wanted to dance, to talk, to run into the garden, to laughaloud. . . . He quite forgot that he was round-shouldered anduninteresting, that he had lynx-like whiskers and an "undistinguishedappearance" (that was how his appearance had been described by someladies whose conversation he had accidentally overheard). When VonRabbek's wife happened to pass by him, he gave her such a broad andfriendly smile that she stood still and looked at him inquiringly. 

"I like your house immensely!" he said, setting his spectaclesstraight. 

The General's wife smiled and said that the house had belonged toher father; then she asked whether his parents were living, whetherhe had long been in the army, why he was so thin, and so on. . . . After receiving answers to her questions, she went on, and afterhis conversation with her his smiles were more friendly than ever, and he thought he was surrounded by splendid people. . . . 

At supper Ryabovitch ate mechanically everything offered him, drank, and without listening to anything, tried to understand what hadjust happened to him. . . . The adventure was of a mysterious andromantic character, but it was not difficult to explain it. No doubtsome girl or young married lady had arranged a tryst with some onein the dark room; had waited a long time, and being nervous andexcited had taken Ryabovitch for her hero; this was the more probableas Ryabovitch had stood still hesitating in the dark room, so thathe, too, had seemed like a person expecting something. . . . Thiswas how Ryabovitch explained to himself the kiss he had received. 

"And who is she?" he wondered, looking round at the women's faces. "She must be young, for elderly ladies don't give rendezvous. Thatshe was a lady, one could tell by the rustle of her dress, herperfume, her voice. . . . "

His eyes rested on the lilac young lady, and he thought her veryattractive; she had beautiful shoulders and arms, a clever face, and a delightful voice. Ryabovitch, looking at her, hoped that sheand no one else was his unknown. . . . But she laughed somehowartificially and wrinkled up her long nose, which seemed to him tomake her look old. Then he turned his eyes upon the fair girl in ablack dress. She was younger, simpler, and more genuine, had acharming brow, and drank very daintily out of her wineglass. Ryabovitch now hoped that it was she. But soon he began to thinkher face flat, and fixed his eyes upon the one next her. 

"It's difficult to guess, " he thought, musing. "If one takes theshoulders and arms of the lilac one only, adds the brow of the fairone and the eyes of the one on the left of Lobytko, then . . . "

He made a combination of these things in his mind and so formed theimage of the girl who had kissed him, the image that he wanted herto have, but could not find at the table. . . . 

After supper, replete and exhilarated, the officers began to takeleave and say thank you. Von Rabbek and his wife began againapologizing that they could not ask them to stay the night. 

"Very, very glad to have met you, gentlemen, " said Von Rabbek, andthis time sincerely (probably because people are far more sincereand good-humoured at speeding their parting guests than on meetingthem). "Delighted. I hope you will come on your way back! Don'tstand on ceremony! Where are you going? Do you want to go by theupper way? No, go across the garden; it's nearer here by the lowerway. "

The officers went out into the garden. After the bright light andthe noise the garden seemed very dark and quiet. They walked insilence all the way to the gate. They were a little drunk, pleased, and in good spirits, but the darkness and silence made them thoughtfulfor a minute. Probably the same idea occurred to each one of themas to Ryabovitch: would there ever come a time for them when, likeVon Rabbek, they would have a large house, a family, a garden--when they, too, would be able to welcome people, even thoughinsincerely, feed them, make them drunk and contented?

Going out of the garden gate, they all began talking at once andlaughing loudly about nothing. They were walking now along thelittle path that led down to the river, and then ran along thewater's edge, winding round the bushes on the bank, the pools, andthe willows that overhung the water. The bank and the path werescarcely visible, and the other bank was entirely plunged in darkness. Stars were reflected here and there on the dark water; they quiveredand were broken up on the surface--and from that alone it couldbe seen that the river was flowing rapidly. It was still. Drowsycurlews cried plaintively on the further bank, and in one of thebushes on the nearest side a nightingale was trilling loudly, takingno notice of the crowd of officers. The officers stood round thebush, touched it, but the nightingale went on singing. 

"What a fellow!" they exclaimed approvingly. "We stand beside himand he takes not a bit of notice! What a rascal!"

At the end of the way the path went uphill, and, skirting the churchenclosure, turned into the road. Here the officers, tired withwalking uphill, sat down and lighted their cigarettes. On the otherside of the river a murky red fire came into sight, and havingnothing better to do, they spent a long time in discussing whetherit was a camp fire or a light in a window, or something else. . . . Ryabovitch, too, looked at the light, and he fancied that thelight looked and winked at him, as though it knew about the kiss. 

On reaching his quarters, Ryabovitch undressed as quickly as possibleand got into bed. Lobytko and Lieutenant Merzlyakov--a peaceable, silent fellow, who was considered in his own circle a highly educatedofficer, and was always, whenever it was possible, reading the"Vyestnik Evropi, " which he carried about with him everywhere--were quartered in the same hut with Ryabovitch. Lobytko undressed, walked up and down the room for a long while with the air of a manwho has not been satisfied, and sent his orderly for beer. Merzlyakovgot into bed, put a candle by his pillow and plunged into readingthe "Vyestnik Evropi. "

"Who was she?" Ryabovitch wondered, looking at the smoky ceiling. 

His neck still felt as though he had been anointed with oil, andthere was still the chilly sensation near his mouth as though frompeppermint drops. The shoulders and arms of the young lady in lilac, the brow and the truthful eyes of the fair girl in black, waists, dresses, and brooches, floated through his imagination. He triedto fix his attention on these images, but they danced about, brokeup and flickered. When these images vanished altogether from thebroad dark background which every man sees when he closes his eyes, he began to hear hurried footsteps, the rustle of skirts, the soundof a kiss and--an intense groundless joy took possession of him. . . . Abandoning himself to this joy, he heard the orderly returnand announce that there was no beer. Lobytko was terribly indignant, and began pacing up and down again. 

"Well, isn't he an idiot?" he kept saying, stopping first beforeRyabovitch and then before Merzlyakov. "What a fool and a dummy aman must be not to get hold of any beer! Eh? Isn't he a scoundrel?"

"Of course you can't get beer here, " said Merzlyakov, not removinghis eyes from the "Vyestnik Evropi. "

"Oh! Is that your opinion?" Lobytko persisted. "Lord have mercyupon us, if you dropped me on the moon I'd find you beer and womendirectly! I'll go and find some at once. . . . You may call me animpostor if I don't!"

He spent a long time in dressing and pulling on his high boots, then finished smoking his cigarette in silence and went out. 

"Rabbek, Grabbek, Labbek, " he muttered, stopping in the outer room. "I don't care to go alone, damn it all! Ryabovitch, wouldn't youlike to go for a walk? Eh?"

Receiving no answer, he returned, slowly undressed and got intobed. Merzlyakov sighed, put the "Vyestnik Evropi" away, and put outthe light. 

"H'm! . . . " muttered Lobytko, lighting a cigarette in the dark. 

Ryabovitch pulled the bed-clothes over his head, curled himself upin bed, and tried to gather together the floating images in hismind and to combine them into one whole. But nothing came of it. He soon fell asleep, and his last thought was that some one hadcaressed him and made him happy--that something extraordinary, foolish, but joyful and delightful, had come into his life. Thethought did not leave him even in his sleep. 

When he woke up the sensations of oil on his neck and the chill ofpeppermint about his lips had gone, but joy flooded his heart justas the day before. He looked enthusiastically at the window-frames, gilded by the light of the rising sun, and listened to the movementof the passers-by in the street. People were talking loudly closeto the window. Lebedetsky, the commander of Ryabovitch's battery, who had only just overtaken the brigade, was talking to his sergeantat the top of his voice, being always accustomed to shout. 

"What else?" shouted the commander. 

"When they were shoeing yesterday, your high nobility, they drovea nail into Pigeon's hoof. The vet. Put on clay and vinegar; theyare leading him apart now. And also, your honour, Artemyev got drunkyesterday, and the lieutenant ordered him to be put in the limberof a spare gun-carriage. "

The sergeant reported that Karpov had forgotten the new cords forthe trumpets and the rings for the tents, and that their honours, the officers, had spent the previous evening visiting General VonRabbek. In the middle of this conversation the red-bearded face ofLebedetsky appeared in the window. He screwed up his short-sightedeyes, looking at the sleepy faces of the officers, and saidgood-morning to them. 

"Is everything all right?" he asked. 

"One of the horses has a sore neck from the new collar, " answeredLobytko, yawning. 

The commander sighed, thought a moment, and said in a loud voice:

"I am thinking of going to see Alexandra Yevgrafovna. I must callon her. Well, good-bye. I shall catch you up in the evening. "

A quarter of an hour later the brigade set off on its way. When itwas moving along the road by the granaries, Ryabovitch looked atthe house on the right. The blinds were down in all the windows. Evidently the household was still asleep. The one who had kissedRyabovitch the day before was asleep, too. He tried to imagine herasleep. The wide-open windows of the bedroom, the green branchespeeping in, the morning freshness, the scent of the poplars, lilac, and roses, the bed, a chair, and on it the skirts that had rustledthe day before, the little slippers, the little watch on the table--all this he pictured to himself clearly and distinctly, but thefeatures of the face, the sweet sleepy smile, just what wascharacteristic and important, slipped through his imagination likequicksilver through the fingers. When he had ridden on half a mile, he looked back: the yellow church, the house, and the river, wereall bathed in light; the river with its bright green banks, withthe blue sky reflected in it and glints of silver in the sunshinehere and there, was very beautiful. Ryabovitch gazed for the lasttime at Myestetchki, and he felt as sad as though he were partingwith something very near and dear to him. 

And before him on the road lay nothing but long familiar, uninterestingpictures. . . . To right and to left, fields of young rye andbuckwheat with rooks hopping about in them. If one looked ahead, one saw dust and the backs of men's heads; if one looked back, onesaw the same dust and faces. . . . Foremost of all marched four menwith sabres--this was the vanguard. Next, behind, the crowd ofsingers, and behind them the trumpeters on horseback. The vanguardand the chorus of singers, like torch-bearers in a funeral procession, often forgot to keep the regulation distance and pushed a long wayahead. . . . Ryabovitch was with the first cannon of the fifthbattery. He could see all the four batteries moving in front ofhim. For any one not a military man this long tedious processionof a moving brigade seems an intricate and unintelligible muddle;one cannot understand why there are so many people round one cannon, and why it is drawn by so many horses in such a strange network ofharness, as though it really were so terrible and heavy. To Ryabovitchit was all perfectly comprehensible and therefore uninteresting. He had known for ever so long why at the head of each battery thererode a stalwart bombardier, and why he was called a bombardier;immediately behind this bombardier could be seen the horsemen ofthe first and then of the middle units. Ryabovitch knew that thehorses on which they rode, those on the left, were called one name, while those on the right were called another--it was extremelyuninteresting. Behind the horsemen came two shaft-horses. On oneof them sat a rider with the dust of yesterday on his back and aclumsy and funny-looking piece of wood on his leg. Ryabovitch knewthe object of this piece of wood, and did not think it funny. Allthe riders waved their whips mechanically and shouted from time totime. The cannon itself was ugly. On the fore part lay sacks ofoats covered with canvas, and the cannon itself was hung all overwith kettles, soldiers' knapsacks, bags, and looked like some smallharmless animal surrounded for some unknown reason by men and horses. To the leeward of it marched six men, the gunners, swinging theirarms. After the cannon there came again more bombardiers, riders, shaft-horses, and behind them another cannon, as ugly and unimpressiveas the first. After the second followed a third, a fourth; near thefourth an officer, and so on. There were six batteries in all inthe brigade, and four cannons in each battery. The procession coveredhalf a mile; it ended in a string of wagons near which an extremelyattractive creature--the ass, Magar, brought by a battery commanderfrom Turkey--paced pensively with his long-eared head drooping. 

Ryabovitch looked indifferently before and behind, at the backs ofheads and at faces; at any other time he would have been half asleep, but now he was entirely absorbed in his new agreeable thoughts. Atfirst when the brigade was setting off on the march he tried topersuade himself that the incident of the kiss could only beinteresting as a mysterious little adventure, that it was in realitytrivial, and to think of it seriously, to say the least of it, wasstupid; but now he bade farewell to logic and gave himself up todreams. . . . At one moment he imagined himself in Von Rabbek'sdrawing-room beside a girl who was like the young lady in lilac andthe fair girl in black; then he would close his eyes and see himselfwith another, entirely unknown girl, whose features were very vague. In his imagination he talked, caressed her, leaned on her shoulder, pictured war, separation, then meeting again, supper with his wife, children. . . . 

"Brakes on!" the word of command rang out every time they wentdownhill. 

He, too, shouted "Brakes on!" and was afraid this shout would disturbhis reverie and bring him back to reality. . . . 

As they passed by some landowner's estate Ryabovitch looked overthe fence into the garden. A long avenue, straight as a ruler, strewn with yellow sand and bordered with young birch-trees, methis eyes. . . . With the eagerness of a man given up to dreaming, he pictured to himself little feminine feet tripping along yellowsand, and quite unexpectedly had a clear vision in his imaginationof the girl who had kissed him and whom he had succeeded in picturingto himself the evening before at supper. This image remained in hisbrain and did not desert him again. 

At midday there was a shout in the rear near the string of wagons:

"Easy! Eyes to the left! Officers!"

The general of the brigade drove by in a carriage with a pair ofwhite horses. He stopped near the second battery, and shoutedsomething which no one understood. Several officers, among themRyabovitch, galloped up to them. 

"Well?" asked the general, blinking his red eyes. "Are there anysick?"

Receiving an answer, the general, a little skinny man, chewed, thought for a moment and said, addressing one of the officers:

"One of your drivers of the third cannon has taken off his leg-guardand hung it on the fore part of the cannon, the rascal. Reprimandhim. "

He raised his eyes to Ryabovitch and went on:

"It seems to me your front strap is too long. "

Making a few other tedious remarks, the general looked at Lobytkoand grinned. 

"You look very melancholy today, Lieutenant Lobytko, " he said. "Areyou pining for Madame Lopuhov? Eh? Gentlemen, he is pining forMadame Lopuhov. "

The lady in question was a very stout and tall person who had longpassed her fortieth year. The general, who had a predilection forsolid ladies, whatever their ages, suspected a similar taste in hisofficers. The officers smiled respectfully. The general, delightedat having said something very amusing and biting, laughed loudly, touched his coachman's back, and saluted. The carriage rolled on. . . . 

"All I am dreaming about now which seems to me so impossible andunearthly is really quite an ordinary thing, " thought Ryabovitch, looking at the clouds of dust racing after the general's carriage. "It's all very ordinary, and every one goes through it. . . . Thatgeneral, for instance, has once been in love; now he is married andhas children. Captain Vahter, too, is married and beloved, thoughthe nape of his neck is very red and ugly and he has no waist. . . . Salrnanov is coarse and very Tatar, but he has had a love affairthat has ended in marriage. . . . I am the same as every one else, and I, too, shall have the same experience as every one else, sooneror later. . . . "

And the thought that he was an ordinary person, and that his lifewas ordinary, delighted him and gave him courage. He pictured herand his happiness as he pleased, and put no rein on his imagination. 

When the brigade reached their halting-place in the evening, andthe officers were resting in their tents, Ryabovitch, Merzlyakov, and Lobytko were sitting round a box having supper. Merzlyakov atewithout haste, and, as he munched deliberately, read the "VyestnikEvropi, " which he held on his knees. Lobytko talked incessantly andkept filling up his glass with beer, and Ryabovitch, whose head wasconfused from dreaming all day long, drank and said nothing. Afterthree glasses he got a little drunk, felt weak, and had an irresistibledesire to impart his new sensations to his comrades. 

"A strange thing happened to me at those Von Rabbeks', " he began, trying to put an indifferent and ironical tone into his voice. "Youknow I went into the billiard-room. . . . "

He began describing very minutely the incident of the kiss, and amoment later relapsed into silence. . . . In the course of thatmoment he had told everything, and it surprised him dreadfully tofind how short a time it took him to tell it. He had imagined thathe could have been telling the story of the kiss till next morning. Listening to him, Lobytko, who was a great liar and consequentlybelieved no one, looked at him sceptically and laughed. Merzlyakovtwitched his eyebrows and, without removing his eyes from the"Vyestnik Evropi, " said:

"That's an odd thing! How strange! . . . Throws herself on a man'sneck, without addressing him by name. . . . She must be some sortof hysterical neurotic. "

"Yes, she must, " Ryabovitch agreed. 

"A similar thing once happened to me, " said Lobytko, assuming ascared expression. "I was going last year to Kovno. . . . I took asecond-class ticket. The train was crammed, and it was impossibleto sleep. I gave the guard half a rouble; he took my luggage andled me to another compartment. . . . I lay down and covered myselfwith a rug. . . . It was dark, you understand. Suddenly I felt someone touch me on the shoulder and breathe in my face. I made amovement with my hand and felt somebody's elbow. . . . I opened myeyes and only imagine--a woman. Black eyes, lips red as a primesalmon, nostrils breathing passionately--a bosom like a buffer. . . . "

"Excuse me, " Merzlyakov interrupted calmly, "I understand about thebosom, but how could you see the lips if it was dark?"

Lobytko began trying to put himself right and laughing at Merzlyakov'sunimaginativeness. It made Ryabovitch wince. He walked away fromthe box, got into bed, and vowed never to confide again. 

Camp life began. . . . The days flowed by, one very much likeanother. All those days Ryabovitch felt, thought, and behaved asthough he were in love. Every morning when his orderly handed himwater to wash with, and he sluiced his head with cold water, hethought there was something warm and delightful in his life. 

In the evenings when his comrades began talking of love and women, he would listen, and draw up closer; and he wore the expression ofa soldier when he hears the description of a battle in which he hastaken part. And on the evenings when the officers, out on the spreewith the setter--Lobytko--at their head, made Don Juan excursionsto the "suburb, " and Ryabovitch took part in such excursions, healways was sad, felt profoundly guilty, and inwardly begged _her_forgiveness. . . . In hours of leisure or on sleepless nights, whenhe felt moved to recall his childhood, his father and mother--everything near and dear, in fact, he invariably thought ofMyestetchki, the strange horse, Von Rabbek, his wife who was likethe Empress Eugénie, the dark room, the crack of light at thedoor. . . . 

On the thirty-first of August he went back from the camp, not withthe whole brigade, but with only two batteries of it. He was dreamingand excited all the way, as though he were going back to his nativeplace. He had an intense longing to see again the strange horse, the church, the insincere family of the Von Rabbeks, the dark room. The "inner voice, " which so often deceives lovers, whispered to himfor some reason that he would be sure to see her . . . And he wastortured by the questions, How he should meet her? What he wouldtalk to her about? Whether she had forgotten the kiss? If the worstcame to the worst, he thought, even if he did not meet her, it wouldbe a pleasure to him merely to go through the dark room and recallthe past. . . . 

Towards evening there appeared on the horizon the familiar churchand white granaries. Ryabovitch's heart beat. . . . He did not hearthe officer who was riding beside him and saying something to him, he forgot everything, and looked eagerly at the river shining inthe distance, at the roof of the house, at the dovecote round whichthe pigeons were circling in the light of the setting sun. 

When they reached the church and were listening to the billetingorders, he expected every second that a man on horseback would comeround the church enclosure and invite the officers to tea, but . . . The billeting orders were read, the officers were in haste to goon to the village, and the man on horseback did not appear. 

"Von Rabbek will hear at once from the peasants that we have comeand will send for us, " thought Ryabovitch, as he went into the hut, unable to understand why a comrade was lighting a candle and whythe orderlies were hurriedly setting samovars. . . . 

A painful uneasiness took possession of him. He lay down, then gotup and looked out of the window to see whether the messenger werecoming. But there was no sign of him. 

He lay down again, but half an hour later he got up, and, unableto restrain his uneasiness, went into the street and strode towardsthe church. It was dark and deserted in the square near the church. . . . Three soldiers were standing silent in a row where the roadbegan to go downhill. Seeing Ryabovitch, they roused themselves andsaluted. He returned the salute and began to go down the familiarpath. 

On the further side of the river the whole sky was flooded withcrimson: the moon was rising; two peasant women, talking loudly, were picking cabbage in the kitchen garden; behind the kitchengarden there were some dark huts. . . . And everything on the nearside of the river was just as it had been in May: the path, thebushes, the willows overhanging the water . . . But there was nosound of the brave nightingale, and no scent of poplar and freshgrass. 

Reaching the garden, Ryabovitch looked in at the gate. The gardenwas dark and still. . . . He could see nothing but the white stemsof the nearest birch-trees and a little bit of the avenue; all therest melted together into a dark blur. Ryabovitch looked and listenedeagerly, but after waiting for a quarter of an hour without hearinga sound or catching a glimpse of a light, he trudged back. . . . 

He went down to the river. The General's bath-house and the bath-sheetson the rail of the little bridge showed white before him. . . . Hewent on to the bridge, stood a little, and, quite unnecessarily, touched the sheets. They felt rough and cold. He looked down at thewater. . . . The river ran rapidly and with a faintly audible gurgleround the piles of the bath-house. The red moon was reflected nearthe left bank; little ripples ran over the reflection, stretchingit out, breaking it into bits, and seemed trying to carry it away. 

"How stupid, how stupid!" thought Ryabovitch, looking at the runningwater. "How unintelligent it all is!"

Now that he expected nothing, the incident of the kiss, his impatience, his vague hopes and disappointment, presented themselves in a clearlight. It no longer seemed to him strange that he had not seen theGeneral's messenger, and that he would never see the girl who hadaccidentally kissed him instead of some one else; on the contrary, it would have been strange if he had seen her. . . . 

The water was running, he knew not where or why, just as it did inMay. In May it had flowed into the great river, from the great riverinto the sea; then it had risen in vapour, turned into rain, andperhaps the very same water was running now before Ryabovitch'seyes again. . . . What for? Why?

And the whole world, the whole of life, seemed to Ryabovitch anunintelligible, aimless jest. . . . And turning his eyes from thewater and looking at the sky, he remembered again how fate in theperson of an unknown woman had by chance caressed him, he rememberedhis summer dreams and fancies, and his life struck him as extraordinarilymeagre, poverty-stricken, and colourless. . . . 

When he went back to his hut he did not find one of his comrades. The orderly informed him that they had all gone to "General vonRabbek's, who had sent a messenger on horseback to invite them. . . . "

For an instant there was a flash of joy in Ryabovitch's heart, buthe quenched it at once, got into bed, and in his wrath with hisfate, as though to spite it, did not go to the General's. 

'ANNA ON THE NECK'

I

AFTER the wedding they had not even light refreshments; the happypair simply drank a glass of champagne, changed into their travellingthings, and drove to the station. Instead of a gay wedding ball andsupper, instead of music and dancing, they went on a journey topray at a shrine a hundred and fifty miles away. Many people commendedthis, saying that Modest Alexeitch was a man high up in the serviceand no longer young, and that a noisy wedding might not have seemedquite suitable; and music is apt to sound dreary when a governmentofficial of fifty-two marries a girl who is only just eighteen. People said, too, that Modest Alexeitch, being a man of principle, had arranged this visit to the monastery expressly in order to makehis young bride realize that even in marriage he put religion andmorality above everything. 

The happy pair were seen off at the station. The crowd of relationsand colleagues in the service stood, with glasses in their hands, waiting for the train to start to shout "Hurrah!" and the bride'sfather, Pyotr Leontyitch, wearing a top-hat and the uniform of ateacher, already drunk and very pale, kept craning towards thewindow, glass in hand and saying in an imploring voice:

"Anyuta! Anya, Anya! one word!"

Anna bent out of the window to him, and he whispered something toher, enveloping her in a stale smell of alcohol, blew into her ear--she could make out nothing--and made the sign of the crossover her face, her bosom, and her hands; meanwhile he was breathingin gasps and tears were shining in his eyes. And the schoolboys, Anna's brothers, Petya and Andrusha, pulled at his coat from behind, whispering in confusion:

"Father, hush! . . . Father, that's enough. . . . "

When the train started, Anna saw her father run a little way afterthe train, staggering and spilling his wine, and what a kind, guilty, pitiful face he had:

"Hurra--ah!" he shouted. 

The happy pair were left alone. Modest Alexeitch looked about thecompartment, arranged their things on the shelves, and sat down, smiling, opposite his young wife. He was an official of mediumheight, rather stout and puffy, who looked exceedingly well nourished, with long whiskers and no moustache. His clean-shaven, round, sharplydefined chin looked like the heel of a foot. The most characteristicpoint in his face was the absence of moustache, the bare, freshlyshaven place, which gradually passed into the fat cheeks, quiveringlike jelly. His deportment was dignified, his movements weredeliberate, his manner was soft. 

"I cannot help remembering now one circumstance, " he said, smiling. "When, five years ago, Kosorotov received the order of St. Anna ofthe second grade, and went to thank His Excellency, His Excellencyexpressed himself as follows: 'So now you have three Annas: one inyour buttonhole and two on your neck. ' And it must be explainedthat at that time Kosorotov's wife, a quarrelsome and frivolousperson, had just returned to him, and that her name was Anna. Itrust that when I receive the Anna of the second grade His Excellencywill not have occasion to say the same thing to me. "

He smiled with his little eyes. And she, too, smiled, troubled atthe thought that at any moment this man might kiss her with histhick damp lips, and that she had no right to prevent his doing so. The soft movements of his fat person frightened her; she felt bothfear and disgust. He got up, without haste took off the order fromhis neck, took off his coat and waistcoat, and put on his dressing-gown. 

"That's better, " he said, sitting down beside Anna. 

Anna remembered what agony the wedding had been, when it had seemedto her that the priest, and the guests, and every one in church hadbeen looking at her sorrowfully and asking why, why was she, sucha sweet, nice girl, marrying such an elderly, uninteresting gentleman. Only that morning she was delighted that everything had beensatisfactorily arranged, but at the time of the wedding, and nowin the railway carriage, she felt cheated, guilty, and ridiculous. Here she had married a rich man and yet she had no money, herwedding-dress had been bought on credit, and when her father andbrothers had been saying good-bye, she could see from their facesthat they had not a farthing. Would they have any supper that day?And tomorrow? And for some reason it seemed to her that her fatherand the boys were sitting tonight hungry without her, and feelingthe same misery as they had the day after their mother's funeral. 

"Oh, how unhappy I am!" she thought. "Why am I so unhappy?"

With the awkwardness of a man with settled habits, unaccustomed todeal with women, Modest Alexeitch touched her on the waist andpatted her on the shoulder, while she went on thinking about money, about her mother and her mother's death. When her mother died, herfather, Pyotr Leontyitch, a teacher of drawing and writing in thehigh school, had taken to drink, impoverishment had followed, theboys had not had boots or goloshes, their father had been hauledup before the magistrate, the warrant officer had come and made aninventory of the furniture. . . . What a disgrace! Anna had had tolook after her drunken father, darn her brothers' stockings, go tomarket, and when she was complimented on her youth, her beauty, andher elegant manners, it seemed to her that every one was lookingat her cheap hat and the holes in her boots that were inked over. And at night there had been tears and a haunting dread that herfather would soon, very soon, be dismissed from the school for hisweakness, and that he would not survive it, but would die, too, like their mother. But ladies of their acquaintance had taken thematter in hand and looked about for a good match for Anna. ThisModest Alexevitch, who was neither young nor good-looking but hadmoney, was soon found. He had a hundred thousand in the bank andthe family estate, which he had let on lease. He was a man ofprinciple and stood well with His Excellency; it would be nothingto him, so they told Anna, to get a note from His Excellency to thedirectors of the high school, or even to the Education Commissioner, to prevent Pyotr Leontyitch from being dismissed. 

While she was recalling these details, she suddenly heard strainsof music which floated in at the window, together with the soundof voices. The train was stopping at a station. In the crowd beyondthe platform an accordion and a cheap squeaky fiddle were beingbriskly played, and the sound of a military band came from beyondthe villas and the tall birches and poplars that lay bathed in themoonlight; there must have been a dance in the place. Summer visitorsand townspeople, who used to come out here by train in fine weatherfor a breath of fresh air, were parading up and down on the platform. Among them was the wealthy owner of all the summer villas--a tall, stout, dark man called Artynov. He had prominent eyes and lookedlike an Armenian. He wore a strange costume; his shirt was unbuttoned, showing his chest; he wore high boots with spurs, and a black cloakhung from his shoulders and dragged on the ground like a train. Twoboar-hounds followed him with their sharp noses to the ground. 

Tears were still shining in Anna's eyes, but she was not thinkingnow of her mother, nor of money, nor of her marriage; but shakinghands with schoolboys and officers she knew, she laughed gaily andsaid quickly:

"How do you do? How are you?"

She went out on to the platform between the carriages into themoonlight, and stood so that they could all see her in her newsplendid dress and hat. 

"Why are we stopping here?" she asked. 

"This is a junction. They are waiting for the mail train to pass. "

Seeing that Artynov was looking at her, she screwed up her eyescoquettishly and began talking aloud in French; and because hervoice sounded so pleasant, and because she heard music and the moonwas reflected in the pond, and because Artynov, the notorious DonJuan and spoiled child of fortune, was looking at her eagerly andwith curiosity, and because every one was in good spirits--shesuddenly felt joyful, and when the train started and the officersof her acquaintance saluted her, she was humming the polka thestrains of which reached her from the military band playing beyondthe trees; and she returned to her compartment feeling as thoughit had been proved to her at the station that she would certainlybe happy in spite of everything. 

The happy pair spent two days at the monastery, then went back totown. They lived in a rent-free flat. When Modest Alexevitch hadgone to the office, Anna played the piano, or shed tears of depression, or lay down on a couch and read novels or looked through fashionpapers. At dinner Modest Alexevitch ate a great deal and talkedabout politics, about appointments, transfers, and promotions inthe service, about the necessity of hard work, and said that, familylife not being a pleasure but a duty, if you took care of the kopecksthe roubles would take care of themselves, and that he put religionand morality before everything else in the world. And holding hisknife in his fist as though it were a sword, he would say:

"Every one ought to have his duties!"

And Anna listened to him, was frightened, and could not eat, andshe usually got up from the table hungry. After dinner her husbandlay down for a nap and snored loudly, while Anna went to see herown people. Her father and the boys looked at her in a peculiarway, as though just before she came in they had been blaming herfor having married for money a tedious, wearisome man she did notlove; her rustling skirts, her bracelets, and her general air of amarried lady, offended them and made them uncomfortable. In herpresence they felt a little embarrassed and did not know what totalk to her about; but yet they still loved her as before, and werenot used to having dinner without her. She sat down with them tocabbage soup, porridge, and fried potatoes, smelling of muttondripping. Pyotr Leontyitch filled his glass from the decanter witha trembling hand and drank it off hurriedly, greedily, with repulsion, then poured out a second glass and then a third. Petya and Andrusha, thin, pale boys with big eyes, would take the decanter and saydesperately:

"You mustn't, father. . . . Enough, father. . . . "

And Anna, too, was troubled and entreated him to drink no more; andhe would suddenly fly into a rage and beat the table with his fists:

"I won't allow any one to dictate to me!" he would shout. "Wretchedboys! wretched girl! I'll turn you all out!"

But there was a note of weakness, of good-nature in his voice, andno one was afraid of him. After dinner he usually dressed in hisbest. Pale, with a cut on his chin from shaving, craning his thinneck, he would stand for half an hour before the glass, prinking, combing his hair, twisting his black moustache, sprinkling himselfwith scent, tying his cravat in a bow; then he would put on hisgloves and his top-hat, and go off to give his private lessons. Orif it was a holiday he would stay at home and paint, or play theharmonium, which wheezed and growled; he would try to wrest fromit pure harmonious sounds and would sing to it; or would storm atthe boys:

"Wretches! Good-for-nothing boys! You have spoiled the instrument!"

In the evening Anna's husband played cards with his colleagues, wholived under the same roof in the government quarters. The wives ofthese gentlemen would come in--ugly, tastelessly dressed women, as coarse as cooks--and gossip would begin in the flat as tastelessand unattractive as the ladies themselves. Sometimes Modest Alexevitchwould take Anna to the theatre. In the intervals he would never lether stir a step from his side, but walked about arm in arm with herthrough the corridors and the foyer. When he bowed to some one, heimmediately whispered to Anna: "A civil councillor . . . Visits atHis Excellency's"; or, "A man of means . . . Has a house of hisown. " When they passed the buffet Anna had a great longing forsomething sweet; she was fond of chocolate and apple cakes, but shehad no money, and she did not like to ask her husband. He wouldtake a pear, pinch it with his fingers, and ask uncertainly:

"How much?"

"Twenty-five kopecks!"

"I say!" he would reply, and put it down; but as it was awkward toleave the buffet without buying anything, he would order someseltzer-water and drink the whole bottle himself, and tears wouldcome into his eyes. And Anna hated him at such times. 

And suddenly flushing crimson, he would say to her rapidly:

"Bow to that old lady!"

"But I don't know her. "

"No matter. That's the wife of the director of the local treasury!Bow, I tell you, " he would grumble insistently. "Your head won'tdrop off. "

Anna bowed and her head certainly did not drop off, but it wasagonizing. She did everything her husband wanted her to, and wasfurious with herself for having let him deceive her like the veriestidiot. She had only married him for his money, and yet she had lessmoney now than before her marriage. In old days her father wouldsometimes give her twenty kopecks, but now she had not a farthing. 

To take money by stealth or ask for it, she could not; she wasafraid of her husband, she trembled before him. She felt as thoughshe had been afraid of him for years. In her childhood the directorof the high school had always seemed the most impressive andterrifying force in the world, sweeping down like a thunderstormor a steam-engine ready to crush her; another similar force of whichthe whole family talked, and of which they were for some reasonafraid, was His Excellency; then there were a dozen others, lessformidable, and among them the teachers at the high school, withshaven upper lips, stern, implacable; and now finally, there wasModest Alexeitch, a man of principle, who even resembled the directorin the face. And in Anna's imagination all these forces blendedtogether into one, and, in the form of a terrible, huge white bear, menaced the weak and erring such as her father. And she was afraidto say anything in opposition to her husband, and gave a forcedsmile, and tried to make a show of pleasure when she was coarselycaressed and defiled by embraces that excited her terror. Only oncePyotr Leontyitch had the temerity to ask for a loan of fifty roublesin order to pay some very irksome debt, but what an agony it hadbeen!

"Very good; I'll give it to you, " said Modest Alexeitch after amoment's thought; "but I warn you I won't help you again till yougive up drinking. Such a failing is disgraceful in a man in thegovernment service! I must remind you of the well-known fact thatmany capable people have been ruined by that passion, though theymight possibly, with temperance, have risen in time to a very high. "

And long-winded phrases followed: "inasmuch as . . . ", "followingupon which proposition . . . ", "in view of the aforesaid contention. . . "; and Pyotr Leontyitch was in agonies of humiliation and feltan intense craving for alcohol. 

And when the boys came to visit Anna, generally in broken boots andthreadbare trousers, they, too, had to listen to sermons. 

"Every man ought to have his duties!" Modest Alexeitch would sayto them. 

And he did not give them money. But he did give Anna bracelets, rings, and brooches, saying that these things would come in usefulfor a rainy day. And he often unlocked her drawer and made aninspection to see whether they were all safe. 

II

Meanwhile winter came on. Long before Christmas there was anannouncement in the local papers that the usual winter ball wouldtake place on the twenty-ninth of December in the Hall of Nobility. Every evening after cards Modest Alexeitch was excitedly whisperingwith his colleagues' wives and glancing at Anna, and then paced upand down the room for a long while, thinking. At last, late oneevening, he stood still, facing Anna, and said:

"You ought to get yourself a ball dress. Do you understand? Onlyplease consult Marya Grigoryevna and Natalya Kuzminishna. "

And he gave her a hundred roubles. She took the money, but she didnot consult any one when she ordered the ball dress; she spoke tono one but her father, and tried to imagine how her mother wouldhave dressed for a ball. Her mother had always dressed in the latestfashion and had always taken trouble over Anna, dressing her elegantlylike a doll, and had taught her to speak French and dance the mazurkasuperbly (she had been a governess for five years before hermarriage). Like her mother, Anna could make a new dress out of anold one, clean gloves with benzine, hire jewels; and, like hermother, she knew how to screw up her eyes, lisp, assume gracefulattitudes, fly into raptures when necessary, and throw a mournfuland enigmatic look into her eyes. And from her father she hadinherited the dark colour of her hair and eyes, her highly-strungnerves, and the habit of always making herself look her best. 

When, half an hour before setting off for the ball, Modest Alexeitchwent into her room without his coat on, to put his order round hisneck before her pier-glass, dazzled by her beauty and the splendourof her fresh, ethereal dress, he combed his whiskers complacentlyand said:

"So that's what my wife can look like . . . So that's what you canlook like! Anyuta!" he went on, dropping into a tone of solemnity, "I have made your fortune, and now I beg you to do something formine. I beg you to get introduced to the wife of His Excellency!For God's sake, do! Through her I may get the post of senior reportingclerk!"

They went to the ball. They reached the Hall of Nobility, theentrance with the hall porter. They came to the vestibule with thehat-stands, the fur coats; footmen scurrying about, and ladies withlow necks putting up their fans to screen themselves from thedraughts. There was a smell of gas and of soldiers. When Anna, walking upstairs on her husband's arm, heard the music and sawherself full length in the looking-glass in the full glow of thelights, there was a rush of joy in her heart, and she felt the samepresentiment of happiness as in the moonlight at the station. Shewalked in proudly, confidently, for the first time feeling herselfnot a girl but a lady, and unconsciously imitating her mother inher walk and in her manner. And for the first time in her life shefelt rich and free. Even her husband's presence did not oppressher, for as she crossed the threshold of the hall she had guessedinstinctively that the proximity of an old husband did not detractfrom her in the least, but, on the contrary, gave her that shadeof piquant mystery that is so attractive to men. The orchestra wasalready playing and the dances had begun. After their flat Anna wasoverwhelmed by the lights, the bright colours, the music, the noise, and looking round the room, thought, "Oh, how lovely!" She at oncedistinguished in the crowd all her acquaintances, every one she hadmet before at parties or on picnics--all the officers, the teachers, the lawyers, the officials, the landowners, His Excellency, Artynov, and the ladies of the highest standing, dressed up and very_décollettées_, handsome and ugly, who had already taken up theirpositions in the stalls and pavilions of the charity bazaar, tobegin selling things for the benefit of the poor. A huge officerin epaulettes--she had been introduced to him in Staro-KievskyStreet when she was a schoolgirl, but now she could not rememberhis name--seemed to spring from out of the ground, begging herfor a waltz, and she flew away from her husband, feeling as thoughshe were floating away in a sailing-boat in a violent storm, whileher husband was left far away on the shore. She danced passionately, with fervour, a waltz, then a polka and a quadrille, being snatchedby one partner as soon as she was left by another, dizzy with musicand the noise, mixing Russian with French, lisping, laughing, andwith no thought of her husband or anything else. She excited greatadmiration among the men--that was evident, and indeed it couldnot have been otherwise; she was breathless with excitement, feltthirsty, and convulsively clutched her fan. Pyotr Leontyitch, herfather, in a crumpled dress-coat that smelt of benzine, came up toher, offering her a plate of pink ice. 

"You are enchanting this evening, " he said, looking at her rapturously, "and I have never so much regretted that you were in such a hurryto get married. . . . What was it for? I know you did it for oursake, but . . . " With a shaking hand he drew out a roll of notesand said: "I got the money for my lessons today, and can pay yourhusband what I owe him. "

She put the plate back into his hand, and was pounced upon by someone and borne off to a distance. She caught a glimpse over herpartner's shoulder of her father gliding over the floor, puttinghis arm round a lady and whirling down the ball-room with her. 

"How sweet he is when he is sober!" she thought. 

She danced the mazurka with the same huge officer; he moved gravely, as heavily as a dead carcase in a uniform, twitched his shouldersand his chest, stamped his feet very languidly--he felt fearfullydisinclined to dance. She fluttered round him, provoking him by herbeauty, her bare neck; her eyes glowed defiantly, her movementswere passionate, while he became more and more indifferent, andheld out his hands to her as graciously as a king. 

"Bravo, bravo!" said people watching them. 

But little by little the huge officer, too, broke out; he grewlively, excited, and, overcome by her fascination, was carried awayand danced lightly, youthfully, while she merely moved her shouldersand looked slyly at him as though she were now the queen and hewere her slave; and at that moment it seemed to her that the wholeroom was looking at them, and that everybody was thrilled and enviedthem. The huge officer had hardly had time to thank her for thedance, when the crowd suddenly parted and the men drew themselvesup in a strange way, with their hands at their sides. 

His Excellency, with two stars on his dress-coat, was walking upto her. Yes, His Excellency was walking straight towards her, forhe was staring directly at her with a sugary smile, while he lickedhis lips as he always did when he saw a pretty woman. 

"Delighted, delighted . . . " he began. "I shall order your husbandto be clapped in a lock-up for keeping such a treasure hidden fromus till now. I've come to you with a message from my wife, " he wenton, offering her his arm. "You must help us. . . . M-m-yes. . . . We ought to give you the prize for beauty as they do in America. . . . M-m-yes. . . . The Americans. . . . My wife is expecting youimpatiently. "

He led her to a stall and presented her to a middle-aged lady, thelower part of whose face was disproportionately large, so that shelooked as though she were holding a big stone in her mouth. 

"You must help us, " she said through her nose in a sing-song voice. "All the pretty women are working for our charity bazaar, and youare the only one enjoying yourself. Why won't you help us?"

She went away, and Anna took her place by the cups and the silversamovar. She was soon doing a lively trade. Anna asked no less thana rouble for a cup of tea, and made the huge officer drink threecups. Artynov, the rich man with prominent eyes, who suffered fromasthma, came up, too; he was not dressed in the strange costume inwhich Anna had seen him in the summer at the station, but wore adress-coat like every one else. Keeping his eyes fixed on Anna, hedrank a glass of champagne and paid a hundred roubles for it, thendrank some tea and gave another hundred--all this without sayinga word, as he was short of breath through asthma. . . . Anna invitedpurchasers and got money out of them, firmly convinced by now thather smiles and glances could not fail to afford these people greatpleasure. She realized now that she was created exclusively forthis noisy, brilliant, laughing life, with its music, its dancers, its adorers, and her old terror of a force that was sweeping downupon her and menacing to crush her seemed to her ridiculous: shewas afraid of no one now, and only regretted that her mother couldnot be there to rejoice at her success. 

Pyotr Leontyitch, pale by now but still steady on his legs, cameup to the stall and asked for a glass of brandy. Anna turned crimson, expecting him to say something inappropriate (she was already ashamedof having such a poor and ordinary father); but he emptied hisglass, took ten roubles out of his roll of notes, flung it down, and walked away with dignity without uttering a word. A little latershe saw him dancing in the grand chain, and by now he was staggeringand kept shouting something, to the great confusion of his partner;and Anna remembered how at the ball three years before he hadstaggered and shouted in the same way, and it had ended in thepolice-sergeant's taking him home to bed, and next day the directorhad threatened to dismiss him from his post. How inappropriate thatmemory was!

When the samovars were put out in the stalls and the exhaustedladies handed over their takings to the middle-aged lady with thestone in her mouth, Artynov took Anna on his arm to the hall wheresupper was served to all who had assisted at the bazaar. There weresome twenty people at supper, not more, but it was very noisy. HisExcellency proposed a toast:

"In this magnificent dining-room it will be appropriate to drinkto the success of the cheap dining-rooms, which are the object oftoday's bazaar. "

The brigadier-general proposed the toast: "To the power by whicheven the artillery is vanquished, " and all the company clinkedglasses with the ladies. It was very, very gay. 

When Anna was escorted home it was daylight and the cooks were goingto market. Joyful, intoxicated, full of new sensations, exhausted, she undressed, dropped into bed, and at once fell asleep. . . . 

It was past one in the afternoon when the servant waked her andannounced that M. Artynov had called. She dressed quickly and wentdown into the drawing-room. Soon after Artynov, His Excellencycalled to thank her for her assistance in the bazaar. With a sugarysmile, chewing his lips, he kissed her hand, and asking her permissionto come again, took his leave, while she remained standing in themiddle of the drawing-room, amazed, enchanted, unable to believethat this change in her life, this marvellous change, had takenplace so quickly; and at that moment Modest Alexeitch walked in. . . And he, too, stood before her now with the same ingratiating, sugary, cringingly respectful expression which she was accustomedto see on his face in the presence of the great and powerful; andwith rapture, with indignation, with contempt, convinced that noharm would come to her from it, she said, articulating distinctlyeach word:

"Be off, you blockhead!"

From this time forward Anna never had one day free, as she wasalways taking part in picnics, expeditions, performances. Shereturned home every day after midnight, and went to bed on the floorin the drawing-room, and afterwards used to tell every one, touchingly, how she slept under flowers. She needed a very great deal of money, but she was no longer afraid of Modest Alexeitch, and spent hismoney as though it were her own; and she did not ask, did not demandit, simply sent him in the bills. "Give bearer two hundred roubles, "or "Pay one hundred roubles at once. "

At Easter Modest Alexeitch received the Anna of the second grade. When he went to offer his thanks, His Excellency put aside the paperhe was reading and settled himself more comfortably in his chair. 

"So now you have three Annas, " he said, scrutinizing his white handsand pink nails--"one on your buttonhole and two on your neck. "

Modest Alexeitch put two fingers to his lips as a precaution againstlaughing too loud and said:

"Now I have only to look forward to the arrival of a little Vladimir. I make bold to beg your Excellency to stand godfather. "

He was alluding to Vladimir of the fourth grade, and was alreadyimagining how he would tell everywhere the story of this pun, sohappy in its readiness and audacity, and he wanted to say somethingequally happy, but His Excellency was buried again in his newspaper, and merely gave him a nod. 

And Anna went on driving about with three horses, going out huntingwith Artynov, playing in one-act dramas, going out to supper, andwas more and more rarely with her own family; they dined now alone. Pyotr Leontyitch was drinking more heavily than ever; there was nomoney, and the harmonium had been sold long ago for debt. The boysdid not let him go out alone in the street now, but looked afterhim for fear he might fall down; and whenever they met Anna drivingin Staro-Kievsky Street with a pair of horses and Artynov on thebox instead of a coachman, Pyotr Leontyitch took off his top-hat, and was about to shout to her, but Petya and Andrusha took him bythe arm, and said imploringly:

"You mustn't, father. Hush, father!"

THE TEACHER OF LITERATURE

I

THERE was the thud of horses' hoofs on the wooden floor; they broughtout of the stable the black horse, Count Nulin; then the white, Giant; then his sister Maika. They were all magnificent, expensivehorses. Old Shelestov saddled Giant and said, addressing his daughterMasha:

"Well, Marie Godefroi, come, get on! Hopla!"

Masha Shelestov was the youngest of the family; she was eighteen, but her family could not get used to thinking that she was not alittle girl, and so they still called her Manya and Manyusa; andafter there had been a circus in the town which she had eagerlyvisited, every one began to call her Marie Godefroi. 

"Hop-la!" she cried, mounting Giant. Her sister Varya got on Maika, Nikitin on Count Nulin, the officers on their horses, and the longpicturesque cavalcade, with the officers in white tunics and theladies in their riding habits, moved at a walking pace out of theyard. 

Nikitin noticed that when they were mounting the horses and afterwardsriding out into the street, Masha for some reason paid attentionto no one but himself. She looked anxiously at him and at CountNulin and said:

"You must hold him all the time on the curb, Sergey Vassilitch. Don't let him shy. He's pretending. "

And either because her Giant was very friendly with Count Nulin, or perhaps by chance, she rode all the time beside Nikitin, as shehad done the day before, and the day before that. And he looked ather graceful little figure sitting on the proud white beast, at herdelicate profile, at the chimney-pot hat, which did not suit herat all and made her look older than her age--looked at her withjoy, with tenderness, with rapture; listened to her, taking inlittle of what she said, and thought:

"I promise on my honour, I swear to God, I won't be afraid and I'llspeak to her today. "

It was seven o'clock in the evening--the time when the scent ofwhite acacia and lilac is so strong that the air and the very treesseem heavy with the fragrance. The band was already playing in thetown gardens. The horses made a resounding thud on the pavement, on all sides there were sounds of laughter, talk, and the bangingof gates. The soldiers they met saluted the officers, the schoolboysbowed to Nikitin, and all the people who were hurrying to the gardensto hear the band were pleased at the sight of the party. And howwarm it was! How soft-looking were the clouds scattered carelesslyabout the sky, how kindly and comforting the shadows of the poplarsand the acacias, which stretched across the street and reached asfar as the balconies and second stories of the houses on the otherside. 

They rode on out of the town and set off at a trot along the highroad. Here there was no scent of lilac and acacia, no music of the band, but there was the fragrance of the fields, there was the green ofyoung rye and wheat, the marmots were squeaking, the rooks werecawing. Wherever one looked it was green, with only here and thereblack patches of bare ground, and far away to the left in thecemetery a white streak of apple-blossom. 

They passed the slaughter-houses, then the brewery, and overtook amilitary band hastening to the suburban gardens. 

"Polyansky has a very fine horse, I don't deny that, " Masha saidto Nikitin, with a glance towards the officer who was riding besideVarya. "But it has blemishes. That white patch on its left leg oughtnot to be there, and, look, it tosses its head. You can't train itnot to now; it will toss its head till the end of its days. "

Masha was as passionate a lover of horses as her father. She felta pang when she saw other people with fine horses, and was pleasedwhen she saw defects in them. Nikitin knew nothing about horses;it made absolutely no difference to him whether he held his horseon the bridle or on the curb, whether he trotted or galloped; heonly felt that his position was strained and unnatural, and thatconsequently the officers who knew how to sit in their saddles mustplease Masha more than he could. And he was jealous of the officers. 

As they rode by the suburban gardens some one suggested their goingin and getting some seltzer-water. They went in. There were no treesbut oaks in the gardens; they had only just come into leaf, so thatthrough the young foliage the whole garden could still be seen withits platform, little tables, and swings, and the crows' nests werevisible, looking like big hats. The party dismounted near a tableand asked for seltzer-water. People they knew, walking about thegarden, came up to them. Among them the army doctor in high boots, and the conductor of the band, waiting for the musicians. The doctormust have taken Nikitin for a student, for he asked: "Have you comefor the summer holidays?"

"No, I am here permanently, " answered Nikitin. "I am a teacher atthe school. "

"You don't say so?" said the doctor, with surprise. "So young andalready a teacher?"

"Young, indeed! My goodness, I'm twenty-six!

"You have a beard and moustache, but yet one would never guess youwere more than twenty-two or twenty-three. How young-looking youare!"

"What a beast!" thought Nikitin. "He, too, takes me for awhipper-snapper!"

He disliked it extremely when people referred to his youth, especiallyin the presence of women or the schoolboys. Ever since he had cometo the town as a master in the school he had detested his ownyouthful appearance. The schoolboys were not afraid of him, oldpeople called him "young man, " ladies preferred dancing with himto listening to his long arguments, and he would have given a greatdeal to be ten years older. 

From the garden they went on to the Shelestovs' farm. There theystopped at the gate and asked the bailiff's wife, Praskovya, tobring some new milk. Nobody drank the milk; they all looked at oneanother, laughed, and galloped back. As they rode back the band wasplaying in the suburban garden; the sun was setting behind thecemetery, and half the sky was crimson from the sunset. 

Masha again rode beside Nikitin. He wanted to tell her how passionatelyhe loved her, but he was afraid he would be overheard by the officersand Varya, and he was silent. Masha was silent, too, and he feltwhy she was silent and why she was riding beside him, and was sohappy that the earth, the sky, the lights of the town, the blackoutline of the brewery--all blended for him into something verypleasant and comforting, and it seemed to him as though Count Nulinwere stepping on air and would climb up into the crimson sky. 

They arrived home. The samovar was already boiling on the table, old Shelestov was sitting with his friends, officials in the CircuitCourt, and as usual he was criticizing something. 

"It's loutishness!" he said. "Loutishness and nothing more. Yes!"

Since Nikitin had been in love with Masha, everything at theShelestovs' pleased him: the house, the garden, and the eveningtea, and the wickerwork chairs, and the old nurse, and even theword "loutishness, " which the old man was fond of using. The onlything he did not like was the number of cats and dogs and theEgyptian pigeons, who moaned disconsolately in a big cage in theverandah. There were so many house-dogs and yard-dogs that he hadonly learnt to recognize two of them in the course of his acquaintancewith the Shelestovs: Mushka and Som. Mushka was a little mangy dogwith a shaggy face, spiteful and spoiled. She hated Nikitin: whenshe saw him she put her head on one side, showed her teeth, andbegan: "Rrr . . . Nga-nga-nga . . . Rrr . . . !" Then she would getunder his chair, and when he would try to drive her away she wouldgo off into piercing yaps, and the family would say: "Don't befrightened. She doesn't bite. She is a good dog. "

Som was a tall black dog with long legs and a tail as hard as astick. At dinner and tea he usually moved about under the table, and thumped on people's boots and on the legs of the table with histail. He was a good-natured, stupid dog, but Nikitin could notendure him because he had the habit of putting his head on people'sknees at dinner and messing their trousers with saliva. Nikitin hadmore than once tried to hit him on his head with a knife-handle, to flip him on the nose, had abused him, had complained of him, butnothing saved his trousers. 

After their ride the tea, jam, rusks, and butter seemed very nice. They all drank their first glass in silence and with great relish;over the second they began an argument. It was always Varya whostarted the arguments at tea; she was good-looking, handsomer thanMasha, and was considered the cleverest and most cultured personin the house, and she behaved with dignity and severity, as aneldest daughter should who has taken the place of her dead motherin the house. As the mistress of the house, she felt herself entitledto wear a dressing-gown in the presence of her guests, and to callthe officers by their surnames; she looked on Masha as a littlegirl, and talked to her as though she were a schoolmistress. Sheused to speak of herself as an old maid--so she was certain shewould marry. 

Every conversation, even about the weather, she invariably turnedinto an argument. She had a passion for catching at words, pouncingon contradictions, quibbling over phrases. You would begin talkingto her, and she would stare at you and suddenly interrupt: "Excuseme, excuse me, Petrov, the other day you said the very opposite!"

Or she would smile ironically and say: "I notice, though, you beginto advocate the principles of the secret police. I congratulateyou. "

If you jested or made a pun, you would hear her voice at once:"That's stale, " "That's pointless. " If an officer ventured on ajoke, she would make a contemptuous grimace and say, "An army joke!"

And she rolled the _r_ so impressively that Mushka invariablyanswered from under a chair, "Rrr . . . Nga-nga-nga . . . !"

On this occasion at tea the argument began with Nikitin's mentioningthe school examinations. 

"Excuse me, Sergey Vassilitch, " Varya interrupted him. "You sayit's difficult for the boys. And whose fault is that, let me askyou? For instance, you set the boys in the eighth class an essayon 'Pushkin as a Psychologist. ' To begin with, you shouldn't setsuch a difficult subject; and, secondly, Pushkin was not a psychologist. Shtchedrin now, or Dostoevsky let us say, is a different matter, but Pushkin is a great poet and nothing more. "

"Shtchedrin is one thing, and Pushkin is another, " Nikitin answeredsulkily. 

"I know you don't think much of Shtchedrin at the high school, butthat's not the point. Tell me, in what sense is Pushkin a psychologist?"

"Why, do you mean to say he was not a psychologist? If you like, I'll give you examples. "

And Nikitin recited several passages from "Onyegin" and then from"Boris Godunov. "

"I see no psychology in that. " Varya sighed. "The psychologist isthe man who describes the recesses of the human soul, and that'sfine poetry and nothing more. "

"I know the sort of psychology you want, " said Nikitin, offended. "You want some one to saw my finger with a blunt saw while I howlat the top of my voice--that's what you mean by psychology. "

"That's poor! But still you haven't shown me in what sense Pushkinis a psychologist?"

When Nikitin had to argue against anything that seemed to him narrow, conventional, or something of that kind, he usually leaped up fromhis seat, clutched at his head with both hands, and began with amoan, running from one end of the room to another. And it was thesame now: he jumped up, clutched his head in his hands, and with amoan walked round the table, then he sat down a little way off. 

The officers took his part. Captain Polyansky began assuring Varyathat Pushkin really was a psychologist, and to prove it quoted twolines from Lermontov; Lieutenant Gernet said that if Pushkin hadnot been a psychologist they would not have erected a monument tohim in Moscow. 

"That's loutishness!" was heard from the other end of the table. "I said as much to the governor: 'It's loutishness, your Excellency, 'I said. "

"I won't argue any more, " cried Nikitin. "It's unending. . . . Enough! Ach, get away, you nasty dog!" he cried to Som, who laidhis head and paw on his knee. 

"Rrr . . . Nga-nga-nga!" came from under the table. 

"Admit that you are wrong!" cried Varya. "Own up!"

But some young ladies came in, and the argument dropped of itself. They all went into the drawing-room. Varya sat down at the pianoand began playing dances. They danced first a waltz, then a polka, then a quadrille with a grand chain which Captain Polyansky ledthrough all the rooms, then a waltz again. 

During the dancing the old men sat in the drawing-room, smoking andlooking at the young people. Among them was Shebaldin, the directorof the municipal bank, who was famed for his love of literature anddramatic art. He had founded the local Musical and Dramatic Society, and took part in the performances himself, confining himself, forsome reason, to playing comic footmen or to reading in a sing-songvoice "The Woman who was a Sinner. " His nickname in the town was"the Mummy, " as he was tall, very lean and scraggy, and always hada solemn air and a fixed, lustreless eye. He was so devoted to thedramatic art that he even shaved his moustache and beard, and thismade him still more like a mummy. 

After the grand chain, he shuffled up to Nikitin sideways, coughed, and said:

"I had the pleasure of being present during the argument at tea. Ifully share your opinion. We are of one mind, and it would be agreat pleasure to me to talk to you. Have you read Lessing on thedramatic art of Hamburg?"

"No, I haven't. "

Shebaldin was horrified, and waved his hands as though he had burnthis fingers, and saying nothing more, staggered back from Nikitin. Shebaldin's appearance, his question, and his surprise, struckNikitin as funny, but he thought none the less:

"It really is awkward. I am a teacher of literature, and to thisday I've not read Lessing. I must read him. "

Before supper the whole company, old and young, sat down to play"fate. " They took two packs of cards: one pack was dealt round tothe company, the other was laid on the table face downwards. 

"The one who has this card in his hand, " old Shelestov began solemnly, lifting the top card of the second pack, "is fated to go into thenursery and kiss nurse. "

The pleasure of kissing the nurse fell to the lot of Shebaldin. They all crowded round him, took him to the nursery, and laughingand clapping their hands, made him kiss the nurse. There was a greatuproar and shouting. 

"Not so ardently!" cried Shelestov with tears of laughter. "Not soardently!"

It was Nikitin's "fate" to hear the confessions of all. He sat ona chair in the middle of the drawing-room. A shawl was brought andput over his head. The first who came to confess to him was Varya. 

"I know your sins, " Nikitin began, looking in the darkness at herstern profile. "Tell me, madam, how do you explain your walkingwith Polyansky every day? Oh, it's not for nothing she walks withan hussar!"

"That's poor, " said Varya, and walked away. 

Then under the shawl he saw the shine of big motionless eyes, caughtthe lines of a dear profile in the dark, together with a familiar, precious fragrance which reminded Nikitin of Masha's room. 

"Marie Godefroi, " he said, and did not know his own voice, it wasso soft and tender, "what are your sins?"

Masha screwed up her eyes and put out the tip of her tongue at him, then she laughed and went away. And a minute later she was standingin the middle of the room, clapping her hands and crying:

"Supper, supper, supper!"

And they all streamed into the dining-room. At supper Varya hadanother argument, and this time with her father. Polyansky atestolidly, drank red wine, and described to Nikitin how once in awinter campaign he had stood all night up to his knees in a bog;the enemy was so near that they were not allowed to speak or smoke, the night was cold and dark, a piercing wind was blowing. Nikitinlistened and stole side-glances at Masha. She was gazing at himimmovably, without blinking, as though she was pondering somethingor was lost in a reverie. . . . It was pleasure and agony to himboth at once. 

"Why does she look at me like that?" was the question that frettedhim. "It's awkward. People may notice it. Oh, how young, how naïveshe is!"

The party broke up at midnight. When Nikitin went out at the gate, a window opened on the first-floor, and Masha showed herself at it. 

"Sergey Vassilitch!" she called. 

"What is it?"

"I tell you what . . . " said Masha, evidently thinking of somethingto say. "I tell you what. . . Polyansky said he would come in a dayor two with his camera and take us all. We must meet here. "

"Very well. "

Masha vanished, the window was slammed, and some one immediatelybegan playing the piano in the house. 

"Well, it is a house!" thought Nikitin while he crossed the street. "A house in which there is no moaning except from Egyptian pigeons, and they only do it because they have no other means of expressingtheir joy!"

But the Shelestovs were not the only festive household. Nikitin hadnot gone two hundred paces before he heard the strains of a pianofrom another house. A little further he met a peasant playing thebalalaika at the gate. In the gardens the band struck up a potpourriof Russian songs. 

Nikitin lived nearly half a mile from the Shelestoys' in a flat ofeight rooms at the rent of three hundred roubles a year, which heshared with his colleague Ippolit Ippolititch, a teacher of geographyand history. When Nikitin went in this Ippolit Ippolititch, asnub-nosed, middle-aged man with a reddish beard, with a coarse, good-natured, unintellectual face like a workman's, was sitting atthe table correcting his pupils' maps. He considered that the mostimportant and necessary part of the study of geography was thedrawing of maps, and of the study of history the learning of dates:he would sit for nights together correcting in blue pencil the mapsdrawn by the boys and girls he taught, or making chronologicaltables. 

"What a lovely day it has been!" said Nikitin, going in to him. "Iwonder at you--how can you sit indoors?"

Ippolit Ippolititch was not a talkative person; he either remainedsilent or talked of things which everybody knew already. Now whathe answered was:

"Yes, very fine weather. It's May now; we soon shall have realsummer. And summer's a very different thing from winter. In thewinter you have to heat the stoves, but in summer you can keep warmwithout. In summer you have your window open at night and still arewarm, and in winter you are cold even with the double frames in. "

Nikitin had not sat at the table for more than one minute beforehe was bored. 

"Good-night!" he said, getting up and yawning. "I wanted to tellyou something romantic concerning myself, but you are--geography!If one talks to you of love, you will ask one at once, 'What wasthe date of the Battle of Kalka?' Confound you, with your battlesand your capes in Siberia!"

"What are you cross about?"

"Why, it is vexatious!"

And vexed that he had not spoken to Masha, and that he had no oneto talk to of his love, he went to his study and lay down upon thesofa. It was dark and still in the study. Lying gazing into thedarkness, Nikitin for some reason began thinking how in two or threeyears he would go to Petersburg, how Masha would see him off at thestation and would cry; in Petersburg he would get a long letterfrom her in which she would entreat him to come home as quickly aspossible. And he would write to her. . . . He would begin his letterlike that: "My dear little rat!"

"Yes, my dear little rat!" he said, and he laughed. 

He was lying in an uncomfortable position. He put his arms underhis head and put his left leg over the back of the sofa. He feltmore comfortable. Meanwhile a pale light was more and more perceptibleat the windows, sleepy cocks crowed in the yard. Nikitin went onthinking how he would come back from Petersburg, how Masha wouldmeet him at the station, and with a shriek of delight would flingherself on his neck; or, better still, he would cheat her and comehome by stealth late at night: the cook would open the door, thenhe would go on tiptoe to the bedroom, undress noiselessly, and jumpinto bed! And she would wake up and be overjoyed. 

It was beginning to get quite light. By now there were no windows, no study. On the steps of the brewery by which they had ridden thatday Masha was sitting, saying something. Then she took Nikitin bythe arm and went with him to the suburban garden. There he saw theoaks and, the crows' nests like hats. One of the nests rocked; outof it peeped Shebaldin, shouting loudly: "You have not read Lessing!"

Nikitin shuddered all over and opened his eyes. Ippolit Ippolititchwas standing before the sofa, and throwing back his head, was puttingon his cravat. 

"Get up; it's time for school, " he said. "You shouldn't sleep inyour clothes; it spoils your clothes. You should sleep in your bed, undressed. "

And as usual he began slowly and emphatically saying what everybodyknew. 

Nikitin's first lesson was on Russian language in the second class. When at nine o'clock punctually he went into the classroom, he sawwritten on the blackboard two large letters--_M. S. _ That, nodoubt, meant Masha Shelestov. 

"They've scented it out already, the rascals . . . " thought Nikitin. "How is it they know everything?"

The second lesson was in the fifth class. And there two letters, _M. S. _, were written on the blackboard; and when he went out ofthe classroom at the end of the lesson, he heard the shout behindhim as though from a theatre gallery:

"Hurrah for Masha Shelestov!"

His head was heavy from sleeping in his clothes, his limbs wereweighted down with inertia. The boys, who were expecting every dayto break up before the examinations, did nothing, were restless, and so bored that they got into mischief. Nikitin, too, was restless, did not notice their pranks, and was continually going to the window. He could see the street brilliantly lighted up with the sun; abovethe houses the blue limpid sky, the birds, and far, far away, beyondthe gardens and the houses, vast indefinite distance, the forestsin the blue haze, the smoke from a passing train. . . . 

Here two officers in white tunics, playing with their whips, passedin the street in the shade of the acacias. Here a lot of Jews, withgrey beards, and caps on, drove past in a waggonette. . . . Thegoverness walked by with the director's granddaughter. Som ran byin the company of two other dogs. . . . And then Varya, wearing asimple grey dress and red stockings, carrying the "Vyestnik Evropi"in her hand, passed by. She must have been to the town library. . . . 

And it would be a long time before lessons were over at threeo'clock! And after school he could not go home nor to the Shelestovs', but must go to give a lesson at Wolf's. This Wolf, a wealthy Jewwho had turned Lutheran, did not send his children to the highschool, but had them taught at home by the high-school masters, andpaid five roubles a lesson. 

He was bored, bored, bored. 

At three o'clock he went to Wolf's and spent there, as it seemedto him, an eternity. He left there at five o'clock, and before sevenhe had to be at the high school again to a meeting of the masters--to draw up the plan for the _viva voce_ examination of the fourthand sixth classes. 

When late in the evening he left the high school and went to theShelestovs', his heart was beating and his face was flushed. A monthbefore, even a week before, he had, every time that he made up hismind to speak to her, prepared a whole speech, with an introductionand a conclusion. Now he had not one word ready; everything was ina muddle in his head, and all he knew was that today he would_certainly_ declare himself, and that it was utterly impossible towait any longer. 

"I will ask her to come to the garden, " he thought; "we'll walkabout a little and I'll speak. "

There was not a soul in the hall; he went into the dining-room andthen into the drawing-room. . . . There was no one there either. He could hear Varya arguing with some one upstairs and the clinkof the dressmaker's scissors in the nursery. 

There was a little room in the house which had three names: thelittle room, the passage room, and the dark room. There was a bigcupboard in it where they kept medicines, gunpowder, and theirhunting gear. Leading from this room to the first floor was a narrowwooden staircase where cats were always asleep. There were two doorsin it--one leading to the nursery, one to the drawing-room. WhenNikitin went into this room to go upstairs, the door from the nurseryopened and shut with such a bang that it made the stairs and thecupboard tremble; Masha, in a dark dress, ran in with a piece ofblue material in her hand, and, not noticing Nikitin, darted towardsthe stairs. 

"Stay . . . " said Nikitin, stopping her. "Good-evening, Godefroi. . . . Allow me. . . . "

He gasped, he did not know what to say; with one hand he held herhand and with the other the blue material. And she was half frightened, half surprised, and looked at him with big eyes. 

"Allow me . . . " Nikitin went on, afraid she would go away. "There'ssomething I must say to you. . . . Only . . . It's inconvenienthere. I cannot, I am incapable. . . . Understand, Godefroi, I can't--that's all . . . . "

The blue material slipped on to the floor, and Nikitin took Mashaby the other hand. She turned pale, moved her lips, then steppedback from Nikitin and found herself in the corner between the walland the cupboard. 

"On my honour, I assure you . . . " he said softly. "Masha, on myhonour. . . . "

She threw back her head and he kissed her lips, and that the kissmight last longer he put his fingers to her cheeks; and it somehowhappened that he found himself in the corner between the cupboardand the wall, and she put her arms round his neck and pressed herhead against his chin. 

Then they both ran into the garden. The Shelestoys had a garden ofnine acres. There were about twenty old maples and lime-trees init; there was one fir-tree, and all the rest were fruit-trees:cherries, apples, pears, horse-chestnuts, silvery olive-trees. . . . There were heaps of flowers, too. 

Nikitin and Masha ran along the avenues in silence, laughed, askedeach other from time to time disconnected questions which they didnot answer. A crescent moon was shining over the garden, and drowsytulips and irises were stretching up from the dark grass in itsfaint light, as though entreating for words of love for them, too. 

When Nikitin and Masha went back to the house, the officers and theyoung ladies were already assembled and dancing the mazurka. AgainPolyansky led the grand chain through all the rooms, again afterdancing they played "fate. " Before supper, when the visitors hadgone into the dining-room, Masha, left alone with Nikitin, pressedclose to him and said:

"You must speak to papa and Varya yourself; I am ashamed. "

After supper he talked to the old father. After listening to him, Shelestov thought a little and said:

"I am very grateful for the honour you do me and my daughter, butlet me speak to you as a friend. I will speak to you, not as afather, but as one gentleman to another. Tell me, why do you wantto be married so young? Only peasants are married so young, andthat, of course, is loutishness. But why should you? Where's thesatisfaction of putting on the fetters at your age?"

"I am not young!" said Nikitin, offended. "I am in my twenty-seventhyear. "

"Papa, the farrier has come!" cried Varya from the other room. 

And the conversation broke off. Varya, Masha, and Polyansky sawNikitin home. When they reached his gate, Varya said:

"Why is it your mysterious Metropolit Metropolititch never showshimself anywhere? He might come and see us. "

The mysterious Ippolit Ippolititch was sitting on his bed, takingoff his trousers, when Nikitin went in to him. 

"Don't go to bed, my dear fellow, " said Nikitin breathlessly. "Stopa minute; don't go to bed!"

Ippolit Ippolititch put on his trousers hurriedly and asked in aflutter:

"What is it?"

"I am going to be married. "

Nikitin sat down beside his companion, and looking at him wonderingly, as though surprised at himself, said:

"Only fancy, I am going to be married! To Masha Shelestov! I madean offer today. "

"Well? She seems a good sort of girl. Only she is very young. "

"Yes, she is young, " sighed Nikitin, and shrugged his shoulderswith a careworn air. "Very, very young!"

"She was my pupil at the high school. I know her. She wasn't badat geography, but she was no good at history. And she was inattentivein class, too. "

Nikitin for some reason felt suddenly sorry for his companion, andlonged to say something kind and comforting to him. 

"My dear fellow, why don't you get married?" he asked. "Why don'tyou marry Varya, for instance? She is a splendid, first-rate girl!It's true she is very fond of arguing, but a heart . . . What aheart! She was just asking about you. Marry her, my dear boy! Eh?"

He knew perfectly well that Varya would not marry this dull, snub-nosed man, but still persuaded him to marry her--why?

"Marriage is a serious step, " said Ippolit Ippolititch after amoment's thought. "One has to look at it all round and weigh thingsthoroughly; it's not to be done rashly. Prudence is always a goodthing, and especially in marriage, when a man, ceasing to be abachelor, begins a new life. "

And he talked of what every one has known for ages. Nikitin did notstay to listen, said goodnight, and went to his own room. He undressedquickly and quickly got into bed, in order to be able to think thesooner of his happiness, of Masha, of the future; he smiled, thensuddenly recalled that he had not read Lessing. 

"I must read him, " he thought. "Though, after all, why should I?Bother him!"

And exhausted by his happiness, he fell asleep at once and went onsmiling till the morning. 

He dreamed of the thud of horses' hoofs on a wooden floor; he dreamedof the black horse Count Nulin, then of the white Giant and itssister Maika, being led out of the stable. 

II

"It was very crowded and noisy in the church, and once some onecried out, and the head priest, who was marrying Masha and me, looked through his spectacles at the crowd, and said severely:'Don't move about the church, and don't make a noise, but standquietly and pray. You should have the fear of God in your hearts. '

"My best men were two of my colleagues, and Masha's best men wereCaptain Polyansky and Lieutenant Gernet. The bishop's choir sangsuperbly. The sputtering of the candles, the brilliant light, thegorgeous dresses, the officers, the numbers of gay, happy faces, and a special ethereal look in Masha, everything together--thesurroundings and the words of the wedding prayers--moved me totears and filled me with triumph. I thought how my life had blossomed, how poetically it was shaping itself! Two years ago I was still astudent, I was living in cheap furnished rooms, without money, without relations, and, as I fancied then, with nothing to lookforward to. Now I am a teacher in the high school in one of thebest provincial towns, with a secure income, loved, spoiled. It isfor my sake, I thought, this crowd is collected, for my sake threecandelabra have been lighted, the deacon is booming, the choir isdoing its best; and it's for my sake that this young creature, whomI soon shall call my wife, is so young, so elegant, and so joyful. I recalled our first meetings, our rides into the country, mydeclaration of love and the weather, which, as though expressly, was so exquisitely fine all the summer; and the happiness which atone time in my old rooms seemed to me possible only in novels andstories, I was now experiencing in reality--I was now, as it were, holding it in my hands. 

"After the ceremony they all crowded in disorder round Masha andme, expressed their genuine pleasure, congratulated us and wishedus joy. The brigadier-general, an old man of seventy, confinedhimself to congratulating Masha, and said to her in a squeaky, agedvoice, so loud that it could be heard all over the church:

"'I hope that even after you are married you may remain the roseyou are now, my dear. '

"The officers, the director, and all the teachers smiled frompoliteness, and I was conscious of an agreeable artificial smileon my face, too. Dear Ippolit Ippolititch, the teacher of historyand geography, who always says what every one has heard before, pressed my hand warmly and said with feeling:

"'Hitherto you have been unmarried and have lived alone, and nowyou are married and no longer single. '

"From the church we went to a two-storied house which I am receivingas part of the dowry. Besides that house Masha is bringing me twentythousand roubles, as well as a piece of waste land with a shantyon it, where I am told there are numbers of hens and ducks whichare not looked after and are turning wild. When I got home from thechurch, I stretched myself at full length on the low sofa in my newstudy and began to smoke; I felt snug, cosy, and comfortable, as Inever had in my life before. And meanwhile the wedding party wereshouting 'Hurrah!' while a wretched band in the hall played flourishesand all sorts of trash. Varya, Masha's sister, ran into the studywith a wineglass in her hand, and with a queer, strained expression, as though her mouth were full of water; apparently she had meantto go on further, but she suddenly burst out laughing and sobbing, and the wineglass crashed on the floor. We took her by the arms andled her away. 

"'Nobody can understand!' she muttered afterwards, lying on theold nurse's bed in a back room. 'Nobody, nobody! My God, nobody canunderstand!'

"But every one understood very well that she was four years olderthan her sister Masha, and still unmarried, and that she was crying, not from envy, but from the melancholy consciousness that her timewas passing, and perhaps had passed. When they danced the quadrille, she was back in the drawing-room with a tear-stained and heavilypowdered face, and I saw Captain Polyansky holding a plate of icebefore her while she ate it with a spoon. 

"It is past five o'clock in the morning. I took up my diary todescribe my complete and perfect happiness, and thought I wouldwrite a good six pages, and read it tomorrow to Masha; but, strangeto say, everything is muddled in my head and as misty as a dream, and I can remember vividly nothing but that episode with Varya, andI want to write, 'Poor Varya!' I could go on sitting here and writing'Poor Varya!' By the way, the trees have begun rustling; it willrain. The crows are cawing, and my Masha, who has just gone tosleep, has for some reason a sorrowful face. "

For a long while afterwards Nikitin did not write his diary. At thebeginning of August he had the school examinations, and after thefifteenth the classes began. As a rule he set off for school beforenine in the morning, and before ten o'clock he was looking at hiswatch and pining for his Masha and his new house. In the lower formshe would set some boy to dictate, and while the boys were writing, would sit in the window with his eyes shut, dreaming; whether hedreamed of the future or recalled the past, everything seemed tohim equally delightful, like a fairy tale. In the senior classesthey were reading aloud Gogol or Pushkin's prose works, and thatmade him sleepy; people, trees, fields, horses, rose before hisimagination, and he would say with a sigh, as though fascinated bythe author:

"How lovely!"

At the midday recess Masha used to send him lunch in a snow-whitenapkin, and he would eat it slowly, with pauses, to prolong theenjoyment of it; and Ippolit Ippolititch, whose lunch as a ruleconsisted of nothing but bread, looked at him with respect and envy, and gave expression to some familiar fact, such as:

"Men cannot live without food. "

After school Nikitin went straight to give his private lessons, andwhen at last by six o'clock he got home, he felt excited and anxious, as though he had been away for a year. He would run upstairsbreathless, find Masha, throw his arms round her, and kiss her andswear that he loved her, that he could not live without her, declarethat he had missed her fearfully, and ask her in trepidation howshe was and why she looked so depressed. Then they would dinetogether. After dinner he would lie on the sofa in his study andsmoke, while she sat beside him and talked in a low voice. 

His happiest days now were Sundays and holidays, when he was athome from morning till evening. On those days he took part in thenaïve but extraordinarily pleasant life which reminded him of apastoral idyl. He was never weary of watching how his sensible andpractical Masha was arranging her nest, and anxious to show thathe was of some use in the house, he would do something useless--for instance, bring the chaise out of the stable and look at itfrom every side. Masha had installed a regular dairy with threecows, and in her cellar she had many jugs of milk and pots of sourcream, and she kept it all for butter. Sometimes, by way of a joke, Nikitin would ask her for a glass of milk, and she would be quiteupset because it was against her rules; but he would laugh and throwhis arms round her, saying:

"There, there; I was joking, my darling! I was joking!"

Or he would laugh at her strictness when, finding in the cupboardsome stale bit of cheese or sausage as hard as a stone, she wouldsay seriously:

"They will eat that in the kitchen. "

He would observe that such a scrap was only fit for a mousetrap, and she would reply warmly that men knew nothing about housekeeping, and that it was just the same to the servants if you were to senddown a hundredweight of savouries to the kitchen. He would agree, and embrace her enthusiastically. Everything that was just in whatshe said seemed to him extraordinary and amazing; and what did notfit in with his convictions seemed to him naïve and touching. 

Sometimes he was in a philosophical mood, and he would begin todiscuss some abstract subject while she listened and looked at hisface with curiosity. 

"I am immensely happy with you, my joy, " he used to say, playingwith her fingers or plaiting and unplaiting her hair. "But I don'tlook upon this happiness of mine as something that has come to meby chance, as though it had dropped from heaven. This happiness isa perfectly natural, consistent, logical consequence. I believethat man is the creator of his own happiness, and now I am enjoyingjust what I have myself created. Yes, I speak without false modesty:I have created this happiness myself and I have a right to it. Youknow my past. My unhappy childhood, without father or mother; mydepressing youth, poverty--all this was a struggle, all this wasthe path by which I made my way to happiness. . . . "

In October the school sustained a heavy loss: Ippolit Ippolititchwas taken ill with erysipelas on the head and died. For two daysbefore his death he was unconscious and delirious, but even in hisdelirium he said nothing that was not perfectly well known to everyone. 

"The Volga flows into the Caspian Sea. . . . Horses eat oats andhay. . . . "

There were no lessons at the high school on the day of his funeral. His colleagues and pupils were the coffin-bearers, and the schoolchoir sang all the way to the grave the anthem "Holy God. " Threepriests, two deacons, all his pupils and the staff of the boys'high school, and the bishop's choir in their best kaftans, tookpart in the procession. And passers-by who met the solemn procession, crossed themselves and said:

"God grant us all such a death. "

Returning home from the cemetery much moved, Nikitin got out hisdiary from the table and wrote:

"We have just consigned to the tomb Ippolit Ippolititch Ryzhitsky. Peace to your ashes, modest worker! Masha, Varya, and all the womenat the funeral, wept from genuine feeling, perhaps because theyknew this uninteresting, humble man had never been loved by a woman. I wanted to say a warm word at my colleague's grave, but I waswarned that this might displease the director, as he did not likeour poor friend. I believe that this is the first day since mymarriage that my heart has been heavy. "

There was no other event of note in the scholastic year. 

The winter was mild, with wet snow and no frost; on Epiphany Eve, for instance, the wind howled all night as though it were autumn, and water trickled off the roofs; and in the morning, at the ceremonyof the blessing of the water, the police allowed no one to go onthe river, because they said the ice was swelling up and lookeddark. But in spite of bad weather Nikitin's life was as happy asin summer. And, indeed, he acquired another source of pleasure; helearned to play _vint_. Only one thing troubled him, moved him toanger, and seemed to prevent him from being perfectly happy: thecats and dogs which formed part of his wife's dowry. The rooms, especially in the morning, always smelt like a menagerie, and nothingcould destroy the odour; the cats frequently fought with the dogs. The spiteful beast Mushka was fed a dozen times a day; she stillrefused to recognize Nikitin and growled at him: "Rrr . . . Nga-nga-nga!"

One night in Lent he was returning home from the club where he hadbeen playing cards. It was dark, raining, and muddy. Nikitin hadan unpleasant feeling at the bottom of his heart and could notaccount for it. He did not know whether it was because he had losttwelve roubles at cards, or whether because one of the players, when they were settling up, had said that of course Nikitin hadpots of money, with obvious reference to his wife's portion. He didnot regret the twelve roubles, and there was nothing offensive inwhat had been said; but, still, there was the unpleasant feeling. He did not even feel a desire to go home. 

"Foo, how horrid!" he said, standing still at a lamp-post. 

It occurred to him that he did not regret the twelve roubles becausehe got them for nothing. If he had been a working man he would haveknown the value of every farthing, and would not have been socareless whether he lost or won. And his good-fortune had all, hereflected, come to him by chance, for nothing, and really was assuperfluous for him as medicine for the healthy. If, like the vastmajority of people, he had been harassed by anxiety for his dailybread, had been struggling for existence, if his back and chest hadached from work, then supper, a warm snug home, and domestichappiness, would have been the necessity, the compensation, thecrown of his life; as it was, all this had a strange, indefinitesignificance for him. 

"Foo, how horrid!" he repeated, knowing perfectly well that thesereflections were in themselves a bad sign. 

When he got home Masha was in bed: she was breathing evenly andsmiling, and was evidently sleeping with great enjoyment. Near herthe white cat lay curled up, purring. While Nikitin lit the candleand lighted his cigarette, Masha woke up and greedily drank a glassof water. 

"I ate too many sweets, " she said, and laughed. "Have you beenhome?" she asked after a pause. 

"No. "

Nikitin knew already that Captain Polyansky, on whom Varya had beenbuilding great hopes of late, was being transferred to one of thewestern provinces, and was already making his farewell visits inthe town, and so it was depressing at his father-in-law's. 

"Varya looked in this evening, " said Masha, sitting up. "She didnot say anything, but one could see from her face how wretched sheis, poor darling! I can't bear Polyansky. He is fat and bloated, and when he walks or dances his cheeks shake. . . . He is not a manI would choose. But, still, I did think he was a decent person. "

"I think he is a decent person now, " said Nikitin. 

"Then why has he treated Varya so badly?"

"Why badly?" asked Nikitin, beginning to feel irritation againstthe white cat, who was stretching and arching its back. "As far asI know, he has made no proposal and has given her no promises. "

"Then why was he so often at the house? If he didn't mean to marryher, he oughtn't to have come. "

Nikitin put out the candle and got into bed. But he felt disinclinedto lie down and to sleep. He felt as though his head were immenseand empty as a barn, and that new, peculiar thoughts were wanderingabout in it like tall shadows. He thought that, apart from the softlight of the ikon lamp, that beamed upon their quiet domestichappiness, that apart from this little world in which he and thiscat lived so peacefully and happily, there was another world. . . . And he had a passionate, poignant longing to be in that otherworld, to work himself at some factory or big workshop, to addressbig audiences, to write, to publish, to raise a stir, to exhausthimself, to suffer. . . . He wanted something that would engrosshim till he forgot himself, ceased to care for the personal happinesswhich yielded him only sensations so monotonous. And suddenly thererose vividly before his imagination the figure of Shebaldin withhis clean-shaven face, saying to him with horror: "You haven't evenread Lessing! You are quite behind the times! How you have gone toseed!"

Masha woke up and again drank some water. He glanced at her neck, at her plump shoulders and throat, and remembered the word thebrigadier-general had used in church--"rose. "

"Rose, " he muttered, and laughed. 

His laugh was answered by a sleepy growl from Mushka under the bed:"Rrr . . . Nga-nga-nga . . . !"

A heavy anger sank like a cold weight on his heart, and he felttempted to say something rude to Masha, and even to jump up and hither; his heart began throbbing. 

"So then, " he asked, restraining himself, "since I went to yourhouse, I was bound in duty to marry you?"

"Of course. You know that very well. "

"That's nice. " And a minute later he repeated: "That's nice. "

To relieve the throbbing of his heart, and to avoid saying too much, Nikitin went to his study and lay down on the sofa, without a pillow;then he lay on the floor on the carpet. 

"What nonsense it is!" he said to reassure himself. "You are ateacher, you are working in the noblest of callings. . . . Whatneed have you of any other world? What rubbish!"

But almost immediately he told himself with conviction that he wasnot a real teacher, but simply a government employé, as commonplaceand mediocre as the Czech who taught Greek. He had never had avocation for teaching, he knew nothing of the theory of teaching, and never had been interested in the subject; he did not know howto treat children; he did not understand the significance of whathe taught, and perhaps did not teach the right things. Poor IppolitIppolititch had been frankly stupid, and all the boys, as well ashis colleagues, knew what he was and what to expect from him; buthe, Nikitin, like the Czech, knew how to conceal his stupidity andcleverly deceived every one by pretending that, thank God, histeaching was a success. These new ideas frightened Nikitin; herejected them, called them stupid, and believed that all this wasdue to his nerves, that he would laugh at himself. 

And he did, in fact, by the morning laugh at himself and call himselfan old woman; but it was clear to him that his peace of mind waslost, perhaps, for ever, and that in that little two-story househappiness was henceforth impossible for him. He realized that theillusion had evaporated, and that a new life of unrest and clearsight was beginning which was incompatible with peace and personalhappiness. 

Next day, which was Sunday, he was at the school chapel, and theremet his colleagues and the director. It seemed to him that theywere entirely preoccupied with concealing their ignorance anddiscontent with life, and he, too, to conceal his uneasiness, smiledaffably and talked of trivialities. Then he went to the station andsaw the mail train come in and go out, and it was agreeable to himto be alone and not to have to talk to any one. 

At home he found Varya and his father-in-law, who had come to dinner. Varya's eyes were red with crying, and she complained of a headache, while Shelestov ate a great deal, saying that young men nowadayswere unreliable, and that there was very little gentlemanly feelingamong them. 

"It's loutishness!" he said. "I shall tell him so to his face: 'It'sloutishness, sir, ' I shall say. "

Nikitin smiled affably and helped Masha to look after their guests, but after dinner he went to his study and shut the door. 

The March sun was shining brightly in at the windows and sheddingits warm rays on the table. It was only the twentieth of the month, but already the cabmen were driving with wheels, and the starlingswere noisy in the garden. It was just the weather in which Mashawould come in, put one arm round his neck, tell him the horses weresaddled or the chaise was at the door, and ask him what she shouldput on to keep warm. Spring was beginning as exquisitely as lastspring, and it promised the same joys. . . . But Nikitin was thinkingthat it would be nice to take a holiday and go to Moscow, and stayat his old lodgings there. In the next room they were drinkingcoffee and talking of Captain Polyansky, while he tried not tolisten and wrote in his diary: "Where am I, my God? I am surroundedby vulgarity and vulgarity. Wearisome, insignificant people, potsof sour cream, jugs of milk, cockroaches, stupid women. . . . Thereis nothing more terrible, mortifying, and distressing than vulgarity. I must escape from here, I must escape today, or I shall go out ofmy mind!"

NOT WANTED

BETWEEN six and seven o'clock on a July evening, a crowd of summervisitors--mostly fathers of families--burdened with parcels, portfolios, and ladies' hat-boxes, was trailing along from thelittle station of Helkovo, in the direction of the summer villas. They all looked exhausted, hungry, and ill-humoured, as though thesun were not shining and the grass were not green for them. 

Trudging along among the others was Pavel Matveyitch Zaikin, amember of the Circuit Court, a tall, stooping man, in a cheap cottondust-coat and with a cockade on his faded cap. He was perspiring, red in the face, and gloomy. . . . 

"Do you come out to your holiday home every day?" said a summervisitor, in ginger-coloured trousers, addressing him. 

"No, not every day, " Zaikin answered sullenly. "My wife and son arestaying here all the while, and I come down two or three times aweek. I haven't time to come every day; besides, it is expensive. "

"You're right there; it is expensive, " sighed he of the gingertrousers. "In town you can't walk to the station, you have to takea cab; and then, the ticket costs forty-two kopecks; you buy a paperfor the journey; one is tempted to drink a glass of vodka. It's allpetty expenditure not worth considering, but, mind you, in thecourse of the summer it will run up to some two hundred roubles. Of course, to be in the lap of Nature is worth any money--I don'tdispute it . . . Idyllic and all the rest of it; but of course, with the salary an official gets, as you know yourself, everyfarthing has to be considered. If you waste a halfpenny you lieawake all night. . . . Yes. . . I receive, my dear sir--I haven'tthe honour of knowing your name--I receive a salary of very nearlytwo thousand roubles a year. I am a civil councillor, I smokesecond-rate tobacco, and I haven't a rouble to spare to buy Vichywater, prescribed me by the doctor for gall-stones. "

"It's altogether abominable, " said Zaikin after a brief silence. "I maintain, sir, that summer holidays are the invention of thedevil and of woman. The devil was actuated in the present instanceby malice, woman by excessive frivolity. Mercy on us, it is notlife at all; it is hard labour, it is hell! It's hot and stifling, you can hardly breathe, and you wander about like a lost soul andcan find no refuge. In town there is no furniture, no servants. . . Everything has been carried off to the villa: you eat what youcan get; you go without your tea because there is no one to heatthe samovar; you can't wash yourself; and when you come down hereinto this 'lap of Nature' you have to walk, if you please, throughthe dust and heat. . . . Phew! Are you married?"

"Yes. . . Three children, " sighs Ginger Trousers. 

"It's abominable altogether. . . . It's a wonder we are still alive. "

At last the summer visitors reached their destination. Zaikin saidgood-bye to Ginger Trousers and went into his villa. He found adeath-like silence in the house. He could hear nothing but thebuzzing of the gnats, and the prayer for help of a fly destined forthe dinner of a spider. The windows were hung with muslin curtains, through which the faded flowers of the geraniums showed red. On theunpainted wooden walls near the oleographs flies were slumbering. There was not a soul in the passage, the kitchen, or the dining-room. In the room which was called indifferently the parlour or thedrawing-room, Zaikin found his son Petya, a little boy of six. Petyawas sitting at the table, and breathing loudly with his lower lipstuck out, was engaged in cutting out the figure of a knave ofdiamonds from a card. 

"Oh, that's you, father!" he said, without turning round. "Good-evening. "

"Good-evening. . . . And where is mother?"

"Mother? She is gone with Olga Kirillovna to a rehearsal of theplay. The day after tomorrow they will have a performance. And theywill take me, too. . . . And will you go?"

"H'm! . . . When is she coming back?"

"She said she would be back in the evening. "

"And where is Natalya?"

"Mamma took Natalya with her to help her dress for the performance, and Akulina has gone to the wood to get mushrooms. Father, why isit that when gnats bite you their stomachs get red?"

"I don't know. . . . Because they suck blood. So there is no onein the house, then?"

"No one; I am all alone in the house. "

Zaikin sat down in an easy-chair, and for a moment gazed blanklyat the window. 

"Who is going to get our dinner?" he asked. 

"They haven't cooked any dinner today, father. Mamma thought youwere not coming today, and did not order any dinner. She is goingto have dinner with Olga Kirillovna at the rehearsal. "

"Oh, thank you very much; and you, what have you to eat?"

"I've had some milk. They bought me six kopecks' worth of milk. And, father, why do gnats suck blood?"

Zaikin suddenly felt as though something heavy were rolling downon his liver and beginning to gnaw it. He felt so vexed, so aggrieved, and so bitter, that he was choking and tremulous; he wanted to jumpup, to bang something on the floor, and to burst into loud abuse;but then he remembered that his doctor had absolutely forbidden himall excitement, so he got up, and making an effort to controlhimself, began whistling a tune from "Les Huguenots. "

"Father, can you act in plays?" he heard Petya's voice. 

"Oh, don't worry me with stupid questions!" said Zaikin, gettingangry. "He sticks to one like a leaf in the bath! Here you are, sixyears old, and just as silly as you were three years ago. . . . Stupid, neglected child! Why are you spoiling those cards, forinstance? How dare you spoil them?"

"These cards aren't yours, " said Petya, turning round. "Natalyagave them me. "

"You are telling fibs, you are telling fibs, you horrid boy!" saidZaikin, growing more and more irritated. "You are always tellingfibs! You want a whipping, you horrid little pig! I will pull yourears!"

Petya leapt up, and craning his neck, stared fixedly at his father'sred and wrathful face. His big eyes first began blinking, then weredimmed with moisture, and the boy's face began working. 

"But why are you scolding?" squealed Petya. "Why do you attack me, you stupid? I am not interfering with anybody; I am not naughty; Ido what I am told, and yet . . . You are cross! Why are you scoldingme?"

The boy spoke with conviction, and wept so bitterly that Zaikinfelt conscience-stricken. 

"Yes, really, why am I falling foul of him?" he thought. "Come, come, " he said, touching the boy on the shoulder. "I am sorry, Petya. . . Forgive me. You are my good boy, my nice boy, I love you. "

Petya wiped his eyes with his sleeve, sat down, with a sigh, in thesame place and began cutting out the queen. Zaikin went off to hisown room. He stretched himself on the sofa, and putting his handsbehind his head, sank into thought. The boy's tears had softenedhis anger, and by degrees the oppression on his liver grew less. He felt nothing but exhaustion and hunger. 

"Father, " he heard on the other side of the door, "shall I show youmy collection of insects?"

"Yes, show me. "

Petya came into the study and handed his father a long green box. Before raising it to his ear Zaikin could hear a despairing buzzand the scratching of claws on the sides of the box. Opening thelid, he saw a number of butterflies, beetles, grasshoppers, andflies fastened to the bottom of the box with pins. All except twoor three butterflies were still alive and moving. 

"Why, the grasshopper is still alive!" said Petya in surprise. "Icaught him yesterday morning, and he is still alive!"

"Who taught you to pin them in this way?"

"Olga Kirillovna. "

"Olga Kirillovna ought to be pinned down like that herself!" saidZaikin with repulsion. "Take them away! It's shameful to tortureanimals. "

"My God! How horribly he is being brought up!" he thought, as Petyawent out. 

Pavel Matveyitch forgot his exhaustion and hunger, and thought ofnothing but his boy's future. Meanwhile, outside the light wasgradually fading. . . . He could hear the summer visitors troopingback from the evening bathe. Some one was stopping near the opendining-room window and shouting: "Do you want any mushrooms?" Andgetting no answer, shuffled on with bare feet. . . . But at last, when the dusk was so thick that the outlines of the geraniums behindthe muslin curtain were lost, and whiffs of the freshness of eveningwere coming in at the window, the door of the passage was thrownopen noisily, and there came a sound of rapid footsteps, talk, andlaughter. . . . 

"Mamma!" shrieked Petya. 

Zaikin peeped out of his study and saw his wife, Nadyezhda Stepanovna, healthy and rosy as ever; with her he saw Olga Kirillovna, a sparewoman with fair hair and heavy freckles, and two unknown men: onea lanky young man with curly red hair and a big Adam's apple; theother, a short stubby man with a shaven face like an actor's and abluish crooked chin. 

"Natalya, set the samovar, " cried Nadyezhda Stepanovna, with a loudrustle of her skirts. "I hear Pavel Matveyitch is come. Pavel, whereare you? Good-evening, Pavel!" she said, running into the studybreathlessly. "So you've come. I am so glad. . . . Two of ouramateurs have come with me. . . . Come, I'll introduce you. . . . Here, the taller one is Koromyslov . . . He sings splendidly; andthe other, the little one . . . Is called Smerkalov: he is a realactor . . . He recites magnificently. Oh, how tired I am! We havejust had a rehearsal. . . . It goes splendidly. We are acting 'TheLodger with the Trombone' and 'Waiting for Him. ' . . . The performanceis the day after tomorrow. . . . "

"Why did you bring them?" asked Zaikin. 

"I couldn't help it, Poppet; after tea we must rehearse our partsand sing something. . . . I am to sing a duet with Koromyslov. . . . Oh, yes, I was almost forgetting! Darling, send Natalya to getsome sardines, vodka, cheese, and something else. They will mostlikely stay to supper. . . . Oh, how tired I am!"

"H'm! I've no money. "

"You must, Poppet! It would be awkward! Don't make me blush. "

Half an hour later Natalya was sent for vodka and savouries; Zaikin, after drinking tea and eating a whole French loaf, went to hisbedroom and lay down on the bed, while Nadyezhda Stepanovna and hervisitors, with much noise and laughter, set to work to rehearsetheir parts. For a long time Pavel Matveyitch heard Koromyslov'snasal reciting and Smerkalov's theatrical exclamations. . . . Therehearsal was followed by a long conversation, interrupted by theshrill laughter of Olga Kirillovna. Smerkalov, as a real actor, explained the parts with aplomb and heat. . . . 

Then followed the duet, and after the duet there was the clatterof crockery. . . . Through his drowsiness Zaikin heard them persuadingSmerkalov to read "The Woman who was a Sinner, " and heard him, afteraffecting to refuse, begin to recite. He hissed, beat himself onthe breast, wept, laughed in a husky bass. . . . Zaikin scowled andhid his head under the quilt. 

"It's a long way for you to go, and it's dark, " he heard NadyezhdaStepanovna's voice an hour later. "Why shouldn't you stay the nighthere? Koromyslov can sleep here in the drawing-room on the sofa, and you, Smerkalov, in Petya's bed. . . . I can put Petya in myhusband's study. . . . Do stay, really!"

At last when the clock was striking two, all was hushed, the bedroomdoor opened, and Nadyezhda Stepanovna appeared. 

"Pavel, are you asleep?" she whispered. 

"No; why?"

"Go into your study, darling, and lie on the sofa. I am going toput Olga Kirillovna here, in your bed. Do go, dear! I would put herto sleep in the study, but she is afraid to sleep alone. . . . Doget up!"

Zaikin got up, threw on his dressing-gown, and taking his pillow, crept wearily to the study. . . . Feeling his way to his sofa, helighted a match, and saw Petya lying on the sofa. The boy was notasleep, and, looking at the match with wide-open eyes:

"Father, why is it gnats don't go to sleep at night?" he asked. 

"Because . . . Because . . . You and I are not wanted. . . . Wehave nowhere to sleep even. "

"Father, and why is it Olga Kirillovna has freckles on her face?"

"Oh, shut up! I am tired of you. "

After a moment's thought, Zaikin dressed and went out into thestreet for a breath of air. . . . He looked at the grey morningsky, at the motionless clouds, heard the lazy call of the drowsycorncrake, and began dreaming of the next day, when he would go totown, and coming back from the court would tumble into bed. . . . Suddenly the figure of a man appeared round the corner. 

"A watchman, no doubt, " thought Zaikin. But going nearer and lookingmore closely he recognized in the figure the summer visitor in theginger trousers. 

"You're not asleep?" he asked. 

"No, I can't sleep, " sighed Ginger Trousers. "I am enjoying Nature. . . . A welcome visitor, my wife's mother, arrived by the nighttrain, you know. She brought with her our nieces . . . Splendidgirls! I was delighted to see them, although . . . It's very damp!And you, too, are enjoying Nature?"

"Yes, " grunted Zaikin, "I am enjoying it, too. . . . Do you knowwhether there is any sort of tavern or restaurant in the neighbourhood?"

Ginger Trousers raised his eyes to heaven and meditated profoundly. 

TYPHUS

A YOUNG lieutenant called Klimov was travelling from Petersburg toMoscow in a smoking carriage of the mail train. Opposite him wassitting an elderly man with a shaven face like a sea captain's, byall appearances a well-to-do Finn or Swede. He pulled at his pipethe whole journey and kept talking about the same subject:

"Ha, you are an officer! I have a brother an officer too, only heis a naval officer. . . . He is a naval officer, and he is stationedat Kronstadt. Why are you going to Moscow?"

"I am serving there. "

"Ha! And are you a family man?"

"No, I live with my sister and aunt. "

"My brother's an officer, only he is a naval officer; he has a wifeand three children. Ha!"

The Finn seemed continually surprised at something, and gave a broadidiotic grin when he exclaimed "Ha!" and continually puffed at hisstinking pipe. Klimov, who for some reason did not feel well, andfound it burdensome to answer questions, hated him with all hisheart. He dreamed of how nice it would be to snatch the wheezingpipe out of his hand and fling it under the seat, and drive theFinn himself into another compartment. 

"Detestable people these Finns and . . . Greeks, " he thought. "Absolutely superfluous, useless, detestable people. They simplyfill up space on the earthly globe. What are they for?"

And the thought of Finns and Greeks produced a feeling akin tosickness all over his body. For the sake of comparison he tried tothink of the French, of the Italians, but his efforts to think ofthese people evoked in his mind, for some reason, nothing but imagesof organ-grinders, naked women, and the foreign oleographs whichhung over the chest of drawers at home, at his aunt's. 

Altogether the officer felt in an abnormal state. He could notarrange his arms and legs comfortably on the seat, though he hadthe whole seat to himself. His mouth felt dry and sticky; there wasa heavy fog in his brain; his thoughts seemed to be straying, notonly within his head, but outside his skull, among the seats andthe people that were shrouded in the darkness of night. Through themist in his brain, as through a dream, he heard the murmur of voices, the rumble of wheels, the slamming of doors. The sounds of thebells, the whistles, the guards, the running to and fro of passengerson the platforms, seemed more frequent than usual. The time flewby rapidly, imperceptibly, and so it seemed as though the trainwere stopping at stations every minute, and metallic voices cryingcontinually:

"Is the mail ready?"

"Yes!" was repeatedly coming from outside. 

It seemed as though the man in charge of the heating came in toooften to look at the thermometer, that the noise of trains goingin the opposite direction and the rumble of the wheels over thebridges was incessant. The noise, the whistles, the Finn, the tobaccosmoke--all this mingling with the menace and flickering of themisty images in his brain, the shape and character of which a manin health can never recall, weighed upon Klimov like an unbearablenightmare. In horrible misery he lifted his heavy head, looked atthe lamp in the rays of which shadows and misty blurs seemed to bedancing. He wanted to ask for water, but his parched tongue wouldhardly move, and he scarcely had strength to answer the Finn'squestions. He tried to lie down more comfortably and go to sleep, but he could not succeed. The Finn several times fell asleep, wokeup again, lighted his pipe, addressed him with his "Ha!" and wentto sleep again; and still the lieutenant's legs could not get intoa comfortable position, and still the menacing images stood facinghim. 

At Spirovo he went out into the station for a drink of water. Hesaw people sitting at the table and hurriedly eating. 

"And how can they eat!" he thought, trying not to sniff the air, that smelt of roast meat, and not to look at the munching mouths--they both seemed to him sickeningly disgusting. 

A good-looking lady was conversing loudly with a military man in ared cap, and showing magnificent white teeth as she smiled; and thesmile, and the teeth, and the lady herself made on Klimov the samerevolting impression as the ham and the rissoles. He could notunderstand how it was the military man in the red cap was not illat ease, sitting beside her and looking at her healthy, smilingface. 

When after drinking some water he went back to his carriage, theFinn was sitting smoking; his pipe was wheezing and squelching likea golosh with holes in it in wet weather. 

"Ha!" he said, surprised; "what station is this?"

"I don't know, " answered Klimov, lying down and shutting his mouththat he might not breathe the acrid tobacco smoke. 

"And when shall we reach Tver?"

"I don't know. Excuse me, I . . . I can't answer. I am ill. I caughtcold today. "

The Finn knocked his pipe against the window-frame and began talkingof his brother, the naval officer. Klimov no longer heard him; hewas thinking miserably of his soft, comfortable bed, of a bottleof cold water, of his sister Katya, who was so good at making onecomfortable, soothing, giving one water. He even smiled when thevision of his orderly Pavel, taking off his heavy stifling bootsand putting water on the little table, flitted through his imagination. He fancied that if he could only get into his bed, have a drink ofwater, his nightmare would give place to sound healthy sleep. 

"Is the mail ready?" a hollow voice reached him from the distance. 

"Yes, " answered a bass voice almost at the window. 

It was already the second or third station from Spirovo. 

The time was flying rapidly in leaps and bounds, and it seemed asthough the bells, whistles, and stoppings would never end. In despairKlimov buried his face in the corner of the seat, clutched his headin his hands, and began again thinking of his sister Katya and hisorderly Pavel, but his sister and his orderly were mixed up withthe misty images in his brain, whirled round, and disappeared. Hisburning breath, reflected from the back of the seat, seemed to scaldhis face; his legs were uncomfortable; there was a draught from thewindow on his back; but, however wretched he was, he did not wantto change his position. . . . A heavy nightmarish lethargy graduallygained possession of him and fettered his limbs. 

When he brought himself to raise his head, it was already light inthe carriage. The passengers were putting on their fur coats andmoving about. The train was stopping. Porters in white aprons andwith discs on their breasts were bustling among the passengers andsnatching up their boxes. Klimov put on his great-coat, mechanicallyfollowed the other passengers out of the carriage, and it seemedto him that not he, but some one else was moving, and he felt thathis fever, his thirst, and the menacing images which had not lethim sleep all night, came out of the carriage with him. Mechanicallyhe took his luggage and engaged a sledge-driver. The man asked himfor a rouble and a quarter to drive to Povarsky Street, but he didnot haggle, and without protest got submissively into the sledge. He still understood the difference of numbers, but money had ceasedto have any value to him. 

At home Klimov was met by his aunt and his sister Katya, a girl ofeighteen. When Katya greeted him she had a pencil and exercise bookin her hand, and he remembered that she was preparing for anexamination as a teacher. Gasping with fever, he walked aimlesslythrough all the rooms without answering their questions or greetings, and when he reached his bed he sank down on the pillow. The Finn, the red cap, the lady with the white teeth, the smell of roast meat, the flickering blurs, filled his consciousness, and by now he didnot know where he was and did not hear the agitated voices. 

When he recovered consciousness he found himself in bed, undressed, saw a bottle of water and Pavel, but it was no cooler, nor softer, nor more comfortable for that. His arms and legs, as before, refusedto lie comfortably; his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, andhe heard the wheezing of the Finn's pipe. . . . A stalwart, black-bearded doctor was busy doing something beside the bed, brushing against Pavel with his broad back. 

"It's all right, it's all right, young man, " he muttered. "Excellent, excellent . . . Goo-od, goo-od . . . !"

The doctor called Klimov "young man, " said "goo-od" instead of"good" and "so-o" instead of "so. "

"So-o . . . So-o . . . So-o, " he murmured. "Goo-od, goo-od . . . !Excellent, young man. You mustn't lose heart!"

The doctor's rapid, careless talk, his well-fed countenance, andcondescending "young man, " irritated Klimov. 

"Why do you call me 'young man'?" he moaned. "What familiarity!Damn it all!"

And he was frightened by his own voice. The voice was so dried up, so weak and peevish, that he would not have known it. 

"Excellent, excellent!" muttered the doctor, not in the leastoffended. . . . "You mustn't get angry, so-o, so-o, so-s. . . . "

And the time flew by at home with the same startling swiftness asin the railway carriage. The daylight was continually being replacedby the dusk of evening. The doctor seemed never to leave his bedside, and he heard at every moment his "so-o, so-o, so-o. " A continualsuccession of people was incessantly crossing the bedroom. Amongthem were: Pavel, the Finn, Captain Yaroshevitch, Lance-CorporalMaximenko, the red cap, the lady with the white teeth, the doctor. They were all talking and waving their arms, smoking and eating. Once by daylight Klimov saw the chaplain of the regiment, FatherAlexandr, who was standing before the bed, wearing a stole and witha prayer-book in his hand. He was muttering something with a graveface such as Klimov had never seen in him before. The lieutenantremembered that Father Alexandr used in a friendly way to call allthe Catholic officers "Poles, " and wanting to amuse him, he cried:

"Father, Yaroshevitch the Pole has climbed up a pole!"

But Father Alexandr, a light-hearted man who loved a joke, did notsmile, but became graver than ever, and made the sign of the crossover Klimov. At night-time by turn two shadows came noiselessly inand out; they were his aunt and sister. His sister's shadow kneltdown and prayed; she bowed down to the ikon, and her grey shadowon the wall bowed down too, so that two shadows were praying. Thewhole time there was a smell of roast meat and the Finn's pipe, butonce Klimov smelt the strong smell of incense. He felt so sick hecould not lie still, and began shouting:

"The incense! Take away the incense!"

There was no answer. He could only hear the subdued singing of thepriest somewhere and some one running upstairs. 

When Klimov came to himself there was not a soul in his bedroom. The morning sun was streaming in at the window through the lowerblind, and a quivering sunbeam, bright and keen as the sword's edge, was flashing on the glass bottle. He heard the rattle of wheels--so there was no snow now in the street. The lieutenant looked atthe ray, at the familiar furniture, at the door, and the first thinghe did was to laugh. His chest and stomach heaved with delicious, happy, tickling laughter. His whole body from head to foot wasovercome by a sensation of infinite happiness and joy in life, suchas the first man must have felt when he was created and first sawthe world. Klimov felt a passionate desire for movement, people, talk. His body lay a motionless block; only his hands stirred, butthat he hardly noticed, and his whole attention was concentratedon trifles. He rejoiced in his breathing, in his laughter, rejoicedin the existence of the water-bottle, the ceiling, the sunshine, the tape on the curtains. God's world, even in the narrow space ofhis bedroom, seemed beautiful, varied, grand. When the doctor madehis appearance, the lieutenant was thinking what a delicious thingmedicine was, how charming and pleasant the doctor was, and hownice and interesting people were in general. 

"So-o, so, so. . . Excellent, excellent! . . . Now we are wellagain. . . . Goo-od, goo-od!" the doctor pattered. 

The lieutenant listened and laughed joyously; he remembered theFinn, the lady with the white teeth, the train, and he longed tosmoke, to eat. 

"Doctor, " he said, "tell them to give me a crust of rye bread andsalt, and . . . And sardines. "

The doctor refused; Pavel did not obey the order, and did not gofor the bread. The lieutenant could not bear this and began cryinglike a naughty child. 

"Baby!" laughed the doctor. "Mammy, bye-bye!"

Klimov laughed, too, and when the doctor went away he fell into asound sleep. He woke up with the same joyfulness and sensation ofhappiness. His aunt was sitting near the bed. 

"Well, aunt, " he said joyfully. "What has been the matter?"

"Spotted typhus. "

"Really. But now I am well, quite well! Where is Katya?"

"She is not at home. I suppose she has gone somewhere from herexamination. "

The old lady said this and looked at her stocking; her lips beganquivering, she turned away, and suddenly broke into sobs. Forgettingthe doctor's prohibition in her despair, she said:

"Ah, Katya, Katya! Our angel is gone! Is gone!"

She dropped her stocking and bent down to it, and as she did so hercap fell off her head. Looking at her grey head and understandingnothing, Klimov was frightened for Katya, and asked:

"Where is she, aunt?"

The old woman, who had forgotten Klimov and was thinking only ofher sorrow, said:

"She caught typhus from you, and is dead. She was buried the daybefore yesterday. "

This terrible, unexpected news was fully grasped by Klimov'sconsciousness; but terrible and startling as it was, it could notovercome the animal joy that filled the convalescent. He cried andlaughed, and soon began scolding because they would not let himeat. 

Only a week later when, leaning on Pavel, he went in his dressing-gownto the window, looked at the overcast spring sky and listened tothe unpleasant clang of the old iron rails which were being cartedby, his heart ached, he burst into tears, and leaned his foreheadagainst the window-frame. 

"How miserable I am!" he muttered. "My God, how miserable!"

And joy gave way to the boredom of everyday life and the feelingof his irrevocable loss. 

A MISFORTUNE

SOFYA PETROVNA, the wife of Lubyantsev the notary, a handsome youngwoman of five-and-twenty, was walking slowly along a track that hadbeen cleared in the wood, with Ilyin, a lawyer who was spending thesummer in the neighbourhood. It was five o'clock in the evening. Feathery-white masses of cloud stood overhead; patches of brightblue sky peeped out between them. The clouds stood motionless, asthough they had caught in the tops of the tall old pine-trees. Itwas still and sultry. 

Farther on, the track was crossed by a low railway embankment onwhich a sentinel with a gun was for some reason pacing up and down. Just beyond the embankment there was a large white church with sixdomes and a rusty roof. 

"I did not expect to meet you here, " said Sofya Petrovna, lookingat the ground and prodding at the last year's leaves with the tipof her parasol, "and now I am glad we have met. I want to speak toyou seriously and once for all. I beg you, Ivan Mihalovitch, if youreally love and respect me, please make an end of this pursuit ofme! You follow me about like a shadow, you are continually lookingat me not in a nice way, making love to me, writing me strangeletters, and . . . And I don't know where it's all going to end!Why, what can come of it?"

Ilyin said nothing. Sofya Petrovna walked on a few steps andcontinued:

"And this complete transformation in you all came about in thecourse of two or three weeks, after five years' friendship. I don'tknow you, Ivan Mihalovitch!"

Sofya Petrovna stole a glance at her companion. Screwing up hiseyes, he was looking intently at the fluffy clouds. His face lookedangry, ill-humoured, and preoccupied, like that of a man in painforced to listen to nonsense. 

"I wonder you don't see it yourself, " Madame Lubyantsev went on, shrugging her shoulders. "You ought to realize that it's not a verynice part you are playing. I am married; I love and respect myhusband. . . . I have a daughter . . . . Can you think all thatmeans nothing? Besides, as an old friend you know my attitude tofamily life and my views as to the sanctity of marriage. "

Ilyin cleared his throat angrily and heaved a sigh. 

"Sanctity of marriage . . . " he muttered. "Oh, Lord!"

"Yes, yes. . . . I love my husband, I respect him; and in any caseI value the peace of my home. I would rather let myself be killedthan be a cause of unhappiness to Andrey and his daughter. . . . And I beg you, Ivan Mihalovitch, for God's sake, leave me in peace!Let us be as good, true friends as we used to be, and give up thesesighs and groans, which really don't suit you. It's settled andover! Not a word more about it. Let us talk of something else. "

Sofya Petrovna again stole a glance at Ilyin's face. Ilyin waslooking up; he was pale, and was angrily biting his quivering lips. She could not understand why he was angry and why he was indignant, but his pallor touched her. 

"Don't be angry; let us be friends, " she said affectionately. "Agreed? Here's my hand. "

Ilyin took her plump little hand in both of his, squeezed it, andslowly raised it to his lips. 

"I am not a schoolboy, " he muttered. "I am not in the least temptedby friendship with the woman I love. "

"Enough, enough! It's settled and done with. We have reached theseat; let us sit down. "

Sofya Petrovna's soul was filled with a sweet sense of relief: themost difficult and delicate thing had been said, the painful questionwas settled and done with. Now she could breathe freely and lookIlyin straight in the face. She looked at him, and the egoisticfeeling of the superiority of the woman over the man who loves her, agreeably flattered her. It pleased her to see this huge, strongman, with his manly, angry face and his big black beard--clever, cultivated, and, people said, talented--sit down obediently besideher and bow his head dejectedly. For two or three minutes they satwithout speaking. 

"Nothing is settled or done with, " began Ilyin. "You repeat copy-bookmaxims to me. 'I love and respect my husband . . . The sanctity ofmarriage. . . . ' I know all that without your help, and I couldtell you more, too. I tell you truthfully and honestly that Iconsider the way I am behaving as criminal and immoral. What morecan one say than that? But what's the good of saying what everybodyknows? Instead of feeding nightingales with paltry words, you hadmuch better tell me what I am to do. "

"I've told you already--go away. "

"As you know perfectly well, I have gone away five times, and everytime I turned back on the way. I can show you my through tickets--I've kept them all. I have not will enough to run away from you!I am struggling. I am struggling horribly; but what the devil am Igood for if I have no backbone, if I am weak, cowardly! I can'tstruggle with Nature! Do you understand? I cannot! I run away fromhere, and she holds on to me and pulls me back. Contemptible, loathsome weakness!"

Ilyin flushed crimson, got up, and walked up and down by the seat. 

"I feel as cross as a dog, " he muttered, clenching his fists. "Ihate and despise myself! My God! like some depraved schoolboy, Iam making love to another man's wife, writing idiotic letters, degrading myself . . . Ugh!"

Ilyin clutched at his head, grunted, and sat down. "And then yourinsincerity!" he went on bitterly. "If you do dislike my disgustingbehaviour, why have you come here? What drew you here? In my lettersI only ask you for a direct, definite answer--yes or no; butinstead of a direct answer, you contrive every day these 'chance'meetings with me and regale me with copy-book maxims!"

Madame Lubyantsev was frightened and flushed. She suddenly felt theawkwardness which a decent woman feels when she is accidentallydiscovered undressed. 

"You seem to suspect I am playing with you, " she muttered. "I havealways given you a direct answer, and . . . Only today I've beggedyou . . . "

"Ough! as though one begged in such cases! If you were to saystraight out 'Get away, ' I should have been gone long ago; butyou've never said that. You've never once given me a direct answer. Strange indecision! Yes, indeed; either you are playing with me, or else . . . "

Ilyin leaned his head on his fists without finishing. Sofya Petrovnabegan going over in her own mind the way she had behaved frombeginning to end. She remembered that not only in her actions, buteven in her secret thoughts, she had always been opposed to Ilyin'slove-making; but yet she felt there was a grain of truth in thelawyer's words. But not knowing exactly what the truth was, shecould not find answers to make to Ilyin's complaint, however hardshe thought. It was awkward to be silent, and, shrugging hershoulders, she said:

So I am to blame, it appears. "

"I don't blame you for your insincerity, " sighed Ilyin. "I did notmean that when I spoke of it. . . . Your insincerity is natural andin the order of things. If people agreed together and suddenlybecame sincere, everything would go to the devil. "

Sofya Petrovna was in no mood for philosophical reflections, butshe was glad of a chance to change the conversation, and asked:

"But why?"

"Because only savage women and animals are sincere. Once civilizationhas introduced a demand for such comforts as, for instance, femininevirtue, sincerity is out of place. . . . "

Ilyin jabbed his stick angrily into the sand. Madame Lubyantsevlistened to him and liked his conversation, though a great deal ofit she did not understand. What gratified her most was that she, an ordinary woman, was talked to by a talented man on "intellectual"subjects; it afforded her great pleasure, too, to watch the workingof his mobile, young face, which was still pale and angry. Shefailed to understand a great deal that he said, but what was clearto her in his words was the attractive boldness with which themodern man without hesitation or doubt decides great questions anddraws conclusive deductions. 

She suddenly realized that she was admiring him, and was alarmed. 

"Forgive me, but I don't understand, " she said hurriedly. "Whatmakes you talk of insincerity? I repeat my request again: be mygood, true friend; let me alone! I beg you most earnestly!"

"Very good; I'll try again, " sighed Ilyin. "Glad to do my best. . . . Only I doubt whether anything will come of my efforts. EitherI shall put a bullet through my brains or take to drink in an idioticway. I shall come to a bad end! There's a limit to everything--to struggles with Nature, too. Tell me, how can one struggle againstmadness? If you drink wine, how are you to struggle againstintoxication? What am I to do if your image has grown into my soul, and day and night stands persistently before my eyes, like thatpine there at this moment? Come, tell me, what hard and difficultthing can I do to get free from this abominable, miserable condition, in which all my thoughts, desires, and dreams are no longer my own, but belong to some demon who has taken possession of me? I loveyou, love you so much that I am completely thrown out of gear; I'vegiven up my work and all who are dear to me; I've forgotten my God!I've never been in love like this in my life. "

Sofya Petrovna, who had not expected such a turn to their conversation, drew away from Ilyin and looked into his face in dismay. Tears cameinto his eyes, his lips were quivering, and there was an imploring, hungry expression in his face. 

"I love you!" he muttered, bringing his eyes near her big, frightenedeyes. "You are so beautiful! I am in agony now, but I swear I wouldsit here all my life, suffering and looking in your eyes. But . . . Be silent, I implore you!"

Sofya Petrovna, feeling utterly disconcerted, tried to think asquickly as possible of something to say to stop him. "I'll go away, "she decided, but before she had time to make a movement to get up, Ilyin was on his knees before her. . . . He was clasping her knees, gazing into her face and speaking passionately, hotly, eloquently. In her terror and confusion she did not hear his words; for somereason now, at this dangerous moment, while her knees were beingagreeably squeezed and felt as though they were in a warm bath, shewas trying, with a sort of angry spite, to interpret her ownsensations. She was angry that instead of brimming over withprotesting virtue, she was entirely overwhelmed with weakness, apathy, and emptiness, like a drunken man utterly reckless; onlyat the bottom of her soul a remote bit of herself was malignantlytaunting her: "Why don't you go? Is this as it should be? Yes?"

Seeking for some explanation, she could not understand how it wasshe did not pull away the hand to which Ilyin was clinging like aleech, and why, like Ilyin, she hastily glanced to right and toleft to see whether any one was looking. The clouds and the pinesstood motionless, looking at them severely, like old ushers seeingmischief, but bribed not to tell the school authorities. The sentrystood like a post on the embankment and seemed to be looking at theseat. 

"Let him look, " thought Sofya Petrovna. 

"But . . . But listen, " she said at last, with despair in her voice. "What can come of this? What will be the end of this?"

"I don't know, I don't know, " he whispered, waving off the disagreeablequestions. 

They heard the hoarse, discordant whistle of the train. This cold, irrelevant sound from the everyday world of prose made Sofya Petrovnarouse herself. 

"I can't stay . . . It's time I was at home, " she said, getting upquickly. "The train is coming in. . . Andrey is coming by it! Hewill want his dinner. "

Sofya Petrovna turned towards the embankment with a burning face. The engine slowly crawled by, then came the carriages. It was notthe local train, as she had supposed, but a goods train. The trucksfiled by against the background of the white church in a long stringlike the days of a man's life, and it seemed as though it wouldnever end. 

But at last the train passed, and the last carriage with the guardand a light in it had disappeared behind the trees. Sofya Petrovnaturned round sharply, and without looking at Ilyin, walked rapidlyback along the track. She had regained her self-possession. Crimsonwith shame, humiliated not by Ilyin--no, but by her own cowardice, by the shamelessness with which she, a chaste and high-principledwoman, had allowed a man, not her husband, to hug her knees--shehad only one thought now: to get home as quickly as possible to hervilla, to her family. The lawyer could hardly keep pace with her. Turning from the clearing into a narrow path, she turned round andglanced at him so quickly that she saw nothing but the sand on hisknees, and waved to him to drop behind. 

Reaching home, Sofya Petrovna stood in the middle of her room forfive minutes without moving, and looked first at the window andthen at her writing-table. 

"You low creature!" she said, upbraiding herself. "You low creature!"

To spite herself, she recalled in precise detail, keeping nothingback--she recalled that though all this time she had been opposedto Ilyin's lovemaking, something had impelled her to seek an interviewwith him; and what was more, when he was at her feet she had enjoyedit enormously. She recalled it all without sparing herself, andnow, breathless with shame, she would have liked to slap herselfin the face. 

"Poor Andrey!" she said to herself, trying as she thought of herhusband to put into her face as tender an expression as she could. "Varya, my poor little girl, doesn't know what a mother she has!Forgive me, my dear ones! I love you so much . . . So much!"

And anxious to prove to herself that she was still a good wife andmother, and that corruption had not yet touched that "sanctity ofmarriage" of which she had spoken to Ilyin, Sofya Petrovna ran tothe kitchen and abused the cook for not having yet laid the tablefor Andrey Ilyitch. She tried to picture her husband's hungry andexhausted appearance, commiserated him aloud, and laid the tablefor him with her own hands, which she had never done before. Thenshe found her daughter Varya, picked her up in her arms and huggedher warmly; the child seemed to her cold and heavy, but she wasunwilling to acknowledge this to herself, and she began explainingto the child how good, kind, and honourable her papa was. 

But when Andrey Ilyitch arrived soon afterwards she hardly greetedhim. The rush of false feeling had already passed off without provinganything to her, only irritating and exasperating her by its falsity. She was sitting by the window, feeling miserable and cross. It isonly by being in trouble that people can understand how far fromeasy it is to be the master of one's feelings and thoughts. SofyaPetrovna said afterwards that there was a tangle within her whichit was as difficult to unravel as to count a flock of sparrowsrapidly flying by. From the fact that she was not overjoyed to seeher husband, that she did not like his manner at dinner, she concludedall of a sudden that she was beginning to hate her husband. 

Andrey Ilyitch, languid with hunger and exhaustion, fell upon thesausage while waiting for the soup to be brought in, and ate itgreedily, munching noisily and moving his temples. 

"My goodness!" thought Sofya Petrovna. "I love and respect him, but. . . Why does he munch so repulsively?"

The disorder in her thoughts was no less than the disorder in herfeelings. Like all persons inexperienced in combating unpleasantideas, Madame Lubyantsev did her utmost not to think of her trouble, and the harder she tried the more vividly Ilyin, the sand on hisknees, the fluffy clouds, the train, stood out in her imagination. 

"And why did I go there this afternoon like a fool?" she thought, tormenting herself. "And am I really so weak that I cannot dependupon myself?"

Fear magnifies danger. By the time Andrey Ilyitch was finishing thelast course, she had firmly made up her mind to tell her husbandeverything and to flee from danger!

"I've something serious to say to you, Andrey, " she began afterdinner while her husband was taking off his coat and boots to liedown for a nap. 

"Well?"

"Let us leave this place!"

"H'm! . . . Where shall we go? It's too soon to go back to town. "

"No; for a tour or something of that sort. 

"For a tour . . . " repeated the notary, stretching. "I dream ofthat myself, but where are we to get the money, and to whom am Ito leave the office?"

And thinking a little he added:

"Of course, you must be bored. Go by yourself if you like. "

Sofya Petrovna agreed, but at once reflected that Ilyin would bedelighted with the opportunity, and would go with her in the sametrain, in the same compartment. . . . She thought and looked at herhusband, now satisfied but still languid. For some reason her eyesrested on his feet--miniature, almost feminine feet, clad instriped socks; there was a thread standing out at the tip of eachsock. 

Behind the blind a bumble-bee was beating itself against thewindow-pane and buzzing. Sofya Petrovna looked at the threads onthe socks, listened to the bee, and pictured how she would set off. . . . _vis-à-vis_ Ilyin would sit, day and night, never taking hiseyes off her, wrathful at his own weakness and pale with spiritualagony. He would call himself an immoral schoolboy, would abuse her, tear his hair, but when darkness came on and the passengers wereasleep or got out at a station, he would seize the opportunity tokneel before her and embrace her knees as he had at the seat in thewood. . . . 

She caught herself indulging in this day-dream. 

"Listen. I won't go alone, " she said. "You must come with me. "

"Nonsense, Sofotchka!" sighed Lubyantsev. "One must be sensible andnot want the impossible. "

"You will come when you know all about it, " thought Sofya Petrovna. 

Making up her mind to go at all costs, she felt that she was outof danger. Little by little her ideas grew clearer; her spiritsrose and she allowed herself to think about it all, feeling thathowever much she thought, however much she dreamed, she would goaway. While her husband was asleep, the evening gradually came on. She sat in the drawing-room and played the piano. The greaterliveliness out of doors, the sound of music, but above all thethought that she was a sensible person, that she had surmounted herdifficulties, completely restored her spirits. Other women, herappeased conscience told her, would probably have been carried offtheir feet in her position, and would have lost their balance, whileshe had almost died of shame, had been miserable, and was now runningout of the danger which perhaps did not exist! She was so touchedby her own virtue and determination that she even looked at herselftwo or three times in the looking-glass. 

When it got dark, visitors arrived. The men sat down in the dining-roomto play cards; the ladies remained in the drawing-room and theverandah. The last to arrive was Ilyin. He was gloomy, morose, andlooked ill. He sat down in the corner of the sofa and did not movethe whole evening. Usually good-humoured and talkative, this timehe remained silent, frowned, and rubbed his eyebrows. When he hadto answer some question, he gave a forced smile with his upper liponly, and answered jerkily and irritably. Four or five times hemade some jest, but his jests sounded harsh and cutting. It seemedto Sofya Petrovna that he was on the verge of hysterics. Only now, sitting at the piano, she recognized fully for the first time thatthis unhappy man was in deadly earnest, that his soul was sick, andthat he could find no rest. For her sake he was wasting the bestdays of his youth and his career, spending the last of his moneyon a summer villa, abandoning his mother and sisters, and, worstof all, wearing himself out in an agonizing struggle with himself. From mere common humanity he ought to be treated seriously. 

She recognized all this clearly till it made her heart ache, andif at that moment she had gone up to him and said to him, "No, "there would have been a force in her voice hard to disobey. But shedid not go up to him and did not speak--indeed, never thought ofdoing so. The pettiness and egoism of youth had never been morepatent in her than that evening. She realized that Ilyin was unhappy, and that he was sitting on the sofa as though he were on hot coals;she felt sorry for him, but at the same time the presence of a manwho loved her to distraction, filled her soul with triumph and asense of her own power. She felt her youth, her beauty, and herunassailable virtue, and, since she had decided to go away, gaveherself full licence for that evening. She flirted, laughedincessantly, sang with peculiar feeling and gusto. Everythingdelighted and amused her. She was amused at the memory of what hadhappened at the seat in the wood, of the sentinel who had lookedon. She was amused by her guests, by Ilyin's cutting jests, by thepin in his cravat, which she had never noticed before. There was ared snake with diamond eyes on the pin; this snake struck her asso amusing that she could have kissed it on the spot. 

Sofya Petrovna sang nervously, with defiant recklessness as thoughhalf intoxicated, and she chose sad, mournful songs which dealtwith wasted hopes, the past, old age, as though in mockery ofanother's grief. "'And old age comes nearer and nearer' . . . " shesang. And what was old age to her?

"It seems as though there is something going wrong with me, " shethought from time to time through her laughter and singing. 

The party broke up at twelve o'clock. Ilyin was the last to leave. Sofya Petrovna was still reckless enough to accompany him to thebottom step of the verandah. She wanted to tell him that she wasgoing away with her husband, and to watch the effect this news wouldproduce on him. 

The moon was hidden behind the clouds, but it was light enough forSofya Petrovna to see how the wind played with the skirts of hisovercoat and with the awning of the verandah. She could see, too, how white Ilyin was, and how he twisted his upper lip in the effortto smile. 

"Sonia, Sonitchka . . . My darling woman!" he muttered, preventingher from speaking. "My dear! my sweet!"

In a rush of tenderness, with tears in his voice, he showeredcaressing words upon her, that grew tenderer and tenderer, and evencalled her "thou, " as though she were his wife or mistress. Quiteunexpectedly he put one arm round her waist and with the other handtook hold of her elbow. 

"My precious! my delight!" he whispered, kissing the nape of herneck; "be sincere; come to me at once!"

She slipped out of his arms and raised her head to give vent to herindignation and anger, but the indignation did not come off, andall her vaunted virtue and chastity was only sufficient to enableher to utter the phrase used by all ordinary women on such occasions:

"You must be mad. "

"Come, let us go, " Ilyin continued. "I felt just now, as well asat the seat in the wood, that you are as helpless as I am, Sonia. . . . You are in the same plight! You love me and are fruitlesslytrying to appease your conscience. . . . "

Seeing that she was moving away, he caught her by her lace cuff andsaid rapidly:

"If not today, then tomorrow you will have to give in! Why, then, this waste of time? My precious, darling Sonia, the sentence ispassed; why put off the execution? Why deceive yourself?"

Sofya Petrovna tore herself from him and darted in at the door. Returning to the drawing-room, she mechanically shut the piano, looked for a long time at the music-stand, and sat down. She couldnot stand up nor think. All that was left of her excitement andrecklessness was a fearful weakness, apathy, and dreariness. Herconscience whispered to her that she had behaved badly, foolishly, that evening, like some madcap girl--that she had just beenembraced on the verandah, and still had an uneasy feeling in herwaist and her elbow. There was not a soul in the drawing-room; therewas only one candle burning. Madame Lubyantsev sat on the roundstool before the piano, motionless, as though expecting something. And as though taking advantage of the darkness and her extremelassitude, an oppressive, overpowering desire began to assail her. Like a boa-constrictor it gripped her limbs and her soul, and grewstronger every second, and no longer menaced her as it had done, but stood clear before her in all its nakedness. 

She sat for half an hour without stirring, not restraining herselffrom thinking of Ilyin, then she got up languidly and dragged herselfto her bedroom. Andrey Ilyitch was already in bed. She sat down bythe open window and gave herself up to desire. There was no "tangle"now in her head; all her thoughts and feelings were bent with oneaccord upon a single aim. She tried to struggle against it, butinstantly gave it up. . . . She understood now how strong andrelentless was the foe. Strength and fortitude were needed to combathim, and her birth, her education, and her life had given her nothingto fall back upon. 

"Immoral wretch! Low creature!" she nagged at herself for herweakness. "So that's what you're like!"

Her outraged sense of propriety was moved to such indignation bythis weakness that she lavished upon herself every term of abuseshe knew, and told herself many offensive and humiliating truths. So, for instance, she told herself that she never had been moral, that she had not come to grief before simply because she had hadno opportunity, that her inward conflict during that day had allbeen a farce. . . . 

"And even if I have struggled, " she thought, "what sort of strugglewas it? Even the woman who sells herself struggles before she bringsherself to it, and yet she sells herself. A fine struggle! Likemilk, I've turned in a day! In one day!"

She convicted herself of being tempted, not by feeling, not by Ilyinpersonally, but by sensations which awaited her . . . An idle lady, having her fling in the summer holidays, like so many!

"'Like an unfledged bird when the mother has been slain, '" sanga husky tenor outside the window. 

"If I am to go, it's time, " thought Sofya Petrovna. Her heartsuddenly began beating violently. 

"Andrey!" she almost shrieked. "Listen! we . . . We are going? Yes?"

"Yes, I've told you already: you go alone. "

"But listen, " she began. "If you don't go with me, you are in dangerof losing me. I believe I am . . . In love already. "

"With whom?" asked Andrey Ilyitch. 

"It can't make any difference to you who it is!" cried Sofya Petrovna. 

Andrey Ilyitch sat up with his feet out of bed and looked wonderinglyat his wife's dark figure. 

"It's a fancy!" he yawned. 

He did not believe her, but yet he was frightened. After thinkinga little and asking his wife several unimportant questions, hedelivered himself of his opinions on the family, on infidelity . . . Spoke listlessly for about ten minutes and got into bed again. His moralizing produced no effect. There are a great many opinionsin the world, and a good half of them are held by people who havenever been in trouble!

In spite of the late hour, summer visitors were still walkingoutside. Sofya Petrovna put on a light cape, stood a little, thoughta little. . . . She still had resolution enough to say to hersleeping husband:

"Are you asleep? I am going for a walk. . . . Will you come withme?"

That was her last hope. Receiving no answer, she went out. . . . It was fresh and windy. She was conscious neither of the wind northe darkness, but went on and on. . . . An overmastering force droveher on, and it seemed as though, if she had stopped, it would havepushed her in the back. 

"Immoral creature!" she muttered mechanically. "Low wretch!"

She was breathless, hot with shame, did not feel her legs underher, but what drove her on was stronger than shame, reason, or fear. 

A TRIFLE FROM LIFE

A WELL-FED, red-cheeked young man called Nikolay Ilyitch Belyaev, of thirty-two, who was an owner of house property in Petersburg, and a devotee of the race-course, went one evening to see OlgaIvanovna Irnin, with whom he was living, or, to use his own expression, was dragging out a long, wearisome romance. And, indeed, the firstinteresting and enthusiastic pages of this romance had long beenperused; now the pages dragged on, and still dragged on, withoutpresenting anything new or of interest. 

Not finding Olga Ivanovna at home, my hero lay down on the loungechair and proceeded to wait for her in the drawing-room. 

"Good-evening, Nikolay Ilyitch!" he heard a child's voice. "Motherwill be here directly. She has gone with Sonia to the dressmaker's. "

Olga Ivanovna's son, Alyosha--a boy of eight who looked gracefuland very well cared for, who was dressed like a picture, in a blackvelvet jacket and long black stockings--was lying on the sofa inthe same room. He was lying on a satin cushion and, evidentlyimitating an acrobat he had lately seen at the circus, stuck up inthe air first one leg and then the other. When his elegant legswere exhausted, he brought his arms into play or jumped up impulsivelyand went on all fours, trying to stand with his legs in the air. All this he was doing with the utmost gravity, gasping and groaningpainfully as though he regretted that God had given him such arestless body. 

"Ah, good-evening, my boy, " said Belyaev. "It's you! I did notnotice you. Is your mother well?"

Alyosha, taking hold of the tip of his left toe with his right handand falling into the most unnatural attitude, turned over, jumpedup, and peeped at Belyaev from behind the big fluffy lampshade. 

"What shall I say?" he said, shrugging his shoulders. "In realitymother's never well. You see, she is a woman, and women, NikolayIlyitch, have always something the matter with them. "

Belyaev, having nothing better to do, began watching Alyosha's face. He had never before during the whole of his intimacy with OlgaIvanovna paid any attention to the boy, and had completely ignoredhis existence; the boy had been before his eyes, but he had notcared to think why he was there and what part he was playing. 

In the twilight of the evening, Alyosha's face, with his whiteforehead and black, unblinking eyes, unexpectedly reminded Belyaevof Olga Ivanovna as she had been during the first pages of theirromance. And he felt disposed to be friendly to the boy. 

"Come here, insect, " he said; "let me have a closer look at you. "

The boy jumped off the sofa and skipped up to Belyaev. 

"Well, " began Nikolay Ilyitch, putting a hand on the boy's thinshoulder. "How are you getting on?"

"How shall I say! We used to get on a great deal better. "

"Why?"

"It's very simple. Sonia and I used only to learn music and reading, and now they give us French poetry to learn. Have you been shavedlately?"

"Yes. "

"Yes, I see you have. Your beard is shorter. Let me touch it. . . . Does that hurt?"

"No. "

"Why is it that if you pull one hair it hurts, but if you pull alot at once it doesn't hurt a bit? Ha, ha! And, you know, it's apity you don't have whiskers. Here ought to be shaved . . . Buthere at the sides the hair ought to be left. . . . "

The boy nestled up to Belyaev and began playing with his watch-chain. 

"When I go to the high-school, " he said, "mother is going to buyme a watch. I shall ask her to buy me a watch-chain like this. . . . Wh-at a lo-ket! Father's got a locket like that, only yours haslittle bars on it and his has letters. . . . There's mother'sportrait in the middle of his. Father has a different sort of chainnow, not made with rings, but like ribbon. . . . "

"How do you know? Do you see your father?"

"I? M'm . . . No . . . I . . . "

Alyosha blushed, and in great confusion, feeling caught in a lie, began zealously scratching the locket with his nail. . . . Belyaevlooked steadily into his face and asked:

"Do you see your father?"

"N-no!"

"Come, speak frankly, on your honour. . . . I see from your faceyou are telling a fib. Once you've let a thing slip out it's nogood wriggling about it. Tell me, do you see him? Come, as a friend. "

Alyosha hesitated. 

"You won't tell mother?" he said. 

"As though I should!"

"On your honour?"

"On my honour. "

"Do you swear?"

"Ah, you provoking boy! What do you take me for?"

Alyosha looked round him, then with wide-open eyes, whispered tohim:

"Only, for goodness' sake, don't tell mother. . . . Don't tell anyone at all, for it is a secret. I hope to goodness mother won'tfind out, or we should all catch it--Sonia, and I, and Pelagea. . . . Well, listen. . . Sonia and I see father every Tuesday andFriday. When Pelagea takes us for a walk before dinner we go to theApfel Restaurant, and there is father waiting for us. . . . He isalways sitting in a room apart, where you know there's a marbletable and an ash-tray in the shape of a goose without a back. . . . "

"What do you do there?"

"Nothing! First we say how-do-you-do, then we all sit round thetable, and father treats us with coffee and pies. You know Soniaeats the meat-pies, but I can't endure meat-pies! I like the piesmade of cabbage and eggs. We eat such a lot that we have to tryhard to eat as much as we can at dinner, for fear mother shouldnotice. "

"What do you talk about?"

"With father? About anything. He kisses us, he hugs us, tells usall sorts of amusing jokes. Do you know, he says when we are grownup he is going to take us to live with him. Sonia does not want togo, but I agree. Of course, I should miss mother; but, then, Ishould write her letters! It's a queer idea, but we could come andvisit her on holidays--couldn't we? Father says, too, that hewill buy me a horse. He's an awfully kind man! I can't understandwhy mother does not ask him to come and live with us, and why sheforbids us to see him. You know he loves mother very much. He isalways asking us how she is and what she is doing. When she was illhe clutched his head like this, and . . . And kept running about. He always tells us to be obedient and respectful to her. Listen. Is it true that we are unfortunate?"

"H'm! . . . Why?"

"That's what father says. 'You are unhappy children, ' he says. It'sstrange to hear him, really. 'You are unhappy, ' he says, 'I amunhappy, and mother's unhappy. You must pray to God, ' he says; 'foryourselves and for her. '"

Alyosha let his eyes rest on a stuffed bird and sank into thought. 

"So . . . " growled Belyaev. "So that's how you are going on. Youarrange meetings at restaurants. And mother does not know?"

"No-o. . . . How should she know? Pelagea would not tell her foranything, you know. The day before yesterday he gave us some pears. As sweet as jam! I ate two. "

"H'm! . . . Well, and I say . . Listen. Did father say anythingabout me?"

"About you? What shall I say?"

Alyosha looked searchingly into Belyaev's face and shrugged hisshoulders. 

"He didn't say anything particular. "

"For instance, what did he say?"

"You won't be offended?"

"What next? Why, does he abuse me?"

"He doesn't abuse you, but you know he is angry with you. He saysmother's unhappy owing to you . . . And that you have ruined mother. You know he is so queer! I explain to him that you are kind, thatyou never scold mother; but he only shakes his head. "

"So he says I have ruined her?"

"Yes; you mustn't be offended, Nikolay Ilyitch. "

Belyaev got up, stood still a moment, and walked up and down thedrawing-room. 

"That's strange and . . . Ridiculous!" he muttered, shrugging hisshoulders and smiling sarcastically. "He's entirely to blame, andI have ruined her, eh? An innocent lamb, I must say. So he told youI ruined your mother?"

"Yes, but . . . You said you would not be offended, you know. "

"I am not offended, and . . . And it's not your business. Why, it's. . . Why, it's positively ridiculous! I have been thrust into itlike a chicken in the broth, and now it seems I'm to blame!"

A ring was heard. The boy sprang up from his place and ran out. Aminute later a lady came into the room with a little girl; this wasOlga Ivanovna, Alyosha's mother. Alyosha followed them in, skippingand jumping, humming aloud and waving his hands. Belyaev nodded, and went on walking up and down. 

"Of course, whose fault is it if not mine?" he muttered with asnort. "He is right! He is an injured husband. "

"What are you talking about?" asked Olga Ivanovna. 

"What about? . . . Why, just listen to the tales your lawful spouseis spreading now! It appears that I am a scoundrel and a villain, that I have ruined you and the children. All of you are unhappy, and I am the only happy one! Wonderfully, wonderfully happy!"

"I don't understand, Nikolay. What's the matter?"

"Why, listen to this young gentleman!" said Belyaev, pointing toAlyosha. 

Alyosha flushed crimson, then turned pale, and his whole face beganworking with terror. 

"Nikolay Ilyitch, " he said in a loud whisper. "Sh-sh!"

Olga Ivanovna looked in surprise at Alyosha, then at Belyaev, thenat Alyosha again. 

"Just ask him, " Belyaev went on. "Your Pelagea, like a regular fool, takes them about to restaurants and arranges meetings with theirpapa. But that's not the point: the point is that their dear papais a victim, while I'm a wretch who has broken up both your lives. . . "

"Nikolay Ilyitch, " moaned Alyosha. "Why, you promised on your wordof honour!"

"Oh, get away!" said Belyaev, waving him off. "This is more importantthan any word of honour. It's the hypocrisy revolts me, the lying!. . . "

"I don't understand it, " said Olga Ivanovna, and tears glistenedin her eyes. "Tell me, Alyosha, " she turned to her son. "Do you seeyour father?"

Alyosha did not hear her; he was looking with horror at Belyaev. 

"It's impossible, " said his mother; "I will go and question Pelagea. "

Olga Ivanovna went out. 

"I say, you promised on your word of honour!" said Alyosha, tremblingall over. 

Belyaev dismissed him with a wave of his hand, and went on walkingup and down. He was absorbed in his grievance and was oblivious ofthe boy's presence, as he always had been. He, a grownup, seriousperson, had no thought to spare for boys. And Alyosha sat down inthe corner and told Sonia with horror how he had been deceived. Hewas trembling, stammering, and crying. It was the first time in hislife that he had been brought into such coarse contact with lying;till then he had not known that there are in the world, besidessweet pears, pies, and expensive watches, a great many things forwhich the language of children has no expression.