THE WITCH AND OTHER STORIES

By Anton Chekhov

CONTENTS:

 THE WITCH PEASANT WIVES THE POST THE NEW VILLA DREAMS THE PIPE AGAFYA AT CHRISTMAS TIME GUSEV THE STUDENT IN THE RAVINE THE HUNTSMAN HAPPINESS A MALEFACTOR PEASANTS

THE WITCH

IT was approaching nightfall. The sexton, Savely Gykin, was lying in hishuge bed in the hut adjoining the church. He was not asleep, though itwas his habit to go to sleep at the same time as the hens. His coarsered hair peeped from under one end of the greasy patchwork quilt, madeup of coloured rags, while his big unwashed feet stuck out from theother. He was listening. His hut adjoined the wall that encircled thechurch and the solitary window in it looked out upon the open country. And out there a regular battle was going on. It was hard to say whowas being wiped off the face of the earth, and for the sake of whosedestruction nature was being churned up into such a ferment; but, judging from the unceasing malignant roar, someone was getting it veryhot. A victorious force was in full chase over the fields, storming inthe forest and on the church roof, battering spitefully with its fistsupon the windows, raging and tearing, while something vanquished washowling and wailing. .. . A plaintive lament sobbed at the window, on theroof, or in the stove. It sounded not like a call for help, but like acry of misery, a consciousness that it was too late, that there was nosalvation. The snowdrifts were covered with a thin coating of ice; tearsquivered on them and on the trees; a dark slush of mud and melting snowflowed along the roads and paths. In short, it was thawing, but throughthe dark night the heavens failed to see it, and flung flakes of freshsnow upon the melting earth at a terrific rate. And the wind staggeredlike a drunkard. It would not let the snow settle on the ground, andwhirled it round in the darkness at random. 

Savely listened to all this din and frowned. The fact was that he knew, or at any rate suspected, what all this racket outside the window wastending to and whose handiwork it was. 

"I know!" he muttered, shaking his finger menacingly under thebedclothes; "I know all about it. "

On a stool by the window sat the sexton's wife, Raissa Nilovna. A tinlamp standing on another stool, as though timid and distrustful of itspowers, shed a dim and flickering light on her broad shoulders, on thehandsome, tempting-looking contours of her person, and on her thickplait, which reached to the floor. She was making sacks out of coarsehempen stuff. Her hands moved nimbly, while her whole body, her eyes, her eyebrows, her full lips, her white neck were as still as though theywere asleep, absorbed in the monotonous, mechanical toil. Only from timeto time she raised her head to rest her weary neck, glanced for a momenttowards the window, beyond which the snowstorm was raging, and bentagain over her sacking. No desire, no joy, no grief, nothing wasexpressed by her handsome face with its turned-up nose and its dimples. So a beautiful fountain expresses nothing when it is not playing. 

But at last she had finished a sack. She flung it aside, and, stretchingluxuriously, rested her motionless, lack-lustre eyes on the window. Thepanes were swimming with drops like tears, and white with short-livedsnowflakes which fell on the window, glanced at Raissa, and melted. .. . 

"Come to bed!" growled the sexton. Raissa remained mute. But suddenlyher eyelashes flickered and there was a gleam of attention in her eye. Savely, all the time watching her expression from under the quilt, putout his head and asked:

"What is it?"

"Nothing. .. . I fancy someone's coming, " she answered quietly. 

The sexton flung the quilt off with his arms and legs, knelt up in bed, and looked blankly at his wife. The timid light of the lamp illuminatedhis hirsute, pock-marked countenance and glided over his rough mattedhair. 

"Do you hear?" asked his wife. 

Through the monotonous roar of the storm he caught a scarcely audiblethin and jingling monotone like the shrill note of a gnat when it wantsto settle on one's cheek and is angry at being prevented. 

"It's the post, " muttered Savely, squatting on his heels. 

Two miles from the church ran the posting road. In windy weather, whenthe wind was blowing from the road to the church, the inmates of the hutcaught the sound of bells. 

"Lord! fancy people wanting to drive about in such weather, " sighedRaissa. 

"It's government work. You've to go whether you like or not. "

The murmur hung in the air and died away. 

"It has driven by, " said Savely, getting into bed. 

But before he had time to cover himself up with the bedclothes he hearda distinct sound of the bell. The sexton looked anxiously at his wife, leapt out of bed and walked, waddling, to and fro by the stove. Thebell went on ringing for a little, then died away again as though it hadceased. 

"I don't hear it, " said the sexton, stopping and looking at his wifewith his eyes screwed up. 

But at that moment the wind rapped on the window and with it floateda shrill jingling note. Savely turned pale, cleared his throat, andflopped about the floor with his bare feet again. 

"The postman is lost in the storm, " he wheezed out glancing malignantlyat his wife. "Do you hear? The postman has lost his way!. .. I. .. I know!Do you suppose I. .. Don't understand?" he muttered. "I know all aboutit, curse you!"

"What do you know?" Raissa asked quietly, keeping her eyes fixed on thewindow. 

"I know that it's all your doing, you she-devil! Your doing, damn you!This snowstorm and the post going wrong, you've done it all--you!"

"You're mad, you silly, " his wife answered calmly. 

"I've been watching you for a long time past and I've seen it. From thefirst day I married you I noticed that you'd bitch's blood in you!"

"Tfoo!" said Raissa, surprised, shrugging her shoulders and crossingherself. "Cross yourself, you fool!"

"A witch is a witch, " Savely pronounced in a hollow, tearful voice, hurriedly blowing his nose on the hem of his shirt; "though you are mywife, though you are of a clerical family, I'd say what you are even atconfession. .. . Why, God have mercy upon us! Last year on the Eve of theProphet Daniel and the Three Young Men there was a snowstorm, andwhat happened then? The mechanic came in to warm himself. Then on St. Alexey's Day the ice broke on the river and the district policemanturned up, and he was chatting with you all night. .. The damned brute!And when he came out in the morning and I looked at him, he had ringsunder his eyes and his cheeks were hollow! Eh? During the August fastthere were two storms and each time the huntsman turned up. I saw itall, damn him! Oh, she is redder than a crab now, aha!"

"You didn't see anything. "

"Didn't I! And this winter before Christmas on the Day of the TenMartyrs of Crete, when the storm lasted for a whole day and night--doyou remember?--the marshal's clerk was lost, and turned up here, thehound. .. . Tfoo! To be tempted by the clerk! It was worth upsetting God'sweather for him! A drivelling scribbler, not a foot from the ground, pimples all over his mug and his neck awry! If he were good-looking, anyway--but he, tfoo! he is as ugly as Satan!"

The sexton took breath, wiped his lips and listened. The bell was not tobe heard, but the wind banged on the roof, and again there came a tinklein the darkness. 

"And it's the same thing now!" Savely went on. "It's not for nothing thepostman is lost! Blast my eyes if the postman isn't looking for you! Oh, the devil is a good hand at his work; he is a fine one to help! He willturn him round and round and bring him here. I know, I see! You can'tconceal it, you devil's bauble, you heathen wanton! As soon as the stormbegan I knew what you were up to. "

"Here's a fool!" smiled his wife. "Why, do you suppose, you thick-head, that I make the storm?"

"H'm!. .. Grin away! Whether it's your doing or not, I only know thatwhen your blood's on fire there's sure to be bad weather, and whenthere's bad weather there's bound to be some crazy fellow turning uphere. It happens so every time! So it must be you!"

To be more impressive the sexton put his finger to his forehead, closedhis left eye, and said in a singsong voice:

"Oh, the madness! oh, the unclean Judas! If you really are a human beingand not a witch, you ought to think what if he is not the mechanic, or the clerk, or the huntsman, but the devil in their form! Ah! You'dbetter think of that!"

"Why, you are stupid, Savely, " said his wife, looking at himcompassionately. "When father was alive and living here, all sorts ofpeople used to come to him to be cured of the ague: from the village, and the hamlets, and the Armenian settlement. They came almost everyday, and no one called them devils. But if anyone once a year comes inbad weather to warm himself, you wonder at it, you silly, and take allsorts of notions into your head at once. "

His wife's logic touched Savely. He stood with his bare feet wide apart, bent his head, and pondered. He was not firmly convinced yet of thetruth of his suspicions, and his wife's genuine and unconcerned tonequite disconcerted him. Yet after a moment's thought he wagged his headand said:

"It's not as though they were old men or bandy-legged cripples; it'salways young men who want to come for the night. .. . Why is that? And ifthey only wanted to warm themselves----But they are up to mischief. No, woman; there's no creature in this world as cunning as your femalesort! Of real brains you've not an ounce, less than a starling, but fordevilish slyness--oo-oo-oo! The Queen of Heaven protect us! There is thepostman's bell! When the storm was only beginning I knew all that was inyour mind. That's your witchery, you spider!"

"Why do you keep on at me, you heathen?" His wife lost her patience atlast. "Why do you keep sticking to it like pitch?"

"I stick to it because if anything--God forbid--happens to-night. .. Do you hear?. .. If anything happens to-night, I'll go straight offto-morrow morning to Father Nikodim and tell him all about it. 'FatherNikodim, ' I shall say, 'graciously excuse me, but she is a witch. ' 'Whyso?' 'H'm! do you want to know why?' 'Certainly. .. . ' And I shall tellhim. And woe to you, woman! Not only at the dread Seat of Judgment, butin your earthly life you'll be punished, too! It's not for nothing thereare prayers in the breviary against your kind!"

Suddenly there was a knock at the window, so loud and unusual thatSavely turned pale and almost dropped backwards with fright. His wifejumped up, and she, too, turned pale. 

"For God's sake, let us come in and get warm!" they heard in a tremblingdeep bass. "Who lives here? For mercy's sake! We've lost our way. "

"Who are you?" asked Raissa, afraid to look at the window. 

"The post, " answered a second voice. 

"You've succeeded with your devil's tricks, " said Savely with a wave ofhis hand. "No mistake; I am right! Well, you'd better look out!"

The sexton jumped on to the bed in two skips, stretched himself on thefeather mattress, and sniffing angrily, turned with his face to thewall. Soon he felt a draught of cold air on his back. The door creakedand the tall figure of a man, plastered over with snow from head tofoot, appeared in the doorway. Behind him could be seen a second figureas white. 

"Am I to bring in the bags?" asked the second in a hoarse bass voice. 

"You can't leave them there. " Saying this, the first figure beganuntying his hood, but gave it up, and pulling it off impatiently withhis cap, angrily flung it near the stove. Then taking off his greatcoat, he threw that down beside it, and, without saying good-evening, beganpacing up and down the hut. 

He was a fair-haired, young postman wearing a shabby uniform and blackrusty-looking high boots. After warming himself by walking to and fro, he sat down at the table, stretched out his muddy feet towards the sacksand leaned his chin on his fist. His pale face, reddened in places bythe cold, still bore vivid traces of the pain and terror he had justbeen through. Though distorted by anger and bearing traces of recentsuffering, physical and moral, it was handsome in spite of the meltingsnow on the eyebrows, moustaches, and short beard. 

"It's a dog's life!" muttered the postman, looking round the wallsand seeming hardly able to believe that he was in the warmth. "We werenearly lost! If it had not been for your light, I don't know what wouldhave happened. Goodness only knows when it will all be over! There'sno end to this dog's life! Where have we come?" he asked, dropping hisvoice and raising his eyes to the sexton's wife. 

"To the Gulyaevsky Hill on General Kalinovsky's estate, " she answered, startled and blushing. 

"Do you hear, Stepan?" The postman turned to the driver, who was wedgedin the doorway with a huge mail-bag on his shoulders. "We've got toGulyaevsky Hill. "

"Yes. .. We're a long way out. " Jerking out these words like a hoarsesigh, the driver went out and soon after returned with another bag, thenwent out once more and this time brought the postman's sword on abig belt, of the pattern of that long flat blade with which Judith isportrayed by the bedside of Holofernes in cheap woodcuts. Laying thebags along the wall, he went out into the outer room, sat down there andlighted his pipe. 

"Perhaps you'd like some tea after your journey?" Raissa inquired. 

"How can we sit drinking tea?" said the postman, frowning. "We must makehaste and get warm, and then set off, or we shall be late for the mailtrain. We'll stay ten minutes and then get on our way. Only be so goodas to show us the way. "

"What an infliction it is, this weather!" sighed Raissa. 

"H'm, yes. .. . Who may you be?"

"We? We live here, by the church. .. . We belong to the clergy. .. . Therelies my husband. Savely, get up and say good-evening! This used to bea separate parish till eighteen months ago. Of course, when the gentrylived here there were more people, and it was worth while to have theservices. But now the gentry have gone, and I need not tell you there'snothing for the clergy to live on. The nearest village is Markovka, andthat's over three miles away. Savely is on the retired list now, and hasgot the watchman's job; he has to look after the church. .. . "

And the postman was immediately informed that if Savely were to go tothe General's lady and ask her for a letter to the bishop, he would begiven a good berth. "But he doesn't go to the General's lady because heis lazy and afraid of people. We belong to the clergy all the same. .. "added Raissa. 

"What do you live on?" asked the postman. 

"There's a kitchen garden and a meadow belonging to the church. Onlywe don't get much from that, " sighed Raissa. "The old skinflint, FatherNikodim, from the next village celebrates here on St. Nicolas' Day inthe winter and on St. Nicolas' Day in the summer, and for that he takesalmost all the crops for himself. There's no one to stick up for us!"

"You are lying, " Savely growled hoarsely. "Father Nikodim is a saintlysoul, a luminary of the Church; and if he does take it, it's theregulation!"

"You've a cross one!" said the postman, with a grin. "Have you beenmarried long?"

"It was three years ago the last Sunday before Lent. My father wassexton here in the old days, and when the time came for him to die, he went to the Consistory and asked them to send some unmarried man tomarry me that I might keep the place. So I married him. "

"Aha, so you killed two birds with one stone!" said the postman, lookingat Savely's back. "Got wife and job together. "

Savely wriggled his leg impatiently and moved closer to the wall. The postman moved away from the table, stretched, and sat down on themail-bag. After a moment's thought he squeezed the bags with his hands, shifted his sword to the other side, and lay down with one foot touchingthe floor. 

"It's a dog's life, " he muttered, putting his hands behind his head andclosing his eyes. "I wouldn't wish a wild Tatar such a life. "

Soon everything was still. Nothing was audible except the sniffingof Savely and the slow, even breathing of the sleeping postman, whouttered a deep prolonged "h-h-h" at every breath. From time to timethere was a sound like a creaking wheel in his throat, and his twitchingfoot rustled against the bag. 

Savely fidgeted under the quilt and looked round slowly. His wife wassitting on the stool, and with her hands pressed against her cheeks wasgazing at the postman's face. Her face was immovable, like the face ofsome one frightened and astonished. 

"Well, what are you gaping at?" Savely whispered angrily. 

"What is it to you? Lie down!" answered his wife without taking her eyesoff the flaxen head. 

Savely angrily puffed all the air out of his chest and turned abruptlyto the wall. Three minutes later he turned over restlessly again, kneltup on the bed, and with his hands on the pillow looked askance at hiswife. She was still sitting motionless, staring at the visitor. Hercheeks were pale and her eyes were glowing with a strange fire. Thesexton cleared his throat, crawled on his stomach off the bed, and goingup to the postman, put a handkerchief over his face. 

"What's that for?" asked his wife. 

"To keep the light out of his eyes. "

"Then put out the light!"

Savely looked distrustfully at his wife, put out his lips towards thelamp, but at once thought better of it and clasped his hands. 

"Isn't that devilish cunning?" he exclaimed. "Ah! Is there any creatureslyer than womenkind?"

"Ah, you long-skirted devil!" hissed his wife, frowning with vexation. "You wait a bit!"

And settling herself more comfortably, she stared at the postman again. 

It did not matter to her that his face was covered. She was not so muchinterested in his face as in his whole appearance, in the novelty ofthis man. His chest was broad and powerful, his hands were slender andwell formed, and his graceful, muscular legs were much comelier thanSavely's stumps. There could be no comparison, in fact. 

"Though I am a long-skirted devil, " Savely said after a brief interval, "they've no business to sleep here. .. . It's government work; we shallhave to answer for keeping them. If you carry the letters, carry them, you can't go to sleep. .. . Hey! you!" Savely shouted into the outerroom. "You, driver. What's your name? Shall I show you the way? Get up;postmen mustn't sleep!"

And Savely, thoroughly roused, ran up to the postman and tugged him bythe sleeve. 

"Hey, your honour, if you must go, go; and if you don't, it's not thething. .. . Sleeping won't do. "

The postman jumped up, sat down, looked with blank eyes round the hut, and lay down again. 

"But when are you going?" Savely pattered away. "That's what the post isfor--to get there in good time, do you hear? I'll take you. "

The postman opened his eyes. Warmed and relaxed by his first sweetsleep, and not yet quite awake, he saw as through a mist the white neckand the immovable, alluring eyes of the sexton's wife. He closed hiseyes and smiled as though he had been dreaming it all. 

"Come, how can you go in such weather!" he heard a soft feminine voice;"you ought to have a sound sleep and it would do you good!"

"And what about the post?" said Savely anxiously. "Who's going to takethe post? Are you going to take it, pray, you?"

The postman opened his eyes again, looked at the play of the dimpleson Raissa's face, remembered where he was, and understood Savely. The thought that he had to go out into the cold darkness sent a chillshudder all down him, and he winced. 

"I might sleep another five minutes, " he said, yawning. "I shall belate, anyway. .. . "

"We might be just in time, " came a voice from the outer room. "All daysare not alike; the train may be late for a bit of luck. "

The postman got up, and stretching lazily began putting on his coat. 

Savely positively neighed with delight when he saw his visitors weregetting ready to go. 

"Give us a hand, " the driver shouted to him as he lifted up a mail-bag. 

The sexton ran out and helped him drag the post-bags into the yard. Thepostman began undoing the knot in his hood. The sexton's wife gazed intohis eyes, and seemed trying to look right into his soul. 

"You ought to have a cup of tea. .. " she said. 

"I wouldn't say no. .. But, you see, they're getting ready, " he assented. "We are late, anyway. "

"Do stay, " she whispered, dropping her eyes and touching him by thesleeve. 

The postman got the knot undone at last and flung the hood over hiselbow, hesitating. He felt it comfortable standing by Raissa. 

"What a. .. Neck you've got!. .. " And he touched her neck with twofingers. Seeing that she did not resist, he stroked her neck andshoulders. 

"I say, you are. .. "

"You'd better stay. .. Have some tea. "

"Where are you putting it?" The driver's voice could be heard outside. "Lay it crossways. "

"You'd better stay. .. . Hark how the wind howls. "

And the postman, not yet quite awake, not yet quite able to shake offthe intoxicating sleep of youth and fatigue, was suddenly overwhelmedby a desire for the sake of which mail-bags, postal trains. .. Andall things in the world, are forgotten. He glanced at the door in afrightened way, as though he wanted to escape or hide himself, seizedRaissa round the waist, and was just bending over the lamp to put outthe light, when he heard the tramp of boots in the outer room, and thedriver appeared in the doorway. Savely peeped in over his shoulder. Thepostman dropped his hands quickly and stood still as though irresolute. 

"It's all ready, " said the driver. The postman stood still for amoment, resolutely threw up his head as though waking up completely, andfollowed the driver out. Raissa was left alone. 

"Come, get in and show us the way!" she heard. 

One bell sounded languidly, then another, and the jingling notes in along delicate chain floated away from the hut. 

When little by little they had died away, Raissa got up and nervouslypaced to and fro. At first she was pale, then she flushed all over. Her face was contorted with hate, her breathing was tremulous, her eyesgleamed with wild, savage anger, and, pacing up and down as in a cage, she looked like a tigress menaced with red-hot iron. For a moment shestood still and looked at her abode. Almost half of the room wasfilled up by the bed, which stretched the length of the whole wall andconsisted of a dirty feather-bed, coarse grey pillows, a quilt, andnameless rags of various sorts. The bed was a shapeless ugly masswhich suggested the shock of hair that always stood up on Savely's headwhenever it occurred to him to oil it. From the bed to the door that ledinto the cold outer room stretched the dark stove surrounded by potsand hanging clouts. Everything, including the absent Savely himself, wasdirty, greasy, and smutty to the last degree, so that it was strange tosee a woman's white neck and delicate skin in such surroundings. 

Raissa ran up to the bed, stretched out her hands as though she wantedto fling it all about, stamp it underfoot, and tear it to shreds. Butthen, as though frightened by contact with the dirt, she leapt back andbegan pacing up and down again. 

When Savely returned two hours later, worn out and covered with snow, she was undressed and in bed. Her eyes were closed, but from the slighttremor that ran over her face he guessed that she was not asleep. On hisway home he had vowed inwardly to wait till next day and not to touchher, but he could not resist a biting taunt at her. 

"Your witchery was all in vain: he's gone off, " he said, grinning withmalignant joy. 

His wife remained mute, but her chin quivered. Savely undressed slowly, clambered over his wife, and lay down next to the wall. 

"To-morrow I'll let Father Nikodim know what sort of wife you are!" hemuttered, curling himself up. 

Raissa turned her face to him and her eyes gleamed. 

"The job's enough for you, and you can look for a wife in theforest, blast you!" she said. "I am no wife for you, a clumsy lout, aslug-a-bed, God forgive me!"

"Come, come. .. Go to sleep!"

"How miserable I am!" sobbed his wife. "If it weren't for you, I mighthave married a merchant or some gentleman! If it weren't for you, Ishould love my husband now! And you haven't been buried in the snow, youhaven't been frozen on the highroad, you Herod!"

Raissa cried for a long time. At last she drew a deep sigh and wasstill. The storm still raged without. Something wailed in the stove, inthe chimney, outside the walls, and it seemed to Savely that the wailingwas within him, in his ears. This evening had completely confirmed himin his suspicions about his wife. He no longer doubted that his wife, with the aid of the Evil One, controlled the winds and the post sledges. But to add to his grief, this mysteriousness, this supernatural, weirdpower gave the woman beside him a peculiar, incomprehensible charm ofwhich he had not been conscious before. The fact that in his stupidityhe unconsciously threw a poetic glamour over her made her seem, as itwere, whiter, sleeker, more unapproachable. 

"Witch!" he muttered indignantly. "Tfoo, horrid creature!"

Yet, waiting till she was quiet and began breathing evenly, he touchedher head with his finger. .. Held her thick plait in his hand for aminute. She did not feel it. Then he grew bolder and stroked her neck. 

"Leave off!" she shouted, and prodded him on the nose with her elbowwith such violence that he saw stars before his eyes. 

The pain in his nose was soon over, but the torture in his heartremained. 

PEASANT WIVES

IN the village of Reybuzh, just facing the church, stands a two-storeyedhouse with a stone foundation and an iron roof. In the lower storey theowner himself, Filip Ivanov Kashin, nicknamed Dyudya, lives with hisfamily, and on the upper floor, where it is apt to be very hot in summerand very cold in winter, they put up government officials, merchants, orlandowners, who chance to be travelling that way. Dyudya rents some bitsof land, keeps a tavern on the highroad, does a trade in tar, honey, cattle, and jackdaws, and has already something like eight thousandroubles put by in the bank in the town. 

His elder son, Fyodor, is head engineer in the factory, and, as thepeasants say of him, he has risen so high in the world that he is quiteout of reach now. Fyodor's wife, Sofya, a plain, ailing woman, lives athome at her father-in-law's. She is for ever crying, and every Sundayshe goes over to the hospital for medicine. Dyudya's second son, thehunchback Alyoshka, is living at home at his father's. He has onlylately been married to Varvara, whom they singled out for him froma poor family. She is a handsome young woman, smart and buxom. Whenofficials or merchants put up at the house, they always insist on havingVarvara to bring in the samovar and make their beds. 

One June evening when the sun was setting and the air was full of thesmell of hay, of steaming dung-heaps and new milk, a plain-looking cartdrove into Dyudya's yard with three people in it: a man of about thirtyin a canvas suit, beside him a little boy of seven or eight in a longblack coat with big bone buttons, and on the driver's seat a youngfellow in a red shirt. 

The young fellow took out the horses and led them out into the street towalk them up and down a bit, while the traveller washed, said a prayer, turning towards the church, then spread a rug near the cart and sat downwith the boy to supper. He ate without haste, sedately, and Dyudya, whohad seen a good many travellers in his time, knew him from his mannersfor a businesslike man, serious and aware of his own value. 

Dyudya was sitting on the step in his waistcoat without a cap on, waiting for the visitor to speak first. He was used to hearing all kindsof stories from the travellers in the evening, and he liked listeningto them before going to bed. His old wife, Afanasyevna, and hisdaughter-in-law Sofya, were milking in the cowshed. The otherdaughter-in-law, Varvara, was sitting at the open window of the upperstorey, eating sunflower seeds. 

"The little chap will be your son, I'm thinking?" Dyudya asked thetraveller. 

"No; adopted. An orphan. I took him for my soul's salvation. "

They got into conversation. The stranger seemed to be a man fond oftalking and ready of speech, and Dyudya learned from him that he wasfrom the town, was of the tradesman class, and had a house of his own, that his name was Matvey Savitch, that he was on his way now to look atsome gardens that he was renting from some German colonists, and thatthe boy's name was Kuzka. The evening was hot and close, no one feltinclined for sleep. When it was getting dark and pale stars began totwinkle here and there in the sky, Matvey Savitch began to tell howhe had come by Kuzka. Afanasyevna and Sofya stood a little way off, listening. Kuzka had gone to the gate. 

"It's a complicated story, old man, " began Matvey Savitch, "and if Iwere to tell you all just as it happened, it would take all night andmore. Ten years ago in a little house in our street, next door to me, where now there's a tallow and oil factory, there was living an oldwidow, Marfa Semyonovna Kapluntsev, and she had two sons: one was aguard on the railway, but the other, Vasya, who was just my own age, lived at home with his mother. Old Kapluntsev had kept five pair ofhorses and sent carriers all over the town; his widow had not given upthe business, but managed the carriers as well as her husband had done, so that some days they would bring in as much as five roubles from theirrounds. 

"The young fellow, too, made a trifle on his own account. He used tobreed fancy pigeons and sell them to fanciers; at times he would standfor hours on the roof, waving a broom in the air and whistling; hispigeons were right up in the clouds, but it wasn't enough for him, andhe'd want them to go higher yet. Siskins and starlings, too, he used tocatch, and he made cages for sale. All trifles, but, mind you, he'd pickup some ten roubles a month over such trifles. Well, as time wenton, the old lady lost the use of her legs and took to her bed. Inconsequence of which event the house was left without a woman to lookafter it, and that's for all the world like a man without an eye. Theold lady bestirred herself and made up her mind to marry Vasya. Theycalled in a matchmaker at once, the women got to talking of one thingand another, and Vasya went off to have a look at the girls. He pickedout Mashenka, a widow's daughter. They made up their minds without lossof time and in a week it was all settled. The girl was a little slip ofa thing, seventeen, but fair-skinned and pretty-looking, and like a ladyin all her ways; and a decent dowry with her, five hundred roubles, acow, a bed. .. . Well, the old lady--it seemed as though she had knownit was coming--three days after the wedding, departed to the HeavenlyJerusalem where is neither sickness nor sighing. The young people gaveher a good funeral and began their life together. For just six monthsthey got on splendidly, and then all of a sudden another misfortune. Itnever rains but it pours: Vasya was summoned to the recruiting office todraw lots for the service. He was taken, poor chap, for a soldier, andnot even granted exemption. They shaved his head and packed him off toPoland. It was God's will; there was nothing to be done. When he saidgood-bye to his wife in the yard, he bore it all right; but as heglanced up at the hay-loft and his pigeons for the last time, he burstout crying. It was pitiful to see him. 

"At first Mashenka got her mother to stay with her, that she mightn'tbe dull all alone; she stayed till the baby--this very Kuzka here--wasborn, and then she went off to Oboyan to another married daughter'sand left Mashenka alone with the baby. There were five peasants--thecarriers--a drunken saucy lot; horses, too, and dray-carts to seeto, and then the fence would be broken or the soot afire in thechimney--jobs beyond a woman, and through our being neighbours, she gotinto the way of turning to me for every little thing. .. . Well, I'd goover, set things to rights, and give advice. .. . Naturally, not withoutgoing indoors, drinking a cup of tea and having a little chat with her. I was a young fellow, intellectual, and fond of talking on all sorts ofsubjects; she, too, was well-bred and educated. She was always neatlydressed, and in summer she walked out with a sunshade. Sometimes I wouldbegin upon religion or politics with her, and she was flattered andwould entertain me with tea and jam. .. . In a word, not to make a longstory of it, I must tell you, old man, a year had not passed before theEvil One, the enemy of all mankind, confounded me. I began to noticethat any day I didn't go to see her, I seemed out of sorts and dull. AndI'd be continually making up something that I must see her about: 'It'shigh time, ' I'd say to myself, 'to put the double windows in for thewinter, ' and the whole day I'd idle away over at her place putting inthe windows and take good care to leave a couple of them over for thenext day too. 

"'I ought to count over Vasya's pigeons, to see none of them havestrayed, ' and so on. I used always to be talking to her across thefence, and in the end I made a little gate in the fence so as not tohave to go so far round. From womankind comes much evil into the worldand every kind of abomination. Not we sinners only; even the saintsthemselves have been led astray by them. Mashenka did not try to keepme at a distance. Instead of thinking of her husband and being on herguard, she fell in love with me. I began to notice that she was dullwithout me, and was always walking to and fro by the fence looking intomy yard through the cracks. 

"My brains were going round in my head in a sort of frenzy. On Thursdayin Holy Week I was going early in the morning--it was scarcely light--tomarket. I passed close by her gate, and the Evil One was by me--at myelbow. I looked--she had a gate with open trellis work at the top--andthere she was, up already, standing in the middle of the yard, feedingthe ducks. I could not restrain myself, and I called her name. She cameup and looked at me through the trellis. .. . Her little face was white, her eyes soft and sleepy-looking. .. . I liked her looks immensely, andI began paying her compliments, as though we were not at the gate, butjust as one does on namedays, while she blushed, and laughed, and keptlooking straight into my eyes without winking. .. . I lost all sense andbegan to declare my love to her. .. . She opened the gate, and from thatmorning we began to live as man and wife. .. . "

The hunchback Alyoshka came into the yard from the street and ran out ofbreath into the house, not looking at any one. A minute later he ran outof the house with a concertina. Jingling some coppers in his pocket, andcracking sunflower seeds as he ran, he went out at the gate. 

"And who's that, pray?" asked Matvey Savitch. 

"My son Alexey, " answered Dyudya. "He's off on a spree, the rascal. Godhas afflicted him with a hump, so we are not very hard on him. "

"And he's always drinking with the other fellows, always drinking, "sighed Afanasyevna. "Before Carnival we married him, thinking he'd besteadier, but there! he's worse than ever. "

"It's been no use. Simply keeping another man's daughter for nothing, "said Dyudya. 

Somewhere behind the church they began to sing a glorious, mournfulsong. The words they could not catch and only the voices could beheard--two tenors and a bass. All were listening; there was completestillness in the yard. .. . Two voices suddenly broke off with a loud roarof laughter, but the third, a tenor, still sang on, and took so high anote that every one instinctively looked upwards, as though the voicehad soared to heaven itself. 

Varvara came out of the house, and screening her eyes with her hand, asthough from the sun, she looked towards the church. 

"It's the priest's sons with the schoolmaster, " she said. 

Again all the three voices began to sing together. Matvey Savitch sighedand went on:

"Well, that's how it was, old man. Two years later we got a letter fromVasya from Warsaw. He wrote that he was being sent home sick. He wasill. By that time I had put all that foolishness out of my head, and Ihad a fine match picked out all ready for me, only I didn't know how tobreak it off with my sweetheart. Every day I'd make up my mind to haveit out with Mashenka, but I didn't know how to approach her so as notto have a woman's screeching about my ears. The letter freed my hands. Iread it through with Mashenka; she turned white as a sheet, while I saidto her: 'Thank God; now, ' says I, 'you'll be a married woman again. 'But says she: 'I'm not going to live with him. ' 'Why, isn't he yourhusband?' said I. 'Is it an easy thing?. .. I never loved him and Imarried him not of my own free will. My mother made me. ' 'Don't try toget out of it, silly, ' said I, 'but tell me this: were you married tohim in church or not?' 'I was married, ' she said, 'but it's you that Ilove, and I will stay with you to the day of my death. Folks may jeer. I don't care. .. . ' 'You're a Christian woman, ' said I, 'and have read theScriptures; what is written there?'

"Once married, with her husband she must live, " said Dyudya. 

"'Man and wife are one flesh. We have sinned, ' I said, 'you and I, andit is enough; we must repent and fear God. We must confess it all toVasya, ' said I; 'he's a quiet fellow and soft--he won't kill you. Andindeed, ' said I, 'better to suffer torments in this world at the handsof your lawful master than to gnash your teeth at the dread Seat ofJudgment. ' The wench wouldn't listen; she stuck to her silly, 'It's youI love!' and nothing more could I get out of her. 

"Vasya came back on the Saturday before Trinity, early in the morning. From my fence I could see everything; he ran into the house, and cameback a minute later with Kuzka in his arms, and he was laughing andcrying all at once; he was kissing Kuzka and looking up at the hay-loft, and hadn't the heart to put the child down, and yet he was longing to goto his pigeons. He was always a soft sort of chap--sentimental. That daypassed off very well, all quiet and proper. They had begun ringingthe church bells for the evening service, when the thought struck me:'To-morrow's Trinity Sunday; how is it they are not decking the gatesand the fence with green? Something's wrong, ' I thought. I went over tothem. I peeped in, and there he was, sitting on the floor in the middleof the room, his eyes staring like a drunken man's, the tears streamingdown his cheeks and his hands shaking; he was pulling cracknels, necklaces, gingerbread nuts, and all sorts of little presents out ofhis bundle and flinging them on the floor. Kuzka--he was three yearsold--was crawling on the floor, munching the gingerbreads, whileMashenka stood by the stove, white and shivering all over, muttering:'I'm not your wife; I can't live with you, ' and all sorts offoolishness. I bowed down at Vasya's feet, and said: 'We have sinnedagainst you, Vassily Maximitch; forgive us, for Christ's sake!' Then Igot up and spoke to Mashenka: 'You, Marya Semyonovna, ought now to washVassily Maximitch's feet and drink the water. Do you be an obedientwife to him, and pray to God for me, that He in His mercy may forgivemy transgression. ' It came to me like an inspiration from an angel ofHeaven; I gave her solemn counsel and spoke with such feeling thatmy own tears flowed too. And so two days later Vasya comes to me:'Matyusha, ' says he, 'I forgive you and my wife; God have mercy on you!She was a soldier's wife, a young thing all alone; it was hard forher to be on her guard. She's not the first, nor will she be the last. Only, ' he says, 'I beg you to behave as though there had never beenanything between you, and to make no sign, while I, ' says he, 'willdo my best to please her in every way, so that she may come to love meagain. ' He gave me his hand on it, drank a cup of tea, and went awaymore cheerful. 

"'Well, ' thought I, 'thank God!' and I did feel glad that everythinghad gone off so well. But no sooner had Vasya gone out of the yard, whenin came Mashenka. Ah! What I had to suffer! She hung on my neck, weepingand praying: 'For God's sake, don't cast me off; I can't live withoutyou!'"

"The vile hussy!" sighed Dyudya. 

"I swore at her, stamped my foot, and dragging her into the passage, Ifastened the door with the hook. 'Go to your husband, ' I cried. 'Don'tshame me before folks. Fear God!' And every day there was a scene ofthat sort. 

"One morning I was standing in my yard near the stable cleaning abridle. All at once I saw her running through the little gate into myyard, with bare feet, in her petticoat, and straight towards me; sheclutched at the bridle, getting all smeared with the pitch, and shakingand weeping, she cried: 'I can't stand him; I loathe him; I can't bearit! If you don't love me, better kill me!' I was angry, and I struck hertwice with the bridle, but at that instant Vasya ran in at the gate, andin a despairing voice he shouted: 'Don't beat her! Don't beat her!' Buthe ran up himself, and waving his arms, as though he were mad, he letfly with his fists at her with all his might, then flung her on theground and kicked her. I tried to defend her, but he snatched up thereins and thrashed her with them, and all the while, like a colt'swhinny, he went: 'He--he--he!'"

"I'd take the reins and let you feel them, " muttered Varvara, movingaway; "murdering our sister, the damned brutes!. .. "

"Hold your tongue, you jade!" Dyudya shouted at her. 

"'He--he--he!'" Matvey Savitch went on. "A carrier ran out of hisyard; I called to my workman, and the three of us got Mashenka away fromhim and carried her home in our arms. The disgrace of it! The same dayI went over in the evening to see how things were. She was lying in bed, all wrapped up in bandages, nothing but her eyes and nose to beseen; she was looking at the ceiling. I said: 'Good-evening, MaryaSemyonovna!' She did not speak. And Vasya was sitting in the next room, his head in his hands, crying and saying: 'Brute that I am! I've ruinedmy life! O God, let me die!' I sat for half an hour by Mashenka and gaveher a good talking-to. I tried to frighten her a bit. 'The righteous, 'said I, 'after this life go to Paradise, but you will go to a Gehenna offire, like all adulteresses. Don't strive against your husband, go andlay yourself at his feet. ' But never a word from her; she didn't somuch as blink an eyelid, for all the world as though I were talking toa post. The next day Vasya fell ill with something like cholera, andin the evening I heard that he was dead. Well, so they buried him, and Mashenka did not go to the funeral; she didn't care to show hershameless face and her bruises. And soon there began to be talk all overthe district that Vasya had not died a natural death, that Mashenka hadmade away with him. It got to the ears of the police; they had Vasya dugup and cut open, and in his stomach they found arsenic. It was clear hehad been poisoned; the police came and took Mashenka away, and with herthe innocent Kuzka. They were put in prison. .. . The woman had gone toofar--God punished her. .. . Eight months later they tried her. She sat, I remember, on a low stool, with a little white kerchief on her head, wearing a grey gown, and she was so thin, so pale, so sharp-eyed it madeone sad to look at her. Behind her stood a soldier with a gun. Shewould not confess her guilt. Some in the court said she had poisoned herhusband and others declared he had poisoned himself for grief. I wasone of the witnesses. When they questioned me, I told the whole truthaccording to my oath. 'Hers, ' said I, 'is the guilt. It's no good toconceal it; she did not love her husband, and she had a will of herown. .. . ' The trial began in the morning and towards night they passedthis sentence: to send her to hard labour in Siberia for thirteen years. After that sentence Mashenka remained three months longer in prison. Iwent to see her, and from Christian charity I took her a little tea andsugar. But as soon as she set eyes on me she began to shake all over, wringing her hands and muttering: 'Go away! go away!' And Kuzka sheclasped to her as though she were afraid I would take him away. 'See, 'said I, 'what you have come to! Ah, Masha, Masha! you would not listento me when I gave you good advice, and now you must repent it. You areyourself to blame, ' said I; 'blame yourself!' I was giving her goodcounsel, but she: 'Go away, go away!' huddling herself and Kuzka againstthe wall, and trembling all over. 

"When they were taking her away to the chief town of our province, Iwalked by the escort as far as the station and slipped a rouble intoher bundle for my soul's salvation. But she did not get as far asSiberia. .. . She fell sick of fever and died in prison. "

"Live like a dog and you must die a dog's death, " said Dyudya. 

"Kuzka was sent back home. .. . I thought it over and took him to bringup. After all--though a convict's child--still he was a living soul, aChristian. .. . I was sorry for him. I shall make him my clerk, and if Ihave no children of my own, I'll make a merchant of him. Wherever I gonow, I take him with me; let him learn his work. "

All the while Matvey Savitch had been telling his story, Kuzka had saton a little stone near the gate. His head propped in both hands, hegazed at the sky, and in the distance he looked in the dark like a stumpof wood. 

"Kuzka, come to bed, " Matvey Savitch bawled to him. 

"Yes, it's time, " said Dyudya, getting up; he yawned loudly and added:

"Folks will go their own way, and that's what comes of it. "

Over the yard the moon was floating now in the heavens; she was movingone way, while the clouds beneath moved the other way; the clouds weredisappearing into the darkness, but still the moon could be seen highabove the yard. 

Matvey Savitch said a prayer, facing the church, and saying good-night, he lay down on the ground near his cart. Kuzka, too, said a prayer, laydown in the cart, and covered himself with his little overcoat; hemade himself a little hole in the hay so as to be more comfortable, andcurled up so that his elbows looked like knees. From the yard Dyudyacould be seen lighting a candle in his room below, putting on hisspectacles and standing in the corner with a book. He was a long whilereading and crossing himself. 

The travellers fell asleep. Afanasyevna and Sofya came up to the cartand began looking at Kuzka. 

"The little orphan's asleep, " said the old woman. "He's thin and frail, nothing but bones. No mother and no one to care for him properly. "

"My Grishutka must be two years older, " said Sofya. "Up at the factoryhe lives like a slave without his mother. The foreman beats him, Idare say. When I looked at this poor mite just now, I thought of my ownGrishutka, and my heart went cold within me. "

A minute passed in silence. 

"Doesn't remember his mother, I suppose, " said the old woman. 

"How could he remember?"

And big tears began dropping from Sofya's eyes. 

"He's curled himself up like a cat, " she said, sobbing and laughing withtenderness and sorrow. .. . "Poor motherless mite!"

Kuzka started and opened his eyes. He saw before him an ugly, wrinkled, tear-stained face, and beside it another, aged and toothless, with asharp chin and hooked nose, and high above them the infinite sky withthe flying clouds and the moon. He cried out in fright, and Sofya, too, uttered a cry; both were answered by the echo, and a faint stir passedover the stifling air; a watchman tapped somewhere near, a dog barked. Matvey Savitch muttered something in his sleep and turned over on theother side. 

Late at night when Dyudya and the old woman and the neighbouringwatchman were all asleep, Sofya went out to the gate and sat down on thebench. She felt stifled and her head ached from weeping. The street wasa wide and long one; it stretched for nearly two miles to the right andas far to the left, and the end of it was out of sight. The moon wasnow not over the yard, but behind the church. One side of the street wasflooded with moonlight, while the other side lay in black shadow. Thelong shadows of the poplars and the starling-cotes stretched rightacross the street, while the church cast a broad shadow, black andterrible that enfolded Dyudya's gates and half his house. The streetwas still and deserted. From time to time the strains of mu sic floatedfaintly from the end of the street--Alyoshka, most likely, playing hisconcertina. 

Someone moved in the shadow near the church enclosure, and Sofya couldnot make out whether it were a man or a cow, or perhaps merely a bigbird rustling in the trees. But then a figure stepped out of the shadow, halted, and said something in a man's voice, then vanished down theturning by the church. A little later, not three yards from the gate, another figure came into sight; it walked straight from the church tothe gate and stopped short, seeing Sofya on the bench. 

"Varvara, is that you?" said Sofya. 

"And if it were?"

It was Varvara. She stood still a minute, then came up to the bench andsat down. 

"Where have you been?" asked Sofya. 

Varvara made no answer. 

"You'd better mind you don't get into trouble with such goings-on, mygirl, " said Sofya. "Did you hear how Mashenka was kicked and lashed withthe reins? You'd better look out, or they'll treat you the same. "

"Well, let them!"

Varvara laughed into her kerchief and whispered:

"I have just been with the priest's son. "

"Nonsense!"

"I have!"

"It's a sin!" whispered Sofya. 

"Well, let it be. .. . What do I care? If it's a sin, then it is a sin, but better be struck dead by thunder than live like this. I'm young andstrong, and I've a filthy crooked hunchback for a husband, worse thanDyudya himself, curse him! When I was a girl, I hadn't bread to eat, ora shoe to my foot, and to get away from that wretchedness I was temptedby Alyoshka's money, and got caught like a fish in a net, and I'd ratherhave a viper for my bedfellow than that scurvy Alyoshka. And what's yourlife? It makes me sick to look at it. Your Fyodor sent you packing fromthe factory and he's taken up with another woman. They have robbed youof your boy and made a slave of him. You work like a horse, and neverhear a kind word. I'd rather pine all my days an old maid, I'd ratherget half a rouble from the priest's son, I'd rather beg my bread, orthrow myself into the well. .. 

"It's a sin!" whispered Sofya again. 

"Well, let it be. "

Somewhere behind the church the same three voices, two tenors and abass, began singing again a mournful song. And again the words could notbe distinguished. 

"They are not early to bed, " Varvara said, laughing. 

And she began telling in a whisper of her midnight walks with thepriest's son, and of the stories he had told her, and of his comrades, and of the fun she had with the travellers who stayed in the house. Themournful song stirred a longing for life and freedom. Sofya began tolaugh; she thought it sinful and terrible and sweet to hear about, andshe felt envious and sorry that she, too, had not been a sinner when shewas young and pretty. 

In the churchyard they heard twelve strokes beaten on the watchman'sboard. 

"It's time we were asleep, " said Sofya, getting up, "or, maybe, we shallcatch it from Dyudya. "

They both went softly into the yard. 

"I went away without hearing what he was telling about Mashenka, " saidVarvara, making herself a bed under the window. 

"She died in prison, he said. She poisoned her husband. "

Varvara lay down beside Sofya a while, and said softly:

"I'd make away with my Alyoshka and never regret it. "

"You talk nonsense; God forgive you. "

When Sofya was just dropping asleep, Varvara, coming close, whispered inher ear:

"Let us get rid of Dyudya and Alyoshka!"

Sofya started and said nothing. Then she opened her eyes and gazed along while steadily at the sky. 

"People would find out, " she said. 

"No, they wouldn't. Dyudya's an old man, it's time he did die; andthey'd say Alyoshka died of drink. "

"I'm afraid. .. God would chastise us. "

"Well, let Him. .. . "

Both lay awake thinking in silence. 

"It's cold, " said Sofya, beginning to shiver all over. "It will soon bemorning. .. . Are you asleep?"

"No. .. . Don't you mind what I say, dear, " whispered Varvara; "I get somad with the damned brutes, I don't know what I do say. Go to sleep, orit will be daylight directly. .. . Go to sleep. "

Both were quiet and soon they fell asleep. 

Earlier than all woke the old woman. She waked up Sofya and they wenttogether into the cowshed to milk the cows. The hunchback Alyoshka camein hopelessly drunk without his concertina; his breast and knees hadbeen in the dust and straw--he must have fallen down in the road. Staggering, he went into the cowshed, and without undressing he rolledinto a sledge and began to snore at once. When first the crosses on thechurch and then the windows were flashing in the light of the risingsun, and shadows stretched across the yard over the dewy grass fromthe trees and the top of the well, Matvey Savitch jumped up and beganhurrying about:

"Kuzka! get up!" he shouted. "It's time to put in the horses! Looksharp!"

The bustle of morning was beginning. A young Jewess in a brown gownwith flounces led a horse into the yard to drink. The pulley of the wellcreaked plaintively, the bucket knocked as it went down. .. . 

Kuzka, sleepy, tired, covered with dew, sat up in the cart, lazilyputting on his little overcoat, and listening to the drip of the waterfrom the bucket into the well as he shivered with the cold. 

"Auntie!" shouted Matvey Savitch to Sofya, "tell my lad to hurry up andto harness the horses!"

And Dyudya at the same instant shouted from the window:

"Sofya, take a farthing from the Jewess for the horse's drink! They'realways in here, the mangy creatures!"

In the street sheep were running up and down, baaing; the peasant womenwere shouting at the shepherd, while he played his pipes, cracked hiswhip, or answered them in a thick sleepy bass. Three sheep strayed intothe yard, and not finding the gate again, pushed at the fence. 

Varvara was waked by the noise, and bundling her bedding up in her arms, she went into the house. 

"You might at least drive the sheep out!" the old woman bawled afterher, "my lady!"

"I dare say! As if I were going to slave for you Herods!" mutteredVarvara, going into the house. 

Dyudya came out of the house with his accounts in his hands, sat downon the step, and began reckoning how much the traveller owed him for thenight's lodging, oats, and watering his horses. 

"You charge pretty heavily for the oats, my good man, " said MatveySavitch. 

"If it's too much, don't take them. There's no compulsion, merchant. "

When the travellers were ready to start, they were detained for aminute. Kuzka had lost his cap. 

"Little swine, where did you put it?" Matvey Savitch roared angrily. "Where is it?"

Kuzka's face was working with terror; he ran up and down near the cart, and not finding it there, ran to the gate and then to the shed. The oldwoman and Sofya helped him look. 

"I'll pull your ears off!" yelled Matvey Savitch. "Dirty brat!"

The cap was found at the bottom of the cart. 

Kuzka brushed the hay off it with his sleeve, put it on, and timidly hecrawled into the cart, still with an expression of terror on his face asthough he were afraid of a blow from behind. 

Matvey Savitch crossed himself. The driver gave a tug at the reins andthe cart rolled out of the yard. 

THE POST

IT was three o'clock in the night. The postman, ready to set off, in hiscap and his coat, with a rusty sword in his hand, was standing near thedoor, waiting for the driver to finish putting the mail bags into thecart which had just been brought round with three horses. The sleepypostmaster sat at his table, which was like a counter; he was filling upa form and saying:

"My nephew, the student, wants to go to the station at once. So lookhere, Ignatyev, let him get into the mail cart and take him with you tothe station: though it is against the regulations to take people withthe mail, what's one to do? It's better for him to drive with you freethan for me to hire horses for him. "

"Ready!" they heard a shout from the yard. 

"Well, go then, and God be with you, " said the postmaster. "Which driveris going?"

"Semyon Glazov. "

"Come, sign the receipt. "

The postman signed the receipt and went out. At the entrance of thepost-office there was the dark outline of a cart and three hors es. The horses were standing still except that one of the tracehorses keptuneasily shifting from one leg to the other and tossing its head, makingthe bell clang from time to time. The cart with the mail bags lookedlike a patch of darkness. Two silhouettes were moving lazily beside it:the student with a portmanteau in his hand and a driver. The latter wassmoking a short pipe; the light of the pipe moved about in the darkness, dying away and flaring up again; for an instant it lighted up a bit ofa sleeve, then a shaggy moustache and big copper-red nose, thenstern-looking, overhanging eyebrows. The postman pressed down the mailbags with his hands, laid his sword on them and jumped into the cart. The student clambered irresolutely in after him, and accidentallytouching him with his elbow, said timidly and politely: "I beg yourpardon. "

The pipe went out. The postmaster came out of the post-office just ashe was, in his waistcoat and slippers; shrinking from the night dampnessand clearing his throat, he walked beside the cart and said:

"Well, God speed! Give my love to your mother, Mihailo. Give my love tothem all. And you, Ignatyev, mind you don't forget to give the parcel toBystretsov. .. . Off!"

The driver took the reins in one hand, blew his nose, and, arranging theseat under himself, clicked to the horses. 

"Give them my love, " the postmaster repeated. 

The big bell clanged something to the little bells, the little bellsgave it a friendly answer. The cart squeaked, moved. The big belllamented, the little bells laughed. Standing up in his seat the driverlashed the restless tracehorse twice, and the cart rumbled with a hollowsound along the dusty road. The little town was asleep. Houses and treesstood black on each side of the broad street, and not a light was to beseen. Narrow clouds stretched here and there over the star-spangledsky, and where the dawn would soon be coming there was a narrowcrescent moon; but neither the stars, of which there were many, nor thehalf-moon, which looked white, lighted up the night air. It was cold anddamp, and there was a smell of autumn. 

The student, who thought that politeness required him to talk affably toa man who had not refused to let him accompany him, began:

"In summer it would be light at this time, but now there is not even asign of the dawn. Summer is over!"

The student looked at the sky and went on:

"Even from the sky one can see that it is autumn. Look to the right. Do you see three stars side by side in a straight line? That is theconstellation of Orion, which, in our hemisphere, only becomes visiblein September. "

The postman, thrusting his hands into his sleeves and retreating up tohis ears into his coat collar, did not stir and did not glance at thesky. Apparently the constellation of Orion did not interest him. He wasaccustomed to see the stars, and probably he had long grown weary ofthem. The student paused for a while and then said:

"It's cold! It's time for the dawn to begin. Do you know what time thesun rises?"

"What?"

"What time does the sun rise now?"

"Between five and six, " said the driver. 

The mail cart drove out of the town. Now nothing could be seen on eitherside of the road but the fences of kitchen gardens and here and therea solitary willow-tree; everything in front of them was shrouded indarkness. Here in the open country the half-moon looked bigger and thestars shone more brightly. Then came a scent of dampness; the postmanshrank further into his collar, the student felt an unpleasant chillfirst creeping about his feet, then over the mail bags, over his handsand his face. The horses moved more slowly; the bell was mute as thoughit were frozen. There was the sound of the splash of water, and starsreflected in the water danced under the horses' feet and round thewheels. 

But ten minutes later it became so dark that neither the stars nor themoon could be seen. The mail cart had entered the forest. Prickly pinebranches were continually hitting the student on his cap and a spider'sweb settled on his face. Wheels and hoofs knocked against huge roots, and the mail cart swayed from side to side as though it were drunk. 

"Keep to the road, " said the postman angrily. "Why do you run up theedge? My face is scratched all over by the twigs! Keep more to theright!"

But at that point there was nearly an accident. The cart suddenlybounded as though in the throes of a convulsion, began trembling, and, with a creak, lurched heavily first to the right and then to the left, and at a fearful pace dashed along the forest track. The horses hadtaken fright at something and bolted. 

"Wo! wo!" the driver cried in alarm. "Wo. .. You devils!"

The student, violently shaken, bent forward and tried to find somethingto catch hold of so as to keep his balance and save himself from beingthrown out, but the leather mail bags were slippery, and the driver, whose belt the student tried to catch at, was himself tossed up and downand seemed every moment on the point of flying out. Through the rattleof the wheels and the creaking of the cart they heard the sword fallwith a clank on the ground, then a little later something fell with twoheavy thuds behind the mail cart. 

"Wo!" the driver cried in a piercing voice, bending backwards. "Stop!"

The student fell on his face and bruised his forehead against thedriver's seat, but was at once tossed back again and knocked his spineviolently against the back of the cart. 

"I am falling!" was the thought that flashed through his mind, but atthat instant the horses dashed out of the forest into the open, turnedsharply to the right, and rumbling over a bridge of logs, suddenlystopped dead, and the suddenness of this halt flung the student forwardagain. 

The driver and the student were both breathless. The postman was not inthe cart. He had been thrown out, together with his sword, the student'sportmanteau, and one of the mail bags. 

"Stop, you rascal! Sto-op!" they heard him shout from the forest. "Youdamned blackguard!" he shouted, running up to the cart, and there was anote of pain and fury in his tearful voice. "You anathema, plague takeyou!" he roared, dashing up to the driver and shaking his fist at him. 

"What a to-do! Lord have mercy on us!" muttered the driver in aconscience-stricken voice, setting right something in the harness at thehorses' heads. "It's all that devil of a tracehorse. Cursed filly; itis only a week since she has run in harness. She goes all right, but assoon as we go down hill there is trouble! She wants a touch or two onthe nose, then she wouldn't play about like this. .. Stea-eady! Damn!"

While the driver was setting the horses to rights and looking for theportmanteau, the mail bag, and the sword on the road, the postman in aplaintive voice shrill with anger ejaculated oaths. After replacing theluggage the driver for no reason whatever led the horses for a hundredpaces, grumbled at the restless tracehorse, and jumped up on the box. 

When his fright was over the student felt amused and good-humoured. Itwas the first time in his life that he had driven by night in a mailcart, and the shaking he had just been through, the postman's havingbeen thrown out, and the pain in his own back struck him as interestingadventures. He lighted a cigarette and said with a laugh:

"Why you know, you might break your neck like that! I very nearly flewout, and I didn't even notice you had been thrown out. I can fancy whatit is like driving in autumn!"

The postman did not speak. 

"Have you been going with the post for long?" the student asked. 

"Eleven years. "

"Oho; every day?"

"Yes, every day. I take this post and drive back again at once. Why?"

Making the journey every day, he must have had a good many interestingadventures in eleven years. On bright summer and gloomy autumn nights, or in winter when a ferocious snowstorm whirled howling round the mailcart, it must have been hard to avoid feeling frightened and uncanny. Nodoubt more than once the horses had bolted, the mail cart had stuck inthe mud, they had been attacked by highwaymen, or had lost their way inthe blizzard. .. . 

"I can fancy what adventures you must have had in eleven years!" saidthe student. "I expect it must be terrible driving?"

He said this and expected that the postman would tell him something, but the latter preserved a sullen silence and retreated into his collar. Meanwhile it began to get light. The sky changed colour imperceptibly;it still seemed dark, but by now the horses and the driver and the roadcould be seen. The crescent moon looked bigger and bigger, and the cloudthat stretched below it, shaped like a cannon in a gun-carriage, showeda faint yellow on its lower edge. Soon the postman's face was visible. It was wet with dew, grey and rigid as the face of a corpse. Anexpression of dull, sullen anger was set upon it, as though the postmanwere still in pain and still angry with the driver. 

"Thank God it is daylight!" said the student, looking at his chilled andangry face. "I am quite frozen. The nights are cold in September, but assoon as the sun rises it isn't cold. Shall we soon reach the station?"

The postman frowned and made a wry face. 

"How fond you are of talking, upon my word!" he said. "Can't you keepquiet when you are travelling?"

The student was confused, and did not approach him again all thejourney. The morning came on rapidly. The moon turned pale and meltedaway into the dull grey sky, the cloud turned yellow all over, the starsgrew dim, but the east was still cold-looking and the same colour as therest of the sky, so that one could hardly believe the sun was hidden init. 

The chill of the morning and the surliness of the postman graduallyinfected the student. He looked apathetically at the country aroundhim, waited for the warmth of the sun, and thought of nothing but howdreadful and horrible it must be for the poor trees and the grassto endure the cold nights. The sun rose dim, drowsy, and cold. Thetree-tops were not gilded by the rays of the rising sun, as usuallydescribed, the sunbeams did not creep over the earth and there was nosign of joy in the flight of the sleepy birds. The cold remained justthe same now that the sun was up as it had been in the night. 

The student looked drowsily and ill-humouredly at the curtained windowsof a mansion by which the mail cart drove. Behind those windows, hethought, people were most likely enjoying their soundest morning sleepnot hearing the bells, nor feeling the cold, nor seeing the postman'sangry face; and if the bell did wake some young lady, she would turnover on the other side, smile in the fulness of her warmth and comfort, and, drawing up her feet and putting her hand under her cheek, would gooff to sleep more soundly than ever. 

The student looked at the pond which gleamed near the house andthought of the carp and the pike which find it possible to live in coldwater. .. . 

"It's against the regulations to take anyone with the post. .. . " thepostman said unexpectedly. "It's not allowed! And since it is notallowed, people have no business. .. To get in. .. . Yes. It makes nodifference to me, it's true, only I don't like it, and I don't wish it. "

"Why didn't you say so before, if you don't like it?"

The postman made no answer but still had an unfriendly, angryexpression. When, a little later, the horses stopped at the entrance ofthe station the student thanked him and got out of the cart. The mailtrain had not yet come in. A long goods train stood in a siding; in thetender the engine driver and his assistant, with faces wet with dew, were drinking tea from a dirty tin teapot. The carriages, the platforms, the seats were all wet and cold. Until the train came in the studentstood at the buffet drinking tea while the postman, with his handsthrust up his sleeves and the same look of anger still on his face, paced up and down the platform in solitude, staring at the ground underhis feet. 

With whom was he angry? Was it with people, with poverty, with theautumn nights?

THE NEW VILLA

I

Two miles from the village of Obrutchanovo a huge bridge was beingbuilt. From the village, which stood up high on the steep river-bank, its trellis-like skeleton could be seen, and in foggy weather andon still winter days, when its delicate iron girders and all thescaffolding around was covered with hoar frost, it presented apicturesque and even fantastic spectacle. Kutcherov, the engineer whowas building the bridge, a stout, broad-shouldered, bearded man in asoft crumpled cap drove through the village in his racing droshky or hisopen carriage. Now and then on holidays navvies working on the bridgewould come to the village; they begged for alms, laughed at the women, and sometimes carried off something. But that was rare; as a rule thedays passed quietly and peacefully as though no bridge-building weregoing on, and only in the evening, when camp fires gleamed near thebridge, the wind faintly wafted the songs of the navvies. And by daythere was sometimes the mournful clang of metal, don-don-don. 

It happened that the engineer's wife came to see him. She was pleasedwith the river-banks and the gorgeous view over the green valley withtrees, churches, flocks, and she began begging her husband to buy asmall piece of ground and to build them a cottage on it. Her husbandagreed. They bought sixty acres of land, and on the high bank in afield, where in earlier days the cows of Obrutchanovo used to wander, they built a pretty house of two storeys with a terrace and a verandah, with a tower and a flagstaff on which a flag fluttered on Sundays--theybuilt it in about three months, and then all the winter they wereplanting big trees, and when spring came and everything began to begreen there were already avenues to the new house, a gardener and twolabourers in white aprons were digging near it, there was a littlefountain, and a globe of looking-glass flashed so brilliantly that itwas painful to look at. The house had already been named the New Villa. 

On a bright, warm morning at the end of May two horses were brought toObrutchanovo to the village blacksmith, Rodion Petrov. They came fromthe New Villa. The horses were sleek, graceful beasts, as white as snow, and strikingly alike. 

"Perfect swans!" said Rodion, gazing at them with reverent admiration. 

His wife Stepanida, his children and grandchildren came out into thestreet to look at them. By degrees a crowd collected. The Lytchkovs, father and son, both men with swollen faces and entirely beardless, cameup bareheaded. Kozov, a tall, thin old man with a long, narrow beard, came up leaning on a stick with a crook handle: he kept winking with hiscrafty eyes and smiling ironically as though he knew something. 

"It's only that they are white; what is there in them?" he said. "Putmine on oats, and they will be just as sleek. They ought to be in aplough and with a whip, too. .. . "

The coachman simply looked at him with disdain, but did not utter aword. And afterwards, while they were blowing up the fire at the forge, the coachman talked while he smoked cigarettes. The peasants learnedfrom him various details: his employers were wealthy people; hismistress, Elena Ivanovna, had till her marriage lived in Moscow in apoor way as a governess; she was kind-hearted, compassionate, and fondof helping the poor. On the new estate, he told them, they were notgoing to plough or to sow, but simply to live for their pleasure, liveonly to breathe the fresh air. When he had finished and led the horsesback a crowd of boys followed him, the dogs barked, and Kozov, lookingafter him, winked sarcastically. 

"Landowners, too-oo!" he said. "They have built a house and set uphorses, but I bet they are nobodies--landowners, too-oo. "

Kozov for some reason took a dislike from the first to the new house, to the white horses, and to the handsome, well-fed coachman. Kozov wasa solitary man, a widower; he had a dreary life (he was prevented fromworking by a disease which he sometimes called a rupture and sometimesworms) he was maintained by his son, who worked at a confectioner'sin Harkov and sent him money; and from early morning till evening hesauntered at leisure about the river or about the village; if he saw, for instance, a peasant carting a log, or fishing, he would say: "Thatlog's dry wood--it is rotten, " or, "They won't bite in weather likethis. " In times of drought he would declare that there would not be adrop of rain till the frost came; and when the rains came he would saythat everything would rot in the fields, that everything was ruined. Andas he said these things he would wink as though he knew something. 

At the New Villa they burned Bengal lights and sent up fireworks in theevenings, and a sailing-boat with red lanterns floated by Obrutchanovo. One morning the engineer's wife, Elena Ivanovna, and her little daughterdrove to the village in a carriage with yellow wheels and a pair of darkbay ponies; both mother and daughter were wearing broad-brimmed strawhats, bent down over their ears. 

This was exactly at the time when they were carting manure, and theblacksmith Rodion, a tall, gaunt old man, bareheaded and barefooted, was standing near his dirty and repulsive-looking cart and, flustered, looked at the ponies, and it was evident by his face that he had neverseen such little horses before. 

"The Kutcherov lady has come!" was whispered around. "Look, theKutcherov lady has come!"

Elena Ivanovna looked at the huts as though she were selecting one, andthen stopped at the very poorest, at the windows of which there were somany children's heads--flaxen, red, and dark. Stepanida, Rodion's wife, a stout woman, came running out of the hut; her kerchief slipped offher grey head; she looked at the carriage facing the sun, and her facesmiled and wrinkled up as though she were blind. 

"This is for your children, " said Elena Ivanovna, and she gave her threeroubles. 

Stepanida suddenly burst into tears and bowed down to the ground. Rodion, too, flopped to the ground, displaying his brownish bald head, and as he did so he almost caught his wife in the ribs with the fork. Elena Ivanovna was overcome with confusion and drove back. 

II

The Lytchkovs, father and son, caught in their meadows two cart-horses, a pony, and a broad-faced Aalhaus bull-calf, and with the help ofred-headed Volodka, son of the blacksmith Rodion, drove them to thevillage. They called the village elder, collected witnesses, and went tolook at the damage. 

"All right, let 'em!" said Kozov, winking, "le-et em! Let them get outof it if they can, the engineers! Do you think there is no such thing aslaw? All right! Send for the police inspector, draw up a statement!. .. "

"Draw up a statement, " repeated Volodka. 

"I don't want to let this pass!" shouted the younger Lytchkov. Heshouted louder and louder, and his beardless face seemed to be more andmore swollen. "They've set up a nice fashion! Leave them free, and theywill ruin all the meadows! You've no sort of right to ill-treat people!We are not serfs now!"

"We are not serfs now!" repeated Volodka. 

"We got on all right without a bridge, " said the elder Lytchkovgloomily; "we did not ask for it. What do we want a bridge for? We don'twant it!"

"Brothers, good Christians, we cannot leave it like this!"

"All right, let 'em!" said Kozov, winking. "Let them get out of it ifthey can! Landowners, indeed!"

They went back to the village, and as they walked the younger Lytchkovbeat himself on the breast with his fist and shouted all the way, andVolodka shouted, too, repeating his words. And meanwhile quite a crowdhad gathered in the village round the thoroughbred bull-calf and thehorses. The bullcalf was embarrassed and looked up from under his brows, but suddenly lowered his muzzle to the ground and took to his heels, kicking up his hind legs; Kozov was frightened and waved his stick athim, and they all burst out laughing. Then they locked up the beasts andwaited. 

In the evening the engineer sent five roubles for the damage, and thetwo horses, the pony and the bull-calf, without being fed or givenwater, returned home, their heads hanging with a guilty air as thoughthey were convicted criminals. 

On getting the five roubles the Lytchkovs, father and son, the villageelder and Volodka, punted over the river in a boat and went to ahamlet on the other side where there was a tavern, and there had a longcarousal. Their singing and the shouting of the younger Lytchkov couldbe heard from the village. Their women were uneasy and did not sleep allnight. Rodion did not sleep either. 

"It's a bad business, " he said, sighing and turning from side to side. "The gentleman will be angry, and then there will be trouble. .. . Theyhave insulted the gentleman. .. . Oh, they've insulted him. It's a badbusiness. .. "

It happened that the peasants, Rodion amongst them, went into theirforest to divide the clearings for mowing, and as they were returninghome they were met by the engineer. He was wearing a red cotton shirtand high boots; a setter dog with its long tongue hanging out, followedbehind him. 

"Good-day, brothers, " he said. 

The peasants stopped and took off their hats. 

"I have long wanted to have a talk with you, friends, " he went on. "Thisis what it is. Ever since the early spring your cattle have been in mycopse and garden every day. Everything is trampled down; the pigs haverooted up the meadow, are ruining everything in the kitchen garden, andall the undergrowth in the copse is destroyed. There is no getting onwith your herdsmen; one asks them civilly, and they are rude. Damage isdone on my estate every day and I do nothing--I don't fine you or makea complaint; meanwhile you impounded my horses and my bull calf andexacted five roubles. Was that right? Is that neighbourly?" he wenton, and his face was so soft and persuasive, and his expression was notforbidding. "Is that the way decent people behave? A week ago one ofyour people cut down two oak saplings in my copse. You have dug upthe road to Eresnevo, and now I have to go two miles round. Why do youinjure me at every step? What harm have I done you? For God's sake, tellme! My wife and I do our utmost to live with you in peace and harmony;we help the peasants as we can. My wife is a kind, warm-hearted woman;she never refuses you help. That is her dream--to be of use to you andyour children. You reward us with evil for our good. You are unjust, myfriends. Think of that. I ask you earnestly to think it over. We treatyou humanely; repay us in the same coin. "

He turned and went away. The peasants stood a little longer, put ontheir caps and walked away. Rodion, who always understood everythingthat was said to him in some peculiar way of his own, heaved a sigh andsaid:

"We must pay. 'Repay in coin, my friends'. .. He said. "

They walked to the village in silence. On reaching home Rodion said hisprayer, took off his boots, and sat down on the bench beside his wife. Stepanida and he always sat side by side when they were at home, andalways walked side by side in the street; they ate and they drank andthey slept always together, and the older they grew the more theyloved one another. It was hot and crowded in their hut, and there werechildren everywhere--on the floors, in the windows, on the stove. .. . Inspite of her advanced years Stepanida was still bearing children, andnow, looking at the crowd of children, it was hard to distinguish whichwere Rodion's and which were Volodka's. Volodka's wife, Lukerya, a plainyoung woman with prominent eyes and a nose like the beak of a bird, waskneading dough in a tub; Volodka was sitting on the stove with his legshanging. 

"On the road near Nikita's buckwheat. .. The engineer with his dog. .. "Rodion began, after a rest, scratching his ribs and his elbow. "'Youmust pay, ' says he. .. 'coin, ' says he. .. . Coin or no coin, we shall haveto collect ten kopecks from every hut. We've offended the gentleman verymuch. I am sorry for him. .. . "

"We've lived without a bridge, " said Volodka, not looking at anyone, "and we don't want one. "

"What next; the bridge is a government business. "

"We don't want it. "

"Your opinion is not asked. What is it to you?"

"'Your opinion is not asked, '" Volodka mimicked him. "We don't wantto drive anywhere; what do we want with a bridge? If we have to, we cancross by the boat. "

Someone from the yard outside knocked at the window so violently that itseemed to shake the whole hut. 

"Is Volodka at home?" he heard the voice of the younger Lytchkov. "Volodka, come out, come along. "

Volodka jumped down off the stove and began looking for his cap. 

"Don't go, Volodka, " said Rodion diffidently. "Don't go with them, son. You are foolish, like a little child; they will teach you no good; don'tgo!"

"Don't go, son, " said Stepanida, and she blinked as though about to shedtears. "I bet they are calling you to the tavern. "

"'To the tavern, '" Volodka mimicked. 

"You'll come back drunk again, you currish Herod, " said Lukerya, lookingat him angrily. "Go along, go along, and may you burn up with vodka, youtailless Satan!"

"You hold your tongue, " shouted Volodka. 

"They've married me to a fool, they've ruined me, a luckless orphan, you red-headed drunkard. .. " wailed Lukerya, wiping her face with a handcovered with dough. "I wish I had never set eyes on you. "

Volodka gave her a blow on the ear and went off. 

III

Elena Ivanovna and her little daughter visited the village on foot. Theywere out for a walk. It was a Sunday, and the peasant women and girlswere walking up and down the street in their brightly-coloured dresses. Rodion and Stepanida, sitting side by side at their door, bowed andsmiled to Elena Ivanovna and her little daughter as to acquaintances. From the windows more than a dozen children stared at them; their facesexpressed amazement and curiosity, and they could be heard whispering:

"The Kutcherov lady has come! The Kutcherov lady!"

"Good-morning, " said Elena Ivanovna, and she stopped; she paused, andthen asked: "Well, how are you getting on?"

"We get along all right, thank God, " answered Rodion, speaking rapidly. "To be sure we get along. "

"The life we lead!" smiled Stepanida. "You can see our povertyyourself, dear lady! The family is fourteen souls in all, and only twobread-winners. We are supposed to be blacksmiths, but when they bring usa horse to shoe we have no coal, nothing to buy it with. We are worriedto death, lady, " she went on, and laughed. "Oh, oh, we are worried todeath. "

Elena Ivanovna sat down at the entrance and, putting her arm round herlittle girl, pondered something, and judging from the little girl'sexpression, melancholy thoughts were straying through her mind, too; asshe brooded she played with the sumptuous lace on the parasol she hadtaken out of her mother's hands. 

"Poverty, " said Rodion, "a great deal of anxiety--you see no end to it. Here, God sends no rain. .. Our life is not easy, there is no denyingit. "

"You have a hard time in this life, " said Elena Ivanovna, "but in theother world you will be happy. "

Rodion did not understand her, and simply coughed into his clenched handby way of reply. Stepanida said:

"Dear lady, the rich men will be all right in the next world, too. Therich put up candles, pay for services; the rich give to beggars, butwhat can the poor man do? He has no time to make the sign of the cross. He is the beggar of beggars himself; how can he think of his soul? Andmany sins come from poverty; from trouble we snarl at one another likedogs, we haven't a good word to say to one another, and all sorts ofthings happen, dear lady--God forbid! It seems we have no luck in thisworld nor the next. All the luck has fallen to the rich. "

She spoke gaily; she was evidently used to talking of her hard life. AndRodion smiled, too; he was pleased that his old woman was so clever, soready of speech. 

"It is only on the surface that the rich seem to be happy, " said ElenaIvanovna. "Every man has his sorrow. Here my husband and I do not livepoorly, we have means, but are we happy? I am young, but I have hadfour children; my children are always being ill. I am ill, too, andconstantly being doctored. "

"And what is your illness?" asked Rodion. 

"A woman's complaint. I get no sleep; a continual headache gives me nopeace. Here I am sitting and talking, but my head is bad, I am weak allover, and I should prefer the hardest labour to such a condition. Mysoul, too, is troubled; I am in continual fear for my children, myhusband. Every family has its own trouble of some sort; we have ours. I am not of noble birth. My grandfather was a simple peasant, my fatherwas a tradesman in Moscow; he was a plain, uneducated man, too, while myhusband's parents were wealthy and distinguished. They did not want himto marry me, but he disobeyed them, quarrelled with them, and they havenot forgiven us to this day. That worries my husband; it troubles himand keeps him in constant agitation; he loves his mother, loves herdearly. So I am uneasy, too, my soul is in pain. "

Peasants, men and women, were by now standing round Rodion's hut andlistening. Kozov came up, too, and stood twitching his long, narrowbeard. The Lytchkovs, father and son, drew near. 

"And say what you like, one cannot be happy and satisfied if one doesnot feel in one's proper place. " Elena Ivanovna went on. "Each of youhas his strip of land, each of you works and knows what he is workingfor; my husband builds bridges--in short, everyone has his place, whileI, I simply walk about. I have not my bit to work. I don't work, andfeel as though I were an outsider. I am saying all this that you may notjudge from outward appearances; if a man is expensively dressed and hasmeans it does not prove that he is satisfied with his life. "

She got up to go away and took her daughter by the hand. 

"I like your place here very much, " she said, and smiled, and from thatfaint, diffident smile one could tell how unwell she really was, howyoung and how pretty; she had a pale, thinnish face with dark eyebrowsand fair hair. And the little girl was just such another as her mother:thin, fair, and slender. There was a fragrance of scent about them. 

"I like the river and the forest and the village, " Elena Ivanovna wenton; "I could live here all my life, and I feel as though here Ishould get strong and find my place. I want to help you--I want todreadfully--to be of use, to be a real friend to you. I know your need, and what I don't know I feel, my heart guesses. I am sick, feeble, andfor me perhaps it is not possible to change my life as I would. But Ihave children. I will try to bring them up that they may be of use toyou, may love you. I shall impress upon them continually that their lifedoes not belong to them, but to you. Only I beg you earnestly, I beseechyou, trust us, live in friendship with us. My husband is a kind, goodman. Don't worry him, don't irritate him. He is sensitive to everytrifle, and yesterday, for instance, your cattle were in our vegetablegarden, and one of your people broke down the fence to the bee-hives, and such an attitude to us drives my husband to despair. I beg you, "she went on in an imploring voice, and she clasped her hands on herbosom--"I beg you to treat us as good neighbours; let us live in peace!There is a saying, you know, that even a bad peace is better than agood quarrel, and, 'Don't buy property, but buy neighbours. ' I repeatmy husband is a kind man and good; if all goes well we promise to doeverything in our power for you; we will mend the roads, we will build aschool for your children. I promise you. "

"Of course we thank you humbly, lady, " said Lytchkov the father, lookingat the ground; "you are educated people; it is for you to know best. Only, you see, Voronov, a rich peasant at Eresnevo, promised to builda school; he, too, said, 'I will do this for you, ' 'I will do that foryou, ' and he only put up the framework and refused to go on. And thenthey made the peasants put the roof on and finish it; it cost them athousand roubles. Voronov did not care; he only stroked his beard, butthe peasants felt it a bit hard. "

"That was a crow, but now there's a rook, too, " said Kozov, and hewinked. 

There was the sound of laughter. 

"We don't want a school, " said Volodka sullenly. "Our children go toPetrovskoe, and they can go on going there; we don't want it. "

Elena Ivanovna seemed suddenly intimidated; her face looked paler andthinner, she shrank into herself as though she had been touched withsomething coarse, and walked away without uttering another word. And shewalked more and more quickly, without looking round. 

"Lady, " said Rodion, walking after her, "lady, wait a bit; hear what Iwould say to you. "

He followed her without his cap, and spoke softly as though begging. 

"Lady, wait and hear what I will say to you. "

They had walked out of the village, and Elena Ivanovna stopped beside acart in the shade of an old mountain ash. 

"Don't be offended, lady, " said Rodion. "What does it mean? Havepatience. Have patience for a couple of years. You will live here, youwill have patience, and it will all come round. Our folks are good andpeaceable; there's no harm in them; it's God's truth I'm telling you. Don't mind Kozov and the Lytchkovs, and don't mind Volodka. He's a fool;he listens to the first that speaks. The others are quiet folks; theyare silent. Some would be glad, you know, to say a word from the heartand to stand up for themselves, but cannot. They have a heart and aconscience, but no tongue. Don't be offended. .. Have patience. .. . Whatdoes it matter?"

Elena Ivanovna looked at the broad, tranquil river, pondering, andtears flowed down her cheeks. And Rodion was troubled by those tears; healmost cried himself. 

"Never mind. .. " he muttered. "Have patience for a couple of years. Youcan have the school, you can have the roads, only not all at once. Ifyou went, let us say, to sow corn on that mound you would first have toweed it out, to pick out all the stones, and then to plough, and workand work. .. And with the people, you see, it is the same. .. You mustwork and work until you overcome them. "

The crowd had moved away from Rodion's hut, and was coming along thestreet towards the mountain ash. They began singing songs and playingthe concertina, and they kept coming closer and closer. .. . 

"Mamma, let us go away from here, " said the little girl, huddling up toher mother, pale and shaking all over; "let us go away, mamma!

"Where?"

"To Moscow. .. . Let us go, mamma. "

The child began crying. 

Rodion was utterly overcome; his face broke into profuse perspiration;he took out of his pocket a little crooked cucumber, like a half-moon, covered with crumbs of rye bread, and began thrusting it into the littlegirl's hands. 

"Come, come, " he muttered, scowling severely; "take the little cucumber, eat it up. .. . You mustn't cry. Mamma will whip you. .. . She'll tell yourfather of you when you get home. Come, come. .. . "

They walked on, and he still followed behind them, wanting to saysomething friendly and persuasive to them. And seeing that they wereboth absorbed in their own thoughts and their own griefs, and notnoticing him, he stopped and, shading his eyes from the sun, lookedafter them for a long time till they disappeared into their copse. 

IV

The engineer seemed to grow irritable and petty, and in every trivialincident saw an act of robbery or outrage. His gate was kept bolted evenby day, and at night two watchmen walked up and down the garden beatinga board; and they gave up employing anyone from Obrutchanovo as alabourer. As ill-luck would have it someone (either a peasant or one ofthe workmen) took the new wheels off the cart and replaced them byold ones, then soon afterwards two bridles and a pair of pincers werecarried off, and murmurs arose even in the village. People began to saythat a search should be made at the Lytchkovs' and at Volodka's, andthen the bridles and the pincers were found under the hedge in theengineer's garden; someone had thrown them down there. 

It happened that the peasants were coming in a crowd out of the forest, and again they met the engineer on the road. He stopped, and withoutwishing them good-day he began, looking angrily first at one, then atanother:

"I have begged you not to gather mushrooms in the park and near theyard, but to leave them for my wife and children, but your girls comebefore daybreak and there is not a mushroom left. .. . Whether one asksyou or not it makes no difference. Entreaties, and friendliness, andpersuasion I see are all useless. "

He fixed his indignant eyes on Rodion and went on:

"My wife and I behaved to you as human beings, as to our equals, andyou? But what's the use of talking! It will end by our looking down uponyou. There is nothing left!"

And making an effort to restrain his anger, not to say too much, heturned and went on. 

On getting home Rodion said his prayer, took off his boots, and sat downbeside his wife. 

"Yes. .. " he began with a sigh. "We were walking along just now, and Mr. Kutcherov met us. .. . Yes. .. . He saw the girls at daybreak. .. 'Why don'tthey bring mushrooms, '. .. He said 'to my wife and children?' he said. .. . And then he looked at me and he said: 'I and my wife will look afteryou, ' he said. I wanted to fall down at his feet, but I hadn't thecourage. .. . God give him health. .. God bless him!. .. "

Stephania crossed herself and sighed. 

"They are kind, simple-hearted people, " Rodion went on. "'We shall lookafter you. '. .. He promised me that before everyone. In our old age. .. It wouldn't be a bad thing. .. . I should always pray for them. .. . HolyMother, bless them. .. . "

The Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross, the fourteenth of September, was the festival of the village church. The Lytchkovs, father and son, went across the river early in the morning and returned to dinner drunk;they spent a long time going about the village, alternately singing andswearing; then they had a fight and went to the New Villa to complain. First Lytchkov the father went into the yard with a long ashen stick inhis hands. He stopped irresolutely and took off his hat. Just atthat moment the engineer and his family were sitting on the verandah, drinking tea. 

"What do you want?" shouted the engineer. 

"Your honour. .. " Lytchkov began, and burst into tears. "Show the Divinemercy, protect me. .. My son makes my life a misery. .. Your honour. .. "

Lytchkov the son walked up, too; he, too, was bareheaded and had a stickin his hand; he stopped and fixed his drunken senseless eyes on theverandah. 

"It is not my business to settle your affairs, " said the engineer. "Goto the rural captain or the police officer. "

"I have been everywhere. .. . I have lodged a petition. .. " said Lytchkovthe father, and he sobbed. "Where can I go now? He can kill me now, itseems. He can do anything. Is that the way to treat a father? A father?"

He raised his stick and hit his son on the head; the son raised hisstick and struck his father just on his bald patch such a blow thatthe stick bounced back. The father did not even flinch, but hit hisson again and again on the head. And so they stood and kept hitting oneanother on the head, and it looked not so much like a fight as some sortof a game. And peasants, men and women, stood in a crowd at the gate andlooked into the garden, and the faces of all were grave. They were thepeasants who had come to greet them for the holiday, but seeing theLytchkovs, they were ashamed and did not go in. 

The next morning Elena Ivanovna went with the children to Moscow. Andthere was a rumour that the engineer was selling his house. .. . 

V

The peasants had long ago grown used to the sight of the bridge, and itwas difficult to imagine the river at that place without a bridge. Theheap of rubble left from the building of it had long been overgrown withgrass, the navvies were forgotten, and instead of the strains of the"Dubinushka" that they used to sing, the peasants heard almost everyhour the sounds of a passing train. 

The New Villa has long ago been sold; now it belongs to a governmentclerk who comes here from the town for the holidays with his family, drinks tea on the terrace, and then goes back to the town again. Hewears a cockade on his cap; he talks and clears his throat as thoughhe were a very important official, though he is only of the rank of acollegiate secretary, and when the peasants bow he makes no response. 

In Obrutchanovo everyone has grown older; Kozov is dead. In Rodion's hutthere are even more children. Volodka has grown a long red beard. Theyare still as poor as ever. 

In the early spring the Obrutchanovo peasants were sawing wood near thestation. And after work they were going home; they walked without hasteone after the other. Broad saws curved over their shoulders; the sun wasreflected in them. The nightingales were singing in the bushes on thebank, larks were trilling in the heavens. It was quiet at the New Villa;there was not a soul there, and only golden pigeons--golden because thesunlight was streaming upon them--were flying over the house. All ofthem--Rodion, the two Lytchkovs, and Volodka--thought of the whitehorses, the little ponies, the fireworks, the boat with the lanterns;they remembered how the engineer's wife, so beautiful and so grandlydressed, had come into the village and talked to them in such a friendlyway. And it seemed as though all that had never been; it was like adream or a fairy-tale. 

They trudged along, tired out, and mused as they went. .. . In theirvillage, they mused, the people were good, quiet, sensible, fearing God, and Elena Ivanovna, too, was quiet, kind, and gentle; it made one sad tolook at her, but why had they not got on together? Why had they partedlike enemies? How was it that some mist had shrouded from their eyeswhat mattered most, and had let them see nothing but damage done bycattle, bridles, pincers, and all those trivial things which now, asthey remembered them, seemed so nonsensical? How was it that with thenew owner they lived in peace, and yet had been on bad terms with theengineer?

And not knowing what answer to make to these questions they were allsilent except Volodka, who muttered something. 

"What is it?" Rodion asked. 

"We lived without a bridge. .. " said Volodka gloomily. "We lived withouta bridge, and did not ask for one. .. And we don't want it. .. . "

No one answered him and they walked on in silence with drooping heads. 

DREAMS

Two peasant constables--one a stubby, black-bearded individual with suchexceptionally short legs that if you looked at him from behind it seemedas though his legs began much lower down than in other people; theother, long, thin, and straight as a stick, with a scanty beard of darkreddish colour--were escorting to the district town a tramp who refusedto remember his name. The first waddled along, looking from side toside, chewing now a straw, now his own sleeve, slapping himself on thehaunches and humming, and altogether had a careless and frivolous air;the other, in spite of his lean face and narrow shoulders, looked solid, grave, and substantial; in the lines and expression of his whole figurehe was like the priests among the Old Believers, or the warriors whoare painted on old-fashioned ikons. "For his wisdom God had added tohis forehead"--that is, he was bald--which increased the resemblancereferred to. The first was called Andrey Ptaha, the second NikandrSapozhnikov. 

The man they were escorting did not in the least correspond with theconception everyone has of a tramp. He was a frail little man, weakand sickly-looking, with small, colourless, and extremely indefinitefeatures. His eyebrows were scanty, his expression mild and submissive;he had scarcely a trace of a moustache, though he was over thirty. He walked along timidly, bent forward, with his hands thrust into hissleeves. The collar of his shabby cloth overcoat, which did not looklike a peasant's, was turned up to the very brim of his cap, so thatonly his little red nose ventured to peep out into the light of day. Hespoke in an ingratiating tenor, continually coughing. It was very, verydifficult to believe that he was a tramp concealing his surname. He wasmore like an unsuccessful priest's son, stricken by God and reduced tobeggary; a clerk discharged for drunkenness; a merchant's son or nephewwho had tried his feeble powers in a theatrical career, and was nowgoing home to play the last act in the parable of the prodigal son;perhaps, judging by the dull patience with which he struggled with thehopeless autumn mud, he might have been a fanatical monk, wandering fromone Russian monastery to another, continually seeking "a peaceful life, free from sin, " and not finding it. .. . 

The travellers had been a long while on their way, but they seemed tobe always on the same small patch of ground. In front of them therestretched thirty feet of muddy black-brown mud, behind them the same, and wherever one looked further, an impenetrable wall of white fog. They went on and on, but the ground remained the same, the wall was nonearer, and the patch on which they walked seemed still the same patch. They got a glimpse of a white, clumsy-looking stone, a small ravine, or a bundle of hay dropped by a passer-by, the brief glimmer of a greatmuddy puddle, or, suddenly, a shadow with vague outlines would come intoview ahead of them; the nearer they got to it the smaller and darker itbecame; nearer still, and there stood up before the wayfarers a slantingmilestone with the number rubbed off, or a wretched birch-tree drenchedand bare like a wayside beggar. The birch-tree would whisper somethingwith what remained of its yellow leaves, one leaf would break off andfloat lazily to the ground. .. . And then again fog, mud, the brown grassat the edges of the road. On the grass hung dingy, unfriendly tears. They were not the tears of soft joy such as the earth weeps at welcomingthe summer sun and parting from it, and such as she gives to drinkat dawn to the corncrakes, quails, and graceful, long-beaked crestedsnipes. The travellers' feet stuck in the heavy, clinging mud. Everystep cost an effort. 

Andrey Ptaha was somewhat excited. He kept looking round at the trampand trying to understand how a live, sober man could fail to rememberhis name. 

"You are an orthodox Christian, aren't you?" he asked. 

"Yes, " the tramp answered mildly. 

"H'm. .. Then you've been christened?"

"Why, to be sure! I'm not a Turk. I go to church and to the sacrament, and do not eat meat when it is forbidden. And I observe my religiousduties punctually. .. . "

"Well, what are you called, then?"

"Call me what you like, good man. "

Ptaha shrugged his shoulders and slapped himself on the haunches inextreme perplexity. The other constable, Nikandr Sapozhnikov, maintaineda staid silence. He was not so naive as Ptaha, and apparently knew verywell the reasons which might induce an orthodox Christian to concealhis name from other people. His expressive face was cold and stern. Hewalked apart and did not condescend to idle chatter with his companions, but, as it were, tried to show everyone, even the fog, his sedatenessand discretion. 

"God knows what to make of you, " Ptaha persisted in addressing thetramp. "Peasant you are not, and gentleman you are not, but some sort ofa thing between. .. . The other day I was washing a sieve in the pond andcaught a reptile--see, as long as a finger, with gills and a tail. Thefirst minute I thought it was a fish, then I looked--and, blow it! if ithadn't paws. It was not a fish, it was a viper, and the deuce only knowswhat it was. .. . So that's like you. .. . What's your calling?"

"I am a peasant and of peasant family, " sighed the tramp. "My mamma wasa house serf. I don't look like a peasant, that's true, for such hasbeen my lot, good man. My mamma was a nurse with the gentry, and hadevery comfort, and as I was of her flesh and blood, I lived with her inthe master's house. She petted and spoiled me, and did her best to takeme out of my humble class and make a gentleman of me. I slept in abed, every day I ate a real dinner, I wore breeches and shoes like agentleman's child. What my mamma ate I was fed on, too; they gave herstuffs as a present, and she dressed me up in them. .. . We lived well! Iate so many sweets and cakes in my childish years that if they couldbe sold now it would be enough to buy a good horse. Mamma taught meto read and write, she instilled the fear of God in me from my earliestyears, and she so trained me that now I can't bring myself to utter anunrefined peasant word. And I don't drink vodka, my lad, and am neat inmy dress, and know how to behave with decorum in good society. If sheis still living, God give her health; and if she is dead, then, O Lord, give her soul peace in Thy Kingdom, wherein the just are at rest. "

The tramp bared his head with the scanty hair standing up like a brushon it, turned his eyes upward and crossed himself twice. 

"Grant her, O Lord, a verdant and peaceful resting-place, " he said ina drawling voice, more like an old woman's than a man's. "Teach Thyservant Xenia Thy justifications, O Lord! If it had not been formy beloved mamma I should have been a peasant with no sort ofunderstanding! Now, young man, ask me about anything and I understandit all: the holy Scriptures and profane writings, and every prayer andcatechism. I live according to the Scriptures. .. . I don't injure anyone, I keep my flesh in purity and continence, I observe the fasts, I eat atfitting times. Another man will take no pleasure in anything but vodkaand lewd talk, but when I have time I sit in a corner and read a book. Iread and I weep and weep. "

"What do you weep for?"

"They write so pathetically! For some books one gives but a five-kopeckpiece, and yet one weeps and sighs exceedingly over it. "

"Is your father dead?" asked Ptaha. 

"I don't know, good man. I don't know my parent; it is no use concealingit. I judge that I was mamma's illegitimate son. My mamma lived all herlife with the gentry, and did not want to marry a simple peasant. .. . "

"And so she fell into the master's hands, " laughed Ptaha. 

"She did transgress, that's true. She was pious, God-fearing, but shedid not keep her maiden purity. It is a sin, of course, a great sin, there's no doubt about it, but to make up for it there is, maybe, nobleblood in me. Maybe I am only a peasant by class, but in nature a noblegentleman. "

The "noble gentleman" uttered all this in a soft, sugary tenor, wrinkling up his narrow forehead and emitting creaking sounds from hisred, frozen little nose. Ptaha listened and looked askance at him inwonder, continually shrugging his shoulders. 

After going nearly five miles the constables and the tramp sat down on amound to rest. 

"Even a dog knows his name, " Ptaha muttered. "My name is Andryushka, his is Nikandr; every man has his holy name, and it can't be forgotten. Nohow. "

"Who has any need to know my name?" sighed the tramp, leaning his cheekon his fist. "And what advantage would it be to me if they did know it?If I were allowed to go where I would--but it would only make thingsworse. I know the law, Christian brothers. Now I am a tramp who doesn'tremember his name, and it's the very most if they send me to EasternSiberia and give me thirty or forty lashes; but if I were to tell themmy real name and description they would send me back to hard labour, Iknow!"

"Why, have you been a convict?"

"I have, dear friend. For four years I went about with my head shavedand fetters on my legs. "

"What for?"

"For murder, my good man! When I was still a boy of eighteen or so, my mamma accidentally poured arsenic instead of soda and acid into mymaster's glass. There were boxes of all sorts in the storeroom, numbersof them; it was easy to make a mistake over them. "

The tramp sighed, shook his head, and said:

"She was a pious woman, but, who knows? another man's soul is aslumbering forest! It may have been an accident, or maybe she couldnot endure the affront of seeing the master prefer another servant. .. . Perhaps she put it in on purpose, God knows! I was young then, anddid not understand it all. .. Now I remember that our master had takenanother mistress and mamma was greatly disturbed. Our trial lastednearly two years. .. . Mamma was condemned to penal servitude for twentyyears, and I, on account of my youth, only to seven. "

"And why were you sentenced?"

"As an accomplice. I handed the glass to the master. That was always thecustom. Mamma prepared the soda and I handed it to him. Only I tell youall this as a Christian, brothers, as I would say it before God. Don'tyou tell anybody. .. . "

"Oh, nobody's going to ask us, " said Ptaha. "So you've run away fromprison, have you?"

"I have, dear friend. Fourteen of us ran away. Some folks, Godbless them! ran away and took me with them. Now you tell me, on yourconscience, good man, what reason have I to disclose my name? They willsend me back to penal servitude, you know! And I am not fit for penalservitude! I am a refined man in delicate health. I like to sleep andeat in cleanliness. When I pray to God I like to light a little lampor a candle, and not to have a noise around me. When I bow down to theground I like the floor not to be dirty or spat upon. And I bow downforty times every morning and evening, praying for mamma. "

The tramp took off his cap and crossed himself. 

"And let them send me to Eastern Siberia, " he said; "I am not afraid ofthat. "

"Surely that's no better?"

"It is quite a different thing. In penal servitude you are like a crabin a basket: crowding, crushing, jostling, there's no room to breathe;it's downright hell--such hell, may the Queen of Heaven keep us fromit! You are a robber and treated like a robber--worse than any dog. Youcan't sleep, you can't eat or even say your prayers. But it's not likethat in a settlement. In a settlement I shall be a member of a communelike other people. The authorities are bound by law to give me myshare. .. Ye-es! They say the land costs nothing, no more than snow; youcan take what you like! They will give me corn land and building landand garden. .. . I shall plough my fields like other people, sow seed. Ishall have cattle and stock of all sorts, bees, sheep, and dogs. .. . ASiberian cat, that rats and mice may not devour my goods. .. . I will putup a house, I shall buy ikons. .. . Please God, I'll get married, I shallhave children. .. . "

The tramp muttered and looked, not at his listeners, but away into thedistance. Naive as his dreams were, they were uttered in such a genuineand heartfelt tone that it was difficult not to believe in them. Thetramp's little mouth was screwed up in a smile. His eyes and little noseand his whole face were fixed and blank with blissful anticipation ofhappiness in the distant future. The constables listened and looked athim gravely, not without sympathy. They, too, believed in his dreams. 

"I am not afraid of Siberia, " the tramp went on muttering. "Siberia isjust as much Russia and has the same God and Tsar as here. They are justas orthodox Christians as you and I. Only there is more freedom thereand people are better off. Everything is better there. Take the riversthere, for instance; they are far better than those here. There's no endof fish; and all sorts of wild fowl. And my greatest pleasure, brothers, is fishing. Give me no bread to eat, but let me sit with a fishhook. Yes, indeed! I fish with a hook and with a wire line, and set creels, and when the ice comes I catch with a net. I am not strong to drawup the net, so I shall hire a man for five kopecks. And, Lord, what apleasure it is! You catch an eel-pout or a roach of some sort and areas pleased as though you had met your own brother. And would you believeit, there's a special art for every fish: you catch one with a livebait, you catch another with a grub, the third with a frog or agrasshopper. One has to understand all that, of course! For example, take the eel-pout. It is not a delicate fish--it will take a perch; anda pike loves a gudgeon, the _shilishper_ likes a butterfly. If you fishfor a roach in a rapid stream there is no greater pleasure. You throwthe line of seventy feet without lead, with a butterfly or a beetle, sothat the bait floats on the surface; you stand in the water without yourtrousers and let it go with the current, and tug! the roach pulls at it!Only you have got to be artful that he doesn't carry off the b ait, thedamned rascal. As soon as he tugs at your line you must whip it up; it'sno good waiting. It's wonderful what a lot of fish I've caught in mytime. When we were running away the other convicts would sleep in theforest; I could not sleep, but I was off to the river. The rivers thereare wide and rapid, the banks are steep--awfully! It's all slumberingforests on the bank. The trees are so tall that if you look to the topit makes you dizzy. Every pine would be worth ten roubles by the priceshere. "

In the overwhelming rush of his fancies, of artistic images of the pastand sweet presentiments of happiness in the future, the poor wretch sankinto silence, merely moving his lips as though whispering to himself. The vacant, blissful smile never left his lips. The constables weresilent. They were pondering with bent heads. In the autumn stillness, when the cold, sullen mist that rises from the earth lies like a weighton the heart, when it stands like a prison wall before the eyes, andreminds man of the limitation of his freedom, it is sweet to think ofthe broad, rapid rivers, with steep banks wild and luxuriant, of theimpenetrable forests, of the boundless steppes. Slowly and quietly thefancy pictures how early in the morning, before the flush of dawn hasleft the sky, a man makes his way along the steep deserted bank likea tiny speck: the ancient, mast-like pines rise up in terraces onboth sides of the torrent, gaze sternly at the free man and murmurmenacingly; rocks, huge stones, and thorny bushes bar his way, but heis strong in body and bold in spirit, and has no fear of the pine-trees, nor stones, nor of his solitude, nor of the reverberating echo whichrepeats the sound of every footstep that he takes. 

The peasants called up a picture of a free life such as they had neverlived; whether they vaguely recalled the images of stories heard longago or whether notions of a free life had been handed down to them withtheir flesh and blood from far-off free ancestors, God knows!

The first to break the silence was Nikandr Sapozhnikov, who had not tillthen let fall a single word. Whether he envied the tramp's transparenthappiness, or whether he felt in his heart that dreams of happiness wereout of keeping with the grey fog and the dirty brown mud--anyway, helooked sternly at the tramp and said:

"It's all very well, to be sure, only you won't reach those plenteousregions, brother. How could you? Before you'd gone two hundred milesyou'd give up your soul to God. Just look what a weakling you are! Hereyou've hardly gone five miles and you can't get your breath. "

The tramp turned slowly toward Nikandr, and the blissful smile vanishedfrom his face. He looked with a scared and guilty air at the peasant'sstaid face, apparently remembered something, and bent his head. Asilence followed again. .. . All three were pondering. The peasants wereracking their brains in the effort to grasp in their imagination whatcan be grasped by none but God--that is, the vast expanse dividingthem from the land of freedom. Into the tramp's mind thronged clearand distinct pictures more terrible than that expanse. Before him rosevividly the picture of the long legal delays and procrastinations, the temporary and permanent prisons, the convict boats, the wearisomestoppages on the way, the frozen winters, illnesses, deaths ofcompanions. .. . 

The tramp blinked guiltily, wiped the tiny drops of sweat from hisforehead with his sleeve, drew a deep breath as though he had just leaptout of a very hot bath, then wiped his forehead with the other sleeveand looked round fearfully. 

"That's true; you won't get there!" Ptaha agreed. "You are not much of awalker! Look at you--nothing but skin and bone! You'll die, brother!"

"Of course he'll die! What could he do?" said Nikandr. "He's fit for thehospital now. .. . For sure!"

The man who had forgotten his name looked at the stern, unconcernedfaces of his sinister companions, and without taking off his cap, hurriedly crossed himself, staring with wide-open eyes. .. . He trembled, his head shook, and he began twitching all over, like a caterpillar whenit is stepped upon. .. . 

"Well, it's time to go, " said Nikandr, getting up; "we've had a rest. "

A minute later they were stepping along the muddy road. The tramp wasmore bent than ever, and he thrust his hands further up his sleeves. Ptaha was silent. 

THE PIPE

MELITON SHISHKIN, a bailiff from the Dementyev farm, exhausted bythe sultry heat of the fir-wood and covered with spiders' webs andpine-needles, made his way with his gun to the edge of the wood. HisDamka--a mongrel between a yard dog and a setter--an extremely thinbitch heavy with young, trailed after her master with her wet tailbetween her legs, doing all she could to avoid pricking her nose. It wasa dull, overcast morning. Big drops dripped from the bracken and fromthe trees that were wrapped in a light mist; there was a pungent smellof decay from the dampness of the wood. 

There were birch-trees ahead of him where the wood ended, and betweentheir stems and branches he could see the misty distance. Beyond thebirch-trees someone was playing on a shepherd's rustic pipe. The playerproduced no more than five or six notes, dragged them out languidlywith no attempt at forming a tune, and yet there was something harsh andextremely dreary in the sound of the piping. 

As the copse became sparser, and the pines were interspersed with youngbirch-trees, Meliton saw a herd. Hobbled horses, cows, and sheep werewandering among the bushes and, snapping the dry branches, sniffed atthe herbage of the copse. A lean old shepherd, bareheaded, in a torngrey smock, stood leaning against the wet trunk of a birch-tree. Hestared at the ground, pondering something, and played his pipe, itseemed, mechanically. 

"Good-day, grandfather! God help you!" Meliton greeted him in a thin, husky voice which seemed incongruous with his huge stature and big, fleshy face. "How cleverly you are playing your pipe! Whose herd are youminding?"

"The Artamonovs', " the shepherd answered reluctantly, and he thrust thepipe into his bosom. 

"So I suppose the wood is the Artamonovs' too?" Meliton inquired, looking about him. "Yes, it is the Artamonovs'; only fancy. .. Ihad completely lost myself. I got my face scratched all over in thethicket. "

He sat down on the wet earth and began rolling up a bit of newspaperinto a cigarette. 

Like his voice, everything about the man was small and out of keepingwith his height, his breadth, and his fleshy face: his smiles, hiseyes, his buttons, his tiny cap, which would hardly keep on his big, closely-cropped head. When he talked and smiled there was somethingwomanish, timid, and meek about his puffy, shaven face and his wholefigure. 

"What weather! God help us!" he said, and he turned his head from sideto side. "Folk have not carried the oats yet, and the rain seems asthough it had been taken on for good, God bless it. "

The shepherd looked at the sky, from which a drizzling rain was falling, at the wood, at the bailif's wet clothes, pondered, and said nothing. 

"The whole summer has been the same, " sighed Meliton. "A bad businessfor the peasants and no pleasure for the gentry. "

The shepherd looked at the sky again, thought a moment, and saiddeliberately, as though chewing each word:

"It's all going the same way. .. . There is nothing good to be lookedfor. "

"How are things with you here?" Meliton inquired, lighting hiscigarette. "Haven't you seen any coveys of grouse in the Artamonovs'clearing?"

The shepherd did not answer at once. He looked again at the sky and toright and left, thought a little, blinked. .. . Apparently he attached nolittle significance to his words, and to increase their value tried topronounce them with deliberation and a certain solemnity. The expressionof his face had the sharpness and staidness of old age, and the factthat his nose had a saddle-shaped depression across the middle and hisnostrils turned upwards gave him a sly and sarcastic look. 

"No, I believe I haven't, " he said. "Our huntsman Eryomka w as sayingthat on Elijah's Day he started one covey near Pustoshye, but I dare sayhe was lying. There are very few birds. "

"Yes, brother, very few. .. . Very few everywhere! The shooting here, if one is to look at it with common sense, is good for nothing and notworth having. There is no game at all, and what there is is not worthdirtying your hands over--it is not full-grown. It is such poor stuffthat one is ashamed to look at it. "

Meliton gave a laugh and waved his hands. 

"Things happen so queerly in this world that it is simply laughable andnothing else. Birds nowadays have become so unaccountable: they sit lateon their eggs, and there are some, I declare, that have not hatched themby St. Peter's Day!"

"It's all going the same, " said the shepherd, turning his face upwards. "There was little game last year, this year there are fewer birds still, and in another five years, mark my words, there will be none at all. Asfar as I can see there will soon be not only no game, but no birds atall. "

"Yes, " Meliton assented, after a moment's thought. "That's true. "

The shepherd gave a bitter smile and shook his head. 

"It's a wonder, " he said, "what has become of them all! I remembertwenty years ago there used to be geese here, and cranes and ducks andgrouse--clouds and clouds of them! The gentry used to meet togetherfor shooting, and one heard nothing but pouf-pouf-pouf! pouf-pouf-pouf!There was no end to the woodcocks, the snipe, and the little teals, and the water-snipe were as common as starlings, or let us saysparrows--lots and lots of them! And what has become of them all? Wedon't even see the birds of prey. The eagles, the hawks, and the owlshave all gone. .. . There are fewer of every sort of wild beast, too. Nowadays, brother, even the wolf and the fox have grown rare, let alonethe bear or the otter. And you know in old days there were even elks!For forty years I have been observing the works of God from year toyear, and it is my opinion that everything is going the same way. "

"What way?"

"To the bad, young man. To ruin, we must suppose. .. The time has comefor God's world to perish. "

The old man put on his cap and began gazing at the sky. 

"It's a pity, " he sighed, after a brief silence. "O God, what a pity! Ofcourse it is God's will; the world was not created by us, but yet it isa pity, brother. If a single tree withers away, or let us say a singlecow dies, it makes one sorry, but what will it be, good man, if thewhole world crumbles into dust? Such blessings, Lord Jesus! The sun, andthe sky, and the forest, and the rivers, and the creatures--all thesehave been created, adapted, and adjusted to one another. Each hasbeen put to its appointed task and knows its place. And all that mustperish. "

A mournful smile gleamed on the shepherd's face, and his eyelidsquivered. 

"You say--the world is perishing, " said Meliton, pondering. "It may bethat the end of the world is near at hand, but you can't judge by thebirds. I don't think the birds can be taken as a sign. "

"Not the birds only, " said the shepherd. "It's the wild beasts, too, andthe cattle, and the bees, and the fish. .. . If you don't believe me askthe old people; every old man will tell you that the fish are not atall what they used to be. In the seas, in the lakes, and in the rivers, there are fewer fish from year to year. In our Pestchanka, I remember, pike used to be caught a yard long, and there were eel-pouts, and roach, and bream, and every fish had a presentable appearance; while nowadays, if you catch a wretched little pikelet or perch six inches long youhave to be thankful. There are not any gudgeon even worth talking about. Every year it is worse and worse, and in a little while there will beno fish at all. And take the rivers now. .. The rivers are drying up, forsure. "

"It is true; they are drying up. "

"To be sure, that's what I say. Every year they are shallower andshallower, and there are not the deep holes there used to be. And do yousee the bushes yonder?" the old man asked, pointing to one side. "Beyondthem is an old river-bed; it's called a backwater. In my father's timethe Pestchanka flowed there, but now look; where have the evil spiritstaken it to? It changes its course, and, mind you, it will go onchanging till such time as it has dried up altogether. There used to bemarshes and ponds beyond Kurgasovo, and where are they now? And what hasbecome of the streams? Here in this very wood we used to have a streamflowing, and such a stream that the peasants used to set creels in itand caught pike; wild ducks used to spend the winter by it, and nowadaysthere is no water in it worth speaking of, even at the springfloods. Yes, brother, look where you will, things are bad everywhere. Everywhere!"

A silence followed. Meliton sank into thought, with his eyes fixed onone spot. He wanted to think of some one part of nature as yet untouchedby the all-embracing ruin. Spots of light glistened on the mist and theslanting streaks of rain as though on opaque glass, and immediately diedaway again--it was the rising sun trying to break through the clouds andpeep at the earth. 

"Yes, the forests, too. .. " Meliton muttered. 

"The forests, too, " the shepherd repeated. "They cut them down, and theycatch fire, and they wither away, and no new ones are growing. Whateverdoes grow up is cut down at once; one day it shoots up and the next ithas been cut down--and so on without end till nothing's left. I havekept the herds of the commune ever since the time of Freedom, good man;before the time of Freedom I was shepherd of the master's herds. I havewatched them in this very spot, and I can't remember a summer day inall my life that I have not been here. And all the time I have beenobserving the works of God. I have looked at them in my time till I knowthem, and it is my opinion that all things growing are on the decline. Whether you take the rye, or the vegetables, or flowers of any sort, they are all going the same way. "

"But people have grown better, " observed the bailiff. 

"In what way better?"

"Cleverer. "

"Cleverer, maybe, that's true, young man; but what's the use of that?What earthly good is cleverness to people on the brink of ruin? One canperish without cleverness. What's the good of cleverness to a huntsmanif there is no game? What I think is that God has given men brains andtaken away their strength. People have grown weak, exceedingly weak. Take me, for instance. .. I am not worth a halfpenny, I am the humblestpeasant in the whole village, and yet, young man, I have strength. Mindyou, I am in my seventies, and I tend my herd day in and day out, andkeep the night watch, too, for twenty kopecks, and I don't sleep, andI don't feel the cold; my son is cleverer than I am, but put him in myplace and he would ask for a raise next day, or would be going to thedoctors. There it is. I eat nothing but bread, for 'Give us this day ourdaily bread, ' and my father ate nothing but bread, and my grandfather;but the peasant nowadays must have tea and vodka and white loaves, andmust sleep from sunset to dawn, and he goes to the doctor and pampershimself in all sorts of ways. And why is it? He has grown weak; hehas not the strength to endure. If he wants to stay awake, his eyesclose--there is no doing anything. "

"That's true, " Meliton agreed; "the peasant is good for nothingnowadays. "

"It's no good hiding what is wrong; we get worse from year to year. Andif you take the gentry into consideration, they've grown feeblereven more than the peasants have. The gentleman nowadays has masteredeverything; he knows what he ought not to know, and what is the senseof it? It makes you feel pitiful to look at him. .. . He is a thin, punylittle fellow, like some Hungarian or Frenchman; there is no dignity norair about him; it's only in name he is a gentleman. There is no placefor him, poor dear, and nothing for him to do, and there is no makingout what he wants. Either he sits with a hook catching fish, or he lollson his back reading, or trots about among the peasants saying all sortsof things to them, and those that are hungry go in for being clerks. Sohe spends his life in vain. And he has no notion of doing somethingreal and useful. The gentry in old days were half of them generals, butnowadays they are--a poor lot. "

"They are badly off nowadays, " said Meliton. 

"They are poorer because God has taken away their strength. You can't goagainst God. "

Meliton stared at a fixed point again. After thinking a little he heaveda sigh as staid, reasonable people do sigh, shook his head, and said:

"And all because of what? We have sinned greatly, we have forgottenGod. . And it seems that the time has come for all to end. And, afterall, the world can't last for ever--it's time to know when to takeleave. "

The shepherd sighed and, as though wishing to cut short an unpleasantconversation, he walked away from the birch-tree and began silentlyreckoning over the cows. 

"Hey-hey-hey!" he shouted. "Hey-hey-hey! Bother you, the plague takeyou! The devil has taken you into the thicket. Tu-lu-lu!"

With an angry face he went into the bushes to collect his herd. Melitongot up and sauntered slowly along the edge of the wood. He looked at theground at his feet and pondered; he still wanted to think of somethingwhich had not yet been touched by death. Patches of light crept upon theslanting streaks of rain again; they danced on the tops of the trees anddied away among the wet leaves. Damka found a hedgehog under a bush, andwanting to attract her master's attention to it, barked and howled. 

"Did you have an eclipse or not?" the shepherd called from the bushes. 

"Yes, we had, " answered Meliton. 

"Ah! Folks are complaining all about that there was one. It shows thereis disorder even in the heavens! It's not for nothing. .. . Hey-hey-hey!Hey!"

Driving his herd together to the edge of the wood, the shepherd leanedagainst the birch-tree, looked up at the sky, without haste took hispipe from his bosom and began playing. As before, he played mechanicallyand took no more than five or six notes; as though the pipe hadcome into his hands for the first time, the sounds floated from ituncertainly, with no regularity, not blending into a tune, but toMeliton, brooding on the destruction of the world, there was a sound init of something very depressing and revolting which he would much rathernot have heard. The highest, shrillest notes, which quivered and broke, seemed to be weeping disconsolately, as though the pipe were sick andfrightened, while the lowest notes for some reason reminded him of themist, the dejected trees, the grey sky. Such music seemed in keepingwith the weather, the old man and his sayings. 

Meliton wanted to complain. He went up to the old man and, looking athis mournful, mocking face and at the pipe, muttered:

"And life has grown worse, grandfather. It is utterly impossible tolive. Bad crops, want. .. . Cattle plague continually, diseases of allsorts. .. . We are crushed by poverty. "

The bailiff's puffy face turned crimson and took a dejected, womanishexpression. He twirled his fingers as though seeking words to convey hisvague feeling and went on:

"Eight children, a wife. .. And my mother still living, and my wholesalary ten roubles a month and to board myself. My wife has become aSatan from poverty. .. . I go off drinking myself. I am a sensible, steadyman; I have education. I ought to sit at home in peace, but I strayabout all day with my gun like a dog because it is more than I canstand; my home is hateful to me!"

Feeling that his tongue was uttering something quite different from whathe wanted to say, the bailiff waved his hand and said bitterly:

"If the world's going to end I wish it would make haste about it. There's no need to drag it out and make folks miserable for nothing. .. . "

The old man took the pipe from his lips and, screwing up one eye, lookedinto its little opening. His face was sad and covered with thick dropslike tears. He smiled and said:

"It's a pity, my friend! My goodness, what a pity! The earth, theforest, the sky, the beasts of all sorts--all this has been created, you know, adapted; they all have their intelligence. It is all going toruin. And most of all I am sorry for people. "

There was the sound in the wood of heavy rain coming nearer. Melitonlooked in the direction of the sound, did up all his buttons, and said:

"I am going to the village. Good-bye, grandfather. What is your name?"

"Luka the Poor. "

"Well, good-bye, Luka! Thank you for your good words. Damka, ici!"

After parting from the shepherd Meliton made his way along the edge ofthe wood, and then down hill to a meadow which by degrees turned into amarsh. There was a squelch of water under his feet, and the rusty marshsedge, still green and juicy, drooped down to the earth as thoughafraid of being trampled underfoot. Beyond the marsh, on the bank of thePestchanka, of which the old man had spoken, stood a row of willows, andbeyond the willows a barn looked dark blue in the mist. One could feelthe approach of that miserable, utterly inevitable season, when thefields grow dark and the earth is muddy and cold, when the weepingwillow seems still more mournful and tears trickle down its stem, andonly the cranes fly away from the general misery, and even they, asthough afraid of insulting dispirited nature by the expression of theirhappiness, fill the air with their mournful, dreary notes. 

Meliton plodded along to the river, and heard the sounds of the pipegradually dying away behind him. He still wanted to complain. He lookeddejectedly about him, and he felt insufferably sorry for the sky andthe earth and the sun and the woods and his Damka, and when the highestdrawn-out note of the pipe floated quivering in the air, like a voiceweeping, he felt extremely bitter and resentful of the impropriety inthe conduct of nature. 

The high note quivered, broke off, and the pipe was silent. 

AGAFYA

DURING my stay in the district of S. I often used to go to see thewatchman Savva Stukatch, or simply Savka, in the kitchen gardens ofDubovo. These kitchen gardens were my favorite resort for so-called"mixed" fishing, when one goes out without knowing what day or hour onemay return, taking with one every sort of fishing tackle as well as astore of provisions. To tell the truth, it was not so much the fishingthat attracted me as the peaceful stroll, the meals at no set time, thetalk with Savka, and being for so long face to face with the calmsummer nights. Savka was a young man of five-and-twenty, well grown andhandsome, and as strong as a flint. He had the reputation of being asensible and reasonable fellow. He could read and write, and very rarelydrank, but as a workman this strong and healthy young man was not wortha farthing. A sluggish, overpowering sloth was mingled with the strengthin his muscles, which were strong as cords. Like everyone else in hisvillage, he lived in his own hut, and had his share of land, but neithertilled it nor sowed it, and did not work at any sort of trade. His oldmother begged alms at people's windows and he himself lived like a birdof the air; he did not know in the morning what he would eat at midday. It was not that he was lacking in will, or energy, or feeling for hismother; it was simply that he felt no inclination for work and did notrecognize the advantage of it. His whole figure suggested unruffledserenity, an innate, almost artistic passion for living carelessly, never with his sleeves tucked up. When Savka's young, healthy body hada physical craving for muscular work, the young man abandoned himselfcompletely for a brief interval to some free but nonsensical pursuit, such as sharpening skates not wanted for any special purpose, orracing about after the peasant women. His favorite attitude was oneof concentrated immobility. He was capable of standing for hours at astretch in the same place with his eyes fixed on the same spot withoutstirring. He never moved except on impulse, and then only when anoccasion presented itself for some rapid and abrupt action: catchinga running dog by the tail, pulling off a woman's kerchief, or jumpingover a big hole. It need hardly be said that with such parsimony ofmovement Savka was as poor as a mouse and lived worse than any homelessoutcast. As time went on, I suppose he accumulated arrears of taxesand, young and sturdy as he was, he was sent by the commune to do an oldman's job--to be watchman and scarecrow in the kitchen gardens. Howevermuch they laughed at him for his premature senility he did not objectto it. This position, quiet and convenient for motionless contemplation, exactly fitted his temperament. 

It happened I was with this Savka one fine May evening. I remember I waslying on a torn and dirty sackcloth cover close to the shanty from whichcame a heavy, fragrant scent of hay. Clasping my hands under my head Ilooked before me. At my feet was lying a wooden fork. Behind it Savka'sdog Kutka stood out like a black patch, and not a dozen feet from Kutkathe ground ended abruptly in the steep bank of the little river. Lyingdown I could not see the river; I could only see the tops of the youngwillows growing thickly on the nearer bank, and the twisting, as it weregnawed away, edges of the opposite bank. At a distance beyond the bankon the dark hillside the huts of the village in which Savka lived layhuddling together like frightened young partridges. Beyond the hill theafterglow of sunset still lingered in the sky. One pale crimson streakwas all that was left, and even that began to be covered by littleclouds as a fire with ash. 

A copse with alder-trees, softly whispering, and from time to timeshuddering in the fitful breeze, lay, a dark blur, on the right ofthe kitchen gardens; on the left stretched the immense plain. In thedistance, where the eye could not distinguish between the sky and theplain, there was a bright gleam of light. A little way off from me satSavka. With his legs tucked under him like a Turk and his head hanging, he looked pensively at Kutka. Our hooks with live bait on them hadlong been in the river, and we had nothing left to do but to abandonourselves to repose, which Savka, who was never exhausted and alwaysrested, loved so much. The glow had not yet quite died away, but thesummer night was already enfolding nature in its caressing, soothingembrace. 

Everything was sinking into its first deep sleep except some night birdunfamiliar to me, which indolently uttered a long, protracted cry inseveral distinct notes like the phrase, "Have you seen Ni-ki-ta?" andimmediately answered itself, "Seen him, seen him, seen him!"

"Why is it the nightingales aren't singing tonight?" I asked Savka. 

He turned slowly towards me. His features were large, but his face wasopen, soft, and expressive as a woman's. Then he gazed with his mild, dreamy eyes at the copse, at the willows, slowly pulled a whistle outof his pocket, put it in his mouth and whistled the note of ahen-nightingale. And at once, as though in answer to his call, alandrail called on the opposite bank. 

"There's a nightingale for you. .. " laughed Savka. "Drag-drag! drag-drag!just like pulling at a hook, and yet I bet he thinks he is singing, too. "

"I like that bird, " I said. "Do you know, when the birds are migratingthe landrail does not fly, but runs along the ground? It only flies overthe rivers and the sea, but all the rest it does on foot. "

"Upon my word, the dog. .. " muttered Savka, looking with respect in thedirection of the calling landrail. 

Knowing how fond Savka was of listening, I told him all I had learnedabout the landrail from sportsman's books. From the landrail I passedimperceptibly to the migration of the birds. Savka listened attentively, looking at me without blinking, and smiling all the while with pleasure. 

"And which country is most the bird's home? Ours or those foreignparts?" he asked. 

"Ours, of course. The bird itself is hatched here, and it hatches outits little ones here in its native country, and they only fly off thereto escape being frozen. "

"It's interesting, " said Savka. "Whatever one talks about it is alwaysinteresting. Take a bird now, or a man. .. Or take this little stone;there's something to learn about all of them. .. . Ah, sir, if I hadknown you were coming I wouldn't have told a woman to come here thisevening. .. . She asked to come to-day. "

"Oh, please don't let me be in your way, " I said. "I can lie down in thewood. .. . "

"What next! She wouldn't have died if she hadn't come till to-morrow. .. . If only she would sit quiet and listen, but she always wants to beslobbering. .. . You can't have a good talk when she's here. "

"Are you expecting Darya?" I asked, after a pause. 

"No. .. A new one has asked to come this evening. .. Agafya, thesignalman's wife. "

Savka said this in his usual passionless, somewhat hollow voice, asthough he were talking of tobacco or porridge, while I started withsurprise. I knew Agafya. .. . She was quite a young peasant woman ofnineteen or twenty, who had been married not more than a year before toa railway signalman, a fine young fellow. She lived in the village, andher husband came home there from the line every night. 

"Your goings on with the women will lead to trouble, my boy, " said I. 

"Well, may be. .. . "

And after a moment's thought Savka added:

"I've said so to the women; they won't heed me. .. . They don't troubleabout it, the silly things!"

Silence followed. .. . Meanwhile the darkness was growing thicker andthicker, and objects began to lose their contours. The streak behind thehill had completely died away, and the stars were growing brighterand more luminous. .. . The mournfully monotonous chirping of thegrasshoppers, the call of the landrail, and the cry of the quail didnot destroy the stillness of the night, but, on the contrary, gave it anadded monotony. It seemed as though the soft sounds that enchanted theear came, not from birds or insects, but from the stars looking downupon us from the sky. .. . 

Savka was the first to break the silence. He slowly turned his eyes fromblack Kutka and said:

"I see you are dull, sir. Let's have supper. "

And without waiting for my consent he crept on his stomach into theshanty, rummaged about there, making the whole edifice tremble like aleaf; then he crawled back and set before me my vodka and an earthenwarebowl; in the bowl there were baked eggs, lard scones made of rye, piecesof black bread, and something else. .. . We had a drink from a littlecrooked glass that wouldn't stand, and then we fell upon the food. .. . Coarse grey salt, dirty, greasy cakes, eggs tough as india-rubber, buthow nice it all was!

"You live all alone, but what lots of good things you have, " I said, pointing to the bowl. "Where do you get them from?"

"The women bring them, " mumbled Savka. 

"What do they bring them to you for?"

"Oh. .. From pity. "

Not only Savka's menu, but his clothing, too, bore traces of feminine"pity. " Thus I noticed that he had on, that evening, a new woven beltand a crimson ribbon on which a copper cross hung round his dirty neck. I knew of the weakness of the fair sex for Savka, and I knew that hedid not like talking about it, and so I did not carry my inquiries anyfurther. Besides there was not time to talk. .. . Kutka, who had beenfidgeting about near us and patiently waiting for scraps, suddenlypricked up his ears and growled. We heard in the distance repeatedsplashing of water. 

"Someone is coming by the ford, " said Savka. 

Three minutes later Kutka growled again and made a sound like a cough. 

"Shsh!" his master shouted at him. 

In the darkness there was a muffled thud of timid footsteps, and thesilhouette of a woman appeared out of the copse. I recognized her, although it was dark--it was Agafya. She came up to us diffidently andstopped, breathing hard. She was breathless, probably not so much fromwalking as from fear and the unpleasant sensation everyone experiencesin wading across a river at night. Seeing near the shanty not one buttwo persons, she uttered a faint cry and fell back a step. 

"Ah. .. That is you!" said Savka, stuffing a scone into his mouth. 

"Ye-es. .. I, " she mutte red, dropping on the ground a bundle of somesort and looking sideways at me. "Yakov sent his greetings to you andtold me to give you. .. Something here. .. . "

"Come, why tell stories? Yakov!" laughed Savka. "There is no need forlying; the gentleman knows why you have come! Sit down; you shall havesupper with us. "

Agafya looked sideways at me and sat down irresolutely. 

"I thought you weren't coming this evening, " Savka said, after aprolonged silence. "Why sit like that? Eat! Or shall I give you a dropof vodka?"

"What an idea!" laughed Agafya; "do you think you have got hold of adrunkard?. .. "

"Oh, drink it up. .. . Your heart will feel warmer. .. . There!"

Savka gave Agafya the crooked glass. She slowly drank the vodka, atenothing with it, but drew a deep breath when she had finished. 

"You've brought something, " said Savka, untying the bundle and throwinga condescending, jesting shade into his voice. "Women can never comewithout bringing something. Ah, pie and potatoes. .. . They live well, "he sighed, turning to me. "They are the only ones in the whole villagewho have got potatoes left from the winter!"

In the darkness I did not see Agafya's face, but from the movement ofher shoulders and head it seemed to me that she could not take hereyes off Savka's face. To avoid being the third person at this tryst, Idecided to go for a walk and got up. But at that moment a nightingale inthe wood suddenly uttered two low contralto notes. Half a minute laterit gave a tiny high trill and then, having thus tried its voice, begansinging. Savka jumped up and listened. 

"It's the same one as yesterday, " he said. "Wait a minute. "

And, getting up, he went noiselessly to the wood. 

"Why, what do you want with it?" I shouted out after him, "Stop!"

Savka shook his hand as much as to say, "Don't shout, " and vanished intothe darkness. Savka was an excellent sportsman and fisherman when heliked, but his talents in this direction were as completely thrown awayas his strength. He was too slothful to do things in the routine way, and vented his passion for sport in useless tricks. For instance, hewould catch nightingales only with his hands, would shoot pike with afowling piece, he would spend whole hours by the river trying to catchlittle fish with a big hook. 

Left alone with me, Agafya coughed and passed her hand several timesover her forehead. .. . She began to feel a little drunk from the vodka. 

"How are you getting on, Agasha?" I asked her, after a long silence, when it began to be awkward to remain mute any longer. 

"Very well, thank God. .. . Don't tell anyone, sir, will you?" she addedsuddenly in a whisper. 

"That's all right, " I reassured her. "But how reckless you are, Agasha!. .. What if Yakov finds out?"

"He won't find out. "

"But what if he does?"

"No. .. I shall be at home before he is. He is on the line now, and hewill come back when the mail train brings him, and from here I can hearwhen the train's coming. .. . "

Agafya once more passed her hand over her forehead and looked away inthe direction in which Savka had vanished. The nightingale was singing. Some night bird flew low down close to the ground and, noticing us, wasstartled, fluttered its wings and flew across to the other side of theriver. 

Soon the nightingale was silent, but Savka did not come back. Agafya gotup, took a few steps uneasily, and sat down again. 

"What is he doing?" she could not refrain from saying. "The train's notcoming in to-morrow! I shall have to go away directly. "

"Savka, " I shouted. "Savka. "

I was not answered even by an echo. Agafya moved uneasily and sat downagain. 

"It's time I was going, " she said in an agitated voice. "The train willbe here directly! I know when the trains come in. "

The poor woman was not mistaken. Before a quarter of an hour had passeda sound was heard in the distance. 

Agafya kept her eyes fixed on the copse for a long time and moved herhands impatiently. 

"Why, where can he be?" she said, laughing nervously. "Where has thedevil carried him? I am going! I really must be going. "

Meanwhile the noise was growing more and more distinct. By now one coulddistinguish the rumble of the wheels from the heavy gasps of the engine. Then we heard the whistle, the train crossed the bridge with a hollowrumble. .. Another minute and all was still. 

"I'll wait one minute more, " said Agafya, sitting down resolutely. "Sobe it, I'll wait. "

At last Savka appeared in the darkness. He walked noiselessly on thecrumbling earth of the kitchen gardens and hummed something softly tohimself. 

"Here's a bit of luck; what do you say to that now?" he said gaily. "Assoon as I got up to the bush and began taking aim with my hand it leftoff singing! Ah, the bald dog! I waited and waited to see when it wouldbegin again, but I had to give it up. "

Savka flopped clumsily down to the ground beside Agafya and, to keep hisbalance, clutched at her waist with both hands. 

"Why do you look cross, as though your aunt were your mother?" he asked. 

With all his soft-heartedness and good-nature, Savka despised women. He behaved carelessly, condescendingly with them, and even stooped toscornful laughter of their feelings for himself. God knows, perhaps thiscareless, contemptuous manner was one of the causes of his irresistibleattraction for the village Dulcineas. He was handsome and well-built; inhis eyes there was always a soft friendliness, even when he was lookingat the women he so despised, but the fascination was not to be explainedby merely external qualities. Apart from his happy exterior and originalmanner, one must suppose that the touching position of Savka as anacknowledged failure and an unhappy exile from his own hut to thekitchen gardens also had an influence upon the women. 

"Tell the gentleman what you have come here for!" Savka went on, stillholding Agafya by the waist. "Come, tell him, you good married woman!Ho-ho! Shall we have another drop of vodka, friend Agasha?"

I got up and, threading my way between the plots, I walked the length ofthe kitchen garden. The dark beds looked like flattened-out graves. Theysmelt of dug earth and the tender dampness of plants beginning to becovered with dew. .. . A red light was still gleaming on the left. Itwinked genially and seemed to smile. 

I heard a happy laugh. It was Agafya laughing. 

"And the train?" I thought. "The train has come in long ago. "

Waiting a little longer, I went back to the shanty. Savka was sittingmotionless, his legs crossed like a Turk, and was softly, scarcelyaudibly humming a song consisting of words of one syllable somethinglike: "Out on you, fie on you. .. I and you. " Agafya, intoxicated by thevodka, by Savka's scornful caresses, and by the stifling warmth of thenight, was lying on the earth beside him, pressing her face convulsivelyto his knees. She was so carried away by her feelings that she did noteven notice my arrival. 

"Agasha, the train has been in a long time, " I said. 

"It's time--it's time you were gone, " Savka, tossing his head, took upmy thought. "What are you sprawling here for? You shameless hussy!"

Agafya started, took her head from his knees, glanced at me, and sankdown beside him again. 

"You ought to have gone long ago, " I said. 

Agafya turned round and got up on one knee. .. . She was unhappy. .. . Forhalf a minute her whole figure, as far as I could distinguish it throughthe darkness, expressed conflict and hesitation. There was an instantwhen, seeming to come to herself, she drew herself up to get upon herfeet, but then some invincible and implacable force seemed to push herwhole body, and she sank down beside Savka again. 

"Bother him!" she said, with a wild, guttural laugh, and recklessdetermination, impotence, and pain could be heard in that laugh. 

I strolled quietly away to the copse, and from there down to theriver, where our fishing lines were set. The river slept. Some soft, fluffy-petalled flower on a tall stalk touched my cheek tenderly like achild who wants to let one know it's awake. To pass the time I feltfor one of the lines and pulled at it. It yielded easily and hunglimply--nothing had been caught. .. . The further bank and the villagecould not be seen. A light gleamed in one hut, but soon went out. I feltmy way along the bank, found a hollow place which I had noticed in thedaylight, and sat down in it as in an arm-chair. I sat there a longtime. .. . I saw the stars begin to grow misty and lose their brightness;a cool breath passed over the earth like a faint sigh and touched theleaves of the slumbering osiers. .. . 

"A-ga-fya!" a hollow voice called from the village. "Agafya!"

It was the husband, who had returned home, and in alarm was lookingfor his wife in the village. At that moment there came the sound ofunrestrained laughter: the wife, forgetful of everything, sought inher intoxication to make up by a few hours of happiness for the miseryawaiting her next day. 

I dropped asleep. 

When I woke up Savka was sitting beside me and lightly shaking myshoulder. The river, the copse, both banks, green and washed, trees andfields--all were bathed in bright morning light. Through the slim trunksof the trees the rays of the newly risen sun beat upon my back. 

"So that's how you catch fish?" laughed Savka. "Get up!"

I got up, gave a luxurious stretch, and began greedily drinking in thedamp and fragrant air. 

"Has Agasha gone?" I asked. 

"There she is, " said Savka, pointing in the direction of the ford. 

I glanced and saw Agafya. Dishevelled, with her kerchief dropping offher head, she was crossing the river, holding up her skirt. Her legswere scarcely moving. .. . 

"The cat knows whose meat it has eaten, " muttered Savka, screwing up hiseyes as he looked at her. "She goes with her tail hanging down. .. . Theyare sly as cats, these women, and timid as hares. .. . She didn't go, silly thing, in the evening when we told her to! Now she will catch it, and they'll flog me again at the peasant court. .. All on account of thewomen. .. . "

Agafya stepped upon the bank and went across the fields to the village. At first she walked fairly boldly, but soon terror and excitement gotthe upper hand; she turned round fearfully, stopped and took breath. 

"Yes, you are frightened!" Savka laughed mournfully, looking at thebright green streak left by Agafya in the dewy grass. "She doesn't wantto go! Her husband's been standing waiting for her for a good hour. .. . Did you see him?"

Savka said the last words with a smile, but they sent a chill to myheart. In the village, near the furthest hut, Yakov was standing in theroad, gazing fixedly at his returning wife. He stood without stirring, and was as motionless as a post. What was he thinking as he looked ather? What words was he preparing to greet her with? Agafya stood stilla little while, looked round once more as though expecting help from us, and went on. I have never seen anyone, drunk or sober, move as she did. Agafya seemed to be shrivelled up by her husband's eyes. At one timeshe moved in zigzags, then she moved her feet up and down withoutgoing forward, bending her knees and stretching out her hands, then shestaggered back. When she had gone another hundred paces she looked roundonce more and sat down. 

"You ought at least to hide behind a bush. .. " I said to Savka. "If thehusband sees you. .. "

"He knows, anyway, who it is Agafya has come from. .. . The women don't goto the kitchen garden at night for cabbages--we all know that. "

I glanced at Savka's face. It was pale and puckered up with a lookof fastidious pity such as one sees in the faces of people watchingtortured animals. 

"What's fun for the cat is tears for the mouse. .. " he muttered. 

Agafya suddenly jumped up, shook her head, and with a bold step wenttowards her husband. She had evidently plucked up her courage and madeup her mind. 

AT CHRISTMAS TIME

I

"WHAT shall I write?" said Yegor, and he dipped his pen in the ink. 

Vasilisa had not seen her daughter for four years. Her daughter Yefimyahad gone after her wedding to Petersburg, had sent them two letters, andsince then seemed to vanish out of their lives; there had been no sightnor sound of her. And whether the old woman were milking her cow atdawn, or heating her stove, or dozing at night, she was always thinkingof one and the same thing--what was happening to Yefimya, whether shewere alive out yonder. She ought to have sent a letter, but the oldfather could not write, and there was no one to write. 

But now Christmas had come, and Vasilisa could not bear it any longer, and went to the tavern to Yegor, the brother of the innkeeper's wife, who had sat in the tavern doing nothing ever since he came back fromthe army; people said that he could write letters very well if he wereproperly paid. Vasilisa talked to the cook at the tavern, then to themistress of the house, then to Yegor himself. They agreed upon fifteenkopecks. 

And now--it happened on the second day of the holidays, in the tavernkitchen--Yegor was sitting at the table, holding the pen in his hand. Vasilisa was standing before him, pondering with an expression ofanxiety and woe on her face. Pyotr, her husband, a very thin old manwith a brownish bald patch, had come with her; he stood looking straightbefore him like a blind man. On the stove a piece of pork was beingbraised in a saucepan; it was spurting and hissing, and seemed to beactually saying: "Flu-flu-flu. " It was stifling. 

"What am I to write?" Yegor asked again. 

"What?" asked Vasilisa, looking at him angrily and suspiciously. "Don'tworry me! You are not writing for nothing; no fear, you'll be paid forit. Come, write: 'To our dear son-in-law, Andrey Hrisanfitch, and to ouronly beloved daughter, Yefimya Petrovna, with our love we send a low bowand our parental blessing abiding for ever. '"

"Written; fire away. "

"'And we wish them a happy Christmas; we are alive and well, and I wishyou the same, please the Lord. .. The Heavenly King. '"

Vasilisa pondered and exchanged glances with the old man. 

"'And I wish you the same, please the Lord the Heavenly King, '" sherepeated, beginning to cry. 

She could say nothing more. And yet before, when she lay awake thinkingat night, it had seemed to her that she could not get all she had tosay into a dozen letters. Since the time when her daughter had gone awaywith her husband much water had flowed into the sea, the old people hadlived feeling bereaved, and sighed heavily at night as though they hadburied their daughter. And how many events had occurred in the villagesince then, how many marriages and deaths! How long the winters hadbeen! How long the nights!

"It's hot, " said Yegor, unbuttoning his waistcoat. "It must be seventydegrees. What more?" he asked. 

The old people were silent. 

"What does your son-in-law do in Petersburg?" asked Yegor. 

"He was a soldier, my good friend, " the old man answered in a weakvoice. "He left the service at the same time as you did. He was asoldier, and now, to be sure, he is at Petersburg at a hydropathicestablishment. The doctor treats the sick with water. So he, to be sure, is house-porter at the doctor's. "

"Here it is written down, " said the old woman, taking a letter out ofher pocket. "We got it from Yefimya, goodness knows when. Maybe they areno longer in this world. "

Yegor thought a little and began writing rapidly:

"At the present time"--he wrote--"since your destiny through your owndoing allotted you to the Military Career, we counsel you to lookinto the Code of Disciplinary Offences and Fundamental Laws of the WarOffice, and you will see in that law the Civilization of the Officialsof the War Office. "

He wrote and kept reading aloud what was written, while Vasilisaconsidered what she ought to write: how great had been their want theyear before, how their corn had not lasted even till Christmas, how theyhad to sell their cow. She ought to ask for money, ought to write thatthe old father was often ailing and would soon no doubt give up his soulto God. .. But how to express this in words? What must be said first andwhat afterwards?

"Take note, " Yegor went on writing, "in volume five of the ArmyRegulations soldier is a common noun and a proper one, a soldier of thefirst rank is called a general, and of the last a private. .. . "

The old man stirred his lips and said softly:

"It would be all right to have a look at the grandchildren. "

"What grandchildren?" asked the old woman, and she looked angrily athim; "perhaps there are none. "

"Well, but perhaps there are. Who knows?"

"And thereby you can judge, " Yegor hurried on, "what is the enemywithout and what is the enemy within. The foremost of our enemies withinis Bacchus. " The pen squeaked, executing upon the paper flourishes likefish-hooks. Yegor hastened and read over every line several times. He sat on a stool sprawling his broad feet under the table, well-fed, bursting with health, with a coarse animal face and a red bull neck. He was vulgarity itself: coarse, conceited, invincible, proud of havingbeen born and bred in a pot-house; and Vasilisa quite understood thevulgarity, but could not express it in words, and could only lookangrily and suspiciously at Yegor. Her head was beginning to ache, and her thoughts were in confusion from the sound of his voice and hisunintelligible words, from the heat and the stuffiness, and she saidnothing and thought nothing, but simply waited for him to finishscribbling. But the old man looked with full confidence. He believed inhis old woman who had brought him there, and in Yegor; and when hehad mentioned the hydropathic establishment it could be seen that hebelieved in the establishment and the healing efficacy of water. 

Having finished the letter, Yegor got up and read the whole of itthrough from the beginning. The old man did not understand, but henodded his head trustfully. 

"That's all right; it is smooth. .. " he said. "God give you health. That's all right. .. . "

They laid on the table three five-kopeck pieces and went out of thetavern; the old man looked immovably straight before him as though hewere blind, and perfect trustfulness was written on his face; but asVasilisa came out of the tavern she waved angrily at the dog, and saidangrily:

"Ugh, the plague. "

The old woman did not sleep all night; she was disturbed by thoughts, and at daybreak she got up, said her prayers, and went to the station tosend off the letter. 

It was between eight and nine miles to the station. 

II

Dr. B. O. Mozelweiser's hydropathic establishment worked on New Year'sDay exactly as on ordinary days; the only difference was that theporter, Andrey Hrisanfitch, had on a uniform with new braiding, hisboots had an extra polish, and he greeted every visitor with "A HappyNew Year to you!"

It was the morning; Andrey Hrisanfitch was standing at the door, readingthe newspaper. Just at ten o'clock there arrived a general, one ofthe habitual visitors, and directly after him the postman; AndreyHrisanfitch helped the general off with his great-coat, and said:

"A Happy New Year to your Excellency!"

"Thank you, my good fellow; the same to you. "

And at the top of the stairs the general asked, nodding towards the door(he asked the same question every day and always forgot the answer):

"And what is there in that room?"

"The massage room, your Excellency. "

When the general's steps had died away Andrey Hrisanfitch looked at thepost that had come, and found one addressed to himself. He tore it open, read several lines, then, looking at the newspaper, he walked withouthaste to his own room, which was downstairs close by at the end of thepassage. His wife Yefimya was sitting on the bed, feeding her baby;another child, the eldest, was standing by, laying its curly head on herknee; a third was asleep on the bed. 

Going into the room, Andrey gave his wife the letter and said:

"From the country, I suppose. "

Then he walked out again without taking his eyes from the paper. Hecould hear Yefimya with a shaking voice reading the first lines. Sheread them and could read no more; these lines were enough for her. Sheburst into tears, and hugging her eldest child, kissing him, she begansaying--and it was hard to say whether she were laughing or crying:

"It's from granny, from grandfather, " she said. "From the country. .. . The Heavenly Mother, Saints and Martyrs! The snow lies heaped up underthe roofs now. .. The trees are as white as white. The boys slide onlittle sledges. .. And dear old bald grandfather is on the stove. .. Andthere is a little yellow dog. .. . My own darlings!"

Andrey Hrisanfitch, hearing this, recalled that his wife had on threeor four occasions given him letters and asked him to send them to thecountry, but some important business had always prevented him; he hadnot sent them, and the letters somehow got lost. 

"And little hares run about in the fields, " Yefimya went on chanting, kissing her boy and shedding tears. "Grandfather is kind and gentle;granny is good, too--kind-hearted. They are warm-hearted in the country, they are God-fearing. .. And there is a little church in the village; thepeasants sing in the choir. Queen of Heaven, Holy Mother and Defender, take us away from here!"

Andrey Hrisanfitch returned to his room to smoke a little till therewas another ring at the door, and Yefimya ceased speaking, subsided, andwiped her eyes, though her lips were still quivering. She was verymuch frightened of him--oh, how frightened of him! She trembled and wasreduced to terror by the sound of his steps, by the look in his eyes, and dared not utter a word in his presence. 

Andrey Hrisanfitch lighted a cigarette, but at that very moment therewas a ring from upstairs. He put out his cigarette, and, assuming a verygrave face, hastened to his front door. 

The general was coming downstairs, fresh and rosy from his bath. 

"And what is there in that room?" he asked, pointing to a door. 

Andrey Hrisanfitch put his hands down swiftly to the seams of histrousers, and pronounced loudly:

"Charcot douche, your Excellency!"

GUSEV

I

IT was getting dark; it would soon be night. 

Gusev, a discharged soldier, sat up in his hammock and said in anundertone:

"I say, Pavel Ivanitch. A soldier at Sutchan told me: while they weresailing a big fish came into collision with their ship and stove a holein it. "

The nondescript individual whom he was addressing, and whom everyone inthe ship's hospital called Pavel Ivanitch, was silent, as though he hadnot heard. 

And again a stillness followed. .. The wind frolicked with the rigging, the screw throbbed, the waves lashed, the hammocks creaked, but theear had long ago become accustomed to these sounds, and it seemedthat everything around was asleep and silent. It was dreary. The threeinvalids--two soldiers and a sailor--who had been playing cards all theday were asleep and talking in their dreams. 

It seemed as though the ship were beginning to rock. The hammock slowlyrose and fell under Gusev, as though it were heaving a sigh, and thiswas repeated once, twice, three times. .. . Something crashed on to thefloor with a clang: it must have been a jug falling down. 

"The wind has broken loose from its chain. .. " said Gusev, listening. 

This time Pavel Ivanitch cleared his throat and answered irritably:

"One minute a vessel's running into a fish, the next, the wind'sbreaking loose from its chain. Is the wind a beast that it can breakloose from its chain?"

"That's how christened folk talk. "

"They are as ignorant as you are then. They say all sorts of things. One must keep a head on one's shoulders and use one's reason. You are asenseless creature. "

Pavel Ivanitch was subject to sea-sickness. When the sea was roughhe was usually ill-humoured, and the merest trifle would make himirritable. And in Gusev's opinion there was absolutely nothing to bevexed about. What was there strange or wonderful, for instance, in thefish or in the wind's breaking loose from its chain? Suppose the fishwere as big as a mountain and its back were as hard as a sturgeon: andin the same way, supposing that away yonder at the end of the worldthere stood great stone walls and the fierce winds were chained up tothe walls. .. If they had not broken loose, why did they tear about allover the sea like maniacs, and struggle to escape like dogs? If theywere not chained up, what did become of them when it was calm?

Gusev pondered for a long time about fishes as big as a mountain andstout, rusty chains, then he began to feel dull and thought of hisnative place to which he was returning after five years' service in theEast. He pictured an immense pond covered with snow. .. . On one side ofthe pond the red-brick building of the potteries with a tall chimneyand clouds of black smoke; on the other side--a village. .. . His brotherAlexey comes out in a sledge from the fifth yard from the end; behindhim sits his little son Vanka in big felt over-boots, and his littlegirl Akulka, also in big felt boots. Alexey has been drinking, Vanka islaughing, Akulka's face he could not see, she had muffled herself up. 

"You never know, he'll get the children frozen. .. " thought Gusev. "Lordsend them sense and judgment that they may honour their father andmother and not be wiser than their parents. "

"They want re-soleing, " a delirious sailor says in a bass voice. "Yes, yes!"

Gusev's thoughts break off, and instead of a pond there suddenly appearsapropos of nothing a huge bull's head without eyes, and the horse andsledge are not driving along, but are whirling round and round in acloud of smoke. But still he was glad he had seen his own folks. Heheld his breath from delight, shudders ran all over him, and his fingerstwitched. 

"The Lord let us meet again, " he muttered feverishly, but he at onceopened his eyes and sought in the darkness for water. 

He drank and lay back, and again the sledge was moving, then again thebull's head without eyes, smoke, clouds. .. . And so on till daybreak. 

II

The first outline visible in the darkness was a blue circle--thelittle round window; then little by little Gusev could distinguish hisneighbour in the next hammock, Pavel Ivanitch. The man slept sitting up, as he could not breathe lying down. His face was grey, his nose was longand sharp, his eyes looked huge from the terrible thinness of his face, his temples were sunken, his beard was skimpy, his hair was long. .. . Looking at him you could not make out of what class he was, whether hewere a gentleman, a merchant, or a peasant. Judging from his expressionand his long hair he might have been a hermit or a lay brother in amonastery--but if one listened to what he said it seemed that he couldnot be a monk. He was worn out by his cough and his illness and by thestifling heat, and breathed with difficulty, moving his parched lips. Noticing that Gusev was looking at him he turned his face towards himand said:

"I begin to guess. .. . Yes. .. . I understand it all perfectly now. "

"What do you understand, Pavel Ivanitch?"

"I'll tell you. .. . It has always seemed to me strange that terriblyill as you are you should be here in a steamer where it is so hot andstifling and we are always being tossed up and down, where, in fact, everything threatens you with death; now it is all clear to me. .. . Yes. .. . Your doctors put you on the steamer to get rid of you. Theyget sick of looking after poor brutes like you. .. . You don't pay themanything, they have a bother with you, and you damage their records withyour deaths--so, of course, you are brutes! It's not difficult to getrid of you. .. . All that is necessary is, in the first place, to haveno conscience or humanity, and, secondly, to deceive the steamerauthorities. The first condition need hardly be considered, in thatrespect we are artists; and one can always succeed in the second with alittle practice. In a crowd of four hundred healthy soldiers and sailorshalf a dozen sick ones are not conspicuous; well, they drove you all onto the steamer, mixed you with the healthy ones, hurriedly countedyou over, and in the confusion nothing amiss was noticed, and when thesteamer had started they saw that there were paralytics and consumptivesin the last stage lying about on the deck. .. . "

Gusev did not understand Pavel Ivanitch; but supposing he was beingblamed, he said in self-defence:

"I lay on the deck because I had not the strength to stand; when we wereunloaded from the barge on to the ship I caught a fearful chill. "

"It's revolting, " Pavel Ivanitch went on. "The worst of it is they knowperfectly well that you can't last out the long journey, and yet theyput you here. Supposing you get as far as the Indian Ocean, what then?It's horrible to think of it. .. . And that's their gratitude for yourfaithful, irreproachable service!"

Pavel Ivanitch's eyes looked angry; he frowned contemptuously and said, gasping:

"Those are the people who ought to be plucked in the newspapers till thefeathers fly in all directions. "

The two sick soldiers and the sailor were awake and already playingcards. The sailor was half reclining in his hammock, the soldiers weresitting near him on the floor in the most uncomfortable attitudes. Oneof the soldiers had his right arm in a sling, and the hand was swathedup in a regular bundle so that he held his cards under his right arm orin the crook of his elbow while he played with the left. The ship wasrolling heavily. They could not stand up, nor drink tea, nor take theirmedicines. 

"Were you an officer's servant?" Pavel Ivanitch asked Gusev. 

"Yes, an officer's servant. "

"My God, my God!" said Pavel Ivanitch, and he shook his head mournfully. "To tear a man out of his home, drag him twelve thousand miles away, then to drive him into consumption and. .. And what is it all for, one wonders? To turn him into a servant for some Captain Kopeikin ormidshipman Dirka! How logical!"

"It's not hard work, Pavel Ivanitch. You get up in the morning and cleanthe boots, get the samovar, sweep the rooms, and then you have nothingmore to do. The lieutenant is all the day drawing plans, and if you likeyou can say your prayers, if you like you can read a book or go out intothe street. God grant everyone such a life. "

"Yes, very nice, the lieutenant draws plans all the day and you sit inthe kitchen and pine for home. .. . Plans indeed!. .. It is not plans thatmatter, but a human life. Life is not given twice, it must be treatedmercifully. "

"Of course, Pavel Ivanitch, a bad man gets no mercy anywhere, neither athome nor in the army, but if you live as you ought and obey orders, whohas any need to insult you? The officers are educated gentlemen, theyunderstand. .. . In five years I was never once in prison, and I was neverstruck a blow, so help me God, but once. "

"What for?"

"For fighting. I have a heavy hand, Pavel Ivanitch. Four Chinamencame into our yard; they were bringing firewood or something, I don'tremember. Well, I was bored and I knocked them about a bit, one's nosebegan bleeding, damn the fellow. .. . The lieutenant saw it through thelittle window, he was angry and gave me a box on the ear. "

"Foolish, pitiful man. .. " whispered Pavel Ivanitch. "You don'tunderstand anything. "

He was utterly exhausted by the tossing of the ship and closed hiseyes; his head alternately fell back and dropped forward on hisbreast. Several times he tried to lie down but nothing came of it; hisdifficulty in breathing prevented it. 

"And what did you hit the four Chinamen for?" he asked a little whileafterwards. 

"Oh, nothing. They came into the yard and I hit them. "

And a stillness followed. .. . The card-players had been playing for twohours with enthusiasm and loud abuse of one another, but the motion ofthe ship overcame them, too; they threw aside the cards and lay down. Again Gusev saw the big pond, the brick building, the village. .. . Againthe sledge was coming along, again Vanka was laughing and Akulka, sillylittle thing, threw open her fur coat and stuck her feet out, as much asto say: "Look, good people, my snowboots are not like Vanka's, they arenew ones. "

"Five years old, and she has no sense yet, " Gusev muttered in delirium. "Instead of kicking your legs you had better come and get your soldieruncle a drink. I will give you something nice. "

Then Andron with a flintlock gun on his shoulder was carrying a hare hehad killed, and he was followed by the decrepit old Jew Isaitchik, whooffers to barter the hare for a piece of soap; then the black calf inthe shed, then Domna sewing at a shirt and crying about something, andthen again the bull's head without eyes, black smoke. .. . 

Overhead someone gave a loud shout, several sailors ran by, they seemedto be dragging something bulky over the deck, something fell with acrash. Again they ran by. .. . Had something gone wrong? Gusev raisedhis head, listened, and saw that the two soldiers and the sailor wereplaying cards again; Pavel Ivanitch was sitting up moving his lips. Itwas stifling, one hadn't strength to breathe, one was thirsty, the waterwas warm, disgusting. The ship heaved as much as ever. 

Suddenly something strange happened to one of the soldiers playingcards. .. . He called hearts diamonds, got muddled in his score, anddropped his cards, then with a frightened, foolish smile looked round atall of them. 

"I shan't be a minute, mates, I'll. .. " he said, and lay down on thefloor. 

Everybody was amazed. They called to him, he did not answer. 

"Stephan, maybe you are feeling bad, eh?" the soldier with his arm in asling asked him. "Perhaps we had better bring the priest, eh?"

"Have a drink of water, Stepan. .. " said the sailor. "Here, lad, drink. "

"Why are you knocking the jug against his teeth?" said Gusev angrily. "Don't you see, turnip head?"

"What?"

"What?" Gusev repeated, mimicking him. "There is no breath in him, he isdead! That's what! What nonsensical people, Lord have mercy on us. .. !"

III

The ship was not rocking and Pavel Ivanitch was more cheerful. He wasno longer ill-humoured. His face had a boastful, defiant, mockingexpression. He looked as though he wanted to say: "Yes, in a minuteI will tell you something that will make you split your sides withlaughing. " The little round window was open and a soft breeze wasblowing on Pavel Ivanitch. There was a sound of voices, of the plash ofoars in the water. .. . Just under the little window someone began droningin a high, unpleasant voice: no doubt it was a Chinaman singing. 

"Here we are in the harbour, " said Pavel Ivanitch, smiling ironically. "Only another month and we shall be in Russia. Well, worthy gentlemenand warriors! I shall arrive at Odessa and from there go straight toHarkov. In Harkov I have a friend, a literary man. I shall go to him andsay, 'Come, old man, put aside your horrid subjects, ladies' amours andthe beauties of nature, and show up human depravity. '"

For a minute he pondered, then said:

"Gusev, do you know how I took them in?"

"Took in whom, Pavel Ivanitch?"

"Why, these fellows. .. . You know that on this steamer there is only afirst-class and a third-class, and they only allow peasants--that is therift-raft--to go in the third. If you have got on a reefer jacket andhave the faintest resemblance to a gentleman or a bourgeois you must gofirst-class, if you please. You must fork out five hundred roubles ifyou die for it. Why, I ask, have you made such a rule? Do you want toraise the prestige of educated Russians thereby? Not a bit of it. Wedon't let you go third-class simply because a decent person can't gothird-class; it is very horrible and disgusting. Yes, indeed. I am verygrateful for such solicitude for decent people's welfare. But in anycase, whether it is nasty there or nice, five hundred roubles I haven'tgot. I haven't pilfered government money. I haven't exploited thenatives, I haven't trafficked in contraband, I have flogged no one todeath, so judge whether I have the right to travel first-class and evenless to reckon myself of the educated class? But you won't catch themwith logic. .. . One has to resort to deception. I put on a workman's coatand high boots, I assumed a drunken, servile mug and went to the agents:'Give us a little ticket, your honour, ' said I. .. . "

"Why, what class do you belong to?" asked a sailor. 

"Clerical. My father was an honest priest, he always told the great onesof the world the truth to their faces; and he had a great deal to put upwith in consequence. "

Pavel Ivanitch was exhausted with talking and gasped for breath, butstill went on:

"Yes, I always tell people the truth to their faces. I am not afraid ofanyone or anything. There is a vast difference between me and all of youin that respect. You are in darkness, you are blind, crushed; you seenothing and what you do see you don't understand. .. . You are told thewind breaks loose from its chain, that you are beasts, Petchenyegs, andyou believe it; they punch you in the neck, you kiss their hands; someanimal in a sable-lined coat robs you and then tips you fifteenkopecks and you: 'Let me kiss your hand, sir. ' You are pariahs, pitifulpeople. .. . I am a different sort. My eyes are open, I see it all asclearly as a hawk or an eagle when it floats over the earth, and Iunderstand it all. I am a living protest. I see irresponsible tyranny--Iprotest. I see cant and hypocrisy--I protest. I see swine triumphant--Iprotest. And I cannot be suppressed, no Spanish Inquisition can makeme hold my tongue. No. .. . Cut out my tongue and I would protest in dumbshow; shut me up in a cellar--I will shout from it to be heard half amile away, or I will starve myself to death that they may have anotherweight on their black consciences. Kill me and I will haunt them withmy ghost. All my acquaintances say to me: 'You are a most insufferableperson, Pavel Ivanitch. ' I am proud of such a reputation. I have servedthree years in the far East, and I shall be remembered there for ahundred years: I had rows with everyone. My friends write to me fromRussia, 'Don't come back, ' but here I am going back to spite them. .. Yes. .. . That is life as I understand it. That is what one can calllife. "

Gusev was looking at the little window and was not listening. A boatwas swaying on the transparent, soft, turquoise water all bathed in hot, dazzling sunshine. In it there were naked Chinamen holding up cages withcanaries and calling out:

"It sings, it sings!"

Another boat knocked against the first; the steam cutter darted by. Andthen there came another boat with a fat Chinaman sitting in it, eatingrice with little sticks. 

Languidly the water heaved, languidly the white seagulls floated overit. 

"I should like to give that fat fellow one in the neck, " thought Gusev, gazing at the stout Chinaman, with a yawn. 

He dozed off, and it seemed to him that all nature was dozing, too. Time flew swiftly by; imperceptibly the day passed, imperceptibly thedarkness came on. .. . The steamer was no longer standing still, butmoving on further. 

IV

Two days passed, Pavel Ivanitch lay down instead of sitting up; his eyeswere closed, his nose seemed to have grown sharper. 

"Pavel Ivanitch, " Gusev called to him. "Hey, Pavel Ivanitch. "

Pavel Ivanitch opened his eyes and moved his lips. 

"Are you feeling bad?"

"No. .. It's nothing. .. " answered Pavel Ivanitch, gasping. "Nothing;on the contrary--I am rather better. .. . You see I can lie down. I am alittle easier. .. . "

"Well, thank God for that, Pavel Ivanitch. "

"When I compare myself with you I am sorry for you. .. Poor fellow. Mylungs are all right, it is only a stomach cough. .. . I can stand hell, let alone the Red Sea. Besides I take a critical attitude to my illnessand to the medicines they give me for it. While you. .. You are indarkness. .. . It's hard for you, very, very hard!"

The ship was not rolling, it was calm, but as hot and stifling as abath-house; it was not only hard to speak but even hard to listen. Gusevhugged his knees, laid his head on them and thought of his home. Goodheavens, what a relief it was to think of snow and cold in that stiflingheat! You drive in a sledge, all at once the horses take fright atsomething and bolt. .. . Regardless of the road, the ditches, the ravines, they dash like mad things, right through the village, over the pond bythe pottery works, out across the open fields. "Hold on, " the potteryhands and the peasants sho ut, meeting them. "Hold on. " But why? Let thekeen, cold wind beat in one's face and bite one's hands; let the lumpsof snow, kicked up by the horses' hoofs, fall on one's cap, on one'sback, down one's collar, on one's chest; let the runners ring on thesnow, and the traces and the sledge be smashed, deuce take them one andall! And how delightful when the sledge upsets and you go flying fulltilt into a drift, face downwards in the snow, and then you get up whiteall over with icicles on your moustaches; no cap, no gloves, your beltundone. .. . People laugh, the dogs bark. .. . 

Pavel Ivanitch half opened one eye, looked at Gusev with it, and askedsoftly:

"Gusev, did your commanding officer steal?"

"Who can tell, Pavel Ivanitch! We can't say, it didn't reach us. "

And after that a long time passed in silence. Gusev brooded, mutteredsomething in delirium, and kept drinking water; it was hard for him totalk and hard to listen, and he was afraid of being talked to. An hourpassed, a second, a third; evening came on, then night, but he did notnotice it. He still sat dreaming of the frost. 

There was a sound as though someone came into the hospital, and voiceswere audible, but a few minutes passed and all was still again. 

"The Kingdom of Heaven and eternal peace, " said the soldier with his armin a sling. "He was an uncomfortable man. "

"What?" asked Gusev. "Who?"

"He is dead, they have just carried him up. "

"Oh, well, " muttered Gusev, yawning, "the Kingdom of Heaven be his. "

"What do you think?" the soldier with his arm in a sling asked Gusev. "Will he be in the Kingdom of Heaven or not?"

"Who is it you are talking about?"

"Pavel Ivanitch. "

"He will be. .. He suffered so long. And there is another thing, hebelonged to the clergy, and the priests always have a lot of relations. Their prayers will save him. "

The soldier with the sling sat down on a hammock near Gusev and said inan undertone:

"And you, Gusev, are not long for this world. You will never get toRussia. "

"Did the doctor or his assistant say so?" asked Gusev. 

"It isn't that they said so, but one can see it. .. . One can see directlywhen a man's going to die. You don't eat, you don't drink; it's dreadfulto see how thin you've got. It's consumption, in fact. I say it, not toupset you, but because maybe you would like to have the sacrament andextreme unction. And if you have any money you had better give it to thesenior officer. "

"I haven't written home. .. " Gusev sighed. "I shall die and they won'tknow. "

"They'll hear of it, " the sick sailor brought out in a bass voice. "Whenyou die they will put it down in the _Gazette, _ at Odessa they will sendin a report to the commanding officer there and he will send it to theparish or somewhere. .. . "

Gusev began to be uneasy after such a conversation and to feel a vagueyearning. He drank water--it was not that; he dragged himself to thewindow and breathed the hot, moist air--it was not that; he tried tothink of home, of the frost--it was not that. .. . At last it seemed tohim one minute longer in the ward and he would certainly expire. 

"It's stifling, mates. .. " he said. "I'll go on deck. Help me up, forChrist's sake. "

"All right, " assented the soldier with the sling. "I'll carry you, youcan't walk, hold on to my neck. "

Gusev put his arm round the soldier's neck, the latter put his unhurtarm round him and carried him up. On the deck sailors and time-expiredsoldiers were lying asleep side by side; there were so many of them itwas difficult to pass. 

"Stand down, " the soldier with the sling said softly. "Follow mequietly, hold on to my shirt. .. . "

It was dark. There was no light on deck, nor on the masts, nor anywhereon the sea around. At the furthest end of the ship the man on watch wasstanding perfectly still like a statue, and it looked as though he wereasleep. It seemed as though the steamer were abandoned to itself andwere going at its own will. 

"Now they will throw Pavel Ivanitch into the sea, " said the soldier withthe sling. "In a sack and then into the water. "

"Yes, that's the rule. "

"But it's better to lie at home in the earth. Anyway, your mother comesto the grave and weeps. "

"Of course. "

There was a smell of hay and of dung. There were oxen standing withdrooping heads by the ship's rail. One, two, three; eight of them! Andthere was a little horse. Gusev put out his hand to stroke it, but itshook its head, showed its teeth, and tried to bite his sleeve. 

"Damned brute. .. " said Gusev angrily. 

The two of them, he and the soldier, threaded their way to the head ofthe ship, then stood at the rail and looked up and down. Overheaddeep sky, bright stars, peace and stillness, exactly as at home in thevillage, below darkness and disorder. The tall waves were resounding, noone could tell why. Whichever wave you looked at each one was trying torise higher than all the rest and to chase and crush the next one; afterit a third as fierce and hideous flew noisily, with a glint of light onits white crest. 

The sea has no sense and no pity. If the steamer had been smallerand not made of thick iron, the waves would have crushed it to pieceswithout the slightest compunction, and would have devoured all thepeople in it with no distinction of saints or sinners. The steamer hadthe same cruel and meaningless expression. This monster with its hugebeak was dashing onwards, cutting millions of waves in its path; it hadno fear of the darkness nor the wind, nor of space, nor of solitude, caring for nothing, and if the ocean had its people, this monster wouldhave crushed them, too, without distinction of saints or sinners. 

"Where are we now?" asked Gusev. 

"I don't know. We must be in the ocean. "

"There is no sight of land. .. "

"No indeed! They say we shan't see it for seven days. "

The two soldiers watched the white foam with the phosphorus light on itand were silent, thinking. Gusev was the first to break the silence. 

"There is nothing to be afraid of, " he said, "only one is full of dreadas though one were sitting in a dark forest; but if, for instance, theylet a boat down on to the water this minute and an officer ordered me togo a hundred miles over the sea to catch fish, I'd go. Or, let's say, if a Christian were to fall into the water this minute, I'd go in afterhim. A German or a Chinaman I wouldn't save, but I'd go in after aChristian. "

"And are you afraid to die?"

"Yes. I am sorry for the folks at home. My brother at home, you know, isn't steady; he drinks, he beats his wife for nothing, he does nothonour his parents. Everything will go to ruin without me, and fatherand my old mother will be begging their bread, I shouldn't wonder. Butmy legs won't bear me, brother, and it's hot here. Let's go to sleep. "

V

Gusev went back to the ward and got into his hammock. He was againtormented by a vague craving, and he could not make out what he wanted. There was an oppression on his chest, a throbbing in his head, his mouthwas so dry that it was difficult for him to move his tongue. He dozed, and murmured in his sleep, and, worn out with nightmares, his cough, and the stifling heat, towards morning he fell into a sound sleep. Hedreamed that they were just taking the bread out of the oven in thebarracks and he climbed into the stove and had a steam bath in it, lashing himself with a bunch of birch twigs. He slept for two days, andat midday on the third two sailors came down and carried him out. 

He was sewn up in sailcloth and to make him heavier they put with himtwo iron weights. Sewn up in the sailcloth he looked like a carrot or aradish: broad at the head and narrow at the feet. .. . Before sunset theybrought him up to the deck and put him on a plank; one end of the planklay on the side of the ship, the other on a box, placed on a stool. Round him stood the soldiers and the officers with their caps off. 

"Blessed be the Name of the Lord. .. " the priest began. "As it was in thebeginning, is now, and ever shall be. "

"Amen, " chanted three sailors. 

The soldiers and the officers crossed themselves and looked away atthe waves. It was strange that a man should be sewn up in sailcloth andshould soon be flying into the sea. Was it possible that such a thingmight happen to anyone?

The priest strewed earth upon Gusev and bowed down. They sang "EternalMemory. "

The man on watch duty tilted up the end of the plank, Gusev slid off andflew head foremost, turned a somersault in the air and splashed into thesea. He was covered with foam and for a moment looked as though he werewrapped in lace, but the minute passed and he disappeared in the waves. 

He went rapidly towards the bottom. Did he reach it? It was said to bethree miles to the bottom. After sinking sixty or seventy feet, he beganmoving more and more slowly, swaying rhythmically, as though he werehesitating and, carried along by the current, moved more rapidlysideways than downwards. 

Then he was met by a shoal of the fish called harbour pilots. Seeingthe dark body the fish stopped as though petrified, and suddenly turnedround and disappeared. In less than a minute they flew back swift as anarrow to Gusev, and began zig-zagging round him in the water. 

After that another dark body appeared. It was a shark. It swam underGusev with dignity and no show of interest, as though it did not noticehim, and sank down upon its back, then it turned belly upwards, baskingin the warm, transparent water and languidly opened its jaws with tworows of teeth. The harbour pilots are delighted, they stop to seewhat will come next. After playing a little with the body the sharknonchalantly puts its jaws under it, cautiously touches it with itsteeth, and the sailcloth is rent its full length from head to foot; oneof the weights falls out and frightens the harbour pilots, and strikingthe shark on the ribs goes rapidly to the bottom. 

Overhead at this time the clouds are massed together on the side wherethe sun is setting; one cloud like a triumphal arch, another like alion, a third like a pair of scissors. .. . From behind the clouds abroad, green shaft of light pierces through and stretches to the middleof the sky; a little later another, violet-coloured, lies beside it;next that, one of gold, then one rose-coloured. .. . The sky turns asoft lilac. Looking at this gorgeous, enchanted sky, at first the oceanscowls, but soon it, too, takes tender, joyous, passionate colours forwhich it is hard to find a name in human speech. 

THE STUDENT

AT first the weather was fine and still. The thrushes were calling, andin the swamps close by something alive droned pitifully with a soundlike blowing into an empty bottle. A snipe flew by, and the shot aimedat it rang out with a gay, resounding note in the spring air. Butwhen it began to get dark in the forest a cold, penetrating wind blewinappropriately from the east, and everything sank into silence. Needlesof ice stretched across the pools, and it felt cheerless, remote, andlonely in the forest. There was a whiff of winter. 

Ivan Velikopolsky, the son of a sacristan, and a student of the clericalacademy, returning home from shooting, walked all the time by the pathin the water-side meadow. His fingers were numb and his face was burningwith the wind. It seemed to him that the cold that had suddenly come onhad destroyed the order and harmony of things, that nature itself feltill at ease, and that was why the evening darkness was falling morerapidly than usual. All around it was deserted and peculiarly gloomy. The only light was one gleaming in the widows' gardens near the river;the village, over three miles away, and everything in the distance allround was plunged in the cold evening mist. The student remembered that, as he went out from the house, his mother was sitting barefoot on thefloor in the entry, cleaning the samovar, while his father lay on thestove coughing; as it was Good Friday nothing had been cooked, andthe student was terribly hungry. And now, shrinking from the cold, hethought that just such a wind had blown in the days of Rurik and in thetime of Ivan the Terrible and Peter, and in their time there had beenjust the same desperate poverty and hunger, the same thatched roofs withholes in them, ignorance, misery, the same desolation around, the samedarkness, the same feeling of oppression--all these had existed, didexist, and would exist, and the lapse of a thousand years would makelife no better. And he did not want to go home. 

The gardens were called the widows' because they were kept by twowidows, mother and daughter. A camp fire was burning brightly with acrackling sound, throwing out light far around on the ploughed earth. The widow Vasilisa, a tall, fat old woman in a man's coat, was standingby and looking thoughtfully into the fire; her daughter Lukerya, alittle pock-marked woman with a stupid-looking face, was sitting onthe ground, washing a caldron and spoons. Apparently they had just hadsupper. There was a sound of men's voices; it was the labourers wateringtheir horses at the river. 

"Here you have winter back again, " said the student, going up to thecamp fire. "Good evening. "

Vasilisa started, but at once recognized him and smiled cordially. 

"I did not know you; God bless you, " she said. 

"You'll be rich. "

They talked. Vasilisa, a woman of experience, who had been in servicewith the gentry, first as a wet-nurse, afterwards as a children's nurse, expressed herself with refinement, and a soft, sedate smile never lefther face; her daughter Lukerya, a village peasant woman, who had beenbeaten by her husband, simply screwed up her eyes at the student andsaid nothing, and she had a strange expression like that of a deaf mute. 

"At just such a fire the Apostle Peter warmed himself, " said thestudent, stretching out his hands to the fire, "so it must have beencold then, too. Ah, what a terrible night it must have been, granny! Anutterly dismal long night!"

He looked round at the darkness, shook his head abruptly and asked:

"No doubt you have been at the reading of the Twelve Gospels?"

"Yes, I have, " answered Vasilisa. 

"If you remember at the Last Supper Peter said to Jesus, 'I am ready togo with Thee into darkness and unto death. ' And our Lord answered himthus: 'I say unto thee, Peter, before the cock croweth thou wilt havedenied Me thrice. ' After the supper Jesus went through the agony ofdeath in the garden and prayed, and poor Peter was weary in spirit andfaint, his eyelids were heavy and he could not struggle against sleep. He fell asleep. Then you heard how Judas the same night kissed Jesus andbetrayed Him to His tormentors. They took Him bound to the high priestand beat Him, while Peter, exhausted, worn out with misery and alarm, hardly awake, you know, feeling that something awful was just goingto happen on earth, followed behind. .. . He loved Jesus passionately, intensely, and now he saw from far off how He was beaten. .. "

Lukerya left the spoons and fixed an immovable stare upon the student. 

"They came to the high priest's, " he went on; "they began to questionJesus, and meantime the labourers made a fire in the yard as it wascold, and warmed themselves. Peter, too, stood with them near the fireand warmed himself as I am doing. A woman, seeing him, said: 'He waswith Jesus, too'--that is as much as to say that he, too, should betaken to be questioned. And all the labourers that were standing nearthe fire must have looked sourly and suspiciously at him, because hewas confused and said: 'I don't know Him. ' A little while after againsomeone recognized him as one of Jesus' disciples and said: 'Thou, too, art one of them, ' but again he denied it. And for the third time someoneturned to him: 'Why, did I not see thee with Him in the garden to-day?'For the third time he denied it. And immediately after that time thecock crowed, and Peter, looking from afar off at Jesus, remembered thewords He had said to him in the evening. .. . He remembered, he came tohimself, went out of the yard and wept bitterly--bitterly. In the Gospelit is written: 'He went out and wept bitterly. ' I imagine it: thestill, still, dark, dark garden, and in the stillness, faintly audible, smothered sobbing. .. "

T he student sighed and sank into thought. Still smiling, Vasilisasuddenly gave a gulp, big tears flowed freely down her cheeks, and shescreened her face from the fire with her sleeve as though ashamed of hertears, and Lukerya, staring immovably at the student, flushed crimson, and her expression became strained and heavy like that of someoneenduring intense pain. 

The labourers came back from the river, and one of them riding a horsewas quite near, and the light from the fire quivered upon him. Thestudent said good-night to the widows and went on. And again thedarkness was about him and his fingers began to be numb. A cruel windwas blowing, winter really had come back and it did not feel as thoughEaster would be the day after to-morrow. 

Now the student was thinking about Vasilisa: since she had shed tearsall that had happened to Peter the night before the Crucifixion musthave some relation to her. .. . 

He looked round. The solitary light was still gleaming in the darknessand no figures could be seen near it now. The student thought again thatif Vasilisa had shed tears, and her daughter had been troubled, itwas evident that what he had just been telling them about, which hadhappened nineteen centuries ago, had a relation to the present--to bothwomen, to the desolate village, to himself, to all people. The old womanhad wept, not because he could tell the story touchingly, but becausePeter was near to her, because her whole being was interested in whatwas passing in Peter's soul. 

And joy suddenly stirred in his soul, and he even stopped for a minuteto take breath. "The past, " he thought, "is linked with the present byan unbroken chain of events flowing one out of another. " And it seemedto him that he had just seen both ends of that chain; that when hetouched one end the other quivered. 

When he crossed the river by the ferry boat and afterwards, mounting thehill, looked at his village and towards the west where the cold crimsonsunset lay a narrow streak of light, he thought that truth and beautywhich had guided human life there in the garden and in the yard of thehigh priest had continued without interruption to this day, and hadevidently always been the chief thing in human life and in all earthlylife, indeed; and the feeling of youth, health, vigour--he was onlytwenty-two--and the inexpressible sweet expectation of happiness, ofunknown mysterious happiness, took possession of him little by little, and life seemed to him enchanting, marvellous, and full of loftymeaning. 

IN THE RAVINE

I

THE village of Ukleevo lay in a ravine so that only the belfry and thechimneys of the printed cottons factories could be seen from the highroad and the railway-station. When visitors asked what village this was, they were told:

"That's the village where the deacon ate all the caviare at thefuneral. "

It had happened at the dinner at the funeral of Kostukov that the olddeacon saw among the savouries some large-grained caviare and beganeating it greedily; people nudged him, tugged at his arm, but he seemedpetrified with enjoyment: felt nothing, and only went on eating. He ateup all the caviare, and there were four pounds in the jar. And years hadpassed since then, the deacon had long been dead, but the caviare wasstill remembered. Whether life was so poor here or people had not beenclever enough to notice anything but that unimportant incident that hadoccurred ten years before, anyway the people had nothing else to tellabout the village Ukleevo. 

The village was never free from fever, and there was boggy mud thereeven in the summer, especially under the fences over which hung oldwillow-trees that gave deep shade. Here there was always a smell fromthe factory refuse and the acetic acid which was used in the finishingof the cotton print. 

The three cotton factories and the tanyard were not in the villageitself, but a little way off. They were small factories, and not morethan four hundred workmen were employed in all of them. The tanyardoften made the water in the little river stink; the refuse contaminatedthe meadows, the peasants' cattle suffered from Siberian plague, andorders were given that the factory should be closed. It was consideredto be closed, but went on working in secret with the connivance of thelocal police officer and the district doctor, who was paid ten roublesa month by the owner. In the whole village there were only two decenthouses built of brick with iron roofs; one of them was the local court, in the other, a two-storied house just opposite the church, there liveda shopkeeper from Epifan called Grigory Petrovitch Tsybukin. 

Grigory kept a grocer's shop, but that was only for appearance' sake:in reality he sold vodka, cattle, hides, grain, and pigs; he traded inanything that came to hand, and when, for instance, magpies were wantedabroad for ladies' hats, he made some thirty kopecks on every pairof birds; he bought timber for felling, lent money at interest, andaltogether was a sharp old man, full of resources. 

He had two sons. The elder, Anisim, was in the police in the detectivedepartment and was rarely at home. The younger, Stepan, had gone in fortrade and helped his father: but no great help was expected from him ashe was weak in health and deaf; his wife Aksinya, a handsome woman witha good figure, who wore a hat and carried a parasol on holidays, got upearly and went to bed late, and ran about all day long, picking up herskirts and jingling her keys, going from the granary to the cellar andfrom there to the shop, and old Tsybukin looked at her good-humouredlywhile his eyes glowed, and at such moments he regretted she had not beenmarried to his elder son instead of to the younger one, who was deaf, and who evidently knew very little about female beauty. 

The old man had always an inclination for family life, and he lovedhis family more than anything on earth, especially his elder son, thedetective, and his daughter-in-law. Aksinya had no sooner married thedeaf son than she began to display an extraordinary gift for business, and knew who could be allowed to run up a bill and who could not: shekept the keys and would not trust them even to her husband; she kept theaccounts by means of the reckoning beads, looked at the horses' teethlike a peasant, and was always laughing or shouting; and whatever shedid or said the old man was simply delighted and muttered:

"Well done, daughter-in-law! You are a smart wench!"

He was a widower, but a year after his son's marriage he could notresist getting married himself. A girl was found for him, living twentymiles from Ukleevo, called Varvara Nikolaevna, no longer quite young, but good-looking, comely, and belonging to a decent family. As soon asshe was installed into the upper-storey room everything in the houseseemed to brighten up as though new glass had been put into all thewindows. The lamps gleamed before the ikons, the tables were coveredwith snow-white cloths, flowers with red buds made their appearance inthe windows and in the front garden, and at dinner, instead of eatingfrom a single bowl, each person had a separate plate set for him. Varvara Nikolaevna had a pleasant, friendly smile, and it seemed asthough the whole house were smiling, too. Beggars and pilgrims, male andfemale, began to come into the yard, a thing which had never happenedin the past; the plaintive sing-song voices of the Ukleevo peasantwomen and the apologetic coughs of weak, seedy-looking men, who had beendismissed from the factory for drunkenness were heard under the windows. Varvara helped them with money, with bread, with old clothes, andafterwards, when she felt more at home, began taking things out of theshop. One day the deaf man saw her take four ounces of tea and thatdisturbed him. 

"Here, mother's taken four ounces of tea, " he informed his fatherafterwards; "where is that to be entered?"

The old man made no reply but stood still and thought a moment, movinghis eyebrows, and then went upstairs to his wife. 

"Varvarushka, if you want anything out of the shop, " he saidaffectionately, "take it, my dea r. Take it and welcome; don'thesitate. "

And the next day the deaf man, running across the yard, called to her:

"If there is anything you want, mother, take it. "

There was something new, something gay and light-hearted in her givingof alms, just as there was in the lamps before the ikons and in the redflowers. When at Carnival or at the church festival, which lasted forthree days, they sold the peasants tainted salt meat, smelling so strongit was hard to stand near the tub of it, and took scythes, caps, andtheir wives' kerchiefs in pledge from the drunken men; when the factoryhands stupefied with bad vodka lay rolling in the mud, and sin seemed tohover thick like a fog in the air, then it was a relief to think thatup there in the house there was a gentle, neatly dressed woman whohad nothing to do with salt meat or vodka; her charity had in thoseburdensome, murky days the effect of a safety valve in a machine. 

The days in Tsybukin's house were spent in business cares. Before thesun had risen in the morning Aksinya was panting and puffing as shewashed in the outer room, and the samovar was boiling in the kitchenwith a hum that boded no good. Old Grigory Petrovitch, dressed in a longblack coat, cotton breeches and shiny top boots, looking a dapper littlefigure, walked about the rooms, tapping with his little heels like thefather-in-law in a well-known song. The shop was opened. When it wasdaylight a racing droshky was brought up to the front door and the oldman got jauntily on to it, pulling his big cap down to his ears; and, looking at him, no one would have said he was fifty-six. His wife anddaughter-in-law saw him off, and at such times when he had on a good, clean coat, and had in the droshky a huge black horse that had costthree hundred roubles, the old man did not like the peasants to come upto him with their complaints and petitions; he hated the peasants anddisdained them, and if he saw some peasants waiting at the gate, hewould shout angrily:

"Why are you standing there? Go further off. "

Or if it were a beggar, he would say:

"God will provide!"

He used to drive off on business; his wife, in a dark dress and a blackapron, tidied the rooms or helped in the kitchen. Aksinya attended tothe shop, and from the yard could be heard the clink of bottles and ofmoney, her laughter and loud talk, and the anger of customers whom shehad offended; and at the same time it could be seen that the secret saleof vodka was already going on in the shop. The deaf man sat in theshop, too, or walked about the street bare-headed, with his hands inhis pockets looking absent-mindedly now at the huts, now at the skyoverhead. Six times a day they had tea; four times a day they sat downto meals; and in the evening they counted over their takings, put themdown, went to bed, and slept soundly. 

All the three cotton factories in Ukleevo and the houses of thefactory owners--Hrymin Seniors, Hrymin Juniors, and Kostukov--were ona telephone. The telephone was laid on in the local court, too, but itsoon ceased to work as bugs and beetles bred there. The elder of therural district had had little education and wrote every word in theofficial documents in capitals. But when the telephone was spoiled hesaid:

"Yes, now we shall be badly off without a telephone. "

The Hrymin Seniors were continually at law with the Juniors, andsometimes the Juniors quarrelled among themselves and began going tolaw, and their factory did not work for a month or two till they werereconciled again, and this was an entertainment for the people ofUkleevo, as there was a great deal of talk and gossip on the occasion ofeach quarrel. On holidays Kostukov and the Juniors used to get up races, used to dash about Ukleevo and run over calves. Aksinya, rustling herstarched petticoats, used to promenade in a low-necked dress up and downthe street near her shop; the Juniors used to snatch her up and carryher off as though by force. Then old Tsybukin would drive out to showhis new horse and take Varvara with him. 

In the evening, after the races, when people were going to bed, anexpensive concertina was played in the Juniors' yard and, if it were amoonlight night, those sounds sent a thrill of delight to the heart, andUkleevo no longer seemed a wretched hole. 

II

The elder son Anisim came home very rarely, only on great holidays, buthe often sent by a returning villager presents and letters written invery good writing by some other hand, always on a sheet of foolscap inthe form of a petition. The letters were full of expressions that Anisimnever made use of in conversation: "Dear papa and mamma, I send you apound of flower tea for the satisfaction of your physical needs. "

At the bottom of every letter was scratched, as though with a brokenpen: "Anisim Tsybukin, " and again in the same excellent hand: "Agent. "

The letters were read aloud several times, and the old father, touched, red with emotion, would say:

"Here he did not care to stay at home, he has gone in for anintellectual line. Well, let him! Every man to his own job!"

It happened just before Carnival there was a heavy storm of rain mixedwith hail; the old man and Varvara went to the window to look at it, and lo and behold! Anisim drove up in a sledge from the station. He wasquite unexpected. He came indoors, looking anxious and troubled aboutsomething, and he remained the same all the time; there was somethingfree and easy in his manner. He was in no haste to go away, it seemed, as though he had been dismissed from the service. Varvara was pleased athis arrival; she looked at him with a sly expression, sighed, and shookher head. 

"How is this, my friends?" she said. "Tut, tut, the lad's in histwenty-eighth year, and he is still leading a gay bachelor life; tut, tut, tut. .. . "

From the other room her soft, even speech sounded like tut, tut, tut. She began whispering with her husband and Aksinya, and their faces worethe same sly and mysterious expression as though they were conspirators. 

It was decided to marry Anisim. 

"Oh, tut, tut. .. The younger brother has been married long ago, " saidVarvara, "and you are still without a helpmate like a cock at a fair. What is the meaning of it? Tut, tut, you will be married, please God, then as you choose--you will go into the service and your wife willremain here at home to help us. There is no order in your life, youngman, and I see you have forgotten how to live properly. Tut, tut, it'sthe same trouble with all you townspeople. "

When the Tsybukins married, the most handsome girls were chosen asbrides for them as rich men. For Anisim, too, they found a handsome one. He was himself of an uninteresting and inconspicuous appearance; of afeeble, sickly build and short stature; he had full, puffy cheeks whichlooked as though he were blowing them out; his eyes looked with a keen, unblinking stare; his beard was red and scanty, and when he was thinkinghe always put it into his mouth and bit it; moreover he often drank toomuch, and that was noticeable from his face and his walk. But when hewas informed that they had found a very beautiful bride for him, hesaid:

"Oh well, I am not a fright myself. All of us Tsybukins are handsome, Imay say. "

The village of Torguevo was near the town. Half of it had lately beenincorporated into the town, the other half remained a village. In thefirst--the town half--there was a widow living in her own little house;she had a sister living with her who was quite poor and went out to workby the day, and this sister had a daughter called Lipa, a girl who wentout to work, too. People in Torguevo were already talking about Lipa'sgood looks, but her terrible poverty put everyone off; people opinedthat some widower or elderly man would marry her regardless of herpoverty, or would perhaps take her to himself without marriage, and thather mother would get enough to eat living with her. Varvara heard aboutLipa from the matchmakers, and she drove over to Torguevo. 

Then a visit of inspection was arranged at the aunt's, with lunch andwine all in due order, and Lipa wore a new pink dress made on purposefor this occasion, and a crimson ribbon like a flame gleamed in herhair. She was pale-faced, thin, and frail, with soft, delicate featuressunburnt from working in the open air; a shy, mournful smile alwayshovered about her face, and there was a childlike look in her eyes, trustful and curious. 

She was young, quite a little girl, her bosom still scarcelyperceptible, but she could be married because she had reached the legalage. She really was beautiful, and the only thing that might be thoughtunattractive was her big masculine hands which hung idle now like twobig claws. 

"There is no dowry--and we don't think much of that, " said Tsybukin tothe aunt. "We took a wife from a poor family for our son Stepan, too, and now we can't say too much for her. In house and in business alikeshe has hands of gold. "

Lipa stood in the doorway and looked as though she would say: "Do withme as you will, I trust you, " while her mother Praskovya the work-womanhid herself in the kitchen numb with shyness. At one time in her youtha merchant whose floors she was scrubbing stamped at her in a rage; shewent chill with terror and there always was a feeling of fear at thebottom of her heart. When she was frightened her arms and legs trembledand her cheeks twitched. Sitting in the kitchen she tried to hear whatthe visitors were saying, and she kept crossing herself, pressing herfingers to her forehead, and gazing at the ikons. Anisim, slightlydrunk, opened the door into the kitchen and said in a free-and-easy way:

"Why are you sitting in here, precious mamma? We are dull without you. "

And Praskovya, overcome with timidity, pressing her hands to her lean, wasted bosom, said:

"Oh, not at all. .. . It's very kind of you. "

After the visit of inspection the wedding day was fixed. Then Anisimwalked about the rooms at home whistling, or suddenly thinking ofsomething, would fall to brooding and would look at the floor fixedly, silently, as though he would probe to the depths of the earth. Heexpressed neither pleasure that he was to be married, married sosoon, on Low Sunday, nor a desire to see his bride, but simply went onwhistling. And it was evident he was only getting married because hisfather and stepmother wished him to, and because it was the custom inthe village to marry the son in order to have a woman to help in thehouse. When he went away he seemed in no haste, and behaved altogethernot as he had done on previous visits--was particularly free and easy, and talked inappropriately. 

III

In the village Shikalovo lived two dressmakers, sisters, belonging tothe Flagellant sect. The new clothes for the wedding were orderedfrom them, and they often came to try them on, and stayed a long whiledrinking tea. They were making Varvara a brown dress with black lace andbugles on it, and Aksinya a light green dress with a yellow front, witha train. When the dressmakers had finished their work Tsybukin paid themnot in money but in goods from the shop, and they went away depressed, carrying parcels of tallow candles and tins of sardines which they didnot in the least need, and when they got out of the village into theopen country they sat down on a hillock and cried. 

Anisim arrived three days before the wedding, rigged out in new clothesfrom top to toe. He had dazzling india-rubber goloshes, and instead of acravat wore a red cord with little balls on it, and over his shoulderhe had hung an overcoat, also new, without putting his arms into thesleeves. 

After crossing himself sedately before the ikon, he greeted his fatherand gave him ten silver roubles and ten half-roubles; to Varvara he gaveas much, and to Aksinya twenty quarter-roubles. The chief charm of thepresent lay in the fact that all the coins, as though carefully matched, were new and glittered in the sun. Trying to seem grave and sedate hepursed up his face and puffed out his cheeks, and he smelt of spirits. Probably he had visited the refreshment bar at every station. And againthere was a free-and-easiness about the man--something superfluous andout of place. Then Anisim had lunch and drank tea with the old man, and Varvara turned the new coins over in her hand and inquired aboutvillagers who had gone to live in the town. 

"They are all right, thank God, they get on quite well, " said Anisim. "Only something has happened to Ivan Yegorov: his old wife SofyaNikiforovna is dead. From consumption. They ordered the memorial dinnerfor the peace of her soul at the confectioner's at two and a halfroubles a head. And there was real wine. Those who were peasants fromour village--they paid two and a half roubles for them, too. They atenothing, as though a peasant would understand sauce!"

"Two and a half, " said his father, shaking his head. 

"Well, it's not like the country there, you go into a restaurant to havea snack of something, you ask for one thing and another, others jointill there is a party of us, one has a drink--and before you know whereyou are it is daylight and you've three or four roubles each to pay. And when one is with Samorodov he likes to have coffee with brandy in itafter everything, and brandy is sixty kopecks for a little glass. "

"And he is making it all up, " said the old man enthusiastically; "he ismaking it all up, lying!"

"I am always with Samorodov now. It is Samorodov who writes my lettersto you. He writes splendidly. And if I were to tell you, mamma, " Anisimwent on gaily, addressing Varvara, "the sort of fellow that Samorodovis, you would not believe me. We call him Muhtar, because he is blacklike an Armenian. I can see through him, I know all his affairs likethe five fingers of my hand, and he feels that, and he always followsme about, we are regular inseparables. He seems not to like it in a way, but he can't get on without me. Where I go he goes. I have a correct, trustworthy eye, mamma. One sees a peasant selling a shirt in the marketplace. 'Stay, that shirt's stolen. ' And really it turns out it is so:the shirt was a stolen one. "

"What do you tell from?" asked Varvara. 

"Not from anything, I have just an eye for it. I know nothing about theshirt, only for some reason I seem drawn to it: it's stolen, and that'sall I can say. Among us detectives it's come to their saying, 'Oh, Anisim has gone to shoot snipe!' That means looking for stolen goods. Yes. .. . Anybody can steal, but it is another thing to keep! The earth iswide, but there is nowhere to hide stolen goods. "

"In our village a ram and two ewes were carried off last week, " saidVarvara, and she heaved a sigh, and there is no one to try and findthem. .. . Oh, tut, tut. . "

"Well, I might have a try. I don't mind. "

The day of the wedding arrived. It was a cool but bright, cheerful Aprilday. People were driving about Ukleevo from early morning with pairs orteams of three horses decked with many-coloured ribbons on theiryokes and manes, with a jingle of bells. The rooks, disturbed by thisactivity, were cawing noisily in the willows, and the starlings sangtheir loudest unceasingly as though rejoicing that there was a weddingat the Tsybukins'. 

Indoors the tables were already covered with long fish, smoked hams, stuffed fowls, boxes of sprats, pickled savouries of various sorts, and a number of bottles of vodka and wine; there was a smell of smokedsausage and of sour tinned lobster. Old Tsybukin walked about near thetables, tapping with his heels and sharpening the knives against eachother. They kept calling Varvara and asking for things, and she wasconstantly with a distracted face running breathlessly into the kitchen, where the man cook from Kostukov's and the woman cook from HryminJuniors' had been at work since early morning. Aksinya, with her haircurled, in her stays without her dress on, in new creaky boots, flewabout the yard like a whirlwind showing glimpses of her bare knees andbosom. 

It was noisy, there was a sound of scolding and oaths; passers-bystopped at the wide-open gates, and in everything there was a feelingthat something extraordinary was happening. 

"They have gone for the bride!"

The bells began jingling and died away far beyond the village. .. . Between two and three o'clock people ran up: again there was a jinglingof bells: they were bringing the bride! The church was full, thecandelabra were lighted, the choir were singing from music books as oldTsybukin had wished it. The glare of the lights and the bright coloureddresses dazzled Lipa; she felt as though the singers with their loudvoices were hitting her on the head with a hammer. Her boots and thestays, which she had put on for the first time in her life, pinched her, and her face looked as though she had only just come to herself afterfainting; she gazed about without understanding. Anisim, in his blackcoat with a red cord instead of a tie, stared at the same spot lostin thought, and when the singers shouted loudly he hurriedly crossedhimself. He felt touched and disposed to weep. This church was familiarto him from earliest childhood; at one time his dead mother used tobring him here to take the sacrament; at one time he used to sing in thechoir; every ikon he remembered so well, every corner. Here he was beingmarried, he had to take a wife for the sake of doing the proper thing, but he was not thinking of that now, he had forgotten his weddingcompletely. Tears dimmed his eyes so that he could not see the ikons, he felt heavy at heart; he prayed and besought God that the misfortunesthat threatened him, that were ready to burst upon him to-morrow, ifnot to-day, might somehow pass him by as storm-clouds in time of droughtpass over the village without yielding one drop of rain. And so manysins were heaped up in the past, so many sins, all getting away fromthem or setting them right was so beyond hope that it seemed incongruouseven to ask forgiveness. But he did ask forgiveness, and even gave aloud sob, but no one took any notice of that, since they all supposed hehad had a drop too much. 

There was a sound of a fretful childish wail:

"Take me away, mamma darling!"

"Quiet there!" cried the priest. 

When they returned from the church people ran after them; there werecrowds, too, round the shop, round the gates, and in the yard under thewindows. The peasant women came in to sing songs of congratulationto them. The young couple had scarcely crossed the threshold when thesingers, who were already standing in the outer room with their musicbooks, broke into a loud chant at the top of their voices; a bandordered expressly from the town began playing. Foaming Don wine wasbrought in tall wine-glasses, and Elizarov, a carpenter who did jobsby contract, a tall, gaunt old man with eyebrows so bushy that his eyescould scarcely be seen, said, addressing the happy pair:

"Anisim and you, my child, love one another, live in God's way, littlechildren, and the Heavenly Mother will not abandon you. "

He leaned his face on the old father's shoulder and gave a sob. 

"Grigory Petrovitch, let us weep, let us weep with joy!" he said in athin voice, and then at once burst out laughing in a loud bass guffaw. "Ho-ho-ho! This is a fine daughter-in-law for you too! Everything is inits place in her; all runs smoothly, no creaking, the mechanism workswell, lots of screws in it. "

He was a native of the Yegoryevsky district, but had worked in thefactories in Ukleevo and the neighborhood from his youth up, and hadmade it his home. He had been a familiar figure for years as old andgaunt and lanky as now, and for years he had been nicknamed "Crutch. "Perhaps because he had been for forty years occupied in repairing thefactory machinery he judged everybody and everything by its soundnessor its need of repair. And before sitting down to the table he triedseveral chairs to see whether they were solid, and he touched the smokedfish also. 

After the Don wine, they all sat down to the table. The visitors talked, moving their chairs. The singers were singing in the outer room. Theband was playing, and at the same time the peasant women in the yardwere singing their songs all in chorus--and there was an awful, wildmedley of sounds which made one giddy. 

Crutch turned round in his chair and prodded his neighbours withhis elbows, prevented people from talking, and laughed and criedalternately. 

"Little children, little children, little children, " he mutteredrapidly. "Aksinya my dear, Varvara darling, we will live all in peaceand harmony, my dear little axes. .. . "

He drank little and was now only drunk from one glass of Englishbitters. The revolting bitters, made from nobody knows what, intoxicatedeveryone who drank it as though it had stunned them. Their tongues beganto falter. 

The local clergy, the clerks from the factories with their wives, thetradesmen and tavern-keepers from the other villages were present. Theclerk and the elder of the rural district who had served together forfourteen years, and who had during all that time never signed a singledocument for anybody nor let a single person out of the local courtwithout deceiving or insulting him, were sitting now side by side, bothfat and well-fed, and it seemed as though they were so saturated ininjustice and falsehood that even the skin of their faces was somehowpeculiar, fraudulent. The clerk's wife, a thin woman with a squint, hadbrought all her children with her, and like a bird of prey looked aslantat the plates and snatched anything she could get hold of to put in herown or her children's pockets. 

Lipa sat as though turned to stone, still with the same expression as inchurch. Anisim had not said a single word to her since he had made heracquaintance, so that he did not yet know the sound of her voice; andnow, sitting beside her, he remained mute and went on drinking bitters, and when he got drunk he began talking to the aunt who was sittingopposite:

"I have a friend called Samorodov. A peculiar man. He is by rank anhonorary citizen, and he can talk. But I know him through and through, auntie, and he feels it. Pray join me in drinking to the health ofSamorodov, auntie!"

Varvara, worn out and distracted, walked round the table pressing theguests to eat, and was evidently pleased that there were so many dishesand that everything was so lavish--no one could disparage them now. Thesun set, but the dinner went on: the guests were beyond knowing whatthey were eating or drinking, it was impossible to distinguish what wassaid, and only from time to time when the band subsided some peasantwoman could be heard shouting:

"They have sucked the blood out of us, the Herods; a pest on them!"

In the evening they danced to the band. The Hrymin Juniors came, bringing their wine, and one of them, when dancing a quadrille, held abottle in each hand and a wineglass in his mouth, and that made everyonelaugh. In the middle of the quadrille they suddenly crooked their kneesand danced in a squatting position; Aksinya in green flew by like aflash, stirring up a wind with her train. Someone trod on her flounceand Crutch shouted:

"Aie, they have torn off the panel! Children!"

Aksinya had naive grey eyes which rarely blinked, and a naive smileplayed continually on her face. And in those unblinking eyes, and inthat little head on the long neck, and in her slenderness there wassomething snake-like; all in green but for the yellow on her bosom, shelooked with a smile on her face as a viper looks out of the young ryein the spring at the passers-by, stretching itself and lifting itshead. The Hrymins were free in their behaviour to her, and it was verynoticeable that she was on intimate terms with the elder of them. Buther deaf husband saw nothing, he did not look at her; he sat with hislegs crossed and ate nuts, cracking them so loudly that it sounded likepistol shots. 

But, behold, old Tsybukin himself walked into the middle of the roomand waved his handkerchief as a sign that he, too, wanted to dance theRussian dance, and all over the house and from the crowd in the yardrose a roar of approbation:

"_He's_ going to dance! _He_ himself!"

Varvara danced, but the old man only waved his handkerchief and kickedup his heels, but the people in the yard, propped against one another, peeping in at the windows, were in raptures, and for the moment forgavehim everything--his wealth and the wrongs he had done them. 

"Well done, Grigory Petrovitch!" was heard in the crowd. "That's right, do your best! You can still play your part! Ha-ha!"

It was kept up till late, till two o'clock in the morning. Anisim, staggering, went to take leave of the singers and bandsmen, and gaveeach of them a new half-rouble. His father, who was not staggering butstill seemed to be standing on one leg, saw his guests off, and said toeach of them:

"The wedding has cost two thousand. "

As the party was breaking up, someone took the Shikalovo innkeeper'sgood coat instead of his own old one, and Anisim suddenly flew into arage and began shouting:

"Stop, I'll find it at once; I know who stole it, stop. "

He ran out into the street and pursued someone. He was caught, broughtback home and shoved, drunken, red with anger, and wet, into the roomwhere the aunt was undressing Lipa, and was locked in. 

IV

Five days had passed. Anisim, who was preparing to go, went upstairs tosay good-bye to Varvara. All the lamps were burning before the ikons, there was a smell of incense, while she sat at the window knitting astocking of red wool. 

"You have not stayed with us long, " she said. "You've been dull, I daresay. Oh, tut, tut. We live comfortably; we have plenty of everything. We celebrated your wedding properly, in good style; your father says itcame to two thousand. In fact we live like merchants, only it's dreary. We treat the people very badly. My heart aches, my dear; how we treatthem, my goodness! Whether we exchange a horse or buy something or hirea labourer--it's cheating in everything. Cheating and cheating. TheLenten oil in the shop is bitter, rancid, the people have pitch that isbetter. But surely, tell me pray, couldn't we sell good oil?"

"Every man to his job, mamma. "

"But you know we all have to die? Oy, oy, really you ought to talk toyour father. .. !"

"Why, you should talk to him yourself. "

"Well, well, I did put in my word, but he said just what you do: 'Everyman to his own job. ' Do you suppose in the next world they'll considerwhat job you have been put to? God's judgment is just. "

"Of course no one will consider, " said Anisim, and he heaved a sigh. "There is no God, anyway, you know, mamma, so what considering can therebe?"

Varvara looked at him with surprise, burst out laughing, and clasped herhands. Perhaps because she was so genuinely surprised at his words andlooked at him as though he were a queer person, he was confused. 

"Perhaps there is a God, only there is no faith. When I was beingmarried I was not myself. Just as you may take an egg from under a henand there is a chicken chirping in it, so my conscience was beginning tochirp in me, and while I was being married I thought all the time therewas a God! But when I left the church it was nothing. And indeed, howcan I tell whether there is a God or not? We are not taught right fromchildhood, and while the babe is still at his mother's breast he isonly taught 'every man to his own job. ' Father does not believe in God, either. You were saying that Guntorev had some sheep stolen. .. . I havefound them; it was a peasant at Shikalovo stole them; he stole them, butfather's got the fleeces. .. So that's all his faith amounts to. "

Anisim winked and wagged his head. 

"The elder does not believe in God, either, " he went on. "And the clerkand the deacon, too. And as for their going to church and keeping thefasts, that is simply to prevent people talking ill of them, and in caseit really may be true that there will be a Day of Judgment. Nowadayspeople say that the end of the world has come because people have grownweaker, do not honour their parents, and so on. All that is nonsense. My idea, mamma, is that all our trouble is because there is so littleconscience in people. I see through things, mamma, and I understand. Ifa man has a stolen shirt I see it. A man sits in a tavern and you fancyhe is drinking tea and no more, but to me the tea is neither here northere; I see further, he has no conscience. You can go about the wholeday and not meet one man with a conscience. And the whole reason is thatthey don't know whether there is a God or not. .. . Well, good-bye, mamma, keep alive and well, don't remember evil against me. "

Anisim bowed down at Varvara's feet. 

"I thank you for everything, mamma, " he said. "You are a great gain toour family. You are a very ladylike woman, and I am very pleased withyou. "

Much moved, Anisim went out, but returned again and said:

"Samorodov has got me mixed up in something: I shall either make myfortune or come to grief. If anything happens, then you must comfort myfather, mamma. "

"Oh, nonsense, don't you worry, tut, tut, tut. .. God is merciful. And, Anisim, you should be affectionate to your wife, instead of giving eachother sulky looks as you do; you might smile at least. "

"Yes, she is rather a queer one, " said Anisim, and he gave a sigh. "Shedoes not understand anything, she never speaks. She is very young, lether grow up. "

A tall, sleek white stallion was already standing at the front door, harnessed to the chaise. 

Old Tsybukin jumped in jauntily with a run and took the reins. Anisimkissed Varvara, Aksinya, and his brother. On the steps Lipa, too, wasstanding; she was standing motionless, looking away, and it seemedas though she had not come to see him off but just by chance for someunknown reason. Anisim went up to her and just touched her cheek withhis lips. 

"Good-bye, " he said. 

And without looking at him she gave a strange smile; her face began toquiver, and everyone for some reason felt sorry for her. Anisim, too, leaped into the chaise with a bound and put his arms jauntily akimbo, for he considered himself a good-looking fellow. 

When they drove up out of the ravine Anisim kept looking back towardsthe village. It was a warm, bright day. The cattle were being driven outfor the first time, and the peasant girls and women were walking by theherd in their holiday dresses. The dun-coloured bull bellowed, glad tobe free, and pawed the ground with his forefeet. On all sides, above andbelow, the larks were singing. Anisim looked round at the elegant whitechurch--it had only lately been whitewashed--and he thought how he hadbeen praying in it five days before; he looked round at the school withits green roof, at the little river in which he used once to bathe andcatch fish, and there was a stir of joy in his heart, and he wished thatwalls might rise up from the ground and prevent him from going further, and that he might be left with nothing but the past. 

At the station they went to the refreshment room and drank a glass ofsherry each. His father felt in his pocket for his purse to pay. 

"I will stand treat, " said Anisim. The old man, touched and delighted, slapped him on the shoulder, and winked to the waiter as much as to say, "See what a fine son I have got. "

"You ought to stay at home in the business, Anisim, " he said; "you wouldbe worth any price to me! I would shower gold on you from head to foot, my son. "

"It can't be done, papa. "

The sherry was sour and smelt of sealing-wax, but they had anotherglass. 

When old Tsybukin returned home from the station, for the first momenthe did not recognize his younger daughter-in-law. As soon as her husbandhad driven out of the yard, Lipa was transformed and suddenly brightenedup. Wearing a threadbare old petticoat, with her feet bare and hersleeves tucked up to the shoulders, she was scrubbing the stairs in theentry and singing in a silvery little voice, and when she brought out abig tub of dirty water and looked up at the sun with her childlike smileit seemed as though she, too, were a lark. 

An old labourer who was passing by the door shook his head and clearedhis throat. 

"Yes, indeed, your daughters-in-law, Grigory Petrovitch, are a blessingfrom God, " he said. "Not women, but treasures!"

V

On Friday the 8th of July, Elizarov, nicknamed Crutch, and Lipa werereturning from the village of Kazanskoe, where they had been to aservice on the occasion of a church holiday in the honour of theHoly Mother of Kazan. A good distance after them walked Lipa's motherPraskovya, who always fell behind, as she was ill and short of breath. It was drawing towards evening. 

"A-a-a. .. " said Crutch, wondering as he listened to Lipa. "A-a!. .. We-ell!

"I am very fond of jam, Ilya Makaritch, " said Lipa. "I sit down in mylittle corner and drink tea and eat jam. Or I drink it with VarvaraNikolaevna, and she tells some story full of feeling. We have a lot ofjam--four jars. 'Have some, Lipa; eat as much as you like. '"

"A-a-a, four jars!"

"They live very well. We have white bread with our tea; and meat, too, as much as one wants. They live very well, only I am frightened withthem, Ilya Makaritch. Oh, oh, how frightened I am!"

"Why are you frightened, child?" asked Crutch, and he looked back to seehow far Praskovya was behind. 

"To begin with, when the wedding had been celebrated I was afraid ofAnisim Grigoritch. Anisim Grigoritch did nothing, he didn't ill-treatme, only when he comes near me a cold shiver runs all over me, throughall my bones. And I did not sleep one night, I trembled all over andkept praying to God. And now I am afraid of Aksinya, Ilya Makaritch. It's not that she does anything, she is always laughing, but sometimesshe glances at the window, and her eyes are so fierce and there is agleam of green in them--like the eyes of the sheep in the shed. TheHrymin Juniors are leading her astray: 'Your old man, ' they tell her, 'has a bit of land at Butyokino, a hundred and twenty acres, ' they say, 'and there is sand and water there, so you, Aksinya, ' they say, 'builda brickyard there and we will go shares in it. ' Bricks now are twentyroubles the thousand, it's a profitable business. Yesterday at dinnerAksinya said to my father-in-law: 'I want to build a brickyard atButyokino; I'm going into business on my own account. ' She laughed asshe said it. And Grigory Petrovitch's face darkened, one could see hedid not like it. 'As long as I live, ' he said, 'the family must notbreak up, we must go on altogether. ' She gave a look and gritted herteeth. .. . Fritters were served, she would not eat them. "

"A-a-a!. .. " Crutch was surprised. 

"And tell me, if you please, when does she sleep?" said Lipa. "Shesleeps for half an hour, then jumps up and keeps walking and walkingabout to see whether the peasants have not set fire to something, havenot stolen something. .. . I am frightened with her, Ilya Makaritch. Andthe Hrymin Juniors did not go to bed after the wedding, but drove to thetown to go to law with each other; and folks do say it is all on accountof Aksinya. Two of the brothers have promised to build her a brickyard, but the third is offended, and the factory has been at a standstill fora month, and my uncle Prohor is without work and goes about from houseto house getting crusts. 'Hadn't you better go working on the land orsawing up wood, meanwhile, uncle?' I tell him; 'why disgrace yourself?''I've got out of the way of it, ' he says; 'I don't know how to do anysort of peasant's work now, Lipinka. '. .. "

They stopped to rest and wait for Praskovya near a copse of youngaspen-trees. Elizarov had long been a contractor in a small way, but hekept no horses, going on foot all over the district with nothing but alittle bag in which there was bread and onions, and stalking along withbig strides, swinging his arms. And it was difficult to walk with him. 

At the entrance to the copse stood a milestone. Elizarov touched it;read it. Praskovya reached them out of breath. Her wrinkled and alwaysscared-looking face was beaming with happiness; she had been at churchto-day like anyone else, then she had been to the fair and there haddrunk pear cider. For her this was unusual, and it even seemed to hernow that she had lived for her own pleasure that day for the first timein her life. After resting they all three walked on side by side. Thesun had already set, and its beams filtered through the copse, castinga light on the trunks of the trees. There was a faint sound of voicesahead. The Ukleevo girls had long before pushed on ahead but hadlingered in the copse, probably gathering mushrooms. 

"Hey, wenches!" cried Elizarov. "Hey, my beauties!"

There was a sound of laughter in response. 

"Crutch is coming! Crutch! The old horseradish. "

And the echo laughed, too. And then the copse was left behind. Thetops of the factory chimneys came into view. The cross on the belfryglittered: this was the village: "the one at which the deacon ate allthe caviare at the funeral. " Now they were almost home; they only hadto go down into the big ravine. Lipa and Praskovya, who had been walkingbarefooted, sat down on the grass to put on their boots; Elizar sat downwith them. If they looked down from above Ukleevo looked beautiful andpeaceful with its willow-trees, its white church, and its little river, and the only blot on the picture was the roof of the factories, paintedfor the sake of cheapness a gloomy ashen grey. On the slope on thefurther side they could see the rye--some in stacks and sheaves here andthere as though strewn about by the storm, and some freshly cut lyingin swathes; the oats, too, were ripe and glistened now in the sun likemother-of-pearl. It was harvest-time. To-day was a holiday, to-morrowthey would harvest the rye and carry the hay, and then Sunday a holidayagain; every day there were mutterings of distant thunder. It was mistyand looked like rain, and, gazing now at the fields, everyone thought, God grant we get the harvest in in time; and everyone felt gay andjoyful and anxious at heart. 

"Mowers ask a high price nowadays, " said Praskovya. "One rouble andforty kopecks a day. "

People kept coming and coming from the fair at Kazanskoe: peasant women, factory workers in new caps, beggars, children. .. . Here a cart woulddrive by stirring up the dust and behind it would run an unsold horse, and it seemed glad it had not been sold; then a cow was led along bythe horns, resisting stubbornly; then a cart again, and in it drunkenpeasants swinging their legs. An old woman led a little boy in a big capand big boots; the boy was tired out with the heat and the heavyboots which prevented his bending his legs at the knees, but yet blewunceasingly with all his might at a tin trumpet. They had gone down theslope and turned into the street, but the trumpet could still be heard. 

"Our factory owners don't seem quite themselves. .. " said Elizarov. "There's trouble. Kostukov is angry with me. 'Too many boards have goneon the cornices. ' 'Too many? As many have gone on it as were needed, Vassily Danilitch; I don't eat them with my porridge. ' 'How can youspeak to me like that?' said he, 'you good-for-nothing blockhead! Don'tforget yourself! It was I made you a contractor. ' 'That's nothing sowonderful, ' said I. 'Even before I was a contractor I used to havetea every day. ' 'You are a rascal. .. ' he said. I said nothing. 'Weare rascals in this world, ' thought I, 'and you will be rascals in thenext. .. . ' Ha-ha-ha! The next day he was softer. 'Don't you bear maliceagainst me for my words, Makaritch, ' he said. 'If I said too much, ' sayshe, 'what of it? I am a merchant of the first guild, your superior--youought to hold your tongue. ' 'You, ' said I, 'are a merchant of the firstguild and I am a carpenter, that's correct. And Saint Joseph was acarpenter, too. Ours is a righteous calling and pleasing to God, and ifyou are pleased to be my superior you are very welcome to it, VassilyDanilitch. ' And later on, after that conversation I mean, I thought:'Which was the superior? A merchant of the first guild or a carpenter?'The carpenter must be, my child!"

Crutch thought a minute and added:

"Yes, that's how it is, child. He who works, he who is patient is thesuperior. "

By now the sun had set and a thick mist as white as milk was rising overthe river, in the church enclosure, and in the open spaces round thefactories. Now when the darkness was coming on rapidly, when lights weretwinkling below, and when it seemed as though the mists were hidinga fathomless abyss, Lipa and her mother who were born in poverty andprepared to live so till the end, giving up to others everything excepttheir frightened, gentle souls, may have fancied for a minute perhapsthat in the vast, mysterious world, among the endless series of lives, they, too, counted for something, and they, too, were superior tosomeone; they liked sitting here at the top, they smiled happily andforgot that they must go down below again all the same. 

At last they went home again. The mowers were sitting on the ground atthe gates near the shop. As a rule the Ukleevo peasants did not goto Tsybukin's to work, and they had to hire strangers, and now in thedarkness it seemed as though there were men sitting there with longblack beards. The shop was open, and through the doorway they couldsee the deaf man playing draughts with a boy. The mowers were singingsoftly, scarcely audibly, or loudly demanding their wages for theprevious day, but they were not paid for fear they should go away beforeto-morrow. Old Tsybukin, with his coat off, was sitting in his waistcoatwith Aksinya under the birch-tree, drinking tea; a lamp was burning onthe table. 

"I say, grandfather, " a mower called from outside the gates, as thoughtaunting him, "pay us half anyway! Hey, grandfather. "

And at once there was the sound of laughter, and then again they sanghardly audibly. .. . Crutch, too, sat down to have some tea. 

"We have been at the fair, you know, " he began telling them. "We havehad a walk, a very nice walk, my children, praise the Lord. But anunfortunate thing happened: Sashka the blacksmith bought some tobaccoand gave the shopman half a rouble to be sure. And the half rouble wasa false one"--Crutch went on, and he meant to speak in a whisper, buthe spoke in a smothered husky voice which was audible to everyone. "Thehalf-rouble turned out to be a bad one. He was asked where he got it. 'Anisim Tsybukin gave it me, ' he said. 'When I went to his wedding, ' hesaid. They called the police inspector, took the man away. .. . Look out, Grigory Petrovitch, that nothing comes of it, no talk. .. . "

"Gra-ndfather!" the same voice called tauntingly outside the gates. "Gra-andfather!"

A silence followed. 

"Ah, little children, little children, little children. .. " Crutchmuttered rapidly, and he got up. He was overcome with drowsiness. "Well, thank you for the tea, for the sugar, little children. It is time tosleep. I am like a bit of rotten timber nowadays, my beams are crumblingunder me. Ho-ho-ho! I suppose it's time I was dead. "

And he gave a gulp. Old Tsybukin did not finish his tea but sat on alittle, pondering; and his face looked as though he were listening tothe footsteps of Crutch, who was far away down the street. 

"Sashka the blacksmith told a lie, I expect, " said Aksinya, guessing histhoughts. 

He went into the house and came back a little later with a parcel; heopened it, and there was the gleam of roubles--perfectly new coins. Hetook one, tried it with his teeth, flung it on the tray; then flung downanother. 

"The roubles really are false. .. " he said, looking at Aksinya andseeming perplexed. "These are those Anisim brought, his present. Takethem, daughter, " he whispered, and thrust the parcel into her hands. "Take them and throw them into the well. .. Confound them! And mindthere is no talk about it. Harm might come of it. .. . Take away thesamovar, put out the light. "

Lipa and her mother sitting in the barn saw the lights go out one afterthe other; only overhead in Varvara's room there were blue and red lampsgleaming, and a feeling of peace, content, and happy ignorance seemed tofloat down from there. Praskovya could never get used to her daughter'sbeing married to a rich man, and when she came she huddled timidly inthe outer room with a deprecating smile on her face, and tea and sugarwere sent out to her. And Lipa, too, could not get used to it either, and after her husband had gone away she did not sleep in her bed, butlay down anywhere to sleep, in the kitchen or the barn, and every dayshe scrubbed the floor or washed the clothes, and felt as though shewere hired by the day. And now, on coming back from the service, theydrank tea in the kitchen with the cook, then they went into the barn andlay down on the ground between the sledge and the wall. It was dark hereand smelt of harness. The lights went out about the house, then theycould hear the deaf man shutting up the shop, the mowers settlingthemselves about the yard to sleep. In the distance at the HryminJuniors' they were playing on the expensive concertina. .. . Praskovya andLipa began to go to sleep. 

And when they were awakened by somebody's steps it was bright moonlight;at the entrance of the barn stood Aksinya with her bedding in her arms. 

"Maybe it's a bit cooler here, " she said; then she came in and lay downalmost in the doorway so that the moonlight fell full upon her. 

She did not sleep, but breathed heavily, tossing from side to sidewith the heat, throwing off almost all the bedclothes. And in the magicmoonlight what a beautiful, what a proud animal she was! A little timepassed, and then steps were heard again: the old father, white all over, appeared in the doorway. 

"Aksinya, " he called, "are you here?"

"Well?" she responded angrily. 

"I told you just now to throw the money into the well, have you doneso?"

"What next, throwing property into the water! I gave them to themowers. .. . "

"Oh my God!" cried the old man, dumbfounded and alarmed. "Oh my God! youwicked woman. .. . "

He flung up his hands and went out, and he kept saying something as hewent away. And a little later Aksinya sat up and sighed heavily withannoyance, then got up and, gathering up her bedclothes in her arms, went out. 

"Why did you marry me into this family, mother?" said Lipa. 

"One has to be married, daughter. It was not us who ordained it. "

And a feeling of inconsolable woe was ready to take possession of them. But it seemed to them that someone was looking down from the height ofthe heavens, out of the blue from where the stars were seeing everythingthat was going on in Ukleevo, watching over them. And however great waswickedness, still the night was calm and beautiful, and still in God'sworld there is and will be truth and justice as calm and beautiful, and everything on earth is only waiting to be made one with truth andjustice, even as the moonlight is blended with the night. 

And both, huddling close to one another, fell asleep comforted. 

VI

News had come long before that Anisim had been put in prison for coiningand passing bad money. Months passed, more than half a year passed, thelong winter was over, spring had begun, and everyone in the house andthe village had grown used to the fact that Anisim was in prison. Andwhen anyone passed by the house or the shop at night he would rememberthat Anisim was in prison; and when they rang at the churchyard for somereason, that, too, reminded them that he was in prison awaiting trial. 

It seemed as though a shadow had fallen upon the house. The house lookeddarker, the roof was rustier, the heavy, iron-bound door into the shop, which was painted green, was covered with cracks, or, as the deaf manexpressed it, "blisters"; and old Tsybukin seemed to have grown dingy, too. He had given up cutting his hair and beard, and looked shaggy. Heno longer sprang jauntily into his chaise, nor shouted to beggars: "Godwill provide!" His strength was on the wane, and that was evident ineverything. People were less afraid of him now, and the police officerdrew up a formal charge against him in the shop though he received hisregular bribe as before; and three times the old man was called up tothe town to be tried for illicit dealing in spirits, and the case wascontinually adjourned owing to the non-appearance of witnesses, and oldTsybukin was worn out with worry. 

He often went to see his son, hired somebody, handed in a petition tosomebody else, presented a holy banner to some church. He presented thegovernor of the prison in which Anisim was confined with a silver glassstand with a long spoon and the inscription: "The soul knows its rightmeasure. "

"There is no one to look after things for us, " said Varvara. "Tut, tut. .. . You ought to ask someone of the gentlefolks, they would write tothe head officials. .. . At least they might let him out on bail! Why wearthe poor fellow out?"

She, too, was grieved, but had grown stouter and whiter; she lighted thelamps before the ikons as before, and saw that everything in the housewas clean, and regaled the guests with jam and apple cheese. The deafman and Aksinya looked after the shop. A new project was in progress--abrickyard in Butyokino--and Aksinya went there almost every day in thechaise. She drove herself, and when she met acquaintances she stretchedout her neck like a snake out of the young rye, and smiled naively andenigmatically. Lipa spent her time playing with the baby which had beenborn to her before Lent. It was a tiny, thin, pitiful little baby, andit was strange that it should cry and gaze about and be considered ahuman being, and even be called Nikifor. He lay in his swinging cradle, and Lipa would walk away towards the door and say, bowing to him:

"Good-day, Nikifor Anisimitch!"

And she would rush at him and kiss him. Then she would walk away to thedoor, bow again, and say:

'Good-day, Nikifor Anisimitch!

And he kicked up his little red legs, and his crying was mixed withlaughter like the carpenter Elizarov's. 

At last the day of the trial was fixed. Tsybukin went away five daysbefore. Then they heard that the peasants called as witnesses had beenfetched; their old workman who had received a notice to appear went too. 

The trial was on a Thursday. But Sunday had passed, and Tsybukin wasstill not back, and there was no news. Towards the evening on TuesdayVarvara was sitting at the open window, listening for her husband tocome. In the next room Lipa was playing with her baby. She was tossinghim up in her arms and saying enthusiastically:

"You will grow up ever so big, ever so big. You will be a peasant, weshall go out to work together! We shall go out to work together!"

"Come, come, " said Varvara, offended. "Go out to work, what an idea, yousilly girl! He will be a merchant. .. !"

Lipa sang softly, but a minute later she forgot and again:

"You will grow ever so big, ever so big. You will be a peasant, we'll goout to work together. "

"There she is at it again!"

Lipa, with Nikifor in her arms, stood still in the doorway and asked:

"Why do I love him so much, mamma? Why do I feel so sorry for him?" shewent on in a quivering voice, and her eyes glistened with tears. "Whois he? What is he like? As light as a little feather, as a little crumb, but I love him; I love him like a real person. Here he can do nothing, he can't talk, and yet I know what he wants with his little eyes. "

Varvara was listening; the sound of the evening train coming in to thestation reached her. Had her husband come? She did not hear and she didnot heed what Lipa was saying, she had no idea how the time passed, butonly trembled all over--not from dread, but intense curiosity. She sawa cart full of peasants roll quickly by with a rattle. It was thewitnesses coming back from the station. When the cart passed the shopthe old workman jumped out and walked into the yard. She could hear himbeing greeted in the yard and being asked some questions. .. . 

"Deprivation of rights and all his property, " he said loudly, "and sixyears' penal servitude in Siberia. "

She could see Aksinya come out of the shop by the back way; she had justbeen selling kerosene, and in one hand held a bottle and in the other acan, and in her mouth she had some silver coins. 

"Where is father?" she asked, lisping. 

"At the station, " answered the labourer. "'When it gets a littledarker, ' he said, 'then I shall come. '"

And when it became known all through the household that Anisim wassentenced to penal servitude, the cook in the kitchen suddenly brokeinto a wail as though at a funeral, imagining that this was demanded bythe proprieties:

"There is no one to care for us now you have gone, Anisim Grigoritch, our bright falcon. .. . "

The dogs began barking in alarm. Varvara ran to the window, and rushingabout in distress, shouted to the cook with all her might, straining hervoice:

"Sto-op, Stepanida, sto-op! Don't harrow us, for Christ's sake!"

They forgot to set the samovar, they could think of nothing. Only Lipacould not make out what it was all about and went on playing with herbaby. 

When the old father arrived from the station they asked him noquestions. He greeted them and walked through all the rooms in silence;he had no supper. 

"There was no one to see about things. .. " Varvara began when they werealone. "I said you should have asked some of the gentry, you would notheed me at the time. .. . A petition would. .. "

"I saw to things, " said her husband with a wave of his hand. "WhenAnisim was condemned I went to the gentleman who was defending him. 'It's no use now, ' he said, 'it's too late'; and Anisim said the same;it's too late. But all the same as I came out of the court I made anagreement with a lawyer, I paid him something in advance. I'll wait aweek and then I will go again. It is as God wills. "

Again the old man walked through all the rooms, and when he went back toVarvara he said:

"I must be ill. My head's in a sort of. .. Fog. My thoughts are in amaze. "

He closed the door that Lipa might not hear, and went on softly:

"I am unhappy about my money. Do you remember on Low Sunday before hiswedding Anisim's bringing me some new roubles and half-roubles? Oneparcel I put away at the time, but the others I mixed with my own money. When my uncle Dmitri Filatitch--the kingdom of heaven be his--was alive, he used constantly to go journeys to Moscow and to the Crimea to buygoods. He had a wife, and this same wife, when he was away buying goods, used to take up with other men. She had half a dozen children. And whenuncle was in his cups he would laugh and say: 'I never can make out, 'he used to say, 'which are my children and which are other people's. ' Aneasy-going disposition, to be sure; and so I now can't distinguish whichare genuine roubles and which are false ones. And it seems to me thatthey are all false. "

"Nonsense, God bless you. "

"I take a ticket at the station, I give the man three roubles, and Ikeep fancying they are false. And I am frightened. I must be ill. "

"There's no denying it, we are all in God's hands. .. . Oh dear, dear. .. "said Varvara, and she shook her head. "You ought to think about this, Grigory Petrovitch: you never know, anything may happen, you are not ayoung man. See they don't wrong your grandchild when you are dead andgone. Oy, I am afraid they will be unfair to Nikifor! He has as goodas no father, his mother's young and foolish. .. You ought to securesomething for him, poor little boy, at least the land, Butyokino, Grigory Petrovitch, really! Think it over!" Varvara went on persuadinghim. "The pretty boy, one is sorry for him! You go to-morrow and makeout a deed; why put it off?"

"I'd forgotten about my grandson, " said Tsybukin. "I must go and havea look at him. So you say the boy is all right? Well, let him grow up, please God. "

He opened the door and, crooking his finger, beckoned to Lipa. She wentup to him with the baby in her arms. 

"If there is anything you want, Lipinka, you ask for it, " he said. "And eat anything you like, we don't grudge it, so long as it does yougood. .. . " He made the sign of the cross over the baby. "And take care ofmy grandchild. My son is gone, but my grandson is left. "

Tears rolled down his cheeks; he gave a sob and went away. Soonafterwards he went to bed and slept soundly after seven sleeplessnights. 

VII

Old Tsybukin went to the town for a short time. Someone told Aksinyathat he had gone to the notary to make his will and that he was leavingButyokino, the very place where she had set up a brickyard, to Nikifor, his grandson. She was informed of this in the morning when old Tsybukinand Varvara were sitting near the steps under the birch-tree, drinkingtheir tea. She closed the shop in the front and at the back, gatheredtogether all the keys she had, and flung them at her father-in-law'sfeet. 

"I am not going on working for you, " she began in a loud voice, andsuddenly broke into sobs. "It seems I am not your daughter-in-law, buta servant! Everybody's jeering and saying, 'See what a servant theTsybukins have got hold of!' I did not come to you for wages! I am not abeggar, I am not a slave, I have a father and mother. "

She did not wipe away her tears, she fixed upon her father-in-law eyesfull of tears, vindictive, squinting with wrath; her face and neck werered and tense, and she was shouting at the top of her voice. 

"I don't mean to go on being a slave!" she went on. "I am worn out. Whenit is work, when it is sitting in the shop day in and day out, scurryingout at night for vodka--then it is my share, but when it is giving awaythe land then it is for that convict's wife and her imp. She is mistresshere, and I am her servant. Give her everything, the convict's wife, andmay it choke her! I am going home! Find yourselves some other fool, youdamned Herods!"

Tsybukin had never in his life scolded or punished his children, and hadnever dreamed that one of his family could speak to him rudely or behavedisrespectfully; and now he was very much frightened; he ran intothe house and there hid behind the cupboard. And Varvara was so muchflustered that she could not get up from her seat, and only waved herhands before her as though she were warding off a bee. 

"Oh, Holy Saints! what's the meaning of it?" she muttered in horror. "What is she shouting? Oh, dear, dear!. .. People will hear! Hush. Oh, hush!"

"He has given Butyokino to the convict's wife, " Aksinya went on bawling. "Give her everything now, I don't want anything from you! Let me alone!You are all a gang of thieves here! I have seen my fill of it, I havehad enough! You have robbed folks coming in and going out; you haverobbed old and young alike, you brigands! And who has been selling vodkawithout a licence? And false money? You've filled boxes full of falsecoins, and now I am no more use!"

A crowd had by now collected at the open gate and was staring into theyard. 

"Let the people look, " bawled Aksinya. "I will shame you all! You shallburn with shame! You shall grovel at my feet. Hey! Stepan, " she calledto the deaf man, "let us go home this minute! Let us go to my father andmother; I don't want to live with convicts. Get ready!"

Clothes were hanging on lines stretched across the yard; she snatchedoff her petticoats and blouses still wet and flung them into the deafman's arms. Then in her fury she dashed about the yard by the linen, tore down all of it, and what was not hers she threw on the ground andtrampled upon. 

"Holy Saints, take her away, " moaned Varvara. "What a woman! Give herButyokino! Give it her, for the Lord's sake!

"Well! Wha-at a woman!" people were saying at the gate. "She's awo-oman! She's going it--something like!"

Aksinya ran into the kitchen where washing was going on. Lipa waswashing alone, the cook had gone to the river to rinse the clothes. Steam was rising from the trough and from the caldron on the side ofthe stove, and the kitchen was thick and stifling from the steam. On thefloor was a heap of unwashed clothes, and Nikifor, kicking up his littlered legs, had been put down on a bench near them, so that if he fell heshould not hurt himself. Just as Aksinya went in Lipa took theformer's chemise out of the heap and put it in the trough, and wasjust stretching out her hand to a big ladle of boiling water which wasstanding on the table. 

"Give it here, " said Aksinya, looking at her with hatred, and snatchingthe chemise out of the trough; "it is not your business to touch mylinen! You are a convict's wife, and ought to know your place and whoyou are. "

Lipa gazed at her, taken aback, and did not understand, but suddenlyshe caught the look Aksinya turned upon the child, and at once sheunderstood and went numb all over. 

"You've taken my land, so here you are!" Saying this Aksinya snatched upthe ladle with the boiling water and flung it over Nikifor. 

After this there was heard a scream such as had never been heard beforein Ukleevo, and no one would have believed that a little weak creaturelike Lipa could scream like that. And it was suddenly silent in theyard. 

Aksinya walked into the house with her old naive smile. .. . The deaf mankept moving about the yard with his arms full of linen, then he beganhanging it up again, in silence, without haste. And until the cook cameback from the river no one ventured to go into the kitchen and see whatwas there. 

VIII

Nikifor was taken to the district hospital, and towards evening he diedthere. Lipa did not wait for them to come for her, but wrapped the deadbaby in its little quilt and carried it home. 

The hospital, a new one recently built, with big windows, stood high upon a hill; it was glittering from the setting sun and looked as thoughit were on fire from inside. There was a little village below. Lipa wentdown along the road, and before reaching the village sat down by a pond. A woman brought a horse down to drink and the horse did not drink. 

"What more do you want?" said the woman to it softly. "What do youwant?"

A boy in a red shirt, sitting at the water's edge, was washing hisfather's boots. And not another soul was in sight either in the villageor on the hill. 

"It's not drinking, " said Lipa, looking at the horse. 

Then the woman with the horse and the boy with the boots walked away, and there was no one left at all. The sun went to bed wrapped in clothof gold and purple, and long clouds, red and lilac, stretched across thesky, guarded its slumbers. Somewhere far away a bittern cried, ahollow, melancholy sound like a cow shut up in a barn. The cry of thatmysterious bird was heard every spring, but no one knew what it was likeor where it lived. At the top of the hill by the hospital, in the bushesclose to the pond, and in the fields the nightingales were trilling. The cuckoo kept reckoning someone's years and losing count and beginningagain. In the pond the frogs called angrily to one another, strainingthemselves to bursting, and one could even make out the words: "That'swhat you are! That's what you are!" What a noise there was! It seemedas though all these creatures were singing and shouting so that no onemight sleep on that spring night, so that all, even the angry frogs, might appreciate and enjoy every minute: life is given only once. 

A silver half-moon was shining in the sky; there were many stars. Lipahad no idea how long she sat by the pond, but when she got up and walkedon everybody was asleep in the little village, and there was not asingle light. It was probably about nine miles' walk home, but she hadnot the strength, she had not the power to think how to go: the moongleamed now in front, now on the right, and the same cuckoo kept callingin a voice grown husky, with a chuckle as though gibing at her: "Oy, look out, you'll lose your way!" Lipa walked rapidly; she lost thekerchief from her head. .. She looked at the sky and wondered whereher baby's soul was now: was it following her, or floating aloft yonderamong the stars and thinking nothing now of his mother? Oh, how lonelyit was in the open country at night, in the midst of that singing whenone cannot sing oneself; in the midst of the incessant cries of joy whenone cannot oneself be joyful, when the moon, which cares not whetherit is spring or winter, whether men are alive or dead, looks downas lonely, too. .. . When there is grief in the heart it is hard to bewithout people. If only her mother, Praskovya, had been with her, orCrutch, or the cook, or some peasant!

"Boo-oo!" cried the bittern. "Boo-oo!"

And suddenly she heard clearly the sound of human speech: "Put thehorses in, Vavila!"

By the wayside a camp fire was burning ahead of her: the flames had dieddown, there were only red embers. She could hear the horses munching. Inthe darkness she could see the outlines of two carts, one with a barrel, the other, a lower one with sacks in it, and the figures of two men; onewas leading a horse to put it into the shafts, the other was standingmotionless by the fire with his hands behind his back. A dog growled bythe carts. The one who was leading the horse stopped and said:

"It seems as though someone were coming along the road. "

"Sharik, be quiet!" the other called to the dog. 

And from the voice one could tell that the second was an old man. Lipastopped and said:

"God help you. "

The old man went up to her and answered not immediately:

"Good-evening!"

"Your dog does not bite, grandfather?"

"No, come along, he won't touch you. "

"I have been at the hospital, " said Lipa after a pause. "My little sondied there. Here I am carrying him home. "

It must have been unpleasant for the old man to hear this, for he movedaway and said hurriedly:

"Never mind, my dear. It's God's will. You are very slow, lad, " headded, addressing his companion; "look alive!

"Your yoke's nowhere, " said the young man; "it is not to be seen. "

"You are a regular Vavila. "

The old man picked up an ember, blew on it--only his eyes and nose werelighted up--then, when they had found the yoke, he went with thelight to Lipa and looked at her, and his look expressed compassion andtenderness. 

"You are a mother, " he said; "every mother grieves for her child. "

And he sighed and shook his head as he said it. Vavila threw somethingon the fire, stamped on it--and at once it was very dark; the visionvanished, and as before there were only the fields, the sky with thestars, and the noise of the birds hindering each other from sleep. Andthe landrail called, it seemed, in the very place where the fire hadbeen. 

But a minute passed, and again she could see the two carts and the oldman and lanky Vavila. The carts creaked as they went out on the road. 

"Are you holy men?" Lipa asked the old man. 

"No. We are from Firsanovo. "

"You looked at me just now and my heart was softened. And the young manis so gentle. I thought you must be holy men. "

"Are you going far?"

"To Ukleevo. "

"Get in, we will give you a lift as far as Kuzmenki, then you gostraight on and we turn off to the left. "

Vavila got into the cart with the barrel and the old man and Lipa gotinto the other. They moved at a walking pace, Vavila in front. 

"My baby was in torment all day, " said Lipa. "He looked at me with hislittle eyes and said nothing; he wanted to speak and could not. HolyFather, Queen of Heaven! In my grief I kept falling down on the floor. I stood up and fell down by the bedside. And tell me, grandfather, whya little thing should be tormented before his death? When a grown-upperson, a man or woman, are in torment their sins are forgiven, but whya little thing, when he has no sins? Why?"

"Who can tell?" answered the old man. 

They drove on for half an hour in silence. 

"We can't know everything, how and wherefore, " said the old man. "It isordained for the bird to have not four wings but two because it is ableto fly with two; and so it is ordained for man not to know everythingbut only a half or a quarter. As much as he needs to know so as to live, so much he knows. "

"It is better for me to go on foot, grandfather. Now my heart is all ofa tremble. "

"Never mind, sit still. "

The old man yawned and made the sign of the cross over his mouth. 

"Never mind, " he repeated. "Yours is not the worst of sorrows. Lifeis long, there will be good and bad to come, there will be everything. Great is mother Russia, " he said, and looked round on each side of him. "I have been all over Russia, and I have seen everything in her, and youmay believe my words, my dear. There will be good and there will be bad. I went as a delegate from my village to Siberia, and I have been to theAmur River and the Altai Mountains and I settled in Siberia; I workedthe land there, then I was homesick for mother Russia and I came backto my native village. We came back to Russia on foot; and I rememberwe went on a steamer, and I was thin as thin, all in rags, barefoot, freezing with cold, and gnawing a crust, and a gentleman who was onthe steamer--the kingdom of heaven be his if he is dead--looked at mepitifully, and the tears came into his eyes. 'Ah, ' he said, 'your breadis black, your days are black. .. . ' And when I got home, as the sayingis, there was neither stick nor stall; I had a wife, but I left herbehind in Siberia, she was buried there. So I am living as a daylabourer. And yet I tell you: since then I have had good as well asbad. Here I do not want to die, my dear, I would be glad to live anothertwenty years; so there has been more of the good. And great is ourmother Russia!" and again he gazed to each side and looked round. 

"Grandfather, " Lipa asked, "when anyone dies, how many days does hissoul walk the earth?"

"Who can tell! Ask Vavila here, he has been to school. Now they teachthem everything. Vavila!" the old man called to him. 

"Yes!"

"Vavila, when anyone dies how long does his soul walk the earth?"

Vavila stopped the horse and only then answered:

"Nine days. My uncle Kirilla died and his soul lived in our hut thirteendays after. "

"How do you know?"

"For thirteen days there was a knocking in the stove. "

"Well, that's all right. Go on, " said the old man, and it could be seenthat he did not believe a word of all that. 

Near Kuzmenki the cart turned into the high road while Lipa wentstraight on. It was by now getting light. As she went down into theravine the Ukleevo huts and the church were hidden in fog. It was cold, and it seemed to her that the same cuckoo was calling still. 

When Lipa reached home the cattle had not yet been driven out; everyonewas asleep. She sat down on the steps and waited. The old man was thefirst to come out; he understood all that had happened from the firstglance at her, and for a long time he could not articulate a word, butonly moved his lips without a sound. 

"Ech, Lipa, " he said, "you did not take care of my grandchild. .. . "

Varvara was awakened. She clasped her hands and broke into sobs, andimmediately began laying out the baby. 

"And he was a pretty child. .. " she said. "Oh, dear, dear. .. . You onlyhad the one child, and you did not take care enough of him, you sillygirl. .. . "

There was a requiem service in the morning and the evening. The funeraltook place the next day, and after it the guests and the priests ate agreat deal, and with such greed that one might have thought that theyhad not tasted food for a long time. Lipa waited at table, and thepriest, lifting his fork on which there was a salted mushroom, said toher:

"Don't grieve for the babe. For of such is the kingdom of heaven. "

And only when they had all separated Lipa realized fully that there wasno Nikifor and never would be, she realized it and broke into sobs. Andshe did not know what room to go into to sob, for she felt that now thather child was dead there was no place for her in the house, that she hadno reason to be here, that she was in the way; and the others felt it, too. 

"Now what are you bellowing for?" Aksinya shouted, suddenly appearing inthe doorway; in honour of the funeral she was dressed all in new clothesand had powdered her face. "Shut up!"

Lipa tried to stop but could not, and sobbed louder than ever. 

"Do you hear?" shouted Aksinya, and she stamped her foot in violentanger. "Who is it I am speaking to? Go out of the yard and don't setfoot here again, you convict's wife. Get away. "

"There, there, there, " the old man put in fussily. "Aksinya, don't makesuch an outcry, my girl. .. . She is crying, it is only natural. .. Herchild is dead. .. . "

"'It's only natural, '" Aksinya mimicked him. "Let her stay the nighthere, and don't let me see a trace of her here to-morrow! 'It's onlynatural!'. .. " she mimicked him again, and, laughing, she went into theshop. 

Early the next morning Lipa went off to her mother at Torguevo. 

IX

At the present time the steps and the front door of the shop have beenrepainted and are as bright as though they were new, there are gaygeraniums in the windows as of old, and what happened in Tsybukin'shouse and yard three years ago is almost forgotten. 

Grigory Petrovitch is looked upon as the master as he was in old days, but in reality everything has passed into Aksinya's hands; she buys andsells, and nothing can be done without her consent. The brickyard isworking well; and as bricks are wanted for the railway the price hasgone up to twenty-four roubles a thousand; peasant women and girls cartthe bricks to the station and load them up in the trucks and earn aquarter-rouble a day for the work. 

Aksinya has gone into partnership with the Hrymin Juniors, and theirfactory is now called Hrymin Juniors and Co. They have opened a tavernnear the station, and now the expensive concertina is played not at thefactory but at the tavern, and the head of the post office oftengoes there, and he, too, is engaged in some sort of traffic, and thestationmaster, too. Hrymin Juniors have presented the deaf man Stepanwith a gold watch, and he is constantly taking it out of his pocket andputting it to his ear. 

People say of Aksinya that she has become a person of power; and it istrue that when she drives in the morning to her brickyard, handsomeand happy, with the naive smile on her face, and afterwards when sheis giving orders there, one is aware of great power in her. Everyone isafraid of her in the house and in the village and in the brickyard. Whenshe goes to the post the head of the postal department jumps up and saysto her:

"I humbly beg you to be seated, Aksinya Abramovna!"

A certain landowner, middle-aged but foppish, in a tunic of fine clothand patent leather high boots, sold her a horse, and was so carried awayby talking to her that he knocked down the price to meet her wishes. Heheld her hand a long time and, looking into her merry, sly, naive eyes, said:

"For a woman like you, Aksinya Abramovna, I should be ready to doanything you please. Only say when we can meet where no one willinterfere with us?"

"Why, when you please. "

And since then the elderly fop drives up to the shop almost every dayto drink beer. And the beer is horrid, bitter as wormwood. The landownershakes his head, but he drinks it. 

Old Tsybukin does not have anything to do with the business now at all. He does not keep any money because he cannot distinguish between thegood and the false, but he is silent, he says nothing of this weakness. He has become forgetful, and if they don't give him food he does not askfor it. They have grown used to having dinner without him, and Varvaraoften says:

"He went to bed again yesterday without any supper. "

And she says it unconcernedly because she is used to it. For somereason, summer and winter alike, he wears a fur coat, and only in veryhot weather he does not go out but sits at home. As a rule putting onhis fur coat, wrapping it round him and turning up his collar, he walksabout the village, along the road to the station, or sits from morningtill night on the seat near the church gates. He sits there withoutstirring. Passers-by bow to him, but he does not respond, for as of oldhe dislikes the peasants. If he is asked a question he answers quiterationally and politely, but briefly. 

There is a rumour going about in the village that his daughter-in-lawturns him out of the house and gives him nothing to eat, and that he isfed by charity; some are glad, others are sorry for him. 

Varvara has grown even fatter and whiter, and as before she is active ingood works, and Aksinya does not interfere with her. 

There is so much jam now that they have not time to eat it before thefresh fruit comes in; it goes sugary, and Varvara almost sheds tears, not knowing what to do with it. 

They have begun to forget about Anisim. A letter has come from himwritten in verse on a big sheet of paper as though it were a petition, all in the same splendid handwriting. Evidently his friend Samorodov wassharing his punishment. Under the verses in an ugly, scarcely legiblehandwriting there was a single line: "I am ill here all the time; I amwretched, for Christ's sake help me!"

Towards evening--it was a fine autumn day--old Tsybukin was sitting nearthe church gates, with the collar of his fur coat turned up and nothingof him could be seen but his nose and the peak of his cap. At the otherend of the long seat was sitting Elizarov the contractor, and beside himYakov the school watchman, a toothless old man of seventy. Crutch andthe watchman were talking. 

"Children ought to give food and drink to the old. .. . Honour thy fatherand mother. .. " Yakov was saying with irritation, "while she, thisdaughter-in-law, has turned her father-in-law out of his own house; theold man has neither food nor drink, where is he to go? He has not had amorsel for these three days. "

"Three days!" said Crutch, amazed. 

"Here he sits and does not say a word. He has grown feeble. And whybe silent? He ought to prosecute her, they wouldn't flatter her in thepolice court. "

"Wouldn't flatter whom?" asked Crutch, not hearing. 

"What?"

"The woman's all right, she does her best. In their line of businessthey can't get on without that. .. Without sin, I mean. .. . "

"From his own house, " Yakov went on with irritation. "Save up and buyyour own house, then turn people out of it! She is a nice one, to besure! A pla-ague!"

Tsybukin listened and did not stir. 

"Whether it is your own house or others' it makes no difference so longas it is warm and the women don't scold. .. " said Crutch, and he laughed. "When I was young I was very fond of my Nastasya. She was a quiet woman. And she used to be always at it: 'Buy a house, Makaritch! Buy a house, Makaritch! Buy a house, Makaritch!' She was dying and yet she kept onsaying, 'Buy yourself a racing droshky, Makaritch, that you may not haveto walk. ' And I bought her nothing but gingerbread. "

"Her husband's deaf and stupid, " Yakov went on, not hearing Crutch; "aregular fool, just like a goose. He can't understand anything. Hit agoose on the head with a stick and even then it does not understand. "

Crutch got up to go home to the factory. Yakov also got up, and both ofthem went off together, still talking. When they had gone fifty pacesold Tsybukin got up, too, and walked after them, stepping uncertainly asthough on slippery ice. 

The village was already plunged in the dusk of evening and the sun onlygleamed on the upper part of the road which ran wriggling like a snakeup the slope. Old women were coming back from the woods and childrenwith them; they were bringing baskets of mushrooms. Peasant women andgirls came in a crowd from the station where they had been loading thetrucks with bricks, and their noses and their cheeks under their eyeswere covered with red brick-dust. They were singing. Ahead of them allwas Lipa singing in a high voice, with her eyes turned upwards to thesky, breaking into trills as though triumphant and ecstatic that atlast the day was over and she could rest. In the crowd was her motherPraskovya, who was walking with a bundle in her arms and breathless asusual. 

"Good-evening, Makaritch!" cried Lipa, seeing Crutch. "Good-evening, darling!"

"Good-evening, Lipinka, " cried Crutch delighted. "Dear girls and women, love the rich carpenter! Ho-ho! My little children, my little children. (Crutch gave a gulp. ) My dear little axes!"

Crutch and Yakov went on further and could still be heard talking. Thenafter them the crowd was met by old Tsybukin and there was a suddenhush. Lipa and Praskovya had dropped a little behind, and when the oldman was on a level with them Lipa bowed down low and said:

"Good-evening, Grigory Petrovitch. "

Her mother, too, bowed down. The old man stopped and, saying nothing, looked at the two in silence; his lips were quivering and his eyesfull of tears. Lipa took out of her mother's bundle a piece of savouryturnover and gave it him. He took it and began eating. 

The sun had by now set: its glow died away on the road above. It grewdark and cool. Lipa and Praskovya walked on and for some time they keptcrossing themselves. 

THE HUNTSMAN

A SULTRY, stifling midday. Not a cloudlet in the sky. .. . The sun-bakedgrass had a disconsolate, hopeless look: even if there were rain itcould never be green again. .. . The forest stood silent, motionless, as though it were looking at something with its tree-tops or expectingsomething. 

At the edge of the clearing a tall, narrow-shouldered man of forty in ared shirt, in patched trousers that had been a gentleman's, and inhigh boots, was slouching along with a lazy, shambling step. He wassauntering along the road. On the right was the green of the clearing, on the left a golden sea of ripe rye stretched to the very horizon. He was red and perspiring, a white cap with a straight jockey peak, evidently a gift from some open-handed young gentleman, perched jauntilyon his handsome flaxen head. Across his shoulder hung a game-bag with ablackcock lying in it. The man held a double-barrelled gun cocked in hishand, and screwed up his eyes in the direction of his lean old dog whowas running on ahead sniffing the bushes. There was stillness all round, not a sound. .. Everything living was hiding away from the heat. 

"Yegor Vlassitch!" the huntsman suddenly heard a soft voice. 

He started and, looking round, scowled. Beside him, as though she hadsprung out of the earth, stood a pale-faced woman of thirty with asickle in her hand. She was trying to look into his face, and wassmiling diffidently. 

"Oh, it is you, Pelagea!" said the huntsman, stopping and deliberatelyuncocking the gun. "H'm!. .. How have you come here?"

"The women from our village are working here, so I have come withthem. .. . As a labourer, Yegor Vlassitch. "

"Oh. .. " growled Yegor Vlassitch, and slowly walked on. 

Pelagea followed him. They walked in silence for twenty paces. 

"I have not seen you for a long time, Yegor Vlassitch. .. " said Pelagealooking tenderly at the huntsman's moving shoulders. "I have not seenyou since you came into our hut at Easter for a drink of water. .. Youcame in at Easter for a minute and then God knows how. .. Drunk. .. Youscolded and beat me and went away. .. I have been waiting and waiting. .. I've tired my eyes out looking for you. Ah, Yegor Vlassitch, YegorVlassitch! you might look in just once!"

"What is there for me to do there?"

"Of course there is nothing for you to do. .. Though to be sure. .. Thereis the place to look after. .. . To see how things are going. .. . You arethe master. .. . I say, you have shot a blackcock, Yegor Vlassitch! Youought to sit down and rest!"

As she said all this Pelagea laughed like a silly girl and looked up atYegor's face. Her face was simply radiant with happiness. 

"Sit down? If you like. .. " said Yegor in a tone of indifference, and hechose a spot between two fir-trees. "Why are you standing? You sit downtoo. "

Pelagea sat a little way off in the sun and, ashamed of her joy, put herhand over her smiling mouth. Two minutes passed in silence. 

"You might come for once, " said Pelagea. 

"What for?" sighed Yegor, taking off his cap and wiping his red foreheadwith his hand. "There is no object in my coming. To go for an houror two is only waste of time, it's simply upsetting you, and to livecontinually in the village my soul could not endure. .. . You knowyourself I am a pampered man. .. . I want a bed to sleep in, good tea todrink, and refined conversation. .. . I want all the niceties, while youlive in poverty and dirt in the village. .. . I couldn't stand it for aday. Suppose there were an edict that I must live with you, I shouldeither set fire to the hut or lay hands on myself. From a boy I've hadthis love for ease; there is no help for it. "

"Where are you living now?"

"With the gentleman here, Dmitry Ivanitch, as a huntsman. I furnishhis table with game, but he keeps me. .. More for his pleasure thananything. "

"That's not proper work you're doing, Yegor Vlassitch. .. . For otherpeople it's a pastime, but with you it's like a trade. .. Like realwork. "

"You don't understand, you silly, " said Yegor, gazing gloomily at thesky. "You have never understood, and as long as you live you will neverunderstand what sort of man I am. .. . You think of me as a foolish man, gone to the bad, but to anyone who understands I am the best shot thereis in the whole district. The gentry feel that, and they have evenprinted things about me in a magazine. There isn't a man to be comparedwith me as a sportsman. .. . And it is not because I am pampered and proudthat I look down upon your village work. From my childhood, you know, Ihave never had any calling apart from guns and dogs. If they took awaymy gun, I used to go out with the fishing-hook, if they took the hook Icaught things with my hands. And I went in for horse-dealing too, I usedto go to the fairs when I had the money, and you know that if a peasantgoes in for being a sportsman, or a horse-dealer, it's good-bye to theplough. Once the spirit of freedom has taken a man you will never rootit out of him. In the same way, if a gentleman goes in for beingan actor or for any other art, he will never make an official or alandowner. You are a woman, and you do not understand, but one mustunderstand that. "

"I understand, Yegor Vlassitch. "

"You don't understand if you are going to cry. .. . "

"I. .. I'm not crying, " said Pelagea, turning away. "It's a sin, YegorVlassitch! You might stay a day with luckless me, anyway. It's twelveyears since I was married to you, and. .. And. .. There has never oncebeen love between us!. .. I. .. I am not crying. "

"Love. .. " muttered Yegor, scratching his hand. "There can't be any love. It's only in name we are husband and wife; we aren't really. In youreyes I am a wild man, and in mine you are a simple peasant woman withno understanding. Are we well matched? I am a free, pampered, profligateman, while you are a working woman, going in bark shoes and neverstraightening your back. The way I think of myself is that I am theforemost man in every kind of sport, and you look at me with pity. .. . Isthat being well matched?"

"But we are married, you know, Yegor Vlassitch, " sobbed Pelagea. 

"Not married of our free will. .. . Have you forgotten? You have to thankCount Sergey Paylovitch and yourself. Out of envy, because I shot betterthan he did, the Count kept giving me wine for a whole month, and whena man's drunk you could make him change his religion, let alone gettingmarried. To pay me out he married me to you when I was drunk. .. . Ahuntsman to a herd-girl! You saw I was drunk, why did you marry me? Youwere not a serf, you know; you could have resisted. Of course it was abit of luck for a herd-girl to marry a huntsman, but you ought to havethought about it. Well, now be miserable, cry. It's a joke for theCount, but a crying matter for you. .. . Beat yourself against the wall. "

A silence followed. Three wild ducks flew over the clearing. Yegorfollowed them with his eyes till, transformed into three scarcelyvisible dots, they sank down far beyond the forest. 

"How do you live?" he asked, moving his eyes from the ducks to Pelagea. 

"Now I am going out to work, and in the winter I take a child from theFoundling Hospital and bring it up on the bottle. They give me a roubleand a half a month. "

"Oh. .. . "

Again a silence. From the strip that had been reaped floated a soft songwhich broke off at the very beginning. It was too hot to sing. 

"They say you have put up a new hut for Akulina, " said Pelagea. 

Yegor did not speak. 

"So she is dear to you. .. . "

"It's your luck, it's fate!" said the huntsman, stretching. "You mustput up with it, poor thing. But good-bye, I've been chattering longenough. .. . I must be at Boltovo by the evening. "

Yegor rose, stretched himself, and slung his gun over his shoulder;Pelagea got up. 

"And when are you coming to the village?" she asked softly. 

"I have no reason to, I shall never come sober, and you have little togain from me drunk; I am spiteful when I am drunk. Good-bye!"

"Good-bye, Yegor Vlassitch. "

Yegor put his cap on t he back of his head and, clicking to his dog, went on his way. Pelagea stood still looking after him. .. . She saw hismoving shoulder-blades, his jaunty cap, his lazy, careless step, and hereyes were full of sadness and tender affection. .. . Her gaze flitted overher husband's tall, lean figure and caressed and fondled it. .. . He, asthough he felt that gaze, stopped and looked round. .. . He did not speak, but from his face, from his shrugged shoulders, Pelagea could see thathe wanted to say something to her. She went up to him timidly and lookedat him with imploring eyes. 

"Take it, " he said, turning round. 

He gave her a crumpled rouble note and walked quickly away. 

"Good-bye, Yegor Vlassitch, " she said, mechanically taking the rouble. 

He walked by a long road, straight as a taut strap. She, pale andmotionless as a statue, stood, her eyes seizing every step he took. Butthe red of his shirt melted into the dark colour of his trousers, hisstep could not be seen, and the dog could not be distinguished from theboots. Nothing could be seen but the cap, and. .. Suddenly Yegor turnedoff sharply into the clearing and the cap vanished in the greenness. 

"Good-bye, Yegor Vlassitch, " whispered Pelagea, and she stood on tiptoeto see the white cap once more. 

HAPPINESS

A FLOCK of sheep was spending the night on the broad steppe road thatis called the great highway. Two shepherds were guarding it. One, atoothless old man of eighty, with a tremulous face, was lying on hisstomach at the very edge of the road, leaning his elbows on the dustyleaves of a plantain; the other, a young fellow with thick blackeyebrows and no moustache, dressed in the coarse canvas of which cheapsacks are made, was lying on his back, with his arms under his head, looking upwards at the sky, where the stars were slumbering and theMilky Way lay stretched exactly above his face. 

The shepherds were not alone. A couple of yards from them in the duskthat shrouded the road a horse made a patch of darkness, and, besideit, leaning against the saddle, stood a man in high boots and a shortfull-skirted jacket who looked like an overseer on some big estate. Judging from his upright and motionless figure, from his manners, andhis behaviour to the shepherds and to his horse, he was a serious, reasonable man who knew his own value; even in the darkness signscould be detected in him of military carriage and of the majesticallycondescending expression gained by frequent intercourse with the gentryand their stewards. 

The sheep were asleep. Against the grey background of the dawn, alreadybeginning to cover the eastern part of the sky, the silhouettes ofsheep that were not asleep could be seen here and there; they stood withdrooping heads, thinking. Their thoughts, tedious and oppressive, calledforth by images of nothing but the broad steppe and the sky, the daysand the nights, probably weighed upon them themselves, crushing theminto apathy; and, standing there as though rooted to the earth, theynoticed neither the presence of a stranger nor the uneasiness of thedogs. 

The drowsy, stagnant air was full of the monotonous noise inseparablefrom a summer night on the steppes; the grasshoppers chirrupedincessantly; the quails called, and the young nightingales trilledlanguidly half a mile away in a ravine where a stream flowed and willowsgrew. 

The overseer had halted to ask the shepherds for a light for his pipe. He lighted it in silence and smoked the whole pipe; then, still withoututtering a word, stood with his elbow on the saddle, plunged in thought. The young shepherd took no notice of him, he still lay gazing at the skywhile the old man slowly looked the overseer up and down and then asked:

"Why, aren't you Panteley from Makarov's estate?"

"That's myself, " answered the overseer. 

"To be sure, I see it is. I didn't know you--that is a sign you will berich. Where has God brought you from?"

"From the Kovylyevsky fields. "

"That's a good way. Are you letting the land on the part-crop system?"

"Part of it. Some like that, and some we are letting on lease, and somefor raising melons and cucumbers. I have just come from the mill. "

A big shaggy old sheep-dog of a dirty white colour with woolly tuftsabout its nose and eyes walked three times quietly round the horse, trying to seem unconcerned in the presence of strangers, then all atonce dashed suddenly from behind at the overseer with an angry agedgrowl; the other dogs could not refrain from leaping up too. 

"Lie down, you damned brute, " cried the old man, raising himself on hiselbow; "blast you, you devil's creature. "

When the dogs were quiet again, the old man resumed his former attitudeand said quietly:

"It was at Kovyli on Ascension Day that Yefim Zhmenya died. Don't speakof it in the dark, it is a sin to mention such people. He was a wickedold man. I dare say you have heard. "

"No, I haven't. "

"Yefim Zhmenya, the uncle of Styopka, the blacksmith. The whole districtround knew him. Aye, he was a cursed old man, he was! I knew him forsixty years, ever since Tsar Alexander who beat the French was broughtfrom Taganrog to Moscow. We went together to meet the dead Tsar, and inthose days the great highway did not run to Bahmut, but from Esaulovkato Gorodishtche, and where Kovyli is now, there were bustards'nests--there was a bustard's nest at every step. Even then I had noticedthat Yefim had given his soul to damnation, and that the Evil One was inhim. I have observed that if any man of the peasant class is apt to besilent, takes up with old women's jobs, and tries to live in solitude, there is no good in it, and Yefim from his youth up was always one tohold his tongue and look at you sideways, he always seemed to be sulkyand bristling like a cock before a hen. To go to church or to the tavernor to lark in the street with the lads was not his fashion, he wouldrather sit alone or be whispering with old women. When he was stillyoung he took jobs to look after the bees and the market gardens. Goodfolks would come to his market garden sometimes and his melons werewhistling. One day he caught a pike, when folks were looking on, and itlaughed aloud, 'Ho-ho-ho-ho!'"

"It does happen, " said Panteley. 

The young shepherd turned on his side and, lifting his black eyebrows, stared intently at the old man. 

"Did you hear the melons whistling?" he asked. 

"Hear them I didn't, the Lord spared me, " sighed the old man, "but folkstold me so. It is no great wonder. .. The Evil One will begin whistlingin a stone if he wants to. Before the Day of Freedom a rock was hummingfor three days and three nights in our parts. I heard it myself. Thepike laughed because Yefim caught a devil instead of a pike. "

The old man remembered something. He got up quickly on to his knees and, shrinking as though from the cold, nervously thrusting his hands intohis sleeves, he muttered in a rapid womanish gabble:

"Lord save us and have mercy upon us! I was walking along the river bankone day to Novopavlovka. A storm was gathering, such a tempest it was, preserve us Holy Mother, Queen of Heaven. .. . I was hurrying on as best Icould, I looked, and beside the path between the thorn bushes--the thornwas in flower at the time--there was a white bullock coming along. Iwondered whose bullock it was, and what the devil had sent it there for. It was coming along and swinging its tail and moo-oo-oo! but would youbelieve it, friends, I overtake it, I come up close--and it's not abullock, but Yefim--holy, holy, holy! I make the sign of the cross whilehe stares at me and mutters, showing the whites of his eyes; wasn't Ifrightened! We came alongside, I was afraid to say a word to him--thethunder was crashing, the sky was streaked with lightning, the willowswere bent right down to the water--all at once, my friends, God strikeme dead that I die impenitent, a hare ran across the path. .. It ran andstopped, and said like a man: 'Good-evening, peasants. ' Lie down, youbrute!" the old man cried to the shaggy dog, who was moving round thehorse again. "Plague take you!"

"It does happen, " said the overseer, still leaning on the saddle and notstirring; he said this in the hollow, toneless voice in which men speakwhen they are plunged in thought. 

"It does happen, " he repeated, in a tone of profundity and conviction. 

"Ugh, he was a nasty old fellow, " the old shepherd went on with somewhatless fervour. "Five years after the Freedom he was flogged by thecommune at the office, so to show his spite he took and sent the throatillness upon all Kovyli. Folks died out of number, lots and lots ofthem, just as in cholera. .. . "

"How did he send the illness?" asked the young shepherd after a briefsilence. 

"We all know how, there is no great cleverness needed where there isa will to it. Yefim murdered people with viper's fat. That is such apoison that folks will die from the mere smell of it, let alone thefat. "

"That's true, " Panteley agreed. 

"The lads wanted to kill him at the time, but the old people would notlet them. It would never have done to kill him; he knew the place wherethe treasure is hidden, and not another soul did know. The treasuresabout here are charmed so that you may find them and not see them, buthe did see them. At times he would walk along the river bank or in theforest, and under the bushes and under the rocks there would be littleflames, little flames. .. Little flames as though from brimstone. I haveseen them myself. Everyone expected that Yefim would show people theplaces or dig the treasure up himself, but he--as the saying is, like adog in the manger--so he died without digging it up himself or showingother people. "

The overseer lit a pipe, and for an instant lighted up his bigmoustaches and his sharp, stern-looking, and dignified nose. Littlecircles of light danced from his hands to his cap, raced over the saddlealong the horse's back, and vanished in its mane near its ears. 

"There are lots of hidden treasures in these parts, " he said. 

And slowly stretching, he looked round him, resting his eyes on thewhitening east and added:

"There must be treasures. "

"To be sure, " sighed the old man, "one can see from every sign there aretreasures, only there is no one to dig them, brother. No one knows thereal places; besides, nowadays, you must remember, all the treasures areunder a charm. To find them and see them you must have a talisman, andwithout a talisman you can do nothing, lad. Yefim had talismans, butthere was no getting anything out of him, the bald devil. He kept them, so that no one could get them. "

The young shepherd crept two paces nearer to the old man and, proppinghis head on his fists, fastened his fixed stare upon him. A childishexpression of terror and curiosity gleamed in his dark eyes, and seemedin the twilight to stretch and flatten out the large features of hiscoarse young face. He was listening intently. 

"It is even written in the Scriptures that there are lots of treasureshidden here, " the old man went on; "it is so for sure. .. And nomistake about it. An old soldier of Novopavlovka was shown at Ivanovkaa writing, and in this writing it was printed about the place of thetreasure and even how many pounds of gold was in it and the sort ofvessel it was in; they would have found the treasures long ago by thatwriting, only the treasure is under a spell, you can't get at it. "

"Why can't you get at it, grandfather?" asked the young man. 

"I suppose there is some reason, the soldier didn't say. It is under aspell. .. You need a talisman. "

The old man spoke with warmth, as though he were pouring out his soulbefore the overseer. He talked through his nose and, being unaccustomedto talk much and rapidly, stuttered; and, conscious of his defects, hetried to adorn his speech with gesticulations of the hands and head andthin shoulders, and at every movement his hempen shirt crumpled intofolds, slipped upwards and displayed his back, black with age andsunburn. He kept pulling it down, but it slipped up again at once. Atlast, as though driven out of all patience by the rebellious shirt, theold man leaped up and said bitterly:

"There is fortune, but what is the good of it if it is buried in theearth? It is just riches wasted with no profit to anyone, like chaff orsheep's dung, and yet there are riches there, lad, fortune enough forall the country round, but not a soul sees it! It will come to this, that the gentry will dig it up or the government will take it away. Thegentry have begun digging the barrows. .. . They scented something! Theyare envious of the peasants' luck! The government, too, is looking afteritself. It is written in the law that if any peasant finds the treasurehe is to take it to the authorities! I dare say, wait till you get it!There is a brew but not for you!"

The old man laughed contemptuously and sat down on the ground. Theoverseer listened with attention and agreed, but from his silence andthe expression of his figure it was evident that what the old man toldhim was not new to him, that he had thought it all over long ago, andknew much more than was known to the old shepherd. 

"In my day, I must own, I did seek for fortune a dozen times, " said theold man, scratching himself nervously. "I looked in the right places, but I must have come on treasures under a charm. My father looked forit, too, and my brother, too--but not a thing did they find, so theydied without luck. A monk revealed to my brother Ilya--the Kingdom ofHeaven be his--that in one place in the fortress of Taganrog there wasa treasure under three stones, and that that treasure was under a charm, and in those days--it was, I remember, in the year '38--an Armenian usedto live at Matvyeev Barrow who sold talismans. Ilya bought a talisman, took two other fellows with him, and went to Taganrog. Only when he gotto the place in the fortress, brother, there was a soldier with a gun, standing at the very spot. .. . "

A sound suddenly broke on the still air, and floated in all directionsover the steppe. Something in the distance gave a menacing bang, crashedagainst stone, and raced over the steppe, uttering, "Tah! tah! tah!tah!" When the sound had died away the old man looked inquiringly atPanteley, who stood motionless and unconcerned. 

"It's a bucket broken away at the pits, " said the young shepherd after amoment's thought. 

It was by now getting light. The Milky Way had turned pale and graduallymelted like snow, losing its outlines; the sky was becoming dull anddingy so that you could not make out whether it was clear or coveredthickly with clouds, and only from the bright leaden streak in the eastand from the stars that lingered here and there could one tell what wascoming. 

The first noiseless breeze of morning, cautiously stirring the spurgesand the brown stalks of last year's grass, fluttered along the road. 

The overseer roused himself from his thoughts and tossed his head. Withboth hands he shook the saddle, touched the girth and, as though hecould not make up his mind to mount the horse, stood still again, hesitating. 

"Yes, " he said, "your elbow is near, but you can't bite it. There isfortune, but there is not the wit to find it. "

And he turned facing the shepherds. His stern face looked sad andmocking, as though he were a disappointed man. 

"Yes, so one dies without knowing what happiness is like. .. " he saidemphatically, lifting his left leg into the stirrup. "A younger man maylive to see it, but it is time for us to lay aside all thought of it. "

Stroking his long moustaches covered with dew, he seated himself heavilyon the horse and screwed up his eyes, looking into the distance, asthough he had forgotten something or left something unsaid. In thebluish distance where the furthest visible hillock melted into the mistnothing was stirring; the ancient barrows, once watch-mounds and tombs, which rose here and there above the horizon and the boundless steppe hada sullen and death-like look; there was a feeling of endless time andutter indifference to man in their immobility and silence; anotherthousand years would pass, myriads of men would die, while they wouldstill stand as they had stood, wit h no regret for the dead nor interestin the living, and no soul would ever know why they stood there, andwhat secret of the steppes was hidden under them. 

The rooks awakening, flew one after another in silence over the earth. No meaning was to be seen in the languid flight of those long-livedbirds, nor in the morning which is repeated punctually every twenty-fourhours, nor in the boundless expanse of the steppe. 

The overseer smiled and said:

"What space, Lord have mercy upon us! You would have a hunt to findtreasure in it! Here, " he went on, dropping his voice and making aserious face, "here there are two treasures buried for a certainty. The gentry don't know of them, but the old peasants, particularlythe soldiers, know all about them. Here, somewhere on that ridge [theoverseer pointed with his whip] robbers one time attacked a caravan ofgold; the gold was being taken from Petersburg to the Emperor Peter whowas building a fleet at the time at Voronezh. The robbers killed themen with the caravan and buried the gold, but did not find it againafterwards. Another treasure was buried by our Cossacks of the Don. In the year '12 they carried off lots of plunder of all sorts from theFrench, goods and gold and silver. When they were going homewards theyheard on the way that the government wanted to take away all the goldand silver from them. Rather than give up their plunder like that to thegovernment for nothing, the brave fellows took and buried it, so thattheir children, anyway, might get it; but where they buried it no oneknows. "

"I have heard of those treasures, " the old man muttered grimly. 

"Yes. .. " Panteley pondered again. "So it is. .. . "

A silence followed. The overseer looked dreamily into the distance, gavea laugh and pulled the rein, still with the same expression as though hehad forgotten something or left something unsaid. The horse reluctantlystarted at a walking pace. After riding a hundred paces Panteley shookhis head resolutely, roused himself from his thoughts and, lashing hishorse, set off at a trot. 

The shepherds were left alone. 

"That was Panteley from Makarov's estate, " said the old man. "He getsa hundred and fifty a year and provisions found, too. He is a man ofeducation. .. . "

The sheep, waking up--there were about three thousand of them--beganwithout zest to while away the time, nipping at the low, half-trampledgrass. The sun had not yet risen, but by now all the barrows could beseen and, like a cloud in the distance, Saur's Grave with its peakedtop. If one clambered up on that tomb one could see the plain from it, level and boundless as the sky, one could see villages, manor-houses, the settlements of the Germans and of the Molokani, and a long-sightedKalmuck could even see the town and the railway-station. Only from therecould one see that there was something else in the world besides thesilent steppe and the ancient barrows, that there was another life thathad nothing to do with buried treasure and the thoughts of sheep. 

The old man felt beside him for his crook--a long stick with a hookat the upper end--and got up. He was silent and thoughtful. The youngshepherd's face had not lost the look of childish terror and curiosity. He was still under the influence of what he had heard in the night, andimpatiently awaiting fresh stories. 

"Grandfather, " he asked, getting up and taking his crook, "what did yourbrother Ilya do with the soldier?"

The old man did not hear the question. He looked absent-mindedly at theyoung man, and answered, mumbling with his lips:

"I keep thinking, Sanka, about that writing that was shown to thatsoldier at Ivanovka. I didn't tell Panteley--God be with him--but youknow in that writing the place was marked out so that even a woman couldfind it. Do you know where it is? At Bogata Bylotchka at the spot, you know, where the ravine parts like a goose's foot into three littleravines; it is the middle one. "

"Well, will you dig?"

"I will try my luck. .. "

"And, grandfather, what will you do with the treasure when you find it?"

"Do with it?" laughed the old man. "H'm!. .. If only I could find itthen. .. . I would show them all. .. . H'm!. .. I should know what to do. .. . "

And the old man could not answer what he would do with the treasureif he found it. That question had presented itself to him that morningprobably for the first time in his life, and judging from the expressionof his face, indifferent and uncritical, it did not seem to himimportant and deserving of consideration. In Sanka's brain anotherpuzzled question was stirring: why was it only old men searched forhidden treasure, and what was the use of earthly happiness to people whomight die any day of old age? But Sanka could not put this perplexityinto words, and the old man could scarcely have found an answer to it. 

An immense crimson sun came into view surrounded by a faint haze. Broadstreaks of light, still cold, bathing in the dewy grass, lengthening outwith a joyous air as though to prove they were not weary of their task, began spreading over the earth. The silvery wormwood, the blue flowersof the pig's onion, the yellow mustard, the corn-flowers--all burst intogay colours, taking the sunlight for their own smile. 

The old shepherd and Sanka parted and stood at the further sides of theflock. Both stood like posts, without moving, staring at the ground andthinking. The former was haunted by thoughts of fortune, the latter waspondering on what had been said in the night; what interested him wasnot the fortune itself, which he did not want and could not imagine, butthe fantastic, fairy-tale character of human happiness. 

A hundred sheep started and, in some inexplicable panic as at asignal, dashed away from the flock; and as though the thoughts of thesheep--tedious and oppressive--had for a moment infected Sanka also, he, too, dashed aside in the same inexplicable animal panic, but at once herecovered himself and shouted:

"You crazy creatures! You've gone mad, plague take you!"

When the sun, promising long hours of overwhelming heat, began to bakethe earth, all living things that in the night had moved and utteredsounds were sunk in drowsiness. The old shepherd and Sanka stood withtheir crooks on opposite sides of the flock, stood without stirring, like fakirs at their prayers, absorbed in thought. They did not heedeach other; each of them was living in his own life. The sheep werepondering, too. 

A MALEFACTOR

AN exceedingly lean little peasant, in a striped hempen shirt andpatched drawers, stands facing the investigating magistrate. His faceovergrown with hair and pitted with smallpox, and his eyes scarcelyvisible under thick, overhanging eyebrows have an expression of sullenmoroseness. On his head there is a perfect mop of tangled, unkempthair, which gives him an even more spider-like air of moroseness. He isbarefooted. 

"Denis Grigoryev!" the magistrate begins. "Come nearer, and answermy questions. On the seventh of this July the railway watchman, IvanSemyonovitch Akinfov, going along the line in the morning, found you atthe hundred-and-forty-first mile engaged in unscrewing a nut by whichthe rails are made fast to the sleepers. Here it is, the nut!. .. Withthe aforesaid nut he detained you. Was that so?"

"Wha-at?"

"Was this all as Akinfov states?"

"To be sure, it was. "

"Very good; well, what were you unscrewing the nut for?"

"Wha-at?"

"Drop that 'wha-at' and answer the question; what were you unscrewingthe nut for?"

"If I hadn't wanted it I shouldn't have unscrewed it, " croaks Denis, looking at the ceiling. 

"What did you want that nut for?"

"The nut? We make weights out of those nuts for our lines. "

"Who is 'we'?"

"We, people. .. . The Klimovo peasants, that is. "

"Listen, my man; don't play the idiot to me, but speak sensibly. It's nouse telling lies here about weights!"

"I've never been a liar from a child, and now I'm telling lies. .. "mutters Denis, blinking. "But can you do without a weight, your honour?If you put live bait or maggots on a hook, would it go to the bottomwithout a weight?. .. I am telling lies, " grins Denis. .. . "What thedevil is the use of the worm if it swims on the surface! The perch andthe pike and the eel-pout always go to the bottom, and a bait on thesurface is only taken by a shillisper, not very often then, and thereare no shillispers in our river. .. . That fish likes plenty of room. "

"Why are you telling me about shillispers?"

"Wha-at? Why, you asked me yourself! The gentry catch fish that waytoo in our parts. The silliest little boy would not try to catch a fishwithout a weight. Of course anyone who did not understand might go tofish without a weight. There is no rule for a fool. "

"So you say you unscrewed this nut to make a weight for your fishingline out of it?"

"What else for? It wasn't to play knuckle-bones with!"

"But you might have taken lead, a bullet. .. A nail of some sort. .. . "

"You don't pick up lead in the road, you have to buy it, and a nail'sno good. You can't find anything better than a nut. .. . It's heavy, andthere's a hole in it. "

"He keeps pretending to be a fool! as though he'd been born yesterdayor dropped from heaven! Don't you understand, you blockhead, whatunscrewing these nuts leads to? If the watchman had not noticed it thetrain might have run off the rails, people would have been killed--youwould have killed people. "

"God forbid, your honour! What should I kill them for? Are we heathensor wicked people? Thank God, good gentlemen, we have lived all our liveswithout ever dreaming of such a thing. .. . Save, and have mercy on us, Queen of Heaven!. .. What are you saying?"

"And what do you suppose railway accidents do come from? Unscrew two orthree nuts and you have an accident. "

Denis grins, and screws up his eye at the magistrate incredulously. 

"Why! how many years have we all in the village been unscrewing nuts, and the Lord has been merciful; and you talk of accidents, killingpeople. If I had carried away a rail or put a log across the line, say, then maybe it might have upset the train, but. .. Pouf! a nut!"

"But you must understand that the nut holds the rail fast to thesleepers!"

"We understand that. .. . We don't unscrew them all. .. We leave some. .. . We don't do it thoughtlessly. .. We understand. .. . "

Denis yawns and makes the sign of the cross over his mouth. 

"Last year the train went off the rails here, " says the magistrate. "NowI see why!"

"What do you say, your honour?"

"I am telling you that now I see why the train went off the rails lastyear. .. . I understand!"

"That's what you are educated people for, to understand, you kindgentlemen. The Lord knows to whom to give understanding. .. . Here youhave reasoned how and what, but the watchman, a peasant like ourselves, with no understanding at all, catches one by the collar and hauls onealong. .. . You should reason first and then haul me off. It's a sayingthat a peasant has a peasant's wit. .. . Write down, too, your honour, that he hit me twice--in the jaw and in the chest. "

"When your hut was searched they found another nut. .. . At what spot didyou unscrew that, and when?"

"You mean the nut which lay under the red box?"

"I don't know where it was lying, only it was found. When did youunscrew it?"

"I didn't unscrew it; Ignashka, the son of one-eyed Semyon, gave it me. I mean the one which was under the box, but the one which was in thesledge in the yard Mitrofan and I unscrewed together. "

"What Mitrofan?"

"Mitrofan Petrov. .. . Haven't you heard of him? He makes nets in ourvillage and sells them to the gentry. He needs a lot of those nuts. Reckon a matter of ten for each net. "

"Listen. Article 1081 of the Penal Code lays down that every wilfuldamage of the railway line committed when it can expose the traffic onthat line to danger, and the guilty party knows that an accident mustbe caused by it. .. (Do you understand? Knows! And you could not helpknowing what this unscrewing would lead to. .. ) is liable to penalservitude. "

"Of course, you know best. .. . We are ignorant people. .. . What do weunderstand?"

"You understand all about it! You are lying, shamming!"

"What should I lie for? Ask in the village if you don't believe me. Onlya bleak is caught without a weight, and there is no fish worse than agudgeon, yet even that won't bite without a weight. "

"You'd better tell me about the shillisper next, " said the magistrate, smiling. 

"There are no shillispers in our parts. .. . We cast our line without aweight on the top of the water with a butterfly; a mullet may be caughtthat way, though that is not often. "

"Come, hold your tongue. "

A silence follows. Denis shifts from one foot to the other, looks atthe table with the green cloth on it, and blinks his eyes violently asthough what was before him was not the cloth but the sun. The magistratewrites rapidly. 

"Can I go?" asks Denis after a long silence. 

"No. I must take you under guard and send you to prison. "

Denis leaves off blinking and, raising his thick eyebrows, looksinquiringly at the magistrate. 

"How do you mean, to prison? Your honour! I have no time to spare, I must go to the fair; I must get three roubles from Yegor for sometallow!. .. "

"Hold your tongue; don't interrupt. "

"To prison. .. . If there was something to go for, I'd go; but just to gofor nothing! What for? I haven't stolen anything, I believe, and I'venot been fighting. .. . If you are in doubt about the arrears, yourhonour, don't believe the elder. .. . You ask the agent. .. He's a regularheathen, the elder, you know. "

"Hold your tongue. "

"I am holding my tongue, as it is, " mutters Denis; "but that the elderhas lied over the account, I'll take my oath for it. .. . There are threeof us brothers: Kuzma Grigoryev, then Yegor Grigoryev, and me, DenisGrigoryev. "

"You are hindering me. .. . Hey, Semyon, " cries the magistrate, "take himaway!"

"There are three of us brothers, " mutters Denis, as two stalwartsoldiers take him and lead him out of the room. "A brother is notresponsible for a brother. Kuzma does not pay, so you, Denis, mustanswer for it. .. . Judges indeed! Our master the general is dead--theKingdom of Heaven be his--or he would have shown you judges. .. . Youought to judge sensibly, not at random. .. . Flog if you like, but flogsomeone who deserves it, flog with conscience. "

PEASANTS

I

NIKOLAY TCHIKILDYEEV, a waiter in the Moscow hotel, Slavyansky Bazaar, was taken ill. His legs went numb and his gait was affected, so that onone occasion, as he was going along the corridor, he tumbled and felldown with a tray full of ham and peas. He had to leave his job. All hisown savings and his wife's were spent on doctors and medicines; they hadnothing left to live upon. He felt dull with no work to do, and he madeup his mind he must go home to the village. It is better to be ill athome, and living there is cheaper; and it is a true saying that thewalls of home are a help. 

He reached Zhukovo towards evening. In his memories of childhood he hadpictured his home as bright, snug, comfortable. Now, going into the hut, he was positively frightened; it was so dark, so crowded, so unclean. His wife Olga and his daughter Sasha, who had come with him, keptlooking in bewilderment at the big untidy stove, which filled up almosthalf the hut and was black with soot and flies. What lots of flies!The stove was on one side, the beams lay slanting on the walls, andit looked as though the hut were just going to fall to pieces. Inthe corner, facing the door, under the holy images, bottle labels andnewspaper cuttings were stuck on the walls instead of pictures. Thepoverty, the poverty! Of the grown-up people there were none at home;all were at work at the harvest. On the stove was sitting a white-headedgirl of eight, unwashed and apathetic; she did not even glance at themas they came in. On the floor a white cat was rubbing itself against theoven fork. 

"Puss, puss!" Sasha called to her. "Puss!"

"She can't hear, " said the little girl; "she has gone deaf. "

"How is that?"

"Oh, she was beaten. "

Nikolay and Olga realized from the firs t glance what life was likehere, but said nothing to one another; in silence they put down theirbundles, and went out into the village street. Their hut was the thirdfrom the end, and seemed the very poorest and oldest-looking; the secondwas not much better; but the last one had an iron roof, and curtains inthe windows. That hut stood apart, not enclosed; it was a tavern. Thehuts were in a single row, and the whole of the little village--quietand dreamy, with willows, elders, and mountain-ash trees peeping outfrom the yards--had an attractive look. 

Beyond the peasants homesteads there was a slope down to the river, sosteep and precipitous that huge stones jutted out bare here and therethrough the clay. Down the slope, among the stones and holes dug by thepotters, ran winding paths; bits of broken pottery, some brown, somered, lay piled up in heaps, and below there stretched a broad, level, bright green meadow, from which the hay had been already carried, and inwhich the peasants' cattle were wandering. The river, three-quarters ofa mile from the village, ran twisting and turning, with beautifulleafy banks; beyond it was again a broad meadow, a herd of cattle, longstrings of white geese; then, just as on the near side, a steep ascentuphill, and on the top of the hill a hamlet, and a church with fivedomes, and at a little distance the manor-house. 

"It's lovely here in your parts!" said Olga, crossing herself at thesight of the church. "What space, oh Lord!"

Just at that moment the bell began ringing for service (it was Saturdayevening). Two little girls, down below, who were dragging up a pail ofwater, looked round at the church to listen to the bell. 

"At this time they are serving the dinners at the Slavyansky Bazaar, "said Nikolay dreamily. 

Sitting on the edge of the slope, Nikolay and Olga watched the sunsetting, watched the gold and crimson sky reflected in the river, inthe church windows, and in the whole air--which was soft and still andunutterably pure as it never was in Moscow. And when the sun had set theflocks and herds passed, bleating and lowing; geese flew across fromthe further side of the river, and all sank into silence; the soft lightdied away in the air, and the dusk of evening began quickly moving downupon them. 

Meanwhile Nikolay's father and mother, two gaunt, bent, toothlessold people, just of the same height, came back. The women--thesisters-in-law Marya and Fyokla--who had been working on the landowner'sestate beyond the river, arrived home, too. Marya, the wife of Nikolay'sbrother Kiryak, had six children, and Fyokla, the wife of Nikolay'sbrother Denis--who had gone for a soldier--had two; and when Nikolay, going into the hut, saw all the family, all those bodies big and littlemoving about on the lockers, in the hanging cradles and in all thecorners, and when he saw the greed with which the old father and thewomen ate the black bread, dipping it in water, he realized he had madea mistake in coming here, sick, penniless, and with a family, too--agreat mistake!

"And where is Kiryak?" he asked after they had exchanged greetings. 

"He is in service at the merchant's, " answered his father; "a keeper inthe woods. He is not a bad peasant, but too fond of his glass. "

"He is no great help!" said the old woman tearfully. "Our men are agrievous lot; they bring nothing into the house, but take plenty out. Kiryak drinks, and so does the old man; it is no use hiding a sin; heknows his way to the tavern. The Heavenly Mother is wroth. "

In honour of the visitors they brought out the samovar. The tea smeltof fish; the sugar was grey and looked as though it had been nibbled;cockroaches ran to and fro over the bread and among the crockery. Itwas disgusting to drink, and the conversation was disgusting, too--aboutnothing but poverty and illnesses. But before they had time to emptytheir first cups there came a loud, prolonged, drunken shout from theyard:

"Ma-arya!"

"It looks as though Kiryak were coming, " said the old man. "Speak of thedevil. "

All were hushed. And again, soon afterwards, the same shout, coarse anddrawn-out as though it came out of the earth:

"Ma-arya!"

Marya, the elder sister-in-law, turned pale and huddled against thestove, and it was strange to see the look of terror on the face of thestrong, broad-shouldered, ugly woman. Her daughter, the child who hadbeen sitting on the stove and looked so apathetic, suddenly broke intoloud weeping. 

"What are you howling for, you plague?" Fyokla, a handsome woman, alsostrong and broad-shouldered, shouted to her. "He won't kill you, nofear!"

From his old father Nikolay learned that Marya was afraid to live in theforest with Kiryak, and that when he was drunk he always came for her, made a row, and beat her mercilessly. 

"Ma-arya!" the shout sounded close to the door. 

"Protect me, for Christ's sake, good people!" faltered Marya, breathingas though she had been plunged into very cold water. "Protect me, kindpeople. .. . "

All the children in the hut began crying, and looking at them, Sasha, too, began to cry. They heard a drunken cough, and a tall, black-beardedpeasant wearing a winter cap came into the hut, and was the moreterrible because his face could not be seen in the dim light of thelittle lamp. It was Kiryak. Going up to his wife, he swung his arm andpunched her in the face with his fist. Stunned by the blow, she did notutter a sound, but sat down, and her nose instantly began bleeding. 

"What a disgrace! What a disgrace!" muttered the old man, clambering upon to the stove. "Before visitors, too! It's a sin!"

The old mother sat silent, bowed, lost in thought; Fyokla rocked thecradle. 

Evidently conscious of inspiring fear, and pleased at doing so, Kiryakseized Marya by the arm, dragged her towards the door, and bellowed likean animal in order to seem still more terrible; but at that moment hesuddenly caught sight of the visitors and stopped. 

"Oh, they have come, . .. " he said, letting his wife go; "my own brotherand his family. .. . "

Staggering and opening wide his red, drunken eyes, he said his prayerbefore the image and went on:

"My brother and his family have come to the parental home. .. FromMoscow, I suppose. The great capital Moscow, to be sure, the mother ofcities. .. . Excuse me. "

He sank down on the bench near the samovar and began drinking tea, sipping it loudly from the saucer in the midst of general silence. .. . Hedrank off a dozen cups, then reclined on the bench and began snoring. 

They began going to bed. Nikolay, as an invalid, was put on the stovewith his old father; Sasha lay down on the floor, while Olga went withthe other women into the barn. 

"Aye, aye, dearie, " she said, lying down on the hay beside Marya; "youwon't mend your trouble with tears. Bear it in patience, that is all. Itis written in the Scriptures: 'If anyone smite thee on the right cheek, offer him the left one also. '. .. Aye, aye, dearie. "

Then in a low singsong murmur she told them about Moscow, about her ownlife, how she had been a servant in furnished lodgings. 

"And in Moscow the houses are big, built of brick, " she said; "and thereare ever so many churches, forty times forty, dearie; and they are allgentry in the houses, so handsome and so proper!"

Marya told her that she had not only never been in Moscow, but had noteven been in their own district town; she could not read or write, andknew no prayers, not even "Our Father. " Both she and Fyokla, theother sister-in-law, who was sitting a little way off listening, wereextremely ignorant and could understand nothing. They both dislikedtheir husbands; Marya was afraid of Kiryak, and whenever he stayed withher she was shaking with fear, and always got a headache from the fumesof vodka and tobacco with which he reeked. And in answer to the questionwhether she did not miss her husband, Fyokla answered with vexation:

"Miss him!"

They talked a little and sank into silence. 

It was cool, and a cock crowed at the top of his voice near the barn, preventing them from sleeping. When the bluish morning light was alreadypeeping through all the crevices, Fyokla got up stealthily and went out, and then they heard the sound of her bare feet running off somewhere. 

II

Olga went to church, and took Marya with her. As they went down the pathtowards the meadow both were in good spirits. Olga liked the wide view, and Marya felt that in her sister-in-law she had someone near and akinto her. The sun was rising. Low down over the meadow floated a drowsyhawk. The river looked gloomy; there was a haze hovering over it hereand there, but on the further bank a streak of light already stretchedacross the hill. The church was gleaming, and in the manor garden therooks were cawing furiously. 

"The old man is all right, " Marya told her, "but Granny is strict; sheis continually nagging. Our own grain lasted till Carnival. We buy flournow at the tavern. She is angry about it; she says we eat too much. "

"Aye, aye, dearie! Bear it in patience, that is all. It is written:'Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden. '"

Olga spoke sedately, rhythmically, and she walked like a pilgrim woman, with a rapid, anxious step. Every day she read the gospel, read it aloudlike a deacon; a great deal of it she did not understand, but the wordsof the gospel moved her to tears, and words like "forasmuch as" and"verily" she pronounced with a sweet flutter at her heart. She believedin God, in the Holy Mother, in the Saints; she believed one must notoffend anyone in the world--not simple folks, nor Germans, nor gypsies, nor Jews--and woe even to those who have no compassion on the beasts. She believed this was written in the Holy Scriptures; and so, when shepronounced phrases from Holy Writ, even though she did not understandthem, her face grew softened, compassionate, and radiant. 

"What part do you come from?" Marya asked her. 

"I am from Vladimir. Only I was taken to Moscow long ago, when I waseight years old. "

They reached the river. On the further side a woman was standing at thewater's edge, undressing. 

"It's our Fyokla, " said Marya, recognizing her. "She has been over theriver to the manor yard. To the stewards. She is a shameless hussy andfoul-mouthed--fearfully!"

Fyokla, young and vigorous as a girl, with her black eyebrows and herloose hair, jumped off the bank and began splashing the water with herfeet, and waves ran in all directions from her. 

"Shameless--dreadfully!" repeated Marya. 

The river was crossed by a rickety little bridge of logs, and exactlybelow it in the clear, limpid water was a shoal of broad-headed mullets. The dew was glistening on the green bushes that looked into the water. There was a feeling of warmth; it was comforting! What a lovely morning!And how lovely life would have been in this world, in all likelihood, ifit were not for poverty, horrible, hopeless poverty, from which one canfind no refuge! One had only to look round at the village to remembervividly all that had happened the day before, and the illusion ofhappiness which seemed to surround them vanished instantly. 

They reached the church. Marya stood at the entrance, and did not dareto go farther. She did not dare to sit down either. Though they onlybegan ringing for mass between eight and nine, she remained standing thewhole time. 

While the gospel was being read the crowd suddenly parted to make wayfor the family from the great house. Two young girls in white frocks andwide-brimmed hats walked in; with them a chubby, rosy boy in a sailorsuit. Their appearance touched Olga; she made up her mind from the firstglance that they were refined, well-educated, handsome people. Maryalooked at them from under her brows, sullenly, dejectedly, as thoughthey were not human beings coming in, but monsters who might crush herif she did not make way for them. 

And every time the deacon boomed out something in his bass voice shefancied she heard "Ma-arya!" and she shuddered. 

III

The arrival of the visitors was already known in the village, anddirectly after mass a number of people gathered together in the hut. TheLeonytchevs and Matvyeitchevs and the Ilyitchovs came to inquire abouttheir relations who were in service in Moscow. All the lads of Zhukovowho could read and write were packed off to Moscow and hired out asbutlers or waiters (while from the village on the other side of theriver the boys all became bakers), and that had been the custom from thedays of serfdom long ago when a certain Luka Ivanitch, a peasant fromZhukovo, now a legendary figure, who had been a waiter in one of theMoscow clubs, would take none but his fellow-villagers into his service, and found jobs for them in taverns and restaurants; and from that timethe village of Zhukovo was always called among the inhabitants of thesurrounding districts Slaveytown. Nikolay had been taken to Moscow whenhe was eleven, and Ivan Makaritch, one of the Matvyeitchevs, atthat time a headwaiter in the "Hermitage" garden, had put him intoa situation. And now, addressing the Matvyeitchevs, Nikolay saidemphatically:

"Ivan Makaritch was my benefactor, and I am bound to pray for him dayand night, as it is owing to him I have become a good man. "

"My good soul!" a tall old woman, the sister of Ivan Makaritch, saidtearfully, "and not a word have we heard about him, poor dear. "

"In the winter he was in service at Omon's, and this season there was arumour he was somewhere out of town, in gardens. .. . He has aged! Inold days he would bring home as much as ten roubles a day in thesummer-time, but now things are very quiet everywhere. The old manfrets. "

The women looked at Nikolay's feet, shod in felt boots, and at his paleface, and said mournfully:

"You are not one to get on, Nikolay Osipitch; you are not one to get on!No, indeed!"

And they all made much of Sasha. She was ten years old, but she waslittle and very thin, and might have been taken for no more than seven. Among the other little girls, with their sunburnt faces and roughlycropped hair, dressed in long faded smocks, she with her white littleface, with her big dark eyes, with a red ribbon in her hair, lookedfunny, as though she were some little wild creature that had been caughtand brought into the hut. 

"She can read, too, " Olga said in her praise, looking tenderly at herdaughter. "Read a little, child!" she said, taking the gospel from thecorner. "You read, and the good Christian people will listen. "

The testament was an old and heavy one in leather binding, withdog's-eared edges, and it exhaled a smell as though monks had come intothe hut. Sasha raised her eyebrows and began in a loud rhythmic chant:

"'And the angel of the Lord. .. Appeared unto Joseph, saying unto him:Rise up, and take the Babe and His mother. '"

"The Babe and His mother, " Olga repeated, and flushed all over withemotion. 

"'And flee into Egypt, . .. And tarry there until such time as. .. '"

At the word "tarry" Olga could not refrain from tears. Looking at her, Marya began to whimper, and after her Ivan Makaritch's sister. The oldfather cleared his throat, and bustled about to find something to givehis grand-daughter, but, finding nothing, gave it up with a wave of hishand. And when the reading was over the neighbours dispersed to theirhomes, feeling touched and very much pleased with Olga and Sasha. 

As it was a holiday, the family spent the whole day at home. The oldwoman, whom her husband, her daughters-in-law, her grandchildren allalike called Granny, tried to do everything herself; she heated thestove and set the samovar with her own hands, even waited at the middaymeal, and then complained that she was worn out with work. And all thetime she was uneasy for fear someone should eat a piece too much, orthat her husband and daughters-in-law would sit idle. At one time shewould hear the tavern-keeper's geese going at the back of the huts toher kitchen-garden, and she would run out of the hut with a long stickand spend half an hour screaming shrilly by her cabbages, which were asgaunt and scraggy as herself; at another time she fancied that a crowhad designs on her chickens, and she rushed to attack it wi th loudwords of abuse. She was cross and grumbling from morning till night. Andoften she raised such an outcry that passers-by stopped in the street. 

She was not affectionate towards the old man, reviling him as alazy-bones and a plague. He was not a responsible, reliable peasant, andperhaps if she had not been continually nagging at him he would not haveworked at all, but would have simply sat on the stove and talked. He talked to his son at great length about certain enemies of his, complained of the insults he said he had to put up with every day fromthe neighbours, and it was tedious to listen to him. 

"Yes, " he would say, standing with his arms akimbo, "yes. .. . A weekafter the Exaltation of the Cross I sold my hay willingly at thirtykopecks a pood. .. . Well and good. .. . So you see I was taking the hayin the morning with a good will; I was interfering with no one. In anunlucky hour I see the village elder, Antip Syedelnikov, coming out ofthe tavern. 'Where are you taking it, you ruffian?' says he, and takesme by the ear. "

Kiryak had a fearful headache after his drinking bout, and was ashamedto face his brother. 

"What vodka does! Ah, my God!" he muttered, shaking his aching head. "For Christ's sake, forgive me, brother and sister; I'm not happymyself. "

As it was a holiday, they bought a herring at the tavern and made a soupof the herring's head. At midday they all sat down to drink tea, andwent on drinking it for a long time, till they were all perspiring;they looked positively swollen from the tea-drinking, and after it begansipping the broth from the herring's head, all helping themselves out ofone bowl. But the herring itself Granny had hidden. 

In the evening a potter began firing pots on the ravine. In the meadowbelow the girls got up a choral dance and sang songs. They played theconcertina. And on the other side of the river a kiln for baking potswas lighted, too, and the girls sang songs, and in the distance thesinging sounded soft and musical. The peasants were noisy in and aboutthe tavern. They were singing with drunken voices, each on his ownaccount, and swearing at one another, so that Olga could only shudderand say:

"Oh, holy Saints!"

She was amazed that the abuse was incessant, and those who were loudestand most persistent in this foul language were the old men who were sonear their end. And the girls and children heard the swearing, and werenot in the least disturbed by it, and it was evident that they were usedto it from their cradles. 

It was past midnight, the kilns on both sides of the river were put out, but in the meadow below and in the tavern the merrymaking still went on. The old father and Kiryak, both drunk, walking arm-in-arm and jostlingagainst each other's shoulders, went to the barn where Olga and Maryawere lying. 

"Let her alone, " the old man persuaded him; "let her alone. .. . She is aharmless woman. .. . It's a sin. .. . "

"Ma-arya!" shouted Kiryak. 

"Let her be. .. . It's a sin. .. . She is not a bad woman. "

Both stopped by the barn and went on. 

"I lo-ove the flowers of the fi-ield, " the old man began singingsuddenly in a high, piercing tenor. "I lo-ove to gather them in themeadows!"

Then he spat, and with a filthy oath went into the hut. 

IV

Granny put Sasha by her kitchen-garden and told her to keep watch thatthe geese did not go in. It was a hot August day. The tavernkeeper'sgeese could make their way into the kitchen-garden by the backs of thehuts, but now they were busily engaged picking up oats by the tavern, peacefully conversing together, and only the gander craned his headhigh as though trying to see whether the old woman were coming withher stick. The other geese might come up from below, but they were nowgrazing far away the other side of the river, stretched out in a longwhite garland about the meadow. Sasha stood about a little, grew weary, and, seeing that the geese were not coming, went away to the ravine. 

There she saw Marya's eldest daughter Motka, who was standing motionlesson a big stone, staring at the church. Marya had given birth to thirteenchildren, but she only had six living, all girls, not one boy, and theeldest was eight. Motka in a long smock was standing barefooted in thefull sunshine; the sun was blazing down right on her head, but shedid not notice that, and seemed as though turned to stone. Sasha stoodbeside her and said, looking at the church:

"God lives in the church. Men have lamps and candles, but God has littlegreen and red and blue lamps like little eyes. At night God walks aboutthe church, and with Him the Holy Mother of God and Saint Nikolay, thud, thud, thud!. .. And the watchman is terrified, terrified! Aye, aye, dearie, " she added, imitating her mother. "And when the end of the worldcomes all the churches will be carried up to heaven. "

"With the-ir be-ells?" Motka asked in her deep voice, drawling everysyllable. 

"With their bells. And when the end of the world comes the good will goto Paradise, but the angry will burn in fire eternal and unquenchable, dearie. To my mother as well as to Marya God will say: 'You neveroffended anyone, and for that go to the right to Paradise'; but toKiryak and Granny He will say: 'You go to the left into the fire. ' Andanyone who has eaten meat in Lent will go into the fire, too. "

She looked upwards at the sky, opening wide her eyes, and said:

"Look at the sky without winking, you will see angels. "

Motka began looking at the sky, too, and a minute passed in silence. 

"Do you see them?" asked Sasha. 

"I don't, " said Motka in her deep voice. 

"But I do. Little angels are flying about the sky and flap, flap withtheir little wings as though they were gnats. "

Motka thought for a little, with her eyes on the ground, and asked:

"Will Granny burn?"

"She will, dearie. "

From the stone an even gentle slope ran down to the bottom, covered withsoft green grass, which one longed to lie down on or to touch with one'shands. .. Sasha lay down and rolled to the bottom. Motka with a grave, severe face, taking a deep breath, lay down, too, and rolled to thebottom, and in doing so tore her smock from the hem to the shoulder. 

"What fun it is!" said Sasha, delighted. 

They walked up to the top to roll down again, but at that momentthey heard a shrill, familiar voice. Oh, how awful it was! Granny, atoothless, bony, hunchbacked figure, with short grey hair which wasfluttering in the wind, was driving the geese out of the kitchen-gardenwith a long stick, shouting. 

"They have trampled all the cabbages, the damned brutes! I'd cut yourthroats, thrice accursed plagues! Bad luck to you!"

She saw the little girls, flung down the stick and picked up a switch, and, seizing Sasha by the neck with her fingers, thin and hard as thegnarled branches of a tree, began whipping her. Sasha cried with painand terror, while the gander, waddling and stretching his neck, went upto the old woman and hissed at her, and when he went back to his flockall the geese greeted him approvingly with "Ga-ga-ga!" Then Grannyproceeded to whip Motka, and in this Motka's smock was torn again. Feeling in despair, and crying loudly, Sasha went to the hut tocomplain. Motka followed her; she, too, was crying on a deeper note, without wiping her tears, and her face was as wet as though it had beendipped in water. 

"Holy Saints!" cried Olga, aghast, as the two came into the hut. "Queenof Heaven!"

Sasha began telling her story, while at the same time Granny walked inwith a storm of shrill cries and abuse; then Fyokla flew into a rage, and there was an uproar in the hut. 

"Never mind, never mind!" Olga, pale and upset, tried to comfort them, stroking Sasha's head. "She is your grandmother; it's a sin to be angrywith her. Never mind, my child. "

Nikolay, who was worn out already by the everlasting hubbub, hunger, stifling fumes, filth, who hated and despised the poverty, who wasashamed for his wife and daughter to see his father and mother, swung his legs off the stove and said in an irritable, tearful voice, addressing his mother:

"You must not beat her! You have no right to beat he r!"

"You lie rotting on the stove, you wretched creature!" Fyokla shouted athim spitefully. "The devil brought you all on us, eating us out of houseand home. "

Sasha and Motka and all the little girls in the hut huddled on the stovein the corner behind Nikolay's back, and from that refuge listenedin silent terror, and the beating of their little hearts could bedistinctly heard. Whenever there is someone in a family who has longbeen ill, and hopelessly ill, there come painful moments when alltimidly, secretly, at the bottom of their hearts long for his death; andonly the children fear the death of someone near them, and always feelhorrified at the thought of it. And now the children, with bated breath, with a mournful look on their faces, gazed at Nikolay and thought thathe was soon to die; and they wanted to cry and to say something friendlyand compassionate to him. 

He pressed close to Olga, as though seeking protection, and said to hersoftly in a quavering voice:

"Olya darling, I can't stay here longer. It's more than I can bear. ForGod's sake, for Christ's sake, write to your sister Klavdia Abramovna. Let her sell and pawn everything she has; let her send us the money. Wewill go away from here. Oh, Lord, " he went on miserably, "to have onepeep at Moscow! If I could see it in my dreams, the dear place!"

And when the evening came on, and it was dark in the hut, it was sodismal that it was hard to utter a word. Granny, very ill-tempered, soaked some crusts of rye bread in a cup, and was a long time, a wholehour, sucking at them. Marya, after milking the cow, brought in a pailof milk and set it on a bench; then Granny poured it from the pail intoa jug just as slowly and deliberately, evidently pleased that it was nowthe Fast of the Assumption, so that no one would drink milk and it wouldbe left untouched. And she only poured out a very little in a saucerfor Fyokla's baby. When Marya and she carried the jug down to the cellarMotka suddenly stirred, clambered down from the stove, and going to thebench where stood the wooden cup full of crusts, sprinkled into it somemilk from the saucer. 

Granny, coming back into the hut, sat down to her soaked crusts again, while Sasha and Motka, sitting on the stove, gazed at her, and they wereglad that she had broken her fast and now would go to hell. They werecomforted and lay down to sleep, and Sasha as she dozed off to sleepimagined the Day of Judgment: a huge fire was burning, somewhat like apotter's kiln, and the Evil One, with horns like a cow's, and black allover, was driving Granny into the fire with a long stick, just as Grannyherself had been driving the geese. 

V

On the day of the Feast of the Assumption, between ten and eleven in theevening, the girls and lads who were merrymaking in the meadow suddenlyraised a clamour and outcry, and ran in the direction of the village;and those who were above on the edge of the ravine could not for thefirst moment make out what was the matter. 

"Fire! Fire!" they heard desperate shouts from below. "The village is onfire!"

Those who were sitting above looked round, and a terrible andextraordinary spectacle met their eyes. On the thatched roof of one ofthe end cottages stood a column of flame, seven feet high, whichcurled round and scattered sparks in all directions as though it werea fountain. And all at once the whole roof burst into bright flame, andthe crackling of the fire was audible. 

The light of the moon was dimmed, and the whole village was by nowbathed in a red quivering glow: black shadows moved over the ground, there was a smell of burning, and those who ran up from below were allgasping and could not speak for trembling; they jostled against eachother, fell down, and they could hardly see in the unaccustomedlight, and did not recognize each other. It was terrible. What seemedparticularly dreadful was that doves were flying over the fire in thesmoke; and in the tavern, where they did not yet know of the fire, they were still singing and playing the concertina as though there werenothing the matter. 

"Uncle Semyon's on fire, " shouted a loud, coarse voice. 

Marya was fussing about round her hut, weeping and wringing her hands, while her teeth chattered, though the fire was a long way off at theother end of the village. Nikolay came out in high felt boots, thechildren ran out in their little smocks. Near the village constable'shut an iron sheet was struck. Boom, boom, boom!. .. Floated through theair, and this repeated, persistent sound sent a pang to the heart andturned one cold. The old women stood with the holy ikons. Sheep, calves, cows were driven out of the back-yards into the street; boxes, sheepskins, tubs were carried out. A black stallion, who was kept apartfrom the drove of horses because he kicked and injured them, on beingset free ran once or twice up and down the village, neighing and pawingthe ground; then suddenly stopped short near a cart and began kicking itwith his hind-legs. 

They began ringing the bells in the church on the other side of theriver. 

Near the burning hut it was hot and so light that one could distinctlysee every blade of grass. Semyon, a red-haired peasant with a long nose, wearing a reefer-jacket and a cap pulled down right over his ears, saton one of the boxes which they had succeeded in bringing out: his wifewas lying on her face, moaning and unconscious. A little old man ofeighty, with a big beard, who looked like a gnome--not one of thevillagers, though obviously connected in some way with the fire--walkedabout bareheaded, with a white bundle in his arms. The glare wasreflected on his bald head. The village elder, Antip Syedelnikov, asswarthy and black-haired as a gypsy, went up to the hut with an axe, andhacked out the windows one after another--no one knew why--then beganchopping up the roof. 

"Women, water!" he shouted. "Bring the engine! Look sharp!"

The peasants, who had been drinking in the tavern just before, draggedthe engine up. They were all drunk; they kept stumbling and fallingdown, and all had a helpless expression and tears in their eyes. 

"Wenches, water!" shouted the elder, who was drunk, too. "Look sharp, wenches!"

The women and the girls ran downhill to where there was a spring, andkept hauling pails and buckets of water up the hill, and, pouring itinto the engine, ran down again. Olga and Marya and Sasha and Motka allbrought water. The women and the boys pumped the water; the pipe hissed, and the elder, directing it now at the door, now at the windows, heldback the stream with his finger, which made it hiss more sharply still. 

"Bravo, Antip!" voices shouted approvingly. "Do your best. "

Antip went inside the hut into the fire and shouted from within. 

"Pump! Bestir yourselves, good Christian folk, in such a terriblemischance!"

The peasants stood round in a crowd, doing nothing but staring at thefire. No one knew what to do, no one had the sense to do anything, though there were stacks of wheat, hay, barns, and piles of faggotsstanding all round. Kiryak and old Osip, his father, both tipsy, werestanding there, too. And as though to justify his doing nothing, oldOsip said, addressing the woman who lay on the ground:

"What is there to trouble about, old girl! The hut is insured--why areyou taking on?"

Semyon, addressing himself first to one person and then to another, keptdescribing how the fire had started. 

"That old man, the one with the bundle, a house-serf of GeneralZhukov's. .. . He was cook at our general's, God rest his soul! He cameover this evening: 'Let me stay the night, ' says he. .. . Well, we hada glass, to be sure. .. . The wife got the samovar--she was going to givethe old fellow a cup of tea, and in an unlucky hour she set the samovarin the entrance. The sparks from the chimney must have blown straightup to the thatch; that's how it was. We were almost burnt ourselves. Andthe old fellow's cap has been burnt; what a shame!"

And the sheet of iron was struck indefatigably, and the bells keptringing in the church the other side of the river. In the glow of thefir e Olga, breathless, looking with horror at the red sheep and thepink doves flying in the smoke, kept running down the hill and up again. It seemed to her that the ringing went to her heart with a sharp stab, that the fire would never be over, that Sasha was lost. .. . And when theceiling of the hut fell in with a crash, the thought that now the wholevillage would be burnt made her weak and faint, and she could not go onfetching water, but sat down on the ravine, setting the pail down nearher; beside her and below her, the peasant women sat wailing as thoughat a funeral. 

Then the stewards and watchmen from the estate the other side of theriver arrived in two carts, bringing with them a fire-engine. A veryyoung student in an unbuttoned white tunic rode up on horseback. Therewas the thud of axes. They put a ladder to the burning framework ofthe house, and five men ran up it at once. Foremost of them all was thestudent, who was red in the face and shouting in a harsh hoarse voice, and in a tone as though putting out fires was a thing he was used to. They pulled the house to pieces, a beam at a time; they dragged away thecorn, the hurdles, and the stacks that were near. 

"Don't let them break it up!" cried stern voices in the crowd. "Don'tlet them. "

Kiryak made his way up to the hut with a resolute air, as though hemeant to prevent the newcomers from breaking up the hut, but one of theworkmen turned him back with a blow in his neck. There was the soundof laughter, the workman dealt him another blow, Kiryak fell down, andcrawled back into the crowd on his hands and knees. 

Two handsome girls in hats, probably the student's sisters, came fromthe other side of the river. They stood a little way off, looking at thefire. The beams that had been dragged apart were no longer burning, butwere smoking vigorously; the student, who was working the hose, turnedthe water, first on the beams, then on the peasants, then on the womenwho were bringing the water. 

"George!" the girls called to him reproachfully in anxiety, "George!"

The fire was over. And only when they began to disperse they noticedthat the day was breaking, that everyone was pale and rather dark in theface, as it always seems in the early morning when the last stars aregoing out. As they separated, the peasants laughed and made jokes aboutGeneral Zhukov's cook and his cap which had been burnt; they alreadywanted to turn the fire into a joke, and even seemed sorry that it hadso soon been put out. 

"How well you extinguished the fire, sir!" said Olga to the student. "You ought to come to us in Moscow: there we have a fire every day. "

"Why, do you come from Moscow?" asked one of the young ladies. 

"Yes, miss. My husband was a waiter at the Slavyansky Bazaar. And thisis my daughter, " she said, indicating Sasha, who was cold and huddlingup to her. "She is a Moscow girl, too. "

The two young ladies said something in French to the student, and hegave Sasha a twenty-kopeck piece. 

Old Father Osip saw this, and there was a gleam of hope in his face. 

"We must thank God, your honour, there was no wind, " he said, addressingthe student, "or else we should have been all burnt up together. Yourhonour, kind gentlefolks, " he added in embarrassment in a lower tone, "the morning's chilly. .. Something to warm one. .. Half a bottle to yourhonour's health. "

Nothing was given him, and clearing his throat he slouched home. Olgastood afterwards at the end of the street and watched the two cartscrossing the river by the ford and the gentlefolks walking across themeadow; a carriage was waiting for them the other side of the river. Going into the hut, she described to her husband with enthusiasm:

"Such good people! And so beautiful! The young ladies were likecherubim. "

"Plague take them!" Fyokla, sleepy, said spitefully. 

VI

Marya thought herself unhappy, and said that she would be very glad todie; Fyokla, on the other hand, found all this life to her taste: thepoverty, the uncleanliness, and the incessant quarrelling. She ate whatwas given her without discrimination; slept anywhere, on whatever cameto hand. She would empty the slops just at the porch, would splash themout from the doorway, and then walk barefoot through the puddle. Andfrom the very first day she took a dislike to Olga and Nikolay justbecause they did not like this life. 

"We shall see what you'll find to eat here, you Moscow gentry!" she saidmalignantly. "We shall see!"

One morning, it was at the beginning of September, Fyokla, vigorous, good-looking, and rosy from the cold, brought up two pails of water;Marya and Olga were sitting meanwhile at the table drinking tea. 

"Tea and sugar, " said Fyokla sarcastically. "The fine ladies!" sheadded, setting down the pails. "You have taken to the fashion oftea every day. You better look out that you don't burst with yourtea-drinking, " she went on, looking with hatred at Olga. "That's howyou have come by your fat mug, having a good time in Moscow, you lump offlesh!" She swung the yoke and hit Olga such a blow on the shoulder thatthe two sisters-in-law could only clasp their hands and say:

"Oh, holy Saints!"

Then Fyokla went down to the river to wash the clothes, swearing all thetime so loudly that she could be heard in the hut. 

The day passed and was followed by the long autumn evening. They woundsilk in the hut; everyone did it except Fyokla; she had gone over theriver. They got the silk from a factory close by, and the whole familyworking together earned next to nothing, twenty kopecks a week. 

"Things were better in the old days under the gentry, " said the oldfather as he wound silk. "You worked and ate and slept, everything inits turn. At dinner you had cabbage-soup and boiled grain, and at supperthe same again. Cucumbers and cabbage in plenty: you could eat to yourheart's content, as much as you wanted. And there was more strictness. Everyone minded what he was about. "

The hut was lighted by a single little lamp, which burned dimly andsmoked. When someone screened the lamp and a big shadow fell across thewindow, the bright moonlight could be seen. Old Osip, speaking slowly, told them how they used to live before the emancipation; how in thosevery parts, where life was now so poor and so dreary, they used tohunt with harriers, greyhounds, retrievers, and when they went out asbeaters the peasants were given vodka; how whole waggonloads of gameused to be sent to Moscow for the young masters; how the bad were beatenwith rods or sent away to the Tver estate, while the good were rewarded. And Granny told them something, too. She remembered everything, positively everything. She described her mistress, a kind, God-fearingwoman, whose husband was a profligate and a rake, and all of whosedaughters made unlucky marriages: one married a drunkard, anothermarried a workman, the other eloped secretly (Granny herself, at thattime a young girl, helped in the elopement), and they had all three aswell as their mother died early from grief. And remembering all this, Granny positively began to shed tears. 

All at once someone knocked at the door, and they all started. 

"Uncle Osip, give me a night's lodging. "

The little bald old man, General Zhukov's cook, the one whose cap hadbeen burnt, walked in. He sat down and listened, then he, too, begantelling stories of all sorts. Nikolay, sitting on the stove with hislegs hanging down, listened and asked questions about the dishes thatwere prepared in the old days for the gentry. They talked of rissoles, cutlets, various soups and sauces, and the cook, who rememberedeverything very well, mentioned dishes that are no longer served. Therewas one, for instance--a dish made of bulls' eyes, which was called"waking up in the morning. "

"And used you to do cutlets a' la marechal?" asked Nikolay. 

"No. "

Nikolay shook his head reproachfully and said:

"Tut, tut! You were not much of a cook!"

The little girls sitting and lying on the stove stared down withoutblinking; it seemed as though there were a great many of them, likecherubim in the clouds. They liked the stories: they were breathless;they shuddered and turned pale with alternate rapture and terror, andthey listened breathlessly, afraid to stir, to Granny, whose storieswere the most interesting of all. 

They lay down to sleep in silence; and the old people, troubled andexcited by their reminiscences, thought how precious was youth, ofwhich, whatever it might have been like, nothing was left in the memorybut what was living, joyful, touching, and how terribly cold was death, which was not far off, better not think of it! The lamp died down. Andthe dusk, and the two little windows sharply defined by the moonlight, and the stillness and the creak of the cradle, reminded them for somereason that life was over, that nothing one could do would bring itback. .. . You doze off, you forget yourself, and suddenly someone touchesyour shoulder or breathes on your cheek--and sleep is gone; your bodyfeels cramped, and thoughts of death keep creeping into your mind. Youturn on the other side: death is forgotten, but old dreary, sickeningthoughts of poverty, of food, of how dear flour is getting, straythrough the mind, and a little later again you remember that life isover and you cannot bring it back. .. . 

"Oh, Lord!" sighed the cook. 

Someone gave a soft, soft tap at the window. It must be Fyokla comeback. Olga got up, and yawning and whispering a prayer, opened the door, then drew the bolt in the outer room, but no one came in; only from thestreet came a cold draught and a sudden brightness from the moonlight. The street, still and deserted, and the moon itself floating across thesky, could be seen at the open door. 

"Who is there?" called Olga. 

"I, " she heard the answer--"it is I. "

Near the door, crouching against the wall, stood Fyokla, absolutelynaked. She was shivering with cold, her teeth were chattering, and inthe bright moonlight she looked very pale, strange, and beautiful. Theshadows on her, and the bright moonlight on her skin, stood out vividly, and her dark eyebrows and firm, youthful bosom were defined withpeculiar distinctness. 

"The ruffians over there undressed me and turned me out like this, " shesaid. "I've come home without my clothes. .. Naked as my mother bore me. Bring me something to put on. "

"But go inside!" Olga said softly, beginning to shiver, too. 

"I don't want the old folks to see. " Granny was, in fact, alreadystirring and muttering, and the old father asked: "Who is there?" Olgabrought her own smock and skirt, dressed Fyokla, and then both wentsoftly into the inner room, trying not to make a noise with the door. 

"Is that you, you sleek one?" Granny grumbled angrily, guessing who itwas. "Fie upon you, nightwalker!. .. Bad luck to you!"

"It's all right, it's all right, " whispered Olga, wrapping Fyokla up;"it's all right, dearie. "

All was stillness again. They always slept badly; everyone was keptawake by something worrying and persistent: the old man by the pain inhis back, Granny by anxiety and anger, Marya by terror, the children byitch and hunger. Now, too, their sleep was troubled; they kept turningover from one side to the other, talking in their sleep, getting up fora drink. 

Fyokla suddenly broke into a loud, coarse howl, but immediately checkedherself, and only uttered sobs from time to time, growing softer and ona lower note, until she relapsed into silence. From time to time fromthe other side of the river there floated the sound of the beating ofthe hours; but the time seemed somehow strange--five was struck and thenthree. 

"Oh Lord!" sighed the cook. 

Looking at the windows, it was difficult to tell whether it was stillmoonlight or whether the dawn had begun. Marya got up and went out, andshe could be heard milking the cows and saying, "Stea-dy!" Granny wentout, too. It was still dark in the hut, but all the objects in it couldbe discerned. 

Nikolay, who had not slept all night, got down from the stove. He tookhis dress-coat out of a green box, put it on, and going to the window, stroked the sleeves and took hold of the coat-tails--and smiled. Then hecarefully took off the coat, put it away in his box, and lay down again. 

Marya came in again and began lighting the stove. She was evidentlyhardly awake, and seemed dropping asleep as she walked. Probably she hadhad some dream, or the stories of the night before came into her mindas, stretching luxuriously before the stove, she said:

"No, freedom is better. "

VII

The master arrived--that was what they called the police inspector. Whenhe would come and what he was coming for had been known for the lastweek. There were only forty households in Zhukovo, but more than twothousand roubles of arrears of rates and taxes had accumulated. 

The police inspector stopped at the tavern. He drank there two glassesof tea, and then went on foot to the village elder's hut, near whicha crowd of those who were in debt stood waiting. The elder, AntipSyedelnikov, was, in spite of his youth--he was only a little overthirty--strict and always on the side of the authorities, though hehimself was poor and did not pay his taxes regularly. Evidently heenjoyed being elder, and liked the sense of authority, which he couldonly display by strictness. In the village council the peasants wereafraid of him and obeyed him. It would sometimes happen that he wouldpounce on a drunken man in the street or near the tavern, tie his handsbehind him, and put him in the lock-up. On one occasion he even putGranny in the lock-up because she went to the village council insteadof Osip, and began swearing, and he kept her there for a whole day andnight. He had never lived in a town or read a book, but somewhere orother had picked up various learned expressions, and loved to make useof them in conversation, and he was respected for this though he was notalways understood. 

When Osip came into the village elder's hut with his tax book, thepolice inspector, a lean old man with a long grey beard, in a greytunic, was sitting at a table in the passage, writing something. It wasclean in the hut; all the walls were dotted with pictures cut out ofthe illustrated papers, and in the most conspicuous place near the ikonthere was a portrait of the Battenburg who was the Prince of Bulgaria. By the table stood Antip Syedelnikov with his arms folded. 

"There is one hundred and nineteen roubles standing against him, " hesaid when it came to Osip's turn. "Before Easter he paid a rouble, andhe has not paid a kopeck since. "

The police inspector raised his eyes to Osip and asked:

"Why is this, brother?"

"Show Divine mercy, your honour, " Osip began, growing agitated. "Allowme to say last year the gentleman at Lutorydsky said to me, 'Osip, ' hesaid, 'sell your hay. .. You sell it, ' he said. Well, I had a hundredpoods for sale; the women mowed it on the water-meadow. Well, we strucka bargain all right, willingly. .. . "

He complained of the elder, and kept turning round to the peasantsas though inviting them to bear witness; his face flushed red andperspired, and his eyes grew sharp and angry. 

"I don't know why you are saying all this, " said the police inspector. "I am asking you. .. I am asking you why you don't pay your arrears. Youdon't pay, any of you, and am I to be responsible for you?"

"I can't do it. "

"His words have no sequel, your honour, " said the elder. "TheTchikildyeevs certainly are of a defective class, but if you will justask the others, the root of it all is vodka, and they are a very badlot. With no sort of understanding. "

The police inspector wrote something down, and said to Osip quietly, inan even tone, as though he were asking him for water:

"Be off. "

Soon he went away; and when he got into his cheap chaise and cleared histhroat, it could be seen from the very expression of his long thin backthat he was no longer thinking of Osip or of the village elder, nor ofthe Zhukovo arrears, but was thinking of his own affairs. Before he hadgone three-quarters of a mile Antip was already carrying off the samovarfrom the Tchikildyeevs' cottage, followed by Granny, screaming shrillyand straining her throat:

"I won't let you have it, I won't let you have it, damn you!"

He walked rapidly with long steps, and she pursued him panting, almostfalling over, a bent, ferocious figure; her kerchief slipped on to hershoulders, her grey hair with greenish lights on it was blown about inthe wind. She suddenly stopped short, and like a genuine rebel, fellto beating her breast with her fists and shouting louder than ever in asing-song voice, as though she were sobbing:

"Good Christians and believers in God! Neighbours, they have ill-treatedme! Kind friends, they have oppressed me! Oh, oh! dear people, take mypart. "

"Granny, Granny!" said the village elder sternly, "have some sense inyour head!"

It was hopelessly dreary in the Tchikildyeevs' hut without the samovar;there was something humiliating in this loss, insulting, as though thehonour of the hut had been outraged. Better if the elder had carried offthe table, all the benches, all the pots--it would not have seemed soempty. Granny screamed, Marya cried, and the little girls, looking ather, cried, too. The old father, feeling guilty, sat in the corner withbowed head and said nothing. And Nikolay, too, was silent. Granny lovedhim and was sorry for him, but now, forgetting her pity, she fell uponhim with abuse, with reproaches, shaking her fist right in his face. Sheshouted that it was all his fault; why had he sent them so little whenhe boasted in his letters that he was getting fifty roubles a month atthe Slavyansky Bazaar? Why had he come, and with his family, too? If hedied, where was the money to come from for his funeral. .. ? And it waspitiful to look at Nikolay, Olga, and Sasha. 

The old father cleared his throat, took his cap, and went off to thevillage elder. Antip was soldering something by the stove, puffing outhis cheeks; there was a smell of burning. His children, emaciated andunwashed, no better than the Tchikildyeevs, were scrambling about thefloor; his wife, an ugly, freckled woman with a prominent stomach, waswinding silk. They were a poor, unlucky family, and Antip was theonly one who looked vigorous and handsome. On a bench there were fivesamovars standing in a row. The old man said his prayer to Battenburgand said:

"Antip, show the Divine mercy. Give me back the samovar, for Christ'ssake!"

"Bring three roubles, then you shall have it. 

"I can't do it!"

Antip puffed out his cheeks, the fire roared and hissed, and the glowwas reflected in the samovar. The old man crumpled up his cap and saidafter a moment's thought:

"You give it me back. "

The swarthy elder looked quite black, and was like a magician; he turnedround to Osip and said sternly and rapidly:

"It all depends on the rural captain. On the twenty-sixth instant youcan state the grounds for your dissatisfaction before the administrativesession, verbally or in writing. "

Osip did not understand a word, but he was satisfied with that and wenthome. 

Ten days later the police inspector came again, stayed an hour and wentaway. During those days the weather had changed to cold and windy; theriver had been frozen for some time past, but still there was no snow, and people found it difficult to get about. On the eve of a holiday someof the neighbours came in to Osip's to sit and have a talk. They did notlight the lamp, as it would have been a sin to work, but talked in thedarkness. There were some items of news, all rather unpleasant. In twoor three households hens had been taken for the arrears, and had beensent to the district police station, and there they had died because noone had fed them; they had taken sheep, and while they were being drivenaway tied to one another, shifted into another cart at each village, oneof them had died. And now they were discussing the question, who was toblame?

"The Zemstvo, " said Osip. "Who else?"

"Of course it is the Zemstvo. "

The Zemstvo was blamed for everything--for the arrears, and for theoppressions, and for the failure of the crops, though no one of themknew what was meant by the Zemstvo. And this dated from the time whenwell-to-do peasants who had factories, shops, and inns of their ownwere members of the Zemstvos, were dissatisfied with them, and took toswearing at the Zemstvos in their factories and inns. 

They talked of God's not sending the snow; they had to bring in wood forfuel, and there was no driving nor walking in the frozen ruts. In olddays fifteen to twenty years ago conversation was much more interestingin Zhukovo. In those days every old man looked as though he weretreasuring some secret; as though he knew something and was expectingsomething. They used to talk about an edict in golden letters, aboutthe division of lands, about new land, about treasures; they hinted atsomething. Now the people of Zhukovo had no mystery at all; their wholelife was bare and open in the sight of all, and they could talk ofnothing but poverty, food, there being no snow yet. .. . 

There was a pause. Then they thought again of the hens, of the sheep, and began discussing whose fault it was. 

"The Zemstvo, " said Osip wearily. "Who else?"

VIII

The parish church was nearly five miles away at Kosogorovo, and thepeasants only attended it when they had to do so for baptisms, weddings, or funerals; they went to the services at the church across the river. On holidays in fine weather the girls dressed up in their best and wentin a crowd together to church, and it was a cheering sight to see themin their red, yellow, and green dresses cross the meadow; in bad weatherthey all stayed at home. They went for the sacrament to the parishchurch. From each of those who did not manage in Lent to go toconfession in readiness for the sacrament the parish priest, going theround of the huts with the cross at Easter, took fifteen kopecks. 

The old father did not believe in God, for he hardly ever thought aboutHim; he recognized the supernatural, but considered it was entirely thewomen's concern, and when religion or miracles were discussed beforehim, or a question were put to him, he would say reluctantly, scratchinghimself:

"Who can tell!"

Granny believed, but her faith was somewhat hazy; everything was mixedup in her memory, and she could scarcely begin to think of sins, ofdeath, of the salvation of the soul, before poverty and her daily carestook possession of her mind, and she instantly forgot what she wasthinking about. She did not remember the prayers, and usually in theevenings, before lying down to sleep, she would stand before the ikonsand whisper:

"Holy Mother of Kazan, Holy Mother of Smolensk, Holy Mother ofTroerutchitsy. .. "

Marya and Fyokla crossed themselves, fasted, and took the sacramentevery year, but understood nothing. The children were not taught theirprayers, nothing was told them about God, and no moral principles wereinstilled into them; they were only forbidden to eat meat or milk inLent. In the other families it was much the same: there were few whobelieved, few who understood. At the same time everyone loved the HolyScripture, loved it with a tender, reverent love; but they had no Bible, there was no one to read it and explain it, and because Olga sometimesread them the gospel, they respected her, and they all addressed her andSasha as though they were superior to themselves. 

For church holidays and services Olga often went to neighbouringvillages, and to the district town, in which there were two monasteriesand twenty-seven churches. She was dreamy, and when she was on thesepilgrimages she quite forgot her family, and only when she got homeagain suddenly made the joyful discovery that she had a husband anddaughter, and then would say, smiling and radiant:

"God has sent me blessings!"

What went on in the village worried her and seemed to her revolting. OnElijah's Day they drank, at the Assumption they drank, at the Ascensionthey drank. The Feast of the Intercession was the parish holiday forZhukovo, and the peasants used to drink then for three days; theysquandered on drink fifty roubles of money belonging to the Mir, andthen collected more for vodka from all the households. On the firstday of the feast the Tchikildyeevs killed a sheep and ate of it in themorning, at dinner-time, and in the evening; they ate it ravenously, andthe children got up at night to eat more. Kiryak was fearfully drunk forthree whole days; he drank up everything, even his boots and cap, andbeat Marya so terribly that they had to pour water over her. And thenthey were all ashamed and sick. 

However, even in Zhukovo, in this "Slaveytown, " there was once anoutburst of genuine religious enthusiasm. It was in August, whenthroughout the district they carried from village to village the HolyMother, the giver of life. It was still and overcast on the day whenthey expected _Her_ at Zhukovo. The girls set off in the morning to meetthe ikon, in their bright holiday dresses, and brought Her towards theevening, in procession with the cross and with singing, while the bellspealed in the church across the river. An immense crowd of villagers andstrangers flooded the street; there was noise, dust, a great crush. .. . And the old father and Granny and Kiryak--all stretched out their handsto the ikon, looked eagerly at it and said, weeping:

"Defender! Mother! Defender!"

All seemed suddenly to realize that there was not an empty voidbetween earth and heaven, that the rich and the powerful had not takenpossession of everything, that there was still a refuge from injury, from slavish bondage, from crushing, unendurable poverty, from theterrible vodka. 

"Defender! Mother!" sobbed Marya. "Mother!"

But the thanksgiving service ended and the ikon was carried away, andeverything went on as before; and again there was a sound of coarsedrunken oaths from the tavern. 

Only the well-to-do peasants were afraid of death; the richer they werethe less they believed in God, and in the salvation of souls, and onlythrough fear of the end of the world put up candles and had servicessaid for them, to be on the safe side. The peasants who were ratherpoorer were not afraid of death. The old father and Granny were toldto their faces that they had lived too long, that it was time they weredead, and they did not mind. They did not hinder Fyokla from saying inNikolay's presence that when Nikolay died her husband Denis would getexemption--to return home from the army. And Marya, far from fearingdeath, regretted that it was so slow in coming, and was glad when herchildren died. 

Death they did not fear, but of every disease they had an exaggeratedterror. The merest trifle was enough--a stomach upset, a slight chill, and Granny would be wrapped up on the stove, and would begin moaningloudly and incessantly:

"I am dy-ing!"

The old father hurried off for the priest, and Granny received thesacrament and extreme unction. They often talked of colds, of worms, of tumours which move in the stomach and coil round to the heart. Aboveall, they were afraid of catching cold, and so put on thick clothes evenin the summer and warmed themselves at the stove. Granny was fond ofbeing doctored, and often went to the hospital, where she used to sayshe was not seventy, but fifty-eight; she supposed that if the doctorknew her real age he would not treat her, but would say it was time shedied instead of taking medicine. She usually went to the hospital earlyin the morning, taking with her two or three of the little girls, and came back in the evening, hungry and ill-tempered--with drops forherself and ointments for the little girls. Once she took Nikolay, whoswallowed drops for a fortnight afterwards, and said he felt better. 

Granny knew all the doctors and their assistants and the wise men fortwenty miles round, and not one of them she liked. At the Intercession, when the priest made the round of the huts with the cross, the deacontold her that in the town near the prison lived an old man who had beena medical orderly in the army, and who made wonderful cures, and advisedher to try him. Granny took his advice. When the first snow fell shedrove to the town and fetched an old man with a big beard, a convertedJew, in a long gown, whose face was covered with blue veins. There wereoutsiders at work in the hut at the time: an old tailor, in terriblespectacles, was cutting a waistcoat out of some rags, and two young menwere making felt boots out of wool; Kiryak, who had been dismissed fromhis place for drunkenness, and now lived at home, was sitting beside thetailor mending a bridle. And it was crowded, stifling, and noisomein the hut. The converted Jew examined Nikolay and said that it wasnecessary to try cupping. 

He put on the cups, and the old tailor, Kiryak, and the little girlsstood round and looked on, and it seemed to them that they saw thedisease being drawn out of Nikolay; and Nikolay, too, watched how thecups suckling at his breast gradually filled with dark blood, and feltas though there really were something coming out of him, and smiled withpleasure. 

"It's a good thing, " said the tailor. "Please God, it will do you good. "

The Jew put on twelve cups and then another twelve, drank some tea, andwent away. Nikolay began shivering; his face looked drawn, and, as thewomen expressed it, shrank up like a fist; his fingers turned blue. Hewrapped himself up in a quilt and in a sheepskin, but got colder andcolder. Towards the evening he began to be in great distress; asked tobe laid on the ground, asked the tailor not to smoke; then he subsidedunder the sheepskin and towards morning he died. 

IX

Oh, what a grim, what a long winter!

Their own grain did not last beyond Christmas, and they had to buyflour. Kiryak, who lived at home now, was noisy in the evenings, inspiring terror in everyone, and in the mornings he suffered fromheadache and was ashamed; and he was a pitiful sight. In the stall thestarved cows bellowed day and night--a heart-rending sound to Granny andMarya. And as ill-luck would have it, there was a sharp frost all thewinter, the snow drifted in high heaps, and the winter dragged on. AtAnnunciation there was a regular blizzard, and there was a fall of snowat Easter. 

But in spite of it all the winter did end. At the beginning of Aprilthere came warm days and frosty nights. Winter would not give way, butone warm day overpowered it at last, and the streams began to flow andthe birds began to sing. The whole meadow and the bushes near the riverwere drowned in the spring floods, and all the space between Zhukovo andthe further side was filled up with a vast sheet of water, from whichwild ducks rose up in flocks here and there. The spring sunset, flamingamong gorgeous clouds, gave every evening something new, extraordinary, incredible--just what one does not believe in afterwards, when one seesthose very colours and those very clouds in a picture. 

The cranes flew swiftly, swiftly, with mournful cries, as though theywere calling themselves. Standing on the edge of the ravine, Olgalooked a long time at the flooded meadow, at the sunshine, at the brightchurch, that looked as though it had grown younger; and her tears flowedand her breath came in gasps from her passionate longing to go away, to go far away to the end of the world. It was already settled that sheshould go back to Moscow to be a servant, and that Kiryak should set offwith her to get a job as a porter or something. Oh, to get away quickly!

As soon as it dried up and grew warm they got ready to set off. Olga andSasha, with wallets on their backs and shoes of plaited bark on theirfeet, came out before daybreak: Marya came out, too, to see them ontheir way. Kiryak was not well, and was kept at home for another week. For the last time Olga prayed at the church and thought of her husband, and though she did not shed tears, her face puckered up and lookedugly like an old woman's. During the winter she had grown thinner andplainer, and her hair had gone a little grey, and instead of the oldlook of sweetness and the pleasant smile on her face, she had theresigned, mournful expression left by the sorrows she had been through, and there was something blank and irresponsive in her eyes, as thoughshe did not hear what was said. She was sorry to part from the villageand the peasants. She remembered how they had carried out Nikolay, andhow a requiem had been ordered for him at almost every hut, and all hadshed tears in sympathy with her grief. In the course of the summer andthe winter there had been hours and days when it seemed as though thesepeople lived worse than the beasts, and to live with them was terrible;they were coarse, dishonest, filthy, and drunken; they did not live inharmony, but quarrelled continually, because they distrusted and fearedand did not respect one another. Who keeps the tavern and makes thepeople drunken? A peasant. Who wastes and spends on drink the funds ofthe commune, of the schools, of the church? A peasant. Who stole fromhis neighbours, set fire to their property, gave false witness at thecourt for a bottle of vodka? At the meetings of the Zemstvo and otherlocal bodies, who was the first to fall foul of the peasants? A peasant. Yes, to live with them was terrible; but yet, they were human beings, they suffered and wept like human beings, and there was nothing in theirlives for which one could not find excuse. Hard labour that made thewhole body ache at night, the cruel winters, the scanty harvests, theovercrowding; and they had no help and none to whom they could look forhelp. Those of them who were a little stronger and better off could beno help, as they were themselves coarse, dishonest, drunken, and abusedone another just as revoltingly; the paltriest little clerk or officialtreated the peasants as though they were tramps, and addressed even thevillage elders and church wardens as inferiors, and considered they hada right to do so. And, indeed, can any sort of help or good example begiven by mercenary, greedy, depraved, and idle persons who only visitthe village in order to insult, to despoil, and to terrorize? Olgaremembered the pitiful, humiliated look of the old people when in thewinter Kiryak had been taken to be flogged. .. . And now she felt sorryfor all these people, painfully so, and as she walked on she keptlooking back at the huts. 

After walking two miles with them Marya said good-bye, then kneeling, and falling forward with her face on the earth, she began wailing:

"Again I am left alone. Alas, for poor me! poor, unhappy!. .. "

And she wailed like this for a long time, and for a long way Olga andSasha could still see her on her knees, bowing down to someone at theside and clutching her head in her hands, while the rooks flew over herhead. 

The sun rose high; it began to get hot. Zhukovo was left far behind. Walking was pleasant. Olga and Sasha soon forgot both the village andMarya; they were gay and everything entertained them. Now they came uponan ancient barrow, now upon a row of telegraph posts running one afteranother into the distance and disappearing into the horizon, and thewires hummed mysteriously. Then they saw a homestead, all wreathed ingreen foliage; there came a scent from it of dampness, of hemp, and itseemed for some reason that happy people lived there. Then they cameupon a horse's skeleton whitening in solitude in the open fields. Andthe larks trilled unceasingly, the corncrakes called to one another, andthe landrail cried as though someone were really scraping at an old ironrail. 

At midday Olga and Sasha reached a big village. There in the broadstreet they met the little old man who was General Zhukov's cook. He washot, and his red, perspiring bald head shone in the sunshine. Olga andhe did not recognize each other, then looked round at the same moment, recognized each other, and went their separate ways without saying aword. Stopping near the hut which looked newest and most prosperous, Olga bowed down before the open windows, and said in a loud, thin, chanting voice:

"Good Christian folk, give alms, for Christ's sake, that God's blessingmay be upon you, and that your parents may be in the Kingdom of Heavenin peace eternal. "

"Good Christian folk, " Sasha began chanting, "give, for Christ's sake, that God's blessing, the Heavenly Kingdom. .. "