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YALE
UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

FIRST LOVE
AND OTHER STORIES

THE WORKS OF
IVAN TURGENIEFF

FIRST LOVE
AND OTHER STORIES

THE JEW

TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN BT
ISABEL F. HAPGOOD

PRINTED BT ARRANGEMENT WITH
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

WILLEY BOOK COMPANY
NEW YORK

Copyright, 1904, by
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Printed in the United States of America

^AtB\

CONTENTS

PAGE
* FIRST LOVE  « . I
t^A" CORRESPONDENCE  113
THE REGION OF DEAD CALM  169
IT IS ENOUGH  301
\^THE DOG  S23 ^lo

FIRST LOVE
(I860)

FIRST LOVE
THE guests had long since departed. The
clock had struck half -past twelve. There
remained in the room only the host, Sergyei Niko
laevitch, and Vladimir Petrovitch.
The host rang and ordered the remains of the
supper to be removed. — " So then, the matter is
settled," — he said, ensconcing himself more
deeply in his arm-chair, and lighting a cigar: —
<l each of us is to narrate the history of his first
love. ; 'T is your turn, Sergyei Nikolaevitch."
Sergyei Nikolaevitch, a rather corpulent man,
with a plump, fair-skinned face, first looked at the
host, then raised his eyes to the ceiling. — " I had
no first love,"— he began at last:— "I began
straight off with the second."
" How was that? "
" Very simply. I was eighteen years of age
when, for the first time, I dangled after a very
charming young lady ; but I courted her as though
it were no new thing to me : exactly as I courted
others afterward. To tell the truth, I fell in love,
for the first and last time, at the age of six, with
my nurse ; — but that is a very long time ago. The
details of our relations have been erased from my
3

FIRST LOVE
memory; but even if I remembered them, who
would be interested in them? "
" Then what are we to do? "—began the host.
— " There was nothing very startling about my
first love either ; I never fell in love with any one
before Anna Ivanovna, now my wife ; and every
thing ran as though on oil with us; our fathers
made up the match, we very promptly fell in love
with each other, and entered the bonds of matri
mony without delay. My story can be told in two
words. I must confess, gentlemen, that in rais
ing the question of first love, I set my hopes on
you, I will not say old, but yet no longer young
bachelors. Will not you divert us with some
thing, Vladimir Petrovitch? "
" My first love belongs, as a matter of fact, not
altogether to the ordinary category," — replied,
with a slight hesitation, Vladimir Petrovitch, a
man of forty, whose black hair was sprinkled with
grey. "Ah!" — said the host and Sergyei Nikolae
vitch in one breath. — " So much the better. . . .
Tell us."
" As you like . . . . or no : I will not narrate ;
I am no great hand at telling a story ; it turns out
dry and short, or long-drawn-out and artificial.
But if you will permit me, I will write down all
that I remember in a note-book, and will read it
aloud to you.'L
At first the friends would not consent, but
4

FIRST LOVE
Vladimir Petrovitch insisted on having his own
way. A fortnight later they came together
again, and Vladimir Sergyeitch kept his promise.
This is what his note-book contained.

I was sixteen years old at the time. \ The affair
took place in the summer of 1833.J
I was living in Moscow, in my parents' house.
They had hired a villa near the Kaluga barrier,
opposite the Neskiitchny Park.1 — I was prepar
ing for the university, but was working very little
and was not in a hurry.
No one restricted my freedom. I had done
whatever I pleased ever since I had parted with
my last French governor, who was utterly unable
to reconcile himself to the thought that he had
fallen " like a bomb " (comme une bombe) into
Russia, and with a stubborn expression on his
face, wallowed in bed for whole days at a time./
My father treated me in an indifferently-affec
tionate way; my mother paid hardly any atten
tion to me, although she had no children except
me : other cares engrossed her. My father, still a
young man and very handsome, had married her
1 The finest of the public parks in Moscow, situated near the fa
mous Sparrow Hills, is called " Neskutchny "— " Not Tiresome," gen
erally rendered "Sans Souci." It contains an imperial residence,
the Alexander Palace, used as an official summer home by the Gov
ernor-General of Moscow. — Translator.

FIRST LOVE
from calculation ; she was ten years older than he.
My mother led a melancholy life: she was inces
santly in a state of agitation, jealousy, and wrath
—but not in the presence of my father; she was
very much afraid of him, and he maintained a
stern, cold, and distant manner. . . I have never
seen a man more exquisitely calm, self-confident,
and self-controlled.
I shall never forget the first weeks I spent at
the villa. The weather was magnificent; we had
left town the ninth of May, on St. Nicholas's day.
I rambled, — sometimes in the garden of our villa,
sometimes in Neskutchny Park, sometimes be
yond the city barriers ; I took with me some book
or other, — a course of Kaidanoff, — but rarely
opened it, and chiefly recited aloud poems, of
Avhich I knew a great many by heart. The blood
was fermenting in me, and my heart was aching
— so sweetly and absurdly; I was always waiting
for something, shrinking at something, and won
dering at everything, and was all ready for any
thing at a moment's notice. My fancy was be
ginning to play, and hovered swiftly ever around
the selfsame image, as martins hover round a
belfry at sunset. But even athwart my tears
and athwart the melancholy, inspired now by a
melodious verse, now by the beauty of the even
ing, there peered forth, like grass in springtime,
the joyous sensation of young, bubbling life.
I had a saddle-horse ; I was in the habit of sad-
6

FIRST LOVE
dling it myself, and when I rode off alone as far
as possible, in some direction^ launching out at a
gallop and fancying myself a knight at a tourney
-^How blithely the wind whistled in my ears!— Or,
turning my face skyward, I welcomed its beam
ing light and azure into my open soul.
I remember, at that time, the image of woman,
the phantom of woman's love, almost never en
tered my mind in clearly-defined outlines ; but in
everything I thought, in everything I felt, there
lay hidden the half -conscious, shamefaced pre
sentiment of something new, inexpressibly sweet,
feminine ....
This presentiment, this expectation permeated »
my whole being ; I breathed it, it coursed through
my veins in every drop of blood .... it was
fated to be speedily realised.
Our villa consisted of a wooden manor-house
with columns, and two tiny outlying wings ; in the
wing to the left a tiny factory of cheap wall
papers was installed. . . . More than once I
went thither to watch how half a score of gaunt,
dishevelled young fellows in dirty smocks and
with tipsy faces were incessantly galloping about
at the wooden levers which jammed down the
square blocks of the press, and in that manner, by
the weight of their puny bodies, printed the mot-
ley-hued patterns of the wall-papers. The wing
on the right stood empty and was for rent. One
day— three weeks after the ninth of May— the
7

FIRST LOVE
shutters on the windows of this wing were opened,
and women's faces made their appearance in
them ; some family or other had moved into it. I
remember how, that same day at dinner, my
mother inquired of the butler who our new neigh
bours were, and on hearing the name of Princess
Zasyekin, said at first, not without some respect:
— " Ah! a Princess " . . . . and then she added: —
" She must be some poor person! "
" They came in three hired carriages, ma'am,"
—remarked the butler, as he respectfully pre
sented a dish. " They have no carriage of their
own, ma'am, and their furniture is of the very
plainest sort."
"Yes," — returned my mother,— "and never
theless, it is better so."
My father shot a cold glance at her; she sub
sided into silence.
i As a matter of fact, Princess Zasyekin could
not be a wealthy woman : the wing she had hired
was so old and tiny and low-roofed that people
in the least well-to-do would not have been will
ing to inhabit it. — However, I let this go in at one
ear and out at the other. The princely title had
little effect on me: I had recently been reading
Schiller's " The Brigands."

FIRST LOVE

II

I had a habit of prowling about our garden every
evening, gun in hand, and standing guard against
the crows. — I had long cherished a hatred for
those wary, rapacious and crafty birds. On the
day of which I have been speaking, I went into
the garden as usual, and, after having fruitlessly
made the round of all the alleys (the crows recog
nised me from afar, and merely cawed spasmodi
cally at a distance) , I accidentally approached the
low fence which separated our territory from the
narrow strip of garden extending behind the
right-hand wing and appertaining to it. I was
walking along with drooping head. Suddenly I
heard voices: I glanced over the fence — and was
petrified  A strange spectacle presented
itself to me.
i A few paces distant from me, on a grass-plot
'between green raspberry-bushes, stood a tall,
graceful young girl, in a striped, pink frock and
with a white kerchief on her head; around her
pressed four young men, and she was tapping
them in turn on the brow with those small grey
flowers, the name of which I do not know, but
which are familiar to children ; these little flowers
form tiny sacs, and burst with a pop when they
are struck against anything hard. The young
men offered their foreheads to her so willingly,
9

FIRST LOVE
j and in the girl's movements (I saw her form in
profile) there was something so bewitching, ca
ressing, mocking, and charming, that I almost
cried aloud in wonder and pleasure ; and I believe
I would have given everything in the world if
those lovely little fingers had only consented to
tap me on the brow. My gun slid down on the
grass, I forgot everything, I devoured with my
eyes that slender waist, and the neck and the beau
tiful arms, and the slightly ruffled fair hair, the
intelligent eyes and those lashes, and the delicate
cheek beneath them. . . . _
"Young man, hey there, young man!" —
suddenly spoke up a voice near me: — "Is it
permissible to stare like that at strange young
ladies?" I trembled all over, I was stupefied  Be
side me, on the other side of the fence, stood a man
with closely-clipped black hair, gazing ironically
at me. At that same moment, the young girl
turned toward me. . . .j I beheld huge grey eyes
in a mobile, animated face — and this whole face
suddenly began to quiver, and to laugh, and the
white teeth gleamed from it, the brows elevated
themselves in an amusing way. ... I flushed,
picked up my gun from the ground, and, pursued
by ringing but not malicious laughter, I ran to
my own room, flung myself on the bed, and cov
ered my face with my hands. My heart was
fairly leaping within me; I felt very much
10

FIRST LOVE
ashamed and very merry: I experienced an un
precedented emotiomj
After I had rested awhile, I brushed my hair,
made myself neat and went down-stairs to tea.
The image of the young girl floated in front of
me ; my heart had ceased to leap, but ached in an
agreeable sort of way.
" What ails thee? "—my father suddenly asked
me: — " hast thou killed a crow? "
I was on the point of telling him all, but re
frained and only smiled to myself. As I was pre
paring for bed, I whirled round thrice on one
foot, I know not why, pomaded my hair, got into
bed and slept all night like a dead man. Toward
morning I awoke for a moment, raised my head,.
cast a glance of rapture around me — and fell
asleep again. Ill
" How am I to get acquainted with them? " was
my first thought, as soon as I awoke in the morn
ing. I went out into the garden before tea, but
did not approach too close to the fence, and saw
no one. After tea I walked several times up and
down the street in front of the villa, and cast a
distant glance at the windows. ... I thought I
descried her face behind the curtains, and re
treated with all possible despatch. " But I must
get acquainted," — I thought, as I walked with ir-
11

FIRST LOVE
regular strides up and down the sandy stretch
which extends in front of the Neskutchny Park
.... "but how? that is the question." I re
called the most trifling incidents of the meeting
on the previous evening; for some reason, her
manner of laughing at me presented itself to me
with particular clearness.'. . . But while I was
fretting thus and constructing various plans, Fate
was already providing for me.
During my absence, my mother had received a
letter from her new neighbour on grey paper
sealed with brown wax, such as is used only on
postal notices, and on the corks of cheap wine.
In this letter, written in illiterate language, and
with a slovenly chirography, the Princess re
quested my mother to grant her her protection:
my mother, according to the Princess's words, was
-well acquainted with the prominent people on
whom the fortune of herself and her children de
pended, as she had some extremely important
law-suits: "I apeal tyou," — she wrote, — "as a
knoble woman to a knoble woman, and moarover,
it is agriable to me to makeus of this oportunity."
In conclusion, she asked permission of my mother
to call upon her. I found my mother in an un
pleasant frame of mind: my father was not at
home, and she had no one with whom to take
counsel. It was impossible not to reply to a
" knoble woman," and to a Princess into the bar
gain; but how to reply perplexed my mother.
12

FIRST LOVE
It seemed to her ill-judged to write a note
in French, and my mother was not strong in Rus
sian orthography herself — and was aware of the
fact — and did not wish to compromise herself.
She was delighted at my arrival, and immediately
ordered me to go to the Princess and explain to
her verbally that my mother was always ready,
to the extent of her ability, to be of service to Her
Radiance,1 and begged that she would call upon
her about one o'clock.
This unexpectedly swift fulfilment of my se
cret wishes both delighted and frightened me ; but
I did not betray the emotion which held posses
sion of me, and preliminarily betook myself to
my room for the purpose of donning a new neck
cloth and coat ; at home I went about in a round-
jacket and turn-over collars, although I detested
them greatly. IV
In the cramped and dirty anteroom of the wing,
which I entered with an involuntary trembling of
my whole body, I was received by a grey-haired
old serving-man with a face the hue of dark cop
per, pig-like, surly little eyes, and such deep wrin
kles on his forehead as I had never seen before
in my life. He was carrying on a platter the
1 Princes, princesses, counts, and countesses have the title of Siyd-
telstvo (siydm— to shine, to be radiant); generally translated "Illus
trious Highness" or "Serenity."— Translator,
13

FIRST LOVE
gnawed spinal bone of a herring, and, pushing to
with his foot the door which led into the adjoining
room, he said abruptly:—" What do you want? "
" Is Princess Zasyekin at home? " — I inquired.
" Vonifaty! "—screamed a quavering female
voice on the other side of the door.
The servant silently turned his back on me,
thereby displaying the badly-worn rear of his
livery with its solitary, rusted, armouried button,
and went away, leaving the platter on the floor.
" Hast thou been to the police-station? "—went
on that same feminine voice. The servant mut
tered something in reply. — " Hey? .... Some
one has come? " — was the next thing audible.
. . . . " The young gentleman from next door?
—Well, ask him in."
" Please come into the drawing-room, sir," —
said the servant, making his appearance again
before me, and picking up the platter from the
floor. I adjusted my attire and entered the
" drawing-room." I found myself in a tiny and not altogether
clean room, with shabby furniture which seemed
to have been hastily set in place. At the window,
in an easy -chair with a broken arm, sat a woman
of fifty, with uncovered hair 1 and plain-featured,
clad in an old green gown, and with a variegated
1The custom still prevails in Russia, to a great extent, for all
elderly women to wear caps. In the peasant class it is considered as
extremely indecorous to go " simple-haired," as the expression runs.
—Translator. 14

FIRST LOVE
worsted kerchief round her neck. Her small
black eyes fairly bored into me.
I went up to her and made my bow.
" I have the honour of speaking to Princess
Zasyekin? "
" I am Princess Zasyekin: and you are the son
of Mr. B-?"
" Yes, madam. I have come to you with a mes
sage from my mother."
" Pray be seated. Vonifaty! where are my
keys? Hast thou seen them? "
I communicated to Madame Zasyekin my mo
ther's answer to her note. She listened to me,
tapping the window-pane with her thick, red
fingers, and when I had finished she riveted her
eyes on me once more.
" Very good; I shall certainly go," — said she at
last. — " But how young you are still! How old
are you, allow me to ask? "
" Sixteen," — I replied with involuntary hesita
tion. The Princess pulled out of her pocket some
dirty, written documents, raised them up to her
very nose and began to sort them over.
" 'T is a good age," — she suddenly articulated,
turning and fidgeting in her chair. — " And please
do not stand on ceremony. We are plain folks."
" Too plain," — I thought, with involuntary
disgust taking in with a glance the whole of her
homely figure. 15

FIRST LOVE
At that moment, the other door of the drawing-
room was swiftly thrown wide open, and on the
threshold appeared the young girl whom I had
seen in the garden the evening before. She
raised her hand and a smile flitted across her face.
" And here is my daughter,"— said the Prin
cess, pointing at her with her elbow. — " Zino-
tchka, the son of our neighbour, Mr. B — . What
is your name, permit me to inquire? "
" Vladimir,"— I replied, rising and lisping with
agitation. " And your patronymic? "
" Petrovitch."
' Yes ! I once had an acquaintance, a chief of
police, whose name was Vladimir Petrovitch also.
Vonif aty! don't hunt for the keys; the keys are
in my pocket."
The young girl continued to gaze at me with
the same smile as before, slightly puckering up
her eyes and bending her head a little on one side.
" I have already seen M'sieu Voldemar," — she
began. (The silvery tone of her voice coursed
through me like a sweet chill.) — " Will you per
mit me to call you so? "
" Pray do, madam," — I lisped.
" Where was that? "—asked the Princess.
The young Princess did not answer her mother.
" Are you busy now? "—she said, without tak
ing her eyes off me.
" Not in the least, madam." 16

I I
! ! i / t

FIRST LOVE
" Then will you help me to wind some wool?
Come hither, to me."
She nodded her head at me and left the draw
ing-room. I followed her.
In the room which we entered the furniture was
a little better and was arranged with great taste.
— But at that moment I was almost unable to no
tice anything ; I moved as though in a dream and
1 felt a sort of intense sensation of well-being verg
ing on stupidity throughout my frame.
The young Princess sat down, produced a knot
of red wool, and pointing me to a chair opposite
her, she carefully unbound the skein and placed
it on my hands. She did all this in silence, with
a sort of diverting deliberation, and with the same
brilliant and crafty smile on her slightly parted
lips. ' She began to wind the wool upon a card
doubled together, and suddenly illumined me with
such a clear, swift glance, that I involuntarily
dropped my eyes. When her eyes, which were
generally half closed, opened to their full extent
her face underwent a complete change ; it was as
though light had inundated it.
" What did you think of me yesterday, M'sieu
Voldemar? " — she asked, after a brief pause.—
" You certainly must have condemned me? "
" I . . . . Princess .... I thought nothing
.... how can I  "I replied, in confu
sion. " Listen,"— she returned.—" You do not know
17

FIRST LOVE
me yet ; I want people always to speak the truth
to me. You are sixteen, I heard, and I am
twenty-one; you see that I am a great deal older
than you, and therefore you must always speak
the truth to me . . . and obey me,"— she added.
— " Look at me; why don't you look at me? "
I became still more confused ; but I raised my
eyes to hers, nevertheless. She smiled, only not
in her former manner, but with a different, an
approving smile. — " Look at me," — she said, ca
ressingly lowering her voice: — " I don't like that.
. . . Your face pleases me ; I foresee that we shall
be friends. And do you like me? " — she added
slyly- " Princess . ..." I was beginning. . . .
" In the first place, call me Zinaida Alexan-
drovna; and in the second place, — what sort of a
habit is it for children " — (she corrected herself)
— " for young men — not to say straight out what
they feel? You do like me, don't you? "
Although it was very pleasant to me to have
her talk so frankly to me, still I was somewhat
nettled. I wanted to show her that she was not
dealing with a small boy, and, assuming as easy
and serious a mien as I could, I said: — " Of
course I like you very much, Zinaida Alexan-
drovna; I have no desire to conceal the fact."
She shook her head, pausing at intervals.—
" Have you a governor? "—she suddenly in
quired. 18

FIRST LOVE
" No, I have not had a governor this long time
past." I lied: a month had not yet elapsed since I
had parted with my Frenchman.
" Oh, yes, I see : you are quite grown up."
She slapped me lightly on the fingers.—" Hold
your hands straight! "—And she busied herself
diligently with winding her ball.
I took advantage of the fact that she did not
raise her eyes, and set to scrutinising her, first by
stealth, then more and more boldly. Her face
seemed to me even more charming than on the day
before: everything about it was so delicate, intel
ligent and lovely. She was sitting with her back
to the window, which was hung with a white
shade ; a ray of sunlight making its way through
that shade inundated with a flood of light her
fluffy golden hair, her innocent neck, sloping
shoulders, and calm, tender bosom. — I gazed at
her — and how near and dear she became to me!
It seemed to me both that I had known her for
a long time and that I had known nothing and
had not lived before she came. . . . She wore a
rather dark, already shabby gown, with an apron ;
I believe I would willingly have caressed every
fold of that gown and of that apron. The tips of
her shoes peeped out from under her gown; I
would have bowed down to those little boots. . .
" And here I sit, in front of her,"— I thought.—
" I have become acquainted with her .... what
19

FIRST LOVE
\ happiness, my God! " I came near bouncing out
of my chair with rapture, but I merely dangled
my feet to and fro a little, like a child who is en
joying dainties.
I felt as much at my ease as a fish does in water,
and I would have liked never to leave that room
again as long as I lived.
Her eyelids slowly rose, and again her brilliant
eyes beamed caressingly before me, and again she
laughed. "How you stare at me!"— she said slowly,
shaking her finger at me.
I flushed scarlet  " She understands all,
she sees all,"— flashed through my head. " And
how could she fail to see and understand all? "
Suddenly there was a clattering in the next
room, and a sword clanked.
" Zina! " — screamed the old Princess from the
drawing-room. — " Byelovzoroff has brought thee
a kitten." "A kitten!" — cried Zinaida, and springing
headlong from her chair, she flung the ball on my
knees and ran out.
I also rose, and, laying the skein of wool on the
window-sill, went into the drawing-room, and
stopped short in amazement. In the centre of the
room lay a kitten with outstretched paws ; Zinaida
was kneeling in front of it, and carefully raising
its snout. By the side of the young Princess, tak
ing up nearly the entire wall-space between the
20

FIRST LOVE
windows, was v.'sible a fair-complexioned, curly-
haired young man, a hussar, with a rosy face and
protruding eyes.
" How ridiculous! "—Zinaida kept repeating:
— " and its eyes are not grey, but green, and what
big ears it has! Thank you, Viktor Egoritch!
you are very kind."
The hussar, in whom I recognised one of the
young men whom I had seen on the preceding
evening, smiled and bowed, clicking his spurs and
clanking the links of his sword as he did so.
" You were pleased to say yesterday that you
wished to possess a striped kitten with large ears
.... so I have got it, madam. Your word is
my law." — And again he bowed.
The kitten mewed faintly, and began to sniff at
the floor.
"He is hungry!" — cried Zinaida. — " Voni-
faty! Sonya! bring some milk."
The chambermaid, in an old yellow gown and
with a faded kerchief on her head, entered with a
saucer of milk in her hand, and placed it in front
of the kitten. The kitten quivered, blinked, and
began to lap.
" What a rosy tongue it has,"— remarked
Zinaida, bending her head down almost to the
floor, and looking sideways at it, under its very
nose. The kitten drank its fill, and began to purr, af
fectedly contracting and relaxing its paws. Zi-
21

FIRST LOVE
naida rose to her feet, and turning to the maid,
said indifferently:—" Take it away."
" Your hand— in return for the kitten,"— said
the hussar, displaying his teeth, and bending over
the whole of his huge body, tightly confined in a
new uniform.
" Both hands,"— replied Zinaida, offering him
her hands. While he was kissing them, she gazed
at me over his shoulder.
I stood motionless on one spot, and did not
know whether to laugh or to say something, or to
hold my peace. Suddenly, through the open door
of the anteroom, the figure of our footman,
Feodor, caught my eye. He was making signs
to me. I mechanically went out to him.
" What dost thou want? "—I asked.
" Your mamma has sent for you," — he said in
a whisper. — " She is angry because you do not re
turn with an answer."
" Why, have I been here long? "
" More than an hour."
"More than an hour!"— I repeated involun
tarily, and returning to the drawing-room, I be
gan to bow and scrape my foot.
" Where are you going? " — the young Princess
asked me, with a glance at the hussar.
" I must go home, madam. So I am to say," —
I added, addressing the old woman, — " that you
will call upon us at two o'clock."
" Say that, my dear fellow." 22

FIRST LOVE
The old Princess hurriedly drew out her snuff
box, and took a pinch so noisily that I fairly
jumped.—" Say that,"— she repeated, tearfully
blinking and grunting.
I bowed once more, turned and left the room
with the same sensation of awkwardness in my
back which a very young man experiences when
he knows that people are staring after him.
" Look here, M'sieu Voldemar, you must drop
in to see us," — called Zinaida, and again burst out
laughing. u" What makes her laugh all the time? 'MI
thought, as I wended my way home accompanied
by Feodor, who said nothing to me, but moved
along disapprovingly behind me. My mother re
proved me, and inquired, with surprise, " What
could I have been doing so long at the Prin
cess's? " I made her no answer, and went off to
my own room. I had suddenly grown very mel
ancholy. ... I tried not to weep. . . .1 was
jealous of the hussaijj

The Princess, according to her promise, called
on my mother, and did not please her. I was not
present at their meeting, but at table my mother
narrated to my father that that Princess Zasyekin
seemed to her a femme tres vulgaire; that she had
bored her immensely with her requests that she
23

FIRST LOVE
would intervene on her behalf with Prince Ser
gyei; that she was always having such law-suits
and affairs, — de vilaines affaires d' argent, — and
that she must be a great rogue. But my mother
added that she had invited her with her daughter
to dine on the following day (on hearing the
words " with her daughter," I dropped my nose
into my plate), — because, notwithstanding, she
was a neighbour, and with a name. Thereupon
my father informed my mother that he now re
called who the lady was : that in his youth he had
known the late Prince Zasyekin, a capitally-edu
cated but flighty and captious man; that in so
ciety he was called " le Parisien," because of his
long residence in Paris; that he had been very
wealthy, but had gambled away all his property
—and, no one knew why, though probably it had
been for the sake of the money,—" although he
might have made a better choice,"— added my
father, with a cold smile,— he had married the
daughter of some clerk in a chancellery, and after
his marriage had gone into speculation, and
ruined himself definitively.
'T is a wonder she did not try to borrow
money," — remarked my mother.
" She is very likely to do it,"— said my father,
calmly.—" Does she speak French? "
" Very badly."
" M-m-m. However, that makes no difference.
24

FIRST LOVE
1 think thou saidst that thou hadst invited her
daughter ; some one assured me that she is a very
charming and well-educated girl£J
"Ah! Then she does not take after her
mother." " Nor after her father,"— returned my father.
— " He was also well educated, but stupid."
My mother sighed, and became thoughtful.
My father relapsed into silence. I felt very awk
ward during the course of that conversation.
After dinner I betook myself to the garden,
but without my gun. I had pledged my word to
myself that I would not go near the " Zasyekin
garden " ; but an irresistible force drew me thither,
and not in vain. I had no sooner approached the
fence than I caught sight of Zinaida. This time
she was alone. She was holding a small book in
her hands and strolling slowly along the path.
She did not notice me. I came near letting her
slip past; but suddenly caught myself up and
coughed. She turned round but did not pause, put aside
with one hand the broad blue ribbon of her round
straw hat, looked at me, smiled quietly, and again
riyeted her eyes on her book.
/ 1 pulled off my cap, and after fidgeting about
a while on one spot, I went away with a heavy
heart. "Que suis-je pour elle?"— I thought
I God knows why) in French. 25

FIRST LOVE
Familiar footsteps resounded behind me; I
glanced round and beheld rny father advancing
toward me with swift, rapid strides.
" Is that the young Princess? " — he asked me.
" Yes."
" Dost thou know her? "
" I saw her this morning at the Princess her
mother's." My father halted and, wheeling abruptly
round on his heels, retraced his steps. As he came
on a level with Zinaida he bowed courteously to
her. She bowed to him in return, not without
some surprise on her face, and lowered her book.
I saw that she followed him with her eyes. My
father always dressed very elegantly, originally
and simply; but his figure had never seemed to
me more graceful, never had his grey hat sat more
handsomely on his curls, which were barely begin
ning to grow thin.
I was on the point of directing my course to
ward Zinaida, but she did not even look at me,
but raised her book once more and walked awav.

VI '
I spent the whole of that evening and the follow
ing day in a sort of gloomy stupor. I remember
that I made an effort to work, and took up Ka ji-
danoff; but in vain did the large-printed lines
26 I

FIRST LOVE
and pages of the famous text-book flit before my
eyes. Ten times in succession I read the words:
" Julius Caesar was distinguished for military
daring," without understanding a word, and I
flung aside my book. Before dinner I pomaded
my hair again, and again donned my frock-coat
and neckerchief.
' What 's that for? "—inquired my mother.—
' Thou art not a student yet, and God knows whe
ther thou wilt pass thy examination. And thy
round- jacket was made not very long ago. Thou
must not discard it! "
" There are to be guests," — I whispered, almost
in despair.
"What nonsense! What sort of guests are
they? "
I was compelled to submit. I exchanged my
coat for my round- jacket, but did not remove my
neckerchief. The Princess and her daughter
made their appearance half an hour before din
ner; the old woman had thrown a yellow shawl
over her green gown, with which I was familiar,
and had donned an old-fashioned mob-cap with
ribbons of a fiery hue. She immediately began to
talk about her notes of hand, to sigh and to be
wail her poverty, and to " importune," but did
not stand in the least upon ceremony; and she
took snuff noisily and fidgeted and wriggled in
her chair as before. It never seemed to enter her
head that she was a Princess. On the other hand,
27

FIRST LOVE
Zinaida bore herself very stiffly, almost haughtily,
like a real young Princess. Cold impassivity and
dignity had made their appearance on her coun
tenance, and I did not recognise her,— did not
recognise her looks or her smile, although in this
new aspect she seemed to me very beautiful. She
wore a thin barege gown with pale-blue figures;
her hair fell in long curls along her cheeks, in the
English fashion: this coiffure suited the cold ex
pression of her face.
My father sat beside her during dinner, and
with the exquisite and imperturbable courtesy
which was characteristic of him. showed attention
to his neighbour. He glanced at her from time to
time, and she glanced at him now and then, but
in such a strange, almost hostile, manner.
Their conversation proceeded in French; — I
remember that I was surprised at the purity of
Zinaida's accent. The old Princess, as before,
did not restrain herself in the slightest degree dur
ing dinner, but ate a great deal and praised the
food. My mother evidently found her wearisome,
and answered her with a sort of sad indifference;
my father contracted his brows in a slight frown
from time to time. My mother did not like Zi
naida either.
" She 's a haughty young sprig,"— she said the
next day.—" And when one comes to think of it,
what is there for her to be proud of? — avec sa
mine de grisette! " 28

FIRST LOVE
" Evidently, thou hast not seen any grisettes,"
— my father remarked to her.
" Of course I have n't, God be thanked! 
Only, how art thou capable of judging of them? "
¦ Zinaida paid absolutely no attention whatever
to me._ Soon after dinner the old Princess began
to take her leave.
" I shall rely upon your protection, Mary a
Nikolaevna and Piotr Vasilitch,"— she said, in
a sing-song tone, to my father and mother. —
" What is to be done! I have seen prosperous
days, but they are gone. Here am I a Radiance,"
— she added, with an unpleasant laugh, — " but
what 's the good of an honour when you 've no
thing to eat? " — My father bowed respectfully to
her and escorted her to the door of the anteroom.
I was standing there in my round- jacket, and
staring, ... at the floor, as though condemned to
death. ! Zinaida's behaviour toward me had de
finitively annihilated me. What, then, was my
amazement when, as she passed me, she whispered
to me hastily, and with her former affectionate
expression in her eyes: — " Come to us at eight
o'clock, do you hear? without fail. ..." | I merely
threw my hands apart in amazement; — but she
was already retreating, having thrown a white
scarf over her head.

29

FIRST LOVE

VII

Precisely at eight o'clock I entered the tiny
wing inhabited by the Princess, clad in my coat,
and with my hair brushed up into a crest on top
of my head. The old servant glared surlily at
me, and rose reluctantly from his bench. Merry
voices resounded in the drawing-room. I opened
the door and retreated a pace in astonishment. In
the middle of the room, on a chair, stood the
young Princess, holding a man's hat in front of
her; around the chair thronged five men. They
were trying to dip their hands into the hat, but she
kept raising it on high and shaking it violently.
On catching sight of me she exclaimed : —
" Stay, stay! Here 's a new guest; he must be
given a ticket," — and springing lightly from the
chair, she seized me by the lapel of my coat. —
" Come along," — said she; — "why do you stand
there? Messieurs, allow me to make you ac
quainted: this is Monsieur Voldemar, the son of
our neighbour. And this," — she added, turning
to me, and pointing to the visitors in turn, — " is
Count Malevsky, Doctor Lushin, the poet Mai-
danoff , retired Captain Nirmatzky, and Byelov-
zoroff the hussar, whom you have already seen.
I beg that you will love and favour each other."
I was so confused that I did not even bow to
any one ; in Doctor Lushin I recognised that same
30

FIRST LOVE i
swarthy gentleman wlo had so ruthlessly put me
to shame in the garden ; the others were strangers
to me.
" Count! "—pursued Zinaida,—" write a ticket
for M'sieu Voldemar."
"' That is unjust," — returned the Count, with a
slight accent, — a very handsome and foppishly-
attired man, with a dark complexion, expressive
brown eyes, a thin, white little nose, and a slender
moustache over his tiny mouth. — " He has not
been playing at forfeits with us."
' 'T is unjust," — repeated Byelovzoroff and
the gentleman who had been alluded to as the re
tired Captain, — a man of forty, horribly pock
marked, curly-haired as a negro, round-shoul
dered, bow-legged, and dressed in a military coat
without epaulets, worn open on the breast.
" Write a ticket, I tell you,"— repeated the
Princess. — " What sort of a rebellion is this?
M'sieu Voldemar is with us for the first time, and
to-day no law applies to him. No grumbling—
write; I will have it so."
The Count shrugged his shoulders, but submis
sively bowing his head, he took a pen in his white,
ring-decked hand, tore off a scrap of paper and
began to write on it.
" Permit me at least to explain to M'sieu
Voldemar what it is all about,"— began Lushin,
in a bantering tone;— " otherwise he will be ut
terly at a loss. You see, young man, we are play-
31

FIRST LOVE
ing at forfeits ; the Princess must pay a fine, and
the one who draws out the lucky ticket must kiss
her hand, i Do you understand what I have told
you?" *
I merely glanced at him and continued to stand
as though in a fog, while the Princess again
sprang upon the chair and again began to shake
the hat. All reached up to her— I among the rest.
" Maidanoff,"— said the Princess to the tall
young man with a gaunt face, tiny mole-like eyes
and extremely long, black hair,—" you, as a poet,
ought to be magnanimous and surrender your
ticket to M'sieu Voldemar, so that he may have
two chances instead of one."
But Maidanoff shook his head in refusal and
tossed his hair. I put in my hand into the hat
after all the rest, drew out and unfolded a ticket.
. . . O Lord! what were my sensations when I
beheld on it, "Kiss!"
" Kiss! " — I cried involuntarily.
" Bravo! He has won,"— chimed in the Prin
cess.—" How delighted I am! "—She descended
from the chair, and gazed into my eyes so clearly
and sweetly that my heart fairly laughed with
joy. — "And are you glad?"— she asked me.
"I?" . . . I stammered.
" Sell me your ticket,"— suddenly blurted out
Byelovzoroff, right in my ear.—" I '11 give you
one hundred rubles for it."
I replied to the hussar by such a wrathful look
32

FIRST LOVE
that Zinaida clapped her hands, and Lushin cried:
— " That 's a gallant fellow! "
" But," — he went on, — " in my capacity of
master of ceremonies, I am bound to see that all
the regulations are carried out. M'sieu Volde
mar, get down on one knee. That is our rule."
Zinaida stood before me with her head bent a
little to one side, as though the better to scrutinise
me, and offered me her hand with dignity.
Things grew dim before my eyes; I tried to get
down on one knee, plumped down on both knees,
and applied my lips to Zinaida's fingers in so awk
ward a manner that I scratched the tip of my
nose slightly on her nails.
" Good! " — shouted Lushin, and helped me to
rise. The game of forfeits continued, .^inaida
placed me beside her. What penalties HB£y did
invent! Among other things, she had to imper
sonate a " statue " — and she selected as a pedestal
the monstrously homely Nirmatzky, ordering
him to lie flat on the floor, and to tuck his face into
his breast. The laughter did not cease for a sin
gle moment. All this noise and uproar, this un
ceremonious, almost tumultuous merriment, these
unprecedented relations with strangers, fairly
flew to my head; for I was a boy who had been
reared soberly, and in solitude, and had grown up
in a stately home of gentry. '..I became simply in
toxicated, as though with wine, j I began to shout
33

FIRST LOVE
with laughter and chatter more loudly than the
rest, so that even the old Princess, who was sitting
in the adjoining room with some sort of petti
fogger from the Iversky Gate 1 who had been
summoned for a conference, came out to take a
look at me. But I felt so happy that, as the say
ing is, I did n't care a farthing for anybody's
ridicule, or anybody's oblique glances.
Zinaida continued to display a preference for
me and never let me leave her side. In one forfeit
I was made to sit by her, covered up with one
and the same silk kerchief: I was bound to tell
her my secret. I remember how our two heads
found themselves suddenly in choking, semi-
transparent, fragrant gloom; how near and
softly her eyes sparkled in that gloom, and how
hotly her parted lips breathed ; and her teeth were
visible, and the tips of her hair tickled and burned
me. I maintained silence. She smiled mysteri
ously and slyly, and at last whispered to me:
" Well, what is it? " But I merely flushed and
laughed, and turned away, and could hardly draw
my breath. We got tired of forfeits, and began
to play "string." Good heavens! what rapture
I felt when, forgetting myself with gaping, I re
ceived from her a strong, sharp rap on my fingers ;
and how afterward I tried to pretend that I was
iThe famous gate from the "White town" into the "Chinatown,"
in Moscow, where there is a renowned holy picture of the Iberian
Virgin, in a chapel. Evidently the lawyers' quarter was in this vi
cinity. — Translator.
34

FIRST LOVE
yawning with inattention, but she mocked at me
and did not touch my hands, which were await
ing the blow !
But what a lot of other pranks we played that
same evening! We played on the piano, and
sang, and danced, and represented a gipsy camp.
We dressed Nirmatzky up like a bear, and
fed him with water and salt. Count Malev-
sky showed us several card tricks, and ended by
stacking the cards and dealing himself all the
trumps at whist ; upon which Lushin " had the
honour of congratulating him." Maidanoff de
claimed to us fragments from his poem, " The
Murderer " (this occurred in the very thick of
romanticism) , which he intended to publish in a
black binding, with the title in letters of the colour
of blood. We stole his hat from the knees of the
pettifogger from the Iversky Gate, and made
him dance the kazak dance by way of redeeming
it. We dressed old Vonif aty up in a mob-cap, and
the young Princess put on a man's hat. ... It is
impossible to recount all we did. Byelovzoroff
alone remained most of the time in a corner, an
gry and frowning. . . . Sometimes his eyes be
came suffused with blood, he grew scai-let all over
and seemed to be on the very point of swooping
down upon all of us and scattering us on all sides,
like chips ; but the Princess glanced at him, men
aced him with her finger, and again he retired
into his corner. 85

FIRST LOVE
We were completely exhausted at last. The
old Princess was equal to anything, as she put it,
— no shouts disconcerted her, — but she felt tired
and wished to rest. At midnight supper was
served, consisting of a bit of old, dry cheese and a
few cold patties filled with minced ham, which
seemed to us more savoury than any pasty ; there
was only one bottle of wine, and that was rather
queer: — dark, with a swollen neck, and the wine
in it left an after-taste of pinkish dye ; however, no
one drank it. Weary and happy to exhaustion, I
emerged from the wing ; a thunder-storm seemed
to be brewing; the black storm-clouds grew
larger and crept across the sky, visibly altering
their smoky outlines. A light breeze was uneasily
quivering in the dark trees, and somewhere be
yond the horizon the thunder was growling an
grily and dully, as though to itself.
I made my way through the back door to my
room. My nurse-valet was sleeping on the floor
and I was obliged to step over him ; he woke up,
saw me, and reported that my mother was an
gry with me, and had wanted to send after me
again, but that my father had restrained her. I
never went to bed without having bidden my mo
ther good night and begged her blessing. There
was no help for it ! I told my valet that I would
undress myself and go to bed unaided, — and ex
tinguished the candle. But I did not undress and
I did not go to bed. 36

FIRST LOVE
| I seated myself on a chair and sat there for a
long time, as though enchanted. That which I
felt was so new and so sweet" v. ... I sat there,
hardly looking around me and without moving,
breathing slowly, and only laughing silently now,
as I recalled, now inwardly turning cold at the
thought that I was in love, that here it was, that
love. Zinaida's face floated softly before me in
the darkness — floated, but did not float away; her
lips still smiled as mysteriously as ever, her eyes
gazed somewhat askance at me, interrogatively,
thoughtfully and tenderly .... as at the mo
ment when I had parted from her. At last I rose
on tiptoe, stepped to my bed and cautiously, with
out undressing, laid my head on the pillow, as
though endeavouring by the sharp movement to
frighten off that wherewith I was filled to over
flowing. . . .
I lay down, but did not even close an eye. I
speedily perceived that certain faint reflections
kept constantly falling into my room  I
raised myself and looked out of the window. Its
frame was distinctly defined from the mysteri
ously and confusedly whitened panes. " 'T is the
thunder-storm," — I thought,— and so, in fact,
there was a thunder-storm ; but it had passed very
far away, so that even the claps of thunder were
not audible; only in the sky long, indistinct,
branching flashes of lightning, as it were, were
uninterruptedly flashing up. They were not
37

FIRST LOVE
flashing up so much as they were quivering and
twitching, like the wing of a dying bird. I rose,
went to the window, and stood there until morn
ing. . . . The lightning-flashes never ceased for
a moment; it was what is called a pitch-black
night. I gazed at the dumb, sandy plain, at the
dark mass of the Neskutchny Park, at the yellow
ish facades of the distant buildings, which also
seemed to be trembling at every faint flash. . . .
I gazed, and could not tear myself away; those
dumb lightning-flashes, those restrained gleams,
seemed to be responding to the dumb and secret
outbursts which were flaring up within me
also. Morning began to break ; the dawn started
forth in scarlet patches. With the approach of
the sun the lightning-flashes grew paler and
paler ; they quivered more and more infrequently,
and vanished at last, drowned in the sober
ing and unequivocal light of the breaking
day. And my lightning-flashes vanished within me
also. I felt great fatigue and tranquillity . .i. but
Zinaida's image continued to hover triumphantly
over my soul. Only it, that image, seemed calm ;
like a flying swan from the marshy sedges, it
separated itself from the other ignoble figures
which surrounded it, and as I fell asleep, I bowed
down before it for the last time in farewell and
confiding adoration. . . .
Oh, gentle emotions, soft sounds, kindness and
38

FIRST LOVE
calming of the deeply -moved soul, melting joy of
the first feelings of love, — where are ye, where *
are ye? J
VIII
On the following morning, when I went down
stairs to tea, my mother scolded me,— although
less than I had anticipated, — and made me nar
rate how I had spent the preceding evening. I
answered her in few words, omitting many par
ticulars and endeavouring to impart to my narra
tive the most innocent of aspects.
" Nevertheless, they are not people comme il
faut," — remarked my mother; — "and I do not
wish thee to run after them, instead of preparing
thyself for the examination, and occupying thy
self." As I knew that my mother's anxiety was con
fined to these few words, I did not consider it
necessary to make her any reply ; but after tea my
father linked his arm in mine, and betaking him
self to the garden with me, made me tell him
everything I had done and seen at the Zasyekins'.
My father possessed a strange influence over
', me, and our relations were strange. He paid
; hardly any attention to my education, but he
never wounded me; he respected my liberty— he
1 was even, if I may so express it, courteous to me
.... only, he did not allow me to get close to him.
39

FIRST LOVE
I loved him, I admired him; he seemed to me a
model man; and great heavens! how passionately
attached to him I should have been, had I not con
stantly felt his hand warding me off! On the
other hand, when he wished, he understood how
to evoke in me, instantaneously, with one word,
one movement, unbounded confidence in him. My
soul opened, I chatted with him as with an intelli
gent friend, as with an indulgent preceptor ....
then, with equal suddenness, he abandoned me,
and again his hand repulsed me, caressingly and
softly, but repulsed nevertheless.
Sometimes a fit of mirth came over him, and
then he was ready to frolic and play with me
like a boy (he was fond of every sort of ener
getic bodily exercise) ; once — only once — did he
caress me with so much tenderness that I came
near bursting into tears. . . . But his mirth and
tenderness also vanished without leaving a trace,
and what had taken place between us gave me no
hopes for the future; it was just as though I had
seen it all in a dream. I used to stand and scru
tinise his clever, handsome, brilliant face ....
and my heart would begin to quiver, and my
whole being would yearn toward him, .... and he
would seem to feel what was going on within me,
and would pat me on the cheek in passing — and
either go away, or begin to occupy himself with
something, or suddenly freeze all over,— as he
alone knew how to freeze, — and I would immedi-
40

FIRST LOVE
ately shrivel up and grow frigid also. /His rare
fits of affection for me were never called forth
by my speechless but intelligible entreaties; they
always came upon him without warning. When
meditating, in after years, upon my father's char
acter, I came to the conclusion that he did not
care for me or for family life ; he loved something
different, and enjoyed that other thing to the
full, j " Seize what thou canst thyself, and do not
give thyself into any one's power; the whole art of
life consists in belonging to one's self/^he said
to me once. On another occasion I, in my ca
pacity of a young democrat, launched out in his
presence into arguments about liberty (he was
what I called " kind " that day; at such times one
could say whatever one liked to him). — " Lib
erty,"— he repeated,—" but dost thou know what
can give a man liberty? "
" What? "
" Will, his own will, and the power which it
gives is better than liberty. Learn to will, and'
thou wilt be free, and wilt command." ^r<^.
My father wished, first of all and most of all,
to enjoy life— and he did enjoy life  Per
haps he had a presentiment that he was not fated
long to take advantage of the " art " of living: he
died at the age of forty-two.
I described to my father in detail my visit to
the Zasyekins. He listened to me half -atten
tively, half -abstractedly, as he sat on the bench
41

FIRST LOVE
and drew figures on the sand with the tip of his
riding-whip. Now and then he laughed, glanced
at me in a brilliant, amused sort of way, and
spurred me on by brief questions and exclama
tions. At first I could not bring myself even to
utter Zinaida's name, but I could not hold out,
and began to laud her. My father still continued
to laugh. Then he became thoughtful, dropped
his eyes and rose to his feet.
I recalled the fact that, as he came out of the
house, he had given orders that his horse should
be saddled. He was a capital rider, and knew
much better how to tame the wildest horses than
did Mr. Rarey.
" Shall I ride with thee, papa? " — I asked him.
" No," — he replied, and his face assumed
its habitual indifferently-caressing expression. —
" Go alone, if thou wishest; but tell the coachman
that I shall not go."
He turned his back on me and walked swiftly
away. I followed him with my eyes, until he dis
appeared beyond the gate. I saw his hat moving
along the fence; he went into the Zasyekins'
house. He remained with them no more than an hour,
but immediately thereafter went off to town and
did not return home until evening.
After dinner I went to the Zasyekins' myself.
I found no one in the drawing-room but the old
Princess. When she saw me, she scratched her
42

FIRST LOVE
head under her cap with the end of her knitting-
needle, and suddenly asked me: would I copy a
petition for her?
" With pleasure,"— I replied, and sat down on
the edge of a chair.
" Only look out, and see that you make the let
ters as large as possible," — said the Princess,
handing me a sheet of paper scrawled over in a
slovenly manner: — " and couldn't you do it to
day, my dear fellow? "
" I will copy it this very day, madam."
The door of the adjoining room opened a mere
crack and Zinaida's face showed itself in the aper
ture, — pale, thoughtful, with hair thrown care
lessly back. She stared at me with her large, cold
eyes, and softly shut the door.
" Zina, — hey there, Zina!" — said the old wo
man. Zinaida did not answer. I carried away
the old woman's petition, and sat over it the whole
evening. IX
My " passion " began with that day. I remember
that I then felt something of that which a man
must feel when he enters the service :'• I had al
ready ceased to be a young lad ; I was in love.j I
have said that my passion dated from that day; I
might have added that my sufferings also dated
from that day. I languished when absent from
Zinaida; my mind would not work, everything
43

FIRST LOVE
fell from my hands ; I thought intently of her for
days together. ... I languished .... but in
her presence I was no more at ease. I was jeal
ous, I recognised my insignificance, I stupidly
sulked and stupidly fawned ; and, nevertheless, an
irresistible force drew me to her, and every time I
stepped across the threshold of her room, it was
with an involuntary thrill of happiness. Zinaida
immediately divined that I had fallen in love with
her, and I never thought of concealing the fact;
she mocked at my passion, played tricks on me,
petted and tormented me. It is sweet to be the
sole source, the autocratic and irresponsible cause
of the greatest joys and the profoundest woe to
another person, and I was like soft wax in Zi-
naida's hands. /However, I was not the only one
who was in love with her; all the men who were
in the habit of visiting her house were crazy over
her, and she kept them all in a leash at her feet.
It amused her to arouse in them now hopes, now
fears, to twist them about at her caprice (she
called it, " knocking people against one an
other"), — and they never thought of resisting,
and willingly submitted to her. In all her viva-_
cious and beautiful being there was a certain pe~ j
culiarly bewitching mixture of guilefulness and/
heedlessness, of artificiality and simplicity, of I
tranquillity and playfulness; over everything she \
did or said, over her every movement, hovered a \
light, delicate charm, and an original, sparkling
44 J

FIRST LOVE
force made itself felt in everything. And her
face was incessantly changing and sparkling
also ; it expressed almost simultaneously derision,
pensiveness, and passion. The most varied emo
tions, light, fleeting as the shadows of the clouds ,
on a sunny, windy day, kept ffrtting over her eyes i
and lips.
Every one of her adorers was necessary to her.
Byelovzoroff, whom she sometimes called " my
wild beast," and sometimes simply " my own,"
would gladly have flung himself into the fire for
her ; without trusting to his mental capacities and
other merits, he kept proposing that he should
marry her, and hinting that the others were
merely talking idly. Maidanoff responded to the
poetical chords of her soul: a rather cold man,^
nearly all writers are, he assured her with intense
force — and perhaps himself also — that he adored
her. He sang her praises in interminable verses
and read them to her with an unnatural and a gen
uine sort of enthusiasm. And she was interested in
him and jeered lightly at him; she did not believe
in him greatly, and after listening to his effu
sions she made him read Pushkin, in order, as she
said, to purify the air. Lushin, the sneering doc
tor, who was cynical in speech, knew her best of
all and loved her best of all, although he abused
her to her face and behind her back. She re
spected him, but would not let him go, and some
times, with a peculiar, malicious pleasure, made
45

FIRST LOVE
him feel that he was in her hands. " I am a co
quette, I am heartless, I have the nature of an
actress," she said to him one day in my presence ;
" and 't is well! So give me your hand and I will
stick a pin into it, and you will feel ashamed be
fore this young man, and it will hurt you ; but nev
ertheless, Mr. Upright Man, you will be so good
as to laugh." Lushin flushed crimson, turned
away and bit his lips, but ended by putting out
his hand. She pricked it, and he actually did
break out laughing .... and she laughed also,
thrusting the pin in pretty deeply and gazing into
his eyes while he vainly endeavoured to glance
aside. . . .
I understood least of all the relations existing
between Zinaida and Count Malevsky. That he
was handsome, adroit, and clever even I felt, but
the presence in him of some false, dubious ele
ment, was palpable even to me, a lad of sixteen,
and I was amazed that Zinaida did not notice it.
But perhaps she did detect that false element and
it did not repel her. An irregular education,
strange acquaintances, the constant presence of
her mother, the poverty and disorder in the house
~ — all this, beginning with the very freedom which
the young girl enjoyed, together with the con
sciousness of her own superiority to the people
who surrounded her, had developed in her a cer
tain half-scornful carelessness and lack of exac
tion. No matter what happened — whether Voni-
46

FIRST LOVE
faty came to report that there was no sugar, or
some wretched bit of gossip came to light, or the
visitors got into a quarrel among themselves, she
merely shook her curls, and said: "Nonsense!"
— and grieved very little over it.
On the contrary, all my blood would begin to
seethe when Malevsky would approach her,
swaying his body cunningly like a fox, lean ele
gantly over the back of her chair and begin to
whisper in her ear with a conceited and challeng
ing smile, while she would fold her arms on her
breast, gaze attentively at him and smile also,
shaking her head the while.
" What possesses you to receive Malevsky? " —
I asked her one day.
' Why, he has such handsome eyes,"— she re
plied. — " But that is no business of yours."
" You are not to think that I am in love with
him," — she said to me on another occasion.—
"No; I cannot love people upon whom I am
forced to look down. I must have some one who
can subdue me. . . . And I shall not hit upon
such an one, for God is merciful! I shall not ]
spare any one who falls into my paws— no, no!, "J
" Do you mean to say that you will never fall
in love ? "
" And how about you? Don't I love you? "—
she said, tapping me on the nose with the tip of
her glove.
Yes, Zinaida made great fun of me. For the
47

FIRST LOVE
space of three weeks I saw her every day; and
what was there that she did not do to me! She
came to us rarely, but I did not regret that ; in our
house she was converted into a young lady, a Prin
cess,— and I avoided her. I was afraid of betray
ing myself to my mother ; she was not at all well
disposed toward Zinaida, and kept a disagreeable
watch on us. I was not so much afraid of my fa
ther; he did not appear to notice me, and talked
little with her, but that little in a peculiarly clever
and significant manner. I ceased to work, to
read; I even ceased to stroll about the environs
and to ride on horseback. Like a beetle tied by
the leg, I hovered incessantly around the beloved
wing ; I believe I would have liked to remain there
forever  but that was impossible. My
mother grumbled at me, and sometimes Zinaida
herself drove me out. On such occasions I shut
myself up in my own room, or walked off to the
very end of the garden, climbed upon the sound
remnant of a tall stone hothouse, and dangling
my legs over the wall, I sat there for hours and
stared, — stared without seeing anything. White
butterflies lazily flitted among the nettles beside
me ; an audacious sparrow perched not far off on
the half -demolished red bricks and twittered in an
irritating manner, incessantly twisting his whole
body about and spreading out his tail; the still
distrustful crows now and then emitted a caw, as
they sat high, high above me on the naked crest
48 !

FIRST LOVE
of a birch-tree ; the sun and the wind played softly
through its sparse branches; the chiming of the
bells, calm and melancholy, at the Don Monastery
was wafted to me now and then, — and I sat on,
gazing and listening, and became filled with a cer
tain nameless sensation which embraced every
thing: sadness and joy, and a presentiment of the
future, and the desire and the fear of life. But
I understood nothing at the time of all that which
was fermenting within me, or I would have called
it all by one name, the name of Zinaida.
j "~ But Zinaida continued to play with me as a cat
' plays with a mouse. Now she coquetted with me,
and I grew agitated and melted with emotion;
now she repulsed me, and I dared not approach f
her, dared not look at her.
I remember that she was very cold toward me
for several days in succession and I thoroughly
quailed, and when I timidly ran to the wing to
see them, I tried to keep near the old Princess, de
spite the fact that she was scolding and screaming
a great deal just at that time: her affairs con
nected with her notes of hand were going badly,
and she had also had two scenes with the police-
captain of the precinct.
One day I was walking through the garden,
past the familiar fence, when I caught sight of
Zinaida. Propped up on both arms, she was sit
ting motionless on the grass. I tried to withdraw
cautiously, but she suddenly raised her head and

FIRST LOVE
made an imperious sign to me. I became petrified
on the spot; I did not understand her the first
time. She repeated her sign. I immediately
sprang over the fence and ran joyfully to her;
but she stopped me with a look and pointed to the
path a couple of paces from her. In my confu
sion, not knowing what to do, I knelt down on the
edge of the path. She was so pale, such bitter
grief, such profound weariness were revealed in
her every feature, that my heart contracted within
me, and I involuntarily murmured: " What is the
matter with you? "
Zinaida put out her hand, plucked a blade of
grass, bit it, and tossed it away as far as she could.
" Do you love me very much? " — she inquired
suddenly.-" Yes?"
I made no answer, — and what answer was there
for me to make?
' Yes," — she repeated, gazing at me as before.
— " It is so. They are the same eyes," — she
added, becoming pensive, and covering her face
with her hands. — " Everything has become repul
sive to me," — she whispered; — " I would like to
go to the end of the world ; I cannot endure this,
I cannot reconcile myself. . . . And what is in
store for me? ... . Akh, I am heavy at heart
.... my God, how heavy at heart! "
" Why? " — I timidly inquired.
Zinaida did not answer me and merely
shrugged her shoulders. I continued to kneel and
50

FIRST LOVE
to gaze at her with profound melancholy. Every
word of hers fairly cut me to the heart. At that
moment, I think I would willingly have given my
life to keep her from grieving. I gazed at her,
and nevertheless, not understanding why she was
heavy at heart, I vividly pictured to myself how,
in a fit of uncontrollable sorrow, she had suddenly
gone into the garden, and had fallen on the earth,
as though she had been mowed down. All around
was bright and green; the breeze was rustling in
the foliage of the trees, now and then rocking a
branch of raspberry over Zinaida's head. Doves
were cooing somewhere and the bees were hum
ming as they flew low over the scanty grass.
Overhead the sky shone blue, — but I was so
sad 
" Recite some poetry to me," — said Zinaida in
a low voice, leaning on her elbow. — " I like to
hear you recite verses. You make them go in a
sing-song, but ihat does not matter, it is youth
ful. Recite to me: ' On the Hills of Georgia.'—
Only, sit dowrn first."
I sat down and recited, " On the Hills of
Georgia." " ' That it is impossible not to love,' "—repeated
Zinaida. -f" That is why poetry is so nice; it says
to us that which does not exist, and which is not
only better than what does exist, but even more
like the truth. . . . " ' That it is impossible not to
love' ?_i would like to, but cannot! "i- Again she
51

FIRST LOVE
fell silent for a space, then suddenly started and
rose to her feet. — " Come along. Maidanoff is
sitting with mamma ; he brought his poem to me,
but I left him. He also is embittered now ....
how can it be helped? Some day you will find out
. . . . but you must not be angry with me ! "
Zinaida hastily squeezed my hand, and ran on
ahead. We returned to the wing. Maidanoff set
to reading us his poem of " The Murderer,"
which had only just been printed, but I did not
listen. He shrieked out his four-footed iambics
in a sing-song voice; the rhymes alternated and
jingled like sleigh-bells, hollow and loud; but I
kept staring all the while at Zinaida, and striving
to understand the meaning of her strange words.
j ' ' Or, perchance, a secret rival /
Has unexpectedly subjugated thee? "
suddenly exclaimed Maidanoff through his nose
—and my eyes and Zinaida's met. She dropped
hers and blushed faintly. I saw that she was
blushing, and turned cold with fright. I had been
jealous before, but only at that moment did the
thought that she had fallen in love flash through
my mind. "My God! She is in love! "
X
My real tortures began from that moment. I
cudgelled my brains, I pondered and pondered
again, and watched Zinaida importunately, but
52

FIRST LOVE
secretly, as far as possible. A change had taken
place in her, that was evident. She took to going
off alone to walk, and walked a long while.
Sometimes she did not show herself to her visi-^.
tors; she sat for hours together" in her cham- c
ber. This had not been her habit hitherto.
Suddenly I became — or it seemed to me that I
became — extremely penetrating. " Is it he? Or
is it not he? " — I asked myself, as in trepidation
I mentally ran from one of her admirers to an
other. Count Malevsky (although I felt ashamed
to admit it for Zinaida's sake) privately seemed
to me more dangerous than the others.
My powers of observation extended no further
than the end of my own nose, and my dissimula
tion probably failed to deceive any one; at all
events, Doctor Lushin speedily saw through me.
Moreover, he also had undergone a change of late ;
he had grown thin, he laughed as frequently as
ever, but somehow it was in a duller, more spite
ful, a briefer way;— an involuntary, nervous irri
tability had replaced his former light irony and
feigned cynicism.
" Why are you forever tagging on here, young
man? "_he said to me one day, when he was left
alone with me in the Zasyekins' drawing-room.
(The young Princess had not yet returned from
her stroll and the shrill voice of the old Princess
was resounding in the upper story; she was
wrangling with her maid.)— "You ought to be
53

FIRST LOVE
studying your lessons, working while you are
young;— but instead of that, what are you do-
ing; " You cannot tell whether I work at home," — I
retorted not without arrogance, but also not with
out confusion.
" Much work you do! That 's not what you
have in your head. Well, I will not dispute . . .
at your age, that is in the natural order of things.
But your choice is far from a happy one. Can't
you see what sort of a house this is? "
" I do not understand you," — I remarked.
' You don't understand me? So much the
worse for you. I regard it as my duty to warn
you. Fellows like me, old bachelors, may sit here :
what harm will it do us? We are a hardened lot.
You can't pierce our hide, but your skin is still
tender; the air here is injurious for you, — believe
me, you may become infected."
"How so?"
" Because you may. Are you healthy now?
Are you in a normal condition? Is what you are
feeling useful to you, good for you? "
"But what am I feeling?" — said I;— and in
my secret soul I admitted that the doctor was
right. " Eh, young man, young man,"— pursued the
doctor, with an expression as though something
extremely insulting to me were contained in those
two words; — "there 's no use in your dissimulat-
54

FIRST LOVE
hrgj- for what you have in your soul you still show
in your face, thank God! But what 's the use of
arguing? I would not come hither myself, if  "
(the doctor set his teeth) . ..." if I were not such
an eccentric fellow. F Only this is what amazes me
— how you, with your intelligence, can fail to see
what is going on around you."J
" But what is going on? "—I interposed, prick
ing up my ears.
The doctor looked at me with a sort of sneer
ing compassion.
" A nice person I am,"— said he, as though
speaking to himself. — " What possessed me to
say that to him. In a word," — he added, raising
his voice, — " I repeat to you: the atmosphere
here is not good for you. You find it pleasant
here, and no wonder! And the scent of a hot
house is pleasant also — but one cannot live in
it! Hey! hearken to me, — set to work again on
Kaidanoff." The old Princess entered and began to com
plain to the doctor of toothache. Then Zinaida
made her appearance.
" Here,"— added the old Princess,—" scold
her, doctor, do. She drinks iced water all day
long; is that healthy for her, with her weak
chest? "
" Why do you do that? " — inquired Lushin.
"But what result can it have? "
" What result? You may take cold and die."
55

FIRST LOVE
"Really? Is it possible? Well, all right —
that just suits me! "
'You don't say so!" — growled the doctor.
The old Princess went away.
"I do say so," — retorted Zinaida. — "Is living
such a cheerful thing? Look about you. . . Well
— is it nice? Or do you think that I do not under
stand it, do not feel it? It affords me pleasure to
drink iced water, and you can seriously assure me
that such a life is worth too much for me to im
peril it for a moment's pleasure — I do not speak
of happiness."
"Well, yes," — remarked Lushin: — "caprice
and independence  Those two words sum you
up completely; your whole nature lies in those
two words." I
Zinaida burst into a nervous laugh.
' You 're too late by one mail, my dear doctor.
You observe badly; you are falling behind. — Put
on your spectacles. — I am in no mood for ca
prices now; how jolly to play pranks on you or
on myself! — and as for independence  M'sieu
Voldemar," — added Zinaida, suddenly stamping
her foot, — " don't wear a melancholy face. I
V cannot endure to have people commiserating me."
— She hastily withdrew.
" This atmosphere is injurious, injurious to
you, young man," — said Lushin to me once more.

56

FIRST LOVE

XI

On the evening of that same day the customary
visitors assembled at the Zasyekins' ; I was among
the number.
The conversation turned on Maidanoff 's poem ;
Zinaida candidly praised it.—" But do you know
what?" — she said: — " If I were a poet, I would
select other subjects. Perhaps this is all non
sense, but strange thoughts sometimes come into
my head, especially when I am wakeful toward
morning, when the sky is beginning to turn pink
and grey. — I would, for example .... You will
not laugh at me? "
" No! No! "—we all exclaimed with one voice.
" I would depict,"— she went on, crossing her
arms on her breast, and turning her eyes aside,—
" a whole company of young girls, by night, in a
big boat, on a tranquil river. The moon is shin
ing, and they are all in white and wear garlands
of white flowers, and they are singing, you know,
something in the nature of a hymn."
"I understand, I understand, go on,"— said
Maidanoff significantly and dreamily.
" Suddenly there is a noise— laughter, torches,
tambourines on the shore. ... It is a throng of
bacchantes running with songs and outcries. It is
your business to draw the picture, Mr. Poet ....
57

FIRST LOVE
only I would like to have the torches red and very
smoky, and that the eyes of the bacchantes should
gleam beneath their wreaths, and that the wreaths
should be dark. Don't forget also tiger-skins and
cups— and gold, a great deal of gold."
" But where is the gold to be? " inquired Mai
danoff, tossing back his lank hair and inflating his
nostrils. " Where? On the shoulders, the hands, the
feet, everywhere. They say that in ancient times
women wore golden rings on their ankles.— The
bacchantes call the young girls in the boat to
come to them. The girls have ceased to chant
their hymn, — they cannot go on with it, — but they
do not stir; the river drifts them to the shore.
And now suddenly one of them rises quietly. . . .
This must be well described : how she rises quietly
in the moonlight, and how startled her compan
ions are. . . .; She has stepped over the edge of
the boat, the bacchantes have surrounded her,
they have dashed off into the night, into the
gloom. . . . Present at this point smoke in clouds ;
and everything has become thoroughly confused.
Nothing is to be heard but their whimpering, and
her wreath has been left lying on the shore."
Zinaida ceased speaking. " Oh, she is in love ! "
— I thought again.
" Is that all? "-asked Maidanoff.
" That is all,"— she replied.
" That cannot be made the subject of an entire
58

FIRST LOVE
poem,"— he remarked pompously,— " but I will
utilise your idea for some lyrical verses."
" In the romantic vein? "—asked Malevsky.
" Of course, in the romantic vein — in Byron's
style." " But in my opinion, Hugo is better than By
ron," — remarked the young Count, carelessly:—
" he is more interesting."
" Hugo is a writer of the first class," — rejoined
Maidanoff, " and my friend Tonkosheeff , in his
Spanish romance, ' El Trovador '...."
" Ah, that 's the book with the question-marks
turned upside down? "—interrupted Zinaida.
" Yes. That is the accepted custom among the
Spaniards. I was about to say that Tonko
sheeff  "
" Come now ! You will begin to wrangle again
about classicism and romanticism," — Zinaida in
terrupted him again. — " Let us rather play . . . ."
" At forfeits? "—put in Lushin.
" No, forfeits is tiresome ; but at comparisons."
(This game had been invented by Zinaida her
self; some object was named, and each person
tried to compare it with something or other, and
the one who matched the thing with the best com
parison received a prize.) She went to the win
dow. The sun had just set; long, crimson clouds
hung high aloft in the sky.
" What are those clouds like? "—inquired Zi
naida and, without waiting for our answers, she
59

FIRST LOVE
said: — " I think that they resemble those crimson
sails which were on Cleopatra's golden ship, when
she went to meet Antony. You were telling me
about that not long ago, do you remember, Mai
danoff? "
All of us, like Polonius in " Hamlet," decided
that the clouds reminded us precisely of those
sails, and that none of us could find a better com
parison. " And how old was Antony at that time? " —
asked Zinaida.
" He was assuredly still a young man,"— re
marked Malevsky.
" Yes, he was young,"— assented Maidanoff
confidently. " Excuse me," — exclaimed Lushin, — " he was
over forty years of age."
" Over forty years of age," — repeated Zinaida,
darting a swift glance at him. . . .
I soon went home. — " She is in love," my lips
whispered involuntarily. ..." But with whom? "

XII
The days passed by. Zinaida grew more and
more strange, more and more incomprehensible.
One day I entered her house and found her sitting
on a straw-bottomed chair, with her head pressed
against the sharp edge of a table. She straight-
60

FIRST LOVE
ened up . . . . her face was again all bathed in
tears. "Ah! It's you!"— she said, with a harsh
grimace.—" Come hither."
I went up to her: she laid her hand on my head
and, suddenly seizing me by the hair, began to
pull it.
" It hurts "... I said at last.
"Ah! It hurts! And doesn't it hurt me?
Does n't it hurt me? " — she repeated.
" Ai! " — she suddenly cried, perceiving that
she had pulled out a small tuft of my hair. —
" What have I done? Poor M'sieu Voldemar! "
She carefully straightened out the hairs she had
plucked out, wound them round her finger, and
twisted them into a ring.
" I will put your hair in my locket and wear
it," — she said, and tears glistened in her eyes.,^
" Perhaps that will comfort you a little .... but
now, good-bye."
I returned home and found an unpleasant state
of things there. A scene was in progress between
my father and my mother; she was upbraiding
him for something or other, while he, according to
his wont, was maintaining a cold, polite silence—
and speedily went away. I could not hear what
my mother was talking about, neither did I care
to know: I remember only, that, at the conclu
sion of the scene, she ordered me to be called to
her boudoir, and expressed herself with great dis-
61

FIRST LOVE
satisfaction about my frequent visits at the house
of the old Princess, who was, according to her as
sertions, une femme capable de tout. I kissed her
hand ( I always did that when I wanted to put an
end to the conversation) , and went off to my own
room. Zinaida's tears had completely discom
fited me; I positively did not know what to
think, and was ready to cry myself: I was still a
child, in spite of my sixteen years. I thought no
more of Malevsky, although Byelovzoroff be
came more and more menacing every day, and
glared at the shifty Count like a wolf at a sheep ;
but I was not thinking of anything or of any
body. I lost myself in conjectures and kept seek
ing isolated spots. I took a special fancy to the
ruins of the hothouse. ' I could clamber up on the
high wall, seat myself, and sit there such an un
happy, lonely, and sad youth that I felt sorry for
myself — and how delightful those mournful sen
sations were, how I gloated over them ! . ¦. .
One day, I was sitting thus on the wall, gazing
off into the distance and listening to the chiming
of the bells .... when suddenly something ran
over me — not a breeze exactly, not a shiver, but
something resembling a breath, the consciousness
of some one's proximity. ... I dropped my eyes.
Below me, in a light grey gown, with a pink para
sol on her shoulder, Zinaida was walking hastily
along the road. She saw me, halted, and, pushing
62

FIRST LOVE
up the brim of her straw hat, raised her velvety
eyes to mine.
"' What are you doing there, on such a height? "
— she asked me, with a strange sort of smile.—
' There now," — she went on,— " you are always
declaring that you love me— jump down to me
here on the road if you really do love me."
Before the words were well out of Zinaida's
mouth I had flown down, exactly as though some
one had given me a push from behind. The wall
was about two fathoms high. I landed on the
ground with my feet, but the shock was so violent
that I could not retain my balance; I fell, and
lost consciousness for a moment. When I came
to myself I felt, without opening my eyes, that
Zinaida was by my side.-!-" My dear boy," — she
was saying, as she bent over me — and tender anxi
ety was audible in her voice — " how couldst thou
do that, how couldst thou obey? .... I love thee
.... rise.
Her breast was heaving beside me, her hands
were touching my head, and suddenly — what were
my sensations then! — her soft, fresh lips began
to cover my whole face with kisses .... they
touched my lips. . . . But at this point Zinaida
probably divined from the expression of my face
that I had already recovered consciousness, al
though I still did not open my eyes— and swiftly
rising to her feet, she said:—" Come, get up, you
63

FIRST LOVE
rogue, you foolish fellow ! Why do you lie there
in the dust? "—I got up.
" Give me my parasol," — said Zinaida. — " I
have thrown it somewhere; and don't look at me
like that  what nonsense is this? You are
hurt? You have burned yourself with the nettles,
I suppose. Don't look at me like that, I tell
you. . . . Why, he understands nothing, he doesn't
answer me," — she added, as though speaking to
herself. ..." Go home, M'sieu Voldemar, brush
yourself off, and don't dare to follow me — if you
do I shall be very angry, and I shall never
again . . . ."
She did not finish her speech and walked briskly
away, while I sat down by the roadside . . . my
legs would not support me. The nettles had
stung my hands, my back ached, and my head was
reeling; but the sensation of beatitude which I
^then experienced has never since been repeated in
my life. It hung like a sweet pain in all my limbs
and broke out at last in rapturous leaps and ex
clamations. As a matter of fact, I was still a
child. XIII
I was so happy and proud all that day; I pre
served so vividly on my visage the feeling of Zi-
naida's kisses ; I recalled her every word with such
ecstasy ; I so cherished my unexpected happiness
that I even became frightened; I did not even
64

I

FIRST LOVE
wish to see her who was the cause of those new
sensations. It seemed to me that I could ask
nothing more of Fate, that now I must " take
and draw a deep breath for the last time, and
die." On the other hand, when I set off for the
wing next day, I felt a great agitation, which I
vainly endeavoured to conceal beneath the dis
creet facial ease suitable for a man who wishes to
let it be understood that he knows how to keep a
secret. Zinaida received me very simply, without
any emotion, merely shaking her finger at me and
asking: Had I any bruises? All my discreet ease
of manner and mysteriousness instantly disap
peared, and along with them my agitation. Of
course I had not expected anything in particular,
1 but Zinaida's composure acted on me like a dash
of cold water. ; I understood that I was a child in
her eyes — and my heart waxed very heavy! Zi
naida paced to and fro in the room, smiling
swiftly every time she glanced at me; but her
thoughts were far away, I saw that clearly 
" Shall I allude to what happened yesterday my
self,"— I thought:— " shall I ask her where she
was going in such haste, in order to find out,
definitively? " . . • • but I merely waved my hand
in despair and sat down in a corner.
Byelovzoroff entered; I was delighted to see
him. " I have not found you a gentle saddle-horse,"
—he began in a surly tone ; — " Freitag vouches
65

FIRST LOVE
to me for one— but I am not convinced. I am
afraid." " Of what are you afraid, allow me to in
quire? " asked Zinaida.
" Of what? Why, you don't know how to ride.
God forbid that any accident should happen!
And what has put that freak into your head ? "
" Come, that 's my affair, M'sieu my wild beast.
| In that case, I will ask Piotr Vasilievitch " . . . .
(My father was called Piotr Vasilievitch .... I
was amazed that she should mention his name so
lightly and freely, exactly as though she were
convinced of his readiness to serve her.)
' You don't say so! " — retorted Byelovzoroff.
— " Is it with him that you wish to ride? "
" With him or some one else, —that makes no
difference to you. Only not with you."
" Not with me," — said Byelovzoroff. — " As
you like. What does it matter? I will get you
the horse."
" But see to it that it is not a cow-like beast. I
warn you in advance that I mean to gallop."
" Gallop, if you wish. . . . But is it with Malev
sky that you are going to ride? "
" And why should n't I ride with him, warrior?
Come, quiet down. I '11 take you too. You know
that for me Malevsky is now — fie! " — She shook
her head.
' You say that just to console me," — growled
Byelovzoroff. 66

FIRST LOVE
Zinaida narrowed her eyes.—" Does that con
sole you? . . oh . . oh . . . oh . . warrior! "—she said
at last, as though unable to find any other word.—
" And would you like to ride with us, M'sieu Vol
demar? "
" I 'm not fond of riding .... in a large party,"
... I muttered, without raising my eyes.
' You prefer a tete-a-tete? . . . Well, every one
to his taste," — she said, with a sigh. — " But go,
Byelovzoroff, make an effort. I want the horse
for to-morrow."
" Yes; but where am I to get the money? " —
interposed the old Princess.
Zinaida frowned.
" I am not asking any from you; Byelovzoroff
will trust me."
" He will, he will," .... grumbled the old Prin
cess — and suddenly screamed at the top of her
voice: — " Dunyashka! "
" Maman, I made you a present of a bell,"— re
marked the young Princess.
" Dunyashka! " — repeated the old woman.
Byelovzoroff bowed himself out; I went out
with him. Zinaida did not detain me.
XIV
I rose early the next morning, cut myself a staff,
and went off beyond the city barrier. " I '11 have
a walk and banish my grief,"— I said to myself.
67

FIRST LOVE
It was a beautiful day, brilliant but not too hot;
a cheerful, fresh breeze was blowing over the
earth and rustling and playing moderately, keep
ing in constant motion and agitating nothing.
For a long time I roamed about on the hills and
in the forests. I did not feel happy; I had left
home with the intention of surrendering myself
to melancholy;— but youth, the fine weather, the
fresh air, the diversion of brisk pedestrian exer-
ercise, the delight of lying in solitude on the thick
grass, produced their effect ; the memory of those
unforgettable words, of those kisses, again thrust
themselves into my soul. It was pleasant to me
to think that Zinaida could not, nevertheless, fail
to do justice to my decision, to my heroism. . . .
" Others are better for her than I," — I thought:
— " so be it! On the other hand, the others only
say what they will do, but I have done it! And
what else am I capable of doing for her? " — My
imagination began to ferment. I began to pic
ture to myself how I would save her from the
hands of enemies; how, all bathed in blood, I
would wrest her out of prison; how I would
die at her feet. I recalled a picture which hung
in our drawing-room of Malek-Adel carrying
off Matilda — and thereupon became engrossed
in the appearance of a big, speckled woodpecker
which was busily ascending the slender trunk
of a birch-tree, and uneasily peering out from
behind it, now on the right, now on the left,
68

FIRST LOVE
like a musician from behind the neck of his
bass-viol. Then I began to sing: " Not the white snows,"
— and ran off into the romance which was well
known at that period, " I will await thee when the
playful breeze " ; then I began to recite aloud
Ermak's invocation to the stars in Khomyakoff 's
tragedy ; I tried to compose something in a senti
mental vein; I even thought out the line where
with the whole poem was to conclude: " Oh, Zi
naida! Zinaida!" — But it came to nothing.
Meanwhile, dinner-time was approaching. I de
scended into the valley; a narrow, sandy path
wound through it and led toward the town. I
strolled along that path. . . . The dull tramp
ling of horses' hoofs resounded behind me. I
glanced round, involuntarily came to a stand
still and pulled off my cap. I beheld my
father and Zinaida. They were riding side
by side. My father was saying something to
her, bending his whole body toward her,
and resting his hand on the neck of her horse;
he was smiling. Zinaida was listening to him in
silence, with her eyes severely downcast and lips
compressed. At first I saw only them; it was
not until several moments later that Byelovzoroff
made his appearance from round a turn in the
valley, dressed in hussar uniform with pelisse, and
mounted on a foam-flecked black horse. The
good steed was tossing his head, snorting and cur-
69

FIRST LOVE
vetting; the rider was both reining him in and
spurring him on. I stepped aside. My father
gathered up his reins and moved away from Zi
naida ; she slowly raised her eyes to his— and both
set off at a gallop. . . . Byelovzoroff dashed head
long after them with clanking sword. " He is as
red as a crab,"— I thought,—" and she. . . . Why
is she so pale? She has been riding the whole
morning — and yet she is pale? "
I redoubled my pace and managed to reach
home just before dinner. My father was already
sitting, re-dressed, well-washed and fresh, beside
my mother's arm-chair, and reading aloud to her
in his even, sonorous voice, the feuilleton of the
Journal des Debats; but my mother was listen
ing to him inattentively and, on catching sight of
me, inquired where I had been all day, adding,
that she did not like to have me prowling about
God only knew where and God only knew with
whom. ] " But I have been walking alone," — I
was on the point of replying; but I glanced at
my father and for some reason or other held my
peace. - XV
During the course of the next five or six days I
hardly saw Zinaida; she gave it out that she was
ill, which did not, however, prevent the habitual
visitors from presenting themselves at the wing
— "to take their turn in attendance," — as they
70

FIRST LOVE
expressed it;— all except Maidanoff, who imme
diately became dispirited as soon as he had no
opportunity to go into raptures. Byelovzoroff
sat morosely in a corner, all tightly buttoned up
and red in the face ; on Count Malevsky's delicate
visage hovered constantly a sort of evil smile; he
really had fallen into disfavour with Zinaida and
listened with particular pains to the old Princess,
and drove with her to the Governor-General's in
a hired carriage. But this trip proved unsuccess
ful and even resulted in an unpleasantness for
Malevsky : he was reminded of some row with cer
tain Puteisk officers, and was compelled, in self-
justification, to say that he was inexperienced at
the time. Lushin came twice a day, but did not
remain long. I was somewhat afraid of him after
our last explanation and, at the same time, I felt
a sincere attachment for him. One day he went
for a stroll with me in the Neskutchny Park, was
very good-natured and amiable, imparted to me
the names and properties of various plants and'
flowers, and suddenly exclaimed — without rhyme
or reason, as the saying is — as he smote himself on
the brow: " And I, like a fool, thought she was a
coquette ! [Evidently, it is sweet to sacrifice one's
self— for some people! "
" What do you mean to say by that? "—I
asked. " I don't mean to say anything to you,"— re
turned Lushin, abruptly. 71

FIRST LOVE
L, Zinaida avoided me; my appearance— I could
not but perceive the fact— produced an unpleas
ant impression on her. She involuntarily turned
away from me ... . involuntarily; that was
what was bitter, that was what broke my heart!
But there was no help for it and I tried to keep
out of her sight and only stand guard over her
from a distance, in which I was not always suc
cessful. As before, something incomprehensible
was taking place with her; her face had become
different — she was altogether a different person.
I was particularly struck by the change which had
taken place in her on a certain warm, tranquil
evening. Lwas sitting on a low bench under a
wide-spreading elder-bush; I loved that little
nook; the window of Zinaida's chamber was visi
ble thence. I was sitting there ; over my head, in
the darkened foliage, a tiny bird was rummaging
fussily about; a great cat with outstretched back
had stolen into the garden, and the first beetles
were booming heavily in the air, which was still
transparent although no longer light. I sat there
and stared at the window, and waited to see whe
ther some one would not open it: and, in fact, it
did open, and Zinaida made her appearance in it.
She wore a white gown, and she herself — her face,
her shoulders and her hands — was pale to white
ness. She remained for a long time motionless,
and for a long time stared, without moving,
straight in front of her from beneath her con-
72

FIRST LOVE
tracted brows. I did not recognise that look in
her. Then she clasped her hands very, very
tightly, raised them to her lips, to her forehead—
and suddenly, unlocking her fingers, pushed
her hair away from her ears, shook it back and,
throwing her head downward from above with a
certain decisiveness, she shut the window with a
bang. Two days later she met me in the park. I tried
to step aside, but she stopped me.
" Give me your hand," — she said to me, with
her former affection. — " It is a long time since
you and I have had a chat."
I looked at her; her eyes were beafhing softly
and her face was smiling, as though athwart a
mist. " Are you still ailing? "—I asked her.
" No, everything has passed off now," — she re
plied, breaking off a small, red rose.—" I am a
little tired, but that will pass off also."
" And will you be once more the same as you
used to be? "—I queried.
Zinaida raised the rose to her face, and it
seemed to me as though the reflection of the bril
liant petals fell upon her cheeks.—" Have I
changed? "—she asked me.
" Yes, 5^ou have changed,"— I replied in a low
voice. " I was cold toward you,— I know that,"— be
gan Zinaida;—" but you must not pay any heed
73

FIRST LOVE
to that. ... I could not do otherwise. . . .
Come, what 's the use of talking about that? "
' You do not want me to love you— that 's
what!" I exclaimed gloomily, with involuntary
impetuosity. ' Yes, love me, but not as before."
"How then?"
"Let us be friends, — that is how! " — Zinaida
allowed me to smell of the rose. — " Listen; I am
much older than you, you know — I might be your
aunt, really; well, if not your aunt, then your
elder sister. While you . . . ."
" I am a child to you," — I interrupted her.
" Well, yes, you are a child, but a dear, good,
clever child, of whom I am very fond. Do you
know what? I will appoint you to the post of my
page from this day forth ; and you are not to for
get that pages must not be separated from their
mistress. Here is a token of your new dignity
for you," — she added, sticking the rose into the
button -hole of my round-jacket; " a token of our
favour toward you."
" I have received many favours from you in
the past," — I murmured.
" Ah! " — said Zinaida, and darting a sidelong
glance at me. — "What a memory you have!
Well? And I am ready now also . . . ."
And bending toward me, she imprinted on my
brow a pure, calm kiss.
I only stared at her — but she turned away and,
74

FIRST LOVE
saying,—" Follow me, my page,"— walked to
the wing. I followed her— and was in a con
stant state of bewilderment.—" Is it possible,"—
I thought,—" that this gentle, sensible young girl
is that same Zinaida whom I used to know? " —
And her very walk seemed to me more quiet, her
whole figure more majestic, more graceful. . . .
, And, my God! with what fresh violence did
love flame up within me! XVI
After dinner the visitors were assembled again
in the wing, and the young Princess came out to
them. The whole company was present, in full
force, as on that first evening, never to be forgot
ten by me: even Nirmatzky had dragged himself
thither. Maidanoff had arrived earlier than all
the rest; he had brought some new verses. The
game of forfeits began again, but this time with
out the strange sallies, without pranks and up
roar; the gipsy element had vanished. Zinaida
gave a new mood to our gathering. I sat beside
her, as a page should. Among other things, she
proposed that the one whose forfeit was drawn
should narrate his dream; but this was not a suc
cess. The dreanjs turned out to be either unin
teresting (Byelovzoroff had dreamed that he had
fed his horse on carp, and that it had a wooden
head), or unnatural, fictitious. Maidanoff re-
75

FIRST LOVE
galed us with a complete novel ; there were sepul
chres and angels with harps, and burning lights
and sounds wafted from afar. Zinaida did not
allow him to finish. " If it is a question of inven
tion," — said she, — " then let each one relate some
thing which is positively made up." — Byelov
zoroff had to speak first.
The young hussar became confused. — " I can
not invent anything!" — he exclaimed.
"What nonsense!" — interposed Zinaida. —
" Come, imagine, for instance, that you are mar
ried, and tell us how you would pass the time
with your wife. Would you lock her up? "
" I would."
"" And would you sit with her yourself? "
" I certainly would sit with her myself."
" Very good. Well, and what if that bored
her, and she betrayed you? "
" I would kill her." "
" Just so. Well, now supposing that I were
your wife, what would you do then? "
Byelovzoroff made no answer for a while. — " I
would kill myself . . . ."
Zinaida burst out laughing. — " I see that
there 's not much to be got out of you."
The second forfeit fell to Zinaida's share. She
raised her eyes to the ceiling and meditated.—
" See here,"— she began at last,—" this is what I
have devised. . . . Imagine to yourselves a mag
nificent palace, a summer night, and a marvellous
76

FIRST LOVE
ball. This ball is given by the young Queen.
Everywhere there are gold, marble, silk, lights,
diamonds, flowers, the smoke of incense— all the
whims of luxury."
" Do you love luxury? "—interrupted Lushin.
"Luxury is beautiful,"— she returned;— "I
love everything that is beautiful."
" More than what is fine? "—he asked.
" That is difficult; somehow I don't understand.
Don't bother me. So then, there is a magnificent
ball. There are many guests, they are all young,
very handsome, brave; all are desperately in love
with the Queen."
" Are there no women among the guests? " —
inquired Malevsky.
" No— or stay— yes, there are."
" Also very handsome? "
" Charming. But the men are all in love with
the Queen. She is tall and slender; she wears a
small gold diadem on her black hair."
I looked at Zinaida — and at that moment she
seemed so far above us, her white forehead and
her impassive eyebrows exhaled so much clear in
telligence and such sovereignty, that I said to my
self : " Thou thyself art that Queen! "
"All throng around her,"— pursued Zinaida;
— " all lavish the most flattering speeches on her."
r" And is she fond of flattery? "—asked Lushin.
"How intolerable! He is continually inter
rupting. . . Who does not like flattery?"]
77

FIRST LOVE
" One more final question,"— remarked Malev
sky: — " Has the Queen a husband? "
" I have not thought about that. No, why
should she have a husband? "
"Of course," — assented Malevsky; — "why
should she have a husband? "
"Silence!" — exclaimed, in English, Maida
noff, who spoke French badly.
" Merci," — said Zinaida to him. — " So then,
the Queen listens to those speeches, listens to the
music, but does not look at a single one of the
guests. Six windows are open from top to bot
tom, from ceiling to floor, and behind them are
the dark sky with great stars and the dark garden
with huge trees. The Queen gazes into the gar
den. There, near the trees is a fountain : it gleams
Avhite athwart the gloom — long, as long as a
spectre. The Queen hears the quiet plashing of
its waters in the midst of the conversation and the
music. / She gazes and thinks : ' All of you gen
tlemen are noble, clever, wealthy; you are all
ready to die at my feet, I rule over you; ....
but yonder, by the side of the fountain, by the
side of that plashing water, there is standing and
waiting for me the man whom I love, who rules
over me. He wears no rich garments, nor pre
cious jewels; no one knows him; but he is waiting
for me, and is convinced that I shall come — and
I shall come, and there is no power in existence
which can stop me when I wish to go to him and
78

FIRST LOVE
remain with him and lose myself with him yonder,
in the gloom of the park, beneath the rustling of
the trees, beneath the plashing of the foun
tain/ Zinaida ceased speaking.
" Is that an invention? " — asked Malevsky
slyly- Zinaida did not even glance at him.
" But what should we do, gentlemen," — sud
denly spoke up Lushin, — " if we were among the
guests and knew about that lucky man by the
fountain? "
" Stay, stay," — interposed Zinaida: — " I my
self will tell you what each one of you would do.
You, Byelovzoroff, would challenge him to a
duel ; you, Maidanoff, would write an epigram on
him. . . . But no — you do not know how to
write epigrams ; you would compose a long iambic
poem on him, after the style of Barbier, and
would insert your production in the Telegraph.
You, Nirmatzky, would borrow from him ....
no, you would lend him money on interest; you,
doctor . . . ." She paused. ..." I really do
not know about you,— what you would do."
" In my capacity of Court-physician," replied
Lushin, " I would advise the Queen not to give
balls when she did not feel in the mood for
guests . . . ."
" Perhaps you would be in the right. And you,
Count?" 79

FIRST LOVE
"And I?"— repeated Malevsky, with an evil
smile. " And you would offer him some poisoned
sugar-plums." Malevsky's face writhed a little and assumed
for a moment a Jewish expression; but he imme
diately burst into a guffaw.
" As for you, M'sieu Voldemar  "
went on Zinaida, — "but enough of this; let us
play at some other game."
" " M'sieu Voldemar, in his capacity of page to
the Queen, would hold up her train when she ran
off into the park," — remarked Malevsky vi
ciously. I flared up, but Zinaida swiftly laid her hand
on my shoulder and rising, said in a slightly
tremulous voice: — " I have never given Your
Radiance the right to be insolent, and therefore
I beg that you will withdraw." — She pointed him
to the door.
" Have mercy, Princess," — mumbled Malev
sky, turning pale all over.
" The Princess is right," — exclaimed Byelov
zoroff, rising to his feet also.
" By God! I never in the least expected this,"
—went on Malevsky:—" I think there was noth
ing in my words which .... I had no intention of
offending you. . . . Forgive me."
Zinaida surveyed him with a cold glance, and
smiled coldly. — " Remain, if you like,"— she said,
80

FIRST LOVE
with a careless wave of her hand.—" M'sieu
Voldemar and I have taken offence without
cause. You find it merry to jest. ... I wish you
well." " Forgive me,"— repeated Malevsky once
more; and I, recalling Zinaida's movement,
thought again that a real queen could not have
ordered an insolent man out of the room with
more majesty.
The game of forfeits did not continue long
after this little scene ; all felt somewhat awkward,
not so much in consequence of the scene itself as
from another, not entirely defined, but oppressive
sensation. No one alluded to it, but each one was
conscious of its existence within himself and in his
neighbour. Maidanoff recited to us all his poems
— and Malevsky lauded them with exaggerated
warmth. " How hard he is trying to appear amiable
now,"— Lushin whispered to me.
We soon dispersed. Zinaida had suddenly
grown pensive; the old Princess sent word that
she had a headache; Nirmatzky began to com
plain of his rheumatism. . . .
For a long time I could not get to sleep; Zi
naida's narrative had impressed me.—" Is it pos
sible that it contains a hint? "—I asked myself:
— " and at whom was she hinting? And if there
really is some one to hint about .... what must
I decide to do? No, no, it cannot be,"— I whis-
81

FIRST LOVE
pered, turning over from one burning cheek to
the other. . . . But I called to mind the expres
sion of Zinaida's face during her narration. ... I
called to mind the exclamation which had broken
from Lushin in the Neskutchny Park, the sudden
changes in her treatment of me— and lost myself
in conjectures. " Who is he? " Those three words
seemed to stand in front of my eyes, outlined in
the darkness; a low-lying, ominous cloud seemed
to be hanging over me — and I felt its pressure—
and waited every moment for it to burst. I had
grown used to many things of late; I had seen
many things at the Zasyekins'; their disorderli-
ness, tallow candle-ends, broken knives and forks,
gloomy Vonifaty, the shabby maids, the man
ners of the old Princess herself, — all that strange
life no longer surprised me. . . . But to that
which I now dimly felt in Zinaida I could not get
used . . . . " An adventuress," — my mother had
one day said concerning her. An adventuress —
she, my idol, my divinity! That appellation
seared me ; I tried to escape from it by burrowing
into my pillow; I raged — and at the same time,
to what would not I have agreed, what would not
I have given, if only I might be that happy mor
tal by the fountain ! . . .
My blood grew hot and seethed within me.
" A garden .... a fountain," ... I thought.
..." I will go into the garden." I dressed my
self quickly and slipped out of the house. The
82

FIRST LOVE
night was dark, the trees were barely whispering ;
a quiet chill was descending from the sky, an
odour of fennel was wafted from the vegetable-
garden. I made the round of all the alleys; the
light sound of my footsteps both disconcerted me
and gave me courage; I halted, waiting and lis
tening to hear how my heart was beating quickly
and violently. At last I approached the fence and
leaned against a slender post. All at once — or
was it only my imagination? — a woman's figure
flitted past a few paces distant from me. ... I
strained my eyes intently on the darkness ; I held
my breath. What was this? Was it footsteps
that I heard or was it the thumping of my heart
again?—" Who is here? "—I stammered in barely
audible tones. What was that again? A sup
pressed laugh ? .... or a rustling in the leaves ?
.... or a sigh close to my very ear ? I was terri
fied. ..." Who is here? " — I repeated, in a still
lower voice.
The breeze began to flutter for a moment; a
fiery band flashed across the sky ; a star shot down.
— " Is it Zinaida? "—I tried to ask, but the sound
died on my lips. And suddenly everything be
came profoundly silent all around, as often hap
pens in the middle of the night. . . . Even the
katydids ceased to shrill in the trees ; only a win
dow rattled somewhere. I stood and stood, then
returned to my chamber, to my cold bed. I felt
a strange agitation— exactly as though I had
83

FIRST LOVE
gone to a tryst, and had remained alone, and had
passed by some one else's happiness.
XVII
The next day I caught only a glimpse of Zi
naida; she drove away somewhere with the old
Princess in a hired carriage. On the other hand,
I saw Lushin — who, however, barely deigned to
bestow a greeting on me — and Malevsky. The
young Count grinned and entered into conversa
tion with me in friendly wise. Among all the
visitors to the wing he alone had managed to ef
fect an entrance to our house, and my mother had
taken a fancy to him. My father did not favour
him and treated him politely to the point of insult.
" Ah, monsieur le page,"— began Malevsky,
— "I am very glad to meet you. What is your
beauteous queen doing? "
His fresh, handsome face was so repulsive to
me at that moment, and he looked at me with such
a scornfully-playful stare, that I made him no
answer whatsoever.
" Are you still in a bad humour? "—he went on.
— " There is no occasion for it. It was not I, you
know, who called you a page; and pages are
chiefly with queens. But permit me to observe to
you that you are fulfilling your duties badly."
"How so?"
" Pages ought to be inseparable from their sov-
84

FIRST LOVE
ereigns; pages ought to know everything that
they do; they ought even to watch over them,"—
he added, lowering his voice, — " day and night."
" What do you mean by that? "
' What do I mean? I think I have expressed
myself plainly. Day— and night. It does not
matter so much about the day; by day it is
light and there are people about; but by night
— that 's exactly the time to expect a catastrophe.
I advise you not to sleep o' nights and to watch,
watch with all your might. Remember — in a gar
den, by night, near the fountain — that 's where
you must keep guard. You will thank me for
this." Malevsky laughed and turned his back on me.
He did not, in all probability, attribute any
special importance to what he had said to me ;jfhe
bore the reputation of being a capital hand at
mystification, and was renowned for his cleverness
in fooling people at the masquerades, in which
that almost unconscious disposition to lie, where
with his whole being was permeated, greatly
aided him. |. . . He had merely wished to tease
me; but every word of his trickled like poison
through all my veins.— The blood flew to my
head. "Ah! so that's it!"— I said to myself:—
" good! So it was not for nothing that I felt
drawn to the garden! That shall not be! " I ex
claimed, smiting myself on the breast with my
85

FIRST LOVE
fist; although I really did not know what it was
that I was determined not to permit. — " Whether
Malevsky himself comes into the garden," — I
thought ( perhaps he had blurted out a secret ; he
was insolent enough for that),— "or some one
else," — (the fence of our vegetable -garden was
very low and it cost no effort to climb over it) —
" at any rate, it will be all the worse for the person
whom I catch ! I would not advise any one to en
counter me ! I '11 show the whole world and her,
the traitress," — (I actually called her a traitress)
— " that I know how to avenge myself! "
I returned to my own room, took out of my
writing-table a recently purchased English knife,
felt of the sharp blade, and, knitting my brows,
thrust it into my pocket with a cold and concen
trated decision, exactly as though it was nothing
remarkable for me to do such deeds, and this was
not the first occasion. My heart swelled angrily
within me and grew stony; I did not unbend my
brows until nightfall and did not relax my lips,
and kept striding back and forth, clutching the
knife which had grown warm in my pocket, and
preparing myself in advance for something ter
rible. These new, unprecedented emotions so en
grossed and even cheered me, that I thought very
little about Zinaida herself. There kept con
stantly flitting through my head Aleko, the
young gipsy:1 — "Where art thou going, hand-
*ln Pushkin's poem, "The Gipsies."— Translator.
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FIRST LOVE
some youth? — Lie down . . . ." and then:
" Thou 'rt all with blood bespattered ! .... Oh,
what is 't that thou hast done? . . . Nothing!"
With what a harsh smile I repeated that: that
"Nothing!" My father was not at home; but my mother,
who for some time past had been in a state of al
most constant, dull irritation, noticed my baleful
aspect at supper, and said to me: — " What art
thou sulking at, like a mouse at groats? "—I
merely smiled patronisingly at her by way of re
ply and thought to myself: " If they only knew! "
— The clock struck eleven; I went to my own
room but did not undress ; I was waiting for mid
night; at last it struck.—" 'T is time! "—I hissed
between my teeth, and buttoning my coat to the
throat and even turning up my sleeves I betook
myself to the garden.
I had selected a place beforehand where I
meant to stand on guard. At the end of the gar
den, at the spot where the fence, which separated
our property from the Zasyekins', abutted on the
party-wall, grew a solitary spruce-tree. Stand
ing beneath its low, thick branches, I could see
well, as far as the nocturnal gloom permitted, all
that went on around ; there also meandered a path
which always seemed to me mysterious ; like a ser
pent it wound under the fence, which at that
point bore traces of clambering feet, and led to
an arbour of dense acacias. I reached the spruce-
87

>

FIRST LOVE
tree, leaned against its trunk and began my
watch. The night was as tranquil as the preceding one
had been; but there were fewer storm-clouds in
the sky, and the outlines of the bushes, even of the
tall flowers, were more plainly discernible. The
first moments of waiting were wearisome, almost
terrible. I had made up my mind to everything;
I was merely considering how I ought to act.
Ought I to thunder out: "Who goes there?
Halt! Confess — or die!" — or simply smite. . .
Every sound, every noise and rustling seemed to
me significant, unusual .... I made ready ....
I bent forward  But half an hour, an hour,
elapsed ; my blood quieted down and turned cold ;
the consciousness that I was doing all this in vain,
that I was even somewhat ridiculous, that Malev
sky had been making fun of me, began to steal
into my soul. I abandoned my ambush and made
the round of the entire garden. As though ex
pressly, not the slightest sound was to be heard
anywhere; everything was at rest; even our dog
was asleep, curled up in a ball at the gate. I
climbed up on the ruin of the hothouse, beheld
before me the distant plain, recalled my meeting
with Zinaida, and became immersed in medita
tion 
I started .... I thought I heard the creak of
an opening door, then the light crackling of a
broken twig. In two bounds I had descended
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FIRST LOVE
from the ruin— and stood petrified on the spot.
Swift, light but cautious footsteps were plainly
audible in the garden. They were coming toward
me. " Here he is. . . . Here he is, at last!"—
darted through my heart. I convulsively jerked
the knife out of my pocket, convulsively opened
it — red sparks whirled before my eyes, the hair
stood up on my head with fright and wrath. . . .
The steps were coming straight toward me — I
bent over, and went to meet them. ... A man
made his appearance. . . i . My God ! It was my
father! \
I recognised him instantly, although he was all
enveloped in a dark cloak, — and had pulled his
hat down over his face. He went past me on tip
toe. He did not notice me although nothing con
cealed me; but I had so contracted myself and
shrunk together that I think I must have been on
a level with the ground. The jealous Othello,
prepared to murder, had suddenly been converted
into the school-boy. ... I was so frightened by
the unexpected apparition of my father that I did
not even takeHote, at first, in what direction he
was going and where he had disappeared. I
merely straightened up at the moment and
thought : " Why is my father walking in the gar
den by night? "—when everything around had re
lapsed into silence. ^In my alarm I had_drop_ped
my knife in the grass, but I did not even try to
ImTTItnTfelt very much ashamed. I became so-
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FIRST LOVE
bered on the instant. But as I wended my way
home, I stepped up to my little bench under the
elder-bush and cast a glance at the little window
of Zinaida's chamber. The small, somewhat
curved panes of the little window gleamed dully
blue in the faint light which fell from the night
sky. Suddenly their colour began to undergo a
change. . . . Behind them — I saw it, saw it
clearly, — a whitish shade was lowered, descended
to the sill, — and there remained motionless.
" What is the meaning of that? " — I said aloud,
almost involuntarily, when I again found myself
in my own room. — " Was it a dream, an accident,
or ... . "The surmises which suddenly came
into my head were so new and strange that I
dared not even yield to them.}
XVIII
I rose in the morning with a headache. My agi
tation of the night before had vanished. It had
been replaced by an oppressive perplexity and a
certain, hitherto unknown sadness, — exactly as
though something had died in me.
" What makes you look like a rabbit which has
had half of its brain removed? " — said Lushin,
who happened to meet me. At breakfast I kept
casting covert glances now at my father, now at
my mother; he was calm, as usual; she, as usual,
was secretly irritated. I waited to see whether
90

FIRST LOVE
my father would address me in a friendly way, as
he sometimes did. . . . But he did not even ca
ress me with his cold, everyday affection.—
"Shall I tell Zinaida all?"— I thought. . . .
" For it makes no difference now— everything is
over between us." I went to her, but I not only
did not tell her anything, — I did not even get a
chance to talk to her as I would have liked. The
old Princess's son, a cadet aged twelve, had come
from Petersburg to spend his vacation with her;
Zinaida immediately confided her brother to me.
— " Here, my dear Volodya,"— said she (she
called me so for the first time) , " is a comrade for
you. His name is Volodya also. Pray, like him ;
he 's a wild little fellow still, but he has a good
heart. Show him Neskutchny Park, walk with
him, take him under your protection. You will
do that, will you not? You, too, are such a good
fellow! " — She laid both hands affectionately on
my shoulder— and I was reduced to utter confu
sion. The arrival of that boy turned me into a
boy. I stared in silence at the cadet, who riveted
his eyes in corresponding silence on me. Zinaida
burst out laughing and pushed us toward each
other. — "Come, embrace, children! "—We em
braced.—" I '11 take you into the garden if you
wish,— shall I? "—I asked the cadet.
" Certainly, sir,"— he replied, in a hoarse,
genuine cadet voice. Again Zinaida indulged in
a burst of laughter. ... I managed to notice
91

FIRST LOVE
that never before had she had such charming col
our in her face. The cadet and I went off to
gether. In our garden stood an old swing. I
seated him on the thin little board and began to
swing him. He sat motionless in his new little
uniform of thick cloth with broad gold galloon,
and clung tightly to the ropes.
" You had better unhook your collar," — I said
to him.
" Never mind, sir,1 we are used to it, sir," — he
said, and cleared his throat.
He resembled his sister; his eyes were particu
larly suggestive of her. It was pleasant to me to
be of service to him; and, at the same time, that
aching pain kept quietly gnawing at my heart.
"Now I really am a child," I thought; "but
last night . ..." I remembered where I had
dropped my knife and found it. The cadet asked
me to lend it to him, plucked a thick stalk of
lovage, cut a whistle from it, and began to pipe.
Othello piped also.
But in the evening, on the other hand, how he
did weep, that same Othello, over Zinaida's hands
when, having sought him out in a corner of the
garden, she asked him what made him so melan
choly. My tears streamed with such violence that
she was frightened. — " What is the matter with
you? What is the matter with you, Volodya?"
1 The respectful " s," which is an abbreviation of " sir " or
" madam."— Translate*-
Sfii

FIRST LOVE
— she kept repeating, and seeing that I made her
no reply, she took it into her head to kiss my wet
cheek. But I turned awayjrom her and whis
pered through my sobs: — 'J I know everything:
why have you trifled with me? ... . Why did
you want my love? "__
" I am to blame toward you, Volodya " . . . .
said Zinaida. — " Akh, I am very much to blame "
 she said, and clenched her hands. —
" How much evil, dark, sinful, there is in me! . . .
But I am not trifling with you now, I love you —
you do not suspect why and how. . . . But what
is it you know? "
What could I say to her? She stood before me
and gazed at me — and I belonged to her wholly,
from head to foot, as soon as she looked at me.
... A quarter of an hour later I was running a
race with the cadet and Zinaida; I was not weep
ing ; I was laughing, although my swollen eyelids
dropped tears from laughing; on my neck, in
place of a tie, was bound a ribbon of Zinaida's,
and I shouted with joy when I succeeded in seiz
ing her round the waist. She did with me whatso
ever she would. XIX
I should be hard put to it, if I were made to nar
rate in detail all that went on within me in the
course of the week which followed my unsuccess-
93

FIRST LOVE
ful nocturnal expedition. It was a strange,
feverish time, a sort of chaos in which the most
opposite emotions, thoughts, suspicions, hopes,
joys, and sufferings revolved in a whirlwind; I
was afraid to look into myself, if a sixteen-
year-old can look into himself ; I was afraid to ac
count to myself for anything whatsoever; I sim
ply made haste to live through the day until the
evening ; on the other hand, at night I slept . . .
childish giddiness helped me. I did not want to
know whether I was beloved, and would not ad
mit to myself that I was not beloved ; I shunned
my father— but could not shun Zinaida. ... I
burned as with fire in her presence, .... but
what was the use of my knowing what sort of fire
it was wherewith I burned and melted— seeing
that it was sweet to me to burn and melt ! I sur
rendered myself entirely to my impressions, and
dealt artfully with myself, turned away from my
memories and shut my eyes to that of which I had
a presentiment in the future. . . . This anguish
probably would not have continued long ... a
thunder-clap put an instantaneous end to every
thing and hurled me into a new course.
On returning home one day to dinner from a
rather long walk, I learned with surprise that I
was to dine alone ; that my father had gone away,
while my mother was ill, did not wish to dine
and had shut herself up in her bedroom. From
the footmen's faces I divined that something un-
94

FIRST LOVE
usual had taken place. ... I dared not interro
gate them, but I had a friend, the young butler
Philipp, who was passionately fond of poetry and
an artist on the guitar ; I applied to him. From
him I learned that a frightful scene had taken
place between my father and mother (for in the
maids' room everything was audible, to the last
word; a great deal had been said in French, but
the maid Masha had lived for five years with a
dressmaker from Paris and understood it all) ;
\ that my mother had accused my father of infi-
' delity, of being intimate with the young lady
our neighbour ; that my father had first defended
himself, then had flared up and in his turn had
made some harsh remark " seemingly about her
age," which had set my mother to crying; that my
mother had also referred to a note of hand, which
appeared to have been given to the old Princess,
and expressed herself very vilely about her, and
about the young lady as well; and that then my
father had threatened her. — " And the whole
trouble arose," — pursued Philipp, " out of an
anonymous letter ; but who wrote it no one knows ;
otherwise there was no reason why this affair
should have come out." ,
" But has there been anything? "—I enun
ciated with difficulty, while my hands and feet
turned cold, and something began to quiver in the
very depths of my breast.
Philipp winked significantly.—" There has.
95

FIRST LOVE
You can't conceal such doings, cautious as your
papa has been in this case; — still, what possessed
him, for example, to hire a carriage, or to ... .
for you can't get along without people there
also." I dismissed Philipp, and flung myself down on
my bed. I did not sob, I did not give myself up
to despair; I did not ask myself when and how all
this had taken place; I was not surprised that
I had not guessed it sooner, long before — I did
not even murmur against my father. . . . That
which I had learned was beyond my strength ; this
sudden discovery had crushed me. . . . All was
over. All my flowers had been plucked up at one
blowT and lay strewn around me, scattered and
trampled under foot.

XX
On the following day my mother announced that
she was going to remove to town. My father went
into her bedroom in the morning and sat there
a long time alone with her. No one heard what
he said to her, but my mother did not weep any
more; she calmed down and asked for something
to eat, but did not show herself and did not alter
her intention. I remember that I wandered about
all day long, but did not go into the garden and
did not glance even once at the wing — and in the
96

FIRST LOVE
evening I was the witness of an amazing occur
rence; my father took Count Malevsky by the
arm and led him out of the hall into the anteroom
and, ^in the presence of a lackey, said coldly to
him: , " Several days ago Your Radiance was
shown the door in a certain house. I shall not
enter into explanations with you now, but I have
the honour to inform you that if you come to my
house again I shall fling you through the window.
I don't like your handwriting." The Count
bowed, set his teeth, shrank together, and disap
peared. Preparations began for removing to town, on
the Arbat,1 where our house was situated. Prob
ably my father himself no longer cared to re
main in the villa ; but it was evident that he had
succeeded in persuading my mother not to make
a row. Everything was done quietly, without
haste; my mother even sent her compliments to
the old Princess and expressed her regret that,
owing to ill-health, she would be unable to see
her before her departure. I prowled about like
a crazy person, and desired but one thing,— that
everything might come to an end as speedily as
possible. | One thought never quitted my head:
how could she, a young girl,— well, and a prin
cess into the bargain,— bring herself to such a
step, knowing that my father was not a free man
while she had the possibility of marrying Bye-
1 A square in Moscow.— Translator.
97

FIRST LOVE
lovzoroff at least, for example? What had she
hoped for? How was it that she had not been
afraid to ruin her whole future?—" Yes,"— 1
thought, — " that 's what love is,— that is passion,
—that is devotion," . . . and I recalled Lushin's
words to me: " Self-sacrifice is sweet— for some
people." Once I happened to catch sight of a
white spot in one of the windows of the wing. . . .
" Can that be Zinaida's face? " — I thought; . . .
and it really was her face. I could not hold out.
I could not part from her without bidding her a
last farewell. I seized a convenient moment and
betook myself to the wing.
In the drawing-room the old Princess received
me with her customary, slovenly-careless greet
ing. " What has made your folks uneasy so early,
my dear fellow? " — she said, stuffing snuff up
both her nostrils. I looked at her, and a weight
was removed from my heart. The word " note
of hand " uttered by Philipp tormented me. She
suspected nothing .... so it seemed to me then,
at least. Zinaida made her appearance from the
adjoining room in a black gown, pale, with hair
out of curl ; she silently took me by the hand and
led me away to her room.
" I heard your voice," — she began, — " and
came out at once. And did you find it so easy to
desert us, naughty boy? "
" I have come to take leave of you, Princess,"
98

FIRST LOVE
—I replied,—" probably forever. You may have
heard we are going away."
Zinaida gazed intently at me.
" Yes, I have heard. Thank you for coming.
I was beginning to think that I should not see
you.— Think kindly of me. I have sometimes
tormented you ; but nevertheless I am not the sort
of person you think I am." x
She turned away and leaned against the win
dow-casing. " Really, I am not that sort of person. I know
that you have a bad opinion of me."
"I?"
" Yes, you .... you."
" I? " — I repeated sorrowfully, and my heart
¦began to quiver as of old, beneath the influence of
the irresistible, inexpressible witchery.-!-" I? Be
lieve me, Zinaida AlexahdTovna,--whatever you
may have done, however you may have tormented
me, I shall love and adore you until the end of my
life/1! She turned swiftly toward me and opening her
arms widely, she clasped my head, and kissed me
heartily and warmly. God knows whom that
long, farewell kiss was seeking, but I eagerly
tasted its sweetness. I knew that it would never
more be repeated.—" Farewell, farewell! " I kept
saying. . . .
She wrenched herself away and left the room.
And I withdrew also. I am unable to describe
99

FIRST LOVE
the feeling with which I retired. I should not
wish ever to have it repeated; but I should
consider myself unhappy if I had never experi
enced it.
We removed to town. I did not speedily de
tach myself from the past, I did not speedily take
up my work. My wound healed slowly; but I
really had no evil feeling toward my father. On
the contrary, he seemed to have gained in stature
in my eyes .... let the psychologists explain
this contradiction as best they may. One day I
was walking along the boulevard when, to my in
describable joy, I encountered Lushin. I liked
him for his straightforward, sincere character;
and, moreover, he was dear to me in virtue of the
memories which he awakened in me. I rushed at
him. " Aha! " — he said, with a scowl. — " Is it you,
young man? Come, let me have a look at you.
You are still all sallow, and yet there is not the
olden trash in your eyes. You look like a man,
not like a lap-dog. That 's good. Well, and how
are you? Are you working? "
I heaved a sigh. I did not wish to lie, and I
was ashamed to tell the truth.
' Well, never mind," — went on Lushin,—
" don't be afraid. The principal thing is to live
in normal fashion and not to yield to impulses.
Otherwise, where 's the good? No matter whither
the wave bears one— 't is bad ; let a man stand on
100

FIRST LOVE
a stone if need be, but on his own feet. Here I
am croaking .... but Byelovzoroff —have you
heard about him? "
" What about him? No."
" He has disappeared without leaving a trace;
they say he has gone to the Caucasus. A lesson
to you, young man. And the whole thing arises
from not knowing how to say good-bye,— to
i break bonds in time. You, now, seem to have
jumped out successfully. Look out, don't fall
in again. Farewell."
" I shall not fall in,"— I thought. ..." I
shall see her no more." But I was fated to see
Zinaida once more. XXI
My father was in the habit of riding on horseback
every day; he had a splendid red-roan English
horse, with a long, slender neck and long legs,
indefatigable and vicious. Its name was Elec
tric. No one could ride it except my father.
One day he came to me in a kindly frame of mind,
which had not happened with him for a long time :
he was preparing to ride, and had donned his
spurs. I began to entreat him to take me with
him. " Let us, rather, play at leap-frog,"— replied
my father,—" for thou wilt not be able to keep up
with me on thy cob." 101

FIRST LOVE
" Yes, I shall; I will put on spurs also."
" Well, come along."
We set out. I had a shaggy, black little horse,
strong on its feet and fairly spirited; it had to
gallop with all its might, it is true, when Electruj:
was going at a full trot; but nevertheless I did!
not fall behind. I have never seen such a horse-1
man as my father. His seat was so fine and sol
carelessly-adroit that the horse under him seemed \
to be conscious of it and to take pride in it. We
rode the whole length of all the boulevards,
reached the Maidens' Field,1 leaped over several
enclosures (at first I was afraid to leap, but my
father despised timid people, and I ceased to be
afraid), crossed the Moscow river twice; — and]
I was beginning to think that we were on our way ]
homeward, the more so as my father remarked
that my horse was tired, when suddenly he turned
away from me in the direction of the Crimean
Ford, and galloped along the shore. — I, dashed
after him. When he came on a level with a lofty
pile of old beams which lay heaped together, he
sprang nimbly from Electric, ordered me to
alight and, handing me the bridle of his horse,
told me to wait for him on that spot, near the
beams ; then he turned into a narrow alley and dis-
1 A great plain situated on the outskirts of the town. So called
because (says tradition) it was here that annually were assembled the
young girls who were sent, in addition to the money tribute, to the
Khan, during the Tatar period, in the thirteenth and fourteenth cen
turies. — Translator.
102

FIRST LOVE
appeared. I began to pace back and forth along
the shore, leading the horses after me and scold
ing Electric, who as he walked kept incessantly
twitching his head, shaking himself, snorting and
neighing; when I stood still, he alternately
pawed the earth with his hoof, and squealed and
bit my cob on the neck; in a word, behaved like
a spoiled darling, pur sang. My father did not
return. A disagreeable humidity was wafted
from the river; a fine rain set in and mottled the
stupid, grey beams, around which I was hovering
and of which I was so heartily tired, with tiny,
dark spots. Anxiety took possession of me, but
still my father did not come. A Finnish sentry,
also all grey, with a huge, old-fashioned shako, in
the form of a pot, on his head, and armed with a
halberd (why should there be a sentry, I thought,
on the shores of the Moscow river?), approached
me, and turning his elderly, wrinkled face to me,
he said:
" What are you doing here with those horses,
my little gentleman? Hand them over to me;
I '11 hold them."
I did not answer him; he asked me for some
tobacco. In order to rid myself of him (more
over, I was tortured by impatience) , I advanced
a few paces in the direction in which my father
had retreated; then I walked through the alley
to the very end, turned a corner, and came to a
standstill. On the street, forty paces distant from
103

FIRST LOVE
me, in front of the open window of a small
wooden house, with his back to me, stood my
father; he was leaning his breast on the window-
sill, while in the house, half concealed by the cur
tain, sat a woman in a dark gown talking with my
father: the woman was Zinaida.
I stood rooted to the spot in amazement. I
must confess that I had in nowise expected this.
My first impulse was to flee. " My father will
glance round," I thought,—" and then I am lost."
.... But a strange feeling— a feeling more pow
erful than curiosity, more powerful even than
jealousy, more powerful than fear, — stopped me.
I began to stare, I tried to hear. My father ap
peared to be insisting upon something. Zinaida
would not consent. ; I seem to see her face now—
sad, serious, beautiful, and with an indescribable
imprint of adoration, grief, love, and a sort of de
spair. She uttered monosyllabic words, did not
raise her eyes, and only smiled — submissively and
obstinately. From that smile alone I recognised
my former Zinaida. My father shrugged his
shoulders, and set his hat straight on his head—
which was always a sign of impatience with him.
. . . Then the words became audible : " Vous devez
vous separer de cette." .... Zinaida drew her
self up and stretched out her hand  Sud
denly, before my very eyes, an incredible thing
came to pass: — all at once, my father raised the
riding-whip, with which he had been lashing the
104

FIRST LOVE
dust from his coat-tails,— and the sound of a
sharp blow on that arm, which was bare to the
elbow, rang out. I could hardly keep from
shrieking, but Zinaida started, gazed in silence at
my father, and slowly raising her arm to her lips,
kissed the mark which glowed scarlet upon it.
My father hurled his riding-whip from him,
and running hastily up the steps of the porch,
burst into the house. . . . Zinaida turned round,
and stretching out her arms, and throwing back
her head, she also quitted the window.
My heart swooning with terror, and with a sort
of alarmed perplexity, I darted backward; and
dashing through the alley, and almost letting go
of Electric, I returned to the bank of the river. . .
I could understand nothing. I knew that my cold
and self-contained father was sometimes seized
by fits of wild fury; and yet I could not in the
least comprehend what I had seen. . . . But I
immediately felt that no matter how long I might
live, it would be impossible for me ever to forget
that movement, Zinaida's glance and smile; that
her image, that new image which had suddenly
been presented to me, had forever imprinted itself
on my memory. I stared stupidly at the river and
did not notice that my tears were flowing. J " She
is being beaten,"— I thought. ..." She is being
beaten .... beaten . . ._Jli
" Come, what ails thee?— Give me my horse! "
—rang out my father's voice behind me.
105

FIRST LOVE
I mechanically gave him the bridle. He
sprang upon Electric .... the half-frozen
horse reared on his hind legs and leaped forward
half a fathom .... but my father speedily got
him under control; he dug his spurs into his
flanks and beat him on the neck with his fist. . . .
" Ekh, I have no whip,"— he muttered.
I remembered the recent swish through the air
and the blow of that same whip, and shuddered.
" What hast thou done with it? " — I asked my
father, after waiting a little.
My father did not answer me and galloped on.
I dashed after him. I was determined to get a
look at his face.
"Didst thou get bored in my absence?"— he
said through his teeth.
" A little. But where didst thou drop thy
whip? " — I asked him again.
My father shot a swift glance at me.—" I did
not drop it," — he said, — " I threw it away." — He
reflected for a space and dropped his head ....
and then, for the first and probably for the last
time, I saw how much tenderness and compunc
tion his stern features were capable of express
ing. He set off again at a gallop, and this time I
could not keep up with him; I reached home a
quarter of an hour after him.
" That 's what love is," — I said to myself
again, as I sat at night before my writing-table,
106

FIRST LOVE
on which copy-books and text-books had already /
begun to make their appearance,—" that is what '
passion is ! . . . . How is it possible not to revolt,
how is it possible to endure a blow from any one
whomsoever _. . . . even from the hand that is
most dear?/ But evidently it can be done if one
is in love. . . . And I .... I imagined . . . ." '•
The last month had aged me greatly, and my
love, with all its agitations and sufferings, seemed
to me like something very petty and childish and
wretched in comparison with that other unknown
something at which I could hardly even guess,
and which frightened me like a strange, beauti
ful but menacing face that one strives, in vain,
to get a good look at in the semi-darkness. . . .
That night I had a strange and dreadful
dream. I thought I was entering a low, dark
room  My father was standing there, rid
ing-whip in hand, and stamping his feet ; Zinaida
was crouching in one corner and had a red mark,
not on her arm, but on her forehead .... and
behind the two rose up Byelovzoroff, all bathed
in blood, with his pale lips open, and wrathfully
menacing my father.
Two months later I entered the university, and
six months afterward my father died (of an apo
plectic stroke) in Petersburg, whither he had just
removed with my mother and myself. A few
days before his death my father had received a
letter from Moscow which had agitated him ex-
107

FIRST LOVE
tremely. . . . He went to beg something of my
mother and, I was told, even wept, — he, my fa
ther! On the very morning of the day on which
he had the stroke, he hadjbegun a letter to me in
the French language :j "My son," — he wrote to
me, — " fear the love of women, fear that happi
ness, that poison . . . ." After his death my mo
ther sent a very considerable sum of money to
Moscow. XXII
Four years passed. I had but just left the uni
versity, and did not yet quite know what to do with
myself, at what door to knock ; in the meanwhile,
I was lounging about without occupation. One
fine evening I encountered Maidanoff in the
theatre. He had contrived to many and enter the
government service ; but I found him unchanged.
He went into unnecessary raptures, just as of
old, and became low-spirited as suddenly as ever.
' You know," — he said to me, — " by the way,
that Madame Dolsky is here."
" What Madame Dolsky? "
" Is it possible that you have forgotten? The
former Princess Zasyekin, with whom we were
all in love, you included. At the villa, near Nes
kutchny Park, you remember? "
" Did she marry Dolsky? "
" Yes." 108

FIRST LOVE
" And is she here in the theatre? "
"No, in Petersburg; she arrived here a few
days ago; she is preparing to go abroad.
' What sort of a man is her husband? " — I
asked. " A very fine young fellow and wealthy. He 's
my comrade in the service, a Moscow man. You
understand — after that scandal .... you must
be well acquainted with all that . . . ." (Mai
danoff smiled significantly) , " it was not easy for
her to find a husband; there were consequences
.... but with her brains everything is possible.
Go to her; she will be delighted to see you. She
is handsomer than ever."
Maidanoff gave me Zinaida's address. She
was stopping in the Hotel Demuth. Old memo
ries began to stir in me. ... I promised myself
that I would call upon my former " passion " the
next day. But certain affairs turned up : a week
elapsed, and when, at last, I betook myself to the
i Hotel Demuth and inquired for Madame Dolsky
1 1 learned that she had died four days previously,
| almost suddenly, in childbirth.
Something seemed to deal me a blow in the
heart. The thought that I might have seen her
but had not, and that I should never see her,— that
bitter thought seized upon me with all the force
of irresistible reproach. "Dead!" I repeated,
staring dully at the door-porter, then quietly
made my way to the street and walked away, with-
109

FIRST LOVE
out knowing whither. The whole past surged up
at one blow and stood before me. j And now this
was the way it had ended, this was the goal of that
young, fiery, brilliant life? I thought that— I
pictured to myself those dear features, those eyes,
those curls in the narrow box, in the damp, under
ground gloom, — right there, not far from me,
who was still alive, and, perchance, only a few
paces from my father. ... I thought all that,
I strained my imagination, and yet —
From a mouth indifferent I heard the news of death,
And with indifference did I receive it —
resounded through my soul. O youth, youth!
Thou carest for nothing: thou possessest, as it
were, all the treasures of the universe; even sor
row comforts thee, even melancholy becomes thee ;
thou are self-confident and audacious; thou say-
est: "I alone live — behold!" — But the days
speed on and vanish without a trace and without
reckoning, and everything vanishes in thee, like
wax in the sun, like snow. . . . And perchance
; the whole secret of thy charm consists not in the
I power to do everything, but in the possibility of
thinking that thou wilt do everything— consists
precisely in the fact that thou scatterest to the
winds thy powers which thou hast not understood
how to employ in any other way, — in the fact that
each one of us seriously regards himself as a
prodigal, seriously assumes that he has a right to
110

FLRST LtiVE
say: " Oh, what could I not have done, had I not
wasted my time!" j
And I myself . . . what' did I hope for, what
did I expect, what rich future did I foresee, when
I barely accompanied with a single sigh, with
a single mournful emotion, the spectre of my
first love which had arisen for a brief moment?
And what has come to pass of all for which I
hoped? Even now, when the shades of evening
are beginning to close in upon my life, what is
there that has remained for me fresher, more
precious than the memory of that^ morning spring
thunder-storm which sped so swiftly jastJLi
But I calumniate myself without cause. Even
then, at that frivolous, youthful epoch. I did not
remain deaf to the sorrowful voice which re
sponded within me to the triumphant sound
which was wafted to me from beyond the grave.
I remember that a few days after I learned of
Zinaida's death I was present, by my own irre
sistible longing, at the death-bed of a poor old
woman who lived in the same house with us.
Covered with rags, with a sack under her head,
she died heavily and with difficulty. Her whole
life had been passed in a bitter struggle with daily <
want ; she had seen no joy, she had not tasted the
honey of happiness— it seemed as though she
could not have failed to rejoice at death, at her
release, her repose. But nevertheless, as long as
her decrepit body held out, as long as her breast
Hi

FIRST LOVE
heaved under the icy hand which was laid upon it,
until her last strength deserted her, the old wo
man kept crossing herself and whispering:—" O
Lord, forgive my sins,"— and only with the last
spark of consciousness did there vanish from her
eyes the expression of fear and horror at her ap
proaching end. 1 And I remember that there, by
the bedside of that poor old woman, I felt terri
fied for Zinaida, and felt like praying for her, for
my father — and for myself.'-;

112

A CORRESPONDENCE (1855)

A CORRESPONDENCE
SEVERAL years ago I was in Dresden. I
stopped in the hotel. As I was running
about the town from early morning until late at
night, I did not consider it necessary to make ac
quaintance with my neighbours; at last, acciden
tally, it came to my knowledge that there was a
sick Russian in the house. I went to him, and
found a man in the last stage of consumption.
Dresden was beginning to pall upon me ; I settled
down with my new acquaintance. It is wearisome
to sit with an invalid, but even boredom is agree
able sometimes ; moreover, my invalid was not de
jected, and liked to chat. We endeavoured, in
every way, to kill time: we played "fool" to
gether, we jeered at the doctor. My compatriot
narrated to that very bald German divers fictions
about his own condition, which the doctor always
"had long foreseen"; he mimicked him when he
was surprised at any unprecedented attack, flung
his medicine out of the window, and so forth.
Nevertheless I repeatedly remarked to my
friend that it would not be a bad idea to send for
a good physician before it was too late, that his
malady was not to be jested with, and so forth.
115

A CORRESPONDENCE
But Alexyei (my acquaintance's name was Alex
yei Petrovitch S***) put me off every time with
jests about all doctors in general, and his own in
particular, and at last, one stormy autumn even
ing, to my importunate entreaties, he replied with
such a dejected glance, he shook his head so sadly,
and smiled so strangely, that I felt a certain sur
prise. That same night Alexyei grew worse, and
on the following day he died. Just before his
death his customary cheerfulness deserted him : he
tossed uneasily in the bed, sighed, gazed anx
iously about .... grasped my hand, whispered
with an effort: " 'T is difficult to die, you know,"
.... dropped his head on the pillow, and burst
into tears. I did not know what to say to him,
and sat silently beside his bed. But Alexyei
speedily conquered this last, belated compassion.
..." Listen," he said to me: — " our doctor will
come to-day, and will find me dead  I can
imagine his phiz " . . . . and the dying man
tried to mimic him  He requested me to
send all his things to Russia, to his relatives, with
the exception of a small packet, which he pre
sented to me as a souvenir.
This packet contained letters — the letters of a
young girl to Alexyei and his letters to her.
There were fifteen of them in all. Alexyei Pe
trovitch S*** had known Marya Alexandrovna
B*** for a long time — from childhood, appar
ently. Alexyei Petrovitch had a cousin, and Ma-
116

A CORRESPONDENCE
rya Alexandrovna had a sister. In earlier years
they had all lived together, then they had dis
persed, and had not met again for a long time;
then they had accidentally all assembled again in
the country, in summer, and had fallen in love—
Alexyei's cousin with Marya Alexandrovna, and
Alexyei himself with the latter's sister. Summer
passed and autumn came; they parted. Alexyei
being a sensible man, speedily became convinced
that he was not in the least beloved, and parted
from his beauty very happily; his cousin corre
sponded with Marya Alexandrovna for a couple
of years longer .... but even he divined, at last,
that he was deceiving both her and himself in the
most unconscionable manner, and he also fell
silent. I should like to tell you a little about Marya
Alexandrovna, dear reader, but you will learn to
know her for yourself from her letters. Alexyei
wrote his first letter to her soon after her defini
tive breach with his cousin. He was in Peters
burg at the time, suddenly went abroad, fell ill in
Dresden and died. I have decided to publish his
correspondence with Marya Alexandrovna, and
I hope for some indulgence on the part of the
reader, because these are not love-letters — God
forbid! Love-letters are generally read by two
persons only (but, on the other hand, a thousand
times in succession), and are intolerable, if not
ridiculous, to a third person. 117

A CORRESPONDENCE

From Alexyei Petrovitch to Marya
Alexandrovna
St, Petersburg, March 7, 1840.
My dear Marya Alexandrovna!
I have never yet written to you a single time, I
think, and here I am writing now. ... I have
chosen a strange time, have I not? This is what
has prompted me to it : Mon cousin Theodore has
been to see me to-day, and — how shall I say it?
.... and has informed me, in the strictest pri
vacy (he never imparts anything in any other
way) , that he is in love with the daughter of some
gentleman here, and this time is bent on marrying
without fail, and that he has already taken the
first step — he has explained his intentions! As
a matter of course, I hastened to congratulate
him on an event so pleasant for him ; he has long
stood in need of an explanation .... but in
wardly I was, I confess, somewhat amazed. Al
though I knew that everything was over between
you, yet it seemed to me .... In a word, I was
amazed. I was preparing to go out visiting to
day, but I have remained at home, and intend to
have a little chat with you. If you do not care to
listen to me, throw this letter into the fire imme
diately. I declare to you that I wish to be frank,
118

A CORRESPONDENCE
although I feel that you have a perfect right to
take me for a decidedly-intrusive man. Observe,
however, that I would not have taken pen in hand
if I had not known that your sister is not with
you: Theodore told me that she will be away all
summer visiting your aunt, Madame B***. May
God grant her all good things!
So, then, this is the way it has all turned out. . .
But I shall not offer you my friendship, and so
forth; in general, I avoid solemn speeches, and
"intimate " effusions. In beginning to write this
letter, I have simply obeyed some momentary
impulse : if any other feeling is hiding within me,
let it remain hidden from sight for the present.
Neither shall I attempt to console you. In
consoling others, people generally desire to rid
themselves, as speedily as possible, of the un
pleasant feeling of involuntary, self-conceited
compassion  I understand sincere, warm
sympathy .... but such sympathy is not to be
got from every one. . . . Please be angry with
me. . . If you are angry, you will probably read
my epistle to the end.
But what right have I to write to you, to talk
about my friendship, my feelings, about consola
tion? None whatever— positively, none what
ever; and I am bound to admit that, and I rely
solely upon your kindness.
Do you know what the beginning of my letter
resembles ? This : a certain Mr. N. N. entered the
119

A CORRESPONDENCE
drawing-room of a lady who was not in the least
expecting him, — who, perhaps, was expecting
another man. . . . He divined that he had come
at the wrong time, but there was nothing to be
done. . . . He sat down, and began to talk ....
God knows what about: poetry, the beauties of
nature, the advantages of a good education ....
in a word, he talked the most frightful nonsense.
. . . But in the meanwhile the first five minutes
had elapsed; he sat on; the lady resigned herself
to her fate, and lo! Mr. N. N. recovered himself,
sighed, and began to converse — to the best of his
ability. But, despite all this idle chatter, I feel some
what awkward, nevertheless. I seem to see be
fore me your perplexed, even somewhat angry
face: I feel conscious that it is almost impos
sible for you not to assume that I have some se
cret intentions or other, and therefore, having
perpetrated a piece of folly, like a Roman I wrap
myself in my toga and await in silence your
ultimate condemnation. . . .
But, in particular : Will you permit me to con
tinue to write to you?
I remain sincerely and cordially your devoted
servant— Alexyei S***.

120

A CORRESPONDENCE

II
From Marya Alexandrovna to Alexyei
Petrovitch
Village of ... . no, March 22, 1840.
Dear Sir!
Alexyei Petrovitch!
I have received your letter, and really, I do not
know what to say to you. I would even not have
answered you at all had it not seemed to me that
beneath your jests was concealed a decidedly-
friendly sentiment. Your letter has produced an
unpleasant impression on me. In reply to your
" idle chatter," as you put it, permit me also to
propound to you one question: To what end?
What have you to do with me, what have I to do
with you? I do not assume any evil intentions on
your part, .... on the contrary, I am grateful
to you for your sympathy, .... but we are
strangers to each other, and I now, at all events,
feel not the slightest desire to become intimate
with any one whomsoever.
With sincere respects I remain, and so forth,
Marya B***.

7.S1

A CORRESPONDENCE

III
From Alexyei Petrovitch to Marya
Alexandrovna St. Petersburg, March 30.
I thank you, Marya Alexandrovna, I thank
you for your note, curt as it is. All this time I
have been in a state of great agitation; twenty
times a day I have thought of you and of my let
ter. You can imagine how caustically I have
laughed at myself; but now I am in a capital
frame of mind, and am patting myself on the
head. Marya Alexandrovna, I am entering into
correspondence with you! Confess that you
could not possibly have expected that after your
reply; I am amazed at my own audacity ....
never mind! But calm yourself: I want to
talk to you not about myself, but about you.
Here, do you see : I find it imperatively necessary
— to speak in antiquated style — to express my
self to some one. I have no right to select you
for my confidante — I admit that; but hearken: I
demand from you no reply to my epistles; I do
not even wish to know whether you will peruse
my " idle chatter," but do not send me back my
letters, in the name of all that is holy!
Listen — I am utterly alone on earth. In my
youth I led a solitary life, although, I remember,
12?

A CORRESPONDENCE
I never pretended to be a Byron ; but, in the first
place, circumstances, in the second place, the
ability to dream and a love for reverie, rather cold
blood, pride, indolence — in a word, a multitude of
varied causes alienated me from the society of
men. The transition from a dreamy to an active
life was effected in me late . . . perhaps too
late, perhaps to this day not completely. So long
as my own thoughts and feelings diverted me, so
long as I was capable of surrendering myself to
causeless silent raptures, and so forth, I did not
complain of my isolation. I had no comrades— I
did have so-called friends. Sometimes I needed
their presence as an electrical machine needs a dis
charger — that was all. Love .... we will be
silent on that subject for the present. But now,
I confess, now loneliness weighs upon me, and
yet I see no escape from my situation. I do not
blame Fate ; I alone am to blame, and I am justly
chastised. In my youth one thing alone interested
me: my charming ego; I took my good-natured
self-love for shyness; I shunned society, and lo!
now I am frightfully bored with myself. What
is to become of me? I love no one ; all my friend
ships with other people are, somehow, strained and
false; and I have no memories, because in all my
past life, I find nothing except my own self.
Save me! I have not made you enthusiastic vows
of love; I have not deafened you with a torrent
of chattering speeches; I have passed you by
123

A CORRESPONDENCE
with considerable coldness, and precisely for that
reason I have made up my mind now to have
recourse to you. (I had thought of this even
earlier, but you were not free then  )
Out of all my self-made joys and sufferings, the
sole genuine feeling was the small, but involun
tary attraction to you, which withered then, like a
solitary ear of grain amid worthless weeds. . . .
Allow me, at least, to look into another face, an
other soul, — my own face has grown repugnant to
me ; I am like a man who has been condemned to
live out his entire life in a room with walls made
of mirrors. ... I do not demand any confes
sions from you — oh, heavens, no! Grant me the
speechless sympathy of a sister, or at least the
simple curiosity of a reader — I will interest you,
really, I will.
At any rate, I have the honour to be your sin
cere friend,
A. S.
IV
From Alexyei Petrovitch to Marya
Alexandrovna Petersburg, April 7th.
I write again to you, although I foresee that,
without your approval, I shall speedily hold my
peace. I must admit that you cannot fail to feel
a certain distrust of me. What of that? Perhaps
124

A CORRESPONDENCE
you are right. Formerly I would have declared
to you (and, probably, would have believed my
own words) that, since we parted, I had " devel
oped," had advanced; with condescending, almost
affectionate scorn I would have referred to my
past; with touching boastfulness I would have
initiated you into the secrets of my present, active
life .... but now, I assure you, Marya Ale
xandrovna, I consider it shameful and disgusting
to allude to the way in which my vile self-love
once on a time fermented and amused itself.
Fear not: I shall not force upon you any great
truths, any profound views; I have none — none
of those truths and views. I have become a nice
fellow, — truly I have. I 'm bored, Marya Ale
xandrovna — so bored that I can endure it no
longer. That is why I am writing to you. . . .
Really, it seems to me that we can come to an
agreement 
However, I positively am in no condition to
talk to you until you stretch out your hand to me,
until I receive from you a note with the one word
" Yes."— Marya Alexandrovna, will you hear
me out?— that is the question. Yours truly, A. S.

125

A CORRESPONDENCE

From 31 dry a Alexandrovna to Alexyei
Petrovitch
Village of ... . no, April 14.
What a strange man you are! Well, then-
yes." Marya B***.

VI
From Alexyei Petrovitch to Marya
Alexandrovna Petersburg, May 2, 1840.
Hurrah! Thanks, Marya Alexandrovna,
thanks! You are a very kind and indulgent
being. I begin, according to my promise, to speak of
myself, and I shall speak with pleasure, verging
on appetite. . . . Precisely that. One may talk
of everything in the world with fervour, with rap
ture, with enthusiasm, but only of one's self can
one talk with appetite.
Listen: an extremely strange incident hap
pened to me the other day: I took a glance at my
past for the first time. You will understand me :
every one of us frequently recalls the past— with
126

CORRESPONDENCE
compunction or with vexation, or simply for the
lack of something to do ; but only at a certain age
can one cast a cold, clear glance at his whole past
life — as a traveller, turning round, gazes from a
lofty mountain upon the plain which he has tra
versed .... and a secret chill grips the heart of
a man when this happens to him for the first time.
At any rate, my heart contracted with pain. So
long as we are young, that sort of looking back
ward is impossible. But my youth is over— and,
like the traveller on the mountain, everything has
become clearly visible to me. . . .
Yes, my youth is gone, gone irrevocably! . . .
Here it lies before me, all of it, as though in the
palm of my hand. . . .
'T is not a cheerful spectacle ! I confess to you,
Marya Alexandrovna, that I am very sorry for
myself. My God! My God! Is it possible that
I myself have ruined my own life to such a de
gree, have so ruthlessly entangled and tortured
myself? . . . Now I have come to my senses, but
it is too late. Have you ever rescued a fly from
a spider? You have? Do you remember, you
placed it in the sunshine; its wings, its legs were
stuck together, glued fast. . . . How awk
wardly it moved, how clumsily it tried to clean
itself! . . . After long-continued efforts, it got
itself to rights, after a fashion; it crawled, it
tried to put its wings in order .... but it could
not walk as it formerly did; it could not buzz,
127

A CORRESPONDENCE
care-free, in the sunshine, now flying through an
open window into a cool room, again fluttering
freely out into the hot air. ... It, at all events,
did not fall into the dreadful net of its own free
will .... but I!
I was my own spider.
And, nevertheless, I cannot blame myself so
very much. Yes, and who— tell me, for mercy's
sake — who ever was to blame for anything—
alone? Or, to put it more accurately, we are all
to blame, yet it is impossible to blame us. Cir
cumstances settle our fate : they thrust us into this
road or that, and then they punish us. Every man
has his fate. . . . Wait, wait! There occurs to
my mind on this score an artfully-constructed but
just comparison. As clouds are first formed by
the exhalations from the earth, rise up from its
bosom, then separate themselves from it, withdraw
from it, and bear over it either blessings or ruin,
just so around each one of us and from us our
selves is formed — how shall I express it?— is
formed a sort of atmosphere which afterward
acts destructively or salutarily upon us ourselves.
This I call Fate. ... In other words, and to
put it simply: each person makes his own fate,
and it makes each person. . . .
Each person makes his own fate — yes! . . .
but our brethren make it far too much— which
constitutes our calamity! Consciousness is
aroused in us too early ; too early do we begin to
128

A CORRESPONDENCE
observe ourselves. . . . We Russians have no
other life-problem than the cultivation of our per
sonality, and here we, barely adult children, al
ready undertake to cultivate it, this our unhappy
personality! Without having received from
within any definite direction, in reality respect
ing nothing, believing firmly in nothing, we are .
free to make of ourselves whatsoever we will.
.... But it is impossible to demand of every
man that he shall immediately comprehend the
sterility of a mind, " seething in empty activ
ity " . . . . and so, there is one more monster
in the world, one more of those insignifi
cant beings in which the habits of self-love dis
tort the very striving after truth, and ridiculous
ingenuousness lives side by side with pitiful
guile .... one of those beings to whose impo
tent, uneasy thought there remains forever un
known either the satisfaction of natural activity,
or the genuine suffering, or the genuine triumph
of conviction. . . . Combining in itself the de
fects of all ages, we deprive each defect of its
good, its redeeming side. . . . We are as stupid '
as children, but we are not sincere like them; we
are as cold as old men, but the common sense of
old age is not in us. . . On the other hand, we are
psychologists. Oh, yes, we are great psychologists!
But our psychology strays off into pathology ; our
psychology is an artful study of the laws of a dis
eased condition and a diseased development, with
129

A CORRESPOiMJ-UNCU
which healthy people have no concern. . . . But
the chief thing is, we are not young, — in youth
itself we are not young!
And yet — why calumniate one's self? Have we
really never been young? Have the vital forces
never sparkled, never seethed, never quivered in
us? Yet we have been in Arcadia, and we have
roved its bright meads ! . . . Have you ever hap
pened, while strolling among bushes, to hit upon
those dark-hued harvest-flies, which, springing
out from under your very feet, suddenly expand
their bright red wings with a clatter, flutter on a
few paces, and then tumble into the grass again?
, / Just so did our dark youth sometimes expand its
gaily-coloured little wings for a few moments,
and a brief flight. . . . Do you remember our
silent evening rambles, the four of us together,
along the fence of your park, after some long,
warm, animated conversation? Do you remem
ber those gracious moments? Nature received
us affectionately and majestically into her lap.
We entered, with sinking heart, into some sort of
blissful waves. Round about the glow of sunset
kindled with sudden and tender crimson; from
the crimsoning sky, from the illuminated earth,
from everywhere, it seemed as though the fresh
and fiery breath of youth were wafted abroad,
and the joyous triumph of some immortal happi
ness; the sunset glow blazed; like it, softly and
passionately blazed our enraptured hearts, and
130

A CORRESPONDENCE
the tiny leaves of the young trees quivered sen
sitively and confusedly above us, as though re
plying to the inward tremulousness of the indis
tinct feelings and anticipations within us. Do
you remember that purity, that kindness and
trustfulness of ideas, that emotion of noble hopes,
that silence of plenitude? Can it be that we were
not then worthy of something better than that
to which life has conducted us? Why have we
been fated only at rare intervals to catch sight
of the longed-for shore, and never to stand
"thereon with firm foothold, never to touch it —
Not to weep sweetly, like the first of the Jews
On the borders of the Promised Land ?
These two lines of Fet 1 have reminded me of
others, — also by him. . . . Do you remember
how one day, as we were standing in the road, we
beheld in the distance a cloud of rosy dust, raised
by a light breeze, against the setting sun? " In
a billowy cloud " you began, and we all fell silent
»n the instant, and set to listening:
In a billowy cloud
The dust rises in the distance. .» . .
Whether horseman or pedestrian —
Cannot be descried for the dust.
1 Afanasy Afanrfsievitch Shenshin (1820-1892) always wrote
under this name.— Translator.
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I see some one galloping
On a spirited steed. . . .
My friend, my distant friend —
Remember me !
You ceased. . . . All of us fairly shuddered,
as though the breath of love had flitted over our
hearts, and each one of us— I am convinced of
that— longed inexpressibly to flee away in the
distance, that unknown distance, where the appa
rition of bliss rises up and beckons athwart the
mist. And yet, observe this odd thing: why
should we reach out into the distance? — we
thought. Were not we in love with each other?
Was not happiness " so near, so possible " ? And
I immediately asked you: " Why have not we
gained the shore we long for? " Because false
hood was walking hand in hand with us; because
it was poisoning our best sentiments; because
everything in us was artificial and strained; be
cause we did not love each other at all, and only
tried to love, imagined that we did love 
But enough, enough! Why irritate one's
wounds? Moreover, all that is past irrevocably.
That which was good in our past has touched me,
and on this good I bid you farewell for the time
being. And it is time to end this long letter. I
will go and inhale the May air here, in which,
through the winter's stern fortress, the spring is
forcing its way with a sort of moist and keen
warmth. Farewell. A. S.
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VII
From Marya Alexandrovna to Alexyei
Petrovitch
Village of .... no, May 20, 1840.
I have received your letter, Alexyei Petrovitch,
and do you know what feeling it aroused in me?
— Indignation .... yes, indignation 
and I will immediately explain to you why it
aroused precisely that feeling in me. One thing
is a pity: I am not a mistress of the pen— I rarely
write. I do not know how to express my
thoughts accurately and in a few words ; but you
will, I hope, come to my aid. You yourself will
try to understand me: if only for the sake of
knowing why I am angry with you.
Tell me — you are a clever man — have you ever
asked yourself what sort of a creature a Russian
woman is? What is her fate, her position in
the world — in short, what her life is like? I do
not know whether you have ever had time to put
that question to yourself; I cannot imagine how
you would answer it. ... I might, in conversa
tion, be able to communicate to you my ideas on
that subject, but I shall hardly manage it on
paper. However, it makes no difference. This
is the point: you surely will agree with me that
we women— at all events, those of us who are not
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satisfied with the ordinary cares of domestic life
— receive our final education, all the same, from
you — from the men: you have a great and pow
erful influence on us. Look, now, at what you
do with us. I shall speak of the young girls, es
pecially of those who, like myself, dwell in the
dull places, and there are many such in Russia.
Moreover, I do not know others, and cannot
judge with regard to them. Figure to yourself
such a young girl. Here, now, her education is
finished ; she is beginning to live, to amuse herself.
But amusement alone is not enough for her. She
demands a great deal from life ; she reads, dreams
.... of love. — " Always of love alone! " you
will say. . . . Let us assume that that word
means a great deal to her. I will say again that
I am not talking of the sort of girl who finds it
burdensome and tiresome to think. . . . She
looks about her, waits for the coming of him for
whom her soul pines  At last he makes his
appearance: she is carried away; she is like soft
wax in his hands. Everything — happiness, and
love, and thought — everything has invaded her
together with him, all at once ; all her tremors are
soothed, all her doubts are solved by him; truth
itself seems to speak by his mouth; she worships
him, she is ashamed of her happiness, she learns,
she loves. Great is his power over her at this
period ! .... If he were a hero, he would kindle
her to flame, he would teach her to sacrifice her-
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self, and all sacrifices would be easy to her ! But
there are no heroes in our day. . . . Neverthe
less, he guides her whithersoever he will; she de
votes herself to that which interests him, his every
word sinks into her soul: at that time, she does
not know, as yet, how insignificant and empty
and false that word may be, how little it costs
him who utters it, and how little faith it merits!
These first moments of bliss and hope are fol
lowed, generally — according to circumstances—
(circumstances are always to blame) — are fol
lowed by parting. It is said that there have been
cases where two kindred souls, on recognising
each other, have immediately united indissolubly ;
I have heard, also, that they are not always com
fortable as a result. . . . But I will not speak
of that which I have not myself beheld — but that
the very pettiest sort of calculation, the most
wof ul prudence, may dwell in a young heart side
by side with the most passionate rapture, — that
is a fact which, unhappily, I know by my own ex
perience. So, then, parting comes. . . . Happy
is that young girl who instantly recognises that
the end of all has come, who does not comfort
herself with expectation! But you brave, just
men, in the majority of cases, have neither the
courage nor the desire to tell us the truth ....
you find it more easy to deceive us. ... I am
ready to believe, however, that you deceive your
selves along with us. . . . Parting! It is both
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difficult and easy to endure parting. If only
faith in him whom one loves were intact and unas-
sailed, the soul would conquer the pain of part
ing  I will say more : only when she is left
alone does she learn the sweetness of solitude, not
sterile but filled with memories and thoughts.
Only then will she learn to know herself — will she
come to herself, will she grow strong  In the
letters of the distant friend she will find a support
for herself; in her own she will, perhaps, for the
first time, express her mind fully. . . . But as two
persons who have started from the source of a
river along its different banks can, at first, clasp
hands, then hold communication only with the
voice, but ultimately lose sight of each other: so
also two beings are ultimately disjoined by sepa
ration. "What of that?" you will say: "evidently
they were not fated to go together. . . ." But
here comes in the difference between a man and
a woman. It signifies nothing to a man to begin
a new life, to shake far from him the past; a
woman cannot do that. No, she cannot cast aside
her past, she cannot tear herself away from her
roots — no, a thousand times no! And so, a piti
ful and ridiculous spectacle presents itself. . . .
Gradually losing hope and faith in herself, — you
can form no idea of how painful that is, — she
will pine away and fade alone, obstinately cling
ing to her memories, and turning away from
everything which life around her offers 
And he? ... . Seek him! Where is he? And
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A CORRESPONDENCE
is it worth while for him to pause? What time
has he for looking back? All this is a thing of
the past for him, you see.
Or here is another thing which happens: it
sometimes happens that he will suddenly conceive
a desire to meet the former object of his affec
tions, he will even deliberately go to her. . . . But,
my God ! from what a motive of petty vain-glory
he does it ! In his polite compassion, in his coun
sels which are intended to be friendly, in his
condescending explanations of the past, there is
audible such a consciousness of his own superior
ity! It is so agreeable and cheerful a thing for
him to let himself feel every minute how sensible
and kind he is! And how little he understands
what he is doing ! How well he manages not even
to guess at what is going on in the woman's heart,
and how insultingly he pities her, if he does guess
it! . . .
Tell me, please, whence are we to get the
strength to endure all this ? Remember this, too :
in the majority of cases, a girl who, to her mis
fortune, has an idea beginning to stir in her head,
when she begins to love, and falls under the influ
ence of a man, involuntarily separates herself
from her family, from her acquaintances. Even
previously she has not been satisfied with their
life, yet she has walked on by their side, preserv
ing in her soul all her intimate secrets. . . . But the
breach speedily makes itself visible. . . . They
cease to understand her, they are ready to suspect
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A CORRESPONDENCE
every movement of hers. . . . At first she pays
no heed to this, but afterward, afterward ....
when she is left alone, when that toward which she
has been striving and for which she has sacrificed
everything escapes her grasp, when she has not
attained to heaven, but when every near thing,
every possible thing, has retreated far from her
—what shall uphold her? Sneers, hints, the vul
gar triumph of coarse common sense she can
still bear, after a fashion .... but what is she
to do, to what is she to have recourse, when the
inward voice begins to whisper to her that all
those people were right, and that she has been
mistaken;^ that life, of whatever sort it may be,
is better than dreams, as health is better than dis
ease .... when her favourite occupations, her
favourite books, disgust her, the books from
which one cannot extract happiness, — what, say
you, — what shall uphold her? How is she to help
succumbing in such a struggle? How is she to
live and to go on living in such a wilderness?
Confess herself vanquished, and extend her hand
like a beggar to indifferent people? Will not
they give her at least some of that happiness with
which the proud heart once imagined that it could
dispense — all that is nothing as yet! But to feel
one's self ridiculous at the very moment when one
is shedding bitter, bitter tears .... akh! God
forbid that you should go through that experi
ence! .... 138

a CORRESPONDENCE
My hands are trembling, and I am in a fever
all over. . . . My face is burning hot. It is time
for me to stop. ... I shall send off this letter as
speedily as possible, while I am not ashamed of
my weakness. But, for God's sake, not a word in
your reply — do you hear me?— not a word of
pity, or I will never write to you again. Under
stand me : I should not like to have you take this
letter as the outpouring of a misunderstood soul
which is making complaint. . . Akh! it is all &
matter of indifference to me ! Farewell. M.

VIII
From Alexyei Petrovitch to Marya
Alexandrovna
St. Petersburg, May 28, 1840.
Marya Alexandrovna, you are a fine creature
.... indeed you are . . . your letter has disclosed to
me the truth at last! O Lord my God! what tor
ture ! A man is constantly thinking that now he
has attained simplicity, no longer shows off, puts
on airs, or lies .... but when you come to look
at him more attentively, he has become almost
worse than he was before. And this must be
noted: the man himself, alone that is to say, will
never attain to that consciousness, bestir himself
as he may! his eye will not discern his own de-
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fects, just as the blunted eye of the printer will
not detect errors: another, a fresher eye is re
quired. I thank you, Marya Alexandrovna. . . .
You see, I am speaking to you of myself; I dare
not speak of you. . . . Akh, how ridiculous my
last letter seems to me now, — so eloquent and sen
timental ! Go on, I beg of you, with your confes
sion; I have a premonition that you will be re
lieved thereby, and it will be of great benefit to
me. Not without cause does the proverb say: "A
woman's wit is better than many thoughts "; and
a woman's heart is far more so — God is my wit
ness that it is so ! If women only knew how much
better, and more magnanimous, and clever — pre
cisely that — clever they are than the men, they
would grow puffed up with pride, and get
spoiled : but, fortunately, they do not know that ;
the3r do not know it because their thoughts have
not become accustomed to returning incessantly
to themselves, as have the thoughts of us men.
They think little about themselves— that is their
weakness and their strength; therein lies the
whole secret — I will not say of our superiority,
but of our power. They squander their souls, as
a lavish heir squanders his father's gold, but we
collect interest from every look. . . . How can
they enter into rivalry with us? . . . All this is
not compliments, but the simple truth, demon
strated by experience. Again I entreat you,
Marya Alexandrovna, to continue writing to me.
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... If you only knew all that comes into my
mind ! . . But now I do not want to talk, I want
to listen to you. . . . My speech will come later
on. Write, write. Yours truly, A. S.
IX
From Marya Alexandrovna to Alexyei
Petrovitch
Village of ... . no, June 12, 1840.
No sooner had I despatched my last letter to
you, Alexyei Petrovitch, than I repented of it;
but there was no help for it. One thing somewhat
soothed me : I am convinced that you have under
stood under the influence of what long-sup
pressed feelings it was written, and have forgiven
me. I did not even read over at the time what I
had written to you; I remember that my heart
was beating so violently that my pen trembled in
my hand. However, although I probably should
have expressed myself differently if I had given
myself time to think it over, still I have no inten
tion of disclaiming either my words or the feel
ings which I have imparted to you to the best of
my ability. To-day I am much more cool-headed,
and have far better control over myself. . . .
I remember that I spoke toward the end of my
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A CORRESPONDENCE
letter about the painful situation of the young
girl who recognises the fact that she is isolated
even among her own people. ... I will not en
large further on that point, but rather will I com
municate to you a few details ; it seems to me that
I shall bore you less in that way.
In the first place, you must know that through
out the whole country-side I am not called any
thing but " the female philosopher "; the ladies,
in particular, allude to me by that name. Some
assert that I sleep with a Latin book in my
hands and in spectacles; others, that I know
how to extract some cubic roots or other: not
one of them cherishes any doubt that I wear
masculine attire on the sly, and that instead of
" good morning," I say abruptly: " Georges
Sand!" — and indignation against "the female
philosopher " is on the increase. We have a
neighbour, a man of five-and-forty, a great wit,
.... at least, he has the reputation of being a
great wit, .... and for him my poor person is
an inexhaustible subject for jeers. He has re
lated, concerning me, that as soon as the moon
rises in the sky, I cannot take my eyes from it,
and he shows how I look ; that I even drink coffee
not with cream but with the moon, that is to say,
I set my cup in its rays. He swears that I use
phrases in the nature of the following: "That
is easy because it is difficult; although, on the
other hand, it is difficult because it is easy."
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. . . He declares that I am always seeking some
word or other, always yearning " thither," and
he inquires, with comic indignation: "Whither
is thither? Whither? " He has also set in cir
culation about me a rumour to the effect that
I ride by night on horseback back and forth
through the ford of the river, singing the while
Schubert's " Serenade," or simply moaning:
"Beethoven, Beethoven!" as much as to say—
" She 's such a fiery old woman! " and so forth,
and so forth. Of course, all this immediately
reaches my ears. Perhaps this may surprise you ;
but do not forget that four years have elapsed
since you have sojourned in these parts. Re
member how every one gazed askance at us
then. . . . Now their turn has come. And all
this is nothing. I sometimes happen to hear
words which pierce my heart much more pain
fully. I will not mention the fact that my poor,
good mother cannot possibly pardon me for your
cousin's indifference ; but all my life runs through
the fire, as my old nurse expresses it. " Of
course," — I hear constantly, — "how are we to
keep up with thee? We are plain folks, we are
guided only by common sense ; but, after all, when
one comes to think of it, to what have all these
philosophisings and books and acquaintances
with learned people brought thee? " Perhaps
you remember my sister — not the one to whom
you were formerly not indifferent, but the other,
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A CORRESPONDENCE
the elder, who is married. Her husband, you will
remember, is a decidedly-ridiculous man; you
often used to make fun of him in those days. Yet
she is happy : the mother of a family, she loves her
husband, and her husband adores her. ..." I
am like all the rest," — she says to me sometimes;
— " but how about thee? " And she is right: I
envy her. . . .
And nevertheless I feel that I should not like
to change places with her. Let them call me " a
female philosopher," " an eccentric," whatever
they choose — I shall remain faithful to the end
.... to what? — to an ideal, pray? Yes, to an
ideal. Yes, I shall remain faithful to the end to
that which first made my heart beat, — to that
which I have acknowledged and do acknowledge
to be the true, the good. If only my strength
does not fail me, if only my idol does not prove a
soulless block. . . .
If you really do feel friendship for me, if you
really have not forgotten me, you must help me;
you must disperse my doubts, strengthen my
beliefs. . . .
But what aid can you render me? " All this is
nonsense, like the useless running of a squirrel on
a wheel," said my uncle to me yesterday— I think
you do not know him — a retired naval officer, and
a far from stupid man. "A husband, children, a
pot of buckwheat groats: to tend husband and
children, and look after the pot of groats— that 's
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A CORRESPONDENCE
what a woman needs." . . . Tell me, he is right,
is he not?
If he really is right, I can still repair the past,
I can still get into the common rut. What else is
there for me to wait for? What is there to hope
for? In one of your letters, you spoke of the
wings of youth. How often, how long they re
main fettered! And then comes a time, when
they fall off; and it is no longer possible to raise
one's self above the earth, to soar heavenward.
Write to me.
Yours, M.

X
From Alexyei Petrovitch to Marya
Alexandrovna
St. Petersburg, June 16, 1840.
I hasten to answer your letter, my dear Marya
Alexandrovna. I will confess to you that if it
were not for .... I will not say business — I
have none — if it were not for my being so stu
pidly habituated to this place, I would go again
to you and would talk my fill, but on paper all
this comes out so coldly, in such a dead man
ner. . . .
I repeat to you, Marya Alexandrovna : women
are better than men, and you ought to demon
strate that in deed. Let us men fling aside our
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A CORRESPONDENCE
convictions, like a worn-out garment, or barter
them for a morsel of bread, or, in conclusion, let
them fall into the sleep which knows no waking,
and place over them, as over one formerly be
loved, a tombstone, to which one goes only now
and then to pray — let us men do all that; but do
not you women be false to yourselves, do not be
tray your ideal. . . . That word has become ri
diculous. . . . To be afraid of the ridiculous is
not to love the truth. It does happen, it is true,
that a stupid laugh will make the stupid man,
even good people, renounce a great deal ....
take for example the defence of an absent friend.
... I am guilty in that respect myself. But, I
repeat it, you women are better than we are. . . .
In trifles you are inclined to yield to us ; but you
understand better than we do how to look the
devil straight in the eye. I shall give you neither
aid nor advice — how can I? and you do not need
it; but I do stretch forth my hand to you, and I
do say to you: " Have patience; fight until the
end; and know that, as a feeling, the conscious
ness of a battle honourably waged almost tran
scends the triumph of victory." .... The vic
tory does not depend upon us.
Of course, from a certain point of view, your
uncle is right : family life is everything for a wo
man; there is no other life for her.
But what does that prove? Only the Jesuits
assert that every means is good, if only one at-
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A CORRESPONDENCE
tains his end. It is not true! not true! It is an
indignity to enter a clean temple with feet soiled
with the mire of the road. At the end of your
letter there is a phrase which I do not like: you
want to get into the common rut. Look out— do
not make a misstep! Do not forget, moreover,
that it is impossible to efface the past ; and strive
as you may, force yourself as you will, you cannot
make yourself your sister. You have ascended
above her. But your soul is broken, hers is intact.
You can lower yourself, bend down to her, but
nature will not resign her rights, and the broken
place will not grow together again. . . .
You are afraid — let us speak without circum
locution — you are afraid of remaining an old
maid. I know that you are already twenty-six
years old. As a matter of fact, the position of
old maids is not enviable: every one so gladly
laughs at them ; every one notes their oddities and
their weaknesses with such unmagnanimous de
light. But if you scan, more closely any elderly
bachelor, — he deserves to have the finger of scorn
pointed at him also, — you will find in him cause to
laugh your fill. What is to be done? Happiness
is not to be captured by battle. But we must not
forget that not happiness but human dignity is
the chief goal of life.
You describe your position with great humour.
I well understand all its bitterness ; your position
may, I am sure, be called tragic. But you must
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know that you are not the only one who finds
herself in it : there is hardly any man of the pres
ent day who does not find himself in it also. You
will say that that does not make it any the easier
for you; but what I think is that to suffer in
company with thousands is quite a different thing
from suffering alone. It is not a question of ego
tism here, but of a feeling of universal necessity.
" All this is very fine, let us assume," you will
say, . . . "but, in point of fact, it is not appli
cable to the case." Why is it not applicable? Up
to the present day I think, and I hope that I shall
never cease to think, that in God's world every
thing honest, good, and true is applicable, and
sooner or later will be fulfilled ; and not only will
be fulfilled, but is already being fulfilled, if each
one will only hold himself firmly in his place, will
not lose patience, will not desire the impossible,
but will act, so far as his strength permits. But
I think I have given myself up too much to ab
stractions. I will defer the continuation of my
arguments until another letter ; but I do not wish
to lay down my pen without having pressed your
hand warmly, very warmly, and wished you, with
all my soul, everything that is good on earth.
Yours, A. S.
P.S. By the way, you say that you have no
thing to look forward to, nothing to hope for;
how do you know that, allow me to ask?
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XI
From Marya Alexandrovna to Alexyei
Petrovitch
Village of ... . no, June 30, 1840.
How grateful I am to you for your letter,
Alexyei Petrovitch ! How much good it has done
me! I see that you really are a good and trust
worthy man, and therefore I shall not dissimu
late before you. I trust you. I know that you
will not make a bad use of my frankness and that
you will give me friendly advice. That is the
point. You noticed at the end of my letter a phrase
which did not entirely please you. This is what
it referred to. There is a neighbour here ....
he was not here in your day, and you have not
seen him. He ... I might marry him, if I
wished; he is a man who is still young, cultured,
wealthy. There are no obstacle?-, on the side of
my relatives; on the contrary, they — I know this
for certain — desire this marriage; he is a fine
man, and I think he loves me. . . . But he is so
languid and petty, all his desires are so narrow,
that I cannot help recognising my superiority
over him ; he feels this, and seems to take delight
in it, and precisely that repels me from him; I
cannot respect him, although he has an excellent
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A CORRESPONDENCE
heart. What am I to do, tell me? Think for me
and write me your opinion sincerely.
But how grateful I am to you for your letter!
. . . Do you know, I have sometimes been visited
by such bitter thoughts. . . . Do you know, I
have gone so far as almost to feel ashamed of
every — I will not say exalted — but of every
trustful feeling. I have shut my book in vexation
when it spoke of hope and happiness; I have
turned away from the cloudless sky, from the
fresh verdure of the trees, from everything that
smiled and was glad. What a painful condition
this was! I say "was "... as though it had
passed !
I do not know whether it has passed; I know
that if it does not return I shall be indebted to
you for it. You see, Alexyei Petrovitch, how
much good you have done, perhaps without your
self suspecting it! Now, in the very heart of
summer, the days are magnificent, the sky is blue,
bright. ... It cannot be more beautiful in Italy.
But you are sitting in a stifling and dusty town,
you are walking on the scorching pavements.
What possesses you to do it? You ought, at
least, to remove to a villa somewhere. They say
that beyond Peterhoff , on the seashore, there are
charming places.
I should like to write more to you, but it is im
possible: such a sweet perfume has been wafted
up to me from the garden that I cannot remain
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in the house. I shall put on my hat and go for a
stroll. . . . Farewell until another time, kind
Alexyei Petrovitch. Yours truly, M. B.
P.S. I have forgotten to tell you .... just
imagine : that wit, of whom I recently wrote you,
— just imagine: he has made me a declaration of
love, and in the most fiery terms! At first I
thought that he was making fun of me; but he
wound up with a formal proposal. What do you
think of that, after all his calumnies? But he is
positively too old. Last night, to pique him, I
sat down at the piano in front of the open window
in the moonlight, and played Beethoven. It was
so delightful to me to feel its cold light on my
face, so consolatory to send forth upon the per
fumed night air the noble sounds of music,
athwart which, at times, the song of the nightin
gale was audible! It is a long time since I have
been so happy, but do you write to me concern
ing the thing I asked you about in the beginning
of my letter : it is very important.

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XII
From Alexyei Petrovitch to Marya
Alexandrovna
St. Petersburg, July 8, 1840.
My dear Marya Alexandrovna, here is my
opinion in two words : throw both the old bachelor
and the young suitor overboard ! There 's no use
in deliberating over this. Neither of them is
worthy of you — that is as clear as that twice two
are four. The young neighbour may be a good
man, but I throw him over! I am convinced that
you and he have nothing in common, and you can
imagine how cheerful it would be to live together !
And why be in a hurry? Is it possible that a
woman like you — I have no intention of paying
compliments, and therefore will not enlarge fur
ther — that such a woman as you should not
meet some one who will know how to appre
ciate her ? No, Marya Alexandrovna ; heed me if
you really think that my advice is beneficial.
But confess that you found it pleasant to be
hold that old calumniator at your feet! ... If
I had been in your place, I would have made him
sing Beethoven's " Adelaida " the whole night
through, staring at the moon the while.
But God be with them, with your admirers ! It
is not of them that I wish to talk with you to-day.
152

A CORRESPONDENCE
I am in a sort of half -irritated, half -agitated con
dition to-day, as the result of a letter which I re
ceived yesterday. I send you a copy of it. This
letter was written by one of my very old friends
and comrades in the service, a kind-hearted but
rather narrow-minded man. A couple of years
ago he went abroad, and up to the present he has
not written to me a single time. Here is his let
ter. N.B. He is very far from bad-looking.
" Cher Alexis :
" I am in Naples. I am sitting in my chamber
on the Chiaja at the window. The weather is
wonderful. At first I gazed a long time at the
sea, then impatience seized upon me, and the bril
liant idea of writing a letter to thee occurred to
me. I have always felt an affection for thee, my
dear friend, — Heaven is my witness that I have!
And now I should like to pour myself into thy
bosom ... I believe that is the way it is ex
pressed in our elevated language. And the rea
son I have been seized with impatience is that I
am expecting a woman; together we shall go to
Baise to eat oysters and oranges, to watch the
dark-brown shepherds in red nightcaps dance
the tarantella, to broil ourselves in the sunshine,
to watch the lizards— in a word, to enjoy life to
the full. My dear friend, I am so happy that I
am unable to express it to you. If I possessed thy
power with the pen, oh, what a picture I would
153

A CORRESPONDENCE
draw before thine eyes! But, unfortunately, as
thou knowest, I am an illiterate man. The wo
man for whom I am waiting, and who has already
made me constantly start and glance at the door,
loves me— and as for the way I love her, it seems
to me that even thou with thy eloquent pen couldst
not describe that.
" I must tell thee that I have known her for
the last three months, and ever since the very
first day of our acquaintance, my love has gone
on crescendo, in the shape of a chromatic scale,
ever higher and higher, and at the present mo
ment it has already attained to the seventh
heaven. I am jesting, but, as a matter of fact,
my attachment to that woman is something ex
traordinary, supernatural. Just imagine: I
hardly ever talk with her, but I stare at her in
cessantly and laugh. I sit at her feet, I feel that
I am frightfully stupid and happy, simply un
lawfully happy. It sometimes happens that she
lays her hand on my head. . . . And then, I
must tell thee, . . . but thou canst not under
stand it ; for thou art a philosopher, and have been
a philosopher all thy life. Her name is Nina,
Ninetta— as thou wilt; she is the daughter of a
wealthy merchant here. Beautiful as all thy Ra
phaels ; lively as powder, blithe, so clever that it is
positively amazing that she should have fallen in
love with such a fool as myself; she sings like a
bird, and her eyes — 154

A CORRESPONDENCE
" Forgive me, pray, for this involuntary tirade.
... I thought the door creaked. . . . No, the
rogue has not come yet ! Thou wilt ask me how
all this is going to end, and what I mean to do
with myself, and whether I shall remain here
long. I know nothing, and wish to know nothing,
about that, my dear fellow. What is to be will
be. . . . For if one is to pause and reason con
stantly 
" 'T is she ! . . . . She is running up the stairs
and singing. . . She has come. . . Well, good-
by, my dear fellow. ... I 'm in no mood for
thee. Pardon me — it is she who has spattered
this letter all over: she struck the paper with her
damp nosegay. At first she thought I was writ
ing to a woman ; but as soon as she found out that
it was to a man-friend, she bade me give you her
compliments, and inquire whether there are any
flowers in your country, and whether they are
fragrant. Well, good-by. ... If you could
only hear how she laughs! . . . Silver rings just
like that: and what goodness in every sound! —
One fairly wants to kiss her feet. Let us go, let
us go! Be not angry at this untidy scrawl, and
envy thy — M . . ."
The letter actually was bespattered, and ex
haled an odour of orange-flowers . . . two white
petals had adhered to the paper. This letter has
155

A CORRESPONDENCE
excited me. ... I have called to mind my so
journ in Naples. . . . The weather was magnifi
cent then also; May was only just beginning; I
had recently completed my twenty-second year;
but I did not know any Ninetta. I roamed about
alone, consumed with a thirst for bliss, which was
both painful and sweet, — sweet to the point where
it itself bore a sort of resemblance to bliss. . . .
What a thing it is to be young ! . . . I remember
I once went out for a row on the bay at night.
There were two of us : the boatman and I . . . .
but what was it you thought? What a night it
was, and what a sky, what stars — how they trem
bled and crumbled in the waves! With what a
liquid flame did the water flow over and flash up
under the oars, what perfume was wafted all
over the sea — it is not for me to describe, how
ever " eloquent " my pen may be. A French ship
of the line lay at anchor in the roadstead. It
glowed obscurely red all over with lights; long
streaks of red light, the reflection of the illumi
nated windows, stretched across the dark sea.
Merry music reached me in occasional bursts; I
recall, in particular, the trill of a small flute amid
the dull blaring of the horns ; it seemed to flutter
like a butterfly around my boat. I ordered the
man to row to the ship; twice did we make the
circuit of it. Women's forms flitted past the win
dows, borne smartly past on the whirlwind of the
waltz. ... I ordered the boatman to put off,
156

A CORRESPONDENCE
far away, straight out into the darkness. . . I
remember that the sounds pursued me long and
importunately. ... At last they died away. I
stood up in the boat and stretched out my arms
over the sea in the dumb pain of longing. . . .
Oh, how my heart ached then! How oppressive
was my loneliness! With what joy would I have
given myself at that moment wholly, wholly ....
wholly, if only there had been any one to whom
to give myself! With what a bitter feeling in
my soul did I fling myself, face down, in the
bottom of the boat and, like Repetiloff, request
him to take me somewhere or other!
But my friend here experienced nothing of
that sort. And why should he ? He has managed
matters much more cleverly than I did. He is liv
ing .... while I . . . . not without cause has
he called me a philosopher  'T is strange !
You, also, are called a philosopher. ... Why
should such a calamity overtake us? ... .
I am not living. . . . But who is to blame for
that? Why do I sit here in Petersburg? What
am I doing here? Why do I kill day after day?
Why don't I go to the country? Are not Our
steppes beautiful? Or cannot one breathe freely
in them? Or is it stifling in them? What pos
sesses me to pursue dreams, when, perchance,
happiness is within my reach? It is settled: I am
going away, I am going away to-morrow, if pos
sible; I am going home, that is, to you— it is all
157

A CORRESPONDENCE
the same: for we live only twenty versts apart.
What 's the use, after all, in languishing here ?
And why is it that this idea did not occur to me
earlier? My dear Marya Alexandrovna, we shall
soon meet. But it is remarkable that this thought
did not enter my head until this moment! I
ought to have gone away long, long ago. Fare
well until we meet, Marya Alexandrovna. July 9th.
I have deliberately given myself twenty-four
hours to think it over, and now I am definitively
convinced that there is no reason why I should
remain here. The dust in the streets is so biting
that it makes one's eyes ache. To-day I shall be
gin to pack; on the day after to-morrow, prob
ably, I shall leave here ; and ten days hence I shall
have the pleasure of seeing you. I hope you will
receive me as of old. By the way— your sister is
still visiting your aunt, is she not?
Permit me, Marya Alexandrovna, to press
your hand warmly, and to say to you from my
soul : farewell until a speedy meeting. I was pre
paring to leave in any case, but this letter has pre
cipitated my intention. Let us assume that this
letter proves nothing ; let us even assume that Ni
netta would not please any one else — me, for ex
ample. Yet I am going, all the same ; there is no
doubt about that. Farewell for the present.
Yours, A. S.
158

A CORRESPONDENCE

XIII
From Marya Alexandrovna to Alexyei
Petrovitch
Village of . . . no, July 16, 1840.
You are coming hither, you will soon be with
us, will you not, Alexyei Petrovitch? I will not
conceal from you that this news both delights
and agitates me. . . . How shall we meet? Will
that spiritual bond be preserved which, so it seems
to me, has already begun to unite us? Will
it not break when we meet? I do not know; I
am apprehensive, for some reason or other. I
will not answer your last letter, although I might
say a good deal; I will defer all this until we
meet. My mother is greatly delighted at your
coming. . . . She has been aware that I was cor
responding with you. The weather is enchant
ing. We will walk a great deal ; I will show you
the new places which I have discovered .... one
long, narrow valley is particularly nice: it lies
between hillocks, covered with forest. ... It
seems to be hiding in their curves. A tiny brook
flows along it and can barely force its way
through the grass and flowers. . . . You shall
see. Come: perhaps you will not find it tedious.
M. B.
159

A CORRESPONDENCE
P.S. You will not see my sister, I think: she
is still visiting my aunt. I believe (this is be
tween ourselves) that she is going to marry a
very amiable young man— an officer. Why did
you send me that letter from Naples? The life
here perforce seems dim and pale in comparison
with that luxury and that brilliancy. But Made
moiselle Ninetta is wrong: flowers grow and are
fragrant — even with us.
XIV
From Marya Alexandrovna to Alexyei
Petrovitch
Village of . . . no, January, 1841.
I have written to you several times, Alexyei
Petrovitch. . . . You have not answered me.
Are you alive? Or perhaps our correspondence
has begun to bore you; perhaps you have found
for yourself a more agreeable diversion than the
letters of a rustic young lady can afford you?
Evidently you called me to mind for the lack of
something to do. If that is the case, I wish you
happiness. If you do not answer me this time,
I shall not trouble you again; there will be no
thing left for me to do but to regret my impru
dence, that I have unnecessarily permitted my
self to be roused up, have offered my hand and
emerged, if only for a moment, from my isolated
160

A CORRESPONDENCE
nook. I ought to remain in it forever, lock
myself in— that is my portion, the portion of all
old maids. I ought to accustom myself to that
thought. There is no necessity for coming out
into God's sunlight, no necessity for craving
fresh air, when the lungs will not bear it. By
the way, we are now blocked up with dead drifts
of snow. I shall be more sensible henceforth.
. . . People do not die of boredom, but it is pos
sible to perish with melancholy, I suppose. If I
am mistaken, prove it to me. But I think I am
not mistaken. In any case, farewell. I wish you
happiness. M. B.

XV
From Alexyei Petrovitch to Marya
Alexandrovna Dresden, September, 1842.
I write to you, my dear Marya Alexandrovna,
and I write only because I do not wish to die with
out having taken leave of you, and without hav
ing recalled myself to your mind. I am con
demned by the doctors .... and I myself feel
that my life is drawing to a close. On my table
stands a rose ; before it fades I shall be no more.
But that comparison is not quite just. The rose
is far more interesting than I am.
161

A CORRESPONDENCE
As you see, I am abroad. I have been in Dres
den six months. I received your last letters — I
am ashamed to confess: I lost several of them
more than a year ago, and did not answer you. . .
I will tell you presently why. But, evidently,
you have always been dear to me: with the ex
ception of yourself, there is no one of whom I
wish to take leave, and perhaps I have no one to
whom I could bid farewell.
Soon after my last letter to you (I was quite
ready to set out for your parts, and was making
various plans in advance), there happened to me
an episode which had, I may say, a strong influ
ence on my fate,— so strong that here I am, dy
ing, thanks to that event. To wit: I set out for
the theatre, to see the ballet. I have never liked
the ballet, and have always felt a secret disgust
¦ for all sorts of actresses, singers, and dancers. . . .
But, obviously, one cannot change his fate, nei-
ther does any one know himself, and it is also
impossible to foresee the future. In point of
fact, nothing happens in life except the unex
pected, and we do nothing all our life long but
adjust ourselves to events. . . . But I believe I
am dropping into philosophy again. Old habit!
... In a word, I fell in love with a dancer.
This was all the more strange because she
could not be called a beauty. She had, it is true,
wonderful golden hair, with an ash tinge, and
large, bright eyes, with a pensive and, at the same
162

A CORRESPONDENCE
time, a bold glance. . . . Haven't I cause to
know the expression of that glance? I pined and
languished for a whole year in its rays ! She had
a splendid figure, and when she danced her folk-
dance, the spectators used to stamp and shout
with rapture. . . . But I do not think any one
besides myself fell in love with her — at all events,
no one fell in love with her as I did. From the
very minute that I beheld her for the first time —
(will you believe it? all I have to do even now is
to shut my eyes, and immediately here stands be
fore me the theatre, the almost empty stage, rep
resenting the interior of a forest, and she runs
out from behind the side-scenes on the right, with
a wreath of vine-leaves on her head and a tiger-
skin over her shoulders) — from that fatal minute
I belonged to her wholly,— just as a dog belongs
to his master ; and if now, when I am dying, I do
not belong to her, it is merely because she has cast
me off.
To tell the truth, she never troubled herself
especially about me. She barely noticed me, al
though she good-naturedly made use of my
money. I was for her, as she expressed it in
her broken French jargon, " oun Rousso buon
enf 'an,"— and nothing more. But I .... I.
could no longer live anywhere where she was not ;
I tore myself at one wrench from all that was
dear to me, from my native land itself, and set out
in pursuit of that woman. 163

A CORRESPONDENCE
Perhaps you think that she was clever?— Not
in the least! It sufficed to cast a glance at her
low brow, it sufficed to note, if only once, her lazy,
heedless smile, in order instantly to convince one's
self as to the paucity of her mental abilities. And
I never imagined her to be a remarkable woman.
On the whole, I did not deceive myself for a sin
gle minute on her score. But that did not help
matters in the least. Whatever I thought of her
in her absence, in her presence I felt nothing but
servile adoration. ... In the German fairy
tales the knights often fall into that sort of
stupor. I could not tear my eyes from her fea
tures ; I could not hear enough of her remarks, or
sufficiently watch every movement of hers; to
tell the truth, I actually breathed to her breath
ing. However, she was good-natured, uncon
strained — too unconstrained even; she did not
put on airs, as the majority of artists do. She
had a great deal of life, that is, a great deal of
blood, of that splendid Southern blood, into which
the sun of their land must have dropped a portion
of his rays. She slept nine hours a day, was fond
of good eating, never read a single line of print,
unless, perhaps, the articles in the newspapers in
which she was mentioned, and almost the sole
tender sentiment in her life was her attachment
to il signore Carlino, a small and greedy Italian
who served as her secretary and whom she after
ward married. And with such a woman as this I,
164

A CORRESPONDENCE
who have tasted so many varied intellectual sub
tleties, I, already an old man, could fall in love!
Who could have expected it? I never expected
it, at all events. I did not anticipate the part
which I should be compelled to play. I did not
expect that I should haunt rehearsals, freeze and
get bored behind the scenes, inhale the reek of the
theatre, make acquaintance with various un
seemly individuals .... what am I saying?—
make acquaintance — bow to them. I had not ex
pected that I should carry a dancer's shawl, buy
new gloves for her, clean her old ones with white
bread (but I did it, I take my oath!), cart home
her bouquets, run about to the anterooms of jour
nalists and directors, wear myself out, give sere
nades, catch cold, lose my strength. ... I had
not expected that I should acquire at last in a
certain little German town the ingenious nick
name of " der Kunst-barbar." . . . And all this
in vain — in the fullest sense of the word, in
vain! There, that is precisely the state of the
case. . . .
Do you remember how you and I, orally and
by letter, argued about love, into what subtleties
we entered? And when it is put to the proof, it
turns out that real love is a feeling not at all re- t
sembling that which we imagined it to be. Love h
is not even a feeling at all ; it is a malady, a well-
known condition of the soul and body. It does
not develop gradually; there is no possibility of
165

i/l

A CORRESPONDENCE
doubting it ; one cannot dodge it, although it does
not always manifest itself in identically the same
fashion. It generally takes possession of a man
without being invited, suddenly, against his will
— precisely like the cholera or a fever. ... It
lays hold upon him, the dear creature, as a hawk
does upon a chicken; and it will bear him off
whithersoever it wishes, struggle and resist as he
may. ... In love there is no equality, no so-
called free union of souls and other ideal things,
invented at their leisure by German professors.
. . . No; in love one person is the slave, the other
is the sovereign, and not without cause do the
poets prate of the chains imposed by love. Yes,
love is a chain, and the heaviest of chains at that.
At all events, I have arrived at that conviction,
and have reached it by the path of experience. I
have purchased that conviction at the price of
my life, because I am dying a slave.
Alack, what a fate is mine! one thinks. In
my youth I was resolutely determined to conquer
heaven for myself. . . . Later on, I fell to
dreaming about the welfare of all mankind, the
prosperity of my fatherland. Then that passed
off: I thought only of how I might arrange my
domestic, my family life .... and I tripped
over an ant-hill— and flop! I went headlong on
the ground, and into the grave. . . . What mas
ter hands we Russians are at winding up in that
fashion ! 166

A CORRESPONDENCE
However, it is high time for me to turn away
from all this,— it was time long ago! May this
burden fall from my soul along with my life! I
wish for the last time, if only for a moment, to
enjoy that good, gentle feeling which is diffused
within me like a tranquil light as soon as I call
you to mind. Your image is now doubly dear to
me. . . . Along with it there surges up before
me the image of my native land, and I waft to it
and to you my last greeting. Live on, live long
and happily, and remember one thing: whether
you remain in that remote nook of the steppes,
where you sometimes find things so painful, but
where I should so like to spend my last day, or
whether you shall enter upon another career,
remember: life fails to disappoint him alone who
does not meditate upon it, and, demanding no
thing from it, calmly accepts its sparse gifts, and
calmly makes use of them. Go forward, while
you can: but when your feet fail you, — sit down
near the road, and gaze at the passers-by without
vexation and without envy: for they will not go
far! I have said this to you before, but death
will teach any man whomsoever; moreover, who
shall say what is life, what is truth? Remember
who it was that gave no answer to this question.
. . . Farewell, Marya Alexandrovna ; farewell for
the last time, and bear no ill will to poor— Alexyei.

167

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
(1854)

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM

IN a fairly-large recently-whitewashed cham
ber of a wing of the manor-house in the
village of Sasovo, *** county, T*** Govern
ment, a young man in a paletot was sitting at a
small, warped table, looking over accounts. Two
stearine candles, in silver travelling-candlesticks,
were burning in front of him; in one corner, on
the wall-bench, stood an open bottle-case, in an
other a servant was setting up an iron bed. On
the other side of a low partition a samovar was
murmuring and hissing ; a dog was nestling about
on some hay which had just been brought in. In
the doorway stood a peasant -man in a new over
coat girt with a red belt, with a large beard, and
an intelligent face — the overseer, judging by all
the tokens. He was gazing attentively at the
seated young man.
Against one wall stood a very aged, tiny
piano; beside it an equally -ancient chest of
drawers with holes in place of the locks ; between
the windows a small, dim mirror was visible;
on the partition-wall hung an old portrait, which
171

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
was almost completely peeled off, representing
a woman with powdered hair, in a robe ronde, and
with a black ribbon about her slender neck. Judg
ing from the very perceptible sagging of the
ceiling, and the slope of the floor, which was
full of cracks, the little wing into which we have
conducted the reader had existed for a very long
time. No one lived in it permanently ; it was put
to use when the owners came. The young man
who was sitting at the table was the owner of
the village of Sasovo. He had arrived only on
the previous day from his principal estate, situ
ated a hundred versts l distant, and was prepar
ing to depart on the morrow, after completing
the inspection of the farming, listening to the
demands of the peasants, and verifying all the
documents. " Well, that will do," — he said, raising his
head; — " I am tired. Thou mayest go now," —
he added, turning to the overseer; — " and come
very early to-morrow morning, and notify the
peasants at daybreak that they are to present
themselves in assembly, — dost hear me? "
" I obey."
" And order the estate-clerk to present to me
the report for the last month. But thou hast
done well," — the gentleman went on, casting a
glance around him, — " in whitewashing the walls.
Everything seems cleaner."
1 A verst is two thirds of a mile.— Translator.
172

XMHi REGION OF DEAD CALM
The overseer silently swept a glance around
the walls also.
" Well, go now."
The overseer made his obeisance and left the
room. The gentleman stretched himself.
" Hey! "—he shouted.—" Give me some tea!
.... 'T is time to go to bed."
His servant went to the other side of the par
tition, and speedily returned with a glass of tea,
a bundle of town cracknels, and a cream- jug on
an iron tray. The gentleman began to drink tea,
but before he had had time to swallow two mouth-
fuls, the noise of persons entering resounded
from an adjoining room, and some one's squeak
ing voice inquired:
" Is Vladimir Sergyeitch Astakhoff at home?
Can he be seen? "
Vladimir Sergyeitch (that was the name of the
young man in the paletot) cast a glance of sur
prise at his man, and said in a hurried whisper:
" Go, find out who it is."
The man withdrew, slamming behind him the
door, which closed badly.
" Announce to Vladimir Sergyeitch,"— rang
out the same squeaking voice as before,—" that
his neighbour Ipatoff wishes to see him, if it
will not incommode him; and another neighbour
has come with me, Bodryakoff, Ivan Ilitch, who
also desires to pay his respects." 173

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
Vladimir Sergyeitch made an involuntary ges
ture of vexation. Nevertheless, when his man
entered the room, he said to him :
" Ask them in." And he arose to receive his
visitors. The door opened, and the visitors made their
appearance. One of them, a robust, grey-haired
little old man, with a small, round head and
bright little eyes, walked in advance; the other,
a tall, thin man of three-and-thirty, with a long,
swarthy face and dishevelled hair, walked behind,
with a shambling gait. The old man wore a neat
grey coat with large, mother-of-pearl buttons;
a small, pink neckerchief, half concealed by the
rolling collar of his white shirt, loosely encircled
his neck; his feet shone resplendent in gaiters;
the plaids of his Scotch trousers were agreeably
gay in hue ; and, altogether, he produced a pleas
ant impression. His companion, on the contrary,
evoked in the spectator a less favourable sensa
tion : he wore an old black dress-coat, buttoned up
to the throat; his full trousers, of thick, winter
tricot, matched his coat in colour; no linen was
visible, either around his throat or around his
wrists. The little old man was the first to ap
proach Vladimir Sergyeitch, and, with an amia
ble inclination of the head, he began in the same
shrill little voice:
" I have the honour to introduce myself,—
your nearest neighbour, and even a relative,
174

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
Ipatoff, Mikhaflo Nikolaitch. I have long wished
to have the pleasure of making your acquain
tance. I hope that I have not disturbed you."
Vladimir Sergyeitch replied that he was very
glad to see him, and that he was not disturbed
in the least, and would not he take a seat ....
and drink tea.
" And this nobleman," — went on the little old
man, after listening with a courteous smile to
Vladimir Sergyeitch's unfinished phrases, and
extending his hand in the direction of the gentle
man in the dress-coat, — "also your neighbour
.... and my good acquaintance, Ivan Ilitch,
strongly desired to make your acquaintance."
The gentleman in the dress-coat, from whose
countenance no one would have suspected that
he was capable of desiring anything strongly
in his life — so preoccupied and, at the same time,
so sleepy was the expression of that countenance,
— the gentleman in the dress-coat bowed clum
sily and languidly. Vladimir Sergyeitch bowed
to him in return, and again invited the visitors to
be seated.
The visitors sat down.
" I am very glad,"— began the little old man,
pleasantly throwing apart his hands, while his
companion set to scrutinising the ceiling, with
his mouth slightly open:—" I am very glad that
I have, at last, the honour of seeing you person
ally. Although you have your permanent resi-
175

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
dence in a county which lies at a considerable
distance from these localities, still, we regard you
also as one of our own primordial landed pro
prietors, so to speak."
" That is very flattering to me," — returned
Vladimir Sergyeitch.
" Flattering or not, it is a fact. You must
excuse us, Vladimir Sergyeitch; we people here
in *** county are a straightforward folk ; we live
in our simplicity; we say what we think, without
circumlocution. It is our custom, I must tell
you, not to call upon each other on Name-days J
otherwise than in our frock-coats. Truly! We
have made that the rule. On that account, we
are called ' frock-coaters ' in the adjoining coun
ties, and we are even reproached for our bad
style; but we pay no attention to that! Pray,
what is the use of living in the country — and then
standing on ceremony? "
" Of course, what can be better .... in the
country .... than that naturalness of inter
course," — remarked Vladimir Sergyeitch.
" And yet," — replied the little old man,—
" among us in our county dwell people of the
cleverest sort, — one may say people of European
culture, although they do not wear dress-suits.
1 The Name-day— that is, the day of the saint after whom a person
is named— is observed with feasting and congratulation, instead of
the birthday. For ceremonious calls, no matter at what hour of the
day, a man who has no official uniform must wear his evening suit,
on penalty of being considered ignorant or rude, or (in official circles)
of being refused admittanc. — Translator.
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Take, for example, our historian Evsiukoff,
Stepan Stepanitch: he is interesting himself in
Russian history from the most ancient times, and
is known in Petersburg — an extremely learned
man! There is in our town an ancient Swedish
cannon-ball .... 't is placed yonder, in the cen
tre of the public square . . . and 't was he who
discovered it, you know! Certainly! Tzenteler,
Anton Karlitch .... now he has studied nat
ural history; but they say all Germans are suc
cessful in that line. When, ten years ago, a stray
hyena was killed in our vicinity, it was this Anton
Karlitch who discovered that it really was a hy
ena, by cause of the peculiar construction of its
tail. And then, we have a landed proprietor Ka-
burdin: he chiefly writes light articles; he wields
a very dashing pen ; his articles appear in ' Gala
tea.' Bodryakoff, .... not Ivan Ilitch; no,
Ivan Ilitch neglects that; but another Bodrya
koff, Sergyei .... what the deuce was his fa
ther's baptismal name, Ivan Ilitch .... what
the deuce was it? "
" Sergyeitch," — prompted Ivan Ilitch.
"Yes; Sergyei Sergyeitch, — he busies himself
with writing verses. Well, of course he 's not a
Pushkin, but sometimes he gets off things which
would pass muster even in the capitals. Do you
know his epigram on Agei Fomitch? "
" What Agei Fomitch? "
" Akh, pardon me ; I keep forgetting that you
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are not a resident here, after all. He is our chief
of police. The epigram is extremely amusing.
Thou rememberest it, I believe, Ivan Ilitch? "
" Agei Fomitch,"— said Bodryakoff, indiffer
ently—
" . . . . not without cause is gloriously
By the nobles' election honoured  "

" I must tell you," — broke in Ipatoff, — " that
he was elected almost exclusively by white balls,
for he is a most worthy man."
" Agei Fomitch,"— repeated Bodryakoff,
" . . . . not without cause is gloriously
By the nobles1 election honoured:
He drinks and eats regularly ....
So why should not he be the regulator of order? 11J
The little old man burst out laughing.
" Ha, ha, ha! that is n't bad, is it? Ever since
then, if you '11 believe me, each one of us will
say, for instance, to Agei Fomitch:' Good morn
ing! '—and will invariably add: ' so why should
not he be the regulator of order? ' And does
Agei Fomitch get angry, think you? Not in the
least. No — that 's not our way. Just ask Ivan
Ilitch here if it is."
Ivan Ilitch merely rolled up his eyes.
" Get angry at a jest— how is that possible?
'A pun is intendeds isprdvno, regularly, in orderly manner;
ispravnik, the chief of police in a rural district, —translator.
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Now, take Ivan Ilitch there ; his nickname among
us is ' The Folding Soul,' because he agrees to
everything very promptly. What then? Does
Ivan Ilitch take offence at that? Never! "
Ivan Ilitch, slowly blinking his eyes, looked
first at the little old man, then at Vladimir Ser
gyeitch. The epithet, "The Folding Soul," really did
fit Ivan Ilitch admirably. There was not a trace
in him of what is called will or character. Any
one who wished could lead him whithersoever he
would ; all that was necessary was to say to him :
" Come on, Ivan Ilitch! " — and he picked up his
cap and went; but if another person turned up,
and said to him: " Halt, Ivan Ilitch! "—he laid
down his cap and remained. He was of a peace
able, tranquil disposition, had lived a bachelor-
life, did not play cards, but was fond of sitting
beside the players and looking into each of their
faces in turn. Without society he could not exist,
and solitude he could not endure. At such times
he became despondent; however, this happened
very rarely with him. He had another peculiar
ity: rising from his bed betimes in the morning,
he would sing in an undertone an old romance:
"In the country once a Baron
Dwelt in simplicity rural. ..."
In consequence of this peculiarity of Ivan
Ilitch's, he was also called " The Hawfinch," be-
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cause, as is well known, the hawfinch when in cap
tivity sings only once in the course of the day,
early in the morning. Such was Ivan Ilitch Bo
dryakoff. The conversation between Ipatoff and Vladi
mir Sergyeitch lasted for quite a long time, but
not in its original, so to speak, speculative direc
tion. The little old man questioned Vladimir
Sergyeitch about his estate, the condition of his
forests and other sorts of land, the improvements
which he had already introduced or was only
intending to introduce in his farming; he im
parted to him several of his own observations ; ad
vised him, among other things, in order to get rid
of hummocky pastures, to sprinkle them with
oats, which, he said, would induce the pigs to
plough them up with their snouts, and so forth.
But, at last, perceiving that Vladimir Sergyeitch
was so sleepy that he could hardly keep his eyes
open, and that a certain deliberation and inco
herence were making themselves evident in his
speech, the little old man rose, and, with a courte
ous obeisance, declared that he would not in
commode him any longer with his presence, but
that he hoped to have the pleasure of seeing the
valued guest at his own house not later than the
following day, at dinner.
" And the first person you meet, not to men
tion any small child, but, so to speak, any hen
or peasant-woman,"— he added,—" will point
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out to you the road to my village. All you have
to do is to ask for Ipatoff. The horses will trot
there of themselves."
Vladimir Sergyeitch replied with a little hesi
tation — which, however, was natural to him —
that he would try . . . that if nothing pre
vented ....
' Yes, we shall certainly expect you," — the
little old man interrupted him, cordially, shook
his hand warmly, and briskly withdrew, exclaim
ing in the doorway, as he half turned round: —
" Without ceremony! "
" Folding Soul " Bodryakoff bowed in silence
and vanished in the wake of his companion, with
a preliminary stumble on the threshold.
Having seen his unexpected guests off, Vladi
mir Sergyeitch immediately undressed, got into
bed, and went to sleep.
Vladimir Sergyeitch Astakhoff belonged to
the category of people who, after having cau
tiously tested their powers in two or three dif
ferent careers, are wont to say of themselves
that they have finally come to the conclusion to
look at life from a practical point of view, and
who devote their leisure to augmenting their
revenues. He was not stupid, was rather penu
rious, and very sensible; was fond of reading, of
society, of music — but all in moderation ....
and bore himself very decorously. He was
twenty-seven years old. A great many young
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men of his sort have sprung up recently. He was
of medium height, well built, and had agreeable
though small features; their expression almost
never varied; his eyes always gleamed with one
and the same stern, bright glance; only now and
then did this glance soften with a faint shade of
something which was not precisely sadness, nor
yet precisely boredom; a courteous smile rarely
quitted his lips. He had very handsome, fair hair,
silky, and falling in long ringlets. Vladimir Ser
gyeitch owned about six hundred souls 1 on a
good estate, and he was thinking of marriage — a
marriage of inclination, but which should, at the
same time, be advantageous. He was particu
larly desirous of finding a wife with powerful
connections. In a word, he merited the appella
tion of " gentleman " which had recently come
into vogue.
When he rose on the following morning, very
early, according to his wont, our gentleman oc
cupied himself with business, and, we must do
him the justice to say, did so in a decidedly prac
tical manner, which cannot always be said of
practical young men among us in Russia. He
patiently listened to the confused petitions and
complaints of the peasants, gave them satisfac
tion so far as he was able, investigated the quar
rels and dissensions which had arisen between
1 Male serfs. The women and children did not figure on the
revision lists. — Translator.
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relatives, exhorted some, scolded others, audited
the clerk's accounts, brought to light two or three
rascalities on the part of the overseer — in a word,
handled matters in such wise that he was very
well satisfied with himself, and the peasants, as
they returned from the assembly to their homes,
spoke well of him.
In spite of his promise given on the preceding
evening to Ipatoff, Vladimir Sergyeitch had
made up his mind to dine at home, and had even
ordered his travelling-cook to prepare his favour
ite rice-soup with pluck ; but all of a sudden, pos
sibly in consequence of that feeling of satisfac
tion which had filled his soul ever since the early
morning, he stopped short in the middle of the
room, smote himself on the brow with his hand,
and, not without some spirit, exclaimed aloud:
" I believe I '11 go to that flowery old babbler! "
No sooner said than done; half an hour later he
was sitting in his new tarantas, drawn by four
stout peasant-horses, and driving to Ipatoff's
house, which was reckoned to be not more than
twenty-five versts distant by a capital road.
II
Mikhailo Nikolaevitch Ipatoff's manor
consisted of two separate small mansions, built
opposite each other on the two sides of a huge
pond through which ran a river. A long dam,
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planted with silver poplars, shut off the pond ; al
most on a level with it the red roof of a small
hand-mill was visible. Built exactly alike, and
painted with the same lilac hue, the tiny houses
seemed to be exchanging glances across the broad,
watery expanse, with the glittering panes of their
small, clean windows. From the middle of each
little house a circular terrace projected, and a
sharp-peaked pediment rose aloft, supported by
four white pillars set close together. The an
cient park ran all the way round the pond; lin
dens stretched out in alleys, and stood in dense
clumps; aged pine-trees, with pale yellow boles,
dark oaks, magnificent maples here and there
reared high in air their solitary crests; the dense
verdure of the thickly-spreading lilacs and aca
cias advanced close up to the very sides of the two
little houses, leaving revealed only their fronts,
from which winding paths paved with brick ran
down the slope. Motley-hued ducks, white and
grey geese were swimming in separate flocks on
the clear water of the pond; it never became cov
ered with scum, thanks to abundant springs
which welled into its " head " from the base of the
steep, rocky ravine. The situation of the manor
was good, pleasant, isolated, and beautiful.
In one of the two little houses dwelt Mikhail
Nikolaevitch himself; in the other lived his
mother, a decrepit old woman of seventy years.
When he drove on to the dam, Vladimir Ser-
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±t±U REGION OF DEAD CALM
gyeitch did not know to which house to betake
himself. He glanced about him: a small urchin
of the house-serfs was fishing, as he stood bare
footed on a half -rotten tree-stump. Vladimir
Sergyeitch hailed him.
" But to whom are you going— to the old lady
or to the young master? "—replied the urchin,
without taking his eyes from his float.
" What lady? " — replied Vladimir Sergyeitch.
— " I want to find Mikhailo Nikolaitch."
" Ah! the young master? Well, then, turn to
the right."
And the lad gave his line a jerk, and drew
from the motionless water a small, silvery carp.
Vladimir Sergyeitch drove to the right.
Mikhail Nikolaitch was playing at draughts
with The Folding Soul when the arrival of Vla
dimir Sergyeitch was announced to him. He was
delighted, sprang from his arm-chair, ran out
into the anteroom and there kissed the visitor
three times.
" You find me with my invariable friend, Vla
dimir Sergyeitch,"— began the loquacious little
old man:—" with Ivan Ilitch, who, I will remark
in passing, is completely enchanted with your
affability." (Ivan Ilitch darted a silent glance
at the corner.) " He was so kind as to remain
to play draughts with me, while all my household
went for a stroll in the park ; but I will send for
them at once. . . ." ]85

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" But why disturb them? "—Vladimir Ser
gyeitch tried to expostulate. . . .
" Not the least inconvenience, I assure you.
Hey, there, Vanka, run for the young ladies as
fast as thou canst . . . tell them that a guest has
favoured us with a visit. And how does this
locality please you? It 's not bad, is it? Ka-
burdin has composed some verses about it. ' Ipa-
tovka, refuge lovely ' — that 's the way they begin,
— and the rest of it is just as good, only I don't
remember all of it. The park is large, that 's the
trouble; beyond my means. And these two
houses, which are so much alike, as you have,
perhaps, deigned to observe, were erected by two
brothers — my father Nikolai, and my uncle Ser
gyei ; they also laid out the park ; they were exem
plary friends .... Damon and .... there
now ! I 've forgotten the other man's name. . . ."
" Pythion," — remarked Ivan Ilitch.
" Not really? Well, never mind." (At home
the old man talked in a much more unconven
tional manner than when he was paying calls. ) —
' You are, probably, not ignorant of the fact,
Vladimir Sergyeitch, that I am a widower, that
I have lost my wife; my elder children are in
government educational institutions,1 and I have
with me only the youngest two, and my sister-in-
law lives with me — my wife's sister; you will see
1 Of different grades (civil and military), for the children of the
nobility or gentry. They are not charities. — Translator.
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her directly. But why don't I offer you some
refreshment? Ivan Ilitch, my dear fellow, see
to a little luncheon .... what sort of vodka
are you pleased to prefer? "
" I drink nothing until dinner."
" Goodness, how is that possible! However,
as you please. The truest hospitality is to let
the guest do as he likes. We are very simple-
mannered folk here, you see. Here with us, if
I may venture so to express myself, we live not
so much in a lonely as in a dead-calm place, a
remote nook — that 's what! But why don't you
sit down? "
Vladimir Sergyeitch seated himself, without
letting go of his hat.
" Permit me to relieve you," — said Ipatoff,
and delicately taking his hat from him, he car
ried it off to a corner, then returned, looked his
visitor in the eye with a cordial smile, and, not
knowing just what agreeable thing to say to him,
inquired, in the most hearty manner,— whether he
was fond of playing draughts.
" I play all games badly,"— replied Vladimir
Sergyeitch. " And that 's a very fine thing in you,"— re
turned Ipatoff :—" but draughts is not a game,
but rather a diversion— a way of passing leisure
time; is n't that so, Ivan Ilitch? "
Ivan Ilitch cast an indifferent glance at Ipa
toff, as though he were thinking to himself,
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" The devil only knows whether it is a game or
a diversion," but, after waiting a while, he said:
" Yes; draughts don't count."
" Chess is quite another matter, they say,"—
pursued Ipatoff; — " 't is a very difficult game,
I 'm told. But, in my opinion .... but yonder
come my people!" — he interrupted himself,
glancing through the half -open glass door, which
gave upon the park.
Vladimir Sergyeitch rose, turned round, and
beheld first two little girls, about ten years of age,
in pink cotton frocks and broad-brimmed hats,
who were running alertly up the steps of the
terrace; not far behind them a tall, plump, well-
built young girl of twenty, in a dark gown, made
her appearance. They all entered the house, and
the little girls courtesied sedately to the visitor.
" Here, sir, let me present you," — said the host;
— " my daughters, sir. This one here is named
Katya, and this one is Nastya, and this is my
sister-in-law, Marya Pavlovna, whom I have al
ready had the pleasure of mentioning to you. I
beg that you will love and favour them."
Vladimir Sergyeitch made his bow to Marya
Pavlovna; she replied to him with a barely per
ceptible inclination of the head.
Marya Pavlovna held in her hand a large, open
knife; her thick, ruddy-blond hair was slightly
dishevelled, — a small green leaf had got en
tangled in it, her braids had escaped from the
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THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
comb,— her dark-skinned face was flushed, and
her red lips were parted ; her gown looked crum
pled. She was breathing fast; her eyes were
sparkling ; it was evident that she had been work
ing in the garden. She immediately left the
room ; the little girls ran out after her.
" She 's going to rearrange her toilet a bit," —
remarked the old man, turning to Vladimir Ser
gyeitch;— " they can't get along without that,
sir!" Vladimir Sergyeitch grinned at him in re
sponse, and became somewhat pensive. Marya
Pavlovna had made an impression on him. It was
long since he had seen such a purely Russian
beauty of the steppes. She speedily returned,
sat down on the divan, and remained motionless.
She had smoothed her hair, but had not changed
her gown, — had not even put on cuffs. Her fea
tures expressed not precisely pride, but rather
austerity, almost harshness; her brow was broad
and low, her nose short and straight ; a slow, lazy
smile curled her lips from time to time; her
straight eyebrows contracted scornfully. She
kept her large, dark eyes almost constantly low
ered. " I know," her repellent young face seemed
to be saying ; " I know that you are all looking
at me; well, then, look; you bore me." But
when she raised her eyes, there was something
wild, beautiful, and stolid about them, which was
suggestive of the eyes of a doe. She had a mag-
189

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
nificent figure. A classical poet would have com
pared her to Ceres or Juno.
' What have you been doing in the garden? "
— Ipatoff asked her, being desirous of bringing
her into the conversation.
" I have been cutting off dead branches, and
digging up the flower-beds," she replied, in a
voice which was rather low, but agreeable and
resonant. " And are you tired? "
" The children are; I am not."
" I knowT," — interposed the old man, with a
smile; — " thou art a regular Bobelina! And have
you been to grandmamma's? "
" Yes; she is asleep."
" Are you fond of flowers? "—Vladimir Ser
gyeitch asked her.
" Yes."
" Why dost thou not put on thy hat when thou
goest out of doors? " — Ipatoff remarked to her.
— " Just see how red and sunburned thou art."
She silently passed her hand over her face.
Her hands were not large, but rather broad, and
decidedly red. She did not wear gloves.
" And are you fond of gardening? " — Vladi
mir Sergyeitch put another question to her.
" Yes."
Vladimir Sergyeitch began to narrate what a
fine garden there was in his neighbourhood, be
longing to a wealthy landed proprietor named
190

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
N***.— The head gardener, a German, received
in wages alone two thousand rubles, silver1— he
said, among other things.
" And what is the name of that gardener? "—
inquired Ivan Ilitch, suddenly.
" I don't remember, — Meyer or Miiller, I
think. But why do you ask? "
" For no reason in particular, sir," — replied
Ivan Ilitch. — " To find out his name."
Vladimir Sergyeitch continued his narration.
The little girls, Mikhail Nikolaitch's daughters,
entered, sat down quietly, and quietly began to
listen. . . .
A servant made his appearance at the door,
had announced that Egor Kapitonitch had ar
rived. "Ah! Ask him in, ask him in!" — exclaimed
Ipatoff. There entered a short, fat little old man, one
of the sort of people who are called squat or
dumpy, with a puffy and, at the same time, a
wrinkled little face, after the fashion of a baked
apple. He wore a grey hussar jacket with black
braiding and a standing collar; his full coffee-
coloured velveteen trousers ended far above his
ankles. " Good morning, my most respected Egor
Kapitonitch,"— exclaimed Ipatoff, advancing to
1 In those days there was a great difference in the value of silver and
paper money hence the kind is usually specified. —Translator.
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THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
meet him. — " We have n't seen each other for a
long time."
" Could n't be helped,"— returned Egor Kapi
tonitch in a lisping and whining voice, after hav
ing preliminarily exchanged salutations with all
present;— " surely you know, Mikhail Sergye
itch, whether I am a free man or not? "
" And how are you not a free man, Egor Kapi
tonitch?" " Why, of course I 'm not, Mikhail Nikola
itch; there 's my family, my affairs. . . . And
there 's Matryona Markovna to boot," and he
waved his hand in despair.
" But what about Matryona Markovna? "
And Ipatoff launched a slight wink at Vla
dimir Sergyeitch, as though desirous of exciting
his interest in advance.
" Why, everybody knows," — returned Egor
Kapitonitch, as he took a seat; — " she 's always
discontented with me, don't you know that?
Whatever I say, it 's wrong, not delicate, not
decorous. And why it is n't decorous, the Lord
God alone knows. And the young ladies, my
daughters that is to say, do the same, taking pat
tern by their mother. I don't say but what Ma
tryona Markovna is a very fine woman, but she 's
awfully severe on the score of manners."
"But, good gracious! in what way are your
manners bad, Egor Kapitonitch? "
" That 's exactly what I 'd like to know myself;
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but, evidently, she 's hard to suit. Yesterday,
for instance, I said at table: 'Matryona Mar
kovna,' ' (and Egor Kapitonitch imparted to
his voice an insinuating inflection,—" ' Matryona
Markovna,' says I, ' what 's the meaning of this,
—that Aldoshka is n't careful with the horses,
does n't know how to drive? ' says I; ' there 's the
black stallion quite foundered.'— I-iikh! how Ma
tryona Markovna did flare up, and set to crying
shame on me : ' Thou dost not know how to ex
press thyself decently in the society of ladies,'
says she ; and the young ladies instantly galloped
away from the table, and on the next day, the
Biriuloff young ladies, my wife's nieces, had
heard all about it. And how had I expressed my
self badly? And no matter what I say — and
sometimes I really am incautious,— no matter to
whom I say it, especially at home, — those Biriu
loff girls know all about it the next day. A fel
low simply does n't know what to do. Sometimes
I 'm just sitting so, thinking after my fashion,
— I breathe hard, as perhaps you know, — and
Matryona Markovna sets to berating me again:
'Don't snore,' says she; 'nobody snores nowa
days!'— 'What art thou scolding about, Ma
tryona Markovna? ' says I. ' Good mercy, thou
shouldst have compassion, but thou scoldest.'
So I don't meditate at home any more. I sit
and look down— so— all the time. By Heaven, I
do. And then, again, not long ago, we got into
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THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
bed ; ' Matryona Markovna,' says I, ' what makes
thee spoil thy page-boy, matushka?1 Why, he 's a
regular little pig,' says I, ' and he might wash his
face of a Sunday, at least.' And what happened?
It strikes me that I said it distantly, tenderly, but
I did n't hit the mark even then ; Matryona Mar
kovna began to cry shame on me again : ' Thou
dost not understand how to behave in the society
of ladies,' says she; and the next day the Biriu
loff girls knew all about it. What time have I
to think of visits under such circumstances, Mi
khail Nikolaitch? "
" I 'm amazed at what you tell me," — replied
Ipatoff; — " I did not expect that from Matryona
Markovna. Apparently, she is . . . ."
" An extremely fine woman," — put in Egor
Kapitonitch; — " a model wife and mother, so to
speak, only strict on the score of manners. She
says that ensemble is necessary in everything, and
that I have n't got it. I don't speak French, as
you are aware, I only understand it. But what 's
that ensemble that I have n't got? "
Ipatoff, who was not very strong in French
himself, only shrugged his shoulders.
" And how are your children — your sons, that
is to say? "—he asked Egor Kapitonitch after a
brief pause.
Egor Kapitonitch darted an oblique glance at
him.
1 Literally, "dear little mother."— Translator.
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" My sons are all right. I 'm satisfied with
them. The girls have got out of hand, but I 'm
satisfied with my sons. Lyolya discharges his ser
vice well, his superior officers approve of him;
that Lyolya of mine is a clever fellow. Well,
Mfkhetz— he 's not like that; he has turned out
some sort of a philanthropist."
" Why a philanthropist? "
" The Lord knows; he speaks to nobody, he
shuns folks. Matryona Markovna mostly
abashes him. ' Why dost thou take pattern by
thy father? ' she says to him. ' Do thou respect
him, but copy thy mother as to manners.' He '11
get straightened out, he '11 turn out all right
also." Vladimir Sergyeitch asked Ipatoff to intro
duce him to Egor Kapitonitch. They entered
into conversation. Marya Pavlovna did not take
part in it; Ivan Ilitch seated himself beside her,
and said two words, in all, to her; the little girls
came up to him, and began to narrate something
to him in a whisper. . . . The housekeeper en
tered, a gaunt old woman, with her head bound
up in a dark kerchief, and announced that dinner
was ready. All wended their way to the dining-
room. The dinner lasted for quite a long time. Ipa
toff kept a good cook, and ordered pretty good
wines, not from Moscow, but from the capital
of the government. Ipatoff lived at his ease, as
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THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
the saying goes. He did not own more than three
hundred souls, but he was not in debt to any
one, and had brought his estate into order. At
table, the host himself did the greater part of
the talking; Egor Kapitonitch chimed in, but did
not forget himself, at the same time; he ate and
drank gloriously. Marya Pavlovna preserved
unbroken silence, only now and then replying
with half -smiles to the hurried remarks of the
two little girls, who sat one on each side of her.
They were, evidently, very fond of her. Vladimir
Sergyeitch made several attempts to enter into
conversation with her, but without particular suc
cess. Folding Soul Bodryakoff even ate indo
lently and languidly. After dinner all went out
on the terrace to drink coffee. The weather was
magnificent; from the garden was wafted the
sweet perfume of the lindens, which were then in
full flower ; the summer air, slightly cooled by the
thick shade of the trees, and the humidity of the
adjacent pond, breathed forth a sort of caressing
warmth. Suddenly, from behind the poplars of
the dam, the trampling of a horse's hoofs became
audible, and a moment later, a horsewoman made
her appearance in a long riding-habit and a grey
hat, mounted on a bay horse; she was riding at a
gallop; a page was galloping behind her, on a
small, white cob.
" Ah ! " — exclaimed Ipatoff, — " Nadezhda
Alexyeevna is coming. What a pleasant sur
prise ! " 196

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" Alone? "—asked Marya Pavlovna, who up
to that moment had been standing motionless in
the doorway.
" Alone. . . . Evidently, something has de
tained Piotr Alexyeevitch."
Marya Pavlovna darted a sidelong glance from
beneath her brows, a flush overspread her face,
and she turned away.
In the meantime, the horsewoman had ridden
through the wicket-gate into the garden, gal
loped up to the terrace, and sprang lightly to the
ground, without waiting either for her groom
or for Ipatoff, who had started to meet her.
Briskly gathering up the train of her riding-
habit, she ran up the steps, and springing upon
the terrace, exclaimed blithely:
"Here I am!"
" Welcome! "—said Ipatoff.— " How unex
pected, how charming this is! Allow me to kiss
your hand. . . ."
" Certainly,"— returned the visitor; " only, you
must pull off the glove yourself. — I cannot."
And, extending her hand to him, she nodded to
Marya Pavlovna.—" Just fancy, Masha, my
brother will not be here to-day,"— she said, with
a little sigh.
" I see for myself that he is not here,"— replied
Marya Pavlovna in an undertone.
" He bade me say to thee that he is busy.
Thou must not be angry. Good morning, Egor
Kapitonitch; good morning, Ivan Ilitch; good
197

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morning, children. . . . Vasya," — added the
guest, turning to her small groom, — " order them
to walk Little Beauty up and down well, dost
hear? Masha, please give me a pin, to fasten
up my train. . . . Come here, Mikhail Niko
laitch." Ipatoff went closer to her.
" Who is that new person? " — she asked, quite
loudly. " That is a neighbour, Astakhoff, Vladimir
Sergyeevitch, you know, the owner of Sasovo.
I '11 introduce him if you like, shall I? "
" Very well .... afterward. Akh, what
splendid weather!" — she went on. — "Egor Ka
pitonitch, tell me — can it be possible that Ma
tryona Markovna growls even in such weather as
this?" " Matryona Markovna never grumbles in any
sort of weather, madam; and she is merely strict
on the score of manners. . ."
" And what are the Biriuloff girls doing?
They know all about it the next day, don't
they? . . . ." And she burst into a ringing, sil
very laugh.
'You are pleased to laugh constantly,"— re
turned Egor Kapitonitch. — " However, when
should a person laugh, if not at your age? "
" Egor Kapitonitch, don't get angry, my dear
man ! Akh, I 'm tired ; allow me to sit down. . . ."
Nadezhda Alexyeevna dropped into an arm-
198

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chair, and playfully pulled her hat down over her
very eyes.
Ipatoff led Vladimir Sergyeitch up to her.
" Permit me, Nadezhda Alexyeevna, to present
to you our neighbour, Mr. Astakhoff , of whom
you have, probably, heard a great deal."
Vladimir Sergyeitch made his bow, while
Nadezhda Alexyeevna looked up at him from
under the brim of her round hat.
" Nadezhda Alexyeevna Veretyeff , our neigh
bour," — went on Ipatoff, turning to Vladimir
Sergyeitch. — " She lives here with her brother,
Piotr Alexyeitch, a retired lieutenant of the
Guards. She is a great friend of my sister-in-
law, and bears good will to our household in
general." " A whole formal inventory," — said Nadezhda
Alexyeevna, laughing, and, as before, scanning
Vladimir Sergyeitch from under her hat.
But, in the meantime, Vladimir Sergyeitch was
thinking to himself: " Why, this is a very pretty
woman also." And, in fact, Nadezhda Alex
yeevna was a very charming young girl. Slender
and graceful, she appeared much younger than
she really was. She was already in her twenty-
eighth year. She had a round face, a small head,
fluffy fair hair, a sharp, almost audaciously up
turned little nose, and merry, almost crafty little
eyes. Mockery fairly glittered in them, and
kindled in them in sparks. Her features, ex-
199

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tremely vivacious and mobile, sometimes assumed
an almost amusing expression; humour peered
forth from them. Now and then, for the most
part suddenly, a shade of pensiveness flitted
across her face, — and at such times it became
gentle and kindly; but she could not surrender
herself long to meditation. She easily seized
upon the ridiculous sides of people, and drew
very respectable caricatures. Everybody had
petted her ever since she was born, and that is
something which is immediately perceptible;
people who have been spoiled in childhood pre
serve a certain stamp to the end of their lives.
Her brother loved her, although he asserted that
she stung, not like a bee, but like a wasp; be
cause a bee stings and then dies, whereas it sig
nifies nothing for a wasp to sting. This compari
son enraged her.
" Have you come here for long? "—she asked
Vladimir Sergyeitch, dropping her eyes, and
twisting her riding-whip in her hands.
" No ; I intend to go away from here to
morrow." "Whither?"
" Home."
" Home? Why, may I venture to ask? "
" What do you mean by ' why '? I have affairs
at home which do not brook delay."
Nadezhda Alexyeevna looked at him.
" Are you such a . . . . punctual man? "
200

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" I try to be a punctual man,"— replied Vladi
mir Sergyeitch. — " In our sedate era, every hon
ourable man must be sedate and punctual."
' That is perfectly just,"— remarked Ipatoff.
— " Is n't that true Ivan flitch? "
Ivan Ilitch merely glanced at Ipatoff; but
Egor Kapitonitch remarked:
" Yes, that 's so."
" 'T is a pity," — said Nadezhda Alexyeevna;
— " precisely what we lack is a jeune premier.
You know how to act comedy, I suppose? "
" I have never put my powers in that line to
the test."
" I am convinced that you would act well. You
have that sort of bearing .... a stately mien,
which is indispensable in a jeune premier. My
brother and I are preparing to set up a theatre
here. However, we shall not act comedies
only: we shall act all sorts of things — dramas,
ballets, and even tragedies. Why would n't
Masha do for Cleopatra or Phedre? Just look
at her!"
Vladimir Sergyeitch turned round. . . . Marya
Pavlovna was gazing thoughtfully into the dis
tance, as she stood leaning her head against the
door, with folded arms. . . . At that moment,
her regular features really did suggest the faces
of ancient statues. She did not catch Nadezhda
Alexyeevna's last words; but, perceiving that
the glances of all present were suddenly directed
201

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
to her, she immediately divined what was going
on, blushed, and was about to retreat into the
drawing-room. . . . Nadezhda Alexyeevna
briskly grasped her by the hand and, with the
coquettish caressing action of a kitten, drew her
toward her, and kissed that almost masculine
hand. Marya Pavlovna flushed more vividly than
before. " Thou art always playing pranks, Nadya,"—
she said.
" Did n't I speak the truth about thee? I
am ready to appeal to all. . . . Well, enough,
enough, I won't do it again. But I will say
again," — went on Nadezhda Alexyeevna, ad
dressing Vladimir Sergyeitch, — " that it is a pity
you are going away. We have a jeune premier,.
it is true ; he calls himself so, but he is very bad."
" Who is he? permit me to inquire."
" Bodryakoff the poet. How can a poet be a
jeune premier? In the first place, he dresses in
the most frightful way; in the second place, he
writes epigrams, and gets shy in the presence of
every woman, even in mine. He lisps, one of his
hands is always higher than his head, and I don't
know what besides. Tell me, please, M'sieu
Astakhoff, are all poets like that? "
Vladimir Sergyeitch drew himself up slightly.
" I have never known a single one of them,
personally; but I must confess that I have never
sought acquaintance with them."
202

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' Yes, you certainly are a positive man. We
shall have to take Bodryakoff; there 's nothing
else to be done. Other jeunes premiers are even
worse. That one, at all events, will learn his part
by heart. Masha, in addition to tragic roles, will
fill the post of prima donna. . . . You have n't
heard her sing, have you, M'sieu Astakhoff ? "
" No,"— replied Vladimir Sergyeitch, display
ing his teeth in a smile ; " and I did not know  "
" What is the matter with thee to-day, Na
dya? "—said Marya Pavlovna, with a look of dis
pleasure. Nadezhda Alexyeevna sprang to her feet.
" For Heaven's sake, Masha, do sing us some
thing, please. ... I won't let thee alone until
thou singest us something, Masha dearest. I
would sing myself, to entertain the visitors, but
thou knowest what a bad voice I have. But, on
the other hand, thou shalt see how splendidly I
will accompany thee."
Marya Pavlovna made no reply.
" There 's no getting rid of thee,"— she said at
last. — " Like a spoiled child, thou art accustomed
to have all thy caprices humoured. I will sing,
if you like."
" Bravo, bravo! "—exclaimed Nadezhda Alex
yeevna, clapping her hands. — " Let us go into the
drawing-room, gentlemen. — And as for caprices,"
—she added, laughing,— " I '11 pay you off for
that! Is it permissible to expose my weaknesses
203

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in the presence of strangers? Egor Kapitonitch,
does Matryona Markovna shame you thus before
people?" " Matryona Markovna,"— muttered Egor Ka
pitonitch,—" is a very worthy lady; only, on the
score of manners . . . ."
' Well, come along, come along! " — Nadezhda
Alexyeevna interrupted him, and entered the
drawing-room. All followed her. She tossed off her hat and
seated herself at the piano. Marya Pavlovna
stood near the wall, a good way from Nadezhda
Alexyeevna. " Masha," — said the latter, after reflecting a
little, — " sing us ' The farm-hand is sowing the
grain.' " *
Marya Pavlovna began to sing. Her voice
was pure and powerful, and she sang well— sim
ply, and without affectation. All listened to her
with great attention, while Vladimir Sergyeitch
could not conceal his amazement. When Marya
Pavlovna had finished, he stepped up to her, and
began to assure her that he had not in the least
expected ....
" Wait, there 's something more coming! "—
Nadezhda Alexyeevna interrupted him. — " Ma
sha, I will soothe thy Topknot 2 soul:— Now sing
us ' Humming, humming in the trees.' '
'A little Russian song. —Translator.
2 The popular nickname among Great Russians for the Little Rus
sians. —Translator.
204

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" Are you a Little Russian? "—Vladimir Ser
gyeitch asked her.
" I am a native of Little Russia," she replied,
and began to sing " Humming, humming."
At first she uttered the words in an indifferent
manner ; but the mournfully passionate lay of her
fatherland gradually began to stir her, her cheeks
flushed scarlet, her glance flashed, her voice rang
out fervently. She finished.
" Good heavens ! How well thou hast sung
that! " — said Nadezhda Alexyeevna, bending
over the keys. — " What a pity that my brother
was not here! "
Marya Pavlovna instantly dropped her eyes,
and laughed with her customary bitter little
laugh. " You must give us something more," — re
marked Ipatoff.
" Yes, if you will be so good," — added Vla
dimir Sergyeitch.
" Excuse me, I will not sing any more to-day,"
— said Marya Pavlovna, and left the room.
Nadezhda Alexyeevna gazed after her, first
reflected, then smiled, began to pick out
" The farm-hand is sowing the grain " with ,
one finger, then suddenly began to play a bril
liant polka, and without finishing it, struck a
loud chord, clapped to the lid of the piano, and
rose. " 'T is a pity that there is no one to dance
205

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with! " — she exclaimed. — " It would be just the
thing!" Vladimir Sergyeitch approached her.
' What a magnificent voice Marya Pavlovna
has," — he remarked; — " and with how much feel
ing she sings! "
" And are you fond of music? "
" Yes .... very."
" Such a learned man, and you are fond of
music! "
" But what makes you think that I am
learned? "
" Akh, yes; excuse me, I am always forgetting
that you are a positive man. But where has
Marya Pavlovna gone? Wait, I '11 go after her."
And Nadezhda Alexyeevna fluttered out of
the drawing-room.
" A giddy-pate, as you see," — said Ipatoff,
coming up to Vladimir Sergyeitch; — "but the
kindest heart. And what an education she re
ceived you cannot imagine; she can express
herself in all languages. Well, they are wealthy
people, so that is comprehensible."
' Yes," — articulated Vladimir Sergyeitch, ab
stractedly, — " she is a very charming girl. But
permit me to inquire, Was your wife also a native
of Little Russia? "
' Yes, she was, sir. My late wife was a Little
Russian, as her sister Marya Pavlovna is. My
wife, to tell the truth, did not even have a per-
206

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
fectly pure pronunciation; although she was a
perfect mistress of the Russian language, still
she did not express herself quite correctly; they
pronounce i, ui, there, and their kha and zhe are
peculiar also, you know; well, Marya Pavlovna
left her native land in early childhood. But the
Little Russian blood is still perceptible, is n't it? "
" Marya Pavlovna sings wonderfully," — re
marked Vladimir Sergyeitch.
" Really, it is not bad. But why don't they
bring us some tea? And where have the young
ladies gone? 'T is time to drink tea."
The young ladies did not return very speedily.
In the meantime, the samovar was brought, the
table was laid for tea. Ipatoff sent for them.
Both came in together. Marya Pavlovna seated
herself at the table to pour the tea, while Na
dezhda Alexyeevna walked to the door opening
on the terrace, and began to gaze out into the gar
den. The brilliant summer day had been suc
ceeded by a clear, calm evening; the sunset was
flaming; the broad pond, half flooded with its
crimson, stood a motionless mirror, grandly re
flecting in its deep bosom all the airy depths of
the sky, and the house, and the trees turned up
side down, and had grown black, as it were.
Everything was silent round about. There was
no noise anywhere.
"Look, how beautiful! "—said Nadezhda
Alexyeevna to Vladimir Sergyeitch, as he ap-
207

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proached her; — " down below there, in the pond,
a star has kindled its fire by the side of the light
in the house; the house-light is red, the other
is golden. And yonder comes grandmamma," —
she added in a loud voice.
From behind a clump of lilac-bushes a small
calash made its appearance. Two men were
drawing it. In it sat an old lady, all wrapped
up, all doubled over, with her head resting on her
breast. The ruffle of her white cap almost com
pletely concealed her withered and contracted
little face. The tiny calash halted in front of the
terrace. Ipatoff emerged from the drawing-
room, and his little daughters ran out after him.
They had been constantly slipping from room
to room all the evening, like little mice.
" I wish you good evening, dear mother," —
said Ipatoff, stepping up close to the old woman,
and elevating his voice. — " How do you feel? "
" I have come to take a look at you,"— said the
old woman in a dull voice, and with an effort.—
" What a glorious evening it is. I have been
asleep all day, and now my feet have begun to
ache. Okh, those feet of mine ! They don't serve
me, but they ache."
" Permit me, dear mother, to present to you
our neighbour, Astakhoff , Vladimir Sergyeitch."
" I am very glad to meet you,"— returned the
old woman, scanning him with her large, black,
but dim-sighted eyes. — " I beg that you will love
208

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
my son. He is a fine man; I gave him what
education I could; of course, I did the best a
woman could. He is still somewhat flighty, but,
God willing, he will grow steady, and 't is high
time he did ; 't is time for me to surrender matters
to him. Is that you, Nadya? "—added the old
woman, glancing at Nadezhda Alexyeevna.
" Yes, grandmamma."
" And is Masha pouring tea? "
' Yes, grandmamma, she is pouring tea."
" And who else is there? "
" Ivan Ilitch, and Egor Kapitonitch."
" The husband of Matryona Markovna? "
" Yes, dear mother."
The old woman mumbled with her lips.
" Well, good. But why is it, Misha, that I
^an't manage to get hold of the overseer? Order
him to come to me very early to-morrow morning ;
I shall have a great deal of business to arrange
with him. I see that nothing goes as it should
with you, without me. Come, that will do, I am
tired ; take me away. . . . Farewell, batiushka ; x
I don't remember your name and patronymic," —
she added, addressing Vladimir Sergyeitch.
" Pardon an old woman. But don't come with
me, grandchildren, it is n't necessary. All you
care for is to run all the time. Masha spoils you.
Well, start on."
1 Literally, "dear little father": the genuinely Russian mode of
address to a man of any class, as mdtushka (" dear little mother ") is
for women of all classes.— Translator.
209

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The old woman's head, which she had raised
with difficulty, fell back again on her breast. . . .
The tiny calash started, and rolled softly away.
" How old is your mother? " — inquired Vla
dimir Sergyeitch.
" Only in her seventy-third year; but it is
twenty-six years since her legs failed her; that
happened soon after the demise of my late father.
But she used to be a beauty."
All remained silent for a while.
Suddenly, Nadezhda Alexyeevna gave a start.
" Was that — a bat flying past? Ai, what a
fright!" And she hastily returned to the drawing-
room. " It is time for me to go home, Mikhail Niko
laitch; order my horse to be saddled."
" And it is time for me to be going, too,"—
remarked Vladimir Sergyeitch.
' Where are you going? " — said Ipatoff.—
" Spend the night here. Nadezhda Alexyeevna
has only two versts to ride, while you have fully
twelve. And what 's your hurry, too, Nadezhda
Alexyeevna? Wait for the moon; it will soon be
up now. It will be lighter to ride."
" Very well," — said Nadezhda Alexyeevna.
— " It is a long time since I had a moonlight
ride." " And will you spend the night? "—Ipatoff
asked Vladimir Sergyeitch. 210

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
" Really, I don't know. . . However, if I do
not incommode you . . . ."
" Not in the least, I assure you; I will imme
diately order a chamber to be prepared for you."
" But it is nice to ride by moonlight," — began
Nadezhda Alexyeevna, as soon as candles were
brought, tea was served, and Ipatoff and Egor
Kapitonitch had sat down to play preference
together, while The Folding Soul seated himself
silently beside them:—" especially through the
forest, between the walnut-trees. It is both terri
fying and agreeable, and what a strange play
of light and shade there is — it always seems as
though some one were stealing up behind you,
or in front of you. . . ."
Vladimir Sergyeitch smirked condescendingly.
"And here 's another thing," — she went on;
— " have you ever happened to sit beside the
forest on a warm, dark, tranquil night? At such
times it always seems to me as though two per
sons were hotly disputing in an almost inaudible
whisper, behind me, close at my very ear."
" That is the blood beating,"— said Ipatoff.
" You describe in a very poetical way," — re
marked Vladimir Sergyeitch. Nadezhda Alex
yeevna glanced at him.
" Do you think so? ... In that case, my de
scription would not please Masha."
" Why? Is not Marya Pavlovna fond of
poetry?" 211

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" No; she thinks all that sort of thing is made
up — is all false; and she does not like that."
"A strange reproach!" — exclaimed Vladimir
Sergyeitch. "Made up! How could it be other
wise? But, after all, what are composers for?"
"Well, there, that 's exactly the point; but
I am sure you cannot be fond of poetry."
" On the contrary, I love good verses, when
they really are good and melodious, and— how
shall I say it? — when they present ideas,
thoughts. . . ."
Marya Pavlovna rose.
Nadezhda Alexyeevna turned swiftly toward
her. " Whither art thou going, Masha? "
" To put the children to bed. It is almost nine
o'clock." " But cannot they go to bed without thee? "
But Marya Pavlovna took the children by the
hand and went away with them.
" She is out of sorts to-day," — remarked Na
dezhda Alexyeevna; — "and I know why,"— she
added in an undertone. — " But it will pass off."
" Allow me to inquire,"— began Vladimir Ser
gyeitch, — " where you intend to spend the win
ter? "
" Perhaps here, perhaps in Petersburg. It
seems to me that I shall be bored in Petersburg."
" In Petersburg! Good gracious! How is that
possible? " 212

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And Vladimir Sergyeitch began to describe all
the comforts, advantages, and charm of life in
our capital. Nadezhda Alexyeevna listened to
him with attention, never taking her eyes from
him. She seemed to be committing his features
to memory, and laughed to herself from time to
time. " I see that you are very eloquent," — she said
at last. — " I shall be obliged to spend the winter
in Petersburg." ' You will not repent of it,"— remarked Vla
dimir Sergyeitch.
" I never repent of anything; it is not worth
the bother. If you have perpetrated a blunder,
try to forget it as speedily as possible— that 's
all." " Allow me to ask," — began Vladimir Sergye
itch, after a brief pause, and in the French lan
guage; — "have you known Marya Pavlovna
long? "
" Allow me to ask," — retorted Nadezhda Alex
yeevna, with a swift laugh; — " why you have put
precisely that question to me in French? "
" Because .... for no particular reason. . . ."
Again Nadezhda Alexyeevna laughed.
" No; I have not known her very long. But
she is a remarkable girl, is n't she? "
" She is very original," — said Vladimir Ser
gyeitch, through his teeth.
" And in your mouth— in the mouth of posi-
213

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
five persons — does that constitute praise? I do
not think so. Perhaps I seem original to you,
also? But,"— she added, rising from her seat and
casting a glance through the window,—" the
moon must have risen; that is its light on the
poplars. It is time to depart. ... I will go
and give order that Little Beauty shall be
saddled." " He is already saddled, ma'am," — said Na
dezhda Alexyeevna's groom, stepping out from
the shadow in the garden into a band of light
which fell on the terrace.
" Ah ! Well, that 's very good, indeed ! Ma
sha, where art thou? Come and bid me good-
bye." Marya Pavlovna made her appearance from
the adjoining room. The men rose from the card-
table. " So you are going already?" — inquired Ipa
toff. " I am ; it is high time."
She approached the door leading into the gar
den. "What a night!"— she exclaimed.— " Come
here ; hold out your face to it ; do you feel how it
seems to breathe upon you? And what fragrance!
all the flowers have waked up now. They have
waked up — and we are preparing to go to sleep.
.... All, by the way, Masha," — she added:—
" I have told Vladimir Sergyeitch, you know,
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that thou art not fond of poetry. And now, fare
well . . . yonder comes my horse. . . ."
And she ran briskly down the steps of the ter
race, swung herself lightly into the saddle, said,
" Good-bye until to-morrow! " — and lashing her
horse on the neck with her riding-switch, she gal
loped off in the direction of the dam. . . . The
groom set off at a trot after her.
All gazed after her. . . .
" Until to-morrow! " — her voice rang out once
more from behind the poplars.
The hoof -beats were still audible for a long
time in the silence of the summer night. At last,
Ipatoff proposed that they should go into the
house again.
" It really is very nice out of doors," — he said;
— " but we must finish our game."
All obeyed him. Vladimir Sergyeitch began
to question Marya Pavlovna as to why she did not
like poetry.
" Verses do not please me," — she returned,
with apparent reluctance.
"But perhaps you have not read many
verses? "
" I have not read them myself, but I have had
them read to me."
" And is it possible that they did not please
you; " No ; none of them."
" Not even Pushkin's verses? "
215

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" Not even Pushkin's."
" Why? "
Marya Pavlovna made no answer ; but Ipatoff,
twisting round across the back of his chair, re
marked, with a good-natured laugh, that she not
only did not like verses, but sugar also, and, in
general, could not endure anything sweet.
" But, surely, there are verses which are not
sweet," — retorted Vladimir Sergyeitch.
" For example? " — Marya Pavlovna asked
him. Vladimir Sergyeitch scratched behind his ear.
.... He himself knew very few verses by heart,
especially of the sort which were not sweet.
"Why, here now,"— he exclaimed at last;—
" do you know Pushkin's ' The Upas-Tree ' ? J
No? That poem cannot possibly be called
sweet." " Recite it," — said Marya Pavlovna, dropping
her eyes.
Vladimir Sergyeitch first stared at the ceiling,
frowned, mumbled something to himself, and at
last recited " The Upas-Tree."
After the first four lines, Marya Pavlovna
slowly raised her eyes, and when Vladimir Ser
gyeitch ended, she said, with equal slowness:
1 The poem, after describing the deadly qualities of the upas-tree,
narrates how a potentate sent one of his slaves to bring him flowers
from it. The slave, thoroughly aware of his danger, fulfilled his
sovereign's behest, returned with branches of the tree, and dropped
dead. —Translator.
216

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" Please recite it again."
" So these verses do please you? "—asked Vla
dimir Sergyeitch.
" Recite it again."
Vladimir Sergyeitch repeated " The Upas-
Tree." Marya Pavlovna rose, went out into the
next room, and returned with a sheet of paper,
an inkstand and a pen.
" Please write that down for me," — she said to
Vladimir Sergyeitch.
" Certainly ; with pleasure,"— he replied, begin
ning to write. — " But I must confess that I am
puzzled to know why these verses have pleased
you so. I recited them simply to prove to you
that not all verses are sweet."
" So am I! "—exclaimed Ipatoff.-" What do
you think of those verses, Ivan Ilitch? "
Ivan Ilitch, according to his wont, merely
glanced at Ipatoff, but did not utter a word.
" Here, ma'am, — I have finished,"— said Vla
dimir Sergyeitch, as he placed an interrogation-
point at the end of the last line.
Marya Pavlovna thanked him, and carried the
written sheet off to her own room.
Half an hour later supper was served, and an
hour later all the guests dispersed to their rooms.
Vladimir Sergyeitch had repeatedly addressed
Marya Pavlovna; but it was difficult to conduct
a conversation with her, and his anecdotes did
not seem to interest her greatly. He probably
217

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
would have fallen asleep as soon as he got into
bed had he not been hindered by his neighbour,
Egor Kapitonitch. Matryona Markovna's hus
band, after he was fully undressed and had got
into bed, talked for a very long time with his
servant, and kept bestowing reprimands on him.
Every word he uttered was perfectly audible to
Vladimir Sergyeitch: only a thin partition sep
arated them.
" Hold the candle in front of thy breast,"—
said Egor Kapitonitch, in a querulous voice;—
" hold it so that I can see thy face. Thou hast
aged me, aged me, thou conscienceless man — hast
aged me completely."
" But, for mercy's sake, Egor Kapitonitch,
how have I aged you? "—the servant's dull and
sleepy voice made itself heard.
" How? I '11 tell thee how. How many times
have I said to thee : ' Mitka,' I have said to thee,
' when thou goest a-visiting with me, always take
two garments of each sort, especially ' . . . . hold
the candle in front of thy breast . . . . ' especially
underwear.' And what hast thou done to me
to-day? "
" What, sir? "
" ' What, sir? ' What am I to put on to-mor
row? "
" Why, the same things you wore to-day, sir."
" Thou hast aged me, malefactor, aged me. I
was almost beside myself with the heat to-day,
218

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
as it was. Hold the candle in front of thy breast,
I tell thee, and don't sleep when thy master is
talking to thee."
"' Well, but Matryona Markovna said, sir,
' That 's enough. Why do you always take such
a mass of things with you? They only get worn
out for nothing.' "
" Matryona Markovna .... Is it a woman's
business, pray, to enter into that? You have
aged me. Okh, you have made me old before my
time!" " Yes ; and Yakhim said the same thing, sir."
" What 's that thou saidst? "
" I say, Yakhim said the same thing, sir."
"Yakhim! Yakhim! "—repeated Egor Kapi
tonitch, reproachfully. — " Ekh, you have aged
me, ye accursed, and don't even know how to
speak Russian intelligibly. Yakhim ! Who 's Ya
khim! Efrim, — well, that might be allowed to
pass, it is permissible to say that; because the
genuine Greek name is Evthimius, dost under
stand me? . . . Hold the candle in front of thy
breast. . . . So, for the sake of brevity, thou
may est say Efrim, if thou wilt, but not Yakhim
by any manner of means. Yakhim!"1 added
Egor Kapitonitch, emphasising the syllable Ya.
— "You have aged me, ye malefactors. Hold
the candle in front of thy breast! "
And for a long time, Egor Kapitonitch con-
1 Tt should be Akim, popular for Iakfntbos, Hyacinth. —Translator.
219

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
tinued to berate his servant, in spite of sighs,
coughs, and other tokens of impatience on the
part of Vladimir Sergyeitch. . . .
At last he dismissed his Mitka, and fell asleep ;
but Vladimir Sergyeitch was no better off for
that: Egor Kapitonitch snored so mightily and
in so deep a voice, with such playful transitions
from high tones to the very lowest, with such
accompanying whistlings, and even snappings,
that it seemed as though the very partition were
shaking in response to him; poor Vladimir
Sergyeitch almost wept. It was very stifling
in the chamber which had been allotted to him,
and the feather-bed whereon he was lying
embraced his whole body in a sort of crawling
heat. At last, in despair, Vladimir Sergyeitch rose,
opened the window, and began with avidity to
inhale the nocturnal freshness. The window
looked out on the park. It was light overhead,
the round face of the full moon was now clearly
reflected in the pond, and stretched itself out in
a long, golden sheaf of slowly transfused span
gles. On one of the paths Vladimir Sergyeitch
espied a figure in woman's garb; he looked
more intently; it was Marya Pavlovna; in the
moonlight her face seemed pale. She stood
motionless, and suddenly began to speak. . . .
Vladimir Sergyeitch cautiously put out his
head. . . . 220

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" But a man — with glance imperious —
Sent a man to the Upas-tree . . . . ' '
reached his ear. . . .
" Come,"— he thought,—" the verses must
have taken effect. ..."
And he began to listen with redoubled atten
tion. . . . But Marya Pavlovna speedily fell si
lent, and turned her face more directly toward
him; he could distinguish her large, dark eyes,
her severe brows and lips. . . .
Suddenly, she started, wheeled round, entered
the shadow cast by a dense wall of lofty acacias,
and disappeared. Vladimir Sergyeitch stood for
a considerable time at the window, then got into
bed again, but did not fall asleep very soon.
" A strange being," — he thought, as he tossed
from side to side; — " and yet they say that there
is nothing particular in the provinces. . . . The
idea! A strange being! I shall ask her to-mor
row what she was doing in the park."
And Egor Kapitonitch continued to snore as
before. Ill
On the following morning Vladimir Sergyeitch
awoke quite late, and immediately after the gen
eral tea and breakfast in the dining-room, drove
off home to finish his business on his estate, in
spite of all old Ipatoff's attempts to detain him.
221

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Marya Pavlovna also was present at the tea; but
Vladimir Sergyeitch did not consider it neces
sary to question her concerning her late stroll of
the night before; he was one of the people who
find it difficult to surrender themselves for two
days in succession to any unusual thoughts and
assumptions whatsoever. He would have been
obliged to discuss verses, and the so-called " poet
ical " mood wearied him very quickly. He spent
the whole day until dinner in the fields, ate with
great appetite, dozed off, and when he woke up,
tried to take up the clerk's accounts; but be
fore he had finished the first page, he ordered his
tarantas to be harnessed, and set off for Ipatoff's.
Evidently, even positive people do not bear about
in their breasts hearts of stone, and they are no
more fond of being bored than other plain mor
tals. As he drove upon the dam he heard voices and
the sound of music. They were singing Rus
sian ballads in chorus in Ipatoff's house. He
found the whole company which he had left in
the morning on the terrace; all, Nadezhda Ale
xyeevna among the rest, were sitting in a circle
around a man of two-and-thirty — a swarthy-
skinned, black -eyed, black-haired man in a vel
vet jacket, with a scarlet kerchief carelessly
knotted about his neck, and a guitar in his hands.
This was Piotr Alexyeevitch Veretyeff , brother
of Nadezhda Alexyeevna. On catching sight of
222

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Vladimir Sergyeitch, old Ipatoff advanced to
meet him with a joyful cry, led him up to Vere-
tyeff , and introduced them to each other. After
exchanging the customary greetings with his new
acquaintance, Astakhoff made a respectful bow
to the latter's sister.
"' We 're singing songs in country fashion,
Vladimir Sergyeitch," — began Ipatoff, and
pointing to Veretyeff he added:— " Piotr Ale-
xyeitch is our leader, — and what a leader! Just
you listen to him! "
" This is very pleasant," — replied Vladimir
Sergyeitch. ' Will not you join the choir? "—Nadezhda
Alexyeevna asked him.
" I should be heartily glad to do so, but I have
no voice."
" That does n't matter! See, Egor Kapito
nitch is singing, and I 'm singing. All you have
to do is to chime in. Pray, sit down ; and do thou
strike up, my dear fellow! "
" What song shall we sing now? " — said Vere
tyeff, thrumming the guitar; and suddenly stop
ping short, he looked at Marya Pavlovna, who
was sitting by his side. — " I think it is your turn
now,"— he said to her.
" No; do you sing,"— replied Marya Pavlovna.
"Here 's a song now: ' Adown dear Mother
Volga ' "—said Vladimir Sergyeitch, with im
portance. 223

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" No, we will save that up for the last," — re
plied Veretyeff, and tinkling the strings of the
guitar, he struck up, in slow measure, " The sun
is setting." He sang splendidly, dashingly, and blithely.
His manly face, already expressive, became still
more animated when he sang; now and then he
shrugged his shoulders, suddenly pressed the
strings with his palm, raised his arm, shook his
curls, and darted a falcon-like look around him.
More than once in Moscow he had seen the fa
mous Ilya, and he imitated him. The chorus
chimed in lustily. Marya Pavlovna's voice sep
arated itself in a melodious flood from the other
voices; it seemed to drag them after it; but she
would not sing alone, and Veretyeff remained the
leader to the end.
They sang a great many other songs. . . .
In the meantime, along with the evening
shadows, a thunder-storm drew on. From noon
day it had been steaming hot, and thunder had
kept rumbling in the distance; but now a broad
thunder-cloud, which had long lain like a leaden
pall on the very rim of the horizon, began to in
crease and show itself above the crests of the
trees, the stifling air began to quiver more dis
tinctly, shaken more and more violently by the
approaching storm ; the wind rose, rustled the fo
liage abruptly, died into silence, again made a
prolonged clamour, and began to roar; a surly
224

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
gloom flitted over the earth, swiftly dispelling
the last reflection of the sunset glow ; dense clouds
suddenly floated up, as though rending them
selves free, and sailed across the sky; a fine rain
began to patter down, the lightning flashed in
a red flame, and the thunder rumbled heavily and
angrily. " Let us go,"— said old Ipatoff,—" or we shall
be drenched."
All rose.
" Directly! "—exclaimed Piotr Alexyeitch.—
" One more song, the last. Listen:
' ' Akh, thou house, thou house of mine,
Thou new house of mine . . . . ' 1
he struck up in a loud voice, briskly striking the
strings of the guitar with his whole hand. " My
new house of maple-wood," joined in the chorus,
as though reluctantly carried away. Almost at
the same moment, the rain began to beat down in
streams; but Veretyeff sang " My house " to the
end. From time to time, drowned by the claps of
thunder, the dashing ballad seemed more dash
ing than ever beneath the noisy rattle and gur
gling of the rain. At last the final detonation
of the chorus rang out— and the whole company
ran, laughing, into the drawing-room. Loudest
of all laughed the little girls, Ipatoff's daughters,
as they shook the rain-drops from their frocks.
But, by way of precaution, Ipatoff closed the
225

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
window, and locked the door; and Egor Kapi
tonitch lauded him, remarking that Matryona
Markovna also always gave orders to shut up
whenever there was a thunder-storm, because elec
tricity is more capable of acting in an empty
space. Bodryakoff looked him straight in the
face, stepped aside, and overturned a chair.
Such trifling mishaps were constantly happening
to him.
The thunder-storm passed over very soon. The
doors and windows were opened again, and the
rooms were filled with moist fragrance. Tea was
brought. After tea the old men sat down to
cards again. Ivan Ilitch joined them, as usual.
Vladimir Sergyeitch was about to go to Marya
Pavlovna, who was sitting at the window with
Veretyeff; but Nadezhda Alexyeevna called
him to her, and immediately entered into a
fervent discussion with him about Petersburg
and Petersburg life. She attacked it; Vladimir
Sergyeitch began to defend it. Nadezhda Ale
xyeevna appeared to be trying to keep him by
her side.
" What are you wrangling about? " — in
quired Veretyeff, rising and approaching them.
He swayed lazily from side to side as he
walked; in all his movements there was percep
tible something which was not exactly careless
ness, nor yet exactly fatigue.
" Still about Petersburg,"— replied Nadezhda
226

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
Alexyeevna.—" Vladimir Sergyeitch cannot suf
ficiently praise it."
" 'T is a fine town,"— remarked Veretyeff;—
" but, in my opinion, it is nice everywhere. By
Heaven, it is. If one only has two or three
women, and— pardon my frankness— wine, a
man really has nothing left to wish for."
' You surprise me," — retorted Vladimir Ser
gyeitch. "Can it be possible that you are really
of one opinion, that there does not exist for the
cultured man . . . ."
"Perhaps .... in fact .... I agree with
you," — interrupted Veretyeff, who, notwith
standing all his courtesy, had a habit of not lis
tening to the end of retorts; — "but that 's not
in my line; I 'm not a philosopher."
" Neither am I a philosopher," — replied Vla
dimir Sergyeitch; — " and I have not the slightest
desire to be one ; but here it is a question of some
thing entirely different."
Veretyeff cast an abstracted glance at his sis
ter, and she, with a faint laugh, bent toward him,
and whispered in a low voice :
" Petriisha, my dear, imitate Egor Kapito
nitch for us, please."
Veretyeff 's face instantly changed, and, Hea
ven knows by what miracle, became remarkably
like the face of Egor Kapitonitch, although
the features of the two faces had absolutely no
thing in common, and Veretyeff himself barely
227

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
wrinkled up his nose and pulled down the corners
of his lips.
" Of course,"— he began to whisper, in a voice
which was the exact counterpart of Egor Kapi-
tonitch's, — " Matryona Markovna is a severe
lady on the score of manners; but, on the other
hand, she is a model wife. It is true that no
matter what I may have said . . . ."
" The Biriuloff girls know it all,"— put in
Nadezhda Alexyeevna, hardly restraining her
laughter. " Everything is known on the following day,"
— replied Veretyeff, with such a comical grim
ace, with such a perturbed sidelong glance, that
even Vladimir Sergyeitch burst out laughing.
" I see that you possess great talent for mimi
cry," — he remarked.
Veretyeff passed his hand over his face, his
features resumed their ordinary expression, while
Nadezhda Alexyeevna exclaimed:
" Oh, yes! he can mimic any one whom he
wishes. . . . He 's a master hand at that."
" And would you be able to imitate me, for
example? " — inquired Vladimir Sergyeitch.
"I should think so! "—returned Nadezhda
Alexyeevna: — " of course."
" Akh, pray do me the favour to represent
me,"— said Astakhoff, turning to Veretyeff.—
" I beg that you will not stand on ceremony."
" And so you too have believed her?"— replied
Veretyeff, slightly screwing up one eye, and im-
228

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
parting to his voice the sound of Astakhoff's
voice, but so cautiously and slightly that only
Nadezhda Alexyeevna noticed it, and bit her lips.
— " Please do not believe her; she will tell you
other untrue things about me."
"And if you only knew what an actor he is!"
—pursued Nadezhda Alexyeevna:— " he plays
every conceivable sort of a part. And so splen
didly ! He is our stage-manager, and our promp
ter, and everything you like. It 's a pity that
you are going away so soon."
" Sister, thy partiality blinds thee," — re
marked Veretyeff, in a pompous tone, but still
with the same touch of Astakhoff. — " What will
Mr. Astakhoff think of thee? — He will regard
thee as a rustic."
" No, indeed," — Vladimir Sergyeitch was be
ginning 
" See here, Petnisha," — interposed Nadezhda
Alexyeevna; — "please show us how a drunken
man is utterly unable to get his handkerchief out
of his pocket ; or no : show us, rather, how a boy
catches a fly on the window, and how it buzzes
under his fingers."
" Thou art a regular child,"— replied Vere
tyeff. Nevertheless he rose, and stepping to the
window, beside which Marya Pavlovna was
sitting, he began to pass his hand across the
panes, and represent how a small boy catches
a fly.

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
The accuracy with which he imitated its pitiful
squeak was really amazing. It seemed as though
a live fly were actually struggling under his fin
gers. Nadezhda Alexyeevna burst out laugh
ing, and gradually every one in the room got to
laughing. Marya Pavlovna's face alone under
went no change, not even her lips quivered. She
sat with downcast eyes, but raised them at last,
and casting a serious glance at Veretyeff, she
muttered through her set teeth:
" What possesses you to make a clown of your
self? "
Veretyeff instantly turned away from the win
dow, and, after standing still for a moment in the
middle of the room, he went out on the terrace,
and thence into the garden, which had already
grown perfectly dark.
"How amusing that Piotr Alexyeitch is!"—
exclaimed Egor Kapitonitch, slapping down the
seven of trumps with a flourish on some one else's
ace. — " Really, he 's very amusing! "
Nadezhda Alexyeevna rose, and hastily ap
proaching Marya Pavlovna, asked her in an un
dertone :
" What didst thou say to my brother? "
' " Nothing," — replied the other.
" What dost thou mean by ' nothing ' ? Im
possible." And after waiting a little, Nadezhda Alexye
evna said: " Come! "—took Marya Pavlovna by
230

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
the hand, forced her to rise, and went off with
her into the garden.
Vladimir Sergyeitch gazed after the two
young girls not without perplexity. But they
were not absent long; a quarter of an hour later
they returned, and Piotr Alexyeitch entered the
room with them.
"What a splendid night!" exclaimed Na
dezhda Alexyeevna, as she entered. — " How
beautiful it is in the garden! "
" Akh, yes. By the way," — said Vladimir Ser
gyeitch; — " allow me to inquire, Marya Pav
lovna, whether it was you whom I saw in the
garden last night? "
Marya Pavlovna gave him a swift look straight
in the eyes.
" Moreover, so far as I could make out, you
were declaiming Pushkin's ' The Upas-Tree.' "
Veretyeff frowned slightly, and he also began
to stare at Astakhoff.
" It really was I," — said Marya Pavlovna;—
" only, I was not declaiming anything; I never
declaim." " Perhaps it seemed so to me," — began Vla
dimir Sergyeitch;— "but . . ."
" It did seem so to you? "—remarked Marya
Pavlovna, coldly.
" What 's ' The Upas-Tree '? "—inquired Na
dezhda Alexyeevna.
" Why, don't you know? "—retorted Asta-
231

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
khoff. — " Do you mean to say you don't remem
ber Pushkin's verses : ' On the unhealthy, meagre
soil'?" " Somehow I don't remember. . . . That upas-
tree is a poisonous tree, is n't it? "
" Yes."
" Like the datura. . . . Dost remember, Masha,
how beautiful the datura were on our balcony, in
the moonlight, with their long, white blossoms?
Dost remember what fragrance poured from
them, — so sweet, insinuating, and insidious? "
"An insidious fragrance!" — exclaimed Vla
dimir Sergyeitch.
" Yes; insidious. What are you surprised at?
They say it is dangerous, but it is attractive.
Why can evil attract? Evil should not be beau
tiful." "Oh, what theories!" — remarked Piotr
Alexyeitch; — "how far away we have got from
verses! "
" I recited those verses yesterday evening to
Marya Pavlovna," interposed Vladimir Sergye
itch; — " and they pleased her greatly."
"Akh, please recite them," — said Nadezhda
Alexyeevna. " Certainly, madam."
And Astakhoff recited " The Upas-Tree."
" Too bombastic," — ejaculated Veretyeff, as
though against his will, as soon as Vladimir Ser
gyeitch had finished. 232

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' The poem is too bombastic? "
" No, not the poem. . . . Excuse me, it seems
to me that you do not recite with sufficient simpli
city. The thing speaks for itself; however, I
may be mistaken."
" No, thou art not mistaken," — said Nadezhda
Alexyeevna, pausing between her words.
" Oh, yes; that is a matter of course! In thy
eyes I am a genius, an extremely gifted man,
who knows everything, can do everything; un
fortunately, he is overcome with laziness; is n't
that so?"
Nadezhda Alexyeevna merely shook her head.
" I shall not quarrel with you ; you must know
best about that," — remarked Vladimir Sergye
itch, somewhat sulkily. — " That 's not in my
line." " I made a mistake, pardon me," — ejaculated
Veretyeff, hastily.
In the meantime, the game of cards had come
to an end.
" Akh, by the way," — said Ipatoff, as he rose;
— " Vladimir Sergyeitch, one of the local landed
proprietors, a neighbour, a very fine and worthy
man, Akilin, Gavrila Stepanitch, has commis
sioned me to ask you whether you will not do
him the honour to be present at his ball,— that is,
I just put it so, for beauty of style, and said
' ball,' but it is only an evening party with danc
ing, quite informal. He would have called upon
233

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
you himself without fail, only he was afraid of
disturbing you."
" I am much obliged to the gentleman,"— re
turned Vladimir Sergyeitch;—" but it is impera
tively necessary that I should return home. ..."
" Why— but when do you suppose the ball
takes place? 'T is to-morrow. To-morrow is
Gavrila Stepanitch's Name-day. One day more
won't matter, and how much pleasure you will
give him! And it 's only ten versts from here.
If you will allow, we will take you thither."
" Really, I don't know," — began Vladimir
Sergyeitch. — " And are you going? "
" The whole family! And Nadezhda Alexye
evna and Piotr Alexyeitch, — everybody is
going! "
" You may invite me on the spot for the fifth
quadrille, if you like," — remarked Nadezhda
Alexyeevna.—" The first four are already be
spoken." " You are very kind ; and are you already en
gaged for the mazurka? "
"I? Let me think .... no, I think I am
not." " In that case, if you will be so kind, I should
like to have the honour . . . ."
" That means that you will go? Very good.
Certainly." "Bravo! "-exclaimed Ipatoff.-" Well, Vla
dimir Sergyeitch, you have put us under an ob-
234

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
ligation. Gavrilo Stepanitch will simply go into
raptures. Is n't that so, Ivan Ilitch? "
Ivan Ilitch would have preferred to hold his
peace, according to his wont, but thought it bet
ter to utter a sound of approval.
' What possessed thee," — said Piotr Alexye
itch an hour later to his sister, as he sat with her
in a light two-wheeled cart, which he was driv
ing himself, — " what possessed thee to saddle
thyself with that sour-visaged fellow for the
mazurka? "
" I have reasons of my own for that," — replied
Nadezhda Alexyeevna.
" What reasons? — permit me to inquire."
" That 's my secret."
"Oho!"
And with his whip he lightly flicked the
horse, which was beginning to prick up its
ears, snort, and shy. It was frightened by
the shadow of a huge willow bush which fell
across the road, dimly illuminated by the
moon. "And shall thou dance with Masha?"— Na
dezhda Alexyeevna, in her turn, questioned her
brother. " Yes," he said indifferently.
"Yes! yes! "—repeated Nadezhda Alexye
evna, reproachfully.—" You men,"— she added,
after a brief pause,—" positively do not deserve
to be loved by nice women." 235

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
" Dost think so? Well, and that sour-visaged
Petersburger — does he deserve it? "
" Sooner than thou."
"Really!"And Piotr Alexyeitch recited, with a sigh:
"What a mission, O Creator,
To be  the brother of a grown-up sister! "
Nadezhda Alexyeevna burst out laughing.
" I cause thee a great deal of trouble, there 's
no denying that. I have a commission to thee."
" Really? — I had n't the slightest suspicion of
that." " I 'm speaking of Masha."
" On what score? "
Nadezhda Alexyeevna's face assumed a slight
expression of pain.
" Thou knowest thyself," — she said softly.
" Ah, I understand!— What 's to be done, Na
dezhda Alexyeevna, ma'am? I love to drink with
a good friend, ma'am, sinful man that I am;
I love it, ma'am."
" Stop, brother, please don't talk like that! . . .
This is no jesting matter."
' Tram-tram-tam-poom! " — muttered Piotr
Alexyeitch through his teeth.
" It is thy perdition, and thou jestest. . . ."
' The farm-hand is sowing the grain, his wife
does not agree . . . . ',
236

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struck up Piotr Alexyeitch loudly, slapped the
horse with the reins, and it dashed onward at a
brisk trot. IV
On reaching home Veretyeff did not undress, and
a couple of hours later, when the flush of dawn
was just colouring the sky, he was no longer in
the house.
Half-way between his estate and Ipatoff's, on
the very brink of a broad ravine, stood a small
birch grove. The young trees grew very close
together, and no axe had yet touched their grace
ful trunks; a shadow which was not dense, but
continuous, spread from the tiny leaves on the
soft, thin grass, all mottled with the golden heads
of buttercups,1 the white dots of wood-campa
nula, and the tiny deep-crimson crosses of wild
pinks. The recently-risen sun flooded the whole
grove with a powerful though not brilliant light ;
dewdrops glittered everywhere, while here and
there large drops kindled and glowed red ; every
thing exhaled freshness, life, and that innocent
triumph of the first moments of the morning,
when everything is still so bright and still so
silent. The only thing audible was the carolling
voices of the larks above the distant fields, and
in the grove itself two or three small birds were
!The unpoetical Russian name is "chicken-blindness" (night-
blindness). —Translator.
237

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executing, in a leisurely manner, their brief songs,
and then, apparently, listening to see how their
performance had turned out. From the damp
earth arose a strong, healthy scent; a pure, light
breeze fluttered all about in cool gusts. Morn
ing, glorious morning, breathed forth from
everything— everything looked and smiled of the
morning, like the rosy, freshly-washed face of a
baby who has just waked up.
Not far from the ravine, in the middle of a
small glade, on an outspread cloak, sat Veretyeff.
Marya Pavlovna was standing beside him, lean
ing against a birch-tree, with her hands clasped
behind her.
Both were silent. Marya Pavlovna was gaz
ing fixedly into the far distance; a white scarf
had slipped from her head to her shoulders, the
errant breeze was stirring and lifting the ends
of her hastily-knotted hair. Veretyeff sat bent
over, tapping the grass with a small branch.
" Well,"— he began at last,—" are you angry
with me? "
Marya Pavlovna made no reply.
Veretyeff darted a glance at her.
" Masha, are you angry? " — he repeated.
Marya Pavlovna scanned him with a swift
glance from head to foot, turned slightly away,
and said:
" Yes." 238

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
" What for? "—asked Veretyeff, and flung
away his branch.
Again Marya Pavlovna made no reply.
" But, as a matter of fact, you have a right to
be angry with me,"— began Veretyeff, after a
brief pause. — " You must regard me as a man
who is not only frivolous, but even . . . ."
" You do not understand me," — interrupted
Marya Pavlovna. — " I am not in the least angry
with you on my own account."
" On whose account, then? "
" On your own."
Veretyeff raised his head and laughed.
"Ah! I understand! "—he said.— " Again!
again the thought is beginning to agitate you:
' Why don't I make something of myself? ' Do
you know what, Masha, you are a wonderful be
ing; by Heaven, you are! You worry so much
about other people and so little about yourself.
There is not a bit of egoism in you ; really, really
there is n't. There 's no other girl in the world
like you. It 's a pity about one thing : I decidedly
am not worthy of your affection ; I say that with
out jesting."
" So much the worse for you. You feel and do
nothing."— Again Veretyeff laughed.
" Masha, take your hand from behind your
back, and give it to me,"— he said, with insinu
ating affection in his voice. 239

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
Marya Pavlovna merely shrugged her shoul
ders. " Give me your beautiful, honest hand; I want
to kiss it respectfully and tenderly. Thus does
a giddy-pated scholar kiss the hand of his con
descending tutor."
And Veretyeff reached out toward Marya
Pavlovna. " Enough of that! "—said she. " You are al-
Avays laughing and jesting, and you will jest
away your life like that."
" H'm! jest away my life! A new expression!
But I hope, Marya Pavlovna, that you used the
verb ' to jest ' in the active sense? "
Marya Pavlovna contracted her brows.
" Enough of that, Veretyeff," — she repeated.
" To jest away life," — went on Veretyeff, half
rising; — "but you are imagining me as worse
than I am; you are wasting your life in serious
ness. Do you know, Masha, you remind me of a
scene from Pushkin's ' Don Juan.' You have
not read Pushkin's 'Don Juan'?"
" No."
' Yes, I had forgotten, you see, that you do
not read verses. — In that poem guests come to a
certain Laura; she drives them all away and
remains alone with Carlos. The two go out on
the balcony; the night is wonderful. Laura ad
mires, and Carlos suddenly begins to demon
strate to her that she will grow old in course of
240

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
time.—' Well,' replies Laura, ' it may be cold
and rainy in Paris now, but here, with us, " the
night is redolent of orange and of laurel." Why
make guesses at the future? ' Look around you,
Masha; is it not beautiful here? See how every
thing is enjoying life, how young everything is.
And are n't we young ourselves? "
Veretyeff approached Marya Pavlovna; she
did not move away from him, but she did not turn
her head toward him.
"Smile, Masha," — he went on; — "only with
your kind smile, not with your usual grin. I
love your kind smile. Raise your proud, stern
eyes. — What ails you? You turn away. Stretch
out your hand to me, at least."
"Akh, Veretyeff,"— began Masha;— "you
know that I do not understand how to express
myself. You have told me about that Laura.
But she was a woman, you see. ... A woman
may be pardoned for not thinking of the future."
" When you speak, Masha,"— returned Vere
tyeff, — " you blush incessantly with self-love
and modesty: the blood fairly flows in a crimson
flood into your cheeks. I 'm awfully fond of that
in you."
Marya Pavlovna looked Veretyeff straight in
the eye.
" Farewell," — she said, and threw her scarf
over her head.
Veretyeff held her back. " Enough, enough.
241

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Stay! "—he cried. — " Come, why are you going?
Issue your commands ! Do you want me to enter
the service, to become an agriculturist? Do you
want me to publish romances with accompani
ment for the guitar; to print a collection of
poems, or of drawings; to busy myself with
painting, sculpture, dancing on the rope? I '11
do anything, anything, anything you command,
if only you will be satisfied with me! Come,
really now, Masha, believe me."
Again Marya Pavlovna looked at him.
" You will do all that in words only, not in
deeds. You declare that you will obey me . . . ."
" Of course I do."
" You obey, but how many times have I begged
you . . . ."
" What about? "
Marya Pavlovna hesitated.
" Not to drink liquor," — she said at last.
Veretyeff laughed.
"Ekh, Masha! And you are at it, too! My
sister is worrying herself to death over that also.
But, in the first place, I 'm not a drunkard at
all; and in the second place, do you know why
I drink? Look yonder, at that swallow. . . .
Do you see how boldly it manages its tiny body,
— and hurls it wherever it wishes? Now it has
soared aloft, now it has darted downward. It has
even piped with joy: do you hear? So that 's
why I drink, Masha, in order to feel those same
242

±±±Ji REGION OF DEAD CALM
sensations which that swallow experiences. . . .
Hurl yourself whithersoever you will, soar where
soever you take a fancy . . . ."
" But to what end? " — interrupted Masha.
' What do you mean by that? What is one to
live on then? "
" But is n't it possible to get along without
liquor? "
" No, it is not ; we are all damaged, rumpled.
There 's passion .... it produces the same
effect. That 's why I love you."
" Like wine. . . . I 'm much obliged to you."
" No, Masha, I do not love you like wine.
Stay, I '11 prove it to you sometime, — when we are
married, say, and go abroad together. Do you
know, I am planning in advance how I shall lead
you in front of the Venus of Milo. At this
point it will be appropriate to say:
' ' And when she stands with serious eyes
Before the Chyprian of Milos —
Twain are they, and the marble in comparison
Suffers, it would seem, affront 
" What makes me talk constantly in poetry to
day? It must be that this morning is affecting
me. What air! 'T is exactly as though one were
quaffing wine."
" Wine again,"— remarked Marya Pavlovna.
" What of that! A morning like this, and you
with me, and not feel intoxicated ! ' With serious
243

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
eyes . . . .' Yes,"— pursued Veretyeff, gazing
intently at Marya Pavlovna,— " that is so. . . .
For I remember, I have beheld, rarely, but yet
I have beheld these dark, magnificent eyes, I have
beheld them tender! And how beautiful they
are then! Come, don't turn away, Masha;
pray, smile at least .... show me your eyes
merry, at all events, if they will not vouchsafe
me a tender glance."
" Stop, Veretyeff," — said Marya Pavlovna.
— " Release me! It is time for me to go home."
" But I 'm going to make you laugh," — inter
posed Veretyeff; " by Heaven, I will make you
laugh. Eh, by the way, yonder runs a hare. . . ."
"Where?" — asked Marya Pavlovna.
' Yonder, beyond the ravine, across the field of
oats. Some one must have startled it; they don't
run in the morning. I '11 stop it on the instant,
if you like."
And Veretyeff whistled loudly. The hare im
mediately squatted, twitched its ears, drew up its
fore paws, straightened itself up, munched,
sniffed the air, and again began to munch with
its lips. Veretyeff promptly squatted down on
his heels, like the hare, and began to twitch his
nose, sniff, and munch like it. The hare passed
its paws twice across its muzzle and shook it
self, — they must have been wet with dew,— stif
fened its ears, and bounded onward. Veretyeff
rubbed his hands over his cheeks and shook him-
244

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
self also. . . . Marya Pavlovna could not hold
out, and burst into a laugh.
" Bravo! "—cried Veretyeff, springing up.
" Bravo! That 's exactly the point— you are not
a coquette. Do you know, if any fashionable
young lady had such teeth as you have she would
laugh incessantly. But that 's precisely why I
love you, Masha, because you are not a fashion
able young lady, don't laugh without cause, and
don't wear gloves on your hands, which it is a joy
to kiss, because they are sunburned, and one feels
their strength. ... I love you, because you don't
argue, because you are proud, taciturn, don't read
books, don't love poetry . . . ."
"I '11 recite some verses to you, shall I?" —
Marya Pavlovna interrupted him, with a certain
peculiar expression on her face.
' Verses? " — inquired Veretyeff, in amaze
ment. " Yes, verses ; the very ones which that Peters
burg gentleman recited last night."
" ' The Upas-Tree ' again? .... So you really
were declaiming in the garden, by night? That 's
just like you. . . . But does it really please you
so much? "
" Yes, it does."
" Recite it."
Marya Pavlovna was seized with shyness. . . .
"Recite it, recite it,"— repeated Veretyeff.
Marya Pavlovna began to recite; Veretyeff
245

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
stood in front of her, with his arms folded on his
breast, and bent himself to listen. At the first
line Marya Pavlovna raised her eyes heaven
ward; she did not wish to encounter Veretyeff 's
gaze. She recited in her even, soft voice, which
reminded one of the sound of a violoncello; but
when she reached the lines:
"And the poor slave expired at the feet
Of his invincible sovereign . . . ."
her voice began to quiver, her impassive, haughty
brows rose ingenuously, like those of a little girl,
and her eyes, with involuntary devotion, fixed
themselves on Veretyeff. . . .
He suddenly threw himself at her feet and
embraced her knees.
" I am thy slave! " — he cried. — " I am at thy
feet, thou art my sovereign, my goddess, my ox-
eyed Hera, my Medea . . . ."
Marya Pavlovna attempted to repulse him,
but her hands sank helplessly in his thick curls,
and, with a smile of confusion, she dropped her
head on her breast. . . .

Gavrila Stepanitch Akilin, at whose house
the ball was appointed, belonged to the category
of landed proprietors who evoked the admiration
246

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
of the neighbours by their ingenuity in living well
on very insignificant means. Although he did
not own more than four hundred serfs, he was
in the habit of entertaining the whole government
in a huge stone mansion, with a tower and a flag
on the tower, erected by himself. The property
had descended to him from his father, and
had never been distinguished for being well
ordered; Gavrila Stepanitch had been an ab
sentee for a long time — had been in the ser
vice in Petersburg. At last, twenty-five years
before the date of our story, he returned to
his native place, with the rank of Collegiate
Assessor,1 and, with a wife and three daughters,
had simultaneously undertaken reorganisation
and building operations, had gradually set up
an orchestra, and had begun to give dinners. At
first everybody had prophesied for him speedy
and inevitable ruin ; more than once rumours had
become current to the effect that Gavrila Stepa-
nitch's estate was to be sold under the hammer;
but the years passed, dinners, balls, banquets,
concerts, followed each other in their customary
order, new buildings sprang out of the earth like
mushrooms, and still Gavrila Stepanitch's estate
was not sold under the hammer, and he himself
continued to live as before, and had even grown
stout of late.
1 The eighth (out of fourteen) in Peter the Great's Table
of Ranks.— Translator.
247

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
Then the neighbours' gossip took another di
rection; they began to hint at certain vast sums
which were said to be concealed; they talked of
a treasure. ..." And if he were only a good
farmer, . ..." so argued the nobles among
themselves; " but that 's just what he is n't, you
know! Not at all! So it is deserving of surprise,
and incomprehensible." However that may have
been, every one went very gladly to Gavrila Ste-
panitch's house. He received his guests cordially,
and played cards for any stake they liked. He
was a grey -haired little man, with a small, pointed
head, a yellow face, and yellow eyes, always care
fully shaven and perfumed with eau-de-cologne ;
both on ordinary days and on holidays he wore
a roomy blue dress-coat, buttoned to the chin, a
large stock, in which he had a habit of hiding
his chin, and he was foppishly fastidious about
his linen; he screwed up his eyes and thrust out
his lips when he took snuff, and spoke very po
litely and softly, incessantly employing the let
ter s.1
In appearance, Gavrila Stepanitch was not dis
tinguished by vivacity, and, in general, his ex
terior was not prepossessing, and he did not
look like a clever man, although, at times, craft
gleamed in his eye. He had settled his two el
der daughters advantageously ; the youngest was
1 " S'," a polite addition to sentences, equivalent to a contraction
of the words for " sir " or " madam."— Translator.
248

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
still at home, and of marriageable age. Gavrila
Stepanitch also had a wife, an insignificant and
wordless being.
At seven o'clock in the evening, Vladimir Ser
gyeitch presented himself at the Ipatoff's' in
dress-suit and white gloves. He found them all
entirely dressed; the little girls were sitting se
dately, afraid of mussing their starched white
frocks; old Ipatoff, on catching sight of Vladi
mir Sergyeitch in his dress-suit, affectionately
upbraided him, and pointed to his own frock-
coat; Marya Pavlovna wore a muslin gown of a
deep rose colour, which was extremely becoming
to her. Vladimir Sergyeitch paid her several
compliments. Marya Pavlovna's beauty at
tracted him, although she was evidently shy of
him ; he also liked Nadezhda Alexyeevna, but her
free-and-easy manners somewhat disconcerted
him. Moreover, in her remarks, her looks, her
very smiles, mockery frequently peeped forth,
and this disturbed his citified and well-bred soul.
He would not have been averse to making fun of
others with her, but it was unpleasant to him to
think that she was probably capable of jeering at
himself. The ball had already begun; a good many
guests had assembled, and the home-bred orches
tra was crashing and booming and screeching in
the gallery, when the Ipatoff family, accompa
nied by Vladimir Sergyeitch, entered the hall of
249

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
the Akilin house. The host met them at the very
door, thanked Vladimir Sergyeitch for his tender
procuration of an agreeable surprise, — that was
the way he expressed himself,— and, taking Ipa
toff's arm, he led him to the drawing-room, to
the card-tables. Gavrila Stepanitch had re
ceived a bad education, and everything in his
house, both the music and the furniture and the
food and the wines, not only could not be called
first-class, but were not even fit to be ranked as
second-class. On the other hand, there was
plenty of everything, and he himself did not put
on airs, was not arrogant .... the nobles de
manded nothing more from him, and were en
tirely satisfied with his entertainment. At sup
per, for instance, the caviare was served cut up in
chunks and heavily salted; but no one objected
to your taking it in your fingers, and there was
plenty wherewith to wash it down: wines which
were cheap, it is true, but were made from grapes,
nevertheless, and not some other concoction. The
springs in Gavrila Stepanitch's furniture were
rather uncomfortable, owing to their stiffness
and inflexibility ; but, not to mention the fact that
there were no springs whatever in many of the
couches and easy-chairs, any one could place un
der him a worsted cushion, and there was a great
number of such cushions lying about, embroi
dered by the hands of Gavrila Stepanitch's
spouse herself— and then there was nothing left
to desire.

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
In a word, Gavrila Stepanitch's house could
not possibly have been better adapted to the so
ciable and unceremonious style of ideas of the
inhabitants of *** county, and it was solely ow
ing to Mr. Akilin's modesty that at the assem
blies of the nobility he was not elected Marshal,
but a retired Major Podpekin, a greatly re
spected and worthy man, despite the fact that he
brushed his hair over to the right temple from the
left ear, dyed his moustache a lilac hue, and as
he suffered from asthma, had of late fallen into
melancholy. So, then, the ball had already begun. They
were dancing a quadrille of ten pairs. The cava
liers were the officers of a regiment stationed close
by, and divers not very youthful squires, and two
or three officials from the town. Everything
was as it should be, everything was proceeding
in due order. The Marshal of the Nobility
was playing cards with a retired Actual Coun
cillor of State,1 and a wealthy gentleman, the
owner of three thousand souls. The actual state
councillor wore on his forefinger a ring with a
diamond, talked very softly, kept the heels of his
boots closely united, and did not move them from
the position used by dancers of former days, and
did not turn his head, which was half concealed
by a capital velvet collar. The wealthy gentle
man, on the contrary, was constantly laughing at
something or other, elevating his eyebrows, and
»The fourth from the top in tne Table of Ranks.— Translator.
251

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
flashing the whites of his eyes. The poet Bo
dryakoff, a man of shy and clumsy aspect, was
chatting in a corner with the learned historian
Evsiukoff : each had clutched the other by the
button. Beside them, one noble, with a remark
ably long waist, was expounding certain auda
cious opinions to another noble who was timidly
staring at his forehead. Along the wall sat
the mammas in gay-hued caps; around the
doors pressed the men of simple cut, young
fellows with perturbed faces, and elderly fellows
with peaceable ones; but one cannot describe
everything. We repeat: everything was as it
should be.
Nadezhda Alexyeevna had arrived even ear
lier than the Ipatoff's; Vladimir Sergyeitch saw
her dancing with a young man of handsome ap
pearance in a dandified dress-suit, with expres
sive eyes, thin black moustache, and gleaming
teeth; a gold chain hung in a semicircle on his
stomach. Nadezhda Alexyeevna wore a light-
blue gown with white flowers ; a small garland of
the same flowers encircled her curly head ; she was
smiling, fluttering her fan, and gaily gazing
about her; she felt that she was the queen of
the ball. Vladimir Sergyeitch approached her,
made his obeisance, and looking her pleasantly in
the face, he asked her whether she remembered
her promise of the day before.
"What promise?" 252

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
' Why, that you would dance the mazurka with
me." ' Yes, of course I will dance it with you."
The young man who stood alongside Na
dezhda Alexyeevna suddenly flushed crimson.
"You have probably forgotten, mademoiselle,"
— he began, — " that you had already previously
promised to-day's mazurka to me."
Nadezhda Alexyeevna became confused.
" Akh! good heavens, what am I to do? " — she
said: — "excuse me, pray, M'sieu Steltchinsky,
I am so absent-minded ; I really am ashamed. . . ."
M'sieu Steltchinsky made no reply, and merely
dropped his eyes; Vladimir Sergyeitch assumed
a slight air of dignity.
" Be so good, M'sieu Steltchinsky," — went on
Nadezhda Alexyeevna ; " you and I are old ac
quaintances, but M'sieu Astakhoff is a stranger
among us; do not place me in an awkward posi
tion: permit me to dance with him."
" As you please," — returned the young man. —
" But you must begin."
" Thanks,"— said Nadezhda Alexyeevna, and
fluttered off to meet her vis-a-vis.
Steltchinsky followed her with his eyes, then
looked at Vladimir Sergyeitch. Vladimir Ser
gyeitch, in his turn, looked at him, then stepped
aside. The quadrille soon came to an end. Vladimir
Sergyeitch strolled about the hall a little, then
253

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
he betook himself to the drawing-room and
paused at one of the card-tables. Suddenly he
felt some one touch his hand from behind; he
turned round — before him stood Steltchinsky.
" I must have a couple of words with you in
the next room, if you will permit," — said the lat
ter, in French, very courteously, and with an
accent which was not Russian.
Vladimir Sergyeitch followed him.
Steltchinsky halted at a window.
" In the presence of ladies," — he began, in the
same language as before, — " I could not say any
thing else than what I did say; but I hope you
do not think that I really intend to surrender to
you my right to the mazurka with M-lle Vere-
tyeff." Vladimir Sergyeitch was astounded.
" Why so? "-he asked.
" Because, sir," — replied Steltchinsky, quietly,
laying his hand on his breast and inflating his
nostrils, — " I don't intend to, — that 's all."
Vladimir Sergyeitch also laid his hand on his
breast, but did not inflate his nostrils.
" Permit me to remark to you, my dear sir,"—
he began, — " that by this course you may drag
M-lle Veretyeff into unpleasantness, and I as
sume . . . ."
" That would be extremely unpleasant to me,
but no one can prevent your declining, declar
ing that you are ill, or going away. . . ."
254

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
" I shall not do it. For whom do you take
me?" " In that case, I shall be compelled to demand
satisfaction from you."
" In what sense do you mean .... satisfac
tion? "
" The sense is evident."
' You will challenge me to a duel? "
" Precisely so, sir, if you do not renounce the
mazurka." Steltchinsky endeavoured to utter these words
as negligently as possible. Vladimir Sergyeitch's
heart set to beating violently. He looked his
wholly unexpected antagonist in the face.
" Phew, O Lord, what stupidity! " he thought.
" You are not jesting? " — he articulated
aloud. " I am not in the habit of jesting in general,"
— replied Steltchinsky, pompously; — "and par
ticularly with people whom I do not know. You
will not renounce the mazurka? "—he added,
after a brief pause.
" I will not,"— retorted Vladimir Sergyeitch,
as though deliberating.
" Very good! We will fight to-morrow."
" Very well."
" To-morrow morning my second will call
upon you."
And with a courteous inclination, Steltchinsky
withdrew, evidently well pleased with himself.
255

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
Vladimir Sergyeitch remained a few minutes
longer by the window.
"Just look at that, now!"— he thought.—
" This is the result of thy new acquaintances!
What possessed me to come? Good! Splendid! "
But at last he recovered himself, and went out
into the hall.
In the hall they were already dancing the
polka. Before Vladimir Sergyeitch's eyes Marya
Pavlovna flitted past with Piotr Alexyeitch,
whom he had not noticed up to that moment;
she seemed pale, and even sad; then Nadezhda
Alexyeevna darted past, all beaming and joyous,
with some youthful, bow-legged, but fiery artil
lery officer; on the second round, she was danc
ing with Steltchinsky. Steltchinsky shook his
hair violently when he danced.
" Well, my dear fellow,"— suddenly rang out
Ipatoff's voice behind Vladimir Sergyeitch's
back; — " you 're only looking on, but not danc
ing yourself? Come, confess that, in spite of the
fact that we live in a dead-calm region, so to
speak, we are n't badly off, are we, hey? "
" Good! damn the dead-calm region 1 " thought
Vladimir Sergyeitch, and mumbling something
in reply to Ipatoff, he went off to another cor
ner of the hall.
" I must hunt up a second,"— he pursued his
meditations;—" but where the devil am I to find
one? I can't take Veretyeff; I know no others;
256

iMHi REGION OF DEAD CALM
the devil only knows what a stupid affair this
is!" Vladimir Sergyeitch, when he got angry, was
fond of mentioning the devil.
At this moment, Vladimir Sergyeitch's eyes
fell upon The Folding Soul, Ivan Ilitch, stand
ing idly by the window.
"' Would n't he do? "—he thought, and shrug
ging his shoulders, he added almost aloud:—" I
shall have to take him."
Vladimir Sergyeitch stepped up to him.
" A very strange thing has just happened to
me," — began our hero with a forced smile: —
" just imagine some young man or other, a
stranger to me, has challenged me to a duel ; it is
utterly impossible for me to refuse; I am in
indispensable need of a second: will not you
act?" Although Ivan Ilitch was characterised, as we
know, by imperturbable indifference, yet such
an unexpected proposition startled even him.
Thoroughly perplexed, he riveted his eyes on
Vladimir Sergyeitch.
" Yes,"— repeated Vladimir Sergyeitch;— " I
should be greatly indebted to you. I am not ac
quainted with any one here. You alone . . . ."
" I can't,"— said Ivan Ilitch, as though just
waking up;—" I absolutely can't."
"Why "not? You are afraid of unpleasant
ness ; but all this will, I hope, remain a secret. . . ."
25?

THE REGION OF DEAL) CALM
As he spoke these words, Vladimir Sergyeitch
felt himself blushing and growing confused.
" Excuse me, I can't possibly," — repeated
Ivan Ilitch, shaking his head and drawing back,
in which operation he again overturned a chair.
For the first time in his life it was his lot to
reply to a request by a refusal ; but then, the re
quest was such a queer one !
" At any rate," — pursued Vladimir Sergye
itch, in an agitated voice, as he grasped his hand,
— "do me the favour not to speak to any one con
cerning what I have said to you. I earnestly
entreat this of you."
" I can do that, I can do that," — hastily re
plied Ivan Ilitch; — " but the other thing I can
not do, say what you will; I positively am
unable to do it."
' Well, very good, very good," — said Vladi
mir Sergyeitch; — " but do not forget that I rely
on your discretion. ... I shall announce to
morrow to that gentleman," he muttered to him
self with vexation, — "that I could not find a
second, so let him make what arrangements he
sees fit, for I am a stranger here. And the devil
prompted me to apply to that gentleman! But
what else was there for me to do? "
Vladimir Sergyeitch was very, very unlike his
usual self.
In the meantime, the ball went on. Vladi
mir Sergyeitch would have greatly liked to de-
258

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
part at once, but departure was not to be thought
of until the end of the mazurka. How was he
to give up to his delighted antagonist? Unhap
pily for Vladimir Sergyeitch, the dances were
in charge of a free-and-easy young gentleman
with long hair and a sunken chest, over which,
in semblance of a miniature waterfall, meandered
a black satin neckcloth, transfixed with a huge
gold pin. This young gentleman had the repu
tation, throughout the entire government, of be
ing a man who had assimilated, in their most
delicate details, all the customs and rules of the
highest society, although he had lived in Peters
burg only six months altogether, and had not suc
ceeded in penetrating any loftier heights than the
houses of Collegiate Assessor Sandaraki and his
brother-in-law, State Councillor Kostandaraki.
He superintended the dances at all balls, gave the
signal to the musicians by clapping his hands,
and in the midst of the roar of the trumpets and
the squeaking of the violins shouted : " En avant
deux! " or " Grande chaine! " or "A vous, made
moiselle!" and was incessantly flying, all pale
and perspiring, through the hall, slipping head
long, and bowing and scraping. He never began
the mazurka before midnight. " And that is a
concession,"— he was wont to say;— "in Peters
burg I would keep you in torment until two
o'clock." This ball seemed very long to Vladimir Ser-
259

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
gyeitch. He prowled about like a shadow from
hall to drawing-room, now and again exchanging
cold glances with his antagonist, who never
missed a single dance, and undertook to invite
Marya Pavlovna for a quadrille, but she was
already engaged — and a couple of times he ban
died words with the anxious host, who appeared
to be harassed by the tedium which was written
on the countenance of the new guest. At last,
the music of the longed-for mazurka thundered
out. Vladimir Sergyeitch hunted up his lady,
brought two chairs, and seated himself with her,
near the end of the circle, almost opposite Stel
tchinsky. The young man who managed affairs was in
the first pair, as might have been expected. With
what a face he began the mazurka, how he
dragged his lady after him, how he beat the floor
with his foot, and twitched his head the while,—
all this is almost beyond the power of human pen
to describe.
" But it seems to me, M'sieu Astakhoff, that
you are bored,"— began Nadezhda Alexyeevna,
suddenly turning to Vladimir Sergyeitch.
"I? Not in the least. What makes you think
so?" " Why, because I do from the expression of
your face. . . . You have never smiled a single
time since you arrived. I had not expected that
of you. It is not becoming to you positive gen-
260

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
tlemen to be misanthropical and to frown a la
Byron. Leave that to the authors."
" I notice, Nadezhda Alexyeevna, that you
frequently call me a positive man, as though
mockingly. It must be that you regard me as
the coldest and most sensible of beings, incapable
of anything which .... But do you know, I will
tell you something; a positive man is often very
sad at heart, but he does not consider it neces
sary to display to others what is going on there
inside of him; he prefers to hold his peace."
" What do you mean by that? " — inquired Na
dezhda Alexyeevna, surveying him with a glance.
" Nothing, ma'am," — replied Vladimir Ser
gyeitch, with feigned indifference, assuming an
air of mystery.
" Really? "
" Really, nothing. . . . You shall know some
day, later on."
Nadezhda Alexyeevna wanted to pursue her
questions, but at that moment a young girl, the
host's daughter, led up to her Steltchinsky and
another cavalier in blue spectacles.
"Life or death?"— she asked in French.
"Life," — exclaimed Nadezhda Alexyeevna;
" I don't want death just yet."
Steltchinsky bowed; she went off with him.1
1 The figures in the mazurka are like those in the cotillon (which is
often danced the same evening), but the step is very animated and
original. —Translator.
261

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
The cavalier in the blue glasses, who was called
Death, started off with the host's daughter. Stel
tchinsky had invented the two designations.
" Tell me, please, who is that Mr. Steltchin
sky?" — inquired Vladimir Sergyeitch of Na
dezhda Alexyeevna, as soon as the latter returned
to her place.
" He is attached to the Governor's service, and
is a very agreeable man. He does not belong in
these parts. He is somewhat of a coxcomb, but
that runs in the blood of all of them. I hope you
have not had any explanations with him on ac
count of the mazurka? "
" None whatever, I assure you," — replied Vla
dimir Sergyeitch, with a little hesitation.
" I 'm such a forgetful creature! You can't
imagine! "
" I am bound to be delighted with your for-
getfulness: it has afforded me the pleasure of
dancing with you to-night."
Nadezhda Alexyeevna gazed at him, with her
eyes slightly narrowed.
" Really? You find it agreeable to dance with
me?" Vladimir Sergyeitch answered her with a com
pliment. Little by little he got to talking freely.
Nadezhda Alexyeevna was always charming, and
particularly so that evening; Vladimir Sergye
itch thought her enchanting. The thought of the
duel on the morrow, while it fretted his nerves,
262

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
imparted brilliancy and vivacity to his remarks;
under its influence he permitted himself slight ex
aggerations in the expression of his feelings. . . .
" I don't care! " he thought. Something myste
rious, involuntarily sad, something elegantly-
hopeless peeped forth in all his words, in his
suppressed sighs, in his glances which suddenly
darkened. At last, he got to chattering to
such a degree that he began to discuss love,
women, his future, the manner in which he con
ceived of happiness, what he demanded of
Fate. . . . He explained himself allegorically,
by hints. On the eve of his possible death,
Vladimir Sergyeitch flirted with Nadezhda
Alexyeevna. She listened to him attentively, laughed, shook
her head, now disputed with him, again pre
tended to be incredulous. . . . The conversa
tion, frequently interrupted by the approach of
ladies and cavaliers, took a rather strange turn
toward the end. . . . Vladimir Sergyeitch had
already begun to interrogate Nadezhda Alexye
evna about herself, her character, her sympathies.
At first she parried the questions with a jest,
then, suddenly, and quite unexpectedly to Vla
dimir Sergyeitch, she asked him when he was
going away.
" Whither? "—he said, in surprise.
" To your own home."
" To Sasovo? " 263

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
" No, home, to your village, a hundred versts
from here."
Vladimir Sergyeitch cast down his eyes.
" I should like to go as promptly as possible,"
— he said with a preoccupied look on his face. —
" To-morrow, I think .... if I am alive. For
I have business on hand. But why have you
suddenly taken it into your head to ask me about
that?" " Because I have! " — retorted Nadezhda Ale
xyeevna. " But what is the reason? "
"Because I have!" — she repeated. — "I am
surprised at the curiosity of a man who is going
away to-morrow, and to-day wants to find out
about my character. . . ."
" But, pardon me . . . ." began Vladimir Ser
gyeitch. . . .
" Ah, here, by the way .... read this,"— Na
dezhda Alexyeevna interrupted him with a laugh,
as she handed him a motto-slip of paper from
bonbons which she had just taken from a small
table that stood near by, as she rose to meet Ma
rya Pavlovna, who had stopped in front of her
with another lady.
Marya Pavlovna was dancing with Piotr
Alexyeitch. Her face was covered with a flush,
and was flaming, but not cheerful.
Vladimir Sergyeitch glanced at the slip of
paper; thereon, in wretched French letters, was
printed : 264

TH.U REGION OF DEAD CALM
" Qui me neglige me perd."
He raised his eyes, and encountered Steltchin
sky 's gaze bent upon him. Vladimir Sergyeitch
smiled constrainedly, threw his elbow over the
back of the chair, and crossed his legs— as much
as to say: " I don't care for thee! "
The fiery artillery officer brought Nadezhda
Alexyeevna up to her chair with a dash, pirou
etted gently in front of her, bowed, clicked his
spurs, and departed. She sat down.
"Allow me to inquire," — began Vladimir Ser
gyeitch, with pauses between his words, — " in
what sense I am to understand this billet? . . . ."
" But what in the world does it say? " — said
Nadezhda Alexyeevna. — "Ah, yes! c Qui me
neglige me perd.' Well! that 's an admirable
rule of life, which may be of service at every step.
In order to make a success of anything, no mat
ter what, one must not neglect anything whatso
ever. . . . One must endeavour to obtain every
thing; perhaps one will obtain something. But
I am ridiculous. I .... I am talking to you,
a practical man, about rules of life. ..."
Nadezhda Alexyeevna burst into a laugh, and
Vladimir Sergyeitch strove, in vain, to the very
end of the mazurka, to renew their previous con
versation. Nadezhda Alexyeevna avoided it with
the perversity of a capricious child. Vladimir
Sergyeitch talked to her about his sentiments,
and she either did not reply to him at all, or else
she called his attention to the gowns of the ladies,
265

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
to the ridiculous faces of some of the men, to the
skill with which her brother danced, to the beauty
of Marya Pavlovna; she began to talk about
music, about the day before, about Egor Kapi
tonitch and his wife, Matryona Markovna ....
and only at the very close of the mazurka, when
Vladimir Sergyeitch was beginning to make her
his farewell bow, did she say, with an ironical
smile on her lips and in her eyes :
" So you are positively going to-morrow? "
'Yes; and very far away, perhaps,"— said
Vladimir Sergyeitch, significantly.
" I wish you a happy journey."
And Nadezhda Alexyeevna swiftly ap
proached her brother, merrily whispered some
thing in his ear, then asked aloud :
" Grateful to me? Yes? art thou not? other
wise he would have asked her for the mazurka."
He shrugged his shoulders, and said :
" Nevertheless, nothing will come of it. . . ."
She led him off into the drawing-room.
"The flirt!"— thought Vladimir Sergyeitch,
and taking his hat in his hand, he slipped un
noticed from the hall, hunted up his footman,
to whom he had previously given orders to hold
himself in readiness, and was already donning
his overcoat, when suddenly, to his intense sur
prise, the lackey informed him that it was im
possible to depart, as the coachman, in some
unknown manner, had drunk to intoxication,
266

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
and that it was utterly impossible to arouse him.
After cursing the coachman in a remarkably
brief but extremely powerful manner (this took
place in the anteroom, outside witnesses were
present), and informing his footman that if the
coachman was not in proper condition by day
light to-morrow, then no one in the world would
be capable of picturing to himself what the result
would be, Vladimir Sergyeitch returned to the
hall, and requested the major-domo to allot him
a chamber, without waiting for supper, which
was already prepared in the drawing-room. The
master of the house suddenly popped up, as it
were, out of the floor, at Vladimir Sergyeitch's
very elbow (Gavrila Stepanitch wore boots with
out heels, and therefore moved about without the
slightest sound), and began to hold him back,
assuring him that there would be caviar of the
very best quality for supper; but Vladimir Ser
gyeitch excused himself on the plea of a head
ache. Half an hour later he was lying in a
small bed, under a short coverlet, and trying to
get to sleep.
But he could not get to sleep. Toss as he
would from side to side, strive as he would to
think of something else, the figure of Steltchin
sky importunately towered up before him. . . .
Now he is taking aim . . . now he has fired.
. . . . " Astakhoff is killed," says some one.
Vladimir Sergyeitch could not be called a brave
267

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
man, yet he was no coward; but even the
thought of a duel, no matter with whom, had
never once entered his head. . . . Fight! with
his good sense, peaceable disposition, respect
for the conventions, dreams of future prosperity,
and an advantageous marriage! If it had not
been a question of his own person, he would
have laughed heartily, so stupid and ridiculous
did this affair seem to him. Fight! with whom,
and about what? !
"Phew! damn it! what nonsense! "—he
exclaimed involuntarily aloud. — " Well, and
what if he really does kill me?" — he con
tinued his meditations; — " I must take measures,
make arrangements. . . . Who will mourn for
me?" And in vexation he closed his eyes, which were
staringly-wide open, drew the coverlet up
around his neck .... but could not get to sleep,
nevertheless. . . .
Dawn was already breaking, and exhausted
with the fever of insomnia, Vladimir Sergyeitch
was beginning to fall into a doze, when suddenly
he felt some weight or other on his feet. He
opened his eyes. . . . On his bed sat Veretyeff.
Vladimir Sergyeitch was greatly amazed, es
pecially when he noticed that Veretyeff had no
coat on, that beneath his unbuttoned shirt his
bare breast was visible, that his hair was tum
bling over his forehead, and that his very face
268

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
appeared changed. Vladimir Sergyeitch got
half-way out of bed. . . .
" Allow me to ask . . . ." he began, throwing
his hands apart. . . .
" I have come to you," — said Veretyeff, in a
hoarse voice; — " excuse me for coming in such a
guise. . . . We have been drinking a bit yonder.
I wanted to put you at ease. I said to myself:
' Yonder lies a gentleman who, in all probability,
cannot get to sleep. — Let 's help him.'— Under
stand ; you are not going to fight to-morrow, and
can go to sleep  "
Vladimir Sergyeitch was still more amazed
than before.
" What was that you said? "—he muttered.
"Yes; that has all been adjusted," — went on
Veretyeff; — " that gentleman from the banks
of the Visla .... Steltchinsky .... makes
his apologies to you .... to-morrow you will
receive a letter. ... I repeat to you: — all is set
tled. . . . Snore away."
So saying, Veretyeff rose, and directed his
course, with unsteady steps, toward the door.
" But permit me, permit me,"— began Vla
dimir Sergyeitch.—" How could you have found
out, and how can I believe . . . ."
" Akh! you think that I . . . . you know . . . ."
(and he reeled forward slightly) . ..." I tell
you ... he will send a letter to you to-morrow.
.... You do not arouse any particular sym-
269

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
pathy in me, but magnanimity is my weak side.
But what 's the use of talking. ... It 's all
nonsense anyway. . . . But confess," — he added,
with a wink;— "you were pretty well scared,
weren't you, hey? "
Vladimir Sergyeitch flew into a rage.
" Permit me, in conclusion, my dear sir," — said
he. . . .
" Well, good, good," — Veretyeff interrupted
him with a good-natured smile. — " Don't fly into
a passion. Evidently you are not aware that no
ball ever takes place without that sort of thing.
That 's the established rule. It never amounts
to anything. Who feels like exposing his brow?
Well, and why not bluster, hey? at newcomers,
for instance ? In vino Veritas. However, neither
you nor I know Latin. But I see by your face
that you are sleepy. I wish you good night, Mr.
Positive Man, well-intentioned mortal. Accept
this wish from another mortal who is n't worth
a brass farthing himself. Addio, mio caro!"
And Veretyeff left the room.
"The devil knows what this means!" — ex
claimed Vladimir Sergyeitch, after a brief pause,
banging his fist into the pillow; — "no one ever
heard the like! . . . this must be cleared up! I
won't tolerate this! "
Nevertheless, five minutes later he was already
sleeping softly and profoundly. . . . Danger
270

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
escaped fills the soul of man with sweetness, and
softens it.
This is what had taken place before that un
anticipated nocturnal interview between Vere
tyeff and Vladimir Sergyeitch.
In Gavrila Stepanitch's house lived his grand-
nephew, who occupied bachelor quarters in the
lower story. When there were balls on hand,
the young men dropped in at his rooms between
the dances, to smoke a hasty pipe, and after
supper they assembled there for a friendly
drinking-bout. A good many of the guests had
dropped in on him that night. Steltchinsky and
Veretyeff were among the number; Ivan Ilitch,
The Folding Soul, also wandered in there in the
wake of the others. They brewed a punch; Al
though Ivan Ilitch had promised Astakhoff that
he would not mention the impending duel to any
one whomsoever, yet, when Veretyeff acciden
tally asked him what he had been talking about
with that glum fellow (Veretyeff never alluded
to Astakhoff otherwise) , The Folding Soul could
not contain himself, and repeated his entire con
versation with Vladimir Sergyeitch, word for
word. Veretyeff burst out laughing, then lapsed into
meditation. " But with whom is he going to fight? "—he
asked. 271

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
' That 's what I cannot say," — returned Ivan
Ilitch. " At all events, with whom has he been talk-
ing?" " With different people. . . . With Egor
Kapitonitch. It cannot be that he is going to
fight with him? "
Veretyeff went away from Ivan Ilitch.
So, then, they made a punch, and began to
drink. Veretyeff was sitting in the most con
spicuous place. Jolly and profligate, he held the
pre-eminence in gatherings of young men. He
threw off his waistcoat and neckcloth. He was
asked to sing; he took a guitar and sang several
songs. Heads began to wax rather hot; the
young men began to propose toasts. Suddenly
Steltchinsky, all red in the face, sprang upon
the table, and elevating his glass high above his
head, exclaimed loudly:
" To the health .... of I know whom,"—
he hastily caught himself up, drank off his liquor,
and smashed his glass on the floor, adding:—
" May my foe be shivered into just such pieces
to-morrow ! "
Veretyeff, who had long had his eye on him,
swiftly raised his head. . . .
" Steltchinsky,"— said he,—" in the first place,
get off the table ; that 's indecorous, and you have
very bad boots into the bargain ; and, in the second
place, come hither, I will tell thee something."
272

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
He led him aside.
" Hearken, brother; I know that thou art go
ing to fight to-morrow with that gentleman from
Petersburg." Steltchinsky started.
" How .... who told thee? "
" I tell thee it is so. And I also know on
whose account thou art going to fight."
' Who is it? I am curious to know."
"Akh, get out with thee, thou Talleyrand!
My sister's, of course. Come, come, don't pre
tend to be surprised. It gives you a goose
like expression. I can't imagine how this
has come about, but it is a fact. That will
do, my good fellow," — pursued Veretyeff.—
' What 's the use of shamming? I know, you
see, that you have been paying court to her this
long time."
" But, nevertheless, that does not prove . . . ."
" Stop, if you please. But hearken to what
I am about to say to you. I won't permit that
duel under any circumstances whatsoever. Dost
understand? All this folly will descend upon
my sister. Excuse me: so long as I am alive
.... that shall not be. As for thou and I, we
shall perish— we 're on the road to it; but she
must live a long time yet, and live happily. Yes,
I swear,"— he added, with sudden heat,— "that
I will betray all others, even those who might
be ready to sacrifice everything for me, but I will
273

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
not permit any one to touch a single hair of her
head." Steltchinsky emitted a forced laugh.
" Thou art drunk, my dear fellow, and art
raving .... that 's all."
" And art not thou, I 'd like to know? But
whether I am drunk or not, is a matter of not
the slightest consequence. But I 'm talking
business. Thou shalt not fight with that gentle
man, I guarantee that. And what in the world
possessed thee to have anything to do with him?
Hast grown jealous, pray? Well, those speak
the truth who say that men in love are stupid!
Why she danced with him simply in order to pre
vent his inviting .... Well, but that 's not the
point. But this duel shall not take place."
" H'm! I should like to see how thou wilt pre
vent me? "
"Well, then, this way: if thou dost not in
stantly give me thy word to renounce this duel,
I will fight with thee myself."
" Really? "
" My dear fellow, entertain no doubt on that
score. I will insult thee on the spot, my little
friend, in the presence of every one, in the most
fantastic manner, and then fight thee across
a handkerchief, if thou wilt. But I think that
will be disagreeable to thee, for many reasons,
hey?" Steltchinsky flared up, began to say that this
274

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
was intimidation,1 that he would not permit any
one to meddle with his affairs, that he would not
stick at anything .... and wound up by sub
mitting, and renouncing all attempts on the life
of Vladimir Sergyeitch. Veretyeff embraced
him, and half an hour had not elapsed, before the
two had already drunk Briiderschaft for the
tenth time, — that is to say, they drank with arms
interlocked. . . . The young man who had acted
as floor-manager of the ball also drank Briider
schaft with them, and at first clung close to them,
but finally fell asleep in the most innocent man
ner, and lay for a long time on his back in a con
dition of complete insensibility. . . . The ex
pression of his tiny, pale face was both amusing
and pitiful. . . . Good heavens! what would
those fashionable ladies, his acquaintances, have
said, if they had beheld him in that condition!
But, luckily for him, he was not acquainted with
a single fashionable lady.
Ivan Ilitch also distinguished himself on that
night. First he amazed the guests by suddenly
striking up : " In the country a Baron once
dwelt." " The hawfinch! The hawfinch has begun to
sing!" — shouted all. "When has it ever hap
pened that a hawfinch has sung by night? "
" As though I knew only one song,"— retorted
1He uses an impromptu Russification of a foreign word:
intimiddtziya. —Translator.
275

THE REGION Ob DEAD CALM
Ivan Ilitch, who was heated with liquor;—" I
know some more, too."
" Come, come, come, show us your art."
Ivan Ilitch maintained silence for a while, and
suddenly struck up in a bass voice: " Krambam-
buli,1 bequest of our fathers! " but so incoher
ently and strangely, that a general outburst of
laughter immediately drowned his voice, and he
fell silent. When all had dispersed, Veretyeff
betook himself to Vladimir Sergyeitch, and the
brief conversation already reported, ensued be
tween them.
On the following day, Vladimir Sergyeitch
drove off to his own Sasovo very early. He
passed the whole morning in a state of excite
ment, came near mistaking a passing merchant
for a second, and breathed freely only when his
lackey brought him a letter from Steltchinsky.
Vladimir Sergyeitch perused that letter several
times, — it was very adroitly worded. . . . Stel
tchinsky began with the words : " La nuit porte
conseil, Monsieur" — made no excuses whatever,
because, in his opinion, he had not insulted his
antagonist in any way; but admitted that he
had been somewhat irritated on the preceding
evening, and wound up with the statement that
he held himself entirely at the disposition of Mr.
Astakhoff ("de M-r Astakhoff") , but no longer
demanded satisfaction himself. After having
1 A mixed drink.— Translator.
276

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
composed and despatched a reply, which was
filled, simultaneously with courtesy which bor
dered on playfulness, and a sense of dignity, in
which, however, no trace of braggadocio was per
ceptible, Vladimir Sergyeitch sat down to din
ner, rubbing his hands, ate with great satisfac
tion, and immediately afterward set off, without
having even sent relays on in advance. The
road along which he drove passed at a distance
of four versts from Ipatoff's manor. . . . Vla
dimir Sergyeitch looked at it.
" Farewell, region of dead calm! " — he said
with a smile.
The images of Nadezhda Alexyeevna and Ma
rya Pavlovna presented themselves for a moment
to his imagination ; he dismissed them with a wave
of his hand, and sank into a doze.

VI
More than three months had passed. Autumn
had long since set in ; the yellow forests had grown
bare, the tomtits had arrived, and— unfailing
sign of the near approach of winter — the wind
had begun to howl and wail. But there had been
no heavy rains, as yet, and mud had not suc
ceeded in spreading itself over the roads. Tak
ing advantage of this circumstance, Vladimir
Sergyeitch set out for the government capital,
277

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
for the purpose of winding up several matters of
business. He spent the morning in driving about,
and in the evening went to the club. In the vast,
gloomy hall of the club he encountered several
acquaintances, and, among others, the old retired
captain of cavalry Flitch, a busybody, wit, gam
bler, and gossip, well known to every one. Vla
dimir Sergyeitch entered into conversation with
him. "Ah, by the way!" — suddenly exclaimed the
retired cavalry-captain; " an acquaintance of
yours passed through here the other day, and left
her compliments for you."
"Who was she?"
" Madame Steltchinsky."
" I don't know any Madame Steltchinsky."
" You knew her as a girl. . . . She was born
Veretyeff. . . . Nadezhda Alexyeevna. Her
husband served our Governor. You must have
seen him also. ... A lively man, with a mous
tache. . . . He 's hooked a splendid woman, with
money to boot."
" You don't say so," — said Vladimir Sergye
itch. — " So she has married him. . . . H'm!
And where have they gone? "
" To Petersburg. She also bade me remind
you of a certain bonbon motto. . . . What sort
of a motto was it, allow me to inquire? "
And the old gossip thrust forward his sharp
nose. 278

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
" I don't remember, really; some jest or other,"
—returned Vladimir Sergyeitch.—" But permit
me to ask, where is her brother now? "
" Piotr? Well, he 's in a bad way."
Mr. Flitch rolled up his small, foxy eyes, and
heaved a sigh.
"' Why, what 's the matter? "—asked Vladimir
Sergyeitch. " He has taken to dissipation! He 's a ruined
man." " But where is he now? "
"It is absolutely unknown where he is. He
went off somewhere or other after a gipsy girl;
that 's the most certain thing of all. He 's not in
this government, I '11 guarantee that."
" And does old Ipatoff still live there? "
" Mikhail Nikolaitch? That eccentric old fel
low? Yes, he still lives there."
" And is everything in his household .... as
it used to be? "
" Certainly, certainly. Here now, why don't
you marry his sister-in-law? She 's not a woman,
you know, she 's simply a monument, really.
Ha, ha! People have already been talking
among us .... ' why,' say they . . . ."
" You don't say so, sir,"— articulated Vladi
mir Sergyeitch, narrowing his eyes.
At that moment, Flitch was invited to a card-
game, and the conversation terminated.
Vladimir Sergyeitch had intended to return
279

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home promptly; but suddenly he received by
special messenger a report from the overseer, that
six of the peasants' homesteads had burned down
in Sasovo, and he decided to go thither himself.
The distance from the government capital to Sa
sovo was reckoned at sixty versts. Vladimir Ser
gyeitch arrived toward evening at the wing with
which the reader is already acquainted, immedi
ately gave orders that the overseer and clerk
should be summoned, scolded them both in proper
fashion, inspected the scene of the conflagration
next morning, took the necessary measures, and
after dinner, after some wavering, set off to
visit Ipatoff. Vladimir Sergyeitch would have
remained at home, had he not heard from Flitch
of Nadezhda Alexyeevna' s departure ; he did not
wish to meet her ; but he was not averse to taking
another look at Marya Pavlovna.
Vladimir Sergyeitch, as on the occasion of his
first visit, found Ipatoff busy at draughts with
The Folding Soul. The old man was delighted
to see him ; yet it seemed to Vladimir Sergyeitch
as though his face were troubled, and his speech
did not flow freely and readily as of old.
Vladimir Sergyeitch exchanged a silent glance
with Ivan Ilitch. Both winced a little; but they
speedily recovered their serenity.
" Are all your family well? "—inquired Vladi
mir Sergyeitch.
" Yes, thank God, I thank you sincerely,"—
280

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replied Ipatoff.—" Only Marya Pavlovna is n't
quite . . . you know, she stays in her room most
of the time."
" Has she caught cold? "
" No . . . she just likes to. She will make her
appearance at tea."
" And Egor Kapitonitch? What is he doing?"
" Akh ! Egor Kapitonitch is a dead man. His
wife has died."
" It cannot be! "
" She died in twenty-four hours, of cholera.
You would n't know him now, he has become
simply unrecognisable. ' Without Matryona
Markovna,' he says, ' life is a burden to me. I
shall die,' he says, ' and God be thanked,' he says;
' I don't wish to live,' says he. Yes, he 's done
for, poor fellow."
" Akh! good heavens, how unpleasant that is! "
— exclaimed Vladimir Sergyeitch. — "PoOr Egor
Kapitonitch! "
All were silent for a time.
" I hear that your pretty neighbour has mar
ried,"— remarked Vladimir Sergyeitch, flushing
faintly. " Nadezhda Alexyeevna? Yes, she has."
Ipatoff darted a sidelong glance at Vladimir
Sergyeitch. " Certainly .... certainly, she has married
and gone away."
" To Petersburg? " 281

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" To St. Petersburg."
" Marya Pavlovna must miss her, I think. I
believe they were great friends."
" Of course she misses her. That cannot be
avoided. But as for friendship, I '11 just tell
you, that the friendship of girls is even worse
than the friendship of men. So long as they are
face to face, it 's all right; but, otherwise, it van
ishes." " Do you think so? "
" Yes, by Heaven, 't is so! Take Nadezhda
Alexyeevna, for example. She has n't written
to us since she went away ; but how she promised,
even vowed that she would! In truth, she 's in
no mood for that now."
" And has she been gone long? "
' Yes; it must be fully six weeks. She hur
ried off on the very day after the wedding, for
eign fashion."
" I hear that her brother is no longer here,
either? " — said Vladimir Sergyeitch, after a brief
pause. " No ; he is not. They are city folk, you see ;
as though they would live long in the country! "
" And does no one know where he has gone? "
" No."
" He just went into a rage, and — slap-bang
on the ear," remarked Ivan Ilitch.
" He just went into a rage, and — slap-bang on
the ear," repeated Ipatoff. " Well, and how about
282

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yourself, Vladimir Sergyeitch,— what nice things
have you been doing? " — he added, wheeling
round on his chair.
Vladimir Sergyeitch began to tell about him
self ; Ipatoff listened and listened to him, and at
last exclaimed:
"But why does n't Marya Pavlovna come?
Thou hadst better go for her, Ivan Ilitch."
Ivan Ilitch left the room, and returning, re
ported that Marya Pavlovna would be there di
rectly. " What 's the matter? Has she got a head
ache?" — inquired Ipatoff, in an undertone.
" Yes," replied Ivan Ilitch.
The door opened, and Marya Pavlovna en
tered. Vladimir Sergyeitch rose, bowed, and
could not utter a word, so great was his amaze
ment: so changed was Marya Pavlovna since
he had seen her the last time! The rosy
bloom had vanished from her emaciated
cheeks; a broad black ring encircled her eyes;
her lips were bitterly compressed; her whole
face, impassive and dark, seemed to have become
petrified. She raised her eyes, and there was no spark
in them.
" How do you feel now? " Ipatoff asked her.
" I am well,"— she replied; and sat down at the
table, on which the samovar was already bub
bling. 283

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Vladimir Sergyeitch was pretty thoroughly
bored that evening. But no one was in good
spirits. The conversation persisted in taking a
cheerless turn.
" Just listen," — said Ipatoff, among other
things, as he lent an ear to the howling of the
wind; — "what notes it emits! The summer is
long since past; and here is autumn passing, too,
and winter is at the door. Again we shall be
buried in snow-drifts. I hope the snow will fall
very soon. Otherwise, when you go out into the
garden, melancholy descends upon you. . . . Just
as though there were some sort of a ruin there.
The branches of the trees clash together. . . .
Yes, the fine days are over! "
" They are over," — repeated Ivan Ilitch.
Marya Pavlovna stared silently out of the win
dow. " God willing, they will return,"— remarked
Ipatoff. No one answered him.
" Do you remember how finely they sang songs
here that time? " — said Vladimir Sergyeitch.
" I should think they did,"— replied the old
man, with a sigh.
" But you might sing to us,"— went on Vla
dimir Sergyeitch, turning to Marya Pavlovna;
— " you have such a fine voice."
She did not answer him.
" And how is your mother? "—Vladimir Ser-
284

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
gyeitch inquired of Ipatoff, not knowing what
to talk about.
" Thank God! she gets on nicely, considering
her ailments. She dame over in her little car
riage to-day. She 's a broken tree, I must tell
you — creak, creak, and the first you know, some
young, strong sapling falls over; but she goes
on standing and standing. Ekh, ha, ha! "
Marya Pavlovna dropped her hands in her lap,
and bowed her head.
" And, nevertheless, her existence is hard,"—
began Ipatoff again;— " rightly is it said: 'old
age is no joy.' "
" And there 's no joy in being young," — said
Marya Pavlovna, as though to herself.
Vladimir Sergyeitch would have liked to re
turn home that night, but it was so dark out of
doors that he could not make up his mind to
set out. He was assigned to the same chamber,
up-stairs, in which, three months previously, he
had passed a troubled night, thanks to Egor
Kapitonitch. . . .
" Does he snore now? " — thought Vladimir
Sergyeitch, as he recalled his drilling of his ser
vant, and the sudden appearance of Marya Pav
lovna in the garden. . . .
Vladimir Sergyeitch walked to the window,
and laid his brow against the cold glass. His
own face gazed dimly at him from out of doors,
as though his eyes were riveted upon a black cur-
285

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
tain, and it was only after a considerable time
that he was able to make out against the star
less sky the branches of the trees, writhing wildly
in the gloom. They were harassed by a tur
bulent wind.
Suddenly it seemed to Vladimir Sergyeitch
as though something white had flashed along the
ground. . . . He gazed more intently, laughed,
shrugged his shoulders, and exclaiming in an un
dertone: "That 's what imagination will do!"
got into bed.
He fell asleep very soon; but he was not fated
to pass a quiet night on this occasion either. He
was awakened by a running to and fro, which
arose in the house. . . . He raised his head from
the pillow. . . . Agitated voices, exclamations,
hurried footsteps were audible, doors were bang
ing ; now the sound of women weeping rang out,
shouts were set up in the garden, other cries far
ther off responded. . . . The uproar in the house
increased, and became more noisy with every mo
ment. . . . "Fire!" flashed through Vladimir
Sergyeitch's mind. In alarm he sprang from
his bed, and rushed to the window; but there
was no redness in the sky; only, in the garden,
points of flame were moving briskly along the
paths, — caused by people running about with
lanterns. Vladimir Sergyeitch went quickly to
the door, opened it, and ran directly into Ivan
Ilitch. Pale, dishevelled, half -clothed, the lat-
286

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
ter was dashing onward, without himself knowing
whither. "What is it? What has happened? "—in
quired Vladimir Sergyeitch, excitedly, seizing
him by the arm.
" She has disappeared; she has thrown herself
into the water,"— replied Ivan Ilitch, in a chok
ing voice.
" Who has thrown herself into the water? Who
has disappeared? "
" Marya Pavlovna! Who else could it be but
Marya Pavlovna? She has perished, the darling!
Help! Good heavens, let us run as fast as we
can ! Be quick, my dear people ! "
And Ivan Ilitch rushed down the stairs.
Vladimir Sergyeitch put on his shoes somehow,
threw his cloak over his shoulders, and ran after
him. In the house he no longer encountered any one,
all had hastened out into the garden; only the
little girls, Ipatoff's daughters, met him in the
corridor, near the anteroom; deadly pale with
terror, they stood there in their little white petti
coats, with clasped hands and bare feet, beside
a night-lamp set on the floor. Through the draw
ing-room, past an overturned table, flew Vladi
mir Sergyeitch to the terrace. Through the
grove, in the direction of the dam, light and
shadows were flashing. . . .
" Go for boat-hooks! Go for boat-hooks as
287

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
quickly as possible! "—Ipatoff's voice could be
heard shouting.
" A net, a net, a boat! " — shouted other voices.
Vladimir Sergyeitch ran in the direction of the
shouts. He found Ipatoff on the shore of the
pond ; a lantern hung on a bough brilliantly illu
minated the old man's grey head. He was wring
ing his hands, and reeling like a drunken man;
by his side, a woman lay writhing and sobbing
on the grass; round about men were bustling.
Ivan Ilitch had already advanced into the water
up to his knees, and was feeling the bottom with
a pole; a coachman was undressing, trembling
all over as he did so; two men were dragging a
boat along the shore ; a sharp trampling of hoofs
was audible along the village street. . . . The wind
swept past with a shriek, as though endeavouring
to quench the lantern, while the pond plashed
noisily, darkling in a menacing way. . . .
"What do I hear? " — exclaimed Vladimir Ser
gyeitch, rushing up to Ipatoff. — " Is it possible? "
"The boat-hooks — fetch the boat-hooks!"—
moaned the old man by way of reply to him. . . .
" But good gracious, perhaps you are mistaken,
Mikhail Nikolaitch. . . ."
"No, mistaken indeed!"— said the woman
who was lying on the grass, Marya Pavlovna's
maid, in a tearful voice. " Unlucky creature that
I am, I heard her myself, the darling, throw her
self into the water, and struggling in the water,
288

x±iJ^ KEGION OF DEAD CALM
and screaming: ' Save me!' and then, once more:
' Save me! '"
" Why did n't you prevent her, pray? "
" But how was I to prevent her, dear little
father, my lord? Why, when I discovered it, she
was no longer in her room, but my heart had a
foreboding, you know; these last days she has
been so sad all the time, and has said nothing ; so
I knew how it was, and rushed straight into the
garden, just as though some one had made me
do it; and suddenly I heard something go splash!
into the water : ' Save me ! ' I heard the cry : ' Save
me!' .... Okh, my darling, light of my eyes! "
" But perhaps it only seemed so to thee! "
" Seemed so, forsooth! But where is she? what
has become of her? "
" So that is what looked white to me in the
gloom," thought Vladimir Sergyeitch. . . .
In the meanwhile, men had run up with boat-
hooks, dragged thither a net, and begun to spread
it out on the grass, a great throng of people had
assembled, a commotion had arisen, and a jost
ling .... the coachman seized one boat-hook,
the village elder seized another, both sprang into
the boat, put off, and set to searching the water
with the hooks; the people on the shore lighted
them. Strange and dreadful did their move
ments seem, and their shadows in the gloom,
above the agitated pond, in the dim and uncertain
light of the lanterns. 289

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
" He . . . here, the hook has caught! "—sud
denly cried the coachman.
All stood stock-still where they were.
The coachman pulled the hook toward him, and
bent over. . . . Something horned and black
slowly came to the surface. . . .
" A tree-stump," — said the coachman, pulling
away the hook.
" But come back, come back! " — they shouted
to him from the shore. — " Thou wilt accomplish
nothing with the hooks; thou must use the
net." " Yes, yes, the net! " — chimed in others.
" Stop," — said the elder; — " I 've got hold of
something also .... something soft, appar
ently," — he added, after a brief pause.
A white spot made its appearance alongside
the boat. . . .
" The young lady! " — suddenly shouted the
elder.-" 'T is she!"
He was not mistaken. . . . The hook had
caught Marya Pavlovna by the sleeve of her
gown. The coachman immediately seized her,
dragged her out of the water .... in a couple
of powerful strokes the boat was at the shore.
.... Ipatoff, Ivan Ilitch, Vladimir Sergyeitch,
all rushed to Marya Pavlovna, raised her up,
bore her home in their arms, immediately un
dressed her, and began to roll her, and warm her.
.... But all their efforts, their exertions,
290

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
proved vain. . . . Marya Pavlovna did not come
to herself. . . . Life had already left her.
Early on the following morning, Vladimir
Sergyeitch left Ipatovka; before his departure,
he went to bid farewell to the dead woman.
She was lying on the table in the drawing-room
in a white gown. . . . Her thick hair was not yet
entirely dry, a sort of mournful surprise was ex
pressed on her pale face, which had not had time
to grow distorted; her parted lips seemed to be
trying to speak, and ask something; . . . her
hands, convulsively clasped, as though with grief,
were pressed tight to her breast  But with what
ever sorrowful thought the poor drowned girl had
perished, death had laid upon her the seal of its
eternal silence and peace .... and who under
stands what a dead face expresses during those
few moments when, for the last time, it meets the
glance of the living before it vanishes forever
and is destroyed in the grave?
Vladimir Sergyeitch stood for a while in deco
rous meditation before the body of Marya Pa
vlovna, crossed himself thrice, and left the room,
without having noticed Ivan Ilitch who was
weeping softly in one corner. . . . And he
was not the only one who wept that day:
all the servants in the house wept bitterly:
Marya Pavlovna had left a good memory be
hind her.
The following is what old Ipatoff wrote, a
291

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
week later, in reply to a letter which had come,
at last, from Nadezhda Alexyeevna :
" One week ago, dear Madam, Nadezhda Alexyeevna,
my unhappy sister-in-law, your acquaintance, Marya
Pavlovna, wilfully ended her own life, by throwing herself
by night into the pond, and we have already committed
her body to the earth. She decided upon this sad and ter
rible deed, without having bidden me farewell, without
leaving even a letter or so much as a note, to declare her
last will. . . . But you know better than any one else,
Nadezhda Alexyeevna, on whose soul this great and
deadly sin must fall! May the Lord God judge your
brother, for my sister-in-law could not cease to love him,
nor survive the separation. . . ."
Nadezhda Alexyeevna received this letter in
Italy, whither she had gone with her husband,
Count de Steltchinsky, as he was called in all the
hotels. He did not visit hotels alone, however;
he was frequently seen in gambling-houses, in
the Kur-Saal at the baths. . . . At first he lost
a great deal of money, then he ceased to lose, and
his face assumed a peculiar expression, not pre
cisely suspicious, nor yet precisely insolent, like
that which a man has who unexpectedly gets in
volved in scandals. . . . He saw his wife rarely.
But Nadezhda Alexyeevna did not languish in
his absence. She developed a passion for paint
ing and the fine arts. She associated chiefly with
artists, and was fond of discussing the beautiful
292

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
with young men. Ipatoff's letter grieved her
greatly, but did not prevent her going that same
day to " the Dogs' Cave," to see how the poor
animals suffocated when immersed in sulphur
fumes. She did not go alone. She was escorted by
divers cavaliers. Among their number, a certain
Mr. Popelin, an artist — a Frenchman, who had
not finished his course — with a small beard, and
dressed in a checked sack-coat, was the most
agreeable. He sang the newest romances in a
thin tenor voice, made very free-and-easy jokes,
and although he was gaunt of form, yet he ate
a very great deal.

VII
It was a sunny, cold January day; a multitude
of people were strolling on the Nevsky Pros-
pekt. The clock on the tower of the city hall
marked three o'clock. Along the broad stone
slabs, strewn with yellow sand, was walking,
among others, our acquaintance Vladimir Ser
gyeitch Astakhoff. He has grown very virile
since we parted from him; his face is framed in
whiskers, and he has grown plump all over, but
he has not aged. He was moving after the
crowd at a leisurely pace, and now and then
casting a glance about him ; he was expecting his
293

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
wife; she had preferred to drive up in the car
riage with her mother. Vladimir Sergyeitch mar
ried five years ago, precisely in the manner which
he had always desired: his wife was wealthy, and
with the best of connections. Courteously lifting
his splendidly brushed hat when he met his nu
merous acquaintances, Vladimir Sergyeitch was
still stepping out with the free stride of a man
who is satisfied with his lot, when suddenly, just
at the Passage,1 he came near colliding with a
gentleman in a Spanish cloak and foraging-cap,
with a decidedly worn face, a dyed moustache,
and large, swollen eyes. Vladimir Sergyeitch
drew aside with dignity, but the gentleman in the
foraging-cap glanced at him, and suddenly ex
claimed :
" Ah! Mr. Astakhoff, how do you do? "
Vladimir Sergyeitch made no reply, and
stopped short in surprise. He could not com
prehend how a gentleman who could bring him
self to walk on the Nevsky in a foraging-cap
could be acquainted with his name.
"You do not recognise me," — pursued the gen
tleman in the cap: — " I saw you eight years ago,
in the country, in the T*** Government, at the
Ipatoffs'. My name is Veretyeff."
"Akh! Good heavens! excuse me!" — ex-

JA large collection of shops, under one roof, extending from the
Nevsky Prospe'kt to the Bolshaya Italyanskaya ("Great Italian
Street"), in St. Petersburg.— Translator.
294

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
claimed Vladimir Sergyeitch.—" But how you
have changed since then! . . ."
' Yes, I have grown old,"— returned Piotr
Alexyeitch, passing his hand, which was devoid
of a glove, over his face.—" But you have not
changed." Veretyeff had not so much aged as fallen
away and sunk down. Small, delicate wrinkles
covered his face ; and when he spoke, his lips and
cheeks twitched slightly. From all this it was
perceptible that the man had been living hard.
" Where have you disappeared to all this time,
that you have not been visible? "—Vladimir Ser
gyeitch asked him.
" I have been wandering about here and there.
And you have been in Petersburg all the while? "
" Yes, most of the time."
" Are you married? "
" Yes."
And Vladimir Sergyeitch assumed a rather
severe mien, as though with the object of saying
to Veretyeff: " My good fellow, don't take it into
thy head to ask me to present thee to my wife."
Veretyeff understood him, apparently. An
indifferent sneer barely flitted across his lips.
"And how is your sister? "—inquired Vladi
mir Sergyeitch. — " Where is she? "
" I cannot tell you for certain. She must be in
Moscow. I have not received any letters from
her this long time! " 295

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
" Is her husband alive? "
" Yes."
" And Mr. Ipatoff? "
" I don't know; probably he is alive also; but
he may be dead."
" And that gentleman— what the deuce was
his name? — Bodryakoff, — what of him? "
" The one you invited to be your second— you
remember, wdien you were so scared? Why, the
devil knows! "
Vladimir Sergyeitch maintained silence for a
while, with dignity written on his face.
" I always recall with pleasure those even
ings,"— he went on,—" when I had the opportu
nity " (he had nearly said, " the honour ") "of
making the acquaintance of your sister and your
self. She was a very amiable person. And do
you sing as agreeably as ever? "
" No; I have lost my voice. . . . But that was
a good time! "
" I visited Ipatovka once afterward," — added
Vladimir Sergyeitch, elevating his eyebrows
mournfully. " I think that was the name of that
village — on the very day of a terrible event. ..."
" Yes, yes, that was frightful, frightful,"—
Veretyeff hastily interrupted him. — " Yes, yes.
And do you remember how you came near fight
ing with my present brother-in-law? "
" H'm! I remember! "—replied Vladimir Ser
gyeitch, slowly. — " However, I must confess to
296

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
you that so much time has elapsed since then, that
all that sometimes seems to me like a dream. . . ."
" Like a dream,"— repeated Veretyeff, and his
pale cheeks flushed; — "like a dream .... no,
it was not a dream, for me at all events. It was
the time of youth, of mirth and happiness, the
time of unlimited hopes, and invincible powers;
and if it was a dream, then it was a very beau
tiful dream. And now, you and I have grown
old and stupid, we dye our moustaches, and
saunter on the Nevsky, and have become good
for nothing; like broken-winded nags, we have
become utterly vapid and worn out; it cannot
be said that we are pompous and put on airs, nor
that we spend our time in idleness; but I fear
we drown our grief in drink, — that is more like
a dream, and a hideous dream. Life has been
lived, and lived in vain, clumsily, vulgarly — that 's
what is bitter! That 's what one would like to
shake off like a dream, that 's what one would
like to recover one's self from! .... And then
.... everywhere, there is one frightful memory,
one ghost. . . . But farewell ! "
Veretyeff walked hastily away ; but on coming
opposite the door of one of the principal con
fectioners on the Nevsky, he halted, entered, and
after drinking a glass of orange vodka at the
buffet, he wended his way through the billiard-
room, all dark and dim with tobacco-smoke, to
the rear room. There he found several acquaint-
297

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
ances, his former comrades— Pety a Lazurin, K6-
stya Kovrovsky, and Prince Serdiukoff, and two
other gentlemen who were called simply Vasiuk,
and Filat. All of them were men no longer
young, though unmarried ; some of them had lost
their hair, others were growing grey; their faces
were covered with wrinkles, their chins had grown
double; in a word, these gentlemen had all long
since passed their prime, as the saying is. Yet
all of them continued to regard Veretyeff as a
remarkable man, destined to astonish the uni
verse; and he was wiser than they only because
he was very well aware of his utter and radical
uselessness. And even outside of his circle, there
were people who thought concerning him, that
if he had not ruined himself, the deuce only
knows what he would have made of himself. . . .
These people were mistaken. Nothing ever
comes of Veretyeff s.
Piotr Alexyeitch's friends welcomed him with
the customary greetings. At first he dumb
founded them with his gloomy aspect and his
splenetic speeches; but he speedily calmed down,
cheered up, and affairs went on in their wonted
rut. But Vladimir Sergyeitch, as soon as Veretyeff
left him, contracted his brows in a frown and
straightened himself up. Piotr Alexyeitch's un
expected sally had astounded, even offended
him extremely. 298

x±iji JtJDCrlON OF DEAD CALM
' We have grown stupid, we drink liquor, we
dye our moustaches ' . . . . parlez pour vous,
mon cher,"—he said at last, almost aloud, and
emitting a couple of snorts caused by an access
of involuntary indignation, he was preparing to
continue his stroll.
" Who was that talking with you? "—rang out
a loud and self-confident voice behind him.
Vladimir Sergyeitch turned round and beheld
one of his best friends, a certain Mr. Pomponsky.
This Mr. Pomponsky, a man of lofty stature,
and stout, occupied a decidedly important post,
and never once, from his very earliest youth, had
he doubted himself. **)
' Why, a sort of eccentric," — said Vladimir
Sergyeitch, linking his arm in Mr. Pomponsky's..
" Good gracious, Vladimir Sergyeitch, is it:
permissible for a respectable man to chat on the
street with an individual who wears a foraging-
cap on his head? 'T is indecent! I 'm amazed!
Where could you have made acquaintance with
such a person? "
" In the country."
" In the country. . . . One does not bow to
one's country neighbours in town . . . . ce n'est
pas comme il faut. A gentleman should always
bear himself like a gentleman if he wishes
that . . . ."
" Here is my wife,"— Vladimir Sergyeitch
hastily interrupted him.—" Let us go to her."
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THE REGION OF DEAD CALM
And the two gentlemen directed their steps
to a low-hung, elegant carriage, from whose win
dow there peered forth the pale, weary, and irri-
tatingly -arrogant little face of a woman who was
still young, but already faded.
Behind her another lady, also apparently in a
bad humour, — her mother, — was visible. Vladi
mir Sergyeitch opened the door of the carriage,
and offered his arm to his wife. Pomponsky
gave his to the mother-in-law, and the two
couples made their way along the Nevsky Pros-
pekt, accompanied by a short, black-haired foot
man in yellowish-grey gaiters, and with a big
cockade on his hat.

300

IT IS ENOUGH
(1864)

IT IS ENOUGH
A FRAGMENT FROM THE DIARY OF
A DEAD ARTIST

• •

II

III

' ¥ T is enough," I said to myself, while my feet,
J. treading unwillingly the steep slope of the
mountain, bore me downward toward the quiet
river; " it is enough," I repeated, as I inhaled the
resinous scent of the pine grove, to which the chill
of approaching evening had imparted a peculiar
potency and pungency; "it is enough," I said
once more, as I seated myself on a mossy hillock
directly on the brink of the river and gazed at its
dark, unhurried waves, above which a thick
growth of reeds lifted their pale-green stalks. . . .
" It is enough!— Have done with dreaming, with
striving : 't is high time to pull thyself together ;
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IT IS ENOUGH
't is high time to clutch thy head with both hands
and bid thy heart be still. Give over pampering
thyself with the sweet indulgence of indefinite but
captivating sensations; give over running after
every new form of beauty ; give over seizing every
tremor of its delicate and powerful pinions. —
Everything is known, everything has been felt
over and over again many times already. ... I
am weary.— What care I that at this very mo
ment the dawn is suffusing the sky ever more and
more broadly, like some inflamed, all-conquering
passion! What care I that two paces from me,
amid the tranquillity and the tenderness and the
gleam of evening, in the dewy depths of a mo
tionless bush, a nightingale has suddenly burst
forth in such magical notes as though there had
never been any nightingales in the world before
it, and as though it were the first to chant the first
song of the first love! All that has been, has
been, I repeat; it has been recapitulated a thou
sand times — and when one remembers that all
this will so continue for a whole eternity— as
though to order, by law — one even grows vexed!
Yes .... vexed! " IV
Eh, how I have suffered! Formerly such
thoughts never entered my head— formerly, in
those happy days when I myself was wont to
304

IT IS JrHJNOUGH
flame like the glow of dawn, and to sing hke the
nightingale.— I must confess that everything has
grown obscure round about me, all life has with
ered. The light which gives to its colours both
significance and power — that light which ema
nates from the heart of man— has become extinct
within me. . . . No, it has not yet become extinct—
but it is barely smouldering, without radiance
and without warmth. I remember how one day,
late at night, in Moscow, I stepped up to the
grated window of an ancient church and leaned
against the uneven glass. It was dark under the
low arches; a forgotten shrine-lamp flickered
with a red flame in front of an ancient holy
picture, and only the lips of the holy face were
visible, stern and suffering: mournful gloom
closed in around and seemed to be preparing to
crush with its dull weight the faint ray of un
necessary light. . . . And in my heart reign now
the same sort of light and the same sort of gloom.
V
And this I write to thee — to thee, my only and
unforgettable friend; to thee, my dear compan
ion,1 whom I have left forever, but whom I shall
never cease to love until my life ends. . . . Alas!
thou knowest what it was that separated us. But
I will not refer to that now. I have left thee . . .
1 The Russian shows that a woman is addressed. — Translator.
305

IT IS ENOUGH
but even here, in this remote nook, at this dis
tance, in this exile, I am all permeated with thee,
I am in thy power as of yore, as of yore I feel
the sweet pressure of thy hands upon my bowed
head!— Rising up for the last time, from the mute
grave in which I now am lying, I run a mild,
much-moved glance over all my past, over all
our past. . . . There is no hope and no return,
but neither is there any bitterness in me, or re
gret; and clearer than the heavenly azure, purer
than the first snows on the mountain heights, are
my beautiful memories. . . . They do not press
upon me in throngs: they pass by in procession,
like those muffled figures of the Athenian god-
born ones, which — dost thou remember?— we ad
mired so greatly on the ancient bas-reliefs of the
Vatican. . . . VI
I have just alluded to the light which ema
nates from the human heart and illumines every
thing which surrounds it. ... I want to talk with
thee about that time when that gracious light
burned in my heart.— Listen .... but I imagine
that thou art sitting in front of me, and gazing at
me with thine affectionate but almost severely-
attentive eyes. O eyes never to be forgotten!
On whom, on what are they now fixed? Who is
receiving into his soul thy glance— that glance
306

j. a IS jiiJnuiJGH
which seems to flow from unfathomable depths,
like those mysterious springs— like you both
bright and dark — which well up at the very bot
tom of narrow valleys, beneath overhanging
cliffs? .... Listen. VII
It was at the end of March, just before the Feast
of the Annunciation, shortly after I saw thee
for the first time — and before I as yet suspected
what thou wert destined to become to me, al
though I already bore thee, silently and secretly
in my heart. — I was obliged to cross one of the
largest rivers in Russia. The ice had not yet be
gun to move in it, but it seemed to have swollen
up and turned dark ; three days previously a thaw
had set in. The snow was melting round about
diligently but quietly ; everywhere water was ooz
ing out ; in the light air a soundless breeze was rov
ing. The same even, milky hue enveloped earth
and sky : it was not a mist, but it was not light ; not
a single object stood out from the general opac
ity; everything seemed both near and indistinct.
Leaving my kibitka far behind, I walked briskly
over the river-ice, and with the exception of the
beat of my own footsteps, I could hear nothing.
I walked on, enveloped on all sides by the first
stupor and breath of early spring .... and little
by httle augmenting with every step, with every
307

IT IS ENOUGH
movement in advance, there gradually rose up and
grew within me a certain joyous incomprehensi
ble agitation. ... It drew me on, it hastened my
pace — and so powerful were its transports, that
I came to a standstill at last and looked about me
in surprise and questioningly, as though desirous
of detecting the outward cause of my ecstatic con
dition. . . . All was still, white, sunny; but I raised
my eyes: high above flocks of migratory birds
were flying past. ..." Spring! Hail, Spring! "—
I shouted in a loud voice. " Hail, life and love
and happiness! " — And at that same instant, with
sweetly-shattering force, similar to the flower of
a cactus, there suddenly flared up within me thy
image — flared up and stood there, enchantingly
clear and beautiful — and I understood that I
loved thee, thee alone, that I was all filled with
thee. . . . VIII
I think of thee . . . and many other memories,
other pictures rise up before me, — and thou art
everywhere, on all the paths of my life I en
counter thee. — Now there presents itself to me
an old Russian garden on the slope of a hill, il
luminated by the last rays of the summer sun.
From behind silvery poplars peeps forth the
wooden roof of the manor-house, with a slender
wreath of crimson smoke hanging above the white
308

IT IS ENOUGH
chimney, and in the fence a wicket-gate stands
open a crack, as though some one had pulled it
to with undecided hand. And I stand and wait,
and gaze at that gate and at the sand on the gar
den paths; I wonder and I am moved: everything
I see seems to me remarkable and new, every
thing is enveloped with an atmosphere of a sort
of bright, caressing mystery, and already I think
I hear the swift rustle of footsteps; and I stand,
all alert and light, like a bird which has just
folded its wings and is poised ready to soar aloft
again — and my heart flames and quivers in joy
ous dread before the imminent happiness which
is flitting on in front. . . .
IX
Then I behold an ancient cathedral in a distant,
beautiful land. The kneeling people are crowded
close in rows; a prayerful chill, something sol
emn and sad breathes forth from the lofty, bare
vault, from the huge pillars which branch up
ward. —Thou art standing by my side, speechless
and unsympathetic, exactly as though thou wert
a stranger to me; every fold of thy dark gown
hangs motionless, as though sculptured; motion
less lie the mottled reflections of the coloured
windows at thy feet on the well-worn flagstones.
— And now, vigorously agitating the air dim
with incense, inwardly agitating us, in a heavy
309

IT IS ENOUGH
surge the tones of the organ roll out; and thou
hast turned pale and drawn thyself up; thy gaze
has touched me, has slipped on higher and is
raised heavenward; — but it seems to me that only
a deathless soul can look like that and with such
eyes. . . . X
Now another picture presents itself to me. — 'T is
not an ancient temple which crushes us with its
stern magnificence : the low walls of a cosey httle
room separate us from the whole world.— What
am I saying? We are alone — alone in all the
world; except us two there is no living thing;
beyond those friendly walls lie darkness and
death and emptiness. That is not the wind howl
ing, that is not the rain streaming in floods; it
is Chaos wailing and groaning ; it is its blind eyes
weeping. But with us all is quiet and bright, and
warm and gracious; something diverting, some
thing childishly innocent is fluttering about like
a butterfly, is it not ? We nestle up to each other,
we lean our heads together and both read a good
book; I feel the slender vein in thy delicate tem
ple beating; I hear how thou art living, thou
hearest how I am living, thy smile is born upon
my face before it comes on thine; thou silently
repliest to my silent question; thy thoughts, my
thoughts, are like the two wings of one and the
310

IT IS ENOUGH
same bird drowned in the azure. . . The last par
titions have fallen — and our love has become so
calm, so profound, every breach has vanished so
completely, leaving no trace behind it, that we do
not even wish to exchange a word, a glance. . . .
We only wish to breathe, to breathe together, to
live together, to be together, . . . and not even
to be conscious of the fact that we are to
gether. . . . XI
Or, in conclusion, there presents itself to me a
clear September morning when thou and I were
walking together through the deserted garden, as
yet not wholly out of bloom, of an abandoned
palace, on the bank of a great non-Russian river,
beneath the soft radiance of a cloudless sky. Oh,
how shall I describe those sensations?— that end
lessly-flowing river, that absence of people, and
tranquillity, and joy, and a certain intoxicating
sadness, and the vibration of happiness, the un
familiar, monotonous town, the autumnal croak
ing of the daws in the tall, bright trees— and
those affectionate speeches and smiles and
glances long and soft, which pierce to the very
bottom, and beauty, — the beauty in ourselves,
round about, everywhere;— it is beyond words.
Oh, bench on which we sat in silence, with heads
drooping low with happiness — I shall never for-
311

IT IS ENOUGH
get thee to my dying hour!— How charming
were those rare passers-by with their gentle
greeting and kind faces, and the large, quiet
boats which floated past (on one of them—
dost thou remember? — stood a horse gazing pen
sively at the water gliding by under its feet) , the
childish babble of the little waves inshore and the
very barking of distant dogs over the expanse of
the river, the very shouts of the corpulent under-
officer at the red-cheeked recruits drilling there
on one side, with their projecting elbows and their
legs thrust forward like the legs of cranes! . . .
We both felt that there never had been and never
would be anything better in the world for us than
those moments — than all the rest. . . . But what
comparisons are these ! Enough .... enough. . . .
Alas ! yes : it is enough. XII
For the last time I have surrendered myself to
these memories, and I am parting from them irre
vocably — as a miser, after gloating for the last
time upon his hoard, his gold, his bright trea
sure, buries it in the damp earth; as the wick of
an exhausted lamp, after flashing up in one last
brilliant flame, becomes covered with grey ashes.
The httle wild animal has peered forth for the
last time from his lair at the velvety grass, at the
fair httle sun, at the blue, gracious waters, — and
312

IT IS ENOUGH
has retreated to the deepest level, and curled him
self up in a ball, and fallen asleep. Will he have
visions, if only in his sleep, of the fair little sun,
and the grass, and the blue, gracious waters?

XIII
Sternly and ruthlessly does Fate lead each one
of us — and only in the early days do we, occu
pied with all sorts of accidents, nonsense, our
selves, fail to feel her harsh hand. — So long as
we are able to deceive ourselves and are not
ashamed to lie, it is possible to live and to hope
without shame. The truth — not the full truth
(there can be no question of that) , but even that
tiny fraction which is accessible to us — immedi
ately closes our mouths, binds our hands, and re
duces " to negation."— The only thing that is
then left for a man, in order to keep erect on his
feet and not crumble to dust, not to become be-
mired in the ooze of self-forgetfulness, ... is self-
scorn ; is to turn calmly away from everything and
say: "It is enough! "—and folding his useless
arms on his empty breast to preserve the last, the
sole merit which is accessible to him, the merit of
recognising his own insignificance; the merit to
which Pascal alludes, when, calling man a think-
313

IT IS ENOUGH
ing reed, he says that if the entire universe were
to crush him, he, that reed, would still be higher
than the universe because he would know that it
is crushing him — while it would not know that.
A feeble merit! Sad consolation! Try as thou
mayest to permeate thyself with it, to believe
in it, — oh, thou my poor brother, whosoever thou
mayest be! — thou canst not refute those ominous
words of the poet :
Life 's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more : it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing. . . *
I have cited the verses from " Macbeth," and those
witches, phantoms, visions have recurred to my
mind. . . . Alas! it is not visions, not fantastic,
subterranean powers that are terrible; the crea
tions of Hoffmann are not dreadful, under what
soever form they may present themselves. . . .
The terrible thing is that there is nothing terri
ble, that the very substance of life itself is petty,
uninteresting — and insipid to beggary. Having
once become permeated with this consciousness,
having once tasted of this wormwood, no honey
will ever seem sweet — and even that loftiest,
sweetest happiness, the happiness of love, of
complete friendship, of irrevocable devotion —
1 " Macbeth," Act V, scene v.
314

IT IS ENOUGH
even it loses all its charm; all its worth is anni
hilated by its own pettiness, its brevity. Well,
yes: a man has loved, he has burned, he has fal
tered words about eternal bliss, about immortal
enjoyments — and behold: it is long, long since
the last trace vanished of that worm which has
eaten out the last remnants of his withered
tongue. Thus late in autumn, on a frosty day,
when everything is lifeless and dumb in the last
blades of grass, on the verge of the denuded for
est, the sun has but to emerge for an instant from
the fog, to gaze intently at the chilled earth, and
immediately, from all sides, gnats rise up; they
frolic in the warmth of his rays, they bustle and
jostle upward, downward, they circle round one
another. . . . The sun hides himself, and the gnats
fall to the earth in a soft rain — and there is an
end to their momentary life.

XIV
" But are there no great conceptions, no great
words of consolation? Nationality, right, liberty,
humanity, art? " Yes; those words do exist, and
many people live by them and for them. But
nevertheless, I have an idea that if Shakspeare
were to be born again he would find no occasion
to disclaim his " Hamlet," his " Lear." His pene
trating glance would not descry anything new in
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IT IS ENOUGH
human existence : the same motley and, in reality,
incoherent picture would still unfold itself before
him in its disquieting monotony. The same fri
volity, the same cruelty, the same pressing de
mand for blood, gold, filth, the same stale plea
sures, the same senseless sufferings in the name
of ... . well, in the name of the same nonsense
which was ridiculed by Aristophanes three thou
sand years ago, the same coarse lures to which the
many -headed beast still yields as readily as ever
—in a word, the same anxious skipping of the
squirrel in the same old wheel, which has not even
been renewed. . . . Shakspeare would again make
Lear repeat his harsh : " There are no guilty
ones " — which, in other words, signifies: " There
are no just" — and he also would say: "It is
enough!" and he also would turn away. — One
thing only: perhaps, in contrast to the gloomy,
tragic tyrant Richard, the ironical genius of the
great poet would like to draw another, more up-
to-date tyrant, who is almost ready to believe
in his own virtue and rests calmly at night or
complains of the over-dainty dinner at the same
time that his half -stifled victims are endeavour
ing to comfort themselves by at least imagining
him as Richard III. surrounded by the ghosts
of the people he has murdered. . . .
But to what purpose?
Why demonstrate — and that by picking and
weighing one's words, by rounding and polishing
316

IT IS ENOUGH
one's speech— why demonstrate to gnats that
they really are gnats? XV
But art? . . . Beauty? . . . Yes, those are mighty
words; they are, probably, mightier than those
which I have mentioned above. The Venus of
Melos, for example, is more indubitable than the
Roman law, or than the principles of 1789. Men
may retort — and how many times have I heard
these retorts! — that beauty itself is also a matter
of convention, that to the Chinese it presents it
self in a totally different manner from what it
does to the European. . . . But it is not the con
ventionality of art which disconcerts me; its per-
ishableness, and again its perishableness, — its
decay and dust — that is what deprives me of
courage and of faith. Art, at any given mo
ment, is, I grant, more powerful than Nature it
self, because in it there is neither symphony of
Beethoven nor picture of Ruysdael nor poem of
Goethe — and only dull-witted pedants or con
scienceless babblers can still talk of art as a copy
of Nature. But in the long run Nature is ir
resistible; she cannot be hurried, and sooner or
later she will assert her rights. Unconsciously
and infallibly obedient to law, she does not know
art, as she does not know liberty, as she does not
know good ; moving onward from eternity, trans-
317

IT IS ENOUGH
mitted from eternity, she tolerates nothing im
mortal, nothing unchangeable. . . . Man is her
child; but the human, the artificial is inimical to
her, precisely because she strives to be unchange
able and immortal. Man is the child of Nature ;
but she is the universal mother, and she has no
preferences : everything which exists in her bosom
has arisen only for the benefit of another and
must, in due time, make way for that other— she
creates by destroying, and it is a matter of perfect
indifference to her what she creates, what she de
stroys, if only life be not extirpated, if only death
do not lose its rights. . . . And therefore she as
calmly covers with mould the divine visage of
Phidias's Jupiter as she does a plain pebble, and
delivers over to be devoured by the contemned
moth the most precious lines of Sophocles. Men,
it is true, zealously aid her in her work of exter
mination; but is not the same elementary force, —
is not the force of Nature shown in the finger of
the barbarian who senselessly shattered the radiant
brow of Apollo, in the beast-like howls with which
he hurled the picture of Apelles into the fire?
How are we poor men, poor artists, to come to
an agreement with this deaf and dumb force,
blind from its birth, which does not even triumph
in its victories, but marches, ever marches on
ahead, devouring all things? How are we to
stand up against those heavy, coarse, intermina
bly and incessantly onrolling waves, how believe,
318

IT IS ENOUGH
in short, in the significance and worth of those
perishable images which we, in the darkness, on
the verge of the abyss, mould from the dust and
for a mere instant? XVI
Aix this is so ... . but only the transitory is beau
tiful, Shakspeare has said ; and Nature herself, in
the unceasing play of her rising and vanishing
forms, does not shun beauty. Is it not she who
sedulously adorns the most momentary of her
offspring — the petals of the flowers, the wings
of the butterfly — with such charming colours?
Is it not she who imparts to them such exquisite
outlines? It is not necessary for beauty to live
forever in order to be immortal — one moment is
sufficient for it. That is so; that is just, I grant
you — but only in cases where there is no per
sonality, where man is not, liberty is not: the
faded wing of the butterfly comes back again, and
a thousand years later, with the selfsame wing
of the selfsame butterfly, necessity sternly and
regularly and impartially fulfils its round ....
but man does not repeat himself like the butter
fly, and the work of his hands, his art, his free
creation once destroyed, is annihilated forever.
... To him alone is it given to " create " . . . . but
it is strange and terrible to articulate: " We are
creators .... for an hour,"— as there once was,
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IT IS ENOUGH
they say, a caliph for an hour.— Therein lies our
supremacy — and our curse: each one of these
" creators " in himself —precisely he, not any one
else, precisely that ego — seems to have been cre
ated with deliberate intent, on a plan previously
designed; each one more or less dimly under
stands his significance, feels that he is akin to
something higher, something eternal — and he
lives, he is bound to live in the moment and for
the moment.1 Sit in the mud, my dear fellow,
and strive toward heaven! — The greatest among
us are precisely those who are the most pro
foundly conscious of all of that fundamental
contradiction; but in that case the question
arises, — are the words " greatest, great " appro
priate ? XVII
But what shall be said of those to whom, despite
a thorough desire to do so, one cannot apply those
appellations even in the sense which is attributed
to them by the feeble human tongue? — What shall
be said of the ordinary, commonplace, second-
rate, third-rate toilers — whoever they may be —
statesmen, learned men, artists — especially ar-
1 How can one fail to recall at this point the words of Mephistophe-
ies in " Faust": "Er (Gott) findet sich in einen ew'gen Glanze,
Uns hat er in die Finsterniss gebracht—
Und euch taugt einzig Tag und Nacht."
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IT IS ENOUGH
tists? How force them to shake off their dumb
indolence, their dejected perplexity, how draw
them once more to the field of battle, if once the
thought as to the vanity of everything human, of
every activity which sets for itself a higher aim
than the winning of daily bread, has once crept
into their heads? By what wreaths are they lured
on — they, for whom laurels and thorns have be
come equally insignificant? Why should they
again subject themselves to the laughter of " the
cold throng " or to " the condemnation of the
dunce," — of the old dunce who cannot forgive
them for having turned away from the former
idols ; of the young dunce who demands that they
shall immediately go down on their knees in his
company, that they should lie prone before new,
just-discovered idols? Why shall they betake
themselves again to that rag-fair of phantoms,
to that market-place where both the seller and the
buyer cheat each other equally, where everything
is so noisy, so loud — and yet so poor and worth
less? Why "with exhaustion in their bones"
shall they interweave themselves again with that
world where the nations, like peasant urchins on
a festival day, flounder about in the mud for the
sake of a handful of empty nuts, or admire with
gaping mouths the wretched woodcuts, decorated
with tinsel gold,— with that world where they had
no right to life while they lived in it, and, deafen
ing themselves with their own shouts, each one
321

IT IS ENOUGH
hastens with convulsive speed to a goal which he
neither knows nor understands? No .... no ... .
It is enough .... enough .... enough !

XVIII
The rest is silence.1 . . .
1 This is in English in the original. —Translator.

322

THE DOG
(1866)

THE DOG
BUT if we can admit the possibility of the
supernatural, the possibility of its interven
tion in real life, — then allow me to inquire, what
role is sound judgment bound to play after
this?" — shouted Anton Stepanitch, crossing his
arms on his stomach.
Anton Stepanitch had held the rank of State
Councillor,1 had served in some wonderful de
partment, and, as his speech was interlarded with
pauses and was slow and uttered in a bass voice,
he enjoyed universal respect. Not long before
the date of our story, " the good-for-nothing lit
tle Order of St. Stanislas had been stuck on him,"
as those who envied him expressed it.
" That is perfectly just,"— remarked Skvore-
vitch. " No one will dispute that," — added Kinare-
vitch. " I assent also,"— chimed in, in falsetto, from
a corner the master of the house, Mr. Finoplen-
toff.
1 The fifth (from the top) of the fourteen grades in the Table of
Ranks, instituted by Peter the Great, which were to be won by ser
vice to the State.— Translator.
325

THE DOG
" But I, I must confess, cannot assent, be
cause something supernatural has happened to
me," — said a man of medium stature and mid
dle age, with a protruding abdomen and a
bald spot, who had been sitting silent before
the stove up to that moment. The glances
of all present in the room were turned upon
him with curiosity and surprise — and silence
reigned. This man was a landed proprietor of Kaluga,
not wealthy, who had recently come to Peters
burg. He had once served in the hussars, had
gambled away his property, resigned from the
service and settled down in the country. The re
cent agricultural changes had cut off his reve
nues, and he had betaken himself to the capital
in search of a snug little position. He possessed
no abilities, and had no influential connections;
but he placed great reliance on the friendship of
an old comrade in the service, who had suddenly,
without rhyme or reason, become a person of im
portance, and whom he had once aided to ad
minister a sound thrashing to a card-sharper.
Over and above that he counted upon his own
luck — and it had not betrayed him; several days
later he obtained the post of inspector of govern
ment storehouses, a profitable, even honourable
position, which did not require extraordinary tal
ents: the storehouses themselves existed only in
contemplation, and no one even knew with cer-
326

THE DOG
tainty what they were to contain,— but they had
been devised as a measure of governmental econ
omy. Anton Stepanitch was the first to break the
general silence.
' What, my dear sir? "—he began. " Do you
seriously assert that something supernatural — I
mean to say, incompatible with the laws of nature
— has happened to you? "
" I do,"— returned " my dear sir," whose real
name was Porfiry Kapitonitch.
" Incompatible with the laws of nature? " —
energetically repeated Anton Stepanitch, who ev
idently liked that phrase.
" Precisely .... yes; precisely the sort of thing
you allude to."
" This is astonishing! What think you, gen
tlemen? " — Anton Stepanitch endeavoured to
impart to his features an ironical expression, but
without result — or, to speak more accurately, the
only result was to produce the effect that Mr.
State Councillor smelt a bad odour. — " Will not
you be so kind, my dear sir," — he went on, ad
dressing the landed proprietor from Kaluga,—
" as to communicate to us the particulars of such a
curious event? "
" Why not? Certainly! "— replied the landed
proprietor, and moving forward to the middle
of the room in an easy manner, he spoke as fol
lows: 327

THE DOG
I have, gentlemen, as you are probably aware,
—or as you may not be aware, — a small estate in
Kozyol County. I formerly derived some profit
from it— but now, of course, nothing but unplea
santness is to be anticipated. However, let us
put politics aside ! Well, sir, on that same estate
I have a "wee little" manor: a vegetable gar
den, as is proper, a tiny pond with little carp,
and some sort of buildings — well, and a small
wing for my own sinful body. ... I am a bach
elor. So, sir, one day — about six years ago— I
had returned home rather late ; I had been playing
cards at a neighbour's house — but I beg you to
observe, I was not tipsy, as the expression goes.
I undressed, got into bed, and blew out the light.
And just imagine, gentlemen; no sooner had I
blown out the light, than something began to
rummage under my bed! Is it a rat? I thought.
No, it was not a rat: it clawed and fidgeted and
scratched itself  At last it began to flap its
ears !
It was a dog — that was clear. But where had
the dog come from? I keep none myself. " Can
some stray animal have run in? " I thought. I
called to my servant; his name is Filka. The
man entered with a candle.
" What 's this,"-says I,-" my good Filka?
How lax thou art! A dog has intruded himself
under my bed." 328

" What dog? "—says he.
"How should I know?"— says I;— "that's
thy affair— not to allow thy master to be dis
turbed." My Filka bent down, and began to pass the
candle about under the bed.
"Why,"— says he,— "there 's no dog here."
I bent down also ; in fact there was no dog. . . .
Here was a marvel! I turned my eyes on Filka:
he was smiling.
" Fool,"— said I to him,—" what art thou grin
ning about? When thou didst open the door the
dog probably took and sneaked out into the ante
room. But thou, gaper, didst notice nothing,
because thou art eternally asleep. Can it be that
thou thinkest I am drunk? "
He attempted to reply, but I drove him out,
eurled myself up in a ring, and heard nothing
more that night.
But on the following night — just imagine!—
the same thing was repeated. No sooner had I
blown out the light than it began to claw and flap'
its ears. Again I summoned Filka, again he
looked under the bed — again nothing! I sent
him away, blew out the light — phew, damn it!
there was the dog still. And a dog it certainly
was : I could hear it breathing and rummaging in
its hair with its teeth in search of fleas ... so
plainly ! 329

THE DOG
" Filka! "—says I, — " come hither without a
light! "... He entered. ..." Well, now,"— says
I, "dost thou hear? . . ."
" I do," — said he. I could not see him, but I
felt that the fellow was quailing.
" What dost thou make of it? "—said I.
" What dost thou command me to make of it,
Porfiry Kapitonitch? ... 'T is an instigation of
the Evil One!"
" Thou art a lewd fellow; hold thy tongue with
thy instigation of the Evil One." . . . But the
voices of both of us were like those of birds, and
we were shaking as though in a fever — in the
darkness. I lighted a candle: there was no dog,
and no noise whatever — only Filka and I as
white as clay. And I must inform you, gentle
men — you can believe me or not — but from that
night forth for the space of six weeks the same
thing went on. At last I even got accustomed to
it and took to extinguishing my light because I
cannot sleep with a light. " Let him fidget! " I
thought. " It does n't harm me."
" But— I see — that you do not belong to the
cowardly squad," — interrupted Anton Stepa
nitch, with a half -scornful, half-condescending
laugh. " The hussar is immediately perceptible ! "
" I should not be frightened at you, in any
case," — said Porfiry Kapitonitch, and for a mo
ment he really did look like a hussar. — " But lis
ten further." 330

THE DOG

A neighbour came to me, the same one with
whom I was in the habit of playing cards. He
dined with me on what God had sent, and lost
fifty rubles to me for his visit ; night was drawing
on — it was time for him to go. But I had cal
culations of my own: — " Stop and spend the
night with me, Vasily Vasilitch; to-morrow thou
wilt win it back, God willing."
My Vasily Vasilitch pondered and pondered —
and stayed. I ordered a bed to be placed for
him in my own chamber. . . . Well, sir, we went
to bed, smoked, chattered, — chiefly about the fem
inine sex, as is fitting in bachelor society, — and
laughed, as a matter of course. I look; Vasily
Vasilitch has put out his candle and has turned
his back on me; that signifies: "Schlafen Sie
wohl." I waited a little and extinguished my
candle also. And imagine: before I had time to
think to myself, " What sort of performance will
there be now? " my dear little animal began to
make a row. And that was not all; he crawled
out from under the bed, walked across the room,
clattering his claws on the floor, waggling his
ears, and suddenly collided with a chair which
stood by the side of Vasily Vasilitch's bed !
" Porfiry Kapitonitch," — says Vasily Vasi
litch, and in such an indifferent voice, you know,
— "I did n't know that thou hadst taken to keep
ing a dog. What sort of an animal is it — a
setter? " 331

THE DOG
" I have no dog,"— said I,—" and I never have
had one."
" Thou hast not indeed! But what 's this? "
'What is this?"— said I. — " See here now;
light the candle and thou wilt find out for thy
self." "It is n't a dog?"
" No."
Vasily Vasilitch turned over in bed. — " But
thou art jesting, damn it? "
" No, I 'm not jesting." — I hear him go
scratch, scratch with a match, and that thing does
not stop, but scratches its side. The flame flashed
up ... . and basta! There was not a trace of a
dog! Vasily Vasilitch stared at me — and I
stared at him.
" What sort of a trick is this? " — said he.
' Why," — said I, — " this is such a trick that if
thou wert to set Socrates himself on one side and
Frederick the Great on the other even they
couldn't make head or tail of it."— And there
upon I told him all in detail. Up jumped my
Vasily Vasilitch as though he had been singed!
He could n't get into his boots.
" Horses! "-he yelled-" horses! "
I began to argue with him, but in vain. He
simply groaned.
" I won't stay," — he shouted, — " not a min
ute! — Of course, after this, thou art a doomed
man!— Horses! . . . ." 332

THu jjOG
But I prevailed upon him. Only his bed was
dragged out into another room— and night-lights
were lighted everywhere. In the morning, at tea,
he recovered his dignity ; he began to give me ad
vice. ' Thou shouldst try absenting thyself from the
house for several days, Porfiry Kapitonitch," he
said: " perhaps that vile thing would leave thee."
But I must tell you that he— that neighbour
of mine — had a capacious mind! he worked his
mother-in-law so famously among other things:
he palmed off a note of hand on her; which sig
nifies that he chose the most vulnerable moment!
She became like silk: she gave him a power of
attorney over all her property — what more would
you have? But that was a great affair — to twist
his mother-in-law round his finger— was n't it,
hey? Judge for yourselves. But he went away
from me somewhat discontented; I had punished
him to the extent of another hundred rubles. He
even swore at me: "Thou art ungrateful," — he
said, " thou hast no feeling; " but how was I to
blame for that? Well, this is in parenthesis—
but I took his suggestion under consideration.
That same day I drove off to town and estab
lished myself in an inn, with an acquaintance, an
old man of the Old Ritualist sect.1
He was a worthy old man, although a trifle
1 Those who reject the official and necessary corrections made in
the Scriptures and Church service books in the reign of Peter the
Great's father. —Translator.
333

THE DOG
harsh, because of loneliness: his whole family
were dead. Only he did not favour tobacco at
all,1 and felt a great loathing for dogs ; I believe,
for example, that rather than admit a dog into
the room he would have rent himself in twain!
" For how is it possible? " — he said. " There in
my room, on the wall, the Sovereign Lady herself
deigns to dwell ; 2 and shall a filthy dog thrust his
accursed snout in there? " — That was ignorance,
of course! However, this is my opinion: if any
man has been vouchsafed wisdom, let him hold
to it!
" But you are a great philosopher, I see," — in
terrupted Anton Stepanitch again, with the same
laugh as before.
This time Porfiry Kapitonitch even scowled.
" What sort of a philosopher I am no one
knows," — he said as his moustache twitched in a
surly manner: — " but I would gladly take you as
a pupil." We all fairly bored our eyes into Anton Ste
panitch; each one of us expected an arrogant re
tort or at least a lightning glance. . . . But Mr.
State Councillor altered his smile from scorn to
indifference, then yawned, dangled his foot — and
that was all!
1 The Old Ritualists oppose tea, coffee, and tobacco, chiefly, it would
seem, because they are "newfangled," having come into use after
the schism. Later on they invented curious religious reasons for
their denunciation of these and other things. — Translator.
2 The holy picture (ikonci) of the Mother of Christ. —Translator.
334

THE DOG
So then, I settled down at that old man's
house — [went on Porfiry Kapitonitch].— He
assigned me a room " for acquaintance's " sake, —
not of the best; he himself lodged there also, be
hind a partition — and that was all I required.
But what tortures I did undergo! The chamber
was small, it was hot, stifling, and there were
flies, and such sticky ones ; in the corner was a re
markably large case for images, with ancient holy
pictures; their garments were dim and puffed
out; the air was fairly infected with olive-oil,
and some sort of a spice in addition; on the bed
stead were two down beds; if you moved a pil
low, out ran a cockroach from beneath it. . . I
drank an incredible amount of tea, out of sheer
tedium — it was simply horrible! I got into bed;
it was impossible to sleep. — And on the other side
of the partition my host was sighing and grunt
ing and reciting his prayers. I heard him begin
to snore — and very lightly and courteously, in
old-fashioned style. I had long since extin
guished my candle — only the shrine-lamp was
twinkling in front of the holy pictures. ... A
hindrance, of course! So I took and rose up
softly, in my bare feet : I reached up to the lamp
and blew it out. . . . Nothing happened.—
"Aha!" I thought: "this means that he won't
make a fuss in the house of strangers." . . .
But no sooner had I lain down on the bed than
the row began again! The thing clawed, and
335

THE DOG
scratched himself and flapped his ears ....
well, just as I wanted him to. Good! I lay there
and waited to see what would happen. I heard
the old man wake up.
" Master,"— said he,—" hey there, master? "
" What 's wanted? "—said I.
' Was it thou who didst put out the shrine-
lamp?" — And without awaiting my reply, he
suddenly began to mumble:
" What 's that? What 's that? A dog? A
dog? Akh, thou damned Nikonian !" 1
" Wait a bit, old man," — said I, — " before
thou cursest; but it would be better for thee to
come hither thyself. Things deserving of won
der are going on here," — said I.
The old man fussed about behind the partition
and entered my room with a candle, a slender
one, of yellow wax ; and I was amazed as I looked
at him! He was all bristling, with shaggy ears
and vicious eyes like those of a polecat; on his
head was a small skull-cap of white felt ; his beard
reached to his girdle and was white also; and he
had on a waistcoat with brass buttons over his
shirt, and fur boots on his feet, and he dissemi
nated an odour of juniper. In that condition he
went up to the holy pictures, crossed himself
thrice with two fingers 2 lighted the shrine-lamp,
xThe Old Ritualists' most opprobrious epithet, designating a mem
ber of the State Church, which accepted the emendations instituted
by Patriarch Nikon referred to in a previous note. — Translator.
2 One of the hotly disputed points of difference between the Old
336

THE DOG
crossed himself again, and turning to me, merely
grunted :
" Explain thyself! "
Thereupon, without the least delay, I commu
nicated to him all the circumstances. The old
man listened to all my explanations without ut
tering the smallest word; he simply kept shaking
his head. Then he sat down on my bed, still
maintaining silence. He scratched his breast, the
back of his head, and other places, and still re
mained silent.
" Well, Feodul Ivanitch,"— said I, " what is
thy opinion : is this some sort of visitation of the
Evil One, thinkest thou? "
The old man stared at me. — "A pretty thing
thou hast invented ! A visitation of the Evil One,
forsooth! 'T would be all right at thy house,
thou tobacco-user, — but 't is quite another thing
here ! Only consider how many holy things there
are here! And thou must needs have a visita
tion of the devil!— And if it is n't that, what
is it? "
The old man relapsed into silence, scratched
himself again, and at last he said, but in a dull
sort of way, because his moustache kept crawl
ing into his mouth :
" Go thou to the town of Byeleff . There is
only one man who can help thee. And that man
Ritualists and the members of the State Church is in their manner of
crossing themselves. The latter use the forefinger, middle finger, and
thumb joined at the tips. —Translator.
337

THE DOG
dwells in Byeleff; 1 he is one of our people. If
he takes a fancy to help thee, that 's thy good
luck; if he does n't take a fancy, — so it must
remain." " But how am I to find him? " — said I.
'We can give thee directions," — said he;—
" only why dost thou call this a visitation of the
devil? 'T is a vision, or a sign; but thou wilt not
be able to comprehend it; 't is not within thy
flight. And now lie down and sleep under
Christ's protection, dear little father ; I will fumi
gate with incense; and in the morning we will
take counsel together. The morning is wiser than
the evening, thou knowest."
Well, sir, and we did take counsel together
in the morning — only I came near choking to
death with that same incense. And the old man
instructed me after this wise: that when I had
reached Byeleff I was to go to the public square,
and in the second shop on the right inquire for a
certain Prokhoritch; and having found Prokho-
ritch, I was to hand him a document. And the
whole document consisted of a scrap of paper,
on which was written the following: " In the
name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the
Holy Spirit, Amen. To Sergyei Prokhoritch
Pervushin. Trust this man. Feoduly Ivano-
vitch." And below: " Send some cabbages, for
God's sake."
1 In the government of Tula, central Russia —Translator.
338

THE DOG
I thanked the old man, and without further
ado ordered my tarantas to be harnessed, and set
off for Byeleff. For I argued in this way: ad
mitting that my nocturnal visitor did not cause
me much grief, still, nevertheless, it was not quite
decorous for a nobleman and an officer— what do
you think about it?
" And did you really go to Byeleff? "—whis
pered Mr. Finoplentoff .
I did, straight to Byeleff. I went to the
square, and inquired in the second shop on the
right for Prokhoritch. " Is there such a man? "
— I asked.
"There is,"— I was told.
" And where does he live? "
" On the Oka, beyond the vegetable-gardens."
" In whose house? " *
His own.
I wended my way to the Oka, searched out his
house, that is to say, not actually a house, but a
downright hovel. I beheld a man in a patched
blue overcoat and a tattered cap, — of the petty
burgher class, judging by his appearance,—
standing with his back to me, and digging in
his cabbage-garden. — I went up to him.
" Are you such and such a one? " — said I.
1 Formerly, houses were not numbered, and addresses ran: "In
the house of * * * " (the proprietor, man or woman), often with
many complicated directions added to designate the special house.
These ancient addresses still remain, along with the numbers or
alone, especially on many of the houses in Moscow, and in country
towns. — Iranslator.
339

THE DOG
He turned round,— and to tell you the truth,
such piercing eyes I have never seen in all my life.
But his whole face was no bigger than one's fist ;
his beard was wedge-shaped, and his lips were
sunken : he was an aged man.
" I am he,"— he said.—" What do you wanta? "
"Why, here,"— said I;— "this is what I
wanta," — and I placed the document in his hand.
He gazed at me very intently, and said :
" Please come into the house; I cannot read
without my spectacles."
Well, sir, he and I went into his kennel — actu
ally, a regular kennel; poor, bare, crooked; it
barely held together. On the wall was a holy
picture of ancient work,1 as black as a coal; only
the whites of the eyes were fairly burning in the
faces of the holy people. He took some round
iron spectacles from a small table, placed them
on his nose, perused the writing, and through his
spectacles again scrutinised me.
" You have need of me? "
" I have,"— said I,—" that 's the fact."
" Well," — said he, " if you have, then make
your statement, and I will listen."
And just imagine; he sat down, and pulling a
checked handkerchief from his pocket, he spread
it out on his knees— and the handkerchief was
full of holes— and gazed at me as solemnly as
1 Old Ritualists will tolerate no others . Neither will they employ the
words " buy " or " sell " in connection with these ikdnas; they say
" exchange."— Translator.
340

THE DOG
though he had been a senator,1 or some minister
or other; and did not ask me to sit down. And
what was still more astonishing, I suddenly felt
myself growing timid, so timid .... simply, my
soul sank into my heels. He pierced me through
and through with his eyes, and that 's all there is
to be said! But I recovered my self-possession,
and narrated to him my whole story. He re
mained silent for a while, shrank together, mowed
with his lips, and then began to interrogate me,
still as though he were a senator, so majestically
and without haste. " What is your name? " — he
asked. " How old are you? Who were your
parents? Are you a bachelor or married?" —
Then he began to mow with his lips again,
frowned, thrust out his finger and said:
" Do reverence to the holy image of the hon
ourable saints of Solovetzk,2 Zosim and Sav-
vaty." I made a reverence to the earth, and did not
rise to my feet; such awe and submission did I
feel for that man that I believe I would have in
stantly done anything whatsoever he might have
ordered me! .... I see that you are smiling,
gentlemen; but I was in no mood for laughing
then, by Heaven I was not.
" Rise, sir,"— he said at last.—" It is possible
to help you. This has not been sent to you by
1 The Senate in Russia is the Supreme Court of Appeals, and the
senators are appointed, not elected. — Translator.
z A famous monastery on an island in the White Sea. — Translator.
341

THE DOG
way of punishment, but as a warning ; it signifies
that you are being looked after ; some one is pray
ing earnestly for you. Go now to the bazaar and
buy yourself a bitch, which you must keep by
you day and night, without ceasing. Your visions
will cease, and your dog will prove necessary to
you into the bargain."
A flash of light seemed suddenly to illuminate
me ; how those words did please me ! I made obei
sance to Prokhoritch, and was on the point of
departing, but remembered that it was impossible
for me not to show him my gratitude; I drew a
three-ruble note from my pocket. But he put
aside my hand and said to me :
" Give it to our chapel, or to the poor, for this
service is gratis."
Again I made him an obeisance, nearly to the
girdle, and immediately marched off to the ba
zaar. And fancy, no sooner had I begun to ap
proach the shops when behold, a man in a frieze
cloak advanced to meet me, and under his arm he
carried a setter bitch, two months old, with light-
brown hair, a white muzzle, and white fore paws.
" Halt! " said I to the man in the frieze cloak;
" what will you take for her? "
" Two rubles in silver."
"Take three!"
The man was astonished, and thought the gen
tleman had lost his mind — but I threw a bank
note in his teeth, seized the bitch in my arms, and
342

THE DOG
rushed to my tarantas. The coachman harnessed
up the horses briskly, and that same evening I
was at home. The dog sat on my lap during the
whole journey— and never uttered a sound; but
I kept saying to her : " Tresorushko ! Treso-
rushko!" I immediately gave her food and
water, ordered straw to be brought, put her to
bed, and dashed into bed myself. I blew out the
light ; darkness reigned.
" Come now, begin! " — said I. — Silence. —
"Do begin, thou thus and so!" — Not a sound.
It was laughable. I began to take courage. —
" Come now, begin, thou thus and so, and 't other
thing! " But nothing happened — there was a
complete lull! The only thing to be heard was
the bitch breathing hard.
" Filka! "-I shouted;-" Filka! Come hither,
stupid man!" — He entered. — "Dost thou hear
the dog? "
" No, master," — said he, — " I don't hear any
thing," — and began to laugh.
" And thou wilt not hear it again forever!
Here 's half a ruble for thee for vodka! "
" Please let me kiss your hand,"— said the fool,
and crawled to me in the dark. . . . My joy was
great, I can tell you !
" And was that the end of it all? "—asked An
ton Stepanitch, no longer ironically.
The visions did cease, it is true— and there
were no disturbances of any sort— but wait, that
343

THE DOG
was not the end of the whole matter. My Treso-
rushko began to grow, and turned out a cunning
rogue. Thick-tailed, heavy, flop-eared, with
drooping dewlaps, she was a regular " take-ad
vance," — a thoroughgoing good setter. And
moreover, she became greatly attached to me.
Hunting is bad in our parts,— well, but as I had
set up a dog I had to supply myself with a gun
also. I began to roam about the surrounding
country with my Tresor; sometimes I would
knock over a hare (my heavens, how she did
course those hares!), and sometimes a quail or a
duck. But the chief point was that Tresor never,
never strayed a step away from me. Wherever I
went, there she went also; I even took her to the
bath with me ^ truly! One of our young gentle
women undertook to eject me from her drawing-
room on account of Tresor; but I raised such a
row that I smashed some of her window-panes!
Well, sir, one day — it happened in summer.
.... And I must tell you that there was such a
drought that no one could recall its like; the air
was full of something which was neither smoke
nor fog ; there was an odour of burning, and mist,
and the sun was like a red-hot cannon-ball; and
the dust was such that one could not leave off
sneezing! People went about with their mouths
gaping open, just like crows.
It bored me to sit at home constantly in com
plete undress, behind closed shutters; and by the
344

THE DOG
way, the heat was beginning to moderate. . . .
And so, gentlemen, I set off afoot to the house of
one of my neighbours. This neighbour of mine
lived about a verst from me,— and was really a
benevolent lady. She was still young and bloom
ing, and of the most attractive exterior; only she
had a fickle disposition. But that is no detriment
in the feminine sex ; it even affords pleasure. . . .
So, then, I trudged to her porch— and that trip
seemed very salt to me! Well, I thought, Nim-
f odora Semyonovna will regale me with bilberry-
water, and other refreshments— and I had al
ready grasped the door-handle when, suddenly,
around the corner of the servants' cottage there
arose a trampling of feet, a squealing and shout
ing of small boys. ... I looked round. O Lord,
my God! Straight toward me was dashing a
huge, reddish beast, which at first sight I did not
recognise as a dog; its jaws were gaping, its eyes
were blood-shot, its hair stood on end. . . . Be
fore I could take breath the monster leaped upon
the porch, elevated itself on its hind legs, and fell
straight on my breast. What do you think of
that situation? I was swooning with fright, and
could not lift my arms; I was completely stupe
fied; .... all I could see were the white tusks
right at the end of my nose, the red tongue all
swathed in foam. But at that moment another
dark body soared through the air in front of me,
like a ball— it was my darling Tresor coming to
345

THE DOG
my rescue ; and she went at that beast's throat like
a leech ! The beast rattled hoarsely in the throat,
gnashed its teeth, staggered back. . . . With one
jerk I tore open the door, and found myself in
the anteroom. I stood there, beside myself with
terror, threw my whole body against the lock, and
listened to a desperate battle which was in prog
ress on the porch. I began to shout, to call for
help; every one in the house took alarm. Nim-
fodora Semyonovna ran up with hair unbraided;
voices clamoured in the courtyard — and suddenly
there came a cry: " Hold him, hold him, lock the
gate!" I opened the door, — just a crack, — and looked.
The monster was no longer on the porch. People
were rushing in disorder about the courtyard,
flourishing their arms, picking up billets of wood
from the ground — just as though they had gone
mad. " To the village! It has run to the vil
lage!" shrieked shrilly a peasant-woman in a
pointed coronet head-dress of unusual dimensions,
thrusting her head through a garret-window. I
emerged from the house.
' Where is Tresor? " — said I. — And at that
moment I caught sight of my saviour. She was
walking away from the gate, limping, all bitten,
and covered with blood. . .
" But what was it, after all? " — I asked the
people, as they went circling round the court
yard like crazy folk. 346

THE DOG
" A mad dog! "—they answered me, " belong
ing to the Count; it has been roving about here
since yesterday."
We had a neighbour, a Count; he had intro
duced some very dreadful dogs from over-sea.
My knees gave way beneath me; I hastened
to the mirror and looked to see whether I had been
bitten. No ; God be thanked, nothing was visible ;
only, naturally, my face was all green; but Nim-
fodora Semyonovna was lying on the couch, and
clucking like a hen. And that was easily to be un
derstood: in the first place, nerves; in the second
place, sensibility. But she came to herself, and
asked me in a very languid way : was I alive ? I
told her that I was, and that Tresor was my
saviour. " Akh,"— said she,— " what nobility! And I
suppose the mad dog smothered her? "
" No," — said I, — " it did not smother her, but
it wounded her seriously."
"Akh," — said she, — "in that case, she must
be shot this very moment! "
"Nothing of the sort,"— said I;— "I won't
agree to that; I shall try to cure her." ....
In the meanwhile, Tresor began to scratch at
the door ; I started to open it for her.
"Akh," — cried she, — "what are you doing?
Why, she will bite us all dreadfully! "
" Pardon me,"— said I,—" the poison does not
take effect so soon." 347

THE DOG
" Akh,"— said she,—" how is that possible?
Why, you have gone out of your mind! "
" Nimfotchka,"— said I,—" calm thyself; lis
ten to reason. . . ."
But all at once she began to scream: " Go away;
go away this instant with your disgusting dog! "
" I will go," — said I.
"Instantly," — said she,— " this very second!
Take thyself off, brigand,"— said she, — " and
don't dare ever to show yourself in my sight
again. Thou mightest go mad thyself! "
" Very good, ma'am," — said I; " only give me
an equipage, for I am afraid to go home on foot
now." She riveted her eyes on me. " Give, give him a
calash, a carriage, a drozhky, whatever he wants,
— anything, for the sake of getting rid of him
as quickly as possible. Akh, what eyes ! akh, what
eyes he has ! " — And with these words she flew out
of the room, dealing a maid who was entering
a box on the ear, — and I heard her go off into
another fit of hysterics. — And you may believe
me or not, gentlemen, but from that day forth
I broke off all acquaintance with Nimfodora
Semyonovna; and, taking all things into mature
consideration, I cannot but add that for that cir
cumstance also I owe my friend Tresor a debt of
gratitude until I he down in my coffin.
Well, sir, I ordered a calash to be harnessed,
placed Tresor in it, and drove off home with her.
348

THE DOG
At home I looked her over, washed her wounds,
and thought to myself: " I '11 take her to-morrow,
as soon as it is light, to the wizard in Efrem
County. Now this wizard was an old peasant,
a wonderful man; he would whisper over water
— but others say that he emitted serpents' venom
on it — and give it to you to drink, and your mal
ady would instantly disappear. By the way, I
thought, I '11 get myself bled in Efremovo; 't is
a good remedy for terror; only, of course, not
from the arm, but from the bleeding-vein.
"But where is that place — the bleeding- vein ? "
— inquired Finoplentoff, with bashful curiosity.
Don't you know? That spot on the fist close
to the thumb, on which one shakes snuff from
the horn. — Just here, see! 'T is the very best
place for blood-letting; therefore, judge for your
selves ; from the arm it will be venal blood, while
from this spot it is sparkling. The doctors don't
know that, and don't understand it; how should
they, the sluggards, the dumb idiots? Black
smiths chiefly make use of it. And what skil
ful fellows they are! They '11 place their chisel
on the spot, give it a whack with their hammer —
and the deed is done! .... Well, sir, while I
was meditating in this wise, it had grown entirely
dark out of doors, and it was time to go to sleep.
I lay down on my bed, and Tresor, of course, was
there also. But whether it was because of my
fright or of the stifling heat, or because the fleas
349

THE DOG
or my thoughts were bothersome, at any rate, I
could not get to sleep. Such distress fell upon
me as it is impossible to describe; and I kept
drinking water, and opening the window, and
thrumming the " Kamarynskaya " 1 on the guitar,
with Italian variations. ... In vain! I felt
impelled to leave the room, — and that 's all there
was to it. At last I made up my mind. I took a
pillow, a coverlet, and a sheet, and wended my
way across the garden to the hay -barn; well, and
there I settled myself. And there things were
agreeable to me, gentlemen; the night was still,
extremely still, only now and then a breeze as
soft as a woman's hand would blow across my
cheek, and it was very cool ; the hay was fragrant
as tea, the katydids were rasping in the apple-
trees ; then suddenly a quail would emit its call —
and you would feel that he was taking his ease,
the scamp, sitting in the dew with his mate. . . .
And the sky was so magnificent; the stars were
twinkling, and sometimes a little cloud, as white
as wadding, would float past, and even it would
hardly stir. . . .
At this point in the narrative, Skvorevitch
sneezed; Kinarevitch, who never lagged behind
his comrade in anything, sneezed also. Anton
Stepanitch cast a glance of approbation at both.
Well, sir— [went on Porfiry Kapitonitch],—
1 A vivacious and favourite popular dance-tune. It is several centuries
old, and of interesting historical origin.— Translator.
350

THE DOG
so I lay there, and still I could not get to sleep.
A fit of meditation had seized upon me; and I
pondered chiefly over the great marvel, how that
Prokhoritch had rightly explained to me about
the warning — and why such wonders should hap
pen to me in particular. ... I was astonished,
in fact, because I could not understand it at all
— while Tresorushko whimpered as she curled
herself up on the hay; her wounds were paining
her. And I '11 tell you another thing that kept
me from sleeping — you will hardly believe it ; the
moon! It stood right in front of me, so round
and big and yellow and flat ; and it seemed to me
as though it were staring at me— by Heaven it
did ; and so arrogantly, importunately. . . . At last
I stuck my tongue out at it, I really did. Come,
I thought, what art thou so curious about? I
turned away from it; but it crawled into my ear,~
it illuminated the back of my head, and flooded
me as though with rain; I opened my eyes, and
what did I see? It made every blade of grass,
every wretched little blade in the hay, the
most insignificant spider's web, stand out dis
tinctly! " Well, look, then! " said I. There was
no help for it. I propped my head on my hand
and began to stare at it. But I could not keep it
up ; if you will believe it, my eyes began to stick
out like a hare's and to open very wide indeed,
just as though they did not know what sleep was
like. I think I could have eaten up everything
351

THE DOG
with those same eyes. The gate of the hay-barn
stood wide open ; I could see for a distance of five
versts out on the plain; and distinctly, not in the
usual way on a moonlight night. So I gazed and
gazed, and did not even wink. . . . And sud
denly it seemed to me as though something were
waving about far, far away .... exactly as
though things were glimmering indistinctly be
fore my eyes. Some time elapsed ; again a shadow
leaped across my vision, — a little nearer now;
then again, still nearer. What is it? I thought.
Can it be a hare? No, I thought, it is larger than
a hare, and its gait is unlike that of a hare. I
continued to look, and again the shadow showed
itself, and it was moving now across the pasture-
land (and the pasture-land was whitish from the
moonlight) like a very large spot; it was plain
that it was some sort of a wild beast — a fox or
a wolf. My heart contracted within me ....
but what was I afraid of, after all? Are n't there
plenty of wild animals running about the fields
by night? But my curiosity was stronger than
my fears; I rose up, opened my eyes very wide,
and suddenly turned cold all over. I fairly
froze rigid on the spot, as though I had been
buried in ice up to my ears ; and why? The Lord
only knows! And I saw the shadow growing
bigger and bigger, which meant that it was mak
ing straight for the hay-barn. . . . And then it
became apparent to me that it really was a large,
352

THE DOG
big-headed wild beast. ... It dashed onward
like a whirlwind, like a bullet. . . . Good heav
ens! What was it? Suddenly it stopped short,
as though it scented something. . . . Why,
it was the mad dog I had encountered that day!
'T was he, 't was he! O Lord! And I could not
stir a finger, I could not shout. ... It ran to the
gate, glared about with its eyes, emitted a howl,
and dashed straight for me on the hay !
But out of the hay, like a lion, sprang my Tre
sor; and then the struggle began. The two
clinched jaw to jaw, and rolled over the ground
in a ball! What took place further I do not re
member; all I do remember is that I flew head
over heels across them, just as I was, into the
garden, into the house, and into my own bed
room! .... I almost dived under the bed —
there 's no use in concealing the fact. And what
leaps, what bounds I made in the garden! You
would have taken me for the leading ballerina
who dances before the Emperor Napoleon on the
day of his Angel — and even she could n't have
overtaken me. But when I had recovered myself
a little, I immediately routed out the entire house
hold; I ordered them all to arm themselves, and
I myself took a sword and a revolver. (I must
confess that I had purchased that revolver after
the Emancipation, in case of need, you know-
only I had hit upon such a beast of a pedlar that
out of three charges two inevitably missed fire.)
353

THE DOG
Well, sir, I took all this, and in this guise we sal
lied forth, in a regular horde, with staves and
lanterns, and directed our footsteps toward the
hay-barn. We reached it and called— nothing
was to be heard; we entered the barn at last.
.... And what did we see? My poor Treso-
rushko lay dead, with her throat slit, and that ac
cursed beast had vanished without leaving a trace !
Then, gentlemen, I began to bleat like a calf,
and I will say it without shame ; I fell down on the
body of my twofold rescuer, so to speak, and
kissed her head for a long time. And there I
remained in that attitude until my old house
keeper, Praskovya, brought me to my senses ( she
also had run out at the uproar) .
" Why do you grieve so over the dog, Porfiry
Stepanitch? " — said she. " You will surely catch
cold, which God forbid!" (I was very lightly
clad.) "And if that dog lost her life in saving
you, she ought to reckon it as a great favour! "
Although I did not agree with Praskovya, I
went back to the house. And the mad dog was
shot on the following day by a soldier from the
garrison. And it must have been that that was
the end appointed by Fate to the dog, for the
soldier fired a gun for the first time in his life,
although he had a medal for service in the year
'12. So that is the supernatural occurrence which
happened to me. 354

THE DOG
The narrator ceased speaking and began to fill
his pipe. But we all exchanged glances of sur
prise. " But perhaps you lead a very upright life,"
—began Mr. Finoplentoff,— " and so by way of
reward . . . . ' But at that word he faltered,
for he saw that Porfiry Kapitonitch's cheeks were
beginning to swell out and turn red, and his eyes
too were beginning to pucker up— evidently the
man was on the point of breaking out. . . .
" But admitting the possibility of the super
natural, the possibility of its interference in
everyday life, so to speak," — began Anton Ste
panitch: — " then what role, after this, must sound
sense play? "
None of us found any answer, and, as before,
we remained perplexed.

355

THE JEW
AND OTHER STORIES

CONTENTS

THE JEW  , . .g^jj

PAGE 1 I

ANDREI KOLOSOFF . . . .  33 t %<+<+
THE BULLY.  89 ,§«*<*
PYETUSHKOFF  m , g^f)
THE TWO FRIENDS  251 ' ^

THE JEW
(1846)

THE JEW
>RAY, tell us_ a_jtpry,_ Colonel," we said at
last to Nikolai Ilitch. The Colonel smiled,
emitted a stream of tobacco-smoke through his
moustache, passed his hand over his grey hair,
stared at us, and meditated. We all loved and re
spected Nikolai Ilitch extremely for his kind-
heartedness, his sound sense, and his indulgence
toward us youngsters. He was tall of stature,.
broad-shouldered, and corpulent. His swarthy
face, " one of the glorious Russian faces," * his
frank-spirited, clever gaze, his gentle smile, his
manly and resonant voice— everything about him
pleased and attracted.
" Well, then, listen,"— he began.
It happened in the year '13, before Dantzig. I
was then serving in the E** cuirassier regiment,
and, as I recall it, had just been promoted to the
rank of cornet. 'T is a merry occupation,—
fighting and marching,— a fine thing, but in
the besieging force things were very dull. You
sit all God's day in some lodgment or other, un
der a tent, in the mud or straw, and play cards
i Lermontoff, in " The Treasurer's Wife."
3

THE JEW
from morning till night. Perhaps, out of sheer
tedium, you go out to take a look at the way the
hot shot or the bombs are flying.
At first the French comforted us with sallies,
but they soon quieted down. Riding on foraging
expeditions got tiresome also; in a word, such
boredom descended upon us that we were fit to
howl. I was only in my nineteenth year then;
I was a healthy youngster, with a complexion
of blood and milk, and I thought I would amuse
myself at the expense of the French, and at the
expense of ... . well, you understand . . . but
this is what came of it. For lack of something
to do, I took to gambling. One day, after losing
frightfully, luck turned in my favour, and to
ward morning (we were playing by night), I
had won heavily. Exhausted and sleepy, I
emerged into the open air and sat down on the
glacis. It was a magnificent, calm morning; the
long lines of our fortifications were lost in the
mist; I looked about me, then fell into a doze
where I sat. A cautious cough awakened me;
I opened my eyes and beheld before me a Jew,
about forty years of age, in a long-skirted grey
kaftan, shoes, and a black skull-cap. This Jew,
Hirschel by name, was constantly haunting our
camp, intruding himself on the agents, furnish
ing us with wine, edibles, and other trifles; he
was small of stature, thin, pock-marked, and
red-haired; he was incessantly winking his tiny
4

THE JEW
eyes, which were also red; he had a long, crooked
nose, and was eternally coughing.
He began to wriggle about in front of me,
and make low bows.
" Well, what dost thou want? "—I asked him
at last.
" Why, sir, I came to inquire, sir, whether I
could not supply their 1 Well-Born with some
thing. ..."
" I have no need of thee; begone."
" As you command, sir, as you like, sir. . . .
I thought that, possibly, there was something,
sir . . . ."
" Thou borest me; begone, I tell thee."
" Certainly, certainly, sir. But permit me to
congratulate their Well-Born on their win
nings. . . ."
" How dost thou know about that? "
" And why should n't I know, sir? ... . Big
winnings .... big. . . . Phew! how big! . . . ."
Hirschel spread out his fingers widely, and
nodded his head.
"But what 's the good of it? "—I said with
vexation. — " What the devil is the use of money
here? "
"Oh, don't say that, your Well-Born; ai, ai,
don't say that. Money is a good thing; 't is
always useful; everything can be had for
L "Their" (instead " of your ") Well-Born indicates profound re
spect. The Jew talks broken Russian. — Translator.

THE JEW
money, your Well-Born, — everything, every
thing!" "
" Stop lying, Jew! "
" Ai, ai! " — repeated Hirschel, shaking his
ear-locks; — "their Well-Born does not believe
me ... ai .... ai .... ai. ... " The Jew shut his
eyes and slowly shook his head to the right
and left. ..." But I know what the Mr. Offi
cer would like. ... I know .... indeed I
know! "
The Jew assumed a very cunning aspect. . . .
"Really?" The Jew cast a timid glance about him, then
bent toward me.
" Such a beauty, your Well-Born, such a
beauty! "... Again Hirschel closed his eyes,
and protruded his lips. — " Give the command,
your Well-Born . . . you shall see for your
self . . . what I shall say now you will hear
.... you will not believe it ... . but you had
better command me to show you .... that 's
howr, that 's what! "
I made no answer, and stared at the Jew.
"Well, good, then; well, that 's good; well
now, I '11 show you. ..." Here Hirschel burst
out laughing and slapped me lightly on the shoul
der, but immediately leaped back, as though he
had been singed.
" Well, now, your Well-Born, how about a
Httle deposit? " 6

THE JEW
" But thou wilt cheat me, or show me some
scarecrow? "
" Ai", vai, what are you saying? "—exclaimed
the Jew, with unwonted warmth, and flourishing
his arms.—" How is it possible? But do you,
your Well-Born .... command that I be
given five hundred .... four hundred and
fifty blows with a stick," — he added hastily. . .
" Do you give the command. . . ."
At that moment, one of my comrades raised
the edge of the tent, and called me by name. I
hastily rose, and tossed the Jew a ducat.
" This evening, this evening," — he mumbled
after me.
I must confess to you, gentlemen, that I
awaited the evening with some impatience. On
that same day the French made a sally ; our regi
ment went to the attack. Evening drew on; we
seated ourselves round the camp-fires . . . the
soldiers cooked the buckwheat groats. — Discus
sions began. I lay on my burka,1 and listened to
my comrades' tales. They proposed to me to
play cards. I refused. I was in a state of agi
tation. Little by httle the officers dispersed to
their tents; the fires began to die out; the sol
diers also had scattered, or fallen asleep on the
spot; everything was quiet. I did not rise. My
orderly was squatting on his heels before the
1 A large Caucasian circular cloak, of heavy, impenetrable,
shaggy felt.— Translator.

THE JEW
fire and, as the saying is, "catching fish."— I
drove him away. Soon the whole camp had
grown silent. The watch made its round. The
sentries were changed. I still lay there and
waited for something. The stars came out.
Night had come. For a long time I gazed at the
expiring flame .... the last tiny spark died
out at last. " The damned Jew has deceived me,"
I thought with vexation, and was on the point of
rising. . . .
' Your Well-Born . . . ." whispered an anx
ious voice above my very ear.
I looked round : it was Hirschel. He was very
pale, and stammered and lisped.
" Please go to your tent, sir."
I rose and followed him. The Jew was all
shrunk together, and trod cautiously on the short,
damp grass. I noticed on one side a motionless,
muffled figure. The Jew waved his hand at it-
it approached him. He whispered with it, turned
to me, nodded his head several times, and all three
of us entered the tent. Absurd to say, I was
choking. " Here, your Well-Born," — whispered the
Jew with an effort : " here. She 's a little fright
ened now, she 's frightened; but I have told her
that the Mr. Officer is a good man, a fine man.
. . . And thou must not be afraid, must not be
afraid," — he added, — " must not be afraid. . . ."
The muffled figure did not stir. I myself was
8

THE JEW
in a terrible state of confusion, and did not
know what to say. Hirschel kept dancing up and
down in one place, and throwing his hands apart
in a strange sort of way. . . .
" But,"— I said to him, " leave the tent. . . ."
Hirschel obeyed with apparent unwillingness.
I stepped up to the muffled figure and gently
removed the dark hood from its head. There was
a conflagration in Dantzig; by the reddish, spas
modic and feeble reflection of the distant fire I
beheld the pale face of a young Jewess. Her
beauty startled me. I stood before her and gazed
at her in silence. She did not raise her eyes. A
faint rustle made me glance round. Hirschel
was cautiously thrusting his head past the flap
of the tent. I waved my hand at him in irritation
... he disappeared.
" What is thy name? " — I said at last.
" Sara," she replied, — and for one instant the
whites of her large, long eyes, and her httle, even,
gleaming teeth flashed in the gloom.
I seized two leather cushions, threw them on
the ground, and asked her to sit down. She
flung off her cloak and seated herself. She wore
a short kazak jacket, open in front, with round,
carved silver buttons, and wide sleeves. Her
thick black braid of hair encircled her little head
twice. I sat down beside her, and took her dark-
skinned, slender hand. She resisted a little, but
seemed to be afraid to look at me, and her breath
9

THE JEW
came unevenly. I admired her Oriental profile —
and timidly pressed her cold, trembling fingers.
" Dost thou understand Russian? "
" Yes ... a little."
"And dost thou love the Russians?"
" Yes, I do."
" So, then, thou lovest me? "
" Yes, I love you, also."
I tried to embrace her, but she hastily moved
away. . . .
" No, no, please, master, please. . . ."
" Well, then, look at me, at least."
She fixed on me her black, piercing eyes, and
immediately turned away with a smile and
blushed. I kissed her hand fervently. She cast a side
long glance at me, and broke into a soft laugh.
" What art thou laughing at? "
She covered her face with her sleeve and
laughed more heartily than before. Hirschel
made his appearance at the entrance to the tent,
and shook his finger at her. She fell silent.
" Get out! " I whispered to him through my
teeth. — " I 'm tired of thee! "
Hirschel did not withdraw.
I got a handful of ducats out of my chest,
thrust them into his hand, and pushed him out.
" Give me some, too, master. . ." said she.
I tossed several ducats into her lap; she
snatched them up nimbly, hke a cat.
10

THE JEW
" Well, now I shall kiss thee."
" No, please, please,"— she lisped in a fright
ened and beseeching voice.
" What dost thou fear? "
" I 'm afraid."
" Come, enough of that. . . ."
" No, please. ."
She gazed timidly at me, bent her head a little
on one side, and clasped her hands. I left her in
peace. " If thou wishest . . . here," she said, after a
considerable pause, and raised her hand to my
lips. I kissed it not altogether willingly. Again
Sara burst out laughing.
My blood choked me. I was vexed at myself
and did not know what to do. " But," I thought
at last, " what a fool I am! "
I turned to her again.
" Hearken, Sara, I 'm in love with thee."
" I know it."
" Thou knowest it? And thou art not angry?
And dost thou love me? "
Sara nodded her head.
" No, answer me properly."
" Show yourself," — said she.
I bent toward her. Sara laid her hands on my
shoulders, began to scan my face, frowned,
smiled. ... I could not restrain myself and
swiftly kissed her on the cheek. She sprang up,
11

THE JEW
and with one bound was at the entrance to the
tent. ' Well, what a savage thou art! "
She made no reply, and did not stir from the
spot. " Come hither to me. . . ."
" No, master ; farewell. Until another time."
Again Hirschel thrust in his little curly head
and said a couple of words to her ; she bent down
and glided out like a serpent.
I rushed out of the tent after her, but saw
neither her nor Hirschel.
All night long I could not get to sleep.
On the following morning we were sitting in
the tent of our captain; I was gambling, but
reluctantly. My orderly entered.
" Some one is asking for you, your Well-
Born." " Who wants me? "
" A Jew is asking for you."
" Can it be Hirschel? " I thought. I waited
until the end of the deal, rose, and went out. In
fact, I beheld Hirschel.
' Well,"— he asked me with a pleasant smile,
" is your Well-Born satisfied? "
"Akh, devil take thee! . . ." (At this point
the Colonel glanced round) "... I think there
are no ladies present . . . however, never mind.
Akh, damn thee, my dear fellow," — I answered
him; " art thou making game of me, pray? "
12

THE JEW
" Why so, sir? "
" What meanest thou by ' why so '? I should
think thou wouldst ask ! "
" Ai, ai, Mr. Officer, what a man you are,"—
said Hirschel, reproachfully, but without ceasing
to smile. — " The girl is young, modest .... you
frightened her, really you frightened her."
" Fine modesty! Then why did she take the
money? "
" And why not, sir? When money is offered,
sir, why not take it? "
" Hark ye, Hirschel: let her come again; I will
not let thee lose anything by it . . . only, be so
good as not to show thy stupid phiz in my tent,
and leave us in peace; hearest thou?"
Hirschel's eyes sparkled.
" Well? And does she please you? "
" Well, yes."
" A beauty! there 's no such beauty anywhere.
And will you give me the money now? "
" Take it; only, hearken to me: an agreement
is better than money. Fetch her, and take thy
self off to the devil! I '11 conduct her home my
self." " But that is impossible, impossible, utterly im
possible, sir,"— returned the Jew, hastily.—" Ai,
ai, utterly impossible, sir. I will walk about near
the tent, if you please, your Well-Born; I '11—
I '11 go a little way off, your Well-Born, if you
like, . . . your Well-Born, I 'm ready to serve you ;
13

THE JEW
I '11 go off a bit, if you please. . . . What say you
to that? I '11 go off a bit."
" Well, see that thou dost. . . . But fetch her,
hearest thou? "
" But she 's a beauty, is n't she, Mr. Officer?
hey? Your Well-Born? A beauty? Hey?"
Hirschel bent forward, and gazed into my
eyes. " She 's very nice."
" Well, then, give me just one more little
ducat. ..."
I flung him a ducat ; we parted.
The day came to an end at last. Night de
scended. For a long time I sat alone in my
tent. The weather was overcast. The clock in
the town struck two. I had already begun to
curse the Jew . . . when, suddenly, Sara en
tered, alone. I sprang to my feet, embraced
her . . . touched my lips to her face. ... It
was as cold as ice. I could barely distinguish her
features. ... I seated her, knelt down in front
of her, took her hands, touched her waist. . . .
She preserved silence, and did not stir, and sud
denly burst out into loud, convulsive sobs. In vain
did I strive to sooth her, to persuade her. . . . She
sobbed and wept. ... I caressed her, wiped away
her tears; as before, she offered no resistance,
did not reply to my questions, and wept, wept in
torrents. My heart revolted within me; I rose
and left the tent. 14

THE JEW
Hirschel ducked up in front of me, as though
he had sprung out of the earth.
" Hirschel,"— I said to him,—" here is the
money I promised thee. Take Sara away.
The Jew immediately rushed to her. She had
ceased weeping, and clung to him.
" Good-bye, Sara," I said to her.—" God be
with thee, farewell. We shall meet again some
other time."
Hirschel maintained silence and saluted. Sara
bent down, took my hand, and pressed it to her
lips ; I turned away. . . .
Five or six days, gentlemen, I thought of my
Jewess. Hirschel did not make his appearance,
and no one had seen him in the camp. At night
I slept rather badly: I kept seeing visions of
moist black eyes and long lashes; my lips could
not forget the touch of that cheek, as smooth and
fresh as the skin of a plum. I was sent with a
detachment on a foraging expedition to a dis
tant hamlet. While my soldiers were rummag
ing the houses I remained in the street, and did
not alight from my horse. Suddenly, some one
seized me by the foot. . . .
" Great heavens, Sara! "
She was pale and agitated.
" Mr. Officer, mister .... help, save, the sol
diers are insulting us. . . . Mr. Officer ....
She recognised me, and flushed up.
" But dost thou live here? "
15

THE JEW
" Yes."
"Where?" Sara pointed out to me a tiny, ancient house.
I gave my horse the spur, and galloped thither.
In the yard of the little house, a hideous, di
shevelled Jewess was endeavouring to wrest from
the hands of my long quartermaster, Silyavka,
three chickens and a duck. He had raised his
booty high above his head and was laughing ; the
chickens were cackling, the duck was quacking.
. . . Two other cuirassiers had laden their horses
with hay, straw, and flour-sacks. In the house
itself, Little Russian exclamations and oaths
were audible. ... I shouted at my men and or
dered them to leave the Jews in peace, to take
nothing from them. The soldiers obeyed; the
quartermaster mounted his brown mare, Pros
erpine, or, as he called her, " Prozherpyla," and
rode out into the street in my wake.
"Well," I said to Sara, — "art thou satisfied
with me? "
She looked at me with a smile.
" Where hast thou been hiding thyself all this
time? "
She dropped her eyes.
" I will come to you to-morrow."
" In the evening? "
" No, sir, in the morning."
" See that thou dost not deceive me."
" No .... no, I will not deceive thee."
16

THE JEW
I gazed eagerly at her. By day she seemed to
be even more beautiful. I remember that I was
particularly struck with the dull amber tint of
her face and the bluish reflections of her black
hair. ... I bent down from my horse, and
pressed her little hand warmly.
" Farewell, Sara . . . see that thou comest."
" I will come."
She went home; I ordered my quartermaster
to follow me with the detachment, and galloped
off. On the following day I rose very early and
went out of my tent. It was a wondrously beau
tiful morning; the sun had only just risen, and a
moist crimson light sparkled on every blade of
grass. I mounted the high breastwork and
seated myself on the edge of an embrasure. Be
neath me a fat iron cannon thrust its black muzzle
into the fields. I gazed absent-mindedly on all
sides .... and suddenly beheld, about a hun
dred paces distant, a bent figure in a grey kaftan.
I recognised Hirschel. He stood for a long
time motionless in one spot, then suddenly ran
off a httle to one side, cast a hasty and timorous
glance around him . . . grunted, squatted down,
cautiously stretched out his neck, and again be
gan to gaze about him, and to listen. I could see
all his movements with perfect distinctness. He
thrust his hand into his breast, drew out a scrap
of paper and a pencil, and began to write or
17

THE JEW
sketch something. Hirschel kept incessantly
pausing, quivering like a hare, attentively scan
ning his surroundings, and was apparently mak
ing a drawing of our camp. More than once he
hid his paper, screwed up his eyes, sniffed the
air, and again bent to his work. At last the Jew
squatted down on the grass, took off his shoe,
and thrust in the paper; but before he had man
aged to straighten himself up again, suddenly,
ten paces from him, from behind the slope of the
glacis, the moustached head of quartermaster Si
lyavka made its appearance, and gradually his
whole long, clumsy body raised itself a little
from the ground. The Jew was standing with
his back to him. Silyavka walked briskly up to
him and laid his heavy paw on his shoulder. Hir
schel shrivelled up. He shook like a leaf, and
emitted a wailing, hare-like cry. Silyavka spoke
menacingly to him, and seized him by the collar.
I could not hear their conversation, but from
the despairing movements of the Jew's body,
from his beseeching mien, I began to divine
what the matter was. A couple of times the Jew
flung himself at the quartermaster's feet, thrust
his hand into his pocket, pulled out a tattered
checked handkerchief, untied a knot in it, and got
out a ducat. . . . Silyavka gravely accepted the
gift, but did not cease to drag the Jew by
the collar. Hirschel broke loose and darted to
one side; the quartermaster set out in pursuit of
18

THE JEW
him. The Jew ran with extreme swiftness; his
legs, clad in blue stockings, twinkled very fast
indeed, in fact; but Silyavka, after two or three
" spurts," caught the squatting Jew, lifted him
up, and carried him in his arms straight toward
the camp. I rose and went to meet him.
"Ah! your Well-Born! "—shouted Silyavka:
" I 'm bringing you a spy, — a spy!" . . . The
perspiration poured in streams from the face of
the Little Russian.—" Come, stop that wrig
gling, thou devil's Jew! stop it, I say . . .
damn thee! if thou dost not, I '11 crush thee —
lookout!" The unhappy Hirschel pushed feebly with his
elbows against Silyavka's breast, and feebly
kicked his legs about. . . . His eyes rolled con
vulsively upward. . . .
" What 's the matter? "—I inquired of Si
lyavka. "Why, here, your Well-Born: please to re
move the shoe from his right foot, — it 's awkward
for me." — He still held the Jew in his arms.
I removed the shoe, took out the carefully-
folded bit of paper, unfolded it, and beheld a de
tailed sketch of our camp. On the margins stood
numerous comments, written in a very fine script,
in the Jewish tongue.
In the meantime, Silyavka had set the Jew
on his legs. The Jew opened his eyes, saw me,
and flung himself on his knees before me.
19

THE JEW
I silently showed him the paper.
" What 's this? "
" That is— just,— Mr. Officer. I just made
that by chance."— His voice broke.
" Art thou a scout? "
He did not understand me, muttered incoher
ent words, and tremulously touched my knees. . . .
" Art thou a spy? "
" Ai! "—he cried faintly, and shook his head.
— "How is that possible? I never was; I am
nothing of the sort. I can't be ; it is n't possible.
I 'm ready. This instant. I '11 give money
.... I '11 pay," — he whispered, and closed his
eyes. His skull-cap had fallen back on his nape; his
red hair, damp with cold sweat, hung in elf-locks ;
his lips had turned blue and were spasmodically
contorted; his brows were painfully contracted;
his cheeks were sunken. . . .
The soldiers surrounded us. At first I had
felt like giving Hirschel a good fright, and or
dering Silyavka to hold his tongue; but now the
affair had become public, and could not be kept
from the knowledge of the authorities.
" Conduct him to the General,"— I said to the
quartermaster. "Mr. Officer, your Well-Born! "—shrieked
the Jew in a voice of despair :—" I am not guilty ;
I am not guilty. . . . Order them to release me,
order . . . ." 20

THE JEW
" His Excellency will settle that,"— said Si
lyavka.—" Come along."
" Your Well-Born! " — the Jew screamed after
me: — " give orders! have mercy! "
His shriek worried me. I hastened my steps.
Our General was a man of German extrac
tion, honourable and kind-hearted, but a strict
executor of the regulations of the service. I en
tered his small, hastily-built house, and in a few
words explained to him the cause of my visit. I
was familiar with all the strictness of the mili
tary regulations, and therefore did not even utter
the word " spy," but endeavoured to represent
the whole affair as unimportant, and not worth
attention. But, unluckily for Hirschel, the Gen
eral placed the fulfilment of duty above com
passion. ' Young man," — he said to me, — " you are in
experienced. You are, as yet, inexperienced in
military affairs. The matter which 1 (the Gen
eral was very fond of the word "which") you
have reported to me is important, very import
ant. . . . And where is that man who was cap
tured? that Hebrew? Where is he? "
I went out of the tent, and ordered the Jew
to be led in.
The Jew was led in. The unhappy wight
could barely stand on his legs.
1 The General pronounces it kdtoryi instead of
kotoryi. — Translator.
21

THE JEW
"Yes," — said the General, turning to me: —
" and where is that plan which was found on this
man? "
I handed him the paper. The General un
folded it, moved backward, puckered up his eyes,
and contracted his brows in a frown.
" This is a-ma-zing . . . ." he said with pauses
between the syllables. — " Who arrested him? "
"I, your Excellency! "—blurted out Silya
vka, sharply.
"Ah! Good! good! .... Well, my good
man, what hast thou to say in thine own de
fence?" ' Yo . . . yo . . . . your Excellency," — stam
mered Hirschel:—" I . . . . pray .... your Ex
cellency .... am not guilty . . . ask the Sir
Officer if I am, your Excellency. ... I 'm an
agent, your Excellency, an honest agent."
" He must be cross-examined," — said the Gen
eral in a low voice, shaking his head pompously.
— " Well, and what is thy plea, my good
man; " Not guilty, your Excellency, not guilty."
" But that is incredible. Thou hast been
caught deservedly, as the expression is in Rus
sian — that is to say, in the very act! "
" Permit me to say, your Excellency, that I am
not guilty."
" Didst thou draw the plan? Art thou a spy
of the enemy? " 22

THE JEW
"Not I!"— cried Hirschel, suddenly:— " not
I, your Excellency! "
The General glanced at Silyavka.
' Why, he 's lying, your Excellency. The
Sir Officer got the document out of his shoe him
self." The General looked at me. I was compelled
to nod my head.
' Thou art a scout of the enemy, my good
man, .... my good man. . . ."
" Not I. . . . Not I . . . ." whispered the
distracted Jew.
" Thou hast already furnished the enemy with
similar information? Confess. . . ."
" How is that possible ! "
" Thou shalt not deceive me, my good man.
Art thou a scout? "
The Jew shut his eyes, shook his head, and
raised the skirts of his kaftan.
" Hang him," — said the General expressively,
after a brief pause, — " in accordance with the
laws. Where is Mr. Feodor Schlikelmann? "
They ran for Schlikelmann, the General's ad
jutant. Hirschel turned green, his mouth fell
open, his eyes protruded. The adjutant pre
sented himself. The General gave him the re
quisite instructions. The regimental secretary
showed his gaunt, pock-marked face for a mo
ment. Two or three officers looked into the room
out of curiosity. 23

THE JEW
"Have mercy, your Excellency,"— I said to
the General in German, to the best of my ability :
— " release him. . . ."
" You, young man," — he replied to me in
Russian,—" you are inexperienced, as I have
already told you, and therefore I beg that
you will hold your peace, and not trouble me
further." Hirschel flung himself with a shriek at the
General's feet.
" Your Excellency;-, have mercy, I won't do it
again — I won't, your Excellency, I have a wife
.... your Excellency, I have a daughter ....
have mercy. ..."
"What can I do?"
" I be guilty, your Excellency, I be really
guilty .... for the first time, your Excellency,
for the first time, believe me! "
" Thou hast not furnished any other papers? "
" For the first time, your Excellency ....
a wife . . . children .... have mercy. . . ."
" But thou art a spy."
" A wife .... your Excellency .... chil
dren. . . ."
It was very distasteful to the General, but
there was no way out of it.
" In accordance with the laws the Jew must be
hanged," — he said slowly and with the aspect of
a man who is forced, reluctantly, to sacrifice his
better feelings to inexorable duty. — " He must
24

THE JEW
hang! Feodor Karlitch, I request that you will
write a report of these proceedings, which . . . ."
A strange change suddenly came over Hir
schel. In place of the tremulous fear peculiar
to the Jew, the terrible agony which precedes
death was depicted on his countenance. He
flung himself about like a captured wild animal,
opened his mouth, rattled dully in his throat, even
leaped up and down on the spot, convulsively
flourishing his elbows. He had but one shoe on ;
they had forgotten to restore the other to his foot ;
. . . the breast of his kaftan flew open ... his
skull-cap fell off. . .
We all shuddered ; the General remained silent.
" Your Excellency," — I began again: — "par
don this unhappy man."
" Impossible. The law enjoins,"— returned
the General abruptly, and not without emotion:
— " he will serve as an example to others."
" For God's sake. ..."
" Mr. Cornet, be so good as to go to your post,"
— said the General, and pointed me to the door
with a commanding gesture.
I saluted and retired. But as I had no actual
post anywhere, I halted at a short distance from
the General's little house.
Two minutes later, Hirschel made his appear
ance accompanied by Silyavka and three soldiers.
The poor Jew was in a state of stupor, and could
barely move his legs. Silyavka passed me on his
25

THE JEW
way to the camp, and speedily returned with a
rope in his hands. Strange, harsh compassion
was portrayed on his coarse but not malicious
face. At the sight of the rope, the Jew dropped his
hands in despair, squatted down, and began to
sob. The soldiers stood in silence around him, and
stared grimly at the ground. I stepped up to
Hirschel, and spoke to him; he was sobbing like
a child, and did not even look at me. I waved
my hand, went off to my own quarters, flung my
self on my bed, and closed my eyes. . . .
Suddenly some one ran hastily and noisily into
my tent. I raised my head and beheld Sara.
She seemed wild with fright. She darted toward
me, and seized my hands.
" Come, come, come," — she repeated, in a
panting voice.
" Whither? Why? Let us remain here."
" To father, to father, be quick .... save
him .... save him! "
" To what father? "
" To my father; they are going to hang
him. . . ."
" What! Is it possible that Hirschel . . . ."
" He is my father. ... I will explain every
thing to thee afterward," — she added, wringing
her hands in despair: — "only come . . . .
come. . . ."
We ran out of the tent. In the field, on the
road to a solitary birch-tree, a group of soldiers
26

THE JEW
was visible. . . . Sara pointed dumbly at it with
her finger. . . .
" Stop! "—I said suddenly:—" whither are we
running? The soldiers will not obey me."
Sara continued to drag me after her. ... I
must confess that my head reeled.
" But hearken, Sara," I said to her: " what 's
the sense in running thither? I had better go
once more to the General; let us go together; per
haps we can move him by entreaties."
Sara suddenly paused and stared at me like a
mad creature.
"Understand me, Sara, for God's sake! I
have not the power to pardon thy father, but
the General can. Let us go to him."
" But in the meanwhile they will hang him," —
she moaned. . . .
I glanced round. The regimental secretary
stood not far off.
"Ivanoff," I said to him: — "run, please, to
the men yonder: order them to wait; say that I
have gone to entreat the General."
" I obey, sir."
Ivanoff hastened off.
They would not admit us to the General's
presence. In vain did I plead, and argue, at last
even swear .... in vain did poor Sara tear her
hair and fling herself upon the sentries : we were
not admitted.
Sara gazed wildly about her, clutched her head
27

THE JEW
in both hands, and ran headlong across the field
to her father. I ran after her. People stared
at us in amazement. . . .
We hurried up to the soldiers. They were
standing in a circle, and— just imagine, gentle
men, were jeering at poor Hirschel! I flared
up, and shouted at them. The Jew caught sight
of us, and flung himself on his daughter's neck.
Sara clasped him convulsively.
The poor man imagined that he had been par
doned. . . . He had already begun to thank me.
... I turned away.
" Your Well-Born," — he shouted, and clasped
his hands tightly, — " am not I pardoned? "
I made no reply.
" No? "
" No."
"Your Well-Born,"-he mumbled:-" look,
your Well-Born, look .... for she — this young
maiden here — you know — she is my daughter."
" I know," — I answered, and again turned
away. ''
"Your Well-Born! "-he screamed:-" I
did n't go away from the tent! I would n't, for
anything. . . ." He paused and shut his eyes
for a moment. ..." I wanted your money,
your Well-Born, I must confess, your money
.... but I would n't for anything . . . ."
I preserved silence. Hirschel was repulsive to
me — yes, and she was his accomphce. . . .
28

THE JEW
" But now, if you will save me,"— said the Jew
in a whisper, — " I will command— I .... you
understand? . . . everything .... I '11 do
anything. ..."
He trembled hke a leaf, and cast a hasty glance
about him. Sara embraced him silently and pas
sionately. The adjutant stepped up to them.
"Mr. Cornet,"— he said to me:— "his Ex
cellency has given orders to arrest you. And
you . ..." he silently pointed out the Jew to
the soldiers . . . . " will immediately . . . ."
Silyavka approached the Jew.
" Feodor Karlitch," — I said to the adjutant
(five soldiers had come with him) : — " pray, give
orders, at least, that this poor girl shall be re
moved. . . ."
" Of course. I agree, sir."
The unhappy girl was barely breathing. Hir
schel muttered something in her ear, in the Jew
ish tongue. . . .
With difficulty the soldiers freed Sara from
the paternal embrace, and carefully carried her
off about twenty paces. But she suddenly
wrested herself from their hands, and darted to
ward Hirschel .... Silyavka stopped her.
Sara thrust him aside; a slight flush covered her
face, her eyes flashed, she extended her arms.
" Then may you be accursed,"— she shrieked in
German: — " accursed, thrice accursed, you and
29

THE JEW
all your hateful race, with the curse of Dathan
and Abiram, with the curse of poverty, of steril
ity and impotence, of shameful death! May the
earth also yawn beneath your feet, ye godless
ones, ye pitiless, bloodthirsty dogs. ..."
Her head fell backward .... she sank to the
ground. . . . They lifted her and bore her
away. The soldiers took Hirschel under the arms.
Then I understood why they had laughed at the
Jew while Sara and I had run in from the camp.
He really was ridiculous, in spite of all the horror
of his situation. The torturing anguish of part
ing from hfe, frOm his daughter, from his family
was expressed in the case of the unhappy Jew
by such strange, hideous contortions of body, by
such shrieks and skips, that we all smiled invol
untarily, although it was painful, very painful
to us. The poor man was expiring with ter
ror. . . .
" Oi, 6i, 6i! " — he screamed: — " 6i .... stop!
I will tell ... I will tell much. Mr. Assistant
Quartermaster, you know me. I am an agent, an
honest agent. Don't seize me ; wait a minute more,
one little minute, one tiny little minute — wait!
Let me go : I am a poor Jew. Sara .... where is
Sara? Oh, I know! She is with the Mr. Quar
ter-Lieutenant " (heaven knows why he pro
moted me to such an unheard-of rank) . " Mr.
Quarter-Lieutenant! I won't leave the tent!"
30

THE JEW
{The soldiers tried to take hold of Hirschel . . .
he squealed in a deafening manner, and slipped
through their hands.) — " Your Excellency! . . .
have mercy on an unhappy father of a family!
I will give you ten ducats, fifteen ducats, your
Excellency! . . ." (They dragged him to the
birch-tree) . . . . " Spare me! zhow merzy!
Mr. Quarter-Lieutenant! Your Illustriousness !
Mr. Over-General and Commander-in-Chief! "
They placed the noose on the Jew's neck ....
I shut my eyes and set off on a run.
I sat under arrest for a fortnight. I was told
that the widow of the unlucky Hirschel had come
for the clothing of the dead man. The General
ordered one hundred rubles to be given to her.
I never saw Sara again. I was wounded; I was
sent to the hospital, and when I recovered, Dant-
zig had already surrendered, — and I overtook my
regiment on the banks of the Rhine.

31

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
(1844)

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
IN a small, passably-well furnished room, sev
eral young men were sitting in front of the
fireplace. The winter evening was only just be
ginning: the samovar was boiling on the table;
conversation had got well under way, and was
passing from one topic to another. They had
begun to talk about remarkable people, and about
the precise manner in which they differ from
ordinary people. Each one expressed his opin
ion as best he might ; voices were raised, and had
begun to grow noisy. One small, pale man, who
had listened for a long time, as he sipped his tea
and smoked his small cigar, to the idle chatter
of his companions, suddenly rose to his feet and
addressed all of us (I also was among the num
ber of the disputants) in the following words:
" Gentlemen! all your profound speeches are
good in their way, but futile. Each, as usual,
learns the opinion of his opponent, and each one
sticks to his own conviction. But this is not the
first time we have come together, this is not the
first time we have had a discussion, and, there
fore, in all probability, we have all managed to
35

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
enunciate our views, and to find out the opinions
of the others. Then what are you making such
a fuss about? "
So saying, the small man carelessly knocked
the ashes from his cigar into the fireplace,
screwed up his eyes, and smiled calmly. We all
fell silent.
" Then what ought we to do, in your opinion? "
—said one of us: — " play cards? go to bed? dis
perse to our homes? "
"It is pleasant to play cards, and useful to
sleep," — retorted the small man: — "but it is
still rather early to disperse to our homes. But
you have not understood me. Hearken: I pro
pose that each one of us, things being as they
are, should describe to us some extraordinary
individual, should narrate to us his encounter
with some notable man. Believe me, the very
worst story is far more to the point than the most
capital argument."
We reflected.
" It is strange," — remarked one of us, a great
joker, — "that, with the exception of myself, I
am not acquainted with a single remarkable man,
and my life is well known to all of you, I believe.
However, if you command. . . ."
" No," — exclaimed another: — "we don't want
that! But come," — he added, addressing the
small man: — " do thou begin. Thou hast dis
concerted us all; thou art the most competent
36

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
person. Only, look out — if thy story does not
please us, we shall hiss thee."
" All right," — he replied.
He took up his stand by the fireplace ; we seated
ourselves around him, and became quiet. The
small man looked at all of us, cast a glance at the
ceiling, and began as follows:
Ten years ago, my dear sirs, I was a student
in Moscow. My father, a virtuous landed pro
prietor of the steppes, put me in the hands of a
retired German professor, who undertook, for a
consideration of one hundred rubles a month,
to provide me with food and drink, and to look
after my morals. This German was gifted with
an extremely pompous and stately mien; at first
I was a good deal afraid of him. But one fine
evening, on returning home, to my inexpressible
dehght I beheld my tutor sitting with three or
four comrades at a round table, on which stood
a considerable number of empty bottles and half-
emptied glasses. On catching sight of me, my
respected tutor rose and, with flourishing of the
hands and hiccoughs, presented me to the hon
ourable company, which immediately and unani
mously offered me a glass of punch. This agree
able spectacle had a refreshing effect on my soul ;
my future presented itself to me in the most at
tractive shape. And, in fact, thenceforward, be
ginning with that memorable day, I enjoyed un-
37

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
limited liberty, and did pretty much everything
except thrash my tutor. He had a wife, who
eternally reeked of smoke and cucumber brine;
she was still fairly young, but no longer had a
single front tooth. It is a well-known fact that
all German women speedily lose that indispen
sable adornment of the human body. I mention
her solely because she fell passionately in love
with me, and stuffed me so with food that I
nearly died.
" Come to the point, come to the point! "—we
all shouted. — " Surely, thou dost not intend to
narrate to us thine own adventures? "
"No, gentlemen!" — replied the small man
with composure: — " I am an ordinary mortal."
So, as I was saying, I lived with my German
like a fighting-cock, as the saying is. I did not
attend the university too dihgently, and at home
did absolutely nothing. In a very short time I
had made the acquaintance of all my comrades,
and called them all " thou." Among the number
of my new friends was one, a tolerably nice, good
young fellow, the son of a former police captain.
His name was Boboff. This Boboff got into the
habit of coming to see me and, apparently, took
a liking to me. And I . . . you know, did not
exactly like him, or yet exactly dislike him, only
in a sort of way. ... I must tell you, that in all
38

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
Moscow I had not a single relation, with the
exception of an old uncle, who sometimes asked
me for money. I went nowhere, and was par
ticularly afraid of women; I also avoided the
acquaintance of the relations of my university
comrades, after one of those relations had pulled
his son's hair in my presence because a button
had got ripped off his uniform, while there were
not more than six buttons on my coat that day.
In comparison with many of my comrades I
passed for a rich man; from time to time my fa
ther sent me small packages of faded blue bank-
bills,1 and therefore I not only enjoyed independ
ence, but I always had flatterers and toadies ....
what am I saying? I had? Why, even my bob-
tailed dog Armfshka, which, in spite of its setter
pedigree, was so afraid of a shot that the mere
sight of a gun inspired it with indescribable mel
ancholy — even Armishka had them! Moreover I,
like every other young man, was not exempt from
that dull, internal ferment which generally, after
having broken out in a dozen more or less crude
poems, comes to a very safe and peaceable end.
I wanted something, strove toward something,
and dreamed of something; I admit that I did
not know very clearly at the time precisely of
what I was dreaming. Now I understand what
I missed: — I felt my loneliness, I thirsted for
intercourse with so-called live people; the word
1 The old five-ruble note was blue. — Translator.
39

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
" hfe " (pronounce it laife) resounded in my soul,
and I listened to that sound with ill-defined dis
tress. . . .
" Valerian Nikititch, please give me a cigar." :
Having lighted his cigar, the small man con
tinued :
One fine morning, Boboff rushed panting to
me: — " Great news, brother, dost thou know it?
Kolosoff has arrived." — " Kolosoff? what sort of
a bird is Mr. Kolosoff? " — " Dost not thou know
him? Andriusha Kolosoff? Come on, my dear
fellow, let 's go to him as quickly as possible.
He returned yesterday evening from an en
gagement as tutor in a private family." — " But
who is he? " — "A remarkable man, my dear fel
low, good gracious! " — " A remarkable man," —
said I: — "thou mayest go alone. I '11 stay at
home. I know all about your remarkable men!
> Some half-inebriated rhymster with an eternal
rapturous smile!" .... — "Eh, no! Kolosoff
is not that sort of a man." I wanted to remark
to Boboff that Mr. Kolosoff ought to call upon
me; but, I know not why, I obeyed Boboff and
went. Boboff conducted me to one of the filthi
est, crookedest, and narrowest alleys in Moscow.
. . . The house in which Kolosoff lived was built
after an ancient pattern, artfully and inconve-
A pakhitos, or cigar, with a corn-shuck wrapper. —Translator.
40

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
niently. We entered the courtyard; a fat
woman was hanging out clothes on a line
stretched from the house to the fence ....
children were shouting to one another on the
wooden staircase. . . .
, " Come to the point! come to the point!" —
we roared.
" I see, gentlemen, that you do not like the
agreeable, and cling exclusively to the useful.
All right!"
We made our way through a dark and nar
row passage to Kolosoff 's chamber; we entered.
You have, probably, an approximate idea of what
the room of a poor student is like. Directly in
front of the door, on a chest of drawers, sat
Kolosoff, smoking a pipe. He extended his hand
to Boboff in friendly wise, and bowed politely to
me. I glanced at Kolosoff, and at once felt irre
sistibly attracted to him. Gentlemen! Boboff
was not mistaken: Kolosoff really was a re
markable man. Allow me to describe him to
you somewhat more in detail. . . . He was
rather tall of stature, well built, alert, and very
far from uncomely. His face .... I find it
very difficult, gentlemen, to describe any one's
face. It is easy enough to enumerate all the
separate features; but how impart to another
person that which constitutes the distinguishing
attribute, the essence, in fact, of that face?
41

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
" That which Byron calls ' the music of the
face,' "—remarked one pale, tightly -girt gentle
man. " Exactly, sir. . . ."
Therefore, I will confine myself to one comment :
that peculiar " something," to which I have just
alluded, consisted, in Kolosoff 's case, of a reck
lessly jovial and dashing expression of counte
nance, and of an extremely fascinating smile.
He had no recollection of his parents; he had
been reared in the most economical way in the
house of some distant relation, who was turned
out of the government service for taking bribes.
Until the age of fifteen he had lived in the coun
try; then Fate brought him to Moscow, to the
house of a deaf old priest's widow. He remained
with her two years, entered the university, and
began to live by giving lessons. He taught his
tory, geography, and Russian grammar, al
though he had but a faint conception of those
sciences; but, in the first place, we have insti
tuted in Russia " guides," which are very useful
for teachers, and, in the second place, the require
ments of the respected merchants, who entrusted
the education of their children to Kolosoff, were
too circumscribed.
Kolosoff was neither a wit nor a humorist ; but
you cannot imagine, gentlemen, how willingly
we all obeyed that man. We involuntarily ad-
42

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
mired him, as it were ; his words, his glances, his
movements exhaled such youthful charm that
all of his comrades were over head and ears in
love with him. The professors regarded him as
a far from stupid young fellow, but " not pos
sessed of great capacity," and lazy. Kolosoff 's
presence lent special orderliness to our evening
gatherings: in his presence our merriment never
passed over into outrageous turbulence; if we
had all grown sad, that half-childish sadness
was dissipated, in his presence, in a quiet, some
times quite practical conversation, and never be
came converted into spleen. You smile, gentle
men, — I understand your smile: it is a fact that,
later on, many of us turned out decidedly com
monplace persons. But youth .... youth ....
" O talk not to me of a name great in story !
The days of our youth are the days of our glory. . . . *'
remarked the pale man who had spoken before.
" Devil take it, what a memory you have! and
you always quote from Byron! " — remarked the
narrator. In a word, gentlemen, Kolosoff was the soul of
our society. I became more strongly attached
to him than I have ever since been to any
woman. And yet, I am not ashamed, even
now, to recall that strange love— precisely that,
love, — because, as I remember, I experienced
43

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
at that time all the torments of that passion—
jealousy, for instance. Kolosoff loved us all
equally, but he favoured in particular a taciturn,
fair-haired, submissive young fellow, Gavriloff
by name. He was hardly ever parted from that
Gavriloff; he frequently exchanged whispers
with him, and in company with him used to disap
pear from Moscow, God knows whither, for two
or three days at a time. . . . Kolosoff did not like
to be questioned, and I lost myself in conjectures.
It was not simple curiosity which agitated me;
I wanted to become Kolosoff's comrade, his
squire; I was jealous of Gavriloff; I envied him.
I could not possibly explain to myself the cause
of Kolosoff's strange absences. Yet he had none
of that mystery about him whereon youths en
dowed with self-conceit, pallor, black hair, and
an " expressive " glance are wont to plume them
selves, nor any of that fictitious indifference, be
neath which vast powers are supposed to be con
cealed; no: he was entirely above-board, as the
saying is; but when passion took possession of
him, a vehement, impetuous activity made its ap
pearance. Only, he did not waste his strength
in vain; never, under any circumstances what
ever, became stilted. By the way, gentlemen
.... tell the truth: has it not happened to you
to sit and smoke your pipe with a mournfully-
majestic aspect, as though you had just de
cided upon some grand feat, while you are sim-
44

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
ply revolving in your mind what colour your
new trousers shall be? ... . But the point is,
that I was the first to observe in the cheery and
cordial Kolosoff these involuntary, passionate
impulses. . . . Not without cause is it said that
love is penetrating. I made up my mind — cost
what it might — to worm myself into his confi
dence. I had no object in dangling after Kolo
soff; I worshipped him in so childish a manner
that he could not cherish any doubt as to my
devotion .... but, to my indescribable vexa
tion, I was forced at last to the conviction that
Kolosoff avoided more intimate relations with
me, that he found my unsolicited affection op
pressive. On one occasion, with obvious dis
pleasure, he asked me to lend him some money —
and on the following day he repaid it with de
risive gratitude. During the course of the en
tire winter, my relations with Kolosoff did not un
dergo so much as a hair's-breadth of change; I
often compared myself with Gavriloff— and
could not understand how he was better than I.
.... But all of a sudden everything was
changed. In the middle of April Gavriloff fell
ill and died in the arms of Kolosoff, who had not
left his chamber for a single instant, and went
nowhere for a whole week after his death. We
all grieved for poor Gavriloff. That pale, taci
turn man seemed to have had a presentiment of
his end. I, also, sincerely regretted his loss, but
45

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
my heart sank within me, and waited for some
thing. . . . On one never-to-be-forgotten even
ing .... I was lying alone on my divan and
staring senselessly at the ceiling .... when
some one hastily threw open the door of my room
and halted on the threshold; I raised my head:
before me stood Kolosoff. He entered slowly
and sat down beside me. — " I have come to thee,"
— he began, in a decidedly dull voice, " because
thou lovest me more than all the others. ... I
have lost my best friend " — his voice trembled
slightly—" and I feel lonely. . . . None of you
knew Gavriloff .... you did not know him."
. . . He rose, strode about the room and swiftly
approached me. ..." Wouldst thou like to
take his place with me? " he said, and gave me
his hand. I sprang to my feet, and flung myself
on his breast. My genuine joy touched him. . . .
I did not know what to say; I sighed. . . . Ko
losoff gazed at me and laughed softly. Tea was
served. After tea he began to talk about Gavri
loff; I learned that that timid and gentle lad had
saved Kolosoff's life; and I was obliged to ad
mit to myself that, had I been in Gavriloff's
place, I could not have refrained from chattering
— from boasting of my good luck. The clock
struck eight. Kolosoff rose, went to the window,
drummed on the glass, turned swiftly toward
me, tried to say something .... and sat down
silently on a chair. I took his hand.—" Kolosoff!
46

A^UKEI KOLOSOFF
really, really, I deserve thy confidence! "—He
looked me straight in the eye.—" Well, if that
is so," he said at last,—" take thy cap, and let us
go."— "Whither?"— " Gavriloff was not wont to
ask me."— I instantly fell silent.—" Dost thou
know how to play cards? "— " Yes."
We left the house, hired a cab for the *** gate.
At the gate we alighted. Kolosoff walked in
advance very swiftly; I followed him. We pro
ceeded along the highway. After traversing a
verst,1 Kolosoff turned aside. In the mean
time, night had descended. On the right, athwart
the mist, the lights twinkled, and the innumerable
churches of the great city reared themselves
aloft; on the left, by the side of a forest, two
white horses were grazing in a meadow; in
front of us stretched fields covered with greyish
exhalations. I walked in silence behind Kolo
soff. Suddenly he halted, extended his hand in
front of him, and said: " Yonder is the place to
which we are bound." I descried a small, dark
house; two tiny windows glimmered faintly
through the fog. " In that house," pursued Ko
losoff, " dwells a certain Sidorenko, a retired lieu
tenant, with his sister, an old maid — and his
daughter. I will give thee out as my relation—
thou wilt sit down and play cards with them."
I silently nodded my head. I wanted to prove to
Kolosoff that I could hold my tongue quite as
1 Two thirds of a mile. —Translator.
47

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
effectually as Gavriloff. . . . But, I must con
fess, I was powerfully tormented with curiosity.
On reaching the porch of the little house, I per
ceived in the lighted window the graceful form
of a young girl. . . . She seemed to be watching
for us, and immediately disappeared. We en
tered a dark, cramped anteroom. A crooked,
hunchbacked little old woman emerged to re
ceive us, and stared at me in surprise. " Is Ivan
Semyonitch at home?" asked Kolosoff. "Yes,
sir." — " Yes, I 'm at home! " rang out a thick,
masculine voice from the other side of the door.
We passed on into the hall,1 if a long, fairly
dirty room can be called a hall, where a tall, an
cient piano cowered submissively in a corner near
the stove; several chairs were ranged along the
walls, Avhich had once been yellow. In the middle
of the room stood a man of fifty, tall of stature,
stooping, and clad in a greasy dressing-gown.
I took a more attentive look at him; his face was
surly, his hair was worn in a brush, his forehead
was low, he had grey eyes, a huge moustache,
thick lips. . . .
" 'T is a fine goose! " I said to myself.
" We have n't seen you for a long time, An
drei Nikolaitch," he said, stretching out to Ko
losoff his hideous red hand — "for a long time!
And where is Sevastyan Sevastyanovitch? "
1A "hall "in Russian houses is a combination music- and ball-.
room, which is also sometimes used as a dining-room, and a play-room
in bad weather.— Translator.
48

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
" Gavriloff is dead," answered Kolosoff,
sadly. " Dead ! just think of that ! And who is this ? "
" A relation of mine — I have the honour to
introduce him:— Nikolai Alex  "
" Good, good," Ivan Semyonitch interrupted
him: — " I 'm glad, very glad to make his ac
quaintance. And does he play cards? "
" Yes, of course he does ! "
"Well, that 's fine; we '11 sit down at once.
Hey, there! Matryona Semyonovna — where art
thou? Fetch the card-table — and be quick about
it! .... And tea!"
With these words, Mr. Sidorenko went into
the next room. Kolosoff looked at me. —
" Hearken," said he: " God knows how ashamed
I am! " .... I shut his mouth with my hand.
" Well, my dear fellow — what 's your name?
— please come hither," shouted Ivan Semyonitch.
I went into the drawing-room. It was even
smaller than the dining-room. On the walls
hung some hideous portraits; in front of the
divan, from which the shredded linden-bast
stuffing projected in several places, stood a green
table; on the divan sat Ivan Semyonitch, already
engaged in shuffling the cards; by his side, on
the extreme edge of an arm-chair, sat a raw-
boned woman in a white mob-cap and a black
gown, with a sallow, wrinkled face, tiny blear
eyes, and thin, cat-like hps.
49

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
" Here,"— said Ivan Semyonitch, " let me in
troduce this man ! the former one is dead ; Andrei
Nikolaitch has brought another ; let us see how he
plays!" — The old woman made an awkward
bow, and indulged in a fit of coughing. I cast a
glance about me; Kolosoff was no longer in the
room. — " Stop that coughing, Matryona Semyo
novna — sheep cough," — growled Sidorenko. I
sat down; the game began. Mr. Sidorenko flew
into a frightful passion and raged at the smallest
mistake on my part; he showered reproaches on
his sister; but she, evidently, had succeeded in
getting used to her brother's amiable remarks,
and merely blinked her eyes. When, however,
he declared to Matryona Semyonovna that
she was " antichrist " the poor old woman flared
up. ' You were the death of your spouse, Anffsa
Karpovna, Ivan Semyonitch," she said angrily;
" but you sha'n't be the death of me! "
"You don't say so?"
"No; you sha'n't!"
" You don't say so? "
" No; you sha'n't be the death of me! "
They continued to wrangle after this fashion
for quite a long time. My position, as you will
please to observe, was not only not enviable, but
even simply stupid; I did not understand why
Kolosoff had taken it into his head to bring me.
.... I had never been a good player; but on
50

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
this occasion I was conscious that I was so bad
as to be beneath criticism.
" No ! " the retired lieutenant kept incessantly
repeating: — "you are far inferior to Sevastya-
nitch! No, you are playing heedlessly!" — Of
course, I inwardly consigned him to all the
fiends. This torture lasted for two hours; they
stripped me of every kopek. Just before the
end of the last rubber, I heard a faint sound be
hind my chair, — glanced round, and beheld Ko
losoff; by his side stood a young girl of seven
teen, gazing at me with a barely perceptible
smile. — " Fill my pipe, Varya,"— said Ivan Se
myonitch. The girl immediately fluttered off into
the next room. She was not very pretty, was
quite pale and thin; but neither before nor since
have I ever seen such eyes or such hair. We
played the rubber out, after a fashion ; I paid up.
Sidorenko lighted his pipe, and roared:
" Well, now 't is time to sup ! "
Kolosoff presented me to Varya, that is,
to Varvara Ivanovna, the daughter of Ivan Se
myonitch. Varya was embarrassed; and I was
embarrassed. But Kolosoff, according to his
wont, brought everything and everybody into
order in a few moments : he seated Varya at the
piano, requested her to play a dance-tune, and
began to vie with Ivan Semyonitch in executing
a kazak dance. The lieutenant shouted, stamped,
and executed with his feet such incredible steps
51

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
that Matryona Semyonovna herself shrieked
with laughter, and went off to her own room up
stairs. The hunchbacked woman set the table;
we sat down to supper. After supper, Kolosoff
narrated various nonsensical things; the lieuten
ant laughed deaf eningly ; I surveyed Varya from
the corners of my eyes. She never took her eyes
from Kolosoff .... and merely from the ex
pression of her face I was able to divine that she
loved him, and was beloved by him. Her lips
were slightly parted, her head drooped slightly
forward, a faint blush played over her whole
countenance; from time to time she heaved a
profound sigh, suddenly dropped her eyes, and
laughed softly. ... I rejoiced for Kolosoff.
. . . And yet I was envious, devil take it! ... .
After supper, Kolosoff and I immediately took
our caps, which, however, did not in the least
prevent the lieutenant's saying to us, yawning
the while: — "You have stayed too long, gen
tlemen; 't is time for you to cease abusing our
kindness." Varya escorted Kolosoff to the ante
room. — " When will you come again, Andrei
Nikolaevitch? " she whispered to him.
" A few days hence, without fail."
" Bring him too," she added, with a very art
ful smile.
" Certainly, certainly  "
" No, I thank you! " I said to myself. . . .
On our way home, I learned the following.
52

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
Six months previously, Kolosoff had made the
acquaintance of Mr. Sidorenko in a decidedly
strange manner. One rainy evening, Kolosoff
was returning home from hunting, and was
already nearing the *** gate, when suddenly, at
a short distance from the road, he heard groans,
interspersed with oaths. He had his gun with him :
without pausing long to reflect, he bent his steps
straight toward the shouts, and found on the
ground a man with a sprained ankle. This man
was Mr. Sidorenko. With great difficulty he
led him home, and entrusted him to the care of his
frightened sister and daughter, then ran for a
doctor. ... In the meanwhile, morning had
come; Kolosoff could hardly stand on his feet
from fatigue. With the permission of Matryona
Semyonovna, he threw himself on the divan in
the drawing-room, and slept until eight o'clock.
On awakening, he wished to set off homeward
immediately ; but they detained him, and gave
him tea. During the night he had succeeded in
catching two fleeting glimpses of Varvara Iva-
novna's pale little face; he paid no special atten
tion to her, but in the morning he took a de
cided liking to her. Matryona Semyonovna
loquaciously lauded and thanked Kolosoff ; Varya
sat silent, pouring out the tea, rarely cast a glance
at him, and handed him now a cup, now the
cream, now the sugar-bowl, with timid and bash
ful attentiveness. At that time the lieutenant
53

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
awoke, in a loud voice demanded his pipe, and
after having held his peace for a while, began
to shout: " Sister! hey, there, sister! " Matryona
went to him in his bedroom. — " Well, has that fel
low .... what 's his name ? the devil only knows !
— has he gone? " — " No, I am still here," re
plied Kolosoff, stepping to the door: — " are you
better now? " — " Yes," replied the lieutenant: —
" come here, my dear fellow." Kolosoff entered.
Sidorenko stared at him, and said reluctantly:
"Well, thanks; drop in and see me some time
or other — what 's your name, damn it? " — " Ko
losoff," replied Andrei. — " Well, good, good,
drop in ; and now there 's no use in your hanging
on here; they 're expecting you at home, I sup
pose." — Kolosoff left the room, took leave of
Matryona Semyonovna, made his bow to Varvara
Ivanovna, and returned home. From that day
forth he began to go to Ivan Semyonitch 's house;
at first rarely, then more and more frequently.
The summer arrived : he would take his gun, put
on his game-bag, and set off as though for the
chase; he would drop in to see the retired lieu
tenant — and sit there until evening.
Varvara Ivanovna's father had served for
five-and-twenty years in the army, had accumu
lated a little money, and bought himself a few
desyatinas x of land a couple of versts from Mos
cow. He was barely able to read and write ; but,
1 A. desyatina equals 2.70 acres. — Translator.
54

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
despite his outward clumsiness and coarseness,
he was intelligent and crafty, and even some
what of a knave at times, like many Little Rus
sians. He was a frightful egoist, stubborn as a
bull, and, taken as a whole, far from amiable,
especially with strangers ; I even had occasion to
note in him something akin to scorn for the whole
human race. He denied himself nothing, like
a spoiled child, did not care a rap for anybody,
and lived " at his ease." He and I once fell into
conversation about marriages in general. " Mar
riage .... marriage," said he:—" well, to whom
shall I marry my girl, damn it? well, and what
for? That her mean little husband may beat her,
as I used to beat my deceased wife? And then,
what do I make by it? " Such was retired lieu
tenant Ivan Semyonitch. Kolosoff frequented
his house, not on his account, of course, but for
the sake of his daughter. One fine evening, An
drei was sitting in the garden with her, and
chatting about something or other. Ivan Se
myonitch approached them, cast a glum look at
Varya, and called Andrei to one side. "Hearken,
my good fellow," he said to him, " I perceive that
thou findest it agreeable to chatter with my only-
begotten ; but it is dull for me, the old man. Just
bring some one with thee, otherwise I shall have
no one with whom to toss the cards about; dost
hear me? I won't admit thee if thou comest
alone." On the following day Kolosoff presented
55

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
himself with Gavriloff, and poor Sevastyan Se-
vastyanitch played cards every evening during
the autumn and winter with the retired lieu
tenant ; and that worthy man treated him without
ceremony, as the saying is; in other words, very
roughly. And now, gentlemen, you have prob
ably comprehended why Kolosoff, after Gavri-
loff's death, took me with him to Ivan Semyo-
nitch's. Having communicated to me these
particulars, Kolosoff added: " I love Varya; she
is a very charming girl ; she has taken a liking to
thee." I think I have forgotten to inform you, my
dear sirs, that up to that time I had been afraid
of women and had shunned them, although it
did happen that when I was alone I dreamed for
hours at a time of trysts, of love, of mutual love,
and so forth. Varvara Ivanovna was the first
young girl with whom necessity had forced me to
speak, — precisely that, necessity. Varya was an
ordinary girl, — and yet, there are very few such
girls in holy Russia. You ask me, " Why? " Be
cause I never observed in her anything stiff, un
natural, affected; because she was a simple,
frank, somewhat melancholy creature; because
she could not be called " a young lady." I liked
her quiet smile; I liked her artlessly-ringing
voice, her light and merry laugh, her intent,
though not in the least " profound " glances.
This child promised nothing; but you involun-
56

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
tarily admired her, as you admired the sudden,
soft call of the oriole at evening in the lofty,
gloomy birch coppice. I must confess that at
any other time I should have passed by such a
creature with considerable indifference; I am
in no mood now for solitary evening strolls, for
orioles; but then 
Gentlemen, I think that you, like all nice
men, have been in love at least once in the course
of your lives, and have learned, by personal ex
perience, how love germinates and grows in the
human heart; and therefore I will not enlarge
overmuch upon what went on within me at
that time. Kolosoff and I went quite fre
quently to Ivan Semyonitch's ; and, although the
accursed cards more than once drove me to utter
despair, yet in the mere proximity of the be
loved woman (I had fallen in love with Varya),
there is a certain strange, sweet, torturing de
light. I did not attempt to stifle this dawning
sentiment; moreover, when, at last, I made up
my mind to call that sentiment by its name, it
was already too strong. ... I silently cherished,
and timidly concealed my love. This oppressive
fermentation of silent passion pleased me. My
sufferings deprived me neither of sleep nor of
appetite; but for whole days together I felt in
my breast that peculiar physical sensation, which
arose within me when, for example, Kolosoff re
turned with Varya from the garden, and her
57

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
whole face exhaled rapturous devotion, and lan
guor from excess of bliss. . . . She lived his life
to such a degree, she was so permeated with him,
that she imperceptibly acquired his habits, looked
in the same way, laughed in the same way as he.
.... I can imagine what moments she spent
with Andrei, for what felicity she was indebted
to him. . . . And he ... . Kolosoff did not
lose his liberty ; in her absence, I do not think that
he even called her to mind; he was still the same
care-free, jolly, and happy man, as we had al
ways known him.
So, as I have already told you, Kolosoff and I
went pretty often to Ivan Semyonitch's. Some
times (when he was not in the humour) the re
tired lieutenant did not set me down to cards;
in that case, he would silently slink off to a cor
ner, contract his brows in a frown, and stare at
every one hke a wolf. The first time I de
lighted him by my indulgence; but afterward, I
would sometimes begin to urge him to sit down
to a hand at whist; the role of a third person
is so unbearable! I embarrassed Kolosoff and
Varya so disagreeably, although they assured
each other that there was no reason why they
should stand on ceremony in my presence! . . .
In the meanwhile, time flowed on and on.
.... They were happy. ... I am not fond
of describing other people's happiness. But, af
ter a while, I began to notice that Varya's child-
58

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
ish rapture was gradually beginning to give way
to a more womanly, a more disquieting feehng.
I began to surmise that the new tune had begun
to tinkle in the old fashion, that is to say, that
Kolosoff .... was growing .... slightly cold.
This discovery delighted me, I must admit ; I will
confess that I did not feel the slightest indigna
tion against Andrei.
The intervals between our visits became
longer and longer. . . . Varya began to wel
come us with tear-swollen eyes. Reproaches
made themselves heard. ... I would ask Ko
losoff, with feigned indifference : " Well, shall
we go to Ivan Semyonitch's to-day? " . . . . He
would stare coldly at me, and say calmly: " No,
we shall not." It sometimes seemed to me that he
smiled in a wily way when he talked with me
about Varya. . . . Altogether, I did not fill
Gavriloff 's place with him. . . . Gavriloff was
a thousand times more good-natured and stupid
than I was.
Now permit me a slight digression. In
speaking to you about my university comrades,
I did not mention a certain Shshtchitoff. This
Shshtchitoff was in his six-and-thirtieth year;
he had been numbered among the students for
ten years already. Even now I behold vividly
before me his rather long, pale face, his httle
brown eyes, his long, aquiline nose with its tip
twisted awry, his thin, mocking lips, his pom-
59

ANDRET KOLOSOFF
pous crest of hair, his chin, which wallowed in a
self-satisfied way in a broad, shabby necker
chief of the hue of the raven's wing, his cuffs
with brass buttons, his blue frock-coat worn
open on the breast, his motley-hued waistcoat.
.... I seem to hear his disagreeable, quavering
laugh. . . . He ran about everywhere, distin
guished himself at every possible sort of a " danc
ing-class." .... I remember that I could not
listen without a shudder to his cynical stories.
.... Kolosoff one day compared him to an
unswept room in a Russian eating-house ....
a frightful comparison ! And yet, that man pos
sessed an immense amount of brains, common
sense, observation, and sagacity. . . . He some
times astounded us with some word so practical,
so just, so keen, that we all involuntarily fell
silent, and stared at him in amazement. But,
you know, a Russian man really does n't care in
the least whether he has uttered a bit of non
sense or a sensible thing. Shshtchitoff was par
ticularly feared by those conceited, dreamy and
incapable striplings who painfully hatch out,
after whole days of effort, the most detestable
rhymes, read them in drawling tones to their
" friends," and despise all positive knowledge.
One of these he simply drove out of Moscow by
incessantly repeating to him two lines of his own
composition : "Man —
That unflayed skeleton. . . ."
60

ANDREI KOLOSOFF

" 1

He had rhymed " skeleton " with " man.
Yet Shshtchitoff himself did nothing, either, and
learned nothing. . . . But that is quite in the
usual order of things. Well, so that Shshtchitoff,
God knows why, began to jeer at my romantic
attachment' to Kolosoff. On the first occasion,
I consigned him to the devil, with noble indig
nation; on the second occasion, I informed him,
with cold scorn, that he was not capable of
judging our friendship — but I did not drive
him away; and when, as he took leave of me, he
remarked that I did not even dare to praise Ko
losoff without the latter's permission, I felt
vexed; Shshtchitoff 's last words had effected a
lodgment in my soul. — For more than two
weeks I had not seen Varya. . . . Pride, love,
confused anticipation — a multitude of different
emotions were stirring within me. ... I waved
my hand in despair, and with a frightful sink
ing at the heart, I set off alone to Ivan Semyo
nitch's. I know not how I made my way to the fa
miliar little house; I remember that I sat down
several times to rest on the road— not from fa
tigue, but from emotion. I entered the anteroom,
and before I had managed to utter a single word
the door from the hall flew open, and Varya ran
out to meet me.
" At last! " — she said in a trembling voice;—
" but where is Andrei Nikolaevitch? "

1 Skeleton— skelet ; man— tchelovye'k. — Translator.
61

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
" Kolosoff has not come . ..." I muttered with
an effort.
" He has not come! " — she repeated.
' Yes ... he bade me say to you that ....
he was detained. ..." I positively did not know
myself what I was saying, and dared not lift my
eyes. Varya stood motionless and silent before
me. I darted a glance at her; she had turned
her head aside; two large tears were rolling
slowly down her cheeks. In the expression of her
face there was so much sudden, bitter grief, the
conflict between modesty, distress, and confi
dence in me was so touchingly depicted in the
involuntary movement of her poor little head,
that my heart sank within me. I advanced a
little .... she shuddered swiftly and ran
away. In the hall Ivan Semyonitch met me.
' What 's the meaning of this, my dear fel
low? Are you alone, sir? " he asked me, screwing
up his left eye strangely.
" I am, sir," I replied in confusion.
Sidorenko suddenly burst into a guffaw, and
retreated into the adjoining room. Never be
fore had I found myself in so utterly stupid a
situation,— the devil knows how hateful it was!
But there was no help for it. I began to pace
back and forth in the hall. — " What was that
fat boar laughing at? " — I thought.
Matryona Semyonovna emerged into the hall
with a stocking in her hands, and seated her-
62

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
self by the little window. I began to chat with
her. In the meantime tea was served. Varya came
down-stairs, pale and sorrowful. The retired
lieutenant jested about Kolosoff.
" I know,"— said he, " what sort of a goose
he is: now, I suppose, you could n't lure him
hither even with a kalatch! " 1
Varya hastily rose and withdrew. Ivan Se
myonitch gazed after her, whistling roguishly the
while. I cast an angry glance at him. — " Can it
be,"— I thought, "that he knows all?" And
the lieutenant, as though divining my thoughts,
nodded his head affirmatively.
Immediately after tea I rose and took my leave.
— " We shall see you again, my dear fellow,"
remarked the lieutenant. I did not say a single
word in reply. ... I had simply begun to be
afraid of that man.
On the porch some one's cold, trembling hand
clasped my hand; I glanced round: it was
Varya. " I must speak with you," she whispered.—
" Come as early as possible to-morrow, straight
to the garden. Papa takes a nap after dinner;
no one will disturb us."
I pressed her hand in silence, and we parted.
On the following day, at three o'clock in the
1 A peculiarly delicious wheaten roll, which is made with
particular skill in Moscow.— Translator.
63

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
afternoon, I was already in Ivan Semyonitch's
garden. I had not seen Kolosoff that morning,
although he had dropped in to call. It was an
autumn day, grey, but tranquil and warm. The
slender yellow blades of grass swayed mourn
fully over the faded lawn; alert tomtits were
hopping over the naked, dark-brown branches of
the hickory-tree; belated larks were running hur
riedly along the paths somewhere; a hare was
cautiously making his way through the vege
tables; the herd was roaming idly over the stub
ble-field. I found Varya in the garden, under
an apple-tree, seated on a bench ; she wore a dark,
somewhat rumpled gown; unfeigned grief was
expressed in her weary glance, and in her care
lessly-arranged hair.
I sat down by her side. Both of us maintained
silence. For a long time she twirled in her hands
some flower or other, then bent her head, and said :
" Andrei Nikolaevitch. . . ."
I immediately observed from the movement
of her lips that she was preparing to weep, and
I began to comfort her, to assure her fervently
of Andrei's devotion. . . . She heard me out,
shook her head sorrowfully, uttered unintel
ligible words, and immediately relapsed into
silence, but did not weep. The first moments,
which I had dreaded most of all, passed off quite
successfully. Gradually, she began to talk about
Andrei. 64

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
"I know he no longer loves me now,"— she kept
repeating: " God bless him! I cannot think how I
am to live without him. ... I do not sleep at
night, I weep continually. . . . But what am I
to do? ... . What am I to do? "... . Her
eyes filled with tears. " He seemed so good to
me .... and now . . . ."
Varya wiped away her tears, coughed, and
drew herself up.
" It does not seem so very long," she went on,
" since he read to me out of Pushkin, since he sat
with me on this bench. ..."
Varya's ingenuous chatter touched me; I lis
tened in silence to her avowal; my soul slowly
became imbued with a bitter, torturing felicity;
I never took my eyes from that pale face, from
those long, wet eyelashes, from those half -parted,
slightly-parched lips. . . . And yet, I felt ....
Would you like to listen to a brief psychological
analysis of my sentiments at that moment? In
the first place, I was tormented by the thought
that I was not beloved, that it was not I who was
causing Varya to suffer ; in the second place, I was
delighted by her confidence; I knew that she
would be grateful for my having furnished her
the possibility of putting her grief into words;
in the third place, I inwardly registered a vow
to bring Kolosoff and Varya together again, and
the consciousness of my magnanimity comforted
me .... in the fourth place, I hoped by my self-
65

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
sacrifice to touch Varya's heart — and then ....
you see, I do not spare myself; thank God, it is
time! But now, the clock on the belfry of the
*** monastery struck five; evening was swiftly
drawing on. Varya hastily rose to her feet,
thrust into my hand a tiny note, and went to
ward the house. I overtook her, promised her to
bring Andrei, and darted swiftly, as though I
were a happy lover, through the wicket-gate into
the fields. On the note, in uncertain chirography,
were inscribed the words : " To my dear sir, An
drei Nikolaevitch."
Early on the morning of the following day,
I set out for Kolosoff. I must confess that,
although I had assured myself that my in
tentions were not only noble, but even, as a
whole, filled with magnanimous self-sacrifice, I
nevertheless was conscious of a certain awkward
ness, even of timidity. Sitting with him was a
certain Puzyritzyn, a student who had failed to
pass his examinations, one of the composers of
romances known under the name of " Moscow "
or " popular." J Puzyritzyn was an extremely
good-natured and timid man, and was eternally
making ready to enter the hussars, in spite of his
three-and-thirty years. He belonged to the cate
gory of people who find it unavoidably necessary
to give utterance once every twenty-four hours
1 Literally, grey, which is one appellation for the common
people. —Translator.
66

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
to some such phrase as, " all the most beautiful
things perish at the moment of their sumptuous
blossoming, — such is the fate of the beautiful in
this world," so that, during all the rest of the
day, they may with befitting agreeability smoke
a pipe in the circle of their " good comrades."
For that reason, also, he was called an idealist.
So then, this Puzyritzyn was sitting with Ko
losoff, and reading to him some " fragment."
I set to listening : the question concerned a young
man who loves a girl, murders her, and so forth.
At last Puzyritzyn came to an end, and went
away. His absurd composition, his rapturously
bawling voice, his presence, as a whole, had
aroused Kolosoff's jeering irritability. I felt
that I had come at a bad time, but there was no.
help for it; without any prefatory remarks, I
handed Varya's note to Andrei.
Kolosoff stared at me in amazement, broke
the seal of the note, ran his eyes over it, and pre
served silence for a while, smiling composedly.
— "Well, now!"— he ejaculated at last.— " So
thou hast been to Ivan Semyonitch's? "
" Yes, I was there alone yesterday evening," —
I replied abruptly and decisively.
" Ah! " — remarked Kolosoff with a sneer, and
lighted his pipe.
" Andrei,"— I said to him,—" art not thou
sorry for her? . . . If thou couldst but have seen
her tears. . . ." And I began eloquently to de-
67

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
scribe my visit of the preceding day. I really was
much affected.
Kolosoff maintained silence, and smoked his
pipe. " Didst thou sit with her under the apple-tree
in the garden? "—he said at last. " I remember
that in May I sat with her on that same bench.
.... The apple-tree was in blossom; now and
then the fresh, white flowers fell on us; I held
both of Varya's hands .... we were happy
then. . . . Now the apple-tree is out of bloom,
and the apples on it are sour."
I flared up with noble indignation, and began
to upbraid Andrei for his coldness, his cruelty;
I began to argue with him that he had no right
to abandon so suddenly a young girl in whom
he had aroused a multitude of new impressions ; I
entreated him at least to go and take leave of
Varya. Kolosoff listened to me until I had fin
ished. " Let us assume," — he said to me, when, agi
tated and weary, I flung myself into an easy-
chair: — " let us assume that it is permissible for
thee, as my friend, to condemn me. . . . But
listen now to my justification, although . . . ."
Here he paused awhile, and smiled strangely.
" Varya is a very fine girl,"— he continued,
" and is guilty of no wrong whatsoever toward
me. . . . On the contrary I am indebted to her
for a very great deal. I have ceased to visit her
68

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
for a very simple reason— I have ceased to love
her. . . ."
" But why? but why? "—I interrupted him.
" God knows why. So long as I loved her, I
belonged wholly to her; I did not think of the
future, and shared everything, my whole life
with her .... now that passion has died out in
me. . . . What then? dost thou bid me dissimu
late, pretend to be in love, pray? And why?
Out of pity for her? If she is an honest girl, she
herself will not desire such alms, but if she is glad
to console herself with my .... sympathy, the
devil 's in her! "
Kolosoff's heedlessly sharp expressions of
fended me, possibly all the more because I was
secretly in love with the woman in question. . . .
I flared up.
" Enough,"— I said to him:— " stop that! I
know why thou hast ceased to visit Varya."
" Why is it? "
" Taniusha has forbidden thee." In uttering
these words, I fancied that I had violently of
fended Andrei. This Taniusha was an ex
tremely " light " young lady, black-haired and
swarthy, aged five-and-twenty, as free and easy
and as clever as the devil, a Shshtchitoff in female
garb. Kolosoff quarrelled with her and made
peace with her five times a month. She loved
him passionately, although at times, when they
were estranged, she vowed and swore that she

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
thirsted for his blood .... and Andrei could
not get along without her. Kolosoff looked at
me and calmly remarked: " Perhaps."
" It is not ' perhaps,' but certainly! " I yelled.
At last my reproaches bored Kolosoff. . . .
He rose and put on his cap.
" Whither away? "
" For a stroll; you and Puzyritzyn have given
me a headache."
" Art thou angry with me? "
" No," he answered, with his charming smile,
and offered me his hand.
" At any rate, what dost thou bid me say to
Varya?" '
" What? " . . . . He pondered for a while.
" She told thee," he said, — " that she and I had
read Pushkin together. . . . Remind her of one
of Pushkin's verses."
"Of which one? " I asked impatiently.
" Why, of this one:
'That which has been shall never be again.' "
With these words he left the room. I followed
him; on the stairs he paused.
"And is she greatly grieved?" he asked me,
pulling his cap down over his eyes.
" Yes, very greatly! "...
" Poor girl! Do thou console her, Nikolai; for
thou lovest her." 70

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
" Yes, I have become attached to her, of
course. . . ."
" Thou lovest her,"— repeated Kolosoff, look
ing me straight in the eye. I turned away in
silence; we parted.
On reaching home, I was, as it were, in a fever.
"I have fulfilled my duty," I thought; " I have
conquered my own self-love; I have advised An
drei to make up with Varya! ! . . Now I have
rights: he that will not when he may, when he
would he shall have nay." Nevertheless, Andrei's
indifference wounded me. "He was not jealous
of me, he had ordered me to console her. . . .
" But is Varya such an ordinary girl? .... Is she
not worthy even of compassion? .... People
will be found who will understand how to prize
that which you despise, Andrei Nikolaitch! ....
But what 's the use? Surely, she does not love
me. . . . Yes, she does not love me now; up to
this time she has not utterly lost hope that
Kolosoff will return. . . . But later on ... .
who knows? my devotion will touch her, I shall
renounce all claims. ... I shall give her the
whole of myself, irrevocably. . . . Varya! is it
possible that thou wilt not come to love me . . .
never? .... never? . . ."
That was the sort of speeches which your
humble servant uttered in the capital city Mos
cow, in the year one thousand eight hundred and
thirty-three, in the house of his respected tutor.
71

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
I wept .... I languished. . . . The weather
was atrocious ... a fine, drizzling rain streamed
with a thin, persistent squeak down the window-
panes; damp, dark-grey clouds hung motion-
lessly over the town. I dined in haste, made no
reply to the anxious queries of the good-natured
German woman, who began to whimper herself
at the sight of my red, swollen eyes (German
women — as everybody knows — are always ready
to cry) ; I behaved in a very ruthless manner to
my tutor .... and immediately after dinner,
I set off for Ivan Semyonitch's house. . . .
Having asserted my sovereign mastery over a
shaky, wretched little drozhky, I asked myself:
" What now? Shall I tell Varya everything,
just as it is, or shall I continue to be wily, and
wean her, little by little, from Andrei? " . . . .
I drove to Ivan Semyonitch's house, and still did
not know what to decide upon. ... I found the
whole family in the hall. Varya turned fright
fully pale when she saw me, but did not stir from
her place; Sidorenko began to talk to me in a
peculiarly jeering sort of manner. I answered
him as best I could, from time to time darting a
glance at Varya, and almost unconsciously im
parted to my countenance a dejectedly pensive
expression. Again the lieutenant made up a
whist-party. Varya seated herself near the win
dow, and did not move.
" Thou art bored now, I suppose? "—Ivan
72

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
Semyonitch asked her a score of times. At last
I succeeded in snatching a suitable moment.
" You are alone again," Varya whispered to
me. 'Yes," I replied gloomily:— " and, in all
probability, for a long time."
She swiftly dropped her head.
" Did you give him my note? " she said, in a
barely audible voice.
" Yes."
" Well? "
She sighed. I glanced at her. ... A mali
cious joy suddenly flashed up within me.
" He bade me tell you," I enunciated, paus
ing between my words, " ' that which has been
shall never be again.' "
Varya clutched at her heart with her left
hand, extended her right in front of her; her
whole form swayed, and she hastily left the
room. I started to run after her. . . . Ivan
Semyonitch stopped me. I remained another
half hour with him, but Varya did not make her
appearance. On my way home, I felt conscience-
stricken .... conscience-stricken toward Va
rya, toward Andrei, toward myself. Although,
they say, it is better to hew off at one blow a suf
fering member than to weary a sick person
for a long time, yet who had given me the right
so ruthlessly to stab the heart of the poor young
girl? .... For a long time I could not get
73

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
to sleep .... but fall asleep I did at last. In
general, I must repeat, " love " never once has
deprived me of my sleep.
I began to visit Ivan Semyonitch's house
quite frequently: Kolosoff and I met, as before,
but neither he nor I mentioned Varya. My re
lations to her were of a decidedly strange nature.
She had become attached to me with that affec
tion which precludes all possibility of love; she
could not fail to notice my fervent sympathy,
and chatted willingly with me .... about what,
do you think? — about Kolosoff, about Kolosoff
alone! That man had taken possession of her
to such a degree that somehow she did not seem
to belong to herself. In vain did I try to arouse
her pride . . . she either held her peace, or
talked, and how! — fairly chattered about Ko
losoff! I did not then suspect that grief of that
sort, loquacious grief, is, in reality, far more gen
uine than all silent sufferings. I confess that
I lived through many bitter moments during that
period. I felt that I was not capable of taking
Kolosoff's place ; I felt that Varya's past was so
full, so beautiful .... and the present so poor.
.... I reached the point where I involuntarily
shuddered at the words, "Do you remember?"
.... with which almost every speech of hers
began. She grew rather thin during the first
days of our acquaintance .... but afterward
she recovered her health, and even waxed merry;
74

^i\.u±tJtti KOLOSOFF
at that time, she might have been compared to a
little bird which has been wounded, and has not,
as yet, fully recovered. In the meantime, my
position had become unbearable; the very lowest
passions gradually began to take possession of
my soul; it even befell that I calumniated Ko
losoff in the presence of Varya. I made up my
mind to put an end to such unnatural relations.
But how? Part from Varya I could not. . . .
Declare my love to her I dared not ; I felt that I
could not, as yet, hope that it would be recipro
cated. Marry her. . . . That thought terrified
me; I was only eighteen years of age; it seemed
terrible to me to " enslave " my whole future so
early: I remembered my father, I heard the jeers
of my comrade Kolosoff. . . . But, it is said,
every thought is like dough; it is worth while to
knead it well — and you can make anything out of
it. I began to meditate on marriage for whole .
days at a time. ... I pictured to myself with
what gratitude Varya's heart would be filled to
overflowing when I, Kolosoff's comrade and con
fidant, should offer her my hand, knowing that
she was hopelessly in love with another. Expe
rienced people, I recollected, had frequently told
me that marrying for love was the most absolute
folly; I began to indulge in fancies: I pictured
to myself our tranquil life together, somewhere in
a warm corner of southern Russia; I mentally
watched the gradual transition of Varya's heart
75

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
from gratitude to friendship, from friendship
to love. ... I promised myself that I would
immediately leave Moscow, and the university,
and forget everything and everybody. I began
to avoid meeting Kolosoff. At last, on one clear,
winter morning (on the evening before Varya
had, somehow, peculiarly enchanted me) , I
dressed myself in my best, emerged slowly and
solemnly from my chamber, hired a capital
drozhky, and drove to Ivan Semyonitch's. Va
rya was sitting alone in the hall, and reading
Karamzin.1 At sight of me, she softly laid her
book on her lap, and with anxious curiosity gazed
into my face: I had never been in the habit of
going to them in the morning. ... I seated my
self by her side ; my heart beat torturingly.
" What are you reading? " I asked at last.
" Karamzin."
" Well? are you interested in Russian ... ?"
She suddenly interrupted me.
"Listen; you do not come from Andrei, do
you?" That name, the tremulous, questioning voice,
the all -joyful, half -timid expression of her face,
all those indubitable tokens of living love sank
into my soul like arrows. I made up my mind
either to part from Varya, or to receive from her
herself the right forever to banish from her hps
1 The famous historian. He also wrote a number of much-admired
sentimental high-strung tales (1765-2 826). —Translator.
76

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
the hateful name of Andrei. I do not remember
what I said to her then; at first I must have ex
pressed myself somewhat obscurely, because she
did not understand me for a long time; at last,
I could endure it no longer, and I almost
shrieked: " I love you, and I want to marry you."
" You love me? " said Varya, in amazement.
It seemed to me that she wanted to rise, to go
away, to reject me.
" For God's sake," I whispered panting, —
" do not answer me either ' yes ' or ' no ' ; re
flect: to-morrow I will return for a decisive an
swer. ... I have loved you this long time, I
want to be your defender, your friend. Do not
answer me now, do not answer. . . . Farewell
until to-morrow."
With these words, I rushed out of the room.
Ivan Semyonitch met me in the anteroom, and
not only was not surprised at my call, but even,
with an agreeable smile, offered me an apple.
Such an unexpected piece of amiability startled
me so that I was fairly petrified.
" Pray, take the apple; 't is a good little apple,
really!" repeated Ivan Semyonitch. I mechan
ically took the apple at last and drove home with
it. You can easily imagine how I passed all that
day and the following morning. I slept pretty^
badly that night. "My God! My God!" I\
thought: "what if she should refuse me! . . . .>
77

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
I shall perish, .... I shall perish, . ..." I kept
repeating despondently. "Yes, she will infallibly
reject me. . . . And why was I so hasty! ! " 
Being desirous of diverting my mind in some
manner, I began to write a letter to my father —
a desperate, a decisive letter. In speaking of
myself, I used the words " your son." Boboff
dropped in to see me. I began to weep upon his
breast, which, probably, surprised Boboff not
a little. ... I then learned that he had come
to me to borrow money (his landlord had threat
ened to eject him from the house) ; he had been
obliged — speaking in the student language—
"to withdraw backward and return. ..." At
last, the great moment arrived. As I emerged
from my room, I stopped in the doorway. " With
what feelings," I thought, " shall I step across
this threshold again? " . . . . My agitation, at
the sight of Ivan Semyonitch's little house, was
so powerful that I alighted from the carriage,
got a handful of snow, and eagerly pressed my
face to it. " O Lord! " I thought: " if I find
Varya alone,— I am lost! " My legs gave way
beneath me; I barely managed to mount the
porch. My wishes were fulfilled. I found Va
rya in the drawing-room with Matryona Semyo
novna. I made my bows awkwardly, and seated
myself by the old woman. Varya's face was
somewhat paler than usual .... it seemed to
me that she was trying to avoid my glances. . . .
78

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
But what was my state of mind when Matryona
Semyonovna suddenly rose, and went into the
next room! ... I began to stare out of the win
dow — I was quivering all over internally like an
aspen-leaf. Varya maintained silence. . . . At
last I conquered my timidity, stepped up to her,
bent my head. . . .
"' What have you to say to me? " I enunciated
in a dying voice. Varya turned away, — tears
sparkled on her eyelashes.
" I see," I went on, " that it is useless for me
to hope." .... Varya cast a bashful glance
around, and silently gave me her hand.
"Varya!" I said involuntarily .... and
halted, as though frightened at my own hopes.
" Speak to papa," she said at last.
" Do you permit me to speak to Ivan Semyo
nitch?" " Yes, sir." I showered kisses on her hands.
" Enough, sir; enough, sir," whispered Varya
— and suddenly burst into tears. I sat down
beside her, soothed her, and wiped away her
tears. . . . Luckily, Ivan Semyonitch was not at
home, and Matryona Semyonovna had gone off
to her little chamber up-stairs. I swore love and
fidelity to Varya. . . .
" Yes," she said, repressing her final sobs and
incessantly wiping away her tears: — "I know
that you are a good man; you are an honourable
man ;"you are not like Kolosoff. . . ."
79

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
" Again that name? " .... I thought. But
with what delight did I kiss those warm, moist
httle hands! with what quiet joy did I gaze into
that sweet face ! .... I talked to her of the fu
ture, I strode about the room, I sat down in front
of her on the floor, I covered my eyes with my
hand and shuddered. . . . Ivan Semyonitch's
heavy tread broke off our conversation. Varya
rose hastily and went off to her own room — but
without pressing my hand or glancing at me.
Mr. Sidorenko was still more amiable than he
had been on the preceding day: he laughed,
rubbed his belly, made jokes at the expense of
Matryona Semyonovna, and so forth. I would
have liked to ask his " blessing " on the spot, but
changed my mind, and deferred it until the mor
row. His ponderous jests bored me; moreover, I
felt tired. ... I took leave of him and drove
away. I belong to the category of people who are
fond of meditating on their own sensations, al
though I cannot endure such people myself.
And therefore, after the first outburst of heart
felt joy, I immediately began to surrender my
self to various reflections. When I had driven
about half a verst from the house of the retired
lieutenant, I tossed my cap into the air in excess
of rapture, and shouted: " Hurrah! " But while
I was wending my way through the long and
crooked streets of Moscow, my thoughts gradu-
80

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
ally took another turn. Divers decidedly dirty
doubts began to bustle about in my soul. I re
called my conversation with Ivan Semyonitch
about marriage in general .... and involun
tarily said, in an undertone: " Just think what a
hypocrite the old rascal is!" . . . To tell the
truth, I kept incessantly reiterating: "But, on the
other hand, Varya is mine! mine!" .... But,
in the first place, that " but "— okh, that but! —
and, in the second place, the words " Varya is
mine! " awakened in me not a profound, shat
tering joy, but some sort of commonplace, con
ceited rapture. ... If Varya had flatly rejected
me I would have flamed up with wild passion;
but, having obtained her consent, I resembled a
man who has said to a guest: "Make yourself
at home " — and the guest actually begins to dis
pose of things in the room, as though it were
his own house. " If she loved Kolosoff," I
thought, " how is it that she has so speedily con
sented? Evidently, she is glad to marry any
body. . . . Well, and what of that? So much the
better for me." .... With these strange and
troubled feelings I crossed the threshold of my
home. Perhaps you think my story lacking in
plausibility, gentlemen? I do not know whether
it resembles the truth, but I do know that every
thing which I have told you is the complete and
genuine truth. However, during the whole of
that day I gave myself up to feverish merri-
81

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
ment, told myself that I simply did not deserve
such happiness; but the next morning ....
¦t A wonderful thing is sleep ! It not only re
news the body, in a certain way it also renews the
soul, restores .it to its pristine simplicity and
naturalness. In the course of the day you have
succeeded in tuning yourself up to concert pitch,
in becoming permeated with falsehood, with ly
ing thoughts .... sleep, with its cold flood,
washes away all these wretched quibbles, and, on
awakening, you are capable, for a few moments
at least, of comprehending and loving the truth.
I awoke, and on reflecting upon the past day, I
felt conscious of a certain awkwardness .... I
felt rather ashamed of all my pranks. With
involuntary uneasiness I thought of my visit
which was to be made that day, about the ex
planation with Ivan Semyonitch. . . . This un
easiness was torturing and fatiguing; it resem
bled the uneasiness of a hare which hears the
baying of the hounds, and must at last emerge
from its native forest into the fields . . . while
in the fields the sharp-fanged harriers are await
ing it. ... " Why was I in such a hurry! " I
repeated, as on the preceding evening, but in
quite another sense now. I remember that that
frightful difference between yesterday and to
day surprised even me; it then occurred to me
for the first time that mysteries lie hidden in
the life of man — strange mysteries. . . . With
82

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
childish perplexity I gazed at that new, non-fan
tastic, actual world. By the word " actuality "
many persons mean the word " triviality." Per
haps that is sometimes the case; but I must con
fess that the first appearance of actuality to me
shook me profoundly, frightened me, startled
me. . . .
What big speeches on the subject of love
which has not had its dance out, to speak in
Gogol's words! ... I will return to my story.
In the course of that morning, I again assured
myself that I was the happiest of mortals. I
drove out of town to Ivan Semyonitch's. He
received me very joyfully; he started to go off
to a neighbour's, but I stopped him. I was
afraid to remain alone with Varya. That even
ing passed cheerfully but not comfortably.
Varya was neither one thing nor the other, nei
ther amiable nor sad .... neither pretty nor
homely. I scanned her, as the philosophers say,
with the objective eye — that is, as a satiated man
gazes at food. I decided that her hands were ra
ther red. However, my blood grew hot within me
at intervals, and, as I gazed at her, I surrendered
myself to other reveries and thoughts. It was
not so very long since I had made a so-called
proposal, and here already I was feeling that she
and I were living the conjugal hfe .... that
our souls already constituted one very beautiful
whole, belonged to each other, and, consequently,
83

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
were trying to search out, each for itself, its
special path. . . .
"Well, have you spoken to papa?" Varya
said to me, when she and I were left alone to
gether. That question displeased me dreadfully.
... I thought to myself: — " You 're in an aw
ful hurry, Varvara Ivanovna! "
" No, not yet," I replied rather drily: — " but
I will speak to him."
Altogether, I treated her somewhat care
lessly. In spite of my promise, I said nothing
decisive to Ivan Semyonitch. When I went
away I pressed his hand significantly, and in
formed him that I must have a talk with him
.... that was all. . . .
" Good-bye! " I said to Varya.
" Until we meet again," said she.
I will not weary you long, gentlemen; I am
afraid of exhausting your patience. . . . That
interview did not take place. I never went back
to Ivan Semyonitch. To tell the truth, the first
few days of my separation from Varya did not
pass off without tears, reproaches, and agitation ;
I myself was alarmed at the speedy withering of
my love; a score of times I was on the point of
going to her; I pictured to myself in vivid col
ours her surprise, her grief, her sense of in
jury, but — I did not go back to Ivan Semyo
nitch's. I entreated her forgiveness mentally; I
mentally went down on my knees before her,
84

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
assured her of my deep remorse — and once,
when I encountered in the street a young girl
who bore a slight resemblance to her, I set off
on a run without looking behind me, and only
stopped to take breath in a confectioner's shop,
behind five-fold puff -paste patties. The word
" to-morrow " was invented for irresolute people,
and for children; I, being a child, soothed my
self with that magic word. " I will go to her
to-morrow without fail," I said to myself, and
ate and slept capitally to-day. I began to think
a great deal more about Kolosoff than about
Varya .... everywhere and incessantly I be
held before me his frank, bold, unconcerned face.
I began to go to him again. He welcomed me as
of yore. But how deeply conscious I was of his
superiority over myself! How ridiculous did all
my fancies appear to me — my mournful pensive
ness during the period of Kolosoff's connection
with Varya, my magnanimous determination to
bring them together again, my anticipations, my
raptures, my remorse! . . .
""I had enacted a wretched, noisy, and pro
longed comedy, while he had hved through that
period so simply, so finely. . . . You will say
to me: "What is there surprising about that?
Your Kolosoff fell in love with a young girl, then
fell out of love with her and abandoned her. . . .
But that has happened to everybody." . . .
Agreed ; but which one of us has known how to
85

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
bid farewell in time to his past? Who — tell me
— who is not afraid of the reproaches, I will not
say of the reproaches of a woman .... of the
reproaches of the first blockhead who comes to
hand? Which one of us has not yielded to the
desire to make a display of magnanimity, or self-
conceitedly to play with another devoted heart?
In conclusion, which of us is capable of resisting
petty self-love — the petty nice feelings: compas
sion and remorse? Oh, gentlemen! the man who
parts from a woman formerly beloved, at that
great and bitter moment when he becomes con
scious that his heart is not wholly, not completely
permeated with her, that man, believe me, un
derstands the sacredness of love better and more
profoundly than those pusillanimous people who,
out of boredom, out of weakness, continue to
play on the half -broken strings of their languid
and sensitive hearts.
At the beginning of my story I told you
that we all called Andrei Kolosoff a remarkable
man. And if a clear, simple view of life, if the
absence of all phrase-making in a young man
can be termed a remarkable thing, then Kolosoff
deserved the name which had been bestowed on
him. At a certain age, to be natural is equivalent
to being remarkable. . . . But it is time for me
to finish. I thank you for your attention. . . .
Ah, but I forgot to tell you that, three months
after my last visit, I met that old rascal Ivan
86

ANDREI KOLOSOFF
Semyonitch. As a matter of course, I endeav
oured to shp past him swiftly and unperceived,
but, nevertheless, I could not help overhearing
the following words, uttered with vexation:
" Some folks are so broad-minded, you know! "
" And what became of Varya? "—asked some
one. " I don't know,"— replied the story-teller.
We all rose and went our various ways.

THE BULLY
(1846)

THE BULLY

THE *** regiment of cuirassiers was sta
tioned, in the year 1829, in the village of
Kirilovka, of the K*** Government. This vil
lage, with its cottages and grain-ricks, with its
green hemp-patches and emaciated willows, ap
peared, from a distance, to be an island in the
middle of a boundless sea of tilled, black-loam
fields. In the middle of the village was a small
pond, eternally covered with goose-down, with
filthy, furrowed banks; a hundred paces from
the pond, on the other side of the road, towered
aloft a wooden manor-house of some gentlefolk,
long empty and sadly sagging over on one side;
in the garden grew ancient, sterile apple-trees,
and lofty birches studded with crows' nests; at
the end of the principal avenue, in a tiny house
(formerly the gentry's bath-house), dwelt a de
crepit butler who, grunting and clearing his
throat, from ancient habit dragged himself every
morning through the garden to the apartments
of the gentry, although there was nothing in
them to guard, except a dozen white arm-chairs
upholstered in faded stuff, two pot-bellied chests
91

THE BULLY
of drawers on crooked legs and with brass
handles, four pictures full of holes, and one black
negro of alabaster, with a broken nose. The
owner of this house, a young and heedless man,
lived sometimes in Petersburg, sometimes abroad
—and had utterly forgotten his hereditary es
tate. It had come into his possession eight years
previously, inherited from an extremely aged
uncle, once known to all the countryside for his
capital fruit-liqueurs. Empty, dark-green bottles
were still scattered about in the storehouse, along
with various rubbish, copy-books in variegated
covers, closely written all over in miserly fashion,
antique glass chandeliers, a nobleman's uniform
of the epoch of Katherine II. , a rusty sword with
a steel hilt, and so forth.
In one of the wings the Colonel himself lodged
— a married man, tall of stature, parsimonious of
words, surly, and sleepy. In the other wing
lived the adjutant, a sensual and highly -perfumed
man, fond of flowers and butterflies. The so
ciety of the officers of the *** regiment in no
way differed from any other society. Among
them, a certain Avdyei Ivanovitch Lutchkoff,
staff -captain, bore the reputation of a bully.
Lutchkoff was small of stature, and not good-
looking; he had a small, sallow, lean face, thin
black hair, ordinary features, and small, dark
eyes. He had early been left an orphan, had
grown up in indigence and oppression. For
92

THE BULLY
whole weeks together he behaved quietly ....
and all of a sudden— it seemed as though some
fiend had taken possession of him — he would be
gin to harass everybody, bother everybody, stare
everybody impudently in the eye; well, he fairly
challenged people to a quarrel. Moreover,
Avdyei did not shun his fellow-officers, but was
on friendly terms only with the perfumed ad
jutant; he did not play cards, and he did not
drink liquor.
In May, 1829, not long before the beginning
of drill, there came to the regiment a young
cornet, Feodor Feodorovitch Kister, a Russian
nobleman of German extraction, very fair-haired
and very modest, cultured and well-read. Until
the age of twenty he had lived in the paternal
home under the wing of his mamma, his grand
mamma, and two aunts ; he had entered the mili
tary service solely at the desire of his grand
mother, who even in her old age could not see
a white cockade without emotion. . . . He dis
charged his duties without any special eagerness,
but with zeal, just as though he were conscien
tiously performing his duty; he dressed, not
foppishly, but neatly, and according to the regu
lations. On the very first day of his arrival,
Feodor Feodorovitch reported himself to his com
manding officers ; then he began to put his quar
ters in order. He had brought with him some
cheap wall-paper, rugs, shelves, and so forth;
93

THE BULLY
he papered all his walls and the doors, erected
various partitions, ordered the yard to be cleaned
up, rebuilt the stable and the kitchen ; he even set
apart a place for a bath. . . . For a whole week
he busied himself; but it was a delight to enter
his room afterward. In front of the windows
stood a neat table, covered with various knick-
knacks ; in one corner was a small stand for books,
with the busts of Goethe and Schiller ; on the walls
hung maps, four Grevedon heads and a hunting-
gun; beside the table ran a stately row of pipes
with correct mouth-pieces; on the floor of the
anteroom lay a rug; all the doors fastened with
locks; the windows were hung with curtains.
Everything in Feodor Feodorovitch's room
exhaled an atmosphere of order and cleanliness.
It was quite different with his comrades! You
could hardly make your way to one of them
through the filthy yard; in the anteroom, behind
a peeling canvas screen, an orderly would be
snoring; on the floor lay rotten straw; on the
cooking-stove, boots and the bottom of a jar
overflowing with shoe-blacking; in the room it
self a warped Vombre table, scrawled all over
with chalk; on the table, glasses half filled with
cold, dark-brown tea; along the wall, a broad,
broken-down, greasy divan; on the windows,
pipe-ashes. ... In the clumsy and bloated
arm-chair sat the master of the house himself,
in a grass-green dressing-gown with crimson
94

THE HU.L.LY
plush facings, and an embroidered skull-cap of
Asiatic origin, while by the master's side a fat
and good-for-nothing dog in a stinking brass
collar was snoring. . . All the doors were always
wide open. . . .
Feodor Feodorovitch pleased his new com
rades. They liked him for his good-nature, his
modesty, his hearty cordiality, and his innate
inclination to " everything beautiful," — in a
word, for everything which in any other officer
they would, possibly, have considered unbe
fitting. They called Kister " the pretty girl,"
and treated him tenderly and gently. Avdyei
Ivanovitch alone looked askance upon him. One
day, after drill, Lutchkoff stepped up to him,
with slightly-compressed lips and inflated nos
trils. " Good morning, Mr. Knaster."
Kister glanced at him with surprise.
" My respects, Mr. Knaster," repeated Lutch
koff. " My name is Kister, my dear sir."
" You don't say so, Mr. Knaster."
Feodor Feodorovitch turned his back on him
and went home. Lutchkoff stared after him
with a sneer.
On the following day, immediately after drill,
he stepped up to Kister again.
" Well, how 's your health, Mr. Kinderbal-

zam?

95

THE BULLY
Kister flared up, and stared him straight in
the face. Avdyei Ivanovitch's little, bilious eyes
lighted up with malicious joy.
" I 'm speaking to you, Mr. Kinderbalzam ! "
" My dear sir," replied Feodor Feodorovitch,
— "I consider your jest stupid and indecorous—
do you hear? stupid and indecorous."
" When shall we fight? " retorted Lutchkoff
calmly. " Whenever you like .... say to-morrow."
The next day they fought. Lutchkoff slightly
wounded Kister, and, to the intense amazement
of the seconds, stepped up to the wounded man,
took his hand, and asked his pardon. Kister was
confined to the house for a fortnight. Avdyei
Ivanovitch dropped in several times to see the
invalid, and after Feodor Feodorovitch's recov
ery, struck up a friendship with him. Whether
it was that the young officer's resolution had
pleased him, or a sentiment akin to remorse had
awaked in his soul, it would be difficult to deter
mine; .... but dating from the duel with Kis
ter, Avdyei Ivanovitch was hardly ever parted
from him, and first called him Feodor, then
Fedya. In his presence, he became another man,
and — strange to say! — not to his advantage. It
did not suit his style to be gentle and soft. Nev
ertheless, he did not evoke sympathy in any one :
such was his fate! He belonged to the category
of people who seem to have been endowed with
96

THE BULLY
the right of power over others; but nature had
denied him the gifts which form the indispen
sable justification for such a right. As he had
received no education, and was not distinguished
by brains, he ought not to have divested himself
of his ordinary character; perhaps harshness in
him proceeded precisely from his consciousness of
the defects of his own bringing-up, from a desire
to conceal himself entirely beneath one unvary
ing mask. . Avdyei Ivanovitch had first made
himself despise people ; then he had observed that
it was not a difficult matter to frighten them,
and had begun to despise them in reahty.
Lutchkoff dehghted in putting an end, by his
mere appearance, to every conversation which
was not utterly trivial. " I know nothing and
never learned anything, and have no abilities," he
thought to himself; " therefore don't you know
anything and don't you display your abihties be
fore me  " Kister forced Lutchkoff to
emerge, at last, from his assumed role, possibly
because until his acquaintance with him the bully
had not encountered a single really " ideal " man
— that is to say, a man disinterestedly and good-
naturedly immersed in dreams, and consequently
indulgent and not conceited. Avdyei Ivan
ovitch would come to Kister of a morning,
light his pipe, and quietly seat himself in an
easy-chair. Lutchkoff was not ashamed of
his ignoranee in Kister's presence; he trusted
97

THE BULLY
—and not in vain— to the latter 's German dis
cretion. "Well, what now? "—he would begin:— "what
didst thou do last evening? Read, I suppose,
hey?" " Yes, I read. . . ."
"And what didst thou read? Come, tell me,
my dear fellow, tell me." — Avdyei Ivanovitch
maintained his jeering tone to the end.
" I read Kleist's ' Idyl,' brother. Akh, how
fine it is! If thou wilt permit me, I will translate
a few lines to thee." — And Kister translated
with fervour, while Lutchkoff, wrinkling up his
forehead, and compressing his lips, listened at
tentively. ..." Yes, yes,"— he kept repeating
hastily, with a disagreeable smile, — " 't is fine
. . . very fine. . . I remember that I have read
that .... 't is fine.
" Tell me, please,"— he added with a drawl
and, as it were, reluctantly: — " what is thy opin
ion of Louis the Fourteenth? "
And Kister began to talk about Louis XIV-
And Lutchkoff listened, did not understand
much of it at all, understood some of it wrongly
.... and at last decided to make a remark.
.... The idea threw him into a perspiration:
"Well, and what if I do talk nonsense?" he
thought. And, as a matter of fact, he did it fre
quently, but Kister never answered him harshly;
the good-natured young fellow was heartily de-
98

THE BULLY
lighted that a desire for enlightenment was wak
ing up in the man. Alas! Avdyei Ivanovitch
questioned Kister not out of a desire for enlight
enment, but just because he felt hke it, God knows
why! Perhaps he wished to ascertain by experi
ment what sort of a head he, Lutchkoff, had, —
a stupid one, or merely an unpolished one. — "But
I actually am stupid," he said to himself more
than once, with a bitter grin, and suddenly
straightened himself up stiffly, stared arrogantly
and impudently about him, and smiled mali
ciously if he noticed some comrade lower his
glance before his. " Just so, brother, my learned,
cultured man . ..." he whispered through his
teeth. " Wouldst not thou like .... thou
knowest what? "
The officers did not discuss the sudden friend
ship between Kister and Lutchkoff long: they
were used to the bully's peculiarities. " The
devil has entered into compact with the infant! "
they said. . . Kister everywhere lauded his new
friend fervently, and they did not contradict
him, because they feared Lutchkoff; and Lutch
koff himself never mentioned Kister's name be
fore others, but dropped the acquaintance of the
perfumed adjutant. II
The landed proprietors in southern Russia are
very fond of giving balls, of inviting the officers
99

THE BULLY
to their houses, and giving them their daughters
in marriage. Ten versts from the village of Kiri-
lovo dwelt precisely such a landed proprietor, a
certain Mr. Perekatoff, the possessor of four
hundred souls and a fairly spacious house. He
had a daughter of seventeen, Mashenka, and a
wife, Nenfla Makarievna. Mr. Perekatoff had
once served in the cavalry, but out of love for a
country life, out of indolence, he had resigned
and begun to live his own life quietly, after the
manner of middle-class squires. Nenila Maka
rievna was descended in a not entirely legiti
mate manner from a distinguished boyar of
Moscow. Her protector reared his Nenilushka very care
fully, as the saying is, in his own house, but got
her off his hands with considerable haste, at the
first demand, as uncertain wares. Nenila Maka
rievna was not comely; the distinguished gentle
man gave her a dowry of ten thousand rubles, all
told; she jumped at Mr. Perekatoff. Mr. Pere
katoff thought it very flattering to himself to
wed a cultured, clever young lady .... well,
and to sum it up, one who also was related to a
distinguished dignitary. That dignitary af
forded the married pair his protection even after
the wedding; that is to say, he accepted from
them gifts of salted woodcock and addressed
Perekatoff as, " thou, my good fellow," and
sometimes simply as " thou." Nenila Maka-
100

THE BULLY
rievna completely ruled her husband, managed
affairs, and disposed of the entire estate, — very
cleverly, by the way ; in any case, far better than
Mr. Perekatoff himself could have done. She
did not oppress her spouse excessively, but kept
him under her thumb, ordered his clothes herself,
and dressed him in English fashion, as is befitting
a country squire; by her command, Mr. Pere
katoff cultivated on his chin a Spanish goatee,
to conceal a large wart which resembled an over
ripe raspberry; Nenila Makarievna, on her side,
was wont to inform her guests that her husband
played the flute, and that all flute-players let the
hair grow below their under lip; it was more
convenient to hold the instrument. Mr. Pere
katoff, from early morning, went about in a
tall, clean neckerchief, with hair well brushed
and face well washed. However, he was ex
tremely well satisfied with his lot: he always had
very savoury dinners, did whatever he wished,
and slept as much as he could. Nenila Maka
rievna set up in her house " a foreign order of
things," as the neighbours said: she kept few
servants, and dressed them neatly. She was tor
tured with ambition; she wanted to become at
least Marshaless of the Nobility for the county,
but the nobles of the *** county, although they
ate their fill at her house, nevertheless elected not
her husband, but at one time retired Premier-
Major Burcholtz, at another, Second-Major
101

THE BULLY
Burundiukoff. Mr. Perekatoff seemed to them
too citified a rogue.
Mr. Perekatoff's daughter Mashenka resem
bled her father in face. Nenila Makarievna had
taken great pains with her education. She spoke
French well, and played respectably on the piano.
She was of medium height, quite plump and
white; her rather chubby face was enlivened
by a good-natured, merry smile; her chestnut
hair, which was not too thick, her small brown
eyes, her agreeable voice — everything about her
pleased in a quiet way, and that was all. On the
other hand, the absence of affectation, of preju
dices, her erudition, which was remarkable in a
maid of the steppes, her freedom of expression,
the calm simplicity of her speech and glance
evoked involuntary surprise. She had developed
in freedom; Nenila Makarievna had not put any
restraint upon her.
One morning, about twelve o'clock, the whole
Perekatoff family was assembled in the drawing-
room. The husband, in a green round dress-
coat, a tall, checked stock, and yellowish-grey
trousers with gaiters, was standing in front of the
window, and catching flies with great assiduity.
The daughter was sitting at her embroidery-
frame; her small, plump hand in a black mitt
rose and fell gracefully over the canvas. Nenila
Makarievna sat on the couch and stared silently
at the floor. 102

THE BULLY
" Did you send invitations to the *** regiment,
Sergyei Sergyeevitch? "—she asked her husband.
" For this evening? Of course, ma chere, I
sent them." (He was forbidden to call her ma
tushka.1) "Of course!"
" There are no cavaliers at all," — went on
Nenila Makarievna. — " There is no one for the
young ladies to dance with."
Her husband sighed, as though the absence of
cavaliers afflicted him.
" Mamma,"— said Masha, suddenly:— " is
Monsieur Lutchkoff invited? "
" What Lutchkoff? "
" He is an officer also. They say he is very in
teresting." " Really? "
" Yes; he is not good-looking, and not young,
but every one is afraid of him. He is a fright
ful duellist." (Mamma frowned slightly.) " I
should very much hke to see him. . . ."
Sergyei Sergyeevitch interrupted his daugh
ter. ' What is there to see, my darling? Dost thou
think that he looks like Lord Byron? " (At that
epoch people had only just begun to talk about '
Lord Byron among us.) — "Nonsense! Why,
my darling, I also bore the reputation of a swash
buckler in my day."
Mdtushka (literally, "dear little mother") is the genuine Russian
form of address for any woman of any rank.— Translator.
103

THE BULLY
Masha stared in amazement at her parent,
broke out laughing, then sprang up and kissed
him on the cheek. His spouse smiled slightly
.... but Sergyei Sergyeevitch had not bed.
" I don't know whether that gentleman will
come," — said Nenila Makarievna. — " Perhaps he
also will favour us with his company."
The daughter heaved a sigh.
" Look out, don't fall in love with him,"—
remarked Sergyei Sergyeevitch. — " I know that
all of you nowadays are such .... you see
.... so given to raptures. . . ."
" No," — returned Masha, artlessly.
Nenila Makarievna gazed coldly at her hus
band. Sergyei Sergyeevitch toyed with his
watch-chain in some confusion, took from the
table his broad-brimmed English hat, and set off
to attend to the estate. His dog ran timidly and
submissively after him. Being a wise animal, it
felt that its master had not much power in the
house, and behaved itself modestly and cau
tiously. Nenila Makarievna approached her daughter,
gently lifted her head, and looked affectionately
into her eyes.
" Thou wilt tell me when thou fallest in love? "
she asked.
Masha, with a smile, kissed her mother's hand
and nodded her head affirmatively several times.
"See that thou dost," — remarked Nenila Ma-
104

THE BULLY
karievna, patting her cheek, and following her
husband out of the room. Masha leaned against
the back of her easy-chair, dropped her head on
her breast, intertwined her fingers, and stared
for a long time out of the window, narrowing her
eyes. ... A faint flush played over her rosy
cheeks; with a sigh she straightened herself up,
began to embroider, dropped her needle, propped
her face on her hand, and lightly biting her
finger-nails, fell into thought .... then glanced
at her shoulder, at her outstretched hand, rose,
went to the mirror, laughed, put on her hat, and
went off into the park.
On that same evening, about eight o'clock, the
guests began to assemble. Madame Perekatoff
very amiably received and " entertained " the
ladies, Mashenka the young girls; Sergyei Ser
gyeevitch chatted with the landed proprietors
about farming, and kept constantly glancing at
his wife. The young dandies began to present
themselves ; also the officers, who had deliberately
arrived as late as possible. At last the Colonel
himself entered, escorted by his Adjutant, Kister,
and Lutchkoff. He presented them to the hos
tess. Lutchkoff bowed in silence; Kister mut
tered the customary " Delighted." .... Mr.
Perekatoff stepped up to the Colonel, shook
hands cordially with him, and gazed feelingly
into his eyes. The Colonel immediately knit his
brows. The dancing began. Kister invited
105

THE BULLY
Mashenka. At that period the Ecossaise was still
flourishing. " Tell me, please," Masha said to him when,
after having galloped a score of times to the
end of the hall, they had, at last, become the
leading pair: "Why is not your friend danc-
ing?" "What friend?"
Masha indicated Lutchkoff with the tip of her
fan. " He never dances," — replied Kister.
" Then why did he come? "
Kister was somewhat disconcerted. — " He
wished to have the pleasure . . . ."
Mashenka interrupted him. — " You have re
cently been transferred to our regiment, I be
lieve? "
" To your regiment? " — remarked Kister, with
a smile: — " Yes, recently."
" You are not bored here? "
" Good gracious .... no ... I have found
such agreeable society here .... and nature!
Kister launched out into a description of nature.
Masha listened to him without raising her head.
Avdyei Ivanovitch was standing in the corner,
and gazing indifferently at the dancers.
" How old is Mr. Lutchkoff? "—she suddenly
inquired. " Thirty .... thirty-five, I think," — replied
Kister. 106

THE BULLY
" They say he is a dangerous man . . . hot-
tempered,"— hastily added Masha.
" He is rather irascible .... but he is a very
fine man, nevertheless."
" They say that every one is afraid of him."
Kister burst out laughing.
"And you?"
" He and I are friends."
" Really? "
" Your turn, your turn, your turn," was
shouted at them from all sides. They gave a
start, and began once more to gallop sideways the
whole length of the hall.
" Well, I congratulate thee,"— said Kister to
Lutchkoff, approaching him after the dance: —
" the daughter of the house has kept asking me
incessant questions about thee."
" Is it possible? "—returned Lutchkoff, scorn-
fully. " On my word of honour! And she 's very
pretty, you know; just look."
" But which one of them is she? "
Kister pointed out Masha to him.
"Ah! not bad-looking!"— And Lutchkoff
yawned. " What a cold man! " — exclaimed Kister, and
ran off to invite another young girl.
Avdyei Ivanovitch was greatly pleased with
the information imparted by Kister, although he
did yawn, and even yawn pretty loudly. To
107

THE BULLY
arouse curiosity flattered his self-love intensely;
he despised love— in words .... but inwardly
he felt that it would be a difficult and trouble
some matter to make himself beloved. . . . Diffi
cult and troublesome to make himself beloved,—
but very easy to pretend to be an indifferent,
reticent, haughty man. Avdyei Ivanovitch was
ill-favoured and not young; but, on the other
hand, he enjoyed a terrible reputation — and,
consequently, had a right to put on airs. He had
become used to bitter and taciturn enjoyment of
surly solitude; this was not the first time that
he had attracted the attention of women; some
had even tried to make friends with him, but he
had repulsed them with obdurate stubbornness;
he knew that tenderness was not becoming to his
style (in hours of trysts and frankness he be
came first awkward and vulgar, and then, out of
vexation, rough to the point of insipidity, of
insult) ; he called to mind that two or three
women, with whom he had once consorted, had
cooled toward him immediately after the first
moments of close acquaintance, and had hastily
beaten a retreat from him . . . and therefore
he had made up his mind, at last, to remain a
riddle, and to scorn that which fortune had de
nied to him. . . . People, as a whole, know no
other scorn, apparently. No frank, involuntary,
that is to say, good manifestation of passion was
becoming to Lutchkoff; he was forced contin
ually to put a restraint on himself, even when he
108

THE BULLY
was angry. Kister alone was not disgusted
when Lutchkoff burst into a guffaw of laughter;
the eyes of the good German sparkled with the
noble joy of sympathy, when he read to Avdyei
Ivanovitch his favourite pages from Schiller, and
the bully sat in front of him, with head lowered
like a wolf.
Kister danced until he was ready to drop.
Lutchkoff did not quit his corner, knit his brows
in a frown, now and then darted a stealthy
glance at Masha — and, on encountering her eyes,
immediately imparted to his own an indifferent
expression. Masha danced three times with Kis
ter. The enthusiastic young fellow excited her
confidence. She chatted very merrily with him,
but at heart he felt awkward. Lutchkoff en
grossed her.
The mazurka thundered out. The officers be
gan to leap, stamp their heels, and to toss their
epaulets with their shoulders; the civilians
stamped their heels also, Still Lutchkoff did not
stir from his place, and slowly followed the
couples with his eyes as they flitted past. Some
one touched his sleeve ... he glanced round;
his neighbour directed his attention to Masha.
She was standing in front of him, without raising
her eyes, and offering him her hand.1 Lutchkoff
1 The mazurka, which is still a great favourite in Russia, greatly
resembles the cotillon in everything except the steps, which (as the
description above indicates) are vivacious. Both the cotillon and the
mazurka are danced — one before, the other after, supper— at Court
balls and other dances. — Translator.
109

THE BULLY
first stared at her in surprise, then indifferently
removed his broadsword, threw his hat on the
floor, awkwardly made his Avay among the arm
chairs, took Masha by the hand— and passed
along the circle, without any skipping or stamp
ing, as though unwillingly performing a disa
greeable duty. . . Masha's heart beat violently.
"Why do you not dance?" she asked him at last.
"I don't like it,"— replied Lutchkoff. -
" Where is your place? "
" Yonder, sir."
Lutchkoff led Masha to her chair, calmly made
his bow to her, calmly returned to his corner
.... but the bile stirred merrily within him.
Kister invited Masha.
" What a strange man your friend is ! "
" And he interests you very much " . . . .
said Feodor Feodorovitch, roguishly screwing up
his kind, blue eyes.
' Yes ... he must be very unhappy."
" He unhappy? Where did you get that
idea? " — And Feodor Feodorovitch burst out
laughing. " You don't know . . . you don't know. . ."
— Masha shook her head gravely.
" But why should n't I know? "
Again Masha shook her head and cast a glance
at Lutchkoff. Avdyei Ivanovitch noticed that
glance, shrugged his shoulders imperceptibly,
and went into another room.
110

THE BULLY

III

Several months passed after that evening.
Lutchkoff had not been to the Perekatoff s' a sin
gle time. Kister, on the other hand, had called on
them quite often. Nenila Makarievna liked him,
but it was not she who attracted Feodor Feodoro
vitch. He liked Masha. Being an inexperienced
man, and one who had not exhausted his stock
of talk, he found great pleasure in exchanging
sentiments and opinions, and good-naturedly be
lieved in the possibility of a calm and exalted
friendship between a young man and a young
girl. One day, a troika of well-fed and spirited
horses brought him with celerity to the house of
Mr. Perekatoff. It was a summer day, stifling
and sultry. There was not a cloud anywhere.
The azure of the sky was thickened at the edges
to such a degree that the eye took it for a thun
dercloud. The house built by Mr. Perekatoff
for summer residence, with the customary fore
thought of the steppes, had its windows turned
directly to the sun. Nenila Makarievna had
ordered all the shutters to be closed early in the
morning. Kister entered the cool, shaded draw
ing-room. The light lay in long streaks on the
floor, in short, frequent bands on the walls. The
Perekatoff family welcomed Feodor Feodoro-
111

THE BULLY
vitch cordially. After dinner, Nenila Maka
rievna took herself off to her own bedchamber
for a nap; Mr. Perekatoff ensconced himself on
a divan in the drawing-room ; Masha seated her
self at her embroidery-frame near the window;
Kister opposite her. Masha, without opening
the frame, leaned her breast against it, and
propped her head on her hands. Kister began
to narrate something to her; she listened to him
inattentively, as though she were expecting some
thing, occasionally glanced at her father, and sud
denly stretched out her hand.
" Listen, Feodor Feodorovitch .... only,
speak as softly as possible .... papa has fallen
asleep." Mr. Perekatoff had, in fact, according to his
wont, fallen asleep as he sat on the divan, with
his head thrown back, and his mouth slightly
open. " What do you wish? " — asked Kister with
curiosity. " You will laugh at me."
" Mercy on us, what an idea! " . . . .
Masha dropped her head so that only the upper
part of her face remained uncovered by her
hands, and in an undertone, not without embar
rassment, she asked Kister: "why he never
brought Mr. Lutchkoff with him?" This was
not the first time Masha had mentioned him since
the ball. . . . Kister maintained silence. Masha
112

THE BULLY
glanced timorously from behind her interlaced
embroidery-frame. " May I tell you my opinion frankly? " — Kis
ter asked her.
"Why not? Of course."
" It seems to me that Lutchkoff has made a
great impression on you! "
" No! " — replied Masha, and bent forward, as
though desirous of inspecting the pattern more
closely; a slender golden strip of light lay on
her hair: — "no .... but . . . ."
" But what? " — said Kister with a smile.
"' Why, you see," — said Masha, and raised her
head suddenly, so that the streak of light fell
straight upon her eyes: — " you see .... he ... ."
" He interests you. . . ."
' Well .... yes . . . ." said Masha, paus
ing between her words, blushed, turned away her
head a little, and in that posture continued to
speak: — " there is something about him that ....
There now, you are laughing at me," — she sud
denly added, with a swift glance at Feodor Feo
dorovitch. Feodor Feodorovitch smiled the gentlest of
smiles. " I tell you everything that comes into my
head,"— pursued Masha:—" I know that you are
my . . . ." (she meant to say " friend ") "good
friend." Kister bowed. Masha silently and timidly
113

THE BULLY
extended her hand to him ; Feodor Feodorovitch
respectfully pressed the tips of her fingers.
" He must be a great eccentric," — remarked
Masha, and again set her elbows on her em
broidery-frame. " An eccentric? "
" Of course; it is as an eccentric that he inter
ests me! " — added Masha, craftily.
" Lutchkoff is a noble, a remarkable man,"
— replied Kister, gravely. — " The men of our
regiment do not know him, do not value him, and
see in him only his external side. He is, of course,
stubborn, strange, impatient, but he has a good
heart." Masha listened eagerly to Feodor Feodoro
vitch. " I will bring him to you. I will tell him that
there is no need to fear you, that it is ridiculous
for him to be shy. ... I will tell him .... Oh,
yes! I know what I shall say. . . . That is, you
must not think, nevertheless, that I . . . ." Kis
ter grew confused; Masha also was confused. . . .
" Yes, and in short, you see, he only . . . inter
ests you .... so ... ."
" Well, of course, as many others interest
me. Kister cast a roguish glance at her.
" Good, good,"— he said with an aspect of sat
isfaction: — " I will bring him to you. . . ."
" Why, no. . . ." 114

THE BULLY
" Good; but I tell you that everything will be
all right. ... I '11 arrange it. . . ."
' What a man you are! . . ." remarked Masha,
with a smile, shaking her finger at him. Mr.
Perekatoff yawned and opened his eyes.
" Why, I do believe I 've been asleep? " — he
muttered with surprise. This question and sur
prise were repeated every day. Masha and Kis
ter began a conversation about Schiller.
But Feodor Feodorovitch did not feel quite
at his ease; envy seemed to have begun to stir
within him .... and he was nobly indignant
at himself. Nenila Makarievna entered the
drawing-room. Tea was served. Mr. Pereka
toff made his dog jump several times over a
cane, and then announced that he had taught the
dog himself, while the dog politely wagged his
tail, licked his chops, and blinked. When, at
last, the sultry heat had abated and the cool even
ing breeze had come up, the whole Perekatoff
family set off for a stroll in the birch-grove.
Feodor Feodorovitch kept casting incessant
glances at Masha, as though he were desirous
of giving her to understand that he would
execute her commission; Masha felt vexed
at herself, and gay, and somewhat daunted.
Kister suddenly, without rhyme or reason, be
gan to talk in a decidedly lofty style about
love in general, about friendship .... but,
on observing Nenila Makarievna's clear and
115

THE BULLY
attentive glance, he as suddenly changed the
conversation. The sunset glow blazed up brilliantly and
splendidly. In front of the birch-coppice
stretched a broad, level meadow. Masha took it
into her head to play at tag. Maids and lackeys
made their appearance. Mr. Perekatoff stood
with his wife, Kister with Masha. The maids
ran with faint obsequious shrieks; Mr. Pereka-
toff 's valet made so bold as to separate Nenila
Makarievna from her husband ; one maid respect
fully surrendered to the master; Feodor Feodo
rovitch did not part from Masha. Every time
that he resumed his place he said two or three
words to her; Masha, all flushed with running,
listened to him with a smile, and smoothed her
hair with her hand. After supper, Kister went
awray. The night was calm and starry. Kister
doffed his cap. He was agitated; he had a
slight lump in his throat. 'Yes," he said at
last, almost aloud, " she loves him; I will bring
them together; I wdll justify her confidence."
Although nothing, as yet, had proved any open
inclination on Masha's part for Lutchkoff, al
though, according to her own words, he had
merely aroused her curiosity, yet Kister had al
ready succeeded in composing for himself an
entire romance, in prescribing his duty to him
self. He made up his mind to sacrifice his own
116

THE BULLY
feelings — the more so as, " with the exception
of sincere affection, I really feel nothing, so far,"
he thought. Kister really was capable of sacri
ficing himself to friendship, to an acknowledged
duty. He had read a great deal, and therefore
imagined that he was experienced and even pene
trating ; he did not doubt the truth of his assump
tions ; he did not suspect that life is infinitely
varied and never repeats itself. Gradually, Feo
dor Feodorovitch attained to a state of rapture.
He began, with emotion, to think of his mission.
To be the mediator between a loving, timid young
girl and a man who was, possibly, obdurate only
because it had never happened to him a single
time in life to love and to be loved; to bring
them together, to interpret their own feel
ings to them, and then to withdraw, without al
lowing any one to perceive the magnitude of his
sacrifice, — what a fine act! Despite the coolness
of the night, the face of the kind dreamer was
burning hot. . . .
Early in the morning, on the following day,
he betook himself to Lutchkoff.
Avdyei Ivanovitch, according to his wont, was
lying on his divan and smoking a pipe. Kister
exchanged greetings with him.
" I was at the Perekatoffs' yesterday," — he
said with some solemnity.
" Ah! "—returned Lutchkoff, indifferently,
with a yawn. 117

THE BULLY
" Yes. They are very fine people."
"Really?" ,
" I talked with them about thee."
"Greatly honoured, I 'm sure; with whom,
pray? "
" With the old people .... and with the
daughter." "Ah! with that .... fatty?"
" She 's a very fine girl, Lutchkoff."
" Well, yes, they 're all very fine, those girls."
" No, Lutchkoff, thou dost not know her. I
never before have met so clever, kind, and sensi
tive a young girl."
Lutchkoff began to hum through his nose:
" In the Hamburg Gazette — hast not thou read
it? — how the year before last — Munich won the
victory. . . ." 1
" Yes, but I tell thee . . . ."
" Thou 'rt in love with her, Fedya,"— re
marked Lutchkoff, with a sneer.
" Not at all. I never thought of such a thing."
" Fedya, thou 'rt in love with her! "
" What nonsense ! Can't a fellow . . . ."
" Thou 'rt in love with her, thou friend of my
heart, thou black-beetle that lodgest behind the
oven," — drawled Avdyei Ivanovitch in a sing
song tone.
" Ekh, Avdyei, shame on thee! " — said Kister,
with vexation.
1 A fragment from an old song. Munich was a prominent generai
and statesman in the reign of Anna loannorna, and during the
regency of Anna Leopoldovna. — " ranslator.
118

THE BULLY
With any other man, Lutchkoff would have
sung on worse than ever ; he did not tease Kister.
— " Well, well, sprechen sie deutsch, Ivan An-
dreitch," — he growled in an undertone: — " don't
get angry."
" Listen, Avdyei," — said Kister, with fervour,
sitting down by his side. — " Thou knowest that I
love thee." (Lutchkoff made a grimace.) "But
one thing in thee does not please me, I admit
. . . namely, that thou wilt have nothing to do
with anybody, always sittest at home, and
avoidest all intercourse with nice people. For
there are nice people! Well, let us assume that
thou hast been deceived in life, hast grown hard,
or something of that sort; thou needst not fling
thyself on everybody's neck; but why shouldst
thou repudiate everybody? Why, if thou goest
on like this, thou mayest drive me away also, one
of these days."
Lutchkoff continued to smoke with cool indif
ference. " That 's why nobody knows you . . . except
me; any one else would think God knows what
about thee. . . . Avdyei ! " added Kister, after
a brief silence: — " dost thou not believe in virtue,
Avdyei?" " How can I help believing? .... Yes, I be
lieve in it, . . ." said Lutchkoff.
Kister pressed his hand with emotion.
" I want," — he went on in a much moved voice,
— "to reconcile thee with hfe. I 'm going to
119

THE BULLY
make thee grow merry, blossom out .... pre
cisely that — blossom out. How glad I shall be
then! Only, thou must allow me to dispose of
thee, of thy time, occasionally. What day is to
day? Monday. . . . To-morrow is Tuesday.
On Wednesday, yes, on Wednesday, we will go
to the Perekatoff s' together. They will be so
dehghted to see thee . . . and we shall pass the
time so merrily . . there. . . . But now let me
smoke a pipe."
Avdyei Ivanovitch lay motionless on the divan
and stared at the ceiling. Kister lighted his pipe,
walked to the window, and began to drum on the
panes with his fingers.
" So they talked about me?"— asked Avdyei,
suddenly. " Yes, they did," returned Kister, significantly.
" What did they say? "
" Well, they talked. They are very anxious
to make thine acquaintance."
" Who in particular? "
" Just see how curious he is! "
Avdyei called his servant, and gave orders to
have his horse saddled.
"Whither away?"
" To the riding-school."
" Well, good-bye. So we shall go to the Pere
katoff s', shall we not? "
" Yes, if thou wishest,"— said Lutchkoff, indo
lently, stretching himself. 120

THE BULLY
"That 's a fine fellow! "—exclaimed Kister,
and went out into the street, became pensive, and
heaved a deep sigh. IV
Masha was walking to the door of the drawing-
room when the arrival of Messrs. Kister and
Lutchkoff was announced. She immediately
returned to her chamber, and made a movement
to approach the mirror. . . . Her heart beat
violently. A maid came to summon her to the
drawing-room. Masha drank a little water,
paused a couple of times on the stairs, and at
last descended. Mr. Perekatoff was not at
home. Nenila Makarievna was sitting on the
divan; Lutchkoff was sitting in an arm-chair,
in his uniform, with his hat on his knees; Kister
sat by his side. They both rose on Masha's en
trance, — Kister with his customary friendly
smile, Lutchkoff with a stiff and solemn mien.
She bowed to them both in confusion, and went
to her mother. The first ten minutes passed off
well. Masha drew breath once more, and began
gradually to observe Lutchkoff. He replied to
the hostess's questions briefly, but uneasily; he
was intimidated, like all self-conscious people.
Nenila Makarievna proposed to the guests that
they should take a stroll in the park, but she her
self went no further than the balcony. She did
121

THE BULLY
not regard it as indispensable to keep an eye con
stantly on her daughter, and hobble about after
her everywhere, with a plethoric reticule in her
hands, after the example of many mothers of the
steppes. The stroll lasted quite a long time.
Masha talked chiefly with Kister, but did not
venture to look either at him or at Lutchkoff.
Avdyei Ivanovitch did not converse with her;
emotion was discernible in Kister's voice. For
some reason he laughed and chattered a great
deal. . . . They approached the river. A fathom
distant from the shore grew a water-lily which
seemed to be reposing on the smooth surface of
the water, carpeted with its broad, round leaves.
" What a beautiful flower! " remarked Masha.
She had not finished uttering these words
before Lutchkoff drew out his broadsword,
grasped the slender branches of a willow with one
hand and, bending over the water with his whole
body, cut off the head of the flower. " The
water is deep here, take care! " cried Masha in
alarm. With the tip of his sword, Lutchkoff
drew the flower ashore, at her very feet. She
bent down, picked it up, and with tender, joyous
surprise looked at Avdyei.
" Bravo! " — cried Kister.
" And I don't know how to swim, . . ." said
Lutchkoff, abruptly.
Masha did not like this remark. " Why did he
say that? " she thought. 122

THE BULLY
Lutchkoff and Kister remained at Mr. Pereka
toff 's until the evening. Something new and un
precedented took place in Masha' s soul ; thought
ful perplexity was more than once depicted on
her countenance. Somehow, she moved more
slowly, did not flush at her mother's glances —
on the contrary, she seemed to seek them, seemed
herself to be interrogating her. During the entire
course of the evening, Lutchkoff showed her a
certain clumsy attention ; but this very clumsiness
pleased her innocent vanity. But when both of
them had departed, with a promise to come again
in a few days, she went softly to her chamber and
gazed about her for a long time, as though in
wonder. Nenila Makarievna came to her, kissed
and embraced her, as was her habit. Masha
opened her lips, tried to begin a conversation with
her mother, — and did not utter a word. She
wanted to make a confession, but did not know
about what. On the night-stand, the flower
plucked by Lutchkoff lay on the water in a clean
glass. After she was in bed, Masha half rose,
propped herself on her elbow, and her virgin
lips softly touched the fresh white petals. . . .
" Well, how now? " Kister asked his comrade
on the following day:—" do you like the Pere
katoff s? Was I right? Hey? Tell me!"
Lutchkoff made no answer.
" Come, tell me, tell me."
" Why, really, I don't know."
123

THE BULLY
" Come, stop that! "
" That .... what the deuce is her name?
.... that Mashenka — is all right; she is n't so
ugly." " Well, there, you see. . . ." said Kister— and
stopped short.
Five days later Lutchkoff himself suggested
to Kister that they should go to the Perekatoff s'.
He would not have gone to them alone; in the
absence of Feodor Feodorovitch he would have
been obliged to carry on the conversation, and
this he was unable to do, and avoided as much
as possible.
Masha was much more at her ease when the
friends arrived for the second time. She now
secretly rejoiced that she had not worried her
mother by an unasked confession. Before din
ner, Avdyei offered to mount a young, un
broken horse, and in spite of the animal's mad
leaps, he tamed it completely. In the evening
he began to unbend, set to joking and laughing
— and although he speedily bethought himself,
he had already contrived to produce a momen
tary disagreeable impression on Masha. She
herself did not yet know precisely what feeling
Lutchkoff had excited in her, but everything
about him which did not please her she attributed
to the influence of unhappiness, of solitude.

124

THE BULLY

V

The friends began to make frequent visits to the
Perekatoff s'. Kister's position became more and
more burdensome. He did not repent .... no,
but he wished, at least, to curtail the period of his
trial. His attachment to Masha augmented with
every day; she herself was well disposed toward
him ; but to be eternally nothing more than a me
diator, a confidant, even a friend — is such a
heavy, ungrateful role ! Coldly enthusiastic peo
ple prate a vast deal about the sanctity of suf
fering, about the bliss of suffering . . . but suf
ferings afforded no bliss to Kister's warm, simple
heart. At last, one day, when Lutchkoff entered
his room, already fully dressed, and the calash
had driven up to the porch, Feodor Feodorovitch,
to the amazement of his friend, declared flatly
that he meant to remain at home. Lutchkoff
entreated, grew vexed, waxed wrathful. . . .
Kister excused himself on the pretext of a head
ache. Lutchkoff set off alone.
The bully had changed in many ways of late.
He left his comrades in peace, he did not harry the
novices, and although he had not blossomed forth
in soul, as Kister had predicted that he would,
still he really had quieted down. He could not
have been called a disillusioned man previously,—
he had seen almost nothing, and experienced al-
125

THE BULLY
most nothing, — and therefore it is not remarkable
that Masha should have occupied his thoughts.
However, his heart had not grown softer ; the bile
in it had merely subsided. Masha's feelings
toward him were of a strange nature. She hardly
ever looked him straight in the face ; she did not
know how to chat with him. . . . But when they
chanced to be left alone, Masha became fright
fully embarrassed. She took him for a remark
able man, and was intimidated in his presence;
she grew agitated, she imagined that she did not
understand him, did not deserve his confidence;
she thought of him in a cheerless, heavy way — but
incessantly. Kister's presence, on the contrary,
Avas a relief to her, and disposed her to mirth,
although it did not gladden or agitate her; with
him she could chat for hours; leaning on his
arm as on the arm of a brother, she gazed into his
eyes in a friendly way; she laughed when he
laughed — and rarely called him to mind. In
Lutchkoff there was something mysterious for
the young girl; she felt that his soul was dark
" as the forest," and strove to penetrate into that
mysterious gloom. . . . Exactly in this way do
children gaze into a deep well, until at last they
espy, at the very bottom, the motionless, black
water. When Lutchkoff entered the drawing-room
alone, Masha was startled at first .... but
afterward she rejoiced. It had already seemed
126

THE BULLY
to her, more than once, that between Lutchkoff
and herself there existed a certain misapprehen
sion, that hitherto he had had no opportunity to
explain himself. Lutchkoff communicated to
her the cause of Kister's absence; the old people
expressed their sympathy; but Masha looked in
credulously at Avdyei, and suffered poignantly
with anticipation. After dinner they were left
alone; Masha did not know what to say, and
seated herself at the piano; her fingers flew
hastily and tremulously over the keys; she kept
pausing constantly and waiting for the first word.
Lutchkoff did not understand and did not like
music. Masha began to talk to him about Ros
sini (Rossini had just come into fashion), about
Mozart. . . . Avdyei Ivanovitch replied: "Yes,
ma'am ; no, ma'am ; certainly, ma'am ; very beauti
ful," — and that was all. Masha began to play
some brilliant variations on a theme by Rossini.
Lutchkoff listened and listened, .... and when
at last she turned toward him, his face expressed
such unfeigned boredom that Masha instantly
sprang to her feet and shut the piano with a
bang. She walked to the window and stared
for a long time into the park; Lutchkoff did not
stir from his seat, and preserved silence. Im
patience began to usurp the place of timidity in
Masha's soul. "What is it?" she thought:
" willst thou not, or canst thou not? " It was
Lutchkoff's turn to feel timid. Again he felt
127

THE BULLY
his usual torturing lack of confidence : he was al
ready waxing wroth ! . . . .
' 'T was the devil prompted me to get myself
entangled with a wretched httle girl," he mut
tered to himself. . . . And yet, how easy it was
at that moment to touch Masha's heart! No
matter what so remarkable, although so strange
a man as she imagined Lutchkoff to be, had
said, she would. have understood all, excused all,
beheved all. . . . But that heavy, stupid silence!
Tears of vexation welled up in her eyes.
" If he does not wish to explain himself, if I
really am not worthy of his confidence, why
does he come to our house? Or perhaps I do
not know how to make him speak out. . . ."
And she turned swiftly round, and looked at him
in such an inquiring, such a persistent way that
he could not fail to understand her glance, could
no longer hold his peace. . . .
"Marya Sergyeevna!" — he ejaculated, stam
mering, — " I .... I have .... I must say
something to you."
" Speak,"— returned Masha, swiftly.
Lutchkoff gazed about him irresolutely.
" I cannot now. . . ."
" Why? "
" I should hke to have a talk with you ....
in private. ..."
" But we are alone now."
" Yes . . . but .... here in the house . . . ."
128

THE BULLY
Masha was disconcerted. . . " If I refuse
him,"— she thought,—" everything is at an end."
.... Curiosity ruined Eve 
" I agree," — she said at last.
"When? Where?"
Masha breathed hastily and unevenly.
" To-morrow .... evening. Do you know
the coppice above the Long Meadow? . . ."
" Behind the mill? "
Masha nodded her head.
"At what o'clock?"
"Wait  "
She could not utter anything more; her voice
broke . . . she turned pale, and hastily left the
room. A quarter of an hour later, Mr. Perekatoff,
with the amiability characteristic of him, escorted
Lutchkoff to the anteroom, pressed his hand with
emotion, and begged him " not to forget them " ;
then, having seen his guest off, he remarked with
dignity to his man that it would n't be a bad thing
for him to cut his hair — and, without awaiting an
answer, he returned to his chamber with an anx^
ious air, and with the same anxious air seated
himself on the divan, and immediately lapsed
into innocent slumber.
" Thou art somewhat pale to-day,"— said
Nenila Makarievna to her daughter on the even
ing of the same day. — " Art thou well? "
" I am well, mamma." 129

THE BULLY
Nenila Makarievna adjusted her kerchief on
her neck.
" Thou art very pale; look at me,"— she went
on with that maternal anxiety, in which, never
theless, parental authority is audible: — "there,
now, and thine eyes are not merry. Thou art ill,
Masha." " I have a slight headache," — said Masha, in
order to make her escape in some way.
" There, now, I knew it."— Nenila Makarievna
laid her hand on Masha's brow. — " But thou hast
no fever."
Masha stooped down and picked up a thread
from the floor.
Nenila Makarievna's arms were laid gently
round Masha's slender waist. — " It seems as
though thou art wishing to say something to
me," — she said affectionately, without unclasp
ing her hands.
Masha shuddered inwardly.
"I? No, mamma."
Masha's momentary confusion did not escape
the maternal notice.
" Really, thou art .... Just reflect."
But Masha had succeeded in regaining her
composure, and, instead of a reply, she kissed her
mother's hand with a laugh.
" And thou dost not mean to say that thou hast
nothing to say to me? "
" Why, really, I have nothing."
" I believe thee," — replied Nenila Makarievna,
130

THE BULLY
after a brief silence.—" I know that thou hast no
secrets from me. ... Is n't that true? "
" Of course, mamma."
Yet Masha could not help blushing faintly.
" And thou doest well. It would be sinful for
thee to have secrets from me. . . . For thou
knowest how I love thee, Masha."
" Oh, yes, mamma! "
And Masha nestled up to her.
" Come, that will do; enough of that." —
( Nenila Makarievna paced the room. ) —
" But, come, tell me," — she continued in the
voice of a person who is conscious that his
question has no special significance: — "what
wert thou talking about to-day with Avdyei
Ivanovitch? "
" With Avdyei Ivanovitch? " — repeated Ma*
sha, calmly. — " Why, about everything. ..."
" And dost thou hke him? "
" Of course I do."
" And dost thou remember how anxious thou
wert to make his acquaintance, how agitated thou
wert?" Masha turned away, and began to laugh.
"What a strange person he is!" — remarked
Nenila Makarievna good-naturedly.
Masha wanted to take up the cudgels for
Lutchkoff, but bit her little tongue.
" Yes, of course," — she said with considerable
carelessness: — "he is eccentric, but he is a fine
man, nevertheless ! " 131

THE BULLY
"Oh, yes! ... . Why did n't Feodor Feo
dorovitch come? "
" Evidently he was not well. Akh, yes! by the
way: Feodor Feodorovitch wants to make me a
present of a httle dog. . . . Dost thou permit
me?" "What? To accept his gift? "
" Yes."
" Certainly."
"Well, thanks,"-said Masha.-" Thanks! "
Nenila Makarievna walked to the door, and
suddenly turned back.
" And dost thou remember thy promise,
Masha? "
" What promise? "
" Thou wert to tell me when thou shouldst fall
in love."
" I remember."
"Well, what then? ... Is n't it time yet?"
(Masha uttered a ringing laugh.) " Come, look
me in the eye."
Masha looked brightly and boldly at her
mother. " It cannot be! " thought Nenila Makarievna,
and felt reassured. — " Why should she deceive
me? . . . And what made me think so? ....
She is still a perfect child. . . ."
She went away. . . .
" But, surely, this is a sin," thought Masha.

132

THE BULLY

VI

Kister had already gone to bed when Lutchkoff
entered his room. The bully's face never ex
pressed a single feeling; so it was now also: —
feigned indifference, coarse joy, the conscious
ness of his superiority ... a multitude of varied
feelings played over his features.
" Well, what now? Well, what now? "—Kister
hastily asked him.
' Well, what indeed ! I have been there. They
sent their greetings to thee."
" And are they all well? "
"What should ail them? "
" Did they inquire why I did not come? "
" Yes, they inquired, I believe."
Lutchkoff stared at the ceiling and began to
sing in a falsetto voice. Kister dropped his eyes,
and became pensive.
" And see here now,"— enunciated Lutchkoff,
in a hoarse, sharp voice:—" here, thou art a clever
fellow, a learned fellow, and, as a matter of
course, thou also talkest nonsense on occasion,
begging pardon for the expression."
"What then?"
" Why, this. On the subject of women, for
example. How thou dost laud them! Thou
readest verses about them! To thee all of them
are angels. . . Nice angels! "
133

THE BULLY
" I love and revere women, but . . . ."
' Well, of course, of course," — Avdyei inter
rupted him.—" I 'm not disputing with thee, seest
thou. Why should I? I 'm a plain man, of
course." " I meant to say that. . . . But why dost thou,
to-day in particular .... precisely at this time
.... begin to talk about women? "
"Because!" — Avdyei smiled significantly.—
" Because! "
Kister cast a penetrating glance at his friend.
He thought (pure soul!) that Masha had been
treating him badly; perhaps she had even tor
mented him, as women only know how to tor
ment. . . .
" Thou art embittered, my poor Avdyei, con
fess. . . ."
Lutchkoff roared with laughter.
" Well, there 's nothing for me to feel embit
tered about, apparently," — he said, with pauses
between his words, as he stroked his moustache
complacently. " No; see here, now, Fedya," — he continued in
a hortatory tone: — " I 'd just like to remark to
thee that thou art mistaken on the score of
women, my friend. Believe me, Fedya, they 're
all alike. All one has to do is to put himself to
a little trouble, to hover about them a bit, and
the business is as good as done. Now, take Ma
sha Perekatoff, for instance. . . ."
134

THE BULLY
"Well!"
Lutchkoff tapped the floor with his foot, and
wagged his head.
" What is there particular and attractive
about me, hey? Nothing, apparently. Nothing,
is there? And yet a tryst has been appointed to
me for to-morrow."
Kister half rose, propped himself on his elbow,
and stared at Lutchkoff in amazement.
" At evening, in the grove . . . ." pursued
Avdyei Ivanovitch calmly. — " But don't think
any wrong of it. I only did it so — because. I 'm
bored, seest thou. She 's a very pretty little girl
.... well, thinks I to myself, what 's the harm?
As for marrying her, I sha'n't do that ....
but just to recall the pleasures of my youth. I 'm
not fond of foohng round with women, — but one
may amuse a wench. We '11 listen to the night
ingales together. That is, in reality, thy busi
ness ; but, seest thou, that female has n't any eyes.
What am I, I 'd like to know, in comparison with
thee? "
Lutchkoff talked for a long time. But Kister
did not listen to him. His head was reeling. He
turned white, and passed his hand over his face.
Lutchkoff wriggled about in his arm-chair, half-
closed his eyes, stretched himself, — and attribut
ing Kister's emotion to jealousy, almost choked
with satisfaction. But Kister was not tormented
with jealousy: he was pained, not by the avowal
135 „

THE BULLY
itself, but by Avdyei's coarse thoughtlessness, his
indifferent and scornful way of speaking about
Masha. He continued to gaze intently at the
bully — and, apparentlj% for the first time thor
oughly scanned his features. So it was for this
he had taken so much pains! So it was for this
that he had sacrificed his own inclination! Here
it was — the gracious action of love!
" Avdyei ... is it possible that thou dost not
love her? " — he stammered out at last.
"Oh, innocence! Oh, Arcadia!" — retorted
Avdyei, with a malicious guffaw.
Even then the good Kister did not give up:
" Perhaps," he said to himself, " Avdyei is in
censed, and is ' putting on airs,' according to his
wont " .... he found no new words wherewith
to express his sentiments. And was not there
another feeling concealed in him — in Kister—
beneath his indignation? Was it not because the
matter concerned Masha that Lutchkoff's con
fession had struck him so unpleasantly? How
did he know — perhaps Lutchkoff really was in
love with her? . . . But no! No! A thousand
times no ! That man in love ? . . . That detesta
ble man, with his bilious and sallow face, with
his spasmodic and cat-like movements, and his
throat swelling with delight .... disgusting!
No, not with such words would Kister have ut
tered to his devoted friend the secret of his love.
.... In excess of happiness, with dumb rap-
136

THE BULLY
ture, with brilliant, copious tears in his eyes,
he would have clasped him to his breast.
" Well, brother? "-said Avdyei: " thou didst
not expect this— admit it! And now thou art
vexed? Hey? Thou art envious? Confess, Fedya !
Hey? Hey? For, seest thou, I 've snatched the
wench away from under thy very nose! "
Kister wanted to express his feelings, but
turned his face to the wall. — " Explain myself
.... before him? Not on any account! " he
whispered to himself. " He does not understand
me . . . . let it go! He takes it for granted
that there are only vile feelings in me — let
him! Avdyei rose.
" I see that thou art sleepy," — he said with
feigned sympathy: — "I will not hinder thee.
Sleep peacefully, my friend .... sleep ! "
And Lutchkoff left the room, extremely
pleased with himself.
Kister could not get to sleep until daybreak.
With feverish persistency he turned over and
thought over one and the same thought— an oc
cupation but too familiar to unhappy lovers; it
acts on the soul like bellows on smouldering coals.
" Even if Lutchkoff is indifferent to her," he
thought:—" even if she has thrown herself at his
head, nevertheless, he ought not to have spoken
so disrespectfully, so insultingly of her even to
me, to his friend! How is she to blame? How
137

THE BULLY
can one help pitying the poor, inexperienced
young girl?
" But can it be that she has appointed a tryst
with him? She has — she really has. Avdyei is
not lying; he never hes. But perhaps it is only,
a fancy on her part. ...
" But she does not know him. . . . He is ca
pable of insulting her, I think. After what has
happened to-day, I can answer for nothing. . . .
And was n't it you yourself, Mr. Kister, who
lauded and exalted him? Was n't it you your
self who excited her curiosity? . . . But who
could have known? Who could have foreseen
this? . . .
" Foreseen what? Is it long since he ceased
to be my friend? . . . But enough of that; has
he ever been my friend? What a disenchant
ment! What a lesson! "
The whole past gyrated in a whirlwind before
Kister's eyes. " Yes, I have loved him," he whis
pered at last. — " Why have I ceased to love him?
So speedily? .... And have I ceased to love
him? No. Why did I take a fancy to him? I
alone? "
Kister's loving heart had attached itself to
Avdyei precisely because all the others shunned
him. But the kind young man did not himself
know how great was his kindness.
"It is my duty" — he went on — "to warn
Marya Sergyeevna. But how? What right have
138

THE BULLY
I to meddle in other people's affairs, in other peo
ple's love? How do I know what sort of love
it is? Perhaps, even in Lutchkoff himself 
No! " he said aloud, with vexation, almost with
tears, as he adjusted his pillows: — " that man is
a stone. . . .
" I myself am to blame. ... I have lost my
friend. ... A nice friend! And she is nice!
. . . What a hateful egoist I am! No! No!
From the depths of my soul I wish them happi
ness. . . . Happiness! and he jeers at her! . . .
And why does he dye his moustache? Really,
now, it seems as though .... Akh, how ridicu
lous I am! " — he kept repeating to himself, as he
fell asleep. VII
The next morning Kister drove to the Pere-
katoffs'. When they met, Kister perceived a
great change in Masha, and Masha also found
him changed; but both held their peace. They
both felt awkward the whole morning, contrary
to their wont. At home Kister had prepared a
large stock of ambiguous speeches and hints, of
friendly counsels .... but all these prepara
tions proved to be utterly useless. Masha dimly
felt that Kister was watching her; it seemed to
her that he intentionally uttered some words in
a significant manner; but she also felt conscious
139

THE BULLY
of the existence of agitation within herself, and
did not trust her observations. " I do hope he
will not take it into his head to stay until even
ing! " she kept incessantly thinking, and she tried
to make him understand that he was not wanted.
On his side, Kister accepted her awkwardness,
her trepidation, for visible tokens of love, and
the more he feared for her, the less could he make
up his mind to speak of Lutchkoff, while Ma
sha persistently abstained from alluding to him.
Poor Feodor Feodorovitch was in a painful po
sition. He had begun, at last, to understand
his own feelings. Never had Masha appeared
to him more charming. Evidently, she had not
slept all night. A slight flush had started forth
in blotches on her pale face ; her form was slightly
bowed; an involuntary, languid smile never left
her lips; now and then a shiver ran over her
shoulders, which had grown pallid; her glances
kindled softly and swiftly died out. . . Nenila
Makarievna sat down beside them and, possibly
with deliberate intent, mentioned Avdyei Ivano
vitch. But Masha, in the presence of her mother,
was armed jusqu'aux dents, as the French say,
and did not betray herself in the least. Thus
passed the whole morning.
"You will dine with us?"— Nenila Maka
rievna asked Kister.
Masha turned away.
" No,"— enunciated Kister, hastily, with a
140

THE BULLY
glance at Masha. — " You must excuse me . . .
the obligations of the service. . ."—Nenila Ma
karievna expressed her regret, as was proper ; fol
lowing her example, Mr. Perekatoff expressed
something or other. " I do not wish to be in any
one's way," Kister wanted to say to Masha, as
he passed her, but instead, he bent forward and
whispered: "May you be happy . . . farewell
. . . beware . . ." and disappeared.
Masha heaved a sigh from the bottom of her
soul, and then felt frightened at his departure.
What was it that was torturing her? Love or
curiosity? God knows; but we repeat: curiosity
was sufficient to ruin Eve. VIII
A broad, level field on the right side of the little
river Snyezhinka, about a verst distant from the
Perekatoff s' estate, bore the name of Long Mea
dow. The left bank, all covered with thick, young
oak-scrub, rose steeply above the river, which was
almost overgrown with willow-bushes, with the
exception of small " creeks," the haunt of wild
ducks. Half a verst from the river, in this same
Long Meadow, began sloping, undulating hil
locks, here and there studded with ancient birches,
hazel- and viburnum-bushes.
The sun had set. A mill was whirring and
clattering in the distance, now loudly, now more
141

THE BULLY
softly, according to the wind. The gentry's
drove of horses was wandering idly through the
meadow; the shepherd was strolling along, sing
ing, behind his greedy and timorous sheep; the
sheep-dogs were chasing crows out of pure te
dium. Through the grove, with his arms folded,
strode Lutchkoff. More than once already his
tethered horse had responded impatiently to the
ringing neighs of the colts and mares. Avdyei
was raging and quailing, as was his wont. Still
unconvinced of Masha's love, he was already
furiously angry with her, and irritated at him
self .... but the emotion in him overwhelmed
the vexation. He halted at last, in front of a
wide-spreading hazel-bush, and began with his
riding-whip to flick off the outermost leaves. . . .
He heard a faint noise .... he raised his
head. . . . Ten paces from him stood Masha, all
rosy with her swift walk, wearing a hat but no
gloves, in a white gown, with a kerchief hastily
knotted about her neck. She hastily dropped her
eyes and swayed softly.
Avdyei approached her clumsily and with a
constrained smile.
" How happy I am . . ." he was beginning,
almost inaudibly.
" I am very glad .... to meet you, . . ."
Masha interrupted him, panting. — " I generally
take a stroll here in the evening .... and
you . . . ." 142

THE BULLY
But Lutchkoff did not even understand how
to spare her modesty, to back up her innocent
lie. " I think, Marya Sergyeevna," — he said with
dignity, — " that you yourself were pleased to . . ."
" Yes .... yes . . . ." returned Masha,
hastily. ' You wished to see me ; you wanted
to . . . ." Her voice had died away.
Lutchkoff maintained silence. Masha timidly
raised her eyes.
" Excuse me," he began, without looking at
her: — "I am a plain man and am not in the
habit of explaining myself .... with ladies.
.... I ... . wanted to speak to you ....
but, you are not inclined to listen to me, I
think. . . ."
" Speak. . . ."
" You command. . . . Well, then, I will say
to you frankly, that this long time, ever since I
had the pleasure of making your acquaint
ance . . . ."
Avdyei paused. Masha waited for him to
finish his speech.
" However, I do not know why I am saying
all this to you. . . . One cannot alter his fate. . . ."
" How do you know? . . ."
" I do know! " — responded Avdyei, gloomily.
— "I am accustomed to encounter its blows! "
It seemed to Masha that now, at least, Lutch
koff had no occasion to complain of his fate.
143

THE BULLY
" There are kind people in the world," — she
remarked with a smile:— "even too kind. . . ."
" I understand you, Marya Sergyeevna, and,
believe me, I know how to value your affection.
.... I .... I ... . You will not be an-
gry? " No. . . . What is it that you wish to say? "
" I wish to say .... that I like you ....
Marya Sergyeevna .... that I like you very
much. . . ."
" I am very grateful to you," — Masha inter
rupted him in confusion; her heart contracted
with anticipation and with terror. — " Akh, look,
Mr. Lutchkoff," — she went on, — "look, what a
view! She pointed to the meadow, all streaked with
long, evening shadows, all crimson in the sun
light. Inwardly delighted at the unexpected change
in the conversation, Lutchkoff began to " ad
mire " the view. He was standing by Masha's
side. . . .
" Do you love nature? " — she suddenly asked,
swiftly turning her head and looking at him
with that friendly, curious and soft glance which,
like a ringing voice, is given only to young
girls. " Yes . . . nature .... of course . . . ."
stammered Avdyei. — " Of course .... it is
pleasant to stroll in the evening, although, I must
144

THE BULLY
confess, that I am a soldier, and softness is n't
in my line."
Lutchkoff was given to frequently repeating
that he was a " soldier." A brief silence ensued.
Masha continued to gaze at the meadow.
" Shall not I go away? "—thought Avdyei.—
'What nonsense! Be bolder! . . . Marya Ser
gyeevna . . . ." — he began with a fairly firm
voice. Masha turned her head.
" Excuse me," — he began, as though jesting:
— " but permit me on my side to inquire what
you think of me ; whether you feel any .... you
know .... inclination toward my person? "
" Good heavens, how clumsy he is! " said Ma
sha to herself. — " Do you know, Mr. Lutchkoff,"
— she answered him with a smile, — "that it is
not always easy to give a definite reply to a defi
nite question? "
" But . . . ."
" But why do you ask? "
" Why, good gracious, I want to know. . . ."
" But .... is it true that you are a great
duellist? Tell me, is it true? "—said Masha, with
timid curiosity. — " They say that you have killed
more than one man already."
" That has happened," — returned Avdyei, in
differently, and stroked his moustache.
Masha gazed intently at him.
" With this hand here . . . ." she whispered.
145

THE BULLY
In the meantime, the blood had begun to wax
hot in Lutchkoff. For more than a quarter of
an hour already a pretty young girl had been
moving about before him. . . .
" Marya Sergyeevna," — he began again in a
sharp, strange voice, — " you know my feelings
now, you know why I wished to see you. . . .
You have been so kind. . . . Now do you tell
me, at last, what I may hope for. . . ."
Masha was twirling a wild pink in her hands.
.... She darted a sidelong glance at Lutch
koff, blushed, smiled, and said: — "What non
sense you are talking! " and gave him the
flower. Avdyei seized her hand.
" So you love me! " — he exclaimed.
Masha turned cold all over with terror. She
had had no thought of confessing love to Avdyei ;
she herself did not yet know for a surety whether
she loved him, and here he was forestalling her,
forcibly making her speak out — he could not
have understood her. . . . This thought flashed
through Masha's mind more quickly than light
ning. She had not in the least expected so speedy
a conclusion. . . . Masha, like a curious child,
had been asking herself all day: "Is it possible
that Lutchkoff loves me? " She had been dream
ing of a pleasant evening stroll, tender and re
spectful speeches; she had mentally coquetted,
had tamed her savage, had permitted him, at
146

THE BULLY
parting, to kiss her hand .... and instead of
that ....
Instead of that, she suddenly felt Avdyei's
stiff moustache on her cheek. . . .
" Let us be happy," he whispered: — " for there
is but one happiness on earth! . . . ."
Masha shuddered, sprang aside in affright, all
pale, and halted, with her hand resting against
a birch-tree. Avdyei was terribly confused.
" Forgive me," — he stammered, moving to
ward her:—" I really did not think . . . ."
Masha stared at him in silence, with all her
eyes. . . .
His lips curled in a disagreeable smile ....
red spots started out on his face. . . .
" What are you afraid of? " — he went on.
" What a fuss about nothing! For between us
everything is already .... you know . . . ."
Masha made no reply.
" Come, stop that! .... What folly is this?
It 's only
Lutchkoff stretched out his hand toward her. . .
Masha recalled Kister and his " Beware! "
nearly fainted with terror, and began to scream
in a decidedly shrill voice :
"Taniusha!"From behind a hazel-bush popped forth the
round face of her maid. . . . Avdyei completely
lost himself. Reassured by the presence of her
servant, Masha did not stir from the spot. But
]47

THE BULLY
the bully began to quiver all over with a fit of
wrath ; his eyes grew narrow ; he clenched his fists,
and began to laugh loudly and convulsively.
"Bravo! Bravo! 'T is clever — there 's no
denying that! "—he shouted.
Masha was petrified.
" I see that you have taken all measures of pre
caution, Marya Sergyeevna! Precaution never
comes amiss. Who ever heard of such a thing?
Nowadays the young ladies are more sharp-
sighted than the old men. There 's love for you ! "
" I do not know, Mr. Lutchkoff, who has given
you the right to speak of love .... of what
sort of love? "
' Who, did you say? Why, you yourself! "
— Lutchkoff interrupted her. — There it was
again: he was conscious that he was ruining
the whole business, but he could not restrain him
self. " I have acted thoughtlessly," — said Masha.
..." I condescended to your entreaty with con
fidence in your delicatesse .... but you do not
understand French — in your courtesy. . . ."
Avdyei turned pale. Masha had struck him
straight in the heart!
"I don't understand French . . . possibly;
but I do understand .... I do understand that
it has pleased you to make sport of me."
" Not at all, Avdyei Ivanovitch. ... I am
even very sorry for you." 148

THE BULLY
" Please do not talk about your compassion,"
— Avdyei interrupted her testily:— " you may,
at least, spare me that ! "
" Mr. Lutchkoff
" And be so good as not to look like a duch
ess. . . 'T is labour wasted! You can't
frighten me! "
Masha retreated a pace, wheeled swiftly round,
and walked away.
" Do you command me to send you your
friend, your shepherd, the sentimental Lovey-
dovey Kister? " — Avdyei shouted after her. He
had lost his head. — " Is n't he thy friend? . . . ."
Masha did not answer him, and beat a hasty,
a joyful retreat. She felt at ease, in spite of
the alarm and agitation. She seemed to have
awakened from a painful dream, to have emerged
from a dark chamber into the air and sunlight.
. . . Avdyei, like a fanatic, stared around him,
with dumb rage broke off a young saphng,
sprang on his horse, and dug his spurs into it so
viciously, so pitilessly twisted and tugged at the
bridle, that the unhappy animal, after gallop
ing eight versts in a quarter of an hour, came
near dying that same night. . .
Kister waited in vain until midnight for
Lutchkoff, and on the following morning he
went to him. The orderly informed Feodor Feo
dorovitch tJ/at his master was asleep, and had
given order j that no one was to be admitted.
149

THE BULLY
" Not even me? "— " Not even your Well-Born."
— Kister walked the length of the street twice in
torturing uneasiness, then went home. His man
handed him a note.
" From whom is it? "
" From the Perekatoffs, sir. Artyomka, the
valet, brought it."
Kister's hands trembled.
" They ordered their compliments to be pre
sented to you. They requested an answer. Do
you command that vodka be given to Artyomka,
sir? "
Kister slowly unfolded the note, and read the
following :
Dear, kind Feodor Feodorovitch !
I want very, very much to see you. Come to-day,
if you can. Do not refuse my request, I beg of you, in the
name of our old friendship. If you only knew ....
but you shall know all. Au revoir — is it not?
P. S. Be sure to come to-day.
" And do you command, sir, that vodka be
given to Artyomka, the valet? "
Kister stared for a long time, with amazement,
into his man's face, and left the room without
uttering a word.
" The master has commanded to give thee
vodka, and has commanded me to have a drink
with thee,"— said Kister's man to Artyomka, the
valet. 150

THE BULLY

IX

When Kister entered the drawing-room, Ma
sha came to meet him with so bright and noble a
face, pressed his hand so firmly and in so friendly
a manner, that his heart began to beat violently
with joy, and a stone was rolled away from his
breast. But Masha said not a word to him, and
immediately left the room. Sergyei Sergyee
vitch was sitting on the divan, and laying out a
game of patience. A conversation began. Be
fore Sergyei Sergyeevitch had managed, accord
ing to his habit, to bring the subject round to his
dog in circuitous fashion, Masha re-entered with
a plaid silk sash on her gown, — Kister's favourite
sash. Nenila Makarievna made her appearance
and welcomed Feodor Feodorovitch cordially.
At dinner they all laughed and jested; even
Sergyei Sergyeevitch grew animated, and nar
rated one of the merriest pranks of his boyhood,
—and as he did so, he hid his head from his wife,
like an ostrich.
" Let us go for a walk, Feodor Feodorovitch,"
—said Masha to Kister after dinner, with
that affectionate authority in her voice which
seems to know that you will be glad to obey
it. — " I must have a chat with you about an im
portant, a very important matter,"— she added,
with graceful solemnity, as she drew on her
151

THE BULLY
suede gloves. — " Wilt thou come with us,
maman? "
" No,"— replied Nenila Makarievna.
" But we will not go into the park."
"Where then?"
" To the Long Meadow, to the grove."
" Take Taniusha with you."
"Taniusha, Taniusha! "—cried Masha, ring-
ingly, as she fluttered out of the room more
lightly than a bird.
A quarter of an hour later Masha was walk
ing with Kister in the Long Meadow. As they
passed the herd, she fed her favourite cow with
bread, patted her head, and made Kister pet her.
Masha was merry, and chattered a great deal.
Kister willingly fell in with her mood, although
he was impatiently awaiting an explanation.
.... Taniusha walked behind at a respectful
distance, and only now and then cast a sly glance
at her young mistress.
" You are not vexed w,ith me, Feodor Feodoro
vitch? "—asked Masha.
" At you, Marya Sergyeevna? Good heavens,
for what? "
" Day before yesterday ... do you remem
ber? " '
" You were out of sorts .... that is all."
" Why are we walking apart? Give me your
arm. There, that 's right. . . And you were
out of sorts, too."
* So I was." 152

THE BULLY
" But to-day I am in good spirits, am I not? "
" Yes, to-day I think you are. . . ."
" And do you know why? Because . . ." —
Masha nodded her head gravely.—" Well, I
know why. . . . Because I am with you," — she
added, without looking at Kister.
Kister gently pressed her arm.
" But why don't you question me? . . ." said
Masha in a low voice.
" What about? "
" Come, don't pretend .... about my let
ter." " I was waiting. . . ."
" That 's why I feel so cheerful with you," —
Masha interrupted him with vivacity: — " because
you are a kind, tender man; because you are in
capable of . . . parce que vous avez de la de-
licatesse. One can say that to you; you under
stand French."
Kister did understand French, but he posi
tively did not understand Masha.
" Pluck that flower for me — that one yonder
. . . how pretty it is! " — Masha admired it, and
all of a sudden, swiftly freeing her arm, she
began, with an anxious smile, cautiously to thrust
the supple stem through the buttonhole of Kis
ter's coat. Her slender fingers almost touched
his lips. He gazed at those fingers, then at her.
She nodded her head, as much as to say: " You
may ..." Kister bent down, and kissed the
tips of her gloves. . .
MR

THE BULLY
In the meantime, they had drawn near the
familiar grove. Masha suddenly became more
pensive, and at last fell silent altogether. They
came to the very spot where Lutchkoff had
waited for her. The trampled grass had not yet
succeeded in lifting itself; the broken sapling
had already withered, its leaves had already be
gun to curl up into tubes and dry. Masha swept
a glance around, and suddenly turned to Kister.
" Do you know why I have brought you
hither?" " No, I do not know."
" You don't know? . . . Because you have
said nothing to me to-day about your friend
Mr. Lutchkoff. You have always praised
him. . . ."
Kister dropped his eyes and remained silent.
" Do you know," — enunciated Masha, not
without an effort: — " that I appointed with him
... a tryst .... here . . . yesterday evening? "
" I knew it," — replied Kister, dully.
'You knew it? . . . Ah! now I understand
why, the day before yesterday .... Mr.
Lutchkoff, evidently, made haste to boast of his
conquest." Kister made an attempt to reply. . . .
"Don't speak; don't make me any answer.
.... I know — he is your friend; you are ca
pable of defending him. You knew, Kister, you
knew. . . How is it that you did not prevent
154

THE BULLY
my perpetrating such a piece of folly? Why
did n't you pull my ears, as though I had
been a child? You knew .... and you did not
care? "
" But what right had I? . . ."
"What right! .... The right of a friend.
But he is your friend. ... I am ashamed, Kis
ter. . . He is your friend. . . That man treated
me yesterday so . . . ."
Masha turned away. Kister's eyes flashed; he
turned pale.
" Come, enough, don't get angry. . . . Do
you hear me, Feodor Feodorovitch, don't get
angry. Everything is for the best. I am very
glad of yesterday's explanation . . . precisely
that — explanation," — added Masha. — "For what
purpose, think you, have I spoken to you about
this? In order to complain of Mr. Lutchkoff?
Not at all! I have forgotten all about him. But
I am to blame toward you, my kind friend. . . I
want to explain myself, to beg your forgiveness
. . . your advice. You have taught me to be
frank; I am at my ease with you. . . . You are
not a Mr. Lutchkoff!"
" Lutchkoff is awkward and rough," — said
Kister with difficulty:— " but . . ."
" What is that but ? Are n't you ashamed to
say ' but '\ He is rough, and awkward, and ma
licious, and self -conceited. . . And, do you hear?
not but." 155

THE BULLY
" You are speaking under the influence of
wrath, Marya Sergyeevna,"— said Kister, sadly.
"Wrath? What sort of wrath? Look at
me: is this the way people look when they are
wrathful? Listen,"— pursued Masha:— "think
of me as you will .... but if you imagine
that I am coquetting to-day with you out of
revenge, then — then . . . ." Tears welled
up in her eyes: — "Then I shall be seriously
angry." " Be frank with me, Marya Sergyeevna. . . ."
"Oh, you stupid man! Oh, dull-witted one!
Why, look at me. Am not I frank with you?
Don't you see through and through me? "
"Very well .... yes; I believe you,"—
went on Kister with a smile, seeing with what
anxious persistence she sought his gaze; — "but
come now, tell me, what prompted you to ap
point a meeting with Lutchkoff? "
" What? I don't know myself. He wanted to
talk with me alone. It seemed to me that he had
not yet had time, or the opportunity to say all he
wished. Now he has spoken out! Listen! Per
haps he is a remarkable man, but he is— stupid;
really he is. . . He does n't know how to utter
two words. He 's — downright discourteous.
However, I do not blame him so very much . . .
he may have thought that I was a giddy, crazy
little girl. I had hardly ever talked with him.
.... He really did arouse my curiosity, but I
156

THE BULLY
imagined that a man who deserved to be your
friend " Please do not speak of him as my friend,"—
Kister interrupted her.
" No, no, I don't want to bring about a quarrel
between you."
" Oh, my God, for your sake I am ready to
sacrifice not only my friend, but even .... Be
tween me and Mr. Lutchkoff all is at an end! "
— added Kister, hastily. Masha gazed intently
into his face.
'Well, I 've done with him!" — said she. —
" Let us not talk of him. It is a lesson to me for
the future. I myself am to blame. For several
months in succession I have seen almost every
day a kind, clever, merry, affectionate man,
who . . . ." Masha became confused and hesi
tated: — "who, I think, also . . . liked me . . .
a httle . . . and I, the stupid,"— she added
quickly,—" preferred to him .... no, no, did
not prefer, but . . . ."
She bent her head, and fell silent with con
fusion. Kister was startled.— " It cannot be!"— he
kept reiterating to himself.
" Marya Sergyeevna! " — he said at last.
Masha raised her head and let her eyes rest on
him, burdened with unshed tears.
" You do not guess of whom I am speaking? "
she asked. 157

THE BulLy
Hardly breathing, Kister extended his hand.
Masha immediately grasped it with fervour.
" You are my friend, as before, are you not? "
. . . Why do not you answer? "
" I am your friend, you know that," — he stam
mered. " And you do not condemn me? . . . you un
derstand me? You will not laugh at a girl who
yesterday appointed a rendezvous for one man,
and to-day is already talking with another as I
am talking with you. . . . You will not laugh
at me, will you? "... Masha's face reddened;
with both hands she clung to Kister's hand. . . .
" Laugh at you,"— replied Kister:— " I . . . .
I . . . . why, I love you .... I love you! "—
he exclaimed.
Masha covered her face.
" Is it possible that you have not known this
long time, Marya Sergyeevna, that I love you? "
X
Three weeks after this interview, Kister was
sitting alone in his room, and writing the follow
ing letter to his mother:
Dear Mamma :
I hasten to share with you a great joy; I am going
to be married. This news will probably surprise you
only because, in my previous letters, I have not even
158

THE BULLY
hinted at such a grave change in my life, — but you
know that I am in the habit of sharing with you
all my feelings, my joys and my sorrows. It is easy
for me to explain to you the cause of my silence.
In the first place, I only recently learned myself that I
am beloved; and, in the second place, on my side, I as
recently felt the full power of my own attachment. In
one of my first letters from here, I spoke to you of the
Perekatoffs, our neighbours ; I am going to marry their
only daughter, Marya. I am firmly convinced that we
shall both be happy ; she has excited in me not a momen
tary passion, but a deep, genuine feeling, in which friend
ship is combined with love. Her cheerful, gentle dispo
sition entirely corresponds to my inclinations. She is
cultured, clever, plays beautifully on the piano. . . .
If you could only see her ! ! I send you her portrait,
sketched by myself. It is unnecessary to say, I think,
that she is a hundred times better than her portrait.
Masha already loves you like a daughter, and is im
patiently awaiting the day of meeting you. I intend
to retire from the service, settle down in the country,
and busy myself with agriculture. The old man Pere
katoff has four hundred serfs in excellent condition.
You see, that from the material point of view also,
it is impossible not to laud my decision. I shall get a
leave of absence, and go to Moscow and to you. Expect
me a fortnight hence, not later. My dear, good mamma
— how happy I am! .... Embrace me". . . . and so
forth. Kister folded and sealed his letter, rose, went
to the window, lighted his pipe, reflected a while,
159

THE BULLY
and returned to the table. He got a small sheet
of paper, carefully dipped his pen in the ink,
but for a long time did not begin to write, con
tracted his brows, raised his eyes to the ceiling,
nibbled the end of his pen. . . . At last he made
up his mind — and in the course of a quarter of
an hour, he had composed the following missive:
Dear Sir,
Avdyei Ivanovitch :
Ever since the day of your last call (that is to say,
for the last three weeks), you have not bowed to me,
have not spoken to me, and seem to avoid meeting me.
Every man is, indisputably, free to act as he likes ; it has
suited you to break off our acquaintance — and I, believe
me, am not appealing to you with a complaint against
you ; I have no intention, and am not accustomed to
force myself on any one whomsoever; the consciousness
of my own uprightness is sufficient for me. I write to
you now from a sense of duty. I have proposed to
Marya Sergyeevna Perekatoff, and have received her
consent, and also the consent of her parents. I impart
this information — directly and immediately to you, with
a view to avoiding all misunderstandings and suspicions.
I frankly confess to you, my dear sir, that I cannot care
overmuch for the opinion of a man who himself pays
not the slightest heed to the opinions and feelings of
other people, and I write to you solely because, in this
case, I do not wish to appear to have acted or to be
acting stealthily. I venture to say, that you know me,
and will not ascribe to my present act any other, any
evil significance. Speaking to you now, for the last
160

THE BULLY
time, I cannot refrain from wishing you, in memory of
our former friendship, all possible earthly blessings.
With sincere respect, I remain, my dear sir,
Your humble servant,
Feodor Kister.

Feodor Feodorovitch despatched this note to
its address, dressed himself, and ordered his ca
lash to be brought round. Cheerful and care-free
he strode about his little chamber, humming; he
even gave a couple of skips, twisted a copy-book
of romances into a tube, and tied it up with blue
ribbon. . . . The door opened — and in his coat,
devoid of epaulets, with his cap on his head,
Lutchkoff entered. The astounded Kister came
to a halt in the middle of the room, without hav
ing finished tying the bow.
" You are going to marry the Perekatoff
girl? " — asked Avdyei in a calm voice.
Kister flared up.
"My dear sir," — he began: — "on entering a
room, decent people take off their caps and say
good morning."
" Excuse me, sir," retorted the bully, abruptly,
and removed his cap. — " Good morning."
" Good morning, Mr. Lutchkoff. You ask
me whether I am going to marry Miss Pereka
toff? Have n't you read my letter? "
" I have read your letter. You are going to be
married. I congratulate you."
161

THE BULLY
" I accept your congratulations and thank you.
But I must go."
" I should like to have an explanation with you,
Feodor Feodorovitch."
" Certainly, with pleasure," — replied the
good-natured fellow. — " I must confess that
I have been expecting this explanation. Your
conduct toward me has been so strange, and
I, on my side, I think, have not deserved ....
at least, I had no reason to expect .... But
will not you sit down? Will not you have a
pipe: Lutchkoff sat down. Languor was percep
tible in all his movements. He twitched his mous
tache and elevated his eyebrows.
" Tell me, Feodor Feodorovitch,"— he began
at last: — "why did you dissemble so long with
me?" " What do you mean by that? "
" Why did you pretend to be such a . . . such
an immaculate creature, when you are just such
another man as the rest of us sinners? "
" I do not understand you. . . . Have I of
fended you in any way? " . . . .
" You do not understand me ... let us say.
I will try to speak more plainly. Tell me, for
example, frankly: is it long that you have felt
an inclination for Miss Perekatoff, or have you
flamed up suddenly with passion? "
" I should prefer not to talk with you, Avdyei
- 162

THE BULLY
Ivanitch, about my relations to Marya Sergye
evna," — replied Kister, coldly.
" Just so, sir. As you please. Only, do me the
favour to allow me to think that you have de
ceived me."
Avdyei spoke very slowly, and with pauses
between his words.
" You cannot think that, Avdyei Ivanitch.
You know me. . . ."
"I know you? . . . who knows you? Another
man's soul is a dark forest, and wares are judged
by their appearance. I know that you read Ger
man poems with great feeling, and even with
tears in your eyes; I know that you have hung
various geographical maps on the walls of your
quarters ; I know that you keep your person neat ;
I know this .... and I know nothing more."
Kister began to wax wroth.
" Permit me to inquire," — he asked at last:—
" what is the object of your visit? You have
not bowed to me for three weeks, and now you
have come to me, apparently with the intention
of jeering at me. I am not a small boy, my
dear sir, and I will not allow any one . . . ."
" Good gracious," — Lutchkoff interrupted
him: — "good gracious, Feodor Feodorovitch,
who would dare to jeer at you? On the contrary,
I came to you with a most humble entreaty;
namely: do me the favour to explain to me your
treatment of me. Allow me to ask, was it not
163

THE BULLY
you who forcibly made me acquainted with
the Perekatoff family? Was it not you who
assured your humble servant that he was blos
soming out in soul? Was it not you, in con
clusion, who brought me and the virtuous
Marya Sergyeevna together? Why should not
I assume that I am indebted to you for that last
agreeable explanation, of which you have, prob
ably, been duly informed? Of course, a be
trothed bride tells her bridegroom everything,
especially her innocent pranks. Why should not
I think that it was thanks to you, that I got so
magnificently ridiculed? You have taken so
much interest in my ' blossoming,' you see."
Kister paced the room.
" Hearken to me, Lutchkoff," — he said at last:
— "if you really, without jesting, are convinced
of what you say, — which, I must confess, I do
not believe, — then permit me to say to you: it is
a sin and a shame for you to interpret my actions
and my intentions so offensively. I will not
defend myself .... I appeal to your own con
science, to your memory."
' Yes ; I remember that you were incessantly
whispering with Marya Sergyeevna. Over and
above that, permit me to inquire again of you:
were not you at the Perekatoffs' after a certain
conversation with me? After that evening, when,
I, like a fool, blabbed to you, to my best friend,
about the rendezvous appointed to me?"
164

THE BULLY
"What! You suspect me of . . . ."
" I suspect no one else of anything," — Avdyei
interrupted him with deadly coldness,—" of
which I do not suspect myself; but I also have the
weakness to think that other people are no better
than I am."
' You are mistaken," — retorted Kister, hotly;
— " other people are better than you."
" On which I have the honour to congratulate
them," calmly remarked Lutchkoff: " but . . . ."
" But," — broke in the irritated Kister in his
turn: — "remember, what expressions you used
in speaking of ... . that meeting, of ... .
However, these explanations lead to nothing, I
see. . . . Think of me as you see fit, and act as
you like."
" There now, that 's better,"— remarked
Avdyei. — "At last we have begun to talk
frankly." " As you like! " — repeated Kister.
" I understand your position, Feodor Feodo
rovitch," — pursued Avdyei with feigned sym
pathy. — " It is disagreeable, really disagreeable.
A man has played, and played a part, and no
one has detected the actor in him; all of a sud
den .. . ."
" If I could think,"— Kister interrupted him,
setting his teeth; — " that wounded love was now
speaking in you, I might feel compassion for
you, I might excuse you. . . . But in your re-
165

THE BULLY
proaches, in your calumnies, merely the shriek of
injured vanity is audible .... and I feel no
pity whatever for you. . . . You have deserved
your fate."
" Phew! my God, how the man does talk! " —
remarked Avdyei in an undertone. — " Vanity,"
— he went on: — " perhaps so; yes, yes, the vanity
in me was deeply, intolerably wounded, as you
say. But who is there that is not vain ? Not you,
surely? Yes, I am vain, and, for example, I
will not permit any one to pity me. . . ."
" You will not permit? " — retorted Kister,
haughtily. — " What an expression, my dear sir!
Do not forget: the bond between us was broken
by you yourself. I beg that you will treat me as
you would a stranger."
" Broken! The bond was broken! "—repeated
Avdyei — " understand me: I have not bowed to
you, and have not been to see you, out of com
passion for you; for you will allow me to pity
you, if you pity me ! . . . I did not wish to place
you in a false position, to awake in you the
gnawing of conscience. . . . You speak of our
bond .... as though you could remain my
friend as of yore after your marriage ! Enough
of that! You only associated with me before
for the sake of comforting yourself with your im
aginary superiority. . . ."
Avdyei's bad faith had exhausted, had irritated
Kister. 166

THE BULLY
" Let us put an end to this unpleasant conver
sation!"— he exclaimed at last.— " I must con
fess, that I do not understand why it has pleased
you to favour me with a call."
" You do not understand why I came to you? "
— inquired Avdyei with curiosity.
" I positively do not understand."
"No-o?"" No, I tell you. . . ."
"Amazing! . . . This is amazing! Who
would have expected this from a man with your
brains? "
" Well, then, be so good as to explain, in
short. ..."
" I came, Mr. Kister,"— said Avdyei, slowly
rising from his seat: — " I came to challenge you
to a duel, do you understand? I want to fight
with you. Ah ! You thought you were going to
get rid of me so easily? But did n't you know
with what sort of a man you had to deal? Would
I permit . . . ."
" Very good, sir," — Kister interrupted him
coldly and curtly. — " I accept your challenge.
Be so good as to send your second to me."
" Yes, yes," — went on Avdyei, who, like a cat,
was loath to release his victim so speedily; —
" I must admit that I shall take great pleasure
to-morrow in aiming the muzzle of my pistol at
your fair and ideal face."
" You are employing opprobrious language
167

THE BULLY
after the challenge, I believe," retorted Kister,
scornfully. — " Be so good as to leave the room.
I am ashamed for you."
" We know all about that delicatesse! . . .
Ah, Marya Sergyeevna! I don't understand
French!" — growled Avdyei, as he put on his
cap. — " Farewell until our pleasant meeting,
Feodor Feodorovitch! "
He bowed and withdrew.
Kister strode up and down the room several
times. His face was burning, his breast heaved
high. He was not intimidated, and he was not
angry ; but it disgusted him to think what sort of
a man he had once accounted his friend. He al
most rejoiced at the thought of the duel with
Lutchkoff. . . . To rid himself, at one stroke, of
the past, to leap over that stone, and then float
along on a tranquil river. ..." Splendid! " he
thought; — " I shall conquer my happiness."
Masha's image seemed to be smiling upon him
and promising victory.
" I shall not perish! No, I shall not perish! "
— he repeated with a calm, firm smile.
On the table lay the letter to his mother. . . .
His heart contracted within him for a moment.
He decided, in any case, to delay sending it off.
There had taken place- in Kister that augmenta
tion of the vital force, which a man notices in
himself in the face of danger. He calmly turned
over in his mind all the possible results of the
168

THE BULLY
duel, mentally subjected himself and Masha to
the test of unhappiness and separation— and
gazed on the future with hope. He gave himself
his word of honour that he would not kill Lutch
koff. . . . He felt irresistibly drawn to Masha.
He hunted up a second, hastily put his affairs in
order, and immediately after dinner went to the
Perekatoff s'. All the evening Kister was merry
— too merry, perhaps.
Masha played a great deal on the piano, had
no forebodings, and flirted charmingly with him.
At first he felt aggrieved at her unconcern, later
on he took that same unconcern on Masha's part
for a happy augury — and rejoiced and calmed
down. She was becoming more and more at
tached to him every day; the need for happiness
was stronger in her than the need for passion.
Moreover, Avdyei had weaned her from all ex
aggerated desires, and she had renounced them
gladly and forever. Nenila Makarievna loved
Kister like a son. Sergyei Sergyeevitch, as was
his habit, imitated his wife.
" Farewell until we meet again," — said Masha
to Kister, as she escorted him to the anteroom,
and with a quiet smile watched how long and
tenderly he kissed her hand.
" Until we meet again,"— replied Feodor Feo
dorovitch with confidence:— " until we meet
again." But, when he had got half a verst from the
169

THE BULLY
Perekatoff s' house, he half -rose in his calash, and
with confused disquietude began to seek with
his eyes the lighted windows. . . . Everything
in the house was already as dark as in the grave.
XI
On the following day, at eleven o'clock in the
morning, Kister's second, an old, tried Major,
came to him. The kind-hearted old man was
growling and biting his grey moustache, and
wishing every sort of harm to Avdyei Ivanovitch.
. . . The calash was brought round. Kister handed
the Major two letters, one to his mother, the
other to Masha.
" What 's this for? "
" Why, one cannot tell . . ."
" What nonsense! We are going to shoot him
hke a partridge."
" Nevertheless, it is better. . . ."
The Major, with vexation, thrust the two let
ters into the side pocket of his coat.
They set off. In a small wood, a couple of
versts from the village of Kirilovo, Lutchkoff
was awaiting them with his second, his former
friend, the perfumed regimental Adjutant. The
weather was magnificent, the birds were twitter
ing peaceably; not far from the wood a peasant
was ploughing the land. While the seconds were
measuring off the distance, and fixing the bar-
170

THE BULLY
riers, inspecting and loading the pistols, the
antagonists did not even glance at each other.
Kister, with a care-free mien, paced to and fro,
twirling a branch which he had broken off;
Avdyei stood motionless, with folded arms and
frowning brows. The decisive moment arrived.
" Begin, gentlemen! "
Kister walked swiftly to the barrier, but be
fore he had taken five steps more, Avdyei fired.
Kister quivered, advanced another step, reeled,
bowed his head. . . . His knees gave way be
neath him .... he fell on the grass like a sack.
The Major rushed to him. . . .
" Is it possible? " . . . . whispered the dying
man. Avdyei stepped up to the man he had killed.
On his gloomy and emaciated visage, fierce, ex
asperated pity was expressed. . . . He glanced
at the Adjutant and the Major, bent his head
like a culprit, silently mounted his horse, and
rode at a foot-pace straight to the quarters of the
Colonel. Masha .... is alive at the present day.

171

PYETUSHKOFF (1847)

PYETUSHKOFF

IN the year 182. ., in the town of O***, dwelt
Lieutenant Ivan Afanasievitch Pyetushkoff.
He was descended from poor parents, had been
left a full orphan at the age of five years, and had
fallen into the hands of a guardian. Thanks to
his guardian, he turned out to have no property
whatsoever; he got along as best he might. He
was of medium height and stooped somewhat;
he had a thin face covered with freckles, but quite
pleasant, notwithstanding; dark chestnut hair,
grey eyes, and a timid look; numerous wrinkles
covered his low forehead. The whole of Pye-
tushkoff 's life had passed in an extremely mo
notonous manner; at the age of forty he was still
as young and inexperienced as a child. He
shunned his acquaintances, and treated those on
whose destiny he might have an influence very
gently. . . .
People who are condemned by Fate to a mo
notonous and cheerless life often acquire divers
habits and requirements. Pyetushkoff was fond
of eating a fresh, white roll of a morning with
his tea. Without that dainty he could not exist.
175

PYETUSHKOFF
And behold, one morning, his servant, Onisim,
instead of the roll, presented to him on a plate
three dark-reddish rusks.1 Pyetushkoff immedi
ately, with some indignation, asked his servant
what was the meaning of that.
" The rolls were all gone," — answered Onisim,
a native-born Petersburgian, who by the strange
play of Fate, had been carried to the very wilds of
southern Russia.
" Impossible! "—exclaimed Ivan Afanasie-
vitch. " They were all gone," — repeated Onisim;—
" the Marshal of the Nobility has a breakfast to
day, so they all went there, you know."
Onisim swept his hand through the air and
thrust forward his right leg.
Ivan Afanasievitch walked through the room,
dressed himself and set out in person for the
baker's shop. The only establishment of that
sort in O*** had been set up ten years previously
by a newcomer, a German, had speedily thriven,
and was still flourishing at the present time,
under the management of his widow, a corpu
lent woman.
Pyetushkoff knocked on the window. The fat
woman thrust her unhealthily-puffy and sleepy
face through the hinged pane.
" Please give me a white roll," — said Pyetush
koff, pleasantly. 1 Zwieback. — Translator.
176

PYETUSHKOFF
" We are out of rolls,"— squeaked the fat
woman. " You have no rolls? "
" No."
" How is this?— good gracious. I buy a roll
from you every day and pay promptly."
The woman stared at him in silence. — " Take
a cracknel," — she said at last, with a yawn, — " or
a papliukha." 1
" I won't," — said Pyetushkoff.
" As you like,"— mumbled the woman, and
slammed to the pane.
Violent irritation seized upon Ivan Afanasie-
vitch. He retreated in perplexity to the other
side of the street, and gave himself up wholly,
like a child, to his displeasure.
"Sir!" . . . a fairly agreeable feminine voice
rang out. — " Sir! "
Ivan Afanasievitch raised his eyes. A young
girl of seventeen was peering forth through the
pane, and holding in her hand a white roll. She
had a round, plump face, small brown eyes, a
somewhat snub nose, reddish-blond hair, and
magnificent shoulders. Her features were ex
pressive of good-nature, indolence and uncon
cern. " Here is a roll for you, sir," — she said, laugh
ing;—" I was going to take it for myself, but if
you wish, I will give it up to you."
1 A flat cake.— Translator.
177

PYETUSHKOFF
" I thank you most sincerely. Permit me,
ma'am. . . ."
Pyetushkoff began to fumble in his pocket.
" Never mind; it is n't necessary, sir. Eat, and
may health be yours."
She closed the pane.
Pyetushkoff returned home in a thoroughly
agreeable frame of mind.
" See there now, thou didst not get a roll,"—
he said to his Onisim, — " but here, I have got
one; seest thou? . . . ."
Onisim grinned sourly.
That same day, in the evening, Ivan Afanasie
vitch, as he was undressing, asked his servant :
" Tell me, my good fellow, please, what girl is
that yonder at the baker's, hey? "
Onisim glanced aside in a rather gloomy way,
and answered: — "But why do you want to
know? "
" Because,"— said Pyetushkoff, taking off his
boots with his own hands.
" She 's pretty, certainly! "—remarked Onisim,
condescendingly. ' Yes . . . she is n't bad-looking . . . ." said
Ivan Afanasievitch, also glancing aside. "And
what is her name — dost thou know? "
" Vasilisa."
" And art thou acquainted with her? "
Onisim made no answer for a while.
" I am, sir." 178

PYETUSHKOFF
Pyetushkoff was on the point of opening his
mouth, but turned over on his other side and
went to sleep. Onisim withdrew into the ante
room, took a pinch of snuff, and twisted his head
round. The next day, early in the morning, Pyetush
koff ordered his things for dressing to be given
him. Onisim brought Ivan Afanasievitch's
everyday coat — an old coat of grass-green hue,1
with huge, faded epaulets. Pyetushkoff stared
long and silently at Onisim, then ordered him
to get his new coat. Onisim obeyed, not with
out surprise. Pyetushkoff dressed himself, and
carefully drew on his hands wash-leather gloves.
" Thou needest not go to the baker's shop to
day, my good fellow," — said he. "I will go
myself .... it is on my way."
" I obey, sir," — replied Onisim, as abruptly as
though some one had punched him in the back.
Pyetushkoff set forth, reached the baker's shop,
and knocked at the little window. The fat
woman opened the pane.
" A roll, if you please," — said Ivan Afanasie
vitch, slowly.
The fat woman stuck out her arm, bare to the
very shoulder, and resembling a haunch rather
than an arm, and thrust the hot bread straight
under his nose.
1 The coats of officers in the majority of infantry regiments are dark
green. Dandified officers try to get the shade as dark as possible. —
Translator.
179

PYETUSHKOFF
Ivan Afanasievitch stood still for a while in
front of the little window, paced up and down
the street a couple of times, cast a glance into the
courtyard, and, ashamed, at last, of his childish
ness, returned home with the roll in his hand. All
day long he felt awkward, and even in the even
ing, contrary to his wont, he did not enter into
conversation with Onisim.
On the following morning, also, Onisim went
again for the roll. II
Seveeal weeks passed. Ivan Afanasievitch had
totally forgotten Vasihsa, and chatted in friendly
wise with his servant as of yore. One fine
morning, Mr. Bublitzyn dropped in to see him,
— an easy -mannered and very amiable young
man. Truth to tell, he sometimes did not know
what he was saying, and was, as the saying is,
all awry, but, nevertheless, bore the reputation
of being a very agreeable companion. He
smoked a great deal, with feverish eagerness, ele
vating his brows, drawing in his chest — smoked
with a careworn expression, or, to speak more
accurately, with an aspect which seemed to say,
" Let me take just one more, last whiff, and
I will immediately tell you an unexpected bit of
news '" ; he even bellowed, sometimes, and waved
his hand, hastily sucking at his pipe, as though
180

PYETUSHKOFF
he had suddenly remembered something ex
tremely amusing or important, opened his mouth,
emitted rings of smoke, and uttered the most
commonplace remarks, and sometimes maintained
utter silence.
After chatting awhile with Ivan Afanasie
vitch about the neighbours, about horses, about
the young daughters of the landed proprietors,
and other edifying subjects, Mr. Bublitzyn sud
denly puckered up his eyes, rumpled up his crest,
and, with a sly smile, stepped up to a remarkably
dim mirror, the only adornment of Ivan Afana-
sievitch's room.
" Well, now, to tell the truth," — he enunciated,
stroking his dark-brown side- whiskers, — " we
have here such women of the burgher class as
would put to shame your Venus of Mendintzi.
. . . For example, have you seen Vasilisa the
baker's girl? " . . . . Mr. Bublitzyn stretched
himself. Pyetushkoff started.
" But why do I ask you? "—pursued Bubli
tzyn, disappearing in a cloud of smoke, — "you 're
such a queer man, Ivan Afanasievitch! — God
knows what you do take an interest in, Ivan
Afanasievitch! "
" In the same things as you do," — said Pye
tushkoff, not without irritation, and in a drawl.
" Well, no, Ivan Afanasievitch, no. . . . Why
do you say that? " 181

PYETUSHKOFF
" But what do you mean? "
"Well, the very idea, Ivan Afanasievitch!"
"But why? Why?"
Bublitzyn set his pipe in one corner, and began
to inspect his not entirely handsome boots. Pye
tushkoff felt embarrassed.
" Because, Ivan Afanasievitch, because,"—
went on Bublitzyn, as though sparing him. —
" But as for Vasilisa, the baker's girl, I must in
form you that she 's very, ve-ry pretty ....
ve-ry." Strange to relate! Ivan Afanasievitch felt
something akin to jealousy. He began to fidget
about on his chair, he burst out laughing apropos
of nothing, he suddenly blushed, yawned, and as he
yawned, twisted his lower jaw somewhat. Bub
litzyn smoked three pipes more and departed.
Ivan Afanasievitch walked to the window, sighed,
and ordered his man to give him a drink.
Onisim placed a glass of kvas 1 on the table,
cast a surly glance at his master, leaned his back
against the door, and hung his head.
" What art thou thinking about? " — inquired
his master, affectionately, and not without trepi
dation. " What am I thinking about? " — retorted
Onisim; — "what am I thinking about? ....
Always about you."
1 A sourish small beer made from sour black, rye bread, or rye meal,
by pouring on water and fermenting.— Translator.
182

PYETUSHKOFF
"About me?"
" About you, of course."
" But what is it that thou art thinking? "
"Why, this is what I am thinking." (Here
Onisim took a pinch of snuff.) " Shame on you,
sir, shame on you."
" What have I to be ashamed of ? " . . . .
" What have you to be ashamed of? ... .
Why, just look at Mr. Bublitzyn, Ivan Afana
sievitch. ... Is n't he a dashing fine fellow,
pray? "
" I don't understand thee, my good fellow."
" You don't understand? .... Yes, you do
understand me."
Onisim paused.
" Mr. Bublitzyn is a real gentleman, as a gen
tleman should be. But what are you, Ivan
Afanasievitch, what are you, pray?"
" Well, I am a gentleman also."
" A gentleman, a gentleman . . ." retorted
Onisim, flying into a passion. — "Do you call
yourself a gentleman? You 're simply a wet
hen, Ivan Afanasievitch, good gracious! Here
you sit by yourself the livelong day . . . much
you will hatch out! You don't play cards,
you don't associate with the gentry, and as
for . . . ."
Onisim waved his hand with a gesture of de
spair. " Well, anyhow .... I think thou art too
183

PYETUSHKOFF
. . . ." said Ivan Afanasievitch, clutching at
his Turkish pipe in confusion.
" Too what, Ivan Afanasievitch, too what?
Judge for yourself. Here now, about that
Vasilisa again. . . . Well, and why should n't
you. ..."
" But what art thou thinking about, Onisim? "
—Pyetushkoff interrupted him sadly.
" I know what I 'm thinking. What then?
God bless us! But how can you? Good gra
cious, Ivan Afanasievitch, you sit by yourself. . .
Certainly you. ..."
Ivan Afanasievitch rose to his feet.
" Come, come, please hold thy tongue,"— he
said briskly, and as though challenging Onisim
with his eyes. — " I also, thou knowest ... I ... .
what dost thou mean, in fact? Thou hadst bet
ter help me to dress."
Onisim slowly pulled off Ivan Af anasievitch's
greasy Tatar dressing-gown, with paternal sad
ness gazed at his master, shook his head, got him
into his tight -fitting coat, and set to beating him
on the back with a dust-brush.
Pyetushkoff left the house, and after wan
dering for a short time through the crooked
streets of the town, found himself in front of
the baker's shop. A strange smile played on
his lips.
Before he had time to cast a second glance
at the too-familiar establishment, the wicket-gate
184

PYETUSHKOFF
suddenly flew open, and Vasihsa ran out, with a
yellow kerchief on her head, and a short, wadded
jacket thrown over her shoulders, after the Rus
sian fashion.1
" Whither dost thou deign to go, my dear? " 2
Vasilisa cast a quick glance at him, burst out
laughing, turned away, and covered her hps with
her hand.
"To make purchases, I suppose?" — inquired
Ivan Afanasievitch, shifting from foot to foot.
" How curious you are," — retorted Vasihsa,
"Why do you call me curious?" — said Pye
tushkoff, hastily brandishing his arms. — " Quite
the contrary, I .... I just — you know," — he
added hurriedly, as though those four words
thoroughly explained his meaning.
" And did you enjoy my roll? "
" I certainly did, ma'am," — replied Pyetush
koff: — " it gave me particular satisfaction."
Vasilisa continued to walk along and laugh.
" The weather is pleasant to-day," — pursued
Ivan Afanasievitch: — "do you often go for a
stroll? "
" I take a stroll sometimes, sir."
" Akh, how I wish that I . . . ."
" What, sir? "
The young girls with us pronounce the words
" what, sir? " in a very strange, rather peculiarly
1 The jacket is called, literally, a " soul warmer. " " Russian fash
ion " means with the sleeves hanging unused. — Translator.
2 Literally, "dear little dove. " —Translator.
185

PYETUSHKOFF
sharp and quick manner. . . . Partridges call
thus at dawn.
" Could I walk with you, ma'am, you know,
ma'am .... outside the town, perhaps. . . ."
" How is that possible? "
"Why is n't it possible?"
" Akh, how you do go on, really! "
" But permit me. . . ."
At this point there came hopping alongside of
them a petty merchant with a goat's beard and
fingers spread out in the shape of hooks to keep
his sleeves from falling down, clad in a long-
skirted bluish kaftan, and a warm wadded cap
with a visor, which resembled a swollen water
melon. Pyetushkoff, out of decorum, dropped
a little behind Vasilisa, but immediately caught
up with her again.
" Well, and how is to be about the stroll,
ma aim
Vasilisa cast a roguish glance at him, and again
began to smile.
" Do you belong here in town? "
" I do, ma'am."
Vasilisa passed her hand over her hair, and
walked more slowly. Ivan Afanasievitch smiled,
and inwardly fainting with terror, bent a little
to one side, and with a tremulous arm, encircled
the beauty's waist.
Vasihsa shrieked.
' ' Stop that, you impudent thing, on the street."
186

PYETUSHKOFF
" Come, come, come, 't is nothing,"— muttered
Ivan Afanasievitch.
" Stop it, I tell you, in the street. . . . Don't
insult me."
" A .... a ... . akh, what a spit-fire you are,"
— said Pyetushkoff, reproachfully, and blushed
to his very ears.
Vasilisa halted.
" Go your way, sir, go. ..."
Pyetushkoff obeyed. He went home, sat for
a whole hour motionless on a chair, and did not
even smoke his pipe. At last he got a sheet of
greyish paper, mended his pen, and after long
reflection, he wrote the following letter:
Dear Madam,
Vasilisa Timofyeevna:
Not being by nature an offensive man, how could I
cause you unpleasantness. But if I really am culpable
toward you, then, namely, I say to you, the hints of
Mr. Bublitzyn prompted me to that which I had not
in the least expected.
However, I respectfully request you not to be angry
with me. I am a susceptible man, and I am sensitive
to every caress and am grateful. Be not angry with
me, Vasilisa Timofyeevna, I entreat you most hum
bly. However with my respects, I remain,
Your humble servant,
Ivan Pyetushkoff,
Onisim carried this letter to its address.
187,

PYETUSHKOFF

III

Two weeks passed. . . . Onisim went to the
baker's shop every morning, according to his
custom. And lo! one day, Vasilisa ran out to
meet him.
" Good morning, Onisim Sergyeevitch."
Onisim assumed a surly aspect and said an
grily:—" Morning."
" Why don't you ever drop in to see us, Onisim
Sergyeevitch? "
Onisim glared morosely at her.
" Why should I drop in? Thou wilt not treat
me to tea, I suppose? "
" I will, Onisim, I will give you tea. Only
come. And with rum."
Onisim gave a slow smile.
" Well, as thou wilt, in that case."
" But when, my dear man, when? "
"When. . . . Ekh, thou . . . ."
" This evening, does that suit you? Do drop
in." " I will, if you like,"— returned Onisim, and
trudged off homeward with a lazy and swagger
ing gait.
That same day, in the evening, in a tiny cham
ber, by the side of a bed covered with a striped
down quilt, at a clumsy table, sat Onisim oppo
site Vasihsa. A huge dimly-yellow samovar
188

PYETUSHKOFF
stood hissing on the table; a pot of geranium
reared itself in front of the small window; in
one corner, near the door, stood sideways a hide
ous trunk, with a tiny padlock ; on the trunk lay
a porous heap of various old odds and ends; on
the walls dirty little pictures made black spot?.
Onisim and Vasilisa were drinking tea in silence,
as they gazed into each other's face, turned
their lumps of sugar long in their hands, as
though reluctant to nibble them,1 half-closed
their eyes, blinked, and drew the yellowish boil
ing water through their teeth with a whistling
noise. At last they drank the samovar dry,
turned upside down 2 their round teacups with
inscriptions,— on one: "To Gratification," and
on the other: " It innocently Pierced," — grunted
with satisfaction, mopped away the perspira
tion, and began gradually to enter into con
versation. ' What 's your master like, Onisim Sergye
itch? "... inquired Vasilisa, and did not finish
her sentence.
" What 's my master like? "... returned
Onisim and propped his head on his hand. " 'T is
1 Poor Russians, especially of the peasant and petty burgher class,
nibble their sugar, and so economically sweeten their mouths instead
of the beverage. But Russians of all classes are fond of this method,
without regard to economy. — Translator.
2 To indicate that they had finished. Russian lower-class etiquette,
enjoins that the cup be thus reversed as a sign that the invitation to
" have another cup " is definitively declined, and that further polite
urging (also a point of etiquette), is useless. —Translator.
189

PYETUSHKOFF
well known what he is like. But what do you
want to know for? "
" I just asked, sir, at random," replied Vasilisa.
' Why, you know, he . . ." (here Onisim
grinned) : — " you know, he wrote a letter to you,
I believe." " He did, sir."
Onisim wagged his head with an uncommonly
self-satisfied air.
" There now, there now," — he said hoarsely,
and not without a smile. — " Well, and what did
he write to you? "
" Why, various things. ' I, Madam Vasilisa
Timofyeevna,' says he, ' am thus and so ; did n't
mean anything ; you are not to think ; you are not
to feel offended, madam ' ; and lots more of the
same sort he wrote. . . . Well," — she added,
after a brief pause — " and what sort of a man
is he?" " He exists," — replied Onisim, indifferently.
" Has he a bad temper? "
"The idea! No, he has n't. Well, and do you
like him? "
Vasilisa dropped her eyes and laughed in her
sleeve. " Come," — growled Onisim.
" But what do you want to know for, Onisim
Sergyeitch? "
" Come, now, speak, I tell you."
"' What 's your master like? "—repeated Vasi-
190

PYETUSHKOFF
lisa, at last. "Of course . . . . I . . . well, and
he 's so ... . you know how it is yourself. . . ."
" How can I help knowing? " — remarked
Onisim, pompously.
" For of course you are aware, Onisim Ser
gyeitch . . . ."
Vasilisa was obviously becoming agitated.
"Do you say to him, to your master that is:
' I am not angry with him,' says she, ' and here,'
says she . . . ."
She began to stammer. . .
" We understand, ma'am," — returned Onisim,
and slowly rose from his chair. — " We under
stand, ma'am. Thanks for your hospitality."
" I hope you will favour me again with your
company." " Well, all right, all right."
Onisim walked to the door. The fat woman
made her appearance in the room.
" How do you do, Onisim Sergyeitch? " — she
said in a sing-song tone.
" How do you do, Praskovya Ivanovna? " — he
rephed, also in a sing-song tone.
Both stood still awhile facing each other.
" Well, good-bye, Praskovya Ivanovna,"—
said Onisim with his drawl.
" Well, good-bye, Onisim Sergyeitch,"— she
replied, also drawling.
Onisim returned home. His master was lying
on his bed, and staring at the ceiling.
191

PYETUSHKOFF
" Where hast thou been? "
" Where have I been? "... (Onisim had a
habit of reproachfully repeating the last words
of every question.) — "I have been about your
business." " What business? "
" And don't you know? ... I have been to
Vasilisa's." Pyetushkoff winked his eyes, and wriggled
on the bed.
" That 's exactly how it is," — remarked Oni
sim, and coolly took a pinch of snuff:—" that 's
exactly how it is, always like that. Vasilisa sends
her compliments to you."
"You don't say so?"
" You don't say so? That 's exactly how it is.
You don't say so ! . . . . She bade me say, ' Why
don't I see him? ' says she. ' Why does n't he
come? ' says she."
" Well, and what didst thou say? "
" What did I say? I said to her: ' Thou art
silly,' — I said to her; — 'will such folks come to
see thee? No, do thou come thyself,' — I said
to her."
" Well, and what did she say? "
" What did she say? .... She .... no
thing." " But what dost thou mean by nothing? "
" Everybody knows what nothing means."
Pyetushkoff maintained silence for a space.
" Well, and will she come? "
192

PYETUSHKOFF
Onisim wagged his head.
" Come! .... You 're in an awful hurry,
sir. Come! .... No, but just you . . . ."
" Why, but thou saidst thyself that ....
you know . . . ."
"Much I did!"
Again Pyetushkoff remained silent awhile.
' Well, but what is the state of affairs, my
good fellow? "
" What is the state of affairs? .... You
ought to know best : you 're the master."
" Well, no, what is there . . . ."
Onisim rocked himself to and fro in self-satis
fied fashion.
"Do you know Praskovya Ivanovna?" — he
asked at last.
" No. What Praskovya Ivanovna? "
" The bake-shop woman? "
" Ah, yes, the bake-shop woman. I have seen
her: a very fat woman."
" A woman of importance. She 's your own
aunt by blood, you know."
"My aunt?"
" Why, did n't you know that? "
" No, I did not."
" Ekh!
Out of respect to his master, Onisim did not
utter the whole of his thought.
" There 's a person with whom you should get
acquainted." " All right. I have no objection."
193

PYETUSHKOFF
Onisim gazed approvingly at Ivan Afanasie
vitch. " But why, in particular, ought I to make her
acquaintance? " — inquired Pyetushkoff.
"Just see there, now!" — returned Onisim,
coolly. Ivan Afanasievitch rose, paced the room,
halted in front of the window, and, without turn
ing his head, enunciated with some confusion:
"Onisim!"" What, sir? "
" And won't I feel rather awkward, thou
knowest, with a woman, hey? "
" You know best."
" However, I only asked the question at ran
dom. My comrades may notice; it 's always
rather .... However, I will think the matter
over. Give me my pipe. . . And so she,"— he
added after a brief pause: — "Vasihsa, I mean,
says . . . ."
But Onisim did not wish to prolong the con
versation and assumed his habitual glum aspect.
IV
Ivan Aeanasievitch's acquaintance with Pras
kovya Ivanovna began in the following manner.
Five days after the conversation with Onisim,
Pyetushkoff set out one evening for the baker's
shop. — " Come," he said to himself, as he opened
194

PYETUSHKOFF
the creaking wicket-gate,—" I don't know what
will happen. ..."
He mounted the porch, and opened the door.
A very large, crested hen darted straight under
his feet, with a deafening shriek, and for a long
time thereafter continued to scurry agitatedly
about the yard. The surprised face of the fat
woman gazed from the window of the adjoin
ing room. Ivan Afanasievitch smiled and
nodded his head. The woman saluted him.
Clutching his hat tightly, Ivan Afanasievitch
approached her. Praskovya Ivanovna was, evi
dently, expecting an honoured guest; all the
hooks of her gown were fastened. Pyetushkoff
seated himself on a chair; Praskovya Ivanovna
seated herself opposite him. ¦¦¦»%[
" I have come to you, Praskovya Ivanovna,
chiefly with regard to . . . ." said Ivan Afana
sievitch at last— and fell silent. His hps twitched
convulsively. " I am glad to see you, dear little father,"—
replied Praskovya Ivanovna in a sing-song tone,
and bowing. " I am glad to see any visitor."
Pyetushkoff summoned up a httle courage. «
" I have long wished, you know, to have the
pleasure of making your acquaintance, Prasko
vya Ivanovna."
" Much obliged, Ivan Afanasievitch."
A pause ensued. Praskovya Ivanovna
mopped her face with a gay-coloured hand-
195

PYETUSHKOFF
kerchief; Ivan Afanasievitch stared somewhere
to one side with great attention. Both were
decidedly embarrassed. However, in merchant
and petty burgher circles, where even old friends
do not meet without queer angular grimaces,
a certain constraint in the manners of guest
and host not only does not strike any one as
strange, but, on the contrary, is regarded as
perfectly fitting and indispensable, especially at
a first interview. Praskovya Ivanovna was
pleased with Pyetushkoff. He bore himself
decorously and properly, and nevertheless he was
a man with official rank !
" I am very fond of your rolls, dear little
mother, Praskovya Ivanovna," — he said to her.
" Jist so, sir, jist so, sir."
" They are very good, you know, very."
" Eat, dear little father, and may health be
yours, eat. It gives me great pleasure."
" Even in Moscow I never ate such good ones."
" Jist so, sir, jist so, sir."
Again silence descended.
" But tell me, Praskovya Ivanovna,"— began
Ivan Afanasievitch:— "I believe you have a niece
living with you? "
" My own niece, dear little father."
" Well, . . . how comes she to be with you? "
" She is an orphan, and I support her, sir."
" And she is a good worker? "
" She is, dear little father, she is. Such a good
196

PYETUSHKOFF
worker that ih .... ih ... . ih! . . . Certainly, sir,
certainly, sir! "
Ivan Afanasievitch considered it decorous not
to enlarge further on the subject of the niece.
"' What sort of a bird have you in that cage,
Praskovya Ivanovna? "
" Why, God only knows. 'T is a bird."
" Hm! Well, good-bye, Praskovya Ivanovna."
" Good-bye, your Well-Born. I hope you will
favour us again. Come and drink tea."
" It will give me particular pleasure, Prasko
vya Ivanovna."
Pyetushkoff withdrew. On the porch he en
countered Vasihsa. She burst out laughing.
"Whither are you going, my dear httle dove? "
— said Ivan Afanasievitch, not without auda
city. " Come, stop that, stop that, you jester; what
a tease you are! "
" He, he 1 And did you get my note ? "
Vasilisa hid the lower part of her face in her
sleeve and made no reply.
" And you are not angry with me? "
"Vasilisa!" — quavered her aunt's voice: —
" hey, there, Vasilisa! "
Vasilisa ran into the house. Pyetushkoff went
his way. But from that day forth he began to
visit the baker's shop frequently, and not in vain.
Ivan Afanasievitch, to speak in lofty style, at
tained his end. The attainment of an end usu-
197

PYETUSHKOFF
ally cools men off, bub. Pyetushkoff, on the con
trary, grew more and more ardent with every
passing day. Love is a fortuitous affair ; it exists
of itself, as an art, and needs no justification,
like nature, some wise man has said, who himself
had never been in love, but reasoned admirably
about love. Pyetushkoff became passionately
attached to Vasilisa. He was perfectly happy.
His soul warmed up. Little by little he trans
ferred all his belongings, at least all his Turkish
pipes, to Praskovya Ivanovna's house, and sat for
whole days together in her back room. Praskovya
charged him for his dinner, and drank his tea;
consequently, she did not complain of his pres
ence. Vasilisa got used to him, worked, sang,
and spun in his presence, and sometimes ex
changed a couple of words with him; Pyetush
koff gazed at her, smoked his pipe, rocked him
self on his chair, laughed, and, during her leisure
hours, played duratchki [fool] with her and
Praskovya Ivanovna. Ivan Afanasievitch was
happy  But there is nothing perfect on
earth, and however small a man's demands may
be, Fate never fully satisfies them, even spoils
things, if possible. . . . The spoonful of tar will
persist in falling into the barrel of honey!1
Ivan Afanasievitch made experience of this in
his own case. In the first place, ever since his
x The Russian expression to indicate that one drop of bitterness
will ruin the sweetest of fates. —Translator.
198

PYETUSHKOFF
removal to "Vasihsa's, Pyetushkoff had fallen
still more out of touch with his comrades. He
saw them only on indispensable occasions, and
then, with a view to avoiding hints and jeers (in
which, by the way, he was not always successful) ,
he assumed the desperately-morose and concen-
tratedly-alarmed mien of a hare which is drum
ming in the midst of fireworks. In the second
place, Onisim gave him no peace, lost all rever
ence for him, obdurately persecuted him, and
put him to shame. In the third place, and in
conclusion .... Alas! read further, indulgent
reader.

One day Pyetushkoff (who, for the above-men
tioned reasons, fared badly outside of Prasko
vya Ivanovna's house) was sitting in the rear
room — Vasilisa's room — and busying himself
with some sort of domestic preparation, not pre
cisely a preserve, nor yet precisely a liqueur. The
mistress of the house was not at home. Vasilisa
was sitting in the bake-shop and humming a song.
A tap came on the pane. Vasilisa rose, stepped
to the window, uttered a faint shriek, burst out
laughing, and began a whispered conversation
with some person or other. On returning to her
seat, she sighed, and began to sing louder than
before. 199

PYETUSHKOFF
" With whom wert thou chatting just now? "
— Pyetushkoff asked her.
Vasilisa continued to " break the viburnum-
bush." J
"Vasihsa! Dost hear? Hey, Vasilisa? "
"What do you want?"
" With whom wert thou talking? "
" And why do you want to know? "
" Because I do."
Pyetushkoff emerged from the back room in
a motley-hued Caucasian coat, with sleeves rolled
up and with a siphon in his hand.
" Why, with a good friend," — replied Vasi
lisa. " With what good friend? "
" Why, with Piotr Petrovitch."
"With Piotr Petrovitch? .... With what
Piotr Petrovitch? "
" He 's a comrade of yours also. He has such
a queer name."
" Bublitzyn? " 2
1 The viburnum, or wild snowball-tree, figures in many of the folk
songs. " Breaking the viburnum-bush " is one of the traditional
rites connected with the peasant wedding. On the young couple's
table there is a ham and a square bottle of liquor corked with a bunch
of viburnum tied with a scarlet ribbon. The bridal pair are aroused,
and treating begins : they make the round of the homes of the bride's
relatives, parents and the members of her bridal-train (consisting of cer
tain definitely-prescribed persons for bridegroom and bride), and the
wedding-guests. On their return, the best man (the eleventh in the
groom's train) cuts the ham, and pulling apart the cluster of vibur
num, passes around the liquor. Every step of the traditional wed
ding-ceremonial is accompanied by songs. Vasilisa was singing the
one appointed for the final stage, as above described.— Translator.
2 Derived from biiblik—a. large roll in the form of a ring.— Trans-
E.ATOR.
200

PYETUSHKOFF
" Well, yes, yes. . . . Piotr Petrovitch."
" And dost thou know him? "
"I should think I did! "—returned Vasilisa,
nodding her head.
Pyetushkoff paced up and down the room half
a score of times, in silence.
"Hearken to me, Vasilisa,"— he said at last:
— " in what way dost thou know him? "
" In what way do I know him? .... Why,
I do know him. . . . He 's such a nice gentle
man." " But how is he nice? How is he nice? How
is he nice? "
Vasilisa looked at Ivan Afanasievitch.
" He is," — she said slowly and with surprise. —
" Everybody knows what he is."
Pyetushkoff bit his lips and began to pace the
room again.
" What wert thou talking about with him?
Hey?" Vasilisa smiled and dropped her eyes.
"Come, speak, speak, speak, I tell thee, speak!"
" What a temper you are in to-day," — re
marked Vasihsa.
Pyetushkoff made no answer.
"Well, no, Vasilisa," — he began at last: —
" no, I will not be angry. . . . Come now, tell
me, what were you talking about? "
Vasilisa laughed.
" That Piotr Petrovitch is such a joker,
really 1" 201

PYETUSHKOFF

How so

7 "

"Well, he is!"
Again Pyetushkoff made no reply.
" Vasilisa, thou lovest me, I think? "—he asked
her. " Come, take yourself off! "
Poor Pyetushkoff's head grew oppressed.
Praskovya Ivanovna entered. They sat down to
dine. After dinner, Praskovya Ivanovna took
herself off to the platform over the oven.1 Ivan
Afanasievitch himself lay down by the oven,
nestled about for a while, and fell asleep. A cau
tious creaking noise awoke him. Ivan Afanasie
vitch half raised himself, propped himself on his
elbow, and looked: the door was open. He
sprang up — Vasilisa was gone. He ran into the
yard— and she was not in the yard; into the street
— and gazed hither and thither: Vasihsa was not
to be seen. Hatless, he ran clear to the market:
no Vasihsa was visible. Slowly he returned te
the baker's shop, climbed up on the oven, and
turned his face to the wall. He was heavy at
heart. Bublitzyn .... Bublitzyn .... that
name fairly rang in his ears.
" What 's the matter with thee, dear little fa
ther? "—Praskovya Ivanovna asked him with a
sleepy voice. — " Why art thou groaning? "
" Nothing, dear little mother; 't was just by
accident. Nothing. I feel choked, somehow."
1 For sleeping. —Translator.
202

PYETUSHKOFF
" 'T is the mushrooms,"— lisped Praskovya
Ivanovna, — " 't is all the mushrooms."
O Lord, have mercy upon us sinners!
One hour passed, then another — and still Vasi
lisa was absent. A score of times did Pyetush
koff feel impelled to rise, and a score of times did
he sadly nestle down under the sheepskin coat.
. . . At last, however, he climbed down from the
oven and started to go home, and had already got
out into the yard, but turned back. Prasko
vya Ivanovna had risen. Luka, the workman,
as black as a beetle, although he was a baker, was
putting the loaves in the oven. Again Pyetush
koff went out on the porch and pondered. A
goat who dwelt in the courtyard made up to him,
and butted him slightly with his horns, in friendly
wise. Pyetushkoff glanced at him, and, God
knows why, said: " Kys, kys! " * All of a sudden,
the low-browed wicket-gate opened softly, and
Vasilisa made her appearance. Ivan Afanasie
vitch went straight to meet her, took her by the
hand, and said to her with considerable coolness,
but quite firmly :
" Follow me."
" But excuse me, Ivan Afanasievitch ....
I " Follow me,"— he repeated.
She obeyed.
Pyetushkoff led her to his own lodgings.
1 Equivalent to: " Puss, puss!"— Translator.
203

PYETUSHKOFF
Onisim, according to his habit, was sleeping,
stretched out at full length. Ivan Afanasievitch
woke him, and ordered him to light a candle.
Vasilisa walked to the window and seated her
self in silence. While Onisim was fussing with
the light in the anteroom, Pyetushkoff stood mo
tionless at the other window, staring into the
street. Onisim entered, with the candle in his
hand, and started to grumble. . . . Ivan Afana
sievitch wheeled swiftly round.
" Leave the room," — he said to him.
Onisim stopped short in the middle of the
room. . . .
" Leave the room this very instant! " — repeated
Pyetushkoff, sternly.
Onisim cast a glance at his master, and left the
room. Ivan Afanasievitch shouted after him:
" Begone, go away altogether! Leave the
house. Thou mayest return two hours hence."
Onisim took himself off.
Pyetushkoff waited until the gate slammed,
and immediately approached Vasilisa.
" Where hast thou been? "
Vasihsa was disconcerted.
" Where hast thou been? I ask thee,"— he re
peated. Vasilisa cast a glance around her. . . .
" I am speaking to thee. . . . Where hast thou
been? " 204

PYETUSHKOFF
Pyetushkoff began to raise his hand. . . .
" Don't beat me, Ivan Afanasievitch, don't
beat me . . . ." whispered Vasilisa in affright.
Pyetushkoff turned away.
"Beat thee. . . . No! I will not beat thee.
Beat thee? Forgive me, forgive me, my darling.
God bless thee! When I thought that thou didst
love me, when I . . . . when . . . ."
Ivan Afanasievitch stopped. He was choking.
"Listen, Vasilisa," — he said at last: "lam
a good-natured man, as thou knowest; thou dost
know that, Vasilisa, dost thou not? "
" I do," — she stammered out.
" I do harm to no one, to no one, to no one
in the world. And I deceive no one. Then why
dost thou deceive me? "
" But I do not deceive thee, Ivan Afanasie
vitch." " Thou dost not deceive me? Well, good.
Well, good. Come, tell me, where hast thou
been?" " I went to Matryona."
"Thouliest!"
*' God is my witness, I went to see Matryona.
Ksk her if you do not believe me."
"And Bub .... come, what 's his name?
.... didst thou see that devil? "
" I did."
" Thou sawest him? Thou sawest him?— Ah!
thou sawest him? " 205

PYETUSHKOFF
Pyetushkoff turned pale.
" So thou didst make an appointment with
him this morning, at the window .... hey?
hey?" " He asked me to come."
" And thou didst go. . . . Thanks, dear little
mother, thanks, my own!" — Pyetushkoff made
a bow to Vasilisa's girdle.
" Yes, Ivan Afanasievitch, perhaps you
think . . . ."
" Thou wouldst do well not to talk! And I,
the fool, have made a pretty mess of it too!
What am I shouting about? As for thee, pray
consort with whomsoever thou wilt. I care no
thing for thee. So there now ! I '11 have nothing
to do with thee."
Vasilisa rose to her feet.
" As you like, Ivan Afanasievitch."
" Whither art thou going? "
" Why, you yourself, you know . . . ."
" I 'm not driving thee away," — Pyetushkoff
interrupted her.
" No, really now, Ivan Afanasievitch. . . .
Why should I remain at your house? . . ."
Pyetushkoff let her get as far as the door.
" So thou art going away, Vasilisa? "
" You keep insulting me. . . ."
" I insult thee ! Thou dost not fear God, Vasi
lisa ! When did I ever insult thee ? Come, no, no,
tell me, when? " 206

PYETUSHKOFF
" But what do you mean? A little while ago
you came near thrashing me."
" Vasihsa, 't is sinful of thee. Really, 't is
sinful!" " And you have reproached me, to boot, and
said : ' I won't have anything to do with thee.
I 'm a gentleman,' you said."
Ivan Afanasievitch began silently to wring his
hands. Vasihsa got to the middle of the room.
"Well, what then? God be with you, Ivan
Afanasievitch. I will go my way, and you can
go yours. . . ."
" Enough, Vasihsa, enough of that,"— Pye
tushkoff interrupted her.—" Thou hadst better
change thy mind; look at me. Surely, I am not
like myself. I don't know myself, what I am
saying. . . . Thou mightest have pity on me. ."
" You are always insulting me, Ivan Afana
sievitch. . . ."
" Ekh, Vasihsa! When sorrow is asleep, wake
it not. Is n't that so? Thou art not angry with
me, art thou? "
" You are always insulting me," — repeated
Vasilisa. " I won't do it again, I won't do it again.
Forgive me, an old man, I '11 never do so again.
Come, hast thou forgiven me, I 'd like to know? "
" God be with thee, Ivan Afanasievitch."
" Come, laugh, laugh. ..."
Vasihsa turned away. 207

PYETUSHKOFF
"She laughed, the dear soul, she laughed!"
— cried Pyetushkoff, dancing up and down
where he stood, like a child. . . .

VI

On the following day, Pyetushkoff, according
to his wont, set off for the baker's shop. Every
thing went on as of yore. But a thorn had been
implanted in his heart. He no longer laughed as
frequently, and he was sometimes pensive. Sun
day arrived. Praskovya Ivanovna had a pain
in her loins; she stuck to the platform over the
oven; with a great effort, she got down to go
to the morning service. After the service, Pye
tushkoff called Vasilisa into the rear room. She
had been complaining all the morning of being
bored. Judging by the expression of Ivan
Afanasievitch's face, an unusual thought, and
one which was unexpected to himself, was run
ning about in his mind.
" Come, sit thee down here, Vasilisa,"— he said
to her, — " and I will sit there. I must have a
little talk with thee."
Vasilisa seated herself.
" Tell me, Vasilisa, dost thou know how to
write? "
"To write?"
" Yes, to write."
" No, I don't know how." 208

PYETUSHKOFF
" And to read? "
" And I don't know how to read either."
" But who read my letter to thee? "
" The chanter."
Pyetushkoff was silent for a while.
" But wouldst thou like to know how to read
ard write? "
" But why should the likes of me want to know
how to read and write, Ivan Afanasievitch? "
"What dost thou mean by 'why'? So that
thou canst read books."
" And what is there in books? "
" Everything good. . . . Listen, I will bring
thee a little book, — shall I? "
" But, you see, I don't know how to read, Ivan
Afanasievitch." " I will read to thee."
" Why, that must be tiresome, I think? "
"How can it? ! tiresome! On the contrary,
it is a good remedy for tedium."
" Will you read fairy-tales? "
" Thou shalt see — to-morrow."
Pyetushkoff returned home toward evening
and began to rummage in his drawers. He found
several odd volumes of the " Library for Read
ing," five coarse Moscow romances, Nazaroff's
arithmetic, a child's geography with a picture of
the globe on the title-page, the second part of
Kaidanoff's history, two dream-books, a calendar
for the year 1819, two numbers of " Galatea,"
209

PYETUSHKOFF
Natdlya Dolgoruky, by Kozloff, and the first
part of Rosldvleff. For a long time he meditated
which he should select, and finally decided to take
Kozloff 's poem, and Rosldvleff.
On the following day, Pyetushkoff dressed
himself in haste, thrust both of the wretched lit
tle books under the facing of his coat, went to the
baker's shop, and began to read her Zagoskin's
romance. Vasilisa sat motionless, first smiled,
then seemed to fall into thought .... then bent
forward a little; her eyes narrowed, her lips
parted slightly, her hands fell on her knees-
she dozed. Pyetushkoff went on reading fast,
unintelligibly, and in a low voice, — raised his
eyes. . . .
" Vasilisa, art thou asleep? "
She gave a start, rubbed her face and stretched
herself. Pyetushkoff was vexed with her and
with himself. . . .
" It 's tiresome," — said Vasilisa, lazily.
" Listen, and I '11 read thee some verses,
shall I?"
"What?" " Verses .... fine verses."
" No, stop; really, now, do."
Pyetushkoff briskly pulled out Kozloff 's poem,
sprang to his feet, strode through the room,
dashed headlong at Vasilisa, and began to read.
Vasihsa threw back her head, flung wide her
hands, cast a glance into Pyetushkoff 's face— and
210

PYETUSHKOFF
suddenly broke out into a ringing peal of merry
laughter; .... she fairly rolled with laughter.
Ivan Afanasievitch hurled the book to the floor
with vexation. Vasilisa continued to laugh.
" Well, what art thou laughing at, stupid? "
Vasilisa redoubled her peals of laughter.
" Laugh on, laugh on," — growled Pyetush
koff through his teeth.
Vasilisa clutched at her side, and groaned.
" But what art thou groaning at, thou crazy
woman? "
But Vasilisa merely flourished her hands.
Ivan Afanasievitch seized his cap and fled from
the house. With uneven steps he strode swiftly
through the town, and kept on walking until he
found himself at the barrier. Along the street
there came suddenly the rumbling of wheels, the
trampling of horses. . . . Some one called him
by name. He raised his head, and beheld a com
modious old-fashioned lineika.1 In the jaunting-
car, facing him, sat Mr. Bublitzyn between two
young ladies, the daughters of Mr. Tiutiuryoff .
The two girls were dressed exactly alike, as
though to signalise their inseparable friendship;
both were smiling pensively, but agreeably, and
lolling their heads languidly on one side. On
the other side of the jaunting-car the broad,
1 The HnSika is something like an Irish jaunting-car, sometimes
with a cross-seat added at the rear, to match the coachman's seat in
front. It has no springs. —Translator. 211

PYETUSHKOFF
straw hat of the worthy Mr. Tiutiuryoff was visi
ble, and a portion of his fat, round nape pre
sented itself to the gaze; alongside his straw hat
the mob-cap of his spouse reared itself aloft.
The very position of the two parents served as a
plain indication of their sincere goodwill and
confidence in young Bublitzyn. And young
Bublitzyn, evidently, was conscious of and
prized their flattering confidence. Of course, he
was sitting in an unconstrained attitude, was chat
ting and laughing unconstrainedly ; but in the
very lack of constraint of his behaviour a tender,
touching respect was perceptible. And the
Misses Tiutiuryoff? It would be difficult to ex
press in words all that the attentive eye of an
observer discerned in the features of the two
sisters. Good principles and gentleness, and
modest mirth, sorrowful comprehension of life
and immovable faith in themselves, in the lofty
and very beautiful vocation of man on earth,
decorous attention to their youthful interlocutor,
who was not, perhaps, quite their equal in the
matter of intellectual endowment, but entirely
worthy of indulgence on the score of his attri
butes of heart .... these were the qualities and
sentiments which were depicted at that moment
on the countenances of the Misses Tiutiuryoff.
Bublitzyn called to Ivan Afanasievitch by name
on the impulse of the moment, without any reason
whatsoever, out of overflowing inward satisfac
tion; he bowed to him in an extremely friendly
212

PYETUSHKOFF
and courteous manner; the Misses Tiutiuryoff
themselves looked caressingly and gently at him,
as at a man with whom they were not averse to
making acquaintance. . . . The kind, well-fed,
peaceable horses passed Ivan Afanasievitch at a
gentle trot; the jaunting-car rolled smoothly
along the broad road, bearing the good-natured
maidenly laughter; there was a last fleeting
glimpse of Mr. Tiutiuryoff 's hat; the trace-
horses turned their heads to the side, and bounded
dashingly along over the short, green grass . . .
the coachman began to whistle encouragingly and
cautiously; the jaunting-car disappeared behind
the willows.
Poor Pyetushkoff stood for a long time rooted
to the spot.
" I 'm an orphan, a Kazan orphan," x he whis
pered at last. . . .
A tattered little brat of a boy halted in front
of him, gazed timidly at him, and held out his
hand. . . .
" For Christ's sake, good gentleman."
Pyetushkoff got a two-kopek piece out of his
pocket. " There, take that for thine orphanhood,"— he
said with an effort, and returned to the baker's
shop. — On the threshold of Vasilisa's room Ivan
Afanasievitch halted.
" And this," — he thought, " this is the kind of
1 Probably in reference to the absolute desolation created at the cap
ture of Kazan from the Tatars by Ivan the Terrible. —Translator.
213

PYETUSHKOFF
person with whom I consort!. Here it is, my
family! here it is! . . . And there 's Bublitzyn,
and then there 's Bublitzyn."
Vasihsa, seated with her back to him and
carelessly humming a tune, was winding thread.
She was wearing a faded calico gown; she had
braided her hair at hap-hazard. ... It was in
tolerably hot in the room, and there was an
odour of feather-bed and old rags ; here and there
on the walls, reddish, dandified cockroaches 1 were
scuttling briskly about; on the decrepit chest of
drawers, with holes in place of locks, lay a
woman's patched shoe, by the side of a broken
jar. . . . Kozloff 's poem was still lying on the
floor. . . . Pyetushkoff shook his head, folded
his arms, and left the room. He was hurt.
At home he gave orders that his clothes should
be brought, that he might dress. Onisim dragged
himself slowly off in quest of a coat. Pyetushkoff
longed to challenge Onisim to a chat, but Onisim
maintained a surly silence. At last Ivan Afana
sievitch could contain himself no longer.
' Why dost not thou ask me where I am
going? "
" Why should I care to know where you are
going? "
' What dost thou mean by that? See here now,
some one may come on urgent business, and ask:
' Is Ivan Afanasievitch at home? ' And then
1 Literally: Prussians. —Translator.
214

PYETUSHKOFF
thou couldst tell .him: ' Ivan Afanasievitch has
gone to such and such a place.' "
" On urgent business. . . . But who does
come to you on urgent business? "
" Here now, art thou beginning to be impu
dent again? Art thou at it again? "
Onisim turned away, and began to brush the
coat. " Really, Onisim, thou art a disagreeable man."
Onisim darted an oblique glance at his master.
" And thou art always like that. Precisely
that, — always."
Onisim grinned.
" But what 's the use of my asking you whither
you are going, Ivan Afanasievitch? As if I
did n't know! To the baker's girl! "
" What nonsense ! That 's a lie ! I 'm not going
to her at all. I don't intend to go to the baker's
girl any more."
Onisim screwed up his eyes, and shook his
brush. Pyetushkoff had expected approbation;
but his servant preserved silence.
" It is n't fitting,"— went on Ivan Afanasie
vitch in a severe tone, — " it is indecent. . . .
Come, now, say what thou thinkest."
" What 's the use of my thinking? Do as you
please. Why should I think? "
Pyetushkoff donned his coat.—" He does n't
believe me, the brute,"— he thought to himself.
He left the house, but did not drop in to call on
215

PYETUSHKOFF
any one. He roamed about the streets. He di
rected his attention to the setting sun. At last,
about eight o'clock, he returned home. He was
smiling; he kept incessantly shrugging his shoul
ders, as though in wonder at his own stupidity.
— "There, now,"— he thought;— " that 's what
it means to have a strong will. ..."
On the following day Pyetushkoff rose quite
late. He had not passed a very good night, he
went nowhere until the evening, and was fright
fully bored. Pyetushkoff read through all his
horrid little books, and praised aloud one of the
romances in the " Library for Reading." When
he went to bed, he ordered Onisim to give him a
pipe. Onisim handed him a very wretched little
Turkish pipe. Pyetushkoff began to smoke; the
pipe bubbled hoarsely, like a broken-winded
horse. "How nasty!" — exclaimed Ivan Afanasie
vitch; — " and where 's my cherry-wood pipe? "
" Why, at the baker's shop," — calmly replied
Onisim. Pyetushkoff winked convulsively.
" Well? Do you command me to go for it? "
" No, it is n't necessary; don't go. . . I don't
want it; don't go, dost thou hear?"
" I obey, sir."
He got through the night somehow. In the
morning, Onisim, according to custom, presented
to Pyetushkoff, on a plate with blue flowers, a
216

PYETUSHKOFF
fresh, white roll. Ivan Afanasievitch looked out
of the window, and asked Onisim :
" Didst thou go to the bake-shop? "
" Who should go, if not I? "
"Ah!"Pyetushkoff sank into meditation.
" Tell me, please, didst thou see any one
there? "
" Of course I did."
"Whom didst thou see there, for example?"
" Vasilisa, of course."
Ivan Afanasievitch fell silent. Onisim cleared
the table, and was on the point of leaving the
room. . . .
" Onisim! "—called Pyetushkoff, faintly.
"What do you wish?"
"A . . . did she inquire about me?"
" Of course she did n't."
Pyetushkoff gritted his teeth. — " There,"—
he thought, — " there 's love for you. . . ." He
hung his head. — " And I certainly have been
ridiculous," — he pursued his meditations;— " I
took a fancy to read poetry to her ! Eka! Why,
she 's a fool! Why, the only thing fit for her, fool
that she is, is to he on the oven, and eat pan
cakes ! Why, she 's a blockhead, a perfect block
head; an uneducated creature of the petty
burgher class! "
" She has n't come . . . ." he whispered two
hours later, as he sat in the same place ; — " she
217

PYETUSHKOFF
has not come! What do you think of that ? She
certainly could see that I left her in anger; she
certainly might have known that I was offended !
There 's loye for thee ! And she did n't even in
quire whether I was well ! ' Is Ivan Afanasie
vitch well? '—quoth she. This is the second day
that she has n't seen me, — and she does n't mind!
.... Perhaps she has even been pleased to have
another meeting with that Bub .... The lucky
dog! Phew, damn it, what a fool I am! "
Pyetushkoff rose, paced the room in silence,
halted, frowned slightly, and scratched the back
of his head. — " Never mind," — he said aloud:—
"I '11 just go to her. I must see what she is
doing yonder. I must make her feel ashamed.
Positively. ... I will go. Onka! Dress
me! "
" Come now," — he thought, as he was dressing;
— "let 's see what will happen. Just as likely
as not, she will be angry with me. And, in fact,
here a man has been going-going, going-going to
see her, and all of a sudden, without rhyme or
reason, he has stopped going! So now, we shall
see!" Ivan Afanasievitch left the house, and trudged
off to the bake-shop. He paused at the wicket-
gate : he must spruce himself up, and tighten his
belt. . . . Pyetushkoff grasped his coat-tails
with both hands, and came near tearing them off
altogether. . . . Convulsively did he crane his
218

PYETUSHKOFF
outstretched neck, fastened the top hook of his
collar, and heaved a sigh. . . .
" Why are you standing there? " — Praskovya
Ivanovna cried to him through the window. —
" Come in."
Pyetushkoff started and went in. Praskovya
Ivanovna met him on the threshold.
" Why did n't you favour us with your com«
pany yesterday, dear little father? Did some
trifling indisposition prevent you? "
" Yes, somehow I had a headache yester-
day  "
' You ought to have put a cucumber on each
temple, dear little father. It would have disap
peared instantly. And does your dear head ache
now? "
" No, it does not ache."
" Well, thanks be to thee, O Lord! "
Ivan Afanasievitch betook himself to the back
room. Vasilisa caught sight of him.
" Ah! Good morning, Ivan Afanasitch! "
" Good morning, Vasihsa Timofyeevna."
" What did you do with the siphon, Ivan Afa
nasitch? "
" The siphon? What siphon? "
" The siphon .... our siphon. You must
have carried it off to your house. You 're such a
.... Lord forgive! . . ."
Pyetushkoff assumed a cold and dignified
aspect. 219

PYETUSHKOFF
" I will order my man to look. As I was not
here yesterday,"— he said significantly. . . .
" Akh, why that 's a fact, you were n't here yes
terday." — Vasihsa squatted down on her heels
and began to rummage in a chest. . . . "Aunty!
Hey, aunty! "
"Wha-a-at?"" Didst thou take my kerchief, I 'd like to
know? "
" What kerchief? "
" Why, the yellow one."
" The yellow one? "
' Yes, the yellow one with the flowered pat
tern." " No, I did n't take it."
Pyetushkoff bent over Vasilisa.
" Listen to me, Vasilisa; hearken to what I am
going to say to thee. 'T is not a question now
of siphons or of kerchiefs; thou canst busy thy
self over that nonsense at some other time."
Vasilisa did not stir from the spot, and merely
raised her head.
" Do thou tell me, conscientiously — dost thou
love me or not? That 's what I want to know,
in short! "
" Akh, what a man you are, Ivan Afanasie
vitch! .... Well, yes, of course."
" But if thou lovest me, then why didst not
thou come to me yesterday? Didst thou not have
the time? Well, then thou mightest have sent to
220

PYETUSHKOFF
inquire whether I was ill, whether I was dead.
But thou didst worry thyself little. I might even
die yonder, all by myself, and thou wouldst not
come ! "
" Ekh, Ivan Afanasievitch, a body can't think
of one thing all the time; there 's work to be
done." " Of course," — responded Pyetushkoff, —
" and, nevertheless .... And it is n't proper to
laugh at your elders. ... It is n't nice. How
ever, there 's no harm, in certain cases. . . . But
where 's my pipe? "
" Here is your pipe."
Pyetushkoff began to smoke.
VII
Several days passed quite peacefully to all ap
pearance. But a thunder-storm was brewing.
Pyetushkoff tormented himself, was jealous,
never took his eyes from Vasilisa, watched her
anxiously, and grew frightfully tired of her.
Finally, one evening, Vasilisa dressed herself
more carefully than usual, and seizing a conve
nient opportunity, she went off somewhere to
make a visit. Night descended, and she had not
returned. Pyetushkoff returned to his lodgings
at dawn, and at eight o'clock in the morning ran
to the bake-shop. . . . Vasilisa had not arrived.
With an inexpressible sinking at the heart he
221

PYETUSHKOFF
waited for her until dinner-time .... and they
sat down to the table without her. . . .
" Where can she have disappeared to? " — said
Praskovya Ivanovna, indifferently.
"You spoil her; you simply spoil her com
pletely! " — Pyetushkoff kept repeating.
" Ih, dear little father! one can't keep track of
a young girl! " — replied Praskovya Ivanovna.
— " God be with her! If only she had done her
work  Why should n't a person have a
httle fun? . . . ."
Ivan Afanasievitch was seized with a cold
chill. At last, toward evening, Vasilisa made her
appearance. That was all he was waiting for.
Pyetushkoff rose solemnly from his chair, folded
his arms, and contracted his brows in a stern
frown. . . . But Vasilisa looked him boldly in the
eye, laughed audaciously, and, without giving him
a chance to utter a word, walked briskly into her
room and locked the door. Ivan Afanasievitch
opened his mouth and stared in amazement at
Praskovya Ivanovna. . . . Praskovya Ivanovna
dropped her eyes. Ivan Afanasievitch stood
there for a while, groped for his cap, put it on
his head askew, and left the house without shut
ting his mouth.
He reached home, took a leather cushion and
flung himself with it on the divan, face to the
wall. Onisim peeped in from the anteroom, en
tered the chamber, leaned his back against the
222

PYETUSHKOFF
door, took a pinch of snuff, and crossed his
legs. " Are you ill, Ivan Afanasievitch? " — he asked
Pyetushkoff. Pyetushkoff made no reply.
" Do you order me to go for the doctor? "—
went on Onisim, after waiting a little.
" I 'm well. . . . Get out! " — said Ivan Afa
nasievitch in a dull tone.
" Well? .... No, you are n't well, Ivan Afa
nasievitch. . . . What sort of health is this? "
Pyetushkoff maintained silence.
" You 'd better take a look at yourself. Why,
you 've grown so thin that you simply have be
come unrecognisable. And all for what? When
one comes to think of it, he loses mind and rea
son, by God! And a nobleman, to boot! "
Onisim paused. . . . Pyetushkoff did not stir.
"Is this the way noblemen behave? — Come,
you might have had your fling .... why not?
.... you might have had your fling, and dis
missed it with a box on the ear. But what 's this
like? Why, actually, one may say, 't is falling in
love with Satan more than with the bright fal
con." Ivan Afanasievitch only writhed.
" Come, really, this won't do, Ivan Afanasie
vitch. If any other person had said to me con
cerning you, ' Here now, here now, what goings-
on! ' I would have said to him: ' Thou 'rt a fool.
223

PYETUSHKOFF
Begone! For whom dost thou take me? Dost
suppose I 'm going to believe that? ' But now I
see for myself, and I don't believe. Why, there
can't be anything worse than this. Has she been
giving you some sort of philter, pray? What is
there about her, anyway? If you would use com
mon sense, 't is all utter nonsense — simply, fit to
spit upon. And she does n't even know how to
speak correctly. . . . She 's just simply a com
mon wench! Even worse than that! "
" Get out! " — moaned Ivan Afanasievitch into
his pillow.
" No— I won't get out, Ivan Afanasievitch.
Who should speak, if not I? Just look at the
facts. Here you are breaking your heart ....
and for what? Come, for what? good gracious,
tell me!"
" Do go away, Onisim," — groaned Pyetush
koff again.
Onisim held his tongue awhile, out of decorum.
" And just to think," — he began again:—" she
feels no gratitude whatever. Any other woman
would n't have known how to do enough to please
you; but she! .... She does n't even think of
you. Why, it 's a downright scandal. And it 's
impossible even to repeat the things people are
saying about you; it even makes me ashamed.
Well, if I could only have known this beforehand,
I 'd have given her . . . ."
" Get out, you devil, I tell you for the last
224

PYETUSHKOFF
time!"— yelled Pyetushkoff, but without stir
ring from his place or raising his head.
"Good mercy, Ivan Afanasievitch!" — went
on the implacable Onisim. — " I 'm telling you for
your own good. Spit on the whole thing, Ivan
Afanasievitch, simply spit on it, heed me. If
you won't do that, I '11 fetch the vile woman
hither; you can get rid of her at once. You will
laugh at it yourself afterward; you will say to
me: ' Onisim, it 's amazing what things one does
sometimes!' — Come, judge for yourself: you
know that such as she are as plentiful with us
as dogs .... all you have to do is to whistle . . . ."
Pyetushkoff sprang from the divan hke a
madman .... but, to the astonishment of Oni
sim, who had already raised both hands on a
level with his cheeks, he sat down again, as though
some one had knocked the legs out from under
him. . . . Tears rolled down over his pale face,
a tuft of hair stood out over his temple, his eyes
gazed dimly forth .... his distorted hps quiv
ered .... his head sank on his breast.
Onisim looked at Pyetushkoff, and flung him
self heavily on his knees.
" Dear httle father, Ivan Afanasievitch," — he
cried; — "your Well-Born! Please to chastise
me, fool that I am! I have troubled you, Ivan
Afanasievitch. . . . How dared I! Please to
chastise me, your Well-Born. . . Is it worth
while for you to weep because of my stupid
225

PYETUSHKOFF
speeches .... dear little father, Ivan Afana
sievitch. ..."
But Pyetushkoff did not even look at his ser
vant, turned away, and huddled down again in
one corner of the divan.
Onisim rose, went to his master, stood over
him, and clutched at his own hair a couple of
times. "Won't you undress, dear little father? . . .
You 'd better go to bed .... you 'd better eat
a bit ... . please don't grieve. ... 'T is only
with half -sorrow, all this amounts to nothing
.... everything will come right," — he said to
him every two minutes.
But Pyetushkoff did not rise from the divan,
and only shrugged his shoulders from time to
time, and drew his knees up to his body. . . .
Onisim never left him all night long. Toward
morning Pyetushkoff fell asleep, but not for
long. At seven o'clock he rose from the divan,
pale, dishevelled, exhausted, and called for tea.
Onisim prepared the samovar obsequiously and
briskly. " Ivan Afanasievitch," — he began, at last, in
a timid voice, — " you are not pleased to be angry
with me, are you? "
" What should I be angry with thee about,
Onisim? "—replied poor Pyetushkoff.— " Thou
wert entirely right yesterday, and I agree with
thee perfectly about everything." 226

PYETUSHKOFF
" I only did it out of zeal, Ivan Afanasie
vitch  "
" I know that it was out of zeal."
Pyetushkoff fell silent, and dropped his eyes.
Onisim saw that things were in a bad way.
" Ivan Afanasievitch,"— he began suddenly.
"What?" " I '11 bring Vasilisa hither, if you like? "
Pyetushkoff crimsoned.
" No, Onisim, I don't like." (" Yes, let it go!
she '11 come!"— he thought to himself.)— "I
must display firmness. All this is folly. Yester
day . . . you know .... 'T is a disgrace. Thou
art right. I must make an end of all this at one
blow, as the saying is. Is n't that so? "
" 'T is the plain truth you deign to speak, Ivan
Afanasievitch." Again Pyetushkoff buried himself in thought.
He was amazed at himself; he did not seem to
recognise himself. He sat motionless and stared
straight at the floor. His thoughts were in a
commotion within him, like smoke or mist, and
his breast felt heavy and empty at one and the
same time.
" Well, what does it all amount to, after all? "
— he sometimes thought, and calmed down again.
— " Nonsense, self-indulgence! " — he said aloud,
and passed his hand over his face, shook himself,
and again his hand fell on his knees, again his
eyes riveted themselves on the floor.
227

PYETUSHKOFF
Onisim gazed attentively and sorrowfully at
his master.
Pyetushkoff raised his head.
" Tell me, Onisim," — he began,—" is it true
that such witches' philters do exist? "
" They do, sir, certainly, sir,"— replied Oni
sim, thrusting out his leg. — " Now, for example,
you know LTnder-Officer Krupovatoff, don't you?
. . His brother was ruined through witchcraft.
They bewitched him to a common old woman,
to a cook, just think of that! They gave him a
bit of plain rye bread to eat, with the spell, of
course. So then Krupovatoff's brother fell head
over heels in love with the cook, and ran about
everywhere after the cook ; he simply adored her,
and could never gaze his fill. Whatever she bade
him do, he obeyed on the instant. Even in the
presence of others, in the presence of strangers,
she made a display of her power over him. Well,
and she drove him into a consumption at last. So
he died, did Krupovatoff's brother. And she was
a cook, and she is still, and old, very old." (Oni
sim took a pinch of snuff.) — "Damn all those
hussies and females."
" She does n't love me at all— that is clear;
in short, there can be no doubt of that,"— mut
tered Pyetushkoff in a low voice, making mo
tions with his head and hands the while, as though
he were explaining to an entirely strange man a
thing of which he was wholly ignorant.
228

PYETUSHKOFF
" Yes,"— pursued Onisim,—" there are such
women." " There are," — repeated Pyetushkoff, dejec
tedly, not exactly in a tone of inquiry, nor yet
as though surprised.
Onisim surveyed his master attentively.
" Ivan Afanasievitch," — he began, — " had n't
you better take a bite of something? "
" Take a bite of something? "—repeated Pye
tushkoff. " Or would n't you hke your pipe? "
"Pipe?"— repeated Pyetushkoff.
" So that 's what it has come to!" — growled
Onisim: " this means that he 's gone daft."
VIII
The clumping of boots resounded in the ante
room, and the customary suppressed cough which
announces the arrival of an inferior person made
itself audible there. — Onisim went out, but im
mediately returned accompanied by a tiny sol
dier of the garrison with the face of an old wo
man, clad in a patched overcoat which had been
worn to the point of turning yellow, devoid of
trousers, and devoid of neckcloth. Pyetushkoff
started— but the soldier drew himself up in mili
tary fashion, wished him good morning, and
handed him a large envelope sealed with the offi
cial seal. The envelope contained a note from the
229

PYETUSHKOFF
Major in command of the garrison: he ordered
Pyetushkoff to him instantly and without delay.
Pyetushkoff turned the note over in his hands
— and could not refrain from asking the messen
ger: " Did he know why the Major had ordered
him to present himself? " — although he under
stood perfectly the utter futility of such a ques
tion. "We cannot know!"1 — shouted the soldier
with an effort, but in a barely audible voice, as
though he were only half awake.
" And he is not ordering the other officers to
him? " went on Pyetushkoff.
" We cannot know! " — shouted the soldier a
second time, in the same sort of tone.
"' Very well, go," — said Pyetushkoff.
The soldier made a military turn to the left,
stamping his foot as he did so, and slapping him
self with the palm of his hand lower down than
the spine (that was the style in the " twenties ") ,
and withdrew.
Pyetushkoff silently exchanged glances with
Onisim, who immediately assumed an anxious air
— and went to the Major.
This Major was a man of sixty, corpulent and
awkward, with a swollen, red face, a short neck,
and a perpetual tremor in his fingers, which arose
from a too profuse use of vodka. He belonged
to the category of so-called " Bourbons," that is
The official form of " I don't know."— Translator.
230

PYETUSHKOFF
to say, of soldiers who had advanced in the ser
vice from the lower ranks, had taught himself to
read and write, and spoke with difficulty, partly
on account of asthma, partly from inability to
comprehend his own thought. His temperament
exhibited all the variations known to science: in
the morning, before vodka, he was melancholy;
in the middle of the day, choleric; and toward
evening, phlegmatic — that is to say, at that time
he only snuffled and bellowed, until he was put
to bed. Ivan Afanasievitch presented himself
to him during his choleric period. He found him
sitting on a divan, in his dressing-gown open at
the breast, and with a pipe in his teeth. A fat,
crop-eared cat had cuddled down beside him.
" Aha! So he has come! " — growled the Ma
jor, turning askance upon Pyetushkoff his leaden
little eyes, and without stirring from his place. —
" Come now, sit down: — come, I '11 give it to
you well. — I 've had my eye on the watch for
fellows of your stamp this long time . . . yes,
I have." Pyetushkoff sank down on a chair.
" Because," — burst out the Major, with an un
expected impulse of his whole body,—" you are
an officer, you know; so you must conduct your
self according to regulations. — If you were a
soldier, I would simply give you a whipping,—
and that would be the end of it ; but you happen
to be an officer. Is n't it outrageous? You
231

PYETUSHKOFF
ought to be ashamed of yourself. Do you think
it 's nice? "
" Permit me to inquire to what these hints
point? "— Pyetushkoff was beginning. . . .
" No arguing with me ! I have a deadly hatred
of that. I 've told you I don't hke it; well, and
that 's all there is to be said! There now, your
hooks are not according to regulations; what a
disgrace! — He sits day after day in a bake-shop;
and he 's a nobleman to boot! He has set up a
petticoat there — and there he sits. — Well, damn
her, that petticoat! — And they actually say that
he puts the loaves in the oven himself. — He sul
lies his uniform .... yes."
" Permit me to report," — said Pyetushkoff,
whose heart turned cold, — "that all this, so far
as I can judge, refers to my private life, so to
speak. . . ."
"Don't argue with me, I tell you! — Private
hfe — he dares to argue! If I had anything
against you on the score of the service, I 'd send
you straight off to the gward-house ! — Alle mar-
shir! — Because I 'm sworn to do it. — A whole
birch-grove was, probably, used up on me myself :
so I know the service; all those proceedings are
very familiar to me. But you are to understand,
I refer in particular to the uniform. Thou art
disgracing the uniform — yes, I 'm acting like a
father .... yes. Because all that is entrusted
to me. I must answer for it. — And here you are
232

PYETUSHKOFF
arguing! "—shouted the Major, with a sudden
access of ferocity, and his face turned purple, and
froth made its appearance on his hps, and the cat
elevated its tail and sprang to the floor. — " Yes,
and do you know. . . Yes, do you know, that
I can .... that I can do everything! every
thing, everything! — And do you understand to
whom you are talking? — Your superior officer
commands — and you argue! Your superior offi
cer. . . . Your superior officer! ..."
Here the Major even began to cough and rat
tle in his throat — and poor Pyetushkoff merely
drew himself up and turned pale, as he sat on the
edge of his chair.
" See that everything," .... pursued the
trembhng Major, waving his hand imperiously,
— " see that everything .... toes the mark !
First-class behaviour! — I won't tolerate any dis
order! Thou mayest consort with whom thou
choosest — I don't care a fig about that! But if
thou art well-born, — well, then, you know, act
like a nobleman! — I won't have thee putting the
loaves in the oven! I won't have thee calling a
draggle-tailed, low-born woman ' aunty ' ! I
won't have thee disgracing the uniform! Hold
thy tongue! Don't argue! "
The Major's voice broke. He took breath,
and turning toward the door of the anteroom,
he shouted:—" Frolka, thou rascal! Herrings! "
Pyetushkoff rose briskly and darted out, almost
233

PYETUSHKOFF
knocking off his legs the page-boy who was run
ning in with sliced herrings and a huge caraff e of
vodka on a yellow tray.
"Hold thy tongue! Don't argue!"— re
sounded behind Pyetushkoff the spasmodic ex
clamations of the incensed commander.

IX
A strange feeling took possession of Ivan Afa
nasievitch, when he. suddenly found himself in
the street.
" Why, what makes it seem as though I were
walking in my sleep? " — he thought to himself.
— "Have I lost my mind, I 'd like to know?
For this certainly is incredible. Come, damn it!
she has ceased to love me, and I have ceased to
love her, well, and .... what is there remark
able about that? "
Pyetushkoff contracted his brows in a frown.
" There must be an end to this, in short,"— he
said almost aloud; — " I will go and have a defini
tive explanation for the last time, so that after
ward not a trace of it may be left."
With hasty strides, Pyetushkoff betook him
self to the bake-shop. The nephew of Luka the
hired man, a diminutive brat, the friend and in
timate of the goat which lived in the courtyard,
sprang briskly to the wicket-gate as soon as he
caught sight of Ivan Afanasievitch. 234

PYETUSHKOFF
Praskovya Ivanovna came out to greet Pye
tushkoff. " Is n't your niece at home? " — asked Pye
tushkoff. " No, sir, she is n't."
Pyetushkoff inwardly rejoiced at Vasilisa's
absence. " I have come to have an explanation with you,
Praskovya Ivanovna."
" What about, dear little father? "
" Why, about this. You understand that after
all ... . that has taken place .... after such
goings-on, so to say " (Pyetushkoff was get
ting somewhat confused) . ..." in a word.
.... But, please don't be angry with me."
"Yes, sir."
" On the contrary, enter into my position,
Praskovya Ivanovna."
" Yes, sir."
" You are a sensible woman, you understand
yourself, that .... that I can no longer come
to your house."
" Yes, sir," — said Praskovya Ivanovna in a
sing-song tone.
" Believe me, I greatly regret it; I confess it
even gives me pain, genuine pain. . . ."
" You must know best, sir,"— returned Pras
kovya Ivanovna, with composure.—" It must be
as you like, sir. And now, if you will allow me,
I '11 give you your bill." 235

PYETUSHKOFF
Pyetushkoff had not in the least expected such
ready assent. On the whole, he had not desired
" assent " ; he would have liked merely to frighten
Praskovya Ivanovna, and especially Vasilisa.
He was discomfited.
" I know,"— he began, — " that this will not be
in the least displeasing to Vasilisa; on the con
trary, I think she will be glad."
Praskovya Ivanovna got her reckoning-frame1
and began to rattle the bone balls.
" On the other hand," — went on Pyetush
koff, who waxed more and more agitated,—" if,
for example, Vasilisa would explain to me her
conduct .... possibly .... I ... . although, of
course .... I don't know, possibly, I might
see that, in reality, there was no harm whatever
in it. ' You owe me thirty-seven rubles and forty
kopeks, paper money, dear little father,"— re
marked Praskovya Ivanovna. — " Here, would
you like to verify the account? "
Ivan Afanasievitch answered never a word.
"Eighteen dinners at seventy kopeks apiece:
twelve rubles sixty kopeks."
" So you and I are to part, Praskovya Iva
novna? "
" How can it be helped, dear little father?
1 The use of the abacus is very extensive, even at the present day,
among the merchant class in Russia. They perform long and intri
cate calculations with amazing facility. —Translator.
236

PYETUSHKOFF
Such things do happen. Twelve samovars,1 at
ten kopeks apiece. . . ."
" But just tell me, Praskovya Ivanovna, where
did Vasilisa go, and why did she . . ."
" Why, I did n't question her, dear httle father.
.... One ruble twenty kopeks, silver money."
Ivan Afanasievitch became thoughtful.
" Kvas and sour-cabbage soup," — went on
Praskovya Ivanovna, separating the beads on her
counting-frame, not with her forefinger, but
with her third finger,—" to the amount of half
a ruble, silver. Sugar and rolls for tea, half a
ruble, silver. Four packets of tobacco, bought by
your order, eighty kopeks, silver. Paid the
tailor, Kupriyan Apollonoff . . . ."
Ivan Afanasievitch suddenly raised his head,
put out his hand, and mixed up the beads.
"What are you doing, dear little father? !"
— said Praskovya Ivanovna. — "Don't you be
lieve me? "
" Praskovya Ivanovna,"— replied Pyetush
koff, with a hurried smile, — " I have changed my
mind. I was only jesting, you know. Let us,
rather, remain friends, as of old. What non
sense! How can you and I part, tell me, please?"
Praskovya Ivanovna hung her head and did
not answer him.
" Come, we have had our quarrel out— and
1 Meaning that the samovar had been prepared twelve
times. — Translator.
237

PYETUSHKOFF
that 's the end of it,"— went on Ivan Afanasie
vitch, pacing the room, rubbing his hands, and,
as it were, entering again upon his former
rights. — "Amen! see here, I 'd better smoke a
pipe." Praskovya Ivanovna still did not stir from the
spot. . . .
"I see that you are angry with me,"— said
Pyetushkoff. — " Perhaps I have hurt your feel
ings. Come, what of that? Be magnanimous
and forgive."
" Hurt my feelings, forsooth, dear little fa
ther! How have you hurt them? . . . Only, if
you please, dear little father," — added Praskovya
Ivanovna, with an inclination, — "be so good as
not to come to our house any more."
" What? "
" It is n't proper for you to associate with us,
your Well-Born. So please do us the fa
vour. . . ."
"But why?" stammered the astounded Pye
tushkoff. " Why, just because, dear little father. Show
us that divine favour."
" But no, Praskovya Ivanovna, we must have
an explanation! . . . ."
" Vasilisa beseeches you, dear little father. She
says : ' I 'm grateful, very grateful, and I feel it,
only, in future, your Well-Born, relieve me of
your presence.' " 238

PYETUSHKOFF
Praskovya Ivanovna bowed down almost to
Pyetushkoff 's feet.
" Vasilisa, you say, asks me not to come? "
" Exactly so, dear little father, your Well-
Born. As you were pleased to favour us with a
visit to-day, and said that you did not wish to
visit us any more, — that is to say, I was just de
lighted, dear httle father, and thinks I to myself :
' There now, and thank God, that everything has
come right.' For otherwise, my own tongue
would n't have twisted itself round to speak. . . .
Show us that favour, dear little father."
Pyetushkoff reddened and paled almost simul
taneously. Praskovya Ivanovna still continued
to make obeisances. . . .
" Very well," — exclaimed Ivan Afanasievitch,
sharply.—" Good-bye."
He wheeled round abruptly and put on his cap.
" And about the httle bill, dear little fa
ther. . . ."
" Send it . . . my orderly will pay you."
Pyetushkoff left the bake-shop with a firm
tread, and did not even glance round.
X
Two weeks passed. At first Pyetushkoff kept
up his courage extremely well, went out in soci
ety, and visited his comrades, with the exception,
of course, of Bublitzyn; but, despite the exag-
239

PYETUSHKOFF
gerated praises of Onisim, he nearly went out of
his mind, at last, with grief, jealousy, and tedium.
Nothing afforded him any consolation except
chats with Onisim about Vasilisa. Pyetushkoff
began the conversation, and was always the ag
gressor; Onisim reluctantly answered him.
" But it is a strange thing," — Ivan Afanasie
vitch said, for example, as he lay on his divan,
while Onisim, according to his custom, stood
leaning against the door, with his hands clasped
behind him: — "when you come to think of it:
come, now, what did I see in that girl? There 's
nothing remarkable about her, it strikes me. She
is kind-hearted, it is true. One must not deny
her that merit."
" Kind - hearted — indeed ! "— replied Onisim
with displeasure.
" Come, Onisim,"— went on Pyetushkoff, —
" one must speak the truth. Now that is an affair
of the past: it makes no difference to me now,
but justice is justice. Thou dost not know her.
She is extremely kind-hearted. She never lets a
single beggar go empty-handed away: she gives
him at least a crust of bread. Well, and she has
a cheerful disposition— that must also be said of
her." "There you go, inventing still! Where did
you find her cheerful disposition? "
"I tell thee . . . thou dost not know her.
And she is not greedy of money, either ....
240

PYETUSHKOFF
that 's another point. She does not have an eye
on her own interests, there 's no denying that.
Well, and although I . . . . yet I gave her no
thing, as thou knowest."
" That 's exactly why she threw you over."
" No, that was not the reason! " — replied Pye
tushkoff with a sigh.
" Why, you 're in love with her even now," —
retorted Onisim, viciously. — " You 'd be glad
enough to go back to your former position."
" There thou art talking nonsense. No, bro
ther, evidently, thou dost not know me either.
They turned me out of the house, and I won't
go and make obeisance to them after that. No,
excuse me. No, I tell thee, believe me, all that
is now a thing of the past."
" God grant it ! God grant it ! "
" But why should n't I be just to her, even
now ? Come, now, if I were to say that she is not
good-looking, — who would believe me? "
"A fine beauty you have found! "
" Come, find me, — well, name to me any one
who is better-looking than she  "
"Well, then, go back to her! . . . ."
" Eka! But is that what I am talking for,
pray? Understand me. ..."
" Okh! I understand you," — replied Onisim
with a heavy sigh.
Another week passed. Pyetushkoff ceased
even to talk with his Onisim ; he ceased to go out.
241

PYETUSHKOFF
From morning till night he lay on his divan, with
his hands thrown up over his head. He began to
grow thin and pale, he ate reluctantly and hur
riedly, he did not smoke at all. Onisim merely
shook his head as he looked at him.
" Surely you are not feeling well, Ivan Afana
sievitch," — he said to him more than once.
" Yes, I 'm all right,"— replied Pyetushkoff.
At last, one fine day (Onisim was not at
home) , Pyetushkoff rose, rummaged in his chest
of drawers, donned his heavy cloak, although the
sun was pretty hot, emerged stealthily into the
street, and a quarter of an hour later returned
home again. . . . He was carrying something
under his cloak. . . .
Onisim was not at home. All the morning he
had been sitting in his tiny den, thinking matters
over, grumbling and swearing through his set
teeth, and, at last, he had set off to see Vasilisa.
He found her in the bake-shop. Praskovya
Ivanovna was asleep on the oven, snoring regu
larly and languidly.
" Akh, good morning, Onisim Sergyeevitch,"
—said Vasilisa with a smile. — " Why have n't we
seen you this long time? "
" Morning."
" What makes you so downcast? Won't you
have some tea? "
" 'T is not a question of me now,"— returned
Onisim, testily. 242

PYETUSHKOFF
" What, then? "
' What! Dost not thou understand me, pray?
' What? ! ' What hast thou done to my master?
Come, tell me that."
"What have I done?"
" Thou hast done something. . . . Just come
and look at him. The first anybody knows, he '11
fall ill and die altogether."
"How am I to blame, Onisim Sergyeitch?"
" How? ! — God knows. He fairly adores thee,
see? But thou hast treated him as though he
were a fellow like me, the Lord forgive thee!
' Don't come,' sayest thou, ' I 'm tired of thee.'
Anyway, if he is n't an important person, he 's
a gentleman all the same. He 's a noble
man, all the same. . . . Dost thou understand
that? "
" But he 's so tiresome, Onisim Sergyeitch. ..."
" Tiresome ! But thou must needs always have
jovial men! "
"Well, he 's not exactly tiresome; but he 's
such an irascible, jealous man."
"Akh, thou Astrakhan Tzarevna Milikitrisa!
See there, now, he has worried thee ! "
"Why, you yourself, Onisim Sergyeitch, as I
remember, were angry with him. ' Why does
he associate with them,' says you ; ' why is he
always going to them?
" What of that? Was I to praise him for that,
I 'd like to know? " 243

PYETUSHKOFF
" Well, then, why are you angry with me now?
You see, he has stopped coming."
Onisim even stamped.
" But what am I to do with him, if he 's
such a crazy man? " — he added, lowering his
voice. " Then how am I to blame? How can I help
you?" " This is how: come along with me to him."
"The Lord forbid!"
" Why wilt not thou go? "
" Why won't I go to him? Good mercy! "
" Why? And then, see here, he said that thou
wert kind-hearted. I see how kind-hearted thou
art." " But what good can I do him? "
" Well, I know all about that. Things must
be pretty bad if I come to thee. Evidently, I
could think of no other means."
Onisim paused for a moment.
" Come, let 's go, Vasilisa; please come along."
" But I don't want to associate with him again,
Onisim Sergyeitch. . . ."
" That is n't necessary— who told thee that it
was? But so, — say a couple of words to him:
' Why do you deign to grieve? ' — say . . . ' Stop
it. . . .' That 's all."
" Really, Onisim Sergyeitch. . . ."
" Come now, dost want me to bow down be
fore thee, pray? Come, if thou wilt have it—
244

PYETUSHKOFF
here 's an obeisance for thee .... and here 's
another obeisance for thee."
" But, really. . . ."
" What a woman! Even honours don't move
her! . . . ."
At last Vasilisa consented, threw a kerchief
over her head, and went off in company with
Onisim. " Stand here a bit, in the anteroom," — he said
to her, when they reached Pyetushkoff's quar
ters, — " and I '11 go and announce to the mas
ter  "
He entered Ivan Afanasievitch's room.
Pyetushkoff was standing in the middle of the
room, with both hands thrust into his pockets,
with his legs straddled to an exaggerated degree
and rocking slowly backward and forward. His
face was flaming, his eyes were beaming.
" Good morning, Onisim," — he lisped in a
friendly way, pronouncing the consonants of his
words very badly and languidly: — " Good morn
ing, my good fellow. While thou wert gone, I
. . . . he, he, he!" — Pyetushkoff began to laugh
and peck forward with his nose. — " Really, now,
he, he, he! ... . However," — he added, striv
ing to assume a dignified mien: — " I 'm all right."
— He tried to hft one leg, but came near toppling
over and, by way of putting a good face on the
matter, he said in a bass voice: — " Man, give me
my pipe! " 245

PYETUSHKOFF
Onisim stared in amazement at his master, and
glanced around. . . . On the window-sill stood
an empty, dark-green bottle with the label:
" The Best Jamaica Rum."
" I have drunk it, brother, and that 's all,"—
went on Pyetushkoff, — " I took and drank it,
and that 's all there is to say. And where hast
thou been? tell me . . . don't be ashamed . . .
tell me. Thou narratest well."
" Good gracious, Ivan Afanasievitch," —
roared Onisim.
" So be it. And so be it. And I forgive my
dear one, my dear one,"— returned Pyetushkoff,
with a vague wave of his hand. " I forgive
everybody, I forgive thee, and I forgive Vasilisa,
and everybody, I forgive everybody. But I 've
drunk it, brother. . . . I 've dru-unk it, brother.
. . . What 's that? "—he suddenly cried, point
ing at the door of the anteroom : " Who 's there? "
" There 's nobody there," — hastily replied Oni
sim.—" Who should be there? . . . Where are
you going?"
" No, no,"— repeated Pyetushkoff, wresting
himself from Onisim's hands: — " Let me go,— I
saw, — don't tell me, — I saw there,— let me go.
. . . . Vasilisa!" — he suddenly shrieked.
Pyetushkoff turned pale.
" Well .... Well, why dost not thou come
in? "—he began at last.—" Come in, Vasilisa,
come in! I 'm very glad to see thee, Vasilisa."
246

PYETUSHKOFF
Vasihsa looked at Onisim— and entered the
room. Pyetushkoff approached her. . . . He
was breathing deeply and at long intervals. Oni
sim watched them. Vasilisa cast timorous, side
long glances at both of them.
" Sit down, Vasilisa," — began Ivan Afanasie
vitch again: — "I thank thee for coming. Ex
cuse me, if I ... . how shall I say it? . . .
that I am in such an unseemly state. I could not
foresee this, I could n't possibly, you must agree
to that. Come, sit down here, on the divan. . . .
I think I am expressing myself correctly? "
Vasilisa sat down.
" Well, good morning," — went on Pyetush
koff. — " And how art thou getting along? What
nice things hast thou been doing? "
"I 'm well, thank God, Ivan Afanasievitch.
And how are you? "
"I? as thou seest! Killed! And killed by
whom? Killed by thee, Vasilisa. But I 'm not
angry with thee. Only, I 'm killed. Just ask
this man here. " (He pointed at Onisim. ) " Don't
mind if I am drunk. I am drunk, that 's a fact;
only, I 'm killed. I 'm drunk because I 'm killed."
" God have mercy, Ivan Afanasievitch! "
" Killed, Vasilisa, I tell thee. Do thou believe
me. I have never deceived thee. Well, and how
is thy aunt? "
" Well, Ivan Afanasievitch. Many thanks."
Pyetushkoff began to stagger violently.
247

PYETUSHKOFF
" But you are ill to-day, Ivan Afanasievitch.
You ought to go to bed."
" No, I 'm well, Vasilisa. No, don't say that
I 'm not well ; but say, rather, that I have plunged
into vice, that I have lost my morality. That
would be just. I should not dispute that."
Ivan Afanasievitch swayed backward. Onisim
sprang forward and supported his master.
" And who 's to blame? I '11 tell thee, if thou
wishest, who 's to blame; shall I?
" I am to blame, I, first of all. What ought
I to have done? I ought to have said to thee:
' Vasilisa, I love thee.' Well, good. Come, wilt
thou marry me? Wilt thou? 'T is true that thou
art of the burgher class, let us say; but that is
nothing. That sort of thing is done. There was
an acquaintance of mine, for example: he also
married in that way. He took a Finnish woman.
He went and married her. And thou wouldst
have been well off with me. I am a kind man, God
is my witness, I am! Thou must not mind if I
am drunk, but rather do thou look into my heart.
Here, now, ask this .... man. So it turns out
that I am the guilty person. But now, of course,
I am killed."
Ivan Afanasievitch grew more and more in
need of Onisim's support.
" And, nevertheless, 't was a sin on thy part, a
great sin. I loved thee, I revered thee, I . . . .
what did I not do? And even now I 'm ready
248

PYETUSHKOFF
to be married this very minute. Wilt thou? Only
say so, and we '11 be married immediately. Only
thou hast mortally wounded my feelings ....
mortally. Thou mightest have refused me thy
self, or through thy aunt, through that horrible
fat woman. For thou wert my only joy. For I
am a homeless man, a poor, lonely orphan!
Whom can I persuade to love me now? Who is
there to say a kind word to me? For I 'm a poor,
lonely man, — a full orphan, — as poor as a church
mouse. Ask thi . . . ." Ivan Afanasievitch fell
to weeping. — " Vasilisa, hearken to what I have
to say to thee," — he went on: — " permit me to go
to thee as of yore. Be not afraid .... I will
be very discreet. Do thou go to whomsoever thou
wishest, I won't mind: just that, without re
proaches, seest thou. Come, dost thou consent?
Wouldst thou like to have me go down on my
knees?" — (And Ivan Afanasievitch began to
bend his knees, but Onisim caught him under
the arm-pits. ) — " Let me go ! 'T is no business of
thine! 'T is a question of the happiness of a
whole life, dost understand? And thou art in
the way. . . ."
Vasilisa did not know what to say.
" Thou wilt not . . . Well, as thou seest fit!
God bless thee! In that case, farewell! Fare
well, Vasihsa. I wish thee all happiness and
prosperity .... and I . . . . and I . . . ."
And Pyetushkoff wept in torrents. Onisim
249

PYETUSHKOFF
held him up from behind with all his might . . .
first making a very wry face, then beginning to
cry himself. . . . And Vasilisa wept also.
XI
Ten years later, one could encounter on the
streets of the town of O*** a thin man with a
small, red nose, clad in an old green coat with
a greasy velveteen collar. He occupied a tiny
garret in the bake-shop with which we are ac
quainted. Praskovya Ivanovna was no longer
in the land of the living. Her niece, Vasilisa,
managed the business, assisted by her husband,
a red-haired, purblind petty burgher named
Demofont. The man in the green coat had one
weakness: he was fond of getting drunk, but he
behaved himself peaceably, nevertheless. My
readers have, probably, recognised in him Ivan
Afanasievitch.

250

THE TWO FRIENDS
(1853)

THE TWO FRIENDS
IN the spring of 184. ., Boris Andreitch Vya-
zovnin, a young man of six-and-twenty, ar
rived at his hereditary estate, situated in one of
the Governments of the central zone of Russia.
He had only just retired from the service, — " ow
ing to family circumstances," — and was intend
ing to occupy himself with the management of
his property. A happy thought, of course!
Only Boris Andreitch conceived it, as is gene
rally the case, against his own will. His revenues
were diminishing year by year, his debts were
increasing: he had become convinced of the im
possibility of remaining in the service, of living in
the capital, — in a word, of hving as he had lived
hitherto, and he had decided, most reluctantly, to
devote several years to improving those " family
circumstances," thanks to which he suddenly
found himself in the rural wilds.
Vyazovnin found his estate in disorder, his
manor neglected, the house almost falling to ruin ;
he changed his superintendent, and reduced the
number of house-serfs; he cleaned out two or
three rooms, and ordered new boards to be ap-
253

THE TWO FRIENDS
plied at points where the roof leaked; but he
undertook no harsh measures, and did not plan
any improvements, as the result of the, appar
ently, simple idea that one should first find out,
at least, what he wants to improve. . . . So, then,
he set to work to learn about farming, and began.
as the saying is, by penetrating into the core of
the matter. It must be admitted that he pene
trated into the core of the matter without any
special ardour, and without haste. Being unac
customed to the country, he was terribly bored,
and often could not imagine how and where he
was to pass the whole long day. He had a good
many neighbours, but he did not consort with
them — not because he avoided them, but simply
because he did not happen to come in contact with
them. At last, when autumn had already come,
he chanced to make the acquaintance of one of his
nearest neighbours.
This neighbour's name was Piotr Vasilitch
Krupitzyn. He had formerly served in the cav
alry, and had retired with the rank of lieutenant.
Between his peasants and Vyazovnin's peasants,
from time immemorial, a controversy had raged
over two and a half desyatinas of mowing-land.
They not infrequently came to blows; the hay
ricks mysteriously travelled from place to place;
various unpleasantnesses occurred; and, in all
probability, this quarrel would have continued for
many years more, had not Krupitzyn, on learning
254

THE TWO FRIENDS
indirectly of Boris Andreitch's pacific qualities,
gone to him for a personal conference. The re
sults of this conference were very agreeable. In
the first place, the matter was settled forthwith
and forever, to the mutual satisfaction of the
property-owners; and, in the second place, they
took a great liking to each other, began to see
each other frequently, and by winter, they had
already become so intimate that they were hardly
ever separated.
And, nevertheless, they had very little in com
mon. Vyazovnin as a man who, although not
wealthy himself, was the son of wealthy parents,
had received a good education, had studied at
the university, knew various languages, was fond
of occupying himself with the perusal of books,
and, in general, might be regarded as a cultivated
man. Krupitzyn, on the contrary, spoke French
indifferently, never took a book in his hand with
out some special need, and belonged rather to
the category of uneducated men. In external
appearance also the friends bore but httle resem
blance to each other : Vyazovnin was quite tall of
stature, slender, fair-haired, and looked hke an
Englishman, kept his person, particularly his
hands, very clean, dressed elegantly, and wore
dandified neckcloths .... habits of the capital !
Krupitzyn, on the contrary, was short of stature,
round-shouldered, swarthy, black-haired, and
went about winter and summer in a sort of sack-
255

THE TWO FRIENDS
overcoat, with protruding pockets, made of cloth
of a bronze hue.
" I like this colour,"— he was wont to say,—
" because it does n't show spots."
That colour really did not soil easily, but the
cloth itself was pretty well besprinkled with spots,
nevertheless. Vyazovnin was fond of good eat
ing, and hked to talk about how agreeable it was
to have good food, and what it meant to have
taste; Krupitzyn ate everything which was set
before him, so long as he had something for his
jaws to work upon. If it happened to be cab
bage-soup with buckwheat groats, he ladled up
the soup with pleasure, and devoured the buck
wheat groats ; if he was offered thin foreign soup,
he applied himself with equal readiness to the
soup, and if there happened to be any buckwheat
groats on hand, he poured it into his plate,— and
it was all right. He loved kvas, according to his
own expression, " like his own father." French
wines, which he called " sour stuff," he could not
endure, especially claret. Altogether, Krupitzyn
was very far from being fastidious, while Vya
zovnin changed his pocket-handkerchief twice a
day. In a word, the friends, as we have said
above, did not resemble each other. One thing
they had in common: they were both what is
called " nice young fellows, simple lads." Kru
pitzyn had been born so, and Vyazovnin had be
come so. In addition to this, both of them were
256

THE TWO FRIENDS
distinguished by the fact that neither liked any
thing in particular,— that is to say, had no par
ticular passion or predilection for anything.
Krupitzyn was seven or eight years older than
Vyazovnin. Their days passed in a rather monotonous man
ner. As a rule, in the morning, but not too early,
—about nine o'clock,— Boris Andreitch was al
ready sitting at the window, in a handsome dress
ing-gown open on the breast, with his hair
brushed, all washed, in a snow-white shirt, with a
book and a cup of tea. The door opened, and
Piotr Vasilitch entered in his customary untidy
condition. His hamlet lay only half a verst from
Vyazovna (that was the name of Boris Andre-
itch's estate). Moreover, Piotr Vasilitch fre
quently stayed over night with Boris Andreitch.
" Ah, good morning! " — they both said simul
taneously. " How did you sleep? "
And thereupon Fediushka (an urchin of
eleven years, garbed as a page, whose very hair,
which stood on end even on the back of his head,
like a sandpiper's feathers in springtime, had
a sleepy air) brought Piotr Vasilitch his dress
ing-gown of Bukhara stuff, and Piotr Vasi
litch, after a preliminary grunt, donned the
dressing-gown, and began on his tea and his pipe.
Then conversation began — leisurely conversa
tion, with pauses and rests. They talked about
the weather, about the preceding day, about field
257

THE TWO FRIENDS
labours and the price of grain; they also talked
about the landed gentry of the vicinit)r, male and
female. In the early days of his acquaintance
ship with Boris Andreitch, Piotr Vasilitch had
regarded it as his duty, and had even delighted
in the chance, to interrogate his neighbour con
cerning the life of the capital, concerning science
and culture in general, — and concerning lofty
topics as a whole. Boris Andreitch's replies had
interested him, frequently surprised him, and ar
rested his attention; but, at the same time, they
had caused him some fatigue, so that all such con
versations speedily came to an end; and Boris
Andreitch himself, on his side, did not display
any superfluous anxiety to renew them. Occa
sionally thereafter — and that at rare intervals—
Piotr Vasilitch would suddenly ask Boris Andre
itch, for instance, " what sort of a thing is the
electrical telegraph?" and after listening to
Boris Andreitch's not entirely lucid explanation,
he would say, after a pause: " Yes, that 's won
derful! " and for a long time thereafter he would
not inquire about any learned subject whatso
ever. The conversations between them were
mostly of the following nature. Piotr Vasilitch,
for example, would collect the smoke from his
pipe, and emitting it through his nostrils, would
inquire :
" What 's that new girl you 've got? I saw her
at the back door, Boris Andreitch? "
258

THE TWO FRIENDS
Boris Andreitch, in his turn, would raise his
cigar to his mouth, take a couple of puffs, and
after swallowing a sip of cold tea, would articu
late: "What new girl?"
Piotr Vasilitch would bend somewhat to one
side, and staring through the window into the
courtyard, where a dog had just bitten a bare
legged urchin on the calf, would reply:
" The very fair-haired one . . . quite pretty."
" Ah! " — Boris Andreitch would exclaim, after
a brief pause: — " that 's my new laundress."
" Where does she come from? "—asks Piotr
Vasilitch, as though surprised. '>
" From Moscow. She has been there for
training." And then both are silent for a while.
" And how many laundresses have you in all,
Boris Andreitch? "—asks Piotr Vasilitch, staring
attentively at the tobacco which is flashing with
a crisp, crackhng noise under the hot ashes in his
pipe. " Three," — replies Boris Andreitch.
"Three! I have only one. And that one has
hardly anything to do. You know yourself, I
think, how much washing I have! "
" H'm! "— replies Boris Andreitch.
And the conversation ceases for a time.
In these pursuits the morning passed, and
breakfast-time arrived; Piotr Vasilitch was par-
259

THE TWO FRIENDS
ticularly fond of his breakfast, and insisted that
twelve o'clock is the very hour when a man feels
hungry; and, in fact, at that hour, he ate so
cheerily, with such healthy and agreeable appe
tite, that even a German would have rejoiced at
the sight of him: so glorious a breakfast did
Piotr Vasilitch make! Boris Andreitch ate much
less; he was satisfied with a chicken cutlet, or a
couple of soft-boiled eggs with butter and some
Enghsh sauce in an artfully constructed and
patented vessel, for which he had paid a heavy
price, and which he privately considered disgust
ing, although he asserted that he could not eat
a single morsel without it. After breakfast the
two friends made the round of the farm, if the
weather was good, or simply took a stroll, and
looked to see how the young horses were coming
on with their training, and so forth. Sometimes
they went as far as Piotr Vasihtch's hamlet, and
once in a while, they dropped into his little
house. This httle house, tiny and rickety, bore more
resemblance to the plain hovel of a house-serf
than to the homestead of a landed proprietor. On
the straw thatch, riddled all the way around with
the nests of swallows and daws, grew green moss ;
of the two buildings constructed of aspen logs,
formerly fitted together, one had fallen back
ward, and the other was nodding sideways, and
had sunk into the ground: in a word, Piotr Vasi-
260

THE TWO FRIENDS
litch's house was wretched both outside and in.
But Piotr Vasilitch did not fall into despon
dency: being a bachelor, and in general not an
exacting man, he took little heed of the comforts
of hfe, and contented himself with the fact that
he had a place where he could take refuge, in
case of need, from stormy weather and cold. His
housekeeper, Makedoniya, a woman of middle
age, very zealous and even honest, but unlucky,
looked after his household: but nothing suc
ceeded with her; the crockery got smashed, the
linen got torn, the food was under-cooked or
over-cooked. Piotr Vasilitch called her Caligula.
Being possessed of an innate inclination for
hospitality, Piotr Vasilitch was fond of seeing
guests at his house, and of entertaining them, not
withstanding the scantiness of his means. He
made special efforts, and bustled more than usual
when Boris Andreitch visited him; but, thanks
to Makedoniya, who, moreover, nearly flew off
her feet at every step with zeal, poor Piotr Vasi-
litch's entertainments always turned out ex
tremely ill-starred, and were chiefly confined to
a morsel of the raw-dried back of sturgeon, hard
ened with age, and a glass of vodka, concerning
which he expressed himself with entire justice
when he said that it was capital against the stom
ach. After a stroll, the two friends were wont
to return to Boris Andreitch's house and dine in
leisurely fashion. After having eaten as heartily
261

THE TWO FRIENDS
as though he had had no breakfast, Piotr Vasi
litch would take himself off to some solitary nook
and sleep two or three hours; Boris Andreitch,
during that interval, read the foreign newspa
pers. In the evening, the two friends met to
gether again: such friendship had sprung up be
tween them! Sometimes they sat down to play
at preference, just the two by themselves; some
times they simply chatted in the same manner
as in the morning; and it sometimes happened
that Piotr Vasilitch would take his guitar from
the wall, and sing various romances in a fairly
agreeable tenor voice. Piotr Vasilitch was much
fonder of music than was Boris Andreitch, who
could not utter the name of Beethoven without
enthusiasm, and who was perpetually making
ready to order a piano from Moscow. In mo
ments of sadness or dejection, Piotr Vasilitch had
a habit of singing a romance which dated from
the days of his service with his regiment. . . .
With particular feeling, and somewhat through
his nose, he would warble the following hnes :
"No Frenchman runs our kitchen,
But an orderly cooks our dinner. . . .
The splendid Rode does not act,
Catalani does not sing. . . .
The trumpeter deftly sounds tattoo,
The quartermaster will come with his report. '
262

THE TWO FRIENDS
Boris Andreitch now and then chimed in, but
his voice was disagreeable and not true to pitch.
About ten o'clock, and sometimes earlier, the
friends separated .... and on the following
day, the same thing began all over again.
So then, one day, as Piotr Vasilitch was sitting,
according to his wont, opposite Boris Andreitch,
in a somewhat oblique line, he stared at him with
a good deal of intentness, and said in a thought
ful voice:
" I 'm surprised at one thing, Boris Andre
itch. . . ."
" What 's that? "—asked the latter.
" This. You are a young man, clever, cul
tured: what possesses you to live in the country? "
Boris Andreitch gazed in astonishment at his
neighbour. " Surely you are aware, Piotr Vasilitch," — he
said at last, — " that if it were not for my circum
stances. . . . Circumstances compel me, Piotr
Vasilitch." " Circumstances? Your circumstances don't
count, so far. . . . With your estate you can
exist. Get a position in the service."
And after a brief pause, Piotr Vasilitch added :
" If I were in your place, I would enter the
uhlans." "The uhlans? Why the uhlans in particu
lar?" 263

THE TWO FRIENDS
" Because it seems to me it would be more fit
ting for you in the uhlans."
" But excuse me, you yourself served in the
hussars, did you not? "
"I? Of course I did,"— rephed Piotr Vasi
litch with animation, — " and in what a regi
ment! You '11 not find another such regiment
in all the world! 'T was a regiment of gold!
The commanding officers, my comrades — what
men they were! But you ... I don't know
why . . . but it seems to me that you ought
to enter the uhlans. You are fair of com
plexion, and you have a slender figure: it all
fits in."
" But excuse me, Piotr Vasihtch, you forget
that, by virtue of the military regulations, I
should have to begin with the rank of yunker.
At my age that is somewhat embarrassing. I
believe it is even prohibited."
" That 's a fact," — remarked Piotr Vasilitch,
and dropped his eyes. — " Well, then, in that case,
get married," he suddenly ejaculated, raising his
head. ' Why, what a queer turn of thought you have
to-day, Piotr Vasilitch ! " exclaimed Boris An
dreitch. " Why is it queer? What 's the use, in fact,
of hving on like this ? What are you waiting for ?
You 're only wasting time. I want to know what
profit you will derive from not marrying? "
264

THE TWO FRIENDS
" But profit is not the point,"— began Boris
Andreitch. " No, permit me,"— Piotr Vasilitch interrupted
him, unexpectedly flying into a passion.—" It 's
amazing to me how afraid the young men of the
present day are of marriage! I simply cannot
understand it. You must n't mind my not being
married, Boris Andreitch. Perhaps I have
wished it, and have proposed it, and that 's what
they did to me."
And here Piotr Vasilitch elevated the fore
finger of his right hand, with its exterior turned
toward Boris Andreitch.
" And with your property, how can you help
marrying? "
Boris Andreitch gazed attentively at Piotr
Vasilitch. " Is it a cheerful matter, pray, to lead a bache
lor life?"— went on Piotr Vasilitch.— " Eka,
what a marvel! here 's mirth for you! . . .
Really, the young men of the present day amaze
me." And Piotr Vasilitch with irritation knocked the
ashes out of his Turkish pipe on the arm of his
chair, and blew into the tchubuk.
" But who told you, Piotr Vasilitch, that I do
not intend to marry? " said Boris Andreitch,
slowly. Piotr Vasilitch stopped short, motionless, just
as he was, with his fingers thrust into his
265

THE TWO FRIENDS
tobacco-pouch of dark-red velvet embroidered
with spangles. Boris Andreitch's words sur
prised him.
" Yes,"— went on Boris Andreitch:— " I am
ready to marry. Find me a bride, and I will
marry." " Truly? "
" Truly."
" No, by God? "
" What ails you, Piotr Vasilitch? By God, I 'm
not jesting."
Piotr Vasilitch filled his pipe.
" Well, look out for yourself, Boris Andreitch.
You shall have a bride."
' Very good," — returned Boris Andreitch:—
" but hearken to me — why, in reality, do you wish
to get me married? "
' Why, because, as I look at you, you have no
capacity for doing nothing."
Boris Andreitch smiled.
" On the contrary, up to this moment it has
struck me that I am a master-hand at that."
' You don't understand me rightly,"— said
Piotr Vasilitch, and changed the conversation.
Two days later, Piotr Vasilitch presented him
self before his neighbour, not in his habitual
paletot-sack, but in a frock-coat, black as the
raven's wing, with a high waist, tiny buttons and
long sleeves. Piotr Vasilitch's moustache looked
almost black with dye, and his hair, tightly curled
266

THE TWO FRIENDS
in front, in the shape of two long sausages, glis
tened brightly with pomade. A big velvet stock
with a satin band tightly compressed Piotr Vasi-
litch's throat and imparted a solemn immobility
and a festive mien to the entire upper portion of
his body.
"What is the meaning of this toilet?" — in
quired Boris Andreitch.
" The meaning of this toilet,"— replied Piotr
Vasilitch, sinking into an arm-chair, but not with
his customary free-and-easy manner, — " is that
you are to order the calash to be harnessed up.
We are going for a drive."
" Whither? "
" To the bride."
" To what bride? "
" Why, have you forgotten already what you
and I were talking about three days ago? "
Boris Andreitch burst out laughing, but in his
soul he was disconcerted.
" Good gracious! Piotr Vasilitch, — why, that
was only a joke."
" A joke? Did n't you swear at the time that
you were not jesting? No, excuse me, Boris
Andreitch, but you must keep your word. I have
already taken the proper measures."
Boris Andreitch was more disconcerted than
ever. " But what measures are you referring to?"
he asked. 267

THE TWO FRIENDS
" Oh, don't you worry. . . . What do you
think ! I have only warned one of our lady neigh
bours, a most charming person, that you and I
intend to call upon her to-day."
" What neighbour is that? "
' Wait, and you will find out. Here, now, first
dress yourself, and order the horses to be har
nessed." Boris Andreitch cast an irresolute glance
around him.
" Really, Piotr Vasilitch, I don't know what
possesses you .... just see what the weather
is like." " Never mind the weather; it 's always like
that." " And have we far to go? "
" Fifteen versts."
Boris Andreitch said nothing for a while.
" But we might breakfast first, at least! "
" Breakfast is all right — we can do that. Do
you know what, Boris Andreitch: go and dress
yourself now, and I '11 give all the necessary
orders without you; a little vodka, a bit of dried
sturgeon — that does not take long, and they '11
feed us at our little widow's— there 's no need of
worrying about that."
"Is she a widow? "—asked Boris Andreitch,
who was already at the door of his study, turning
round. Piotr Vasilitch wagged his head.
268

THE TWO FRIENDS
' You shall see, you shall see."
Boris Andreitch left the room and locked the
door behind him, while Piotr Vasilitch, when he
was left alone, gave orders concerning both the
calash and the breakfast.
Boris Andreitch took a pretty long time to
dress. Piotr Vasilitch was already draining his
second glass of vodka, with a slight frown and a
melancholy expression, when Boris Andreitch
made his appearance on the threshold of his
study. He had taken great pains with his toilet.
He wore a foppishly-cut capacious black coat,
whose dull mass contrasted agreeably with the
dull gleam of his hght-grey trousers, a low
black stock, and a handsome, dark-blue waist
coat; a gold chain, fastened by a hook through
the lowest buttonhole, lost itself modestly in a
side pocket; his thin boots squeaked aristocrat
ically, and along with the appearance of Boris
Andreitch, the odour of ess-bouquet mingled with
the odour of fresh linen was disseminated in the
air. All that Piotr Vasilitch could do was to
ejaculate " Ah! " — and immediately seize his cap.
Boris Andreitch drew on his left hand a grey
glace-kid glove, having preliminarily blown
into it; then with the same hand he nervously
poured himself out a quarter of a glass of
vodka, and drank it; finally, he took his hat,
and went out with Piotr Vasilitch into the ante
room. 269

THE TWO FRIENDS
" I 'm only doing this for you,"— said Boris
Andreitch, as he took his seat in the calash.
" Let us assume that it is for me," — said Piotr
Vasilitch, on whom Boris Andreitch's elegant
appearance was, obviously, taking effect;—" but
perhaps you will thank me for yourself."
And he told the coachman how and where to
drive. The calash rolled off.
" We are going to Sofya Kirillovna Zadnye-
provsky," — remarked Piotr Vasilitch, after a
decidedly prolonged interval, during the course of
which both friends had been sitting as motion
less as though they were made of stone. — " Have
you heard about her? "
" I think I have," — replied Boris Andreitch.
— " And are you reserving her for my bride,
pray?" " And why should n't I? She is a woman of
excellent mind, with means, with manners which
may be called the manners of the capital. How
ever, you can inspect her .... that does not
bind you to anything."
"I should think not! "—returned Boris An
dreitch. — " And how old is she? "
" Twenty -five or twenty-eight — not more
than that. In her very prime, as the saying is ! "
It was not fifteen, but a good five-and-twenty
versts to Madame Zadnyeprovsky's, so that Boris
Andreitch got very thoroughly chilled toward
the end, and kept hiding his reddened nose in the
270

THE TWO FRIENDS
beaver collar of his cloak. Piotr Vasilitch was not
afraid of the cold, in general — and, in particular,
when he was dressed in festive attire. Then he
was, rather, subject to perspiration. Madame Za
dnyeprovsky's manor consisted of a small, new,
white house, with a green roof, in the style of a
suburban villa, in city taste, with a small garden
and courtyard. Such villas are frequently to be
met with in the environs of Moscow ; in the prov
inces they are more rarely encountered. It was
evident that Madame Zadnyeprovsky had not
been settled there long. The friends alighted
from the calash. On the porch they were received
by a footman in yellowish-grey trousers and a
round grey frock-coat, the buttons stamped with
a coat of arms ; in the anteroom, which was quite
tidy, but with a locker-bench, another footman of
the same sort met them. Piotr Vasilitch ordered
the man to announce him and Boris Andreitch.
The lackey did not go to his mistress, but re
plied that he had orders to show them in.
The guests put themselves to rights, and pass
ing through the dining-room, in which a canary-
bird was trilling in a deafening manner, they
entered the drawing-room, filled with fashionable
furniture from a Russian shop, very artful and
contorted in shape, under the pretext of insuring
the comfort of the persons who should sit upon
it, but in reality extremely uncomfortable. Two
minutes had not elapsed before the rustle of a
27J

THE TWO FRIENDS
silken gown became audible in the adjoining
room; the portiere was lifted, and the mistress
of the house entered the drawing-room with brisk
steps. Piotr Vasilitch bowed and scraped and
led Boris Andreitch up to her.
" I am very glad to make your acquaintance,
and have long wished to do so," — said the host
ess easily, as she swept a swift glance over him
from head to foot; — "I am very grateful to
Piotr Vasilitch for procuring me so agreeable an
acquaintance. I beg that you will be seated."
And the hostess seated herself, rustling her
gown as she did so, on a low couch, leaned
against the back, stretched out her feet, shod in
very pretty httle boots, and crossed her hands.
Her gown was of green glace silk, with whitish
reflections, and had several rows of flounces.
Boris Andreitch seated himself in an arm-chair
opposite her; Piotr Vasilitch a little farther
away. Conversation began. Boris Andreitch
inspected Sofya Kirfllovna with attention. She
was a tall, well-built woman, with a slender
waist, a dark skin, and quite handsome. The ex
pression of her face, and especially of her eyes,
which were large and brilliant, with up-lifted cor
ners, such as the Chinese have, evinced a strange
mixture of daring and timidity, and could not
possibly be designated as natural. She would
narrow her eyes, then suddenly open them very
wide; and on her lips there constantly hovered
272

THE TWO FRIENDS
a smile, which was intended to appear indifferent.
All Sofya Kirillovna's movements were very
free, almost abrupt. Nevertheless, her appear
ance pleased Boris Andreitch; the only thing
which affected him unpleasantly was that her hair
was parted on one side, which gave to her features
a bold, boyish aspect; moreover, she expressed
herself too purely and regularly in Russian, in
his opinion. . . . Boris Andreitch shared the
view of Pushkin, that —
As rosy lips without a smile,
So without grammatical errors —
it is impossible to love the Russian language. In
a word, Sofya Kirillovna belonged to the cate
gory of women who are called by their admirers
" clever ladies," by their husbands " pugna
cious persons," and by old bachelors " sprightly
females." The conversation turned first on the tedium
of country hfe.
" There simply is n't a living soul here, simply
not a single person with whom to exchange a
word," — said Sofya Kirillovna, pronouncing the
letter s with particular distinctness. — " I cannot
understand what sort of people it is who live
here. And those," — she added with a grimace,
— " with whom one would find acquaintance
agreeable, don't come to us; they leave us, poor
wretches, in our cheerless solitude."
273

THE TWO FRIENDS
Boris Andreitch bent forward slightly, and
muttered some awkward excuse, while Piotr Va
silitch merely darted a glance at him, as though
desirous of saying: " Well, what did I tell you?
I don't think the lady stands on ceremony as to
her words."
" Do you smoke? " — asked Sofya Kirillovna.
" Yes .... but .. . ."
" Pray, smoke ... I do it myself."
And so saying, the widow took from the table
a fairly large cigar-case, drew from it a cigarette,
and offered it to her visitors. Each visitor took
a cigarette. Sofya Kirillovna rang and ordered
a small boy with a red waistcoat which covered
his entire breast, who entered, to bring a light.
The urchin brought a wax taper in a crystal can
dle-stick. The cigarettes began to emit smoke.
" Here, now, for instance, you would n't believe
it," — pursued the widow, throwing her head
back a little, and emitting smoke in a slender
stream upward: — "there are people here who
think that ladies ought not to smoke. And as
for riding on horseback, God forbid! they would
simply stone them to death. — Yes," — she added,
after a brief pause, — " everything which stands
out above the ordinary level, everything which
breaks the law of some fictitious propriety, is
subjected here to the severest condemnation."
" The ladies are particularly shrewish in that
line," — remarked Piotr Vasilitch.
274

THE TWO FRIENDS
" Yes,"— responded the widow.—" 'T is a ca
lamity for them to get their tongues loosed on
you! However, I have nothing whatever to do
with them; their gossip does not penetrate into
my desert asylum."
" And are you not bored? "—asked Boris An
dreitch. " Bored? No. I read. . . . And when I get
tired of books, I meditate; I divine the future,
I put questions to my Fate."
"Do you really tell fortunes? "—asked Piotr
Vasilitch. The widow smiled indulgently.
" And why should n't I tell fortunes? I 'm
already old enough for that."
" Oh, why do you say that? " — retorted Piotr
Vasilitch. Sofya Kirillovna gazed at him with her eyes
narrowed. " But let us drop this conversation," — said she,
and turned to Boris Andreitch with vivacity: —
" listen, Monsieur Vyazovnin, I am convinced
that you are interested in Russian literature."
" Yes .... of course, I . . . ."
Vyazovnin was fond of reading, but he read lit
tle, and that reluctantly, in Russian. Recent lit
erature, in particular, was unknown to him: he
had stopped at Pushkin.
" Tell me, please, why Marlinsky has become
so unpopular of late? In my opinion, that is in
275

THE TWO FRIENDS
the highest degree unjust. What is your opinion
of him? "
" Marlinsky is a writer of merit, of course,"
—replied Boris Andreitch.
" He is a poet; he carries the imagination into
a world .... into such an enchanting, wonder
ful world; but nowadays people have begun to
describe everyday things. Well, good gracious,
what is there good about everyday life here on
earth. . . ."
And Sofya Kirillovna described a circle about
her with her hand.
Boris Andreitch looked significantly at Sofya
Kirillovna. " I do not agree with you. I think there is a
great deal of good here," — he said, laying special
emphasis on the last word.
Sofya Kirillovna suddenly burst out into a
harsh sort of laugh, while Piotr Vasilitch as sud
denly raised his head, reflected, and set to smok
ing again. The conversation continued in the
same way in which it had begun until dinner
time, skipping incessantly from one subject to
another, which does not happen when a conver
sation becomes really interesting. Among other
things, it turned on marriage, on its advantages
and disadvantages, and on the position of woman
in general. Sofya Kirillovna stood up strongly
against marriage, got excited at last, and feel
ing conscious of ardour, expressed herself very
276

THE TWO FRIENDS
eloquently, although her interlocutors hardly
contradicted her at all: not without cause did she
love Marlinsky. She was also able to resort to
ornamentation of the newest style. The words:
" artistic," " picturesque," " dependent on,"
fairly poured from her mouth.
" What can be more precious to a woman than
freedom — freedom of thought, of feeling, of ac
tion! " she exclaimed at last.
" But permit me,"— Piotr Vasihtch inter
rupted her; his face had begun to assume a dis
satisfied expression; — " what does a woman want
with freedom? What will she do with it? "
" What do you mean by ' what '? And is it
necessary to man, according to your ideas?
That 's it exactly; you, gentlemen . . . ."
" But it is n't necessary to man," — Piotr Vasi
litch interrupted her again.
" What, — it is n't necessary? "
" Yes, precisely that, it is n't necessary. What
does a man want of that lauded freedom? When
a man is free 't is a well-known fact that he
either is bored or he makes a fool of himself."
"Consequently," — remarked Sofya Kirillovna,
with an ironical smile: — "you are bored; there
fore, knowing you to be a sensible man, I cannot
assume that you have made a fool of yourself,
as you put it."
" Both things happen,"— said Piotr Vasihtch,
calmly. 277

THE TWO FRIENDS
" That 's charming! However, I ought to be
grateful to your boredom for giving me the
pleasure of seeing you at my house to-day. . . ."
And, pleased with the rather clever turn of her
phrase, the hostess threw herself back and articu
lated in an undertone:
" I perceive that your friend is fond of para
doxes, Mr. Vyazovnin."
" I have not observed it," — replied Boris An
dreitch. " What is it that I am fond of? " — inquired
Piotr Vasilitch.
" Paradoxes."
Piotr Vasihtch looked Sofya Kirillovna
straight in the eye, and made her no reply, but
merely thought to himself: " I know what thou
art fond of. . . ."
The little boy with the red waistcoat entered
and announced that dinner was served.
" Do me the favour," — said the hostess, rising
from the divan.
And they all went into the dining-room.
The guests did not like the dinner. Piotr Vasi
litch rose from the table hungry, although there
were a great many viands; and Boris Andreitch,
as a judge of good eating, was displeased, al
though the food was served under pewter covers,
and the individual plates were served hot. The
wine, also, turned out to be bad, in spite of the
magnificent labels, adorned with gold and silver,
278

THE TWO FRIENDS
on the bottles. Sofya Kirillovna did not cease
talking,— only from time to time she darted ex
pressive looks at the servants, and she drank a
considerable amount of wine, remarking as she
did so, that in England all the ladies take wine,
but here it is considered indecorous. After din
ner, the hostess invited Boris Andreitch and Piotr
Vasilitch to return to the drawing-room, and in
quired of them which they preferred — coffee or
yellow tea. Boris Andreitch asked for tea, and
when he had drained his cup, regretted that he
had not taken coffee ; while Piotr Vasilitch asked
for coffee, and when he had drained his cup, he
asked for tea, and having tasted it, he set the
cup back on the tray. The hostess seated herself,
lighted a cigarette, and evidently was not averse
to entering upon the most vivacious conversation ;
her eyes were blazing, and her swarthy cheeks
glowed scarlet. But the guests made languid
answers to her bold speeches, occupied themselves
chiefly with smoking, and, judging from their
glances, which suddenly became riveted on the
corners of the room, were thinking of taking their
departure. However, Boris Andreitch would, in
all probability, have consented to remain until
evening ; he was already on the point of entering
into a debate with Sofya Kirillovna in answer to
her coquettish question: " Was not he surprised
at her living alone, without a female compan
ion? " but Piotr Vasilitch was plainly in haste to
279

THE TWO FRIENDS
go home. He rose, went out into the anteroom,
and ordered the horses to be put to. When, at
last, the two friends began to take their leave,
and the hostess began to try to detain them, and
amiably to expostulate with them for having
stayed so short a time with her, Boris Andreitch,
with an irresolute inclination of his body, and a
smirking expression on his face, showed that, at
all events, her reproaches were taking effect on
him; but Piotr Vasilitch, on the contrary, kept
muttering: " Absolutely impossible, ma'am; 't is
high time we were going, ma'am — business,
ma'am — 't is moonlight now," — and backed ob
stinately toward the door. Sofya Kirillovna made
them promise, however, that they would visit her
again in a few days, and offered them her hand,
in English fashion. Boris Andreitch alone ac
cepted her offer, and squeezed her fingers fairly
tight. She screwed up her eyes, and smiled.
At that moment, Piotr Vasilitch was already
thrusting his arms into his coat-sleeves in the
anteroom. Before the calash had got clear of the village,
he was the first to break the silence, with the
exclamation :
" She is n't the thing, she is n't the thing— she
won't do, she is n't the right thing ! "
" What are you trying to say? "—Boris An
dreitch asked him.
" She is n't the thing, she is n't the thing,"
280

THE TWO FRIENDS
—repeated Piotr Vasilitch, averting his eyes, and
turning slightly away.
" If you are saying that about Sofya Kiril
lovna, I don't agree with you; she is a very
charming lady,— with affectations, but charm-
ing." "I should think so! Of course, if only
in order, for instance. . . But with what object
did I wish to make you acquainted with her,
pray? "
Boris Andreitch did not answer.
" I tell you again, she is n't the thing! I see
that myself. I like that — the way she speaks
of herself: ' I'm an epicurean.' Excuse me; two
of my teeth are missing on the right side — but do
I talk about that? Everybody can see it with
out any words of mine. And, moreover, what
sort of a house-wife is she? She has nearly
starved us to death. No, in my opinion, be free
and easy, be well-read, if the fancy strikes you,
be stylish, only be a good house-wife first of all.
No, she is n't the thing ; she won't do ; that 's not
the sort of thing you need. You are not to be
dazzled with red waistcoats or covers to the
dishes." " But do you find it necessary that I should be
dazzled? " — inquired Boris Andreitch.
" I know well what you need, — I know now."
" I assure you, that I am indebted to you for
introducing me to Sofya Kirillovna."
281

THE TWO FRIENDS
" So much the better; but she won't do, I re
peat it."
It was late when the friends reached home.
As Piotr Vasilitch parted from Boris Andreitch,
he took his hand and said:
" All the same, I won't leave you in peace. I
won't give you back your promise."
" Goodness, I am at your service,"— replied
Boris Andreitch.
" Well, that 's fine."
And Piotr Vasilitch went his way.
A whole week passed again in the usual rou
tine, with this peculiarity, however, that Piotr
Vasilitch absented himself somewhere or other
for an entire day. At last, one morning he made
his appearance dressed in festal array, and again
invited Boris Andreitch to drive with him to make
a call. Boris Andreitch, who evidently had been
expecting this invitation with a certain amount
of impatience, submitted without resistance.
' Whither are you taking me this time? "—he
asked Piotr Vasilitch, as he seated himself beside
him in the sledge.
Winter had had time to close in since their drive
to Sofya Kirillovna.
" I am taking you now, Boris Andreitch,"— re
plied Piotr Vasilitch, with pauses between his
words, — " to a very honourable house — to the
Tikhodiieffs'. It is a highly respected family.
The old man served as colonel, and is a very fine
282

THE TWO FRIENDS
fellow. His wife is a very fine woman. They have
two daughters, extremely amiable beings, capi
tally brought up, and they are wealthy. I don't
know which of them you will hke best; one of
them is vivacious, the other quiet; the second is
altogether too shy, I must admit. But both can
stand up for themselves. You will see! "
" Good, I shall see," — replied Boris Andreitch,
and thought to himself: " Exactly like the Larin
family in Onyegin." *
And whether it was owing to this recollection,
or to some other cause, his features assumed for a
time a disillusioned and bored aspect.
"What is the father's name?" — he asked
carelessly. " Kalimon Ivanitch," — rephed Piotr Vasi
litch. "Kalimon! What a name! . . . And the
mother? "
" The mother's name is Pelageya Ivanovna."
" And what are the daughters called? "
" One is Pelageya also, and the other is
Emerentziya." " Emerentziya? I never heard such a name
in my life. . . . And Kalimonovna into the
bargain." " Yes, it really is a rather strange name. . . .
But what a girl she is! simply, one may say, all
constituted of some sort of virtuous fire! "
t Pushkin's famous poem, " Evgeny Onyegin."— Translator.
283

THE TWO FRIENDS
" Good gracious, Piotr Vasihtch, how poet
ically you express yourself! And which is Eme
rentziya — the quieter of the two? "
" No, the other. . . . But you shall see for
yourself." "Emerentziya Kalimonovna ! " exclaimed Vya
zovnin again.
" Her mother calls her Emerance," — remarked
Piotr Vasilitch, in a low voice.
"And her husband — Calimon?"
" I have n't heard her do that. But just wait."
" I will."
It was about twenty-five versts to the Tikho-
dueffs', as it was to Sofya Kirillovna's ; but
their old-fashioned manor did not in the least
resemble the dandified little house of the free
and easy widow. It was a clumsy structure,
commodious and vast, a sort of mass of dark-hued
planks, with dark glass in the windows. By its
sides, in two rows, stood lofty birch-trees; the
dark-brown crests of huge lindens were visible
over the roof — the whole house seemed to be
overgrown on all sides; in summer, this vegeta
tion probably enlivened the aspect of the manor,
but in winter it imparted to it a still greater air
of melancholy. Neither could the impression
produced by the interior of the house be called
cheerful: everything in it was gloomy and dim,
everything seemed older than it really was.
The friends told the servant to announce them;
284

THE TWO FRIENDS
they were shown into the drawing-room. The
master and mistress of the house rose to welcome
them, but for a long time could greet them only
with signs and movements of the body, to whicb
the guests, on their part, replied mer-I- with
smiles and bows: such a frightful baling was
set up by four white lap-dogs which at the ap
pearance of strange faces, leaped *m the em
broidered cushions, whereon theyiad been lying.
The enraged little dogs wer- reduced to a de
gree of silence by the waving of handkerchiefs in
the air, and by other neans; but one of them,
the oldest and the mow' vicious, had to be dragged
from under a bench and carried off into the bed
room by a maid, *vho, during the operation, was
bitten in the rig.'it hand.
Piotr Vasilitch took advantage of the restored
silence and introduced Boris Andreitch to the
host and hostess. They declared, with one voice,
that they were very glad to see the new acquain
tance; then Kalimon Ivanitch presented Boris
Andreitch to his daughters, calling them Polinka
and Eminka. There were in the drawing-room
two other persons of the female sex, who were
no longer young; one in a mob-cap, the other
with a dark kerchief on her head. But Kalimon
Ivanitch did not consider it necessary to introduce
Boris Andreitch to them.
Kalimon Ivanitch was a man of fifty -five, tall,
stout, grey-haired; his face had no expression
285

THE TWO FRIENDS
in particular ; the features were heavy, plain, with
an imprint of indifference, good-nature, and in
dolence. His wife, a tiny, thin woman, with
a >ypni little face, and a false front of reddish
hair untfer a tall cap, seemed to be in a perennial
flutter ; traces of a long-vanished affectation were
perceptible \\n her.
Of the daughters, one, Pelageya, black-haired
and swarthy of \skin, cast side-long glances and
was shy ; the other, Emerentziya, on the contrary,
fair-haired, and plump; with round, rosy cheeks,
a small pursed-up mouth, a small snub nose, and
sweet eyes, stood forth proyninently ; it was evi
dent that the duty of entertaining guests rested
upon her, and did not in the least incommode
her. Both sisters wore white gWns, with blue
ribbons which fluttered at the slightest movement.
Blue was becoming to Emerentziya, but not to
Polinka . . . and, indeed, it would have been
difficult to find anything which was becoming to
her, although she could not have been called a
homely girl.
The visitors seated themselves; the host and
hostess propounded to them the customary ques
tions, uttered with that stiff and mawkish expres
sion of countenance which makes its appearance
with the most well-bred people during the first
moments of conversation with new acquaintances; 'I
the guests expressed themselves in the same man-s^
ner. All this produced a rather oppressive im-li|
286 ''.'

THE TWO FRIENDS
pression. Kalimon Ivanitch, not being very fer
tile in expedients by nature, asked Boris Andre
itch: "was it long since he had come to live in
their parts?" while Boris Andreitch had only
just finished replying to the self -same question,
put by Pelageya Ivanovna. Pelageya Ivanovna,
in a very tender voice, — the voice which is always
used before visitors on the day of their first call,
— reproached her husband with being absent-
minded; Kalimon Ivanitch was somewhat dis
concerted, and blew his nose noisily into a
checked handkerchief. This sound excited one of
the lap-dogs, and it began to bark; but Emeren
tziya with ready wit immediately petted the dog
and soothed it. This same young girl managed
to render still another service to her parents, who
were still somewhat bewildered : she enlivened the
conversation by taking her seat modestly but
firmly by the side of Boris Andreitch, and, in her
turn, propounding to him, with the most impres
sive manner, questions which, although insignifi
cant, were agreeable, and calculated to evoke
mirthful replies. Matters were soon proceeding
as they should; a general debate arose, in which
Polinka alone took no part. She stared obsti
nately at the floor, while Emerentziya was even
laughing, gracefully raising one hand, and at
the same time bearing herself as though she
would have liked to say : " Look, look, how well-
bred and amiable I am, and how much charming
287

THE TWO FRIENDS
playfulness and good will to all men there is
about me! " It seemed as though her lisp also
proceeded from the fact that she was so very
good-natured. She laughed, protracting her
laughter in a delightful manner, although Boris
Andreitch, in the beginning, had not uttered any
particularly-amusing remark; then she laughed
all the more when Boris Andreitch, stimulated
by the success of his words, really did begin to be
witty and say malicious things. . . . Piotr Vasi
litch laughed also. Vyazovnin remarked, among
other things, that he was passionately fond of
music. " But how I do love music, why, it 's simply
frightful ! " — exclaimed Emerentziya.
" You not only love it — you are a superb musi
cian yourself," — remarked Piotr Vasilitch.
" Really? " — asked Boris Andreitch.
" Yes,"— continued Piotr Vasilitch:— " and
Emerentziya Kalimonovna and Pelageya Kali
monovna both sing and play splendidly on the
piano, especially Emerentziya Kalimonovna."
On hearing her name, Polinka flushed and al
most sprang out of her chair, while Emerentziya
modestly dropped her eyes.
" Akh, mesdemoiselles," — began Boris Andre
itch: — "will not you be so kind .... will not
you do me the favour . . . ."
" I really .... don't know. . . ."—lisped
288

THE TWO FRIENDS
Emerentziya— and, darting a stealthy glance at
Piotr Vasilitch, she added reproachfully:—" Akh,
what a man you are! "
But Piotr Vasilitch, being a resolute man, im
mediately addressed himself to the hostess.
" Pelageya Ivanovna,"— said he,—" command
your daughters to play us something, or to sing."
" I don't know whether they are in good voice
to-day," — replied Pelageya Ivanovna;— "but
they can try."
"Yes, try, do try,"— said their father.
" Akh, maman, how can we . . . ."
" Emerance, quand je vous dis . . ." said Pe
lageya Ivanovna in a low tone, but very seriously.
She had a habit, common to many mothers, of
issuing orders, or making hortatory comments to
her children, in the presence of other people, in
the French language, although those other peo
ple understood French also. And this was all
the more strange, seeing that she herself did not
know that language well, and pronounced it
badly. Emerentziya rose.
" What shall we sing, maman? " — she asked
submissively. "Your duet; it 's very pretty.— My daugh
ters," added Pelageya Ivanovna, turning to Boris
Andreitch,— " have different voices: Emeren
tziya has a treble . . . ."
289

THE TWO FRIENDS
" Soprano, you mean to say? "
*' Yes, yes, soprano. And Polinka has a con
tralto."' "Ah! a contralto! that 's very pleasant."
"I can't sing to-day," — said Polinka, with an
effort;— "I am hoarse."
Her voice really resembled a basso more than
a contralto. " All! well, in that case, Emerance, sing us
thine aria; thou knowest which — the Italian one,
thy favourite; and Polinka will play thine ac
companiment." " The aria where thou patterest, patterest like
a shower of peas," — chimed in her father.
" The one with the bravura,"— explained her
mother. The two girls went to the piano. Polinka
raised the lid, placed the book of manuscript
music on the rack, and took her seat, while
Emerentziya stood beside her, bridling almost
perceptibly, but very charmingly, beneath the in
tently riveted glances of Boris Andreitch and
Piotr Vasilitch, and occasionally lifting her hand
kerchief to her lips. At last she began to sing,
after the fashion of most young ladies, shrilly
and not without howling. She pronounced the
words unintelligibly, but from certain nasal
sounds it could be divined that she was singing
in Italian. Toward the end, she really did pat
ter like peas, to the great satisfaction of Kalimon
290

THE TWO FRIENDS
Ivanitch,— he rose slightly in his chair and ex
claimed:— " Well done!"— but she started the
final trill sooner than she should have, so
that her sister had to play several bars alone.
This did not prevent Boris Andreitch, however,
from expressing his pleasure, and paying compli
ments to Emerentziya; and Piotr Vasilitch, after
repeating a couple of times: " Very, very fine,"
added: "Won't you sing us something Russian
now, 'The Nightingale,' or 'The Sarafan,'1
or some gipsy song? For, to tell the truth, those
foreign pieces are not written for such as we."
" I agree with you there," — remarked Kalimon
Ivanitch. " Chanter . . . ' le Sarafan,' " — remarked the
mother, with the same sternness as before.
" No, not ' The Sarafan,' " — interposed Kali
mon Ivanitch: — "but 'We are two Gipsies,' or
' Doff thy cap and bow full low ' — knowest
thou? "
"Papa, you are always so queer!" — replied
Emerentziya, and sang " Doff thy cap," and
sang it fairly well. Kalimon Ivanitch hummed
an accompaniment, and beat time with his foot,
while Piotr Vasihtch went into perfect raptures.
"That 's quite another thing! That 's in
our style!"— he kept repeating. — " You have
xThe popular song, "The Red Sarafan"— the sarafan being the
full, loose gown of unmarried peasant-girls, gathered into a band
under the arms, and suspended over the shoulders by straps. —Trans.
lator.
291

THE TWO FRIENDS
comforted us, Emerentziya Kalimonovna! ....
Now I see that you had a right to call yourself
a lover of music and proficient in it! I agree;
you are fond of it and proficient! "
"Akh, how indiscreet you are! "—retorted
Emerentziya, and was on the point of returning
to her seat.
"A present ' le Sarafan,'" — said her mother.
Emerentziya sang " The Sarafan," not so well
as " Doff thy cap," but well, nevertheless.
" Now you ought to play us your sonata for
four hands," — remarked Pelageya Ivanovna;—
" but it will be better to defer that to another
time, for I fear that we shall bore Mr. Vyazov-
nin. " Pray, don't mention such a thing . . . ." be
gan Boris Andreitch.
But Polinka immediately clapped to the lid of
the piano, and Emerentziya announced that she
was tired. Boris Andreitch felt it incumbent on
him to repeat his compliments.
" Akh, Mr. Vyazovnin," — she replied, — " you
must have heard far better singers, I 'm sure; I
can imagine what my singing sounds like after
them. . . . Bomerius, it is true, said to me when he
passed through here .... I think you must
have heard of Bomerius, have you not? "
" No; who is that Bomerius? "
" Akh, good heavens! a splendid violinist, edu
cated in the Paris Conservatory, a wonderful
292

THE TWO FRIENDS
musician. . . . He said to me, 'Mademoiselle,
with your voice, if you would only study under
a good teacher, the result would be simply mar
vellous.' He simply kissed all my fingers, one
after the other. . . . But where am I to study
here? "
And Emerentziya heaved a sigh.
' Yes, of course . . . ." replied Boris Andre
itch, politely;—" but with your talent . . ." He
hesitated, and turned his eyes aside, with still
greater pohteness.
"Emerance, demande pourquoi que le diner. . ."
said Pelageya Ivanovna.
" Oui, maman," — replied Emerentziya, and
left the room, giving a pretty little skip in front
of the door.
She would not have skipped had there not been
visitors. And Boris Andreitch walked over to
Polinka. " If this is the Larin family," — he thought,
— " must not she be Tatyana? "
And he stepped up to Polinka, who was watch
ing his movements not without apprehension.
" You played your sister's accompaniments
charmingly,"— he began;—" charmingly! "
Polinka made no reply, but merely blushed
to her very ears.
" I am very sorry that I did not succeed in
hearing your duet. . . . From what opera is it? "
Polinka's eyes roved uneasily.
293

THE TWO FRIENDS
Vyazovnin waited for her answer; no answer
came. ' What sort of music do you like best? "—he
asked, after waiting a while; — " Italian or Ger-
man: Polinka dropped her eyes.
" Pelagie, reponde-donc," — resounded Pela
geya Ivanovna's agitated whisper.
" All sorts," — hastily replied Polinka.1
" But how can you like all sorts best? "—re
plied Boris Andreitch. " It is difficult to assume
that. For instance, there is Beethoven, — a ge
nius of the first magnitude, and yet he is not ap
preciated by every one!"
" No, sir," — replied Polinka.
" Art is varied, of course," — pursued the ruth
less Boris Andreitch.
'Yes, sir," — replied Polinka.
The conversation between them did not last
long. " No," — thought Boris Andreitch as he beat a
retreat from her, — " she 's no Tatyana! she is
simply trepidation personified. . . ."
And poor Polinka, as she got into bed that
night, complained, with tears, to her maid how
the visitor that day had worried her about music,
and how she had not known what replies to make
to him, and how unhappy she was when visitors
1 Polinka, or Pauline, is the favourite familiar form of Pelageya (pro
nounced Pelagaya); — French Pelagie. —Translator.
294

THE TWO FRIENDS
pame: mamma did nothing but scold afterward
— and that 's all the satisfaction she got out of
it. . . .
At dinner Boris Andreitch sat between Kali
mon Ivanitch and Emerentziya. The dinner was
Russian, not fanciful, but nutritious, and much
better adapted to the taste of Piotr Vasilitch than
the artfully-concocted viands of the widow.
Beside him sat Polinka, and, having at last con
quered her timidity, she did, at least, answer his
questions. On the other hand, Emerentziya en
tertained her neighbour so assiduously, that at
last it became more than he could bear. She had
a habit of bending her head to the right, as she
lifted a morsel of food to her mouth on the left
—as though she were playing with it; and Boris
Andreitch took an intense dislike to this trick.
Neither did he like the way she had of talking
incessantly about herself, of confiding to him with
emotion the most minute details of her life; — •
but, being a polite man, he did not in the least be
tray his sentiments, so that Piotr Vasilitch, who
was watching him across the table, could not tell
what sort of an impression Emerentziya was
making on him.
After dinner Kalimon Ivanitch suddenly sank
into meditation, or, to speak more plainly, grew
slightly drowsy ; he was accustomed to take a nap
at that hour, and although, on observing that the
visitors were "preparing to take leave, he re-
295

THE TWO FRIENDS
marked several times : " But why, gentlemen,
why? Won't you play a game of cards ? " . . . .
yet in his secret soul he was well pleased when he
saw that, at last, they had taken their caps in
their hands. Pelageya Ivanovna, on the contrary,
immediately grew animated, and tried, with par
ticular insistence, to detain the visitors. Eme
rentziya zealously seconded her efforts, and tried
in every way to prevail upon them to remain;
even Polinka said to them: "Mais, Messieurs . . . ."
Piotr Vasihtch replied neither " yes " nor " no,"
but kept glancing at his companion. Boris An
dreitch, on the other hand, courteously but firmly
insisted that it was indispensable that they should
return home. In a word, matters proceeded as
they had at the parting with Sofya Kirillovna.
After having promised to repeat their visit before
long, the guests finally departed: Emerentziya's
cordial glances accompanied them clear to the
dining-room, while Kalimon Ivanitch even went
as far as the anteroom and, after watching Boris
Andreitch's alert servant wrap up his master in
his fur coat, tie a scarf round his neck, and pull
his warm boots on his feet, he returned to his
study and immediately fell asleep, while Polinka,
who had been reduced to a state of shamed con
fusion by her mother, went off to her own room
up-stairs, and the two speechless female persons,
one in a mob-cap and the other with a handker
chief on her head, congratulated Emerentziya on
her new conquest. 296

THE TWO FRIENDS
The friends drove on in silence. Boris Andre
itch smiled to himself, screened as he was from
Piotr Vasihtch by the raccoon collar of his fur
coat, which was turned up, and waited to hear
what he would say.
"Again, she is n't the right thing!"— ex
claimed Piotr Vasilitch.
But this time a certain indecision was discern
ible in his voice, and striving to get a look at
Boris Andreitch over the collar of his coat, he
added in an inquiring tone :
" That 's true, is n't it — that she is n't the right
thing? "
" She is n't," — replied Boris Andreitch with a
laugh. " So I thought," — replied Piotr Vasihtch, and
after a pause, he added: — "But, after all, why
is n't she the right thing? What is it that young
girl lacks? "
" She lacks nothing. On the contrary, she has
too much of everything. . . ."
" Precisely what do you mean by ' too much ' ? "
" Why, just that."
" Excuse me, Boris Andreitch, I don't under
stand you. If you are talking about education,
is that any objection? And as for character, be
haviour . . . ."
" Ekh, Piotr Vasilitch,"— returned Boris An
dreitch: — "I 'm surprised that you, with your
clear view of things, do not see through that lisp
ing Emerentziya! That simulated amiability,
297

THE TWO FRIENDS
that constant self -adoration, that modest confi
dence in her own merits, that condescension of an
angel gazing down on you from the heights of
heaven .... but what 's the use of talking! If
it comes to that, and in case it is absolutely in
dispensable, I would twenty times rather marry
her sister; she knows how to hold her tongue, at
least!" ' You are right, of course," — replied poor
Piotr Vasilitch in a low voice.
Boris Andreitch's sudden sally had dum-
f ounded him.
" No," — he said to himself, and he said it for
the first time since he had made Vyazovnin's ac
quaintance: — "I 'm no match for him . . . .
he 's too learned."
And Vyazovnin on his side was thinking, as
he gazed at the moon, which hung low over the
white streak of the horizon : " And it really was
like a bit out of ' Onyegin ' : . . .
Round and red of face was she ....
— but my Lensky is fine, and I 'm a pretty
Onyegin! "
" Faster, drive faster, Lariushka! "—he added
aloud. " She won't do," — jestingly inquired Boris
Andreitch of Piotr Vasilitch, as he alighted from
the sledge, with the aid of his footman, and
298

THE TWO FRIENDS
mounted the porch of his own house,—" hey,
Piotr Vasihtch? "
But Piotr Vasilitch made no answer and went
off to pass the night at his own house. And
Emerentziya, on the following day, wrote to her
friend (she kept up a vast and lively correspon
dence) : " Yesterday we had a new visitor, our
neighbour Vyazovnin. He is a very nice, amiable
man; it is immediately apparent that he is well-
bred, and — shall I whisper a secret in thine ear?
—I have an idea that I have made a pretty deep
impression on him. But do not worry, mon amie;
my heart has not been touched, and Valentine
has no occasion to feel uneasy."
This Valentine was a teacher in the govern
mental gymnasium. In town he led a dissipated
life, and in the country he sighed for Emeren
tziya with platonic and hopeless love.
The friends again met together on the follow
ing morning, and their life flowed on as before.
A fortnight elapsed. Boris Andreitch was in
daily expectation of an invitation; but Piotr Va
silitch had, apparently, utterly renounced his
intentions. Boris Andreitch himself began to
talk about the widow and the Tikhodueffs, and
dropped hints to the effect that everything should
be subjected to three tests; but Piotr Vasilitch
did not even appear to understand his hints. At
last Boris Andreitch could endure it no longer,
and one day he began thus :
299

THE TWO FRIENDS
" What 's the meaning of this, Piotr Vasilitch?
Evidently, it is now my turn to remind you of
your promises."
" What promises? "
" Why, don't you remember, you wanted to get
me married? I 'm waiting."
Piotr Vasilitch fidgeted on his chair.
' Why, you 're so fastidious, you know! One
can't suit you. God knows what you want! I
don't believe there is a bride to your taste in these
parts." " That 's bad, Piotr Vasilitch. You ought not
to despair so soon. You have not made a success
of the first two trials, but that 's no calamity.
Moreover, the widow did please me. If you give
me up, I shall betake myself to her."
" All right, go along, — God bless you."
" Piotr Vasilitch, I assure you that, without
jesting, I want to get married. Do take me
somewhere else."
" Why, really, there is no one else in all the
countryside." " That cannot be, Piotr Vasilitch. Do you
mean to say that here, in this whole neighbour
hood, there is not a single pretty woman? "
" Of course there is! but they are no mates for
you." " But do name one of them."
Piotr Vasihtch gripped the amber mouthpiece
of his tchubuk with his teeth.
300

THE TWO FRIENDS
" Why, there 's Vyerotchka Barsukoff, for in
stance,"— he said at last;— "what better do you
want? Only, she 's not for you."
" Why? "
" Too simple."
" So much the better, Piotr Vasilitch, so much
the better! "
" And her father is such an eccentric."
" That 's no misfortune. . . . Piotr Vasilitch,
my friend, do introduce me to that .... what
the deuce is her name did you say? "
" Barsukoff."
" To Miss Barsukoff .... please do. . . ."
And Boris Andreitch gave Piotr Vasilitch no
peace until the latter promised to take him to the
Barsukoffs'. Two days later they drove to call on them.
The Barsukoff family consisted of two per
sons: the father, aged fifty, and the daughter,
aged nineteen years. It was not without cause
that Piotr Vasihtch had called the father an ec
centric; he really was an eccentric of the first
water. After completing his course of study
in a government institute in brilliant style, he
had entered the naval service, and speedily at
tracted the attention of the superior officers, but
had soon retired, married, settled down in the
country, and had gradually grown so indolent
and so relaxed that, at last, he not only went
nowhere— he did not even come out of his room.
301

THE TWO FRIENDS
Clad in a short coat lined with hare-fur, and in
heelless slippers, with his hands thrust into the
pockets of his full trousers, he paced back and
forth, for days at a time, from one corner to an
other, now humming a tune, now whistling, and
no matter what was said to him, he replied, with
a smile, to everything, " Brau, brau! " — that is to
say, " Bravo, bravo!"
" Do you know what, Stepan Petrovitch," — a
neighbour who had dropped in to call said to him,
— and the neighbours visited him with pleasure,
because there was no more hospitable and cordial
man in the world than he, — " do you know what?
They say that in Byelyovo the price of grain has
risen to thirty rubles in paper money."
"Brau, brau!" — calmly replied Barsukoff,
who had just sold his for seven and a half.
" And have you heard that your neighbour,
Pavel Fomitch, has gambled away thirty thou
sand at cards? "
" Brau, brau! "—replied Barsukoff, with equal
composure. " The cattle-murrain is in Shlykovo,"— re
marked another neighbour who was sitting by.
"Brau, brau!"
" Lapin's young lady has eloped with the tu
tor. ..."
" Brau, brau, brau! "
And so on, without end. He was informed
that one of his horses had gone lame, that a Jew
302

THE TWO FRIENDS
had arrived with his wares, that the clock had
fallen off the wall, that a small boy had flung his
boots away somewhere — and all that was to be
got out of him was : " Brau, brau! " And, never
theless, no unusual amount of disorder was no
ticeable in his house: his peasants prospered, and
he contracted no debts. Barsukoff's exterior
made a favourable impression; his round face,
with large brown eyes, a thin, regularly-formed
nose, and red lips, surprised one by its almost
youthful freshness. This freshness was thrown
into all the more striking relief by the snowy
whiteness of his hair. A faint smile hovered con
stantly over his lips, and yet not so much over his
lips as over the dimples in his cheeks; he never
laughed, but sometimes, very rarely, uttered a
hysterical guffaw, and felt ill afterward, on
every occasion. He said very little outside of his
habitual exclamation, and only the most indis
pensable things, sticking, moreover, to the ut
most possible abbreviations.
His daughter, Vyerotchka, resembled him
greatly, both in face and in the expression of her
dark eyes, which seemed still darker because of
the tender hue of her blond hair, and her smile.
She was small of stature, and prettily formed;
there was nothing particularly attractive about
her, but it was sufficient for one to cast a glance
at her, or to hear her voice, to make him say to
himself: "That 's a kind-hearted being." The
303

THE TWO FRIENDS
father and daughter loved each other. The entire
management of the housekeeping was in her
hands, and she liked to busy herself with it ... .
she knew no other occupations. Not without rea
son had Piotr Vasilitch called her simple.
When Piotr Vasilitch and Boris Andreitch ar
rived at Barsukoff 's house, he was pacing to and
fro in his study, according to his wont. This
study, which might also be called the drawing-
room and the dining-room, because visitors were
received in it, and the table was set in it, took
up about one half of Stepan Petrovitch's small
house. The furniture in it was ugly but com
fortable; a remarkably broad, soft divan, with a
great multitude of cushions, stretched the whole
length of one wall, — a divan which was well
known to all the landed proprietors of the neigh
bourhood. Truth to tell, it was a very comfort
able divan to lie upon. In the remaining rooms
there were only chairs, and a few little tables, and
cupboards; all these rooms opened into one an
other, and no one lived in them. Vyerotchka's
little bedroom opened on the garden, and in addi
tion to her neat little bed, her wash-stand with
mirror attached, and one arm-chair, contained no
furniture whatever ; to counterbalance this, every
where in the corners stood bottles filled with fruit-
liqueurs, and jars of preserves, all labelled by
Vyerotchka's own hand.
On entering the anteroom, Piotr Vasilitch was
304

THE TWO FRIENDS
on the point of ordering that he and Boris Andre
itch should be announced, but a small boy in a
long-tailed coat, who happened to be there,
merely glanced at him and began to remove his
fur coat, with the remark: "Pray, enter, sir."
The friends entered Stepan Petrovitch's study.
Piotr Vasihtch presented Boris Andreitch to him.
Stepan Petrovitch shook hands with him and
said: " I 'm glad .... very. You must be chilled
through. . . . Vodka? " And indicating with a
movement of his head the appetising viands which
stood on a small table, he began again to pace
the room.
Boris Andreitch drank a glass of vodka, Piotr
Vasilitch followed his example, and both seated
themselves on the broad divan with its multitude
of cushions. Boris Andreitch immediately felt
as though he had been sitting all his life on that
divan, and had been acquainted with the master
of the house for a very long time. That was
precisely the feeling which all Barsukoff 's visitors
experienced. He was not alone that day; but then, he was
rarely to be found alone. Some pettifogger or
other was sitting with him, a man with a wrinkled,
senile face, a hawk-like nose, and uneasy eyes,
a completely threadbare being, who had recently
been serving in a warm little post, and at the pres
ent moment found himself under indictment.
Clutching his stock with one hand, and the front
305

THE TWO FRIENDS
of his frock-coat with the other, this gentleman
was following Stepan Petrovitch with his gaze,
and having waited until the visitors had seated
themselves, he said with a deep sigh:
" Ekh, Stepan Petrovitch, Stepan Petrovitch!
't is easy to condemn a man; but you know the
proverb : ' The honest man 's a sinner, the rascal 's
a sinner, all men live by sin, so why should not we
also? '"
" Brau . . . ." Stepan Petrovitch was begin
ning, but stopped short, and said: " 't is a bad
proverb." " Who says it is n't? Of course it 's bad,"—
returned the threadbare gentleman; — " but what
would you have one do! Misery is more than a
match for you, you know: it drives honesty out
of you. Here now, I 'm willing to leave it to
these nobly-born gentlemen, if they will only
deign to listen to the details of my affair. ..."
"May we smoke?" — Boris Andreitch asked
the host.
The host nodded his head.
" Of course," — pursued the gentleman:—
" and perhaps I also have been vexed at myself
and at the world in general, — have felt, so to
speak, righteous indignation. . . ."
"Invented by scoundrels," — Stepan Petro
vitch interrupted him.
The gentleman gave a start.
" Precisely what do you mean by that, Stepan
306

THE TWO FRIENDS
Petrovitch? Do you mean to say that righteous
indignation was invented by scoundrels? "
Stepan Petrovitch nodded his head again.
The gentleman held his peace for a while, and
then suddenly burst into a cracked laugh, which
revealed the fact that he had not a single tooth
left; yet he spoke quite clearly.
" He, he, Stepan Petrovitch, you are always
saying such odd things! Our lawyer says of
you, not without reason, that you are a regular
punster." " Brau, brau! " — responded Barsukoff.
At that moment the door opened, and Vye-
rotchka entered. Advancing with firm, light
steps, she bore two cups of coffee and a cream-
jug on a green tray. Her simple dark-grey
gown fitted her slender form beautifully. Boris
Andreitch and Piotr Vasilitch both rose from the
divan; she made them a curtsey in response, with
out letting go of the tray, and stepping up to the
table, she deposited her burden on it, with the re
mark: " Here is some coffee for you."
" Brau," — commented her father. — " Two
more," — he added, pointing at the guests. —
" Boris Andreitch, my daughter."
Boris Andreitch made her a second obeisance.
" Would you like some coffee? "—she inquired,
looking him directly and calmly in the eye. —
" It is still an hour and a half to dinner-time."
307

THE TWO FRIENDS
'' With great pleasure," — replied Boris An
dreitch. Vyerotchka turned to Krupitzyn.
" And you, Piotr Vasihtch? "
" I will drink some also."
' You shall have it directly. I have not seen
you for a long time, Piotr Vasilitch."
So saying, Vyerotchka left the room.
Boris Andreitch gazed after her and, bending
over to his friend, he whispered in his ear:
" But she is very charming. . . . And what
easy manners. . . ."
"Habit," — replied Piotr Vasilitch:— " they
almost keep an eating-house here, you know.
When one person goes out of the door, another
comes in."
As though in confirmation of Piotr Vasilitch 's
words, a new visitor entered the room. He was
an extremely voluminous man, or, to use an old-
fashioned word which still persists in our region,
roly-poly, with a big face, big eyes and lips, and
tousled hair. An expression of constant dissatis
faction was perceptible on his face — a sour ex
pression. He was dressed in very capacious gar
ments, and lurched from side to side with his
whole body as he walked. He dropped heavily
on the divan, and only then said: " Good morn
ing," but without addressing himself to any one
of those present.
" Vodka? "—Stepan Petrovitch asked him.
308

THE TWO FRIENDS
"No! vodka forsooth! "—replied the new
guest ;— " I 'm in no mood for vodka. How are
you, Piotr Vasilitch? " he added, glancing round.
" How are you, Mikhei Mikheitch,"— replied
Piotr Vasilitch.—" Whence has God brought
you?" " Whence? From town, of course. 'T is only
you lucky dogs who don't have any occasion to
go to town, you know. But I, thanks to Court
of Guardianship, and to these little masters here,"
—he added, thrusting out his finger in the direc
tion of the gentleman under indictment,—" I
have driven all my horses to death running to
town. Damn it all!"
" Mikhei Mikheitch, my deepest respects to
you," — said the gentleman who had been so un
ceremoniously designated as little master.
Mikhei Mikheitch glanced at him.
" Tell me one thing, please," — he began, fold
ing his arms : — " when are they finally going to
hang thee? "
The other man took offence.
" Well, they ought to do it! By heaven, they
ought to! The Government is too lenient to fel
lows of your stamp — that 's what! I suppose
thou art melancholy because thou art under
indictment? That 's nothing at all! Only
one thing is vexatious, I fancy; thou canst
not now — haben sie gewesen" — and Mikhei
Mikheitch stuck out his hand, as though he
309

THE TWO FRIENDS
were catching something in the air, and then
thrust it into his side-pocket. — " Ridiculous!
Ekh you, disgusting little race, both big and
small!" " It pleases you always to jest,"— replied the
dismissed pettifogger;— " but you will not take
into consideration that the giver is free to give,
and the receiver to receive. Moreover, I did not
act on my own initiative in that case, and more
than one person took a hand in it, as I have ex
plained. ..." 0
" Of course,"— remarked Mikhei Mikheitch
ironically. " The fox took refuge under the har
row from the rain — not every drop will land on
him anyway. But confess, our chief of police
rebuked thee fiercelj'-, did n't he? Hey? 'T was
severe, was n't it? "
The man writhed.
" He 's a lively hand at training a man down,"
— he said at last, hesitatingly.
"Exactly so!"
" And nevertheless, one may say of him,
sir " That he 's a man of gold, a genuine treasure,"
— Mikhei Mikheitch interrupted him, turning
to Stepan Petrovitch. — " He 's a regular giant
at handling such fine young fellows as this, and
drunkards! "
"Brau, brau!" — responded Stepan Petro
vitch. 310

THE TWO FRIENDS
Vyerotchka entered with two more cups of
coffee on a tray.
Mikhei Mikheitch made his bow to her.
" One more,"— said her father.
" Why do you give yourself the trouble? " —
Boris Andreitch said to her, as he took his cup
from her.
"It is no trouble!" — replied Vyerotchka, —
" and I do not care to entrust it to the butler; it
seems to me that it will be more savoury thus."
" Of course, from your hands."
But Vyerotchka did not listen to his amiable
remarks to the end, but went out, returning im
mediately with coffee for Mikhei Mikheitch.
" And have you heard,"— began Mikhei Mi
kheitch, as he drained his cup; — "Marya Ili-
nitchna is lying speechless, you know."
Stepan Petrovitch halted, and raised his head.
" Certainly, certainly," — went on Mikhei Mi
kheitch. — " 'T is paralysis. You know, of course,
how fond she was of eating. So, day before yes
terday, she was sitting at table, and she had
guests. . . . Botvinya 1 was served, and she had
1 A soup whose foundation consists of a sort of sour small beer,
brewed from sour cabbage, or from rye flour (or the crusts of sour rye
bread), thickened with strained spinach, tiny cubes of raw cucumber,
and minced spring onions. A lump of ice is placed in the tureen.
On a separate dish the adjuncts are served, and each person adds them
to the above according to his taste. They consist of some sort of cold,
boiled fish, cucumbers, onions, horse-radish, crawfish,— anything else
which is convenient and savoury,— and sugar. When well made, it is
delicious. —Translator. 311

THE TWO FRIENDS
already eaten two platefuls, and was asking for
a third .... when all of a sudden she glanced
round, and said this way, deliberately, you know :
' Take away the botvinya, all the people are sit
ting there green ' . . . and flop she went off her
chair! They rushed to lift her, they asked what
ailed her? . . . She explained by motions of her
hands, but her tongue was no longer working.
They say that our county medical man distin
guished himself on that occasion, to boot. . . He
sprang to his feet, and shouted: 'The doctor!
send for the doctor! ' — He lost his head com
pletely. Well, and what practice does he have
anyway? He gets his whole living from dead
bodies." "Brau, brau!" articulated Barsukoff,
thoughtfully. " And we are going to have botvinya to-day
too," — remarked Vyerotchka, as she sat down on
the edge of a chair in one corner.
'With what? Sturgeon? "—briskly inquired
Mikhei Mikheitch.
" With fresh sturgeon and dried sturgeon's
back." " That 's fine ! Here now, they say that bot
vinya is not good in winter, because it is a cold
dish. That 's nonsense .... is n't it, Piotr
Vasilitch? "
" Perfect nonsense," — replied Piotr Vasilitch;
— " is n't it pretty warm here indoors? "
" Very warm." 312

THE TWO FRIENDS
" Then why should n't one eat a cold dish in a
hot room? I don't understand."
" And I don't understand."
In this manner did the conversation run on for
quite a long time. The host took hardly any
part in it, and kept striding about the room. At
dinner, all ate with splendid appetite, so ex
quisitely, though simply, was the food prepared.
Vyerotchka sat at the head of the table, served
the botvinya, sent the dishes round, watched how
the guests ate, and tried to anticipate their wants.
Vyazovnin sat beside her and gazed attentively
at her. Vyerotchka could not speak without
smiling, like her father, and it was very becom
ing to her. Vyazovnin put a question to her now
and then, — not for the purpose of receiving an
swers from her, but with the express object of
seeing that smile.
After dinner, Mikhei Mikheitch, Piotr Vasi
litch, and the gentleman who was under indict
ment, whose real name was Onufry Ilitch, sat
down to play cards. Mikhei Mikheitch no longer
expressed himself so harshly concerning him, al
though he continued to jeer at him; possibly this
arose from the fact that Mikhei Mikheitch had
drunk a glass too much at dinner. To tell the
truth, at every deal he announced in advance
that Onufry would hold all the aces and trumps,
that that small fry 1 always stacked the cards to
1 Literally, "nettle-seed," a term of contempt applied to petty
under-clerks . — Translator.
313

THE TWO FRIENDS
cheat, that he had thievish hands anyway; but,
on the other hand, after having made a small slam
with him, Mikhei Mikheitch began quite unex
pectedly to praise him.
' Well, say what thou wilt, thou art utter rub
bish," — he said to him: — "but I love thee, by
heaven I do ! Because, in the first place, it is my
nature to, and in the second place, when one
comes to think it over, there are worse folks than
thou, and I may even say that thou art a decent
man, in thy way."
' You have deigned to speak the truth, Mi
khei Mikheitch," — replied Onufry Ilitch, greatly
encouraged by such words: — "the most down
right truth; only, of course, if it were n't for
persecution . . . ."
" Come, deal, deal,"— Mikhei Mikheitch inter
rupted him; — " persecution, forsooth! What per
secution? ! Thou mayest thank God that thou
art not sitting chained in Pugatchoff 's tower at
this moment. . . . Deal."
And Onufry Ilitch began to deal the cards,
briskly blinking his little eyes, and still more
briskly moistening the thumb of his right hand
with his long, thin tongue.
In the meanwhile, Stepan Petrovitch stalked
about the room, while Boris Andreitch kept close
to Vyera. The conversation between them pro
ceeded by fits and starts (she was constantly
leaving the room) , and was so insignificant that
314

THE TWO FRIENDS
it would be difficult to reproduce it. He ques
tioned her as to what people dwelt in their neigh
bourhood, whether she often made visits, whe
ther she was fond of housekeeping? To the
question, as to what she read, she replied: "I
should like to read, but I have no time." And
yet, when at nightfall the small boy entered the
study with the announcement that their horses
were ready, he felt sorry to leave, sorry to cease
seeing those kind eyes, that bright smile. If
Stepan Petrovitch had taken it into his head
to detain him, he certainly would have remained ;
but Stepan Petrovitch did nothing of the sort,
— not because he was not pleased with his new
guest, but because this was the established order
of things in his house : if any one wished to spend
the night, that person himself gave orders
straight out that a bed should be prepared for him.
Mikhei Mikheitch and Onufry Ilitch did this;
they even went to bed in the same chamber, and
chatted until long after midnight; their voices
were dully audible from the study ; Onufry Ilitch
was the principal talker, and appeared to be nar
rating something, while his interlocutor merely
ejaculated from time to time, now with surprise,
again with approbation: " H'm! " On the fol
lowing morning they drove away together to
Mikhei Mikheitch's village, and thence to the
town, still together.
On the way home both Piotr Vasilitch and
315

THE TWO FRIENDS
Boris Andreitch maintained silence for a long
time. Piotr Vasilitch even dozed, lulled by the
jingling of the bells, and the smooth motion of
the sledge.
"Piotr Vasilitch!"— said Boris Andreitch at
last. "What?"— said Piotr Vasilitch, only half
awake. " Why don't you interrogate me? "
" What should I interrogate you about? "
' Why, as you did those other times— why
not?" " About Vyerotchka, you mean? "
" Yes."
" There you go! As if I destined her for you!
She 's not suited to you."
" You 're mistaken in thinking so. She pleases
me a great deal more than all your Emeren-
tziyas and Sofya Kirillovnas ! "
" You don't mean it? "
" I do, I tell you."
'Why, good gracious! — she 's a perfectly
simple young girl. She may be a good house
wife, — that 's a fact; but is that what you require,
pray? " And why not? Perhaps that is precisely
what I am in search of."
"But what are you saying, Boris Andreitch?
Good heavens! why, she can't talk French at
all!" 316

THE TWO FRIENDS
" What of that? Can't one get along without
the French language? "
Piotr Vasilitch made no reply for a while.
" I did n't in the least expect this .... from
you, that is to say .... it seems to me that you
are jesting."
" No, I 'm not jesting."
" God knows what to make of you after this!
Why, I thought that she was only a mate for a
fellow like me. However, she 's really quite a
nice little lass."
And Piotr Vasilitch adjusted his cap, buried
his head in a cushion, and went to sleep. Boris
Andreitch continued to think of Vyerotchka. He
still seemed to see her smile, the merry gentle
ness of her eyes. The night was bright and cold,
the snow gleamed with bluish fires, like diamonds ;
the stars were shining and the Pleiades were
twinkling brilliantly; the frost crackled and
creaked under the sledge-runners ; the branches of
the trees, covered with icy rime, tinkled faintly,
as they glistened in the moonlight, as though
made of glass. At such times the imagination
plays freely. Vyazovnin experienced this in his
own case. He thought of all sorts of things,
until the sledge drew up, at last, at his porch;
but the image of Vyerotchka would not get out
of his head, and secretly accompanied his rev
eries. Piotr Vasilitch, as we have already said, was
317

THE TWO FRIENDS
astonished at the impression which Vyerotchka
had made on Boris Andreitch; but he was still
more astonished when, a couple of days later,
that same Boris Andreitch announced to him that
he was bent upon driving to see Barsukoff, and
that he would go alone if Piotr Vasilitch were not
disposed to accompany him. Piotr Vasilitch, of
course, replied that he should be dehghted, and
was readj% and again the friends drove to Bar-
sukoff 's house, and again spent the whole day
there. As on the first occasion, they found sev
eral visitors with him, whom Vyerotchka also re
galed with coffee, and after dinner with pre
serves; but Vyazovnin talked more with her than
on the first occasion — that is, he said more to her.
He told her about his past life, about Petersburg,
about his travels, — in a word, about everything
which came into his head. She listened to him
with calm interest, smiling every now and then,
but not for a single moment forgetting her duties
as hostess: she rose on the instant, as soon as
she perceived that the guests needed anything,
and she herself brought everything to them.
When she withdrew, Vyazovnin did not leave his
place, and gazed peacefully about him; she re
turned, seated herself by his side, took up her
work, and again he entered into conversation
with her. Stepan Petrovitch approached them
in the course of his wanderings about the room,
listened to Vyazovnin's remarks, muttered:
318

THE TWO FRIENDS
" brau, brau! "—and so the time fairly flew by.
.... On this occasion Vyazovnin and Piotr
Vasilitch remained over night, and did not depart
until the evening of the following day. ... As
he took his leave, Vyazovnin shook Vyera's hand.
She flushed faintly. No man had ever shaken
hands with her before that day, but she thought,
evidently, this was the established custom in
Petersburg. The two friends began to make frequent visits
to Stepan Petrovitch; Boris Andreitch, in par
ticular, made himself quite at home in the house.
There were times when he felt irresistibly drawn
thither, when he fairly longed to go. Several
times he even went alone. Vyerotchka pleased
him more and more, and a friendship was
established between them, and he was already
beginning to think that she was too cold and
sensible a friend. Piotr Vasilitch ceased to
talk to him about Vyerotchka. . . But lo,
one morning, after staring at him, according
to his habit, for some time in silence, he said
meaningly :
"Boris Andreitch!"
" What? "—returned Boris Andreitch, and
flushed slightly, without himself knowing why.
" I want to say something to you, Boris Andre
itch. . . . You 'd better look out .... you
know . . . . 't will be a bad business if, for ex
ample, anything . . . ."
319

THE TWO FRIENDS
"What are you trying to say?" — retorted
Boris Andreitch. — " I don't understand you."
" Why, about Vyerotchka. . . ."
" About Vyerotchka? "
And Boris Andreitch blushed worse than be
fore. " Yes. Look out, for 't is easy to bring about
a catastrophe .... to insult her, that is ... .
Excuse my frankness ; but I consider it my duty
as a friend. . . ."
" But what put that into your head, Piotr Vasi
litch? " — Boris Andreitch interrupted him.—
" Vyerotchka is a girl of the strictest principles,
and, in conclusion, there is nothing between us
but the most ordinary friendship."
" Come, enough of that, Boris Andreitch! "—
interposed Piotr Vasilitch in his turn. — " What
sort of friendship can there be between you, a
cultured man, and a country girl who except the
four walls of her home . . . ."
" There you go again with the same old cry! "
— Boris Andreitch interrupted him again.—
" Why you mix culture up in the matter, is more
than I can understand."
Boris Andreitch was somewhat angry.
" Come, do listen to me, Boris Andreitch," —
said Piotr Vasilitch, impatiently: — "if it has
come to such a pass, I am bound to tell you that
you have a perfect right to keep secrets from me,
but as for deceiving me, excuse me, but you can-
320

THE TWO FRIENDS
not do it. For I have eyes as well as you, you
see. Yesterday " (they had both been at Stepan
Petrovitch's on the day before) " revealed a great
deal to me. . . ."
" And what, in particular, did it reveal to
you? "—inquired Boris Andreitch.
' Why, it revealed to me the fact that you are
in love with her, and jealous of her."
Vyazovnin stared at Piotr Vasilitch.
" Well, and does she love me? "
" That I cannot say for certain; but it would
be strange if she did not fall in love with you."
" Because I am well-educated, you mean to
say." " For that reason, and also because you have a
fine estate. Well, and your personal appear
ance might please also. But your property is the
principal thing."
Vyazovnin rose and walked to the window.
" How could you notice that I was jealous? "
— he asked, suddenly turning toward Piotr Vasi
litch. " Because you were utterly unlike yourself
yesterday, until that oaf Karantyeff took his de
parture." Vyazovnin made no reply, but he felt in his
soul that his friend was speaking the truth. This
Karantyeff was a student who had not completed
his course, a merry and far from stupid young
fellow, with soul, but who had been led utterly
321

THE TWO FRIENDS
astray and had gone to destruction. Passions
had exhausted his powers in early youth; he had
been left without guardianship too early. He
had an audacious gipsy face, and altogether he
resembled a gipsy; he sang and danced like a
gipsy. He fell in love with all women. Vye
rotchka pleased him greatly. Boris Andreitch
made his acquaintance at Barsukoff 's, and at first
entertained a very friendly feeling toward him;
but noticing one day the peculiar expression of
countenance wherewith Vyerotchka was listening
to his songs, he began to think differently about
him. "Piotr Vasilitch," — said Boris Andreitch, step
ping up to his friend, and coming to a halt in
front of him,—" I must confess .... that it
seems to me you are right. I have felt so this long
time, but you have definitively opened my eyes
for me. I really am not indifferent to Vye
rotchka; but hearken, Piotr Vasihtch, what does
that amount to? Neither she nor I desire any
thing dishonourable; moreover, I have told you,
I believe, that I see no particular signs of affec
tion for me on her side."
" All that is so,"— returned Piotr Vasilitch,—
" but the Evil One is strong."
Boris Andreitch made no reply for a while.
"What am I to do, Piotr Vasilitch?"
' ' What ? Stop going there. ' '
" Do you think so? " 322

THE TWO FRIENDS
" Of course. . . . You can't marry her! "
Again Vyazovnin held his peace for a space.
" And why should n't I marry her? " — he ex
claimed at last.
" I have already told you why, Boris Andre
itch; she 's no mate for you."
" I don't see that."
" If you don't see it, do as you like. I 'm not
your guardian."
And Piotr Vasihtch began to stuff his pipe
with tobacco.
Boris Andreitch sat down by the window, and
became engrossed in meditation.
Piotr Vasilitch did not interfere with him and
continued with the utmost composure to emit
tiny clouds of smoke from his mouth. At last
Boris Andreitch rose, and with visible agitation
ordered the horses to be harnessed.
" Whither away? "—Piotr Vasilitch asked him.
" To the Barsukoffs' "— rephed Boris Andre
itch. Piotr Vasihtch took five puffs.
" Do you want me to go with you? "
" No, Piotr Vasilitch; I should like to go alone
to-day. I want to have an explanation with
Vyerotchka." " As you please."
" There now," — he said to himself, after he
had seen Boris Andreitch off, — " things seem to
be coming to a head. . . But he always was a
323

THE TWO FRIENDS
lucky dog,"— he added, as he stretched himself
out on the divan.
On the evening of that same day, as Piotr Va
silitch, without waiting for his friend, was pre
paring to get into bed in his own house, Boris
Andreitch, all powdered with snow, suddenly
burst into the room, and flung himself on his
neck. " My friend, Piotr Vasilitch, congratulate
me! " — he cried, for the first time addressing him
as thou; — " she consents and so does the old man.
. . . Everything is already settled! "
" What .... do you mean? " — mumbled the
astonished Piotr Vasilitch.
" I am going to be married! "
" To Vyerotchka? "
"" Yes. . . . Everything is already decided and
arranged." " Can it be? "
" What a man thou art! . . . everything is set
tled, I tell thee."
Piotr Vasilitch hastily put his slippers on his
bare feet, threw on his dressing-gown, and
shouted :
"Makedoniya, tea! "—adding:— " Well, if
everything is already settled, there 's no use in
discussing it; may God grant you concord and
counsel! But, tell me, please, how this has come
about." It is worth noting that from that moment the
324

THE TWO FRIENDS
two friends began to address each other as thou
just as though they had never done anything
else. " Certainly, with pleasure,"— replied Vyazov
nin, and began his narration.
As a matter of fact, this is what had taken
place. When Boris Andreitch had reached Stepan
Petrovitch's, the latter had not a single visitor
with him, contrary to his custom, and he him
self was not stalking about the room, but was
sitting in a Voltaire chair: he was not feeling
well. He ceased speaking altogether, when
he was in that condition, and consequently
nodded his head amicably to Vyazovnin as he
entered, pointed out to him first the table with
the cold luncheon, then Vyerotchka, and closed
his eyes. That was all Vyazovnin required;
he seated himself beside Vyerotchka, and
entered into a low-voiced conversation with
her. They discussed the health of Stepan Petro
vitch. " I am always frightened," — said Vyerotchka,
in a whisper, — " when he is ill. He 's so odd, you
know ; he never complains, he never asks for any
thing; you can't get a word out of him. If he
is ill, he will not say so."
" And do you love him very much? "—Vyazov
nin asked her.
" Who ? Papa? Yes, more than any one in the
325

THE TWO FRIENDS
world. God forbid that anything should hap
pen to him! I think I should die! "
" That means that it would be impossible for
you to part from him? "
"Part from him? Why should I?"
Boris Andreitch looked her full in the face.
" A young girl cannot live all her life in her
father's house."
" Ah! So that is what you mean. . . . Well,
I am at ease on that score. . . . Who will take
me?" " I! " Boris Andreitch came near saying, but
restrained himself.
'What makes you thoughtful?" — she asked,
looking at him with her wonted smile.
" I am thinking," — he replied, — " I am think
ing .... that . . . ." And suddenly chang
ing his tone, he asked her whether she had known
Karantyeff long.
" Really, I don't remember. ... So many of
them come to see papa, you know. I think he
called on us last year for the first time."
" Tell me; do you like him? "
" No," — replied Vyerotchka, after reflecting
a while. "Why?"" He is so untidy," — she replied artlessly.—
" He must be a nice man, however, and he sings
so splendidly .... one's heart stirs within one
when he sings." 326

THE TWO FRIENDS
"Ah!"— articulated Vyazovnin, and after a
brief pause, he added:— "But whom do you
like? "
" I like a great many people,— I like you."
' You and I are friends, of course. But don't
you like some one of the others better? "
" How inquisitive you are! "
" And you are very cold."
" How so? " — asked Vyerotchka, ingenuously.
" Listen . . . ." Vyazovnin was beginning.
But at that moment Stepan Petrovitch turned
in his chair.
" Listen," — he went on, in a barely audible
tone, while his blood fairly throbbed in his
throat, — " I must say something to you, some
thing very important .... only not here."
" Where, then? "
" The next room would do."
:< What is it? " — asked Vyerotchka, rising.
" A secret, I suppose? "
" Yes, a secret."
" A secret," — repeated Vyerotchka, with sur
prise, and went into the adjoining room.
Vyazovnin followed her, as in a fever.
' Well, what is it? " — she asked with curiosity.
Boris Andreitch would have liked to lead up
to the point from afar; but when he looked into
that young face, animated by that faint smile
which he so loved, into those clear eyes, which
gazed forth with so gentle a glance, he lost his
327

THE TWO FRIENDS
head and quite unexpectedly to himself, without
any preliminaries, he asked Vyerotchka point-
blank :
" Vyera Stepanovna, will you be my wife? "
" What? "—asked Vyerotchka, flushing all
over, so that her very ears were crimson.
:' Will you be my wife? " — repeated Vyazov
nin, mechanically.
" I . . . . I — really, I don't know — I did not
expect .... this is so . . . ." whispered Vyera,
putting her hands on the window-sill, to keep
from falling, — then she suddenly fled from the
room to her own chamber.
Boris Andreitch stood for a while where he was,
and then, in great perturbation returned to the
study. On the table lay a copy of The Mos
cow News. He picked it up, seated himself,
and began to glance over the lines, not only with
out understanding what was printed there, but
even having no conception on the whole as to
what bad happened to him. He spent about a
quarter of an hour in this condition; but then a
faint rustle resounded behind him, and without
looking around, he felt that Vyera had entered.
Several more moments passed. He darted an
oblique glance from behind the sheet of the
News. She was sitting by the window, and
seemed pale. At last he summoned his courage,
rose, went to her, and dropped into a chair by
her side. . . . 328

THE TWO FRIENDS
Stepan Petrovitch did not stir as he sat with
head thrown back in his arm-chair.
" Pardon me, Vyera Stepanovna," — began
Vyazovnin, with a certain amount of effort: —
" I am to blame ; I ought not to have so suddenly
.... and yet .... I had no reason, of course,
to . . . ."
Vyerotchka made him no reply.
" But since it has happened so,"— went on
Boris Andreitch,—" I should like to know what
answer . . . ."
Vyerotchka softly dropped her eyes ; again her
cheeks flushed crimson.
" Vyera Stepanovna, one word."
" I . . . really, I don't know, Boris Andreitch
. . . ." — she began, — " that depends on papa. . . ."
"111?" — Stepan Petrovitch's voice suddenly
rang out.
Vyerotchka started, and hastily raised her head.
Stepan Petrovitch's eyes, riveted upon her, ex
pressed uneasiness. She immediately went to him.
" Did you ask me something, papa? "
" 111? "—he repeated.
" Who? I? No. . . . What makes you think
so?" He gazed intently at her.
" Really well? "—he continued his inquiries.
" Of course; how do you feel? "
" Brau, brau,"— he said quietly, and again
closed his eyes. 329

THE TWO FRIENDS
Vyerotchka was walking toward the door, but
Boris Andreitch stopped her.
" Tell me, at least, do you permit me to speak
to your father? "
"As you like,"— she whispered:— " only, it
seems to me, Boris Andreitch, that I am no mate
for you."
Boris Andreitch tried to take her hand, but she
evaded him, and left the room. " How strange! "
— he thought. — " She says the same thing as
Krupitzyn." When he was left alone with Stepan Petro
vitch, Boris Andreitch promised himself that he
would explain himself to him in a very judicious
manner, and so far as he was able, prepare him for
the unexpected proposal ; but when it came to ac
tion, it proved to be far more difficult even than
with Vyerotchka. Stepan Petrovitch was slightly
feverish, and being in a condition which was
neither exactly meditation nor yet exactly a doze,
replied reluctantly and slowly to the various
questions and remarks, by means of which Boris
Andreitch was hoping gradually to lead up to
the real topic of the conversation. ... In a word,
Boris Andreitch, perceiving that all his hints were
being wasted, made up his mind, willy-nilly, to
come straight to the point.
Several times he inhaled a long breath, as
though preparing to speak, then stopped short,
without uttering a word. 330

THE TWO FRIENDS
" Stepan Petrovitch,"— he began at last,—" I
intend to make you a proposal which will greatly
astonish you."
" Brau, brau,"— said Stepan Petrovitch,
calmly. " A proposal which you are not expecting in
the least."
Stepan Petrovitch opened his eyes.
" Only please don't be angry with me  "
Stepan Petrovitch's eyes opened wider than
ever. " I .... I intend to ask of you the hand of
your daughter, Vyera Stepanovna."
Stepan Petrovitch rose quickly from his Vol
taire chair.
' What? "—he asked, in precisely the same
voice, and with precisely the same expression as
Vyerotchka. Boris Andreitch was compelled to repeat his
proposal. Stepan Petrovitch riveted his gaze on Vyazov
nin, and stared long and in silence at him, so that,
at last, the latter became uncomfortable.
" Does Vyera know? " — inquired Stepan Pe
trovitch. " I have had an explanation with Vyera Stepa
novna, and she has given me permission to address
myself to you."
" Have you just had the explanation with
her? " 331

THE TWO FRIENDS
" Yes, a little while ago."
" Wait," — said Stepan Petrovitch, and left
the room.
Boris Andreitch was left alone in the eccen
tric's study. He was staring, in a numb sort of
way, now at the walls, now at the floor, when
suddenly the trampling of hoofs rang out
at the porch, the door of the anteroom banged,
and a thick voice inquired: "At home?" Steps
became audible, and Mikhei Mikheitch, with
whom we are already acquainted, burst into the
room. Boris Andreitch was ready to swoon with vexa
tion. " Whew, how hot it is here! " — exclaimed Mi
khei Mikheitch, as he dropped down on the divan.
— "Ah, good morning! And where is Stepan
Petrovitch? "
" He has gone out ; he will be back di
rectly." "It 's frightfully cold to-day," — remarked
Mikhei Mikheitch, pouring himself out a glass
of vodka.
And almost before he had fairly swallowed it,
he said vivaciously :
" I come from town again, you know."
" From town? "—returned Vyazovnin, with
difficulty concealing his confusion.
" Yes, from town,"— repeated Mikhei Mikhe
itch;—" and all thanks to that brigand Onufry.
332

THE TWO FRIENDS
Just imagine, he told me such a damned pack of
lies, he set such dastardly wheels in motion, that ai-
lullaby, my joy! ' I 've found such an affair for
you,' says he, ' the like of which has never before
existed in the world; simply— all you have to do
is to rake in the rubles.' And the affair ended
by his borrowing twenty-five rubles from me, and
I dragged myself to town in vain, and have ut
terly exhausted my horses."
" You don't say so! " — muttered Vyazovnin.
" I tell you, he 's a brigand, a brigand, if ever
there was one. All he has to do is to take to the
road with an iron ball hitched to a strap. Really,
I don't understand what the police are about.
Why, one would be reduced to beggary by him
if one went on in that way, by God! "
Stepan Petrovitch entered the room.
Mikhei Mikheitch began to narrate to him his
adventures with Onufry.
" And why does n't somebody wring his
neck?"— he exclaimed.
" Wring his neck," — repeated Stepan Petro-
yitch, and suddenly began to roar with laughter.
Mikhei Mikheitch also began to laugh, as he
looked at him, and even repeated: " Exactly; he
ought to have his neck wrung." But when Ste
pan Petrovitch fell back, at last, on the divan, in
convulsions of hysterical laughter, Mikhei Mi
kheitch turned to Boris Andreitch and said,
throwing his hands somewhat apart:
333

THE TWO FRIENDS
"' He 's always like that: he '11 suddenly take
to laughing,— the Lord only knows at what. He
has so much arrogance! "
Vyerotchka entered, all agitated, with red
dened eyes.
" Papa is not quite well to-day," — she re
marked, in an undertone to Mikhei Mikheitch.
Mikhei Mikheitch nodded, and thrust a bit of
cheese into his mouth. At last Stepan Petro
vitch stopped, rose, sighed, and began to pace
the room. Boris Andreitch avoided his glances,
and sat as though on pins and needles. Mi
khei Mikheitch began again to abuse Onufry
Ilitch. They sat down to dinner ; at table also, no one
spoke but Mikhei Mikheitch. At last, as evening
was drawing on, Stepan Petrovitch took Boris
Andreitch's arm, and silently led him into the
next room.
" Are you a good man? " — he asked, looking
him in the face.
" I am an honest man, Stepan Petrovitch,"—
replied Boris Andreitch: — " I can guarantee that,
— and I love your daughter."
"You love her? Truly?"
" I do, and I shall endeavour to win her love."
" You will not get tired of her? " Stepan Pe
trovitch put another question.
"Never!"Stepan Petrovitch's face contracted with pain.
334

THE TWO FRIENDS
' Well, see that you don't. . . . You love her
.... I consent."
Boris Andreitch tried to embrace him, but he
said: " Afterward .... good."
And wheeling round, he went to the wall.
Boris Andreitch could see that he was weeping.
Stepan Petrovitch wiped his eyes without turn
ing round, then went back to the study, passing
Boris Andreitch, and, without looking at him,
he said with his habitual smile :
' That will do for to-day, if you please ....
to-morrow .... everything .... that is nec
essary . . . ."
' Very well, very well," hastily replied Boris
Andreitch, and entering the study in his wake,
he exchanged a glance with Vyerotchka.
He felt joyful in soul, yet embarrassed at
the same time. He could not remain long at
Stepan Petrovitch's in company with Mikhei
Mikheitch ; he felt the imperative necessity of be
ing alone, — and, moreover, he longed to see Piotr
Vasilitch. He departed, promising to return
the next day. As he took leave of Vyerotchka in
the anteroom, he kissed her hand; she gazed at
him. " Until to-morrow,"— he said to her.
" Farewell,"— she replied, softly.
" So there, you see, Piotr Vasilitch,"— said
Boris Andreitch, as he concluded his recital, and
335

THE TWO FRIENDS
strode to and fro in his bedroom, — " something
has occurred to me. Why does it frequently hap
pen that a young man does not marry? Be
cause it seems to him a terrible thing to enslave
his life; he thinks: ' What 's the hurry? There 's
plenty of time; perhaps I '11 wait for a better
chance.' And he ends, generally, by becoming
a grumpy old bachelor, or he marries the first
woman he hits upon; all that is selfishness and
pride. I shall never find a better wife for myself
than Vyerotchka ; and if she is somewhat lacking
from the side of education, I shall make it my
business to attend to that. She has quite a phleg
matic disposition, but that 's no misfortune—
quite the contrary! That is why I made up my
mind so quickly. And thou didst advise me to
marry. But if I have made a mistake,"— he
added, then paused, and after brief reflection,
went on: — "there 's no great harm done! My
life would not have amounted to anything as it
is!" Piotr Vasilitch listened in silence to his friend,
now and then sipping from a cracked glass the
very bad tea prepared by the zealous Makedoniya.
' Why dost thou not say something? " — Boris
Andreitch asked him at last, coming to a halt in
front of him. — " I certainly am talking prac
tically, am I not? Thou agreest with me, dost
thou not? "
' The proposal has been made," — replied
336

THE TWO FRIENDS
Piotr Vasihtch, pausing between his words:—
" the father has given his blessing, the daughter
has not refused, consequently, further discussion
is useless. Perhaps everything really is for the
best. We must think of the wedding now, and
not argue; but the morning is wiser than the
evening. . . . We will talk things over in proper
style to-morrow.— Hey! Who 's there? escort
Boris Andreitch."
"But do embrace me; at least, congratulate
me,"— replied Boris Andreitch. " What a fellow
thou art, really! "
" As for embracing, I '11 embrace thee with
pleasure." And Piotr Vasilitch embraced Boris Andre
itch. " May God give thee every good thing on this
earth!" The friends parted.
' 'T is all because," — said Piotr Vasilitch aloud
to himself, as he turned on his other side, after
having lain for some time in bed, — " 't is all be
cause he has not been in the military service ! He
has got into the habit of being capricious, and
does n't know the regulations."
A month later, Vyazovnin married Vyerotchka.
He himself had urgently requested that the wed
ding should not be delayed. Piotr Vasilitch acted
as his best man. Vyazovnin drove to Stepan Pe-
337

THE TWO FRIENDS
trovitch's every day during that month; but no
change was observable in his demeanour to Vye
rotchka, or in hers to him: she had become more
shy with him— that was all. He brought her
" Yury Miloslavsky," and himself read aloud
to her several chapters. Zagoskin's x romance
pleased her ; but when she had finished it, she did
not ask for another. Karantyeff came once to
take a look at Vyerotchka, who had become the
betrothed of another man, and it must be ad
mitted that he came in a state of intoxication,
stared at her uninterruptedly, as though prepar
ing to say something, but said nothing; he was
asked to sing, and started up some mournful
ditty or other, then began a dashing lay, flung
his guitar on the divan, bade every one farewell,
and on taking his seat in his sledge, fell prone on
the hay with which the bottom was spread, and
began to sob — and a quarter of an hour later was
plunged in drunken slumber.
Vyerotchka was very sad on the eve of the wedj
ding, and Stepan Petrovitch also was depressed.
He had hoped that Boris Andreitch would con-
sent to remove to his house for permanent resi
dence ; but he said not a word about this and, on
the contrary, Boris Andreitch proposed to Stepan
Petrovitch that he should settle down at Vya-
zovna for a while. The old man dechned ; he was
1 Mikhail Vasilievitch Zag6skin, a writer in the thirties of the
nineteenth century. — Translator.
338

THE TWO FRIENDS
accustomed to his study. Vyerotchka promised
to visit him once a week at least. How dejectedly
did her father answer: " Brau, brau! "
So, then, Boris Andreitch began his life as a
married man. At first everything went finely.
Vyerotchka, being a capital housewife, estab
lished order in his house. He admired her noiseless
but solicitous activity, her perennially bright and
gentle temper, he called her " his little Dutch
woman," and kept incessantly repeating to Piotr
Vasihtch that he now knew, for the first time,
what happiness was. It must be noted, that Piotr
Vasilitch, from the day of the wedding, ceased to
come to him so frequently as before, and did not
sit so long with him, although Boris Andreitch,
as of yore, received him with great cordiality, and
Vyerotchka was sincerely attached to him.
" Thy life is no longer what it was," — he said
to Vyazovnin, when the latter affectionately ac
cused him of having grown cold toward him: —
" thou art a married man, I am a bachelor. I
might be in the way."
At first Vyazovnin did not contradict him ; but
before long, he gradually began to perceive that
he was bored at home without Krupitzyn. His
wife was not at all in his way; on the contrary,
he sometimes quite forgot her existence, and for
whole mornings in succession he did not say a
word to her, although he always gazed with satis
faction and tenderness in her face; and every
339

THE TWO FRIENDS
time that she walked past him with her light step,
he caught her hand and kissed it, which invariably
evoked a smile on her lips. The smile was the
one which he so loved ; but enough concerning that
smile. There was too little in common between them,
and he began to divine this.
" Well, there 's no denying that my wife has
very few resources," — thought Boris Andreitch
one day, as he sat, with folded arms, on the divan.
Vyerotchka's words, which she had said to him
on the day he made his proposal, — " I am not a
mate for you," — began to resound in his soul.
" If I were some German or learned man,"—
he pursued his meditations, — " or if I had any
steady occupation which engrossed the greater
part of my time, such a wife would be a treasure ;
but as it is! Can it be that I have made a mis
take? " . . . . This last thought was more tor
turing to him than he had anticipated.
When, that same morning, Piotr Vasilitch
repeated to him once more that he would not
disturb them, he was in no condition to contain
himself, and blurted out:
"Good gracious! thou dost not disturb us in
the least; on the contrary, it is much jollier for us
when thou art present . . . ." He came near say
ing " much more comfortable." — And it was
really so.
Boris Andreitch gladly chatted with Piotr
340

THE TWO FRIENDS
Vasilitch in exactly the same manner as he had
before his marriage; and Vyerotchka knew how
to talk to him, but she stood too greatly in awe
of her husband, and with all her indubitable af
fection for him she did not know what to say to
him, how to entertain him. . . .
In addition to this, she saw that the presence of
Piotr Vasilitch made him animated. The end
of it all was, that Piotr Vasilitch became an ab
solutely indispensable person in Boris Andre
itch's house. He became as fond of Vyerotchka
as of a daughter ; and it was impossible not to love
so amiable a being. When Boris Andreitch,
thanks to human weakness, confided to him his
most intimate thoughts and complaints, Piotr
Vasilitch vigorously reproved him for his in
gratitude, enumerated to him all Vyerotchka's
merits, and one day, in reply to a remark of Boris
Andreitch, to the effect that he, Piotr Vasilitch,
himself had certainly thought them unsuited to
each other, he answered him angrily that he was
not worthy of her.
" I have found nothing in her,"— muttered
Boris Andreitch.
" What dost thou mean by that? Why, didst
thou expect anything remarkable from her?
Thou hast found a splendid wife in her. That 's
what! "
" That is true,"— hastily replied Vyazovnin.
In Vyazovnin's house, everything went on as
341

THE TWO FRIENDS
before — peaceably and quietly, because there was
no possibility of quarrelling with Vyerotchka—
not even a misunderstanding could exist between
her and her husband; but the internal rupture
could be detected in everything. Thus is the in
fluence of an invisible internal wound perceptible
in a man's whole being. Vyerotchka was not in
the habit of complaining; moreover, she did not,
even mentally, blame Vyazovnin for anything,
and it never once entered his head that she did not
find it altogether easy to live with him. Two per
sons only understood her position: her old fa
ther and Piotr Vasilitch. Stepan Petrovitch
petted her, and gazed into her eyes with a certain
compassion when she went to see him, — he did
not question her about anything, but he sighed
more frequently as he paced his room, and his
" brau, brau! " no longer had, as before, the ring
of unperturbed peace of a soul which has with
drawn from all that is earthly. Separated from
his daughter, he seemed to have grown paler and
thinner. Neither was what was going on in her soul a
secret to Piotr Vasilitch. Vyerotchka did not
in the least demand that her husband should oc
cupy himself with her, or even chat with her ; but
the thought that she was a burden to him pained
her. One day, Piotr Vasilitch found her stand
ing motionless with her face to the wall. Like
her father, whom she resembled in an extraor-

THE TWO FRIENDS
dinary degree, she did not like to display her
tears, and turned away when she wept, even if
she was alone in the room. . . . Piotr Vasilitch
walked softly past her, and afterward did not
allow her to suspect, from the slightest hint, that
he understood why she had been standing with
her face to the wall. On the other hand, he
gave Vyazovnin no peace. Not once, it is true,
did he utter in his presence those insultingly -irri
tating, useless, and conceited words: " I told thee
beforehand exactly how it would be! " — those
words which, we may remark in passing, the very
best of people are unable to refrain from utter
ing in moments of the most fervent sympathy;
but he pitilessly attacked Boris Andreitch for his
indifference and spleen, and once worked him
into such a state that he ran to Vyerotchka, and
began uneasily to scrutinise and interrogate her.
She looked at him so gently and answered him so
calmly, that he went away, inwardly perturbed by
Piotr Vasilitch's reproaches, but content that
Vyerotchka, at least, suspected nothing. . . .
So passed the winter.
Such relations cannot last long: they either
end in a rupture, or undergo a change which is
rarely for the better. . . .
Boris Andreitch did not become irritable and
exacting, as often happens with people who feel
conscious that they are in the wrong, neither did
he permit himself the cheap satisfaction in which
343

THE TWO FRIENDS
even clever persons frequently indulge, of jeer
ing and ridicule, and he did not sink into melan
choly; he simply began to be preoccupied by the
thought, how he might get away from the place,
— for a time, of course.
" Travel! " he kept repeating to himself when
he rose in the morning. " Travel! " he whispered
as he went to bed : in that word there lay hidden
seductive enchantment for him. He made an
attempt to frequent the society of Sofya Kiril
lovna, for diversion, but her loquacity and her
freedom of manner, her smiles and grimaces,
seemed extremely mawkish to him. " She 's not
to be compared with Vyerotchka! "—he thought,
as he gazed at the showily-attired widow, and yet
the idea of getting away from that same Vye
rotchka never left him. . . .
The breath of approaching spring, — that
spring which draws and entices even the birds
from bej^ond the sea, — dissipated his last misgiv
ings, turned his head. He went off to Peters
burg, on the pretext of some weighty business
that could not be postponed, which up to that
time had never so much as been mentioned. . . .
As he took leave of Vyerotchka, he suddenly felt
his heart contract and bleed ; he felt sorry for his
kind, quiet wife. Tears gushed from his eyes, and
bedewed her white brow, which he had just
touched with his lips. ..." I shall return soon,
very soon, and I will write, my darling!"— he
344

THE TWO FRIENDS
said over and over again, — and committing her
to the attention and friendship of Piotr Vasilitch,
he seated himself in his calash, profoundly moved
and sad. . . . His sadness vanished instantly at
the sight of the first tenderly-green willows on
the highway, which ran two versts distant from
his village ; an incomprehensible, almost youthful
rapture set his heart to beating hard; his breast
heaved, and he eagerly riveted his eyes on the far
distance. "No!" — he exclaimed;— " I see that —
To the same cart one must not hitch
A war-horse and a timorous doe.

5»

But what sort of a war-horse was he ?
Vyera was left alone; but, in the first place,
Piotr Vasilitch called upon her frequently, and,
best of all, her old father made up his mind to
tear himself from his beloved abode, and re
moved for a time to his daughter's house. And
those three began to live gloriously together.
Their tastes, their habits, coincided! And yet,
Vyazovnin not only was not forgotten by them,
— quite the contrary, he served them all as an
invisible bond of union; they talked incessantly
about him, about his cleverness, his kindness,
about the good-breeding and simplicity of his
manners. It was as though they had come to be
fonder than ever of Boris Andreitch during his
345

THE TWO FRIENDS
absence from home. Splendid weather set in;
the days did not fly, no, they passed peacefully
and cheerfully, like the bright, high-hanging
clouds in the clear blue sky. Vyazovnin wrote
rarely; his letters were read and re-read with
great satisfaction. In each of them he spoke
of his speedy return. . . . At last, one day, Piotr
Vasilitch received from him the following epistle :
Deau Friend, my very kind Piotr Vasilitch! I have
meditated long how to begin this letter; but, obviously,
the best way will be to tell thee point-blank that I am
going abroad. This news will, I know, surprise thee
and even anger thee : thou couldst not possibly have
expected it, — and thou wilt be doing quite right if thou
callest me a light-minded and dissipated man ; and I
have not the slightest intention of justifying myself,
and even at this moment I feel myself blushing. But
listen to what I have to say with some lenience. In the
first place, I am going for a very short time only, and
in such company and on such advantageous terms as
thou canst not possibly imagine to thyself; and, in the
second place, I am firmly convinced that, after having
played the fool for the last time, for the last time satis
fied my passion to see and experience everything, I shall
become a capital husband, family man, and stay-at-home,
and shall prove that I know how to value the undeserved
favour which Fate has done me in conferring upon me
such a wife as Vyerotchka. Please convince her of this,
and show her this letter. I shall not write to her now
myself : I have not the spirit for that, — but I shall write
without fail from Stettin, to which port the steamer
346

THE TWO FRIENDS
is bound ; and in the meantime, tell her that I am kneel
ing before her, and humbly entreating her not to grieve
for her stupid husband. Knowing her angelic disposi
tion, I am persuaded that she will forgive me; and I
swear by everything in the world that three months
hence, not later, I will return to Vyazovna, and then you
won't be able to get me away from there by force to the
end of my days. Farewell, or rather — good-bye for a
short time; I embrace thee and kiss my Vyerotchka's
charming hands. I will write to thee from Stettin,
where letters are to be addressed to me. In case of any
unforeseen business, and in regard to the management
of the estate in general, I depend upon thee, as upon a
stone wall. Thy Bonis Vyazovnin.
P. S. Order my study to be papered in the autumn
.... without fail .... dost hear me?
Alas! The hopes expressed by Boris Andre
itch in this letter were not destined to fulfilment.
Owing to a multitude of cares and new impres
sions, he did not find time to write from Stettin to
Vyerotchka ; but from Hamburg he sent her a let
ter, in which he informed her of his intention to
visit Paris, — for the purpose of inspecting sev
eral industrial establishments, and also for the
purpose of attending certain necessary lectures,
—and requested her to address his letters there,
poste restante, for the future.
Vyazovnin reached Paris in the morning, and,
347

THE TWO FRIENDS
having in the course of the day made the round of
the boulevards, the garden of the Tuilleries, the
Place de la Concorde, the Palais Royal, and hav
ing even ascended the Colonne Vendome, he
dined solidly, and with the air of a habitue at Ve-
four's, and in the evening betook himself to the
Chateau-des-Fleurs— to find out, in the capa
city of spectator, what the " cancan " really was,
and how the Parisians execute that dance. The
dance itself did not please Vyazovnin ; but one of
the Parisiennes, who had executed the cancan,
a lively, slender brunette with a snub-nose and
bold eyes, did please him. He began to stop be
side her more and more frequently, first exchang
ing glances with her, then smiles, then words. . . .
Half an hour later, she was walking arm in arm
with him, had told him son petit nom,— Julie,—
and had hinted that she was hungry, and that no
thing could be better than a supper a la Maison
d'Or, dans un petit cabinet particulier. Boris An
dreitch himself was not hungry in the least, and,
moreover, supper in the company of Mademoi
selle Julie had not entered into his calculations.
..." But, if that is the custom here," — he
thought, — "I must go. Partons!" — he said
aloud, — but at that moment, some one trod on
his foot in a very painful manner. He cried out,
turned round, and beheld before him a middle-
aged gentleman, very thick-set and broad-shoul
dered, in a tight stock, and a civilian's coat but-
348

THE TWO FRIENDS
toned to the throat, and full trousers of military
cut. With his hat pulled down on his very nose,
from beneath which his dyed moustache hung
down in two little cascades, and with the pockets
of his trousers outspread by the thumbs of his
hairy hands, this gentleman,— an infantry offi
cer, by all the tokens— had riveted his eyes
straight on Vyazovnin's face. The expression
of his yellow eyes, of his rough, flat cheeks, of
his bluish, protruding cheek-bones, of his whole
countenance, was churhsh and insolent.
' Was it you who trod on my foot? "—said
Vyazovnin. " Oui, monsieur. . ."
" But in such cases .... people beg pardon."
" And what if I don't choose to beg your par
don, monsieur le Moscovite? "
Parisians instantly recognise Russians.
" That means that you intended to insult me? "
— inquired Vyazovnin.
" Oui, monsieur; I don't like the shape of your
nose." " Fi, le gros jaloux! " — whispered Mademoi
selle Julie, to whom, apparently, the infantry
officer was not a stranger. . . .
" But in that case . . . ." began Vyazovnin,
as though perplexed. . . .
' You mean to say," — interposed the officer:
— " in that case, we must fight. Of course. Very
good, sir. Here is my card."
349

THE TWO FRIENDS
"And here is mine,"— replied Vyazovnin,— and
without ceasing to wonder, and as though asleep,
with a confused beating of the heart, he scribbled
on the shining paper of his visiting-card, with a
gold pencil which he had just purchased as a
trinket for his watch-chain, the words: "Hotel
des Trois Monarques, No. 46."
The officer nodded, remarked that he " would
have the honour of sending his seconds to M-r.
. . . M-r." . . . (he raised Vyazovnin's card to
his right eye), " to M-r. de Vazavononin " — and
turned his back on Boris Andreitch, who imme
diately quitted the Chateau-des-Fleurs. Made
moiselle Julie attempted to detain him, — but he
looked very coldly on her. . . . She slowly turned
away from him, and for a long time thereafter,
sitting down apart, she was engaged in explain
ing something to the angry officer, who, as before,
did not remove his hands from his trousers, kept
twitching his moustache, and did not smile. . . .
On emerging into the street, Vyazovnin read
the card which had been handed to him for the
second time, and with great attention, under the
first gas-lamp he came to. On it stood the fol
lowing words: "Alexandre Leboeuf, capitaine
en second au 83-me de ligne."
" Can it be possible that this will have any con
sequences? " — he thought, as he wended his way
back to his hotel. " Can it be possible that I shall
really fight ! And for what? and on the very day
350

THE TWO FRIENDS
after my arrival in Paris ! How stupid ! " — He be
gan letters to Vyerotchka and to Piotr Vasilitch,
— and immediately tore up and threw away the
letters thus begun. "Nonsense! a mere comedy!"
—he repeated, and lay down to sleep.— But his
thoughts took another turn when, on the follow
ing morning, at breakfast, two gentlemen pre
sented themselves to him, who bore a strong re
semblance to M. Lebceuf, only somewhat
younger (all French infantry officers have one
and the same cast of countenance) , and, announc
ing their names (one was M-r. Lecocq, the other
M-r. Pinochet— and both served as lieutenants
" au 83 -me de ligne) , introduced themselves to
Boris Andreitch in the capacity of seconds "de
notre ami, M-r. Lebceuf," sent by him for the
purpose of taking the requisite measures, as their
friend, M-r. Lebceuf, could not accept any ex
cuses. Vyazovnin was compelled, on his side, to
inform the officers, the friends of M-r. Lebceuf,
that, being a newcomer in Paris, he had not yet
had time to look about him, and provide himself
with seconds . . . (" One is sufficient, is it not? "
— he added. — " Entirely sufficient," replied M-r.
Pinochet) , and therefore he must request the
officers to grant him four hours' grace. The offi
cers exchanged glances, shrugged their shoulders,
but consented, and rose from their seats.
"Si monsieur le desire," — suddenly remarked
M-r. Pinochet, stopping short at the door (of the
351

THE TWO FRIENDS
two seconds he was, evidently, the more ready
of speech, and had been commissioned to do the
talking — M-r. Lecocq only grunted approv
ingly). — "Si monsieur le desire," — he repeated
(at this point, Vyazovnin recalled M'sieu Galassi,
his Moscow hairdresser, who frequently employed
that phrase) : — "we can recommend one of the
officers of our regiment, le lieutenant Barbichon,
un garcon tres devoue, who will certainly consent
to render 'a un gentleman' (M-r. Pinochet
pronounced this word in French fashion : zhantle-
man) — " the service of extricating him from a
dilemma, and, on becoming your second, will take
your interests to heart — prendra a coeur vos in-
terets." Vyazovnin was astonished, at first, by such a
proposition, but, on reflecting that he had no ac
quaintances in Paris, he thanked M-r. Pinochet,
and said that he would expect M-r. Barbichon.—
And M-r. Barbichon made no delay in presenting
himself. This garcon tres devoue proved to be
an extremely alert and active individual. De
claring that " cet animal de Lebceuf n'en fait
jamais d'autres . . . c'est un Othello, monsieur,
un veritable Othello" — he asked Vyazovnin:
" N'est ce pas, vous desirez que V affaire soit
serieuse? " and without waiting for an answer,
exclaimed, " C'est tout ce que je desirais savoir!
Laissez-moi faire! " — And, in fact, he conducted
the affair in such brisk fashion, he took Vyazov-
352

THE TWO FRIENDS
nin's interests so warmly to heart that, four hours
later, poor Boris Andreitch, who had never known
how to fence in his life, was standing in the very
centre of a small glade in the Bois de Vincennes,
sword in hand, with shirt-sleeves rolled up, and
without his coat, two paces distant from his an
tagonist, who was similarly disrobed. The scene
was illuminated by brilliant sunlight. Vyazovnin
was utterly unable to explain clearly to himself
how he had got there; he continued to repeat to
himself : " How stupid this is ! how stupid this is ! "
and he felt conscience-stricken, — as though he
were taking part in some vulgar prank,— and an
awkward smile, concealed within, never quitted
his soul, while his eyes could not tear themselves
away from the low forehead, and the closely-
clipped black hair of the Frenchman who tow
ered aloft before him.
" Tout est pret! " — rang out a lisping voice.
" Allez! " — squeaked another voice.
M-r. Lebceuf's face assumed an expression
which was not so much malicious as rapacious.
Vyazovnin flourished his sword. . . (Pinochet
had assured him that ignorance of the art of
fencing gave him great advantages : " de grands
avantages! ") ... then something remarkable
suddenly came to pass. Something clashed,
stamped, glittered — Vyazovnin felt in the right
side of his breast the presence of some sort of
a long cold stick. . . . He tried to push it away,
353

THE TWO IKIENDS
to say: " I don't want it! " but he was already
lying on his back and experiencing a strange,
almost absurd sensation: as though they were
trying to extract teeth all over his body. . . . Then
the earth softly slipped away from under him. . .
The first voice said : " Tout s'est passe dans les
regies, nest ce pas, messieurs? " — The second
voice answered : " O, parfaitement! " And bang !
everything round about flew away, and sank
away. ..." Vyerotchka! " Vyazovnin had
barely managed to think dimly.
Toward evening, " the devoted young fellow "
carried him to the Hotel des Trois Monarques—
and during the night he expired. Vyazovnin had
set out for that bourne whence no traveller has
ever returned. He did not recover his conscious
ness before death, and only stammered a couple
of times: " I shall return directly .... this is
nothing .... now to the country. . . ." The
Russian priest, for whom the landlord sent, re
ported the whole affair to our Embassy — and
" the unfortunate affair with the Russian trav
eller " — got into all the newspapers in a couple of
days. Painful and bitter was it for Piotr Vasilitch to
communicate to Vyerotchka her husband's letter;
but when the news of Vyazovnin's death reached
him, he lost his head completely. The first per
son to read about it in the newspapers was Mi-
354

THE TWO FRIENDS
khei Mikheitch, and he immediately galloped off
to Piotr Vasilitch, in company with Onufry
Ilitch, with whom he had succeeded in making up.
As was to have been expected, he began to shout
while he was still in the anteroom: " Just fancy,
what a calamity! " and so forth. Piotr Vasilitch
would not beheve him for a long time ; but when
doubt was no longer possible, he betook himself
to Vyerotchka, after waiting a whole day. His
mere aspect — crushed, annihilated — alarmed her
to such a degree that she could hardly stand up
right. He tried to prepare her for the fatal news,
but his strength failed him — he sat down, and
stammered through his tears:
" He is dead, dead. . . ."
A year passed. Fresh sprouts spring from
the stump of the felled tree; even the deepest
wound heals over; life also replaces death, just
as it is replaced by it, — and Vyerotchka's
heart was somewhat rested and had recovered
life. Moreover, Vyazovnin did not belong to the
category of those people who cannot be replaced
(and are there any such people?) — neither was
Vyerotchka capable of devoting herself forever
to feelings (are there any such feelings?). She
had married Vyazovnin without compulsion and
without enthusiasm ; she had been faithful and de-
355

THE TWO FRIENDS
voted to him ; but she had not surrendered herself
wholly to him ; she mourned him sincerely, but not
madly .... what more could be required?
Piotr Vasilitch did not cease to visit her; as of
yore, he was her closest friend, and therefore it
is not in the least surprising that, on being left
alone with her one day, he looked into her face
and very calmly proposed that she should become
his wife. . . . She smiled in reply, and gave him
her hand. Their life after the wedding flowed on
precisely as before: there was no necessity for
making any change.
About ten years have elapsed since that time.
Old Barsukoff lives with them, and as he never
goes a step away from his grandchildren, — he has
three already, two little girls and one boy,— he
grows younger every year. He even talks with
them, especially with his pet grandson, a curly-
haired, black-eyed urchin, named Stepan in
honour of him. The little rogue is perfectly well
aware that his grandfather adores him, and, in
consequence of this, he permits himself to mimic
his way of walking about the room and exclaim
ing: " Brau, brau! " This prank always creates
great mirth in the whole household.
Poor Vyazovnin is not forgotten to this day.
Piotr Vasilitch reveres his memory, always refers
to him with special emotion, and on every con
venient occasion never fails to say that the de
ceased loved this or that, that he had such or such
356

THE TWO FRIENDS
a habit. Piotr Vasilitch, his wife, and all the
members of his household pass their time in a very
monotonous manner — peaceably and quietly;
they enjoy happiness .... because there is no
other happiness on earth.

357

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