34 ;\
 
 IVAN TURGENIEFF 
 
 Volume X 
 
 THE JEW « AND 
 OTHER STORIES
 
 THE NOVELS AND STORIES OF 
 IVAN TURGENIEFF 
 
 THE JEW -> AND 
 
 OTHER STORIES 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM ^^r: RUSSIAN BY 
 ISABEL F. H aPGOOD 
 
 NEW YORK 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
 
 Suddenly, Sara entered, alone. 
 From a drarving by CH. WEBER DITZLER.
 
 THE NOVELS AND STORIES OF 
 IVAN TURGENIEFF 
 
 THE JEW <- AND 
 OTHER STORIES 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN BY 
 ISABEL F. HAPGOOD 
 
 NEW YORK 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 1904
 
 Copyright, 1904, by 
 Charles Scribner's Sons
 
 PREFACE 
 
 i 
 
 The story of " The Jew," written in 1846, was 
 regarded by the Russian critics as being distin- 
 guished for its simpHcity of plot, and its con- 
 scientious realism, — especially in the portrait of 
 Hirschel, — but not as of great importance. It 
 evoked attacks upon the author from the Jews. 
 
 " Andrei Kolosoif ," TurgenieiF's first short 
 story, was constructed— said the Russian critics— 
 strictly in accordance with the views which, at that 
 epoch (1844), were regarded as new and just. 
 The author, then a government official, employed 
 most of his time in reading George Sand's nov- 
 els, and the traces of her influence are perceptible 
 throughout this story. One critic objects that the 
 author's view of his first hero is — in spite of its 
 poetical coloring — unnatural, illogical, inhuman, 
 unfaithful to reality, and that it does not conform 
 to the character of KolosofF as portrayed in the 
 story. He maintains that no one would have tol- 
 erated the remarkable and incomparable KolosoiF 
 in ordinary healthy life, because he was ab- 
 normal ; and his abnormality gave rise to the same 
 thing in all the other characters of the story. 
 Byelinsky, the most famous of Russian critics, 
 
 V
 
 PREFACE 
 
 said of it, three years after it was published, that 
 although it contained many fine sketches and 
 characters from Russian life yet, as a novel, it 
 was, on the whole, so strange, incomplete, and 
 clumsy that very few people had noticed its good 
 points. 
 
 Of " The Bully " it was said by one prominent 
 critic, that TurgeniefP had indirectly helped to 
 dethrone the native-born Byrons who were in 
 high favour at the time of its appearance, in the 
 eyes of Russian society, by representing Lutch- 
 kofF as a bad man. In this respect Turgenieff 
 was in sympathy with the times. People were 
 rising in protest against the all-conquering heroes 
 of the '20s and '30s of the last century. And yet 
 it was not altogether an easy matter, even then 
 (1846), to present that aspect of the case to the 
 public, while Petchorin (the hero of Lermon- 
 tofF's celebrated " A Hero of Our Times ") still 
 enjoyed great credit in literature and society. 
 Under the influence of the Petchorin ideal there 
 had sprung up all over the land a great crop of 
 trivial, insipid, conceited, and coarse-minded fops 
 and ne'er-do-wells, who imagined that they be- 
 longed to the " rapacious " type. In the same 
 way, long afterward, TurgeniefF's novel " Fa- 
 thers and Children " produced a huge crop of 
 coarse and ignorantly-uncivilised idlers, who fan- 
 cied that they were BazarofFs, notwithstanding 
 the fact that the author had ridiculed such imita- 
 
 vi
 
 PREFACE 
 
 tions in advance, in the character of Sitnikoff in 
 that same novel. Turgenieff, in " The Bully," 
 turned the Petchorin type inside out, so to speak, 
 and thereby annihilated it. 
 
 " Pyetushkoff " is regarded as one of the au- 
 thor's most unsuccessful efforts. One critic, while 
 admitting that the idea of depicting the inebria- 
 tion of love experienced for the first time in a 
 simple-minded and indolent man, is worthy of 
 Gogol, yet declares that Turgenieff reflects, in 
 feeble fashion, that great humorist's views, man- 
 ner, and even the peculiarities of his style, — quite 
 involuntarily however. Another critic compares 
 the author's attitude toward his hero and the lat- 
 ter's sad but absurd love to that of Dostoievsky 
 toward his hero, Makar Dyevushkin (in *' Poor 
 People"). 
 
 In " The Two Friends " there is no longer per- 
 ceptible any trace of the influence of George Sand, 
 Byron, or the Gogol element taken from the mis- 
 anthropic point of view, say the Russian critics. 
 Vyazovnin is thoroughly Russian, and as com- 
 pletely a " superfluous man " as Tchulkaturin.* 
 He represents the average type of discontented 
 people— the " golden mean,"— well-intentioned, 
 easily bored, easily incited to enthusiasm, easily 
 swayed in various directions. The sketches of life 
 are capital, simple as is the plot. 
 
 In its original form the story ended with Vya- 
 
 iSee "The Diary of a Superfluous Man," Vol. XL— TiiANSLAToa. 
 
 • • 
 
 VU
 
 PREFACE 
 
 zovnin's accidental death by drowning; he was 
 represented as falling from the deck of the 
 steamer. In later editions Turgenieff extended 
 the story considerably, and rendered it much more 
 artistic ; for only a limp and characterless Russian 
 of the " intelligent " class, idly roaming over the 
 Western Europe beloved of his heart, could die as 
 Vyazovnin does in the duel with the strange 
 Frenchman. The pages in which this duel is de- 
 scribed belong, says one critic, among Turge- 
 nieif 's best, and possess in addition this interest— 
 that the artist, who was regarded by many and 
 who regarded himself as a pure-blooded advocate 
 of Western things and methods, here depicts the 
 French with unconcealed ferocity and scorn for 
 certain truly revolting and wretched qualities in 
 their national character. 
 
 I. F. H. 
 
 viu
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE JEW 1 
 
 ANDREI KOLOSOFF 33 
 
 THE BULLY 89 
 
 PYETUSHKOFF 173 
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS ' . . 251
 
 THE JEW 
 
 (1846)
 
 THE JEW 
 
 PRAY, tell us a story, 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 
 
 1 Lermontoflf, 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 ^ 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 
 
 1 "Their" (instead '* of your ") Well-Born indicates profound re- 
 spect. The Jew talks broken Russian. — Teanslatoh.
 
 THE JEW 
 
 money, your Weil-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. . . . 
 
 " ReaUy? " 
 
 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 
 how, 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 
 little deposit? "
 
 THE JEW 
 
 " But thou wilt cheat me, or show me some 
 scarecrow? " 
 
 *' A'l, 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 hurka} and listened to 
 my comrades' tales. They proposed to me to 
 play cards. I refused. I was in a state of agi- 
 tation. Little bj^ little 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. — Thaxslatoh.
 
 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 saj\ 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 fii'e 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 thv name? " — I said at last. 
 
 ** Sara," she replied, — and for one instant the 
 whites of her large, long eyes, and her little, 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 ofl* 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, like 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 mj^self 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 Hirsehel, 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, Hirsehel : 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', 
 a'l, 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 'U go off a bit." 
 
 " Well, see that thou dost. . . . But fetch her, 
 hear est 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 badty: 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 little 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 \ 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? " 
 
 " All "—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 G€rman 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 ^ (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. 
 
 ^ The General pronounces it kStoryi instead of 
 kotaryi. — 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 
 
 cc 
 
 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 lialted 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 
 
 23
 
 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 mahcious 
 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 oif . 
 
 " 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 oif. 
 
 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, j^our money 
 .... but I would n't for anything . . . ." 
 
 I preserved silence. Hirschel was repulsive to 
 me — yes, and she was his accomplice. . . . 
 
 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 like 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 life, 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", 61, 6i! "—he screamed:— " 6i .... stop I 
 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 I 
 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 merzyl 
 Mr. Quarter-Lieutenant! Your lUustriousness ! 
 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 
 delight 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 diligently, 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 j^et 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,^ and therefore I not onty enjoyed independ- 
 ence, but I always had flatterers and toadies .... 
 what am I saying? I had? Why, even my bob- 
 tailed dog Armishka, 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 j^oung 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. — Traxslator. 
 
 39
 
 ANDREI KOLOSOFF 
 
 " life " (pronounce it laife) resounded in my soul, 
 and I listened to that sound with ill-defined dis- 
 
 " 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? 
 KolosoiF 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. —Thanslatoh. 
 
 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 
 KolosoiF, 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: Kolosoif 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 Kolosoif '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 m}'- 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 GavriloiF .... 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 hfe; and I was obliged to ad- 
 mit to myself that, had I been in GavrflofF'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 1 
 
 46
 
 ANDREI 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,^ 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 
 
 ^ 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,^ 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, which 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? " 
 
 ^A "hall "in Russian houses is a combination music- and balK 
 room, which is also sometimes used as a dining-room, and a play-roone 
 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. KolosoiF 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 lips. 
 
 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, Anfisa 
 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 
 Kolosofl^ 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 K6- 
 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! " 
 
 Kolosofl* 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 Varva 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 heu- 
 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 ^ 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 Kolosoif presented 
 
 55
 
 ANDREI KOLOSOFF 
 
 himself with GavriloiF, 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, KolosoiF added: " I love Varya; she 
 is a very charming girl ; she has taken a Hking 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 K6LOSOrF 
 
 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 silentty 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 jjeculiar physical sensation, which 
 arose within me when, for example, Kolosoff re- 
 turned with Varya from the garden, and her 
 
 57
 
 ANDREI k6L0S0FF 
 
 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, Kolosoif 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 oiF to a cor- 
 ner, contract his brows in a frown, and stare at 
 every one like 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 feeling. 
 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, Iiis little 
 brown ej^es, his long, aquiline nose with its tip 
 twisted awry, his thin, mocking lips, his pom- 
 
 59
 
 ANDREI 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 
 
 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? " 
 
 ^ Skeleton — skele't ; mun — trheluvyek. — 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 ! " * 
 
 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 
 
 ^ A peculiarly delicious wheaten roll, which is made with 
 particular skill in Moscow.— Thanslatob. 
 
 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 sorrowfullj^ 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." ^ 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 
 
 ^ Literally, grey, which is one appellation for the commoD 
 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 K6- 
 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 Kolosoif'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! " 
 
 KolosoiF'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 wdth her and made 
 peace with her five times a month. She loved 
 him passionately, although at times, wlien they 
 were estranged, she vowed and swore that she 
 
 69
 
 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 Puzy ritzy n 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 
 Vary a? " 
 
 " 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 Kolosoif, 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 Vary a 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," Vary a 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
 
 ANDREI 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 K6- 
 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 Kolosoif. . . . 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.^ 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 
 
 •I The famous historian. He also wrote a number of much-admired 
 sentimental high-strung tales (1765-i826).— 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 I .... 
 
 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 BoboiF 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 ahghted 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. Varj^a 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 JMatryona Semyonovna had gone off 
 to her little chamber up-stairs. I swore love and 
 fidelity to Varj'^a. . . . 
 
 " 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 dehght did I kiss those warm, moist 
 httle hands! with what quiet joy did I gaze into 
 that sweet face !....! 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 Kolosofl"," 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 trutli, 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 .... 
 
 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 difl'erence 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 life .... 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 
 
 I
 
 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 lived 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 
 l^etty self-love — the petty nice feelings: compas- 
 sion and remorse? Oh, gentlemen! the man who 
 parts from a woman formerly beloved, at that 
 i^reat 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 
 profoundlj^ 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 
 alisence of all phrase-making in a young man 
 f^an 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 
 !o being remarkable. . . . But it is time for me 
 'n Pnish. I thank you for your attention. . . . 
 >;Vli, 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 slip 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. 
 
 ST
 
 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 Vonihre 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 BULLY 
 
 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 Avas 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, Lutchkoif 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- 
 koif. 
 
 " 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 Httle, bihous eyes 
 Hghted 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 difiScult matter to frighten them, 
 and had begun to despise them in reality. 
 Lutchkoif 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 abilities 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 ignorance 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 Hstened, 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 like 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. " ^^''ouldst 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 TiUtch- 
 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. PerekatoiF, the possessor of four 
 hundred souls and a fairly spacious house. He 
 had a daughter of seventeen, Mashenka, and a 
 wife, Nenila 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. PerekatoiF. 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 
 aifairs, 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-JSIajor 
 
 101
 
 THE BULLY 
 
 BurundiukoiF. Mr. PerekatoiF seemed to them 
 too citified a rogue. 
 
 Mr. PerekatoiF'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.^) "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 LutchkoiF? " 
 
 " 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 like 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 lied. 
 
 " 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 aiFectionately 
 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. INIadame 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 Lutchkofi*. 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- 
 mg? 
 
 "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- 
 fuUy. 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " WTiat 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 civihans 
 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.^ Lutchkoff 
 
 ^ 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 way 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,"-rephed 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 Perekatoffs' 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. Perekatoffs 
 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. IVIasha 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. . . ." 
 
 114i
 
 THE BULLY 
 
 *' Good; but I tell you that everj'^thing 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 
 Li 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 w^ere 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 JNIakarievna'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 
 away. 
 
 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 will 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 
 
 lie
 
 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. . 
 
 " 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." 
 " Fedva, 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. 
 
 ^ A fragment from an old song. Munich was a prominent general 
 and statesman in the reign of Anna loannovna, and during the 
 regency of Anna Leopoldovna. — Tuaxslator. 
 
 118 
 
 " 1 
 
 » 
 
 5?
 
 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." 
 
 LutchkoiF 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 life. 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 Perekatoffs' together. They will be so 
 delighted 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- 
 katoffs', 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 
 LutchkoiF 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- 
 toiF'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 Lutchkofl" 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- 
 katofl's? Was I right? Hey? TeUmel" 
 
 Lutchkofl* 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 PerekatofFs'. 
 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 alreadj^ contrived to produce a momen- 
 tary disagreeable impression on Masha. She 
 herself did not j^et know precisely what feehng 
 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 
 PerekatofFs'. 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, 
 was 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 hstened and hstened, .... and when 
 at last she turned toward him, his face expressed 
 such unfeigned boredom that JNIasha 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 little 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 Lutchkoif to be, had 
 said, she would have understood all, excused all, 
 believed 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. 
 
 Lutchkoif gazed about him irresolutely. 
 
 " I cannot now. . . ." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I should like 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 lo^^e 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 
 LutchkoiF, 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 
 mef 
 
 "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- 
 
 J. C^otS* • • • 
 
 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 fooling 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, apparently, 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. 
 
 " WeU, 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? Xot 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 feehngs 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 LutchkoiF 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 LutchkoiF, 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. . . Nenfla 
 Makarievna sat down beside them and, possibly 
 with deliberate intent, mentioned Avdyei Ivano- 
 vitch. But Masha, in the presence of her mother, 
 was armed jusquaux 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, ]VIr. 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 
 PerekatofFs' estate, bore the name of Long Mea- 
 dow. The left bank, all covered with thick, young 
 oak-scrub, rose steeplj^ 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 tlie 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 
 
 I
 
 THE BULLY 
 
 But LutchkoflF 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. . . ." 
 opeai^. ... 
 
 *' 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. 
 
 148
 
 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 hke 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 Lutchkofl" 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 
 xnaL .... 
 
 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, JNIasha did not stir from the spot. But 
 
 147
 
 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, Mary a 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, ]VIr. 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! " 
 
 JVIasha 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 sapling, 
 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 that his master was asleep, and had 
 given orders that no one was to be admitted. 
 
 149
 
 THE BULLY 
 
 " Not even me? "— " Not even your Weil-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, 
 sirf 
 
 Kister slowly unfolded the note, and read the 
 following : 
 
 Dear, kikd Feodor Feodorovitch ! 
 
 I want very, very much to see you. Come to-day, 
 if you can. Do not refuse my request,! 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 laj^ing 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 with 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. . . 
 
 153
 
 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 
 caref 
 
 " 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!" 
 
 " Lutchkofl* is awkward and rough," — said 
 Kister with difficulty:— " but . . ." 
 
 " What is that hut? Are n't you ashamed to 
 say ' hut ^? He is rough, and awkward, and ma- 
 licious, and self -conceited. . . And^ do you hear? 
 not hut.'' 
 
 15S
 
 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:— *' thmk 
 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 desen^ed 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 
 Perekatoff s, 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- 
 katoflp 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, abruptty, 
 and removed his cap.—" Good morning." 
 
 " Good morning, ^Ir. Lutchkoff. You ask 
 me whether I am going to marry INIiss 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? 
 
 LutchkoiF 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 
 
 " 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 JNIarya 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 Avords. 
 
 " 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 
 
 16T
 
 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 
 PerekatofFs'. 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. Nenfla JVIakarievna 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 
 
 Perekatoffs' 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)
 
 I
 
 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- 
 tushkoiF'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.^ PyetushkoiF 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. 
 
 ^ Zwieback. — Translatoh. 
 
 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." ^ 
 
 " I won't,"— said PyetushkoiF. 
 
 " 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." 
 
 ^ 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. 
 
 PyetushkoiF 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 snuiF, 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,^ 
 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. 
 
 * 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 Afanaslevitch 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 
 
 Several weeks passed. Ivan Afanasievitch had 
 totally forgotten Vasilisa, 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 arriiable 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 whiif, 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. Bubhtzyn 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 Bubh- 
 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 * 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." 
 
 ' 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. Bubh'tzyn, 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 Afanasievitch'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. 
 
 PyetushkoiF 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 VasiKsa ran out, with a 
 yellow kerchief on her head, and a short, wadded 
 jacket thrown over her shoulders, after the Rus- 
 sian fashion.^ 
 
 " Whither dost thou deign to go, my dear? " ^ 
 
 Vasilisa cast a quick glance at him, burst out 
 laughing, turned away, and covered her lips with 
 her hand. 
 
 " To make purchases, I suppose? " — inquired 
 Ivan Afanasievitch, shifting from foot to foot. 
 
 " How curious you are,"— retorted Vasilisa. 
 
 "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 j^ou enjoy my roll? " 
 
 " I certainly did, ma'am,"— replied Pyetush- 
 kofF: — " it gave me particular satisfaction." 
 
 Vasih'sa 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 
 
 ^ 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'am? " 
 
 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. 
 
 Vasilisa 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. ..." 
 
 PyetushkoiF 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, Vasih'sa 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 Vasilisa. 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 spots. 
 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,^ 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 ^ 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, especfelly 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 tliat 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. 
 
 a. 
 
 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 hospitahty." 
 
 " 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 
 replied, 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 
 
 it
 
 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 Afanasle- 
 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: 
 
 "Om'sim!" 
 
 " 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: — " Vasilisa, I mean, 
 says . . . ." 
 
 But Onisim did not wish to prolong the con- 
 versation and assumed his habitual glum aspect. 
 
 IV 
 
 Ivan Afanasievitch'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 little 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 
 hving 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 Af anasievitch 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 Vasilisa. She burst out laughing. 
 
 "Whither are you going, my dear little dove? " 
 —said Ivan Af anasievitch, 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 Af anasievitch, to speak in lofty style, at- 
 tained his end. The attainment of an end usu- 
 
 197
 
 PYETUSHKOFF 
 
 ally cools men off, but 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. Vasihsa 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 ! ^ 
 Ivan Afanasievitch made experience of this in 
 his own case. In the first place, ever since his 
 
 ^ The Russian expression to indicate that one drop of bitterness 
 will ruin the sweetest of fates.— Translator. 
 
 198
 
 PYETUSHKOFF 
 
 removal to Vasilisa's, Pyetushkoff had fallen 
 still more out of touch with his comrades. Pie 
 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 desperatelj^-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 Pyetushkoif (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? " 
 — Pyetushkoif asked her. 
 
 Vasilisa continued to " break the viburnum- 
 bush." ' 
 
 " 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?"^ 
 
 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 btiblik—a, large roll in the form of a ring.— Trans- 
 lator. 
 
 200
 
 PYETUSHKOFF 
 
 « 
 
 Well, yes, yes. . . . Piotr Petrovitch." 
 
 " And dost thou know him? " 
 
 "I should think I did! "—returned Vasilisa, 
 nodding her head. 
 
 Pyetushkoif 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." 
 
 <4 
 
 " 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, 
 reaUyl" 
 
 201 
 
 
 it
 
 PYETUSHKOFF 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 "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.^ 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: Vasilisa was not 
 to be seen. Hatless, he ran clear to the market: 
 no Vasilisa was visible. Slowly he returned to 
 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 fairl}'^ 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.' 
 
 * For sleeping. —Translator. 
 
 202 
 
 j»
 
 PYETUSHKOFF 
 
 « if 
 
 '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. 
 
 ^ 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 hght 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 may est return two hours hence." 
 • Onisim took himself off. 
 
 Pyetushkoff waited until the gate slammed, 
 and immediately approached Vasilisa. 
 
 " Where hast thou been? " 
 
 Vasilisa 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 Vasihsa 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. 
 Ask 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 I 
 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." 
 
 *' Vasilisa, '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 Af anasievitch began silently to wring his 
 hands. Vasilisa 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, Vasilisa, enough of that,"— Pye- 
 tushkoff interrupted her.—" Thou hadst better 
 change thy mind; look at me. Surelj% 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, Vasilisa! 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 

 
 *7 
 
 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 
 and write? " 
 
 " But why should the likes of me want to know 
 how to read and write, Ivan Af anasievitch ? " 
 
 "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 
 Af anasievitch . " 
 
 " 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 5'ear 1819, two numbers of " Galatea," 
 
 209
 
 PYETUSHKOFF 
 
 Natdlya Dolgoruky, by KozloiF, 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, Pyetushkoif 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 lipg 
 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. 
 Vasilisa threw back her head, flung wide her 
 hands, cast a glance into Pyetushkoff 's face — and 
 
 210
 
 PYETUSHKOFF 
 
 suddenlj^ broke out into a ringing peal of merry 
 laughter; .... she fairly rolled with laughter. 
 
 Ivan Af anasievitch 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.^ In the jaunting- 
 car, facing him, sat INIr. Bublitzyn between two 
 young ladies, the daughters of Mr. Tiutiuryofl". 
 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, 
 
 ^ The linSika is something like an Irish jaunting-car, sonretimes 
 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 difl^cult 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. 
 Bubh'tzyn 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," ^ 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 
 
 ^ Probably in reference to the absolute desolation created at the cap- 
 ture of Kazdn 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 Bubh'tzyn." 
 
 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 ^ 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. Pyetushkoif 
 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 f 
 
 " Why should I care to know where you are 
 going f 
 
 " 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. Pyetushkoif 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. Pyetushkoif 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 
 
 ti 
 
 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 lie 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 \ov,e for thee! And she did n't even in- 
 quire whether I was well ! 'Is Ivan Af anasie- 
 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 wiU 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 rh5^me or 
 reason, he has stopped going! So now, we shall 
 see!" 
 
 Ivan Af anasievitch 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." 
 
 PyetushkoiF 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 
 nowf 
 
 " 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, Vasilisa 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 I 
 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 PyetushkoiF, — 
 " 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
 
 pyetushk6ff 
 
 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 
 
 little 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 Af anasievitch ? " — 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 telHng 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 wiU 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 like 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 little 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 Pyetushkoif 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." 
 
 PyetushkoiF 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 j^ou 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,"— repHed Oni- 
 sim, thrusting out his leg.—" Now, for example, 
 you know Under-OfRcer 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 KrupovatoflP'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 like 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 mih- 
 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
 
 PYETUSHK^FF 
 
 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! " ^—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 PyetushkoiF, 
 whose heart turned cold, — "that all this, so far 
 as I can judge, refers to my private life, so to 
 speaic ... 
 
 "Don't argue with me, I tell you! — Private 
 life — 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-housel — 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 lips, 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 
 trembling 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 sHced herrings and a huge carafFe 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 VasiHsa'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-frame* 
 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 
 m 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? 
 
 ^ 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,* 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 little 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? " 
 
 " Praskovj'^a 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?" 
 
 Prask6^ya Ivanovna hung her head and did 
 not answer him. 
 
 " Come, we have had our quarrel out— and 
 
 1 Meaning that the samovfCr 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 feehngs, 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 Weil- 
 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 little 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 little 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- 
 tushkoiF 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 feehng 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! " — Pyetushkofl* 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 lift 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 
 
 Vasilisa 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 oiF 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 
 
 I
 
 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, Vasilisa. I wish thee all happiness and 
 prosperity .... and I . . . . and I . . . ." 
 
 And PyetushkoiF 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 
 Demof ont. 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 j'^ear, 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 living as he had lived 
 hitherto, and he had decided, most reluctantly, to 
 devote several years to imjoroving those " family 
 circumstances," thanks to which he suddenly 
 found himself in the rural wilds. 
 
 Vyazovnm 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 hking 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 little resem- 
 blance to each other : Vyazovnin was quite tall of 
 stature, slender, fair-haired, and looked like 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- 
 
 2.55
 
 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 liked 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 hked 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 w^as 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 Fediiishka (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 dajs about field 
 
 2.57
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS 
 
 labours and the price of grain; they also talked 
 about the landed gentry of the vicinity, 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, crackling 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 
 English 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 Vasilitch's hamlet, and 
 once in a while, they dropped into his little 
 house. 
 
 This little 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 life, 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- 
 htch 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 lines: 
 
 "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 
 VasiHtch." 
 
 " 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,"— replied 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 Vasilitch, 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 living 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 j^ou! . . . 
 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 light-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- 
 icallj?^, 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 
 
 271
 
 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 little booj^, 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 Kirillovna 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 fii'st 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 Vyazovnm, 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? " 
 
 " Marhnsky 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 MarHnsky. 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 Vasilitch 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 Vasilitch, 
 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 VasiUtch. 
 
 " Paradoxes." 
 
 Piotr Vasihtch looked Sofya KiriUovna 
 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 KiriUovna 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 j^ou 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 Vasflitch 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 like 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," — replied 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 ! " 
 
 * Pilshkin's famous poem, " Evgeny Onyegin."— Thanslatob. 
 
 283
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS 
 
 " Good gracious, Piotr Vasilitch, 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 husbsind — Calimon?"^ 
 
 " I have n't heard her do that. But just wait." 
 
 " I will." 
 
 It was about twenty-five versts to the Tikho- 
 diieiFs', 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 which 
 the guests, on their part, replied merely with 
 smiles and bows: such a frightful barking was 
 set up by four white lap-dogs which, at the ap- 
 pearance of strange faces, leaped from the em- 
 broidered cushions, whereon they had been lying. 
 The enraged little dogs were reduced to a de- 
 gree of silence by the waving of handkerchiefs in 
 the air, and by other means; but one of them, 
 the oldest and the most vicious, had to be dragged 
 from under a bench, and carried oif into the bed- 
 room by a maid, who, during the operation, was 
 bitten in the right hand. 
 
 Piotr Vasihtch 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. 
 
 Kahmon 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 worn little face, and a false front of reddish 
 hair under a tall cap, seemed to be in a perennial 
 flutter ; traces of a long-vanished affectation were 
 perceptible in 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 prominently; 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 gowns, 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 ; 
 the guests expressed themselves in the same man- 
 ner. All this produced a rather oppressive im- 
 
 286
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS 
 
 pression. Kalimon Ivanitch, not being very fer- 
 tile in expedients by nature, asked OBoris 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," — repHed Pelageya Ivanovna;— "but 
 they can try." 
 
 "Yes, try, do try,"— said their father. 
 
 " Akh, maman, how can we . . . ." 
 
 '' Emerance, quand je voiis 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,' ^ 
 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 Vasilitch went into perfect raptures. 
 
 "That 's quite another thing! That 's in 
 our style!"— he kept repeating.— " You have 
 
 iThe popular song, "The Red Sarafan"— the sarafdn being the 
 full, loose gown of unmarried peasant-girls, gathered into a band 
 under the arms, and suspended over the shoulders by straps.— Trans. 
 
 LATOB. 
 
 291
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS 
 
 comforted us, Emerentziya Kalimonovna! .... 
 Now I see that you had a right to call yourself 
 a lover of music and jDroficient 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- 
 nm." 
 
 " 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 . . . ." repHed Boris Andre- 
 itch, poKtely;—" but with your talent . . ." He 
 hesitated, and turned his eyes aside, with still 
 greater poHteness. 
 
 "Emerance.demande pourquoi que le diner. . ." 
 said Pelageya Ivanovna. 
 
 " Out, mamaw/^— 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 hke best? "—he 
 asked, after waitmg a while;—" Italian or Ger- 
 manf 
 
 Polinka dropped her eyes. 
 
 " Pelagie, rejmnde-donc/'— resounded Pela- 
 geya Ivanovna's agitated whisper. 
 
 " All sorts,"— hastily replied Polinka.* 
 
 " 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 
 
 * Polinka, or Pauline, is the favourite familiar form of Pelagdya (pro- 
 nounced Pelagaya); — French Pelagic. — Teanslator. 
 
 294 
 
 4
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS 
 
 pame: mamma did nothing but scold afterward 
 —and that 's all the satisfaction she got out of 
 
 M/« • • • 
 
 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 Vasilitch 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 j^ou 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, 
 PiotrVasihtch?" 
 
 But Piotr Vasihtch 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 uneas}^" 
 
 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- 
 sflitch 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 Vasihtch? 
 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 Vasihtch fidgeted on his chair. 
 
 " Why, you 're so fastidious, you know I One 
 can't suit you. God knows what you want! I 
 don't beheve there is a bride to your taste in these 
 parts." 
 
 " That 's bad, Piotr Vasihtch. 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 Vasihtch, 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 Vasihtch. 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 BarsukoiF, 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? " 
 - " BarsukoiF." 
 
 " To Miss BarsukoiF .... please do. . . ." 
 
 And Boris Andreitch gave Piotr Vasilitch no 
 peace until the latter promised to take him to the 
 %arsuk6iFs'. 
 
 Two days later they drove to call on them. 
 
 The BarsukoiF family consisted of two per- 
 sons: the father, aged iifty, and the daughter, 
 aged nineteen years. It was not without cause 
 that Piotr Vasilitch had called the father an ec- 
 centric; he really was an eccentric of the iirst 
 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 oificers, 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 BarsukoiF, 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 I " 
 
 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 gufl'aw, 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 particularl)'^ 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 hked 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 Barsukoif '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. Vverotchka'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 Vasilitch 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 tlie 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 Hsten 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 directty 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 Vasilitch? " 
 
 " 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 I 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 Mikhei A,"— 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 Httle 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. ..." 
 
 " 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 fiercely, 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 
 coiFee 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 111- 
 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 ^ was served, and she had 
 
 ^ 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 Vasflitch; 
 — " 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. 
 Vyazovnm 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. Vyazovnm 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 Hitch, sat 
 down to play cards. Mikhei JMikheitch 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 ^ always stacked the cards to 
 
 ^ 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 Omifry Hitch, 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 Hitch 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 
 5^et, 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 Oniifry flitch 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 ; Onuf ry Hitch 
 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 BarsukoiF, and 
 that he would go alone if Piotr Vasilitch were not 
 disposed to accompany him. Piotr Vasflitch, of 
 course, replied that he should be dehghted, and 
 was ready, 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 
 Vasflitch 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 Vasflitch 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 j'^ou, 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 Vasilitch, 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 Vyazovnm 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 Vasilitch 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' "—replied Boris Andre- 
 itch. 
 
 Piotr Vasilitch 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 Vasflitch, congratulate 
 me! " — he cried, for the first time addi'essing him 
 as thou; — " she consents and so does the old mt^n. 
 . . . Everything is already settled! " 
 
 " What .... do you mean? " — mumbled the 
 astonished Piotr Vasflitch. 
 
 " I am going to be married! " * 
 
 "ToVyerotchka?" 
 
 " 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 Vyazovnm as he 
 entered, pointed out to him first the table with 
 the cold luncheon, then Vyerotchka, and closed 
 his eyes. That was all Vyazovnm 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- 
 nm asked her. 
 
 *' Who ? Papa ? Yes, more than any one in the 
 
 325
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS 
 
 world. God forbid that anything should haj)- 
 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 5 
 
 ?» 
 
 I ! " Boris Andreitch came near saying, but 
 restrained himself. 
 
 "What makes you thoughtful? "—she asked, 
 looking at him with her wonted smile. t 
 
 " 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 had 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- 
 nm, 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 Omifry. 
 
 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 JNIikheitch 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- 
 vitch, and suddenly began to roar with laughter. 
 
 INIikhei 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 Oniifry 
 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 
 
 835
 
 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 anjrthing 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 
 
 I
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS 
 
 Piotr Vasilitch, 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 ser\ace ! He 
 has got into the habit of being capricious, and 
 does n't know the regulations." 
 
 A MONTH later, Vyazovnin married Vj'^erotchka. 
 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 JNIiloslavsky," and himself read aloud 
 to her several chapters. Zagoskin's ^ romance 
 pleased her; but when she had finished it, she did 
 not ask for another. KarantyeiF 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 laj^ 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 wed- 
 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 
 
 ^ Mikhail Vasilievitch Zagoskin, a writer in the thirties of the 
 nineteenth century. — TRAhfSLATOR. 
 
 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 
 Vasilitch 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 Vj^azovnin's house, everything went on as 
 
 341
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS 
 
 before— peaceably and quietly, because there was 
 no possibility of quarrelling with T^yerotchka — 
 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- 
 
 342
 
 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 gentl}^ 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 beyond 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 hps. ..." I shall return soon, 
 very soon, and I will write, my darling!" — he 
 
 344 
 
 I
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS 
 
 said over and over again, — and committing her 
 to the attention and friendship of Piotr VasiHtch, 
 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. 
 
 "Nol"— he exclaimed;—"! see that — 
 
 To the same cart one must not hitch 
 A war-horse and a timorous doe. . . ." 
 
 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, 
 Vyazovnm 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 : 
 
 Dear 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 
 
 Boris 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 
 Vyerotclika ; but from Hamburg lie 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 Vyazovnm ; 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. . . j 
 Half an hour later, she was walking arm in arm 
 with him, had told him son petit nom, — Julie j — 
 and had hinted that she was hungry, and that no- 
 thing could be better than a supper a la Maison 
 dfOr, 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,—"! 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. 
 
 '' Out, monsieur; I don't like the shape of your 
 
 nose." 
 
 '' Fij, le gros jaloucc! " — 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 Lehoeuf, 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 w^hat ? and on the very day 
 
 350
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS 
 
 after my arrival in Paris ! How stupid ! " — He be- 
 gan letters to Vyerotehka 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. Leboeuf, 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. Lehoeuf" sent by him for the 
 purpose of taking the requisite measures, as their 
 friend, M-r. Leboeuf, could not accept any ex- 
 cuses. Vyazovnin was compelled, on his side, to 
 inform the officers, the friends of M-r. Leboeuf, 
 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).— '^'^/S'i 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 Barhichon, 
 un gar^on 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 heaxt—prendra a cceur 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 gar(^on tres devoue proved to be 
 an extremely alert and active individual. De- 
 claring that '' cet animal de Lebceuf nen 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. Leboeuf's face assumed an expression 
 which was not so much malicious as rapacious. 
 Vyazovnm 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 FRIENDS 
 
 to say: " I don't want it! " but he was abeady 
 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 afl'air to our Embassy — and 
 " the unfortunate afl*air 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 
 Hitch, 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 believe 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 
 hfe. 
 
 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 hat, 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, thai 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. 
 
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