-?
 
 THE WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 IVAN TURGENIEFF 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN BY 
 
 ISABEL F. HAPGOOD 
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 SMOKE 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNERS SONS 
 1915
 
 Copyright, 1904, by 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 1 
 
 KNOCK . . h KNOCK . . . KNOCK ... . , .239 
 THE WATCH 291
 
 
 ..r - 
 
 G 
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 (1871)
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 The merry years, 
 The happy days,— 
 Like freshets in spring 
 They have dashed past ! 
 
 From an ancient Ballad. 
 
 ABOUT two o'clock in the morning, he re- 
 ,/jL turned to his study. He dismissed the ser- 
 vant, struck a match,— and, flinging himself into 
 an arm-chair near the fireplace, he covered his 
 face with both hands. 
 
 Never before had he felt such fatigue— both 
 physical and spiritual. He had spent the entire 
 evening with agreeable ladies, with cultured men : 
 some of the ladies were handsome, nearly all the 
 men were distinguished for wit and talents— he 
 himself had conversed with great success, and 
 even brilliantly . . . and, nevertheless, never be- 
 fore had that tcedium vitce of which the Ro- 
 mans talked, that " disgust with life," taken pos- 
 session of him with irresistible force, and had 
 stifled him. Had he been a little younger he 
 would have wept with melancholy, boredom, irri- 
 tation: a caustic and burning bitterness, like 
 the bitterness of wormwood, filled his soul to 
 overflowing. Something importunately-loath- 
 some, repulsively-oppressive, invested him on all 
 
 3
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 sides, like a gloomy, autumnal night;— and he 
 did not know how to rid himself of that gloom, 
 of that bitterness. It was useless to rely upon 
 sleep to do it: he knew well that he could not 
 sleep. 
 
 He set to meditating . . . slowly, languidly, 
 and spitefully. 
 
 He meditated upon the vanity, the uselessness, 
 the stale falsity of everything human. All ages 
 of man gradually passed in review before his 
 mental vision — (he himself had passed his fifty- 
 second birthday not long before) — and not one 
 of them found any mercy at his hands. Every- 
 where there was the same eternal pouring of the 
 empty into the void, the same beating of the 
 empty air, the same half -conscientious, half -con- 
 scious self-deception,— anything with which to 
 soothe the child, so that it might not cry, — and 
 then, all of a sudden old age descends unexpect- 
 edly, like snow on the head, — and along with it, 
 that constantly-augmenting, all-devouring, and 
 gnawing fear of death .... and, flop into the 
 abyss! And it is a good thing if life does wind 
 up in that way! — Otherwise, probably, before the 
 end, feebleness, suffering will come like rust on 
 grain. . . . The sea of life did not appear to him, 
 as the poets describe it, covered with stormy 
 waves; no: — he depicted to himself that sea as 
 imperturbably-smooth, motionless and transpar- 
 ent to even its very dark bottom; he himself is 
 sitting in a small, cranky boat, — and down yon- 
 
 4 ..
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 der, on that dark, slimy bottom, horrible mon- 
 sters, in the likeness of huge fishes, are dimly visi- 
 ble: all the ills of life, sicknesses, woes, mad- 
 nesses, poverty, blindness. . . . He gazes: and 
 lo, one of the monsters detaches itself from the 
 gloom, rises higher and higher, grows more and 
 more distinct, more repulsively-distinct. . . . 
 Another minute — and the boat which is resting 
 upon it will be overturned! But behold, it seems 
 to grow dim once more, it retreats, sinks to the 
 bottom — and there it lies, barely moving its gills. 
 . . . But the fatal day will come when it will 
 capsize the boat. 
 
 He shook his head, jumped up from his chair, 
 strode up and down the room a couple of times, 
 seated himself at the writing-table, and pulling 
 out one drawer after another, he began to rum- 
 mage among his old papers, among ancient let- 
 ters, chiefly from women. He himself did not 
 know why he was doing this ; he was not search- 
 ing for anything — he was simply desirous of rid- 
 ding himself, by some external activity, of the 
 thoughts which were oppressing him. Unfold- 
 ing, at haphazard, several letters (in one of them 
 he found some withered flowers, bound with a 
 faded ribbon), he merely shrugged his shoul- 
 ders, and casting a glance at the fireplace, flung 
 them aside, prqbably making ready to burn all 
 this useless rubbiSh. Hastily thrusting his hands, 
 now into one, now into another drawer, he sud- 
 denly opened his eyes to their fullest extent, and 
 
 5
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 slowly drawing forth a small octagonal casket of 
 ancient design, he slowly raised its lid. In the 
 casket, beneath a double layer of cotton-wool, yel- 
 lowed with age, was a tiny garnet cross. 
 
 For several moments he surveyed this little 
 cross with bewilderment — and all at once he ut- 
 tered a cry. ... It was neither precisely pity 
 nor yet joy which his features expressed. A 
 man's face presents that sort of an expression 
 when he chances suddenly to encounter another 
 man, whom he has long lost from sight, whom he 
 has once tenderly loved, and who now unex- 
 pectedly starts up before his vision, still the same 
 — yet all altered by the years. 
 
 He rose to his feet, and returning to the fire- 
 place, seated himself once more in his arm-chair — 
 and once more held his face in his hands. . . . 
 "Why to-day? To-day in particular?" he 
 thought to himself —and he recalled many things 
 which had taken place long ago. 
 
 This is what he called to mind .... 
 
 But first we must tell his name, patronymic 
 and surname. He was called Sanin, Dmitry 
 Pavlovitch. 
 
 This is what he called to mind .... 
 
 It was the year 1840. Sanin was in his twenty- 
 third year, and was in Frankfurt, on his home- 
 ward road from Italy to Russia. He was a man 
 
 6
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 of small but independent fortune, almost totally 
 devoid of family. He possessed a few thousand 
 rubles, which had come to him on the death of a 
 distant relative— and he decided to spend them 
 abroad, before entering government service, be- 
 fore definitively donning that official harness 
 without which an existence free from anxiety was 
 inconceivable for him. Sanin carried out his in- 
 tention to the letter, and managed matters so art- 
 fully that on the day of his arrival in Frankfurt 
 he had just money left to take him to Petersburg. 
 In 1840 there was only the smallest amount of 
 railways in existence; tourists travelled in stage- 
 coaches. Sanin engaged a place in the Bei- 
 wagen; but the diligence did not start until 
 eleven o'clock at night. He had a great deal of 
 time on his hands. Fortunately, the weather was 
 very fine— and Sanin, after dining in the then 
 renowned hostelry " The White Swan," set out to 
 roam about the town. He dropped in to have a 
 look at Dannecker's ' Ariadne," which did not 
 please him much, visited the house of Goethe, of 
 whose writings, by the way, he had read only 
 " Werther "—and that in a French translation; he 
 strolled along the banks of the Main, got bored, as 
 is proper for a well-ordered traveller; at last, at 
 six o'clock in the evening, he found himself 
 weary, with dusty feet, in one of the most insig- 
 nificant streets of Frankfurt. For a long time 
 thereafter he was unable to forget that street. 
 
 7
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 On one of its not very numerous houses he espied 
 a sign: the " Italian Confectionery Shop of Gio- 
 vanni Roselli " announced itself to passers-by. 
 
 Sanin stepped in to drink a glass of lemonade ; 
 but in the first room, where, behind a modest 
 counter, on the shelves of a painted cupboard, 
 suggestive of an apothecary's shop, stood several 
 bottles with gilt labels, and a corresponding num- 
 ber of glass jars filled with rusks, chocolate cakes, 
 and caramels — in this room there was not a living 
 soul; only a grey cat was blinking and purring, 
 as she opened and shut her paws on a tall wattled 
 chair near the window, — and, glowing vividly in 
 the slanting rays of the evening sun, a big ball of 
 scarlet wool lay on the floor, alongside an over- 
 turned basket of carved wood. A confused noise 
 was audible in the adjoining room. Sanin stood 
 still, and after allowing the little bell on the door 
 to ring itself out, he exclaimed, raising his voice: 
 "Is there any one here?' : At that moment the 
 door of the adjoining room opened — and Sanin 
 was impelled to involuntary amazement. 
 
 II 
 
 Into the confectioner's shop, with her dark curls 
 scattered over her shoulders, and bare arms ex- 
 tended before her, ran impetuously a young girl 
 of nineteen, and on catching sight of Sanin, in- 
 stantly rushed up to him, seized him by the hand, 
 
 8
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 and drew him after her, saying in a panting 
 voice: "Quick, quick, this way, to the rescue!" 
 Sanin did not immediately follow the girl— not 
 because of reluctance to comply with her request, 
 but simply from excessive surprise — and re- 
 mained, as it were, stubbornly rooted to the spot : 
 in all his life he had never beheld such a beauty. 
 She turned toward him— and ejaculated, with 
 such despair in her voice, in her eyes, in the ges- 
 ture of her clenched fist: " Come, pray come! "— 
 that he immediately rushed after her through the 
 open door. 
 
 In the room, into which he ran behind the 
 young girl, upon an old-fashioned horsehair 
 couch, all white— white with yellowish reflections, 
 like wax or ancient marble,— lay a lad of fourteen, 
 who bore a striking resemblance to the young girl 
 and was, evidently, her brother. His eyes were 
 closed ; the shadow of his heavy black hair fell in 
 a patch upon his forehead, which seemed turned 
 to stone, upon his slender, motionless eyebrows; 
 his clenched teeth were visible between his blue 
 lips. He did not seem to be breathing;— one 
 arm lay on the floor, the other he had thrown 
 above his head. The boy was fully dressed, and 
 his clothing was buttoned up; a tight neckcloth 
 compressed his neck. 
 
 The young girl rushed to him with a shriek. 
 " He is dead, he is dead! " she screamed; ' a mo- 
 ment ago he was sitting here, talking with me— 
 
 9
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 and all of a sudden, he fell down and became mo- 
 tionless . . . O my God! can it be that there is 
 no help for it? And mamma is not here! Panta- 
 leone, Pantaleone, what about the doctor?" she 
 suddenly added in Italian: "Didst thou go for 
 a doctor?" 
 
 " I did not go, Signora, I sent Luisa," rang 
 out a husky voice beyond the door, — and limping 
 on his crooked legs, there entered the room a little 
 old man in a lilac dress-coat with black buttons, 
 a tall white neckcloth, short nankeen trousers, and 
 blue worsted stockings. His tiny face was quite 
 concealed beneath a perfect pile of iron-grey 
 hair. Standing up stiffly in all directions, and 
 falling back again in dishevelled locks, it im- 
 parted to the old man's figure a likeness to a 
 crested hen, — a likeness the more striking in that 
 beneath their dark-grey mass nothing was to be 
 distinguished save a sharp-pointed nose and 
 round, yellow eyes. 
 
 " Luisa runs faster, and I cannot run," went 
 on the little old man, in Italian, lifting his flat, 
 gouty feet, clad in tall slippers with ribbon bows, 
 alternately, — "but I have brought some water." 
 
 In his gaunt, calloused fingers he clutched the 
 long neck of a bottle. 
 
 "But meanwhile £mile will die!" cried the 
 girl, stretching out her hand toward Sanin.— 
 "Oh, sir, O mein Herri — Cannot you help us?' 
 
 "We must let blood— it is a stroke of apo- 
 
 10
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 plexy,"— remarked the old man, who bore the 
 name of Pantaleone. 
 
 Although Sanin had not the faintest under- 
 standing of the medical art, he knew one thing 
 for a fixed fact: lads of fourteen do not have at- 
 tacks of apoplexy. 
 
 ' It is a swoon, not an apoplectic fit," — said he, 
 addressing Pantaleone. — " Have you a brush?" 
 
 The old man raised his tiny face a little.— 
 "What?" 
 
 T A brush, a brush," — repeated Sanin, in Ger- 
 man and in French. 
 
 " A brush,"— he added, pretending in dumb- 
 show that he was cleaning his clothes. 
 
 At last the old man understood him. 
 
 " Ah, a brush ! Spazzette! Of course we have 
 a brush!" 
 
 " Bring it hither; we will take off his coat — and 
 rub him." 
 
 ' Good .... Benone! And shall not we 
 pour water on his head? " 
 
 ' No . . . afterward ; go now, and fetch the 
 brush as quickly as possible." 
 
 Pantaleone set the bottle on the floor, ran out 
 of the room, and immediately returned with two 
 brushes, a hair-brush and a clothes-brush. A 
 curly poodle accompanied him, and wagging his 
 tail briskly, stared curiously at the little old man, 
 the young girl and even Sanin— as though desir- 
 ous of finding out what all this tumult meant. 
 
 11
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Sanin promptly removed the coat of the pros- 
 trate lad, unhooked his collar, stripped up his 
 shirt-sleeves — and arming himself with the brush, 
 began to rub his breast and arms with all his 
 might. Pantaleone rubbed the hair-brush over 
 his boots and trousers, with equal zeal. The girl 
 flung herself on her knees beside the couch, and 
 clutching her head with both hands, without 
 winking an eyelash, she riveted her gaze on her 
 brother's face. 
 
 Sanin rubbed away, — and surveyed her with a 
 sidelong gaze as he did so. Good heavens! what 
 a beauty she was ! 
 
 Ill 
 
 Her nose was rather large, but handsome, of the 
 aquiline type; her upper lip was just barely 
 shaded with down; on the other hand, her com- 
 plexion was smooth and dead-white, precisely like 
 ivory or milky amber; the shining masses of her 
 hair were like those of Allori's " Judith " in the 
 Palazzo Pitti, — and especially her eyes, dark 
 grey, with a black rim around the pupil, were 
 magnificent, conquering eyes, — even now when 
 fright and grief had dimmed their lustre. . . . 
 Sanin involuntarily called to mind the wondrous 
 land whence he had just returned . . . Yes, 
 even in Italy he had not met anything like her! 
 The young girl breathed infrequently and un- 
 
 12
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 evenly ; she seemed each time to be waiting to see 
 whether her brother would breathe, 
 
 Sanin continued to rub him ; but he did not look 
 at the young girl alone. Pantaleone's original 
 figure also attracted his attention. The old man 
 grew quite weak, and panted for breath; with 
 every stroke of the brush he gave a leap and 
 a grunt, while his huge mass of shaggy hair, 
 dampened with perspiration, rocked from side to 
 side like the roots of a vast plant undermined by 
 water. 
 
 "Do take off his boots, at least," — Sanin felt 
 like saying to him. . . . 
 
 The poodle, probably excited by the unwonted- 
 ness of what was going on, suddenly sank down 
 on his forepaws and began to bark. 
 
 " Tartaglia, canaglia! "—hissed the old man at 
 him. . . . 
 
 But at that moment the young girl's face un- 
 derwent a transformation; her eyes grew larger, 
 and began to beam with joy. . . . Sanin glanced 
 round .... A flush mounted to the face of the 
 young man; his eyelids moved and his nostrils 
 quivered. He inhaled air through his still 
 clenched teeth, sighed .... 
 
 "fimile!"- cried the girl. . . . "Emilio 
 mio! " 
 
 Slowly the great black eyes opened. Their 
 glance was still dull, but they were already smil- 
 ing faintly; the same faint smile descended to 
 
 13
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 the pale lips. Then he moved his pendent arm— 
 and with a flourish laid it on his breast. 
 
 "Emilio!" — repeated the young girl, and 
 half rose to her feet. The expression of her face 
 was so strong and brilliant that it seemed as 
 though her tears would spring forth or that she 
 would break into laughter. 
 
 "timile! What is it? Emile!"— rang out a 
 voice outside the door — and with swift steps, a 
 neatly-attired woman, with silvery-grey hair and 
 a swarthy complexion, entered the room. An 
 elderly man followed her; the head of a maid- 
 servant peered from behind his shoulders. 
 
 The young girl ran to meet them. 
 
 "He is saved, mamma, he lives!" — she ex- 
 claimed, convulsively embracing the lady who 
 had entered. 
 
 "But what is the matter?"— repeated the lat- 
 ter. . . " I am on my way home, when suddenly 
 I meet the doctor and Luisa. . . . The girl 
 began to relate what had happened, while the 
 doctor stepped up to the sick boy, who was com- 
 ing more and more to himself — and still con- 
 tinued to smile: he seemed to be ashamed of the 
 alarm which he had caused. 
 
 " You have been rubbing him with brushes, I 
 see,"— said the doctor to Sanin and Pantaleone, 
 — " and it was well done. ... A very good idea 
 .... and now let us see what further reme- 
 dies. . . ." 
 
 14
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 He felt the young man's pulse.—" H'm! show 
 your tongue ! " 
 
 The lady bent anxiously over him. He smiled 
 more frankly than before, turned his eyes on her 
 — and flushed scarlet. . . 
 
 It occurred to Sanin that his presence was be- 
 coming superfluous ; he went out into the confec- 
 tioner's shop. But before he could grasp the 
 handle of the street door, the young girl again ap- 
 peared before him, and stopped him. 
 
 "You are going away,"— she began, gazing 
 caressingly in his face; "I will not detain you, 
 but you must come to us again this evening, with- 
 out fail; we are so greatly indebted to you, — you 
 may have saved my brother's life— we wish to 
 thank you— mamma wishes to thank you. You 
 must tell us who you are, you must rejoice with 
 us " 
 
 " But I am setting out for Berlin to-day," — 
 stammered Sanin. 
 
 ' You will have plenty of time,"— returned the 
 young girl vivaciously. — " Come to us an hour 
 hence, to drink a cup of chocolate. Do you 
 promise? But I must go back to him! Will you 
 come?" 
 
 What was there left for Sanin to do? 
 
 " I will," he replied. 
 
 The beauty gave his hand a hasty pressure, and 
 fluttered forth— and he found himself in the 
 street. 
 
 15
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 IV 
 
 When Sanin, an hour and a half later, returned 
 to Roselli's confectionery shop, he was welcomed 
 there like a relative. Emilio was sitting on the 
 same couch on which they had rubbed him; the 
 doctor had prescribed some medicine for him, and 
 had recommended " great caution in the experi- 
 ence of emotion," — as being of a nervous tem- 
 perament, and with a tendency to heart-disease. 
 He had previously been subject to fainting fits; 
 but never had an attack been so prolonged and so 
 violent. The doctor had declared, however, that 
 all danger was over. £mile was dressed as befits 
 a convalescent, in a loose dressing-gown; his mo- 
 ther had wound a blue woollen kerchief round his 
 neck; but he wore a cheerful, almost festive as- 
 pect ; and everything round about him also wore a 
 festive aspect. In front of the couch, on a round 
 table covered with a clean cloth, and surrounded 
 by cups, caraffes with syrup, biscuits, and rolls, 
 even with flowers,— rose a huge, porcelain coffee- 
 pot filled with fragrant chocolate; six slender 
 wax tapers burned in two antique silver cande- 
 labra; on one side of the divan, a reclining chair 
 opened its soft embrace — and Sanin was placed 
 in this chair. All the inhabitants of the confec- 
 tioner's shop, with whom he had had occasion to 
 make acquaintance that day, were present, not 
 
 16
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 excepting the poodle Tartaglia and the cat; all 
 seemed unspeakably happy; the poodle even 
 sneezed with pleasure; the cat alone, as before, 
 kept blinking and purring. They made Sanin 
 explain who he was, and whence he came, and 
 what was his name; when he said that he was 
 a Russian, both the ladies displayed some sur- 
 prise, and even uttered an exclamation, — and im- 
 mediately, in one voice, declared that he spoke 
 German capitally; but if he found it more con- 
 venient to express himself in French, he might 
 employ that language, as both of them under- 
 stood it well, and expressed themselves well in it. 
 Sanin immediately availed himself of this sug- 
 gestion. "Sanin! Sanin!"— The ladies had 
 never supposed that a Russian surname could be 
 so easily pronounced. His Christian name, 
 " Dmitry," also pleased them greatly. The elder 
 lady remarked that in her youth she had heard a 
 fine opera: " Demetrio e Polibio "— but that 
 " Dmitry " was much nicer than " Demetrio." In 
 this manner did Sanin chat for about an hour. 
 The ladies, on their side, initiated him into all the 
 details of their own life. The mother, the lady 
 with the grey hair, did most of the talking. 
 From her Sanin learned that her name was Leo- 
 nora Roselli ; that she was the widow of Giovanni 
 Battista Roselli, who had settled in Frankfurt 
 twenty-five years previously, as a confectioner; 
 that Giovanni Battista had been a native of 
 
 17
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Vicenza, and a very good, though rather peppery 
 and irritable man, and a republican into the bar- 
 gain! As she uttered these words, Signora Ro- 
 selli pointed to his portrait, painted in oils, which 
 hung over the couch. We must assume that the 
 artist — "also a republican," as Signora Roselli 
 remarked with a sigh— had not quite succeeded 
 in catching the likeness,— for in his portrait the 
 late Giovanni Battista was represented as a sort 
 of grim and gloomy brigand— in the style of Ri- 
 naldo Rinaldini! Signora Roselli herself was a 
 native of "the ancient and beautiful city of 
 Parma, where there is such a magnificent dome, 
 painted by the immortal Correggio!" But 
 through prolonged residence in Germany, she 
 had become almost a German. Then she added, 
 with a mournful shake of the head, that all she 
 had left was this daughter, and this son (she 
 pointed her finger at them in turn) ;— that her 
 daughter's name was Gemma, and her son's, 
 Emilio; that they were both very good and obe- 
 dient children— especially Emilio .... ("I'm 
 not obedient! " put in her daughter at this point; 
 — "Okh, thou art a republican also!" replied her 
 mother) ; — that business was not as good now, of 
 course, as in her husband's time, for he had been 
 a great master in the confectioner's art .... 
 (" Un grand' uomol" — interposed Pantaleone 
 with a morose aspect) ; but that, nevertheless, 
 they were able to make a living, thank God ! 
 
 18
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 V 
 
 Gemma listened to her mother— now laughing, 
 now sighing, now stroking her on the shoulder, 
 again menacing her with her finger, now glancing 
 at Sanin; at last she rose, embraced her mother, 
 and kissed her on the neck,— on the throat just 
 under the chin, which made the latter laugh a 
 great deal and even squeal. Pantaleone was also 
 introduced to Sanin. It appeared that he had 
 formerly been an opera-singer, in barytone parts, 
 but had long since dropped his theatrical occupa- 
 tions, and had become something midway be- 
 tween a friend of the house and a servant in the 
 Roselli family. Notwithstanding his long resi- 
 dence in Germany, he had acquired the German 
 language only in an imperfect manner, and mer- 
 cilessly murdered even the words of abuse. 
 "Ferrofluchto spiccebubbio!" was what he called 
 nearly every German. But the Italian language 
 he spoke in perfection, being a native of Siniga- 
 glia, where is heard the " lingua toscana in bocca 
 romanal' Emilio was obviously pampering 
 himself, and surrendering himself to the agree- 
 able sensations of a man who has just escaped 
 danger, or is convalescing ; and, moreover, it was 
 perceptible, from all the indications, that the 
 members of the household spoiled him with pet- 
 ting. He thanked Sanin in a bashful way, but 
 
 19
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 devoted himself chiefly to the syrup and the 
 candy. Sanin was compelled to drink two large 
 cups of superb chocolate, and to consume a re- 
 markable amount of biscuits; no sooner had he 
 swallowed one than Gemma offered him another 
 — and it was impossible to refuse! He speedily 
 felt himself quite at home : time sped on with in- 
 credible swiftness. He had to tell a great deal 
 about Russia in general, about Russian society; 
 about the Russian peasant — and especially about 
 the kazaks; about the War of 1812, about Peter 
 the Great, the Kremlin, Russian ballads and 
 bells. Both of the ladies had but a very feeble 
 conception of our vast and distant fatherland; 
 Signora Roselli, or, as she was more frequently 
 called, Frau Lenore, even amazed Sanin with the 
 question: whether the famous ice-palace built in 
 St. Petersburg during the last century, concern- 
 ing which she had recently read such a curious 
 article — in one of her deceased husband's books 
 — " Bellezze delle Arti " — was still in existence? 
 — and in response to Sanin's exclamation: "Can 
 it be possible that you think there is never any 
 summer in Russia!" Frau Lenore replied that 
 up to that time she had depicted Russia to herself 
 in the following manner : eternal snow, every one 
 going about in fur cloaks, and everybody in the 
 military service — but remarkable hospitality, and 
 all the peasants very obedient! Sanin endeav- 
 oured to impart to her and her daughter more ac- 
 
 20
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 curate information. When the conversation 
 turned on Russian music, he was immediately 
 asked to sing some Russian air, and a tiny piano, 
 with black keys instead of white and white in- 
 stead of black, which stood in the room, was 
 pointed out to him. He complied without fur- 
 ther ado, and accompanying himself with two 
 fingers of his right hand, and three of his left 
 (the thumb, middle finger and little finger), he 
 sang, in a thin, nasal tenor, first " The Red Sa- 
 rafan," ! and then ' Along a Paved Street." 
 The ladies praised his voice and the music, but 
 went into raptures more particularly over the 
 softness and melody of the Russian language 
 and demanded a translation of the text. Sanin 
 complied with their request — but as the words 
 of " The Red Sarafan," and particularly those 
 of "Along a Paved Street " (sur une rue pavee 
 une jeune fille allait a Veau — thus did he ren- 
 der the meaning of the original), could not in- 
 spire his hearers with a lofty idea of Russian 
 poetry, he first declaimed, then translated, then 
 sang Pushkin's ' I Remember a Wondrous 
 Moment," set to music by Glinka, whose couplets 
 in minor tones he slightly distorted. The ladies 
 went into ecstasies, — Frau Lenore even discov- 
 ered a wonderful resemblance between the Rus- 
 sian language and the Italian. " Mnogvenie" 
 
 i The sarafan is the frock, suspended from the shoulders, of 
 peasant maidens. — Translator. 
 
 21
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 — "o vieni" — f( co mn6i' , — f( siam noi"— and so 
 forth. Even the names Pushkin (she pro- 
 nounced it Pussekin) and Glinka sounded fa- 
 miliar to her. 'Sanin, in his turn, requested the 
 ladies to sing something: and they, also, were 
 quite unaffected. Frau Lenore seated herself at 
 the piano, and in company with Gemma, she sang 
 several duettini and stomelli. The mother had 
 once had a fine contralto; the daughter's voice 
 was rather weak, but agreeable. 
 
 VI 
 
 It was not Gemma's voice, however, but the girl 
 herself that Sanin admired. He sat somewhat 
 behind her and to one side, and thought to him- 
 self that no palm-tree— even in the verses of 
 Benediktoff, who was then the fashionable poet, 
 — was capable of vying with the slender ele- 
 gance of her figure. And when, at the sentimen- 
 tal notes, she rolled her eyes upward, it seemed to 
 him that there was no heaven which would not 
 open wide at such a glance. Even old Panta- 
 leone, who was leaning his shoulder against the 
 jamb of the door, with his chin and mouth buried 
 in his capacious neckcloth, listened sedately, with 
 the air of an expert, — even he admired the face 
 of the beautiful girl, and was amazed at it, — and 
 yet, apparently, he must have been used to it! 
 On finishing her duettino with her daughter, 
 
 22
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Frau Lenore remarked that Emilio had a capital 
 voice— genuine silver— but that he had now at- 
 tained the age when the voice undergoes a change 
 — (in fact, he spoke in a sort of basso voice 
 which was incessantly breaking) — and for that 
 reason, he was forbidden to sing; but that Pan- 
 taleone here might, in honor of the visitor, recall 
 his earlier days! Pantaleone immediately as- 
 sumed an aspect of displeasure, frowned, rum- 
 pled up his hair, and announced that he had long 
 since given up all that sort of thing, although he 
 really had been able, in his youth, to hold his own 
 — and, moreover, in general, he belonged to that 
 grand epoch when genuine, classical singers ex- 
 isted—not to be mentioned in the same breath 
 with the squallers of the present day ! and a genu- 
 ine school of singing; that a laurel wreath had 
 once been presented to him, Pantaleone Cippa- 
 tola, in Modena, and several white doves had even 
 been set free in the theatre on that occasion ; that, 
 among others, a Russian Prince Tarbusky — " il 
 Principe Tarbusski" — with whom he had been on 
 the most intimate terms, had incessantly invited 
 him, at supper, to Russia, had promised him 
 mountains of gold, mountains! . . . but that he 
 had not been willing to leave Italy, the land of 
 Dante— " il paese del Dante!"— later on, of 
 course, unfortunate circumstances arose, he him- 
 self was incautious. . . . Here the old man in- 
 terrupted himself, heaved a couple of profound 
 
 23
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 sighs, cast down his eyes — and again began to 
 talk about the classic era of singing, about the 
 famous tenor Garcia, for whom he cherished a 
 reverent, boundless respect. " There was a 
 man! " — he exclaimed. Never did the great Gar- 
 cia — fr il gran Garcia!" — condescend to sing like 
 the wretched little tenors of the present day — 
 the tenorecci — in falsetto: he always sang from 
 the chest, the chest, voce di petto, si! The old 
 man dealt himself a stiff blow on his neckcloth 
 with his tiny, lean hand. And what an actor! A 
 volcano, signori miei, a volcano, un Vesuvio! ' I 
 had the honour to sing with him in the opera 'dell' 
 illustrissimo maestro Rossini' — in ' Otello! ' Gar- 
 cia was Otello— I was I ago— and when he ut- 
 tered this phrase . . . . " 
 
 Here Pantaleone struck an attitude, and began 
 to sing in a hoarse and quavering, but still pa- 
 thetic voice : 
 
 " L'i. . . . ra daver. ... so daver. . . . 
 
 Io piu no. . . . no. . . . no. . . . non temer6! 
 
 The theatre quaked, signori miei! but I did 
 not stop; and I also sang after him: 
 
 L'i. . . . ra daver. ... so daver. . . . so il fato 
 Temer piu non dovro ! 
 
 And all at once he— like lightning, like a tiger: 
 ' Morro . ... ma vindicato . . . . ' 
 
 24
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " Or here again, when he sang .... when he 
 sang that celebrated aria from 'II Matrimonio 
 Segreto' : Pria die spunti. . . . Then he, il gran 
 Garcia, after the words: I cavalli di galoppo — 
 did this on the words: Senza posa cacciera — lis- 
 ten, how amazing it is, come stupe ndo! Then he 
 did this. ..." The old man tried to execute 
 some remarkable sort of fioritura — but broke off 
 short on the tenth note, cleared his throat, and 
 with a wave of his hand, turned away, mutter- 
 ing: — "Why do you torture me?" Gemma 
 immediately sprang from her chair, and clapping 
 her hands loudly, with the cry: "Bravo!" ran to 
 poor, retired Iago, and tapped him affectionately 
 on the shoulders with both hands. Emile alone 
 laughed mercilessly. " Cet age est sans pitie" — 
 La Fontaine has said. 
 
 Sanin tried to comfort the aged singer, and 
 began to talk with him in the Italian tongue — 
 (he had picked up a little of it during his late 
 journey) —began to talk about "II paese del 
 Dante, dove il si suona." This phrase, together 
 with " Lasciate ogni speranza," constituted the 
 young tourist's entire poetical baggage in Ital- 
 ian; but Pantaleone did not yield to his blan- 
 dishments. Plunging his chin more deeply than 
 ever into his neckcloth, and protruding his 
 eyes morosely, he again resembled a bird, and 
 an enraged bird, at that,— a crow or a kite. 
 Then fimile, flushing slightly and momentarily,— 
 
 25
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 as is generally the case with petted children,— 
 turned to his sister, and said to her that if she 
 wished to entertain the guest, she could devise no- 
 thing better than to read him one of Maltz's 
 little comedies, which she read so well. Gemma 
 laughed, slapped her brother's hand, and ex- 
 claimed that he " was always inventing some- 
 thing of that sort!" Nevertheless, she imme- 
 diately went to her own room, and returning 
 thence with a small book in her hand, seated her- 
 self at the table, near the lamp, cast a glance 
 about her, raised her finger— as much as to say: 
 " Silence! "—a purely Italian gesture — and be- 
 gan to read. 
 
 VII 
 
 Maltz was a Frankfurt writer of the '30's, who, 
 in his brief and lightly sketched little comedies, 
 written in the local dialect, portrayed with amus- 
 ing and dashing, although not profound humour, 
 the local Frankfurt types. It appeared that 
 Gemma really did read capitally — quite like an 
 actress. She imparted a distinct hue to every per- 
 sonage, and preserved his character finely, putting 
 in play her power of mimicry, which she had in- 
 herited along with her Italian blood; sparing 
 neither her tender voice, nor her beautiful face, 
 when it became necessary to portray either an 
 old woman who had outlived her wits, or a stupid 
 
 26
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 burgomaster,— she made the most mirth-provok- 
 ing grimaces, screwed up her eyes, wrinkled her 
 nose, lisped, squeaked shrilly. . . . She herself 
 did not laugh while she was reading; but when 
 her auditors (with the exception of Pantaleone, 
 truth to tell: he immediately withdrew in dud- 
 geon, as soon as it was a question of "quello fer- 
 rofluchto Tedesco"), — when her auditors inter- 
 rupted her with bursts of hearty laughter, she 
 dropped the book on her knees, emitted a ringing 
 laugh herself, with her head thrown back— and 
 her black curls danced in soft tendrils on her 
 neck, and over her quivering shoulders. When 
 the laughter ceased, she immediately raised her 
 book, and again imparting to her features the 
 proper twist, seriously resumed her reading. 
 Sanin could not recover from his amazement at 
 her; what particularly struck him was this: by 
 what miracle could so ideally-beautiful a face 
 suddenly assume so comical, sometimes almost 
 trivial an expression? Gemma's rendering of the 
 roles of young girls — the so-called "jeunes pre- 
 mieres" — was less satisfactory; she was particu- 
 larly unsuccessful with the love scenes; she her- 
 self was conscious of this, and therefore imparted 
 to them a slight tinge of absurdity— as though 
 she did not believe in all those rapturous vows 
 and high-flown speeches, from which, moreover, 
 the author himself refrained, so far as that was 
 possible. 
 
 27
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Sanin did not observe how the evening was flit- 
 ting by — and only recalled his impending jour- 
 ney when the clock struck ten. He sprang from 
 his chair as though he had been scalded. 
 
 " What is the matter with you? "—asked Frau 
 Lenore. 
 
 ' Why, I was to have set off to-day for Berlin 
 — and I have already secured my place in the dili- 
 gence!" 
 
 "And when does the diligence start? ' : 
 
 "At half -past ten!" 
 
 "Well, then you will not catch it,"— remarked 
 Gemma; "stay . . . and I will read some 
 more." 
 
 " Did you pay all the money down, or did you 
 merely make a deposit?" — inquired Frau Le- 
 nora. 
 
 "I paid all!" — cried Sanin, with a sorry 
 grimace. 
 
 Gemma looked at him, narrowed her eyes— 
 and laughed, but her mother reproved her. — 
 " The young man has spent his money for no- 
 thing, — and thou laughest!" 
 
 "Never mind!"— replied Gemma;— "it will 
 not ruin him, and we will try to console him. 
 Would you like some lemonade? " 
 
 Sanin drank a glass of lemonade, Gemma be- 
 gan again on Maltz — and again everything 
 flowed on as smoothly as though it had been oiled. 
 
 28
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 The clock struck twelve. Sanin began to take 
 leave. 
 
 ' Now you must remain for several days in 
 Frankfurt,"— Gemma said to him: " what 's your 
 hurry? Things will be no jollier in any other 
 town."— She paused. " Really, they will not,"— 
 she added, smiling. Sanin made no reply and 
 reflected that, in view of the emptiness of his 
 purse, he would be compelled, willy-nilly, to re- 
 main in Frankfurt, until an answer should arrive 
 from a friend in Berlin, to whom he contemplated 
 applying for money. 
 
 ' Stay, do stay,"— Frau Lenore added her en- 
 treaties. ' We will introduce you to Gemma's 
 betrothed, Herr Karl Kliiber. He could not 
 come to-day, because he is very busy in his shop 
 .... surely you must have noticed in the Zeil 
 the largest shop for cloths and silken materials? 
 Well, he is the chief man there. But he will be 
 very glad to be presented to you." 
 
 This piece of information chagrined Sanin 
 somewhat— God knows why. "That betrothed 
 is a lucky fellow ! " flashed through his mind. He 
 glanced at Gemma— and it seemed to him that 
 he descried a mocking expression in her eyes. 
 He began to take leave. 
 
 ' Until to-morrow? It is until to-morrow, is it 
 not?" — asked Frau Lenore. 
 
 " Until to-morrow ! " articulated Gemma, not 
 
 29
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 in an interrogative but in an affirmative tone, as 
 though it could not be otherwise. 
 
 "Until to-morrow!" — responded Sanin. 
 
 Emile, Pantaleone, and the poodle Tartaglia 
 escorted him to the corner of the street. Panta- 
 leone could not refrain from expressing his dis- 
 pleasure over Gemma's reading. 
 
 " She ought to be ashamed of herself! She 
 writhes and squeals — una caricatura! She ought 
 to personate Merope or Clytemnestra— some- 
 thing grand, tragic — but she mimics some mis- 
 erable German female! I can do that myself 
 . . . . ' Mertz, hertz, smertzf " —he added, in a 
 hoarse voice, thrusting forward his face, and 
 spreading out his fingers. Tartaglia began to 
 bark at him, and Emile burst into loud laughter. 
 The old man turned back abruptly. 
 
 Sanin returned to his hostelry, " The White 
 Swan " (he had left his things there, in the gen- 
 eral room) , in a decidedly confused state of mind. 
 All those German-French-Italian conversations 
 were fairly ringing in his ears. 
 
 "An affianced bride!"— he whispered, as he 
 lay in bed, in the modest chamber assigned to him. 
 ' But what a beauty! But why did I stay? ' 
 
 Nevertheless, on the following day, he des- 
 patched a letter to his friend in Berlin., 
 
 30
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 VIII 
 
 Before he had succeeded in getting dressed a 
 waiter announced to him the arrival of two gen- 
 tlemen. One of them turned out to be Emile; 
 the other, a stately well-grown young man, with 
 an extremely handsome face, was Herr Karl 
 Kluber, the betrothed of the lovely Gemma. 
 
 We are at liberty to infer that, at that time, 
 there was not, in a single shop in the whole of 
 Frankfurt, so polite, decorous, dignified, and 
 amiable a head-clerk as Herr Kluber showed 
 himself to be. The irreproachableness of his 
 toilet equalled the dignity of his demeanour, the 
 elegance — somewhat affected and constrained, 
 it is true, after the English fashion (he had 
 spent a couple of years in England) — but, 
 nevertheless, engaging elegance of his manners! 
 At the very first glance it became clear that 
 this handsome, rather stiff, excellently educated 
 and capitally washed young man was accus- 
 tomed to obey his superiors and to command his 
 inferiors, and that behind the counter of his 
 shop he was bound to evoke the respect even of 
 his patrons! As to his supernatural honesty 
 there could not exist the shadow of a doubt. A 
 glance at his stiffly-starched cuffs was all that 
 was required. And his voice proved to be just 
 what was to have been expected: thick and self- 
 
 81
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 confidently-succulent, but not too loud, with 
 even a certain caressing quality in the timbre. 
 Such a voice is particularly well adapted for 
 issuing orders to subordinate clerks: " Show that 
 piece of crimson Lyons velvet!" — or, 'Give 
 the lady a chair! " 
 
 Herr Kluber began by introducing himself, 
 during which operation he bent his form in so 
 noble a manner, moved his feet so agreeably, 
 and clicked one heel against the other so cour- 
 teously, that one was bound to feel: " This man's 
 body-linen and spiritual qualities are of the first 
 order!' The elaborate finish of his bare right 
 hand— (in his left, clad in a glove of undressed 
 kid, he held a hat polished like a mirror, at the 
 bottom of which lay the other glove) — the elab- 
 orate finish of that right hand, which he mod- 
 estly but firmly offered to Sanin, — exceeded all 
 belief: every nail was perfection in its way! 
 Then he announced, in the choicest of German, 
 that he had wished to express his respects and 
 his gratitude to Monsieur the Stranger, who had 
 rendered such an important service to his future 
 relative, the brother of his affianced bride ; where- 
 upon, he waved his left hand, which held his hat, 
 in the direction of Emile, who seemed to feel 
 ashamed, and, turning away to the window, 
 stuck his finger in his mouth. Herr Kluber 
 added that he should consider himself happy 
 if he, on his part, were in a position to do any- 
 
 32
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 thing agreeable for Monsieur the Stranger. 
 Sanin replied, not without some difficulty, also 
 in German, that he was delighted . . . that his 
 service had been of very slight importance .... 
 and begged his visitors to be seated. Herr 
 Kliiber thanked him— and, immediately draw- 
 ing aside the skirts of his frock-coat, dropped 
 into a chair— but dropped so lightly, and held 
 himself upon it in so precarious a manner, that 
 it was impossible not to think: " This man has 
 seated himself out of politeness — and will flutter 
 off again in another minute! " And, as a matter 
 of fact, he did flutter off immediately, and shift- 
 ing bashfully from one foot to the other a 
 couple of times, as though dancing, he an- 
 nounced that, unhappily, he could not remain 
 longer, for he was hastening to his shop — busi- 
 ness before everything!— but, as to-morrow was 
 Sunday, he had, with the consent of Frau Le- 
 nore and Fraulein Gemma, arranged a plea- 
 sure-party to Soden, to which he had the honour 
 of inviting Monsieur the Stranger— and he 
 cherished the hope that the latter would not re- 
 fuse to adorn it with his presence. Sanin did not 
 refuse to adorn it— and Herr Kltiber made his 
 obeisance a second time, and withdrew, pleas- 
 antly fluttering his trousers of the most tender 
 greyish-yellow hue, and squeaking the soles of 
 his very new boots in an equally agreeable 
 manner. 
 
 33
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 IX 
 
 Emile, who continued to stand with his face to 
 the window, even after Sanin's invitation to 
 " be seated " — wheeled round to the left, as soon 
 as his future relative was gone — and, grimac- 
 ing and blushing in childish fashion, asked Sa- 
 nin whether he might remain a little longer with 
 him. " I am much better to-day," — he added, — 
 " but the doctor has forbidden me to work." 
 
 "Pray, remain! You do not incommode me 
 in the least,"— instantly exclaimed Sanin, who, 
 like all true Russians, was delighted to grasp at 
 the first pretext which presented itself to escape 
 being forced to do anything himself. 
 
 Emile thanked him — and, in the very briefest 
 space of time, had made himself entirely at 
 home both with him and with his quarters. He 
 scrutinised his things, and asked questions about 
 nearly every one of them: where he had bought 
 this, and what were its merits? He helped him 
 to shave, remarking incidentally that he made 
 a mistake in not allowing his moustache to grow ; 
 —he finally imparted to him a multitude of de- 
 tails concerning his mother, his sister, Pantale- 
 one, even the poodle Tartaglia, and about their 
 whole manner of life. Every trace of timidity 
 had vanished from Emile; he suddenly experi- 
 enced a remarkable attraction toward Sanin — 
 
 34
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 and that not in the least because the latter had 
 saved his life the day before, but because he was 
 such a sympathetic man! He made no delay in 
 confiding all his secrets to Sanin. He insisted 
 with special fervour on the fact that his mamma 
 was positively set upon making a merchant of 
 him — while he knew for a certainty that he was 
 born to be an artist, a musician, a singer ; that the 
 theatre was his true vocation; that even Pantale- 
 one encouraged him, but that Herr Kluber up- 
 held his mamma, over whom he had great in- 
 fluence ; that the very idea of making a merchant 
 of him belonged to Herr Kluber, according to 
 whose conceptions nothing in the world could 
 compare with the calling of the merchant! To 
 sell cloth and velvet, and swindle the public, to 
 get from it "Narren- oder Russen-Preise" (fools' 
 or Russians' prices) —that was his ideal! 1 
 
 "Well, never mind! now we must go to our 
 house! "—exclaimed he, as soon as Sanin had 
 completed his toilet, and had written his letter to 
 Berlin. 
 
 "It is early yet,"— remarked Sanin. 
 
 " That makes no difference,"— said Emile, 
 coaxingly. "Come along! We will stop at 
 the post-office— and from there go on to our 
 
 1 In days gone by— yes, and probably even now— there has been 
 no change in this respect: when, beginning with the month of May, 
 a multitude of Russians made their appearance in Frankfurt, the 
 prices rose in all the shops, and received the title of " Bussen-"— 
 or, alas !— " Narren-Preite."— Author's Note. 
 
 35
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 house. Gemma will be so glad to see you! 
 You shall breakfast with us ... . you can 
 say something to mamma about me, about my 
 career. . . ." 
 
 "Well, come on, then,"— said Sanin — and 
 they set out. 
 
 X 
 
 Gemma really was delighted to see him, and 
 Frau Lenore greeted him in a very friendly wise. 
 It was plain that he had produced a good im- 
 pression on all of them the preceding evening. 
 Emile ran to see about breakfast, with a prelim- 
 inary whisper in Sanin's ear: "Don't forget!' 
 
 " I will not,"— replied Sanin. 
 
 Frau Lenore was not feeling quite well: she 
 was suffering from a sick headache — and, half 
 reclining in an arm-chair, she tried to avoid mov- 
 ing. Gemma wore a loose yellow morning- 
 gown, girt with a black leather belt; she, also, 
 appeared fatigued, and had grown a little pale; 
 dark circles shadowed her eyes, but their bril- 
 liancy was not diminished thereby, and her pal- 
 lor imparted a certain mystery and charm to the 
 classic severity of her features. Sanin was par- 
 ticularly impressed that day by the elegant 
 beauty of her hands. When she adjusted and 
 held up with them her dark, lustrous curls he 
 could not tear his eyes from her fingers, slender 
 
 36
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 and long, and standing apart from one another, 
 as in Raffaele's " Fornarina." 
 
 It was very hot out of doors. After break- 
 fast Sanin started to go away, but he was told 
 that on such a day it was better not to move 
 from one spot— and he assented; he remained. 
 In the rear room, in which he sat with his host- 
 esses, coolness reigned; the windows opened 
 upon a tiny garden, overgrown with acacias. A 
 multitude of bees, wasps, and bumble-bees 
 hummed sturdily and greedily in their thick 
 branches, studded with golden flowers; through 
 the half -closed shutters and lowered shades that 
 unceasing sound penetrated into the room: it 
 spoke of the sultry heat disseminated in the 
 outer air— and the coolness of the closed and 
 comfortable dwelling became all the more sweet 
 by reason of it. 
 
 As on the preceding evening, Sanin talked 
 a great deal, but not about Russia, and not about 
 Russian life. Desirous of gratifying his young 
 friend, who was sent off to Herr Kliiber im- 
 mediately after breakfast, to practise book- 
 keeping, he turned the conversation upon the 
 comparative advantages and disadvantages of 
 art and commerce. He was not surprised that 
 Frau Lenore upheld the side of commerce— he 
 had expected that; but Gemma also shared her 
 opinion. 
 
 " If you are an artist,— and especially a 
 
 37
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 singer," — she asserted, with an energetic down- 
 ward movement of her hand,—" you must, with- 
 out fail, be in the first place ! The second is good 
 for nothing; and who knows whether you can 
 attain to the first place?" — Pantaleone, who 
 was also taking part in the conversation — (in his 
 quality of ancient servitor and an old man, he 
 was even permitted to sit on a chair in the pres- 
 ence of his mistress; the Italians, in general, are 
 not strict as to etiquette) — Pantaleone, as a mat- 
 ter of course, stood up stoutly for art. Truth 
 to tell, his arguments were decidedly feeble. He 
 talked chiefly about the necessity, first of all, of 
 possessing un certo estro dfinspirazione — a cer- 
 tain impetuosity of inspiration. Frau Lenore 
 observed to him that he himself, of course, did 
 possess that "estro" — and yet . . . . "I had 
 enemies,"— remarked Pantaleone, morosely.— 
 "Well, but how dost thou know"— (the Ital- 
 ians, as every one knows, easily fall into address- 
 ing as " thou ") — " that Emile also will not have 
 enemies, even if that f estro' should be discov- 
 ered in him? "— " Well, then, make a shop- 
 keeper out of him,"— said Pantaleone, angrily. 
 — " But Giovan' Battista would not have acted 
 so, even if he was a confectioner himself! " — 
 " Giovan' Battista, my husband, was a sensible 
 man— and even if he was tempted in his 
 youth . . . ." But the old man would no 
 longer listen, and took himself off, after having 
 
 38
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 once more said reproachfully: "Ah! Giovan' 
 Battista!" . . . Gemma exclaimed that if 
 Emile felt himself a patriot, and wished to con- 
 secrate all his forces to the emancipation of 
 Italy,— of course, for such a lofty and sacred 
 aim a safe future might be sacrificed— but not 
 for the theatre! At this point, Frau Lenore be- 
 gan excitedly to entreat her daughter not to lead 
 her brother astray, at least, — and to be content 
 with the fact that she herself was such a desper- 
 ate republican! After uttering these words, 
 Frau Lenore groaned, and began to complain of 
 her head, which " was ready to burst." (Frau 
 Lenore, out of respect for her guest, talked in 
 French to her daughter.) 
 
 Gemma immediately began to tend her, 
 breathed softly on her brow, first moistening it 
 with eau de cologne, softly kissed her cheeks, 
 laid her head on a cushion, forbade her to speak 
 —and kissed her again. Then, turning to Sanin, 
 she began to tell him, in a half -jesting, half- 
 moved tone, what a splendid mother she had, 
 and what a beauty she had been ! " Why do I 
 say, ' has been ! ' she is charming even now. 
 Look, look, what eyes she has! ' 
 
 Gemma immediately pulled from her pocket 
 a white handkerchief, covered her mother's face 
 with it— and slowly lowering the edge from 
 above downward, gradually revealed the fore- 
 head, the eyebrows, and the eyes of Frau Lenore. 
 
 39
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 She paused, and requested her to open them. 
 Her mother obeyed; Gemma cried aloud with 
 rapture (Frau Lenore's eyes really were very 
 handsome) —and swiftly slipping the handker- 
 chief past the lower, less regular portion of her 
 mother's face, she began to kiss her again. Frau 
 Lenore laughed, and turned slightly away, and 
 thrust her daughter from her with some little 
 force. The latter pretended to wrestle with her 
 mother, and nestled up to her— yet not cat- wise, 
 or in the French manner, but with that Italian 
 grace, in which the presence of strength is al- 
 ways to be felt. 
 
 At last Frau Lenore declared that she was 
 weary. . . . Then Gemma immediately advised 
 her to take a little nap, there, in her chair, — " and 
 the Russian gentleman and I . . avec le mon- 
 sieur russe'— will be so quiet, so quiet— like lit- 
 tle mice .... comme des petits souris." Frau 
 Lenore smiled at her in reply, closed her eyes, 
 and after drawing a few long breaths, fell into 
 a doze. 
 
 Gemma briskly dropped upon a bench beside 
 her and made no further movement, except that, 
 from time to time, she raised the finger of one 
 hand to her lips — with the other, she was support- 
 ing the cushion under her mother's head — and 
 hissed in a barely-audible manner, casting a side- 
 long glance at Sanin, when the latter permitted 
 himself the slightest movement. It ended in his 
 
 40
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 becoming as still as death, and sitting immovably, 
 as though enchanted, and with all the powers of 
 his soul admiring the picture which was presented 
 to him by this half -dark room, where here and 
 there, like brilliant spots, glowed fresh, magnifi- 
 cent roses, placed in antique, green glasses— and 
 that slumbering woman, with modestly-folded 
 hands, and a kind, weary face, framed in the 
 snowy white of the pillow, and that young, alertly- 
 watchful and likewise kind, clever, pure, and un- 
 speakably-beautiful being, with those deep black 
 eyes, filled with shadow and yet beaming. . . . 
 What was it? A dream? A fairy-tale? And 
 how came he there? 
 
 XI 
 
 The little bell tinkled over the outer door. A 
 young peasant lad, in a fur cap and a red waist- 
 coat, entered the confectionery shop from the 
 street. From early morning, not a single cus- 
 tomer had even peeped into it. . . . "That 's the 
 way we do business! "— Frau Lenore had re- 
 marked to Sanin, with a sigh, during breakfast. 
 She continued to sleep ; Gemma was afraid to re- 
 move her hand from the pillow, and whispered to 
 Sanin: " Go, trade for me! " Sanin immediately 
 stole out on tiptoe to the shop. The lad wanted 
 a quarter of a pound of mint lozenges. — " How 
 much shall I charge him? "—Sanin asked Gemma 
 
 41
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 in a whisper, through the door.—" Six kreutzers !" 
 — she replied, in a corresponding whisper. Sa- 
 nin weighed out a quarter of a pound, hunted up 
 some paper, made a horn of it, wrapped up the 
 lozenges, spilled them, wrapped them up again, 
 spilled them again, and finally delivered them, 
 and received the money. . . . The boy stared at 
 him in amazement, twisting his cap about on his 
 belly, and in the adjoining room, Gemma stopped 
 up her mouth, and swooned with laughter. Be- 
 fore that customer could retire, another made his 
 appearance, then a third. ..." Evidently, I 
 bring luck! " thought Sanin. The second asked 
 for a glass of orgeat ; the third, for half a pound 
 of candy. Sanin waited on them, rattling the 
 spoons with zeal, setting out saucers, and boldly 
 dipping his fingers into drawers and jars. On 
 reckoning up, it appeared that he had asked too 
 little for the orgeat, and had charged two kreut- 
 zers too much for the candy. Gemma did not 
 cease to laugh quietly, and Sanin was conscious 
 of an unwonted, peculiarly happy frame of mind. 
 It seemed as though he could stand like that be- 
 hind a counter all his life, and deal out orgeat 
 and candy, while such a lovely being was watch- 
 ing him from behind the door with eyes full of 
 friendly ridicule; and the summer sun, forcing 
 its way through the dense foliage of the chestnut- 
 trees which grew in front of the windows, filled 
 the whole room with the greenish-golden rays of 
 
 42
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 noonday, with noonday shadows, and the heart 
 grew tender with the sweet languor of idleness, 
 freedom from care, and youth— early youth! 
 
 The fourth customer ordered a cup of coffee; 
 he was obliged to have recourse to Pantaleone 
 (l^mile had not yet returned from Herr Kliiber's 
 shop). Sanin seated himself again by Gemma's 
 side. Frau Lenore continued to sleep, to the 
 great satisfaction of her daughter. — " Mamma's 
 headache passes off while she sleeps,"— she re- 
 marked. Sanin began to talk— in a whisper, as 
 before, of course— about his "trade"; inquired 
 very seriously as to the prices of the various " con- 
 fectionery" wares; Gemma, in an equally seri- 
 ous manner, told him the prices, and, in the mean- 
 time, both laughed inwardly and heartily, as 
 though conscious that they were playing a very 
 amusing comedy. All at once, in the street, a 
 hand-organ struck up the air : " Durch die F elder, 
 durch die Auen." . . . The plaintive sounds 
 wailed quavering and whistling on the motionless 
 air. Gemma shuddered. . . . ' He will waken 
 mamma ! " Sanin instantly ran out into the street, 
 thrust several kreutzers into the hand of the or- 
 gan-grinder—and made him stop and go away. 
 When he returned, Gemma thanked him with a 
 slight nod of the head, and, pensively smiling, 
 began herself, in a barely-audible voice, to hum 
 Weber's beautiful melody, in which Max ex- 
 presses all the bewilderment of first love. Then 
 
 43
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 she asked Sanin whether he was acquainted with 
 " Freischutz," whether he liked Weber, and 
 added that, although she herself was an Italian, 
 she loved such music best of all. From Weber 
 the conversation glided to poetry and romanti- 
 cism, to Hoffmann, whom every one was reading 
 at that time. . . 
 
 And Frau Lenore slept on, and even snored 
 faintly, and the rays of sunlight, piercing 
 through the shutters in narrow strips, impercep- 
 tibly, but incessantly, moved about and travelled 
 over the floor, over the furniture, over Gemma's 
 gown, over the leaves and petals of the flowers. 
 
 XII 
 
 It appeared that Gemma did not particularly 
 favour Hoffmann, and even found him . . . tire- 
 some! The fantastically-obscure, northern ele- 
 ment of his tales was not very perceptible to her 
 bright, southern nature. " They are all fairy 
 tales, written for children!' she asserted, not 
 without disdain. She also had a confused con- 
 sciousness of the absence of poetry in Hoffmann. 
 But there was one of his tales, whose title, 
 however, she had forgotten, which pleased her 
 greatly. Properly speaking, only the beginning 
 of the tale pleased her : she had not read the end, 
 or had forgotten it also. It was about a young 
 man, who, somewhere or other, in a confectioner's 
 
 44
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 shop, so far as she remembered, meets a young 
 girl of striking beauty, a Greek; she is accom- 
 panied by a mysterious and queer old man. The 
 young man falls in love with the girl at the first 
 glance; she gazes at him so pitifully, as though 
 entreating him to set her free. . . . He with- 
 draws for a moment— and on returning to the 
 confectioner's shop, he no longer finds either the 
 young girl or the old man ; he rushes to seek her, 
 is incessantly coming across perfectly fresh traces 
 of them, follows them— and by no means, no- 
 where, never can he overtake them. The beauty 
 vanishes from him forever and ever — and he is 
 powerless to forget her beseeching look, and is 
 tortured by the thought that, perchance, all the 
 happiness of his life has slipped out of his hands. 
 
 Hoffmann hardly ends his tale in just that 
 way; but so she had constructed it, and so it re- 
 mained in Gemma's memory. 
 
 " It seems to me,"— she said,—" that such 
 meetings and such partings occur in the world 
 more frequently than we think." 
 
 Sanin remained silent .... and, a little while 
 later, began to talk about .... Herr Kliiber. 
 It was the first time he had mentioned him : he had 
 not even alluded to him until that moment. 
 
 Gemma became silent, in her turn, and medi- 
 tated, lightly biting the nail of her forefinger, and 
 fixing her eyes on one side. Then she began to 
 laud her betrothed, referred to the pleasure-party 
 
 45
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 which he had arranged for the following day, 
 and, darting a swift glance at Sanin, she re- 
 lapsed into silence again. 
 
 Sanin did not know what subject of conversa- 
 tion to start. 
 
 Emile ran noisily in, and woke Frau Lenore. 
 . . . Sanin rejoiced at his arrival. 
 
 Frau Lenore rose from her chair. Pantaleone 
 presented himself, and announced that dinner 
 was ready. The household friend, the ex-singer 
 and servant, also discharged the functions of 
 cook. 
 
 XIII 
 
 Sanin remained even after dinner. They would 
 not let him go, still under the same pretext of 
 the frightful sultriness, — and when the sultriness 
 abated, they proposed to him to go into the gar- 
 den, and drink coffee under the shade of the 
 acacias. Sanin accepted. He felt greatly at his 
 ease. In the monotonously-quiet and smoothly- 
 flowing current of life great delights are hidden, 
 — and he surrendered himself to them with delec- 
 tation, demanding nothing in particular from the 
 present day, but also thinking nothing about the 
 morrow, recalling not yesterday. What was not 
 proximity to such a young girl as Gemma worth ? 
 He would soon part from her, and, in all proba- 
 bility, forever; but while one and the same bark 
 
 46
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 bears them along the calmed floods of life, as in 
 Uhland's romance— rejoice, enjoy thyself, O 
 traveller! And everything seemed pleasant and 
 charming to the happy voyager. Frau Lenore 
 proposed that he should contend with her and 
 Pantaleone at "tresette," taught him that far 
 from complicated Italian game of cards— won a 
 few kreutzers from him— and he was greatly 
 pleased. Pantaleone, at the request of Emile, 
 made the poodle Tartaglia to go through all his 
 tricks— and Tartaglia leaped over a stick, 
 " talked," that is to say, barked, sneezed, shut the 
 door with his nose, fetched the patched slipper 
 of his master,— and, to wind up, with an old shako 
 on his head, represented Marshal Bernadotte, 
 subjected to the harsh reproofs of the Emperor 
 Napoleon for his treachery. Pantaleone, of 
 course, represented Napoleon — and represented 
 him very faithfully. He folded his arms on his 
 chest, pulled a three-cornered hat down over his 
 eyes — and spoke roughly and sharply, in French; 
 but, O heavens, in what French! Tartaglia sat 
 up in front of his commander, all shrivelled up, 
 with his tail tucked between his legs, and wink- 
 ing and screwing up his eyes confusedly under 
 the visor of the shako, which was on awry. From 
 time to time, when Napoleon raised his voice, Ber- 
 nadotte rose on his hind legs. " Fuori, tradi- 
 torel" shouted Napoleon, at last, forgetting, in 
 the excess of his indignation, that he ought to 
 
 47
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 preserve his French character to the end— and 
 Bernadotte dashed headlong under the divan, 
 but immediately sprang out again, with a joyful 
 bark, as though giving it to be understood that 
 the performance was at an end. All the specta- 
 tors laughed a great deal — and Sanin most of all. 
 
 Gemma had a peculiarly charming, incessant, 
 quiet laugh, interspersed with very amusing little 
 squeaks. . . . Sanin fairly went to pieces under 
 that laugh— he would have liked to kiss her, for 
 those squeaks! 
 
 Night came at last. One must not abuse kind- 
 ness ! After bidding them all good night several 
 times, after saying several times to all of them: 
 " Farewell until to-morrow ! " (he even exchanged 
 kisses with Emile), Sanin wended his way home- 
 ward, and carried with him the image of the 
 young girl, now laughing, now pensive, now com- 
 posed, and even indifferent — but always fasci- 
 nating ! Her eyes, now widely-opened and bright 
 and joyous as the day, again half -veiled by her 
 lashes, and deep, and dark as night, fairly stood 
 before his eyes, strangely and sweetly piercing 
 through all other images and scenes. 
 
 Of Herr Kluber, of the cause which had 
 moved him to linger in Frankfurt — in a word, 
 of all that which had agitated him on the pre- 
 ceding day— he did not think even once. 
 
 48
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 XIV 
 
 But we must say a few words about Sanin him- 
 self. 
 
 In the first place, he was very, very far from 
 being bad-looking. A stately, slender figure, 
 agreeable, rather formless features, small caress- 
 ing blue eyes, golden hair, a white-and-red com- 
 plexion — chief of all, that artlessly-merry, con- 
 fiding, frank expression, rather stupid at first 
 sight, by which, in times gone by, it was pos- 
 sible instantly to recognise the children of digni- 
 fied noble families, " father's " sons, nice young 
 lordlings, born and fattened in our spacious, 
 half -steppe regions;— a walk with a hitch, a 
 voice with a lisp, a smile like that of a child, 
 as soon as one glances at it. . . . In conclusion, 
 freshness, health— and softness, softness, soft- 
 ness,— there you have Sanin complete. And in 
 the second place, he was not stupid, and had ac- 
 quired a few things. He remained fresh, not- 
 withstanding his trip abroad. The agitated 
 emotions, which tossed with storm the best part 
 of the youth of that day, were little known to 
 him. 
 
 Of late, in our literature, after the vain search 
 for " new men," people have begun to depict 
 youths who have made up their minds, cost what 
 it may, to remain fresh .... fresh as Flens- 
 
 49
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 burg oysters imported to St. Petersburg. . . . 
 Sanin did not resemble them. And, as long as 
 it has become a question of comparisons, he re- 
 minded one, rather, of a bushy young apple-tree, 
 recently planted in our black-earth orchards, — 
 or, better still, of a well-groomed, smooth, thick- 
 legged, tender three-year-old of former " gen- 
 tlemen's " stud-farms, whom they have just be- 
 gun to lead with a thong. . . . Those who came 
 in contact with Sanin later on, when life had 
 thoroughly broken him in, and the young, fleet- 
 ing plumpness had long since worked off of him, 
 beheld in him a totally different man. 
 
 On the following day, Sanin was still in bed, 
 when Emile, in holiday attire, with a slender 
 cane in his hand, and heavily pomaded, burst 
 into his room, and announced that Herr Kluber 
 would be there directly with a carriage, and that 
 the weather promised to be wonderfully fine, 
 that they already had everything in readiness, 
 but that mamma would not go, because her head 
 was aching again. He began to urge Sanin to 
 haste, assuring him that he had not a minute 
 to lose. . . . And, in fact, Herr Kluber found 
 Sanin still busy with his toilet. He knocked at 
 the door, entered, bowed, inclined his body, ex- 
 pressed a readiness to wait as long as he liked 
 —and sat down, with his hat resting elegantly 
 against his knee. The good-looking clerk had 
 
 50
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 dressed himself foppishly and scented himself 
 to excess; his every movement was accompanied 
 by an augmented billow of the most delicate per- 
 fume. He had arrived in a commodious, open 
 carriage, a so-called landau, drawn by two 
 powerful and well-grown, though not handsome 
 horses. A quarter of an hour later, Sanin, Klii- 
 ber, and Emile drove up triumphantly, in that 
 same carriage, to the door of the confectionery 
 shop. Signora Roselli positively refused to take 
 part in the excursion; Gemma wished to remain 
 with her mother; but the latter drove her out, 
 as the saying is. 
 
 " I want no one," — she asserted. " I am go- 
 ing to sleep. I would send Pantaleone with 
 you,"— she added,— "but there would be no one 
 left to tend the shop." 
 
 " May we take Tartaglia? "—asked Emile. 
 
 " Certainly you may." 
 
 Tartaglia immediately, with joyful efforts, 
 clambered up onto the box and seated himself, 
 licking his chops. Evidently, he was used to 
 it. Gemma donned a large straw hat with light- 
 brown ribbons; this hat was bent down in front, 
 shading nearly the whole of her face from the 
 sun. The line of shadow was drawn just above 
 her lips. They glowed virginally and tenderly, 
 like the petals of a hundred-leaved rose, and her 
 teeth gleamed out by stealth— also innocently, 
 as with children. Gemma installed herself on 
 
 51
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 the back seat, beside Sanin; Kliiber and Emile 
 seated themselves opposite. Frau Lenore's pale 
 face showed itself at the window, Gemma waved 
 her handkerchief at it— and the horses started. 
 
 XV 
 
 Soden is a small town, half an hour's journey 
 from Frankfurt. It lies in a beautiful situation, 
 on the foot-hills of the Taunus range, and is 
 known to us, in Russia, for its waters, which are 
 supposed to be good for people with weak 
 chests. Frankfurters resort thither chiefly for 
 diversion, as Soden possesses a fine park and 
 various Wirthschaften, where beer and coffee 
 can be drunk under the shade of lofty lindens 
 and maples. The road from Frankfurt to 
 Soden runs along the right bank of the Main, 
 and is planted throughout with, fruit-trees. 
 While the carriage was rolling gently along the 
 excellent highway, Sanin stealthily watched 
 Gemma's behaviour to her betrothed. He saw 
 them together for the first time. She bore her- 
 self with composure and simplicity — but was 
 somewhat more reserved and serious than usual. 
 He had the gaze of a condescending superior, 
 who was permitting himself and his subordinates 
 a modest and discreet pleasure. Sanin observed 
 no special attentions to Gemma, nothing of that 
 which the French call emyressement, on his 
 
 52 

 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 part. It was evident that Herr Kliiber consid- 
 ered that the matter was settled, and, therefore, 
 there was no cause for bothering himself or get- 
 ting agitated. But his condescension did not 
 abandon him for a single moment! Even dur- 
 ing the long stroll before dinner, over the 
 wooded hills and valleys behind Soden, even 
 while enjoying the beauties of nature, he bore 
 himself toward it, that same nature, ever with 
 the same condescension, through which, from 
 time to time, his wonted sternness of a superior 
 broke forth. Thus, for example, he remarked 
 about one brook that it ran too straight through 
 the hollow, instead of making a few picturesque 
 turns; neither did he approve of the conduct of 
 one bird— a chaffinch, which did not introduce 
 enough variations into its song. Gemma was 
 not bored, and even, to all appearances, was 
 pleased; but Sanin did not recognise in her the 
 former Gemma: not that a shadow had come 
 over her — her beauty had never been more ra- 
 diant than now— but her soul had retreated into 
 itself, within her. Opening her parasol, and 
 leaving her gloves buttoned, she walked on 
 sedately, without haste, — as well-trained young 
 girls do— and said little. Emile also felt con- 
 strained, much more so Sanin. Among other 
 things, he was somewhat embarrassed by the 
 circumstance that the conversation was con- 
 ducted uninterruptedly in the German lan- 
 
 53
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 guage. Tartaglia was the only one who was 
 not depressed! With wild barking, he dashed 
 after the thrushes which crossed his path, leaped 
 over gullies, stumps, water-holes; he hurled him- 
 self with a flourish into the water, and hastily- 
 lapped it up, shook himself, whined— and again 
 bounded off like an arrow, with his red tongue 
 lolling out on his very shoulder. Herr Kliiber, 
 on his side, did everything which he regarded 
 as necessary for the amusement of the party. 
 He invited them to sit down beneath the shadow 
 of a spreading oak — and, pulling from his side- 
 pocket a small book, entitled " Knallersleben — 
 oder du sollst und willst lachen!" ("Petards— 
 or thou must and wilt laugh ") , he began to read 
 them unconnected anecdotes, with which the 
 little book was filled. He read them a dozen; 
 but he aroused little mirth; Sanin alone, out of 
 politeness, showed his teeth in a grin, and Herr 
 Kliiber himself, after every anecdote, emitted 
 a curt, business-like — and, at the same time, 
 condescending — laugh. At twelve o'clock, the 
 entire party returned to Soden, to the best res- 
 taurant in the place. 
 
 The question of arranging for dinner arose. 
 
 Herr Kliiber proposed that the dinner should 
 take place in an arbour, shut in on all sides — 
 " im Gartensalon." But at this point Gemma 
 suddenly rose in rebellion, and declared that she 
 would not dine otherwise than in the open air, 
 
 54
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 in the garden, at one of the little tables placed 
 in front of the restaurant ; that it bored her to be 
 all the time with the same set of people, and that 
 she wanted to see others. Groups of newly-ar- 
 rived visitors were already seated at several of 
 the tables. 
 
 While Herr Kliiber condescendingly submit- 
 ted to " the caprice of his betrothed," and went to 
 confer with the head-waiter, Gemma stood mo- 
 tionless, with eyes cast down and lips tightly 
 compressed. She was conscious that Sanin was 
 gazing fixedly and interrogatively, as it were, 
 at her— and this seemed to enrage her. At last, 
 Herr Kliiber returned, announced that dinner 
 would be ready in half an hour, and suggested 
 that they play at ninepins until that time; add- 
 ing that that was very good for the appetite, 
 he, he, he! He played ninepins in a masterly 
 manner. In throwing the ball he assumed won- 
 derfully dashing poses, made his muscles play in 
 a foppish way, foppishly flourished and shook 
 his leg. In his way, he was an athlete— and 
 capitally built. And his hands were so white 
 and handsome, and he rubbed them with such a 
 very rich, golden-patterned India silk hand- 
 kerchief ! 
 
 The dinner-hour arrived— and the whole 
 party sat down at a small table. 
 
 55
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 XVI 
 
 Who does not know what a German dinner is 
 like? Watery soup, with knobby dumplings 
 and cinnamon, boiled beef, dry as cork, over- 
 grown with white fat, slimy potatoes, puffy 
 beets and chewed horseradish, eel that has turned 
 blue, capers and vinegar, a roast with preserves, 
 and the inevitable Mehlspeise, — something in 
 the nature of a pudding, with a sourish red 
 sauce; and on top of all, wine and beer — capital! 
 To just that sort of a dinner did the restaurant- 
 keeper of Soden treat his patrons. However, 
 the dinner itself passed off successfully. No 
 particular animation was visible, it is true; it 
 did not make its appearance even when Herr 
 Kliiber proposed a toast to ' that which we 
 love! " ( Was wir lieben!) Everything was very 
 decorous and proper. After dinner, coffee was 
 served, — weak, rusty-red regular German coffee. 
 Herr Kliiber, like a genuine cavalier, asked 
 Gemma's permission to light his cigar. . . . But 
 at this point something happened which was 
 unforeseen, and really disagreeable — and even 
 improper! 
 
 Several officers of the Mayence garrison had 
 placed themselves at one of the neighbouring 
 tables. From their glances and whisperings, it 
 was easy to divine that Gemma's beauty had 
 
 56
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 made an impression on them; one of them, who 
 had probably been in Frankfurt before, kept 
 staring at her, as at a face well known to him. 
 It was obvious that he knew who she was. He 
 suddenly rose to his feet, and glass in hand, — the 
 officers had been drinking heavily, and the whole 
 table-cloth in front of them was covered with 
 bottles,— he stepped up to the table at which sat 
 Gemma. He was a very young, fair-haired 
 man, with sufficiently agreeable and even sym- 
 pathetic features; but the wine he had drunk 
 had distorted them; his cheeks were twitching, 
 his swollen eyes wandered and assumed an auda- 
 cious expression. At first his comrades tried 
 to hold him back, but afterward they let him go 
 his way, as though they were curious to see what 
 would come of it. 
 
 Reeling slightly on his legs, the officer halted 
 in front of Gemma, and in a violently shrill 
 voice, in which, against his will, conflict with 
 himself was expressed, he articulated : " I drink 
 to the health of the most beautiful coffee-house 
 girl in the whole world" — (he "drained" the 
 glass at one swallow) — "and, as my reward, I 
 take this flower, wrested from her divine little 
 fingers!" He picked up from the table a rose, 
 which lay in front of Gemma's plate. At first 
 she was amazed, frightened, and turned terribly 
 pale .... then her terror was replaced by in- 
 dignation. She suddenly flushed all over, to her 
 
 57
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 very hair,— and her eyes, fixed straight on the of- 
 fender, both darkened and blazed up simultane- 
 ously — became filled with gloom and lighted up 
 with the fire of uncontrollable wrath. This gaze 
 must have abashed the officer ; he muttered some- 
 thing unintelligible, bowed — and went back to 
 his friends. They greeted him with laughter, 
 and a faint clapping of hands. 
 
 Herr Kliiber suddenly rose from his chair, 
 and drawing himself up to his full height, and 
 putting on his hat, he said, with dignity, but 
 not too loudly: " This is unheard of! Unheard- 
 of insolence ! " (" Unerhort! Unerhorte Frech- 
 heitl") and immediately calling the waiter to 
 him, in a stern voice, he demanded his bill in- 
 stantly .... and that was not all: he ordered 
 the carriage to be harnessed, adding that re- 
 spectable people could not come to the house, 
 as they were subjected to insults! At these 
 words, Gemma, who had continued to sit still in 
 her place, without moving, — her bosom heaved 
 sharply and high,— Gemma turned her eyes on 
 Herr Kliiber . . . and regarded him steadily, 
 and with the same gaze which she had used for 
 the officer. Emile was simply quivering with 
 fury. 
 
 "Rise, inein Fraulein,"— said Herr Kliiber, 
 still with the same severity; "it is not proper 
 for you to remain here. We will post ourselves 
 yonder in the restaurant." 
 
 58
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Gemma rose in silence. He offered her his 
 arm in a crook, she gave him hers — and he 
 wended his way to the restaurant with a majestic 
 stride, which, equally with his bearing, became 
 more majestic and arrogant in proportion as he 
 got further away from the spot where the dinner 
 had taken place. Poor Emile slunk after them. 
 
 But while Herr Kliiber was settling the bill 
 with the waiter, to whom, by way of punish- 
 ment, he gave not a single kreutzer of tip, Sanin, 
 with swift strides, approached the table at which 
 the officers sat,— and, addressing Gemma's in- 
 sulter (at the moment the latter was allowing 
 each of his comrades in turn to smell of her rose) 
 —he articulated distinctly, in French:— " What 
 you have just done, my dear sir, is unworthy of 
 an honourable man, unworthy of the uniform 
 you wear,— and I have come to tell you that 
 you are an ill-bred bully!"— The young man 
 sprang to his feet, but another officer, an older 
 man, restrained him by a motion of his hand, 
 made him sit down,— and, turning to Sanin, 
 asked him, also in French: — " Was he a relative, 
 a brother, or the betrothed of that young girl? ' 
 
 f I am an entire stranger to her," — exclaimed 
 Sanin,—" I am a Russian, — but I cannot look 
 on, with indifference, at such a piece of inso- 
 lence. However, here is my card, with my ad- 
 dress; the officer can look me up." 
 
 As he uttered these words, Sanin flung on the 
 
 59
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 table his visiting-card, and, at the same time, 
 quickly seized Gemma's rose, which one of the 
 officers seated at the table had dropped on his 
 plate. The young man again tried to spring 
 from his chair, but again his comrade held him 
 back, saying: "Donhof, be quiet!" ( ff Donhof, 
 sei still!") Then he rose himself,— and, touch- 
 ing the visor of his cap with his hand, he said 
 to Sanin, not without a trace of respect in his 
 manner and voice, that the next morning one of 
 the officers of the regiment would have the hon- 
 our to present himself to him at his lodgings. 
 Sanin replied by a curt nod — and hastily re- 
 joined his friends. 
 
 Herr Kluber feigned not to notice in the least 
 either Sanin's absence, or his explanation with 
 the officers ; he urged to haste the coachman, who 
 was harnessing the horses, and flew into a violent 
 rage at his slowness. Neither did Gemma say 
 anything to Sanin, she did not even glance at 
 him; but her lowering brows, her lips, which 
 were pale and compressed, her very immobility 
 made it plain that her mind was not at ease. 
 Emile alone wanted to talk with Sanin, wanted 
 to question him. He had seen Sanin go up to 
 the officers, he had seen him give them something 
 white, — a scrap of paper, a note, a card. . . . 
 The poor lad's heart beat violently, he was ready 
 to fling himself on Sanin's neck, ready to weep, 
 
 60
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 or to go on the instant with him to pulverise all 
 those disgusting officers! But he restrained 
 himself, and contented himself with watching 
 attentively every movement of his noble Rus- 
 sian friend. 
 
 At last the coachman got the horses put to; 
 the whole party took their seats in the carriage. 
 Emile climbed up after Tartaglia on the box; 
 he felt more at his ease there, and, moreover, 
 Kliiber, whom he could not look at with equa- 
 nimity, would not be before his eyes. 
 
 All the way home, Herr Kliiber harangued . . . 
 and harangued alone; no one, no one answered 
 him, and no one agreed with him. He laid par- 
 ticular stress on the fact that they had made a 
 mistake not to obey him when he had proposed 
 to dine in the enclosed arbour. Had that been 
 done, no unpleasantness would have arisen! 
 Then he pronounced several harsh, and even 
 liberal judgments, to the effect that the govern- 
 ment upheld the officers in an unpardonable 
 manner, did not look after their discipline, and 
 did not sufficiently respect the civilian element 
 of society — ("das biirgerliche Element in der 
 Societat!") — and that thence, from that cause, 
 arose dissatisfaction, from which to revolution 
 was not a long stride, as to which a sad example 
 (here he sighed feelingly, but sternly) — a sad 
 example had been furnished by France! But he 
 
 61
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 immediately added that, personally, he revered 
 the authorities, and never .... never! .... 
 would become a revolutionist— although he 
 could not refrain from expressing his ... . 
 disapprobation at the sight of such profligacy! 
 Then he added a few more general remarks as to 
 morality and immorality, propriety and the 
 sense of dignity. 
 
 In the course of all these " harangues ' 
 Gemma, who already, in the stroll which had 
 preceded the dinner, had seemed to be not en- 
 tirely pleased with Herr Kluber— hence, she had 
 held herself somewhat aloof from Sanin, and 
 had seemed to be embarrassed by his presence— 
 Gemma began, plainly, to feel ashamed of her 
 betrothed! Toward the end of the drive she 
 positively suffered, and although, as before, she 
 did not converse with Sanin, yet she suddenly 
 cast an imploring glance at him. . . . He, on 
 his part, felt much more pity for her than in- 
 dignation at Herr Kluber; he even secretly, half 
 unconsciously, rejoiced at all that had happened 
 in the course of the day, although he might ex- 
 pect a challenge to a duel the next morning. 
 
 This painful partie de plaisir came to an end 
 at last. As Sanin helped Gemma out of the 
 carriage in front of the confectionery shop, he 
 placed the rose, which he had recaptured, in 
 her hand, without saying a word. She flushed 
 all over, pressed his hand, and instantly con- 
 
 62
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 cealed the rose. He did not wish to enter the 
 house, although the evening was only just be- 
 ginning. She herself did not invite him. More- 
 over, Pantaleone, who made his appearance on 
 the steps, announced that Frau Lenore was 
 sleeping. Emile bade Sanin a timid farewell; 
 he seemed to be afraid of him : he had astonished 
 him so much. Kliiber drove Sanin to his lodg- 
 ings, and took leave of him conceitedly. The 
 regularly constituted German, despite all his 
 self-confidence, felt awkward. They all felt 
 awkward. 
 
 But, in Sanin's case, this feeling— the feeling 
 of awkwardness — was speedily dissipated. It 
 was supplanted by an ill-defined, but agreeable, 
 even exalted mood. He paced up and down his 
 chamber, would not allow himself to think of 
 anything, whistled— and was very well satisfied 
 with himself. 
 
 XVII 
 
 f I shall wait for the officer with an explanation 
 until ten o'clock in the morning,"— he reflected, 
 on the following morning, as he completed his 
 toilet, "and then he may hunt me up!' But 
 Germans are early risers. Before the clock strack 
 nine, a waiter announced to Sanin that Mr. Sec- 
 ond Lieutenant (der Herr Seconde Lieutenant) 
 von Richter desired to see him. Sanin briskly 
 
 63
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 donned his coat, and said, " Show him in." 
 Contrary to Sanin's expectation, Herr Richter 
 proved to be a very young man, almost a boy. 
 He endeavoured to impart an expression of im- 
 portance to his beardless face,— but in this he 
 was utterly unsuccessful ; he was not able to con- 
 ceal his agitation— and, as he seated himself on 
 a chair, he nearly fell, through having entangled 
 himself with his sword. Halting and stammer- 
 ing, he informed Sanin, in villainous French, 
 that he had come on behalf of his friend, Baron 
 von Donhof ; that he was commissioned to de- 
 mand from Herr von Zanin an apology for the 
 insulting expressions employed by him on the 
 preceding day; and that, in case of a refusal on 
 the part of Herr von Zanin, Baron von Don- 
 hof desired satisfaction. Sanin replied that he 
 had no intention of apologising, and was ready 
 to give satisfaction. Then Herr von Richter, 
 still stammering, inquired with whom, and at 
 what hour, and in what place, he should hold the 
 requisite conference? Sanin answered that he 
 might come to him a couple of hours hence, and 
 that he, Sanin, would endeavour to hunt up a 
 second before that time. ("Whom the devil 
 shall I get for a second ? " he said to himself the 
 while.) Herr von Richter rose, #nd began to 
 bow himself out .... but halted on the thresh- 
 old, as though he felt the pangs of conscience,— 
 and, turning to Sanin, he observed that his 
 
 64
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 friend, Baron von Donhof, did not conceal 
 from himself .... a certain degree .... of 
 blame on his own side for what had taken place 
 on the previous day— and, therefore, would be 
 content with a light apology — " des exghizes 
 lecheres" To this Sanin replied that he had 
 no intention of making any sort of apology 
 whatsoever, either heavy or light, as he did 
 not consider himself in the wrong. — " In 
 that case,"— returned Herr von Richter, blush- 
 ing still more furiously:— "you must ex- 
 change friendly shots— des goups de pisdolet a 
 Vaimaple! " 
 
 1 1 utterly fail to comprehend that,"— re- 
 marked Sanin. " Do you mean that we are to 
 fire into the air? " 
 
 ' Oh, not that, not so,"— lisped the sub-lieu- 
 tenant, definitively overwhelmed with confusion; 
 — " but I— I assume that, as the affair is be- 
 tween two gentlemen of breeding .... I will 
 discuss it with your second," . . he interrupted 
 himself, and withdrew. 
 
 Sanin dropped on a chair, as soon as the man 
 had left the room, and fixed his eyes on the floor. 
 —"What 's the meaning of this? How comes 
 it that life has suddenly taken such a turn? All 
 the past, all the future has suddenly retreated 
 into the background, vanished — and nothing re- 
 mains, save the fact that I am going to fight in 
 Frankfurt with some one about something." He 
 
 65
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 recalled a crazy aunt of his, who had been in the 
 habit of dancing and singing : 
 
 ' ' Sub-lieutenant ! 
 My darling ! 
 My little love ! 
 Dance a while with me, my dear! , ' > l 
 
 And he burst out laughing and sang, like her: 
 1 Sub-lieutenant! dance a while with me, my 
 dear!" — "But I must act, I must not lose 
 time!"— he exclaimed aloud— jumped up, and 
 beheld before him Pantaleone, with a note in his 
 hand. 
 
 ' I knocked several times, but you did not an- 
 swer. I thought you were not at home,"— said 
 the old man, and handed him the note. — " From 
 Signorina Gemma." 
 
 Sanin took the note, — as the saying goes, me- 
 chanically, — broke the seal, and read it. Gemma 
 wrote to him that she was very uneasy, because 
 of the affair which was known to him, and 
 wished to see him immediately. 
 
 "The signorina is uneasy,"— began Panta- 
 leone, who was, evidently, acquainted with the 
 contents of the note; — "she ordered me to see 
 what you were doing, and bring you to her." 
 
 Sanin cast a glance at the old Italian — and 
 
 1 Literally > "dear little cucumber ": — " dear little dove." In Rus- 
 sian the rhyme is characteristic: " Podporutchik! Moi ogurtchik! 
 Moi amiirtchik! Proplyashi co mnoi golubtchik!"— Transistor. 
 
 66
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 became pensive. A sudden idea had flashed 
 through his brain. At the first moment, it 
 seemed to him strange to the verge of impos- 
 sibility. . . . 
 
 " Nevertheless .... why not? "—he asked 
 himself. 
 
 ' Signor Pantaleone!"— he said aloud. 
 
 The old man started, thrust his chin into his 
 neckcloth, and riveted his eyes on Sanin. 
 
 " You know,"— pursued Sanin,—" what took 
 place yesterday? " 
 
 Pantaleone mowed with his lips, and nodded 
 his huge head. — "I do." 
 
 (Emile had told him all as soon as he re- 
 turned.) 
 
 'Ah, you know!— Well, then, see here. An 
 officer has just left me. That bully challenges 
 me to a duel. — I have accepted his challenge. — 
 But I have no second. Will you be my second? ' 
 
 Pantaleone shuddered, and elevated his eye- 
 brows to such a degree that they disappeared 
 beneath his overhanging hair. 
 
 'Must you inevitably fight?"— he said at 
 last, in Italian. Up to that moment he had been 
 expressing himself in French. 
 
 " Inevitably. I cannot act otherwise — it 
 would mean disgracing myself forever." 
 
 ' H'm. — If I do not consent to act as your 
 second— then you will hunt up some one else? " 
 
 " Yes .... without fail." 
 
 67
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Pantaleone cast down his eyes. — "But permit 
 me to ask you, Signor de Zannini, will not your 
 duel cast a sort of unfavourable shadow upon the 
 reputation of a certain person? " 
 
 " I think not; but, at any rate, — there is no- 
 thing else to be done." 
 
 " H'm! "—Pantaleone retired altogether into 
 his neckcloth.— "Well, and that ferrofluchto 
 Kluberio— what about him?" — he suddenly ex- 
 claimed, and threw up his face. 
 
 "About him? Nothing." 
 
 "Che!" 1 — Pantaleone shrugged his shoulders 
 scornfully.—" In any case, I must thank you," 
 — he said, at last, in an uncertain voice, — " for 
 having recognised me, in my present humble sta- 
 tion, for a well-bred man — un galant' uomo! — 
 By so doing, you have proved that you yourself 
 are a galanf uomo. But I must think over your 
 proposal." 
 
 " There is no time for that, my dear Signor 
 Ci . . . . Cippa . . . ." 
 
 "—tola," prompted the old man. — "I ask one 
 hour in all for reflection. — The daughter of my 
 benefactors is implicated in the matter. . . . 
 And, therefore, I must— I am bound to reflect! ! 
 . . . An hour — three quarters of an hour hence, 
 you shall know my decision." 
 
 "Good! I will wait." 
 
 1 An untranslatable Italian expression, corresponding to 
 "Well ! "—Author's Note. 
 
 68
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " And now . . . what answer am I to give to 
 Signorina Gemma?" 
 
 Sanin took a sheet of paper, wrote on it: " Be 
 not anxious, my dear friend; I will go to you 
 three hours hence,— and everything will be ex- 
 plained. I thank you heartily for your sym- 
 pathy,"— and handed the sheet of paper to Pan- 
 taleone. 
 
 The latter carefully placed it in his side-pocket 
 — and repeating once more: " An hour hence! f 
 he started toward the door; but turned back ab- 
 ruptly, ran up to Sanin, seized his hand,— and 
 pressing it to his shirt-frill, and raising his eyes 
 heavenward, exclaimed: " Noble youth! Great 
 heart! (Nobile giovanotto! Gran cuore!) — 
 permit a weak old man (a un vecchiotto!) to 
 shake your valorous right hand! (la vostra va- 
 lorosa destra!)" Then he sprang back a little 
 way, flourished both hands in the air, and with- 
 drew. 
 
 Sanin gazed after him . . . took up a news- 
 paper, and began to read. But in vain did his 
 eyes run over the lines : he understood nothing. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 An hour later, the waiter again entered Sanin's 
 room, and handed him an old, soiled visiting- 
 card, on which stood the following words: " Pan- 
 taleone Cippatola of Varese, Singer to the Court 
 
 69
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 (Cantante di Camera) of his Royal Highness the 
 Duke of Modena," — and following the waiter, 
 Pantaleone presented himself in person. He 
 had re-dressed himself from head to foot. He 
 wore a rusty black dress-suit, and a white pique 
 waistcoat, over which, in curves, meandered a 
 pinchbeck chain; a heavy carnelian seal hung 
 low on the tight black trousers with flaps. In 
 his right hand he held a black hat of rabbit's 
 down; in the left, two thick chamois-leather 
 gloves; he had tied his neckcloth still more 
 broadly and higher up than usual — and in 
 the ruffle of his shirt he had stuck a pin with a 
 stone called a "cat's-eye" (oeil de chat). On 
 the forefinger of his right hand shone a ring, 
 representing two clasped hands with a flaming 
 heart between them. The old man's whole per- 
 son emitted an odour of clothing long packed 
 away,— an odour of camphor and musk; the 
 anxious pomposity of his carriage would have 
 struck the most indifferent spectator. Sanin 
 rose to greet him. 
 
 ' I am your second," — said Pantaleone, in 
 French — bowing with a forward inclination of 
 his whole body, and his toes pointed outward, 
 as dancers point them. " I have come for in- 
 structions. Do you wish to fight without quar- 
 ter?" 
 
 "But why should it be without quarter, my 
 dear Mr. Cippatola? Not for anything in the 
 
 70
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 world will I retract my words of yesterday — 
 but I am not bloodthirsty! .... But, see here, 
 wait a bit, my adversary's second will be here di- 
 rectly. I will retire into the neighbouring room, 
 and you can come to an agreement with him. 
 Believe me, I shall never forget your service, 
 and I thank you with all my soul." 
 
 "Honour before everything! "—replied Pan- 
 taleone, and dropped into a chair, without wait- 
 ing for Sanin to invite him to be seated. " If 
 that ferrofluchto spiccebubbio" —he remarked, 
 exchanging the French tongue for Italian,— "if 
 that haberdasher Kluberio was unable to under- 
 stand his plain obligation, or was afraid,— so 
 much the worse for him! . . . He 's a farthing 
 soul— and basta! .... But as for the condi- 
 tions of the duel— I am your second, and your 
 interests are sacred for me! ! . . . When I lived 
 in Padua, a regiment of white dragoons was sta- 
 tioned there— and I was very intimately ac- 
 quainted with many of the officers! ... I am 
 familiar with their whole code. Well, and I fre- 
 quently conversed with your Principe Tarbusski 
 on those questions. . . Is that second coming 
 soon? " 
 
 " I am expecting him every moment— and 
 yonder he comes," — added Sanin, glancing into 
 the street. 
 
 Pantaleone rose, looked at his watch, adjusted 
 his top-knot, and hastily stuffed into his shoe a 
 
 71
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 tape which was dangling from beneath his trou- 
 ser-leg. The young sub-lieutenant entered, as 
 flushed and embarrassed as ever. 
 
 Sanin introduced the seconds to each other: 
 'M-r Richter, sous-lieutenant! — M-r Zippatola, 
 artiste!" — The lieutenant was somewhat sur- 
 prised at the aspect of the old man. . . . Oh, 
 what would he have said, had any one whispered 
 to him, at that moment, that the " artist " intro- 
 duced to him also occupied himself with the art 
 of cookery! But Pantaleone assumed an air, as 
 though taking part in the arrangement of duels 
 were the most commonplace sort of event for 
 him: probably the memories of his theatrical 
 career helped him at that moment — and he 
 played the part of a second, precisely like a role. 
 Both he and the lieutenant remained silent for a 
 while. 
 
 "Well? Let us proceed to business!" — Pan- 
 taleone was the first to speak, as he toyed with 
 his carnelian seal. 
 
 " Let us proceed,"— replied the lieutenant, — 
 "but . . . the presence of one of the comba- 
 
 LcHlLS • • • • 
 
 " I will leave you at once, gentlemen," — ex- 
 claimed Sanin, and, bowing, he went into the 
 bedroom, and shut the door after him. 
 
 He flung himself on the bed— and set to think- 
 ing about Gemma . . . but the conversation of 
 the seconds reached his ear through the closed 
 
 72
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 door. It was proceeding in the French lan- 
 guage; both were murdering it mercilessly, each 
 in his own way. Pantaleone again alluded to 
 the dragoons at Padua, to Principe Tarbusski, 
 — the lieutenant mentioned " exghizes lecher es" 
 and rf goups a Vaimaple." But the old man 
 would not hear to any exghizes! To the horror 
 of Sanin, he suddenly began to talk to his inter- 
 locutor about a certain young, innocent girl, 
 whose little finger was worth more than all the 
 officers in the world .... (" oune zeune dami- 
 gella innoucenta, qua sola dans soun peti doa 
 vale piu que toutt le zouffissie del mondo! ") 
 and several times repeated with fervour: "It is 
 a shame! it is a shame! (E ouna onta, ouna 
 onta!)" The lieutenant did not reply to him at 
 first; but, after a while, a wrathful tremor be- 
 came audible in the young man's voice, and he 
 remarked that he had not come for the purpose 
 of listening to moral sentiments. . . . 
 
 "At your age it is always useful to listen to 
 righteous remarks! "—cried Pantaleone. 
 
 The altercation between the two seconds grew 
 stormy at several points; it lasted for more than 
 an hour, and wound up, at last, with the follow- 
 ing conditions : " Baron von Donhof and Mr. 
 da Sanin were to fight a duel, with pistols, on 
 the following day, at ten o'clock in the morn- 
 ing, in the small forest near Hanau, at a distance 
 of twenty paces; each was to have the right to 
 
 73
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 fire two shots, on a signal given by the seconds. 
 The pistols to be without hair-trigger, and not 
 rifled." Herr von Richter withdrew, and Pan- 
 taleone triumphantly threw open the bedroom 
 door, and communicating the result of their 
 conference, again exclaimed: "Bravo Russe! 
 Bravo giovanotto! Thou wilt be the victor!" 
 
 A few minutes later, they both set out for the 
 Roselli confectionery shop. Sanin exacted from 
 Pantaleone a preliminary promise to preserve 
 the strictest secrecy regarding the duel. In re- 
 ply, the old man merely pointed his finger up- 
 ward, and narrowing his eyes, he whispered 
 twice in succession: "Segredezza! (Secrecy!)" 
 He had grown visibly younger, and even 
 stepped out more freely. All these unusual, 
 though agreeable events had vividly carried him 
 back to the epoch when he himself had accepted 
 and given challenges— on the stage, it is true. 
 Barytones, as all the world is aware, strut a great 
 deal in their roles. 
 
 XIX 
 
 £mile ran out to meet Sanin— he had been 
 watching for his arrival for more than an hour 
 — and hastily whispered in his ear that his mo- 
 ther knew nothing about the unpleasantness of 
 the day before, and it was not proper even to 
 give her a hint of it, and that he would be sent 
 
 74
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 again to the shop! ! . . . . but that he would 
 not go, but would hide somewhere or other! — 
 Having imparted all this, in the course of a few 
 seconds, he suddenly fell upon Sanin's neck, 
 kissed him impulsively, and ran off down the 
 street. In the confectionery shop Gemma 
 greeted Sanin; she tried to say something — and 
 could not. Her lips quivered slightly, and her 
 eyes were narrowed and glanced off in all direc- 
 tions. He hastened to soothe her with the assur- 
 ance that the whole affair had ended ... in 
 mere nonsense. 
 
 • Has no one been to see you to-day? " — she 
 asked. 
 
 ' One person has been to see me — we had an 
 explanation — and we ... we arrived at the 
 most satisfactory result." 
 
 Gemma went back again behind the counter. 
 
 " She did not believe me,"— he thought .... 
 but he went his way into the next room, and 
 there found Frau Lenore. 
 
 Her headache had passed off, but she was still 
 in a melancholy mood. She smiled cordially at 
 him, but, at the same time, she warned him 
 that he would find it tiresome with her that 
 day, as she was not in a condition to entertain 
 him. 
 
 ' What ails you, Frau Lenore? Can it be 
 that you have been weeping? " 
 
 ' Ssssssssh . . . ." she whispered, indicating 
 
 75
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 with a movement of her head the room where her 
 daughter was. "Don't say that .... aloud." 
 " But what have you been crying about? ' 
 " Akh, Monsieur Sanin, I don't know myself 
 what it was about!" 
 
 " Has any one hurt your feelings? ' 
 "Oh, no! ... I felt greatly bored all of a 
 sudden. I remembered Giovan' Battista .... 
 his youth. . . . Then that all went away again 
 speedily. I am getting old, my friend. I seem 
 to be just the same as ever myself .... but 
 old age — there it is . . . there it is! " — Tears 
 made their appearance in Frau Lenore's eyes.— 
 " I see that you look at me in amazement. . . . 
 But you will grow old also, my friend, and you 
 will find out how bitter it is! " 
 
 Sanin set to work to comfort her, reminding her 
 of her children, with whom her own youth had 
 come to life again ; he even attempted to laugh at 
 her, asserting that she was fishing for compli- 
 ments .... but she, not in jest, requested him 
 " to stop," and then, for the first time, he was 
 able to convince himself that that sort of sadness, 
 the sadness of conscious old age, cannot in any 
 way be cheered or dissipated; one must wait for 
 it to disperse of itself. He proposed to her a 
 game of tresette — and he could not have hit upon 
 anything better. She immediately accepted — 
 and seemed to brighten up. 
 
 Sanin played with her until dinner, and after 
 
 76
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 dinner. Pantaleone also took an interest in the 
 game. Never had his crest of hair fallen so low 
 upon his brow, never had his chin sunk so deeply 
 into his neckcloth ! His every movement exhaled 
 such concentrated dignity that the sight of him 
 involuntarily prompted the thought : What secret 
 is that man keeping with so much firmness? 
 
 But— segredezza! segredezza! 
 
 Throughout the whole course of that day, he 
 endeavoured, in every possible way, to show Sa- 
 nin the most profound respect; at table, passing 
 over the ladies, solemnly and with decision, he 
 offered the viands first to Sanin ; during the game 
 at cards, he surrendered his draw to him, did not 
 venture to beat him; he declared, without any 
 rhyme or reason, that Russians are the most mag- 
 nanimous, brave, and resolute nation in the 
 world ! 
 
 ' Akh, thou old play-actor! "—thought Sanin 
 to himself. 
 
 And he was not so much surprised at Signora 
 Roselli's unexpected frame of mind, as at the 
 way in which her daughter treated him. It was 
 not that she shunned him .... on the contrary, 
 she kept constantly seating herself at a short dis- 
 tance from him, listening to his remarks, gazing 
 at him; but she positively declined to enter into 
 conversation with him, and just as soon as he ad- 
 dressed her, she rose quietly from her seat, and 
 quietly withdrew for a few moments. Then she 
 
 77
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 made her appearance again, and again seated her- 
 self somewhere in a corner — and sat there motion- 
 less, as though meditating and bewildered — bewil- 
 dered, most of all. Frau Lenore herself noticed, 
 at last, the unwontedness of her behaviour, and 
 asked her a couple of times what was the matter 
 with her. 
 
 " Nothing," — replied Gemma; " thou knowest 
 that I am like this at times." 
 
 " That is true," — assented her mother. 
 
 Thus passed the whole of that long day, in a 
 way that was neither animated nor languid, — nei- 
 ther cheerful nor tiresome. Had Gemma borne 
 herself otherwise, Sanin might— who knows? — 
 have been unable to resist the temptation to strut 
 a little, or might have yielded to the feeling of 
 sadness in face of a parting which might prove 
 eternal. . . . But, as he never succeeded, even 
 once, in speaking to Gemma, he was obliged 
 to content himself with striking minor chords on 
 the piano for a quarter of an hour before even- 
 ing coffee was served. 
 
 Emile came home late, and with the object of 
 avoiding interrogations on the subject of Herr 
 Kluber, he retired very soon. Sanin's turn to 
 withdraw arrived. 
 
 He began to take leave of Gemma. For some 
 reason, Lensky's parting from Olga, in " Onye- 
 gin," 1 recurred to his mind. He pressed her 
 
 1 Pushkin's poem " Evgeny Ony^gin."— Translator. 
 
 78
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 hand closely— and tried to look into her face— 
 but she turned away slightly and freed her 
 fingers. 
 
 XX 
 
 The sky was studded with stars when he emerged 
 on the steps. And how many of those stars were 
 sown there, big, little, yellow, red, blue, white! 
 They were all fairly glowing and swarming, vy- 
 ing with one another in darting their rays. There 
 was no moon in the sky, but even without it every 
 object was distinctly visible in the half-light, 
 shadeless gloom. Sanin walked down the street, 
 to the very end. . . He did not wish to return 
 home at once ; he felt the need of roaming about 
 in the fresh air. He turned back — and before 
 he had got opposite the house in which the Roselli 
 confectionery shop was located, one of the win- 
 dows which gave on the street suddenly rattled 
 and opened — in its black square (there was no 
 light in the room) a woman's form appeared — 
 and he heard himself called by name. 
 
 " Monsieur Dimitri! " 
 
 He instantly flew to the window. . . . 
 Gemma ! 
 
 She leaned her elbows on the sill, and bent 
 forward. 
 
 " Monsieur Dimitri," — she began, in a cau- 
 tious voice, — " all day long, to-day, I have 
 
 79
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 wanted to give you a certain thing .... but 
 could not make up my mind ; and seeing you un- 
 expectedly again, I thought, evidently, so it is 
 decreed by fate. ..." 
 
 Gemma involuntarily paused on that word. 
 She could not go on; something remarkable oc- 
 curred at that moment. 
 
 Suddenly, in the midst of the deep silence, 
 athwart the perfectly cloudless sky swept such 
 a gust of wind, that the very earth seemed to 
 tremble under foot, the delicate starlight quivered 
 and rippled, the very air rolled up into a ball. 
 The whirlwind, not cold, but warm, even sultry, 
 beat upon the trees, upon the roof of the house, 
 on its walls, on the street; it instantly tore the 
 hat from Sanin's head, ruffled and whirled about 
 Gemma's black curls. Sanin's head was on a 
 level with the window-sill ; he involuntarily leaned 
 against it — and Gemma, with both hands, 
 clutched at his shoulder, and fell with her breast 
 against his head. The uproar, ringing and rat- 
 tling, lasted for about a minute. . . . Like a 
 flock of huge birds, the joyously swirling whirl- 
 wind dashed past. . . Profound silence reigned 
 once more. 
 
 Sanin raised himself, and beheld above him 
 such a wondrous, frightened, excited face, such 
 huge, magnificent eyes— he beheld such a beauty, 
 that his heart sank within him, he pressed his lips 
 to a slender lock of hair, which fell over his 
 
 80
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 breast— and could say nothing except: "Oh, 
 Gemma!" 
 
 "What was that? Lightning? "—she asked, 
 rolling her eyes widely around, and not removing 
 her bare arms from his shoulders. 
 
 " Gemma! "—repeated Sanin. 
 
 She sighed, cast a glance behind her into the 
 room,— and with a swift movement drawing 
 from her bodice an already withered rose, she 
 tossed it to Sanin. 
 
 " I wanted to give you this flower. . . ." 
 
 He recognised the rose which he had captured 
 the day before. . . . 
 
 But the little window had already slammed to, 
 and behind the dark panes nothing was visible, 
 there was no gleam of white. . . . 
 
 Sanin reached home without a hat. . . . He 
 did not even notice that he had lost it. 
 
 XXI 
 
 He fell asleep just before dawn. And it is not 
 surprising! Under the shock of that sudden 
 summer whirlwind, he had instantaneously felt- 
 not precisely that Gemma was a beauty, not pre- 
 cisely that he liked her— he had known that be- 
 fore .... but that he had all but fallen in love 
 with her! Love had descended upon him as in- 
 stantaneously as that whirlwind. And there was 
 that stupid duel! Melancholy forebodings began 
 
 81
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 to torture him. Well, assuming that he were not 
 killed. . . What could come of his love for that 
 young girl, for the betrothed bride of another 
 man? Assuming, even, that that "other" was 
 not dangerous to him, that Gemma herself would 
 fall in love with him or had already fallen in love 
 with him. . . . What of that? What then? 
 Such a beauty! .... 
 
 He paced the room, seated himself at the table, 
 took a sheet of paper, scribbled a few lines on it 
 — and immediately crossed them out. . . . He 
 recalled to mind Gemma's wonderful figure, in 
 the dark window, beneath the rays of the stars, 
 all fluttering in the warm gale; he recalled her 
 marble arms, like the arms of Olympian god- 
 desses ; he felt their living burden upon his shoul- 
 ders. ... Then he picked up the rose which had 
 been tossed to him — it seemed to him that its half- 
 withered petals exhaled another and still more 
 delicate perfume than the ordinary fragrance of 
 roses. . . . 
 
 :< And suppose he were to be killed or 
 maimed ? " 
 
 He did not lie down on his bed, but fell asleep, 
 fully dressed, on the couch. Some one tapped 
 him on the shoulder. . . . 
 
 He opened his eyes, and beheld Pantaleone. 
 
 " He sleeps like Alexander of Macedon on the 
 eve of the battle of Babylon! "—exclaimed the 
 old man. 
 
 82
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " Why, what o'clock is it? "—asked Sanin. 
 
 "A quarter to seven; it is a two hours' drive 
 to Hanau, and we should be the first on the 
 ground. Russians always forestall the enemy! 
 I have hired the best carriage in Frankfurt! ' 
 
 Sanin began to wash himself.— "And where 
 are the pistols ? " 
 
 " That ferrofluchto Tedesco will bring the pis- 
 tols. And he will bring a doctor also." 
 
 Pantaleone had, evidently, summoned up his 
 courage, as on the preceding day; but when he 
 seated himself in the carriage with Sanin, when 
 the coachman cracked his whip, and the horses 
 set out at a gallop,— a sudden change came over 
 the former singer and friend of the Padua dra- 
 goons. He grew confused, and even turned cow- 
 ard. Something seemed to fall to ruin within 
 him, like a badly constructed wall. 
 
 " But what is this we are doing, my God, San- 
 tissima Madonna!"— he exclaimed, in an unex- 
 pectedly squeaking voice, and clutched his hair. 
 " What am I about, old fool, madman, frenetico 
 that I am! " 
 
 Sanin was amazed, and burst out laughing; 
 and lightly embracing Pantaleone's waist, he re- 
 minded him of the French maxim : " Le vin est 
 tire—il faut le boire." 
 
 " Yes, yes,"— replied the old man;—" you and 
 I are to drain that cup together,— and, neverthe- 
 less, I am a lunatic ! I 'm a lunatic ! Everything 
 
 83
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 was so quiet, so nice .... and all of a sudden: 
 ta-ta-ta, tra-ta-ta! " 
 
 " Just like the tutti in an orchestra," — re- 
 marked Sanin, with a forced smile. " But you are 
 not to blame." 
 
 "I know that I am not! I should think not! 
 Nevertheless, this is ... . such an unbridled pro- 
 ceeding. Diavolo! Diavolo!" — repeated Pan- 
 taleone, shaking his crest of hair and heaving a 
 sigh. 
 
 But still the carriage rolled on and on. 
 
 It was a delightful morning. The streets of 
 Frankfurt, which were barely beginning to grow 
 animated, seemed so clean and comfortable; the 
 windows of the houses shone with glinting re- 
 flections, like tinsel; and as soon as the carriage 
 had emerged beyond the city barrier the loud 
 trills of the larks fairly showered down from on 
 high, from the sky which was not yet bright. 
 All at once, at a turn in the highway, from be- 
 hind a lofty poplar-tree a familiar form made 
 its appearance, advanced a few paces, and came 
 to a halt. Sanin scrutinised it. . . . Great 
 heavens ! Emile ! 
 
 "Does he know anything about this?"— he 
 asked Pantaleone. 
 
 " I have already told you that I am a lunatic," 
 — roared the poor Italian, in despair, almost in 
 a yell. — " That unfortunate lad gave me no peace 
 all night— and at last, this morning, I revealed 
 everything to him! " 
 
 84
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " There 's segredezza for you ! " thought Sanin. 
 
 The carriage came even with Emile. Sanin or- 
 dered the coachman to stop the horses, and called 
 the " unfortunate lad " to him. Emile ap- 
 proached with irresolute steps, pale— pale as on 
 the day of his fit. He could hardly keep his feet. 
 
 "What are you doing here?"— Sanin asked 
 him, sternly;—" why are you not at home? ' 
 
 " Permit me ... . permit me to go with you," 
 —faltered Emile, in a trembling voice, as he 
 clasped his hands. His teeth chattered, as in a 
 fever. " I will not get in your way — only take 
 me I 
 
 " If you feel the smallest iota of attachment 
 for me,"— said Sanin,—" you will instantly re- 
 turn home, or to Herr Kluber's shop, and you 
 will not say a single word to any one, and you will 
 await my return! " 
 
 " Your return,"— groaned Emile— and his 
 voice jangled and broke. " But if you 
 
 " Emile! "—Sanin interrupted him— and in- 
 dicated the coachman with his eyes,—" come to 
 your senses! Emile, please go home! Listen to 
 me, my friend! You assert that you love me. 
 Well, then I entreat you." 
 
 He offered him his hand. Emile swayed for- 
 ward, gulped down a sob, pressed it to his lips — 
 and springing out of the road, ran back to Frank- 
 furt, across the fields. 
 
 " That 's a noble heart also,"— muttered Pan- 
 taleone; but Sanin glared grimly at him. . . . 
 
 85
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 The old man cuddled up in a corner of the car- 
 riage. He recognised his fault; but, in addi- 
 tion to that, with every passing moment he grew 
 more and more amazed. Could it be that he had 
 really constituted himself a second, and that he 
 had got horses, and made all the arrangements, 
 and had quitted his peaceful habitation at six 
 o'clock in the morning? Moreover, his legs had 
 begun to ache and throb. 
 
 Sanin considered it necessary to restore his 
 courage — and hit the nail on the head, found the 
 proper remark. 
 
 " What has become of your former spirit, re- 
 spected Signor Cippatola? Where is il antico 
 valor? " 
 
 Signor Cippatola straightened himself up, 
 and frowned. 
 
 " II antico valor? " — he proclaimed, in a bass 
 voice. " Non b ancora spento — (It is not yet all 
 exhausted) — il antico valor!! 3 ' 
 
 He assumed an air of dignity, began to talk 
 about his career, about the opera, about the great 
 tenor Garcia — and arrived at Hanau a valiant 
 man. When you come to think of it, there is 
 nothing in the world more potent — and more 
 impotent— than words! 
 
 86
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 XXII 
 
 The little wood in which the conflict was to take 
 place was situated a quarter of a mile from 
 Hanau. Sanin and Pantaleone were the first to 
 arrive, as the latter had predicted; they ordered 
 the carriage to wait at the edge of the forest, and 
 plunged into the shadow of the tolerably thick 
 and dense trees. They were obliged to wait about 
 an hour. 
 
 But the waiting did not seem particularly op- 
 pressive to Sanin ; he walked to and fro along the 
 path, lent an ear to the singing of the birds, 
 watched the dragon-flies flitting past, and, like 
 the majority of Russians under such circum- 
 stances, tried not to think. Once, only, did pen- 
 siveness descend upon him. He chanced upon 
 a young linden-tree, broken off, in all probabil- 
 ity, by the squall of the preceding day. It was 
 completely dead .... all the leaves on it were 
 dead. "What is this? An omen?" flashed 
 through his mind. But he immediately began 
 to whistle, jumped over that linden-tree, and 
 strode along the path. Pantaleone growled, 
 cursed the Germans, grunted, scratched now his 
 back, now his knees. He even yawned with 
 emotion, which imparted a very droll expression 
 to his tiny, puckered face. Sanin almost roared 
 with laughter as he looked at him. 
 
 87
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 At last the rumble of wheels on the smooth 
 road became audible. — " 'T is they! " — said Pan- 
 taleone, growing alert, and drew himself up, 
 not without a momentary, nervous shudder, 
 which, however, he hastened to mask with the ex- 
 clamation: "br-r-r-r!" and the remark that the 
 morning was decidedly chilly. An abundance 
 of dew flooded the grass and the foliage, but the 
 sultry heat had already made its way even into 
 the forest. 
 
 Both officers speedily made their appearance 
 beneath its arches; they were accompanied by a 
 short, plump man with a phlegmatic, almost 
 sleepy face— the military doctor. He carried in 
 one hand an earthen vessel of water — on the 
 chance of its being required; a bag, with sur- 
 gical instruments and bandages, dangled over 
 his left shoulder. It was evident that he had 
 grown used, to an extreme degree, to such excur- 
 sions; they constituted one of his sources of rev- 
 enue; every duel brought him in eight ducats 
 — four from each of the belligerent parties. 
 Herr von Richter carried a case with pistols; 
 Herr von Donhof was twirling in his hand — 
 probably for the " chic " of it — a small riding- 
 whip. 
 
 " Pantaleone! " — whispered Sanin to the old 
 man, — "if .... if I am killed — anything may 
 happen — get a paper out of my side-pocket, with 
 the flower that is wrapped in it,— and give the 
 
 88
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 paper to Signorina Gemma. Do you hear? Do 
 you promise? " 
 
 The old man cast a dejected glance at him— 
 and nodded his head affirmatively. . . . But 
 God knows whether he understood what Sanin 
 asked him. 
 
 The antagonists and seconds exchanged bows, 
 as is customary; the doctor, alone, did not move 
 so much as an eyebrow— and seated himself, 
 with a yawn, on the grass, as much as to say: 
 " I don't feel in the mood for displaying chival- 
 rous politeness." Herr von Richter proposed 
 to Signor " Tshibadola " that he should select 
 the place; Signor "Tshibadola" replied, wag- 
 ging his tongue feebly (the wall inside him 
 had crumbled down again ) , something to this 
 effect: "Do you act, my dear sir, and I will 
 watch. . . ." 
 
 And Herr von Richter began to act. He 
 searched out, there in the little wood, a very nice 
 little glade, all dotted with flowers; he paced off 
 the distance, marked the two extreme limits with 
 hastily sharpened little sticks, took the pistols out 
 of the case, and squatting down on his heels, he 
 rammed in the bullets. In a word, he toiled and 
 laboured with all his might, incessantly mopping 
 his perspiring face with a white handkerchief. 
 Pantaleone, who accompanied him, more resem- 
 bled a frozen man. While all these preparations 
 were in progress, the two antagonists stood aloof, 
 
 89
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 reminding one of two chastised school-boys who 
 are pouting at their tutors. 
 
 The decisive moment arrived. . . . 
 
 Each took his pistol. . . . 
 
 But at this point Herr von Richter remarked 
 to Pantaleone, that, according to the rules of du- 
 elling, it was his place, as the elder of the seconds, 
 before pronouncing the fatal: "One! two! three!" 
 to address to the combatants a final counsel and 
 proposition that they become reconciled ; that, al- 
 though that proposition never had any result, and 
 was, in general, nothing but an empty formality, 
 still, by complying with that formality, Signor 
 Cippatola would remove from his own shoulders 
 a certain amount of responsibility; that, to tell 
 the truth, such an allocution constituted a direct 
 obligation of the so-called "impartial witness" 
 (unpartheiischer Zeuge) — but, as they had no 
 such witness, he, Herr von Richter, gladly re- 
 signed that privilege to his respected colleague. 
 Pantaleone, who had already managed to hide 
 himself behind a bush, so that he might not see 
 the offending officer at all, did not, at first, un- 
 derstand a word of Herr von Richter's speech, 
 — the more so, as it was uttered through the 
 nose; but he suddenly gave a start, stepped 
 briskly forward, and beating his breast convul- 
 sively with his hands, he roared out, with a hoarse 
 voice, in his mixed dialect : "A la la la . . . . Che 
 bestialita! Deuce zeun'ommes comme ca que si 
 
 90
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 battono—perche? Che diavolo? Andate a 
 
 casa! " 
 
 "I do not agree to a reconciliation,"— said 
 
 Sanin, hastily. j 
 
 " Neither do I agree,"— repeated his adversary 
 after him. 
 
 "Well, then, shout: 'One, two, three!'" said 
 Herr von Richter, turning to the disconcerted 
 Pantaleone. 
 
 The latter immediately dived into the bush 
 again— and thence shouted out, all curled up, and 
 with his eyes tightly closed, and his head turned 
 away, but at the top of his lungs: " Una .... 
 due . . . . e tre! " 
 
 Sanin shot first— and missed. His bullet rat- 
 tled against a tree. Baron Donhof fired imme- 
 diately after him— intentionally to one side, and 
 in the air. 
 
 A strained silence ensued. . . . No one stirred 
 from his place. Pantaleone uttered a faint ex- 
 clamation. 
 
 " Do you wish to continue? "—said Donhof. 
 
 "Why did you fire into the air?"— asked 
 Sanin. 
 
 " That is no business of yours." 
 
 " Are you going to fire into the air a second 
 time? " — asked Sanin again. 
 
 " Perhaps so; I don't know." 
 
 " Permit me, permit me, gentlemen . . . ." 
 began von Richter;—" the duellists have no right 
 
 91
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 to talk to each other. That is entirely out of 
 order." 
 
 ' I renounce my shot,"— said Sanin, flinging 
 his pistol on the ground. 
 
 " And I, also, have no intention of continuing 
 the duel," — exclaimed Donhof, also flinging 
 away his pistol. " Yes, and more than that, I 
 am now ready to admit that I was not in the right 
 — day before yesterday." 
 
 He fidgeted about where he stood, and put out 
 his hand, in an undecided way. 
 
 Sanin swiftly approached him,— and shook it. 
 The two young men looked at each other smil- 
 ingly, — and the faces of both flushed crimson. 
 
 r ' Bravi! bravi! " — suddenly roared Pantaleone, 
 like a madman — and, clapping his hands, he 
 rushed head over heels out of the bush; and the 
 doctor, who had seated himself on one side, upon 
 a felled tree, immediately rose, poured the water 
 out of the jug — and walked off, lazily swaying 
 his hips, to the edge of the forest. 
 
 " Honour is satisfied — and the duel is at an 
 end! "—proclaimed Herr von Richter. 
 
 " Fuori!"— again shouted Pantaleone, from 
 force of ancient habit. 
 
 After having exchanged salutes with the officers, 
 and taken his seat once more in the carriage, 
 Sanin, truth to tell, felt in all his being, if not 
 satisfaction, at least a certain lightness, as after 
 
 92
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 an operation has been undergone; but another 
 feeling, akin to shame, was beginning to stir 
 within him. . . . The duel in which he had just 
 taken part appeared to him a falsehood, a pre- 
 viously agreed-upon, official, commonplace stu- 
 dent's jest. He recalled the phlegmatic doctor, 
 he recalled how he had smiled — that is to say, had 
 wrinkled up his nose— when he beheld him emerge 
 from the wood almost arm-in-arm with Baron 
 Donhof. And then, when Pantaleone had paid 
 over to that same doctor the four ducats which 
 were his due — ekh! something was wrong! 
 
 Yes, Sanin was somewhat conscience-stricken 
 and mortified .... although, on the other 
 hand, what else was there for him to do? He 
 could not have left unchastised the insolence of 
 the young officer, he could not have imitated Herr 
 Kluber? He had stood up for Gemma, he had 
 defended her. . . . That was so; but, neverthe- 
 less, his soul ached, and he was conscience- 
 stricken, and even mortified. 
 
 On the other hand, Pantaleone — simply tri- 
 umphed! Pride had suddenly taken possession 
 of him. A victorious general, returning from 
 the field of battle won by him, could not have 
 gazed about him with greater self-satisfaction. 
 Sanin's behaviour during the duel had filled him 
 with rapture. He lauded him for a hero— and 
 would not listen to his exhortations and even en- 
 treaties. He compared him to a monument of 
 
 93
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 marble, or even of bronze— to the statue of the 
 Commander in "Don Giovanni!" As for him- 
 self, he admitted that he had felt some consterna- 
 tion; — "but I 'm an artist, you see,"— he re- 
 marked, — " I have a nervous nature, but you are 
 a son of the snows and granite cliffs." 
 
 Sanin positively did not know how to put a 
 stopper on the artist, who had mounted his high 
 horse. 
 
 Almost at the identical point on the road where 
 they had found Emile a couple of hours before, 
 he again sprang out from behind a tree, and 
 with a joyful cry on his lips, waving his cap over 
 his head, and skipping and leaping, he rushed 
 straight at the carriage, came near falling under 
 the wheels, and without waiting for the horses to 
 come to a halt, clambered over the closed door 
 and fairly feasted his eyes on Sanin. 
 
 "You are alive, you are not wounded!" — he 
 kept repeating. " Forgive me, I did not obey 
 you, I did not return to Frankfurt. ... I could 
 not! I waited for you here. . . . Tell me how 
 it went off — you .... did you kill him?" 
 
 With difficulty Sanin quieted Emile, and made 
 him seat himself. 
 
 With much verbosity, with evident satisfac- 
 tion, Pantaleone communicated to him all the 
 details of the duel, and, of course, did not fail to 
 mention the monument of bronze, the statue of 
 
 94
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 the Commander ! He even rose from his seat, and 
 straddling his legs apart to preserve his equili- 
 brium, folding his arms on his chest, and casting 
 glances of scorn over his shoulder — he presented 
 a visible image of Commander Sanin ! Emile lis- 
 tened with reverence, now and then interrupting 
 the narration by an exclamation, or hastily rising 
 half-way, and as hastily kissing his heroic friend. 
 
 The carriage-wheels rattled on the pavements 
 of Frankfurt— and halted, at last, in front of the 
 hotel in which Sanin dwelt. 
 
 Escorted by his two fellow-travellers, he was 
 mounting the stairs to the second story, when, 
 suddenly, from a dark, narrow corridor, a woman 
 emerged with hasty steps; her face was covered 
 with a veil; she halted in front of Sanin, reeled 
 slightly, gave a palpitating sigh, and immediately 
 ran down-stairs to the street — and vanished, to 
 the great amazement of the waiter, who an- 
 nounced that "that lady had been awaiting the 
 return of Monsieur the Foreigner for more than 
 an hour past." Momentary as was her appear- 
 ance, Sanin succeeded in recognising her as 
 Gemma. He recognised her eyes, beneath the 
 thick silk veil, light brown in hue. 
 
 " Did Fraulein Gemma know . . ." he said 
 slowly, in a voice of displeasure, addressing him- 
 self in German to Emile and Pantaleone, who 
 were following on his heels. 
 
 Emile flushed scarlet and grew confused. 
 
 95
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " I was forced to tell her everything,"— he 
 stammered, — " she guessed it— and I could not 
 possibly. . . . But that is of no consequence now, 
 you see," — he caught himself up with vivacity, — 
 " everything turned out so well, and she has seen 
 you safe and uninjured! " 
 
 Sanin turned away. 
 
 " What a party of chatterers you are! " he said 
 with vexation, entering his own room, and seat- 
 ing himself on a chair. 
 
 "Don't be angry, please,"— said Emile. 
 
 "Very well, I will not,"— (Sanin really was 
 not angry,— and, of course, it was hardly possible 
 for him to wish that Gemma should know no- 
 thing). "Very well . . . have done with your 
 embraces. Go away now, I 'm going to sleep. 
 I want to be alone. I 'm tired." 
 
 " A splendid idea! "—exclaimed Pantaleone. 
 " You need rest ! You have fully earned it, noble 
 signore! Come along, Emilio! On tiptoe! On 
 tiptoe! Sssssssh!" 
 
 In saying that he wished to sleep, Sanin's sole 
 object was to rid himself of his companions; but 
 when he was left alone, he really did feel a con- 
 siderable degree of fatigue in all his limbs. He 
 had hardly closed an eye during the whole of the 
 previous night, and throwing himself on the bed, 
 he immediately sank into a deep sleep. 
 
 96
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 XXIII 
 
 He slept for several hours in succession, without 
 waking. Then he began to dream that he was 
 again fighting the duel, that Herr Kliiber was 
 standing opposite him, in the capacity of his an- 
 tagonist, and that on a fir-tree sat a parrot — and 
 the parrot was Pantaleone, and it kept reiterat- 
 ing, as it waggled its bill: "One— one— one! one 
 — one — one — one!" 
 
 4 One .... one .... one! ! " he heard quite too 
 plainly. He opened his eyes, half raised his head. 
 .... Some one was tapping at his door. 
 
 "Come in!" shouted Sanin. 
 
 The waiter made his appearance, and an- 
 nounced that a lady was extremely anxious to see 
 him. 
 
 ' Gemma! "—flashed through his head . . . . 
 but the lady turned out to be her mother— Frau 
 Lenore. 
 
 As soon as she entered, she sank on a chair and 
 began to weep. 
 
 " What is the matter with you, my good, dear 
 Signora Roselli?" — began Sanin, seating him- 
 self by her side, and touching her hand with a 
 gentle caress. ' What has happened? Calm 
 yourself, I entreat you." 
 
 ' Akh, Herr Dimitri, I am very .... very 
 unhappy! " 
 
 97
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 
 You are unhappy? " 
 
 Akh, very! And could I have expected it? 
 All at once, like thunder in a clear sky. ..." 
 
 She drew her breath with difficulty. 
 
 ' But what is it? Explain yourself! Would 
 you like a glass of water? " 
 
 ' No, I thank you. . ." Frau Lenore wiped 
 her eyes with her handkerchief, and fell to weep- 
 ing again, with fresh vigour.—" You see, I know 
 everything! Everything!" 
 
 " What do you mean by ' everything '? " 
 
 "Everything that has taken place to-day! 
 And the cause .... is known to me also ! You 
 have behaved like a gentleman; but what an un- 
 fortunate combination of circumstances ! 'T was 
 not for nothing that I did not like that trip to 
 Soden. . . . Not for nothing! " (Frau Lenore had 
 said nothing of the sort on the day of the excur- 
 sion, but now it seemed to her that she had fore- 
 seen " everything.") — " And I have come to you, 
 as to a gentleman, as to a friend, although I saw 
 you for the first time five days ago. . . . But, 
 you know, I am a widow, alone. . . My daugh- 
 
 ItM • • • • 
 
 Tears choked Frau Lenore's voice. Sanin did 
 not know what to think.—" Your daughter? "— 
 he repeated after her. 
 
 "My daughter, Gemma," — burst almost in a 
 groan from beneath Frau Lenore's tear-drenched 
 handkerchief,— "has announced to me to-day 
 
 98
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 that she will not marry Herr Kluber, and that 
 I must dismiss him ! " 
 
 Sanin even fell back a little. He had not ex- 
 pected this. 
 
 " I will not allude to the fact,"— pursued Frau 
 Lenore,— " that no such thing ever happened in 
 the world, as a betrothed girl's rejecting her be- 
 trothed husband; but, you see, that means our 
 ruin, Herr Dimitril"— Frau Lenore rolled her 
 handkerchief carefully and tightly into a tiny, 
 tiny ball, as though she were trying to lock up 
 in it all her woe.—" We are no longer able to live 
 on the income from our shop, Herr Dimitri ! and 
 Herr Kluber is very rich, and will be still richer. 
 And why reject him? Because he did not stand 
 up for his betrothed? Let us grant that it 
 was not quite nice on his part; but, you see, 
 he is a civilian, he was not educated in a univer- 
 sity, and, as a staid merchant, he is bound to 
 despise the frivolous pranks of an unknown 
 officer. And what sort of an insult was it, Herr 
 Dimitri?" 
 
 " Pardon me, Frau Lenore, you appear to be 
 condemning me. . . ." 
 
 " I am not condemning you in the least ! It is 
 quite another matter with you. You, like all 
 Russians, are a military man . . . ." 
 
 "Excuse me, I am not a . . . ." 
 
 " You are a foreigner, a passing traveller, I 
 am grateful to you,"— went on Frau Lenore, 
 
 99
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 without heeding Sanin. She sighed, threw out 
 her hands, spread the handkerchief out again, 
 and blew her nose. From the very way in which 
 her grief manifested itself, it could be seen that 
 she had not been born under a northern sky. — 
 ' And how is Herr Kliiber to trade in his shop, 
 if he fights with his patrons? That is totally 
 incompatible! And now I must dismiss him! 
 But what are we to live on? In former days we 
 made althea paste, and nougat with pistachio 
 nuts — and customers came to us; but now every- 
 body makes althea paste! Just reflect: even 
 without this there will be talk in the town over 
 your duel . . . can it be concealed? And all of 
 a sudden the marriage is broken off! Why, that 
 is a scandal, a scandal! Gemma is a very fine 
 girl, she is very fond of me ; but she is a stubborn 
 republican, she defies the opinion of others. You 
 alone can persuade her! " 
 
 Sanin was more astonished than before. — " I, 
 Frau Lenore? " 
 
 " Yes, you alone. . . . You alone. That is 
 why I came to you. I could not think of any- 
 thing else! You are such a learned, such a nice 
 man! You stood up for her. She will believe 
 you! She must believe you — surely, you have 
 risked your life for her! You will prove to her — 
 but I can do no more! — You will prove to her 
 that she will ruin herself and all the rest of us. 
 You have saved my son— save my daughter also! 
 
 100
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 God himself has sent you hither. . . I am ready 
 to implore you on my knees ! " 
 
 And Frau Lenore half rose from her chair, as 
 though preparing to throw herself at Sanin's 
 feet. . . . He restrained her. 
 
 ' Frau Lenore ! For God's sake ! What are 
 you doing? " 
 
 ' Do you promise ? You would not have me 
 fall dead here, before your eyes? " 
 
 Sanin was distracted. For the first time in his 
 life it fell to his lot to deal with Italian blood 
 aflame. 
 
 ' I will do anything you like! " — he cried. " I 
 will talk with Fraulein Gemma. . . ." 
 
 Frau Lenore screamed with joy. 
 
 f Only, really, I don't know what the result 
 will be. . . ." 
 
 " Akh, do not refuse, do not refuse!" — said 
 Frau Lenore, in an imploring voice. " You have 
 already consented ! The result will, assuredly, be 
 excellent! At any rate, I can do no more. She 
 will not listen to me! " 
 
 " Has she announced to you, in such decisive 
 terms, her disinclination to marry Herr Kluber? " 
 — inquired Sanin, after a brief silence. 
 
 " She cut as with a knife! She 's exactly like 
 her father, Giovan' Battista! The intractable 
 creature ! " 
 
 " Intractable? She? . . ." repeated Sanin, 
 slowly. 
 
 101
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " Yes .... yes .... but she is an angel also. 
 She will listen to you. You will come, you will 
 come soon? Oh, my dear Russian friendl" — 
 Frau Lenore rose impulsively from her chair, and 
 with equal impulsiveness embraced the head of 
 Sanin, who was sitting before her. — " Accept a 
 mother's blessing — and give me some water! ' 
 
 Sanin brought Signora Roselli a glass of 
 water, gave her his word of honour that he would 
 go immediately, escorted her down the stairs to 
 the street — and, on returning to his room, he even 
 wrung his hands, and opened his eyes to their 
 fullest extent. 
 
 " Here," — he thought, — " here, now, my life 
 has taken a turn! Yes, and such a turn that my 
 head reels with it." He did not even attempt to 
 look within himself, to understand what was 
 going on there: a hubbub — and that is all there 
 was to it! "What a day this has been!" — his 
 lips whispered involuntarily. " ' Intractable ' 
 .... her mother says. . . . And I am to advise 
 her . . . ei! And what am I to advise V' 
 
 Sanin's head really reeled — and above all this 
 whirlwind of varied sensations, impressions, un- 
 expressed thoughts, floated constantly the image 
 of Gemma, that image which had graven itself 
 ineffaceably in his memory on that warm, electric- 
 ally-shaken night, in that dark window, beneath 
 the rays of the swarming stars! 
 
 102
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 XXIV 
 
 With irresolute steps Sanin approached the 
 house of Signora Roselli. His heart was beating 
 violently; he plainly felt it, and even heard it 
 thumping against his ribs. What was he to say 
 to Gemma, how was he to begin the conversation 
 with her? He entered the house not through the 
 confectionery shop, but by the rear door. In the 
 small entrance-room he encountered Frau Le- 
 nore. She was both delighted to see him, and 
 terrified. 
 
 "I have been waiting, waiting for you,"— she 
 said, in a whisper, squeezing his hand with both 
 her hands alternately. " Go into the garden; she 
 is there. And see here; I depend upon you I " 
 
 Sanin betook himself to the garden. 
 
 Gemma was sitting on a bench near the path, 
 and from a large basket filled with cherries was 
 sorting out the ripest upon a plate. The sun 
 hung low — it was already between six and seven 
 o'clock in the evening — and there was more of 
 crimson than of gold in the broad rays with 
 which it flooded Signora Roselli's little garden. 
 From time to time the leaves whispered together, 
 almost inaudibly, and as though at leisure, and 
 belated bees buzzed disconnectedly from flower to 
 the neighbouring flower, and somewhere a turtle- 
 dove was cooing, monotonously and unweariedly. 
 
 103
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Gemma wore the same round hat in which she 
 had driven to Soden. She cast a glance at Sanin 
 from beneath its upturned brim, and again bent 
 over her basket. 
 
 Sanin approached Gemma, involuntarily mak- 
 ing each step shorter and shorter, and .... and 
 . . . and found nothing else to say to her than 
 to ask why she was sorting the cherries. 
 
 Gemma made no haste in replying to him. 
 
 "These are over-ripe,"— she said, at last.— 
 " They will do for preserves, and the others for 
 filling tarts. You know, we sell those round 
 tarts, with sugar." 
 
 So saying, Gemma bent her head still lower, 
 and her right hand, with two cherries between 
 its fingers, remained suspended in the air, be- 
 tween the basket and the plate. 
 
 ' May I sit down beside you? " — asked Sanin. 
 
 "Yes." — Gemma moved along a little on the 
 bench. Sanin seated himself by her side. " How 
 shall I begin? " he thought. But Gemma extri- 
 cated him from his dilemma. 
 
 " You fought a duel to-day," — she said, with 
 animation, turning her lovely, bashfully blushing 
 face full upon him, — and what profound grati- 
 tude beamed in her eyes! — " And you are so 
 calm? That signifies that danger does not exist 
 for you? " 
 
 "Good gracious! I did not subject myself 
 
 104
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 to any danger. Everything went off very suc- 
 cessfully and inoffensively." 
 
 Gemma passed her ringer to right and left in 
 front of her eyes. . . . Another Italian gesture. 
 — " No! no! do not say that! You cannot de- 
 ceive me! Pantaleone has told me all! V 
 
 'The idea of his telling you! Did he com- 
 pare me to the statue of the Commander? ' 
 
 ' His expressions may be ridiculous, but his 
 feeling is not ridiculous, and neither is that which 
 you have done to-day. And all for my sake . . . 
 for my sake. . . I shall never forget it." 
 
 " I assure you, Fraulein Gemma . . . ." 
 
 " I shall not forget it," — she said, pausing be- 
 tween the words, and once more she looked fix- 
 edly at him, and turned away. 
 
 He could now see her delicate, pure profile; 
 and it seemed to him that he had never beheld 
 anything like it — and had never experienced any- 
 thing like what he felt at that moment. His soul 
 burned within him. . . 
 
 "And my promise!"— flashed through his 
 thoughts. 
 
 " Fraulein Gemma . . . ." he began, after a 
 momentary hesitation. 
 
 " What? " 
 
 She did not turn toward him; she went on sort- 
 ing the cherries, cautiously seizing their stems 
 in the tips of her fingers, carefully lifting the 
 
 105
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 leaves. . . . But how confidingly affectionate 
 did that one word, " what," sound! 
 
 " Has your mother told you nothing . . . 
 about . . . ." 
 
 "About?" 
 
 "About me?" 
 
 Gemma suddenly threw the cherries which she 
 had picked up back into the basket. 
 
 "Has she been talking to you?"— she queried 
 in her turn. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "What has she said?" 
 
 " She told me that you . . . that you had sud- 
 denly decided to change .... your former in- 
 tentions." 
 
 Gemma's head was again bent low. It entirely 
 disappeared under the hat ; nothing but her neck, 
 supple and soft as the stalk of a great flower, 
 was visible. 
 
 "What intentions?" 
 
 " Your intentions .... with regard to ... . 
 the future organisation of your life." 
 
 "That is . . . are you talking about . . , . 
 Herr Kluber? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Did mamma tell you that I did not wish to 
 be Herr Kluber's wife? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Gemma moved along the bench. The basket 
 tipped, fell .... several cherries rolled along 
 
 106
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 the path. One minute elapsed .... then an- 
 other. . . . 
 
 " Why did she tell you that? "—her voice made 
 itself heard. As before, Sanin beheld only 
 Gemma's neck. Her bosom was rising and fall- 
 ing more quickly than before. 
 
 " Why, your mother thought that, as you and 
 I had, so to speak, made friends in a short time, 
 and you had some degree of confidence in me, I 
 might be in a position to give you some useful 
 advice— and that you would heed me." 
 
 Gemma's hands slipped softly down upon her 
 knees. . . . She began to arrange the folds of 
 her gown. 
 
 "And what advice are you going to give me, 
 M. Dimitri?" — she asked, after a pause. 
 
 Sanin perceived that Gemma's fingers were 
 trembling on her knees. . . . She was arrang- 
 ing the folds of her gown merely for the purpose 
 of hiding that tremor. . . He laid his hand gen- 
 tly on those pallid, tremulous fingers. 
 
 " Gemma,"— he said, — " why do you not look 
 at me? " 
 
 She instantly tossed her hat back over her 
 shoulder— and riveted on him eyes as trusting 
 and grateful as ever. She waited to see what he 
 would say. . . . But the sight of her face con- 
 fused, and, as it were, blinded him. The warm 
 glow of the evening sun illumined her young 
 head— and the expression of that head was even 
 
 107
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 T > 
 
 brighter and more brilliant than that glow 
 itself. 
 
 ' I am listening to you, M. Dimitri,"— she be- 
 gan, with a barely perceptible smile, and an al- 
 most imperceptible elevation of the eyebrows; 
 ' but what advice are you going to give me ? ' 
 
 "What advice?"— repeated Sanin.— T Why, 
 you see, your mother thinks that to dismiss Herr 
 Kluber simply because he did not display any 
 particular bravery the day before yesterday . . . ." 
 
 'Simply because?' said Gemma, bending 
 down, picking up the basket and placing it beside 
 her on the bench. 
 
 " That ... in general ... to dismiss him 
 would not be — wise, on your part; that it would 
 be a step all of whose consequences should be 
 well weighed; that, in conclusion, the condition 
 of your affairs imposes certain obligations upon 
 each member of your family. . . ." 
 
 " All that is mamma's idea," — interposed 
 Gemma; " those are her words. I know that; but 
 what is your opinion ? " 
 
 "Mine?"— Sanin ceased. He felt that some- 
 thing was rising in his throat, and stopping his 
 breath.—" I also think," — he began, with an 
 effort. ... 
 
 Gemma drew herself up. — "Also? You — also?" 
 
 " Yes .... that is to say . . . ." Sanin could 
 not positively add another word. 
 
 " Very well," — said Gemma. " If you, as a 
 
 108
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 friend, advise me to alter my decision . . . that 
 is, not to alter my former decision, — I will think 
 about it." — Without herself being aware of what 
 she was doing, she began to lay the cherries back 
 again from the plate into the basket. . . . 
 ' Mamma hopes that I will obey you. . . . What 
 then? Perhaps I really shall obey you." 
 
 'But, pardon me, Fraulein Gemma, I should 
 first like to know what causes have prompted 
 you. ..." 
 
 " I shall obey you," — repeated Gemma, — all 
 around her brow was quivering, her cheeks paled ; 
 she bit her lower lip. — " You have done so much 
 for me that I am bound to do what you wish; I 
 am bound to comply with your wish. I will tell 
 mamma . . . that I will think it over. By the 
 way, yonder she is, coming this way." 
 
 In fact, Frau Lenore made her appearance on 
 the threshold of the door which led from the house 
 into the garden. She was torn asunder with im- 
 patience : she could not sit still in one place. Ac- 
 cording to her calculations, Sanin must have fin- 
 ished his explanation with Gemma long ago, al- 
 though his conversation with her had not lasted 
 a quarter of an hour. 
 
 ' No, no, no, for God's sake, tell her nothing 
 for the present,"— ejaculated Sanin, hastily, al- 
 most in terror. — " Wait. ... I will tell you, I 
 will write to you .... and until then, do not 
 decide on anything. . . . Wait!" 
 
 109
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 He pressed Gemma's hand, sprang up from 
 the bench,— and to the great surprise of Frau 
 Lenore, darted swiftly past her, raising his hat as 
 he did so, muttered something unintelligible — 
 and disappeared. 
 
 She approached her daughter. 
 
 " Tell me, please, Gemma . . . ." 
 
 The latter suddenly rose and embraced her. 
 . . . . " Dear mamma, can you wait a little, just 
 a wee little bit ... . until to-morrow? Can 
 you? So that there shall not be a word until 
 to-morrow? .... Akh!" 
 
 She burst into sudden, bright tears, unexpected 
 even by herself. This astonished Frau Lenore 
 all the more because the expression of Gemma's 
 face was far from sad, joyful rather. 
 
 "What ails thee? "-she asked. "Thou hast 
 never been in the habit of weeping— and all of 
 a sudden. . . ." 
 
 " Never mind, mamma, never mind! only wait. 
 We must both wait. Ask me nothing until to- 
 morrow—and let me sort the cherries, before the 
 sun sets." 
 
 "But thou wilt be wise?" 
 
 " Oh, I am very wise! "—Gemma nodded her 
 head significantly. She began to tie the cherries 
 up in little bunches, holding them high in front 
 of her blushing face. She did not wipe away her 
 tears; they dried of themselves. 
 
 110
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 XXV 
 
 Sanin returned to his lodgings almost at a run. 
 He felt, he was conscious that only there, only 
 alone with himself, would it finally become clear 
 to him what ailed him, what had happened to 
 him. And, in fact, he had not succeeded in en- 
 tering his room, he had not succeeded in seating 
 himself in front of the writing-table, before he 
 exclaimed in a mournful, dull voice, as he leaned 
 his elbows on that same table, and pressed his 
 palms to his face: "I love her, I love her 
 madly!"— and he blushed all over inwardly, like 
 a coal from which a layer of dead ashes has sud- 
 denly been blown away. Another instant .... 
 and he was no longer able to understand how he 
 could have sat beside her .... her! — and chatted 
 with her, and not felt that he worshipped the very 
 hem of her garment, that he was ready, as young 
 men express it, — " to die at her feet." That last 
 meeting in the garden had settled everything. 
 Now, when he thought of her, she no longer pre- 
 sented herself to him with dishevelled curls, by 
 the light of the stars:— he beheld her seated on 
 the bench, he beheld her tossing back her hat with 
 one movement— and gazing at him so trustingly 
 .... and the tremor and thirst of love coursed 
 through all his veins. He recalled the rose, 
 which he had been carrying for the last three days 
 
 111
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 in his pocket: he pulled it out, and pressed it to 
 his lips with such feverish force that he involun- 
 tarily frowned with pain. Now he no longer re- 
 flected on anything, considered anything, calcu- 
 lated or foresaw anything: he separated himself 
 from all the past, he leaped forward: from the 
 melancholy shore of his solitary, celibate life he 
 plunged headlong into that cheerful, seething, 
 mighty freshet — and his grief was small, and he 
 did not care to know whither it would carry him, 
 and whether it would not dash him to pieces 
 against the cliff ! These were no longer the gen- 
 tle currents of the Uhland romance, which had so 
 lately lulled him. . . . This was a mighty, irre- 
 sistible billow! It flew, and galloped onward,— 
 and he flew with it. . . . 
 
 He took a sheet of paper, and without erasures, 
 almost with one sweep of the pen, he wrote the 
 following : 
 
 " Dear Gemma ! You know what advice I had taken 
 upon myself to give you, you know what your mother 
 wishes, and what her request to me was, — but what you 
 do not know, and what I am bound to tell you now is 
 — that I love you, love you with all the passion of a 
 heart which loves for the first time ! This fire has flamed 
 within me suddenly, but with what force, I cannot find 
 words to describe ! ! When your mother came to me and 
 asked me — it was only smouldering within me — other- 
 wise, as an honourable man, I certainly would have re- 
 fused to execute her commission. . . . The very avowal 
 
 112 

 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 which I am now making to you is the avowal of an 
 honest man. You must know with whom you have to do, 
 — no misunderstanding must exist between us. You see 
 that I cannot give you any advice. ... I love you, 
 love you, love you — and there is nothing else either in 
 my mind or in any heart ! ! 
 
 " Dm. Sanin." 
 
 Having folded and sealed this note, Sanin was 
 on the point of ringing for the waiter, and des- 
 patching him with it. . . "No! that is awk- 
 ward. . . . By Emile? But to betake myself 
 to the shop, and seek him out, from among the 
 other clerks, is awkward. Moreover, night is at 
 hand, and, probably, he has already left the shop." 
 
 But, as he meditated thus, Sanin put on his 
 hat, and went out into the street; he turned one 
 corner, then another— and, to his indescribable 
 joy, beheld Emile in front of him. With a bag 
 under his arm, and a bundle of papers in his hand, 
 the young enthusiast was hurrying homeward. 
 
 " Not without cause do they say that every 
 lover has his star,"— thought Sanin, and called to 
 Emile. 
 
 The latter wheeled round, and immediately 
 rushed to him. 
 
 Sanin did not allow him to go into raptures, 
 handed him the note, explained to him to whom 
 and how to deliver it. . . . Emile listened atten- 
 tively. 
 
 113
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " No one is to see it? "—he asked, imparting to 
 his face a significant and mysterious expression: 
 — as much as to say, " we understand the gist of 
 the matter!" 
 
 "Yes, my dear friend,"— said Sanin, and be- 
 came slightly embarrassed; but he tapped Emile 
 on the cheek, nevertheless . . . . " and if there 
 should be an answer . . . you will bring me the 
 answer, will you not? I shall remain at home." 
 
 ''Don't you worry about that!" — whispered 
 Emile merrily, and ran off — and as he ran, he 
 nodded at him once more. 
 
 Sanin returned home — and, without lighting 
 his candles, threw himself on the divan, put his 
 hands behind his head, and surrendered himself 
 to those sensations of love which had just been 
 avowed, that cannot be described: he who has 
 experienced them knows their languor and sweet- 
 ness: it is useless to talk about them to him who 
 has not experienced them. 
 
 The door opened — Emile's head appeared. 
 
 "I have brought it,"— he whispered:— "here 
 it is, the answer ! " 
 
 He showed a folded paper, and raised it above 
 his head. 
 
 Sanin sprang from the divan, and snatched it 
 from Emile's hands. Passion had flamed up too 
 powerfully within him: he cared nothing now 
 for secrecy, not even for the preservation of pro- 
 priety—even before that young lad, her brother. 
 
 114 
 
 i
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 He would have felt scruples before him, he would 
 have liked to put constraint on himself — if he 
 could ! 
 
 He went to the window — and, by the light of 
 a street lantern, which stood directly in front of 
 the house, he read the following lines: 
 
 " I beg you, I implore you, not to come to us all day 
 to-morrow, not to show yourself. This is necessary for 
 me, imperatively necessary, — and then all will be set- 
 tled. I know you will not refuse me, because .... 
 
 " Gemma." 
 
 Sanin read this note through twice— oh, how 
 touchingly-charming and beautiful did her hand- 
 writing appear to him! — meditated a while, and, 
 turning to Emile, who, desirous of letting it be 
 understood what a discreet young man he was, 
 was standing with his face to the wall and drum- 
 ming on it with his finger-nails, called him loudly 
 by name. 
 
 Emile immediately ran to Sanin. — "What are 
 your orders?" 
 
 "Listen, my dear friend . . . . " 
 
 ■ Monsieur Dimitri," — Emile interrupted him, 
 in a reproachful voice: — "why don't you call me 
 'thou'?" 
 
 Sanin broke into a laugh.— "Well, all right. 
 Listen, my dear friend" — (Emile skipped with 
 satisfaction) — "listen: thou art to say yonder, 
 thou understandest where, that everything will 
 
 115
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 be punctually executed"— (Emile compressed 
 his lips, and nodded his head solemnly) — "and 
 thyself .... What art thou going to do to- 
 morrow?" 
 
 "I? What am I going to do? What would 
 you like to have me do? " 
 
 "If thou canst, come to me as early in the 
 morning as possible,— and we will roam about 
 the suburbs of Frankfurt until evening. . . . 
 Wilt thou? " 
 
 Again Emile gave a skip. — "Good gracious, 
 what in the world could be nicer! Stroll with 
 you— why, that is simply splendid! I'll come, 
 without fail ! " 
 
 "And what if they will not give thee leave?' 1 
 
 "They will!" 
 
 " Hearken . . . Don't tell there that I have 
 invited thee for the whole day." 
 
 "Why should I tell? I'll simply walk off! 
 What harm is there in that!" Emile kissed Sa- 
 nin heartily, and ran away. 
 
 But Sanin paced his chamber for a long time 
 —and went to bed late. He gave himself up to 
 the same delicate and sweet sensations, to that 
 same joyful swooning in the presence of a new 
 life. Sanin was greatly pleased that he had hit 
 upon the idea of inviting Emile for the morrow ; 
 he resembled his sister in countenance. " He will 
 remind me of her," thought Sanin. 
 
 But what astonished him most of all was : how 
 
 116
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 he could have been different yesterday from 
 what he was to-day. It seemed to him that he 
 had loved Gemma " eternally "—and had loved 
 her precisely as he loved her to-day. 
 
 XXVI 
 
 On the following day, at eight o'clock in the 
 morning, Emile, with Tartaglia in a leash, pre- 
 sented himself before Sanin. Had he sprung from 
 German parents, he could not have displayed 
 more punctuality. He had lied at home: he had 
 said that he was going to walk with Sanin until 
 breakfast, and then go to the shop. While Sanin 
 was dressing, Emile tried to talk to him, in a 
 rather irresolute way, it is true, about Gemma, 
 about the breaking of her betrothal with Herr 
 Kliiber; but Sanin maintained a grim silence in 
 response, and Emile, showing that he understood 
 why it was not proper to touch lightly on that 
 important point, no longer addressed him,— and 
 merely assumed, from time to time, a concen- 
 trated and even stern expression. 
 
 After drinking coffee, the two friends set out 
 —on foot, of course,— for Hausen, a small ham- 
 let situated a short distance from Frankfurt, 
 and surrounded by forests. The entire chain of 
 the Taunus Mountains is visible thence, as 
 though in the palm of one's hand. The weather 
 was magnificent: the sun shone and blazed, but 
 
 117
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 did not burn; a fresh breeze rustled briskly 
 among the green leaves; over the ground, in 
 small patches, the shadows of the lofty, circular 
 clouds glided smoothly and swiftly. The young 
 men soon emerged from the town and stepped 
 off boldly and merrily along the smoothly-swept 
 road. They entered the forest — and rambled 
 there for quite a long time; they ate a very 
 hearty breakfast in the village inn; then they 
 climbed the hills, admired the views, rolled stones 
 down, and clapped their hands, when the stones 
 skipped amusingly and oddly, like rabbits, until 
 a man who was passing below, and was invisible 
 to them, berated them roundly, in a powerful, res- 
 onant voice ; then they lay down, stretching them- 
 selves out on the short, dry moss, of a yellowish- 
 violet hue: they drank beer in another hostelry, 
 they ran races, leaped for a wager, to see who 
 would jump furthest. They discovered an echo, 
 and talked with it, sang, shouted " a-oo," broke 
 twigs, decorated their hats with fronds of fern — 
 and even danced. Tartaglia participated in all 
 these occupations, to the best of his ability and 
 understanding: he could not throw stones, it is 
 true, but he rolled heels over head himself, and 
 howled an accompaniment when the young men 
 sang, — and even drank beer, although with evi- 
 dent disgust : a student, to whom he had once be- 
 longed, had taught him that trick. However, he 
 obeyed Emile badly— it was quite another matter 
 
 118
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 with his master Pantaleone, — and when Emile 
 ordered him to "talk," or "sneeze," — he merely 
 wagged his tail, and thrust out his tongue like a 
 cylinder. 
 
 The young men also chatted together. At the 
 beginning of the stroll, Sanin, as being the older, 
 and therefore the most sensible, undertook to dis- 
 cuss, what is Fate, or the predestination of des- 
 tiny, and what is the vocation of man, and its sig- 
 nificance, but the conversation speedily took a less 
 serious turn. Emile began to question his friend 
 and patron about Russia, about the manner of 
 fighting duels there, and whether the women are 
 beautiful there, and whether one could learn the 
 Russian language in a short time, and how he 
 had felt when the officer had taken aim at him. 
 And Sanin, in his turn, interrogated Emile about 
 his father, his mother, their family affairs in gen- 
 eral, striving in every way not to mention Gem- 
 ma's name,— and thinking only of her. Prop- 
 erly speaking, he did not even think of her— but 
 of the morrow, of that mysterious to-morrow, 
 which was to bring him unknown, unprecedented 
 happiness! There seemed to be a curtain, a thin, 
 light curtain, hanging in front of his mental vis- 
 ion, swaying gently, — and behind that curtain he 
 felt ... he felt the presence of a young, im- 
 movable, divine face, with an affectionate smile 
 on its lips, and eyelashes downcast with sternness, 
 feigned sternness. And that face was not the 
 
 119
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 face of Gemma — it was the face of bliss itself! 
 And lo, at last, his hour has come, the curtain has 
 rolled away, the mouth opens, the eyelashes are 
 raised— the divinity has seen him— and then there 
 is light, as of the sun, and joy, and rapture un- 
 ending! He thinks of that morrow— and again 
 his soul swoons within him for joy, in the yearn- 
 ing of incessantly-augmenting anticipation! 
 
 And nothing interferes with this anticipation, 
 this yearning. It accompanies his every move- 
 ment—and hinders not in the least. It does not 
 prevent his making a capital dinner in a third 
 hostelry with Emile. And only from time to 
 time, like a brief gleam of lightning, does the 
 thought flash up within him,— what if any one 
 in the world knew about it? This yearning 
 does not prevent his playing at leap-frog with 
 £mile, after dinner. This game takes place on 
 a luxuriant green meadow .... and what is 
 Sanin's surprise, what is his amazement, when, 
 with his legs cleverly spread, and in the act of 
 flying like a bird over the squatting Emile, to the 
 loud barking of Tartaglia,— he suddenly sees be- 
 fore him, on the very edge of the green glade,— 
 two officers, in whom he immediately recognises 
 his antagonist of the day before, and his second, 
 Messrs. von Donhof and Richter ! Each of them 
 sticks a monocle in his eye, and stares at him, and 
 grins. . . . Sanin lands on his feet, turns away, 
 
 120
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 hastily dons his discarded coat, utters an abrupt 
 word to Emile, the latter also puts on his jacket 
 — and both immediately decamp. 
 
 They returned late to Frankfurt.—" I shall be 
 scolded,"— said Emile to Sanin, as he bade him 
 farewell:— "well, I don't care! But I have had 
 such a splendid, splendid day! " 
 
 On reaching his quarters in the hotel, Sanin 
 found a note from Gemma. She appointed him 
 a tryst— on the following day, at seven o'clock in 
 the morning, in one of the public parks which 
 surround Frankfurt on all sides. 
 
 How his heart quivered! How glad he was 
 that he had obeyed her so implicitly ! And, great 
 heavens, what .... what all did not that un- 
 precedented, unique, impossible and indubitable 
 morrow promise ! 
 
 He riveted his eyes upon Gemma's letter. The 
 long, elegant tail of the letter G, the first letter 
 of her name, which stood at the end of the sheet, 
 — recalled to his mind her beautiful fingers, her 
 hand. . . . He thought that he had never 
 touched that hand with his lips. ..." Italian 
 women," — he thought, — "are bashful and strict, 
 contrary to their reputation. . . . And Gemma 
 is far more so! Empress .... goddess .... 
 pure, virgin marble. . . . But the time will come 
 — and 'tis not far off . . . . " 
 
 There was one happy mortal in Frankfurt that 
 
 121
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 night . . . He slept ; but he could say of himself, 
 in the words of the poet: 
 
 "I sleep . . . but my sensitive heart sleeps not. ..." 
 
 And it beat as lightly as beat the wings of a 
 butterfly, perched upon a flower, and steeped in 
 the summer sunshine. 
 
 XXVII 
 
 At five o'clock Sanin awoke, at six he was al- 
 ready dressed, at half -past six he was strolling 
 through the public park, in sight of the little 
 arbour which Gemma had mentioned in her note. 
 
 The morning was still, warm, grey. It some- 
 times seemed as though the rain were on the very 
 point of descending: but the outstretched hand 
 felt nothing, and it was only when one glanced 
 at the sleeve of his garment that little traces of 
 raindrops, like the tiniest pearls, could be de- 
 tected; but even these speedily ceased. As for 
 the wind — it was as though no such thing existed 
 on earth. Every sound, instead of flying, dif- 
 fused itself around: in the distance, the whitish 
 mist grew slightly more dense; the air was laden 
 with the fragrance of mignonette and the flowers 
 of the white acacia. 
 
 The shops were not yet open on the streets, 
 but pedestrians were already beginning to make 
 
 122
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 their appearance; now and then a solitary car- 
 riage rumbled past .... no one was strolling 
 in the park. A gardener was scraping the path 
 with a spade, in a leisurely manner, and a de- 
 crepit old woman in a black cloth cloak was hob- 
 bling along an alley. Not for a single instant 
 could Sanin take that wretched being for Gem- 
 ma, — and yet, his heart gave a bound within him, 
 and he followed the retreating black spot atten- 
 tively with his eyes. 
 
 Seven ! boomed out the clock on a tower. 
 
 Sanin came to a halt.— Was it possible that 
 she would not come? A cold shiver suddenly 
 coursed through all his limbs. That same shiver 
 was repeated a moment later, — but for another 
 reason. Sanin heard behind him light footsteps, 
 the faint rustle of a woman's gown. . . He 
 turned round : 't was she ! 
 
 Gemma was walking behind him, along the 
 path. She wore a greyish mantilla and a small, 
 dark hat. She glanced at Sanin, turned her head 
 aside — and, as she came on a level with him, 
 walked swiftly past. 
 
 "Gemma!" he said, in a barely-audible voice. 
 
 She gave him a slight nod— and continued to 
 walk on. He followed her. 
 
 He was breathing brokenly. His legs obeyed 
 him badly. 
 
 Gemma passed the arbour, turned to the right, 
 passed a small, flattish basin, wherein sparrows 
 
 123
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 were restlessly splashing — and, entering a clump 
 of lofty lilacs, sank down on a bench. The spot 
 was comfortable and sheltered. Sanin seated 
 himself by her side. 
 
 A minute passed — and neither he nor she 
 had uttered a word : she did not even look at him 
 — and he gazed not at her face, but at her clasped 
 hands, in which she held a small parasol. What 
 was there to say? What was there to say, that, 
 by its significance, could compare with their mere 
 presence here, together, alone, so early, so close 
 to each other? 
 
 "You .... are not angry with me?" — articu- 
 lated Sanin at last. 
 
 It would have been difficult for Sanin to say 
 anything more stupid than these words .... he 
 realised that himself. . . . But, at all events, the 
 silence was broken. 
 
 "I? "-she replied. "What for? No." 
 
 " And you believe me? " — he went on. 
 
 " What you wrote? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Gemma dropped her head, and said no- 
 thing. The parasol slipped from her hands. 
 She hastily picked it up, before it fell on the 
 path. 
 
 "Akh, believe me, believe what I wrote to 
 you,"— exclaimed Sanin; all his timidity had 
 suddenly vanished— he spoke with ardour:— "if 
 there is any truth on earth, sacred, indubitable 
 
 124 

 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 truth,— then it is that I love you, love you pas- 
 sionately, Gemma!" 
 
 She cast a sidelong, momentary glance at him 
 —and again came near dropping her parasol. 
 
 " Believe me, believe me," — he reiterated. He 
 implored her, stretched out his hands to her— and 
 dared not touch her. " What did you wish to 
 have me do, to convince you? " 
 
 Again she darted a glance at him. 
 
 "Tell me, Monsieur Dimitri,"— she began: — 
 " day before yesterday, when you came to per- 
 suade me,— you, of course, did not yet know .... 
 did not feel . . . . " 
 
 "I did feel,"— interpolated Sanin,— "but I 
 did not know. I fell in love with you the very 
 moment I beheld you,— but did not immediately 
 understand what you had become for me ! More- 
 over, I heard that you were a betrothed bride. 
 . . . As for your mother's commission — in the 
 first place, how could I refuse? and, in the second 
 place, — I think I transmitted my message to you 
 in such a way that you might have guessed. 
 
 Heavy footsteps became audible, and a de- 
 cidedly corpulent gentleman, with a travelling- 
 bag slung across his shoulder, a foreigner, evi- 
 dently, stepped forth from behind the clump of 
 lilacs — and with the unceremoniousness of a 
 chance traveller, surveyed with his glance the 
 young pair who were sitting on the bench, 
 coughed loudly — and went his way. 
 
 125
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " Your mother," — began Sanin, as soon as the 
 clumping of the heavy feet had died away, — 
 " told me that your refusal would produce a 
 scandal" (Gemma frowned slightly); 'that I, 
 myself, had, in part, given rise to unfavourable 
 comments, and that, consequently .... conse- 
 quently . . . upon me — in a certain degree — de- 
 volved the obligation of telling you not to dismiss 
 your betrothed, Herr Kliiber. ..." 
 
 "Monsieur Dimitri," said Gemma, passing 
 her hand over her hair, on the side turned to 
 Sanin:— " please do not call Herr Kliiber my 
 betrothed. I shall never be his bride. I have dis- 
 missed him." 
 
 " You have dismissed him? When? " 
 
 " Yesterday." 
 
 "In person?" 
 
 " Yes. At our house. He came to us." 
 
 " Gemma! That means that you love me? " 
 
 She turned toward him. 
 
 " Had it been otherwise .... would I have 
 come hither? " she whispered— and both her 
 hands fell upon the bench. 
 
 Sanin seized those hands, which lay helplessly, 
 with the palms upturned, in his own, — pressed 
 them to his eyes, to his lips. . . . Then the veil 
 which had appeared before him in his vision of 
 the day before was lifted! Here it was, happi- 
 ness, here was its radiant face! 
 
 He raised his head— and looked at Gemma — 
 
 126
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 straightly and boldly. She also looked at him— 
 somewhat downward, from above. The gaze of 
 her half -opened eyes glimmered dimly, bathed in 
 light, blissful tears. But her face was not smiling 
 .... no ! it laughed, also with a blissful though 
 noiseless laugh. 
 
 He tried to draw her to his breast, but she re- 
 sisted, and without ceasing to laugh with the same 
 noiseless laugh, she shook her head in negation. 
 1 Wait," her happy eyes seemed to say. 
 
 "Oh, Gemma!"— cried Sanin: "could I have 
 dreamed that thou—" (his heart trembled within 
 him, when his lips uttered, for the first time, this 
 " thou ") — " that thou wouldst love me? " 
 
 ' I did not expect it myself,"— said Gemma 
 softly. 
 
 ' Could I imagine,"— pursued Sanin,—" could 
 I imagine, when approaching Frankfurt, where 
 I intended to remain only a few hours, that I 
 would find here the happiness of my whole life? " 
 
 "Of your whole life? Really?" — asked 
 Gemma. 
 
 'Of my whole life, forever and forever!"— 
 exclaimed Sanin with fresh impetuosity. 
 
 The gardener's shovel suddenly began to 
 scrape a couple of paces from the bench on which 
 they were sitting. 
 
 "Let us go home"— whispered Gemma.— 
 " Let us go together — wilt thou?" 
 
 If she had said to him, at that moment: 
 
 127
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 "Fling thyself into the sea— wilt thou?"— he 
 would have flown headlong into the gulf, before 
 she had uttered the last word. 
 
 Together they left the park, and wended their 
 way homeward, not through the city streets, but 
 by way of the suburbs. 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 Sanin walked on, now by Gemma's side, now a 
 little behind her, never taking his eyes from her, 
 and never ceasing to smile. And she seemed to 
 be hurrying onward .... yet appeared also to 
 be pausing. To tell the truth, both of them — he 
 all pale, she all rosy with emotion,— moved for- 
 ward like persons befogged. That which they 
 had done together a few moments before — that 
 surrender of each soul to the other,— was so 
 mighty and so new and dread a thing ; everything 
 in their lives had so suddenly come to a standstill, 
 had undergone a change, that they could not re- 
 cover themselves, and were merely conscious of 
 the whirlwind which had caught them up in its 
 grasp, like that nocturnal whirlwind which had 
 almost hurled them into each other's embrace. 
 Sanin walked along — and felt that he was even 
 regarding Gemma in a different light: every mo- 
 ment he descried several peculiarities in her walk, 
 in her movements,— and, great heavens! how 
 inimitably dear and charming they were to him! 
 
 1?H
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 And she was conscious that he was gazing at her 
 thus. 
 
 Sanin and she loved for the first time, all the 
 marvels of first love were accomplished in them. 
 First love is— a revolution: the monotonously- 
 regular course of life which has established itself 
 is broken and shattered in one instant, and youth 
 stands at the barricade, its flaunting standard 
 waves high in air, — and whatever may be in store 
 for it ahead — death or new life — it wafts to all 
 its rapturous greeting. 
 
 ' What is this? Can it be our old man? "—said 
 Sanin, pointing at a muffled figure, which was 
 making its way hurriedly along on one side, as 
 though endeavouring to remain unperceived. In 
 the midst of his superabundance of bliss, he felt 
 impelled to talk to Gemma— not about love— that 
 was a settled, a sacred thing, — but about some- 
 thing or other different. 
 
 ' Yes, that is Pantaleone," — replied Gemma 
 merrily and happily. " He certainly must have 
 followed on my heels out of the house; all day 
 yesterday, he watched every step I took. . . . He 
 guesses the truth ! " 
 
 1 He guesses the truth! "—repeated Sanin rap- 
 turously. — What could Gemma say over which 
 he would not go into raptures! 
 
 Then he begged her to narrate to him, in detail, 
 everything which had taken place on the preced- 
 ing day. 
 
 129
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 And she immediately began to relate, hurry- 
 ing, entangling herself, smiling, heaving little 
 sighs, and exchanging brief, brilliant glances 
 with Sanin. She told him how, after the con- 
 versation of two days previously, her mamma had 
 persistently endeavoured to get out of her, 
 Gemma, something definite : how she had rid her- 
 self of Frau Lenore, by promising to inform her 
 of her decision within twenty-four hours ; how she 
 had secured that much time — and how diffi- 
 cult it had been: how Herr Kluber had made 
 his appearance quite unexpectedly, more con- 
 ceited and starched than ever: how he had ex- 
 pressed his displeasure at the boyishly-unpar- 
 donable, and for him, Kluber, deeply-insulting 
 (that was his precise expression) sally of the 
 Russian stranger — "he meant thy duel"" — and 
 how he had demanded that thou shouldst im- 
 mediately be forbidden the house. " Because," — 
 he added— and here Gemma lightly imitated his 
 voice and manner, — "it casts a shadow on my 
 honour : as though I could not have protected my 
 betrothed, had I regarded that as either indis- 
 pensable or useful! All Frankfurt will learn 
 to-morrow that a stranger has fought with an 
 officer on account of my betrothed— who ever 
 heard of such a thing? It sullies my honour!" 
 'Mamma agreed with him — just imagine! — but 
 at this point I suddenly informed him that there 
 was no need for his worrying about his honour and 
 
 130
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 his person, there was no need for him to feel in- 
 sulted by gossip about his betrothed, because I 
 was no longer his betrothed, and would never be 
 his wife! I must confess that I would have 
 liked first to have a talk with you .... with 
 thee, before definitively dismissing him; but he 
 came . . . and I could not restrain myself. 
 Mamma even shrieked with fright, and I went 
 into the other room and brought him his ring — 
 thou didst not notice, I had already taken off that 
 ring two days ago — and gave it to him. He was 
 frightfully offended ; but as he is frightfully ego- 
 tistical and conceited, he did not say much and 
 took himself off. Of course, I had to endure a 
 great deal from mamma, and it pained me greatly 
 to see how grieved she was — and I thought that 
 I had been in a little too much of a hurry, but, 
 you see, I had thy note— and even without that, 
 I already knew . . . . 
 
 "That I loved thee,"— put in Sanin. 
 
 " Yes .... that thou lovedst me," 
 
 Thus spoke Gemma, faltering and smiling, 
 and lowering her head, or relapsing altogether 
 into silence, every time that any one came toward 
 her, or passed her. And Sanin listened ecstati- 
 cally, enjoying the very sound of her voice, as, on 
 the day before, he had admired her handwriting. 
 
 " Mamma is extremely grieved," — began 
 Gemma again — and her words followed one an- 
 other very, very swiftly: — "she absolutely re- 
 lax
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 fuses to take into consideration the fact that 
 Herr Kliiber might be repulsive to me, that I was 
 not marrying him for love — but in consequence 
 of her earnest entreaties. . . . She suspects you 
 .... thee ; that is to say, to speak in plain terms, 
 she is convinced that I have fallen in love with 
 thee, — and this is all the more painful to her, that 
 such a thing had never even entered her head day 
 before yesterday, and she even commissioned thee 
 to reason with me. . . . And a strange commis- 
 sion it was — wasn't it? Now she calls thee . . . . 
 you, a sly dog, a crafty man, says that you have 
 betrayed her trust, and predicts that you will de- 
 ceive me also . . . . " 
 
 "But, Gemma,"— exclaimed Sanin,— "didst 
 not thou tell her. . . ." 
 
 " I have told her nothing! What right had I, 
 without having talked with you?" 
 
 Sanin clasped his hands. — "Gemma, I hope 
 that now, at least, thou wilt confess all to her, 
 thou wilt take me to her. ... I want to prove to 
 thy mother that I am not a deceiver! " 
 
 Sanin's breast fairly heaved with a flood of 
 magnanimous and fervent emotions. 
 
 Gemma stared at him with all her eyes.—" Do 
 you really want to go to mamma now, with me? 
 to mamma, who asserts that . . . that every- 
 thing is impossible between us,— and nothing will 
 ever come of it?" — There was one word which 
 Gemma could not make up her mind to utter. . . 
 
 132
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 It burned her lips; but Sanin uttered it all the 
 more willingly. 
 
 ' I know no higher felicity, Gemma, than to 
 marry thee, to be thy husband!" 
 
 He no longer recognised any bounds to his 
 love, to his magnanimity, nor to his firmness. 
 
 On hearing these words, Gemma, who had 
 halted for a moment, proceeded onward more 
 rapidly than ever. . . . She seemed to wish to 
 flee from that too-great and unexpected happi- 
 ness ! 
 
 But all at once her limbs gave way beneath 
 her. From round the corner of a lane, a few 
 paces distant from her, in a new hat and new 
 short-coat, straight as an arrow, curled like a 
 poodle, Herr Kliiber made his appearance. He 
 caught sight of Gemma, caught sight of Sanin — 
 gave a sort of internal snort, and throwing back 
 his supple figure, he advanced foppishly to meet 
 them. Sanin writhed, but on glancing at Klu- 
 ber's face, to which its owner was endeavouring, 
 to the best of his ability, to impart an expression 
 of scornful surprise, and even compassion,— on 
 glancing at that ruddy, commonplace face, he 
 suddenly felt a flood of wrath — and strode for- 
 ward. 
 
 Gemma grasped his arm, and with calm deci- 
 sion giving him hers, gazed straight into the face 
 of her former betrothed. . . . The latter screwed 
 up his eyes, shrank together, turned to one side, 
 
 133
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 ^and, muttering between his teeth: "The usual 
 ending of the song!"— ("Das alte Ende vom 
 Liede!") — retreated, with the same dandified, 
 slightly springy gait as usual. 
 
 ' What was that he said, the rascal! "—inquired 
 Sanin, and tried to rush after Kluber; but 
 Gemma held him back, and walked on with him, 
 still without withdrawing her arm, which was 
 thrust through his. 
 
 The Roselli confectionery shop appeared 
 ahead. Once more Gemma halted. 
 
 "Dimitri, Monsieur Dimitri," — said she: "we 
 have not yet entered yonder house, we have not 
 yet seen mamma. ... If you still wish to re- 
 flect, if . . . you are still free, Dimitri!" 
 
 In reply, Sanin pressed her arm very, very 
 firmly to his breast— and led her forward. 
 
 "Mamma," — said Gemma, entering with Sa- 
 nin the room where sat Frau Lenore, — " I have 
 brought the real one ! " 
 
 
 XXIX 
 
 Had Gemma announced that she had brought 
 the cholera, or even death itself with her, Frau 
 Lenore could not, we are free to assume, have re- 
 ceived the news with any greater despair. She 
 immediately seated herself in a corner, with her 
 face to the wall,— and burst into tears, almost 
 wailed, precisely as a Russian peasant-woman 
 
 134
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 does over the coffin of her husband or her son. At 
 first, Gemma was so disconcerted that she did not 
 even approach her mother— and stood like a 
 statue, in the middle of the room ; and Sanin was 
 thrown into utter confusion, — almost to the point 
 of launching into tears himself! This inconsol- 
 able weeping lasted for a whole hour: a whole 
 hour! Pantaleone deemed it best to lock the 
 outer door of the shop, in order that no stranger 
 might enter— although the hour was early. The 
 old man was puzzled — and, at any rate, did not 
 approve of the haste with which Gemma and 
 Sanin had acted ; however, he could not make up 
 his mind to condemn them, and was ready to ac- 
 cord them his protection — in case of need; he had 
 greatly disliked Herr Kliiber! Emile regarded 
 himself as the intermediary between his friend 
 and his sister — and was almost proud that every- 
 thing had turned out so splendidly ! He was not 
 in the least able to understand why Frau Lenore 
 was grieving so violently, and in his heart he de- 
 cided on the spot that women, even the best of 
 them, suffer from a deficiency of intellectual ca- 
 pacity! Sanin fared worse than all the rest. 
 Frau Lenore raised a howl, and flourished her 
 arms violently, as soon as he came near her — and 
 in vain did he strive, as he stood at a distance, to 
 exclaim loudly, several times: "I ask your 
 daughter's hand ! " Frau Lenore was especially 
 vexed at herself, because: "how could she have 
 
 135
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 been so blind — and seen nothing!" — "If my 
 Giovan' Battista had been alive," — she kept re- 
 peating through her tears, — " nothing of this sort 
 would have happened!" — "O Lord, what is 
 this?" — thought Sanin — "why, this is stupid, I 
 must say! " He did not dare to look at Gemma, 
 neither could she bring herself to raise her eyes 
 to his. She contented herself with patiently tend- 
 ing her mother, who at first repulsed her. . . . 
 
 At last, little by little, the storm subsided. 
 Frau Lenore ceased to weep, permitted Gemma 
 to lead her out of the corner, in which she had en- 
 sconced herself, seat her in an arm-chair near the 
 window, and give her some water with orange- 
 flower essence to drink; she permitted Sanin — 
 not to approach . . . oh, no! — but, at least, to 
 remain in the room — (she had previously de- 
 manded incessantly that he should withdraw) — 
 and did not interrupt him while he was talking. 
 Sanin immediately availed himself of the calm 
 which had set in, — and displayed amazing elo- 
 quence: he would hardly have been able to set 
 forth his intentions and his sentiments to Gemma 
 herself with as much ardour and persuasive- 
 ness. Those sentiments were of the most sin- 
 cere description, those intentions were of the pur- 
 est, as in the case of Almaviva in " The Barber 
 of Seville." — He did not conceal, either from 
 Frau Lenore or from himself, the disadvanta- 
 geous aspects of those intentions; but the disad- 
 
 136
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 vantages were only apparent! It is true that he 
 was a foreigner, that they had made his acquaint- 
 ance only a short time before, that they knew no- 
 thing definite about his personality, or about his 
 means ; but he was ready to present all the neces- 
 sary credentials to prove that he was a man of 
 good standing, and not a poor one; he would 
 send for the most indubitable testimonials of his 
 fellow-countrymen!— He hoped that Gemma 
 would be happy with him, and that he would be 
 able to sweeten her separation from her relatives ! 
 . . . At the mention of separation — that one 
 word " separation " came near spoiling the 
 whole business. . . . Frau Lenore trembled all 
 over, and began to throw herself about. . . . Sa- 
 nin hastened to remark that the separation would 
 be only temporary — and that, after all, possibly — 
 there would be none at all ! 
 
 Sanin's eloquence was not wasted. Frau Le- 
 nore began to glance at him, although still with 
 bitterness and reproach, yet no longer with her 
 former repulsion and wrath; then she permitted 
 him to approach, and even to sit down beside her 
 (Gemma was sitting on her other side) ; then she 
 began to upbraid him — not with looks alone, but 
 with words, which denoted a certain softening of 
 her heart: she began to complain, and her com- 
 plaints grew ever more quiet and gentle; they 
 alternated with questions, addressed sometimes 
 to her daughter, sometimes to Sanin; then she 
 
 137
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 allowed him to take her hand, and did not imme- 
 diately withdraw it . . . then she fell to weeping 
 again — but with tears of an entirely different 
 sort. . . . Then she smiled sadly, and mourned 
 the absence of Giovan' Battista, but in another 
 sense than previously. . . . Another moment 
 elapsed — and the two culprits — Sanin and 
 Gemma — were already kneeling at her feet, and 
 she was laying her hands on their heads by turns ; 
 yet another moment elapsed — and they were em- 
 bracing and kissing her, and Emile, his face 
 beaming with rapture, ran into the room, and also 
 flung himself upon the closely-united group. 
 
 Pantaleone looked into the room, grinned and 
 frowned simultaneously, — and, wending his way 
 to the shop, opened the outer door. 
 
 XXX 
 
 The transition from despair to sadness, and 
 from that to " quiet resignation," was accom- 
 plished with considerable rapidity in Frau Le- 
 nore;— but that quiet resignation, in its turn, 
 was promptly converted into secret satisfaction, 
 which, nevertheless, was in every way concealed 
 and repressed, for the sake of propriety. Frau 
 Lenore had liked Sanin from the very first day 
 of their acquaintance ; having accustomed herself 
 to the idea of his being her son-in-law, she found 
 nothing especially disagreeable in it, although 
 
 138
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 she considered it her duty to preserve on her coun- 
 tenance a somewhat offended .... or, rather, 
 worried expression. Moreover, everything which 
 had happened during the last few days had been 
 so remarkable. . . . One thing after another! 
 As a practical woman, and a mother, Frau Le- 
 nore thought it her duty to subject Sanin to a 
 varied interrogatory: and Sanin, who, on setting 
 out in the morning for his tryst with Gemma, had 
 not had the remotest idea of marrying her,— in 
 truth, he had thought of nothing at the time, and 
 had merely surrendered himself to the prompt- 
 ings of his passion — Sanin, with entire readiness, 
 and even, one might say, with zeal, entered into 
 his role of a betrothed bridegroom, and to all the 
 questions replied circumstantially, in detail, will- 
 ingly. Having convinced herself that he was a 
 genuine, born noble, and even rather surprised 
 that he was not a prince, Frau Lenore assumed 
 a serious mien and " warned him beforehand 
 that she meant to be quite unceremoniously 
 frank with him, because she was compelled 
 thereto by her sacred obligations as a mother! " — 
 to which Sanin replied that he had expected no- 
 thing else from her, and himself earnestly im- 
 plored her not to spare him! 
 
 Then Frau Lenore remarked that Herr Klii- 
 ber (as she uttered that name, she sighed a little, 
 compressed her lips, and stammered) — Herr 
 Kliiber, Gemma's former betrothed, already was 
 
 139
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 in receipt of an income of eight thousand gul- 
 dens—and that, with every year, that sum would 
 increase — and what was his, Sanin's income? 
 
 "Eight thousand guldens," — repeated Sanin, 
 in a drawl. ..." That makes, in our money, 
 about fifteen thousand rubles. . . . My income 
 is much less. I have a small estate in the govern- 
 ment of Tula. ... If the farming is well man- 
 aged, it may yield — and even ought, without fail, 
 to yield, five or six thousand. . . . Yes, and if I 
 enter the service — I may easily receive a salary 
 of two thousand rubles." 
 
 " The service, in Russia? " exclaimed Frau Le- 
 nore. " That means that I shall have to part 
 with Gemma ! " 
 
 " I may get myself assigned to the diplomatic 
 corps!" — interposed Sanin; "I have several in- 
 fluential connections. . . . Then the service is 
 discharged abroad. If not, here is another thing 
 which can be done — and this is far the best of all: 
 sell my estate, and use the resulting capital in 
 some profitable undertaking — for instance, for the 
 development of your confectionery business." — 
 Sanin was, to tell the truth, conscious that he was 
 saying something rather absurd, but an incom- 
 prehensible audacity held possession of him ! He 
 would glance at Gemma, who, from the moment 
 the 'practical" discussion began, had kept ris- 
 ing, walking about the room, seating herself 
 again,— he would glance at her— and then no ob- 
 
 140
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 stack existed for him, and he was ready to ar- 
 range everything, instantly, in the best manner 
 possible— if only she were not disquieted! 
 
 ' Herr Kliiber also wished to give me a small 
 sum for repairing the shop," said Frau Lenore, 
 after a brief hesitation. 
 
 ''Mother! for God's sake, mother!"— cried 
 Gemma, in Italian. 
 
 ' We must discuss these matters betimes, my 
 daughter,"— Frau Lenore answered her, in the 
 same language. 
 
 Again she turned to Sanin, and began to ques- 
 tion him as to what laws exist in Russia concern- 
 ing marriage, and whether there were any obsta- 
 cles to the union with Roman Catholics— as 
 there were in Prussia?— (At that time— in the 
 '40's,— all Germany still recalled the quarrel be- 
 tween the Prussian government and the Arch- 
 bishop of Cologne, on the point of mixed mar- 
 riages.)— But when Frau Lenore learned that, 
 by marrying a noble, her daughter herself would 
 become a gentlewoman— she manifested some 
 satisfaction. — " But, of course, you must first go 
 to Russia?" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 'But why not? To receive permission from 
 your emperor?" 
 
 Sanin explained to her that that was not in 
 the least necessary .... but that, perhaps, he 
 really would have to go to Russia for a short time 
 
 141
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 before the wedding— (as he uttered these words, 
 his heart contracted within him,— Gemma, who 
 was looking at him, understood that it contracted 
 — and flushed crimson, and became thoughtful) 
 — and that he would try to take advantage of his 
 stay in his native land to sell his estate .... in 
 any case, he would bring thence the necessary 
 money. 
 
 [J I should also like to ask you to bring me 
 some good Astrakhan lambskins, for a cloak," 
 — said Frau Lenore. " I hear that they are 
 wonderfully fine there, and wonderfully 
 cheap!" 
 
 " I certainly will bring you some — with the 
 greatest pleasure! — and Gemma also!" — ex- 
 claimed Sanin. 
 
 " And me a morocco cap, embroidered in sil- 
 ver," — interposed Emile, thrusting in his head 
 from the adjoining room. 
 
 "Very well,— I will . . . and some slippers 
 for Pantaleone." 
 
 "Come, why so? why?" — remarked Frau Le- 
 nore. " We are talking about serious things now. 
 But here is another point," — added the practical 
 lady. " You say you will sell your estate. But 
 how will you do that? Does that mean that you 
 will sell the peasants also? " 
 
 Sanin felt as though he had been stabbed in the 
 ribs. He remembered that, in talking with Sig- 
 nora Roselli and her daughter about the serf- 
 
 142
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 law, which, according to his assertions, roused in 
 him profound indignation, he had repeatedly as- 
 sured them that he would never sell his serfs on 
 any terms whatever, because he regarded such 
 sale as an immoral act. 
 
 " I shall endeavour to sell my estate to a man 
 whom I shall know under a favourable aspect," — 
 he articulated, not without hesitation— "or, 
 perhaps, the peasants themselves will like to 
 buy it." 
 
 'That is the best of all,"— assented Frau Le- 
 nore. 'If not, to sell live people . . . ." "Bar* 
 bariV growled Pantaleone, who, following 
 Emile's example, had made his appearance in the 
 doorway, shook his top-knot, and vanished. 
 
 "It's a bad business!"— thought Sanin to 
 himself — and shot a stealthy glance at Gemma. 
 She did not appear to have heard his last words. 
 1 Well, never mind! " he thought again. 
 
 In this wise did the practical conversation con* 
 tinue almost until dinner-time. Frau Lenore 
 grew entirely tame toward the last— and had al- 
 ready begun to call Sanin "Dmitry," shook her 
 finger affectionately at him, and promised to 
 avenge herself for his craftiness. She asked a 
 great many and minute questions about his native 
 land, because " that, also, is very important,"— 
 demanded, also, that he should describe to her the 
 marriage ceremony, as the rite was celebrated in 
 the Russian Church, and went into raptures in 
 
 143
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 advance over Gemma in a white gown, with a 
 golden crown on her head. 1 
 
 "For my child is as beautiful as a queen," — 
 she said, with maternal pride; ' and there are no 
 such kings in the world ! " 
 
 "There is no other Gemma in the world!" — 
 chimed in Sanin. 
 
 " Yes; that is why she is— Gemma! " (Every 
 one knows that, in the Italian language, Gemma 
 signifies "a precious stone — a jewel.") 
 
 Gemma flew to kiss her mother. ... It seemed 
 as though only now had she begun to breathe 
 freely— and the burden which oppressed her had 
 fallen from her soul. 
 
 And Sanin, all of a sudden, felt so happy, such 
 a childlike merriment filled his soul, because, lo, it 
 had come to pass, those dreams to which he had 
 surrendered himself, in those same rooms, had 
 come to pass; his whole being leaped for joy to 
 such a degree that he immediately betook himself 
 to the shop ; he was irrevocably bent upon serving 
 behind the counter, at whatever cost, as he had 
 done several days previously. . . . As much as 
 to say: " I have a full right to do it now! for I 'm 
 a domestic man now! " 
 
 And he really did stand behind the counter, 
 and really did trade, that is to say, he sold to two 
 little girls who entered a pound of candy, instead 
 
 i Golden (gilded) crowns are held over the heads of the bride 
 and groom during the marriage ceremony proper, which is called 
 " crowning." — Translator. 
 
 144
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 of which he dealt them out at least two pounds, 
 and took only half price from them. At dinner, 
 as a betrothed bridegroom, he officially occupied 
 a seat next to Gemma. Frau Lenore pursued 
 her practical calculations. Emile did nothing 
 but laugh, and tease Sanin to take him to Russia 
 with him. It was decided that Sanin should 
 set off at the end of a fortnight. Pantaleone 
 alone presented a rather surly aspect, so that 
 even Frau Lenore upbraided him. — "And yet 
 thou wert his second!"— Pantaleone looked 
 askance. 
 
 Gemma maintained silence nearly all the time, 
 but never had her face been brighter or more 
 beautiful. After dinner, she called Sanin apart 
 into the garden for a moment, and halting beside 
 the bench on which she had been sorting cherries 
 two days before, she said to him:— "Do not be 
 angry with me, Dimitri; but I wish to remind 
 thee, once more, that thou must not consider 
 thyself bound. . . . 
 
 He did not allow her to finish her sentence. . . . 
 
 Gemma turned aside her face.— "And as for 
 what mamma alluded to— thou rememberest?— 
 the difference of our religious creeds, so much for 
 that!" .... 
 
 She seized a small garnet cross, which hung on 
 her neck upon a slender cord, gave a violent 
 wrench, and broke the cord— and gave him the 
 cross. 
 
 145
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " If I am thine, then thy faith is my faith 
 also!" 
 
 Sanin's eyes were still wet when he and Gemma 
 returned to the house. 
 
 By the evening, everything had got into its 
 wonted routine. They even played tresette. 
 
 XXXI 
 
 Sanin woke very early on the following day. 
 He found himself on the very apex of human 
 felicity ; but that had not prevented his sleeping ; 
 the question, the vital, fatal question: how he 
 should sell his estate as speedily as possible, and 
 on the most profitable terms — disturbed his rest. 
 Different plans crossed in his head, but as yet 
 nothing had made itself clear. He left the house 
 to get some air, to freshen himself. He wished 
 to present himself to Gemma with a project al- 
 ready prepared— not otherwise. 
 
 What figure was that, decidedly heavy and 
 thick-legged, but neatly clad, walking in front of 
 him, swaying slightly from side to side and limp- 
 ing? Where had he seen that nape, overgrown 
 with tumbled masses of fair hair, that head, which 
 seemed to be set directly on the shoulders, that 
 soft, fat back, those plump, dangling arms? 
 Could it be— Polozoff, his old boarding-school 
 comrade, whom he had lost sight of for the last 
 five years? Sanin overtook the figure which was 
 
 146
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 walking in front of him, and turned round* . . . 
 A broad, sallow face, tiny, pig-like blue eyes with 
 white lashes and brows, a round, beardless chin — 
 and that expression of the whole face, indolent 
 and distrustful— yes, in point of fact, it was he, 
 Ippolit Polozoff. 
 
 " Is my star acting again?" — flashed through 
 Sanin's thoughts. 
 
 "Polozoff! Ippolit Sidorovitch! Is it thou?" 
 
 The figure halted, lifted its tiny eyes, waited a 
 little, and unsealing its lips at last, said in a hoarse 
 falsetto : 
 
 "Dmitry Sanin?" 
 
 'The very same!"— cried Sanin, and shook 
 one of Polozoff's hands; clad in tight glace 
 gloves, of an ash-grey hue, they hung, as before, 
 lifeless down his fat hips. — " Hast thou been here 
 long? Whence earnest thou? Where art thou 
 staying?" 
 
 " I came yesterday, from Wiesbaden," — re- 
 plied Polozoff without haste, — "to make pur- 
 chases for my wife — and am returning to Wies- 
 baden to-day." 
 
 "Akh, yes! thou art married— and, so I hear, 
 to such a beauty!" 
 
 Polozoff turned his eyes away.—" Yes, so they 
 say." 
 
 Sanin burst out laughing. — "I see that thou 
 art still the same .... phlegmatic fellow as thou 
 wert at school." 
 
 147
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " Why should I change? " 
 
 "And they say,"— added Sanin, with special 
 emphasis on the word "say,"— "that thy wife is 
 very wealthy." 
 
 " They do say that also." 
 
 " And can it be that thou dost not know that 
 thyself, Ippolit Sidoritch?" 
 
 "I, brother Dmitry .... Pavlovitch?— yes, 
 Pavlovitch! don't meddle with my wife's af- 
 fairs." 
 
 "Thou dost not meddle? Not with any af- 
 fairs?" 
 
 Again Polozoff turned away his eyes.— "Not 
 with any, my dear fellow. She— goes her way 
 .... well, and I go mine." 
 
 "Whither art thou bound now? "—inquired 
 Sanin. 
 
 "Nowhere, just at present; I'm standing in 
 the street — and talking with thee; but when we 
 get through, I shall go to a hotel— and break- 
 fast." 
 
 " With me as company— wilt thou? " 
 
 " That is— thou art referring to breakfast? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Pray do, it will be much jollier to eat to- 
 gether. Thou art not a chatterer, I believe? ' 
 
 " I don't think so." 
 
 " Well, all right then." 
 
 Polozoff moved on. Sanin walked beside him. 
 And it occurred to Sanin— Polozoff's lips were 
 
 148
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 sealed once more, he puffed and waddled on in 
 silence — it occurred to Sanin: how had that booby 
 managed to hook a rich and beautiful wife? He 
 himself was neither wealthy, nor distinguished, 
 nor clever: in school he had borne the reputation 
 of an indolent and stupid boy, and for his sleepi- 
 ness and gluttony had borne the nickname of 
 " the slobberer." Amazing! 
 
 ' But if his wife is very rich — they say she is 
 the daughter of some contractor — would n't 
 she buy my estate? Although he says that he 
 does not meddle with any of his wife's affairs, 
 it is impossible to believe that! Moreover, 
 I will name a moderate, advantageous price! 
 Why not make the effort? Perhaps this is 
 still my star in the ascendant. . . . Done! 
 I '11 try!" 
 
 Polozoff conducted Sanin to one of the best 
 hotels in Frankfurt, in which, of course, he al- 
 ready occupied the best room. The tables and 
 chairs were loaded down with bandboxes, boxes, 
 bundles. . . . :< All purchases for Marya Niko- 
 laevna, my dear fellow!" (Ippolit Sidorovitch's 
 wife was named Marya Nikolaevna.) Polozoff 
 sank into an easy-chair, groaned : " Ekh, how hot 
 it is!" and untied his neckcloth. Then he rang 
 for the head-waiter, and carefully ordered an 
 extremely abundant breakfast. " And let the 
 carriage be ready in an hour! Do you hear, in 
 precisely an hour!" 
 
 149
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 The head-waiter bowed obsequiously — and 
 withdrew in slavish fashion. 
 
 Polozoff unbuttoned his waistcoat. From the 
 way in which he elevated his eyebrows, panted 
 and wrinkled his nose, it could be seen that talk- 
 ing would be a great burden to him, and that he 
 was waiting, with some trepidation, to see 
 whether Sanin would force him to wag his 
 tongue, or would take upon himself the trouble 
 of carrying on the conversation. 
 
 Sanin understood his friend's frame of mind, 
 and consequently did not burden him with ques- 
 tions; he confined himself to the most indispen- 
 sable; he learned that he had been in the service 
 for two years already— ("in the Uhlans! just so; 
 he must look well, I should think, in that bob- 
 tailed uniform!") —had married three years pre- 
 viously, — and this was the second year he had 
 been abroad with his wife, " who was now taking 
 a cure for something or other in Wiesbaden " — 
 and then would set out for Paris. Sanin, on his 
 side, enlarged as little on his past life as on his 
 plans; he went straight to the principal point — 
 that is, he began to talk about his intention to 
 sell his estate. 
 
 Polozoff listened to him in silence, only cast- 
 ing a glance, from time to time, at the door, 
 whence breakfast must make its appearance. At 
 last the breakfast did make its appearance. 
 
 150
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 The head-waiter, accompanied by two other 
 servants, brought in several dishes under silver 
 covers. 
 
 " Is the estate in the Tula government? "—said 
 Polozoff, as he seated himself at the table, and 
 tucked a napkin into the collar of his shirt. 
 
 tf Yes." 
 
 " In the Efrem district. ... I know." 
 
 "Dost thou know my Alexyeevko?" asked 
 Sanin, as he also seated himself at the table. 
 
 "Yes, of course I do."— Polozoff stuffed a 
 morsel of omelet with truffles into his mouth.— 
 " Marya Nikolaevna— my wife— has an estate in 
 the neighbourhood .... uncork that bottle, 
 waiter! The soil is fairly good— only, the peas- 
 ants have felled thy forest. And why art thou 
 selling it? " 
 
 " I need the money, my dear fellow. I would 
 sell it cheap. Thou hadst better buy it ... by 
 the way." 
 
 Polozoff gulped down a glass of wine, wiped 
 his mouth with his napkin and again set to chew- 
 ing—slowly and noisily. 
 
 " H'm— yes,"— he said at last. " I 'm not buy- 
 ing estates: I have no capital. Pass the butter. 
 Perhaps my wife will buy it. Do thou talk it 
 over with her. If thou dost not ask a great price 
 — she does not disdain that sort of thing. . . . 
 But what asses these Germans are! They don't 
 
 151
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 know how to boil fish. What could be simpler, 
 apparently ? And yet they say : ' The Vaterland 
 must be united ! ' Waiter, take away this abomi- 
 nation!" 
 
 ' Does thy wife really manage the property 
 herself?" inquired Sanin. 
 
 ' Yes. Here, these cutlets are good. I recom- 
 mend them. I have already told thee, Dmitry 
 Pavlovitch, that I don't meddle with any of my 
 wife's affairs— and now I tell it to thee again." 
 
 PolozofF continued to munch. 
 
 " H'm. . . . But how can I talk it over with 
 her, Ippolit Sidoritch?" 
 
 ' Why, very simply, Dmitry Pavlovitch. Go 
 to Wiesbaden. It 's not far from here. Waiter, 
 haven't you any English mustard? No? Beasts! 
 Only, don't lose time. We are leaving the day 
 after to-morrow. Permit me, I will fill your 
 glass: the wine has a bouquet — 't is not sour 
 stuff." 
 
 PolozofF 's face had grown animated and crim- 
 son; it only grew animated when he ate ... or 
 drank. 
 
 " Really, I don't know how I can do that,"— 
 muttered Sanin. 
 
 " But why are you in such a hurry, all of a 
 sudden?" 
 
 " That 's it exactly, my dear fellow, I'm in a 
 hurry." 
 
 " And is a large sum needed? " 
 
 152
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 <( 
 
 Yes. I . . . how shall I tell thee! I am 
 planning .... to get married." 
 
 Polozoff set on the table his wine-glass, which 
 he was in the act of raising to his lips. 
 
 " To get married? "—he said, in a hoarse voice 
 — hoarse with surprise, — laying his fat hands on 
 his belly. — " In such haste? " 
 
 " Yes . . . very soon." 
 
 " The bride is in Russia, of course? ?! 
 
 " No, she is not in Russia." 
 
 "Where then?" 
 
 " Here, in Frankfurt." 
 
 "And who is she?" 
 
 " A German ; that is to say, no— an Italian. A 
 resident of this town." 
 
 "With money?" 
 
 " Without money." 
 
 " So love is very strong? " 
 
 "How absurd thou art! Yes, it is strong." 
 
 " And thou needest money for that? ' : 
 
 " Well, yes .... yes, yes." 
 
 Polozoff swallowed his wine, rinsed out his 
 mouth, washed his hands, wiped them carefully 
 on his napkin, pulled out and lighted a cigar. 
 Sanin stared at him in silence. 
 
 "There is one means," — bellowed Polozoff at 
 last, throwing back his head, and emitting a slen- 
 der stream of smoke. — " Go to my wife. If she 
 takes a fancy, she will disperse all thy difficulty 
 offhand." 
 
 153
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 "But how am I to see her, thy wife? Thou 
 sayest that thou art leaving the day after to- 
 morrow?" 
 
 Polozoff closed his eyes. 
 
 " See here, I '11 tell thee something,"— he said 
 at last, twisting his cigar about in his lips, and 
 heaving a sigh. — "Go home, dress thyself with 
 all speed — and come hither. In an hour I set out ; 
 my carriage is roomy — I '11 take thee with me. 
 That 's the best way of all. But now I 'm going 
 to have a nap. I must always have a nap after 
 eating, my dear fellow. Nature demands it — 
 and I do not resist. And do not thou disturb 
 me." 
 
 Sanin pondered and pondered— and suddenly 
 raised his head ; he had come to a decision ! 
 
 " Well, very good, I accept— and I thank thee. 
 At half -past twelve I will be here— and we will 
 set out together for Wiesbaden. I hope thy wife 
 will not be angry. ..." 
 
 But Polozoff was already snoring. He stam- 
 mered: "Don't disturb me!"— waggled his legs, 
 and fell asleep like an infant. 
 
 Once more Sanin swept a glance over his 
 portly figure, his head, neck, his highly-elevated 
 chin as round as an apple— and, emerging from 
 the hotel ... he wended his way, with brisk 
 strides, to the Roselli confectionery shop. He 
 must forewarn Gemma. 
 
 154
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 XXXII 
 
 He found her in the shop, with her mother. 
 Frau Lenore was bending over, and with a small 
 folding foot-rule was measuring the space be- 
 tween the windows. On catching sight of Sanin, 
 she straightened up, and greeted him cheerily, yet 
 not without some confusion. 
 
 "Ever since your words of yesterday,"— she 
 began, — "ideas have been coursing round in my 
 head as to how we can improve our shop. Here, 
 now, I think we might place two small cases with 
 glass shelves; you know, that is the fashion now. 
 And then, too. ..." 
 
 1 Very good, very good . . . . " Sanin inter- 
 rupted her. — "We must think over all that. 
 . . . But come here, I have something to tell 
 you." He slipped his arms into Frau Lenore's 
 and Gemma's arms, and led them into the other 
 room. Frau Lenore was alarmed, and dropped 
 the foot-rule from her hand. Gemma was on 
 the point of being alarmed also, but took a closer 
 look at Sanin, and recovered her composure. His 
 face was anxious, it is true, but it expressed, 
 at the same time, animated courage and decision. 
 
 He begged the two women to sit down, and 
 stood in front of them— and gesticulating with 
 his hands, and ruffling up his hair, he told them 
 
 155
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 everything: his meeting with Polozoff, his pro- 
 jected trip to Wiesbaden, the possibility of sell- 
 ing his estate. — "Imagine my happiness," — he 
 exclaimed at last: "matters have taken such a 
 turn that possibly I may not even be obliged to 
 go to Russia! And we may celebrate the wed- 
 ding much sooner than I expected ! " 
 
 " When must you go? " — asked Gemma. 
 
 " This very day — an hour .hence; my friend has 
 hired a carriage — he will take me." 
 
 " You will write to us? " 
 
 " Immediately ! as soon as I have had a talk 
 with that lady— I will write instantly." 
 
 "That lady is very rich, you say?" — asked 
 practical Frau Lenore. 
 
 "Extremely! her father was a millionaire— 
 and left her everything." 
 
 " Everything— to her alone? Well— that 's 
 lucky for you! Only, look out, don't cheapen 
 your estate! Be sensible and firm. Don't get 
 carried away! I understand your wish to be- 
 come Gemma's husband as promptly as possible 
 .... but caution, before all else! Don't forget 
 that the more dearly you sell your estate, the more 
 will remain for you two — and for your children." 
 
 Gemma turned away, and Sanin began again 
 to flourish his hands. — " You may feel assured of 
 my caution, Frau Lenore! But I am not going 
 to bargain. I will tell her the real price: if she 
 will give it— good; if she will not— I don't care." 
 
 156
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 ; 'Are you acquainted with her — with that 
 lady?" asked Gemma. 
 
 " I have never set eyes on her." 
 
 "And when shall you return?" . 
 
 ■\ If our business comes to nothing — the day 
 after to-morrow; but if all goes well, I may be 
 obliged to stay an extra day or two. In any case, 
 I shall not linger a single moment. For am 
 not I leaving my soul behind me here ? However, 
 I have talked too long with you, and I must run 
 home before I start. . . . Give me your hand 
 for luck, Frau Lenore— we always do that in 
 Russia." 
 
 "The right or the left?" 
 
 i The left — it is nearer the heart. I will pre- 
 sent myself the day after to-morrow — with my 
 shield or on it! Something tells me I shall re- 
 turn a victor ! Good-bye, my kind, my dear . . . 
 ones. ..." 
 
 He embraced and kissed Frau Lenore, but 
 asked Gemma to come into her room with him 
 — for a moment — he must communicate to her 
 something very important. He simply wished to 
 take leave of her in private. Frau Lenore un- 
 derstood this — and did not seek to learn what 
 that very important thing was. . . . 
 
 Never before had Sanin been in Gemma's 
 chamber. All the enchantment of love, all its 
 fire, and rapture, and sweet dread — fairly flamed 
 up within him, and forced its way into his soul, 
 
 157
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 as soon as he crossed that sacred threshold. . . . 
 He cast a glance of emotion round about him, fell 
 at the feet of the dear girl, and pressed his face 
 to her form .... 
 
 "Thou art mine?"— she whispered— "thou 
 wilt return soon? " 
 
 " I am thine. ... I will return,"— he re- 
 peated, sighing. 
 
 " I will wait for thee, my dear one! " 
 
 A few moments later, Sanin was running 
 along the street to his quarters. He did not even 
 notice that Pantaleone had sprung out of the 
 door of the confectionery shop after him, all 
 dishevelled— and shouted something at him, and 
 shook his hand, raised high aloft, and, seemingly, 
 menaced him with it. 
 
 Precisely at a quarter to one, Sanin presented 
 himself to Polozoff. The carriage was already 
 standing at the gate of his hotel, with four horses 
 harnessed to it. And catching sight of Sanin, 
 Polozoff merely said: "Ah! he has made up his 
 mind? " and donning his hat, cloak and overshoes, 
 and stuffing cotton in his ears although it was 
 summer, he came out on the steps. The waiters, 
 at his command, arranged all his numerous pur- 
 chases inside the carriage, encircled the place 
 where he was to sit with silken cushions, little 
 bags, parcels, placed at his feet a box of pro- 
 visions and tied his trunk to the coachman's seat. 
 
 158 

 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Polozoff paid his reckoning with a lavish hand, 
 —and although he was hoisted from behind, but 
 respectfully, by the officious door-porter, he clam- 
 bered, grunting, into the carriage, took his seat, 
 stirred up everything around him thoroughly, se- 
 lected and lighted a cigar— and only then did he 
 beckon to Sanin with his finger, as much as to 
 say: "Get in also, thou!" Sanin seated himself 
 by his side. Polozoff, through the door-porter, 
 ordered the postilion to drive properly, if he 
 wished to get drink-money; the carriage steps 
 rattled, the door slammed, the carriage rolled off. 
 
 XXXIII 
 
 From Frankfurt to Wiesbaden nowadays, by 
 the railway, is less than an hour's journey; at 
 that time, the extra-post managed to reach it in 
 three hours. The horses were changed five times. 
 Polozoff partly dozed, partly swayed about, 
 holding his cigar in his teeth, and talked very 
 little; he never once looked out of the window: 
 he took no interest in picturesque views, and even 
 announced that— " nature was death to him!" 
 Sanin also maintained silence, and also failed to 
 admire the views : he was not in a mood for that. 
 He surrendered himself wholly to meditations, 
 memories. At the posting-stations, Polozoff 
 paid accurately, took note of the time by his 
 watch, and rewarded the postilions— with little 
 
 159
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 or much— according to their zeal. At the middle 
 of the journey, he took two oranges from the box 
 of eatables, and, having chosen the best, he of- 
 fered the other to Sanin. Sanin gazed intently 
 at his fellow-traveller, and suddenly burst out 
 laughing. 
 
 ' What art thou laughing at? " — asked the lat- 
 ter, carefully peeling the skin from the orange 
 with his short, white nails. 
 
 "What am I laughing at?" — repeated Sanin. 
 — " Why, at our journey." 
 
 " What of it? "—queried Polozoff, in his turn, 
 dropping into his mouth, one after another, the 
 oblong portions into which the meat of an orange 
 divides. 
 
 " It 's very queer. Yesterday, I must confess, 
 I was thinking as little of thee as of the Emperor 
 of China,— and to-day I am driving with thee, to 
 sell my property to thy wife, of whom I have not 
 the slightest conception." 
 
 •j All sorts of things happen," — replied Polo- 
 zoff. "If thou only livest long enough,— thou 
 wilt see every sort of thing. For instance, canst 
 thou imagine me riding as an orderly-officer? 
 But I have; and the Grand Duke Mikhail Pav- 
 lovitch gave the command : ' At a trot, that fat 
 cornet is to ride at a trot ! Hasten thy trot ! ' 
 
 Sanin scratched behind his ear. 
 
 " Tell me, please, Ippolit Sidoritch, what is 
 thy wife like? What sort of disposition has 
 
 160
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 she? For it is necessary that I should know, you 
 see. 
 
 ' It was all well enough for him to command: 
 'At a trot!' " — interposed Polozoff, with sudden 
 vehemence, — "but me, how about me? And I 
 thought : ' Take your ranks and epaulets to your- 
 self, I don't want them ! ' Yes . . . thou wert 
 asking about my wife? What 's my wife like? 
 — A human being, like everybody else. Don't 
 stir her up— she doesn't like that. The chief 
 thing is — talk as much as possible .... let 
 there be something to laugh at. Tell about your 
 love, for instance . . . and as amusingly as pos- 
 sible, you know." 
 
 " What dost thou mean by f as amusingly as 
 possible '?" 
 
 ' Why, just that. For thou hast told me that 
 thou art in love, that thou wishest to marry. 
 Well, then, describe it." 
 
 Sanin took offence. — "What dost thou find 
 ridiculous in that? " 
 
 Polozoff merely rolled his eyes about. The 
 juice from the orange was trickling down his 
 chin. 
 
 ' Was it thy wife who sent thee to Frankfurt 
 to make purchases?" — asked Sanin a little while 
 later. 
 
 " She herself." 
 
 "What were those purchases?'' 
 
 " Toys, of course." 
 
 161
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 "Toys? hast thou children?" 
 
 Polozoff even drew away from Sanin.— "The 
 idea! Why should I have any children? Femi- 
 nine gewgaws. . . . Finery. In the department 
 of the toilet." 
 
 " Art thou really an expert in that line? " 
 
 " I am." 
 
 "But didst not thou tell me that thou didst 
 not meddle with any of thy wife's affairs ? " 
 
 "I don't meddle with anything else. But 
 this . . . does n't count. Out of tedium— I 
 may do that. And moreover, my wife has 
 confidence in my taste. And I 'm keen at bar- 
 gaining." 
 
 Polozoff began to talk brokenly: he was al- 
 ready fatigued. 
 
 " And is thy wife very rich? " 
 
 " Yes, she 's rich. Only, chiefly for herself." 
 
 " But, apparently, thou hast no cause for com- 
 plaint?" 
 
 " That 's why I 'm her husband. The idea of 
 my not getting the good of it ! And I 'm a useful 
 man to her: she finds it an advantage to have 
 me ! I 'm— convenient ! " 
 
 Polozoff wiped his face with a silk handker- 
 chief, and panted heavily; as much as to say: 
 " Spare me; don't make me utter any more words. 
 Thou seest how difficult it is for me." 
 
 Sanin left him in peace— and again plunged 
 into meditation. 
 
 162
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 The hotel in Wiesbaden before which the car- 
 riage drew up smacked of a regular palace. Lit- 
 tle bells immediately began to jingle in its depths, 
 a bustle and running to and fro arose; comely 
 men, in black dress-suits, ran to the chief en- 
 trance; a door-porter, shimmering with gold, 
 threw open the carriage-door with a flourish. 
 
 Polozoff alighted like some conqueror, and be- 
 gan to ascend the staircase, all spread with car- 
 pet, and perfumed. A man, also capitally-well- 
 dressed, but with a Russian face, flew to meet him 
 —his valet. Polozoff remarked to him that 
 henceforth he should always take him with him, 
 — for on the day before, in Frankfurt, he, Polo- 
 zoff, had been left for the night without warm 
 water! The valet depicted horror on his counte- 
 nance — and, bending alertly down, he removed 
 his master's overshoes. 
 
 ' Is Mary a Nikolaevna at home? "—asked Po- 
 lozoff. 
 
 ! Yes, sir. She is dressing. She is going to 
 dine at Countess Lasiinsky's." 
 
 " Ah ! with that .... Stay! There are things 
 yonder in the carriage; take everything out thy- 
 self, and bring them in. And do thou, Dmitry 
 Pavlovitch,"— added Polozoff,— 4 ' engage a room 
 for thyself, and come to me in three quarters of 
 an hour. We will dine together." 
 
 Polozoff went his way, and Sanin asked for 
 the plainest room they had; and having ad- 
 
 163
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 justed his toilet, and rested a little, he betook 
 himself to the vast suite of rooms occupied by his 
 Transparency (Durchlaucht), Prince von Polo- 
 zoff. 
 
 He found that " prince " seated in a sumptuous 
 velvet arm-chair, in the middle of the most mag- 
 nificent sort of a salon. Sanin's phlegmatic friend 
 had already managed to take a bath, and array 
 himself in the richest of satin dressing-gowns ; on 
 his head he had set a crimson fez. Sanin ad- 
 vanced to him, and surveyed him for a while. 
 Polozoff was sitting motionless as an idol ; he did 
 not even turn his face to one side, he did not even 
 move an eyebrow, he did not emit a sound. The 
 spectacle was, in very truth, majestic! After 
 having admired him for a couple of minutes, Sa- 
 nin was on the point of speaking, of breaking 
 that sacred silence — when suddenly the door 
 from an adjoining room opened, and on the 
 threshold appeared a young, handsome lady, in a 
 white silk gown trimmed with black lace, with 
 diamonds on her arms and on her neck — Marva 
 Nikolaevna Polozoff in person! Her thick, 
 ruddy-gold hair fell on both sides of her head — 
 in tresses which were plaited but not pinned up. 
 
 XXXIV 
 
 " Akh, pardon me!" — she said, with a half -con- 
 fused, half -mocking smile, instantly seizing the 
 
 164
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 end of one plait in her hand, and riveting her 
 large, brilliant grey eyes on Sanin. — " I did not 
 think you had eome yet." 
 
 ' Sanin, Dmitry Pavlovitch, the friend of my 
 childhood," said Polozoff, as before — not turning 
 toward him, and not rising, but pointing at him 
 with his finger. 
 
 1 Yes, I know. . . . Thou hast already told 
 me. I am very glad to make your acquaintance. 
 But I wanted to ask thee, Ippolit Sidoritch. . . . 
 My maid is rather stupid to-day . . . . " 
 
 "To pin up thy hair?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, please. Excuse me," — repeated 
 Marya Nikolaevna, with her former smile, 
 nodding her head at Sanin, and wheeling swiftly 
 round, disappeared through the door, leaving be- 
 hind her a fleeting but stately impression of a 
 charming neck, wonderful shoulders, a wonder- 
 ful figure. 
 
 Polozoff rose, and waddling cumbrously, 
 passed through the same door. 
 
 Sanin did not, for one moment, doubt that his 
 presence in " Prince Polozoff's " drawing-room 
 was known to its mistress; the whole trick lay 
 in displaying her hair, which really was fine. 
 Sanin even inwardly rejoiced at this prank on 
 Madame Polozoff's part: "If she wanted to as- 
 tound me," he said to himself, " to shine in my 
 presence — perhaps, who knows? she will be 
 yielding in the matter of the price of my estate." 
 
 165
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 His soul was so filled with Gemma that all other 
 women possessed no significance whatever for 
 him : he hardly noticed them ; and on this occasion 
 he confined himself to thinking : " Yes, I was told 
 the truth : she is a lady of the first quality ! " 
 
 But had he not been in such an exceptional 
 spiritual condition, he would, in all probability, 
 have expressed himself differently: Marya Ni- 
 kolaevna Polozoff, born Kolyshkin, was a very 
 remarkable person. Not that she was an acknow- 
 ledged beauty: the traces of her plebeian origin 
 were even quite distinctly visible. Her brow 
 was low, her nose somewhat fleshy and turned up, 
 she could boast neither delicacy of complexion, 
 nor elegance of hands and feet — but what did all 
 that matter? Not before " a goddess of beauty," 
 as Pushkin says, would any one pause who met 
 her, but before the powerful witchery of a bloom- 
 ing feminine body, not exactly Russian, nor yet 
 exactly Gipsy .... and he would not have 
 paused involuntarily! 
 
 But Gemma's image protected Sanin, like that 
 triple armour of which the poets sing. 
 
 Ten minutes later, Marya Nikolaevna made 
 her appearance again, accompanied by her 
 spouse. She went up to Sanin . . . and her 
 walk was such that some eccentric persons, in 
 those, alas! already distant days, would have 
 gone out of their minds at that walk alone. 
 " That woman, when she comes toward thee, 
 
 166
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 seems to be bringing the whole happiness of thy 
 life to meet thee," — one of them was wont to say. 
 She walked up to Sanin, offered him her hand, 
 said in her caressing and, as it were, repressed 
 voice, in Russian : ' ' You will wait for me, will 
 you not? I shall return soon." 
 
 Sanin bowed respectfully, and Marya Niko- 
 laevna disappeared behind the portiere of the en- 
 trance door — and, as she vanished, turned her 
 head back, over her shoulder, — and smiled again, 
 and again left behind her a harmonious impres- 
 sion, as before. 
 
 When she smiled— not one, not two, but three 
 dimples made their appearance on each cheek — 
 and her eyes smiled more than her lips, than her 
 long, rosy, luscious lips, with two tiny moles on 
 the left side. 
 
 Polozoff lumbered into the room, — and again 
 placed himself in the easy-chair. He preserved 
 silence, as before; but a strange grin distended, 
 from time to time, his colourless and already 
 wrinkled cheeks. 
 
 He looked like an old man, although he was 
 only three years older than Sanin. 
 
 The dinner to which he treated his guest 
 would, of course, have satisfied the most exact- 
 ing gastronomist, but to Sanin it appeared in- 
 terminable, intolerable! Polozoff ate slowly, 
 " with feeling, with understanding, with pauses," 
 bending attentively over his plate, sniffing at al- 
 
 167
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 most every morsel: first he would rinse out his 
 mouth with wine, and then swallow and smack 
 his lips. . . And after the roast, he suddenly be- 
 gan to talk— but about what? About merino 
 sheep, a whole flock of which he was intending to 
 import, and in such detail, using constantly di- 
 minutive nouns, with such tenderness! After 
 drinking a cup of boiling hot coffee,— (he had 
 several times reminded the waiter, in a tearfully- 
 irritated voice, that he had been served on the 
 previous evening with cold coffee — cold as ice!) — 
 and having bitten off the tip of a Havana cigar 
 with his yellow, crooked teeth— he relapsed into 
 a doze, after his custom, to the great joy of Sa- 
 nin, who began to walk back and forth, with in- 
 audible footsteps, on the soft carpet— and 
 dream about how he would live with Gemma, 
 and with what news he should return to her. P6- 
 lozoff, however, awoke earlier than usual, accord- 
 ing to his own statement, — he had slept only an 
 hour and a half, — and having drunk a glass of 
 iced seltzer water, and swallowed about eight 
 spoonfuls of preserves, Russian preserves, which 
 his valet brought to him in a dark-green, genuine 
 "Kieff "* glass jar, and without which, as he said, 
 he could not exist — he fixed his puffy eyes on 
 Sanin and asked him whether he would not like 
 to play at "fool" with him? 2 Sanin gladly as- 
 
 x The preserves made in Kieff are famous. — Translator. 
 2 A very simple card game. — Translator. 
 
 168
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 sented; he was afraid that Polozoff might begin 
 to talk about the rams again, and about ewe 
 lambs, and nice little fat sheep-tails. Host and 
 guest went into the drawing-room, the waiter 
 brought cards,— and the game began, not for 
 money, as a matter of course. 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna found them at this inno- 
 cent diversion, when she returned from Countess 
 Lasunsky's. 
 
 She laughed aloud, as soon as she entered the 
 room, and caught sight of the cards, and the out- 
 spread V ombre table. Sanin sprang up from his 
 seat, but she exclaimed: " Sit down, go on play- 
 ing. — I will change my gown, and return to you " 
 —and again vanished, rustling her dress, and 
 drawing off her gloves as she went. 
 
 She did, in fact, return very soon. She had 
 changed her festive array for a full, loose silk 
 gown, of lilac hue, with open, hanging sleeves ; a 
 thick, twisted cord encircled her waist. She 
 seated herself beside her husband, — and waiting 
 until he had been beaten, she said to him: " Come, 
 Puffy, that will do!"- (at the word "Puffy," 
 Sanin cast a glance of surprise at her — and she 
 smiled back gaily, answering his glance with a 
 glance, and displaying all the dimples in her 
 cheeks) — "that will do; I see that thou art 
 sleepy; kiss my hand, and go to bed; Mr. Sanin 
 and I will chat together." 
 
 "I'm not sleepy,"— said Polozoff, rising lum- 
 
 1G9
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 beringly from his chair,—" but as for going to bed 
 —I '11 go, and I '11 kiss thy hand." She offered 
 him her palm, without ceasing to smile and to 
 glance at Sanin. 
 
 Polozoff also glanced at him— and went off, 
 without saying good night. 
 
 " Come, tell me your story, tell me,"— said 
 Marya Nikolaevna with animation, placing both 
 bare elbows simultaneously on the table, and im- 
 patiently tapping the nails of one hand against 
 the nails of the other. — " Are you really going to 
 be married, as I am told ? " 
 
 As she uttered these words, Marya Nikolaevna 
 even inclined her head a little on one side, in order 
 that she might look Sanin the more intently and 
 keenly in the eye. 
 
 XXXV 
 
 Madame Polozoff's free and easy behaviour 
 would, in all probability, have disconcerted Sanin 
 at first— although he was no novice, and had al- 
 ready rubbed up against people— if in that very 
 freedom and familiarity he had not discerned 
 another good omen for his enterprise. " I '11 hu- 
 mour the caprices of this wealthy lady,"— he de- 
 cided in his own mind, — and answered her with 
 an unconstraint equal to that with which she had 
 put the question:— "Yes, I'm going to be mar- 
 ried." 
 
 170
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 >j 
 
 " To whom? To a foreigner? 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "You have not known her long? In Frank- 
 furt?" 
 
 " Exactly so." 
 
 "And who is she? May one inquire?" 
 
 " One may. She is the daughter of a confec- 
 tioner." 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna opened her eyes very 
 widely, and elevated her brows. 
 
 " Why, that is delightful," — she said in a 
 drawling tone— "that's splendid! I had sup- 
 posed that there were no longer any such young 
 men as you in the world. The daughter of a con- 
 fectioner!" 
 
 " I see that that surprises you," — remarked 
 Sanin, not without dignity; "but, in the first 
 place, I have none of those prejudices . . . . " 
 
 u In the first place, that does not surprise me 
 in the least," — interrupted Marya Nikolaevna — 
 " I have no prejudices either. I myself am the 
 daughter of a peasant. Hey? What do you 
 think of that ? I am surprised and delighted that 
 here is a man who is not afraid to love. For you 
 do love her, I suppose? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Is she very handsome? " 
 
 Sanin winced a little at this last question. . . . 
 However, there was no drawing back now. 
 
 "You know, Marya Nikolaevna,"— he began 
 
 171
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 — "that to every man the face of his beloved ap- 
 pears superior to all others; but my bride is a 
 genuine beauty." 
 
 'Really? In what style? the Italian? the an- 
 tique?" 
 
 ' Yes; she has very regular features." 
 
 "Have you her portrait with you?" 
 
 'No!" (At that date, there was no idea of 
 such a thing as photographs. Daguerreotypes 
 had hardly begun to be generally known. ) 
 
 " What is her name? " 
 
 " Her name is— Gemma." 
 
 "And what is yours?" 
 
 " Dmitry." 
 
 "And your patronymic?" 
 
 " Pavlovitch." 
 
 "Do you know,"— said Marya Nikolaevna, 
 still in the same drawling tone, — " I like you very 
 much, Dmitry Pavlovitch. You must be a fine 
 man. Come, give me your hand. Let us be 
 friends." 
 
 She pressed his hand warmly, with her 
 beautiful, white, strong fingers. Her hand 
 was somewhat smaller than his — but much 
 warmer and smoother, and softer and more 
 feminine. 
 
 " Only, do you know what has come into my 
 head?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "You will not be angry? No? She is your 
 
 172
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 betrothed bride, you say. But is that .... is 
 that imperatively necessary?" 
 
 Sanin frowned. — "I do not understand you, 
 Marya Nikolaevna." 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna broke into a soft laugh — 
 and shaking her head, she tossed back her hair, 
 which had fallen over her face. — " Positively— 
 he is charming,"— she said, in a half -thoughtful, 
 half -absent-minded way.— "A knight! After 
 that, just believe, if you will, the people who 
 assert that all the idealists have died out!" 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna, all this while, had been 
 talking Russian in a wonderfully-pure, genuine 
 Moscow language— of a popular, not a noble 
 cast. 
 
 " You certainly must have been reared at home, 
 in an old-fashioned, God-fearing family? To 
 what government do you belong? " 
 
 " Tula." 
 
 "Well! then we are pigs of the same trough. 
 My father. . . . Of course, you know who my 
 father was? " 
 
 " Yes, I know." 
 
 ' He was born in Tula. . . He was a Tula 
 man. Well, very good." (Marya Nikolaevna 
 pronounced that " very good " in petty-burgher 
 fashion, with deliberate intent — thus: 'kher- 
 shoo.) 1 " Well, now let 's get to business." 
 
 1 The usual pronunciation would he khoroahd — with the first 
 two o'u resembling a's. — Translator. 
 
 173
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " That is . . . what do you mean by getting 
 to business? What are you pleased to designate 
 by that?" 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna narrowed her eyes. — 
 " Why, what did you come hither for? ' : (When 
 she narrowed her eyes, their expression became 
 very caressing and somewhat mocking ; but when 
 she opened them to their full extent, in their 
 brilliant, almost chilly gleam, there shone forth 
 something evil .... something menacing. Es- 
 pecial beauty was imparted to her eyes by her eye- 
 brows, which were thick, rather close together, 
 genuine sable brows.) : ' Do you wish me to buy 
 your estate? You need money for your wedding? 
 Is n't that the case? " 
 
 " Yes, I do need money." 
 
 " And do you require much? " 
 
 " For my first needs, I might content myself 
 with a few thousand francs. Your husband is 
 acquainted with my estate. You might consult 
 with him,— and I would ask a low price." 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna moved her head to the right 
 and to the left.— " In— the— first— place" she 
 began, pausing between her words, tapping the 
 flaps of Sanin's coat with her fingers—" I am not 
 accustomed to consult my husband, unless it be in 
 regard to my toilet— he's a fine hand at that; 
 and, in— the— second— place, why do you say 
 that you would set a low price on it? I do not 
 wish to take advantage of the fact that you are in 
 
 174.
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 love, and ready to make any sacrifice. ... I will 
 accept no sacrifices from you. How would this 
 do? Instead of encouraging . . . well, how can 
 I best express it? noble sentiments in you, I am 
 to strip you bare as a linden-tree, am I ? 1 That 
 is not my habit. When it so happens, I do not 
 spare people — only, it is not in that way." 
 
 Sanin could in no wise understand whether she 
 was laughing at him, or talking seriously, and 
 merely thought to himself: " Oh, yes, one must be 
 on the alert with thee ! " 
 
 A servant entered with a Russian samovar, a 
 tea-service, cream, rusks, and so forth, and a 
 large tray, set out all these blessings on the table 
 between Sanin and Madame Polozoff,— and 
 withdrew. 
 
 She poured him out a cup of tea. — " You will 
 not disdain it?"— she asked, dropping the sugar 
 into the cup with her fingers, although the 
 sugar-tongs lay there at hand. 
 
 " Good gracious, no ! . . . From such a lovely 
 hand ..." 
 
 He did not finish the phrase, and almost choked 
 himself with a mouthful of tea, while she gazed 
 attentively and brightly at him. 
 
 " I mentioned a low price for my estate," — he 
 went on, — "because, as you are now abroad, I 
 
 1 The linden is stripped of its bark to make plaited peasant-slip- 
 pers, bath-sponges, and mat-sucks — corresponding to burlaps — in 
 which everything from cherries to sheet-iron is wrapped. — Trans- 
 lator. 
 
 175
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 cannot assume that you have much ready cash, 
 and, in conclusion, I feel myself that the sale 
 ... or purchase of an estate, under such condi- 
 tions — is something abnormal, and that I ought 
 to take that into consideration." 
 
 Sanin became confused, and lost his head, but 
 Marya Nikolaevna leaned back quietly against 
 the back of her chair, crossed her arms, and gazed 
 at him with the same intent and brilliant glance 
 as before. At last, he ceased speaking. 
 
 "Never mind; go on, go on talking,"— she 
 said, as though coming to his assistance: 'I am 
 listening to you — I find it agreeable to listen to 
 you; speak on." 
 
 Sanin began to describe his estate, the number 
 of desyatinas 1 it contained, where it was situated, 
 and what profits could be derived from it ... . 
 he even alluded to the picturesque location of the 
 manor-house; and Marya Nikolaevna gazed and 
 gazed at him, with ever-increasing brightness and 
 intentness, and her lips moved slightly, without 
 a smile: she was biting them. He felt awkward, 
 at last; he relapsed into silence for the second 
 time. 
 
 "Dmitry Pavlovitch," began Marya Nikola- 
 evna — and grew pensive. . . . "Dmitry Pav- 
 lovitch,"— she repeated.— " See here: I am con- 
 vinced that the purchase of your estate would be 
 a very profitable affair for me, and that we shall 
 
 *A desyatina is 2.70 acres. --Translator. 
 
 176
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 come to an agreement ; but you must give me two 
 days, — yes, two days' grace. You can bear sep- 
 aration from your betrothed for a couple of days, 
 I suppose? I will not detain you longer, against 
 your will — I give you my word of honour. But if 
 you now need five or six thousand francs, I am 
 ready to lend them to you, with great pleasure — 
 and we will settle the account later on." 
 
 Sanin rose. — "I must thank you, Marya Ni- 
 kolaevna, for your kind and amiable readiness to 
 be of service to a man who is almost a stranger 
 to you. . . . But if you imperatively insist, then 
 I prefer to await your decision as to my estate — 
 I will remain here two days." 
 
 ' Yes ; I do, Dmitry Pavlovitch. And will it 
 be very oppressive for you ? Very? Tell me." 
 
 ' I love my betrothed, Marya Nikolaevna — it 
 is not easy for me to be parted from her." 
 
 ' Akh, you man of gold!"— ejaculated Marya 
 Nikolaevna with a sigh. " I promise not to 
 weary you too much. Are you going?" 
 
 " It is late," — remarked Sanin. 
 
 ' And you must rest after the journey — and 
 from the game at ' fool ' with my husband. 
 Tell me — are you and Ippolit Sidoritch, my hus- 
 band, great friends? " 
 
 ' We were brought up in the same boarding- 
 school." 
 
 "And was he like that then?" 
 
 "Like what? "—inquired Sanin. 
 
 177
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna suddenly burst out laugh- 
 ing, and laughed until her whole face was crim- 
 son, raised her handkerchief to her lips, rose from 
 her chair,— and swaying, as with fatigue, she 
 advanced to Sanin, and offered him her hand. 
 
 He bowed — and went toward the door. 
 
 ' Be so good as to present yourself very early 
 to-morrow, — do you hear?" — she called after 
 him. He glanced back, as he quitted the room — 
 and perceived that she had dropped into her arm- 
 chair once more, and had thrown both arms be- 
 hind her head. The wide sleeves of her wrapper 
 fell back almost to her shoulders— and it was im- 
 possible not to acknowledge that the pose of 
 those arms, that whole figure, was enchantingly 
 beautiful. 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 The lamp in Sanin's room burned long after 
 midnight. He sat at his table, writing to " his 
 Gemma." He told her everything; he described 
 to her the Polozoffs— husband and wife— but en- 
 larged chiefly on his own feelings, — and ended 
 by appointing a tryst three days hence ! ! ! (with 
 three exclamation points). Early in the morn- 
 ing, he took that letter to the post, and went for 
 a stroll in the garden of the Kurhaus, where the 
 music was already playing. There were few 
 people as yet ; he stood for a while in front of the 
 
 178
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 arbour in which the orchestra was located, listened 
 to a potpourri from " Robert le Diable,"— and 
 after drinking coffee, he betook himself to a 
 lonely side-alley, sat down on a bench,— and fell 
 into thought. 
 
 The handle of a parasol tapped him briskly — 
 and rather vehemently— on the shoulder. He 
 started. ... In front of him, in a light-green 
 barege gown, a white tulle hat, and suede gloves, 
 fresh and rosy as a summer morning, but with the 
 softness of untroubled slumber not yet vanished 
 from her movements and her glance, stood Marya 
 Nikolaevna. 
 
 " Good morning," said she. " I sent for you 
 this morning, but you had already gone out. I 
 have only just drunk my second glass— they 
 make me drink the water here, you know— God 
 knows why ... am not I well? And so I must 
 walk for a whole hour. Will you be my com- 
 panion? And then we will drink coffee." 
 
 i I have already drunk mine," — said Sanin, 
 rising; "but I shall be very glad to walk with 
 you." 
 
 ! Well, then give me your arm. . . . Have no 
 fear; your betrothed is not here — she will not see 
 you." 
 
 Sanin smiled constrainedly. He experienced 
 an unpleasant sensation every time that Marya 
 Nikolaevna mentioned Gemma. Nevertheless, 
 he bowed hastily and obediently .... Marya 
 
 179
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Nikolaevna's arm sank slowly and softly on his 
 arm, — and slid along it, and, as it were, clung 
 to it. 
 
 " Let us go in this direction," — she said to him, 
 throwing her open parasol over her shoulder. 
 " I am quite at home in this park: I will lead you 
 to the pretty spots. And do you know what (she 
 frequently used these words) — "you and I will 
 not talk about that purchase now ; we will discuss 
 it thoroughly after breakfast; but now you must 
 tell me about yourself . . . that I may know 
 with whom I am dealing. And afterward, if you 
 like, I will tell you about myself. Do you 
 agree?" 
 
 ; ' But, Marya Nikolaevna, what interest can 
 you take . . . . " 
 
 " Stop, stop. You did not understand me 
 rightly. I do not wish to flirt with you." — 
 Marya Nikolaevna shrugged her shoulders. — 
 " He has a bride like an antique statue, and I will 
 flirt with him! But you have wares— and I am a 
 merchant. And I want to know what wares you 
 have. Come, then, show what they are like! I 
 want to know, not only what I am buying, but 
 the person from whom I am buying. That was 
 my father's rule. Come, begin. . . Well, if not 
 with your childhood — here now — have you been 
 long abroad? And where have you been up to 
 the present time? Only, walk more slowly — 
 there is no need for us to hurry." 
 
 180
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 a 
 
 I came hither from Italy, where I spent sev- 
 eral months." 
 
 " And everything Italian has, evidently, a spe- 
 cial attraction for you? 'Tis strange that you 
 did not find the object of your affections there. 
 Are you fond of art? of pictures? or are you 
 more fond of music?" 
 
 ' I am fond of art. . . . And I love all that is 
 beautiful." 
 
 "And music?" 
 
 " And music also." 
 
 'And I don't love it at all. Only Russian 
 songs please me— and that in the country, in 
 spring— with dancing, you know. . . . Red cot- 
 ton gowns, pearl fringes on the headdresses, the 
 young grass in the pastures, an odour of smoke 
 . . . splendid! But the question is not of me. 
 Speak, narrate." 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna rambled on, and kept 
 glancing at Sanin. She was tall — her face came 
 almost on a level with his face. 
 
 He began to narrate — at first reluctantly, 
 bunglingly — but afterward he talked a great 
 deal, even chattered. Marya Nikolaevna listened 
 in a very clever way ; and moreover, she appeared 
 to be so frank herself that she involuntarily 
 evoked frankness in others. She possessed that 
 great gift of "familiarity" — le terrible don 
 de la familiarite,— to which Cardinal Retz al- 
 ludes. Sanin talked about his travels, his so- 
 
 181
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 journ in Petersburg, his youth. . . . Had Marya 
 Nikolaevna been a fashionable lady, with refined 
 manners, he never would have let himself go like 
 that; but she called herself "a good fellow, who 
 would not tolerate any ceremony"; those were 
 precisely the words in which she described herself 
 to Sanin. And, at the same time, the " good fel- 
 low" walked beside him with a catlike tread, 
 slightly leaning toward him, and gazing up into 
 his face; — and in the form of a young person of 
 the female sex, from whom emanated that intoxi- 
 cating and languorous, quiet and burning seduc- 
 tion, wherewith certain Slavonic natures— and 
 those not the pure ones, but with the proper ad- 
 mixture—are able to torment us weak, sinful 
 men! 
 
 Sanin's stroll with Marya Nikolaevna, Sanin's 
 chat with Marya Nikolaevna, lasted more than 
 an hour. And never once did they halt; they 
 kept on walking, walking along the endless alleys 
 of the park, now ascending a hill, and admiring 
 the view, now descending into a valley, and hid- 
 ing themselves in impenetrable shadow— and all 
 the time arm in arm. At intervals, Sanin even 
 felt vexed with himself: never had he walked so 
 long with Gemma, his dear Gemma .... and 
 here, this lady had simply taken possession of 
 him — and that was all there was to say ! — 
 "Aren't you tired?"— he asked her once.— "I 
 am never tired,"— she replied. Once in a while, 
 
 182
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 they met other ramblers; almost all of them 
 bowed to her,— some respectfully, others even 
 with servility. To one of them, a very handsome, 
 foppishly attired dark-haired man, she called 
 from a distance, in the very best Parisian accent : 
 ™ Comte, vous savez, il ne faut pas venir me voir 
 —ni aujourd'hui, ni demean." The man doffed 
 his hat, in silence, and made her a profound 
 salute. 
 
 'Who is that?"— asked Sanin, in accordance 
 with the bad habit peculiar to all Russians, \\ ask- 
 ing curious questions." 
 
 'That? A Frenchman — there are a lot of 
 them roaming about here. . . . He . . . also 
 is an admirer of mine. But it is time to drink 
 coffee. Let us go home; I think you must be 
 starved by this time. My hubby x must have got 
 his peepers opened by now." 
 
 " Hubby ! peepers ! " Sanin repeated to him- 
 self. . . . "And she speaks French so capitally. 
 . . . What a queer person ! " 
 
 Maeya Nikolaevna was not mistaken. When 
 she and Sanin reached the hotel, — her "hubby" 
 or " Puffy " was already seated, with his inevi- 
 table fez on his head, at a table spread for 
 breakfast. 
 
 'I've been waiting for thee this long time!" 
 
 1 Untranslatable. Literally, " My orthodox 
 believer." — Th a nslator. 
 
 183
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 he exclaimed, with a sour visage. " I was just 
 about to drink coffee without thee." 
 
 " Never mind, never mind," — responded 
 Marya Nikolaevna gaily. — "Art thou angry? 
 That 's healthy for thee : otherwise, thou wouldst 
 congeal altogether. Here, I have brought a 
 guest. Ring at once! Let me drink coffee — the 
 very best coffee— in Saxony cups, on a snow- 
 white table-cloth ! " 
 
 She threw off her hat, her gloves, and clapped 
 her hands. Polozoff darted a sidelong glance at 
 her. 
 
 " What made you gallop about so long to-day, 
 Marya Nikolaevna?" — he said, in an undertone. 
 
 " That 's no affair of yours, Ippolit Sidoritch! 
 Ring the bell! Sit down, Dmitry Pavlovitch — 
 and drink coffee for the second time ! Akh ! how 
 jolly it is to give orders! There is no other plea- 
 sure on earth ! " 
 
 "When people obey,"— growled her husband 
 again. 
 
 "Precisely, when people obey! That's why I 
 find it jolly. Especially with thee. Is n't that so, 
 Puffy? And here comes the coffee." 
 
 On the huge tray with which the waiter made 
 his appearance, lay also the theatrical programme. 
 Marya Nikolaevna seized it. 
 
 "A drama!"— she ejaculated with indigna- 
 tion: — "German drama. Never mind; that's 
 better than German comedy. Order a box to be 
 
 184
 
 Iv 
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 engaged for me— a baignoire— or no . . . tl 
 Fremden-loge will be better," — she said to the 
 waiter. "Do you hear: the Fremden-loge, with- 
 out fail!" 
 
 " But what if the Fremden-loge is already 
 taken by his Excellency the town-director— 
 (Seine Excellenz der Herr Stadt-Director) ?"— 
 the waiter ventured to observe. 
 
 " Give his Excellency ten thalers — and let me 
 have the box! Do you hear! " 
 
 The waiter bowed his head submissively and 
 sadly. 
 
 " Dmitry Pavlovitch, will you go to the theatre 
 with me? the German actors are horrible, — but 
 you will go. . . . Yes ? Yes ! How amiable you 
 are! Thou wilt not go, wilt thou, Puffy? " 
 
 "As thou commandest,"— said Polozoff into 
 his cup, which he was raising to his mouth. 
 
 " Dost know what : stay here. Thou always 
 fallest asleep in the theatre, — and thou under- 
 standest German badly. This is what thou hadst 
 better do: write a reply to the steward — thou re- 
 memberest, about our mill . . . about the peas- 
 ants' grinding. Tell him that I won't, I won't, 
 I won't ! There 's occupation for thee, for the 
 whole evening." 
 
 I obey," — remarked Polozoff. 
 Well, very good indeed. Thou art a clever 
 dear. And now, gentlemen, seeing that we have 
 mentioned the steward, let us discuss our main 
 
 185 

 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 business. As soon as the waiter has cleared the 
 table, you shall tell us everything about your es- 
 tate, Dmitry Pavlovitch — what, how, at what 
 price you will sell it, how much earnest-money 
 you want in advance, — in a word, everything!" 
 ("At last!" thought Sanin,-" thank God!")- 
 " You have already communicated to me some 
 details ; you described your park splendidly, I re- 
 member—but Puffy was not present. . . . Let 
 him hear about it— he always finds some fault! 
 It is very pleasant to me to think that I can help 
 on your marriage — and I promised you that we 
 would occupy ourselves with you after breakfast ; 
 and I always keep my promises; — isn't that so, 
 Ippolit Sidoritch?" 
 
 Polozoff rubbed his face with the palm of his 
 hand. — "What is true is true; you deceive no 
 one." 
 
 "Never! and I never will deceive any one. 
 Come, Dmitry Pavlovitch, — state the case, as we 
 express ourselves in the senate." 
 
 XXXVII 
 
 Sanin set to work to " state the case," — that is, 
 to describe his estate again, for the second time, 
 but on this occasion, without touching on the 
 beauties of nature — and from time to time ap- 
 pealing to Polozoff for confirmation of the 
 " facts and figures " quoted. But Polozoff 
 
 186
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 merely grinned and shook his head— whether in 
 approbation or disapprobation, was a point which, 
 apparently, the devil himself could not have de- 
 termined. However, Marya Nikolaevna did not 
 need his sympathy. She displayed such commer- 
 cial and administrative capacities as could but 
 evoke amazement ! The most petty details of estate 
 management were excellently well known to her ; 
 she put accurate questions about everything, she 
 ventured into everything; her every word hit the 
 mark, placed the dot directly on the L Sanin had 
 not anticipated such an examination: he had not 
 prepared himself. And this examination lasted 
 for a whole hour and a half. Sanin experienced 
 all the sensations of a criminal on trial, seated on 
 the narrow bench before a stern, a keen judge. 
 \ Why, this is an inquisition ! " he whispered anx- 
 iously to himself. Marya Nikolaevna laughed 
 the whole time, as though she were jesting: but 
 Sanin derived no relief from that; and when, in 
 the course of the " inquisition," it appeared that 
 he did not understand quite clearly the words 
 "repartition" and "tillage"— he fairly broke 
 into perspiration. 
 
 'Well, very good!"— said Marya Nikolaevna 
 decisively at last. ' Now I know about your es- 
 tate. What price do you fix per soul?' (At 
 that time, as every one knows, the price of estates 
 was fixed according to the number of serfs. ) 
 "Why . . . . I think ... I cannot take less 
 
 187
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 than five hundred rubles" — articulated Sanin 
 with difficulty. (Oh, Pantaleone, Pantaleone, 
 where art thou ? Here 's the point where thou 
 shouldst have cried out once more: " Barbari!") 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna rolled her eyes heavenward, 
 as though absorbed in thought. 
 
 "Certainly," — she said at last. "That price 
 seems to me unobjectionable. But I stipulated 
 for two days' grace, — and you must wait until to- 
 morrow. I think we shall come to terms — and 
 then you shall say how much cash down you want. 
 But now, basta cosi!" — she interpolated, perceiv- 
 ing that Sanin was on the point of making some 
 reply. — "We have occupied ourselves enough 
 with the despicable metal ... a demain les af- 
 faires! Do you know what: I will let you go 
 now . . . . " (she glanced at an enamelled watch 
 which was thrust into her belt) .... "until 
 three o'clock ... I must give you time to rest. 
 Go, play at roulette." 
 
 " I never play at gambling games,"— remarked 
 Sanin. 
 
 " Really? why, you are the pink of perfection! 
 But I do not play either. It is foolish to fling 
 one's money to the winds— on a certainty. But 
 go into the gaming-room, look at the physiogno- 
 mies. There are some very amusing ones. There 
 is one old woman there, with a gold chain on her 
 forehead, and moustaches— a marvel ! One of our 
 princes is there— he 's nice also. A majestic fig- 
 
 188
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 lire, a nose like an eagle's beak, and he puts on a 
 thaler— and crosses himself on the sly under his 
 waistcoat. Read the newspapers, walk about, in 
 short, do whatever you like. . . . And at three 
 o'clock I shall expect you . . . . de pied ferme. 
 We must dine early. The theatre with these ri- 
 diculous Germans begins at half -past six." — She 
 offered him her hand.— " Sans rancune, nest-ce 
 pas? " 
 
 " Good gracious, Marya Nikolaevna, why 
 should I be vexed with you? " 
 
 " Because I have been torturing you. Wait, 
 I'll do it in a different way" — she added, nar- 
 rowing her eyes,— and all her dimples came into 
 sight simultaneously in her flushed cheeks.— 
 " Until we meet again!" 
 
 Sanin bowed and left the room. A merry 
 laugh rang out behind him— and in a mirror, 
 which he was passing at the moment, the follow- 
 ing scene was reflected: Marya Nikolaevna was 
 pushing her husband's fez down over his eyes, and 
 he was resisting with both hands. 
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 Oh, how deeply and joyously did Sanin draw 
 breath, as soon as he found himself in his own 
 chamber! In point of fact, Marya Nikolaevna 
 had spoken the truth, when she had said that he 
 ought to rest,— to rest from all those new ac- 
 
 189
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 quaintances, encounters, conversations, from that 
 haze which had got into his head, his soul; from 
 that unexpected, unsought friendship with a wo- 
 man who was so foreign to him! And when was 
 all this taking place? Almost on the very day 
 after the one on which he had learned that Gemma 
 loved him, that he had become her betrothed hus- 
 band! Why, that was sacrilege! A thousand 
 times he mentally asked forgiveness of his pure, 
 unspotted dove — although, as a matter of fact, he 
 could not accuse himself of anything; a thou- 
 sand times he kissed the little cross which had 
 been given to him. Had he not had a hope of 
 bringing to a speedy and successful end the af- 
 fair for which he had come to Wiesbaden,— he 
 would have rushed headlong thence, back to dear 
 Frankfurt, to that precious house, now already a 
 home to him, to her, to her beloved feet. . . . But 
 there was nothing to be done! He must drain 
 the phial to the bottom, he must dress himself, 
 go to dinner— and thence to the theatre. ... If 
 she would only release him as promptly as pos- 
 sible on the morrow ! 
 
 One other thing troubled him, enraged him: 
 he had thought with love, with emotion, with no- 
 ble rapture of Gemma, of life in her society, of 
 the happiness which was awaiting him in the fu- 
 ture — and yet this strange woman, this Madame 
 Polozoff, kept importunately hovering — bobbing 
 up ... . precisely that, Sanin expressed him- 
 
 190
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 self with peculiar viciousness — bobbing up in 
 front of his eyes — and he could not rid himself of 
 her image, he could not help hearing her voice and 
 recalling her speeches — he could not even help 
 being conscious of that peculiar perfume, deli- 
 cate, fresh, and penetrating, like the perfume of 
 yellow lilies, which emanated from her garments. 
 That lady was plainly making a fool of him, and 
 making advances to him in all sorts of ways. . . . 
 Why? what did she want? Could it be the mere 
 whim of a spoiled, rich, and almost immoral wo- 
 man ? And that husband ? What sort of a crea- 
 ture was he? What were his relations to her? 
 Why did those questions crawl into the head of 
 him, Sanin, who really cared nothing whatever 
 for Mr. Polozoff or his wife? Why could not 
 he banish that pertinacious image, even when he 
 turned, with all his soul, to another, as bright and 
 clear as God's day? How dared those features 
 shine through those others, which were almost 
 divine? And they not only did shine through— 
 they smiled audaciously. Those grey, rapacious 
 eyes, those dimples on the cheeks, those snaky 
 locks of hair— and could it be that all this had, as 
 it were, cloven fast to him, and was he unable to 
 shake off, to cast aside all this? 
 
 Nonsense ! nonsense ! to-morrow everything will 
 disappear and leave no trace. ... But will she 
 release him to-morrow? 
 
 Yes, he put all these questions to himself — and 
 
 191
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 time began to wear on toward three o'clock— and 
 he donned his black dress-coat, and after stroll- 
 ing for a while in the park, he went to the 
 P61ozoffs\ 
 
 He found in their drawing-room a secretary of 
 legation, a German, a long, long, blond, with a 
 horse-like profile, and his hair parted in the mid- 
 dle behind— (that was still in fashion at that 
 date) — and . . . oh, wondrous to relate! whom 
 else? von Donhof, that same officer with whom 
 he had fought a few days previously! He had 
 not in the least expected to meet him in that par- 
 ticular place— and he involuntarily grew embar- 
 rassed, but saluted him, nevertheless. 
 
 "Are you acquainted?"— asked Marya Niko- 
 laevna, whom Sanin's confusion did not escape. 
 
 " Yes ... I have already had the honour,"— 
 articulated von Donhof — and bending slightly 
 in the direction of Marya Nikolaevna, he added, 
 with a smile: " This is the very man. . . . Your 
 fellow-countryman .... the Russian .... 
 
 "It cannot be!" — she exclaimed in an under- 
 tone, shaking her finger at him — and immedi- 
 ately began to dismiss both him and the long sec- 
 retary, who, by all the signs, was dead in love 
 with her— for he even opened his mouth every 
 time he looked at her. Donhof withdrew imme- 
 diately, with amiable submissiveness, like a friend 
 of the family, who understands at half a word 
 
 192
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 what is required of him ; the secretary tried to be 
 stubborn, but Marya Nikolaevna sent him away 
 without any ceremony whatever. 
 
 ' Go to your reigning personage," she said to 
 him (there dwelt in Wiesbaden at that time a 
 certain Principessa di Monaco, who bore a won- 
 derful resemblance to a wretched woman of the 
 half -world) — "why should you sit with such a 
 plebeian as I am? " 
 
 ' Upon my word, madame,"— the unfortunate 
 secretary assured her, — "all the princesses in the 
 world. ..." 
 
 But Marya Nikolaevna was merciless— and 
 the secretary took himself and his hair-parting 
 off. 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna had arrayed herself very 
 much to her " advantage "—as our grandmothers 
 were wont to say— on that day. She wore a 
 gown of rose-coloured glace silk, with lace a la 
 Fontanges, and a huge diamond in each ear. 
 Her eyes were as brilliant as the diamonds: she 
 seemed to be in high spirits. 
 
 She made Sanin sit beside her, and began to 
 talk to him about Paris, whither she was prepar- 
 ing to go within a few days ; about how the Ger- 
 mans bored her, that they were stupid when they 
 were wise, and inopportunely wise when they 
 were stupid; — and all at once, straight out — a 
 brule pour point — she asked him whether it were 
 true that he had fought a duel recently, for the 
 
 193
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 sake of a lady, with that officer who had just been 
 sitting there? 
 
 'How do you know about that?" — muttered 
 the astounded Sanin. 
 
 " The earth is filled with the sound thereof, 
 Dmitry Pavlovitch ; but I know that you were in 
 the right, a thousandfold in the right — and be- 
 haved like a true knight. Tell me — that lady — 
 was your betrothed? " 
 
 Sanin contracted his brows slightly. . . 
 
 ' Come, I will not, I will not do it again," — 
 said Marya Nikolaevna hastily. " It is disagree- 
 able to you ; forgive me, I won't do so again ! do 
 not be angry ! " Polozoff made his appearance 
 from the adjoining room, with a sheet of news- 
 paper in his hands. 
 
 " What do you want? Is dinner ready? ' : 
 
 "Dinner will be served directly, and just see 
 what I have read in the Northern Bee .... 
 Prince Gromoboy is dead." 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna raised her head. 
 
 "Ah! The kingdom of heaven be his! Every 
 year," she said, turning to Sanin, " in February, 
 on my birthday, he used to decorate all my rooms 
 with camellias. But it is not worth while to live 
 in Petersburg during the winter for that. He 
 was over seventy, was n't he?"— she asked her 
 husband. 
 
 " Yes. His funeral is described in the paper. 
 The whole court was present. And here are 
 Prince Kovrizhkin's verses on the event." 
 
 194 

 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " Well, that 's splendid." 
 
 " I '11 read them aloud, if you like? The prince 
 calls him a man of counsel." 
 
 " No, I would n't like. He a man of counsel 
 indeed ! He was simply the husband of Tatyana 
 Yiirievna. Let's eat our dinner. The living 
 man thinks of living things. Dmitry Pavlovitch, 
 your arm." 
 
 The dinner, like that of the preceding evening, 
 was amazing, and passed off in very lively style. 
 Marya Nikolaevna had a talent for narration 
 .... a rare gift in a woman, and still more so 
 in a Russian woman! She did not stand on cere- 
 mony as to her expressions, and her fellow-coun- 
 trymen, in particular, caught it heavily. More 
 than once Sanin was forced to laugh heartily at 
 some audacious and well-aimed remark. The 
 thing which Marya Nikolaevna could endure 
 least was hypocrisy, empty phrases and lying. 
 . . . She found this almost everywhere. She made 
 a display, as it were, and boasted of the lowly 
 sphere in which her life had begun : she imparted 
 decidedly strange anecdotes about her parents, in 
 their youthful days; she called herself as much 
 of a clodhopper as Natalya Kirilovna Narysh- 
 kin. 1 It became evident to Sanin, that she had 
 gone through much more, in her day, than the 
 great majority of her countrywomen. 
 
 1 The mother of Peter the Great, through whose alliance with 
 Tzar Alex£i Mikhaflovitch the Naryshkins (said to have descended 
 from a Crimean Tatar) first came into prominence. — Thansi.atou. 
 
 195
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 But Polozoff ate thoughtfully, drank atten- 
 tively, only occasionally darting a glance, now at 
 his wife, again at Sanin, with his whitish, ap- 
 parently blind, but, in reality, extremely keen- 
 sighted eyes. — "What a clever dear thou art!" 
 — exclaimed Mary a Nikolaevna, turning toward 
 him: "how well thou hast executed all my com- 
 missions in Frankfurt ! I 'd like to give thee a 
 kiss on thy dear little brow— but thou dost not 
 care for that from me." 
 
 " No, I don't," — replied Polozoff, as he cut up 
 an orange with a silver knife. 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna looked at him, and 
 drummed on the table with her fingers. 
 
 " So our wager holds good? " — she said signifi- 
 cantly. 
 
 " It does." 
 
 " All right. Thou wilt lose." 
 
 Polozoff thrust his chin forward.— "Well, 
 don't be too sure of thyself this time, Marya Ni- 
 lKlaevna, for my opinion is that thou wilt be the 
 loser." 
 
 " What is the wager about? May I know? "— 
 asked Sanin. 
 
 " No .... it is impossible at present,"— re- 
 plied Marya Nikolaevna, with a laugh. 
 
 The clock struck seven. The waiter an- 
 nounced that the carriage was at the door. 
 Polozoff escorted his wife to the door, and 
 immediately returned to his easy-chair. 
 
 196
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 "See to it that thou dost not forget the letter 
 
 to the steward!"— Marya Nikolaevna called to 
 
 him from the antechamber. 
 
 ' I '11 write it; don't worry. I 'm an accurate 
 man." 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 In the year 1840 the theatre at Wiesbaden was 
 not only wretched as to exterior, but its troupe, in 
 their pomposity and miserable mediocrity, their 
 diligent and commonplace routine, did not rise 
 by so much as a hair's-breadth above the level 
 which, down to the present day, may be regarded 
 as normal for all German theatres, and of which 
 the troupe in Carlsruhe, under the " celebrated " 
 direction of Herr Devrient, has of late presented 
 the most perfect example. Behind the box en- 
 gaged for " her Transparency Madame von 
 Polozoff' (the Lord only knows how the waiter 
 had procured it — whether he had not, as an actual 
 fact, bribed the Stadt-Director!) —behind this 
 box was a little room with small divans set all 
 around the walls. Before entering it, Marya Ni- 
 kolaevna asked Sanin to raise the little shades 
 which separated the box from the theatre. 
 
 " I do not wish to be seen,"— said she,—" for in 
 that case, people will make their way hither im- 
 mediately." She also placed him beside her, with 
 his back to the auditorium, so that the box ap- 
 peared to be empty. 
 
 197
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 The orchestra played the overture to the 
 " Nozze di Figaro." .... The curtain rose : the 
 play began. 
 
 It was one of the numerous home-made pro- 
 ductions, in which well-read but talentless au- 
 thors, in choice but deadly dull language, assidu- 
 ously but clumsily set forth some " profound " or 
 " palpitating " idea, presented a so-called tragic 
 conflict, and induced a tedium . . . fairly Asi- 
 atic, like the Asiatic cholera ! Marya Nikolaevna 
 listened patiently to half of one act, but when the 
 first lover, on learning of the treachery of his be- 
 loved (he was dressed in a cinnamon-brown frock- 
 coat, with " puffs " and a velveteen collar, a 
 striped waistcoat with mother-of-pearl buttons, 
 green trousers with boot-straps of patent-leather, 
 and white wash-leather gloves), — when that 
 lover, resting both clenched fists on his breast, 
 and protruding his elbows in front of him 
 in an acute angle, began to howl exactly like 
 a dog— Marya Nikolaevna could endure it no 
 longer. 
 
 " The worst French actor, in the worst little 
 provincial town, plays better and more naturally 
 than the leading German celebrity,"— she ex- 
 claimed indignantly, and changed her seat to the 
 rear room. — " Come here," — she said to Sanin, 
 tapping the divan by her side.— "Let's have a 
 chat." 
 
 Sanin obeyed. 
 
 198
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Mary a Nikolaevna darted a glance at him.— 
 " But you are soft as silk, I see! Your wife will 
 have an easy time with you. That buffoon," — 
 she continued, pointing the tip of her fan at the 
 howling actor (he was playing the part of a pri- 
 vate tutor) , — " has reminded me of my youth; I, 
 also, was in love with the tutor. It was my first 
 .... no, my second passion. I fell in love for 
 the first time with a young fellow in training for 
 a monk, at the Donskoy Monastery. 1 I was 
 twelve years old. I saw him only on Sundays. 
 He wore a velvet cassock, he scented himself with 
 lavender water, as he made his way through the 
 crowd with the censer he spoke to the ladies in 
 French: 'Pardon, excusez'—^ndi never raised his 
 eyes, but he had eyelashes, — as long as that!" — 
 Marya Nikolaevna marked off with her thumb- 
 nail half of her middle finger, and showed it to 
 Sanin.— "My tutor's name was Monsieur Gas- 
 ton. I must tell you that he was a frightfully 
 learned and very strict man, a Swiss, and with 
 such an energetic face! He had side-whiskers as 
 black as pitch, and a Grecian profile— and his lips 
 looked as though they had been cast out of iron! 
 I was afraid of him ! In all my life, I have never 
 been afraid of any man but that one ! He was the 
 governor of my brother, who died afterward 
 ... he was drowned. And a Gipsy has foretold 
 a violent death for me also— but that is nonsense. 
 
 1 A famous monastery in the outskirts of Moscow.— Translator. 
 
 199
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 I don't believe it. Just imagine Ippolit Sidoritch 
 with a dagger ! " 
 
 " One may die otherwise than by a dagger," — 
 remarked Sanin. 
 
 "That's all nonsense! Are you superstitious? 
 I 'm not — not in the least. But what is to be can- 
 not be avoided. Monsieur Gaston lived in our 
 house, over my head. When I used to wake up 
 in the night, I could hear his footsteps— he went 
 to bed very late — and my heart used to swoon 
 with emotion .... or with some other feeling. 
 My father could hardly read and write himself, 
 but he gave us a good education. Do you know, 
 I understand Latin ? " 
 
 "You? Latin?" 
 
 "Yes— I. Monsieur Gaston taught me. I 
 read the iEneid through with him. It's a tire- 
 some thing — but there are nice passages. Do you 
 remember, when Dido and iEneas in the for- 
 
 \Zk> l • • ■ • 
 
 " Yes, yes, I remember,"— said Sanin hastily. 
 He had long ago forgotten all his Latin, and had 
 but a faint conception of the j?Eneid. 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna looked at him, according 
 to her wont, somewhat askance, and from 
 below upward.— "But you must not think 
 that I am very learned. Akh! good heavens, 
 no — I 'm not learned, and I have no talents. 
 I hardly know how to write .... truly I 
 don't; I cannot read aloud; I can neither play 
 
 200
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 the piano, nor draw, nor embroider — noth- 
 ing! That 's what I 'm like— this is all there is 
 tome!" 
 
 She threw her hands apart. — " I am telling you 
 all this," — she went on, — "in the first place, to 
 avoid hearing those fools" (she pointed at the 
 stage, where, at that moment, instead of the actor, 
 an actress had taken up the howl, with her elbows, 
 also, thrust forward), — " and, in the second 
 place, because I am in your debt; you told me 
 about yourself yesterday." 
 
 " You were good enough to ask me," — re- 
 marked Sanin. 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna suddenly turned toward 
 him. — "And you do not care to know what sort 
 of a woman I am? But I am not surprised," — 
 she added, leaning back once more against the 
 cushions of the divan. — " A man is making ready 
 to marry, and for love into the bargain, and after 
 a duel. . . . What time has he to think of any- 
 thing else?" 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna grew pensive, and began to 
 nibble at the handle of her fan, with her large but 
 even teeth, as white as milk. 
 
 And it seemed to Sanin that again there began 
 to rise up in his brain that haze, from which he 
 had not been able to rid himself— for the second 
 day now. 
 
 The conversation between him and Marya 
 Nikolaevna had been carried on in an undertone, 
 
 201
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 almost in a whisper — and this excited and agi- 
 tated him all the more. . . . 
 
 When was all this going to end? 
 
 Weak people never put an end to things them- 
 selves—they always wait for the end. 
 
 Some one sneezed on the stage:— the sneeze 
 had been introduced into the play by the author, 
 as a "comic moment," or "element"; there was 
 no other comic element about it, as a matter of 
 course : and the spectators took advantage of that 
 moment and laughed. 
 
 That laugh also excited Sanin. 
 
 There were minutes when he positively did not 
 know whether he were angry or pleased, bored 
 or merry. Oh, if Gemma could have seen him ! 
 
 "Really, it is strange,"— said Marya Niko- 
 laevna suddenly. " A man announces to you, 
 and in such a composed voice : * I 'm going to 
 marry ' ; but no one tells you composedly : 
 * I 'm going to fling myself into the water.' And 
 yet— what is the difference? 'T is strange, 
 really." 
 
 Vexation seized upon Sanin. — "The differ- 
 ence is great, Marya Nikolaevna ! Some men are 
 not in the least afraid to throw themselves into 
 the water: they know how to swim, and, in addi- 
 tion to that ... so far as the strangeness of 
 marriages is concerned .... if it comes to 
 that .... 
 
 202
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 He suddenly ceased speaking, and bit his 
 tongue. 
 
 Mary a Nikolaevna smote the palm of her hand 
 with her fan. 
 
 ' Finish your sentence, Dmitry Pavlovitch, 
 finish— I know what you meant to say. 'If it 
 comes to that, my dear madam, Marya Niko- 
 laevna Polozoff,' you meant to say, ' nothing 
 more strange than your marriage can be im- 
 agined . . . for I know your husband well, from 
 childhood.' That is what you meant to say, — 
 you who know how to swim! " 
 
 "Pray,"— Sanin began .... 
 
 " Is n't that the truth ? Is n't that the truth ? " 
 — articulated Marya Nikolaevna pertinaciously. 
 ' Come, look me in the face, and tell me that I 
 have not spoken the truth! " 
 
 Sanin did not know where to turn his eyes. — 
 — " Well, as you like: it is true, if you insist upon 
 it," he said at last. 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna nodded her head. — "Ex- 
 actly . . . exactly. Well— and have you asked 
 yourself, you who know how to swim, what can 
 be the cause of so strange a . . . . step, on the 
 part of a woman who is not poor ... or stupid 
 . . . or ugly? Perhaps that does not interest 
 you; but never mind. I will tell you the reason, 
 not now, but as soon as the entr'acte is over. I 
 am in a constant fret lest some one should 
 enter . . . . " 
 
 203
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Before Mary a Nikolaevna had succeeded in 
 uttering this last word, the outer door really did 
 open half-way — and into the box there was thrust 
 a red, greasily-perspiring head, still young but 
 already toothless, with long, lank hair, a pendent 
 nose, huge ears, like those of a bat, with gold 
 spectacles on the curious, dull little eyes, and a 
 pair of eyeglasses on top of the spectacles. The 
 head looked around, espied Marya Nikolaevna, 
 grinned abominably, nodded. ... A sinewy 
 neck was outstretched after it. . . . 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna shook her handkerchief at 
 it. — " I 'm not at home! Ich bin nicht zu House, 
 II err P. . . / Ich bin nicht zu Hause .... 
 Kshshsh, kshshsh!" 
 
 The head was surprised, laughed in a con- 
 strained way, said, with a sort of sob, in imitation 
 of Liszt, at whose feet it had once fawned : " Sehr 
 gut! sehr gut!' 1 — and vanished. 
 
 "What sort of a creature is that?" inquired 
 Sanin. 
 
 "That? A Wiesbaden critic. A 'litterateur,' 
 or valet de place, whichever you please to call it. 
 He is hired by the local contractor, and therefore 
 is bound to praise everything, to go into raptures 
 over everything ; but he is thoroughly permeated 
 with nasty gall, which he does not dare even to 
 discharge. I 'm afraid : he 's a horrid gossip ; 
 he '11 run straight off and tell that I 'm in the 
 theatre. Well, I don't care." 
 
 204
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 The orchestra finished playing a waltz, the cur- 
 tain rose again. . . The contortions and whim- 
 pering began again on the stage. 
 
 "Well, sir,"— began Marya Nikolaevna, sink- 
 ing down on the divan once more — "as long as 
 I have got you fast, and you are compelled to sit 
 with me, instead of luxuriating in the proximity 
 of your betrothed . . . don't roll your eyes, and 
 don't get angry— I understand you, and have al- 
 ready promised you that I will dismiss you to 
 complete freedom— but listen now to my confes- 
 sion ! Would you like to know what I love most 
 of all?" 
 
 " Freedom," suggested Sanin. 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna laid her hand on his. 
 
 'Yes, Dmitry Pavlovitch,"— she said— and 
 her voice rang with a certain peculiar, indubita- 
 bly genuine solemnity — "freedom, more than 
 all, and before all else. And you are not to think 
 that I have boasted of this — there is noth- 
 ing laudable about it— only it is so, and 
 always has been and always will be so for me, 
 even to my death. I must have seen a great 
 deal of slavery in my childhood, and have 
 suffered much from it. Well, and Mon- 
 sieur Gaston, my teacher, opened my eyes 
 also. Now, perhaps, you will understand why 
 I married Ippolit Sidoritch: with him I am 
 free, perfectly free, as free as the air, as the 
 breeze And I knew that before the 
 
 205
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 redding, I knew that with him I should be a 
 free kazak!" 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna ceased speaking, and flung 
 aside her fan. 
 
 "I will tell you still another thing; I am not 
 averse to reflection .... it 's cheerful, and that 's 
 what our mind was given us for; but as to the 
 consequences of what I do myself,— I never re- 
 flect, and when anything happens, I don't pity 
 myself— not even so much — it isn't worth while! 
 
 I have a saying : ' Cela ne tire pas a consequence ' 
 — I don't know how to say that in Russian. And 
 it is correct: for what does 'tire a consequence?' 
 — I shall not be called to account here— on this 
 earth; and there — (she pointed her finger up- 
 ward) — well, there — let them arrange matters as 
 they like. When I am judged there, it won't be 
 
 II Are you listening to me? You are not 
 bored?" 
 
 Sanin was sitting bent forward. He raised his 
 head. — "I am not in the least bored, Marya Ni- 
 kolaevna, and I am listening to you with curi- 
 osity. Only I . . I must confess .... I am 
 asking myself, why you are saying all this to 
 me?" 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna moved along a little on the 
 divan. — "You are asking yourself. . . . Are you 
 so dull of apprehension? Or so modest? ' 
 
 Sanin raised his head still higher. 
 
 " I am saying all this to you,"— pursued Marya 
 
 206
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Nikolaevna, in a calm tone, which, however, did 
 not entirely conform to the expression of her 
 face, — "because I like you very much indeed; 
 yes, you need not be surprised, I am not jesting ; 
 for it would be unpleasant for me if, after having 
 met you, you should cherish a disagreeable im- 
 pression of me ... or even one that was not dis- 
 agreeable— I don't mind that,— but an incorrect 
 one. That is why I have secluded myself here 
 with you, and am remaining alone with you, and 
 am talking so frankly to you. . . . Yes, yes, 
 frankly. I am not lying. And observe, Dmitry 
 Pavlovitch, I know that you are in love with an- 
 other woman, that you are making ready to 
 marry her. . . . But do justice to my disinter- 
 estedness! And here is your opportunity to say, 
 in your turn f Cela ne tire pas a consequence!"' 
 
 She laughed, but her laughter broke off 
 abruptly — and she remained motionless, as 
 though her own words had startled her, and in 
 her eyes, ordinarily so merry and audacious, there 
 was a flash of something akin to timidity, — akin 
 even to sadness. 
 
 "The serpent! akh, she is a serpent!" Sanin 
 was thinking meanwhile ; " but what a beautiful 
 serpent ! " 
 
 'Give me my lorgnette,"— said Marya Niko- 
 laevna, suddenly. " I want to see whether that 
 jeune premiere actually is so homely. Really, 
 one might suppose that she was appointed by the 
 
 207
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 management with a moral aim in view, in order 
 that the young men might not be too much fas- 
 cinated." 
 
 Sanin handed her the lorgnette, and, as she 
 took it from him, she clasped his hand swiftly in 
 both her hands. 
 
 ' Please don't be so serious," — she whispered, 
 with a smile. — "Do you know what? no one can 
 impose any fetters on me; but then, I impose no 
 fetters. — I love freedom, and recognise no ob- 
 ligations — and that not for myself alone. But 
 now, stand aside, if you please, and let us listen 
 to the play." 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna turned her glasses on the 
 stage — and Sanin began to look in that direction 
 also, as he sat by her side, in the semi-darkness 
 of the box, and inhaled — involuntarily inhaled — 
 the warmth and fragrance of her luxurious body, 
 and as involuntarily turned over in his head 
 everything which she had said to him in the course 
 of the evening— especially in the course of the 
 last few minutes. 
 
 XL 
 
 The play lasted for more than an hour longer, 
 but Marya Nikolaevna and Sanin speedily ceased 
 to look at the stage. They entered into conver- 
 sation again, and that conversation slipped into 
 the same path as before; only this time Sanin 
 
 208
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 was less taciturn. Inwardly, he was raging at 
 himself and at Marya Nikolaevna. He endea- 
 voured to demonstrate to her the utter ground- 
 lessness of her " theory," as though she cared for 
 theories ! He began to dispute with her, at which 
 she secretly rejoiced. If a man argues, it means 
 that he is yielding or will yield. He has swal- 
 lowed the bait, he is surrendering, he has ceased 
 to be wild ! She retorted, laughed, assented, med- 
 itated, attacked . . . and, in the meantime, his 
 face and her face drew nearer together, his eyes 
 were no longer averted from her eyes. . . . Those 
 eyes seemed to be straying, seemed to be circling 
 over his features, and he smiled at her in response 
 —politely, but he smiled. She had also won this 
 much ground, that he entered into abstractions, 
 argued about honour in mutual relations, about 
 duty, about the sanctity of love and marriage. 
 .... It is a familiar fact that these abstrac- 
 tions are very, very useful as a beginning .... 
 as a point of departure. . . . 
 
 People who knew Marya Nikolaevna well were 
 wont to assert that when a certain tender and 
 modest something— a something which was al- 
 most maidenly-bashful — suddenly passed over 
 her whole strong and vigorous being, — although 
 you might wonder whence it proceeded, . . yet 
 then . . . yes, then, affairs were taking a dan- 
 gerous turn. 
 
 They were, obviously, taking that turn for Sa- 
 
 209
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 nin. . . . He would have felt scorn for himself, 
 had he succeeded, even for one moment, in con- 
 centrating himself ; but he did not succeed, either 
 in concentrating or scorning himself. 
 
 And she lost no time. And it all came about 
 because he was very far from homely. One is, in- 
 voluntarily, compelled to say: "How are you 
 to know where you will find, where you will 
 lose? " 
 
 The play came to an end. Marya Nikolaevna 
 asked Sanin to throw her shawl around her, and 
 did not stir while he was wrapping the soft fab- 
 ric about her really regal shoulders. Then she 
 took his arm, emerged into the corridor— and 
 came near shrieking aloud. At the very door of 
 the box, like a spectre, stood Donhof; and from 
 behind his back peeped the repulsive figure 
 of the Wiesbaden critic. The face of this " liter- 
 ary man" was fairly beaming with malicious 
 delight. 
 
 " Do you command me to find your carriage, 
 madame?" said the young officer, addressing 
 Marya Nikolaevna, with the quiver of badly- 
 concealed wrath in his voice. 
 
 "No, thank you,"— she replied. . . . "My 
 lackey will find it. Stay here!"— she added, in 
 an imperious whisper— and swiftly retreated, 
 dragging Sanin along. 
 
 "Go to the devil! Why are you bothering 
 me?" Donhof suddenly roared at the literary 
 
 210
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 man. He was forced to vent his spleen on some 
 one. 
 
 " Sehr gut! sehr gut! "—mumbled the literary 
 man — and vanished. 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna's lackey, who was waiting 
 for her in the vestibule, found her carriage in an 
 instant; she hastily seated herself in it, Sanin 
 sprang in after her. The door slammed — and 
 Marya Nikolaevna broke into a ringing laugh. 
 
 " What are you laughing at? "—asked Sanin. 
 
 "Akh, excuse me, pray .... but an idea 
 came into my head. What if Donhof were to 
 fight another duel with you .... about me. 
 .... Would n't that be splendid ? " 
 
 " And are you very intimately acquainted with 
 him? " — asked Sanin. 
 
 "With him? With that little boy? He 's just 
 one of my errand-boys. Don't worry about 
 him!" 
 
 " Why, I 'm not worrying at all." 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna sighed. — " Akh, I know 
 that you are not worrying. But, listen— do you 
 know what ? you are so nice, you ought not to re- 
 fuse me one last request. Don't forget: two 
 days hence I set out for Paris, and you will re- 
 turn to Frankfurt. . . . When shall we meet 
 again ! 
 
 " What is your request? " 
 
 " You can ride on horseback, of course? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 2X1
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " Well, then, see here. To-morrow morning 
 I will take you with me— and we will ride into 
 the suburbs together. We shall have capital 
 horses. Then we will return, and will settle our 
 business — and amen! Do not be surprised, do 
 not tell me that this is a caprice, that I am crazy 
 — all that may be true — but say merely: ' I con- 
 sent! ' " 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna turned her face toward 
 him. It was dark in the carriage, but her eyes 
 gleamed even in that gloom. 
 
 " Certainly, I consent,"— said Sanin, with a 
 sigh. 
 
 "Akh! You sighed!" — Marya Nikolaevna 
 mocked him. ' That is what is meant by: You 
 have said A — don't refuse to say B. But, no, 
 no. . . . You are charming, you are good — and 
 I will keep my promise. Here is my hand for 
 you, ungloved, the right, the business-like hand. 
 Take it— and trust its pressure. What sort of 
 a woman I am, I do not know, but I am an honest 
 man — and you can do business with me." 
 
 Sanin, without clearly accounting to himself 
 for what he did, raised the hand to his lips. Marya 
 Nikolaevna gently withdrew it — and suddenly 
 ceased speaking, and maintained silence until the 
 carriage came to a halt. 
 
 She began to alight. . . . "What 's that?' 
 Was it merely Sanin's fancy, or did he really feel 
 on his cheek a swift and burning touch? 
 
 212
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 "Farewell until to-morrow! "—whispered 
 Marya Nikolaevna to him on the stairs, all illu- 
 minated with the four lights of the candelabra, 
 which had been caught up, on her appearance, by 
 the gilded door-porter. She kept her eyes down- 
 cast. 
 
 " Until to-morrow! " 
 
 When he reached his room, Sanin found on his 
 table a letter from Gemma. He was frightened 
 .... for a moment — but immediately rejoiced, 
 in order the more speedily to mask his own fear 
 to himself. — It consisted of a few lines. — She was 
 delighted at the favourable " beginning of the 
 affair," advised him to be patient, and added 
 that every one in the house was well, and was re- 
 joicing in advance over his return. Sanin 
 thought this letter decidedly curt ; but, neverthe- 
 less, he took pen and paper— and then flung all 
 aside. — " Why write? To-morrow I shall return 
 in person .... 't is time, high time! ' 
 
 He immediately went to bed, and tried to get 
 to sleep as promptly as possible. Had he re- 
 mained up, and awake, he certainly would have 
 begun to think of Gemma — but, for some rea- 
 son or other .... he was ashamed to think of 
 her. His conscience was stirring within him. 
 But he soothed himself with the reflection that 
 on the morrow everything would be over forever, 
 and he would part forever from that giddy fine 
 lady— and would forget all that nonsense! .... 
 
 213
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Weak people, when they talk to themselves, 
 are fond of using energetic expressions. 
 
 " Et puis .... cela ne tire pas a consequence! " 
 
 XLI 
 
 This is what Sanin was thinking, as he got into 
 bed. But what he thought on the following day, 
 when Marya Nikolaevna impatiently tapped on 
 his door with the coral handle of her riding- whip ; 
 when he beheld her on the threshold of his cham- 
 ber, with the train of her dark-green riding- 
 habit over her arm, a little masculine hat on 
 her curls plaited in heavy braids, her veil tossed 
 over her shoulder, and with a tempting smile on 
 her lips, in her eyes, on her whole face— as to 
 what he thought then history holds its peace. 
 
 " Well? Are you ready? "—her merry voice 
 resounded. 
 
 Sanin buttoned his coat, and silently took up 
 his hat. Marya Nikolaevna darted a brilliant 
 glance at him, nodded her head, and ran swiftly 
 down the staircase. And he ran after her. 
 
 The horses were already standing in the street, 
 in front of the steps. There were three of them. 
 A golden-bay, pure-blooded mare, with a thin, 
 grinning muzzle, black, prominent eyes, with the 
 legs of a deer, rather lean, but handsome and 
 mettlesome as fire, — for Marya Nikolaevna; a 
 powerful, broad, rather heavily -built horse, black, 
 
 214
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 without marks, — for Sanin; the third horse was 
 destined for the groom. Marya Nikolaevna 
 leaped agilely on her mare. . . The latter 
 pranced and curveted, flirted out its tail, and 
 elevated its crupper, but Marya Nikolaevna (a 
 capital horsewoman!) held it in place. She 
 must say good-bye to Polozoff, who, in his inev- 
 itable fez and with dressing-gown flying open, 
 made his appearance on the balcony, and thence 
 waved a batiste handkerchief, without the trace of 
 a smile, however, but frowning rather. Sanin 
 mounted also on his horse. Marya Nikolaevna 
 saluted Mr. Polozoff with her whip, then lashed 
 the flat arched neck of her steed with it; the lat- 
 ter reared on its hind legs, darted forward, and 
 proceeded in a prancing, curveting gait, quiver- 
 ing in every nerve, champing at the bit, biting the 
 air, and snorting violently. Sanin rode behind, 
 and gazed at Marya Nikolaevna. Confidently, 
 dexterously, and gracefully swayed her lithe, 
 slender form, closely and easily confined by her 
 corset. She turned back her head, and sum- 
 moned him with her eyes. He rode up along- 
 side of her. 
 
 "Well, here you see how nice it is,"— said she. 
 " I am talking to you for the last time before our 
 parting! You are a dear! and you shall not re- 
 pent!" 
 
 Having uttered these last words, she moved 
 her head from above downward several times, 
 
 215
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 as though desirous of confirming them, and mak- 
 ing him feel their significance. 
 
 She seemed happy to such a degree that Sanin 
 was simply amazed. A certain sedate expression 
 made its appearance on her face— the sort of 
 expression which children wear when they are 
 very .... very much pleased. 
 
 They rode at a foot-pace to the barrier, which 
 was not far distant, and there set out at a rapid 
 gallop along the highway. The weather was glo- 
 rious, real summer weather; the breeze blew in 
 their faces, and hummed and whistled agreeably 
 in their ears. They felt well; the consciousness 
 of young, healthy life, of free, rapid movement 
 ahead, took possession of both of them; it aug- 
 mented with every moment. 
 
 Mary a Nikolaevna reined in her horse, and 
 rode at a walk; Sanin followed her example. 
 
 " There," — she began, with a deep, blissful 
 sigh; "there, life is worth living for this alone. 
 When one has succeeded in accomplishing what 
 he wishes, what seemed impossible — well, then, 
 soul, profit by it to the utmost! " She passed her 
 hand across her throat. — "And how amiable a 
 person feels then ! Here am I now . . how ami- 
 able I am! It seems as though I could embrace 
 the whole world."— She pointed with her whip at 
 a poorly-clad old man, who was making his way 
 along on one side. — "I 'm even ready to make 
 him happy. Here, there, you, take this,"— she 
 cried loudly, in German — flinging her purse 
 
 216
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 at his feet. The ponderous bag (there was no 
 such thing as a pocket-book in those days) clat- 
 tered on the road. The passer-by was astonished, 
 and halted, but Marya Nikolaevna burst out 
 laughing, and set her horse to galloping. 
 
 ' Does it make you so merry to ride on horse- 
 back? " asked Sanin, as he overtook her. 
 
 Again Marya Nikolaevna reined in her horse 
 until it rested on its hind quarters. She never 
 stopped it in any other way. — " I only wished 
 to escape gratitude. He who thanks me spoils 
 my happiness. I did n't do it for his sake, you 
 see, but for my own. And how could he dare to 
 thank me? I did not hear exactly what you 
 asked me? " 
 
 ' I asked ... I wanted to know why you are 
 so merry to-day? " 
 
 ' Do you know what," — said Marya Nikola- 
 evna: she either did not hear what Sanin said, 
 or else she did not consider it necessary to an- 
 swer his question. — " I 'm frightfully tired of 
 that groom, who is sticking up there behind us, 
 and who must be thinking only about when ' the 
 masters ' will go home. How shall we get rid of 
 him? " — She hastily drew from her pocket a lit- 
 tle note-book. — " Shall I send him to town with 
 a letter? No .... that won't do. Ah, I have 
 it! What 's that ahead of us? A restaurant? " . 
 Sanin looked in the direction she indicated. — 
 " Yes, it is a restaurant, apparently." 
 
 ' Well, very good, indeed. I will order him to 
 
 217
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 remain at that restaurant, and drink beer, until 
 we return." 
 
 "But what will he think?" 
 
 " What business is that of ours? But he will 
 not think; he will drink beer— that 's all. Come, 
 Sanin " (she addressed him by his surname for the 
 first time) — " advance— at a trot! " 
 
 On coming opposite the restaurant, Marya 
 Nikolaevna called up the groom, and informed 
 him of what she required of him. The groom, 
 a man of English extraction and English tem- 
 perament, silently lifted his hand to the visor of 
 his cap, sprang from his horse, and took it by the 
 bridle. 
 
 " Well, now we are free as birds! " — exclaimed 
 Marya Nikolaevna.—" Where shall we go? — 
 north, south, east, or west? See, — I do like the 
 King of Hungary at his coronation ' (she 
 pointed with her whip at all four quarters of 
 the globe).— "All is ours! No, do you know 
 what : see, what glorious mountains there are yon- 
 der — and what a forest! Let us ride thither, to 
 the hills, to the hills ! 
 
 In die Berge, wo die Freiheit thront ! " 
 
 She turned out of the highway, and galloped 
 along a narrow, unbeaten road, which appeared 
 to lead directly to the mountains. Sanin gal- 
 loped after her. 
 
 218
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 XLII 
 
 This road soon became a path, and at last disap- 
 peared entirely, intercepted by a ditch. Sanin 
 advised return, but Marya Nikolaevna said: 
 "No! I want to go to the mountains! Let us 
 ride straight as the birds fly . . ."—and made her 
 horse leap the ditch. Sanin also leaped it. Be- 
 yond the ditch began a meadow, at first dry, then 
 wet, then, at last, a regular marsh ; the water was 
 seeping through everywhere, and stood in pools. 
 Marya Nikolaevna sent her horse deliberately 
 across the pools, laughed loudly, and kept reiter- 
 ating: "Let's frolic like school-children!" 
 
 "Do you know,"— she asked Sanin,— "the 
 meaning of the expression: ' puddle-hunting '? " ! 
 
 " I do," replied Sanin. 
 
 "My uncle was a huntsman,"— she went on. 
 " I used to ride with him in the spring. It was 
 splendid! Just like you and I now — ah, the pud- 
 dles! I see you are a Russian man, but you 
 want to marry an Italian. Well, that 's your 
 affliction. What's that? Another ditch ? Hop!" 
 
 The horse leaped— but Marya Nikolaevna's 
 hat fell from her head, and her curls showered 
 down over her shoulders. Sanin was on the point 
 of slipping off his horse, and picking up the hat; 
 but she shouted at him: " Don't touch it; I '11 get 
 
 1 The first spring thaw.— Translator. 
 
 219
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 it myself!' bent low in her saddle, hooked the 
 handle of her whip into the veil, and, in fact, did 
 get the hat, and put it on her head, but without 
 gathering lip her hair, dashed headlong onward 
 once more, and even whooped. Sanin dashed 
 along by her side, leaped over gullies, fences, 
 brooks, tumbling in and scrambling out, racing 
 down hill, racing up hill, and gazing ever in her 
 face. What a face ! It seemed to be all open ; the 
 eyes were open, greedy, bright, wild; the lips, 
 the nostrils were open also, and breathed eagerly ; 
 she stared straight and intently in front of her, 
 and, apparently, that soul wanted to take pos- 
 session of everything she beheld, the earth, the 
 sky, the sun, and the very air itself, and grieved 
 over one thing only: there were too few dangers 
 —it would have overcome them all! "Sanin!" 
 —she cried, "this is in Burger's 'Lenore!' 
 Only, you are not dead— are you? You are 
 not dead? . . , I 'm alive!" Her power of dar- 
 ing had begun to come into action. She was no 
 longer a woman-rider, setting her horse at a gal- 
 lop—she was a young female centaur— half- 
 beast, half -goddess— who was galloping there— 
 and the sedate and well-trained country, trampled 
 upon by her stormy debauch, stood amazed. 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna at last drew up her foam- 
 ing, bespattered horse ; it was staggering beneath 
 her, and Sanin's powerful but heavy stallion was 
 out of breath. 
 
 220
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 "Well? Is it pleasant?" asked Marya Niko- 
 laevna, in a wonderful sort of whisper. 
 
 " Yes! "—responded Sanin, enthusiastically. 
 And his blood blazed up within him. 
 
 " Wait, there 's more to come ! "—She stretched 
 out her hand. The glove on it was rent. 
 
 " I told you that I would lead you to the forest, 
 to the mountains . . . there they are, the moun- 
 tains!"— In fact, the mountains, covered with 
 lofty forest, began a couple of hundred paces 
 from the spot to which the wild riders had flown. 
 — " Look, yonder is the road, too. Let us set 
 out— and forward! But at a walk. We must 
 give the horses a rest." 
 
 They rode on. With one powerful sweep of 
 the hand, Marya Nikolaevna tossed back her hair. 
 Then she looked at her gloves— and took them 
 off. ' My hands will smell of the leather,"— she 
 said, 'but you don't mind that, I hope? Do 
 you?' .... Marya Nikolaevna smiled, and 
 Sanin smiled also. That mad ride of theirs 
 seemed to have definitively brought them close 
 together, and made them friends. 
 
 'How old are you?"— she suddenly inquired. 
 - " Twentv-two." 
 
 'Is it possible? I am also twenty-two. It 
 is a good age. Add our ages together, and even 
 then the sum will be far removed from old age. 
 But how hot it is! Is my face red? " 
 
 " As a poppy." 
 
 221
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna wiped her face with her 
 handkerchief. — " If we can but reach the forest, 
 it will be cool there. Such an old forest is just 
 like an old friend. Have you friends ? ' 
 
 Sanin reflected a little. — " Yes . . . only, not 
 many. No real ones." 
 
 "But I have some, real friends, only not old 
 ones. Here 's a friend, also — a horse. How 
 carefully it carries one! Akh, it is capital here! 
 Is it possible that I shall set out for Paris the day 
 after to-morrow? " 
 
 "Yes ... is it possible?" — chimed in Sanin. 
 
 " And are you going to Frankfurt? " 
 
 " It is imperatively necessary that I should go 
 to Frankfurt." 
 
 "Well, never mind .... good luck to you! 
 But to-day is ours .... ours .... ours!" 
 
 The horses reached the border of the forest, and 
 entered it. The shadow of the forest enveloped 
 them broadly and softly on all sides. 
 
 " Oh, yes, this is paradise! "—exclaimed Marya 
 Nikolaevna. " Deeper, further into the shade, 
 Sanin! " 
 
 The horses moved on, " deeper into the shade," 
 reeling slightly, and snorting. The path wherein 
 they trod suddenly made a turn to one side, and 
 plunged into a rather narrow gorge. The scent 
 of the young birch-trees, of ferns, of pine-resin, 
 of rank rotting foliage from the preceding year, 
 
 222
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 seemed to be shut up within it— dense and 
 dreamy. From the crevices of the huge, dark- 
 brown rocks emanated a robust coolness. On 
 both sides of the path rose round mounds over- 
 grown with green moss. 
 
 " Stop! "—cried Marya Nikolaevna. " I want 
 to sit down and rest on this velvet. Help me to 
 dismount." 
 
 Sanin leaped from his horse, and ran to her. 
 She leaned on his shoulders, sprang instantly to 
 the ground, and seated herself on one of the 
 mossy mounds. He stood in front of her, hold- 
 ing the bridles of both horses in his hands. 
 
 She raised her eyes to his. ..." Sanin, can 
 you forget? " 
 
 Sanin recalled what had happened the night 
 before .... in the carriage:— " What is that— 
 a question .... or a reproach? " 
 
 " I have never reproached any one for any- 
 thing in my life. But do you believe in love- 
 charms? " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "In love-charms— you know; what is referred 
 to in our songs. In the popular Russian bal- 
 lads." 
 
 " Ah! That 's what you are talking about . . ." 
 drawled Sanin. 
 
 " Yes, about that. I believe in that .... and 
 do you?" 
 
 " Love-charms .... witchcraft . . . ." repeated 
 
 223
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Sanin. " Everything is possible in this world. I 
 did not use to believe in it— now I do. I don't 
 recognise myself." 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna pondered, and glanced 
 about her. — " It strikes me that I know this spot. 
 Look behind that spreading oak, Sanin, and see 
 whether a red wooden cross stands there, or not." 
 
 Sanin stepped a few paces to one side.—" Yes, 
 it is there." 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna smiled. — "Ah, good! I 
 know where we are. We are not lost yet. What 
 is that tapping? A wood-cutter? " 
 
 Sanin peered into the thicket. — " Yes .... 
 Yonder is some man chopping dry branches." 
 
 " I must put my hair in order,"— said Marya 
 Nikolaevna.—" If I don't, and am seen, I shall 
 be censured." She took off her hat, and began 
 to plait her long tresses. Sanin stood in front 
 of her. . . . Her graceful limbs were clearly de- 
 fined under the dark folds of cloth, to which, here 
 and there, filaments of moss adhered. 
 
 One of the horses suddenly shook itself behind 
 Sanin; he himself involuntarily trembled from 
 head to foot. Everything in him was in utter 
 confusion — his nerves were tense as guitar- 
 strings. ' Truly had he said that he did not know 
 himself. . . . He really was bewitched. His 
 whole being was full of one .... one thought, 
 one desire. Marya Nikolaevna darted a piercing 
 glance at him. " Now, then, everything is as it 
 
 224
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 should be," — she said, putting on her hat. 
 ' Won't you sit down ? Yonder ! No ; wait .... 
 don't sit down. What 's that? " 
 
 Through the crests of the trees, through the 
 air of the forest, rolled a dull vibration. 
 
 " Can that be thunder? " 
 ' Apparently, it is thunder,"— replied Sanin. 
 
 " Akh, yes, this is a feast-day! simply a feast- 
 day! That was the only thing that was lack- 
 ing!"— A dull roar resounded once again, 
 rose— and fell in a peal. — " Bravo! Bis! Do 
 you remember I was telling you last night about 
 the iEneid? The thunder caught them in the 
 forest also, you know. But we must go." — She 
 rose hastily to her feet. — "Lead up my horse. 
 . . . Hold out your hand. That 's it. I am 
 not heavy." 
 
 She soared into her saddle like a bird. Sanin 
 also mounted his horse. 
 
 ' Are you going home? " — he asked, in an un- 
 steady voice. 
 
 'Yes— home!!" she replied, slowly, gath- 
 ering up her reins. — "Follow me," — she com- 
 manded, almost roughly. 
 
 She rode out upon the road, and passing the 
 red cross, descended into a hollow, reached the 
 cross-roads, turned to the right, and began again 
 to ascend. . . . She evidently knewwhither the road 
 led—and the road led deeper, ever deeper, into 
 the fastnesses of the forest. She said nothing, 
 
 225
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 and did not look behind her; she moved on impe- 
 riously in advance— and he followed her obedi- 
 ently and meekly, without a shadow of will in his 
 sinking heart. A fine rain began to drizzle down. 
 She hastened the gait of her horse, and he kept 
 up with her. At last, athwart the dark verdure 
 of the fir-shrubs, from beneath a projection of a 
 grey cliff, there peeped out at him a wretched 
 watchman's hut, with a low-browed door in the 
 wattled wall. . . . Marya Nikolaevna made her 
 horse force its way through the bushes, sprang 
 off — and, finding herself suddenly at the en- 
 trance of the hut, she turned to Sanin— and 
 whispered : " iEneas ! " 
 
 Four hours later, Marya Nikolaevna and Sanin, 
 accompanied by the groom, who was dozing in his 
 saddle, returned to Wiesbaden, to the hotel. Mr. 
 Polozoff met his wife, holding in his hands the 
 letter to the steward. But after having scruti- 
 nised her more attentively, he expressed on his 
 countenance a certain dissatisfaction— and even 
 muttered:— " Can it be that I have lost my 
 wager? " 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna merely shrugged her shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 And on that same day, two hours later, Sanin 
 stood before her, in his own room, like a dis- 
 tracted, a ruined man. . . . 
 
 226
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 << 
 
 Whither art thou going? "—she asked him. 
 To Paris, or to Frankfurt? " 
 
 I am going where thou wilt be— and I shall 
 be with thee, until thou drivest me away," — he re- 
 plied, with despair, and fell to kissing the hands 
 of his sovereign. She released them, laid them on 
 his head— and grasped his hair with all ten fin- 
 gers. She slowly drew her fingers through and 
 twisted that unresisting hair, and drew herself up 
 to her full height: triumph curled serpent -like 
 about her lips, and her eyes, wide, and bright to 
 whiteness, expressed only the pitiless stolidity and 
 satiety of victory. The hawk which is clawing 
 a captured bird has such eyes. 
 
 XLIII 
 
 That was what Dmitry Sanin recalled, when, 
 in the silence of his study, as he rummaged 
 among his old papers, he found with them the 
 little garnet cross. The events which we have 
 narrated rose clearly and in their proper order 
 before his mental vision. . . . But on arriving 
 at the minute when he turned with such a humil- 
 iating entreaty to Madame Polozoff, when he 
 threw himself in self -surrender beneath her feet, 
 when his servitude began,— he turned away from 
 the images which he had evoked, he did not wish 
 to recall anything further. Not that his mem- 
 ory had played him false — oh, no! he knew, 
 
 227
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 he knew but too well, what had followed that 
 minute, but shame stifled him; even now, so 
 many years afterward, he was frightened by 
 the feeling of invincible scorn for himself, which 
 would, inevitably,— of that he could have no 
 doubt — surge in upon him and drown, like a 
 flood, all other sensations, the moment he should 
 cease to bid his memory to hold its peace. But 
 turn away as he would from the rising memories, 
 he could not wholly stifle them. He remembered 
 the abominable, tearful, lying, pitiful letter 
 which he had despatched to Gemma, and which 
 had remained unanswered. . . . Present himself 
 before her, return to her, after such a deception, 
 after such treachery — no! no! he had enough con- 
 science and honour left in him for that. More- 
 over, he had lost all confidence in himself, all 
 respect for himself; he dared not vouch for any- 
 thing. Sanin also recalled how, later on, he — oh, 
 disgrace!— had sent Polozoff's lackey for his 
 things in Frankfurt, how cowardly he had been, 
 how he had thought only of one thing: to go 
 away to Paris as promptly as possible — to Paris; 
 how, at the bidding of Marya Nikolaevna, he had 
 fawned on and humoured Ippolft Sidoritch— and 
 had been amiable to Donhof, on whose finger he 
 noticed precisely the same sort of iron ring which 
 Marya Nikolaevna had given to him! ! ! Then 
 the memories became still worse, still more shame- 
 ful. ... A waiter hands him a visiting-card, 
 
 228
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 and on it stands the name of Pantaleone Cippa- 
 tola, Court Singer to his Royal Highness the 
 Duke of Modena! He hides from the old man, 
 but cannot avoid encountering him in the corri- 
 dor — and there rises up before him the incensed 
 face, beneath the upward-curling grey crest; the 
 aged eyes flame like coals of fire — and menacing 
 exclamations and curses: " Maledizione!" and 
 even terrible words become audible : " Codardo! 
 Infame traditore!" — Sanin screws up his eyes, 
 shakes his head, turns away again and again — 
 and nevertheless, he beholds himself sitting in 
 the travelling-carriage, on the narrow front seat. 
 .... On the back seats, the comfortable seats, 
 sit Marya Nikolaevna and Ippolit Sidoritch — 
 four horses are proceeding at a brisk trot over the 
 pavements of Wiesbaden — to Paris! to Paris! 
 Ippolit Sidoritch is eating a pear, which he, 
 Sanin, has peeled, and Marya Nikolaevna is look- 
 ing at him— and laughing with that sneering 
 laugh which is already familiar to him, the en- 
 slaved man, — the sneering laugh of a sovereign 
 owner. . . . 
 
 But, oh, my God ! yonder, at the corner of the 
 street, not far from the egress from the town, is 
 not that Pantaleone standing there again— and 
 who is it with him? Can it be Emilio? Yes, 't is 
 he, that enthusiastic, devoted lad! Not long ago 
 his youthful heart was worshipping before its 
 hero, its ideal — but now, his pale, handsome face 
 
 229
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 — so handsome that Mary a Nikolaevna observed 
 it, and even thrust her head out of the carriage- 
 window — his noble face is blazing with wrath 
 and scorn; his eyes — how like those eyes!— are 
 eagerly riveted upon Sanin, and his lips are com- 
 pressed . . . and suddenly open, to emit insult .... 
 
 And Pantaleone stretches forth his hand, and 
 points out Sanin— to whom? to Tartaglia, who 
 is standing by, and Tartaglia barks at Sanin — 
 and the very bark of the honest dog rings out 
 like an intolerable affront. . . . 'T is monstrous! 
 
 And then — that sojourn in Paris — and all the 
 humiliations, all the loathsome tortures of the 
 slave, who is not permitted to be jealous, or to 
 complain, and who is finally discarded, like a 
 worn-out garment. . . . 
 
 Then— the return to his native land, the poi- 
 soned, devastated life, the petty bustle, the petty 
 cares, repentance bitter and fruitless— and for- 
 getfulness equally bitter and fruitless— a pun- 
 ishment not evident, but incessant and of every 
 moment, like an insignificant but incurable pain, 
 paying off, kopek by kopek, a debt which cannot 
 be calculated. . . . 
 
 The cup is filled to overflowing— enough! 
 
 How had the little cross, given to Sanin by 
 Gemma, escaped, why had not he sent it back, 
 how had it happened that, until that day, he had 
 never even once come across it? Long, long did 
 
 230
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 he sit immersed in thought — and already taught 
 by experience, in the course of all those years, 
 he still was not able to comprehend how he could 
 have abandoned Gemma, whom he so tenderly 
 and passionately loved, for a woman whom he 
 did not love at all! . . . On the following day, 
 he astonished all his friends and acquaintances: 
 he announced to them that he was going abroad. 
 The surprise extended to society. Sanin quit 
 Petersburg in the heart of winter, after having 
 just hired and furnished a capital apartment, 
 and even subscribed to the performances of the 
 Italian opera, in which Madame Patti herself — 
 Madame Patti herself, herself, herself!— was 
 taking part! His friends and acquaintances 
 were puzzled. But people, in general, do not oc- 
 cupy themselves for long with other people's af- 
 fairs, and when Sanin set out for foreign parts, 
 no one but his French tailor went to the railway 
 station to see him off — and that in the hope of re- 
 ceiving payment for his little account — " pour un 
 saute-en-barque en velours noir, tout a fait chic" 
 
 XLIV 
 
 Sanin had told his friends that he was going 
 abroad — but he had not told them precisely 
 where. The reader will easily divine that he jour- 
 neyed straight to Frankfurt. Thanks to the 
 universal diffusion of railways, he was in Frank- 
 
 231
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 furt on the fourth day after his departure from 
 Petersburg. He had not visited it since the year 
 1840. The "White Swan" inn stood on its 
 former site, although it was no longer regarded 
 as first-class. The Zeil, the principal thorough- 
 fare of Frankfurt, had undergone little altera- 
 tion, but not only was there no trace of Signora 
 Roselli's house — the very street in which her con- 
 fectionery shop had stood had disappeared. Sa- 
 nin roamed like a half-witted person about the 
 localities which he had once known so well — and 
 recognised nothing; the former buildings had 
 vanished; they had been superseded by new 
 streets, lined with huge, close-set houses, with 
 elegant villas ; even the public park, where his last 
 explanation with Gemma had taken place, had 
 grown up and changed to such an extent that 
 Sanin asked himself — is it really the same park? 
 What was there for him to do ? How and where 
 was he to make inquiries? Thirty years had 
 passed since then. . . It was no easy affair ! No 
 matter to whom he applied — no one had even 
 heard the name of Roselli. The landlord of the 
 inn counselled him to make inquiries at the public 
 library; there he would find all the old news- 
 papers, but what advantage he would derive 
 therefrom the landlord himself could not ex- 
 plain. Sanin, in despair, inquired about Herr 
 Kliiber. That name was well known to the land- 
 lord, — but here, also, he was unsuccessful. The 
 
 232
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 elegant clerk, after having made considerable 
 noise in the world, and risen to the vocation of 
 a capitalist, had failed in business, become bank- 
 rupt, and died in jail. . . . This news did not, 
 however, cause Sanin the slightest pain. He had 
 already begun to regard his trip as rather fool- 
 ish .... but, lo, one day, as he was turning 
 over the Frankfurt directory, he came upon the 
 name of von Donhof, retired major (Major 
 a. D.). He immediately summoned a carriage, 
 and drove to him — although why should this von 
 Donhof, infallibly, be that von Donhof, and why 
 even should that von Donhof be able to impart 
 to him any news about the Roselli family? 
 Never mind ; a drowning man clutches at a straw. 
 Sanin found the retired Major von Donhof 
 at home — and in the grizzled gentleman who re- 
 ceived him, he immediately recognised his former 
 antagonist. And the latter recognised him, and 
 even rejoiced at his appearance. It reminded 
 him of his youth — and his youthful pranks. Sa- 
 nin heard from him that the Roselli family had, 
 long since, emigrated to America, to New York ; 
 that Gemma had married a merchant; that he, 
 Donhof, moreover, had an acquaintance, who was 
 also a merchant, who probably knew the hus- 
 band's address, as he had large dealings with 
 America. Sanin asked Donhof to go to that ac- 
 quaintance—and—oh, joy!— Donhof brought 
 him the address of Gemma's husband, Mr. Jere- 
 
 233
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 miah Slocum, No. 501 Broadway, New York.— 
 Only, the address was of the year 1863. 
 
 " Let us hope," — exclaimed Donhof, — " that 
 our former Frankfurt beauty is still alive, and 
 has not left New York! By the way," — he 
 added, lowering his voice, " and how about that 
 Russian lady who was then staying in Wiesbaden, 
 you remember— Madame von Bo .... von 
 Bolozoff — is she still alive?" 
 
 " No,"— replied Sanin,— "she died long ago." 
 Donhof raised his eyes— but, perceiving that 
 Sanin had turned away, and was frowning, — he 
 did not add another word — and withdrew. 
 
 That very day Sanin despatched a letter to Mrs. 
 Gemma Slocum, in New York. In the letter, he 
 told her that he was writing from Frankfurt, 
 whither he had come, solely with the object of 
 looking her up; that he was fully conscious to 
 what a degree he was destitute of every right 
 to a reply from her; that he in no way deserved 
 her forgiveness— and only hoped that she, amid 
 the happy environment in which she found 
 herself, had long since forgotten his very exis- 
 tence. He added that he had decided to recall 
 himself to her memory, in consequence of an ac- 
 cidental occurrence, which had aroused too viv- 
 idly in him the images of the past; he told her 
 the story of his life, solitary, without family, joy- 
 less; he adjured her to understand the causes 
 
 234
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 which had impelled him to address himself to her, 
 not to allow him to carry with him into the grave 
 the painful consciousness of his fault — long since 
 atoned for by suffering, but not forgiven — and to 
 make him glad if only with the briefest infor- 
 mation as to what her life was like in that New 
 World, whither she had removed. " By writing 
 me even a single word,"— thus did Sanin wind 
 up his letter, — " you will be doing a good deed, 
 worthy of your beautiful soul, — and I shall thank 
 you until my last breath. I am stopping here at 
 the White Swan inn " (he underlined these 
 words) " and shall wait, — wait until spring for 
 your reply." 
 
 He sent off this letter, — and settled down to 
 wait. Six whole weeks did he live in the inn, 
 hardly going outside of his room, and seeing 
 absolutely no one. No one could write to him 
 from Russia, or from anywhere else; and that 
 was to his taste ; if a letter were to come addressed 
 to him, he would know at once that it was it— 
 the one for which he was waiting. He read from 
 morning until night— and not newspapers, but 
 serious books, historical works. This prolonged 
 course of reading, this mute stillness, this snail- 
 like, hidden existence — were all exactly suited to 
 his spiritual mood; and for this alone, thanks to 
 Gemma! But was she alive? Would she answer? 
 
 At last a letter arrived— bearing an American 
 stamp — from New York, addressed to him. The 
 
 235
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 handwriting of the address on the envelope was 
 English. . . . He did not recognise it, and his 
 heart contracted. He could not at once make 
 up his mind to break open the packet. He 
 glanced at the signature: " Gemma!" The tears 
 gushed from his eyes. The mere fact that she 
 had signed with her name, omitting her sur- 
 name, served him as a pledge of reconciliation, 
 of pardon ! He spread out the thin sheet of note- 
 paper — a photograph slipped from it. He has- 
 tily picked it up — and was fairly dumfounded: 
 Gemma, the living Gemma, as young as he had 
 known her thirty years ago! The selfsame eyes, 
 the selfsame lips, the same type of the whole 
 face! On the back of the photograph was writ- 
 ten: " My daughter Marianna." The whole let- 
 ter was very simple and affectionate. Gemma 
 thanked Sanin for not having hesitated to ad- 
 dress her, for having had faith in her. She did 
 not conceal from him, either, the fact that she 
 really had lived through painful moments after 
 his flight, but she immediately added that, never- 
 theless, she regarded — and always had regarded 
 — her meeting with him as a happiness — since that 
 meeting had prevented her becoming the wife 
 of Herr Kliiber — and so, although indirectly, 
 it had been the cause of her marriage to her pres- 
 ent husband, with whom she was now living for 
 the eight-and-twentieth year, in complete f elicit}^, 
 in comfort and luxury. Their house was known 
 
 236
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 to all New York. Gemma informed Sanin that 
 she had five children— four sons and one daugh- 
 ter, a girl of eighteen, engaged to be married, 
 whose photograph she sent him — as she, accord- 
 ing to universal opinion, greatly resembled her 
 mother. Gemma kept her sad news for the end 
 of her letter. Frau Lenore had died in New 
 York, whither she had followed her daughter and 
 son-in-law — but had been able to rejoice in their 
 happiness, and dandle her grandchildren on her 
 knee. Pantaleone had also prepared to go to 
 America, but had died just before he was to have 
 left Frankfurt. "And Emilio — our dear, incom- 
 parable Emilio— died a glorious death for the 
 freedom of his native land, in Sicily, whither he 
 went among that ' Thousand ' who were led by 
 the great Garibaldi; we all fervently lamented 
 the death of our inestimable brother; but even 
 as we wept, we were proud of him — and shall al- 
 ways be proud of him and hold his memory sa- 
 cred ! His lofty, unselfish soul was worthy of the 
 martyr's crown!" Then Gemma expressed her 
 regret that Sanin's life had— apparently— fallen 
 into such unpleasant places, wished him first of 
 all solace and spiritual tranquillity, and said that 
 she should be glad to see him again — although 
 she was aware that such a meeting was hardly 
 probable. . . . 
 
 We will not undertake to depict the sensations 
 experienced by Sanin, on perusing this letter. 
 
 237
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 There is no satisfactory expression for such feel- 
 ings: they are deeper and more sacred — and more 
 indefinite— than any word. Music alone would 
 be competent to transmit them. 
 
 Sanin replied immediately— and sent as a gift 
 to the bride— "To Marianna Slocum, from an 
 unknown friend " — the garnet cross, mounted 
 on a magnificent pearl necklace. This gift, al- 
 though very valuable, did not ruin him. In the 
 course of the thirty years which had elapsed since 
 his first sojourn in Frankfurt, he had succeeded 
 in acquiring a considerable fortune. Early in 
 May he returned to Petersburg— but probably 
 not for long. It is rumoured that he is selling 
 off all his property— and making ready to go to 
 America. 
 
 238
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK 
 
 A STUDY 
 
 (1870)
 

 
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 A STUDY 
 
 WE all seated ourselves in a circle, and our 
 good friend Alexander Vasilievitch Rie- 
 del (he had a German surname, but he was a born 
 and bred Russian) began as follows: 
 
 I will relate to you, gentlemen, an incident 
 which happened to me in the thirties .... forty 
 years ago, as you see. I will be brief— and you 
 must not interrupt me. 
 
 I was living in Petersburg at the time, and had 
 only just come out of the university. My brother 
 was serving in the horse-guard artillery, with the 
 rank of ensign. His battery was stationed at 
 Krasnoe Selo, 1 — it was in summer. My brother 
 was not quartered in Krasnoe Selo proper, but in 
 one of the adjacent hamlets. I was his guest 
 more than once, and had become well acquainted 
 with all his comrades. He was lodged in a fairly- 
 clean cottage together with another officer be- 
 
 1 Literally, " Red Village," situated sixteen miles from St. Peters- 
 burg. A summer resort, but chiefly known as the site of the great 
 summer camp and mancfeuvring-ground.— Translator. 
 
 241
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 longing to his battery. This officer's name was 
 Tyegleff, Ilya Stepanitch. I became particu- 
 larly intimate with him. 
 
 Marlinsky has become old-fashioned now; no 
 one reads him, and people even ridicule him ; but 
 in the thirties he made more noise than any one 
 else, and Pushkin — according to the ideas of the 
 youth of that period — could not be compared 
 with him. He not only enjoyed the glory of be- 
 ing the leading Russian writer, he even effected 
 what is far more difficult, and more rarely en- 
 countered — he imprinted his stamp upon the gen- 
 eration contemporaneous with him. Heroes a 
 la Marlinsky were cropping up in every direc- 
 tion, and especially among army and artillery 
 officers; they conversed and corresponded in his 
 language; in society they maintained a gloomy, 
 reticent mien, with " a storm in the soul, and a 
 flame in the blood," like Lieutenant Byelozor of 
 " The Frigate Hope." Female hearts were 
 " devoured " by them. The epithet " fatal " was 
 then invented for them. This type, as every one 
 knows, persisted for a long time, until the date of 
 Petchorin. 1 What all did not that type contain? 
 Byronism and romanticism; reminiscences of the 
 French Revolution and the Decembrists 2 — and 
 
 1 The hero of LermontofTs famous novel "A Hero of Our Times." 
 — Translator. 
 
 2 The conspirators who made trouble on the accession to the 
 throne of the Emperor Nicholas I, in December, 1825. The Grand 
 Duke Constantine should have succeeded his brother Alexander I; 
 but he renounced the succession in order to marry a Polish woman. 
 
 242
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 adoration of Napoleon. Faith in Fate, in one's 
 star, in the force of character, of pose, and of 
 phrase— and the anguish of futility; the dis- 
 quieting agitations of petty self-love— and actual 
 force and daring; noble aspirations, and bad 
 bringing-up, and ignorance ; aristocratic manners 
 — and a flaunting of toys. . . But enough of 
 philosophising! ... I have promised to narrate. 
 
 II 
 
 Sub-lieutenant Tyegleff belonged precisely 
 to that category of " fatal " men, although he did 
 not possess the exterior attributed to those per- 
 sons: for example, he bore not the slightest re- 
 semblance to LermontofF's " fatalist." He was 
 a man of medium height, of decidedly thick-set 
 build, with high cheek-bones, and fair-haired, 
 almost tow-headed; he had a round, fresh, red- 
 cheeked face, a snub-nose, a low forehead over- 
 grown with hair on the temples, and large, regu- 
 lar lips which were eternally motionless ; he never 
 laughed or even smiled. Only from time to time, 
 when he was fatigued and heaved a sigh, did his 
 square teeth, white as sugar, become visible. The 
 same artificial impassivity was spread over all 
 his features. Had it not been for that they would 
 
 No one knew of this renunciation except the Dowager Empress, 
 Alexander I, and Constantine. Revolutionists took advantage of 
 the muddle arising from Nicholas's ignorance of his rights, and so 
 forth.— Thanslatoh. 
 
 243
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 have revealed themselves as good-natured. The 
 only thing about his whole face that was not per- 
 fectly ordinary was his eyes, which were not 
 large, and had greenish pupils and yellow eye- 
 lashes. The right eye was a trifle higher up 
 than the left, which imparted to his gaze a 
 certain diversity, strangeness, and drowsiness. 
 Tyegleff's physiognomy was not devoid, how- 
 ever, of a certain agreeability, and almost 
 always expressed satisfaction with a dash of 
 perplexity, just as though he were internally pur- 
 suing some cheerless thought which he could not 
 possibly catch. Notwithstanding all this, he did 
 not produce the impression of an arrogant per- 
 son: one would have taken him for a wounded 
 rather than a haughty man. He talked very lit- 
 tle, falteringly, in a hoarse voice, and with un- 
 necessary repetitions of words. Contrary to the 
 majority of fatalists, he did not employ pecu- 
 liarly-whimsical expressions, and resorted to 
 them only in writing: he had a thoroughly child- 
 ish chirography. 
 
 The authorities regarded him as a " so-so " offi- 
 cer, — not over-capable and not sufficiently zeal- 
 ous. ' He is punctual but not methodical," was 
 what was said of him by the general in command 
 of the brigade— who was of German extraction. 1 
 
 . 
 
 i The point is, that he used mongrel Russian — foreign words 
 slightly Russified in form: " punktualnost," and " accuratnost." — 
 Translator. 
 
 244
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 And for the soldiers, also, Tyegleff was " so-so ' 
 — neither fish nor meat. He lived modestly, in 
 accordance with his means. He had been left a 
 full orphan at the age of nine years: his father 
 and mother had been drowned in the spring, in 
 a freshet, as they were crossing the Oka on a 
 ferry-boat. He had received his education in a 
 private boarding-school, where he was consid- 
 ered one of the very stupidest and most peace- 
 able pupils. He had entered the horse-guard 
 artillery at his own importunate desire, and on 
 the recommendation of his great-uncle, an in- 
 fluential man, as yiinker, and had passed the ex- 
 aminations—though with difficulty— first for 
 ensign and then for sub-lieutenant. His rela- 
 tions with the other officers were strained. They 
 did not like him and visited him rarely, and he 
 went to hardly any one. The presence of stran- 
 gers embarrassed him; he immediately became 
 unnatural, awkward .... there was no comrade- 
 ship in him, and he called no one " thou," and was 
 called " thou " by no one. But he was respected; 
 and men respected him not for his character or 
 his brains and culture, but because they recog- 
 nised in him that special seal wherewith " fatal ' 
 people are stamped. " Tyegleff will have a ca- 
 reer; Tyegleff will distinguish himself" — not 
 one of his comrades expected that;— but " Tyeg- 
 leff will cut up some remarkable caper," or 
 " Tyegleff will take and suddenly turn out a 
 
 245
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 Napoleon "—was not regarded as improbable. 
 For there the " star " came into play, and he was 
 a man " with a predestination " — as there are 
 people " with a sigh " and " with a tear." 
 
 Ill 
 
 Two incidents which marked the very beginning 
 of his service as an officer aided greatly in firmly 
 establishing his reputation as a man of fate. 
 Namely: on the very first day after he was pro- 
 moted—about the middle of March— he was 
 walking along the quay in full uniform, in com- 
 pany with other officers who had just been re- 
 leased from examination. That year spring had 
 come early, the Neva had broken up; huge floes 
 of ice had already passed down, but the whole 
 river was dammed with fine, dense ice soaked with 
 water. The young men were chatting and laugh- 
 ing . . . when suddenly one of them stopped 
 short; he had descried on the slowly-moving sur- 
 face of the river, about twenty paces from the 
 shore, a tiny dog. Having clambered upon a 
 projecting block of ice, it was trembling all over 
 and whining. " Why, it will surely perish,"— 
 said the officer through his teeth. The dog was 
 being carried slowly past one of the descents con- 
 structed along the quay. Suddenly Tyegleff, 
 without saying a word, ran down that descent, 
 and leaping along over the thin ice, tumbling 
 
 246
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 and skipping, he reached the dog, seized it by its 
 neck, and, having regained the shore in safety, 
 flung it on the pavement. The danger to which 
 Tyegleff had exposed himself was so great, his 
 deed had been so unexpected, that his comrades 
 were fairly petrified with astonishment, and only 
 when he called a drozhky, in order to drive home, 
 did they begin to speak all together. His whole 
 uniform was wet. In reply to their exclamations, 
 Tyegleff remarked indifferently that a man 
 cannot avoid what is written in his fate — and 
 ordered the cabman to drive on. 
 
 " But take the dog with thee as a memento," 
 —shouted one of the officers after him. But 
 Tyegleff merely waved his hand, and his com- 
 rades exchanged glances of dumb amazement. 
 
 The other incident occurred a few days later, 
 at a card-party given by the commander of the 
 battery. Tyegleff was sitting in a corner, and 
 was not taking part in the game. " Ekh, if only 
 my grandmother had told me in advance which 
 cards were destined to win, as in Pushkin's 
 1 Queen of Spades '! "—exclaimed one of the en- 
 signs, who had dropped his third thousand. Tyeg- 
 leff silently stepped up to the table, took up the 
 pack of cards, cut, and saying: " The six of dia- 
 monds! "—turned up the pack. On the bottom 
 was the six of diamonds.—" The ace of clubs! ' 
 —he proclaimed, and cut again. On the bottom 
 was the ace of clubs.—" The king of diamonds! " 
 
 247
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 —he spoke for the third time, in an energetic 
 whisper, through his set teeth. He had guessed 
 right for the third time .... and suddenly 
 flushed crimson all over. Probably he himself 
 had not expected it. 
 
 "A capital trick! Show us another,"— re- 
 marked the battery commander. 
 
 " I do not deal in tricks," replied Tyegleff, 
 drily, and went out into the adjoining room. 
 How it came about that he managed to guess the 
 card in advance, I will not undertake to explain, 
 but I saw it with my own eyes. After him many 
 of the players present tried to do the same thing, 
 and no one succeeded. A man could guess one 
 card, but two cards in succession— not by any 
 means; while Tyegleff had guessed three! This 
 affair still further confirmed his reputation as 
 a mysterious man of fate. The thought fre- 
 quently occurred to me afterward that if his trick 
 with cards had not proved successful, who knows 
 what turn his reputation would have taken, and 
 how would he have looked upon himself? But 
 that unexpected success definitively settled the 
 matter. 
 
 IV 
 
 Naturally, Tyegleff immediately clutched 
 hold of that reputation. It conferred upon him 
 special importance, special colouring. . . " Cela 
 
 248
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 le posait/'—as the French say,— and with his lim- 
 ited mind, insignificant attainments, and vast con- 
 ceit, such a reputation was exactly to his taste. 
 To acquire it was difficult, but it cost nothing to 
 maintain it: all he had to do was to hold his 
 tongue and look ferocious. 
 
 But it was not in consequence of this reputa- 
 tion that I became intimate with Tyegleff and, I 
 may say, conceived an affection for him. I 
 loved him, in the first place, because he was a well- 
 bred eccentric, and I saw in him a kindred soul; 
 and, in the second place, because he was a kind 
 man and, in reality, very simple-hearted. He in- 
 spired me with something in the nature of com- 
 passion; it seemed to me that, setting aside his 
 fancied fatalism, a tragic fate really was impend- 
 ing over him which he himself did not suspect. 
 As a matter of course, I did not mention that 
 feeling to him. Can there be anything more in- 
 sulting to a " man of destiny " than compassion? 
 And Tyegleff felt a liking for me: he was at his 
 ease with me, he conversed with me,— in my pres- 
 ence he used to make up his mind to abandon 
 that strange pedestal upon which he had acci- 
 dentally half fallen, half clambered. Although 
 torturingly, painfully conceited, it may be he ad- 
 mitted, in the bottom of his soul, that his conceit 
 was in no way justifiable, and that others were, in 
 all probability, looking down upon him .... while 
 I, a lad of nineteen, did not embarrass him. The 
 
 219
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 fear of saying something stupid or inappropri- 
 ate did not contract his ever-watchful heart in 
 my presence. He even fell into loquacity at 
 times; and lucky it was for him that no one ex- 
 cept myself heard his speeches! His reputation 
 would not have lasted long. He not only knew 
 very little, — he hardly read anything, and con- 
 fined himself to picking up appropriate anec- 
 dotes and stories. He believed in forebodings, 
 predictions, signs, meetings ; in lucky and unlucky 
 days, in the persecution or benignity of fate, — in 
 the significance of life, in one word. He even 
 believed in certain "climacteric years" which some 
 one had mentioned in his presence, and the mean- 
 ing whereof he did not thoroughly understand. 
 Genuine men of destiny should not express such 
 beliefs : they must inspire other people with them. 
 . . . But I alone knew Tyegleff from that side. 
 
 V 
 
 One day — it was on St. Ilya's day, July 20, 1 
 I remember— I went to visit my brother and did 
 not find him at home; he had been ordered off 
 somewhere for a whole week. I did not wish 
 to return to Petersburg. I trudged about the 
 neighbouring marshes with my gun, killed a brace 
 
 1 Or Elijah, on August 2, N. S. Generally on that day there are 
 terrific thunder-storms, which the Russian people say are caused by 
 the prophet ascending to heaven in his fiery chariot.— Translator. 
 
 250
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 of woodcock, and passed the evening with Tyeg- 
 leff under the shed of an empty wagon-house, in 
 which he had set up, as he expressed it, his sum- 
 mer residence. We chatted about various things, 
 but chiefly drank tea, smoked our pipes, and 
 talked now with the landlord, a Russified Finn, 
 now with a pedlar who was roaming around the 
 battery, a seller of " goo-o-od 'ranges and lem- 
 ons," a nice fellow and droll, who, in addition to 
 other talents, knew how to play on the guitar, and 
 told us about the unhappy love which he had 
 cherished in " babyhood " 1 for the daughter of a 
 policeman. On attaining maturity this Don 
 Juan in a shirt of cotton print had no longer ex- 
 perienced any unfortunate attachments. 
 
 In front of the gate of our wagon-shed a broad 
 ravine spread out, which gradually grew deeper 
 and deeper; a tiny rivulet sparkled in places in 
 the windings of the rift. Further away, on the 
 horizon, low forests were visible. Night ap- 
 proached and we were left alone. Along with 
 the night there descended upon the earth a thin, 
 damp vapour which, spreading more and more 
 widely, was eventually converted into a dense fog. 
 The moon rose in the sky; the whole fog became 
 permeated through and through, and gilded, as 
 it were, by its rays. Everything was transposed, 
 muffled up and entangled, as it were; the distant 
 
 i The pedlar is, evidently, a Jew, and gets his words 
 mixed. — Translator. 
 
 251
 
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 appeared near, the near distant, the large ap- 
 peared small, the small large .... everything 
 became bright and indistinct. We seemed to 
 have been transported into a fairy realm, to the 
 realm of whitish-gold fog, of profound stillness, 
 of sensitive sleep. . . . And how mysteriously, 
 with what silvery sparks, did the stars pierce 
 through overhead! We both fell silent. The 
 fantastic aspect of that night took effect upon 
 us: it attuned us to the fantastic. 
 
 VI 
 
 Tyegleff was the first to speak, with his custom- 
 ary hitches, breaks, and repetitions, about fore- 
 bodings .... about visions. On just such a 
 night, according to his statement, one of his ac- 
 quaintances, a student who had just entered on 
 his duties as governor to two orphans, and had 
 been lodged with them in a separate pavilion, had 
 beheld a female figure bending over their beds, 
 and on the following day had recognised that fig- 
 ure in a portrait, hitherto unperceived by him, 
 which depicted the mother of those same orphans. 
 Then Tyegleff declared that his parents, for the 
 space of several days before their death, had 
 constantly thought they heard the sound of 
 water; that his grandfather had escaped death 
 in the battle of Borodino, through having seen a 
 white pebble on the ground and stooped to pick it 
 
 252
 
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 up — and at that same moment a grape-shot had 
 flown past over his head and broken off his long 
 black plume. Tyegleff even promised to show 
 me that same pebble which had saved his grand- 
 father, and had been inserted by him in a locket. 
 Then he alluded to the vocation of every man, 
 and his own in particular, adding that he believed 
 in it up to that moment, and that if at any time 
 doubts should arise within him concerning it, he 
 would know how to rid himself of them and of 
 his life, for life would then have lost all signifi- 
 cance for him. "Perhaps you think" — said he, 
 casting a sidelong glance at me — "that I have 
 not sufficient courage for that ? You do not know 
 me. ... I have an iron will." 
 
 " Well said,"— I thought to myself. 
 
 Tyegleff became thoughtful, heaved a deep 
 sigh, and dropping his pipe from his hand, he in- 
 formed me that that was an important day for 
 him.— "This is St. Ilya's day,— my name-day. 
 .... This .... this is always a painful time 
 for me." 
 
 I made no reply and merely stared at him as he 
 sat in front of me, bent double, round-shouldered, 
 clumsy, with sleepy and gloomy gaze riveted on 
 the ground. 
 
 "To-day"— he went on— "an old beggar-wo- 
 man " (Tyegleff never let a single beggar pass 
 him without bestowing alms) "told me that she 
 would pray for my soul. ... Is n't that strange? " 
 
 253
 
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 " What possesses a man to worry about himself 
 all the time? "—I thought to myself. But I am 
 bound to add that of late I had begun to notice 
 an unusual expression of anxiety and trepidation 
 on Tyegleff's face, and it was not the melan- 
 choly of a man of destiny; something was really 
 distressing and torturing him. On this occasion, 
 also, I was struck by the despondency which was 
 spread over his features. Could it be that those 
 doubts to which he had alluded were already be- 
 ginning to arise within him? Tyegleff's com- 
 rades had told me that not long before he had 
 handed to the authorities a project for certain 
 thorough reforms " connected with the gun- 
 carriages," and that that project had been 
 returned to him " with an inscription," that is 
 to say, with a reproof. Knowing his character, 
 I did not doubt that such scorn on the part 
 of the authorities had wounded him deeply. 
 But that which I discerned in Tyegleff was 
 more akin to sadness, had a more personal 
 tinge. 
 
 " But it is growing damp,"— he suddenly said, 
 shrugging his shoulders. " Let us go into the 
 cottage — and it is time to go to bed." 
 
 He had a habit of twitching his shoulders and 
 turning his head from side to side, exactly as 
 though his neckcloth were too tight, clutching at 
 his throat the while. Tyegleff's character was 
 expressed— at least, so it seemed to me— in that 
 
 254
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 anxious and nervous motion. Things were too 
 tight for him in the world also. 
 
 We returned to the cottage and lay down, each 
 of us on the wall-bench — he in the fair corner, 1 
 I in the front corner, on hay, which we had spread 
 out. 
 
 VII 
 
 Tyegleff tossed about restlessly for a long time 
 on his bench, and I could not get to sleep. Whe- 
 ther it was that his stories had excited my nerves, 
 or that that night had irritated my blood, I do 
 not know;— only, I could not get to sleep. Every 
 desire for sleep even vanished at last, and I lay 
 with wide-open eyes and thought, — thought in- 
 tently, God knows about what: about the veriest 
 nonsense, as is always the case during an attack 
 of insomnia. As I tossed from side to side I threw 
 out my arms. . . . My finger came in contact 
 with one of the wall beams. A faint, but reso- 
 nant and prolonged sound rang out. ... I must 
 have hit upon a hollow place. 
 
 Again I tapped with my finger .... this 
 time intentionally. The sound was repeated. I 
 did it again. . . . Suddenly Tyegleff raised his 
 head. 
 
 'Riedel,"— he said, — "listen; some one is 
 knocking under the window." 
 
 i The corner in which the holy pictures hang— the right-hand 
 further corner, facing the entrance door.— Tbahslato*. 
 
 255
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 I feigned to be asleep. I was suddenly seized 
 with the whim to make sport of my " fatal" com- 
 panion. It made no difference— I could not 
 sleep. 
 
 He dropped his head on his pillow. I waited 
 a little and again tapped three times in succes- 
 sion. 
 
 Again TyeglefF rose up and began to listen. 
 
 I knocked again. I was lying with my face 
 toward him, but he could not see my hand. . . . 
 I had thrown it backward, under the coverlet. 
 
 " Riedel ! "-shouted TyeglefF. 
 
 I did not respond. 
 
 "Riedel! "-he repeated loudly.-" Riedel! " 
 
 "Hay? What is it?" I said, as though only 
 half awake. 
 
 " Don't you hear? Some one is knocking 
 under the window. Shall we ask him into the 
 cottage?" 
 
 " Some wayfarer "... I faltered. 
 
 " Then we must admit him, or find out what 
 sort of man he is ! " 
 
 But I did not reply again, and again feigned 
 to be asleep. 
 
 Several minutes passed. . . . Again I began 
 my tricks. . . . 
 
 " Knock .... knock .... knock! . . ." 
 
 Through my half-closed eyelids, by the whit- 
 ish nocturnal light, I could observe his move- 
 ments well. He kept turning his face now to- 
 
 256
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 ward the window, now toward the door. In fact, 
 it was difficult to distinguish whence the sound 
 proceeded: it seemed to fly around the room, as 
 though it were slipping along the walls. I had 
 accidentally hit upon the acoustic chord. 
 
 "Knock .... knock .... knock! . . ." 
 
 "Riedel!" shouted Tyegleff at last.— " Rie- 
 del! Riedel!" 
 
 " Why, what is it? "—I said, yawning. 
 
 " Is it possible that you hear nothing? Some 
 one is knocking." 
 
 ' Well, God be with him— I want nothing to 
 do with him!" — I replied, and again pretended 
 that I had fallen asleep. I even snored. . . . 
 
 Tyegleff quieted down. 
 
 " Knock .... knock .... knock! . . ." 
 
 " Who 's there? "—shouted Tyegleff.—" Come 
 in!" 
 
 As a matter of course, no one answered. 
 
 ' Knock .... knock .... knock! . . ." 
 
 Tyegleff sprang out of bed, opened the win- 
 dow, and thrusting out his head, inquired in a 
 fierce voice: " Who 's there? Who is knocking? ,! 
 Then he opened the door and repeated his ques- 
 tion. A horse neighed in the distance— and that 
 was all. 
 
 He returned to his bed. . . . 
 
 " Knock .... knock .... knock ! . . ." 
 
 Tyegleff instantly turned over and sat up. 
 
 " Knock .... knock .... knock! . . ." 
 
 257
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 Tyegleff promptly pulled on his boots, threw 
 his cloak over his shoulders, and unhooking his 
 sword from the wall, went out of the cottage. I 
 heard him make the circuit of it twice, asking all 
 the while : ' Who 's there ? Who goes there ? 
 Who is knocking there? " Then he suddenly fell 
 silent, stood for a while on one spot in the street 
 not far from the corner where I was lying, and 
 without uttering another word returned to the 
 cottage and lay down without undressing. 
 
 " Knock .... knock .... knock! ..." I began 
 again. " Knock .... knock .... knock! . . ." 
 
 But Tyegleff did not stir, did not inquire: 
 "Who is knocking?" He merely propped his 
 head on his hand. 
 
 Perceiving that that was no longer effective, 
 after a little while I pretended to wake up, and, 
 after casting a glance at Tyegleff, I assumed a 
 surprised aspect. 
 
 "Have you been out anywhere?"— I asked. 
 
 " Yes," he answered indifferently. 
 
 "Did you continue to hear the knocking?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And you met no one? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "And has the knocking stopped?" 
 
 " I don't know. It makes no difference to me 
 now." 
 
 " Now? Why precisely now? " 
 
 Tyegleff did not answer. 
 
 258
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . , . 
 
 I felt rather conscience-stricken and vexed at 
 him. Nevertheless, I could not make up my 
 mind to avow my prank. 
 
 " See here," I began:—" I am convinced that 
 the whole thing is merely your imagination." 
 
 Tyegleff scowled.—" Ah? So you think! " 
 
 " You say that you heard a knock. . . ." 
 
 " I did not hear a knock, only," he interrupted 
 me. 
 
 " What else did you hear? " 
 
 Tyegleff swayed forward— and bit his lips. 
 
 " They have called me! " he articulated at last, 
 in a low tone, as he turned away his face. 
 
 "They have called you? Who has called 
 you? " 
 
 " A . . . ."—Tyegleff continued to gaze to one 
 side — " a being concerning whom I only assumed 
 up to this moment that it 1 was dead. . . . But 
 now I know it for a certainty." 
 
 " I swear to you, Ilya Stepanitch," I ex- 
 claimed, " that that is all mere imagination! ' 
 
 "Imagination?" he repeated. "Would you 
 like to convince yourself in earnest?' 
 
 " I would." 
 
 " Well, then, let us go out into the street." 
 
 1 The first " a " is feminine. The " it " is to agree with TyeglefFs 
 non-committal " being," which is of the neuter gender.— Than?' 
 latob. 
 
 259
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 VIII 
 
 ■ 
 I hastily dressed myself and with Tyegleff went 
 
 out of the cottage. Opposite it, on the other 
 side of the street, there were no houses, but a 
 long wattled fence stretched out, with breaches 
 here and there, behind which began a decidedly- 
 steep descent to the plain. The fog, as before, 
 enveloped all objects, and hardly anything 
 could be seen at a distance of twenty paces. 
 Tyegleff and I walked to the wattled fence and 
 halted. 
 
 " Here now," he said, dropping his head. 
 " Stand still, be silent — and listen ! ' : Like him, I 
 bent my ear, and save the usual, extremely faint 
 but universal nocturnal hum— that breathing of 
 the night— I heard nothing. From time to time 
 exchanging a glance, we stood there motionless 
 for several minutes— and were "already preparing 
 to move on ... . 
 
 " Iliiisha! " I thought I heard a whisper from 
 the other side of the fence. 
 
 I glanced at Tyegleff, but he appeared not to 
 have heard anything, and held his head down- 
 cast as before. 
 
 " Iliiisha .... hey, Iliiisha . . . ." resounded 
 more plainly than before— so plainly that one 
 could understand that those words were uttered 
 by a woman. 
 
 260
 
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 We both gave a start— and stared at each 
 other. 
 
 " What do you think of that? " Tyegleff asked 
 me, in a whisper. " You will not doubt now? ' 
 
 " Stay," I said to him, with equal softness,— 
 "that proves nothing as yet. We must look 
 and see if there is not some one there — some 
 jester. . . ." 
 
 I leaped over the fence, and walked in the 
 direction whence, so far as I was able to judge, 
 the voice had proceeded. 
 
 Under my feet I felt the soft, porous earth; 
 long strips of vegetable-beds lost themselves in 
 the fog. I was in a vegetable-garden. But no- 
 thing stirred around me, or in front of me. 
 Everything seemed to be sunk in the numbness of 
 sleep. I advanced a few paces further. 
 
 " Who is there? " I shouted to match Tyegleff. 
 
 " Pr-r-r-r ! " A startled quail darted out from 
 under my very feet, and flew away, as straight as 
 a bullet. I involuntarily recoiled. . . . What 
 nonsense! I glanced back. Tyegleff was visi- 
 ble on the selfsame spot where I had left him. 
 I approached him. 
 
 " It will be useless for you to call," he said. 
 " That voice has reached us ... . me . . . from 
 afar." 
 
 He passed his hand over his face, and with 
 quiet steps wended his way across the street 
 homeward. But I would not give in so quickly, 
 
 261
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 and returned to the vegetable-garden. That 
 some one had actually called " Iliusha " thrice I 
 could not cherish the slightest doubt; I was also 
 forced to admit to myself that there had been 
 something plaintive and mysterious in that call. 
 .... But, who knows? Perhaps all that only 
 seemed incomprehensible, but in reality could be 
 explained as simply as the knocking which had 
 agitated TyeglefY. 
 
 I walked along the wattled fence, pausing and 
 looking around me from time to time. Close to 
 the fence and not far from our cottage grew an 
 aged, bushy white willow; it stood out as a huge 
 black spot in the midst of the universal whiteness 
 of the fog, of that dim whiteness which blinds 
 and dulls the vision worse than darkness. Sud- 
 denly I thought something of considerable size, 
 something living, rolled over on the ground near 
 that willow. With the exclamation: " Halt! 
 Who is there? " I dashed forward. Light foot- 
 steps like those of a hare became audible; past 
 me flitted a figure all bent double, whether of 
 man or woman I could not distinguish. ... I 
 tried to seize it, but did not succeed, stumbling 
 and falling and burning my face in the nettles. 
 Rising half-way and propping myself with my 
 elbow on the ground, I felt something hard under 
 my arm; it was a small carved brass comb on a 
 string, like those which our peasants wear in their 
 belts. 
 
 262
 
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 Further researches on my part proved vain, 
 and comb in hand and with nettle-burned cheeks 
 I returned to the cottage. 
 
 IX 
 
 I found Tyegleff sitting on the wall-bench. In 
 front of him on the table burned a candle, and he 
 was engaged in writing something in a small 
 album which he carried constantly with him. On 
 catching sight of me, he hastily thrust the tiny 
 album into his pocket and began to fill his pipe. 
 
 'Here, my dear fellow," — I began,— " see 
 what a trophy I have brought back from my 
 campaign ! ' ' I showed him the little comb and told 
 him what had happened to me under the willow. 
 — "I must have scared a thief," I added. " Did 
 you hear that our neighbour had had a horse 
 stolen last night?" 
 
 Tyegleff smiled coldly and lighted his pipe. I 
 sat down by his side. 
 
 1 And you are still convinced, as before, Ilya 
 Stepanitch,"— I said,—" that the voice which we 
 heard had flown hither from those unknown re- 
 gions . . . ." 
 
 He stopped me with an imperious gesture of 
 his hand. 
 
 " Riedel," he began,—" I am in no mood for 
 jesting, and therefore I beg that you will not jest 
 either." 
 
 263
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 Tyegleff really was in no mood for jesting. 
 His face had undergone a change. It seemed 
 paler, more expressive. His strange, " mis- 
 matched " eyes roved quietly. " I did not think," 
 he began again, — " that I should ever commu- 
 nicate to another .... another man that which 
 you are about to hear, and which should have 
 died .... yes, died in my breast; but, evi- 
 dently, it is necessary — and I have no choice. 
 'T is fate! Listen." 
 
 And he communicated to me the whole story. 
 
 I have already told you, gentlemen, that he 
 was a bad narrator; but he impressed me that 
 night not alone by his ignorance of how to im- 
 part to me the events which had happened to him : 
 the very sound of his voice, his looks, the move- 
 ments which he made with his fingers and hands 
 — everything about him, in a word, seemed un- 
 natural, unnecessary, — spurious, in short. I was 
 still very young and inexperienced, and did not 
 know that the habit of expressing one's self in a 
 rhetorical way, falsity of intonation and man- 
 ners, may so corrode a man that he is no longer 
 able to rid himself of it. It is a curse, in its way. 
 I lately happened to meet a certain lady who nar- 
 rated to me with such bombastic language, with 
 such theatrical gestures, with such a melodra- 
 matic shaking of the head and rolling up of the 
 eyes, the impression produced on her by the death 
 of her son, her " immeasurable grief," her fears 
 
 264
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 for her own reason, that I thought to nryself : 
 'How that lady is lying and putting on airs! 
 She did not love her son at all!" But a week 
 later I learned that the poor woman actually had 
 gone out of her mind. Ever since then I have 
 been much more cautious in my judgments, and 
 have trusted much less to my own impressions. 
 
 X 
 
 The story which Tyegleff narrated to me was, 
 briefly, as follows: — In Petersburg — in addition 
 to his uncle, the dignitary — dwelt an aunt of his, 
 not a woman of great position, but possessed of 
 property. As she was childless, she had adopted 
 a little girl, an orphan from the petty-burgher 
 class, had given her a suitable education, and 
 treated her like a daughter. The girl's name was 
 Masha. Tyegleff had been in the habit of seeing 
 her almost every day. It ended in their falling 
 in love with each other, and Masha gave herself 
 to him. This came to light. Tyegleff's aunt 
 flew into a frightful rage, turned the unhappy 
 girl, in disgrace, out of her house, and removed 
 her residence to Moscow, where she took a young 
 lady of the gentry as her nursling and heiress. 
 On returning to her former relations, poor and 
 drunken people, Masha endured a bitter fate. 
 Tyegleff had promised to marry her— and did not 
 keep his promise. On the occasion of his last- 
 
 205
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 meeting with her he was compelled to state his 
 intentions. Masha wanted to learn the truth— 
 and she got it. 
 
 " Well," she said, " if I am not to be thy wife, 
 then I know what remains for me to do." More 
 than a fortnight had elapsed after this last meet- 
 ing. 
 
 " Not for one minute have I deceived myself 
 as to the meaning of her last words," added Tyeg- 
 leff . " I am convinced that she has put an end 
 to her life, and .... and that that was her 
 voice, that she was calling me thither .... after 
 her. ... I recognised her voice. . . . Well, 
 't is all the same in the end! " 
 
 " But why did not you marry her, Ilya Stepa- 
 nitch? " I asked. " Had you ceased to love her? " 
 
 " No; to this hour I love her passionately." 
 
 At this point, gentlemen, I stared with all my 
 might at Tyegleff. I called to mind another of 
 my acquaintances, a very intelligent man who, 
 being the possessor of an extremely ill-favoured, 
 stupid, and not wealthy wife, in reply to the ques- 
 tion I had put to him: " Why had he married? 
 Probably for love? "—had replied: " Not in the 
 least for love! But it just happened so! " But' 
 here was Tyegleff passionately fond of a girl 
 and did not marry. Well then? And here 
 also had it "just happened so!" 
 
 " Why don't you marry? " I asked him the sec- 
 ond time. 
 
 266
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 Tyegleff's somnolently-strange eyes wandered 
 over the table. 
 
 ' That .... cannot be told .... in a few 
 words," he began hesitatingly. " There were 
 reasons. . . . And besides, she .... is of the 
 burgher class. Well, and my uncle .... I had 
 to take him into consideration." 
 
 " Your uncle? " I cried. " But what the devil 
 do you care for your uncle, whom you only see on 
 New Year's Day, when you go to present your 
 congratulations? Are you reckoning on his 
 wealth? Why, he has about a dozen children of 
 his own ! " 
 
 I spoke with heat. . . . Tyegleff winced, and 
 blushed . . . blushed unevenly, in spots. . . . 
 " I beg that you will not read me a lecture," he 
 said dully. " However, I do not defend myself. 
 I have ruined her life, and now I must pay the 
 debt. . . ." 
 
 He dropped his head and fell silent. I also 
 found nothing to say. 
 
 XI 
 
 Thus we sat for a quarter of an hour. He stared 
 to one side and I stared at him— and noticed that 
 the hair above his brow had risen in a peculiar 
 sort of way and was curling in rings, which, ac- 
 cording to the remark of a military doctor, 
 through whose hands had passed many wounded, 
 
 267
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . , . KNOCK . . . 
 
 always serves as a sign of a strong, dry fever in 
 the brain. . . . Again it occurred to me that the 
 hand of Fate really did weigh upon this man, and 
 that not without cause had his comrades perceived 
 in him something fatal. And at the same time 
 I inwardly condemned him. " Of the burgher 
 class! " I thought. " But do you call yourself an 
 aristocrat?" 
 
 " Perhaps you condemn me, Riedel," began 
 Tyegleff, suddenly, as though divining my 
 thoughts. ' I am greatly distressed myself .... 
 greatly distressed. But what can I do? What 
 can I do? " 
 
 He leaned his chin on his palm and began to 
 gnaw the broad, flat nails of his short, red fingers, 
 which were as hard as iron. 
 
 ' I am of the opinion, Ilya Stepanitch, that you 
 should first make sure whether your surmises are 
 correct. . . . Perhaps your lady-love is alive and 
 well." ("Shall I tell him the real cause of the 
 knocking? " flashed through my mind. . . . "No 
 — later on.") 
 
 " She has not written to me a single time since 
 we have been in camp," remarked Tyegleff. 
 
 " That proves nothing, Ilya Stepanitch." 
 
 Tyegleff waved his hand in despair. — " No! 
 She certainly is no longer on earth. She has 
 called me. . . ." 
 
 He suddenly turned his face toward the win- 
 dow.—" Some one is knocking again! " 
 
 2G8
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 I involuntarily burst out laughing.—" You 
 must excuse me, Ilya Stepanitch ! This time it is 
 your nerves. Dawn is breaking, as you see. In 
 ten minutes the sun will rise; it is already after 
 three o'clock, and visions do not act in daylight." 
 
 TyeglefF darted at me a gloomy glance, and 
 muttering between his teeth, " Farewell, sir," he 
 threw himself down on the bench and turned his 
 back on me. 
 
 I also lay down,— and I remember that, before 
 I fell asleep, I meditated as to why Tyegleff had 
 kept hinting at his intention to take his own life. 
 ' What nonsense, what phrase-making! He has 
 voluntarily refrained from marrying. . . . He 
 has abandoned the girl .... and now, all of a 
 sudden, he wants to kill himself! There is no 
 human sense in that! He cannot keep from 
 showing off! " 
 
 Thus thinking, I fell into a very sound sleep, 
 and when I opened my eyes, the sun already stood 
 high in the heavens, and TyeglefF was not in the 
 cottage. . . . 
 
 According to his servant's statement, he had 
 gone away to the town. 
 
 XII 
 
 I spent a very wearisome, irksome day. Tyeg- 
 leff did not return either to dinner or to supper. 
 I did not expect my brother. Toward evening a 
 
 2(D
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 thick fog, worse than that of the preceding day, 
 spread over everything. I lay down to sleep quite 
 early. A knock under the window awoke me. 
 
 My turn had come to start. 
 
 The knock was repeated — and with such insis- 
 tent clearness that it was impossible to doubt its 
 reality. I rose, opened the window, and perceived 
 Tyegleff. Wrapped in his military cloak, with 
 his forage-cap pulled down over his eyes, he was 
 standing motionless. 
 
 " Ilya Stepanitch! " I exclaimed,—" is it you? 
 We had given up expecting you. Come in. Is 
 the door locked? " 
 
 Tyegleff shook his head in negation.—" I do 
 not intend to enter," he said dully. — " I merely 
 wish to ask you to transmit this letter to the 
 commander of the battery to-morrow morning." 
 
 He held out to me a large envelope sealed with 
 five seals. I was amazed, but mechanically took 
 the envelope. Tyegleff immediately walked off 
 to the middle of the street. 
 
 " Wait, wait," I began. ..." Whither are 
 you going? Have you only just arrived? And 
 what is this letter? " 
 
 " Do you promise to deliver it at its address? ' 
 said Tyegleff, retreating several paces further. 
 The fog began to shroud the outlines of his figure. 
 — " Do you promise? " 
 
 " I promise . . . but first . . . ." 
 
 Tyegleff retreated still further— and became 
 
 270
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 a dark, oblong spot. — " Farewell! " rang out his 
 voice. " Farewell, Riedel, remember me kindly. 
 . . . And don't forget Semyon . . . ." And 
 even the spot disappeared. 
 
 This was too much! " O cursed phrase- 
 maker!" I thought. "Why must thou always 
 be striving for effect? " But I was alarmed, 
 nevertheless. Involuntary terror oppressed my 
 breast. I threw on my cloak and ran out into the 
 street. 
 
 XIII 
 
 Yes; but in what direction was I to go? The fog 
 enveloped me on all sides. One could see through 
 it a little for five or six paces, but further than 
 that it was fairly piled up like a wall, porous and 
 white, like wadding. I turned to the right, along 
 the street of the hamlet which ended just there; 
 our cottage was the last one on the verge, and 
 beyond it began the empty plain, here and there 
 overgrown with bushes. Beyond the plain, a 
 quarter of a verst distant from the hamlet, there 
 was a birch coppice, and through it ran the same 
 small stream which lower down made a loop 
 around the village. All this I knew well, because 
 I had many times beheld it all by daylight; but 
 now I could see nothing, and could only guess, 
 from the greater density and whiteness of the 
 fog, where the land descended and the little river 
 flowed. In the sky, like a pale spot, hung the 
 
 271
 
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 moon, but its light was not strong enough, as on 
 the preceding night, to conquer the smoky com- 
 pactness of the fog, which hung aloft like a broad, 
 faint canopy. I made my way out on the plain 
 and began to listen. . . . Not a sound anywhere 
 except the whistling of the woodcock. 
 
 " Tyegleff! " I shouted. " Ilva Stepanitch! ! 
 Tyegleff!!" 
 
 My voice died away around me without a re- 
 sponse; it seemed as though the very fog would 
 not permit it to go further. " Tyegleff! " I re- 
 peated. 
 
 No one answered. 
 
 I advanced at haphazard. Twice I came in con- 
 tact with the wattled fence, once I almost tumbled 
 into a ditch, and I all but stumbled over a peas- 
 ant's horse which was lying on the ground. . . . 
 " Tyegleff ! Tyegleff ! " I shouted. 
 
 Suddenly behind me, very close at hand in- 
 deed, I heard a low voice : — " Well, here I am. 
 . . . . What do you want with me ? " 
 
 I wheeled swiftly round. 
 
 In front of me, with pendent arms, and with 
 no cap on his head, stood Tyegleff. His face was 
 pale, but his eyes appeared animated and larger 
 than usual. . . . He was inhaling long, slow 
 breaths through his parted lips. 
 
 " God be thanked! " I cried, in an outburst of 
 joy, seizing him by both hands. . . . God be 
 thanked! I was already despairing of finding 
 
 272
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 you. And are n't you ashamed of giving me such 
 a fright? Good gracious, Ilya Stepanitch! ' 
 
 " What do you want of me? " repeated Tyeg- 
 leff. 
 
 " I want ... I want, in the first place, that 
 you shall return home with me. And, in the 
 second place, I wish, I demand— I demand of 
 you, as of a friend, that you shall immediately 
 explain to me the meaning of your behaviour — 
 and this letter to the colonel. Has anything un- 
 expected happened to you in Petersburg? " 
 
 " In Petersburg I found precisely what I had 
 expected," replied Tyegleff, still not stirring 
 from the spot. 
 
 " That is ... . you mean to say .... your 
 friend .... that Masha . . . ." 
 
 " She took her own life,"— interposed Tyeg- 
 leff, hurriedly, and as though viciously. ' She 
 was buried the day before yesterday. She did not 
 leave even a note for me. She poisoned herself." 
 
 Tyegleff hastily blurted out these dreadful 
 words, and still stood motionless, as though made 
 of stone. 
 
 I clasped my hands.—" Is it possible? What 
 a misfortune! Your presentiment came true. 
 . . . This is frightful ! " 
 
 I fell silent in confusion. Tyegleff quietly, 
 and as though solemnly, folded his arms. 
 
 " But why do we stand here? " I began. ' Let 
 us go home." 
 
 273
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 " Let us go," said Tyegleff. " But how are 
 we to find the way in this fog? " 
 
 " There is a light burning in the windows of 
 your cottage; we will guide ourselves by that. 
 Come along." 
 
 " Do you walk ahead," replied Tyegleff. " I 
 will follow you." 
 
 We set out. For five minutes we walked — and 
 our guiding light did not show itself; at last it 
 beamed out a couple of paces ahead of us in two 
 red spots. Tyegleff walked behind me with mea- 
 sured tread. I was frightfully anxious to get 
 home as promptly as possible and learn from him 
 the particulars of his unhappy trip to Petersburg. 
 Stunned by what he had told me, in a fit of re- 
 pentance and partly of superstitious dread, I con- 
 fessed to him before we reached the cottage that 
 I had produced the mysterious knocking of the 
 night before . . . and what a tragic turn that 
 jest had taken! 
 
 Tyegleff confined himself to the remark that I 
 counted for nothing in the matter, — that my hand 
 had been guided by something else, — and that 
 that only proved how little I knew him. His voice, 
 strangely quiet and even, sounded directly in my 
 ear.—" But you will learn to know me," he added. 
 " I saw you smile yesterday when I alluded to 
 my strength of will. You will learn to know me 
 — and you will recall my words." 
 
 The first cottage in the village surged up in 
 
 274
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 front of us out of the fog, like some dark mon- 
 ster .... and now the second started forth, 
 our cottage started forth — and my setter hound, 
 probably scenting me, began to bark. 
 
 I knocked at the window. — "Semyon!" — I 
 shouted to Tyegleff's servant:— " hey, there, 
 Semyon ! Open the gate to us as quickly as pos- 
 sible!" 
 
 The gate clanged and opened ; Semyon stepped 
 across the threshold. 
 
 " Pray, enter, Ilya Stepanitch," I said, glan- 
 cing round. . . . 
 
 But there was no longer any Ilya Stepanitch 
 behind me. Tyegleff had disappeared as though 
 the earth had swallowed him. 
 
 I entered the cottage like a man bereft of his 
 reason. 
 
 XIV 
 
 Vexation at Tyegleff, at myself, superseded the 
 amazement which at first took possession of me. — 
 " Thy master is crazy! " I said, darting at Se- 
 myon— " downright crazy! He galloped off to 
 Petersburg, then he came back — and now he is 
 running about at random! I caught him, and 
 brought him to the very gate— and suddenly, 
 bang! he has taken to his heels again! The idea 
 of not staying at home on such a night ! A pretty 
 time he has chosen for a ramble! " 
 
 275 
 
 "%
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 " And why did I let go of his hand? " I re- 
 proached myself. 
 
 Semyon stared in silence at me, as though pre- 
 paring to say something, but, in accordance with 
 the habits of servants in those days, he merely 
 shifted from foot to foot a little. 
 
 " At what o'clock did he go off to the city? " I 
 inquired severely. 
 
 " At six o'clock in the morning." 
 
 " And how did he seem — troubled, sad? ' 
 
 Semyon cast down his eyes. — " Our master— is 
 queer," he began. " Who can understand him? — 
 When he was preparing to go to the city, he 
 ordered me to give him his new uniform; well, 
 and he curled himself, also." 
 
 " How curled himself? " 
 
 " Curled his hair. I fixed the tongs for him." 
 
 I must confess that I had not anticipated this. 
 — " Art thou acquainted with a young lady," I 
 asked Semyon,—" a friend of Ilya Stepanitch's, 
 named Masha? " 
 
 "Of course I know Marya Anempodistovna ! 
 She 's a nice young lady." 
 
 " Thy master was in love with that Marya .... 
 and so forth." 
 
 Semyon heaved a sigh. — " It 's on account of 
 that young lady that Ilya Stepanitch will go to 
 destruction. He loves her frightfully — and he 
 can't make up his mind to take her as his spouse 
 —and he 's sorry to abandon her, too. That 
 
 276
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 comes from his lack of courage. He 's awfully 
 fond of her." 
 
 'And what is she like— pretty? " I inquired 
 curiously. 
 
 Semyon assumed a serious aspect. — " Gentle- 
 men like such as she." 
 
 " And is she to thy taste? " 
 
 1 For us ... . she is not suited — not at all." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " She 's very thin in body." 
 
 " If she were to die," I began again, — " would 
 Ilya Stepanitch survive her, thinkest thou? " 
 
 Again Semyon heaved a sigh. — " I dare not say 
 that — that 's the master's affair. . . . Only, our 
 master — is queer! " 
 
 I took from the table the large and fairly thick 
 letter which Tyegleff had given to me, and turned 
 it about in my hands. . . . The address to " His 
 High-Born, Mr. Battery Commander, Colonel 
 and Cavalier," with name, patronymic and sur- 
 name indicated, was very distinctly and care- 
 fully written. In the upper corner of the en- 
 velope stood the word: " Important," twice un- 
 derlined. 
 
 " Hearken, Semyon," I began. " I 'm 
 afraid for thy master. He seems to have evil 
 thoughts in his head. We must find him without 
 fail." 
 
 " I obey, sir," replied Semyon. 
 
 " There is such a fog outdoors that one can 
 
 277
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 distinguish nothing two arshins * off, it is true ; 
 but never mind, we must make the effort. We 
 will each take a lantern, and we will light a candle 
 in each window — in case of need." 
 
 " I obey, sir," repeated Semyon. He lighted 
 the lanterns and the candles and we set out. 
 
 XV 
 
 How he and I wandered about, how entangled we 
 became, it is impossible to convey to you! The 
 lanterns did not help us in the least ; they did not 
 in the slightest degree disperse that white, almost 
 luminous mist which surrounded us. Semyon 
 and I lost each other several times apiece, despite 
 the fact that we kept exchanging calls, shouting 
 " a-oo! " and I kept crying out: " Tyegleff ! Ilya 
 Stepanitch ! " and he : " Mr. Tyegleff ! Your Well- 
 Born! " — The fog threw us off the track to such 
 a degree that we roamed about as though in our 
 sleep ; both of us speedily grew hoarse : the damp- 
 ness penetrated to the very bottom of our lungs. 
 We met again, by some means, thanks to the 
 lights in the windows at the cottage. Our com- 
 bined explorations had led to nothing, — we had 
 merely hampered each other,— and therefore we 
 decided not to think any more of how to avoid 
 getting separated, but that each of us should go 
 
 t The arshin— the Russian yard-measure— is twenty-eight 
 inches in length. — Translator. 
 
 278
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . I 
 
 his own road. He went to the left, I to the right, 
 and I soon ceased to hear his voice. The fog 
 seemed to have made its way into my very brain, 
 and I wandered about like a dazed person, merely 
 shouting: " Tyegleff! Tyegleff ! " 
 
 " Here! " suddenly rang out in response. 
 
 Heavens! How delighted I was! How I 
 rushed in the direction where I had heard the 
 voice! .... A human figure loomed up black 
 ahead of me. . . . I darted at it. . . . At last! 
 
 But instead of Tyegleff I beheld before me 
 another officer of the same battery named Telep- 
 nefF." 
 
 " Was it you who answered me?" I asked him. 
 
 " And were you calling me? " he inquired, in 
 his turn. 
 
 " No; I was calling Tyegleff." 
 
 " Tyegleff? Why, I met him only a moment 
 ago. What an absurd night! It is utterly im- 
 possible to find one's way home." 
 
 "You saw Tyegleff? In which direction was 
 he going? " 
 
 "In that direction— I think." The officer 
 passed his hand through the air.—" But now it is 
 impossible to understand anything. For exam- 
 ple, do you know where the village is? The only 
 salvation is if a dog should begin to bark. An 
 abominable night, is n't it? Allow me to light 
 a cigar .... it will seem to illuminate the 
 road." 
 
 279
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 The officer was a little tipsy, so far as I could 
 make out. 
 
 " Did not Tyegleff say anything to you? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " Certainly he did! ' How art thou, brother? ' 
 says I to him. And he says to me : ' Fare- 
 well, brother!' — 'Farewell? Why farewell?' — 
 ' Why,' says he, ' I 'm going to shoot m'self with 
 pistol 's very minute.' A queer fellow ! ' 
 
 I gasped for breath. — "You say that he told 
 you . . . ." 
 
 " A queer fellow! " repeated the officer, as he 
 strode awav from me. 
 
 Before I could recover from the officer's an- 
 nouncement, my own name, several times repeated 
 in a violent shout, struck my ear. I recognised 
 Semyon's voice. 
 
 I responded. . . . He approached me. 
 
 XVI 
 
 " Well, what is it? " I asked him. " Hast thou 
 found Ilya Stepanitch? " 
 
 " I have, sir." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " Yonder, not far from here." 
 
 " How didst thou .... find him? Is he 
 alive? " 
 
 "Certainly; I conversed with him." (My 
 heart was lightened. ) ' He is sitting under a 
 
 280
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 small birch-tree, in his cloak .... and he 's all 
 right. I reported to him: ' Please come to your 
 quarters, Ilya Stepanitch," says I, ' Alexander 
 Vasilitch is very uneasy about you.' But he says 
 to me : ' What possesses him to be uneasy ? I want 
 to be in the fresh air. My head aches. Go home,' 
 says he. ' I '11 come after a while.' " 
 
 'And didst thou leave him?' I exclaimed, 
 wringing my hands. 
 
 "And why not, sir? He ordered me to go 
 away .... how could I stay? " 
 
 All my terrors returned to me at once. 
 
 i Lead me to him this very minute, dost hear? 
 This very minute! Ekh, Semyon, Semyon, I did 
 not expect this of thee ! Thou sayest that he is not 
 far from here ? " 
 
 ' Quite close, yonder where the grove begins — 
 that 's where he is sitting. About two fathoms — 
 not more — from the creek, from the shore. I 
 found him by going along the creek." 
 
 " Come, guide me, guide me! " 
 
 Semyon set out. ' Here, this way, if you 
 
 please We have only to descend to the 
 
 stream, and then we shall immediately . . . ." 
 
 But instead of descending to the creek we got 
 into some sort of a ravine and found ourselves in 
 front of a small, empty shed. . . . 
 
 ' Hey ! Halt ! " suddenly exclaimed Semyon. 
 " I must have gone too far to the right. . . . We 
 must turn more to the left here. ..." 
 
 281
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 We went further to the left, and got into such 
 a dense mass of steppe grass that we could hardly 
 extricate ourselves ... so far as I could recol- 
 lect, there was no such high grass anywhere in the 
 vicinity of our village. Then suddenly marshy 
 ground began to seep under our feet, and round, 
 mossy tussocks, which I had never seen, either, 
 began to make their appearance. . . . We re- 
 traced our steps— before us uprose a hillock, and 
 on the hillock stood a hovel, and in it some one 
 was snoring. Semyon and I shouted several times 
 into the hovel; something fumbled about in its 
 recesses, straw crackled, and a hoarse voice ejac- 
 ulated: "Po-o-li-i-ice!" 
 
 Again we retraced our steps .... fields, 
 fields, interminable fields. . . . 
 
 I was ready to weep. ... I recalled the words 
 of the fool in " King Lear ": " This cold night 
 will turn us all to fools and madmen! " 
 
 "Where shall we go?" I said, in despair, to 
 Semyon. 
 
 " Evidently, master, the forest fiend has cheated 
 us," replied the discomfited orderly. " There 's 
 some mischief abroad. . . . An evil power is at 
 work!" 
 
 I was on the point of scolding him, but at that 
 moment there reached my ear an isolated, not very 
 loud sound which instantly attracted my entire 
 attention. Something popped faintly, as though 
 some one had extracted a tight-fitting cork from 
 
 282
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 the narrow neck of a bottle. The sound rang out 
 not far from the spot where I was standing. 
 Why that sound seemed to me peculiar and 
 strange I am unable to say, but I immediately 
 walked in the direction whence it had proceeded. 
 
 Semyon followed me. At the end of a few mo- 
 ments something tall and broad loomed up darkly 
 through the fog. 
 
 "The grove! There it is, the grove!" ex- 
 claimed Semyon, joyfully; "and yonder . . . . 
 yonder my master is sitting under the birch-tree, 
 where I left him. 'T is he himself! " 
 
 I looked intently. In fact, on the ground, at 
 the foot of a birch, with his back toward us, awk- 
 wardly bent over, a man was sitting. I briskly 
 approached him and recognised Tyegleff's 
 cloak,— recognised his figure, his head bowed on 
 his breast. 
 
 " Tyegleff!" I shouted. ... But he did not 
 reply. 
 
 'Tyegleff!" I repeated, laying my hand on 
 his shoulder. 
 
 Then he suddenly swayed forward, quickly 
 and obediently, as though he had been awaiting 
 my touch, and fell prone upon the grass. Se- 
 myon and I immediately lifted him and turned his 
 face upward. It was not pale, but inanimately 
 impassive ; the clenched teeth shone white, and the 
 eyes, also, motionless and open, preserved their 
 customary sleepy and " mismatched " glance. . . . 
 
 283
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 " O Lord! "—said Semyon, suddenly, showing 
 me his hand crimsoned with blood. . . . This 
 blood was flowing from beneath Tyegleff's un- 
 fastened cloak, from the left side of his breast. 
 
 He had shot himself with a small, single-bar- 
 relled pistol which lay there by his side. The 
 faint sound which I had heard had been the sound 
 produced by the fatal shot. 
 
 XVII 
 
 Tyegleff's suicide did not greatly surprise his 
 comrades. I have already told you that, accord- 
 ing to their view, he, as a " fatal " man, was bound 
 to indulge in some unusual performance, although 
 possibly they had not expected from him pre- 
 cisely this caper. In his letter to the commander 
 of the battery he requested the latter, in the first 
 place, to attend to having Sub-Lieutenant Ilya 
 Tyegleff stricken from the rolls as a suicide, stat- 
 ing, in this connection, that in his casket there 
 would be found more than enough ready money 
 to pay all debts which might be claimed; and, in 
 the second place, to transmit to an important per- 
 sonage, who then was in command of all the corps 
 of the Guard, another, unsealed letter, which was 
 enclosed in the same envelope. We all read this 
 second letter, as a matter of course ; several of us 
 took copies of it. Tyegleff had obviously toiled 
 over the composition of that letter. 
 
 284
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 " Just see, Your Royal Highness," 1 thus it 
 began, as I recall it, " how strict you are, how 
 sternly you punish for the slightest irregular- 
 ity in a uniform, for the most insignificant in- 
 fringement of regulations when a poor, trem- 
 bling officer presents himself before you; but 
 now I am presenting myself before the incor- 
 ruptible, upright Judge of us all, before the Su- 
 preme Being, before the Being who is of im- 
 measurably greater importance than even Your 
 Royal Highness, and I am presenting myself 
 quite simply, in my cloak, without even a stock 
 on my neck. ..." Akh, what an oppressive 
 and unpleasant impression was made upon me by 
 this phrase, every word, every letter of which 
 was carefully set forth in the dead man's child- 
 ish chirography! Was it really worth while, I 
 asked myself — was it really worth while to de- 
 vise such nonsense at such a moment? But 
 Tyegleff had, evidently, taken a liking to this 
 phrase; for he had put in play all the heaping 
 up of epithets and amplifications, a la Mdrlin- 
 sky, which was then in fashion. Further on he 
 alluded to Fate, to persecution, to his mission, 
 which would remain unfulfilled; to the secret 
 which he was carrying with him into the grave; 
 to the people who had refused to understand 
 
 1 The title is intentionally abbreviated in the original, and the word 
 might mean either Majesty, or Royal Highness as printed. The 
 latter must be intended, and probably the Grand Duke Mikhail 
 Pavlovitch, a renowned martinet, in particular. — Tkansla toe. 
 
 285-
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 him; he even quoted the verses of some poet or 
 other who had said of the crowd that it wears 
 life " like a dog's collar," and eats into vice " like 
 a burdock"— and all this not without ortho- 
 graphical errors. Truth to tell, this ante-mor- 
 tem letter of poor Tyegleff was decidedly in- 
 sipid, and I can imagine the scornful surprjse 
 of the exalted personage to whom it was ad- 
 dressed; I can imagine in what a tone he must 
 have ejaculated: "A worthless officer! A good 
 riddance to bad rubbish ! " Just before the end 
 of the letter a genuine cry burst from Tyegleff 's 
 heart. " Akh, Your Royal Highness! " thus he 
 wound up his epistle,—" I am an orphan, I have 
 had no one to love me from my childhood, and 
 every one has fought shy of me .... and the 
 only heart which gave itself to me I myself have 
 destroyed ! " 
 
 In the pocket of Tyegleff 's cloak Semyon 
 found the tiny album from which his master 
 never parted. But almost all the leaves had been 
 torn out; only one remained intact, upon which 
 stood the following calculation: 
 
 Napoleon, born Aug. 
 
 15, Ilya Tye*gleff, 
 
 born Jan. 
 
 7, 
 
 1769. 
 
 1811. 
 
 
 
 1769 
 
 1811 
 
 
 
 15 
 
 7 
 
 
 
 8 (Aug. is 
 
 eighth 1 (Jan 
 
 .is first month 
 
 month 
 
 in year.) 
 
 in year.) 
 
 
 Total 1792 
 
 Total 1819 
 286 
 

 
 KNOCK . . i KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 1 1 
 
 7 8 
 
 9 1 
 
 2 9 
 
 Total 19! 
 
 Total 19! 
 
 Napoleon died May 5, 
 
 Ilya Tyegleff died July 21, 
 
 1825. 
 
 1834. 
 
 1825 
 
 1834 
 
 5 
 
 21 
 
 5 (May is fifth month 7 (July is seventh 
 
 in year.) 
 
 month in year.) 
 
 Total 1835 
 
 Total 1862 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 8 
 
 8 
 
 8 
 
 6 
 
 5 
 
 2 
 
 Total 17! Total 17! 
 
 Poor fellow ! Was not that the reason that he 
 had entered the artillery? 
 
 They buried him, being a suicide, outside the 
 cemetery, and immediately forgot him. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 On the day after Tyegleff's funeral (I was still 
 in the village, awaiting my brother) Semyon en- 
 tered the cottage and announced that Ilya wished 
 to see me. 
 
 "What Ilya?" I asked. 
 
 287
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . .KNOCK . . . 
 
 " Why, our pedlar." 
 
 I ordered him to be called in. 
 
 He presented himself. He expressed some 
 slight regret concerning the sub-lieutenant, and 
 surprise that he should have taken such a thing 
 into his head. . . . 
 
 " Was he in debt to thee ? " I asked. 
 
 ' Not at all, sir. Whatever he bought from me 
 he paid for punctually on the spot. But it 's this, 
 sir. . . ." Here the pedlar grinned. — "You 
 have a small article of mine. . . ." 
 
 " What article? " 
 
 "Why, that one, sir." He pointed with his 
 finger at the carved comb which was lying on the 
 toilet-table. — " 'T is an article of small value, sir," 
 —went on the huckster,— "but seeing that I re- 
 ceived it as a present . . ." 
 
 I suddenly raised my head. An idea struck me 
 like a flash of light. 
 
 " Is thy name Ilya? " 
 
 " Exactly so, sir." 
 
 " So it was thee whom I . . . found the other 
 day .... under the willow?" 
 
 The pedlar winked and grinned still more 
 broadly. 
 
 " T was me, sir." 
 
 " And it was thee whom some one was calling? f 
 
 " 'T was me, sir," repeated the pedlar, with 
 playful modesty. " There 's a lass yonder," he 
 went on, in a falsetto voice, "who, on account 
 
 288
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 of very great strictness on the part of her 
 parents . . . ." 
 
 " Good, good," I interrupted him, handing him 
 the comb and sending him away. 
 
 So that was the " Iliiisha,"— I thought, and 
 plunged into philosophical reflections which, how- 
 ever, I will not repeat to you, for I have no in- 
 tention of preventing any one from believing in 
 Fate, predestination, and other fatalities. 
 
 On returning to Petersburg I made inquiries 
 about Masha. I even hunted up the doctor who 
 had attended her. To my amazement, I learned 
 from him that she did not die of poison but of 
 the cholera! I communicated to him what I had 
 heard from Tyegleff. 
 
 " Ho! ho! " exclaimed the doctor. " Was that 
 Tyegleff an artillery officer of medium height 
 with round shoulders and a lisp? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, that 's it exactly. That gentleman 
 presented himself to me— I beheld him then for 
 the first time— and began to insist upon it that the 
 girl had poisoned herself. ' It was the cholera,' 
 said I. ' It was poison,' said he. ' But 'twas the 
 cholera,' said I. ' But 't was poison,' said he. I 
 saw that the man was rather daft, with a broad 
 nape which indicates stubbornness, and it would 
 not be a short job to get rid of him. ... It 
 makes no difference, I thought to myself; the 
 patient is dead anyway. . . . Well, then,' said I, 
 
 289
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 1 she did poison herself, if that is more agreeable 
 to you.' He thanked me, he even shook hands 
 with me — and took himself off." 
 
 I told the doctor how that same officer had shot 
 himself that very same day. 
 
 The doctor never so much as moved an eyebrow 
 — and merely remarked that there were various 
 sorts of eccentric folk in the world. 
 
 " There are," I repeated after him. 
 
 Yes, some one has truly said concerning sui- 
 cides that until they carry out their design no one 
 believes them ; and if they do, no one regrets them. 
 
 290
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 (1875)
 
 :nrr 
 
 ■
 
 
 
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 AN OLD MAN'S STORY 
 
 
 i 
 
 WILL tell you my story about the watch. . . . 
 A curious story ! 
 The affair took place at the very beginning 
 of the present century, in the year 1801. I had 
 just entered my sixteenth year. I lived in Rya- 
 zan, in a little wooden house not far from the 
 bank of the Oka, with my father, my aunt, and 
 my cousin. I do not remember my mother; she 
 died three years after her marriage. My father 
 had no children except me. His name was Por- 
 firy Petrovitch. He was a peaceable man, not 
 good-looking, and sickly; his business consisted 
 of prosecuting lawsuits — and of other things. 
 In former times men like him were called petti- 
 foggers, shysters, nettle-seed; he dignified him- 
 self with the title of lawyer. Our domestic af- 
 fairs were presided over by his sister, my aunt, 
 — an old maid of fifty; my father also was over 
 forty* She was a very pious woman— i to speak 
 
 203
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 the plain truth, a hypocrite, a tattler, and given 
 to poking her nose into everything ; and her heart 
 was not like my father's— it was not kind. We 
 did not live poorly, but on the verge of that. 
 My father had also a brother, Egor 1 by name; 
 but he had been sent to Siberia for some alleged 
 "seditious acts and Jacobinical manner of 
 thought"— or other (precisely so did it stand in 
 the decree). 
 
 Egor's son, David, my cousin, was left on 
 my father's hands and lived with us. He was 
 only one year older than I; but I abased myself 
 before him and obeyed him as though he had 
 been a full-grown man. He was far from a 
 stupid lad, with strong character, broad-shoul- 
 dered, stockily built, with a square face all cov- 
 ered with freckles, red hair, grey eyes, small, 
 broad lips, a short nose, also short fingers — what 
 is called a strong man — and with a strength be- 
 yond his years. My aunt could not bear him; 
 and my father was even afraid of him ... or, 
 perhaps he felt himself culpable toward him. A 
 rumour was current that had not my father 
 blabbed, David's father would not have been ex- 
 iled to Siberia! We both studied in the gym- 
 nasium, in the same class, and both did pretty 
 well; I even a trifle better than David. ... I 
 had a keen memory; but boys— as every one 
 knows— do not prize that superiority and do not 
 
 l That is, George; pronounced Yeg6r. — T&axslator. 
 
 294
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 plume themselves on it, and David remained, 
 nevertheless, my leader. 
 
 II 
 
 My name, as you know, is Alexyei. I was born 
 on the seventh of March, and my name-day 
 comes on the seventeenth. According to ancient 
 custom, they bestowed upon me the name of one 
 of those saints whose day falls upon the tenth day 
 after the child's birth. My godfather was a 
 certain Anastasy Anastasievitch Putchkoff ; or, 
 properly speaking, Nastasyei, Nastasyeitch; no 
 one ever called him anything else. He was a 
 frightfully-litigious man, a caviller and bribe- 
 taker — a bad man altogether; he had been ex- 
 pelled from the Governor's chancellery, and had 
 been indicted more than once ; he was necessary to 
 my father. . . . They " did business " in company. 
 He was plump and round in person ; but his face 
 was like that of a fox, with an awl-shaped nose; 
 his bright brown eyes were also like those of a 
 fox. And he kept those eyes of his in incessant 
 motion, to right and left, and kept his nose in mo- 
 tion also, as though he were sniffing the air. He 
 wore heelless shoes and powdered his hair every 
 day, which was then regarded as a great rarity in 
 country parts. He was wont to declare that he 
 could not get along without powder, as he was 
 
 295
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 obliged to consort with generals and general- 
 esses. 
 
 So, then, my name-day arrives. Nastasyei 
 Nastasyeitch comes to our house and says: 
 
 " Up to this time, godson, I have never given 
 thee anything; but just see what I have brought 
 thee to-day! " 
 
 And thereupon he pulls out of his pocket a 
 bulbous silver watch, with a rose painted on the 
 face, and a brass chain! I was fairly dumb- 
 founded with rapture,— but my aunt, Pulkhe- 
 riya 1 Petrovna, began to scream at the top of her 
 voice : 
 
 " Kiss his hand, kiss his hand, dirty brat! " 
 
 I began to kiss my godfather's hand, while my 
 aunt kept interpolating: 
 
 "Akh, dear little father, Nastasyei Nastasye- 
 itch, why do you spoil him so? How will he be 
 able to manage a watch? He '11 drop it, for a 
 certainty, and will smash it or break it!' ; 
 
 My father entered the room, looked at the 
 watch, thanked Nastasyeitch in a careless sort 
 of way, and asked him to come into his study. 
 And I heard my father saying, as though to 
 himself: 
 
 " If thou hast taken it into thy head, my good 
 fellow, to get out of it in this way . . . ." 
 
 But I could not stand still on one spot any 
 
 1 Turgenieff calls her part of the time Pelageya, part of the time 
 Pulkheriya. — Translator. 
 
 296
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 longer, so I put on my watch and rushed off 
 headlong to show my gift to David. 
 
 Ill 
 
 David took the watch, opened it and scrutinised 
 it attentively. He had great gifts in the me- 
 chanical line ; he was fond of tinkering with iron, 
 brass, and all metals; he had provided himself 
 with various instruments, and to repair a screw, 
 or a key— or make an entirely new one, and so 
 forth, was nothing for him. 
 
 David turned the watch about in his hands, and 
 muttered through his teeth (he was, in general, 
 not talkative) : 
 
 " Old .... bad. . . . Where didst thou get 
 it?" he added. 
 
 I told him that my godfather had given it to 
 me. 
 
 David turned his small grey eyes on me: 
 Nastasyei?" 
 Yes; Nastasyei Nastasyeitch." 
 
 David laid the watch on the table and walked 
 off in silence. 
 
 " Dost not thou like it? " I asked. 
 
 " No; that \s not it. . . . But if I were in thy 
 place, I would n't accept any gift from Nasta- 
 syei." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because he is a worthless man ; and one should 
 
 297 

 
 THE WATCH 
 
 not lay himself under obligations to a worthless 
 man. I suppose thou didst kiss his hand? " 
 
 " Yes, aunty made me." 
 
 David laughed, — in a peculiar sort of way, 
 through his nose. It was a habit of his. He 
 never laughed aloud; he regarded laughter as a 
 sign of pusillanimity. 
 
 David's words, his noiseless smile, pained me 
 deeply. He must be blaming me inwardly, I 
 thought! I must also be a worthless creature in 
 his eyes! He would never have lowered himself 
 to that, he would not have accepted a gift from 
 Nastasyei! But what was left for me to do now? 
 
 It was impossible to give back the watch ! 
 
 I made an effort to talk with David, to ask 
 his advice. He answered me that he never gave 
 advice to any one, and that I must act as I saw 
 fit.— " As I saw fit? " I remember that I did not 
 sleep all night afterward; I was tortured by 
 thought. I was sorry to part from the watch — so 
 I placed it beside my bed, on the night-stand; 
 it ticked so pleasingly and amusingly. . . But 
 to feel that David despised me .... (but it was 
 impossible to deceive myself on that score ! he did 
 despise me!) . . . seemed to me unbearable! 
 Toward morning my decision matured. ... I 
 cried a little, to tell the truth, but I went to sleep 
 after that, and as soon as I awoke I dressed my- 
 self in haste, and ran out into the street. I had 
 made up my mind to give my watch away to the 
 first beggar I met. 
 
 298
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 IV 
 
 I had not succeeded in running very far from the 
 house when I hit upon that of which I was in 
 search. I came across a barefooted, tattered ur- 
 chin aged ten, who often lounged past our win- 
 dows. I immediately ran up to him, and without 
 giving either him or myself time to change our 
 minds, I offered him my watch. 
 
 The lad opened his eyes very wide, screened 
 his mouth with one hand, as though he were 
 afraid of scorching himself, and stretched out 
 the other. 
 
 ' Take it, take it," I stammered,—" it is mine; 
 I make thee a present of it; thou mayest sell it 
 and buy thyself . . . Well, then, something 
 thou needest. . . . Good-bye ! " 
 
 I thrust the watch into his hand, and started 
 for home at full tilt. After standing for a while 
 behind the door in our common bedroom and 
 getting my breath, I stepped up to David, who 
 had only just completed his toilet and was brush- 
 ing his hair. " Here, David," I began, in as calm 
 a voice as I could command,—" I have given 
 away Nastasyei's watch." 
 
 David glanced at me as he passed the brush 
 over his temples. 
 
 " Yes," I added, in the same business-like tone, 
 " I have given it away. There 's a very poor lit- 
 tle boy out there, a beggar; so I gave it to him." 
 
 299
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 David laid down his brush on the wash-stand. 
 
 " For the money which he can get for it," I 
 w r ent on, "he can purchase some useful article. 
 He will get something for it, anyhow." 
 
 I ceased speaking. 
 
 "Well, all right! 'T is a good thing!" said 
 David at last, and went off to the school-room. 
 
 I followed him. 
 
 "And what if thou art asked what thou hast 
 done with it? " — he said, turning to me. 
 
 " I will say that I have lost it," I replied care- 
 lessly. 
 
 We said nothing further to each other that dav 
 about the watch; but, nevertheless, it struck me 
 that David not only approved of me, but even, to 
 a certain degree, was amazed at me. — Really! 
 
 Two days more passed. It so happened that no 
 one in the house bethought himself of the watch. 
 My father had a very great row with one of 
 his clients; he was in no mood to think of me 
 or of my watch. On the other hand, I thought 
 of it incessantly! Even the approbation . . . . 
 the presumptive approbation of David did not 
 afford me much consolation. He did not express 
 it in any particular manner; he never said but 
 
 300
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 once— and that in passing— that he had not ex- 
 pected such daring from me. Positively, my sac- 
 rifice had been a disadvantage to me; it was not 
 counterbalanced by the satisfaction which my 
 vanity afforded. 
 
 But at this point, as though expressly, there 
 must needs turn up another gymnasium lad, an 
 acquaintance of ours, the son of the town phy- 
 sician, and begin to brag of a new watch — of 
 pinchbeck, not of silver — which his grandmother 
 had given him. ... At last I could hold out no 
 longer, and slipping quietly out of the house, I 
 set forth to hunt up that beggar lad to whom 
 I had given my watch. 
 
 I soon found him ; he, together with other boys, 
 was playing at knuckle-bones on the church 
 porch. I called him to one side, and, panting and 
 entangling myself in my speech, I told him that 
 my family were angry with me for having given 
 away my watch, and that if he would consent to 
 restore it to me, I would gladly pay him money 
 for it. ... I had taken with me, in case of 
 emergency, an old-fashioned ruble of the time of 
 the Empress Elizabeth, which constituted my en- 
 tire cash capital. . . . 
 
 ' Why, I have n't got it, that watch of yours," 
 — replied the urchin, in an angry, snivelling 
 voice. " Daddy saw it and took it away from me ; 
 and he was going to thrash me to boot. ' Thou 
 
 301
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 must have stolen it somewhere,' said he. ' What 
 fool would give thee a watch? ' " 
 
 " And who is thy father ? " 
 
 "My father? Trofimitch." 
 
 " But who is he? What is his business? " 
 
 " He 's a retired soldier— a srageant. And he 
 has n't any business. He cobbles old shoes, and 
 sews on soles. That 's all the business he has. 
 And he lives by it." 
 
 " Where is your lodging? Take me to him." 
 
 "I '11 take you. You just say to him, to my 
 daddy, that you gave me the watch. For he is 
 scolding me all the time. ' Thou 'rt a thief ; yes, 
 a thief ! ' And my mother does the same : ' From 
 whom didst thou inherit this thieving? ' says she." 
 
 The boy and I wended our way to his lodging. 
 It was situated in a fowl-house, in the back yard 
 of a factory which had been burned down long, 
 long before and never rebuilt. We found both 
 Trofimitch and his wife at home. The retired 
 " srageant " was a tall old man, sinewy and erect, 
 with yellowish-grey side-whiskers, unshaven chin, 
 and a whole network of wrinkles on his cheeks 
 and forehead. His wife appeared to be older 
 than he; her little red eyes blinked and puckered 
 mournfully in the midst of a bloated and sickly 
 face. Both of them were draped in some sort of 
 dark rags instead of garments. 
 
 I explained the affair to Trofimitch, and why 
 I had come. He listened to me in silence, never 
 
 302
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 once winking, or removing from me his dull and 
 strained, regular soldier's glance. 
 
 "Mischievous tricks!" he said at last, in a 
 hoarse, toothless voice.— "Do well-born gentle- 
 men behave like that? But if Petka really did 
 not steal the watch— I'll give it to him for 
 that!— w-w- whack! Take that for playing with 
 young gentlemen! But if he had stolen it I 
 would n't have treated him like that! w-whack! 
 w-whack ! w-whack ! with rods, in calergard ? 
 style! Who cares? What 's that? Hey? Give 
 him the spontoons! So that 's the story? ! 
 Faugh!" 
 
 This last exclamation Trofimitch uttered in a 
 falsetto voice. He was evidently perplexed. 
 
 "If you will return my watch to me," I ex- 
 plained to him .... I did not dare to address 
 him as " thou," notwithstanding the fact that he 
 was a common soldier .... 'I will pay you 
 this ruble with pleasure. I don't suppose it is 
 worth any more than that." 
 
 " C-c-come!"— growled Trofimitch, without 
 recovering from his perplexity, and devouring me 
 with his eyes, out of old habit, as though I had 
 been some superior officer or other. — "A fine 
 business— hey?— Well now, just think of it! . . . 
 Hold thy tongue, Ulyana!" he snarled at his 
 wife, who had begun to open her mouth.— 
 " Here 's the watch," he added, opening the table 
 
 1 Cavalier-guard.— 'Ibanslatoh. 
 
 303
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 drawer. — " If it really is yours, please to take it. 
 But what's the ruble for? Hey?" 
 
 "Take the ruble, Trofimitch, good-for-no- 
 thing! " roared his wife.—" The old man has out- 
 lived his mind ! He has n't a penny to his name, 
 and here he is putting on pompous airs! 'T was 
 in vain they cut off thy queue, for thou art as 
 much of a woman as ever!— so thou art— and 
 knowest nothing. Accept the money, if thou hast 
 taken it into thy head to give back the watch ! " 
 
 "Hold thy tongue, Ulyana, thou good-for- 
 nothing!" repeated Trofimitch.— "Who ever 
 heard of a woman's putting in her word? Hey? 
 The husband is the head; but she puts in her 
 word! Petka, don't stir or I '11 kill thee! . . . 
 Here 's the watch!" Trofimitch reached out 
 the watch to me, but did not let it out of his fin- 
 gers. 
 
 He pondered, dropped his eyes, then riveted 
 upon me the same intently-dull gaze, and sud- 
 denly began to bawl at the top of his lungs: 
 
 " But where is it? Where 's that ruble? " 
 
 " Here it is, here," I hastily said, pulling the 
 money from my pocket. 
 
 But he did not take it, and kept staring at me. 
 I laid the ruble on the table. He suddenly swept 
 it into the drawer, flung my watch at me, and 
 wheeling round to the left and stamping his foot 
 violently, he hissed at his wife and son: 
 
 "Begone, riff raff!" 
 
 304.
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 Ulyana stammered something or other, but I 
 had already darted out into the courtyard, into 
 the street. Thrusting my watch to the very bot- 
 tom of my pocket, and gripping it tightly in my 
 hand, I dashed headlong homeward. 
 
 VI 
 
 I had again entered into possession of my watch, 
 but got no satisfaction whatever out of it. I could 
 not make up my mind to wear it; I must hide 
 it most of all from David, which I did. What 
 would he think of me and my lack of character? 
 I could not even lock that unlucky watch up in 
 a drawer. We had all our drawers in common. 
 I was forced to hide it, now on the top of the 
 wardrobe, now under the mattress, now behind 
 the stove. . . . And yet I did not succeed in de- 
 ceiving David! 
 
 One day, having the watch out from under the 
 floor of our room, I took it into my head to rub 
 up its silver back with an old chamois-skin glove. 
 David had gone off somewhere in the town ; I was 
 not in the least expecting that he would speedily 
 return . . . when suddenly in he walked ! 
 
 I was so disconcerted that I almost dropped the 
 watch, and, all abashed, with face flushing to a 
 painful degree, I set to sliding it about over my 
 waistcoat, being utterly unable to hit my pocket. 
 
 305
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 David looked at me, and smiled silently, ac- 
 cording to his wont. 
 
 "What ails thee?" he said at last.— "Dost 
 thou think I did not know that thou hadst the 
 watch again? I saw it the very first day thou 
 didst bring it back." 
 
 " I assure thee," I began, almost in tears .... 
 
 David shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "The watch is thine; thou art free to do with 
 it what thou wilt." 
 
 Having uttered these cruel words, he left the 
 room. 
 
 Despair seized upon me. There was no doubt 
 about it this time; David really did despise me! 
 
 Matters could not be left in this condition. 
 
 "I '11 just show him!" I thought to myself, 
 setting my teeth; and immediately betaking my- 
 self with firm tread to the anteroom, I hunted up 
 our page-boy Yushka, and made him a present of 
 the watch! 
 
 Yushka tried to decline it, but I declared to 
 him that if he did not take that watch from me 
 I would smash it on the instant, I would trample 
 it under foot, I would fling it into the cesspool! 
 He reflected, giggled, and took the watch. And 
 I returned to our room, and seeing David, who 
 was engaged in reading a book, I told him what 
 I had done. 
 
 David did not remove his eyes from the page, 
 and again said, shrugging his shoulders and smil- 
 
 306
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 ing to himself,— "The watch is thine, and thou 
 art free to dispose of it." 
 
 But it seemed to me that he despised me some- 
 what less. 
 
 I was fully convinced that I should never again 
 subject myself to a fresh reproach for lack of 
 character; for that watch, that hateful gift of 
 my hateful godfather, had suddenly become so 
 loathsome to me that I even was not able to com- 
 prehend how I had regretted it, how I could have 
 wheedled it out of that person named Trof imitch, 
 who, moreover, still had a right to think that he 
 had treated me with magnanimity. 
 
 Several days passed. ... I remember that on 
 one of them a great piece of news reached our 
 town; the Emperor Paul was dead, and his son 
 Alexander, concerning whose benignity and hu- 
 manity such good rumours were in circulation, 
 had ascended the throne. This news threw David 
 into a frightful state of agitation; the possibility 
 of seeing his father, of seeing him soon, immedi- 
 ately presented itself to him. My papa was also 
 delighted. 
 
 " All exiles will now be brought back from Si- 
 beria, and I suppose they will not forget brother 
 Egor either," he kept repeating, as he rubbed 
 his hands and cleared his throat, and, at the same 
 time, appeared to be struck with consternation. 
 
 David and I immediately ceased to work, and 
 did not go to the gymnasium; we did not even 
 
 807
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 stroll about, but sat constantly somewhere in a 
 corner, reckoning up and discussing in how many 
 months, how many weeks, how many days " bro- 
 ther Egor " would be brought back, and where 
 we might write to him, and how we should go to 
 meet him, and in what manner we should begin 
 to live afterward. " Brother Egor " was an ar- 
 chitect; David and I decided that he must settle 
 in Moscow and there erect great school-houses for 
 poor people, while we would act as his assistants. 
 As a matter of course, we completely forgot the 
 watch; moreover, new anxieties had cropped up 
 for David .... of which more hereafter; but 
 the watch was destined to remind us of its exist- 
 ence. 
 
 VII 
 
 One morning just as we had finished breakfast, 
 I was sitting alone near the window and medi- 
 tating about my uncle's return — an April thaw 
 was steaming and glittering out of doors — when 
 suddenly Pulkheriya Petrovna ran into the room. 
 She was fussy and fidgety at all times, talked in 
 a squeaking voice, and was incessantly flourishing 
 her hands, but on this occasion she fairly pounced 
 upon me. 
 
 "Come along! come along to thy father this 
 very instant, young sir!" she cackled. "What 
 pranks are these thou hast been up to, thou 
 
 308
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 shameless wretch?— You '11 catch it, both of you! 
 Nastasyei Nastasyeitch has brought all your 
 tricks to light. . . . Come along! Thy father 
 wants thee. . . . Go this very instant!" 
 
 Still comprehending nothing, I followed my 
 aunt ; and as I crossed the threshold of the draw- 
 ing-room I beheld my father pacing back and 
 forth with huge strides, and rumpling up his crest 
 of hair, Yiishka in tears by the door, and in the 
 corner, on a chair, my godfather, Nastasyei Nas- 
 tasyeitch, with an expression of peculiarly-malign 
 joy in his inflated nostrils and blazing, squinting 
 eyes. 
 
 As soon as I entered, my father flew at me. 
 
 "Didst thou give the watch to Yiishka? 
 Tell me!" 
 
 I glanced at Yiishka. ... 
 
 " Come, speak! " repeated my father, stamping 
 his foot. 
 
 " Yes," I replied, and immediately received a 
 swingeing box on the ear, which afforded great 
 satisfaction to my aunt. I heard her grunt, ex- 
 actly as though she had swallowed a mouthful 
 of boiling tea.— From me my father rushed to 
 Yiishka. 
 
 " And thou, scoundrel, shouldst not have pre- 
 sumed to accept the watch as a gift," he said, pull- 
 ing the boy about by his hair; — "and thou hast 
 sold it into the bargain, thou rascal ! " 
 
 Yiishka, as I afterward learned, in simplic- 
 
 309
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 ity of heart, actually had carried my watch to 
 a neighbouring watchmaker. — The watchmaker 
 had hung it up in his window; Nastasyei Nas- 
 tasyeitch had espied it in passing, had purchased 
 it and brought it to our house. 
 
 But the chastisement of myself and Yiishka 
 did not last long; my father got to panting, and 
 began to cough; and it was not in his nature, 
 either, to get angry. 
 
 "Dear brother, Porfiry Petrovitch," said my 
 aunt, as soon as she saw — not without some re- 
 gret, of course— that my father's wrath had died 
 down, as the saying is, — "pray, do not worry 
 yourself further; it is not worth soiling your 
 hands about. But this is what I would suggest: 
 with the consent of our respected Nastasyei Nas- 
 tasyeitch, and by reason of your little son's great 
 ingratitude, I will take possession of this watch; 
 and since he has shown by his act that he is un- 
 worthy to wear it, and does not even understand 
 its value, I will make a gift of it, in your name, 
 to a man who will be very appreciative of your 
 kindness." 
 
 'Who is he?" inquired my father. 
 
 'Why, Khrisanfa Lukitch," said my aunt, 
 with a little hesitation. 
 
 " Khrisashka? " * cross-questioned my father; 
 and with a wave of his hand he added: — " 'T is all 
 one to me. Fling it into the stove if you like." 
 
 1 The scornful diminutive.— Translatoh. 
 
 310
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 He buttoned up his under waistcoat, which was 
 open on the breast, and left the room, writhing 
 with a cough. 
 
 " And do you consent, my dear man? " said my 
 aunt, addressing Nastasyei Nastasyeitch. 
 
 " With the greatest readiness," replied the lat- 
 ter. Throughout the whole duration of the 
 "chastisement" he had not stirred on his chair, 
 and merely sniffing softly, and softly rubbing 
 together the tips of his fingers, he had turned 
 his foxy eyes upon me, my father and Yiishka by 
 turns. We afforded him genuine satisfac- 
 tion! .... 
 
 My aunt's suggestion agitated me to the bot- 
 tom of my soul. I was not sorry for the watch ; 
 but I heartily detested the man to whom she was 
 preparing to give it. — This Khrisanfa Lukitch, 
 whose surname was Trankvillitatin, 1 a healthy, 
 robust, lank student in the ecclesiastical semi- 
 nary, had acquired a habit of coming to our house 
 — the devil only knows why! 'To teach the 
 children," my aunt asserted; but he could not 
 teach us, for the simple reason that he himself 
 had learned nothing to teach, and was as stupid 
 as a horse. Altogether, he resembled a horse: 
 he clattered his feet exactly as though they were 
 hoofs; he did not laugh— he neighed, dis- 
 
 1 An absurd surname of this sort, or one manufactured from the 
 title of a religious festival or something similar, is an infallible sign 
 that the owner belongs to, or is descended from, the ecclesiastical 
 caste. — Than slatoe. 
 
 311
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 playing the whole of his jaws down to his very 
 gullet in the process; and he had a long face, a 
 nose with a hump, and large, flat cheek-bones; 
 he wore a shaggy frieze kaftan, and emitted an 
 odour of raw meat. My aunt fairly worshipped 
 him and called him a distinguished man, a cav- 
 alier, and even a grenadier. He had a habit of 
 rapping children on the forehead (he had rapped 
 me also, when I was younger) with the nails of 
 his long fingers, which were as hard as stone, 
 and as he tapped he would guffaw and express 
 surprise. "How thy head resounds!" he would 
 say. "That signifies that it is empty!" And 
 this lout was to possess my watch! — " Not on any 
 account! " I decided in my own mind, when I had 
 run out of the drawing-room, and tucked my feet 
 up on my bed, while my cheek burned and glowed 
 from the blow it had received — and in my heart 
 also the anguish of insult, and a thirst for ven- 
 geance flared up. . . . "Not on any account! I 
 won't allow that damned seminarist to rail at me. 
 .... He '11 put on the watch, and let the chain 
 hang over his belly, and begin to neigh with 
 pleasure. . . . Not on any account!" 
 
 Yet, what was I to do? How was I to pre- 
 vent it? 
 
 I decided to steal the watch from my aunt! 
 
 312
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 VIII 
 
 Luckily Trankvillitatin was absent from town 
 at the time. He could not come to our house 
 earlier than the following day; I must take ad- 
 vantage of the night. My aunt did not lock her- 
 self into her room, for all through our house 
 none of the keys worked in the locks; but where 
 would she put the watch, where would she hide 
 it? Until evening she carried it in her pocket, 
 and even pulled it out more than once and looked 
 at it; but at night — where would it be at night? 
 — Well, it was my business to find that out, I 
 thought, brandishing my clenched fists. 
 
 I was all glowing with audacity and fright 
 and joy at the approach of the longed-for crime; 
 I kept constantly nodding my head ; I contracted 
 my brows in a frown, I whispered: "Just wait 
 a bit! " I menaced some one or other, I was ma- 
 lignant, I was dangerous .... and I avoided 
 David! — No one, not even he, must have the 
 slightest suspicion of that which I was preparing 
 to perpetrate. . . . 
 
 " I will act alone— and alone I will be respon- 
 sible!" 
 
 The day dragged slowly by ... . then the even- 
 ing ... at last night came. I did nothing, I 
 even tried not to stir: one thought had riveted 
 itself in my head, like a nail. At dinner my 
 
 313
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 father, whose heart was, as I have said, benig- 
 nant, and who had grown somewhat ashamed 
 of his vehemence — one does not slap boys of six- 
 teen on the face — my father tried to pet me; but 
 I rejected his caresses, not out of rancour, but 
 simply because I was afraid of relenting: it was 
 necessary for me to preserve all the fervour of 
 vengeance, all the hardened temper of irrevo- 
 cable resolution! 
 
 I went to bed very early; but, as a matter of 
 course, I did not go to sleep, and did not even 
 close my eyes, but on the contrary opened them 
 staringly wide — although I had drawn the cov- 
 erlet over my head. I had not thought out be- 
 forehand how I should proceed ; I had no plan of 
 action; I was merely waiting until everything 
 should quiet down at last in the house. I took 
 but one precaution; I did not remove my stock- 
 ings. My aunt's room was in the second story. 
 It was necessary to pass through the dining-room 
 and the anteroom, ascend the stairs, traverse a 
 short, narrow corridor— and there ... on the 
 right, was the door! .... There was no need 
 to take a candle-end or a lantern : in the corner of 
 my aunt's room, in front of the glass case of holy 
 pictures, twinkled a shrine-lamp which was never 
 allowed to go out. I knew this. So I should be 
 able to see! I continued to lie with staring eyes 
 and wide-open, parched mouth; my blood ham- 
 mered in my temples, my ears, my throat, my 
 
 314
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 back, my whole body! I waited . . . but as 
 though some imp were making sport of me, time 
 passed on ... . and on, but silence was not es- 
 tablished. 
 
 IX 
 
 Never, so it seemed to me, had David fallen 
 asleep so late. . . . David, the taciturn David, 
 even entered into conversation with me! Never 
 had people thumped, walked, and talked so long 
 in the house ! And what were they talking about ? 
 I thought. Had n't they talked their fill that 
 morning? External sounds did not cease for a 
 long time, either. Now a dog set up a shrill, per- 
 sistent barking ; now a drunken peasant began to 
 bluster somewhere or other, and would not stop; 
 now gates creaked ; now a miserable little peasant- 
 cart drove past on rickety wheels, drove and 
 drove, and could not seem to get past! But these 
 sounds did not irritate me; on the contrary, they 
 pleased me, for some reason or other! They 
 seemed to divert my attention.— But now, at last, 
 apparently, everything had quieted down. Only 
 the pendulum of our old clock ticked hoarsely 
 and pompously in the dining-room, and one could 
 hear the long, measured, and seemingly-difficult 
 breathing of sleeping persons. 
 
 I prepare to rise . . . but lo! again something 
 has hissed .... then suddenly there is a groan 
 
 315
 
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 .... something soft has fallen— and a whisper 
 is wafted abroad, a whisper glides along the 
 walls. . . . 
 
 Or, is there nothing of all this, and is it only 
 my imagination teasing me ? 
 
 Everything has grown dead still at last: the 
 very core and pitchiness and dead of the night has 
 come. — 'T is time! Shivering all over in an- 
 ticipation, I fling aside the coverlet, lower my 
 feet to the floor, stand up. . . . One step, a sec- 
 ond. . . I crawl stealthily on. The hollows of 
 my feet seem to belong to some one else : they are 
 heavy, they step weakly and uncertainly. Stay! 
 What sound is that? Is some one sawing some- 
 where, or scraping .... or sighing? I listen . . . 
 Chills course over my cheeks, cold, watery tears 
 well up in my eyes. . . . Never mind! . . . . 
 Again I crawl forward. It is dark; but I know 
 the way. Suddenly I collide with a chair. . . . 
 What a clatter, and how painful! The blow has 
 taken me straight on the shin. ... I become pet- 
 rified on the spot. . . . Well, will they wake up ? 
 Ah! I care nothing! Suddenly daring appears, 
 and even wrath. Forward! Forward! And 
 now I have traversed the dining-room; now I 
 have groped for and found the door, and have 
 opened it with one turn, with a flourish. . . . 
 How that cursed hinge squeaks .... damn it! 
 Now I am ascending the stairs. . . . One! two! 
 three ! A stair has creaked under my foot ; I dart 
 
 316
 
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 a vicious glance at it— just as though I could see 
 it. And I have grasped the handle of the second 
 door. . . . This one did not even squeak! It 
 swung open lightly, as much as to say: "Pray, 
 enter!" . . . And now I am already in the little 
 corridor ! 
 
 High up in the corridor, near the ceiling, is a 
 little window. The faint nocturnal light barely 
 sifts through the dark panes. And in that flick- 
 ering light I behold, stretched out on a felt upon 
 the floor, with both arms thrown over her head, 
 our little runaway girl; she is sleeping soundly, 
 breathing rapidly, and right at her very head 
 is the fateful door. I step over the felt, across 
 the girl. . . . Who opened that door for me. . . . 
 I know not; but now I am in my aunt's room; 
 there is the shrine-lamp in one corner, and the 
 bed in another, and my aunt in cap and night- 
 dress is on the bed, with her face turned toward 
 me. She is sleeping, and does not stir; even her 
 breath is not audible. The flame of the shrine- 
 lamp flickers softly, agitated by the current of 
 fresh air; and all over the room, and over my 
 aunt's face, which resembles yellow wax, the 
 shadows begin to waver. . . . 
 
 And there is the watch! Behind the bed, on 
 the wall it hangs, on a small embroidered cushion. 
 What luck, I think to myself! ... I must not 
 delay! But whose footsteps are those, soft and 
 swift, behind my back? Akh, no! that is the 
 
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 beating of my heart! ... I advance one foot. 
 . . . Heavens! Something round, fairly large, 
 hits me below the knee .... once! and yet 
 again ! I am ready to shriek aloud, I am ready to 
 fall to the floor with fright. ... A striped cat, 
 our household cat, is standing before me, with 
 arched back and tail in air. Now he springs upon 
 the bed— heavily — and softly turns himself about, 
 and sits down, without purring, like a judge; sits 
 there and glares at me with his golden pupils! 
 "Puss! puss!" I whisper, in barely audible tones. 
 I bend across my aunt, I already have the watch 
 in my grasp. . . . She suddenly sits up, opens 
 her eyelids wide. . . . O my Creator! What will 
 happen now? .... But her eyelids quiver and 
 close, and with a faint babble her head falls back 
 on the pillow. 
 
 Another minute and I am back in my own 
 room, in my bed, with my watch in my hands. . . . 
 More lightly than a tuft of down did I dash back ! 
 I am a gallant fellow, I am a thief, I am a hero; 
 I am panting with joy, I feel burning hot, I feel 
 jolly — I want to wake up David on the spot and 
 tell him everything — and, incredible to relate! I 
 fall fast asleep, like one dead ! At last I open my 
 eyes. . . . The room is light; the sun has already 
 risen. Fortunately, no one is awake as yet. I 
 spring up like one scalded, arouse David, and 
 narrate all to him. He listens with a grin. 
 
 "See here," — he says to me at last, — "let's 
 
 318
 
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 bury that idiotic watch in the earth, so that no 
 trace of it may remain! " 
 
 I consider this a splendid idea. In a few min- 
 utes we are both dressed and run into the fruit- 
 garden which is situated behind our house, and 
 beneath an ancient apple-tree, in a deep hole 
 hastily excavated, with David's big knife, in the 
 porous spring soil, we conceal forever the hated 
 gift of my godfather, which after all has not 
 reached the hands of the repulsive Trankvilli- 
 tatin! We tread down the hole, fling rubbish 
 over it, and, proud and happy, we regain the 
 house without having been seen by any one, get 
 into our beds and sleep another hour or two — 
 and with what a light, blissful slumber! 
 
 X 
 
 You can picture to yourself what an uproar 
 arose the next morning as soon as my aunt woke 
 up and discovered the loss of the watch! Her 
 piercing shriek still rings in my ears. "Police! 
 Thieves! Thieves!" she shrilled, and roused the 
 whole household on foot. She went into a wild 
 rage, but David and I only smiled to ourselves, 
 and sweet was our smile to us. 
 
 " Every one must receive a sound thrashing, 
 every one!" — screamed my aunt. "My watch 
 has been stolen from under my head, from under 
 my pillow ! " 
 
 819
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 We were prepared for anything; we antici- 
 pated a catastrophe . . . but, contrary to our ex- 
 pectations, no catastrophe whatever crashed down 
 upon our heads. At first, it is true, my father 
 made a tremendous fuss — he even spoke of the 
 police; but probably the row of the day before 
 had thoroughly bored him, and he suddenly, to 
 the indescribable amazement of my aunt, pounced 
 not upon us, but upon her! 
 
 " I 'm sick of you,— more sick than of a bit- 
 ter radish,— Pulkheriya Petrovna,"— he yelled, 
 " and of your watch! I won't hear another word 
 about it! You say that it did not disappear 
 through sorcery; but what do I care about that? 
 I don't care if it was sorcery ! Has it been stolen 
 from you ? Well, let it go ! What will Nastasyei 
 Nastasyeitch say? The devil fly away with him 
 altogether, with that Nastasyeitch of yours! I 
 get nothing but offences and unpleasantnesses 
 out of him. Don't dare to bother me any more! 
 Do you hear?" 
 
 My father banged the door, and went off to 
 his study. 
 
 At first David and I did not understand the 
 hint contained in his last words; but later on we 
 learned that my father was extremely indignant 
 at my godfather at that very time, because the 
 latter had snatched away from him a good bit 
 of business. And so my aunt was left in the 
 lurch. She almost burst with wrath, but there 
 
 320 

 
 THE WATCH 
 
 was nothing to be done. She was compelled to 
 content herself with saying in a whisper as she 
 passed me, making a wry face in my direction: 
 "Thief, thief, convict, rascal!"— My aunt's re- 
 proaches afforded me genuine delight. It was 
 also very pleasant, when skirting along the fence, 
 to glide a feignedly-indifferent eye at the spot 
 under the apple-tree where the watch reposed; 
 and if David were there also, to exchange with 
 him a significant grimace. . . . 
 
 My aunt took it into her head to hound Trank- 
 villitatin on me, but I had recourse to David's as- 
 sistance. He immediately announced to the stal- 
 wart seminarist that he would slit open his belly 
 with a knife if he did not let me alone. . . . 
 Trankvillitatin was scared. Although he was a 
 grenadier and a cavalier, according to my aunt's 
 expression, yet he was not distinguished for his 
 valour. 
 
 Thus five weeks passed. . . . But do you think 
 the story of the watch ended thus? No; it was 
 not ended; only, in order to continue my tale, 
 I must introduce a new personage; and in order 
 to introduce this new personage, I must go back 
 a little. 
 
 XI 
 
 My father had long been friendly, even intimate, 
 with a certain retired official, Latkin, a lame, mis- 
 erable little man with strange and timid ways— 
 
 321
 
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 one of those beings concerning whom the proverb 
 was fabricated that they have been slain by God 
 himself. Like my father and Nastasyei, he oc- 
 cupied himself with soliciting lawsuits and was 
 also a private "lawyer" and attorney; but as he 
 possessed neither an imposing exterior nor the 
 gift of words, and had too little confidence in him- 
 self, he could not make up his mind to act inde- 
 pendently, and stuck close to my father. His 
 chirography was " a regular string of pearls," he 
 was thoroughly grounded in the statutes and had 
 acquired to perfection all the intricacies of style 
 required for legal documents and petitions. In 
 company with my father he managed certain af- 
 fairs, shared the profit and loss, and, apparently, 
 nothing could shake their friendship ; but, never- 
 theless, it crumbled to ruin in one day — and for- 
 ever. My father quarrelled for good and all with 
 his colleague. If Latkin had snatched away 
 from my father some profitable business after the 
 manner of Nastasyei, who replaced him later on, 
 my father would have been no more angry with 
 him than with Nastasyei,— probably he would 
 have been even less angry ; but Latkin, under the 
 influence of some inexplicable, incomprehensible 
 feeling — envy or greed — and perhaps also under 
 the momentary inspiration of honour, — "gave 
 away " my father, betrayed him to their common 
 client, a wealthy young merchant, by opening the 
 eyes of that heedless youth to certain .... 
 
 322
 
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 certain tricks which were designed to yield my 
 father considerable profit. It was not the mone- 
 tary loss, great as that was — no! but the treach- 
 ery which hurt and enraged my father. He could 
 not forgive slyness ! 
 
 " Just see, a saint has made his appearance! " — 
 he reiterated, all trembling with wrath, and with 
 teeth chattering as though in a fever. I was 
 present in the room and was a witness of this out- 
 rageous scene.— " Good! From this day forth — 
 amen! All is at an end between us. Yonder is 
 God and yonder is the threshold — begone ! I shall 
 not set my foot in thy house, and do not thou set 
 thy foot in mine ! Thou 'rt too awfully honest for 
 me— how can thou and I do business together! 
 But thou shalt have neither bottom nor cover! " 1 
 
 In vain did Latkin beseech my father, and bow 
 to the earth before him; in vain did he strive to 
 explain that which filled his own soul with painful 
 surprise. 
 
 " But it was utterly without profit for myself, 
 Porfiry Petrovitch," he stammered: "I cut my 
 own throat, you know ! " 
 
 My father remained inflexible .... Latkin 
 never set foot in our house again. Fate itself, 
 apparently, conceived a desire to put into execu- 
 tion my father's last, cruel wish. Soon after the 
 rupture (it took place a couple of years before 
 the beginning of my story) Latkin's wife— who 
 
 1 Neither floor nor roof.— Translator. 
 
 323
 
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 had long been ill, it is true— died; his second 
 daughter, a child of three years, was stricken deaf 
 and dumb with terror in one day: a swarm of 
 bees settled down on her head; Latkin himself 
 suffered a stroke of apoplexy, and fell into ex- 
 treme and definitive poverty. How he got along, 
 on what he subsisted, it was difficult even to im- 
 agine. He dwelt in a half -ruined little hut, at a 
 short distance from our house. Raisa also lived 
 with him, and did her best with the housekeeping. 
 This Raisa is the new personage whom I must 
 introduce into my story. 
 
 XII 
 
 So long as her father and mine were friends, we 
 saw her constantly; she sometimes sat for whole 
 days together at our house and either sewed or 
 spun with her delicate, nimble and skilful hands. 
 She was a graceful, rather thin young girl, with 
 intelligent brown eyes in a white, rather long face. 
 She spoke little, but to the point, in a quiet, reso- 
 nant voice, hardly opening her mouth, and with- 
 out displaying her teeth; when she laughed — 
 which rarely happened, and did not last long — 
 they suddenly all revealed themselves, large, white 
 as almonds. I remember also her walk, which was 
 light and elastic, with a little skip at every step; 
 it always seemed to me as though she were de- 
 scending a flight of stairs, even when she was 
 
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 walking on level ground. She held herself up- 
 right, with arms pressed close to her breast. And 
 whatever she did, whatever she undertook,— whe- 
 ther she threaded a needle, or smoothed a petticoat 
 with an iron,— she did everything well, and . . . 
 you will not believe it ... in a touching sort of 
 way. Her Christian name was Raisa, but we 
 called her " Black-lip ": she had on her upper lip 
 a birth-mark,— a small, dark-blue spot, as though 
 she had been eating blackberries. But this did not 
 deface her: quite the contrary. She was just one 
 year older than David. I cherished for her a sen- 
 timent akin to reverence, but she had little to do 
 with me. On the other hand, between David and 
 her a great friendship sprang up— a strange, un- 
 childish, but good friendship. They seemed to 
 suit each other. They sometimes did not ex- 
 change a word for whole hours at a stretch, but 
 each felt that things were well with them— and 
 that because they were together. I have never 
 met any other girl like her, really. There was in 
 her something attentive and decisive, something 
 honourable and sad and charming. I never heard 
 her utter a clever word, but, on the other hand, I 
 never heard a commonplace from her, and more 
 intelligent eyes I have never seen. When the 
 rupture occurred between her family and mine I 
 began to see her rarely : my father forbade me, in 
 the strictest manner, to visit the Latkins— and she 
 no longer showed herself in our house. But I was 
 
 325
 
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 in the habit of meeting her on the street, and in 
 church, and Black-lip still inspired me with the 
 same sentiments : respect and even a certain admi- 
 ration rather than compassion. She had borne her 
 reverses well. " She 's a girl of flint," the coarse 
 Trankvillitatin himself had said of her one day. 
 And really she was to be pitied : her face had as- 
 sumed a careworn, suffering expression, her eyes 
 had become hollow and sunken — an intolerable 
 burden was imposed upon her young shoulders. 
 
 David saw her much more frequently than I 
 did ; he even went to their house. My father al- 
 lowed him to do as he pleased; he knew that 
 David would not obey him in any case. And 
 Raisa presented herself at the wattled fence of 
 our garden, from time to time, where it abutted 
 on the alley, and there met David; she did not 
 conduct a conversation with him, but merely com- 
 municated to him some fresh difficulty or new dis- 
 aster, and asked his advice. 
 
 The paralysis which had smitten Latkin was 
 of a very peculiar nature. His arms and legs had 
 grown weak, but he had not lost the use of them, 
 and his brain even worked regularly ; but, on the 
 other hand, his tongue got entangled and instead 
 of one set of words he employed quite another set ; 
 one was forced to guess at what he meant to say. 
 
 ..." Tchu-tchu-tchu," he stammered with an 
 effort (he began every sentence with "tchu-tchu- 
 tchu ") — " the scissors; give me the scissors 
 
 326
 
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 But by the scissors he meant to indicate bread. He 
 hated my father with all the strength that was left 
 to him; he attributed to his curse all his misfor- 
 tunes and called him sometimes a butcher, some- 
 times a jeweller. " Tchu-tchu, don't dare to go 
 to the jeweller's, Vasilievna!" He had rechris- 
 tened his daughter by this name, while his own 
 name was Martinyan. 1 He grew more exacting 
 every day; his wants increased. . . . And how 
 were those wants to be supplied ? Where was the 
 money to come from? Woe ages a person fast; 
 but it makes one shudder to hear certain words on 
 the lips of a girl of seventeen. 
 
 XIII 
 
 I remember that I happened to be present at her 
 conversation by the fence with David, on the very 
 day of her mother's death. 
 
 " Mamma died at dawn this morning," she said, 
 after first having glanced about her with her dark, 
 expressive eyes, and then fixed them on the 
 ground. " The cook has undertaken to buy the 
 coffin as cheaply as possible; and we cannot rely 
 upon her ; she will probably spend the money for 
 liquor. It would be well for thee to come round 
 and take a look, David : she is afraid of thee." 
 
 1 Consequently, his daughter should have been called 
 Rafsa Martin yanovna.— Translator. 
 
 327
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 f I '11 come," replied David; " I '11 see to it 
 
 But how about thy father? " 
 
 ' He is weeping; he says, • You will be spoiling 
 me, too.' 'You will spoil' must mean— you will 
 bury. Now he has fallen asleep." Raisa sud- 
 denly heaved a deep sigh.— " Akh, David, Davi- 
 dushko!" 1 She passed her half-clenched fist 
 across her forehead and brows, and this gesture 
 was very bitter . . . and very sincere and beau- 
 tiful, as were all her gestures. 
 
 " But do have some pity on thyself," remarked 
 David. — " Thou hast not slept at all, I am sure. 
 . . . And what is the use of crying? It will not 
 remedy thy grief." 
 
 ' I have no time to weep," replied Raisa. 
 
 "Rich folks can indulge themselves in that 
 way, in weeping," remarked David. 
 
 Raisa started to go, but turned back. 
 
 "They are bargaining with us for the yellow 
 shawl from mamma's wedding outfit. They offer 
 twelve rubles. I think that is very little." 
 
 " So it is, — very little." 
 
 " I would prefer not to sell it," went on Raisa, 
 after a brief pause, — "but we must have money 
 for the funeral, you know." 
 
 " You must. Only you must not spend money 
 at random. Those priests are— the mischief ! Here, 
 wait a bit, I'll come round. Art thou going? 
 — I'll be there very soon. Good-bye, dear." 
 
 1 Or "dear little David."— Translator. 
 
 328
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 «« 
 
 
 Good-bye, dear brother, darling ! " 
 
 " See here now, don't cry! " 
 
 'How should I cry? I must either cook the 
 dinner or cry. One of the two." 
 
 ' What does she mean by cooking the dinner? " 
 I asked, turning to David, as soon as Rafsa had 
 departed. ' Do you mean to say that she pre- 
 pares the food herself?" 
 
 ' Why, surely thou didst hear her say that the 
 cook has gone to bargain." 
 
 ' Prepare the dinner," I thought, " and her 
 hands have always been so clean, and her gown so 
 neat. ... I should like to see how she would 
 manage in the kitchen. ... A remarkable girl!" 
 
 I remember another conversation at the fence. 
 On this occasion Raisa had brought with her her 
 little deaf and dumb sister. This sister was a 
 pretty child, with huge, surprised eyes, and a 
 whole mass of dull black hair on her little head. 
 ( Raisa's hair also was black, and without lustre. ) 
 Latkin had already been smitten with paralysis. 
 
 ' I really do not know what I am to do," began 
 Raisa. — "The doctor has written a prescription, 
 and I must go to the apothecary's; and our 
 wretched little peasant" (Latkin still owned one 
 serf soul) "has brought fuel and a goose from 
 the village. But the yard-porter is taking it 
 away ; ■ you are in debt to me,' he says." 
 
 " Is he taking away the goose? " asked David. 
 
 " No, not the goose. 1 1t's old,' he says; ' 'tis 
 
 329
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 good for nothing any more. That 's why the 
 peasant has brought it to you/ he says. But he is 
 taking the wood." 
 
 "But he has no right to do that!" exclaimed 
 David. 
 
 " He has no right, but he is taking it. ... I 
 went to the garret; we have a trunk standing 
 there— an old, a very old trunk. I began to rum- 
 mage in it. . . And what do you think I found? 
 Look!" 
 
 She drew from under her kerchief a fairly large 
 telescope, mounted in brass, and covered with 
 morocco which had turned yellow. David, in his 
 quality of a lover and connoisseur of all sorts of 
 instruments, immediately seized it. 
 
 " English," he said, applying it to one eye, then 
 to the other.— "A naval glass." 
 
 "And the lens is whole," pursued Raisa. — "I 
 showed it to papa; he said, ' Carry it to the 
 jeweller and pawn it!' What dost thou think 
 about it? Will they give me money for it? 
 For of what use to us is a telescope? Can we 
 use it as a looking-glass to see what beauties 
 we are? But we have no looking-glass, unfortu- 
 nately." 
 
 And as she uttered these words, Raisa suddenly 
 burst into a loud laugh. Her little sister could 
 not hear her, of course, but probably felt the quiv- 
 ering of her body (she was holding Raisa by the 
 hand), and lifting her large eyes, she contorted 
 
 330
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 her little face in a frightened way, and burst into 
 tears. 
 
 ' That 's the way she always is," remarked 
 Raisa; " she does not like to have people laugh." 
 
 ' Come, I won't do it again, Liubotchka, I 
 won't do it again," she added, promptly squatting 
 down on her heels beside the child and running 
 her fingers through her hair. The child ceased 
 crying. Raisa rose to her feet. 
 
 S So pray do thy best, Davidushko . . . with 
 the telescope, I mean. For 't is a pity about 
 the wood,— and the goose also, no matter how old 
 it is!" 
 
 ' I can certainly get ten rubles for it," said 
 David, turning the glass about in all directions. 
 —"I '11 buy it from thee . . . why not? And in 
 the meantime, here are fifteen kopeks for the 
 apothecary. . . . Is that enough ? " 
 
 " I will borrow it of thee," whispered Raisa, ac- 
 cepting the coin from him. 
 
 "Of course! With interest — wouldst like 
 that? Yes, and I have a pledge. A very valuable 
 article! . . . The English are first-class people." 
 
 " But they say that we are going to war with 
 them?" 
 
 'No," replied David, "we are thrashing the 
 French at present." 
 
 "Well— thou knowest best. So do thy best. 
 Farewell, gentlemen I" 
 
 331
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 XIV 
 
 And here is another conversation which also took 
 place at that same fence. Raisa appeared more 
 anxious than usual. 
 
 " A head of cabbage costs five kopeks, and the 
 head is such a wee, tiny bit of a thing," she said, 
 propping her chin on her hand. — " Just think 
 how dear! And I have n't yet received the money 
 for my sewing." 
 
 " Is some one in debt to thee? " asked David. 
 
 " Why, it is still that same merchant's wife who 
 lives beyond the ramparts." 
 
 " The one who wears a green coat, 1 the fat 
 onef 
 
 " Yes, she 's the one." 
 
 "What a fat creature! She can't get her 
 breath for fat, and in church throws off a steam, 
 but does n't pay her debts! " 
 
 " She will pay .... only when will it be? 
 And here is something else, Davidushko, some 
 fresh worries. My father has taken it into his 
 head to narrate his dreams to me — thou knowest 
 how tongue-tied he has become: he tries to say 
 one word and another comes out instead. When 
 it is a question of food, or of anything connected 
 
 1 The coat in question is of plebeian shape, in use among the peas- 
 ants. It has sleeves, short skirts, a round turn-down collar, and is 
 trimmed all round with a ribbon border. It is fitted to the figure 
 and hooked up. — Translator. 
 
 332
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 with daily life, we have already become used to 
 him, we can understand; but a dream is unintel- 
 ligible even with healthy people, while in his 
 case it is dreadful ! ■ I 'm greatly delighted/ he 
 says ; ' to-day I was walking about the whole 
 time on white birds; and the Lord God gave me 
 a pouquet, and in the pouquet sat Andriiisha with 
 a little knife.' — He calls our Liubotchka An- 
 driiisha.— ' Now we are both going to get well,' 
 he says. ' All that is needed is to use the knife— 
 tchirk! Like that!' and he points to his throat. 
 — I don't understand him. I say: 'Very well, 
 dear, very well'; but he gets angry and tries 
 to explain the matter to me. He even took to 
 weeping." 
 
 " But thou shouldst have told him some tale or 
 other," I interposed: 'thou shouldst have in- 
 vented some lie or other." 
 
 ' I don't know how to lie," replied Raisa, fairly 
 flinging her hands apart in despair. 
 
 And it was a fact ; she did not know how to lie. 
 
 " It is not necessary to lie," remarked David, 
 " and there is no need for wearing thyself to death 
 either. No one will say ' Thank you,' I 'm sure." 
 
 Raisa looked intently at him. 
 
 " I wanted to ask something of thee, Davi- 
 dushko ; how should one write ' shtop '1 '' 
 
 "What does 'shtop' mean?" 
 
 ' Why, here, for example : ' I wish that thou 
 shouldst live.' " 
 
 333
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 " Write: sh, t, o, b, er!" * 
 
 " No," I put in: " not sh, but tch! " 
 
 "Well, never mind, write tch! But the chief 
 point is that thou shouldst take care of thyself I " 
 
 " I should like to write correctly," remarked 
 Raisa, blushing faintly. 
 
 When she blushed she immediately became 
 wonderfully pretty. 
 
 " It may prove useful. . . . How papa used to 
 write in his day! ... It was wonderful! And 
 he taught me. Well, but now he deciphers the 
 letters badly." 
 
 " Only let me keep thee alive," repeated David, 
 lowering his voice and never taking his eyes from 
 Raisa. Raisa darted a swift glance at him and 
 blushed worse than before. — " Only do thou live. 
 .... And as for writing . . . write as best thou 
 canst. . . Oh, damn it, the witch is coming! ' 
 (David called my aunt "the witch.") "And 
 what is bringing her hither? . . . Run away, my 
 darling!" 
 
 Raisa darted one more glance at David and 
 fled. 
 
 David spoke to me very rarely and reluctantly 
 about Raisa and her family, especially since he 
 
 1 Er is the name of the character denoting that the preceding con- 
 sonant has the hard, not the soft, pronunciation. All terminal con- 
 sonants, and many which are not terminal, have one or other of two 
 characters affixed, and it is necessary to specify which is required* 
 TcfUob (or, in full, tchtoby) means that, or in order that.— Translator. 
 
 334
 
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 had begun to look for his father's return. He 
 thought of nothing but him, and of how they 
 would live together afterward. He had a vivid 
 recollection of him, and was wont to describe him 
 to me with particular satisfaction. 
 
 " He is tall and strong: he can lift ten puds 1 
 with one hand. . . . When he shouts ' Hey there, 
 young fellow!' — it can be heard throughout the 
 house. He's such a splendid, kind man . . . . 
 and a gallant fellow! He never quailed before 
 any one. We lived in capital style until we were 
 ruined ! They say his hair has grown quite grey 
 now, but formerly it was as red as mine. He 's a 
 ve-ry stro-ong man! " 
 
 David absolutely refused to admit that we 
 should remain in Ryazan. 
 
 " You may go away," I remarked, " but I shall 
 remain." 
 
 " Nonsense ! We will take thee with us." 
 
 " And how about my father? " 
 
 " Thou wilt abandon thy father. And if thou 
 dost not — thou wilt go to destruction." 
 
 " What dost thou mean by that? " 
 
 David did not answer me, and merely con- 
 tracted his white brows. 
 
 " So then, when we go away with my daddy," 
 he began again, " he will find thee a good place, 
 and I shall marry. . . ." 
 
 1 A pud is 36 pounds English. — Thanslato*. 
 
 335
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 « 
 
 «« 
 << 
 
 
 Well, there 's no great haste about that," I re- 
 marked. 
 
 Yes, there is. Why not? I shall marry soon." 
 Thou?" 
 
 Yes, I. Why?" 
 
 Surely thou hast not thine eye on a bride al- 
 ready?" 
 
 " Of course I have." 
 "Who is she?" 
 David laughed. 
 What a stupid thou art! Raisa, of course." 
 Raisa!" I repeated, with amazement.— "Art 
 thou jesting?" 
 
 " I don't know how to jest, my dear fellow, and 
 I don't like it either." 
 
 " Why, she is a year older than thou." 
 " What of that? However, let us drop the sub- 
 ject." 
 
 "Permit me to ask one question," I said. — 
 " Does she know that thou art preparing to marry 
 her?" 
 
 " Probably." 
 
 " But hast not thou revealed anything to 
 her?" 
 
 "What is there to reveal? When the time 
 comes, I shall tell her. Come, enough of this ! " 
 
 David rose and left the room. When I was 
 alone I thought . . . and thought . . . and 
 finally came to the conclusion that David was be- 
 having like a sensible and practical man; and I 
 
 336
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 even felt flattered at being the friend of such a 
 practical man! 
 
 And Raisa, in her everlasting black woollen 
 gown, suddenly began to appear charming and 
 worthy of the most devoted love ! 
 
 XV 
 
 David's father still did not arrive and did not 
 even send letters. Summer had long since come, 
 the month of June was drawing to a close. We 
 were worn out with anticipation. 
 
 In the meantime rumours began to circulate to 
 the effect that Latkin had suddenly grown much 
 worse, and the first any one knew, his family 
 would die of hunger, if the house did not tumble 
 down and crush them all under the roof. David 
 even changed countenance and became so vicious 
 and surly that one dared not speak to him. I did 
 not meet Raisa at all. Now and then she flitted 
 past at a distance, tripping briskly across the 
 street with her beautiful light gait, straight as an 
 arrow, with folded arms, a dark and intelligent 
 look under her long eyebrows, and a careworn ex- 
 pression on her pale, sweet face — that was all. 
 
 My aunt, with the assistance of her Trankvilli- 
 tatin, tormented me as of old, and as of old she 
 kept whispering reproachfully in my very ear: 
 " Thief, sir, thief! " But I paid no attention to 
 her; and my father continued to bustle, work 
 
 337
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 sedulously, run about and write, and would not 
 listen to anything. 
 
 One day, as I was walking past the familiar 
 apple-tree, I cast a sidelong glance at the well- 
 known spot, more as a matter of habit than any- 
 thing else, and suddenly it struck me that a cer- 
 tain change had taken place in the surface of the 
 ground which covered our hoard. ... A sort of 
 hump had made its appearance where there had 
 previously been a depression, and bits of the rub- 
 bish were lying in a different position! " What 's 
 the meaning of this? " I thought to myself. " Is 
 it possible that some one has penetrated our secret 
 and has dug up the watch? " 
 
 I must convince myself with my own eyes. I 
 felt the most complete indifference, of course, 
 toward the watch rusting there in the bowels 
 of the earth; but no other person could be per- 
 mitted to make use of it! Accordingly, on the 
 following day I rose before dawn once more, and 
 arming myself with a knife, I wended my way 
 to the garden, hunted up the marked spot 
 beneath the apple-tree, set to digging, and 
 after digging a hole about two feet deep, I was 
 forced to the conviction that the watch had dis- 
 appeared; that some one had got at it, taken it 
 out, stolen it ! 
 
 But who could have . . . taken it out — except 
 David? 
 
 What other person knew where it was ? 
 
 338
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 I filled up the hole, and returned to the house. 
 I felt myself deeply injured. 
 
 ' Assuming," I thought, " that David had need 
 of the watch in order to save his future wife or 
 her father from starving to death. . . . Say 
 what you will, the watch was worth something. 
 . . . Still, why did not he come to me and 
 say : ' Brother ! ' ( in David's place I would have 
 infallibly said brother) , ' brother ! I am in need of 
 money ; thou hast none, I know, but permit me to 
 make use of that watch which we buried together 
 under the old apple-tree. It is doing no one any 
 good, and I shall be so grateful to thee, brother ! ' 
 With what joy I should have given my consent! 
 But to act secretly, in a treacherous manner, not 
 to trust his friend. . . . No! No passion, no 
 need could excuse that!" 
 
 I repeat that I was deeply wounded. I began 
 to display coldness, to sulk. . . . 
 
 But David was not one of those who notice such 
 things and are worried thereby. 
 
 I began to drop hints. . . . 
 
 But David did not seem to understand my hints 
 in the least. 
 
 I said in his presence how low in my eyes was 
 the man who, having a friend and understanding 
 the full significance of that sacred sentiment, 
 friendship, did not possess, nevertheless, sufficient 
 magnanimity to avoid having recourse to cun- 
 ning ; as though anything could be concealed ! 
 
 839
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 As I uttered these last words I laughed scorn- 
 fully. 
 
 But David never turned a hair ! 
 
 At last I asked him outright, whether he sup- 
 posed our watch had continued to go for a while 
 after it was buried in the earth, or had stopped 
 immediately. 
 
 He answered me—" The deuce knows! Well, 
 thou hast found a fine thing to meditate about! " 
 
 I did not know what to think. David, evi- 
 dently, had something on his heart .... only it 
 was not the theft of the watch. An unforeseen 
 incident demonstrated to me his innocence. 
 
 XVI 
 
 One day I was returning home through a cross- 
 alley which I generally avoided using, because 
 in it there was a detached house where my enemy 
 Trankvillitatin lodged ; but on this occasion Fate 
 led me thither. As I was passing under the 
 closed window of a drinking-establishment I 
 suddenly heard the voice of our servant Vasily, a 
 free and easy young fellow, a great ' dawdler 
 and idler" as my father expressed it, — but also a 
 great conqueror of feminine hearts, on which he 
 acted by means of witty remarks, dancing and 
 playing on the torban. 1 
 
 " And what do you think they hit upon? " said 
 
 1 A sort of bagpipes.— Translator. 
 
 840.
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 Vasfly, whom I could not see, although I could 
 hear him very distinctly ; he was probably sitting 
 just there, close to the window, with a comrade, 
 over a cup of tea, and, as often happens with peo- 
 ple in a closed room, was talking loudly, without 
 a suspicion that any passer-by in the street could 
 hear every word: — " What do you think they hit 
 upon ? They buried it in the earth ! " 
 
 ' Thou liest!" — growled another voice. 
 
 ' They did, I tell thee. We have such ray- 
 markible young gentlemen at our house. That 
 David in particular . . . . he 's a regular iEsop. 
 I get up just at break of day, and step to the win- 
 dow, so ... I look out— and what do I see? . 
 Our two nice little dears are walking in the gar- 
 den carrying that same watch, and they dug a 
 hole under the apple-tree — and in they put it, just 
 as though it had been a baby! And then they 
 smoothed over the earth, by heaven, those good- 
 for-nothings ! " 
 
 'Akh, the deuce take them!"— said Vasily's 
 companion. — "Too much good living, of course. 
 Well, and what then? Didst thou dig up the 
 watch?" 
 
 ' Certainly I did. I have it now. Only I can't 
 display it at present. There was altogether too 
 much of a row over it. That David pulled it out 
 from under the spine of our old woman that very 
 night." 
 
 "O-Oh!" 
 
 341
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 'He did, I tell thee. Quite unpardonable. 
 And so I can't show it. But wait until some offi- 
 cers come : I '11 sell it to some one, or gamble it 
 away at cards." 
 
 I listened no longer, but rushed headlong home 
 and straight to David. 
 
 "Brother!' I began,— " brother! Forgive 
 me ! I have been guilty toward thee ! I have sus- 
 pected thee! I have accused thee! Thou seest 
 how excited I am ! Forgive me ! " 
 
 ■ What 's the matter with thee? " asked David. 
 -"Explain thyself." 
 
 " I suspected thee of having dug up our watch 
 from under the apple-tree! " 
 
 " That watch again ! Why, is n't it there? ' : 
 
 " No, it is not; I thought that thou hadst taken 
 it, in order to aid thy friends. And it was all that 
 Vasily!" 
 
 I told David all I had heard under the window 
 of the dram-shop. 
 
 But how shall I describe my amazement? I 
 had assumed, as a matter of course, that David 
 would be indignant ; but I could not possibly have 
 foreseen what would happen to him! Barely had 
 I finished my tale when he flew into an indescrib- 
 able rage! David, who had never borne himself 
 otherwise than with scorn toward this whole 
 " petty " caper with the watch, as he termed it, — 
 that same David who had more than once declared 
 that it was not worth an empty egg-shell,— sud- 
 
 342
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 denly sprang from his seat, flushed crimson all 
 over, set his teeth and clenched his fists. 
 
 " Things cannot be left in this state ! " he said 
 at last.— "How dares he appropriate other peo- 
 ple's property? Just wait, I'll teach him a les- 
 son ! I won't connive at thievery! " 
 
 I must confess that to this day I do not under- 
 stand what could have so enraged David ; whether 
 it was that he was already irritated and Vasily's 
 behaviour merely poured oil on the fire, or whe- 
 ther my suspicions had wounded him, I cannot 
 say; but I had never seen him so excited. With 
 gaping mouth I stood before him, and simply 
 wondered how he could breathe so heavily and 
 forcibly. 
 
 "What dost thou intend to do?" I asked at 
 last. 
 
 " Thou shalt see— after dinner, when thy fa- 
 ther lies down for his nap. I '11 hunt up that wag ! 
 I '11 have a little talk with him! " 
 
 " Well," I thought to myself, " I would n't like 
 to be in that ' wag's ' place ! What will come of 
 this, O Lord, my God?" 
 
 XVII 
 
 This is what came of it. 
 
 Just as soon after dinner as there reigned that 
 slumberous suffocating tranquillity which to this 
 day is spread like a hot bed of down over the Rus- 
 
 843
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 sian house and the Russian people in the middle 
 of the day after savoury viands have been par- 
 taken of, David (I followed on his heels with a 
 sinking heart) — David wended his way to the 
 servants' hall and called Vasily out. At first the 
 latter was unwilling to come, but ended by obey- 
 ing and following him into the little garden. 
 
 David stood before him, almost touching his 
 breast. Vasily was a whole head taller than he. 
 
 'Vasily Terentieff!" began my comrade in a 
 firm voice, " six weeks ago thou didst dig up from 
 under this apple-tree the watch which we had con- 
 cealed there. Thou hadst no right to do that ; the 
 watch did not belong to thee. Give it here this 
 very minute!" 
 
 Vasily came near losing countenance, but im- 
 mediately recovered himself. "What watch? 
 What are you talking about? I don't know any- 
 thing about it ! I have n't any watch at all! " 
 
 " I know what I am saying, and don't lie, thou. 
 Thou hast the watch. Hand it over! " 
 
 "I haven't got your watch." 
 
 " Then why didst thou say in the public- 
 house . . ." I began ; but David stopped me. 
 
 " Vasily Terentieff," — he articulated in a dull 
 and threatening voice, — "we are authentically 
 informed that thou hast the watch. I tell thee, as 
 a favour, to hand it over.— And if thou dost 
 not . . . ." 
 
 Vasily grinned insolently. 
 
 344
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 "And what will you do to me then? Come, 
 
 sir!" 
 
 "What?— Both of us will fight with thee until 
 thou conquerest us or we conquer thee." 
 
 Vasily burst out laughing. 
 
 "Fight?— That's no business for young gen- 
 tlemen! Fight with a serf? " 
 
 David suddenly seized Vasily by the waistcoat. 
 
 " But we are n't going to fight thee with our 
 fists," he ejaculated, gnashing his teeth,— "under- 
 stand that ! But I will give thee a knife and will 
 take one myself .... Well, and then we '11 see 
 who's who! Alexyei!"— he said to me imperi- 
 ously,— " run for my big knife; thou knowest 
 which— the one with the bone haft; it is lying 
 yonder on the table; and I have another in my 
 pocket." 
 
 Vasily suddenly came near falling in a swoon. 
 David still held him fast by the waistcoat. 
 
 "Mercy .... have mercy, David Egoritch!" 
 —he stammered; tears even started to his eyes. 
 "What are you doing? What are you doing? 
 Let me go ! " 
 
 " I won't let thee go.— And I won't spare thee! 
 If thou eludest us to-day we will begin again to- 
 morrow.— Alyosha! where 's that knife?' 
 
 "David Egoritch!" roared Vasily, "do not 
 commit murder. . . . Who ever saw the like of 
 this? And the watch .... I really did . . . . 
 I was joking. I '11 fetch it to you this very mjn- 
 
 345
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 ute. How can you go on like that? First you 
 threaten to rip up Khrisanfa Lukitch's belly, and 
 now you threaten me!— Let me go, David Ego- 
 ritch. . . . Please to receive your watch. Only 
 don't tell your papa." 
 
 David released Vasily's waistcoat. I looked 
 into his face; really, it was enough to scare a 
 bolder person than Vasily. It was so dismal . . . 
 and cold . . . and malignant. . . . 
 
 Vasily darted into the house and immediately 
 returned thence with the watch in his hand. — Si- 
 lently he handed it to David, and only as he was 
 on his way back to the house did he exclaim aloud 
 on the threshold: " Phew, here 's a pretty go! " 
 
 His face was still distorted beyond recognition. 
 David nodded his head and went off to our room. 
 Again I trudged after him. 
 
 " Suvoroff! A regular Suvoroff!" I thought 
 to myself.— At that time, in 1801, Suvoroff was 
 our leading popular hero. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 David locked the door behind him, laid the watch 
 on the table, folded his arms and — oh, marvellous 
 to relate!— burst out laughing.— As I looked at 
 him I began to laugh also. 
 
 "What an astounding dodger!" he began. — 
 " We cannot possibly rid ourselves of this watch. 
 
 346
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 It is bewitched, it really is. And what made me 
 go into a rage so all of a sudden? " 
 
 'Yes, what?" I repeated.— "Thou mightest 
 have left it with Vasily . . . ." 
 
 "Well, no," interrupted David.— " That's all 
 fiddlesticks! But what shall we do with it now? " 
 
 "Yes! What?" 
 
 We both riveted our eyes on the watch, and fell 
 to thinking. Adorned with a string of sky-blue 
 glass beads (the ill-starred Vasily in his headlong 
 haste had not had time to detach this string, which 
 belonged to him ) , it was very quietly performing 
 its functions; it ticked somewhat unevenly, it is 
 true, and moved its brass minute-hand slowly. 
 
 ' Shall we bury it again? Or fling it into the 
 stove? " I suggested at last. — " Or, see here, — why 
 not make a present of it to Latkin? " 
 
 " No," replied David.—" That won't do at all. 
 But here's an idea: a commission has been insti- 
 tuted in the Governor's chancellery to receive sub- 
 scriptions for the benefit of the inhabitants of 
 KasimorT who have been burned out of house and 
 home. They say that the town of Kasimoff has 
 been reduced to ashes, with all its churches. And 
 they say that everything is accepted; not alone 
 bread and money, but articles of every descrip- 
 tion.— Let 's give the watch to them! Hey? " 
 
 "We will! We will!" I interposed.-" That's 
 a fine idea! But I assumed that as the family of 
 thy friends is in need . . . ." 
 
 347
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 "No, no; give it to the commission!— The 
 Latkins will get along without it.— To the com- 
 mission with it!" 
 
 " Well, if it must.be the commission, it must. — 
 Only I suppose that we must write something to 
 the Governor to go with it." 
 
 David looked at me. ' Dost think so? ' ; 
 
 " Yes ; of course it is not necessary to write 
 much. But so— only a few words." 
 
 " For example ? " 
 
 " For example .... we might begin thus : 
 ' Being ' ... or, better still, 'Actuated '...." 
 
 " ' Actuated ' is good. . . ." 
 
 " Then we must say : ' The which small mite of 
 ours '...." 
 
 Mite ' . . . . is good also ; well, take thy 
 pen, sit down, write, go ahead ! " 
 
 " I will first make a rough draft," I remarked. 
 
 "Well, do so; only write, write .... And 
 in the meantime I will polish it up with some 
 chalk." 
 
 I took a sheet of paper, and mended my pen; 
 but before I had had time to set at the top of the 
 page: "To His Excellency, Mr. Radiant Prince" 
 (our Governor at that time was Prince X.), I 
 stopped short, astounded by an unusual noise 
 which had suddenly arisen in our house. David 
 also noticed the noise and also stopped short, with 
 the watch held aloft in his left hand, and the rag 
 smeared with chalk in his right. We exchanged 
 glances. What was that piercing shriek? That 
 
 348
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 was aunty squealing. . . . And what was this? 
 — It was the voice of my father, hoarse with rage. 
 'The watch! The watch!" roared some one, 
 probably Trankvillitatin. 
 
 Feet trampled, soles squeaked, the whole horde 
 was running . . . making straight for us. I was 
 swooning with terror ; and David was as white as 
 clay, but with the look of an eagle. 
 
 ' That villain Vasily has betrayed us," he whis- 
 pered through his teeth. . . . 
 
 The door was flung wide open, and my father 
 in his dressing-gown, and without a necktie, and 
 my aunt in her dressing-sack, Trankvillitatin, 
 Vasily, Yushka, another small boy, and the cook 
 Agapit, all invaded the room. 
 
 ' Scoundrels! " yelled my father, barely able to 
 draw his breath . ..." at last we have caught 
 you ! " — And espying the watch in David's hands : 
 — " Hand it over! " — roared my father.—" Hand 
 over that watch!" 
 
 But David, without uttering a word, darted to 
 the open window, sprang through it into the yard, 
 and then made for the street ! 
 
 Accustomed to imitate my model in all things, 
 I also jumped out, and rushed after David. . . . 
 ' Catch them! Hold them! " thundered a wild 
 chorus of voices behind us. 
 
 But we were already fleeing headlong down the 
 street, with no caps on our heads, David in the 
 lead, I a few paces behind him, and after us came 
 the trampling and roar of pursuit. 
 
 34,9
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 XIX 
 
 Many years have elapsed since all these events ; I 
 have thought of them many a time— and to this 
 day I cannot understand the cause of that rage 
 with which my father was seized, after having so 
 recently forbidden the mere mention of that 
 watch of which he was so tired, just as I could not 
 understand then the wrath of David when he 
 learned of its theft by Vasily.— But I cannot help 
 thinking that some mysterious force was con- 
 tained within it. Vasily had not betrayed us, as 
 David supposed, — he was in no mood for that; he 
 was too thoroughly intimidated; but simply, one 
 of our maids had seen the watch in his hands and 
 had immediately reported the fact to my aunt. 
 And thus the spark had kindled a great fire. 
 
 So then, we dashed headlong down the street, 
 along its very centre. The passers-by who met 
 us came to a halt or stepped aside in perplexity. 
 I remember that one retired Second-Major, a 
 famous breeder of greyhounds, suddenly thrust 
 his head out of the window of his lodgings, and, 
 all red in the face, with his body hanging in the 
 balance, began to emit a wild view-halloo ! 
 
 "Stop! Hold them!" continued to thunder 
 after us. — David ran onward, swinging the 
 watch round his head, and now and then giving a 
 skip ; I skipped also, and at the same places as he. 
 
 " Whither away? " I shout to David, perceiving 
 
 350
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 that he is turning from the street into an alley, 
 and making the turn with him. 
 
 "To the Oka!"— he shouts back.— "Into the 
 water, into the river, to the devil with it! " 
 
 " Halt! Halt! " roar the people behind us. . . . 
 
 But we are already flying through the alley. 
 And now a chill breath wafts to meet us, and 
 the river is before us, and the steep, muddy 
 descent, and the wooden bridge with a train of 
 wagons extending across it, and the soldier with 
 his pike by the barrier— soldiers carried pikes in 
 those days .... David is already on the bridge, 
 he dashes past the soldier, who tries to prod him 
 in the leg with his pike,— and collides with a pass- 
 ing calf.— David instantly leaps upon the railing, 
 — he emits a joyful exclamation. . . . Some- 
 thing white, something blue has glittered, has 
 flashed through the air— it is the silver watch with 
 Vasily's chain flying into the water. . . . But at 
 this point something incredible occurs ! David's 
 legs whirl upward in pursuit of the watch and he 
 himself, head down, hands in front of him, jacket- 
 tails fluttering in the air, describes a sharp curve 
 —frightened frogs leap thus on a hot day from 
 the lofty shore into the waters of a pond— and 
 instantly disappears beyond the railing of the 
 bridge .... and then— flop! and a heavy splash 
 below. . . . 
 
 What my sensations were it is utterly beyond 
 my power to describe. I was a few paces distant 
 
 351
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 from David when he sprang from the railing .... 
 but I do not even recollect whether I screamed ; I 
 do not think I was even frightened : I was struck 
 dumb and dizzy. My arms and legs lost their 
 power. Around me people were jostling and 
 running; some of them seemed familiar to me; 
 Trofimitch suddenly flitted past, the soldier with 
 the pike darted off somewhere to one side, the 
 horses of the wagon-train walked hurriedly past, 
 tossing on high their muzzles, which were bound 
 together. . . . Then there was a ringing in my 
 ears, and some one gave me a smart blow in the 
 nape of the neck and along the whole length of 
 my spine. ... I had fallen down in a swoon. 
 
 I remember that I rose to my feet afterward, 
 and, perceiving that no one was paying any heed 
 to me, I approached the railing, not on the 
 side from which David had jumped (it seemed to 
 me a dreadful thing to approach that one) — but 
 the other, and began to stare at the river, turbu- 
 lent, blue, and swollen; I remember that not far 
 from the bridge, on the shore, I noticed a boat 
 moored, and in the boat several men, and one of 
 them, all wet and glistening in the sun, bending 
 over the edge of the boat, was dragging something 
 from the water — something not very big, some 
 long, dark thing which at first I took for a trunk 
 or a basket; but on looking more intently I saw 
 that that thing was— David! Then I gave a great 
 start, began to shout at the top of my voice, and 
 
 352
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 ran to the boat, pushing my way through the 
 crowd; and having reached it, I became daunted 
 and began to look about me. Among the people 
 who surrounded it I recognised Trankvillitatin, 
 our cook Agapit with a boot on his arm, Yiishka 
 and Vasily. . . . The wet, glistening man had 
 pulled from under the boat by his armpits the 
 body of David, whose hands were raised on a level 
 with his face, as though he were desirous of hid- 
 ing it from the eyes of strangers, and had laid 
 him on his back upon the muddy shore. David 
 did not stir; he seemed to have stretched himself 
 out, drawn in his heels, and thrust out his belly. 
 His face was of a greenish hue, his eyes were 
 rolled up, and the water was dripping from his 
 hair. The wet man who had pulled him out, a 
 factory -hand, judging from his attire, began to 
 narrate, shivering with cold the while and inces- 
 santly pushing the hair back from his brow, how 
 he had done it. He narrated very decorously and 
 carefully. 
 
 "What do I see, gentlemen? This young fel- 
 low diving from the bridge. .-. . Well! . . . . 
 I immediately run down-stream, for I know that 
 he has fallen straight into the current, which will 
 carry him under the bridge— well, and then 
 that would be the last of him ! I look : something 
 resembling a shaggy cap is floating, but it was 
 his head. Well, and so I immediately dashed 
 into the water in a lively manner. I clutched 
 
 353
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 him. . . . Well, and there was no great art in 
 that!" 
 
 Two or three words of approbation made them- 
 selves audible among the crowd. 
 
 " We must warm thee up now. Come along, 
 let 's sip a cup of liquor," remarked some one. 
 
 But here some one suddenly made his way con- 
 vulsively to the front. ... It was Vasily. 
 
 " What are ye about, ye Orthodox? "—he cried 
 tearfully.— "We must roll him. This is our 
 young gentleman!" 
 
 "Roll him, roll him!" resounded through the 
 crowd, which was constantly increasing. 
 
 "Hang him up by his feet! That's the best 
 remedy!" 
 
 "Put him belly down over a barrel, and roll 
 him back and forth, until .... Take him up, 
 my lads ! " 
 
 "Don't you dare to touch him!"— interposed 
 the soldier with the pike. — " He must be taken to 
 the guard-house." 
 
 "Rabble!"— Trofimitch's bass voice was 
 wafted from somewhere or other. 
 
 " Why, he is alive! " I suddenly cry at the top 
 of my lungs, almost in affright. I had been on 
 the point of putting my face against his face. . . . 
 " So that is what drowned people are like," I was 
 thinking to myself, as my heart died within me 
 . . . . when suddenly I saw David's lips trem- 
 ble, and a little water flow from them. . . . 
 
 354
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 I was instantly thrust aside, dragged away ; all 
 darted toward him. 
 
 V Roll him, roll him! "—voices began to be up- 
 lifted. 
 
 "No, no, stop!" shouted Vasily.— " Take him 
 home . . . home!" 
 
 "Take him home,"— chimed in Trankvillitatin 
 himself. 
 
 "We'll hurry him thither in a jiffy— we shall 
 be able to see better there," went on Vasily. . . . 
 (I took a great liking to Vasily, beginning with 
 that day.) — "Brothers! Isn't there a bast-mat 
 handy? If not, lift him by his head and his 
 heels. . . ." 
 
 "Stay! Here's a bast-mat! Lay him on it! 
 Catch hold ! March ! Slowly : as though he were 
 riding in a coach of state ! " 
 
 And a few moments later David, borne on the 
 bast-mat, triumphantly made his entrance under 
 our roof. 
 
 XX 
 
 They undressed him and placed him on the bed. 
 Already in the street he had begun to show signs 
 of life, he had bellowed and waved his hands. . . . 
 In the room he recovered his senses completely. 
 But as soon as fears for his life were past, and 
 there was no necessity for fussing over him, wrath 
 
 355
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 asserted its rights: all retreated from him as 
 though he had been a leper. 
 
 "May God punish him! May God punish 
 him!" — squealed my aunt so that she could be 
 heard all over the house. — " Send him off some- 
 where, Porfiry Petrovitch, or he will perpetrate 
 some other crime which cannot be endured!" 
 
 " I think this must be some sort of an asp, and 
 a mad one at that,"— chimed in Trankvillitatin. 
 
 'What malice, what malice!"— shrilled my 
 aunt, coming to the very door of our room so as 
 to make sure that David heard her. " First he 
 stole the watch, and then he flung it into the water. 
 . . . As much as to say, ' Nobody shall have it.' . . . 
 So he did ! " 
 
 Everybody, positively everybody, was angry! 
 
 " David," I asked him as soon as we were left 
 alone, " why didst thou do that? " 
 
 "There thou goest too," — he retorted, still in 
 a very weak voice; his lips were blue, and he 
 seemed bloated all over. — "What have I done?" 
 
 " But why didst thou leap into the water? " 
 
 "Why did I leap?— I couldn't keep my bal- 
 ance on the railing, and that's all there is to it. 
 If I had known how to swim I would have leaped 
 deliberately. I shall certainly learn. But, on the 
 other hand, that watch is now done for! . . ." 
 
 At this point my father entered our room with 
 solemn tread. 
 
 " I shall flog thee, without fail, my dear f el- 
 
 356
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 low," he said, addressing me; "have no doubt as 
 to that, although thou art too old to lay across a 
 bench any longer."— Then he stepped up to the 
 bed on which David was lying.—" In Siberia," — 
 he began in a pompous and impressive tone, — " in 
 Siberia, my good sir, in penal servitude, men live 
 and die underground who are less guilty, less 
 criminally guilty than thou! Art thou a suicide, 
 or simply a fool?— Tell me that one thing, pray! " 
 
 " I am not a suicide nor a thief," replied David, 
 " but the truth is the truth : good people get sent 
 
 to Siberia, better men than you and I 
 
 Who should know that if not you? " 
 
 My father uttered a low cry, retreated a pace, 
 stared intently at David, spat, and slowly cross- 
 ing himself, left the room. 
 
 "Dost thou not like it?" David called after 
 him, thrusting out his tongue. Then he tried to 
 rise, but could not. — " Evidently, I have injured 
 myself somehow," he said, groaning and wrin- 
 kling up his forehead.—" I remember that I was 
 dashed against a beam by the water. . . . 
 
 " Didst thou see Raisa? " he suddenly added. 
 
 "No, I did not see her. . . . Wait! Wait! 
 Wait ! Now I remember : was n't it she who was 
 standing on the shore near the bridge?— Yes. . . . 
 A dark frock, a yellow kerchief on her head. . . . 
 It must have been she! " 
 
 "Well, and afterward .... didst thou see 
 her afterward?" 
 
 357
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 "Afterward .... I don't know. I was in 
 no mood for observing. — Thou didst leap at that 
 moment. . . ." 
 
 David started up in alarm. 
 
 " My dear friend Alyosha, go to her this mo- 
 ment, tell her that I am well, that there is nothing 
 the matter with me. I shall go to see them to- 
 morrow. Go quickly, brother, do me that fa- 
 vour!" 
 
 David stretched out both hands to me. . . . 
 His dry, red hair stuck up in funny whorls . . . 
 but the deeply-moved expression of his face 
 seemed all the more genuine for that. I took my 
 cap and left the house, endeavouring not to fall 
 under the eye of my father and not to remind him 
 of his promise. 
 
 XXI 
 
 " And, in fact," I argued with myself on my way 
 to the Latkins', " how was it that I did not notice 
 Raisa? What has become of her? For she must 
 have seen . . . ." 
 
 And suddenly I remembered: at the very mo- 
 ment of David's fall a terrible, heart-rending cry 
 had rung in my ears. . . . 
 
 Was not that she? But how was it that I had 
 not seen her afterward ? 
 
 In front of the tiny house in which Latkin 
 dwelt stretched a strip of waste land overgrown 
 
 358
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 with nettles and enclosed with a decrepit fence of 
 wattled boughs. Hardly had I made my way 
 across this fence (there was no gate or wicket any- 
 where), than the following spectacle presented 
 itself to my eyes.— On the lowest step of the porch 
 in front of the house Raisa was sitting with her 
 elbows on her knees and her chin propped on her 
 interlaced fingers; she was staring straight in 
 front of her ; bv her side stood her deaf-and-dumb 
 sister tranquilly flourishing a small whip, and in 
 front of the porch, with his back toward me, clad 
 in a tattered and threadbare dressing-gown, with 
 under-drawers and felt boots on his legs, stood old 
 Latkin, dangling his arms and writhing, shifting 
 from foot to foot where he stood and indulging in 
 little leaps. At the sound of my footsteps he sud- 
 denly wheeled round, squatted down on his heels, 
 and immediately swooping down upon me, began 
 to say in an extremely rapid, tremulous voice, 
 interlarded with breaks: " Tchu-tchu-tchu ! " I 
 stood riveted to the spot. I had not seen him for a 
 long time, and, of course, I would not have recog- 
 nised him had I met him in any other place. That 
 red, wrinkled, toothless face, those round, dull 
 little eyes and dishevelled grey locks, those twitch- 
 ings, those leaps, that unintelligible, faltering 
 tongue .... what was it? What inhuman de- 
 spair was torturing that unlucky being? What 
 "dance of death" was this? 
 
 " Tchu, tchu," he stammered, without ceasing 
 
 359
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 to grimace, — "there she is, Vasilievna; she has 
 just — tchu, tchu — gone .... hark! with a wash- 
 ing-trough along the roof" (he banged his head 
 with his hand) , " and is sitting there like a shovel; 
 and squinting, squinting like Andriiisha; cross- 
 eyed Vasilievna!" (He probably wanted to say 
 "dumb.") "Tchu! my cross-eyed Vasilievna! 
 There they are, both of them, now in the same fix. 
 . . . Admire, ye Orthodox! I have only those 
 two little boats! Hey?" 
 
 Latkin was evidently conscious that he was not 
 talking straight, and was making frantic efforts 
 to explain to me what was the matter. Raisa ap- 
 parently did not hear what her father was saying 
 at all, while her little sister continued to slash the 
 air with her whip. 
 
 "Good-bye, jeweller, good-bye, good-bye! ' ; 
 drawled Latkin several times in succession, with 
 low obeisances, as though delighted that he had, 
 at last, caught hold of an intelligible word. 
 
 My head reeled. — "What is the meaning of 
 all this? " I asked an old woman who was peeping 
 out of one of the windows in the house. 
 
 " Why, you see, dear little father," she replied 
 in a sing-song tone, " they say that some man or 
 other — and who he is, the Lord only knows — has 
 been drowned, and she saw it. Well, and she got 
 thoroughly scared, I suppose; but she came home 
 all right. But she sat straight down on the porch, 
 and since that minute there she sits, like a statue ; 
 
 860
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 it makes no difference whether one speaks to her 
 or not. Evidently, she is doomed to dumbness 
 also. Axhti-kti ! " 
 
 " Good-bye, good-bye," Latkin kept repeat- 
 ing, still with obeisances as before. I stepped 
 up to Raisa and halted directly in front of 
 her. 
 
 ' Raisotchka," I shouted, " what 's the matter 
 with thee?" 
 
 She made no reply; just as though she did not 
 see me. Her face had not paled or changed, but 
 somehow had become stony, and it wore an ex- 
 pression as though she were on the very verge of 
 falling asleep. 
 
 " But she 's cross-eyed, cross-eyed," stammered 
 Latkin in my ear. 
 
 I grasped Raisa's hand. — "David is alive," I 
 shouted more loudly than before: " alive and well. 
 David is alive, dost thou understand? They 
 pulled him out of the water, he is now at home and 
 has bid me say that he will come to see thee to- 
 morrow. . . . He is alive!" 
 
 Raisa turned her eyes on me with apparent diffi- 
 culty ; she winked the lids a couple of times, open- 
 ing them wider and wider, then bent her head on 
 one side, gradually flushed crimson all over, and 
 her lips parted. . . . She inhaled the air into her 
 lungs with a slow, full breath, wrinkled her brow 
 as though in pain, and with a terrible effort articu- 
 lating: "Yes .... Dav . . . ali . . . . alive!" 
 
 361
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 rose abruptly from the porch and set off at a 
 run. . . . 
 
 "Where art thou going?" I cried. 
 
 But, laughing faintly and reeling, she was al- 
 ready running across the waste land. 
 
 Of course I darted after her, while behind me 
 rose an energetic howl, decrepit and childish, from 
 Latkin and the deaf-and-dumb girl. . . . Raisa 
 was making straight for our house. 
 
 " Well, what a day this has been! " I thought, 
 as I strove not to lag behind the black gown which 
 was flitting on in front of me. ..." Come on! " 
 
 XXII 
 
 Evading Vasily, my aunt, and even Trankvilli- 
 tatin, Raisa rushed into the room where David 
 lay, and flung herself straight upon his breast.— 
 " Okh .... okh, Davidushko!" her voice rang 
 out from under her dishevelled curls; — " okh! " 
 
 Energetically waving her hands, she embraced 
 David and bent her head down to him. 
 
 " Forgive me, my dear," his voice made itself 
 audible. 
 
 And both seemed fairly swooning with joy. 
 
 "But why didst thou go off home, Raisa? 
 Why didst not thou wait?" I said to her. . . . 
 Still she did not raise her head.—" Thou wouldst 
 have seen that they had saved him. . . ." 
 
 "Akh, I don't know! Akh, I don't know! 
 
 362
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 Don't ask me! I don't know, I don't remember 
 how I got home. All I do remember is that I saw 
 thee in the air ... . something struck me . . . . 
 But what came after that I don't know." 
 
 " Struck you," repeated David, and all three of 
 us suddenly burst into a hearty laugh. We felt 
 very happy. 
 
 " But what may be the meaning of this, pray? " 
 rang out a threatening voice — the voice of my fa- 
 ther—behind us. He was standing on the thresh- 
 old of the door. " Are these follies coming to an 
 end or not? Where are we living? In the Rus- 
 sian empire or in the French republic?" 
 
 He stalked into the room. 
 
 " Go to France, any of you who want to revolt 
 and lead a licentious life! And as for thee, how 
 hast thou dared to come hither?" he addressed 
 himself to Raisa, who, having softly risen and 
 turned her face toward him, was obviously intimi- 
 dated, but continued to smile in a caressing and 
 blissful way. — "The daughter of my sworn en- 
 emy ! How darest thou ? And thou hast taken it 
 into thy head to embrace him also! Begone this 
 instant! or I '11 . . . ." 
 
 " Uncle," said David, sitting up in bed, " do 
 not insult Raisa. She will go away .... only, 
 don't you insult her." 
 
 "And who appointed thee my preceptor? I 
 am not insulting her, I am not insulting her! I 
 am simply turning her out of the house. I shall 
 
 363
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 call thee to account also. Thou hast squandered 
 the property of other people, thou hast attempted 
 thine own life, thou hast caused me losses." 
 
 "What losses?" interrupted David. 
 
 " What losses? Thou hast ruined thy clothing 
 — dost thou count that nothing? And I gave 
 money for liquor to the men who brought thee 
 hither! Thou hast frightened the whole family 
 out of their lives, and thou art insolent to boot! 
 And if this wench, forgetful of modesty and even 
 of honour ..." 
 
 David sprang from his bed. — "Don't insult 
 her, I tell you! " 
 
 "Hold thy tongue!" 
 
 " Don't you dare . . ." 
 
 "Hold thy tongue!" 
 
 "Don't you dare to defame my promised 
 bride!" shouted David at the top of his voice,— 
 "my future wife!" 
 
 "Bride!" repeated my father, with eyes start- 
 ing from his head.— " Bride!— Wife! Ho, ho, 
 ho! . . ." ("Ha, ha, ha!" echoed my aunt out- 
 side the door.) — "And how old art thou, pray? 
 He has lived in this world a year minus one 
 month, the milk is n't dry on his lips yet, the hob- 
 bledehoy! And he is contemplating matrimony! 
 Why, I . . . . why, thou . . . ." 
 
 " Let me go, let me go," whispered Raisa, turn- 
 ing to depart. She had grown livid. 
 
 " I shall not ask any permission of you," David 
 
 364
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 continued in a shout, propping himself on the 
 edge of the bed with his lists, " but of my own 
 father, who is bound to arrive any day now! I 
 take my orders from him, not from you; and as 
 for my age, Raisa and I are not in a hurry .... 
 we shall wait, say what you like. ..." 
 
 'Hey there, David, come to thy senses!" in- 
 terrupted my father; "look at thyself: thou art 
 all in tatters. . . . Thou hast lost all sense of 
 decorum!" 
 
 David clutched at the breast of his shirt with his 
 hand. 
 
 ' Whatever you may say . . . ."he repeated. 
 
 ;< Come, clap thy hand over his mouth, Porf iry 
 Petrovitch, clap thy hand over his mouth," 
 squealed my aunt outside the door. — " And as for 
 this street-walker, this good-for-nothing wench 
 
 t • * m L 1 1 1 o • ■ • ■ 
 
 But evidently something unusual cut my aunt's 
 eloquence short at that moment: her voice sud- 
 denly broke, and in place of it another, a hoarsely 
 decrepit and weak voice, made itself heard. . . . 
 ' Brother," enunciated this feeble voice. . . . 
 "Brother! .... Christian soul!" 
 
 XXIII 
 
 We all turned round Before us, in the 
 
 same costume in which I had recently beheld him, 
 gaunt, pitiful, wild, like a spectre, stood Latkin. 
 
 365
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 " But God," he articulated in a childish sort of 
 way, elevating on high his trembling crooked 
 finger and scanning my father with a feeble gaze, 
 — "God has punished! And I have come for 
 Va . . . yes, yes, for Raisotchka. What is it, 
 tchu! What is it to me? I shall soon lie down in 
 the earth — and how the deuce does it go? A stick 
 .... another .... a joist .... that 's what I 
 need .... But do thou, brother, jeweller . . . . 
 Look out .... for I am also a man!" 
 
 Raisa silently walked across the room and link- 
 ing her arm in his, buttoned his dressing-gown. 
 
 " Come along, Vasilievna," he said, " they 're 
 all saints here ; don't go to their house. And that 
 fellow, the one who is lying yonder in the casket," 
 — he pointed at David, — " is a saint also. But we 
 are sinners, thou and I. Well, tchu .... par- 
 don a peppery old man, gentlemen! We stole 
 together! " he suddenly shouted:—" we stole to- 
 gether! we stole together!" he repeated with 
 manifest delight; his tongue had obeyed him 
 at last. 
 
 All of us who were in the room held our peace. 
 
 "And where is your .... holy picture?" he 
 asked, throwing back his head and rolling up his 
 eyes. " I must purify myself." 
 
 He began to pray toward one of the corners, 
 crossing himself with emotion several times in 
 succession, tapping his fingers now against one 
 shoulder, now against the other, and hurriedly re- 
 
 366
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 peating: "Have mercy upon me, O Lo . . . . 
 me, OLo . . . . me, OLo! . . . ." My father, 
 who all this time had never taken his eyes from 
 Latkin nor uttered a single word, placed him- 
 self beside him and began to cross himself also. 
 Then he turned to him, made a very low obei- 
 sance to him so that he touched the floor with one 
 hand, 1 and saying: "And do thou also forgive 
 me, Martinyan Gavrilitch," he kissed him on 
 the shoulder. Latkin in reply smacked his lips 
 in the air and blinked his eyes ; it is hardly prob- 
 able that he understood what he was doing. 
 Then my father addressed himself to all who 
 were present in the room, to David, Raisa, and 
 me: 
 
 " Do what you will, act as you see fit," he said 
 in a quiet, sorrowful voice — and withdrew. 
 
 My aunt tried to approach him, but he yelled 
 at her sharply and gruffly. 
 
 " Me, O Lo . . . . me, O Lo . . . . have mercy ! " 
 repeated Latkin.—" I am a man!" 
 
 " Good-bye, Davfdushko," said Raisa, as she 
 also quitted the room, accompanied by the old 
 man. 
 
 " I shall go to your house to-morrow," David 
 called after them, and turning his face to the wall, 
 he whispered: "I am very tired; it wouldn't be 
 
 1 This takes the place of a full prostration on the knees with the 
 brow touching the floor for elderly or ailing persons. The kiss on 
 the shoulder is a sign of contrition or humility, that being the way 
 the peasants used to kiss their masters.— Translator. 
 
 367
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 a bad thing to get a little sleep now,"— and fell 
 silent. 
 
 For a long time I did not leave our room. I hid 
 myself. I could not forget what my father 
 had threatened to do to me. But my apprehen- 
 sions proved vain. He came across me— and did 
 not utter a word. He seemed to feel ill at ease 
 himself. However, night soon descended, and all 
 quieted down in the house. 
 
 XXIV 
 
 On the following morning David rose as though 
 nothing had happened, and not long after, on 
 that same day, two important events occurred : in 
 the morning old Latkin died, and toward evening 
 uncle Egor, David's father, arrived in Ryazan. 
 Without having sent any preliminary letter, with- 
 out having forewarned any one, he descended 
 upon us like snow on the head. 1 My father was 
 extremely disturbed and did not know wherewith 
 he should entertain, where he should seat the wel- 
 come guest, and bustled about like a culprit; but 
 my uncle did not appear to be greatly touched by 
 his brother's anxious zeal; he kept repeating, 
 " What 's the use of that? "—and " I do not want 
 anything." He treated my aunt with even 
 greater coldness; however, she did not like him 
 much, anyway. In her eyes he was a godless man, 
 
 1 Suddenly, unexpectedly. —Translator. 
 
 368
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 a heretic, a Voltairian .... (he actually had 
 learned the French language in order to read 
 Voltaire in the original). 
 
 I found uncle Egor such as David had de- 
 scribed him to me. He was a big, heavy, ponder- 
 ous man, with a broad, pock-marked face, dig- 
 nified and serious. He wore constantly a hat with 
 a plume, lace ruffles and frill, and a short-coat of 
 tobacco-brown hue, with a steel sword on his hip. 
 David was unspeakably delighted to see him— his 
 face even grew radiant and handsomer, and his 
 eyes became quite different— merry, quick, and 
 brilliant; but he strove his best to moderate his 
 joy and did not express it in words: he was afraid 
 of growing faint-hearted. 
 
 The very first night after uncle Egor's arrival 
 the two— father and son— locked themselves up 
 in the room assigned to the former and talked to- 
 gether for a long time in an undertone ; on the fol- 
 lowing morning I noticed that my uncle gazed at 
 his son in a peculiarly affectionate and trustful 
 manner: he seemed greatly pleased with him. 
 David took him to the requiem service * for Lat- 
 kin ; I also went thither : my father did not hinder 
 me, but remained at home himself. Raisa sur- 
 prised me by her calmness; she had grown very 
 
 1 Not the funeral, or even a requiem liturgy, but a service composed 
 of wonderfully-beautiful prayers and hymns. Often it is held in the 
 house of the deceased twice a day during the three days which precede 
 burial (whlzh is what is meant here, although in this case it was in 
 church), and at any time thereafter when the friends and relatives 
 request it.— Translator. 
 
 869
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 pale and thin, but she shed no tears, and spoke 
 and behaved very simply; and nevertheless, 
 strange to say, I discerned in her a certain maj- 
 esty: the unconscious majesty of grief which for- 
 gets itself. Uncle Egor made her acquaintance 
 then and there, on the church porch ; afterward it 
 was obvious from the way he treated her that 
 David had already spoken to him of her. He 
 took as great a liking to her as his son had done ; 
 I could read that in David's eyes when he looked 
 at them. I remember how they flashed when 
 his father said in his presence, in speaking of 
 her: " She 's a clever lass; she will make a good 
 housewife." At the Latkins' house I was told 
 that the old man had expired quietly, like a 
 candle which is burned out, and until he lost his 
 powers and his consciousness he kept stroking 
 his daughter's hair and repeating something 
 unintelligible but not sorrowful, and smiling all 
 the while. 
 
 My father went to the funeral, to the church 
 and the grave, and prayed very fervently; even 
 Trankvillitatin sang in the choir. At the grave 
 Raisa suddenly burst out sobbing and fell prone 
 upon the earth ; but she speedily recovered herself. 
 Her little sister, the deaf-and-dumb girl, scruti- 
 nised every one with her large, bright, and some- 
 what frightened eyes; from time to time she 
 nestled up to Raisa, but there was no fright per- 
 ceptible in her. On the day after the funeral, uncle 
 
 370
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 Egor, who, as was in every way apparent, had not 
 returned from Siberia with empty hands (he had 
 furnished the money for the funeral, and had lav- 
 ishly rewarded David's rescuer) , but who had 
 told nothing about his manner of life there and 
 had communicated none of his plans for the fu- 
 ture, — uncle Egor suddenly announced to my 
 father that he did not intend to remain in Ryazan, 
 but was going to Moscow together with his son. 
 My father, for the sake of propriety, expressed 
 his regret, and even made an attempt— a very fee- 
 ble one, it is true — to alter my uncle's decision; 
 but in the depths of his soul he was greatly de- 
 lighted with it, I am sure. 
 
 The presence of a brother with whom he had 
 too little in common, who did not even deign 
 to reproach him, who did not even despise him, 
 but simply loathed him, oppressed him .... 
 and the parting with David did not constitute 
 any particular grief for him. This separation 
 annihilated me, of course; I felt completely or- 
 phaned at first, and lost all hold on life and all 
 desire to live. 
 
 So my uncle went away, taking with him not 
 only David, but, to the great amazement and even 
 indignation of our whole street, Raisa and her 
 little sister also On learning of this per- 
 formance of his, my aunt immediately called him 
 a Turk, and continued to call him so to the end 
 of her life. 
 
 871
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 I was left alone, quite alone. . . . But it does 
 not matter about me. . . . 
 
 XXV 
 
 And this is the end of my story about the watch. 
 What else can I tell you? Five years later, David 
 married his Black-lip, and in 1812, with the rank 
 of ensign in the artillery, died a death of glory on 
 the day of the battle at Borodino, while defending 
 the Shevardin redoubt. 
 
 Many things have happened since then, and I 
 have had many watches ; I have even attained to 
 the magnificence of procuring for myself a genu- 
 ine Breget with a second-hand, the days of the 
 month, and a repeating attachment. . . . But in 
 a secret drawer of my writing-table is preserved 
 an old silver watch with a rose on its face; I 
 bought it of a Jew pedlar, being struck with its 
 resemblance to the watch which had once been 
 presented to me by my godfather. — From time 
 to time, when I am alone and am not expecting 
 any one, I take it out of its box, and as I gaze at 
 it, I recall the days of my youth and the com- 
 rade of those days, which have vanished beyond 
 recall. . . . 
 
 372
 
 SMOKE 
 
 (1867) 

 
 SMOKE 
 
 AT four o'clock, on the afternoon of the tenth 
 llL of August, in the year 1862, a large number 
 of persons were assembled in front of the famous 
 ' Conversation " (Hall) in Baden-Baden. The 
 weather continued to be delightful; everything 
 round about— the verdant trees, the bright-hued 
 houses of the comfortable town, the undulating 
 hills— everything lay outspread in festive guise, 
 with lavish hand, beneath the rays of the be- 
 nignant sun ; everything was smiling in a passive, 
 confiding and engaging manner, and the same 
 sort of vague yet amiable smile strayed over the 
 faces of the people, young and old, homely and 
 handsome. Even the dyed and bleached faces of 
 the Parisian courtesans did not destroy the gen- 
 eral impression of manifest satisfaction and ex- 
 ultation, but the motley-hued ribbons and fea- 
 thers, the glints of gold and steel on bonnets and 
 veils, involuntarily suggested to the vision the 
 reanimated gleam and light play of springtide 
 flowers and rainbow-hued wings: but the dry, 
 guttural rattle of French gabble could not take 
 
 3
 
 SMOKE 
 
 the place of the twittering of the birds, or bear 
 comparison therewith. 
 
 However, everything was going on as usual. 
 The orchestra in the pavilion played now a pot- 
 pourri from " La Traviata," again a waltz by 
 Strauss, or Dites-lui, or a Russian romance ar- 
 ranged for instruments by the obliging band- 
 master ; around the green tables in the gambling- 
 halls thronged the same familiar figures, with the 
 same dull and greedy expression as ever, an ex- 
 pression neither exactly perplexed nor yet irri- 
 tated, but essentially rapacious, which the gam- 
 bling fever imparts to all, even to the most aristo- 
 cratic features ; the usual obese landed proprietor 
 from Tamboff, in extremely dandified attire, 
 with the usual incomprehensible, convulsive haste, 
 and eyes protruding, leaning his breast on the 
 table, and paying no heed to the grins of the crou- 
 piers, at the moment of uttering the exclamation, 
 " Rien neva plus! " was scattering circles of louis 
 d'or, with perspiring hand, over all the squares of 
 the roulette-board, and thereby depriving himself 
 of all possibility of winning anything, even in the 
 case of luck; which did not in the least prevent 
 him, in the course of that same evening, from 
 humouring with sympathetic wrath Prince Koko, 
 one of the well-known leaders of the opposition 
 among the gentry, the Prince Koko who, in Paris, 
 in the drawing-room of Princess Mathilde, in the 
 presence of the Emperor, remarked so truly: 
 
 4
 
 
 SMOKE 
 
 " Madame, le principe de la propriete est pro fan- 
 dement ebranle en Russie." According to their 
 wont, our amiable fellow-countrymen and women 
 assembled at the ' Russian Tree " — a V Arbre 
 Russe;— they strolled up ostentatiously, care- 
 lessly, fashionably, greeted each other majes- 
 tically, with elegant ease, as is befitting beings who 
 stand at the apex of contemporary culture, but, 
 having met and seated themselves, they positively 
 did not know what to say to one another, and con- 
 tented themselves with the exchange of empty 
 phrases, or with the threadbare, extremely impu- 
 dent and extremely insipid sallies of a French ex- 
 literary man, who had long since seen his best 
 days, a jester and chatter-box, with Jewish slip- 
 pers on his wretched little feet, and with a con- 
 temptible little beard on his miserable little phiz. 
 He babbled to them, a ces princes Russes, all sorts 
 of stale nonsense out of ancient almanacs of the 
 Charivari and Tintamarre, . . while they — ces 
 princes Russes — burst into grateful laughter, as 
 though involuntarily acknowledging both the 
 overwhelming superiority of foreign wit and 
 their own definitive incapacity to devise anything 
 amusing. And yet there was present almost all 
 the " fine fleur " of our society, " all the quality 
 and the models of fashion." There was Count 
 X., our incomparable dilettante, a profound mu- 
 sical nature, who " recites " romances so divinely, 
 and, as a matter of fact, cannot distinguish one 
 
 5
 
 SMOKE 
 
 note from another without poking his forefinger 
 at random over the keys, and sings somewhat like 
 an indifferently poor gipsy, somewhat like a Pa- 
 risian hair-dresser ; there was also our enchanting 
 Baron Z., that jack of all trades: literary man, 
 administrator, orator and sharper; there was 
 also Prince Y., the friend of religion and 
 of the people, who had amassed a huge fortune 
 in his time, the blessed epoch of monopolies, by 
 the sale of inferior liquor adulterated with stra- 
 monium; and brilliant General O. O., who has 
 subdued something or other, is the pacificator of 
 somebody or other, but, nevertheless, does not 
 know what to do with himself, or how to make 
 himself agreeable; and R. R., an amusing fat 
 man, who regards himself as a very ailing and 
 very clever fellow, but is as healthy as an ox and 
 as stupid as a stump. This R. R. is almost the 
 only person who in our day still preserves the 
 tradition of the social lions of the '40's of the 
 epoch of " The Hero of Our Times " ? and of 
 Countess Vorotynsky. He has retained also the 
 gait with its swing from the heels, and " le culte 
 de la pose' (which cannot even be expressed in 
 Russian), and the unnatural deliberation of 
 movement, and the sleepy majesty of expression 
 on the impassive, as it were offended, counte- 
 nance, and the habit of interrupting other peo- 
 ple's remarks with a yawn, carefully inspecting 
 
 lBy M. Y. L£rmontoff.— Translator. 
 
 6
 
 SMOKE 
 
 his own fingers and nails the while, of laughing 
 straight in people's faces, of suddenly tilting the 
 hat from the nape of the neck over the brows, and 
 so forth, and so forth. There were also even gov- 
 ernmental officials, diplomats, big-wigs with Eu- 
 ropean reputations, men of good counsel and 
 sense, who imagine that the golden bull was issued 
 by the Pope, and that the English " poor-tax " is 
 an impost on the poor; there were, in conclusion, 
 fiery but bashful admirers of the frail fair ones, 
 young society dandies with their hair supremely 
 well parted behind, with superb pendent side- 
 whiskers, attired in real London costumes, young 
 dandies whom, apparently, nothing could prevent 
 from becoming the same sort of vulgar triflers as 
 the renowned French chatterer; but no! nothing 
 native-born is in vogue with us, — and Countess 
 Sh., the well-known law-giver of fashion, 
 and of the " grand genre," nicknamed by mali- 
 cious tongues " The Tzaritza of the Wasps " and 
 The Medusa in a Mob-cap," preferred, in the 
 absence of the prattler, to turn to the Italians, 
 Moldavians, American " spiritists," dashing sec- 
 retaries of foreign legations, petty Germans with 
 effeminate but already cautious physiognomies, 
 and so forth, who were hovering about there also. 
 In imitation of the Countess's example, Princess 
 Babette also, the one in whose arms Chopin died 
 (there are about a thousand ladies in Europe in 
 whose arms he yielded up his spirit) , and Princess 
 
 7
 
 SMOKE 
 
 Annette, who would have possessed every charm 
 were it not that from time to time suddenly, like 
 the odour of cabbage in the midst of the finest 
 amber, the common country washerwoman had 
 not cropped out ; and Princess Pachette, to whom 
 the following catastrophe happened : her husband 
 lighted upon a conspicuous position and all of a 
 sudden, Dieu salt pourquoi, he thrashed the mayor 
 of the town and stole twenty thousand rubles of 
 the government money ; and that mirthful maiden 
 — Princess Zizi, and tearful Princess Zozo; all of 
 them deserted their fellow-country people and 
 treated them ungraciously. . . But let us also 
 desert them, these charming ladies, and quit the 
 famous tree around which they are seated in such 
 costly but rather tasteless toilettes, and may the 
 Lord send them relief from the ennui which is 
 tormenting them ! 
 
 8
 
 II 
 
 Several paces removed from the " Russian 
 Tree," at a small table in front of Weber's cafe, 
 sat a man about thirty years of age, of medium 
 stature, lean and swarthy, with a manly and 
 agreeable face. Bending forward and leaning on 
 his cane with both hands, he sat quietly and sim- 
 ply, like a man to whom the idea would never oc- 
 cur that any one was noticing him or taking an 
 interest in him. His large, expressive eyes, brown 
 with a tawny tinge, gazed slowly about him, now 
 blinking a little with the sunlight, again suddenly 
 and intently following some eccentric figure that 
 passed by, in which last case a swift, childlike 
 smile barely moved his slight moustache, his lips 
 and strong physiognomy. He was clad in a loose 
 frock-coat of German cut, and his soft grey hat 
 half concealed his lofty brow. At first sight he 
 produced the impression of an honourable, active 
 and rather self-confident young fellow, of which 
 sort there are not a few in the world. He ap- 
 peared to be resting from prolonged labours, and 
 with all the more singleness of mind was divert- 
 ing himself with the picture which unfolded itself 
 before him, because his thoughts were far away, 
 and because, moreover, those thoughts were re- 
 
 9
 
 SMOKE 
 
 volving in a world which did not in the least re- 
 semble that which surrounded him at that mo- 
 ment. He was a Russian ; his name was Grigory 
 Mikhailovitch Litvinoff. 
 
 We must make his acquaintance, and therefore 
 it becomes necessary to narrate, in a few words, 
 his far from gay or complicated past. 
 
 The son of a retired plodding official from the 
 merchant class, he had not been educated in town, 
 as might have been expected, but in the country. 
 His mother was a noble by birth, a girl from one 
 of the Government Institutes, a very amiable 
 and very enthusiastic being, yet not lacking 
 in strength of character. Being twelve years 
 younger than her husband, she remodelled his 
 education as far as she was able, dragged him out 
 of the official into the noble rut, tamed and sof- 
 tened his harsh, vigorous nature. Thanks to her, 
 he had come to dress neatly and behave with 
 propriety, and had left off swearing; he had 
 come to respect learned men and learning, — 
 although, of course, he never took a book 
 in his hand, — and endeavoured in every way never 
 to derogate from his dignity: he even began to 
 walk more lightly, and he spoke in a subdued 
 voice, chiefly on lofty subjects, which cost him no 
 little trouble. " Ekh! I 'd like to take and spank 
 you! " he sometimes said to himself, but aloud he 
 remarked: " Yes, yes ... of course; that is the 
 question." Litvinoff 's mother had put her house- 
 
 10
 
 SMOKE 
 
 hold also on a European footing ; she said " you " 
 to the servants, and permitted no one to overeat 
 at dinner to the point of snoring. So far as the 
 estate which belonged to her was concerned, 
 neither she nor her husband had been able to make 
 anything out of it: it had long been neglected, 
 but was extensive with various meadows, forests 
 and a lake, beside which, in times gone by, had 
 stood a large factory established by the zealous 
 but unsystematic owner, which had thriven in the 
 hands of a knavish merchant, and had finally 
 come to ruin under the direction of an honest 
 manager, a German. Madame Litvinoff was sat- 
 isfied with not having impaired her property and 
 with having contracted no debts. Unfortunately, 
 she could not boast of good health, and died of 
 consumption during the very year that her son 
 entered the Moscow University. He did not fin- 
 ish his course, owing to circumstances (the reader 
 will learn later on what they were) , and lounged 
 about in the country, where he enjoyed life for a 
 considerable time without occupation, or connec- 
 tions, almost without acquaintances. Thanks to 
 the nobles of his county, who were ill-disposed to- 
 ward him, and imbued not so much with the 
 Western theory of the evils of ' ' absenteeism " as 
 with the innate conviction that " charity begins at 
 home," he was got into the militia in 1855, and 
 came near dying of typhus in the Crimea, where, 
 without having beheld a single " ally," he was 
 
 11
 
 SMOKE 
 
 quartered for six months in an earth-hut on the 
 banks of the Putrid Sea; then he served in the 
 elections, as a matter of course, not without un- 
 pleasantness, and finding himself at ease in the 
 country he became passionately devoted to farm- 
 ing. He comprehended that his mother's prop- 
 erty, badly and indolently managed by his now 
 infirm father, did not yield a tenth part of the 
 income which it was capable of yielding, and that 
 in experienced and expert hands it might be con- 
 verted into a regular gold mine ; but he also com- 
 prehended that precisely what he lacked was this 
 experience and skill — and he betook himself 
 abroad to study agronomy and technology — to 
 study them from the very foundation. He had 
 spent more than four years in Mecklenburg, 
 Silesia, Karlsruhe, he had travelled in Belgium 
 and in England, he had laboured conscientiously, 
 he had acquired information: it had not been 
 easily acquired; but he had endured the ordeal 
 to the end, and now, confident of himself, of his 
 future, of the utility he could bring to his fellow- 
 countrymen, even to the whole country, he was 
 preparing to return to his native land, whither his 
 father, utterly disconcerted by the emancipa- 
 tion, by the division of lands, by the redemption 
 contracts,— by the new order of things, in short, -^ 
 was summoning him with despairing adjurations 
 and entreaties in every letter. . . But why was 
 he in Baden? 
 
 12 
 
 J
 
 SMOKE 
 
 He was in Baden because from daj^ to day he 
 was expecting the arrival there of his second 
 cousin, his affianced bride,— Tatyana Petrovna 
 Shestoff. He had known her almost from child- 
 hood, and had passed the spring and summer with 
 her in Dresden, where she had settled with her 
 aunt. He sincerely loved, he profoundly re- 
 spected his young relative, and having completed 
 his obscure preparatory work, and being on the 
 point of entering upon a new career, of beginning 
 active, not state service, he had proposed to her, 
 as to a beloved woman, as to a comrade and friend, 
 that she should unite her life to his life — for joy 
 and for sorrow, for toil and for repose, " for bet- 
 ter, for worse," as the English say. She had con- 
 sented, and he had betaken himself to Karlsruhe, 
 where he had left his books, his things and his 
 papers. . . But why was he in Baden, you ask 
 again? 
 
 He was in Baden because Tatyana's aunt, who 
 had reared her, Kapitolina Markovna Shestoff, 
 an elderly spinster of fifty-five years, a most kind- 
 hearted and honourable eccentric, a free soul, all 
 burning with the fire of self-sacrifice and self- 
 renunciation, an esprit fort (she read Strauss, — 
 on the sly from her niece, it is true) , and demo- 
 crat, a sworn foe of grand society and the aris- 
 tocracy, could not resist the temptation to take 
 just one little peep at that same grand society in 
 such a fashionable place as Baden. . . Kapito- 
 
 J3
 
 SMOKE 
 
 lina Markovna dispensed with crinoline and 
 clipped her white hair in a shock, but luxury and 
 brilliancy secretly agitated her, and she found it 
 joyful and sweet to rail against them and despise 
 them. . . And how could one refuse to divert the 
 kindly old lady? 
 
 But Litvinoff was so calm and simple, he gazed 
 about him so confidently, because his life lay be- 
 fore him with precise clearness, because his fate 
 had been settled, and because he was proud of that 
 fate, and was rejoicing in it, as the work of his 
 own hands. 
 
 14
 
 Ill 
 
 " Ba! ba! ba! here he is! " a squeaking voice sud- 
 denly rang out straight in his ear, and a flabby 
 hand tapped him on the shoulder. 
 
 He raised his head, — and beheld one of his few 
 Moscow acquaintances, a certain Bambaeff, a nice 
 man, one of the triflers, no longer young, with 
 cheeks and nose as soft as though they had been 
 boiled, greasy, dishevelled hair, and a flabby, 
 obese body. Eternally penniless and eternally in 
 raptures over something or other, Rostislaff Bam- 
 baeff roamed to and fro, with a hurrah but with- 
 out occupation, over the face of our long-suffer- 
 ing mother earth. 
 
 ' The very person I wanted to see! " — he re- 
 peated, opening wide his fat-obscured little eyes, 
 and thrusting out his thick little lips, above which 
 a dyed moustache stuck out in a strange and in- 
 appropriate manner. — "Hurrah for Baden! 
 Every one crawls hither like black beetles. How 
 didst thou get here? " 
 
 Bambaeff addressed positively every one on 
 earth as " thou." 
 
 " I arrived three days ago," 
 
 "Whence?" 
 
 15
 
 SMOKE 
 
 " But why dost thou wish to know? " 
 
 " Why, indeed! But wait, wait, perhaps thou 
 dost not know who else has arrived here? Guba- 
 ryoff! That 's who is here ! He came from Hei- 
 delberg yesterday. Of course thou knowest 
 him? " 
 
 " I have heard of him." 
 Only that? Good gracious! Instantly, this 
 very minute, I shall drag thee to him. Not know 
 such a man ! And, by the way, here 's Voroshi- 
 loff. . . . Stay, perhaps thou dost not know him 
 either? I have the honour to present you to each 
 other. Both of you are learned men. He 's even 
 a very phoenix. Kiss each other! " 
 
 And as he uttered these words, BambaefF 
 turned to a handsome young man with a rosy but 
 already serious face, who was standing beside him. 
 Litvinoff rose, and of course did not kiss him, 
 but exchanged a brief salute with the " phoenix," 
 who, judging by the stiffness of his demeanour, 
 was not any too well pleased by this unexpected 
 introduction. 
 
 " I said a phoenix, and I will not withdraw the 
 word," continued Bambaeff: — "go to Peters- 
 burg, to the * * * Cadet Corps, and look at the 
 golden board — roll of honour — whose name 
 stands first there? Voroshiloff Semyon Yakov- 
 levitch! But Gubaryoff, GubaryofF, my dear 
 fellows ! That 's the man to whom we must run, 
 run! I positively worship that man! And I 'm 
 
 16
 
 SMOKE 
 
 not the only one; all, without distinction, adore 
 him. What a work he is now writing, oh . . . 
 oh ... oh! " 
 
 " What is the work about? " inquired Litvi- 
 noff. 
 
 " About everything, my dear fellow, in the 
 style of Buckle, you know . . only more pro- 
 found—more profound. . . In it everything will 
 be settled and made clear." 
 
 H And hast thou read that work thyself? ' 
 
 " Xo, I have not ; and it is even a secret which 
 must not be divulged ; but from GubaryofF every- 
 thing is to be expected, everything! Yes!"— 
 Bambaeff sighed and folded his hands.—" What 
 if two or three more such heads were bred among 
 us in Russia, what would happen, O Lord my 
 God ! I '11 tell thee one thing, Grigory Mikhailo- 
 vitch : whatever thou mayest have been occupying 
 thyself with of late, — and I do not know what thy 
 interests in general are,— whatever may be thy 
 convictions,— and I know nothing about them 
 either,— thou wilt find something to learn from 
 him, from Gubaryoff. Unfortunately, he will 
 not be here long. We must take advantage of the 
 opportunity, we must go. To him, to him! ' 
 
 A passing dandy with small red curls and a 
 sky-blue ribbon on his low-crowned hat turned 
 round and stared at Bambaeff through his mon- 
 ocle with a sarcastic smile. Litvinoff was vexed. 
 
 "Why dost thou shout?" he ejaculated: — 
 
 17
 
 SMOKE 
 
 " thou yellest as though after a hound! I have 
 not yet dined." 
 
 " What of that! We can dine immediately at 
 Weber's . . all three. . Capital! Hast thou the 
 money to pay for me? " he added in an undertone. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; only really I do not know ..." 
 ' Stop, please ; thou wilt thank me, and he will 
 be glad. Akh, my God! " Bambaeff broke off. — 
 " They 're playing the finale from ' Ernani.' 
 How charming! A som . . . mo Carlo. . . But 
 what a fellow I am ! I begin to cry at once. Well, 
 Semyon Yakovlevitch ! Voroshiloff! Shall we 
 go? 
 
 Voroshiloff, who was still standing in a stiff 
 and stately attitude, maintaining his original 
 somewhat haughty dignity of mien, dropped his 
 eyes significantly, frowned, and bellowed some- 
 thing through his teeth . . . but did not refuse; 
 and Litvinoff said to himself: "Never mind! let 's 
 do it, seeing there 's plenty of time." Bambaeff 
 slipped his arm into his, but before setting out 
 for the cafe he beckoned to Isabella, the famous 
 flower-girl of the Jockey Club: it had occurred 
 to him to buy a bouquet of her. But the aristo- 
 cratic flower-girl did not stir ; and why should she 
 go to a gentleman without gloves, in a stained vel- 
 veteen jacket, a variegated necktie, and patched 
 boots, whom she had never beheld in Paris? Then 
 Voroshiloff beckoned to her in his turn. She 
 went to him, and he, selecting from her basket a 
 
 18
 
 SMOKE 
 
 tiny bunch of violets, tossed her a gulden. He 
 had thought to astonish her with his lavishness; 
 but she never moved an eyelash, and when he 
 turned away from her she curled her closely-com- 
 pressed lips in scorn. Voroshiloff was very fop- 
 pishly, even elegantly, clad, but the experienced 
 eye of the Parisienne had instantly noted in his 
 toilette, in his very gait, which bore traces of early 
 military drilling, the absence of genuine, thor- 
 oughbred " chic." 
 
 When our acquaintances had seated themselves 
 in Weber's principal room and had ordered din- 
 ner, they entered into conversation. BambaefF 
 talked loudly and fervently about the lofty sig- 
 nificance of Gubaryoff, but soon fell silent, and 
 noisily sighing and chewing, clinked glass to 
 glass. Voroshiloff ate and drank little, and hav- 
 ing questioned Litvinoff as to the nature of his 
 occupation, began to express his own opinions . . . 
 not so much with regard to that occupation as in 
 general about various " questions." . . He sud- 
 denly grew animated and started off at full gal- 
 lop, like a good horse, adroitly and sharply em- 
 phasising every syllable, every letter, like a 
 fine dashing young cadet at his final ex- 
 amination, and waving his arms violently, but 
 not in accord. He became momentarily more vol- 
 uble, more energetic, as no one interrupted him: 
 it was exactly as though he were reading a disser- 
 tation or a lecture. The names of the newest 
 
 19
 
 SMOKE 
 
 savants, with the year of each one's birth or death 
 added, the title of pamphlets which had just been 
 published, in general names, names, names, — 
 fell thick and fast from his tongue, affording him 
 the highest gratification, which was reflected in 
 his flashing eyes. VoroshilofT evidently despised 
 everything old, prized only the cream of culture, 
 the latest, most advanced points of science; to 
 mention, even inopportunely, the book of some 
 Doctor Sauerbrengel about the prisons in Penn- 
 sylvania, or an article which had appeared the 
 previous day in The Asiatic Journal about the 
 Vedas and the Puranas (he said it in just that 
 way: " Journal," although, of course, he did not 
 know English) — was for him genuine delight, 
 felicity. Litvinoff listened to him, listened and 
 could not in the least understand what his own 
 speciality was. Now he turned the conversation 
 upon the role of the Celtic race in history; again 
 it bore him off to the ancient world, and he argued 
 about the marbles of iEgina, harped insistently 
 on the sculptor Onatas, who lived before Phidias, 
 but who, in his hands, was transformed into Jona- 
 than, and thereby, in the twinkling of an eye, im- 
 parted to his whole argument a biblical or Ameri- 
 can colouring; then he suddenly jumped to polit- 
 ical economy, and called Bastia a fool and a 
 blockhead, " as much so as Adam Smith and all 
 the physiocrats ' . . . "Physiocrats! " Bambaeff 
 whispered after him . . . "Aristocrats? . . ." 
 
 20
 
 SMOKE 
 
 Among other things, Voroshiloff had evoked an 
 expression of amazement on the countenance of 
 that same Bambaeff by a remark carelessly and 
 lightly dropped concerning Macaulay, as an ob- 
 solete author who had been left in the lurch bv 
 science ; as for Gneist and Riehl, he declared that 
 it was merely necessary to name them, and 
 shrugged his shoulders. Bambaeff shrugged his 
 shoulders also. " And all this at one burst, with- 
 out any motive whatever, in the presence of stran- 
 gers in a cafe," meditated Litvmoff, as he gazed 
 at the blond hair, the light eyes, the white teeth 
 of his new acquaintance (he was particularly dis- 
 turbed by those huge, sugar-like teeth, and also 
 by those arms, with their inappropriate flour- 
 ishes) ; " and he does not smile even once; and yet 
 he must be a kindly young fellow and extremely 
 inexperienced. . ." Voroshiloff quieted down at 
 last ; his voice, youthfully resonant and hoarse as 
 that of a young cock, broke a little . . . and 
 Bambaeff in the nick of time began to declaim 
 verses, and again almost fell to weeping, which 
 produced the effect of a row at one neigh- 
 bouring table, around which an English family 
 was seated, and a tittering at another: two cour- 
 tesans were dining at this second table with a very 
 aged infant in a lilac wig. The waiter brought 
 the bill; the friends paid it. 
 
 ' Well," exclaimed Bambaeff, rising heavily 
 from his chair:—" now for a cup of coffee, and 
 
 21
 
 SMOKE 
 
 march! But yonder it is, our Russia," he added, 
 halting in the doorway, and almost with rapture 
 pointing with his soft, red hand at Voroshiloff 
 and Litvinoff. . . " What do you think of it? ' 
 
 " Yes, Russia," thought Litvinoff; but Voro- 
 shiloff, who had already again succeeded in im- 
 parting to his face a concentrated expression, 
 smiled condescendingly, and lightly clicked his 
 heels together. 
 
 Five minutes later all three of them were 
 mounting the stairs of the hotel where Stepan 
 Nikolaevitch GubaryofF was stopping. . . A tall, 
 stately lady, in a bonnet with a short black veil, 
 was descending the same staircase, and on catch- 
 ing sight of Litvinoff she suddenly turned to him 
 and halted, as though struck with amazement. 
 Her face flushed for a moment and then as swiftly 
 paled beneath the close meshes of the lace; but 
 Litvinoff did not notice her, and the lady ran 
 more briskly than before down the broad steps. 
 
 22,
 
 IV 
 
 " Grigory Litvinoff is a jolly good fellow, a 
 Russian soul; I recommend him," exclaimed Bam- 
 baeff, conducting Litvinoff up to a man of short 
 stature and the appearance of the landed gentry 
 class, with an unbuttoned collar, in a short-tailed 
 coat, grey morning trousers, and slippers, who 
 was standing in the middle of a bright, capitally- 
 furnished room;—" and this," he added, turning 
 to Litvinoff, — " this is he, the very man; you un- 
 derstand? Well, in one word, Gubaryoff." 
 
 Litvinoff fixed his eyes with curiosity on " the 
 very man." At first he perceived nothing unusual 
 about him. He beheld before him a gentleman 
 of respectable and rather stupid appearance, with 
 a large forehead, large eyes, a large beard, 
 a thick neck, and an oblique glance, which was 
 directed downward. This gentleman simpered, 
 muttered: " Mmm . . . yes . . . that 's good . . . 
 I 'm delighted . . . ," raised his hand to his own 
 face, and immediately turning his back on Lit- 
 vinoff, strode several paces across the carpet, wab- 
 bling slowly and strangely, as though he were 
 walking stealthily. Gubaryoff had a habit of 
 constantly walking to and fro, incessantly pluck- 
 
 23
 
 SMOKE 
 
 ing at and combing his beard with the tips of his 
 long, firm nails. In addition to Gubaryoff there 
 was in the room a lady in a shabby silk gown, 
 about fifty years of age, with a remarkably mobile 
 face as yellow as a lemon, black down on her up- 
 per lip, and vivacious little eyes which seemed on 
 the point of popping out; a thick-set man was 
 also sitting there doubled up in a corner. 
 
 " Well, ma'am, respected Matrona Semyo- 
 novna," began Gubaryoff, addressing the lady, 
 and evidently not considering it necessary to in- 
 troduce her to LitvinofF; — " dear me, what was it 
 that you had begun to tell us? " 
 
 The lady (her name was Matrona Semyonovna 
 SukhantchikofF ; she was a widow, childless, not 
 rich, and this was the second year that she had 
 spent in wandering from land to land) immedi- 
 ately began to talk with a peculiar, embittered 
 enthusiasm : 
 
 " Well, and so he presents himself to the 
 Prince, and says to him : ' Your Illustrious High- 
 ness,' says he, — ' with your dignity and your sta- 
 tion, what does it cost you to alleviate my lot? 
 You,' says he, ' cannot fail to respect the purity 
 of my convictions! And is it possible,' says he, 
 ' in our day to persecute a man because of his con- 
 victions? ' And what do you think the Prince, — 
 that cultured, highly-placed dignitary — did? ' 
 
 "Well, what did he do?" ejaculated Guba- 
 ryoff, thoughtfully lighting a cigarette. 
 
 24
 
 SMOKE 
 
 The lady drew herself up, and stretched out in 
 front of her her bony right hand, with the index 
 finger separated. 
 
 " He called his lackey, and said to him: ' Strip 
 the coat off this man and take possession of it. 
 I make you a present of his coat.' " 
 
 'And did the lackey strip it off?" inquired 
 Bambaeff, clasping his hands. 
 
 ' He stripped it off and took it. And that was 
 done by Prince Barnauloff , the famous rich man, 
 the grandee, invested with special power, the rep- 
 resentative of the government! What may we 
 expect after that! " 
 
 Madame Sukhantchikoff's feeble body quiv- 
 ered all over with indignation, convulsive shivers 
 flitted across her face, her emaciated bosom 
 heaved violently beneath her flat bodice; it is un- 
 necessary to mention her eyes : they fairly leaped. 
 However, they were always leaping, whatever she 
 was talking about. 
 
 'T is a crying, crying shame!" ejaculated 
 Bambaeff. — " Hanging is too good for him! " 
 
 " Mmm .... mmm . . . From top to bottom 
 it 's all rotten," remarked Gubaryoff , but without 
 raising his voice. — " It is n't a case for hanging; 
 . . . 't is a case . . . for other measures." 
 
 ' But stay; is it true? " said Litvinoff. 
 
 "Is it true?' retorted Madame Sukhantchi- 
 koff. — "Why, it's impossible even to think of 
 doubting, impossible to thi-i-i-ink of such a 
 
 25
 
 SMOKE 
 
 thing. ." She uttered the word with such force 
 that she fairly writhed.—" It was told to me by a 
 most reliable man. And you know him, Stepan 
 Nikolaevitch— Kapiton Elistratoff. He heard it 
 himself from an eye-witness, from a witness of 
 that outrageous scene." 
 
 " What Elistratoff? " inquired Gubaryoff.— 
 " The one who was in Kazan? " 
 
 " The very man. I know, Stepan Nikola- 
 itch, that a rumour was circulated about him 
 that he had got money out of some contractor 
 or distiller or other. But who says that? Peli- 
 kanoff! And can one believe PelikanofF, when 
 everybody knows that he is simply— a spy? ' 
 
 " No, permit me, Matrona Semyonovna," in- 
 terposed BambaefF: — " I am PelikanofF's friend; 
 I don't believe he is a spy." 
 
 " Yes, yes, exactly that, a spy! " 
 
 " But wait a bit, please. . ." 
 
 " A spy, a spy! " screamed Madame Sukhan- 
 tchikofF. 
 
 "But he isn't, no, wait; I '11 tell you some- 
 thing," shouted BambaefF in his turn. 
 
 " A spy, a spy! " reiterated Madame Sukhan- 
 tchikoff. 
 
 "No, no! There's Tenteleeff — that 's quite 
 another matter! " roared BambaefF at the top of 
 his voice. 
 
 Madame Sukhantchikoff became silent for a 
 moment. 
 
 26
 
 SMOKE 
 
 " I know it for a fact, with regard to that gen- 
 tleman," continued Bambaeff in his ordinary 
 voice, " that when the Third Section summoned 
 him he crawled at the feet of Countess Blazen- 
 kampf and kept whining: ' Save me, intercede for 
 me ! ' But Pelikanoff never descended to such 
 baseness." 
 
 "Mm . . . Tenteleeff . . ." growled Guba- 
 ryoff :— " that . . that must be noted." 
 
 Madame Sukhantchikoff scornfully shrugged 
 her shoulders. 
 
 " Both are good," she remarked:— "but I know 
 a still better anecdote about Tenteleeff. As 
 every one knows, he was the most dreadful tyrant 
 with his people, although he gave himself out as 
 an emancipator. Well, one day he was sitting 
 with some acquaintances in Paris, when, all of a 
 sudden, in comes Mrs. Beecher Stowe,— well, you 
 know, ' Uncle Tom's Cabin.' Tenteleeff, a 
 frightfully conceited man, began to urge the host 
 to present him; but as soon as Mrs. Stowe heard 
 his name: 'What?' — says she: — 'how dares he 
 make acquaintance with the author of ' Uncle 
 Tom'? And, whack, she slapped his face!— 
 'Begone!' says she, — 'this instant!' — And 
 what do you think? Tenteleeff took his hat, 
 and putting his tail between his legs, he slunk 
 off." 
 
 ' Well, that strikes me as exaggerated," re- 
 marked Bambaeff.—" That she did say ' Be- 
 
 27
 
 SMOKE 
 
 gone! ' to him is a fact; but she did not slap his 
 face." 
 
 " She did slap his face, she did slap his face," 
 repeated Madame Sukhantchikoff, with convul- 
 sive intensity: — " I don't talk nonsense. And 
 you are the friend of such people! ' 
 
 " Excuse me, excuse me, Matrona Semyo- 
 novna, I never asserted that Tenteleeff was an in- 
 timate friend of mine; I was speaking of Peli- 
 kanoff." 
 
 " Well, if it was n't Tenteleeff, it was some one 
 else: Mikhnyoff, for instance." 
 
 " What did he do? " asked Bambaeff, intimi- 
 dated in advance. 
 
 "What? Don't you really know? On the 
 Vosnesensky Prospekt, in the presence of every- 
 body, he shouted out that all liberals ought to 
 be in prison; and then an old boarding-school 
 comrade, a poor man, of course, comes up 
 to him, and says : ' May I dine with you ? ' 
 But he answered him: 'No, you cannot; two 
 Counts are to dine with me to-day . . . . g' 
 way! 
 
 " But good gracious, that is a calumny! " clam- 
 oured Bambaeff. 
 
 "A calumny? ... a calumny? In the first 
 place, Prince Vakhriishkin, who also was dining 
 with your Mikhnyoff . . ." 
 
 " Prince Vakhriishkin," interposed Gubaryoff 
 sternly,— " is my first cousin; but I will not re- 
 
 28
 
 SMOKE 
 
 ceive him. . . Consequently, there is no use of 
 mentioning him." 
 
 " In the second place," continued Madame 
 Sukhantchikoff, submissively inclining her head 
 in the direction of Gubaryoff:— " Praskovya 
 Yakovlevna herself told me so." 
 
 "A fine person to allege as authority! She 
 and Sarkisoff are first-class inventors of tales." 
 
 " Well, sir, you must excuse me; Sarkisoff is 
 a liar, that 's a fact, and that he pulled the brocade 
 pall off his dead father I will never deny; but 
 Praskovya Yakovlevna,— what a comparison! 
 Recollect how nobly she separated from her hus- 
 band! But you, I know, are always ready 
 to " 
 
 " Come, that will do, that will do, Matrona 
 Semyonovna," Bambaeff interrupted her.—" Let 
 us drop this tittle-tattle and soar aloft. I 'm a 
 poker of ancient make, 1 you see. Have you read 
 1 M'lle de la Quintinie '? It s charming! And 
 with exactly your principles! " 
 
 " I no longer read romances," replied Madame 
 Sukhantchikoff, drily and curtly. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 Because it is no time for such things; I 
 have only one thing in my head now— sewing- 
 machines." 
 
 " What sort of machines? " inquired Litvinoff. 
 
 " Sewing-, sewing-machines; all women, all, 
 
 lAn old-fashioned man.— Translator. 
 
 29
 
 SMOKE 
 
 must supply themselves with sewing-machines, 
 and form a society ; in that way they will all earn 
 their living and will at once become independent. 
 Otherwise, they cannot possibly free themselves. 
 It is an important, an important social question. 
 Boleslaff Stadnitzky and I had such a dispute 
 about that. Boleslaff Stadnitzky has a wonder- 
 ful nature, but he looks on these things in a fright- 
 fully frivolous way. He does nothing but laugh. 
 . . . The fool!" 
 
 " All men will be summoned, in due season, to 
 an accounting — all men will be held responsible," 
 remarked Gubaryoff slowly, in a partly dogmatic, 
 partly prophetic tone. 
 
 "Yes, yes," repeated Bambaeff:— " they will 
 be held responsible — exactly so, held responsible. 
 And how about your work, Stepan Nikolaitch," 
 he added, lowering his voice: — "is it pro- 
 gressing? " 
 
 " I am collecting the materials," replied Guba- 
 ryoff, knitting his brows; and turning to Litvi- 
 noff, whose head was growing giddy with that 
 mess of names which were unfamiliar to him, 
 with that frenzy of gossip, asked him : with what 
 did he occupy himself? 
 
 Litvinoff satisfied his curiosity. 
 
 ' Ah ! that is to say with the natural sciences. 
 
 That is useful, as a school. As a school, not 
 
 as a goal. The goal now should be ... . 
 
 mm . . . should be . . . something else. Per- 
 
 30
 
 SMOKE 
 
 mit me to inquire, with what opinions do you take 
 sides? " 
 
 " What opinions? " 
 
 " Yes; that is to say, what are your political 
 convictions? " 
 
 Litvinoff smiled. 
 
 " I really have no political opinions whatever." 
 
 At these words the thick-set man, who was sit- 
 ting in the corner, suddenly raised his head, and 
 gazed attentively at Litvinoff. 
 
 "How so?" said Gubaryoff, with strange 
 gentleness. — " Have n't you gone into the sub- 
 ject yet, or have you already grown tired of it? ' 
 
 " How shall I explain it to you? It seems to 
 me that it is still too early for us Russians to have 
 political opinions, or to imagine that we have 
 them. Observe that I give to the word ' political ' 
 the meaning which rightfully belongs to it, and 
 
 II lill • • • • 
 
 " Aha! you 're one of the unripe ones," Guba- 
 ryoff interrupted him with the same gentleness, 
 and approaching Voroshiloff, he asked him:— had 
 he read the pamphlet which he had given him? 
 
 Voroshiloff, who, to Litvinoff's surprise, had 
 not uttered the smallest word since his arrival, but 
 had merely scowled and rolled his eyes about (as 
 a rule he either orated or maintained complete 
 silence) , — Voroshiloff thrust out his chest in mili- 
 tary fashion, and clicking his heels together, 
 nodded his head in the affirmative. 
 
 31
 
 SMOKE 
 
 " Well, and what then? Were you pleased? " 
 
 " So far as the principal premises are con- 
 cerned, but I do not agree with the deductions." 
 
 " Mmm . . . but Andrei Ivanitch praised that 
 pamphlet to me very highly. You must state 
 your doubts to me later on." 
 
 Gubaryoff was evidently surprised : he had not 
 expected this ; but after reflecting briefly, he artic- 
 ulated : 
 
 " Yes, in writing. By the way, I will ask you 
 to state for me also your views . . . . as to . . . 
 as to association." 
 
 " Would you like it after the method of Las- 
 salle, or of Schulze-Delitzsch? " 
 
 " Mmm . . . after both methods. You under- 
 stand that the financial side is especially impor- 
 tant for us Russians. Well, and the working- 
 men's union * as the kernel. . . All that must be 
 taken into consideration. It must be thoroughly 
 investigated. And there is the question of the 
 peasants' allotments. . ." 
 
 " And what is your opinion, Stepan Nikola- 
 itch, as to the suitable amount of desyatinas? ' 
 inquired Voroshfloff, with respectful delicacy 
 in his voice. 
 
 "Mmm . . . And the commune?' said Gu- 
 baryoff with profundity, and gnawing a tuft of 
 
 1 The artdl, which represents workingmen united in voluntary, elas- 
 tic associations for the purpose of fulfilling contracts to advan- 
 tage, insuring trustworthiness, and so forth.— Translator. 
 
 32
 
 SMOKE 
 
 his beard he riveted his eyes on the leg of the table. 
 — " The commune. . . Do you understand? 
 That is a grand word! And then, what is the 
 meaning of these conflagrations .... these gov- 
 ernmental measures against Sunday-schools, 1 
 reading-rooms, newspapers?— and, in conclusion, 
 that which is going on in Poland ? Do you not see 
 to what all this is leading, that . . . mm . . . 
 that we . . . we must now fuse ourselves with the 
 people, must find out . . find out their opinion? ' 
 —Gubaryoff was suddenly seized with a painful, 
 almost malignant, agitation; he even turned a 
 greyish-brown hue in the face and breathed more 
 vehemently, but still he did not raise his eyes, and 
 continued to chew his beard. — " Do you not 
 
 ot^tr . • . • 
 
 " Evseeff is a scoundrel! " suddenly blurted out 
 Madame Sukhantchikoff, to whom Bambaeff was 
 narrating something in an undertone, out of re- 
 spect for the host. Gubaryoff wheeled abruptly 
 round on his heels, and began again to hobble up 
 and down the room. 
 
 New guests began to make their appearance; 
 toward the end of the evening a considerable num- 
 ber of persons had assembled. Among them came 
 also Mr. Evseeff, who had been so harshly abused 
 by Madame Sukhantchikoff: she chatted with 
 
 1 For the instruction in the common branches of workingmen who 
 are occupied on week-days. As religion forms a prominent subject 
 in all school-courses in Russia, Sunday-schools in the Western sense 
 of the word are unnecessary. — Translator. 
 
 33
 
 SMOKE 
 
 him in a very friendly manner, and asked him to 
 escort her home; there came also a certain Pish- 
 tchalkin, an ideal arbitrator of the peace, 1 pre- 
 cisely one of those men of whom, possibly, Russia 
 is in need, namely — narrow, badly educated and 
 untalented but conscientious, patient, and hon- 
 ourable; the peasants of his district almost wor- 
 shipped him, and he treated himself with extreme 
 respect as an individual truly worthy of homage. 
 There came also several young officers who had 
 run off on a brief leave of absence to Europe, 
 and were delighted at the opportunity, cautiously, 
 of course, and without banishing from their minds 
 a mental reservation about the regimental com- 
 mander, to indulge themselves with clever and 
 rather dangerous people; and two slender young 
 students had run over from Heidelberg: one kept 
 gazing scornfully about him, the other laughed 
 spasmodically . . and both were very ill at ease; 
 after them a Frenchman pushed his way in, a so- 
 called p'tit jeune homme: dirty, poor and stu- 
 pid . . he was famous among his comrades, who 
 were travelling salesmen, because Russian Coun- 
 tesses fell in love with him; but he himself was 
 more intent on a gratuitous supper; last of all, 
 Tit Bindasoff presented himself, with the aspect 
 of a noisy student, but in reality he was a cur- 
 mudgeon and a crafty fellow, in speech a terror- 
 
 1 An official appointed at the time of the emancipation of the serfs 
 to decide dissensions between them and the landed proprietors arising 
 out of the distribution of the land. —Translator. 
 
 34
 
 SMOKE 
 
 ist, by vocation a police-captain, the friend of 
 Russian merchants' wives and of Parisian cour- 
 tesans, bald, toothless, drunken; he presented 
 himself in a very crimson and evil state, asserting 
 that he had lost his last kopek to that " little rascal 
 Benazet," when, in reality, he had won sixteen 
 gulden. . . In a word, a great many persons as- 
 sembled. The respect with which all the visitors 
 treated Gubaryoff as a teacher or leader was re- 
 markable—truly remarkable; they expounded to 
 him their doubts, submitted them to his judg- 
 ment; but he replied . . with a bellow, by tug- 
 ging at his beard, by rolling his eyes, or by 
 fragmentary, insignificant words, which were im- 
 mediately caught up on the fly like utterances of 
 the loftiest wisdom. Gubaryoff himself rarely 
 joined in the discussion; on the other hand, the 
 rest zealously strained their chests. It hap- 
 pened more than once that three or four were 
 shouting simultaneously for the course of ten 
 minutes, but every one was satisfied and under- 
 stood. The conversation lasted until after mid- 
 night, and was distinguished, as usual, by the 
 abundance and the variety of subjects. Ma- 
 dame Sukhantchikoff talked about Garibaldi, 
 about some Karl Ivanovitch, who had been 
 flogged by his own house-serfs, about Napoleon 
 III., about female labour, about merchant Ples- 
 katchyofF, who, according to common know- 
 ledge, had starved twelve working-girls to 
 
 85
 
 SMOKE 
 
 death, and had, on that account, received a 
 medal with the inscription : " For a useful 
 deed " ; about the proletariat, about the Georgian 
 Prince TchuktcheulidzefF, who had fired his wife 
 from a cannon, and about the future of Russia; 
 Pishtchalkin also talked about the future of Rus- 
 sia, about government monopolies, about the sig- 
 nificance of nationality, and about his detesting 
 commonplace things most of all ; Voroshiloff sud- 
 denly broke out : in one breath, and almost chok- 
 ing himself in the process, he mentioned Draper, 
 Virchow, Mr. ShelgunofF, Bichat, Helmholtz, 
 Stahr, Stuhr, Raymond, Johannes Miiller the 
 physiologist, Johannes Miiller the historian, — evi- 
 dently confounding them, — Taine, Renan, Mr. 
 Shtchapoff, and then Thomas Nash, Peel, 
 Greene. . . "What sort of birds are these?' 
 muttered BambaefF in amazement. ' The prede- 
 cessors of Shakespeare, who bear to him the same 
 relation that the ramifications of the Alps bear 
 to Mont Blanc!" replied Voroshiloff cuttingly, 
 and also touched upon the future of Russia. 
 BambaefF, too, talked about the future of Rus- 
 sia, and even painted it in rainbow-tinted colours, 
 but was raised to special rapture by the thought 
 of Russian music, in which he beheld something 
 ' Ukh! great," and in confirmation he struck up 
 a romance by VarlamofF, but was speedily inter- 
 rupted by a unanimous shout to the effect: " He 's 
 singing the Miserere from ' Trovatore,' and sing- 
 ing it very badly at that." One young officer, un- 
 
 36
 
 SMOKE 
 
 der cover of the uproar, reviled Russian litera- 
 ture, another quoted verses from the " Spark"; 
 but Tit Bindiisoff behaved still more simply: he 
 announced that all those rascals ought to have 
 their teeth knocked out— and enough said! with- 
 out, however, specif ying who those rascals were. 
 The cigar-smoke became stifling; every one was 
 heated and languid, all had grown hoarse, every 
 one's eyes had grown dim, the perspiration was 
 coursing in streams from every face. Bottles of 
 cold beer made their appearance, and were in- 
 stantly emptied. " What the deuce was it I 
 was saying?" insisted one; "and whom and 
 about what have I just been talking? " inquired 
 another. And in the midst of all this tumult 
 and smoke-laden atmosphere Gubaryoff strode 
 about untiringly, waddling and ruffling his 
 beard as before, now listening, with ear inclined, 
 to some one's argument, again putting in a word 
 of his own, and every one involuntarily felt that 
 he, Gubaryoff, was the matrix of the whole af- 
 fair, that he was the master and chief personage 
 there. ... 
 
 About ten o'clock Litvinoff's head began to 
 ache violently, and he quietly withdrew, availing 
 himself of a recrudescence of the general clam- 
 our: Madame Sukhantchikoff had recalled an- 
 other piece of injustice on the part of Prince 
 Barnaiiloff: he had practically ordered some 
 one's ear to be bitten off. 
 
 The fresh night air clung caressingly to Lit- 
 
 37
 
 SMOKE 
 
 vinoff's inflamed face, and flowed in a fragrant 
 flood between his parched lips. " What is it? " he 
 said to himself, as he strolled along the dark ave- 
 nue: " what sort of a thing was it that I was pres- 
 ent at? Why did they meet together? Why did 
 they shout and quarrel, why did they get so ex- 
 cited? What's the use of it all?" Litvinoff 
 shrugged his shoulders, and betook himself to 
 Weber's, picked up a newspaper and ordered an 
 ice. The newspaper discussed the Roman ques- 
 tion, and the ice turned out to be bad. He was on 
 the point of going home, when suddenly there 
 stepped up to him a stranger in a broad-brimmed 
 hat, who, remarking in Russian, " I hope I do 
 not disturb you? " seated himself at his little table. 
 Then only did Litvinoff, on gazing more atten- 
 tively at the stranger, recognise in him the thick- 
 set man who had hidden himself in the corner at 
 Gubaryoff's and had scrutinised him with so much 
 attention when the conversation turned on politi- 
 cal convictions. During the whole course of the 
 evening that gentleman had not opened his 
 mouth, and now, having seated himself beside 
 Litvinoff and removed his hat, he gazed at him 
 with a friendly and somewhat embarrassed look. 
 
 38
 
 " Mr. Gubaryoff, at whose house I had the 
 pleasure of seeing you to-day," he began, — " did 
 not introduce me to you ; so, if you will permit me, 
 I will introduce myself: Potiigin, retired court 
 councillor, served in the Ministry of Finance, in 
 St. Petersburg. I hope that you will not think it 
 strange. . I am not generally in the habit of mak- 
 ing acquaintance so quickly, . . but with you . . ." 
 
 Here Potiigin began to stammer, and asked a 
 waiter to bring him a glass of cherry cordial. 
 " To give me courage," he added, with a smile. 
 
 Litvinoff gazed with redoubled attention at 
 this last one of all the new persons with whom it 
 had been his lot to come in contact that day, and 
 immediately said to himself: " This man is not 
 like those others." 
 
 And, in fact, he was not. Before him, running 
 his slender fingers along the edge of the table, 
 sat a broad-shouldered man, with an ample body 
 mounted on short legs, a drooping, curly head, 
 very clever and very melancholy little eyes be- 
 neath thick eyebrows, a large, regular mouth, 
 poor teeth, and that purely Russian nose to which 
 the name of "potato" has been appropriated; 
 
 39
 
 SMOKE 
 
 a man with an awkward and even a rather wild, 
 but assuredly not a commonplace, aspect. He 
 was negligently dressed: an old-fashioned coat 
 sat on him like a bag, and his necktie had got 
 twisted to one side. His sudden confidence not 
 only did not impress Litvinoff as an intrusion, 
 but, on the contrary, secretly flattered him : it was 
 impossible not to perceive that this man was not 
 in the habit of forcing himself upon strangers. 
 He produced a strange impression upon Litvi- 
 noff : he evoked in him both respect and sympa- 
 thy, and a certain involuntary pity. 
 
 " So I do not disturb you? " he repeated in a 
 soft, rather hoarse and feeble voice, which suited 
 his whole figure to perfection. 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Litvinoff; — " on the 
 contrary, I am very glad." 
 
 " Really? Well, then, I am glad too. I have 
 heard a great deal about you; I know what you 
 are occupying yourself with and what your inten- 
 tions are. 'T is a good occupation. That is the 
 reason you were taciturn to-day, by the way." 
 
 : Yes, and it strikes me that you had very little 
 to say also," remarked Litvinoff. 
 
 Potugin sighed. 
 
 " The others argued a very great deal, sir. I 
 listened. Well," he added, after a brief pause, 
 and setting his brows in rather comical fashion, 
 — " were you pleased with our babel of an up- 
 
 roar J 
 
 40
 
 SMOKE 
 
 ' It was a regular babel. That was extremely 
 well said on your part. I kept wanting to ask 
 those gentlemen why they were making such a 
 fuss." 
 
 Again Potugin sighed. 
 
 ' That 's precisely the point, that they don't 
 know themselves, sir. In former times people 
 would have expressed themselves about them in 
 this manner: ' They are the blind instruments of 
 the highest aims ' ; well, but nowadays we employ 
 harsher epithets. And observe that I myself have 
 not the slightest intention of condemning them ; I 
 will say more, they are all . . that is, almost all, 
 very fine people. I know a great deal that is 
 good about Madame Sukhantchikoff, for exam- 
 ple: she gave her last penny to two poor nieces. 
 Let us assume that the motive there was a desire 
 to show off, to brag, yet you must admit that it 
 was a noteworthy bit of self-sacrifice on the part 
 of a woman who is not wealthy herself! About 
 Mr. Pishtchalkin it is unnecessary to speak: in 
 due time the peasants of his district will infallibly 
 present him with a silver cup in the shape of a 
 watermelon, and possibly a holy image with the 
 picture of his guardian angel, and although he 
 will tell them in his speech of thanks that he does 
 not deserve such an honour, he will be telling an 
 untruth: he does deserve it. Your friend, Mr. 
 Bambaeff, has a splendid heart; it is true that, 
 with him, as with the poet YazykofF, who, they 
 
 41
 
 SMOKE 
 
 say, extolled debauchery while he sat over a 
 book and drank water, enthusiasm is really not 
 directed at anything, but it is enthusiasm, never- 
 theless; and Mr. Voroshiloff is extremely kind 
 also; he is like all the men of his school, the men 
 of the gilded classes, who seem to be sent expressly 
 as orderlies to science, to civilisation ; and he even 
 holds his tongue pompously: but he is so young 
 still! Yes, yes, they are all excellent people, but 
 the sum total is nothing; the provisions are first- 
 class, but the dish is n't fit to put in your 
 mouth!" 
 
 Litvinoff listened to Potiigin with increasing 
 amazement: all his ways, all the turns of his de- 
 liberate, but self-confident speech, revealed both 
 understanding and the desire to talk. 
 
 Potiigin, in fact, both liked and understood 
 how to talk ; but, as a man out of whom life had 
 already succeeded in eliminating conceit, he 
 awaited with philosophical composure his oppor- 
 tunity, an encounter after his own heart. 
 
 " Yes, yes," he began again, with a humour not 
 sickly, but sad, which was peculiarly characteris- 
 tic of him: — " all that is very strange, sir. And 
 here is another thing which I will beg you to note. 
 When ten Englishmen, for example, come to- 
 gether, they immediately begin to discuss the sub- 
 marine telegraph, the tax on paper, the process of 
 dressing rats' skins, — that is to say, something 
 positive, something definite; let ten Germans 
 
 42
 
 SMOKE 
 
 come together,— well, there, of course, Schleswig- 
 Holstein and the unity of Germany make their 
 appearance on the scene; if ten Frenchmen as- 
 semble the conversation will infallibly touch on 
 1 piquant adventures,' let them evade it as they 
 will ; but when ten Russians get together the ques- 
 tion instantly arises, — you have had an opportu- 
 nity to-day of convincing yourself on that point, 
 — the question as to the significance, the future 
 of Russia, and that in just such general terms, 
 beginning with Leda's eggs, insusceptible of 
 proof, without any issue. They chew and chew 
 on that question, as a small child does on a piece 
 of india rubber: there 's no juice or sense in it. 
 Well, and, by the way, of course the rotten West 
 catches it also. A pretty preachment, as you can 
 imagine! it beats us at every point, that West — 
 but it 's rotten ! And even if we did really despise 
 it," continued Potugin:— " nevertheless, all that 
 is mere phrase-making and lies. We certainly do 
 revile it, but its opinion is the only one we value 
 — that is to say, the opinion of Parisian cox- 
 combs. I have an acquaintance, and a very nice 
 sort of man he is, apparently, the father of a 
 family, and no longer young; and that man was 
 in a state of depression for several days because 
 he had ordered une portion de biftek auoo pommes 
 de terre, while a real Frenchman immediately 
 shouted out: 'Garcon! biftek pommes!' My friend 
 was consumed with shame! And afterward he 
 
 43
 
 SMOKE 
 
 shouted everywhere : ' Biftek pommies! ' and 
 taught others. The very courtesans are as- 
 tounded at the devout tremor wherewith our 
 young fellows from the steppes enter their igno- 
 minious drawing-rooms. . . ' Good heavens ! ' 
 they say to themselves, ' am I really here? At 
 Annah Deslions! ' " 
 
 " Please tell me," inquired Litvinoff, " to what 
 do you ascribe the indubitable influence of Guba- 
 ryoff on all the people around him? Not to his 
 gifts or to his capacities? " 
 
 " No, sir; no, sir ; he has nothing of that sort. . ." 
 
 " To his character, then? " 
 
 " He has not that either, but he has a great deal 
 of will, sir. We Slavonians in general, as is well 
 known, are not rich in that attribute, and we give 
 up in presence of it. Mr. Gubaryoff desired to 
 be a leader, and every one has recognised him as 
 a leader. What would you have done about it? 
 The government has released us from serfdom, 
 and we thank it; but the habits of serfdom have 
 taken too profound a root in us ; we shall not soon 
 rid ourselves of them. In everything and every- 
 where we want a master; this master, in the ma- 
 jority of cases, is a vivacious individual; some- 
 times some so-called tendency acquires a power 
 over us . . . now, for example, we have all bound 
 ourselves as slaves to the natural sciences. . . 
 Why, by virtue of what reasons, we enroll our- 
 selves as slaves, is an obscure matter; evidently 
 
 44
 
 SMOKE 
 
 such is our nature. But the principal point is 
 that we should possess a master. Well, and there 
 we have him ; that means he is ours, and we don't 
 care a copper about the rest! Purely bondmen! 
 Both the pride of the bondman and the humilia- 
 tion of the bondman. A new master has come 
 into existence — away with the old one ! The other 
 was named Yakoff, this one is called Sidor; give 
 Yakoff a box on the ears, fall at the feet of Sidor! 
 Recollect how many tricks of that sort have taken 
 place among us ! We prattle about renunciation 
 as our distinguishing characteristic ; but we do not 
 exercise renunciation like a free man who smites 
 with his sword, but like a lackey, who administers 
 a thrashing with his fist, and, what is more, admin- 
 isters a thrashing at his master's behest. Well, 
 sir, and we are also a soft race; it is not difficult 
 to keep a tight hand over us. And that 's the way 
 Mr. Gubaryoff has come to be a master ; he ham- 
 mered and hammered away at one point until he 
 attained his object. People perceive that a man 
 has a great opinion of himself, believes in himself, 
 issues orders — the principal thing is to issue or- 
 ders; they conclude that he is right and that he 
 must be obeyed. All our sectarians, our sects 
 of Onuphry and of Akulina, 1 had their origin in 
 
 1 Oniifry— the founder of the priestless sect of the Old Ritual- 
 ists: born 1829. — Akulina Ivanovna was the name of three of the 
 so-called Birthgivers of God (Madonnas) in the Scourgers' and 
 Skoptzy sects. Hence, one heresy received from them the appelhv 
 tion of " Akulinovshtchina." — Translator. 
 
 45
 
 SMOKE 
 
 precisely this manner. He who has seized the 
 staff is the commander." 
 
 Potugin's cheeks had flushed crimson and his 
 eyes had grown dim; but, strange to say, his 
 speech, bitter and even malicious though it was, 
 did not smack of gall, but rather of sadness, and 
 upright, genuine sadness at that. 
 
 " How did you become acquainted with Guba- 
 ryoff? " inquired Litvinoff. 
 
 " I have known him for a long time, sir. And 
 observe another queer thing about us: a man — 
 for instance, an author possibly — has been revil- 
 ing drunkenness all his life, in verse and in prose, 
 and upbraiding . . . and, all of a sudden, he takes 
 and buys two distilleries himself and leases a hun- 
 dred dram-shops— and it's nothing! People 
 would wipe another man off the face of the earth, 
 but they do not even reproach him. Now there 's 
 Mr. Gubaryoff : he 's a Slavophil, and a demo- 
 crat, and a socialist, and anything else you like, 
 but his estate always has been managed and is still 
 managed by his brother, a master of the ancient 
 type, one of the sort who were called ' Danteists.' 
 And that same Madame Sukhantchikoff, who 
 represents Mrs. Beecher Stowe as slapping Ten- 
 teleeff's face, almost crawls before Gubaryoff. 
 But, you know, the only thing about him is that 
 he reads clever books and is forever trying to get 
 down into the depths. As to his gift of language, 
 you have been able to judge for yourself to-day; 
 
 46
 
 SMOKE 
 
 and thank God, too, that he says but little, and 
 only writhes all the time. Because, when he is 
 in the mood and lets himself go freely, then it is 
 more than even I, a long-suffering man, can tol- 
 erate. He begins to banter and to narrate filthy 
 anecdotes,— yes, yes, our great Mr. Gubaryoff 
 narrates filthy anecdotes and laughs so abomina- 
 bly the while . . . ." 
 
 ' Are you really so long-suffering? " said Lit- 
 vinoff. — " I should have supposed the contrary. 
 . . . But permit me to inquire, what is your name 
 and your patronymic? " 
 
 Potiigin sipped a little of the cherry cordial. 
 
 " My name is Sozont . . Sozont Ivanitch. 
 They gave me that very beautiful name in honour 
 of a relative, an Archimandrite, to whom I am 
 indebted for this alone. I am of the ecclesiastical 
 race, if I may be allowed to express myself thus. 
 And you make a mistake in doubting that I am 
 patient: I am patient. I served for two and 
 twenty years under my uncle, actual state coun- 
 cillor Irinarkh Potiigin. You did not know 
 him? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I congratulate you on that. No, I am pa- 
 tient. But * let us return to the first point,' as 
 my colleague, the burnt-alive Archpriest Avak- 
 kum ! was accustomed to say. I am amazed, my 
 
 1 Av&kkum Petrdvitch, an ardent preacher of the doctrines of the 
 Old Ritualists, who refused to accept the corrections (typo- 
 graphical and other) made in the Scriptures and Church Service 
 
 47
 
 SMOKE 
 
 dear sir, at my fellow-countrymen. They are all 
 low-spirited, they all go about in a dejected way, 
 and, at the same time, they are all filled with hope, 
 and at the slightest excuse they fairly go mad. 
 Now take the Slavophils, among whom Mr. 
 Gubaryoff reckons himself: they are very fine 
 people, but there 's the same mixture of despair 
 and irritation, and they also live in the future. 
 It 's all coming, it 's coming, they say. There 's 
 nothing in hand at the present moment, and Rus- 
 sia, in the course of ten whole centuries, has never 
 worked out a single thing of her own, neither in 
 government, nor in courts of justice, nor in sci- 
 ence, nor in art, nor even in the handicrafts. . . 
 But wait; have patience: everything will come. 
 And why will it come, allow me to inquire? 
 Because, forsooth, we are cultured people, — 
 — stuff and nonsense; but the people . . oh, it 's 
 a grand people! Do you see that peasant coat? 
 that 's what all will proceed from. All the 
 other idols have been smashed; but let us have 
 faith in the peasant coat. Well, and what 
 if the peasant coat betrays you? No, it will not 
 betray; read Madame Kokhanovsky, 1 and roll 
 your eyes up to the ceiling! Really, if I were an 
 
 books in the reign of Peter the Great's father. Avakkum was 
 forced to become a monk, banished to Siberia, brought back to 
 Moscow, imprisoned, and eventually banished again to Pustozersk, 
 Arkhangel Government. For his persistent heretical propaganda 
 he and his companions were burned alive in 1681.— Translator. 
 
 l Nadezhda Stepanovna Sokhansky (1825-1884), who wrote un- 
 der the name of " Kokhan6vsky." — Translator. 
 
 48
 
 SMOKE 
 
 artist this is the sort of a picture I would paint: 
 a cultivated man is standing in front of a peasant 
 and bowing low to him : ' Heal me, my dear peas- 
 ant, says he, ' I am perishing with disease ' ; but 
 the peasant, in his turn, bows low before the edu- 
 cated man. ' Please teach me, dear master,' says 
 he, ' I am perishing with ignorance.' Well, and 
 of course both of them stick right where they are. 
 But all that is needed is really to become humble, 
 — not in words alone, — and adopt from our elder 
 brothers that which they have invented — better 
 than we and earlier than we! Waiter, another 
 glass of cherry cordial ! You must not think that 
 I am a drunkard, but alcohol loosens my tongue." 
 ' After what you have just said," observed Lit- 
 vinoff, with a smile, — " it is not worth while for 
 me to ask to what party you belong and what 
 opinion you hold concerning Europe. But per- 
 mit me to make one remark. Here you say that 
 we ought to borrow, to adopt from our elder 
 brothers; but how can we adopt without taking 
 into consideration the conditions of climate and 
 soil, with local and national peculiarities? I re- 
 member that my father ordered from Butenop's 
 foundry a splendidly recommended winnowing- 
 machine; the winnowing-machine really was very 
 good. But what happened? For five whole years 
 it stood in the shed utterly useless, until it was re- 
 placed by a wooden American machine,— which 
 was much better suited to our manner of life and 
 
 49
 
 SMOKE 
 
 to our habits, as American machines are, in gen- 
 eral. It is impossible to adopt things at hap- 
 hazard, Sozont Ivanitch." 
 
 Potiigin raised his head a little. 
 
 " I did not expect that sort of retort from you, 
 most respected Grigory Mikhailitch," he be- 
 gan, after a brief pause.—" And who forces you 
 to adopt at haphazard? Surely you take a for- 
 eign thing not because it is foreign, but because 
 you find it suitable : consequently, you do take the 
 circumstances into consideration, you do make a 
 selection. And so far as the results are concerned, 
 pray do not disturb yourself: they will be orig- 
 inal by virtue of precisely those local, climatic and 
 other conditions to which you allude. All you 
 have to do is to offer good food, and the natural 
 stomach will digest it after its own fashion ; and, 
 in course of time, when the organism shall have 
 gained strength, it will yield its own sap. Just 
 take our language as an example. Peter the 
 Great deluged it with thousands of foreign words 
 — Dutch, French, and German: those words ex- 
 pressed conceptions with which it was necessary 
 to make the Russian nation acquainted; without 
 philosophising, and without standing on cere* 
 mony, Peter poured those words wholesale, by 
 the bucketful, by the cask, into our bosom. At 
 first, it is true, the result was something mon- 
 strous, but later on— precisely that digestive pro- 
 cess set in which I have mentioned to you. The 
 
 50
 
 SMOKE 
 
 conceptions became grafted on and appropriated ; 
 the foreign forms gradually evaporated; the lan- 
 guage found in its own bosom the wherewithal to 
 replace them — and now, your humble servant, a 
 very mediocre master of style, will undertake to 
 translate any page you please from Hegel, — yes, 
 sir; yes, sir; from Hegel, — without making use 
 of a single non-Slavonic word. That which has 
 taken place with the language will, it is to be 
 hoped, take place in other spheres. The whole 
 question lies here — is nature strong? But our na- 
 ture is all right ; it will stand the strain : that 's not 
 where the great difficulty lies. Only nervous in- 
 valids and weak nations can fear for their health, 
 for their independence; and just so, only idle 
 people are capable of going into raptures until 
 they foam at the mouth, because, forsooth, we are 
 Russians, say they. I am very solicitous about 
 my health, but I don't go into raptures over it: 
 I 'm ashamed to, sir." 
 
 " All that is true, Sozont Ivanitch," began Lit- 
 vinofF in his turn:—" but why must we, inevita- 
 bly, be subjected to such tests? You say yourself 
 that the first result was something monstrous! 
 Well— and what if that monstrous thing had re- 
 mained monstrous? And it has remained so; you 
 know it has." 
 
 " But not in the language — and that means a 
 great deal! But I did not make our nation; I 
 am not to blame if it is fated to pass through such 
 
 51
 
 SMOKE 
 
 a school. ' The Germans were developed regu- 
 larly,' cry the Slavophils: ' give us regular devel- 
 opment also! ' But where is one to get it when 
 the very first historical action of our tribe— sum- 
 moning to themselves princes from over-sea — is 
 an irregularity to start with, an anomaly which 
 is repeated in every one of us, down to the present 
 day ; every one of us, at least once in his life, has 
 infallibly said to something foreign, non-Russian : 
 ' Come, exercise authority and reign over me! ' — 
 I am ready, if you like, to admit that, when we 
 introduce a foreign substance into our own body, 
 we cannot, by any means, know with certainty 
 beforehand what it is we are introducing : a bit of 
 bread or a bit of poison; for, assuredly, it is a 
 familiar fact that you never pass from bad to 
 good through better, but always through worse — 
 and poison is useful in medicine. Only dolts or 
 sharpers can decently point with triumph at the 
 poverty of the peasants after the Emancipation, 
 at their increased drunkenness after the abroga- 
 tion of the liquor monopoly. . . . Through worse 
 
 to good! " 
 
 Potugin passed his hand over his face. 
 
 " You asked me my opinion concerning Eu- 
 rope," he began again: — " I am amazed at it and 
 devoted to its principles to the last degree, and 
 do not consider it necessary to conceal the fact. 
 For a long time . . no, not for a long time . . 
 for some time past I have ceased to be afraid to 
 
 52
 
 SMOKE 
 
 give utterance to my convictions . . . even you, 
 you see, did not hesitate to announce to Guba- 
 ryoff your mode of thought. I, thank God, have 
 ceased to conform to the ideas, the views, the 
 habits of the man with whom I am conversing. 
 In reality, I know of nothing worse than that 
 useless cowardice, that base-spirited willingness 
 to please by virtue of which, as you see, one of 
 our grave dignitaries humours some little student 
 who is of no account in his eyes, almost sports 
 with him, runs after him like a hare. Well, let 
 us assume that the dignitary behaves in this man- 
 ner out of a desire for popularity; but why 
 should plebeians like me shift and shuffle? Yes, 
 sir, yes, sir, I am an Occidentalist, I am devoted 
 to Europe— that is, to speak more accurately, I 
 am devoted to culture, to that same culture at 
 which people so charmingly jeer nowadays in our 
 country,— to civilisation— yes, yes, that word is 
 even better, and I love it with all my heart, and I 
 believe in it, and I have not and never shall have 
 any other faith. That 's the word : ci . . . vi . . . li- 
 . . . sa . . . tion " (Potugin pronounced each syl- 
 lable distinctly with emphasis) ; "it is intelligi- 
 ble, and pure, and holy, but all the others, 
 whether it be nationality, or glory, smell of 
 blood. . . I want nothing to do with them! 1 
 
 " Well, but, Sozont Ivanitch, you love Russia, 
 your native land ? ' 
 
 Potugin passed his hand over his face. 
 
 53
 
 SMOKE 
 
 " I love it passionately, and I hate it passion- 
 ately." 
 
 Litvinoff shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " That 's old, Sozont Ivanitch, that 's a com- 
 monplace." 
 
 "Well, what of that? What 's the harm? A 
 pretty thing to take fright at! — A commonplace! 
 I know many fine commonplaces ! Here now, for 
 example: liberty and order — that's a familiar 
 commonplace. Is it better, in your opinion, to 
 have, as with us, servility and disorder? And, 
 moreover, are all those phrases wherewith so many 
 young heads become intoxicated: the despised 
 bourgeoisie, souverainete du peuple, the right to 
 labor,— are not they also commonplaces? And 
 how about love, inseparable from hatred? . ." 
 
 " Byronism," interrupted Litvinoff: — "ro- 
 manticism of the '30 's." 
 
 " You are mistaken, excuse me; Catullus, the 
 Roman poet Catullus, was the first to point out 
 that blending of sentiments, two thousand years 
 ago. 1 I learned that by reading him, because 
 I know something of Latin, in consequence of my 
 ecclesiastical extraction, if I may venture so to 
 express myself. Yes, sir, I both love and hate my 
 Russia, my strange, dear, dreadful, beloved fa- 
 therland. Now I have abandoned it; I had to 
 air myself a bit, after sitting for twelve years at 
 
 lOdi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse, requiris? 
 Nescio: sed fieri sentio et excrucior. 
 
 Catullus, LXXXVI. 
 
 54
 
 SMOKE 
 
 a government desk, in a government building; I 
 have abandoned Russia, and I find it agreeable 
 and jolly here; but I shall soon return, I feel it. 
 Garden soil is good— but cloudberries will not 
 grow on it! " 
 
 " You find it pleasant and jolly, and I am at 
 ease here," said Litvinoff. — " And I came hither 
 to study; but that does not prevent my seeing 
 such little pranks as that. . ." He pointed to two 
 passing courtesans, around whom several mem- 
 bers of the Jockey Club were grimacing and lisp- 
 ing, and at the gambling-hall, which was packed 
 full, in spite of the late hour. 
 
 ' But who told you that I was blind to that? ' 
 retorted Potugin. — " Only, pardon me, but your 
 remark reminds me of the triumphant way our 
 unhappy journalists had of pointing, during the 
 Crimean campaign, to the defects of the English 
 militarv administration, revealed in the Times. I 
 am not an optimist myself, and everything that 
 pertains to man, all our life, that entire comedy 
 with a tragic ending, does not present itself to me 
 in a rosy light ; but why tax the Occident, in par- 
 ticular, with that which, possibly, has its root in 
 our human essence itself? That gambling-house 
 is repulsive, it is true ; well, but is our home-bred 
 knavery, perchance, any the more beautiful? No, 
 my dear Grigory Mikhailovitch, let us be more 
 humble and more quiet; a good pupil perceives 
 the errors of his teacher, but he respectfully holds 
 
 55
 
 SMOKE 
 
 his peace about them; for those very errors are 
 of service to him, and direct him in the right way. 
 But if you insist upon gossiping about the rotten 
 West, here comes Prince Koko at a jog-trot; he 
 has, probably, dropped at the gaming-table in a 
 quarter of an hour the toil-won, extorted quit- 
 rents of a hundred and fifty families, his nerves 
 are unstrung, and, moreover, I saw him to-day at 
 Marks's, turning over the pages of Veuillot's 
 pamphlet. . He '11 be a capital companion for 
 you! 
 
 " But pardon me, pardon me," said Litvinoff 
 hastily, perceiving that Potiigin was rising from 
 his seat. — " My acquaintance with Prince Koko 
 is very slight, and then, of course, I prefer con- 
 versation with you. . ." 
 
 " I am greatly indebted to you," said Potugin, 
 rising and bowing his farewell; — "but I have 
 been conversing with you a pretty long time as it 
 is— that is, strictly speaking, I have been doing all 
 the talking myself, while you, probably, have ob- 
 served from your own experience that a man al- 
 ways feels conscience-stricken somehow and un- 
 comfortable when he has been talking a great deal 
 —all alone. Especially so when it happens at a 
 first meeting: as much as to say, ■ Look at me, 
 that 's the sort of man I am ! ' Farewell until our 
 next pleasant meeting. . . And I, I repeat it, 
 am very glad at having made your acquaintance." 
 
 " But wait a bit, Sozont Ivanitch ; tell me, at 
 
 56
 
 SMOKE 
 
 least, where you are living, and whether you in- 
 tend to remain here long." 
 
 Potugin seemed to wince a little. 
 
 1 1 shall remain about a week longer in Baden, 
 but we can meet each other here, or at Weber's, 
 or at Marks's. Or I will go to you." 
 
 " Nevertheless, I must know your address." 
 
 " Yes. But this is the point: I am not alone." 
 
 : You are married? " asked Litvinoff abruptly. 
 
 " Good gracious, no. . . Why talk so ab- 
 surdly? . . But I have a young girl with me." 
 
 ' Ah! " ejaculated Litvinoff, with a shrug, as 
 though apologising, and dropped his eyes. 
 
 " She is only six years old," went on Potugin. 
 — " She is an orphan, . . the daughter of a lady 
 . . of one of my good friends. Really, we had 
 better meet here. Good-bye, sir." 
 
 He pulled his hat down over his curly head and 
 walked rapidly away, appearing for an instant 
 a couple of times under the gas-jets, which cast 
 a rather scanty light upon the road which led to 
 Lichtenthal Avenue. 
 
 m
 
 VI 
 
 " A strange man!" said Litvinoff to himself, as 
 he wended his way to the hotel where he was stop- 
 ping: "a strange man! I must hunt him up." 
 He entered his room ; a letter on the table caught 
 his eye. "Ah! from Tanya!" he thought, and 
 rejoiced in advance; but the letter was from his 
 father in the country. Litvinoff broke the large 
 heraldic seal and was about to begin reading. . A 
 powerful, very agreeable, and familiar odour at- 
 tracted his attention. He glanced about him, and 
 perceived on the window-sill, in a glass of water, 
 a large bouquet of fresh heliotropes. Litvinoff 
 bent over them, not without surprise, touched 
 them, smelled them. . . Some memory seemed to 
 recur to him, something very remote, . . but pre- 
 cisely what he could not imagine. He rang for 
 a servant and asked him whence the flowers had 
 come. The servant replied that they had been 
 brought by a lady, who would not give her name, 
 but had said that he, " Herr Zluitenhoff," would 
 be sure to divine who she was from the flowers 
 themselves. . . Again Litvinoff caught a glimpse 
 of some memory. . . He asked the servant what 
 was the appearance of the lady ? The servant ex- 
 
 58
 
 SMOKE 
 
 plained that she was tall and very well dressed, 
 but wore a veil over her face. 
 
 " Probably a Russian Countess," he added. 
 
 " Why do you assume that? " inquired Litvi- 
 noff. 
 
 " She gave me two gulden," replied the servant, 
 with a grin. 
 
 Litvinoff sent him away, and for a long time 
 thereafter stood before the window immersed in 
 thought ; but at last he waved his hand in despair, 
 and again took up the letter from the country. 
 In it his father poured forth his habitual com- 
 plaints, asserted that no one would take the grain 
 even as a gift, that the people had grown utterly 
 unruly, and that, in all probability, the end of the 
 world was at hand. " Just imagine," he wrote, 
 by the way, " my last coachman, that little Kal- 
 myk, you remember? has been bewitched, and the 
 man would infallibly have perished and there 
 would have been no one to drive me, but, luckily, 
 some kind people gave me a hint and advised me 
 to send the sick man off to Ryazan, to a priest who 
 is a well-known expert in dealing with spells ; and 
 the treatment actually succeeded to perfection, in 
 confirmation whereof I enclose the letter of the 
 father himself, by way of document." Litvinoff 
 ran his eye over this " document " with curiosity. 
 It contained the statement that " the house- 
 servant, Nikanor Dmitrieff, was afflicted with a 
 malady which medical science could not reach; 
 
 59
 
 SMOKE 
 
 and this malady was caused by malevolent per- 
 sons ; but the cause of it was Nikanor himself, for 
 he had not fulfilled his promise to a certain 
 maiden, hence she, through these persons, had ren- 
 dered him unfit for anything, and if I had not 
 been his helper, under these circumstances he must 
 have perished utterly, like a cabbage-worm ; but I, 
 trusting in the All-seeing Eye, constituted my- 
 self his prop in life ; and how I accomplished this 
 is a secret; and I request Your Weil-Born that 
 henceforth that maiden may not occupy herself 
 with those evil attributes, and it would even do no 
 harm to threaten her, otherwise she may exercise 
 a maleficent influence over him again." Litvinoff 
 fell into thought over this document; it exhaled 
 upon him a breath of the wilds of the steppe, the 
 impassive gloom of stagnating life, and it seemed 
 marvellous to him that he should have read that 
 letter precisely in Baden. In the meantime, mid- 
 night had long since struck; Litvinoff went to 
 bed and blew out his candle. But he could not 
 get to sleep; the faces he had seen, the speeches 
 he had heard, kept whirling and circling, 
 strangely interweaving and mixing themselves in 
 his burning head, which was aching with the 
 tobacco-smoke. Now he seemed to hear Gu- 
 baryoff's bellow, and his downcast eyes, with 
 their stupid, obstinate gaze, presented them- 
 selves; then, all of a sudden, those same eyes 
 began to blaze and leap, and he recognised 
 
 60
 
 SMOKE 
 
 Madame Sukhantchikoff, heard her sharp voice, 
 and, involuntarily, in a whisper, repeated after 
 her: "She did slap his face, she did!' then 
 the shambling figure of Potiigin moved for- 
 ward before him, and for the tenth, the twentieth 
 time, he recalled his every word ; then, like a pup- 
 pet from a snuff-box, Voroshiloff sprang for- 
 ward in his brand-new paletot, which fitted him 
 like a new uniform, and Pishtchalkin wisely and 
 gravely nodded his capitally-barbered and really 
 well-intentioned head ; and Bindasoff bawled and 
 reviled, and Bambaeff went into tearful raptures. 
 . . . But the chief thing was : that perfume, that 
 importunate, insistent, sweet, heavy perfume, 
 gave him no rest, and was exhaled with ever- 
 increasing power in the darkness, and ever more 
 persistently reminded him of something which he 
 vainly endeavoured to grasp. . . It occurred to 
 Litvinoff that the odour of flowers was injurious 
 to the health at night in a bed-chamber, and he 
 rose, felt his way to the bouquet, and carried it 
 out into the adjoining room; but the insufferable 
 fragrance penetrated to his pillow, under his cov- 
 erlet, even from that point, and he tossed sadly 
 from side to side. Fever was beginning to lay 
 hold upon him; the priest, "the expert in deal- 
 ing with spells," had already twice run across 
 his path in the shape of a very nimble hare with 
 a beard, and Voroshiloff, squatting in a Gen- 
 eral's plume, as in a bush, was beginning to trill 
 
 61
 
 SMOKE 
 
 like a nightingale before him . . . when, all 
 of a sudden, he sat up in bed, and clasping his 
 hands, exclaimed : " Is it possible that it is she? 
 It cannot be ! " 
 
 But in order to explain this exclamation of Lit- 
 vinoff, we must ask the indulgent reader to go 
 back several years with us. 
 
 62
 
 VII 
 
 At the beginning of the '50's there resided in 
 Moscow, in very straitened circumstances, almost 
 in poverty, the numerous family of the Princes 
 Osinin. They were genuine, not Tatar-Geor- 
 gian, but pure-blooded princes, descendants of 
 Rurik; their name is frequently met with in our 
 Chronicles under the first Grand Princes of Mos- 
 cow, the collectors of the Russian land ; they pos- 
 sessed extensive patrimonial estates and domains, 
 had been repeatedly rewarded for " toils, and 
 blood, and wounds," had sat in the Council of the 
 boyars; one of them even wrote his name with 
 
 ' vitch " ; * but had fallen into disgrace through 
 the conspiracy of enemies for " witchcraft and 
 knowledge of roots " ; they were ruined " terribly 
 and completely" ; they were deprived of their hon- 
 ours, and banished to parts remote; the Osinins 
 crumbled away, and never recovered themselves, 
 never again attained to power ; the decree of ban- 
 ishment was removed from them, in course of 
 time, and their " Moscow homestead " and their 
 
 ' chattels " were even restored to them, but noth- 
 ing was of any avail. Their race had become im- 
 
 i Formerly a sign of blood-royal. — Tbanslatoe. 
 
 G3
 
 SMOKE 
 
 poverished, had " withered away " — it did not rise 
 either under Peter or under Katherine, and be- 
 coming constantly more insignificant and re- 
 duced, it counted among its members private 
 stewards, managers of liquor counting-houses, 
 and police-captains. The family of the Osinins 
 to which we have alluded consisted of husband, 
 wife and five children. They lived near the Dogs' 
 Square, in a tiny, one-story wooden house, with a 
 striped principal porch opening on the street, 
 green lions on the gates, and other devices apper- 
 taining to the nobility, and barely made the two 
 ends meet, running into debt at the greengrocer's 
 shop, and frequently going without fuel and 
 lights in winter. The Prince himself was an in- 
 dolent, rather stupid man, who had, once upon a 
 time, been a handsome man and a dandy, but had 
 utterly gone to pieces ; not so much out of respect 
 for his name, as out of courtesy to his wife, who 
 had been a Maid of Honour at Court, he had 
 been given one of the ancient Moscow posts with 
 a small salary, a difficult title, and no work what- 
 ever; he never meddled with anything, and did 
 nothing but smoke from morning till night, never 
 abandoning his dressing-gown, and sighing heav- 
 ily. His wife was a sickly and peevish woman, 
 perpetually worried over domestic troubles, with 
 getting her children placed in government insti- 
 tutions for education, and with keeping up her 
 connections in St. Petersburg; she never could 
 
 64
 
 SMOKE 
 
 get reconciled to her position and expatriation 
 from the Court. 
 
 Litvinoff's father, during his sojourn in Mos- 
 cow, had made the acquaintance of the Osinins, 
 had had an opportunity to render them several 
 services, had once lent them three hundred rubles ; 
 and his son, in his student days, had frequently 
 called to inquire after their health, as his lodgings 
 chanced to be situated not very far from their 
 house. But it was not the close vicinity which at- 
 tracted him, neither did the wretched comforts of 
 their mode of life allure him: he began to visit 
 the Osinins frequently from the moment when he 
 fell in love with their eldest daughter, Irfna. 
 
 At that time she had just passed her seven- 
 teenth birthday; she had just left the Institute, 
 from which her mother had taken her, on account 
 of a quarrel with the directress. The quarrel had 
 arisen from the circumstance that Irfna was to 
 have delivered the verses of greeting to the Cura- 
 tor at the commencement in the French language, 
 and just before the ceremony another girl, the 
 daughter of a very wealthy government monopo- 
 list, had been substituted for her. The Princess- 
 mother could not digest this affront; and Irina 
 herself could not forgive the directress for her 
 injustice; she had been dreaming in advance how, 
 in the sight of every one, attracting universal at- 
 tention, she would declaim her speech, and how 
 Moscow would talk about her afterward. . . And, 
 
 65
 
 SMOKE 
 
 in fact, Moscow probably would have talked about 
 Irma. She was a tall, slender girl, with a some- 
 what sunken chest and narrow, youthful shoul- 
 ders, with a palely-opaque skin rare at her age, as 
 pure and smooth as porcelain, and thick, blond 
 hair, wherein dark locks were intermingled with 
 the blond ones in an original manner. Her fea- 
 tures, elegantly, almost exquisitely regular, had 
 not yet lost that innocent expression which is pe- 
 culiar to early youth ; but in the slow inclinations 
 of her beautiful neck, in her smile, which, not ex- 
 actly abstracted, nor yet exactly languid, denoted 
 the nervous young gentlewoman, and in the very 
 outline of those thin, barely smiling lips, of that 
 small, aquiline, somewhat compressed nose, there 
 was something wilful and passionate, something 
 dangerous both for others and for herself. Her 
 eyes were astounding, truly astounding, of a 
 blackish-grey, with green lights, languishing, 
 long as those of Egyptian divinities, with radiant 
 eyelashes, and a bold sweep of eyebrows. There 
 was a strange expression in those eyes: they 
 seemed to be gazing, gazing attentively and 
 thoughtfully, from out of some unknown depths 
 and distance. In the Institute Irina had borne the 
 reputation of being one of the best scholars as to 
 mind and capacities, but with an unstable, am- 
 bitious character, and a mischievous head ; one of 
 the teachers had predicted to her that her passions 
 would ruin her— "Vos passions vous perdront"; 
 
 66
 
 SMOKE 
 
 on the other hand, another teacher had persecuted 
 her because of her coldness and lack of feeling, 
 and called her " une jeune fille sans coeur" 
 Irina's companions thought her proud and deceit- 
 ful, her brothers and sisters were afraid of her, her 
 mother did not trust her, and her father felt un- 
 easy when she fixed her mysterious eyes upon him ; 
 but she inspired both father and mother with a 
 sentiment of involuntary respect, not by virtue of 
 her qualities, but by virtue of the peculiar, indis- 
 tinct expectations which she aroused in them, God 
 knows why. 
 
 " You will see, Praskovya Danilovna," said 
 the old Prince one day, taking his pipe-stem out 
 of his mouth:— " Arinka will extricate us from 
 our difficulties yet." 
 
 The Princess flew into a rage, and told her hus- 
 band that he used " expressions insup portables" 
 but thought better of it afterward, and repeated, 
 between her teeth: " Yes . . . and it would be a 
 good thing if she did extricate us," 
 
 Irina enjoyed almost unbounded freedom in 
 the parental abode ; they did not pet her, they even 
 held rather aloof from her, but they did not op- 
 pose her: that was all she wanted. ... It some- 
 times happened when there was some quite too 
 humiliating scene — when a shopkeeper would 
 come and yell, so that the whole house could hear 
 him, that he was tired of haunting them for his 
 money, or when their servants, whom they owned, 
 
 67
 
 SMOKE 
 
 took to abusing their masters to their face, say- 
 ing, " A pretty sort of princes you are, with not 
 a copper in your purse to keep from starving " — 
 that Irina would never move a muscle, but would 
 sit motionless, with a malign smile on her gloomy 
 face; and that smile alone was more bitter to her 
 parents than all reproaches, and they felt them- 
 selves guilty, innocently guilty, in the presence of 
 that being, who seemed, from her very birth, to 
 have been endowed with the right to wealth, to 
 luxury, to adoration. 
 
 Litvinoff fell in love with Irina as soon as he 
 saw her (he was only three years older than she) , 
 but for a long time he could not win reciprocity 
 or even attention. Upon her treatment of him 
 there lay the imprint even of a certain hostility; 
 it was exactly as though he had offended her and 
 she were profoundly concealing the offence, but 
 were unable to forgive him. He was too young 
 and modest at that time to understand what might 
 be concealed beneath this hostile, almost scornful 
 harshness. There were times when, oblivious of 
 lectures and note-books, he would sit in the Osi- 
 nins' cheerless drawing-room, — sit and stare cov- 
 ertly at Irina : his heart pined slowly and bitterly 
 away within him and oppressed his breast; but 
 she, as though she were angry or bored, would 
 rise, pace up and down the room, gaze coldly at 
 him, as at a table or a chair, shrug her shoulders, 
 and fold her arms ; or, during the whole course of 
 
 68
 
 SMOKE 
 
 the evening, she would deliberately refrain from 
 glancing at Litvinoff a single time, even when 
 talking with him, as though refusing him even 
 that alms; or, in conclusion, she would take up a 
 book and rivet her eyes upon it, without reading, 
 frown and bite her lips, or would suddenly inquire 
 of her father or brother: what was the German 
 word for patience? 
 
 He tried to tear himself away from the 
 enchanted circle, in which he incessantly suf- 
 fered torment and struggled, like a bird which 
 has fallen into a trap; he absented himself from 
 Moscow for a week. After nearly losing his mind 
 with grief and irksomeness, he returned to the 
 Osinins, all haggard and ill. . . And, strange to 
 say, Irina also had grown emaciated during those 
 days, her face had turned yellow, her cheeks were 
 sunken; . . . but she greeted him with greater 
 coldness than ever, with almost malevolent scorn, 
 as though he had still further aggravated that 
 mysterious grievance which he had dealt her. . . 
 
 She tortured him in this manner for two 
 months; then one day everything underwent a 
 change. It was as though she had broken out in 
 conflagration, as though love had swooped down 
 upon her like a thunder-cloud. One day— he long 
 remembered that day— he was again sitting in the 
 Osinins' drawing-room, at the window, and irrele- 
 vantly staring into the street, and he was feeling 
 vexed and bored and despised himself, and yet he 
 
 69
 
 SMOKE 
 
 could not stir from the spot. . . It seemed to him as 
 though, if a river were flowing just there, beneath 
 the window, he would hurl her into it with terror, 
 but without compunction. Irina had placed her- 
 self not far from him, maintained a rather singu- 
 lar silence, and remained motionless. For several 
 days past she had not spoken to him at all, and 
 indeed she had not spoken to any one; she sat on 
 and on, propped up on her arms, as though she 
 found herself perplexed, and only from time to 
 time did she cast a slow glance around her. 
 
 This cold torment became, at last, more than 
 Litvinoff could endure ; he rose, and, without tak- 
 ing leave, began to look for his hat. " Wait," a 
 soft whisper sudfdenly made itself heard. Lit- 
 vinoff 's heart quivered ; he did not at once recog- 
 nise Irina's voice: something unprecedented re- 
 sounded in that single word. He raised his head 
 and stood petrified: Irina was gazing at him 
 affectionately— yes, affectionately. Compre- 
 hending nothing, not fully conscious of what 
 he was doing, he approached her and stretched 
 out his hands. . . She immediately gave him 
 both of hers, then smiled, flushed all over, 
 turned away, and without ceasing to smile, she 
 left the room. ... A few minutes later she 
 returned in company with her younger sister, 
 again looked at him with the same gentle glance, 
 and made him sit down beside her. . . At first 
 she could say nothing: she merely sighed and 
 
 70
 
 SMOKE 
 
 blushed ; then she began, as though overcome with 
 timidity, to question him concerning his occupa- 
 tions, something which she had never done before. 
 On the evening of that same day she several times 
 endeavoured to excuse herself to him for not hav- 
 ing known how to appreciate him up to that mo- 
 ment, assured him that she had now become an 
 entirely different person, amazed him by an un- 
 expected republican sally (at that time he wor- 
 shipped Robespierre, and dared not condemn 
 Marat aloud), but a week later he had already 
 discovered that she had fallen in love with him. 
 Yes ; he long remembered that first day ; . . . but 
 he did not forget the following ones, either, — 
 those days when, still striving to doubt, and 
 afraid to believe, he clearly perceived, with 
 tremors of rapture, almost of terror, how this 
 unexpected happiness was engendered, grew and, 
 irresistibly sweeping everything before it, at last 
 fairly submerged him. 
 
 The luminous moments of first love ensued — 
 moments which are not fated to be, and should 
 not be, repeated in one and the same life. Irina 
 suddenly became as tame as a lamb, as soft as silk, 
 and infinitely kind ; she undertook to give lessons 
 to her younger sisters, — not on the piano, — she 
 was not a musician, — but in the French and 
 English languages; she read with them from their 
 text-books, she took part in the housekeeping; 
 everything amused her, everything interested her; 
 
 71
 
 SMOKE 
 
 now she chattered incessantly, again she became 
 immersed in dumb emotion ; she concocted various 
 plans, she entered into interminable speculations 
 as to what she would do when she married Litvi- 
 noff (they had not the slightest doubt that their 
 marriage would take place), what they would do 
 together. . . "Work?' suggested Litvinoff. . 
 " Yes, work," repeated Irina: " read . . . but, 
 principally, travel." She was particularly desir- 
 ous of quitting Moscow as speedily as possible, 
 and when Litvinoff represented to her that he had 
 not yet completed his course in the university, 
 on each such occasion, after meditating a little, 
 she replied that he might finish his studies in Ber- 
 lin, or . . . somewhere there. Irina put little 
 constraint upon herself in the expression of her 
 feelings, and, therefore, her affection for Litvi- 
 noff did not long remain a secret to the Prince 
 and Princess. They were not precisely delighted, 
 but, taking all the circumstances into considera- 
 tion, they did not consider it necessary to impose 
 their veto immediately. Litvinoff 's property was 
 
 considerable " But family, family! . . ." 
 
 remarked the Princess. " Well, of course, fam- 
 ily," replied the Prince; " but, at all events, he 's 
 not a plebeian, and that 's the chief thing ; for 
 Irina will not listen to us. Was there ever a case 
 when she did not do as she pleased? Vous con- 
 naissez sa violence! Moreover, there 's nothing 
 definite as yet." Thus reasoned the Prince, and 
 
 72
 
 SMOKE 
 
 yet, on the instant, added mentally: "Madame 
 Litvinoff — nothing more? I expected something 
 else." 
 
 Irina took complete possession of her future 
 betrothed, and he himself willingly gave him- 
 self into her hands. He seemed to have fallen 
 into a whirlpool, to have lost himself. . . And he 
 found it painful and sweet, and he regretted noth- 
 ing and kept back nothing. He could not make 
 up his mind to reflect upon the significance, the 
 duties of wedlock, or whether he, so irrevocably 
 submissive, would make a good husband, and what 
 sort of a wife Irina would turn out to be ; his blood 
 was on fire and he knew one thing only: to go 
 after her, with her, onward and without end, and 
 then let that happen which might! But, despite 
 the absence of all opposition on the part of Litvi- 
 noff to the superabundance of impulsive tender- 
 ness on the part of Irina, matters did not progress 
 without several misunderstandings and clashes. 
 One day he ran in to see her straight from the 
 university, in his old coat, with his hands stained 
 with ink. She rushed to meet him with her cus- 
 tomary affectionate greeting, and suddenly came 
 to a halt: 
 
 ; You have no gloves," she said slowly, with 
 pauses, and instantly added : — "Fie! what a . . . 
 student . . . you are!" 
 
 You are too impressionable, Irina," remarked 
 Litvinoff. 
 
 78
 
 SMOKE 
 
 "You are . . a regular student," she repeated : 
 — " Vous n etes pas distingue." 
 
 And turning her back on him, she left the room. 
 It is true that, an hour later, she entreated him to 
 forgive her. . . On the whole, she willingly pun- 
 ished herself and asked his pardon ; only, strange 
 to say, she often, almost with tears, accused her- 
 self of bad motives which she did not have, and 
 obstinately denied her real defects. On another 
 occasion he found her in tears, with her head rest- 
 ing on her hands, and her hair falling unbound; 
 and when, thoroughly disquieted, he questioned 
 her as to the cause of her grief, she silently pointed 
 her finger at her breast. Litvinoff involuntarily 
 shuddered. " Consumption ! " flashed through his 
 mind, and he seized her hand. 
 
 v Art thou ill? " he ejaculated with a quivering 
 voice (they had already begun, in important cases, 
 to call each other " thou ") .— " If so, I will go at 
 once for the doctor ..." 
 
 But Irina did not allow him to finish, and 
 stamped her little foot with impatience. 
 
 " I am perfectly well . . but it is this gown 
 . . . don't you understand? " 
 
 " What do you mean? . . this gown . . ."he 
 ejaculated in surprise. 
 
 " What do I mean? Why, that I have no 
 other, and that it is old, horrid, and that I 
 am compelled to put on this gown every day . . 
 even when thou . . even when you come. . It 
 
 74
 
 SMOKE 
 
 will end in thy ceasing to love me, if thou seest 
 me so slovenly." 
 
 [ Good heavens, Irina, what art thou saying? 
 Why, this gown is very pretty. . . And it is dear 
 to me, moreover, because I saw thee in it for the 
 first time." 
 
 Irina blushed. 
 
 ' Please do not remind me, Grigory Mikha- 
 ilovitch, that even then I had no other gown." 
 
 "But I assure you, Irina Pavlovna, it is 
 charmingly becoming to you." 
 
 1 No, it 's horrid, horrid," she repeated, tug- 
 ging nervously at her long, soft curls. — " Okh, 
 this poverty, poverty, obscurity! How can I rid 
 myself of this poverty ? How get out, get out of 
 the obscurity? " 
 
 Litvinoff did not know what to say, and 
 slightly turned away. 
 
 Suddenly Irina sprang up from her chair and 
 laid both her hands on his shoulders. 
 
 ' But, surely, thou lovest me? Thou lovest 
 me? " she cried, approaching her face to his, and 
 her eyes, still filled with tears, beamed with the 
 joy of happiness. — " Thou lovest me even in this 
 horrid gown? " 
 
 Litvinoff flung himself on his knees before her. 
 
 " Akh, love me, love me, my dear one, my 
 saviour," she whispered, bending down to him. 
 
 Thus the days rushed on, the weeks elapsed, and 
 although no formal explanation had as yet taken 
 
 7S
 
 SMOKE 
 
 place, although Litvinoff still delayed his de- 
 mand, not, of course, by his own wish, but in 
 expectation of a command from Irina (she had 
 happened one day to remark, " We are both ridic- 
 ulously young; we must add a few weeks more 
 to our age ") , yet everything was moving onward 
 to a conclusion, and the immediate future was be- 
 coming more and more clearly defined, when sud- 
 denly an event occurred which scattered all these 
 surmises and plans like the light dust of the high- 
 way. 
 
 76
 
 VIII 
 
 That winter the Court visited Moscow. One fes- 
 tival followed another; then came the turn of the 
 customary great ball in the Assembly of the No- 
 bility. The news of this ball, it is true, penetrated 
 even to the tiny house on the Dogs' Square, in the 
 shape of an announcement in the Police News. 
 The Prince was the first to take the initiative ; he 
 immediately decided that it was indispensable 
 that they should go and take Irina, that it was 
 unpardonable to miss the opportunity of seeing 
 their sovereigns, that the ancient nobility were, 
 in a manner, bound to do so. He insisted on his 
 opinion with a peculiar warmth, which was not 
 characteristic of him; the Princess agreed with 
 him to a certain extent, and only sighed over the 
 expense; but Irina displayed decided opposition. 
 " It is unnecessary; I will not go," she replied to 
 all the arguments of her parents. Her obstinacy 
 assumed such proportions that the old Prince at 
 last decided to ask Litvinoff to try to persuade 
 her by representing to her, among the other " rea- 
 sons," that it was improper for a young girl to 
 avoid society, that it was proper for her " to test 
 that," that, as it was, no one ever saw her any- 
 
 77
 
 SMOKE 
 
 where. Litvinoff undertook to present these 
 " reasons ' to her. Irina gazed at him so in- 
 tently and attentively that he grew confused, and 
 toying with the ends of her sash, she calmly 
 said: 
 
 " You desire this?— you? " 
 Yes ... I think I do," replied Litvinoff 
 faltering. — " I agree with your father. . . And 
 why should not you go ... to look at the people 
 and to show yourself? " he added, with a curt 
 laugh. 
 
 * To show myself," she slowly repeated. — 
 ' Well, very good, I will go. . . Only, remember, 
 it is you yourself who have willed it. ." 
 
 " That is to say, I . . ." Litvinoff tried to 
 begin. 
 
 " It is you yourself who have willed it," she in- 
 terrupted. — "And there is one more condition: 
 you must promise me that you will not be present 
 at that ball." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 " I wish it." 
 
 Litvinoff flung his hands apart. 
 
 " I submit ; . . but, I must confess, I should be 
 very happy to see you in all your majesty, to be 
 a witness of the impression which you will infal- 
 libly produce. . How proud I should be of you ! ' 
 he added, with a sigh. 
 
 Irina laughed. 
 
 "All that magnificence will consist of a white 
 
 78
 
 SMOKE 
 
 frock; and as for the impression . . . well, in 
 short, I will have it so." 
 
 " Irina, you seem to be angry? " 
 
 Irina laughed again. 
 
 " Oh, no! I am not angry. Only thou . . ." 
 ( She fixed her eyes upon him, and it struck him 
 that never before had he beheld in them such an 
 expression.) "Perhaps it is necessary," she 
 added in a low voice. 
 
 "But, Irina, thou lovest me?" 
 
 " Yes, I love thee," she replied, with almost 
 solemn impressiveness, and shook his hand in mas- 
 culine fashion. 
 
 During all the succeeding days Irina sedu- 
 lously occupied herself with her toilet, with her 
 coiffure; on the eve of the ball she felt indis- 
 posed, could not sit still in one place, fell to weep- 
 ing a couple of times when she was alone : in Lit- 
 vinoff's presence she smiled in a monotonous sort 
 of way . . . but treated him tenderly, as before, 
 yet in an abstracted manner, and kept incessantly 
 contemplating herself in the mirror. On the day 
 of the ball she was extremely taciturn and pale, 
 but composed. At nine o'clock in the evening 
 Litvinoff came to take a look at her. When she 
 came out to him in her white tarlatan frock, with 
 a spray of small blue flowers in her hair, which 
 was dressed rather high, he simply cried out in 
 admiration : she seemed to him beautiful and ma- 
 jestic beyond her years. ; Yes, she has grown 
 
 79
 
 SMOKE 
 
 taller since morning," he said to himself; " and 
 what a carriage! What a thing good blood is! ' 
 Irina stood before him with pendent arms, with- 
 out smile or affectation, and gazed with decision, 
 almost with boldness, not at him, but at some point 
 in the distance, straight in front of her. 
 
 " You are like a fairy princess," uttered Litvi- 
 noff at last; — " or, no: you are like the leader of 
 an army before a victory. . . You have not per- 
 mitted me to go to this ball," — he continued, while 
 she remained motionless, as before, and seemed 
 not so much to be listening to him as to some other 
 inward speech; — " but you will not refuse to ac- 
 cept from me these flowers, and to carry them? ' 
 
 He gave her a bouquet of heliotropes. 
 
 She cast a quick glance at Litvinoff, stretched 
 out her hand, and suddenly grasping the tips of 
 the spray which adorned her head, she said: 
 
 " Do you wish it? Only say the word, and I 
 will tear off all this and remain at home." 
 
 Litvinoff 's heart fairly sang with joy. Irina's 
 hand was already wrenching off the spray. . . 
 
 " No, no, why should you? " he said hastily, in 
 a burst of grateful and noble sentiments; — " I am 
 not an egoist; why should I restrict your liberty 
 . . when I know that your heart ..." 
 
 "Well, then, don't come near me; you will 
 crush my gown," she said hastily. 
 
 Litvinoff was disconcerted. 
 
 " And you will take the bouquet? " he asked. 
 
 80
 
 SMOKE 
 
 ' Of course ; it is very pretty, and I am very 
 fond of that perfume. . Merci. . I will preserve 
 it as a souvenir." 
 
 1 Of your first appearance in society," re- 
 marked Litvinoff:— " of your first triumph. . ." 
 
 Irina contemplated herself in the mirror over 
 her shoulder, bending her body a little. 
 
 ' And am I really so pretty? Are not you a 
 partial judge? " 
 
 Litvinoff grew diffuse in enthusiastic praises. 
 But Irina was no longer listening to him, and 
 lifting the bouquet to her face, she again began 
 to gaze off into the distance with her strange 
 eyes, which seemed to darken and widen, and the 
 ends of the delicate ribbons, set in motion by a 
 light current of air, elevated themselves on her 
 shoulders like wings. 
 
 The Prince made his appearance with hair 
 curled, in a white necktie, a shabby black dress 
 suit, and with the Vladimir ribbon of the order of 
 the nobility in his buttonhole ; after him the Prin- 
 cess appeared in a chine silk gown of antique cut, 
 and with that grim anxiety beneath which mo- 
 thers strive to conceal their agitation put her 
 daughter to rights from behind — that is to say, 
 she shook out the folds of her gown without 
 any necessity whatever. An old-fashioned, four- 
 seated hired carriage, drawn by two shaggy nags, 
 crawled up to the entrance, its wheels creaking 
 over the mounds of snow which had not been 
 
 81
 
 SMOKE 
 
 swept away, and an infirm footman in a prepos- 
 terous livery ran in from the anteroom and rather 
 desperately announced that the carriage was 
 ready. . . After bestowing their blessing for the 
 night upon the remaining children, and donning 
 fur wraps, the Prince and Princess directed their 
 steps to the porch; Irina, in a thin, short-sleeved 
 cloak— how she did hate that cloak!— followed 
 them in silence. Litvinoff escorted them, in the 
 hope of receiving a parting glance from Irina, 
 but she took her seat in the carriage without turn- 
 ing her head. 
 
 About midnight he passed under the windows 
 of the Assembly. The innumerable lights in the 
 huge chandeliers pierced through the crimson cur- 
 tains in luminous spots, and the sounds of a 
 Strauss waltz were being wafted, with a haughty, 
 festive challenge, all over the square encumbered 
 with equipages. 
 
 On the following day, at noon, Litvinoff betook 
 himself to the Osinins. He found no one at home 
 but the Prince, who immediately announced to 
 him that Irina had a headache, that she was in 
 bed, and would not rise until the evening, and 
 that, moreover, such an indisposition was not in 
 the least surprising after a first ball. 
 
 " C'est tres naturel, vous savez, dans les jeunes 
 filles" he added in French, which somewhat 
 amazed Litvinoff, who noticed, at the same mo- 
 ment, that the Prince was not wearing his dress- 
 
 82
 
 SMOKE 
 
 ing-gown as usual, but a frock-coat. — " And, 
 moreover," went on Osinin, " how could she help 
 falling ill after the events of last night? " 
 " The events? " blurted out LitvinofF. 
 Yes, yes, the events, the events, vrais evene- 
 ments. You cannot imagine, Grigory Mikhailo- 
 vitch, quel succes elle a eu! The entire Court 
 noticed her! Prince Alexander Feodorovitch 
 said that her place was not here, that she re- 
 minded him of the Duchess of Devonshire . . 
 well, you know . . the famous one. . . And old 
 Blazenkampf declared, in the hearing of every 
 one, that Irfna was la reine du bed, and asked to be 
 presented to her ; and he introduced himself to me 
 —that is to say, he told me that he remembered 
 me as a hussar, and inquired where I was serving 
 now. He's very amusing, that Count, and such 
 an adorateur du beau sexel But what am I say- 
 ing? . . . And my Princess also .... they 
 gave her no peace either : Natalya Nikitishna her- 
 self conversed with her . . . what more would 
 you have? Irina danced avec tous les meilleurs 
 cavaliers; they kept introducing them and intro- 
 ducing them to me until I lost count of 
 
 them. Will you believe it, everybody thronged 
 around us in crowds; in the mazurka they did 
 nothing but choose her. One foreign diplomat, 
 on learning that she was a native of Moscow, said 
 to the Emperor: 'Sire' said he^—'decidement 
 e'est Moscou qui est le centre de votre empire! ' 
 
 83
 
 SMOKE 
 
 and another diplomat added:— c C'est une vraie 
 revolution, Sire ' ; revelation or revolution .... 
 something of that sort. Yes . . . yes . . . it 
 ... it ... I must tell you, it was something re- 
 markable." 
 
 "Well, and Irina Pavlovna herself? " inquired 
 Litvinoff, whose feet and hands had turned cold 
 during the Prince's speech: — "did she enjoy her- 
 self, did she seem pleased? " 
 
 " Of course she enjoyed herself; as if she could 
 help being pleased! However, you know, one 
 cannot make her out immediately. Every one said 
 to me last night : - How amazing ! jamais on ne 
 dirait que mademoiselle votre fille est a son pre- 
 mier bal/ Count Reisenbach, among the rest; 
 ... surely you must know him. . ." 
 
 " No, I do not know him at all, and never have 
 known him." 
 
 " He 's my wife's first cousin. . ." 
 
 " I do not know him." 
 
 " He 's a rich man, a Court Chamberlain ; he 
 lives in Petersburg ; he 's all the fashion ; he twists 
 everybody in Livonia round his finger. Up to 
 now he has always despised us ; . . . naturally, I 
 do not bear him any grudge for that. J'ai 
 Vhumeur facile, comme vous savez. Well, now 
 there was he. He sat down beside Irina, con- 
 versed with her for a quarter of an hour, no more, 
 and then said to my Princess: ' Ma cousine/ says 
 he, ' votre fille est une perle; c'est une perfection; 
 
 ,84
 
 SMOKE 
 
 every one is complimenting me on my niece. . . .' 
 And then I saw that he went up to . . an impor- 
 tant personage, and kept staring at Irina all the 
 while . . . well, and the personage stared also. . . ." 
 
 " And so Irina Pavlovna will not be visible all 
 day?" inquired Litvinoff again. 
 
 " No; she has a very bad headache. She asked 
 to be remembered to you, and that we should 
 thank you for your bouquet, quon a trouve char- 
 mant. She must rest. . . My Princess has gone 
 out to pay calls . . and I myself, you see . . . ." 
 
 The Prince coughed and began to shuffle his 
 feet about, as though at a loss what more to say. 
 Litvinoff took his hat, said that he had no inten- 
 tion of embarrassing him, and would call later to 
 inquire after his health, and took his departure. 
 
 A few paces from the Osinins' house he caught 
 sight of a dandified two-seated carriage, which 
 had halted in front of the police sentry-box. A 
 liveried footman, also dandified, was bending 
 carelessly down from the box and inquiring of the 
 sentry, who was a Finn, whereabouts in the vicin- 
 ity dwelt Prince Pavel Vasilievitch Osinin. 
 Litvinoff glanced into the carriage: in it sat a 
 middle-aged man, of sanguine complexion, with a 
 frowning and haughty face, a Grecian nose, and 
 evil lips, enveloped in a sable cloak,— a high dig- 
 nitary, by all the signs. 
 
 85
 
 IX 
 
 Litvinoff did not keep his promise to call later ; 
 he reflected that it would be better to defer his visit 
 until the following day. When, about twelve 
 o'clock, he entered the familiar drawing-room, he 
 found there the two younger Princesses, Victo- 
 rinka and Cleopatrinka. He greeted them, then 
 inquired: was Irina Pavlovna feeling any better, 
 and could he see her? 
 
 " Irinotchka has gone out wiv mamma," re- 
 plied Victorinka; although she lisped, she was 
 more vivacious than her sister. 
 
 "What . . . she has gone out ?" repeated Lit- 
 vinoff, and something shivered within him in the 
 depths of his breast— " Does n't . . . doesn't 
 . . . does n't she occupy herself with you at this 
 hour— does n't she give you lessons? ' 
 
 " Irinotchka ith n't going to give us lethonth 
 any more," replied Victorinka.—" She isn't go- 
 ing to any more," Cleopatrinka repeated after 
 her. 
 
 " And is your papa at home? " inquired Litvi- 
 noff. 
 
 " Papa ith n't at home, eiver," continued Vic- 
 torinka;—" and Irinotchka is ill: she cwied, cwied 
 all night long. . ." 
 
 86.
 
 SMOKE 
 
 "She cried?" 
 
 " Yeth, she cwied. . . Egorovna told me, and 
 her eyes are so wed, as though they were 
 swol — len. . ." 
 
 Litvinoff paced up and down the room a couple 
 of times, shivering slightly, as though with cold, 
 and returned to his lodgings. He experienced 
 a sensation akin to that which takes possession of 
 a man when he gazes down from the summit of a 
 lofty tower: everything died away within him, 
 and his head swam quietly and mawkishly. Dull 
 surprise and a mouse-like scampering of thoughts, 
 ill-defined alarm and dumb anticipation, and 
 strange, almost malicious curiosity, in his com- 
 pressed throat the bitterness of unshed tears, on 
 his lips the effort at an empty smirk, and an en- 
 treaty addressed to no one . . oh, how cruel and 
 humiliatingly repulsive it all was! " Irina does 
 not wish to see me," kept whirling incessantly 
 through his brain, " that is clear ; but why ? What 
 can have taken place at that ill-starred ball? And 
 how is such a change, all at once, possible? So 
 suddenly. . ." (People are constantly observing 
 that death comes unexpectedly, but they cannot 
 possibly accustom themselves to its suddenness, 
 and think it senseless.) — " She sends me no mes- 
 sage, she does not wish to come to an explanation 
 with me. . . ." 
 
 "Grigory Mikhailovitch," cried a strained voice 
 in his very ear. 
 
 87
 
 SMOKE 
 
 Litvinoff started, and beheld before him his 
 man with a note in his hand. He recognised 
 Irina's handwriting. . . Even before he had 
 broken the seal of the note he had a foreboding 
 of misfortune, and bowed his head upon his breast 
 and hunched up his shoulders, as though warding 
 off a blow. 
 
 At last he summoned his courage and tore off 
 the envelope with one movement. On a small 
 sheet of note-paper stood the following words: 
 
 "Forgive me, Grigdry Mikhailitch. Everything is 
 at an end between us. I am going to Petersburg. It 
 distresses me dreadfully, but the deed is done. Evi- 
 dently, it is my fate; . . but no, 1 will not try to justify 
 myself. My forebodings have been realised. Forgive 
 me, forget me ; I am not worthy of you. 
 
 " Be magnanimous: do not try to see me. 
 
 "I*fNA." 
 
 Litvinoff read these five lines and sank back 
 slowly on the couch, as though some one had dealt 
 him a blow in the breast. He dropped the note, 
 picked it up, read it again, whispered, " To Pe- 
 tersburg," dropped it again, and that was all. 
 Tranquillity descended upon him; he even ad- 
 justed the cushion under his head with his hands, 
 which were thrown behiiad him. " Those who are 
 wounded unto death do not toss about," he said 
 to himself ; " as it has come, so it has gone. . . All 
 this is natural; I have always expected this. . ." 
 
 88
 
 SMOKE 
 
 (He lied to himself: he had never expected any- 
 thing of the sort.) " Wept? She wept? . . What 
 did she weep about? For she did not love me! 
 However, it is all comprehensible and in conso- 
 nance with her character. She, she is not worthy 
 of me. . . The idea!' (He laughed bitterly.) 
 ' She herself did not know what force was con- 
 cealed within her ; well, but after convincing her- 
 self of its effects at the ball, how could she put 
 up with an insignificant student? . . . It is all in- 
 telligible enough." 
 
 But here he recalled her tender words, her 
 smiles, and those eyes — those unforgettable eyes, 
 which he would never see again, which both 
 beamed and melted at the mere encounter with his 
 eyes; he recalled also one swift, timid, burning 
 kiss — and all of a sudden he burst out sobbing, 
 and sobbed convulsively, wildly, venomously, 
 turned over on his face, and choked, and sighed 
 with fierce enjoyment, as though thirsting to rend 
 himself and everything about him, thrust his in- 
 flamed face into the cushion of the divan and 
 bit it. . . 
 
 Alas! The gentleman whom Litvinoff had 
 seen on the previous day in the carriage was pre- 
 cisely that first cousin of the Princess Osinin, the 
 wealthy man and Chamberlain of the Court, 
 Count Reisenbach. On perceiving the impres- 
 sion which Irina had made on persons of the high- 
 est position, and instantaneously calculating what 
 
 89
 
 SMOKE 
 
 advantages, " mit etwas Accuratesse" might be 
 derived from that fact, the Count, being an ener- 
 getic man and one who understood how to render 
 obsequious service, immediately drew up his plan. 
 He decided to act promptly, in Napoleonic fash- 
 ion. " I will take that original young girl into 
 my own house," he reflected ; "in Petersburg I 
 will make her my heiress, devil take it, well, of 
 almost all my estate; I happen to have no chil- 
 dren ; she is my niece, and my Countess finds life 
 tiresome alone. . . At any rate, it will be more 
 agreeable when there is a pretty little face in the 
 drawing-room. . . Yes, yes ; that 's so : es ist eine 
 Idee, es ist eine Idee! * He must dazzle, confuse, 
 startle her parents. — " They have nothing to eat," 
 the Count pursued his meditations, as he sat in 
 his carriage and was being driven to the Dogs' 
 Square, " therefore, in all probability, they will 
 not prove obstinate. They 're not so very sensi- 
 tive. I might give them a sum of money. But 
 she? And she will consent also. Honev is sweet 
 . . . she got a taste of it last night. It is a caprice 
 of mine, let us assume ; then let them profit by it 
 . . . the fools. I shall say to them : thus and so ; 
 come to a decision. Otherwise, I shall take some 
 other girl; an orphan— which is more convenient. 
 Yes or no, I give you twenty-four hours to make 
 up your minds, und damit Punctum." 
 
 With these same words upon his lips, the Count 
 presented himself before the Prince, whom he had 
 
 00
 
 SMOKE 
 
 already, on the previous evening at the ball, fore- 
 warned of his visit. It seems not worth while to 
 enter at length into the results of this visit. The 
 Count had made no mistake in his calculations: 
 the Prince and Princess really did not prove re- 
 fractory, and accepted the sum of money, and 
 Irina really did consent, without waiting for the 
 expiration of the appointed term. It was not easy 
 for her to break her bond with LitvinofF ; she loved 
 him, and, when she had sent him the note, she 
 almost took to her bed, wept incessantly, grew 
 thin and sallow. . . But, nevertheless, a month 
 later the Princess took her away to Petersburg, 
 and settled her at the Count's, confiding her to 
 the guardianship of the Countess, a very kind 
 woman, but with the mind of a chicken and the 
 exterior of a chicken. 
 
 But LitvinofF then abandoned the university, 
 and went off to his father in the country. Little 
 by little his w T ound healed. At first he heard noth- 
 ing about Irina, and he avoided talking about 
 Petersburg and Petersburg society. Then grad- 
 ually reports began to circulate about her, not evil, 
 but strange reports ; rumour began to busy itself 
 with her. The name of the young Princess Osi- 
 nin, surrounded with splendour, stamped with a 
 special seal, came to be more and more frequently 
 mentioned in provincial circles. It was uttered 
 with curiosity, with respect, with envy, as the 
 name of Countess Vorotynsky had formerly been ' 
 
 91
 
 SMOKE 
 
 uttered. At last the news of her marriage was 
 spread abroad. But Litvinoff paid hardly any 
 attention to this last bit of news: he was already 
 betrothed to Tatyana. 
 
 And now it has probably become intelligible 
 to the reader precisely what it was that recurred 
 to Litvinoff, when he exclaimed : " Is it possible ! ' 
 and therefore we will now return to Baden and 
 resume the thread of our interrupted story. 
 
 »2
 
 X 
 
 It was very late when Litvinoff got to sleep, and 
 he did not sleep long: the sun had only just risen 
 when he rose from his bed. The summits of the 
 dark hills which were visible from his windows 
 were glowing with a moist crimson hue against 
 the clear sky. ' How fresh it must be yonder, un- 
 der the trees! " he said to himself, and he hastily 
 dressed himself, cast an abstracted glance at 
 the bouquet, which had blossomed out even more 
 luxuriantly during the night, took his cane, and 
 betook himself to the well-known " Cliffs," behind 
 the " Old Castle." The morning enveloped him 
 in its strong and tranquil caress. He breathed 
 vigorously, he moved vigorously; the health of 
 youth played in his every sinew; the earth itself 
 seemed to rise up to meet his light tread. With 
 every step he felt more amiably disposed, more 
 cheerful : he walked along in the dewy shade, over 
 the coarse sand of the paths, past the pines, the 
 tips of all whose twigs were rimmed with the vivid 
 green of the spring shoots. ' How glorious this 
 is! " he kept saying to himself. All at once he 
 heard voices that were familiar to him : he glanced 
 ahead and descried Voroshiloff and Bambaeff, 
 
 93
 
 SMOKE 
 
 who were walking toward him. He fairly 
 writhed : he darted aside, like a school-boy evading 
 his teacher, and hid behind a bush. . . "Oh,my Cre- 
 ator! " he prayed, " carry my fellow-countrymen 
 past!" It seemed to him at that moment that 
 he would have begrudged no amount of money, 
 if only they might not catch sight of him. . . And, 
 in fact, they did not catch sight of him : the Crea- 
 tor bore his fellow-countrymen past. Voroshiloff, 
 with his cadet-like self-complacent voice, was ex- 
 plaining to BambaefF about the various " phases ' 
 of Gothic architecture, while BambaefF merely 
 grunted approvingly ; it was evident that Voroshi- 
 loff had already been overwhelming him for a 
 long time with his " phases," and the good- 
 natured enthusiast was beginning to be bored. 
 Long did Litvfnoff, biting his lip, and craning 
 his neck, listen to the retreating footsteps; long 
 did cadences, now guttural, now nasal, of that in- 
 structive harangue resound; at last all became 
 silent. Litvfnoff heaved a sigh of relief, emerged 
 from his ambush, and pursued his way. 
 
 For three hours he roamed about the mountains. 
 Now he deserted the path, and leaped from rock 
 to rock, occasionally slipping on the smooth moss ; 
 again he seated himself on a fragment of the 
 cliff, beneath an oak or a beech, and indulged in 
 pleasant thoughts, to the ceaseless murmur of the 
 brooks, overgrown with ferns, the soothing rus- 
 tle of the leaves, and the ringing song of a solitary 
 
 94
 
 SMOKE 
 
 blackbird; a slight drowsiness, also agreeable, 
 stole upon him, seemed to embrace him from be- 
 hind, and he fell asleep . . . but suddenly he 
 smiled and cast a glance about him : the green and 
 gold of the forest, of the forest air, beat gently 
 on his sight— and again he smiled, and again he 
 closed his eyes. He felt like breakfasting, and be- 
 took himself in the direction of the " Old Castle," 
 where, for a few kreutzers, he would be able to 
 obtain a glass of good milk and coffee. But he 
 had not succeeded in taking his place at one of 
 the small white-painted tables, which stood on the 
 platform in front of the castle, when he heard the 
 laboured snorting of horses, and three calashes 
 made their appearance, from which poured forth 
 a rather numerous party of ladies and cavaliers 
 .... Litvinoff immediately recognised them for 
 Russians, although they were all talking in 
 French . . because they were talking in French. 
 The toilets of the ladies were distinguished 
 by exquisite smartness; the cavaliers wore 
 brand-new coats, but tight-fitting and with a well- 
 defined waist, which is not altogether usual in our 
 day, trousers of grey figured material, and very 
 shiny city hats. A low, black neckcloth closely 
 encircled the neck of each cavalier, and something 
 military made itself felt in their whole bearing. 
 As a matter of fact, they were military men ; Lit- 
 vinoff had happened upon a picnic of young gen- 
 erals, persons of the highest society, and of con- 
 
 05
 
 SMOKE 
 
 siderable importance. Their importance was an- 
 nounced in every point: in their discreet ease of 
 manner, in their gracefully majestic smiles, in the 
 strained abstraction of their glance, in the effem- 
 inate twitching of their shoulders, in the swaying 
 motion of their figures, and in the bend of their 
 knees ; it was betrayed by the very sound of their 
 voices, which seemed to be amiably and fastidi- 
 ously returning thanks to a subservient throng. 
 All these warriors were splendidly washed, 
 shaved, perfumed through and through with some 
 scent or other which is a genuine appurtenance of 
 the nobility and the Guards, a mixture of the most 
 capital cigar smoke and the most astonishing 
 patchouli. And all their hands were those of 
 nobles — white, large, with nails as strong as ivory; 
 the moustaches of all fairly shone, their teeth 
 gleamed, and their very delicate skin was red on 
 the cheeks, blue on the chin. Some of the young 
 generals were playful, others were thoughtful; 
 but the stamp of superior propriety lay upon them 
 all. Each one, apparently, was profoundly con- 
 scious of his own worth, and of the dignity of his 
 future part in the empire, and bore himself se- 
 verely and boldly, with a faint tinge of that f risk- 
 iness, that " devil-take-me " air, which so natu- 
 rally makes its appearance during travels abroad. 
 Having noisily and pompously seated them- 
 selves, the company summoned the bustling wait- 
 ers. LitvinofF made haste to finish his glass of 
 
 96
 
 SMOKE 
 
 milk, paid what he owed, and pulling his hat well 
 down over his eyes, he was on the point of slip- 
 ping past the picnic of generals. . . 
 
 ' Grigory Mikhailitch," said a woman's voice. 
 — " Don't you know me? " 
 
 He involuntarily halted. That voice. . That 
 voice had but too often caused his heart to beat 
 in days gone by. . . He turned round and beheld 
 Irina. 
 
 She was sitting at a table, and with her arms 
 crossed on the back of a chair which had been 
 pushed aside, she was gazing at him courteously, 
 almost joyously, with her head bent on one side, 
 and smiling. 
 
 Litvinoff instantly recognised her, although she 
 had changed since he had seen her for the last 
 time, ten years previously, although from a young 
 girl she had become a woman. Her slender figure 
 had developed and blossomed out, the lines of her 
 formerly compressed shoulders now suggested 
 those of the goddesses who start forth from the 
 ceilings of ancient Italian palaces. But her eyes 
 remained the same, and it seemed to Litvinoff 
 that they were gazing at him in the same manner 
 as then, in that tiny house in Moscow. 
 
 ' Irina Pavlovna . . . ." he began irresolutely. 
 
 1 You recognise me ? How glad I am ! . . . 
 how I . . ." (She paused, blushed slightly, and 
 drew herself up.) ' This is a very pleasant meet- 
 ing," she went on in French.—" Allow me to in- 
 
 97
 
 SMOKE 
 
 troduce you to my husband. Valerien, Monsieur 
 Litvinoff, un ami d'enfance; Valerian Vladimiro- 
 vitch Ratmiroff, my husband." 
 
 One of the young generals, almost the most ele- 
 gant of them all, rose from his chair, and bowed 
 to Litvinoff with extreme courtesy, while his re- 
 maining comrades knit their brows slightly, or, 
 not so much knit their brows, as became immersed, 
 for the moment, each one in himself, as though 
 protesting in advance at any connection with a 
 strange civilian, while the other ladies who were 
 taking part in the picnic considered it necessary 
 to screw their eyes up a trifle and to grin, and 
 even to express dissatisfaction on their faces. 
 
 " You. . . . Have you been long in Baden? " in- 
 quired General Ratmiroff, assuming an affected 
 air, in a certain non-Russian fashion, and evi- 
 dently not knowing what to talk about with the 
 friend of his wife's youth. 
 
 " Not long," replied Litvinoff. 
 
 " And do you intend to remain long? " went 
 on the polite general. 
 
 " I have not yet made up my mind." 
 
 "Ah! That is very pleasant . . . very." 
 
 The general became dumb. Litvinoff also 
 maintained silence. 
 
 Both held their hats in their hands, and with 
 bodies inclined forward and teeth displayed, they 
 stared at each other's brows. 
 
 " Deux gendarmes un beau dimanche" struck 
 
 98
 
 SMOKE 
 
 up, out of tune, as a matter of course, — we have 
 yet to meet the Russian noble who does not sing 
 out of tune,— a mole-eyed, sallow general with an 
 expression of perpetual irritation on his face, as 
 though he could not pardon himself for his own 
 appearance. He was the only one among all those 
 comrades who did not resemble a rose. 
 
 ' But why do not you sit down, Grigory Mi- 
 khailitch? " remarked Irina at last. 
 
 LitvinofF obeyed and sat down. 
 
 " I say, Valerian, give me a light," said (in 
 English ) another general, also young but already 
 obese, with immovable eyes, which seemed to be 
 riveted on the air, and with thick, silky side- 
 whiskers, in which he slowly plunged his snow- 
 white fingers. RatmirofF gave him a silver box 
 filled with matches. 
 
 " Avec vous des papiros? ** inquired one of the 
 ladies, with a lisp. 
 
 * De vrais papelitos, comtesse." 
 
 " Deux gendarmes tin beau dimanche" struck 
 up the mole-eyed general again, almost gnashing 
 his teeth. 
 
 " You certainly must call upon us," Irina was 
 saying, meanwhile, to LitvinofF. — " We are liv- 
 ing in the Hotel de l'Europe. I am always at 
 home from four until six. You and I have not 
 seen each other for a long time." 
 
 LitvinofF cast a glance at Irina; she did not 
 lower her eyes 
 
 09
 
 SMOKE 
 
 " Yes, Irina Pavlovna, it is a long time. Not 
 since Moscow days." 
 
 " Since Moscow days— since Moscow days," 
 she repeated haltingly. — "Do come; we will 
 have a chat and recall old times. But, do you 
 know, Grigory Mikhailitch, you have not altered 
 much." 
 
 " Really? But you have changed, Irina Pav- 
 lovna." 
 
 " I have grown old." 
 
 " No, that was not what I meant to say. . ." 
 
 "Irene?" in an inquiring tone of voice, said one 
 of the ladies, with a yellow bonnet on yellow hair, 
 after a preliminary whisper and giggle with the 
 cavalier who sat beside her. — " Irina? ' 
 
 " I have grown old," repeated Irina, making 
 no reply to the lady; " but I have not changed. 
 No, no, I have not changed in any way." 
 
 " Deux gendarmes un beau dimanche! " rang 
 out again. The irritable general could recall only 
 the first line of the familiar song. 
 
 " It still pricks, Your Illustriousness," said the 
 fat general with the side-whiskers in a loud voice, 
 pronouncing his os broadly, probably in allusion 
 to some amusing story familiar to the whole beau 
 monde, and uttering a curt, wooden laugh, he 
 again fixed his eyes on the air. All the rest of 
 the party broke out laughing also. 
 
 " What a sad dog you are, Boris! " remarked 
 (in English) RatmirofF in a low tone. He even 
 
 100
 
 SMOKE 
 
 pronounced the name " Boris ' in English 
 fashion. 
 
 " Irene? " inquired for the third time, the lady 
 in the yellow bonnet. Irina turned quickly to- 
 ward her. 
 
 " Eh, bienl quoi? Que me voulez-vous? " 
 c Je vous le dirai plus tard/ J replied the lady 
 affectedly. Although possessed of an extremely 
 unattractive exterior, she was constantly indulg- 
 ing in affectations and grimaces; a certain wit 
 had once said of her that she "minaudait dans le 
 vide " — made grimaces at empty space. 
 
 Irina frowned and impatiently shrugged her 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Mais que fait done. Monsieur Verdier? Pour- 
 quoi ne vient-il pas? " exclaimed one lady, with 
 those drawling accents w r hich are insufferable to 
 French ears, and which constitute the specialty of 
 the Great Russian pronunciation. 
 
 " Akh, you, akh, you, Monsieur Verdier, Mon- 
 sieur Verdier," groaned a lady, who had certainly 
 been born in Arzamas. 
 
 " Tranquillisez-vous, mesdames" interposed 
 Ratmiroff :— " Monsieur Verdier ma promis de 
 venir se mettre a vos pieds." 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha!"— the ladies began to flutter 
 their fans. 
 
 The waiter brought several glasses of beer. 
 
 " Bairisch-bier? " inquired the general with the 
 side-whiskers, intentionally speaking in a bass 
 
 101
 
 SMOKE 
 
 voice, and pretending to be surprised.—" Guten 
 Morgen" 
 
 "Well? Is Count Pavel still there?" one 
 young general coldly and languidly asked an- 
 other. 
 
 " Yes," — replied the other, with equal coldness. 
 — " Mais cest provisoire. Serge, they say, is in 
 his place." 
 
 ' Oho! " hissed the other through his teeth. 
 
 " Ye-es," hissed the first. 
 
 " I cannot understand," began the general who 
 had been humming the song:—" I cannot under- 
 stand what possessed Polya to defend himself, to 
 allege various excuses. . . Well, he molested the 
 merchant, il lui a fait rendre gorge . . . well, but 
 what of that? He may have had his reasons." 
 
 " He was afraid . . of being shown up in the 
 newspapers," muttered some one. 
 
 The irritable general flared up. 
 
 " Well, that is the very worst of all ! The news- 
 papers! Shown up! If it had depended on me, 
 all I would permit your newspapers to print 
 would be the fixed prices of meat and of bread, 
 and the advertisements of the sale of fur cloaks 
 and boots." 
 
 " And of noblemen's estates at auction," put 
 in Ratmiroff . 
 
 " If you like, under present conditions. But 
 what a conversation in Baden, at the Vieux Cha- 
 teau!" 
 
 102
 
 SMOKE 
 
 " Mais pas du tout! pas du tout! " lisped the 
 lady in the yellow bonnet. — " J' adore les questions 
 poiitiques" 
 
 "Madame a raison" interposed another gen- 
 eral, with an extremely agreeable and rather ef- 
 feminate face. — " Why should we avoid those 
 questions . . . even in Baden? ' At these words 
 he glanced politely at Litvinoff, and smiled con- 
 descendingly.—" An upright man ought no- 
 where, under any circumstances, to renounce his 
 convictions. Is not that true? " 
 
 " Of course," replied the irritable general, also 
 casting his eyes on Litvinoff, and, as it were, in- 
 directly reproving him:—" but I do not perceive 
 the necessity ..." 
 
 " No, no," interrupted the condescending gen- 
 eral, with his former mildness. 
 
 " Here our friend, Valerian Vladimirovitch, 
 alluded to the sale of noblemen's estates. What 
 of that? Is it not a fact? " 
 
 " But it is impossible to sell them now; nobody 
 wants them! " exclaimed the irritable general. 
 
 " Possibly . . . possibly. Therefore, it is nec- 
 essary to declare that fact . . . that sad fact, at 
 every step. We are ruined — very good. We are 
 humiliated,— it is impossible to dispute that; but 
 we large proprietors, we represent a principle . . 
 un principe . . . nevertheless. It is our duty to 
 uphold that principle. Pardon, madame, I think 
 you have dropped your handkerchief. When a 
 
 103
 
 SMOKE 
 
 certain blindness, so to speak, takes possession of 
 even the loftiest minds, we ought to point out — 
 humbly point out ' (the general stretched out 
 his finger), — "point out with the finger to the 
 citizen the abyss whither everything is hastening. 
 We ought to utter a warning: we ought to say 
 with respectful firmness : ' turn back, turn back. .' 
 That is what we ought to say." 
 
 ' But it is impossible to turn back completely," 
 remarked Ratmiroff thoughtfully. 
 
 The condescending general merely grinned. 
 
 " Completely ; completely back, mon tres cher. 
 The further back the better." 
 
 Again the general cast a polite glance at Litvi- 
 noff. The latter could restrain himself no longer. 
 You would not have us return to the time of 
 the Seven Boyars, Your Excellency ? ' 
 
 ' Even that ! I expressed my meaning without 
 any ambiguity; we must do over . . . yes . . . 
 do over everything that has been done." 
 
 ' And the nineteenth of February also? ' 
 
 "Yes, the nineteenth of February 1 also, — so far 
 as that is possible. On est patriote ou on ne Vest 
 pas. ' But freedom ? ' I shall be asked. Do you 
 think this freedom is sweet to the people? Just 
 ask them. . . ." 
 
 "Try," retorted Litvinoff:— " try to deprive 
 them of that freedom. . ." 
 
 1 The date of the Emancipation Proclamation, March 3, 
 186L — Translator. 
 
 104
 
 SMOKE 
 
 " Comment nommez-vous ce monsieur? " whis- 
 pered the general to Ratmiroff. 
 
 " But what are you talking about there? " sud- 
 denly began the fat general, who, evidently, 
 played the part of a spoiled child in this company. 
 " Still about the newspapers? About quill- 
 drivers? Let me tell you what an experience I 
 had with a quill-driver— it was splendid! I was 
 told: ( un folliculaire has written a libel on you.' 
 Well, of course, I immediately called him to ac- 
 count. They brought the dear man. . . ' How 
 come you,' says I, ' my friend, folliculaire, to be 
 writing libels? Have you conquered your patri- 
 otism? ' ' I have,' says he. ' Well, and do you 
 love money, folliculaire? ' says I. ' I do,' says he. 
 So then, my dear sirs, I let him smell of the knob 
 of my cane.—' And do you love this also, my 
 angel? '— ' No,' says he, ' I don't love that.'— 
 ' Well,' says I, ' you smell of that in proper fash- 
 ion—my hands are clean.'—' I don't like it,' says 
 he, ' and that 's enough.'—' But I, my dear fel- 
 low,' says I, ' love it very much, only not for my- 
 self. Do you understand this allegory, my 
 treasure? '—'I understand,' says he.—' Then look 
 to it, be a good boy hereafter, and now here 's a 
 ruble for you ; take yourself off, and bless me day 
 and night.' And the folliculaire departed." 
 
 The general broke into a laugh, and all the 
 others again followed his example and laughed — 
 all, with the exception of Irina, who did not even 
 
 10&
 
 SMOKE 
 
 smile, and stared in a somewhat gloomy manner 
 at the story-teller. 
 
 The condescending general tapped Boris on the 
 shoulder. 
 
 " You invented the whole of that, my beloved 
 friend. . As if you would menace any one with a 
 cane. . . You have n 't even any cane. C'est 
 pour faire rire ces dames. It was just for the 
 sake of a joke. But that 's not the point. I said 
 a while ago that we must return completely. 
 Understand me, I am not an enemy to so-called 
 progress ; but all those universities and seminaries 
 there, and schools for the common people, those 
 students, priests' sons, plebeians, and that small 
 fry, tout ce fond du sac, la petite propriete, pire 
 que le proletariat " — (the general spoke in a sub- 
 dued, almost prostrated voice) —" voila ce qui 
 m'effraie . . . that is what must be stopped . . . 
 and it will stop." (Again he cast a caressing 
 glance at Litvinoff. ) ; Yes, sir, we must call a 
 halt. Do not forget that with us no one demands 
 anything, asks anything. Does any one ask for 
 self-government, for example? Do you ask for it? 
 Or dost thou? or thou? or do you, mesdames? For 
 you not only govern yourselves but also all the 
 rest of us." (The general's extremely handsome 
 countenance lighted up with an amused smile.) 
 " My dear friends, why flee like a hare? Democ- 
 racy delights in you, it burns incense before you, it 
 is ready to subserve your ends . . for you know 
 
 106
 
 SMOKE 
 
 this sword is two-edged. The old ways of times 
 gone by are the best, after all . . They are much 
 safer. Do not permit the common people to rea- 
 son, and put your trust in the aristocracy, in which 
 alone there is power. . . Really, it will be better 
 so. But as for progress . . . personally, I have no 
 objection to progress. Only, do not give us any 
 lawyers, and jurors, and some county officials or 
 other— but discipline, most of all, do not meddle 
 with discipline; but you can build bridges, and 
 quays, and hospitals, and why should not the 
 streets be illuminated with gas? " 
 
 " Petersburg has been fired on all four sides, 
 and there's progress for you!" hissed the irri- 
 table general. 
 
 " Well, I perceive that you are rancorous," re- 
 marked the fat general languidly, as he swayed 
 to and fro.—" It would be a good thing to ap- 
 point you Chief Procurator of the Holy Synod; 
 but, in my opinion, avec Orphee aux enfers le 
 progres a du son dernier mot." 
 
 "Vous dites toujours des betises" giggled the 
 lady from Arzamas. 
 
 The general assumed an air of dignity. 
 
 " Je ne suis jamais plus scrieux, madame, que 
 quand je dis des betises." 
 
 " Monsieur Verdier used that phrase several 
 times," remarked Irina, in a low tone. 
 
 " De la poigne et des formes! " exclaimed the 
 fat general:— "de la poigne surtout. And that 
 
 107
 
 SMOKE 
 
 may be translated into Russian thus: be cour- 
 teous, but give it to them straight in the teeth! ' 
 
 " Akh, you scamp, you incorrigible scamp ! ' 
 interposed the condescending general. — " Please 
 do not listen to him, mesdames. He would not 
 hurt a gnat. He contents himself with devouring 
 his own heart." 
 
 " Well, but no, Boris," began Ratmiroff, ex- 
 changing a glance with his wife: — " a jest is a 
 jest, but this is carrying the thing too far. Prog- 
 ress is a manifestation of social life, and that 
 must be borne in mind; it is a symptom. One 
 must keep an eye on it." 
 
 " Well, yes," returned the fat general, and 
 wrinkled up his nose.—" 'T is a well-known fact 
 that your aim is to be a statesman ! " 
 
 " My aim is not in the least, to become a states- 
 man. . . What has statesmanship to do with that? 
 But one must not refuse to admit the truth." 
 
 " Boris " again plunged his fingers into his 
 whiskers, and riveted his eyes on the air. 
 
 " Social life is very important, because in the 
 development of a nation, in the fate, so to speak, 
 of the fatherland ..." 
 
 " Valerien," interrupted " Boris " impres- 
 sively:—" il y a des dames id. I did not expect 
 this from you. Or do you wish to get on a com- 
 mittee? " 
 
 " But they are all discontinued now, thank 
 God," interposed the irritable general, and again 
 
 108
 
 SMOKE 
 
 began to hum : " Deux gendarmes un beau 
 dimanche " 
 
 Ratmiroff raised his batiste handkerchief to his 
 nose, and gracefully subsided into silence; the 
 irritable general repeated: "The scamp! the 
 scamp! " But " Boris " turned to the lady who 
 was making grimaces into empty space, and, 
 without lowering his voice, without even altering 
 the expression of his face, he began to ask her 
 when she " would crown his flame," as he was 
 amazingly in love with her, and was suffering to 
 an unusual degree. 
 
 With every moment that passed during the 
 course of this conversation LitvinofF felt more 
 and more uncomfortable. His pride, his honour- 
 able, plebeian pride, fairly rose up in revolt. 
 What was there in common between him, the son 
 of a petty official, and those military aristocrats 
 from Petersburg? He loved everything which 
 they hated, he hated everything which they loved ; 
 he recognised that fact too plainly : he felt it with 
 his whole being. He considered their jests in- 
 sipid, their tone intolerable, their every movement 
 artificial; in the very softness of their speech his 
 ear detected scorn which revolted him— and yet 
 he seemed to have grown timid in their presence 
 —in the presence of those people, those enemies. . . 
 " Faugh, how disgusting! I embarrass them, I 
 seem ridiculous to them," kept whirling through 
 his brain : — " and why do I remain here? Let me 
 
 109
 
 SMOKE 
 
 go, let me go at once!" Irina's presence could 
 not detain him : she also aroused melancholy emo- 
 tions in him. He rose from his chair and began 
 to take leave. 
 
 "Are you going already?' said Irina, but 
 after a little reflection she ceased to insist, and 
 merely made him promise that he would not fail 
 to call on her. General Ratmiroff, with the same 
 refined courtesy as before, took leave of him, shook 
 hands with him, and escorted him to the edge of 
 the platform. . . But Litvmoff had barely passed 
 round the first turn in the road, when a hearty 
 burst of laughter rang out behind him. This 
 laughter did not refer to him, but to the long- 
 expected Monsieur Verdier, who suddenly made 
 his appearance on the platform, in a Tyrolean 
 hat, a blue blouse, and mounted astride of an ass ; 
 but the blood fairly rushed to Litvinoff's cheeks, 
 and he felt bitter, as though wormwood had glued 
 his tightly-compressed lips together. " The de- 
 spicable, vulgar creatures! " he muttered, without 
 taking into consideration that the few moments 
 spent in company of those people had not fur- 
 nished him any cause to express himself so 
 harshly. And Irina, the Irina who had once been 
 his, had got into that set! She moved in it, lived 
 in it, reigned in it, for it she had sacrificed her 
 own dignity, th£ best sentiments of her heart. . . 
 Evidently, all was as it should be; evidently, she 
 deserved no better fate! How glad he was that 
 
 110
 
 SMOKE 
 
 it had not occurred to her to question him as to his 
 intentions ! He would have been obliged to state 
 them before " them," in " their " presence. . . 
 " Not for any consideration! Never!" whispered 
 Litvinoff, inhaling a deep breath of the fresh air, 
 and descending the path to Baden almost at a 
 run. He thought of his affianced bride, of his 
 dear, good, holy Tanya, and how pure, how noble, 
 how upright, she appeared to him! With what 
 genuine emotion he recalled her features, her 
 words, even her habits . . . with what impatience 
 did he await her return! 
 
 His rapid pace calmed his nerves. On reach- 
 ing home he seated himself at the table, took a 
 book in his hand, and suddenly threw it down, 
 and even shuddered. . What had happened to 
 him? Nothing had happened to him, but Irina 
 . . . Irina ... his encounter with her suddenly 
 struck him as surprising, strange, unusual. Was 
 it possible he had met, had talked with that same 
 Irina? . . . And why did not that repulsive, 
 worldly stamp, wherewith all the others were so 
 plainly marked, lie upon her also? Why did it 
 seem to him that she was bored, or grieved, or 
 oppressed by her position? She was in their 
 camp, but she was not an enemy. And what 
 could have made her treat him with such cordial- 
 ity, ask him to come to her? 
 
 Litvinoff gave a start.—" Oh Tanya, Tanya! ' 
 he exclaimed impulsively:—" thou art my angel, 
 
 111
 
 SMOKE 
 
 my good genius — I love thee alone and will al- 
 ways love thee. And I will not go to that woman. 
 I will have nothing whatever to do with her! Let 
 her amuse herself with her generals! ' 
 Litvinoff again took up a book. 
 
 m
 
 XI 
 
 Litvinoff took up a book, but he could not 
 read. He left the house, strolled about a little, 
 listened to the music, stared a while at the gam- 
 ing, and again returned to his room— again made 
 an attempt to read— still without success. Time, 
 for some reason, dragged on with particular slow- 
 ness. Pishtchalkin, the well-meaning arbitrator 
 of the peace, came in, and sat there for about three 
 hours. He conversed, explained, put questions, 
 argued in the intervals— now on lofty themes, 
 now on useful ones, and at last diffused such 
 tedium that poor Litvinoff almost set up a howl. 
 In the art of inspiring tedium, melancholy, cold, 
 helpless, hopeless tedium, Pishtchalkin had no 
 rival, even among the people of the loftiest moral- 
 ity, who are well-known masters in that line. The 
 mere sight of his closely-clipped, smoothly- 
 brushed head, of his light, lifeless eyes, his well- 
 formed nose, inspired involuntary despondency, 
 and his slow, baritone, apparently slumbering 
 voice, seemed to have been created for the purpose 
 of uttering, with conviction and perspicuity, 
 apophthegms to the effect that two and two make 
 four, and not five, and not three; that water is 
 wet, and that virtue is laudable; that a private 
 
 113
 
 SMOKE 
 
 person, equally with an empire, and an empire, 
 equally with a private person, must have credit 
 for financial operations. And withal, he was a 
 most excellent man ! But such is the fate decreed 
 to Russia: our most excellent people are tire- 
 some. Pishtchalkin withdrew ; Bindasoff took his 
 place, and slowly, with immense impudence, de- 
 manded that Litvinoff should lend him one hun- 
 dred guldens, which the latter gave him, in spite 
 of the fact that he not only took no interest in 
 Bindasoff, but even loathed him, and knew for 
 a certainty that he would never get his money 
 back again ; moreover, he needed it himself. Then 
 why did he give it to him? the reader asks. The 
 devil knows why ! The Russians are great fellows 
 at that. Let the reader lay his hand on his heart 
 and recall how many acts in his own life have 
 had, positively, no other cause. But Bindasoff 
 did not even thank Litvinoff: he demanded a 
 glass of Aff enthaler (the red wine of Baden) and 
 went away, without wiping his lips, and with a 
 rude clumping of his boots. And how angry Lit- 
 vinoff was with himself, as he gazed at the red 
 neck of the departing monopolist! Just before 
 evening he received a letter from Tanya, in which 
 she informed him that in consequence of her 
 aunt's illness she could not reach Baden in less 
 than five or six days. This news produced an un- 
 pleasant effect on Litvinoff: it aggravated his 
 vexation, and he went to bed early in an evil 
 
 114
 
 SMOKE 
 
 frame of mind. The following day turned out 
 no better than the preceding, worse, if anything. 
 From early morning Litvinoff's room was filled 
 with his fellow-countrymen: BambaefF, Voroshi- 
 loff , Pishtchalkin, the two officers, the two Hei- 
 delberg students, all thronged in at once, and 
 never took their departure until almost dinner- 
 time, although they speedily talked themselves 
 out, and were evidently bored. They simply 
 did not know what to do with themselves, and 
 having once got into Litvinoff's quarters, they 
 ' stuck " there, as the expression is. At first they 
 discussed the fact that Gubaryoff had gone back 
 to Heidelberg, and that they must betake them- 
 selves to him; then they philosophised a little, 
 touched on the Polish question; then they pro- 
 ceeded to argue about gambling, courtesans, be- 
 gan to narrate scandalous anecdotes; at last a 
 conversation arose about strong men, fat men, 
 and gluttons. Ancient anecdotes were dragged 
 out into the light of day, about Lukin, about the 
 deacon who devoured, on a wager, thirty-three 
 herrings, about the colonel of Uhlans, Izyedinoff, 
 well known for his obesity, about the soldier who 
 broke a beef -bone over his own forehead ; and then 
 came downright lies. Pishtchalkin himself nar- 
 rated, with a yawn, that he knew a peasant woman 
 in Little Russia, who, at her death, weighed 
 twenty-seven puds i and several pounds, and a 
 
 1A pud is thirty-six pounds. — Translator. 
 
 115
 
 SMOKE 
 
 landed proprietor, who had devoured three geese 
 and a sturgeon for breakfast. Bambaeff sud- 
 denly went into raptures, and declared that he 
 himself was in a condition to eat a whole sheep, 
 " of course, with condiments," while Voroshiloff 
 rashly made such an absurd remark about his 
 comrade, the muscular cadet, that all became 
 silent, remained silent, stared at one another, 
 took their hats, and dispersed. When he was 
 left alone, Litvinoff tried to occupy himself 
 with some work, but it seemed exactly as though 
 soot had got into his head; he could do nothing 
 of value, and the evening also was wasted. On 
 the following morning, as he was preparing to 
 breakfast, some one knocked at his door. ' O 
 Lord!"— said Litvinoff to himself,— " there 's 
 some one of those friends of yesterday again," 
 and not without considerable shuddering, he 
 called out : 
 
 "Herein!" 
 
 The door opened very softly, and Potugin en- 
 tered the room. 
 
 Litvinoff was extremely glad to see him. 
 
 " This is delightful! ' he exclaimed, warmly 
 pressing the hand of his unexpected guest: — 
 "thank you! I should certainly have called on 
 you, but you would not tell me where you live. 
 Sit down, please, lay aside your hat. Sit down, I 
 say! 
 
 Potugin made no reply to Litvinoff's friendly 
 
 116
 
 SMOKE 
 
 speeches, but stood shifting from foot to foot in 
 the middle of the room, and merely laughed and 
 rocked his head. Litvinoff's joyous reception 
 evidently touched him, but there was something 
 constrained in the expression of his face. 
 
 " There . . is a little misunderstanding here 
 . . ." he began, not without hesitation. — " Of 
 course I am always pleased . . . but, to tell the 
 truth . . I have been sent to you." 
 
 " That is, you mean to say," remarked Litvi- 
 noff in a mournful tone, — " that you would not 
 have come to me of your own accord? " 
 
 1 O, no, good gracious! . . . But I . . I — per- 
 haps I should not have made up my mind to in- 
 trude upon you to-day, if I had not been re- 
 quested to call on you. In short, I have a message 
 for you." 
 
 ' From whom, permit me to inquire? ' 
 
 " From a person of your acquaintance: from 
 Irina Pavlovna Ratmiroff. Two days ago you 
 promised to call upon her, and you have not 
 done so." 
 
 LitvinofF fixed his eyes in amazement upon 
 Potiigin. 
 
 1 Are you acquainted with Madame Ratmi- 
 roff?" 
 
 " As you see." 
 
 " And do you know her intimately? " 
 
 " I am her friend, to a certain degree." 
 
 Litvinoff said nothing. 
 
 117
 
 SMOKE 
 
 "Allow me to ask you," he began at last:— 
 " do you know why Irina Pavlovna wishes to 
 see me? " 
 
 Potiigin walked to the window. 
 
 " Yes, to a certain extent I do know. So far 
 as I am able to judge, she was greatly delighted 
 at her meeting with you, — well, and so she wishes 
 to renew your former relations." 
 
 " Renew! " repeated Litvinoff.— " Excuse my 
 indiscretion, but permit me to ask you still an- 
 other question. Do you know the nature of those 
 relations? " 
 
 " To tell the truth,— no, I do not. But" I as- 
 sume," added Potiigin, suddenly turning to Lit- 
 vinoff, and gazing at him in a friendly way:—" I 
 assume that they were of a good sort. Irina Pav- 
 lovna praised you highly, and I had to give 
 her my word that I would bring you. You will 
 go?" 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " Now . . . immediately." 
 
 Litvinoff merely flung out his hands with a 
 gesture of surprise. 
 
 " Irina Pavlovna," went on Potiigin,—" takes 
 it for granted that that . . . how shall I express 
 it . . . that set of people, let us say, in which you 
 found her two days before yesterday, could not 
 have aroused any special sympathy in you; but 
 she has commanded me to say that the devil is not 
 as black as he is painted." 
 
 118
 
 SMOKE 
 
 " H'm. .... Is that expression applied pre- 
 cisely to that . . . . set ? ' 
 
 " Yes . . and in general." 
 
 "H'm . . . Well, and what is your own opin- 
 ion about the devil, Sozont Ivanitch? " 
 
 " I think, Grigory Mikhailitch, that, in any 
 case, he is not what he is represented to be." 
 
 " Is he better? " 
 
 " Whether he is better or worse it is difficult 
 to decide, but he is not as represented. Well, how 
 is it to be ? Shall we go ? " 
 
 " You sit here a while first. I must confess, 
 that it strikes me as rather strange. ." 
 
 " What does, if I may presume to inquire? ' 
 
 " How have you — you in particular — been able 
 to become the friend of Irina Pavlovna? ' 
 
 Potiigin surveyed himself with a glance. 
 
 " With my figure and my position in society, 
 it really does seem incredible; but you know— 
 Shakespeare said : ' There are many things, friend 
 Horatio,' and so forth. Life also does not like 
 to jest. Here 's a comparison for you : a tree 
 stands before you, and there is no wind ; how can 
 a leaf on the lowest bough touch a leaf on the 
 highest bough? In no way whatever. But let a 
 storm arise, and everything gets mixed up — and 
 those two leaves cpme into contact." 
 
 " Aha! That means that there has been a 
 storm? " 
 
 " I should yiink sol Can one get along in life 
 
 119
 
 SMOKE 
 
 without storms? But away with philosophy. It 
 is time to go." 
 
 But Litvinoff still hesitated. 
 
 "O Lord!" exclaimed Potugin, with a com- 
 ical grimace: — " how queer the young men have 
 become nowadays! The most charming of 
 women invites them to her, sends a messenger 
 after them, a special messenger, and they stand 
 on ceremony ! Shame on you, my dear sir, shame 
 on you ! Here 's your hat. Take it, and ' vor- 
 tvdrts! ' as our friends the ardent Germans say." 
 
 Litvinoff still stood for a space in thought, but 
 ended by taking his hat, and sallying forth from 
 his chamber with Potugin. 
 
 7*0
 
 XII 
 
 They came to one of the best hotels in Baden, and 
 asked for Madame Ratmiroff. The hall-porter 
 first inquired their names, then immediately re- 
 plied, " die Frau Furstin ist zu House" and him- 
 self conducted them up the stairs, knocked on the 
 door of the room with his own hand, and an- 
 nounced them. " Die Frau Furstin " received 
 them at once; she was alone: her husband had 
 gone off to Karlsruhe to meet an official big-wig, 
 one of "the influential personages," who was pass- 
 ing through. Irina was seated beside a small 
 table and embroidering on canvas when Potiigin 
 and LitvinofF crossed the threshold. She hastily 
 threw aside her sewing, pushed the table away, and 
 rose; an expression of unfeigned satisfaction 
 spread over her face. She wore a morning gown, 
 closed to the throat ; the beautiful outlines of her 
 shoulders and arms were visible throu^li the thin 
 material; her carelessly twisted hair had become 
 loosened, and fell low on her slender neck. Irina 
 cast a swift glance at Potugin, whispered 
 "merci," and offered her hand to Litvinoff , amia- 
 bly reproaching him for his forgetfulness. " And 
 an old friend at that," she added. 
 
 121
 
 SMOKE 
 
 Litvinoff began to make excuses. " C'est bien, 
 cest bien/' she said hastily, and taking his hat 
 from him with gracious force, she made him sit 
 down. Potugin also seated himself, but imme- 
 diately rose, and saying that he had business which 
 could not be deferred, and that he would drop in 
 after dinner, he took his leave. Irina again threw 
 him a swift glance and gave him a friendly nod, 
 and as soon as he had disappeared behind the por- 
 tiere, she turned to Litvinoff with impatient 
 vivacity. 
 
 " Grigory Mikhaflovitch," she began in Rus- 
 sian, in her soft and resonant voice: — "here we 
 are alone at last, and I can say to you that I am 
 very glad of our meeting, because it ... it af- 
 fords me the opportunity . . ." (Irina looked him 
 straight in the face), "to ask your forgiveness." 
 
 Litvinoff involuntarily shuddered. He had 
 not anticipated such a rapid attack. He had not 
 anticipated that she herself would turn the con- 
 versation on bygone days. 
 
 " For what . . forgiveness . . ." he stam- 
 mered out. 
 
 Irina blushed. 
 
 " For what? . . you know for what," she said, 
 and turned aside a little. — " I was to blame to- 
 ward you, Grigory Mikhailitch . . although, of 
 course, such was my fate " (Litvinoff recalled her 
 letter), " and I do not regret it . . in any case, 
 it would be too late; but when I met you so un- 
 
 122
 
 SMOKE 
 
 expectedly, I said to myself that we must become 
 friends without fail— without fail . . . and I 
 should have felt deeply pained if it had not suc- 
 ceeded . . . and it seems to me, that to that end, 
 you and I must have an explanation without 
 delay, and once for all, in order that thereafter 
 there might be no . . . gene, no awkwardness, 
 —once for all,— Grigory Mikhailovitch ; and that 
 you ought to tell me that you forgive me, 
 otherwise I shall suspect in you . . . de la ran- 
 cune. Voila! It may be a great piece of assump- 
 tion on my part, because you, in all probability, 
 have long ago forgotten everything, but, never- 
 theless, do tell me that you have forgiven me." 
 
 Irina uttered this entire speech without taking 
 breath, and Litvinoff could see that tears glis- 
 tened in her eyes . . yes, actually tears. 
 
 "Pray, Irina Pavlovna," he hastily began: — 
 " are n't you ashamed to excuse yourself, to ask 
 forgiveness . . it is an affair of the past, it has 
 utterly lapsed out of existence, and I can but feel 
 surprised that you, in the midst of the splendour 
 which surrounds you, can still have preserved a 
 memory of the gloomy companion of your early 
 youth. . ." 
 
 " Does that surprise you ? " said Irina softly. 
 
 ' It touches me," replied Litvinoff: — " be- 
 cause I could not possibly imagine . . ." 
 
 " But you have not yet told me that you have 
 forgiven me," interrupted Irina. 
 
 123
 
 SMOKE 
 
 " I rejoice sincerely in your happiness, Irina 
 Pavlovna; with all my soul I wish you the very 
 best on earth. ..." 
 
 " And you bear no ill-will? " 
 
 " I remember only those fair moments, for 
 which I was, in times past, indebted to you." 
 
 Irina extended both her hands to him. Litvi- 
 noff pressed them warmly, and did not imme- 
 diately release them. ... A mysterious some- 
 thing which had long ceased to exist began to stir 
 in hy» heart at that soft contact. Again Irina 
 looked him straight in the face; but this time he 
 smiled. . . And for the first time he gazed directly 
 and intently at her. . . Again he recognised the 
 features, once so dear, and those deep eyes with 
 their unusual lashes, and the little mole on the 
 cheek, and the peculiar sweep of the hair above 
 the brow, and her habit of curling her lips in a 
 certain gracious and amusing way, and of im- 
 parting to her eyebrows the suspicion of a quiver, 
 he recognised all, all. . . But how much more 
 beautiful she had grown! What charm and 
 power in the young feminine body! And there 
 was neither red paint, nor white, nor blackening 
 for the eyebrows, nor powder, nor any sort of 
 artificiality on the fresh, pure face. . . Yes, she 
 was a real beauty ! 
 
 A meditative mood took possession of Litvi- 
 noff. . . . He continued to gaze at her, but his 
 thoughts were already far away. . . Irina ob- 
 served this. 
 
 124
 
 SMOKE 
 
 "Well, that's capital," she said aloud:— 
 " Well, now my conscience is at ease, and I can 
 satisfy my curiosity. ..." 
 
 " Curiosity," repeated Litvinoff , as though in 
 perplexity. 
 
 " Yes, yes. . . I insist upon knowing what you 
 have been doing all this time, what your plans 
 are; I want to know everything just the same as 
 when . . . everything, everything . . . and you 
 must tell me the truth, because, I warn you, that 
 I have not lost sight of you ... so far as that 
 has been possible. . ." 
 
 " You have not lost sight of me, you . . . there 
 . . in Petersburg? " 
 
 " In the midst of the splendour which sur- 
 rounds me, as you just expressed it. Yes, ex- 
 actly that ; I have not lost sight of you. You and 
 I will discuss the splendour later on ; but now you 
 must narrate to me a great deal, narrate at 
 length; no one will disturb us. Akh, how splen- 
 did that will be!" added Irina, merrily, seating 
 herself in an arm-chair and putting on a pretty 
 air.—" Come, now, begin." 
 
 " Before I tell my story, I must thank you," 
 began Litvinoff. 
 
 " What for? " 
 
 " For the bouquet of flowers which made its 
 appearance in my chamber." 
 
 " What bouquet? I know nothing about it." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " I tell you, I know nothing about it. . . But 
 
 J 25
 
 SMOKE 
 
 I am waiting . . . waiting for your story.— Akh, 
 what a clever fellow that Potugin is to have 
 brought you! " 
 
 Litvinoff pricked up his ears. 
 
 1 Have you been acquainted long with that Mr. 
 Potugin? " he inquired. 
 
 " Yes, for a long time . . . but tell your story." 
 
 " And do you know him intimately? ' 
 
 " Oh, yes! "— Irina sighed.—" There are pecu- 
 liar reasons for it. . . You have heard of Eliza 
 Byelsky, of course. . . The one who died such a 
 frightful death last year?— Akh, yes, I had for- 
 gotten that our stories are not known to you. 
 Happily, happily, you do not know them. Oh, 
 quelle chance! at last, at last, there is one man, 
 a live man, who knows none of our affairs! 
 And one can talk Russian with him, bad 
 Russian, but Russian all the same, and not 
 that eternal, affected, repulsive Petersburg 
 French!" 
 
 1 And you say that Potugin had some connec- 
 tion with ..." 
 
 " It is very painful to me to recall that," inter- 
 posed Irina. — " Eliza was my best friend at the 
 Institute, and afterward, in Petersburg, we saw 
 each other constantly. She confided to me all her 
 secrets : she was very unhappy, she suffered much. 
 Potugin behaved splendidly in that affair, like a 
 genuine knight! He sacrificed himself. It was 
 only then that I prized him at his true value I But 
 
 126
 
 SMOKE 
 
 we have digressed again. I am waiting for your 
 story, Grigory Mikhailovitch." 
 
 " But my, story cannot in the least interest you, 
 Irina Pavlovna." 
 
 " That is no concern of yours." 
 
 " Remember, Irina Pavlovna, we have not met 
 for ten years. How much has happened,— how 
 much water has flowed past since then ! ' 
 
 "Not water only! not water only!' she re- 
 peated, with a peculiar, bitter expression:—" and 
 that is why I wish to hear you. . ." 
 
 " And, moreover, I really cannot think where 
 to begin." 
 
 " At the beginning. From the very time when 
 you . . . when I went away to Petersburg. You 
 then remained in Moscow. . . Do you know, I 
 have never been back to Moscow since that 
 day! " 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 " At first it was not possible, and afterward, 
 when I married . . ." 
 
 " And have you been married long? ' 
 
 " Three years." 
 
 " You have no children? " 
 
 " No," she replied drily. 
 
 Litvinoff fell silent. 
 
 " And until your marriage you lived altogether 
 with that— what 's his name— Count Reisen- 
 bach?" 
 
 Irina contemplated him fixedly, as though de- 
 
 127
 
 SMOKE 
 
 sirous of comprehending why he asked that ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " No . . ." she said at last. 
 
 " Consequently, your parents. . . By the way, 
 I have not asked you about them. How are 
 they? . . ." 
 
 " They are both well." 
 
 " And they live in Moscow as formerly? ' 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And your brothers and sisters? " 
 
 "All is well with them; I have provided for 
 them all." 
 
 " Ah! "— Litvinoff cast a sidelong glance at 
 Irina. — " As a matter of fact, Irina Pavlovna, it 
 is not I who ought to relate the story, but you, 
 if only . . ." 
 
 He suddenly caught himself up, and stopped 
 speaking. 
 
 Irina raised her hands to her face, and began to 
 twist her wedding ring round on her finger. 
 
 " Do you think so? I do not refuse," she 
 said at last. — " Some time, if you like. . . But 
 it is your turn first . . because, you see, I 
 have kept watch over you, yet I know almost 
 nothing about you; but about me . . . well, 
 about me, you surely must have heard a good 
 deal. Is n't that true? Tell me, you have heard 
 things? " 
 
 " You have occupied too prominent a place in 
 the world, Irina Pavlovna, not to start rumours 
 
 128
 
 SMOKE 
 
 . . . especially in the country districts where I 
 was, and where every rumour is believed." 
 
 "And you believed those rumours? And of 
 what sort were they? " 
 
 " I must confess, Irina Pavlovna, that those 
 rumours very rarely reached my ears. I led an 
 extremely isolated life." 
 
 " How so? Were not you in the Crimea, in 
 the militia? " 
 
 " And is that known to you? " 
 
 " As you see. I tell you that you were 
 watched." 
 
 Again Litvinoff was forced to wonder. 
 
 " Why should I tell you what is already known 
 to you without that? " said Litvinoff, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " Because . . because . . in order to comply 
 with my request. I entreat you, Grigory Mi- 
 khailovitch." 
 
 Litvinoff inclined his head, and began . . . be- 
 gan rather confusedly, in general outlines, to 
 communicate to Irina his far from complicated 
 adventures. He paused frequently, and cast an in- 
 quiring glance at Irina, as much as to say: " Is n't 
 this enough? ' But she insistently demanded that 
 he should continue his narration, and pushing her 
 hair back behind her ears, and resting her elbows 
 on the arms of the easy -chair, seemed to be seizing 
 every word with strained attention. Any one 
 looking at her from a distance, and watching the 
 
 129
 
 SMOKE 
 
 expression of her face, might have thought that 
 she was not listening to what Litvinoff was tell- 
 ing her, but was merely immersed in meditation. 
 . . But she was not meditating upon Litvinoff, 
 although he became embarrassed, and flushed 
 crimson beneath her persistent gaze. Before her 
 had started forth a whole life, another life, not 
 his— her own life. 
 
 Litvinoff did not finish, but fell silent, under 
 the influence of a disagreeable sensation of con- 
 stantly augmenting, inward discomfort. This 
 time Irina said nothing to him, did not ask him 
 to continue, and pressing her palm to her eyes, 
 as though weary, she slowly leaned against the 
 back of her chair and remained motionless. Lit- 
 vinoff waited a while, and reflecting that his visit 
 had already lasted more than two hours, was on 
 the point of extending his hand to take his hat, 
 when suddenly, in the adjoining room, the swift 
 squeak of thin, lacquered boots resounded, and, 
 preceded by that same odour of nobility and the 
 Guards, Valerian Vladimirovitch RatmirofF en- 
 tered the room. 
 
 Litvinoff rose from his chair, and exchanged 
 a bow with the good-looking general. But Irina, 
 without any haste, removed her hand from her 
 face, and bestowing a cold glance upon her hus- 
 band, remarked, in French: — " Ah! So you have 
 returned! But what time is it? " 
 
 " It is almost four o'clock, ma chere amie, and 
 
 130
 
 SMOKE 
 
 you are not yet dressed— the Princess will be wait- 
 ing for us," replied the general, and with an ele- 
 gant inclination of his body in the direction of 
 Litvinoff, with the almost effeminate playfulness 
 in his voice which was peculiar to him, he added: 
 — " Evidently, your amiable guest has made you 
 forget the time." 
 
 The reader will permit us to impart to him, at 
 this point, a few facts concerning General Rat- 
 miroff. His father was the natural . . . what 
 do you think? You are not mistaken, but we did 
 not wish to say it . . . the natural son of a prom- 
 inent grandee of the times of Alexander I., and 
 of a pretty little French actress. The grandee 
 had opened a career for his son, but had left him 
 no property,— and that son (the father of our 
 hero) had not succeeded in becoming rich either: 
 he had died with the rank of colonel, in the voca- 
 tion of chief of police. A year before his death 
 he had married a pretty young widow, who had 
 been obliged to have recourse to his protection. 
 His son and the widow's, Valerian Vladimiro- 
 vitch, having got into the Pages Corps through 
 influence, had attracted the attention of the au- 
 thorities — not so much by proficiency in his stud- 
 ies as by his military bearing, his good manners, 
 and his good morals (although he had been sub- 
 jected to everything, which all former pupils of 
 the government military institutions must under- 
 go),— and had graduated into the Guards. He 
 
 131
 
 SMOKE 
 
 had made a brilliant career, thanks to the modest 
 gaiety of his disposition, his skill in dancing, his 
 masterly riding as orderly officer at parades — 
 mostly on other people's horses— and, in conclu- 
 sion, to a special art of familiarly-respectful be- 
 haviour toward the loftiest personages, a mourn- 
 fully-caressing, almost forlorn, obsequiousness, 
 not devoid of a dash of liberalism, light as down. 
 . . This liberalism did not prevent him, neverthe- 
 less, from soundly flogging fifty peasants in a 
 revolted White Russian village, which he had been 
 sent to pacify. He was the possessor of an at- 
 tractive and extremely youthful exterior ; smooth, 
 ruddy, supple and adhesive: he enjoyed remark- 
 able success with the women: distinguished old 
 ladies fairly went wild over him. Cautious by 
 habit, taciturn through calculation, General Rat- 
 miroff, like the industrious bee, which extracts 
 juice even from wretched flowers, was constantly 
 circulating in the highest society— and, devoid of 
 morality, devoid of every sort of knowledge, but 
 with the reputation of a capable man, with a good 
 scent for people, and comprehension of circum- 
 stances, and chief of all— with an inflexibly firm 
 desire of good things for himself — he at last saw 
 all roads open before him. . . 
 
 Litvinoff smiled in a constrained way and Irina 
 merely shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " Well," she said, in the same cold tone,—" did 
 you see the Count? " 
 
 132
 
 SMOKE 
 
 "Of course I saw him. He asked to be remem- 
 bered to you." 
 
 " Ah! Is he still as stupid as ever, that pro- 
 tector of yours? " 
 
 General Ratmiroff made no reply, and only 
 laughed a little through his nose, as though mak- 
 ing allowance for the precipitancy of woman's 
 judgment. Benevolent adults reply to the absurd 
 sallies of children with precisely that sort of a 
 laugh. 
 
 " Yes," added Irina:— " the stupidity of your 
 Count is too astounding, and it strikes me that I 
 have had plenty of opportunity to observe it." 
 
 " It was you yourself who sent me to him," re- 
 marked the general, through his teeth, and turn- 
 ing to Litvinoff, he asked him, in Russian:— 
 " Was he undergoing a cure of the Baden 
 waters? " 
 
 "lam well, thank God," replied Litvinoff. 
 
 " That 's the best thing of all," went on the 
 general, with an amiable grin: — "yes, and in 
 general, people do not come to Baden for the sake 
 of taking the cure; but the waters here are very 
 efficacious, je veux dire, efficaces; and for any one 
 who, like myself, for instance, is suffering from 
 a nervous cough. . . ." 
 
 Irina rose in haste.—" We shall meet again, 
 Grigory Mikhailovitch, and that soon, I hope,"— 
 she said in French, scornfully interrupting her 
 husband's speech:— "but now I must go and 
 
 133
 
 SMOKE 
 
 dress. That old Princess is insufferable with her 
 eternal parties de plaisir, where there is nothing 
 but tedium." 
 
 " You are very severe on everything to-day," 
 muttered her husband, and slipped into the other 
 room. 
 
 Litvinoff went toward the door. 
 
 " You have told me everything," she said, " but 
 you have concealed the principal thing." 
 
 " What is that? " 
 
 " It is said that you are going to marry? ' 
 
 Litvinoff crimsoned to his very ears. . . In 
 fact, he had deliberately refrained from mention- 
 ing Tanya; but he felt frightfully vexed, in the 
 first place, because Irina knew about his mar- 
 riage, and in the second, because she had caught 
 him, as it were, in a desire to hide the marriage 
 from her. Decidedly, he did not know what to 
 say, but Irina never took her eyes from him. 
 
 ■ Yes, I am about to marry," he said at last, 
 and immediately took his departure. 
 
 Ratmiroff returned to the room. 
 
 "Well, why don't you get dressed?' he in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Go alone; my head aches." 
 
 " But the Princess . . ." 
 
 Irina measured her husband with a glance from 
 head to foot, turned her back on him, and went 
 off to her dressing-room. 
 
 134
 
 XIII 
 
 LitvInoff was extremely dissatisfied with him- 
 self, as though he had lost money at roulette, or 
 had broken his pledged word. . An inward voice 
 told him, that as an affianced bridegroom, as a 
 staid grown man, and no longer a boy, it was not 
 proper for him to listen to the instigations of curi- 
 osity, nor to the seductions of memory. " Much 
 need there was for me to go! " he argued. " On 
 her side it was nothing but coquetry, a whim, ca- 
 price. . She is bored, she has grown tired of every 
 thing, she caught at me ... a dainty person 
 sometimes suddenly longs for black bread . . . 
 well, and that 's all right. But why did I run to 
 her? Could I . . help despising her? ' This 
 last word he did not utter, even mentally, without 
 an effort.—" Of course, there is no danger what- 
 ever, and there can be none " : he resumed his ar- 
 gument. " For I know with whom I have to deal. 
 But, nevertheless, one should not play with fire. 
 . . I won't set foot in her house again." Litvi- 
 noff did not dare, or could not yet, admit to him- 
 self, to what a degree Irina had seemed beautiful 
 to him, and how powerfully she had aroused his 
 emotion. 
 
 135
 
 SMOKE 
 
 Again the day passed in a dull and languid 
 manner. At dinner he chanced to sit beside a " bel 
 homme" of fine bearing, with dyed moustache, 
 who uttered not a word, but merely puffed and 
 opened his eyes very wide . . . but, being sud- 
 denly seized with hiccough, proved to be a fellow- 
 countryman, for he instantly said in Russian: 
 " Did n'tl say that I ought not to eat melons! ' 
 In the evening also nothing cheering happened: 
 Bindasoff, before Litvinoff's very eyes, won a 
 sum four times as large as the one he had bor- 
 rowed from him, but not only did not repay 
 the debt, but even looked him in the face with a 
 menacing glance, as though preparing to casti- 
 gate him even more painfully for having been a 
 witness of his winnings. On the following morn- 
 ing the horde of fellow-countrymen descended 
 upon him again ; it was with difficulty that Litvi- 
 noff got rid of them, and betaking himself to the 
 mountains, hit upon Irina the very first thing- 
 he pretended that he did not recognise her, and 
 passed swiftly by ;— then on Potiigin. He was on 
 the point of entering into conversation with Po- 
 tiigin, but the latter answered him unwillingly. 
 He was leading by the hand a smartly attired lit- 
 tle girl, with fluffy, almost white locks, great dark 
 eyes in a pale, sickly little face, and that peculiar 
 imperious, impatient expression, which is charac- 
 teristic of spoiled children. Litvinoff spent a 
 couple of hours on the mountains, and then re- 
 
 136
 
 SMOKE 
 
 turned home, along Lichtenthaler Avenue. . . . 
 A lady with a blue veil over her face, who was 
 sitting on a bench, hastily rose and approached 
 him. . . He recognised Irina. 
 
 ' Why do you avoid me, Grigory Mikhailo- 
 vitch," she said in an unsteady voice, such as a 
 person uses whose heart is seething. 
 
 Litvinoff was embarrassed. — " Do I avoid you, 
 Irina Pavlovna? " 
 
 " Yes, you . . . you . . . ." 
 
 Irina seemed agitated, almost incensed. 
 
 " You are mistaken, I assure you." 
 
 " No, I am not mistaken. Did not I see this 
 morning— when we met, — did not I see that you 
 knew me? Tell me, didn't you recognise me? 
 Tell me?" 
 
 " I really . . Irina Pavlovna ..." 
 
 " Grigory Mikhailovitch, you are a straight- 
 forward man, you have always spoken the truth: 
 tell me— tell me, surely you recognised me? you 
 turned aside deliberately." 
 
 Litvinoff glanced at Irina. Her eyes shone 
 with a strange brilliancy, but her lips and cheeks 
 gleamed with a death-like pallor through the close 
 meshes of her veil. In the expression of her face, 
 in the very sound of her impetuous whisper, there 
 was something so irresistibly mournful, beseech- 
 ing. . . . Litvinoff could dissimulate no longer. 
 
 " Yes. . . I recognised you," he said, not with- 
 out an effort. 
 
 137
 
 SMOKE 
 
 Irina shuddered softly, and softly dropped her 
 hands. 
 
 " Why did not you come to me? " she whis- 
 pered. 
 
 "Because . . . because!" — Litvinoff stepped 
 aside from the path. Irina silently followed him. 
 — "Why?" he repeated, and his face suddenly 
 lighted up, and a feeling akin to malice oppressed 
 his chest and his throat. — " You . . . you ask 
 that, after all that has taken place between us? 
 Not now, of course, not now, but there . . . there 
 ... in Moscow." 
 
 " But surely, you and I decided, surely you 
 promised . . ." Irina began. 
 
 " I promised nothing. Pardon the harshness 
 of my expressions, but you demand the truth — 
 therefore judge for yourself: to what, if not to 
 coquetry, — which is, I confess, incomprehensible 
 to me, — to what, if not to a desire to try how much 
 power you still possess over me, can I attribute 
 your . . I do not know what to call it . . . your 
 persistence ? Our paths have become so widely 
 separated! I have forgotten everything, I have 
 long ago lived down the pain of it all, I have be- 
 come an entirely different man; you are married, 
 happy, in appearance at least; you enjoy an en- 
 viable position in society; why then, to what end, 
 a renewal of acquaintance? What am I to you, 
 what are you to me ? We cannot understand each 
 other now, we have absolutely nothing in common 
 
 138
 
 SMOKE 
 
 now, either in the past or in the present! Espe- 
 cially . . . especially in the past!" 
 
 Litvinoff pronounced the whole of this speech 
 hurriedly, abruptly, without turning his head. 
 Irina did not stir, and only from time to time, 
 almost imperceptibly, extended her hands toward 
 him, She seemed to be entreating him to stop and 
 listen to her, and at his last words slightly bit her 
 under lip, as though crushing down a sentiment 
 of keen, swift injury. 
 
 " Grigory Mikhailovitch," she began at last, in 
 a more composed voice, and retreated still further 
 from the path, along which, now and then, people 
 passed. . . 
 
 Litvinoff, in turn, followed her. 
 
 ' Grigory Mikhailovitch, believe me : if I could 
 have imagined that I still retained an atom of 
 power over you, I would have been the first to 
 avoid you. If I did not do so, if I made up my 
 mind, in spite of ... of my past fault, to renew 
 acquaintance with you, it was because . . . be- 
 cause . . . 
 
 I Because? ' inquired Litvinoff, almost 
 roughly. 
 
 ' Because," replied Irina, with sudden force: 
 — " because that society, that enviable position of 
 which you speak, have become unbearable, insuf- 
 ferable to me; because, on meeting you, a live 
 man, after all those dead dolls — you were able to 
 view specimens of them three days ago at the 
 
 130.
 
 SMOKE 
 
 Vieux Chateau,— I rejoiced as at a well in the 
 desert, but you call me a coquette, and suspect 
 me, and repulse me under the pretext that I really 
 was to blame toward you, and still more toward 
 myself! " 
 
 " You chose your own destiny, Irina Pav- 
 lovna," said Litvinoff surlily, and still without 
 turning his head. 
 
 " I did, I did . . . and I do not complain; I 
 have no right to complain," hastily said Irina, to 
 whom Litvinoff 's very sternness afforded secret 
 delight; — " I know that you must condemn me, 
 and I do not defend myself; I only wish to ex- 
 plain to you my sentiment, I wish to convince you 
 that I am not disposed to coquet now. . I coquet 
 with you! Why, there is no sense in that! . . . 
 When I saw you, all that was good, all that was 
 young in me, awoke . . . the time when I had 
 not yet chosen my destiny, everything which lies 
 there in that bright zone, beyond those ten 
 years. . . ." 
 
 " But permit me, at last, Irina Pavlovna! So 
 far as I am aware, the bright zone in your life 
 began precisely with the moment of our 
 parting. . ." 
 
 Irina raised her handkerchief to her lips. 
 
 " What you say is very cruel, Grigory Mi- 
 khailovitch ; but I cannot be angry with you. Oh, 
 no, that was not a brilliant time; it was not for 
 my happiness that I quitted Moscow. Not one in- 
 
 140,
 
 SMOKE 
 
 stant, not one minute of happiness have I known 
 . . . believe me, whatever you may have been told. 
 If I had been happy, could I talk with you as I 
 am doing now? . . I repeat it, you do not know 
 what those people are like. . Why, they under- 
 stand nothing, sympathise with nothing, they 
 have not even any minds, ni esprit, ni intelligence, 
 but only cunning and tact ; why, in reality, music, 
 poetry, and art are alike unknown *to them. . . 
 You will say that I myself was fairly indifferent 
 to all this; but not to that degree, Grigory Mi- 
 khaflovitch . . . not to that degree! It is not a 
 fashionable woman whom you now see before 
 you. You have only to look at me, not a lioness 
 ... it seems that is what we are called . . . but 
 a poor, poor creature, who is really deserving of 
 compassion. Be not astonished at my words. . . 
 I am not disposed to be proud now! I reach out 
 my hand to you as a beggar, understand it, at 
 last, as a beggar. . . I entreat alms," she added 
 suddenly, in an involuntary, irrepressible im- 
 pulse: — " I ask for alms, and you . . . ." 
 
 Her voice failed her. Litvinoff raised his head 
 and looked at Irina; she was breathing rapidly, 
 her lips were quivering. His heart suddenly be- 
 gan to beat hard, and his feeling of wrath van- 
 ished. 
 
 " You say that our paths have parted," re- 
 sumed Irina: — "I know you are marrying for 
 love; you have the plan for your whole life al- 
 
 141
 
 SMOKE 
 
 ready drawn up ; yes, it is so ; but we have not be- 
 come strangers to each other, Grigory Mikhailo- 
 vitch, we can still understand each other. Or do 
 you suppose that I have become utterly stupid — 
 that I have become utterly mired in this swamp? 
 Akh, no, do not think that, please! Let me ease 
 my soul, I beg of you, if only in the name of those 
 by-gone days, if you are not bent on forgetting 
 them. Let not our meeting have been in vain; 
 that would be too bitter, and it will not last long, 
 in any case. . .1 do not know how to express 
 myself as I should ; but do understand me, for I 
 ask little, very little . . . only a trifle of happi- 
 ness, only that you will not repulse me, that you 
 will give me a chance to ease my soul. . ." 
 
 Irina paused, tears resounded in her voice. She 
 sighed and gazed at Litvinoff with a timid, rather 
 sidelong, searching glance, and offered him her 
 hand. . . 
 
 Litvinoff slowly took that hand, and faintly 
 pressed it. 
 
 " Let us be friends," whispered Irina. 
 
 " Friends," repeated Litvinoff thoughtfully. 
 
 " Yes, friends . . . but if that is too great a 
 demand, then let us be, at least, good acquain- 
 tances. . . Let us not stand on ceremony— just 
 as though nothing had ever happened. . . ." 
 
 ' As though nothing had ever happened . ." 
 repeated LitvinofF again. — " You just told me, 
 Irina Pavlovna, that I am not willing to forget 
 
 142
 
 SMOKE 
 
 by-gone days. . Well, and what if I cannot forget 
 them?" 
 
 A blissful smile flashed across Irina's face, and 
 instantly vanished, making way for an anxious, 
 almost terrified expression. 
 
 'Do as I do, Grigory Mikhailovitch: remem- 
 ber only what is pleasant ; but, above all, give me 
 your word now, your word of honour. . ." 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 " Not to avoid me . . . not to grieve me need- 
 lessly. . . Do you promise? tell me! " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And you will banish all evil thoughts from 
 your mind? " 
 
 " Yes . . . but I still renounce the effort to 
 understand you." 
 
 " That is not necessary . . wait, however, and 
 you will understand me. But you promise? ' 
 
 " I have already said: Yes." 
 
 " Thanks. Observe that I have become accus- 
 tomed to believe you. I shall expect you to-day 
 or to-morrow; I shall not leave the house. But 
 now I must leave you. The Duchess is walking 
 in the avenue. . . She has seen me, and I cannot 
 avoid going to her. . . Until we meet again. . . 
 Give me your hand, vite, vite. . Farewell for the 
 present." 
 
 And with a vigorous clasp of Litvfnoff's hand, 
 Irina directed her steps toward a middle-aged 
 person who was walking heavily along the sanded 
 
 143
 
 SMOKE 
 
 path, accompanied by two other ladies and a very 
 good-looking lackey. 
 
 " Eh, bonjour, chere madame" said this per- 
 son, while Irina respectfully courtesied before 
 her.— " Comment allez-vous aujourd'hui? Venez 
 un peu avec moi"— c Votre Altesse a trop de 
 bonte" Irina's insinuating voice could be heard 
 in reply. 
 
 144
 
 XIV 
 
 Litvinoff allowed the Duchess and all her suite 
 to depart, and then emerged upon the avenue 
 himself. He could not give himself a clear ac- 
 count of his sensations ; he felt both ashamed and 
 alarmed, and his self-love was flattered. . . The 
 unexpected explanation with Irina had taken him 
 unawares ; her burning, hurried words had swept 
 over him like a downpour of rain. " Queer peo- 
 ple those society women," he thought; — " there 's 
 no coherence about them . . . and how the circle 
 in which they live perverts them, and the anoma- 
 lousness of it they feel themselves!' . . . As a 
 matter of fact, he did not think that at all, but 
 was merely repeating mechanically those hack- 
 neyed phrases, as though desirous thereby of rid- 
 ding himself of other and more painful thoughts. 
 He comprehended that it ill-befitted him to medi- 
 tate seriously at present, that, in all probability, 
 he would be obliged to censure himself: and he 
 strolled slowly along, almost compelling himself 
 to turn his attention to everything which he en- 
 countered. . . All at once he found himself in 
 front of a bench, perceived beside it some one's 
 legs, ran his eyes up them. . . The legs belonged 
 
 145
 
 SMOKE 
 
 to a man who was sitting on the bench and read- 
 ing a newspaper; the man proved to be Potugin. 
 Litvinoff gave vent to a slight exclamation. 
 Potugin laid his paper on his knees and stared 
 attentively, unsmilingly, at Litvinoff, and Lit- 
 vinoff also stared attentively and unsmilingly at 
 Potugin. 
 
 'May I sit down beside you?' he asked at 
 last. 
 
 ' Pray, do. Only I give you warning ; if you 
 wish to enter into conversation with me you must 
 not be offended — I 'm in the most misanthropic 
 frame of mind just now, and all objects present 
 themselves to me in an exaggeratedly-evil light." 
 
 ' That 's nothing, Sozont Ivanitch," said Lit- 
 vinoff, dropping down on the bench: — " it is even 
 extremely opportune. . . But why has this mood 
 come upon you? " 
 
 ' As a matter of fact, I ought not to be in a 
 rage," began Potugin. — " Here I have just been 
 reading about the project for judicial reforms in 
 Russia, and with genuine satisfaction I perceive 
 that we have at last got some common sense, and 
 no longer intend under the pretext of independ- 
 ence there, of nationality or of originality, to 
 tack a home-made tail on to pure, clear European 
 logic; but, on the contrary, . . they are going to 
 take the foreign thing which is good complete. 
 That one concession in the affair of the peasants 
 was sufficient. . . Just try to get rid of com- 
 
 146
 
 SMOKE 
 
 munal tenure ! . . Quite true, quite true, I ought 
 not to be in a rage ; but, to my misfortune, I have 
 happened upon a self-made Russian — I have been 
 talking with him, and those rough nuggets — born 
 geniuses, and self-taught folks will worry me 
 into my grave! " 
 
 ' What sort of a born genius? " inquired Lit- 
 vinoff. 
 
 * Why, that sort of a gentleman is running 
 about, who fancies himself a gifted musician. — 
 1 1,' says he, ' of course am nothing; I 'm a cipher 
 because I never had any education, but I possess 
 incomparably more melodies and more ideas than 
 Meyerbeer.' In the first place, I will remark: 
 why were not you educated? and, in the second, 
 not only Meyerbeer, but the meanest German 
 flute-player, who modestly whistles his part in 
 the meanest German orchestra, has twenty times 
 more ideas than all our born geniuses; only the 
 flute-player keeps his ideas to himself, and does 
 not thrust himself forward with them into the 
 company of Mozarts and Haydns; but our Rus- 
 sian genius gets out a little waltz or a little ro- 
 mance, slap dash, and behold — there he is, hands 
 thrust into his pockets, and a scornful curl on his 
 mouth: ' I 'm a genius,' says he. And it 's just 
 the same with painting and everywhere. How I 
 detest those born geniuses! Who does not know 
 that people pride themselves upon them only in 
 places where there is no real science which has 
 
 147
 
 SMOKE 
 
 been assimilated into blood and flesh, nor real art. 
 Is n't it time to file away in the archives this 
 boastfulness, this vulgar rubbish, along with the 
 familiar phrases, to the effect that among us, in 
 Russia, no one dies of hunger, and that travelling 
 by road is of the swiftest sort, and that we can 
 kill everybody with a slap of our caps? They be- 
 siege me with the giftedness of the Russian na- 
 ture, with the instinct of genius, with Kulibins. 1 
 But what sort of giftedness is it, gentlemen, for 
 heaven's sake? It is the babbling of a man half 
 asleep, or a half -savage sagacity. Instinct! A 
 pretty thing to brag about, truly! Take an ant 
 in the forest, carry him off a verst away from his 
 hill: he will find the way back home; a man can 
 do nothing of the sort ; what of that ? is he lower 
 than the ant? Instinct, be it ever so talented, is 
 unworthy of man: reason — simple, sound, com- 
 monplace reason — that 's our real fortune, our 
 pride; reason never plays any such pranks; and 
 that 's why everything is founded on it. But as 
 for Kulibin, who, without knowing anything 
 about mechanics, has constructed some extremely 
 absurd clocks or other, — I would order those 
 same clocks to be placed on a pillar of scorn; 
 ■ come, see, good people,' I would say, • what you 
 must not do.' Kulibin is not to blame in the mat- 
 ter, but his work is worthless. To praise Teliish- 
 
 l A character in Ostr6vsky's famous drama, " The Thunderstorm ; " 
 a self-taught genius of a clockmaker. — Translator. 
 
 148
 
 SMOKE 
 
 kin, because he climbed the spire of the Ad- 
 miralty, for his daring and skill — that is permis- 
 sible; why should not he be praised? But it is 
 not proper to shout out something to the effect, 
 ' Has n't he made a laughing-stock of the for- 
 eign architects? and what 's the good of them? 
 they only take your money.' . . He did not 
 make a laughing-stock of them at all: afterward 
 they were obliged to erect a scaffolding around 
 the spire, and repair it in the ordinary way. For 
 God's sake, do not encourage such ideas among 
 us in Russia, as that anything can be attained 
 without teaching! No; though you be as wise 
 as Solomon, yet learn, learn from the alphabet 
 up! Otherwise, sit down, and hang your tail 
 between your legs! Faugh! I 've even got 
 heated! " 
 
 Potugin took off his hat, and fanned himself 
 with his handkerchief. 
 
 "Russian art," he began again: — "Russian 
 art! . . I know all about Russian limitations, 
 and I know Russian impotency also, but as for 
 Russian art, excuse me, but I have never met with 
 it. For twenty years in succession we bowed 
 down before that bloated cipher, Briulloff, and 
 imagined, if you please, that a school had been 
 founded among us, and that it was even destined 
 to be better than all the others. . . Russian art, 
 ha-ha-ha! ho-ho! " 
 
 " But permit me, Sozont Ivanitch," remarked 
 
 149
 
 SMOKE 
 
 Litvinoff.— " That means that you do not recog- 
 nise Glinka either? " 
 
 Potiigin scratched behind his ear. 
 
 " Exceptions, you know, only prove the rule, 
 but even in this case we could not get along with- 
 out bragging! If you were to say, for example, 
 that Glinka really was a remarkable musician, 
 who was prevented by circumstances, external 
 and internal, from becoming the founder of the 
 Russian opera, no one would dispute you; but 
 no ; how is that possible ! It immediately becomes 
 necessary to promote him to be commander-in- 
 chief, chief marshal of the Court in the depart- 
 ment of music, and rob other nations by the way : 
 ' they have nothing of the sort, if you please,' and 
 then you have pointed out to you some ' mighty ' 
 home-bred genius, whose compositions are noth- 
 ing more than a sorry imitation of second-class 
 foreign workers — second-class, precisely that: 
 they are more easily imitated. Nothing of the 
 sort. Oh, wretched fools and savages, for whom 
 there exists no heritage of art, and artists — some- 
 thing in the style of Rappeau : as much as to say, 
 a foreigner can lift six puds with one hand, but 
 our man can lift twelve! Nothing of the sort! 
 Let me inform you that I cannot get the follow- 
 ing memory out of my head. This spring I vis- 
 ited the Crystal Palace, in the suburbs of London; 
 in that palace, as you are aware, there is some- 
 thing in the nature of an exhibition of everything 
 
 150./
 
 SMOKE 
 
 to which man's inventiveness has attained, — the 
 encyclopaedia of humanity, it must be called. 
 Well, sir, I walked and walked past all those 
 machines and implements, and statues of great 
 men ; and all the while I was thinking : if a decree 
 were issued to the effect that, together with the 
 disappearance from the face of the earth of any 
 nation, everything which that nation had in- 
 vented should immediately vanish from the Crys- 
 tal Palace, — our dear mother, Orthodox Russia, 
 might sink down to the nethermost hell, and not 
 a single tack, not a single pin, would be disturbed, 
 the dear creature : everything would remain quite 
 calmly in its place, because even the samovar, 
 and linden-bast slippers, and the shaft-arch, and 
 the knout — those renowned products of ours — 
 were not invented by us. It would not be pos- 
 sible to try a similar experiment with the Sand- 
 wich Islands even; their inhabitants have in- 
 vented some sort of boats and spears: visitors 
 would notice their absence. That is calumny! 
 that is too harsh— you may say. . . But I say: 
 in the first place, I do not know how to censure 
 with a grumble; in the second, it is evident that 
 no one can make up his mind to look not merely 
 the devil, but himself, straight in the eye, and it 
 is not the children only, with us, who like to be 
 lulled to sleep. Our ancient inventions were 
 brought to us from the East, our new ones we 
 have dragged over, after a fashion, from the 
 
 151
 
 SMOKE 
 
 West, and yet we continue to chatter about inde- 
 pendent Russian art! Some daring persons have 
 even discovered a Russian science : ' with us, if 
 you please, twice two make four, but somehow it 
 comes out in a more dashing way.' " 
 
 ' But stay, Sozont Ivanitch," exclaimed Lit- 
 vinoff. — " Stay! Surely, we send something to 
 the International Expositions, and Europe pro- 
 cures some supplies from us." 
 
 Yes, raw material, raw products. And ob- 
 serve, my dear sir: our raw material is chiefly 
 good, only because it depends upon other, and 
 very evil circumstances: our bristles, for exam- 
 ple, are large and stiff merely because the pigs 
 are poor; our hides are firm and thick, because 
 the cows are thin; our tallow is fat, because it is 
 boiled half and half with the beef. . . However, 
 why am I dilating to you about this ? Surely you, 
 who occupy yourself with technology, must know 
 all these things better than I do. People say 
 to me : ' inventiveness ! Russian inventiveness ! ' 
 There are our landed proprietors complaining 
 bitterly, and suffering loss, because no satisfac- 
 tory grain-dryer exists, which would relieve them 
 of the necessity of placing their sheaves of grain 
 in the kiln, as in the days of Rurik: those kilns 
 are frightfully detrimental, no better than lin- 
 den-bast slippers, or bast mats, and they are con- 
 stantly burning down. The landed proprietors 
 complain, and still the grain-dryer does not make 
 
 152
 
 SMOKE 
 
 its appearance. And why not? Because the for- 
 eigner does not need it; he grinds his grain raw, 
 consequently does not bother about inventing 
 one, and we . . . are not capable of doing it! 
 Not capable of doing it— and that 's the end of 
 the matter ! You might try it ! I vow, that from 
 this day forth, as soon as a born genius or a 
 self-taught man drops down on me, I shall say 
 to him — ' halt, my respected sir! and where 's that 
 grain -dryer? Hand it over!' But how can they? 
 We are capable of picking up an old patched 
 shoe, which long ago fell from the foot of Saint- 
 Simon or Fourier, and placing it respectfully on 
 our head, treating it like a holy thing ; or of scrib- 
 bling an article about the historical and contem- 
 porary significance of the proletariat in the prin- 
 cipal cities of France — that also we can do; but I 
 once tried to suggest to a writer and political 
 economist, after the fashion of your Mr. Voroshi- 
 loff, to name to me twenty towns in that same 
 France, and do you know the result? The result 
 was, that the political economist, in despair, 
 finally mentioned, among the towns of France, 
 Mont Fermeil, probably recalling Paul de 
 Kock's romance. And the following experience 
 occurred to me. One day I was making my way, 
 with gun and dog, through the forest. . ." 
 
 " And are you a sportsman? " inquired Litvi- 
 noff. 
 
 " I shoot a little. I was making my way tp 
 
 153
 
 SMOKE 
 
 a marsh in search of quail; other sportsmen had 
 told me about that marsh. I looked, and in the 
 midst of a field, in front of a cottage, sat a mer- 
 chant's clerk, fresh and lusty as a husked nut, — 
 sat there grinning, I did not know at what. And 
 I asked him: ' Where is the marsh,' said I, ' and 
 are there quail in it? '— ' Certainly, certainly,' he 
 drawled slowly, and with an expression as though 
 I had presented him with a ruble ; ' with great 
 pleasure, sir : it 's a first-class marsh ; but as for all 
 sorts of wild birds — my God! — there 's a capital 
 abundance of them also.' I went off, but I not 
 only did not find a single wild bird,— the marsh 
 itself had dried up long before. Now tell me, 
 if you please, why does the Russian man lie? 
 Why does the political economist lie, and about 
 wild-fowl, to boot? " 
 
 Litvinoff made no reply, and only sighed sym- 
 pathetically. 
 
 " And start a conversation with that political 
 economist," resumed Potugin:— " about the most 
 difficult problems of social science, only, in gen- 
 eral terms, without facts . . phrrrr ! and the bird 
 will soar off like an eagle! But I once succeeded 
 in catching a bird of that sort : I employed a good 
 visible bait, as you will see. We were talking 
 with one of our present-day ' new youngsters,' 
 about divers questions, as they express it. Well, 
 sir, he flew into a great rage, as is usual; among 
 other things, he rejected marriage, with truly 
 
 154 .
 
 SMOKE 
 
 childish obstinacy. I suggested to him argu- 
 ments of one sort and another ... it was like 
 knocking my head against a wall! I saw that it 
 was impossible to approach him from that quar- 
 ter. And suddenly a happy thought flashed 
 across me! ' Permit me to inform you,' I began, 
 — one must always address the ' minnows ' with 
 respect—' that I am amazed at you, my dear sir; 
 you are interested in the natural sciences — and 
 hitherto you have not noted the fact that all car- 
 nivorous and rapacious animals, birds and beasts, 
 all those who are obliged to sally forth in search 
 of prey, and toil over procuring live food for 
 themselves and their offspring . . . and, of course, 
 you reckon man in the list of such animals?' — 'Of 
 course I do,' replied the ' minnow ' : * man, after 
 all, is nothing but a carnivorous animal.' — ' And 
 a rapacious one,' I added. — 'And a rapacious 
 one,' he assented. — * That is very well said,' I as- 
 sented. ' So, then, I am amazed that you have 
 not observed that all such animals stick to mo- 
 nogamy?' The new youngster shuddered. — 
 ' How so? '— ' Why, just so. Recall the lion, the 
 wolf, the fox, the vulture, the hawk; and be so 
 good as to consider how could they act otherwise? 
 The two of you can hardly feed the children, as it 
 is.' — My 'minnow' fell to thinking. — 'Well,' says 
 he, ' in that case, the beast is no model for man.' 
 — ' Then I called him an idealist, and how angry 
 he became! He almost wept. I was obliged to 
 
 155
 
 SMOKE 
 
 soothe him, and to promise him that I would not 
 betray him to his comrades. Is it a small thing 
 to deserve the name of idealist ? And therein lies 
 the joke, that the present young generation has 
 made a mistake in its calculations. It has imag- 
 ined that the day of old-fashioned, dark, under- 
 ground toil is past, that it was all well enough for 
 their aged fathers to dig like tortoises ; but for us 
 such a role is humiliating, if you please, we will 
 act in the open air, we will act. . . The dear in- 
 nocents ! and even your children will not act ; and 
 would n't you like to go back to the cave, to the 
 cave again, in the footprints of the old men? ' 
 
 A brief silence ensued. 
 
 " I, my dear sir, am of this opinion," Potiigin 
 began again: — " that we are indebted to civilisa- 
 tion not alone for knowledge, art, and law, but for 
 the fact that even the very sentiment of beauty 
 and poetry is developed and enters into force un- 
 der the influence of that same civilisation; and 
 that so-called national, ingenuous, unconscious, 
 creative genius is stuff and nonsense. Even in 
 Homer traces are already discernible of a refined 
 and wealthy civilisation; even love is ennobled 
 thereby. The Slavyanophils would gladly hang 
 me for such a heresy if they were not such ten- 
 der-hearted creatures; but, nevertheless, I insist 
 upon my view — and however much they may re- 
 gale me with Madame Kokhanovsky and ' The 
 Hive at Rest,' I will not inhale that triple extrait 
 
 15.6
 
 SMOKE 
 
 de mougik russe; for I do not belong to the high- 
 est society, which finds it indispensably necessary, 
 from time to time, to assure itself that it has not 
 become completely Frenchified, and for whose 
 special use that literature en cuir de Russie is 
 composed. Try the experiment of reading to the 
 common people— the genuine populace— the 
 most incisive, the most ' national ' passages from 
 the ' Hive ' ; they will think you are communi- 
 cating some new plot about usury or hard drink- 
 ing. I repeat it, without civilisation there is no 
 poetry. AVould you like to obtain an illustration 
 of the unpoetic ideal of the uncivilised Russian 
 man? Open our epic songs, our legends. I am 
 not talking now about the fact that love always 
 is represented in them as the result of witchcraft, 
 of sorcery — is produced by drinking ' a love-phil- 
 tre,' and is even called soldering, chilblain; nei- 
 ther am I referring to the fact that our so-called 
 epic literature alone, among all the others, Euro- 
 pean and Asiatic,— alone, observe,— has not pre- 
 sented—unless you count Vanka-Tanka as such 
 —a single typical pair of loving human beings; 
 that the paladin of Holy Russia always begins his 
 acquaintance with his fated affinity by beating her 
 ' mercilessly ' on her white body— whence ' also 
 the feminine sex lives swollen up ' ; of all that I 
 will not speak; but permit me to direct your at- 
 tention to that elegant specimen of youth, the 
 jcune premier, as he was depicted by the imagi- 
 
 157
 
 SMOKE 
 
 nation of the primitive, uncivilised Slavonian. 
 Here, be pleased to note, comes the leading lover ; 
 he has made himself a nice little cloak of marten- 
 fur, stitched along all the seams: a belt of the 
 seven silks is girt about him just under the arm- 
 pits, and the collar of the cloak is made higher 
 than his head; from the front his ruddy face, 
 from the back his white neck is not visible, his cap 
 rests on one ear, and on his feet are morocco 
 boots, with awl-like toes, his heels are pointed,— 
 around the little tips an egg might roll; under 
 the high heels a sparrow might fly and flutter. — 
 And the dashing young fellow walks with a short, 
 mincing step, that famous ' flaunting ' gait, 
 wherewith our Alcibiades, Tchurilo Plenkovitch, 
 produced such a wonderful, almost medicinal ef- 
 fect on the old women and the young maidens, 
 that same gait wherewith, down to the present 
 day, our waiters, limbered in every joint, that 
 cream, that flower of Russian foppishness, that 
 nee plus ultra of Russian taste, trip about in so in- 
 imitable a manner. I am not saying this in jest: 
 dawdling dash is our artistic ideal. Well, is the 
 picture true? Does it contain many materials for 
 painting, for sculpture? And the beauty who 
 fascinates the young men, and whose ' blood in 
 
 her face is as though in that of a hare? ' 
 
 But, apparently, you are not listening to me? ' 
 
 Litvinoff started. He really had not heard 
 what Potiigin had been saying to him: he had 
 
 158
 
 SMOKE 
 
 been thinking, importunately thinking about 
 Irina, about his last meeting with her. . . 
 
 ' Excuse me, Sozont Ivanitch," he began: — 
 - but I want to put my former question to you 
 once more, about . . . about Madame Ratmi- 
 roff." 
 
 Potugin folded his newspaper, and thrust it 
 into his pocket. 
 
 ' Again you wish to know how I became ac- 
 quainted with her? " 
 
 " No, not that; I should like to hear your opin- 
 ion . . . about the part which she has played in 
 Petersburg. As a matter of fact, what was that 
 part?" 
 
 ' But I really do not know what to say to you, 
 Grigory Mikhailovitch. I became pretty inti- 
 mately acquainted with Madame Ratmiroff 
 
 but quite accidentally, and not for long. I have 
 never taken a peep into her society, and what 
 took place there has remained unknown to me. 
 People have chattered somewhat in my presence, 
 but you know scandal reigns among us not in 
 democratic circles only. Moreover, I never had 
 the curiosity to inquire. But I perceive," he 
 added, after a brief pause: — "that she interests 
 
 you." 
 
 " Yes; we have had a* couple of pretty frank 
 conversations. Still, I ask myself: Is she sin- 
 cere? " 
 
 Potugin dropped his eyes. — " When she gets 
 
 159
 
 SMOKE 
 
 carried away — she is sincere, like all passionate 
 
 women. Pride also sometimes keeps her from 
 
 lying." 
 
 " But is she proud? I should suppose, rather 
 
 — that she is capricious." 
 
 " As proud as the devil; but that 's nothing." 
 " It seems to me that she sometimes exagger- 
 
 tlLC'S. • • 
 
 " That 's nothing, either; she is sincere, all the 
 same. Well, and speaking in general, from 
 whom would you care to have the truth? The 
 very best of those young noble ladies are corrupt 
 to the very marrow of their bones." 
 
 " But, Sozont Ivanitch, call to mind, did not 
 you call yourself her friend? Was it not you 
 who, almost by force, took me to her? ' 
 
 "What of that? She asked me to get you: 
 why not? But I really am her friend. She is 
 not devoid of good qualities: she is very kind — 
 that is to say, generous, — that is to say, she gives 
 to others that which she does not need herself. 
 However, you certainly must know her quite as 
 well as I do." 
 
 " I used to know Irina Pavlovna ten years 
 ago; but since then . . ." 
 
 " Ekh, Grigory Mikhailoviteh, what are you 
 saying? Do people's characters change? As they 
 are in the cradle, so they are in the grave. Or, 
 perhaps . . . ."—Here Potiigin bent still lower; 
 
 16Q
 
 SMOKE 
 
 — " perhaps you are afraid of falling into her 
 hands? That really . . . well, you cannot avoid 
 falling into some one's hands." 
 
 LitvinofF laughed in a constrained way. — 
 "You think so?" 
 
 ; You cannot avoid it. Man is weak, woman 
 is strong, chance is all-powerful; it is difficult to 
 reconcile one's self to a colourless existence, it is 
 impossible wholly to forget one's self . . . but 
 yonder is beauty and sympathy — yonder is 
 warmth and light, — why resist? And you run to 
 it like a child to its nurse. Well, and afterward, 
 of course, there is cold, and darkness, and empti- 
 ness . . as is proper. And the end of it is, that 
 you will grow unused to everything, you will 
 cease to understand anything. At first you will 
 not understand how it is possible to love; and 
 afterward you will not understand how it is pos- 
 sible to live." 
 
 LitvinofF looked at Potugin, and it seemed to 
 him that never before had he met a more solitary, 
 a more deserted .... a more unhappy man. 
 On this occasion he was not timid, he did not 
 stand on ceremony ; all despondent and pale, with 
 his head on his breast, and his hands on his knees, 
 he sat motionless, and merely smiled a melan- 
 choly smile. LitvinofF felt sorry for this poor, 
 queer, splenetic fellow. 
 
 " Irina Pavlovna mentioned to me, among 
 
 161
 
 SMOKE 
 
 other things," he began in a low tone, — " one of 
 her intimate friends, whom she called, I think, 
 Madame Byelsky or Dolsky. . ." 
 
 Potiigin cast his sorrowful eyes on Litvi- 
 noff. 
 
 " Ah! " he exclaimed in a dull tone. . . " She 
 mentioned her . . . well, and what of it? How- 
 ever," he added, with an unnatural sort of yawn: 
 ' I must go home— to dinner. I ask your 
 pardon." 
 
 He sprang up from the bench and moved rap- 
 idly away before Litvinoff could manage to utter 
 a word. . . His pity gave way to vexation — vexa- 
 tion at himself, of course. Every sort of indiscre- 
 tion was unnatural to him; he had wished to ex- 
 press his sympathy for Potugin and the result had 
 been something in the nature of an awkward hint. 
 With secret dissatisfaction at heart, he returned 
 to his hotel. 
 
 Corrupt to the very marrow of their bones," 
 he thought some time later ..." but proud as 
 the devil! She, that woman, who is almost on 
 her knees before me, proud? proud, not ca- 
 pricious ? 
 
 Litvinoff tried to expel Irina's image from his 
 head, but did not succeed. For that very reason, 
 also, he did not recall his affianced bride; he felt 
 to-day that image would not surrender its place. 
 He resolved to await the solution of all this 
 " strange affair," without troubling himself fur- 
 
 162
 
 SMOKE 
 
 ther ; the solution could not be long delayed, and 
 Litvinoff had not the slightest doubt that it 
 would be of the most abundant and natural sort. 
 So he thought, but, in the meantime, it was not 
 Irina's image alone which would not leave him — 
 all her words recurred in turn to his memory. 
 
 A waiter brought him a note: it was from 
 Irina. 
 
 1 ' If you have nothing to do this evening, come : I shall 
 not be alone; I have guests — and you will have a closer 
 view of us, of our society. I am very anxious that you 
 should see them : I have a premonition that they will dis- 
 play themselves in all their glory. And you ought to 
 know what sort of air I breathe. Come ; I shall be glad 
 to see you, and you are not bored [Irfna meant to say : 
 you will not be bored]. Prove to me that our explana- 
 tion of to-day has rendered impossible any misunderstand- 
 ing between us. Faithfully yours, I. ' ' 
 
 Litvinoff put on his dress suit and a white tie, 
 and went to Irina's. " All this is of no impor- 
 tance," he kept repeating to himself, in thought, 
 on the way, — " but take a look at them . . . why 
 should not I take a look? It is curious." A few 
 days previously these same people had aroused 
 in him a different feeling: they had aroused his 
 indignation. 
 
 lie walked with hurried steps, with his hat 
 pulled far down over his eyes, with a constrained 
 smile on his lips, and Bambaeff, who was sitting 
 
 168
 
 SMOKE 
 
 in front of Weber's Cafe, and pointed him out 
 from a distance to Voroshiloff and Pishtchalkin, 
 exclaimed enthusiastically: "Do you see that 
 man? He 's stone! He 's a rock!! He 's 
 
 granite! ! ! " 
 
 164
 
 XV 
 
 Litvinoff found quite a number of guests at 
 Irina's. In a corner, at the card-table, sat three 
 of the generals of the picnic: the fat, the irrita- 
 ble, and the condescending ones. They were 
 playing whist with a dummy, and there are no 
 words in human language wherewith to express 
 the pompousness with which they dealt, took 
 
 tricks, played clubs, played diamonds 
 
 just like statesmen! Leaving to plebeians, aux 
 bourgeois, the comments and adages customary 
 during a game, the generals uttered only the most 
 indispensable words; but the fat general per- 
 mitted himself between two deals to say, with 
 energetic distinctness : ce Ce satane as de pique! '' 
 Among the visitors Litvinoff recognised the 
 ladies who had taken part in the picnic ; but there 
 were others also whom he had not hitherto seen. 
 One was so old that it seemed as though she must 
 collapse im/nediately : she was wriggling her 
 dreadful bare, dark-grey shoulders about, — and 
 covering her mouth with her fan; she was cast- 
 ing sidelong glances at Ratmiroff, with her al- 
 ready quite dead eyes; he was paying court to 
 her; she was greatly respected in high society 
 
 165
 
 SMOKE 
 
 as the last Maid of Honour of the Empress 
 Katherine II. By the window, dressed as a shep- 
 herdess, sat Countess Sh., " the Tzaritza of the 
 Wasps," surrounded by young men; among 
 them, distinguished by his arrogant bearing, his 
 perfectly flat skull, and his soullessly-brutal ex- 
 pression of countenance, worthy of a Khan of 
 Bokhara or of a Roman Heliogabalus, was Fini- 
 koff, famous for his wealth and his good looks; 
 another lady, also a Countess, and known by the 
 diminutive name of Use, was chatting with a 
 long-haired blond, pale " spirit-medium "; beside 
 them stood a gentleman, also pale and long- 
 haired, sneering significantly : this gentleman was 
 also a believer in spiritualism, but busied himself, 
 in addition, with prophecy, and, on the founda- 
 tion of the Apocalypse and the Talmud, foretold 
 all sorts of remarkable events; not one of these 
 events took place, — but he was not discomfited, 
 and went on prophesying. That same heaven- 
 born genius who had aroused such ire in Potugin 
 had placed himself at the piano; he was striking 
 chords in an absent-minded way, (Tune main dis- 
 traite, and carelessly gazing about him. Irina 
 was sitting on the divan between Prince Koko 
 and Madame X., formerly renowned as the 
 beauty and wit of All-Russia, and who had long 
 ago turned into a worthless wrinkled mushroom, 
 whence exhaled an odour of fast-tide oil and 
 putrid poison. On catching sight of Litvirioff, 
 
 166
 
 SMOKE 
 
 Irina blushed, rose, and when he approached her, 
 pressed his hand warmly. She wore a black crape 
 gown, with barely visible gold embellishments; 
 her shoulders gleamed with a dull whiteness, and 
 her face, which was also pale beneath the momen- 
 tary wave of crimson which had swept over it, 
 breathed forth the triumph of beauty, and not of 
 beauty only: a secret, almost mocking joy, 
 sparkled in her half -closed eyes, quivered around 
 her lips and nostrils. . . 
 
 Ratmiroff approached LitvinofF, and after ex- 
 changing with him the customary greetings, 
 which were not, however, accompanied by his ha- 
 bitual playfulness, presented him to two or three 
 ladies: to the aged ruin, to the Empress of the 
 Wasps, to Countess Liza. . . They received him 
 with a tolerable amount of graciousness. Litvi- 
 noff did not belong to their set . . . but he was 
 not ill-looking, even very far from it, and the 
 expressive features of his youthful face aroused 
 their attention. Only he did not understand how 
 to rivet this attention on himself; he had grown 
 disused to society, and felt somewhat embar- 
 rassed, and then, too, the fat general had fixed his 
 eyes on him. "Aha! the civilian! the free- 
 thinker!" that immovable, heavy glance seemed to 
 say : " so he has crawled into our society ; please let 
 me kiss your hand," says he. Irina came to Lit- 
 vinoff 's rescue. She managed matters so cleverly 
 that he found himself in a corner, near the door, 
 
 167
 
 SMOKE 
 
 a little behind her. When she addressed him she 
 was obliged every time to turn toward him, and 
 every time he admired the beautiful curve of her 
 gleaming neck he inhaled the delicate perfume 
 of her hair. The expression of profound and 
 silent gratitude never left her face: he could not 
 but admit that it was precisely gratitude which 
 was expressed by those smiles, those glances, and 
 he also began to seethe all over with the same 
 sentiment, and he felt ashamed, yet found it 
 sweet and painful . . . and at the same time 
 she seemed constantly desirous of saying: "Well? 
 What do you think of this? ' This wordless 
 question became audible to Litvinoff with espe- 
 cial clearness every time any of those present 
 uttered or perpetrated a stupidity, and this hap- 
 pened more than once in the course of the even- 
 ing. Once, even, she could not contain herself, 
 and laughed aloud. 
 
 Countess Liza, a very superstitious lady and 
 inclined to everything extraordinary, after hav- 
 ing talked her fill to the light-haired medium 
 about Hume, table-tipping, self -playing accor- 
 deons, and the like, wound up by asking him 
 whether any animals existed upon whom mag- 
 netism produced an effect. 
 
 " One such animal exists, at any rate," re- 
 marked Prince Koko from a distance. — " You 
 know Milanovsky, I believe? They put him to 
 sleep in my presence, and he even snored, ai, ai! " 
 
 168
 
 SMOKE 
 
 cc 
 
 You are very malicious, mon prince; I 
 am talking about real animals, je parle des 
 betes" 
 
 " Mais moi aussi, madame, je parle d'une 
 bete. . ." 
 
 1 There are real animals also," interposed the 
 spiritualist;— " for example— crabs; they are 
 very nervous, and easily fall into a cataleptic 
 state." 
 
 The Countess was amazed. — " What? Crabs! 
 Is it possible? Akh, that is extremely curious! 
 How I should like to see it! Monsieur Luzhin," 
 she added, addressing a young man with a stony 
 face, such as new dolls have, and stony collar (he 
 was famed for having wet that same face and 
 collar with dashes of Niagara and the Nubian 
 Nile, but he remembered nothing about all his 
 travels, and loved only Russian puns ....), 
 " Monsieur Luzhin, be so good as to get us a 
 crab." 
 
 Monsieur Luzhin grinned. — "A live one or 
 only a lively one? " he inquired. 
 
 The Countess did not understand him. — "Mais 
 oui, a crab," she repeated, " une ecrevisse" 
 
 "What — what's the meaning of this? — a 
 crab? a crab?" interposed Countess Sh. sternly. 
 The absence of Monsieur Verdier irritated her: 
 she could not understand why Irina had not in- 
 vited that most charming of Frenchmen. The 
 ruin, who had long ago ceased to understand any- 
 
 169
 
 SMOKE 
 
 thing,— in addition to which, deafness had seized 
 upon her,— only waggled her head. 
 
 " Oui, oui, vous allez voir. Monsieur Luzhin, 
 please . . . ." 
 
 The young traveller bowed, left the room, and 
 speedily returned. A waiter followed him, and 
 grinning to the full extent of his mouth, bore a 
 platter whereon was visible a large black crab. 
 
 "Void, madame," exclaimed Luzhin; — "now 
 you can set about the operation on the crab. 1 Ha, 
 ha, ha! " (Russians are always the first to laugh 
 at their own witticisms.) — " He, he, he! " echoed 
 Prince Koko, in the quality of a patriot and 
 patron of all national products. 
 
 (We beg the reader not to feel astonished and 
 not to get angry: who can answer for himself, 
 that, when seated in the parterre of the Alexan- 
 drinsky Theatre, and invaded by its atmosphere, 
 he will not perpetrate even a worse pun?) 
 
 "Merci, merci" said the Countess.— " A lions, 
 allons, Monsieur Fox, montrez-nous ca." 
 
 The waiter placed the platter on a small round 
 table. A slight movement ensued among the 
 guests; several necks were outstretched; only the 
 generals at the card-table preserved the serene 
 solemnity of their pose. The medium rumpled 
 up his hair, frowned, and approaching the table, 
 began to make passes with his hands in the air: 
 the crab bristled up, drew back, and elevated its 
 
 1 The word also means cancer in Russian. — Translator. 
 
 170
 
 SMOKE 
 
 claws. The medium repeated and quickened his 
 motions : the crab bristled as before. 
 
 f Mais que doit-elle done faire? " inquired the 
 Countess. 
 
 ' Elle dod tester immobile et se dresser sur sa 
 quiou," replied Mr. Fox, with a strong American 
 accent, convulsively agitating his fingers over the 
 platter; but the magnetism did not act, the crab 
 continued to move about. The medium an- 
 nounced that he was not at his best, and retreated 
 from the table with a dissatisfied aspect. The 
 Countess undertook to console him, asserting that 
 similar failures sometimes happened, even with 
 Monsieur Hume. . . Prince Koko confirmed 
 her words. The expert in the Apocalypse and 
 the Talmud stole up to the table on the sly, and 
 poking his fingers swiftly, but violently, in the 
 direction of the crab, also tried his luck, but with- 
 out success: no symptoms of catalepsy mani- 
 fested themselves. Then the waiter was sum- 
 moned, and ordered to remove the crab, which 
 command he obeyed, grinning to the full capacity 
 of his mouth, as before ; he could be heard to snort 
 outside the door. ... In the kitchen, later on, 
 there was a great deal of laughter iiber diese Rus- 
 sen. The born genius had continued to strike 
 chords during the whole time of the experiment 
 with the crab, keeping to minor tones, because, 
 you know, no one could tell what would prove 
 effectual in that case,— then the born genius 
 
 171
 
 SMOKE 
 
 played his inevitable waltz, and, of course, re- 
 ceived the most flattering approval. Carried 
 away by the spirit of emulation, Count X., our 
 incomparable dilettante (see Chapter I), "re- 
 cited " a chansonette of his own invention, stolen 
 entire from Offenbach. Its playful refrain on 
 the words "Quel ceuf? quel boeufV made the 
 heads of almost all the ladies roll to right and to 
 left ; one even moaned gently, and the irresistible, 
 inevitable " Charmant! charmant! " flitted across 
 every one's mouth. Irfna exchanged a glance 
 with LitvinofF, and again that mysterious, mock- 
 ing expression hovered about her lips. . . . But 
 it came more powerfully into action a little later, 
 —it even assumed a malevolent cast, — when 
 Prince Koko, that representative and defender 
 of the interests of the nobility, took it into his 
 head to set forth his views to that same medium, 
 and, as a matter of course, immediately made use 
 of his famous phrase about the shock to property 
 in Russia, in which connection, incidentally, de- 
 mocracy caught it. The American blood in the 
 medium made itself felt ; he began to argue. The 
 Prince, as was fitting, immediately began to 
 shout, at the top of his voice, in place of proofs 
 incessantly repeating : " C'est absurde! cela na 
 pas le sens commun! " The wealthy Finikoff 
 began to utter impertinences, without stopping 
 to think to whom they applied ; the Talmudist set 
 up a squeak; even Countess Sh. took to rattling. 
 
 172
 
 SMOKE 
 
 ... In short, there arose almost identically the 
 same detestable uproar as at Gubaryoff's; only, 
 in this case, there were no beer and tobacco-smoke, 
 and all present were better dressed. RatmirofF 
 endeavoured to restore silence (the generals had 
 expressed dissatisfaction, an exclamation from 
 Boris had made itself audible : " Encore cette sa- 
 tanee politique!"), but the effort proved fruit- 
 less ; and a dignitary who was present, one of the 
 softly-penetrating sort, on undertaking to pre- 
 sent le resume de la question en peu de mots, suf- 
 fered defeat; it is true that he so mumbled and 
 repeated himself, so evidently did not know how 
 either to hear or answer objections, and so in- 
 dubitably did not himself know precisely in what 
 la question consisted, that no other issue could 
 have been expected ; and Irina, too, urged on the 
 wranglers on the sly, and hounded them one upon 
 the other, constantly glancing at Litvinoff, and 
 nodding her head slightly at him. . . And he sat 
 there as though bewitched, heard nothing, and 
 only waited for those magnificent eyes to flash 
 upon him once again, for that pale, tender, mis- 
 chievous, charming face to flit once more across 
 his vision. . . The end of it was that the ladies 
 rebelled, and demanded that the dispute should 
 cease. . RatmirofF invited the dilettante to re- 
 peat his chansonette, and the born genius played 
 his waltz again. . . 
 
 Litvinoff remained until after midnight, and 
 
 173
 
 SMOKE 
 
 took his departure later than all the others. The 
 conversation had touched upon many topics dur- 
 ing the course of the evening, sedulously avoiding 
 everything which was in the slightest degree in- 
 teresting; the generals, after they had finished 
 their majestic game, had majestically joined in 
 it: the influence of these statesmen immediately 
 made itself felt. A conversation was in progress 
 about the notorieties of the Parisian demi-monde, 
 with whose names and talents every one appeared 
 to be intimately acquainted, about Sardou's last 
 play, about About's romance, about Patti in 
 " Traviata." Some one suggested that they play 
 at " secretary," au secretaire: but this was not a 
 success. The replies were insipid, and not devoid 
 of grammatical errors; the fat general told how 
 he, on one occasion, in answer to the question, 
 Quest ce que V amour? had replied : Une colique 
 remontee au cceur, and immediately began to 
 laugh with his wooden laugh; the ruin, with a 
 sweeping gesture, tapped him with her fan on 
 the arm; a bit of whitewash fell off of her fore- 
 head at this vigorous gesture. The dried mush- 
 room undertook to recall the Slavonic princi- 
 palities and the indispensability of an Orthodox 
 propaganda beyond the Danube, but finding no 
 echo, began to hiss, and withdrew into the back- 
 ground. In fact, they talked more about Hume 
 than about anything else ; even the " Empress 
 of the Wasps " narrated how hands had crept 
 
 174
 
 SMOKE 
 
 over her, and how she had seen them, and 
 had put her own ring on one of them. In truth, 
 Irina triumphed: even if Litvinoff had paid 
 more attention to what was being said around 
 him, still he would not have carried away a 
 single sincere word, a single intelligent thought, 
 or a single new fact out of all that incoherent 
 and lifeless chatter. No enthusiasm was audi- 
 ble even in the cries and exclamations; even in 
 the reproaches no passion was to be felt: only 
 from time to time, from beneath the mask of 
 pseudo-civic indignation, pseudo-scornful indif- 
 ference, did the fear of possible losses give forth 
 a shriek, and a few names, which posterity will 
 not forget, were uttered with gnashings of teeth. 
 . . . And not one drop of living current beneath 
 all this rubbish and litter! What ancient stuff, 
 what useless nonsense, what insipid trifles ab- 
 sorbed all those brains, those souls, and absorbed 
 them not on that one evening only, not only 
 in society, but at home, at all hours, every day, 
 in all the breadth and depth of their beings! 
 And what ignorance, in conclusion! What 
 lack of comprehension of everything upon 
 which human life is founded, by which it is 
 adorned ! 
 
 As she took leave of Litvinoff, Irina slightly 
 pressed his hand, and significantly whispered: 
 " Well, what do you think of it? Are you satis- 
 fied? Have you sufficiently admired? Is it 
 
 175
 
 SMOKE 
 
 nice? ' He made her no reply, but merely bowed 
 silently and low. 
 
 When she was left alone with her husband 
 Irina was on the point of retiring to her bedroom. 
 . . He stopped her. 
 
 " Je vous ai beaucoup admiree ce soir, rna- 
 dame" — he said, as he lighted a cigarette, and 
 leaned his elbows on the mantelpiece: — "vous 
 vous etes parfaitement moquee de nous tous." 
 
 "Pas plus cette fois-ci que les autres"— she 
 replied indifferently. 
 
 ' How do you wish me to understand that? ' 
 — inquired Ratmiroff. 
 
 " As you please." 
 
 " H'm. C'est clair." — Ratmiroff cautiously, 
 in a feline way, knocked the ashes from his cig- 
 arette with the long nail of his little finger. — 
 1 Yes, by the way ! That new acquaintance of 
 yours — what 's his name? . . . Mr. Litvinoff — 
 must enjoy the reputation of being a very clever 
 man." 
 
 At Litvinoff's name Irina turned swiftly 
 round. 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 The general grinned. 
 
 " He never utters a word ; . . . evidently, he 's 
 afraid of compromising himself." 
 
 Irina laughed also, only not at all in the same 
 way as her husband. 
 
 " It is better to hold one's tongue than to talk 
 .... as some people do." 
 
 176
 
 SMOKE 
 
 "Attrapc! "— said Ratmiroff, with feigned hu- 
 mility.—" Jesting aside, he has a very interesting 
 face. Such a . . . concentrated expression . . 
 and, altogether, a bearing. . . . Yes."— The 
 general adjusted his necktie, and throwing back 
 his head, scrutinised his own moustache.—" I as- 
 sume that he is a republican, after the fashion 
 of that other friend of yours, Mr. Potugin ; he 's 
 another of the clever men who are taciturn." 
 
 Irina's brows slowly elevated themselves above 
 the widely-opened, brilliant eyes, and her lips be- 
 came compressed, almost contorted. 
 
 " What is your object in saying this, Valerian 
 Vladimiritch? "—she remarked, as though sym- 
 pathetically.—" You are only wasting your 
 powder on the empty air. . . We are not in Rus- 
 sia, and no one is listening to us." 
 
 Ratmiroff writhed. 
 
 " That is not my opinion only, Irina Pav- 
 lovna,"— he began, with a voice that, somehow, 
 seemed suddenly to have become guttural:— 
 " others also think that that gentleman looks like 
 a carbonaro. . ." 
 
 "Really? And who are those others?' 
 
 " Why, Boris, for example. . ." 
 
 " What? And that fellow must needs express 
 his opinion? ' 
 
 Irina shrugged her shoulders, as though shud- 
 dering from cold, and softly passed the tips of 
 her fingers over them. 
 
 "That fellow . . . yes, that fellow . . that 
 
 177
 
 SMOKE 
 
 fellow. Permit me to inform you, Irina Pav- 
 lovna, you appear to be losing your temper; and 
 you know yourself that the person who loses his 
 temper . . . ." 
 
 " I am losing my temper? For what reason? " 
 
 ' I don't know; perhaps the remark displeases 
 you which I permitted myself to make con- 
 cerning . . . ." 
 
 Ratmiroff began to stammer. 
 
 ' Concerning? " — repeated Irina inquiringly. 
 — " Akh, pray omit irony and speak more 
 quickly. I am tired, I am sleepy." — She took a 
 candle from the table. — " Concerning? . . ." 
 
 " Well, concerning that same Mr. Litvinoff . 
 As there is no longer any doubt that you take a 
 very great interest in him ..." 
 
 Irina raised the hand in which she held the 
 candlestick; the flame came on a level with her 
 husband's face, and, after looking him straight 
 in the eye, with attention and almost with curi- 
 osity, she suddenly burst out laughing. 
 
 " What 's the matter with you? "—asked Rat- 
 miroff, with a scowl. 
 
 Irina continued to laugh. 
 
 " Come, what is it? " he repeated, and 
 stamped his foot. 
 
 He felt insulted, exasperated, yet, at the same 
 time, the beauty of this woman, who stood there 
 before him so lightly and so boldly, involuntarily 
 surprised him ... it tormented him. He saw 
 
 178
 
 SMOKE 
 
 everything— all her charms, even the rosy gleam 
 of the elegant nails on the delicate fingers, which 
 firmly clasped the dark bronze of the heavy 
 candlestick — even that gleam did not escape him 
 . . . and the insult ate still more deeply into his 
 heart. But Irina went on laughing. 
 
 'What? You? You are jealous? " — she said, 
 at last, and turning her back on her husband, she 
 left the room.— " He is jealous! "—was audible 
 outside the door, and again her laughter rang 
 out. 
 
 Ratmiroff gazed gloomily after his wife, — 
 even then he could not fail to observe the en- 
 chanting grace of her figure, of her movements, 
 — and crushing his cigarette with a heavy blow 
 against the marble slab of the chimney-piece, he 
 flung it far from him. His cheeks suddenly 
 paled, a convulsive quiver flitted across his chin, 
 and his eyes wandered dully and fiercely over 
 the floor, as though in search of something. . . . 
 Every trace of elegance had vanished from his 
 face. That must have been the sort of expression 
 it had assumed when he flogged the white Rus- 
 sian peasants. 
 
 But Litvinoff came to himself in his own room, 
 and seating himself on a chair by the table, he 
 clutched his head in both hands, and, for a long 
 time, remained motionless. He rose, at last, 
 opened a drawer, and taking out a portfolio, 
 drew from an inner pocket of it Tatyana's photo- 
 
 179
 
 SMOKE 
 
 graph. Her face, distorted and, as usual, made 
 to look older by the photograph, gazed sadly at 
 him. Litvinoff's betrothed was a young girl of 
 Great Russian descent, golden-haired, rather 
 plump, and with somewhat heavy features, but 
 with a wonderful expression of goodness and 
 gentleness in the light-brown eyes, and a tender 
 white brow, upon which the sunshine seemed al- 
 ways to linger. For a long time Litvinoff did 
 not take his eyes from the picture : then he softly 
 pushed it from him, and again clasped his head 
 with both hands. " All is over! " — he whispered 
 at last. — " Irina! Irfna!" 
 
 It was only now, only at this moment, that he 
 comprehended that he was irrevocably, madly in 
 love with her, had fallen in love with her on the 
 very day of his first meeting with her at the Old 
 Chateau, that he never had ceased to love her. 
 And yet how astonished he would have been, how 
 incredulous; how he would have laughed if any 
 one had told him that a few hours earlier. 
 
 "But Tanya, Tanya, my God! Tanya! 
 Tanya! "—he kept repeating, with compunction; 
 but Irina's image kept rising up before him in her 
 black gown that looked like mourning, with the 
 radiant tranquillity of conquest on her marble- 
 white face. 
 
 180
 
 XVI 
 
 Litvinoff did not sleep all night long, and did 
 not undress. He felt very heavy at heart. As 
 an honourable and upright man, he understood 
 the importance of obligations, the sacredness of 
 duty, and would have regarded it as a disgrace 
 to deal disingenuously with himself, with his 
 weakness, with his conduct. At first a torpor de- 
 scended upon him: for a long time he could not 
 free himself from the weight of a persistent, semi- 
 conscious, obscure sensation; then terror took 
 possession of him at the thought that the future, 
 his future so nearly won, was again enveloped in 
 gloom, that his house — his house which had but 
 just been erected — was reeling to its fall. . . He 
 began pitilessly to upbraid himself, but imme- 
 diately put a stop to his own outbursts. " What 
 dastardliness is this? "—he thought.—" This is no 
 time for reproaches; I must act; Tanya is my 
 affianced bride, she has trusted my love, my hon- 
 our, we are united forever, and we cannot, we 
 must not part." He set before himself, in vivid 
 colours, all Tatyana's qualities, he mentally sorted 
 them over and enumerated them; he tried to 
 arouse in himself emotion and tenderness. 
 
 181
 
 SMOKE 
 
 " There is but one thing left to do,"— he thought 
 again: — "to flee, flee instantly, without waiting 
 for her arrival, to flee to meet her, even if I shall 
 suffer, even if I shall torture myself with Tanya, 
 — which is improbable, — but, in any ease, it is use- 
 less to argue about that, to take that into consid- 
 eration; I must do my duty, even if I die after- 
 ward! — " But thou hast no right to deceive her, ,, 
 another voice whispered to him, " thou hast not 
 the right to conceal from her the change which 
 has taken place in thy feelings; perchance, on 
 learning that thou hast fallen in love with an- 
 other, she will not wish to become thy wife? ' 
 " Nonsense! Nonsense! " he retorted:—" All that 
 is sophistry, shameful guile, false conscientious- 
 ness; I have no right not to keep my plighted 
 word, that 's how the case stands. Well, very 
 good. . . Then I must go away from here with- 
 out seeing her. . ." 
 
 But at this point LitvinofF's heart contracted, 
 a chill overcame him, a physical chill: a momen- 
 tary shiver ran through his body, his teeth chat- 
 tered. He stretched and yawned as though in a 
 fever. Without insisting further on his last 
 thought, stifling that thought, turning away from 
 it, he began to feel perplexed and astonished that 
 he could again have . . . again have fallen in 
 love with that depraved, worldly creature, 
 with all her repulsive, hostile surroundings. He 
 tried to ask himself: " But hast thou fallen thor- 
 
 182,
 
 
 SMOKE 
 
 oughly, actually in love?" and could only wave 
 his hand in despair. He still continued to feel 
 surprised and perplexed, and lo! there before 
 him, as though from a soft, fragrant mist, started 
 forth the bewitching countenance, the starry eye- 
 lashes were raised — and silently, irresistibly, the 
 enchanting eyes penetrated his heart, and the 
 voice rang out sweetly, and the gleaming shoul- 
 ders—the shoulders of a young empress — ex- 
 haled the freshness and the fervour of tender- 
 ness. . . . 
 
 Toward morning a decision matured, at last, in 
 Litvmoff's soul. He decided to set out, on that 
 very day, to meet Tatyana, and in a final inter- 
 view with Irina to tell her, if it could not be 
 avoided, the whole truth — and part from her 
 forever. 
 
 He arranged and packed his things, waited un- 
 til twelve o'clock, and went to her. But at the 
 sight of her half -veiled windows, Litvinoff's 
 heart seemed to sink within him ... he lacked 
 the courage to cross the threshold of the hotel. 
 He walked several times up and down Lichten- 
 thaler Avenue. * My respects to you, Mr. Litvi- 
 noff! " — suddenly rang out a mocking voice from 
 the heights of a swiftly-rolling dog-cart. Litvi- 
 noff raised his eyes, and beheld General Ratmf- 
 roff seated beside Prince M., a well-known sports- 
 man and lover of English equipages and horses. 
 
 183
 
 SMOKE 
 
 The Prince was driving, but the general bent to 
 one side and displayed his teeth, lifting his hat 
 high above his head. Litvinoff bowed to him, 
 and instantly, as though in obedience to a secret 
 command, set out at a run for Irina. 
 
 She was at home. He ordered the servants to 
 announce him: he was immediately received. 
 When he entered she was standing in the middle 
 of the room. She wore a loose morning gown, 
 with wide, flowing sleeves ; her face, pale as on the 
 preceding day, but not fresh as it had then been, 
 expressed weariness ; the languid smile with which 
 she greeted her guest still more clearly defined 
 that expression. She offered him her hand, and 
 gazed at him affectionately but abstractedly. 
 
 " Thank you for coming," — she began, in a 
 mournful voice, and sank into an arm-chair. — " I 
 do not feel quite well to-day ; I passed a bad night. 
 Well, what have you to say about last evening? 
 Was not I right?" 
 
 Litvinoff seated himself. 
 
 " I have come to you, Irina Pavlovna,"— he 
 began . . . 
 
 She instantly straightened herself up and 
 turned round; her eyes fairly bored into Lit- 
 vinoff. 
 
 "What is the matter with you?"— she ex- 
 claimed. — " You are as pale as a corpse — you 
 are ill. What is the matter with you?" 
 
 Litvinoff became confused. 
 
 184
 
 
 
 SMOKE 
 
 "With me, Irina Pavlovna?" 
 
 " You have received bad news? A catastrophe 
 has happened, tell me, tell me. . ." 
 
 Litvinoff , in his turn, stared at Irina. 
 
 " I have received no bad news," — he said, not 
 without an effort:—" but a catastrophe has really 
 happened, a great catastrophe . . . and it has 
 brought me to you." 
 
 " A catastrophe ? What is it? " 
 
 " Such a one that . . . ." 
 
 Litvinoff tried to go on . . . and could not. 
 But he clasped his hands so hard that the fingers 
 cracked. Irina bent forward, and seemed turned 
 to stone. 
 
 " Akh! I love you!"— burst at last in a dull 
 groan from Litvinoff's breast, and he turned 
 away, as though desirous of hiding his face. 
 
 " What, Grigory Mikhailovitch, you . . . ." 
 Irina also was unable to finish her phrase, and 
 leaning back in her chair, she raised both hands 
 to her face.—" You . . . love me? " 
 
 " Yes . . . yes . . . yes," — he repeated with 
 exasperation, turning his face more and more 
 aside. 
 
 All became silent in the room : a butterfly which 
 had flown in, agitated its wings and struggled be- 
 tween the curtain and the window. 
 
 Litvinoff was the first to speak. 
 
 "This, Irina Pavlovna,"— he began:— "this 
 is the catastrophe which has . . . stunned me, 
 
 185.
 
 SMOKE 
 
 which I ought to have foreseen and avoided, if I 
 had not as in former days, in the Moscow time, 
 fallen immediately into the whirlpool. Evidently, 
 it has pleased fate to take me again unawares, 
 and experience again, through you, those tor- 
 ments which, it would have seemed, ought never 
 more to have been repeated. . . But I have re- 
 sisted . . have tried to resist . . in vain; yes, 
 plainly, what is fated to be cannot be avoided. 
 But I am telling you all this for the purpose of 
 putting an end, as soon as possible to this . . . 
 this tragi-comedy,"— he added with a fresh access 
 of exasperation and shame. 
 
 Again Litvinoff fell silent; the butterfly con- 
 tinued to struggle and flutter. Irina did not re- 
 move her hands from her face. 
 
 " And you are not deceiving yourself? " — her 
 whisper became audible from beneath those white, 
 seemingly bloodless hands. 
 
 " I am not deceiving myself," — replied Litvi- 
 noff in a hollow voice. — " I love you as I have 
 never loved, or loved any one but you. I am not 
 going to reproach you: that would be too foolish; 
 I will not repeat to you that perhaps nothing of 
 this sort would have happened had you behaved 
 differently toward me. . . . Of course, I alone 
 am to blame, my self-confidence has been my un- 
 doing; but I am rightly chastised, and you could 
 not possibly have expected this. Of course, you 
 did not take into consideration that it would have 
 
 18fi
 
 SMOKE 
 
 been far less dangerous for me if you had not felt 
 your fault so vividly . . . your imaginary fault 
 toward me, and had not wished to atone for it 
 . . . but what is done cannot be undone, of course. 
 . . I only wanted to explain to you my position : 
 it is sufficiently painful as it is. . . At all events, 
 there will be no misunderstanding, as you say, 
 but the frankness of my confession will, I hope, 
 mitigate that feeling of insult which you cannot 
 fail to feel." 
 
 Litvinoff spoke without raising his eyes; and 
 if he had glanced at Irina, still he could not have 
 seen what was going on in her face, because, as 
 before, she did not remove her hands. Neverthe- 
 less, what was taking place on her face would, in 
 all probability, have amazed him: it expressed 
 both fear and joy, and a certain blissful exhaus- 
 tion and agitation; the eyes barely glimmered 
 beneath the drooping lids, and the long-drawn, 
 broken breathing chilled the lips which were 
 parted as though in thirst. . . . 
 
 Litvinoff maintained silence, waited for a re- 
 ply, a sound. . . Nothing! 
 
 " But one thing is left for me to do," — he be- 
 gan again: — " to go away; I am come to bid you 
 farewell." 
 
 Irina slowly dropped her hands upon her 
 knees. 
 
 " But I remember, Grigory Mikhailovitch,"— 
 she began: — "that . . that person, of whom you 
 
 187.
 
 SMOKE 
 
 spoke to me, was to come hither. You are ex- 
 pecting her? " 
 
 " Yes; but I shall write to her . . . she will 
 stop somewhere on the way . . in Heidelberg, 
 for instance." 
 
 " Ah ! In Heidelberg. . . Yes. . It is pleasant 
 there. . . But all this must disturb your plans. 
 Are you sure, Grigory Mikhailovitch, that you 
 are not exaggerating, et que ce nest pas une 
 fausse alar me? " 
 
 Irina spoke quietly, almost coldly, and with 
 little pauses, and glances aside, in the direction of 
 the window. Litvinoff did not answer her last 
 question. 
 
 " But why have you alluded to the insult? " — 
 she went on.—" I am not insulted . . . oh, no! 
 And if either of us is to blame, then, in any case, 
 it is not you; not you alone. . . Remember our 
 last conversations, and you will be convinced that 
 it is not you." 
 
 " I have never had any doubt of your magna- 
 nimity," — ejaculated Litvinoff through his teeth: 
 — "but I should like to know: do you approve 
 of my intention? " 
 
 "To go away?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Irina continued to gaze to one side. 
 
 " At the first moment your intention seemed 
 to me to be premature . . . but now I have 
 thought over what you said . . . and if you 
 
 188
 
 SMOKE 
 
 really are not making a mistake, then I suppose 
 that you ought to go. It will be better so . . . 
 better for both of us." 
 
 Irina's voice had grown more and more 
 quiet, and her very speech became slower and 
 slower. 
 
 " General Ratmiroff , really, might notice it," 
 — LitvinofF began. . . . 
 
 Irina's eyes dropped again, and something 
 strange nickered around her lips . . flickered 
 and vanished. 
 
 " No, you do not understand me,"— she inter- 
 rupted him. — " I was not thinking of my hus- 
 band. Why should I ? There would be nothing 
 for him to notice. But, I repeat it: separation 
 is indispensable for both of us." 
 
 LitvinofF took up his hat, which had fallen to 
 the floor. 
 
 " Everything is. over," — he thought:—" I must 
 go."—" And so it only remains for me to take 
 leave of you, Irina Pavlovna," — he said aloud, 
 and suddenly dread fell upon him, exactly as 
 though he were on the point of pronouncing his 
 own sentence. — " I can only hope that you will 
 not bear me any ill-will .... and that if, some- 
 times, we . . . ." 
 
 Again Irina interrupted him: 
 
 " Wait, Grigory Mikhailovitch, do not bid me 
 farewell yet. That would be over-hasty." 
 
 Something quivered within LitvinofF, but a 
 
 189
 
 SMOKE 
 
 burning bitterness surged up on the instant, and 
 with redoubled force, in his heart. 
 
 "But I cannot remain!" — he exclaimed. — 
 "To what end? Why prolong this anguish?" 
 
 " Do not bid me farewell yet,"— repeated 
 Irina. . " I must see you once more. . . Again 
 the same sort of dumb parting as in Moscow, — 
 no, I will not have that. You may go now, but 
 you must promise me, give me your word of hon- 
 our, that you will not take your departure with- 
 out having seen me once more." 
 
 * You wish that? " 
 
 " I demand it. If you go away without having 
 taken leave of me, I will never, never forgive 
 you. Do you hear: never! "— " It is strange! " 
 — she added, as though speaking to herself:—" I 
 cannot possibly realise that I am in Baden. . . I 
 keep feeling that I am in Moscow. . . Go. ." 
 
 Litvinoff rose. 
 
 " Irina Pavlovna," he said,—" give me your 
 hand." 
 
 Irina shook her head. 
 
 " I have told you that I will not bid you fare- 
 well. . ." 
 
 " I am not asking it for a farewell. . ." 
 
 Irina was on the point of giving him her hand, 
 but glanced at Litvinoff for the first time since 
 his confession, — and drew it back. 
 
 " No, no,"— she whispered,—" I will not give 
 you my hand. No . . . no. Go." 
 
 190
 
 SMOKE 
 
 Litvinoff bowed and left the room. He could 
 not know why Irina had refused him a last 
 
 friendly pressure He could not know 
 
 that she was afraid. 
 
 He left the room, and Irina again sank down 
 in the arm-chair, and again covered her face. 
 
 191
 
 XVII 
 
 Litvinoff did not return home: he went off to 
 the mountains, and making his way into the den- 
 sity of the forest, threw himself on the earth, face 
 downward, and lay there for about an hour. He 
 did not suffer, he did not weep; he lay in a sort 
 of painful, agonising swoon. Never before had 
 he experienced anything of the sort : there was an 
 intolerably aching, gnawing sensation of empti- 
 ness, of emptiness in himself, around him every- 
 where. . . He did not think either of Irina or of 
 Tatyana. He felt one thing: the blow had fallen, 
 and life had been cut in twain like a rope, and he 
 was entirely drawn forward and seized upon by 
 something unknown, yet cold. Sometimes it 
 seemed to him that a whirlwind had descended 
 upon him, and he felt its swift gyrations and the 
 confused beatings of its dark pinions. . . But his 
 decision did not waver. . Remain in Baden . . . 
 such a thing was not even to be mentioned. Men- 
 tally, he had already taken his departure : he was 
 already seated in the rattling and smoking rail- 
 way-carriage, and fleeing, fleeing into the dumb, 
 dead distance. He rose up, at last, and leaning 
 his head against a tree, remained motionless ; only 
 
 192
 
 SMOKE 
 
 with one hand, without himself being conscious 
 of it, he had grasped the highest frond of a fern, 
 and was swaying it to and fro with a regular beat. 
 The sound of approaching footsteps aroused him 
 from his torpor; two charcoal-burners, with large 
 sacks on their shoulders, were making their way 
 along the steep path. ' It is time! " whispered 
 LitvinofF, and followed the charcoal-burners 
 down the path to the town, turned into the rail- 
 way building, and despatched a telegram to Tat- 
 yana's aunt, Kapitolina Markovna. In this tele- 
 gram he informed her of his immediate departure, 
 and appointed a meeting with her in Schrader's 
 hotel, in Heidelberg. ' If an end is to be made, 
 it had better be made at once," — he thought; — 
 ' there is no use in deferring it until to-morrow." 
 Then he entered the gaming-room, with dull curi- 
 osity stared two or three players in the face, 
 descried from afar Bindasoff's hideous nape, 
 Pishtchalkin's irreproachable face, and, after 
 standing for a little while under the colonnade, he 
 betook himself, without haste, to Irina. It was 
 not at the instigation of a sudden, involuntary 
 impulse that he went to her; when he had made 
 up his mind to depart, he had also made it up to 
 keep the word he had pledged, and to see her once 
 again. He entered the hotel without being per- 
 ceived by the door-porter, ascended the staircase 
 without meeting any one, and, without knocking 
 at the door, mechanically pushed it open, and en- 
 
 B<98
 
 SMOKE 
 
 tered the room. In the room, in the same arm- 
 chair, in the same gown, in the same attitude as 
 three hours before, sat Irina. . . It was evident 
 that she had not stirred from the spot, had not 
 moved during all that time. She slowly raised 
 her head, and on perceiving LitvinofF, shuddered 
 all over, and grasped the arms of the chair. — 
 " You have frightened me," — she whispered. 
 
 Litvinoff regarded her with speechless amaze- 
 ment. The expression of her face, of her sunken 
 eyes, impressed him. 
 
 Irina smiled in a forced way and adjusted her 
 hair, which had fallen out of curl. 
 
 " It does not matter. . . I, really, I do not 
 know. . I think I have been asleep here." 
 
 " Excuse me, Irina Pavlovna," — began Litvi- 
 noff, — " I entered without being announced. . I 
 wished to comply with what you were pleased to 
 demand of me. And, as I am going away to- 
 day . . ." 
 
 " To-day? But I thought you told me that you 
 wished first to write a letter. . ." 
 
 " I have sent a telegram." 
 
 " Ah! You found it necessary to make haste. 
 And when do you leave? At what o'clock, I 
 mean ? 
 
 " At seven o'clock in the evening." 
 
 " Ah ! At seven o'clock ! And you have come 
 to say farewell? " 
 
 " Yes, Irina Pavlovna, to say farewell." 
 
 194
 
 SMOKE 
 
 Irina remained silent for a while. 
 
 " I must thank you, Grigory Mikhailitch ; 
 you probably did not find it easy to come 
 hither." 
 
 ' No, Irina Pavlovna, it was very far from 
 easy." 
 
 " Life is not easy, altogether, Grigory Mi- 
 khailitch; what do you think? " 
 
 ' That depends on the person, Irina Pav- 
 lovna." 
 
 Again Irina remained silent for a space, as 
 though in meditation. 
 
 You have shown your friendship for me by 
 coming,"— she said, at last. — " I thank you. 
 And, altogether, I entirely approve of your de- 
 cision to make an end of it all as speedily as pos- 
 sible, . . . because every delay . . . because . . . 
 because I, that very same I whom you accused of 
 coquetry, whom you called a comedian,— I be- 
 lieve that was what you called me? . ." 
 
 Irina rose hastily, and seating herself in an- 
 other arm-chair, bent over and pressed her face 
 and hands against the edge of the table. . . 
 
 " Because I love you . . ." she whispered, 
 through her tightly-clasped fingers. 
 
 LitvinofF staggered back, as though some one 
 had struck him in the breast. Irina sadly turned 
 her head away from him, as though desirous, in 
 her turn, of hiding her face from him, and laid 
 it on the table. 
 
 195
 
 SMOKE 
 
 " Yes, I love you. ... I love you . . . and 
 you know it." 
 
 "I? I know it? "— Litvinoff uttered, at last. 
 -"I?" 
 
 " Well, and now you see," — pursued Irina, — 
 " that you really must go, that there must be no 
 delay, — that we, that I can suffer no delay. It is 
 dangerous, it is terrible. . . Good-bye ! " she 
 added, rising impetuously from her chair. 
 
 She took several steps in the direction of the 
 door to her boudoir, and thrusting her hand be- 
 hind her back, she hastily moved it through the 
 air, as though desirous of encountering and press- 
 ing Litvinoff's hand; but he stood, as though 
 rooted to the spot, at a distance. . . . Once more 
 she said, " Farewell, forget," and without glanc- 
 ing behind her, fled from the room. 
 
 Litvinoff was left alone, and still could not re- 
 cover himself. He came to his senses at last, 
 swiftly approached the door of the boudoir, utter- 
 ing Irfna's name once, twice, thrice. . . He had 
 already laid his hand on the handle of the door. . . 
 The ringing voice of Ratmfroff made itself audi- 
 ble from the porch of the hotel. 
 
 Litvinoff pulled his hat down over his eyes and 
 went out to the staircase. The elegant general 
 was standing in front of the porter's lodge, and 
 explaining to him, in imperfect German, that he 
 wished to hire a carriage for the whole of the 
 following day. On catching sight of Litvinoff, 
 
 196
 
 SMOKE 
 
 he again raised his hat abnormally high, and 
 again expressed his " respect " : he was evidently 
 scoffing at him, but Litvinoff cared nothing for 
 that. He barely returned Ratmiroff's salutation, 
 and on reaching his own quarters, he paused in 
 front of his trunk, already packed and closed. 
 His head was in a whirl, and his heart was quiver- 
 ing like a chord. What was to be done now ? And 
 could he have foreseen this? 
 
 Yes, he had foreseen it, incredible as it might 
 seem. It had stunned him like a clap of thunder, • 
 but he had foreseen it, although he had not dared 
 to admit it. But he had known nothing with cer- 
 tainty. Everything had got jumbled up within 
 him; he had lost the thread of his own thoughts. 
 He recalled Moscow, he recalled how " it " had 
 descended upon him then like a sudden hurricane. 
 He felt suffocated: ecstasy — but a desolate, 
 hopeless ecstasy — choked and rent his breast. 
 Not for anything in the world would he have con- 
 sented that the words uttered by Irina should not 
 really have been uttered by her. . . But what 
 then? All the same, those words could not alter 
 the resolution he had already taken. As before, 
 it did not waver, but held firmly like an anchor 
 which has been cast. Litvinoff had lost the 
 thread of his thoughts . . . yes; but his will re- 
 mained with him still, and he gave himself orders 
 as he would have given them to a strange man, 
 his subordinate. He rang the bell for a waiter, 
 
 197
 
 SMOKE 
 
 ordered his bill to be brought, engaged a seat in 
 the evening omnibus: he deliberately cut off all 
 his roads. ' Even if I die there afterward," he 
 kept repeating, as he had done during the pre- 
 ceding sleepless night; this phrase was particu- 
 larly to his taste. — " Even if I die there after- 
 ward," he repeated, as he slowly paced to and 
 fro in his chamber, only closing his eyes and ceas- 
 ing to breathe from time to time involuntarily 
 when those words, those words of Irina invaded 
 his soul, and seared it as with fire. ' Evidently, 
 one does not love twice," he thought: "another 
 life has entered into yours, you have admitted 
 it — you cannot rid yourself of that poison to the 
 end, you cannot break those threads! Just so; 
 but what does that prove? Happiness. . . Is 
 that possible? You love her, let us assume . . . 
 and she . . . she loves you. . ." 
 
 But at this point he was again compelled to 
 take himself in hand. As a wayfarer, in a dark 
 night, who descries ahead of him a tiny light and 
 fears to lose his road, does not remove his eyes 
 from it for an instant, so also Litvinoff unremit- 
 tingly concentrated the full force of his attention 
 upon one point, upon one goal. To present him- 
 self to his affianced bride, and even not actually 
 to his bride (he tried not to think of her) , but in 
 the room of the Heidelberg hotel — that is what 
 stood before him steadfastly, as his guiding light. 
 What was to come afterward he did not know, 
 
 198
 
 SMOKE 
 
 and did not wish to know. . . . One thing was 
 indubitable : he would not turn back. " Even if I 
 die there," he repeated for the tenth time, and 
 glanced at his watch. 
 
 A quarter past six ! How long he still had to 
 wait! Again he strode back and forth. The sun 
 was declining to its setting, the sky was glowing 
 red over the trees, and a crimson twilight fell 
 through the narrow windows into his darkening 
 room. All at once it seemed to Litvinoff as 
 though the door had been opened softly and 
 swiftly behind him, and as swiftly closed again. 
 . . He turned round ; by the door, enveloped in a 
 black mantilla, stood a woman. . . 
 
 "Irina!" he cried, and clasped his hands. . . 
 
 She raised her head, and fell upon his breast. 
 
 Two hours later he was seated on his divan. His 
 trunk stood in a corner, open and empty, and on 
 the table, amid articles scattered there in confu- 
 sion, lay a letter from Tatyana which Litvinoff 
 had just received. She wrote him that she had 
 decided to hasten her departure from Dresden, 
 as her aunt's health was entirely restored, and 
 that if no obstacles intervened they would both 
 arrive in Baden at twelve o'clock on the following 
 day, and hoped that he would meet them at the 
 railway station. Litvinoff had engaged apart- 
 ments for them in the same hotel where he was 
 stopping. 
 
 199
 
 SMOKE 
 
 That same evening he sent a note to Irina, and 
 on the following morning he received an answer 
 from her. ' A day sooner or a day later,"— she 
 wrote, " it was inevitable. I repeat to thee what 
 I said last night : my life is in thy hands, do with 
 me as thou wilt. I do not wish to put any re- 
 straint upon thy freedom, but thou must know 
 that, in case of necessity, I will abandon every- 
 thing, and will follow thee to the ends of the earth. 
 We shall see each other to-morrow, shall we not? 
 Thy Irina." 
 
 The last two words were written in a large., 
 bold, decided chirography. 
 
 200
 
 XVIII 
 
 Among the persons who assembled, on the 18th of 
 August, about twelve o'clock, on the platform of 
 the railway station was Litvinoff . Not long be- 
 fore he had met Irina. She was sitting in an open 
 carriage with her husband and another person, a 
 gentleman already elderly. She had seen Litvi- 
 noff, and he had perceived it: something dark 
 had flitted across her eyes, but she immediately 
 concealed herself from him with her parasol. 
 
 A strange change had taken place in him since 
 the preceding day — in his whole exterior, in his 
 movements, in the expression of his face; and he 
 himself felt that he was another man. His self- 
 confidence had vanished, his composure had van- 
 ished also, along with his self-respect; nothing 
 was left of his former spiritual state. Recent in- 
 effaceable impressions had shut out everything 
 else. A certain unprecedented sensation, strong, 
 sweet — and malign, had made its appearance; a 
 mysterious guest had made his way into the sanc- 
 tuary, and had taken possession of it, and had lain 
 down therein silently, but at full length, as master 
 of the new domicile. Litvinoff no longer felt 
 ashamed, he was afraid— and, at the same time, 
 
 201
 
 SMOKE 
 
 a desperate hardihood was kindled within him; 
 this mixture of conflicting feelings is familiar to 
 captives, to the conquered ; it is not unknown also 
 to the thief, after he has robbed a church. But 
 Litvinoff had been conquered — conquered sud- 
 denly; . . . and what had become of his honour? 
 
 The train was a few minutes late. Litvinoff's 
 languor passed into torturing anguish: he could 
 not stand still in one place, and, deathly pale, he 
 squeezed and forced his way among the people. 
 " My God," he thought, " if I might have just 
 one more day. . ." His first glance at Tanya, 
 Tanya's first glance . . . that was what alarmed 
 him, that was what he must get through with as 
 speedily as possible. . . And afterward? After- 
 ward—come what might! . . . He no longer ar- 
 rived at any decisions, he no longer answered for 
 himself. His phrase of yesterday flashed pain- 
 fully through his head. . . And that is how he is 
 meeting Tanya. . . 
 
 A prolonged whistle resounded at last, a dull 
 roar, which momentarily increased, became audi- 
 ble, and rolling slowly from behind the road- 
 gates, the locomotive made its appearance. The 
 crowd advanced to meet it, and Litvinoff ad- 
 vanced after it, dragging his feet like a con- 
 demned man. Faces, ladies' hats, began to show 
 themselves from the carriages, in one small win- 
 dow a white handkerchief began to gleam. . . 
 Kapitolina Markovna was waving it. . . It was 
 
 202
 
 SMOKE 
 
 over; she had seen Litvinoff, and he had recog- 
 nised her. The train came to a standstill, Litvi- 
 noff rushed to the door and opened it: Tatyana 
 was standing by the side of her aunt, and smiling 
 brightly, offered him her hand. 
 
 He helped them both to alight, uttered a few 
 courteous words, incomplete and obscure, and im- 
 mediately began to bustle about, began to collect 
 their tickets, their travelling-bags, their plaids, 
 ran off to hunt up a porter, called a carriage; 
 other people were bustling about around him, and 
 he rejoiced at their presence, their noise and their 
 shouts. Tatyana stepped a little to one side, and 
 without ceasing to smile, calmly awaited the con- 
 clusion of his hasty preparations. Kapitolina 
 Markovna, on the contrary, could not stand still ; 
 she would not believe that she had at last got to 
 Baden. She suddenly cried out: " And the um- 
 brellas? Tanya, where are the umbrellas?" not 
 noticing that she was holding them firmly under 
 her arm; then she began to bid a loud and pro- 
 longed farewell to another lady, whose acquain- 
 tance she had made during the journey from 
 Heidelberg to Baden. The lady was none other 
 than Madame Sukhantchikoff , already known to 
 us. She had betaken herself to Heidelberg to 
 worship Gubaryoff , and had returned with " in- 
 structions." Kapitolina Markovna wore a de- 
 cidedly queer striped mantle, and a round travel- 
 ling-hat, in the shape of a mushroom, from be- 
 
 203.
 
 SMOKE 
 
 neath which her closely-clipped white hair stuck 
 out in disarray; short of stature and gaunt, she 
 had got very red with the journey, and was talk- 
 ing in Russian, with a shrill and chanting voice. 
 . . People noticed her immediately. 
 
 At last Litvinoff seated her and Tatyana in a 
 carriage, and placed himself opposite them. The 
 horses started off. Inquiries began, hands were 
 shaken afresh, there were mutual smiles, greet- 
 ings. . . Litvinoff breathed freely: the first mo- 
 ments had passed off successfully. Evidently, 
 nothing about him had struck or disturbed 
 Tanya: she looked at him as clearly and confid- 
 ingly, she blushed as prettily, she laughed as 
 good-naturedly as ever. At last he made up his 
 mind to look at her, not fleetingly and super- 
 ficially, but directly and intently : up to that time 
 his own eyes had not obeyed him. Involuntary 
 emotion clutched his heart: the tranquil expres- 
 sion of that honest, open countenance found echo 
 within him in bitter reproach. " Here — thou hast 
 come hither, poor girl,"— he thought:— " thou, 
 whom I so waited for and longed for, with whom 
 I wished to pass my life until its end— thou hast 
 come, and thou hast trusted me . . . but I . . . 
 but I . . ." Litvinoff dropped his head; but 
 Kapitolina Markovna gave him no opportunity 
 for meditation ; she showered questions upon him. 
 
 "What is that building with the pillars? 
 Where do they gamble? Who is that coming? 
 
 204
 
 SMOKE 
 
 Tanya, Tanya, look, what crinolines! And who 
 is that yonder? They must be chiefly French 
 people from Paris here? Only I imagine every- 
 thing is frightfully dear. Akh, with what a 
 splendid, clever woman I have made acquain- 
 tance! You know her, Grigory Mikhailovitch ; 
 she told me that she had met you at a certain Rus- 
 sian's, also a wonderfully clever person. She 
 promised to call on us. How she does abuse all 
 these aristocrats — it 's simply marvellous! What 
 gentleman is that with the white moustache ? The 
 King of Prussia? Tanya, Tanya, look, that is 
 the King of Prussia! No? it isn't the King of 
 Prussia? The Ambassador from Holland? I 
 can't hear, the wheels rumble so. Akh, what mag- 
 nificent trees! " 
 
 ; Yes, aunty, magnificent," — assented Tanya: 
 — " and how green and cheerful everything is 
 here ! Is n't it, Grigory Mikhailovitch ? " 
 
 ' It is cheerful . . ."he answered her, through 
 his teeth. 
 
 The carriage stopped at last in front of the 
 hotel. LitvinofF escorted the two travellers to 
 the rooms reserved for them, promised to look in 
 in the course of an hour, and returned to his own 
 room. The spell, which had subsided for a mo- 
 ment, immediately took possession of him as soon 
 as he entered it. Here in this room Irfna had 
 reigned since the preceding day; everything 
 spoke of her, the very air seemed to have pre- 
 
 205
 
 SMOKE 
 
 served mysterious traces of her visit. . . Again 
 Litvinoff felt that he was her slave. He pulled 
 forth her handkerchief, which he had hidden in 
 his breast, pressed his lips to it, and burning mem- 
 ories, like delicate poison, diffused themselves 
 through his veins. He understood that there was 
 no turning back now, no choice ; the painful emo- 
 tion aroused in him by Tatyana melted like snow 
 in the fire, and repentance died within him . . . 
 died — so that even the agitation within him was 
 allayed, and the possibility of dissimulation, 
 which presented itself to his mind, did not revolt 
 him. . . Love, Irina's love — that was what had 
 now become his righteousness, his law, his con- 
 science. . . The prudent, sensible Litvinoff did 
 not even reflect how he was to extricate himself 
 from a situation the horror and indecency of 
 which he felt lightly and in an indirect manner, 
 as it were. 
 
 An hour had not elapsed when a waiter pre- 
 sented himself to Litvinoff, sent by the newly- 
 arrived ladies: they requested him to be so good 
 as to come to them in their sitting-room. He fol- 
 lowed their emissary, and found them already 
 dressed, and with their hats on. Both expressed 
 a desire to set off at once to inspect Baden, seeing 
 that the weather was very fine indeed. Kapi- 
 tolina Markovna, in particular, was fairly burn- 
 ing with impatience; she was even somewhat 
 vexed to learn that the hour for the fashionable 
 
 206
 
 SMOKE 
 
 gathering in front of the Konversationshaus had 
 not yet arrived. Litvinoff gave her his arm, and 
 the official promenade began. Tatyana walked 
 by the side of her aunt, and gazed about her with 
 calm curiosity; Kapitolina Markovna continued 
 her interrogatories. The sight of the roulette, 
 of the stately croupiers, whom she would cer- 
 tainly—had she met them in any other place, — 
 have taken for Cabinet Ministers, of their 
 brisk little shovels, of the golden and silver 
 heaps on the green cloth, of the gambling old 
 women and painted courtesans put Kapitolina 
 Markovna into a state akin to dumb rapture; 
 she totally forgot that she ought to feel indig- 
 nant—and only stared, and stared, with all her 
 eyes, quivering, from time to time, with every 
 fresh exclamation. . . The buzzing of the ivory 
 ball in the depths of the roulette penetrated to the 
 very marrow of her bones — and only when she 
 found herself in the open air did she gain suffi- 
 cient command over herself to designate the 
 game of chance, with a profound sigh, as an im- 
 moral invention of aristocratism. A fixed, ma- 
 licious smile made its appearance on Litvinoff's 
 lips; he talked abruptly and indolently, as though 
 he were vexed or bored. . . But now he turned to 
 Tatyana, and was seized with secret discomfiture : 
 she was gazing attentively at him with an ex- 
 pression as though she were asking herself what 
 sort of an impression was being aroused within 
 
 207
 
 SMOKE 
 
 her? He made haste to nod his head at her; she 
 replied to him in the same way, and again looked 
 at him inquiringly, not without a certain effort, 
 as though he stood a great deal further away from 
 her than he did in reality. Litvinoff led his ladies 
 away from the Konversationshaus, and avoiding 
 " the Russian tree," under which his fellow- 
 countrymen were already encamped, took his way 
 to Lichtenthaler Avenue. No sooner had he en- 
 tered the avenue than he descried Irina from 
 afar. 
 
 She was walking toward him with her husband 
 and Potiigin. Litvinoff turned pale as a sheet, 
 but did not retard his pace, and when he came 
 on a level with her he made her a silent bow. And 
 she bowed to him, pleasantly but coldly, and scru- 
 tinising Tatyana with a swift glance, she slipped 
 past. . . Ratmiroff raised his hat very high, Po- 
 tugin mumbled something. 
 
 " Who is that lady? " — suddenly inquired Ta- 
 tyana. Up to that moment she had hardly opened 
 her lips. 
 
 "That lady?"— repeated Litvinoff.— " That 
 lady? She is a certain Madame Ratmiroff." 
 
 "A Russian?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Did you make her acquaintance here? " 
 
 " No; I have known her this long time." 
 
 " How beautiful she is! " 
 
 " Did you notice her toilette? "—put in Kapi- 
 
 208
 
 SMOKE 
 
 tolina Markovna. — " Ten families might be fed 
 for a whole year for the money which her laces 
 alone are worth. Was that her husband walking 
 with her? "—she inquired of LitvinofF. 
 les. 
 
 " He must be frightfully rich." 
 
 " Really, I do not know; I do not think so." 
 
 " And what is his rank? " 
 
 " That of general." 
 
 " What eyes she has! "—remarked Tatyana:— 
 " and the expression of them is so strange: both 
 thoughtful and penetrating. . . I have never 
 seen such eyes." 
 
 LitvinofF made no reply ; it seemed to him that 
 he again felt on his face Tatyana's questioning 
 glance, but he was mistaken : she was looking un- 
 der her feet at the sand of the path. 
 
 "Good heavens! Who is that monster?"— 
 suddenly exclaimed Kapitolina Markovna, point- 
 ing with her finger at a low char-a-bancs, in 
 which, boldly lolling, lay a ruddy-haired, snub- 
 nosed woman, in an unusually rich costume and 
 lilac stockings. 
 
 " That monster! Goodness, that is the famous 
 Mademoiselle Cora." 
 
 " Who? " 
 
 " Mademoiselle Cora ... a Parisian .... 
 celebrity." 
 
 " What? that pug-dog? Why, she is extremely 
 ugly!" 
 
 209
 
 SMOKE 
 
 " Evidently, that is no hindrance." Kapito- 
 lina Markovna simply flung out her hands with 
 amazement. 
 
 " Well, your Baden! "—she ejaculated at last. 
 — " But may we sit down on this bench? I feel 
 rather fatigued." 
 
 " Of course you may, Kapitolina Markovna. . . 
 That 's what the benches are placed here for." 
 
 " Well, the Lord only knows! They say that 
 off there, in Paris, benches stand on the boule- 
 vards, also, but it is not proper to sit on them." 
 
 Litvinoff made no reply to Kapitolina Mar- 
 kovna. Only at that very moment did he reflect 
 that a couple of paces distant was the very spot 
 where he had had with Irfna the explanation 
 which had settled everything. Then he recol- 
 lected that to-day he had noticed on her cheek a 
 tiny red spot. . . 
 
 Kapitolina Markovna sank down on the bench, 
 Tatyana seated herself beside her, Litvinoff re- 
 mained on the path; between him and Tatyana 
 —or did it only seem so to him?— something had 
 taken place . . . something unconscious and 
 gradual. 
 
 " Akh, she is queer, she is queer,"— ejaculated 
 Kapitolina Markovna compassionately, shaking 
 her head.—" Now, if you were to sell her toilette, 
 you could feed not ten, but a hundred families. 
 Did vou see the diamonds on her red hair under 
 her hat? Diamonds by daylight, hey? ' 
 
 210
 
 SMOKE 
 
 ' Her hair is not red,"— remarked Litvfnoff •, 
 — " she dyes it to a reddish hue; that 's the fashion 
 now." 
 
 Again Kapitolina Markovna threw her hands 
 apart in amazement, and even fell into medita- 
 tion. 
 
 ' Well,"— she said at last,—" we have n't 
 gone to such scandalous lengths in Dresden yet. 
 Because, after all, it is further from Paris. 
 You think so too, don't you, Grigory Mikhaf- 
 litch?" 
 
 ' I? " — replied Litvfnoff, and said to himself: 
 ' What the deuce is she talking about? "—"I? 
 Of course ... of course. . ." 
 
 But here hurried footsteps became audible, and 
 Potugin approached the bench. 
 
 ' How do you do, Grigory Mikhailovitch,"— 
 he said, smiling, and nodding his head. 
 
 Litvfnoff immediately caught him by the arm. 
 
 " Good afternoon, good afternoon, Sozont 
 Ivanitch. I think I met you just now, with . . . 
 just now, in the avenue." 
 
 " Yes, it was I." 
 
 Potugin bowed respectfully to the ladies as 
 they sat. 
 
 " Permit me to introduce you, Sozont Ivan- 
 itch. My good friends, and relatives, have only 
 just arrived in Baden. Potugin, Sozont Ivan- 
 itch, a fellow-countryman, also a visitor to 
 Baden." 
 
 211
 
 SMOKE 
 
 Both ladies rose slightly. Potugin repeated his 
 salutes. 
 
 " It is a regular rout here," began Kapitolina 
 Markovna, in a thin little voice; the kindly old 
 maid was easily abashed, but she tried her best 
 to keep up her dignity:— " every one regards it 
 as a pleasant duty to come here." 
 
 " Baden really is a very agreeable place," — 
 replied Potugin, casting a sidelong glance 
 at Tatyana; — "a very agreeable place is 
 Baden." 
 
 "Yes; only too aristocratic, so far as I can 
 judge. She and I have been living in Dresden 
 this long time ... it is a very interesting town; 
 but it is, most decidedly, a rout here." 
 
 " She has taken a fancy to that word," thought 
 Potugin. — " Your observation is perfectly just," 
 — he said aloud: — " On the other hand, nature is 
 wonderful here, and the situation is such as is 
 rarely to be found. Your companion must par- 
 ticularly appreciate it. Do you not, madame? " — 
 he added, this time addressing himself directly to 
 Tatyana. 
 
 Tatyana raised her large, clear eyes to Potugin. 
 She seemed rather perplexed as to what was 
 wanted of her, and why Litvinoff had introduced 
 her, on that first day of her arrival, to that strange 
 man, who had, however, a clever and amiable face, 
 and who looked at her in a courteous and friendly 
 manner. 
 
 212
 
 SMOKE 
 
 << 
 
 Yes," — she said, at last, — " it is very pretty 
 here." 
 
 1 You ought to visit the old chateau," — went 
 on Potugin; — "in particular, I recommend you 
 to go to I burg." 
 
 " The Saxon Switzerland,"— began Kapitolina 
 Markovna. 
 
 A blast of notes from trumpets rolled down 
 the avenue: it was the Prussian military band 
 from Rastadt (in 1862 Rastadt was still a fed- 
 erate fortress) beginning its weekly concert in the 
 pavilion. Kapitolina Markovna instantly rose. 
 
 " Music! " — she said: — " the music at the a la 
 Conversation! ... we must go there. It must 
 be three o'clock now, is it not? Society is begin- 
 ning to assemble now? " 
 
 " Yes,"— replied Potugin;— " this is the most 
 fashionable hour for society, and the music is very 
 fine." 
 
 " Well, then we must not delay. Tanya, let 
 us go." 
 
 " Will you permit me to accompany you? " — 
 inquired Potugin, to the no small astonishment 
 of Litvinoff : it could not enter his head that Irina 
 had sent Potugin. 
 
 Kapitolina Markovna grinned. 
 
 " With the greatest pleasure, monsieur . . . 
 monsieur. . ." 
 
 " Potugin," — prompted he, and offered her his 
 arm. 
 
 213
 
 SMOKE 
 
 LitvinofF gave his to Tatyana, and both couples 
 directed their steps toward the Konversations- 
 haus. 
 
 Potugin continued to argue with Kapitolina 
 Markovna. But LitvinofF walked along without 
 uttering a word, and merely laughed a couple of 
 times, without any cause whatever, and lightly 
 pressed Tatyana's arm. There was falsehood in 
 those pressures, to which she did not respond, and 
 LitvinofF was conscious of the falsehood. They 
 did not express mutual confidence in the close 
 union of two souls which had given themselves 
 to each other, as before ; they were now taking the 
 place — for the time being — of the words which he 
 could not invent. That speechless something, 
 which had begun between the two, grew and 
 strengthened. Again Tatyana gazed attentively, 
 almost intently, at him. 
 
 The same state of affairs continued in front of 
 the Konversationshaus, at the little table, around 
 which all four seated themselves, with this sole 
 difference that LitvinofF's silence appeared more 
 comprehensible under the bustling turmoil of the 
 crowd, and the thunder and crash of the band. 
 Kapitolina Markovna was quite beside herself, 
 as the saying is; Potugin was hardly able to 
 humour her, and satisfy her curiosity. Luckily 
 for him, the gaunt figure of Madame Sukhan- 
 tchikofF and her ever-restless eyes suddenly made 
 their appearance in the throng. Kapitolina Mar- 
 
 214..
 
 SMOKE 
 
 kovna instantly recognised her, called her up to 
 the table, made her sit down — and a hurricane of 
 words ensued. 
 
 Potugin turned to Tatyana and began to con- 
 verse with her in a soft and quiet voice, with a 
 caressing expression on his slightly inclined coun- 
 tenance; and she, to her own surprise, answered 
 him lightly and without constraint; she found it 
 agreeable to chat with this stranger, whom she 
 did not know, while Litvinoff continued, as be- 
 fore, to sit motionless, with the same fixed and 
 malicious smile on his lips. 
 
 The hour for dinner arrived at last. The band 
 ceased to play, the crowd began to thin out. Kap- 
 itolina Markovna bade a sympathetic farewell to 
 Madame Sukhantchikoff. She had conceived an 
 immense respect for her, although she told her 
 niece afterward that she was an extremely spite- 
 ful person; but, on the other hand, she knew 
 everything about everybody! And sewing- 
 machines ought, really, to be introduced as soon 
 as the wedding was celebrated. Potugin bowed 
 himself off: Litvinoff took his ladies home. As 
 they entered the hotel, a note was handed to him : 
 he stepped aside, and hastily tore off the envel- 
 ope. On a small scrap of vellum paper stood the 
 following words, scribbled in pencil: " Come to 
 me this evening, for a moment, at seven o'clock, 
 I beg of you. Irina." Litvinoff thrust the paper 
 into his pocket, and as he turned round he smiled 
 
 215
 
 SMOKE 
 
 again .... at whom? why? Tatyana was stand- 
 ing with her back to him. 
 
 The dinner took place at the general table. 
 Litvinoff sat between Kapitolina Markovna and 
 Tatyana, and having grown rather strangely 
 vivacious, chatted, narrated anecdotes, poured 
 out wine for himself and for the ladies. He 
 bore himself with so much freedom of manner 
 that a French infantry officer from Strassburg, 
 with a goatee and moustache a la Napoleon III, 
 who sat opposite, found it possible to join in the 
 conversation, and even wound up with a toast 
 a la sante cles belles moscovites! After dinner 
 Litvinoff escorted the two ladies to their room, 
 and after standing for a short time by the win- 
 dow, with frowning brows, he suddenly an- 
 nounced that he must absent himself for a little 
 while on business, but would return, without fail, 
 later in the evening. Tatyana said nothing, 
 turned pale, and dropped her eyes. Kapitolina 
 Markovna had a habit of taking a nap after 
 dinner; Tatyana knew that Litvinoff was aware 
 of this habit of her aunt's : she had expected that 
 he would take advantage of it, that he would re- 
 main, as he had not yet been alone with her, had 
 not talked frankly with her, since their arrival. 
 And here he was going off ! How was she to un- 
 derstand that? And, altogether, his whole con- 
 duct in the course of the day .... 
 
 Litvinoff made haste to depart, without await- 
 
 216
 
 SMOKE 
 
 ing any objections; Kapitolina Markovna lay 
 down on the divan and, after sighing and draw- 
 ing a couple of deep breaths, fell into an untrou- 
 bled sleep; but Tatyana went away to a corner 
 and seated herself in an arm-chair, with her arms 
 tightly folded on her breast. 
 
 «i-. - 
 
 Vi
 
 XIX 
 
 Litvinoff briskly ascended the stairs of the 
 Hotel de l'Europe. . . A young girl of thirteen, 
 with a cunning little Kalmyk face, who, evi- 
 dently, was lying in wait for him, stopped him, 
 saying to him in Russian, ' This way, please ; 
 Irina Pavlovna will be here directly." He 
 glanced at her with surprise. She smiled, re- 
 peated, " If you please, if you please," and led 
 him into a small room which was opposite Irina's 
 bedroom, and filled with travelling coffers and 
 trunks, then immediately vanished, closing the 
 door softly behind her. Litvinoff had not suc- 
 ceeded in taking a survey when the same door 
 swiftly opened and Irina made her appearance, 
 in a pink ball-gown, with pearls in her hair and on 
 her neck. She fairly flung herself at him, seized 
 him by both hands, and remained speechless for 
 several moments ; her eyes beamed and her bosom 
 heaved, as though she had been running up a hill. 
 " I could not receive .... you there," — she 
 began, in a hurried whisper;—" we are going im- 
 mediately to a formal dinner, but I felt that it 
 was imperatively necessary that I should see you. 
 . . . That was your betrothed, of course, with 
 whom I met you to-dav? " 
 
 218
 
 SMOKE 
 
 1 Yes, that was my betrothed,"— said Litvi- 
 noff , laying special emphasis on the word " was." 
 
 ' Exactly, and so I wished to see you for a 
 moment, in order to tell you that you must con- 
 sider yourself entirely free, that all that which 
 took place yesterday ought not, in the least, to 
 alter your decision. ..." 
 
 " Irina! "—exclaimed Litvfnoff: — "why dost 
 thou say this? " 
 
 He spoke the words in a loud voice. . . . Bound- 
 less passion rang out in them. For a moment 
 Irina involuntarily closed her eyes. 
 
 " Oh, my dear one! "—she went on, in a still 
 softer whisper, but with uncontrollable impulsive- 
 ness: — "thou dost not know how I love thee, but 
 yesterday I only paid my debt, I expiated a 
 fault of the past. . . Akh ! I could not give thee 
 my youth, as I would have liked to do, but I im- 
 posed no obligations upon thee, I did not release 
 thee from any promise, my darling! Do as thou 
 wilt: thou art free as air; thou art in no wise 
 bound ; understand that ! Understand it ! " 
 
 " But I cannot live without thee, Irina,"— Lit- 
 vinoff interrupted her, now in a whisper. — " I am 
 
 thine forever and forever, since yesterday 
 
 Only at thy feet can I breathe. . . ." 
 
 He tremblingly pressed himself against her 
 arms. Irina gazed at his bowed head. 
 
 " Well, then, thou must know," — she said, — 
 " that I am ready for anything, that I will regret 
 
 219
 
 SMOKE 
 
 nobody and nothing. As thou dost decide, so 
 
 shall it be. I also am thine forever 
 
 thine." 
 
 Some one knocked cautiously at the door. 
 Irina bent over, whispered once more, ' Thine. 
 . . . . Farewell!" Litvinoff felt her breath on 
 his hair, and the touch of her lips. When he 
 straightened himself up she was no longer in the 
 room, only her gown was to be heard rustling in 
 the corridor, and Ratmiroff's voice was audible 
 in the distance, "Eh bien? Vous ne venez 
 
 Litvinoff sat down on a tall trunk and covered 
 his face. A feminine odour, delicate and fresh, 
 was wafted over him. Irina had held his hands 
 in her hands. " This is too much .... too 
 much," he said to himself. The young girl en- 
 tered the room, and smiling again in response to 
 his troubled glance, she said: 
 
 " Please go, sir, while " 
 
 He rose and left the hotel. An immediate re- 
 turn home was not to be thought of: he must re- 
 cover his senses. His heart was beating slowly 
 and unevenly; the earth seemed to be moving 
 faintly under his feet. Litvinoff again directed 
 his steps to Lichtenthal Avenue. Pie compre- 
 hended that the decisive moment had arrived, 
 that it had become impossible to delay any longer, 
 to dissimulate, to turn aside, that an explanation 
 with Tatyana was inevitable ; he pictured to him- 
 
 220
 
 SMOKE 
 
 self how she was sitting there without moving 
 and waiting for him ... he foresaw what he 
 would say to her ; but how was he to set about it, 
 how was he to begin? He had renounced all his 
 regular, well-arranged, orderly future: he knew 
 that he meant to fling himself headlong into the 
 whirlpool, into which it was not proper to glance ; 
 . . . but this did not disturb him. That affair 
 was ended, and how was he to present himself 
 before his judge? And even if his judge were to 
 meet him, as it were an angel with a flaming 
 sword : it would be easier for his guilty heart. . . . 
 but otherwise, he himself would be obliged to 
 drive the dagger home. . . . Horrible ! But turn 
 back, renounce that other, take advantage of the 
 liberty which was promised him, which was recog- 
 nised as his right . . . No ! It would be better to 
 die! Xo, he would none of that shameful lib- 
 erty; . . . but he would abase himself in the 
 dust, and in order that those eyes might incline 
 with love .... 
 
 " Grigory Mikhailitch ! " — said a mournful 
 voice, and a hand was laid heavily on Litvfnoff. 
 
 He glanced round, not without alarm, and be- 
 held Potugin. 
 
 " Excuse me, Grigory Mikhailitch,"— began 
 the latter, with his customary grimace;— " per- 
 haps I startled you, but, catching a glimpse of 
 you from afar, I thought . . . However, if you 
 do not feel like talking to me . . . ." 
 
 221
 
 SMOKE 
 
 " On the contrary, I am very glad,"— muttered 
 Litvinoff through his teeth. 
 
 Potugin walked along by his side. 
 
 " It is a beautiful evening," — he began:—" so 
 warm! Have you been walking long? ' 
 
 " No, not long." 
 
 " But why do I ask? I saw you come out of the 
 Hotel de l'Europe." 
 
 " So you have been following me? ' 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Have you anything to say to me? " 
 
 " Yes, " — repeated Potugin in a barely audible 
 voice. 
 
 Litvinoff halted and gazed at his unbidden 
 companion. His face was pale, his eyes were 
 roving; ancient, long-past grief seemed to start 
 forth upon his distorted features. 
 
 " What, precisely, is it that you wish to say to 
 me?"— said Litvinoff slowly, and again moved 
 onward. 
 
 " Permit me ... I will tell you at once. If 
 it is all the same to you, — let us sit down on this 
 bench here. It will be more convenient." 
 
 " But it is something private,"— said Litvinoff, 
 as he sat down beside him. " You do not seem 
 like yourself, Sozont Ivanitch." 
 
 " Yes, I 'm all right; and there is nothing pri- 
 vate about it. In fact, I wished to inform you . . . 
 of the impression which your betrothed has pro- 
 duced on me . . . for she is your betrothed bride,
 
 SMOKE 
 
 I believe? . . . Well, in a word, that young girl 
 to whom you introduced me to-day: I must say 
 that never, in the whole course of my life, have 
 I met so sympathetic a person. She— has a heart 
 of gold, a truly angelic soul." 
 
 Potugin uttered all these words with the same 
 bitter and afflicted aspect, so that even Litvinoff 
 could not fail to observe the contradiction between 
 the expression of his face and his remarks. 
 
 " You have judged Tatyana Petrovna with en- 
 tire justice,"— began Litvinoff;— " although I 
 am bound to feel astonished, in the first place, 
 that you are acquainted with my relations to her, 
 and, in the second place, that you have so speedily 
 divined her. She really has an angelic soul; but 
 allow me to inquire if that is what you wished to 
 talk to me about? " 
 
 " She cannot be divined at once,"— responded 
 Potugin, as though avoiding the last question: — 
 ' one must look into her eyes. She deserves every 
 possible happiness on earth, and enviable is the 
 lot of that man whose fate it shall be to procure 
 her that happiness! We must wish that he will 
 prove worthy of such a fate." 
 
 Litvinoff frowned slightly. 
 
 " Excuse me, Sozont Ivanitch," — he said: — " I 
 must confess that I find your conversation de- 
 cidedly original. ... I should like to know : does 
 the hint which your words contain refer to 
 me?" 
 
 223
 
 SMOKE 
 
 Potugin did not immediately reply to Litvi- 
 noff; evidently, he was struggling with himself. 
 
 " Grigory Mikhailitch," — he began at last, 
 — " either I am entirely mistaken in you, or you 
 are in a condition to hear the truth, from whom- 
 soever it may come, and under whatsoever un- 
 sightly cover it may present itself. I just told 
 you that I had seen whence you came." 
 
 ' Well, yes— from the Hotel de l'Europe. 
 And what of that?" 
 
 " Of course I know whom you saw there! ' 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " You saw Madame RatmirofF." 
 
 " Well, yes; I was with her. What more? ' 
 
 "What more? . . . You are the affianced hus- 
 band of Tatyana Petrovna ; you have had a meet- 
 ing with Madame RatmirofF, whom you love 
 .... and who loves you." 
 
 Litvinoff instantly rose from the bench; the 
 blood flew to his head. 
 
 " What 's that? "—he said at last, in a wrath- 
 ful, choking voice: — "is this an insipid jest, or 
 spying? Be so good as to explain yourself." 
 
 Potugin cast a dejected glance at him. 
 
 " Akh ! Do not take offence at my words, Gri- 
 gory Mikhailitch; you cannot insult me. It 
 was not for that that I began this conversation 
 with you, and I am in no mood for jesting now." 
 
 " Possibly, possibly. I am ready to believe in 
 the purity of your intentions; but, nevertheless, 
 
 224
 
 SMOKE 
 
 I shall permit myself to ask you, by what right 
 do you meddle with my private affairs, with the 
 heart-life of a stranger, and on what grounds do 
 you set forth your .... fiction, with so much 
 self-confidence, for the truth? " 
 
 ' My fiction! If I had invented that you 
 would not have got angry! and as for my right, 
 I have never yet heard of a man putting to him- 
 self the question: whether he had the right to 
 stretch forth a hand to a drowning person." 
 
 ' I thank you humbly for your solicitude," re- 
 torted Litvinoff angrily, — "only I do not stand 
 in the slightest need of it, and all these phrases 
 about perdition prepared by fashionable ladies 
 for inexperienced youths, about the immorality 
 of the highest society and so forth, I regard as 
 merely phrases, and even, in a certain sense, I 
 despise them; and therefore, I must request you 
 not to inconvenience your saving right hand, and 
 allow me to drown in all quietness." 
 
 Again Potugin raised his eyes to Litvinoff. 
 He was breathing heavily, his lips were twitching. 
 
 " Well, look at me, young man," — he burst out 
 at last, and he smote himself on the breast: — " do 
 I look like an ordinary, self-complacent moralist, 
 a preacher? Cannot you understand that, out of 
 mere sympathy for you, no matter how strong 
 that might be, I would never have uttered a word, 
 would not have given you the right to reproach 
 me for that which I hate more than anything else 
 
 225
 
 SMOKE 
 
 —for indiscretion, for intrusiveness ? Do not you 
 see that the matter here is of a totally different 
 nature— that before you is a man who has been 
 crushed, ruined, definitively annihilated by the 
 very same feeling, from the consequences of 
 which he would like to save you, and .... for 
 the very same woman! " 
 
 Litvinoff retreated a pace. 
 
 " Is it possible! what have you said. . . . You 
 . . . you . . . Sozont Ivanitch? But Madame 
 Byelsky . . . that child . . . ." 
 
 " Akh, do not question me . . . trust me! 
 That dark, terrible story I will not tell you. I 
 hardly knew Madame Byelsky; the child is not 
 mine, but I took entire charge of her .... be- 
 cause .... because she wished it, because it was 
 necessary for her. Why should I be here, in 
 your repulsive Baden? And, in conclusion, do 
 you suppose, could you, for one moment, have 
 imagined that I had made up my mind to warn 
 you out of sympathy? I am sorry for that kind, 
 good young girl, your betrothed; but, however, 
 what business have I with your future, with both 
 of you? . . . But I fear for her . . . for her." 
 You do me much honour, Mr. Potugin," — 
 began Litvinoff, — " but since, according to your 
 words, we are both in the same situation, why do 
 not you read the same sort of exhortations to 
 yourself. And ought not I to attribute your 
 fears to another sentiment? " 
 
 226
 
 SMOKE 
 
 1 That is, to jealousy, you mean to say? Ekh, 
 young man, young man, you ought to be ashamed 
 to shuffle and shift ; you ought to be ashamed not 
 to understand what bitter woe now speaks 
 through my mouth ! No, you and I are not in the 
 same situation! I, I — am an old, ridiculous, ut- 
 terly harmless eccentric fellow . . . but you! 
 But what is the use of talking? Not for one sec- 
 ond would you consent to take upon yourself the 
 role which I am playing, and playing with grati- 
 tude! And jealousy? The man who has not a 
 single drop of hope is not jealous, and this would 
 not be the first time that I have had occasion to 
 experience that emotion. I am only terrified . . . 
 terrified for her, understand that. And could I 
 foresee, when she sent me to you, that the feeling 
 of guilt, which she admitted to be hers, would 
 lead her so far? " 
 
 " But permit me, Sozont Ivanitch, you seem to 
 know . . ." 
 
 " I know nothing, and I know everything. I 
 know,"— he added, and turned his head away.— 
 " I know where she was last night. But she is not 
 to be restrained now: like a stone that has been 
 hurled, she must roll to the bottom. I should be 
 a still greater fool if I were to imagine that my 
 words would immediately arrest you . . . you, to 
 whom such a woman .... But enough on that 
 score. I could not restrain myself, that is my sole 
 excuse. Yes, and, in conclusion, how was I to 
 
 227
 
 SMOKE 
 
 know, and why should I not make the attempt? 
 Perhaps you will think better of it, perhaps some 
 word of mine will fall into your soul. You will 
 not wish to ruin her and yourself, and that inno- 
 cent, lovely creature. . . Akh, be not angry, do 
 not stamp your foot! Why should I be afraid— 
 why should I stand on ceremony? It is not jeal- 
 ousy which is speaking in me now, nor irritation. 
 . . I am ready to fall at your feet, to entreat 
 you. . . But farewell. Have no fear: all this 
 wall remain a secret. I have wished your good." 
 
 Potugin strode along the avenue, and soon dis- 
 appeared in the already descending gloom. . . . 
 LitvfnofF did not detain him. 
 
 " A terrible, dark story," — Potugin had said to 
 LitvfnofF, and had not been willing to narrate it. 
 .... And we will touch upon it in a couple of 
 words only. 
 
 Eight years previous to this time he had hap- 
 pened to be temporarily ordered by his Ministry 
 to Count Reisenbach. The affair took place in 
 the summer. Potugin had been in the habit of 
 driving out to his villa with documents, and spent 
 whole days in this manner. Irina was then living 
 with the Count. She never disdained persons of 
 inferior positions, at all events, she never shunned 
 them, and the Countess had repeatedly scolded 
 her for her superfluous Moscow familiarity. Irina 
 speedily divined the clever man in this humble 
 official, clothed in uniform, in a coat buttoned to 
 
 228
 
 SMOKE 
 
 the throat. She chatted with him frequently and 
 gladly . . . and he . . . he fell in love with her, 
 passionately, profoundly, secretly. . . Secretly! 
 He thought so. 
 
 The summer passed. The Count ceased to re- 
 quire an outside assistant. Potugin lost sight of 
 Irina, but could not forget her. Three years later 
 he quite unexpectedly received an invitation 
 from one of his acquaintances, a lady of me- 
 diocre standing. This lady was somewhat em- 
 barrassed, at first, to express her meaning, but 
 after having extracted from him an oath that he 
 would maintain the greatest secrecy in regard to 
 everything which he should hear, she proposed to 
 him . . . that he should marry a certain young 
 girl who occupied a prominent position in so- 
 ciety, and for whom marriage had become indis- 
 pensable. The lady could hardly make up her 
 mind to hint at the principal in the affair, and 
 then and there offered Potugin money ... a 
 great deal of money. Potugin did not take of- 
 fence, — amazement overwhelmed his feeling of 
 wrath, — but, as a matter of course, he gave a 
 downright refusal. Then the lady handed him a 
 note addressed to him — from Irina. " You are a 
 noble, kind man," she wrote, — " and I know that 
 you will do anything for me; I ask this sacrifice of 
 you. You will save a being who is dear to me. 
 In saving her, you will save me also. . . Do not 
 ask . . . how. I could not have brought myself 
 
 229
 
 SMOKE 
 
 to apply to any one with such a request, but I do 
 stretch out my hands to you, and say : ' Do this 
 for my sake.' " Potugin reflected, and said that, 
 in fact, he was ready to do a great deal for Irina 
 Pavlovna, but would like to hear her wish from 
 her own lips. The meeting took place that same 
 evening: it did not last long, and no one knew 
 about it, except the lady. Irina was no longer 
 living at Count Reisenbach's. 
 
 " Why did you think of me, in particular? " — 
 Potugin asked her. 
 
 She was on the point of enlarging upon his fine 
 qualities, but suddenly paused. . . 
 
 " No,"— she said, — " I must tell you the truth. 
 I knew — I know that you love me: this is why I 
 decided upon it. . . . And thereupon she told 
 him everything. 
 
 Eliza Byelsky was an orphan ; her relatives did 
 not like her, and were counting upon her inherit- 
 ance . . . ruin stared her in the face. By sav- 
 ing her, Irina really was rendering a service to the 
 man who was the cause of it all, and who had now 
 come to stand very close to her, Irina. . . Potu- 
 gin gazed silently and long at Irina, and con- 
 sented. She fell to weeping, and all in tears, 
 flung herself on his neck. And he also began to 
 weep . . . but their tears were different. Every- 
 thing was already prepared for a secret marriage, 
 a powerful hand had swept aside all obstacles. . . 
 But illness ensued . . . and a daughter was born, 
 
 230
 
 SMOKE 
 
 and the mother— poisoned herself. What was to 
 be done with the child ? Potiigin took it under his 
 charge from the same hands, from the hands of 
 Irina. 
 
 A terrible, dark story. . . Let us pass on, 
 reader, let us pass on ! 
 
 Over an hour more elapsed before Litvinoff 
 made up his mind to return to his hotel. He was 
 already drawing near to it, when he suddenly 
 heard footsteps behind him. Some one appeared 
 to be persistently following him, and walking 
 faster when he accelerated his pace. As he came 
 under a street-lamp, Litvinoff glanced round, 
 and recognised General Ratmiroff. In a white 
 necktie, and an elegant overcoat thrown open on 
 the breast, with a row of tiny stars and crosses on 
 a golden chain, in the buttonhole of his evening 
 coat, the general was returning from the dinner 
 alone. His glance, directly and boldly riveted 
 upon Litvinoff, expressed such scorn and such 
 hatred, his whole figure breathed forth such an 
 importunate challenge, that Litvinoff considered 
 it his duty to advance to meet him, summoning 
 his courage to advance to meet that " row." But, 
 on coming alongside of Litvinoff, the general's 
 face instantly underwent a change: again his 
 wonted playful elegance made its appearance, 
 and his hand, in its pale lilac glove, raised his 
 shining hat on high. Litvinoff silently took off 
 his, and each went his way. 
 
 231
 
 SMOKE 
 
 "Assuredly, he has noticed something!" — 
 thought Litvinoff. "If only ... it were any 
 other person! " thought the general. 
 
 Tatyana was playing picquet with her aunt, 
 when Litvinoff entered their room. 
 
 " Well, you are a nice one, my dear fellow! " — 
 exclaimed Kapitolina Markovna, and flung her 
 cards on the table: — " on the very first day you 
 have disappeared, and for the entire evening! 
 Here we have been waiting and waiting for you, 
 scolding and scolding. . ." 
 
 " I have not said anything, aunty," — remarked 
 Tatyana. 
 
 " Well, everybody knows what a submissive 
 creature you are! Shame on you, my dear sir! 
 And a betrothed bridegroom, to boot ! ' 
 
 Litvinoff excused himself, after a fashion, and 
 seated himself at the table. 
 
 " Why have you stopped playing? "—he asked, 
 after a brief silence. 
 
 " That 's just the point! She and I play cards 
 out of ennui when there is nothing to do ... . 
 but now you have come." 
 
 "If you would like to listen to the evening con- 
 cert,"— said Litvinoff,—" I will take you with 
 great pleasure." 
 
 Kapitolina Markovna looked at her niece. 
 
 ' Let us go, aunty, I am ready," — said the lat- 
 ter,—" but would it not be better to remain at 
 home?" 
 
 232
 
 SMOKE 
 
 ' The very thing ! Let us drink tea, in our own 
 Moscow fashion, with a samovar; and let 's have 
 a good talk. We have n't yet had a thoroughly 
 good chat." 
 
 Litvinoff ordered tea to be brought, but they 
 did not succeed in having a good talk. He ex- 
 perienced an incessant gnawing of conscience ; no 
 matter what he said, it always seemed to him as 
 though he were lying, and that Tatyana divined 
 it. But, in the meanwhile, no change was per- 
 ceptible in her ; she bore herself with as little con- 
 straint as ever .... only, her glance never once 
 rested on Litvinoff, but slipped over him in a con- 
 descending and timid sort of way — and she was 
 paler than usual. 
 
 Kapitolina Markovna asked her whether she 
 had not a headache? 
 
 At first Tatyana was on the point of answer- 
 ing 'No," but changed her mind, and said: 
 " Yes, a little." 
 
 ' It is from the journey,"— said Litvinoff, and 
 fairly blushed with shame. 
 
 ' It is from the journey," — repeated Tatyana, 
 and again her glance glided over him. 
 
 " You must rest, Tanetchka." 
 
 • I shall go to bed soon, aunty." 
 
 On the table lay the " Guide des Voyageurs "; 
 Litvinoff began to read aloud the description of 
 the environs of Baden. 
 
 ' All that is so," — Kapitolina Markovna inter- 
 
 233
 
 SMOKE 
 
 rupted him,—" but one thing we must not forget. 
 They say that linen is very cheap here, so we 
 might buy some for the trousseau." 
 
 Tatyana dropped her eyes. 
 
 " There is plenty of time, aunty. You never 
 think of yourself. But you certainly must have a 
 new gown made. You see how finely dressed 
 every one is here." 
 
 " Eh, my darling! Why should I? What sort 
 of a fashionable figure-plate should I make? It 
 would be all right if I were as beautiful as that 
 acquaintance of yours, Grigory Mikhailitch— 
 what in the world is her name? " 
 
 " What acquaintance? " 
 
 " Why, the one we met to-day." 
 
 "Ah, that one!"— said Litvinoff, with simu- 
 lated indifference, and again he felt odious and 
 ashamed. "No!" he said to himself, "things 
 cannot go on in this way ! ' 
 
 He was sitting by the side of his betrothed, and 
 a few inches away from her, in his pocket, was 
 Irina's handkerchief. 
 
 Kapitolina Markovna went into the next room 
 for a moment. 
 
 " Tanya . . . ."—said Litvinoff, with an ef- 
 fort. He called her by that name for the first 
 time that day. 
 
 She turned toward him. 
 
 " I . . . . have something important to say to 
 
 you." 
 
 234
 
 SMOKE 
 
 "Ah! Really? When? Immediately?" 
 
 " No, to-morrow." 
 
 "Ah! To-morrow. Well, very good." 
 
 Boundless pity immediately filled Litvinoff's 
 soul. He took Tatyana's hand and kissed it sub- 
 missively, like a guilty man ; her heart contracted 
 silently, and that kiss did not make her rejoice. 
 
 That night, at two o'clock, Kapitolina Mar- 
 kovna, who slept in the same room with her niece, 
 suddenly raised her head and listened. 
 
 "Tanya!"— she said:— "are you crying?" 
 
 Tatyana did not immediately reply. 
 
 " No, aunty,"— her gentle little voice made it- 
 self heard;—" I have a cold in the head." 
 
 235
 
 XX 
 
 "Why did I say that?" thought Litvinoff, on 
 the following morning, as he sat in front of the 
 window in his own room. He shrugged his shoul- 
 ders with vexation: he had said it to Tatyana 
 precisely for the purpose of cutting off all retreat 
 from himself. On the window-sill lay a note 
 from Irina: she summoned him to her at eleven 
 o'clock. Potugin's words incessantly recurred to 
 his memory; then they rushed past with an omi- 
 nous, though feeble, rather subterranean roar; he 
 waxed angry, and could not, in any way, rid him- 
 self of them. Some one knocked at the door. 
 
 " Wer da? "—inquired Litvinoff. 
 
 " Ah! You are at home! Open! "—rang out 
 Bindasoff's hoarse bass voice. 
 
 The handle of the door rattled. 
 
 Litvinoff turned pale with wrath. 
 
 " I am not at home,"— he said sharply. 
 
 " Why are n't you at home? What sort of a 
 jest is this? " 
 
 " I tell you— I am not at home; take yourself 
 off." 
 
 " That 's amiable of you! And I came to bor- 
 row money," — growled Bindasoff. 
 
 236
 
 SMOKE 
 
 But he withdrew, clacking his heels, as usual. 
 
 Litvinoff almost rushed out after him, so great 
 was his desire to break the neck of that disgust- 
 ing, insolent fellow. The events of the last few 
 days had deranged his nerves: a little more, and 
 he would have wept. He drank a glass of cold 
 water, locked all the drawers in the furniture, 
 without knowing why he did so, and went to Ta- 
 tyana. 
 
 He found her alone — Kapitolina Markovna 
 had betaken herself to the shops to make pur- 
 chases. Tatyana was sitting on the divan, and 
 holding a book with both hands ; she was not read- 
 ing it, and even hardly knew what book it was. 
 She did not stir, but her heart was beating vio- 
 lently in her breast, and the white collar round her 
 neck quivered perceptibly and regularly. 
 
 Litvinoff was disconcerted . . . but he sat down 
 beside her, bade her good morning, and smiled; 
 and she smiled silently at him. She had bowed to 
 him when he entered, bowed politely, not in a 
 friendly manner — and had not looked at him. He 
 offered her his hand; she gave him her cold fin- 
 gers, immediately disentangled them, and re- 
 turned to her book. Litvinoff felt that to begin 
 the conversation with trivial subjects would be 
 equivalent to offering Tatyana an affront; ac- 
 cording to her wont, she demanded nothing, but 
 everything in her said: " I am waiting, I am wait- 
 ing. . ." He must fulfil his promise. But, al- 
 
 237
 
 SMOKE 
 
 though he had thought of nothing else almost all 
 night, he had not prepared even the first intro- 
 ductory words, and positively did not know how 
 to break that cruel silence. 
 
 " Tanya," — he began at last, — " I told you yes- 
 terday that I have something important to com- 
 municate to you" (in Dresden, when he was 
 alone with her, he had begun to address her as 
 " thou," but now such a thing was not to be 
 thought of ) . "I am ready, only, I beg you in 
 advance, not to blame me, and to feel assured that 
 my feelings for you . . . ." 
 
 He halted. He had lost his breath. Still Ta- 
 tyana never moved, nor did she glance at him : she 
 merely grasped her book more firmly than be- 
 fore. 
 
 " Between us," — went on Litvinoff, without 
 completing the speech he had begun, — " between 
 us there has always been perfect frankness ; I re- 
 spect you too much to resort to double dealing 
 with you ; I want to prove to you that I prize the 
 loftiness and freedom of your soul, and although 
 I . . although, of course . . . ." 
 
 " Grigory Mikhailitch,"— began Tatyana in 
 an even voice, and her whole face became over- 
 spread with a death -like pallor,—" I will come to 
 your assistance: you have ceased to love me, and 
 you do not know how to tell me that." 
 
 Litvinoff involuntarily shuddered. 
 
 " Why? "—he said, almost inaudibly,— " why 
 
 238
 
 SMOKE 
 
 should you think that? ... I really do not un- 
 derstand. . ." 
 
 " Well, is it not the truth? Is it not the truth? 
 tell me! tell me!" 
 
 Tatyana turned her whole body toward Litvi- 
 noff ; her face, with its hair thrown back, ap- 
 proached his face, and her eyes, which had not 
 looked at him for so long, fairly devoured his 
 eyes. 
 
 "Is it not true? "—she repeated. 
 
 He said nothing, did not utter a single sound. 
 He could not have lied at that moment, even if 
 he had known that she would believe him, and that 
 his lie would save her ; he was not even capable of 
 enduring her gaze. Litvinoff said nothing, but 
 she no longer needed an answer; she read the an- 
 swer in his silence, in those guilty, downcast eyes, 
 —and threw herself back, and dropped her book. 
 . . . She had still doubted, up to that moment, 
 and Litvinoff understood this ; he understood that 
 she still doubted — and how repulsive, actually re- 
 pulsive, was everything that he had done! 
 
 He threw himself on his knees before her. 
 
 "Tanya!"— he exclaimed:— "if I had known 
 how painful it would be to me to behold you in 
 this situation, how frightful it would be to me to 
 think that it is I .... I! My heart is lacerated ; 
 I do not know myself; I have lost myself and 
 thee, and everything. . . . Everything is ruined, 
 Tanya, everything! Could I have foreseen that I 
 
 239
 
 SMOKE 
 
 . . I would deal such a blow to thee, my best 
 friend, my guardian angel! . . . Could I have 
 foreseen that thou and I would meet, would pass 
 such a day as yesterday! . . ." 
 
 Tatyana tried to rise and withdraw. He de- 
 tained her by the hem of her gown. 
 
 " No ; listen to me for another minute. Thou 
 seest, I am kneeling before thee. But I have not 
 come to ask forgiveness, — thou canst not and 
 must not forgive me ; I have come to tell thee that 
 thy friend has gone to destruction, that he is fall- 
 ing into the abyss, and does not wish to drag thee 
 down with him. . . . But save me ... no! even thou 
 canst not save me. I myself would have re- 
 pulsed thee. ... I have perished, Tanya, I have 
 perished irrevocably! " 
 
 Tatyana looked at Litvinoff. 
 
 "You have perished! "—she said, as though 
 she did not fully understand him. — " You have 
 perished? " 
 
 " Yes, Tanya, I have perished. All that is 
 past, all that is dear, all that has heretofore con- 
 stituted my life, — has perished for me; every- 
 thing is ruined, everything is torn away, and I 
 know not what awaits me in the future. Thou 
 didst tell me immediately that I had ceased to 
 love thee. . . No, Tanya, I have not ceased to 
 love thee, but another, a terrible, irresistible 
 feeling has descended upon me, has flooded me. 
 I resisted it as long as I was able. . . . ' 
 
 240
 
 SMOKE 
 
 Tatyana rose; her brows were contracted, her 
 pale face had darkened. Litvinoff also rose. 
 
 : You have fallen in love with another 
 woman," — she began, — " and I divine who she is. 
 . . We met her yesterday, did we not? Very well! 
 I know now what remains for me to do. As you 
 yourself say that this feeling is unalterable in 
 you . . ." (Tatyana paused for an instant: per- 
 haps she still hoped that Litvinoff would not 
 let this last word pass without a reply, but he 
 said nothing) ' all there is left for me to do is 
 to give you back . . . your word." Litvinoff 
 bent his head, as though submissively accepting 
 a merited blow. 
 
 " You have a right to be angry with me," — he 
 said, — " you have a perfect right to reproach 
 me with pusillanimity . . . with deceit." 
 
 Again Tatyana looked at him. 
 
 " I have not reproached you, Litvinoff; I do 
 not accuse you. I agree with you: the very bit- 
 terest truth is better than what went on yesterday. 
 What a life ours would have been under present 
 circumstances! " 
 
 ' What a life mine will be under present cir- 
 cumstances!' echoed painfully in Litvinoff's 
 soul. 
 
 Tatyana approached the door of the bedroom. 
 
 ' I beg that you will leave me alone for a time, 
 Grigory Mikhaflitch, — we shall meet again, we 
 shall talk together again. All this has been 
 
 241
 
 SMOKE 
 
 so unexpected. I must collect my forces .... 
 leave me . . . spare my pride. We shall see each 
 other again." 
 
 And having said these words, Tatyana hastily 
 left the room and locked the door after her. 
 
 Litvinoff went out into the street as though 
 confused, stunned; something dark and heavy 
 had taken root in the very depths of his heart; a 
 man who has cut another man's throat must ex- 
 perience a similar sensation, and, at the same time, 
 he felt relieved, as though he had at last cast off 
 a hateful burden. Tatyana's magnanimity an- 
 nihilated him ; he was vividly conscious of all that 
 he had lost . . . and what then? Vexation was 
 mingled with his repentance; he longed for 
 Irina, as the sole refuge left him, — and was 
 angry with her. For some time past, and with 
 every succeeding day, Litvinoff's feelings had 
 been becoming more and more powerful and 
 complex; this complication tortured, irritated 
 him; he felt lost in this chaos. He thirsted for 
 one thing : to come out, at last, on a road, on any 
 road whatever, if only he might no longer whirl 
 around in this unintelligible twilight. Positive 
 people, like Litvinoff, ought not to get car- 
 ried away by passion ; it destroys the very mean- 
 ing of their lives. . . But nature asks no questions 
 about logic, our human logic; she has her own, 
 which we do not understand and do not recognise 
 until it rolls over us, like a wheel. 
 
 242
 
 SMOKE 
 
 After parting from Tatyana, Litvinoff held 
 one thought firmly in his mind : to see Irina ; and 
 he set out for her abode. But the general was 
 at home,— at least, so the porter told him,— and 
 he did not care to enter; he did not feel himself 
 in a condition to dissimulate, and strolled off to 
 the Konversationshaus. Litvinoff's incapacity 
 for dissimulation was experienced that day by 
 Voroshiloff and Pishtchalkin, who chanced to 
 encounter him: he fairly told one of them point- 
 blank that he was as empty as a tambourine; the 
 other, that he was tiresome enough to make a man 
 swoon; it was a good thing that Bindasoff did 
 not turn up: a 'grosser Scandal" certainly 
 would have ensued. Both young men were 
 amazed; Voroshiloff even asked himself whether 
 his honour as an officer did not demand repara- 
 tion? — but, like Gogol's lieutenant Pirogoff, he 
 soothed himself in the cafe with bread and butter. 
 Litvinoff caught a distant glimpse of Kapitolina 
 Markovna, busily running from shop to shop in 
 her motley mantle. . . He felt ashamed before 
 the kind, ridiculous, noble old woman. Then he 
 recalled Potugin and their conversation of the 
 preceding day. . . . But now some influence was 
 breathing upon him, something impalpable and 
 indubitable; had the exhalation emanated from 
 a falling shadow, it could not have been more 
 intangible. But he immediately felt that Irina 
 was approaching. And in fact, she appeared at 
 
 243
 
 SMOKE 
 
 a distance of a few paces, arm in arm with another 
 lady ; their eyes instantly met. Irina, in all proba- 
 bility, noticed something unusual in the expres- 
 sion of Litvinoff's face; she halted in front of a 
 shop, in which a mass of tiny wooden clocks of 
 Schwarzwald manufacture were on sale, sum- 
 moned him to her by a movement of her head, 
 and pointing out one of these clocks to him, and 
 requesting him to admire the pretty dial-plate, 
 with a painted cuckoo at the top, she said, not in a 
 whisper, but in her ordinary voice, as though com- 
 pleting a phrase which had been begun— which at- 
 tracts less attention from strangers: 
 
 " Come an hour hence, I shall be at home and 
 alone." 
 
 But at this point, that squire of dames, Mon- 
 sieur Verdier, fluttered up to her, and began to 
 go into ecstasies over the feuille morte tint of her 
 gown, over her low-crowned Spanish hat, which 
 was pulled down to her very eyebrows. . . Litvi- 
 nofF vanished in the crowd. 
 
 244
 
 XXI 
 
 ' Grigory,"— said Irina to him, two hours 
 later, as she sat beside him on the couch and laid 
 both her hands on his shoulders. — " What is the 
 matter with thee? Tell me now, quickly, while 
 we are alone." 
 
 ' With me? "—said Litvinoff.— " I am happy, 
 happy, that is what is the matter with me." 
 
 Irina dropped her eyes, smiled, sighed. 
 
 ' That is not an answer to my question, my 
 dear one. " 
 
 Litvinoff reflected. 
 
 " Well, then, thou must know . . . since thou 
 imperatively demandest it ' ( Irina opened her 
 eyes very widely, and drew back a little) : " I 
 have to-day told my betrothed everything." 
 
 " What dost thou mean by everything? Didst 
 thou mention my name? " 
 
 ' Irina, for God's sake, how could such a 
 thought enter thy head! that I . . . ." 
 
 I iitvinoff actually clasped his hands. 
 
 ' Well, forgive me .... forgive me. What 
 didst thou say? " 
 
 " I told her that I no longer loved her." 
 
 "Did she ask why?" 
 
 245
 
 SMOKE 
 
 ' 1 did not conceal from her the fact that I 
 loved another, and that we must part." 
 
 " Well . . . and how about her? Did she con- 
 sent?" 
 
 " Akh, Irina, what a girl she is ! She is all self- 
 sacrifice, all nobility!" 
 
 * I believe it, I believe it . . however, there was 
 nothing else left for her to do." 
 
 " And not a single reproach, not a single bit- 
 ter word to me, to the man who has spoiled her 
 whole life, who has deceived her, pitilessly 
 abandoned her. . ." 
 
 Irina inspected her finger-nails. 
 
 " Tell me, Grigory, did she love thee? " 
 
 " Yes, Irina, she did love me." 
 
 Irina said nothing, but smoothed her gown. 
 
 " I must confess," — she began, — " that I do 
 not quite understand why thou hast taken it into 
 thy head to have an explanation with her." 
 
 ' How is it that thou dost not understand it, 
 Irina! Is it possible that thou wouldst have 
 wished to have me lie, dissimulate before her — be- 
 fore that pure soul? Or didst thou assume . . . ." 
 
 " I assumed nothing," interrupted Irina. — " I 
 must admit that I have thought very little about 
 her. . . I cannot think of two persons at the same 
 time." 
 
 " That is, thou intendest to say . . ." 
 
 "Well, and what then? Is she going away, 
 that pure soul? "—interrupted Irina again. 
 
 246
 
 SMOKE 
 
 ' 1 know nothing about that," — replied Litvi- 
 noff. — " I must see her again. But she will not 
 remain." 
 
 'All! A prosperous journey to her!' 
 
 V No, she will not remain. But neither am I 
 thinking of her at present. I am thinking of 
 what thou hast said to me, of what thou hast 
 promised me." 
 
 Irfna cast a sidelong glance at him. 
 
 " Ungrateful ! Art thou still not satisfied ? " 
 
 ' No, Irina, I am not satisfied. Thou hast 
 made me happy, but I am not satisfied, and thou 
 understandest me." 
 
 " That is to say, I . . ." 
 
 f ■ Yes, thou understandest my meaning. 
 Recollect thy words, remember what thou hast 
 written to me. I cannot share with another; I 
 cannot consent to the pitiful role of a secret lover ; 
 I have cast not my own life only, but another 
 life also, at thy feet. I have renounced every- 
 thing I have, I have ground everything to dust, 
 without compassion and without recall; but, on 
 the other hand, I believe, I am firmly convinced, 
 that thou also wilt keep thy promise and wilt 
 unite thy fate forever to mine. . . ." 
 
 " Thou desirest that I should flee with thee? 
 I am ready . . ." (LitvinofF kissed her hands 
 with rapture) ' I am ready; I do not take back 
 mjr word. But hast thou considered the difficul- 
 ties . . . hast thou prepared the means? ' 
 
 247
 
 SMOKE 
 
 "I? I have not yet had time to consider, or to 
 prepare, but say this one thing, ' yes ' ; grant me 
 the permission to act, and before a month shall 
 have elapsed . . . ." 
 
 "A month! We leave for Italy in a fort- 
 night." 
 
 "A fortnight is enough for me. Oh, Irina! 
 thou receivest my proposal coldly, to all appear- 
 ances ; perhaps it seems to thee fanciful, but I am 
 not a boy, I am not accustomed to comfort myself 
 with fancies; I know that it is a terrible step, I 
 know what a responsibility I am assuming, but I 
 see no other issue. Reflect, in short, that I am 
 bound to break off all connection with the past, 
 in order that I may not bear the reputation of a 
 despicable liar in the eyes of that young girl 
 whom I have sacrificed for thy sake." 
 
 Irina suddenly drew herself up, and her eyes 
 flashed. 
 
 " Well, you must excuse me, Grigory Mikhai- 
 litch ! If I make up my mind to do that, if I flee, 
 I shall flee with the man who does it for me, pre- 
 cisely for me, and not for the sake of not lowering 
 himself in the opinion of a phlegmatic young lady 
 who has milk and water, du lait coupe, in her 
 veins, in place of blood. And I will tell you 
 something else, also: I must say that this is the 
 first time it has ever been my lot to hear that the 
 man to whom I have shown favour is deserving 
 of compassion, is playing a sorry part! I know 
 
 248
 
 SMOKE 
 
 a more pitiful role: the role of a man who does 
 not know what is going on in his own soul! ' 
 
 It was now Litvinoff's turn to draw himself 
 up. 
 
 " Irina," — he began. 
 
 But she suddenly pressed both palms to her 
 brow, and flinging herself on his breast, with a 
 convulsive impulse, embraced him with unfemi- 
 nine force. 
 
 " Forgive me, forgive me," — she said in a 
 trembling voice, — " forgive me, Grigory! Thou 
 seest how spoiled I am, how hateful, jealous, 
 wicked I am! Thou seest how I need thy help, 
 thy indulgence! Yes, save me, tear me out of 
 this abyss before I perish utterly ! Yes, let us flee, 
 let us flee from these people, from this society, 
 into some distant, free, beautiful land! Perhaps 
 thy Irina will become, at last, more worthy of the 
 sacrifices which thou art making for her! Be not 
 angry with me, my dearest, — and understand 
 that I will do everything which thou commandest ; 
 I will go anywhere, whithersoever thou leadest 
 me!" 
 
 Litvinoff's heart was completely upset. Irina 
 pressed more violently than ever to him with her 
 supple young body. He bent over her dishev- 
 elled, perfumed locks, and in an intoxication of 
 gratitude and rapture, hardly ventured to caress 
 them with his hand, hardly touched them with his 
 lips. 
 
 249
 
 SMOKE 
 
 " Irina, Irina," — he kept repeating, — " my 
 angel. . ." 
 
 She suddenly raised her head, listened. . . 
 " Those are my husband's footsteps . . he has 
 gone into his own room," — she whispered, and 
 hastily moving away, she seated herself in an 
 arm-chair. Litvinoff was on the point of rising. 
 . . " Where art thou going? " she continued in the 
 same whisper: — "remain; he suspects thee, as 
 it is. Or art thou afraid of him?" — She never 
 took her eyes from the door. — " Yes, it is he; he 
 will come hither immediately. Tell me some- 
 thing, converse with me." — Litvinoff could not 
 at once recover himself, and remained silent. — 
 " Are not you going to the theatre to-morrow? " 
 —she said aloud. — " They are playing ' Le Verre 
 d'Eau,' a stale old piece, and Plessy is frightfully 
 affected. . . I feel as though I were in a fever," 
 —she added, lowering her voice, — we cannot 
 go on like this ; we must think it over carefully. I 
 must warn thee that he has all my money; mats 
 j'ai mes bijoux. Let us go to Spain, shall we? " 
 — Again she raised her voice. — " Why is it that 
 all actresses get fat? There is Madeleine Brohan, 
 for example. . . Do say something; don't sit 
 there dumb like that. My head is whirling. But 
 thou must have no doubts of me. . . I will let 
 thee know where thou must come to-morrow. 
 Only, it was unnecessary for thee to tell that 
 young lady. . . . Ah! mais c'est charmant! " — 
 
 250
 
 SMOKE 
 
 she suddenly exclaimed, and with a nervous laugh 
 she tore off the border of her handkerchief. 
 
 " May I come in? "—inquired Ratmiroff, from 
 the adjoining room. 
 
 " Yes .... yes." 
 
 The door opened, and the general appeared on 
 the threshold. He scowled at the sight of Litvi- 
 noff, but saluted him, that is to say, he swayed the 
 upper part of his body. 
 
 " I did not know that thou hadst a visitor,"— 
 he said: — " je vous demande pardon de mon in- 
 discretion. And does Baden still amuse you, 
 Monsieur .... Litvinoff? " 
 
 Ratmiroff always pronounced Litvinoff' s sur- 
 name with hestitation, as though he had for- 
 gotten it every time, and could not immediately 
 recall it. . . By this means, and by raising his hat 
 in an exaggerated manner, he meant to sting him. 
 
 " I do not find myself bored here, Monsieur 
 le general." 
 
 " Really? But I have grown horribly tired of 
 Baden. We are going away shortly, are we not, 
 Irina Pavlovna? Assez de Bade comme ca. 
 Moreover, luckily for you, I have won five hun- 
 dred francs to-day." 
 
 Irina coquettishly held out her hand. 
 
 " Where are they? Please give them to me. 
 For pin-money." 
 
 " I have them ... I have them. . . . But are you 
 going already, M'sieu' . . . Litvinoff? ' 
 
 251
 
 SMOKE 
 
 " Yes, sir, I am going, as you see." 
 
 Again Ratmiroff swayed his body. 
 
 "Farewell until another pleasant meeting!' 
 
 " Good-bye, Grigory Mikhailovitch,"— said 
 Irina.— " And I shall keep my promise." 
 
 " What promise? if I may be so curious as to 
 inquire? " — asked her husband. 
 
 Irina smiled. 
 
 " No— that is ... a matter between ourselves. 
 C'est apropos du voyage . . . oil il vous plaira. 
 Art thou acquainted with StaeTs works? ' 
 
 " Ah! of course, of course I am. Very pretty 
 pictures. . ." 
 
 Ratmiroff appeared to be on good terms with 
 his wife: he addressed her as " thou." 
 
 252
 
 XXII 
 
 'Tis better not to think about it," Litvinoff kept 
 repeating to himself, as he strode along the street, 
 and became conscious that the turmoil within him 
 was rising once more. " The matter is settled. 
 She will keep her promise, and all I have to do 
 is to take all the necessary measures. . . But she 
 seems to doubt." . . . He shook his head. His 
 own intentions presented themselves to him in an 
 odd light; there was a touch of strangeness and 
 improbability about them. It is not possible to 
 dwell long upon one and the same set of thoughts ; 
 they gradually shift their places, like bits of glass 
 in a kaleidoscope .... and the first one knows, 
 the figures before his eyes are totally different. 
 A sensation of profound weariness overpowered 
 Litvinoff. . . He longed to rest for an hour. . . 
 But Tanya? He gave a start, and without re- 
 flecting further, submissively wended his way 
 home, and the only thing which occurred to him 
 was that to-day he was being tossed from one 
 woman to another, like a ball. . . It mattered 
 not : he had been compelled to make an end of it. 
 He entered the hotel, and in the same submissive 
 manner, without hesitation or delay, he betook 
 himself to Tatyana. 
 
 253
 
 SMOKE 
 
 He was met by Kapitolina Markovna. With 
 his first glance at her, he recognised the fact that 
 she knew everything: the poor spinster's eyes 
 were swollen with tears, and her reddened face, 
 framed in rumpled white hair, expressed alarm 
 and the pain of indignation, of burning and 
 boundless amazement. She darted toward 
 Litvinoff, but instantly paused, and biting her 
 quivering lips, she gazed at him, as though she 
 wished to entreat him, and slay him, and convince 
 herself that all this was a dream, madness, an im- 
 possible affair, was it not? 
 
 " Here, you . . you have come, you have come," 
 she began. . . The door leading into the adjoining 
 room instantly flew open — and Tatyana, pale to 
 transparency, entered with a light step. 
 
 She softly embraced her aunt with one arm, 
 and made her sit down by her side. 
 
 " Do you sit down also Grigory Mikhailitch," 
 —she said to Litvinoff, who was standing, as 
 though bewildered, near the door. — " I am very 
 glad to see you again. I have communicated 
 your decision, our mutual decision, to aunty; she 
 shares it entirely, and approves of it. . . With- 
 out mutual love there can be no happiness; 
 mutual respect alone is not sufficient ' (at the 
 word " respect " Litvinoff involuntarily cast 
 down his eyes), " and it is better to part before- 
 hand, than to repent afterward. Is n't that true, 
 aunty? " 
 
 254
 
 SMOKE 
 
 ; Yes, of course,"— began Kapitolina Mar- 
 kovna,— " of course, Taniusha, the man who does 
 not know how to value you . . . who has made up 
 his mind . . ." 
 
 " Aunty, aunty,"— Tatyana interrupted her, 
 — " remember what you promised me. You 
 yourself have always said to me : ' the truth, the 
 truth before everything, and — liberty.' Well, 
 and truth is not always sweet, neither is liberty; 
 otherwise, wherein would our merit lie? ' 
 
 She kissed Kapitolina Markovna tenderly on 
 her white hair, and turning to Litvinoff she went 
 on: 
 
 " My aunt and I have decided to leave Baden. 
 . . I think it will be easier so for all of us." 
 
 " When do you think of going? "—said 
 Litvinoff, in a dull voice. He recalled that 
 Irina had said the very same words to him not 
 long before. 
 
 Kapitolina Markovna was on the point of 
 starting forward, but Tatyana restrained her, 
 touching her lightly on the shoulder. 
 
 " Probably soon, very soon." 
 
 " And will you permit me to inquire whither 
 you intend to go? " asked Litvinoff in the same 
 voice as before. 
 
 " First to Dresden, then, probably, to Russia." 
 
 " But what do you want to know that for now, 
 Grigory Mikhailitch? ' . . exclaimed Kapitolina 
 Markovna. 
 
 255
 
 SMOKE 
 
 " Aunty, aunty," interposed Tatyana again. 
 A brief silence ensued. 
 
 " Tatyana Petrovna,"— began Litvinoff, — 
 " you understand what a torturingly — painful 
 and sorrowful feeling I must be experiencing at 
 this moment. ..." 
 
 Tatyana rose. 
 
 " Grigory Mikhailitch,"— she said,— "let us 
 not talk about that. . . . Please, I entreat you, for 
 your own sake as well as for mine. I cannot rec- 
 ognise you since yesterday, and I can very well 
 imagine that you must be suffering now. But 
 what is the use of talking, what is the use of irri- 
 tating . . . ." (She paused: it was evident that 
 she wished to wait until her rising emotion was 
 allayed, to swallow the tears which were already 
 welling up; and in this she succeeded.) " What 
 is the use of irritating the wound which it is im- 
 possible to heal ? Let us leave that to time. But 
 now I have a request to make of you, Grigory 
 Mikhailitch: I will give you a letter presently; 
 be so good as to post that letter yourself, it is of 
 considerable importance, and aunty and I have 
 no time now. ... I shall be very much obliged to 
 you. Wait a moment. . . I will return imme- 
 diately. . . ." 
 
 On the threshold of the door Tatyana cast an 
 apprehensive glance at Kapitolina Markovna; 
 but the latter was sitting in so dignified and de- 
 corous an attitude, with such a severe expression 
 
 256
 
 SMOKE 
 
 on her frowning brow and tightly-compressed 
 lips, that Tatyana only nodded to her, and left the 
 room. 
 
 But the door had barely closed behind her, when 
 all expression of dignity and severity instanta- 
 neously vanished from the face of Kapitolina 
 Markovna: she rose, rushed up to Litvinoff on 
 tiptoe, and bending double, and striving to look 
 into his eyes, she began to speak in a hurried, 
 tearful whisper: 
 
 ' O Lord my God,"— said she,—" Grigory 
 Mikhailitch, what is the meaning of this: is it 
 a dream? You reject Tanya, you have ceased 
 to love her, you have betrayed your word! You 
 are doing this, Grigory Mikhailitch, you, in 
 whom we all had trusted as in a wall of stone! 
 You? You? Thou, Grisha? . . ." Kapitolina 
 Markovna paused. — " Why, you are killing her, 
 Grigory Mikhailitch," — she went on, without 
 awaiting an answer, and her tears fairly streamed, 
 in tiny drops, down her cheeks. — " You need not 
 regard the fact that she is keeping up her cour- 
 age, for you know what her disposition is! She 
 never complains ; she never pities herself, so others 
 must pity her! Here she is now, persuading me: 
 ■ Aunty, we must maintain our dignity! ' but who 
 cares about dignity, when I foresee death, death. 
 . . ." Tatyana made a noise with a chair in the 
 adjoining room. — " Yes, I foresee death," — re- 
 sumed the old woman, in a still softer voice. — 
 
 257
 
 SMOKE 
 
 ' And what can have happened? Have you been 
 bewitched? It was not so very long ago, was it, 
 that you were writing her the tenderest sort of 
 letters? Yes, and in conclusion, can an honest 
 man behave in this manner? I, as you know, am 
 a woman wholly devoid of prejudices, esprit fort, 
 and I have given Tanya the same sort of educa- 
 tion — she, also, has a free spirit. . . ." 
 
 ' Aunty! " rang out Tatyana's voice from the 
 next room. 
 
 " But your word of honour, — this is duty, 
 Grigory Mikhailitch. Especially for people with 
 your — with our principles! If we do not recog- 
 nise duty, what is left to us? That must not be 
 violated — in this way, at one's own caprice, with- 
 out considering what is to be the result on others ! 
 This is dishonest . . . yes, it is a crime ; what sort 
 of freedom is this? " 
 
 " Aunty, come here, please," — rang out again. 
 
 " In a minute, my darling, in a minute. . ." 
 Kapitolina Markovna seized Litvinoff by the 
 hand. — " I see you are angry, Grigory Mikhai- 
 litch. . ." ("I? I am angry?" he tried to ex- 
 claim, but his tongue was benumbed.) " I do not 
 wish to make you angry — O Lord! am I in any 
 mood for that? On the contrary, I wish to entreat 
 you: change your mind while still there is time; 
 do not destroy her, do not destroy your own 
 happiness; she will trust you again, Grigory 
 Mikhailitch, she will trust you again; nothing 
 
 258
 
 SMOKE 
 
 is lost yet; for she loves you as no one ever will 
 love you! Abandon this hateful Baden-Baden, 
 let us go away together, only get away from un- 
 der this spell, and, the chief thing of all, have 
 pity, have pity. . ." 
 
 ' But aunty,"— said Tatyana, with a trace of 
 impatience in her voice. 
 
 But Kapitolina Markovna did not obey her. 
 
 " Only say yes,"— she persisted to Litvinoff, 
 — " and I will arrange all the rest. . . Come, at 
 least nod your head at me! nod your head, just 
 once, like this ! ' Litvinoff felt as though he 
 would gladly have died at that moment; but he 
 did not utter the word " yes," and he did not nod 
 his head. 
 
 Tatyana made her appearance, letter in hand. 
 Kapitolina Markovna instantly sprang away 
 from Litvinoff, and turning her face aside, bent 
 low over the table, as though she were inspecting 
 the bills and papers which lay upon it. 
 
 Tatyana approached Litvinoff. 
 
 " Here,"— said she,—" this is the letter of 
 which I spoke to you. . . You will go immedi- 
 ately to the post-office, will you not ? " 
 
 Litvinoff raised his eyes. . . Before him, in 
 very truth, stood his judge. Tatyana seemed 
 to him taller, more stately; her face, beaming 
 with unprecedented beauty, had become magnifi- 
 cently petrified, as in a statue; her bosom did 
 not rise and fall, and her gown, uniform in hue, 
 
 259
 
 SMOKE 
 
 and close-fitting, fell, like a chiton, in the long, 
 straight folds of marble fabrics, to her feet, which 
 it concealed. Tatyana was gazing straight be- 
 fore her, at Litvinoff only, and her glance, also 
 smooth and cold, was the glance of a statue. In 
 it he read his sentence; he bowed, took the letter 
 from the hand which was immovably outstretched 
 toward him and silently departed. 
 
 Kapitolina Markovna flew at Tatyana, but the 
 latter repulsed her embrace, and dropped her 
 eyes; a flush overspread her face, and with the 
 words, " Come, as quickly as possible now! " she 
 returned to the bedroom; Kapitolina Markovna 
 followed her, with drooping head. 
 
 On the letter intrusted to Litvinoff by Ta- 
 tyana stood the address of one of her friends 
 in Dresden, a German, who let out small, fur- 
 nished apartments. Litvinoff dropped the letter 
 into the post-box, and it seemed to him that, 
 along with that little scrap of paper, he had laid 
 all his past, his whole life, in the grave. He 
 went out of the town, and roamed, for a long 
 time, along the narrow paths among the vine- 
 yards; he could not rid himself of an incessant 
 feeling of scorn for himself, which beset him like 
 the buzzing of an importunate summer fly: he 
 certainly had played a far from enviable part in 
 this last interview. . . . And when he returned to 
 the hotel and, a little while later, inquired about 
 his ladies, he was informed that immediately 
 
 260
 
 SMOKE 
 
 after his departure they had ordered themselves 
 to be driven to the railway station, and had set off, 
 with the mail-train, no one knew whither. Their 
 things had been packed and their bills paid since 
 the morning. Tatyana had requested Litvinoff 
 to take the letter to the post-office, evidently with 
 a view to getting him out of the way. He tried 
 to question the door-porter: " Had not the ladies 
 left a note for him? " but the porter replied in the 
 negative, and even manifested surprise; it was 
 plain that this sudden departure from rooms en- 
 gaged for a week struck him as strange and sus- 
 picious. Litvinoff turned his back on him, and 
 locked himself up in his own room. 
 
 He did not leave it until the following day; 
 during the greater part of the night he sat at the 
 table, writing and tearing up what he had writ- 
 ten. . . Daylight had already begun to dawn 
 when he finished his work,— which was a letter to 
 Irina. 
 
 201
 
 XXIII 
 
 This is what the letter to Irina contained : 
 
 " My betrothed bride went away yesterday : we shall 
 never see each other again. . . I do not even know 
 with certainty where she will live. She carried away 
 with her everything which hitherto had seemed to be 
 desirable and precious ; all my purposes, plans, inten- 
 tions, vanished along with her; my very labours have 
 disappeared, my prolonged toil has been turned to 
 naught, all my occupations have lost their sense and 
 application ; all this is dead ; my ego, my former ego, 
 died and was buried with yesterday. I feel that plainly, 
 I see, I know it. . . And I do not complain, in the 
 least, of that. It is not for the purpose of complaining 
 that I have begun to discuss this with thee. . . Have 
 I any cause to complain, when thou lovest me, Irina? 
 I only want to tell thee, that out of all this dead past, 
 out of all these beginnings and hopes — which have 
 turned to smoke and dust — only one living, invincible 
 thing remains : my love for thee. Save for this love, 
 I have nothing left: it. would not be enough to call 
 it my sole treasure ; I am all in this love, this love is 
 the whole of me ; in it is my future, my vocation, my 
 holy things, my fatherland ! Thou knowest me, Irina, 
 thou knowest that set phrases are foreign and abhor- 
 rent to me, and however forcible may be the words where- 
 with I strive to express my feeling, thou wilt not doubt 
 
 262
 
 SMOKE 
 
 their sincerity, thou wilt not consider them exaggerated. 
 It is not a boy, who is stammering out ill-considered 
 vows before thee, in a burst of momentary enthusiasm, 
 it is a man, already tried by the years, who simply and 
 straightforwardly, almost with terror, is expressing 
 that which he has recognised to be the indubitable truth. 
 Yes, thy love has taken the place of everything else with 
 me — everything, everything! Judge for thyself: can 
 I leave all this in the hands of another man, can I 
 permit him to dispose of thee? Thou, thou wilt belong 
 to him, all my being, my heart's blood, will belong to 
 him, — and I myself . . . Where am I? What am I? 
 I am to stand on one side, as a looker-on .... a 
 looker-on at my own life ! No, this is impossible, impos- 
 sible ! To share, to share by stealth in that without 
 which it is not worth while, without which it is impos- 
 sible to breathe . . . that is a lie and death. I know 
 how great is the sacrifice I require of thee, without 
 having any right so to do; and what can give one 
 a right to a sacrifice ? But I do not take this step from 
 egoism: an egoist would find it easier and more tran- 
 quil not to raise this question at all. Yes, my demands 
 are heavy, and I shall not be surprised if they frighten 
 thee. — The people with whom thou must live are hate- 
 ful to me, society oppresses thee; but hast thou the 
 strength to abandon that same society, to trample un- 
 der foot the crown wherewith it has crowned thee, to 
 arouse against thee public opinion, the opinion of those 
 hateful people? Ask thyself, Irfna; do not take upon 
 thyself a burden greater than thou canst bear. .— 
 I do not mean to reproach thee, but remember: once 
 before thou hast failed to resist the charm. I can give 
 thee so little in exchange for what thou wilt lose! 
 
 263
 
 SMOKE 
 
 Hearken to my last word: if thou dost not feel thyself 
 in a condition to leave everything and follow me to- 
 morrow, to-day, — thou seest how boldly I speak, how 
 little I spare myself, — if the uncertainty of the fu- 
 ture, and estrangement, and isolation, and public cen- 
 sure alarm thee, if thou canst not trust thyself, in a 
 word — tell me so frankly and without delay, and I will 
 go away ; I will go away, with a harrowed soul, but I 
 will thank thee for thy truthfulness. But if thou, my 
 most beautiful, my radiant empress, hast really come 
 to love such a petty, obscure man as I, and art really 
 ready to share his lot, — well, then give me thy hand, and 
 we will set forth together on our different road ! Only, 
 thou must know this: my resolution is firm: either all, 
 or nothing ! This is madness . . . but I cannot do 
 otherwise, I cannot, Irfna ! I love thee too mightily. 
 
 "Thy G. L." 
 
 This letter did not please Litvinoff himself 
 very much. It did not quite faithfully and ac- 
 curately express what he wished to say ; awkward 
 expressions, by turns magniloquent and bookish, 
 occurred in it, and when it was finished it was no 
 better than many of the other letters which he had 
 torn up; but it happened to be the last one, and 
 after all, the chief thing had been said; and 
 weary, exhausted, Litvinoff did not feel himself 
 capable of extracting anything else from his 
 head. Moreover, he did not possess the skill to set 
 forth his whole thought in literary form, and, like 
 all persons who are not accustomed to this, he 
 
 264
 
 SMOKE 
 
 worried over the style. His first letter had, prob- 
 ably, been the best: it had poured forth burning 
 hot from his heart. At any rate, Litvinoff des- 
 patched his epistle to Irina. 
 She replied with a brief note: 
 
 " Come to me to-day," she wrote to him ; " he has 
 gone off for the whole day. Thy letter has agitated 
 me extremely. I keep thinking, thinking . . . and 
 my head is dizzy with my thoughts. I am greatly dis- 
 tressed, but thou lovest me, and I am happy. 
 
 "Thy I." 
 
 She was sitting in her boudoir when Litvinoff 
 presented himself to her. He was ushered in by 
 the same thirteen-year-old girl who had kept 
 watch for him on the staircase the day before. 
 On the table, in front of Irina, stood an open, 
 semicircular pasteboard box filled with laces; she 
 was abstractedly turning them over with one 
 hand; in the other she held Litvinoff's letter. 
 She had only just stopped crying: her eyelashes 
 were wet, and her eyelids were swollen ; the traces 
 of tears which had not been wiped away were 
 visible on her cheeks. Litvinoff halted on the 
 threshold: she had not observed his entrance. 
 
 " Thou art weeping? " he said in amazement. 
 
 She started, passed her hand over her hair, and 
 smiled. 
 
 "Why art thou weeping? "—repeated Litvi- 
 noff. She silently pointed to the letter. 
 
 265
 
 SMOKE 
 
 " So thou art crying over that . . ." he said, 
 haltingly. 
 
 " Come here, sit down,"— she said, — " give me 
 thy hand. Well, yes, I have been crying. . . .Why 
 does that surprise thee? Is this easy?' Again 
 she pointed at the letter. Litvinoff sat down. 
 
 I know that it is not easy, Irina; I say the 
 same thing to thee in my letter. . . I understand 
 thy position. But if thou belie vest in the signi- 
 ficance of thy love for me, if my words have con- 
 vinced thee, thou must also understand what I 
 now feel at the sight of thy tears. I have come 
 hither like a condemned man, but I am waiting: 
 what will be announced to me? Death or life? 
 Thy answer will decide everything. Only, do 
 not look at me with such eyes. . . . They remind 
 me of the eyes of days gone by, the Moscow 
 eyes." 
 
 Irina suddenly blushed and turned away, as 
 though she herself were conscious of something 
 improper in her gaze. 
 
 " Why dost thou say that, Grigory? Art not 
 thou ashamed of thyself? Thou wishest to know 
 my answer .... but canst thou doubt it? Thy 
 letter, my friend, has set me to thinking. Thou 
 writest here that my love has replaced all else 
 for thee, that even thy former occupations must 
 now remain without application; but I ask thee: 
 Can a man live by love alone? Will it not pall 
 on him in the end, will not he long for activity, 
 
 266
 
 SMOKE 
 
 and will not he upbraid that which has alienated 
 him from it? That is the thought which terrifies 
 me ; that is what I fear, and not that which thou 
 hast proposed." 
 
 Litvinoff gazed attentively at Irina, and Irina 
 gazed attentively at him as though each of them 
 was desirous of penetrating further and more 
 profoundly into the soul of the other, further and 
 more profoundly than the spoken word can at- 
 tain, or reveal. 
 
 " There is no necessity for thy fearing that," — 
 began Litvinoff.—" I must have expressed my- 
 self badly.—" Boredom? Inactivity? With the 
 new forces which thy love will give me? Oh, 
 Irina, believe me, thy love is all the world to 
 me, and I myself cannot now foresee all that may 
 develop from it! " 
 
 Irina became thoughtful. 
 
 " But where are we to go? "—she whispered. 
 
 " Where? We will talk about that hereafter. 
 But, of course ... of course, thou consentest 
 . . . thou consentest, Irina? ' 
 
 She looked at him.—" And thou wilt be 
 happy? " 
 
 "Oh, Irina!" 
 
 " Thou wilt regret nothing? Never? ' 
 
 She bent over the box of laces, and again began 
 to sort them over. 
 
 " Be not angry with me, my dearest, if I busy 
 myself with this nonsense at such a moment. . . 
 
 267
 
 SMOKE 
 
 I am obliged to go to a ball, given by a certain 
 lady. These rags have been sent to me, and I 
 must make my selection to-day. Akh ! I am ter- 
 ribly distressed!" — she suddenly exclaimed, and 
 laid her face against the edge of the box. . . 
 Again tears dropped from her eyes. . . She 
 turned away : the tears might fall on the lace. 
 
 " Irina, thou art weeping again,"— began Lit- 
 vinoff , anxiously. 
 
 " Well, yes, I am,"— assented Irina.—" Akh, 
 Grigory, do not torture me, do not torture thy- 
 self ! . . . Let us be free people ! What is the harm 
 if I do cry? Yes, and do I understand myself 
 why these tears flow? Thou knowest, thou hast 
 heard my decision, thou art convinced that it is 
 unalterable, that I consent to . . . how was it thou 
 didst word it? . . to everything or nothing . . . 
 what more? Let us be free! Why these mutual 
 chains ? Thou and I are alone now. Thou lovest 
 me, I love thee ; have we nothing better to do than 
 to extort our opinions from each other? Look at 
 me; I have not tried to present myself in a fine 
 light before thee, not by so much as a single word 
 have I hinted at the fact, that it may not be so 
 easy for me to trample under foot my conjugal 
 duties. . . But I do not deceive mvself, I know 
 that I am a criminal, and that he has a right to 
 kill me. Well, and what of that! Let us be 
 free, I say. The day is ours— eternity is ours." 
 
 She rose from her chair, and looked down upon 
 
 268
 
 SMOKE 
 
 Litvinoff, smiling faintly, and narrowing her 
 eyelids, and with her arm, bare to the elbow, 
 sweeping back a long lock of hair, upon which 
 sparkled two or three tears. A rich lace shoulder- 
 cape slipped from the table and fell on the floor, 
 at Irina's feet. She trod upon it with scorn.— 
 "Do not I please thee to-day? Have I grown 
 ugly since yesterday? Tell me, hast thou often 
 beheld a more beautiful arm? And my hair? 
 Tell me, dost thou love me? " 
 
 She seized him with both arms, pressed his 
 head to her breast ; her comb rattled and fell, and 
 her loosened hair flowed over him in a soft, per- 
 fumed flood. 
 
 260
 
 XXIV 
 
 Litvinoff paced to and fro in his room at the 
 hotel, with thoughtfully drooping head. It now 
 behoved him to pass from theory to practice, to 
 seek the means and the road for a flight, for an 
 emigration to unknown lands. . . But, strange to 
 say, he was not meditating about these means and 
 roads so much as on the point,— had the resolu- 
 tion on which he had so obstinately insisted been 
 actually, indubitably taken? Had the final, ir- 
 revocable word been uttered? But, surely, 
 Irina had said to him at parting: " Act, act, and 
 when everything is ready, thou hast only to 
 inform me." It was settled! Away with all 
 doubts. . . He must proceed. And Litvinoff had 
 proceeded — so far — to meditation. First of all, 
 there was the question of money. Litvinoff had 
 on hand one thousand three hundred and thirty- 
 eight gulden— in French money two thousand 
 eight hundred and fifty-eight francs; it was an 
 insignificant sum, but sufficient for their first 
 necessities, and so he must write at once to his 
 father to send him as much as possible : he might 
 sell a forest, a bit of land. . . But under what pre- 
 text? . . . Well, a pretext would be found. Irina 
 
 270
 
 SMOKE 
 
 had spoken, it is true, of her bijoux, but it was not 
 proper to take that into consideration ; who knows 
 but they might serve for a rainy day. In addi- 
 tion, among his assets was a fine Geneva half- 
 chronometer watch, for which he might get . . say, 
 four hundred francs. Litvinoff betook himself 
 to his bankers, and turned the conversation, in a 
 roundabout way, on the subject whether it would 
 be possible, in case of need, to borrow money. 
 But the bankers in Baden are an experienced 
 and cautious folk, and in reply to such rounda- 
 bout hints immediately assume a decrepit, lan- 
 guid mien, precisely like that of a field-flower 
 whose stem has been severed by the scythe; sev- 
 eral of them, however, laugh cheerfully and 
 boldly in your face, as though they appreciate 
 your innocent jest. Litvinoff, to his own mortifi- 
 cation, even tried his luck at roulette, even— oh, 
 the ignominy!— placed a thaler on thirty num- 
 bers, corresponding to the number of his years. 
 He did this with a view to augmenting and 
 rounding out his capital; and, in fact, if he did 
 not augment, he did round out his capital, by 
 losing the extra twenty-eight gulden. The 
 second question was, also, of no little importance : 
 A passport. Bui a passport is not so obligatory 
 for a woman, and there are countries where it is 
 not required at all. Belgium, for example, or 
 England; and, in conclusion, a passport which 
 was not Russian might be obtained. Litvinoff 
 
 271
 
 SMOKE 
 
 reflected very seriously on all these things. His 
 resolution was strong, without the slightest trace 
 of wavering ; but in the meantime, contrary to his 
 will, against his will, something the reverse of 
 serious, something almost comic, passed through, 
 leaked through his meditations, as though his 
 enterprise itself were a matter of jest, and no one 
 had ever eloped with any one in reality, but only 
 in comedies and romances, and, possibly, some- 
 where in the provincial tracts, in some Tchukhlom 
 or Syzran district, where, according to the state- 
 ment of one traveller, people even vomit with 
 tedium at times. At this point it recurred to 
 Litvinoff's memory how one of his friends, cor- 
 net Batzoff, on the retired list, had carried off 
 a merchant's daughter in a post-sledge with 
 sleigh-bells, having preliminarily got her parents, 
 and even the bride herself, intoxicated, and how 
 it had afterward turned out that he had been 
 cheated, and almost killed outright, to boot. 
 Litvinoff waxed extremelv wroth with himself 
 for such inappropriate recollections, and then, 
 recalling Tatyana, her sudden departure, all that 
 woe and suffering and shame, he became but 
 too profoundly conscious that the deed which he 
 was contemplating was of anything but a face- 
 tious nature, and that he had been in the right 
 when he had said to Irina that no other issue was 
 left, for his own honour's sake. . . And again, at 
 this mere name, something burning momentarily 
 
 272
 
 SMOKE 
 
 enveloped him with a sweet anguish, then died 
 away around his heart. 
 
 The trampling of a horse's hoofs resounded be- 
 hind him. . . He stepped aside . . Irina had over- 
 taken him on horseback ; by her side rode the fat 
 general. She recognised Litvinoff, nodded her 
 head to him, and giving her horse a blow on the 
 withers with her whip, started it into a gallop, 
 then suddenly urged it onward at full speed. Her 
 dark veil floated in the wind. . . 
 
 " Pas si vite! Nom de Dieu! pas si vite! "— 
 shouted the general, and galloped after her. 
 
 273
 
 XXV 
 
 On the following morning, Litvinoff had just 
 returned home from his bankers, with whom he 
 had had another conference about the playful 
 unsteadiness of our rate of exchange, and the best 
 method of sending money abroad, when the door- 
 porter handed him a letter. He recognised 
 Irma's handwriting, and without breaking the 
 seal— an evil premonition awoke in him, God only 
 knows why— he went off to his own room. This 
 is what he read (the letter was written in French) : 
 
 a 
 
 My Dearest ! I have been thinking all night about 
 thy proposition. . . I will not deceive thee. Thou hast 
 been frank with me, and I will be frank: I cannot elope 
 with thee, I have not the strength to do it. I feel how 
 culpable I am toward thee ; my second fault is greater 
 than the first — I despise myself, my cowardice; I over- 
 whelm myself with reproaches, but I cannot change 
 myself. In vain do I demonstrate to myself that I 
 have ruined thy happiness, that thou now hast a right 
 to regard me merely as a frivolous coquette, that I 
 offered myself, that I myself gave thee a solemn prom- 
 ise. . . I am horrified ; I feel hatred toward myself, but 
 I cannot act otherwise — I cannot, I cannot. I do not 
 seek to justify myself; I will not tell thee that I myself 
 
 274
 
 SMOKE 
 
 was carried away .... all that signifies nothing; but 
 I do wish to tell thee, and to repeat it, and repeat it 
 jet again : I am thine, thine forever, do with me as 
 thou wilt, when thou wilt: without resistance or calcu- 
 lation, I am thine. . . But flee, abandon everything. 
 . . no ! no ! no ! I entreated thee to save me. I myself 
 hoped to obliterate everything, to consume everything, 
 as in the fire . . . but evidently, there is no salvation 
 for me; evidently, the poison has penetrated too deeply 
 within me; evidently, it is not possible to breathe this 
 atmosphere for a space of many years with impunity ! 
 I have wavered long whether I ought to write thee this 
 letter; it is terrible to me to reflect what decision thou 
 wilt arrive at ; I trust only in thy love for me. But I 
 have considered that it would be dishonest on my part 
 not to tell thee the truth — the more so as thou hast, per- 
 haps, already begun to take the first measures for the 
 accomplishment of our intention. Akh ! it was very 
 beautiful, but impossible of fulfilment ! Oh, my friend, 
 regard me as a weak, frivolous woman ; despise me, but 
 do not desert me, do not desert thy Irfna ! . . . I have 
 not the strength to abandon this society, but neither 
 can I live in it without thee. We shall soon return 
 to Petersburg; do thou come thither; dwell there; we 
 will find occupation for thee; thy past labours shall 
 not be wasted ; thou shalt find a profitable application 
 for them . . . only live near me, only love me as I 
 am, with all my weaknesses and vices, and understand 
 fully that no one's heart will ever be so tenderly devoted 
 to thee as the heart of thy Irfna. Come quickly to 
 me ; I shall not have a minute's peace until I see thee. 
 
 " Thine, thine, thine, I." 
 
 275
 
 SMOKE 
 
 The blood beat like a hammer in Litvinoff's 
 head, and then slowly and heavily retreated to 
 his heart, and became as cold within him as a 
 stone. He read over Irina's letter, and, as on 
 that other occasion in Moscow, fell fainting on 
 the divan, and remained there motionless. A 
 dark abyss had suddenly surrounded him on all 
 sides, and he stared despairingly, bereft of 
 reason, into the gloom. Thus, once more 
 betrayal, or no, worse than betrayal— a lie and 
 trivialities. . . And life was shattered ; everything 
 had been torn up by the roots, utterly, and the 
 only thing to which he might have clung — that 
 last support — was shattered into fragments also! 
 " Follow us to Petersburg," — he repeated with 
 a bitter, inward laugh: " we will find occupation 
 for thee there " . . . " Will they promote me to 
 be head clerk of a department, I wonder? And 
 who is we? That is where her past spoke out! 
 There lies the secret, repulsive thing, which I do 
 not know, but which she would like to obliterate, 
 and burn as in the fire! That is that world of 
 intrigues, of secret relations, of scandals of Byel- 
 skys and Dolskys. . . And what a future! 
 what a splendid role awaits me! To live near 
 her, to visit her, to share with her the vicious mel- 
 ancholy of a fashionable lady whom society op- 
 presses and bores, though she cannot exist outside 
 its circle, to be her domestic friend, and, of course, 
 the friend of His Excellency also . . . until . . . 
 
 276
 
 SMOKE 
 
 until her whim is past, and the plebeian friend 
 loses his piquancy, and that same fat general or 
 Mr. Finikoff replaces him,— that is both possible 
 and agreeable, and, if you like, profitable . . . 
 she speaks of a profitable application of my 
 talents? — but that design is impossible of realisa- 
 tion, impossible of realisation! . . ." In Litvi- 
 noff 's soul there arose something in the nature 
 of the momentary gusts of wind which precede a 
 thunderstorm— sudden, wild outbursts. . . Every 
 expression in Irina's letter aroused his indigna- 
 tion; the very assurances as to the immutability 
 of her feelings affronted him. " Things can- 
 not remain like this," — he exclaimed at last, — " I 
 will not permit her to play so pitilessly with my 
 life. . ." 
 
 Litvinoff sprang up, seized his hat. But what 
 was there to be done? Ely to her? Reply to 
 her letter? He halted, and his arms sank by his 
 sides. 
 
 Yes: what was there to be done? 
 
 Had he not himself proposed to her that fatal 
 choice? It had not turned out as he had wished. . . 
 every choice is subject to that misfortune. She 
 had changed her decision, it is true; she herself 
 had been the first to declare that she would 
 abandon everything and follow him— that was 
 true also. But neither did she deny her guilt, she 
 called herself, in plain terms, a weak woman ; she 
 had not meant to deceive him, she had been de- 
 
 277
 
 SMOKE 
 
 ceived in herself What retort was there 
 
 to make? At all events, she was not dissimulat- 
 ing, not dealing doubly with him . . . she was 
 frank with him, pitilessly frank. Nothing had 
 forced her to state her intentions on the spot, 
 nothing had prevented her soothing him with 
 promises, putting off everything, leaving every- 
 thing in uncertainty, until their very departure 
 . . . her departure with her husband for Italy! 
 But she had ruined his life, she had ruined two 
 lives! . . . Was not that enough? 
 
 But toward Tatyana she was not to blame; 
 he was to blame, he alone, Litvinoff, and he 
 had no right to shake off from himself the 
 responsibility for that which his fault had 
 imposed, like an iron yoke, upon him. . . . 
 All that was so; but what remained to be done 
 now? 
 
 Again he flung himself on the divan, and 
 again, darkly, leaving no trace, with devouring 
 swiftness . . . the moments flitted past. . . 
 
 " And why not obey her? "—flashed through 
 his mind. " She loves me, she is mine— and in 
 our very attraction for each other, in that pas- 
 sion which, after the lapse of so many years, has 
 broken out and made its way forth to the sur- 
 face with such violence, is there not something 
 inevitable, irresistible as the law of nature? Live 
 in Petersburg . . . but shall I be the first man 
 who finds himself in such a position? Yes, and 
 
 278
 
 SMOKE 
 
 where could she and I have found a refuge? . . ." 
 And he fell into thought, and the image of 
 Irina, in that aspect in which it had forever im- 
 printed itself on his most recent recollections, 
 softly presented itself before him. . . . 
 
 But not for long. . . He recovered himself, and 
 with a fresh outburst of indignation, he thrust 
 away from him both those recollections, and that 
 enchanting image. 
 
 ! Thou art giving me to drink of that golden 
 cup," — he exclaimed, — " but there is poison in 
 thy beverage, and thy white wings are soiled 
 with filth. . . Away! To remain here with thee, 
 after having . . . driven away, driven away my 
 betrothed bride . . . would be a dishonourable, a 
 dishonourable act ! " He clenched his fists bit- 
 terly, and another face, with the imprint of 
 suffering and set features, with speechless re- 
 proach in the farewell glance, surged up from 
 the depths. . . 
 
 And for a long time Litvinoff tormented 
 himself in this manner; for a long time, like a 
 critically sick man, his tortured thoughts tossed 
 from side to side. . . At last he calmed down ; at 
 last he reached a decision. From the very first 
 moment he had foreseen what that decision 
 would be ... it presented itself to him, at first, 
 as a remote, barely-perceptible spot in the midst 
 of the whirlwind and the gloom of his internal 
 conflict ; then it began to come nearer and nearer, 
 
 279
 
 SMOKE 
 
 and ended by cutting into his heart with a cold, 
 sharp blade. 
 
 Again Litvinoff dragged his trunk forth from 
 the corner; again, without haste, and even with 
 a certain dull carefulness, he packed all his 
 things, rang for a servant, paid his bill, and 
 despatched a note in Russian, to Irina, which 
 ran as follows: 
 
 " I do not know whether you are more to blame with 
 respect to me now than you were in days gone by ; but I 
 do know that the present blow is much the stronger. . . 
 This is the end. You say to me : ' I cannot , ; and I 
 repeat the same to you : I cannot ... do what you wish. 
 I cannot, and I will not. Do not answer me. You 
 are not in a position to give me the only answer which I 
 would accept. I am going away to-morrow, early, by the 
 first train. Farewell ; may you be happy. . . Probably 
 we shall not meet again. 11 
 
 Litvinoff did not leave his room until night- 
 fall; God knows whether he was expecting any- 
 thing! About seven o'clock in the evening, a 
 lady in a black mantle, with a veil over her face, 
 walked twice past the entrance of his hotel. 
 After stepping a little to one side, and casting 
 a glance at some point in the distance, she sud- 
 denly made a decisive movement, and for the 
 third time directed her steps toward the en- 
 trance. . . 
 
 280
 
 SMOKE 
 
 "Whither are you going, Irina Pavlovna?" 
 — rang out a constrained voice behind her. 
 
 She turned round with convulsive swiftness. . 
 Potugin rushed up to her. 
 
 She halted, reflected, and fairly flung herself 
 at him, thrust her arm in his, and drew him 
 aside. 
 
 " Take me away, take me away,"— she kept 
 repeating, panting. 
 
 ' What is the matter with you, Irina Pav- 
 lovna?" — he murmured, in amazement. 
 
 ' Take me away," — she repeated with re- 
 doubled force,—" if you do not wish to have me 
 remain forever .... there! ' 
 
 Potugin bowed his head submissively, and 
 both walked rapidly away. 
 
 Early on the following morning Litvmoff 
 was entirely ready for his journey, when there 
 came into his room . . . that same Potugin. 
 
 He silently approached him, and silently 
 shook his hand. Litvinoff, also, said nothing. 
 Both wore long faces, and both endeavoured in 
 vain to smile. 
 
 " I have come to wish you a prosperous jour- 
 ney," — Potugin said, at last. 
 
 " And how did you know that I was going 
 away to-day? "—inquired Litvinoff. 
 
 Potugin gazed around him, on the floor. . . 
 " It became known to me ... as you see. Our 
 last conversation finally took such a strange turn. 
 
 281
 
 SMOKE 
 
 . . I did not wish to part from you without ex- 
 pressing to you my sincere sympathy." 
 
 " Do you sympathise with me now, when I 
 am going away? " 
 
 Potiigin gazed mournfully at LitvinofF. — 
 "Ekh, Grigory Mikhailitch, Grigory Mikhai- 
 litch," — he began, with a short sigh, — " we are 
 in no frame of mind for that now, we are in no 
 mood for subtleties and disputes. Here you are, 
 so far as I am able to judge, decidedly indifferent 
 to our national literature, and therefore, perhaps, 
 you have no conception of Vaska Buslaeff ? " 
 
 "Of whom?" 
 
 " Of Vaska Buslaeff, the dashing hero of 
 Novgorod ... in the Collection of Kirsha 
 Danileff." 
 
 " What Buslaeff? "—ejaculated LitvinofF, 
 somewhat dazed bv the sudden turn which the 
 conversation had taken. — " I don't know." 
 
 " Well, no matter. See here, this is what I 
 wished to call to your attention. Vaska Bus- 
 laeff, after he has dragged his Novgorodians 
 off to Jerusalem on a pilgrimage, and there, to 
 their horror, has bathed naked in the holy river 
 Jordan, for he believed ' neither in bell-clang, 
 nor in dream, nor in the croaking of birds,' — 
 that logical Vaska Buslaeff ascends Mount 
 Tabor, and on the crest of that mountain, lies 
 a huge stone, across which all sorts of people 
 have tried, in vain, to leap. . . . Vaska wishes to 
 
 282
 
 SMOKE 
 
 try his luck also. And on his way up the 
 mountain he encounters a skull, human bones; 
 he kicks it. Well, and the head says to him: 
 1 Why dost thou kick? I have known how to 
 live; I know also how to wallow in the dust— 
 and the same thing shall happen unto thee.' ! 
 And in fact Vaska leaps across the stone, and 
 would have got clear over had not he caught his 
 heel, and cracked his skull. And here I must 
 remark, by the way, that it would not be a bad 
 thing if my friends, the Slavyanophils, who are 
 great hands at kicking all sorts of death's-heads 
 and rotten folks, would ponder over this epic 
 song." 
 
 1 But what is your object in saying all this? ' 
 — interrupted Litvinoff impatiently at last. — 
 " I must go, excuse me. . . ." 
 
 " My object is," — replied Potiigin, and his 
 eyes beamed with a friendly feeling which Litvi- 
 noff had never expected from him, — " to keep 
 you from repulsing the dead human skull; and 
 perchance, in return for your goodness, you will 
 succeed in leaping across the fatal stone. I will 
 not detain you any longer, only you must permit 
 me to embrace you in farewell." 
 
 " I shall not even attempt to leap across,"— 
 said Litvinoff, as he exchanged the threefold kiss 
 with Potugin. And to the sorrowful emotion, 
 
 1 The version which I have given, " Vasily Buslaevitch," in " The 
 Epic Songs of Russia" (Charles Scribner's Sons), is from a slightly 
 different original to the one here quoted.— Thansijuok. 
 
 283
 
 SMOKE 
 
 which filled his soul to overflowing, there was 
 added, for an instant, compassion for another 
 poor wretch. But he must go, he must go. . . 
 He flung himself about the room. 
 
 " I will carry something for you, if you like." 
 — Potiigin offered his services. 
 
 " No, thanks, don't trouble yourself; I will 
 manage alone. . . ." He put on his hat, took his 
 bag in his hand. — " So you say,"— he inquired, 
 as he was standing on the threshold,—" that you 
 have seen her? " 
 
 " Yes, I have seen her." 
 
 " Well . . and what of her? " 
 
 Potiigin made no answer for a while. — " She 
 expected you last night. . . and will expect you 
 to-day." 
 
 "Ah! Well, then tell her. . . No, it is not 
 necessary, nothing is necessary. Farewell, . . . 
 Farewell! " 
 
 " Farewell, Grigory Mikhailitch. . . . Let me 
 say one word more to you. You will have time 
 to hear me out : the train does not leave for half 
 an hour yet. You are returning to Russia. . . 
 You will ... in course of time . . . become active 
 there. . . Permit an old failure — for I, alas! am a 
 failure, and nothing else — to give you a parting 
 bit of advice. On every occasion, when you are 
 obliged to enter upon an undertaking, ask your- 
 self: are you serving civilisation, — in the exact 
 and strict sense of the word,— are you furthering 
 
 284
 
 SMOKE 
 
 one of its ideas; is your labour of that pedagog- 
 ical, European character, which alone is profita- 
 ble and fruitful in our day, in our country? If 
 so — advance boldly: you are on the right road, 
 and vour affair is an honourable one! Glory to 
 God! You are not alone now. You will not be 
 
 'a sower of the desert': hard workers 
 
 pioneers . . . have already sprung up among us. 
 . . But you do not care to hear about that now. — 
 Good-bye, do not forget me!" 
 
 Litvinoff descended the stairs at a run, flung 
 himself into a carriage, and drove to the railway 
 station, without casting a single glance at the 
 town where so much of his own life was being 
 left behind. . . He seemed to be yielding to a bil- 
 low: it seized him, swept him onward, and he 
 firmly resolved not to resist its impulse ... he re- 
 nounced every other manifestation of will. 
 
 He was already entering the railway carriage. 
 
 ' Grigory Mikhailovitch . . . Grigory ..." he 
 heard a beseeching whisper behind him. He 
 shuddered. . . Could it be Irina? Exactly that: 
 it was she. Wrapped in her maid's shawl, with a 
 travelling hat on her unkempt locks, she was 
 standing on the platform and gazing at him with 
 dimmed eyes. ? Turn back, turn back, I have 
 come for thee!' said those eves. And what, 
 what all, did not they promise] She did not 
 move; she had not the strength to add a single 
 word; everything about her, even the disorder of 
 
 285
 
 SMOKE 
 
 her garments, everything seemed to be entreating 
 mercy. . . . 
 
 Litvinoff could hardly stand on his feet, could 
 hardly refrain from rushing to her. . . . But the 
 wave to which he had yielded himself asserted its 
 power. . . He sprang into the carriage, and, 
 turning round, he motioned Irina to a place 
 beside him. She understood him. The time was 
 not past. Only one step, one movement, and two 
 lives forever united would have sped forth into 
 the unknown distance. . . While she hesitated a 
 loud whistle rang out, and the train started. 
 
 Litvinoff flung himself back, and Irina 
 walked tottering to a bench and sank down upon 
 it, to the extreme amazement of an ex-diplomat 
 who had accidentally wandered into the station. 
 He was only slightly acquainted with Irina, but 
 took a great interest in her, and perceiving that 
 she was lying as though unconscious, he thought 
 that she had had " une attaque de nerfs" and 
 consequently regarded it as his duty, the duty 
 d'un galant chevalier, to go to her assistance. But 
 his amazement assumed far greater proportions 
 when, at the first word he addressed to her, she 
 suddenly rose, repulsed the offered arm, and, 
 rushing forth into the street, in a few moments 
 vanished in the milky cloud of mist, which is 
 so characteristic of the Black Forest climate in 
 the early days of autumn. 
 
 286
 
 XXVI 
 
 We once chanced to enter the cottage of a peas- 
 ant woman who had just lost her only, fervently- 
 loved son, and to our no small surprise, we 
 found her entirely composed, almost cheerful. — 
 "Let her alone!" said her husband, whom this 
 surprise did not escape:— " she is hardened just 
 now." — In the same way Litvinoff ' was har- 
 dened." The same sort of composure came upon 
 him during the first hours of his journey. Ut- 
 terly annihilated, and hopelessly unhappy, he 
 nevertheless was at rest, at rest after the tur- 
 moils and tortures of the preceding week, after 
 all the blows which, one after the other, had 
 descended upon his head. They had shaken him 
 all the more violently because he was not created 
 for such tempests. He no longer had any hope 
 of anything now, and tried not to remember — 
 most of all, not to remember. He was going to 
 Russia ... he must take refuge somewhere! but 
 he no longer made any plans which personally 
 concerned himself. He did not recognise him- 
 self; he did not understand his proceedings; it 
 was exactly as though he had lost his real " I," 
 and, altogether, he felt very little interest in 
 that " I." Sometimes it seemed to him as though 
 
 287
 
 SMOKE 
 
 he were carrying his own corpse, and only the 
 bitter convulsions of an incurable spiritual mal- 
 ady, which ran through him now and then, 
 reminded him that he was still endowed with life. 
 At times it seemed incomprehensible to him how 
 a man — a man! — could permit a woman, love, 
 
 .... to exercise such influence over him 
 
 "A shameful weakness!" he whispered, and 
 shook out his cloak, and settled himself more 
 squarely in his seat, as much as to say, There 
 now, old things are done with, let us start on 
 something new .... A minute later, and he 
 merely smiled bitterly and felt amazed at him- 
 self. He took to gazing out of the window. 
 The day was grey and damp ; there was no rain, 
 but the fog held on, and low-lying clouds veiled 
 the sky. The wind was blowing in the contrary 
 direction to the course of the train; whitish 
 clouds of steam, now alone, now mingled with 
 other, darker clouds of smoke, swept, in an end- 
 less series, past the window beside which 
 Litvinoff sat. He began to watch the steam, 
 the smoke. Incessantly whirling, rising and 
 falling, twisting and catching at the grass, at 
 the bushes, playing pranks, as it were, lengthen- 
 ing and melting, puff followed puff .... they 
 were constantly changing, and yet remained the 
 same .... a monotonous, hurried, tiresome game! 
 Sometimes the wind changed, the road made a 
 turn — the whole mass suddenly disappeared, 
 
 288
 
 SMOKE 
 
 and immediately became visible through the op- 
 posite window; then, once more, the huge trail 
 flung itself over, and once more veiled from 
 LitvfnofT the wide view of the Rhine Valley. He 
 gazed and gazed, and a strange reflection oc- 
 curred to him. . . He was alone in the carriage; 
 there was no one to interfere with him.— 
 ' Smoke, smoke," — he repeated several times in 
 succession; and suddenly everything appeared 
 to him to be smoke — everything, his own life, 
 everything pertaining to men, especially every- 
 thing Russian. Everything is smoke and steam, 
 — he thought; — everything seems to be con- 
 stantly undergoing change; everywhere there are 
 new forms, phenomenon follows phenomenon, 
 but in reality everything is exactly alike; every- 
 thing is hurrying, hastening somewhither — and 
 everything vanishes without leaving a trace, with- 
 out having attained to any end whatever; another 
 breeze has begun to blow— and everything has 
 been flung to the other side, and there, again, is 
 the same incessant, agitated— and useless game. 
 He recalled many things which had taken place, 
 with much sound and clatter, before his eyes 
 during the last few years . . . . smoke,"— he 
 murmured, — " smoke "; he recalled the heated 
 disputes, shovings and shouts at Ghibarydff's, and 
 at the houses of other persons, of high and of 
 low degree, of prominent people, and of people 
 who had lagged behind, of old people and of 
 
 280
 
 SMOKE 
 
 young . . . " smoke " — he repeated, — " smoke 
 and steam " ; he recalled, in conclusion, the fa- 
 mous picnic also; and other judgments and 
 speeches of other statesmen also recurred to his 
 mind — and even everything which Potiigin had 
 preached . . . . smoke, smoke, and nothing 
 more." But his own aspirations and feelings and 
 efforts and dreams? He merely waved his hand 
 in renunciation of them. 
 
 And in the meantime the train was dashing on, 
 dashing on Rastadt, Karlsruhe and Bruchsal had 
 long since been left behind; the mountains on 
 the right side of the road were retreating, re- 
 ceding into the distance, then advanced again, 
 but were not so lofty now, and were more 
 sparsely covered with forests. . . The train made 
 a sharp turn to one side — and behold, there was 
 Heidelberg. The railway carriages rolled up 
 under the shed of the station; the cries of ped- 
 lars, selling every sort of thing, even Russian 
 newspapers, resounded; the travellers fidgeted 
 in their seats, emerged on the platform. But 
 Litvinoff did not leave his corner, and continued 
 to sit with bowed head. Suddenly some one 
 called him by name; he raised his eyes; Binda- 
 soff's ugly face thrust itself through the win- 
 dow, and behind him— or did it only seem so to 
 him?— no, it was a fact: they were all faces from 
 Baden, familiar faces: there was Madame 
 Sukhantchikoff, there was Voroshiloff, and 
 
 290
 
 SMOKE 
 
 there was Bambaeff, all of them advancing 
 toward him — and Bindasoff was roaring: 
 
 ' And where is Pishtchalkin? We have been 
 waiting for him; but never mind, crawl out, 
 soaker, we 're all going to Gubaryoff's." 
 
 Yes, my dear fellow, and besides, Gubaryoff 
 is waiting for us," Bambaeff confirmed his state- 
 ment, as he stepped forward:—" get out." 
 
 Litvinoff would have flown into a rage had 
 it not been for that dead weight which lay upon 
 his heart. He glanced at Bindasoff, and turned 
 silently away. 
 
 ' I tell you, Gubaryoff is here,"— cried 
 Madame Sukhantchikoff, her eyes almost start- 
 ing from their sockets. 
 
 Litvinoff did not stir. 
 Yes, listen, Litvinoff," began Bambaeff, at 
 last. " Not only is Gubaryoff here, but there is 
 a whole phalanx of the most splendid, the clev- 
 erest young men, Russians, — and all are devot- 
 ing themselves to the natural sciences, all cherish 
 the most noble convictions! Do stop, on their 
 account, for goodness' sake. Here, for example, 
 is a certain . . . ekh! I 've forgotten his name! 
 but he 's simply a genius! " 
 
 ' Come, let him alone, let him alone, Rostis- 
 laff Ardalionitch! " — interposed Madame Su- 
 khantchikoff,—" let him alone! you see what sort 
 of a man he is; and all his tribe are of the same 
 sort. He has an aunt: at first I thought her a sen- 
 
 291
 
 SMOKE 
 
 sible woman, but day before yesterday I travelled 
 hither in her company— she had only just arrived 
 in Baden, and lo and behold! back she flies, — well, 
 sir, I travelled with her, and I began to question 
 her. . . If you will believe me, not one word 
 could I get out of the haughty creature. The 
 disgusting aristocrat!" 
 
 Poor Kapitolina Markovna— an aristocrat! 
 Did she ever expect such a disgrace? 
 
 But Litvinoff still held his peace, and turned 
 away, and pulled his cap down over his eyes. At 
 last the train started. 
 
 " Come, say something by way of farewell, 
 you man of stone!" — shouted Bambaeff. 
 
 " You can't go off like this! " 
 
 "Trash! simpleton!" — roared out BindasofF. 
 The carriages rolled more and more rapidly, and 
 he could revile with impunity.— " Miser! Mol- 
 lusc! Drunken bummer ! " 
 
 Whether BindasofF invented this last epithet 
 on the spur of the moment, or whether it had 
 reached him from other hands, at all events it 
 evidently afforded great pleasure to the ex- 
 tremely noble young men who were studying the 
 natural sciences, for a few days later it made its 
 appearance in the Russian periodical sheet, which 
 was published at that time in Heidelberg, under 
 the title: A tout venant je crache! or " If God 
 does n't desert you, the pigs won't eat you." l 2 
 
 1 "Him whom God helps, nobody can harm." — Thanslatoe. 
 2 A r historical fact- 
 
 292
 
 SMOKE 
 
 But Litvinoff kept repeating his former word : 
 smoke, smoke, smoke! Here now, he thought, 
 there are now more than a hundred Russian 
 students in Heidelberg; all are studying chemis- 
 try, physics, physiology — they will not even 
 listen to anything else . . . but let five or six 
 years elapse, and there will not be fifteen men 
 in the courses of those same celebrated profes- 
 sors . . . the wind will change, the smoke will 
 rush to the other side . . . smoke . . . smoke 
 . . . smoke ! ' 
 
 Toward nightfall he passed Kassel. To- 
 gether with the twilight, an intolerable anguish 
 descended like a vulture upon him, and, nestling 
 in the corner of the railway carriage, he began 
 to weep. For a long time his tears flowed with- 
 out relieving his heart, but torturing him in a 
 caustic, bitter way ; and, at that same time, in one 
 of the hostelries of Kassel, on her bed, in a burn- 
 ing fever, lay Tatyana; Kapitolina Markovna 
 sat beside her. 
 
 " Tanya,"— she said,—" for God's sake, allow 
 me to send a telegram to Grigory Mikhailovitch; 
 do let me, Tanya! " 
 
 * No, aunty," — she answered, — " it is not nec- 
 essary; do not feel alarmed. Give me some water; 
 this will soon pass off." 
 
 And, in fact, a week later her health mended, 
 and the two friends resumed their journey. 
 
 1 LitvinofFs presentiment was fulfilled. In 1866, then; were thir- 
 teen Russian Undents in the summer term, and twelve in the winter 
 term, ul Heidelberg. 
 
 21)3
 
 XXVII 
 
 Without halting either in Petersburg or in 
 Moscow, Litvinoff returned to his estate. He was 
 frightened when he saw his father, so greatly 
 enfeebled and aged had the latter become. The 
 old man rejoiced at the sight of his son, as much 
 as a man can rejoice whose life is drawing to a 
 close; he immediately transferred to him all his 
 affairs, which were in great confusion, and after 
 creaking on a few weeks longer, departed from 
 the arena of earth. Litvinoff was left alone in 
 his ancient wing of the manor-house, and with a 
 heavy heart, without hope, without zeal and 
 without money, he began to farm the estate. 
 Farming an estate in Russia is a cheerless affair, 
 only too well known to many persons ; we will not 
 enlarge on the point of how bitter it seemed to 
 Litvinoff. As a matter of course, there could be 
 no question of reforms and innovations; the ap- 
 plication of the knowledge which he had acquired 
 abroad was deferred for an indefinite period; 
 want compelled him to worry on from day to day, 
 to consent to all sorts of compromises, — both ma- 
 terial and moral. New ideas won their wav 
 badly, old ones had lost their force; the ignorant 
 clashed with the dishonest; his whole deranged 
 
 294
 
 SMOKE 
 
 existence was in constant motion, like a quaking 
 bog, and only the great word " liberty " moved, 
 like the spirit of God, over the waters. Patience 
 was required, first of all, and not passive but 
 active, persistent patience, not devoid, at times, 
 of tact, not devoid of guile .... which Litvinoff, 
 in his actual spiritual state, found doubly diffi- 
 cult. He had very little desire left to live. . . 
 Whence could he summon a desire to bestir him- 
 self and work? 
 
 But a year passed, then a second, the third was 
 beginning. The grand thought was gradually 
 being realised, was being transformed into flesh 
 and blood: a sprout was putting forth from the 
 seed that had been sown; and its enemies, either 
 open or secret, could no longer trample it under 
 foot. Litvinoff himself, although he had ended 
 by giving up the greater part of his land to the 
 peasants, on the rotation-of -crops system, that 
 is to say, had returned to the wretched, primi- 
 tive methods of farming, yet had some suc- 
 cess: he re-established the factory, set up a tiny 
 farm with five hired labourers, — he had as many 
 as forty, at different times,— paid off the prin- 
 cipal part of the debts. . . And his spirit grew 
 firm within him; again he began to resemble the 
 Litvinoff of former days. The painful, deeply- 
 concealed feeling, it is true, never left him, and 
 he had grown sedate beyond his years, had 
 shut himself up in his narrow circle, had broken 
 
 205
 
 SMOKE 
 
 off all his previous connections .... but the 
 deathlike indifference had vanished, and again he 
 moved about among the living, and behaved like 
 a living man. The last traces of the witchery 
 which had taken possession of him had vanished 
 also: everything which had taken place at Baden 
 presented itself to him as in a dream. . And 
 Irina? She, also, had paled and disappeared, 
 and it was only in a confused way that LitvinofT 
 was conscious of something terrible beneath the 
 mist in which her image had gradually become 
 enveloped. News of Tatyana reached him from 
 time to time; he knew that she and her aunt had 
 settled on her little estate, about two hundred 
 versts from him, were living quietly and receiv- 
 ing hardly any guests, -and, for the rest, were 
 composed and well. — But one day, one beautiful 
 May day, he was sitting in his study, and in- 
 differently turning over the leaves of the last 
 number of a Petersburg journal: a servant 
 entered and announced the arrival of his aged 
 uncle. This uncle was the first cousin of Kapi- 
 tolina Markovna, and had recently visited her. 
 He had purchased an estate in Litvinoff's 
 neighbourhood, and was on his way thither. He 
 spent a whole day with his nephew, and told him 
 a great deal about Tatyana's manner of life. On 
 the day after his departure, Litvinoff sent her a 
 letter, the first since their parting. He requested 
 permission to renew the acquaintance, by letter 
 
 296
 
 SMOKE 
 
 at least, and also desired to know whether he 
 must forever abandon the thought of seeing her 
 some day? Not without agitation did he await 
 the reply . . . and a reply arrived at last. Tatyana 
 made a friendly response to his question. ' If 
 you should take a fancy to visit us," she said in 
 conclusion, "come, we shall be glad to see you: 
 they say that weak people feel more comfortable 
 together than apart." Kapitolina Markovna 
 sent her compliments. LitvinofY was as happy 
 as a child ; his heart had not beaten so cheerfully 
 for a long time. And he suddenly felt relieved 
 and bright. . . Exactly as when the sun rises and 
 drives away the shades of night, a light zephyr 
 flits with the sun's rays over the face of the 
 reviving earth. All that day Litvinoff did noth- 
 ing but smile, even when he made the rounds of 
 his farm and issued his orders. He immediately 
 began to make preparations for the journey, 
 and two weeks later he set off to Tatyana. 
 
 21)7
 
 XXVIII 
 
 He travelled rather slowly along the country 
 roads, without any particular adventures: only 
 once the tire on one of the hind wheels broke; a 
 blacksmith welded and welded it, cursed it and 
 himself, and then threw up the job; luckily, it 
 turned out that one can travel very well indeed 
 in our country even with a broken tire, especially 
 ona" soft " road, that is to say, in the mud. On 
 the other hand, Litvinoff had two or three de- 
 cidedly curious encounters. At one posting- 
 station he found a meeting of justices of the 
 peace, and among their number, Pishtchalkin, 
 who produced upon him the impression of being 
 a Solon or a Solomon : such lofty wisdom did his 
 speech breathe forth, with such unbounded re- 
 spect did both landed proprietors and peasants 
 bear themselves toward him: . . . and in his ap- 
 pearance, also, Pishtchalkin had begun to resem- 
 ble a sage of olden days: his hair had receded 
 from his temples, and his face, which had grown 
 fuller, had become completely petrified into a sort 
 of majestic jelly of virtue unhampered by any- 
 thing whatsoever. He congratulated Litvinoff on 
 his arrival " in my own district — if I may make 
 so bold as to use so ambitious an expression," — 
 
 298
 
 SMOKE 
 
 and thereupon, instantly sank into a paroxysm of 
 well-intentioned emotions. But he did succeed 
 in imparting one piece of news, namely, con- 
 cerning Voroshfloff. That paladin of the gilded 
 classes had again entered the military service, 
 and had already managed to deliver a lecture to 
 the officers of his regiment on " Buddhism," or 
 
 " dynamism," or something of that sort 
 
 Pishtchalkin could not remember exactly what. 
 At the next posting-station they did not harness 
 LitvinofF's horses for a long time; the affair 
 happened at daybreak,— and he was dozing as 
 he sat in his calash. A voice which struck him 
 as familiar awakened him : he opened his eyes. . . 
 
 Heavens! was it not Mr. Gubaryoff who was 
 standing there in a grey round jacket and flap- 
 ping sleeping-trousers, and swearing, on the 
 porch of the posting-cottage? . . . No, it was not 
 Mr. Gubaryoff. . . But what a startling resem- 
 blance ! . . . . Only, this gentleman's mouth was 
 wider and fuller of teeth, and the gaze of his 
 dismal eyes was still fiercer, his nose was bigger, 
 and his beard thicker, and his whole aspect was 
 heavier and more repulsive. 
 
 "The sca-aoundrels, the sca-aoundrels! "— he 
 was repeating, slowly and viciously stretching 
 his wolfish mouth very wide: — "the damned 
 
 peasantry. . . . Here you see it this 
 
 lauded liberty .... and you can't get any 
 horses . . . the sca-aoundrels!' 
 
 299
 
 SMOKE 
 
 'The sca-aoundrels, the sca-aoundrels ! "— 
 another voice here made itself heard inside the 
 house, and on the porch there presented himself, 
 — also in a grey round jacket and flapping sleep- 
 ing-trousers,— presented himself, this time actu- 
 ally and indubitably, the genuine Mr. Guba- 
 ryoff himself, Stepan Nikolaevitch Gubaryoff. 
 "The damned peasantry! "—he continued, in 
 imitation of his brother (it appeared that the 
 first gentleman was his elder brother, the 
 ' Danteist " l of the old school, who managed his 
 estate. ) — " They ought to be flogged, that 's what 
 they ought ; flogged on their snouts, that 's the 
 sort of liberty they need — flogged on their teeth. 
 
 . . They talk about . . . forsooth, about the 
 
 mayor of the district! ... I '11 give it to them! 
 . . . Yes, and where 's that M'sieu' Roston? . . . 
 What does he superintend ? . . . It 's his busi- 
 ness, the cursed sluggard . . . not to reduce one 
 to anxiety " 
 
 ' But I have repeatedly told you, brother," — 
 put in the elder Gubaryoff, — " that he was 
 not fit for anything, a regular sluggard! Only 
 you, for old acquaintance' sake. . . . M'sieu' 
 Roston, M'sieu' Roston! .... What has be- 
 come of you? " 
 
 "Roston! Roston! "—shouted the younger, 
 the great Gubaryoff. — " Come, brother Dore- 
 medont Nikolaitch, call him well! " 
 
 "* A term applied to cruel serf-owners. — Translator. 
 
 300
 
 SMOKE 
 
 That 's precisely what I am doing, brother 
 Stepan Nikolaitch.— Monsieur Boston!' 
 
 'Here I am, here I am, here I am!"— a 
 precipitate voice made itself heard, and from 
 round the corner of the cottage sprang forth — 
 Bambaeff. 
 
 Litvinoff fairly cried aloud in amazement. On 
 the ill-starred enthusiast mournfully dangled a 
 hussar jacket abbreviated by wear, with rents in 
 the sleeves ; his features were not so much altered 
 as pinched and wizened; his extremely uneasy 
 little eyes expressed slavish terror and hungry 
 subserviency; but his dyed moustache bristled up 
 above his full lips as of old. The GubaryofY 
 brothers set to work instantly and simultaneously 
 to berate him from the elevation of the porch; 
 he halted in front of them, below, in the mud, 
 and, with his back meekly bowed, endeavoured 
 to placate them with a timid smile, crumpling 
 his cap in his red fingers, shifting from one 
 foot to the other, and muttering that the horses 
 would make their appearance immediately. . . 
 But the brothers did not cease, until the younger, 
 at last, let his eves fall on Litvinoff. Whether 
 he recognised him, whether he felt ashamed in 
 the presence of a stranger, at all events, he sud- 
 denly turned on his heel, in bear-like fashion, 
 and, gnawing his beard, hobbled into the posting- 
 cottage; his brother instantly became mute, and 
 turning round, in bear-like fashion also, followed 
 
 801
 
 SMOKE 
 
 in his footsteps. The great Gubaryoff, evi- 
 dently, had not lost his influence in his own coun- 
 try either. 
 
 Bambaeff was on the point of following 
 softly after the brothers. . . LitvinofF called him 
 by name. He glanced round, took another look, 
 and, recognising Litvinoff, fairly precipitated 
 himself at him, with outstretched arms ; but when 
 he had rushed up to the carriage, and grasped 
 the door, he fell against it with his breast and 
 burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 " Stop, do stop, Bambaeff," — Litvinoff said 
 again and again, bending over him and touching 
 him on the shoulder. 
 
 But he continued to sob. — " This .... this .... 
 this is what I have come to . . ." he murmured, 
 sobbing. 
 
 " Bambaeff! "—thundered the brothers inside 
 the cottage. 
 
 Bambaeff raised his head and hastily wiped 
 awav his tears. 
 
 " Good morning, my dear fellow,"— he whis- 
 pered, — " good morning and good-bye! .... 
 you hear, they are calling me." 
 
 " But how in the world do you come to be 
 here? "—inquired Litvinoff :— " and what is the 
 meaning of all this? I thought they called you 
 a Frenchman. . ." 
 
 " I am their . . . their house-steward, their 
 butler,"— replied Bambaeff, and jerked his 
 
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 SMOKE 
 
 finger in the direction of the cottage.—" And I 
 came to be a Frenchman by chance, by way of a 
 jest. What can a man do, brother? When there 
 is nothing to eat, you see, and you have spent 
 your last penny, you put your neck into the 
 noose, willy-nilly. You don't feel like being am- 
 bitious." 
 
 " But has he been long in Russia? And how 
 did he part from his former comrades ? ' 
 
 ' Ekh, brother ! All that is over now. . . The 
 weather has changed, you know. . . . He simply 
 pitched Madame Sukhantchikoff, Matryona 
 Kuzminitchna, out, neck and crop. She went off 
 to Portugal, out of grief." 
 
 " Went to Portugal? What nonsense is 
 this?" 
 
 " Yes, brother, to Portugal, with two Matryo- 
 novtzys." 
 
 "With whom?" 
 
 "With the Matryonovtzys : that's what the 
 adherents of her faction are called." 
 
 " Has Matryona Kuzminitchna a faction, and 
 is it numerous? " 
 
 " Why, it consists of just those two men. But 
 he returned here nearly six months ago. Then 
 others got into trouble, but he 's all right. He 
 lives in the country with his brother, and you 
 just ought to hear now . . . ." 
 
 "Bambaeff!" 
 
 " Immediately, Stepan Nikolaitch, immedi- 
 
 303
 
 SMOKE 
 
 ately. But thou, my dear fellow, art blooming, 
 thou art enjoying thyself! Well, God be 
 thanked! Where art thou bound for now?— 
 Why, I never thought, I never foresaw that. . . . 
 Dost thou remember Baden? Ekh, that was 
 living! By the way, dost thou remember Binda- 
 soff also? Just imagine, he is dead. He ob- 
 tained a position in the excise office, and got into 
 a fight in a dram-shop; and they smashed his 
 skull with a billiard-cue. Yes, yes, hard times 
 have come upon us! But I still say: Russia, 
 what a land this Russia is! Look even at that 
 pair of geese: surely, in all Europe, there is 
 nothing like them! Real Arzamas fowls! ' 
 
 And after paying this parting tribute to his 
 ineradicable necessity to go into raptures, Bam- 
 baeff ran into the station-cottage, where his name 
 was again being uttered, not without a few em- 
 phatic epithets. 
 
 Toward the end of that day, Litvfnoff drove 
 up to Tatyana's village. The little house, where- 
 in dwelt his former betrothed, stood on a hill, 
 above a small river, in the centre of a garden 
 which had been newly laid out. The little house 
 was new also, only just built, and was visible 
 from afar, across river and meadow. It revealed 
 itself to Litvinoff at a distance of two versts 
 with its pointed partial upper story and row 
 of windows, which gleamed brightly in the rays 
 of the evening sun. From the time he quitted the 
 
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 SMOKE 
 
 last station, he had begun to experience a secret 
 agitation; but at this point downright consterna- 
 tion seized upon him, joyous consternation, not 
 unmingled with a certain alarm. ' How will they 
 receive me?" — he thought, — "how shall I pre- 
 sent myself? "... In order to divert his thoughts 
 somewhat he began to chat with the postilion, a 
 peasant of the steppes, with a grey beard, but 
 who had charged him for thirty versts, when, in 
 reality, the distance was not twenty-five. He 
 asked him: Did he know the Shestoff ladies? 
 
 " The ShestofFs, do you mean? Of course I 
 know them ! Kind ladies they are, there 's no 
 denying that! And they heal us poor folks too. 
 I 'm telling you the truth. Regular women doc- 
 tors! Folks go to them from the whole county. 
 That 's so. They just crawl there in hordes. No 
 sooner does any one fall ill, or cut himself, or 
 anything else, than he immediately hastens to 
 them, and they immediately apply a fomenta- 
 tion, or powders, or a plaster, — and that \s the end 
 of it: it helps. But don't dare to offer gifts of 
 gratitude; we don't consent to that, say they; we 
 don't do it for money. They 've set up a school, 
 too. . . . Well, but that does n't amount to any- 
 thing." 
 
 While the postilion was talking, Litvinoff 
 never took his eyes from the little house. . . Now 
 a woman in white came out on the balcony, stood, 
 and stood, and then vanished. . . . Gall it be 
 
 805
 
 SMOKE 
 
 she? ' His heart fairly leapt within him. " Fas- 
 ter! Faster!" he shouted to the postilion: the 
 latter whipped up his horses. A few moments 
 more . . . and the calash rolled in through the 
 open gates. . . And on the porch Kapitolina 
 Markovna was already standing, and, quite be- 
 side herself, was clapping her hands and scream- 
 ing: " I recognised him, I was the first to recog- 
 nise him! 'T is he! 't is he!— I recognised 
 him!" 
 
 Litvinoff sprang out of the calash, without 
 giving the groom who came running up a chance 
 to open the door, and hastily embracing Kapito- 
 lina Markovna, rushed into the house, through 
 the ante-room, into the salon. . . . Before him, 
 all covered with confusion, stood Tatyana. She 
 glanced at him with her kind, affectionate eyes 
 (she had grown a little thinner, but it became 
 her), and offered him her hand. But he did not 
 take the hand, he fell on his knees before her. 
 She had not in the least expected this, and did 
 not know what to say, what to do. — The tears 
 rushed to her eyes. She was startled, but her 
 whole countenance beamed with joy. . . . Gri- 
 gory Mikhailitch, what is this, Grigory Mikhai- 
 litch ? " she said . . . but he continued to kiss 
 the hem of her garment . . . and with emotion he 
 recalled how he had lain on his knees before her, 
 
 in the same manner, at Baden But then 
 
 —and now! 
 
 306
 
 SMOKE 
 
 " Tanya,"— he repeated, over and over again, 
 —"Tanya! hast thou forgiven me, Tanya?" 
 
 'Aunty, aunty, what is this? "— Tatyana 
 appealed to Kapitolina Markovna, who entered 
 at the moment. 
 
 ' Do not hinder him, do not hinder him, 
 Tanya,"— replied the kind old woman. — " Thou 
 seest he has confessed his wrong." 
 
 But it is time to make an ending; and besides, 
 there is nothing more to add; the reader will 
 divine the outcome for himself. . . . But what 
 of Irina? 
 
 She is just as charming as ever, in spite of 
 her thirty years. Innumerable young men fall in 
 love with her, and even more would fall in love 
 with her, if .... if ... . Reader, will not you 
 consent to be transported with us, for a few mo- 
 ments, to Petersburg, to one of the most promi- 
 nent buildings there? Behold: before you lies 
 a spacious room, furnished, we will not say 
 " richly," — that is too vulgar an expression,— but 
 imposingly, in a stately, impressive style. Do 
 you feel a certain tremor of servility? You must 
 know: you have entered a temple, a temple con- 
 secrated to the loftiest decorum, to virtue over- 
 flowing with love — in a word, to unearthly virtue. 
 A certain mysterious, actually mysterious silence 
 receives you into its embrace. The velvet por- 
 tieres, the velvet curtains at the windows, the soft, 
 
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 SMOKE 
 
 thick carpet on the floor, all seem destined and 
 designed to soothe and soften all harsh sounds 
 and violent emotions. Carefully-shaded lamps 
 inspire dignified feelings; a decorous perfume 
 is disseminated in the close atmosphere; the very 
 samovar on the table is hissing in a repressed and 
 modest way. The mistress of the house, an im- 
 portant personage in Petersburg society, is talk- 
 ing in a barely audible tone; she always speaks 
 in that way, as though there were a very critically 
 ill, almost dying person in the room. The other 
 ladies, in imitation of her, barely whisper; but 
 to-day, her sister, who is pouring tea, is moving 
 her lips with entire absence of sound, so that the 
 young man who is sitting before her, and has 
 accidentally got into the temple of decorum, is 
 even perplexed to know what she wants of him, 
 and she rustles at him, for the sixth time: 
 " Voulez vous une tasse de the? ' In the corner, 
 young, good-looking men are to be seen; mild 
 deference beams in their glances; tranquilly 
 mild, although insinuating, is the expression of 
 their faces; a multitude of tokens of distinction 
 glitter mildly on their breasts. The conversation 
 which is in progress is mild also; it touches upon 
 spiritual and patriotic subjects, The Mysterious 
 Drop by F. M. Glinka, the mission to the East, 
 the monasteries and brotherhoods of White Rus- 
 sia. From time to time, treading noiselessly 
 over the soft carpet, liveried lackeys pass to and 
 
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 SMOKE 
 
 fro; their huge calves, clothed in tightly-fitting 
 silk stockings, quiver calmly at every step; the 
 respectful quiver of their stout muscles only in- 
 tensifies the general impression of magnificence, 
 benevolence, devoutness. . . It is a temple ! It is 
 a temple! 
 
 " Have you seen Madame Ratmiroff to-day? ' 
 — asks a personage gently. 
 
 " I met her to-day at Lise's," replies the mis- 
 tress of the house, like an seolian harp: — " I feel 
 sorry for her. . . She has an embittered mind 
 .... elle ria pas la fox." 
 
 "Yes, yes," — repeats the personage; — "I 
 remember that Peter Ivanitch said that of her, 
 and it was very truly said — he said quelle a . . . 
 qu'elle a an embittered mind." 
 
 " Elle na pas la foi—" the voice of the hostess 
 dies away in the air, like the smoke of incense. 
 — " C'est une ame egaree. She has an embit- 
 tered mind." 
 
 " She has an embittered mind,"— repeats her 
 sister, with her lips alone. 
 
 And that is why all the young men, without 
 exception, do not fall in love with Irina. . . They 
 are afraid of her . . . they are afraid of her " em- 
 bittered mind." 
 
 That is the form which the current phrase 
 about her has assumed ; in that phrase, as in every 
 phrase, there is a grain of truth. And it is not 
 
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 SMOKE 
 
 the young men alone who fear her; the older 
 men, and persons of high rank, and even per- 
 sonages, fear her also. No one is capable of 
 noting so accurately and delicately the ridiculous 
 or the petty side of a character, no one possesses 
 such a gift for pitilessly branding it with an un- 
 forgettable word. . . . And that word burns all 
 the more painfully, because it proceeds from a 
 fragrant, exquisitely beautiful mouth. ... It 
 would be difficult to say what is taking place 
 within that soul; but rumour does not bestow 
 upon any one of her adorers the title of the fa- 
 voured suitor. 
 
 Irina's husband is advancing rapidly along 
 that road which the French call the road of 
 honours. The fat general is overtaking him ; the 
 condescending one is being left behind. And in 
 that same town where Irina dwells, dwells also 
 our friend, Sozont Potiigin: he rarely sees her, 
 and she has no particular need for maintaining 
 relations with him. . . The little girl who was 
 intrusted to his guardianship died not long ago. 
 
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