THE NOVELS OF
IVAN TURGENEV
THE NOVELS OF.
IVAN TURGENEV
I.
RUDIN.
II.
A HOUSE OF GENTLEFOLK.
III.
ON THE EVE.
IV.
FATHERS AND CHILDREN.
V.
SMOKE.
VI. & VII.
VIRGIN SOIL. 2 vols.
VIII. & IX.
A SPORTSMAN'S SKETCHES. 2 vols.
X.
DREAM TALES AND PROSE POEMS
XI.
tHE TORRENTS OF SPRING, ETC.
XII.
A LEAR OF THE STEPPES.
XIII.
THE DIARY OF A SUPERFLUOUS
MAN, ETC.
XIV.
A DESPERATE CHARACTER, ETC.
XV.
THE JEW, ETC.
XVI.
TWO FRIENDS AND OTHERSTORIES.
XVII.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, AND
OTHER STORIES.
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON : WlLiLIAM HEINEMANN
THE NOVELS OF IVAN TURGENEV
THE TWO FRIENDS
AND OTHER STORIES
TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN
By
CONSTANCE GARNETT '
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
MCMXXI
Copyright, 1921,
By the MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped. Published March, 1921.
MAIN LIBHARY
CONTENTS
4S9330
FAGS
X
THE TWO FRIENDS ,.••»•
FATHER ALEXEy'S STORY ^^S
THREE MEETINGS ..•■'•• ^55
A QUIET BACKWATER ■ • • ■ , • • ^^7
THE TWO FRIENDS
AND OTHER STORIES
THE TWO FRIENDS
On one spring day in the forties of last cen-
tury, a young man of six and twenty called
Boris Andreyitch Vyazovnin arrived at his
home, an estate lying in one of the provinces of
the central region of Russia. He had just re-
signed his commission "owing to domestic cir-
cumstances," and was intending to look after
the management of his land. A praiseworthy
idea of course, but Boris Andreyitch had taken
it up, as indeed is usually the case, against his
will. Every year his income had been falling
off while his debts had been increasing. He
had become convinced of the impossibility of
continuing in the service and living in the capi-
tal, — of living in fact as he had lived hitherto,
I
'':tB.t.TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
and, much against the grain, he had made up
his mind to devote a few years to setting
straight those "domestic circumstances," thanks
to which he found himself in the wilds of the
country.
Vyazovnin found his estate in disorder, his
fields and gardens run to waste, his house al-
most in ruins. He appointed a new village elder
and diminished the allowances of the house
serfs. He had two or three rooms cleared for
his own use and ordered new shingles to be
put on where the roof leaked. He did not, how-
ever, take any violent measures, and did not de-
vise any improvements in consequence appar-
ently of the simple reflection that one must, at
any rate, just find out what one wants to im-
prove. ... So he set to work to understand
the farming of the land, began, as they say, to
go into things. It must be admitted that he
went into things without any special zeal and
without haste. Being unaccustomed to country
life, he found it very dreary, and often could
not think where and how to spend the livelong
day. He had a good number of neighbours
but he was not acquainted with them, — not be-
2
THE TWO FRIENDS
cause he avoided them but because he had not
happened to come into contact with them. But
at last in the autumn he did make the acquaint-
ance of one of his nearest neighbours whose
name was Pyotr Vassilyitch Krupitsyn. He
had once served in the cavalry and had left the
army a Lieutenant. His peasants and Vyazov-
nin's had had a dispute from time immemorial
concerning seven acres of mowing land. The
quarrel from time to time reached the point
of fighting; cocks of hay were mysteriously
transferred from place to place, all sorts of
unpleasant incidents occurred, and most likely
the quarrel would have gone on for many years
longer, if Krupitsyn, hearing by chance of Boris
Andreyitch's peaceable disposition, had not gone
to him to discuss the matter in person. The
interview had very agreeable results ; in the
first place, the trouble was settled at once and
for ever to the mutual satisfaction of the land-
owners, and in the second place they were at-
tracted by each other, took to meeting fre-
quently, and by the winter had become such
friends that they were almost inseparable.
And yet they had little in common. Vyazov-
3
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
nin, who had come of wealthy parents though
he was not himself wealthy, had received a
good education, studied at the University, knew
several languages, was fond of reading and al-
together might be regarded as a man of culture.
Krupitsyn, on the contrary, spoke French bad-
ly, never took up a book unless he was obliged,
and belonged rather to the class of the uncul-
tivated. The friends had little resemblance in
appearance either: Vyazovnin was rather tall,
thin, fair and like an Englishman; he kept his
person, especially his hands, faultlessly clean,
was elegant in his dress and foppish over his
cravats ... all habits formed in the capital!
Krupitsyn on the other hand was black-haired
and dark-skinned, short and stooping, and he
went about summer and winter alike in a sort
of sack overcoat of bronze-coloured cloth with
gaping, bulging pockets.
"I like the colour," Pyotr Vassilyitch used to
say, "because it doesn't show the dirt."
The colour of the cloth certainly did not
show the dirt but the cloth itself was pretty
grimy. Vyazovnin liked dainty fare and talked
with zest of the charms of good dinners, and
4
THE TWO FRIENDS
the importance of taste; Krupitsyn ate anything
that was given him, so long as it was something
he could work upon. If he came across cab-
bage soup with boiled grain he swallowed the
soup with pleasure and ate up the grain that
went with it; if he were offered German clear
soup he would fall upon it with the same readi-
ness and if any boiled grain were at hand he
would toss it into the same plate and think it
was all right. He loved kvass, to use his own
expression, "hke his own father," while French
wines, especially the red ones, he could not
endure, calling them "vinegar." Altogether
Krupitsyn was very far from being fastidious
while Vyazovnin took a clean handkerchief
twice a day. In short, the friends, as we have
said already, were not alike. One thing they
had in common: they were both what is called
"good fellows," straightforward, good-natured
young men. Krupitsyn had been born one,
while Vyazovnin had become one. Moreover
they were both further distinguished by the
fact that they were not fond of anything in par-
ticular ; that is, that they had no special passion
5
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
or predilection for anything. Krupitsyn was
six or eight years older than Vyazovnin.
Their days were spent rather monotonously.
As a rule, in the morning, not very early, how-
ever, only about ten o'clock, Boris Andreyitch
would be sitting, with a book and a cup of tea,
by the window, combed and washed, in a hand-
some dressing-gown hanging open unbuttoned
and a snow-white shirt; the door would open
and Pyotr Vassilyitch in his usual careless at-
tire would come in. His little estate was less
than half a mile from Vyazovna (as Boris
Andreyitch's estate was called), though indeed
Pyotr Vassilyitch would very often stay the
night at Boris Andreyitch's.
"Ah, good-morning," they would both say
simultaneously, "how did you sleep?"
And at that point Fedyushka, a boy of fif-
teen dressed like a Cossack, whose very hair,
bristling like the feathers of a ruff in the mat-
ing season, looked drowsy, would bring Pyotr
Vassilyitch his dressing-gown of Bokhara stuff,
and Pyotr Vassilyitch, after clearing his throat
as a preliminary, would swathe himself in it
and set to his tea and his pipe.
6
THE TWO FRIENDS
Then talk would begin, talk without haste,
with intervals and pauses: they talked of the
weather, of yesterday, of the work of the fields
and the price of corn; they talked, too, of the
neighbouring landowners and their ladies. In
the early days of his acquaintance with Boris
Andreyitch, Pyotr Vassilyitch had thought it
his duty, and had indeed been glad of the op-
portunity, to question his neighbour concerning
life in the capital, and learning and culture
generally — in fact concerning lofty subjects:
Boris Andreyitch's replies had interested him,
often surprised him, and held his attention, but
at the same time they had brought on a cer-
tain fatigue, so that all such conversations were
quickly dropped; and indeed Boris Andreyitch
himself displayed no excessive desire to renew
them. It happened later on, though not often,
that Pyotr Vassilyitch would suddenly ask Boris
Andreyitch, for example, what sort of thing
the electric telegraph was, and after listening
to Boris Andreyitch's not perfectly clear ex-
planation, would sit silent for a little, and then
say:
"Yes, that's wonderful," and would make no
7
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
enquiry concerning a scientific subject for a
long time afterwards.
For the most part conversations between
them were after the following style. Pyotr
Vassilyitch would inhale the smoke from his
pipe and puffing it out through his nostrils
would ask:
"What's that new girl you've got? I saw
her on the back stairs, Boris Andreyitch."
Boris Andreyitch in his turn would put his
cigar to his lips, take two puffs at it, and after
a sip of cold tea with cream would bring out:
"What new girl?"
Pyotr Vassilyitch would bend down a little
to one side and looking out of the window into
the yard where the dog had just bitten a bare-
foot boy in the calf of the leg would reply :
"Fair-haired . . . not bad looking."
"Ah!" Boris Andreyitch would exclaim,
after a pause, "that's my new laundry girl."
"Where does she come from?" Pyotr Vas-
silyitch would ask as though surprised.
"From Moscow. She's been training there."
And both would sit silent for a while.
"How many laundry girls have you got al-
8
THE TWO FRIENDS
together, Boris Andreyitch ?" Pyotr Vassilyitch
asks again, looking attentively at the tobacco
burning with a dry splutter under the charred
ash in his pipe.
"Three," answers Boris Andreyitch.
"Three ! I've only one and there's scarcely
anything for the one to do; of course, as you
know, we don't have a great deal of washing!"
"H'm!" answers Boris Andreyitch, and the
conversation drops for a time.
The morning would pass in such occupations
and lunch time would arrive. Pyotr Vassilyitch
was particularly fond of lunch, and declared
that twelve o'clock was precisely the time when
a man was hungry; and indeed he ate at that
hour so cheerfully, with such a pleasant and
hearty appetite, that even a German would
have been delighted looking at him : Pyotr Vas-
silyitch lunched so gloriously! Boris Andrey-
itch ate far less : he was satisfied with a cro-
quette of chicken or a couple of scrambled
eggs with butter and some English sauce in
an ingeniously made patent jar for which he
had paid a great deal of money and which he
secretly thought disgusting, though he declared
9
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
that he could not touch anything without it.
If the weather were fine the two friends would
spend the time between lunch and dinner look-
ing after farming operations, or would simply
go for a walk, or look at young horses being
broken in, etc. Sometimes they made their way
as far as Pyotr Vassilyitch's estate and occa-
sionally went into his little house.
The house, small and very old, was more
like a plain house serf's cottage than a land-
owner's residence. Green moss grew in the
thatched roof which was honeycombed with the
nests of sparrows and jackdaws. One of the
aspen log walls, which had originally been
tightly fitted, had dropped back while the others
had shifted to one side and sunk into the earth
— in short, Pyotr Vassilyitch's house was poor
without and poor within.
But Pyotr Vassilyitch was not depressed by
that; being a bachelor and generally unexact-
ing he cared little about the conveniences of
life, and was satisfied with the fact that he had
a little place in which he could at need find
shelter from cold and bad weather. His house
was managed by the housekeeper, Makedonia,
10
THE TWO FRIENDS
a middle-aged woman, very zealous and even
honest but with an unlucky hand; nothing she
did succeeded — the crockery was broken, the
linen was torn, the food was uncooked or
burnt. Pyotr Vassilyitch used to call her
Caligula.
Having a natural bent for hospitality, Pyotr
Vassilyitch liked to have visitors in his house
and to regale them in spite of the narrowness
of his means. He was particularly active in
his efforts when Boris Andreyitch visited him,
but thanks to Makedonia, who almost flew off
her legs at each step in her eagerness to please,
poor Pyotr Vassilyitch's festive fare was al-
ways a failure, and for the most part did not
get further than a piece of stale dried sturgeon
and a glass of vodka which he himself de-
scribed very justly when he said that it was
"capital against the stomach." After their walk
the two friends would return to Boris Andrey-
itch's house and dine in leisurely fashion. After
eating as though he had had no lunch, Pyotr
Vassilyitch would retire to some secluded nook
and sleep for two or three hours, while Boris
Andreyitch would read foreign magazines. In
II
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
the evening the friends met again, so great was
their friendship. Sometimes they sat down to
play preference, sometimes they simply talked
as in the morning. Occasionally Pyotr Vas-
silyitch would take a guitar from the wall and
sing in a rather agreeable tenor. Pyotr Vas-
silyitch was very fond of music, — far more so
than Boris Andreyitch, though the latter could
not utter the name of Beethoven without a dis-
play of enthusiasm and was always intending
to order a piano from Moscow. In moments
of melancholy or depression Pyotr Vassilyitch
had the habit of singing a song connected with
the period of his service in the regiment. . . .
With peculiar feeling and a little through his
nose, he would deliver the following verse:
"No Frenchman ever cooks for us;
A soldier gets our meals for us.
No glorious Rodez plays for us;
No Catalini sings for us.
A bugler greets the dawn for us,
A sergeant brings reports to us." . . .
Boris Andreyitch would sometimes second
him, but his voice was disagreeable and not
always in tune. At ten o'clock, and sometimes
12
THE TWO FRIENDS
earlier, the friends parted. . . . And the same
thing began again next day.
Sitting one day as usual, a little on one side
facing Boris Andreyitch, Pyotr Vassilyitch
looked at him rather intently and brought out
in a dreamy voice:
"There's one thing I wonder at, Boris An-
dreyitch."
"What's that?" inquired the latter.
"Why, this. You're young, intelligent, well-
educated. What induces you to live in the
country?"
Boris Andreyitch looked at his neighbour in
surprise.
"Why, you know, Pyotr Vassilyitch," he said
at last, "that if it were not for my circum-
stances . . . circumstances compel me to,
Pyotr VassilyitcH."
"Circumstances. Your circumstances are
nothing to matter so far. . . . With your
estate you can get along all right. You should
go into the service." And after a brief pause
Pyotr Vassilyitch added: "If I were you I
should go into the Uhlans."
"The Uhlans? Why into the Uhlans?"
13
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"Oh, I fancy it would be more suitable for
you to be in the Uhlans."
"But excuse me, you were in the Hussars,
weren't you?"
"I? Of course'I was in the Hussars," Pyotr
Vassilyitch said eagerly. "And in what a regi-
ment! You wouldn't find another regiment
like it in the whole world! It was a golden
regiment! My superior officers, my comrades
— ^what fellows they were! But you, I don't
know. . . . You ought to be in the Uhlans,
to my thinking. You're fair, you've a slim fig-
ure, it's all in keeping."
"But excuse me, Pyotr Vassilyitch. You
forget that by the Army regulations I should
have to begin as an Ensign. At my age that
would be rather difficult. I think it's forbidden,
in fact."
"That's true," observed Pyotr Vassilyitch,
and he became downcast. "Well, in that case
you should get married," he pronounced, sud-
denly raising his head.
"What queer ideas you've got to-day, Pyotr
Vassilyitch," exclaimed Boris Andreyitch.
"Why queer? What's the use of living like
14
THE TWO FRIENDS
this really ? What are you waiting for ? You're
only losing time. I want to know what ad-
vantage it will be to you not to get married."
"But it's not a question of advantage," Boris
Andreyitch was beginning.
"No, excuse me," Pyotr Vassilyitch inter-
rupted him, suddenly growing excited. "I can't
understand why it is young men are so afraid
to be married nowadays ! I simply can't under-
stand it. Never mind my not being married,
Boris Andreyitch. I wanted to be perhaps and
made an offer, but they showed me out," and
Pyotr Vassilyitch pointed upwards and out-
wards with the finger of his right hand towards
Boris Andreyitch.
"But with your property how is it you're not
married ?"
Boris Andreyitch looked intently at Pyotr
Vassilyitch.
"Is it amusing to live as a bachelor?" Pyotr
Vassilyitch went on. "It's nothing to boast of !
It's a poor sort of fun! Really the young men
of to-day are a wonder to me." And Pyotr
Vassilyitch knocked his pipe against the arm
IS
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
of his chair with an air of vexation and blew
violently into the mouthpiece.
"But who has told you, Pyotr Vassilyitch,
that I don't intend to get married?" Boris
Andreyitch brought out slowly.
Pyotr Vassilyitch remained motionless, as he
was, with his fingers in his spangled maroon
velvet tobacco pouch. Boris Andreyitch's words
astonished him.
"Yes," Boris Andreyitch went on, "I'm ready
to be married. Find me a bride and I'll marry.'*
"Really?"
"Really."
"No, I say, upon your word ?"
"What a fellow you are, Pyotr Vassilyitch!
Upon my word I'm not joking."
Pyotr Vassilyitch filled his pipe.
"Well you shall see then, Boris Andreyitch.
We'll find you a bride,"
"Very good," replied Boris Andreyitch, "but
tell me really what do you want to marry me
for?"
"Why because, as I told you, you're not fitted
for doing nothing like this."
Boris Andreyitch smiled.
i6
THE TWO FRIENDS
"It has always seemed to me, on the contrary,
that I was a master at it."
"You misunderstand me," said Pyotr Vas-
silyitch, and he changed the conversation.
Two days later Pyotr Vassilyitch- arrived at
his neighbour's not in his usual sack overcoat,
but in a frock-coat, the colour of a raven's
wing, with a high waist, minute buttons and
long sleeves. Pyotr Vassilyitch's moustaches
looked almost black from wax, and his hair,
curled tightly in front in the form of two long
sausages, glistened with pomatum. A big velvet
cravat with a satin ribbon tightly compressed
Pyotr Vassilyitch's neck and gave a solemn im-
mobility and festive dignity to the whole of
the upper part of his person.
"What is the meaning of this get-up?" en-
quired Boris Andreyitch.
"The meaning of this get-up," replied Pyotr
Vassilyitch, sinking into an armchair, but not
with his usual carelessness, "is that you must
order the carriage; we are going out."
"Whereto?"
"To see the bride."
"What bride?"
17
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"Why, have you forgotten already what we
were talking about three days ago?"
Boris Andreyitch laughed, though he was in-
wardly disturbed.
"Upon my word, Pyotr Vassilyitch, why, that
was only a joke."
"A joke? How was it then that you swore
at the time that you were not joking? No, ex-
cuse me, Boris Andreyitch, you must keep your
word. I've taken steps already."
Boris Andreyitch was still more disturbed.
"What steps do you mean?" he asked.
"Oh, don't worry yourself. . . . What do
you imagine ! I have only warned a neighbour
of ours, a very charming lady, that we intend
to call on her to-day."
"Who is this neighbour?"
"Wait a bit and you will know. Come, you
must first dress and order the horses."
Boris Andreyitch looked round him irreso-
lutely.
"Really, Pyotr Vassilyitch, what possessed
you ! . . . Look at the weather."
"The weather doesn't matter ; it's always like
that."
i8
THE TWO FRIENDS
"And is it far to drive?"
"About ten miles."
Boris Andreyitch was silent. "But let us at
least have lunch first !"
"Lunch, certainly, if you like. Do you know
what; you run and dress now. I'll arrange it
all while you are gone : a drop of vodka, a
morsel of caviare, and we shall be fed at the
little widow's. You needn't be anxious about
that."
"You don't say she's a widow?" Boris An-
dreyitch asked, turning round on his way to
the door.
Pyotr Vassilyitch shook his head.
"There, you will see, you will see."
Boris Andreyitch went out and shut the door
after him, while Pyotr Vassilyitch, left alone,
ordered the lunch and the carriage.
Boris Andreyitch spent a considerable time
over his toilet. Pyotr Vassilyitch, with a slight
frown and a melancholy air, was already drink-
ing his second glass of vodka when Boris
Andreyitch appeared at the door of the study.
He had taken trouble over dressing. He had
put on a full fashionably cut black frock-coat,
19
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
the dark mass of which contrasted agreeably
with the faint brilliance of the light-grey trou-
sers, a low black cravat, and a handsome dark-
blue waistcoat; a gold chain hooked into the
lowest buttonhole modestly vanished into the
side pocket; the thin high boots creaked in a
gentlemanly way, and at Boris Andreyitch's
entrance the air was filled with a scent of Ess
bouquet combined with the smell of fresh linen.
Pyotr Vassilyitch could only articulate "Ah !"
and pick up his cap.
Boris Andreyitch drew a grey kid glove on
to his left hand, after first blowing into it;
then with the same hand he nervously poured
himself out a quarter of a glass of vodka and
drank it off ; than he took his hat and went with
Pyotr Vassilyitch out into the entry.
"I'm doing this entirely on your account,"
said Boris Andreyitch, as he got into the car-
riage.
"Supposing it is on my account," said Pyotr
Vassilyitch, who was evidently impressed by
Boris Andreyitch's elegant appearance; "you
will perhaps thank me for it yourself."
20
THE TWO FRIENDS
And he told the coachman where to drive and
how to get there.
The carriage drove off.
"We are going to see Sofya Kirillovna Zad-
nyeprovskoy," observed Pyotr Vassilyitch after
a rather prolonged interval, in the course of
which the two friends had sat motionless as
though turned to stone. "Have you heard of
her?"
"I believe I have," answered Boris Andrey-
itch. "Why, have you chosen her for a bride
for me ?"
"And why not? She is a woman of excel-
lent understanding, with property, with the
manners, one may say, of Petersburg. But you
can have a look at her. That doesn't bind you
to anything, you know."
"I should hope not," retorted Boris Andrey-
itch, "and how old is she?"
"Twenty-five or seven, — not more"; in her
very prime, as they say !"
It was not ten miles to Madame Zadnyeprov-
skoy's but a good sixteen and a half, so that
Boris Andreyitch was fairly frozen by the end
21
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
of the drive and kept hiding his reddening nose
in the beaver collar of his greatcoat.
Pyotr Vassilyitch was not afraid of cold as
a rule — and especially not so when he was
dressed in his holiday dress, then he was more
liable to get into a perspiration. Madame Zad-
nyeprovskoy's homestead consisted of a little
new white house with a green roof of suburban
style that looked like a summer villa, and a
little garden and courtyard. Such villas may
frequently be met with near Moscow; in the
provinces they are not so common. It was evi-
dent that the lady had settled here only re-
cently. The friends got out of the carriage.
They were met on the steps by a footman in
pea-green trousers and a grey swallowtail coat
with rounded edges and buttons with a crest
on them; in the entry, which was fairly neat
though it had a box seat in it, they were met
by another similar footman. Pyotr Vassilyitch
bade him take his name and Boris Andreyitch's
to his mistress.
The footman did not go to his mistress, but
answered that he had orders to show them in.
They went in and through a dining-room in
22
THE TWO FRIENDS
which a canary was singing in a deafening way,
walked into a drawing-room full of fashionable
Russian shop-made furniture, very ingeniously
constructed .and with chairs bent in all direc-
tions to provide comfort for the sitter and really
very uncomfortable. Two minutes had not
elapsed when the rustle of a silk dress was
heard in the next room; the curtain over the
door was raised and the lady of the house
walked with rapid steps into the drawing-room.
Pyotr Vassilyitch made a bow and a scrape and
introduced Boris Andreyitch.
"I am very glad to make your acquaintance
and have long wished to," the lady responded
in a free-and-easy tone, scanning him with a
rapid glance, "I am very grateful to Pyotr
Vassilyitch for bringing me such an agreeable
acquaintance; please sit down."
And with a rustle of her skirts the lady sat
down on a little low sofa, leaned back in it,
stretched out her feet in charming little boots
and folded her arms. Her dress was of green
glace silk with whitish lights on it, made with
several rows of flounces.
Boris Andreyitch sat down on the low chair
23
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
facing her, Pyotr Vassilyitch a little further
away. Conversation followed. Boris Andrey-
itch scrutinised Sofya Kirillovna attentively.
She was a tall, well made woman, with a slim
waist, dark and rather handsome. The ex-
pression of her face, and particularly of her
big and shining eyes turned up at the corners
like a Chinaman's, betrayed a strange mixture of
boldness and timidity and could not have been
called natural. She would screw up her eyes
and then suddenly open them wide; a smile
which tried to seem careless was continually
playing on her lips. All Sofya Kirillovna's
movements were very free, almost abrupt. Her
appearance attracted Boris Andreyitch, how-
ever, except that he was disagreeably impressed
by the way her hair was parted on one side,
which gave a saucy and boyish air to her face;
moreover, to his thinking she spoke Russian
with excessive purity and correctness. . . .
Boris Andreyitch shared Pushkin's opinion
that one can no more love the Russian language
without a grammatical mistake than rosy lips
without a smile. In short, Sofya Kirillovna
belonged to that class of women who are spoken
24
THE TWO FRIENDS
of by polite men as "ladies who can hold their
own," by husbands as "formidable women," and
by old bachelors as "festive old girls."
At first the conversation touched upon the
extreme dullness of country life.
"There's simply not a living soul here, sim-
ply no one to say a word to," said Sofya Kiril-
lovna, pronouncing the letter "s" with peculiar
distinctness. "I can't make out the people liv-
ing here, and those," she added with a grimace,
"with whom it would be pleasant to be ac-
quainted, — they don't call, they leave us poor
things to our cheerless solitude."
Boris Andreyitch made a slight bow and mut-
tered some awkward apology while Pyotr Vas-
silyitch merely glanced at him as though to say :
"Well, what did I tell you? She's not at a
loss for a word, you see."
"Do you smoke?" asked Sofya Kirillovna.
"Yes. ... But . . ."
"Please do. I smoke myself." And as she
said these words the widow took a rather large
silver cigar case from the little table, took a
cigarette from it and offered it to her guests.
Each took a cigarette. Sofya Kirillovna rang
25
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
the bell and told a boy with a broad expanse
of red waistcoat to bring a light. The boy
brought a wax candle on a crystal tray. The
cigarettes were lighted.
"Now, for instance, you wouldn't believe,"
the widow went on lightly, turning her head and
puffing a thin coil of smoke upwards, "there
are people here who think ladies oughtn't to
smoke, and as for riding on horseback, God
forbid ! They would simply stone one. Yes,"
she added after a brief pause, "anything that
departs from the common level, everything that
breaks the rules of an artificial decorum, is sub-
jected to the severest censure here."
"The young ladies in particular are angry
about that," observed Pyotr Vassilyitch.
"Yes," replied the widow. "They are the
chief sufferers! I don't know them at all,
though: scandal won't allow them to visit my
solitary retreat."
"And aren't you dull?" asked Boris Andrey-
itch.
"Dull? No, I read. . . . And when I'm
tired of books I dream, I tell my future and
put questions to my fate."
26
THE TWO FRIENDS
"You tell your fortune on cards?" asked
Pyotr Vassilyitch.
The widow gave a condescending smile.
"Why shouldn't I tell my fortune? I'm old
enough for that."
"Oh, what next !" retorted Pyotr Vassilyitch.
Sofya Kirillovna screwed up her eyes and
looked at him.
"Let us drop that subject, though," she said,
and turned with alacrity to Boris Andreyitch.
"Listen, Monsieur Vyazovnin. I am con-
vinced that you are interested in Russian litera-
ture?"
"Yes. ... Of course. . . ."
Vyazovnin was fond of reading, but he had
read little in Russian and without interest. The
more modern literature especially was unknown
to him ; he had stopped at Pushkin.
"Tell me, please, why has Marlinsky fallen
into such disfavour of late? To my thinking
it's extremely unjust; what is your view of
him?"
"Marlinsky is a writer of merit of course,"
Boris Andreyitch replied.
"He is a poet; he carries the imagination
27
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
away into a world of enchantment and marvels;
but of late they've taken to describing every-
day life, and upon my word, what good is there
in this everyday life here on earth? . . ."
And Sofya Kirillovna waved her hand round
her. Boris Andreyitch looked significantly at
Sofya Kirillovna.
"I don't agree with you. I think there's a
great deal that's good just here," he said, with
peculiar emphasis on the last word.
Sofya Kirillovna suddenly broke into an ab-
rupt laugh, while Pyotr Vassilyitch as suddenly
raised his head, thought a moment, and fell to
smoking again.
The conversation went on in the same style
till dinner time, continually changing from one
subject to another, which does not happen when
a conversation becomes really interesting.
Amongst other things they touched upon mar-
riage, its advantages and disadvantages and
the position of women in general. Sofya Kiril-
lovna vigorously attacked marriage, became ex-
cited at last, and, beginning to feel hot, ex-
pressed herself very eloquently, though her
28
THE TWO FRIENDS
listeners scarcely contradicted her; it was not
for nothing that she loved Marlinsky.
She could, too, resort on occasion to the fine
flowers of the most up-to-date style. The words
"artistic," "aestheticism," "conditioned by" were
continuously dropping from her lips.
"What can be of more value to a woman than
freedom? — freedom of thought, of feeling, of
action," she exclaimed at last.
"But excuse me," said Pyotr Vassilyitch,
whose face was beginning to assume a disatis-
fied expression, "what does woman want free-
dom for; what will she do with it?"
"How can you ask 'what'? Why, a man
wants it to your thinking, doesn't he? To be
sure you gentlemen . . ."
"But a man doesn't want it either," Pyotr
Vassilyitch interrupted her again.
"How do you mean — doesn't want it?"
"Why, just what I say — that he doesn't.
What use to a man is the freedom you praise
so? A man who is free — it's a thing we all
know — is either bored or plays the fool."
"Then," observed Sofya Kirillovna with an
■ironical smile, "you are bored, because, know-
29
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
ing you to be a sensible man, I can't suppose
that you play the fool, as you say."
"Both happen," Pyotr Vassilyitch answered
calmly.
"Well, that's charming! However I ought
to be grateful to your boredom for giving me
the pleasure of seeing you here to-day. . . ."
And satisfied with the tactful turn of her
phrase the lady sank back a little, and pro-
nounced in an undertone:
"Your friend, I see, is fond of paradoxes.
Monsieur Vyazovnin."
"I haven't noticed it," replied Boris Andrey-
itch.
"What am I fond of?" asked Pyotr Vas-
silyitch.
"Paradoxes."
Pyotr Vassilyitch looked into Sofya Kiril-
lovna's eyes and made her no reply but thought
to himself: "I know what you're fond of. ..."
The boy with the red waistcoat came in and
announced that dinner was ready.
"Will you come, then?" said the lady, get-
ting up from the sofa, and they all went into
the dining-room.
30
THE TWO FRIENDS
The two friends did not like the dinner.
Pyotr Vassilyitch was hungry when he rose
from the table, though there were many dishes ;
while Boris Andreyitch, who was fond of good
fare, was dissatisfied though the food was
served under dish covers, and the plates had
been heated. The wines, too, were poor, in
spite of the magnificent labels, adorned with
gold and silver, on the bottles. Sofya Kiril-
lovna talked without ceasing, though from time
to time she cast expressive glances at the serv-
ants who were handing the dishes, and she
drank a fair amount of wine, remarking that
in England all the ladies drank wine, while here
even that was considered improper. After din-
ner the lady invited them back into the drawing-
room, and asked them which they preferred,
tea or coffee. Boris Andreyitch preferred tea,
and after emptying his cup inwardly regretted
that he had not asked for coffee, while Pyotr
Vassilyitch chose coffee, and after emptying it
asked for tea, tasted it and put the cup back
on the tray.
The lady settled herself in her seat, lighted
a cigarette and was evidently not disinclined to
31
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
enter on the liveliest conversation: her eyes
glowed and her dark cheeks were flushed, but
her guests responded listlessly to her sallies,
were more absorbed by their smoking, and judg-
ing from the looks they bent on the corners of
the room were thinking of taking leave.
Boris Andreyitch, however, would probably
have consented to stay till evening: he had
just entered upon a skirmish with Sofya Kiril-
lovna on her asking coquettishly whether he
was not surprised at her living alone without a
companion, but Pyotr Vassilyitch was unmis-
takably in a huri-y to go home. He got up,
went out into the entry and ordered the horses.
When at last the two friends began saying
good-bye and their hostess tried to keep them,
and politely upbraided them for staying so short
a time, Boris Andreyitch by the irresolute in-
clination of his person and the simpering ex-
pression of his face did at least show that her
reproaches had some effect on him; but Pyotr
Vassilyitch kept muttering "quite impossible,
time to be going, work to do, it's moonlight
now," and obstinately backed towards the door.
Sofya Kirillovna made them promise, however,
32
THE TWO FRIENDS
that they would come again in a few days and
held out her hand to them for an English
"shake hands."
Boris Andreyitch alone availed himself of the
offer and pressed her fingers rather warmly.
She screwed up her eyes and smiled. At that
instant Pyotr Vassilyitch was already putting
on his greatcoat in the entry.
Before the carriage had driven out of the
village he first broke the silence by exclaiming:
"That's not the thing, not the thing, no, it
won't do!"
"What do you mean?" Boris Andreyitch
asked him.
"It's not the thing, not the thing," repeated
Pyotr Vassilyitch, looking away and tul-ning a
little aside.
"If you are saying that about Sofya Kiril-
lovna, I don't agree with you; she's a very
charming lady, conceited but charming."
"I should think so ! Of course if your only
object were . . . but you know my motive
in wanting to make you acquainted with her."
Boris Andreyitch did not answer.
"Well, I tell you she's not right ! I see that
33
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
myself. I like that — saying about herself : 'I'm
an epicure.* Why, I've two teeth out on the
right side here but do you suppose I talk about
it ? And anyone can see that without my saying
so. And besides she's a nice housekeeper, isn't
she? Why, she has almost starved me to
death. No. What I think is, be free and easy,
be learned if you have a turn that way, have
bon ton if you like, but be a good housekeeper
before everything. No, she won't do, she won't
do, that's not what you want. There's no daz-
zling you with those red waistcoats and night-
caps over the dishes."
"But do you want me to be dazzled ?" asked
Boris Andreyitch.
"Oh, I know what you want, — I know."
"I assure you I'm grateful to you for intro-
ducing me to Sofya Kirillovna."
"So much the better, but I say again, she
won't do."
The friends arrived home late. As he was
leaving Boris Andreyitch, Pyotr Vassilyitch
took him by the hand and said :
"I'm not going to let you off though, I'm not
going to give you back your promise."
34
THE TWO FRIENDS
"Very well, I'm at your service," replied
Boris Andreyitch.
"That's all right then!" And Pyotr Vas-
silyitch went off.
A whole week passed again in the usual
routine with the only difference, however, that
Pyotr Vassilyitch was absent for a whole day.
At last one morning he appeared again dressed
in his holiday best, and again proposed to Boris
Andreyitch to take him with him for a visit.
Boris Andreyitch, who had evidently been ex-
pecting this invitation with some impatience,
obeyed without protest.
"Where are you taking me now?" he asked
Pyotr Vassilyitch as he sat beside him in the
sledge. Winter had set in since their expedition
to Sofya Kirillovna's.
"I'm taking you now," answered Pyotr Vas-
silyitch impressively, "to a very respectable
family — to the Tihoduevs. It's a most respect-
able family. The old man is a colonel, and an
excellent fellow. His wife is an excellent lady;
they have two daughters, extremely amiable
persons, very well educated, and there is prop-
erty. I don't know which you will like best.
35
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
One, well, is rather livelier, the other is quieter ;
the other, I confess, is too shy, but there is
something to be said for both of them. Well,
you will see."
"Very well, I will see," replied Boris Andrey-
itch, and thought to himself: "Like the Larin
family in Onyegin."
And either thanks to this reminiscence or for
some other reason, his features assumed an ex-
pression of disillusionment and boredom.
"What's the father's name?" he asked cas-
ually.
"Kalimon Ivanitch," answered Pyotr Vas-
silyitch.
"Kalimon! What a name! . . . And the
mother?"
"The mother's name is Pelageya Ivanovna."
"And the daughters' names?"
"One is Pelageya too, and the other is
Emerentsiya."
"Emerentsiya ? I have never heard such a
name in my life. . . . And Kalimon too . . ."
"Yes, the name certainly is rather odd. But
what a girl she is ! Simply, one might say, made
of a sort of virtuous fire!"
36
THE TWO FRIENDS
"Upon my soul, Pyotr Vassilyitch, how poet-
ically you express yourself. But which of them
is Emerentsiya — ^the one that's rather quiet?"
"No, the other. . . . But there, you'll see for
yourself."
"Emerentsiya Kalimonovna 1" Vyazovnin ex-
claimed once more.
"Her mother calls her Emerancc" Pyotr
Vassilyitch observed in an undertone.
"And does she call her husband Calimonf"
"That I haven't heard, but there, wait a bit."
"Oh, I'll wait."
To the Tihoduevs' it was a drive of nearly
twenty miles, as it had been to Sofya Kiril-
lovna's; but their old-fashioned house was not
in the least hke the jaunty little villa of the
free-and-easy widow.
It was a clumsy building, roomy and ram-
bling, a mass of dark beams with dark panes
in the windows. Tall birch-trees stood in two
rows on each side; the dark-brown tops of
huge lime-trees could be seen behind the roof,
the whole house seemed overgrown; in sum-
mer all this vegetation probably brightened up
the place, in winter it gave it a still more dis-
37
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
consolate aspect. The impression made by the
inside of the house could not be called cheering
either: everything in it looked gloomy and
dingy, everything looked older than it really
was. The friends sent in their names and were:
ushered into the drawing-room.
The master and mistress of the house got
up to greet them, but for a long time could only
welcome them by signs and bodily movements,
to which the guests on their side replied only
by signs and bows, such a deafening barking
was set up by four white sheepdogs who on
the appearance of strangers bounded up from
the embroidered cushions on which they had
been lying. In one way and another, by flap-
ping pocket-handkerchiefs and other means,
they pacified the infuriated curs, but a maid-
servant was obliged to drag one of them, the
oldest and most spiteful, from under a seat and
to take it away into a bedroom, getting bitten
on her right hand in the process.
When silence was restored, Pyotr Vassilyitch
took advantage of it to introduce Boris An-
dreyitch. Monsieur and Madame Tihoduev sim-
ultaneously declared that they were very glad
38
THE TWO FRIENDS
to meet their new acquaintance; then Kalimon
Ivanitch introduced his daughters, calUng them
Polinka and Eminka. There were two other
persons of the female sex, no longer young, in
the room, one in a cap and the other in a dark
kerchief; but Kalimon Ivanitch did not think
fit to introduce Boris Andreyitch to them.
Kalimon Ivanitch was a tall, stoutly built,
grey-headed man of about five and fifty; his
face expressed nothing in particular: his fea-
tures were plain and heavy with a stamp of
indifference, good nature and indolence upon
them. His wife, a thin little woman, with a
little face that looked rather the worse for wear
and a front of reddish hair under a high cap,
seemed in continual agitation ; traces of bygone
affectation could be detected in her. One of
the daughters, Pelageya, a girl with dark hair
and a swarthy skin, looked up from under her
brows and was wildly shy; on the other hand,
Emerentsiya, a fair-haired, plump girl with
round red cheeks, with a little pursed-up mouth,
a turned-up nose, and sugary eyes, fairly thrust
herself forward. It was evident that the duty
of entertaining visitors was her responsibility
39
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
and did not weigh upon her in the least. Both
sisters wore white dresses with light-blue rib-
bons that fluttered with the slightest movement.
Blue suited Emerentsiya, but did not suit Po-
linka . . . indeed, it would have been difficult
to find anything to suit her, though she could
not have been called ugly.
The visitors were seated and the usual ques-
tions were put to them, pronounced with that
mawkish and affected expression of face seen
in the most well-bred persons during the first
moments of conversation with new acquaint-
ances; the guests replied in the same manner.
All this had a somewhat oppressive effect. Kali-
mon Ivanitch, who was not naturally very re-
sourceful, asked Boris Andreyitch "whether
he had been living long in our parts" — ^though
Boris Andreyitch had only just replied to the
same question from Pelageya Ivanovna. The
lady in a very soft voice — the voice always used
before visitors on the day of their first visit —
reproached her husband for his absent-minded-
ness.
Kalimon Ivanitch was rather confused and
blew his nose loudly with a check pocket-hand-
40
THE TWO FRIENDS
kerchief. This sound excited one of the sheep-
dogs and it began barking; but Emerentsiya
was on the spot at once and soothed it back
into silence. The same young lady contrived
to render another service to her somewhat help-
less parents : she enlivened the conversation by
modestly but resolutely sitting down beside
Boris Andreyitch and, with the most honeyed
air, asking him questions which though trivial
were agreeable and calculated to elicit amusing
answers. Things were soon going swimmingly ;
a lively general conversation sprang up in which
all but Polinka took part. She looked obsti-
nately at the floor, while Emerentsiya actually
laughed, gracefully lifting up one hand and at
the same time her manner seemed to be saying :
"Look, look, how well-bred and amiable I am
and what charming playfulness and friendli-
ness I have with everyone !" She seemed even
to be lisping out of good nature. She laughed
with lingering dulcet notes though Boris An-
dreyitch did not at first say anything particularly
funny. She laughed still more when Boris
Andreyitch, encouraged by the success of his
>vords, began being really witty and mali-
41
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
cious. . . . Pyotr Vassilyitch laughed too. Vy-
azovnin observed among other things that he
was passionately fond of music. "And I'm
most awfully fond of music too!" exclaimed
Emerentsiya.
"You're not only fond of it — you're a first-
rate musician yourself," observed Pyotr Vas-
silyitch.
"Really?" asked Boris Andreyitch.
"Both Emerentsiya Kalimonovna and Pela-
geya Kalimonovna sing and play the piano very
well, especially Emerentsiya Kalimonovna."
On hearing her name Polinka flushed crim-
son and almost started up from her seat while
Emerentsiya modestly cast down her eyes.
"Oh, Mesdemoiselles," said Boris Andreyitch,
"surely you will not refuse to be so good . . .
to give me the pleasure . . ,"
"Really ... I don't know , . ." And cast-
ing a sly glance at Pyotr Vassilyitch, she
added reproachfully: "Oh, what a man you
are!"
But Pyotr Vassilyitch like a practical person
at once appealed to the mistress of the house.
42
THE TWO FRIENDS
"Pelageya Ivanovna," he said, "please tell your
daughters to play or sing us something."
"I don't know whether they are in voice to-
day, but they can try."
"Yes, try, try!" their father urged.
"Oh, Maman, but how can we? . . ."
"Emerance, quand je vous dis . . ." Pela-
geya Ivanovna pronounced in a low voice but
very gravely.
She had the habit, common to many mothers,
of giving orders or addressing reproofs to her
children before other persons in French, even
though those persons understood that language,
and this practice was the more strange in her
case as she knew very little French and pro-
nounced it badly. Emerentsiya got up.
"What are we going to sing, Maman f" she
asked submissively.
"Your duet ; it's very charming. My daugh-
ters," Pelageya Ivanovna went on, addressing
Boris Andreyitch, "have different voices ; Emer-
entsiya a treble . . ."
"Soprano, you mean?"
"Yes. . . . Yes. . . . Somprano, and Polinka
contro-alto."
43
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"Ah! Contralto! That's very nice."
"I can't sing to-day," Pohnka brought out
with an effort. "I am hoarse." Her voice cer-
tainly sounded more like a bass than a con-
tralto.
"Ah, well, if so, Emerance, you sing us your
piece, the Italian one, our favourite, and Po-
linka will accompany you."
"The piece where you go pattering like peas,"
her father chimed in.
"The bravura," explained the mother.
The two young ladies went to the piano.
Polinka raised the lid, put a book of manuscript
music on the music rest and sat down, while
Emerentsiya stood by her, throwing herself not
too obviously into charming attitudes under the
fixed gaze of Boris Andreyitch and Pyotr Vas-
silyitch, and at times putting her handkerchief
to her lips. At last she began to sing, as for
the most part young ladies do sing, shrilly and
going ofi at moments into howls. She did not
articulate the words distinctly, but from certain
nasal sounds it could be surmised that she was
singing in Italian.
Towards the end she really did break into a
44
THE TWO FRIENDS
"patter like peas" to the huge delight of Kali-
mon Ivanitch — he raised himself slightly in his
easy-chair and exclaimed :
"Give it him!"
But the last trill she let off earlier than she
should, so that her sister had to play a few bars
by herself. This did not, however, prevent
Boris Andreyitch from expressing his pleasure
and paying Emerentsiya compliments, while
Pyotr Vassilyitch, after repeating twice : "Very
good, very good," added: "Couldn't you give
us something Russian now; the 'Nightingale,'
for instance, or the 'Little Sarafan,* or some
gipsy song? These foreign pieces, to tell the
truth, are not written for people like us."
"I agree with you," said Kalimon Ivanitch.
"Chant ^2 le Sarafan," the mother observed in
an undertone and with the same severity as
before.
"No, not the 'Sarafan,' " interposed Kalimon
Ivanitch, "but 'We Two Gipsy Girls' or 'Take
Off Your Cap and Make a Low Bow'; do you
know it?"
"Papa! You are always like that!" Emer-
entsiya protested, and she sang "Take Off
45
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
Your Cap," and sang it fairly well. Kalimon
Ivanitch joined in humming and beating time
with his foot, while Pyotr Vassilyitch was quite
delighted.
"Come, that's a different thing! That's in
our style," he declared. "You have delighted
me, Emerentsiya Kalimonovna. . . . Now I
see that you have the right to call yourself a
devotee of music and a mistress of your art."
"Oh, how indiscreet you are !" retorted Emer-
entsiya, and would have gone back to her seat.
"A present le 'Sarafan,' " said the mother.
Emerentsiya sang the "Sarafan," not so suc-
cessfully as "Take Off Your Cap," but still suc-
cessfully.
"Now you ought to play us your Sonata
duet," observed Pelageya Ivanovna, "though
perhaps that will be better another time or I'm
afraid we shall weary Monsieur Vyazovnin."
"No , . . indeed . . ." Boris Andreyitch, but
Polinka closed the piano at once and Emer-
entsiya declared that she was tired. Boris
Andreyitch thought it necessary to repeat his
compliment.
"Oh, Monsieur Vyazovnin," she answered,
46
THE TWO FRIENDS
"I expect you have heard very different singers ;
I can imagine what my singing must seem like
after them . . . though indeed when Bome-
rius was here, he did say to me. . . . You've
heard of Bomerius, I expect?"
"No; what Bomerius?"
"Good gracious ! The celebrated violinist ; he
studied in the Paris Conservatoire, a wonderful
musician. . . . He said to me: 'With your
voice, Mademoiselle, if you could study under
a good teacher it would be simply marvellous.'
He kissed all his fingers to me, but how is one
to study here?" And Emerentsiya heaved a
sigh.
"No, indeed," Boris Andreyitch assented po-
litely, "but with your talent. . . ." He was at a
loss for words and looked away still more
politely.
"Emerance, demanded pourquoi que le diner"
said Pelageya Ivanovna.
"Qui, Maman," replied Emerentsiya and she
went out with a sprightly little skip at the door.
She would not have made the skip if there had
not been visitors. Boris Andreyitch turned to
Polinka.
47
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"If this is the Larin family," he thought,
"perhaps this one is Tatyana."
And he went up to Polinka, who watched his
approach not without terror.
"You played your sister's accompaniment
charmingly," he began, "charmingly!"
Polinka made no answer; she merely turned
crimson to her ears.
"I'm very sorry I've not had the pleasure of
hearing your duet ; from what opera is it ?"
Polinka's eyes wandered uneasily.
Vyazovnin waited for her answer ; no answer
came.
"What sort of music do you like best?" he
asked after a brief interval, "Italian or Ger-
man ?"
Polinka looked down.
"Pelagie, repondez done," Pelageya Ivanovna
brought out in an agitated whisper.
"Any sort," Polinka articulated hurriedly.
"Any sort?" Boris Andreyitch persisted.
"That's hard to believe. Beethoven, for in-
stance, is a genius of the first rank and yet he
is not appreciated by everyone."
"No," answered Polinka.
48
THE TWO FRIENDS
"Art is infinitely varied," Boris Andreyitch
continued mercilessly.
"Yes," answered Polinka. The conversation
between them did not last long.
"No," thought Boris Andreyitch as he
moved away from her, "she is not a Tatyana;
she is simply a tremor personified. . . ."
And when poor Polinka was going to bed
that evening she complained with tears to her
maid that the visitor to-day had pestered her
with music and that she had not known what
to answer, and that she was always wretched
when visitors came ; it only meant that Mamma
scolded afterwards, that was all the pleasure
she got out of it.
At dinner Boris Andreyitch sat between Kali-
mon Ivanitch and Emerentsiya. The dinner
was Russian, not elaborate but ample, and far
more to Pyotr Vassilyitch's taste than the wid-
ow's recherche dishes. Polinka was sitting be-
side him, and, overcoming her shyness at last,
she did anyway answer his questions.
Emerentsiya, on the other hand, entertained
her neighbour so zealously that at last he could
hardly endure it. She had the habit of turn-
49
THE TWO FRIENSS AND OTHER STORIES
ing her head to the right while she lifted a
morsel to her mouth with the left hand, as if
she was playing with it ; and Boris Andreyitch
very much disliked this habit. He disliked, too,
the way in which she incessantly talked about
herself, confiding to him with much feeling the
most trivial details of her life; but as a well-
bred man he made no outward sign of his senti-
ments, so that Pyotr Vassilyitch, who was
watching him across the table, was quite unable
to decide what sort of impression Emerentsiya
was malting upon him.
After dinner Kalimon Ivanitch suddenly sank
into meditation, or, to speak more directly, a
slight doze; he was accustomed to take a nap
after dinner and though, noticing that his guests
were preparing to take their leave, he articu-
lated several times: "But why is this, gentle-
men, what for ? How about a game of cards ?"
— yet in his heart he was pleased when he saw
that they had their caps in their hands. Pela-
geya Ivanovna on the contrary grew alert at
once and with peculiar insistence tried. to keep
her visitors. Emerentsiya zealously sxonded
her, and did everything she could to persuade
50
THE TWO FRIENDS
them to remain; even Polinka said: "Mais
Messieurs. . . ."
Pyotr Vassilyitch answered neither yes nor
no and kept looking towards his companion;
but Boris Andreyitch courteously but firmly
insisted on the necessity of returning home. It
was in fact just the opposite of their leave-
taking from Sofya Kirillovna.
Promising to repeat their visit very shortly,
the visitors at last withdrew; Emerentsiya's
cordial glances followed them to the dining-
room, while Kalimon Ivanitch even went out
with them to the hall, and after watching Boris
Andreyitch's adroit servant wrap the gentlemen
in their fur coats, wind their scarves round
them, and draw their warm top boots on to
their feet, went back to his study and promptly
fell asleep, while Polinka, after being put to
shame by her mother, went off to her own room
upstairs and the two mute feminine figures, one
in a cap, the other in a dark kerchief, con-
gratulated Emerentsiya on her new conquest.
The friends drove off in silence. Boris An-
dreyitch smiled to himself, screened from Pyotr
Vassilyitch by the turned-up collar of his rac-
51
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
coon-lined coat, and waited to see what he
would say.
"Not the thing again !" exclaimed Pyotr Vas-
silyitch.
But this time a certain indecision was notice-
able in his voice, and straining to get a look at
Boris Andreyitch over his fur collar, he added
in an enquiring voice: "It's not, is it?"
"No," Boris Andreyitch answered with a
laugh.
"I thought not," replied Pyotr Vassilyitch,
and after a brief silence he added :
"Though, after all, why not? In what way
is the young lady deficient?"
"She's not deficient in anything; on the con-
trary she has too much of everything . . ."
"How do you mean — too much?"
"What I say!"
"Excuse me, Boris Andreyitch, I don't under-
stand you. If you're speaking of culture, is
that amiss? And as regards character, con-
duct ..."
"Oh, Pyotr Vassilyitch," said Boris Andrey-
itch, "I'm surprised that with your clear way
of looking at things you don't see through that
52
THE TWO FRIENDS
mincing Emerentsiya ! That affected amiabil-
ity, that continual self-adoration, that modest
conviction of her own virtues, that indulgence
of an angel looking down on you from the
heights of heaven, — but there's no need of
words ! If it came to that, in case of necessity
I'd twenty times rather marry her sister. She
does know how to hold her tongue, anyway !"
"You're right, of course," poor Pyotr Vas-
silyitch answered in a low voice. Boris Andrey-
itch's sudden outburst perplexed him.
"No," he said to himself, and he said it for the
first time since his acquaintance with Vyazov-
nin, "this fellow's not on my level. . . . He's
too well educated. . . ."
Vyazovnin for his part was thinking as he
gazed at the moon which hung low over the
white rim of the horizon: "And that might be
out of Onyegin too. . . .
" 'Round ruddy-cheeked is she ?'
"But a queer sort of Lensky I've got and I'm
a fine Onyegin."
"Go on, go on, Laryushka !" he added aloud.
"So it's not the thing?" Boris Andreyitch
asked Pyotr Vassilyitch jestingly, as with the
53
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
assistance of his groom he got out of the sledge
and mounted the steps of his house : "Eh, Pyotr
Vassilyitch ?"
But Pyotr Vassilyitch made him no answer,
and went home that night to sleep,
Emerentsiya next day wrote to her friend
(she carried on a vast and active correspond-
ence) :
"A new visitor came to see us yesterday, a
neighbour called Vyazovnin. He is a very
charming and amiable person; one can see at
once that he is highly cultured and — shall I
whisper it in your ear? — I fancy I made rather
an impression upon him. But don't be uneasy,
mon amie; my heart was not touched and
Valentin has nothing to fear."
The Valentin referred to was a high-school
teacher. He was a gay dog when he was in
the town, while in the country he heaved pla-
tonic and hopeless sighs for Emerentsiya.
The friends met again next morning as usual
and their life flowed on in its old way.
A fortnight passed. Boris Andreyitch was
in daily expectation of a fresh summons but
54
THE TWO FRIENDS
Pyotr Vassilyitch seemed to have completely
relinquished his design.
Boris Andreyitch began talking of the widow
and of the Tihoduevs, and hinting that one
ought to give everything three trials ; but Pyotr
Vassilyitch gave no sign of understanding his
hints. At last Boris Andreyitch could not re-
frain from beginning.
"How's this, Pyotr Vassilyitch?" he said.
"It seems it's my turn now to remind you of
your promises."
"What promises?"
"Don't you remember you meant to marry
me; I am waiting."
Pyotr Vassilyitch turned round on his chair.
"But you see, you're so particular ! There's
no satisfying you ! God knows what you want.
It seems we've no young ladies here to your
taste."
"That's too bad, Pyotr Vassilyitch. You
ought not to despair so soon. To fail twice is
not much to complain of. Besides, I did like
the widow. If you abandon me, I'll go off
to her."
"Well, go then, — and God bless you."
55
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"Pyotr Vassilyitch, I assure you, I do want
to get married, in earnest; take me somewhere
else."
"But really there is no one else in the whole
district."
"That's impossible, Pyotr Vassilyitch. Do
you mean to say there's not one pretty girl here
in the whole neighbourhood?"
"Of course there are plenty, but not a match
for you."
"But do name someone, anyway."
Pyotr Vassilyitch held the amber of his pipe
in his teeth.
"Well, there's Verotchka Barsukov, of
course," he brought out at last; "what could
be better? Only not for you."
"Why not?"
"Too simple."
"All the better, Pyotr Vassilyitch. All the
better."
"And her father is such a queer fish."
"That doesn't matter either. . . . Pyotr
Vassilyitch, my dear fellow, do introduce me
to this . . . what did you call the young
lady?"
56
THE TWO FRIENDS
"Barsukov."
"To this Barsukov girl . . . please."
And Boris Andreyitch gave Pyotr Vassilyitch
no rest until the latter promised to take him
to the Barsukovs.
Two days later they drove off to see them.
The Barsukov family consisted of two per-
sons, the father, aged fifty, and the daughter,
aged nineteen. Pyotr Vassilyitch had correctly
described the father as a queer fish; he really
was a singular person if ever there was one.
After brilliantly completing a course of study
in a Government institution, he entered the
Marine service, and quickly attracted the atten-
tion of his superior officers. But he suddenly
retired from the Service, married, settled in the
country, and by degrees had grown lazy and let
himself go to such a point that he not merely
gave up going out anywhere, but did not even
leave his room.
In a short, full, hareskin coat and slippers
without any back to them, with his hands thrust
in the pockets of his loose Turkish trousers, he
would walk to and fro for days together, hum-
ming or whistling, and whatever was said to
57
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
him he would answer with a smile: "Braoo,
Braoo," by which he meant, "Bravo, Bravo."
"Do you know Stepan Petrovitch?" a neigh-
bour would say to him, for instance, — and
neighbours went to see him readily, for no man
could have been more hospitable and genial: —
"Do you know they say the price of ryQ has
gone up to thirteen paper roubles at Byelovo?"
"Braoo, Braoo," Barsukov would answer
calmly, though he had just sold his rye for
seven and a half.
"And have you heard that your neighbour
Pavel Fomitch has lost twenty thousand at
cards?"
"Braoo, Braoo," Barsukov would answer
just as calmly.
"There's the cattle-plague at Salykovo," an-
other neighbour sitting with them would ob-
serve.
"Braoo, Braoo!"
"The Lapin young lady has run off with the
bailiff."
"Braoo, Braoo, Braoo!"
And so on endlessly. If he were informed
that his horse had gone lame, that a Jew had
S8
THE TWO FRIENDS
arrived with goods, that the clock had fallen
off the wall, that the boy had mislaid his boots
somewhere, — the only comment heard from
him was "Braoo, Braoo," and yet there was
no great disorder to be noticed in his house:
his peasants were prosperous and he made no
debts. Barsukov's appearance was preposses-
sing: his round face with large brown eyes, a
delicate, regular nose and red lips, was re-
markable from its almost youthful freshness.
This freshness was the more striking from the
snowy whiteness of his hair; a faint smile was
almost continually playing on his lips, and not
so much on his lips as in the dimples in his
cheeks ; he never laughed, but sometimes, very
rarely, giggled hysterically, and on every such
occasion felt unwell afterwards. Apart from
his habitual exclamation he said very little and
only what was quite essential, with the utmost
possible brevity.
His daughter Verotchka was very much like
him in face, in her way of smiling and in the
expression of her dark eyes, which seemed still
darker from the delicate tint of her flaxen hair.
She was rather short and charmingly propor-
59
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
tioned. There was nothing specially attractive
about her, but one had only to glance at her
or hear the sound of her voice to say to one-
self: "That's a good kind creature." The
father and daughter were fond of each other;
the whole management of the house was in her
hands and she liked looking after it. . . . She
had no other pursuits, Pyotr Vassilyitch had
correctly described her as simple.
When Pyotr Vassilyitch and Boris Andrey-
itch called upon Barsukov he was as usual
walking up and down in his study. This
study, which might have been called a draw-
ing-room and a dining-room, since visitors were
received and meals were served in it, formed
about half of the little house.
The furniture in it was ugly but comfort-
able; along the whole length of one of the walls
stood an extremely broad and soft sofa with
a multitude of cushions, — a sofa very well
known to all the gentlemen of the neighbour-
hood.
To tell the truth one could lie luxuriously
on that sofa. In the other rooms there were
only chairs, little tables of one sort or another,
60
THE TWO FRIENDS
and cupboards; all these rooms led into one
another and no one lived in them. Verotchka's
little bedroom looked into the garden and ex-
cept for her neat little bed and washing stand
with a little looking-glass over it and one arm-
chair there was no furniture in it either. On
the other hand everywhere, in all the corners,
there were bottles of liqueurs and jars of jam
prepared by Verotchka's own hand.
On going into the hall Pyotr Vassilyitch
would have sent in his name and Boris An-
dreyitch's, but a boy in a long-skirted coat
merely glanced at him and began taking off his
fur coat with the words: "Please walk in,
Sir."
The friends went into Stepan Petrovitch's
study. Pyotr Vassilyitch introduced Boris
Andreyitch.
Stepan Petrovitch pressed his hand, articu-
lated: "Delighted . . . very . . . you're cold
. . . vodka?" and with a motion of his head
indicating the edibles that stood on a little
table, he fell to pacing up and down the room
again.
Boris Andreyitch drank off a little glass of
6i
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
vodka. Pyotr Vassilyitch did the same and
they both sat down on the broad sofa with a
multitude of cushions. Boris Andreyitch felt
at once as though he had been sitting on that
sofa for ages and had known the master of the
house for long, long years. All Barsukov's
visitors were familiar with that feeling.
He was not alone that day; and indeed he
could not often be found alone. There was
sitting with him a pettifogging clerk, a thread-
bare hack with a wrinkled face like an old
woman's, a hawk nose and restless eyes, who
had lately had a snug little job in the Govern-
ment service, but was at the moment awaiting
his trial for some malpractice. Holding on to
his cravat with one hand and the lapel of his
coat with the other, this gentleman was keep-
ing watch on Stepan Petrovitch and, waiting
till the guests were seated, he brought out with
a deep sigh:
"Oh, Stepan Petrovitch, Stepan Petrovitch!
It's easy to condemn a man ; but you know the
saying : 'The honest man's a sinner, the rogue's
a sinner, they all live by sin and so do we.' "
62
THE TWO FRIENDS
"Braoo," Stepan Petrovitch was beginning,
but he checked himself and commented:
"A nasty saying."
"Who denies it? Of course it's nasty," re-
plied the threadbare gentleman; "but what
would you have one do! Poverty is not one's
brother, you know; it eats the honesty out of
you. Here Pm ready to appeal to these noble
gentlemen if only they'll be so good as to listen
to the circumstances of my case. . . ."
"May I smoke?" Boris Andreyitch asked his
host. The latter nodded.
"Of course," the threadbare gentleman con-
tinued, "I, too, perhaps have more than once
been vexed both with myself and the world
generally, have felt, so to say, the generous
indignation . . ."
"Invented by scoundrels," Stepan Petrovitch
interrupted.
The gentleman started.
"That is. . . . How's that, Stepan Petrov-
itch? Do you mean to say that generous in-
dignation is invented by scoundrels?"
Stepan Petrovitch gave a nod again.
The gentleman was silent for a moment, then
63
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
suddenly broke into a cracked laugh, display-
ing as he did so that he had not a tooth left in
his head, yet he spoke fairly clearly. "He, he,
Stepan Petrovitch, you always talk like that.
Our attorney may well say of you that you're
a regular humourist."
"Braoo, Braoo!" replied Barsukov.
At that instant the door opened and Ve-
rotchka walked in. Moving with a firm and
light tread, she brought in two cups of coffee
and a jug of cream on a round green tray.
Her dark-grey dress hung gracefully about her
slender form. Boris Andreyitch and Pyotr
Vassilyitch both got up from the sofa; she
made them a curtsey in response, without put-
ting down the tray, then going up to the table,
laid her burden on it with the words: "Here
is your coffee."
"Braoo," said her father. "Two more cups,"
he added, indicating the visitors. "Boris An-
dreyitch, my daughter."
Boris Andreyitch made her a second bow.
"Will you have coffee?" she asked, looking
quietly straight into his eyes. "It's an hour and
a half to dinner time."
64
THE TWO FRIENDS
"With the greatest pleasure," answered Boris
Andreyitch.
Verotchka turned to Krupitsyn, "And you,
Pyotr Vassilyitch ?"
"I'll have a cup too."
"In a minute. It's a long time since I've seen
you, Pyotr Vassilyitch." Saying this, Ver-
otchka went out.
Boris Andreyitch looked after her and bend-
ing down to his friend, whispered in his ear:
"But she's very sweet . . . and what easy
manners ! . . ."
"That's habit," Pyotr Vassilyitch answered.
"Why, it's something hke a restaurant here;
there's always someone coming or going."
As though to confirm Pyotr Vassilyitch's
words another visitor walked into the room.
This was a very corpulent, to use the old-fash-
ioned word that has been preserved in our part
of the country, full-bodied gentleman with a big
face, big eyes and lips and thick ruffled hair.
An expression of permanent dissatisfaction, a
sour expression, could be detected in his coun-
tenance. He was wearing a very roomy coat
and his whole person swayed as he walked.
65
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
He sank heavily onto the sofa and only then
said "Good-day," without, however, addressing
any one of the company in particular.
"Vodka?" Stepan Petrovitch asked him.
"No ! Vodka indeed !" answered the new
guest. "I don't want vodka. How are you,
Pyotr Vassilyitch ?" he added, looking round.
"Good-day, Mihey Miheyitch," answered
Pyotr Vassilyitch; "where's God brought you
from?"
"Where from? From town, of course. It's
only you lucky fellows who've no need to go
to town, but I, thanks to the trustees and to
these gentry," he added, jerking his finger in
the direction of the gentleman who was await-
ing his trial, "I've knocked up all my horses
trailing off to the town — confound it!"
"Our humble respects to Mihey Miheyitch,"
said the gentleman who had been so uncere-
moniously included in the term "gentry."
Mihey Miheyitch looked at him.
"Tell me one thing, please," he began, fold-
ing his arms, "when are you going to be
hanged?" The other was offended.
"But you ought to be! Upon my soul, you
66
THE TWO FRIENDS
ought! The Government is too indulgent to
fellows like you. Let me tell you that ! Why,
does it trouble you that you're to be tried?
Not a bit of it. There's only one thing may
be annoying now, there's no haben sie gewesen
now !"
And Mihey Miheyitch made a motion with
his hand as though he had caught something
in the air and thrust it into his side pocket.
"They've put a stop to that! Ah, you riff-
raff!"
"You're always pleased to be joking," re-
plied the retired Government clerk, "and you
will not take into consideration that he who
gives is free to give and he who takes to take.
Besides I have not acted in this affair on my
own initiative. Another person has taken the
principal part, as I have explained. . . ."
"Of course," Mihey Miheyitch observed
ironically, "the fox hid under the harrow from
the rain — not every drop would fall on her any-
way. But you must own our police captain
gave you a good wigging? Eh? It was a
sound one?"
The threadbare gentleman winced.
67
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"He's a man quick to come down on you,"
he said at last with hesitation.
"I should think so!"
"With all that, though, of him one
could . . ."
"He's a priceless man, a real treasure,"
Mihey Miheyitch interrupted him, addressing
Stepan Petrovitch, "for dealing with these fine
fellows and for drunkards, too, he's a giant."
"Braoo, Braoo," commented Stepan Petrov-
itch. Verotchka came in with two more cups
of coffee on a tray. Mihey Miheyitch bowed
to her.
"One more," said her father.
"Why do you take all this trouble yourself ?"
Boris Andreyitch said as he took the cup from
her.
"It's no trouble," answered Verotchka, "and
I don't want to leave it to the man; it seems
to me it will be nicer so."
"Of course, from your hands."
But Verotchka did not hear his politeness";
she went out and came back at once with coffee
for Mihey Miheyitch.
"Have you heard," Mihey Miheyitch began,
68
THE TWO FRIENDS
when he had emptied his cup, "Mavra Ilyi-
nitchna is lying speechless?"
Stepan Petrovitch stopped and raised his
head.
"Yes, yes," Mihey Miheyitch went on,
"paralysis. You know how fond she was of
good eating. Well, the day before yesterday
she was sitting at table, and visitors with her,
they served cold kvass soup and she had just
had two platesful and asked for a third — all
at once she looked round and said, like this
without any haste, you know: 'Take away the
soup, all the people are green . . .' and fell
flop off her chair. They flew to pick her up
and asked her what was the matter . . . she
explained with her hands, but her tongue
wouldn't work. They say our district apothe-
cary distinguished himself on the occasion. . . .
He leapt up and cried : *A doctor ! Send for a
doctor!' He quite lost his head. And after
all, what is his practice? He simply lives on
dead bodies."
"Bra-oo, Bra-oo," Barsukov articulated pen-
sively.
"And we're going to have kvass soup to-
69
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
day," observed Verotchka, sitting down in the
corner on the edge of a chair.
"What with, with sturgeon?" Mihey Mi-
heyitch asked quickly.
"Yes, with sturgeon."
"That's a capital thing. Here they say kvass
soup is not a good thing in winter because it's
a cold dish. That's nonsense, isn't it, Pyotr
Vassilyitch?"
"Absolute nonsense," answered Pyotr Vas-
silyitch. "Why, isn't it warm here in this
room ?"
"Very warm."
"Then why shouldn't one eat a cold dish in
a warm room? I don't understand."
"And I don't understand either."
The conversation continued for a good while
in this style. The master of the house took
hardly any part in it and kept on walking about
the room. At dinner everyone did very well
indeed: everything was good though simply
prepared. Verotchka sat at the head, helped
the kvass soup, sent round the dishes, watched
how her guests were getting on, and tried to
anticipate their wants.
70
THE TWO FRIENDS
Vyazovnin sat beside her and watched her
intently. Verotchka like her father could not
speak without smiling and that was very becom-
ing to her. Vyazovnin addressed her from time
to time with a question, not for the sake of get-
ting any answer from her but merely to see
that smile. After dinner Mihey Miheyitch,
Pyotr Vassilyitch and the gentleman awaiting
his trial, whose name was Onufry Ilyitch, sat
down to play cards. Mihey Miheyitch did not
again speak so cruelly of him, though he con-
tinued to banter him ; possibly this was due to
the fact that Mihey Miheyitch had had a drop
too much at dinner. He did, it is true, de-
clare at every deal that all the aces and trumps
would be sure to be Onufry's, that that nettle-
seed would have some dodge in shuffling, that
his hands were made for plunder; but on the
other hand after they had won a game together
Mihey Miheyitch quite unexpectedly praised
him.
"Well, say what you like, you're a bad lot
of course, but 'pon my soul I like you ; in the
first place, because that's my temperament, and
in the second, because if one comes to think
/I
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
of it there are plenty worse than you, and in-
deed one may say that in your own way you're
a decent fellow."
"You're pleased to tell the truth, Mihey Mi-
heyitch," replied Onufry Ilyitch, greatly en-
couraged by these words. "The holy truth;
only persecution of course. . . ."
"Come, deal, deal," Mihey Miheyitch inter-
rupted him. "Persecution, indeed! What per-
secution? Thank Gcd you're not sitting in the
Pugatchev tower in chains. . . . Deal."
And Onufry Ilyitch proceeded to deal, rap-
idly winking his eyes and still more rapidly
moistening the forefinger of his right hand
with his long thin tongue. Meanwhile Stepan
Petrovitch was walking about the room, while
Boris Andreyitch kept near Verotchka. The
conversation between them was fragmentary
(she was continually going out) and so in-
significant that it would be difficult to repro-
duce it. He asked her who lived in their neigh-
bourhood, whether she often went out visiting,
whether she liked keeping house. To the ques-
tion what she was reading, she answered: "I
ought to read but I've no time." And yet when
72
THE TWO FRIENDS
at nightfall a boy came into the study announc-
ing that their horses were ready, he was sorry
to be going away, sorry not to go on seeing
those kind eyes, that bright smile. If Stepan
Petrovitch had thought fit to ask him he would
certainly have stayed the night; but Stepan
Petrovitch did not do so, — not because he was
not pleased with his new visitor but because
his rule was that if anyone wanted to stay the
night he gave orders at once himself that a bed
should be prepared for him. Mihey Miheyitch
and Onufry Ilyitch did so; they even slept in
the same room and talked long after midnight.
Their voices were dimly audible from the
study; Onufry Ilyitch talked most and seemed
to be telling some story or trying to prove some-
thing while his companion merely uttered at
intervals, sometimes in a dubious, sometimes
in an approving tone : "H'm." Next morning
they drove away together to Mihey Miheyitch's
estate and from there to the town, also
together.
On their way home Boris Andreyitch and
Pyotr Vassilyitch were for a long time silent.
Pyotr Vassilyitch even dropped asleep, lulled
73
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
by the tinkling of the bell and the even mo-
tion of the sledge.
"Pyotr Vassilyitch," Boris Andreyitch said
at last.
"Well," said Pyotr Vassilyitch, half asleep.
"Why is it you don't question me?"
"Question you about what?"
"Why, as you did the other times."
"About Verotchka, do you mean?"
"Yes \"
"So that's what you're after! Do you sup-
pose I meant her for you? She's not fit for
you."
"You're wrong in thinking that; I like her
far better than all your Emerentsiyas and Sofya
Kirillovnas."
"What do you mean?"
"What I tell you."
"But come now, really! She's quite a sim-
ple girl. She may be a good housekeeper, it's
true, but that's not what you want, you know."
"Why not? Perhaps that's just what I'm
looking for."
"What are you talking about, Boris An-
74
THE TWO FRIENDS
dreyitch! Upon my word! Why, she doesn't
speak French at all !"
"What of it? Do you suppose one can't do
without French?"
Pyotr Vassilyitch was silent for a space.
"I hadn't expected this at all . . . from you,
that is. ... I believe you are joking."
"No, I'm not joking."
"God knows what to make of you then!
Why, I thought she was only suited for a fel-
low like me. However, she really is a first-
rate girl." And Pyotr Vassilyitch straightened
his cap, thrust his head into the pillow and fell
asleep.
Boris Andreyitch went on thinking about
Verotchka. He was haunted by her smile, by
the good-humoured mildness of her eyes. The
night was light and cold, the snow glistened
with blue gleams like diamonds; the sky was
spangled with stars and the pleiades twinkled
brightly; the frost crunched and crackled un-
der the runners; the twigs on the trees cov-
ered with icy hoarfrost faintly tinkled, glitter-
ing in the moonlight as though they were made
of glass. At such a time the imagination
75
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
works eagerly. Vyazovnin experienced this.
He pondered all sorts of things before the
sledge stopped at last at his steps; but the
image of Verotchka never left his brain and
secretly accompanied his dreams.
As we have mentioned already, Pyotr Vas-
silyitch was surprised at the impression Ve-
rotchka had made on Boris Andreyitch, but he
was still more surprised two days later when
his friend announced that he meant to go to
Barsukov's and that he should go alone if Pyotr
Vassilyitch were not disposed to accompany
him. Pyotr Vassilyitch replied of course that
he was ready and delighted, and the friends
drove ofif«to Barsukov's again, and again spent
the whole day there. As on the first occasion,
they found several visitors whom Verotchka re-
galed with coffee and after dinner with jam;
but Vyazovnin had more conversation with her
than on the first visit; that is, he talked more
to her. He told her about his past life, about
Petersburg, about his travels, — in fact about
anything that came into his head. She listened
to him with quiet interest, continually smiling
and looking at him, but never for a moment
76
THE TWO FRIENDS
forgot her duties as a hostess: she got up at
once as soon as she noticed that her visitors
needed anything and brought them everything
herself. When she went away, Vyazovnin
looked placidly about him and did not leave his
seat; she came back, sat down beside him and
took up her work, and he entered into conver-
sation with her again. Stepan Petrovitch would
go up to them, listen to Vyazovnin's remarks
and mutter: "Bra-oo, Bra-oo," and the hours
simply raced by. This time the two friends
stayed the night and only went home late in
the evening of the following day. . . .
At parting Vyazovnin pressed Verotchka's
hand. She flushed a little. No man had ever
pressed her hand till that day, but she thought
that that was what they did in Petersburg.
The two friends began going frequently to
see Stepan Petrovitch, and Boris Andreyitch in
particular became quite at home in his house.
At times he had a great craving, an intense
longing to be there. On several occasions he
went alone. He liked Verotchka more and
more; already a friendship had arisen between
them, already he was beginning to think that
77
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
she was too cool and reasonable a friend.
Pyotr Vassilyitch left off speaking to him of
Verotchka . . . but one morning, after loo'king
at him as usual for some time without speak-
ing, he brought out significantly:
"Boris Andreyitch."
"Well?" replied Boris Andreyitch, and he
coloured a little though he could not say why.
"There is something I wanted to say to you,
Boris Andreyitch. . . . Mind you don't . . .
er . . . it would be bad, you know, if anything,
for instance . . ."
"What do you mean ?" said Boris Andreyitch.
"I don't understand you."
"Why, about Verotchka. . . ."
"About Verotchka?" And Boris Andreyitch
flushed redder.
"Yes. Take care, you know, harm is soon
done. . . . Wrong, that is . . . excuse my
openness; but I imagine it's my duty as a
friend . . ."
"But where did you get that idea, Pyotr Vas-
silyitch?" Boris Andreyitch interrupted him.
"Verotchka's a girl of the strictest principles,
78
THE TWO FRIENDS
and, besides, there's nothing between us but
the most ordinary friendship."
"Oh, nonsense, Boris Andreyitch," Pyotr
Vassilyitch retorted in his turn. "How can a
cultivated man like you have a friendship with
a country girl who has never been outside her
own four walls?"
"You're at that again !" Boris Andreyitch in-
terrupted him for the second time. "What you
drag culture in for I can't imagine." Boris
Andreyitch was a little irritated.
"Well, listen, anyway, Boris Andreyitch,"
Pyotr Vassilyitch said impatiently. "Since it's
come to this, I must tell you, you have a per-
fect right to be reserved with me, but as for
deceiving me, excuse me, you don't. I have
eyes too. Yesterday" — they had been together
at Stepan Petrovitch's the evening before — "re-
vealed a great deal to me. . . ."
"And what precisely did it reveal to you?"
asked Boris Andreyitch.
"It revealed to me that you love her and are
even jealous over her."
Vyazovnin looked at Pyotr Vassilyitch.
"Well, and does she love me ?"
79
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"That I can't say for certain, but it would be
strange if she didn't love you."
"Because I'm cultivated, you mean to say?"
"Both because of that and because you are
well off. And your appearance is attractive,
too, but the property is the chief thing."
Vyazovnin got up and went to the window.
"How could you see that I was jealous?" he
suddenly asked, turning to Pyotr Vassilyitch.
"Why, you were not like yourself yesterday
till that scamp Karantyev had gone."
Vyazovnin made no answer, but in his soul
he felt that his friend had spoken the truth.
This Karantyev was a student who had not
completed his studies, a good-humoured fel-
low not without intelligence and feeling, but
utterly nonsensical and hopelessly ruined. His
powers had been dissipated by his passions in
early youth ; he had been left too young without
guardianship. He had a reckless gipsy face
and was altogether like a gipsy, singing and
dancing like one. He fell in love with every
woman he met. Verotchka attracted him very
much. Boris Andreyitch had made his ac-
quaintance at Barsukov's and had at first been
80
THE TWO FRIENDS
very well disposed towards him; but on one
occasion, observing the peculiar expression of
face with which Verotchka listened to his sing-
ing, he began to feel differently about him.
"Pyotr Vassilyitch," said Boris Andreyitch,
going up to his friend and standing facing
him, "I ought to own ... I believe you're
right. I have felt it for a long time, but you
have completely opened my eyes. I certainly
am not indifferent to Verotchka; but, Pyotr
Vassilyitch, what of it? She and I both of us
want nothing dishonourable; besides, as I've
told you already, I see no special signs on her
part of a liking for me."
"Quite so," replied Pyotr Vassilyitch, "but
the Evil One is powerful."
Boris Andreyitch was silent for a while.
"What am I to do, Pyotr Vassilyitch?"
"What are you to do ? Give up going there."
"You think so?"
"Of course. . . . You're not going to marry
her!"
Vyazovnin was silent for a space again.
"And why shouldn't I marry her?" he ex-
claimed at last.
8i
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"I've told you why already, Boris An-
dreyitch; she's not a match for you."
"I don't see that."
"Well, if you don't see it, do as you think
best. I'm not your guardian."
And Pyotr Vassilyitch began filling his pipe.
Boris Andreyitch sat in the window and sank
into thought. Pyotr Vassilyitch did not inter-
rupt his musings but with great composure
puffed little clouds of smoke from his lips. At
last Boris Andreyitch got up and with notice-
able excitement ordered his carriage.
"Where to?" Pyotr Vassilyitch asked him.
"To the Barsukovs," Boris Andreyitch an-
swered abruptly.
Pyotr Vassilyitch puffed half a dozen times.
"Am I to go with you or what?"
"No, Pyotr Vassilyitch. I should like to go
alone to-day ; I want to come to an understand-
ing with Verotchka herself."
"You know best."
"So," he said to himself as he saw Boris
Andreyitch out, "this is how a joke has turned
to earnest when one comes to think of it . . .
82
THE TWO FRIENDS
and all through idleness," he added as he set-
tled himself on the sofa.
On the evening of the same day Pyotr Vas-
silyitch, who had gone home without awaiting
his friend's return, was just going to bed when
all at once Boris Andreyitch, covered with pow-
dery snow, dashed into his room and threw
himself on his neck.
"My friend, Pyotr Vassilyitch, congratulate
me," he exclaimed. "She has accepted me and
the old man has given his consent too. . . . It's
all settled!"
"How's that? . . . What do you mean?"
Pyotr Vassilyitch muttered in astonishment.
"I'm going to get married!"
"To Verotchka?"
"Yes. . . . It's all settled and arranged."
"It can't be!"
"What a man you are; I tell you it's all
settled."
Pyotr Vassilyitch hurriedly slid his bare feet
into slippers, flung on his dressing gown and
shouted :
"Makedoniya, tea !" and added : "Well, since
it's all settled it's no use talking about it; God
83
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
give you concord and counsel ! But please tell
me how it all happened."
"With pleasure, if you like/' answered
Vyazovnin, and began telling him.
This was how it really had happened.
When Boris Andreyitch had arrived at
Stepan Petrovitch's, the latter, contrary to his
usual habit, had no visitor with him and was
not walking up and down the room but was sit-
ting in an invalid chair; he was not very well.
When this was the case he gave up talking
altogether; and so he merely gave Vyazovnin
a friendly nod, first pointing him to the table
with food on it and then to Verotchka, and
closed his eyes.
This was all Vyazovnin wanted ; he sat down
by Verotchka and began talking to her in a low
voice. They spoke of Stepan Petrovitch's
health.
"Pm always frightened/' Verotchka said in
a whisper, "when he is unwell. You know
what he is ; he doesn't complain, doesn't ask
for anything, you can't get a word out of him.
He'll be ill and say nothing."
84
THE TWO FRIENDS
"'And you love him very much?" Vyazovnin
asked her.
"Whom? Father? Yes, more than anyone
in the world. God preserve us from anything
happening to him. I beheve I should die."
"Then it would be impossible for you to part
from him?"
"Part ? What should I part from him for ?"
Boris Andreyitch looked into her face.
"A^ girl can't live all her life in her father's
house."
"Ah — I see what you mean. Well, I needn't
trouble then. Who would have me?"
"I," Boris Andreyitch was almost saying, but
he restrained himself.
"What are you thinking?" she asked, looking
at him with her habitual smile.
"I think . . ." he replied, "I think . . .
that . . ."
And suddenly changing his tune, he asked her
how long she had known Karantyev.
"I really don't remember. . . . You see, so
many of them come to see father. I believe he
came to see us for the first time last year."
"Tell me— do you like him?"
85
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"No," answered Verotchka after a moment's
thought.
"Why not?"
"He's so untidy," she answered simply.
"But he must be a good fellow and he sings
so splendidly. ... It stirs one's heart when
he sings."
"Ah!" Vyazovnin commented, and after a
brief pause he added, "Whom do you like
then?"
"I like a great many people, — I like you."
"You and I are friends, we know, but is
there no one you like more than the rest?"
"How inquisitive you are!"
"And you are very cold."
"How so?" Verotchka asked naively.
"Listen," Vyazovnin was beginning. . . .
But at that instant Stepan Petrovitch turned
in his chair.
"Listen," he went on, hardly audibly, while
the blood seemed to be throbbing in his throat.
"There is something I must say to you, very
important, — only not here."
"Where then?"
"Why, in the next room, for instance."
86
THE TWO FRIENDS
"What is it? A secret, then?" said Ve-
rotchka, getting up.
"Yes, a secret."
"A secret," repeated Verotchka wonderingly
and she went into the next room.
Vyazovnin followed her as though in a fever.
"Well, what is it?" she asked him with
curiosity.
Boris Andreyitch meant to lead up to the
subject, but glancing at that youthful face
beaming with the faint smile which he so loved,
at those clear eyes gazing at him with such a
soft look, he lost his head and quite to his own
surprise asked Verotchka bluntly, without any
preliminary :
"Vera Stepanovna, will you be my wife?"
"What ?" said Verotchka, turning hot all over
and flushing crimson to her ears.
"Will you be my wife?" Vyazovnin repeated
mechanically.
"I ... I really don't know, I didn't expect
. . . it's so . . ." whispered Verotchka, stretch-
ing out her hand to the window-sill to steady
herself, — and all at once she rushed out of the
room into her bedroom.
87
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
Boris Andreyitch remained standing where
he was for a Uttle while, then in great con-
fusion went back to the study. On the table
lay a number of the Moscow News. He took
it up and began looking at the printed lines,
not only without understanding what was in
them but even without any idea of what was
happening to him generally. He spent a quar-
ter of an hour in this condition; but all at once
there was a faint rustle behind him and with-
out looking round he felt that Verotchka had
come in.
A few more moments passed; he stole a
glance at her from behind the pages of the
Moscow News. She was sitting in the window,
turned away from him, and she looked pale.
At last he plucked up courage and got up, went
to her and dropped into a chair beside her.
Stepan Petrovitch did not stir, sitting in his
low chair with his head thrown back.
"Forgive me. Vera Stepanovna," Vyazovnin
began with some effort. "I am to blame, I
ought not so suddenly . . . and besides . , . I
had of course no grounds . . ."
Verotchka made no answer.
THE TWO FRIENDS
"But since it has happened like this," Boris
Andreyitch went on, "I should like to know
what answer . . ."
Verotchka gently bowed her head, her cheeks
flushed again.
"Vera Stepanovna, one word."
"I don't know, really . . ." she began, "Boris
Andreyitch ... it depends on father. . . ."
"Unwell?" Stepan Petrovitch's voice asked
suddenly.
Verotchka started and quickly raised her
head. Stepan Petrovitch's eyes fastened upon
her expressed uneasiness. She went up to him
at once.
"You are asking me something, father?"
"Feeling unwell?" he repeated.
"Who? . . . I? . . . No. . . . What makes
you think so?"
He looked at her intently.
"Really quite well?" he asked once more.
"Of course; how do you feel?"
"Braoo, Bra-oo," he said softly and closed
his eyes again.
Verotchka turned towards the door, Boris
Andreyitch stopped her.
89
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"Tell me, anyway, do you allow me to speak
to your father?"
"If you like," she whispered, "only, Boris
Andreyitch, I think I am not a match for
you."
Boris Andreyitch would have taken her
hand; but she evaded him and went away.
"Strange !" he thought. "She says exactly the
same thing as Krupitsyn."
Left alone with Stepan Petrovitch, Boris An-
dreyitch vowed to explain things more sen-
sibly to him and as far as possible to prepare
him for the unexpected proposal; but his task
turned out in reality even more difficult than
speaking to Verotchka.
Stepan Petrovitch was a little feverish and
in a state between brooding and dozing. He
made reluctant and tardy answers to the vari-
ous questions and observations by means of
which Boris Andreyitch hoped gradually to
lead up to the real subject of the conversa-
tion. ... In short, Boris Andreyitch, seeing
that his hints were being thrown away, was
compelled to approach the subject directly.
Several times he took breath as though pre-
90
THE TWO FRIENDS
paring to speak, stopped short and did not utter
a word.
"Stepan Petrovitch," he began at last, "I in-
tend to make you a proposal that will surprise
you very much."
"Bra-oo, Bra-oo," Stepan Petrovitch replied
calmly.
"A proposal which you do not expect in the
least."
Stepan Petrovitch opened his eyes.
"Only please don't be angry with me. . . ."
Stepan Petrovitch's eyes opened more widely.
"I ... I intend to ask you for the hand of
your daughter, Vera Stepanovna."
Stepan Petrovitch got up quickly from his
invalid chair.
"What?" he asked, in exactly the same voice
and with the same expression of face as
Verotchka.
Boris Andreyitch was compelled to repeat his
proposal.
Stepan Petrovitch fixed his eyes on Vyazov-
nin and looked at him a long time in silence so
that at last he felt awkward.
91
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"Does Vera know?" Stepan Petrovitch
asked.
"I have spoken to Vera Stepanovna and she
has allowed me to address myself to you."
"Were you speaking to her just now?"
"Yes, just now."
"Wait a minute," Stepan Petrovitch articu-
lated, and he went out.
Boris Andreyitch was left alone in the queer
old man's study. In a state of stupor he gazed
first at the walls and then at the floor, when
suddenly there was a sound of horse's hoofs at
the steps, the front door banged. A thick voice
asked: "At home?"
Steps were heard and Mihey Miheyltch, al-
ready known to the reader, walked swaying
into the study.
Boris Andreyitch was ready to die with
vexation.
"How warm it is in here !" exclaimed Mihey
Miheyitch, dropping onto the sofa.
"Ah, how do you do? And where's Stepan
Petrovitch?"
"He's just gone out; he'll be back directly."
"It's awfully cold to-day," observed Mihey
92
THE TWO FRIENDS
Miheyitch, pouring himself out a glass of
vodka. And, scarcely giving himself time to
swallow it, he added briskly:
"I've come from the town again, you know."
"From the town ?" repeated Vyazovnin, con-
cealing his emotion with difficulty.
"From the town," repeated Mihey Miheyitch,
"and all thanks to that brigand Onufry. Only
fancy, he told me no end of tales, held out
such alluring prospects that it made one's mouth
water! 'I have found an investment for you,'
says he, 'like nothing else in the world. You've
simply to rake the shekels in by hundreds, —
and the whole thing ended in his borrowing
twenty-five roubles from me and my dragging
myself off to the town for nothing. I quite
knocked up my horses."
"You don't say so," muttered Vyazovnin.
"I tell you he's a brigand, a brigand, if ever
there was one. He might as well be a high-
wayman with a bludgeon. I really don't know
what the police are about. If he goes on like
this, he will leave me without a half-penny,
upon my soul !"
Stepan Petrovitch came into the room.
93
THE TWO FRIENBS AND OTHER STORIES
Mihey Miheyitch began describing his adven-
tures with Onufry.
"And why is it somebody doesn't give him
a good hiding?" he exclaimed.
"Doesn't give him a hiding!" repeated
Stepan Petrovitch, and he suddenly went off
into a peal of laughter. Mihey Miheyitch
laughed too, looking at him and even repeat-
ing "Precisely, he ought to have a good hiding."
But when Stepan Petrovitch fell on the sofa
in paroxysms of hysterical laughter, Mihey
Miheyitch turned to Boris Andreyitch and turn-
ing up the palms of his hands, commented:
"There, he is always like that : bursts out laugh-
ing, the Lord only knows what at. That's his
whimsy I"
Verotchka came in looking agitated and with
red eyes.
"Papa's not quite well to-day," she observed
in an undertone to Mihey Miheyitch.
Mihey Miheyitch nodded and put a piece of
cheese into his mouth. At last Stepan Petrov-
itch left off laughing, got up, heaved a sigh
and began walking about the room.
Boris Andreyitch avoided his eyes and sat
94
THE TWO FRIENDS
as though on thorns. Mihey Miheyitch fell to
abusing Onufry Ilyitch again.
They had dinner; at dinner, too, Mihey Mi-
heyitch was the only one who talked; it was
almost evening when Stepan Petrovitch took
Boris Andreyitch by the arm and drew him into
the other room.
"You are a good man?" he asked, looking
into his face.
"I am an honest man, Stepan Petrovitch,"
replied Boris Andreyitch, "that I can answer
for, — and I love your daughter."
"You love her? Really?"
"I love her and will try to deserve her love."
"You won't get tired of her ?" Stepan Petrov-
itch asked again.
"Never."
Stepan Petrovitch's face contracted with a
look of pain.
"Well , . . mind . . . love her ... I con-
sent."
Boris Andreyitch would have embraced him
but he said: "Afterwards . . . that's all
right," and turning away he moved to the wall.
Boris Andreyitch could see that he was crying.
95
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
Stepan Petrovitch wiped his eyes without
turning round, then went back to the study,
passing Boris Andreyitch, and, without looking
at him, said with his habitual smile:
"Please, no more to-day . . . to-morrow
. . . all . . . that's necessary. . . ."
"Certainly, certainly," Boris Andreyitch hur-
riedly assured him, and following him into the
study, exchanged a glance with Verotchka.
There was joy in his soul, but at the same
time some disquietude. He could not remain
longer at Stepan Petrovitch's in the society of
Mihey Miheyitch; he felt he must be alone —
besides, he longed to tell Pyotr Vassilyitch.
He went away promising to come back next
day. As he said good-bye to Verotchka he
kissed her hand. She looked at him.
"Till to-morrow," he said to her.
"Good-bye," she answered softly.
"Do you know, Pyotr Vassilyitch," Boris
Andreyitch said when he had finished his story
and was pacing up and down his friend's bed-
room: "What I think is that a young man
often doesn't marry because he thinks it dread-
ful to put his life into bondage ; he thinks, 'Why
96
THE TWO FRIENDS
should I be in a hurry? — I've plenty of time,
perhaps I may find something better/ and the
business usually ends in his being a lonely old
bachelor or marrying the first woman he comes
across. It's all due to pride and egoism. If
God has sent you a sweet, good girl, don't lose
your chance; be happy and don't be too par-
ticular. I shall not find a wife better than
Verotchka; and if she is somewhat deficient in
regard to education it will be my work to look
after that. She has rather a phlegmatic char-
acter, but that's no harm, quite the contrary.
That's why I decided so quickly. And if I
have made a mistake — " he added, and stopped
short; after thinking a little, he went on:
"there's no great harm done. Nothing would
have come of my life anyway." Pyotr Vas-
silyitch listened to his friend in silence, from
time to time sipping from a cracked glass
the very nasty tea prepared by the zealous
Makedonia.
"Why don't you speak?" Boris Andreyitch
asked him at last, coming to a standstill before
him. "What I say is right, isn't it? You
agree with me, don't you?"
97
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"The proposal has been made," Pyotr Vas-
silyitch rejoined emphatically. "The father has
given his blessing, the daughter has not refused
you, so it's no use discussing it further. Per-
haps it really is for the best. Now it's the wed-
ding we must think about, not discussing its
wisdom; but morning brings good counsel; we
will talk it over properly to-morrow.
"Hey! Boy there! Take Boris Andreyitch
down."
"You might at least embrace me and con-
gratulate me," said Boris Andreyitch. "What
a fellow you are, really !"
"Embrace you I certainly will, with pleas-
ure." And Pyotr Vassilyitch embraced Boris
Andreyitch. "God give you all earthly happi-
ness !"
The friends parted.
"It's all because," Pyotr Vassilyitch said
aloud to himself, after lying for some time in
bed and tossing from side to side, "it's all be-
cause he has not served in the army ! He has
grown used to indulging his whims and knows
nothing of discipline."
98
THE TWO FRIENDS
A month later Vyazovnin married Ve-
rotchka. He insisted that the wedding should
not be put off longer. Pyotr Vassilyitch was
his best man. During that month Vyazovnin
went often to Stepan Petrovitch's ; but no
change was perceptible in his behaviour to Ve-
rotchka and her behaviour to him; she was a
little more reserved with him, that was all. He
brought her "Yurey Miloslavsky" and read
aloud some chapters. She liked Zagoskin's
novel, but when it was finished she did not ask
for another. Karantyev came once to have a
look at Verotchka, since she had become en-
gaged to another man, and it must be admitted
that he came drunk; he kept gazing at her as
though he were going to say something but said
nothing.
He was asked to sing. He sang some discon-
solate ditty, then burst into a gay and reckless
one, flung down the guitar on the sofa, said
good-bye to everyone and, getting into his
sledge, flung himself face downwards on the
hay strewn in it, burst into sobs and a quarter
of an hour later was sleeping the sleep of the
dead.
99
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
The day before the wedding Verotchka was
very sad and Stepan Petrovitch was low-spir-
ited too. He had hoped that Boris Andreyitch
would consent to come and live with him. The
latter, however, had not hinted at this, but on
the contrary had suggested that Stepan Petrov-
itch might stay for a time at Vyazovno,
The old man had refused; he was used to
his study.
Verotchka promised to visit him at least once
a week. How mournfully her father answered
her: "Bra-oo, Bra-oo!"
So Boris Andreyitch began his life as a mar-
ried man. Verotchka, being an excellent house-
keeper, put his whole house in order. He ad-
mired her noiseless but careful activity, her
mild always serene rule, called her "his little
Dutchwoman" and was continually repeating
to Pyotr Vassilyitch that he had never before
known what happiness was. It must be ob-
served that, from the wedding day onwards,
Pyotr Vassilyitch gave up visiting him so often
and staying so long, though Boris Andreyitch
received him as warmly as ever and though
Verotchka had a genuine affection for him.
lOO
THE TWO FRIENDS
"Your life is not the same now," he would
say to Vyazovnin when the latter reproached
him affectionately for having grown colder to
him. "You're a married man; I'm a bachelor.
I may be in your way."
At first Vyazovnin did not contradict him;
but by degrees he began to notice that he was
dull at times without his friend. His wife did
not restrict his liberty in the least; on the con-
trary he sometimes forgot about her altogether
and for whole mornings at a stretch would not
say a single word to her, though he always
looked into her face with pleasure and tender-
ness, though every time she passed by him with
her light step he would catch her hand and
kiss it, which invariably drew a smile to her
lips — the smile was the same that he had so
loved ; but is a smile alone enough ?
They had too little in common and he began
to be aware of it.
"There's no denying that my wife has very
few resources," thought Boris Andreyitch one
day, as he sat with folded arms on the sofa.
The words Verotchka had said to him on the
lOI
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
day of his proposal: "I am not a match for
you," echoed in his heart.
"If I had been a German or a savant," he
pursued his reflections, "or if I had had some
constant occupation which would have en-
grossed the greater part of my time, such a
wife would have been a godsend, but as it is!
Can I have made a mistake?" . . . This last
thought was more acutely painful to him than
he had expected.
When that same morning Pyotr Vassilyitch
repeated that he could not but be in his way,
Boris Andreyitch could not restrain himself
and exclaimed: "Upon my word, you're not
in the least in our way; on the contrary, when
you are here we are both ever so much more
lively" — he had almost said more at ease, and
it was certainly true.
Boris Andreyitch chatted eagerly to Pyotr
Vassilyitch exactly as he had done before his
marriage ; and Verotchka could talk to him too,
while for her husband she felt a great respect,
and, with all her unmistakable devotion to him,
did not know what to say to him, how to enter-
tain him.
ID2
THE TWO FRIENDS
Besides, she saw that Pyotr Vassilyitch's
presence enlivened him. It ended in Pyotr Vas-
silyitch becoming quite an indispensable person
in the house. He loved Verotchka as though
she were his daughter, and indeed no one could
help loving so kind and good a creature. When
Boris Andreyitch, with human weakness, con-
fided to his friend his secret thoughts and
grievances, Pyotr Vassilyitch blamed him se-
verely for his ingratitude, enumerated all
Verotchka's virtues, and once in answer to a
remark of Boris Andreyitch's that he, Pyotr
Vassilyitch, had thought that they were not
made for each other, the latter answered angrily
that he did not deserve her.
"I have found nothing in her," muttered
Boris Andreyitch.
"Found nothing in her! Why, did you ex-
pect something extraordinary of her? You've
found an excellent wife in her, let me tell you
that!"
"That's true," Vyazovnin hastily assented.
Everything in the house went on as before
— quietly and peacefully. For it was not only
impossible to quarrel with Verotchka, no mis-
103
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
understandings even could exist between her
and her husband, yet the inner rift was felt in
everything. So the effect of an unseen inter-
nal wound may be seen in a man's whole being.
Verotchka had not the habit of complaining;
besides she did not even in thought blame
Vyazovnin for anything, and it never entered
his head that she was not properly satisfied with
her life with him. Only two people clearly un-
derstood her position, her old father and Pyotr
Vassilyitch.
Stepan Petrovitch caressed her with peculiar
sympathetic compassion and looked into her
eyes when she came to see him — he asked her
no questions, but his sighs were more frequent
as he walked up and down the room, and his
"Bra-oo, Bra-oo" had no longer the note of the
imperturbable calm of a spirit remote from all
things earthly.
He seemed to have become pale and thin
since he had been parted from his daughter.
What was passing in her soul was no secret to
Pyotr Vassilyitch cither. Verotchka did not in
the least expect her husband to pay attention
to her or even to talk to her; but she was
104
THE TWO FRIENDS
fretted by the thought that she was a burden
to him.
Pyotr Vassilyitch found her one day stand-
ing motionless with her face to the wall. Like
her father whom she greatly resembled, she
did not like to display her tears, and turned
aside when she wept, even if she were alone in
the room. Pyotr Vassilyitch walked softly by
her, and never dropped the slightest hint that
could give her ground for supposing that he
knew why she was standing with her face to
the wall. But he gave Vyazovnin no peace;
he did not, it is true, utter those offensively
irritating, unnecessary words, "I told you so !"
— words which, let us observe in parenthesis, the
best of people cannot refrain from uttering even
in the moment of warmest sympathy. But he
attacked Boris Andreyitch mercilessly for his
indifference and ennui and once affected him so
much that he ran to Verotchka and began anx-
iously scrutinising and questioning her. She
looked at him so gently and answered him so
calmly that he went away inwardly troubled
by Pyotr Vassilyitch's reproaches, but thank-
105
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
ful that Verotchka anyway suspected noth-
ing. . . .
So passed the winter.
Such relations cannot last long; they either
end in a rupture or undergo a change, rarely
for the better. . . .
Boris Andreyitch did not become irritable
and exacting as is often the case with people
who feel they are in the wrong ; he did not per-
mit himself the cheap and often, even in intelli-
gent people, coarse pleasure of mockery and
gibing ; he did not sink into melancholy ; he sim-
ply began to be absorbed by the thought of how
to get away, — for a time, of course.
"To travel!" he repeated to himself as he
got up in the morning. "To travel!" he whis-
pered as he got into bed.
He found an enchanting fascination lay hid
in those words. He tried by way of distrac-
tion visiting Sofya Kirillovna, but her fluent
speech and her free-and-easy manners, her lit-
tle smiles and airs and graces, seemed to him
very mawkish. "What a contrast to Ve-
rotchka!" he thought, looking at the emanci-
io6
THE TWO FRIENDS
pated widow, and yet the thought of getting
away from Verotchka never left him. . . .
The breath of the coming spring — spring
which beckons and allures the very birds from
beyond the seas — dissipated his last doubts and
set his head in a whirl. He went away to
Petersburg on the pretext of some important
business that could not be deferred, though it
had till then never been mentioned. . . .
As he parted from Verotchka he suddenly
felt a tightness and rush of blood at his heart :
he felt sorry for his sweet, gentle wife; tears
gushed from his eyes and bedewed her pale
forehead, which he had only just touched with
his lips.
"I shall soon — soon be back! And I shall
write, my darling," he kept repeating.
And commending her to the care and affec-
tion of Pyotr Vassilyitch, he got into his car-
riage, touched and melancholy. . . .
His melancholy disappeared instantly at the
sight of the first softly green willows on the
high-road, which lay a mile and a half from his
estate.
An unaccountable, almost boyish, rapture set
107
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
his heart throbbing; his chest heaved and he
fastened his eyes greedily on the distance.
"No," he exclaimed : "I see that —
" 'The fiery steed and the gentle doe,
Harnessed together, cannot go.' "
But was he a fiery steed?
Vera was left alone; but in the first place
Pyotr Vassilyitch visited her frequently, and
what was more her old father was induced to
tear himself from his beloved abode and move
for the time into his daughter's house.
The three of them got on capitally together ;
their tastes and their habits were so completely
in harmony ! And yet Vyazovnin was not for-
gotten by them, — on the contrary, he served
them as an unseen spiritual tie. They were in-
cessantly talking of him, of his cleverness, his
goodness, his culture and the simple good na-
ture of his behaviour. They seemed to have be-
come even fonder of Boris Andreyitch in his ab-
sence from home. The weather set in fine ; the
days did not fly by, — no, they passed peacefully
and joyfully like high, bright clouds on a blue
and clear sky. Vyazovnin wrote from time to
io8
THE TWO FRIENDS
time ; his letters were read and re-read with great
pleasure. In each of them he spoke of his ap-
proaching return. ... At last one day Pyotr Vas-
silyitch received the following letter from him :
"Dear Friend, my dear kind Pyotr Vas-
silyitch: I have been wondering a long while
how to begin this letter, but it seems that the
best way is to tell you straight out that I am
going abroad. The news I know will surprise
you and even make you angry: you could not
have expected this, — and you will be perfectly
right if you call me an irresponsible and un-
reasonable person; I do not mean, indeed, to
defend myself and even at this moment I am
conscious that I am blushing, but have the pa-
tience to hear me out. In the first place, I
am going for a very short time and in such so-
ciety and such favourable conditions as you
can hardly imagine; and in the second, I am
firmly convinced that after playing the fool
for the last time, after satisfying for the last
time my passion for seeing everything and hav-
ing every experience, I shall become an excel-
lent husband, and a stay-at-home family man,
109
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
and shall show that I know how to value the
undeserved kindness of destiny in presenting
me with such a wife as Verotchka.
"Please persuade her of this too, and show
her this letter. I am not writing to her now;
I have not the courage: — but I shall certainly
write from Stettin for which our steamer is
bound, and meanwhile tell her that I am on
my knees before her and humbly beg her not
to "be cross with her stupid husband. Know-
ing her angelic character, I am certain she will
forgive me and I swear by everything in the
world that in three months, not a day later, I
will be back at Vyazovno and then no force shall
drag me away till the end of my days. Good-
bye or rather till we meet soon ; I embrace you
and kiss the sweet hands of my Verotchka.
"I shall write to you from Stettin where you
can send me letters. If anything unforeseen
should happen, and in regard to the manage-
ment of the place generally, I rely upon you as
upon a wall of stone. „ . ,,.
Your Boris Vyazovmn.
"P. S. — Have my study repapered for the au-
tumn. ... Do you hear? ... Be sure to."
no
THE TWO FRIENDS
Alas, the hopes expressed by Boris An-
dreyitch in this letter were not destined to be
fulfilled.
Owing to the great number of impressions
he received and things he had to do, he had
not time to write to Verotchka from Stettin;
but from Hamburg he sent her a letter in
which he informed her of his intention to visit
— for the sake of inspecting certain indus-
trial institutions and also listening to certain
necessary lectures — Paris, where he begged her
to forward letters, Poste Restante.
Vyazovnin arrived in Paris in the morning
and, after in the course of the day running
through the Boulevards, the Tuileries, the
Place de la Concorde and the Palais Royal,
and even ascending the Vendome Column, he
dined at Vefeur's with the dignified air of an
habitue, and in the evening visited the Chateau
des Fleurs — to see, as a disinterested observer,
what the "can-can" really was like and how the
Parisians danced it. The dance itself Vyazov-
nin did not think attractive; but one of the
Parisiennes performing the can-can, a lively,
well-made brunette with a turned-up nose and
III
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
saucy eyes, did attract him. He came to a
standstill near her more and more frequently,
exchanged at first glances with her, then smiles,
then words. . . . Half an hour later she was
walking arm in arm with him telling him "son
petit nom" — Julie, — and hinting that she was
hungry and that nothing could be better than
a supper at the Maison d'Or "dans un petit cab-
inet particulier."
Boris Andreyitch was not at all hungry him-
self, and indeed supper in the society of Mdlle.
Julie had not entered into his calculations.
. . . "However, if that's the way here," he
thought, "I suppose I shall have to go — Par-
tons," he said aloud, — but at the same instant
someone trod very heavily on his foot. He
cried out, turned round and saw facing him a
thick-set, broad-shouldered, middle-aged gentle-
man in a stiff cravat in the frock-coat of a ci-
vilian buttoned all the way up and full trousers
of miHtary cut.
Pulling his hat right down to his nose from
under which his dyed moustaches fell in two
little cascades, and bulging out his trousers
pockets with the big fingers of his hairy hands,
112
THE TWO FRIENDS
this gentleman, by every token an infantry
officer, stared stubbornly at Vyazovnin. The
expression of his yellow eyes, of his rough, flat
cheeks, of his bluish, prominent jaws, of his
whole face, was coarse and insolent.
"Was it you trod on my foot ?" said Vyazov-
nin.
"Out, Monsieur."
"But in such cases . . . people apologise."
"And if I won't apologise to you, Monsieur
le Moscoznte." Parisians recognise Russians
at once.
"Then did you wish to insult me?" asked
Vyazovnin.
"Old, Monsieur. ... I don't like the shape
of your nose."
"Fi, . . . Le gros jalotix," murmured Mdlle.
Julie, to whom the infantry officer was evi-
dently not a stranger.
"But then . . ." Vyazovnin began, as though
bewildered.
"Then we must fight," the officer caught him
up. "Of course. Very good. Here is my
card."
"And here is mine," answered Vyazovnin,
113
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
still bewildered and as though in a dream with
a confused throbbing of his heart, he scribbled
on the polished paper of his visiting card with
a little gold pencil he had just bought for his
watch chain, Hotel des Trois Monarques No.
46.
The officer nodded and announced that he
would have the honour of sending his seconds
to "Monsieur . . . Momieur . . ." he raised
Vyazovnin's card to his right eye, "Monsieur
de Vazavononin" and turned his back on Boris
Andreyitch, who at once left the Chateau des
Fleurs. Mdlle. Julie tried to detain him but
he looked at her very coldly . . . she promptly
turned away from him, and was for a long time
afterwards sitting by the wall, explaining some-
thing to the angry officer, who as before kept
his hands in his trousers pockets — and did not
smile.
On getting into the street, Vyazovnin stopped
under the first gas lamp he came to and for a
second time and with great attention read the
card that had been handed him.
On it stood the following words:
114
THE TWO FRIENDS
Alexandre Lehoeuf, capitaine en second au
Ssme de Ligne.
"Is it possible that this can lead to any-
thing?" he thought to himself. "Can I really
be going to fight a duel ? And what for ? And
on the very day after my arrival in Paris!
What folly!"
He began a letter to Verotchka, to Pyotr Vas-
silyitch and at once tore up the pages he had
begun and flung them away.
"Nonsense! It's a farce!" he repeated, and
went to bed.
But his thoughts took a different turn when
next morning at breakfast two gentlemen very
much like Monsieur Leboeuf, only younger (all
French infantry officers have the same face)
called upon him and announcing their names
(one was called Monsieur LeCoq, the other
Monsieur Pinochet, both were lieutenants "au
8^me de Ligne") introduced themselves to
Boris Andreyitch as the seconds "de notre ami
Monsieur Lehceuf sent by him to take all nee--
essary steps since their friend Monsieur L»'
bceuf would accept no apologies.
115
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
Vyazovnin was obliged to inform Messieurs
les ofHcicrs, the friends of Monsieur Leboeuf,
that being a complete novice in Paris he had
not yet had time to look round and provide him-
self with a second; ("I suppose one is enough?"
he added; "Quite enough, responded Mon-
sieur Pinochet), and therefore he would have
to ask Messieurs les oMciers to let him have
four hours to find one.
Messieurs les ofHciers exchanged glances,
shrugged their shoulders, consented, however,
and got up from their seats.
"Si Monsieur le desire," Monsieur Pinochet
brought out suddenly, stopping short before
the door (of the two seconds he was obviously
the readier with his tongue and he had been
commissioned to carry on the negotiations.
Monsieur LeCoq merely grunted approvingly),
"Si Monsieur le desire," he repeated (Vyazov-
nin was reminded of Monsieur Galisi, his Mos-
cow barber, who often made use of that
phrase), "we can recommend one of the offi-
cers of our regiment, le lieutenant Barbichon,
un gargon trcs devoue, who would certainly
consent to do a sendee a un gentleman (Mon-
ii6
THE TWO FRIENDS
sieur Pinochet pronounced this word as if it
were French), to help him out of a difficuUy,
and if he becomes your second he will take
your interests to heart — prendre a occur vos
interets."
Vyazovnin was at first amazed at such a pro-
posal, but reflecting that he knew no one in
Paris, thanked Monsieur Pinochet and said he
would expect Monsieur Barbichon — and Mon-
sieur Barbichon was not slow in making his
appearance. This gargon Wcs dcvoue turned
out to be an extremely alert and active person,
declaring that "cet animal de Lebceuf n'en. fait
jamais d'autres . . . c'est un Othello, Monsieur,
tin veritable Othello." He asked Vyazovnin:
"N'est-ce pas que vous desires que I'affaire soit
serieusef" And, without waiting for an an-
swer, exclaimed:
"Cost tout ce que je desirais savoir. Laissez
pwi faire!" And he did in fact conduct the
affair with such energy, and took Vyazovnin's
interests to heart with such warmth, that four
hours later poor Boris Andreyitch, who had
no notion of fencing, was standing in the very
middle of a green glade in the Bois de Vin-
117
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
cennes with his coat off and the sleeves of his
shirt tucked up, with a sword in his hand two
paces from his opponent. Bright sunshine
hghted up the scene. Vyazovnin had no clear
idea of how he had come there: he kept re-
peating to himself : "How stupid it is ! How
stupid it is!" And he felt ashamed as though
he were taking part in some dull, practical joke,
— and an awkward, inwardly hidden grin
played about his soul while his eyes were riv-
etted on the low brow and the cropped black
hair of the Frenchman who stood before him.
"Toutest pret," a lisping voice announced,
"Alles," piped another.
Monsieur Leboeuf's face assumed an expres-
sion not so much ferocious as predatory;
Vyazovnin flourished his sword (Pinochet had
assured him that his ignorance of the art of
fencing gave him "de grands avantages!")
when all at once something extraordinary hap-
pened. There was a rattle, a stamp, a flash —
Vyazovnin felt in his chest on the right side
the presence of a sort of cold big stick. He
wanted to push it away, to say "Don't," but
he was already lying on his back and experi-
ii8
THE TWO FRIENDS
encing a strange almost absurd sensation as
though they were trying to pull teeth out of
his whole body. . . . Then the earth began
softly heaving under him. ... A voice said:
"Tout c'est passe dans les regies, n'est-ce pas.
Messieurs f" A second answered, "Oh, par-
faitement." And crash! Everything seemed
to fly round and then sank into the earth.
"Verotchka!" Vyazovnin hardly had time to
think with anguish, . . .
Towards evening the gargon tres devoue
brought him to the hotel des trois Monarques.
He died in the night. He passed away to that
land from which no traveller has yet returned.
He did not regain consciousness before his
death and only muttered twice: "I'll go back
directly . . . it's nothing , . . to the country
now. . . ." The Russian priest for whom the
hotel-keeper sent gave information of all this
to the Russian embassy — and two days later
the "unhappy affair with a Russian visitor" was
in all the newspapers.
It had been a hard and bitter task for Pyotr
Vassilyitch to tell Verotchka of her husband's
letter; but when the news of Vyazovnin's death
119
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
reached him, he was utterly distracted. The
first to read of it in the papers was Mifiey
Miheyitch, and he at once galloped off to Pyotr
Vassilyitch, accompanied by Onufry Ilyitch
with whom he had again made friends. As
people usually do, he began shouting as soon as
he got into the hall: "Only fancy! What a
disaster \" and so on.
For a long while Pyotr Vassilyitch would
not believe him, but when no possibility of
doubt was left him, he waited a whole day, then
set off at last to Verotchka.
The mere sight of him, crushed and broken,
so alarmed her that she could scarcely stand
on her feet.
He tried to prepare her for the fatal news
but his strength failed him; he sat down and
through his tears faltered: "He is dead, he
is dead. . . ."
A year has passed. From the roots of the
felled tree new shoots spring up, the deepest
wound is healed in time, life replaces death
even as it is replaced by it, — and Verotchka's
1 20
THE TWO FRIENDS
heart had gradually grown easier and begun
to heal.
Moreover Vyazovnin did not belong to the
number of people who are irreplaceable. (And
indeed are there such people?) Nor was Ve-
rotchka capable of devoting herself for ever
to one feeling. (And indeed are there such
feelings?)
She had married Vyazovnin without con-
straint and without great enthusiasm. She had
been faithful and devoted to him, but she had
not been entirely absorbed in him. She grieved
for him genuinely, but not frantically. What
more would you have?
Pyotr Vassilyitch did not give up coming
to see her; he was as before her closest friend,
and so it was not at all surprising that, being
left one day alone with her, he looked into her
face and very quietly suggested that she should
be his wife. . . ,
She smiled in answer and held out her hand
to him. Their life after their marriage went
on much as before. There was no need to
change it.
Ten years have passed since then.
121
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
Old Barsukov is living with them and grows
younger every year. He is never many steps
apart from his grandchildren, of which there
are three already; two girls and a boy. He
even talks to them, especially to his favourite,
the dark-eyed, curly-headed boy who has been
named in his honour Stepan. The Httle rogue
is very well aware that his grandfather adores
him and so ventures upon mimicking how he
walks about the room exclaiming "Bra-oo,
Bra-oo." This bit of mischief always excites
the greatest merriment in the house. Poor
Vyazovnin is not forgotten to this day. Pyotr
Vassilyitch honours his memory, always speaks
of him with peculiar feeling and at every op-
portunity is sure to say that the dear fellow
was fond of this, or had the habit of doing
that. Pyotr Vassilyitch, his wife and all his
household lead a very monotonous life, quiet
and peaceful; they are happy . . . for there is
no other happiness on earth.
1853.
122
FATHER ALEXEY'S STORY
FATHER ALEXEY'S STORY
. . . Twenty years ago it was my lot to make
an unofficial tour of inspection of the rather
numerous estates belonging to my aunt. The
parish priests, with whom I considered it my
duty to make acquaintance, turned out all to
be rather alike and seemed as though they had
all been made on the same pattern, but finally,
in almost the last estate that I inspected, I
found a priest who was unlike the others. He
was a very old, almost decrepit man, and had
it not been for the earnest entreaties of his
parishioners who loved and respected him, he
would long before have asked to be relieved of
his duties. I was struck by two peculiarities
in Father Alexey (that was the priest's
name). To begin with, he not merely re-
frained from asking anything for himself but
declared in so many words that he needed notli-
ing; and in the second place, I had never seen
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
in any human face such a look of sadness and
complete detachment — such a look of being ut-
terly "broken," as it is called. The features
of his face were of the ordinary country type;
a wrinkled forehead, little grey eyes, a thick
nose, a wedge-shaped beard, a swarthy, sun-
burnt skin. But the expression, the expres-
sion! There was but a faint melancholy ghm-
mer of life in his lustreless eyes; his voice, too,
seemed colourless and scarcely living. I was
taken ill and laid up for a few days; Father
Alexey used to come and see me in the eve-
nings — not to talk but to play a game of cards
called "fools." Playing cards seemed to en-
tertain him even more than me. One evening
after having been made "the fool" several
times in succession, at which Father Alexey
was much gratified, I began talking of his past
life, of the troubles which had left on him
such unmistakable traces. Father Alexey held
back for a long time, but ended by telling me
his story. He must have taken a liking to me
or he would not have been so open with me.
I will try and repeat his story in his own
words. Father Alexey spoke very simply and
126
FATHER ALEXEY'S STORY
clearly, without any clerical or provincial man-
nerisms or phrases. I have observed more than
once that Russians of all classes who have gone
through a great deal and have learned resigna-
tion express themselves just in that language.
... I had a good and sensible wife (was
how he began) ; I loved her from my heart and
we had eight children, but almost all of them
died when they were little. One of my sons
became a bishop and died not long ago in his
diocese; about my other son, Yakov, I am
going to tell you now. I sent him to the semi-
nary in the town of T. and soon began re-
ceiving the most gratifying reports of him: he
was the top of his class in all the subjects!
At home as a child he had been remarkable
for his studiousness and modesty; sometimes
you would hear nothing of him all day ... he
would be sitting at his book, reading. He never
caused his mother or me the slightest annoy-
ance; he was always a good boy. Only some-
times he was too thoughtful for his age, his
health was frail. One day something strange
12.^
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
happened to him. He was ten years old at
the time. He left home at dawn — it was the
eve of St. Peter's day — and was away almost
the whole morning. At last he came back.
My wife and I asked him where he had been.
"I went for a walk in the forest," he told ns,
"and there I met a little green old man who
talked to me a great deal and gave me such
delicious nuts."
"What little green old man?" we asked him.
"I don't know," he said; "I have never seen
him before. He is a little hunchbacked old
man, he keeps laughing and his feet are never
still — and he is green as a leaf all over."
"What ?" we said ; "was his face green too ?"
"Yes, his face, and his hair and even his
eyes."
Our son had never told a lie, but this time
my wife and I were doubtful.
"You must have fallen asleep in the forest
in the heat and dreamed of the old man."
"I didn't go to sleep, not a wink," he said.
"Why, don't you believe me ? Why, I have one
of the nuts left in my pocket."
Yakov took the nut out of his pocket and
128
FATHER ALEXEY'S STORY
showed it us. It had a small kernel some-
thing like a chestnut with a rough skin ; it was
not like our ordinary nuts. I put it away, I
wanted to show it to the doctor . . . but it
was lost, I could not find it afterwards.
Well, we sent him to the seminary, and, as
I have told you already, he delighted us with
his success. So my wife and I expected he
would turn out well. When he came home for
his holidays it was a pleasure to look at him:
there was so much goodness in his face and
there was no fault you could find with him.
Only he was thin and there was no proper
colour in his face. Well, he reached his nine-
teenth year and his studies were nearly over.
And all at once we got a letter from him. He
wrote to us, "Father and mother, do not be
angry with me, allow me to take up a secular
calling, my heart is not in the vocation of a
priest, I am terrified of the responsibility, I
am afraid of sin — doubts have begun to stir
in me ! Without your parental permission and
blessing T shall not venture on anything; but
I will tell you one thing: I am afraid of my-
self, for I have begun to think a great deal."
129
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
I must tell you, sir, I was terribly grieved at
this letter; it was like a stab in the heart, for
I saw I should not have anyone to take my place
after me. My elder son was a monk, and this
one wanted to leave the priesthood altogether.
It was a grief to me, too, because for nearly two
hundred years the priests in this parish have
been of our family ! However, I thought it was
no use kicking against the pricks ; it seemed that
this was ordained for him. What sort of pas-
tor would he make if he had let doubts assail
him ! I took council with my wife and I wrote
to him in this sense: "Yakov, my son, think
it over well, measure ten times before you cut
once; there are great difficulties in a secular
calling, cold and hunger and contempt for our
class ! And you must understand that no one
will give you a helping hand; mind you don't
repent too late! My desire, as you know, has
always been that you should succeed me here;
but if you really doubt of your vocation and
your faith has been shaken — it is not for me to
try and compel you. God's will be done!
Your mother and I do not refuse you our
blessing."
130
FATHER ALEXEY'S STORY
Yakov answered me with a grateful letter.
"You have relieved me, father," he wrote; "it
is my intention to devote myself to a learned
career — and I have help promised me; I shall
enter the University and become a doctor, for
I feel a great inclination for science." I read
Yasha's letter and was more grieved than ever ;
and soon I had no one to share my sorrow :
my old wife caught cold about that time and
died — whether of the cold or because the Lord
took her in His mercy, I cannot tell. I wept
and wept in my solitary bereavement — but
there was no help for it. So it was to be, it
seems. I should have been glad to be under
the soil too . . . but the earth was hard . . .
it v/ould not open. And I was expecting my
son, for he sent me word 'before I go to Mos-
cow I shall come home to see you.' And he
did indeed come home, but he did not stay long.
Something seemed urging him on ; it seemed as
though he longed to fly to Moscow, to his be-
loved University! I began questioning him
about his doubts and asked him what was
the reason of them, but I could not get
much talk out of him: his mind was pos-
131
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
sessed by one idea — and that was all ! I want
to help my fellow creatures, he said. Well, he
went away — he scarcely took a farthing with
him — nothing but a few clothes. He had great
confidence in himself ! And not without good
reason. He passed the examination brilliantly,
became a student, got lessons in private fam-
ilies. . . . He was good at Greek and Latin.
And, would you believe it, he actually sent
me money. I felt a little more cheerful —
not on account of the money, of course, — I sent
it back to him and scolded him too; I was
cheered because I saw he would do well. But
my cheerfulness did not last long.
He came home for his first vacation. And —
it was strange — I hardly knew my Yakov. He
had become so depressed, so gloomy — there was
no getting a word out of him. And his face
was changed too — he looked almost ten years
older. He had always been of a retiring dis-
position, that's true; the least thing, and he
would be shy and blushing like a girl. . . .
But if he raised his eyes you could see that
his soul was serene. Now it was not the same
thing, though. He was not shy but like some
132
FATHER ALEXEY'S STORY
wild creature, like a wolf, and he looked at
everyone from under his brows. Not a smile,
not a greeting, like a stone! When I tried to
question him he would either say nothing or
growl at me. I began to wonder whether —
God forbid — he had taken to drinking, or
whether he had given way to gambling — or
whether he had got into some trouble through
weakness in regard to women. In youth the
spell of love is potent and there are sure to be
bad examples and temptations in a big town
like Moscow.
But no, there was nothing of the sort to be
seen. He drank nothing but water or kvass;
had no eyes for the fair sex — and had nothing
to do with people in general. And what was
bitterer than anything, he no longer put the
same confidence in me, he seemed indifferent,
as though he was sick of everything belonging
to him. I would turn the conversation on his
studies, on the University, but I could get no
real answer out of him. He would go to church
but there was something strange about that
too : everywhere else he was morose and sullen
but in church he looked as though he were grin-
133
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
ning all the time. He spent six weeks with me
like that and went back to Moscow again. He
wfote to me twice from Moscow — and it seemed
to me from his letters as though he were com-
ing to himself again. But picture my amaze-
ment, sir ! Suddenly in the very depth of win-
ter, just before Christmas, he came home.
How? Why? In what way? I knew that
there was no vacation at that time.
"Have you come from Moscow ?" I asked.
"Yes."
"And how . . . about the University?"
"I have given up the University."
"Given it up?"
"Yes."
"For good?"
"Yes, for good."
"Are you ill then, or what, Yakov ?"
"No, father," he said, "I am not ill; only
don't worry me with your questions, father, or
I shall go away from here and you will never
see me again."
Yakov said he was not ill but I was horrified
at the look of his face. His cheeks were drawn
so that the bones struck out, he was all skin
134
FATHER ALEXEY'S STORY
and bones, his voice had a hollow note like a
barrel, and his eyes . . . good God, what
eyes ! Fierce, wild, continually roving so that
you could never catch them; his brows were
knit, his lips, too, seemed twisted on one
side. . . . What had become of my beloved
Joseph, my gentle boy ? I couldn't imagine. Is
he out of his mind ? I wondered. He wandered
about like an uneasy spirit, did not sleep at
night and all of a sudden would stare into a
corner and seem to grow stiff with terror. . . .
It was uncanny! Though he did threaten me
that he would not stay if I asked him questions,
yet I was his father. My last hope was being
shattered and was I to keep silent? One day,
choosing my time, I began imploring Yakov
with tears, entreating him for the sake of his
mother, "Tell me, your father in flesh and in
spirit, Yasha, what is wrong with you? Don't
destroy me, explain, open your heart! Have
you slain some Christian soul, perhaps? Then
repent !"
"Well, father," he said all at once (it was in
the evening), "you have touched my heart; I
135
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
will tell you the whole truth! I have hurt no
other soul, but my own is being lost."
"In what way?"
"It's like this . . ." — and Yakov raised his
eyes to me for the first time — "for the last
four months," he began, but all at once his
voice broke and he began breathing hard.
"What is it for the last four months? Tell
me, don't torture me."
"For the last four months I have been seeing
him."
"mm! What him?"
"Why, him, whose name one can't utter at
night."
I turned cold all over and began to tremble.
"What?" I said, "do you see himf"
"Yes."
"And do you see him now ?'*
"Yes."
"Where?"
And I did not dare to turn round myself,
and we both spoke in a whisper.
"Over there," he said, and showed me with
his eyes, "over there, in the corner."
136
FATHER ALEXEY'S STORY
I plucked up my spirit and looked into the
corner; there was nothing there!
"But there's nothing there, Yakov, really !"
"You don't see him, but I do."
I looked again — again there was nothing. I
suddenly thought of the little old man in the
wood who gave him the nut.
"What is he like?" I said. "Green?"
"No, not green — black."
"With horns?"
"No, he is like a man, but all black."
As Yakov spoke, his mouth was twisted so
that his teeth showed ; he was pale as death and
he huddled up to me in terror ; his eyes seemed
as though they were starting out of his head
but he still looked into the corner.
"That's the shadow makes you fancy it," I
said ; "it's the blackness of the shadow and you
take it for a human form."
"Not at all ! I see his eyes ; there, he is show-
ing the whites of his eyes, there, he is lifting
his hands and beckoning."
'^akov, Yakov, you should try and pray; it
would break the spell. Let the Lord arise and
His enemies be scattered !"
.137.
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"I have tried," he said, "but it is no use."
"Wait, wait, Yakov, don't be faint-hearted ; I
will burn incense, I will say a prayer, I will
sprinkle holy water around you."
Yakov merely waved his hand in despair.
"I don't believe in your incense nor in your
holy water; they are not a hap'orth of use to
me now. There's no parting from him for me
now. Since he came to me on^' cursed day in
summer he has been my constant visitor and
there is no getting rid of him. Understand
that, father, and don't be surprised at my be-
haviour — and don't torment me."
"What day did he come to you?" I asked,
and I kept making the sign of the cross over
him. "Was it when you were writing to me
about your doubts?"
Yakov put aside my hand.
"Leave me alone, father," he said, "don't
make me angry, for fear worse may happen. I
ami not far from laying hands on myself."
You can imagine, sir, what it was for me to
hear that ! I remember I cried all night. How
have I deserved the wrath of God? I wondered.
Here Father Alexey took a check handker-
138
FATHER ALEXEY'S STORY
chief out of his pocket, blew his nose and
stealthily wiped his eyes.
"A sad life we had after that!" he went on.
"My mind was full of nothing else but the
dread that he should run away or — God forbid
— do himself some mischief. I kept watch over
every step he took but I was afraid of talking
to him.
"At that time there was living near us a
lady, the widow of a colonel, called Marfa
Savvishna. I had a great respect for her, for
she was a gentle and sensible woman, though
she was young and of prepossessing appear-
ance. I used to visit her often and she did not
despise me for being a priest. In my grief and
misery, not knowing what to do, I went and
told her all about it. At first she was horrified
and quite overwhelmed ; and then she began to
think. For a long time she sat silent ; and then
she expressed a desire to see my son and talk
to him. And I felt at once that I must do as
she wished, for it was no feminine curiosity
that prompted her request, but something else.
When I got home I began persuading Yakov
"Come with me to see the colonel's lady." He
139
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
wouldn't hear of it. "I won't," he said, "noth-
ing would induce me! What could I talk to
her about?" He even shouted at me. How-
ever, I succeeded in persuading him at last and,
putting the horse in the sledge, I took him to
Marfa Savvishna and, as arranged, left him
alone with her. I was surprised myself that
he had agreed so soon. "Never mind, we shall
see what comes of it," I thought. Three or four
hours later my Yakov came back.
"Well," I asked him, "how did you like our
neighbour ?"
He made no answer. I tried again. "She is
a virtuous lady," I said, "I suppose she was
kind to you ?"
"Yes," he said, "she is not like other people."
I saw he seemed to be softer, and I ventured
to ask him about his affliction. The look in
Yakov's eye was like the lash of a whip — and
again he said nothing. I did not trouble him
further and went out of the room; an hour
later I went to the door, looked through the
key-hole — and what do you think? My Yakov
was asleep. He was lying asleep on his bed. I
crossed myself several times. May God shower
140
FATHER ALEXEY'S STORY
every blessing upon Marfa Savvishna! I
thought. So the dear woman had succeeded
in touching his hardened heart !
Next day I saw Yakov take his cap. I
thought of asking where he was going, but no
— better not ask ... no doubt it is to her!
And it really was to Marfa Savvishna that
Yakov went, and he stayed longer still; and
the next day he went again, and then a day
later — again ! My spirit began to revive for I
saw a change in my son — his face was different
and one could look into his eyes — he did not
turn away. His depression was still there, but
the despair, the horror had gone. But I had
hardly begun to be more hopeful when every-
thing was shattered again. Yakov became like
a wild creature again, there was no going near
him. He sat shut up all day in his room and
went no more to the colonel's widow. Had he
offended her in some way, I wondered, and had
she forbidden him the house? But no, I
thought; though he is afflicted he would not
venture on that, and, besides, she is not that
sort of woman. I could not refrain from ask-
ing him at last :
141
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"What about our neighbour, Yakov? You
seem to have quite forgotten her."
And he positively shouted at me:
"Our neighbour ? Do you want him to laugh
at me?"
"What?" I said.
But he clenched his fists and was quite
savage.
"Yes," he said, "he used only to stand there
but now he has taken to laughing and grinning !
Get away, go !"
To whom he addressed those words, I don't
know ; I could hardly stagger out of the room,
I was so frightened. Only imagine; his face
was as red as copper, he was foaming at the
mouth, his voice was hoarse as though some-
one was suffocating him! I went off, feeling
utterly desolate, to Marfa Savvishna that very
day ... I found her in great distress. Her
very appearance was changed; she was thinner
in the face. But she would not talk to me about
my son. She only said one thing, that no hu-
man help could be of any avail. "You must pray,
father." And then she gave me a hundred
roubles for the poor and sick of my parish, and
142
FATHER ALEXEY'S STORY
again repeated "pray." My God, as though I
did not pray day and night as it was !
Father Alexey took out his handkerchief
again and wiped away his tears, this time
openly ; after a brief pause he went on with his
sad story.
After that we went from bad to worse, like
a snowball rolling down hill ; we could see there
was a precipice at the bottom, but we could
not stop ourselves. And there was no con-
cealing it ; there was great commotion in the
whole parish because the priest's son was pos-
sessed by the devil. People said that the au-
thorities ought to be informed of it. And they
would have informed them, no doubt, but my
parishioners — God bless them for it — were
sorry for me. Meanwhile the winter was over
and spring had come. And the Lord sent us
such a beautiful fine spring as even the old
people did not remember : the sun shone all day,
it was warm and still. And a happy thought
came to me, to persuade Yakov to go with me
on a pilgrimage to St. Mitrofany's at Voronezh.
"If that last resource is of no avail," I thought,
"then the only hope is the grave."
143
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
A^ell, I was sitting one evening on the steps
of the porch; there was a glow of sunset in
the sky, the larks were singing, the apple blos-
som was out, the grass was green. ... I sat
and wondered how to tell Yakov of my plan.
All at once I saw him coming out on to the
steps; he stood and looked, heaved a sigh and
squatted on the step beside me. I was quite
frightened with joy but I did not say a word.
And he sat, looked at the sunset and was silent
too. And it seemed to me as though he were
in a softened mood. The wrinkles were
smoothed on his forehead, even his eyes were
clearer ... it looked as though tears were
almost coming into them. Seeing such a change
in him, I confess I grew bolder. "Yakov," I
said, "hear what I have to say and don't be
angry." And I told him of my plan of how
we should go on foot together to St. Mitro-
fany's — it was about a hundred miles from us
to Voronezh — and how pleasant it would be
for the two of us getting up before the sunrise
to go on and on, in the cool of the spring
through the green grass in the high-road; and
I told him that if we fall down and pray at
144
FATHER ALEXEY'S STORY
the shrine of the saint, perhaps — who' knows —
the Lord God may have mercy on us and he
may be healed, of which there have been many
examples. And imagine my happiness, sir!
"Very good," said Yakov, and he did turn
round but kept looking at the sky. "I agree.
Let us go."
I was overwhelmed. "My dear," I said, "my
darling, thank you !" He asked me :
"When are we going?"
"To-morrow if you like," I said.
So next day we set off. We put wallets on
our backs, took staves in our hands and started.
We walked for seven whole days ; and all the
time the weather was propitious. It was won-
derful ! There was no rain and it was not too
hot; the flies did not bite us and the dust was
not annoying. And my Yakov looked better
every day. I must tell you that in the open
air Yakov never saw him but he felt his pres-
ence behind him, just at his back, or his
shadow would glide by him, which troubled my
son very much. But this time nothing of the
kind happened; and at the inns where we
stayed the night he saw nothing either. We
145
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
did not talk much but how happy we were,
especially I ! I saw my poor boy coming back
to life. I cannot describe, sir, what I felt then,
Well, we reached Voronezh at last. We washed
and made ourselves clean and went to the Ca-
thedral, to the shrine of the saint. For three
whole days we scarcely left the Cathedral. How
many special services we had said for us, how
many candles we set up ! and all went smoothly
and well; our days were devout, our nights
were tranquil; my Yasha slept like a baby.
He began talking to me of his own accord. He
would ask me, "Father, do you see anything?"
while he smiled. "I see nothing," I would re-
ply. "Nor I either," he would say. What
more could I desire? My gratitude to the
saint knew no bounds.
Three days passed, and I said to Yakov:
"Well, now, my boy, things are better; it is
a happy day for us. There is only one thing
left to do : make your confession, and take the
sacrament; and then let us go home in God's
name and after a good rest and working on
the land to restore your strength, we can begin
to look about us and find a post or something.
146
FATHER ALEXEY'S STORY
Marfa Savvishna will be sure to help us in
that."
"No," said Yakov, "why should we trouble
her ? I will take her a ring from St. Mitrof any's
shrine."
I was quite carried away.
"Mind you take a silver and not a gold one,
not a betrothal ring," I said.
My Yakov flushed and only repeated we must
not trouble her, but he agreed to everything
at once.
We went next day to the Cathedral; my
Yakov went to confession — and how earnestly
he prayed before that! — and then he went to
the sacrament. I stood a little apart and could
hardly feel the earth under my feet. The
angels in heaven are not happier than I was!
Only I looked and wondered what it meant:
my Yakov had taken the sacrament but he did
not go to drink the wine afterwards ! He stood
with his back to me.
"Yakov," I said to him, "why are you stand-
ing still?"
He turned round sharply ; and would you be-
lieve it, I stepped back, I was so frightened;
147
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
his face sometimes looked dreadful but now
it had become savage and terrible. He was
pale as death, his hair was standing on end, his
eyes were squinting . . . my voice failed me
from terror, I tried to speak but could not —
I almost swooned. And he simply dashed out
of the church. I followed him ... he went
straight to the inn where we had slept the night,
put his wallet on his back and set off. "Where
are you going?" I shouted. "Yakov, what is
the matter with you? Stop, wait!" But not
a word did Yakov say in answer, he ran like
a hare and it was impossible to overtake him.
He vanished. I turned back at once, hired a
cart — I was all of a shake and could say nothing
but Lord, Lord! And I did not understand
what had happened to us. I made my way
home, for I felt sure that he had gone there.
And I did in fact come upon him striding along
the high-road, four miles from the town. I
overtook him, jumped out of the cart and ran
up to him, "Yasha! Yasha!" He stopped,
turned round facing me, but kept his eyes on
the ground and his mouth tightly shut. And
whatever I said to him he stood like a post and
148
FATHER ALEXEY'S STORY
one could only see he was breathing. And at
last he set off along the road again. What
could I do? I trudged after him.
Oh, what a journey that was, sir! Our re-
turn was as awful as our journey to Voronezh
had been joyful. If I began talking to him
he would turn round and snap with his teeth
like a tiger or hyaena. I do not know how it
was I did not go out of my mind then ! At last
one night, in a peasant's smoky hut he sat on
the sleeping shelf, dangling his legs and look-
ing about him; I fell on my knees before him
and wept and bitterly prayed to him: "Don't
kill your old father outright, don't drive him
to despair — tell me what has happened to you !"
He fixed his eyes on me — though till then he
had looked as though he had not seen who was
before him — and all at once he began to speak,
and in such a voice that it is ringing in my ears
till now.
"Listen, father," he said, "do you want to
know the whole truth? Here it is for you.
When I took the sacrament, as you remember,
and while the consecrated element was still in
my mouth, he suddenly stood before me as
149
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
though he had sprung out of the ground (in
the church, in full daylight!) and whispered in
my ear (and he has never spoken to me before)
'Spit it out and stamp on it!' I did so — I spat
it out and trod on it. And so now I am lost
forever, for every crime is forgiven but not
the sin against the Holy Ghost."
And uttering these awful words, my son fell
on the shelf while I sank down on the floor of
the hut. My legs gave way under me.
Father Alexey was silent for an instant and
put his hand over his eyes.
But why should I worry you and myself any
longer (he went on). My son and I dragged
ourselves home, and soon after that his end
came and I lost my Yakov. For some days
before his death he neither ate nor drank — he
kept walking up and down the room repeating
that his sin could not be forgiven . . . but
he did not see him any more. "He has ruined
my soul," he said, "why should he come any
more?" And as soon as Yakov took to his bed
he sank into unconsciousness, and so, without
penitence, like a senseless worm, he passed from
this life into eternity.
150
FATHER ALEXEY'S STORY
But I don't want to believe that the Lord
will pass stern judgment on him . . .
And one reason why I cannot believe it is
that he looked very beautiful lying in the coffin;
he seemed to have grown quite young again
and looked like my Yakov of old days. His
face was so pure and gentle, his hair curled in
ringlets and there was a smile on his lips.
Marfa Savvishna came to look at him — she
said the same. She put flower<? all round him
and she put flowers on his heart, and she put
a stone on his grave at her own expense.
And I was left alone. And that is why, sir,
you have detected great sorrow in my face.
It will never pass away — it never can.
I wanted to say some word of comfort to
Father Alexey . . . but I could not find any-
thing to say.
We parted soon afterwards.
Paris, 1877.
I5i
THREE MEETINGS
"^hrj
Ci^
J9
THREE MEETINGS
Passa que' colli e vieni allegramente,
Non ti curar di tanta compania —
Vieni, pensando a me segretamente —
Ch'io t'accompagna per tutta la via.
There was nowhere I used to go so often to
shoot in the summer as to the village of Glin-
noye, which was fifteen miles from my own
estate. Perhaps the best place for game in our
whole district was near that village. After
going through all the surrounding thickets and
fields, towards the end of the day I invariably
turned into a marsh close by, the only one in
the neighbourhood, and from there went back
to my hospitable host, the elder of the village,
with whom I always used to put up for the
night.
From the marsh to Glinnoye it is not more
than a mile and a half. The road runs by the
^
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
valley, except that halfway one has to climb
a small hill. On the top of that hill lies a
homestead consisting of a small, uninhabited
manor-house and garden. It almost always
happened to me to pass by it in the full glow
of the sunset and I remember that this house
with its nailed-up windows reminded me of a
blind old man who has come out to warm him-
self in the sun. He sits, poor dear, close to
the road. The light of the sun has long ago
passed into unchanging darkness for him but
he feels it on his raised and outstretched face
and on his warmed cheeks. It seemed as though
no one had lived in the house itself for years ;
but in the tiny lodge in the garden there was
a decrepit house-serf who had received his
freedom, a tall, stooping, grey-headed old man
with an expressive and immobile face. He was
always sitting on a little bench in front of the
one little window in the lodge, looking with
mournful dreaminess into the distance, and on
seeing me he would rise a little from his seat
and bow with the deliberate dignity that dis-
tinguishes old house-serfs belonging to the gen-
156
THREE MEETINGS
eration not of our fathers, but of our grand-
fathers.
I used to speak to him but he was not
fond of talking: all I learned from him was
that the place on which he was living belonged
to the granddaughter of his old master, a widow
who had a younger sister; that they both lived
in towns beyond the sea and that they never
showed themselves at home; that he himself
would like to end his days as soon as might be
because "one goes on munching bread till one
is weary ; one has been doing it so long." The
old man's name was Lukyanitch.
One day I somehow lingered late in the
fields; I had come upon a good deal of game,
and it was a good day for shooting — from early
morning still and grey as though full of the
feeling of evening. I wandered far, and it was
not merely getting dusk but the moon had risen,
and night, as the saying is, had long hung over
the sky, when I reached the familiar house.
I had to walk along beside the fence of the
garden. . . .
There was perfect stillness all around. . . .
I crossed the high-road, cautiously made my
157
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
way through the dusty nettles and leaned
against the low hurdle. The little garden all
fragrant and dewy lay perfectly still before me,
all lighted up, and, as it were, soothed to rest by
the silver rays of the moon; laid out in the
old-fashioned style, it consisted of one oblong
plot. Little straight paths met at a round
flower-bed in the very centre, thickly over-
grown with asters. It was surrounded by an
even border of tall lime-trees except at one
part where through an opening about fourteen
feet wide between the trees I saw the low-
pitched house with, to my surprise, two win-
dows lighted up. Young apple-trees rose here
and there above the lawn; the soft blue of the
night sky showed through their slender branches
bathed in the slumbering moonlight; before
each apple-tree its faint chequered shadow
lay on the silvery grass. On one side of the
garden the lime-trees, flooded with pale, vivid,
motionless light, were a blur of dull green; on
the other side they stood all black and opaque ;
a strange, suppressed rustle arose from time to
time in their thick foliage; they seemed to be
158
THREE MEETINGS
calling one to the paths beneath them, to be
beckoning one to their dark canopy.
The whole sky was spangled with stars ; their
soft blue radiance flowed mysteriously from on
high; they seemed gazing with gentle attention
at the far-away earth. Little, delicate clouds
floated now and again across the moon and for
an instant changed its peaceful light to a vague
but luminous mist. . . . Everything was
slumbering. The air, warm and fragrant, did
not stir; only from time to time it quivered as
water quivers at the fall of a twig. There was
a feeling of languor, of yearning in it. . . .
I bent over the fence; a red field poppy lifted
its straight stalk above the rank grass before
me, and a great round drop of night dew glit-
tered with a dark light in its open cup. Every-
thing was slumbering, everything lay luxuri-
ously and seemed to be gazing upwards, waiting
without stirring. . . . What was this warm,
not yet sleeping night awaiting?
It was waiting for a sound; a living voice
was what that listening silence awaited — but all
was still. The nightingales had long ceased
singing, and the sudden hum of a beetle flying
159
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
by, the faint splash of a tiny fish in the pool
at the end of the garden beyond the lime-trees,
the drowsy note of a startled bird, the far-away
cry in the fields, — so far away that the ear
could not distinguish whether it was the cry of
a man, a beast or a bird, — the short, quick thud
of hoofs upon the road — all these faint sounds,
these rustles, only deepened the stillness. . . .
My heart yearned with an indescribable feel-
ing that was akin to the expectation or memory
of happiness; I dared not stir, I stood motion-
less before the motionless garden, bathed in
moonlight and dew, and, I do not know why,
gazed fixedly at those two windows dimly red
in the soft half shadow, when suddenly a chord
rang out in the house, — it rang out and rolled
away like a wave. . . . The sensitively reso-
nant air responded with an echo ... I could
not help starting.
A woman's voice rang out after the chord.
... I began listening greedily — and . . . can
I express my amazement? . . . two years be-
fore in Italy at Sorrento I had heard the same
song, the same voice . . . yes, yes. . . .
"Vieni, pensando a me segretamente. . . ."
i6o
THREE MEETINGS
It was the same, I knew those strains. . . .
It had happened hke this: I was returning
home after a long walk on the sea-shore.
I was walking rapidly along the street; night
had fallen — the magnificent night of the South,
not still and mournfully pensive like ours, no!
all bright, luxurious and lovely as a happy
woman in the flower of her youth; the moon
shone with incredible brilliance, the glittering
stars seemed quivering in the dark-blue sky,
the black shadows stood out sharply against the
earth that looked almost yellow in the bright
light. On both sides of the street stretched
the stone walls of the gardens, orange-trees
lifted their crooked branches above them, the
golden globes of the heavy fruit could just be
seen hidden among the tangled leaves, or stood
out vividly, displayed in all their richness by
the moon. On many of the trees there was
still the tender whiteness of the flowers; the
air was saturated with languorous fragrance,
powerful, poignant and almost oppressive, yet
indescribably sweet.
I walked along and I must confess I had
grown so used to all these marvels that I thought
i6i
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
of nothing but getting quickly home to my
hotel, when all at once from a little pavilion
built right upon the wall beside which I was
hurrying there came the sound of a woman's
voice. It was singing a song I did not know,
and in its sound there was a note of such eager
summons, it seemed so full of the passionate
and joyful expectation expressed in the words
of the song that I could not help stopping short
at once and raising my head. There were two
windows in the pavilion but the blinds were
down in both and only a pale light jEiltered
through their narrow chinks. After repeating
twice "zneni, vieni" the voice died away. I
heard tlie faint twang of strings, as though of
a guitar falling on the carpet, there was a light
rustle of skirts, a faint creak of the floor.
The streaks of light vanished from one win-
dow. . . . Someone from within came up to
it and leaned over it. I stepped back two paces.
All at once the blinds rattled and were thrust
back; a graceful woman dressed all in white
rapidly thrust her charming head out of the
window and, stretching out her arms to me, said :
"Sei tuf* I was taken aback, I did not know
162
THREE MEETINGS
what to say, but at the same instant the un-
known lady darted back with a faint cry, the
blind was dropped and the light in the pavilion
grew even dimmer, as though it had been car-
ried off into another room. I stood motion-
less and it was a long time before I came to
myself. The face of the woman who had so
suddenly appeared before me was strikingly
beautiful. I had caught too hurried a glimpse
of it to be able to recall at once each separate
feature, but the general impression was un-
utterably vivid and deep. ... I felt at that
time that I should not forget that face all my
life.
The moonlight fell straight upon the wall
of the pavilion, on the window at which she had
shown herself and, my God ! how magnificently
her great dark eyes had shone in its radiance,
what a heavy wave of half loose, black hair
fell on the curve of her lifted, shapely shoulder !
What wealth of shy, luxurious softness in the
soft bending of her waist, what a caress in her
voice when she called me — in that hurried but
resonant whisper ! After standing for some
time on the same spot I walked a little aside
163
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
in the shadow of the opposite wall and fell to
gazing at the paviHon with a sort of stupid
bewilderment and expectation. I listened . . .
listened with strained attention ... I fan-
cied now someone softly breathing at the dark-
ened window, now a rustle and a soft laugh.
At last there came the sound of far-away foot-
steps . . . they came closer; a man of about
the same height as myself appeared at the end
of the street and went hurriedly up to a little
gate, which I had not noticed before, close to
the pavilion, without looking round, knocked
twice with the iron ring, waited a little, knocked
again, and sang in an undertone, "Ecco ri-
dente. . . ." The gate was opened ... he
noiselessly glided in. I started, shook my
head, and with a gesture of perplexity morosely
pulled my hat over my eyes and discontentedly
set off home. Next day quite fruitlessly and
in the very heat of the day I walked for two
hours up and down the street by the pavilion
and that evening I left Sorrento without hav-
ing visited Tasso's house.
The reader may well imagine the amazement
with which I was instantly overcome when I
164
THREE MEETINGS
heard the same voice, the same song in the
steppe, in one of the remotest parts of Rus-
sia. ... As then it was night; as then the
voice rang out from a Hghted, unknown room ;
as then I was alone. My heart beat violently.
"Isn't it a dream?" I thought. And then I
heard again the last "Vicni. . . ." Would the
window open? Would the woman show her-
self? The window was opened. At the win-
dow a woman appeared. I recognised her at
once though there was the dibtance of fifty
paces between us, though a light cloud veiled
the moon. It was she, my unknown lady of
Sorrento. But she did not as before stretch her
bare arms out of the window ; she softly folded
them and, leaning them on the window-sill, fell
to gazing into the garden silently, without mov-
ing. Yes, it was she; those were her features
which I could never forget, those were the eyes
of which I had never seen the like. As before,
a full white dress enfolded her limbs. She
looked a little plumper than at Sorrento. Every-
thing about her was fragrant of the confidence
and repose of love, of the triumph of beauty,
soothed by happiness. For a long while she did
165
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
not stir, then looked back into the room and sud-
denly drawing herself up exclaimed three times
in a loud and ringing voice: "Addio!" The
lovely sounds floated far, far away, and for a
long time their vibrations lingered, growing
fainter and dying away above the lime-trees in
the garden and in the fields behind me and in
all directions. For some moments all the coun-
try round me was full of that woman's voice,
everything was ringing in response to it — was
ringing with it. She closed the window and a
few minutes later the light in the house was
put out.
As soon as I recovered myself — which I con-
fess was not very quickly — I walked at once
beside the garden towards the lodge, went up
to the closed gates and looked over the fence.
Nothing exceptional could be seen in the yard;
a carriage was standing in the corner under a
shed. The fore part of it, bespattered with dry
mud, looked white in the moonlight. The shut-
ters in the house were closed as before. I for-
got to say I had not visited Glinnoye for about
a week. For over half an hour I walked up
and down before the fence in perplexity, so
i66
THREE MEETINGS
that at last I attracted the attention of the old
house-dog; he did not bark, however, but only
looked at me from his seat under the gate with
extraordinary irony in his screwed-up, purblind
eyes. I understood his hint and made off.
But I had not gone half a mile before I heard
the clatter of horses' hoofs behind me . . .
a few moments later a man on a black horse
dashed by me at a quick trot. Rapidly turn-
ing his face towards me, so that I caught a
glimpse of an eagle nose and handsome mous-
tache under a cap pulled forward on his fore-
head, he took the road to the right and imme-
diately vanished behind the copse.
"So that is he," I thought and my heart was
strangely stirred. It seemed to me that I recog-
nised him; his figure certainly reminded me of
the man whom I had seen go in at the gate of
the garden in Sorrento. Half an hour later I
was at Glinnoye, at the elder's. I woke him
up and at once began asking him who had come
to that house. He answered me with an effort
that the ladies who owned it had arrived.
"What ladies ?" I asked impatiently.
167
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"Why, the ladies, to be sure," he answered
very listlessly.
"But what sort of ladies ?"
"Why, like any ladies, to be sure."
"Russian?"
"Why, what else should they be ? Russian to
be sure."
"Not foreigners?"
"Eh?"
"Is it long since they arrived?"
"That I couldn't say."
"Are they rich?"
"That we can't tell. Maybe they are."
"Did not some gentleman come with them?"
"A gentleman?"
"Yes, a gentleman."
The elder heaved a sigh.
"Oh, Lord!" he brought out, yawning. . . .
"No-oo, no . . . gentleman ... no gentleman,
I think, I can't say," he added suddenly.
"And what sort of neighbours are there liv-
ing here ?"
"What sort of neighbours? Why, all sorts,
to be sure."
"All sorts? — and what's their name?"
168
THREE MEETINGS
"Whose name? The ladies' or the neigh-
bours' ?"
"The ladies'."
The elder heaved a sigh again.
"What's their name?" he muttered. "Good-
ness knows what their name is ! The elder one,
I fancy, is Anna Fyodorovna and the other
. . . No, I don't know what the other's name
is."
"Well, what is their surname, anyway?"
"Surname ?"
"Yes, surname, family name."
"Family name . . . yes . . . But I really
don't know it."
"Are they young?"
"Well, no, not that."
"How so?"
"Why, the younger one will be over forty."'
"That's all fibs."
The elder was silent for a space.
"Well, you know best. We can't say."
"There, you are at it again !" I exclaimed with
vexation. Knowing by experience that when a
Russian takes to answering in that way there
is no possibility of getting anything sensible
169
THE TWO FRIENBS AND OTHER STORIES
out of him (moreover my host had only just
lain down to sleep and at every answer he gave
a faint lurch forward, opening his eyes wide
with babyish wonder, and with difficulty part-
ing his lips smeared with the honey of the first
sweet sleep), I made a gesture of despair and,
refusing supper, went to the barn.
For a long time I could not sleep. "What is
she?" I was continually asking myself. "A
Russian? If she is Russian why does she speak
Italian? . . . The elder makes out that she
is not young. . . . But he is lying, . . . And
who is that happy man? . . . There is no
making it out at all. But what a strange
adventure ! Is it possible it has happened like
this twice? . . . Anyway I will find out who
she is and why she has come here. . . ."
Excited by these confused and disconnected
thoughts, I fell asleep late and had strange
dreams. ... At one moment I fancied I
was wandering somewhere in the wilderness in
the very heat of mid-day — and suddenly I saw
before me, racing over the baked yellow sand,
a great patch of shadow. ... I raised my
head — she, my beautiful lady, was floating
170
THREE MEETINGS
through the air, all white with long white wings
and beckoning me to her. I rushed after her;
but she floated lightly and rapidly and I could
not rise up from the earth and stretched out
eager arms in vain. ^'Addio!" she said to me,
flying away. "Why have you no wings?
AddioJ" and then from all sides I heard
"Addio," every grain of sand was shouting and
shrieking to me "Addio" . . . That i rang
out in an insufferable sharp trill. ... I waved
it away like a gnat. I looked for her . . . but
she had already become a little cloud and was
softly mounting to the sun; the sun quivered,
trembled, laughed, stretched out long golden
threads to meet her, and now she was tangled
in those threads and melting into them, while
I shouted at the top of my voice like one pos-
sessed : "It's not the sun, it's not the sun, it's
that Italian spider; who gave him a passport
to Russia ? I will expose him : I saw him steal-
ing oranges in other people's gardens. . . ."
Then I dreamed I was walking along a nar-
row mountain path ... I was hurrying; I
had to get somewhere in haste, some unheard-
of happiness was awaiting me; all at once a
171
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
huge cliff rose up before me; I looked for a
path; I went to the right, I went to the left —
there was no way to pass ! And suddenly be-
yond the rock a voice rang out: "Passa, passa
que' colli. . . ." It was calling me, that voice ;
it repeated its mournful summons. I rushed
about in my misery seeking for the smallest
crevice. . . . Alas! It was an overhanging
wall, granite on all sides. . . . "Passa que'
colli " the voice repeated plaintively. My heart
ached, I flung myself against the smooth stone,
in my frenzy I tore it with my nails. A dark
passage suddenly opened before me. . . .
Faint with joy I struggled forward. . . .
"Nonsense," someone shouted to me: "You
shall not pass. ..." I looked up: Lukyanitch
was standing before me, waving his arms and
threatening me. I hurriedly fumbled in my
pockets : I meant to bribe him ; but I could find
nothing in my pockets. . . . "Lukyanitch," I
said to him, "Lukyanitch, let me pass; I will
reward you afterwards."
"You are mistaken, Signor," Lukyanitch an-
swered, and his face assumed a strange expres-
sion. "I am not a servant; recognise in me
172
THREE MEETINGS
Don Quixote De La Mancha, the famous
knight-errant; I have been all my life seeking
my Dulcinea and could not find her, and I can-
not endure that you should find yours. . . ."
"Passa que' colli . . ." the voice, almost sob-
bing, rings out again. "Stand aside, Signor!"
I cried with fury, and was on the point of
dashing forward, but the knight's long lance
struck me to the heart ... I fell like one
dead ... I lay on my back. ... I could
not stir . . . and behold, I saw her coming
with a lamp in her hand gracefully holding it
above her head. Looking about her in the dark-
ness and cautiously stealing up, she bent down
over me. . . . "So this is he, that fool. He
tried to find out who I am," she said with a
contemptuous laugh, and the burning oil of her
lamp dropped straight on my wounded heart.
. . . "Psyche !" I cried with an effort, and woke
up. . . .
I slept badly all night and was on my feet
before it was light. Hurriedly dressing and
taking my gun, I set off at once for the house.
My impatience was so great that the sunrise
was only beginning by the time I reached the
173
THE TWO FRIENBS AND OTHER STORIES
familiar gates. The larks were singing all
around, jackdaws were cawing on the birch-
trees ; but in the house everything was sleeping
the deep sleep of morning. Even the dog was
snoring behind the fence. In an agony of ex-
pectation, strained almost to anger, I walked up
and down the dewy grass, looking incessantly
at the low-pitched and ugly little house which
sheltered this enigmatic creature within its
walls. All at once the little gate gave a faint
creak and opened, and Lukyanitch appeared in
the gateway, wearing a kind of striped Cossack
coat. His face with its ruffled hair seemed to
me more morose than ever. Looking at me not
without some amazement, he was about to shut
the gate again.
"My good man, my good man!" I cried out
hurriedly.
"What do you want at such an early hour?"
he replied slowly in a hollow voice.
"Tell me, please, your mistress has come, I
am told?"
Lukyanitch was silent for a moment.
"Yes, she has come. . . ."
"Alone?"
174
THREE MEETINGS
"With her sister."
"Hadn't they visitors yesterday?"
"No."
And he pulled the gate towards him.
"Stay, stay, my good man ... do me the
favour . . ."
Lukyanitch coughed and shrank together
from the cold.
"Why, what is it you want ?"
"Tell me, please, how old is your mistress?"
Lukyanitch glanced at me suspiciously.
"How old is my mistress? I don't know.
Over forty she must be."
"Over forty! And how old is her sister?"
"Why, she's about forty."
"Impossible! And is she good-looking?"
"Who?— the sister?"
"Yes, the sister."
Lukyanitch gave a laugh.
"I don't know ; that is as one fancies ; to my
thinking, she is not."
"How so?"
'Oh, she's not much to boast of. Rather
weakly looking."
"Oh, indeed ! And has no one else come ?"
175
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"No one. Who should come?"
"But that cannot be. I . . ."
"Eh, sir, we shall never have done talking,"
the old man answered with vexation. "It's so
cold ! Pray excuse me."
"Stay, stay . . . here's . . ." and I held out
a quarter rouble I had got ready beforehand
but my hand knocked against the rapidly
slammed gate. The silver coin fell on the earth,
rolled away and lay at my feet.
"Ah, the old rogue," I thought ; "Don Quixote
De La Mancha, you have been told to hold your
tongue, it seems . . . but wait a bit, you won't
get rid of me so easily. . . ."
I vowed to myself that come what may I
would get to the bottom of it. For about half
an hour I walked up and down, not knowing
what course to decide upon. At last I made
up my mind first to find out in the village who
had arrived at the place and whose it was, then
to come back again and, as the saying is, not
to give it up till the mystery was explained.
My unknown lady would come out into the
garden, I should see her at last by daylight,
from close by, as a living woman, not as an
176
THREE MEETINGS
apparition. The village was less than a mile
away and I set off at once in that direction,
stepping out lightly and confidently. A strange
defiance was rising and working in my blood;
the invigorating freshness of morning strung
me up after my restless night.
In the village I learned all that was to be
learned from two peasants on their way to
work; that is, that the place together with the
village I had reached was called Mihailovskoye,
that it belonged to the widow of a major, a
lady called Anna Fyodorovna Shlykov, that she
had an unmarried sister called Pelageya Fyo-
dorovna Badayev, that they were both getting
on in years and were wealthy, that they scarcely
ever stayed at home but were always travelling
about, that they kept no servants but two maids
and a man cook, that Anna Fyodorovna had
arrived a few days before from Moscow ac-
companied by no one but her sister. This last
circumstance disconcerted me greatly; I could
not suppose that the peasants, too, had orders
to say nothing about my unknown lady. But
to admit that Anna Fyodorovna Shlykov, a
widow of five and forty, and the charming
177
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
young woman I had seen the night before were
the same person was impossible. Pelageya
Fyodorovna was, according to the description
of her, not distinguished by beauty either, and,
besides, at the very thought that the woman I
had seen in Sorrento could be called Pelageya
and, worse still, Badayev, I shrugged my shoul-
ders and laughed angrily. And yet I had seen
her yesterday in that house . . . seen her,
seen her with my own eyes, I thought. Thor-
oughly vexed, roused to fury, but still more
persistent in my intention, I was on the point
of going back to the garden . . . but I
glanced at my watch : it was not yet six o'clock.
I made up my mind to wait a little. At the
house everyone was most likely still asleep. . . .
And to hang about it at such an hour would
only have been exciting suspicion for nothing;
moreover, there was a stretch of bushes before
me and beyond them I could see a copse of
aspen-trees. ... I must do myself the jus-
tice to say that in spite of the thoughts that
were exciting me the noble passion for the
chase was not utterly eclipsed, "Maybe," I
thought, "I shall come upon a covey, — and the
178
THREE MEETINGS
time will pass." I went into the thicket. But
to tell the truth, I walked very carelessly and
paid little attention to the rules of the art: I
did not keep a constant watch on my dog, I
did not "snort" over a thick bush in the hope
that a red-crested blackcock would fly up from
it with a clatter and outcry, and I kept looking
at my watch, which was utterly out of place.
At last it was getting on for nine. "It's time,"
I cried aloud, and was just turning back to-
wards the house when a huge blackcock really
was startled out of the thick grass two paces
from me; I fired at the magnificent bird and
wounded it under the wing. It almost rolled
over but righted itself, made for the copse,
quivering its wings and diving, tried to rise
above the first aspen-trees but, growing weak,
fell all of a heap into a thicket. To abandon
such game would have been utterly unpardon-
able; I promptly went after it, entered the
copse, made a signal to Dianka, and a few mo-
ments later heard a feeble rustling and clat-
tering ; it was the unhappy blackcock struggling
under the paws of my quick-scented dog. I
picked it up, put it in my gamebag, looked
179
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
round — and stood still as though rivetted to
the spot. . . .
The copse into which I had gone was very
thick and overgrown so that I had difficulty
in getting to the spot where the bird had
fallen; but at a short distance from me there
was a winding cart-road and along that road
my beautiful lady was riding on horseback at
a walking pace and beside her the man who
had overtaken me the evening before; I recog-
nised him by his moustaches. They were rid-
ing slowly in silence, holding each other's
hands; their horses seemed scarcely moving,
languidly swaying from side to side and grace-
fully craning their long necks. Recovering
from my first terror . . . yes, terror — I can
give no other name to the feeling which sud-
denly overwhelmed me — I simply fastened my
eyes on her. How lovely she was ! How en-
chantingly her graceful form moved to meet
me in the midst of the emerald greenery ! Soft
shadows, delicate reflections slowly glided over
her — over her long grey dress, over her slen-
der, slightly bowed neck, over her pale rosy
face, over her glossy black hair which sprang
i8o
THREE MEETINGS
out in luxuriant abundance from under her low
hat. But how can I describe the expression of
the perfect, passionate — mutely passionate bliss
with which her features were breathing! Her
head seemed as though bent under the weight
of it; moist gleams of gold shone out of her
dark eyes, half hidden by their lashes; they
looked nowhere, those happy eyes, and the deli-
cate brows were lowered over them. A vague,
childlike smile — the smile of deep joy — was
straying on her lips; it seemed as though ex-
cess of happiness was exhausting and as it were
breaking her down a little, just as the fully
opened flower sometimes breaks down its stalk ;
both her hands lay limp: one in the hand of
the man riding beside her, the other on the
horse's forelock. I had time to look at her
thoroughly — and at him also. ... He was a
handsome, imposing-looking man with a for-
eign face. He was looking at her boldly and
gaily and, as far as I could judge, admiring
her with secret pride. He was admiring her,
the villain, and was very well pleased with him-
self and not sufficiently moved, not melted with
gratitude — yes, that was what was lacking.
i8i
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
. . . And, indeed, no man deserves such devo-
tion. What soul, even the noblest, is worthy
^ of inspiring such happiness in another soul?
... I must confess I envied him. . . . Mean-
while they both were on a level with me. . . .
My dog suddenly jumped out on the road and
barked. My unknown lady started, looked hur-
riedly round, and, seeing me, switched her horse
on the neck with the riding whip. The horse
gave a snort, reared and set off at a gallop.
. . . The man at once spurred his raven horse
and when a few minutes later I came out of
the copse along the road they were both gal-
loping in the golden distance across the open
country, swaying gracefully and rhythmically
in their saddles and were galloping not in the
direction of the house. . . .
I watched them. . . . They soon vanished
over a hill, brightly lighted by the sun on the
dark line of the horizon. I stood and waited,
with slow footsteps went back into the wood
and sat down on a little path, covering my eyes
with my hands.
I have noticed when one meets strangers one
need only close one's eyes and their features
182
THREE MEETINGS
at once rise up before one; anyone can verify
the truth of my observations in the street. The
more famiHar the face the more difficult it
is to see it and the less clear is its expression;
one remembers it but cannot see it . . . and
one's own face one can never picture . . . each
separate trait, however slight, is familiar, but
you cannot put the whole image together. And
so I sat with closed eyes — and at once saw
my unknown lady and her companion and their
horses and everything. . . . The smiling face
of the man stood out before me with peculiar
sharpness and distinctness, I fell to looking
intently at it ... it grew blurred and melted
away into a crimson mist and her image, too,
floated away after it and sank and would not
come back again.
I got up. "Well," I thought, "I have seen
them, anyway, have seen them both clearly.
... I have only to find out their names." To
try and find out their names ! What petty, in-
appropriate curiosity, but, I swear, it was not
curiosity that was roused in me: it really
seemed to me impossible not to find out at least
who they were after chance had so strangely
183
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
and so persistently thrown me in their way.
I had, however, no longer the same impatient
perplexity as before; it was replaced by a con-
fused melancholy feeling of which I was a lit-
tle ashamed. ... I was filled with envy. . . .
I did not hurry back to the house. I must
own I began to be ashamed of probing another
person's secret. Moreover the appearance of
the loving couple by day in the sunlight, though
unexpected and, I repeat, strange, had not ex-
actly calmed, buf, as it were, cooled me off.
I saw in all this adventure now nothing super-
natural, marvellous . . . nothing like an incred-
ible dream. . . .
I began shooting again with more attention
than before; but yet I had no real enthusiasm
for it. I came across a covey and it kept me
for an hour and a half. . . . The young snipe
for a long time did not call in response to my
whistle — probably because I did not whistle
sufficiently "objectively."
The sun had risen very high (my watch said
twelve o'clock) as I turned my steps to the gar-
den of the old house. I walked without haste.
When at last I caught a glimpse from the hill
184
THREE MEETINGS
of the little low house . . . my heart began
quivering again. I drew near . . . and not
without secret satisfaction caught sight of
Lukyanitch. He was sitting as before motion-
less on the bench before the lodge. The gates
were shut and the shutters also.
"Good-day, old man," I shouted from some
distance; "have you come out to warm your-
self?"
Lukyanitch turned his face towards me and
lifted his cap without speaking. I went up to
him.
"Good-day, old man, good-day," I repeated,
wanting to soften him. "How's this," I added,
chancing to see my new quarter rouble on the
ground, "didn't you see it?"
And I pointed to the little silver disc half
sticking out in the short grass.
"Yes, I saw it."
"Then how is it you didn't pick it up ?"
"Oh, it's not my money, so I didn't pick it
up."
"What a man you are !" I protested not with-
out embarrassment, and picking up the quarter
185
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
rouble I held it out to him again. "Take it,
take it for tea."
"Much obliged," Lukyanitch answered me
with a calm smile. "There's no need; we do
well as it is; much obliged."
"But I am ready to give you more with pleas-
ure," I replied in confusion.
"What for? Don't trouble yourself, your
honour — much obliged for your kindness, but
we shall have bread and the best of it. Maybe
more than we can eat at this time of day."
And he got up and held out his hand towards
the little gate.
"Stay, stay, old man," I said, almost in de-
spair. "How unwilling you are to talk to-day,
really. . . . Tell me, at any rate, your mistress
— has she got up yet?"
"Yes."
"And ... is she at home?"
"No, her honour is not at home."
"Has she driven out to pay visits or what?"
"No, sir, she has gone away to Moscow."
"To Moscow! but she was here this morn-
ing?"
"Yes."
i86
THREE MEETINGS
"And she slept the night here?"
"Yes."
"And she had only come a little while ago ?"
"Yes."
"Then how is it, my man?"
"Why, it will be an hour ago her honour was
pleased to set ofif for Moscow again."
"To Moscow!"
I stared at Lukyanitch in stupefaction; this,
I own, I had not expected. . . .
And Lukyanitch looked at me. The cunning
smile of old age twisted his dry lips and faintly
gleamed in his mournful eyes.
"And she has gone with her sister?" I
brought out at last.
"Yes."
"So that there is no one in the house now?"
"No. . . ."
"The old man is deceiving me," flashed
through my mind; "that cunning smile is not
for nothing."
"Listen, Lukyanitch," I said aloud, "will you
do me a favour ?"
"What is your pleasure?" he brought out
187
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
slowly, evidently beginning to be worried by
my questions.
"You say there is no one in the house; can
you show it to me?"
"That is, you want to look at the rooms ?"
"Yes, at the rooms."
Lukyanitch was silent for a space.
"Certainly," he brought out at last. "Please
come. . . ."
And bending down, he stepped over the
threshold of the little gate. I followed him.
Crossing the little yard, we mounted the shaky
steps. The old man pushed open the door;
there was no lock on it. A cord with a loop
hung through the key-hole. . . . We went into
the house. It consisted of five or six low-
pitched rooms and, as far as I could distinguish
in the faint light which percolated scantily
through the chinks of the shutters, the furni-
ture in the rooms was very plain and decrepit.
In one of them (the one which looked out into
the garden) there stood a little old piano. . . .
I raised the bent cover and struck the keys: a
sour hissing note rang out and peevishly died
away as through complaining of my impudence ;
i88
THREE MEETINGS
there was no sign from which one could have
guessed that people had just lately left the
house; there was a smell in it of something
deathly and stifling — not as though it were lived
in ; only a scrap of paper lying about here and
there showed by its whiteness that it had not
been here long. I picked up one such scrap of
paper; it turned out to be a bit of a letter; on
one side in a bold feminine hand were traced
the words "se taire?" ; on the other side I made
out the word "honhcur." . . . On a little round
table by the window there stood a nosegay of
half-withered flowers and a crumpled green
ribbon lay beside it. ... I took that little rib-
bon for a souvenir. Lukyanitch opened a nar-
row door which was papered like the wall,
"Here," he said, stretching out his hand,
"this is a bedroom and there beyond it is the
maid's room, and there are no other apart-
ments."
We walked back along the passage. "And
what room is that?" I asked, pointing to a
broad white door with a lock.
"That," Lukyanitch answered in a hollow
voice, "that's nothing."
189
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"How do you mean?"
"Why, nothing ... a storeroom . . ." and
he was going on towards the hall.
"A storeroom? Can't I look at it?"
"What can you want to see that for, really?"
Lukyanitch protested with displeasure. "What's
there for you to see? Boxes, old crockery.
It's a storeroom and nothing else. . . ."
"All the same, do show it me, old man,
please," I said, though inwardly ashamed of
my unseemly pertinacity. "You see ... I
should like ... I want just such a house for
myself in the country. . . ."
I felt ashamed; I could not finish the little
speech I had begun.
Lukyanitch stood with his grey head droop-
ing on his breast, and kept looking at me some-
what strangely from under his brows.
"Show it me," I said.
"Oh, very well," he answered at last, took
out the key and reluctantly unlocked the door.
I glanced into the storeroom. There cer-
tainly was nothing remarkable in it. On the
walls there were old portraits with gloomy, al-
190
THREE MEETINGS
most black faces and angry eyes. The floor
was littered with all sorts of rubbish.
"Well, have you looked at it?" Lukyanitch
asked me grimly.
"Yes, thank you," I answered hurriedly.
He slammed the door. I went into the hall
and from the hall into the courtyard.
Lukyanitch saw me out, muttered: "I wish
you good-day," and was going off to his lodge.
"And what lady was it staying here, yester-
day ?" I called after him. "I met her to-day in
the copse."
I hoped to take him unawares by my sudden
question and to evoke an unconsidered answer.
But the old man only gave a toneless laugh and,
going into his lodge, slammed the door.
I went back to Glinnoye. I felt uncomfort-
able, like a boy who has been put to shame.
"No," I said to myself. "It seems I am not
to get to the bottom of this mystery. Bother
it, I won't think any more about it."
An hour later I was driving home, thor-
oughly irritated and out of humour.
A week passed. In spite of my efforts to
drive away the thought of my unknown lady,
191
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
of her companion, of my meeting with them,
it was continually returning and haunting me
with the tiresome persistence of an after-dinner
fly. . . . Lukyanitch with his mysterious
glances and reserved speeches, with his cold,
melancholy smile was incessantly recurring to
my mind also. The house itself, when I re-
called it, the very house itself, seemed looking
slyly and stupidly at me through its half-closed
shutters and, as it were, taunted me and seemed
to be saying to me: "And after all you know
nothing!" At last I could not restrain my-
self and one fine day drove over to Glin-
noye and from Glinnoye set off on foot. . . .
Whither? The reader can easily guess.
I must confess that as I approached the mys-
terious garden I was aware of rather strong
excitement. There was no change in the outer
appearance of the house; the same closed win-
dows, the same forlorn and dejected air; only
instead of Lukyanitch a young servant-lad of
twenty in a full, long nankeen coat and a red
shirt was sitting on the bench before the lodge.
"Good-day, my lad," I said in a loud voice.
192
THREE MEETINGS
He jumped up at once and opened wide his
startled eyes.
"Good-day, my lad," I repeated; "where is
the old man?"
"What old man?" the youth brought out
slowly.
"Lukyanitch."
"Ah, Lukyanitch!" He looked away. "Do
you want Lukyanitch ?"
"Yes, Lukyanitch. Is he at home?"
"N-no," the lad pronounced, hesitating, "he
is . . . How shall I tell you? . . ."
"Is he unwell or what?"
"No."
"Then what is it?"
"Why, he isn't here at all."
"Not here?"
"No. Something bad . . . has happened to
him. . . ."
"Is he dead?" I asked with amazement.
"He strangled himself."
"Strangled himself !" I cried with horror and
flung up my hands.
We looked into each other's faces without
speaking.
193
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"Was it long ago?" I asked at last.
"Just five days ago. He was buried yester-
day."
"But why did he strangle himself?"
"The Lord knows. He was a free man, he
had a salary; he wanted for nothing, his mis-
tresses looked after him as though he were
one of their kin. They are good to us, you
know, God bless them. There is simply no
making out what came over him. The Evil
One must have confounded him."
"But how did he do it ?"
"Why, he just took and strangled himself."
"Was there nothing noticed about him be-
fore?"
"What can I say? . . . Nothing so to say
special. ... He was always a dreary, suspi-
cious man ! He would be sighing and groaning.
'I feel dreary,' he would say. And then there
was his age, you see. Of late he certainly had
begun to brood a bit. He would come some-
times to see us in the village; and I am his
nephew, you know. 'Well, my boy,' he would
say, 'come and stay the night with me, will
you?' 'Why, uncle?' 'Oh, I feel a bit fright-
194
THREE MEETINGS
ened somehow and dreary by myself. . . .*
Well, and I would come to him. He would
come out into the yard, and look and look like
this at the house, would shake his head and
heave a sigh. . . . Before the very night in
which he put an end to his life, he came to us
and asked me to go. Well, I came. So when
we reached the lodge, he sat a little on the
bench; then he got up and went out. I went
into the yard and cried, 'Uncle, hey, uncle!'
Uncle did not call back. I thought, 'Where
can he have gone, not into the house surely?'
And I went into the house. It was beginning
to get dark. Well, as I passed by the store-
room I heard something scraping behind the
door; I took and opened the door, and there
he was sitting squatting under the window.
'What are you doing here, uncle?' said I. How
he turned round and shouted at me! and his
eyes looked about so quickly, they were burn-
ing like a cat's. 'What do you want? Don't
you see I am shaving?' And his voice was so
husky. My hair stood on end to hear him and
I felt frightened, I don't know why. . . . The
devils must have been round him by that time.
195
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
'In the dark ?' I said, and my knees were shak-
ing. 'Oh,' said he, "that is all right. Run
along.' I went away and he came out of the
storeroom and locked it up. So we went back
to the lodge and my fright passed off at once.
'What were you doing in the storeroom, un-
cle?' I said. He fairly started. 'Hold your
tongue,' and he got on his bed. 'Well,' thought
I, 'I had better not talk to him: it seems he
is not quite the thing to-day,' so I went and lay
down on the bed, too. And the night lamp
was burning in the corner. So I lay down and
dropped asleep, you know. . . . All at once I
heard the door creak softly and open just a
little. And uncle was lying with his back to
the door, and, as you remember, maybe, he
was always hard of hearing. But he jumped
up at once . . . 'Who is calling me, eh? who?
He has come for me, for me!' And he went
out into the yard without his cap. ... I won-
dered what was the matter with him and then
like a sinner I fell asleep. When I woke up
next morning Lukyanitch was not there. I
went out of the room and began calling him
— he was nowhere. I asked the watchman:
196
THREE MEETINGS
'Didn't you see uncle go out?' *No/ he said,
'I didn't.' 'Well, brother,' said I, 'he's gone
somehow. * . / Oy! we were both scared!
'Let us go, Fedoseyitch/ I said, 'let us go and
see whether he is in the house.' 'Very well,
Vassily Timofeyitch,' he said, and he looked
as white as clay. We went into the house.
. . . When we passed the storeroom I looked
and the padlock was hanging open on the staple.
I pushed at the door and it was bolted in-
side. . . . Fedoseyitch ran round to look in at
the window. . . . 'Vassily Timofeyitch!' he
cried, 'there are legs hanging, legs!' ... I ran
to the window. And the legs were his, Luk-
yanitch's legs. He had hanged himself in thd
middle of the room. . . . Well, we sent for
the police. . . . They took him down; the cord
was tied with twelve knots."
"Well, what did the Court decide?"
"What did they decide? Why, nothing.
They thought and thought what could be the
reason of it. There was no reason for it. So
they concluded that it must be supposed that
he was out of his mind. He had headaches of
197
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
late; often he would keep complaining of his
head."
I talked to the lad for another half-hour and
went away completely bewildered. I must con-
fess that I could not look at that decrepit house
without a secret superstitious terror. ... A
month later I went away from the country and
by degrees all these horrors and mysterious
meetings passed out of my mind.
II
Three years had passed. I spent the greater
part of that time in Petersburg and abroad and
if I went home to the country it was only for
a few days, so that I did not once happen to
be in Glinnoye or Mihailovskoye. Nor did I
see my beautiful lady nor her companion. One
day towards the end of the third year I chanced
to meet, at an evening party given by a lady
of my acquaintance in Moscow, Madame Shly-
kov and her sister Pelageya Badayev, the very
Pelageya whom I had, like a sinner, supposed
till then to be a fictitious person.
The two ladies were no longer young, but
198
THREE MEETINGS
were of rather agreeable appearance. Their
conversation was distinguished by intelligence
and liveliness, they had travelled a great deal
and had profited by their travels; a spontane-
ous gaiety was conspicuous in their behaviour.
But there was absolutely nothing in common
between them and my mysterious lady. I was
introduced to them. I got into conversation
with Madame Shlykov (her sister's attention
was taken up by a distinguished scientific vis-
itor, a geologist). I told her that I had the
pleasure of being her neighbour in the X.
district,
"Yes, I have a little estate there," she said,
"near Glinnoye."
"To be sure, to be sure," I answered. "I
know your Mihailovskoye. Do you stay there ?"
"Rarely."
"You were there three years ago."
"Wait a minute, I believe I was ; yes, I was."
"Alone, or with your sister?"
She glanced at me.
"With my sister. We went down there for
a week, you know, on business. But we saw
no one."
199
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"H'm. You have very few neighbours
there, I beheve?"
"Yes, very few. And I am not very eager
to see them."
"Tell me," I began, "I believe something
dreadful happened that year. Lukyanitch . . ."
Madame Shlykov's eyes filled with tears at
once.
"Did you know him?" she asked eagerly.
"What a dreadful thing. He was such a splen-
did, good old man. . . . And only fancy, for
no sort of reason."
"Yes, yes," I muttered, "a dreadful thing. . . ."
Her sister came up to us. She was prob-
ably bored by the learned disquisitions of the
geologist on the formation of the banks of
the Volga.
"Only fancy, Pauline," Madame Shlykov be-
gan, "Monsieur knew Lukyanitch."
"Really? Poor old man."
"I went shooting near Mihailovskoye more
than once at the time you were there three
years ago," I observed.
"I ?" said Pelageya in some perplexity.
"Why, yes, of course," her sister put in hur-
200
THREE MEETINGS
riedly, "Don't you remember ?'' and she looked
intently intO' her eyes.
"Oh, yes, yes ... to be sure !" Pelageya an-
swered all at once.
"Heigh-ho !" I thought, "I doubt whether you
were there, my dear !"
"Won't you sing us something, Pelageya
Fyodorovna?" a tall young man, with a shock
of flaxen hair and lustreless sugary eyes, said
suddenly.
"I really don't know," said Mademoiselle
Badayev.
"You sing?" I exclaimed eagerly and got up
from my seat. "For Heaven's sake, oh, for
Heaven's sake, sing us something!"
"Why, what shall I sing you?"
"Don't you know," I asked, doing my ut-
most to appear unconcerned and free and easy,
"an Itahan song; it begins . . . Passa que'
coiur
"Yes, I know it," answered Pefegeya quite
innocently. "Why, shall I sing it to you? Cer-
tainly."
And she sat down to the piano. I, like Ham-
let, fastened my eyes on Madame Shlykov. I
201
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
fancied that at the first note she gave a faint
start; she sat through it quietly, however.
Mademoiselle Badayev sang well. The song
ended and the usual applause followed. Peo-
ple began begging her to sing something more,
but the sisters excHanged glances and a few
minutes later they took leave. As they were
going out of the room I overheard the word:
"Importun."
"Well deserved," I thought, and I did not
meet them again.
Another year passed. I went tO' live in
Petersburg. Winter came on and masked balls
began. Coming out from a friend's house at
eleven o'clock one evening, I felt so depressed
that I made up my mind to go to the masked
ball at the Hall of Nobility. For a long while
I wandered beside the columns and by the mir-
rors, with a modestly Byronic expression on
my face, that expression which as far as I can
observe is seen even in the most well-bred peo-
ple on such occasions — why, the Lord only
knows; for a long while I hung about, at rare
intervals shaking off with a jest shrill dominos
with dubious lace and dirty gloves, and at still
202
THREE MEETINGS
rarer intervals entering into conversation with
them myself; for a long time I resigned my
ears to the blare of the trumpets and the screech
of the fiddles. At last after being bored to my
heart's content and having acquired a headache,
I decided to go home . . . and . . . and I
stayed on. ... I saw a woman in a black
domino leaning against a column. I saw her,
stopped, went up to her — and . . . will the
readers believe me ? ... at once recognised her
as my unknown lady. How I recognised her
— whether from the look she cast carelessly
upon me through the long slits in the mask, or
from the divine curve of her arm and shoul-
ders, or from the peculiar feminine grandeur
of her whole figure, or from some mysterious
prompting that suddenly spoke within me, —
I cannot say . . . but I did. With a tremor
at my heart I walked by her two or three times.
She did not stir ; in her attitude there was some-
thing so hopelessly sorrowful that, looking at
her, I involuntarily recalled two lines from a
Spanish ballad:
Soy un cuadro de tristeza,
Arrimado a la pared.
203
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
I walked behind the column against which
she was leaning and bending down close to her
ear, softly pronounced : "Passa que' colli." . . .
She started all over and turned quickly to
me. Our eyes met so close that I was able to
detect how her pupils dilated with fear. She
stared at me in bewilderment, weakly sketch-
ing out one hand.
"May 6th, 184 — , at ten o'clock in the eve-
ning, in Sorrento, in the Via della Croce," I
said in a deliberate voice, not taking my eyes
off her, — "then in Russia in X. province, at
the hamlet of Mihailovskoye on July 12th,
184—."
I said all this in French. She drew a little
back, scanned me from head to foot with as-
tonished eyes, and whispering "Vencs," walked
hurriedly out of the ballroom; I followed her.
We walked in silence. I cannot attempt to
describe my feelings as I walked beside her.
A lovely vision which should suddenly become
a living reality . . . the statue of Galatea step-
ping down from the pedestal, a living woman,
before the eyes of Pygmalion, faint with ex-
pectation. ... I could not believe my senses,
204
THREE MEETINGS
I could hardly breathe. We walked through
several rooms. At last in one of them she
stopped before a small sofa in the window and
sat down. I sat down beside her.
She slowly turned her head towards me and
looked at me intently.
"Do you ... do you come from him?" she
said. Her voice was weak and uncertain.
Her question confused me a little.
"No . . . not from him," I said, faltering.
"Do you know him?"
"Yes," I answered with mysterious impor-
tance. I wanted to keep up my part. "I know
him."
She gazed at me distrustfully, would have
said something and looked down.
"You were expecting him in Sorrento," I
went on. "You saw him at Mihailovskoye, you
went for a ride with him. . . ."
"How could you . . ." she began.
"I know, I know everything!"
"Your face seems somehow familiar to me,"
she went on, "but no. . . ."
"No, I am unknown to you."
"Then what do you want?"
205
THE TWO FRIENIDS AND OTHER STORIES
"Well, I know," I repeated.
I understood very well that I ought to take
advantage of this excellent opening, to go fur-
ther, that my repetitions: "I know everything,
I know,"* were becoming ridiculous, but my
emotion was so great, this unexpected meeting
so troubled me, I was so overwhelmed that I
was absolutely unable to say anything else.
And all the while I really knew nothing. I
felt that I was being stupid, that from a mys-
terious, omniscient being such as I must have
seemed to her at first, I was rapidly turning
into a sort of grinning idiot . . . but there was
no help for it.
"Yes, I know everything," I muttered once
more.
She looked at me, hurriedly got up and was
about to retreat.
But that would have been too much. I
clutched at her hand. "For God's sake," I be-
gan, "sit down, listen to me. . . ."
She thought a moment and sat down.
"I told you just now," I went on with fer-
vour, "that I know everything — that is nonsense
— I know nothing, absolutely nothing; I don't
206
THREE MEETINGS
know who you are or who 'he' is and that I
could astound you by what I said just now by
the column you must put down to chance alone,
a strange, incomprehensible chance which, as
though in mockery of me, threw me beside you
twice and almost in exactly the same way and
made me the involuntary witness of what you
desired perhaps to keep secret. . . ."
And on the spot, without suppressing or al-
tering anything, I told her the whole story : my
meeting with her in Sorrento, in Russia, my
vain enquiries at Mihailovskoye, even my con-
versation in Moscow with Madame Shlykov
and her sister.
"Now you know all about it," I said as I fin-
ished my story. "I am not going to describe
to you what a deep, what a shattering, impres-
sion you made upon me ; to see you and not be
enchanted by you is impossible. On the other
hand there is no object in my telling you what
sort of impression it was either. Think un-
der what circumstances I saw you on both oc-
casions. Believe me, I have no inclination to
abandon myself to mad hopes, but you will un-
derstand also the unutterable emotion which
207
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
overwhelmed me to-day and will pardon me,
will pardon the awkward duplicity to which I
brought myself to resort, to attract your atten-
tion if only for a moment. . . ."
She listened to my confused explanations
without raising her head.
"What do you want from me?" she said at
last.
"Want ? I want nothing ... I am happy as
it is . . , I have too much respect for the se-
crets of others."
"Really? Yet you seem so far. . . . How-
ever," she went on, "I don't want to reproach
you. Anyone would have done the same in
your place. Besides, chance really has so per-
sistently thrown us together. That, as it were,
gives you a certain claim on my candour. Lis-
ten, I am not one of those misunderstood and
unhappy women who go to masked balls to
chatter to the first person they meet of their
sufferings, who want to find hearts filled with
sympathy ... I need no one's sympathy, my
own heart is dead and I have come here sim-
ply to bury it for ever."
She put her handkerchief to her lips.
208
THREE MEETINGS
"I hope," she went on with some effort, "that
you do not take my words for the ordinary
masquerade outpourings. You must under-
stand that I am in no mood for that. . . ."
And certainly there was something terrible in
her voice for all the insinuating softness of its
tone.
"I am Russian," she said in Russian — till
then she had spoken French — "though I have
lived little in Russia. . . . There is no need
for you to know my name. Anna Fyodorovna
is an old friend of mine; I did in fact go down
to Mihailovskoye in her sister's name. At that
time it was impossible for me to see him openly
. . . and people were beginning to talk as it
was. ... At that time there were obstacles,
he was not free. . . . But the man whose name
should have been mine, the man with whom
you saw me, has abandoned me."
She made a movement with her hand and
paused.
"You really do not know him, you have not
met him?"
"Not once."
"He has been almost all this time abroad.
209
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
But he is here now. . . . That is all my story,"
she added; "you see there is nothing mysteri-
ous, nothing special in it."
"And Sorrento?" I broke in timidly.
"I got to know him in Sorrento," she an-
swered slowly, and she sank into musing.
We were both silent. 1 was strangely
troubled. I was sitting beside her, beside the
woman whose image had so often haunted my
dreams and had so poignantly thrilled and dis-
turbed me ; I was sitting beside her and felt a
chill and a weight on my heart. I knew that
nothing would come of this meeting, that be-
tween her and me there was an abyss, that
when we separated we should part for ever.
With her head craned forward and both hands
dropped on her knees she sat carelessly and
apathetically. I know that carelessness of grief
that cannot be healed, I know the apathy of
hopeless misery!
Masked figures walked by us in couples, the
strains of the "mad and monotonous" valse
sounded at one minute dimly in the distance,
at the next floated to us in shrill gusts of sound ;
the gay dance music moved me to dejection
210
THREE MEETINGS
and melancholy. "Can this be the woman," I
thought, "who appeared to me at the window
of that far-away little country house in all the
glory of triumphant beauty?" . . . And yet it
seemed as though time had not touched her.
The lower part of her face not covered by her
lace mask had almost the softness of childhood ;
but there was a chilliness about it as about a
statue. . . . Galatea had stepped back onto her
pedestal and there would be no coming down
from it again.
All at once she drew herself up, looked
towards the other room and rose from her seat.
"Give me your arm," she said, "make haste,
let us go, make haste."
We went back into the ballroom. She
walked so quickly that I could hardly keep up
with her. She stopped at a column.
"Let us wait here," she whispered.
"You are looking for someone," I began.
But she paid no attention to me; her eyes
were fixed intently on the crowd. Her big
black eyes looked yearningly and menacingly
from under the black velvet.
I turned in the direction of her eyes and
211
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
understood. Along the corridor formed by the
rows of columns and the wall he, the man I
had met with her in the copse, was coming. I
knew him at once; he had scarcely changed.
His fair moustache curled as handsomely, his
brown eyes gleamed with the same calm and
self-confident gaiety. He was walking with-
out haste, and, his slender figure slightly bent,
was telling something to a woman in a domino
who was on his arm. As he reached us he
suddenly raised his head, glanced first at me
and then at the woman with whom I was stand-
ing and apparently recognised her, recognised
her eyes, for his eyebrows twitched faintly. He
screwed up his eyes and his lips curved in a
scarcely perceptible but insufferably insolent
sneer. He bent down to his companion, whis-
pered a couple of words in her ear ; she at once
looked round, her little blue eyes hastily scanned
us both and, softly laughing, she shook her lit-
tle hand at him reprovingly. She faintly
shrugged one shoulder and coquettishly nestled
up to him. . . .
I turned round to my unknown lady. She
was looking after the retreating couple and sud-
212
THREE MEETINGS
denly withdrawing her hand from my arm
rushed towards the door. I was hastening
after her, but turning round she glanced at me
in such a way that I made her a deep bow and
stayed where I was. I felt that to pursue her
would be coarse and stupid.
"Please tell me, old man," I said a quarter of
an hour afterwards to an acquaintance of mine,
who was a living directory for Petersburg,
"who is that tall, handsome man with mous-
taches ?"
"That one? . . . He's a foreigner, rather an
enigmatic creature who very rarely appears on
our horizon. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, nothing. . . ."
I went home. Since then I have never met
my unknown lady. Knowing the name of the
man she loved, I could no doubt have found
out who she was, but I did not want to. I
have said already That this woman had appeared
to me like a vision and like a vision she passed
by and vanished for ever.
1851.
2tS
A QUiIET BACKWATER
A QUIET BACKWATER
CHAPTER I
In a rather large, recently whitewashed room
in the manor-lodge of the village of Sasovo
in the district of X., in the province of T., a
young man in an overcoat was sitting on a
narrow wooden chair at a little old warped
table, looking through his accounts. Two can-
dles in silver travelling candlesticks were burn-
ing before him ; on a bench in one corner stood
an open provision basket, in another a servant
was putting up an iron bedstead. A samovar
was grumbling and hissing behind the partition
wall; a dog was turning round and round on
some hay that had just been brought in. A
peasant with a big beard and an intelligent face,
in a new full coat tied round the waist with a
red scarf, apparently the village elder, was
standing in the doorway, intently watching the
young man at the table. A very old, diminu-
•217
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
tive piano stood against one wall beside a chest
of drawers as ancient, with holes instead of
locks ; a dark looking-glass was visible between
the windows ; on the partition wall hung an old
portrait with the paint peeling off the canvas,
representing a lady in a farthingale, with pow-
dered hair and a black ribbon round her slen-
der neck. To judge from the perceptible
crookedness of the ceiling and the slope of the
floor which was full of crevices, the Httle lodge
to which we have introduced the reader had
existed for long ages ; no one was permanently
living in it ; it served for the landowner on his
visits. The young man sitting at the table was
the owner of the village of Sasovo. He had
arrived only the evening before from a larger
estate about eighty miles away and was intend-
ing to go away the next day, after inspecting
the establishment, hearing requests from the
peasants and verifying all the business records.
"That's enough," he said, raising his head,
"I am tired. You can go now," he added, ad-
dressing the village elder. "Come early to-mor-
row, and tell the peasants in the morning to
come here in a body; do you hear?"
218
A QUIET BACKWATER
"Yes, sir."
"And tell the rural clerk to bring me his re-
port for the last month. You did well to white-
wash the walls, though," the gentleman added,
looking round. "It makes it look cleaner, any-
way."
The village elder, too, looked round the walls
without speaking.
"Well, now go."
The village elder bowed and went out.
The gentleman stretched.
"Hey !" he cried, "bring in tea — it's bedtime !"
The servant went into the other room and
soon returned with a glass of tea, a string of
shop-made bread rings and a little jug of cream
on a tray. The young man began upon his tea
but had not sipped his glass twice when there
was the sound of visitors coming into the ad-
joining room and a squeaky voice asked:
"Is Vladimir Sergeitch Astahov at home?
Can we see him?"
Vladimir Sergeitch (this was the name of
the young man in the overcoat) looked at his
servant in perplexity and said in a hurried whis-
per: "Go and find out who it is."
219
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
The servant went out, carefully closing be-
hind him the door which did not shut properly.
"Tell Vladimir Sergeitch," the same squeaky
voice went on, "that his neighbour, Ipatov,
wants to see him, if it is n< t disturbing him ;
and that another neighbour, ^-an Ilyitch Bodry-
akov, has come with me; he too wishes to pay
his respects."
Vladimir Sergeitch made an involuntary ges-
ture of annoyance. When the servant came
into the room, however, he said to him :
"Ask them in."
And he stood up in expectation of his visitors.
The door opened and the visitors came in.
One of them, a thick-set, grey-headed old gen-
tleman with a little round head and light-col-
oured eyes led the way; the other, a tall, lean
man of thirty-five with a long, swarthy face
and hair in disorder, followed, swaying from
one foot to the other. The old gentleman was
wearing a neat grey frock-coat with big pearl
buttons; a pink cravat, half hidden by the
turned-down collar of his white shirt, was
loosely swathed round his neck; his legs were
adorned with gaiters, his plaid trousers were of
220
A QUIET BACKWATER
an agreeable check and altogether he made an
agreeable impression. His companion, on the
other hand, produced a less favourable effect
on the spectator ; he wore an old black swallow-
tail coat closely buttoned up"; the colour of his
thick winter trousers was in keeping with his
coat; there was no sign of linen at his neck or
his wrists. The old man first went up to
Vladimir Sergeitch and, bowing politely, said
in the same high voice:
"I have the honour to introduce myself : your
nearest neighbour and your kinsman, indeed,
Mihail Nikolaitch Ipatov. I have long desired
the pleasure of your acquaintance. I hope I
am not disturbing you."
Vladimir Sergeitch answered that he was de-
lighted and that he, too, desired . . . and that
their visit was not disturbing him in the least
. . . and would they not sit down and have
tea?
"And this gentleman," continued the old man,
listening with a cordial smile to Vladimir
Sergeitch's unfinished sentences and indicating
the gentleman in the swallowtail, "is also a
neighbour of yours and a good friend of mine,
221
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
Ivan Ilyitch. He is extremely desiroits to make
your acquaintance."
The gentleman in the swallowtail — from
whose countenance no one would have supposed
that he was capable of being extremely desir-
ous of anything — so absent-minded and at the
same time drowsy was its expression — the gen-
tleman in the swallowtail bowed listlessly and
awkwardly. Vladimir Sergeitch bowed in re-
sponse to him and again begged his visitors to
sit down.
They did so.
"I am delighted," the old man began with an
agreeable flourish of^his hands while his com-
panion fell to gazing at the ceiling with his
mouth a little open, "delighted to have the hon-
our at last of seeing you in person. Although
you reside permanently in a district somewhat
remote from these parts, — yet we reckon you
so to say as properly belonging to our neigh-
bourhood."
"That's very flattering to me," replied Vladi-
mir Sergeitch.
"Whether flattering or not, it's the truth.
You must excuse me, Vladimir Sergeitch, we
222
A QUIET BACKWATER
are straightforward people here in the X. dis-
trict, plain in our ways ; we say what we think
without beating about the bush. Even on name-
days we don't put on dress-coats to visit each
other. Really ! That is the established custom
with us. In the neighbouring districts they call
us 'the frock-coats' on account of that and re-
proach us with it as lack of breeding, but we
don't pay any attention to that! Upon my
word, to live in the country and stand on cere-
mony like that !"
"To be sure, what can be better — in the coun-
try — than simplicity of manners?" observed
Vladimir Sergeitch.
"And yet," the old gentleman continued, "in
our district, too, there are most intellectual peo-
ple, people of European education though they
don't wear dress-coats. For instance, there is
our historian, Stefan Stepanitch Yevsyukov:
he is studying Russian liisiory from the most
ancient times and his name is known in Peters-
burg, a very learned man. In our town there
is an ancient Swedish cannon-ball, you know
... it has been put up there in the middle of
the square ... it was he discovered it, you
223
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
know. Yes, indeed ! Anton Karlitch Zenteler,
now ... he has studied natural history;
though indeed they say all Germans succeed in
that subject. When an escaped hyaena was
killed here ten years ago, it was Anton Karlitch
who discovered that it really was a hysena owing
to the n^'^nliar l nstruction of its tail. Then
there's Kaburdin, luo, one of our landowners;
he mostly writes light articles; he has a very
lively pen ; his articles come out in the Galatea.
Bodryakov . . . not Ivan Ilyitch, no, Ivan II-
yitch does not care for that sort of thing, but
the other Bodryakov, Sergey . . . what is his
father's name, Ivan Ilyitch, what is it?"
"Sergeitch," Ivan Ilyitch prompted him.
"Yes, Sergey Sergeitch — his hobby is poetry.
Well, of course he is not a Pushkin, but some-
times he is as smart as any Petersburg fellow.
Do you know his epigram on Agey Fomitch?"
"What Agey Fomitch;"'
"Ah, I beg your pardon; I am always for-
getting that you are not a resident here, after
all. Pie is our Chief of Police. A very funny
epigram it was. Ivan Dyitch, you remember it,
don't you?"
224
A QUIET BACKWATER
"Agey Fomitch," Bodryakov began indiffer-
ently :
"He's honoured in our Nobles' Hall
Not without reason — for, in brief,"
"I must tell you," Ipatov interposed, "that
he was elected almost unanimously, for he is a
most worthy man."
"He's honoured in our Nobles' Hall
Not without reason — ^for, in brief,
He eats and drinks to beat us all!
So surely he's a lirst-rate Chief !"
Bodryakov repeated.
The old gentleman laughed.
"He — he — he! that's not bad, is it? Ever
since — would you believe it — all of us when we
say, for instance, good-day to Agey Fomitch,
are sure to add, 'Surely he's a first-rate Chief !'
And do you imagine that Agey Fomitch is
vexed at it? Not a bit. No — that is not the
way with us. Ask Ivan Ilyitch here."
Ivan Ilyitch merely looked away.
"Be vexed over a joke, how could one ! Take
Ivan Ilyitch, for instance : his nickname among
us is the Adjustable Soul because he very
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
readily agrees to anything. Well, do you sup-
pose Ivan Ilyitch resents it? Not he!"
Ivan Ilyitch looked, slowly blinking, first
at the old gentleman and then at Vladimir
Sergeitch.
The nickname of the Adjustable Soul cer-
tainly suited Ivan Ilyitch, There was not a
trace in him of what is called will or character.
Anyone could take him wherever he chose ; one
had only to say to him, "Ivan Ilyitch, come
along," and he would take his hat and come;
but if someone else turned up and said, "Ivan
Ilyitch, don't go," he would put down his hat
and stay. He was of a quiet and peace-loving
disposition, he had been a bachelor all his life,
he did not play cards but liked sitting by the
players and gazing into their faces. He could
not get on without company and detested soli-
tude; he sank into depression when alone; how-
ever, that happened to him very rarely. He
had another peculiarity: getting up early in
the morning, he used to sing in a subdued voice
an old ballad:
"Once upon a time a baron
Lived a simple country life," . . ,
226
A QUIET BACKWATER
Thanks to this peculiarity, he was also nick-
named the hawfinch; it is well known that a
caged hawfinch sings only once in the day, in
the early morning. Such was Ivan Ilyitch
Bodryakov.
The conversation between Vladimir Sergeitch
and Ipatov lasted a good time but did not again
take such an intellectual turn. The old man
questioned Vladimir Sergeitch about his es-
tate, about his forest lands and other holdings,
about the improvements he had made or was
intending to make in the management of his
land; he communicated some of his own ob-
servations ; he advised him, among other things,
as a means of getting rid of tussocks in his
meadows, to scatter oats round them, which
would induce the pigs to dig them up with
their snouts and so on. At last, however, ob-
serving that Vladimir Sergeitch's eyes were al-
most closing and that even his speech betrayed
a certain languor and incoherence, the old gen-
tlemen got up and, bowing affably, announced
that he did not intend to intrude upon him any
longer but that he hoped to have the pleasure
227
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
of welcoming him to dimier no later than the
following day.
"And to my village," he added, "I won't say
any child but I make bold to say any hen or
any peasant woman you come across would
show you the way; you have only to ask for
Ipatovka. The horses will get there of them-
selves."
Vladimir Sergeitch replied with some slight
hesitation, which was characteristic of him,
however, that he would try to come . . . that
if nothing prevented him. . . .
"Oh, no, we shall expect you for certain,"
the old gentleman interrupted him genially and
he pressed his hand warmly and rapidly went
out of the room, half turning in the doorway
to exclaim, "without ceremony!"
The Adjustable Soul, Bodr3^akov, bowed
mutely and vanished after his companion,
stumbling over the threshold.
After seeing his unexpected visitors out,
Vladimir Sergeitch immediately undressed,
wtnt to bed and fell asleep.
Vbdimir Sergeitch Astahov belonged to that
class of people who after cautiously testing
228
A QUIET BACKWATER
their powers in two or three different careers
say of themselves that they have made up
their minds to look at life from a practical
point of view and devote their leisure to increas-
ing their income. He was by no means stupid,
somewhat stingy and very reasonable, was
fond of reading, of society, of music, but all
in moderation . . , and he behaved with the
utmost propriety. He was only twenty-seven.
Young men like him have become numerous
of late. He was of medium height, with a good
figure, his features were pleasing but small ;
their expression scarcely ever changed, there
was always the same cool, clear look in his eyes,
— only occasionally softened by a slight shade
of melancholy or boredom; a polite smile al-
ways hovered about his lips. He had splendid
hair, fair, silky, long and curly. Vladimir
Sergeitch was reckoned to have about six hun-
dred serfs on good land, and Ije had thoughts
of marrying, marrying by inclination but at
the same time to advantage. He particularly
wanted to find a wife with good connections.
He considered that he needed wider connec-
tions. In fact, he deserved the title of a "gen-
229
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
tleman" — a word which has lately come into
fashion.
Getting up next morning as usual very early,
our gentleman set to work and did his busi-
ness rather well, which is more than one can
say of all practical young men among us in
Russia. He listened patiently to the confused
complaints and requests of the peasants, sat-
isfied them as far as he could, went into the
quarrels and disputes between relations, talked
some people round, reproved others, checked
the rural clerk's report, exposed two or three
pieces of sharp practice on the part of the
village elder — in fact, he settled things so that
he felt satisfied with himself, and the peas-
ants as they went home spoke well of him. In
spite of what he had said to Ipatov the night
before, Vladimir Sergeitch made up his mind
to dine and had even ordered his travelling
cook to make him his favourite giblet and rice
soup; but all at once, in consequence, perhaps,
of the satisfaction which he had been feeling
since the morning, he stood still in the middle
of the room, slapped himself on the forehead
and with a certain recklessness exclaimed,
230
A QUIET BACKWATER
"Suppose I do go to that lively old gossip !"
No sooner said than done; half an hour later
he was sitting in his new chaise drawn by four
good peasant horses, driving to Ipatovka, which
was reckoned a distance of eight miles by an
excellent road.
231
CHAPTER II
MiHAiL NiKOLAiTCH IpATOv had two houscs
facing each other on opposite sides of a huge
pond. A long dam planted with silver poplars
bordered this pond; almost on a level with the
dam could be seen the red roof of a water-mill.
Built exactly alike, painted the same lilac col-
our, the Httle houses looked as though they
were glancing at one another with the shining
panes of their clean little windows across the
broad expanse of water. There was a round
verandah in the front of each house and a
pointed portico rose above it supported by four
closely set white columns. There was an old
park all round the pond : lime-trees formed ave-
nues across it and stood in close groups about
it; ancient pines with pale-yellow trunks, dark
oaks, splendid ash-trees lifted their solitary high
crests here and there ; the dense foliage of over-
grown lilacs and acacias reached the very walls,
232
A QUIET BACKWATER
covering all but the front of each house, from
which winding brick paths ran down the slope.
Bright coloured ducks and white and grey
geese were swimming in separate flocks over
the shining water of the pond; it was never
covered with duckweed, thanks to the numer-
ous springs which rose at the bottom of a steep,
rocky ravine at its "head." The position of
the houses was fine: inviting, secluded and
beautiful.
In one of the little houses lived Mihail Niko-
laitch himself; in the other lived his mother,
a decrepit old lady of seventy. When he drove
on to the dam Vladimir Sergeitch did not know
to which house to go. He looked round — a serf
boy was standing, barefoot, on a half-rotten
log, angling. Vladimir Sergeitch called to him.
"Whom do you want, the old mistress or the
young master?" asked the boy, without taking
his eyes off the float.
"What mistress?" answered Vladimir Serge-
itch. "I want Mihail Nikolaitch."
"Ah, the young master! Then go to the
right." And the boy pulled up his line and
drew out of the motionless water a small, sil-
233
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
very carp. Vladimir Sergeitch went to the
right.
Mihail Nikolaitch was playing draughts with
the Adjustable Soul when Vladimir Sergeitch's
arrival was announced. He was extremely de-
lighted, jumped up from his easy-chair, ran
into the hall and in the hall kissed him three
times.
"You find me with my invariable compan-
ion, Vladimir Sergeitch," said the talkative old
gentleman, "with Ivan Ilyitch, who, by the way,
is absolutely enchanted by your affability (Ivan
Ilyitch looked into the corner and said noth-
ing). He has been kind enough to stay and
play draughts with me while all my young peo-
ple have gone into the park ; but I will send for
them at once."
"But why trouble them . . ." Vladimir Serge-
itch was beginning.
"Oh, dear, it is no trouble whatever! Hey,
Vanka, make haste and run after the young
ladies . . . tell them a visitor has come. And
how do you like the place; it is not bad, is it?
Kaburdin wrote a poem about it. 'Ipatovka,
lovely haven' is how it begins, — the rest is very
234
A QUIET BACKWATER
nice, too, only I don't remember it. The park
is too large, that is the only pity: beyond my
means. And these two houses, so alike, as
perhaps you have noticed, were built by two
brothers, my father Nikolay and my Uncle
Sergey; they laid out the park, too; they were
paragons of friendship . . . Damon and . . .
there, I have forgotten the name of the other."
"Pythion," observed Ivan Ilyitch.
"Come, is that it? Well, it does not r:cit-
ter. (At home the old gentleman talked in a
much more free and easy manner.) As you
are, I daresay, aware, Vladimir Sergeitch, I
am a widower ; I have lost my wife ; my elder
children are at boarding school ; I have only the
two younger ones with me and my sister-in-
law, my wife's sister; you will see her imme-
diately. But why am I olifering you nothing?
Ivan Ilyitch, go and see about refreshments,
my dear fellow. . . . What sort of vodka do
you prefer, may I ask?"
"I never drink anything before dinner."
"Upon my word, is it possible! However,
as you please. A guest must be honoured and
must not be crossed. We are plain people, you
235
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
know. We live here, I make bold to say, not
in barbarous rusticity, but in peace and quiet,
a solitary nook — that's what it is! But why
don't you sit down?"
Vladimir Sergeitch sat down, still holding his
hat.
"Allow me to relieve you," said Ipatov, and,
with punctilious courtesy taking his hat away
from him, he put it in the corner, then came
back, looked into his guest's face with a cor-
dial smile and, not knowing what agreeable
speech to make to him, asked him in the most
genial way whether he liked draughts.
"I play all games very badly," answered
Vladimir Sergeitch.
"And that is quite right on your part," an-
swered Ipatov, "but draughts is hardly a game,
but rather an amusement, a pastime; isn't it,
Ivan Ilyitch?"
Ivan Ilyitch looked at Ipatov with an apa-
thetic expression which seemed to say, "The
devil knows which it is — a game or an amuse-
ment" ; but after a brief pause he brought out :
"Yes, draughts is all right."
"Chess, now, they say, is a different matter,"
236
A QUIET BACKWATER
Ipatov went on — "they say it is a very difficult
game. But to my mind ... ah, but here are
my young people," he interrupted himself, look-
ing through the half-open glass door that led
into the park.
Vladimir Sergeitch got up, turned round and
saw first two little girls about ten years old in
pink cotton dresses and big hats — running
nimbly up the verandah steps; not far behind
them appeared a tall, plump, graceful girl of
twenty, wearing a dark dress. They all came
into the room ; the little girls made formal curt-
seys to the visitor.
"Let me introduce my little daughters," said
the old gentleman. "This is Katya and this is
Nastya, and this is my sistci In-iaw, Marya
Pav]ov"i. whom I have had the pleasure ot
mentioning to you already. I hope you will be
good friends."
Vladimir Sergeitch bowed to Marya Pav-
lovna ; she responded with a hardly perceptible
inclination of her head.
Marya Pavlovna had a large, open knife in
her hand; her thick brown hair was a little
untidy, a small green leaf had caught in it, a
237
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
tress had come loose from the comb ; there was
a flush on her dark skin, her red hps were
parted; her dress looked crumpled. She was
out of breath, her eyes were shining; evidently
she had been working in the garden. She went
out of the room at once and the little girls ran
after her.
"To smarten themselves up a little," ob-
served the old gentleman, addressing Vladimir
Sergeitch; "they must think of that, of course."
Vladimir Sergeitch smirked in response and
grew a little thoughtful. Marya Pavlovna had
made an impression upon him. It was many
years since he had seen such a typical beauty
of the Russian steppes. She soon came back,
seated herself on the sofa and sat without mov-
ing. She had done her hair, but she had not
changed her dress and had not even put on
cuffs. There was an expression on her face
not so much of pride as of severity — almost of
roughness; her brow was broad and low, her
nose was short and straight ; from time to time
her lips curved in a slow, languid smile; there
was a scornful frown on her straight brows.
Nearly all the time she kept her big dark eyes
238
A QUIET BACKWATER
cast down. "I know," her ungracious young
face seemed to be saying, "I know that you are
all looking at me; well, look; you weary me."
When she did raise her eyes, there was some-
thing wild, beautiful and unseeing in them that
recalled the eyes of a doe. She was beauti-
fully proportioned, A classical poet would
have compared her to Ceres or Juno.
"What were you doing in the garden?"
Ipatov asked, trying to draw her into the con-
versation.
"I was cutting off the dead branches and
digging the flower-beds," she said in a rather
low, agreeable and resonant voice.
"Well, and are you tired?"
"The children are tired; I am not."
"I know," said the old man with a smile,
"you are a regular Bobelina! And have you
been in to Grandmamma?"
"Yes ; she is asleep."
"Are you fond of flowers?" Vladimir Serge-
itch asked her.
"Yes."
"Why don't you put your hat on when you
239
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
go out?" Ipatov observed to her; "see how red
and sunburnt you are."
She passed her hand over her face and said
nothing. Her hands were not large but rather
broad and red. She did not wear gloves.
"And are you fond of gardening?" Vladimir
Sergeitch asked again.
"Yes."
Vladimir Sergeitch began to describe a beau-
tiful garden belonging to a wealthy landowner
in his neighbourhood : "The German head gar-
dener alone receives a salary of two thousand
silver roubles," he observed among other things.
"And what is the name of the gardener?"
Ivan Ilyitch asked suddenly.
"I don't remember; Meyer or Miller, I be-
lieve. Why do you ask ?"
"Oh," said Ivan Ilyitch, "simply to know
his surname."
Vladimir Sergeitch went on with his descrip-
tion. The little girls, Mihail Nikolaitch's
daughters, came in, quietly sat down and be-
gan quietly listening.
A servant n^-pr-^mr] in the doorv/ay and an-
nounced that Yegor Kapitonitch hzd arrived.
240
A QUIET BACKWATER
"Ah ! Ask him in, ask him in !" cried Ipatov.
A short, stout old gentleman came in, one
of those people who are described as "stubby"
or "stumpy," with a puffy and at the same time
wrinkled face that recalled a baked apple. He
had on a grey Hungarian jacket with black
frogs and a stand-up collar ; his full coffee-col-
oured plush breeches ended far above his
ankles.
"How are you, honoured Yegor Kapiton-
itch !" exclaimed Ipatov, going to meet him.
"It is a long time since we have seen you."
"But Mihail Nikolaitch," began Yegor Kapi-
tonitch in a lisping and plaintive voice, first
bowing to all present, "you know I am not a
free man, am I?"
"In what way are you not a free man, Yegor
Kapitonitch ?"
"Why, Mihail Nikolaitch, my family, things
to see to. . . . And then there is Matryona
Markovna."
And he made a gesture of despair.
"What about Matryona Markovna?" And
Ipatov winked to Vladimir Sergeitch as though
wishing to secure his attention.
241
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"Why, to be sure," said Yegor Kapitonitch,
sitting down, "she is dissatisfied with me, as
though you didn't know. Whatever I say it
is always wrong, unrefined, improper. And
why it is improper, God only knows. And the
young ladies — that is, my daughters — do the
same, following their mother's example. I am
not saying anything against her, of course;
Matryona Markovna is an excellent woman but
very strict about manners."
"But upon my word, Yegor Kapitonitch,
what is there wrong with your manners?"
"That's just what I think myself, but it seems
she is hard to please. Yesterday, for instance,
I said at table, 'Matryona Markovna' (and
Yegor Kapitonitch put a most ingratiating in-
tonation into his voice), 'Matryona Markovna,'
I said, 'how careless Alyoshka is with the
horses! He does not know how to drive; he
has quite knocked up the black stallion !' And
dear me, how Matryona Markovna did flare up
and began crying shame on me! 'You don't
Know how to express yourself decently in la-
dies' society,' she said; the young ladies jumped
up and left the table at once, and next day the
2dp.
A QUIET BACKWATER
Biryulovsky young ladies, my wife's nieces,
knew all about it. And what improper expres-
sion did I use ? Judge for yourself ! And
whatever I say — I may speak a little incau-
tiously sometimes; everyone does, especially at
home — the Biryulovsky young ladies know all
about it next day. I simply don't know what
to do. Sometimes I am sitting like this think-
ing, as my way is — as perhaps you are aware
I breathe rather heavily, and Matryona Mark-
ovna scolds me again — 'Don't snuffle,' she says,
'nobody snuffles nowadays !' 'Why are you
scolding, Matryona Markovna?' I say; 'you
ought to be sorry for me, and you are scolding.'
Well, I have had to give up thinking at home.
I sit and simply look at the floor like this, yes,
indeed. And the other day we were going to
bed. 'Matryona Markovna,' I said, 'it's dread-
ful how you spoil your page, my dear; he is
such a little pig,' said I, 'he might wash his face
on Sunday, anyway.' Well, I hinted it deli-
cately enough, I should have thought, but I
did not please her this time, either; Matryona
Markovna began putting me to shame again.
'You do not know how to behave in the com-
243
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
pany of a lady,' said she, and next day the
Biryulovsky young ladies knew all about it.
So how can I have the heart to go out paying
visits, Mihail Nikolaitch?"
"I am astonished at what you tell me," re-
plied Ipatov ; "I should never have expected this
of Matryona Markovna; I should have thought
she was . . ."
"The best of women," Yegor Kapitonitch
caught him up, "an exemplary wife and mother,
one may say, but strict on the point of man-
ners. She says that in everything, what is
needed is ensemble and that I have not got that.
I don't speak French, as you know, I only un-
derstand it. But what is this ensemble which
I am lacking in?"
Ipatov, who was not very great at French
himself, merely shrugged his shoulders.
"And how are your children, your sons, that
is?" he asked Yegor Kapitonitch after a brief
pause.
Yegor Kapitonitch looked at him sideways.
"My sons? They are all right. I am
pleased with them. The young ladies have got
out of hand, but I am satisfied with my sons.
244
A QUIET BACKWATER
Alyoshka is doing well in the service, his su-
periors praise him; my Alyoshka is a shrewd
lad. Mihets is different; he has turned out a
sort of a philanthropist."
"Why a philanthropist?"
"Goodness knows; never speaks to anyone,
fights shy of us all. Matryona Markovna
only makes him worse. 'Why do you follow
your father's example?' she says. 'You should
respect him, but you should imitate your moth-
er's manners.' When he is grown up, he will
get on too."
Vladimir Sergeitch asked Ipatov to intro-
duce him to Yegor Kapitonitch. A conversa-
tion followed. Marya Pavlovna took no part
in it; Ivan Ilyitch sat down beside her, but he
only said two words to her; the little girls
went up to him and began telling him some-
thing in a whisper. . . . The housekeeper, a
thin old woman with a dark kerchief on her
head, came in and announced that dinner was
ready. They all went into the dining-room.
Dinner lasted rather a long time. Ipatov
kept a good cook and had good wine, though
it did not come from Moscow but from the
245
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
town of the province. Ipatov lived in com-
fort; he had no more than three hundred serfs
but he v^as in debt to no one and his estate
was in good order. The master of the house
himself did most of the talking at dinner.
Yegor Kapitonitch seconded him but did not
forget to look after himself : he ate and drank
in fine style. Marya Pavlovna was silent, only
answering with a half smile the hurried say-
ings of the two little girls sitting one on each
side of her; they seemed to be very fond of
her. Vladimir Sergeitch attempted several
times to talk to her but with no great success.
The Adjustable Soul, Bodryakov, was sloth-
ful and apathetic even in his eating.
After dinner they all went on to the veran-
dah to drink coffee. The weather was lovely;
the sweet fragrance of lime-trees in full flower
was wafted from the park; the summer air,
slightly freshened by the thick shade of the
trees and the dampness of the pond close by,
was full of caressing warmth.
All at once from beyond the poplars of the
dam came the sound of scurrying horses' hoofs
and a moment later a lady wearing a long rid-
246
A QUIET BACKWATER
ing habit and a round grey hat came into sight
mounted on a bay horse ; she was riding at a
gallop; a page rode behind on a small white
cob.
"Ah!" cried Ipatov, "here is Nadyezhda
Alexyevna — what a pleasant surprise !"
"Alone;"' asked Marya Pavlovna, who had
till that moment stood motionless by the door.
"Yes, alone ... I suppose something has
detained Pyotr Alexeitch,"
Marya Pavlovna looked up from under her
brows; her face was suffused with colour, and
she turned away.
Meanwhile the lady on horseback rode
through the little gate into the garden, galloped
up to the terrace and leapt lightly to the ground
without waiting for her page or Ipatov, who was
coming to meet her. Dexterously picking up
the hem of her long skirt, she ran up the steps
and, as she landed on the verandah, she called
gaily :
"Here I am !"
"You are very welcome !" said Ipatov. "How
unexpected ! How delightful ! Allow me to
kiss your hand."
247
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"Certainly," replied the visitor, "only pull
off my glove yourself; I can't do it." And
stretching out her hand to him, she nodded to
Marya Pavlovna. "Masha, only fancy, my
brother won't be here to-day," she said with a
faint sigh.
"I see that he is not here," Marya Pavlovna
answered in an undertone.
"He told me to tell you that he is busy.
Don't be angry. Good afternoon, Yegor Kapi-
tonitch, good afternoon, Ivan Ilyitch, good af-
ternoon, children. . . . Vassya," said the vis-
itor, addressing her page, "tell them to walk
Beauty up and down a little; do you hear?
Masha, give me a pin, please, to fasten up my
train. . . . Mihail Nikolaitch, come here."
Ipatov went nearer to her.
"Who is that new person?" she asked in a
fairly loud voice.
"A neighbour, Vladimir Sergeitch Astahov,
you know, the owner of Sasovo. Shall I
introduce him?"
"Very well . . . presently. Oh, what lovely
weather," she went on. "Yegor Kapitonitch,
248
A QUIET BACKWATER
tell me, does Matryona Markovna scold even
in weather like this?"
"Matryona Markovna does not scold in any
weather, Madam; she is only strict about man-
ners."
"And what are the Biryulovsky young ladies
doing? They know everything next day, don't
they?"
And she broke into a ringing, silvery laugh.
"You are always pleased to laugh," said
Yegor Kapitonitch, "But when should one
laugh if not at your age?"
"Yegor Kapitonitch, don't be angry, there's
a dear ! Oh, I am tired, let me sit down."
Nadyezhda Alexyevna sank into a low chair
and roguishly pulled her hat right down to her
eyes.
Ipatov brought Vladimir Sergeitch up to her.
"Allow me, Nadyeshda Alexyevna, to pre-
sent to you our neighbour, Monsieur Astahov,
of whom you have probably heard a great
deal."
Vladimir Sergeitch bowed and Nadyezhda
Alexyevna looked up at him from under the
brim of her round hat.
249
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"Nadyezhda Alexyevna Veretyev is our
neighbour," Ipatov went on, addressing Vladi-
mir Sergeitch. "She Hves here with her
brother, Pyotr Alexeitch, formerly a lieutenant
in the Guards. She is a great friend of my sis-
ter-in-law and is agreeably disposed to us all."
"A full and complete description," said
Nadyezhda Alexyevna with a mocking smile,
looking at Vladimir Sergeitch from under her
hat again.
And Vladimir Sergeitch was thinking mean-
while, "She is very pretty, too." And cer-
tainly Nadyezhda Alexyevna was a very charm-
ing girl — slim and graceful, she looked much
younger than she was. She was twenty-seven.
She had a round face and a little head, fluffy,
fair hair, a sharp, almost saucily turned-up
nose, and gay, rather sly eyes. Her eyes fairly
gleamed and flashed with mockery. Her ex-
tremely lively and mobile features wore at times
an amusing expression ; they seemed to be alive
with humour. From time to time, as a rule
quite suddenly, a shade of pensiveness would
pass over her face, and then it became gentle
and good-natured ; but she could not be
250
A QUIET BACKWATER
thoughtful for long. She readily detected the
comic side of people and drew rather good
caricatures. From her birth upwards she had
been spoiled by everyone and that could be
seen from the first moment : people who have
been spoiled in their childhood retain a certain
stamp all their lives. Her brother was fond
of her, though he did declare that she stung
not like a bee "^but like a wasp, since the bee
dies when it stings, while stinging means noth-
ing to the wasp. This comparison vexed her.
"Are you staying here long?" she asked
Vladimir Sergeitch, dropping her eyes and
twisting her riding whip in her hands.
"No, I propose going away to-morrow."
"Where are you going?"
"Home."
"Home? Why, may I venture to ask?"
"Why? I have business at home that ad-
mits of no delay."
Nadyezhda Alexyevna looked at him.
"Are you such a . . . business-like person?"
"I try to be business-like," replied Vladimir
Sergeitch. "In our practical age every decent
person ought to be practical and business-like."
251
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"That is perfectly true," observed Ipatov.
"Isn't it, Ivan Ilyitch?"
Ivan Ilyitch simply glanced at Ipatov, v^hile
Yegor Kapitonitch commented :
"Yes, that is so."
"It is a pity," said Nadyezhda Alexyevna,
"a jeune prender is just what vi^e are short of.
You can act comedy, can't you?"
"I have never tried my powers in that line."
"I am sure you would act well. You have
such a . . . dignified deportment; that's essen-
tial for a jeune premier of to-day. My
brother and I are thinking of setting up a
dramatic society here. But we shall not con-
fine ourselves to comedies; we shall act every-
thing — dramas, ballets and even tragedies.
Wouldn't Masha make a fine Cleopatra or
Phaedra? Look at her."
Vladimir Sergeitch turned round. . . . Lean-
ing with her head against the door, Marya Pav-
lovna was standing with her arms folded, gaz-
ing dreamily into the distance. . . . Certainly
at that moment her harmonious features were
suggestive of antique sculpture. She had not
252
A QUIET BACKWATER
heard Nadyezhda Alexyevna's last words but,
noticing that all eyes were suddenly turned
upon her, she immediately guessed what was
being said, flushed crimson and was on the
point of retreating into the drawing-room. . . .
Nadyezhda Alexyevna quickly seized her by
the hand and with the coquettish tenderness of
a kitten drew the almost masculine-looking
hand to her and kissed it. Marya Pavlovna
flushed a deeper colour.
"You are always full of mischief, Nadya,"
she said.
"Didn't I tell the truth about you? I ap-
peal to you all. . . . Well, there, there, I'll
stop. But I tell you again," Nadyezhda Alex-
yevna went on, addressing Vladimir Sergeitch,
"it is a pity you are going away. It is true
we have got a jcune pre\nuer; he forces him-
self upon us, indeed, but he is a very poor
one."
"Who is that, may I ask ?"
"Bodryakov, the poet. How can a poet be
a jeune premier! In the first place he dresses
horribly; in the second, though he writes epi-
grams, in the presence of any woman, even
253
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
of me, imagine, he is overcome with shyness.
He lisps, always holds one arm above his head
and I don't know what he doesn't do. Tell me,
please. Monsieur Astahov, are all poets like
that?"
Vladimir Sergeitch drew himself up a little.
"I have never known one personally and I
must confess I have never sought their ac-
quaintance."
"Yes, of course, you are a practical man.
We shall have to take Bodryakov; there is no
help for it. The other jeunes premiers are
even worse. He would learn his part, any-
way. In addition to the tragic parts Masha
will be our prima-donna. . . . Have you heard
her sing, Monsieur Astahov?"
"No," replied Vladimir Sergeitch with a
smirk, "I didn't know . . ."
"What is the matter with you to-day,
Nadya?" said Marya Pavlovna with an air of
vexation.
Nadyezhda Alexyevna jumped up.
"Do sing us something, Masha, please do !
I'll give you no peace till you do, Masha
darling. I'd sing myself to entertain your vis-
254
A QUIET BACKWATER
itor, but you know what a horrid voice I have.
But see how nicely I'll accompany you."
Marya Pavlovna did not speak for a
minute.
"There's no putting you off," she said at
last. "You are used to having your own way
in everything, like a spoiled child. Very well,
I will sing."
"Bravo, bravo !" cried Nadyezhda Alexyevna,
and she clapped her hands. "Gentlemen, let
us go into the drawing-room. As for having
my own way, I'll score that against you," she
added, laughing. "How can you expose my
weaknesses before strangers? Yegor Kapiton-
itch, is that how Matryona Markovna puts you
to shame before strangers?"
"Matryona Markovna," muttered Yegor
Kapitonitch, "is a very estimable lady; only on
the point of manners."
"Well, come along, come along," Nadyezhda
Alexyevna interrupted him, and she went into
the drawing-room.
Everyone followed her. She flung down
her hat and sat down at the piano. Marya
255
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
Pavlovna stood by the wall, at some distance
from Nadyezhda Alexyevna.
"Masha," she said after a moment's thought,
"sing us 'The Peasant Lad the Wheat Is Sow-
ing.' "
Marya Pavlovna began singing. Her voice
was pure and strong and she sang well — sim-
ply and naturally. Everyone listened to her
with great attention and Vladimir Sergeitch
could not conceal his astonishment. When
Marya Pavlovna had finished he went up to her
and began declaring that he had had no
idea . . .
"Wait a bit," Nadyezhda Alexyevna inter-
rupted him, "there's better to come! Masha,
I will comfort your Little Russian heart; sing
us now 'Merry Uproar in the Oakwood.' "
"Are you a Little Russian ?" Vladimir Serge-
itch asked her.
"I was born in Little Russia," she answered,
and she began singing the "Merry Uproar."
At first she articulated the words indiffer-
ently, but the mournfully, passionate tune of
her native land by degrees roused her, her
256
A QUIET BACKWATER
cheeks flushed, her eyes shone, there was a
warm ring in her voice. She finished.
"Good heavens, how well you sang that!"
Nadyezhda Alexyevna commented, bending
over the keys. "What a pity my brother is not
here !"
Marya Pavlovna dropped her eyes at once
and her characteristic bitter smile came on to
her lips.
"And now we must have something more,"
observed Ipatov.
"Yes, if you would be so good," added
Vladimir Sergeitch.
"Excuse me, I won't sing any more to-night,"
said Marya Pavlovna, and she walked away
from the piano.
Nadyezhda Alexyevna looked after her,
seemed thoughtful for a minute, then smiled,
began playing with one finger "The Peasant Lad
the Wheat Is Sowing," then suddenly broke
into a brilliant polka and without finishing it,
struck a loud chord, shut the piano and got up.
"It is a pity there's no one to dance with,"
she exclaimed. "That would have been just
the thing."
257
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
Vladimir Sergeitch went up to her.
"What a wonderful voice Marya Pavlovna
has," he said, "and with what feeling she sings !"
"Are you fond of music?"
"Yes . . . very."
"Such a learned person and fond of music!"
"Why do you suppose that I am learned ?"
"Oh, yes, I beg your pardon; I was forget-
ting — ^you are a practical man. Where is
Masha gone? Wait, I'll go and fetch her."
And Nadyezhda Alexyevna fluttered out of
the room.
"Giddy head, as you see," said Ipatov, going
up to Vladimir Sergeitch, "but a very good
heart. And what an education she has had,
you cannot fancy: she can speak in every lan-
guage. Of course they are people of property,
so no wonder."
"Yes," Vladimir Sergeitch acquiesced ab-
sent-mindedly, "very charming young lady.
But tell me, was your wife also from Little
Russia?"
"Yes. My wife was a Little Russian like
her sister Marya Pavlovna. To tell the truth,
my wife's accent was not perfect; though she
258
A QUIET BACKWATER
knew the Russian language perfectly, she did
not pronounce it correctly; her vowel sounds
were not quite pure ; Marya Pavlovna now left
her own country when she was little. Yet
one can see the Little Russian blood, can't
one?"
"Marya Pavlovna sings wonderfully," ob-
served Vladimir Sergeitch.
"Yes, she does sing well. But why is it
they don't bring in the tea ? And what has be-
come of the young ladies? It is tea-time."
The young ladies did not return for some
time. Meanwhile the samovar was brought in
and the table was set for tea — Ipatov sent for
them. They came back together. Marya Pav-
lovna sat down at the table to pour out tea,
while Nadyezhda Alexyevna went to the door
of the verandah and looked out into the gar-
den. The bright summer day was followed by
a soft, clear evening; there was the glow of
sunset; the broad pond, half flooded with its
crimson light, stood a motionless mirror, with
stately serenity reflecting in the silvery darkness
of its deep bosom all the fathomless ethereal
sky and the black shapes of the trees upside
259
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
down and the house. Everything had sunk into
silence; there was not a sound anywhere.
"Look how beautiful," said Nadyezhda
Alexyevna to Vladimir Sergeitch as he came
up to her. "Out there in the pond a star has
just come out, beside the lights of the house;
they are red but it is golden. Here is Grand-
mamma coming," she added.
A bath-chair came into view from behind the
lilac bushes. Two men were drawing it. The
bent figure of an old lady with her head bowed
on her breast was sitting muffled up in it. The
fringe of her white cap almost completely cov-
ered her withered and shrunken face. The
bath-chair stopped before the verandah. Ipa-
tov went out of the drawing-room; his little
daughters ran out after him. They had been
scurrying from room to room like mice all the
evening.
"I wish you good-evening, mother," said
Ipatov, going up to the old lady and raising his
voice. "How do you feel?"
"I have come to have a look at you," the
old lady enunciated with an effort, in a tone-
less voice. "What a lovely evening! I have
260
A QUIET BACKWATER
been asleep all day and now my legs are ach-
ing. Ah, my legs ! They are no use and they
ache."
"Allow me to present to you, mother, our
neighbour, Vladimir Sergeitch Astahov."
"Delighted," said the old lady, turning upon
him her big, black, lustreless eyes. "I hope
you will be friends with my son. He is a good
man ; I gave him all the education I could ; of
course I am only a woman. He is a bit weak
yet, but with time he will grow steadier, — it's
high time he did; it's time for me to hand
things over to him. Is that you, Nadya?" she
added, looking at Nadyezhda Alexyevna.
"Yes, Grandmamma."
"And is Masha pouring out tea?"
"Yes, Grandmamma."
"And who else is there?"
"Ivan Ilyitch and Yegor Kapitonitch."
"Matryona Markovna's husband?"
"Yes, Grandmamma."
The old lady chewed her lips.
"Well . . . Misha, I can't get at the village
elder; tell him to come to me early to-morrow,
■ — I have a great deal of business to do with
261
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
him. Everything goes wrong without me, I
see. Well, that's enough, I am tired, take me
home. . . . Good-bye, sir, I can't remember
your name," she added, addressing Vladimir
Sergeitch; "you must forgive an old woman.
And don't come with me, grandchildren, there's
no need. All you think of is to be running
about. Sit still, sit still and learn your les-
sons; do you hear? Masha spoils you. Come,
set off."
The old lady's head, raised with difficulty,
sank back upon her breast.
The bath-chair started and moved slowly
away.
"How old is your mother?" asked Vladimir
Sergeitch.
"She is only seventy-two but she lost the
use of her legs twenty-six years ago; it hap-
pened to her soon after my father's death.
But she was a beauty."
Everyone was silent.
All at once Nadyezhda Alexyevna started.
"What's that ? I believe it was a bat ! Oh,
how horrid I" And she went hurriedly back
into the drawing-room.
262
A QUIET BACKWATER
"It is time for me to go home. Mihail
Nikolaitch, tell them to saddle my hors6.**
"It's time for me to go, too," said Vladimir
Sergeitch.
"Why should you go?" said Ipatov. "Stay
the night here. Nadyezhda Alexyevna has only
a mile and a half to go but you have nine.
And why are you in a hurry, Nadyezhda Alex-
yevna ? Wait for the moon ; it will soon be
up. It will be lighter riding then."
"Perhaps," replied Nadyezhda Alexyevna;
"it is a long time since I have been for a ride
by moonlight."
"And will you stay the night?" said Ipatov,
addressing himself to Vladimir Sergeitch.
"I really don't know. . . . But if I am not
in the way , . ."
"Not in the least, I assure you; I will bid
them prepare a room for you at once."
"It is nice riding by moonlight," began
Nadyezhda Alexyevna, as soon as they had
brought the candles and handed the tea and
Ipatov and Yegor Kapitonitch had sat down
to a game of two-handed preference and the
Adjustable Soul had installed himself beside
263
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
them without tittering a word, "especially
through woods, between the nut bushes. It's
uncanny and delightful and there is a strange
play of light and shadow — one feels as though
someone were lurking behind or in front . . ."
Vladimir Sergeitch gave a condescending
smile.
"And has it happened to you," she went on,
"to sit on a warm, dark, still night near a wood ?
It always seems to me then as though two
voices were arguing hotly in a faint whisper
behind me close to my ear."
"That's the throbbing of the blood," ob-
served Ipatov.
"Your description is very poetical," ob-
served Vladimir Sergeitch.
Nadyezhda Alexyevna looked at him.
"You think so? ... In that case, my de-
scriptions would not please Masha."
"Why so? Doesn't Marya Pavlovna like
poetry ?"
"No ; she thinks it is all made up, all false ;
that is just what she doesn't like."
"What a strange fault to find !" exclaimed
264
A QUIET BACKWATER
Vladimir Sergeitch. "Made up! What else
could it be? That's just what creative artists
are for !"
"Well, there it is; but you oughtn't to like
poetry, either."
"On the contrary, I am very fond of good
poetry, when it is really good and musical and
— what shall I say? — when it presents ideas,
thoughts . . ."
Marya Pavlovna got up.
Nadyezhda Alexyevna turned quickly to her.
"Where are you going, Masha?"
"To put the children to bed. It is nearly
nine o'clock."
"But can't they go to bed without you?"
But Marya Pavlovna took the children by
their hands and went out with them.
"She is in a bad mood to-day," observed
Nadyezhda Alexyevna, "and I know why," she
added in an undertone, "but it will pass."
"Allow me to ask you," began Vladimir
Sergeitch, "where, do you intend to spend the
winter?"
"Possibly here, possibly in Petersburg. I feel
as though I should be bored in Petersburg."
26s
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"Bored in Petersburg? You surprise me!
How is that possible?"
And Vladimir Sergeitch fell to describing
all the conveniences, charms and advantages of
life in the capital. Nadyezhda Alexyevna lis-
tened attentively without taking her eyes off
him. She seemed to be studying his features
and from time to time smiled to herself.
"I see you are very eloquent," she said at
last; "I shall have to spend the winter in
Petersburg."
"You will not regret it," declared Vladimir
Sergeitch.
"I never regret anything; it is not worth
the trouble. If you do anything silly, try and
forget it as soon as possible, that's all."
I "Allow me to ask," Vladimir Sergeitch
asked in French after a brief silence, "have
you known Marya Pavlovna long?"
"Allow me to ask," Nadyezhda Alexyevna
retorted with swift mockery, "why did you
ask just that question in French?"
"Oh . . . for no particular reason."
Nadyezhda Alexyevna smiled again.
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A QUIET BACKWATER
"No, I have not known her very long. She
is a remarkable girl, isn't she?"
"She is very original," Vladimir Sergeitch
assented through his teeth.
"Well, from you, from a practical person,
is that praise? I don't think so — perhaps I
strike you as original, too? But the moon
must have risen," she added, getting up from
her seat and glancing at the open window,
"that's moonlight on the tops of the poplars.
It's time to go, . . . I'll go and tell them to
saddle Beauty."
"He is saddled," said her page, stepping out
of the shade of the park into the streak of
light that fell on the verandah.
"Oh, that's right! Masha, where are you?
Come and say good-bye."
Marya Pavlovna came in from the adjoin-
ing room. The men got up from the card-
table.
"Are you going already?" asked Ipatov.
"Yes, It's time."
She went towards the verandah door.
"What a night !" she exclaimed. "Come
nearer, put your face out; do you feel it? It
267
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
seems to be breathing. And what a scent !
AH the flowers are awake now. They wake
up while we are thinking of going to sleep.
And by the way, Masha," she added, "I have
been telling Vladimir Sergeitch that you don't
like poetry. And now good-bye. . . . Here
they are bringing my horse."
And she ran rapidly down the verandah
steps, leapt lightly into the saddle, said, "Good-
bye till to-morrow," and switching the horse on
the neck, galloped to the dam . . . the page
trotted behind her.
Everyone looked after her.
"Till to-morrow," they heard her voice be-
yond the poplars. The thud of hoofs was au-
dible for a long time in the stillness of the sum-
mer night. At last Ipatov suggested they
should go back into the house.
"It certainly is nice in the open air," he said,
"but we must finish our game."
All the company returned to the house.
Vladimir Sergeitch began asking Marya Pav-
lovna why she did not like poetry.
"I don't care for it," she answered with seem-
ing reluctance.
268
A QUIET BACKWATER
"But perhaps you have not read much
poetry ?"
"I have not read it myself but it has been
read to me."
"And wasn't there a single poem you liked ?"
"No, not one."
"Even Pushkin?"
"Even Pushkin."
"Why?"
Marya Pavlovna made no answer and Ipatov,
turning round, said over the back of his chair,
with a good-natured laugh, that she did not
only dislike poetry but even sugar, and in fact
could not bear sweet things at all.
"But there are poems that are not sweet,"
Vladimir Sergeitch retorted. ■"
"For instance?" asked Marya Pavlovna.
Vladimir Sergeitch scratched his head. . . .
He knew very little poetry by heart himself,
particularly of the kind that was not sweet.
"Well," he cried at last, "do you know Push-
kin's 'The Upas Tree' ? No ? That poem can-
not possibly be called sweet."
"Repeat it," Marya Pavlovna asked him, and
she dropped her eyes.
269
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
Vladimir Sergeitch looked at the ceiling,
frowned, muttered to himself and at last re-
peated "The Upas Tree."
After the first four verses, Marya Pavlovna
slowly raised her eyes, and when Vladimir
Sergeitch finished, she said as slowly:
"Please repeat it over again."
"You like the poem, then?" asked Vladimir
Sergeitch.
"Repeat it again."
Vladimir Sergeitch recited "The Upas Tree"
again. Marya Pavlovna got up, went into an-
other room and came back with a sheet of
paper, an inkstand and a pen.
"Please write it out for me," she asked
Vladimir Sergeitch.
"Certainly, with pleasure," he answered, be-
ginning to write. "But I confess I wonder
why you like this poem so much. I repeated
it just to show you that not all poetry is sweet."
"Well, I declare!" exclaimed Ipatov; "what
do you think of those verses, Ivan Ilyitch?"
Ivan Ilyitch, as usual, simply glanced at Ipa-
tov but did not utter a word.
"Here, it is finished," said Vladimir Serge-
270
A QUIET BACKWATER
itch, putting a note of exclamation at the end
of the last line.
Marya Pavlovna thanked him and carried
off the copy of the poem to her own room.
Half an hour later supper was served, and
within an hour all the guests separated to their
rooms. Vladimir Sergeitch more than once ad-
dressed Marya Pavlovna, but it was difficult to
keep up a conversation with her, and the things
he said did not seem to interest her much.
He would probably have gone off to sleep at
once on getting into bed if he had not been
kept awake by his neighbour, Yegor Kapiton-
itch. The husband of Matryona Markovna,
after undressing and getting into bed, carried
on a long conversation with his servant — whom
he kept admonishing. Every word he uttered
reached Vladimir Sergeitch distinctly; the
rooms were only divided by a thin partition
wall.
"Hold the candle straight in front of you,"
said Yegor Kapitonitch in a complaining voice,
"hold it so that I can see your face. You have
turned my hair grey, you unprincipled fellow,
you've turned my hair grey."
271
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"But how have I turned your hair grey,
Yegor Kapitonitch ?" the indistinct and sleepy
voice of the servant was heard.
"How ? I'll tell you how. How many times
have I said to you,, 'Mitka,' I have said to you,
'whenever you go away with me anywhere on
a visit, always pack two changes of clothes,
particularly . . . hold the candle straight in
front of you . . . particularly of under-
clothes?' And what have you done to me
to-day?"
"Why, what, sir?"
"You ask what? What am I to put on to-
morrow morning?"
"Why, the same as you had on to-day."
"You've turned my hair grey, you ruffian.
I did not know what to do with myself, I was
so hot to-day. Hold the candle straight in
front of you, I tell you, and don't go to sleep
when your master is talking to you."
"And Matryona Markovna told me it was
enough. 'Why always take such a lot of things
with you?' she said. 'They only get worn out
for nothing.' "
"Matryona Markovna. ... As though it
272
A QUIET BACKWATER
were a woman's business to go into that!
You've turned my hair grey, you have!"
"And Yahim said so, too."
"What did you say?"
"I say, Yahim said so, too."
"Yahim! Yahim!" Yegor Kapitonitch re-
peated reproachfully. "You'll be the death of
me, you heathens. They can't speak .Alussian
properly. Yahim! Why, doe's "^ahim mean?
Yefim-T-we-ll, at a pinch one can say that, — for
the--r€al Greek name is "^evfimy,' do you under-
stand me? . . . Hold the~candle straight be-
fore you. . . . But for shortness one may say
Yefim, but certainly not Yahim. Yahim!" re-
peated Yegor Kapitonitch with an emphasis on
the ya. "You've turned my hair grey, you vil-
lains. Hold the candle straight before you !"
And Yegor Kapitonitch went on for a long
time lecturing his servant, in spite of Vladimir
Sergeitch's sighs, coughs and other signs of
impatience.
At last he dismissed his Mitka and went to
sleep, but this did not improve matters for Vlad-
imir Sergeitch : Yegor Kapitonitch had such
a deep and powerful snore, with such playful
273
f/p^^^^^^
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
transitions from the highest treble to the deep-
est bass, with such whistling and even clicking
sounds, that the very partition wall seemed to
be quivering in response to it. Poor Vladimir
Sergeitch felt ready to cry. It was very stuffy
in his room and the feather bed on which he lay
seemed to wrap his whole person in a sort of
creeping heat.
In despair Vladimir Sergeitch got up at last,
opened his window and greedily drank in the
fragrant freshness of the night. The window
looked into the park; the sky was light; the
round face of the full moon was at one moment
reflected clearly in the pond, at the next was
drawn out into a long golden sheaf of slowly
shifting sparkles. In one of the garden paths
Vladimir Sergeitch saw a figure dressed like a
woman : it was Marya Pavlovna ; in the moon-
light her face looked pale. She stood motion-
less and suddenly began speaking. . . . Vlad-
imir Sergeitch cautiously put out his head.
"Yet thither with imperious glance
A man his fellow-man has sent"
reached his hearing.
274
A QUIET BACKWATER
"Imagine that!" he thought; "so the verses
have had an effect on her. ..."
And he listened with redoubled attention.
But Marya Pavlovna soon ceased speaking and
turned more directly facing him: he could dis-
tinguish her large dark eyes, her severe brow
and lips.
Suddenly she started, turned round, passed
into the shadow cast by a dense wall of tall
acacias and disappeared. Vladimir Sergeitch
remained standing a considerable time at the
window, then at last he got into bed but did
not soon fall asleep.
"A strange creature" he thought as he turned
from side to side — "and they say there is noth-
ing special to be found in the country. . . .
Yes, indeed ! A strange creature ! I'll ask her
to-morrow what she was doing in the garden."
Yegor Kapitonitch was still snoring as be-
fore.
275
CHAPTER III
Next morning Vladimir Sergeitch woke rather
late and immediately after breakfast in the
dining-room went home to make final arrange-
ments on his estate, in spite of old Ipatov's
efforts to keep him. Marya Pavlovna was
present at breakfast; Vladimir Sergeitch did
not think it necessary, however, to question her
about her walk in the garden in the night: he
belonged to that class of people to whom it is
difficult to give themselves up for two days
together to unaccustomed thoughts and con-
jectures. He would have had to talk about the
poem and the "poetical" mood as it is called
soon wearied him. He spent the whole day in
the fields till dinner, for which he had a keen
appetite, had a nap, and on waking up was
about to look through the rural clerk's account,
but before he had finished the first page or-
dered his carriage and set off to Ipatovka. Evi-
276
A QUIET BACKWATER
dently even practical people have not hearts of
stone and are no fonder of being dull than ordi-
nary mortals.
As he drove on to the dam he heard voices
and the sound of music. At Ipatov's house
they were singing Russian songs in chorus. He
found on the verandah the whole company he
had left in the morning; they all, among them
Nadyezhda Alexyevna, were sitting in a semi-
circle round a man of about thirty-two, with
a dark complexion, black hair and black eyes,
wearing a short velvet coat and a red cravat
tied loosely round his neck, and holding a guitar
in his hands. This wan Pyotr Alexeitch Veret-
yev, the brother of Nadyezhda Alexyevna. On
seeing Vladimir Sergeitch old Ipatov went to
meet him with an exclamation of delight, led
him up to Veretyev and introduced them.
After exchanging the usual greetings with his
new acquaintance, Astahov bowed respect-
fully to the latter's sister.
"We are singing songs in the village style,"
began Ipatov, and, indicating Veretyev, he
added, "Pyotr Alexeitch is our conductor — and
such a conductor! you will hear."
277
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"It is very delightful," answered Vladimir
Sergeitch.
"Won't you join the chorus?" asked Nad-
yezhda Alexyevna.
"I should be delighted but I have no voice."
"That does not matter! Look, Yegor Kapi-
tonitch is singing and I am singing. You need
only join in. Sit down; begin, brother."
"What song shall we sing now ?" said Veret-
yev, strumming on the guitar and, stopping
suddenly, he looked at Marya Pavlovna, who
was sitting beside him.
"I think it is your turn now," he said to her.
"No, you sing," answered Marya Pavlovna.
"There is a song 'Down Mother Volga,' "
Vladimir Sergeitch observed with dignity.
"No, we are saving that for the end," an-
swered Veretyev, and, striking the strings, he
began singing, dwelling on each note "The Sun
Is Setting."
He sang capitally, with spirit and gaiety. His
manly face, which was expressive at all times,
became even livelier when he was singing; now
and then he shrugged his shoulders, suddenly
pressed with the palm of his hand on the
278
A QUIET BACKWATER
strings, raised his hand, shook his curls and
looked round him with a keen, proud air. In
Moscow he had more than once seen the famous
gipsy Ilya and was imitating him. The chorus
seconded him vigorously. Marya Pavlovna's
mellow voice stood out above all the others; it
seemed to lead the others ; but she would ilot
sing alone and Veretyev remained the con-
ductor to the end.
They sang many other songs.
Meanwhile a storm was coming on with the
approach of evening. It had been stiflingly hot
since mid-day and there had been rumblings in
the distance; but now a broad storm-cloud,
which had long lain like a leaden shroud on the
very rim of the horizon, began to grow and
appear above the tree-tops ; the sultry air began
quivering more perceptibly, more and more vio-
lently troubled by the approaching storm; a
wind sprang up, rustled abruptly among the
leaves, sank into silence, again set up a pro-
longed rustling and howled among the trees;
a gloomy darkness moved rapidly over the land,
driving before it the last glow of sunset; dense
clouds, as though suddenly released, floated
2/9
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
upwards and flew across the sky; there came a
spatter of rain, a red flash of lightning and a
heavy, angry roll of thunder.
"Let us go in," said old Ipatov, "or we may
get wet."
Everyone got up.
"In a minute," cried Veretyev. "Let us have
the last song. Listen:
" 'Oh, my porch, oh, my new porch.' "
He sang in a loud voice, rapidly striking the
chords with the whole of his hand. "My porch
of maple." The chorus took it up as though
carried away by the tune. Almost at the same
instant the rain came lashing down in streams;
but Veretyev sang "My porch" to the end.
Drowned from time to time by peals of thunder,
the gay reckless song sounded even gayer and
more reckless to the accompaniment of the
noisy patter and gurgling of the rain. Finally
the last outburst of the chorus rang out and
the whole company ran, laughing, into the draw-
ing-room. The little girls, Ipatov's daughters,
laughed more loudly than anyone as they shook
the raindrops off their dresses. Ipatov, how-
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A QUIET BACKWATER
ever, by way of precaution, closed the window
and the door, and Yegor Kapitonitch com-
mended his prudence, observing that Matryona
Markovna too insisted on all windows and doors
being shut during a storm, since electricity acts
more freely in an empty space. Bodryakov
looked into his face, moved away and upset a
chair. Such little mishaps were very frequent
with him.
The storm was very quickly over. The doors
and windows were opened again and the rooms
were filled with moist fragrance. Tea was
brought in. After tea the old gentlemen sat
down to cards again — Ivan Ilyitch, as usual,
seated himself beside them. Vladimir Sergeitch
went up to Marya Pavlovna, who was sitting in
the window with Veretyev; but Nadyezhda
Alexyevna summoned him and immediately en-
tered into a lively conversation with him about
Petersburg and Petersburg life. She attacked
it; Vladimir Sergeitch began defending it.
Nadyezhda Alexyevna seemed anxious to keep
him at her side.
"What are you arguing about?" said Veret-
yev, getting up and coming towards them.
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THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
He walked with a lazy swing ; in all his move-
ments there was something between noncha-
lance and indolence.
"About Petersburg," answered Nadyezhda
Alexyevna. "Vladimir Sergeitch cannot say
enough in its praise."
"It's a nice town," observed Veretyev — "but
I think it's nice everywhere. Yes, really.
Where there are two or three women and, ex-
cuse my frankness, wine, man really has noth-
ing left to desire."
"That surprises me," answered Vladimir
Sergeitch; "can you really be of the opinion
that for an educated man there exists
nothing? . . ."
"Perhaps . . . just so ... I agree with
you," interrupted Veretyev, who with all his
politeness had the habit of not letting other
people finish their sentences. "But that's not
in my line; I am not a philosopher."
"I am not a philosopher either," said Vladi
mir Sergeitch, "and have no desire to be one,
but we are talking of something quite dif-
ferent."
Veretyev looked at his sister with a non-
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A QUIET BACKWATER
chalant air, and with a faint smile she bent
down to him and half-whispered :
"Petrusha, darling, act Yegor Kapitonitch
for us, do \" Veretyev's face instantly changed
and God knows by what miracle in a flash be-
came extraordinarily like that of Yegor Kapi-
tonitch, though there was nothing in common
in the features of the one and the other, and
all that Veretyev did was to wrinkle up his
nose and drop the corners of his mouth.
"Of course," he began, whispering in a voice
exactly like Yegor Kapitonitch's — "Matryona
Markovna is a lady very strict on the point of
manners, but she is an exemplary wife. It is
true that whatever I say . . ."
"The Biryulovsky young ladies know all
about it," Nadyezhda Alexyevna put in, hardly
able to restrain her laughter.
"They know all about it next day," answered
Veretyev with such a killing grimace, such an
embarrassed side glance that even Vladimir
Sergeitch laughed.
"You have a great talent for mimicry, I see,"
he observed.
Veretyev passed his hand over his face; his
283
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
features resumed their ordinary expression, and
Nadyezhda Alexyevna cried:
"Oh, yes, he can mimic anyone he likes. . . .
He has a genius for it."
"And could you mimic me?" asked Vladimir
Sergeitch.
"To be sure he can !" said Nadyezhda Alex-
yevna. "I should think so !"
"Oh, please do mimic me," said Astahov, ad-
dressing Veretyev — "I beg you not to stand on
ceremony."
"Did you really believe her?" answered Veret-
yev, slightly screwing up one eye and giving
his voice Astahov's intonation but so slightly
and discreetly that only Nadyezhda Alexyevna
noticed it and bit her lip. "You mustn't believe
her, please; she may tell you all sorts of stories
about me."
"And if only you knew what an actor he is 1"
Nadyezhda Alexyevna went on — "he can act
any character. It's so wonderful. He is our
stage manager and prompter and everything.
It is a pity you are going away so soon."
"Sister, your partiality blinds you," Veretyev
observed in a dignified voice but still with the
284
A QUIET BACKWATER
same intonation. "What will Mr. Astahov
think of you? He will think you are a pro-
vincial young lady."
"Oh, I assure you ..." Vladimir Serge-
itch was beginning.
"Petrusha, I tell you what," put in Nadyezhda
Alexyevna — "you show us how a drunken man
cannot get a handkerchief out of his pocket or
better act a boy trying to catch a fly on the win-
dow while it buzzes under his fingers."
"You are a regular child," answered Veretyev.
He got up, however, and going to the window
by which Marya Pavlovna was sitting began
passing his hand over the pane and acting a
boy catching a fly. The accuracy with which
he imitated the pitiful buzz of the insect was
really amazing. It seemed as though a real fly
were under his fingers. Nadyezhda Alexyevna
laughed and gradually everyone in the room
began laughing. Marya Pavlovna's face did
not change, however; there was not even a
quiver on her lips. She sat with downcast eyes ;
at last she raised them and looking with a grave
face at Veretyev she brought out through her
teeth :
285
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"It's a strange taste to want to make a fool of
yourself."
Veretyev turned away from the window at
once and after standing for a little while in
the middle of the room went out on to the
verandah and from it into the park which was
by now wrapped in darkness.
"He is an amusing fellow, that Pyotr i.\lexe-
itch!" observed Yegor Kapitonitch, flinging
down a seven of trumps on his opponent's ace.
"He really is an amusing fellow !"
Nadyezhda Alexyevna got up and, going hur-
riedly to Marya Pavlovna, asked her in an
undertone :
"What did you say to my brother?"
"Nothing," she answered.
"What do you mean by 'nothing'? It can't
have been nothing."
And after a brief pause Nadyezhda Alex-
yevna brought out "come along," took Marya
Pavlovna by the hand, made her get up and
go with her into the garden.
Vladimir Sergeitch looked after the two
young ladies with some surprise. But their
absence did not last long ; they came back within
286
A QUIET BACKWATER
a quarter of an hour and Pyotr Alexeitch came
in with them,
"Such a lovely night !" cried Nadyezhda Alex-
yevna as she walked in. "How nice it is in
the garden !"
"Oh, yes, by the way," said Vladimir Serge-
itch — '"was it you I saw in the garden last
night, Marya Pavlovna?"
Marya Pavlovna glanced rapidly into his
eyes.
"You were reciting Pushkin's 'Upas Tree,' if
I am not mistaken."
Veretyev gave a slight frown and also began
looking at Astahov.
"Yes, it was me," said Marya Pavlovna, "but
I was not reciting anything; I never recite."
"Perhaps it was my fancy," began Vladimir
Sergeitch, "though . . ."
"It was your fancy," Marya Pavlovna added
coldly.
"What is this 'Upas Tree?'" asked Na-
dyezhda Alexyevna.
"Don't you know?" answered Astahov.
"Pushkin's poem 'on poor and meagre soil';
don't you remember it?"
287
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"I don't seem to . . . It's about a poisonous
tree, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Like the datura. , . . Do you remember,
Masha, how beautiful the datura plants were
on our balcony in the moonlight with their long
white flowers? Do you remember the sweet,
insidious, treacherous scent they had?"
"Treacherous scent!" cried Vladimir Serge-
itch.
"Yes, treacherous. Why does that surprise
you? They say it is dangerous, but yet it at-
tracts one. How is it evil things can attract
one ? What is evil ought not to be lovely."
"Oho! What profound reflections!" ob-
served Pyotr Alexeitch. "We have got a long
way from the poem!"
"I repeated that poem to Marya Pavlovna
yesterday," said Vladimir Sergeitch, "and she
liked it extremely."
"Oh, do repeat it, please," said Nadyezhda
Alexyevna.
"Certainly."
And Astahov repeated "The Upas Tree."
"Too stilted," Veretyev brought out as it
288
A QUIET BACKWATER
were reluctantly as soon as Vladimir Sergeitch
had finished.
"The poem is too stilted?"
"No, not the poem ... I beg your pardon,
it seemed to me that you did not repeat it
simply enough. The thing speaks for itself;
however, I may be mistaken."
"No, you are not mistaken," said Nadyezhda
Alexyevna emphatically.
"Oh, no, we all know that ! In your eyes I am
a genius, a gifted person, who knows every-
thing and can do everything, only unluckily he
is too lazy — that's it, isn't it?"
Nadyezhda Alexyevna merely nodded her
head.
"I don't dispute it ; you ought to know better
than I," observed Vladimir Sergeitch, and be-
came a little sulky. "It is not in my line,"
Meanwhile the game of cards was over.
"Oh, by the way, Vladimir Sergeitch," said
Ipatov, getting up — "a gentleman of our neigh-
bourhood, a most excellent and worthy man,
Gavril Stepanitch Akilin, asks you to do him
the honour to come to his ball. That is, I call
it a ball to give it a fine name, but it is simply
289
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
a little evening party, a dance without cere-
mony. He would have certainly called upon
you himself but he was afraid of disturbing
you."
"I am very grateful to the gentleman," said
Vladimir Sergeitch, "but I absolutely must go
home."
"But when do you suppose the ball is? It's
to-morrow. It is Gavril Stepanitch's name-day
to-morrow. One day will make no difference,
and you will give him so much pleasure! And
it is only seven miles from here. If you will
allow us, we'll drive you there."
"I really don't know," began Vladimir Serge-
itch. "Are you going?"
"Yes, the whole family. Nadyezhda Alex-
yevna and Pyotr Alexeitch, we are all going !"
"You can ask me for the fifth quadrille now,
if you like," observed Nadyezhda Alexyevna —
"the first four are engaged already."
"You are very kind ; and are you engaged for
the mazurka?"
"I? Let me think. . . . No, I believe I am
not."
290
A QUIET BACKWATER
"In that case, if you would be so kind I
should like to have the honour . . ."
"You are going then? That's capital. Cer-
tainly."
"Bravo !" cried Ipatov. "Well, Vladimir Serge-
itch, that is nice of you. Gavril Stepanitch
will be simply delighted, won't he, Ivan Ilyitch ?"
Ivan Ilyitch would have liked to remain
silent as usual, but thought it better to emit a
sound of approval.
"What possessed you," Pyotr Alexeitch asked
his sister an hour later as he sat beside her in
a light chaise which he drove himself — "what
possessed you to force yourself on that muflf
for the mazurka ?"
"I have my own reasons," answered Nad'
yezhda Alexyevna.
"What are they, may I ask?"
"That's my secret."
"Oho!"
And he gave a light switch to the horse which
had begun to twitch its ears, snort and shy.
291
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
It was frightened by the shadow of a big bush
of willow that lay across the road in the dim
moonlight.
"And will you dance it with Masha?" Nad-
yezhda Alexyevna questioned her brother in her
turn.
"Yes," he answered indifferently.
"Yes I Yes !" Nadyezhda Alexyevna repeated
reproachfully. "You men," she added after a
pause, "certainly do not deserve to be loved
by decent women."
"Don't you think so? And that Petersburg
muff, does he deserve to be?"
"Better than you do."
"Oh indeed!"
And Pyotr Alexeitch declaimed with a sigh:
"What a task it is, O Lord,
To be , . . the brother of a grown-up sister."
Nadyezhda Alexyevna laughed.
"I give you a lot of trouble, indeed! It's I
who have a task with you."
"Really? I did not suspect it."
"I am not talking about Masha."
"What about then?"
292
A QUIET BACKWATER
Nadyezhda Alexyevna's face looked a little
troubled.
"You know very well," she said softly.
"Oh, I understand! There's no help for it,
Nadyezhda Alexyevna, I am fond of a glass of
wine in good company, sinful man that I am !"
"Hush, brother, please don't talk like that.
. . . It's not a joking matter,"
"Tram - tram - tarn - poom," Pyotr Alexeitch
muttered between his teeth.
"It will be your ruin, and you make a joke
or it."
" The Peasant Lad the Wheat Is Sowing' "
Pyotr Alexeitch sang aloud, switched the horse
with the reins and it broke into a rapid trot.
293
CHAPTER IV
When he got home Veretyev did not undress,
and two hours later, when the dawn was just
beginning to glow in the sky, he was out of
the house.
Halfway between his estate and Ipatov's, on
the precipitous edge of a broad ravine, there
was a small birch copse. The young trees were
growing very close together; no axe had yet
touched their slender stems; a patch of light
but almost unbroken shadow was thrown by
their fine leaves on the soft, delicate grass, all
spangled with the golden heads of hen-dazzle,
the white specks of wood harebells and the
crimson crosses of the wild pinks. The newly
risen sun flooded the whole copse with vivid
but not glaring light; dewdrops were glittering
on all sides; here and there a big drop would
suddenly glow crimson. Everything was
breathing with freshness, with life and that
294
A QUIET BACKWATER
innocent solemnity of the first moments of
morning when everything is already so bright
and yet still so silent. There was no sound but
the trilling notes of larks over the distant fields
and in the copse itself two or three birds were
without haste trying their brief bars and as
it were listening to the effect. From the wet
earth rose a strong, fresh fragrance; the pure
light air was stirred by cool breezes. There
was a feeling of morning, of a glorious sum-
mer morning about everything: everything had
the look and smile of morning like the rosy,
freshly washed little face of a child just
awake.
Not far from the ravine in the middle of a
glade Veretyev was sitting on a cloak spread
on the ground. Marya Pavlovna was standing
by him, leaning against a birch-tree, with her
hands behind her. They were both silent.
Marya Pavlovna was looking fixedly into the
distance; her white scarf had slipped off her
head on to her shoulders, the breeze stirred and
lifted the ends of her hastily coiled hair. Veret-
yev sat bending down, striking the ground with
a twig.
295
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"Well," he began at last, "are you angry
with me?"
Marya Pavlovna did not answer.
Veretyev glanced at her.
"Masha, are you angry?" he repeated.
Marya Pavlovna took a rapid glance at him,
turned slightly away and said:
"Yes."
"What for?" asked Veretyev, and he threw
away the twig.
Again Marya Pavlovna did not answer.
"You have a right to be angry with me,
though," Veretyev went on after a brief silence.
"You must look upon me not merely as frivo-
lous but even . . ."
"You don't understand me," Marya Pavlovna
interrupted. "I am not angry with you on my
own account at all."
"On whose, then ?"
"On your own."
Veretyev raised his head and gave a short
laugh.
"Ah, I understand !" he began. "Again ! you
are beginning to be worried again at the thought
of my not doing anything with myself. You
296
A QUIET BACKWATER
know, Masha, you are a wonderful creature,
you really arc. You think so much about other
people and so little about yourself. You have
no egoism at all, really — there is not another
girl like you in the world. But the trouble is
that I don't deserve your affection; I tell you
that in earnest."
"So much the worse for you. You feel and
you do nothing."
Veretyev gave a short laugh again.
"Masha, pull your hand from behind your
back and give it to me," he said with an in-
sinuating caress in his voice.
Marya Pavlovna merely shrugged her shoul-
der.
"Give me your beautiful, honest hand ; I want
to implant a tender and respectful kiss upon it,
as the frivolous pupil kisses the hand of his
indulgent preceptor."
And Veretyev stretched forward towards
Marya Pavlovna.
"Oh, don't !" she said ; "you are always laugh-
ing and joking and will joke away all your
life."
"H'm! Joke away my life! A new expres-
297
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
sion! I suppose, Marya Pavlovna, you used
the verb 'joke away' in a transitive sense?"
Marya Pavlovna frowned.
"Don't, Veretyev," she repeated.
"Joke away my life," repeated Veretyev, and
he got up — "but you will make a worse busi-
ness of it than I shall ; you will waste your life
in taking things seriously. Do you know,
Masha, you remind me of a scene in Pushkin's
'Don Juan.' You have not read Pushkin's 'Don
Juan?'"
"No."
"Oh, no, I forgot, you don't read poetry.
A lady called Laura has visitors come to see
her; she drives them all away and is left alone
with a man called Carlos. They go out to-
gether on the balcony; it is a glorious riight.
Laura admires it and Carlos suddenly begins
to point out to her that she will grow old some
day. 'What of it?' Laura answers — "at this
moment perhaps it is cold and raining in Paris
but here 'the night is fragrant of lemons and
laurels.* What's the use of looking into the
future ? Look about you, Masha, is it not lovely
here? Look how everything is rejoicing in
298
A QUIET BACKWATER
life, how youthful it all is. And aren't we
young ourselves?"
Veretyev went closer to Marya Pavlovna ; she
did not draw back but she did not turn her
head towards him.
"Smile, Masha," he went on, "only your kind,
good smile and not your usual mocking one.
I love your good, kind smile — raise your proud,
stern eyes. Well? You turn away. Hold out
your hand to me, anyway."
"Ah, Veretyev," Masha began, "you know I
can't talk. You tell me about that Laura. But
she was a woman. It's pardonable for a woman
not to think of the future."
"When you speak, Masha," replied Veretyev,
"you continually blush from pride and shyness ;
the blood comes rushing to your cheeks in a
flood of colour; I like that awfully in you."
Marya Pavlovna looked straight into Veret-
yev's eyes.
"Good-bye," she said, and she pulled her
scarf on to her head. Veretyev held her back.
"There, there," he cried, "wait a little ! What
is it you want? Give me my orders. Would
you like me to go into the service, to become a
299
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
farmer? Would you like me to publish songs
with accompaniments on the guitar, to publish
a collection of poems, of drawings, to take up
painting, sculpture, rope-dancing? I'll do any-
thing, anything you tell me, if only you will
be pleased with me. I will really, Masha, be-
lieve me."
Marya Pavlovna glanced at him again,
"All that is only words, not deeds. You
assure me you obey me . . ."
"Of course, I do obey."
"You obey me but how many times have I
asked you . . ."
"What?"
Marya Pavlovna hesitated.
"Not to drink," she said at last.
"Ech, Masha, Masha! So you are at that
too ! My sister distresses herself about that.
But in the first place I am not a drunkard ; and
in the second, do you know why I drink ? Look
at that swallow there. . . . See how boldly it
disposes of its little body; it flings it wherever
it likes! See, it has darted upwards and now
it has dropped down; it actually squealed with
joy; do you hear? So that's why I drink,
300
A QUIET BACKWATER
Masha — to experience the same sensations as
that swallow ... to fling oneself where one
will, to fly where the fancy takes one . . ."
"But what is it all for?" Masha interrupted.
"How can you ask that ? What else is there
to live for?"
"And can't it be done without drinking?"
"No, it can't: we are all blighted and de-
generate. Passion, now . . . that produces the
same effect. That is why I love you."
"As you do wine . . . much obliged."
"No, Masha; I love you not as I do wine.
Wait a little, I will prove it to you some day
when we are married and go abroad. Do you
know I am dreaming already how I shall lead
you before the Venus of Milo. It will be just
the moment to repeat:
"If with grave eyes she stood before
The Queen of Love from Melos famed,
Of the two goddesses, I trow,
The marble beauty would be shamed."
Why is it I keep talking in verse to-day? It
must be the influence of the morning. What
air! It's like wine."
"Wine again," observed Marya Pavlovna.
301
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"What of it? Such a morning and you with
me — what could be more intoxicating? 'With
her grave eyes.* Yes," Veretyev went on, look-
ing intently at Marya Pavlovna, "that is so-
. . . But yet I remember that I have seen — not
often it is true, but I have seen — those splendid
dark eyes look tender. And how lovely they
are then! Come, don't turn away, Masha,
laugh, anyway . . . Show me your eyes merry,
at least, if they won't grant me a tender look."
"Leave off, Veretyev," said Marya Pavlovna ;
"let me go; it is time I was at home."
"I'll make you laugh, though," Veretyev in-
terposed, "upon my word I will. Oh, look,
there runs a hare!"
"Where?" asked Marya Pavlovna.
"Over there, beyond the ravine, through the
field of oats — someone must have frightened it ;
they don't run in the morning. Would you like
me to stop it?"
And Veretyev gave a loud whistle. The hare
at once squatted, moved its ears, tucked in its
forepaws, drew itself up, munched, sniffed and
munched again ! Veretyev nimbly squatted on
his heels like the hare and began moving his
302
A QUIET BACKWATER
nose, sniffing and munching like the hare. The
hare passed its paws once or twice over its face,
shook itself — its paws must have been wet with
the dew — ^pricked up its ears and bounded off.
Veretyev rubbed his cheeks with his hands and
shook himself too. . . . Marya Pavlovna could
not refrain from laughing.
"Bravo !" cried Veretyev, and he jumped up,
"bravo ! You certainly are not a coquette. Do
you know that if any society lady had teeth
like yours she would be forever laughing ! But
that is what I love you for, Masha, that you
are not a society lady, you don't laugh without
occasion, you don't wear gloves, and it is so
nice to kiss your hands because they are sun-
burnt and one feels how strong they are. . . .
I love you because you don't go in for being
clever, because you are proud and silent, don't
read books, don't like poetry . . ."
"Would you like me to repeat some poetry
to you ?" Marya Pavlovna interrupted him with
a peculiar expression in her face.
"Poetry?" said Veretyev in surprise.
"Yes, some poetry which that Petersburg
gentleman recited to us last night."
303
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"The 'Upas Tree' again? So you really were
repeating it at night in the garden ? The poem
suits you. . , . But do you really like it so
much?"
"Yes, I like it."
"Repeat it."
Marya Pavlovna was a liftle abashed.
"Repeat it, repeat it," Veretyev insisted.
Marya Pavlovna began repeating it. Veret-
yev stood facing her, folded his arms and lis-
tened. At the first line Marya Pavlovna lifted
her eyes towards the sky: she did not want to
meet Veretyev's eyes. She repeated the verses
in her mellow even voice which recalled the
notes of a violoncello; but when she reached
the lines:
"And at his mighty sovereign's feet
Fell the poor slave, and died,"
her voice quivered, her haughty, immobile eye-
brows were raised naively like a child's and
her eyes rested on Veretyev with involuntary
devotion.
He suddenly flung himself at her feet and
embraced her knees.
304
A QUIET BACKWATER
"I am your slave," he cried, "I am at your
feet, you are my sovereign, my goddess, my
ox-eyed Hera, my Medea . . ."
Marya Pavlovna was going to push him
away ; but her hands lay motionless on his curly
hair and with a smile of confusion she bowed
her head.
30s
CHAPTER V
Gavril Stepanitch Akilin, who was giving
the ball, belonged to that class of country gentle-
men who arouse the wonder of their neighbours
by their faculty of living well and keeping open
house on insufficient means. Though he had
no more than four hundred serfs he entertained
the whole province in a huge stone mansion
erected by himself, with columns, with a tower,
and a flagstaff upon it. His estate had come
to him from his father and had never been
noted for its good condition; Gavril Stepan-
itch was for many years absent from it, serv-
ing in Petersburg; at last, fifteen years pre-
viously, he had returned to his native place
with the grade of collegiate assessor, with a
wife and three daughters. He began simul-
taneously building and introducing improve-
ments, immediately set up an orchestra and gave
dinner parties. At first everyone prophesied
306
A QUIET BACKWATER
that he would inevitably be ruined before long ;
more than once there were rumours that Gavril
Stepanitch's estate was to be sold by auction ;
but the years passed, dinner parties, balls, fetes,
concerts followed one another as before, new
buildings rose like mushrooms from the ground,
and Gavril Stepanitch's estate was still not put
up to auction and he went on living as before
and had even grown stout of late. Then the
neighbours' gossip took another turn; they be-
gan hinting at some considerable sums which
had, they said, been kept secret, there was talk
of buried treasure. . . . "If he had been a good
manager," the gentlemen of the neighbourhood
argued, "one could understand it, but he is not,
not at all! That's what is so surprising and
unaccountable." However that might be, every-
one was very ready to visit Gavril Stepanitch;
he was hospitable and would play cards for
any stake. He was a little man with grey hair
and a conical-shaped head, a yellow face and
yellow eyes, always carefully shaved and
scented with eau-de-cologne. He wore on ordi-
nary days as well as on holidays a loose blue
swallowtail, buttoned up to the neck, a big
307
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
cravat into which he had the habit of sticking
his chin, and he prided himself on his Hnen ; he
screwed up his eyes and thrust out his lips when
he took snuff and spoke very softly and affably.
Gavril Stepanitch was not distinguished by his
liveliness and in fact was not prepossessing in
appearance and did not look particularly intel-
ligent, though there was sometimes a gleam of
cunning in his eye. He had made good matches
for his two elder daughters, the younger was
still at home unmarried. Gavril Stepanitch had
also a wife, an insignificant creature who had
not a word to say for herself.
At seven o'clock in the evening Vladimir
Sergeitch arrived at Ipatov's wearing a dress-
coat and white gloves. He found them all
dressed ready to set off ; the little girls were sit-
ting stiffly, afraid of crumpling their starched
white frocks. Old Ipatov genially reproached
Vladimir Sergeitch when he saw that the young
man was wearing a dress-coat, and pointed to
his own frock-coat. Marya Pavlovna wore a
deep pink muslin dress which suited her ad-
mirably. Vladimir Sergeitch paid her a few
compliments — Marya Pavlovna's beauty at-
308
A QUIET BACKWATER
tracted him though she was evidently shy of
him; he hked Nadyezhda Alexyevna, too, but
the freedom of her mamiers rather embarrassed
him. Moreover, in her vi^ords, in her looks and
smiles there was often a shade of mockery, and
that troubled his well-bred Petersburg soul.
He would have had no objection to joining her
in mocking other people, but it was disagreeable
that she might perhaps be capable of laughing
at him.
The ball had already begun; a good many
guests had assembled and the home-trained
orchestra was blaring, droning and squeaking
in the gallery when the Ipatov family with
Vladimir Sergeitch entered the ballroom. Their
host met them at the door, thanked Vladimir
Sergeitch for the feeling way in which he had
so agreeably surprised them — as he expressed
himself — and, taking Ipatov by the arm, he led
him off to the drawing-room, to the card-tables.
Gavril Stepanitch had had an inferior educa-
tion, and everything in his house — the music,
the furniture, the food, the wines — could not
even be called second rate. On the other hand
there was plenty of everything, and he was not
309
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
stuck up and did not give himself airs. . . . The
gentlemen of the neighbourhood asked nothing
more of him and were perfectly satisfied with
the entertainment he gave them. At supper,
for instance, they handed caviare cut into hard
blocks and over-salted, but no one prevented
one from taking it with one's fingers, and there
was plenty to wash it down with; cheap wine,
it is true, but real wine made from grapes, not
any other beverage. The springs in the furni-
ture were so stiff and unyielding as to be rather
uncomfortable, but to say nothing of there
being many armchairs and sofas that had no
springs at all, anyone could get hold of a wool-
embroidered cushion to put on his seat, for
such cushions embroidered by Madame Akilin's
own hands lay about in great profusion every-
where — and then there was nothing left to be
desired.
In short Gavril Stepanitch's house was per-
fectly in keeping with the social and uncere-
monious manners of the X. district, and it was
simply due to Gavril Stepanitch's own modesty
that the marshal of the nobility elected was not
he, but a retired major called Podpekin, a very
310
A QUIET BACKWATER
respectable and worthy man though he combed
his hair from his left ear over his right temple,
dyed his moustache a purplish tint and, suffer-
ing from asthma, sank into depression after
dinner.
And so the ball had already begun. A quad-
rille of ten couples was being danced. The
gentlemen were officers of a regiment stationed
in the neighbourhood, young or youngish land-
owners, and two or three officials from the town.
Everything was as it should be, everything
was going well. The marshal of the nobility
was playing cards with a retired actual civil
councillor and a rich gentleman, the owner of
three thousand serfs. The actual civil council-
lor wore on his first finger a diamond ring,
spoke very slowly and always kept his heels
together and his feet turned out in the position
affected by old-fashioned dancers ; he never
turned his head, which was half concealed by a
magnificent velvet collar. The wealthy gentle-
man, on the other hand, was continually laugh-
ing, raising his eyebrows and flashing the whites
of his eyes.
The poet Bodryakov, a man of clumsy and
..^11
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
wild appearance, was talking in a corner witH
the learned historian Yevsyukov; they were
holding each other by their buttons. Near them
one gentleman with an extraordinarily long
waist was expounding some bold opinions to
another gentleman who gazed timidly at the
top of his head. Mammas in various coloured
caps were sitting in a row along the walls; at
the doors there were groups of gentlemen of
a humbler sort, young men looking embarrassed,
older men looking unassuming; but there is no
describing it all. All was as it should be, I
repeat.
Nadyezhda Alexyevna had arrived before the
Ipatovs. Vladimir Sergeitch saw her dancing
with a handsome young man with expressive
eyes, with a thin black moustache and shining
teeth, wearing a smart dress-coat and a gold
chain hanging in a semi-circle on his waistcoat.
Nadyezhda Alexyevna was dressed in blue with
white flowers; a small wreath of the same
flowers was twisted round her curly hair. She
smiled, flirted her fan and looked gaily about
her; she felt herself the queen of the ball.
Vladimir Sergeitch went up to her, bowed and,
312
A QUIET BACKWATER
looking at her affably, asked her whether she
remembered her promise of yesterday.
"What promise?"
"You are dancing the mazurka with me,
aren't you ?"
"Yes, of course/'
The young man who was standing near
Nadyezhda Alexyevna suddenly turned crimson.
"I think you have forgotten, Mademoiselle,"
he began, "that you had promised the mazurka
to me."
Nadyezhda Alexyevna was confused.
"Oh, dear, what am I to do ?" she said :
"please forgive me, !Monsieur Steltchinsky, T
am so careless : I am really so ashamed."
Monsieur Steltchinsky said nothing and
dropped his eyes ; Vladimir Sergeitch drew him-
self up slightly.
"Be so kind, Monsieur Steltchinsky," Nad-
yezhda Alexyevna went on ; "we are old f reinds
while Monsieur Astahov is a stranger: do not
put me in a difficult position ; allow me to dance
with him."
"As you please," said the young man. "It's
for you to begin, though."
313
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"Thank you," Nadyezhda Alexyevna pro-
nounced and fluttered off to meet her vis-a-vis.
Steltchinsky glanced after her, then looked
at Vladimir Sergeitch. Vladimir Sergeitch in
his turn looked at him and walked away.
The quadrille was soon over. Vladimir
Sergeitch walked up and down the ballroom
a little, then went into the drawing-room and
stopped beside one of the card-tables. All at
once he felt someone behind him touch his arm ;
he turned round — Steltchinsky stood before
him,
"I want a couple of words with you in the
next room with your kind permission," he pro-
nounced in French with great politeness and
not with a Russian accent.
Vladimir Sergeitch followed him.
Steltchinsky stopped at the window.
"In the presence of a lady," he said in the
same language, "I could not say anything but
what I did; but you do not, I hope, imagine
that I really intend to surrender to you my right
to dance the mazurka with M-elle Veretieff"
Vladimir Sergeitch was surprised.
"How do you mean?" he asked.
314
A QUIET BACKWATER
"What I mean," Steltchinsky answered
calmly, his nostrils dilating as he thrust his
hand into his waistcoat, "is that I don't intend
to, that's all."
Vladimir Sergeitch thrust his hand into his
waistcoat, too, but his nostrils did not dilate.
"Allow me to observe, my dear sir," he began,
"you may put M-elle Veretieff in an unpleasant
position by your action, and I imagine . . ."
"That would be most painful to me, but no
one hinders you from withdrawing, declaring
yourself unwell or going away . . ."
"I am not going to do that. What do you
take me for?"
"In that case I shall be forced to ask you to
give me satisfaction."
"Satisfaction ... in what sense?"
"In the obvious sense."
"You are challenging me to a duel?"
"Certainly, if you do not give up the ma-
zurka." Steltchinsky tried to utter these words
in the most unconcerned manner possible.
Vladimir Sergeitch's heart gave a jump. He
looked into the face of his unexpected assailant.
"Good Lord," he thought, "what idiocy !"
315
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"You are not joking?" he said aloud.
"It is not my habit to joke," Steltchinsky
repHed with dignity, "and especially with per-
sons with whom I am not acquainted. You
will not give up the mazurka ?" he added after
a brief pause.
"I will not give it up," answered Vladimir
Sergeitch, as though reflecting.
"Very good ! We will fight to-morrow.
"To-morrow morning my second will call on
you." And with a polite bow Steltchinsky re-
tired, evidently very well pleased with himself.
Vladimir Sergeitch remained a few moments
longer at the window.
"Here's a nice business," he thought. "That's
what comes of making new acquaintances! I
was an ass to come ! Very nice ! Charming !"
He pulled himself together at last, however,
and went into the ballroom.
There they were already dancing the polka.
Marya Pavlovna flitted by him dancing with
Pyotr Alexeitch, whom he had not noticed till
then; she looked pale and even melancholy;
then Nadyezhda Alexyevna whirled by him, all
brightness and delight, with a little bandy-legged
316
A QUIET BACKWATER
but ardent artillery officer^ at the next round
she was dancing with Steltchinsky, who as he
danced kept tossing his hair back.
"Why, my good sir," Vladimir Sergeitch
heard the voice of Ipatov behind him, "why are
you looking on and not dancing? Confess now,
though we do live, so to say, in a quiet back-
water, it is not bad here, is it?"
"Nice sort of backwater, damn it!" thought
Valdimir Sergeitch, and muttering some sort of
answer to Ipatov he went to the other end of
the ballroom,
"I shall have to find a second," he thought,
continuing his reflections, "and where the devil
am I to find him? Veretyev is out of the
question ; I don't know any of the others ; who
the devil would have thought of such an absurd
business ?"
V ladimir Sergeitch was fond of mentioning
the devil when he was vexed.
At that moment Vl?dimir Sergeitch's eyes
fell on the Adjustable Soul, Ivan Ilyitch, who
was standing doing nothing by fhe window.
"Wouldn't he do?" he thought, and, shrug-
317
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
ging his shoulders, he added almost aloud, "I
shall have to ask him."
Vladimir Sergeitch went up to him,
"I have just had a very queer adventure,"
our hero began with a forced smile — "only
imagine, a young man, a complete stranger, has
just challenged me to a duel; it is utterly im-
possible to refuse it; I must have a second;
may I ask you ?"
Although Ivan Ilyitch was distinguished, as
the reader is aware, by imperturbable indif-
ference, even he was strcuk by so unusual a
suggestion. He stared at Vladimir Sergeitch
in perplexity.
"Yes," said Vladimir Sergeitch, "I should be
very much indebted to you ; I know no one here.
You are the only one who . . ."
"I cannot," Ivan Ilyitch brought out as though
waking up from sleep — "it is utterly impos-
sible."
"Why? You are afraid of unpleasantness;
but I hope it will all be kept secret."
As he said this, Vladimir Sergeitch felt that
he flushed and was confused.
318
A QUIET BACKWATER
"How stupid ! How awfully stupid it all is !"
he was saying inwardly.
"Excuse me, I can't possibly," repeated Ivan
Ilyitch, shaking his head and drawing back, up-
setting a chair again as he did so.
It was the first time in his life that he had
to refuse a request ; but it was such a request !
"Anyway," said Vladimir Sergeitch in an
agitated voice, catching hold of his arm, "you
will do me the favour not to speak to anyone
of what I have told you, I beg you most
earnestly."
"That I can do, that I can do," Ivan Ilyitch
replied hurriedly, "but the other thing I can't,
say what you like, I am not equal to it."
"Very well, very well," said Valdimir Serge-
itch, "but don't forget that I count upon your
discretion. ... I shall inform that gentleman
to-morrow," he muttered to himself with vexa-
tion, "that I could not find a second; he can
arrange himself as he hkes best ; I am a stranger
here. What the devil possessed me to apply
to this fellow! But what could I do?"
Vladimir Sergeitch felt very, very much put
out.
319
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
Meanwhile the ball went on. He felt very
much inclined to go away at once, but till the
mazurka was over going away was not to be
thought of. How could he let his opponent
triumph? Unluckily for Vladimir Sergeitch,
Ihe master of the ceremonies was a free-and-
easy young man with long hair and a hollow
chest, over which a black satin cravat, with a
huge gold pin in it, flowed like a small water-
fall. This young man had the reputation all
over the province of being completely versed
in all the customs and traditions of the highest
society, though he had only spent six months
in Petersburg and had not succeeded in pene-
trating into anything higher than the houses
of the collegiate councillor Sandaraki and his
son-in-law, the civil councillor, Kostandaraki :
he led the dances at every ball, signalled to the
musicians by clapping his hands; in the midst
of the blare of the trumpets and the scraping
of the fiddles shouted, "En avant deux!" or
"Grande chaine" or "A vous, mademoiselle,"
and pale and perspiring, kept flying about, glid-
ing and scraping on the floor. He never be-
gan the mazurka before midnight. "And that's
320
A QUIET BACKWATER
something to be thankful for," he would say;
"in Petersburg I should have kept you waiting
for it till two o'clock."
The ball seemed long to Vladimir Sergeitch.
He wandered like a shadow from the ballroom
to the drawing-room, from time to time ex-
changing frigid glances with his rival, who did
not miss a single dance, asked Marya Pavlovna
for a quadrille, but she was engaged — and once
or twice said a few words to his solicitous host
who seemed troubled by the look of boredom on
the face of his new acquaintance. At last the
strains of the longed-for mazurka were heard.
Vladimir Sergeitch sought out his partner,
brought two chairs and sat with her among the
last couples, almost facing Steltchinsky.
As was to be expected, the young leader of
the dances was the first to begin. His counte-
nance as he began the mazurka, the way he
drew his partner after him, while he struck the
floor with his foot and tossed his head — to de-
scribe all this is almost beyond the pen of man.
"I think you are bored, Monsieur Astahov,"
Nadyezhda Alexyevna began, addressing Vladi-
mir Sergeitch.
321
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"I? Not in the least. What makes you
think so?"
"Why, from your expression. . . . You have
not smiled once since you came in. I did not
expect that of you. It doesn't suit you, prac-
tical gentlemen, to scowl and be unsociable a
la Byron — leave that to the poets."
"I notice, Nadyezhda Alexyevna, that you
frequently call me a practical person by way
of mocking at me. I suppose you look upon
me as a cold and very sensible being, not capa-
ble of anything. But do you know what I can
tell you: a practical person may often feel any-
thing but light-hearted, though he does not
think it necessary to display to others what is
passing within him; he prefers to be silent!"
"What do you mean by that?" asked Nad-
yezhda Alexyevna with a glance at him.
"Nothing," said Vladimir Sergeitch, with af-
fected indifference, and he assumed a mysteri-
ous air.
"But still?"
"Nothing, really. . . . One day you' will
know, later."
Nadyezhda Alexyevna would have pursued
322
A QUIET BACKWATER
her questions but at that instant a young lady,
the daughter of the host, led up to her Stelt-
chinsky and another gentleman in blue spec-
tacles.
"Life or death?" she asked in French.
"Life," cried Nadyezhda Alexyevna, "I don't
want death yet."
Steltchinsky bowed and led her off.
The gentleman in blue spectacles referred to
as death led off the daughter of the house.
Both names had been suggested by Steltchinsky.
"Tell me, please, who is this Mr. Steltchin-
sky?" Vladimir Sergeitch asked Nadyezhda
Alexyevna as soon as the latter came back to
her seat.
"He is in the Governor's service, a very
agreeable young man. He does not belong
here. He is rather a coxcomb but that's in
their blood. I hope you have not had any dif-
ficulties with him about the mazurka?"
"Not the slightest," Vladimir Sergeitch re-
plied with some hesitation.
"I am so forgetful! You can't imagine."
"I ought to rejoice in your forget fulness : it
323
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
has given me the pleasure of dancing with you
this evening."
Nadyezhda Alexyevna looked at him, slightly
screwing up her eyes:
"Really? You are glad to dance with me?"
Vladimir Sergeitch responded with a com-
pliment. Little by little he began talking
freely. Nadyezhda Alexyevna was always
very charming, and was especially so that eve-
ning; Vladimir Sergeitch thought her delight-
ful. The thought of the duel next day, work-
ing upon his nerves, gave brilliance and live-
liness to his talk; under the influence of it he
allowed himself some exaggeration in the ex-
pression of his feelings . . . "Well, come what
may!" In all his words, in his stifled sighs,
in the sudden gloom that from time to time
clouded his face, there was something of mys-
tery, of involuntary sadness and picturesque
despair. He unbent at last, so far as to be
talking of love, of women, of his future, of
his conception of happiness and of what he
asked of fate. . . . He expressed himself in-
directly, in hints. On the eve of possible death
A QUIET BACKWATER
Vladimir Sergeitch flirted with Nadyezhda
Alexyevna.
She listened to him attentively, laughed, shook
her head, sometimes disputed with him, some-
times pretended to be incredulous. . . . The
conversation, frequently interrupted by the
other dances, took at last a rather strange turn
. . . Vladimir Sergeitch began questioning
Nadyezhda Alexyevna about herself, about her
character, about her tastes. ... At first she
turned off his questions with a jest, then sud-
denly to his surprise asked him when he was
going away.
"Where?" he asked, wondering.
"Home."
"To Sasovo?"
"No, home, to your estate, sevenfy miles
away ?"
Vladimir Sergeitch dropped his eyes.
"I should like it to be as soon as possible,"
he brought out with a troubled face. "I ex-
pect, to-morrow ... if I am still living. I
have business, you know. But what makes you
ask me about it?"
325
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"Oh, nothing," answered Nadyezhda Alex-
yevna.
"What was the reason, though?"
"Nothing," she repeated. "I am surprised
at the curiosity of a man who is going away
to-morrow, and to-day cares to find out what I
am like."
"But really . . ." Vladimir Sergeitch was
beginning.
"Oh, this is appropriate . . . read this,"
Nadyezhda Alexyevna interrupted him with a
laugh, handing him the paper from a sweet
which she had just picked up from a little table,
and she got up to meet Marya Pavlovna, who
had come up to her with another lady.
Marya Pavlovna was dancing with Pyotr
Alexeitch. Her face was flushed and heated
but did not look any happier.
Vladimir Sergeitch looked at the paper;:=:=on
it was printed in inferior French type:i Qui
me neglige me per d. \ '-
He looked up and^'caught Steltchinsky's eyes
fixed upon him. Vladimir Sergeitch gave a
forced smile, leaned his elbow on the back of
326
A QUIET BACKWATER
a chair and crossed his legs, as though to say,
"So much for you !"
The ardent artillery officer whirled Nad-
yezhda Alexyevna back to her seat, slowly ro-
tated with her in front of it, made a bow,
clanked his spurs and departed. She sat down.
"Allow me to ask," Vladimir Sergeitch be-
gan deliberately, "how am I to take that
motto?"
"What was it?" said Nadyezhda Alexyevna.
"Oh, yes ! Qui me neglige me pcrd. Why ! It
is an excellent practical rule which may apply
at every turn. To succeed in any pursuit one
must neglect nothing', . . . One must try for
all and perhaps one will get something. But
it's funny : here am I, I . . . giving good advice
to a practical person like you."
Nadyezhda Alexyevna laughed and for the
rest of the mazurka Vladimir Sergeitch tried
in vain to go back to the previous conversation.
Nadyezhda Alexyevna turned it off with the
wilfulness of a capricious child. Vladimir
Sergeitch talked to her of her feelings and she
either refrained from answering him altogether
or drew his attention to the dresses of the
327
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
ladies, to the absurd faces of some of the men,
to the perfection of her brother's dancing, to
the beauty of Marya Pavlovna; she talked about
music, of what they had done the day before,
of Yegor Kapitonitch and his wife Matryona
Markovna . . . and only at the very end of
the mazurka when Vladimir Sergeitch was be-
ginning to make his last bows she said with an
ironical smile on her lips and in her eyes:
"And so you really are going away to-mor-
row?"
"Yes; and perhaps for a long journey,"
Vladimir Sergeitch said significantly.
"I wish you bon voyage." And Nadyezhda
Alexyevna went quickly to her brother, whis-
pered something gaily in his ear, then asked
aloud :
"Are you grateful to me? Yes? Aren't
you? But for me he would have asked her for
the mazurka."
He shrugged his shoulders and said:
"It will lead to nothing, anyway."
She led him into the drawing-room.
"The flirt !" thought Vladimir Sergeitch, and,
picking up his hat, he slipped unnoticed out of
i328
A QUIET BACKWATER
the ballroom, found his groom whom he had
told to be in readiness and was putting on his
overcoat when to his extreme astonishment, his
groom told him that they could not go, that the
coachman had somehow succeeded in getting
drunk and that there was no possibility of wak-
ing him. Swearing very briefly but very ex-
pressively at the absent coachman (there were
other people in the hall), and telling the groom
that if the coachman were not in a fit state by
the early morning no one in the world could
imagine what the consequences would be,
Vladimir Sergeitch went back to the ballroom
and asked the butler to give him a bedroom
without waiting for the supper which was being
laid in the drawing-room. The master of the
house seemed suddenly to spring out of the
floor just at Vladimir Sergeitch's elbow (Gav-
ril Stepanitch wore boots without heels aRd so
moved about noiselessly) ^nd began persuad-
ing him to remain, telltfig him that at supper
there would be some first-rate caviare; but
Vladimir Sergeitch refused, saying he had a
headache. Half an hour later he was lying on
329
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
a small bed under a short quilt, trying to go to
sleep.
But he could not sleep — though he tossed
from side to side, though he tried to think of
something else, the figure of Steltchinsky per-
sisted in haunting him. . . . Now he was aim-
ing. . . . Now he was firing. . . . "Astahov is
killed," someone was saying. Vladimir Serge-
itch could not be called valiant though he was
not a coward, either; but the idea of fighting
a duel with anyone had never entered his head.
. . . The notion of fighting — with his good
sense, peaceable disposition, regard for propri-
ety, dreams of future prosperity and making
a good marriage! If he had not been the per-
son concerned, he would have burst out laugh-
ing, the whole business struck him as so ludi-
crous and absurd. To fight ! And with whom
and for what?
"Damn it all! What nonsense!" he uncon-
sciously exclaimed aloud, "well, and if he really
does kill me," he continued his meditations, "I
must take measures anyway and make arrange-
ments. . . . Will anyone regret me?"
And with vexation he closed his wide-open
330
A QUIET BACKWATER
eyes, drew the quilt up to his neck . . . but
still could not sleep.
There was a faint flush of dawn in the sky
and, worn out with feverish sleeplessness,
Vladimir Sergeitch began dropping into a doze
when he was suddenly conscious of a weight on
his feet. He opened his eyes . , . Veretyev
was sitting on his bed.
Vladimir Sergeitch was extremely surprised,
especially when he noticed that Veretyev had
no coat on, that his shirt was unbuttoned and
his bare chest was visible, that his hair was
falling over his forehead and that his face, too,
looked changed, and Vladimir Sergeitch sat up
in bed.
"May I ask . . ." he began with a gesture
of surprise.
"I have come to see you," Veretyev began in
a hoarse voice, "in this condition, excuse me.
. . . We had a little drink ... I wanted to re-
assure you. I said to myself: there's a gen-
tleman in bed up there who probably can't sleep
— let us come to his aid ! Take note : you are
not going to fight to-morrow and you can
sleep. . , ."
331
THE TWO FRIENBS AND OTHER STORIES
Vladimir Sergeitch was more surprised than
ever.
"What did you say ?" he muttered.
"Yes, it is all settled," Veretyev went on,
"that gentleman from the shores of the Vistula
. . . Steltchinsky . . . apologises to you . . .
you will get a letter from him to-morrow . . .
I tell you again, it's all over. . . . You can'
snore !"
And' saying this, Veretyev got up and made
unsteadily for the door.
"But excuse me, excuse me," Vladimir Serge-
itch began, "how did you find out, and how
can I believe . . ."
"Ah! You think that I am . . . h'm! (and
he gave a slight lurch forward). I tell you
... he will send you a letter to-morrow. . . .
You don't attract me particularly but generosity
is my weak point. And what's the good of
talking? . . . It's all such nonsense. . . . But
confess," he added with a wink, "you were a
little scared, weren't you?"
Vladimir Sergeitch was angry.
"Excuse me, sir," he said.
"Oh, all right, all right," Veretyev interrupted
332
A QUIET BACKWATER
with a good-natured smile. "Don't get excited.
You don't know that we never have a ball with-
out an incident of this sort. . . . It's the regu-
lar thing. It never leads to anything. As
though anyone wants to make a target of him-
self ! But why not show off a bit — to a new-
comer, for instance? In vino Veritas. Though
neither you nor I know Latin. But I see from
your appearance that you are sleepy. I wish
you a good-night, you practical person and
well-intentioned mortal. Accept that wish
from another mortal who is not worth a half-
penny. Addio, mio carol"
And Veretyev went away.
"What on earth is the meaning of it?" ex-
claimed Vladimir Sergeitch a little later, and
he brought his fist down on the pillow. "It's
beyond everything! ... It must be explained!
I won't put up with it !"
For all that, five minutes later he was in a
quiet, sound sleep. His heart was lighter. . . .
A danger passed softens and fills with sweetness
the heart of man.
This is what had happened before Veretyev's
333
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
sudden interview with Vladimir Sergeitch in
the night.
Gavril Stepanitch had a second cousin, a
bachelor, living in his house. When there were
balls young men would run down to his room
on the ground floor to smoke in the intervals
between the dances, and after supper they as-
sembled there for a friendly drink. On that
night a good many guests had gathered together
in his room. Steltchinsky and Veretyev were
among them; Ivan Ilyitch, the Adjustable Soul,
had strolled down there also. They mixed
punch. Though Ivan Ilyitch had promised
Astahov to say nothing about the approaching
duel, yet when Veretyev casually asked him
what he had been talking about to that muff
(Veretyev always spoke of Astahov in this
way), the Adjustable Soul could not refrain
from repeating his conversation with Vladimir
Sergeitch word for word.
Veretyev laughed, then grew thoughtful.
"But whom is he fighting with?" he asked.
"Well, that I can't tell you," answered Ivan
Ilyitch.
"Whom was he talking to, anyway?"
334
A QUIET BACKWATER
"With different people . . . Yegor Kapiton-
itch — surely he is not fighting with him?"
Veretyev walked away from Ivan Ilyitch.
And so the punch was made and they began
drinking it. Veretyev was sitting in the most
conspicuous place; gay and reckless, he took
the lead in all young men's parties. He flung
off his coat and cravat. He was asked to sing ;
he took the guitar and sang several songs. The
wine began to go to their heads ; the young men
began drinking toasts. Steltchinsky, with a
flushed face, suddenly leaped onto the table and,
holding his glass high above his head, cried
aloud :
"To the health of — I know whom," he added
hurriedly; he drank off the wine, dashed the
glass to the floor and went on: "May my
enemy be smashed to fragments like this to-
morrow !"
Veretyev, who had been watching him for
some time, raised his head quickly.
"Steltchinsky," he said, "to begin with, get
off that table, — it's unseemly; besides, your
boots are nothing to boast of. And then come
here ; I have something to say to you."
335
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
He drew him aside.
"Listen, my boy," he said. "I know you
are going to fight to-morrow with that Peters-
burg gentleman."
Steltchinsky started.
"How . . . who told you?"
"I tell you. And I know whom you are
fighting about, too."
"Who is it? It would be interesting to
know that."
"Oh, what a Talleyrand! Why, about my
sister, of course. Come, come, don't pretend
to be surprised. It makes you look like a
goose. I can't imagine how it came about, but
I know it is so. Come, my boy," Veretyev
went on, "what's the use of pretending? I
know you've been paying her attention for a
long time."
"But that proves nothing."
"Leave off, please. But listen to what I am
going to say to you. I won't allow this duel
on any account. Do you understand that?
All this folly will recoil on my sister. Ex-
cuse me, but as long as I am alive ... I will
not allow it. If you and I go to ruin, that's
336
A QUIET BACKWATER
what we deserve, but she ought to have a long
life and a happy one. Yes, I swear," he added
with sudden heat, "I would betray everyone
else, even those who are ready to sacrifice
everything for me, but I won't let anyone touch
her."
Steltchinsky gave a forced laugh.
"You are drunk, my dear fellow, and rav-
ing .. . that's all."
"And aren't you? But whether I am drunk
or not does not matter. I am talking sense.
You will not fight with that gentleman, that
I can guarantee. What possessed you to pick
a quarrel with him? Were you jealous, or
what? How true it is that people are fools
when they are in love ! Why, she only danced
with him to prevent him from asking. . . .
But that's not the point. The duel will not
come off."
"H'm! I should like to know how you are
going to prevent me?"
"Why, like this — if you won't promise this
minute to give up this duel, I will fight you
myself."
"Indeed?"
337
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"My dear fellow, don't doubt it. I will in-
sult you in the most original way imaginable
before everyone this minute and then we will
fight across a handkerchief if you like. But I
imagine this would not be to your hking for
several reasons, would it?"
Steltchinsky fired up, began to say that this
was intimidation, that he would allow no one
to interfere in his private affairs, that he should
consider nothing . . . and ended by giving
way and renouncing all attempts on the life of
Vladimir Sergeitch. Veretyev embraced him
and in less than half an hour they were for
the tenth time drinking BruderscJiaft ; that is,
drinking with arms interlocked. . . . The
young leader of the dance drank Briiderschaft
with them, too, and at first kept pace with them
but at last fell asleep in the most innocent way
and lay for a long time on his back in a con-
dition of complete unconsciousness. The ex-
pression of his little pale face was both
pathetic and amusing, . . . Good heavens,
what would the society ladies of his ac-
quaintance have said, if they had seen him in
338
A QUIET BACKWATER
such a sorry plight! But fortunately he did
not know any society ladies.
Ivan Ilyitch, too, distinguished himself that
night. To begin with, he astonished the assem-
bled gentlemen by suddenly striking up :
"Once upon a time a baron . . ."
"The hawfinch! The hawfinch is singing!"
they all shouted. "The hawfinch never sings
at night!"
"As though I only knew one song !" retorted
Ivan Ilyitch, excited by the wine. "I know
others, too."
"All right, show us your talents!"
Ivan Ilyitch was silent for a space and then
began in a bass voice — "Krambambuli, the
home of my fathers," but so queerly and out
of tune that a general shout of laughter
drowned his voice and he subsided.
When the party broke up, Veretyev went to
see Vladimir Sergeitch and the brief conversa-
tion we have described already took place be-
tween them.
Very early the next day Vladimir Sergeitch
set off for Sasovo. He spent the whole mom-
339
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
ing in agitation, almost mistook a merchant
who called on him for a second, and heaved a
sigh of relief when the footman brought him
a letter from Steltchinsky, Vladimir Serge-
itch read the letter through several times — it
was very cleverly written. Steltchinsky began
with the words la nuit porte conseil, Monsieur
— and did not apologise, since in his opinion
he had not insulted his opponent in any way;
at the same time he acknowledged that he had
been too hasty the evening before and con-
cluded by saying that he was completely at the
service de M-r Astakhof, but for himself no
longer desired satisfaction. After writing and
dispatching a reply filled with a courtesy that
almost approached mockery and a feeling of
dignity which did not, however, show a trace
of boastfulness, Vladimir Sergeitch sat down
to his dinner rubbing his hands, ate it with great
relish, and immediately after it set off to his
own home, without having even sent a change
of horses in advance. The road by which he
drove lay within three miles of Ipatov's house.
. . . Vladimir Sergeitch gazed at it.
"Farewell, quiet backwater!" he muttered
340
' A QUIET BACKWATER
ironically. The figures of Nadyezhda Alex-
yevna and Marya Pavlovna flitted for a mo-
ment before his imagination; he waved them
off, turned away and fell into a doze.
341
CHAPTER VI
Over three months passed. The autumn was
far advanced; the yellow woods were losing
their last leaves, the blue-tits had arrived and,
sure sign of the approach of winter, the wind
was beginning to groan and howl. But there
had not yet been much rain, and the mud on
the roads was not yet very sloppy. Vladimir
Sergeitch took advantage of this circumstance
to visit the chief town of the province in or-
der to conclude some business transactions.
He spent the morning driving from one place
to another, and in the evening went to the
club. He met several acquaintances in the big,
gloomy clubroom, among them an old retired
cavalry officer, Flitch, whom everyone knew as
a capable business man, a wit, a cardplayer
and a gossip. Vladimir Sergeitch got into con-
versation with him.
"Oh, by the way," Flitch exclaimed sud-
342
A QUIET BACKWATER
denly, "a lady you know was passing through
the town the other day and she sent you her
greetings."
"What lady?"
"Madame Steltchinsky."
"I don't know any Madame Steltchinsky."
"You knew her before she was married. . . .
Her maiden name was Veretyev . . . Nad-
yezhda Alexyevna. Her husband was in our
Governor's service. You must have seen him,
too. ... A lively fellow, with a little mous-
tache. He has hooked an attractive little party,
and with money, too."
"You don't say so !" said Vladimir Sergeitch.
"So she has married him. . . . H'm! And
where was she going?"
"To Petersburg. She told me to remind you
about some motto. . . . What was it, if I may
be so inquisitive?"
And the old gossip's sharp nose looked alert
with expectation.
"I don't remember, really, some joke," re-
plied Vladimir Sergeitch. "And where is her
brother, may I ask?"
"Pyotr? Oh, he is in a bad way."
343
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
Mr. Flitch turned up his fox-Hke Httle eyes
and heaved a sigh,
"How so?" asked Vladimir Sergeitch.
"He's gone to the dogs ! He is on the road
to ruin."
"Where is he now, then ?"
"Nobody knows. He is gone off after some
gipsy girls, that's the most likely story. He
is not in the province, that I can answer for,"
"And old Ipatov, is he still living there?"
"Mihail Nikolaitch? The queer little chap,
you mean? He is still there,"
"And is everyone in his house ... as be-
fore?"
"Yes, to be sure. How would it be for you
to marry his sister-in-law? She is a regular
piece of antique sculpture, isn't she? He-he!
People did say, you know . . ."
"Really," said Vladimir Sergeitch, screwing
up his eyelids.
At that moment Flitch was invited to a game
of cards and the conversation dropped.
Vladimir Sergeitch had intended to return
home quickly but a messenger arrived from the
village elder at Sasovo telling him that six
344
A QUIET BACKWATER
peasant homesteads had been burnt to the
ground, and he decided to go down himself.
It was reckoned about forty miles from the
town to Sasovo. Vladimir Sergeitch reached
that evening the little lodge with which the
reader is already familiar, at once summoned
the village elder and the rural clerk, duly up-
braided them, went in the morning to inspect
the scene of the fire, directed that various steps
should be taken, and when he had dined, de-
cided, after a brief hesitation, to pay a call on
Ipatov. Vladimir Sergeitch would have stayed
at home if he had not heard from Flitch that
Nadyezhda Alexyevna had left the neighbour-
hood. He did not want to meet her again;
but he felt no disinclination to have another
look at Marya Pavlovna.
As on his first visit, Vladimir Sergeitch
found Ipatov playing draughts with the Ad-
justable Soul. The old man was delighted to
see him; Vladimir Sergeitch fancied, however,
that his face was careworn, and his words did
not flow with the same readiness as of old.
Vladimir Sergeitch exchanged silent glances
345
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
with Ivan Ilyitch. They both felt a twinge of
discomfort; but they soon got over it.
"Are all your household well?" inquired
Vladimir Sergeitch as he sat down.
"They are all quite well, thank you," an-
swered Ipatov. "Only Marya Pavlovna is not
quite the thing . . . she keeps to her room for
the most part now."
"Has she got a cold?"
"No . . . not exactly. She will come in to
tea."
"And Yegor Kapitonitch? How is he get-
ting on?"
"Ah, it is all over with Yegor Kapitonitch.
His wife is dead."
"Impossible!"
"She died after twenty-four hours' illness
of cholera. You wouldn't know him now, he
is not like himself. 'Without Matryona Mark-
ovna life is a burden to me. I shall die,' he
says, 'and thank God; I don't care to live,' he
says. Yes, the poor fellow is quite lost."
"Oh, dear, how unfortunate !" cried Vladimir
Sergeitch. "Poor Yegor Kapitonitch!"
Everyone was silent for a space.
346
A QUIET BACKWATER
"I hear your neighbour is married," said
Vladimir Sergeitch, flushing slightly.
"Nadyezhda Alexyevna? Yes, she is mar-
ried." Ipatov stole a side-long glance at
Vladimir Sergeitch.
"Yes . . . yes, she is married and gone
away."
"To Petersburg?"
"To Petersburg."
"I expect Marya Pavlovna misses her? I
think they were great friends."
"Of course she misses her. That can't be
helped. Though as for her friendship, I can
assure you young ladies' friendship is worse
than men's. It's all right while they are to-
gether, but out of sight is out of mind."
"Do you think so?"
"Yes, indeed. Take Nadyezhda Alexyevna,
for instance. We have not had one letter from
her since she went away, and the promises she
made, the vows! No doubt she has other
things to think of now."
"Ha3 she been gone long?"
"It must be six weeks. She galloped off the
day after the wedding, in foreign style."
347
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"They say her brother is not here, either?"
said Vladimir Sergeitch a little later.
"Yes, he is gone, too. You see, they are city
people; they are not likely to stay long in the
country I"
"And don't you know where he has gone?"
"No."
"He is here to-day and gone to-morrow,"
observed Ivan Ilyitch.
"He is here to-day and gone to-morrow," re-
peated Ipatov. "And you, Vladimir Sergeitch,
what good news is there of you?" he added,
turning round in his chair.
Vladimir Sergeitch began telling about him-
self. Ipatov listened — listened and exclaimed
at last:
"But why doesn't Masha come? Ivan Ily-
itch, you might go and fetch her."
Ivan Ilyitch went out of the room and re-
turning, announced that Marya Pavlovna was
just coming.
"Has she a headache?" Ipatov asked in a
low voice.
"Yes," answered Ivan Ilyitch.
The door opened and Marya Pavlovna came
348
A QUIET BACKWATER
in. Vladimir Sergeitch got up, bowed and was
so amazed that he could not utter a word : so
changed was Marya Pavlovna since he had
seen her last! All the colour had gone from
her wan cheeks ; there were wide, dark rings
round her eyes ; there was a look of grief about
her tightly set lips ; her whole face, dark and
immovable, seemed turned to stone.
She lifted her eyes and there was no light
in them.
"How do you feel?" Ipatov asked her.
"I am quite well," she answered, and sat
down to the table on which a samovar was al-
ready boiling.
Vladimir Sergeitch was pretty thoroughly
bored that evening; and indeed everyone was
depressed. The conversation was continually
taking a melancholy turn.
"Hark, what a tune it's playing !" Ipatov said,
among other things, listening to the howling
of the wind. "Summer has long past; the
autumn is passing, too, and winter is upon us.
The snowdrifts will lie about us again. If
only the snow would come soon ! As it is, it
makes one depressed to go into the garden.
349
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
. . . It's a perfect ruin. The branches creak
and rattle. . . . Yes, the fine days are over!"
"They are over," repeated Ivan Ilyitch.
Marya Pavlovna looked out of the window
in silence.
"Please God, they will come back," observed
Ipatov.
No one answered him.
"Do you remember the delightful singing we
had here?" said Vladimir Sergeitch.
"Yes, those were pleasant times !"
"But you might sing," said Vladimir Serge-
itch, turning to Marya Pavlovna; "you have
such a splendid voice."
She did not answer.
"And how is your mother?" said Vladimir
Sergeitch to Ipatov, not knowing how to keep
up the conversation.
"Thank God, she keeps pretty middling in
spite of her infirmities. To-day she went out
in her chair and I tell you she is like an old
broken tree — it creaks and creaks ; and yet some
strong young sapling will fall, and it will go
on standing. Ech, ech!"
350
A QUIET BACKWATER
Marya Pavlovna dropped her hands on her
knees and bowed her head.
"And yet she has a bad time of it," Ipatov
said again; "it's a true saying that old age is
no happiness."
"Youth isn't happiness, either," said Marya
Pavlovna as though to herself.
Vladimir Sergeitch wanted to go home that
evening but it was such a dark night that he
did not venture to go. He was given the same
upstairs room in which three months before he
had spent a troubled night — owing to Yegor
Kapitonitch.
"I wonder whether he still snores?" thought
Vladimir Sergeitch and remembered his ad-
monitions to his servant; he recalled Marya
Pavlovna's sudden appearance in the gar-
den. . . .
Vladimir Sergeitch went to the window and
put his head against the cold pane. His own
face looked in at him dimly from without ; his
eyes seemed up against a curtain of darkness
and only after a little time could he distinguish
against the starless sky the branches of trees
351
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
twisting convulsively in the black night. They
were being lashed by the relentless wind.
All at once it seemed to Vladimir Sergeitch
as though he caught a glimpse of something
white on the ground. . . , He looked, smiled,
shrugged his shoulders and, exclaiming half
aloud, "The tricks imagination will play one !"
got into bed.
He fell asleep very quickly but he was not
fated to spend a peaceful night on this occa-
sion either. He was roused by a hurrying to
and fro in the house. He lifted up his head
from the pillow. . . . He heard agitated voices,
exclamations, scurrying footsteps, the banging
of doors ; then there was a sound of women's
weeping, shouts were heard in the garden, other
shouts answered them in the distance. . . . The
agitation in the house increased, and grew
noisier every moment. . , . "There must be a
fire !" flashed through Vladimir Sergeitch's
mind. In alarm he jumped out of bed and
ran to the window, but there was no glow of
fire; only red points of light were moving rap-
idly along the garden paths between the trees
— men were running with lanterns. Vladimir
352
A QUIET BACKWATER
Sergeitch went quickly to the door, opened it
and ran straight into Ivan Ilyitch. Pale, dis-
hevelled and half-dressed, the latter was rush-
ing along without knowing where he was going.
"What is it? What has happened?" asked
Vladimir Sergeitch in excitement, clutching vig-
orously at his arm.
"She is lost, she is drowned, she has thrown
herself into the water," Ivan Ilyitch responded
in a breathless voice.
"Who is in the water, who is lost?"
"Marya Pavlovna ! Who else could it be?
He has been the death of her, poor darling!
Help! Run, good people, make haste! Make
haste, lads !"
And Ivan Ilyitch dashed down the stairs.
Vladimir Sergeitch got into his boots, flung
his greatcoat over his shoulders and ran after
him.
He found no one in the house, they had all
rushed into the garden ; only the little girls,
Ipatov's daughters, met him in the passage close
to the front door; half dead with fright they
were standing in their white petticoats with
clasped hands and bare feet, near a night-
353
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
light on the ground. Vladimir Sergeitch ran
through the drawing-room, passing an over-
turned table, on to the verandah. Through the
shrubbery, in the direction of the dam, lights
were gleaming and shadows were fleeting. . . .
"The hooks ! Run for the hooks !" he heard
the voice of Ipatov.
"The net, the net ! The boat \" cried other
voices.
Vladimir Sergeitch ran towards the shouts.
He found Ipatov on the bank of the pond; a
lantern hung on a branch threw a vivid light on
the old man's grey head. He was wringing
his hands and staggering as though he were
drunk; on the grass near him a woman was
writhing and sobbing; people were running to
and fro. Ivan Ilyitch was already up to his
knees in the water and feeling the depth with
a pole ; the coachman was undressing, shivering
all over; two men were dragging a boat along
the bank ; the rapid thud of horses' hoofs could
be heard along the village street. . . . The wind
blew, shrieking, as though doing its utmost to
put out the lanterns. The waters of the black
and menacing pond splashed noisily on the bank.
354
A QUIET BACKWATER
"What do I hear !" cried Vladimir Sergeitch,
running up to Ipatov, "Is it possible ?"
"The hooks! Quick, the hooks!" moaned
the old man in reply.
"But perhaps you are mistaken, Mihail Niko-
laitch !"
"No, how can it be a mistake!" the woman
lying on the grass — Marya Pavlovna's maid —
said in a tearful voice, "wretch that I am, I
heard her myself jump into the water, cry
out, 'Save me,' and then once more, 'Save
me' !"
"How was it you did not prevent her?"
"How could I prevent her, sir? Why, by
the time I missed her she was gone, but I must
have had a foreboding in my heart; the last
few days she has been in such grief and did
not say a word ; but I knew and I ran straight
into the garden, as though someone had told
me. All at once I heard something go plop into
the water : 'Save me,' I heard her cry . . . 'save
me!' . . . Oh, dear, kind people!"
"But perhaps it was your fancy?"
"My fancy, indeed ! And where is she, then?.
What has become of her?"
355
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"So that was the white thing I thought I saw
in the darkness," thought Vladimir Sergeitch.
Meanwhile men had run up with hooks,
brought a net and begun laying it out on the
grass, numbers of people came up, there was
a great running to and fro . . . the coachman
snatched up a hook, the village elder another ;
they both jumped into the boat, pushed off and
began dragging the water with the hooks; they
were lighted from the bank. Their movements
and their shadows seemed strange and terrible
in the darkness, on the troubled water in tlie
dim and uncertain light of the lantern.
"It's caught," the coachman cried suddenly
Everyone stood faint with expertation.
"A stump," said the coachman, and pulled
out the hook.
"Come back, come back," they shouted from
the bank, "you will do nothing with the hooks,
you want the net,"
"Yes, yes, the net," others chimed in.
"Stay," cried the village elder, "my hook has
caught too. ... I think it's something soft," he
added a little later.
356
A QUIET BACKWATER
A patch of white came into sight near the boat.
"The young lady !" cried the village elder — •
"It's she!" He was right . . . the hook had
caught Marya Pavlovna by the sleeve of her
dress. The coachman got hold of her at once,
they drew her out of the water . . . with two
strong strokes the boat was brought to the
bank. . . . Ipatov, Ivan Ilyitch, Vladimir Serge-
itch all rushed to Marya Pavlovna, lifted her
up and carried her home in their arms. They
undressed her, warmed her and tried to restore
respiration. . . , But all their efforts were in
vain. Marya Pavlovna did not come to her-
self. . . . Life had fled.
Next morning early Vladimir Sergeitch left
Ipatovka; before he set off he went to take the
last farewell of the dead girl. She was lying
on the table in the drawing-room in a white
dress. Her thick hair was hardly dry, there
was a look of sorrowful bewilderment on her
pale face which was still unchanged ; her parted
lips seemed striving to speak and ask some
question . . . her crossed arms seemed pressing
on her bosom as though in anguish. . . . But
with whatever bitter thoughts the poor girl had
357
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
perished, death had laid upon her its imprint
of eternal silence and resignation. . . . And
who can say what the dead face expresses in
those few moments when for the last time it
meets the eyes of the living before vanishing
forever and perishing in the grave?
Vladimir Sergeitch stood in decorous melan-
choly before the body of Marya Pavlovna,
crossed himself three times and went out with-
out noticing Ivan Ilyitch, who was quietly weep-
ing in the corner. . . . And he was not the
only one who wept that day, all the servants in
the house wept bitterly: nothing but good was
remembered of Marya Pavlovna.
A week later old Ipatov wrote as follows in
reply to a letter that had come at last from
Nadyezhda Alexyevna:
"A week ago, dear Madam Nadyezhda Alex-
yevna, my sister-in-law, your friend Marya
Pavlovna, made an end of her life by throwing
herself at night into the pond and we have al-
ready consigned her body to the earth. She
took this grievous and terrible step without
saying good-bye to me, without leaving a letter
358
A QUIET BACKWATER
or the smallest note to convey her last wishes.
. . . But you know better than anyone, Nad-
yezhda Alexyevna, on whose soul this great and
mortal sin should fall ! May the Lord be your
brother's judge, but my sister-in-law could
neither forget him nor survive the separation."
By the time Nadyezhda Alexyevna received
this letter she was in Italy, where she had gone
with her husband, Count de Steltchinsky, as he
was styled in all the hotels. It was not only
tho hotels he visited, however: he was fre-
quently seen in gambling saloons, in the Kur-
saals in watering places. ... At first he lost a
great deal of money, then left off losing, and
his face assumed the peculiar expression, half
suspicious, half impudent, which is seen in a
man liable to being suddenly involved in some
unpleasant affray. . . . He rarely saw his wife.
Nadyezhda Alexyevna was not dull in his ab-
sence, however. She developed a taste for the
arts. Her acquaintances chiefly consisted of
artists and she liked discussing the beautiful
with young men. Ipatov's letter grieved her
extremely but did not prevent her from going
359
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
the same day to the "Cave of Dogs" to watch
unfortunate animals gasp for bre?ith' as they
were pkmged into sulphurous fumes.
She did ngt go alone. She was accompanied
by several admirers. Among them the most
amiable was considered to be Mr. Popelin, an
unsuccessful French painter with a beard dnd
a check jacket. He sang the newest songs in
a thin tenor, made jokes in a very free-and-
easy style and ate a very great deal though he
was very lean.
360
CHAPTER VII
It was a sunny, frosty day in January; num-
bers of people were walking along the Nevsky.
The clock on the tower of the Town Hall struck
three. Our old acquaintance Vladimir Sergeitch
Astahov was walking among others on the
broad flags sprinkled with yellow sand. He
had grown much more manly looking since we
parted from him ; he had grown whiskers and
was stouter all over but did not look older.
He followed the crowd without haste, from
time to time looking about him : he was ex-
pecting his wife; she had meant to drive up in
their carriage with her mother. It was about
five years since Vladimir Sergeitch had mar-
ried, exactly as he wished ; his wife was wealthy
and with the best connections. Affably lifting
his superbly brushed hat as he met his numer-
ous acquaintances, Vladimir Sergeitch moved
forward with the free step of a man satisfied
361
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
with his lot. All at once, dose to the Arcade,
he was almost run into by a man in a Spanish
cloak and a jockey cap; his face was rather the
worse for wear, his moustache was dyed and
his big eyes looked out from swollen and puffy
eyelids. Vladimir Sergeitch moved aside with
dignity, but the gentleman in the cap stared at
him and suddenly exclaimed :
"Ah ! Mr. Astahov, how are you ?"
Vladimir Sergeitch made no reply and stood
still in amazement. He could not imagine how
a gentleman who had the temerky to appear
on the Nevsky in a jockey cap knew his
surname.
"You don't recognise me," the gentleman in
the cap went on ; "I saw you eight years ago
in the country, in T. province, at the Ipatovs.
My name is Veretyev."
"Oh, dear ! I beg your pardon !" exclaimed
Vladimir Sergeitch, "but how you have
changed."
"Yes, I am older," answered Pyotr Alexe-
itch, and he passed over his face a hand with-
out a glove, "but you, now, have not changed."
Veretyev did not so much look older as
362
A QUIET BACKWATER
fallen off and deteriorated. Tiny, delicate
wrinkles covered his whole face and when he
talked his lips and cheeks twitched slightly.
Everything about him indicated that he had
been living hard.
"Where have you been lost all this time that
one has seen nothing of you?" asked Vladimir
Sergeitch.
"I have been wandering about. And have
you been in Petersburg all the time?"
"For the most part in Petersburg,"
"Are you married?"
"Yes."
And Vladimir Sergeitch assumed a rather
severe air as though to say to Veretyev, "Don't
venture to ask me, my good fellow, to introduce
you to my wife."
Veretyev seemed to understand him. A care-
less smile faintly stirred his lips.
"And how is your sister?" asked Vladimir
Sergeitch. "Where is she?"
"I can't tell you for certain. I expect she
is in Moscow. I have not had a letter from
her for a long time."
363
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
"And is her husband living?"
"Yes."
"And Mr. Ipatov himself?"
"I don't know ; I expect he is alive too ; but
he may be dead."
"And that other gentleman — what was his
name ? — Bodryakov, wasn't it ?"
"The one you asked to be your second, do
you remember, when you were in such a funk ?
The devil only knows."
Vladimir Sergeitch with a dignified face re-
mained silent.
"I always recall with pleasure those eve-
nings," he continued, "when I had the oppor-
tunity (he had almost said 'honour') of mak-
ing the acquaintance of your sister and your-
self. She is a very charming person. Do you
still sing as agreeably?"
"No, I've lost my voice. . . . Yes, that was
a nice time."
"I visited Ipatovka once since," Vladimir
Sergeitch went on, raising his eyebrows mourn-
fully; "I think that was what they called the
village — on the very day of a terrible
event. . . ."
364
A QUIET BACKWATER
"Yes, yes, that was horrible, horrible," Veret-
yev hurriedly interrupted him. "Yes, yes —
and do you remember how you almost fought
a duel with my present brother-in-law?"
"H'm! Yes, I remember," Vladimir Serge-
itch replied deliberately. "However, I must
confess, it is so long ago that it all seems to me
rather like a dream now."
"Like a dream," Veretyev repeated, and his
pale cheeks flushed — "like a dream . . . no, it
was not a dream, not for me, anyway. It was
the time of youth, of gaiety, of happiness, the
time of boundless hopes and unconquerable
strength, and if it was a dream, it was a lovely
dream. But that we have grown old and
stupid, and dye our moustache, and lounge
about the Nevsky and are good for nothing
like broken-down hacks, that we have lost our
savour, have worn threadbare, whether we are
stuck up and dignified or whether we are simply
loafers, and, very likely, drown our sorrow in
wine — that is more like a dream, and a most
hideous dream. Our life has been lived and
lived in vain, absurdly, vulgarly — that's what
365
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
is bitter ! If only one could shake that off like
a dream, if only one could wake up from that.
. . . And then everywhere, always one awful
memory, one phantom. . . . But good-bye."
Veretyev moved rapidly away, but on reach-
ing the doors of one of the principal cafes of
the Nevsky Prospect, stopped, went in and
tossing off at the bar a glass of orange bitters,
he crossed the billiard-room, dark and foggy
with tobacco fumes, and went into a back room.
There he found some friends, old comrades:
Petya Lasurin, Kostya Kovrovsky, Prince Ser-
dyukov and two gentlemen who were addressed
simply as Vasyuk and Filat, They were all
men no longer young, though unmarried; some
were a little bald, others were turning grey,
they had wrinkled faces and double chins; in
short, these gentlemen had all, as they say, be-
gun going to seed. They all, however, still
looked upon Veretyev as an exceptional man,
destined to astonish the world, and he was more
intelligent only in that he was very well aware
of his complete and essential uselessness. And
even outside his own circle there were people
366
A QUIET BACKWATER
who thought of him that if he had not ruined
himself, something very remarkable might have
come of him. . . . These people vi^ere mistaken :
nothing ever does come of the Veretyevs.
Pyotr Alexeitch's friends met him with their
usual greetings. He puzzled them at first by
his gloomy expression and bitter remarks, but
he soon recovered, grew merry and things went
as usual.
As soon as Veretyev left him, Vladimir
Sergeitch frowned and drew himself up. Pyotr
Alexeitch's sudden outburst had greatly per-
plexed and even offended him.
"Grown stupid, drink, dye our moustache
. . . paries pour vous, mon cher," he said at
last almost aloud and snorting once or twice
with involuntary indignation, was about to con-
tinue his walk.
"Who was that talking to you?" he heard a
loud and self-confident voice behind him.
Vladimir Sergeitch turned round and saw one
of his intimate friends, a certain 'Mr. Pom-
ponsky. This Mr. Pomponsky, a tall and stout
gentleman, held a rather important post and
367
THE TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES
had never once, even in his early youth, had
the sHghtest doubt of his own efficiency.
"Oh, a queer fellow," said Vladimir Serge-
itch, taking Pomponsky's arm.
"Upon my soul, Vladimir Sergeitch, is it pos-
sible for a gentleman to be seen talking in the
street to an individual in a jockey cap? It's
unseemly ! I am amazed ! Where could you
have made the acquaintance of such a person ?"
"In the country."
"In the country? . . . Country neighbours are
not recognised in town . . . ce n'est pas comme
it faut. A gentleman must always behave like
a gentleman if he wants . . ."
"Here is my wife," Vladimir Sergeitch made
haste to interrupt him. "Let us go to her."
And the two gentlemen made their way to a
smart, low carriage, from the window of which
the pale, fatigued and irritably haughty face of
a woman still young, but already a little faded,
was looking out.
Another lady who also seemed cross, her
mother, could be seen behind her. Vladimir
Sergeitch opened the carriage door and gave his
368
A QUIET BACKWATER
wife his arm. Pomponsky approached the
mother-in-law and both couples walked along
the Nevsky accompanied by a short, black-
haired footnr.in in greenish gaiters with a big
cockade on his hat.
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