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. 
 266 
 
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- 
 280 
 
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. 
 281 
 
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- 
 282 
 
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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