JBRARY 
 
 NtV£ S TY OF 
 :a. if-'ORNIA 
 SAN OtEGO
 
 IVAN TURGENIEFF 
 
 Volume XV 
 
 1S( !^ SPRING FRESHETS 
 AND OTHER STORIES
 
 / 
 
 t;£^;-J 
 
 '•:«';■'/::, _iSf, ' / . o-'^^ 
 
 -sf^'
 
 THE NOVELS AND STUiUi.h Ul 
 IVAN TURGEMEFF 
 
 ♦ ♦SPRING FRESHETS 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE RU>^^ - \' BY 
 ISABEL F. HAPGOOD 
 
 m 
 
 NEW YORK 
 CHARLES SCRIBN' 5»ON:5 
 
 1904
 
 <(' 
 
 We were already fleeing headlong down the street. 
 Drawing by STANLEY M. ARTIIVRS.
 
 THE NOVELS AND STORIES OF 
 IVAN TURGENIEFF 
 
 ♦ ♦SPRING FRESHETS 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN BY 
 ISABEL F. HAPGOOD 
 
 NEW YORK 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 1904
 
 Copyright, 1904, by 
 Charles Scribner's Sohs
 
 PREFACE 
 
 " Spring Freshets " was first published in the 
 European Messenger. In commenting upon it 
 one critic says that, in his later works, Turgenieff 
 lingered, with special intensity of interest, over 
 the weak-willed people (or, rather, men) who 
 have no moral backbone. Such an one is the hero 
 of the splendid novel, " Spring Freshets," one of 
 the most inspired and fairest creations of art. 
 Sanin has fallen in love with a pure and radiant 
 affection, with a pure maiden. Gemma; but the 
 seduction of perturbing, sensual passion is all- 
 powerful over him; and while condemning and 
 despising himself, he yields to that passion and 
 slays the happiness and the love which would have 
 been given to him in sincerity of soul. 
 
 This story leaves a painful impression on the 
 reader. In the artistic form of a storj^ the same 
 idea is conveyed which poured forth lyrically in 
 " Phantoms " and in " It is Enough." We behold 
 in the novel the poetic melancholy over the con- 
 tradiction between the laws of Nature and man's 
 aspirations toward the absolute, the eternal. This 
 thought concerning the strife between material 
 Nature and the spirit of mankind permeates a 
 
 V
 
 PREFACE 
 
 whole series of lesser stories written during the 
 last fifteen or twenty years of the author's life. 
 In them the poet subjects to microscopic and 
 profoundly-artistic analysis the idea of the mar- 
 vellous. He scrutinises the supernatural in its rela- 
 tions both with the accidents and the self-decep- 
 tion of human conceit (in the story " Knock . . . 
 Knock . . . Knock," in this connection, he even 
 bears himself with the greatest scepticism and in- 
 credulity toward the supernatural), as also with 
 covetous deception and crime (" The Story of 
 Lieutenant ErgunofF"), and with magnetism 
 ("A Strange Story," and "The Song of Love 
 Triumphant ") ; and, in conclusion, as the mani- 
 festation and action of a spirit (" The Dog," and 
 " Father Alexyei's Story ") . 
 
 With a vivid interest which grips the heart, 
 and with profound, though hidden and painful 
 sympathy, does Turgenieff depict man's ten- 
 dency toward the marvellous, his thirst for the 
 supernatural, the immortal. 
 
 One of the author's favourite themes was a 
 weak man bowing down before a strong wo- 
 man. This he used in " Riidin," " Smoke," " The 
 Region of Dead Calm," " The End of Tchertop- 
 khanoff," and in " Spring Freshets." Even such 
 a purely sensual and rapacious nature as Madame 
 PolozofF is, in the first place, strong, and, in the 
 second place, sympathetic in many respects, while 
 Gemma belongs with the purely ideal but strong 
 
 vi
 
 PREFACE 
 
 characters represented by the heroines of " The 
 Region of Dead Calm," " A Nobleman's Nest," 
 " Riidin," " On the Eve," Tanya (in " Smoke ") , 
 and Katya (in " Fathers and Children ") . 
 
 Another point worth noting is that the theme 
 of " Spring Freshets " is almost identical in 
 substance with that of "A Correspondence." 
 Moreover, the great poet-analyst sets forth his 
 idea that there is love and love, — good love and 
 evil love, — which are of violently-contrasted na- 
 ture. In " Smoke " and " Spring Freshets " he 
 expounded this idea in its clearest and most vivid 
 form. 
 
 Concerning "The Watch" the Russian critics 
 have, practically, nothing to say. 
 
 I. F. H. 
 
 vu
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 1 
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK ... . . .239 
 
 THE WATCH 291
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 (1871)
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 The merry years, 
 The happy days,— 
 Like freshets in spring 
 They have dashed past ! 
 
 From an ancient Ballad. 
 
 ABOUT two o'clock in the morning, he re- 
 L turned to his study. He dismissed the ser- 
 vant, struck a match,— and, flinging himself into 
 an arm-chair near the fireplace, he covered his 
 face with both hands. 
 
 Never before had he felt such fatigue — both 
 physical and spiritual. He had spent the entire 
 evening with agreeable ladies, wdth cultured men : 
 some of the ladies were handsome, nearly all the 
 men were distinguished for wit and talents — he 
 himself had conversed with great success, and 
 even brilliantly . . . and, nevertheless, never be- 
 fore had that tcedium vitce of which the Ro- 
 mans talked, that " disgust with hfe," taken pos- 
 session of him with irresistible force, and had 
 stifled him. Had he been a httle younger he 
 would have wept Yn\h melancholy, boredom, irri- 
 tation: a caustic and burning bitterness, like 
 the bitterness of wormwood, filled his soul to 
 overflowing. Something importunately-loath- 
 some, repulsively -oppressive, invested him on all 
 
 3
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 sides, like a gloomy, autumnal night;— and he 
 did not know how to rid himself of that gloom, 
 of that bitterness. It was useless to rely upon 
 sleep to do it: he knew well that he could not 
 sleep. 
 
 He set to meditating . . . slowly, languidly, 
 and spitefully. 
 
 He meditated upon the vanity, the uselessness, 
 the stale falsity of everything human. All ages 
 of man gradually passed in review before his 
 mental vision— (he himself had passed his fifty- 
 second birthday not long before) — and not one 
 of them found any mercy at his hands. Every- 
 where there was the same eternal pouring of the 
 empty into the void, the same beating of the 
 empty air, the same half -conscientious, half -con- 
 scious self-deception, — anything with which to 
 soothe the child, so that it might not cry,— and 
 then, all of a sudden old age descends unexpect- 
 edly, like snow on the head, — and along with it, 
 that constantly-augmenting, all-devouring, and 
 gnawing fear of death .... and, flop into the 
 abyss! And it is a good thing if life does wind 
 up in that way! — Otherwise, probably, before the 
 end, feebleness, suffering will come like rust on 
 grain. . . . The sea of life did not appear to him, 
 as the poets describe it, covered with stormy 
 waves; no: — he depicted to himself that sea as 
 imperturbably-smooth, motionless and transpar- 
 ent to even its very dark bottom; he himself is 
 sitting in a small, cranky boat, — and down yon- 
 
 4
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 der, on that dark, slimy bottom, horrible mon- 
 sters, in the likeness of huge fishes, are dimly visi- 
 ble: all the ills of life, sicknesses, woes, mad- 
 nesses, poverty, blindness. . . . He gazes: and 
 lo, one of the monsters detaches itself from the 
 gloom, rises higher and higher, grows more and 
 more distinct, more repulsively-distinct. . . . 
 Another minute — and the boat which is resting 
 upon it will be overturned ! But behold, it seems 
 to grow dim once more, it retreats, sinks to the 
 bottom — and there it lies, barely moving its gills. 
 . . . But the fatal day will come when it will 
 capsize the boat. 
 
 He shook his head, jumped up from his chair, 
 strode up and down the room a couple of times, 
 seated himself at the writing-table, and pulling 
 out one drawer after another, he began to rum- 
 mage among his old papers, among ancient let- 
 ters, chiefly from women. He himself did not 
 know why he was doing this ; he was not search- 
 ing for anything — he was simply desirous of rid- 
 ding himself, by some external activity, of the 
 thoughts which were oppressing him. Unfold- 
 ing, at haphazard, several letters (in one of them 
 he found some withered flowers, bound with a 
 faded ribbon), he merely shrugged his shoul- 
 ders, and casting a glance at the fireplace, flung 
 them aside, probably making ready to burn all 
 this useless rubbish. Hastily thrusting his hands, 
 now into one, now into another drawer, he sud- 
 denly opened his eyes to their fullest extent, and 
 
 5
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 slowly drawing forth a small octagonal casket of 
 ancient design, he slowly raised its lid. In the 
 casket, beneath a double layer of cotton-wool, yel- 
 lowed with age, was a tiny garnet cross. 
 
 For several moments he surveyed this little 
 cross with bewilderment— and all at once he ut- 
 tered a cry. ... It was neither precisely pity 
 nor yet joy which his features expressed. A 
 man's face presents that sort of an expression 
 when he chances suddenly to encounter another 
 man, whom he has long lost from sight, whom he 
 has once tenderly loved, and who now unex- 
 pectedly starts up before his vision, still the same 
 — yet all altered by the years. 
 
 He rose to his feet, and returning to the fire- 
 place, seated himself once more in his arm-chair — 
 and once more held his face in his hands. . . . 
 "Why to-day? To-day in particular?" he 
 thought to himself —and he recalled many things 
 which had taken place long ago. 
 
 This is what he called to mind .... 
 
 But first we must tell his name, patronymic 
 and surname. He was called Sanin, Dmitry 
 Pavlovitch. 
 
 This is what he called to mind .... 
 
 It was the year 1840. Sanin was in his twenty- 
 third year, and was in Frankfurt, on his home- 
 ward road from Italy to Russia. He was a man 
 
 6
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 of small but independent fortune, almost totally 
 devoid of family. He possessed a few thousand 
 rubles, which had come to him on the death of a 
 distant relative— and he decided to spend them 
 abroad, before entering government service, be- 
 fore definitively donning that official harness 
 without which an existence free from anxiety was 
 inconceivable for him. Sanin carried out his in- 
 tention to the letter, and managed matters so art- 
 fully that on the day of his arrival in Frankfurt 
 he had just money left to take him to Petersburg. 
 In 1840 there was only the smallest amount of 
 railways in existence; tourists travelled in stage- 
 coaches. Sanin engaged a place in the Bei- 
 wagen; but the diligence did not start until 
 eleven o'clock at night. He had a great deal of 
 time on his hands. Fortunately, the weather was 
 very fine— and Sanin, after dining in the then 
 renowned hostelry " The White Swan," set out to 
 roam about the town. He dropped in to have a 
 look at Dannecker's "Ariadne," which did not 
 please him much, visited the house of Goethe, of 
 whose writings, by the way, he had read only 
 " Werther "—and that in a French translation; he 
 strolled along the banks of the Main, got bored, as 
 is proper for a well-ordered traveller; at last, at 
 six o'clock in the evening, he found himself 
 weary, with dusty feet, in one of the most insig- 
 nificant streets of Frankfurt. For a long time 
 thereafter he was unable to forget that street. 
 
 7
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 On one of its not very numerous houses he espied 
 a sign: the " Italian Confectionery Shop of Gio- 
 vanni Roselli " announced itself to passers-by. 
 
 Sanin stepped in to drink a glass of lemonade ; 
 but in the first room, where, behind a modest 
 counter, on the shelves of a painted cupboard, 
 suggestive of an apothecary's shop, stood several 
 bottles with gilt labels, and a corresponding num- 
 ber of glass jars filled with rusks, chocolate cakes, 
 and caramels— in this room there was not a living 
 soul; only a grey cat was blinking and purring, 
 as she opened and shut her paws on a tall wattled 
 chair near the window, — and, glowing vividly in 
 the slanting rays of the evening sun, a big ball of 
 scarlet wool lay on the floor, alongside an over- 
 turned basket of carved wood. A confused noise 
 was audible in the adjoining room. Sanin stood 
 still, and after allowing the little bell on the door 
 to ring itself out, he exclaimed, raising his voice : 
 "Is there any one here?" At that moment the 
 door of the adjoining room opened— and Sanin 
 was impelled to involuntary amazement. 
 
 II 
 
 Into the confectioner's shop, with her dark curls 
 scattered over her shoulders, and bare arms ex- 
 tended before her, ran impetuously a young girl 
 of nineteen, and on catching sight of Sanin, in- 
 stantly rushed up to him, seized him by the hand, 
 
 8
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 and drew him after her, saying in a panting 
 voice: "Quick, quick, this way, to the rescue!" 
 Sanin did not immediately follow the girl — not 
 because of reluctance to comply with her request, 
 but simply from excessive surprise— and re- 
 mained, as it were, stubbornly rooted to the spot : 
 in all his life he had never beheld such a beauty. 
 She turned toward him— and ejaculated, with 
 such despair in her voice, in her eyes, in the ges- 
 ture of her clenched fist: " Come, pray come! " — 
 that he immediately rushed after her through the 
 open door. 
 
 In the room, into which he ran behind the 
 young girl, upon an old-fashioned horsehair 
 couch, all white — white with yellowish reflections, 
 like wax or ancient marble, — lay a lad of fourteen, 
 who bore a striking resemblance to the young girl 
 and was, evidentlv, her brother. His eves were 
 closed ; the shadow of his heavy black hair fell in 
 a patch upon his forehead, which seemed turned 
 to stone, upon his slender, motionless eyebrows; 
 his clenched teeth were visible between his blue 
 lips. He did not seem to be breathing; — one 
 arm lay on the floor, the other he had thrown 
 above his head. The boy was fully dressed, and 
 his clothing was buttoned up; a tight neckcloth 
 compressed his neck. 
 
 The young girl rushed to him with a shriek. 
 *' He is dead, he is dead ! " she screamed ; " a mo- 
 ment ago he was sitting here, talking with me— 
 
 9
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 and all of a sudden, he fell down and became mo- 
 tionless . . . O my God! can it be that there is 
 no help for it? And mamma is not here ! Panta- 
 leone, Pantaleone, what about the doctor?" she 
 suddenly added in Italian: "Didst thou go for 
 a doctor?" 
 
 " I did not go, Signora, I sent Luisa," rang 
 out a husky voice beyond the door, — and limping 
 on his crooked legs, there entered the room a little 
 old man in a lilac dress-coat with black buttons, 
 a tall white neckcloth, short nankeen trousers, and 
 blue worsted stockings. His tiny face was quite 
 concealed beneath a perfect pile of iron-grey 
 hair. Standing up stiffly in all directions, and 
 falling back again in dishevelled locks, it im- 
 parted to the old man's figure a likeness to a 
 crested hen, — a likeness the more striking in that 
 beneath their dark -grey mass nothing was to be 
 distinguished save a sharp-pointed nose and 
 round, yellow eyes. 
 
 " Luisa runs faster, and I cannot run," went 
 on the little old man, in Italian, lifting his flat, 
 gouty feet, clad in tall slippers with ribbon bows, 
 alternately, — "but I have brought some water." 
 
 In his gaunt, calloused fingers he clutched the 
 long neck of a bottle. 
 
 "But meanwhile £mile will die!" cried the 
 girl, stretching out her hand toward Sanin. — 
 "Oh, sir, O mein Herri— Cannot you help us?" 
 
 "We must let blood— it is a stroke of apo- 
 
 10
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 plexy,"— remarked the old man, who bore the 
 name of Pantaleone. 
 
 Although Sanin had not the faintest under- 
 standing of the medical art, he knew one thing 
 for a fixed fact: lads of fourteen do not have at- 
 tacks of apoplexy. 
 
 " It is a swoon, not an apoplectic fit,"— said he, 
 addressing Pantaleone. — "Have you a brush?" 
 
 The old man raised his tiny face a little. — 
 "What?" 
 
 "A brush, a brush,"— repeated Sanin, in Ger- 
 man and in French. 
 
 " A brush," — he added, pretending in dumb- 
 show that he was cleaning his clothes. 
 
 At last the old man understood him. 
 
 " Ah, a brush! Spazzette! Of course we have 
 a brush!" 
 
 " Bring it hither; we will take off his coat— and 
 rub him." 
 
 " Good .... Benone! And shall not we 
 pour water on his head? " 
 
 "No . . . afterward; go now, and fetch the 
 brush as quickly as possible." 
 
 Pantaleone set the bottle on the floor, ran out 
 of the room, and immediately returned with two 
 brushes, a hair-brush and a clothes-brush. A 
 curly poodle accompanied him, and wagging his 
 tail briskly, stared curiously at the little old man, 
 the young girl and even Sanin — as though desir- 
 ous of finding out what aU this tumult meant. 
 
 11
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Sanin promptly removed the coat of the pros- 
 trate lad, unliooked his collar, stripped up his 
 shirt-sleeves — and arming himself with the brush, 
 began to rub his breast and arms with all his 
 might. Pantaleone rubbed the hair-brush over 
 his boots and trousers, with equal zeal. The girl 
 flung herself on her knees beside the couch, and 
 clutching her head with both hands, without 
 winking an eyelash, she riveted her gaze on her 
 brother's face. 
 
 Sanin rubbed away, — and surveyed her with a 
 sidelong gaze as he did so. Good heavens! what 
 a beauty she was ! 
 
 Ill 
 
 Her nose was rather large, but handsome, of the 
 aquiline type; her upper lip was just barely 
 shaded with down; on the other hand, her com- 
 plexion was smooth and dead-white, precisely like 
 ivory or milky amber; the shining masses of her 
 hair were like those of Allori's " Judith " in the 
 Palazzo Pitti,— and especially her eyes, dark 
 grey, with a black rim around the pupil, were 
 magnificent, conquering eyes, — even now when 
 fright and grief had dimmed their lustre. . . . 
 Sanin involuntarily called to mind the wondrous 
 land whence he had just returned . . . Yes, 
 even in Italy he had not met anything like her! 
 The young girl breathed infrequently and un- 
 
 12
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 evenly ; she seemed each time to be waiting to sec 
 whether her brother would breathe. 
 
 Sanin continued to rub him ; but he did not look 
 at the young girl alone. Pantaleone's original 
 figure also attracted his attention. The old man 
 grew quite weak, and panted for breath; with 
 every stroke of the brush he gave a leap and 
 a grunt, while his huge mass of shaggy hair, 
 dampened with perspiration, rocked from side to 
 side like the roots of a vast plant undermined by 
 water. 
 
 "Do take off his boots, at least,"— Sanin felt 
 like saying to him. . . . 
 
 The poodle, probably excited by the unwonted- 
 ness of what was going on, suddenly sank down 
 on his forepaws and began to bark. 
 
 " Tartaglia, canaglia! ''—hissed the old man at 
 him. . . . 
 
 But at that moment the young girl's face un- 
 derwent a transformation; her eyes grew larger, 
 and began to beam with joy. . . . Sanin glanced 
 round .... A flush mounted to the face of the 
 young man; his eyelids moved and his nostrils 
 quivered. He inhaled air through his still 
 clenched teeth, sighed .... 
 
 "fimile!"- cried the girL . . . "EmiHo 
 mio! " 
 
 Slowly the great black eyes opened. Their 
 glance was still dull, but they were already smil- 
 ing faintly; the same faint smile descended to 
 
 13
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 the pale lips. Then he moved his pendent arm— 
 and with a flourish laid it on his breast. 
 
 "Emilio!"— repeated the young girl, and 
 half rose to her feet. The expression of her face 
 was so strong and brilliant that it seemed as 
 though her tears would spring forth or that she 
 would break into laughter. 
 
 "fimile! What is it? Emile!"— rang out a 
 voice outside the door— and with swift steps, a 
 neatly-attired woman, with silvery-grey hair and 
 a swarthy complexion, entered the room. An 
 elderly man followed her; the head of a maid- 
 servant peered from behind his shoulders. 
 
 The young girl ran to meet them. 
 
 "He is saved, mamma, he lives!"— she ex- 
 claimed, convulsively embracing the lady who 
 had entered. 
 
 "But what is the matter?"— repeated the lat- 
 ter. . . "T am on my way home, when suddenly 
 I meet the doctor and Luisa. ..." The girl 
 began to relate what had happened, while the 
 doctor stepped up to the sick boy, who was com- 
 ing more and more to himself — and still con- 
 tinued to smile: he seemed to be ashamed of the 
 alarm which he had caused. 
 
 " You have been rubbing him with brushes, I 
 see,"— said the doctor to Sanin and Pantaleone, 
 — " and it was well done. ... A very good idea 
 .... and now let us see what further reme- 
 dies. . . ." 
 
 14
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 He felt the young man's pulse.—" H'm! show 
 your tongue ! " 
 
 The lady bent anxiously over him. He smiled 
 more frankly than before, turned his eyes on her 
 — and flushed scarlet. . . 
 
 It occurred to Sanin that his presence was be- 
 coming superfluous ; he went out into the confec- 
 tioner's shop. But before he could grasp the 
 handle of the street door, the young girl again ap- 
 peared before him, and stopped him. 
 
 " You are going away," — she began, gazing 
 caressingly in his face; "I will not detain you, 
 but you must come to us again this evening, with- 
 out fail; we are so greatly indebted to you,— you 
 may have saved my brother's life — we wish to 
 thank you— mamma wishes to thank you. You 
 must tell us who you are, you must rejoice with 
 us " 
 
 "But I am setting out for Berlin to-day,"— 
 stammered Sanin. 
 
 " You will have plenty of time,"— returned the 
 young girl vivaciously.—" Come to us an hour 
 hence, to drink a cup of chocolate. Do you 
 promise ? But I must go back to him ! Will you 
 come?" 
 
 "WTiat was there left for Sanin to do? 
 
 " I will," he replied. 
 
 The beauty gave his hand a hasty pressure, and 
 fluttered forth— and he found himself in the 
 street. 
 
 15
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 IV 
 
 When Sanin, an hour and a half later, returned 
 to Roselli's confectionery shop, he was welcomed 
 there like a relative. Emilio was sitting on the 
 same couch on which they had rubbed him; the 
 doctor had prescribed some medicine for him, and 
 had recommended "great caution in the experi- 
 ence of emotion," — as being of a nervous tem- 
 perament, and with a tendency to heart-disease. 
 He had previously been subject to fainting fits; 
 but never had an attack been so prolonged and so 
 violent. The doctor had declared, however, that 
 all danger was over, fimile was dressed as befits 
 a convalescent, in a loose dressing-gown; his mo- 
 ther had wound a blue woollen kerchief round his 
 neck; but he wore a cheerful, almost festive as- 
 pect ; and everything round about him also wore a 
 festive aspect. In front of the couch, on a round 
 table covered with a clean cloth, and surrounded 
 by cups, caraffes with syrup, biscuits, and rolls, 
 even with flowers, — rose a huge, porcelain coiFee- 
 pot filled with fragrant chocolate; six slender 
 wax tapers burned in two antique silver cande- 
 labra ; on one side of the divan, a reclining chair 
 opened its soft embrace— and Sanin was placed 
 in this chair. All the inhabitants of the confec- 
 tioner's shop, with whom he had had occasion to 
 make acquaintance that day, were present, not 
 
 16
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 excepting the poodle Tartaglia and the cat; all 
 seemed unspeakably happy; the poodle even 
 sneezed with pleasure; the cat alone, as before, 
 kept blinking and purring. They made Sanin 
 explain who he was, and whence he came, and 
 what was his name; when he said that he was 
 a Russian, both the ladies displayed some sur- 
 prise, and even uttered an exclamation, — and im- 
 mediately, in one voice, declared that he spoke 
 German capitally; but if he found it more con- 
 venient to express himself in French, he might 
 employ that language, as both of them under- 
 stood it well, and expressed themselves well in it. 
 Sanin immediately availed himself of this sug- 
 gestion. "Sanin! Sanin!" — The ladies had 
 never supposed that a Russian surname could be 
 so easily pronounced. His Christian name, 
 " Dmitry," also pleased them greatly. The elder 
 lady remarked that in her youth she had heard a 
 fine opera: " Demetrio e Polibio "— but that 
 " Dmitry " was much nicer than " Demetrio." In 
 this manner did Sanin chat for about an hour. 
 The ladies, on their side, initiated him into all the 
 details of their own life. The mother, the lady 
 vnth the grey hair, did most of the talking. 
 From her Sanin learned that her name was Leo- 
 nora Roselli ; that she was the widow of Giovanni 
 Battista Roselli, who had settled in Frankfurt 
 twenty-five years previously, as a confectioner; 
 that Giovanni Battista had been a native of 
 
 17
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Vicenza, and a very good, though rather peppery 
 and irritable man, and a republican into the bar- 
 gain! As she uttered these words, Signora Ro- 
 selli pointed to his portrait, painted in oils, which 
 hung over the couch. We must assume that the 
 artist— "also a republican," as Signora Roselli 
 remarked with a sigh— had not quite succeeded 
 in catching the hkeness,— for in his portrait the 
 late Giovanni Battista was represented as a sort 
 of grim and gloomy brigand— in the style of Ri- 
 naldo Rinaldini! Signora Roselli herself was a 
 native of "the ancient and beautiful city of 
 Parma, where there is such a magnificent dome, 
 painted by the immortal Correggio!" But 
 through prolonged residence in Germany, she 
 had become almost a German. Then she added, 
 with a mournful shake of the head, that all she 
 had left was this daughter, and this son (she 
 pointed her finger at them in turn) ;— that her 
 daughter's name was Gemma, and her son's, 
 Emilio; that they were both very good and obe- 
 dient children— especially Emilio .... ("I'm 
 not obedient! " put in her daughter at this point; 
 — " Okli, thou art a republican also! " replied her 
 mother) ;— that business was not as good now, of 
 course, as in her husband's time, for he had been 
 a great master in the confectioner's art .... 
 C' Un grand' iiomo/"^- interposed Pantaleone 
 with a morose aspect) ; but that, nevertheless, 
 they were able to make a living, thank God! 
 
 18
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Gemma listened to her mother— now laughing, 
 now sighing, now stroking her on the shoulder, 
 again menacing her with her finger, now glancing 
 at Sanin; at last she rose, embraced her mother, 
 and kissed her on the neck, — on the throat just 
 under the chin, which made the latter laugh a 
 great deal and even squeal. Pantaleone was also 
 introduced to Sanin. It appeared that he had 
 formerly been an opera-singer, in barytone parts, 
 but had long since dropped his theatrical occupa- 
 tions, and had become something midway be- 
 tween a friend of the house and a servant in the 
 Roselli family. Notwithstanding his long resi- 
 dence in Germany, he had acquired the German 
 language only in an imperfect manner, and mer- 
 cilessly murdered even the words of abuse. 
 "Ferrofluchto spiccehuhhio!" was what he called 
 nearly every German. But the Italian language 
 he spoke in perfection, being a native of Siniga- 
 glia, where is heard the '' lingua toscana in hocca 
 romana!" Emilio was obviously pampering 
 himself, and surrendering himself to the agree- 
 able sensations of a man who has just escaped 
 danger, or is convalescing; and, moreover, it was 
 perceptible, from all the indications, that the 
 members of the household spoiled him with pet- 
 ting. He thanked Sanin in a bashful way, but 
 
 19
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 devoted himself chiefly to the syrup and the 
 candy. Sanin was compelled to drink two large 
 cups of superb chocolate, and to consume a re- 
 markable amount of biscuits; no sooner had he 
 swallowed one than Gemma offered him another 
 — and it was impossible to refuse! He speedily 
 felt himself quite at home : time sped on with in- 
 credible swiftness. He had to tell a great deal 
 about Russia in general, about Russian society; 
 about the Russian peasant— and especially about 
 the kazaks; about the War of 1812, about Peter 
 the Great, the Kremlin, Russian ballads and 
 bells. Both of the ladies had but a very feeble 
 conception of our vast and distant fatherland ; 
 Signora Roselli, or, as she was more frequently 
 called, Frau Lenore, even amazed Sanin with the 
 question: whether the famous ice-palace built in 
 St. Petersburg during the last century, concern- 
 ing which she had recently read such a curious 
 article— in one of her deceased husband's books 
 — "Bellezze delle Arti"— was still in existence? 
 —and in response to Sanin's exclamation: "Can 
 it be possible that you think there is never any 
 summer in Russia!" Frau Lenore replied that 
 up to that time she had depicted Russia to herself 
 in the following manner : eternal snow, every one 
 going about in fur cloaks, and everybody in the 
 military service — but remarkable hospitality, and 
 all the peasants very obedient! Sanin endeav- 
 oured to impart to her and her daughter more ac- 
 
 20
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 curate information. When the conversation 
 turned on Russian music, he was immediately 
 asked to sing some Russian air, and a tiny piano, 
 with black keys instead of white and white in- 
 stead of black, which stood in the room, was 
 pointed out to him. He complied without fur- 
 ther ado, and accompanying himself with two 
 fingers of his right hand, and three of his left 
 (the thumb, middle finger and little finger), he 
 sang, in a thin, nasal tenor, first " The Red Sa- 
 rafan," ^ and then " Along a Paved Street." 
 The ladies praised his voice and the music, but 
 went into raptures more particularly over the 
 softness and melody of the Russian language 
 and demanded a translation of the text. Sanin 
 complied with their request— but as the words 
 of " The Red Sarafan," and particularly those 
 of "Along a Paved Street " (sur une rue pavee 
 une jeune fiUe allait a Veau—\\ms did he ren- 
 der the meaning of the original), could not in- 
 spire his hearers with a lofty idea of Russian 
 poetry, he first declaimed, then translated, then 
 sang Pushkin's " I Remember a Wondrous 
 Moment," set to music by Ghnka, whose couplets 
 in minor tones he slightly distorted. The ladies 
 went into ecstasies,— Frau Lenore even discov- 
 ered a wonderful resemblance between the Rus- 
 sian language and the Italian. '' Mnogvenie" 
 
 1 The sarafan is the frock, suspended from the shoulders, of 
 peasant maidens. — Translator. 
 
 21
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 —"o vieni"—"co mn6i"—''siam wof/^— and so 
 forth. Even the names Pushkin (she pro- 
 nounced it Pussekin) and Ghnka sounded fa- 
 mihar to her. Sanin, in his turn, requested the 
 ladies to sing something: and they, also, were 
 quite unaffected. Frau Lenore seated herself at 
 the piano, and in company with Gemma, she sang 
 several duettini and stornelli. The mother had 
 once had a fine contralto; the daughter's voice 
 was rather weak, but agreeable. 
 
 VI 
 
 It was not Gemma's voice, however, but the girl 
 herself that Sanin admired. He sat somewhat 
 behind her and to one side, and thought to him- 
 self that no palm-tree— even in the verses of 
 Benediktofif, who was then the fashionable poet, 
 —was capable of vying with the slender ele- 
 gance of her figure. And when, at the sentimen- 
 tal notes, she rolled her eyes upward, it seemed to 
 him that there was no heaven which would not 
 open wide at such a glance. Even old Panta- 
 leone, who was leaning his shoulder against the 
 jamb of the door, with his chin and mouth buried 
 in his capacious neckcloth, listened sedately, with 
 the air of an expert,— even he admired the face 
 of the beautiful girl, and was amazed at it,— and 
 yet, apparently, he must have been used to it! 
 On finishing her duettino with her daughter, 
 
 22
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Frau Lenore remarked that Emilio had a capital 
 voice — genuine silver — but that he had now at- 
 tained the age when the voice undergoes a change 
 — (in fact, he spoke in a sort of basso voice 
 which was incessantly breaking) —and for that 
 reason, he was forbidden to sing; but that Pan- 
 taleone here might, in honor of the visitor, recall 
 his earlier days! Pantaleone immediately as- 
 sumed an aspect of displeasure, frowned, rum- 
 pled up his hair, and announced that he had long 
 since given up all that sort of thing, although he 
 really had been able, in his youth, to hold his own 
 — and, moreover, in general, he belonged to that 
 grand epoch when genuine, classical singers ex- 
 isted — not to be mentioned in the same breath 
 with the squallers of the present day ! and a genu- 
 ine school of singing; that a laurel wreath had 
 once been presented to him, Pantaleone Cippa- 
 tola, in Modena, and several white doves had even 
 been set free in the theatre on that occasion ; that, 
 among others, a Russian Prince Tarbusky— ''^e'Z 
 Principe Tarhusski" — with whom he had been on 
 the most intimate terms, had incessantly invited 
 him, at supper, to Russia, had promised him 
 mountains of gold, mountains! . . . but that he 
 had not been wilHng to leave Italy, the land of 
 Dante— '^^i'Z paese del Dante!''— later on, of 
 course, unfortunate circumstances arose, he him- 
 self was incautious. . . . Here the old man in- 
 terrupted himself, heaved a couple of profound 
 
 23
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 sighs, cast down his eyes — and again began to 
 talk about the classic era of singing, about the 
 famous tenor Garcia, for whom he cherished a 
 reverent, boundless respect. " There was a 
 man! "—he exclaimed. Never did the great Gar- 
 cia — '"^ il gran Garcia!'' — condescend to sing like 
 the wretched little tenors of the present day — 
 the tenor ecci — in falsetto: he always sang from 
 the chest, the chest, voce di petto, si! The old 
 man dealt himself a stiff blow on his neckcloth 
 with his tiny, lean hand. And what an actor ! A 
 volcano, signori miei, a volcano, un Vesuvio! " I 
 had the honour to sing with him in the opera 'delV 
 illustrissimo maestro Rossini'— in ' Otello! ' Gar- 
 cia was Otello — I was lago — and when he ut- 
 tered this phrase . . . . " 
 
 Here Pantaleone struck an attitude, and began 
 to sing in a hoarse and quavering, but still pa- 
 thetic voice : 
 
 " L'i. . . . ra daver. ... so daver. . . . 
 
 lo pift no. . . . no. . . . no. . . . non temerft! 
 
 The theatre quaked, signori miei! but I did 
 not stop ; and I also sang after him : 
 
 LM. . . . ra daver. ... so daver. ... so 11 fate 
 Temer piu non dovr6 ! 
 
 And all at once he— like lightning, like a tiger: 
 ' Morro .... ma vindicato . . . . ' 
 
 24
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " Or here again, when he sang .... when he 
 sang that celebrated aria from '^11 Matrimonio 
 Segreto': Pria che spunti. . . . Thenhe,ilgran 
 Garcia J after the words: I cavalli di galoppo— 
 did this on the words: Senza posa cacciera— lis- 
 ten, how amazing it is, com^e stupendo! Then he 
 did this. ..." The old man tried to execute 
 some remarkable sort of fioritura — but broke off 
 short on the tenth note, cleared his throat, and 
 with a wave of his hand, turned away, mutter- 
 ing: — "Why do you torture me?" Gemma 
 immediately sprang from her chair, and clapping 
 her hands loudly, with the cry: "Bravo!" ran to 
 poor, retired lago, and tapped him affectionately 
 on the shoulders with both hands. Emile alone 
 laughed mercilessly. " Cet age est sans pitie" — 
 La Fontaine has said. 
 
 Sanin tried to comfort the aged singer, and 
 began to talk with him in the Italian tongue— 
 (he had picked up a little of it during his late 
 journey) — began to talk about "II paese del 
 Dante, dove it si suona." This phrase, together 
 with " Lasciate ogni speranza/' constituted the 
 young tourist's entire poetical baggage in Ital- 
 ian; but Pantaleone did not yield to his blan- 
 dishments. Plunging his chin more deeply than 
 ever into his neckcloth, and protruding his 
 eyes morosely, he again resembled a bird, and 
 an enraged bird, at that, — a crow or a kite. 
 Then ifimile, flushing slightly and momentarily,— 
 
 25
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 as is generally the case with petted children, — 
 turned to his sister, and said to her that if she 
 wished to entertain the guest, she could devise no- 
 thing better than to read him one of Maltz's 
 little comedies, which she read so well. Gemma 
 laughed, slapped her brother's hand, and ex- 
 claimed that he " was always inventing some- 
 thing of that sort!" Nevertheless, she imme- 
 diately went to her own room, and returning 
 thence with a small book in her hand, seated her- 
 self at the table, near the lamp, cast a glance 
 about her, raised her finger— as much as to say; 
 *' Silence! "—a purely Italian gesture — and be- 
 gan to read. 
 
 VII 
 
 Maltz was a Frankfurt writer of the '30's, who, 
 in his brief and lightly sketched little comedies, 
 written in the local dialect, portrayed with amus- 
 ing and dashing, although not profound humour, 
 the local Frankfurt types. It appeared that 
 Gemma really did read capitally — quite like an 
 actress. She imparted a distinct hue to every per- 
 sonage, and preserved his character finely, putting 
 in play her power of mimicry, which she had in- 
 herited along with her Italian blood; sparing 
 neither her tender voice, nor her beautiful face, 
 when it became necessary to portray either an 
 old woman who had outlived her wits, or a stupid 
 
 26
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 burgomaster, — she made the most mirth-provok- 
 ing grimaces, screwed up her eyes, wrinkled her 
 nose, lisped, squeaked shrilly. . . . She herself 
 did not laugh while she was reading; but when 
 her auditors (with the exception of Pantaleone, 
 truth to tell: he immediately withdrew in dud- 
 geon, as soon as it was a question of " quello fer- 
 rofluchto Tedesco") ,— when her auditors inter- 
 rupted her with bursts of hearty laughter, she 
 dropped the book on her knees, emitted a ringing 
 laugh herself, with her head thrown back — and 
 her black curls danced in soft tendrils on her 
 neck, and over her quivering shoulders. When 
 the laughter ceased, she immediately raised her 
 book, and again imparting to her features the 
 proper twist, seriously resumed her reading. 
 Sanin could not recover from his amazement at 
 her; what particularly struck him was this: by 
 what miracle could so ideally-beautiful a face 
 suddenly assume so comical, sometimes almost 
 trivial an expression? Gemma's rendering of the 
 roles of young girls— the so-called "jeuties pre- 
 mieres" — was less satisfactory; she was part'cu- 
 larly unsuccessful with the love scenes; she her- 
 self was conscious of this, and therefore imparted 
 to them a slight tinge of absurdity — as though 
 she did not believe in all those rapturous vows 
 and high-flowTi speeches, from which, moreover, 
 the author himself refrained, so far as that was 
 possible. 
 
 27
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Sanin did not observe how the evening was flit- 
 ting by — and only recalled his impending jour- 
 ney when the clock struck ten. He sprang from 
 his chair as though he had been scalded. 
 
 " What is the matter with you? " — asked Frau 
 Lenore. 
 
 " Why, I was to have set oiF to-day for Berlin 
 — and I have already secured my place in the dili- 
 gence!" 
 
 "And when does the diligence start?" 
 
 "At half -past ten!" 
 
 "Well, then you will not catch it," — remarked 
 Gemma; "stay . . . and I will read some 
 more." 
 
 " Did you pay all the money down, or did you 
 merely make a deposit?" — inquired Frau Le- 
 nora. 
 
 "I paid all!"— cried Sanin, with a sorry 
 grimace. 
 
 Gemma looked at him, narrowed her eyes — 
 and laughed, but her mother reproved her. — 
 " The young man has spent his money for no- 
 thing,— and thou laughest!" 
 
 "Never mind!"— replied Gemma;— "it will 
 not ruin him, and we will try to console him. 
 Would you like some lemonade? " 
 
 Sanin drank a glass of lemonade, Gemma be- 
 gan again on Maltz — and again everything 
 flowed on as smoothly as though it had been oiled. 
 
 28
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 The clock struck twelve. Sanin began to take 
 leave. 
 
 *' Now you must remain for several days in 
 Frankfurt,"— Gemma said to him: " what 's your 
 hurry? Things will be no jollier in any other 
 town." — She paused. " Really, they will not,"— 
 she added, smiling. Sanin made no reply and 
 reflected that, in view of the emptiness of his 
 purse, he would be compelled, willy-nilly, to re- 
 main in Frankfurt, until an answer should arrive 
 from a friend in Berlin, to whom he contemplated 
 applying for money. 
 
 " Stay, do stay,"— Frau Lenore added her en- 
 treaties. "We will introduce you to Gemma's 
 betrothed, Herr Karl Kliiber. He could not 
 come to-day, because he is very busy in his shop 
 .... surely you must have noticed in the Zeil 
 the largest shop for cloths and silken materials? 
 Well, he is the chief man there. But he will be 
 very glad to be presented to you." 
 
 This piece of information chagrined Sanin 
 somewhat— God knows why. "That betrothed 
 is a lucky fellow ! " flashed through his mind. He 
 glanced at Gemma — and it seemed to him that 
 he descried a mocking expression in her eyes. 
 He began to take leave. 
 
 " Until to-morrow? It is until to-morrow, is it 
 not?"— asked Frau Lenore. 
 
 "Until to-morrow!" articulated Gemma, not 
 
 29
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 in an interrogative but in an affirmative tone, as 
 though it could not be otherwise. 
 
 "Until to-morrow!"— responded Sanin. 
 
 Emile, Pantaleone, and the poodle Tartaglia 
 escorted him to the corner of the street. Panta- 
 leone could not refrain from expressing his dis- 
 pleasure over Gemma's reading. 
 
 *' She ought to be ashamed of herself! She 
 writhes and squeals— una caricatura! She ought 
 to personate Merope or Clytemnestra — some- 
 thing grand, tragic — but she mimics some mis- 
 erable German female! I can do that myself 
 . . . . ' Mertz, hertz, smertz/"—he added, in a 
 hoarse voice, thrusting forward his face, and 
 spreading out his fingers. Tartaglia began to 
 bark at him, and Emile burst into loud laughter. 
 The old man turned back abruptly. 
 
 Sanin returned to his hostelry, " The White 
 Swan " (he had left his things there, in the gen- 
 eral room) , in a decidedly confused state of mind. 
 All those German-French-Italian conversations 
 were fairly ringing in his ears. 
 
 "An affianced bride!"— he whispered, as he 
 lay in bed, in the modest chamber assigned to him. 
 " But what a beauty! But why did I stay? " 
 
 Nevertheless, on the following day, he des- 
 patched a letter to his friend in Berlin, 
 
 30
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 VIII 
 
 Before he had succeeded in getting dressed a 
 waiter announced to him the arrival of two gen- 
 tlemen. One of them turned out to be Emile; 
 the other, a stately well-grown young man, with 
 an extremely handsome face, was Herr Karl 
 Kliiber, the betrothed of the lovely Gemma. 
 
 We are at liberty to infer that, at that time, 
 there was not, in a single shop in the whole of 
 Frankfurt, so polite, decorous, dignified, and 
 amiable a head-clerk as Herr Kliiber showed 
 himself to be. The irreproachableness of his 
 toilet equalled the dignity of his demeanour, the 
 elegance — somewhat affected and constrained, 
 it is true, after the English fashion (he had 
 spent a couple of years in England) — but, 
 nevertheless, engaging elegance of his manners! 
 At the very first glance it became clear that 
 this handsome, rather stiff, excellently educated 
 and capitally washed young man was accus- 
 tomed to obey his superiors and to command his 
 inferiors, and that behind the counter of his 
 shop he was bound to evoke the respect even of 
 his patrons! As to his supernatural honesty 
 there could not exist the shadow of a doubt. A 
 glance at his stiffly-starched cuffs was all that 
 was required. And his voice proved to be just 
 what was to have been expected: thick and self- 
 
 31
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 confidently-succulent, but not too loud, with 
 even a certain caressing quality in the timbre. 
 Such a voice is particularly well adapted for 
 issuing orders to subordinate clerks: " Show that 
 piece of crimson Lyons velvet!" — or, "Give 
 the lady a chair! " 
 
 Herr Kliiber began by introducing himself, 
 during which operation he bent his form in so 
 noble a manner, moved his feet so agreeably, 
 and clicked one heel against the other so cour- 
 teously, that one was bound to feel: " This man's 
 body-linen and spiritual qualities are of the first 
 order!" The elaborate finish of his bare right 
 hand— (in his left, clad in a glove of undressed 
 kid, he held a hat polished like a mirror, at the 
 bottom of which lay the other glove)— the elab- 
 orate finish of that right hand, which he mod- 
 estly but firmly offered to Sanin,— exceeded all 
 belief: every nail was perfection in its way! 
 Then he announced, in the choicest of German, 
 that he had wished to express his respects and 
 his gratitude to Monsieur the Stranger, who had 
 rendered such an important service to his future 
 relative, the brother of his affianced bride ; where- 
 upon, he waved his left hand, which held his hat, 
 in the direction of Emile, who seemed to feel 
 ashamed, and, turning away to the window, 
 stuck his finger in his mouth. Herr Kliiber 
 added that he should consider himself happy 
 if he, on his part, were in a position to do any- 
 
 32
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 thing agreeable for Monsieur the Stranger. 
 Sanin replied, not without some difficulty, also 
 in German, that he was delighted . . . that his 
 service had been of very slight importance .... 
 and begged his visitors to be seated. Herr 
 Kliiber thanked him— and, immediately draw- 
 ing aside the skirts of his frock-coat, dropped 
 into a chair— but dropped so lightly, and held 
 himself upon it in so precarious a manner, that 
 it was impossible not to think: " This man has 
 seated himself out of politeness— and will flutter 
 off again in another minute! " And, as a matter 
 of fact, he did flutter ofl" immediately, and shift- 
 ing bashfully from one foot to the other a 
 couple of times, as though dancing, he an- 
 nounced that, unhappily, he could not remain 
 longer, for he was hastening to his shop— busi- 
 ness before everything!— but, as to-morrow was 
 Sunday, he had, with the consent of Frau Le- 
 nore and Fraulein Gemma, arranged a plea- 
 sure-party to Soden, to which he had the honour 
 of inviting Monsieur the Stranger— and he 
 cherished the hope that the latter would not re- 
 fuse to adorn it with his presence. Sanin did not 
 refuse to adorn it— and Herr Kliiber made his 
 obeisance a second time, and withdrew, pleas- 
 antly fluttering his trousers of the most tender 
 greyish-yellow hue, and squeaking the soles of 
 his very new boots in an equally agreeable 
 manner. 
 
 33
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 IX 
 
 Emlle, who continued to stand with his face to 
 the window, even after Sanin's invitation to 
 " be seated "—wheeled round to the left, as soon 
 as his future relative was gone— and, grimac- 
 ing and blushing in childish fashion, asked Sa- 
 nin whether he might remain a little longer with 
 him. " I am much better to-day,"— he added, — 
 " but the doctor has forbidden me to work." 
 
 "Pray, remain! You do not incommode mc 
 in the least," — instantly exclaimed Sanin, who, 
 like all true Russians, was delighted to grasp at 
 the first pretext which presented itself to escape 
 being forced to do anything himself. 
 
 Emile thanked him— and, in the very briefest 
 space of time, had made himself entirely at 
 home both with him and with his quarters. He 
 scrutinised his things, and asked questions about 
 nearly every one of them: where he had bought 
 this, and what were its merits? He helped him 
 to shave, remarking incidentally that he made 
 a mistake in not allowing his moustache to grow ; 
 — he finally imparted to him a multitude of de- 
 tails concerning his mother, his sister, Pantale- 
 one, even the poodle Tartaglia, and about their 
 whole manner of life. Every trace of timidity 
 had vanished from Emile; he suddenly experi- 
 enced a remarkable attraction toward Sanin— 
 
 34
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 and that not in the least because the latter had 
 saved his life the day before, but because he was 
 such a sympathetic man! He made no delay in 
 confiding all his secrets to Sanin. He insisted 
 with special fervour on the fact that his mamma 
 was positively set upon making a merchant of 
 him— while he knew for a certainty that he was 
 born to be an artist, a musician, a singer ; that the 
 theatre was his true vocation; that even Pantale- 
 one encouraged him, but that Herr Kliiber up- 
 held his mamma, over whom he had great in- 
 fluence ; that the very idea of making a merchant 
 of him belonged to Herr Kliiber, according to 
 whose conceptions nothing in the world could 
 compare with the calling of the merchant! To 
 sell cloth and velvet, and swindle the public, to 
 get from it "Narren- oder Russen-Preise" (fools' 
 or Russians' prices) —that was his ideal !^ 
 
 "Well, never mind! now we must go to our 
 house! "—exclaimed he, as soon as Sanin had 
 completed his toilet, and had written his letter to 
 Berlin. 
 
 " It is early yet," — remarked Sanin. 
 
 " That makes no difference," — said Emile, 
 coaxingly. " Come along ! We will stop at 
 the post-office — and from there go on to our 
 
 * In days gone by— yes, and probably even now— there has been 
 no change in this respect: when, beginning with the month of May, 
 a multitude of Russians made their appearance in Frankfurt, the 
 prices rose in all the shops, and received the title of " Russen-" — 
 or, alas ! — " Narren-Preise." — Author's Note. 
 
 85
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 house. Gemma will be so glad to see you! 
 You shall breakfast with us ... . you can 
 say something to mamma about me, about my 
 career. ... 
 
 "Well, come on, then,"— said Sanin— and 
 they set out. 
 
 X 
 
 Gemma really was delighted to see him, and 
 Frau Lenore greeted him in a very friendly wise. 
 It was plain that he had produced a good im- 
 pression on all of them the preceding evening. 
 Emile ran to see about breakfast, with a prelim- 
 inary whisper in Sanin's ear: "Don't forget!" 
 
 " I will not," — replied Sanin. 
 
 Frau Lenore was not feeling quite well: she 
 was suffering from a sick headache— and, half 
 reclining in an arm-chair, she tried to avoid mov- 
 ing. Gemma wore a loose yellow morning- 
 gown, girt with a black leather belt; she, also, 
 appeared fatigued, and had grown a little pale; 
 dark circles shadowed her eyes, but their bril- 
 liancy was not diminished thereby, and her pal- 
 lor imparted a certain mystery and charm to the 
 classic severitj^ of her features. Sanin was par- 
 ticularly impressed that day by the elegant 
 beauty of her hands. When she adjusted and 
 held up with them her dark, lustrous curls he 
 could not tear his eyes from her fingers, slender 
 
 36
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 and long, and standing apart from one another, 
 as in Raffaele's " Fornarina." 
 
 It was very hot out of doors. After break- 
 fast Sanin started to go away, but he was told 
 that on such a day it was better not to move 
 from one spot — and he assented; he remained. 
 In the rear room, in which he sat with his host- 
 esses, coolness reigned; the windows opened 
 upon a tiny garden, overgrown with acacias. A 
 multitude of bees, wasps, and bumble-bees 
 hummed sturdily and greedily in their thick 
 branches, studded with golden flowers; through 
 the half -closed shutters and lowered shades that 
 unceasing sound penetrated into the room: it 
 spoke of the sultry heat disseminated in the 
 outer air — and the coolness of the closed and 
 comfortable dwelling became all the more sweet 
 by reason of it. 
 
 As on the preceding evening, Sanin talked 
 a great deal, but not about Russia, and not about 
 Russian life. Desirous of gratifying his young 
 friend, who was sent off to Herr Kliiber im- 
 mediately after breakfast, to practise book- 
 keeping, he turned the conversation upon the 
 comparative advantages and disadvantages of 
 art and commerce. He was not surprised that 
 Frau Lenore upheld the side of commerce— he 
 had expected that; but Genmia also shared her 
 opinion. 
 
 " If you are an artist,— and especially a 
 
 37
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 singer,"— she asserted, with an energetic down- 
 ward movement of her hand,—" you must, with- 
 out fail, be in the first place ! The second is good 
 for nothing; and who knows whether you can 
 attain to the first place?"— Pantaleone, who 
 was also taking part in the conversation — (in his 
 quality of ancient servitor and an old man, he 
 was even permitted to sit on a chair in the pres- 
 ence of his mistress; the Italians, in general, are 
 not strict as to etiquette) —Pantaleone, as a mat- 
 ter of course, stood up stoutly for art. Truth 
 to tell, his arguments were decidedly feeble. He 
 talked chiefly about the necessity, first of all, of 
 possessing un certo estro dfinspirazione — a cer- 
 tain impetuosity of inspiration. Frau Lenore 
 observ^ed to him that he himself, of course, did 
 possess that "estro"— Sindi yet . . . . "I had 
 enemies," — remarked Pantaleone, morosely. — 
 " Well, but how dost thou know "— (the Ital- 
 ians, as every one knows, easily fall into address- 
 ing as " thou ") — " that Emile also will not have 
 enemies, even if that '^ estro' should be discov- 
 ered in him?"— "Well, then, make a shop- 
 keeper out of him," — said Pantaleone, angrily. 
 — " But Giovan' Battista would not have acted 
 so, even if he was a confectioner himself! " — 
 " Giovan' Battista, my husband, was a sensible 
 man— and even if he was tempted in his 
 youth . . . ." But the old man would no 
 longer listen, and took himself off, after having 
 
 38
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 once more said reproachfully: "Ah! Giovan' 
 Battista!" . . . Gemma exclaimed that if 
 Emile felt himself a patriot, and wished to con- 
 secrate all his forces to the emancipation of 
 Italy,— of course, for such a lofty and sacred 
 aim a safe future might be sacrificed— but not 
 for the theatre! At this point, Frau Lenore be- 
 gan excitedly to entreat her daughter not to lead 
 her brother astray, at least,— and to be content 
 with the fact that she herself was such a desper- 
 ate republican! After uttering these words, 
 Frau Lenore groaned, and began to complain of 
 her head, which " was ready to burst." (Frau 
 Lenore, out of respect for her guest, talked in 
 French to her daughter.) 
 
 Gemma immediately began to tend her, 
 breathed softly on her brow, first moistening it 
 with eau de cologne, softly kissed her cheeks, 
 laid her head on a cushion, forbade her to speak 
 — and kissed her again. Then, turning to Sanin, 
 she began to tell him, in a half -jesting, half- 
 moved tone, what a splendid mother she had, 
 and what a beauty she had been ! " Why do I 
 say, ' has been ! ' she is charming even now. 
 Look, look, what eyes she has! " 
 
 Gemma immediately pulled from her pocket 
 a white handkerchief, covered her mother's face 
 with it— and slowly lowering the edge from 
 above downward, gradually revealed the fore- 
 head, the eyebrows, and the eyes of Frau Lenore. 
 
 39
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 She paused, and requested her to open them. 
 Her mother obeyed; Gemma cried aloud with 
 rapture (Frau Lenore's eyes really were very 
 handsome) — and swiftly slipping the handker- 
 chief past the lower, less regular portion of her 
 mother's face, she began to kiss her again. Frau 
 Lenore laughed, and turned slightly away, and 
 thrust her daughter from her with some little 
 force. The latter pretended to wrestle with her 
 mother, and nestled up to her— yet not cat- wise, 
 or in the French manner, but with that Italian 
 grace, in which the presence of strength is al- 
 ways to be felt. 
 
 At last Frau Lenore declared that she was 
 weary. . . . Then G^mma immediately advised 
 her to take a little nap, there, in her chair, — " and 
 the Russian gentleman and I . . '^ avec le mon- 
 sieur russe'—w\\\ be so quiet, so quiet — like lit- 
 tle mice .... comme des petits souris." Frau 
 Lenore smiled at her in reply, closed her eyes, 
 and after drawing a few long breaths, fell into 
 a doze. 
 
 Gemma briskly dropped upon a bench beside 
 her and made no further movement, except that, 
 from time to time, she raised the finger of one 
 hand to her lips — with the other, she was support- 
 ing the cushion under her mother's head— and 
 hissed in a barely-audible manner, casting a side- 
 long glance at Sanin, when the latter permitted 
 himself the slightest movement. It ended in his 
 
 40
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 becoming as still as death, and sitting immovably, 
 as though enchanted, and with all the powers of 
 his soul admiring the picture which was presented 
 to him by this half -dark room, where here and 
 there, like brilliant spots, glowed fresh, magnifi- 
 cent roses, placed in antique, green glasses — and 
 that slumbering woman, with modestly-folded 
 hands, and a kind, weary face, framed in the 
 snowy white of the pillow, and that young, alertly- 
 watchful and likewise kind, clever, pure, and un- 
 speakably-beautiful being, with those deep black 
 eyes, filled with shadow and yet beaming. . . . 
 What was it? A dream? A fairy-tale? And 
 how came he there? 
 
 XI 
 
 The little bell tinkled over the outer door. A 
 young peasant lad, in a fur cap and a red waist- 
 coat, entered the confectionery shop from the 
 street. From early morning, not a single cus- 
 tomer had even peeped into it. . . . "That 's the 
 way we do business! " — Frau Lenore had re- 
 marked to Sanin, with a sigh, during breakfast. 
 She continued to sleep ; Gemma was afraid to re- 
 move her hand from the pillow, and whispered to 
 Sanin: " Go, trade for me! " Sanin immediately 
 stole out on tiptoe to the shop. The lad wanted 
 a quarter of a pound of mint lozenges. — " How 
 much shall I charge him? "—Sanin asked Gemma 
 
 41
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 in a whisper, through the door. — " Six kreutzers !" 
 — she repHed, in a corresponding whisper. Sa- 
 nin weighed out a quarter of a pound, hunted up 
 some paper, made a horn of it, wrapped up the 
 lozenges, spilled them, wrapped them up again, 
 spilled them again, and finally delivered them, 
 and received the money. . • . The boy stared at 
 him in amazement, twisting his cap about on his 
 belly, and in the adjoining room, Gemma stopped 
 up her mouth, and swooned with laughter. Be- 
 fore that customer could retire, another made his 
 appearance, then a third. ..." Evidently, I 
 bring luck! " thought Sanin. The second asked 
 for a glass of orgeat ; the third, for half a pound 
 of candy. Sanin waited on them, rattling the 
 spoons with zeal, setting out saucers, and boldly 
 dipping his fingers into drawers and jars. On 
 reckoning up, it appeared that he had asked too 
 little for the orgeat, and had charged two kreut- 
 zers too much for the candy. Gemma did not 
 cease to laugh quietly, and Sanin was conscious 
 of an unwonted, peculiarly happy frame of mind. 
 It seemed as though he could stand like that be- 
 hind a counter all his life, and deal out orgeat 
 and candy, while such a lovely being was watch- 
 ing him from behind the door with eves full of 
 friendly ridicule; and the summer sun, forcing 
 its way through the dense foliage of the chestnut- 
 trees which grew in front of the windows, filled 
 the whole room with the greenish-golden raj'S of 
 
 42
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 noonday, with noonday shadows, and the heart 
 grew tender with the sweet languor of idleness, 
 freedom from care, and youth — early youth! 
 
 The fourth customer ordered- a cup of coffee; 
 he was obliged to have recourse to Pantaleone 
 (Emile had not yet returned from Herr Kliiber's 
 shop). Sanin seated himself again by Gemma's 
 side. Frau Lenore continued to sleep, to the 
 great satisfaction of her daughter. — " Mamma's 
 headache passes off while she sleeps," — she re- 
 marked. Sanin began to talk — in a whisper, as 
 before, of course — about his "trade"; inquired 
 very seriously as to the prices of the various " con- 
 fectionery" wares; Gemma, in an equally seri- 
 ous manner, told him the prices, and, in the mean- 
 time, both laughed inwardly and heartily, as 
 though conscious that thej^ were playing a very 
 amusing comedy. All at once, in the street, a 
 hand-organ struck up the air: '' Durch die F elder, 
 durch die Auen" . . . The plaintive sounds 
 wailed quavering and whistling on the motionless 
 air. G^mma shuddered. ..." He will waken 
 mamma! " Sanin instantty ran out into the street, 
 thrust several kreutzers into the hand of the or- 
 gan-grinder—and made him stop and go away. 
 When he returned, Gemma thanked him with a 
 slight nod of the head, and, pensively smiling, 
 began herself, in a barely-audible voice, to hum 
 Weber's beautiful melody, in which Max ex- 
 presses all the bewilderment of first love. Then 
 
 43
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 she asked Sanin whether he was acquainted with 
 " Freischiitz," whether he hked Weber, and 
 added that, although she herself was an Italian, 
 she loved such music best of all. From Weber 
 the conversation glided to poetry and romanti- 
 cism, to Hoffmann, whom every one was reading 
 at that time. . . 
 
 And Frau Lenore slept on, and even snored 
 faintly, and the rays of sunlight, piercing 
 through the shutters in narrow strips, impercep- 
 tibly, but incessantly, moved about and travelled 
 over the floor, over the furniture, over Gemma's 
 gown, over the leaves and petals of the flowers. 
 
 XII 
 
 It appeared that Gemma did not particularly 
 favour Hofl'mann, and even found him . . . tire- 
 some! The fantastically-obscure, northern ele- 
 ment of his tales was not very perceptible to her 
 bright, southern nature. " They are all fairy 
 tales, written for children!" she asserted, not 
 without disdain. She also had a confused con- 
 sciousness of the absence of poetry in Hoffmann. 
 But there was one of his tales, whose title, 
 however, she had forgotten, which pleased her 
 greatly. Properly speaking, only the beginning 
 of the tale pleased her : she had not read the end, 
 or had forgotten it also. It was about a young 
 man, who, somewhere or other, in a confectioner's 
 
 44
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 shop, so far as she remembered, meets a young 
 girl of striking beauty, a Greek; she is accom- 
 panied by a mysterious and queer old man. The 
 young man falls in love with the girl at the first 
 glance; she gazes at him so pitifully, as though 
 entreating him to set her free. . . . He with- 
 draws for a moment— and on returning to the 
 confectioner's shop, he no longer finds either the 
 young girl or the old man ; he rushes to seek her, 
 is incessantly coming across perfectly fresh traces 
 of them, follows them— and by no means, no- 
 where, never can he overtake them. The beauty 
 vanishes from him forever and ever— and he is 
 powerless to forget her beseeching look, and is 
 tortured by the thought that, perchance, all the 
 happiness of his life has slipped out of his hands. 
 
 Hoffmann hardly ends his tale in just that 
 way; but so she had constructed it, and so it re- 
 mained in Gemma's memory. 
 
 " It seems to me," — she said, — " that such 
 meetings and such partings occur in the world 
 more frequently than we think." 
 
 Sanin remained silent .... and, a little while 
 later, began to talk about .... Herr Kliiber. 
 It was the fii'st time he had mentioned him : he had 
 not even alluded to him until that moment. 
 
 Gemma became silent, in her turn, and medi- 
 tated, lightly biting the nail of her forefinger, and 
 fixing her eyes on one side. Then she began to 
 laud her betrothed, referred to the pleasure-party 
 
 45
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 which he had arranged for the following day, 
 and, darting a swift glance at Sanin, she re- 
 lapsed into silence again. 
 
 Sanin did not know what subject of conversa- 
 tion to start. 
 
 Emile ran noisily in, and woke Frau Lenore. 
 . . . Sanin rejoiced at his arrival. 
 
 Frau Lenore rose from her chair. Pantaleone 
 presented himself, and announced that dinner 
 was ready. The household friend, the ex-singer 
 and servant, also discharged the functions of 
 cook. 
 
 XIII 
 
 Sanin remained even after dinner. They would 
 not let him go, still under the same pretext of 
 the frightful sultriness, — and when the sultriness 
 abated, they proposed to him to go into the gar- 
 den, and drink coffee under the shade of the 
 acacias. Sanin accepted. He felt greatly at his 
 ease. In the monotonously-quiet and smoothly- 
 flowing current of life great delights are hidden, 
 — and he surrendered himself to them with delec- 
 tation, demanding nothing in particular from the 
 present day, but also thinking nothing about the 
 morrow, recalling not yesterday. What was not 
 proximity to such a young girl as Gemma worth ? 
 He would soon part from her, and, in all proba- 
 bility, forever; but while one and the same bark 
 
 46
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 bears them along the cahned floods of life, as in 
 Uhland's romance— rejoice, enjoy thyself, O 
 traveller! And everything seemed pleasant and 
 charming to the happy voyager. Frau Lenore 
 proposed that he should contend with her and 
 Pantaleone at " tresette," taught him that far 
 from complicated Italian game of cards — won a 
 few kreutzers from him — and he was greatly 
 pleased. Pantaleone, at the request of Emile, 
 made the poodle Tartaglia to go through all his 
 tricks— and Tartaglia leaped over a stick, 
 " talked," that is to say, barked, sneezed, shut the 
 door with his nose, fetched the patched slipper 
 of his master, — and, to wind up, with an old shako 
 on his head, represented Marshal Bernadotte, 
 subjected to the harsh reproofs of the Emperor 
 Napoleon for his treachery. Pantaleone, of 
 course, represented Napoleon— and represented 
 him very faithfully. He folded his arms on his 
 chest, pulled a three-cornered hat down over his 
 eyes— and spoke roughly and sharply, in French; 
 but, O heavens, in what French! TartagHa sat 
 up in front of his commander, all shrivelled up, 
 with his tail tucked between his legs, and wink- 
 ing and screwing up his eyes confusedly under 
 the visor of the shako, which was on awry. From 
 time to time, when Napoleon raised his voice, Ber- 
 nadotte rose on his hind legs. '' Fuori, tradi- 
 tore!" shouted Napoleon, at last, forgetting, in 
 the excess of his indignation, that he ought to 
 
 47
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 preserve his French character to the end— and 
 Bernadotte dashed headlong under the divan, 
 but immediately sprang out again, with a joyful 
 bark, as though giving it to be understood that 
 the performance was at an end. All the specta- 
 tors laughed a great deal— and Sanin most of all. 
 
 Gemma had a peculiarly charming, incessant, 
 quiet laugh, interspersed with very amusing little 
 squeaks. . . . Sanin fairly went to pieces under 
 that laugh — he would have liked to kiss her, for 
 those squeaks! 
 
 Night came at last. One must not abuse kind- 
 ness ! After bidding them all good night several 
 times, after saying several times to all of them: 
 " Farewell until to-morrow ! " (he even exchanged 
 kisses with Emile), Sanin wended his way home- 
 ward, and carried with him the image of the 
 young girl, now laughing, now pensive, now com- 
 posed, and even indifferent — but always fasci- 
 nating! Her eyes, now widely-opened and bright 
 and joyous as the day, again half -veiled by her 
 lashes, and deep, and dark as night, fairly stood 
 before his eyes, strangely and sweetly piercing 
 through all other images and scenes. 
 
 Of Herr Kliiber, of the cause which had 
 moved him to linger in Frankfurt — in a word, 
 of all that which had agitated him on the pre- 
 ceding day — he did not think even once. 
 
 48
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 XIV 
 
 But we must say a few words about Sanin him- 
 self. 
 
 In the fii'st place, he was very, very far from 
 being! bad-looking. A stately, slender figure, 
 agreeable, rather formless features, small caress- 
 ing blue eyes, golden hair, a white-and-red com- 
 plexion — chief of aU, that artlessly -merry, con- 
 fiding, frank expression, rather stupid at first 
 sight, by which, in times gone by, it was pos- 
 sible instantly to recognise the children of digni- 
 fied noble families, " father's " sons, nice young 
 lordlings, born and fattened in our spacious, 
 half -steppe regions; — a walk with a hitch, a 
 voice with a lisp, a smile like that of a child, 
 as soon as one glances at it. . . . In conclusion, 
 freshness, health— and softness, softness, soft- 
 ness,— there you have Sanin complete. And in 
 the second place, he was not stupid, and had ac- 
 quired a few things. He remained fresh, not- 
 withstanding his trip abroad. The agitated 
 emotions, which tossed with storm the best part 
 of the youth of that day, were little known to 
 him. 
 
 Of late, in our literature, after the vain search 
 for " new men," people have begun to depict 
 youths who have made up their minds, cost what 
 it may, to remain fresh .... fresh as Flens- 
 
 49
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 burg oysters imported to St. Petersburg. . . . 
 Sanin did not resemble them. And, as long as 
 it has become a question of comparisons, he re- 
 minded one, rather, of a bushy young apple-tree, 
 recently planted in our black-earth orchards,— 
 or, better still, of a well-groomed, smooth, thick- 
 legged, tender three-year-old of former " gen- 
 tlemen's " stud-farms, whom they have just be- 
 gun to lead with a thong. . . . Those who came 
 in contact with Sanin later on, when life had 
 thoroughly broken him in, and the young, fleet- 
 ing plumpness had long since worked off of him, 
 beheld in him a totally different man. 
 
 On the following day, Sanin was still in bed, 
 when Emile, in holiday attire, with a slender 
 cane in his hand, and heavily pomaded, burst 
 into his room, and announced that Herr Kliiber 
 would be there directly with a carriage, and that 
 the weather promised to be wonderfully fine, 
 that they already had everything in readiness, 
 but that mamma would not go, because her head 
 was aching again. He began to urge Sanin to 
 haste, assuring him that he had not a minute 
 to lose. . . . And, in fact, Herr Kliiber found 
 Sanin still busy with his toilet. He knocked at 
 the door, entered, bowed, inclined his body, ex- 
 pressed a readiness to wait as long as he liked 
 —and sat down, with his hat resting elegantly 
 against his knee. The good-looking clerk had 
 
 50
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 dressed himself foppishly and scented himself 
 to excess; his every movement was accompanied 
 by an augmented billow of the most delicate per- 
 fume. He had arrived in a commodious, open 
 carriage, a so-called landau, drawn by two 
 powerful and well-grown, though not handsome 
 horses. A quarter of an hour later, Sanin, Klii- 
 ber, and Emile drove up triumphantly, in that 
 same carriage, to the door of the confectionery 
 shop. Signora Roselli positively refused to take 
 part in the excursion; Gemma wished to remain 
 with her mother; but the latter drove her out, 
 as the saying is. 
 
 " I want no one," — she asserted. " I am go- 
 ing to sleep. I w^ould send Pantaleone with 
 you,"— she added,— "but there would be no one 
 left to tend the shop." 
 
 " May we take Tartaglia? "—asked Emile. 
 
 " Certainly you may." 
 
 Tartaglia immediately, with joyful efforts, 
 clambered up onto the box and seated himself, 
 licking his chops. Evidently, he was used to 
 it. Gemma donned a large straw hat with light- 
 brown ribbons; this hat was bent down in front, 
 shading nearly the whole of her face from the 
 sun. The line of shadow was dra^\Ti just above 
 her lips. They glowed virginally and tenderly, 
 like the petals of a hundred-leaved rose, and her 
 teeth gleamed out by stealth— also innocently, 
 as with children. Gemma installed herself on 
 
 51
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 the back seat, beside Sanin; Kliiber and Emile 
 seated themselves opposite. Frau Lenore's pale 
 face showed itself at the window, Gemma waved 
 her handkerchief at it— and the horses started. 
 
 XV 
 
 SoDEN is a small town, half an hour's journey 
 from Frankfurt. It lies in a beautiful situation, 
 on the foot-hills of the T annus range, and is 
 known to us, in Russia, for its waters, which are 
 supposed to be good for people with weak 
 chests. Frankfurters resort thither chiefly for 
 diversion, as Soden possesses a fine park and 
 various Wirthschaften, where beer and coffee 
 can be drunk under the shade of lofty lindens 
 and maples. The road from Frankfurt to 
 Soden runs along the right bank of the Main, 
 and is planted throughout with fruit-trees. 
 While the carriage was rolling gently along the 
 excellent highway, Sanin stealthily watched 
 Gemma's behaviour to her betrothed. He saw 
 them together for the first time. She bore her- 
 self with composure and simplicity — but was 
 somewhat more reserved and serious than usual. 
 He had the gaze of a condescending superior, 
 who was permitting himself and his subordinates 
 a modest and discreet pleasure. Sanin observed 
 no special attentions to Gemma, nothing of that 
 which the French call empressementj on his 
 
 52
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 part. It was evident that Herr Kliiber consid- 
 ered that the matter was settled, and, therefore, 
 there was no cause for bothering himself or get- 
 ting agitated. But his condescension did not 
 abandon him for a single moment! Even dur- 
 ing the long stroll before dinner, over the 
 wooded hills and valleys behind Soden, even 
 while enjoying the beauties of nature, he bore 
 himself toward it, that same nature, ever with 
 the same condescension, through which, from 
 time to time, his wonted sternness of a superior 
 broke forth. Thus, for example, he remarked 
 about one brook that it ran too straight through 
 the hollow, instead of making a few picturesque 
 turns; neither did he approve of the conduct of 
 one bird — a chaffinch, which did not introduce 
 enough variations into its song. Gemma was 
 not bored, and even, to all appearances, was 
 pleased; but Sanin did not recognise in her the 
 former Gemma: not that a shadow had come 
 over her — her beauty had never been more ra- 
 diant than now — but her soul had retreated into 
 itself, within her. Opening her parasol, and 
 leaving her gloves buttoned, she walked on 
 sedately, without haste, — as well-trained young 
 girls do— and said little. Emile also felt con- 
 strained, much more so Sanin. Among other 
 things, he was somewhat embarrassed by the 
 circumstance that the conversation was con- 
 ducted uninterruptedly in the German lan- 
 
 53
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 guage. Tartaglia was the only one who was 
 not depressed! With wild barking, he dashed 
 after the thrushes which crossed his path, leaped 
 over gullies, stumps, water-holes; he hurled him- 
 self with a flourish into the water, and hastily- 
 lapped it up, shook himself, whined — and again 
 bounded off like an arrow, with his red tongue 
 lolling out on his very shoulder. Herr Kliiber, 
 on his side, did everything which he regarded 
 as necessar}^ for the amusement of the party. 
 He invited them to sit down beneath the shadow 
 of a spreading oak— and, pulling from his side- 
 pocket a small book, entitled " Knallerslehen— 
 oder du sollst und willst lachen!" ("Petards— 
 or thou must and "v^ilt laugh ") , he began to read 
 them unconnected anecdotes, with which the 
 little book was filled. He read them a dozen; 
 but he aroused little mirth; Sanin alone, out of 
 politeness, showed his teeth in a grin, and Herr 
 Kliiber himself, after every anecdote, emitted 
 a curt, business-like— and, at the same time, 
 condescending— laugh. At twelve o'clock, the 
 entire party returned to Soden, to the best res- 
 taurant in the place. 
 
 The question of arranging for dinner arose. 
 
 Herr Kliiber proposed that the dinner should 
 take place in an arbour, shut in on all sides— 
 "im Gartensalon:' But at this point Gemma 
 suddenly rose in rebellion, and declared that she 
 would not dine otherwise than in the open au-, 
 
 54
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 in the garden, at one of the little tables placed 
 in front of the restaurant ; that it bored her to be 
 all the time with the same set of people, and that 
 she wanted to see others. Groups of newly-ar- 
 rived visitors were already seated at several of 
 the tables. 
 
 While Herr Kliiber condescendingly submit- 
 ted to " the caprice of his betrothed," and went to 
 confer with the head-waiter. Gemma stood mo- 
 tionless, with eyes cast down and lips tightly 
 compressed. She was conscious that Sanin was 
 gazing fixedly and interrogatively, as it were, 
 at her— and this seemed to enrage her. At last, 
 Herr Kliiber returned, announced that dinner 
 would be ready in half an hour, and suggested 
 that they play at ninepins until that time; add- 
 ing that that was very good for the appetite, 
 he, he, he! He played ninepins in a masterty 
 manner. In throwing the ball he assumed won- 
 derfully dashing poses, made his muscles play in 
 a foppish way, foppishly flourished and shook 
 his leg. In his way, he was an athlete — and 
 capitally built. And his hands were so white 
 and handsome, and he rubbed them with such a 
 very rich, golden-patterned India silk hand- 
 kerchief ! 
 
 The dinner-hour arrived — and the whole 
 party sat down at a small table. 
 
 55
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 XVI 
 
 Who does not know what a German dinner is 
 like? Watery soup, with knobby dumpHngs 
 and cinnamon, boiled beef, dry as cork, over- 
 grown with white fat, slimy potatoes, puffy 
 beets and chewed horseradish, eel that has turned 
 blue, capers and vinegar, a roast with preserves, 
 and the inevitable Mehlspeise^ — something in 
 the nature of a pudding, with a sourish red 
 sauce; and on top of all, wine and beer — capital! 
 To just that sort of a dinner did the restaurant- 
 keeper of Soden treat his patrons. However, 
 the dinner itself passed off successfully. No 
 particular animation was visible, it is true; it 
 did not make its appearance even when Herr 
 Kliiber proposed a toast to " that which we 
 love! " {Was wir lieben!) Everything was very 
 decorous and proper. After dinner, coffee was 
 served, — weak, rusty -red regular German coffee. 
 Herr Kliiber, like a genuine cavaher, asked 
 Gemma's permission to light his cigar. . . . But 
 at this point something happened which was 
 unforeseen, and really disagreeable— and even 
 improper! 
 
 Several officers of the Mayence garrison had 
 placed themselves at one of the neighbouring 
 tables. From their glances and whisperings, it 
 was easy to divine that Gemma's beauty had 
 
 56
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 made an impression on them; one of them, who 
 had probably been in Frankfurt before, kept 
 staring at her, as at a face well known to him. 
 It was obvious that he knew who she was. He 
 suddenly rose to his feet, and glass in hand,— the 
 officers had been drinking heavily, and the whole 
 table-cloth in front of them was covered with 
 bottles, — he stepped up to the table at which sat 
 Gemma. He was a very young, fair-haired 
 man, with sufficiently agreeable and even sym- 
 pathetic features; but the wine he had drunk 
 had distorted them; his cheeks were twitching, 
 his swollen eyes wandered and assumed an auda- 
 cious expression. At first his comrades tried 
 to hold him back, but afterward they let him go 
 his way, as though they were curious to see what 
 would come of it. 
 
 Reeling slightly on his legs, the officer halted 
 in front of Gemma, and in a violently shrill 
 voice, in which, against his will, conffict with 
 himself was expressed, he articulated: " I drink 
 to the health of the most beautiful coffee-house 
 girl in the whole world" — (he "drained" the 
 glass at one swallow) — " and, as my reward, I 
 take this flower, wrested from her divine little 
 fingers! " He picked up from the table a rose, 
 which lay in front of Gemma's plate. At first 
 she was amazed, frightened, and turned terribly 
 pale .... then her terror was replaced by in- 
 dignation. She suddenly flushed aU over, to her 
 
 57
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 very hair,— and her eyes, fixed straight on the of- 
 fender, both darkened and blazed up simultane- 
 ously—became filled with gloom and lighted up 
 with the fire of uncontrollable wrath. This gaze 
 must have abashed the officer ; he muttered some- 
 thing unintelligible, bowed— and went back to 
 his friends. They greeted him with laughter, 
 and a faint clapping of hands. 
 
 Herr Kliiber suddenly rose from his chair, 
 and drawing himself up to his full height, and 
 putting on his hat, he said, with dignity, but 
 not too loudly: " This is unheard of! Unheard- 
 of insolence ! " (" Unerhort! Unerhorte Frech- 
 Jieitl") and immediately calling the waiter to 
 him, in a stern voice, he demanded his bill in- 
 stantly .... and that was not all: he ordered 
 the carriage to be harnessed, adding that re- 
 spectable people could not come to the house, 
 as they were subjected to insults! At these 
 words. Gemma, who had continued to sit still in 
 her place, without moving, — her bosom heaved 
 sharply and high,— Gemma turned her eyes on 
 Herr Kliiber . . . and regarded him steadily, 
 and with the same gaze which she had used for 
 the officer. Emile was simply quivering with 
 fury. 
 
 "Rise, mein Frdulein" — said Herr Kliiber, 
 still with the same severity; "it is not proper 
 for you to remain here. We will post ourselves 
 yonder in the restaurant." 
 
 58
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Gemma rose in silence. He oiFered her his 
 arm in a crook, she gave him hers — and he 
 wended his way to the restaurant with a majestic 
 stride, which, equally with his bearing, became 
 more majestic and arrogant in proportion as he 
 got further away from the spot where the dinner 
 had taken place. Poor Emile slunk after them. 
 
 But while Herr Kliiber was settling the bill 
 with the waiter, to whom, by way of punish- 
 ment, he gave not a single kreutzer of tip, Sanin, 
 with swift strides, approached the table at which 
 the officers sat, — and, addressing Gemma's in- 
 sulter (at the moment the latter was allowing 
 each of his comrades in turn to smell of her rose) 
 — he articulated distinctly, in French: — "What 
 you have just done, my dear sir, is unworthy of 
 an honourable man, unworthy of the uniform 
 you wear, — and I have come to tell you that 
 you are an ill-bred bully!" — The young man 
 sprang to his feet, but another officer, an older 
 man, restrained him by a motion of his hand, 
 made him sit down,— and, turning to Sanin, 
 asked him, also in French: — " Was he a relative, 
 a brother, or the betrothed of that young girl? " 
 
 " I am an entire stranger to her," — exclaimed 
 Sanin,—" I am a Russian,— but I cannot look 
 on, with indifference, at such a piece of inso- 
 lence. However, here is my card, with my ad- 
 dress; the officer can look me up." 
 
 As he uttered these words, Sanin flung on the 
 
 59
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 table his visiting-card, and, at the same time, 
 quickly seized Gemma's rose, which one of the 
 officers seated at the table had dropped on his 
 plate. The young man again tried to spring 
 from his chair, but again his comrade held him 
 back, saying: " Donhof , be quiet!" {'' Donhof, 
 sei still!") Then he rose himself,— and, touch- 
 ing the visor of his cap with his hand, he said 
 to Sanin, not without a trace of respect in his 
 manner and voice, that the next morning one of 
 the officers of the regiment would have the hon- 
 our to present himself to him at his lodgings. 
 Sanin replied by a curt nod— and hastily re- 
 joined his friends. 
 
 Herr Kluber feigned not to notice in the least 
 either Sanin's absence, or his explanation with 
 the officers ; he urged to haste the coachman, who 
 was harnessing the horses, and flew into a violent 
 rage at his slowness. Neither did Gemma say 
 anything to Sanin, she did not even glance at 
 him; but her lowering brows, her lips, which 
 were pale and compressed, her very immobility 
 made it plain that her mind was not at ease. 
 Emile alone wanted to talk with Sanin, wanted 
 to question him. He had seen Sanin go up to 
 the officers, he had seen him give them something 
 white, — a scrap of paper, a note, a card. . . . 
 The poor lad's heart beat violently, he was ready 
 to fling himself on Sanin's neck, ready to weep, 
 
 60
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 or to go on the instant with him to pulverise all 
 those disgusting officers! But he restrained 
 himself, and contented himself with watching 
 attentively every movement of his noble Rus- 
 sian friend. 
 
 At last the coachman got the horses put to; 
 the whole party took their seats in the carriage. 
 Emile climbed up after Tartaglia on the box; 
 he felt more at his ease there, and, moreover, 
 Kliiber, whom he could not look at with equa- 
 nimity, would not be before his eyes. 
 
 All the way home, Herr Kliiber harangued . . . 
 and harangued alone; no one, no one answered 
 him, and no one agreed with him. He laid par- 
 ticular stress on the fact that they had made a 
 mistake not to obey him when he had proposed 
 to dine in the enclosed arbour. Had that been 
 done, no unpleasantness would have arisen! 
 Then he pronounced several harsh, and even 
 liberal judgments, to the eiFect that the govern- 
 ment upheld the officers in an unpardonable 
 manner, did not look after their discipline, and 
 did not sufficiently respect the civilian element 
 of society— ('^'^^as bilrgerliche Element in der 
 Sodetdtl") — and that thence, from that cause, 
 arose dissatisfaction, from which to revolution 
 was not a long stride, as to which a sad example 
 (here he sighed feelingly, but sternly) — a sad 
 example had been furnished by France ! But he 
 
 61
 
 SPRING FRJESHETS 
 
 immediately added that, personally, he revered 
 the authorities, and never .... never! . . . . 
 would become a revolutionist— although he 
 could not refrain from expressing his ... . 
 disapprobation at the sight of such profligacy! 
 Then he added a few more general remarks as to 
 morality and immorality, propriety and the 
 sense of dignity. 
 
 In the course of all these " harangues " 
 Gemma, who already, in the stroll which had 
 preceded the dinner, had seemed to be not en- 
 tirely pleased with Herr Kliiber — hence, she had 
 held herself somewhat aloof from Sanin, and 
 had seemed to be embarrassed by his presence — 
 Gemma began, plainly, to feel ashamed of her 
 betrothed! Toward the end of the drive she 
 positively suffered, and although, as before, she 
 did not converse with Sanin, yet she suddenly 
 cast an imploring glance at him. . . . He, on 
 his part, felt much more pity for her than in- 
 dignation at Herr Kliiber; he even secretly, half 
 unconsciously, rejoiced at all that had happened 
 in the course of the day, although he might ex- 
 pect a challenge to a duel the next morning. 
 
 This painful partie de plaisir came to an end 
 at last. As Sanin helped Gemma out of the 
 carriage in front of the confectionery shop, he 
 placed the rose, which he had recaptured, in 
 her hand, without saying a word. She flushed 
 all over, pressed his hand, and instantly con- 
 
 62
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 cealed the rose. He did not wish to enter the 
 house, although the evening was only just be- 
 ginning. She herself did not invite him. More- 
 over, Pantaleone, who made his appearance on 
 the steps, announced that Frau Lenore was 
 sleeping. Emile bade Sanin a timid farewell; 
 he seemed to be afraid of him : he had astonished 
 him so much. Kliiber drove Sanin to his lodg- 
 ings, and took leave of him conceitedly. The 
 regularly constituted German, despite all his 
 self-confidence, felt awkward. They all felt 
 awkward. 
 
 But, in Sanin's case, this feeling— the feeling 
 of awkwardness— was speedily dissipated. It 
 was supplanted by an ill- defined, but agreeable, 
 even exalted mood. He paced up and down his 
 chamber, would not allow himself to think of 
 anything, whistled— and was very well satisfied 
 with himself. 
 
 XVII 
 
 " I SHALL wait for the officer with an explanation 
 until ten o'clock in the morning,"— he reflected, 
 on the following morning, as he completed his 
 toilet, "and then he may hunt me up!" But 
 Germans are early risers. Before the clock strack 
 nine, a waiter announced to Sanin that Mr. Sec- 
 ond Lieutenant {der Herr Seconde Lieutenant) 
 von Richter desired to see him. Sanin briskly 
 
 63
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 donned his coat, and said, " Show him in." 
 Contrary to Sanin's expectation, Herr Richter 
 proved to be a very young man, aknost a boy. 
 He endeavoured to impart an expression of im- 
 portance to his beardless face,— but in this he 
 was utterly unsuccessful ; he was not able to con- 
 ceal his agitation— and, as he seated himself on 
 a chair, he nearly fell, through having entangled 
 himself with his sword. Halting and stammer- 
 ing, he informed Sanin, in villainous French, 
 that he had come on behalf of his friend. Baron 
 von Donhof ; that he was commissioned to de- 
 mand from Herr von Zanin an apology for the 
 insulting expressions employed by him on the 
 preceding day; and that, in case of a refusal on 
 the part of Herr von Zanin, Baron von Don- 
 hof desired satisfaction. Sanin replied that he 
 had no intention of apologising, and was ready 
 to give satisfaction. Then Herr von Richter, 
 still stammering, inquired with whom, and at 
 what hour, and in what place, he should hold the 
 requisite conference? Sanin answered that he 
 might come to him a couple of hours hence, and 
 that he, Sanin, would endeavour to hunt up a 
 second before that time. ("Whom the devil 
 shall I get for a second ? " he said to himself the 
 while.) Herr von Richter rose, and began to 
 bow himself out .... but halted on the thresh- 
 old, as though he felt the pangs of conscience,— 
 and, turning to Sanin, he observed that his 
 
 64
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 friend, Baron von Donhof, did not conceal 
 from himself .... a certain degree .... of 
 blame on his own side for what had taken place 
 on the previous day— and, therefore, would be 
 content with a light apology— "^"^^^^ eooghizes 
 lecher es." To this Sanin replied that he had 
 no intention of making any sort of apology 
 whatsoever, either heavy or light, as he did 
 not consider himself in the wrong. — "In 
 that case,"— returned Herr von Richter, blush- 
 ing still more furiously: — "you must ex- 
 change friendly shots— fZ^^ goups de pisdolet a 
 Vaimaple! " 
 
 " I utterly fail to comprehend that,"— re- 
 marked Sanin. " Do you mean that we are to 
 fire into the air? " 
 
 " Oh, not that, not so,"— lisped the sub-lieu- 
 tenant, definitively overwhelmed with confusion, 
 — " but I— I assume that, as the affair is be- 
 tween two gentlemen of breeding .... I will 
 discuss it with your second," . . he interrupted 
 himself, and withdrew. 
 
 Sanin dropped on a chair, as soon as the man 
 had left the room, and fixed his eyes on the floor. 
 —"What 's the meaning of this? How comes 
 it that life has suddenly taken such a turn? All 
 the past, all the future has suddenly retreated 
 into the background, vanished— and nothing re- 
 mains, save the fact that I am going to fight in 
 Frankfurt with some one about something." He 
 
 65
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 recalled a crazy aunt of his, who had been in the 
 habit of dancing and singing : 
 
 " Sub-lieutenant ! 
 My darling! 
 My little love! 
 Dance a while with me, my dear ! " ^ 
 
 And he burst out laughing and sang, like her: 
 " Sub-lieutenant! dance a while with me, my 
 dear!"— "But I must act, I must not lose 
 time!"— he exclaimed aloud— jumped up, and 
 beheld before him Pantaleone, with a note in his 
 hand. 
 
 " I knocked several times, but you did not an- 
 swer. I thought you were not at home," — said 
 the old man, and handed him the note.—" From 
 Signorina Gemma." 
 
 Sanin took the note,— as the saying goes, me- 
 chanically,— broke the seal, and read it. Gemma 
 wrote to him that she was very uneasy, because 
 of the affair which was known to him, and 
 wished to see him immediately. 
 
 " The signorina is uneasy,"— began Panta- 
 leone, who was, evidently, acquainted with the 
 contents of the note;— "she ordered me to see 
 what you were doing, and bring you to her." 
 
 Sanin cast a glance at the old Italian— and 
 
 1 Literally, "dear little cucumber ":-" dear little dove." In Rus- 
 sian the rhyme is characteristic: " Podporutchik! Moi ogurtchikl 
 Moi amiirtchik! Proplyashf co ranoi golubtchik!"— Translator. 
 
 66
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 became pensive. A sudden idea had flashed 
 through his brain. At the first moment, it 
 seemed to him strange to the verge of impos- 
 sibiKty. . . . 
 
 " Nevertheless .... why not? "—he asked 
 himself. 
 
 " Signor Pantaleone!" — he said aloud. 
 
 The old man started, thrust his chin into his 
 neckcloth, and riveted his eyes on Sanin. 
 
 "You know,"— pursued Sanin,— "what took 
 place yesterday? " 
 
 Pantaleone mowed with his lips, and nodded 
 his huge head. — "I do." 
 
 (Emile had told him all as soon as he re- 
 turned. ) 
 
 "Ah, you know!— Well, then, see here. An 
 officer has just left me. That bully challenges 
 me to a duel. — I have accepted his challenge. — 
 But I have no second. Will you be my second? " 
 
 Pantaleone shuddered, and elevated his eye- 
 brows to such a degree that they disappeared 
 beneath his overhanging hair. 
 
 " Must you inevitably fight? " — he said at 
 last, in Italian. Up to that moment he had been 
 expressing himself in French. 
 
 " Inevitably. I cannot act otherwise — it 
 would mean disgracing myself forever." 
 
 " H'm. — If I do not consent to act as your 
 second — then you will hunt up some one else? " 
 
 " Yes .... without fail." 
 
 67
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Pantaleone cast down his eyes. — "But permit 
 me to ask you, Signor de Zamiini, will not your 
 duel cast a sort of unfavourable shadow upon the 
 reputation of a certain person?" 
 
 " I think not; but, at any rate,— there is no- 
 thing else to be done." 
 
 "H'm!" — Pantaleone retired altogether into 
 his neckcloth. — "Well, and that ferrofluchto 
 Kluberio— what about him? "—he suddenly ex- 
 claimed, and threw up his face. 
 
 "About him? Nothing." 
 
 "^C/i^/^^^— Pantaleone shrugged his shoulders 
 scornfully. — " In any case, I must thank you," 
 — he said, at last, in an uncertain voice, — " for 
 having recognised me, in my present humble sta- 
 tion, for a well-bred man — un galanf uomo! — 
 By so doing, you have proved that you yourself 
 are a galanf uomo. But I must think over your 
 proposal." 
 
 " There is no time for that, my dear Signor 
 Ci . . . . Cippa . . . ." 
 
 " — tola," prompted the old man. — "I ask one 
 hour in all for reflection. — The daughter of my 
 benefactors is implicated in the matter. . . . 
 And, therefore, I must— I am bound to reflect I ! 
 . . . An hour— three quarters of an hour hence, 
 you shall know my decision." 
 
 "Good! I will wait." 
 
 ^ An untranslatable Italian expression, corresponding to 
 "Well ! "—Authoh's Note. 
 
 68
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " And now . . . what answer am I to give to 
 Signorina Gemma?" 
 
 Sanin took a sheet of paper, wrote on it: " Be 
 not anxious, my dear friend; I will go to you 
 three hours hence,— and everything will be ex- 
 plained. I thank you heartily for your sym- 
 pathy,"— and handed the sheet of paper to Pan- 
 taleone. 
 
 The latter carefully placed it in his side-pocket 
 — and repeating once more: " An hour hence! " 
 he started toward the door; but turned back ab- 
 ruptly, ran up to Sanin, seized his hand,— and 
 pressing it to his shirt-frill, and raising his eyes 
 heavenward, exclaimed: "Noble youth! Great 
 heart! {Nobile giovanotto! Gran cuore!) — 
 permit a weak old man {a un vecchiotto!) to 
 shake your valorous right hand! {la vostra va- 
 lorosa destra!)'' Then he sprang back a little 
 way, flourished both hands in the air, and with- 
 drew. 
 
 Sanin gazed after him . . . took up a news- 
 paper, and began to read. But in vain did his 
 eyes run over the lines : he understood nothing. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 An hour later, the waiter again entered Sanin's 
 room, and handed him an old, soiled visiting- 
 card, on which stood the following words: " Pan- 
 taleone Cippatola of Varese, Singer to the Court 
 
 69
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 (Cantante di Camera) of his Royal Highness the 
 Duke of Modena," — and following the waiter, 
 Pantaleone presented himself in person. He 
 had re-dressed himself from head to foot. He 
 wore a rusty black dress-suit, and a white pique 
 waistcoat, over which, in curves, meandered a 
 pinchbeck chain; a heavy carnelian seal hung 
 low on the tight black trousers with flaps. In 
 his right hand he held a black hat of rabbit's 
 down; in the left, two thick chamois-leather 
 gloves; he had tied his neckcloth still more 
 broadly and higher up than usual — and in 
 the ruffle of his shirt he had stuck a pin with a 
 stone called a "cat's-eye" {oeil de chat). On 
 the forefinger of his right hand shone a ring, 
 representing two clasped hands with a flaming 
 heart between them. The old man's whole per- 
 son emitted an odour of clothing long packed 
 away, — an odour of camphor and musk; the 
 anxious pomposity of his carriage would have 
 struck the most indifferent spectator. Sanin 
 rose to greet him. 
 
 " I am your second,"— said Pantaleone, in 
 French— bowing with a forward inclination of 
 his whole body, and his toes pointed outward, 
 as dancers point them. " I have come for in- 
 structions. Do you wish to fight without quar- 
 ter?" 
 
 " But why should it be without quarter, my 
 dear Mr. Cippatola? Not for anything in the 
 
 70
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 world will I retract my words of yesterday — 
 but I am not bloodthirsty! .... But, see here, 
 wait a bit, my adversary's second will be here di- 
 rectly. I will retire into the neighbouring room, 
 and you can come to an agreement with him. 
 Believe me, I shall never forget your service, 
 and I thank you with all my soul." 
 
 "Honour before everything! "—replied Pan- 
 taleone, and dropped into a chair, without wait- 
 ing for Sanin to invite him to be seated. " If 
 that ferrofluchto spiccebubbio" — he remarked, 
 exchanging the French tongue for Italian, — "if 
 that haberdasher Kluberio was unable to under- 
 stand his plain obligation, or was afraid, — so 
 much the worse for him! . . . He 's a farthing 
 soul — and basta! .... But as for the condi- 
 tions of the duel— I am your second, and your 
 interests are sacred for me ! ! . . . When I lived 
 in Padua, a regiment of white dragoons was sta- 
 tioned there— and I was very intimately ac- 
 quainted with many of the officers! ... I am 
 familiar with their whole code. Well, and I fre- 
 quently conversed with your Principe Tarbusski 
 on those questions. . . Is that second coming 
 soon? " 
 
 " I am expecting him every moment— and 
 yonder he comes,"— added Sanin, glancing into 
 the street. 
 
 Pantaleone rose, looked at his watch, adjusted 
 his top-knot, and hastily stuffed into his shoe a 
 
 71
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 tape which was danghng from beneath his trou- 
 ser-leg. The j^oung sub-Heutenant entered, as 
 flushed and embarrassed as ever. 
 
 Sanin introduced the seconds to each other: 
 "M-r Richter, sous-Heutenant!— M-r Zippatola, 
 artiste!" — The Heutenant was somewhat sur- 
 prised at the aspect of the old man. . . . Oh, 
 what would he have said, had any one whispered 
 to him, at that moment, that the " artist " intro- 
 duced to him also occupied himself with the art 
 of cookery! But Pantaleone assumed an air, as 
 though taking part in the arrangement of duels 
 were the most commonplace sort of event for 
 him: probably the memories of his theatrical 
 career helped him at that moment— and he 
 played the part of a second, precise^ like a role. 
 Both he and the lieutenant remained silent for a 
 while. 
 
 "Well? Let us proceed to business!"— Pan- 
 taleone was the first to speak, as he toyed with 
 his carnelian seal. 
 
 " Let us proceed,"— replied the lieutenant,— 
 "but . . . the presence of one of the comba- 
 xants . . • • 
 
 " I will leave you at once, gentlemen," — ex- 
 claimed Sanin, and, bowing, he went into the 
 bedroom, and shut the door after him. 
 
 He flung himself on the bed— and set to think- 
 ing about Gemma . . . but the conversation of 
 the seconds reached his ear through the closed 
 
 72
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 door. It was proceeding in the French lan- 
 guage; both were murdering it mercilessly, each 
 in his own way. Pantaleone again alluded to 
 the dragoons at Padua, to Principe Tarbusski, 
 — the lieutenant mentioned " exghizes Ucheres" 
 and '' goups a Vaimaple/^ But the old man 
 would not hear to any eccghizes! To the horror 
 of Sanin, he suddenly began to talk to his inter- 
 locutor about a certain young, innocent girl, 
 whose little finger was worth more than all the 
 officers in the world .... {'' oune zeune dami- 
 gella innoucenta, qw*a sola dans soun peti doa 
 vale piu que toutt le zoufpssie del mondo! ^') 
 and several times repeated with fervour: "It is 
 a shame! it is a shame! {E ouna onta, ouna 
 onta!) " The lieutenant did not replj^ to him at 
 first; but, after a while, a wrathful tremor be- 
 came audible in the young man's voice, and he 
 remarked that he had not come for the purpose 
 of listening to moral sentiments. . . . 
 
 "At your age it is always useful to listen to 
 righteous remarks!" — cried Pantaleone. 
 
 The altercation between the two seconds grew 
 stormy at several points; it lasted for more than 
 an hour, and wound up, at last, with the follow- 
 ing conditions : " Baron von Donhof and Mr. 
 da Sanin were to fight a duel, with pistols, on 
 the following day, at ten o'clock in the morn- 
 ing, in the small forest near Hanau, at a distance 
 of twenty paces; each was to have the right to 
 
 73
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 fire two shots, on a signal given by the seconds. 
 The pistols to be without hair-trigger, and not 
 rifled." Herr von Richter withdrew, and Pan- 
 taleone triumphantly threw open the bedroom 
 door, and communicating the result of their 
 conference, again exclaimed: ''Bravo Russe! 
 Bravo giovanotto! Thou wilt be the victor! " 
 
 A few minutes later, they both set out for the 
 RoselU confectionery shop. Sanin exacted from 
 Pantaleone a preliminary promise to preserve 
 the strictest secrecy regarding the duel. In re- 
 ply, the old man merely pointed his finger up- 
 ward, and narrowing his eyes, he whispered 
 twice in succession: ''Segredezza! (Secrecy!)" 
 He had grown visibly younger, and even 
 stepped out more freely. All these unusual, 
 though agreeable events had vividly carried him 
 back to the epoch when he himself had accepted 
 and given challenges — on the stage, it is true. 
 Barytones, as all the world is aware, strut a great 
 deal in their roles. 
 
 XIX 
 
 Emile ran out to meet Sanin— he had been 
 watching for his arrival for more than an hour 
 — and hastily whispered in his ear that his mo- 
 ther knew nothing about the unpleasantness of 
 the day before, and it was not proper even to 
 give her a hint of it, and that he would be sent 
 
 74
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 again to the shop! ! . . . . but that he would 
 not go, but would hide somewhere or other! — 
 Having imparted all this, in the course of a few 
 seconds, he suddenly fell upon Sanin's neck, 
 kissed him impulsively, and ran off down the 
 street. In the confectionery shop Gemma 
 greeted Sanin; she tried to say something — and 
 could not. Her lips quivered slightly, and her 
 eyes were narrowed and glanced off in all direc- 
 tions. He hastened to soothe her with the assur- 
 ance that the whole affair had ended ... in 
 mere nonsense. 
 
 " Has no one been to see you to-day? " — she 
 asked. 
 
 " One person has been to see me — we had an 
 explanation — and we . . . we arrived at the 
 most satisfactory result." 
 
 Gemma went back again behind the counter. 
 
 " She did not believe me," — he thought .... 
 but he went his way into the next room, and 
 there found Frau Lenore. 
 
 Her headache had passed off, but she was still 
 in a melancholy mood. She smiled cordially at 
 him, but, at the same time, she warned him 
 that he would find it tiresome with her that 
 day, as she was not in a condition to entertain 
 him. 
 
 " What ails j'^ou, Frau Lenore? Can it be 
 that you have been weeping? " 
 
 " Ssssssssh . . . ." she whispered, indicating 
 
 75
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 with a movement of her head the room where her 
 daughter was. "Don't say that .... aloud.'* 
 "But what have you been crying about? " 
 "Akh, Monsieur Sanin, I don't know myself 
 what it was about!" 
 
 " Has any one hurt your feelings? " 
 "Oh, no! ... I felt greatly bored all of a 
 sudden. I remembered Giovan' Battista .... 
 his youth. . . . Then that all went away again 
 speedily. I am getting old, my friend. I seem 
 to be just the same as ever myself .... but 
 old age— there it is . . . there it is! " — Tears 
 made their appearance in Frau Lenore's eyes. — 
 " I see that you look at me in amazement. . . . 
 But you will grow old also, my friend, and you 
 will find out how bitter it is! " 
 
 Sanin set to work to comfort her, reminding her 
 of her children, with whom her own youth had 
 come to life again ; he even attempted to laugh at 
 her, asserting that she was fishing for compli- 
 ments .... but she, not in jest, requested him 
 "to stop," and then, for the first time, he was 
 able to convince himself that that sort of sadness, 
 the sadness of conscious old age, cannot in any 
 way be cheered or dissipated; one must wait for 
 it to disperse of itself. Pie proposed to her a 
 game of tresette — and he could not have hit upon 
 anything better. She immediately accepted— 
 and seemed to brighten up. 
 
 Sanin played with her until dinner, and after 
 
 76
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 dinner. Pantaleone also took an interest in the 
 game. Never had his crest of hair fallen so low 
 upon his brow, never had his chin sunk so deeply 
 into his neckcloth! His every movement exhaled 
 such concentrated dignity that the sight of him 
 involuntarily prompted the thought : What secret 
 is that man keeping with so much firmness? 
 
 ^ut~ segredezza! segredezza! 
 
 Throughout the whole course of that day, he 
 endeavoured, in every possible way, to show Sa- 
 nin the most profound respect; at table, passing 
 over the ladies, solemnly and with decision, he 
 offered the viands first to Sanin ; during the game 
 at cards, he surrendered his draw to him, did not 
 venture to beat him; he declared, without any 
 rhyme or reason, that Russians are the most mag- 
 nanimous, brave, and resolute nation in the 
 world ! 
 
 " Akh, thou old play-actor! "—thought Sanin 
 to himself. 
 
 And he was not so much surprised at Signora 
 Roselli's unexpected frame of mind, as at the 
 way in which her daughter treated him. It was 
 not that she shunned him .... on the contrary, 
 she kept constantly seating herself at a short dis- 
 tance from him, listening to his remarks, gazing 
 at him; but she positively declined to enter into 
 conversation with him, and just as soon as he ad- 
 dressed her, she rose quietly from her seat, and 
 quietly withdrew for a few moments. Then she 
 
 77
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 made her appearance again, and again seated her- 
 self somewhere in a corner — and sat there motion- 
 less, as though meditating and bewildered— bewil- 
 dered, most of all. Frau Lenore herself noticed, 
 at last, the unwontedness of her behaviour, and 
 asked her a couple of times what was the matter 
 with her. 
 
 " Nothing,"— replied Gemma; "thou knowest 
 that I am like this at times." 
 
 " That is true,"— assented her mother. 
 
 Thus passed the whole of that long day, in a 
 way that was neither animated nor languid, — nei- 
 ther cheerful nor tiresome. Had Gemma borne 
 herself otherwise, Sanin might— who knows? — 
 have been unable to resist the temptation to strut 
 a little, or might have yielded to the feeling of 
 sadness in face of a parting which might prove 
 eternal. . . . But, as he never succeeded, even 
 once, in speaking to Gemma, he was obliged 
 to content himself with striking minor chords on 
 the piano for a quarter of an hour before even- 
 ing coffee was served. 
 
 Emile came home late, and with the object of 
 avoiding interrogations on the subject of Herr 
 Kliiber, he retired very soon. Sanin's turn to 
 withdraw arrived. 
 
 He began to take leave of Gemma. For some 
 reason, Lensky's parting from Olga, in " Onye- 
 gin,"^ recurred to his mind. He pressed her 
 
 * Piishkin's poem " Evg6ny Ony6gin."— Translator. 
 
 78
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 hand closely— and tried to look into her face — 
 but she turned away slightly and freed her 
 fingers. 
 
 XX 
 
 The sky was studded with stars when he emerged 
 on the steps. And how many of those stars were 
 sown there, big, little, yellow, red, blue, white! 
 They were all fairly glowing and swarming, vy^- 
 ing with one another in darting their rays. There 
 was no moon in the sky, but even without it every 
 object was distinctly visible in the half-light, 
 shadeless gloom. Sanin walked down the street, 
 to the very end. . . He did not wish to return 
 home at once ; he felt the need of roaming about 
 in the fresh air. He turned back — and before 
 he had got opposite the house in which the Roselli 
 confectionery shop was located, one of the win- 
 dows which gave on the street suddenly rattled 
 and opened — in its black square (there was no 
 light in the room) a woman's form appeared — 
 and he heard himself called by name. 
 
 "Monsieur Dimitri!" 
 
 He instantly flew to the window. . . . 
 Gemma ! 
 
 She leaned her elbows on the sill, and bent 
 forward. 
 
 "Monsieur Dimitri," — she began, in a cau- 
 tious voice, — " all day long, to-day, I have 
 
 79
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 wanted to give you a certain thing .... but 
 could not make up my mind ; and seeing you un- 
 expectedly again, I thought, evidently, so it is 
 decreed by fate. . . ." 
 
 Gemma involuntarily paused on that word. 
 She could not go on; something remarkable oc- 
 curred at that moment. 
 
 Suddenly, in the midst of the deep silence, 
 athwart the perfectly cloudless sky swept such 
 a gust of wind, that the very earth seemed to 
 tremble under foot, the delicate starlight quivered 
 and rippled, the very air rolled up into a ball. 
 The whirlwind, not cold, but warm, even sultry, 
 beat upon the trees, upon the roof of the house, 
 on its walls, on the street; it instantly tore the 
 hat from Sanin's head, ruffled and whirled about 
 Gemma's black curls. Sanin's head was on a 
 level with the window-sill ; he involuntarily leaned 
 against it — and Gemma, with both hands, 
 clutched at his shoulder, and fell with her breast 
 against his head. The uproar, ringing and rat- 
 tling, lasted for about a minute. . . . Like a 
 flock of huge birds, the joyously swirling whirl- 
 wind dashed past. . . Profound silence reigned 
 once more. 
 
 Sanin raised himself, and beheld above him 
 such a wondrous, frightened, excited face, such 
 huge, magnificent eyes — he beheld such a beauty, 
 that his heart sank within him, he pressed his lips 
 to a slender lock of hair, which fell over his 
 
 80
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 breast— and could say nothing except: "Oh, 
 Gemma!" 
 
 "What was that? Lightning? "—she asked, 
 rolling her eyes widely around, and not removing 
 her bare arms from his shoulders. 
 
 " Gemma! "—repeated Sanin. 
 
 She sighed, cast a glance behind her into the 
 room, — and with a swift movement drawing 
 from her bodice an already withered rose, she 
 tossed it to Sanin. 
 
 " I wanted to give you this flower. . . ." 
 
 He recognised the rose which he had captured 
 the day before. . . . 
 
 But the little window had already slammed to, 
 and behind the dark panes nothing was visible, 
 there was no gleam of white. . . . 
 
 Sanin reached home without a hat. . . . He 
 did not even notice that he had lost it. 
 
 XXI 
 
 He fell asleep just before dawn. And it is not 
 surprising! Under the shock of that sudden 
 summer whirlwind, he had instantaneously felt — 
 not precisely that Gemma was a beauty, not pre- 
 cisely that he liked her— he had known that be- 
 fore .... but that he had all but fallen in love 
 with her! Love had descended upon him as in- 
 stantaneously as that whirlwind. And there was 
 that stupid duel ! Melancholy forebodings began 
 
 81
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 to torture him. Well, assuming that he were not 
 killed. . . What could come of his love for that 
 young girl, for the betrothed bride of another 
 man? Assuming, even, that that "other" was 
 not dangerous to him, that Gemma herself would 
 fall in love with him or had already fallen in love 
 with him. . . . What of that? What then? 
 Such a beauty! .... 
 
 He paced the room, seated himself at the table, 
 took a sheet of paper, scribbled a few lines on it 
 — and immediately crossed them out. . . . He 
 recalled to mind Gemma's wonderful figure, in 
 the dark window, beneath the rays of the stars, 
 all fluttering in the warm gale; he recalled her 
 marble arms, like the arms of Olympian god- 
 desses ; he felt their living burden upon his shoul- 
 ders. . . . Then he picked up the rose which had 
 been tossed to him — it seemed to him that its half- 
 withered petals exhaled another and still more 
 delicate perfume than the ordinary fragrance of 
 roses. . . . 
 
 "And suppose he were to be killed or 
 maimed? " 
 
 He did not lie down on his bed, but fell asleep, 
 fully dressed, on the couch. Some one tapped 
 him on the shoulder. . . . 
 
 He opened his eyes, and beheld Pantaleone. 
 
 " He sleeps like Alexander of Macedon on the 
 eve of the battle of Babylon! "—exclaimed the 
 old man. 
 
 82
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " Why, what o'clock is it? ^'— asked Sanin. 
 
 "A quarter to seven; it is a two hours' drive 
 to Hanau, and we should be the first on the 
 ground. Russians always forestall the enemy! 
 I have hired the best carriage in Frankfurt! " 
 
 Sanin began to wash himself.— "And where 
 are the pistols ? " 
 
 " That ferrofluclito Tedesco will bring the pis- 
 tols. And he will bring a doctor also." 
 
 Pantaleone had, evidently, summoned up his 
 courage, as on the preceding day; but when he 
 seated himself in the carriage with Sanin, when 
 the coachman cracked his whip, and the horses 
 set out at a gallop,— a sudden change came over 
 the former singer and friend of the Padua dra- 
 goons. He grew confused, and even turned cow- 
 ard. Something seemed to fall to ruin within 
 him, like a badly constructed wall. 
 
 " But what is this we are doing, my God, San- 
 tissima Madonna!" — he exclaimed, in an unex- 
 pectedly squeaking voice, and clutched his hair. 
 " What am I about, old fool, madman, frenetico 
 that I am!" 
 
 Sanin was amazed, and burst out laughing; 
 and lightly embracing Pantaleone's waist, he re- 
 minded him of the French maxim : " Le vin est 
 tire—il faut le hoire" 
 
 " Yes, yes," — replied the old man; — " you and 
 I are to drain that cup together, — and, neverthe- 
 less, I am a lunatic ! I 'm a lunatic ! Everything 
 
 83
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 was so quiet, so nice .... and all of a sudden: 
 ta-ta-ta, tra-ta-ta! " 
 
 "Just like the tutti in an orchestra,"— re- 
 marked Sanin, with a forced smile. " But you are 
 not to blame." 
 
 "I know that I am not! I should think not! 
 Nevertheless, this is ... . such an unbridled pro- 
 ceeding. Diavolo! Dmt;oZo/''— repeated Pan- 
 taleone, shaking his crest of hair and heaving a 
 sigh. 
 
 But still the carriage rolled on and on. 
 
 It was a delightful morning. The streets of 
 Frankfurt, which were barely beginning to grow 
 animated, seemed so clean and comfortable; the 
 windows of the houses shone with glinting re- 
 flections, like tinsel; and as soon as the carriage 
 had emerged beyond the city barrier the loud 
 trills of the larks fairly showered down from on 
 high, from the sky which was not yet bright. 
 All at once, at a turn in the highway, from be- 
 hind a lofty poplar-tree a familiar form made 
 its appearance, advanced a few paces, and came 
 to a halt. Sanin scrutinised it. . . . Great 
 heavens ! Emile ! 
 
 " Does he know anything about this? "—he 
 asked Pantaleone. 
 
 " I have already told you that I am a lunatic," 
 —roared the poor Italian, in despair, almost in 
 a yell.—" That unfortunate lad gave me no peace 
 all night— and at last, this morning, I revealed 
 everything to him I " 
 
 84
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " There 's segredezza for you ! " thought Sanin. 
 
 The carriage came even with Emile. Sanin or- 
 dered the coachman to stop the horses, and called 
 the " unfortunate lad " to him. Emile ap- 
 proached with irresolute steps, pale — pale as on 
 the day of his fit. He could hardly keep his feet. 
 
 "What are you doing here?" — Sanin asked 
 him, sternly; — " why are you not at home? " 
 
 " Permit me .... permit me to go with you," 
 — faltered Emile, in a trembling voice, as he 
 clasped his hands. His teeth chattered, as in a 
 fever. " I will not get in your way — only take 
 me!" 
 
 " If you feel the smallest iota of attachment 
 for me," — said Sanin, — " you will instantly re- 
 turn home, or to Herr Kliiber's shop, and you 
 will 'lOt say a single word to any one, and you will 
 await my return ! " 
 
 " Your return,"— groaned Emile— and his 
 voice jangled and broke. " But if you . . . ." 
 
 " Emile! "—Sanin interrupted him — and in- 
 dicated the coachman with his eyes, — " come to 
 your senses! Emile, please go home! Listen to 
 me, my friend! You assert that you love me. 
 Well, then I entreat you." 
 
 He offered him his hand. Emile swayed for- 
 ward, gulped down a sob, pressed it to his lips — 
 and springing out of the road, ran back to Frank- 
 furt, across the fields. 
 
 " That 's a noble heart also," — muttered Pan- 
 taleone; but Sanin glared grimly at him. . . . 
 
 85
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 The old man cuddled up in a corner of the car- 
 riage. He recognised his fault; but, in addi- 
 tion to that, with every passing moment he grew 
 more and more amazed. Could it be that he had 
 really constituted himself a second, and that he 
 had got horses, and made all the arrangements, 
 and had quitted his peaceful habitation at six 
 o'clock in the morning? Moreover, his legs had 
 begun to ache and throb. 
 
 Sanin considered it necessary to restore his 
 courage— and hit the nail on the head, found the 
 proper remark. 
 
 " What has become of your former spirit, re- 
 spected Signor Cippatola? Where is il antico 
 valor? " 
 
 Signor Cippatola straightened himself up, 
 and frowned. 
 
 " II antico valor? " — he proclaimed, in a bass 
 voice. " Non e ancora spento — (It is not yet all 
 exhausted) —27 antico valor!!'' 
 
 He assumed an air of dignity, began to talk 
 about his career, about the opera, about the great 
 tenor Garcia— and arrived at Hanau a valiant 
 man. When you come to think of it, there is 
 nothing in the world more potent — and more 
 impotent— than words! 
 
 86
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 XXII 
 
 The little wood in which the conflict was to take 
 place was situated a quarter of a mile from 
 Hanau. Sanin and Pantaleone were the first to 
 arrive, as the latter had predicted; they ordered 
 the carriage to wait at the edge of the forest, and 
 plunged into the shadow of the tolerably thick 
 and dense trees. They were obliged to wait about 
 an hour. 
 
 But the waiting did not seem particularly op- 
 pressive to Sanin ; he walked to and fro along the 
 path, lent an ear to the singing of the birds, 
 watched the dragon-flies flitting past, and, like 
 the 'iiajority of Russians under such circum- 
 stances, tried not to think. Once, only, did pen- 
 siveness descend upon him. He chanced upon 
 a young linden-tree, broken ofl", in all probabil- 
 ity, by the squall of the preceding day. It was 
 completely dead .... all the leaves on it were 
 dead. *' What is this? An omen?" flashed 
 through his mind. But he immediately began 
 to whistle, jumped over that linden-tree, and 
 strode along the path. Pantaleone growled, 
 cursed the Germans, grunted, scratched now his 
 back, now his knees. He even yawned with 
 emotion, which imparted a very droll expression 
 to his tiny, puckered face. Sanin almost roared 
 with laughter as he looked at him. 
 
 87
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 At last the rumble of wheels on the smooth 
 road became audible. — " 'T is they! " — said Pan- 
 taleone, growing alert, and drew himself up, 
 not without a momentary, nervous shudder, 
 which, however, he hastened to mask with the ex- 
 clamation: "br-r-r-r!" and the remark that the 
 morning was decidedly chilly. An abundance 
 of dew flooded the grass and the foliage, but the 
 sultry heat had already made its way even into 
 the forest. 
 
 Both officers speedily made their appearance 
 beneath its arches; they were accompanied by a 
 short, plump man with a phlegmatic, almost 
 sleepy face — the military doctor. He carried in 
 one hand an earthen vessel of water — on the 
 chance of its being required; a bag, with sur- 
 gical instruments and bandages, dangled over 
 his left shoulder. It was evident that he had 
 grown used, to an extreme degree, to such excur- 
 sions ; they constituted one of his sources of rev- 
 enue; every duel brought him in eight ducats 
 — four from each of the belligerent parties. 
 Herr von Richter carried a case with pistols; 
 Herr von Donhof was twirling in his hand — 
 probably for the " chic " of it — a small riding- 
 whip. 
 
 " Pantaleone I " — whispered Sanin to the old 
 man, — "if .... if I am killed— anything may 
 happen— get a paper out of my side-pocket, with 
 the flower that is wrapped in it, — and give the 
 
 88
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 paper to Signorina Gemma. Do you hear? Do 
 you promise? " 
 
 The old man cast a dejected glance at him— 
 and nodded his head affirmatively. . . . But 
 God knows whether he understood what Sanin 
 asked him. 
 
 The antagonists and seconds exchanged bows, 
 as is customary; the doctor, alone, did not move 
 so much as an eyebrow — and seated himself, 
 with a yawn, on the grass, as much as to say: 
 " I don't feel in the mood for displaying chival- 
 rous politeness." Herr von Richter proposed 
 to Signor " Tshibadola " that he should select 
 the place; Signor "Tshibadola" replied, wag- 
 ging his tongue feebly (the wall inside him 
 had f'.-umbled down again), something to this 
 effect: "Do you act, my dear sir, and I will 
 watch. ..." 
 
 And Herr von Richter began to act. He 
 searched out, there in the little wood, a very nice 
 little glade, all dotted with flowers; he paced off 
 the distance, marked the two extreme limits with 
 hastily sharpened little sticks, took the pistols out 
 of the case, and squatting down on his heels, he 
 rammed in the bullets. In a word, he toiled and 
 laboured with all his might, incessantly mopping 
 his perspiring face with a white handkerchief. 
 Pantaleone, who accompanied him, more resem- 
 bled a frozen man. While all these preparations 
 were in progress, the two antagonists stood aloof, 
 
 89
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 reminding one of two chastised school-boys who 
 are pouting at their tutors. 
 
 The decisive moment arrived. . . . 
 
 Each took his pistol. . . . 
 
 But at this point Herr von Richter remarked 
 to Pantaleone, that, according to the rules of du- 
 elling, it was his place, as the elder of the seconds, 
 before pronouncing the fatal: "One! two! three!" 
 to address to the combatants a final counsel and 
 proposition that they become reconciled ; that, al- 
 though that proposition never had any result, and 
 was, in general, nothing but an empty formality, 
 still, by complying with that formality, Signor 
 Cippatola would remove from his own shoulders 
 a certain amount of responsibility; that, to tell 
 the truth, such an allocution constituted a direct 
 obligation of the so-called "impartial witness" 
 {unpartheiischer Zeuge) —but, as they had no 
 such witness, he, HeiT von Richter, gladly re- 
 signed that privilege to his respected colleague. 
 Pantaleone, who had already managed to hide 
 himself behind a bush, so that he might not see 
 the offending officer at all, did not, at first, un- 
 derstand a word of Herr von Richter's speech, 
 —the more so, as it was uttered through the 
 nose; but he suddenly gave a start, stepped 
 briskly forward, and beating his breast convul- 
 sively with his hands, he roared out, with a hoarse 
 voice, in his mixed dialect : ''A la la la . . . . Che 
 hestialita! Deux zeunommes comme pa que si 
 
 90
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 battono—perche? Che diavolo? Andate a 
 casa! " 
 
 "I do not agree to a reconciliation," — said 
 Sanin, hastily. 
 
 " Neither do I agree," — repeated his adversary 
 after him. 
 
 "Well, then, shout: 'One, two, three!'" said 
 Herr von Richter, turning to the disconcerted 
 Pantaleone. 
 
 The latter immediately dived into the bush 
 again — and thence shouted out, all curled up, and 
 with his eyes tightly closed, and his head turned 
 away, but at the top of his lungs : " Una .... 
 due . . . . e tre! " 
 
 Sanin shot first — and missed. His bullet rat- 
 tled against a tree. Baron Donhof fired imme- 
 diately after him — intentionally to one side, and 
 in the air. 
 
 A strained silence ensued. . . . No one stirred 
 from his place. Pantaleone uttered a faint ex- 
 clamation. 
 
 " Do you wish to continue? " — said Donhof. 
 
 "Why did you fire into the air?" — asked 
 Sanin. 
 
 " That is no business of yours." 
 
 " Are you going to fire into the air a second 
 time? " — asked Sanin again. 
 
 " Perhaps so ; I don't know." 
 
 " Permit me, permit me, gentlemen . . . ." 
 began von Richter;—" the duellists have no right 
 
 91
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 to talk to each other. That is entirely out of 
 order." 
 
 " I renounce my shot,"— said Sanin, flinging 
 his pistol on the ground. 
 
 " And I, also, have no intention of continuing 
 the duel," — exclaimed Donhof, also flinging 
 away his pistol. " Yes, and more than that, I 
 am now ready to admit that I was not in the right 
 — day before yesterday." 
 
 He fidgeted about where he stood, and put out 
 his hand, in an undecided way. 
 
 Sanin swiftly approached him, — and shook it. 
 The two young men looked at each other smil- 
 ingly, — and the faces of both flushed crimson. 
 
 '' Bravi! hravi!" — suddenly roared Pantaleone, 
 like a madman — and, clapping his hands, he 
 rushed head over heels out of the bush; and the 
 doctor, who had seated himself on one side, upon 
 a felled tree, immediately rose, poured the water 
 out of the jug— and walked ofl", lazily swaying 
 his hips, to the edge of the forest. 
 
 " Honour is satisfied— and the duel is at an 
 end! "—proclaimed Herr von Richter. 
 
 " Fuon!"—digSi\r\ shouted Pantaleone, from 
 force of ancient habit. 
 
 After having exchanged salutes with the officers, 
 and taken his seat once more in the carriage, 
 Sanin, truth to tell, felt in all his being, if not 
 satisfaction, at least a certain lightness, as after 
 
 92
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 an operation has been undergone; but another 
 feeling, akin to shame, was beginning to stir 
 within him. . . . The duel in which he had just 
 taken part appeared to him a falsehood, a pre- 
 viously agreed-upon, official, commonplace stu- 
 dent's jest. He recalled the phlegmatic doctor, 
 he recalled how he had smiled — that is to say, had 
 wrinkled up his nose— when he beheld him emerge 
 from the wood almost arm-in-arm with Baron 
 Donhof. And then, when Pantaleone had paid 
 over to that same doctor the four ducats which 
 were his due— ekh! something was wrong! 
 
 Yes, Sanin was somewhat conscience-stricken 
 and mortified .... although, on the other 
 hand, what else was there for him to do? He 
 could not have left unchastised the insolence of 
 the young officer, he could not have imitated Herr 
 Kliiber? He had stood up for Gemma, he had 
 defended her. . . . That was so; but, neverthe- 
 less, his soul ached, and he was conscience- 
 stricken, and even mortified. 
 
 On the other hand, Pantaleone— simply tri- 
 umphed! Pride had suddenly taken possession 
 of him. A victorious general, returning from 
 the field of battle won by him, could not have 
 gazed about him with greater self-satisfaction. 
 Sanin's behaviour during the duel had filled him 
 with rapture. He lauded him for a hero— and 
 would not listen to his exhortations and even en- 
 treaties. He compared him to a monument of 
 
 93
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 marble, or even of bronze— to the statue of the 
 Commander in "Don Giovanni!" As for him- 
 self, he admitted that he had felt some consterna- 
 tion;— "but I 'm an artist, you see,"— he re- 
 marked, — " I have a nervous nature, but you are 
 a son of the snows and granite cliffs." 
 
 Sanin positively did not know how to put a 
 stopper on the artist, who had mounted his high 
 horse. 
 
 Almost at the identical point on the road where 
 they had found Emile a couple of hours before, 
 he again sprang out from behind a tree, and 
 with a joyful cry on his lips, waving his cap over 
 his head, and skipping and leaping, he rushed 
 straight at the carriage, came near falling under 
 the wheels, and without waiting for the horses to 
 come to a halt, clambered over the closed door 
 and fairly feasted his eyes on Sanin. 
 
 "You are alive, you are not wounded!" — he 
 kept repeating. " Forgive me, I did not obey 
 you, I did not return to Frankfurt. ... I could 
 not! I waited for you here. . . . Tell me how 
 it went off — you .... did you kill him? " 
 
 With difficulty Sanin quieted Emile, and made 
 him seat himself. 
 
 With much verbosity, with evident satisfac- 
 tion, Pantaleone communicated to him all the 
 details of the duel, and, of course, did not fail to 
 mention the monument of bronze, the statue of 
 
 94
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 the Commander ! He even rose from his seat, and 
 straddling his legs apart to preserve his equili- 
 brium, folding his arms on his chest, and casting 
 glances of scorn over his shoulder — he presented 
 a visible image of Commander Sanin! £mile lis- 
 tened with reverence, now and then interrupting 
 the narration by an exclamation, or hastily rising 
 half-way, and as hastily kissing his heroic friend. 
 
 The carriage-wheels rattled on the pavements 
 of Frankfurt— and halted, at last, in front of the 
 hotel in which Sanin dwelt. 
 
 Escorted by his two fellow-travellers, he was 
 mountimnf- the stairs to the second story, when, 
 sudderly, from a dark, narrow corridor, a woman 
 emerged with hasty steps; her face was covered 
 with a veil; she halted in front of Sanin, reeled 
 slightly, gave a palpitating sigh, and immediately 
 ran down-stairs to the street— and vanished, to 
 the great amazement of the waiter, who an- 
 nounced that "that lady had been awaiting the 
 return of Monsieur the Foreigner for more than 
 an hour past." Momentary as was her appear- 
 ance, Sanin succeeded in recognising her as 
 Gemma. He recognised her eyes, beneath the 
 thick silk veil, light brown in hue. 
 
 " Did Fraulein G^emma know . . ." he said 
 slowly, in a voice of displeasure, addressing him- 
 self in German to Emile and Pantaleone, who 
 were following on his heels. 
 
 Emile flushed scarlet and grew confused. 
 
 95
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " I was forced to tell her everything," — he 
 stammered,—" she guessed it— and I could not 
 possibly. . . . But that is of no consequence now, 
 you see," — he caught himself up with vivacity, — 
 " everything turned out so well, and she has seen 
 you safe and uninjured! " 
 
 Sanin turned away. 
 
 " What a party of chatterers you are! " he said 
 with vexation, entering his own room, and seat- 
 ing himself on a chair. 
 
 "Don't be angry, please," — said Emile. 
 
 "Very well, I will not," — (Sanin really was 
 not angry, — and, of course, it was hardly possible 
 for him to wish that G^emma should know no- 
 thing). "Very well . . . have done with your 
 embraces. Go away now, I 'm going to sleep. 
 I want to be alone. I 'm tired." 
 
 " A splendid idea! "—exclaimed Pantaleone. 
 " You need rest! You have fully earned it, noble 
 signore! Come along, EmiHo! On tiptoe! On 
 tiptoe! Sssssssh!" 
 
 In saying that he wished to sleep, Sanin's sole 
 object was to rid himself of his companions; but 
 when he was left alone, he really did feel a con- 
 siderable degree of fatigue in all his limbs. He 
 had hardly closed an eye during the whole of the 
 previous night, and throwing himself on the bed, 
 he immediately sank into a deep sleep. 
 
 96
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 XXIII 
 
 He slept for several hours in succession, without 
 waking. Then he began to dream that he was 
 again fighting the duel, that Herr Kliiber was 
 standing opposite him, in the capacity of his an- 
 tagonist, and that on a fir-tree sat a parrot— and 
 the parrot was Pantaleone, and it kept reiterat- 
 ing, as it waggled its bill: "One — one — one! one 
 — one — one — one ! " 
 
 " One .... one .... one! ! " he heard quite too 
 plainly. He opened his eyes, half raised his head. 
 .... Some one was tapping at his door. 
 
 "Come in!" shouted Sanin. 
 
 The waiter made his appearance, and an- 
 nounced that a lady was extremely anxious to see 
 him. 
 
 " Gemma! "—flashed through his head . . . . 
 but the lady turned out to be her mother — Frau 
 Lenore. 
 
 As soon as she entered, she sank on a chair and 
 began to weep. 
 
 " What is the matter with you, my good, dear 
 Signora Roselli? " — began Sanin, seating him- 
 self by her side, and touching her hand with a 
 gentle caress. " What has happened? Calm 
 yourself, I entreat you." 
 
 "Akh, Herr Dimitri, I am very .... very 
 unhappy!" 
 
 07
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " You are unhappy? " 
 
 " Akh, very! And could I have expected it? 
 All at once, like thunder in a clear sky. ..." 
 
 She drew her breath with difficulty. 
 
 " But what is it? Explain yourself! Would 
 you Uke a glass of water? " 
 
 " No, I thank you. . ." Frau Lenore wiped 
 her eyes with her handkerchief, and fell to weep- 
 ing again, with fresh vigour.—" You see, I know 
 everything! Everything!" 
 
 " What do you mean by ' everything *? " 
 
 " Everything that has taken place to-day! 
 And the cause .... is known to me also ! You 
 have behaved like a gentleman; but what an un- 
 fortunate combination of circumstances! 'T was 
 not for nothing that I did not like that trip to 
 Soden. . . . Not for nothing! " (Frau Lenore had 
 said nothing of the sort on the day of the excur- 
 sion, but now it seemed to her that she had fore- 
 seen " everything.") — " And I have come to you, 
 as to a gentleman, as to a friend, although I saw 
 you for the first time five days ago. . . . But, 
 you know, I am a widow, alone. . . My daugh- 
 
 L\^X • • • • 
 
 Tears choked Frau Lenore's voice. Sanin did 
 not know what to think. — " Your daughter? " — 
 he repeated after her. 
 
 "My daughter, Gemma," — burst almost in a 
 groan from beneath Frau Lenore's tear-drenched 
 handkerchief,— "has announced to me to-day 
 
 98
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 that she will not marry Herr Kliiber, and that 
 I must dismiss him ! " 
 
 Sanin even fell back a little. He had not ex- 
 pected this. 
 
 " I will not allude to the fact,"— pursued Frau 
 Lenore, — " that no such thing ever happened in 
 the world, as a betrothed girl's rejecting her be- 
 trothed husband; but, you see, that means our 
 ruin, Herr Dimitri!" — Frau Lenore rolled her 
 handkerchief carefully and tightly into a tiny, 
 tiny ball, as though she were trying to lock up 
 in it all her woe. — " We are no longer able to live 
 on the income from our shop, Herr Dimitri ! and 
 Herr Kliiber is very rich, and will be still richer. 
 And why reject him? Because he did not stand 
 up for his betrothed? Let us grant that it 
 was not quite nice on his part; but, you see, 
 he is a civilian, he was not educated in a univer- 
 sity, and, as a staid merchant, he is bound to 
 despise the frivolous pranks of an unknown 
 officer. And what sort of an insult was it, Herr 
 Dimitri?" 
 
 " Pardon me, Frau Lenore, you appear to be 
 condemning me. ..." 
 
 " I am not condemning you in the least ! It is 
 quite another matter with you. You, like all 
 Russians, are a military man . . . ." 
 
 "Excuse me, I am not a . . . ." 
 
 " You are a foreigner, a passing traveller, I 
 am grateful to you," — went on Frau Lenore, 
 
 99
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 without heeding Sanin. She sighed, threw out 
 her hands, spread the handkerchief out again, 
 and blew her nose. From the very way in which 
 her grief manifested itself, it could be seen that 
 she had not been born under a northern sky. — 
 " And how is Herr Kliiber to trade in his shop, 
 if he fights with his patrons? That is totally 
 incompatible! And now I must dismiss him! 
 But what are we to live on? In former days we 
 made althea paste, and nougat with pistachio 
 nuts— and customers came to us; but now every- 
 body makes althea paste! Just reflect: even 
 without this there will be talk in the town over 
 your duel . . . can it be concealed? And all of 
 a sudden the marriage is broken off ! Why, that 
 is a scandal, a scandal! Gemma is a very fine 
 girl, she is very fond of me ; but she is a stubborn 
 republican, she defies the opinion of others. You 
 alone can persuade her! " 
 
 Sanin was more astonished than before. — " I, 
 Frau Lenore? " 
 
 " Yes, you alone. . . . You alone. That is 
 why I came to you. I could not think of any- 
 thing else! You are such a learned, such a nice 
 man! You stood up for her. She will believe 
 you! She must believe you — surely, you have 
 risked your life for her! You will prove to her — 
 but I can do no more!— You will prove to her 
 that she will ruin herself and all the rest of us. 
 You have saved my son— save my daughter also I 
 
 100
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 God himself has sent you hither. . . I am ready 
 to implore you on my knees ! " 
 
 And Frau Lenore half rose from her chair, as 
 though preparing to throw herself at Sanin's 
 feet. . . . He restrained her. 
 
 "Frau Lenore! For God's sake! What are 
 you doing? " 
 
 " Do you promise? You would not have me 
 fall dead here, before j^our ej^es? " 
 
 Sanin was distracted. For the first time in his 
 life it fell to his lot to deal with Italian blood 
 aflame. 
 
 " I will do anything you like! "—he cried. " I 
 will talk with Fraulein Gemma. . . ." 
 
 Frau Lenore screamed with joy. 
 
 "Only, really, I don't know what the result 
 will be. . . ." 
 
 " Akh, do not refuse, do not refuse! "—said 
 Frau Lenore, in an imploring voice. " You have 
 already consented ! The result will, assuredly, be 
 excellent! At any rate, I can do no more. She 
 will not listen to me! " 
 
 " Has she announced to you, in such decisive 
 terms, her disinclination to marry Herr Kliiber? " 
 — inquired Sanin, after a brief silence. 
 
 " She cut as with a knife! She 's exactly like 
 her father, Giovan' Battista! The intractable 
 creature ! " 
 
 " Intractable? She? ..." repeated Sanin, 
 slowly. 
 
 101
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " Yes .... yes .... but she is an angel also. 
 She will listen to you. You will come, you will 
 come soon? Oh, my dear Russian friend!" — 
 Frau Lenore rose impulsively from her chair, and 
 with equal impulsiveness embraced the head of 
 Sanin, who was sitting before her.—" Accept a 
 mother's blessing — and give me some water! " 
 
 Sanin brought Signora Roselli a glass of 
 water, gave her his word of honour that he would 
 go immediately, escorted her down the stairs to 
 the street— and, on returning to his room, he even 
 wrung his hands, and opened his eyes to their 
 fullest extent. 
 
 " Here,"— he thought,— " here, now, my life 
 has taken a turn! Yes, and such a turn that my 
 head reels with it." He did not even attempt to 
 look within himself, to understand what was 
 going on there: a hubbub — and that is all there 
 was to it! "What a day this has been!"— his 
 lips whispered involuntarily. " ' Intractable ' 
 .... her mother says. . . . And I am to advise 
 her . . . ei! And what am I to advise?" 
 
 Sanin's head really reeled— and above all this 
 whirlwind of varied sensations, impressions, un- 
 expressed thoughts, floated constantly the image 
 of Gemma, that image which had graven itself 
 inefFaceably in his memory on that warm, electric- 
 ally-shaken night, in that dark window, beneath 
 the rays of the swarming stars! 
 
 102
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 XXIV 
 
 With irresolute steps Sanin approached the 
 house of Signora Roselli. His heart was beating 
 violently; he plainly felt it, and even heard it 
 thumping against his ribs. What was he to say 
 to Gemma, how was he to begin the conversation 
 with her? He entered the house not through the 
 confectionery shop, but by the rear door. In the 
 small entrance-room he encountered Frau Le- 
 nore. She was both delighted to see him, and 
 terrified. 
 
 "I have been waiting, waiting for you," — she 
 said, in a whisper, squeezing his hand with both 
 her hands alternately. " Go into the garden; she 
 is there. And see here; I depend upon you! " 
 
 Sanin betook himself to the garden. 
 
 Gemma was sitting on a bench near the path, 
 and from a large basket filled with cherries was 
 sorting out the ripest upon a plate. The sun 
 hung low — it was already between six and seven 
 o'clock in the evening — and there was more of 
 crimson than of gold in the broad rays with 
 which it flooded Signora Roselli's little garden. 
 From time to time the leaves whispered together, 
 almost inaudibly, and as though at leisure, and 
 belated bees buzzed disconnectedly from flower to 
 the neighbouring flower, and somewhere a turtle- 
 dove was cooing, monotonously and unweariedly. 
 
 103
 
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Gemma wore the same round hat in which she 
 had driven to Soden. She cast a glance at Sanin 
 from beneath its upturned brim, and again bent 
 over her basket. 
 
 Sanin approached Gemma, involuntarily mak- 
 ing each step shorter and shorter, and .... and 
 . . . and found nothing else to say to her than 
 to ask why she was sorting the cherries. 
 
 Gemma made no haste in replying to him. 
 These are over-ripe,"— she said, at last. — 
 
 They will do for preserves, and the others for 
 filling tarts. You know, we sell those round 
 tarts, with sugar." 
 
 So saying. Gemma bent her head still lower, 
 and her right hand, with two cherries between 
 its fingers, remained suspended in the air, be- 
 tween the basket and the plate. 
 
 " May I sit down beside you? " — asked Sanin. 
 
 "Yes." — Gemma moved along a little on the 
 bench. Sanin seated himself by her side. " How 
 shall I begin? " he thought. But Gemma extri- 
 cated him from his dilemma. 
 
 " You fought a duel to-day,"— she said, with 
 animation, turning her lovely, bashfully blushing 
 face full upon him, — and what profound grati- 
 tude beamed in her eyes! — "And you are so 
 calm? That signifies that danger does not exist 
 for you? " 
 
 "Good gracious 1 I did not subject myself 
 
 104
 
 SPRIXG FRESHETS 
 
 to any danger. Ever}i:hing went off very suc- 
 cessfully and inoffensively." 
 
 Gemma passed her finger to right and left in 
 front of her eves. . . . Another Italian gesture. 
 — "Xo! no! do not say that! You cannot de- 
 ceive me! Pantaleone has told me all! " 
 
 "The idea of his telling- voul Did he com- 
 pare me to the statue of the Commander? " 
 
 " His expressions may be ridiculous, but his 
 feeling is not ridiculous, and neither is that which 
 you have done to-dav. And all for mv sake . . . 
 for my sake. . . I shall never forget it." 
 
 " I assure you, Fraulein Gemma . . . ." 
 
 " I shall not forget it,'' — she said, pausing be- 
 tween the words, and once more she looked fix- 
 edly at him. and turned awav. 
 
 He could now see her delicate, pure profile: 
 and it seemed to him that he had never beheld 
 ami:hing like it — and had never experienced any- 
 thing like what he felt at that moment. His soul 
 burned within him. 
 
 "And my promise!" — flashed tlirough his 
 thoughts. 
 
 " Fraulein Gemma . . . ." he began, after a 
 momentary' hesitation. 
 
 " What) " 
 
 She did not turn toward him; she went on sort- 
 ing; the cherries, cautiously seizing their stems 
 in the tips of her fingers, carefully lifting the 
 
 105
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 leaves. . . . But how confidingly affectionate 
 did that one word, " what," sound! 
 
 " Has your mother told you nothing . . . 
 about . . . ." 
 
 "About?" 
 
 "About me?" 
 
 Gemma suddenly threw the cherries which she 
 had picked up back into the basket. 
 
 "Has she been talking to you?"— she queried 
 in her turn. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "What has she said?" 
 
 " She told me that you . . . that you had sud- 
 denly decided to change .... your former in- 
 tentions." 
 
 Gemma's head was again bent low. It entirely 
 disappeared under the hat ; nothing but her neck, 
 supple and soft as the stalk of a great flower, 
 was visible. 
 
 "What intentions?" 
 
 " Your intentions .... with regard to ... . 
 the future organisation of your life." 
 
 " That is . . . are you talking about .... 
 Herr Kliiber? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Did mamma tell you that I did not wish to 
 be Herr Kliiber's wife? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Gemma moved along the bench. The basket 
 tipped, fell .... several cherries rolled along 
 
 106
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 the path. One minute elapsed .... then an- 
 other. . . . 
 
 " Why did she tell you that? "—her voice made 
 itself heard. As before, Sanin beheld only 
 Gemma's neck. Her bosom was rising and fall- 
 ing more quickly than before. 
 
 "Why, your mother thought that, as you and 
 I had, so to speak, made friends in a short time, 
 and you had some degree of confidence in me, I 
 might be in a position to give you some useful 
 advice — and that you would heed me." 
 
 Gemma's hands 'slipped softly down upon her 
 knees. . . . She began to arrange the folds of 
 her gown. 
 
 "And what advice are you going to give me, 
 M. Dimitri?" — she asked, after a pause. 
 
 Sanin perceived that Gemma's fingers were 
 trembling on her knees. . . . She was arrang- 
 ing the folds of her gown merely for the purpose 
 of hiding that tremor. . . He laid his hand gen- 
 tly on those pallid, tremulous fingers. 
 
 " Gemma," — he said, — " why do you not look 
 at me? " 
 
 She instantly tossed her hat back over her 
 shoulder — and riveted on him eyes as trusting 
 and grateful as ever. She waited to see what he 
 would say. . . . But the sight of her face con- 
 fused, and, as it were, blinded him. The warm 
 glow of the evening sun illumined her young 
 head — and the expression of that head was even 
 
 107
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 brighter and more brilliant than that glow 
 itself. 
 
 " I am listening to you, M. Dimitri,"— she be- 
 gan, with a barely perceptible smile, and an al- 
 most imperceptible elevation of the eyebrows; 
 " but what advice are you going to give me? " 
 
 "What advice?" — repeated Sanin. — "Why, 
 you see, your mother thinks that to dismiss Herr 
 Kliiber simply because he did not display any 
 particular bravery the day before yesterday . . . ." 
 
 "Simply because?" said Gemma, bending 
 down, picking up the basket and placing it beside 
 her on the bench. 
 
 " That ... in general ... to dismiss him 
 would not be — wise, on your part; that it would 
 be a step all of whose consequences should be 
 well weighed; that, in conclusion, the condition 
 of your affairs imposes certain obligations upon 
 each member of your family. ..." 
 
 " All that is mamma's idea,"— interposed 
 Geroma; " those are her words. I know that; but 
 what is your opinion? " 
 
 "Mine?"— Sanin ceased. He felt that some- 
 thing was rising in his throat, and stopping his 
 breath.—" I also think,"— he began, with an 
 effort. . . . 
 
 Gemma drew herself up. — "Also ? You— also ? " 
 
 " Yes .... that is to say . . . ." Sanin could 
 not positively add another word. 
 
 " Very well,"— said Gemma. " If you, as a 
 
 108
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 friend, advise me to alter my decision . . . that 
 is, not to alter my former decision, — I will think 
 about it." — Without herself being aware of what 
 she was doing, she began to lay the cherries back 
 again from the plate into the basket. . . . 
 " Mamma hopes that I will obey you. . . . What 
 then? Perhaps I really shall obey you." 
 
 " But, pardon me, Fraulein Gemma, I should 
 first like to know what causes have prompted 
 you. . . ." 
 
 " I shall obey you,"— repeated Gemma,— all 
 around her brow was quivering, her cheeks paled ; 
 she bit her lower lip. — " You have done so much 
 for me that I am bound to do what you wish; I 
 am bound to comply with your wish. I will tell 
 mamma . . . that I will think it over. By the 
 way, yonder she is, coming this way." 
 
 In fact, Frau Lenore made her appearance on 
 the threshold of the door which led from the house 
 into the garden. She was torn asunder with im- 
 patience : she could not sit still in one place. Ac- 
 cording to her calculations, Sanin must have fin- 
 ished his explanation with Gemma long ago, al- 
 though his conversation with her had not lasted 
 a quarter of an hour. 
 
 *' No, no, no, for God's sake, tell her nothing 
 for the present," — ejaculated Sanin, hastily, al- 
 most in terror. — " Wait. ... I will tell you, I 
 will write to you .... and until then, do not 
 decide on anything. . . . Wait! " 
 
 109
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 He pressed Gemma's hand, sprang up from 
 the bench,— and to the great surprise of Frau 
 Lenore, darted swiftly past her, raising his hat as 
 he did so, muttered something uninteUigible— 
 and disappeared. 
 
 She approached her daughter. 
 
 " Tell me, please. Gemma ....*' 
 
 The latter suddenly rose and embraced her. 
 . . . . " Dear mamma, can you wait a little, just 
 a wee little bit ... . until to-morrow? Can 
 you? So that there shall not be a word until 
 to-morrow? .... Akh! " 
 
 She burst into sudden, bright tears, unexpected 
 even by herself. This astonished Frau Lenore 
 all the more because the expression of Gemma's 
 face was far from sad, joyful rather. 
 
 "What ails thee?"— she asked. "Thou hast 
 never been in the habit of weeping — and all of 
 a sudden. . . ." 
 
 " Never mind, mamma, never mind! only wait. 
 We must both wait. Ask me nothing until to- 
 morrow—and let me sort the cherries, before the 
 sun sets." 
 
 "Butthou wilt be wise?" 
 
 " Oh, I am very wise! "—Gemma nodded her 
 head significantly. She began to tie the cherries 
 up in little bunches, holding them high in front 
 of her blushing face. She did not wipe away her 
 tears; they dried of themselves. 
 
 110
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 XXV 
 
 Sanin returned to his lodgings almost at a run. 
 He felt, he was conscious that only there, only 
 alone with himself, would it finally become clear 
 to him what ailed him, what had happened to 
 him. And, in fact, he had not succeeded in en- 
 tering his room, he had not succeeded in seating 
 himself in front of the writing-table, before he 
 exclaimed in a mournful, dull voice, as he leaned 
 his elbows on that same table, and pressed his 
 palms to his face: "I love her, I love her 
 madly!"— and he blushed all over inwardly, like 
 a coal from which a layer of dead ashes has sud- 
 denly been blown away. Another instant .... 
 and he was no longer able to understand how he 
 could have sat beside her .... her!— and chatted 
 with her, and not felt that he worshipped the very 
 hem of her garment, that he was ready, as young 
 men express it,—" to die at her feet." That last 
 meeting in the garden had settled everything. 
 Now, when he thought of her, she no longer pre- 
 sented herself to him with dishevelled curls, by 
 the light of the stars:— he beheld her seated on 
 the bench, he beheld her tossing back her hat with 
 one movement — and gazing at him so trustingly 
 .... and the tremor and thirst of love coursed 
 through all his veins. He recalled the rose, 
 which he had been carrying for the last three days 
 
 111
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 in his pocket: he pulled it out, and pressed it to 
 his lips with such feverish force that he involun- 
 tarily frowned with pain. Now he no longer re- 
 flected on anything, considered anything, calcu- 
 lated or foresaw anything: he separated himself 
 from all the past, he leaped forward: from the 
 melancholy shore of his solitary, celibate life he 
 plunged headlong into that cheerful, seething, 
 mighty freshet — and his grief was small, and he 
 did not care to know whither it would carry him, 
 and whether it would not dash him to pieces 
 against the cliff ! These were no longer the gen- 
 tle currents of the Uhland romance, which had so 
 lately lulled him. . . . This was a mighty, irre- 
 sistible billow! It flew, and gaUoped onward, — 
 and he flew with it. . . . 
 
 He took a sheet of paper, and without erasures, 
 almost with one sweep of the pen, he wrote the 
 following : 
 
 " Dear Gemma ! You know what advice I had taken 
 upon myself to give you, you know what your mother 
 wishes, and what her request to me was, — but what you 
 do not know, and what I am bound to tell you now is 
 — that I love you, love you with all the passion of a 
 heart which loves for the first time ! This fire has flamed 
 within me suddenly, but with what force, I cannot find 
 words to describe ! ! When your mother came to me and 
 asked me — it was only smouldering within me — other- 
 wise, as an honourable man, I certainly would have re- 
 fused to execute her commission. . . . The very avowal 
 
 112
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 which I am now making to you is the avowal of an 
 honest man. You must know with whom you have to do, 
 — no misunderstanding must exist between us. You see 
 that I cannot give you any advice. ... I love you, 
 love you, love you— and there is nothing else either in 
 my mind or in any heart ! ! 
 
 "Dm. Sanin." 
 
 Having folded and sealed this note, Sanin was 
 on the point of ringing for the waiter, and des- 
 patching him with it. . . "No! that is awk- 
 ward. . . . By Emile? But to betake myself 
 to the shop, and seek him out, from among the 
 other clerks, is awkward. Moreover, night is at 
 hand, and, probably, he has already left the shop." 
 
 But, as he meditated thus, Sanin put on his 
 hat, and went out into the street; he turned one 
 corner, then another— and, to his indescribable 
 joy, beheld Emile in front of him. With a bag 
 under his arm, and a bundle of papers in his hand, 
 the young enthusiast was hurrying homeward. 
 
 " Not without cause do they say that every 
 lover has his star,"— thought Sanin, and called to 
 Emile. 
 
 The latter wheeled round, and immediately 
 rushed to him. 
 
 Sanin did not allow him to go into raptures, 
 handed him the note, explained to him to whom 
 and how to deliver it. . . . Emile listened atten- 
 tively. 
 
 113
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " No one is to see it? "—he asked, imparting to 
 his face a significant and mysterious expression: 
 —as much as to say, " we understand the gist of 
 the matter!" 
 
 " Yes, my dear friend,"— said Sanin, and be- 
 came sHghtly embarrassed; but he tapped Emile 
 on the cheek, nevertheless . . . . " and if there 
 should be an answer . . . you will bring me the 
 answer, will you not? I shall remain at home." 
 
 "Don't you worry about that!" — whispered 
 Emile merrily, and ran off— and as he ran, he 
 nodded at him once more. 
 
 Sanin returned home— and, without lighting 
 his candles, threw himself on the divan, put his 
 hands behind his head, and surrendered himself 
 to those sensations of love which had just been 
 avowed, that cannot be described: he who has 
 experienced them knows their languor and sweet- 
 ness : it is useless to talk about them to him who 
 has not experienced them. 
 
 The door opened— Emile's head appeared. 
 
 "I have brought it,"— he whispered: — "here 
 it is, the answer! " 
 
 He showed a folded paper, and raised it above 
 his head. 
 
 Sanin sprang from the divan, and snatched it 
 from Emile's hands. Passion had flamed up too 
 powerfully within him: he cared nothing now 
 for secrecy, not even for the preservation of pro- 
 priety — even before that young lad, her brother. 
 
 114
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 He would have felt scruples before him, he would 
 have liked to put constraint on himself— if he 
 could ! 
 
 He went to the window — and, by the light of 
 a street lantern, which stood directly in front of 
 the house, he read the following lines : 
 
 " I beg you, I implore you, not to come to us all day 
 to-morrow, not to show yourself. This is necessary for 
 me, imperatively necessary, — and then all will be set- 
 tled. I know you will not refuse me, because .... 
 
 " Gemma." 
 
 Sanin read this note through twice — oh, how 
 touchingly-charming and beautiful did her hand- 
 "v^Titing appear to him! — meditated a while, and, 
 turning to Emile, who, desirous of letting it be 
 understood what a discreet young man he was, 
 was standing with his face to the wall and drum- 
 ming on it with his finger-nails, called him loudly 
 by name. 
 
 Emile immediately ran to Sanin.— "What are 
 your orders? " 
 
 " Listen, my dear friend . . . . " 
 
 "Monsieur Dimitri," — Emile interrupted him, 
 in a reproachful voice: — "why don't you call me 
 'thou'?" 
 
 Sanin broke into a laugh.— "Well, all right. 
 Listen, my dear friend" — (Emile skipped with 
 satisfaction) —"listen: thou art to say yonder, 
 thou understandest where, that everj^thing will 
 
 115
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 be punctually executed "— (Emik compressed 
 his lips, and nodded his head solemnly) —" and 
 thyself .... What art thou going to do to- 
 morrow? " 
 
 "I? What am I going to do? What would 
 you like to have me do? " 
 
 "If thou canst, come to me as early in the 
 morning as possible, — and we will roam about 
 the suburbs of Frankfurt until evening. . . . 
 Wilt thou?" 
 
 Again Emile gave a skip. — "Good gracious, 
 what in the world could be nicer! Stroll with 
 you— why, that is simply splendid! I'll come, 
 without fail!" 
 
 "And what if they will not give thee leave?" 
 
 "They will!" 
 
 " Hearken . . . Don't tell there that I have 
 invited thee for the whole day." 
 
 "Why should I tell? I'll simply walk off! 
 What harm is there in that!" Emile kissed Sa- 
 nin heartily, and ran away. 
 
 But Sanin paced his chamber for a long time 
 — and went to bed late. He gave himself up to 
 the same delicate and sweet sensations, to that 
 same joyful swooning in the presence of a new 
 life. Sanin was greatly pleased that he had hit 
 upon the idea of inviting Emile for the morrow ; 
 he resembled his sister in countenance. " He will 
 remind me of her," thought Sanin. 
 
 But what astonished him most of all was : how 
 
 116
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 he could have been different yesterday from 
 what he was to-day. It seemed to him that he 
 had loved Gemma "eternally "—and had loved 
 her precisely as he loved her to-day. 
 
 XXVI 
 
 On the following day, at eight o'clock in the 
 morning, Emile, with Tartaglia in a leash, pre- 
 sented himself before Sanin. Had he sprung from 
 German parents, he could not have displayed 
 more punctuality. He had lied at home: he had 
 said that he was going to walk with Sanin until 
 breakfast, and then go to the shop. While Sanin 
 was dressing, Emile tried to talk to him, in a 
 rather irresolute way, it is true, about Gemma, 
 about the breaking of her betrothal with Herr 
 Kliiber; but Sanin maintained a grim silence in 
 response, and Emile, showing that he understood 
 why it was not proper to touch lightly on that 
 important point, no longer addressed him, — and 
 merely assumed, from time to time, a concen- 
 trated and even stern expression. 
 
 After drinking coffee, the two friends set out 
 —on foot, of course, — for Hansen, a small ham- 
 let situated a short distance from Frankfurt, 
 and surrounded by forests. The entire chain of 
 the Taunus Mountains is visible thence, as 
 though in the palm of one's hand. The weather 
 was magnificent; the sun shone and blazed, but 
 
 117
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 did not burn; a fresh breeze rustled briskly 
 among the green leaves; over the ground, in 
 small patches, the shadows of the lofty, circular 
 clouds glided smoothly and swiftly. The young 
 men soon emerged from the town and stepped 
 off boldly and merrily along the smoothly-swept 
 road. They entered the forest — and rambled 
 there for quite a long time; they ate a very 
 hearty breakfast in the village inn; then they 
 cHmbed the hills, admired the views, rolled stones 
 down, and clapped their hands, when the stones 
 skipped amusingly and oddly, like rabbits, until 
 a man who was passing below, and was invisible 
 to them, berated them roundly, in a powerful, res- 
 onant voice ; then they lay down, stretching them- 
 selves out on the short, dry moss, of a yellowish- 
 violet hue: they drank beer in another hostelry, 
 they ran races, leaped for a wager, to see who 
 would jump furthest. They discovered an echo, 
 and talked with it, sang, shouted " a-oo," broke 
 twigs, decorated their hats with fronds of fern — 
 and even danced. Tartaglia participated in all 
 these occupations, to the best of his ability and 
 understanding: he could not throw stones, it is 
 true, but he rolled heels over head himself, and 
 howled an accompaniment when the young men 
 sang,— and even drank beer, although with evi- 
 dent disgust : a student, to whom he had once be- 
 longed, had taught him that trick. However, he 
 obeyed Emile badly— it was quite another matter 
 
 118
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 with his master Pantaleone,— and when l^mile 
 ordered him to "talk," or "sneeze,"— he merely- 
 wagged his tail, and thrust out his tongue like a 
 cylinder. 
 
 The young men also chatted together. At the 
 beginning of the stroll, Sanin, as being the older, 
 and therefore the most sensible, undertook to dis- 
 cuss, what is Fate, or the predestination of des- 
 tiny, and what is the vocation of man, and its sig- 
 nificance, but the conversation speedily took a less 
 serious turn. Emile began to question his friend 
 and patron about Russia, about the manner of 
 fighting duels there, and whether the women are 
 beautiful there, and whether one could learn the 
 Russian language in a short time, and how he 
 had felt when the officer had taken aim at him. 
 And Sanin, in his turn, interrogated Emile about 
 his father, his mother, their family affairs in gen- 
 eral, striving in every way not to mention Gem- 
 ma's name, — and thinking only of her. Prop- 
 erly speaking, he did not even think of her— but 
 of the morrow, of that mysterious to-morrow, 
 which was to bring him unknown, unprecedented 
 happiness ! There seemed to be a curtain, a thin, 
 light curtain, hanging in front of his mental vis- 
 ion, swaying gently, — and behind that curtain he 
 felt ... he felt the presence of a young, im- 
 movable, divine face, with an affectionate smile 
 on its lips, and eyelashes downcast with sternness, 
 feigned sternness. And that face was not the 
 
 119
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 face of Gemma— it was the face of bliss itself! 
 And lo, at last, his hour has come, the curtain has 
 rolled away, the mouth opens, the eyelashes are 
 raised— the divinity has seen him— and then there 
 is light, as of the sun, and joy, and rapture un- 
 ending! He thinks of that morrow— and again 
 his soul swoons within him for joy, in the yearn- 
 ing of incessantly -augmenting anticipation! 
 
 And nothing interferes wdth this anticipation, 
 this yearning. It accompanies his every move- 
 ment — and hinders not in the least. It does not 
 prevent his making a capital dinner in a third 
 hostelry with Emile. And only from time to 
 time, like a brief gleam of lightning, does the 
 thought flash up within him,— what if any one 
 in the world knew about it? This yearning 
 does not prevent his playing at leap-frog ^vith 
 Emile, after dinner. This game takes place on 
 a luxuriant green meadow .... and what is 
 Sanin's surprise, what is his amazement, when, 
 with his legs cleverly spread, and in the act of 
 flying like a bird over the squatting Emile, to the 
 loud barking of Tartaglia,— he suddenly sees be- 
 fore him, on the very edge of the green glade, — 
 two oflicers, in whom he immediately recognises 
 his antagonist of the day before, and his second, 
 Messrs. von Donhof and Richter! Each of them 
 sticks a monocle in his eye, and stares at him, and 
 grins. . . . Sanin lands on his feet, turns away, 
 
 120
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 hastilj^ dons his discarded coat, utters an abrupt 
 word to Emile, the latter also puts on his jacket 
 — and both immediately decamp. 
 
 They returned late to Frankfurt. — " I shall be 
 scolded,"— said Emile to Sanin, as he bade him 
 farewell: — "well, I don't care! But I have had 
 such a splendid, splendid day!" 
 
 On reaching his quarters in the hotel, Sanin 
 found a note from Gemma. She appointed him 
 a tryst — on the following day, at seven o'clock in 
 the morning, in one of the public parks which 
 surround Frankfurt on all sides. 
 
 How his heart quivered! How glad he was 
 that he had obeyed her so implicitly ! And, great 
 heavens, what .... what all did not that un- 
 precedented, unique, impossible and indubitable 
 morrow promise ! 
 
 He riveted his eyes upon Gemma's letter. The 
 long, elegant tail of the letter G, the first letter 
 of her name, which stood at the end of the sheet, 
 — recalled to his mind her beautiful fingers, her 
 hand. . . . He thought that he had never 
 touched that hand with his lips. ..." Italian 
 women,"— he thought,— "are bashful and strict, 
 contrary to their reputation. . . . And Gemma 
 is far more so! Empress .... goddess .... 
 pure, virgin marble. ... But the time will come 
 —and 'tis not far off . . . . " 
 
 There was one happy mortal in Frankfurt that 
 
 121
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 night . . . He slept ; but he could say of himself, 
 in the words of the poet : 
 
 "I sleep . . . but my sensitive heart sleeps not. ..." 
 
 And it beat as lightly as beat the wings of a 
 butterfly, perched upon a flower, and steeped in 
 the summer sunshine. 
 
 XXVII 
 
 At five o'clock Sanin awoke, at six he was al- 
 ready dressed, at half -past six he was strolling 
 through the public park, in sight of the little 
 arbour which Gemma had mentioned in her note. 
 
 The morning was still, warm, grey. It some- 
 times seemed as though the rain were on the very 
 point of descending: but the outstretched hand 
 felt nothing, and it was only when one glanced 
 at the sleeve of his garment that little traces of 
 raindrops, like the tiniest pearls, could be de- 
 tected; but even these speedily ceased. As for 
 the wind — it was as though no such thing existed 
 on earth. Every sound, instead of flying, dif- 
 fused itself around: in the distance, the whitish 
 mist grew slightly more dense; the air was laden 
 with the fragrance of mignonette and the flowers 
 of the white acacia. 
 
 The shops were not yet open on the streets, 
 but pedestrians were already beginning to make 
 
 122
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 their appearance; now and then a sohtary car- 
 riage rumbled past .... no one was strolhng 
 in the park. A gardener was scraping the path 
 with a spade, in a leisurely manner, and a de- 
 crepit old woman in a black cloth cloak was hob- 
 bhng along an alley. Not for a single instant 
 could Sanin take that wretched being for Gem- 
 ma, — and yet, his heart gave a bound within him, 
 and he followed the retreating black spot atten- 
 tively with his eyes. 
 
 Seven ! boomed out the clock on a tower. 
 
 Sanin came to a halt. — Was it possible that 
 she would not come? A cold shiver suddenly 
 coursed through all his limbs. That same shiver 
 was repeated a moment later, — but for another 
 reason. Sanin heard behind him light footsteps, 
 the faint rustle of a woman's gown. . . He 
 turned round : 't was she ! 
 
 Gemma was walking behind him, along the 
 path. She wore a greyish mantilla and a small, 
 dark hat. She glanced at Sanin, turned her head 
 aside— and, as she came on a level with him, 
 walked swiftly past. 
 
 "Gemma!" he said, in a barely-audible voice. 
 
 She gave him a slight nod— and continued to 
 walk on. He followed her. 
 
 He was breathing brokenly. His legs obej^ed 
 him badly. 
 
 Gemma passed the arbour, turned to the right, 
 passed a small, flattish basin, wherein sparrows 
 
 123
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 were restlessly splashing— and, entering a clump 
 of lofty lilacs, sank down on a bench. The spot 
 was comfortable and sheltered. Sanin seated 
 himself by her side. 
 
 A minute passed— and neither he nor she 
 had uttered a word : she did not even look at him 
 — and he gazed not at her face, but at her clasped 
 hands, in which she held a small parasol. What 
 was there to say? What was there to say, that, 
 by its significance, could compare with their mere 
 presence here, together, alone, so early, so close 
 to each other? 
 
 "You .... are not angry with me?" — articu- 
 lated Sanin at last. 
 
 It would have been difficult for Sanin to say 
 anything more stupid than these words .... he 
 realised that himself. . . . But, at all events, the 
 silence was broken. 
 
 "I? "-she replied. "What for? No." 
 
 " And you believe me? " — he went on. 
 
 "What you wrote?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Gemma dropped her head, and said no- 
 thing. The parasol slipped from her hands. 
 She hastily picked it up, before it fell on the 
 path. 
 
 "Akh, believe me, believe what I wrote to 
 you,"— exclaimed Sanin; all his timidity had 
 suddenly vanished— he spoke with ardour: — "if 
 there is any truth on earth, sacred, indubitable 
 
 124
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 truth, — then it is that I love you, love you pas- 
 sionately. Gemma ! " 
 
 She cast a sidelong, momentary glance at him 
 — and again came near dropping her parasol. 
 
 " Beheve me, believe me,"— he reiterated. He 
 implored her, stretched out his hands to her— and 
 dared not touch her. "What did you wish to 
 have me do, to convince you? " 
 
 Again she darted a glance at him. 
 
 "Tell me. Monsieur Dimitri,"— she began: — 
 "day before yesterday, when you came to per- 
 suade me,— you, of course, did not yet know .... 
 did not feel . . . . " 
 
 "I did feel,"— interpolated Sanin,— "but I 
 did not know. I fell in love with you the very 
 moment I beheld you,— but did not immediately 
 understand what you had become for me ! More- 
 over, I heard that you were a betrothed bride. 
 ... As for your mother's commission— in the 
 first place, how could I refuse? and, in the second 
 place,— I think I transmitted my message to you 
 in such a way that you might have guessed. ..." 
 
 Heavy footsteps became audible, and a de- 
 cidedly corpulent gentleman, with a travelling- 
 bag slung across his shoulder, a foreigner, evi- 
 dently, stepped forth from behind the clump of 
 lilacs — and with the unceremoniousness of a 
 chance traveller, surveyed with his glance the 
 young pair who were sitting on the bench, 
 coughed loudly— and went his way. 
 
 125
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " Your mother,"— began Sanin, as soon as the 
 clumping of the heavy feet had died away,— 
 "told me that your refusal would produce a 
 scandal" (Gemma frowned slightly); "that I, 
 myself, had, in part, given rise to unfavourable 
 comments, and that, consequently .... conse- 
 quently . . . upon me— in a certain degree— de- 
 volved the obligation of telling you not to dismiss 
 your betrothed, Herr Kliiber. ..." 
 
 "Monsieur Dimitri," said Gemma, passing 
 her hand over her hair, on the side turned to 
 Sanin:— "please do not call Herr Kliiber my 
 betrothed. I shall never be his bride. I have dis- 
 missed him." 
 
 " You have dismissed him? When? " 
 ! " Yesterday." 
 
 "In person?" 
 
 " Yes. At our house. He came to us." 
 
 " Gemma! That means that you love me? " 
 
 She turned toward him. 
 
 "Had it been otherwise .... would I have 
 come hither?" she whispered— and both her 
 hands fell upon the bench. 
 
 Sanin seized those hands, which lay helplessly, 
 with the palms upturned, in his own,— pressed 
 them to his eyes, to his lips. . . . Then the veil 
 which had appeared before him in his vision of 
 the day before was lifted! Here it was, happi- 
 ness, here was its radiant face! 
 
 He raised his head— and looked at Gemma-- 
 
 126
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 straightly and boldly. She also looked at him— 
 somewhat downward, from above. The gaze of 
 her half-opened eyes glimmered dimly, bathed in 
 Hght, blissful tears. But her face was not smiling 
 .... no! it laughed, also with a blissful though 
 noiseless laugh. 
 
 He tried to draw her to his breast, but she re- 
 sisted, and without ceasing to laugh with the same 
 noiseless laugh, she shook her head in negation. 
 " Wait," her happy eyes seemed to say. 
 
 "Oh, Gemma!"— cried Sanin: "could I have 
 dreamed that thou—" (his heart trembled within 
 him, when his lips uttered, for the first time, this 
 " thou ") — " that thou wouldst love me? " 
 
 "I did not expect it myself,"— said Gemma 
 softly. 
 
 "Could I imagine,"— pursued Sanin,— "could 
 I imagine, when approaching Frankfurt, where 
 I intended to remain only a few hours, that I 
 would find here the happiness of my whole life? " 
 
 "Of your whole life? Really?" - asked 
 Gemma. 
 
 "Of my whole life, forever and forever!" — 
 exclaimed Sanin with fresh impetuosity. 
 
 The gardener's shovel suddenly began to 
 scrape a couple of paces from the bench on which 
 they were sitting. 
 
 "Let us go home"— whispered Gemma.— 
 "Let us go together — wilt thou?" 
 
 If she had said to him, at that moment: 
 
 127
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 "Fling thyself into the sea— wilt thou?"— he 
 would have flown headlong into the gulf, before 
 she had uttered the last word. 
 
 Together they left the park, and wended their 
 way homeward, not through the city streets, but 
 by way of the suburbs. 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 Sanin walked on, now by Gemma's side, now a 
 little behind her, never taking his eyes from her, 
 and never ceasing to smile. And she seemed to 
 be hurrying onward .... yet appeared also to 
 be pausing. To tell the truth, both of them— he 
 all pale, she all rosy with emotion,— moved for- 
 ward like persons befogged. That which they 
 had done together a few moments before— that 
 surrender of each soul to the other, — was so 
 mighty and so new and dread a thing ; everything 
 in their lives had so suddenly come to a standstill, 
 had undergone a change, that they could not re- 
 cover themselves, and were merely conscious of 
 the whirlwind which had caught them up in its 
 grasp, like that nocturnal whirlwind which had 
 almost hurled them into each other's embrace. 
 Sanin walked along— and felt that he was even 
 regarding Gemma in a different light: every mo- 
 ment he descried several peculiarities in her walk, 
 in her movements,— and, great heavens! how 
 inimitably dear and charming they were to him I 
 
 128
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 And she was conscious that he was gazing at her 
 thus. 
 
 Sanin and she loved for the first time, all the 
 marvels of first love were accomplished in them. 
 First love is — a revolution: the monotonously- 
 regular course of life which has established itself 
 is broken and shattered in one instant, and youth 
 stands at the barricade, its flaunting standard 
 waves high in air,— and whatever may be in store 
 for it ahead— death or new life — it wafts to all 
 its rapturous greeting. 
 
 " What is this? Can it be our old man? "—said 
 Sanin, pointing at a muffled figure, which was 
 making its way hurriedly along on one side, as 
 though endeavouring to remain unperceived. In 
 the midst of his superabundance of bliss, he felt 
 impelled to talk to Gemma— not about love— that 
 was a settled, a sacred thing, — but about some- 
 thing or other different. 
 
 "Yes, that is Pantaleone,"— replied Gemma 
 merrily and happily. *' He certainly must have 
 followed on my heels out of the house; all day 
 yesterday, he watched every step I took. . . . He 
 guesses the truth ! " 
 
 " He guesses the truth! " — repeated Sanin rap- 
 turously.— What could Gemma say over which 
 he would not go into raptures! 
 
 Then he begged her to narrate to him, in detail, 
 everything which had taken place on the preced- 
 ing day. 
 
 129
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 And she immediately began to relate, hurry- 
 ing, entangling herself, smiling, heaving little 
 sighs, and exchanging brief, brilHant glances 
 with Sanin. She told him how, after the con- 
 versation of two days previously, her mamma had 
 persistently endeavoured to get out of her, 
 Gemma, something definite : how she had rid her- 
 self of Frau Lenore, by promising to inform her 
 of her decision within twenty-four hours ; how she 
 had secured that much time— and how diffi- 
 cult it had been: how Herr Kliiber had made 
 his appearance quite unexpectedly, more con- 
 ceited and starched than ever: how he had ex- 
 pressed his displeasure at the boyishly-unpar- 
 donable, and for him, Kliiber, deeply-insulting 
 (that was his precise expression) sally of the 
 Russian stranger— "he meant thy duel"— and 
 how he had demanded that thou shouldst im- 
 mediately be forbidden the house. " Because," — 
 he added— and here Gemma lightly imitated his 
 voice and manner, — "it casts a shadow on my 
 honour : as though I could not have protected my 
 betrothed, had I regarded that as either indis- 
 pensable or useful! All Frankfurt will learn 
 to-morrow that a stranger has fought with an 
 officer on account of my betrothed — who ever 
 heard of such a thing? It sullies my honour!" 
 "Mamma agreed with him— just imagine!— but 
 at this point I suddenly informed him that there 
 was no need for his worrying about his honour and 
 
 130
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 his person, there was no need for him to feel in- 
 sulted by gossip about his betrothed, because I 
 was no longer his betrothed, and would never be 
 his wife! I must confess that I would have 
 liked first to have a talk with you .... with 
 thee, before definitively dismissing him; but he 
 came . . . and I could not restrain myself. 
 Mamma even shrieked with fright, and I went 
 into the other room and brought him his ring— 
 thou didst not notice, I had already taken off that 
 ring two days ago — and gave it to him. He was 
 frightfully offended ; but as he is frightfully ego- 
 tistical and conceited, he did not say much and 
 took himself off. Of course, I had to endure a 
 great deal from mamma, and it pained me greatly 
 to see how grieved she was — and I thought that 
 I had been in a little too much of a hurry, but, 
 you see, I had thy note — and even without that, 
 I already knew . . . . " 
 
 " That I loved thee,"— put in Sanin. 
 
 " Yes .... that thou lovedst me." 
 
 Thus spoke Gemma, faltering and smiling, 
 and lowering her head, or relapsing altogether 
 into silence, every time that any one came toward 
 her, or passed her. And Sanin listened ecstati- 
 cally, enjoying the very sound of her voice, as, on 
 the day before, he had admired her handwriting. 
 
 " JNIamma is extremely grieved," — began 
 Gemma again — and her words followed one an- 
 other very, very swiftly:— "she absolutely re- 
 
 131
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 fuses to take into consideration the fact that 
 Herr Kliiber might be repulsive to me, that I was 
 not marrying him for love — but in consequence 
 of her earnest entreaties. . . . She suspects you 
 .... thee ; that is to say, to speak in plain terms, 
 she is convinced that I have fallen in love with 
 thee,— and this is all the more painful to her, that 
 such a thing had never even entered her head day 
 before yesterday, and she even commissioned thee 
 to reason with me. . . . And a strange commis- 
 sion it was— wasn't it? Now she calls thee .... 
 you, a sly dog, a crafty man, says that you have 
 betrayed her trust, and predicts that you will de- 
 ceive me also . . . . " 
 
 "But, Gemma,"— exclaimed Sanin,— "didst 
 not thou tell her. . . ." 
 
 " I have told her nothing! What right had I, 
 without having talked with you? " 
 
 Sanin clasped his hands. — "Gemma, I hope 
 that now, at least, thou wilt confess all to her, 
 thou wilt take me to her. ... I want to prove to 
 thy mother that I am not a deceiver! " 
 
 Sanin's breast fairly heaved with a flood of 
 magnanimous and fervent emotions. 
 
 Gemma stared at him with all her eyes. — "Do 
 you really want to go to mamma now, with me? 
 to mamma, who asserts that . . . that every- 
 thing is impossible between us,— and nothing will 
 ever come of it?" — There was one word which 
 Gemma could not make up her mind to utter. . . 
 
 132
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 It burned her lips; but Sanin uttered it all the 
 more willingly. 
 
 "I know no higher felicitj^ Gemma, than to 
 marry thee, to be thy husband! " 
 
 He no longer recognised any bounds to his 
 love, to his magnanimity, nor to his firmness. 
 
 On hearing these words, Gemma, who had 
 halted for a moment, proceeded onward more 
 rapidly than ever. . . . She seemed to wish to 
 flee from that too-great and unexpected happi- 
 ness! 
 
 But all at once her limbs gave way beneath 
 her. From round the corner of a lane, a few 
 paces distant from her, in a new hat and new 
 short-coat, straight as an arrow, curled like a 
 poodle, Herr Kliiber made his appearance. He 
 caught sight of Gemma, caught sight of Sanin— 
 gave a sort of internal snort, and throwing back 
 his supple figure, he advanced foppishly to meet 
 them. Sanin writhed, but on glancing at Klii- 
 ber's face, to which its owner was endeavouring, 
 to the best of his ability, to impart an expression 
 of scornful surprise, and even compassion,— on 
 glancing at that ruddy, commonplace face, he 
 suddenly felt a flood of wrath— and strode for- 
 ward. 
 
 Gemma grasped his arm, and with calm deci- 
 sion giving him hers, gazed straight into the face 
 of her former betrothed. . . . The latter screwed 
 up his eyes, shrank together, turned to one side, 
 
 133
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 —and, muttering between his teeth: "The usual 
 ending of the songl"— (''Das alte Ende vom 
 Liedel") — retreated, with the same dandified, 
 shghtly springy gait as usual. 
 
 " What was that he said, the rascal! "—inquired 
 Sanin, and tried to rush after Kliiber; but 
 Gemma held him back, and walked on with him, 
 still without withdrawing her arm, which w^as 
 thrust through his. 
 
 The Roselli confectionery shop appeared 
 ahead. Once more Gemma halted. 
 
 "Dimitri, Monsieur Dimitri," — said she: "we 
 have not yet entered yonder house, we have not 
 yet seen mamma. ... If you still wish to re- 
 flect, if . . . vou are still free, Dimitri ! " 
 
 In reply, Sanin pressed her arm very, very 
 firmly to his breast— and led her forward. 
 
 "Mamma," — said Gemma, entering with Sa- 
 nin the room where sat Frau Lenore, — " I have 
 brought the real one ! " 
 
 XXIX 
 
 Had Gemma announced that she had brought 
 the cholera, or even death itself with her, Frau 
 Lenore could not, we are free to assume, have re- 
 ceived the news with any greater despair. She 
 immediately seated herself in a corner, with her 
 face to the wall, — and burst into tears, almost 
 wailed, precisely as a Russian peasant-woman 
 
 134
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 does over the coffin of her husband or her son. At 
 first, Gemma was so disconcerted that she did not 
 even approach her mother— and stood Hke a 
 statue, in the middle of the room ; and Sanin was 
 thrown into utter confusion,— ahnost to the point 
 of launching into tears himself! This inconsol- 
 able weeping lasted for a whole hour: a whole 
 hour! Pantaleone deemed it best to lock the 
 outer door of the shop, in order that no stranger 
 might enter— although the hour was early. The 
 old man was puzzled— and, at any rate, did not 
 approve of the haste with which Gemma and 
 Sanin had acted ; however, he could not make up 
 his mind to condemn them, and was ready to ac- 
 cord them his protection— in case of need; he had 
 greatly disliked Herr Kliiber! Emile regarded 
 himself as the intermediary between his friend 
 and his sister — and was almost proud that every- 
 thing had turned out so splendidly ! He was not 
 in the least able to understand why Frau Lenore 
 was grieving so violently, and in his heart he de- 
 cided on the spot that women, even the best of 
 them, suffer from a deficiencj^ of intellectual ca- 
 pacity! Sanin fared worse than all the rest. 
 Frau Lenore raised a howl, and flourished her 
 arms violently, as soon as he came near her — and 
 in vain did he strive, as he stood at a distance, to 
 exclaim loudly, several times: "I ask your 
 daughter's hand!" Frau Lenore was especially 
 vexed at herself, because: "how could she have 
 
 135
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 been so blind — and seen nothing!" — "If my 
 Giovan' Battista had been ahve," — she kept re- 
 peating through her tears, — " nothing of this sort 
 would have happened!" — "O Lord, what is 
 this?" — thought Sanin — "why, this is stupid, I 
 must say! " He did not dare to look at Gemma, 
 neither could she bring herself to raise her eyes 
 to his. She contented herself with patiently tend- 
 ing her mother, who at first repulsed her. . . . 
 
 At last, little by httle, the storm subsided. 
 Frau Lenore ceased to weep, permitted Gemma 
 to lead her out of the corner, in which she had en- 
 sconced herself, seat her in an arm-chair near the 
 window, and give her some water with orange- 
 flower essence to drink; she permitted Sanin — 
 not to approach . . . oh, no!— but, at least, to 
 remain in the room — (she had previously de- 
 manded incessantly that he should withdraw) — 
 and did not interrupt him while he was talking. 
 Sanin immediately availed himself of the calm 
 which had set in,— and displayed amazing elo- 
 quence: he would hardly have been able to set 
 forth his intentions and his sentiments to Gemma 
 herself with as much ardour and persuasive- 
 ness. Those sentiments were of the most sin- 
 cere description, those intentions were of the pur- 
 est, as in the case of Almaviva in " The Barber 
 of Seville."— He did not conceal, either from 
 Frau Lenore or from himself, the disadvanta- 
 geous aspects of those intentions; but the disad- 
 
 136
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 vantages were only apparent! It is true that he 
 was a foreigner, that they had made his acquaint- 
 ance only a short time before, that they knew no- 
 thing definite about his personality, or about his 
 means ; but he was ready to present all the neces- 
 sary credentials to prove that he was a man of 
 good standing, and not a poor one; he would 
 send for the most indubitable testimonials of his 
 fellow-countrymen!— He hoped that Gemma 
 would be happy with him, and that he would be 
 able to sweeten her separation from her relatives 1 
 . . . At the mention of separation— that one 
 word " separation " came near spoiling the 
 whole business. . . . Frau Lenore trembled all 
 over, and began to throw herself about. . . . Sa- 
 nin hastened to remark that the separation would 
 be only temporary — and that, after all, possibly — 
 there would be none at all ! 
 
 Sanin's eloquence was not wasted. Frau Le- 
 nore began to glance at him, although still with 
 bitterness and reproach, yet no longer with her 
 former repulsion and wrath; then she permitted 
 him to approach, and even to sit down beside her 
 (Gemma was sitting on her other side) ; then she 
 began to upbraid him — not with looks alone, but 
 with words, which denoted a certain softening of 
 her heart: she began to complain, and her com- 
 plaints grew ever more quiet and gentle; they 
 alternated with questions, addressed sometimes 
 to her daughter, sometimes to Sanin; then she 
 
 137
 
 SPRIXG FRESHETS 
 
 allowed him to take her hand, and did not imme- 
 diately withdraw it . . . then she fell to weeping 
 again — but with tears of an entirely different 
 sort. . . . Then she smiled sadly, and mourned 
 the absence of Giovan' Battista, but in another 
 sense than previously. . . . Another moment 
 elapsed— and the two culprits— Sanin and 
 Gemma — were already kneehng at her feet, and 
 she was laying her hands on their heads by turns ; 
 yet another moment elapsed — and they were em- 
 bracing and kissing her, and Emile, his face 
 beaming with rapture, ran into the room, and also 
 flung himself upon the closely-united group. 
 
 Pantaleone looked into the room, grinned and 
 frowned simultaneously, — and, wending his way 
 to the shop, opened the outer door. 
 
 XXX 
 
 The transition from despair to sadness, and 
 from that to " quiet resignation," was accom- 
 plished with considerable rapidity in Frau Le- 
 nore; — but that quiet resignation, in its turn, 
 was promptly converted into secret satisfaction, 
 which, nevertheless, was in every way concealed 
 and repressed, for the sake of propriety. Frau 
 Lenore had liked Sanin from the very first day 
 of their acquaintance ; having accustomed herself 
 to the idea of his being her son-in-law, she found 
 nothing especially disagreeable in it, although 
 
 138
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 she considered it her duty to preserve on her coun- 
 tenance a somewhat offended .... or, rather, 
 worried expression. Moreover, everything which 
 had happened during the last few days had been 
 so remarkable. . . . One thing after another! 
 As a practical woman, and a mother, Frau Le- 
 nore thought it her duty to subject Sanin to a 
 varied interrogatory: and Sanin, who, on setting 
 out in the morning for his tryst with Gemma, had 
 not had the remotest idea of marrying her, — in 
 truth, he had thought of nothing at the time, and 
 had merely surrendered himself to the prompt- 
 ings of his passion — Sanin, with entire readiness, 
 and even, one might say, with zeal, entered into 
 his role of a betrothed bridegroom, and to all the 
 questions replied circumstantially, in detail, will- 
 ingly. Having convinced herself that he was a 
 genuine, born noble, and even rather surprised 
 that he was not a prince, Frau Lenore assumed 
 a serious mien and "warned him beforehand 
 that she meant to be quite unceremoniously 
 frank with him, because she was compelled 
 thereto by her sacred obligations as a mother! " — 
 to which Sanin replied that he had expected no- 
 thing else from her, and himself earnestly im- 
 plored her not to spare him ! 
 
 Then Frau Lenore remarked that Herr Klii- 
 ber (as she uttered that name, she sighed a little, 
 compressed her lips, and stammered) — Herr 
 Kliiber, Gemma's former betrothed, already was 
 
 139
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 m receipt of an income of eight thousand gul- 
 dens — and that, with every year, that sum would 
 increase — and what was his, Sanin's income? 
 
 "Eight thousand guldens," — repeated Sanin, 
 in a drawl. ..." That makes, in our money, 
 about fifteen thousand rubles. . . . My income 
 is much less. I have a small estate in the govern- 
 ment of Tula. ... If the farming is well man- 
 aged, it may yield — and even ought, without fail, 
 to yield, five or six thousand. . . . Yes, and if I 
 enter the service — I may easily receive a salary 
 of two thousand rubles." 
 
 " The service, in Russia? " exclaimed Frau Le- 
 nore. " That means that I shall have to part 
 with Gemma!" 
 
 " I may get myself assigned to the diplomatic 
 corps!" — interposed Sanin; "I have several in- 
 fluential connections. . . . Then the service is 
 discharged abroad. If not, here is another thing 
 which can be done— and this is far the best of all: 
 sell my estate, and use the resulting capital in 
 some profitable undertaking — for instance, for the 
 development of your confectionery business." — 
 Sanin was, to tell the truth, conscious that he was 
 saying something rather absurd, but an incom- 
 prehensible audacity held possession of him ! He 
 would glance at Gemma, who, from the moment 
 the " practical " discussion began, had kept ris- 
 ing, walking about the room, seating herself 
 again,— he would glance at her— and then no ob- 
 
 140
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 stacle existed for him, and he was ready to ar- 
 range everything, instantly, in the best manner 
 possible — if only she were not disquieted! 
 
 " Herr Kliiber also wished to give me a small 
 sum for repairing the shop," said Frau Lenore, 
 after a brief hesitation. 
 
 "Mother! for God's sake, mother!"— cried 
 Gemma, in Italian. 
 
 "We must discuss these matters betimes, my 
 daughter," — Frau Lenore answered her, in the 
 same language. 
 
 Again she turned to Sanin, and began to ques- 
 tion him as to what laws exist in Russia concern- 
 ing marriage, and whether there were any obsta- 
 cles to the union with Roman CathoHcs — as 
 there were in Prussia?— (At that time— in the 
 '40's,— all Germany still recalled the quarrel be- 
 tween the Prussian government and the Arch- 
 bishop of Cologne, on the point of mixed mar- 
 riages.)— But when Frau Lenore learned that, 
 by marrying a noble, her daughter herself would 
 become a gentlewoman— she manifested some 
 satisfaction.— "But, of course, you must first go 
 to Russia?" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "But why not? To receive permission from 
 your emperor?" 
 
 Sanin explained to her that that was not in 
 the least necessary .... but that, perhaps, he 
 really would have to go to Russia for a short time 
 
 141
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 before the wedding— (as he uttered these words, 
 his heart contracted within him,— Gemma, who 
 was looking at him, understood that it contracted 
 —and flushed crimson, and became thoughtful) 
 —and that he would try to take advantage of his 
 stay in his native land to sell his estate .... in 
 any case, he would bring thence the necessary 
 money. 
 
 " I should also like to ask you to bring me 
 some good Astrakhan lambskins, for a cloak," 
 —said Frau Lenore. " I hear that they are 
 wonderfully fine there, and wonderfully 
 cheap ! " 
 
 " I certainly will bring you some— with the 
 greatest pleasure!— and Gemma also!"— ex- 
 claimed Sanin. 
 
 "And me a morocco cap, embroidered in sil- 
 ver,"— interposed Emile, thrusting in his head 
 from the adjoining room. 
 
 "Very well,— I will . . . and some slippers 
 for Pantaleone." 
 
 "Come, why so? why?"— remarked Frau Le- 
 nore. " We are talking about serious things now. 
 But here is another point,"— added the practical 
 lady. " You say you will sell your estate. But 
 how will you do that? Does that mean that you 
 will sell the peasants also?" 
 
 Sanin felt as though he had been stabbed in the 
 ribs. He remembered that, in talking with Sig- 
 nora Roselh and her daughter about the serf- 
 
 142
 
 SPRIXG FRESHETS 
 
 law, which, according to his assertions, roused in 
 him profound indignation, he had repeatedly as- 
 sured them that he would never sell his serfs on 
 any terms whatever, because he regarded such 
 sale as an immoral act. 
 
 " I shall endeavour to sell my estate to a man 
 whom I shall know under a favourable aspect," — 
 he articulated, not without hesitation — "or, 
 perhaps, the peasants themselves will like to 
 buy it." 
 
 "That is the best of all," — assented Frau Le- 
 nore. "If not, to sell live people . . . ." " Bar- 
 hari!" growled Pantaleone, who, following 
 Emile's example, had made his appearance in the 
 doorway, shook his top-knot, and vanished. 
 
 "It's a bad business!" — thought Sanin to 
 himself — and shot a stealthy glance at Gemma. 
 She did not appear to have heard his last words. 
 " Well, never mind! " he thought again. 
 
 In this wise did the practical conversation con- 
 tinue almost until dinner-time. Frau Lenore 
 grew entirely tame toward the last— and had al- 
 ready begun to call Sanin " Dmitry," shook her 
 finger affectionately at him, and promised to 
 avenge herself for his craftiness. She asked a 
 great many and minute questions about his native 
 land, because " that, also, is very important," — 
 demanded, also, that he should describe to her the 
 marriage ceremony, as the rite was celebrated in 
 the Russian Church, and went into raptures in 
 
 143
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 advance over Gemma in a white gown, with a 
 golden crown on her head.^ 
 
 "For my child is as beautiful as a queen," — 
 she said, with maternal pride ; " and there are no 
 such kings in the world ! " 
 
 "There is no other Gemma in the world!" — 
 chimed in Sanin. 
 
 "Yes; that is why she is— Gemma!" (Every 
 one knows that, in the Italian language. Gemma 
 signifies "a precious stone— a jewel.") 
 
 Gemma flew to kiss her mother. ... It seemed 
 as though only now had she begun to breathe 
 freely— and the burden which oppressed her had 
 fallen from her soul. 
 
 And Sanin, all of a sudden, felt so happy, such 
 a childhke merriment filled his soul, because, lo, it 
 had come to pass, those dreams to which he had 
 surrendered himself, in those same rooms, had 
 come to pass; his whole being leaped for joy to 
 such a degree that he immediately betook himself 
 to the shop ; he was irrevocably bent upon serving 
 behind the counter, at whatever cost, as he had 
 done several days previously. . . . As much as 
 to say: " I have a full right to do it now! for I 'm 
 a domestic man now! " 
 
 And he really did stand behind the counter, 
 and really did trade, that is to say, he sold to two 
 little girls who entered a pound of candy, instead 
 
 1 Golden (gilded) crowns are held over the heads of the bride 
 and groom during the marriage ceremony proper, which is called 
 " crowning." — Translator. 
 
 144
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 of which he dealt them out at least two pounds, 
 and took only half price from them. At dinner, 
 as a betrothed bridegroom, he officially occupied 
 a seat next to Gemma. Frau Lenore pursued 
 her practical calculations. Emile did nothing 
 but laugh, and tease Sanin to take him to Russia 
 with him. It was decided that Sanin should 
 set off at the end of a fortnight. Pantaleone 
 alone presented a rather surly aspect, so that 
 even Frau Lenore upbraided him. — "And yet 
 thou wert his second!"— Pantaleone looked 
 askance. 
 
 Gemma maintained silence nearly all the time, 
 but never had her face been brighter or more 
 beautiful. After dinner, she called Sanin apart 
 into the garden for a moment, and halting beside 
 the bench on which she had been sorting cherries 
 two days before, she said to him:— "Do not be 
 angry with me, Dimitri; but I wish to remind 
 thee, once more, that thou must not consider 
 thyself bound. ..." 
 
 He did not allow her to finish her sentence. . . . 
 
 Gemma turned aside her face.— "And as for 
 what mamma alluded to— thou rememberest?— 
 the difference of our religious creeds, so much for 
 that!" .... 
 
 She seized a small garnet cross, which hung on 
 her neck upon a slender cord, gave a violent 
 wrench, and broke the cord— and gave him the 
 cross. 
 
 145
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 "If I am thine, then thy faith is my faith 
 also!" 
 
 Sanin's eyes were still wet when he and Gemma 
 returned to the house. 
 
 By the evening, everything had got into its 
 wonted routine. They even played tresette. 
 
 XXXI 
 
 Sanin woke very early on the following day. 
 He found himself on the very apex of human 
 felicity; but that had not prevented his sleeping; 
 the question, the vital, fatal question: how he 
 should sell his estate as speedily as possible, and 
 on the most profitable terms — disturbed his rest. 
 Different plans crossed in his head, but as yet 
 nothing had made itself clear. He left the house 
 to get some air, to freshen himself. He wished 
 to present himself to Gemma with a project al- 
 ready prepared — not otherwise. 
 
 What figure was that, decidedly heavy and 
 thick-legged, but neatly clad, walking in front of 
 him, swaying slightly from side to side and limp- 
 ing? Where had he seen that nape, overgrown 
 with tumbled masses of fair hair, that head, which 
 seemed to be set directly on the shoulders, that 
 soft, fat back, those plump, dangling arms? 
 Could it be— Polozoff, his old boarding-school 
 comrade, whom he had lost sight of for the last 
 five years? Sanin overtook the figure which was 
 
 146
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 walking in front of him, and turned round. . . . 
 A broad, sallow face, tiny, pig-like blue eyes with 
 white lashes and brows, a round, beardless chin— 
 and that expression of the whole face, indolent 
 and distrustful— yes, in point of fact, it was he, 
 Ippolit PolozofiF . 
 
 "Is my star acting again?"— flashed through 
 Sanin's thoughts. 
 
 "Polozoff! Ippolit Sidorovitch! Is it thou?" 
 
 The figure halted, lifted its tiny eyes, waited a 
 little, and unsealing its lips at last, said in a hoarse 
 falsetto : 
 
 "Dmitry Sanin?" 
 
 "The very same!"— cried Sanin, and shook 
 one of Polozoff's hands; clad in tight glace 
 gloves, of an ash-grey hue, they hung, as before, 
 Hfeless down his fat hips.—" Hast thou been here 
 long? Whence camest thou? Where art thou 
 staying?" 
 
 " I came yesterday, from Wiesbaden," — re- 
 plied PolozofF without haste,— "to make pur- 
 chases for my wife— and am returning to Wies- 
 baden to-day." 
 
 " Akh, yes! thou art married — and, so I hear, 
 to such a beauty!" 
 
 Polozoff turned his eyes away. — " Yes, so they 
 say." 
 
 Sanin burst out laughing. — "I see that thou 
 art still the same .... phlegmatic fellow as thou 
 wert at school." 
 
 147
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " Why should I change? " 
 
 "And they say,"— added Sanin, with special 
 emphasis on the word "say,"— "that thy wife is 
 very wealthy." 
 
 " They do say that also." 
 
 "And can it be that thou dost not know that 
 thyself, Ippolit Sidoritch?" 
 
 "I, brother Dmitry .... Pavlovitch?— yes, 
 Pavlovitch! don't meddle with my wife's af- 
 fairs." 
 
 "Thou dost not meddle? Not with any af- 
 fairs?" 
 
 Again PolozoiF turned away his eyes. — "Not 
 with any, my dear fellow. She — goes her way 
 .... well, and I go mine." 
 
 "Whither art thou bound now?"— inquired 
 Sanin. 
 
 "Nowhere, just at present; I'm standing in 
 the street— and talking with thee; but when we 
 get through, I shall go to a hotel— and break- 
 fast." 
 
 " With me as company— wilt thou? " 
 
 " That is — thou art referring to breakfast? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Pray do, it will be much jollier to eat to- 
 gether. Thou art not a chatterer, I believe? " 
 
 " I don't think so." 
 
 " Well, all right then." 
 
 Polozoff moved on. Sanin walked beside him. 
 And it occurred to Sanin — PolozofF's Hps were 
 
 148
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 sealed once more, he puffed and waddled on in 
 silence — it occurred to Sanin: how had that booby 
 managed to hook a rich and beautiful wife? He 
 himself was neither wealthy, nor distinguished, 
 nor clever: in school he had borne the reputation 
 of an indolent and stupid boy, and for his sleepi- 
 ness and gluttony had borne the nickname of 
 " the slobberer." Amazing! 
 
 "But if his wife is very rich — they say she is 
 the daughter of some contractor — would n't 
 she buy my estate? Although he says that he 
 does not meddle with any of his wife's affairs, 
 it is impossible to believe that! Moreover, 
 I will name a moderate, advantageous price! 
 Why not make the effort? Perhaps this is 
 still my star in the ascendant. . . . Done! 
 I '11 try!" 
 
 Polozoff conducted Sanin to one of the best 
 hotels in Frankfurt, in which, of course, he al- 
 ready occupied the best room. The tables and 
 chairs were loaded down with bandboxes, boxes, 
 bundles. . . . "All purchases for Marya Niko- 
 laevna, my dear fellow! " (IppoHt Sidorovitch's 
 wife was named Marya Nikolaevna.) Polozoff 
 sank into an easy-chair, groaned: " Ekh, how hot 
 it is!" and untied his neckcloth. Then he rang 
 for the head-waiter, and carefully ordered an 
 extremely abundant breakfast. " And let the 
 carriage be ready in an hour! Do you hear, in 
 precisely an hour!" 
 
 149
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 The head-waiter bowed obsequiously — and 
 withdrew in slavish fashion. 
 
 PolozofF unbuttoned his waistcoat. From the 
 way in which he elevated his eyebrows, panted 
 and wrinkled his nose, it could be seen that talk- 
 ing would be a great burden to him, and that he 
 was waiting, with some trepidation, to see 
 whether Sanin would force him to wag his 
 tongue, or would take upon himself the trouble 
 of carrying on the conversation. 
 
 Sanin understood his friend's frame of mind, 
 and consequently did not burden him with ques- 
 tions; he confined himself to the most indispen- 
 sable; he learned that he had been in the service 
 for two years already — ("in the Uhlans! just so; 
 he must look well, I should think, in that bob- 
 tailed uniform!") —had married three years pre- 
 viously, — and this was the second year he had 
 been abroad with his wife, " who was now taking 
 a cure for something or other in Wiesbaden " — 
 and then would set out for Paris. Sanin, on his 
 side, enlarged as little on his past life as on his 
 plans; he went straight to the principal point — 
 that is, he began to talk about his intention to 
 sell his estate. 
 
 Polozoif listened to him in silence, only cast- 
 ing a glance, from time to time, at the door, 
 whence breakfast must make its appearance. At 
 last the breakfast did make its appearance. 
 
 150
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 The head-waiter, accompanied by two other 
 servants, brought in several dishes under silver 
 covers. 
 
 " Is the estate in the Tula government? "—said 
 PolozofF, as he seated himself at the table, and 
 tucked a napkin into the collar of his shirt. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " In the Efrem district. ... I know." 
 
 "Dost thou know my Alexyeevko?" asked 
 Sanin, as he also seated himself at the table. 
 
 "Yes, of course I do."— PolozofF stuffed a 
 morsel of omelet with truffles into his mouth.— 
 " Mary a Nikolaevna— my wife— has an estate in 
 the neighbourhood .... uncork that bottle, 
 waiter! The soil is fairly good— onty, the peas- 
 ants have felled thy forest. And why art thou 
 selling it?" 
 
 " I need the money, mv dear fellow. I would 
 sell it cheap. Thou hadst better buy it . . . by 
 the way." 
 
 PolozofF gulped down a glass of wine, wiped 
 his mouth with his napkin and again set to chew- 
 ing—slowly and noisily. 
 
 " H'm— yes,"— he said at last. " I 'm not buy- 
 ing estates: I have no capital. Pass the butter. 
 Perhaps my wife will buy it. Do thou talk it 
 over with her. If thou dost not ask a great price 
 —she does not disdain that sort of thing. . . . 
 But what asses these Germans are! They don't 
 
 151
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 know how to boil fish. What could be simpler, 
 apparently? And yet they say: 'The Vaterland 
 must be united ! ' Waiter, take away this abomi- 
 nation!" 
 
 "Does thy wife really manage the property 
 herself?" inquired Sanin. 
 
 " Yes. Here, these cutlets are good. I recom- 
 mend them. I have already told thee, Dmitry 
 Pavlovitch, that I don't meddle with any of my 
 wife's affairs— and now I tell it to thee again." 
 
 Polozoff continued to munch. 
 
 " H'm. . . . But how can I talk it over with 
 her, Ippolit Sidoritch?" 
 
 "Why, very simply, Dmitry Pavlovitch. Go 
 to Wiesbaden. It 's not far from here. Waiter, 
 haven't you any English mustard? No? Beasts 1 
 Only, don't lose time. We are leaving the day 
 after to-morrow. Permit me, I will fill your 
 glass: the wine has a bouquet — 't is not sour 
 stuff." 
 
 Polozoff 's face had grown animated and crim- 
 son; it only grew animated when he ate ... or 
 drank. 
 
 " Really, I don't know how I can do that,"— 
 muttered Sanin. 
 
 "But why are you in such a hurry, all of a 
 sudden?" 
 
 " That 's it exactly, my dear fellow, I 'm in a 
 hurry." 
 
 " And is a large sum needed? " 
 
 152
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 "Yes. I . . . how shall I tell thee! I am 
 planning .... to get married." 
 
 Polozoff set on the table his wine-glass, which 
 he was in the act of raising to his lips. 
 
 " To get married? " — he said, in a hoarse voice 
 —hoarse with surprise,— laying his fat hands on 
 his belly. — " In such haste? " 
 
 "Yes . . . very soon." 
 
 " The bride is in Russia, of course?" 
 
 " No, she is not in Russia." 
 
 "Where then?" 
 
 "Here, in Frankfurt." 
 
 "And who is she?" 
 
 " A German ; that is to say, no— an Italian. A 
 resident of this town." 
 
 "With money?" 
 
 " Without money." 
 
 " So love is very strong? " 
 
 "How absurd thou art! Yes, it is strong." 
 
 " And thou needest money for that? " 
 
 "Well, yes .... yes, yes." 
 
 Polozoff swallowed his wine, rinsed out his 
 mouth, washed his hands, wiped them carefully 
 on his napkin, pulled out and lighted a cigar. 
 Sanin stared at him in silence. 
 
 " There is one means,"— bellowed Polozoff at 
 last, throwing back his head, and emitting a slen- 
 der stream of smoke. — " Go to my wife. If she 
 takes a fancy, she will disperse all thy difficulty 
 offhand." 
 
 153
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 "But how am I to see her, thy wdfe? Thou 
 sayest that thou art leaving the day after to- 
 morrow?" 
 
 PolozofF closed his eyes. 
 
 " See here, I '11 tell thee something,"— he said 
 at last, twisting his cigar about in his lips, and 
 heaving a sigh.— "Go home, dress thyself with 
 all speed— and come hither. In an hour I set out ; 
 my carriage is roomy— I'll take thee with me. 
 That 's the best way of all. But now I 'm going 
 to have a nap. I must always have a nap after 
 eating, my dear fellow. Nature demands it — 
 and I do not resist. And do not thou disturb 
 me. 
 
 Sanin pondered and pondered — and suddenly 
 raised his head ; he had come to a decision ! 
 
 " Well, very good, I accept— and I thank thee. 
 At half -past twelve I will be here — and we will 
 set out together for Wiesbaden. I hope thy wdfe 
 will not be angry. ..." 
 
 But PolozofF was already snoring. He stam- 
 mered: "Don't disturb me!" — waggled his legs, 
 and fell asleep like an infant. 
 
 Once more Sanin swept a glance over his 
 portly figure, his head, neck, his highly-elevated 
 chin as round as an apple — and, emerging from 
 the hotel ... he wended his way, with brisk 
 strides, to the Roselli confectionery shop. He 
 must forewarn Gemma. 
 
 154
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 XXXII 
 
 He found her in the shop, with her mother. 
 Frau Lenore was bending over, and with a small 
 folding foot-rule was measuring the space be- 
 tween the windows. On catching sight of Sanin, 
 she straightened up, and greeted him cheerily, yet 
 not without some confusion. 
 
 "Ever since your words of yesterday,"— she 
 began,— " ideas have been coursing round in my 
 head as to how we can improve our shop. Here, 
 now, I think we might place two small cases with 
 glass shelves ; you know, that is the fashion now. 
 And then, too. ..." 
 
 "Very good, very good . . . . " Sanin inter- 
 rupted her.— "We must think over all that. 
 . . . But come here, I have something to tell 
 you." He slipped his arms into Frau Lenore's 
 and Gemma's arms, and led them into the other 
 room. Frau Lenore was alarmed, and dropped 
 the foot-rule from her hand. Gemma was on 
 the point of being alarmed also, but took a closer 
 look at Sanin, and recovered her composure. His 
 face was anxious, it is true, but it expressed, 
 at the same time, animated courage and decision. 
 
 He begged the two women to sit down, and 
 stood in front of them— and gesticulating with 
 his hands, and ruffling up his hair, he told them 
 
 155
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 everything: his meeting with Polozoff, his pro- 
 jected trip to Wiesbaden, the possibiHty of sell- 
 ing his estate. — " Imagine my happiness," — he 
 exclaimed at last: "matters have taken such a 
 turn that possibly I may not even be obliged to 
 go to Russia! And we may celebrate the wed- 
 ding much sooner than I expected!" 
 
 " When must you go? " — asked G^mma. 
 
 *' This very day — an hour hence; my friend has 
 hired a carriage— he will take me." 
 
 " You will write to us? " 
 
 "Immediately! as soon as I have had a talk 
 with that lady— I will write instantly." 
 
 "That lady is very rich, you say?"— asked 
 practical Frau Lenore. 
 
 "Extremely! her father was a millionaire — 
 and left her everything." 
 
 " Everything— to her alone? Well— that 's 
 lucky for you! Only, look out, don't cheapen 
 your estate! Be sensible and firm. Don't get 
 carried away! I understand your wish to be- 
 come Gemma's husband as promptly as possible 
 .... but caution, before all else ! Don't forget 
 that the more dearly you sell your estate, the more 
 will remain for you two — and for your children." 
 
 Gemma turned away, and Sanin began again 
 to flourish his hands. — " You may feel assured of 
 my caution, Frau Lenore! But I am not going 
 to bargain. I will tell her the real price: if she 
 will give it— good; if she will not— I don't care." 
 
 156
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 "Are you acquainted with her— with that 
 lady?" asked Gemma. 
 
 " I have never set eyes on her." 
 
 "And when shall you return?" 
 
 " If our business comes to nothing— the day 
 after to-morrow; but if all goes well, I may be 
 obliged to stay an extra day or two. In any case, 
 I shall not linger a single moment. For am 
 not I leaving my soul behind me here ? However, 
 I have talked too long with you, and I must run 
 home before I start. . . . Give me your hand 
 for luck, Frau Lenore — we always do that in 
 Russia." 
 
 "The right or the left?" 
 
 " The left— it is nearer the heart. I will pre- 
 sent myself the day after to-morrow — with my 
 shield or on it! Something tells me I shall re- 
 turn a victor ! Good-bye, my kind, my dear . . . 
 ones. ..." 
 
 He embraced and kissed Frau Lenore, but 
 asked Gemma to come into her room with him 
 — for a moment — he must communicate to her 
 something very important. He simply wished to 
 take leave of her in private. Frau Lenore un- 
 derstood this— and did not seek to learn what 
 that very important thing was. . . . 
 
 Never before had Sanin been in Gemma's 
 chamber. All the enchantment of love, all its 
 fire, and rapture, and sweet dread— fairly flamed 
 up within him, and forced its way into his soul, 
 
 157
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 as soon as he crossed that sacred threshold. . . . 
 He cast a glance of emotion round about him, fell 
 at the feet of the dear girl, and pressed his face 
 to her form .... 
 
 "Thou art mine?"— she whispered— "thou 
 wilt return soon? " 
 
 "I am thine. ... I will return,"— he re- 
 peated, sighing. 
 
 " I w^ill wait for thee, my dear one! " 
 
 A few moments later, Sanin was running 
 along the street to his quarters. He did not even 
 notice that Pantaleone had sprung out of the 
 door of the confectioner}^ shop after him, all 
 dishevelled— and shouted something at him, and 
 shook his hand, raised high aloft, and, seemingly, 
 menaced him with it. 
 
 Precisely at a quarter to one, Sanin presented 
 himself to PolozofF. The carriage was already 
 standing at the gate of his hotel, ^\ith four horses 
 harnessed to it. And catching sight of Sanin, 
 Polozoff merely said: "Ah! he has made up his 
 mind? " and donning his hat, cloak and overshoes, 
 and stuffing cotton in his ears although it was 
 summer, he came out on the steps. The waiters, 
 at his command, arranged all his numerous pur- 
 chases inside the carriage, encircled the place 
 where he was to sit wuth silken cushions, little 
 bags, parcels, placed at his feet a box of pro- 
 visions and tied his trunk to the coachman's seat. 
 
 158
 
 SPRIXG FRESHETS 
 
 Polozoff paid his reckoning with a lavish hand, 
 — and although he was hoisted from behind, but 
 respectfully, bj^ the officious door-porter, he clam- 
 bered, grunting, into the carriage, took his seat, 
 stirred up everything around him thoroughly, se- 
 lected and lighted a cigar — and onl}^ then did he 
 beckon to Sanin with his finger, as much as to 
 say: " Get in also, thou!" Sanin seated himself 
 by his side. Polozoff, through the door-porter, 
 ordered the postilion to drive properly, if he 
 wished to get di'ink-money ; the carriage steps 
 rattled, the door slammed, the carriage rolled off. 
 
 XXXIII 
 
 From Frankfurt to Wiesbaden nowadays, by 
 the railway, is less than an hour's journey; at 
 that time, the extra-post managed to reach it in 
 three hours. The horses were changed five times. 
 Polozoff partly dozed, partly swayed about, 
 holding his cigar in his teeth, and talked very 
 little; he never once looked out of the window: 
 he took no interest in picturesque views, and even 
 announced that— "nature was death to him!" 
 Sanin also maintained silence, and also failed to 
 admire the views : he was not in a mood for that. 
 He surrendered himself wholly to meditations, 
 memories. At the posting-stations, Polozoff 
 paid accurately, took note of the time by his 
 watch, and rewarded the postilions — with little 
 
 159
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 or much— according to their zeal. At the middle 
 of the journey, he took two oranges from the box 
 of eatables, and, having chosen the best, he of- 
 fered the other to Sanin. Sanin gazed intently 
 at his fellow-traveller, and suddenly burst out 
 laughing. 
 
 " What art thou laughing at? "—asked the lat- 
 ter, carefully peeling the skin from the orange 
 with his short, white nails. 
 
 "What am I laughing at?" — repeated Sanin. 
 — " Why, at our journey." 
 
 *' What of it? "—queried PolozofF, in his turn, 
 dropping into his mouth, one after another, the 
 oblong portions into which the meat of an orange 
 divides. 
 
 " It 's very queer. Yesterday, I must confess, 
 I was thinking as little of thee as of the Emperor 
 of China, — and to-day I am driving with thee, to 
 sell my property to thy wife, of whom I have not 
 the slightest conception." 
 
 "All sorts of things happen,"— replied Polo- 
 zoff . " If thou only livest long enough, — thou 
 wilt see every sort of thing. For instance, canst 
 thou imagine me riding as an orderly-officer? 
 But I have; and the Grand Duke Mikhail Pav- 
 lovitch gave the command : ' At a trot, that fat 
 cornet is to ride at a trot I Hasten thy trot I ' " 
 
 Sanin scratched behind his ear. 
 
 " Tell me, please, Ippolit Sidoritch, what is 
 thy wife like? What sort of disposition has 
 
 160
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 she? For it is necessary that I should know, you 
 
 see. 
 
 It was all weU enough for him to command: 
 * At a trot! ' "—interposed PolozofF, with sudden 
 vehemence,— "but me, how about me? And I 
 thought : ' Take your ranks and epaulets to your- 
 self, I don't want them ! ' Yes . . . thou wert 
 asking about my wife? What 's my wife like? 
 —A human being, like everybody else. Don't 
 stir her up— she doesn't like that. The chief 
 thing is— talk as much as possible .... let 
 there be something to laugh at. Tell about your 
 love, for instance . . . and as amusingly as pos- 
 sible, you know." 
 
 "What dost thou mean by 'as amusingly as 
 possible'?" 
 
 " Why, just that. For thou hast told me that 
 thou art in love, that thou wishest to marry. 
 Well, then, describe it." 
 
 Sanin took oiFence.— " What dost thou find 
 ridiculous in that? " 
 
 PolozofF merely rolled his eyes about. The 
 juice from the orange was trickling down his 
 chin. 
 
 " Was it thy wife who sent thee to Frankfurt 
 to make purchases?"— asked Sanin a little while 
 later. 
 
 " She herself." 
 
 "What were those purchases?" 
 
 " Toys, of course." 
 
 161
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 "Toys? hast thou children?" 
 
 Polozoff even drew away from Sanin.— "The 
 idea! Why should I have any children? Femi- 
 nine gewgaws. . . . Finery. In the department 
 of the toilet." 
 
 " Art thou really an expert in that line? " 
 
 " I am." 
 
 "But didst not thou tell me that thou didst 
 not meddle with any of thy wife's affairs? " 
 
 "I don't meddle with anything else. But 
 this . . . does n't count. Out of tedium— I 
 may do that. And moreover, my wife has 
 confidence in my taste. And I 'm keen at bar- 
 gaining." 
 
 Polozoff began to talk brokenly: he was al- 
 ready fatigued. 
 
 " And is thy wife very rich? " 
 
 " Yes, she 's rich. Only, chiefly for herself." 
 
 " But, apparently, thou hast no cause for com- 
 plaint?" 
 
 " That 's why I 'm her husband. The idea of 
 my not getting the good of it ! And I 'm a useful 
 man to her: she finds it an advantage to have 
 me ! I 'm — convenient ! " 
 
 Polozoff wiped his face with a silk handker- 
 chief, and panted heavily; as much as to say: 
 " Spare me; don't make me utter any more words. 
 Thou seest how difficult it is for me." 
 
 Sanin left him in peace— and again plunged 
 into meditation. 
 
 162
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 The hotel in Wiesbaden before which the car- 
 riage drew up smacked of a regular palace. Lit- 
 tle bells immediately began to jingle in its depths, 
 a bustle and running to and fro arose; comely- 
 men, in black dress-suits, ran to the chief en- 
 trance; a door-porter, shimmering with gold, 
 threw open the carriage-door with a flourish. 
 
 PolozofF alighted like some conqueror, and be- 
 gan to ascend the staircase, all spread with car- 
 pet, and perfumed. A man, also capitally-well- 
 dressed, but with a Russian face, flew to meet him 
 — his valet. Polozofl" remarked to him that 
 henceforth he should always take him with him, 
 —for on the day before, in Frankfurt, he, Polo- 
 zofF, had been left for the night without warm 
 water! The valet depicted horror on his counte- 
 nance — and, bending alertly down, he removed 
 his master's overshoes. 
 
 " Is jNIarya Nikolaevna at home? " — asked P6- 
 lozoff". 
 
 " Yes, sir. She is dressing. She is going to 
 dine at Countess Lasunsky's." 
 
 "Ah! with that .... Stay! There are things 
 yonder in the carriage; take everything out thy- 
 self, and bring them in. And do thou, Dmitry 
 Pavlovitch," — added PolozofF, — " engage a room 
 for thyself, and come to me in three quarters of 
 an hour. We will dine together." 
 
 PolozofF went his way, and Sanin asked for 
 the plainest room they had; and having ad- 
 
 163
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 justed his toilet, and rested a little, he betook 
 himself to the vast suite of rooms occupied by his 
 Transparency (Durchlaucht), Prince von Polo- 
 zofF. 
 
 He found that " prince " seated in a sumptuous 
 velvet arm-chair, in the middle of the most mag- 
 nificent sort of a salon. Sanin's phlegmatic friend 
 had already managed to take a bath, and array 
 himself in the richest of satin dressing-gowns ; on 
 his head he had set a crimson fez. Sanin ad- 
 vanced to him, and surveyed him for a while. 
 Polozoif was sitting motionless as an idol ; he did 
 not even turn his face to one side, he did not even 
 move an eyebrow, he did not emit a sound. The 
 spectacle was, in very truth, majestic! After 
 having admired him for a couple of minutes, Sa- 
 nin was on the point of speaking, of breaking 
 that sacred silence — when suddenly the door 
 from an adjoining room opened, and on the 
 threshold appeared a young, handsome lady, in a 
 white silk gown trimmed with black lace, with 
 diamonds on her arms and on her neck — Mary a 
 Nikolaevna PolozofF in person! Her thick, 
 ruddy-gold hair fell on both sides of her head— 
 in tresses which were plaited but not pinned up. 
 
 XXXIV 
 
 " Akh, pardon me!" — she said, with a half -con- 
 fused, half -mocking smile, instantly seizing the 
 
 164
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 end of one plait in her hand, and riveting her 
 large, brilliant grey eyes on Sanin.~"I did not 
 think you had come yet." 
 
 " Sanin, Dmitry Pavloviteh, the friend of my 
 childhood," said Polozoff, as before— not turning 
 toward him, and not rising, but pointing at him 
 with his finger. 
 
 "Yes, I know. . . . Thou hast already told 
 me. I am very glad to make your acquaintance. 
 But I wanted to ask thee, Ippolit Sidoritch. . . . 
 My maid is rather stupid to-day . . . . " 
 
 "To pin up thy hair?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, please. Excuse me," — repeated 
 Marya Nikolaevna, with her former smile, 
 nodding her head at Sanin, and wheeling swiftly 
 round, disappeared through the door, leaving be- 
 hind her a fleeting but stately impression of a 
 charming neck, wonderful shoulders, a wonder- 
 ful figure. 
 
 PolozoiF rose, and waddling cumbrously, 
 passed through the same door. 
 
 Sanin did not, for one moment, doubt that his 
 presence in " Prince Polozoff 's " drawing-room 
 was known to its mistress; the whole trick lay 
 in displaying her hair, which really was fine. 
 Sanin even inwardly rejoiced at this prank on 
 Madame Polozoff's part: "If she wanted to as- 
 tound me," he said to himself, "to shine in my 
 presence — perhaps, who knows? she will be 
 yielding in the matter of the price of my estate." 
 
 165
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 His soul was so filled with Gemma that all other 
 women possessed no significance whatever for 
 him : he hardly noticed them ; and on this occasion 
 he confined himself to thinking: " Yes, I was told 
 the truth: she is a lady of the first quality! " 
 
 But had he not been in such an exceptional 
 spiritual condition, he would, in all probability, 
 have expressed himself differently: ^larya Ni- 
 kolaevna PolozofF, born Kolyshkin, was a very 
 remarkable person. Not that she was an acknow- 
 ledged beauty: the traces of her plebeian origin 
 were even quite distinctly visible. Her brow 
 was low, her nose somewhat fleshy and turned up, 
 she could boast neither delicacy of complexion, 
 nor elegance of hands and feet— but what did all 
 that matter? Not before " a goddess of beauty," 
 as Pushkin says, would any one pause who met 
 her, but before the powerful witchery of a bloom- 
 ing feminine body, not exactly Russian, nor j^et 
 exactly Gipsy .... and he would not have 
 paused involuntarily ! 
 
 But Gemma's image protected Sanin, like that 
 triple armour of which the poets sing. 
 
 Ten minutes later, Marya Nikolaevna made 
 her appearance again, accompanied by her 
 spouse. She went up to Sanin . . . and her 
 walk was such that some eccentric persons, in 
 those, alas! already distant days, would have 
 gone out of their minds at that walk alone. 
 " That woman, when she comes toward thee, 
 
 166
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 seems to be bringing the whole happiness of thy 
 life to meet thee," — one of them was wont to say. 
 She walked up to Sanin, offered him her hand, 
 said in her caressing and, as it were, repressed 
 voice, in Russian: "You will wait for me, will 
 you not? I shall return soon." 
 
 Sanin bowed respectfully, and Marya Niko- 
 laevna disappeared behind the portiere of the en- 
 trance door — and, as she vanished, turned her 
 head back, over her shoulder, — and smiled again, 
 and again left behind her a harmonious impres- 
 sion, as before. 
 
 When she smiled — not one, not two, but three 
 dimples made their appearance on each cheek — 
 and her eyes smiled more than her lips, than her 
 long, rosy, luscious lips, with two tiny moles on 
 the left side. 
 
 Polozoif lumbered into the room, — and again 
 placed himself in the easy-chair. He preserved 
 silence, as before; but a strange grin distended, 
 from time to time, his colourless and already 
 wrinkled cheeks. 
 
 He looked like an old man, although he was 
 only three years older than Sanin. 
 
 The dinner to which he treated his guest 
 would, of course, have satisfied the most exact- 
 ing gastronomist, but to Sanin it appeared in- 
 terminable, intolerable! PolozofF ate slowly, 
 " ^\ath feeling, with understanding, with pauses," 
 bending attentively over his plate, sniffing at al- 
 
 167
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 most every morsel: first he would rinse out his 
 mouth with wine, and then swallow and smack 
 his lips. . . And after the roast, he suddenly be- 
 gan to talk — but about what? About merino 
 sheep, a whole flock of which he was intending to 
 import, and in such detail, using constantly di- 
 minutive nouns, with such tenderness! After 
 drinking a cup of boiling hot coffee, — (he had 
 several times reminded the waiter, in a tearfully- 
 irritated voice, that he had been served on the 
 previous evening with cold coffee— cold as ice!) — 
 and having bitten off the tip of a Havana cigar 
 with his yellow, crooked teeth— he relapsed into 
 a doze, after his custom, to the great joy of Sa- 
 nin, who began to walk back and forth, with in- 
 audible footsteps, on the soft carpet— and 
 dream about how he would live with Gemma, 
 and with what news he should return to her. P6- 
 lozoff , however, awoke earlier than usual, accord- 
 ing to his own statement, — he had slept only an 
 hour and a half, — and having drunk a glass of 
 iced seltzer water, and swallowed about eight 
 spoonfuls of preserves, Russian preserves, which 
 his valet brought to him in a dark-green, genuine 
 "KiefF "^ glass jar, and without which, as he said, 
 he could not exist— he fixed his puffy eyes on 
 Sanin and asked him whether he would not like 
 to play at "fool" with him?^ Sanin gladly as- 
 
 'The preserves made in KiefF are famous.— Translatoh. 
 ^A very simple card game.— Translatoh. 
 
 168
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 sented; he was afraid that PolozofF might begin 
 to talk about the rams again, and about ewe 
 lambs, and nice little fat sheep-tails. Host and 
 guest went into the drawing-room, the waiter 
 brought cards,— and the game began, not for 
 money, as a matter of course. 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna found them at this inno- 
 cent diversion, when she returned from Countess 
 Lasiinsky's. 
 
 She laughed aloud, as soon as she entered the 
 room, and caught sight of the cards, and the out- 
 spread Vombre table. Sanin sprang up from his 
 seat, but she exclaimed: "Sit down, go on play- 
 ing.— I will change my gown, and return to you " 
 — and again vanished, rustling her dress, and 
 drawing off her gloves as she went. 
 
 She did, in fact, return very soon. She had 
 changed her festive array for a full, loose silk 
 gown, of lilac hue, with open, hanging sleeves ; a 
 thick, twisted cord encircled her waist. She 
 seated herself beside her husband,— and waiting 
 until he had been beaten, she said to him: " Come, 
 Puffy, that will do!"- (at the word "Puffy," 
 Sanin cast a glance of surprise at her— and she 
 smiled back gaily, answering his glance with a 
 glance, and displaying all the dimples in her 
 cheeks)— "that will do; I see that thou art 
 sleepy ; kiss my hand, and go to bed ; Mr. Sanin 
 and I will chat together." 
 
 "I'm not sleepy,"— said PolozofF, rising lum- 
 
 169
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 beringly from his chair, — " but as for going to bed 
 — I'll go, and I'll kiss thy hand." She offered 
 him her palm, without ceasing to smile and to 
 glance at Sanin. 
 
 PolozofF also glanced at him — and went off, 
 without saying good night. 
 
 " Come, tell me your story, tell me," — said 
 Marya Nikolaevna with animation, placing both 
 bare elbows simultaneously on the table, and im- 
 patiently tapping the nails of one hand against 
 the nails of the other. — " Are you really going to 
 be married, as I am told ? " 
 
 As she uttered these words, Marya Nikolaevna 
 even inclined her head a little on one side, in order 
 that she might look Sanin the more intently and 
 keenly in the eye. 
 
 XXXV 
 
 Madame Polozoff's free and easy behaviour 
 would, in all probability, have disconcerted Sanin 
 at first — although he was no novice, and had al- 
 ready rubbed up against people— if in that very 
 freedom and familiarity he had not discerned 
 another good omen for his enterprise. " I '11 hu- 
 mour the caprices of this wealthy lady," — he de- 
 cided in his own mind, — and answered her with 
 an unconstraint equal to that with which she had 
 put the question: — "Yes, I'm going to be mar-= 
 ried." 
 
 170
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " To whom? To a foreigner? " 
 les. 
 
 "You have not known her long? In Frank- 
 furt?" 
 
 " Exactly so." 
 
 "And who is she? May one inquire?" 
 
 " One may. She is the daughter of a confec- 
 tioner." 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna opened her eyes very 
 widely, and eleva^^ed her brows. 
 
 "Why, that is dehghtful,"— she said in a 
 drawling tone— "that's splendid! I had sup- 
 posed that there were no longer any such young 
 men as you in the world. The daughter of a con- 
 fectioner!" 
 
 " I see that that surprises you," — remarked 
 Sanin, not without dignity; "but, in the first 
 place, I have none of those prejudices . . . . " 
 
 ''In the first place, that does not surprise me 
 in the least,"— interrupted Marya Nikolaevna — 
 " I have no prejudices either. I myself am the 
 daughter of a peasant. Hey? What do you 
 think of that ? I am surprised and delighted that 
 here is a man who is not afraid to love. For you 
 do love her, I suppose? " 
 
 " Yes." . . 
 
 " Is she very handsome? " 
 
 Sanin winced a little at this last question. . . , 
 However, there was no drawing back now. 
 
 "You know, Marya Nikolaevna,"— he began 
 
 171
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 — " that to every man the face of his beloved ap- 
 pears superior to all others; but my bride is a 
 genuine beauty." 
 
 "Really? In what style? the Italian? the an- 
 tique?" 
 
 " Yes; she has very regular features." 
 
 "Have you her portrait with you?" 
 
 "No!" (At that date, there was no idea of 
 such a thing as photographs. Daguerreotypes 
 had hardly begun to be generally known. ) 
 
 " What is her name? " 
 
 "Her name is— Gemma." 
 
 "And what is yours?" 
 
 " Dmitry." 
 
 "And your patronymic?" 
 
 " Pavlovitch." 
 
 "Do you know,"— said Marya Nikolaevna, 
 still in the same drawling tone,—" I like you very 
 much, Dmitry Pavlovitch. You must be a fine 
 man. Come, give me your hand. Let us be 
 friends." 
 
 She pressed his hand warmly, with her 
 beautiful, white, strong fingers. Her hand 
 was somewhat smaller than his— but much 
 warmer and smoother, and softer and more 
 feminine. 
 
 " Only, do you know what has come into my 
 head?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "You will not be angry? No? She is your 
 
 172
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 betrothed bride, you say. But is that .... is 
 that imperatively necessary?" 
 
 Sanin frowned.—" I do not understand you, 
 Marya Nikolaevna." 
 
 Mary a Nikolaevna broke into a soft laugh — 
 and shaking her head, she tossed back her hair, 
 which had fallen over her face. — " Positively— 
 he is charming,"— she said, in a half -thoughtful, 
 half -absent-minded way.— "A knight! After 
 that, just believe, if you will, the people who 
 assert that all the idealists have died out!" 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna, all this while, had been 
 talking Russian in a wonderfully-pure, genuine 
 Moscow language— of a popular, not a noble 
 cast. 
 
 " You certainly must have been reared at home, 
 in an old-fashioned, God-fearing family? To 
 what government do you belong? " 
 
 " Tula." 
 
 "Well! then we are pigs of the same trough. 
 My father. . . . Of course, you know who my 
 father was?" 
 
 " Yes, I know." 
 
 "He was born in Tula. . . He was a Tula 
 man. Well, very good." (Marya Nikolaevna 
 pronounced that " very good " in petty-burgher 
 fashion, with deliberate intent — thus: 'kher- 
 shoo.)^ "Well, now let's get to business." 
 
 ^The usual pronunciation would be khoroshd — with the first 
 two o's resembling a'*.— Translator. 
 
 173
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " That is . . . what do you mean by getting 
 to business? What are you pleased to designate 
 by that?" 
 
 ISlsiTysL Nikolaevna narrowed her eyes. — 
 " Why, what did you come hither for? " (When 
 she narrowed her eyes, their expression became 
 very caressing and somewhat mocking ; but when 
 she opened them to their full extent, in their 
 brilliant, almost chilly gleam, there shone forth 
 something evil .... something menacing. Es- 
 pecial beauty was imparted to her eyes by her eye- 
 brows, which were thick, rather close together, 
 genuine sable brows.) " Do you wish me to buy 
 your estate? You need money for your wedding? 
 Isn't that the case?" 
 
 " Yes, I do need money." 
 
 " And do you require much? " 
 
 " For my first needs, I might content myself 
 with a few thousand francs. Your husband is 
 acquainted with my estate. You might consult 
 with him,— and I would ask a low price." 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna moved her head to the right 
 and to the \eft—'' In— the— first— place" she 
 began, pausing between her words, tapping the 
 flaps of Sanin's coat with her fingers — " I am not 
 accustomed to consult my husband, unless it be in 
 regard to my toilet— he's a fine hand at that; 
 and, in— the— second— place, why do you say 
 that you would set a low price on it? I do not 
 wish to take advantage of the fact that you are in 
 
 174
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 love, and ready to make any sacrifice. ... I will 
 accept no sacrifices from you. How would this 
 do? Instead of encouraging . . . well, how can 
 I best express it? noble sentiments in you, I am 
 to strip you bare as a linden-tree, am I ? ^ That 
 is not my habit. When it so happens, I do not 
 spare people — only, it is not in that way." 
 
 Sanin could in no wise understand whether she 
 was laughing at him, or talking seriously, and 
 merely thought to himself: " Oh, yes, one must be 
 on the alert with thee! " 
 
 A servant entered with a Russian samovar, a 
 tea-service, cream, rusks, and so forth, and a 
 large tray, set out all these blessings on the table 
 between Sanin and JNIadame PolozofF, — and 
 withdrew. 
 
 She poured him out a cup of tea. — " You will 
 not disdain it?" — she asked, dropping the sugar 
 into the cup with her fingers, although the 
 sugar-tongs lay there at hand. 
 
 "Good gracious, no! . . . From such a lovely 
 hand ..." 
 
 He did not finish the phrase, and almost choked 
 himself with a mouthful of tea, while she gazed 
 attentively and brightly at him. 
 
 *' I mentioned a low price for my estate,"— he 
 went on, — "because, as you are now abroad, I 
 
 ^ The linden Is stripped of its bark to make plaited peasant-slip- 
 pers, bath-sponges, and mat-sacks — corresponding to burlaps — in 
 which everything from cherries to sheet-iron is wrapped.— Tbans- 
 
 LATOR, 
 
 175
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 cannot assume that you have much ready cash, 
 and, in conclusion, I feel myself that the sale 
 ... or purchase of an estate, under such condi- 
 tions—is something abnormal, and that I ought 
 to take that into consideration." 
 
 Sanin became confused, and lost his head, but 
 Marya Nikolaevna leaned back quietly against 
 the back of her chair, crossed her arms, and gazed 
 at him with the same intent and brilliant glance 
 as before. At last, he ceased speaking. 
 
 "Never mind; go on, go on talking,"— she 
 said, as though coming to his assistance : " I am 
 listening to you— I find it agreeable to listen to 
 you; speak on." 
 
 Sanin began to describe his estate, the number 
 of desyatinas ^ it contained, where it was situated, 
 and what profits could be derived from it ... . 
 he even alluded to the picturesque location of the 
 manor-house; and Marya Nikolaevna gazed and 
 gazed at him, with ever-increasing brightness and 
 intentness, and her lips moved slightly, without 
 a smile : she was biting them. He felt awkward, 
 at last; he relapsed into silence for the second 
 time. 
 
 "Dmitry Pavlovitch," began Marya Nikola- 
 evna— and grew pensive. . . . "Dmitry Pav- 
 lovitch,"— she repeated.— " See here: I am con- 
 vinced that the purchase of your estate would be 
 a very profitable affair for me, and that we shall 
 
 ^A desyatina is 2.70 acres. --Thanslatob. 
 
 176
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 come to an agreement ; but you must give me two 
 days,— yes, two days' grace. You can bear sep- 
 aration from your betrothed for a couple of days, 
 I suppose? I will not detain you longer, against 
 your will — I give you my word of honour. But if 
 you now need five or six thousand francs, I am 
 ready to lend them to you, with great pleasure— 
 and we will settle the account later on." 
 
 Sanin rose.—" I must thank you, Marya Ni- 
 kolaevna, for your kind and amiable readiness to 
 be of service to a man who is almost a stranger 
 to you. . . . But if you imperatively insist, then 
 I prefer to await your decision as to my estate— 
 I will remain here two days." 
 
 "Yes; I do, Dmitry Pavlovitch. And will it 
 be very oppressive for you? Very? Tell me." 
 
 " I love my betrothed, Marya Nikolaevna— it 
 is not easy for me to be parted from her." 
 
 " Akli, you man of gold! "—ejaculated Marya 
 Nikolaevna with a sigh. "I promise not to 
 weary you too much. Are you going? " 
 
 " It is late,"— remarked Sanin. 
 
 "And you must rest after the journey— and 
 from the game at 'fool' with my husband. 
 Tell me— are you and Ippoh't Sidoritch, my hus- 
 band, great friends? " 
 
 "We were brought up in the same boarding- 
 school." 
 
 "And was he like that then?" 
 
 "Like what?"— inquired Sanin. 
 
 177
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Maiya Nikolaevna suddenly burst out laugh- 
 ing, and laughed until her whole face was crim- 
 son, raised her handkerchief to her lips, rose from 
 her chair,— and swaying, as with fatigue, she 
 advanced to Sanin, and oiFered him her hand. 
 He bowed — and went toward the door, 
 " Be so good as to present yourself very early 
 to-morrow, — do you hear?"— she called after 
 him. He glanced back, as he quitted the room — 
 and perceived that she had dropped into her arm- 
 chair once more, and had thrown both arms be- 
 hind her head. The wide sleeves of her wrapper 
 fell back almost to her shoulders— and it was im- 
 possible not to acknowledge that the pose of 
 those arms, that whole figure, was enchantingly 
 beautiful. 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 The lamp in Sanin's room burned long after 
 midnight. He sat at his table, writing to "his 
 Gemma." He told her everything; he described 
 to her the Polozoffs — husband and wife — but en- 
 larged chiefly on his own feelings,— and ended 
 by appointing a tryst three days hence ! ! ! ( with 
 three exclamation points). Early in the morn- 
 ing, he took that letter to the post, and went for 
 a stroll in the garden of the Kurhaus, where the 
 music was already playing. There were few 
 people as yet ; he stood for a while in front of the 
 
 178
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 arbour in which the orchestra was located, listened 
 to a potpourri from "Robert le Diable,"— and 
 after drinking coffee, he betook himself to a 
 lonely side-alley, sat down on a benJi, — and fell 
 into thought. 
 
 The handle of a parasol tapped him briskly— 
 and rather vehemently— on the shoulder. He 
 started. ... In front of him, in a light-green 
 barege gown, a white tulle hat, and suede gloves, 
 fresh and rosy as a summer morning, but with the 
 softness of untroubled slumber not yet vanished 
 from her movements and her glance, stood Marya 
 Nikolaevna. 
 
 " Good morning," said she. " I sent for you 
 this morning, but you had already gone out. I 
 have only just drunk my second glass— they 
 make me drink the water here, you know— God 
 knows why . . . am not I well? And so I must 
 walk for a whole hour. Will you be my com- 
 panion? And then we will drink coffee." 
 
 "I have already drunk mine,"— said Sanin, 
 rising; "but I shall be very glad to walk with 
 you." 
 
 " Well, then give me your arm. . . . Have no 
 fear; your betrothed is not here— she will not see 
 
 you." 
 
 Sanin smiled constrainedly. He experienced 
 an unpleasant sensation every time that Marya 
 Nikolaevna mentioned Gemma. Nevertheless, 
 he bowed hastily and obediently .... Marya 
 
 179
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Nikolaevna's arm sank slowly and softly on his 
 arm,— and slid along it, and, as it were, clung 
 to it. 
 
 " Let us go in this direction,"— she said to him, 
 throwing her open parasol over her shoulder. 
 " I am quite at home in this park: I will lead you 
 to the pretty spots. And do you know what (she 
 frequently used these words)— "you and I will 
 not talk about that purchase now ; we will discuss 
 it thoroughly after breakfast; but now you must 
 tell me about yourself . . . that I may know 
 with whom I am dealing. And afterward, if you 
 hke, I will tell you about myself. Do you 
 agree?" 
 
 "But, Marya Nikolaevna, what interest can 
 you take . . . . " 
 
 " Stop, stop. You did not understand me 
 rightly. I do not wish to flirt with you."— 
 Marya Nikolaevna shrugged her shoulders.— 
 " He has a bride like an antique statue, and I will 
 flirt with him! But you have wares— and I am a 
 merchant. And I want to know what wares you 
 have. Come, then, show what they are like! I 
 want to know, not only what I am buying, but 
 the person from whom I am buying. That was 
 my father's rule. Come, begin. . . Well, if not 
 with your childhood— here now— have you been 
 long abroad? And where have you been up to 
 the present time? Only, walk more slowly— 
 there is no need for us to hurry." 
 
 180
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " I came hither from Italy, where I spent sev- 
 eral months." 
 
 " And everything Italian has, evidently, a spe- 
 cial attraction for j^ou? 'Tis strange that you 
 did not find the object of your affections there. 
 Are you fond of art? of pictures? or are you 
 more fond of music?" 
 
 " I am fond of art. . . . And I love all that is 
 beautiful." 
 
 "And music?" 
 
 " And music also." 
 
 "And I don't love it at all. Only Russian 
 songs please me — and that in the country, in 
 spring — with dancing, you know. . . . Red cot- 
 ton gowns, pearl fringes on the headdresses, the 
 young grass in the pastures, an odour of smoke 
 . . . splendid! But the question is not of me. 
 Speak, narrate." 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna rambled on, and kept 
 glancing at Sanin. She was tall — her face came 
 almost on a level with his face. 
 
 He began to narrate — at first reluctantly, 
 bunglingly — but afterward he talked a great 
 deal, even chattered. INIarya Xikolaevna listened 
 in a very clever way ; and moreover, she appeared 
 to be so frank herself that she involuntarily 
 evoked frankness in others. She possessed that 
 great gift of "familiarity"—/^ terrible don 
 de la familiarite, — to which Cardinal Retz al- 
 ludes. Sanin talked about his travels, his so- 
 
 181
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 journ in Petersburg, his youth. . . . Had Marya 
 Nikolaevna been a fashionable lady, with refined 
 manners, he never would have let himself go like 
 that; but she called herself "a good fellow, who 
 would not tolerate any ceremony"; those were 
 precisely the words in which she described herself 
 to Sanin. And, at the same time, the " good fel- 
 low" walked beside him with a catlike tread, 
 slightly leaning toward him, and gazing up into 
 his face; — and in the form of a young person of 
 the female sex, from whom emanated that intoxi- 
 cating and languorous, quiet and burning seduc- 
 tion, wherewith certain Slavonic natures— and 
 those not the pure ones, but with the proper ad- 
 mixture—are able to torment us weak, sinful 
 men! 
 
 Sanin's stroll with Marya Nikolaevna, Sanin's 
 chat with Marya Nikolaevna, lasted more than 
 an hour. And never once did they halt; they 
 kept on walking, walking along the endless alleys 
 of the park, now ascending a hill, and admiring 
 the view, now descending into a valley, and hid- 
 ing themselves in impenetrable shadow — and all 
 the time arm in arm. At intervals, Sanin even 
 felt vexed with himself: never had he walked so 
 long with Gemma, his dear G^mma .... and 
 here, this lady had simply taken possession of 
 him — and that was all there was to say ! — 
 "Aren't you tired?"— he asked her once. — "I 
 am never tired," — she replied. Once in a while, 
 
 182
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 they met other ramblers; ahnost all of them 
 bowed to her,— some respectfully, others even 
 with servility. To one of them, a very handsome, 
 foppishly attired dark-haired man, she called 
 from a distance, in the very best Parisian accent : 
 " Comie, vous swoez, il ne faut pas venir me voir 
 —ni aujourdfhui, ni demainJ" The man doffed 
 his hat, in silence, and made her a profound 
 salute. 
 
 "Who is that?"— asked Sanin, in accordance 
 with the bad habit peculiar to all Russians, " ask- 
 ing curious questions." 
 
 "That? A Frenchman— there are a lot of 
 them roaming about here. . . . He . . . also 
 is an admirer of mine. But it is time to drink 
 coffee. Let us go home; I think you must be 
 starved by this time. My hubby ^ must have got 
 his peepers opened by now." 
 
 "Hubby! peepers!" Sanin repeated to him- 
 self. ..." And she speaks French so capitally. 
 . . . What a queer person 1 " 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna was not mistaken. When 
 she and Sanin reached the hotel,— her "hubby" 
 or " Puffy " was already seated, with his inevi- 
 table fez on his head, at a table spread for 
 breakfast. 
 
 "I've been waiting for thee this long time!" 
 
 * Untranslatable. Literally, " My orthodox 
 believer." — Trakslatoe. 
 
 183
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 he exclaimed, with a sour visage. " I was just 
 about to drink coffee without thee." 
 
 " Never mind, never mind," — responded 
 Mary a Nikolaevna gaily. — "Art thou angry? 
 That 's healthy for thee : otherwise, thou wouldst 
 congeal altogether. Here, I have brought a 
 guest. Ring at once! Let me drink coiFee — the 
 very best coffee— in Saxony cups, on a snow- 
 white table-cloth ! " 
 
 She threw off her hat, her gloves, and clapped 
 her hands. Polozoff darted a sidelong glance at 
 her. 
 
 " What made you gallop about so long to-day, 
 Marya Nikolaevna?" — he said, in an undertone. 
 
 " That 's no affair of yours, Ippolit Sidoritch! 
 Ring the bell! Sit down, Dmitry Pavlovitch— 
 and drink coffee for the second time ! Akh ! how 
 jolly it is to give orders! There is no other plea- 
 sure on earth ! " 
 
 "When people obey,"— growled her husband 
 again. 
 
 "Precisely, when people obey! That's why I 
 find it jolly. Especially with thee. Is n't that so, 
 Puffy? And here comes the coffee." 
 
 On the huge tray with which the waiter made 
 his appearance, lay also the theatrical programme. 
 Marya Nikolaevna seized it. 
 
 "A drama!" — she ejaculated with indigna- 
 tion: — "German drama. Never mind; that's 
 better than German comedy. Order a box to be 
 
 184
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 engaged for me — a baignoire— or no . . . the 
 Fremden-loge will be better,"— she said to the 
 waiter. " Do you hear: the Fremden-loge^ with- 
 out fail!" 
 
 " But what if the Fremden-loge is already 
 taken by his Excellency the town-director— 
 {Seine Eoccellenz der Herr Stadt-Director) ?"— 
 the waiter ventured to observe. 
 
 " Give his Excellency ten thalers— and let me 
 have the box! Do you hear! " 
 
 The waiter bowed his head submissively and 
 sadly. 
 
 " Dmitry Pavlovitch, will you go to the theatre 
 with me? the German actors are horrible, — but 
 you will go. . . . Yes? Yes! How amiable you 
 are! Thou wilt not go, wilt thou, Puffy?" 
 
 "As thou commandest," — said PolozofF into 
 his cup, which he was raising to his mouth. 
 
 "Dost know what: stay here. Thou always 
 fallest asleep in the theatre, — and thou under- 
 standest German badly. This is what thou hadst 
 better do: write a reply to the steward — thou re- 
 memberest, about our mill . . . about the peas- 
 ants' grinding. Tell him that I won't, I won't, 
 I won't! There's occupation for thee, for the 
 whole evening." 
 
 " I obey," — remarked Polozoff. 
 
 "Well, very good indeed. Thou art a clever 
 dear. And now, gentlemen, seeing that we have 
 mentioned the steward, let us discuss our main 
 
 185
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 business. As soon as the waiter has cleared the 
 table, you shall tell us everything about your es- 
 tate, Dmitry Pavlovitch — what, how, at what 
 price you will sell it, how much earnest-money 
 you want in advance, — in a word, everything!" 
 ("At last!" thought Sanin,-" thank God!")- 
 " You have already communicated to me some 
 details ; you described your park splendidly, I re- 
 member — but PuiFy was not present. . . . Let 
 him hear about it — he always finds some fault! 
 It is very pleasant to me to think that I can help 
 on your marriage — and I promised you that we 
 would occupy ourselves with you after breakfast ; 
 and I always keep my promises;— isn't that so, 
 Ippolit Sidoritch?" 
 
 PolozoiF rubbed his face with the palm of his 
 hand. — "What is true is true; you deceive no 
 one." 
 
 "Never! and I never will deceive any one. 
 Come, Dmitry Pavlovitch,— state the case, as we 
 express ourselves in the senate." 
 
 XXXVII 
 
 Sanin set to work to " state the case," — that is, 
 to describe his estate again, for the second time, 
 but on this occasion, without touching on the 
 beauties of nature— and from time to time ap- 
 pealing to PolozofF for confirmation of the 
 "facts and figures" quoted. But Polozoff 
 
 186
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 merely grinned and shook his head— whether in 
 approbation or disapprobation, was a point which, 
 apparently, the devil himself could not have de- 
 termined. However, Marya Nikolaevna did not 
 need his sympathy. She displayed such commer- 
 cial and administrative capacities as could but 
 evoke amazement ! The most petty details of estate 
 management were excellently well known to her ; 
 she put accurate questions about everything, she 
 ventured into everything; her every word hit the 
 mark, placed the dot directly on the i. Sanin had 
 not anticipated such an examination: he had not 
 prepared himself. And this examination lasted 
 for a whole hour and a half. Sanin experienced 
 all the sensations of a criminal on trial, seated on 
 the narrow bench before a stern, a keen judge. 
 " Why, this is an inquisition! " he whispered anx- 
 iously to himself. Marya Nikolaevna laughed 
 the whole time, as though she were jesting: but 
 Sanin derived no relief from that; and when, in 
 the course of the " inquisition," it appeared that 
 he did not understand quite clearly the words 
 "repartition" and "tillage"— he fairly broke 
 into perspiration. 
 
 "Well, very good!"— said Marya Nikolaevna 
 decisively at last. " Now I know about your es- 
 tate. What price do you fix per soul?" (At 
 that time, as every one knows, the price of estates 
 was fixed according to the number of serfs.) 
 
 " Why .... I think ... I cannot take less 
 
 187
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 than five hundred rubles " — articulated Sanin 
 with difficulty. (Oh, Pantaleone, Pantaleone, 
 where art thou? Here's the point where thou 
 shouldst have cried out once more: '' BarbarU") 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna rolled her eyes heavenward, 
 as though absorbed in thought. 
 
 " Certainly,"— she said at last. " That price 
 seems to me unobjectionable. But I stipulated 
 for two days' grace, — and you must wait until to- 
 morrow. I think we shall come to terms— and 
 then you shall say how much cash down you want. 
 But now, hasta cost!" — she interpolated, perceiv- 
 ing that Sanin was on the point of making some 
 reply.— "We have occupied ourselves enough 
 with the despicable metal ... a demain les af- 
 faires! Do you know what: I will let you go 
 now . . . . " (she glanced at an enamelled watch 
 which was thrust into her belt) .... "until 
 three o'clock ... I must give you time to rest. 
 Go, play at roulette." 
 
 " I never play at gambling games,"— remarked 
 Sanin. 
 
 " Really? why, you are the pink of perfection! 
 But I do not play either. It is foolish to fling 
 one's money to the winds— on a certainty. But 
 go into the gaming-room, look at the physiogno- 
 mies. There are some very amusing ones. There 
 is one old woman there, with a gold chain on her 
 forehead, and moustaches— a marvel I One of our 
 princes is there — he's nice also. A majestic fig- 
 
 188
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 ure, a nose like an eagle's beak, and he puts on a 
 thaler— and crosses himself on the sly under his 
 waistcoat. Read the newspapers, walk about, in 
 short, do whatever you like. . . . And at three 
 o'clock I shall expect you . . . , de pied ferme. 
 We must dine early. The theatre with these ri- 
 diculous Germans begins at half -past six."— She 
 offered him her hand. — "Sans rancune, n'est-ce 
 pas?'' 
 
 " Good gracious, Marya Nikolaevna, why 
 should I be vexed with you?" 
 
 " Because I have been torturing you. Wait, 
 I'll do it in a different way" — she added, nar- 
 rowing her eyes,— and all her dimples came into 
 sight simultaneously in her flushed cheeks.— 
 " Until we meet again! " 
 
 Sanin bowed and left the room. A merry 
 laugh rang out behind him— and in a mirror, 
 which he was passing at the moment, the follow- 
 ing scene was reflected: Marya Nikolaevna was 
 pushing her husband's fez down over his eyes, and 
 be was resisting with both hands. 
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 Oh, how deeply and joyously did Sanin draw 
 breath, as soon as he found himself in his own 
 chamber! In point of fact, Marya Nikolaevna 
 had spoken the truth, when she had said that he 
 ought to rest,- to rest from all those new ac- 
 
 189
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 quaintances, encounters, conversations, from that 
 haze which had got into his head, his soul; from 
 that unexpected, unsought friendship with a wo- 
 man who was so foreign to him! And when was 
 all this taking place? Almost on the very day 
 after the one on which he had learned that Gemma 
 loved him, that he had become her betrothed hus- 
 band! Why, that was sacrilege! A thousand 
 times he mentally asked forgiveness of his pure, 
 unspotted dove — although, as a matter of fact, he 
 could not accuse himself of anything; a thou- 
 sand times he kissed the little cross which had 
 been given to him. Had he not had a hope of 
 bringing to a speedy and successful end the af- 
 fair for which he had come to Wiesbaden,— he 
 would have rushed headlong thence, back to dear 
 Frankfurt, to that precious house, now already a 
 home to him, to her, to her beloved feet. . . . But 
 there was nothing to be done! He must drain 
 the phial to the bottom, he must dress himself, 
 go to dinner — and thence to the theatre. ... If 
 she would only release him as promptly as pos- 
 sible on the morrow ! 
 
 One other thing troubled him, enraged him: 
 he had thought with love, with emotion, with no- 
 ble rapture of Gemma, of life in her society, of 
 the happiness which was awaiting him in the fu- 
 ture — and yet this strange woman, this INIadame 
 Polozoff, kept importunately hovering — bobbing 
 up ... . precisely that, Sanin expressed him- 
 
 190
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 self with peculiar viciousness— foo&&m^ up in 
 front of his eyes— and he could not rid himself of 
 her image, he could not help hearing her voice and 
 recalling her speeches — he could not even help 
 being conscious of that peculiar perfume, deli- 
 cate, fresh, and penetrating, like the perfume of 
 yellow lilies, which emanated from her garments. 
 That lady was plainly making a fool of him, and 
 making advances to him in all sorts of ways. . . . 
 Why? what did she want? Could it be the mere 
 whim of a spoiled, rich, and almost immoral wo- 
 man? And that husband? What sort of a crea- 
 ture was he? What were his relations to her? 
 Why did those questions crawl into the head of 
 him, Sanin, who really cared nothing whatever 
 for Mr. PolozofF or his wife? Why could not 
 he banish that pertinacious image, even when he 
 turned, with all his soul, to another, as bright and 
 clear as God's day? How dared those features 
 shine through those others, which were almost 
 divine? And they not only did shine through — 
 they smiled audaciously. Those grey, rapacious 
 eyes, those dimples on the cheeks, those snaky 
 locks of hair — and could it be that all this had, as 
 it were, cloven fast to him, and was he unable to 
 shake off, to cast aside all this? 
 
 Nonsense ! nonsense I to-morrow everything will 
 disappear and leave no trace. . . . But will she 
 release him to-morrow? 
 
 Yes, he put all these questions to himself — and 
 
 191
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 time began to wear on toward three o'clock — and 
 he donned his black dress-coat, and after stroll- 
 ing for a while in the park, he went to the 
 PolozofFs'. 
 
 He found in their drawing-room a secretary of 
 legation, a German, a long, long, blond, with a 
 horse-like profile, and his hair parted in the mid- 
 dle behind— (that was still in fashion at that 
 date)— and ... oh, wondrous to relate! whom 
 else? von Donhof, that same officer with whom 
 he had fought a few days previously! He had 
 not in the least expected to meet him in that par- 
 ticular place— and he involuntarily grew embar- 
 rassed, but saluted him, nevertheless. 
 
 "Are you acquainted?"— asked Marya Niko- 
 laevna, whom Sanin's confusion did not escape. 
 
 " Yes ... I have already had the honour,"— 
 articulated von Donhof— and bending slightly 
 in the direction of Marya Nikolaevna, he added, 
 with a smile: " This is the very man. . . . Your 
 fellow-countryman . , . . the Russian . . . . " 
 
 "It cannot be!"— she exclaimed in an under- 
 tone, shaking her finger at him— and immedi- 
 ately began to dismiss both him and the long sec- 
 retary, who, by all the signs, was dead in love 
 with her— for he even opened his mouth every 
 time he looked at her. Donhof withdrew imme- 
 diately, with amiable submissiveness, like a friend 
 of the family, who understands at half a word 
 
 192
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 what is required of him ; the secretary tried to be 
 stubborn, but Marya Nikolaevna sent him away 
 without any ceremony whatever. 
 
 " Go to your reigning personage," she said to 
 him (there dwelt in Wiesbaden at that time a 
 certain Principessa di Monaco, who bore a won- 
 derful resemblance to a wretched woman of the 
 half -world) — "why should you sit with such a 
 plebeian as I am? " 
 
 " Upon my word, madame,"— the unfortunate 
 secretary assured her, — " all the princesses in the 
 world. ..." 
 
 But Marya Nikolaevna was merciless— and 
 the secretary took himself and his hair-parting 
 off. 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna had arrayed herself very 
 much to her " advantage " — as our grandmothers 
 were wont to say — on that day. She wore a 
 gown of rose-coloured glace silk, with lace a la 
 Fontanges, and a huge diamond in each ear. 
 Her eyes were as brilliant as the diamonds: she 
 seemed to be in high spirits. 
 
 She made Sanin sit beside her, and began to 
 talk to him about Paris, whither she was prepar- 
 ing to go within a few days ; about how the Ger- 
 mans bored her, that they were stupid when they 
 were wise, and inopportunely wise when they 
 were stupid; — and all at once, straight out— a 
 brule pour point — she asked him whether it were 
 true that he had fought a duel recently, for the 
 
 193
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 sake of a lady, with that officer who had just been 
 sitting there ? 
 
 "How do you know about that?"— muttered 
 the astounded Sanin. 
 
 " The earth is filled with the sound thereof, 
 Dmitry Pavlovitch; but I know that you were in 
 the right, a thousandfold in the right — and be- 
 haved like a true knight. Tell me — that lady — 
 was your betrothed? " 
 
 Sanin contracted his brows slightly. . . 
 
 " Come, I will not, I will not do it again," — 
 said Marya Nikolaevna hastily. " It is disagree- 
 able to you ; forgive me, I won't do so again ! do 
 not be angry ! " Polozoff made his appearance 
 from the adjoining room, with a sheet of news- 
 paper in his hands. 
 
 " What do you want? Is dinner ready? " 
 
 "Dinner will be served directly, and just see 
 what I have read in the Northern Bee .... 
 Prince Gromoboy is dead." 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna raised her head. 
 
 " Ah ! The kingdom of heaven be his ! Every 
 year," she said, turning to Sanin, " in February, 
 on my birthday, he used to decorate all my rooms 
 with camellias. But it is not worth while to live 
 in Petersburg during the winter for that. He 
 was over seventy, was n't he?"— she asked her 
 husband. 
 
 " Yes. His funeral is described in the paper. 
 The whole court was present. And here are 
 Prince Kovrizhkin's verses on the event." 
 
 194
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " Well, that 's splendid." 
 
 " I '11 read them aloud, if you like? The prince 
 calls him a man of counsel." 
 
 " No, I would n't like. He a man of counsel 
 indeed! He was simply the husband of Tatyana 
 Yiirievna. Let's eat our dinner. The living 
 man thinks of living things. Dmitry Pavlovitch, 
 your arm." 
 
 The dinner, like that of the preceding evening, 
 was amazing, and passed off in very lively style. 
 Marya Nikolaevna had a talent for narration 
 .... a rare gift in a woman, and still more so 
 in a Russian woman ! She did not stand on cere- 
 mony as to her expressions, and her fellow-coun- 
 trymen, in particular, caught it heavily. More 
 than once Sanin was forced to laugh heartily at 
 some audacious and well-aimed remark. The 
 thing which Marya Nikolaevna could endure 
 least was hypocrisy, empty phrases and lying. 
 . . . She found this almost everywhere. She made 
 a display, as it were, and boasted of the lowly 
 sphere in which her life had begun : she imparted 
 decidedly strange anecdotes about her parents, in 
 their youthful days; she called herself as much 
 of a clodhopper as Natalya Kirilovna Narysh- 
 kin.^ It became evident to Sanin, that she had 
 gone through much more, in her day, than the 
 great majority of her countiy women. 
 
 ^ The mother of Peter the Great, through whose alliance with 
 Tzar Alex^i Mikhailovitch the Naryshkins (said to have descended 
 from a Crimean Tatar) first came into prominence. — Teanslatoe. 
 
 195
 
 SPRIXG FRESHETS 
 
 But Polozoff ate thoughtfully, drank atten- 
 tively, only occasionally darting a glance, now at 
 his wife, again at Sanin, with his whitish, ap- 
 parently blind, but, in reality, extremely keen- 
 sighted eyes. — "What a clever dear thou art!" 
 —exclaimed Marya Nikolaevna, turning toward 
 him: "how well thou hast executed all my com- 
 missions in Frankfurt ! I 'd like to give thee a 
 kiss on thy dear little brow — but thou dost not 
 care for that from me." 
 
 " No, I don't,"— replied PolozoiF, as he cut up 
 an orange with a silver knife. 
 
 Marya Xikolaevna looked at him, and 
 drummed on the table with her fingers. 
 
 " So our wager holds good? " — she said signifi- 
 cantly. 
 
 " It does." 
 
 " All right. Thou wilt lose." 
 
 Polozoff thrust his chin forward.— "Well, 
 don't be too sure of thyself this time, Marya Ni- 
 kolaevna, for my opinion is that thou wilt be the 
 loser." 
 
 " What is the wager about? May I know? "— 
 asked Sanin. 
 
 " No .... it is impossible at present," — re- 
 plied ISIarya Nikolaevna, with a laugh. 
 
 The clock struck seven. The waiter an- 
 nounced that the carriage was at the door. 
 Polozoff escorted his wife to the door, and 
 immediately returned to his easy-chair. 
 
 196
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 "See to it that thou dost not forget the letter 
 to the steward!" — Marya Nikolaevna called to 
 him from the antechamber. 
 
 "I'll write it; don't worry. I'm an accurate 
 
 man." 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 In the year 1840 the theatre at Wiesbaden was 
 not only wretched as to exterior, but its troupe, in 
 their pomposity and miserable mediocrity, their 
 diligent and commonplace routine, did not rise 
 by so much as a hair's-breadth above the level 
 which, down to the present day, may be regarded 
 as normal for all German theatres, and of which 
 the troupe in Carlsrulie, under the " celebrated " 
 direction of Herr Devrient, has of late presented 
 the most perfect example. Behind the box en- 
 gaged for "her Transparency Madame von 
 PolozofF" (the Lord only knows how the waiter 
 had procured it — whether he had not, as an actual 
 fact, bribed the Stadt-Director!) — behind this 
 box was a little room with small divans set all 
 around the walls. Before entering it, Marya Ni- 
 kolaevna asked Sanin to raise the little shades 
 which separated the box from the theatre. 
 
 " I do not wish to be seen," — said she, — " for in 
 that case, people will make their way hither im- 
 mediately." She also placed him beside her, with 
 his back to the auditorium, so that the box ap- 
 peared to be empty. 
 
 197
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 The orchestra played the overture to the 
 "Nozze di Figaro." .... The curtain rose; the 
 play began. 
 
 It was one of the numerous home-made pro- 
 ductions, in which well-read but talentless au- 
 thors, in choice but deadly dull language, assidu- 
 ously but clumsily set forth some " profound " or 
 " palpitating " idea, presented a so-called tragic 
 conflict, and induced a tedium . . . fairly Asi- 
 atic, like the Asiatic cholera ! Marya Nikolaevna 
 listened patiently to half of one act, but when the 
 first lover, on learning of the treachery of his be- 
 loved (he was dressed in a cinnamon-brown frock- 
 coat, with " puiFs " and a velveteen collar, a 
 striped waistcoat with mother-of-pearl buttons, 
 green trousers with boot-straps of patent-leather, 
 and white wash-leather gloves) ,— when that 
 lover, resting both clenched fists on his breast, 
 and protruding his elbows in front of him 
 in an acute angle, began to howl exactly like 
 a dog— Marya Nikolaevna could endure it no 
 longer. 
 
 " The worst French actor, in the worst little 
 provincial town, plays better and more naturally 
 than the leading German celebrity,"— she ex- 
 claimed indignantly, and changed her seat to the 
 rear room.— "Come here,"— she said to Sanin, 
 tapping the divan by her side.— "Let's have a 
 chat." 
 
 Sanin obeyed. 
 
 198
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna darted a glance at him.— 
 " But you are soft as silk, I see ! Your wife will 
 have an easy time with you. That buffoon," — 
 she continued, pointing the tip of her fan at the 
 howling actor (he was playing the part of a pri- 
 vate tutor) , — " has reminded me of my youth; I, 
 also, was in love with the tutor. It was my first 
 .... no, my second passion. I fell in love for 
 the first time with a young fellow in training for 
 a monk, at the Donskoy Monastery.^ I was 
 twelve years old. I saw him only on Sundays. 
 He wore a velvet cassock, he scented himself with 
 lavender water, as he made his way through the 
 crowd with the censer he spoke to the ladies in 
 French: 'Pardon, eojcusez/— and never raised his 
 eyes, but he had eyelashes,— as long as that!" — 
 Marya Nikolaevna marked off with her thumb- 
 nail half of her middle finger, and showed it to 
 Sanin. — "My tutor's name was Monsieur Gas- 
 ton. I must tell you that he was a frightfully 
 learned and very strict man, a Swiss, and with 
 such an energetic face! He had side-whiskers as 
 black as pitch, and a Grecian profile— and his lips 
 looked as though they had been cast out of iron! 
 I was afraid of him ! In all my life, I have never 
 been afraid of any man but that one ! He was the 
 governor of my brother, who died afterward 
 ... he was drowned. And a Gipsy has foretold 
 a violent death for me also— but that is nonsense. 
 
 1 A famous monastery in the outskirts of Moscow. — Teanslator. 
 
 199
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 I don't believe it. Just imagine Ippolit Sidoritch 
 with a dagger ! " 
 
 " One may die otherwise than by a dagger," — 
 remarked Sanin. 
 
 "That's all nonsense! Are you superstitious? 
 I 'm not— not in the least. But what is to be can- 
 not be avoided. Monsieur Gaston lived in our 
 house, over my head. When I used to wake up 
 in the night, I could hear his footsteps— he went 
 to bed very late— and my heart used to swoon 
 w^ith emotion .... or with some other f eehng. 
 My father could hardly read and write himself, 
 but he gave us a good education. Do you know, 
 I understand Latin?" 
 
 "You? Latin?" 
 
 "Yes— I. Monsieur Gaston taught me. I 
 read the ^neid through with him. It 's a tire- 
 some thing— but there are nice passages. Do you 
 remember, when Dido and ^neas in the for- 
 
 c^oL* • • • 
 
 "Yes, yes, I remember,"— said Sanin hastily. 
 He had long ago forgotten all his Latin, and had 
 but a faint conception of the iEneid. 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna looked at him, according 
 to her wont, somewhat askance, and from 
 below upward.- "But you must not think 
 that I am very learned. Akli! good heavens, 
 no — I 'm not learned, and I have no talents. 
 I hardly know how to write .... truly I 
 don't; I cannot read aloud; I can neither play 
 
 200
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 the piano, nor draw, nor embroider — noth- 
 ing! That 's what I 'm like— this is all there is 
 tome!" 
 
 She threw her hands apart. — " I am telling you 
 all this,"— she went on,— "in the first place, to 
 avoid hearing those fools" (she pointed at the 
 stage, where, at that moment, instead of the actor, 
 an actress had taken up the howl, with her elbows, 
 also, thrust forward),—" and, in the second 
 place, because I am in your debt; you told me 
 about yourself yesterday." 
 
 "You were good enough to ask me,"— re- 
 marked Sanin. 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna suddenly turned toward 
 him. — "And you do not care to know what sort 
 of a woman I am? But I am not surprised,"— 
 she added, leaning back once more against the 
 cushions of the divan.—" A man is making ready 
 to marry, and for love into the bargain, and after 
 a duel. . . . What time has he to think of any- 
 thing else?" 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna grew pensive, and began to 
 nibble at the handle of her fan, with her large but 
 even teeth, as white as milk. 
 
 And it seemed to Sanin that again there began 
 to rise up in his brain that haze, from which he 
 had not been able to rid himself— for the second 
 day now. 
 
 The conversation between him and INIarya 
 Nikolaevna had been carried on in an undertone, 
 
 201
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 almost in a whisper — and this excited and agi- 
 tated him all the more. . . . 
 
 When was all this going to end? 
 
 Weak people never put an end to things them- 
 selves — they always wait for the end. 
 
 Some one sneezed on the stage: — the sneeze 
 had been introduced into the play by the author, 
 as a "comic moment," or "element"; there was 
 no other comic element about it, as a matter of 
 course : and the spectators took advantage of that 
 moment and laughed. 
 
 That laugh also excited Sanin. 
 
 There were minutes when he positively did not 
 know whether he were angry or pleased, bored 
 or merry. Oh, if Gemma could have seen him ! 
 
 " Really, it is strange,"— said Marya Niko- 
 laevna suddenly. " A man announces to you, 
 and in such a composed voice : ' I 'm going to 
 marry ' ; but no one tells you composedly : 
 ' I 'm going to fling myself into the water.' And 
 yet— what is the difference? 'T is strange, 
 really." 
 
 Vexation seized upon Sanin. — "The differ- 
 ence is great, Marya Nikolaevna! Some men are 
 not in the least afraid to throw themselves into 
 the water; they know how to swim, and, in addi- 
 tion to that ... so far as the strangeness of 
 marriages is concerned .... if it comes to 
 .max .... 
 
 202
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 He suddenly ceased speaking, and bit his 
 tongue. 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna smote the palm of her hand 
 with her fan. 
 
 " Finish your sentence, Dmitry Pavlovitch, 
 finish— I know what you meant to say. * If it 
 comes to that, my dear madam, Marya Niko- 
 laevna PolozofF,' you meant to say, 'nothing 
 more strange than your marriage can be im- 
 agined ... for I know your husband well, from 
 childhood.' That is what you meant to say,— 
 you who know how to swim ! " 
 
 "Pray,"— Sanin began .... 
 
 " Is n't that the truth? Is n't that the truth? " 
 —articulated Marya Nikolaevna pertinaciously. 
 " Come, look me in the face, and tell me that I 
 have not spoken the truth ! " 
 
 Sanin did not know where to turn his eyes.— 
 — " Well, as you like: it is true, if you insist upon 
 it," he said at last. 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna nodded her head.— "Ex- 
 actly . . . exactly. Well— and have you asked 
 yourself, you who know how to swim, what can 
 be the cause of so strange a . . . . step, on the 
 part of a woman who is not poor ... or stupid 
 ... or ugly? Perhaps that does not interest 
 you ; but never mind. I will tell you the reason, 
 not now, but as soon as the entr'acte is over. I 
 am in a constant fret lest some one should 
 enter 
 
 • • • • 
 
 203
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Before Marya Nikolaevna had succeeded in 
 uttering this last word, the outer door really did 
 open half-way — and into the box there was thrust 
 a red, greasily-perspiring head, still young but 
 already toothless, with long, lank hair, a pendent 
 nose, huge ears, like those of a bat, with gold 
 spectacles on the curious, dull little eyes, and a 
 pair of eyeglasses on top of the spectacles. The 
 head looked around, espied Marya Nikolaevna, 
 grinned abominably, nodded. ... A sinewy 
 neck was outstretched after it. . . . 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna shook her handkerchief at 
 it. — " I 'm not at home! Ich bin nicht zu Hause^ 
 Herr P. , . ! Ich bin nicht zu Hause .... 
 Kshshsh, kshshsh! " 
 
 The head was surprised, laughed in a con- 
 strained way, said, with a sort of sob, in imitation 
 of Liszt, at whose feet it had once fawned : " Sehr 
 gut! sehr gut!" — and vanished. 
 
 "What sort of a creature is that?" inquired 
 Sanin. 
 
 "That? A Wiesbaden critic. A 'litterateur,' 
 or valet de place, whichever you please to call it. 
 He is hired by the local contractor, and therefore 
 is bound to praise everything, to go into raptures 
 over everything ; but he is thoroughly permeated 
 with nasty gall, which he does not dare even to 
 discharge. I 'm afraid : he 's a horrid gossip ; 
 he'll i-un straight off and tell that I'm in the 
 theatre. Well, I don't care." 
 
 204
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 The orchestra finished playing a waltz, the cur- 
 tain rose again. . . The contortions and whim- 
 pering began again on the stage. 
 
 "Well, sir,"— began Marya Nikolaevna, sink- 
 ing down on the divan once more — " as long as 
 I have got you fast, and you are compelled to sit 
 with me, instead of luxuriating in the proximity 
 of your betrothed . . . don't roll your eyes, and 
 don't get angry — I understand you, and have al- 
 ready promised you that I will dismiss you to 
 complete freedom— but listen now to my confes- 
 sion ! Would you like to know what I love most 
 of all?" 
 
 " Freedom," suggested Sanin. 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna laid her hand on his. 
 
 "Yes, Dmitry Pavlovitch,"— she said— and 
 her voice rang with a certain peculiar, indubita- 
 bly genuine solemnity — " freedom, more than 
 all, and before all else. And you are not to think 
 that I have boasted of this— there is noth- 
 ing laudable about it — only it is so, and 
 always has been and always will be so for me, 
 even to my death. I must have seen a great 
 deal of slavery in my childhood, and have 
 suffered much from it. Well, and Mon- 
 sieur Gaston, my teacher, opened my eyes 
 also. Now, perhaps, you will understand why 
 I married Ippolit Sidoritch: with him I am 
 free, perfectly free, as free as the air, as the 
 
 breeze And I knew that before the 
 
 205
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 wedding, I knew that with him I should be a 
 free kazak!" 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna ceased speaking, and flung 
 aside her fan. 
 
 "I will tell you still another thing; I am not 
 averse to reflection .... it 's cheerful, and that 's 
 what our mind was given us for; but as to the 
 consequences of what I do myself, — I never re- 
 flect, and when anything happens, I don't pity 
 myself— not even so much— it isn't worth while! 
 
 I have a saying : ^Cela ne tire pas a consequence * 
 — I don't know how to say that in Russian. And 
 it is correct: for what does 'tire a consequence?* 
 — I shall not be called to account here — on this 
 earth; and there — (she pointed her finger up- 
 ward) —well, there— let them arrange matters as 
 they like. When I am judged there, it won't be 
 
 II Are you listening to me? You are not 
 bored?" 
 
 Sanin was sitting bent forward. He raised his 
 head.—" I am not in the least bored, Marya Ni- 
 kolaevna, and I am listening to you with curi- 
 osity. Only I . . I must confess .... I am 
 asking myself, why you are saying all this to 
 me?" 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna moved along a little on the 
 divan. — "You are asking yourself. . . . Are you 
 so dull of apprehension? Or so modest? " 
 
 Sanin raised his head still higher. 
 
 " I am saying all this to you,"— pursued Marya 
 
 206
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Nikolaevna, in a calm tone, which, however, did 
 not entirely conform to the expression of her 
 face, — "because I like you very much indeed; 
 yes, you need not be surprised, I am not jesting; 
 for it would be unpleasant for me if, after having 
 met you, you should cherish a disagreeable im- 
 pression of me ... or even one that was not dis- 
 agreeable— I don't mind that,— but an incorrect 
 one. That is why I have secluded myself here 
 with you, and am remaining alone w^ith you, and 
 am talking so frankly to you. . . . Yes, yes, 
 frankly. I am not lying. And observe, Dmitry 
 Pavlovitch, I know that you are in love with an- 
 other woman, that you are making ready to 
 marry her. . . . But do justice to mj^ disinter- 
 estedness! And here is your opportunity to say, 
 in your turn 'Cela ne tire pas a consequence!'" 
 
 She laughed, but her laughter broke off 
 abruptly — and she remained motionless, as 
 though her own words had startled her, and in 
 her eyes, ordinarily so merry and audacious, there 
 was a flash of something akin to timidity, — akin 
 even to sadness. 
 
 " The serpent! akh, she is a serpent!" Sanin 
 was thinking meanwhile; " but what a beautiful 
 serpent! " 
 
 " Give me my lorgnette,"— said Marya Niko- 
 laevna, suddenly. " I want to see whether that 
 jeune premiere actually is so homely. Really, 
 one might suppose that she was appointed by the 
 
 207
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 management with a moral aim in view, in order 
 that the young men might not be too much fas- 
 cinated." 
 
 Sanin handed her the lorgnette, and, as she 
 took it from him, she clasped his hand swiftly in 
 both her hands. 
 
 " Please don't be so serious," — she whispered, 
 with a smile.— "Do you know what? no one can 
 impose any fetters on me ; but then, I impose no 
 fetters. — I love freedom, and recognise no ob- 
 ligations—and that not for myself alone. But 
 now, stand aside, if you please, and let us listen 
 to the play." 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna turned her glasses on the 
 stage— and Sanin began to look in that direction 
 also, as he sat by her side, in the semi-darkness 
 of the box, and inhaled — involuntarily inhaled — 
 the warmth and fragrance of her luxurious body, 
 and as involuntarily turned over in his head 
 everything which she had said to him in the course 
 of the evening — especially in the course of the 
 last few minutes. 
 
 XL 
 
 The play lasted for more than an hour longer, 
 but Marya Nikolaevna and Sanin speedily ceased 
 to look at the stage. They entered into conver- 
 sation again, and that conversation slipped into 
 the same path as before; only this time Sanin 
 
 208
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 was less taciturn. Inwardly, he was raging at 
 himself and at Marya Nikolaevna. He endea- 
 voured to demonstrate to her the utter ground- 
 lessness of her " theory," as though she cared for 
 theories ! He began to dispute with her, at which 
 she secretly rejoiced. If a man argues, it means 
 that he is yielding or will yield. He has swal- 
 lowed the bait, he is surrendering, he has ceased 
 to be wild! She retorted, laughed, assented, med- 
 itated, attacked . . . and, in the meantime, his 
 face and her face drew nearer together, his eyes 
 were no longer averted from her eyes. . . . Those 
 eyes seemed to be straying, seemed to be circling 
 over his features, and he smiled at her in response 
 — politely, but he smiled. She had also won this 
 much ground, that he entered into abstractions, 
 argued about honour in mutual relations, about 
 duty, about the sanctity of love and marriage. 
 .... It is a familiar fact that these abstrac- 
 tions are very, very useful as a beginning .... 
 as a point of departure. . . . 
 
 People who knew IMarya Nikolaevna well were 
 wont to assert that when a certain tender and 
 modest something— a something which was al- 
 most maidenly-bashful— suddenly passed over 
 her whole strong and vigorous being, — although 
 you might wonder whence it proceeded, . . yet 
 then . . . yes, then, affairs were taking a dan- 
 gerous turn. 
 
 They were, obviously, taking that turn for Sa- 
 
 209
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 nin. . . . He would have felt scorn for himself, 
 had he succeeded, even for one moment, in con- 
 centrating himself ; but he did not succeed, either 
 in concentrating or scorning himself. 
 
 And she lost no time. And it all came about 
 because he was very far from homely. One is, in- 
 voluntarily, compelled to say: "How are you 
 to know where you will find, where you will 
 lose?" 
 
 The play came to an end. Marya Nikolaevna 
 asked Sanin to throw her shawl around her, and 
 did not stir while he was wrapping the soft fab- 
 ric about her really regal shoulders. Then she 
 took his arm, emerged into the corridor— and 
 came near shrieking aloud. At the very door of 
 the box, like a spectre, stood Donhof ; and from 
 behind his back peeped the repulsive figure 
 of the Wiesbaden critic. The face of this " liter- 
 ary man " was fairly beaming with malicious 
 delight. 
 
 " Do you command me to find your carriage, 
 madame? " said the young officer, addressing 
 Marya Nikolaevna, with the quiver of badly- 
 concealed wrath in his voice. 
 
 "No, thank you,"— she replied. . . . "My 
 lackey will find it. Staj^ here!" — she added, in 
 an imperious whisper— and swiftly retreated, 
 dragging Sanin along. 
 
 "Go to the devil! Why are you bothering 
 me? " Donhof suddenly roared at the hterary 
 
 210
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 man. He was forced to vent his spleen on some 
 one. 
 
 " Sehr gut! sehr gut! " — mumbled the literary- 
 man — and vanished. 
 
 Mary a Nikolaevna's lackey, who was waiting 
 for her in the vestibule, found her carriage in an 
 instant; she hastily seated herself in it, Sanin 
 sprang in after her. The door slammed — and 
 Marya Nikolaevna broke into a ringing laugh. 
 
 " What are you laughing at? " — asked Sanin. 
 
 "Akh, excuse me, pray .... but an idea 
 came into my head. What if Donhof were to 
 fight another duel with you .... about me. 
 .... Would n't that be splendid? " 
 
 " And are you very intimately acquainted with 
 him? "—asked Sanin. 
 
 "With him? With that little boy? He 's just 
 one of my errand-boys. Don't worry about 
 him!" 
 
 *' Why, I 'm not worrying at all." 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna sighed. — "Akh, I know 
 that you are not worrying. But, listen— do you 
 know what? you are so nice, you ought not to re- 
 fuse me one last request. Don't forget: two 
 days hence I set out for Paris, and you will re- 
 turn to Frankfurt. . . . When shall we meet 
 again ! 
 
 " What is your request? " 
 
 " You can ride on horseback, of course?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 211
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " Well, then, see here. To-morrow morning 
 I will take you with me — and we will ride into 
 the suburbs together. We shall have capital 
 horses. Then we will return, and will settle our 
 business — and amen! Do not be surprised, do 
 not tell me that this is a caprice, that I am crazy 
 —all that may be true— but say merely: ' I con- 
 sent! ' " 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna turned her face toward 
 him. It was dark in the carriage, but her eyes 
 gleamed even in that gloom. 
 
 " Certainly, I consent,"— said Sanin, with a 
 sigh. 
 
 "Akli! You sighed! "—Marya Nikolaevna 
 mocked him. " That is what is meant by: You 
 have said A — don't refuse to say B. But, no, 
 no. . . . You are charming, you are good — and 
 I will keep my promise. Here is my hand for 
 you, ungloved, the right, the business-like hand. 
 Take it — and trust its pressure. What sort of 
 a woman I am, I do not know, but I am an honest 
 man — and you can do business with me." 
 
 Sanin, without clearly accounting to himself 
 for what he did, raised the hand to his lips. Marya 
 Nikolaevna gently withdrew it — and suddenly 
 ceased speaking, and maintained silence until the 
 carriage came to a halt. 
 
 She began to alight. . . . "What 's that?" 
 Was it merely Sanin's fancy, or did he really feel 
 on his cheek a swift and burning touch? 
 
 212
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 "Farewell until to-morrow!" — whispered 
 Marya Nikolaevna to him on the stairs, all illu- 
 minated with the four lights of the candelabra, 
 which had been caught up, on her appearance, by 
 the gilded door-porter. She kept her eyes down- 
 cast. 
 
 " Until to-morrow! " 
 
 When he reached his room, Sanin found on his 
 table a letter from Gemma. He was frightened 
 .... for a moment — but immediately rejoiced, 
 in order the more speedily to mask his own fear 
 to himself. — It consisted of a few lines. — She was 
 delighted at the favourable " beginning of the 
 affair," advised him to be patient, and added 
 that every one in the house was well, and was re- 
 joicing in advance over his return. Sanin 
 thought this letter decidedly curt; but, neverthe- 
 less, he took pen and paper— and then flung all 
 aside. — " Why write? To-morrow I shall return 
 in person .... 't is time, high time ! " 
 
 He immediately went to bed, and tried to get 
 to sleep as promptly as possible. Had he re- 
 mained up, and awake, he certainly would have 
 begun to think of Gemma— but, for some rea- 
 son or other .... he was ashamed to think of 
 her. His conscience was stirring within him. 
 But he soothed himself with the reflection that 
 on the morrow everji:hing would be over forever, 
 and he would part forever from that giddy fine 
 lady— and would forget all that nonsense! . . . . 
 
 213
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Weak people, when they talk to themselves, 
 are fond of using energetic expressions. 
 
 " Et puis .... cela ne tire pas a consequence! " 
 
 XLI 
 
 This is what Sanin was thinking, as he got into 
 bed. But what he thought on the following day, 
 when Marya Nikolaevna impatiently tapped on 
 his door with the coral handle of her riding-whip ; 
 when he beheld her on the threshold of his cham- 
 ber, with the train of her dark-green riding- 
 habit over her arm, a little masculine hat on 
 her curls plaited in heavy braids, her veil tossed 
 over her shoulder, and with a tempting smile on 
 her lips, in her eyes, on her whole face — as to 
 what he thought then history holds its peace. 
 
 " Well? Are you ready? " — her merry voice 
 resounded. 
 
 Sanin buttoned his coat, and silently took up 
 his hat. Marya Nikolaevna darted a brilliant 
 glance at him, nodded her head, and ran swiftly 
 down the staircase. And he ran after her. 
 
 The horses were already standing in the street, 
 in front of the steps. There were three of them. 
 A golden-bay, pure-blooded mare, with a thin, 
 grinning muzzle, black, prominent eyes, with the 
 legs of a deer, rather lean, but handsome and 
 mettlesome as fire,— for Marya Nikolaevna; a 
 powerful, broad, rather heavily -built horse, black, 
 
 214
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 without marks,— for Sanin; the third horse was 
 destined for the groom. Marya Nikolaevna 
 leaped agilely on her mare. . . The latter 
 pranced and curveted, flirted out its tail, and 
 elevated its crupper, but Marya Nikolaevna (a 
 capital horsewoman!) held it in place. She 
 must say good-bye to Polozoff, who, in his inev- 
 itable fez and with dressing-gown flying open, 
 made his appearance on the balcony, and thence 
 waved a batiste handkerchief, without the trace of 
 a smile, however, but frowning rather. Sanin 
 mounted also on his horse. Marya Nikolaevna 
 saluted Mr. Polozofl" with her whip, then lashed 
 the flat arched neck of her steed with it; the lat- 
 ter reared on its hind legs, darted forward, and 
 proceeded in a prancing, curveting gait, quiver- 
 ing in every nerve, champing at the bit, biting the 
 air, and snorting violently. Sanin rode behind, 
 and gazed at Marya Nikolaevna. Confidently, 
 dexterously, and gracefully swayed her lithe, 
 slender form, closely and easily confined by her 
 corset. She turned back her head, and sum- 
 moned him with her eyes. He rode up along- 
 side of her. 
 
 "Well, here you see how nice it is,"— said she. 
 " I am talking to you for the last time before our 
 parting! You are a dear! and you shall not re- 
 pent!" 
 
 Having uttered these last words, she moved 
 her head from above downward several times, 
 
 215
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 as though desirous of confirming them, and mak- 
 ing him feel their significance. 
 
 She seemed happy to such a degree that Sanin 
 was simply amazed. A certain sedate expression 
 made its appearance on her face— the sort of 
 expression which children wear when they are 
 very .... very much pleased. 
 
 They rode at a foot-pace to the barrier, which 
 was not far distant, and there set out at a rapid 
 gallop along the highway. The weather was glo- 
 rious, real summer weather; the breeze blew in 
 their faces, and hummed and whistled agreeably 
 in their ears. They felt well; the consciousness 
 of young, healthy life, of free, rapid movement 
 ahead, took possession of both of them; it aug- 
 mented with every moment. 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna reined in her horse, and 
 rode at a walk ; Sanin followed her example. 
 
 " There,"— she began, with a deep, blissful 
 sigh; "there, life is worth living for this alone. 
 When one has succeeded in accomplishing what 
 he wishes, what seemed impossible — well, then, 
 soul, profit by it to the utmost! " She passed her 
 hand across her throat. — "And how amiable a 
 person feels then! Here am I now . . how ami- 
 able I am! It seems as though I could embrace 
 the whole world."— She pointed with her whip at 
 a poorly-clad old man, who was making his way 
 along on one side. — " I 'm even ready to make 
 him happy. Here, there, you, take this,"— she 
 cried loudly, in German— flinging her purse 
 
 216
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 at his feet. The ponderous bag (there was no 
 such thing as a pocket-book in those days) clat- 
 tered on the road. The passer-by was astonished, 
 and halted, but Marya Nikolaevna burst out 
 laughing, and set her horse to galloping. 
 
 " Does it make you so merry to ride on horse- 
 back? " asked Sanin, as he overtook her. 
 
 Again IMarya Nikolaevna reined in her horse 
 until it rested on its hind quarters. She never 
 stopped it in any other way. — " I only wished 
 to escape gratitude. He who thanks me spoils 
 my happiness. I did n't do it for his sake, you 
 see, but for my own. And how could he dare to 
 thank me? I did not hear exactly what you 
 asked me? " 
 
 " I asked ... I wanted to know why you are 
 so merry to-day? " 
 
 " Do you know what," — said Marya Nikola- 
 evna: she either did not hear what Sanin said, 
 or else she did not consider it necessary to an- 
 swer his question.—" I 'm frightfully tired of 
 that groom, who is sticking up there behind us, 
 and who must be thinking only about when ' the 
 masters ' will go home. How shall we get rid of 
 him? "—She hastily drew from her pocket a lit- 
 tle note-book. — " Shall I send him to town with 
 a letter? No .... that won't do. Ah, I have 
 it! What 's that ahead of us? A restaurant? " 
 
 Sanin looked in the direction she indicated. — 
 " Yes, it is a restaurant, apparently." 
 
 " Well, very good, indeed. I will order him to 
 
 217
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 remain at that restaurant, and drink beer, until 
 we return." 
 
 "But what will he think?" 
 
 " What business is that of ours? But he will 
 not think; he will drink beer — that 's all. Come, 
 Sanin " (she addressed him by his surname for the 
 first time) — " advance — at a trot! " 
 
 On coming opposite the restaurant, Marya 
 Nikolaevna called up the groom, and informed 
 him of what she required of him. The groom, 
 a man of English extraction and English tem- 
 perament, silently lifted his hand to the visor of 
 his cap, sprang from his horse, and took it by the 
 bridle. 
 
 " Well, now we are free as birds! " — exclaimed 
 Marya Nikolaevna. — " Where shall we go? — 
 north, south, east, or west? See,— I do like the 
 King of Hungary at his coronation " (she 
 pointed with her whip at all four quarters of 
 the globe). — "All is ours! No, do you know 
 w^hat: see, what glorious mountains there are yon- 
 der — and what a forest! Let us ride thither, to 
 the hills, to the hills ! 
 
 In die Berge, wo die Freiheit thront ! " 
 
 She turned out of the highway, and galloped 
 along a narrow, unbeaten road, which appeared 
 to lead directly to the mountains. Sanin gal- 
 loped after her. 
 
 218
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 XLII 
 
 This road soon became a path, and at last disap- 
 peared entirely, intercepted by a ditch. Sanin 
 advised return, but Marya Nikolaevna said: 
 "No! I want to go to the mountains! Let us 
 ride straight as the birds fly . . ."—and made her 
 horse leap the ditch. Sanin also leaped it. Be- 
 yond the ditch began a meadow, at first dry, then 
 wet, then, at last, a regular marsh ; the water was 
 seeping through everywhere, and stood in pools. 
 Marya Nikolaevna sent her horse deliberately 
 across the pools, laughed loudly, and kept reiter- 
 ating: "Let's froHc like school-children!" 
 
 "Do you know,"— she asked Sanin,— "the 
 meaning of the expression: ' puddle-hunting '? " ^ 
 
 " I do," replied Sanin. 
 
 "My uncle was a huntsman,"— she went on. 
 " I used to ride with him in the spring. It was 
 splendid! Just like you and I now— ah, the pud- 
 dles! I see you are a Russian man, but you 
 want to marry an Italian. Well, that 's your 
 affliction. What's that? Another ditch? Hop!" 
 
 The horse leaped— but Marya Nikolaevna's 
 hat fell from her head, and her curls showered 
 down over her shoulders. Sanin was on the point 
 of slipping off his horse, and picking up the hat ; 
 but she shouted at him: " Don't touch it; I '11 get 
 
 'The first spring thaw.— Translatoe. 
 
 219
 
 SPRIXG FRESHETS 
 
 it myself!" bent low in her saddle, hooked the 
 handle of her whip into the veil, and, in fact, did 
 get the hat, and put it on her head, but without 
 gathering up her hair, dashed headlong onward 
 once more, and even whooped. Sanin dashed 
 along by her side, leaped over gullies, fences, 
 brooks, tumbhng in and scrambling out, racing 
 down hill, racing up hill, and gazing ever in her 
 face. What a face ! It seemed to be all open ; the 
 eyes were open, greedy, bright, wild; the lips, 
 the nostrils were open also, and breathed eagerly ; 
 she stared straight and intently in front of her, 
 and, apparently, that soul wanted to take pos- 
 session of everything she beheld, the earth, the 
 sky, the sun, and the very air itself, and grieved 
 over one thing only: there were too few dangers 
 — it would have overcome them all! "Sanin!" 
 — she cried, "this is in Biirger's 'Lenore!' 
 Only, you are not dead— are you? You are 
 not dead? . . . I 'm aUve!" Her power of dar- 
 ing had begun to come into action. She was no 
 longer a woman-rider, setting her horse at a gal- 
 lop — she was a young female centaur — half- 
 beast, half -goddess — who was galloping there — 
 and the sedate and well-trained country, trampled 
 upon by her stormy debauch, stood amazed. 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna at last drew up her foam- 
 ing, bespattered horse ; it was staggering beneath 
 her, and Sanin's powerful but heavy stalhon was 
 out of breath. 
 
 220
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 "Well? Is it pleasant?" asked Marya Niko- 
 laevna, in a wonderful sort of whisper. 
 
 " Yes! "—responded Sanin, enthusiastically. 
 And his blood blazed up within him. 
 
 " Wait, there 's more to come! "—She stretched 
 out her hand. The glove on it was rent. 
 
 " I told you that I would lead you to the forest, 
 to the mountains . . . there they are, the moun- 
 tains!"— In fact, the mountains, covered with 
 lofty forest, began a couple of hundred paces 
 from the spot to which the wild riders had flown. 
 — " Look, yonder is the road, too. Let us set 
 out— and forward! But at a walk. We must 
 give the horses a rest." 
 
 They rode on. With one powerful sweep of 
 the hand, Marya Nikolaevna tossed back her hair. 
 Then she looked at her gloves— and took them 
 off. " My hands will smell of the leather,"— she 
 said, " but you don't mind that, I hope? Do 
 you?" .... Marya Nikolaevna smiled, and 
 Sanin smiled also. That mad ride of theirs 
 seemed to have definitively brought them close 
 together, and made them friends. 
 
 "How old are you?" — she suddenly inquired. 
 
 " Twenty-two." 
 
 " Is it possible ? I am also twenty-two. It 
 is a good age. Add our ages together, and even 
 then the sum will be far removed from old age. 
 But how hot it is! Is my face red?" 
 
 " As a poppy." 
 
 221
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna wiped her face with her 
 handkerchief. — " If we can but reach the forest, 
 it will be cool there. Such an old forest is just 
 like an old friend. Have you friends? " 
 
 Sanin reflected a little.—" Yes . . . only, not 
 many. No real ones." 
 
 "But I have some, real friends, only not old 
 ones. Here 's a friend, also— a horse. How 
 carefully it carries one! Akh, it is capital here! 
 Is it possible that I shall set out for Paris the day 
 after to-morrow? " 
 
 "Yes ... is it possible?"— chimed in Sanin. 
 
 " And are you going to Frankfurt? " 
 
 " It is imperatively necessary that I should go 
 to Frankfurt." 
 
 "Well, never mind .... good luck to you! 
 But to-day is ours .... ours .... ours ! " 
 
 The horses reached the border of the forest, and 
 entered it. The shadow of the forest enveloped 
 them broadly and softly on all sides. 
 
 " Oh, yes, this is paradise! "—exclaimed Marya 
 Nikolaevna. " Deeper, further into the shade, 
 Sanin! " 
 
 The horses moved on, " deeper into the shade," 
 reeling slightly, and snorting. The path wherein 
 they trod suddenly made a turn to one side, and 
 plunged into a rather narrow gorge. The scent 
 of the young birch-trees, of ferns, of pine-resin, 
 of rank rotting foliage from the preceding year, 
 
 22a
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 seemed to be shut up within it— dense and 
 dreamy. From the crevices of the huge, dark- 
 brown rocks emanated a robust coolness. On 
 both sides of the path rose round mounds over- 
 grown with green moss. 
 
 " Stop! "—cried Marya Nikolaevna. " I want 
 to sit down and rest on this velvet. Help me to 
 dismount." 
 
 Sanin leaped from his horse, and ran to her. 
 She leaned on his shoulders, sprang instantly to 
 the ground, and seated herself on one of the 
 mossy mounds. He stood in front of her, hold- 
 ing the bridles of both horses in his hands. 
 
 She raised her eyes to his. ..." Sanin, can 
 you forget? " 
 
 Sanin recalled what had happened the night 
 before .... in the carriage : — " What is that — 
 a question .... or a reproach? " 
 
 " I have never reproached any one for any- 
 thing in my life. But do you believe in love- 
 charms? " 
 
 " What? " 
 
 "In love-charms— you know; what is referred 
 to in our songs. In the popular Russian bal- 
 lads." 
 
 " Ah! That 's what you are talking about . . ." 
 drawled Sanin. 
 
 " Yes, about that. I believe in that .... and 
 do you?" 
 
 "Love-charms .... witchcraft . . . ," repeated 
 
 223
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 Sanin. " Everything is possible in this world. I 
 did not use to believe in it— now I do. I don't 
 recognise myself." 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna pondered, and glanced 
 about her. — " It strikes me that I know this spot. 
 Look behind that spreading oak, Sanin, and see 
 whether a red wooden cross stands there, or not." 
 
 Sanin stepped a few paces to one side.—" Yes, 
 it is there." 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna smiled.— " Ah, good! I 
 know where we are. We are not lost yet. What 
 is that tapping ? A wood-cutter? " 
 
 Sanin peered into the thicket. — " Yes .... 
 Yonder is some man chopping dry branches." 
 
 " I must put my hair in order," — said Marya 
 Nikolaevna. — " If I don't, and am seen, I shall 
 be censured." She took oiF her hat, and began 
 to plait her long tresses. Sanin stood in front 
 of her. . . . Her graceful limbs were clearly de- 
 fined under the dark folds of cloth, to which, here 
 and there, filaments of moss adhered. 
 
 One of the horses suddenly shook itself behind 
 Sanin; he himself involuntarily trembled from 
 head to foot. Everything in him was in utter 
 confusion — his nerves were tense as guitar- 
 strings. Truly had he said that he did not know 
 himself. . . . He really was bewitched. His 
 whole being was full of one .... one thought, 
 one desire. Marya Nikolaevna darted a piercing 
 glance at him. " Now, then, everything is as it 
 
 224
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 should be," — she said, putting on her hat. 
 " Won't you sit down? Yonder! No; wait .... 
 don't sit down. What 's that? " 
 
 Through the crests of the trees, through the 
 air of the forest, rolled a dull vibration. 
 
 "Can that be thunder?" 
 
 *' Apparently, it is thunder,"— replied Sanin. 
 
 " Akh, yes, this is a feast-day! simply a feast- 
 day! That was the only thing that was lack- 
 ing!" — A dull roar resounded once again, 
 rose— and fell in a -peal.— '' Bravo! Bis! Do 
 you remember I was telling you last night about 
 the iEneid? The thunder caught them in the 
 forest also, you know. But we must go." — She 
 rose hastily to her feet. — "Lead up my horse. 
 . . . Hold out your hand. That 's it. I am 
 not heavy." 
 
 She soared into her saddle like a bird. Sanin 
 also mounted his horse. 
 
 " Are you going home? " — he asked, in an un- 
 steady voice. 
 
 "Yes— home!!" she replied, slowly, gath- 
 ering up her reins. — "Follow me," — she com- 
 manded, almost roughly. 
 
 She rode out upon the road, and passing the 
 red cross, descended into a hollow, reached the 
 cross-roads, turned to the right, and began again 
 to ascend. . . . She evidently knew whither the road 
 led — and the road led deeper, ever deeper, into 
 the fastnesses of the forest. She said nothing, 
 
 225
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 and did not look behind her ; she moved on impe- 
 riously in advance— and he followed her obedi- 
 ently and meekly, without a shadow of will in his 
 sinking heart. A fine rain began to drizzle down. 
 She hastened the gait of her horse, and he kept 
 up with her. At last, athwart the dark verdure 
 of the fir-shrubs, from beneath a projection of a 
 grey cliff, there peeped out at him a wretched 
 watchman's hut, with a low-browed door in the 
 wattled wall. . . . Marya Nikolaevna made her 
 horse force its way through the bushes, sprang 
 off— and, finding herself suddenly at the en- 
 trance of the hut, she turned to Sanin— and 
 whispered : " ^neas ! " 
 
 Four hours later, Marya Nikolaevna and Sanin, 
 accompanied by the groom, who was dozing in his 
 saddle, returned to Wiesbaden, to the hotel. Mr. 
 PolozofF met his wife, holding in his hands the 
 letter to the steward. But after having scruti- 
 nised her more attentively, he expressed on his 
 countenance a certain dissatisfaction — and even 
 muttered:— " Can it be that I have lost my 
 wager? " 
 
 Marya Nikolaevna merely shrugged her shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 And on that same day, two hours later, Sanin 
 stood before her, in his own room, like a dis- 
 tracted, a ruined man. . . . 
 
 226
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 " Whither art thou going? "—she asked him. 
 " To Paris, or to Frankfurt? " 
 
 " I am going where thou wilt be— and I shall 
 be with thee, until thou drivest me away," — he re- 
 plied, with despair, and fell to kissing the hands 
 of his sovereign. She released them, laid them on 
 his head— and grasped his hair with all ten fin- 
 gers. She slowly drew her fingers through and 
 twisted that unresisting hair, and drew herself up 
 to her full height: triumph curled serpent-like 
 about her lips, and her eyes, wide, and bright to 
 whiteness, expressed only the pitiless stolidity and 
 satiety of victory. The hawk which is clawing 
 a captured bird has such eyes. 
 
 XLIII 
 
 That was what Dmitry Sanin recalled, when, 
 in the silence of his study, as he rummaged 
 among his old papers, he found with them the 
 little garnet cross. The events which we have 
 narrated rose clearly and in their proper order 
 before his mental vision. . . . But on arriving 
 at the minute when he turned with such a humil- 
 iating entreaty to Madame Polozoff, when he 
 threw himself in self -surrender beneath her feet, 
 when his servitude began, — he turned away from 
 the images which he had evoked, he did not wish 
 to recall anything further. Not that his mem- 
 ory had played him false — oh, no! he knew, 
 
 227
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 he knew but too well, what had followed that 
 minute, but shame stifled him; even now, so 
 many years afterward, he was frightened by 
 the feeling of invincible scorn for himself, which 
 would, inevitably, — of that he could have no 
 doubt — surge in upon him and drown, like a 
 flood, all other sensations, the moment he should 
 cease to bid his memory to hold its peace. But 
 turn away as he would from the rising memories, 
 he could not wholly stifle them. He remembered 
 the abominable, tearful, lying, pitiful letter 
 which he had despatched to G^mma, and which 
 had remained unanswered. . . . iPresent himself 
 before her, return to her, after such a deception, 
 after such treachery — no! no! he had enough con- 
 science and honour left in him for that. More- 
 over, he had lost all confidence in himself, all 
 respect for himself; he dared not vouch for any- 
 thing. Sanin also recalled how, later on, he— oh, 
 disgrace!— had sent P61ozoff"s lackey for his 
 things in Frankfurt, how cowardly he had been, 
 how he had thought only of one thing: to go 
 away to Paris as promptly as possible— to Paris; 
 how, at the bidding of Marya Nikolaevna, he had 
 fawned on and humoured Ippolit Sidoritch — and 
 had been amiable to Donhof, on whose finger he 
 noticed precisely the same sort of iron ring which 
 Marya Nikolaevna had given to him! ! ! Then 
 the memories became still worse, still more shame- 
 ful. ... A waHer hands him a visiting-card, 
 
 228
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 and on it stands the name of Pantaleone Cippa- 
 tola, Court Singer to his Royal Highness the 
 Duke of Modena! He hides from the old man, 
 but cannot avoid encountering him in the corri- 
 dor — and there rises up before him the incensed 
 face, beneath the upward-curling grey crest; the 
 aged eyes flame like coals of fire — and menacing 
 exclamations and curses: " Maledizione!" and 
 even terrible words become audible : " Codardo! 
 Infame traditore!"—^2Lmn screws up his eyes, 
 shakes his head, turns away again and again — 
 and nevertheless, he beholds himself sitting in 
 the travelling-carriage, on the narrow front seat. 
 .... On the back seats, the comfortable seats, 
 sit Marya Nikolaevna and Ippolit Sidoritch— 
 four horses are proceeding at a brisk trot over the 
 pavements of Wiesbaden— to Paris! to Paris! 
 Ippolit Sidoritch is eating a pear, which he, 
 Sanin, has peeled, and Marya Nikolaevna is look- 
 ing at him — and laughing with that sneering 
 laugh which is already familiar to him, the en- 
 slaved man,— the sneering laugh of a sovereign 
 owner. . . . 
 
 But, oh, my God! yonder, at the corner of the 
 street, not far from the egress from the town, is 
 not that Pantaleone standing there again— and 
 who is it with him? Can it be Emilio? Yes, 't is 
 he, that enthusiastic, devoted lad! Not long ago 
 his youthful heart was worshipping before its 
 hero, its ideal— but now, his pale, handsome face 
 
 229
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 —so handsome that Marya Nikolaevna observed 
 it, and even thrust her head out of the carriage- 
 window — his noble face is blazing with wrath 
 and scorn; his eyes — how like those eyes! — are 
 eagerly riveted upon Sanin, and his lips are com- 
 pressed . . . and suddenly open, to emit insult .... 
 
 And Pantaleone stretches forth his hand, and 
 points out Sanin — to whom? to Tartaglia, who 
 is standing by, and Tartaglia barks at Sanin— 
 and the very bark of the honest dog rings out 
 like an intolerable affront. ... 'T is monstrous ! 
 
 And then — that sojourn in Paris — and all the 
 humiliations, all the loathsome tortures of the 
 slave, who is not permitted to be jealous, or to 
 complain, and who is finally discarded, like a 
 worn-out garment. . . . 
 
 Then— the return to his native land, the poi- 
 soned, devastated life, the petty bustle, the petty 
 cares, repentance bitter and fruitless — and for- 
 getfulness equally bitter and fruitless — a pun- 
 ishment not evident, but incessant and of every 
 moment, like an insignificant but incurable pain, 
 paying off, kopek by kopek, a debt which cannot 
 be calculated. . . . 
 
 The cup is filled to overflowing— enough! 
 
 How had the little cross, given to Sanin by 
 Gemma, escaped, why had not he sent it back, 
 how had it happened that, until that day, he had 
 never even once come across it? Long, long did 
 
 230
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 he sit immersed in thought— and already taught 
 by experience, in the course of all those years, 
 he still was not able to comprehend how he could 
 have abandoned Gemma, whom he so tenderly 
 and passionately loved, for a woman whom he 
 did not love at all! . . . On the following day, 
 he astonished all his friends and acquaintances: 
 he announced to them that he was going abroad. 
 The surprise extended to society. Sanin quit 
 Petersburg in the heart of winter, after having 
 just hired and furnished a capital apartment, 
 and even subscribed to the performances of the 
 Italian opera, in which Madame Patti herself — 
 Madame Patti herself, herself, herself! — was 
 taking part! His friends and acquaintances 
 were puzzled. But people, in general, do not oc- 
 cupy themselves for long with other people's af- 
 fairs, and when Sanin set out for foreign parts, 
 no one but his French tailor went to the railway 
 station to see him off — and that in the hope of re- 
 ceiving payment for his little account— "^^ pour un 
 saute-en-harque en velours noir, tout a fait chic" 
 
 XLIV 
 
 Sanin had told his friends that he was going 
 abroad— but he had not told them precisely 
 where. The reader will easily divine that he jour- 
 neyed straight to Frankfurt. Thanks to the 
 universal diffusion of railways, he was in Frank- 
 
 231
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 furt on the fourth day after his departure from 
 Petersburg. He had not visited it since the year 
 1840. The "White Swan" inn stood on its 
 former site, although it was no longer regarded 
 as first-class. The Zeil, the principal thorough- 
 fare of Frankfurt, had undergone little altera- 
 tion, but not only was there no trace of Signora 
 Roselli's house — the very street in which her con- 
 fectionery shop had stood had disappeared. Sa- 
 nin roamed like a half-witted person about the 
 localities which he had once known so well — and 
 recognised nothing; the former buildings had 
 vanished; they had been superseded by new 
 streets, lined with huge, close-set houses, with 
 elegant villas ; even the public park, where his last 
 explanation with Gemma had taken place, had 
 grown up and changed to such an extent that 
 Sanin asked himself — is it really the same park? 
 What was there for him to do ? How and where 
 was he to make inquiries? Thirty years had 
 passed since then. . . It was no easy affair ! No 
 matter to whom he applied — no one had even 
 heard the name of Roselli. The landlord of the 
 inn counselled him to make inquiries at the public 
 library; there he would find all the old news- 
 papers, but what advantage he would derive 
 therefrom the landlord himself could not ex- 
 plain. Sanin, in despair, inquired about Herr 
 Kliiber. That name was well known to the land- 
 lord,— but here, also, he was unsuccessful. The 
 
 232
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 elegant clerk, after having made considerable 
 noise in the world, and risen to the vocation of 
 a capitalist, had failed in business, become bank- 
 rupt, and died in jail. . . . This news did not, 
 however, cause Sanin the slightest pain. He had 
 already begun to regard his trip as rather fool- 
 ish ... . but, lo, one day, as he was turning 
 over the Frankfurt directory, he came upon the 
 name of von Donhof, retired major (Major 
 a. D.). He immediately summoned a carriage, 
 and drove to him — although why should tJiis von 
 Donhof, infallibly, be that von Donhof, and why 
 even should that von Donhof be able to impart 
 to him any news about the Roselli family? 
 Never mind ; a drowning man clutches at a straw. 
 Sanin found the retired Major von Donhof 
 at home — and in the grizzled gentleman who re- 
 ceived him, he immediately recognised his former 
 antagonist. And the latter recognised him, and 
 even rejoiced at his appearance. It reminded 
 him of his youth — and his youthful pranks. Sa- 
 nin heard from him that the Roselli family had, 
 long since, emigrated to America, to New York ; 
 that G^mma had married a merchant; that he, 
 Donhof, moreover, had an acquaintance, who was 
 also a merchant, who probably knew the hus- 
 band's address, as he had large dealings with 
 America. Sanin asked Donhof to go to that ac- 
 quaintance — and — oh, joy!— Donhof brought 
 him the address of Gemma's husband, ]Mr. Jere- 
 
 233
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 miah Slocum, No. 501 Broadway, New York. — 
 Only, the address was of the j^ear 1863. 
 
 " Let us hope," — exclaimed Donhof, — " that 
 our former Frankfurt beauty is still alive, and 
 has not left New York! By the way," — he 
 added, lowering his voice, " and how about that 
 Russian lady who was then staying in Wiesbaden, 
 you remember— Madame von Bo .... von 
 BolozofF — is she still alive?" 
 
 "No,"— rephed Sanin,— "she died long ago." 
 Donhof raised his eyes — but, perceiving that 
 Sanin had turned away, and was frowning, — he 
 did not add another word— and withdrew. 
 
 That very day Sanin despatched a letter to Mrs. 
 Gemma Slocum, in New York. In the letter, he 
 told her that he was writing from Frankfurt, 
 whither he had come, solely with the object of 
 looking her up; that he was fully conscious to 
 what a degree he was destitute of every right 
 to a reply from her; that he in no way deserved 
 her forgiveness — and only hoped that she, amid 
 the happy environment in which she found 
 herself, had long since forgotten his very exis- 
 tence. He added that he had decided to recall 
 himself to her memory, in consequence of an ac- 
 cidental occurrence, which had aroused too viv- 
 idly in him the images of the past; he told her 
 the story of his life, solitary, without family, joy- 
 less; he adjured her to understand the causes 
 
 234
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 which had impelled him to address himself to her, 
 not to allow him to carry with him into the grave 
 the painful consciousness of his fault — long since 
 atoned for by suffering, but not forgiven — and to 
 make him glad if only with the briefest infor- 
 mation as to what her life was like in that New 
 World, whither she had removed. " By writing 
 me even a single word," — thus did Sanin wind 
 up his letter, — " you will be doing a good deed, 
 worthy of your beautiful soul, — and I shall thank 
 you until my last breath. I am stopping here at 
 the White Swan inn " (he underlined these 
 words) " and shall wait, — wait until spring for 
 your reply." 
 
 He sent off this letter, — and settled down to 
 wait. Six whole weeks did he Hve in the inn, 
 hardly going outside of his room, and seeing 
 absolutely no one. No one could write to him 
 from Russia, or from anywhere else; and that 
 was to his taste ; if a letter were to come addressed 
 to him, he would know at once that it was it — 
 the one for which he was waiting. He read from 
 morning until night — and not newspapers, but 
 serious books, historical works. This prolonged 
 course of reading, this mute stillness, this snail- 
 like, hidden existence — were all exactly suited to 
 his spiritual mood; and for this alone, thanks to 
 Gemma! But was she alive? Would she answer? 
 
 At last a letter arrived— bearing an American 
 stamp— from New York, addressed to him. The 
 
 235
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 handwriting of the address on the envelope was 
 English. . . . He did not recognise it, and his 
 heart contracted. He could not at once make 
 up his mind to break open the packet. He 
 glanced at the signature: " Gemma! " The tears 
 gushed from his eyes. The mere fact that she 
 had signed with her name, omitting her sur- 
 name, served him as a pledge of reconciliation, 
 of pardon ! He spread out the thin sheet of note- 
 paper — a photograph slipped from it. He has- 
 tily picked it up — and was fairly dumfounded: 
 Gemma, the living G^mma, as young as he had 
 known her thirty years ago! The selfsame eyes, 
 the selfsame lips, the same type of the w^hole 
 face! On the back of the photograph was writ- 
 ten: " My daughter Marianna." The whole let- 
 ter was very simple and affectionate. Gemma 
 thanked Sanin for not having hesitated to ad- 
 dress her, for having had faith in her. She did 
 not conceal from him, either, the fact that she 
 really had lived through painful moments after 
 his flight, but she immediately added that, never- 
 theless, she regarded— and alw^ays had regarded 
 — her meeting with him as a happiness — since that 
 meeting had prevented her becoming the wife 
 of Herr Kliiber— and so, although indirectly, 
 it had been the cause of her marriage to her pres- 
 ent husband, wath whom she was now living for 
 the eight-and-twentieth year, in complete felicity, 
 in comfort and luxury. Their house was known 
 
 236
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 to all New York. Gemma informed Sanin that 
 she had five children— four sons and one daugh- 
 ter, a girl of eighteen, engaged to be married, 
 whose photograph she sent him— as she, accord- 
 ing to universal opinion, greatly resembled her 
 mother. Gemma kept her sad news for the end 
 of her letter. Frau Lenore had died in New 
 York, whither she had followed her daughter and 
 son-in-law— but had been able to rejoice in their 
 happiness, and dandle her grandchildren on her 
 knee. Pantaleone had also prepared to go to 
 America, but had died just before he was to have 
 left Frankfurt. "And Emilio— our dear, incom- 
 parable EmiHo— died a glorious death for the 
 freedom of his native land, in Sicily, whither he 
 went among that ' Thousand ' who were led by 
 the great Garibaldi; we all fervently lamented 
 the death of our inestimable brother; but even 
 as we wept, we were proud of him— and shall al- 
 ways be proud of him and hold his memory sa- 
 cred ! His lofty, unselfish soul was worthy of the 
 martyr's crown!" Then Gemma expressed her 
 regret that Sanin's life had— apparently— fallen 
 into such unpleasant places, wished him first of 
 all solace and spiritual tranquillity, and said that 
 she should be glad to see him again— although 
 she was aware that such a meeting was hardly 
 probable. . . . 
 
 We will not undertake to depict the sensations 
 experienced by Sanin, on perusing this letter. 
 
 237
 
 SPRING FRESHETS 
 
 There is no satisfactory expression for such feel- 
 ings: they are deeper and more sacred— and more 
 indefinite— than any word. Music alone would 
 be competent to transmit them. 
 
 Sanin replied immediately— and sent as a gift 
 to the bride— "To Marianna Slocum, from an 
 unknown friend "—the garnet cross, mounted 
 on a magnificent pearl necklace. This gift, al- 
 though very valuable, did not ruin him. In the 
 course of the thirty years which had elapsed since 
 his first sojourn in Frankfurt, he had succeeded 
 in acquiring a considerable fortune. Early in 
 May he returned to Petersburg— but probably 
 not for long. It is rumoured that he is selling 
 off all his property— and making ready to go to 
 America. 
 
 238
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK 
 
 A STUDY 
 
 (1870)
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 A STUDY 
 
 WE all seated ourselves in a circle, and our 
 good friend Alexander Vasilievitch Rie- 
 del (he had a German surname, but he was a born 
 and bred Russian) began as follows: 
 
 I will relate to you, gentlemen, an incident 
 which happened to me in the thirties .... forty 
 years ago, as you see. I will be brief— and you 
 must not interrupt me. 
 
 I was living in Petersburg at the time, and had 
 only just come out of the university. My brother 
 was serving in the horse-guard artillery, with the 
 rank of ensign. His battery was stationed at 
 Krasnoe Selo,^— it was in summer. My brother 
 was not quartered in Krasnoe Selo proper, but in 
 one of the adjacent hamlets. I was his guest 
 more than once, and had become well acquainted 
 with all his comrades. He was lodged in a fairly- 
 clean cottage together with another officer be- 
 
 1 Literally, " Red Village," situated sixteen miles from St. Peters- 
 burg. A summer resort, but chiefly known as the site of the great 
 summer camp and manoeuvring-ground. — Tkanslatoh. 
 
 241
 
 KNOCK . . , KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 longing to his battery. This officer's name was 
 Tyegleff, Ilya Stepanitch. I became particu- 
 larly intimate with him. 
 
 ^larlinsky has become old-fashioned now; no 
 one reads him, and people even ridicule him ; but 
 in the thirties he made more noise than any one 
 else, and Pushkin— according to the ideas of the 
 youth of that period— could not be compared 
 with him. He not only enjoyed the glory of be- 
 ing the leading Russian writer, he even effected 
 what is far more difficult, and more rarely en- 
 countered — he imprinted his stamp upon the gen- 
 eration contemporaneous with him. Heroes a 
 la Mdrlinshy were cropping up in every direc- 
 tion, and especially among army and artillery 
 officers; they conversed and corresponded in his 
 language; in society they maintained a gloomy, 
 reticent mien, with " a storm in the soul, and a 
 flame in the blood," like Lieutenant Byelozor of 
 " The Frigate Hope." Female hearts were 
 " devoured " by them. The epithet " fatal " was 
 then invented for them. This type, as every one 
 knows, persisted for a long time, until the date of 
 Petchorin.^ What all did not that type contain? 
 Byronism and romanticism; reminiscences of the 
 French Revolution and the Decembrists^— and 
 
 * The hero of LerraontofTs famous novel "A Hero of Qur Times." 
 — Translator. 
 
 ^ The conspirators who made trouble on the accession to the 
 throne of the Emperor Nicholas I, in December, 1825. The Grand 
 Duke Constantine should have succeeded his brother Alexander I; 
 but he renounced the succession in order to marry a Polish woman. 
 
 242
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 adoration of Napoleon. Faith in Fate, in one's 
 star, in the force of character, of pose, and of 
 phrase— and the anguish of futihty; the dis- 
 quieting agitations of petty self-love — and actual 
 force and daring; noble aspirations, and bad 
 bringing-up, and ignorance ; aristocratic manners 
 — and a flaunting of toys. . . But enough of 
 philosophising! ... I have promised to narrate, 
 
 II 
 
 Sub-lieutenant Tyegleff belonged precisely 
 to that category of " fatal " men, although he did 
 not possess the exterior attributed to those per- 
 sons: for example, he bore not the slightest re- 
 semblance to LermontoiF's " fatalist." He was 
 a man of medium height, of decidedly thick-set 
 build, with high cheek-bones, and fair-haired, 
 almost tow-headed; he had a round, fresh, red- 
 cheeked face, a snub-nose, a low forehead over- 
 grown with hair on the temples, and large, regu- 
 lar lips which were eternally motionless ; he never 
 laughed or even smiled. Only from time to time, 
 when he was fatigued and heaved a sigh, did his 
 square teeth, white as sugar, become visible. The 
 same artificial impassivity was spread over all 
 his features. Had it not been for that they would 
 
 No one knew of this renunciation except the Dowager Empress, 
 Alexander I, and Constantine. Revolutionists took advantage of 
 the muddle arising from Nicholas's ignorance of his rights, and so 
 forth. — Tbanslatok. 
 
 243
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 have revealed themselves as good-natured. The 
 only thing about his whole face that was not per- 
 fectly ordinary was his eyes, which were not 
 large, and had greenish pupils and yellow eye- 
 lashes. The right eye was a trifle higher up 
 than the left, which imparted to his gaze a 
 certain diversity, strangeness, and drowsiness. 
 TyeglefF's physiognomy was not devoid, how- 
 ever, of a certain agreeability, and almost 
 always expressed satisfaction with a dash of 
 perplexity, just as though he were internally pur- 
 suing some cheerless thought which he could not 
 possibly catch. Notwithstanding all this, he did 
 not produce the impression of an arrogant per- 
 son: one would have taken him for a wounded 
 rather than a haughty man. He talked very lit- 
 tle, falteringly, in a hoarse voice, and with un- 
 necessary repetitions of words. Contrary to the 
 majority of fatalists, he did not employ pecu- 
 liarly-whimsical expressions, and resorted to 
 them only in writing: he had a thoroughly child- 
 ish chirography. 
 
 The authorities regarded him as a " so-so " offi- 
 cer, — not over-capable and not sufficiently zeal- 
 ous. " He is punctual but not methodical," was 
 what was said of him by the general in command 
 of the brigade— who was of German extraction.^ 
 
 1 The point is, that he used mongrel Russian — foreign words 
 slightly Russified in form: " punktualnost," and " accuratnost."— 
 Translator. 
 
 2U
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 And for the soldiers, also, TyeglefF was " so-so " 
 — neither fish nor meat. He lived modestly, in 
 accordance with his means. He had been left a 
 full orphan at the age of nine j^ears: his father 
 and mother had been drowned in the spring, in 
 a freshet, as they w^ere crossing the Oka on a 
 ferry-boat. He had received his education in a 
 private boarding-school, where he was consid- 
 ered one of the very stupidest and most peace- 
 able pupils. He had entered the horse-guard 
 artillery at his own importunate desire, and on 
 the recommendation of his great-uncle, an in- 
 fluential man, as yiinker, and had passed the ex- 
 aminations—though with difficulty— first for 
 ensign and then for sub-lieutenant. His rela- 
 tions with the other officers were strained. They 
 did not like him and visited him rarely, and he 
 w^ent to hardly any one. The presence of stran- 
 gers embarrassed him; he immediately became 
 unnatural, awkward .... there was no comrade- 
 ship in him, and he called no one " thou," and was 
 called " thou " by no one. But he was respected; 
 and men respected him not for his character or 
 his brains and culture, but because they recog- 
 nised in him that special seal wherewith " fatal " 
 people are stamped. " Tyegleff will have a ca- 
 reer; Tyegleff will distinguish himself"— not 
 one of his comrades expected that; — but " Tyeg- 
 leff will cut up some remarkable caper," or 
 " Tyegleff will take and suddenly turn out a 
 
 245
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 Napoleon "—was not regarded as improbable. 
 For there the " star " came into play, and he was 
 a man "with a predestination"— as there are 
 people " with a sigh " and " with a tear." 
 
 Ill 
 
 Two incidents which marked the very beginning 
 of his service as an officer aided greatly in firmly 
 establishing his reputation as a man of fate. 
 Namely: on the very first day after he was pro- 
 moted—about the middle of March— he was 
 walking along the quay in full uniform, in com- 
 pany with other officers who had just been re- 
 leased from examination. That year spring had 
 come early, the Neva had broken up; huge floes 
 of ice had already passed down, but the whole 
 river was dammed with fine, dense ice soaked with 
 water. The young men were chatting and laugh- 
 ing . . . when suddenly one of them stopped 
 short; he had descried on the slowly -moving sur- 
 face of the river, about twenty paces from the 
 shore, a tiny dog. Having clambered upon a 
 projecting block of ice, it was trembling all over 
 and whining. " Why, it will surely perish," — 
 said the officer through his teeth. The dog was 
 being carried slowly past one of the descents con- 
 structed along the quay. Suddenly Tyegleff, 
 without saying a word, ran down that descent, 
 and leaping along over the thin ice, tumbling 
 
 246
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 and skipping, he reached the dog, seized it by its 
 neck, and, having regained the shore in safety, 
 flung it on the pavement. The danger to which 
 TyeglefF had exposed himself was so great, his 
 deed had been so unexpected, that his comrades 
 were fairly petrified with astonishment, and only 
 w^hen he called a drozhky, in order to drive home, 
 did they begin to speak all together. His whole 
 uniform was wet. In reply to their exclamations, 
 Tyegleff remarked indifferently that a man 
 cannot avoid what is written in his fate — and 
 ordered the cabman to drive on. 
 
 " But take the dog with thee as a memento," 
 —shouted one of the officers after him. But 
 Tyegleff merely waved his hand, and his com- 
 rades exchanged glances of dumb amazement. 
 
 The other incident occurred a few days later, 
 at a card-party given by the commander of the 
 battery. Tyegleff was sitting in a corner, and 
 was not taking part in the game. " Ekh, if onlj^ 
 my grandmother had told me in advance which 
 cards were destined to win, as in Pushkin's 
 ' Queen of Spades ' ! " — exclaimed one of the en- 
 signs, who had dropped his third thousand. Tyeg- 
 leff silently stepped up to the table, took up the 
 pack of cards, cut, and saying: " The six of dia- 
 monds!" — turned up the pack. On the bottom 
 was the six of diamonds.—" The ace of clubs! " 
 — he proclaimed, and cut again. On the bottom 
 was the ace of clubs.—" The king of diamonds! " 
 
 247
 
 KXOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 — he spoke for the third time, in an energetic 
 whisper, through his set teeth. He had guessed 
 right for the third time .... and suddenly 
 flushed crimson all over. Probably he himself 
 had not expected it. 
 
 "A capital trick! Show us another,"— re- 
 marked the batter\^ commander. 
 
 " I do not deal in tricks," replied Tyegleff, 
 drily, and went out into the adjoining room. 
 How it came about that he managed to guess the 
 card in advance, I will not undertake to explain, 
 but I saw it with my own eyes. After him many 
 of the players present tried to do the same thing, 
 and no one succeeded. A man could guess one 
 card, but two cards in succession — not by any 
 means; while Tyegleff had guessed three! This 
 affair still further confirmed his reputation as 
 a mysterious man of fate. The thought fre- 
 quently occurred to me afterward that if his trick 
 with cards had not proved successful, who knows 
 what turn his reputation would have taken, and 
 how would he have looked upon himself? But 
 that unexpected success definitively settled the 
 matter. 
 
 IV 
 
 Naturally, TyeglefF immediately clutched 
 hold of that reputation. It conferred upon him 
 special importance, special colouring. . . " Cela 
 
 248
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . , . KNOCK . . . 
 
 le posait/^— as the French saj^— and with his lim- 
 ited mind, insignificant attainments, and vast con- 
 ceit, such a reputation was exactly to his taste. 
 To acquire it was difficult, but it cost nothing to 
 maintain it: all he had to do was to hold his 
 tongue and look ferocious. 
 
 But it was not in consequence of this reputa- 
 tion that I became intimate with TyeglefF and, I 
 may say, conceived an affection for him. I 
 loved him, in the first place, because he w as a well- 
 bred eccentric, and I saw in him a kindred soul; 
 and, in the second place, because he was a kind 
 man and, in reality, very simple-hearted. He in- 
 spired me with something in the nature of com- 
 passion; it seemed to me that, setting aside his 
 fancied fatalism, a tragic fate really was impend- 
 ing over him which he himself did not suspect. 
 As a matter of course, I did not mention that 
 feeling to him. Can there be anything more in- 
 sulting to a " man of destiny " than compassion? 
 And Tyegleff felt a liking for me : he was at his 
 ease with me, he conversed with me,— in my pres- 
 ence he used to make up his mind to abandon 
 that strange pedestal upon which he had acci- 
 dentally half fallen, half clambered. Although, 
 torturingly, painfully conceited, it may be he ad- 
 mitted, in the bottom of his soul, that his conceit 
 was in no way justifiable, and that others were, in 
 all probability, looking down upon him .... while 
 I, a lad of nineteen, did not embarrass him. The 
 
 249
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 fear of saying something stupid or inappropri- 
 ate did not contract his ever-watchful heart in 
 my presence. He even fell into loquacity at 
 times; and lucky it was for him that no one ex- 
 cept myself heard his speeches! His reputation 
 would not have lasted long. He not only knew 
 very little,— he hardly read anything, and con- 
 fined himself to picking up appropriate anec- 
 dotes and stories. He believed in forebodings, 
 predictions, signs, meetings ; in lucky and unlucky 
 days, in the persecution or benignity of fate,— in 
 the significance of life, in one word. He even 
 believed in certain "climacteric years" which some 
 one had mentioned in his presence, and the mean- 
 ing whereof he did not thoroughly understand. 
 Genuine men of destiny should not express such 
 beliefs : they must inspire other people with them. 
 . . . But I alone knew TyeglefF from that side. 
 
 V 
 
 One day— it was on St. Ilya's day, July 20,^ 
 I remember — I went to visit my brother and did 
 not find him at home; he had been ordered oif 
 somewhere for a whole week. I did not wish 
 to return to Petersburg. I trudged about the 
 neighbouring marshes with my gun, killed a brace 
 
 * Or Elijah, on August 2, N. S. Generally on that day there are 
 terrific thunder-storms, which the Russian people say are caused by 
 the prophet ascending to heaven in his fiery chariot. — Translator. 
 
 250
 
 K^^OCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 of woodcock, and passed the evening with Tyeg- 
 lefF under the shed of an empty wagon-house, in 
 which he had set up, as he expressed it, his sum- 
 mer residence. We chatted about various things, 
 but chiefly drank tea, smoked our pipes, and 
 talked now with the landlord, a Russified Finn, 
 now with a pedlar who was roaming around the 
 battery, a seller of "goo-o-od 'ranges and lem- 
 ons," a nice fellow and droll, who, in addition to 
 other talents, knew how to play on the guitar, and 
 told us about the unhappy love which he had 
 cherished in " babyhood " ^ for the daughter of a 
 policeman. On attaining maturity this Don 
 Juan in a shirt of cotton print had no longer ex- 
 perienced any unfortunate attachments. 
 
 In front of the gate of our wagon-shed a broad 
 ravine spread out, which gradually grew deeper 
 and deeper; a tiny rivulet sparkled in places in 
 the windings of the rift. Further away, on the 
 horizon, low forests were visible. Night ap- 
 proached and we were left alone. Along with 
 the night there descended upon the earth a thin, 
 damp vapour which, spreading more and more 
 widely, was eventually converted into a dense fog. 
 The moon rose in the sky; the whole fog became 
 permeated through and through, and gilded, as 
 it were, by its rays. Everything was transposed, 
 muffled up and entangled, as it were; the distant 
 
 1 The pedlar is, evidently, a Jew, and gets his words 
 mixed. — Translator. 
 
 251
 
 KXOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KXOCK . . . 
 
 appeared near, the near distant, the large ap- 
 peared small, the small large .... everj^thing 
 became bright and indistinct. We seemed to 
 have been transported into a faiiy realm, to the 
 realm of whitish-gold fog, of profound stillness, 
 of sensitive sleep. . . . And how mysteriously, 
 wath what silvery sparks, did the stars pierce 
 through overhead! We both fell silent. The 
 fantastic aspect of that night took effect upon 
 us: it attuned us to the fantastic. 
 
 VI 
 
 Tyegleff was the first to speak, with his custom- 
 ary hitches, breaks, and repetitions, about fore- 
 bodings .... about visions. On just such a 
 night, according to his statement, one of his ac- 
 quaintances, a student who had just entered on 
 his duties as governor to two orphans, and had 
 been lodged with them in a separate pavilion, had 
 beheld a female figure bending over their beds, 
 and on the following day had recognised that fig- 
 ure in a portrait, hitherto unperceived by him, 
 which depicted the mother of those same orphans. 
 Then Tyegleff declared that his parents, for the 
 space of several days before their death, had 
 constantly thought they heard the sound of 
 water; that his grandfather had escaped death 
 in the battle of Borodino, through having seen a 
 white pebble on the ground and stooped to pick it 
 
 252
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 up— and at that same moment a grape-shot had 
 flown past over his head and broken off his long 
 black plume. Tyegleff even promised to show 
 me that same pebble which had saved his grand- 
 father, and had been inserted by him in a locket. 
 Then he alluded to the vocation of every man, 
 and his own in particular, adding that he believed 
 in it up to that moment, and that if at any time 
 doubts should arise within him concerning it, he 
 would know how to rid himself of them and of 
 his life, for life would then have lost all signifi- 
 cance for him. "Perhaps you think"— said he, 
 casting a sidelong glance at me — "that I have 
 not sufficient courage for that ? You do not know 
 me. ... I have an iron will." 
 
 "Well said," — I thought to myself. 
 
 Tyegleff became thoughtful, heaved a deep 
 sigh, and dropping his pipe from his hand, he in- 
 formed me that that was an important day for 
 him. — "This is St. Ilya's day, — my name-day. 
 .... This .... this is always a painful time 
 for me." 
 
 I made no reply and merely stared at him as he 
 sat in front of me, bent double, round-shouldered, 
 clumsy, with sleepy and gloomy gaze riveted on 
 the ground. 
 
 "To-day" — he went on — "an old beggar-wo- 
 man " (Tyegleff never let a single beggar pass 
 him without bestowing alms) "told me that she 
 would pray for my soul. ... Is n't that strange? " 
 
 253
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 " What possesses a man to worry about himself 
 all the time? "—I thought to myself. But I am 
 bound to add that of late I had begun to notice 
 an unusual expression of anxiety and trepidation 
 on TyeglefF's face, and it was not the melan- 
 choly of a man of destiny; something was really 
 distressing and torturing him. On this occasion, 
 also, I was struck by the despondency which was 
 spread over his features. Could it be that those 
 doubts to which he had alluded were already be- 
 ginning to arise within him? TyeglefF's com- 
 rades had told me that not long before he had 
 handed to the authorities a project for certain 
 thorough reforms " connected with the gun- 
 carriages," and that that project had been 
 returned to him " with an inscription," that is 
 to say, with a reproof. Knowing his character, 
 I did not doubt that such scorn on the part 
 of the authorities had wounded him deeply. 
 But that which I discerned in TyeglefF was 
 more akin to sadness, had a more personal 
 tinge. 
 
 " But it is growing damp," — he suddenly said, 
 shrugging his shoulders. " Let us go into the 
 cottage— and it is time to go to bed." 
 
 He had a habit of twitching his shoulders and 
 turning his head from side to side, exactly as 
 though his neckcloth were too tight, clutching at 
 his throat the while. Tyegleff's character was 
 expressed— at least, so it seemed to me— in that 
 
 254
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 anxious and nervous motion. Things were tod 
 tight for him in the world also. 
 
 We returned to the cottage and lay down, each 
 of us on the wall-bench — he in the fair corner,^ 
 I in the front corner, on hay, which we had spread 
 out. 
 
 VII 
 
 Tyegleff tossed about restlessly for a long time 
 on his bench, and I could not get to sleep. Whe- 
 ther it was that his stories had excited my nerves, 
 or that that night had irritated my blood, I do 
 not know;— only, I could not get to sleep. Every 
 desire for sleep even vanished at last, and I lay 
 with wide-open eyes and thought,— thought in- 
 tently, God knows about what: about the veriest 
 nonsense, as is always the case during an attack 
 of insomnia. As I tossed from side to side I threw 
 out my arms. . . . My finger came in contact 
 with one of the wall beams. A faint, but reso- 
 nant and prolonged sound rang out. ... I must 
 have hit upon a hollow place. 
 
 Again I tapped with my finger .... this 
 time intentionally. The sound was repeated. I 
 did it again. . . . Suddenly Tyegleff raised his 
 head. 
 
 "Riedel," — he said, — "listen; some one is 
 knocking under the window." 
 
 1 The comer in which the holy pictures hang— the right-hand 
 further corner, facing the entrance door.— Thanslatob. 
 
 255
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 I feigned to be asleep. I was suddenly seized 
 with the whim to make sport of my " fatal " com- 
 panion. It made no diiFerence— I could not 
 sleep. 
 
 He dropped his head on his pillow. I waited 
 a little and again tapped three times in succes- 
 sion. 
 
 Again Tyegleff rose up and began to listen. 
 
 I knocked again. I was lying with my face 
 toward him, but he could not see my hand. . . . 
 I had thrown it backward, under the coverlet. 
 
 " Riedel ! "—shouted Tyegleff. 
 
 I did not respond. 
 
 "Riedel! "-he repeated loudly.— " Riedel I " 
 
 "Hey? What is it?" I said, as though only 
 half awake. 
 
 " Don't you hear? Some one is knocking 
 under the window. Shall we ask him into the 
 cottage? " 
 
 " Some wayfarer "... I faltered. 
 
 " Then we must admit him, or find out what 
 sort of man he is ! " 
 
 But I did not reply again, and again feigned 
 to be asleep. 
 
 Several minutes passed. . . . Again I began 
 my tricks. . . . 
 
 "Knock .... knock .... knock! . . ." 
 
 Through my half-closed eyelids, by the whit- 
 ish nocturnal light, I could observe his move- 
 ments well. He kept turning his face now to- 
 
 256
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 ward the window, now toward the door. In fact, 
 it was difficult to distinguish whence the sound 
 proceeded: it seemed to fly around the room, as 
 though it were sHpping along the walls. I had 
 accidentally hit upon the acoustic chord. 
 
 "Knock .... knock .... knock! . . ." 
 
 "Riedel!" shouted Tyegleff at last.-" Rie- 
 del! Riedel!" 
 
 " Why, what is it? "—I said, yawning. 
 
 "Is it possible that you hear nothing? Some 
 one is knocking." 
 
 " Well, God be with him— I want nothing to 
 do with him!"— I replied, and again pretended 
 that I had fallen asleep. I even snored. . . . 
 
 Tyegleff quieted down. 
 
 " Knock .... knock .... knock! . . ." 
 
 " Who 's there? "-shouted Tyegleff.-" Come 
 in!" 
 
 As a matter of course, no one answered. 
 
 "Knock .... knock .... knock! . . ." 
 
 Tyegleff sprang out of bed, opened the win- 
 dow, and thrusting out his head, inquired in a 
 fierce voice : " Who 's there? Who is knocking? " 
 Then he opened the door and repeated his ques- 
 tion. A horse neighed in the distance— and that 
 was all. 
 
 He returned to his bed. . . . 
 
 " Knock .... knock .... knock! . . ." 
 
 Tyegleff instantly turned over and sat up. 
 
 " Knock .... knock .... knock! . . ." 
 
 257
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 TyeglefF promptly pulled on his boots, threw 
 his cloak over his shoulders, and unhooking his 
 sword from the wall, went out of the cottage. I 
 heard him make the circuit of it twice, asking all 
 the while: "Who 's there? Who goes there? 
 Who is knocking there? " Then he suddenly fell 
 silent, stood for a while on one spot in the street 
 not far from the corner where I was lying, and 
 without uttering another word returned to the 
 cottage and lay down without undressing. 
 
 " Knock .... knock .... knock! ..." I began 
 again. " Knock .... knock .... knock! . . ." 
 
 But TyeglefF did not stir, did not inquire: 
 "Who is knocking?" He merely propped his 
 head on his hand. 
 
 Perceiving that that was no longer effective, 
 after a little while I pretended to wake up, and, 
 after casting a glance at TyeglefF, I assumed a 
 surprised aspect. 
 
 "Have you been out anywhere?"— I asked. 
 
 " Yes," he answered indifferently. 
 
 "Did you continue to hear the knocking?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And you met no one? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "And has the knocking stopped?" 
 
 " I don't know. It makes no difFerence to me 
 
 now." 
 
 " Now? Why precisely now? 
 TyeglefF did not answer. 
 
 258 
 
 >>
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 I felt rather conscience-stricken and vexed at 
 him. Nevertheless, I could not make up my 
 mind to avow my prank. 
 
 " See here," I began: — " I am convinced that 
 the whole thing is merely your imagination." 
 
 TyeglefF scowled.—" Ah? So you think! " 
 
 " You say that you heard a knock. ..." 
 
 ** I did not hear a knock, only," he interrupted 
 me. 
 
 " What else did you hear? " 
 
 TyeglefF swayed forward — and bit his lips. 
 
 " They have called me! " he articulated at last, 
 in a low tone, as he turned away his face. 
 
 "They have called you? Who has called 
 you? " 
 
 " A . . . ." — TyeglefF continued to gaze to one 
 side — " a being concerning whom I only assumed 
 up to this moment that it^ was dead. . . . But 
 now I know it for a certainty." 
 
 " I swear to you, Ilya Stepanitch," I ex- 
 claimed, " that that is all mere imagination! " 
 
 "Imagination?" he repeated. "Would you 
 like to convince yourself in earnest? " 
 
 " I would." 
 
 " Well, then, let us go out into the street." 
 
 * The first " a " is feminine. The " it " is to agree with TyegleiFs 
 non-committal " being," which is of the neuter gender.— Trans- 
 lator. 
 
 259
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 VIII 
 
 I HASTILY dressed myself and with Tyegleff went 
 out of the cottage. Opposite it, on the other 
 side of the street, there were no houses, but a 
 long wattled fence stretched out, with breaches 
 here and there, behind which began a decidedly- 
 steep descent to the plain. The fog, as before, 
 enveloped all objects, and hardly anj^thing 
 could be seen at a distance of twenty paces. 
 TyeglefF and I walked to the wattled fence and 
 halted. 
 
 " Here now," he said, dropping his head. 
 " Stand still, be silent— and listen! " Like him, I 
 bent my ear, and save the usual, extremely faint 
 but universal nocturnal hum — that breathing of 
 the night— I heard nothing. From time to time 
 exchanging a glance, we stood there motionless 
 for several minutes— and were already preparing 
 to move on ... . 
 
 " Iliusha! " I thought I heard a whisper from 
 the other side of the fence. 
 
 I glanced at Tyegleff, but he appeared not to 
 have heard anything, and held his head down- 
 cast as before. 
 
 " Iliusha .... hey, Iliusha . . . ." resounded 
 more plainly than before— so plainly that one 
 could understand that those words were uttered 
 by a woman. 
 
 260
 
 KNOCK . . .KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 We both gave a start— and stared at each 
 other. 
 
 " What do you think of that? " TyeglefF asked 
 me, in a whisper. " You will not doubt now? " 
 
 *' Stay," I said to him, with equal softness,— 
 "that proves nothing as yet. We must look 
 and see if there is not some one there— some 
 jester. ..." 
 
 I leaped over the fence, and walked in the 
 direction whence, so far as I was able to judge, 
 the voice had proceeded. 
 
 Under my feet I felt the soft, porous earth; 
 long strips of vegetable-beds lost themselves in 
 the fog. I was in a vegetable-garden. But no- 
 thing stirred around me, or in front of me. 
 Everything seemed to be sunk in the numbness of 
 sleep. I advanced a few paces further. 
 
 " Who is there? " I shouted to match TyeglefF. 
 
 "Pr-r-r-r!" A startled quail darted out from 
 under my very feet, and flew away, as straight as 
 a bullet. I involuntarily recoiled. . . . What 
 nonsense! I glanced back. TyeglefF was visi- 
 ble on the selfsame spot where I had left him. 
 I approached him. 
 
 " It will be useless for you to call," he said. 
 " That voice has reached us ... . me . . . from 
 afar." 
 
 He passed his hand over his face, and with 
 quiet steps wended his way across the street 
 homeward. But I would not give in so quickly, 
 
 261
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 and returned to the vegetable-garden. That 
 some one had actually called " Iliiisha " thrice I 
 could not cherish the slightest doubt; I was also 
 forced to admit to myself that there had been 
 something plaintive and mysterious in that call. 
 . . . . But, who knows? Perhaps all that only 
 seemed incomprehensible, but in reaUty could be 
 explained as simply as the knocking which had 
 agitated TyeglefF. 
 
 I walked along the wattled fence, pausing and 
 looking around me from time to time. Close to 
 the fence and not far from our cottage grew an 
 aged, bushy white willow ; it stood out as a huge 
 black spot in the midst of the universal whiteness 
 of the fog, of that dim whiteness which blinds 
 and dulls the vision worse than darkness. Sud- 
 denly I thought something of considerable size, 
 something living, rolled over on the ground near 
 that willow. With the exclamation: " Halt! 
 Who is there? " I dashed forward. Light foot- 
 steps like those of a hare became audible; past 
 me flitted a figure all bent double, whether of 
 man or woman I could not distinguish. ... I 
 tried to seize it, but did not succeed, stumbling 
 and falling and burning my face in the nettles. 
 Rising half-way and propping myself with my 
 elbow on the ground, I felt something hard under 
 my arm; it was a small carved brass comb on a 
 string, like those which our peasants wear in their 
 belts. 
 
 262
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 Further researches on my part proved vain, 
 and comb in hand and with nettle-burned cheeks 
 I returned to the cottage. 
 
 IX 
 
 I FOUND Tyegleff sitting on the wall-bench. In 
 front of him on the table burned a candle, and he 
 was engaged in writing something in a small 
 album which he carried constantly with him. On 
 catching sight of me, he hastily thrust the tiny 
 album into his pocket and began to fill his pipe. 
 
 "Here, my dear fellow," — I began, — "see 
 what a trophy I have brought back from my 
 campaign ! " I showed him the little comb and told 
 him what had happened to me under the willow. 
 — "I must have scared a thief," I added. " Did 
 you hear that our neighbour had had a horse 
 stolen last night? " 
 
 Tyegleff smiled coldly and lighted his pipe. I 
 sat down by his side. 
 
 " And you are still convinced, as before, Ilya 
 Stepanitch," — I said, — " that the voice which we 
 heard had flown hither from those unknown re- 
 gions . . . ." 
 
 He stopped me with an imperious gesture of 
 his hand. 
 
 " Riedel," he began,—" I am in no mood for 
 jesting, and therefore I beg that you will not jest 
 either." 
 
 263
 
 KNOCK . , . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 Tyegleff really was in no mood for jesting. 
 His face had undergone a change. It seemed 
 paler, more expressive. His strange, " mis- 
 matched " eyes roved quietly. " I did not think," 
 he began again, — " that I should ever commu- 
 nicate to another .... another man that which 
 you are about to hear, and which should have 
 died .... yes, died in my breast; but, evi- 
 dently, it is necessary — and I have no choice. 
 'T is fate! Listen." 
 
 And he communicated to me the whole story. 
 
 I have already told you, gentlemen, that he 
 was a bad narrator; but he impressed me that 
 night not alone by his ignorance of how to im- 
 part to me the events which had happened to him : 
 the very sound of his voice, his looks, the move- 
 ments which he made with his fingers and hands 
 —everything about him, in a word, seemed un- 
 natural, unnecessary,— spurious, in short. I was 
 still very young and inexperienced, and did not 
 know that the habit of expressing one's self in a 
 rhetorical way, falsity of intonation and man- 
 ners, may so corrode a man that he is no longer 
 able to rid himself of it. It is a curse, in its way. 
 I lately happened to meet a certain lady who nar- 
 rated to me with such bombastic language, with 
 such theatrical gestures, with such a melodra- 
 matic shaking of the head and rolling up of the 
 eyes, the impression produced on her by the death 
 of her son, her "immeasurable grief," her fears 
 
 264)
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 for her own reason, that I thought to myself: 
 "How that lady is lying and putting on airs! 
 She did not love her son at all!" But a week 
 later I learned that the poor woman actually had 
 gone out of her mind. Ever since then I have 
 been much more cautious in my judgments, and 
 have trusted much less to my own impressions. 
 
 X 
 
 The story which Tyegleff narrated to me was, 
 briefly, as follows:— In Petersburg— in addition 
 to his uncle, the dignitary— dwelt an aunt of his, 
 not a woman of great position, but possessed of 
 property. As she was childless, she had adopted 
 a little girl, an orphan from the petty-burgher 
 class, had given her a suitable education, and 
 treated her like a daughter. The girl's name was 
 Masha. TyeglefF had been in the habit of seeing 
 her almost every day. It ended in their falling 
 in love with each other, and Masha gave herself 
 to him. This came to light. TyeglefF's aunt 
 flew into a frightful rage, turned the unhappy 
 girl, in disgrace, out of her house, and removed 
 her residence to Moscow, where she took a young 
 lady of the gentry as her nursling and heiress. 
 On returning to her former relations, poor and 
 drunken people, Masha endured a bitter fate. 
 Tyeglefl* had promised to marry her— and did not 
 keep his promise. On the occasion of his last 
 
 265
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 meeting with her he was compelled to state his 
 intentions. Masha wanted to learn the truth— 
 and she got it. 
 
 " Well," she said, " if I am not to be thy wife, 
 then I know what remains for me to do." More 
 than a fortnight had elapsed after this last meet- 
 ing. 
 
 " Not for one minute have I deceived myself 
 as to the meaning of her last words," added Tyeg- 
 lefF. " I am convinced that she has put an end 
 to her life, and .... and that that was her 
 voice, that she was calling me thither .... after 
 her. ... I recognised her voice. . . . Well, 
 't is all the same in the end! " 
 
 " But why did not you marry her, Ilya Stepa- 
 nitch? " I asked. " Had you ceased to love her? " 
 
 " No ; to this hour I love her passionately." 
 
 At this point, gentlemen, I stared with all my 
 might at Tyegleff. I called to mind another of 
 my acquaintances, a very intelligent man who, 
 being the possessor of an extremely ill-favoured, 
 stupid, and not wealthy wife, in reply to the ques- 
 tion I had put to him: "Why had he married? 
 Probably for love? "—had replied: " Not in the 
 least for love! But it just happened so! " But 
 here was TyeglefF passionately fond of a girl 
 and did not marry. Well then? And here 
 also had it "just happened so!" 
 
 " Why don't you marry? " I asked him the sec- 
 ond time. 
 
 266
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 TyeglefF's somnolently-strange eyes wandered 
 over the table. 
 
 " That .... cannot be told .... in a few 
 words," he began hesitatingly. " There were 
 reasons. . . . And besides, she .... is of the 
 burgher class. Well, and my uncle .... I had 
 to take him into consideration." 
 
 " Your uncle? " I cried. " But what the devil 
 do you care for your uncle, whom you only see on 
 New Year's Day, when you go to present your 
 congratulations? Are you reckoning on his 
 wealth? Why, he has about a dozen children of 
 his own! " 
 
 I spoke with heat. . . . TyegleiF winced, and 
 blushed . . . blushed unevenly, in spots. . . . 
 " I beg that you will not read me a lecture," he 
 said dully. " However, I do not defend myself. 
 I have ruined her life, and now I must pay the 
 debt. ..." 
 
 He dropped his head and fell silent. I also 
 found nothing to say. 
 
 XI 
 
 Thus we sat for a quarter of an hour. He stared 
 to one side and I stared at him— and noticed that 
 the hair above his brow had risen in a peculiar 
 sort of way and was curling in rings, which, ac- 
 cording to the remark of a military doctor, 
 through whose hands had passed many wounded, 
 
 267
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . , . KNOCK . . . 
 
 always serves as a sign of a strong, dry fever in 
 the brain. . . . Again it occurred to me that the 
 hand of Fate really did weigh upon this man, and 
 that not without cause had his comrades perceived 
 in him something fatal. And at the same time 
 I inwardly condemned him. " Of the burgher 
 class! " I thought. " But do you call yourself an 
 aristocrat?" 
 
 " Perhaps you condemn me, Riedel," began 
 TyeglefF, suddenly, as though di\dning my 
 thoughts. " I am greatly distressed myself .... 
 greatly distressed. But what can I do? What 
 can I do? " 
 
 He leaned his chin on his palm and began to 
 gnaw the broad, flat nails of his short, red fingers, 
 which were as hard as iron. 
 
 " I am of the opinion, Ilya Stepanitch, that you 
 should first make sure whether your surmises are 
 correct. . . . Perhaps your lady-love is alive and 
 well." (" Shall I tell him the real cause of the 
 knocking? " flashed through my mind. . . . "No 
 — later on.") 
 
 " She has not written to me a single time since 
 we have been in camp," remarked Tyegleff. 
 
 " That proves nothing, Ilya Stepanitch." 
 
 TyegleiF waved his hand in despair.— " No 1 
 She certainly is no longer on earth. She has 
 called me. ..." 
 
 He suddenly turned his face toward the win- 
 dow.—" Some one is knocking again! " 
 
 268
 
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 I involuntarily burst out laughing. — " You 
 must excuse me, Ilya Stepanitch ! This time it is 
 your nerves. Dawn is breaking, as you see. In 
 ten minutes the sun will rise; it is already after 
 three o'clock, and visions do not act in daylight." 
 
 TyeglefF darted at me a gloomy glance, and 
 muttering between his teeth, " Farewell, sir," he 
 threw himself down on the bench and turned his 
 back on me. 
 
 I also lay down,— and I remember that, before 
 I fell asleep, I meditated as to why Tyegleff had 
 kept hinting at his intention to take his own life. 
 " What nonsense, what phrase-making! He has 
 voluntarily refrained from marrying. . . . He 
 has abandoned the girl .... and now, all of a 
 sudden, he wants to kill himself! There is no 
 human sense in that! He cannot keep from 
 showing off ! " 
 
 Thus thinking, I fell into a very sound sleep, 
 and when I opened my eyes, the sun already stood 
 high in the heavens, and Tyegleff was not in the 
 cottage. . . . 
 
 According to his servant's statement, he had 
 gone away to the town. 
 
 XII 
 
 I SPENT a very wearisome, irksome day. Tyeg- 
 leff did not return either to dinner or to supper. 
 I did not expect my brother. Toward evening a 
 
 269
 
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 thick fog, worse than that of the preceding day, 
 spread over everything. I lay down to sleep quite 
 early. A knock under the window awoke me. 
 
 My turn had come to start. 
 
 The knock was repeated— and with such insis- 
 tent clearness that it was impossible to doubt its 
 reality. I rose, opened the window, and perceived 
 Tyegleff . Wrapped in his military cloak, with 
 his forage-cap pulled down over his eyes, he was 
 standing motionless. 
 
 " Ilya Stepanitch! " I exclaimed, — " is it you? 
 We had given up expecting you. Come in. Is 
 the door locked ? " 
 
 Tyegleff shook his head in negation. — " I do 
 not intend to enter," he said dully. — " I merely 
 wish to ask you to transmit this letter to the 
 commander of the battery to-morrow morning." 
 
 He held out to me a large envelope sealed with 
 five seals. I was amazed, but mechanically took 
 the envelope. Tyegleff immediately walked off 
 to the middle of the street. 
 
 " Wait, wait," I began. ..." Whither are 
 you going? Have you only just arrived? And 
 what is this letter? " 
 
 " Do you promise to deliver it at its address? " 
 said Tyegleff, retreating several paces further. 
 The fog began to shroud the outlines of his figure. 
 — " Do you promise ? " 
 
 " I promise . . . but first ....'* 
 
 Tyegleff retreated still further— and became 
 
 270
 
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 a dark, oblong spot. — " Farewell! " rang out his 
 voice. " Farewell, Riedel, remember me kindly. 
 . . . And don't forget Semyon . . . ." And 
 even the spot disappeared. 
 
 This was too much! " O cursed phrase- 
 maker!" I thought. "Why must thou always 
 be striving for effect? " But I was alarmed, 
 nevertheless. Involuntary terror oppressed my 
 breast. I threw on my cloak and ran out into the 
 street. 
 
 XIII 
 
 Yes; but in what direction was I to go? The fog 
 enveloped me on all sides. One could see through 
 it a little for five or six paces, but further than 
 that it was fairly piled up like a wall, porous and 
 white, like wadding. I turned to the right, along 
 the street of the hamlet which ended just there; 
 our cottage was the last one on the verge, and 
 beyond it began the empty plain, here and there 
 overgrown with bushes. Beyond the plain, a 
 quarter of a verst distant from the hamlet, there 
 was a birch coppice, and through it ran the same 
 smaU stream which lower down made a loop 
 around the village. All this I knew well, because 
 I had many times beheld it all by daylight; but 
 now I could see nothing, and could only guess, 
 from the greater density and whiteness of the 
 fog, where the land descended and the little river 
 flowed. In the sky, like a pale spot, hung the 
 
 271
 
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 moon, but its light was not strong enough, as on 
 the preceding night, to conquer the smoky com- 
 pactness of the fog, which hung aloft like a broad, 
 faint canopy. I made my way out on the plain 
 and began to listen. . . . Not a sound anywhere 
 except the whistling of the woodcock. 
 
 " TyegleiF! " I shouted. " Ilya Stepanitch! I 
 TyeglefF!!" 
 
 My voice died away around me without a re- 
 sponse; it seemed as though the very fog would 
 not permit it to go further. " TyeglefF! " I re- 
 peated. 
 
 No one answered. 
 
 I advanced at haphazard. Twice I came in con- 
 tact with the wattled fence, once I almost tumbled 
 into a ditch, and I all but stumbled over a peas- 
 ant's horse which was lying on the ground. . . . 
 "Tyegleff! TyeglefF !" I shouted. 
 
 Suddenly behind me, very close at hand in- 
 deed, I heard a low voice: — " Well, here I am. 
 .... What do you want with me? " 
 
 I wheeled swiftly round. 
 
 In front of me, with pendent arms, and with 
 no cap on his head, stood TyeglefF. His face was 
 pale, but his eyes appeared animated and larger 
 than usual. . . . He was inhaling long, slow 
 breaths through his parted lips. 
 
 " God be thanked ! " I cried, in an outburst of 
 joy, seizing him by both hands. ..." God be 
 thanked! I was already despairing of finding 
 
 272
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 you. And are n't you ashamed of giving me such 
 a fright? Good gracious, Ilya StepanitchI " 
 
 " What do you want of me? " repeated Tyeg- 
 leff. 
 
 " I want ... I want, in the first place, that 
 you shall return home with me. And, in the 
 second place, I wish, I demand— I demand of 
 you, as of a friend, that you shall immediately 
 explain to me the meaning of your behaviour— 
 and this letter to the colonel. Has anything un- 
 expected happened to you in Petersburg? " 
 
 " In Petersburg I found precisely what I had 
 expected," replied TyeglefF, still not stirring 
 from the spot. 
 
 " That is ... . you mean to say .... your 
 friend .... that Masha . . . ." 
 
 " She took her own life,"— interposed Tyeg- 
 leff, hurriedly, and as though viciously. " She 
 was buried the day before yesterday. She did not 
 leave even a note for me. She poisoned herself." 
 
 Tyegleff hastily blurted out these dreadful 
 words, and still stood motionless, as though made 
 of stone. 
 
 I clasped my hands. — " Is it possible? What 
 a misfortune! Your presentiment came true. 
 . . . This is frightful!" 
 
 I fell silent in confusion. TyeglefF quietly, 
 and as though solemnly, folded his arms. 
 
 "But why do we stand here? " I began. " Let 
 us go home." 
 
 273
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 " Let us go," said TyeglefF. " But how are 
 we to find the way in this fog? " 
 
 " There is a hght burning in the windows of 
 your cottage; we will guide ourselves by that. 
 Come along." 
 
 " Do you walk ahead," rephed TyeglefF. " I 
 will follow you." 
 
 We set out. For five minutes we walked — and 
 our guiding light did not show itself; at last it 
 beamed out a couple of paces ahead of us in two 
 red spots. TyeglefF walked behind me with mea- 
 sured tread. I was frightfully anxious to get 
 home as promptly as possible and learn from him 
 the particulars of his unhappy trip to Petersburg. 
 Stunned by what he had told me, in a fit of re- 
 pentance and partly of superstitious dread, I con- 
 fessed to him before we reached the cottage that 
 I had produced the mysterious knocking of the 
 night before . . . and what a tragic turn that 
 jest had taken! 
 
 TyeglefF confined himself to the remark that I 
 counted for nothing in the matter, — that my hand 
 had been guided by something else, — and that 
 that only proved how little I knew him. His voice, 
 strangely quiet and even, sounded directly in my 
 ear.—" But you will learn to know me," he added. 
 " I saw you smile yesterday when I alluded to 
 my strength of will. You will learn to know me 
 — and you will recall my words." 
 
 The first cottage in the village surged up in 
 
 274
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 front of us out of the fog, like some dark mon- 
 ster .... and now the second started forth, 
 our cottage started forth — and my setter hound, 
 probably scenting me, began to bark. 
 
 I knocked at the window.— " Semyon! "— I 
 shouted to Tyegleff's servant:— " hey, there, 
 Semyon ! Open the gate to us as quickly as pos- 
 sible!" 
 
 The gate clanged and opened ; Semyon stepped 
 across the threshold. 
 
 " Pray, enter, Ilya Stepanitch," I said, glan- 
 cing round. . . . 
 
 But there was no longer any Ilya Stepanitch 
 behind me, Tyegleff had disappeared as though 
 the earth had swallowed him. 
 
 I entered the cottage like a man bereft of his 
 reason. 
 
 XIV 
 
 Vexation at Tyegleff, at myself, superseded the 
 amazement which at first took possession of me. — 
 " Thy master is crazy!" I said, darting at Se- 
 myon— " downright crazy! He galloped off to 
 Petersburg, then he came back — and now he is 
 running about at random! I caught him, and 
 brought him to the very gate— and suddenly, 
 bang! he has taken to his heels again! The idea 
 of not staying at home on such a night ! A pretty 
 time he has chosen for a ramble! " 
 
 275
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 " And why did I let go of his hand? " I re- 
 proached myself. 
 
 Semyon stared in silence at me, as though pre- 
 paring to say something, but, in accordance with 
 the habits of servants in those days, he merely 
 shifted from foot to foot a little. 
 
 " At what o'clock did he go off to the city? " I 
 inquired severely. 
 
 " At six o'clock in the morning." 
 
 " And how did he seem— troubled, sad? " 
 
 Semyon cast down his eyes. — " Our master — is 
 queer," he began. " Who can understand him?— 
 When he was preparing to go to the city, he 
 ordered me to give him his new uniform; well, 
 and he curled himself, also." 
 
 " How curled himself? " 
 
 *' Curled his hair. I fixed the tongs for him." 
 
 I must confess that I had not anticipated this. 
 — " Art thou acquainted with a young lady," I 
 asked Semyon, — " a friend of Ilya Stepanitch's, 
 named Masha? " 
 
 "Of course I know Marya Anempodistovna ! 
 She 's a nice young lady." 
 
 " Thy master was in love with that Marya .... 
 and so forth." • 
 
 Semyon heaved a sigh. — " It 's on account of 
 that young lady that Ilya Stepanitch will go to 
 destruction. He loves her frightfully— and he 
 can't make up his mind to take her as his spouse 
 —and he 's sorry to abandon her, too. That 
 
 276
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 comes from his lack of courage. He 's awfully 
 fond of her." 
 
 " And what is she like— pretty? " I inquired 
 curiously. 
 
 Semyon assumed a serious aspect.—" Gentle- 
 men like such as she." 
 
 *' And is she to thy taste? " 
 
 " For us ... . she is not suited— not at all." 
 
 " Why not? " 
 
 " She 's very thin in body." 
 
 " If she were to die," I began again,—" would 
 Ilya Stepanitch survive her, thinkest thou? " 
 
 Again Semyon heaved a sigh.—" I dare not say 
 that— that 's the master's aiFair. . . . Only, our 
 master— is queer! " 
 
 I took from the table the large and fairly thick 
 letter which TyeglefF had given to me, and turned 
 it about in my hands. . . . The address to " His 
 High-Born, Mr. Battery Commander, Colonel 
 and Cavalier," with name, patronymic and sur- 
 name indicated, was very distinctly and care- 
 fully written. In the upper corner of the en- 
 velope stood the word: " Important," twice un- 
 derlined. 
 
 " Hearken, Semyon," I began. " I 'm 
 afraid for thy master. He seems to have evil 
 thoughts in his head. We must find him without 
 fail." 
 
 " I obey, sir," replied Semyon. 
 
 " There is such a fog outdoors that one can 
 
 277
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 distinguish nothing two arshins ^ off, it is true ; 
 but never mind, we must make the effort. We 
 will each take a lantern, and we will light a candle 
 in each window — in case of need." 
 
 *' I obey, sir," repeated Semyon. He lighted 
 the lanterns and the candles and we set out. 
 
 XV 
 
 How he and I wandered about, how entangled we 
 became, it is impossible to convey to you! The 
 lanterns did not help us in the least ; they did not 
 in the slightest degree disperse that white, almost 
 luminous mist which surrounded us. Semyon 
 and I lost each other several times apiece, despite 
 the fact that we kept exchanging calls, shouting 
 " a-oo! " and I kept crying out: " Tyegleff ! Ilya 
 Stepanitch!" and he: " Mr. Tyegleff! YourWell- 
 Born! " — The fog threw us off the track to such 
 a degree that we roamed about as though in our 
 sleep ; both of us speedily grew hoarse : the damp- 
 ness penetrated to the very bottom of our lungs. 
 We met again, by some means, thanks to the 
 lights in the windows at the cottage. Our com- 
 bined explorations had led to nothing,— we had 
 merely hampered each other,— and therefore we 
 decided not to think any more of how to avoid 
 getting separated, but that each of us should go 
 
 1 The arshfn — the Russian yard-measure — is twenty-eight 
 inches in length.— Thanslatoe. 
 
 278
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . '. 
 
 his own road. He went to the left, I to the right, 
 and I soon ceased to hear his voice. The fog 
 seemed to have made its way into my very brain, 
 and I wandered about hke a dazed person, merely 
 shouting: " Tyegleff ! TyeglefF! " 
 
 " Here! " suddenly rang out in response. 
 
 Heavens! How delighted I was! How I 
 rushed in the direction where I had heard the 
 voice! .... A human figure loomed up black 
 ahead of me. ... I darted at it. . . . At last ! 
 
 But instead of TyeglefF I beheld before me 
 another officer of the same battery named Telep- 
 nefF." 
 
 " Was it you who answered me? " I asked him. 
 
 *' And were you calling me? " he inquired, in 
 his turn. 
 
 " No; I was calling TyeglefF." 
 
 " TyeglefF? Why, I met him only a moment 
 ago. What an absurd night! It is utterly im- 
 possible to find one's way home." 
 
 "You saw TyeglefF? In which direction was 
 he going? " 
 
 " In that direction— I think." The officer 
 passed his hand through the air.—" But now it is 
 impossible to understand anything. For exam- 
 ple, do you know where the village is? The only 
 salvation is if a dog should begin to bark. An 
 abominable night, is n't it? Allow me to light 
 a cigar .... it will seem to illuminate the 
 road." 
 
 279
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 The officer was a little tipsy, so far as I could 
 make out. 
 
 " Did not Tyegleff say anything to you? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " Certainly he did! ' How art thou, brother? ' 
 says I to him. And he says to me : ' Fare- 
 well, brother! '—* Farewell? Why farewell?'— 
 ' Why,' says he, ' I 'm going to shoot m'self with 
 pistol 's very minute.' A queer fellow ! " 
 
 I gasped for breath.— "You say that he told 
 you . . . ." 
 
 " A queer fellow! " repeated the officer, as he 
 strode away from me. 
 
 Before I could recover from the officer's an- 
 nouncement, my own name, several times repeated 
 in a violent shout, struck my ear. I recognised 
 Semyon's voice. 
 
 I responded. . . . He approached me. 
 
 XVI 
 
 " Well, what is it? " I asked him. " Hast thou 
 found Ilya Stepanitch? " 
 
 " I have, sir." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " Yonder, not far from here." 
 
 " How didst thou .... find him? Is he 
 alive? " 
 
 "Certainly; I conversed with him." (My 
 heart was lightened.) "He is sitting under a 
 
 280
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 small birch-tree, in his cloak .... and he 's all 
 right. I reported to him : ' Please come to your 
 quarters, Ilya Stepanitch," says I, ' Alexander 
 Vasilitch is very uneasy about you.' But he says 
 to me : ' What possesses him to be uneasy ? I want 
 to be in the fresh air. My head aches. Go home,' 
 says he. ' I '11 come after a while.' " 
 
 " And didst thou leave him ? " I exclaimed, 
 wringing my hands. 
 
 "And why not, sir? He ordered me to go 
 away .... how could I stay? " 
 
 All my terrors returned to me at once. 
 
 " Lead me to him this very minute, dost hear? 
 This very minute! Ekh, Semyon, Semyon, I did 
 not expect this of thee ! Thou sayest that he is not 
 far from here? " 
 
 " Quite close, yonder where the grove begins — 
 that 's where he is sitting. About two fathoms — 
 not more— from the creek, from the shore. I 
 found him by going along the creek." 
 
 " Come, guide me, guide me! " 
 
 Semyon set out. " Here, this way, if you 
 
 please We have only to descend to the 
 
 stream, and then we shall immediately . . . ." 
 
 But instead of descending to the creek we got 
 into some sort of a ravine and found ourselves in 
 front of a small, empty shed. . . . 
 
 " Hey! Halt! " suddenly exclaimed Semyon. 
 " I must have gone too far to the right. . . . We 
 must turn more to the left here. . . ." 
 
 281
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 We went further to the left, and got into such 
 a dense mass of steppe grass that we could hardly 
 extricate ourselves ... so far as I could recol- 
 lect, there was no such high grass anywhere in the 
 vicinity of our village. Then suddenly marshy 
 ground began to seep under our feet, and round, 
 mossy tussocks, which I had never seen, either, 
 began to make their appearance. . . . We re- 
 traced our steps — before us uprose a hillock, and 
 on the hillo^ k stood a hovel, and in it some one 
 was snoring. Semyon and I shouted several times 
 into the hovel; something fumbled about in its 
 recesses, straw crackled, and a hoarse voice ejac- 
 ulated: " Po-o-li-i-ice ! " 
 
 Again we retraced our steps .... fields, 
 fields, interminable fields. . . . 
 
 I was ready to weep. ... I recalled the words 
 of the fool in " King Lear ": " This cold night 
 will turn us all to fools and madmen! " 
 
 "Where shall we go?" I said, in despair, to 
 Semyon. 
 
 " Evidently, master, the forest fiend has cheated 
 us," replied the discomfited orderly. " There 's 
 some mischief abroad. . . . An evil power is at 
 work!" 
 
 I was on the point of scolding him, but at that 
 moment there reached my ear an isolated, not very 
 loud sound which instantly attracted my entire 
 attention. Something popped faintly, as though 
 some one had extracted a tight-fitting cork from 
 
 282
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 the narrow neck of a bottle. The sound rang out 
 not far from the spot where I was standing. 
 Why that sound seemed to me pecuhar and 
 strange I am unable to say, but I immediately 
 walked in the direction whence it had proceeded. 
 
 Semyon followed me. At the end of a few mo- 
 ments something tall and broad loomed up darkly 
 through the fog. 
 
 " The grove ! There it is, the grove ! " ex- 
 claimed Semyon, joyfully; "and yonder . . . . 
 yonder my master is sitting under the birch-tree, 
 where I left him. 'T is he himself ! " 
 
 I looked intently. In fact, on the ground, at 
 the foot of a birch, with his back tow^ard us, awk- 
 wardly bent over, a man was sitting. I briskly 
 approached him and recognised Tyegleff's 
 cloak,— recognised his figure, his head bowed on 
 his breast. 
 
 " TyeglefF!" I shouted. ... But he did not 
 reply. 
 
 "Tyegleff!" I repeated, laying my hand on 
 his shoulder. 
 
 Then he suddenly swayed forward, quickly 
 and obediently, as though he had been awaiting 
 my touch, and fell prone upon the grass. Se- 
 myon and I immediately lifted him and turned his 
 face upward. It was not pale, but inanimately 
 impassive ; the clenched teeth shone white, and the 
 eyes, also, motionless and open, preserved their 
 customary sleepy and " mismatched " glance. . . . 
 
 283
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 " O Lord! "—said Semyon, suddenly, showing 
 me his hand crimsoned with blood. . . . This 
 blood was flowing from beneath Tyegleff 's un- 
 fastened cloak, from the left side of his breast. 
 
 He had shot himself with a small, single-bar- 
 relled pistol which lay there by his side. The 
 faint sound which I had heard had been the sound 
 produced by the fatal shot. 
 
 XVII 
 
 Tyegleff's suicide did not greatly surprise his 
 comrades. I have already told you that, accord- 
 ing to their view, he, as a " fatal " man, was bound 
 to indulge in some unusual performance, although 
 possibly they had not expected from him pre- 
 cisely this caper. In his letter to the commander 
 of the battery he requested the latter, in the first 
 place, to attend to having Sub-Lieutenant Ilya 
 TyeglefF stricken from the rolls as a suicide, stat- 
 ing, in this connection, that in his casket there 
 would be found more than enough ready money 
 to pay all debts which might be claimed; and, in 
 the second place, to transmit to an important per- 
 sonage, who then was in command of all the corps 
 of the Guard, another, unsealed letter, which was 
 enclosed in the same envelope. We all read this 
 second letter, as a matter of course ; several of us 
 took copies of it. TyeglefF had obviously toiled 
 over the composition of that letter. 
 
 284
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 " Just see, Your Royal Highness," ^ thus It 
 began, as I recall it, "how strict you are, how 
 sternly you punish for the slightest irregular- 
 ity in a uniform, for the most insignificant in- 
 fringement of regulations when a poor, trem- 
 bling officer presents himself before you; but 
 now I am presenting myself before the incor- 
 ruptible, upright Judge of us all, before the Su- 
 preme Being, before the Being who is of im- 
 measurably greater importance than even Your 
 Royal Highness, and I am presenting myself 
 quite simply, in my cloak, without even a stock 
 on my neck. ..." Akh, what an oppressive 
 and unpleasant impression was made upon me by 
 this phrase, every word, every letter of which 
 was carefully set forth in the dead man's child- 
 ish chirography! Was it really worth while, I 
 asked myself — was it really worth while to de- 
 vise such nonsense at such a moment? But 
 TyeglefF had, evidently, taken a liking to this 
 phrase; for he had put in play all the heaping 
 up of epithets and amplifications, a la Mdrlin- 
 shy, which was then in fashion. Further on he 
 alluded to Fate, to persecution, to his mission, 
 which would remain unfulfilled; to the secret 
 which he was carrying with him into the grave; 
 to the people who had refused to understand 
 
 1 The title is intentionally abbreviated in the original, and the word 
 might mean either Majesty, or Royal Highness as printed. The 
 latter must be intended, and probably the Grand Duke Mikhail 
 Pavlovitch, a renowned martinet, in particular. — Tbanslatob. 
 
 285
 
 KNOCK . . .KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 him; he even quoted the verses of some poet or 
 other who had said of the crowd that it wears 
 life " Hke a dog's collar," and eats into vice " like 
 a burdock"— and all this not without ortho- 
 graphical errors. Truth to tell, this ante-mor- 
 tem letter of poor Tyegleff was decidedly in- 
 sipid, and I can imagine the scornful surprise 
 of the exalted personage to whom it was ad- 
 dressed; I can imagine in what a tone he must 
 have ejaculated: "A worthless officer! A good 
 riddance to bad rubbish! " Just before the end 
 of the letter a genuine cry burst from TyeglefF's 
 heart. " Akh, Your Royal Highness! " thus he 
 wound up his epistle,—" I am an orphan, I have 
 had no one to love me from my childhood, and 
 every one has fought shy of me .... and the 
 only heart which gave itself to me I myself have 
 destroyed!" 
 
 In the pocket of Tyegleff's cloak Semyon 
 found the tiny album from which his master 
 never parted. But almost all the leaves had been 
 torn out; only one remained intact, upon which 
 stood the following calculation: 
 
 Napoleon, born Aug. 16, Ilya Tydgleff, born Jan. 7, 
 
 1T69. 1811. 
 
 1769 1811 
 
 15 7 
 
 8 (Aug. is eighth l(Jan.is first month 
 
 month in year.) in year.) 
 
 Total 1792 Total 1819 
 
 286
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 1 
 
 
 1 
 
 7 
 
 
 8 
 
 9 
 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 
 9 
 
 Total 19! 
 
 
 Total 19! 
 
 Napoleon died May 
 
 5, 
 
 Ilyd Ty^glefF died July 21, 
 
 1825. 
 
 
 1834. 
 
 1825 
 
 
 1834 
 
 5 
 
 
 21 
 
 5 (May is 
 
 fifth month 7 (July is seventh 
 
 in year.) 
 
 month in year.) 
 
 Total 1835 
 
 
 Total 1862 
 
 1 
 
 
 1 
 
 8 
 
 
 8 
 
 3 
 
 
 6 
 
 5 
 
 
 2 
 
 Total 17! 
 
 
 Total 17! 
 
 Poor fellow ! Was not that the reason that he 
 had entered the artillery? 
 
 They buried him, being a suicide, outside the 
 cemetery, and immediately forgot him. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 On the day after Tyegleff's funeral (I was still 
 in the village, awaiting my brother) Semyon en- 
 tered the cottage and announced that Ilya wished 
 to see me. 
 
 "What Ilya?" I asked. 
 
 287
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 "Why, our pedlar." 
 
 I ordered him to be called in. 
 
 He presented himself. He expressed some 
 slight regret concerning the sub-lieutenant, and 
 surprise that he should have taken such a thing 
 into his head. . . . 
 
 " Was he in debt to thee? " I asked. 
 
 " Not at all, sir. Whatever he bought from me 
 he paid for punctually on the spot. But it 's this, 
 sir. . . ." Here the pedlar grinned. — " You 
 have a small article of mine. ..." 
 
 "What article?" 
 
 " Why, that one, sir." He pointed with his 
 finger at the carved comb which was lying on the 
 toilet-table.—" 'T is an article of small value, sir," 
 —went on the huckster,— "but seeing that I re- 
 ceived it as a present . . ." 
 
 I suddenly raised my head. An idea struck me 
 like a flash of light. 
 
 "Is thy name Ilya?" 
 
 " Exactly so, sir." 
 
 " So it was thee whom I . . . found the other 
 day .... under the willow? " 
 
 The pedlar winked and grinned still more 
 broadly. 
 
 1 was me, sir. 
 
 " And it was thee whom some one was calling? " 
 
 " 'T was me, sir," repeated the pedlar, with 
 playful modesty. " There 's a lass yonder," he 
 went on, in a falsetto voice, "who, on account 
 
 288
 
 KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 of very great strictness on the part of her 
 parents . . . ." 
 
 " Good, good," I interrupted him, handing him 
 the comb and sending him away. 
 
 So that was the " IHiisha," — I thought, and 
 plunged into philosophical reflections which, how- 
 ever, I will not repeat to you, for I have no in- 
 tention of preventing any one from believing in 
 Fate, predestination, and other fatalities. 
 
 On returning to Petersburg I made inquiries 
 about Masha. I even hunted up the doctor who 
 had attended her. To my amazement, I learned 
 from him that she did not die of poison but of 
 the cholera! I communicated to him what I had 
 heard from Tyegleff*. 
 
 " Ho! ho! " exclaimed the doctor. *' Was that 
 TyeglefF an artillery officer of medium height 
 with round shoulders and a lisp? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, that 's it exactly. That gentleman 
 presented himself to me — I beheld him then for 
 the first time — and began to insist upon it that the 
 girl had poisoned herself. ' It was the cholera,* 
 said I. ' It w^as poison,' said he. ' But 't was the 
 cholera,' said I. * But 't was poison,' said he. I 
 saw that the man was rather daft, with a broad 
 nape which indicates stubbornness, and it would 
 not be a short job to get rid of him. ... It 
 makes no difference, I thought to myself; the 
 patient is dead anyway. . . . ' Well, then,' said I, 
 
 289
 
 KNOCK . . o KNOCK . . . KNOCK . . . 
 
 ' she did poison herself, if that is more agreeable 
 to you.' He thanked me, he even shook hands 
 with me— and took himself off." 
 
 I told the doctor how that same officer had shot 
 himself that very same day. 
 
 The doctor never so much as moved an eyebrow 
 — and merely remarked that there were various 
 sorts of eccentric folk in the world. 
 
 " There are," I repeated after him. 
 
 Yes, some one has truly said concerning sui- 
 cides that until they carry out their design no one 
 believes them ; and if they do, no one regrets them. 
 
 200
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 (1875)
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 AN OLD MAN'S STORY 
 
 I WILL tell you my story about the watch. . . . 
 A curious story ! 
 The affair took place at the very beginning 
 of the present century, in the year 1801. I had 
 just entered my sixteenth year. I lived in Rya- 
 zan, in a little wooden house not far from the 
 bank of the Oka, with my father, my aunt, and 
 my cousin. I do not remember my mother; she 
 died three years after her marriage. My father 
 had no children except me. His name was Por- 
 firy Petrovitch. He was a peaceable man, not 
 good-looking, and sickly; his business consisted 
 of prosecuting lawsuits — and of other things. 
 In former times men like him were called petti- 
 foggers, shysters, nettle-seed; he dignified him- 
 self with the title of lawyer. Our domestic af- 
 fairs were presided over by his sister, my aunt, 
 — an old maid of fifty; my father also was over 
 forty. She was a very pious woman — to speak 
 
 293
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 the plain truth, a hypocrite, a tattler, and given 
 to poking her nose into everything ; and her heart 
 was not like my father's— it was not kind. We 
 did not live poorly, but on the verge of that. 
 My father had also a brother, Egor^ by name; 
 but he had been sent to Siberia for some alleged 
 "seditious acts and Jacobinical manner of 
 thought"— or other (precisely so did it stand in 
 the decree). 
 
 Egor's son, David, my cousin, was left on 
 my father's hands and lived with us. He was 
 only one year older than I ; but I abased myself 
 before him and obeyed him as though he had 
 been a full-grown man. He was far from a 
 stupid lad, with strong character, broad-shoul- 
 dered, stockily built, with a square face all cov- 
 ered with freckles, red hair, grey eyes, small, 
 broad lips, a short nose, also short fingers— what 
 is called a strong man— and with a strength be- 
 yond his years. My aunt could not bear him; 
 and my father was even afraid of him ... or, 
 perhaps he felt himself culpable toward him. A 
 rumour was current that had not my father 
 blabbed, David's father would not have been ex- 
 iled to Siberia! We both studied in the gym- 
 nasium, in the same class, and both did pretty 
 well; I even a trifle better than David. ... I 
 had a keen memory; but boys— as every one 
 knows— do not prize that superiority and do not 
 
 *That is, George; pronounced Yeg6r. — Translator. 
 
 294
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 plume themselves on it, and David remained, 
 nevertheless, my leader. 
 
 II 
 
 My name, as you know, is Alexyei. I was born 
 on the seventh of March, and my name-day 
 comes on the seventeenth. According to ancient 
 custom, they bestowed upon me the name of one 
 of those saints whose day falls upon the tenth day 
 after the child's birth. My godfather was a 
 certain Anastasy Anastasievitch PutchkofF; or, 
 properly speaking, Nastasyei, Nastasyeitch ; no 
 one ever called him anything else. He was a 
 frightfully-litigious man, a caviller and bribe- 
 taker — a bad man altogether; he had been ex- 
 pelled from the Governor's chancellery, and had 
 been indicted more than once ; he was necessary to 
 my father. . . . They " did business " in company. 
 He was plump and round in person ; but his face 
 was like that of a fox, with an awl-shaped nose; 
 his bright brown eyes were also like those of a 
 fox. And he kept those eyes of his in incessant 
 motion, to right and left, and kept his nose in mo- 
 tion also, as though he were sniffing the air. He 
 wore heelless shoes and powdered his hair every 
 day, which was then regarded as a great rarity in 
 country parts. He was wont to declare that he 
 could not get along without powder, as he was 
 
 295
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 obliged to consort with generals and general- 
 esses. 
 
 So, then, my name-day arrives. Nastasyei 
 Nastasyeitch comes to our house and says: 
 
 " Up to this time, godson, I have never given 
 thee anything; but just see what I have brought 
 thee to-day!" 
 
 And thereupon he pulls out of his pocket a 
 bulbous silver watch, with a rose painted on the 
 face, and a brass chain! I was fairly dumb- 
 founded with rapture,— but my aunt, Pulkhe- 
 riya ^ Petrovna, began to scream at the top of her 
 voice : 
 
 " Kiss his hand, kiss his hand, dirty brat! " 
 
 I began to kiss my godfather's hand, while my 
 aunt kept interpolating: 
 
 "Akh, dear little father, Nastasyei Nastasye- 
 itch, why do you spoil him so? How will he be 
 able to manage a watch? He 'U drop it, for a 
 certainty, and will smash it or break it!" 
 
 My father entered the room, looked at the 
 watch, thanked Nastasyeitch in a careless sort 
 of way, and asked him to come into his study. 
 And I heard my father saying, as though to 
 himself : 
 
 " If thou hast taken it into thy head, my good 
 fellow, to get out of it in this way . . . ." 
 
 But I could not stand still on one spot any 
 
 * Turg^niefF calls her part of the time Pelagdya, part of the time 
 Pulkhdriya. — Trakslatob. 
 
 296
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 longer, so I put on my watch and rushed off 
 headlong to show my gift to David. 
 
 Ill 
 
 David took the watch, opened it and scrutinised 
 it attentively. He had great gifts in the me- 
 chanical line ; he was fond of tinkering with iron, 
 brass, and all metals; he had provided himself 
 with various instruments, and to repair a screw, 
 or a key — or make an entirely new one, and so 
 forth, was nothing for him. 
 
 David turned the watch about in his hands, and 
 muttered through his teeth (he was, in general, 
 not talkative) : 
 
 " Old .... bad. . . . Where didst thou get 
 it?" he added. 
 
 I told him that my godfather had given it to 
 me. 
 
 David turned his small grey eyes on me: 
 
 "Nastasyei?" 
 
 "Yes; Nastasyei Nastasyeitch." 
 
 David laid the watch on the table and walked 
 off in silence. 
 
 " Dost not thou like it? " I asked. 
 
 " No ; that 's not it. . . . But if I were in thy 
 place, I would n't accept any gift from Nasta- 
 syei. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 *' Because he is a worthless man ; and one should 
 
 297
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 not lay himself under obligations to a worthless 
 man. I suppose thou didst kiss his hand? " 
 
 " Yes, aunty made me." 
 
 David laughed, — in a peculiar sort of way, 
 through his nose. It was a habit of his. He 
 never laughed aloud; he regarded laughter as a 
 sign of pusillanimity. 
 
 David's words, his noiseless smile, pained me 
 deeply. He must be blaming me inwardly, I 
 thought! I must also be a worthless creature in 
 his ej^es! He would never have lowered himself 
 to that, he would not have accepted a gift from 
 Nastasyei! But what was left for me to do now? 
 
 It was impossible to give back the watch ! 
 
 I made an effort to talk with David, to ask 
 his advice. He answered me that he never gave 
 advice to any one, and that I must act as I saw 
 fit. — " As I saw fit? " I remember that I did not 
 sleep all night afterward; I was tortured by 
 thought. I was sorry to part from the watch — so 
 I placed it beside my bed, on the night-stand; 
 it ticked so pleasingly and amusingly. . . But 
 to feel that David despised me .... (but it was 
 impossible to deceive myself on that score ! he did 
 despise me!) . . . seemed to me unbearable! 
 Toward morning my decision matured. ... I 
 cried a little, to tell the truth, but I went to sleep 
 after that, and as soon as I awoke I dressed my- 
 self in haste, and ran out into the street. I had 
 irade up my mind to give my watch away to the 
 first beggar I met. 
 
 298
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 IV 
 
 I HAD not succeeded in running very far from the 
 house when I hit upon that of which I was in 
 search. I came across a barefooted, tattered ur- 
 chin aged ten, who often lounged past our win- 
 dows. I immediately ran up to him, and without 
 giving either him or myself time to change our 
 minds, I offered him my watch. 
 
 The lad opened his eyes very wide, screened 
 his mouth with one hand, as though he were 
 afraid of scorching himself, and stretched out 
 the other. 
 
 " Take it, take it," I stammered,—" it is mine; 
 I make thee a present of it; thou mayest sell it 
 and buy thyself . . . Well, then, something 
 thou needest. . . . Good-bye!" 
 
 I thinist the watch into his hand, and started 
 for home at full tilt. After standing for a while 
 behind the door in our common bedroom and 
 getting my breath, I stepped up to David, who 
 had only just completed his toilet and was brush- 
 ing his hair. " Here, David," I began, in as calm 
 a voice as I could command,—" I have given 
 away Nastasyei's watch." 
 
 David glanced at me as he passed the brush 
 over his temples. 
 
 " Yes," I added, in the same business-like tone, 
 " I have given it away. There 's a very poor lit- 
 tle boy out there, a beggar; so I gave it to him." 
 
 299
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 David laid down his brush on the wash-stand. 
 
 " For the money w^hich he can get for it," I 
 went on, "he can purchase some useful article. 
 He will get something for it, anyhow." 
 
 I ceased speaking. 
 
 "Well, all right! 'T is a good thing!" said 
 David at last, and went off to the school-room. 
 
 I followed him. 
 
 "And what if thou art asked what thou hast 
 done wath it? " — he said, turning to me. 
 
 " I w411 say that I have lost it," I replied care- 
 lessly. 
 
 We said nothing further to each other that day 
 about the watch; but, nevertheless, it struck me 
 that David not only approved of me, but even, to 
 a certain degree, was amazed at me. — Really! 
 
 V 
 
 Two days more passed. It so happened that no 
 one in the house bethought himself of the watch. 
 My father had a very great row with one of 
 his clients; he was in no mood to think of me 
 or of my watch. On the other hand, I thought 
 of it incessantly! Even the approbation . . . . 
 the presumptive approbation of David did not 
 afford me much consolation. He did not express 
 It in any particular manner; he never said but 
 
 300
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 once— and that in passing— that he had not ex- 
 pected such daring from me. Positively, my sac- 
 rifice had been a disadvantage to me; it was not 
 counterbalanced by the satisfaction which my 
 vanity afforded. 
 
 But at this point, as though expressly, there 
 must needs turn up another gymnasium lad, an 
 acquaintance of ours, the son of the town phy- 
 sician, and begin to brag of a new watch — of 
 pinchbeck, not of silver— which his grandmother 
 had given him. ... At last I could hold out no 
 longer, and slipping quietly out of the house, I 
 set forth to hunt up that beggar lad to whom 
 I had given my watch. 
 
 I soon found him ; he, together with other boys, 
 was playing at knuckle-bones on the church 
 porch. I called him to one side, and, panting and 
 entangling myself in my speech, I told him that 
 my family were angry with me for having given 
 away my watch, and that if he would consent to 
 restore it to me, I would gladly pay him money 
 for it. ... I had taken with me, in case of 
 emergency, an old-fashioned ruble of the time of 
 the Empress Elizabeth, which constituted my en- 
 tire cash capital. . . . 
 
 " Why, I have n't got it, that watch of yours," 
 —replied the urchin, in an angry, snivelling 
 voice. " Daddy saw it and took it away from me ; 
 and he was going to thrash me to boot. ' Thou 
 
 301
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 must have stolen it somewhere,' said he. ' What 
 fool would give thee a watch? ' " 
 
 " And who is thy father? " 
 
 "My father? Trofimitch." 
 
 " But who is he? What is his business? " 
 
 "He 's a retired soldier— a srageant. And he 
 has n't any business. He cobbles old shoes, and 
 sews on soles. That 's all the business he has. 
 And he lives by it." 
 
 " Where is your lodging? Take me to him." 
 
 "I '11 take you. You just say to him, to my 
 daddy, that you gave me the watch. For he is 
 scolding me all the time. ' Thou 'rt a thief; yes, 
 a thief ! ' And my mother does the same : ' From 
 whom didst thou inherit this thieving? ' says she." 
 
 The boy and I wended our way to his lodging. 
 It was situated in a fowl-house, in the back yard 
 of a factory which had been burned down long, 
 long before and never rebuilt. We found both 
 Trofimitch and his wife at home. The retired 
 " srageant " was a tall old man, sinevry and erect, 
 with yellowish-grey side-whiskers, unshaven chin, 
 and a whole network of wrinkles on his cheeks 
 and forehead. His wife appeared to be older 
 than he; her little red eyes blinked and puckered 
 mournfully in the midst of a bloated and sickly 
 face. Both of them were draped in some sort of 
 dark rags instead of garments. 
 
 I explained the affair to Trofimitch, and why 
 I had come. He listened to me in silence, never 
 
 802
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 once winking, or removing from me his dull and 
 strained, regular soldier's glance. 
 
 "Mischievous tricks!" he said at last, in a 
 hoarse, toothless voice. — "Do well-born gentle- 
 men behave like that? But if Petka really did 
 not steal the watch — I'll give it to him for 
 that!— w-w- whack! Take that for playing with 
 young gentlemen! But if he had stolen it I 
 would n't have treated him like that! w-whack! 
 w-whack! w-whack! with rods, in calergard ^ 
 style! Who cares? What 's that? Hey? Give 
 him the spontoons! So that 's the story? 1 
 Faugh!" 
 
 This last exclamation Trofimitch uttered in a 
 falsetto voice. He was evidently perplexed. 
 
 " If j^ou will return my watch to me," I ex- 
 plained to him .... I did not dare to address 
 him as " thou," notwithstanding the fact that he 
 was a common soldier . ..." I will paj^ you 
 this ruble with pleasure. I don't suppose it is 
 worth any more than that." 
 
 "C-c-come!" — growled Trofimitch, without 
 recovering from his perplexity, and devouring me 
 with his eyes, out of old habit, as though I had 
 been some superior officer or other. — "A fine 
 business — hey? — Well now, just think of it! . . . 
 Hold thy tongue, Ulyana ! " he snarled at his 
 wife, who had begun to open her mouth. — 
 " Here 's the watch," he added, opening the table 
 
 ^ Cavalier-gnard.— I^AKSLATOB. 
 
 303
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 drawer.—" If it really is yours, please to take it. 
 But what's the ruble for? Hey?" 
 
 " Take the ruble, Trofimitch, good-for-no- 
 thing! " roared his wife.—" The old man has out- 
 lived his mind ! He has n't a penny to his name, 
 and here he is putting on pompous airs ! 'T was 
 in vain they cut oflp thy queue, for thou art as 
 much of a woman as ever!— so thou art— and 
 knowest nothing. Accept the money, if thou hast 
 taken it into thy head to give back the watch ! " 
 
 "Hold thy tongue, Ulyana, thou good-for- 
 nothing!" repeated Trofimitch. — "Who ever 
 heard of a woman's putting in her word? Hey? 
 The husband is the head; but she puts in her 
 word! Petka, don't stir or I'll kill thee! . . . 
 Here 's the watch!" Trofimitch reached out 
 the watch to me, but did not let it out of his fin- 
 gers. 
 
 He pondered, dropped his eyes, then riveted 
 upon me the same intently-dull gaze, and sud- 
 denly began to bawl at the top of his lungs : 
 
 "But where is it? Where 's that ruble?" 
 
 " Here it is, here," I hastily said, pulling the 
 money from my pocket. 
 
 But he did not take it, and kept staring at me. 
 I laid the ruble on the table. He suddenly swept 
 it into the drawer, flung my watch at me, and 
 wheeling round to the left and stamping his foot 
 violently, he hissed at his wife and son : 
 
 "Begone, riffraff!" 
 
 304
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 Ulyana stammered something or other, but I 
 had already darted out into the courtyard, into 
 the street. Thrusting my watch to the very bot- 
 tom of my pocket, and gripping it tightly in my 
 hand, I dashed headlong homeward. 
 
 VI 
 
 I HAD again entered into possession of my watch, 
 but got no satisfaction whatever out of it. I could 
 not make up my mind to wear it; I must hide 
 it most of all from David, which I did. What 
 would he think of me and my lack of character? 
 I could not even lock that unlucky watch up in 
 a drawer. We had all our drawers in common. 
 I was forced to hide it, now on the top of the 
 wardrobe, now under the mattress, now behind 
 the stove. . . . And yet I did not succeed in de- 
 ceiving David! 
 
 One day, having the watch out from under the 
 floor of our room, I took it into my head to rub 
 up its silver back with an old chamois-skin glove. 
 David had gone off somewhere in the town ; I was 
 not in the least expecting that he would speedily 
 return . . . when suddenly in he walked ! 
 
 I was so disconcerted that I almost dropped the 
 watch, and, all abashed, with face flushing to a 
 painful degree, I set to sliding it about over my 
 waistcoat, being utterly unable to hit my pocket. 
 
 305
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 David looked at me, and smiled silently, ac- 
 cording to his wont. 
 
 "What ails thee?" he said at last.— "Dost 
 thou think I did not know that thou hadst the 
 watch again? I saw it the very first day thou 
 didst bring it back." 
 
 " I assure thee," I began, almost in tears .... 
 
 David shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " The watch is thine ; thou art free to do with 
 it what thou wilt." 
 
 Having uttered these cruel words, he left the 
 room. 
 
 Despair seized upon me. There was no doubt 
 about it this time; David really did despise me! 
 
 Matters could not be left in this condition. 
 
 "I '11 just show him!" I thought to myself, 
 setting my teeth; and immediately betaking my- 
 self with firm tread to the anteroom, I hunted up 
 our page-boy Yiishka, and made him a present of 
 the watch! 
 
 Yushka tried to decline it, but I declared to 
 him that if he did not take that watch from me 
 I would smash it on the instant, I would trample 
 it under foot, I would fling it into the cesspool! 
 He reflected, giggled, and took the watch. And 
 I returned to our room, and seeing David, who 
 was engaged in reading a book, I told him what 
 I had done. 
 
 David did not remove his eyes from the page, 
 and again said, shrugging his shoulders and smil- 
 
 806
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 ing to himself, — "The watch is thine, and thou 
 art free to dispose of it." 
 
 But it seemed to me that he despised me some- 
 what less. 
 
 I was fully convinced that I should never again 
 subject myself to a fresh reproach for lack of 
 character; for that watch, that hateful gift of 
 my hateful godfather, had suddenly become so 
 loathsome to me that I even was not able to com- 
 prehend how I had regretted it, how I could have 
 wheedled it out of that person named Trofimitch, 
 who, moreover, still had a right to think that he 
 had treated me with magnanimity. 
 
 Several days passed. ... I remember that on 
 one of them a great piece of news reached our 
 town; the Emperor Paul was dead, and his son 
 Alexander, concerning whose benignity and hu- 
 manity such good rumours were in circulation, 
 had ascended the throne. This news threw David 
 into a frightful state of agitation ; the possibility 
 of seeing his father, of seeing him soon, immedi- 
 ately presented itself to him. My papa was also 
 delighted. 
 
 " All exiles will now be brought back from Si- 
 beria, and I suppose they will not forget brother 
 Egor either," he kept repeating, as he rubbed 
 his hands and cleared his throat, and, at the same 
 time, appeared to be struck with consternation. 
 
 David and I immediately ceased to work, and 
 did not go to the gymnasium; we did not even 
 
 307
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 stroll about, but sat constantly somewhere in a 
 corner, reckoning up and discussing in how many- 
 months, how many weeks, how many days " bro- 
 ther Egor" would be brought back, and where 
 we might write to him, and how we should go to 
 meet him, and in what manner we should begin 
 to live afterward. " Brother Egor " was an ar- 
 chitect; David and I decided that he must settle 
 in Moscow and there erect great school-houses for 
 poor people, while we would act as his assistants. 
 As a matter of course, we completely forgot the 
 watch; moreover, new anxieties had cropped up 
 for David .... of which more hereafter; but 
 the watch was destined to remind us of its exist- 
 ence. 
 
 VII 
 
 One morning just as we had finished breakfast, 
 I was sitting alone near the window and medi- 
 tating about my uncle's return — an April thaw 
 was steaming and glittering out of doors — when 
 suddenly Pulkheriya Petrovna ran into the room. 
 She was fussy and fidgety at all times, talked in 
 a squeaking voice, and was incessantly flourishing 
 her hands, but on this occasion she fairly pounced 
 upon me. 
 
 "Come along! come along to thy father this 
 very instant, young sir!" she cackled. "What 
 pranks are these thou hast been up to, thou 
 
 308
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 shameless wretch?— You '11 catch it, both of you I 
 Nastasyei Nastasyeitch has brought all your 
 tricks to light. . . . Come along! Thy father 
 wants thee. . . . Go this very instant!" 
 
 Still comprehending nothing, I followed my 
 aunt ; and as I crossed the threshold of the draw- 
 ing-room I beheld my father pacing back and 
 forth with huge strides, and rumpling up his crest 
 of hair, Yiishka in tears by the door, and in the 
 corner, on a chair, my godfather, Nastasyei Nas- 
 tasyeitch, with an expression of peculiarly-malign 
 joy in his inflated nostrils and blazing, squinting 
 eyes. 
 
 As soon as I entered, my father flew at me. 
 
 "Didst thou give the watch to Yiishka? 
 Tell me!" 
 
 I glanced at Yiishka. . . . 
 
 " Come, speak! " repeated my father, stamping 
 his foot. 
 
 " Yes," I replied, and immediately received a 
 swingeing box on the ear, which afl'orded great 
 satisfaction to my aunt. I heard her grunt, ex- 
 actly as though she had swallowed a mouthful 
 of boiling tea.— From me my father rushed to 
 Yiishka. 
 
 "And thou, scoundrel, shouldst not have pre- 
 sumed to accept the watch as a gift," he said, pull- 
 ing the boy about by his hair;— "and thou hast 
 sold it into the bargain, thou rascal ! " 
 
 Yiishka, as I afterward learned, in simplic- 
 
 309
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 ity of heart, actually had carried my watch to 
 a neighbouring watchmaker. — The watchmaker 
 had hung it up in his window; Nastasyei Nas- 
 tasyeitch had espied it in passing, had purchased 
 it and brought it to our house. 
 
 But the chastisement of myself and Yiishka 
 did not last long; my father got to panting, and 
 began to cough; and it was not in his nature, 
 either, to get angry. 
 
 "Dear brother, Porfiry Petrovitch," said my 
 aunt, as soon as she saw — not without some re- 
 gret, of course — that my father's wrath had died 
 down, as the saying is, — "pray, do not worry 
 yourself further; it is not worth soiling your 
 hands about. But this is what I would suggest: 
 with the consent of our respected Nastasyei Nas- 
 tasyeitch, and by reason of your little son's great 
 ingratitude, I will take possession of this watch; 
 and since he has shown by his act that he is un- 
 worthy to wear it, and does not even understand 
 its value, I will make a gift of it, in your name, 
 to a man who will be very appreciative of your 
 kindness." 
 
 "Who is he?" inquired my father. 
 
 "Why, Khrisanfa Liikitch," said my aunt, 
 with a little hesitation. 
 
 " Khrisashka? " ^ cross-questioned my father; 
 and with a wave of his hand he added: — " 'T is all 
 one to me. Fling it into the stove if you like." 
 
 1 The scornful diminutive.— Translator. 
 
 310
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 He buttoned up his under waistcoat, which was 
 open on the breast, and left the room, writhing 
 with a cough. 
 
 " And do you consent, my dear man? " said my 
 aunt, addressing Nastasyei Nastasyeitch. 
 
 " With the greatest readiness," replied the lat- 
 ter. Throughout the whole duration of the 
 "chastisement" he had not stirred on his chair, 
 and merely sniffing softly, and softly rubbing 
 together the tips of his fingers, he had turned 
 his foxy eyes upon me, my father and Yiishka by 
 turns. We aiforded him genuine satisfac- 
 tion! .... 
 
 My aunt's suggestion agitated me to the bot- 
 tom of my soul. I was not sorry for the watch; 
 but I heartily detested the man to whom she was 
 preparing to give it.— This Khrisanfa Lukitch, 
 whose surname was Trankvillitatin,^ a healthy, 
 robust, lank student in the ecclesiastical semi- 
 nary, had acquired a habit of coming to our house 
 — the devil only knows why! "To teach the 
 children" my aunt asserted; but he could not 
 teach us, for the simple reason that he himself 
 had learned nothing to teach, and was as stupid 
 as a horse. Altogether, he resembled a horse: 
 he clattered his feet exactly as though they were 
 hoofs; he did not laugh — he neighed, dis- 
 
 ^ An absurd surname of this sort, or one manufactured from the 
 title of a religious festival or something similar, is an infallible sign 
 that the owner belongs to, or is descended from, the ecclesiastical 
 caste. — Tran SLAToa. 
 
 311
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 playing the whole of his jaws do^Ti to his very 
 gullet in the process; and he had a long face, a 
 nose with a hump, and large, flat cheek-bones; 
 he wore a shaggy frieze kaftan, and emitted an 
 odour of raw meat. My aunt fairly worshipped 
 him and called him a distinguished man, a cav- 
 aher, and even a grenadier. He had a habit of 
 rapping children on the forehead (he had rapped 
 me also, when I was younger) with the nails of 
 his long fingers, which were as hard as stone, 
 and as he tapped he would guffaw and express 
 surprise. "How thy head resounds!" he would 
 say. "That signifies that it is empty!" And 
 this lout was to possess my watch ! — " Not on any 
 account! " I decided in my own mind, when I had 
 run out of the drawing-room, and tucked my feet 
 up on my bed, while my cheek burned and glowed 
 from the blow it had received — and in my heart 
 also the anguish of insult, and a thirst for ven- 
 geance flared up. . . . "Not on any account! I 
 won't allow that damned seminarist to rail at me. 
 .... He '11 put on the watch, and let the chain 
 hang over his belly, and begin to neigh with 
 pleasure. . . . Not on any account!" 
 
 Yet, what was I to do? How was I to pre- 
 vent it? 
 
 I decided to steal the watch from my aunt! 
 
 312
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 VIII 
 
 Luckily Trankvillitatin was absent from town 
 at the time. He could not come to our house 
 earher than the following day; I must take ad- 
 vantage of the night. My aunt did not lock her- 
 self into her room, for all through our house 
 none of the keys worked in the locks; but where 
 would she put the watch, where would she hide 
 it? Until evening she carried it in her pocket, 
 and even pulled it out more than once and looked 
 at it; but at night— where would it be at night? 
 —Well, it was m}^ business to find that out, I 
 thought, brandishing mj^ clenched fists. 
 
 I was all glo^™g with audacity and fright 
 and joy at the approach of the longed-for crime; 
 I kept constantly nodding my head ; I contracted 
 my brows in a frown, I whispered: "Just wait 
 a bit!" I menaced some one or other, I was ma- 
 lignant, I was dangerous .... and I avoided 
 David! — No one, not even he, must have the 
 slightest suspicion of that which I was preparing 
 to perpetrate. . . . 
 
 "I will act alone— and alone I will be respon- 
 sible!" 
 
 The day dragged slowly by ... . then the even- 
 ing ... at last night came. I did nothing, I 
 even tried not to stir: one thought had riveted 
 itself in my head, like a nail. At dinner my 
 
 313
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 father, whose heart was, as I have said, benig- 
 nant, and who had grown somewhat ashamed 
 of his vehemence — one does not slap boys of six- 
 teen on the face — my father tried to pet me; but 
 I rejected his caresses, not out of rancour, but 
 simply because I was afraid of relenting: it was 
 necessary for me to preserve all the fervour of 
 vengeance, all the hardened temper of irrevo- 
 cable resolution! 
 
 I went to bed very earlj^; but, as a matter of 
 course, I did not go to sleep, and did not even 
 close my eyes, but on the contrary opened them 
 staringly wide— although I had drawn the cov- 
 erlet over my head. I had not thought out be- 
 forehand how I should proceed ; I had no plan of 
 action; I was merely waiting until everything 
 should quiet down at last in the house. I took 
 but one precaution; I did not remove my stock- 
 ings. My aunt's room was in the second story. 
 It was necessary to pass through the dining-room 
 and the anteroom, ascend the stairs, traverse a 
 short, narrow corridor — and there ... on the 
 right, was the door! .... There was no need 
 to take a candle-end or a lantern : in the corner of 
 my aunt's room, in front of the glass case of holy 
 pictures, twinkled a shrine-lamp which was never 
 allowed to go out. I knew this. So I should be 
 able to see! I continued to lie with staring eyes 
 and wide-open, parched mouth; my blood ham- 
 mered in my temples, my ears, my throat, my 
 
 314
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 back, my whole body! I waited . . . but as 
 though some imp were making sport of me, time 
 passed on ... . and on, but silence was not es- 
 tablished. 
 
 IX 
 
 Never, so it seemed to me, had David fallen 
 asleep so late. . . . David, the taciturn David, 
 even entered into conversation with me! Never 
 had people thumped, walked, and talked so long 
 in the house ! And what were they talking about? 
 I thought. Had n't they talked their fill that 
 morning? External sounds did not cease for a 
 long time, either. Now a dog set up a shrill, per- 
 sistent barking ; now a drunken peasant began to 
 bluster somewhere or other, and would not stop; 
 now gates creaked ; now a miserable little peasant- 
 cart drove past on rickety wheels, drove and 
 drove, and could not seem to get past ! But these 
 sounds did not irritate me; on the contrary, they 
 pleased me, for some reason or other! They 
 seemed to divert my attention. — But now, at last, 
 apparently, everything had quieted down. Only 
 the pendulum of our old clock ticked hoarsely 
 and pompously in the dining-room, and one could 
 hear the long, measured, and seemingly-difficult 
 breathing of sleeping persons. 
 
 I prepare to rise . . . but lo ! again something 
 has hissed .... then suddenly there is a groan 
 
 315
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 .... something soft has fallen— and a whisper 
 is wafted abroad, a whisper glides along the 
 walls. . . . 
 
 Or, is there nothing of all this, and is it only 
 my imagination teasing me? 
 
 Everything has grown dead still at last: the 
 very core and pitchiness and dead of the night has 
 come. — 'T is time! Shivering all over in an- 
 ticipation, I fling aside the coverlet, lower my 
 feet to the floor, stand up. . . . One step, a sec- 
 ond. . . I crawl stealthily on. The hollows of 
 my feet seem to belong to some one else : they are 
 heavy, they step weakly and uncertainly. Stay! 
 What sound is that? Is some one sawing some- 
 where, or scraping .... or sighing? I listen . . . 
 Chills course over my cheeks, cold, watery tears 
 well up in my eyes. . . . Never mind! . . . . 
 Again I crawl forward. It is dark; but I know 
 the way. Suddenly I collide with a chair. . . . 
 What a clatter, and how painful ! The blow has 
 taken me straight on the shin. ... I become pet- 
 rified on the spot. . . . Well, will they wake up? 
 Ah! I care nothing! Suddenly daring appears, 
 and even wrath. Forward! Forward! And 
 now I have traversed the dining-room; now I 
 have groped for and found the door, and have 
 opened it with one turn, with a flourish. . . . 
 How that cursed hinge squeaks .... damn it! 
 Now I am ascending the stairs. . . . One! two! 
 three ! A stair has creaked under my foot ; I dart 
 
 816
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 a vicious glance at it — just as though I could see 
 it. And I have grasped the handle of the second 
 door. . . . This one did not even squeak! It 
 swung open lightly, as much as to say: "Pray, 
 enter!" . . . And now I am already in the Uttle 
 corridor ! 
 
 High up in the corridor, near the ceiling, is a 
 little window. The faint nocturnal light barely 
 sifts through the dark panes. And in that flick- 
 ering light I behold, stretched out on a felt upon 
 the floor, with both arms thrown over her head, 
 our little runaway girl; she is sleeping soundly, 
 breathing rapidly, and right at her very head 
 is the fateful door. I step over the felt, across 
 the girl. . . . Who opened that door for me. . . . 
 I know not; but now I am in my aunt's room; 
 there is the shrine-lamp in one corner, and the 
 bed in another, and my aunt in cap and night- 
 dress is on the bed, with her face turned toward 
 me. She is sleeping, and does not stir; even her 
 breath is not audible. The flame of the shrine- 
 lamp flickers softly, agitated by the current of 
 fresh air; and all over the room, and over my 
 aunt's face, which resembles yellow wax, the 
 shadows begin to waver. . . . 
 
 And there is the watch! Behind the bed, on 
 the wall it hangs, on a small embroidered cushion. 
 What luck, I think to myself! ... I must not 
 delay! But whose footsteps are those, soft and 
 swift, behind my back? Akh, no! that is the 
 
 317
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 beating of my heart! ... I advance one foot. 
 . . . Heavens! Something round, fairly large, 
 hits me below the knee .... once! and yet 
 again ! I am ready to shriek aloud, I am ready to 
 fall to the floor vi^ith fright. ... A striped cat, 
 our household cat, is standing before me, with 
 arched back and tail in air. Now he springs upon 
 the bed — heavily — and softly turns himself about, 
 and sits down, without purring, like a judge; sits 
 there and glares at me with his golden pupils! 
 " Puss ! puss ! " I whisper, in barely audible tones. 
 I bend across my aunt, I already have the watch 
 in my grasp. . . . She suddenly sits up, opens 
 her eyelids wide. . . . O my Creator ! What will 
 happen now? .... But her eyelids quiver and 
 close, and with a faint babble her head falls back 
 on the pillow. 
 
 Another minute and I am back in my own 
 room, in my bed, with my watch in my hands. . . . 
 More lightly than a tuft of down did I dash back! 
 I am a gallant fellow, I am a thief, I am a hero; 
 I am panting with joy, I feel burning hot, I feel 
 jolly— I want to wake up David on the spot and 
 tell him everything— and, incredible to relate! I 
 fall fast asleep, like one dead ! At last I open my 
 eyes. . . . The room is light; the sun has already 
 risen. Fortunately, no one is awake as yet. I 
 spring up like one scalded, arouse David, and 
 narrate all to him. He listens with a grin. 
 
 "See here,"— he says to me at last,— "let's 
 
 818
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 bury that idiotic watch in the earth, so that no 
 trace of it may remain I " 
 
 I consider this a splendid idea. In a few min- 
 utes we are both dressed and run into the fruit- 
 garden which is situated behind our house, and 
 beneath an ancient apple-tree, in a deep hole 
 hastily excavated, with David's big knife, in the 
 porous spring soil, we conceal forever the hated 
 gift of my godfather, which after all has not 
 reached the hands of the repulsive Trankvilli- 
 tatin! We tread down the hole, fling rubbish 
 over it, and, proud and happy, we regain the 
 house without having been seen by any one, get 
 into our beds and sleep another hour or two — 
 and with what a light, blissful slumber! 
 
 X 
 
 You can picture to yourself what an uproar 
 arose the next morning as soon as my aunt woke 
 up and discovered the loss of the watch! Her 
 piercing shriek still rings in my ears. "Police! 
 Thieves! Thieves!" she shrilled, and roused the 
 w^hole household on foot. She went into a wild 
 rage, but David and I only smiled to ourselves, 
 and sweet was our smile to us. 
 
 "Every one must receive a sound thrashing, 
 every one!" — screamed my aunt. "My watch 
 has been stolen from under my head, from under 
 my pillow!" 
 
 319
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 We were prepared for anything; we antici- 
 pated a catastrophe . . . but, contrary to our ex- 
 pectations, no catastrophe whatever crashed down 
 upon our heads. At first, it is true, my father 
 made a tremendous fuss— he even spoke of the 
 poHce; but probably the row of the day before 
 had thoroughly bored him, and he suddenly, to 
 the indescribable amazement of my aunt, pounced 
 not upon us, but upon her! 
 
 " I 'm sick of you,— more sick than of a bit- 
 ter radish,— Pulkheriya Petrovna,"— he yelled, 
 " and of your watch! I won't hear another word 
 about it! You say that it did not disappear 
 through sorcery; but what do I care about that? 
 I don't care if it was sorcery ! Has it been stolen 
 from you? Well, let it go! What will Nastasyei 
 Nastasyeitch say? The devil fly away with him 
 altogether, with that Nastasyeitch of yours! I 
 get nothing but offences and unpleasantnesses 
 out of him. Don't dare to bother me any more! 
 Do you hear?" 
 
 My father banged the door, and went oif to 
 his study. 
 
 At first David and I did not understand the 
 hint contained in his last words; but later on we 
 learned that my father was extremely indignant 
 at my godfather at that very time, because the 
 latter had snatched away from him a good bit 
 of business. And so my aunt was left in the 
 lurch. She almost burst with wrath, but there 
 
 320
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 was nothing to be done. She was compelled to 
 content herself with saying in a whisper as she 
 passed me, making a wry face in my direction: 
 "Thief, thief, convict, rascal!"— My aunt's re- 
 proaches aiForded me genuine delight. It was 
 also very pleasant, when skirting along the fence, 
 to glide a feignedly-indifferent eye at the spot 
 under the apple-tree where the watch reposed; 
 and if David were there also, to exchange with 
 him a significant grimace. . . . 
 
 My aunt took it into her head to hound Trank- 
 villitatin on me, but I had recourse to David's as- 
 sistance. He immediately announced to the stal- 
 wart seminarist that he would slit open his belly 
 with a knife if he did not let me alone. . . . 
 Trankvillitatin was scared. Although he was a 
 grenadier and a cavalier, according to my aunt's 
 expression, yet he was not distinguished for his 
 valour. 
 
 Thus five weeks passed. . . . But do you think 
 the story of the watch ended thus? No; it was 
 not ended; only, in order to continue my tale, 
 I must introduce a new personage; and in order 
 to introduce this new personage, I must go back 
 a little. 
 
 XI 
 
 My father had long been friendly, even intimate, 
 with a certain retired official, Latkin, a lame, mis- 
 erable httle man with strange and timid ways — 
 
 321
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 one of those beings concerning whom the proverb 
 was fabricated that they have been slain by God 
 himself. Like my father and Nastasyei, he oc- 
 cupied himself with soliciting lawsuits and was 
 also a private "lawyer" and attorney; but as he 
 possessed neither an imposing exterior nor the 
 gift of words, and had too little confidence in him- 
 self, he could not make up his mind to act inde- 
 pendently, and stuck close to my father. His 
 chirography was " a regular string of pearls," he 
 was thoroughly grounded in the statutes and had 
 acquired to perfection all the intricacies of style 
 required for legal documents and petitions. In 
 company with my father he managed certain af- 
 fairs, shared the profit and loss, and, apparently, 
 nothing could shake their friendship; but, never- 
 theless, it crumbled to ruin in one day — and for- 
 ever. My father quarrelled for good and all with 
 his colleague. If Latkin had snatched away 
 from my father some profitable business after the 
 manner of Nastasyei, who replaced him later on, 
 my father would have been no more angry with 
 him than with Nastasyei, — probably he would 
 have been even less angry ; but Latkin, under the 
 influence of some inexplicable, incomprehensible 
 feeling — envy or greed — and perhaps also under 
 the momentary inspiration of honour, — "gave 
 away " my father, betrayed him to their common 
 client, a wealthy young merchant, by opening the 
 eyes of that heedless youth to certain .... 
 
 322
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 certain tricks which were designed to yield my 
 father considerable profit. It was not the mone- 
 tary loss, great as that was — no! but the treach- 
 ery which hurt and enraged my father. He could 
 not forgive slyness ! 
 
 " Just see, a saint has made his appearance! " — 
 he reiterated, all trembling with wrath, and with 
 teeth chattering as though in a fever. I was 
 present in the room and was a witness of this out- 
 rageous scene.— "Good! From this day forth— 
 amen! All is at an end between us. Yonder is 
 God and yonder is the threshold — begone ! I shall 
 not set my foot in thy house, and do not thou set 
 thy foot in mine ! Thou 'rt too awfully honest for 
 me— how can thou and I do business together! 
 But thou shalt have neither bottom nor cover! " ^ 
 
 In vain did Latkin beseech my father, and bow 
 to the earth before him; in vain did he strive to 
 explain that which filled his own soul with painful 
 surprise. 
 
 " But it was utterly without profit for myself, 
 Porfiry Petrovitch," he stammered: "I cut my 
 own throat, you know ! " 
 
 My father remained inflexible .... Latkin 
 never set foot in our house again. Fate itself, 
 apparently, conceived a desire to put into execu- 
 tion my father's last, cruel wish. Soon after the 
 rupture (it took place a couple of years before 
 the beginning of my story) Latkin's wife— who 
 
 1 Neither floor nor roof.— Thanslator. 
 
 323
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 had long been ill, it is true— died; his second 
 daughter, a child of three years, was stricken deaf 
 and dumb with terror in one day: a swarm of 
 bees settled down on her head; Latkin himself 
 suffered a stroke of apoplexy, and fell into ex- 
 treme and definitive poverty. How he got along, 
 on what he subsisted, it was difficult even to im- 
 agine. He dwelt in a half -ruined little hut, at a 
 short distance from our house. Raisa also lived 
 with him, and did her best with the housekeeping. 
 This Raisa is the new personage whom I must 
 introduce into my story. 
 
 XII 
 
 So long as her father and mine were friends, we 
 saw her constantly; she sometimes sat for whole 
 days together at our house and either sewed or 
 spun with her delicate, nimble and skilful hands. 
 She was a graceful, rather thin young girl, with 
 intelligent brown eyes in a white, rather long face. 
 She spoke little, but to the point, in a quiet, reso- 
 nant voice, hardly opening her mouth, and with- 
 out displaying her teeth; when she laughed — 
 which rarely happened, and did not last long— 
 they suddenly all revealed themselves, large, white 
 as almonds. I remember also her walk, which was 
 light and elastic, with a little skip at every step ; 
 it always seemed to me as though she were de- 
 scending a flight of stairs, even when she was 
 
 324
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 walking on level ground. She held herself up- 
 right, with arms pressed close to her breast. And 
 whatever she did, whatever she undertook, — whe- 
 ther she threaded a needle, or smoothed a petticoat 
 with an iron,— she did everything well, and . . . 
 you will not believe it ... in a touching sort of 
 way. Her Christian name was Raisa, but we 
 called her " Black-lip ": she had on her upper lip 
 a birth-mark,— a small, dark-blue spot, as though 
 she had been eating blackberries. But this did not 
 deface her: quite the contrary. She was just one 
 year older than David. I cherished for her a sen- 
 timent akin to reverence, but she had little to do 
 with me. On the other hand, between David and 
 her a great friendship sprang up — a strange, un- 
 childish, but good friendship. They seemed to 
 suit each other. They sometimes did not ex- 
 change a word for whole hours at a stretch, but 
 each felt that things were well with them— and 
 that because they were together. I have never 
 met any other girl like her, really. There was in 
 her something attentive and decisive, something 
 honourable and sad and charming. I never heard 
 her utter a clever word, but, on the other hand, I 
 never heard a commonplace from her, and more 
 intelligent eyes I have never seen. When the 
 rupture occurred between her family and mine I 
 began to see her rarely : my father forbade me, in 
 the strictest manner, to visit the Latkins — and she 
 no longer showed herself in our house. But I was 
 
 325
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 in the habit of meeting her on the street, and in 
 church, and Black-hp still inspired me with the 
 same sentiments : respect and even a certain admi- 
 ration rather than compassion. She had borne her 
 reverses well. " She 's a girl of flint," the coarse 
 Trankvillitatin himself had said of her one day. 
 And really she was to be pitied : her face had as- 
 sumed a careworn, suffering expression, her eyes 
 had become hollow and sunken — an intolerable 
 burden was imposed upon her young shoulders. 
 
 David saw her much more frequently than I 
 did ; he even went to their house. My father al- 
 lowed him to do as he pleased; he knew that 
 David would not obey him in any case. And 
 Raisa presented herself at the wattled fence of 
 our garden, from time to time, where it abutted 
 on the alley, and there met David; she did not 
 conduct a conversation with him, but merely com- 
 municated to him some fresh difficulty or new dis- 
 aster, and asked his advice. 
 
 The paralysis which had smitten Latkin was 
 of a very peculiar nature. His arms and legs had 
 grown weak, but he had not lost the use of them, 
 and his brain even worked regularly ; but, on the 
 other hand, his tongue got entangled and instead 
 of one set of words he employed quite another set ; 
 one was forced to guess at what he meant to say. 
 
 ..." Tchu-tchu-tchu," he stammered with an 
 eff^ort (he began every sentence with "tchu-tchu- 
 tchu ") — " the scissors; give me the scissors . . . ." 
 
 326
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 But by the scissors he meant to indicate bread. He 
 hated my father with all the strength that was left 
 to him; he attributed to his curse all his misfor- 
 tunes and called him sometimes a butcher, some- 
 times a jeweller. " Tchu-tchu, don't dare to go 
 to the jeweller's, Vasilievna!" He had rechris- 
 tened his daughter by this name, while his own 
 name was Martinyan.^ He grew more exacting 
 every day; his wants increased. . . . And how 
 were those wants to be supplied? Where was the 
 money to come from? Woe ages a person fast; 
 but it makes one shudder to hear certain words on 
 the lips of a girl of seventeen. 
 
 XIII 
 
 I REMEMBER that I happened to be present at her 
 conversation by the fence with David, on the very 
 day of her mother's death. 
 
 " Mamma died at dawn this morning," she said, 
 after first having glanced about her with her dark, 
 expressive eyes, and then fixed them on the 
 ground. " The cook has undertaken to buy the 
 coffin as cheaply as possible; and we cannot rely 
 upon her ; she will probably spend the money for 
 liquor. It would be well for thee to come round 
 and take a look, David : she is afraid of thee." 
 
 ^ Consequently, his daughter should have been called 
 Raisa Martinyanovna. — Trakslatob. 
 
 327
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 " I '11 come," replied David; " I '11 see to it 
 
 But how about thy father? " 
 
 " He is weeping; he says, ' You will be spoiling 
 me, too.' ' You will spoil ' must mean— you will 
 bury. Now he has fallen asleep." Raisa sud- 
 denly heaved a deep sigh.— " Akh, David, Davi- 
 dushko!"^ She passed her half-clenched fist 
 across her forehead and brows, and this gesture 
 was very bitter . . . and very sincere and beau- 
 tiful, as were all her gestures. 
 
 " But do have some pity on thyself," remarked 
 David.—" Thou hast not slept at all, I am sure. 
 . . . And what is the use of crying? It will not 
 remedy thy grief." 
 
 " I have no time to weep," rephed Raisa. 
 
 "Rich folks can indulge themselves in that 
 way, in weeping," remarked David. 
 
 Raisa started to go, but turned back. 
 
 " They are bargaining with us for the yellow 
 shawl from mamma's wedding outfit. They offer 
 twelve rubles. I think that is very little." 
 
 " So it is, — very little." 
 
 " I would prefer not to sell it," went on Raisa, 
 after a brief pause,— "but we must have money 
 for the funeral, you know." 
 
 " You must. Only you must not spend money 
 at random. Those priests are— the mischief ! Here, 
 wait a bit, I'll come round. Art thou going? 
 —1*11 be there very soon. Good-bye, dear." 
 
 1 Or "dear little David."— Translator. 
 
 328
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 " Good-bye, dear brother, darling! " 
 
 " See here now, don't cry! " 
 
 "How should I cry? I must either cook the 
 dinner or cry. One of the two." 
 
 " What does she mean by cooking the dinner? " 
 I asked, turning to David, as soon as Raisa had 
 departed. "Do you mean to say that she pre- 
 pares the food herself?" 
 
 " Why, surely thou didst hear her say that the 
 cook has gone to bargain." 
 
 " Prepare the dinner," I thought, " and her 
 hands have always been so clean, and her gown so 
 neat. ... I should like to see how she would 
 manage in the kitchen. ... A remarkable girl!" 
 
 I remember another conversation at the fence. 
 On this occasion Raisa had brought with her her 
 little deaf and dumb sister. This sister was a 
 pretty child, with huge, surprised eyes, and a 
 whole mass of dull black hair on her little head. 
 (Raisa's hair also was black, and without lustre.) 
 Latkin had already been smitten with paralysis. 
 
 " I really do not know what I am to do," began 
 Raisa.— "The doctor has written a prescription, 
 and I must go to the apothecary's; and our 
 wretched little peasant" (Latkin still owned one 
 serf soul) "has brought fuel and a goose from 
 the village. But the yard-porter is taking it 
 away; ' you are in debt to me,' he says." 
 
 Is he taking away the goose? " asked David. 
 No, not the goose. ' It 's old,' he says ; ' 't is 
 
 329 

 
 THE WATCH 
 
 good for nothing any more. That 's why the 
 peasant has brought it to you,' he says. But he is 
 taking the wood." 
 
 "But he has no right to do that!" exclaimed 
 David. 
 
 " He has no right, but he is taking it. ... I 
 went to the garret; we have a trunk standing 
 there — an old, a very old trunk. I began to rum- 
 mage in it. . . And what do you think I found? 
 Look!" 
 
 She drew from under her kerchief a fairly large 
 telescope, mounted in brass, and covered with 
 morocco which had turned yellow. David, in his 
 quality of a lover and connoisseur of all sorts of 
 instruments, immediately seized it. 
 
 " English," he said, applying it to one ej^e, then 
 to the other.— "A naval glass." 
 
 "And the lens is whole," pursued Raisa. — "I 
 showed it to papa ; he said, ' Carry it to the 
 jeweller and pawn it!' What dost thou think 
 about it? Will they give me money for it? 
 For of what use to us is a telescope? Can we 
 use it as a looking-glass to see what beauties 
 we are? But we have no looking-glass, unfortu- 
 nately." 
 
 And as she uttered these words, Raisa suddenly 
 burst into a loud laugh. Her little sister could 
 not hear her, of course, but probably felt the quiv- 
 ering of her body (she was holding Raisa by the 
 Iiand), and lifting her large eyes, she contorted 
 
 330
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 her little face in a frightened way, and burst into 
 tears. 
 
 " That 's the way she always is," remarked 
 Raisa; " she does not like to have people laugh." 
 
 " Come, I won't do it again, Liubotchka, I 
 won't do it again," she added, promptly squatting 
 dow7i on her heels beside the child and running 
 her fingers through her hair. The child ceased 
 crying. Raisa rose to her feet. 
 
 "So pray do thy best, Davidushko . . . with 
 the telescope, I mean. For 't is a pity about 
 the wood,— and the goose also, no matter how old 
 it is!" 
 
 " I can certainly get ten rubles for it," said 
 David, turning the glass about in all directions. 
 — "I '11 buy it from thee . . . why not? And in 
 the meantime, here are fifteen kopeks for the 
 apothecary. . . . Is that enough ? " 
 
 " I will borrow it of thee," whispered Raisa, ac- 
 cepting the coin from him. 
 
 "Of course! With interest— would st like 
 that? Yes, and I have a pledge. A very valuable 
 article! . . . The English are first-class people." 
 
 " But they say that w^e are going to war with 
 them?" 
 
 "No," replied David, "we are thrashing the 
 French at present." 
 
 "Well— thou knowest best. So do thy best. 
 Farewell, gentlemen!" 
 
 831
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 XIV 
 
 And here is another conversation which also took 
 place at that same fence. Raisa appeared more 
 anxious than usual. 
 
 " A head of cabbage costs five kopeks, and the 
 head is such a wee, tiny bit of a thing," she said, 
 propping her chin on her hand. — " Just think 
 how dear ! And I have n't yet received the money 
 for my sewing." 
 
 " Is some one in debt to thee? " asked David. 
 
 " Why, it is still that same merchant's wife who 
 lives beyond the ramparts." 
 
 " The one who wears a green coat,* the fat 
 one?" 
 
 " Yes, she 's the one." 
 
 "What a fat creature! She can't get her 
 breath for fat, and in church throws off a steam, 
 but does n't pay her debts I " 
 
 " She will pay .... only when will it be? 
 And here is something else, Davidushko, some 
 fresh worries. My father has taken it into his 
 head to narrate his dreams to me— thou knowest 
 how tongue-tied he has become: he tries to say 
 one word and another comes out instead. When 
 it is a question of food, or of anything connected 
 
 1 The coat in question is of plebeian shape, in use among the peas- 
 ants. It has sleeves, short skirts, a round turn-down collar, and is 
 trimmed all round with a ribbon border. It is fitted to the figure 
 and hooked up. — Thanslatoe. 
 
 832
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 with daily life, we have already hecome used to 
 him, we can understand; but a dream is unintel- 
 ligible even with healthy people, while in his 
 case it is dreadful! 'I 'm greatly dehghted,' he 
 says; 'to-day I was walking about the whole 
 time on white birds ; and the Lord God gave me 
 a pouquet, and in the pouquet sat Andriiisha with 
 a little knife.'— He calls our Liiibotchka An- 
 driiisha.— 'Now we are both going to get well,* 
 he says. ' All that is needed is to use the knife— 
 tchirk! Like that!' and he points to his throat. 
 —I don't understand him. I say: 'Very well, 
 dear, very well'; but he gets angry and tries 
 to explain the matter to me. He even took to 
 weeping." 
 
 " But thou shouldst have told him some tale or 
 other," I interposed: "thou shouldst have in- 
 vented some he or other." 
 
 " I don't know how to lie," replied Raisa, fairly 
 flinging her hands apart in despair. 
 
 And it was a fact ; she did not know how to lie. 
 
 " It is not necessary to lie," remarked David, 
 " and there is no need for wearing thyself to death 
 either. No one will say ' Thank you,' I 'm sure." 
 
 Raisa looked intently at him. 
 
 " I wanted to ask something of thee, Davi- 
 dushko; how should one write ' shtop'?" 
 
 "What does ' shtop' mean?" 
 
 "Why, here, for example: 'I wish that thou 
 shouldst live.' " 
 
 333
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 "Writeish, t, o, b, er!"^ 
 
 " No," I put in: " not sh, but tch!" 
 
 "Well, never mind, write tch! But the chief 
 point IS that thou shouldst take care of thyself ! " 
 
 " I should like to write correctly," remarked 
 Raisa, blushing faintly. 
 
 When she blushed she immediately became 
 wonderfully pretty. 
 
 " It may prove useful. . . . How papa used to 
 write in his day! ... It was wonderful! And 
 he taught me. Well, but now he deciphers the 
 letters badly." 
 
 " Only let me keep thee alive," repeated David, 
 lowering his voice and never taking his eyes from 
 Raisa. Raisa darted a swift glance at him and 
 blushed worse than before. — " Only do thou live. 
 .... And as for writing . . . write as best thou 
 canst. . . Oh, damn it, the witch is coming! " 
 (David called my aunt "the witch.") "And 
 what is bringing her hither? . . . Run away, my 
 darling!" 
 
 Raisa darted one more glance at David and 
 fled. 
 
 David spoke to me very rarely and reluctantly 
 about Raisa and her family, especially since he 
 
 ^ Er is the name of the character denoting that the preceding con- 
 sonant has the hard, not the soft, pronunciation. All terminal con- 
 sonants, and many which are not terminal, have one or other of two 
 characters affixed, and it is necessary to specify which is requiredv 
 Tchtob (or, in full, tchtoby) means that, or in order ^Aa^— Thanslatob. 
 
 334!
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 had begun to look for his father's return. He 
 thought of nothing but him, and of how they 
 would live together afterward. He had a vivid 
 recollection of him, and was wont to describe him 
 to me with particular satisfaction. 
 
 " He is tall and strong: he can lift ten puds ^ 
 with one hand. . . . When he shouts ' Hey there, 
 young fellow!'— it can be heard throughout the 
 house. He's such a splendid, kind man . . . . 
 and a gallant fellow! He never quailed before 
 any one. We lived in capital style until we were 
 ruined! They say his hair has grown quite grey 
 now, but formerly it was as red as mine. He 's a 
 ve-ry stro-ong man ! " 
 
 David absolutely refused to admit that we 
 should remain in Ryazan. 
 
 " You may go away," I remarked, " but I shall 
 remain." 
 
 " Nonsense ! We will take thee with us." 
 
 " And how about my father? " 
 
 " Thou wilt abandon thy father. And if thou 
 dost not— thou wilt go to destruction." 
 
 " What dost thou mean by that? " 
 
 David did not answer me, and merely con- 
 tracted his white brows. 
 
 " So then, when we go away with my daddy," 
 he began again, " he will find thee a good place, 
 and I shall marry. ..." 
 
 1 A pud is 36 pounds English.— Thakslatob. 
 
 335
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 " Well, there 's no great haste about that," I re- 
 marked. 
 
 " Yes, there is. Why not? I shall marry soon." 
 
 "Thou?" 
 
 "Yes, I. Why?" 
 
 " Surely thou hast not thine eye on a bride al- 
 ready?" 
 
 " Of course I have." 
 
 "Who is she?" 
 
 David laughed. 
 
 " What a stupid thou art! Raisa, of course." 
 
 " Raisa!" I repeated, with amazement.— "Art 
 thou jesting?" 
 
 " I don't know how to jest, my dear fellow, and 
 I don't like it either." 
 
 " Why, she is a year older than thou." 
 
 " What of that? However, let us drop the sub- 
 ject." 
 
 "Permit me to ask one question," I said. — 
 " Does she know that thou art preparing to marry 
 her?" 
 
 " Probably." 
 
 "But hast not thou revealed an}i;hing to 
 her?" 
 
 "What is there to reveal? When the time 
 comes, I shall tell her. Come, enough of this ! " 
 
 David rose and left the room. When I was 
 alone I thought . . . and thought . . . and 
 finally came to the conclusion that David was be- 
 having like a sensible and practical man; and I 
 
 836
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 even felt flattered at being the friend of such a 
 practical man! 
 
 And Raisa, in her everlasting black woollen 
 gown, suddenly began to appear charming and 
 worthy of the most devoted love 1 
 
 XV 
 
 David's father still did not arrive and did not 
 even send letters. Summer had long since come, 
 the month of June was drawing to a close. We 
 were worn out with anticipation. 
 
 In the meantime rumours began to circulate to 
 the effect that Latkin had suddenly grown much 
 worse, and the first any one knew, his family 
 would die of hunger, if the house did not tumble 
 down and crush them all under the roof. David 
 even changed countenance and became so vicious 
 and surly that one dared not speak to him. I did 
 not meet Raisa at all. Now and then she flitted 
 past at a distance, tripping briskly across the 
 street with her beautiful light gait, straight as an 
 arrow, with folded arms, a dark and intelligent 
 look under her long eyebrows, and a careworn ex- 
 pression on her pale, sweet face— that was all. 
 
 My aunt, with the assistance of her Trankvilli- 
 tatin, tormented me as of old, and as of old she 
 kept whispering reproachfully in my very ear: 
 " Thief, sir, thief! " But I paid no attention to 
 her; and my father continued to bustle, work 
 
 837
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 sedulously, run about and write, and would not 
 listen to anything. 
 
 One day, as I was walking past the familiar 
 apple-tree, I cast a sidelong glance at the well- 
 known spot, more as a matter of habit than any- 
 thing else, and suddenly it struck me that a cer- 
 tain change had taken place in the surface of the 
 ground which covered our hoard. ... A sort of 
 hump had made its appearance where there had 
 previously been a depression, and bits of the rub- 
 bish were lying in a different position ! '' What 's 
 the meaning of this? " I thought to rnyself. " Is 
 it possible that some one has penetrated our secret 
 and has dug up the watch? " 
 
 I must convince myself with my own eyes. I 
 felt the most complete indifference, of course, 
 toward the watch rusting there in the bowels 
 of the earth; but no other person could be per- 
 mitted to make use of it! Accordingly, on the 
 following day I rose before dawn once more, and 
 arming myself with a knife, I wended my way 
 to the garden, hunted up the marked spot 
 beneath the apple-tree, set to digging, and 
 after digging a hole about two feet deep, I was 
 forced to the conviction that the watch had dis- 
 appeared; that some one had got at it, taken it 
 out, stolen it! 
 
 But who could have . . . taken it out — except 
 David? 
 
 What other person knew where it was? 
 
 838
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 I filled up the hole, and returned to the house. 
 I felt myself deeply injured. 
 
 " Assuming," I thought, " that David had need 
 of the watch in order to save his future wife or 
 her father from starving to death. . . . Say 
 what you will, the watch was worth something. 
 . . . Still, why did not he come to me and 
 say: 'Brother! ' (in David's place I would have 
 infallibly said brother ) , ' brother ! I am in need of 
 money ; thou hast none, I know, but permit me to 
 make use of that watch which we buried together 
 under the old apple-tree. It is doing no one any 
 good, and I shall be so grateful to thee, brother ! ' 
 With what joy I should have given my consent! 
 But to act secretly, in a treacherous manner, not 
 to trust his friend. . . . No! No passion, no 
 need could excuse that!" 
 
 I repeat that I was deeply wounded. I began 
 to display coldness, to sulk. . . . 
 
 But David was not one of those who notice such 
 things and are worried thereby. 
 
 I began to drop hints. . . . 
 
 But David did not seem to understand my hints 
 in the least. 
 
 I said in his presence how low in my eyes was 
 the man who, having a friend and understanding 
 the full significance of that sacred sentiment, 
 friendship, did not possess, nevertheless, sufficient 
 magnanimity to avoid having recourse to cun- 
 ning ; as though anything could be concealed ! 
 
 339
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 As I uttered these last words I laughed scorn- 
 fully. 
 
 But David never turned a hair! 
 
 At last I asked him outright, whether he sup- 
 posed our watch had continued to go for a while 
 after it was buried in the earth, or had stopped 
 immediately. 
 
 He answered me—" The deuce knows! Well, 
 thou hast found a fine thing to meditate about ! " 
 
 I did not know what to think. David, evi- 
 dently, had something on his heart .... only it 
 was not the theft of the watch. An unforeseen 
 incident demonstrated to me his innocence. 
 
 XVI 
 
 One day I was returning home through a cross- 
 alley which I generally avoided using, because 
 in it there was a detached house where my enemy 
 Trankvillitatin lodged ; but on this occasion Fate 
 led me thither. As I was passing under the 
 closed window of a drinking-establishment I 
 suddenly heard the voice of our servant Vasily, a 
 free and easy young fellow, a great " dawdler 
 and idler " as my father expressed it, — but also a 
 great conqueror of feminine hearts, on which he 
 acted by means of witty remarks, dancing and 
 playing on the torban.^ 
 
 " And what do you think they hit upon? " said 
 
 1 A sort of bagpipes.— Trakslatoe. 
 
 840
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 Vasily, whom I could not see, although I could 
 hear him very distinctly ; he was probably sitting 
 just there, close to the window, with a comrade, 
 over a cup of tea, and, as often happens with peo- 
 ple in a closed room, was talking loudly, without 
 a suspicion that anj^ passer-by in the street could 
 hear every word: — " What do you think they hit 
 upon? They buried it in the earth! " 
 
 " Thou liest! " — growled another voice. 
 
 " They did, I tell thee. We have such ray- 
 markible young gentlemen at our house. That 
 David in particular . . . . he 's a regular ^sop. 
 I get up just at break of day, and step to the win- 
 dow, so ... I look out — and what do I see? . . . 
 Our two nice little dears are walking in the gar- 
 den carrying that same watch, and they dug a 
 hole under the apple-tree — and in they put it, just 
 as though it had been a baby! And then they 
 smoothed over the earth, by heaven, those good- 
 for-nothings! " 
 
 "Akh, the deuce take them!"— said Vasily's 
 companion. — "Too much good living, of course. 
 Well, and what then? Didst thou dig up the 
 watch?" 
 
 " Certainly I did. I have it now. Only I can't 
 display it at present. There was altogether too 
 much of a row over it. That David pulled it out 
 from under the spine of our old woman that very 
 night." 
 
 "O-Oh!" 
 
 341
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 "He did, I tell thee. Quite unpardonable. 
 And so I can't show it. But wait until some offi- 
 cers come : I '11 sell it to some one, or gamble it 
 away at cards." 
 
 I listened no longer, but rushed headlong home 
 and straight to David. 
 
 "Brother!" I began,— " brother! Forgive 
 me ! I have been guilty toward thee ! I have sus- 
 pected thee! I have accused thee! Thou seest 
 how excited I am! Forgive me! " 
 
 " What 's the matter with thee? " asked David. 
 —"Explain thyself." 
 
 " I suspected thee of having dug up our watch 
 from under the apple-tree! " 
 
 " That watch again ! Why, is n't it there? " 
 
 " No, it is not ; I thought that thou hadst taken 
 it, in order to aid thy friends. And it w^as all that 
 Vasily!" 
 
 I told David all I had heard under the window 
 of the dram-shop. 
 
 But how shall I describe my amazement? I 
 had assumed, as a matter of course, that David 
 would be indignant ; but I could not possibly have 
 foreseen what would happen to him! Barely had 
 I finished my tale when he flew into an indescrib- 
 able rage! David, who had never borne himself 
 otherwise than with scorn toward this whole 
 " petty" caper with the watch, as he termed it, — 
 that same David who had more than once declared 
 that it was not worth an empty egg-shell,— sud- 
 
 342
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 denly sprang from his seat, flushed crimson all 
 over, set his teeth and clenched his fists. 
 
 "Things cannot be left in this state!" he said 
 at last.— "How dares he appropriate other peo- 
 ple's property ? Just wait, I '11 teach him a les- 
 son ! I won't connive at thievery ! " 
 
 I must confess that to this day I do not under- 
 stand what could have so enraged David ; whether 
 it was that he was already irritated and Vasily's 
 behaviour merely poured oil on the fire, or whe- 
 ther my suspicions had wounded him, I cannot 
 say; but I had never seen him so excited. With 
 gaping mouth I stood before him, and simply 
 wondered how he could breathe so heavily and 
 forcibly. 
 
 "What dost thou intend to do?" I asked at 
 last. 
 
 " Thou shalt see— after dinner, when thy fa- 
 ther lies down for his nap. I '11 hunt up that wag ! 
 I '11 have a little talk with him! " 
 
 " WeU," I thought to myself, " I would n't like 
 to be in that ' wag's ' place ! What wiU come of 
 this, O Lord, my God?" 
 
 XVII 
 
 This is what came of it. 
 
 Just as soon after dinner as there reigned that 
 slumberous suffocating tranquillity which to this 
 day is spread like a hot bed of down over the Rus- 
 
 343
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 sian house and the Russian people in the middle 
 of the day after savoury viands have been par- 
 taken of, David (I followed on his heels with a 
 sinking heart) —David wended his way to the 
 servants' hall and called Vasily out. At first the 
 latter was unwilling to come, but ended by obey- 
 ing and following him into the little garden. 
 
 David stood before him, almost touching his 
 breast. Vasily was a whole head taller than he. 
 
 "Vasily Terentieff!" began my comrade in a 
 firm voice, " six weeks ago thou didst dig up from 
 under this apple-tree the watch which we had con- 
 cealed there. Thou hadst no right to do that ; the 
 watch did not belong to thee. Give it here this 
 very minute!" 
 
 Vasily came near losing countenance, but im- 
 mediately recovered himself. "What watch? 
 What are you talking about? I don't know any- 
 thing about it ! I have n't any watch at all ! " 
 
 " I know what I am saying, and don't lie, thou. 
 Thou hast the watch. Hand it over! " 
 
 " I have n't got your watch." 
 
 " Then why didst thou say in the public- 
 house ..." I began ; but David stopped me. 
 
 " Vasily Terentieff ,"— he articulated in a dull 
 and threatening voice, — "we are authentically 
 informed that thou hast the watch. I tell thee, as 
 a favour, to hand it over. — And if thou dost 
 not . . . ," 
 
 Vasily grinned insolently. 
 
 344
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 "And what will you do to me then? Come, 
 sir!" 
 
 "What?— Both of us will fight with thee until 
 thou conquerest us or we conquer thee." 
 
 Vasfly burst out laughing. 
 
 "Fight? — That's no business for young gen- 
 tlemen! Fight with a serf? " 
 
 David suddenly seized Vasily by the waistcoat. 
 
 " But we are n't going to fight thee with our 
 fists," he ejaculated, gnashing his teeth,— "under- 
 stand that ! But I will give thee a knife and will 
 take one myself .... Well, and then we '11 see 
 who's who! Alexyei!"— he said to me imperi- 
 ously,— "run for my big knife; thou knowest 
 which— the one with the bone haft; it is lying 
 yonder on the table; and I have another in my 
 pocket." 
 
 Vasfly suddenly came near falling in a swoon. 
 David still held him fast by the waistcoat. 
 
 "Mercy .... have mercy, David Egoritch ! " 
 — he stammered; tears even started to his eyes. 
 "What are you doing? What are you doing? 
 Let me go!" 
 
 " I won't let thee go.— And I won't spare thee! 
 If thou eludest us to-day we will begin again to- 
 morrow.— Alyosha! where 's that knife?" 
 
 "David Egoritch!" roared Vasfly, "do not 
 commit murder. . . . Who ever saw the like of 
 this? And the watch .... I really did .... 
 I was joking. I '11 fetch it to you this very min- 
 
 345
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 ute. How can you go on like that? First you 
 threaten to rip up Khrisanf a Lukiteh's belly, and 
 now you threaten me!— Let me go, David Ego- 
 ritch. . . . Please to receive your watch. Only 
 don't tell your papa." 
 
 David released Vasily's waistcoat. I looked 
 into his face; really, it was enough to scare a 
 bolder person than Vasily. It was so dismal . . . 
 and cold . . . and malignant. ... 
 
 Vasily darted into the house and immediately 
 returned thence with the watch in his hand. — Si- 
 lently he handed it to David, and only as he was 
 on his way back to the house did he exclaim aloud 
 on the threshold : " Phew, here 's a pretty go! " 
 
 His face was still distorted beyond recognition. 
 David nodded his head and went off to our room. 
 Again I trudged after him. 
 
 "SuvorofF! A regular SuvorofF!" I thought 
 to myself. — At that time, in 1801, SuvorofF was 
 our leading popular hero. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 David locked the door behind him, laid the watch 
 on the table, folded his arms and — oh, marvellous 
 to relate!— burst out laughing. — As I looked at 
 him I began to laugh also. 
 
 "What an astounding dodger!" he began. — 
 " We cannot possibly rid ourselves of this watch. 
 
 346
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 It is bewitched, it really is. And what made me 
 go into a rage so all of a sudden? " 
 
 "Yes, what?" I repeated.— "Thou mightest 
 have left it with Vasily . . . ." 
 
 "Well, no," interrupted David.— " That's all 
 fiddlesticks! But what shall we do with it now? " 
 
 "Yes! What?" 
 
 We both riveted our eyes on the watch, and fell 
 to thinking. Adorned with a string of sky-blue 
 glass beads ( the ill-starred Vasily in his headlong 
 haste had not had time to detach this string, which 
 belonged to him ) , it was very quietly performing 
 its functions; it ticked somewhat unevenly, it is 
 true, and moved its brass minute-hand slowly. 
 
 " Shall we bury it again? Or fling it into the 
 stove? " I suggested at last. — " Or, see here, — why 
 not make a present of it to Latkin? " 
 
 " No," replied David.—" That won't do at all. 
 But here's an idea: a commission has been insti- 
 tuted in the Governor's chancellery to receive sub- 
 scriptions for the benefit of the inhabitants of 
 Kasimoff who have been burned out of house and 
 home. They say that the town of KasimofF has 
 been reduced to ashes, with all its churches. And 
 they say that everything is accepted; not alone 
 bread and money, but articles of every descrip- 
 tion.— Let 's give the watch to them! Hey? " 
 
 " We will! We will! " I interposed.-" That 's 
 a fine idea ! But I assumed that as the family of 
 thy friends is in need . . . ." 
 
 347
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 "No, no; give it to the commission!— The 
 Latkins will get along without it. — To the com- 
 mission with it!" 
 
 " Well, if it must be the commission, it must. — 
 Only I suppose that we must write something to 
 the Governor to go with it." 
 
 David looked at me. " Dost think so? " 
 
 " Yes ; of course it is not necessary to write 
 much. But so — only a few words." 
 
 " For example?" 
 
 "For example .... we might begin thus: 
 ' Being ' ... or, better still, 'Actuated '...." 
 
 " ' Actuated ' is good. . . ." 
 
 " Then we must say : ' The which small mite of 
 ours '...." 
 
 "'Mite' .... is good also; well, take thy 
 pen, sit down, write, go ahead! " 
 
 " I will first make a rough draft," I remarked. 
 
 "Well, do so; only write, write .... And 
 in the meantime I will polish it up with some 
 chalk." 
 
 I took a sheet of paper, and mended my pen; 
 but before I had had time to set at the top of the 
 page: "To His Excellency, Mr. Radiant Prince" 
 (our Governor at that time was Prince X.), I 
 stopped short, astounded by an unusual noise 
 which had suddenly arisen in our house. David 
 also noticed the noise and also stopped short, with 
 the watch held aloft in his left hand, and the rag 
 smeared with chalk in his right. We exchanged 
 glances. What was that pieroinr^ shriek? That 
 
 348
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 was aunty squealing. . . . And what was this? 
 — It was the voice of my father, hoarse with rage. 
 
 "The watch! The watch!" roared some one, 
 probably Trankvillitatin. 
 
 Feet trampled, soles squeaked, the whole horde 
 was running . . . making straight for us. I was 
 swooning with terror ; and David was as white as 
 clay, but with the look of an eagle. 
 
 " That villain Vasily has betrayed us," he whis- 
 pered through his teeth. . . . 
 
 The door was flung wide open, and my father 
 in his dressing-gown, and without a necktie, and 
 my aunt in her dressing-sack, Trankvillitatin, 
 Vasfly, Yiishka, another small boy, and the cook 
 Agapit, all invaded the room. 
 
 " Scoundrels! " yelled my father, barely able to 
 draw his breath . ..." at last we have caught 
 you! " — And espying the watch in David's hands: 
 — " Hand it over! " — roared my father. — " Hand 
 over that watch!" 
 
 But David, without uttering a word, darted to 
 the open window, sprang through it into the yard, 
 and then made for the street ! 
 
 Accustomed to imitate my model in all things, 
 I also jumped out, and rushed after David. . . . 
 
 " Catch them! Hold them! " thundered a wild 
 chorus of voices behind us. 
 
 But we were already fleeing headlong down the 
 street, with no caps on our heads, David in the 
 lead, I a few paces behind him, and after us came 
 the trampling and roar of pursuit. 
 
 34>9
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 XIX 
 
 Many years have elapsed since all these events ; I 
 have thought of them many a time— and to this 
 day I cannot understand the cause of that rage 
 with which my father was seized, after having so 
 recently forbidden the mere mention of that 
 watch of which he was so tired, just as I could not 
 understand then the wrath of David when he 
 learned of its theft by Vasily.— But I cannot help 
 thinking that some mysterious force was con- 
 tained within it. Vasily had not betrayed us, as 
 David supposed, — he was in no mood for that; he 
 was too thoroughly intimidated; but simply, one 
 of our maids had seen the watch in his hands and 
 had immediately reported the fact to my aunt. 
 And thus the spark had kindled a great fire. 
 
 So then, we dashed headlong down the street, 
 along its very centre. The passers-by who met 
 us came to a halt or stepped aside in perplexity. 
 I remember that one retired Second-Major, a 
 famous breeder of greyhounds, suddenly thrust 
 his head out of the window of his lodgings, and, 
 all red in the face, with his body hanging in the 
 balance, began to emit a wild view-halloo ! 
 
 "Stop! Hold them!" continued to thunder 
 after us. — David ran onward, swinging the 
 watch round his head, and now and then giving a 
 skip ; I skipped also, and at the same places as he. 
 
 " Whither away? " I shout to David, perceiving 
 
 850
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 that he is turning from the street into an alley, 
 and making the turn with him. 
 
 "To the Oka!"— he shouts back.— "Into the 
 water, into the river, to the devil with it! " 
 
 " Halt! Halt! " roar the people behind us. . . . 
 
 But we are already flying through the alley. 
 And now a chill breath wafts to meet us, and 
 the river is before us, and the steep, muddy 
 descent, and the wooden bridge with a train of 
 wagons extending across it, and the soldier with 
 his pike by the barrier — soldiers carried pikes in 
 those days .... David is already on the bridge, 
 he dashes past the soldier, who tries to prod him 
 in the leg with his pike, — and colhdes with a pass- 
 ing calf. — David instantly leaps upon the railing, 
 — he emits a joyful exclamation. . . . Some- 
 thing white, something blue has glittered, has 
 flashed through the air— it is the silver watch with 
 Vasily's chain flying into the water. . . . But at 
 this point something incredible occurs! David's 
 legs whirl upward in pursuit of the watch and he 
 himself, head down, hands in front of him, jacket- 
 tails fluttering in the air, describes a sharp curve 
 — frightened frogs leap thus on a hot day from 
 the lofty shore into the waters of a pond— and 
 instantly disappears beyond the railing of the 
 bridge .... and then— flop! and a heavy splash 
 below. . . . 
 
 What my sensations were it is utterly beyond 
 my power to describe. I was a few paces distant 
 
 351
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 from David when he sprang from the raihng .... 
 but I do not even recollect whether I screamed ; I 
 do not think I was even frightened : I was struck 
 dumb and dizzy. My arms and legs lost their 
 power. Around me people were jostling and 
 running; some of them seemed familiar to me; 
 Trofimitch suddenly flitted past, the soldier with 
 the pike darted off somewhere to one side, the 
 horses of the wagon-train walked hurriedly past, 
 tossing on high their muzzles, which were bound 
 together. . . . Then there was a ringing in my 
 ears, and some one gave me a smart blow in the 
 nape of the neck and along the whole length of 
 my spine. ... I had fallen down in a swoon. 
 
 I remember that I rose to my feet afterward, 
 and, perceiving that no one was paying any heed 
 to me, I approached the railing, not on the 
 side from which David had jumped (it seemed to 
 me a dreadful thing to approach that one) — but 
 the other, and began to stare at the river, turbu- 
 lent, blue, and swollen; I remember that not far 
 from the bridge, on the shore, I noticed a boat 
 moored, and in the boat several men, and one of 
 them, all wet and glistening in the sun, bending 
 over the edge of the boat, was dragging something 
 from the water — something not very big, some 
 long, dark thing which at first I took for a trunk 
 or a basket; but on looking more intently I saw 
 that that thing was— David! Then I gave a great 
 start, began to shout at the top of my voice, and 
 
 352
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 ran to the boat, pushing my way through the 
 crowd; and having reached it, I became daunted 
 and began to look about me. Among the people 
 who surrounded it I recognised TrankvilMtatin, 
 our cook Agapit with a boot on his arm, Yiishka 
 and Vasily. . . . The wet, glistening man had 
 pulled from under the boat by his armpits the 
 body of David, whose hands were raised on a level 
 with his face, as though he were desirous of hid- 
 ing it from the eyes of strangers, and had laid 
 him on his back upon the muddy shore. David 
 did not stir; he seemed to have stretched himself 
 out, drawn in his heels, and thrust out his belly. 
 His face was of a greenish hue, his eyes were 
 rolled up, and the water was dripping from his 
 hair. The wet man who had pulled him out, a 
 factory-hand, judging from his attire, began to 
 narrate, shivering with cold the while and inces- 
 santly pushing the hair back from his brow, how 
 he had done it. He narrated very decorously and 
 carefully. 
 
 " What do I see, gentlemen? This young fel- 
 low diving from the bridge. . . . Well! . . . . 
 I immediately run down-stream, for I know that 
 he has fallen straight into the current, which will 
 carry him under the bridge— well, and then .... 
 that would be the last of him ! I look : something 
 resembling a shaggy cap is floating, but it was 
 his head. Well, and so I immediately dashed 
 into the water in a lively manner. I clutched 
 
 353
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 him. . . . Well, and there was no great art in 
 that!" 
 
 Two or three words of approbation made them- 
 selves audible among the crowd. 
 
 "We must warm thee up now. Come along, 
 let 's sip a cup of liquor," remarked some one. 
 
 But here some one suddenly made his way con- 
 vulsively to the front. ... It was Vasily. 
 
 " What are ye about, ye Orthodox? " — he cried 
 tearfully.— "We must roll him. This is our 
 young gentleman!" 
 
 "Roll him, roll him!" resounded through the 
 crowd, which was constantly increasing. 
 
 "Hang him up by his feet! That's the best 
 remedy!" 
 
 "Put him belly down over a barrel, and roll 
 him back and forth, until .... Take him up, 
 my lads ! " 
 
 "Don't you dare to touch himi"— interposed 
 the soldier with the pike. — " He must be taken to 
 the guard-house." 
 
 "Rabble!" — Trofimitch's bass voice was 
 wafted from somewhere or other. 
 
 "Why, he is alive!" I suddenly cry at the top 
 of my lungs, almost in aiFright. I had been on 
 the point of putting my face against his face. . . . 
 " So that is what drowned people are like," I was 
 thinking to myself, as my heart died within me 
 .... when suddenly I saw David's lips trem- 
 ble, and a little water flow from them. . . . 
 
 354
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 I was instantly thrust aside, dragged away ; all 
 darted toward him. 
 
 " Roll him, roll him! "—voices began to be up- 
 lifted. 
 
 "No, no, stop!" shouted Vasily.— " Take him 
 home . . . home!" 
 
 " Take him home,"— chimed in Trankvillitatin 
 himself. 
 
 " We '11 hurry him thither in a j iffy— we shall 
 be able to see better there," went on Vasily. . . . 
 (I took a great liking to Vasily, beginning with 
 that day.) —"Brothers! Isn't there a bast-mat 
 handy? If not, lift him by his head and his 
 heels. ..." 
 
 "Stay! Here's a bast-mat! Lay him on it! 
 Catch hold ! March ! Slowly : as though he were 
 riding in a coach of state ! " 
 
 And a few moments later David, borne on the 
 bast-mat, triumphantly made his entrance under 
 our roof. 
 
 XX 
 
 They undressed him and placed him on the bed. 
 Already in the street he had begun to show signs 
 of life, he had bellowed and waved his hands. . . . 
 In the room he recovered his senses completely. 
 But as soon as fears for his life were past, and 
 there was no necessity for fussing over him, wrath 
 
 355
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 asserted its rights: all retreated from him as 
 though he had been a leper. 
 
 "May God punish him! May God punish 
 him!"— squealed my aunt so that she could be 
 heard all over the house.—" Send him off some- 
 where, Porfiry Petrovitch, or he will perpetrate 
 some other crime which cannot be endured!" 
 
 " I think this must be some sort of an asp, and 
 a mad one at that,"— chimed in Trankvillitatin. 
 
 "What malice, what malice!"— shrilled my 
 aunt, coming to the very door of our room so as 
 to make sure that David heard her. " First he 
 stole the watch, and then he flung it into the water. 
 . . . As much as to say, ' Nobody shall have it.' . . . 
 So he did!" 
 
 Everybody, positively everybody, was angry! 
 
 " David," I asked him as soon as we were left 
 alone, " why didst thou do that? " 
 
 " There thou goest too,"— he retorted, still in 
 a very weak voice; his lips were blue, and he 
 seemed bloated all over.— "What have I done?" 
 
 " But why didst thou leap into the water? " 
 
 "Why did I leap?— I couldn't keep my bal- 
 ance on the railing, and that's all there is to it. 
 If I had known how to swim I would have leaped 
 deliberately. I shall certainly learn. But, on the 
 other hand, that watch is now done for! . . ." 
 
 At this point my father entered our room with 
 solemn tread. 
 
 " I shall flog thee, without fail, my dear fel- 
 
 356
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 low," he said, addressing me; "have no doubt as 
 to that, although thou art too old to lay across a 
 bench any longer."— Then he stepped up to the 
 bed on which David was lying.—" In Siberia,"— 
 he began in a pompous and impressive tone, — " in 
 Siberia, my good sir, in penal servitude, men live 
 and die underground who are less guilty, less 
 criminally guilty than thou I Art thou a suicide, 
 or simply a fool?— Tell me that one thing, pray! " 
 
 " I am not a suicide nor a thief," replied David, 
 " but the truth is the truth : good people get sent 
 
 to Siberia, better men than you and I 
 
 Who should know that if not you? " 
 
 My father uttered a low cry, retreated a pace, 
 stared intently at David, spat, and slowly cross- 
 ing himself, left the room. 
 
 "Dost thou not like it?" David called after 
 him, thnisting out his tongue. Then he tried to 
 rise, but could not.—" Evidently, I have injured 
 myself somehow," he said, groaning and wrin- 
 kling up his forehead.—" I remember that I was 
 dashed against a beam by the water. . . . 
 
 " Didst thou see Raisa? " he suddenly added. 
 
 "No, I did not see her. . . . Wait! Wait! 
 Wait! Now I remember: was n't it she who was 
 standing on the shore near the bridge?— Yes. . . . 
 A dark frock, a yellow kerchief on her head. . . . 
 It must have been she! " 
 
 "Well, and afterward .... didst thou see 
 her afterward?" 
 
 357
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 "Afterward .... I don't know. I was in 
 no mood for observing.— Thou didst leap at that 
 moment. . . ." 
 
 David started up in alarm. 
 
 " My dear friend Alyosha, go to her this mo- 
 ment, tell her that I am well, that there is nothing 
 the matter with me. I shall go to see them to- 
 morrow. Go quickly, brother, do me that fa- 
 vour ! 
 
 David stretched out both hands to me. . . . 
 His dry, red hair stuck up in funny whorls . . . 
 but the deeply-moved expression of his face 
 seemed all the more genuine for that. I took my 
 cap and left the house, endeavouring not to fall 
 under the eye of my father and not to remind him 
 of his promise. 
 
 XXI 
 
 " And, in fact," I argued with myself on my way 
 to the Latkins', " how was it that I did not notice 
 Raisa? What has become of her? For she must 
 have seen . . . ." 
 
 And suddenly I remembered: at the very mo- 
 ment of David's fall a terrible, heart-rending cry 
 had rung in my ears. . . . 
 
 Was not that she ? But how was it that I had 
 not seen her afterward ? 
 
 In front of the tiny house in which Latkin 
 dwelt stretched a strip of waste land overgrown 
 
 358
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 with nettles and enclosed with a decrepit fence of 
 wattled boughs. Hardly had I made my way 
 across this fence (there was no gate or wicket any- 
 where), than the following spectacle presented 
 itself to my eyes. — On the lowest step of the porch 
 in front of the house Raisa was sitting with her 
 elbows on her knees and her chin propped on her 
 interlaced fingers; she was staring straight in 
 front of her ; by her side stood her deaf-and-dumb 
 sister tranquilly flourishing a small whip, and in 
 front of the porch, with his back toward me, clad 
 in a tattered and threadbare dressing-gown, with 
 under-drawers and felt boots on his legs, stood old 
 Latkin, dangling his arms and writhing, shifting 
 from foot to foot where he stood and indulging in 
 little leaps. At the sound of my footsteps he sud- 
 denly wheeled round, squatted down on his heels, 
 and immediately swooping down upon me, began 
 to say in an extremely rapid, tremulous voice, 
 interlarded with breaks: " Tchu-tchu-tchu ! " I 
 stood riveted to the spot. I had not seen him for a 
 long time, and, of course, I would not have recog- 
 nised him had I met him in any other place. That 
 red, wrinkled, toothless face, those round, dull 
 little eyes and dishevelled grey locks, those twitch- 
 ings, those leaps, that unintelligible, faltering 
 tongue .... what was it? What inhuman de- 
 spair was torturing that unlucky being? What 
 "dance of death" was this? 
 
 " Tchu, tchu," he stammered, without ceasing 
 
 859
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 to grimace, — "there she is, Vasilievna; she has 
 just— tchu, tehu — gone .... hark! with a wash- 
 ing-trough along the roof" (he banged his head 
 with his hand) , " and is sitting there Hke a shovel; 
 and squinting, squinting like Andriusha; cross- 
 eyed Vasilievna!" (He probably wanted to say 
 "dumb.") "Tchu! my cross-eyed Vasilievna! 
 There they are, both of them, now in the same fix. 
 . . . Admire, ye Orthodox! I have only those 
 two little boats! Hey?" 
 
 Latkin was evidently conscious that he was not 
 talking straight, and was making frantic efforts 
 to explain to me what was the matter. Raisa ap- 
 parently did not hear what her father was saying 
 at all, while her little sister continued to slash the 
 air with her whip. 
 
 "Good-bye, jeweller, good-bye, good-bye!" 
 drawled Latkin several times in succession, with 
 low obeisances, as though delighted that he had, 
 at last, caught hold of an intelligible word. 
 
 My head reeled. — "What is the meaning of 
 all this? " I asked an old woman who was peeping 
 out of one of the windows in the house. 
 
 " Why, you see, dear little father," she replied 
 in a sing-song tone, " they say that some man or 
 other— and who he is, the Lord only knows— has 
 been drowned, and she saw it. Well, and she got 
 thoroughly scared, I suppose ; but she came home 
 all right. But she sat straight down on the porch, 
 and since that minute there she sits, like a statue; 
 
 360
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 it makes no difference whether one speaks to her 
 or not. Evidently, she is doomed to dumbness 
 also. Axhti-kti!" 
 
 " Good-bye, good-bye," Latkin kept repeat- 
 ing, still with obeisances as before. I stepped 
 up to Raisa and halted directly in front of 
 her. 
 
 " Raisotchka," I shouted, "what's the matter 
 with thee?" 
 
 She made no reply; just as though she did not 
 see me. Her face had not paled or changed, but 
 somehow had become stony, and it wore an ex- 
 pression as though she w^re on the very verge of 
 falling asleep. 
 
 " But she 's cross-eyed, cross-eyed," stammered 
 Latkin in my ear. 
 
 I grasped Raisa's hand.— "David is alive," I 
 shouted more loudly than before: " ahve and well. 
 David is alive, dost thou understand? They 
 pulled him out of the water, he is now at home and 
 has bid me say that he will come to see thee to- 
 morrow. . . . He is alive!" 
 
 Raisa turned her eyes on me with apparent diffi- 
 culty ; she w inked the lids a couple of times, open- 
 ing them wider and wider, then bent her head on 
 one side, gradually flushed crimson all over, and 
 her lips parted. . . . She inhaled the air into her 
 lungs with a slow, full breath, wrinkled her brow 
 as though in pain, and with a terrible eff'ort articu- 
 lating: "Yes .... Dav . . . ali . . . . alive!" 
 
 361
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 rose abruptly from the porch and set off at a 
 run. . . . 
 
 "Where art thou going?" I cried. 
 
 But, laughing faintly and reeling, she was al- 
 ready running across the waste land. 
 
 Of course I darted after her, while behind me 
 rose an energetic howl, decrepit and childish, from 
 Latkin and the deaf-and-dumb girl. . . . Raisa 
 was making straight for our house. 
 
 " Well, what a day this has been! " I thought, 
 as I strove not to lag behind the black gown which 
 was flitting on in front of me. ..." Come on! " 
 
 XXII 
 
 Evading Vasily, my aunt, and even Trankvilli- 
 tatin, Raisa rushed into the room where David 
 lay, and flung herself straight upon his breast.— 
 " Okh .... okh, Davidushko!" her voice rang 
 out from under her dishevelled curls; — " okh! " 
 
 Energetically waving her hands, she embraced 
 David and bent her head down to him. 
 
 " Forgive me, my dear," his voice made itself 
 audible. 
 
 And both seemed fairly swooning with joy. 
 
 "But why didst thou go off home, Raisa? 
 Why didst not thou wait?" I said to her. . . . 
 Still she did not raise her head.—" Thou wouldst 
 have seen that they had saved him. . . ." 
 
 "Akh, I don't know! Akh, I don't know! 
 
 362
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 Don't ask me! I don't know, I don't remember 
 how I got home. All I do remember is that I saw 
 thee in the air ... . something struck me .... 
 But what came after that I don't know." 
 
 " Struck you," repeated David, and all three of 
 us suddenly burst into a hearty laugh. We felt 
 very happy. 
 
 " But what may be the meaning of this, pray? " 
 rang out a threatening voice — the voice of my fa- 
 ther—behind us. He was standing on the thresh- 
 old of the door. " Are these follies coming to an 
 end or not? Where are we living? In the Rus- 
 sian empire or in the French republic?" 
 
 He stalked into the room. 
 
 " Go to France, any of you who want to revolt 
 and lead a licentious life! And as for thee, how 
 hast thou dared to come hither?" he addressed 
 himself to Raisa, who, having softly risen and 
 turned her face toward him, was obviously intimi- 
 dated, but continued to smile in a caressing and 
 blissful way.—" The daughter of my sworn en- 
 emy! How darest thou? And thou hast taken it 
 into thy head to embrace him also! Begone this 
 instant ! or I '11 . . . ." 
 
 " Uncle," said David, sitting up in bed, " do 
 not insult Raisa. She will go away .... only, 
 don't you insult her." 
 
 "And who appointed thee my preceptor? I 
 am not insulting her, I am not insulting her! I 
 am simply turning her out of the house. I shall 
 
 363
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 call thee to account also. Thou hast squandered 
 the property of other people, thou hast attempted 
 thine own life, thou hast caused me losses." 
 
 " What losses? " interrupted David. 
 
 "What losses? Thou hast ruined thy clothing 
 — dost thou count that nothing? And I gave 
 money for liquor to the men v^^ho brought thee 
 hither! Thou hast frightened the whole family 
 out of their lives, and thou art insolent to boot! 
 And if this wench, forgetful of modesty and even 
 of honour ..." 
 
 David sprang from his bed.— "Don't insult 
 her, I tell you!" 
 
 "Hold thy tongue!" 
 
 "Don't you dare . . ." 
 
 "Hold thy tongue!" 
 
 " Don't you dare to defame my promised 
 bride!" shouted David at the top of his voice, — 
 " my future wife ! " 
 
 "Bride!" repeated my father, with eyes start- 
 ing from his head. — "Bride! — Wife! Ho, ho, 
 ho! . . ." ("Ha, ha, ha!" echoed my aunt out- 
 side the door.) — "And how old art thou, pray? 
 He has lived in this world a year minus one 
 month, the milk is n't dry on his lips j^et, the hob- 
 bledehoy! And he is contemplating matrimony! 
 Why, I . . . . why, thou . . . ." 
 
 " Let me go, let me go," whispered Raisa, turn- 
 ing to depart. She had grown livid. 
 
 " I shall not ask any permission of you," David 
 
 864
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 continued in a shout, propping himself on the 
 edge of the bed with his fists, " but of my own 
 father, who is bound to arrive any day now! I 
 take my orders from him, not from you; and as 
 for my age, Raisa and I are not in a hurry .... 
 we shall wait, say what you like. . . ." 
 
 "Hey there, David, come to thy senses!" in- 
 terrupted my father; "look at thyself: thou art 
 all in tatters. . . . Thou hast lost all sense of 
 decorum!" 
 
 David clutched at the breast of his shirt with his 
 hand. 
 
 " Whatever you may say . . . ." he repeated. 
 
 " Come, clap thy hand over his mouth, Porfiry 
 Petrovitch, clap thy hand over his mouth," 
 squealed my aunt outside the door. — " And as for 
 this street-walker, this good-for-nothing wench 
 
 • « • • LllXo • • • • 
 
 But evidently something unusual cut my aunt's 
 eloquence short at that moment: her voice sud- 
 denly broke, and in place of it another, a hoarsely 
 decrepit and weak voice, made itself heard. . . . 
 
 "Brother," enunciated this feeble voice. . . . 
 "Brother! .... Christian soul!" 
 
 XXIII 
 
 We all turned round Before us, in the 
 
 same costume in which I had recently beheld him, 
 gaunt, pitiful, wild, like a spectre, stood Latkin. 
 
 365
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 " But God," he articulated in a childish sort of 
 way, elevating on high his trembling crooked 
 finger and scanning my father with a feeble gaze, 
 —"God has punished! And I have come for 
 Va . . . yes, yes, for Raisotchka. What is it, 
 tchul What is it to me? I shall soon lie down in 
 the earth— and how the deuce does it go? A stick 
 .... another .... a joist .... that 's what I 
 need .... But do thou, brother, jeweller .... 
 Look out .... for I am also a man!" 
 
 Raisa silently walked across the room and link- 
 ing her arm in his, buttoned his dressing-gown. 
 
 " Come along, Vasilievna," he said, " they 're 
 all saints here ; don't go to their house. And that 
 fellow, the one who is lying yonder in the casket," 
 — he pointed at David,—" is a saint also. But we 
 are sinners, thou and I. Well, tchu .... par- 
 don a peppery old man, gentlemen! We stole 
 together! " he suddenly shouted: — " we stole to- 
 gether! we stole together!" he repeated with 
 manifest c' flight; his tongue had obeyed him 
 at last. 
 
 All of us who were in the room held our peace. 
 
 "And where is your .... holy picture?" he 
 asked, throwing back his head and rolling up his 
 eyes. " I must purify myself." 
 
 He began to pray toward one of the corners, 
 crossing himself with emotion several times in 
 succession, tapping his fingers now against one 
 shoulder, now against the other, and hurriedly re- 
 
 366
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 peating: "Have mercy upon me, O Lo . . . . 
 me, O Lo . . . . me, O Lo! . . . ." My father, 
 who all this time had never taken his eyes from 
 Latkin nor uttered a single word, placed him- 
 self beside him and began to cross himself also. 
 Then he turned to him, made a very low obei- 
 sance to him so that he touched the floor with one 
 hand,^ and saying: "And do thou also forgive 
 me, Martinyan Gavrilitch," he kissed him on 
 the shoulder. Latkin in reply smacked his lips 
 in the air and blinked his eyes ; it is hardly prob- 
 able that he understood what he was doing. 
 Then my father addressed himself to all who 
 
 were present in the room, to David, Raisa, and 
 me: 
 
 " Do what you will, act as you see fit," he said 
 in a quiet, sorrowful voice — and withdrew. 
 
 My aunt tried to approach him, but he yelled 
 at her sharply and gruffly. 
 
 " Me, O Lo .... me, O Lo .... have mercy I " 
 repeated Latkin. — " I am a man! " 
 
 " Good-bye, Davidushko," said Raisa, as she 
 also quitted the room, accompanied by the old 
 man. 
 
 " I shall go to your house to-morrow," David 
 called after them, and turning his face to the wall, 
 he whispered: "I am very tired; it wouldn't be 
 
 ^ This takes the place of a full prostration on the knees with the 
 brow touching the floor for elderly or ailing persons. The kiss on 
 the shoulder is a sign of contrition or humility, that being the way 
 the peasants used to kiss their masters.— Teanslator. 
 
 367
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 a bad thing to get a little sleep now,"— and fell 
 silent. 
 
 For a long time I did not leave our room. I hid 
 myself. I could not forget what my father 
 had threatened to do to me. But my apprehen- 
 sions proved vain. He came across me— and did 
 not utter a word. He seemed to feel ill at ease 
 himself. However, night soon descended, and all 
 quieted down in the house. 
 
 XXIV 
 
 On the following morning David rose as though 
 nothing had happened, and not long after, on 
 that same day, two important events occurred : in 
 the morning old Latkin died, and toward evening 
 uncle Egor, David's father, arrived in Ryazan. 
 Without having sent any preliminary letter, with- 
 out having forewarned any one, he descended 
 upon us like snow on the head.^ My father was 
 extremely disturbed and did not know wherewith 
 he should entertain, where he should seat the wel- 
 come guest, and bustled about like a culprit ; but 
 my uncle did not appear to be greatly touched by 
 his brother's anxious zeal; he kept repeating, 
 " What 's the use of that? "—and " I do not want 
 anything." He treated my aunt with even 
 greater coldness; however, she did not like him 
 much, anyway. In her eyes he was a godless man, 
 
 1 Suddenly, unexpectedly.— Translator. 
 
 868
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 a heretic, a Voltairian .... (he actually had 
 learned the French language in order to read 
 Voltaire in the original). 
 
 I found uncle Egor such as David had de- 
 scribed him to me. He was a big, heavy, ponder- 
 ous man, with a broad, pock-marked face, dig- 
 nified and serious. He wore constantly a hat with 
 a plume, lace ruffles and frill, and a short-coat of 
 tobacco-brown hue, with a steel sword on his hip. 
 David was unspeakably delighted to see him— his 
 face even grew radiant and handsomer, and his 
 eyes became quite different— merry, quick, and 
 brilliant; but he strove his best to moderate his 
 joy and did not express it in words: he was afraid 
 of growing faint-hearted. 
 
 The very first night after uncle Egor's arrival 
 the two — father and son — locked themselves up 
 in the room assigned to the former and talked to- 
 gether for a long time in an undertone ; on the fol- 
 lowing morning I noticed that my uncle gazed at 
 his son in a peculiarly affectionate and trustful 
 manner: he seemed greatly pleased with him. 
 David took him to the requiem service ^ for Lat- 
 kin ; I also went thither : my father did not hinder 
 me, but remained at home himself. Raisa sur- 
 prised me by her calmness; she had grown very 
 
 1 Not the funeral, or even a requiem liturgy, but a service composed 
 of wonderfully-beautiful prayers and hymns. Often it is held in the 
 house of the deceased twice a day during the three days which precede 
 burial (whixh is what is meant here, although in this case it was in 
 church), and at any time thereafter when the friends and relatives 
 request it.— TaANSLAToa. 
 
 369
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 pale and thin, but she shed no tears, and spoke 
 and behaved very simply; and nevertheless, 
 strange to say, I discerned in her a certain maj- 
 esty: the unconscious majesty of grief vi^hich for- 
 gets itself. Uncle Egor made her acquaintance 
 then and there, on the church porch ; afterward it 
 was obvious from the way he treated her that 
 David had already spoken to him of her. He 
 took as great a hking to her as his son had done; 
 I could read that in David's eyes when he looked 
 at them. I remember how they flashed when 
 his father said in his presence, in speaking of 
 her: " She 's a clever lass; she will make a good 
 housewife." At the Latkins' house I was told 
 that the old man had expired quietly, like a 
 candle which is burned out, and until he lost his 
 powers and his consciousness he kept stroking 
 his daughter's hair and repeating something 
 unintelligible but not sorrowful, and smiling all 
 the while. 
 
 My father went to the funeral, to the church 
 and the grave, and prayed very fervently; even 
 TrankvilHtatin sang in the choir. At the grave 
 Raisa suddenly burst out sobbing and fell prone 
 upon the earth ; but she speedily recovered herself. 
 Her little sister, the deaf-and-dumb girl, scruti- 
 nised every one with her large, bright, and some- 
 what frightened eyes; from time to time she 
 nestled up to Raisa, but there was no fright per- 
 ceptible in her. On the day after the funeral, uncle 
 
 370
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 Egor, who, as was in every way apparent, had not 
 returned from Siberia with empty hands (he had 
 furnished the money for the funeral, and had lav- 
 ishly rewarded David's rescuer) , but who had 
 told nothing about his manner of life there and 
 had communicated none of his plans for the fu- 
 ture, — uncle Egor suddenly announced to my 
 father that he did not intend to remain in Ryazan, 
 but was going to Moscow together with his son. 
 My father, for the sake of propriety, expressed 
 his regret, and even made an attempt — a very fee- 
 ble one, it is true— to alter my uncle's decision; 
 but in the depths of his soul he was greatly de- 
 lighted with it, I am sure. 
 
 The presence of a brother with whom he had 
 too little in common, who did not even deign 
 to reproach him, who did not even despise him, 
 but simply loathed him, oppressed him .... 
 and the parting with David did not constitute 
 any particular grief for him. This separation 
 annihilated me, of course; I felt completely or- 
 phaned at first, and lost all hold on life and all 
 desire to live. 
 
 So my uncle went away, taking with him not 
 only David, but, to the great amazement and even 
 indignation of our whole street, Raisa and her 
 little sister also On learning of this per- 
 formance of his, my aunt immediately called him 
 a Turk, and continued to call him so to the end 
 of her life. 
 
 871
 
 THE WATCH 
 
 I was left alone, quite alone. . . . But it does 
 not matter about me. . . . 
 
 XXV 
 
 And this is the end of my story about the watch. 
 What else can I tell you? Five years later, David 
 married his Black-lip, and in 1812, with the rank 
 of ensign in the artillery, died a death of glory on 
 the day of the battle at Borodino, while defending 
 the Shevardin redoubt. 
 
 Many things have happened since then, and I 
 have had many watches ; I have even attained to 
 the magnificence of procuring for myself a genu- 
 ine Breget with a second-hand, the days of the 
 month, and a repeating attachment. . . . But in 
 a secret drawer of my writing-table is preserved 
 an old silver watch with a rose on its face; I 
 bought it of a Jew pedlar, being struck with its 
 resemblance to the watch which had once been 
 presented to me by my godfather. — From time 
 to time, when I am alone and am not expecting 
 any one, I take it out of its box, and as I gaze at 
 it, I recall the days of my youth and the com- 
 rade of those days, which have vanished beyond 
 recall. . . . 
 
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 K-.nilTHERN REGIONAL UBRARYFA^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
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