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BERKELEY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 

SMOKE 
 
The Novels of Ivan Turgenev 
 
 Large Type Fine-Paper Edition, price 2s. net 
 each in Cloth, 3^. net in Leather. 
 
 I. RUDIN. 
 
 II. A HOUSE OF GENTLEFOLK. 
 III. ON THE EVE. 
 IV. FATHERS AND CHILDREN. 
 V. SMOKE. 
 VI. & VII. VIRGIN SOIL. 2 Vols. 
 VIII. & IX. A SPORTSMAN'S SKETCHES. 2 Vols. 
 X. DREAM TALES AND PROSE POEMS. 
 XI. THE TORRENTS OF SPRING, ETC. 
 XII. A LEAR OF THE STEPPES. 
 
 XIII. THE DIARY OF A SUPERFLUOUS MAN, ETC. 
 
 XIV. A DESPERATE CHARACTER, ETC. 
 XV. THE JEW, ETC. 
 
 Also Large Paper Edition, in fifteen volumes, sold 
 
 only in sets, illustrated with forty-eight plates in 
 
 photogravure, price ,£3 net. 
 
 LONDON : WILLIAM HEINEMANN 
 
SMOKE 
 
 H IRovel 
 
 BY 
 
 IVAN TURGENEV 
 
 Translated from the Russian 
 By CONSTANCE GARNETT 
 
 LARGE TYPE FINE-PAPER EDITION 
 
 LONDON 
 
 WILLIAM HEINEMANN 
 
 1914 
 
First Edition, iSgb. 
 
 New Impressio?is, igoi, 1QO4, iqoj. 
 
 Large Type Fine-paper Edition, iqo?. 
 
 New Impressions, 1910, 1914. 
 
 LOAN STACK 
 
 
 [All rights reserved"] 
 
PQ ^чл/ 
 
 V9 „ 
 1914- 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 'Smoke' was first published in 1867, several 
 years after Turgenev had fixed his home in 
 Baden, with his friends the Viardots. Baden 
 at this date was a favourite resort for all circles 
 of Russian society, and Turgenev was able to 
 study at his leisure his countrymen as they 
 appeared to foreign critical eyes. The novel is 
 therefore the most cosmopolitan of all Tur- 
 genev's works. On a veiled background of the 
 great world of European society, little groups 
 of representative Russians, members of the 
 aristocratic and the Young Russia parties, are 
 etched with an incisive, unfaltering hand. 
 Smoke, as an historical study, though it yields 
 in importance to Fathers and Children and 
 Virgin Soil, is of great significance to Russians. 
 It might with truth have been named Transi- 
 tion, for the generation it paints was then mid- 
 way between the early philosophical Nihilism 
 
 V 
 
 ; 
 
SMOKE 
 
 of the sixties and the active political Nihilism 
 of the seventies. 
 
 Markedly transitional, however, as was the 
 Russian mind of the days of Smoke, Turgenev, 
 with the faculty that distinguishes the great 
 artist from the artist of second rank, the faculty 
 of seeking out and stamping the essential under 
 confused and fleeting forms, has once and for 
 ever laid bare the fundamental weakness of the 
 Slav nature, its weakness of will. Smoke is an 
 attack, a deserved attack, not merely on the 
 Young Russia Party, but on all the Parties ; not 
 on the old ideas or the new ideas, but on the 
 proneness of the Slav nature to fall a prey to 
 a consuming weakness, a moral stagnation, a 
 feverish ennui, the Slav nature that analyses 
 everything with force and brilliancy, and ends, 
 so often, by doing nothing. Smoke is the attack, 
 bitter yet sympathetic, of a man who, with grow- 
 ing despair, has watched the weakness of his 
 countrymen, while he loves his country all the 
 more for the bitterness their sins have brought 
 upon it. Smoke \$ the scourging of a babbling 
 generation, by a man who, grown sick to death 
 of the chatter of reformers and reactionists, is 
 visiting the sins of the fathers on the children, 
 
 vi 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 with a contempt out of patience for the heredi- 
 tary vice in the Slav blood. And this time the 
 author cannot be accused of partisanship by any 
 blunderer. ' A plague o' both your houses/ is 
 his message equally to the Bureaucrats and the 
 Revolutionists. And so skilfully does he wield 
 the thong, that every lash falls on the back of 
 both parties. An exquisite piece of political 
 satire is Smoke ; for this reason alone it would 
 stand unique among novels. 
 
 The success of Smoke was immediate and 
 great ; but the hue-and-cry that assailed it was 
 even greater. The publication of the book 
 marks the final rupture between Turgenev 
 and the party of Young Russia. The younger 
 generation never forgave him for drawing Gubar- 
 yov and Bambaev, Voroshilov and Madame 
 Suhantchikov — types, indeed, in which all 
 revolutionary or unorthodox parties are pain- 
 fully rich. Or, perhaps, Turgenev was forgiven 
 for it when he was in his grave, a spot where 
 forgiveness flowers to a late perfection. And 
 yet the fault was not Turgenev's. No, his last 
 novel, Virgin Soil, bears splendid witness that it 
 was Young Russia that was one-eyed. 
 
 Let the plain truth here be set down. Smoke 
 
 vii 
 
SMOKE 
 
 is not a complete picture of the Young Russia 
 of the day; it was not yet time for that picture ; 
 and that being so, Turgenev did the next best 
 thing in attacking the windbags, the charlatans 
 and their crowd of shallow, chattering followers, 
 as well as the empty formulas of the laissez- 
 faire party. It was inevitable that the attack 
 should bring on him the anger of all young 
 enthusiasts working for f the Cause ' ; it was in- 
 evitable that ' the Cause ' of reform in Russia 
 should be mixed up with the Gubaryovs, just as 
 reforms in France a few years ago were mixed up 
 with Boulanger ; and that Turgenev's waning 
 popularity for the last twenty years of his life 
 should be directly caused by his honesty and 
 clear-sightedness in regard to Russian Liberal- 
 ism, was inevitable also. To be crucified by 
 those you have benefited is the cross of honour 
 of all great, single-hearted men. 
 
 But though the bitterness of political life 
 flavours Smoke, although its points of departure 
 and arrival are wrapped in the atmosphere of 
 Russia's dark and insoluble problems, never- 
 theless the two central figures of the book, 
 Litvinov and Irina, are not political figures. 
 
 Luckily for them, in Gubaryovs words, they 
 
 viii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 belong * to the undeveloped.' Litvinov himself 
 may be dismissed in a sentence. He is Tur- 
 genev's favourite type of man, a character much 
 akin to his own nature, gentle, deep, and sym- 
 pathetic. Turgenev often drew such a char- 
 acter; Lavretsky, for example, in A House of 
 Gentlefolk, is a first cousin to Litvinov, an older 
 and a sadder man. 
 
 But Irina — Irina is unique ; for Turgenev has 
 in her perfected her type till she reaches a 
 destroying witchery of fascination and subtlety. 
 Irina will stand for ever in the long gallery of 
 great creations, smiling with that enigmatical 
 smile which took from Litvinov in a glance 
 half his life, and his love for Tatyana. The 
 special triumph of her creation is that she com- 
 bines that exact balance between good and 
 evil which makes good women seem insipid 
 •beside her and bad women unnatural. And, 
 by nature irresistible, she is made doubly so to 
 the imagination by the situation which she 
 recreates between Litvinov and herself. She 
 ardently desires to become nobler, to possess 
 all that the ideal of love means for the heart of 
 woman ; but she has only the power given to 
 
 her of enervating the man she loves. Can 
 
 ix 
 
SMOKE 
 
 she become a Tatyana to him? No, to no 
 man. She is born to corrupt, yet never to be 
 corrupted. She rises mistress of herself after 
 the first measure of fatal delight. And, never 
 giving her whole heart absolutely to her lover, 
 she, nevertheless, remains ever to be desired. 
 
 Further, her wit, her scorn, her beauty pre- 
 serve her from all the influences of evil she does 
 not deliberately employ. Such a woman is as 
 old and as rare a type as Helen of Troy. It is 
 most often found among the great mistresses 
 of princes, and it was from a mistress of 
 Alexander II. that Turgenev modelled Irina. 
 
 Of the minor characters, Tatyana is an 
 astonishing instance of Turgenev's skill in 
 drawing a complete character with half-a-dozen 
 strokes of the pen. The reader seems to have 
 known her intimately all his life : her family life, 
 her girlhood, her goodness and individual ways 
 to the smallest detail ; yet she only speaks on 
 two or three occasions. Potugin is but a weary 
 shadow of Litvinov, but it is difficult to say 
 how much this is a telling refinement of art. 
 The shadow of this prematurely exhausted 
 man is cast beforehand by Irina across Lit- 
 vinov's future. For Turgenev to have drawn 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Potugin as an ordinary individual would have 
 vulgarised the novel and robbed it of its skil- 
 ful proportions, for Potugin is one ©f those 
 shadowy figures which supply the chiaroscuro 
 to a brilliant etching. 
 
 As a triumphant example of consummate 
 technical skill, Smoke will repay the most exact 
 scrutiny. There are a lightness and a grace 
 about the novel that conceal its actual strength. 
 The political argument glides with such ease in 
 and out of the love story, that the hostile critic 
 is absolutely baffled ; and while the most intri- 
 cate steps are executed in the face of a crowd 
 of angry enemies, the performer lands smiling 
 and in safety. The art by which Irina's dis- 
 astrous fascination results in falsity, and Lit- 
 vinov's desperate striving after sincerity ends 
 in rehabilitation, — the art by which these two 
 threads are spun, till their meaning colours the 
 faint political message of the book, is so delicate 
 that, like the silken webs which gleam only for 
 the first fresh hours in the forest, it leaves no 
 trace, but becomes a dream in the memory. 
 And yet this book, which has the freshness of 
 windy rain and the whirling of autumn leaves, 
 
 is a story of ignominious weakness of the 
 
 xi 
 
SMOKE 
 
 passion that kills, that degrades, that renders 
 life despicable, as Turgenev himself says. 
 Smoke is the finest example in literature of 
 a subjective psychological study of passion 
 rendered clearly and objectively in terms of 
 French art. Its character, we will not say 
 its superiority, lies in the extraordinary clear- 
 ness with which the most obscure mental 
 phenomena are analysed in relation to the 
 ordinary values of daily life. At the precise 
 point of psychological analysis where Tolstoi 
 wanders and does not convince the reader, and 
 at the precise point where Dostoievsky's analy- 
 sis seems exaggerated and obscure, like a figure 
 looming through the mist, Turgenev throws a 
 ray of light from the outer to the inner world 
 of man, and the two worlds are revealed in the 
 natural depths of their connection. It is in fact 
 difficult to find among the great modern artists 
 men whose natural balance of intellect can 
 be said to equalise their special genius. The 
 Greeks alone present to the world a spectacle 
 of a triumphant harmony in the critical and 
 creative mind of man, and this is their great 
 pre-eminence. But Smoke presents the curious 
 
 feature of a novel (Slav in virtue of its modern 
 
 xii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 psychological genius) which is classical in its 
 treatment and expression throughout : the bal- 
 ance of Turgenev's intellect reigns ever supreme 
 over the natural morbidity of his subject. 
 
 And thus Smoke in every sense of the word 
 is a classic for all time. 
 
 EDWARD GARNETT. 
 January 1896. 
 
 Kill 
 

 
THE NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS IN 
 ТНГ BOOK 
 
 Grig6ry [Grishal alovitch LixvfNOV 
 Tat-yana [Tanya] l g <6vna Shest6v. 
 Kapitolina Markov^ a. 
 Rostislav Bambaev. 
 semy6n yakovlevitch voroshflov. 
 Stepan Nikolaevitch Gubar-y6v. 
 Matr6na Semy6novna Suhantchikov. 
 Tit Bindasov. 
 
 PlSH-TCHALKIN. 
 
 Soz6nt Ivanitch Potugin. 
 
 Irina Pavlovna Osinin. 
 
 Valerian VladImirovitch Ratmirov. 
 
 In transcribing the Russian names into English — 
 a has the sound of a in father 
 e „ j, а 'трапе, 
 
 z ,, ,, ее. 
 
 и „ „ oo. 
 
 у is always consonantal except when it is 
 
 the last letter of the word. 
 g is always hard. 
 
 XV 
 
PRESERVATION 
 REPLACEMENT 
 REVIEW. 
 
I 
 
 On the ioth of August 1862, at four o'clock in 
 the afternoon, a great number of people were 
 thronging before the well-known Konversation 
 in Baden-Baden. The weather was lovely ; 
 everything around — the green trees, the bright 
 houses of the gay city, and the undulating 
 outline of the mountains — everything was in 
 holiday mood, basking in the rays of the 
 kindly sunshine ; everything seemed smiling 
 with a sort of blind, confiding delight ; and the 
 same glad, vague smile strayed over the human 
 faces too, old and young, ugly and beautiful 
 alike. Even, the blackened and whitened 
 visages of the Parisian demi-monde could not 
 destroy the general impression of bright con- 
 tent and elation, while their many-coloured 
 ribbons and feathers and the sparks of gold 
 and steel on their hats and veils involuntarily 
 recalied the intensified brilliance and light 
 fluttering of birds in spring, with their rain- 
 bow-tinted wings. But the dry, guttural snap- 
 
 I A 
 
SMOKE 
 
 ping of the French jargon, heard on all sides 
 could not equal the song of birds, nor be com- 
 pared with it. 
 
 Everything, however, was going on in its ac- 
 customed way. The orchestra in the Pavilion 
 played first a medley from the Traviata, then 
 one of Strauss's waltzes, then ' Tell her,' a 
 Russian song, adapted for instruments by an 
 obliging conductor. In the gambling saloons, 
 round the green tables, crowded the same 
 familiar figures, with the same dull, greedy, 
 half-stupefied, half-exasperated, wholly rapa- 
 cious expression, which the gambling fever 
 lends to all, even the most aristocratic, features. 
 The same well-fed and ultra-fashionably dressed 
 Russian landowner from Tambov with wide 
 staring eyes leaned over the table, and with 
 uncomprehending haste, heedless of the cold 
 smiles of the croupiers themselves, at the very 
 instant of the cry ' rien ne va plus] laid with 
 perspiring hand golden rings of louis cTor oh all 
 the four corners of the roulette, depriving him- 
 self by so doing of every possibility of gaining 
 anything, even in case of success. This did 
 not in the least prevent him the same evening 
 from affirming the contrary with disinterested 
 indignation to Prince Кокб, one of the well- 
 known leaders of the aristocratic opposition, 
 the Prince Кокб, who in Paris at the salon 
 
SMOKE 
 
 of the Princess Mathilde, so happily remarked 
 in the presence of the Emperor : ' Madame \ 
 le principe de la propriete est profondement 
 ebranle en Russie! At the Russian tree, a 
 Farbre Russe, our dear fellow-countrymen and 
 countrywomen were assembled after their wont. 
 They approached haughtily and carelessly in 
 fashionable style, greeted each other with 
 dignity and elegant ease, as befits beings who 
 find themselves at the topmost pinnacle of 
 contemporary culture. But when they had 
 met and sat down together, they were abso- 
 lutely at a loss for anything to say to one 
 another, and had to be content with a pitiful 
 interchange of inanities, or with the exceedingly 
 indecent and exceedingly insipid old jokes of 
 a hopelessly stale French wit, once a journalist, 
 a chattering buffoon with Jewish shoes on his 
 paltry little legs, and a contemptible little 
 beard on his mean little visage. He retailed 
 to them, a ces princes russes, all the sweet ab- 
 surdities from the old comic almanacs Charivari 
 and Tintamarre, and they, ces princes rtisses, 
 burst into grateful laughter, as though forced 
 in spite of themselves to recognise the crush- 
 ing superiority of foreign wit, and their own 
 hopeless incapacity to invent anything amus- 
 ing. Yet here were almost all the 'finefleur* of 
 our society, ' all the high-life and mirrors of 
 
 3 
 
SMOKE 
 
 fashion.' Here was Count X., our incomparable 
 dilettante, a profoundly musical nature, who so 
 divinely recites songs on the piano, but cannot 
 in fact take two notes correctly without fumb- 
 ling at random on the keys, and sings in a 
 style something between that of a poor gypsy 
 singer and a Parisian hairdresser. Here was 
 our enchanting Baron Q., a master in every 
 line : literature, administration, oratory, and 
 card-sharping. Here, too, was Prince Y., the 
 friend of religion and the people, who in the 
 blissful epoch when the spirit-trade was a 
 monopoly, had made himself betimes a huge 
 fortune by the sale of vodka adulterated with 
 belladonna ; and the brilliant General О. O., who 
 had achieved the subjugation of something, and 
 the pacification of something else, and who 
 is nevertheless still a nonenity, and does not 
 know what to do with himself. And R. R. the 
 amusing fat man, who regards himself as a great 
 invalid and a great wit, though he is, in fact, as 
 strong as a bull, and as dull as a post. . . . This 
 R. R. is almost the only man in our day who 
 has preserved the traditions of the dandies of 
 the forties, of the epoch of the ' Hero of our 
 Times,' and the Countess Vorotinsky. He has 
 preserved, too, the special gait with the swing 
 on the heels, and le culte de la pose (it cannot 
 even be put into words in Russian), the un- 
 
 4 
 
SMOKE 
 
 natural deliberation of movement, the sleepy 
 dignity of expression, the immovable, offended- 
 looking countenance, and the habit of inter- 
 rupting other people's remarks with a yawn, 
 gazing at his own finger-nails, laughing through 
 his nose, suddenly shifting his hat from the 
 back of his head on to his eyebrows, etc. 
 Here, too, were people in government circles, 
 diplomats, big-wigs with European names, 
 men of wisdom and intellect, who imagine 
 that the Golden Bull was an edict of the 
 Pope, and that the English poor-tax is a 
 tax levied on the poor. And here, too, were 
 the hot-blooded, though tongue-tied, devotees 
 of the dames mix camellias, young society 
 dandies, with superb partings down the back of 
 their heads, and splendid drooping whiskers, 
 dressed in real London costumes, young bucks 
 whom one would fancy there was nothing to 
 hinder from becoming as vulgar as the illustri- 
 ous French wit above mentioned. But no ! 
 our home products are not in fashion it seems ; 
 and Countess S., the celebrated arbitress of 
 fashion and grand genre, by spiteful tongues 
 nicknamed ' Queen of the Wasps/ and ' Medusa 
 in a mob-cap/ prefers, in the absence of the 
 French wit, to consort with the Italians, Mol- 
 davians, American spiritualists, smart secretaries 
 of foreign embassies, and Germans of effeminate, 
 
 5 
 
SMOKE 
 
 but prematurely circumspect, physiognomy, of 
 whom the place is full. The example of the 
 Countess is followed by the Princess Babette, 
 she in whose arms Chopin died (the ladies in 
 Europe in whose arms he expired are to be 
 reckoned by thousands) ; and the Princess 
 Annette, who would have been perfectly capti- 
 vating, if the simple village washerwoman had 
 not suddenly peeped out in her at times, like a 
 smell of cabbage wafted across the most delicate 
 perfume ; and Princess Pachette, to whom the 
 following mischance had occurred : her hus- 
 band had fallen into a good berth, and all at 
 once, Dieu salt pourquot, he had thrashed the 
 provost and stolen 20,000 roubles of public 
 money ; and the laughing Princess Zizi ; and the 
 tearful Princess Zozo. They all left their com- 
 patriots on one side, and were merciless in their 
 treatment of them. Let us too leave them on 
 one side, these charming ladies, and walk away 
 from the renowned tree near which they sit in 
 such costly but somewhat tasteless costumes, 
 and God grant them relief from the boredom 
 consuming them ! 
 
II 
 
 A FEW paces from the ' Russian tree/ at a 
 little table in front of Weber's coffee-house, 
 there was sitting a good-looking man, about 
 thirty, of medium height, thin and dark, with a 
 manly and pleasant face. He sat bending 
 forward with both arms leaning on his stick, 
 with the calm and simple air of a man to whom 
 the idea had not occurred that any one would 
 notice him or pay any attention to him. His 
 large expressive golden-brown eyes were gazing 
 deliberately about him, sometimes screwed up to 
 keep the sunshine out of them, and then watching 
 fixedly some eccentric figure that passed by him 
 while a childlike smile faintly stirred his fine 
 moustache and lips, and his prominent short chin. 
 He wore a roomy coat of German cut, and a soft 
 grey hat hid half of his high forehead. At the 
 first glance he made the impression of.an honest, 
 sensible, rather self-confident young man such as 
 there are many in the world. He seemed to 
 be resting from prolonged labours and to be 
 
 7 
 
SMOKE 
 
 deriving all the more simple-minded amuse- 
 ment from the scene spread out before him 
 because his thoughts were far away, and be- 
 cause they moved too, those thoughts, in .a world 
 utterly unlike that which surrounded him at 
 the moment. He was a Russian ; his name 
 was Grigory Mihalovitch Litvinov. 
 
 We have to make his acquaintance, and so 
 it will be well to relate in a few words his past, 
 which presents little of much interest or com- 
 plexity. 
 
 He was the son of an honest retired official 
 of plebeian extraction, but he was educated, 
 not as one would naturally expect, in the town, 
 but in the country. His mother was of noble 
 family, and had been educated in a govern- 
 ment school. She was a good-natured and very 
 enthusiastic creature, not devoid of character, 
 however. Though she was twenty years younger 
 than her husband, she remodelled him, as far as 
 she could, drew him out of the petty official 
 groove into the landowner's way of life, and 
 softened and refined his harsh and stubborn 
 character. Thanks to her, he began to dress 
 with neatness, and to behave with decorum ; 
 he came to respect learned men and learning, 
 though, of course, he never took a single book 
 in his hand ; he gave up swearing, and tried 
 in every way not to demean himself. He 
 
SMOKE 
 
 even arrived at walking more quietly and speak- 
 ing in a subdued voice, mostly of elevated 
 subjects, which cost him no small effort. ' Ah ! 
 they ought to be flogged, and that 's all about 
 it ! ' he sometimes thought to himself, but aloud 
 he pronounced : ' Yes, yes, that 's so ... of 
 course ; it is a great question.' Litvinov's mothei 
 set her household too upon a European footing ; 
 she addressed the servants by the plural ' you ' 
 instead of the familiar ' thou/ and never allowed 
 any one to gorge himself into a state of lethargy 
 at her table. As regards the property belonging 
 to her, neither she nor her husband was capable 
 of looking after it at all. It had been long 
 allowed to run to waste, but there was plenty of 
 land, with all sorts of useful appurtenances, forest- 
 lands and a lake, on which there had once stood 
 a factory, which had been founded by a zealous 
 but unsystematic owner, and had flourished in 
 the hands of a scoundrelly merchant, and gone 
 utterly to ruin under the superintendence of 
 a conscientious German manager. Madame 
 Litvinov was contented so long as she did not 
 dissipate her fortune or contract debts. Un- 
 luckily she could not boast of good health, and 
 she died of consumption in the very year that 
 her son entered the Moscow university. He did 
 not complete his course there owing to circum- 
 stances of which the reader will hear more later 
 
 9 
 
SMOKE 
 
 on, and went back to his provincial home, where 
 he idled away some time without work and with- 
 out ties, almost without acquaintances. Thanks 
 to the disinclination for active service of the local 
 gentry, who were, however, not so much pene- 
 trated by the Western theory of the evils of 
 1 absenteeism/ as by the home-grown conviction 
 that ' one's own shirt is the nearest to one's 
 skin/ he was drawn for military service in 1855, 
 and almost died of typhus in the Crimea, where 
 he spent six months in a mud-hut on the shore 
 of the Putrid Sea, without ever seeing a single 
 ally. After that, he served, not of course 
 without unpleasant experiences, on the councils 
 of the nobility, and after being a little time in 
 the country, acquired a passion for farming. He 
 realised that his mother's property, under the 
 indolent and feeble management of his infirm 
 old father, did not yield a tenth of the revenue 
 it might yield, and that in experienced and 
 skilful hands it might be converted into a perfect 
 gold mine. But he realised, too, that experience 
 and skill were just what he lacked — and he 
 went abroad to study agriculture and technology 
 — to learn them from the first rudiments. More 
 than four years he had spent in Mecklenburg, 
 in Silesia, and in Carlsruhe, and he had travelled 
 in Belgium and in England. He had worked 
 conscientiously and accumulated information ; 
 
 10 
 
SMOKE 
 
 йе had not acquired it easily ; but he had per- 
 severed through his difficulties to the end, and 
 now with confidence in himself, in his future, 
 and in his usefulness to his neighbours, perhaps 
 even to the whole countryside, he was prepar- 
 ing to return home, where he was summoned 
 with despairing prayers and entreaties in every 
 letter from his father, now completely bewildered 
 by the emancipation, the re-division of lands, 
 and the terms of redemption — by the new 
 regime in short. But why was he in Baden ? 
 
 Well, he was in Baden because he was from 
 day to day expecting the arrival there of his 
 cousin and betrothed, Taty ana Petrovna Shestov 
 He had known her almost from childhood, and 
 had spent the spring and summer with her at 
 Dresden, where she was living with her aunt. 
 He felt sincere love and profound respect for 
 his young kinswoman, and on the conclusion of 
 his dull preparatory labours, when he was pre- 
 paring to enter on a new field, to begin real, 
 unofficial duties, he proposed to her as a woman 
 dearly loved, a comrade and a friend, to unite 
 her life with his — for happiness and for sorrow, 
 for labour and for rest, ' for better, for worse ' as 
 the English say. She had consented, and he 
 had returned to Carlsruhe, where his books, 
 papers and properties had been left. . . . But why 
 was he at Baden, you ask again ? 
 
 и 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Well, he was at Baden, because Tatyana's 
 aunt, who had brought her up, Kapitoiina 
 MarkovnaShestov,an old unmarried lady of fifty- 
 rlve, a most good-natured, honest, eccentric soul, 
 a free thinker, all aglow with the fire of self- 
 sacrifice and abnegation, an esprit fort (she 
 read Strauss, it is true she concealed the fact 
 from her niece) and a democrat, sworn opponent 
 of aristocracy and fashionable society, could 
 not resist the temptation of gazing for once on 
 this aristocratic society in such a fashionable 
 place as Baden. . . . Kapitoiina Markovna 
 wore no crinoline and had her white hair cut 
 in a round crop, but luxury and splendour had 
 a secret fascination for her, and it was her 
 favourite pastime to rail at them and express 
 her contempt of them. How could one refuse 
 to gratify the good old lady ? But Litvinov 
 was so quiet and simple, he gazed so self-con- 
 fidently about him, because his life lay so clearly 
 mapped out before him, because his career was 
 defined, and because he was proud of this career, 
 and rejoiced in it as the work of his own hands. 
 
 i? 
 
Ill 
 
 HULLO ! hullo ! here he is ! ' he suddenly 
 heard a squeaky voice just above his ear, and 
 a plump hand slapped him on the shoulder. 
 He lifted his head, and perceived one of his few 
 Moscow acquaintances, a certain Bambaev, a 
 good-natured but good-for-nothing fellow. He 
 was no longer young, he had a flabby nose and 
 soft cheeks, that looked as if they had been 
 boiled, dishevelled greasy locks, and a fat 
 squat person. Everlastingly short of cash, 
 and everlastingly in raptures over something, 
 Rostislav Bambaev wandered, aimless but ex- 
 clamatory, over the face of our long-suffering 
 mother- earth. 
 
 ' Well, this is something like a meeting ! ' he 
 repeated, opening wide his sunken eyes, and 
 drawing down his thick lips, over which the 
 straggling dyed moustaches seemed strangely 
 out of place. ' Ah, Baden ! All the world runs 
 here like black-beetles ! How did you come 
 here, Grisha?' 
 
 i3 
 
SMOKE 
 
 There was positively no one in the world Bam- 
 baev did not address by his Christian name. 
 
 ' I came here three days ago.' 
 
 1 From where ? ' 
 
 1 Why do you ask ? ' 
 
 ' Why indeed ? But stop, stop a minute, 
 Grisha. You are, perhaps, not aware who has 
 just arrived here ! Gubaryov himself, in per- 
 son ! That 's who 's here ! He came yesterday 
 from Heidelberg. You know him of course ? ' 
 
 ' I have heard of him.' 
 
 1 Is that all ? Upon my word ! At once, this 
 very minute we will haul you along to him. Not 
 know a man like that ! And by the way here 's 
 Voroshilov. . . . Stop a minute, Grisha, perhaps 
 you don't know him either ? I have the honour 
 to present you to one another. Both learned 
 men ! He 's a phcenix indeed ! Kiss each 
 other ! ' 
 
 And uttering these words, Bambaev turned 
 to a good-looking young man standing near him 
 with a fresh and rosy, but prematurely demure 
 face. Litvinov got up, and, it need hardly be 
 said, did not kiss him, but exchanged a cursory 
 bow with the phcenix, who, to judge from the 
 severity of his demeanour, was not overpleased 
 at this unexpected introduction. 
 
 1 I said a phcenix, and I will not go back 
 from my word,' continued Bambaev ; ' go to 
 
 14 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Petersburg, to the military school, and look at 
 the golden board; whose name stands first there ? 
 The name of Voroshilov, Semyon Yakovlevitch ! 
 But, Gubaryov, Gubaryov, my dear fellow ! 
 It 's to him we must fly ! I absolutely worship 
 that man ! And I 'm not alone, every one 's at 
 his feet ! Ah, what a work he is writing, О — О 
 —О l } 
 
 ' What is his work about ? ' inquired Litvinov. 
 
 1 About everything, my dear boy, after the 
 style of Buckle, you know . . . but more pro- 
 found, more profound. . . . Everything will be 
 solved and made clear in it ? 
 
 1 And have you read this work yourself? ' 
 
 ' No, I have not read it, and indeed it 's a 
 secret, which must not be spread about ; but from 
 Gubaryov one may expect everything, every- 
 thing ! Yes ! ' Bambaev sighed and clasped his 
 hands. * Ah, if we had two or three intellects like 
 that growing up in Russia, ah, what mightn't 
 we see then, my God ! I tell you one thing, 
 Grisha ; whatever pursuit you may have been 
 engaged in in these latter days — and I don't even 
 know what your pursuits are in general — what- 
 ever your convictions may be — I don't know 
 them either — from him, Gubaryov, you will 
 find something to learn. Unluckily, he is not 
 here for long. We must make the most of him 
 we must go. To him, to him 1 
 
 '5 
 
SMOKE 
 
 A passing dandy with reddish curls and a blue 
 ribbon on his low hat, turned round and stared 
 through his eyeglass with a sarcastic smile at 
 Bambaev. Litvinov felt irritated. 
 
 1 What are you shouting for ? ' he said ; ' one 
 would think you were hallooing dogs on at a 
 hunt ! I have not had dinner yet' 
 
 ' Well, think of that ! we can go at once to 
 Weber's . . . the three of us . . . capital ! You 
 have the cash to pay for me ? ' he added in an 
 undertone. 
 
 * Yes, yes ; only, I really don't know ' 
 
 1 Leave off, please ; you will thank me for it, 
 and he will be delighted. Ah, heavens ! ' 
 Bambaev interrupted himself. ' It 's the finale 
 from Ernani they 're playing. How delicious ! . . . 
 A som . . . mo Carlo. . . . What a fellow I am, 
 though! In tears in a minute. Well, Semyon 
 Yakovlevitch ! Voroshilov ! shall we go, eh ? ' 
 
 Voroshilov, who had remained all the while 
 standing with immovable propriety, still main- 
 taining his former haughty dignity of de- 
 meanour, dropped his eyes expressively, frowned, 
 and muttered something between his teeth . . . 
 But he did not refuse ; and Litvinov thought, 
 * Well, we may as well do it, as I Ve plenty 
 of time on my hands.' Bambaev took his 
 arm, but before turning towards the cafe he 
 beckoned to Isabellethe renowned flower-girl of 
 
 16 
 
SMOKE 
 
 the Jockey Club : he had conceived the idea of 
 buying a bunch of flowers of her. But the 
 aristocratic flower-girl did not stir ; and, indeed, 
 what should induce her to approach a gentle- 
 man without gloves, in a soiled fustian jacket, 
 streaky cravat, and boots trodden down at 
 heel, whom she had not even seen in Paris? 
 Then Voroshilov in his turn beckoned to her. 
 To him she responded, and he, taking a tiny 
 bunch of violets from her basket, flung her a 
 florin. He thought to astonish her by his 
 munificence, but not an eyelash on her face 
 quivered, and when he had turned away, she 
 pursed up her mouth contemptuously. Vor- 
 oshilov was dressed very fashionably, even 
 exquisitely, but the experienced eye of the 
 Parisian girl noted at once in his get-up and in 
 his bearing, in his very walk, which showed 
 traces of premature military drill, the absence 
 of genuine, pure-blooded 'chic.' 
 
 When they had taken their seats in the 
 principal dining-hall at Weber's, and ordered 
 dinner, our friends fell into conversation. 
 Bambaev discoursed loudly and hotly upon the 
 immense importance of Gubaryov, but soon he 
 ceased speaking, and, gasping and chewing 
 noisily, drained off glass after glass. Voroshilov 
 eat and drank little, and as it were reluctantly, 
 and after questioning Litvinov as to the nature 
 
 17 в 
 
SMOKE 
 
 of his interests, fell to giving expression to 
 his own opinions — not so much on those 
 interests, as on questions of various kinds in 
 general. . . . All at once he warmed ' up, and 
 set off at a gallop like a spirited horse, boldly 
 and decisively assigning to every syllable, every 
 letter, its due weight, like a confident cadet going 
 up for his ' final ' examination, with vehement, 
 but inappropriate gestures. At every instant, 
 since no one interrupted him, he became more 
 eloquent, more emphatic ; it seemed as though 
 he were reading a dissertation or lecture. The 
 names of the most recent scientific authorities — 
 with the addition of the dates of the birth or death 
 of each of them — the titles of pamphlets that had 
 only just appeared, and names, names, names 
 . . . fell in showers together from his tongue, 
 affording himself intense satisfaction, reflected 
 in his glowing eyes. Voroshilov, seemingly, 
 despised everything old, and attached value 
 only to the cream of culture, the latest, most 
 advanced points of science ; to mention, how- 
 ever inappropriately, a book of some Doctor 
 Zauerbengel on Pennsylvanian prisons, or 
 yesterday's articles in the Asiatic Journal on 
 the Vedas and Puranas (he pronounced it 
 Journal in the English fashion, though he 
 certainly did not know English) was for him 
 a real joy, a felicity. Litvinov listened and 
 
 r8 
 
SMOKE 
 
 listened to him, and could not make out what 
 could be his special line. At one moment his 
 talk was of the part played by the Celtic race 
 in history ; then he was carried away to the 
 ancient world, and discoursed upon the ^Egine- 
 tan marbles, harangued with great warmth 
 on the sculptor living earlier than Phidias, 
 Onetas, who was, however, transformed by 
 him into Jonathan, which lent his whole 
 discourse a half-Biblical, half-American flavour ; 
 then he suddenly bounded away to political 
 economy and called Bastiat a fool or a block- 
 head, 'as bad as Adam Smith and all the 
 physiocrats.' ' Physiocrats,' murmured Bam- 
 baev after him . . . ' aristocrats ? ' Among 
 other things Voroshilov called forth an expres- 
 sion of bewilderment on Bambaev's face by 
 a criticism, dropped casually in passing, of 
 Macaulay, as an old-fashioned writer, super- 
 seded by modern historical science ; as for 
 Gneist, he declared he need scarcely refer to 
 him, and he shrugged his shoulders. Bambaev 
 shrugged his shoulders too. ' And all this at 
 once, without any inducement, before strangers, 
 in a cafe ' — Litvinov reflected, looking at the 
 fair hair, clear eyes, and white teeth of his 
 new acquaintance (he was specially embarrassed 
 by those large sugar-white teeth, and those 
 \ hands with their inappropriate gesticulations), 
 
 19 
 
SMOKE 
 
 'and he doesn't once smile ; and with it all, he 
 would seem to be a nice lad, and absolutely 
 inexperienced.' Voroshilov began to calm down 
 at last, his voice, youthfully resonant and shrill 
 as a young cock's, broke a little . . . Bambaev 
 seized the opportunity to declaim verses and 
 again nearly burst into tears, which scandalised 
 one table near them, round which was seated 
 an English family, and set another tittering ; 
 two Parisian cocottes were dining at this second 
 table with a creature who resembled an ancient 
 baby in a wig. The waiter brought the bill ; 
 the friends paid it. 
 
 ' Well/ cried Bambaev, getting heavily up 
 from his chair, ' now for a cup of coffee, and 
 quick march. There she is, our Russia,' he 
 added, stopping in the doorway, and pointing 
 almost rapturously with his soft red hand to 
 Voroshilov and Litvinov. , , . 'What do you 
 think of her ? . . . ' 
 
 ' Russia, indeed/ thought Litvinov ; and 
 Voroshilov, whose face had by now regained its 
 concentrated expression, again smiled conde- 
 scendingly, and gave a little tap with his heels. 
 
 Within five minutes they were all three mount- 
 ing the stairs of the hotel where Stepan Nikol- 
 aitch Gubaryov was staying. ... A tall slender 
 lady, in a hat with a short black veil, was 
 coming quickly down the same staircase. 
 
 20 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Catching sight of Litvinov she turned suddenly 
 round to him, and stopped still as though 
 struck by amazement. Her face flushed 
 instantaneously, and then as quickly grew pale 
 under its thick lace veil ; but Litvinov did 
 not observe her, and the lady ran down the 
 wide steps more quickly than before. 
 
 21 
 
IV 
 
 'GRIGORY Litvinov, a brick, a true Russian 
 heart. I commend him to you/ cried Bambaev, 
 conducting Litvinov up to a short man of 
 the figure of a country gentleman, with an 
 unbuttoned collar, in a short jacket, grey morn- 
 ing trousers and slippers, standing in the 
 middle of a light, and very well-furnished room ; 
 'and this/ he added, addressing himself to 
 Litvinov, ' is he, the man himself, do you under- 
 stand ? Gubaryov, then, in a word.' 
 
 Litvinov stared with curiosity at ' the man 
 himself.' He did not at first sight find in him 
 anything out of the common. He saw before 
 him a gentleman of respectable, somewhat dull 
 exterior, with a broad forehead, large eyes, full 
 lips, a big beard, and a thick neck, with a 
 fixed gaze, bent sidelong and downwards. 
 This gentleman simpered, and said, ' Mmm. . . . 
 ah . . . very pleased, . . / raised his hand to 
 his own face, and at once turning his back 
 on Litvinov, took a few paces upon the carpet, 
 
 22 
 
SMOKE 
 
 with a slow and peculiar shuffle, as though he 
 were trying to slink along unseen. Gubaryov 
 had the habit of continually walking up and 
 down, and constantly plucking and combing 
 his beard with the tips of his long hard nails. 
 Besides Gubaryov, there was also in the room 
 a lady of about fifty, in a shabby silk dress, 
 with an excessively mobile face almost as 
 yellow as a lemon, a little black moustache on 
 her upper lip, and eyes which moved so quickly 
 that they seemed as though they were jumping 
 out of her head; there was too a broad-shouldered 
 man sitting bent up in a corner. 
 
 'Well, honoured Matrona Semyonovna/ 
 began Gubaryov, turning to the lady, and 
 apparently not considering it necessary to 
 introduce Litvinov to her, 'what was it you 
 were beginning to tell us ? ' 
 
 The lady (her name was Matrona Semyon- 
 ovna Suhantchikov — she was a widow, childless, 
 and not rich, and had been travelling from 
 country to country for two years past) began 
 with peculiar exasperated vehemence : 
 
 ' Well, so he appears before the prince and 
 says to him : " Your Excellency," he says, " in 
 such an office and such a position as yours, 
 what will it cost you to alleviate my lot? 
 You," he says, " cannot but respect the purity 
 of my ideas ! And is it possible," he says, " in 
 
 23 
 
SMOKE 
 
 these days to persecute a man for his ideas ? " 
 And what do you suppose the prince did, that 
 cultivated dignitary in that exalted position? ' " 
 
 ' Why, what did he do ? ' observed Gubaryov, 
 lighting a cigarette with a meditative air. 
 
 The lady drew herself up and held out her 
 bony right hand, with the first finger separated 
 from the rest. 
 
 ' He called his groom and said to him, " Take 
 off that man's coat at once, and keep it your- 
 self. I make you a present of that coat ! " ' 
 
 ' And did the groom take it ? ' asked Bambaev, 
 throwing up his arms. 
 
 * He took it and kept it. And that was done 
 by Prince Barnaulov, the well-known rich 
 grandee, invested with special powers, the re- 
 presentative of the government. What is one 
 to expect after that ! ' 
 
 The whole frail person of Madame Suhant- 
 chikov was shaking with indignation, spasms 
 passed over her face, her withered bosom was 
 heaving convulsively under her flat corset ; of 
 her eyes it is needless to speak, they were 
 fairly leaping out of her head. But then they 
 were always leaping, whatever she might be 
 talking about. 
 
 ' A crying shame, a crying shame ! ' cried 
 Bambaev. ' No punishment could be bad 
 enough ! ' 
 
 24 
 
SMOKE 
 
 ' Mmm. . . . Mmm. . . . From top to bottom 
 it 's all rotten,' observed Gubaryov, without 
 raising his voice, however. In that case punish- 
 ment is not . . . that needs . . . other measures.' 
 
 1 But is it really true ? ' commented Litvinov. 
 
 ' Is it true ? ' broke in Madame Suhantchikov. 
 * Why, that one can't even dream of doubting 
 . . . can't even d — d — d — ream of it.' She pro- 
 nounced these words with such energy that she 
 was fairly shaking with the effort. 4 I was told 
 of that by a very trustworthy man. And you, 
 Stepan Nikolaitch, know him — Elistratov, 
 Kapiton. He heard it himself from eyewit- 
 nesses, spectators of this disgraceful scene.' 
 
 'What Elistratov? ' inquired Gubaryov. 'The 
 one who was in Kazan ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. I know, Stepan Nikolaitch, a rumour 
 was spread about him that he took bribes there 
 from some contractors or distillers. But then 
 who is it says so ? Pelikanov ! And how can one 
 believe Pelikanov, when every one knows he is 
 simply — a spy ! ' 
 
 ' No, with your permission, Matrona Sem- 
 yonovna,' interposed Bambaev, ' I am friends 
 with Pelikanov, he is not a spy at all.' 
 
 1 Yes, yes, that 's just what he is, a spy ! ' 
 
 1 But wait a minute, kindly ' 
 
 ' A spy, a spy ! ' shrieked Madame Suhant- 
 chikov. 
 
 4 
 
SMOKE 
 
 I No, no, one minute, I tell you what,' shrieked 
 Bambaev in his turn. 
 
 'A spy, a spy/ persisted Madame Suhant- 
 chikov. 
 
 ' No, no ! There 's Tentelyev now, that 's a 
 different matter,' roared Bambaev with all the 
 force of his lungs. 
 
 Madame Suhantchikov was silent for a 
 moment. 
 
 I I know for a fact about that gentleman,' he 
 continued in his ordinary voice, ' that when he 
 was summoned before the secret police, he 
 grovelled at the feet of the Countess Blazen- 
 krampff and kept whining, " Save me, intercede 
 for me ! " But Pelikanov never demeaned 
 himself to baseness like that.' 
 
 1 Mm. . . . Tentelyev . . .' muttered Gubar- 
 yov, ' that . . . that ought to be noted.' 
 
 Madame Suhantchikov shrugged her shoul- 
 ders contemptuously. 
 
 1 They 're one worse than another,' she said, 
 1 but I know a still better story about Tentelyev. 
 He was, as every one knows, a most horrible 
 despot with his serfs, though he gave himself 
 out for an emancipator. Well, he was once at 
 some friend's house in Paris, and suddenly in 
 comes Madame Beecher Stowe — you know, 
 Uncle Tonis Cabin. Tentelyev, who's an awfully 
 pushing fellow, began asking the host to present 
 him ; but directly she heard his name. " What?" 
 
 26 
 
SMOKE 
 
 she said, " he presumes to be introduced to the 
 author of Uncle Tom ? " And she gave him 
 a slap on the cheek ! " Go away ! " she says, 
 " at once ! " And what do you think ? Ten- 
 telyev took his hat and slunk away, pretty 
 crestfallen.' 
 
 ' Come, I think that 's exaggerated,' observed 
 Bambaev. ' " Go away " she certainly did say, 
 that 's a fact, but she didn't give him a smack ! ' 
 
 1 She did, she did ! ' repeated Madam Suhant- 
 chikov with convulsive intensity : ' I am not 
 talking idle gossip. And you are friends with 
 men like that ! ' 
 
 1 Excuse me, excuse me, Matrona Semyon- 
 ovna, I never spoke of Tentelyev as a friend of 
 mine ; I was speaking of Pelikanov.' 
 
 ' Well, if it 's not Tentelyev, its another. 
 Mihnyov, for example.' 
 
 'What did he do then?' asked Bambaev, 
 already showing signs of alarm. 
 
 ' What ? Is it possible you don't know ? He 
 exclaimed on the Poznesensky Prospect in the 
 hearing of all the world that all the liberals 
 ought to be in prison ; and what 's more, an 
 old schoolfellow came to him, a poor man 
 of course, and said, " Can I come to dinner 
 with you ? " And this was his answer. " No, 
 impossible ; I have two counts dining with me 
 to-day . . , get along with you ! " ' 
 
 27 
 
SMOKE 
 
 1 But that 's slander, upon my word ! ' voci- 
 ferated Bambaev. 
 
 'Slander? . . . slander? In the first place, 
 Prince Vahrushkin, who was also dining at your 
 Mihnyov's ' 
 
 ' Prince Vahrushkin/ Gubaryov interpolated 
 severely, ' is my cousin ; but I don't allow him 
 to enter my house. ... So there is no need 
 to mention him even.' 
 
 L In the second place/ continued Madame 
 Suhantchikov, with a submissive nod in Gubar- 
 yov's direction, ' Praskovya Yakovlevna told me 
 so herself.' 
 
 1 You have hit on a fine authority to quote ! 
 Why, she and Sarkizov are the greatest scandal- 
 mongers going/ 
 
 1 I beg your pardon, Sarkizov is a liar, 
 certainly. He filched the very pall of brocade 
 off his dead father's coffin. I will never dispute 
 that ; but Praskovya Yakovlovna — there 's no 
 comparison ! Remember how magnanimously 
 she parted from her husband ! But you, I 
 know, are always ready — — ' 
 
 'Come, enough, enough, Matrona Semyon- 
 ovna, said Bambaev, interrupting her, ' let 
 us give up this tittle-tattle, and take a loftier 
 flight. I am not new to the work, you. 
 know. Have you read Mile, de la Quintinie ? 
 That 's something charming now ! And quite 
 
 28 
 
SMOKE 
 
 in accord with your principles at the same 
 time ! ' 
 
 1 1 never read novels now/ was Madame 
 Suhantchikov's dry and sharp reply. 
 
 ' Why ? ' 
 
 ' Because I have not the time now ; I have 
 no thoughts now but for one thing, sewing 
 machines.' 
 
 ' What machines ? ' inquired Litvinov. 
 
 * Sewing, sewing ; all women ought to provide 
 themselves with sewing-machines, and form 
 societies ; in that way they will all be enabled to 
 earn their living, and will become independent 
 at once. In no other way can they ever be 
 emancipated. That is an important, most 
 important social question. I had such an argu- 
 mentaboutit with BoleslavStadnitsky. Boleslav 
 Stadnitsky is a marvellous nature, but he looks 
 at these things in an awfully frivolous spirit. 
 He does nothing but laugh. Idiot!' 
 
 • All will in their due time be called to account, 
 from all it will be exacted/ pronounced Gubar- 
 yov deliberately, in a tone half- professorial, 
 half-prophetic. 
 
 1 Yes, yes/ repeated Bambaev, * it will be 
 exacted, precisely so, it will be exacted. But, 
 Stepan Nikolaitch/ he added, dropping his 
 voice, ' how goes the great work ? ' 
 
 1 I am collecting materials/ replied Gubaryov, 
 
 29 
 
SMOKE 
 
 knitting his brows; and, turning to Litvinov, 
 whose head began to swim from the medley of 
 unfamiliar names, and the frenzy of backbiting, 
 he asked him what subjects he was interested 
 in. 
 
 Litvinov satisfied his curiosity. 
 
 1 Ah ! to be sure, the natural sciences. That 
 is useful, as training ; as training, not as an end 
 in itself. The end at present should be . . . 
 mm. . . . should be . . . different. Allow me 
 to ask what views do you hold ? ' 
 
 1 What views ? ' 
 
 * Yes, that is, more accurately speaking, what 
 are your political views ? ' 
 
 Litvinov smiled. 
 
 4 Strictly speaking, I have no political views.' 
 
 The broad-shouldered man sitting in the 
 corner raised his head quickly at these words 
 and looked attentively at Litvinov. 
 
 ' How is that ? ' observed Gubaryov with 
 peculiar gentleness. ' Have you not yet re- 
 flected on the subject, or have you grown weary 
 of it ? ' 
 
 * How shall I say ? It seems to me that for 
 us Russians, it is too early yet to have political 
 views or to imagine that we have them. Ob- 
 serve that I attribute to the word " political " 
 the meaning which belongs to it by right, and 
 that ' 
 
 30 
 
SMOKE 
 
 1 Aha ! he belongs to the undeveloped/ 
 Gubaryov interrupted him, with the same 
 gentleness, and going up to Voroshilov, he 
 asked him : ' Had he read the pamphlet he had 
 given him ? ' 
 
 Voroshilov, to Litvinov's astonishment, had 
 not uttered a word ever since his entrance, but 
 had only knitted his brows and rolled his eyes 
 (as a rule he was either speechifying or else per- 
 fectly dumb). He now expanded his chest in 
 soldierly fashion, and with a tap of his heels, 
 Qodded assent. 
 
 1 Well, and how was it ? Did you like it ? ■ 
 
 1 As regards the fundamental principles, I 
 liked it ; but I did not agree with the inferences.' 
 
 ' Mmm. . . . Andrei Ivanitch praised that 
 pamphlet, however. You must expand your 
 doubts to me later.' 
 
 1 You desire it in writing ? ' 
 
 Gubaryov was obviously surprised ; he had 
 not expected this ; however, after a moment's 
 thought, he replied : 
 
 ' Yes, in writing. By the way, I will ask you 
 to explain to me your views also . . in regard 
 to ... in regard to associations.' 
 
 ' Associations on Lassalle's system, do you 
 desire, or on the system of Schulze-Delitzsch ? ' 
 
 1 Mmm. ... on both. For us Russians, you 
 understand, the financial aspect of the matter 
 
 3i 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Is specially important. Yes, and the artel . . . 
 as the germ. . , . All that, one must take note 
 of. One must go deeply into it. And the 
 question, too, of the land to bt apportioned to 
 the peasants. . . .' 
 
 ' And you, Stepan Nikolaitch, what is your 
 view as to the number of acres suitable ? ' in- 
 quired Voroshilov, with reverential delicacy in 
 his voice. 
 
 'Mmm. . . . and the commune?' articulated 
 Gubaryov, deep in thought, and biting a tuft of 
 his beard he stared at the table-leg. ' The 
 commune ! . . . Do you understand. That is a 
 grand word ! Then what is the significance 
 of these conflagrations ? these . . . these 
 government measures against Sunday-schools, 
 reading-rooms, journals? And the refusal of 
 the peasants to sign the charters regulating their 
 position in the future? And finally, what of 
 what is happening in Poland ? Don't you see 
 that . . . mmm. . . . that we . . we have to 
 unite with the people . . . find out . . . find out 
 
 their views ' Suddenly a heavy, almost a 
 
 wrathful emotion seemed to take possession of 
 Gubaryov ; he even grew black in the face and 
 breathed heavily, but still did not raise his 
 eyes, and continued to gnaw at his beard. 
 4 Can't you see ' 
 
 ' Yevseyev is a wretch ! ' Madame Suhantchi- 
 
 32 
 
SMOKE 
 
 kov burst out noisily all of a sudden. Bambaev 
 had been relating something to her in a voice 
 lowered out of respect for their host. Gubaryov 
 turned round swiftly on his heels, and again 
 began limping about the room. 
 
 Fresh guests began to arrive ; towards the 
 end of the evening a good many people were 
 assembled. Among them came, too, Mr. 
 Yevseyev whom Madame Suhantchikov had 
 vilified so cruelly. She entered into conversa- 
 tion with him very cordially, and asked him to 
 escort her home ; there arrived too a certain 
 Pishtchalkin, an ideal mediator, one of those 
 men of precisely whom perhaps Russia stands 
 in need — a man, that is, narrow, of little infor- 
 mation, and no great gifts, but conscientious, 
 patient, and honest ; the peasants of his district 
 almost worshipped him, and he regarded him- 
 self very respectfully as a creature genuinely 
 deserving of esteem. A few officers, too, were 
 there, escaped for a brief furlough to Europe, 
 and rejoicing — though of course warily, and 
 ever mindful of their colonel in the back- 
 ground of their brains — in the opportunity of 
 dallying a little with intellectual — even rather 
 dangerous — people ; two lanky students from 
 Heidelberg came hurrying in, one looked about 
 him very contemptuously, the other giggled 
 spasmodically . . . both were very ill at ease; 
 
 33 С 
 
SMOKE 
 
 after them a Frenchman — a so-called petit jeune 
 homme — poked his nose in ; a nasty, silly, 
 pitiful little creature, . . . who enjoyed some 
 repute among his fellow commis-voyageurs on 
 the theory that Russian countesses had fallen 
 in love with him ; for his own part, his reflec- 
 tions were centred more upon getting a supper 
 gratis ; the last to appear was Tit Bindasov, in 
 appearance a rollicking German student, in 
 reality a skinflint, in words a terrorist, by 
 vocation a police-officer, a friend of Russian 
 merchants' wives and Parisian cocottes ; bald, 
 toothless, and drunken; he arrived very red 
 and sodden, affirming that he had lost his last 
 farthing to that blackguard Benazet ; in reality, 
 he had won sixteen guldens. ... In short, 
 there were a number of people. Remarkable — 
 really remarkable — was the respect with which 
 all these people treated Gubaryov as a preceptor 
 or chief ; they laid their ideas before him, and 
 submitted them to his judgment ; and he 
 replied by muttering, plucking at his beard, 
 averting his eyes, or by some disconnected, 
 meaningless words, which were at once seized 
 upon as the utterances of the loftiest wisdom 
 Gubaryov himself seldom interposed in the 
 discussions ; but the others strained their lungs 
 to the utmost to make up for it. It happened 
 more than once that three or four were shouting 
 
 34 
 
SMOKE 
 
 for ten minutes together, and all were content 
 and understood. The conversation lasted till 
 after midnight, and was as usual distinguished 
 by the number and variety of the subjects 
 discussed. Madame Suhantchikov talked about 
 Garibaldi, about a certain Karl Ivanovitch, 
 who had been flogged by the serfs of his own 
 household, about Napoleon III., about women's 
 work, about a merchant, Pleskatchov, who had 
 designedly caused the death of twelve work- 
 women, and had received a medal for it with 
 the inscription ' for public services ' ; about 
 the proletariat, about the Georgian Prince 
 Tchuktcheulidzov, who had shot his wife with 
 a cannon, and about the future of Russia. 
 Pishtchalkin, too, talked of the future of Russia, 
 and of the spirit monopoly, and of the signifi- 
 cance of nationalities, and of how he hated above 
 everything what was vulgar. There was an out- 
 burst all of a sudden from Voroshilov ; in a 
 single breath, almost choking himself, he men- 
 tioned Draper, Virchow, Shelgunov, Bichat, 
 Helmholtz, Star, St. Raymund, Johann Muller 
 the physiologist, and Johann Muller the historian 
 ■ — obviously confounding them — Taine, Renan, 
 Shtchapov ; and then Thomas Nash, Peele, 
 Greene. . . . * What sort of queer fish may they 
 be?' Bambaev muttered bewildered, Shake- 
 speare's predecessors having the same relation 
 
 35 
 
SMOKE 
 
 to him as the ranges of the Alps to Mont Blanc. 
 Voroshilov replied cuttingly, and he too touched 
 on the future of Russia. Bambaev also spoke 
 of the future of Russia, and even depicted it in 
 glowing colours: but he was thrown into special 
 raptures over the thought of Russian music, in 
 which he saw something. ' Ah ! great indeed ! ' 
 and in confirmation he began humming a song 
 of Varlamov's, but was soon interrupted by a 
 general shout, ' He is singing the Miserere from 
 the Trovatore, and singing it excruciatingly too.' 
 One little officer was reviling Russian literature 
 in the midst of the hubbub ; another was quot- 
 ing verses from Sparks ; but Tit Bindasov 
 went even further ; he declared that all these 
 swindlers ought to have their teeth knocked 
 out, . . . and that 's all about it, but he did not 
 particularise who were the swindlers alluded to. 
 The smoke from the cigars became stifling ; all 
 were hot and exhausted, every one was hoarse, 
 all eyes were growing dim, and the perspiration 
 stood out in drops on every face. Bottles of 
 iced beer were brought in and drunk off in- 
 stantaneously. 'What was I saying?' remarked 
 one ; ' and with whom was I disputing, and 
 about what?' inquired another. And among 
 all the uproar and the smoke, Gubaryov walked 
 indefatigably up and down as before, swaying 
 from side to side and twitching at his beard ; 
 
 36 
 
SMOKE 
 
 now listening, turning an ear to some contro- 
 versy, now putting in a word of his own ; and 
 every one was forced to feel that he, Gubaryov, 
 was the source of it all, that he was the master 
 here, and the most eminent personality. . . . 
 
 Litvinov, towards ten o'clock, began to have 
 a terrible headache, and, taking advantage of 
 a louder outburst of general excitement, went 
 off quietly unobserved. Madame Suhantchikov 
 had recollected a fresh act of injustice of Prince 
 Barnaulov ; he had all but given orders to have 
 some one's ears bitten off. 
 
 The fresh night air enfolded Litvinov's flushed 
 face caressingly, the fragrant breeze breathed 
 on his parched lips. ' What is it/ he thought 
 as he went along the dark avenue, ' that I have 
 been present at? Why were they met together? 
 What were they shouting, scolding, and making 
 such a pother about? What was it all for?' 
 Litvinov shrugged his shoulders, and turning 
 into Weber's, he picked up a newspaper and 
 asked for an ice. The newspaper was taken 
 up with a discussion on the Roman question, 
 and the ice turned out to be very nasty. He 
 was already preparing to go home, when 
 suddenly an unknown person in a wide- 
 brimmed hat drew near, and saying in Russian : 
 ' I hope I am not in your way ? ' sat down at 
 his table. Only then, after a closer glance at 
 
 37 
 
SMOKE 
 
 the stranger, Litvinov recognised him as the 
 broad-shouldered gentleman hidden away in a 
 corner at Gubaryov's, who had stared at him 
 with such attention when the conversation had 
 turned on political views. During the whole 
 evening this gentleman had not once opened 
 his mouth, and now, sitting down near Litvinov, 
 and taking off his hat, he looked at him with 
 an expression of friendliness and some em- 
 barrassment 
 
 38 
 
V 
 
 1 Mr. GUBARYOV, at whose rooms I had the 
 pleasure of meeting you to-day/ he began, ' did 
 not introduce me to you ; so that, with your 
 leave, I will now introduce myself — Potugin, 
 retired councillor. I was in the department of 
 finances in St. Petersburg. I hope you do not 
 think it strange. ... I am not in the habit as 
 a rule of making friends so abruptly . . . but 
 with you. . . .' 
 
 Here Potugin grew rather mixed, and he 
 asked the waiter to bring him a little glass of 
 kirsch-wasser. ' To give me courage/ he added 
 with a smile. 
 
 Litvinov looked with redoubled interest at 
 the last of all the new persons with whom it 
 had been his lot to be brought into contact that 
 day. His thought was at once, * He is not 
 the same as those.' 
 
 Certainly he was not. There sat before him, 
 drumming with delicate fingers on the edge of 
 
 39 
 
SMOKE 
 
 the table, a broad-shouldered man, with an 
 ample frame on short legs, a downcast head of 
 curly hair, with very intelligent and very mourn- 
 ful eyes under bushy brows, a thick well-cut 
 mouth, bad teeth, and that purely Russian nose 
 to which is assigned the epithet ' potato ' ; a 
 man of awkward, even odd exterior ; at least, 
 he was certainly not of a common type. He 
 was carelessly dressed ; his old-fashioned coat 
 hung on him like a sack, and his cravat was 
 twisted awry. His sudden friendliness, far from 
 striking Litvinov as intrusive, secretly flattered 
 him ; it was impossible not to see that it was 
 not a common practice with this man to attach 
 himself to strangers. He made a curious im- 
 pression on Litvinov ; he awakened in him 
 respect and liking, and a kind of involuntary 
 compassion. 
 
 ' I am not in your way then ? ' he repeated in 
 a soft, rather languid and faint voice, which was 
 marvellously in keeping with his whole per- 
 sonality. 
 
 1 No, indeed,' replied Litvinov ; ' quite the 
 contrary, I am very glad.' 
 
 ' Really ? Well, then, I am glad too. I have 
 heard a great deal about you ; I know what 
 you are engaged in, and what your plans are. 
 It 's a good work. That 's why you were silent 
 this evening.' 
 
 40 
 
SMOKE 
 
 1 Yes : you too said very little, I fancy/ ob- 
 served Litvinov. 
 
 Potugin sighed. ' The others said enough and 
 to spare. I listened. Well/ he added, after 
 a moment's pause, raising his eyebrows with 
 a rather humorous expression, ' did you like 
 our building of the Tower of Babel ? ' 
 
 ' That 's just what it was. You have expressed 
 it capitally. I kept wanting to ask those gentle- 
 men what they were in such a fuss about.' 
 
 Potugin sighed again. 
 
 ( That 's the whole point of it, that they don't 
 know that themselves. In former days the 
 expression used about them would have been : 
 " they are the blind instruments of higher ends " ; 
 well, nowadays we make use of sharper epithets. 
 And take note that I am not in the least in- 
 tending to blame them ; I will say more, they 
 are all . . . that is, almost all, excellent people. 
 Of Madame Suhantchikov, for instance, I know 
 for certain much that is good ; she gave away 
 the last of her fortune to two poor nieces. Even 
 admitting that the desire of doing something 
 picturesque, of showing herself off, was not 
 without its influence on her, still you will agree 
 that it was a remarkable act of self-sacrifice in 
 a woman not herself well-off! Of Mr. Pish- 
 tchalkin there is no need to speak even ; the 
 peasants of his district will certainly in time 
 
 4i 
 
SMOKE 
 
 present him with a silver bowl like a pumpkin, 
 and perhaps even a holy picture representing 
 his patron saint, and though he will tell them 
 in his speech of thanks that he does not deserve 
 such an honour, he won't tell the truth there ; 
 he does deserve it. Mr. Bambaev, your friend, 
 has a wonderfully good heart ; it 's true that it 's 
 with him as with the poet Yazikov, who they 
 say used to sing the praises of Bacchic revelry, 
 sitting over a book and sipping water ; his 
 enthusiasm is completely without a special 
 object, still it is enthusiasm ; and Mr. Voroshilov, 
 too, is the most good-natured fellow ; like all 
 his sort, all men who've taken the first prizes 
 at school, he 's an aide-de-camp of the sciences, 
 and he even holds his tongue sententiously, but 
 then he is so young. Yes, yes, they are all ex- 
 cellent people, and when you come to results, 
 there 's nothing to show for it ; the ingredients 
 are all first-rate, but the dish is not worth 
 eating/ 
 
 Litvinov listened to Potugin with growing 
 astonishment : every phrase, every turn of his 
 slow but self-confident speech betrayed both 
 the power of speaking and the desire to 
 speak. 
 
 Potugin did, in fact, like speaking, and could 
 speak well ; but, as a man in whom life had 
 succeeded in wearing away vanity, he waited 
 
 42 
 
SMOKE 
 
 with philosophic calm for a good opportunity, a 
 meeting with a kindred spirit. 
 
 * Yes, yes/ he began again, with the special 
 dejected but not peevish humour peculiar to 
 him, * it is all very strange. And there is some- 
 thing else I want you to note. Let a dozen 
 Englishmen* for example, come together, and 
 they will at once begin to talk of the sub- 
 marine telegraph, or the tax on paper, or a 
 method of tanning rats' skins, — of something, 
 that 's to say, practical and definite ; a dozen 
 Germans, and of course Schleswig-Holstein 
 and the unity of Germany will be brought on 
 the scene ; given a dozen Frenchmen, and the 
 conversation will infallibly turn upon amorous 
 adventures, however much you try to divert 
 them from the subject ; but let a dozen Russians 
 meet together, and instantly there springs up 
 the question — you had an opportunity of being 
 convinced of the fact this evening — the question 
 of the significance and the future of Russia, 
 and in terms so general, beginning with creation, 
 without facts or conclusions. They worry and 
 worry away at that unlucky subject, as children 
 chew away at a bit of india-rubber — neither 
 for pleasure nor profit, as the saying is. Well, 
 then, of course the rotten West comes in 
 for its share. It 's a curious thing, it beats 
 us at every point, this West — but yet we declare 
 
 43 
 
SMOKE 
 
 that it 's rotten ! And if only we had a genuine 
 contempt for it/ pursued Potugin, ' but that 's 
 really all cant and humbug. We can do well 
 enough as far as abuse goes, but the opinion of 
 the West is the only thing we value, the opinion, 
 that 's to say, of the Parisian loafers. ... I know 
 a man — a good fellow, I fancy — the father of 
 a family, and no longer young ; he was thrown 
 into deep dejection for some days because in a 
 Parisian restaurant he had asked for une portion 
 de biftek aux pommes de terre, and a real French- 
 man thereupon shouted : Garcon! biftek pommes! 
 My friend was ready to die with shame, and after 
 that he shouted everywhere, Biftek pommes ! and 
 taught others to do the same. The very cocottes 
 are surprised at the reverential trepidation with 
 which our young barbarians enter their shame- 
 ful drawing-rooms. " Good God ! " they are 
 thinking, " is this really where I am, with no 
 less a person than Anna Deslions herself! " ' 
 
 1 Tell me, pray,' continued Litvinov, ' to what 
 do you ascribe the influence Gubaryov undoubt- 
 edly has over all about him ? Is it his talent, 
 his abilities ? ' 
 
 1 No, no ; there is nothing of that sort about 
 him. . . .' 
 
 1 His personal character is it, then ? ' 
 
 1 Not that either, but he has a strong will. 
 We Slavs, for the most part, as we all know, 
 
 44 
 
SMOKE . 
 
 are badly off for that commodity, and we grovel 
 before it. It is Mr. Gubaryov's will to be a ruler, 
 and every one has recognised him as a ruler. 
 What would you have? The government 
 has freed us from the dependence of serfdom 
 — and many thanks to it ! but the habits of 
 slavery are too deeply ingrained in us ; we can- 
 not easily be rid of them. We want a master 
 in everything and everywhere ; as a rule this 
 master is a living person, sometimes it is some 
 so-called tendency which gains authority over 
 us. . . . At present, for instance, we are all the 
 bondslaves of natural science. . . . Why, owing 
 to what causes, we take this bondage upon us, 
 that is a matter difficult to see into ; but such 
 seemingly is our nature. But the great thing 
 is, that we should have a master. Well, here he 
 is amongst us ; that means he is ours, and we 
 can afford to despise everything else ! Simply 
 slaves ! And our pride is slavish, and slavish 
 too is our humility. If a new master arises — 
 it 's all over with the old one. Then it was 
 Yakov, and now it is Sidor ; we box Yakov's 
 ears and kneel to Sidor ! Call to mind how 
 many tricks of that sort have been played 
 amongst us ! We talk of scepticism as our 
 special characteristic ; but even in our scepticism 
 we are not like a free man fighting with a sword, 
 but like a lackey hitting out with his fist, and 
 
 45 
 
SMOKE 
 
 very likely he is doing even that at his master's 
 bidding. Then, we are a soft people too ; it 's 
 not difficult to keep the curb on us. So that 's 
 the way Mr. Gubaryov has become a power 
 among us ; he has chipped and chipped away 
 at one point, till he has chipped himself into 
 success. People see that he is a man who has 
 a great opinion of himself, who believes in him- 
 self, and commands. That 's the great thing, 
 that he can command ; it follows that he must 
 be right, and we ought to obey him. All 
 our sects, our Onuphrists and Akulinists, were 
 founded exactly in that way. He who holds 
 the rod is the corporal.' 
 
 Potugin's cheeks were flushed and his eyes 
 grew dim ; but, strange to say, his speech, cruel 
 and even malicious as it was, had no touch of 
 bitterness, but rather of sorrow, genuine and 
 sincere sorrow. 
 
 4 How did you come to know Gubaryov ? ' 
 asked Litvinov. 
 
 1 1 have known him a long while. And 
 observe, another peculiarity among us ; a certain 
 writer, for example, spent his whole life in 
 inveighing in prose and verse against drunken- 
 ness, and attacking the system of the drink 
 monopoly, and lo and behold ! he went and 
 bought two spirit distilleries and opened a hun- 
 dred drink-shops — and it made no difference ! 
 
 46 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Any other man might have been wiped off the 
 face of the earth, but he was not even reproached 
 for it. And here is Mr. Gubaryov ; he is a Slavo- 
 phil and a democrat and a socialist and anything 
 you like, but his property has been and is still 
 managed by his brother, a master of the old 
 style, one of those who were famous for their 
 fists. And the very Madame Suhantchikov, 
 who makes Mrs. Beecher Stowe box Tentel- 
 yev's ears, is positively in the dust before 
 Gubaryov's feet. And you know the only 
 thing he has to back him is that he reads clever 
 books, and always gets at the pith of them. 
 You could see for yourself to-day what sort of 
 gift he has for expression ; and thank God, too, 
 that he does talk little, and keeps in his shell. 
 For when he is in good spirits, and lets himself go, 
 then it's more than even I, patient as I am, can 
 stand. He begins by coarse joking and telling 
 filthy anecdotes . . . yes, really, our majestic Mr. 
 Gubaryov tells filthy anecdotes, and guffaws 
 so revoltingly over them all the time.' 
 
 1 Are you so patient ? ' observed Litvinov. * I 
 should have supposed the contrary. But let me 
 ask your name and your father's name ? ' 
 
 Potugin sipped a little kirsch-wasser. 
 
 1 My name is Sozont. . . . Sozont Ivanitch. 
 They gave me that magnificent name in honour 
 of a kinsman, an archimandrite, to whom I am 
 
 47 
 
SMOKE 
 
 indebted for nothing else. I am, if I may ven- 
 ture so to express myself, of most reverend 
 stock. And as for your doubts about my 
 patience, they are quite groundless : I am very 
 patient. I served for twenty-two years under 
 the authority of my own uncle, an actual coun- 
 cillor of state, Irinarh Potugin. You don't know 
 him?' 
 
 4 No.' 
 
 'I congratulate you. No, I am patient. " But 
 let us return to our first head," as my esteemed 
 colleague, who was burned alive some centuries 
 ago, the protopope Avvakum, used to say. I am 
 amazed, my dear sir, at my fellow-countrymen. 
 They are all depressed, they all walk with down- 
 cast heads, and at the same time they are all filled 
 with hope, and on the smallest excuse they lose 
 their heads and fly off into ecstasies. Look at 
 the Slavophils even, among whom Mr. Gubaryov 
 reckons himself: they are most excellent people, 
 but there is the same mixture of despair and 
 exultation, they too live in the future tense. 
 Everything will be, will be, if you please. In 
 reality there is nothing done, and Russia for 
 ten whole centuries has created nothing of its 
 own, either in government, in law, in science, in 
 art, or even in handicraft. . . . But wait a little, 
 have patience ; it is all coming. And why is 
 it coming ; give us leave to inquire ? Why 
 
 48 
 
SMOKE 
 
 because we, to be sure, the cultured classes are 
 all worthless ; but the people . . . Oh, the great 
 people ! You see that peasant's smock ? That 
 is the source that everything is to come from. 
 All the other idols have broken down ; let us 
 have faith in the smock-frock. Well, but sup- 
 pose the smock-frock fails us ? No, it will not 
 fail. Read Kohanovsky, and cast your eyes up 
 to heaven ! Really, if I were a painter, I would 
 paint a picture of this sort : a cultivated man 
 standing before a peasant, doing him homage : 
 heal me, dear master-peasant, I am perishing of 
 disease ; and a peasant doing homage in his turn 
 to the cultivated man : teach me, dear master- 
 gentleman, Г am perishing from ignorance. 
 Well, and of course, both are standing still. 
 But what we ought to do is to feel really 
 humble for a little — not only in words — and 
 to borrow from our elder brothers what they 
 have invented already before us and better than 
 us ! Waiter, noch ein Gldschen Kirsch ! You 
 mustn't think I 'm a drunkard, but alcohol 
 loosens my tongue.' 
 
 1 After what you have just said/ observed 
 Litvinov with a smile, ' I need not even inquire 
 to which party you belong, and what is your 
 opinion about Europe. But let me make one 
 observation to you. You say that we ought to 
 borrow from our elder brothers : but how can 
 
 49 d 
 
SMOKE 
 
 we borrow without consideration of the condi- 
 tions of climate and of soil, the local and national 
 peculiarities? My father, I recollect, ordered 
 from Butenop a cast-iron thrashing machine 
 highly recommended ; the machine was very 
 good, certainly — but what happened ? For five 
 long years it remained useless in the barn, till it 
 was replaced by a wooden American one — far 
 more suitable to our ways and habits, as the 
 American machines are as a rule. One cannot 
 borrow at random, Sozont Ivanitch.' 
 
 Potugin lifted his head. 
 
 * I did not expect such a criticism as that 
 from you, excellent Grigory Mihalovitch/ he 
 began, after a moment's pause. ' Who wants to 
 make you borrow at random ? Of course you 
 steal what belongs to another man, not because 
 it is some one else's, but because it suits you ; so 
 it follows that you consider, you make a selection. 
 And as for results, pray don't let us be unjust 
 to ourselves ; there will be originality enough 
 in them by virtue of those very local, climatic, 
 and other conditions which you mention. Only 
 lay good food before it, and the natural stomach 
 will digest it in its own way ; and in time, as 
 the organism gains in vigour, it will give it a 
 sauce of its own. Take our language even as 
 an instance. Peter the Great deluged it with 
 thousands of foreign words, Dutch, French, and 
 
 50 
 
SMOKE 
 
 German ; those words expressed ideas with 
 which the Russian people had to be familiar- 
 ised ; without scruple or ceremony Peter poured 
 them wholesale by bucketsful into us. At first, 
 of course, the result was something of a monstrous 
 product ; but later there began precisely that 
 process of digestion to which I have alluded. 
 The ideas had been introduced and assimilated ; 
 the foreign forms evaporated gradually, and the 
 language found substitutes for them from within 
 itself; and now your humble servant, the most 
 mediocre stylist, will undertake to translate any 
 page you like out of Hegel — yes, indeed, out of 
 Hegel — without making use of a single word 
 not Slavonic. What has happened with the 
 language, one must hope will happen in other 
 departments. It all turns on the question : is it 
 a nature of strong vitality ? and our nature — 
 well, it will stand the test ; it has gone through 
 greater trials than that. Only nations in a state 
 of nervous debility, feeble nations, need fear for 
 their health and their independence, just as it is 
 only weak-minded people who are capable of 
 falling into triumphant rhapsodies over the fact 
 that we are Russians. I am very careful over 
 my health, but I don't go into ecstasies over it : 
 I should be ashamed.' 
 
 ' That is all very true, Sozont Ivan itch,' ob- 
 served Litvinov in his turn ; ' but why inevitably 
 
 5i 
 
SMOKE 
 
 expose ourselves to such tests ? You say your- 
 self that at first the result was monstrous ! 
 Well, what if that monstrous product had per- 
 sisted ? Indeed it has persisted, as you know 
 yourself.' 
 
 1 Only not in the language — and that means 
 a great deal ! And it is our people, not I, who 
 have done it ; I am not to blame because they 
 are destined to go through a discipline of this 
 kind. " The Germans have developed in a 
 normal way," cry the Slavophils, " let us too 
 have a normal development ! " But how are 
 you to get it when the very first historical step 
 taken by our race — the summoning of a prince 
 from over the sea to rule over them — is an 
 irregularity, an abnormality, which is repeated 
 in every one of us down to the present day ; 
 each of us, at least once in his life, has cer- 
 tainly said to something foreign, not Russian : 
 " Come, rule and reign over me ! " I am ready, 
 of course, to agree that when we put a foreign 
 substance into our own body we cannot tell for 
 certain what it is we are putting there, bread or 
 poison ; yet it is a well-known thing that you 
 can never get from bad to good through what 
 is better, but always through a worse state of 
 transition, and poison too is useful in medicine. 
 It is only fit for fools or knaves to point with 
 triumph to the poverty of the peasants after the 
 
 52 
 
SMOKE 
 
 emancipation, and the increase of drunkenness 
 since the abolition of the farming of the spirit- 
 tax. . . . Through worse to better ! ' 
 
 Potugin passed his hand over his face. ' You 
 asked me what was my opinion of Europe/ he 
 began again : ' I admire her, and am devoted to 
 her principles to the last degree, and don't in 
 the least think it necessary to conceal the fact. 
 I have long — no, not long — for some time ceased 
 to be afraid to give full expression to my con- 
 victions — and I saw that you too had no 
 hesitation in informing Mr. Gubaryov of your 
 own way of thinking. Thank God I have 
 given up paying attention to the ideas and 
 points of view and habits of the man I am con- 
 versing with. Really, I know of nothing worse 
 than that quite superfluous cowardice, that 
 cringing desire to be agreeable, by virtue of 
 which you may see an important dignitary 
 among us trying to ingratiate himself with 
 some little student who is quite insignificant 
 in his eyes, positively playing down to him, with 
 all sorts of tricks and devices. Even if we 
 admit that the dignitary may do it out of desire 
 for popularity, what induces us common folk to 
 shuffle and degrade ourselves. Yes, yes, I am 
 a Westerner, I am devoted to Europe : that 's to 
 say, speaking more accurately, I am devoted to 
 culture — the culture at which they make fun so 
 
 53 
 
SMOKE 
 
 wittily among us just now — and to civilisation 
 — yes, yes, that is a better word — and I love it 
 with my whole heart and believe in it, and I 
 have no other belief, and never shall have. That 
 word, ci-vi-li-sa-tion (Potugin pronounced each 
 syllable with full stress and emphasis), is 
 intelligible, and pure, and holy, and all the 
 other ideals, nationality, glory, or what you like 
 — they smell of blood. . . . Away with them ! ' 
 
 * Well, but Russia, Sozont Ivanitch, your 
 country — you love it ? ' 
 
 Potugin passed his hand over his face. ' I 
 love her passionately and passionately hate her.' 
 
 Litvinov shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 ' That 's stale, Sozont Ivanitch, that 's a 
 commonplace.' 
 
 ' And what of it ? So that 's what you 're 
 afraid of! A commonplace! I know many 
 excellent commonplaces. Here, for example, 
 Law and Liberty is a well-known commonplace. 
 Why, do you consider it's better as it is 
 with us, lawlessness and bureaucratic tyranny ? 
 And, besides, all those phrases by which so 
 many young heads are turned : vile bourgeoisie, 
 souverainete du peuple y right to labour, aren't 
 they commonplaces too ? And as for love, 
 inseparable from hate . . . ' 
 
 1 Byronism/ interposed Litvinov, * the roman- 
 ticism of the thirties.' 
 
 54 " 
 
SMOKE 
 
 1 Excuse me, you 're mistaken ; such a ming- 
 ling of emotions was first mentioned by Catullus, 
 the Roman poet Catullus, 1 two thousand years 
 ago. I have read that, for I know a little 
 Latin, thanks to my clerical origin, if so I may 
 venture to express myself. Yes, indeed, I both 
 love and hate my Russia, my strange, sweet, 
 nasty, precious country. I have left her just 
 now. I want a little fresh air after sitting for 
 twenty years on a clerk's high stool in a govern- 
 ment office ; I have left Russia, and I am 
 happy and contented here ; but I shall soon go 
 back again : I feel that. It 's a beautiful land of 
 gardens — but our wild berries will not grow 
 here.' 
 
 ' You are happy and contented, and I too 
 like the place,' said Litvinov, ' and I came here 
 to study ; but that does not prevent me from 
 seeing things like that' 
 
 He pointed to two cocottes who passed 
 by, attended by a little group of members of 
 the Jockey Club, grimacing and lisping, and to 
 the gambling saloon, full to overflowing in spite 
 of the lateness of the hour. 
 
 'And who told you I am blind to that?' 
 Potugin broke in. ' But pardon my saying it, 
 your remark reminds me of the triumphant 
 
 * Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris. 
 Nescio: sed fieri sentio, et excrucior. — Catull lxxxvi. 
 
 55 
 
SMOKE 
 
 allusions made by our unhappy journalists at 
 the time of the Crimean war, to the defects in 
 the English War Department, exposed in the 
 Times. I am not an optimist myself, and all 
 humanity, all our life, all this comedy with 
 tragic issues presents itself to me in no roseate 
 colours : but why fasten upon the West what is 
 perhaps ingrained in our very human nature? 
 That gambling hall is disgusting, certainly ; 
 but is our home-bred card-sharping any lovelier, 
 think you ? No, my dear Grigory Mihalovitch, 
 let us be more humble, more retiring. A good 
 pupil sees his master's faults, but he keeps a 
 respectful silence about them ; these very 
 faults are of use to him, and set him on the 
 right path. But if nothing will satisfy you but 
 sharpening your teeth on the unlucky West, 
 there goes Prince Koko at a gallop, he will most 
 likely lose in a quarter of an hour over the green 
 table the hardly earned rent wrung from a hun- 
 dred and fifty families ; his nerves are upset, for 
 I saw him at Marx's to-day turning over a pam- 
 phlet of Vaillot. . . . He will be a capital person 
 for you to talk to ! ' 
 
 * But, please, please/ said Litvinov hurriedly, 
 seeing that Potugin was getting up from his 
 place, ' I know Prince Кокб very little, and 
 besides, of course, I greatly prefer talking to you.' 
 
 * Thanks very much,' Potugin interrupted 
 
 56 
 
SMOKE 
 
 him, getting up and making a bow ; 'but I have 
 already had a good deal of conversation with 
 you ; that 's to say, really, I have talked alone, 
 and you have probably noticed yourself that a 
 man is always as it were ashamed and awkward 
 when he has done all the talking, especially so 
 on a first meeting, as if to show what a fine 
 fellow one is. Good-bye for the present. And 
 I repeat I am very glad to have made your 
 acquaintance.' 
 
 1 But wait a minute, Sozont Ivanitch, tell me 
 at least where you live, and whether you intend 
 to remain here long.' 
 
 Potugin seemed a little put out. 
 
 * I shall remain about a week in Baden. We 
 can meet here though, at Weber's or at Marx's, 
 or else I will come to you.' 
 
 ' Still I must know your address.' 
 
 1 Yes. But you see I am not alone/ 
 
 'You are married?' asked Litvinov suddenly. 
 
 1 No, good heavens ! . . . what an absurd idea ! 
 But I have a girl with me.' . . . 
 
 1 Oh ! ' articulated Litvinov, with a face of 
 studied politeness, as though he would ask 
 pardon, and he dropped his eyes. 
 
 1 She is only six years old/ pursued Potugin. 
 1 She 's an orphan . . . the daughter of a lady . . . 
 a good friend of mine. So we had better meet 
 here Good-bye/ 
 
 57 
 
SMOKE 
 
 flowers. Again something stirred in Litvinov's 
 memory. He asked the man what the lady 
 looked like, and the servant informed him that 
 she was tall and grandly dressed and had a 
 veil over her face. * A Russian countess most 
 likely/ he added. 
 
 1 What makes you think that ? ' asked Lit- 
 vinov. 
 
 ' She gave me two guldens/ responded the 
 servant with a grin. 
 
 Litvinov dismissed him, and for a long while 
 after he stood in deep thought before the 
 window ; at last, however, with a wave of his 
 hand, he began again upon the letter from the 
 country. His father poured out to him his 
 usual complaints, asserting that no one would 
 take their corn, even for nothing, that the people 
 had got quite out of all habits of obedience, and 
 that probably the end of the world was coming 
 soon. ' Fancy/ he wrote, among other things, 
 1 my last coachman, the Kalmuck boy, do you 
 remember him ? has been bewitched, and the 
 fellow would certainly have died, and I should 
 have had none to drive me, but, thank goodness, 
 some kind folks suggested and advised to send 
 the sick man to Ryazan, to a priest, well- 
 known as a master against witchcraft : and his 
 cure has actually succeeded as well as possible, 
 in confirmation of which I lay before you the 
 
 60 
 
SMOKE 
 
 letter of the good father as a document.' 
 Litvinov ran through this document with curi- 
 osity. In it was set forth : ' that the serving- 
 man Nicanor Dmitriev was beset with a malady 
 which could not be touched by the medical 
 faculty ; and this malady was the work of 
 wicked people; but he himself, Nicanor, was 
 the cause of it, since he had not fulfilled his 
 promise to a certain girl, and therefore by the aid 
 of others she had made him unfit for anything, 
 and if I had not appeared to aid him in these 
 circumstances, he would surely have perished 
 utterly, like a worm ; but I, trusting in the 
 All-seeing Eye, have become a stay to him in 
 his life ; and how I accomplished it, that is a 
 mystery ; I beg your excellency not to counte- 
 nance a girl who has such wicked arts, and 
 even to chide her would be no harm, or she 
 may again work him a mischief.' 
 
 Litvinov fell to musing over this document ; 
 it brought him a whiff of the desert, of the 
 steppes, of the blind darkness of the life mould- 
 ering there, and it seemed a marvellous thing 
 that he should be reading such a letter in 
 Baden, of all places. Meanwhile it had long 
 struck midnight ; Litvinov went to bed and 
 put out his light. But he could not get to 
 sleep ; the faces he had seen, the talk he had 
 heard, kept coming back and revolving, 
 
 61 
 
SMOKE 
 
 strangely interwoven and entangled in his 
 burning head, which ached from the fumes of 
 tobacco. Now he seemed to hear Gubaryov's 
 muttering, and fancied his eyes with their dull, 
 persistent stare fastened on the floor ; then 
 suddenly those eyes began to glow and leap, 
 and he recognised Madame Suhantchikov, and 
 listened to her shrill voice, and involuntarily 
 repeated after her in a whisper, ' she did, she 
 did, slap his face.' Then the clumsy figure of 
 Potugin passed before him ; and for the tenth, 
 and the twentieth time he went over every 
 word he had uttered ; then, like a jack in the 
 box, Voroshilov jumped up in his trim coat, 
 which fitted him like a new uniform ; and 
 Pishtchalkin gravely and sagaciously nodded 
 his well-cut and truly well-intentioned head ; 
 and then Bindasov bawled and swore, and 
 Bambaev fell into tearful transports. . . . And 
 above all — this scent, this persistent, sweet, 
 heavy scent gave him no rest, and grew more 
 and more powerful in the darkness, and more 
 and more importunately it reminded him of 
 something which still eluded his grasp. . . . The 
 idea occurred to Litvinov that the scent of 
 flowers at night in a bedroom was injurious, and 
 he got up, and groping his way to the nosegay, 
 carried it into the next room ; but even from 
 there the oppressive fragrance penetrated to 
 
 62 
 
SMOKE 
 
 him on his pillow and under the counterpane, 
 and he tossed in misery from side to side. A 
 slight delirium had already begun to creep over 
 him ; already the priest, ' the master against 
 witchcraft ' had twice run across his road in the 
 guise of a. very playful hare with a beard and a 
 pig-tail, and Voroshilov was trilling before him, 
 sitting in a huge general's plumed cock-hat like 
 a nightingale in a bush. . . . When suddenly 
 he jumped up in bed, and clasping his hands, 
 cried, ' Can it be she ? it can't be ! ' 
 
 But to explain this exclamation of Litvinov's 
 we must beg the indulgent reader to go back 
 a few years with us. 
 
 63 
 
VII 
 
 EARLY in the fifties, there was living in Moscow, 
 in very straitened ctrcumstances, almost in 
 poverty, the numerous family of the Princes 
 Osinin. These were real princes — not Tartar- 
 Georgians, but pure-blooded descendants of 
 Rurik. Their name is often to be met with in 
 our chronicles under the first grand princes of 
 Moscow, who created a united Russia. They 
 possessed wide acres and many domains. Many 
 a time they were rewarded for ' service and 
 blood and disablement.' They sat in the Coun- 
 cil of Boyars. One of them even rose to a very 
 high position. But they fell under the ban of 
 the empire through the plots of enemies ' on a 
 charge of witchcraft and evil philtres/ and they 
 were ruined ' terribly and beyond recall.' They 
 were deprived of their rank, and banished to re- 
 mote parts ; the Osinins fell and had never risen 
 again, had never attained to power again. The 
 ban was taken off in time, and they were even 
 reinstated in their Moscow house and belong- 
 
 64 
 
SMOKE 
 
 mgs, but it was of no avail. Their family was 
 impoverished, ' run to seed ' ; it did not revive 
 under Peter, nor under Catherine ; and con- 
 stantly dwindling and growing humbler, it had 
 by now reckoned private stewards, managers of 
 wine-shops, and ward police-inspectors among its 
 members. The family of Osinins, of whom we 
 have made mention, consisted of a husband and 
 wife and five children. It was living near the 
 Dogs' Place, in a one-storied little wooden house, 
 with a striped portico looking on to the street, 
 green lions on the gates, and all the other 
 pretensions of nobility, though it could hardly 
 make both ends meet, was constantly in debt 
 at the green-grocer's, and often sitting without 
 firewood or candles in the winter. The prince 
 himself was a dull, indolent man, who had once 
 been a handsome dandy, but had gone to seed 
 completely. More from regard for his wife, who 
 had been a maid-of-honour, than from respect 
 for his name, he had been presented with one of 
 those old-fashioned Moscow posts that have a 
 small salary, a queer-sounding name, and abso- 
 lutely no duties attached. He never meddled 
 in anything, and did nothing but smoke from 
 morning till night, breathing heavily, and always 
 wrapped in a dressing-gown. His wife was a 
 sickly irritable woman, for ever worried over 
 domestic trifles — over getting her children 
 
 65 e 
 
SMOKE 
 
 placed in government schools, and keeping up 
 her Petersburg connections ; she could never 
 accustom herself to her position and her 
 remoteness from the Court. 
 
 Litvinov's father had made acquaintance with 
 the Osinins during his residence at Moscow, 
 had had occasion to do them some services, and 
 had once lent them three hundred roubles ; 
 and his son often visited them while he was a 
 student ; his lodging happened to be at no great 
 distance from their house. But he was not 
 drawn to them simply as near neighbours, nor 
 tempted by their comfortless way of living. He 
 began to be a frequent visitor at their house 
 after he had fallen in love with their eldest 
 daughter Irina. 
 
 She had then completed her seventeenth year; 
 she had only just left school, from which her 
 mother withdrew her through a disagreement 
 with the principal. This disagreement arose 
 from the fact that Irina was to have delivered 
 at a public function some verses in French, 
 complimentary to the curator, and just before 
 the performance her place was filled by another 
 girl, the daughter of a very rich spirit-contractor. 
 The princess could not stomach this affront ; 
 and indeed Irina herself never forgave the 
 principal for this act of injustice ; she had been 
 dreaming beforehand of how she would rise 
 
 66 
 
- • I :-: E 
 
 re the eyes of everyone, attracting universal 
 attention, and would deliver her speech, and 
 how Moscow would talk about her afterwards ! 
 . . . And, indeed, Moscow would have talked 
 about her afterwards. She was a tall, slim girl, 
 with a somewhat hollow chest and narrow un- 
 formed shoulders, with a skin of a dead-white, 
 rare at her age, and pure and smooth as china, 
 with thick fair hair ; there were darker tresses 
 
 _, r led in a very original way with the light 
 ones. Her features — exquisitely, almost too 
 perfectly, correct — had not yet quite lost the 
 innocent expression that belongs to childhood ; 
 the languid curves of her lovely neck, and her 
 smile — half-indifferent, half-weary — betrayed 
 the nervous temperament of a delicate girl ; but 
 in the lines of those fine, faintly-smiling lips, of 
 that small, falcon, slightly-narrow nose, there 
 was something wilful and passionate, something 
 dangerous for herself and others. Astounding, 
 rea". were her eyes, dark grey with 
 
 greenish lights, languishing, almond-shaped as 
 an Egyptian goddess's, with shining lashes and 
 bold sweep of eyebrow. There was a strange 
 look in those eyes ; they seemed looking out 
 intently and thoughtfully — looking out from 
 some unknown depth and distance. At school, 
 Irina had been reputed one of the best pupils 
 for intelligence and abilities, but of uneven 
 
 67 
 
SMOKE 
 
 temper, fond of power, and headstrong ; one 
 class-mistress prophesied that her passions 
 would be her ruin — l vos passions vous perdronV ; 
 on the other hand, another class-mistress cen- 
 sured her for coldness and want of feeling, and 
 called her ' une jeune fille sans coeur! Irina's 
 companions thought her proud and reserved : 
 her brothers and sisters stood a little in awe of 
 her : her mother had no confidence in her : and 
 her father felt ill at ease when she fastened her 
 mysterious eyes upon him. But she inspired a 
 feeling of involuntary respect in both her father 
 and her mother, not so much through her 
 qualities, as from a peculiar, vague sense of 
 expectations which she had, in some undefined 
 way, awakened in them. 
 
 * You .will see, Praskovya Danilovna/ said the 
 old prince one day, taking his pipe out of his 
 mouth, ' our chit of an Irina will give us all a lift 
 in the world yet/ 
 
 The princess got angry, and told her husband 
 that he made use of ' des expressions insuppor- 
 tables ' ; afterwards, however, she fell to musing 
 over his words, and repeated through her teeth : 
 
 'Well . . and it would be a good thing if 
 we did get a lift/ 
 
 Irina enjoyed almost unlimited freedom in 
 her parents' house; they did not spoil her, 
 they even avoided her a little, but they did not 
 
 68 
 
SMOKE 
 
 thwart her, and that was all she wanted. . , . 
 Sometimes — during some too humiliating scene 
 — when some tradesman would come and 
 keep shouting, to be heard over the whole 
 court, that he was sick of coming after his 
 money, or their own servants would begin 
 abusing their masters to their face, with ' fine 
 princes you are, to be sure ; you may whistle 
 for your supper, and go hungry to bed ' — Irina 
 would not stir a muscle ; she would sit un- 
 moved, an evil smile on her dark face ; and her 
 smile alone was more bitter to her parents than 
 any reproaches, and they felt themselves guilty 
 — guilty, though guiltless — towards this being 
 on whom had been bestowed, as it seemed, from 
 her very birth, the right to wealth, to luxury, 
 and to homage. 
 
 Litvinov fell in love with Irina from the 
 moment he saw her (he was only three years 
 older than she was), but for a long while he 
 failed to obtain not only a response, but even 
 a hearing. Her manner to him was even over- 
 cast with a shade of something like hostility ; 
 he did in fact wound her pride, and she con- 
 cealed the wound, and could never forgive it. 
 He was too young and too modest at that 
 time to understand what might be concealed 
 under this hostile, almost contemptuous severity. 
 Often, forgetful of lectures and exercises, he 
 
 69 
 
SMOKE 
 
 would sit and sit in the Osinins* cheerless 
 drawing-room, stealthily watching Irina, his 
 heart slowly and painfully throbbing and suffo- 
 cating him ; and she would seem angry or 
 bored, would get up and walk about the room, 
 look coldly at him as though he were a table or 
 chair, shrug her shoulders, and fold her arms. 
 Or for a whole evening, even when talking with 
 Litvinov, she would purposely avoid looking at 
 him, as though denying him even that grace. 
 Or she would at last take up a book and stare 
 at it, not reading, but frowning and biting her 
 lips. Or else she would suddenly ask her father 
 or brother aloud : ' What 's the German for 
 patience ? ' He tried to tear himself away from 
 the enchanted circle in which he suffered and 
 struggled impotently like a bird in a trap ; he 
 went away from Moscow for a week. He 
 nearly went out of his mind with misery and 
 dulness ; he returned quite thin and ill to the 
 Osinins'. . . . Strange to say, Irina too had 
 grown perceptibly thinner during those days ; 
 her face had grown pale, her cheeks were wan. 
 . . . But she met him with still greater coldness, 
 with almost malignant indifference ; as though 
 he had intensified that secret wound he had 
 dealt at her pride. . . . She tortured him in 
 this way for two months. Then everything was 
 transformed in one day. It was as though love 
 
 7o 
 
SMOKE 
 
 had broken into flame with the heat, or had 
 dropped down from a storm-cloud. One day 
 — long will he remember that day — he was once 
 more sitting in the Osinins' drawing-room at 
 the window, and was looking mechanically into 
 the street. There was vexation and weariness 
 in his heart, he despised himself, and yet he 
 could not move from his place. . . He thought 
 that if a river ran there under the window, he 
 would throw himself in, with a shudder of fear, 
 but without a regret. Irina placed herself not 
 far from him, and was somehow strangely silent 
 and motionless. For some days now she had 
 not talked to him at all, or to any one else ; she 
 kept sitting, leaning on her elbows, as though she 
 were in perplexity, and only rarely she looked 
 slowly round. This cold torture was at last 
 more than Litvinov could bear ; he got up, and 
 without saying good-bye, he began to look for 
 his hat. ' Stay/ sounded suddenly, in a soft 
 whisper. Litvinov's heart throbbed, he did not 
 at once recognise Irina's voice ; in that one 
 word, there was a ring of something that had 
 never been in it before. He lifted his head and 
 was stupefied ; Irina was looking fondly — yes, 
 fondly at him. * Stay/ she repeated ; ' don't go. 
 I want to be with you/ Her voice sank still 
 lower. ' Don't go. ... I wish it.' Under- 
 standing nothing, not fully conscious what he 
 
 71 
 
SMOKE 
 
 was doing, he drew near her, stretched out his 
 hands. . . . She gave him both of hers at 
 once, then smiling, flushing hotly, she turned 
 away, and still smiling, went out of the room. 
 She came back a few minutes later with her 
 youngest sister, looked at him again with the 
 same prolonged tender gaze, and made him sit 
 near her. ... At first she could say nothing; she 
 only sighed and blushed ; then she began, timidly 
 as it were, to question him about his pursuits, 
 a thing she had never done before. In the 
 evening of the same day, she tried several times 
 to beg his forgiveness for not having done him 
 justice before, assured him she had now become 
 quite different, astonished him by a sudden out- 
 burst of republicanism (he had at that time a 
 positive hero-worship for Robespierre, and did 
 not presume to criticise Marat aloud), and only 
 a week later he knew that she loved him. Yes ; 
 he long remembered that first day . . . but he 
 did not forget those that came after either — 
 those days, when still forcing himself to doubt, 
 afraid to believe in it, he saw clearly, with 
 transports of rapture, almost of dread, bliss un- 
 hoped for coming to life, growing, irresistibly 
 carrying everything before it, reaching him at 
 last Then followed the radiant moments of 
 first love — moments which are not destined to 
 be, and could not fittingly be, repeated in the 
 
 72 
 
SMOKE 
 
 same life. Irina became all at once as docile 
 as a lamb, as soft as silk, and boundlessly 
 kind ; she began giving lessons to her younger 
 sisters — not on the piano, she was no musician, 
 but in French and English ; she read their 
 school-books with them, and looked after the 
 housekeeping ; everything was amusing and 
 interesting to her; she would sometimes chatter 
 incessantly, and sometimes sink into speechless 
 tenderness ; she made all sorts of plans, and 
 was lost in endless anticipations of what she 
 would do when she was married to Litvinov 
 (they never doubted that their marriage would 
 come to pass), and how together they would . . . 
 ' Work ? ' prompted Litvinov. . . . ' Yes ; work/ 
 repeated Irina, ' and read . . . but travel before 
 all things/ She particularly wanted to leave 
 Moscow as soon as possible, and when Litvinov 
 reminded her that he had not yet finished his 
 course of study at the university, she always 
 replied, after a moment's thought, that it was 
 quite possible to finish his studies at Berlin 
 or . . . somewhere or other. Irina was very 
 little reserved in the expression of her feel- 
 ings, and so her relations with Litvinov did 
 not long remain a secret from the prince 
 and princess. Rejoice they could not ; but, 
 taking all circumstances into consideration, 
 they saw no necessity for putting a veto on 
 
 73 
 
SMOKE 
 
 ( 
 
 it at once. Litvinov's fortune was consider- 
 able. . . . 
 
 1 But his family, his family ! ' . . . protested 
 the princess. 'Yes, his family, of course,' replied 
 the prince ; ' but at least he 's not quite a 
 plebeian ; and, what's the principal point, Irina, 
 you know, will not listen to us. Has there ever 
 been a time when she did not do what she 
 chose ? Vous connaissez sa violence ! Besides, 
 there is nothing fixed definitely yet.' So 
 reasoned the prince, but mentally he added, 
 however : ' Madame Litvinov — is that all ? I 
 had expected something else.' Irina took com- 
 plete possession of her future fiance, and indeed 
 he himself eagerly surrendered himself into her 
 hands. It was as if he had fallen into a rapid 
 river, and had lost himself. . . . And bitter and 
 sweet it was to him, and he regretted nothing 
 and heeded nothing. To reflect on the signifi- 
 cance and the duties of marriage, or whether 
 he, so hopelessly enslaved, could be a good 
 husband, and what sort of wife Irina would 
 make, and whether their relations to one 
 another were what they should be — was more 
 than he could bring himself to. His blood was 
 on fire, he could think of nothing, only — to 
 follow her, be with her, for the future without 
 end, and then — let come what may ! 
 
 But in spite of the complete absence of 
 
 74 
 
SMOKE 
 
 opposition on Litvinov's side, and the wealth of 
 impulsive tenderness on Irina's, they did not 
 get on quite without any misunderstandings 
 and quarrels. One day he ran to her straight 
 from the university in an old coat and ink- 
 stained hands. She rushed to meet him with 
 her accustomed fond welcome ; suddenly she 
 stopped short 
 
 ' You have no gloves,' she said abruptly, and 
 added directly after : ' Fie ! what a student you 
 are!' 
 
 'You are too particular, Irina/ remarked 
 Litvinov. 
 
 ' You are a regular student,' she repeated. 
 1 Vous n'etes pas distingue' ; and turning her 
 back on him she went out of the room. It is 
 true that an hour later she begged him to for- 
 give her. ... As a rule she readily censured 
 herself and accused herself to him ; but, strange 
 to say, she often almost with tears blamed her- 
 self for evil propensities which she had not, and 
 obstinately denied her real defects. Another 
 time he found her in tears, her head in her 
 hands, and her hair in disorder ; and when, all 
 in agitation, he asked her the cause of her 
 grief, she pointed with her finger at her own 
 bosom without speaking. Litvinov gave an 
 involuntary shiver. * Consumption ! ' flashed 
 through his brain, and he seized her hand. 
 
 75 
 
SMOKE 
 
 ' Are you ill, Irina ? ' he articulated in a 
 shaking voice. (They had already begun on 
 great occasions to call each other by their first 
 names.) ' Let me go at once for a doctor/ 
 
 But Irina did not let him finish ; she stamped 
 with her foot in vexation. 
 
 ' I am perfectly well. . . . but this dress . . . 
 don't you understand ? ' 
 
 1 What is it ? . . . this dress/ he repeated in 
 bewilderment. 
 
 * What is it ? Why, that I have no other, 
 and that it is old and disgusting, and I am 
 obliged to put on this dress every day . . . 
 even when you — Grisha — Grigory, come here. 
 . . . You will leave off loving me, at last, seeing 
 me so slovenly ! ' 
 
 * For goodness sake, Irina, what are you say- 
 ing ? That dress is very nice. . . . It is dear to 
 me too because I saw you for the first time in 
 it, darling.' 
 
 Irina blushed. 
 
 'Do not remind me, if you please, Grigory 
 Mihalovitch, that I had no other dress even 
 then.' 
 
 ' But I assure you, Irina Pavlovna, it suits 
 you so exquisitely.' 
 
 1 No, it is horrid, horrid,' she persisted, 
 nervously pulling at her long, soft curls. ' Ugh, 
 this poverty, poverty and squalor ! How is one 
 
 76 
 
SMOKE 
 
 to escape from this sordidness ! How get out 
 of this squalor ! ' 
 
 Litvinov did not know what to say, and 
 slightly turned away from her. 
 
 All at once Irina jumped up from her chair, 
 and laid both her hands on his shoulders. 
 
 * But you love me, Grisha ? You love me ? ' 
 she murmured, putting her face close to him, 
 and her eyes, still rilled with tears, sparkled with 
 the light of happiness, ' You love me, dear, even 
 in this horrid dress ? ' 
 
 Litvinov flung himself on his knees before 
 her. 
 
 1 Ah, love me, love me, my sweet, my saviour,' 
 she whispered, bending over him. 
 
 So the days flew, the weeks passed, and 
 though as yet there had been no formal declara- 
 tion, though Litvinov still deferred his demand 
 for her hand, not, certainly, at his own desire, 
 but awaiting directions from Irina (she remarked 
 sometimes that they were both ridiculously 
 young, and they must add at least a few weeks 
 more to their years), still everything was moving 
 to a conclusion, and the future as it came 
 nearer grew more and more clearly defined, 
 when suddenly an event occurred, which scat- 
 tered all their dreams and plans like light 
 roadside dust. 
 
 77 
 
VIII 
 
 THAT winter the court visited Moscow. One 
 festivity followed another ; in its turn came 
 the customary great ball in the Hall of Nobility. 
 The news of this ball, only, it is true, in the 
 form of an announcement in the Political 
 Gazette, reached even the little house in Dogs' 
 Place. The prince was the first to be roused 
 by it ; he decided at once that he must not fail 
 to go and take Irina, that it would be unpardon- 
 able to let slip the opportunity of seeing their 
 sovereigns, that for the old nobility this consti- 
 tuted indeed a duty in its own way. He de- 
 fended his opinion with a peculiar warmth, not 
 habitual in him ; the princess agreed with him 
 to some extent, and only sighed over the ex- 
 pense ; but a resolute opposition was displayed 
 by Irina. ' It is not necessary, I will not go/ 
 she replied to all her parents' arguments. Her 
 obstinacy reached such proportions that the old 
 prince decided at last to beg Litvinov to try to 
 persuade her, by reminding her among other 
 
 78 
 
SMOKE 
 
 reasons that it was not proper for a young girl 
 to avoid society, that she ought to ' have this 
 experience/ that no one ever saw her anywhere, 
 as it was. Litvinov undertook to lay these 
 ' reasons ' before her. Irina looked steadily and 
 scrutinisingly at him, so steadily and scrutinis- 
 ingly that he was confused, and then, playing 
 with the ends of her sash, she said calmly : 
 
 1 Do you desire it, you ? ' 
 
 'Yes. ... I suppose so,' replied Litvinov 
 hesitatingly. ' I agree with your papa. . . . In- 
 deed, why should you not go . . to see the 
 world, and show yourself/ he added with a 
 short laugh. 
 
 ' To show myself/ she repeated slowly. 
 ' Very well then, I will go. . . . Only remember, 
 it is you yourself who desired it.' 
 
 ■ That's to say, I / Litvinov was beginning. 
 
 1 You yourself have desired it/ she interposed. 
 1 And here is one condition more ; you must 
 promise me that you will not be at this ball/ 
 
 ' But why ? ' 
 
 ' 1 wish it to be so/ 
 
 Litvinov unclasped his hands. 
 
 ' I submit . . . but I confess I should so have 
 enjoyed seeing you in all your grandeur, wit- 
 nessing the sensation you are certain to make. 
 . . . How proud I should be of you ! ' he added 
 with a sigh. 
 
 79 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Irina laughed. 
 
 ( All the grandeur will consist of a white 
 frock, and as for the sensation. . . . Well, any- 
 way, I wish it.' 
 
 1 Irina, darling, you seem to be angry? 3 
 
 Irina laughed again. 
 
 * Oh, no ! I am not angry. Only, Grisha 
 . . . (She fastened her eyes on him, and he 
 thought he had never before seen such an ex- 
 pression in them.) ' Perhaps, it must be/ she 
 added in an undertone. 
 
 'But, Irina, you love me, dear?' 
 
 ' I love you/ she answered with almost solemn 
 gravity, and she clasped his hand firmly like a 
 man. 
 
 All the following days Irina was busily occu- 
 pied over her dress and her coiffure ; on the day 
 before the ball she felt unwell, she could not sit 
 still, and twice she burst into tears in solitude ; 
 before Litvinov she wore the same uniform 
 smile. . . . She treated him, however, with her 
 old tenderness, but carelessly, and was con- 
 stantly looking at herself in the glass. On the 
 day of the ball she was silent and pale, but col- 
 lected. At nine o'clock in the evening Litvinov 
 came to look at her. When she came to meet 
 him in a white tarlatan gown, with a spray of 
 small blue flowers in her slightly raised hair, 
 he almost uttered a cry ; she seemed to him so 
 
 80 
 
SMOKE 
 
 lovely and stately beyond what was natural to 
 her years. ' Yes, she has grown up since this 
 morning ! ' he thought, ' and how she holds her- 
 self! That's what race does ! ' Irina stood before 
 him, her hands hanging loose, without smiles or 
 affectation, and looked resolutely, almost boldly, 
 not at him, but away into the distance straight 
 before her. 
 
 ' You are just like a princess in a story book/ 
 said Litvinov at last. ' You are like a warrior 
 before the battle, before victory. . . . You did 
 not allow me to go to this ball/ he went on, 
 while she remained motionless as before, not 
 because she was not listening to him, but 
 because she was following another inner voice, 
 1 but you will not refuse to accept and take with 
 you these flowers ? ' 
 
 He offered her a bunch of heliotrope. She 
 looked quickly at Litvinov, stretched out her 
 hand, and suddenly seizing the end of the spray 
 which decorated her hair, she said : 
 
 ' Do you wish it, Grisha ? Only say the 
 word, and I will tear off all this, and stop at 
 home.' 
 
 Litvinov's heart seemed fairly bursting. Irina's 
 hand had already snatched the spray. . . . 
 
 1 No, no, what for?' he interposed hurriedly, 
 in a rush of generous and magnanimous feel- 
 ing, VI am not an egoist. , . . Why should I 
 
 8l F 
 
SMOKE 
 
 restrict your freedom . . . when I know that 
 your heart ' 
 
 1 Well, don't come near me, you will crush 
 my dress/ she said hastily. 
 
 Litvinov was disturbed. 
 
 ' But you will take the nosegay?' he asked. 
 
 1 Of course ; it is very pretty, and I love that 
 scent. Merci — I shall keep it in memory ' 
 
 ' Of your first coming out,' observed Litvinov, 
 ' your first triumph.' 
 
 Irina looked over her shoulder at herself in 
 the glass, scarcely bending her figure. 
 
 1 And do I really look so nice ? You are not 
 partial ? ' 
 
 Litvinov overflowed in enthusiastic praises. 
 Irina was already not listening to him, and 
 holding the flowers up to her face, she was 
 again looking away into the distance with her 
 strange, as it were, overshadowed, dilated eyes, 
 and the ends of her delicate ribbons stirred by 
 a faint current of air rose slightly behind her 
 shoulders like wings. 
 
 The prince made his appearance, his hair 
 well becurled, in a white tie, and a shabby black 
 evening coat, with the medal of nobility on a 
 Vladimir ribbon in his buttonhole. After him 
 came the princess In a china silk dress of 
 antique cut, and with the anxious severity under 
 which mothers try to conceal their agitation, 
 
 82 
 
SMOKE 
 
 set her daughter to rights behind, that is 
 to say, quite needlessly shook out the folds of 
 her gown. An antiquated hired coach with 
 seats for four, drawn by two shaggy hacks, 
 crawled up to the steps, its wheels grating over 
 the frozen mounds of unswept snow, and a 
 decrepit groom in a most unlikely-looking 
 livery came running out of the passage, and 
 with a sort of desperate courage announced 
 that the carriage was ready. . . . After giving 
 a blessing for the night to the children left at 
 home, and enfolding themselves in their fur 
 wraps, the prince and princess went out to the 
 steps ; Irina in a little cloak, too thin and too 
 short — how she hated the little cloak at that 
 moment ! — followed them in silence. Litvinov 
 escorted them outside, hoping for a last look 
 from Irina, but she took her seat in the carriage 
 without turning her head. 
 
 About midnight he walked under the win- 
 dows of the Hall of Nobility. Countless lights 
 of huge candelabra shone with brilliant radiance 
 through the red curtains ; and the whole square, 
 blocked with carriages, was ringing with the 
 insolent, festive, seductive strains of a waltz of 
 Strauss.' 
 
 The next day at one o'clock, Litvinov betook 
 himself to the Osinins'. He found no one at 
 home but the prince, who informed him at 
 
 83 
 
SMOKE 
 
 once that Irina had a headache, that she was in 
 bed, and would not get up till the evening, that 
 such an indisposition was however little to be 
 wondered at after a first ball. 
 
 ' О est tres naturel, vous savez, dans les jeunes 
 filles! he added in French, somewhat to Lit- 
 vinov's surprise ; the latter observed at the 
 same instant that the prince was not in his 
 dressing-gown as usual, but was wearing a coat. 
 1 And besides/ continued Osinin, ' she may well 
 be a little upset after the events of yesterday ! ' 
 
 'Events?' muttered Litvinov. 
 
 1 Yes, yes, events, events, de vrais tenements . 
 You cannot imagine, Grigory Mihalovitch, quel 
 succes elle a eu ! The whole court noticed her ! 
 Prince Alexandr Fedorovitch said that her 
 place was not here, and that she reminded him 
 of Countess Devonshirse. You know . . . that 
 . . . celebrated. . . . And old Blazenkrampf 
 declared in the hearing of all, that Irina was 
 la reine du bal, and desired to be introduced to 
 her ; he was introduced to me too, that 's to say, 
 he told me that he remembered me a hussar, 
 and asked me where I was holding office now. 
 Most entertaining man that Count, and such an 
 adorateur du beau sexe ! But that 's not all ; 
 my princess . . . they gave her no peace 
 either : Natalya Nikitishna herself conversed 
 with her . . . what more could we have ? Irina 
 
 84 
 
SMOKE 
 
 danced avec tons les meilleurs cavaliers ; they 
 kept bringing them up to me. ... I positively 
 lost count of them. Would you believe it, 
 they were all flocking about us in crowds ; in 
 the mazurka they did nothing but seek her out. 
 One foreign diplomatist, hearing she was a 
 Moscow girl, said to the Tsar : ' Sire,' he said, 
 i decidemenl c'est Moscou qui est le centre de 
 voire empire ! ' and another diplomatist added : 
 * С est une vraie revolution, Sire — revelation or 
 revolution . . . something of that sort. Yes, 
 yes, it was. I tell you it was something extra- 
 ordinary.' 
 
 4 Well, and Irina Pavlovna herself?' inquired 
 Litvinov, whose hands and feet had grown cold 
 hearing the prince's speech, ' did she enjoy her- 
 self, did she seem pleased?' 
 
 1 Of course she enjoyed herself ; how could 
 &he fail to be pleased ? But, as you know, she's 
 not to be seen through at a glance ! Every one 
 was saying to me yesterday : it is really sur- 
 prising ! jamais on ne dirait que mademoiselle 
 voire fille est a son premier bal. Count Reisen- 
 bach among the rest . . . you know him most 
 likely.' 
 
 I No, I don't know him at all, and have nevei 
 heard of him/ 
 
 * My wife's cousin/ 
 
 I I don't know him/ 
 
 85 
 
SMOK E 
 
 1 A rich man, a chamberlain, living in Peters- 
 burg, in the swim of things ; in Livonia every- 
 one is in his hands. Hitherto he has neglected 
 us . . . but there, I don't bear him ill-will for 
 that. f'ai Vhumeur facile, comme vous savez. 
 Well, that's the kind of man he is. He sat 
 near Irina, conversed with her for a quarter of 
 an hour, not more, and said afterwards to my 
 princess : " Ma cousine" he says, " votre fille est 
 une perle ; с' est une perfection, every one is con- 
 gratulating me on such a niece. . . ." And 
 afterwards I look round — and he had gone up to 
 a ... a very great personage, and was talking, 
 and kept looking at Irina . . . and the personage 
 was looking at her too.' . . » 
 
 ■ And so Irina Pavlovna will not appear all 
 day ? ' Litvinov asked again. 
 
 1 Quite so ; her head aches very badly. She 
 told me to greet you from her, and thank you 
 for your flowers, qiion a trouve charmant. She 
 needs rest. . . . The princess has gone out 
 on a round of visits . . . and I myself . . . you 
 see. . . .' 
 
 The prince cleared his throat, and began to 
 
 fidget as though he were at a loss what to add 
 
 further. Litvinov took his hat, and saying he 
 
 did not want to disturb him, and would call 
 
 again later to inquire after her health, he went 
 
 away. 
 
 86 
 
SMOKE 
 
 A few steps from the Osinins' house he saw 
 an elegant carnage for two persons standing 
 before the police sentry-box. A groom in 
 livery, equally elegant, was bending negligently 
 from the box, and inquiring of the Finnish 
 police-sergeant whereabouts Prince Pavel Vassil- 
 yevitch Osinin lived. Litvinov glanced at the 
 carriage ; in it sat a middle-aged man of bloated 
 complexion, with a wrinkled and haughty face, 
 a Greek nose, and an evil mouth, muffled in a 
 sable wrap, by all outward signs a very great 
 man indeed 
 
 87 
 
IX 
 
 LiTViNOV did not keep his promise of return- 
 ing later ; he reflected that it would be better 
 to defer his visit till the following day. When 
 he went into the too familiar drawing-room 
 at about twelve o'clock, he found there the two 
 youngest princesses, Viktorinka and Kleopat- 
 rinka. He greeted them, and then inquired, 
 ' Was Irina Pavlovna better, and could he see 
 her?' 
 
 1 Irinotchka has gone away with mammy/ 
 replied Viktorinka ; she lisped a little, but was 
 more forward than her sister. 
 
 ' How . . . gone away ? ' repeated Litvinov, 
 and there was a sort of still shudder in the very 
 bottom of his heart. ' Does she not, does she 
 not look after you about this time, and give you 
 your lessons ? ' 
 
 1 Irinotchka will not give us any lessons any 
 more now,' answered Viktorinka. ' Not any 
 more now/ Kleopatrinka repeated after her. 
 
 * Is your papa at home ? ' asked Litvinov. 
 
 88 
 
SMOKE 
 
 { Papa is not at home/ continued Viktorinka, 
 'and Irinotchka is not well ; all night long she 
 was crying and crying. . . .' 
 
 1 Crying ? ' 
 
 1 Yes, crying . . . Yegorovna told me, and 
 her eyes are so red, they are quite in-in- 
 flamed. . . ! 
 
 Litvinov walked twice up and down the room 
 shuddering as though with cold, and went back 
 to his lodging. He experienced a sensation 
 like that which gains possession of a man when 
 he looks down from a high tower ; everything 
 failed within him, and his head was swimming 
 slowly with a sense of nausea. Dull stupefac- 
 tion, and thoughts scurrying like mice, vague 
 terror, and the numbness of expectation, and 
 curiosity — strange, almost malignant — and the 
 weight of crushed tears in his heavy laden 
 breast, on his lips the forced empty smile, and 
 a meaningless prayer — addressed to no one. . . . 
 Oh, how bitter it all was, and how hideously 
 degrading ! ' Irina does not want to see me,' 
 was the thought that was incessantly revolving 
 in his brain ; ' so much is clear ; but why is it ? 
 What can have happened at that ill-fated ball ? 
 And how is such a change possible all at 
 once? So suddenly. . . .' People always see 
 death coming suddenly, but they can never get 
 accustomed to its suddenness, they feel it sense- 
 
 89 
 
SMOKE 
 
 less. 'She sends no message for me, does not 
 want to explain herself to me. . . .' 
 
 'Grigory Mihalitch,' called a strained voice 
 positively in his ear. 
 
 Litvinov started, and saw before him his 
 servant with a note in his hand. He recognised 
 Irina's writing. . . . Before he had broken the 
 seal, he had a foreknowledge of woe, and bent 
 his head on his breast and hunched his shoulders, 
 as though shrinking from the blow. 
 
 He plucked up courage at last, and tore open 
 the envelope all at once. On a small sheet of 
 notepaper were the following lines : 
 
 ' Forgive me, Grigory Mihalitch. All is 
 over between us ; I am going away to Peters- 
 burg. I am dreadfully unhappy, but the thing 
 is done. It seems my fate . . . but no, I do 
 not want to justify myself. My presentiments 
 have been realised. Forgive me, forget me ; 
 I am not worthy of you. — Irina. Be magnani- 
 mous : do not try to see me.' 
 
 Litvinov read these five lines, and slowly 
 dropped on to the sofa, as though some one had 
 dealt him a blow on the breast. He dropped 
 the note, picked it up, read it again, whispered 
 'to Petersburg/ and dropped it again ; that was 
 all. There even came upon him a sense of 
 peace ; he even, with his hands thrown behind 
 him, smoothed the pillow under his head. 
 
 90 
 
^мокв 
 
 1 Men wounded to death don't fling themselves 
 about/ he thought, ' as it has come, so it has 
 gone. All this is natural enough : I always 
 expected it. . . .' (He was lying to himself; 
 he had never expected anything like it.) 
 * Crying ? . . . Was she crying ? . . . What was 
 she crying for? Why, she did not love me! 
 But all that is easily understood and in accord- 
 ance with her character. She — she is not 
 worthy of me. . . . That 'sit!' (He laughed 
 bitterly.) ' She did not know herself what 
 power was latent in her, — well, convinced of it 
 in her effect at the ball, was it likely she would 
 stay with an insignificant student ? — all that 's 
 easily understood.' 
 
 But then he remembered her tender words, 
 her smile, and those eyes, those never to be for- 
 gotten eyes, which he would never see again, 
 which used to shine and melt at simply meeting 
 his eyes ; he recalled one swift, timorous, burn- 
 ing kiss — and suddenly he fell to sobbing, 
 sobbing convulsively, furiously, vindictively ; 
 turned over on his face, and choking and 
 stifling with frenzied satisfaction as though 
 thirsting to tear himself to pieces with all around 
 him, he turned his hot face in the sofa pillow, 
 and bit it in his teeth. 
 
 Alas ! the gentleman whom Litvinov had 
 seen the day before in the carriage was no other 
 
 9i 
 
SMOKE 
 
 than the cousin of the Princess Osinin, the rich 
 chamberlain, Count Reisenbach. Noticing the 
 sensation produced by Irina on certain per- 
 sonages of the highest rank, and instantaneously 
 reflecting what advantages might mit etwas 
 Accuratesse be derived from the fact, the count 
 made his plan at once like a man of energy and 
 a skilful courtier. He decided to act swiftly, in 
 Napoleonic style. ' I will take that original 
 girl into my house,' was what he meditated, ' in 
 Petersburg ; I will make her my heiress, devil 
 take me, of my whole property even ; as I have 
 no children. She is my niece, and my countess 
 is dull all alone. . . It 's always more agreeable 
 to have a pretty face in one's drawing-room. 
 . . . Yes, yes ; . . . that 's it ; es ist eine Idee, es 
 ist eine Idee!* He would have to dazzle, 
 bewilder, and impress the parents. ' They 've 
 not enough to eat' — the count pursued his 
 reflection when he was in the carriage and on 
 his way to Dogs' Place — ' so, I warrant, they 
 won't be obstinate. They 're not such over- 
 sentimental folks either. I might give them a 
 sum of money down into the bargain. And 
 she ? She will consent. Honey is sweet — she 
 had a taste of it last night. It 's a whim on my 
 part, granted ; let them profit by it, . . . the 
 fools. I shall say to them one thing and 
 another . . . and you must decide — otherwise 
 
 92 
 
SMOKE 
 
 I shall adopt another — an orphan — which 
 would be still more suitable. Yes or no — 
 twenty-four hours I fix for the term — und 
 damit Punctum! 
 
 And with these very words on his lips, the 
 count presented himself before the prince, 
 whom he had forewarned of his visit the evening 
 before at the ball. On the result of this visit it 
 seems hardly worth while to enlarge further. 
 The count was not mistaken in his prognosti- 
 cations : the prince and princess were in fact 
 not obstinate, and accepted the sum of money ; 
 and Irina did in fact consent before the allotted 
 term had expired. It was not easy for her to 
 break off her relations with Litvinov ; she loved 
 him ; and after sending him her note, she 
 almost kept her bed, weeping continually, and 
 grew thin and wan. But for all that, a month 
 later the princess carried her off to Petersburg, 
 and established her at the count's ; committing 
 her to the care of the countess, a very kind- 
 hearted woman, but with the brain of a hen, 
 and something of a hen's exterior. 
 
 Litvinov threw up the university, and went 
 home to his father in the country. Little by 
 little his wound healed. At first he had no 
 news of Irina, and indeed he avoided all con- 
 versation that touched on Petersburg and 
 Petersburg society. Later on, by degrees, 
 
 93 
 
SMOKE 
 
 rumours — not evil exactly, but curious — began 
 to circulate about her ; gossip began to be busy 
 about her. The name of the young Princess 
 Osinin, encircled in splendour, impressed with 
 quite a special stamp, began to be more and 
 more frequently mentioned even in provincial 
 circles. It was pronounced with curiosity, 
 respect, and envy, as men at one time used to 
 mention the name of the Countess Vorotinsky 
 At last the news came of her marriage. But 
 Litvinov hardly paid attention to these last 
 tidings ; he was already betrothed to Tatyana. 
 
 Now, the reader can no doubt easily under- 
 stand exactly what it was Litvinov recalled 
 when he cried, ' Can it be she ? ' and therefore 
 we will return to Baden and take up again the 
 broken thread of our story. 
 
 94 
 
X 
 
 LlTVTNOV fell asleep very late, and did not 
 sleep long ; the sun had only just risen when he 
 got out of bed. The summits of dark moun- 
 tains visible from his windows stood out in 
 misty purple against the clear sky. ■ How cool 
 it must be there under the trees ! ' he thought ; 
 and he dressed in haste, and looked with in- 
 difference at the bouquet which had opened 
 more luxuriantly after the night ; he took a 
 stick and set off towards the ' Old Castle ' on 
 the famous ' Cliffs.' Invigorating and soothing 
 was the caressing contact of the fresh morning 
 about him. He drew long breaths, and stepped 
 out boldly ; the vigorous health of youth was 
 throbbing in every vein ; the very earth seemed 
 springy under his light feet. With every step 
 he grew more light-hearted, more happy ; he 
 walked in the dewy shade in the thick sand of 
 the little paths, beside the fir-trees that were 
 fringed with the vivid green of the spring shoots 
 at the end of every twig. ' How jolly it is! ' he 
 
 95 
 
SMOKE 
 
 kept repeating to himself. Suddenly he heard 
 the sound of familiar voices ; he looked ahead 
 and saw Voroshilov and Bambaev coming to 
 meet him. The sight of them jarred upon him ; 
 he rushed away like a school-boy avoiding, his 
 teacher, and hid himself behind a bush. . 
 1 My Creator ! ' he prayed, ' mercifully remove 
 my countrymen ! ' He felt that he would not 
 have grudged any money at the moment if only 
 they did not see him. . . . And they actually 
 did not see him : the Creator was merciful to 
 him. Voroshilov, in his self-confident military 
 voice, was holding forth to Bambaev on the 
 various phases of Gothic architecture, and 
 Bambaev only grunted approvingly ; it was 
 obvious that Voroshilov had been dinning his 
 phrases into him a long while, and the good- 
 natured enthusiast was beginning to be bored. 
 Compressing his lips and craning his neck, 
 Litvinov listened a long while to their retreating 
 footsteps ; for a long time the accents of in- 
 structive discourse — now guttural, now nasal — 
 reached his ears ; at last, all was still again. 
 Litvinov breathed freely, came out of his ambush, 
 and walked on. 
 
 For three hours he wandered about the 
 mountains. Sometimes he left the path, and 
 jumped from rock to rock, slipping now and 
 then on the smooth moss ; then he would sit 
 
 96 
 
SMOKE 
 
 down on a fragment of the cliff under an oak 
 or a beech, and muse on pleasant fancies to 
 the never-ceasing gurgle of the little rills over- 
 grown with ferns, the soothing rustle of the 
 leaves, and the shrill notes of a solitary black- 
 bird. A light and equally pleasant drowsiness 
 began to steal over him, it seemed to approach 
 him caressingly, and he dropped asleep . . . 
 but suddenly he smiled and looked round ; the 
 gold and green of the forest, and the moving 
 foliage beat down softly on his eyes — and again 
 he smiled and again closed them. He began 
 to want breakfast, and he made his way towards 
 the old castle where for a few kreutzers he 
 could get a glass of good milk and coffee. But 
 he had hardly had time to establish himself at 
 one of the little white-painted tables set on the 
 platform before the castle, when the heavy 
 tramping of horses was heard, and three open 
 carriages drove up, out of which stepped a rather 
 numerous company of ladies and gentlemen. . . . 
 Lrtvinov at once recognised them as Russians, 
 though they were all talking French . . . just 
 because they were all talking French. The 
 ladies' dresses were marked by a studied 
 elegance; the gentlemen wore close-fitting coats 
 with waists — which is not altogether usual now- 
 adays — grey trousers of fancy material, and very 
 glossy town hats. A narrow black cravat closely 
 
 97 g 
 
SMOKE 
 
 fettered the neck of each of these gentlemen, 
 and something military was apparent in their 
 whole deportment. They were, in fact, military 
 men ; Litvinov had chanced upon a picnic 
 party of young generals — persons of the highest 
 society, of weight and importance. Their im- 
 portance was clearly expressed in everything: 
 in their discreet nonchalance, in their amiably 
 condescending smiles, in the intense indifference 
 of their expression, the effeminate little move- 
 ments of their shoulders, the swing of the 
 figure, and the crook of the knees ; it was 
 expressed, too, in the sound of their voices, which 
 seemed to be affably and fastidiously thanking 
 a subservient multitude. All these officers 
 were superlatively washed and shaved, and 
 thoroughly saturated with that genuine aroma 
 of nobility and the Guards, compounded of 
 the best cigar smoke, and the most marvellous 
 patchouli. They all had the hands too of 
 noblemen — white and large, with nails firm as 
 ivory ; their moustaches seemed positively 
 polished, their teeth shone, and their skin — rosy 
 on their cheeks, bluish on their chins — was most 
 delicate and fine. Some of the young generals 
 were frivolous, others were serious ; but the 
 stamp of the best breeding was on all of them. 
 Each of them seemed to be deeply conscious 
 of his own dignity, and the importance of his 
 
 98 
 
SMOKE 
 
 own future part in the government, and con- 
 ducted himself with severity and ease, with a 
 faint shade of that carelessness, that 'deuce- 
 take-it ' air, which comes out so naturally during 
 foreign travel. The party seated themselves 
 with much noise and ostentation, and called 
 the obsequious waiters. Litvinov made haste 
 to drink off his glass of milk, paid for it, and 
 putting his hat on, was just making off past the 
 party of generals. . . . 
 
 'Grigory Mihalitch/ he heard a woman's 
 voice. ' Don't you recognise me ? ' 
 
 He stopped involuntarily. That voice. . . . 
 that voice had too often set his heart beating in 
 the past . . . He turned round and saw Irina. 
 
 She was sitting at a table, her arms folded on 
 the back of a chair drawn up near ; with her 
 head bent on one side and a smile on her face, 
 she was looking at him cordially, almost with 
 delight. 
 
 Litvinov knew her at once, though she had 
 changed since he saw her that last time ten 
 years ago, though she had been transformed 
 from a girl into a woman. Her slim figure had 
 developed and reached its perfection, the lines 
 of her once narrow shoulders now recalled the 
 goddesses that stand out on the ceilings of 
 ancient Italian palaces. But her eyes remained 
 the same, and it seemed to Litvinov that they 
 
 99 
 
SMOKE 
 
 were looking at him just as in those days in the 
 little house in Moscow. 
 
 1 Irina Pavlovna/ he uttered irresolutely. 
 
 * You know me ? How glad I am ! how 
 glad ' 
 
 She stopped short, slightly blushing, and 
 drew herself up. 
 
 ' This is a very pleasant meeting/ she con- 
 tinued now in French. ' Let me introduce you 
 to my husband. Va/erien, Monsieur Litvinov, 
 un ami denfance; Valerian Vladimirovitch 
 Ratmirov, my husband/ 
 
 One of the young generals, almost the most 
 elegant of all, got up from his seat, and with 
 excessive courtesy bowed to Litvinov, while the 
 rest of his companions faintly knitted their 
 brows, or rather each of them withdrew for an 
 instant into himself, as though protesting be- 
 times against any contact with an extraneous 
 civilian, and the other ladies taking part in the 
 picnic thought fit to screw up their eyes a little 
 and simper, and even to assume an air of per- 
 plexity. 
 
 1 Have you — er — been long in Baden ? ' asked 
 General Ratmirov, with a dandified air utterly 
 un-Russian. He obviously did not know what 
 to talk about with the friend of his wife's child- 
 hood. 
 
 ' No, not long ! ' replied Litvinov. 
 
 IOO 
 
SMOKE 
 
 1 And do you intend to stay long ? ' pursued 
 the polite general. 
 
 ' I have not made up my mind yet.' 
 * Ah ! that is very delightful . . . very/ 
 The general paused. Litvinov, too, was 
 speechless. Both held their hats in their 
 hands and bending forward with a grin, gazed 
 at the top of each other's heads. 
 
 1 Deux gendarmes un beau dimanchel began 
 humming — out of tune of course, we have never 
 come across a Russian nobleman who did not 
 sing out of tune — a dull-eyed and yellow-faced 
 general, with an expression of constant irrita- 
 bility on his face, as though he could not forgive 
 himself for his own appearance. Among all his 
 companions he alone had not the complexion 
 of a rose. 
 
 I But why don't you sit down, Grigory Miha- 
 litch/ observed Irina at last. 
 
 Litvinov obeyed and sat down. 
 
 I I say, Valerien, give me some firel remarked 
 in English another general, also young, but 
 already stout, with fixed eyes which seemed 
 staring into the air, and thick silky whiskers, 
 into which he slowly plunged his snow-white 
 fingers. Ratmirov gave him a silver match- 
 box. 
 
 1 Avez vous des papiros?' asked one of the 
 ladies, with a lisp. 
 
 IOI 
 
SMOKE 
 
 1 De vrais papelitos, comtesse.* 
 
 1 Deux gendarmes un beau dimanchel the dull- 
 eyed general hummed again, with intense exas- 
 peration. 
 
 ' You must be sure to come and see us/ Irina 
 was saying to Litvinov meantime ; • we are 
 staying at the Hotel de l'Europe. From four to 
 six I am always at home. We have not seen 
 each other for such a long time.' 
 
 Litvinov looked at Irina ; she did not drop 
 her eyes. 
 
 1 Yes, Irina Pavlovna, it is a long time— ever 
 since we were at Moscow.' 
 
 * At Moscow, yes, at Moscow,' she repeated 
 abruptly. ' Come and see me, we will talk and 
 recall old times. Do you know, Grigory Miha- 
 litch, you have not changed much.' 
 
 ' Really ? But you have changed, Irina Pav- 
 lovna.' 
 
 ' I have grown older.' 
 
 ' No, I did not mean that.' 
 
 I Irene ? ' said a lady in a yellow hat and with 
 yellow hair in an interrogative voice after some 
 preliminary whispering and giggling with the 
 officer sitting near her. * Irene f ' 
 
 I I am older/ pursued Irina, without answer- 
 ing the lady, ' but I am not changed. No, no, 
 I am changed in nothing.' 
 
 ' Deux gendarmes un beau dimanche / ' was 
 
 I02 
 
SMOKE 
 
 heard again. The irritable general only re- 
 membered the first line of the well-known 
 ditty. 
 
 ' It still pricks a little, your excellency,' 
 observed the stout general with the whiskers, 
 with a loud and broad intonation, apparently 
 quoting from some amusing story, well-known 
 to the whole beau monde, and with a short 
 wooden laugh he again fell to staring into the 
 air. All the rest of the party laughed too. 
 
 1 What a sad dog you are, Boris ! ' observed 
 Ratmirov in an undertone. He spoke in Eng- 
 lish and pronounced even the name ' Boris ' as 
 if it were English. 
 
 1 Irene?' the* lady in the yellow hat said 
 inquiringly for the third time. Irina turned 
 sharply round to her. 
 
 ' Eh bien ? quoi ? que me voulez-vous t ' 
 
 1 Je vous dirai plus tardl replied the lady, 
 
 mincing. With a very unattractive exterior, 
 
 she was for ever mincing and grimacing. Some 
 
 wit said of her that she ' minaudait dans le vide] 
 
 grimaced upon the desert air.' 
 
 Irina frowned and shrugged her shoulders 
 impatiently. ' Mais que fait done Monsieur 
 Verdier f Pourquoi ne vient-il pas ? ' cried one 
 lady with that prolonged drawl which is the 
 peculiarity of the Great Russian accent, and 
 is so insupportable to French ears. 
 
 103 
 
SMOKE 
 
 'Ah, voo, ah, voo, mossoo Verdew, mossoo 
 Verdew/ sighed another lady, whose birthplace 
 was Arzamass. 
 
 ' Tranquillisez -vous, mesdamesl interposed 
 Ratmirov. ' Monsieur Verdier m'a promis de 
 venir se mettre a vos pieds! 
 
 1 He, he, he ! ' — The ladies fluttered their 
 fans. 
 
 The waiter brought some glasses of beer. 
 
 ' Baierisch-Bierf inquired the general with 
 whiskers, assuming a bass voice, and affecting 
 astonishment — ' Guten Morgen! 
 
 'Well? Is Count Pavel still there?' one 
 young general inquired coldly and listlessly of 
 another. 
 
 * Yes/ replied the other equally coldly, ' Mais 
 Jest provisoire. Serge, they say, will be put in 
 his place/ 
 
 ' Aha ! ' filtered the first through his teeth. 
 
 * Ah, yes/ filtered the second. 
 
 ' I can't understand/ began the general who 
 had hummed* the song, 'I can't understand 
 what induced Paul to defend himself — to 
 bring forward all sorts of reasons. Certainly, 
 he crushed the merchant pretty well, il lui a 
 fait rendre gorge . . . well, and what of it ? He 
 may have had his own motives.' 
 
 * He was afraid ... of being shown up in the 
 newspapers/ muttered some one. 
 
 104 
 
SMOKE 
 
 The irritable general grew hot. 
 
 ' Well, it is too much ! Newspapers ! Shown 
 up ! If it depended on me, I would not let 
 anything be printed in those papers but the 
 taxes on meat or bread, and announcements of 
 sales of boots or furs.' 
 
 1 And gentlemen's properties up for auction/ 
 put in Ratmirov. 
 
 'Possibly under present circumstances. . . . 
 What a conversation, though, in Baden au Vieux- 
 Chdteau* 
 
 i Mais pas du tout I pas du tout /' replied the 
 lady in the yellow hat/ f adore les questions 
 politiques.' 
 
 1 Madame a raison] interposed another gen- 
 eral with an exceedingly pleasant and girlish- 
 looking face. ' Why should we avoid those 
 questions . . . even in Baden ? ' 
 
 As he said these words he looked urbanely 
 at Litvinov and smiled condescendingly. *A 
 man of honour ought never under any circum- 
 stances to disown his convictions.. Don't you 
 think so?' 
 
 ' Of course,' rejoined the irritable general, 
 darting a look at Litvinov, and as it were in- 
 directly attacking him, 'but I don't see the 
 necessity . . .' 
 
 * No, no/ the condescending general inter- 
 posed with the same mildness, 'your friend, 
 
 105 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Valerian Vladimirovitch, just referred to the sale 
 of gentlemen's estates. Well? Is not that a fact?' 
 
 1 But it 's impossible to sell them nowadays ; 
 nobody wants them ! ' cried the irritable general. 
 
 ' Perhaps . . . perhaps. For that very reason 
 we ought to proclaim that fact . . . that sad 
 fact at every step. We are ruined . . . very 
 good ; we are beggared . . . there 's no disput- 
 ing about that ; but we, the great owners, we 
 still represent a principle . . . un principe. To 
 preserve that principle is our duty. Pardon^ 
 madame, I think you dropped your handker- 
 chief. When some, so to say, darkness has 
 come over even the highest minds, we ought 
 submissively to point out (the general held out 
 his finger) with the finger of a citizen the abyss 
 to which everything is tending. We ought to 
 warn, we ought to say with respectful firmness, 
 'turn back, turn back. . , . That is what we 
 ought to say/ 
 
 1 There 's no turning back altogether, though/ 
 observed Ratmirov moodily. 
 
 The condescending general only grinned. 
 
 1 Yes, altogether, altogether, топ tres cher, 
 The further back the better/ 
 
 The general again looked courteously at 
 Litvinov. The latter could not stand it. 
 
 ' Are we to return as far as the Seven Boyars. 
 your excellency ? ' 
 
 i об 
 
SMOKE 
 
 * Why not ? I express my opinion without 
 hesitation ; we must undo . . yes . . . undo 
 all that has been done.' 
 
 ' And the emancipation of the serfs.' 
 
 'And the emancipation ... as far as that 
 is possible. On est patriote ou on ne Pest pas. 
 " And freedom ? " they say to me. Do you 
 suppose that freedom is prized by the people? 
 Ask them ' 
 
 'Just try/ broke in Litvinov, 'taking that 
 freedom away again.' 
 
 ' Comment nommez-vous ce monsieur?* whis- 
 pered the general to Ratmirov. 
 
 1 What are you discussing here ? ' began the 
 stout general suddenly. He obviously played 
 the part of the spoilt child of the party. * Is it all 
 about the newspapers ? About penny-a-liners ? 
 Let me tell you a little anecdote of what hap- 
 pened to me with a scribbling fellow — such a 
 lovely thing. I was told he had written a libel on 
 me. Well, of course, I at once had him brought 
 before me. They brought me the penny-a-liner. 
 '"How was it," said I, "my dear chap, you 
 came to write this libel ? Was your patriotism 
 too much for you ? " " Yes, it was too much," says 
 he. " Well," says I, " and do you like money? " 
 " Yes," says he. Then, gentlemen, I gave him 
 the knob of my cane to sniff at. " And do you 
 like that, my angel ? " " No," says he, " I don't 
 
 107 
 
SMOKE 
 
 like that." " But sniff it as you ought," says I v 
 " my hands are clean." " I don't like it," says he, 
 " and that 's all." " But I like it very much, my 
 angel," says I, " though not for myself. Do you 
 understand that allegory, my treasure ? " "Yes," 
 says he. " Then mind and be a good boy for the 
 future, and now here 's a rouble sterling for you ; 
 go away and be grateful to me night and day," 
 and so the scribbling chap went off.' 
 
 The general burst out laughing and again 
 every one followed his example — every one 
 except Irina, who did not even smile and looked 
 darkly at the speaker. 
 
 The condescending general slapped Boris on 
 the shoulder. 
 
 1 That 's all your invention, О friend of my 
 bosom. . . . You threatening any one with a 
 stick. . . . You haven't got a stick. О est pour 
 /aire rire ces dames. For the sake of a good 
 story. But that 's not the point. I said 
 just now that we must turn back completely. 
 Understand me. I am not hostile to so-called 
 progress, but all these universities and semi- 
 naries, and popular schools, these students, 
 priests' sons, and commoners, all these small 
 fry, tout ce fond du sac, la petite propriete, 
 pire que le proletariat (the general uttered this 
 in a languishing, almost faint voice) voila ce qui 
 m'effraie . . . that 's where one ought to draw 
 
 108 
 
SMOKE 
 
 the line, and make other people draw it too.' 
 (Again he gave Litvinov a genial glance.) ' Yes, 
 one must draw the line. Don't forget that 
 among us no one makes any demand, no one is 
 asking for anything. Local government, for 
 instance — who asks for that ? Do you ask for 
 it? or you, or you? or you, mesdamesT You 
 rule not only yourselves but all of us, you know.' 
 (The general's handsome face was lighted up by 
 a smile of amusement.) ' My dear friends, why 
 should we curry favour with the multitude. 
 You like democracy, it flatters you, and serves 
 your ends . . . but you know it's a double 
 weapon. It is better in the old way, as before 
 ... far more secure. Don't deign to reason 
 with the herd, trust in the aristocracy, in that 
 alone is power. . . . Indeed it will be better. 
 And progress ... I certainly have nothing 
 against progress. Only don't give us lawyers 
 and sworn juries and elective officials . . . only 
 don't touch discipline, discipline before all things 
 — you may build bridges, and quays, and hospi- 
 tals, and why not light the streets with gas ? ' 
 
 ' Petersburg has been set on fire from one 
 end to the other, so there you have your pro- 
 gress ! ' hissed the irritable general. 
 
 • Yes, you 're a mischievous fellow, I can see/ 
 said the stout general, shaking his head lazily ; 
 * you would do for a chief- prosecutor, but in my 
 
 109 
 
SMOKB 
 
 opinion avec Orphee aux enfers le progres a dit 
 son dernier mot! 
 
 ' Vous dites toujours des detises' giggled the 
 lady from Arzamass. 
 
 The general looked dignified. 
 
 1 Je ne suis jamais phis se'rieux, madame, que 
 quandje dis des betisesl 
 
 ' Monsieur Verdier has uttered that very- 
 phrase several times already/ observed Irina in 
 a low voice. 
 
 ' De la poigne et des formes* cried the stout 
 general, ' de la poigne surtout. And to trans- 
 late into Russian : be civil but don't spare 
 your fists.' 
 
 1 Ah, you 're a rascal, an incorrigible rascal/ 
 interposed the condescending general. ' Mes- 
 dames, don't listen to him, please. A barking 
 dog does not bite. He cares for nothing but 
 flirtation.' 
 
 'That's not right, though, Boris/ began 
 Ratmirov, after exchanging a glance with his 
 wife, ' it 's all very well to be mischievous, but 
 that's going too far. Progress is a phenome- 
 non of social life, and this is what we must not 
 forget ; it 's a symptom. It 's what we must 
 watch/ 
 
 'All right, I say/ observed the stout general, 
 wrinkling up his nose ; ' we all know you are 
 aiming at the ministry/ 
 
 no 
 
SMOKE 
 
 * Not at all . . . the ministry indeed ! But 
 really one can't refuse to recognise things.' 
 
 Boris plunged his fingers again into his 
 whiskers, and stared into the air. 
 
 ( Social life is very important, because in the 
 development of the people, in the destinies, so 
 to speak, of the country ' 
 
 1 Valerienl interrupted Boris reprovingly, 
 1 il у a des dames ici. I did not expect this of 
 you, or do you want to get on to a committee ? ' 
 
 1 But they are all closed now, thank God,' put 
 in the irritable general, and he began humming 
 again ' Deux gendarmes un beau dimanche! 
 
 Ratmirov raiseda cambric handkerchief to his 
 nose and gracefully retired from the discussion ; 
 the condescending general repeated ' Rascal ! 
 rascal ! ' but Boris turned to the lady who 
 ' grimaced upon the desert air ' and without 
 lowering his voice, or a change in the expression 
 of his face, began to ply her with questions as to 
 when ' she would reward his devotion,' as though 
 he were desperately in love with her and suffer- 
 ing tortures on her account. 
 
 At every moment during this conversation Lit- 
 vinov felt more and more ill at ease. His pride, 
 his clean plebeian pride, was fairly in revolt. 
 
 What had he, the son of a petty official, 
 in common with these military aristocrats of 
 Petersburg ? He loved everything they hated ; 
 
 in 
 
SMOKE * 
 
 he hated everything they loved ; he was only 
 too vividly conscious of it, he felt it in every 
 part of his being. Their jokes he thought dull, 
 their tone intolerable, every gesture false ; in the 
 very smoothness of their speeches he detected 
 a note of revolting contemptuousness — and yet 
 he was, as it were, abashed before them, before 
 these creatures, these enemies. ' Ugh ! how 
 disgusting ! I am in their way, I am ridiculous 
 to them/ was the thought that kept revolving 
 in his head. ' Why am I stopping ? Let me 
 escape at once, at once/ Irina's presence could 
 not retain him ; she, too, aroused melancholy 
 emotions in him. He got up from his seat and 
 began to take leave. 
 
 'You are going already?' said Irina, but 
 after a moment's reflection she did not press 
 him to stay, and only extracted a promise from 
 him that he would not fail to come and see her. 
 General Ratmirov took leave of him with the 
 same refined courtesy, shook hands with him 
 and accompanied him to the end of the plat- 
 form. . . . But Litvinov had scarcely had time 
 to turn round the first bend in the road when 
 he heard a general roar of laughter behind him. 
 This laughter had no reference to him, but was 
 occasioned by the long-expected Monsieur 
 Verdier, who suddenly made his appearance on 
 the platform, in a Tyrolese hat, and blue blouse, 
 
 112 
 
SMOKE 
 
 riding a donkey, but the blood fairly rushed 
 into Litvinov's cheeks, and he felt intense 
 bitterness : his tightly compressed lips seemed 
 as though drawn by wormwood. ' Despicable, 
 vulgar creatures,' he muttered, without reflect- 
 ing that the few minutes he had spent in their 
 company had not given him sufficient ground 
 for such severe criticism. And this was the 
 world into which Irina had fallen, Irina, once 
 his Irina ! In this world she moved, and lived, 
 and reigned ; for it, she had sacrificed her per- 
 sonal dignity, the noblest feelings of her heart. 
 ... It was clearly as it should be ; it was clear 
 that she had deserved no better fate ! How 
 glad he was that she had not thought of 
 questioning him about his intentions ! He 
 might have opened his heart before ' them ' in 
 ' their ' presence. . . . ' For nothing in the 
 world ! never ! ' murmured Litvinov, inhaling 
 deep draughts of the fresh air and descending 
 the road towards Baden almost at a run. He 
 thought of his betrothed, his sweet, good, 
 sacred Tatyana, and how pure, how noble, how 
 true she seemed to him. With what unmixed 
 tenderness he recalled her features, her words, 
 her very gestures . . . with what impatience 
 he looked forward to her return. 
 
 The rapid exercise soothed his nerves. 
 Returning home he sat down at the table and 
 
 113 н 
 
SMOKE 
 
 took up a book ; suddenly he let it fall, even 
 with a shudder. . . What had happened to 
 him? Nothing had happened, but Irina . . . 
 Irina. . . . All at once his meeting with her 
 seemed something marvellous, strange, extra- 
 ordinary. Was it possible ? he had met, he 
 had talked with the same Irina. . . . And why 
 was there no trace in her of that hateful world- 
 liness which was so sharply stamped upon all 
 these others. Why did he fancy that she 
 seemed, as it were, weary, or sad, or sick of her 
 position ? She was in their camp, but she was 
 not an enemy. And what could have impelled 
 her to receive him joyfully, to invite him to see 
 her? 
 
 Litvinov started. * О Tanya, Tanya ! ' he 
 cried passionately, 'you are my guardian 
 angel, you only, my good genius. I love you 
 only and will love you for ever. And I will 
 not go to see her. Forget her altogether ! Let 
 her amuse herself with her generals/ Litvinov 
 set to his book again. 
 
 114 
 
XI 
 
 LlTViNOV took up his book again, but he 
 could not read. He went out of the house, 
 walked a little, listened to the music, glanced 
 in at the gambling, returned again to his room, 
 and tried again to read — still without success. 
 The time seemed to drag by with peculiar 
 dreariness. Pishtchalkin, the well-intentioned 
 peaceable mediator, came in and sat with him 
 for three hours. He talked, argued, stated 
 questions, and discoursed intermittently, first 
 of elevated, and then of practical topics, and 
 succeeded in diffusing around him such an 
 atmosphere of dulness that poor Litvinov was 
 ready to cry. In raising dulness — agonising, 
 chilling, helpless, hopeless dulness — to a fine 
 art, Pishtchalkin was absolutely unrivalled even 
 among persons of the highest morality, who 
 are notoriously masters in that line. The mere 
 sight of his well-cut and well-brushed head, his 
 clear lifeless eyes, his benevolent nose, produced 
 an involuntary despondency, and his deliberate, 
 
 "5 
 
SMOKE 
 
 drowsy, lazy tone seemed to have been created 
 only to state with conviction and lucidity such 
 sententious truths as that twice two makes four 
 and not five or three, that water is liquid, and 
 benevolence laudable ; that to the private in- 
 dividual, no less than to the state, and to the 
 state no less than to the private individual, 
 credit is absolutely indispensable for financial 
 operations. And with all this he was such an 
 excellent man ! But such is the sentence the 
 fates have passed on Russia ; among us, good 
 men are dull. Pishtchalkin retreated at last ; 
 he was replaced by Bindasov, who, without 
 any beating about the bush, asked Litvinov 
 with great effrontery for a loan of a hundred 
 guldens, and the latter gave it him, in spite of 
 the fact that Bindasov was not only unattractive, 
 but even repulsive to him, that he knew for 
 certain that he would never get his money 
 back ; and was, besides, himself in need of it. 
 What made him give him the money then, the 
 reader will inquire. Who can tell ! That is 
 another Russian weakness. Let the reader lay 
 his hand on his heart and remember how many 
 acts in his own life have had absolutely no 
 other reason. And Bindasov did not even 
 thank Litvinov ; he asked for a glass of red 
 Baden wine, and without wiping his lips de- 
 parted, loudly and offensively tramping with his 
 
 116 
 
SMOKE 
 
 boots. And how vexed Litvinov was with him- 
 self already, as he watched the red nape of the 
 retreating sharper's neck ! Before evening he 
 received a letter from Tatyana in which she 
 informed him that as her aunt was not well, 
 she could not come to Baden for five or six 
 days. This news had a depressing influence 
 on Litvinov ; it increased his vexation, and he 
 went to bed early in a disagreeable frame of 
 mind. The following day turned out no better, 
 if not worse, than the preceding. From early 
 morning Litvinov's room was filled with his 
 own countrymen ; Bambaev, Voroshilov, Pisht- 
 chalkin, the two officers, the two Heidelberg 
 students, all crowded in at once, and yet did 
 not go away right up till dinner time, though 
 they had soon said all they had to say and 
 were obviously bored. They simply did not 
 know what to do with themselves, and having 
 got into Litvinov's lodgings they ' stuck ' there, 
 as they say. First they discussed the fact that 
 Gubaryov had gone back to Heidelberg, and that 
 they would have to go after him ; then they 
 philosophised a little, and touched on the 
 Polish question ; then they advanced to re- 
 flections on gambling and cocottes, and fell to 
 repeating scandalous anecdotes ; at last the 
 conversation sank into a discussion of all sorts 
 of ' strong men ' and monsters of obesity and 
 
 117 
 
SMOKE 
 
 gluttony. First, they trotted out all the ancient 
 stones of Lukin, of the deacon who ate no less 
 than thirty-three herrings for a wager, of the 
 Uhlan colonel, Ezyedinov, renowned for his 
 corpulence, and of the soldier who broke the 
 shin-bone on his own forehead ; then followed 
 unadulterated lying. Pishtchalkin himself re- 
 lated with a yawn that he knew a peasant 
 woman in Little Russia, who at the time of 
 her death had proved to weigh half a ton and 
 some pounds, and a landowner who had eaten 
 three geese and a sturgeon for luncheon ; Bam- 
 baev suddenly fell into an ecstatic condition, 
 and declared he himself was able to eat a 
 whole sheep, ' with seasoning ' of course ; and 
 Voroshilov burst out with something about a 
 comrade, an athletic cadet, so grotesque that 
 every one was reduced to silence, and after look- 
 ing at each other, they took up their hats, and the 
 party broke up. Litvinov, when he was left 
 alone, tried to occupy himself, but he felt just as 
 if his head was full of smouldering soot ; he could 
 do nothing that was of any use, and the evening 
 too was wasted. The next morning he was just 
 preparing for lunch, when some one knocked at 
 his door. ' Good Lord,' thought Litvinov, ■ one 
 of yesterday's dear friends again/ and not with- 
 out some trepidation he pronounced : 
 
 Herein / ' 
 
 118 
 
SMOKE 
 
 The door opened slowly and in walked 
 Potugin. Litvinov was exceedingly delighted 
 to see him. 
 
 ' This is nice ! ' he began, warmly shaking 
 hands with his unexpected visitor, ' this is good 
 of you ! I should certainly have looked you 
 up myself, but you would not tell me where 
 you live. Sit down, please, put down your 
 hat. Sit down.' 
 
 Potugin made no response to Litvinov's 
 warm welcome, and remained standing in the 
 middle of the room, shifting from one leg to 
 the other ; he only laughed a little and shook 
 his head. Litvinov's cordial reception obviously 
 touched him, but there was some constraint in 
 the expression of his face. 
 
 'There's . . . some little misunderstanding/ 
 he began, not without hesitation. ' Of course, 
 it would always be ... a pleasure ... to me 
 . . . but I have been sent . . . especially to 
 you/ 
 
 'That's to say, do you mean/ commented 
 Litvinov in an injured voice, ' that you would 
 not have come to me of your own accord ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no, . . . indeed ! But I ... I should, 
 perhaps, not have made up my mind to intrude 
 on you to-day, if I had not been asked to come 
 to you. In fact, I have a message for you.' 
 
 * From whom, may I ask ? ' 
 
 119 
 
SMOKE 
 
 1 From a person you know, from Irina 
 Pavlovna Ratmirov. You promised three days 
 ago to go and see her and you have not been/ 
 
 Litvinov stared at Potugin in amazement. 
 
 'You know Madame Ratmirov?* 
 
 * As you see.' 
 
 ' And you know her well ? ' 
 
 ' I am to a certain degree a friend of hers. 1 
 
 Litvinov was silent for a little. 
 
 4 Allow me to ask you,' he began at last, ' do 
 you know why Irina Pavlovna wants to see 
 me?' 
 
 Potugin went up to the window. 
 
 * To a certain degree I do. She was, as far 
 as I can judge, very pleased at meeting you, — 
 well, — and she wants to renew your former 
 relations.' 
 
 ■ Renew,' repeated Litvinov. * Excuse my 
 indiscretion, but allow me to question you a 
 little more. Do you know what was the 
 nature of those relations ? ' 
 
 * Strictly speaking . . . no, I don't know. But 
 I imagine,' added Potugin, turning suddenly 
 to Litvinov and looking affectionately at him, 
 * I imagine that they were of some value. Irina 
 Pavlovna spoke very highly of you, and I was 
 obliged to promise her I would bring you. Will 
 you come ? ' 
 
 1 When ? ' 
 
 I20 
 
SMOKE 
 
 ' Now ... at once.' 
 
 Litvinov merely made a gesture with his 
 hand. 
 
 ' Irina Pavlovna,' pursued Potugin, 'supposes 
 that the . . . how can I express it . . . the 
 environment, shall we say, in which you 
 found her the other day, was not likely to be 
 particularly attractive to you ; but she told me 
 to tell you, that the devil is not so black as he 
 is fancied.' 
 
 ' Hm. . . . Does that saying apply strictly to 
 the environment ? ' 
 
 ' Yes . . . and in general.' 
 
 / Hm. . . . Well, and what is your opinion, 
 Sozont Ivanitch, of the devil ? ' 
 
 ' I think, Grigory Mihalitch, that he is in any 
 case not what he is fancied.' 
 
 ' Is he better ? ' 
 
 'Whether better or worse it's hard to say, 
 but certainly he is not the same as he is fancied. 
 Well, shall we go ? ' 
 
 ' Sit here a little first. I must own that it 
 still seems rather strange to me.' 
 
 ' What seems strange, may I make bold to 
 inquire ? ' 
 
 ' In what way can you have become a friend 
 of Irina Pavlovna ? ' 
 
 Potugin scanned himself. 
 
 c W T ith my appearance, and my position in 
 
 121 
 
SMOKE 
 
 society, it certainly does seem rather incredible ; 
 but you know — Shakespeare has said already, 
 "There are more things in heaven and earth, 
 Horatio, etc." Life too is not to be trifled with. 
 Here is a simile for you ; a tree stands before 
 you when there is no wind ; in what way can a 
 leaf on a lower branch touch a leaf on an upper 
 branch ? It 's impossible. But when the storm 
 rises it is all changed . . . and the two leaves 
 touch.' 
 
 • Aha ! So there were storms ? ' 
 
 1 1 should think 50 ! Can one live without 
 them? But enough of philosophy. It's time 
 to go.' 
 
 Litvinov was still hesitating. 
 
 ' О good Lord ! ' cried Potugin with a comic 
 face, ' what are young men coming to nowa- 
 days ! A most charming lady invites them to 
 see her, sends messengers after them on pur- 
 pose, and they raise difficulties. You ought 
 to be ashamed, my dear sir, you ought to 
 be ashamed. Here's your hat. Take it 
 and " Vorwarts," as our ardent friends the 
 Germans say.' 
 
 Litvinov still stood irresolute for a moment, 
 but he ended by taking his hat and going out 
 of the room with Potugin. 
 
 122 
 
XII 
 
 THEY went to one of the best hotels in Baden 
 and asked for Madame Ratmirov. The porter 
 first inquired their names, and then answered 
 at once that ' die Frau Fiirstin ist zu Hausel 
 apd went himself to conduct them up the 
 staircase and knock at the door of the apart- 
 ment and announce them. ' Die Frau Fiirstin ' 
 received them promptly : she was alone, her 
 husband had gone off to Carlsruhe for an inter- 
 view with a great official, an influential per- 
 sonage who was passing through that town. 
 
 Irina was sitting at a small table, embroider- 
 ing on canvas when Potugin and Litvinov 
 crossed the threshold. She quickly flung her 
 embroidery aside, pushed away the little table 
 and got up ; an expression of genuine pleasure 
 overspread her face. She wore a morning dress, 
 high at the neck ; the superb lines of her 
 shoulders and arms could be seen through the 
 thin stuff; her carelessly-coiled hair had come 
 loose and fell low on her slender neck. Irina 
 
 123 
 
SMOKE 
 
 flung a swift glance at Potugin, murmured 
 ' merci] and holding out her hand to Litvinov 
 reproached him amicably for forgetfulness. 
 
 ■' And you such an old friend ! ' she added. 
 
 Litvinov was beginning to apologise. ' С est 
 bien, c'est bien] she assented hurriedly and, 
 taking his hat from him, with friendly insist- 
 ence made him sit down. Potugin, too, was 
 sitting down, but got up again directly, and 
 saying that he had an engagement he could 
 not put off, and that he would come in again 
 after dinner, he proceeded to take leave. Irina 
 again flung him a rapid glance, and gave him 
 a friendly nod, but she did not try to keep him, 
 and directly he had vanished behind the portiere, 
 she turned with eager impatience to Litvinov. 
 
 ' Grigory Mihalitch/ she began, speaking 
 Russian in her soft musical voice, 'here we 
 are alone at last, and I can tell you how glad 
 I am at our meeting, because it ... it gives 
 me a chance . . .' (Irina looked him straight 
 in the face) ' of asking your forgiveness.' 
 
 Litvinov gave an involuntary start. He had 
 not expected so swift an attack. He had not 
 expected she would herself turn the conver- 
 sation upon old times. 
 
 * Forgiveness ... for what ? ' . . . he 
 muttered. 
 
 Irina flushed. 
 
 124 
 
SMOKE 
 
 1 For what ? . . . you know for what/ she 
 said, and she turned slightly away. ' I wronged 
 you, Grigory Mihalitch . . . though, of course, 
 it was my fate ' (Litvinov was reminded of her 
 letter) ' and I do not regret it ... it would be 
 in any case too late ; but, meeting you so un- 
 expectedly, I said to myself that we absolutely 
 must become friends, absolutely . . . and I 
 should feel it deeply, if it did not come about 
 . . . and it seems to me for that we must have 
 an explanation, without putting it off, and once 
 for all, so that afterwards there should be no 
 .r . . gene^ no awkwardness, once for all, Grigory 
 Mihalitch ; and that you must tell me you for- 
 give me, or else I shall imagine you feel . . . 
 de la rancune. Voila ! It is perhaps a great 
 piece of fatuity on my part, for you have 
 probably forgotten everything long, long 
 ago, but no matter, tell me, you have for- 
 given me/ 
 
 Irina uttered this whole speech without 
 taking breath, and Litvinov could see that 
 there were tears shining in her eyes . . . yes, 
 actually tears. 
 
 1 Really, Irina Pavlovna,' he began hurriedly, 
 ' how can you beg my pardon, ask forgiveness ? 
 . . . That is all past and buried, and I can only 
 feel astounded that, in the midst of all the 
 splendour which surrounds you, you have still 
 
 125 
 
SMOKE 
 
 preserved a recollection of the obscure com- 
 panions of your youth. . . .' 
 
 ' Does it astound you ? ' said Irina softly. 
 
 .' It touches me/ Litvinov went on, ' because 
 I could never have imagined ' 
 
 1 You have not told me you have forgiven me, 
 though/ interposed Irina. 
 
 * I sincerely rejoice at your happiness, Irina 
 Pavlovna. With my whole heart I wish you 
 all that is best on earth. . . / 
 
 * And you will not remember evil against 
 me?' 
 
 I will remember nothing but the happy 
 moments for which I was once indebted to you.' 
 Irina held out both hands to him ; Litvinov 
 clasped them warmly, and did not at once let 
 them go. . . . Something that long had not 
 been, secretly stirred in his heart at that soft 
 contact. Irina was again looking straight into 
 his face ; but this time she was smiling. . . . 
 And he for the first time gazed directly and 
 intently at her. . . , Again he. recognised the 
 features once so precious, and those deep eyes, 
 with their marvellous lashes, and the little mole 
 on her cheek, and the peculiar growth of her 
 hair on her forehead, and her habit of some- 
 how sweetly and humorously curving her lips 
 and faintly twitching her eyebrows, all, all he 
 recognised. . . . But how beautiful she had 
 
 126 
 
SMOKE 
 
 grown ! What fascination, what power in her 
 fresh, woman's body ! And no rouge, no touch- 
 ing up, no powder, nothing false on that fresh 
 pure face. . . Yes, this was a beautiful woman. 
 A mood of musing came upon Litvinov. . . . 
 He was still looking at her, but his thoughts 
 were far away. . . . Irina perceived it. 
 
 ' Well, that is excellent/ she said aloud ; 
 1 now my conscience is at rest then, and I can 
 satisfy my curiosity.' 
 
 ( Curiosity,' repeated Litvinov, as though 
 puzzled. 
 
 ' Yes, yes. ... I want above all things to 
 know what you have been doing all this time, 
 what plans you have ; I want to know all, how, 
 what, when . . . all, all. And you will have to 
 tell me the truth, for I must warn you, I have 
 not lost sight of you ... so far as I could.' 
 
 4 You did not lose sight of me, you . . . there 
 ... in Petersburg?' 
 
 1 In the midst of the splendour which sur- 
 rounded me, as you expressed it just now. Posi- 
 tively, yes, I did not. As for that splendour 
 we will talk about that again ; but now you 
 must tell me, you must tell me so much, at 
 such length, no one will disturb us. Ah, how 
 delightful it will be/ added Irina, gaily sitting 
 down and arranging herself at her ease in an 
 armchair. ' Come, begin/ 
 
 127 
 
SMOKE 
 
 1 Before telling my story, I have to thank 
 you/ began Litvinov. 
 
 « What for ? ' 
 
 1 For the bouquet of flowers, which made its 
 appearance in my room.' 
 
 I What bouquet ? I know nothing about it.' 
 « What ? ' 
 
 I I tell you I know nothing about it. . . . But 
 I am waiting. . . I am waiting for your story. 
 . . . Ah, what a good fellow that Potugin is to 
 have brought you ! ' 
 
 Litvinov pricked up his ears. 
 
 ' Have you known this Mr. Potugin long ? ' 
 he queried. 
 
 'Yes, a long while . . . but tell me your 
 story.' 
 
 * And do you know him well ? ' 
 
 1 Oh, yes ! ' Irina sighed. ' There are special 
 reasons. . . . You have heard, of course, of 
 Eliza Byelsky. . . . Who died, you know, the 
 year before last, such a dreadful death? . . 
 Ah, to be sure, I 'd forgotten you don't know 
 all our scandals. ... It is well, it is well in- 
 deed, that you don't know them. О quelle 
 chance ! at last, at last, a man, a live man, who 
 knows nothing of us ! And to be able to talk 
 Russian with him, bad Russian of course, but 
 still Russian, not that everlasting mawkish, 
 sickening French patter of Petersburg/ 
 
 128 
 
SMOKE 
 
 * And Potugin, you say, was connected with — ' 
 
 1 It 's very painful for me even to refer 
 to it/ Irina broke in. c Eliza was my greatest 
 friend at school, and afterwards in Petersburg 
 we saw each other continually. She con- 
 fided all her secrets to me, she was very 
 unhappy, she suffered much. Potugin behaved 
 splendidly in the affair, with true chivalry. 
 He sacrificed himself. It was only then I 
 learnt to appreciate him ! But we have drifted 
 away again. I am waiting for your story, 
 Grigory Mihalitch.' 
 J ' But my story cannot interest you the 
 least, Irina Pavlovna.' 
 
 ' That 's not your affair.' 
 
 1 Think, Irina Pavlovna, we have not seen 
 each other for ten years, ten whole years. 
 How much water has flowed by since then.' 
 
 ' Not water only ! not water only ! ' she re- 
 peated with a peculiar bitter expression; * that 's 
 just why I want to hear what you are going to 
 tell me/ 
 
 'And beside I really don't know where to 
 begin.' 
 
 1 At the beginning. From the very time when 
 you . . . when I went away to Petersburg. 
 You left Moscow then. . . . Do you know I 
 have never been back to Moscow since ! ' 
 
 'Really?' 
 
 129 1 
 
SMOKE 
 
 ' It was impossible at first ; and afterwards 
 when I was married — - — .' 
 
 4 Have you been married long?' 
 
 1 Four years.' 
 
 ' Have you no children ? ' 
 
 ■ No/ she answered drily. 
 
 Litvinov was silent for a little. 
 
 'And did you go on living at that, what 
 was his name, Count Reisenbach's, till your 
 marriage ? ' 
 
 Irina looked steadily at him, as though she 
 were trying to make up her mirid why he asked 
 that question. 
 
 1 No,' . . . was her answer at last. 
 
 ' I suppose, your parents. . . . By the way, 
 
 haven't asked after them. Are they ' 
 
 1 They are both well' 
 
 1 And living at Moscow as before ?' 
 
 ' At Moscow as before/ 
 
 1 And your brothers and sisters ? ' 
 
 ' They are all right ; I have provided for all 
 of them.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' Litvinov glanced up from under his 
 brows at Irina._ ' In reality, Irina Pavlovna, 
 it 's not I who ought to tell my story, but you, 
 
 if only ' He suddenly felt embarrassed and 
 
 stopped. 
 
 Irina raised her hands to her face and turned 
 her wedding-ring round upon her finger. 
 
 130 
 
SMOKE 
 
 ' Well ? I will not refuse/ she assented at 
 last. ' Some day . . . perhaps. . . But first 
 you . . . because, do you see, though I tried to 
 follow you up, I know scarcely anything of you ; 
 while of me . . . well, of me you have heard 
 enough certainly. Haven't you ? I suppose 
 you have heard of me, tell me ? ' 
 
 1 You, Irina Pavlovna, occupied too con- 
 spicuous a place in the world, not to be the 
 subject of talk . . . especially in the provinces, 
 where I have been and where every rumour is 
 believed.' 
 
 'And do you believe the rumours? And of 
 what kind were the rumours ? ' 
 
 1 To tell the truth, Irina Pavlovna, such 
 rumours very seldom reached me. I have led 
 a very solitary life.' 
 
 ' How so ? why, you were in the Crimea, in 
 the militia?' 
 
 * You know that too ? ' 
 
 1 As you see. I tell you, you have been 
 watched.' 
 
 Again Litvinov felt puzzled. 
 
 ' Why am I to tell you what you know with- 
 out me ? ' said Litvinov in an undertone. 
 
 ' Why ... to do what I ask you. You see 
 I ask you, Grigory Mihalitch.' 
 
 Litvinov bowed his head and began . . 
 began in rather a confused fashion to recount 
 
 131 
 
SMOKE 
 
 in rough outline to Irina his uninteresting 
 adventures. He often stopped and looked 
 inquiringly at Irina, as though to ask whether 
 he had told enough. But she insistently de- 
 manded the continuation of his narrative and 
 pushing her hair back behind her ears, her 
 elbows on the arm of her chair, she seemed to 
 be catching every word with strained attention. 
 Looking at her from one side and following the 
 expression on her face, any one might perhaps 
 have imagined she did not hear what Litvinov 
 was saying at all, but was only deep in medita- 
 tion. . But it was not of Litvinov she was 
 meditating, though he grew confused and red 
 under her persistent gaze. A whole life was 
 rising up before her, a very different one, not 
 his life, but her own. 
 
 Litvinov did not finish his story, but stopped 
 short under the influence of an unpleasant sense 
 of growing inner discomfort. This time Irina 
 said nothing to him, and did not urge him to 
 go on, but pressing her open hand to her eyes, 
 as though she were tired, she leaned slowly 
 back in her chair, and remained motionless. 
 Litvinov waited for a little ; then, reflecting that 
 his visit had already lasted more than two hours, 
 he was stretching out his hand for his hat, when 
 suddenly in an adjoining room there was the 
 sound of the rapid creak of thin kid boots, and 
 
 132 
 
SMOKE 
 
 preceded by the same exquisite aristocratic 
 perfume, there entered Valerian Vladimirovitch 
 Ratmirov. 
 
 Litvinov rose and interchanged bows with 
 the good-looking general, while Irina, with no 
 sign of haste, took her hand from her face, and 
 looking coldly at her husband, remarked in 
 French, ' Ah ! so you Ve come back I But 
 what time is it ? ' 
 
 ' Nearly four, ma chere amie y and you not 
 dressed yet — the princess will be expecting us/ 
 \ answered the general ; and with an elegant bend 
 of his tightly-laced figure in Litvinov's direction, 
 he added with the almost effeminate playful- 
 ness of intonation characteristic of him, * It 's 
 clear an agreeable visitor has made you forget- 
 ful of time.' 
 
 The reader will permit us at this point to 
 give him some information about General Rat- 
 mirov. His father was the natural . . . what 
 do you suppose ? You are not wrong — but 
 we didn't mean to say that . . .. the natural 
 son of an illustrious personage of the reign of 
 Alexander I. and of a pretty little French actress. 
 The illustrious personage brought his son for- 
 ward in the world, but left him no fortune, and the 
 son himself (the father of our hero) had not time 
 to grow rich ; he died before he had risen above 
 the rank of a colonel in the police. A year be- 
 
 133 
 
SMOKE 
 
 fore his death he had married a handsome young 
 widow who had happened to put herself under 
 his protection. His son by the widow, Valerian 
 Alexandrovitch, having got into the Corps of 
 Pages by favour, attracted the notice of the 
 authorities, not so much by his success in the 
 sciences, as by his fine bearing, his fine manners, 
 and his good behaviour (though he had been 
 exposed to all that pupils in the government 
 military schools were inevitably exposed to in 
 former days) and went into the Guards. His 
 career was a brilliant one, thanks to the discreet 
 gaiety of his disposition, his skill in dancing, his 
 excellent seat on horseback when an orderly 
 at reviews, and lastly, by a kind of special trick 
 of deferential familiarity with his superiors, of 
 tender, attentive almost clinging subservience, 
 with a flavour of vague liberalism, light as air. 
 . . . This liberalism had not, however, prevented 
 him from flogging fifty peasants in a White 
 Russian village, where he had been sent to put 
 down a riot His personal appearance was most 
 prepossessing and singularly youthful-looking ; 
 smooth-faced and rosy-cheeked, pliant and 
 persistent, he made the most of his amazing suc- 
 cess with women ; ladies of the highest rank and 
 mature age simply went out of their senses over 
 him. Cautious from habit, silent from motives 
 of prudence, General Ratmirov moved constantly 
 
 134 
 
SMOKE 
 
 in the highest society, like the busy bee gather- 
 ing honey even from the least attractive flowers 
 — and without morals, without information of 
 any kind, but with the reputation of being good 
 at business ; with an insight into men, and a 
 ready comprehension of the exigencies of the 
 moment, and above all, a never-swerving desire 
 for his own advantage, he saw at last all paths 
 lying open before him. . . . 
 
 Litvinov smiled constrainedly, while Irina 
 merely shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 ' Well/ she said in the same cold tone, ' did 
 you see the Count ? ' 
 
 ' To be sure I saw him. He told me to re- 
 member him to you.' 
 
 - Ah ! is he as imbecile as ever, that patron 
 of yours ? ' 
 
 General Ratmirov made no reply. He only 
 smiled to himself, as though lenient to the over- 
 hastiness of a woman's judgment. With just 
 such a smile kindly-disposed grown-up people 
 respond to the nonsensical whims of children. 
 
 'Yes,' Irina went on, ' the stupidity of your 
 friend the Count is too striking, even when one 
 has seen a good deal of the world.' 
 
 * You sent me to him yourself,' muttered the 
 general, and turning to Litvinov he asked him 
 in Russian, ' Was he getting any benefit from 
 the Baden waters ? ' 
 
 135 
 
SMOKE 
 
 e I am in perfect health, I 'm thankful to say/ 
 answered Litvinov. 
 
 ' That 's the greatest of blessings/ pursued the 
 general, with an affable grimace ; l and indeed 
 one doesn't, as a rule, come to Baden for the 
 waters ; but the waters here are very effectual, 
 je veux dire, efficaces ; and any one who suffers, 
 as I do for instance, from a nervous cough ' 
 
 Irina rose quickly. ' We will see each other 
 again, Grigory Mihalitch, and I hope soon/ 
 she said in French, contemptuously cutting 
 short her husband's speech, ' but now I must 
 go and dress. That old princess is insufferable 
 with her everlasting parties de plaisir, of which 
 nothing comes but boredom.' 
 
 ' You 're hard on every one to-day/ muttered 
 her husband, and he slipped away into the next 
 room. 
 
 Litvinov -was turning towards the door. . . . 
 Irina stopped him. 
 
 ' You have told me everything/ she said, ' but 
 the chief thing you concealed.' 
 
 * What 's that ? ' 
 
 1 You are going to be married, I 'm told ? ' 
 
 Litvinov blushed up to his ears. . . . As a 
 fact, he had intentionally not referred to Tanya; 
 but he felt horribly vexed, first, that Irina 
 knew about his marriage, and, secondly, that 
 she had, as it were, convicted him of a desire to 
 
 136 
 
SMOKE , 
 
 conceal it from her. He was completely at a 
 loss what to say, while Irina did not take her 
 eyes off him. 
 
 1 Yes, I am going to be married/ he said at 
 last, and at once withdrew. 
 
 Ratmirov came back into the room. 
 
 1 Well, why aren't you dressed ? ' he asked. 
 
 1 You can go alone ; my head aches.' 
 
 * But the princess - . .' 
 
 Irina scanned her husband from head to foot 
 in one look, turned her back upon him, and 
 went away to her boudoir. 
 
 127 
 
XIII 
 
 Litvinov felt much annoyed with himself, as 
 though he had lost money at roulette, or failed 
 to keep his word. An inward voice told him 
 that he — on the eve of marriage, a man of sober 
 sense, not a boy — ought not to have given way 
 to the promptings of curiosity, nor the allure- 
 ments of recollection. ' Much need there was 
 to go ! ' he reflected. ' On her side simply 
 flirtation, whim, caprice. . . . She's bored, 
 she's sick of everything, she clutched at me 
 . . . as some one pampered with dainties 
 will suddenly long for black bread . . . well, 
 that 's natural enough. . . . But why did I go ? 
 Can I feel anything but contempt for her?' 
 This last phrase he could not utter even in 
 thought without an effort. . . . ' Of course, 
 there 's no kind of danger, and never could be/ 
 he pursued his reflections. * I know whom I 
 have to deal with. But still one ought not to 
 play with fire. ... I '11 never set my foot in her 
 place again.' Litvinov dared not, or could not 
 
 138 
 
SMOKE 
 
 as yet, confess to himself how beautiful Irina had 
 seemed to him, how powerfully she had worked 
 upon his feelings. 
 
 Again the day passed dully and drearily. 
 At dinner, Litvinov chanced to sit beside a 
 majestic belhomme, with dyed moustaches, who 
 said nothing, and only panted and rolled his 
 eyes . . . but, being suddenly taken with a 
 hiccup, proved himself to be a fellow-country- 
 man, by at once exclaiming, with feeling, in 
 Russian, ' There, I said I ought not to eat 
 melons!' In the evening, too, nothing happened 
 to compensate for a lost day ; Bindasov, before 
 Litvinov's very eyes, won a sum four times 
 what he had borrowed from him, but, far from 
 repaying his debt, he positively glared in his 
 face with a menacing air, as though he were 
 prepared to borrow more from him just because 
 he had been a witness of his winnings. The 
 next morning he was again invaded by a host 
 of his compatriots ; Litvinov got rid of them 
 with difficulty, and setting off to the mountains, 
 he first came across Irina — he pretended not to 
 recognise her, and passed quickly by — and then 
 Potugin. He was about to begin a conversation 
 with Potugin, but the latter did not respond to 
 him readily. He was leading by the hand a 
 smartly dressed little girl, with fluffy, almost 
 white curls, large black eyes, and a pale, sickly 
 
 139 
 
SMOKE 
 
 little face, with that peculiar peremptory and 
 impatient expression characteristic of spoiled 
 children. Litvinov spent two hours in the 
 mountains, and then went back homewards 
 along the Lichtenthaler Allee. ... A lady, 
 sitting on a bench, with a blue veil over her 
 face, got up quickly, and came up to him. . . . 
 He recognised Irina. 
 
 ' Why do you avoid me, Grigory Mihalitch ? ' 
 she said, in the unsteady voice of one who is 
 boiling over within. 
 
 Litvinov was taken aback. * I avoid you, 
 Irina Pavlovna ? ' 
 
 * Yes, you . . . you ' 
 
 Irina seemed excited, almost angry. 
 
 I You are mistaken, I assure you.' 
 
 ' No, I am not mistaken. Do you suppose 
 this morning — when we met, I mean — do you 
 suppose I didn't see that you knew me ? Do 
 you mean to say you did not know me ? Tell 
 me.' 
 
 I I really . . . Irina Pavlovna 
 
 'Grigory Mihalitch, you're a straightforward 
 
 man, you have always told the truth ; tell me, 
 tell me, you knew me, didn't you ? you turned 
 away on purpose ? ' 
 
 Litvinov glanced at Irina. Her eyes shone 
 with a strange light, while her cheeks and lips 
 were of a deathly pallor under the thick net of 
 
 140 
 
SMOK E 
 
 her veil. In the expression of her face, in the 
 very sound of her abruptly jerked-out whisper, 
 there was something so irresistibly mournful, 
 beseeching . . . Litvinov could not pretend 
 any longer. 
 
 I Yes ... I knew you/ he uttered not 
 without effort. 
 
 Irina slowly shuddered, and slowly dropped 
 her hands. 
 
 ' Why did you not come up to me ? ' she 
 whispered. 
 
 ' Why . . . why ! ' Litvinov moved on one 
 side, away from the path, Irina followed him in 
 silence. ' Why ? ' he repeated once more, and 
 suddenly his face was aflame, and he felt his 
 chest and throat choking with a passion akin 
 to hatred. * You . . . you ask such a question, 
 after all that has passed between us ? Not now, 
 of course, not now; but there . . . there . . in 
 Moscow.' 
 
 ' But, you know, we decided ; you know, you 
 promised ' Irina was beginning. 
 
 I I have promised nothing ! Pardon the 
 harshness of my expressions, but you ask for 
 the truth — so think for yourself: to what but a 
 caprice — incomprehensible, I confess, to me — 
 to what but a desire to try how much power 
 you still have over me, can I attribute your 
 . . . I don't know what to call it , . . your 
 
 141 
 
SMOKE 
 
 persistence ? Our paths have lain so far apart ! 
 I have forgotten it all, I Ve lived through all 
 that suffering long ago, I 've become a different 
 man completely ; you are married — happy, at 
 least, in appearance — you fill an envied position 
 in the world ; what 's the object, what 's the use 
 of our meeting ? What am I to you ? what are 
 you to me ? We cannot even understand each 
 other now ; there is absolutely nothing in 
 common between us now, neither in the past 
 nor in the present ! Especially . . . especially 
 in the past ! ' 
 
 Litvinov uttered all this speech hurriedly, 
 jerkily, without turning his head. Irina did 
 not stir, except from time to time she faintly 
 stretched her hands out to him. It seemed as 
 though she were beseeching him to stop and 
 listen to her, while, at his last words, she slightly 
 bit her lower lip, as though to master the pain 
 of a sharp, rapid wound. 
 
 'Grigory Mihalitch/ she began at last, in a 
 calmer voice ; and she moved still further away 
 from the path, along which people from time to 
 time passed. 
 
 Litvinov in his turn followed her. 
 
 'Grigory Mihalitch, believe me, if I could 
 imagine I had one hair's-breadth of power over 
 you left, I would be the first to avoid you. If 
 I have not done so, if I made up my mind, in 
 
 142 
 
SMOKE 
 
 spite of my ... of the wrong I did you in the 
 past, to renew my acquaintance with you, it was 
 because . . . because ' 
 
 I Because what ? ' asked Litvinov, almost 
 rudely. 
 
 'Because,' Irina declared with sudden force — 
 'it's too insufferable, too unbearably stifling for 
 me in society, in the envied position you talk 
 about ; because meeting you, a live man, after 
 all these dead puppets — you have seen samples 
 of them three days ago, there au Vieux Chateau, 
 — I rejoice over you as an oasis in the desert, 
 while you suspect me of flirting, and despise 
 me and repulse me on the ground that I 
 wronged you — as indeed I did — but far more 
 myself! ' 
 
 ' You chose your lot yourself, Irina Pavlovna, 
 Litvinov rejoined sullenly, as before not turning 
 his head. 
 
 I I chose it myself, yes . . . and I don't com- 
 plain , I have no right to complain/ said Irina 
 hurriedly ; she seemed to derive a secret con- 
 solation from Litvinov's very harshness. ; I 
 know that you must think ill of me, and I won't 
 justify myself; I only want to explain my 
 feeling to you, I want to convince you 1 am in 
 no flirting humour now. . . . Me flirting with 
 you ! Why, there is no sense in it. . . . When 
 I saw you, all that was good, that was young in 
 
 143 
 
SMOKE 
 
 me, revived . . . that time when I had not 
 yet chosen my lot, everything that lies behind 
 in that streak of brightness behind those ten 
 years. . . .' 
 
 1 Come, really, Irina Pavlovna ! So far as I 
 am aware, the brightness in your life began 
 precisely with the time we separated. . . .' 
 
 Irina put her handkerchief to her lips. 
 
 * That's very cruel, what you say, Grigory 
 Mihalitch ; but I can't feel angry with you. 
 Oh, no, that was not a bright time, it was not for 
 happiness I left Moscow ; I have known not 
 one moment, not one instant of happiness . . . 
 believe me, whatever you have been told. If I 
 were happy, could I talk to you as I am talking 
 now. ... I repeat to you, you don't know what 
 these people are. . . . Why, they understand 
 nothing, feel for nothing ; they Ve no intelli- 
 gence even, hi esprit ni intelligence, nothing but 
 tact and cunning ; why, in reality, music and 
 poetry and art are all equally remote from 
 them. . . . You will say that I was rather 
 indifferent to all that myself; but not to the 
 same degree, Grigory Mihalitch . . . not to the 
 same degree! It's not a woman of the world 
 before you now, you need only look at me — not 
 a society queen. . . . That 's what they call us, 
 I believe . . . but a poor, poor creature, really 
 deserving of pity. Don't wonder at my words. 
 
 144 
 
SMOKE 
 
 ... I am beyond feeling pride now ! I hold 
 out my hand to you as a beggar, will you 
 understand, just as a beggar. ... I ask for 
 chanty/ she added suddenly, in an involun- 
 tary, irrepressible outburst, ' I ask for charity, 
 and you ' 
 
 Her voice broke. Litvinov raised his head 
 and looked at Irina; her breathing came quickly, 
 her lips were quivering. Suddenly his heart 
 beat fast, and the feeling of hatred vanished. 
 
 1 You say that our paths have lain apart,' 
 Irina went on. ' I know you are about to marry 
 from inclination, you have a plan laid out for 
 your whole life ; yes, that 's all so, but we have 
 not become strangers to one another, Grigory 
 Mihalitch ; we can still understand each other. 
 Or do you imagine I have grown altogether 
 dull — altogether debased in the mire? Ah, no, 
 don't think that, please ! Let me open my 
 heart, I beseech you — there — even for the sake 
 of those old days, if you are not willing to forget 
 them. Do so, that our meeting may not have 
 come to pass in vain ; that would be too bitter ; 
 it would not last long in any case. ... I don't 
 know how to say it properly, but you will 
 understand me, because I ask for little, so little 
 . . . only a little sympathy, only that you 
 should not repulse me, that you should let me 
 
 open my heart ' 
 
 45 к 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Irina ceased speaking, there were tears in 
 her voice. She sighed, and timidly, with a kind 
 of furtive, searching look, gazed at Litvinov, 
 held out her hand to him. . . 
 
 Litvinov slowly took the hand and faintly 
 pressed it. 
 
 ' Let us be friends,' whispered Irina. 
 
 c Friends/ repeated Litvinov dreamily. 
 
 ' Yes, friends ... or if that is too much to 
 ask, then let us at least be friendly. . . . Let us 
 be simply as though nothing had happened/ 
 
 ' As though nothing had happened, . . .' 
 repeated Litvinov again. ' You said just now, 
 Irina Pavlovna, that I was unwilling to forget the 
 old days. . . . But what if I can't forget them ?' 
 
 A blissful smile flashed over Irina's face, 
 and at once disappeared, to be replaced by a 
 harassed, almost scared expression. 
 
 'Be like me, Grigory Mihalitch, remember only 
 what was good in them ; and most of all, give me 
 your word. . . . Your word of honour. . . .' 
 
 1 Well ? ' 
 
 ' Not to avoid me . . . not to hurt me for 
 nothing. You promise ? tell me ! ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' And you will dismiss all evil thoughts of me 
 from your mind.' 
 
 'Yes . . . but as for understanding you — I 
 
 give it up.' 
 
 1 46 
 
SMOKE 
 
 I There 's no need of that . . . wait a little, 
 though, you will understand. But you will 
 promise ? ' 
 
 I I have said yes already.' 
 
 * Thanks. You see I am used to believe you. 
 I shall expect you to-day, to-morrow, I will 
 not go out of the house. And now I must 
 leave you. The Grand Duchess is coming along 
 the avenue. . . . She 's caught sight of me, and 
 I can't avoid going up to speak to her. . . . 
 Good-bye till we meet. . . . Give me your 
 hand, vite y vite. Till we meet' 
 
 And warmly pressing Litvinov's hand, Irina 
 walked towards a middle-aged person of dig- 
 nified appearance, who was coming slowly along 
 the gravel path, escorted by two other ladies, 
 and a strikingly handsome groom in livery. 
 
 i Eh bonjour, chere Madame] said the per- 
 sonage, while Irina curtseyed respectfully to her. 
 * Comment allez-vous atcjourd'hui? Venez un 
 peu avec moi. y 
 
 ' Votre Altesse a trop de bontel Irina's insinuat- 
 ing voice was heard in reply. 
 
 147 
 
XIV 
 
 LlTVlNOV let the Grand Duchess and all her 
 suite get out of sight, and then he too went 
 along the avenue. He could not make up his 
 mind clearly what he was feeling ; he was con- 
 scious both of shame and dread, while his vanity 
 was flattered. . . . The unexpected explanation 
 with Irina had taken him utterly by surprise ; 
 her rapid burning words had passed over him 
 like a thunder-storm. ' Queer creatures these 
 society women/ he thought ; ' there 's no con- 
 sistency in them . . . and how perverted they 
 are by the surroundings in which they go on 
 living, while they 're conscious of its hideous- 
 ness themselves ! ' . . . In reality he was not 
 thinking this at all, but only mechanically re- 
 peating these hackneyed phrases, as though he 
 were trying to ward off other more painful 
 thoughts. He felt that he must not think 
 seriously just now, that he would probably have 
 to blame himself, and he moved with lagging 
 steps, almost forcing himself to pay attention to 
 
 14S 
 
SMOKE 
 
 everything that happened to meet him. . . , 
 He suddenly found himself before a seat, caught 
 sight of some one's legs in front of it, and looked 
 upwards from them. . . . The legs belonged to 
 a man, sitting on the seat, and reading a news- 
 paper ; this man turned out to be Potugin. 
 Litvinov uttered a faint exclamation. Potugin 
 laid the paper down on his knees, and looked 
 attentively, without a smile, at Litvinov ; and 
 Litvinov also attentively, and also without a 
 smile, looked at Potugin. 
 
 1 May I sit by you ? ' he asked at last. 
 
 ' By all means, I shall be delighted. Only I 
 warn you, if you want to have a talk with me, 
 you mustn't be offended with me — I'm in a 
 most misanthropic humour just now, and I see 
 everything in an exaggeratedly repulsive light/ 
 
 ' That 's no matter, Sozont Ivanitch/ re- 
 sponded Litvinov, sinking down on the seat, 
 ' indeed it 's particularly appropriate. . . . But 
 why has such a mood come over you ? ' 
 
 ' I ought not by rights to be ill-humoured,' 
 began Potugin. ' I 've just read in the paper 
 a project for judicial reforms in Russia, and 
 I see with genuine pleasure that we 've got 
 seme sense at last, and they're not as usual 
 on the pretext of independence, nationalism, 
 or originality, proposing to tack a little 
 home-made tag of our own on to the clear 
 
 149 
 
SMOKE 
 
 straightforward logic of Europe ; but are taking 
 what's good from abroad intact. A single 
 adaptation in its application to the peasants' 
 sphere is enough. . . . There 's no doing away 
 with communal ownership ! . . . Certainly, 
 certainly, I ought not to be ill-humoured ; but 
 to my misfortune I chanced upon a Russian 
 "rough diamond," and had a talk with him, 
 and these rough diamonds, these self-educated 
 geniuses, would make me turn in my grave ! ' 
 
 1 What do you mean by a rough diamond ? ' 
 asked Litvinov. 
 
 ( Why, there 's a gentleman disporting him- 
 self here, who imagines he 's a musical genius. 
 " I have done nothing, of course," he '11 tell you. 
 " I 'm a cipher, because I 've had no training, 
 but I 've incomparably more melody and more 
 ideas in me than in Meyerbeer." In the first 
 place, I say : why have you had no training ? 
 and secondly, that, not to talk of Meyerbeer, 
 the humblest German flute-player, modestly 
 blowing his part in the humblest German 
 orchestra, has twenty times as many ideas as 
 all our untaught geniuses ; only the flute-player 
 keeps his ideas to himself, and doesn't trot 
 them out with a flourish in the land of Mozarts 
 and Haydns ; while our friend the rough 
 diamond has only to strum some little waltz or 
 song, and at once you see him with his hands 
 
 150 
 
SMOKE 
 
 in his trouser pocket and a sneer of contempt 
 on his lips : I 'm a genius, he says. And in 
 painting it 's just the same, and in everything 
 else. Oh, these natural geniuses, how I hate 
 them ! As if every one didn't know that it 's 
 only where there 's no real science fully assimi- 
 lated, and no real art, that there 's this flaunting 
 affectation of them. Surely it 's time to have 
 done with this flaunting, this vulgar twaddle, 
 I together with all hackneyed phrases such as 
 " no one ever dies of hunger in Russia," " nowhere 
 is there such fast travelling as in Russia," " we 
 Russians could bury all our enemies under our 
 hats." I 'm for ever hearing of the richness of 
 the Russian nature, their unerring instinct, and 
 of Kulibin. . . . But what is this richness, after 
 all, gentlemen ? Half-awakened mutterings or 
 else half-animal sagacity. Instinct, indeed ! 
 A fine boast. Take an ant in a forest and set 
 it down a mile from its ant-hill, it will find its 
 way home ; man can do nothing like it ; but 
 what of it ? do you suppose he 's inferior to 
 the ant ? Instinct, be it ever so unerring, is 
 unworthy of man ; sense, simple, straightfor- 
 ward, common sense — that 's our heritage, our 
 pride ; sense won't perform any such tricks, 
 but it 's that that everything rests upon. As 
 for Kulibin, who without any knowledge of 
 mechanics succeeded in making some very bad 
 
 151 
 
SMOKE 
 
 watches, why, I 'd have those watches set up in 
 the pillory, and say : see, good people, this is the 
 way not to do it. Kulibin 's not to blame for it, 
 but his work 's rubbish. To admire Telushkin's 
 boldness and cleverness because he climbed on 
 to the Admiralty spire is well enough ; why 
 not admire him ? But there 's no need to shout 
 that he 's made the German architects look 
 foolish, that they 're no good, except at making 
 money. . . . He 's not made them look foolish 
 in the least ; they had to put a scaffolding 
 round the spire afterwards, and repair it in the 
 usual way. For mercy's sake, never encourage 
 the idea in Russia that anything can be done 
 without training. No ; you may have the brain 
 of a Solomon, but you must study, study from 
 the ABC. Or else hold your tongue, and sit 
 still, and be humble ! Phoo ! it makes one hot 
 all over ! ' 
 
 Potugin took off his hat and began fanning 
 himself with his handkerchief. 
 
 1 Russian art,' he began again. ' Russian art, 
 indeed ! . . . Russian impudence and conceit, I 
 know, and Russian feebleness too, but Russian 
 art, begging your pardon, I 've never come 
 across. For twenty years on end they 've 
 been doing homage to that bloated nonentity 
 Bryullov, and fancying that we have founded 
 a school of our own, and even that it will be 
 
 152 
 
SMOKE 
 
 better than all others. . . Russian art, ha, 
 ha, ha ! ho, ho ! ' 
 
 1 Excuse me, though, Sozont Ivanitch/ re- 
 marked Litvinov, 'would you refuse to recog- 
 nise Glinka too, then ? ' 
 
 Potugin scratched his head. 
 
 1 The exception, you know, only proves the 
 rule, but even in that instance we could not 
 dispense with bragging. If we 'd said, for 
 example, that Glinka was really a remarkable 
 musician, who was only prevented by circum- 
 stances — outer and inner — from becoming the 
 founder of the Russian opera, none would have 
 disputed it ; but no, that was too much to 
 expect ! They must at once raise him to the 
 dignity of commander-in-chief, of grand-marshal, 
 in the musical world, and disparage other 
 nations while they were about it ; they have 
 nothing to compare with him, they declare, then 
 quote you some marvellous home-bred genius 
 whose compositions are nothing but a poor 
 imitation of second-rate foreign composers, yes, 
 second-rate ones, for they 're the easiest to 
 imitate. Nothing to compare with him ? Oh, 
 poor benighted barbarians, for whom standards 
 in art are non-existent, and artists are some- 
 thing of the same species as the strong man 
 Rappo : there 's a foreign prodigy, they say, 
 can lift fifteen stone in one hand, but our man 
 
 153 
 
SMOKE 
 
 can lift thirty ! Nothing to compare with us, 
 indeed ! I will venture to tell you some 
 thing I remember, and can't get out of my head. 
 Last spring I visited the Crystal Palace near 
 London ; in that Palace, as you 're aware, 
 there 's a sort of exhibition of everything that 
 has been devised by the ingenuity of man — an 
 encyclopaedia of humanity one might call it. 
 Well, I walked to and fro among the machines 
 and implements and statues of great men ; and 
 all the while I thought, if it were decreed that 
 some nation or other should disappear from the 
 face of the earth, and with it everything that 
 nation had invented, should disappear from the 
 Crystal Palace, our dear mother, Holy Russia, 
 could go and hide herself in the lower regions, 
 without disarranging a single nail in the place : 
 everything might remain undisturbed where it 
 is ; for even the samovar, the woven bast shoes, 
 the yoke-bridle, and the knout — these are our 
 famous products — were not invented by us. 
 One could not carry out the same experiment 
 on the Sandwich islanders ; those islanders have 
 made some peculiar canoes and javelins of their 
 own ; their absence would be noticed by visitors. 
 It 's a libel ! it 's too severe, you say perhaps. 
 . . . But I say,, first, I don't know how to roar 
 like any sucking dove ; and secondly, it 's plain 
 that it 's not only the devil no one dares to look 
 
 154 
 
SMOKE 
 
 straight in the face, for no one dares to look 
 straight at himself, and it 's not only children 
 who like being soothed to sleep. Our older 
 inventions came to us from the East, our later 
 ones we 've borrowed, and half spoiled, from the 
 West, while we still persist in talking about 
 the independence of Russian art ! Some bold 
 spirits have even discovered an original Russian 
 science ; twice two makes four with us as else- 
 where, but the result's obtained more ingeni- 
 ously, it appears.' 
 
 1 But wait a minute, Sozont Ivanitch,' cried 
 Litvinov. ' Do wait a minute ! You know we 
 send something to the universal exhibitions, 
 and doesn't Europe import something from us.' 
 
 1 Yes, raw material, raw products. And note, 
 my dear sir : this raw produce of ours is gener- 
 ally only good by virtue of other exceedingly 
 bad conditions ; our bristles, for instance, are 
 large and strong, because our pigs are poor ; 
 our hides are stout and thick because our cows 
 are thin ; our tallow 's rich because it 's boiled 
 down with half the flesh. . . . But why am I 
 enlarging on that to you, though ; you are a 
 student of technology, to be sure, you must 
 know all that better than I do. They talk to 
 me of our inventive faculty ! The inventive 
 faculty of the Russians ! Why our worthy- 
 farmers complain bitterly and suffer loss be- 
 
 155 
 
SMOKE 
 
 cause there 's no satisfactory machine for drying 
 grain in existence, to save them from the 
 necessity of putting their sheaves in ovens, as 
 they did in the days of Rurik ; these ovens 
 are fearfully wasteful — just as our bast shoes 
 and our Russian mats are, — and they are con- 
 stantly getting on fire. The farmers complain, 
 but still there 's no sign of a drying-machine. 
 And why is there none ? Because the German 
 farmer doesn't need them ; he can thrash his 
 wheat as it is, so he doesn't bother to invent 
 one, and we . . . are not capable of doing it ! 
 Not capable — and that 's all about it ! Try as 
 we may ! From this day forward I declare 
 whenever I come across one of those rough 
 diamonds, these self-taught geniuses, I shall 
 say : " Stop a minute, my worthy friend ! 
 Where 's that drying-machine ? let 's have it ! " 
 But that 's beyond them ! Picking up some old 
 cast-off shoe, dropped ages ago by St. Simon 
 or Fourier, and sticking it on our heads and 
 treating it as a sacred relic — that 's what we 're 
 capable of; or scribbling an article on the 
 historical and contemporary significance of the 
 proletariat in the principal towns of France — 
 that we can do too ; but I tried once, asking a 
 writer and political economist of that sort — 
 rather like your friend, Mr Voroshilov — to 
 mention twenty towns in France, and what do 
 
 156 
 
SMOKE 
 
 you think came of that ? Why the economist 
 in despair at last mentioned Mont-Fermeuil as 
 one of the French towns, remembering it pro- 
 bably from some novel of Paul de Kock's. And 
 that reminds me of the following anecdote. I 
 was one day strolling through a wood with a 
 dog and a gun ' 
 
 4 Are you a sportsman then?' asked Litvinov. 
 
 1 1 shoot a little. I was making my way to a 
 swamp in search of snipe ; I 'd been told of the 
 swamp by other sportsmen. I saw sitting in 
 a clearing before a hut a timber merchant's 
 clerk, as fresh and smooth as a peeled nut, he 
 was sitting there, smiling away — what at, I 
 can't say. So I asked him : " Whereabouts 
 was the swamp, and were there many snipe in 
 it ? " " To be sure, to be sure," he sang out 
 promptly, and with an expression of face as 
 though I 'd given him a rouble ; " the swamp 's 
 first-rate, I 'm thankful to say ; and as for all 
 kinds of wild fowl, — my goodness, they 're to be 
 found there in wonderful plenty." I set off, 
 but not only found no wild fowl, the swamp 
 itself had been dry for a long time. Now tell 
 me, please, why is the Russian a liar? Why 
 does the political economist lie, and why the lie 
 about the wild fowl too ? ' 
 
 Litvinov made no answer, but only sighed 
 sympathetica! ly. 
 
 157 
 
ШОКЕ 
 
 'But turn the conversation with the same 
 political economist,' pursued Potugin, ' on the 
 most abstruse problems of social science, keep- 
 ing to theory, without facts . . . ! — he takes 
 flight like a bird, a perfect eagle. I did once 
 succeed, though, in catching one of those birds. 
 I used a pretty snare, though an obvious one, 
 as you shall see if you please. I was talking 
 with one of our latter-day " new young men " 
 about various questions, as they call them. 
 Well, he got very hot, as they always do. 
 Marriage among other things he attacked with 
 really childish exasperation. I brought forward 
 one argument after another ... I might as 
 well have talked to a stone wall ! I saw I 
 should never get round him like that. And 
 then I had a happy thought ! " Allow me to 
 submit to you," I began, — one must always talk 
 very respectfully to these " new young men " — 
 " I am really surprised at you, my dear sir ; you 
 are studying natural science, and your atten- 
 tion has never up till now been caught by the 
 fact that all carnivorous and predatory animals 
 — wild beasts and birds — all who have to go 
 out in search of prey, and to exert themselves 
 to obtain animal food for themselves and their 
 young . . . and I suppose you would include 
 man in the category of such animals?" "Of 
 course, I should," said the " new young man," 
 
 158 
 
SMOKK 
 
 "man is nothing but a carnivorous animal." 
 " And predatory ? " I added. " And predatory," 
 he declared. " Well said," I observed. " Well, 
 then I am surprised you Ve never noticed that 
 such animals live in monogamy." The "new 
 young man " started. " How so ? " " Why, it is 
 so. Think of the lion, the wolf, the fox, the 
 vulture, the kite ; and, indeed, would you con- 
 descend to suggest how they could do other- 
 wise. It's hard work enough for the two 
 together to get a living for their offspring." 
 My " new young man " grew thoughtful. " Well," 
 says he, " in that case the animal is not a rule 
 for man." Thereupon I called him an idealist, 
 and wasn't he hurt at that ! He almost cried. 
 I had to comfort him by promising not to tell 
 of him to his friends. To deserve to be called 
 an idealist is no laughing matter ! The main 
 point in which our latter-day young people are 
 out in their reckoning is this. They fancy that 
 the time for the old, obscure, underground work 
 is over, that it was all very well for their old- 
 fashioned fathers to burrow like moles, but 
 that 's too humiliating a part for us, we will 
 take action in the light of day, we will take 
 action . . . Poor darlings ! why your children 
 even won't take action ; and don't you care to 
 go back to burrowing, burrowing underground 
 again in the old tracks ? ' 
 
 159 
 
SMOKE 
 
 A brief silence followed. 
 
 * I am of opinion, my dear sir/ began Potugin 
 again, ' that we are not only indebted to civilisa- 
 tion for science, art, and law, but that even the 
 very feeling for beauty and poetry is developed 
 and strengthened under the influence of the 
 same civilisation, and that the so-called popular, 
 simple, unconscious creation is twaddling and 
 rubbishy. Even in Homer there are traces of 
 a refined and varied civilisation ; love itself is 
 enriched by it. The Slavophils would cheer- 
 fully hang me for such a heresy, if they were 
 not such chicken-hearted creatures ; but I will 
 stick up for my own ideas all the same ; and 
 however much they press Madame Kohanovsky 
 and " The swarm of bees at rest " upon me, — J 
 can't stand the odour of that triple extrait de 
 mongik Russe, as I don't belong to the highest 
 society, which finds it absolutely necessary to 
 assure itself from time to time that it has not 
 turned quite French, and for whose exclusive 
 benefit this literature en cuir de Russie is manu- 
 factured. Try reading the raciest, most " pop- 
 ular " passages from the " Bees " to a common 
 peasant — a real one ; he'll think you're repeat- 
 ing him a new spell against fever or drunken- 
 ness. I repeat, without civilisation there 's 
 not even poetry. If you want to get a clear 
 idea of the poetic ideal of the uncivilised 
 
 1 60 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Russian, you should turn up our ballads, our 
 legends. To say nothing of the fact that love 
 is always presented as the result of witchcraft, 
 of sorcery, and produced by some philtre, to 
 say nothing of our so-called epic literature 
 being the only one among all the European 
 and Asiatic literatures — the only one, observe, 
 which does not present any typical pair of 
 lovers — unless you reckon Vanka-Tanka as 
 such ; and of the Holy Russian knight always 
 beginning his acquaintance with his destined 
 bride by beating her " most pitilessly " on her 
 white body, because "the race of women is 
 puffed up " ! all that I pass over ; but I should 
 like to call your attention to the artistic form 
 of the young hero, the j'eune premier y as he was 
 depicted by the imagination of the primitive, 
 uncivilised Slav. Just fancy him a minute ; 
 the jeune premier enters; a cloak he has worked 
 himself of sable, back-stitched along every seam, 
 a sash of seven-fold silk girt close about his 
 armpits, his fingers hidden away under his hang- 
 ing sleevelets, the collar of his coat raised high 
 above his head, from before, his rosy face no man 
 can see, nor, from behind, his little white neck ; 
 his cap is on one ear, while on his feet are boots 
 of morocco, with points as sharp as a cobbler's 
 awl, and the heels peaked like nails. Round 
 the points an egg can be rolled, and a sparrow 
 
 l6l L 
 
SMOKE 
 
 can fly under the heels. And the young hero 
 advances with that peculiar mincing gait by 
 means of which our Alcibiades, Tchivilo Plenk- 
 ovitch, produced such a striking, almost medical, 
 effect on old women and young girls, the same 
 gait which we see in our loose-limbed waiters, 
 that cream, that flower of Russian dandyism, 
 that ne plus ultra of Russian taste. This I 
 maintain without joking ; a sack-like grace- 
 fulness, that's an artistic ideal. What do 
 you think, is it a fine type ? Does it present 
 many materials for painting, for sculpture? 
 And the beauty who fascinates the young 
 hero, whose " face is as red as the blood of 
 the hare " ? ... But I think you're not listening 
 to me ? ' 
 
 Litvinov started. He had not, in fact, heard 
 what Potugin was saying ; he kept thinking, 
 persistently thinking of Irina, of his last inter- 
 view with her. . . . 
 
 1 I beg your pardon, Sozont Ivanitch,' he 
 began, ' but I 'm going to attack you again 
 with my former question about . . . about 
 Madame Ratmirov.' 
 
 Potugin folded up his newspaper and put it 
 in his pocket. 
 
 'You want to know again how I came to 
 know her ? ' 
 
 * No, not exactly. I should like to hear your 
 
 162 
 
SMOKE 
 
 opinion ... on the part she played in Peters- 
 burg. What was that part, in reality ? ' 
 
 1 1 really don't know what to say to you, Gri- 
 gory Mihalitch ; I was brought into rather 
 intimate terms with Madame Ratmirov . . . but 
 quite accidentally, and not for long. I never got 
 an insight into her world, and what took place 
 in it remained unknown to me. There was 
 some gossip before me, but as you know, it's 
 not only in democratic circles that slander 
 reigns supreme among us. Besides I was not 
 inquisitive. I see though/ he added, after a 
 short silence, ' she interests you.' 
 
 ' Yes ; we have twice talked together rather 
 openly. I ask myself, though, is she sincere ? 
 
 Potugin looked down. ' When she is carried 
 away by feeling, she is sincere, like all women 
 of strong passions. Pride too, sometimes pre- 
 vents her from lying.' 
 
 * Is she proud ? I should rather have sup- 
 posed she was capricious.' 
 
 ■ Proud as the devil ; but that 's no harm.' 
 1 1 fancy she sometimes exaggerates. . . .' 
 
 * That's nothing either, she's sincere all 
 the same. Though after all, how can you 
 expect truth ? The best of those society 
 women are rotten to the marrow of their 
 bones/ 
 
 1 But, Sozont Ivanitch, if you remember, you 
 
 163 
 
SMOKE 
 
 called yourself her friend. Didn't you drag me 
 almost by force to go and see her ? ' 
 
 * What of that ? she asked me to get hold of 
 you; and I thought, why not? And I really 
 am her friend. She has her good qualities: 
 she 's very kind, that is to say, generous, that 's 
 to say she gives others what she has no sort of 
 need of herself. But of course you must know 
 her at least as well as I do/ 
 
 ' I used to know Irina Pavlovna ten years ago ; 
 but since then ' 
 
 ' Ah, Grigory Mihalitch, why do you say 
 that? Do you suppose any one's character 
 changes ? Such as one is in one's cradle, such 
 one is still in one's tomb. Or perhaps it is' 
 (here Potugin bowed his head still lower) ' per- 
 haps, you 're afraid of falling into her clutches ? 
 that 's certainly . . . But of course one is bound 
 to fall into some woman's clutches.' 
 
 Litvinov gave a constrained laugh. " * You 
 think so ? ' 
 
 ' There 's no escape. Man is weak, woman is 
 strong, opportunity is all-powerful, to make up 
 one's mind to a joyless life is hard, to forget 
 oneself utterly is impossible . . . and on one 
 side is beauty and sympathy and warmth and 
 light, — how is one to resist it ? Why, one runs 
 like a child to its nurse. Ah, well, afterwards 
 to be sure comes cold and darkness and empti- 
 
 164 
 
SMOKE 
 
 ness ... in due course. And you end by being 
 strange to everything, by losing comprehension 
 of everything. At first you don't understand 
 how love is possible ; afterwards one won't 
 understand how life is possible.' 
 
 Litvinov looked at Potugin, and it struck 
 him that he had never yet met a man more 
 lonely, more desolate . . . more unhappy. This 
 time he was not shy, he was not stiff ; downcast 
 and pale, his head on his breast, and his hands 
 on his knees, he sat without moving, merely 
 smiling his dejected smile. Litvinov felt sorry 
 for the poor, embittered, eccentric creature. 
 
 1 Irina Pavlovna mentioned among other 
 things/ he began in a low voice, ■ a very intimate 
 friend of hers, whose name if I remember was 
 Byelsky, or Dolsky. . . .' 
 
 Potugin raised his mournful eyes and looked 
 at Litvinov. 
 
 'Ah!' he commented thickly. . . . 'She men- 
 tioned . . . well, what of it ? It 's time, though/ 
 he added with a rather artificial yawn, ' for me 
 to be getting home — to dinner. Good-bye.' 
 
 He jumped up from the seat and made off 
 quickly before Litvinov had time to utter a 
 word. ... His compassion gave way to annoy- 
 ance — annoyance with himself, be it understood. 
 Want of consideration of any kind was foreign 
 to his nature ; he had wished to express his 
 
 165 
 
SMOKE 
 
 sympathy for Potugin, and it had resulted in 
 something like a clumsy insinuation. With 
 secret dissatisfaction in his heart, he went back 
 to his hotel. 
 
 ' Rotten to the marrow of her bones/ he 
 thought a little later. . . . 'but proud as the 
 devil ! She, that woman who is almost on her 
 knees to me, proud ? proud and not capricious ? ' 
 
 Litvinov tried to drive Irina's image out of 
 his head, but he did not succeed. For this very 
 reason he did not think of his betrothed ; he 
 felt to-day this haunting image would not give 
 up its place. He made up his mind to await 
 without further anxiety the solution of all this 
 'strange business'; the solution could not be 
 long in coming, and Litvinov had not the 
 slightest doubt it would turn out to be most 
 innocent and natural. So he fancied, but 
 meanwhile he was not only haunted by Irina's 
 image — every word she had uttered kept recur- 
 ring in its turn to his memory. 
 
 The waiter brought him a note : it was from 
 the same Irina : 
 
 ' If you have nothing to do this evening, 
 come to me ; I shall not be alone ; I shall 
 have guests, and you will get a closer view of 
 our set, our society. I want you very much 
 to see something of them ; I fancy they will 
 show themselves in all their brilliance. You 
 
 1 66 
 
SMOKE 
 
 ought to know what sort of atmosphere I am 
 breathing. Come ; I shall be glad to see you, 
 and you will not be bored. (Irina had spelt 
 the Russian incorrectly here.) Prove to me 
 that our explanation to-day has made any sort 
 of misunderstanding between us impossible 
 for ever. — Yours devotedly, I.' 
 
 Litvinov put on a frock coat and a white tie, 
 and set off to Irina's. ' All this is of no impor- 
 tance,' he repeated mentally on the way, ' as' for 
 looking at them . . . why shouldn't I have a 
 look at them ? It will be curious.' A few days 
 before, these very people had aroused a different 
 sensation in him ; they had aroused his indig- 
 nation. 
 
 He walked with quickened steps,hiscap pulled 
 down over his eyes, and a constrained smile on 
 his lips, while Bambaev, sitting before Weber's 
 cafe, and pointing him out from a distance to 
 Voroshilov and Pishtchalkin, cried excitedly: 
 ' Do you see that man ? He 's a stone ! he 's a 
 rock ! he 's a flint ! ! 1 ' 
 
 167 
 
XV 
 
 LlTVlNOV found rather many guests at Ifina's. 
 In a corner at a card- table were sitting three 
 of the generals of the picnic : the stout one, 
 the irascible one, and the condescending one. 
 They were playing whist with dummy, and there 
 is no word in the language of man to express 
 the solemnity with which they dealt, took tricks, 
 led clubs and led diamonds . . . there was no 
 doubt about their being statesmen now ! These 
 gallant generals left to mere commoners, aux 
 bourgeois, the little turns and phrases commonly 
 used during play, and uttered only the most in- 
 dispensable syllables ; the stout general how- 
 ever permitted himself to jerk off between two 
 deals : * Ce satane as de pique / ' Among the 
 visitors Litvinov recognised ladies who had 
 been present at the picnic ; but there were 
 others there also whom he had not seen before. 
 There was one so ancient that it seemed every 
 instant as though she would fall to pieces : 
 she shrugged her bare, gruesome, dingy grey 
 
 1 68 
 
SMOKE 
 
 shoulders, and, covering her mouth with her fan, 
 leered languishingly with her absolutely death- 
 like eyes upon Ratmirov ; he paid her much 
 attention ; she was held in great honour in the 
 highest society, as the last of the Maids of 
 Honour of the Empress Catherine. At the 
 window, dressed like a shepherdess, sat Coun- 
 tess S., ' the Queen of the Wasps/ surrounded by 
 young men. Among them the celebrated 
 millionaire and beau Finikov was conspicuous 
 for his supercilious deportment, his absolutely 
 flat skull, and his expression of soulless 
 brutality, worthy of a Khan of Bucharia, or 
 a Roman Heliogabalus. Another lady, also 
 a countess, known by the pet name of Lz'se, was 
 talking to a long-haired, fair, and pale spiritual- 
 istic medium. Beside them was standing a 
 gentleman, also pale and long-haired, who kept 
 laughing in a meaning way. This gentleman 
 also believed in spiritualism, but added to that 
 an interest in prophecy, and, on the basis of 
 the Apocalypse and the Talmud, was in the 
 habit of foretelling all kinds of marvellous events. 
 Not a single one of these events had come to 
 pass ; but he was in no wise disturbed by that 
 fact, and went on prophesying as before. At 
 the piano, the musical genius had installed him- 
 self, the rough diamond, who had stirred Potu- 
 gin to such indignation ; he was striking chords 
 
 169 
 
SMOKE 
 
 with a careless hand, cCune main distraite, and 
 kept staring vaguely about him. Irina was sit- 
 ting on a sofa between Prince Koko and 
 Madame H., once a celebrated beauty and 
 wit, who had long ago become a repulsive old 
 crone, with the odour of sanctity and evapor- 
 ated sinfulness about her. On catching sight 
 of Litvinov, Irina blushed and got up, and 
 when he went up to her, she pressed his hand 
 warmly. She was wearing a dress of black 
 crepon, relieved by a few inconspicuous gold 
 ornaments ; her shoulders were a dead white, 
 while her face, pale too, under the momentary 
 flood of crimson overspreading it, was breathing 
 with the triumph of beauty, and not of beauty 
 alone ; a hidden, almost ironical happiness was 
 shining in her half-closed eyes, and quivering 
 about her lips and nostrils. . . . 
 
 Ratmirov approached Litvinov and after 
 exchanging with him his customary civilities, 
 unaccompanied however by his customary play- 
 fulness, he presented him to two or three ladies : 
 the ancient ruin, the Queen of the Wasps, Coun- 
 tess Liza . . . they gave him a rather gracious 
 reception. Litvinov did not belong to their 
 set ; but he was good-looking, extremely so, 
 indeed, and the expressive features of his youth- 
 ful face awakened their interest. Only he did 
 not know how to fasten that interest upon him- 
 
 I7o 
 
SMOKE 
 
 self; he was unaccustomed to society and was 
 conscious of some embarrassment, added to 
 which the stout general stared at him persist- 
 ently. * Aha ! lubberly civilian ! free-thinker ! ' 
 that fixed heavy stare seemed to be saying: 
 ' down on your knees to us ; crawl to kiss our 
 hands ! ' Irina came to Litvinov's aid. She man- 
 aged so adroitly that he got into a corner near 
 the door, a little behind her. As she addressed 
 him, she had each time to turn round to him, 
 and every time he admired the exquisite curve 
 of her splendid neck, he drank in the subtle 
 fragrance of her hair. An expression of grati- 
 tude, deep and calm, never left her face ; he 
 could not help seeing that gratitude and no- 
 thing else was what those smiles, those glances 
 expressed, and he too was all aglow with the 
 same emotion, and he felt shame, and delight and 
 dread at once . . . and at the same time she 
 seemed continually as though she would ask, 
 'Well? what do you think of them?' With 
 special clearness Litvinov heard this unspoken 
 question whenever any one of the party was 
 guilty of some vulgar phrase or act, and that 
 occurred more than once during the evening. 
 Once she did not even conceal her feelings, and 
 laughed aloud. 
 
 Countess Liza, a lady of superstitious bent, 
 with an inclination for everything extraordinary, 
 
 171 
 
SMOKB 
 
 after discoursing to her heart's content with the 
 spiritualist upon Home, turning tables, self- 
 playing concertinas, and so on, wound up by 
 asking him whether there were animals which 
 could be influenced by mesmerism. 
 
 1 There is one such animal any way,' Prince 
 Кокб declared from some way off. ' You know 
 Melvanovsky, don't you ? They put him to 
 sleep before me, and didn't he snore, he, 
 he!' 
 
 1 You are very naughty, топ prince ; I am 
 speaking of real animals, y£ parle des betes! 
 
 1 Mais moi aussi, madame y je parle d'une 
 bete. . . .' 
 
 * There are such,' put in the spiritualist ; ' for 
 instance — crabs ; they are very nervous, and 
 are easily thrown into a cataleptic state.' 
 
 The countess was astounded. 'What? 
 Crabs ! Really ? Oh, that 's awfully interest- 
 ing ! Now, that I should like to see, M'sieu 
 Luzhin,' she added to a young man with a face 
 as stony as a new doll's, and a stony collar (he 
 prided himself on the fact that he had bedewed 
 the aforesaid face and collar with the sprays of 
 Niagara and the Nubian Nile, though he re- 
 membered nothing of all his travels, and cared 
 for nothing but Russian puns . . .). ' M'sieu 
 Luzhin, if you would be so good, do bring us a 
 crab quick.' 
 
 172 
 
SMOKE 
 
 M'sieu Luzhin smirked. ' Quick must it be, 
 or quickly ? ' he queried. 
 
 The countess did not understand him. * Mais 
 om } a crab/ she repeated, ' une ecrevisse! 
 
 ( Eh ? what is it ? a crab ? a crab ? ' the 
 Countess S. broke in harshly. The absence of 
 M. Verdier irritated her ; she could not imagine 
 why Irina had not invited that most fascinating 
 of Frenchmen. The ancient ruin, who had long 
 since ceased understanding anything — moreover 
 she was completely deaf — only shook her head. 
 
 1 Oui y oui y vous allez voir. M'sieu Luzhin, 
 please. . . .' 
 
 The young traveller bowed, went out, and re- 
 turned quickly. A waiter walked behind him, 
 and grinning from ear to ear, carried in a dish, 
 on which a large black crab was to be seen. 
 
 * Void, madamel cried Luzhin ; ' now we can 
 proceed to the operation on cancer. Ha, ha, 
 ha ! ' (Russians are always the first to laugh at 
 their own witticisms.) 
 
 ' He, he, he ! ' Count Кокб did his duty con- 
 descendingly as a good patriot, and patron of 
 all national products. 
 
 (We beg the reader not to be amazed and in- 
 dignant ; who can say confidently for himself 
 that sitting in the stalls of the Alexander 
 Theatre, and infected by its atmosphere, he has 
 not applauded even worse puns ?) 
 
 173 
 
SMOKE 
 
 1 Merci, tnerci! said the countess. ' A lions, 
 allons y Monsieur Fox, tnontrez nous ca.' 
 
 The waiter put the dirh down on a little 
 round table. There was a slight movement 
 among the guests ; several heads were craned 
 forward ; only the generals at the card-table 
 preserved the serene solemnity of their pose. 
 The spiritualist ruffled up his hair, frowned, and, 
 approaching the table, began waving his hands 
 in the air ; the crab stretched itself, backed, 
 and raised its claws. The spiritualist repeated 
 and quickened his movements ; the crab 
 stretched itself as before. 
 
 ' Mais que doit-elle done /aire ? ' inquired the 
 countess. 
 
 ' Elle dod rester immobile et se dresser sur sa 
 quioul replied Mr. Fox, with a strong American 
 accent, and he brandished his fingers with con- 
 vulsive energy over the dish ; but the mesmerism 
 had no effect, the crab continued to move. The 
 spiritualist declared that he was not himself, and 
 retired with an air of displeasure from the table. 
 The countess began to console him, by assuring 
 him that similar failures occurred sometimes 
 even with Mr. Home. . . Prince Koko con- 
 firmed her words. The authority on the 
 Apocalypse and the Talmud stealthily went 
 up to the table, and making rapid but vigorous 
 thrusts with his fingers in the direction of the 
 
 i74 
 
SMOKE 
 
 crab, he too tried his luck, but without success ; 
 no symptom of catalepsy showed itself. Then 
 the waiter was called; and told to take away the 
 crab, which he accordingly did, grinning from 
 ear to ear, as before ; he could be heard explod- 
 ing outside the door. . . . There was much 
 laughter afterwards in the kitchen iiber diese 
 Russen. The self-taught genius, who had gone 
 on striking notes during the experiments with 
 the crab, dwelling on melancholy chords, on the 
 ground that there was no knowing what influ- 
 ence music might have — the self-taught genius 
 played his invariable waltz, and, of course, was 
 deemed worthy of the most flattering applause. 
 Pricked on by rivalry, Count H., our incompar- 
 able dilettante (see Chapter I.), gave a little song 
 of his own composition, cribbed wholesale from 
 Offenbach. Its playful refrain to the words : 
 '■Queloeuff quel bceuff set almost all the ladies' 
 heads swinging to right and to left ; one went 
 so far as to hum the tune lightly, and the irre- 
 pressible, inevitable word, ' Charmant ! char- 
 mant /' was fluttering on every one's lips. Irina 
 exchanged a glance with Litvinov, and again 
 the same secret, ironical expression quivered 
 about her lips. . . . But a little later it was still 
 more strongly marked, there was even a shade 
 of malice in it, when Prince Кокб, that repre- 
 sentative and champion of the interests of the 
 
 175 
 
SMOKE 
 
 nobility, thought fit to propound his views to 
 the spiritualist, and, of course, gave utterance 
 before long to his famous phrase about the 
 shock to the principle of property, accompanied 
 naturally by an attack on democrats. The 
 spiritualist's American blood was stirred ; he 
 began to argue. The prince, as his habit was, 
 at once fell to shouting at the top of his voice ; 
 instead of any kind of argument he repeated 
 incessantly : ' О est absurde ! cela n'a pas le sens 
 commun ! ' The millionaire Finikov began say- 
 ing insulting things, without much heed to whom 
 they referred ; the Talmudist's piping notes and 
 even the Countess S.'s jarring voice could be 
 heard. ... In fact, almost the same incongru* 
 ous uproar arose as at Gubaryov's ; the only 
 difference was that here there was no beer nor 
 tobacco- smoke, and every one was better 
 dressed. Ratmirov tried to restore tranquillity 
 (the generals manifested their displeasure, Boris's 
 exclamation could be heard, ( Encore cette sataiiee 
 politique /'), but his efforts were not successful, 
 and at that point, a high official of the stealthily 
 inquisitorial type, who was present, and under- 
 took to present le resume en pen de mots, 
 sustained a defeat : in fact he so hummed 
 and hawed, so repeated himself, and was so 
 obviously incapable of listening to or taking in 
 the answers he received, and so unmistakably 
 
 176 
 
SMOKE 
 
 failed to perceive himself what precisely con- 
 stituted la question that no other result could 
 possibly have been anticipated. And then too 
 Irina was slily provoking the disputants and 
 setting them against one another, constantly 
 exchanging glances and slight signs with Lit- 
 vinov as she did so. . . . But he was sitting like 
 one spell-bound, he was hearing nothing, and 
 waiting for nothing but for those splendid eyes 
 to sparkle again, that pale, tender, mischievous, 
 exquisite face to flash upon him again. . . . 
 It ended by the ladies growing restive, and re- 
 questing that the dispute should cease. . . . 
 Ratmirov entreated the dilettante to sing his 
 song again, and the self-taught genius once 
 more played his waltz. . . . 
 
 Litvinov stayed till after midnight, and went 
 away later than all the rest. The conversation 
 had in the course of the evening touched upon 
 a number of subjects, studiously avoiding any- 
 thing of the faintest interest ; the generals, after 
 finishing their solemn game, solemnly joined in 
 it : the influence of these statesmen was at 
 once apparent. The conversation turned upon 
 notorieties of the Parisian demi-monde, with 
 whose names and talents every one seemed 
 intimately acquainted, on Sardou's latest play, 
 on a novel of About's, on Patti in the Traviata. 
 Some one proposed a game of ' secretary/ au 
 
 177 м 
 
SMOKE 
 
 secretaire ; but it was not a success. The 
 answers given were pointless, and often not free 
 from grammatical mistakes ; the stout general 
 related that he had once in answer to the ques- 
 tion : Qu'est-ce que Г amour? replied, Une colique 
 remontee au cozur, and promptly went off into 
 his wooden guffaw; the ancient ruin with a 
 mighty effort struck him with her fan on the 
 arm ; a flake of plaster was shaken off her fore- 
 head by this rash action. The old crone was 
 beginning a reference to the Slavonic principali- 
 ties and the necessity of orthodox propaganda 
 on the Danube, but, meeting with no response, 
 she subsided with a hiss. In reality they talked 
 more about Home than anything else ; even 
 the ' Queen of the Wasps ' described how hands 
 had once crept about her, and how she had seen 
 them, and put her own ring on one of them. 
 It was certainly a triumph for Irina : even if 
 Litvinov had paid more attention to what was 
 being said around him, he still could not have 
 gleaned one single sincere saying, one single 
 clever thought, one single new fact from all 
 their disconnected and lifeless babble. Even 
 in their cries and exclamations, there was no 
 note of real feeling, in their slander no real heat. 
 Only at rare intervals under the mask of assumed 
 patriotic indignation, or of assumed contempt 
 and indifference, the dread of possible losses 
 
 178 
 
SMOKE 
 
 could be heard in a plaintive whimper, and a 
 few names, which will not be forgotten by 
 posterity, were pronounced with gnashing of 
 teeth . . . And not a drop of living water under 
 all this noise and wrangle ! What stale, what 
 unprofitable nonsense, what wretched trivialities 
 were absorbing all these heads and hearts, and 
 not for that one evening, not in society only, 
 but at home too, every hour and every day, in 
 all the depth and breadth of their existence ! 
 And what ignorance, when all is said ! What 
 lack of understanding of all on which human 
 life is built, all by which life is made beautiful ! 
 
 On parting from Litvinov, Irina again pressed 
 his hand and whispered significantly, 'Well? 
 Are you pleased ? Have you seen enough ? 
 Do you like it ? ' He made her no reply, but 
 merely bowed low in silence. 
 
 Left alone with her husband, Irina was just 
 going to her bedroom. . . . He stopped her. 
 
 l Je vous ai beaucoup admiree ce soz'r, madame] 
 he observed, smoking a cigarette, and leaning 
 against the mantelpiece, <vous vous etes parfaite- 
 ment moquee de nous tons! 
 
 1 Pas plus cette fois-ci que les autresj she 
 answered indifferently. 
 
 1 How do you mean me to understand you ? ' 
 asked Ratmirov. 
 
 ' As you like.' 
 
 179 
 
SMOKE 
 
 * Hm. Cestclair! Ratmirov warily, like a cat, 
 knocked off the ash of the cigarette with the 
 tip of the long nail of his little finger. ' Oh, by 
 the way ! This new friend of yours — what the 
 dickens is his name ? — Mr. Litvinov — doubtless 
 enjoys the reputation of a very clever man.' 
 
 At the name of Litvinov, Irina turned 
 quickly round. 
 
 1 What do you mean to say ? ' 
 The general smiled. 
 
 * He keeps very quiet . . . one can see he 's 
 afraid of compromising himself/ 
 
 Irina too smiled ; it was a very different smile 
 from her husband's. 
 
 1 Better keep quiet than talk ... as some 
 people talk.' 
 
 1 AttrapH* answered Ratmirov with feigned 
 submissiveness. 'Joking apart, he has a very 
 interesting face. Such a . . . concentrated 
 expression . . . and his whole bearing. . . . 
 Yes. . . .' The general straightened his cravat, 
 and bending his head stared at his own mous- 
 tache. ■ He 's a republican, I imagine, of the same 
 sort as your other friend, Mr. Potugin ; that 's 
 another of your clever fellows who are dumb/ 
 
 Irina's brows were slowly raised above her 
 wide open clear eyes, while her lips were 
 tightly pressed together and faintly curved. 
 
 ' What 's your object in saying that, Valerian 
 
 1 80 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Vladimiritch,' she remarked, as though sympa- 
 thetically. ' You are wasting your arrows on the 
 empty air. . . . We are not in Russia, and 
 there is no one to hear you.' 
 
 Ratmirov was stung. 
 
 1 That 's not merely my opinion, Irina Pav- 
 lovna,' he began in a voice suddenly guttural ; 
 'other people too notice that that gentleman 
 has the air of a conspirator.' 
 
 1 Really ? who are these other people ? ' 
 
 1 Well, Boris for instance ' 
 
 1 What ? was it necessary for him too to ex- 
 press his opinion ? ' 
 
 Irina shrugged her shoulders as though 
 shrinking from the cold, and slowly passed the 
 tips of her fingers over them. 
 
 ' Him . . . yes, him. Allow me to remark, 
 Irina Pavlovna, that you seem angry ; and you 
 know if one is angry ' 
 
 ' Am I angry ? Oh, what for ? ' 
 
 * I don't know ; possibly you have been dis- 
 agreeably affected by the observation I per- 
 mitted myself to make in reference to ' 
 
 Ratmirov stammered. 
 
 'In reference to?' Irina repeated interroga- 
 tively. ' Ah, if you please, no irony, and make 
 haste. I 'm tired and sleepy.' 
 
 She took a candle from the table. c In 
 
 reference to ? ' 
 
 181 
 
SMOKE 
 
 1 Well, in reference to this same Mr. Litvinov; 
 since there 's no doubt now that you take a 
 great interest in him.' 
 
 Irina lifted the hand in which she was hold- 
 ing the candlestick, till the flame was brought on 
 a level with her husband's face, and attentively, 
 almost with curiosity, looking him straight in 
 the face, she suddenly burst into laughter, 
 
 ' What is it ? ' asked Ratmirov scowling. 
 
 Irina went on laughing. 
 
 'Well, what is it?' he repeated, and he 
 stamped his foot. 
 
 He felt insulted, wounded, and at the same 
 time against his will he was impressed by the 
 beauty of this woman, standing so lightly and 
 boldly before him . . . she was tormenting him. 
 He saw everything, all her charms — even the 
 pink reflection of the delicate nails on her 
 slender finger-tips, as they tightly clasped the 
 dark bronze of the heavy candlestick — even 
 that did not escape him . . . while" the insult 
 cut deeper and deeper into his heart. And still 
 Irina laughed. 
 
 ' What ? you ? you jealous ? ' she brought out 
 at last, and turning her back on her husband 
 she went out of the room. ' He 's jealous ! ' 
 he heard outside the door, and again came the 
 sound of her laugh. 
 
 Ratmirov looked moodily after his wife ; he 
 
 182 
 
SMOKE 
 
 could not even then help noticing the bewitch- 
 ing grace of her figure, her movements, and 
 with a violent blow, crushing the cigarette on 
 the marble slab of the mantelpiece, he flung it 
 to a distance. His cheeks had suddenly turned 
 white, a spasm passed over the lower half of his 
 face, and with a dull animal stare his eyes 
 strayed about the floor, as though in search of 
 something. . . . Every semblance of refinement 
 had vanished from his face. Such an expres- 
 sion it must have worn when he was flogging 
 the White Russian peasants. 
 
 Litvinov had gone home to his rooms, and 
 sitting down to the table he had buried his 
 head in both hands, and remained a long while 
 without stirring. He got up at last, opened a 
 box, and taking out a pocket-book, he drew 
 out of an inner pocket a photograph of Tatyana. 
 Her face gazed out mournfully at him, looking 
 ugly and old, as photographs usually do. 
 Litvinov's betrothed was a girl of Great 
 Russian blood, a blonde, rather plump, and 
 with the features of her face rather heavy, but 
 with a wonderful expression of kindness and 
 goodness in her intelligent, clear brown eyes, 
 with a serene, white brow, on which it seemed 
 as though a sunbeam always rested. For a 
 long time Litvinov did not take his eyes from 
 the photograph, then he pushed it gently away 
 
 183 
 
SMOKE 
 
 and again clutched his head in both hands, 
 'All is at an end!' he whispered at last, 'Irinal 
 Irina ! ' 
 
 Only now, only at that instant, he realised that 
 he was irrevocably, senselessly, in love with her, 
 that he had loved her since the very day of 
 that first meeting with her at the Old Castle, 
 that he had never ceased to love her. And yet 
 how astounded, how incredulous, how scornful, 
 he would have been, had he been told so a few 
 hours back ! 
 
 'But Tanya, Tanya, my God! Tanya! Tanya!' 
 he repeated in contrition ; while Irina's shape 
 fairly rose before his eyes in her black almost 
 funereal garb, with the radiant calm of victory 
 on her marble white face. 
 
 fS4 
 
XVI 
 
 LlTVINOV did not sleep all night, and did not 
 undress. He was very miserable. As an 
 honest and straightforward man, he realised 
 the force of obligations, the sacredness of duty, 
 and would have been ashamed of any double 
 dealing with himself, his weakness, his fault. 
 At first he was overcome by apathy ; it was long 
 before he could throw off the gloomy burden of 
 a single half-conscious, obscure sensation ; then 
 terror took possession of him at the thought 
 that the future, his almost conquered future, had 
 slipped back into the darkness, that his home, 
 the solidly-built home he had only just raised, 
 was suddenly tottering about him. . . . 
 
 He began reproaching himself without mercy, 
 but at once checked his own vehemence. 
 ' What feebleness ! ' he thought. ' It 's no time 
 for self-reproach and cowardice ; now I must act. 
 Tanya is my betrothed, she has faith in my love, 
 my honour, we are bound together for life, and 
 cannot, must not, be put asunder/ He vividly 
 
 185 
 
SMOKE 
 
 pictured to himself all Tanya's qualities, men- 
 tally he picked them out and reckoned them 
 up ; he was trying to call up feeling and tender- 
 ness in himself. ' One thing 's left for me,' he 
 thought again, ' to run away, to run away 
 directly, without waiting for her arrival, to 
 hasten to meet her ; whether I suffer, whether 
 I am wretched with Tanya — that 's not likely — 
 but in any case to think of that, to take that 
 into consideration is useless ; I must do my 
 duty, if I die for it ! But you have no right to 
 deceive her/ whispered another voice within him. 
 ' You have no right to hide from her the change 
 in your feelings ; it may be that when she 
 knows you love another woman, she will not be 
 willing to become your wife ? Rubbish ! rub- 
 bish ! ' he answered, ' that 's all sophistry, 
 shameful double-dealing, deceitful conscienti- 
 ousness ; I have no right not to keep my word, 
 that 's the thing. Well, so be it . . . Then I must 
 go away from here, without seeing the other. . . .' 
 But at that point Litvinov's heart throbbed 
 with anguish, he turned cold, physically cold, a 
 momentary shiver passed over him, his teeth 
 chattered weakly. He stretched and yawned, 
 as though he were in a fever. Without dwell- 
 ing longer on his last thought, choking back 
 that thought, turning away from it, he set 
 himself to marvelling and wondering in per- 
 
 186 
 
SMOKE 
 
 plexity how he could again . . . again love 
 that corrupt worldly creature, all of whose 
 surroundings were so hateful, so repulsive to 
 him. He tried to put to himself the question : 
 'What nonsense, do you really love her?' and 
 could only wring his hands in despair. He was 
 still marvelling and wondering, and suddenly 
 there rose up before his eyes, as though from 
 a soft fragrant mist, a seductive shape, shining 
 eyelashes were lifted, and softly and irre- 
 sistibly the marvellous eyes pierced him to the 
 heart and a voice was singing with sweetness 
 in his ears, and resplendent shoulders, the 
 shoulders of a young queen, were breathing 
 with voluptuous freshness and warmth. . . . 
 
 Towards morning a determination was at 
 last fully formed in Litvinov's mind. He 
 decided to set off that day to meet Tatyana, and 
 seeing Irina for the last time, to tell her, since 
 there was nothing else for it, the whole truth, 
 and to part from her for ever. 
 
 He set in order and packed his things, waited 
 till twelve o'clock, and started to go to her. 
 But at the sight of her half-curtained windows 
 Litvinov's heart fairly failed him ... he could 
 not summon up courage to enter the hotel. He 
 walked once or twice up and down Lichtenthaler 
 Allee. 4 A very good day to Mr. Litvinov ! ' 
 
 187 
 
SMOKE 
 
 he suddenly heard an ironical voice call from 
 the top of a swiftly-moving * dogcart.' Litvinov 
 raised his eyes and saw General Ratmirov 
 sitting beside Prince M., a well-known sports- 
 man and fancier of English carriages and 
 horses. The prince was driving, the general 
 was leaning over on one side, grinning, while 
 he lifted his hat high above his head. Lit- 
 vinov bowed to him, and at the same instant, 
 as though he were obeying a secret command, 
 he set off at a run towards Irina's. 
 
 She was at home. He sent up his name ; he 
 was at once received. When he went in, she 
 was standing in the middle of the room. She 
 was wearing a morning blouse with wide open 
 sleeves ; her face, pale as the day before, but 
 not fresh as it had been then, expressed weari- 
 ness ; the languid smile with which she welcomed 
 her visitor emphasised that expression even 
 more clearly. She held out her hand to him in 
 a friendly way, but absent-mindedly. 
 
 * Thanks for coming/ she began in a plaintive 
 voice, and she sank into a low chair. ' I am 
 not very well this morning ; I spent a bad 
 night. Well, what have you to say about last 
 night ? Wasn't I right ? ' 
 
 Litvinov sat down. 
 
 ' I have come to you, Irina Pavlovna/ he 
 began. 
 
 188 
 
SMOKE 
 
 She instantly sat up and turned round ; hei 
 eyes simply fastened upon Litvinov. 
 
 ' What is it/ she cried. ' You 're pale as death, 
 you 're ill. What 's the matter with you ? ' 
 
 Litvinov was confused. 
 
 * With me, Irina Pavlovna ? ' 
 
 * Have you had bad news ? Some misfortune 
 has happened, tell me, tell me ' 
 
 Litvinov in his turn looked at Irina. 
 
 1 1 have had no bad news/ he brought out 
 not without effort, ' but a misfortune has certainly 
 happened, a great misfortune . . . and it has 
 brought me to you.' 
 
 4 A misfortune ? What is it ? 
 
 'Why . . . that ' 
 
 Litvinov tried to go on . . . and could not. 
 He only pinched his hands together so that 
 his fingers cracked. Irina was bending forward 
 and seemed turned to stone. 
 
 * Oh ! I love you ! ' broke at last with a low 
 groan from Litvinov's breast, and he turned 
 away, as though he would hide his face. 
 
 1 What, Grigory Mihalitch, you ' . . . Irina 
 too could not finish her sentence, and leaning 
 back in her chair, she put both her hands to her 
 eyes. 'You . . . love me/ 
 
 1 Yes . . . yes . . . yes/ he repeated with 
 bitterness, turning his head further and further 
 away. 
 
 189 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Everything was silent in the room ; a butter- 
 fly that had flown in was fluttering its wings 
 and struggling between the curtain and the 
 window. 
 
 The first to speak was Litvinov. 
 
 I That, Irina Pavlovna/ he began, * that is the 
 misfortune, which . . . has befallen me, which 
 I ought to have foreseen and avoided, if I had 
 not now just as in the Moscow days been 
 carried off my feet at once. It seems fate is 
 pleased to force me once again through you 
 to suffer tortures, which one would have thought 
 should not be repeated again. ... It was 
 not without cause I struggled. ... I tried to 
 struggle ; but of course there 's no escaping 
 one's fate. And I tell you all this to put an 
 end at once to this . . . this tragic farce/ he 
 added with a fresh outburst of shame and 
 bitterness. 
 
 Litvinov was silent again ; the butterfly was 
 struggling and fluttering as before. Irina did not 
 take her hands from her face. 
 
 ■ And you are not mistaken ? ' her whisper 
 sounded from under those white, bloodless- 
 looking hands. 
 
 I I am not mistaken/ answered Litvinov in a 
 colourless voice. ( I love you, as I have never 
 loved any one but you. I am not going to 
 reproach you ; that would be too foolish ; I 'm 
 
 190 
 
SMOKE 
 
 not going to tell you that perhaps nothing of 
 all this would have happened if you yourself 
 had behaved differently with me. . . . Of course, 
 I alone am to blame, my self-confidence has 
 been my ruin ; I am deservedly punished, and 
 you could not have anticipated it. Of course 
 you did not consider that it would have been 
 far less dangerous for me if you had not been 
 so keenly alive to your wrong . . . your sup- 
 posed wrong to me ; and had not wished to 
 make up for it . . . but what's done can't be 
 undone. I only wanted to make clear my 
 position to you ; it 's hard enough as it is. . . . 
 But at least there will be, as you say, no mis- 
 understanding, while the openness of my con- 
 fession will soften, I hope, the feeling of offence 
 which you cannot but feel.' 
 
 Litvinov spoke without raising his eyes, but 
 even if he had glanced at Irina, he could not 
 have seen what was passing in her face, as she 
 still as before kept her hands over her eyes. 
 But what was passing over her face meanwhile 
 would probably have astounded him ; both 
 alarm and delight were apparent on it, and a 
 kind of blissful helplessness and agitation ; her 
 eyes hardly glimmered under their overhanging 
 lids, and her slow, broken breathing was chill 
 upon her lips, that were parted as though with 
 thirst ... 
 
 №1 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Litvinov was silent, waiting for a response, 
 some sound. . . . Nothing ! 
 
 'There is one thing left for me/ he began 
 again, ' to go away ; I have come to say good- 
 bye to you/ 
 
 Irina slowly dropped her hands on to her 
 knees. 
 
 * But I remember, Grigory Mihalitch/ she 
 began ; ' that . . . that person of whom you 
 spoke to me, she was to have come here ? You 
 are expecting her ? ' 
 
 1 Yes ; but I shall write to her . . . she will 
 stop somewhere on the way ... at Heidelberg, 
 for instance.' 
 
 ' Ah ! Heidelberg. . . . Yes. ... It 's nice 
 there. . . . But all this must upset your plans. 
 Are you perfectly certain, Grigory Mihalitch, 
 that you are not exaggerating, et que ce nest 
 pas une fausse alar me ? ' 
 
 Irina spoke softly, almost coldly, with short 
 pauses, looking away towards the window. 
 Litvinov made no answer to her last question. 
 
 1 Only, why did you talk of offence ? ' she went 
 on. ' I am not offended ... oh, no ! and if one 
 or other of us is to blame, in any case it 's not 
 you ; not you alone. . . . Remember our last 
 conversations, and you will be convinced that 
 it 's not you who are to blame.' 
 
 ' I have never doubted your magnanimity, 
 
 192 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Litvinov muttered between his teeth, ' but I 
 should like to know, do you approve of my 
 intention ? ' 
 
 1 To go away ? ' 
 
 ' Yes/ 
 
 Irina continued to look away. 
 
 ' At the first moment, your intention struck 
 me as premature. . . . but now I have thought 
 over what you have said . . . and if you are 
 really not mistaken, then I suppose that you 
 ought to go away. It will be better so . . 
 better for us both.' 
 
 Irina's voice had grown lower and lower, and 
 her words too came more and more slowly. 
 
 1 General Ratmirov, certainly, might notice,' 
 Litvinov was beginning. . . . 
 
 Irina's eyes dropped again, and something 
 strange quivered about her lips, quivered and 
 died away. 
 
 ' No ; you did not understand me/ she inter- 
 rupted him. ' I was not thinking of my husband. 
 Why should I ? And there is nothing to notice. 
 But I repeat, separation is necessary for us 
 both/ 
 
 Litvinov picked up his hat, which had fallen 
 on the ground. 
 
 ' Everything is over/ he thought, ' I must go. 
 And so it only remains for me to say good-bye 
 to you,. Irina Pavlovna/ he said aloud, and 
 
 193 n 
 
SMOKE 
 
 suddenly felt a pang, as though he were pre- 
 paring to pronounce his own sentence on him- 
 self. ' It only remains for me to hope that you 
 will not remember evil against me, and . . . and 
 that if we ever ' 
 
 Irina again cut him short. 
 
 'Wait a little, Grigory Mihalitch, don't say 
 good-bye to me yet. That would be too 
 hurried.' 
 
 Something wavered in Litvinov, but the 
 burning pain broke out again and with re- 
 doubled violence in his heart. 
 
 ' But I can't stay,' he cried. ' What for ? 
 Why prolong this torture ? ' 
 
 ' Don't say good-bye to me yet/ repeated 
 Irina. ' I must see you once more. . . . An- 
 other such dumb parting as in Moscow again — 
 no, I don't want that. You can go now, but 
 you must promise me, give me your word of 
 honour that you won't go away without seeing 
 me once more/ 
 
 1 You wish that ? ' 
 
 ' I insist on it. If you go away without say- 
 ing good-bye to me, I shall never forgive it, do 
 you hear, never ! Strange ! ' she added as 
 though to herself, ' I cannot persuade myself 
 that I am in Baden. ... I keep feeling that I 
 am in Moscow. . . . Go now.' 
 
 Litvinov got up. 
 
 194 
 
SMOKE 
 
 * Irina Pavlovna,' he said, ' give me your hand.' 
 
 Irina shook her head. 
 
 ' I told you that I don't want to say good- 
 bye to you. . . . 
 
 1 1 don't ask it for that.' 
 
 Irina was about to stretch out her hand, but 
 she glanced at Litvinov for the first time since 
 his avowal, and drew it back. 
 
 ' No, no,' she whispered, ' I will not give you 
 my hand. No . . . no. Go now/ 
 
 Litvinov bowed and went away. He could 
 not tell why Irina had refused him that last 
 friendly handshake. , . He could not know 
 what she feared. 
 
 He went away, and Irina again sank into the 
 armchair and again covered her face. 
 
 «95 
 
XVII 
 
 LlTVlNOV did not return home ; he went up 
 to the hills, and getting into a thick copse, he 
 flung himself face d: irds on the earth, and 
 
 lay there about an hour. He did not suffer 
 tortures, did not weep ; he sank into a kind of 
 heavy, oppressive stupor. Never had he felt 
 anything like it; it was an insufferably ach » 
 and gnawing sensation of emptiness, emptiness 
 in himself, his surroundings, everywhere. . . . 
 He thought neither of Irina nor of Tatyana. 
 He felt one thing only : a blow had fallen and 
 life was sundered like a cord, and all of him 
 s being drawn along in the clutches of some- 
 thing chill and unfamiliar. Sometimes it seemed 
 to him that a whirlwind had swooped down 
 upon him, and he had the sensation of its swift 
 whirling round and the irregular beating of its 
 dark wings. But his resolution did not waver. 
 To remain in Baden . . .that could not even 
 be considered. In thought he had already gone, 
 he was already sitting in the rattling, snorting 
 
SMOKE 
 
 о, hurrying, hurrying into the dumb, dead 
 :ance. He got up at last, and leaning his 
 head against a tree, stayed motionless ; only 
 with one hand, he all unconsciously snatched 
 and swung in rhythm the topmost frond of a 
 fern. The sound of approaching foots beps the? 
 
 out of his stupor : two charcoal-burr 
 
 were making their way down the steep path 
 
 with large sacks on their shoulder-. 'It 
 
 -red Li: . and he followed the 
 
 : coal-burners to the town, turned into the 
 
 railway station, and sent off a telegram to 
 
 Tatyana's umf Kapitolina Markovna In this 
 
 telegram he informed her of his immediate 
 
 irture, and appointed as a meeting-place, 
 
 .- : s hotel in Heic 
 Make an end, make an end at once/ be 
 thought; ' it : s useless patting it off till to- 
 morrow.' Then he we I . the 
 saloon, stared with dull curios ty at the faces 
 of two or three gamblers got a back of 
 
 head in the d :e, notice 
 
 К : irreproachable с: ace o:' :in, 
 
 and after i г the с ^de, 
 
 he set off deliber jrto i -: He was not 
 bo her through the force of sudden, in- 
 - -intary temptation wbeo he made up 
 mind to go away he also made up his mind 
 to keep his word and see her once m 
 
 -•;■ 
 
SMOKE 
 
 He went into the hotel unobserved by the 
 porter, ascended the staircase, not meeting any 
 one, and without knocking at the door, he 
 mechanically pushed it open and went into 
 the room. 
 
 In the room, in the same armchair, in the 
 same dress, in precisely the same attitude as 
 three hours before, was sitting Irina. ... It 
 was obvious that she had not moved from the 
 place, had not stirred all that time. She slowly 
 raised her head, and seeing Litvinov, she 
 trembled all over and clutched the arm of the 
 chair. ' You frightened me/ she whispered. 
 
 Litvinov looked at her with speechless be- 
 wilderment. The expression of her face, her 
 lustreless eyes, astounded him. 
 
 Irina gave a forced smile and smoothed her 
 ruffled hair. ' Never mind. ... I really don't 
 know. ... I think I must have fallen asleep 
 here.' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, Irina Pavlovna/ began 
 Litvinov. ' I came in unannounced. ... I 
 wanted to do what you thought fit to require of 
 me. So as I am going away to-day ' 
 
 I To-day ? But I thought you told me that 
 you meant first to write a letter ' 
 
 I I have sent a telegram.' 
 
 ' Ah ! you found it necessary to make haste. 
 And when are you going ? What time, I mean?' 
 
 198 
 
SMOKE 
 
 * At seven o'clock this evening.' 
 
 1 Ah ! at seven o'clock ! And you have come 
 to say good-bye ? ' 
 
 1 Yes, Irina Pavlovna, to say good-bye.' 
 
 Irina was silent for a little. 
 
 1 I ought to thank you, Grigory Mihalitch, it 
 was probably not easy for you to come here/ 
 
 ' No, Irina Pavlovna, it was anything but 
 easy.' 
 
 ' Life is not generally easy, Grigory Mihalitch ; 
 what do you think about it ? ' 
 
 ■ It depends, Irina Pavlovna.' 
 
 Irina was silent again for a little ; she seemed 
 sunk in thought. 
 
 ' You have proved your affection for me by 
 coming,' she said at last, ' I thank you. And I 
 fully approve of your decision to put an end to 
 everything as soon as possible . . . because any 
 delay . . . because . . . because I, even I whom 
 you have reproached as a flirt, called an actress 
 . . . that, I think, was what you called me ? . . .' 
 
 Irina got up swiftly, and, sitting down in 
 another chair, stooped down and pressed her 
 face and arms on the edge of the table. 
 
 1 Because I love you . . .' she whispered be- 
 tween her clasped fingers. 
 
 Litvinov staggered, as though some one had 
 dealt him a blow in the chest. Irina turned her 
 head dejectedly away from him, as though she 
 
 199 
 
SMOKE 
 
 in her turn wanted to hide her face from him, 
 and laid it down on the table. 
 
 1 Yes, I love you ... I love you . . . and you 
 know it.' 
 
 ' 1 ? I know it ? ' Litvinov said at last ; ' I ? ' 
 
 1 Well, now you see/ Irina went on, * that you 
 certainly must go, that delay 's impossible . . . 
 both for you, and for me delay's impossible. 
 It's dangerous, it's terrible . . . good-bye!' 
 she added, rising impulsively from her chair, 
 1 good-bye ! ' 
 
 She took a few steps in the direction of the 
 door of her boudoir, and putting her hand be- 
 hind her back, made a hurried movement in the 
 air, as though she would find and press the hand 
 of Litvinov ; but he stood like a block of wood, 
 at a distance . . . Once more she said, ' Good- 
 bye, forget me,' and without looking round she 
 rushed away. 
 
 Litvinov remained alone, and yet still could 
 not come to himself. He recovered himself at 
 last, went quickly to the boudoir door, uttered 
 Irina's name once, twice, three times . . . He 
 had already his hand on the lock . . . From 
 the hotel stairs rose the sound of Ratmirov's 
 sonorous voice. 
 
 Litvinov pulled down his hat over his eyes, 
 and went out on to the staircase. The elegant 
 general was standing before the Swiss porter's 
 
 200 
 
SMOKE 
 
 box and explaining to him in bad German that 
 he wanted a hired carriage for the whole of the 
 next day. On catching sight of Litvinov, he 
 again lifted his hat unnaturally high, and again 
 wished him ' a very good-day' ; he was obviously 
 jeering at him, but Litvinov had no thoughts for 
 that. He hardly responded to Ratmirov's bow, 
 and, making his way to his lodging, he stood 
 still before his already packed and closed trunk. 
 His head was turning round and his heart 
 vibrating like a harp-string. What was to be 
 done now ? And could he have foreseen this ? 
 Yes, he had foreseen it, however unlikely it 
 seemed. It had stunned him like a clap of 
 thunder, yet he had foreseen it, though he had 
 not courage even to acknowledge it. Besides he 
 knew nothing now for certain. Everything was 
 confusion and turmoil within him ; he had lost 
 the thread of his own thoughts. He remem- 
 bered Moscow, he remembered how then too 
 1 it ' had come upon him like a sudden 
 tempest. He was breathless ; rapture, but a 
 rapture comfortless and hopeless, oppressed and 
 tore his heart. For nothing in the world would 
 he have consented that the words uttered by 
 Irina should not have actually been uttered by 
 
 her But then ? those words could not for 
 
 all that change the resolution he had taken. 
 As before, it did not waver ; it stood firm like 
 
 20 1 
 
SMOKE 
 
 an anchor. Litvinov had lost the thread of his 
 own thoughts . . . yes ; but his will still re- 
 mained to him, and he disposed of himself as of 
 another man dependent on him. He rang for 
 the waiter, asked him for the bill, bespoke a 
 place in the evening omnibus ; designedly he 
 cut himself off all paths of retreat. ( If I die for 
 it after ! ' he declared, as he had in the previous 
 sleepless night ; that phrase seemed especially 
 to his taste. ' Then even if I die for it ! ' he re- 
 peated, walking slowly up and down the room, 
 and only at rare intervals, unconsciously, he 
 shut his eyes and held his breath, while those 
 words, those words of Irina's forced their way 
 into his soul, and set it aflame. • It seems you 
 won't love twice/ he thought ; ' another life 
 came to you, you let it come into yours — never to 
 be rid of that poison to the end, you will never 
 break those bonds ! Yes ; but what does that 
 prove ? Happiness ? ... Is it possible ? You 
 love her, granted . . . and she . . . she loves 
 you . . .' 
 
 But at this point again he had to pull himself 
 up. As a traveller on a dark night, seeing before 
 him a light, and afraid of losing the path, never 
 for an instant takes his eyes off it, so Litvinov 
 continually bent all the force of his attention on 
 a single point, a single aim. To reach his be- 
 trothed, and not precisely even his betrothed (he 
 
 202 
 
SMOKE 
 
 was trying not to think of her) but to reach 
 a room in the Heidelberg hotel, that was what 
 stood immovably before him, a guiding light 
 What would be later, he did not know, nor did 
 he want to know . . One thing was beyond 
 doubt, he would not come back. ' If I die 
 first ! ' he repeated for the tenth time, and he 
 glanced at his watch. 
 
 A quarter-past six ! How long still to wait ! 
 He paced once more up and down. The sun 
 was nearly setting, the sky was crimson above 
 the trees, and the pink flush of twilight lay on 
 the narrow windows of his darkening room. 
 Suddenly Litvinov fancied the door had been 
 opened quickly and softly behind him and as 
 quickly closed again . . . He turned round ; at 
 the door, muffled in a dark cloak, was standing 
 a woman . . . 
 
 ' Irina, ' he cried, and clapped his hands to- 
 gether in amazement . . . She raised her head 
 and fell upon his breast. 
 
 Two hours later he was sitting in his room on 
 the sofa. His box stood in the corner, open 
 and empty, and on the table in the midst of 
 things flung about in disorder, lay a letter from 
 Tatyana, just received by him. She wrote to 
 him that she had decided to hasten her departure 
 from Dresden, since her aunt's health was com- 
 pletely restored, and that if nothing happened 
 
 203 
 
SMOKE 
 
 to delay them, they would both be in Baden the 
 following day at twelve o'clock, and hoped that 
 he would come to meet them at the station. 
 Apartments had already been taken for them 
 by Litvinov in the same hotel in which he was 
 staying. 
 
 The same evening he sent a note to Irina, and 
 the following morning he received a reply from 
 her. ' Sooner or later,' she wrote, ' it must have 
 been. I tell you again what I said yesterday : 
 my life is in your hands, do with me what you 
 will. I do not want to hamper your freedom, 
 but let me say, that if necessary, I will throw 
 up everything, and follow you to the ends of 
 the earth. We shall see each other to-morrow, 
 of course. — Your Irina.' 
 
 The last two words were written in a large, 
 bold, resolute hand.. 
 
 204 
 
XVIII 
 
 Among the persons assembled on the 1 8th of 
 August at twelve o'clock on the platform at 
 the railway station was Litvinov. Not long 
 before, he had seen Irina : she was sitting in an 
 open carriage with her husband and another 
 gentleman, somewhat elderly. She caught 
 sight of Litvinov, and he perceived that some 
 obscure emotion flitted over her eyes ; but at 
 once she hid herself from him with her parasol. 
 A strange transformation had taken place in 
 him since the previous day — in his whole 
 appearance, his movements, the expression of 
 his face ; and indeed he felt himself a different 
 man. His self-confidence had vanished, and 
 his peace of mind had vanished too, and his 
 respect for himself; of his former spiritual con- 
 dition nothing was left. Recent ineffaceable 
 impressions obscured all the rest from him 
 Some sensation unknown before had come, 
 strong, sweet — and evil ; the mysterious guest 
 had made its way to the innermost shrine and 
 
 205 
 
SMOKE 
 
 taken possession and lain down in it, in silence, 
 but in all its magnitude, like the owner in a 
 new house. Litvinov was no longer ashamed, 
 he was afraid ; at the same time a desperate 
 hardihood had sprung up in him ; the captured, 
 the vanquished know well this mixture of oppos- 
 ing feelings ; the thief too knows something of 
 it after his first robbery. Litvinov had been 
 vanquished, vanquished suddenly . . . and what 
 had become of his honesty ? 
 
 The train was a few minutes late. Litvinov's 
 suspense passed into agonising torture; he could 
 not stop still in one place, and, pale all over, 
 moved about jostling in the crowd. ' My God,' 
 he thought, ' if I only had another twenty-four 
 hours ' . . . The first look at Tanya, the first look 
 of Tanya . . . that was what filled him with 
 terror . . . that was what he had to live through 
 directly . . . And afterwards ? Afterwards . . . 
 come, what may come ! . . He now made no 
 more resolutions, he could not answer for him- 
 self now. His phrase of yesterday flashed pain- 
 fully through his head . , . And this was how 
 he was meeting Tanya. . . . 
 
 A prolonged whistle sounded at last, a heavy 
 momentarily increasing rumble was heard, and, 
 slowly rolling round a bend in the line, the 
 train came into sight. The crowd hurried to 
 meet it, and Litvinov followed it, dragging his 
 
 206 
 
SMOKE 
 
 r feet like a condemned man. Faces, ladies' hats 
 began to appear out of the carriages, at one 
 window a white handkerchief gleamed. . . . 
 Kapitolina Markovna was waving to him. . . . 
 It was over ; she had caught sight of Litvinov 
 and he recognised her. The train stood still ; 
 Litvinov rushed to the carriage door, and 
 opened it ; Tatyana was standing near her aunt, 
 smiling brightly and holding out her hand. 
 
 He helped them both to get out, uttered a 
 few words of welcome, unfinished and confused, 
 and at once bustled about, began taking their 
 tickets, their travelling bags, and rugs, ran to 
 find a porter, called a fly ; other people were 
 bustling around them. He was glad of their 
 presence, their fuss, and loud talk. Tatyana 
 moved a little aside, and, still smiling, waited 
 calmly* for his hurried arrangements to be con- 
 cluded. Kapitolina Markovna, on the other 
 hand, could not keep still ; she could not be- 
 lieve that she was at last at Baden. 
 
 She suddenly cried, ' But the parasols ? 
 Tanya, where are our parasols ? ' all unconscious 
 that she was holding them fast under her arm ; 
 then she began taking a loud and prolonged 
 farewell of another lady with whom she had 
 made friends on the journey from Heidelberg 
 to Baden. This lady was no other than our 
 old friend Madame Suhantchikov. She had 
 
 207 
 
SMOKE 
 
 gone away to Heidelberg to do obeisance to 
 Gubaryov, and was returning with ' instructions.' 
 Kapitolina Markovna wore a rather peculiar 
 striped mantle and a round travelling hat of a 
 mushroom-shape, from under which her short 
 white hair fell in disorder ; short and thin, she 
 was flushed with travelling and kept talking 
 Russian in a shrill and penetrating voice. . . , 
 She was an object of attention at once. 
 
 Litvinov at last put her and Tatyana into a 
 fly, and placed himself opposite them. The 
 horses started. Then followed questionings, 
 renewed handshaking, interchanging of smiles 
 and welcomes. . . Litvinov breathed freely ; 
 the first moment had passed off satisfactorily. 
 Nothing in him, apparently, had struck or 
 bewildered Tanya ; she was smiling just as 
 brightly and confidently, she was blushing as 
 charmingly, and laughing as goodnaturedly. 
 He brought himself at last to take a look at her ; 
 not a stealthy cursory glance, but a direct steady 
 look at her, hitherto his own eyes had refused to 
 obey him. His heart throbbed with involuntary 
 emotion : the serene expression of that honest, 
 candid face gave him a pang of bitter reproach. 
 ' So you are here, poor girl,' he thought, ' you 
 whom I have so longed for, so urged to come, 
 with whom I had hoped to spend my life to the 
 end, you have come, you believed in me . . , 
 
 208 
 
SMOKE 
 
 while I . . . while I/ . . . Litvinov's head sank ; 
 but Kapitolina Markovna gave him no time for 
 musing ; she was pelting him with questions. 
 
 1 What is that building with columns ? Where 
 is it the gambling's done? Who is that 
 coming along ? Tanya, Tanya, look, what crino- 
 lines ! And who can that be ? I suppose they 
 are mostly French creatures from Paris here ? 
 Mercy, what a hat ! Can you get everything 
 here just as in Paris? But, I expect, every- 
 thing 's awfully dear, eh ? Ah, I 've made the 
 acquaintance of such a splendid, intellectual 
 woman ! You know her, Grigory Mihalitch ; 
 she told me she had met you at some 
 Russian 's, who 's a wonderfully intellectual per- 
 son too. She promised to come and see us. 
 How she does abuse all these aristocrats — it 's 
 simply superb ! What is that gentleman with 
 grey moustaches ? The Prussian king ? Tanya, 
 Tanya, look, that's the Prussian king. No? 
 not the Prussian king, the Dutch ambassa- 
 dor, did you say? I can't hear, the wheels 
 rattle so. Ah, what exquisite trees ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, exquisite, aunt,' Tanya assented, ' and 
 how green everything is here, how bright and 
 gay ! Isn't it, Grigory Mihalitch ? ' 
 
 1 Oh, very bright and gay ' ... he answered 
 through his teeth. 
 
 The carnage stopped at last before the hotel. 
 
 209 о 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Litvinov conducted the two travellers to the 
 room taken for them, promised to come back 
 within an hour, and went to his own room. 
 Directly he entered it, he fell again under the 
 spell which had been lulled for a while. Here, 
 in that room, since the day before, Irina reigned 
 supreme ; everything was eloquent of her, the 
 very air seemed to have kept secret traces of 
 her visit. . . . Again Litvinov felt himself her 
 slave. He drew out her handkerchief, hidden 
 in his bosom, pressed it to his lips, and burning 
 memories flowed in subtle poison through his 
 veins. He realised that there was no turning 
 back., no choosing now ; the sorrowful emotion 
 aroused in him by Tatyana melted away like 
 snow in the fire, and remorse died down . . . 
 died down so completely that his uneasiness 
 even was soothed, and the possibility — present 
 to his intellect — of hypocrisy no longer revolted 
 him. . . . Love, Irina's love, that was now his 
 truth, his bond, his conscience. . . . The sen- 
 sible Litvinov did not even ponder how to get 
 out of a position, the horror and hideousness of 
 which he bore lightly, as if it did not concern 
 him. 
 
 The hour had not yet passed when a waiter 
 came to Litvinov from the newly arrived ladies ; 
 they begged him to come to them in the public 
 drawing-room. He followed the messenger, 
 
 210 
 
SMOKE 
 
 and found them already dressed and in theii 
 hats. They both expressed a desire to go out 
 at once to see Baden, as the weather was so fine. 
 Kapitolina Markovna especially seemed burning 
 with impatience ; she was quite cast down when 
 she heard that the hour of the fashionable pro- 
 menade before the Konversation Hall had not 
 yet arrived. Litvinov gave her his arm, and the 
 ceremony of sight-seeing began. Tatyana walked 
 beside her aunt, looking about her with quiet 
 interest ; Kapitolina Markovna pursued her in- 
 quiries. The sight of the roulette, the dignified 
 croupiers, whom — had she met them in any 
 other place — she would certainly have taken for 
 ministers, the quickly moving scoops, the heaps 
 of gold and silver on the green cloth, the old 
 women gambling, and the painted cocottes 
 reduced Kapitolina Markovna to a sort of 
 speechless stupor ; she altogether forgot that 
 she ought to feel moral indignation, and could 
 only gaze and gaze, giving a start of surprise at 
 every new sight. . . . The whiz of the ivory 
 ball into the bottom of the roulette thrilled her 
 to the marrow of her bones, and it was only 
 when she was again in the open air that, draw- 
 ing a long breath, she recovered energy enough 
 to denounce games of chance as an immoral 
 invention of aristocracy. A fixed, unpleasant 
 smile had made its appearance on Litvinov's 
 
 211 
 
SMOKE 
 
 lips ; he had spoken abruptly and lazily, as 
 though he were annoyed or bored. . . . But now 
 he turned round towards Tatyana, and was 
 thrown into secret confusion ; she was looking 
 attentively at him, with an expression as though 
 she were asking herself what sort of an impres- 
 sion was being made on her. He made haste 
 to nod his head to her, she responded with the 
 same gesture, and again looked at him ques- 
 tioningly, with a sort of strained effort, as though 
 he were standing much further off than he 
 really was. Litvinov led his ladies away from 
 the Konversation Hall, and passing the ' Rus- 
 sian tree/ under which two Russian ladies 
 were already sitting, he went towards Lichten- 
 thaler Allee. He had hardly entered the avenue 
 when he saw Irina in the distance. 
 
 She was walking towards him with her hus- 
 band and Potugin. Litvinov turned white as a 
 sheet ; he did not slacken his pace, however, 
 and when he was on a level with her, he made 
 a bow without speaking. She too bowed to 
 him, politely, but coldly, and taking in Tatyana 
 in a rapid glance, she glided by. . . . Ratmirov 
 lifted his hat high, Potugin muttered something. 
 
 1 Who is that lady ? ' Tatyana asked suddenly. 
 Till that instant she had hardly opened her lips. 
 
 ' That lady ? ' repeated Litvinov, * that lady ? 
 That is a Madame Ratmirov.' 
 
 212 
 
SMOKE 
 
 4s she Russian?' 
 1 Yes.' 
 
 * Did you make her acquaintance here ? ' 
 ' No ; I have known her я long while.' 
 
 1 How beautiful she is !' 
 
 ' Did you notice her dress ? ' put in Kapito- 
 iina Markovna. ' Ten families might live for a 
 whole year on the cost of her lace alone. Was 
 that her husband with her?' she inquired 
 turning to Litvinov. 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 * He must be awfully rich, I suppose ? ' 
 
 ' Really I don't know ; I don't think so.' 
 
 1 What is his rank ? 
 
 1 He 's a general.' 
 
 1 What eyes she has ! ' said Tatyana, ' and 
 what a strange expression in them : pensive 
 and penetrating at the same time. ... I have 
 never seen such eyes.' 
 
 Litvinov made no answer ; he fancied that he 
 felt again Tatyana's questioning glance bent on 
 his face, but he was wrong, she was looking at 
 her own feet, at the sand of the path. 
 
 1 Mercy on us ! Who is that fright ? ' cried 
 Kapitolina Markovna suddenly, pointing to a 
 low jaunting-car in which a red-haired pug- 
 nosed woman lay lolling impudently, in an 
 extraordinarily gorgeous costume and lilac 
 stockings. 
 
 213 
 
SMOKE 
 
 * That fright ! why, that 's the celebrated 
 Ma'mselle Cora.' 
 
 'Who?' 
 
 ' Ma'mselle Cora ... a Parisian . . . noto- 
 riety.' 
 1 What? That pug? Why, but she's hideous !' 
 
 * It seems that 's no hindrance.' 
 Kapitolina Markovna could only lift her 
 
 hands in astonishment. 
 
 1 Well, this Baden of yours ! ' she brought out 
 at last. ' Can one sit down on a seat here ? 
 I 'm rather tired.' 
 
 1 Of course you can, Kapitolina Markovna. 
 . . . That 's what the seats are put here for.' 
 
 * Well, really, there 's no knowing ! But there 
 in Paris, I 'm told, there are seats, too, along 
 the boulevards ; but it 's not proper to sit on 
 them.' 
 
 Litvinov made no reply to Kapitolina Mar- 
 kovna ; only at that moment he realised that 
 two paces away was the very spot where he had 
 had that explanation with Irina, which had 
 decided everything. Then he recalled that he 
 had noticed a small rosy spot on her cheek 
 to-day. . . . 
 
 Kapitolina Markovna sank down on to the 
 seat, Tatyana sat down beside her. Litvinov 
 remained on the path ; between Tatyana and 
 him — or was it only his fancy? — something 
 
 214 
 
SMOKE 
 
 seemed to have happened . . . unconsciously 
 and gradually. 
 
 'Ah, she's a wretch, aperfect wretch!' Kapito- 
 lina Markovna declared, shaking her head 
 commiseratingly ; ' why, with the price of her 
 get-up, you could keep not ten, but a hundred 
 families. Did you see under her hat, on her 
 red hair, there were diamonds? Upon my 
 word, diamonds in the day-time ! ' 
 
 1 Her hair 's not red,' remarked Litvinov ; 
 1 she dyes it red — that 's the fashion now.' 
 
 Again Kapitolina Markovna could only lift 
 her hands ; she was positively dumbfounded. 
 
 ' Well/ she said at last, ' where we were, in 
 Dresden, things had not got to such a scandalous 
 pitch yet. It's a little further from Paris, any- 
 way, that's why. Don't you think that's it, 
 Grigory Mihalitch, eh ? ' 
 
 ■ Don't I think so?' answered Litvinov. While 
 he thought to himself, 'What on earth is she 
 talking of ? ' * I ? Of course ... of course. . . .' 
 
 But at this point the sound of slow footsteps 
 was heard, and Potugin approached the seat. 
 
 1 Good-morning, Grigory Mihalitch,' he began, 
 smiling and nodding. 
 
 Litvinov grasped him by the hand at once. 
 
 1 Good - morning, good - morning, Sozont 
 Ivanitch. I fancy I passed you just now with 
 , . .just now in the avenue?' 
 
 215 
 
SMOKE 
 
 ' Yes, it was me.' 
 
 Potugin bowed respectfully to the ladies 
 sitting on the seat. 
 
 ' Let me introduce you, Sozont Ivanitch. Old 
 friends and relatives of mine, who have only just 
 arrived in Baden. Potugin, Sozont Ivanitch, a 
 countryman of ours, also staying in Baden.' 
 
 Both ladies rose a little. Potugin renewed 
 his bows. 
 
 'It 's quite a levee here,' Kapitolina Markovna 
 began in a delicate voice ; the kind-hearted old 
 lady was easily intimidated, but she tried before 
 all to keep up her dignity. ' Every one regards 
 it as an agreeable duty to stay here/ 
 
 ' Baden is an agreeable place, certainly,' 
 answered Potugin, with a sidelong look at 
 Tatyana ; ' a very agreeable place, Baden.' 
 
 1 Yes ; but it 's really too aristocratic, so far 
 as I can form an opinion. You see we have 
 been staying all this time in Dresden ... a 
 very interesting town ; but here there 's posi- 
 tively a levee.' 
 
 1 She 's pleased with the word/ thought 
 Potugin. ' You are perfectly right in that 
 observation,' he said aloud ; ' but then the 
 scenery here is exquisite, and the site of 
 the place is something one cannot often find. 
 Your fellow-traveller especially is sure to 
 appreciate that. Are you not, madam ? ' he 
 
 216 
 
SMOKE 
 
 added, addressing himself this time directly to 
 Tatyana. 
 
 Tatyana raised her large, clear eyes to 
 Potugin. It seemed as though she were per- 
 plexed. What was wanted of her, and why 
 had Litvinov introduced her, on the first day 
 of her arrival, to this unknown man, who had, 
 though, a kind and clever face, and was looking 
 at her with cordial and friendly eyes. 
 
 * Yes/ she said at last, ' it 's very nice here. 
 'You ought to visit the old castle/ Potugin 
 
 went on ; * I especially advise a drive to ' 
 
 ' The Saxon Switzerland — — ' Kapitolina 
 Markovna was beginning. 
 
 The blare of wind instruments floated up 
 the avenue ; it was the Prussian military band 
 from Rastadt (in 1862 Rastadt was still an 
 allied fortress), beginning its weekly concert in 
 the pavilion. Kapitolina Markovna got up. 
 
 1 The music ! ' she said ; ' the music a la Con- 
 versation ! . . . We must go there. It 's four 
 o'clock now . . . isn't it ? Will the fashionable 
 world be there now ? ' 
 
 ' Yes/ answered Potugin : ' this is the most 
 fashionable time, and the music is excellent/ 
 
 1 Well, then, don't let us linger. Tanya, come 
 along.' 
 
 * You allow me to accompany you ? ' asked 
 Potugin, to Litvinov's considerable astonish- 
 
 217 
 
SMOKE 
 
 ment ; it was not possible for it even to enter 
 his head that Irina had sent Potugin. 
 
 Kapitolina Markovna simpered. 
 
 * With the greatest pleasure — M'sieu . . . 
 M'sieu ' 
 
 1 Potugin/ he murmured, and he offered her 
 his arm. 
 
 Litvinov gave his to Tatyana, and both 
 couples walked towards the Konversation Hall. 
 
 Potugin went on talking with Kapitolina 
 Markovna. But Litvinov walked without utter- 
 ing a word ; yet twice, without any cause, he 
 smiled, and faintly pressed Tatyana's arm 
 against his. There was a falsehood in those 
 demonstrations, to which she made no response, 
 and Litvinov was conscious of the lie. They 
 did not express a mutual confidence in the close 
 union of two souls given up to one another ; 
 they were a temporary substitute — for words 
 which he could not find. That unspoken some- 
 thing which was beginning between them grew 
 and gained strength. Once more Tatyana 
 looked attentively, almost intently, at him. 
 
 It was the same before the Konversation 
 Hall at the little table round which they all 
 four seated themselves, with this sole difference, 
 that, in the noisy bustle of the crowd, the clash 
 and roar of the music, Litvinov's silence seemed 
 more comprehensible. Kapitolina Markovna 
 
 218 
 
SMOKE 
 
 became quite excited ; Potugin hardly had 
 time to answer her questions, to satisfy her 
 curiosity. Luckily for him, there suddenly 
 appeared in the mass of moving figures the 
 lank person and everlastingly leaping eyes of 
 Madame Suhantchikov. Kapitolina Markovna 
 at once recognised her, invited her to their 
 table, made her sit down, and a hurricane of 
 words arose. 
 
 Potugin turned to Tatyana, and began a 
 conversation with her in a soft, subdued voice, 
 his face bent slightly down towards her with a 
 very friendly expression ; and she, to her own 
 surprise, answered him easily and freely ; she 
 was glad to talk with this stranger, this out- 
 sider, while Litvinov sat immovable as before, 
 with the same fixed and unpleasant smile on 
 his lips. 
 
 Dinner-time came at last. The music ceased, 
 the crowd thinned. Kapitolina Markovna 
 parted from Madame Suhantchikov on the 
 warmest terms. She had conceived an immense 
 respect for her, though she did say afterwards to 
 her niece, that ' this person is really too severe ; 
 but then she does know everything and every- 
 body ; and we must really get sewing-machines 
 directly the wedding festivities are over/ 
 Potugin took leave of them ; Litvinov conducted 
 his ladies home. As they were going into the 
 
 219 
 
SMOKE 
 
 hotel, he was handed a note ; he moved aside 
 and hurriedly tore open the envelope. On a 
 tiny scrap of vellum paper were the following 
 words, scribbled in pencil : ' Come to me this 
 evening at seven, for one minute, I entreat you. 
 — Irina/ Litvinov thrust the note into his 
 pocket, and, turning round, put on his smile 
 again ... to whom? why? Tatyana was stand- 
 ing with her back to him. They dined at the 
 common table of the hotel. Litvinov was 
 sitting between Kapitolina Markovna and 
 Tatyana, and he began talking, telling anec- 
 dotes and pouring out wine for himself and 
 the ladies, with a strange, sudden joviality. He 
 conducted himself in such a free and easy 
 manner, that a French infantry officer from 
 Strasbourg, sitting opposite, with a beard and 
 moustaches a la Napoleon III., thought it 
 admissible to join in the conversation, and 
 even wound up by a toast a la sante des belles 
 Muscovites ! After dinner, Litvinov escorted 
 the two ladies to their room, and after standing 
 a little while at the window with a scowl on his 
 face, he suddenly announced that he had to go 
 out for a short time on business, but would be 
 back without fail by the evening. Tatyana said 
 nothing ; she turned pale and dropped her eyes. 
 Kapitolina Markovna was in the habit of taking 
 a nap after dinner ; Tatyana was well aware 
 
 220 
 
SMOKE 
 
 that Litvinov knew of this habit of her aunt's ; 
 she had expected him to take advantage of it, 
 to remain with her, for he had not been alone 
 with her, nor spoken frankly to her, since her 
 arrival. And now he was going out ! What 
 was she to make of it ? And, indeed, his whole 
 behaviour all along. . . . 
 
 Litvinov withdrew hurriedly, not waiting for 
 remonstrances ; Kapitolina Markovna lay down 
 on the sofa, and with one or two sighs and 
 groans, fell into a serene sleep ; while Tatyana 
 moved away into a corner, and sat down in a 
 low chair, folding her arms tightly across he? 
 bosom. 
 
 221 
 
XIX 
 
 LlTVlNOV went quickly up the staircase of the 
 Hotel de Г Europe ; a little girl of thirteen, with a 
 sly little face of Kalmuck cast, who had appar- 
 ently been on the look-out for him, stopped him, 
 saying in Russian : ' Come this way, please ; 
 Irina Pavlovna will be here directly.' He looked 
 at her in perplexity. She smiled, repeated : 
 ' Come along, come along,' and led him to a 
 small room, facing Irina's bedroom, and filled 
 with travelling trunks and portmanteaus, then at 
 once disappeared, closing the door very softly. 
 Litvinov had not time to look about him, before 
 the door was quickly opened, and before him in 
 a pink ball-dress, with pearls in her hair and 
 on her neck, stood Irina. She simply rushed at 
 him, clutched him by both hands, and for a few 
 instants was speechless ; her eyes were shining, 
 and her bosom heaving as though she had run 
 up to a height. 
 
 4 1 could not receive . . . you there,' she began 
 in a hurried whisper: 'we are just going to a 
 
 222 
 
SMOKE 
 
 dinner party, but I wanted above everything to 
 see you. . . . That is your betrothed, I sup- 
 pose, with whom I met you to-day ? ' 
 
 1 Yes, that was my betrothed/ said Litvinov, 
 with emphasis on the word ' was.' 
 
 * And so I wanted to see you for one 
 minute, to tell you that you must consider 
 yourself absolutely free, that everything that 
 happened yesterday ought not to affect your 
 plans. . . .' 
 
 * Irina ! ' cried Litvinov, ' why are you saying 
 this ? ' He uttered these words in a loud voice. 
 There was the note in them of unbounded 
 passion. Irina involuntarily closed her eyes for 
 ii minute. 
 
 ' Oh, my sweet one ! ' she went on in a 
 whisper still more subdued, but with unre- 
 strained emotion, ' you don't know how I love 
 you, but yesterday I only paid my debt, I made 
 up for the past. . . . Ah ! I could not give you 
 back my youth, as I would, but I have laid no 
 obligations on you, I have exacted no promise 
 of any sort of you, my sweet ! Do what you 
 will, you are free as air, you are bound in no 
 way, understand that, understand that ! ' 
 
 1 But I can't live without you, Irina,' Litvinov 
 interrupted, in a whisper now ; * I am yours for 
 ever and always, since yesterday. ... I can only 
 breathe at your feet. . . .' 
 
 223 
 
SMOKE 
 
 He stooped down all in a tremble to kiss her 
 hands. Irina gazed at his bent head. 
 
 1 Then let me say/ she said, * that I too am 
 ready for anything, that I too will consider no 
 one, and nothing. As you decide, so it shall 
 be. I, too, am for ever yours . . . yours.' 
 
 Some one tapped warily at the door. Irina 
 stooped, whispered once more, ' Yours . . . 
 good-bye ! ' Litvinov felt her breath on his 
 hair, the touch of her lips. When he stood 
 up, she was no longer in the room, but her 
 dress was rustling in the corridor, and from the 
 distance came the voice of Ratmirov: 'Eh 
 bien ? Vous ne venez pas ? ' 
 
 Litvinov sat down on a high chest, and hid 
 his face. A feminine fragrance, fresh and deli- 
 cate, clung about him. . . . Irina had held his 
 hand in her hands. ' It 's too much, too much/ 
 was his thought. The little girl came into the 
 room, and smiling again in response to his 
 agitated glance, said : 
 
 ' Kindly come, now ' 
 
 He got up, and went out of the hotel. It 
 was no good even to think of returning home : 
 he had to regain his balance first. His heart 
 was beating heavily and unevenly ; the earth 
 seemed faintly reeling under his feet. Litvinov 
 turned again along the Lichtenthaler Allee. He 
 realised that the decisive moment had come, 
 
 224 
 
SMOKE 
 
 that to put it off longer, to dissemble, to turn 
 away, had become impossible, that an explana- 
 tion with Tatyana had become inevitable ; he 
 could imagine how she was sitting there, never 
 stirring, waiting for him ... he could foresee 
 what he would say to her; but how was he to act, 
 how was he to begin ? He had turned his back 
 on his upright, well-organised, orderly future ; 
 he knew that he was flinging himself headlong 
 into a gulf . . . but that did not confound him. 
 The thing was done, but how was he to face 
 his judge ? And if only his judge would come 
 to meet him — an angel with a flaming sword ; 
 that would be easier for a sinning heart . . . 
 instead of which he had himself to plunge the 
 knife in. . . . Infamous ! But to turn back, to 
 abandon that other, to take advantage of the 
 freedom offered him, recognised as his. . . . 
 No ! better to die ! No, he would have none of 
 such loathsome freedom . . . but would humble 
 himself in the dust, and might those eyes look 
 down on him with love. . . . 
 
 1 Grigory Mihalitch,' said a melancholy voice, 
 and some one's hand was laid heavily upon 
 Litvinov. 
 
 He looked round in some alarm and recog- 
 nised Potugin. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, Grigory Mihalitch,' began 
 the latter with his customary humility, ' I am 
 
 225 p 
 
SMOKE 
 
 disturbing you perhaps, but, seeing you in the 
 distance, I thought. . . . However if you 're not 
 in the humour. . . .' 
 
 1 On the contrary I 'm delighted/ Litvinov 
 muttered between his teeth. 
 
 Potugin walked beside him. 
 
 1 What a lovely evening ! ' he began, ' so 
 warm ! Have you been walking long ? ' 
 
 * No, not long/ 
 
 * Why do I ask though; I've just seen you 
 come out of the Hotel de Г Europe! 
 
 1 Then you Ve been following me ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' ' 
 
 1 You have something to say to me ? ' 
 
 * Yes/ Potugin repeated, hardly audibly. 
 Litvinov stopped and looked at his uninvited 
 
 companion. His face was pale, his eyes moved 
 restlessly ; his contorted features seemed over- 
 shadowed by old, long-standing grief. 
 
 1 What do you specially want to say to me?' 
 Litvinov said slowly, and he moved forward. 
 
 ' Ah, with your permission . . . directly. If 
 it 's all the same to you, let us sit down here 
 on this seat. It will be most convenient.' 
 
 1 Why, this is something mysterious/ Litvinov 
 declared, seating himself near him. ' You don't 
 seem quite yourself, Sozont Ivanitch/ 
 
 1 No ; I 'm all right ; and it 's nothing 
 mysterious either. I specially wanted to tell 
 
 226 
 
SMOKE 
 
 you . . . the impression made on me by your 
 betrothed . . . she is betrothed to you, I think ? 
 . . . well, anyway, by the girl to whom you in- 
 troduced me to-day. I must say that in the 
 course of my whole existence I have never met 
 a more attractive creature. A heart of gold, a 
 really angelic nature.' 
 
 Potugin uttered all these words with the same 
 bitter and mournful air, so that even Litvinov 
 could not help noticing the incongruity between 
 his expression of face and his speech. 
 
 ' You have formed a perfectly correct estimate 
 of Tatyana Petrovna,' Litvinov began, ' though 
 I can't help being surprised, first that you should 
 be aware of the relation in which I stand to 
 her ; and secondly, that you should have under- 
 stood her so quickly. She really has an angelic 
 nature ; but allow me to ask, did you want to 
 talk to me about this ? ' 
 
 'It's impossible not to understand her at 
 once/ Potugin replied quickly, as though evad- 
 ing the last question. ' One need only take one 
 look into her eyes. She deserves every possible 
 happiness on earth, and enviable is the fate of 
 the man whose lot it is to give her that hap- 
 piness ! One must hope he may prove worthy 
 of such a fate/ 
 
 Litvinov frowned slightly. 
 
 * Excuse me, Sozont Ivanitch/ he said, f I 
 
 227 
 
SMOKE 
 
 must confess our conversation strikes me as 
 altogether rather original. ... I should like to 
 know, does the hint contained in your words 
 refer to me ? ' 
 
 Potugin did not at once answer Litvinov ; he 
 was visibly struggling with himself. 
 
 ' Grigory Mihalitch/ he began at last, l either 
 I am completely mistaken in you, or you are 
 capable of hearing the truth, from whomsoever 
 it may come, and in however unattractive a 
 form it may present itself. I told you just now, 
 that I saw where you came from.' 
 
 ' Why, from the Hotel de I' Europe. What of 
 that ? ' 
 
 1 I know, of course, whom you have been to 
 see there.' 
 
 «What?' 
 
 1 You have been to see Madame Ratmirov.' 
 
 ' Well, I have been to see her. What next ? ' 
 
 ( What next ? . . . You, betrothed to Tatyana 
 Petrovna, have been to see Madame Ratmirov, 
 whom you love . . . and who loves you.' 
 
 Litvinov instantly got up from the seat ; the 
 blood rushed to his head. 
 
 1 What 's this ? ' he cried at last, in a voice 
 of concentrated exasperation : ' stupid jesting, 
 spying ? Kindly explain yourself.' 
 
 Potugin turned a weary look upon him. 
 
 • Ah ! don't be offended at my words. Grigory 
 
 228 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Mihalitch, me you cannot offend. I did not 
 begin to talk to you for that, and I 'm in no 
 joking humour now/ 
 
 1 Perhaps, perhaps. I 'm ready to believe in 
 the excellence of your intentions ; but still I 
 may be allowed to ask you by what right you 
 meddle in the private affairs, in the inner life, of 
 another man, a man who is nothing to you ; 
 and what grounds you have for so confidently 
 giving out your own . . . invention for the 
 truth ? ' 
 
 ( My invention ! If I had imagined it, it 
 should not have made you angry ; and as for 
 my right, well I never heard before that a man 
 ought to ask himself whether he had the right 
 to hold out a hand to a drowning man/ 
 
 ' I am humbly grateful for your tender solici- 
 tude,' cried Litvinov passionately, * but I am not 
 in the least in need of it, and all the phrases 
 about the ruin of inexperienced young men 
 wrought by society women, about the immorality 
 of fashionable society, and so on, I look upon 
 merely as stock phrases, and indeed in a sense I 
 positively despise them ; and so I beg you to 
 spare your rescuing arm, and to let me drown 
 in peace/ 
 
 Potugin again raised his eyes to Litvinov. 
 He was breathing hard, his lips were twitching 
 
 1 But look at me, young man/ broke from him 
 
 22Q 
 
SMOKE 
 
 at last, and he clapped himself on the breast *. 
 *■ can you suppose I have anything in common 
 with the ordinary, self-satisfied moralist, a 
 preacher ? Don't you understand that simply 
 from interest in you, however strong it might 
 be, I would never have let fall a word, I would 
 never have given you grounds for reproaching 
 me with what I hate above all things — indis- 
 cretion, intrusiveness ? Don't you see that this 
 is something of a different kind altogether, that 
 before you is a man crushed, utterly obliter- 
 ated by the very passion, from the results of 
 which he would save you, and . . . and for the 
 same woman ! ' 
 
 Litvinov stepped back a pace. 
 
 ' Is it possible ? What did you say ? . . . You 
 . . . you . . . Sozont Ivanitch? But Madame 
 Byelsky . . . that child ? ' 
 
 1 Ah, don't cross-examine me . . . Believe 
 me ! That is a dark terrible story, and I 'm 
 not going to tell you it. Madame Byelsky I 
 hardly knew, that child is not mine, but I took 
 it all upon myself . . . because . . . she wished 
 it, because it was necessary for her. Why am I 
 here in your hateful Baden ? And, in fact, 
 could you suppose, could you for one instant 
 imagine, that I'd have brought myself to caution 
 you out of sympathy for you ? I 'm sorry for 
 that sweet, good girl, your fiancee, but what have 
 
 230 
 
SMOKE 
 
 I to do wifh your future, with you both? . • . 
 But I am afraid for her ... for her.' 
 
 ' You do me great honour, Mr. Potugin/ 
 began Litvinov, 'but since, according to you, 
 we are both in the same position, why is it you 
 don't apply such exhortations to yourself, and 
 ought I not to ascribe your apprehensions to 
 another feeling ? ' 
 
 1 That is to jealousy, you mean ? Ah, young 
 man, young man, it's shameful of you to shuffle 
 and make pretences, it 's shameful of you not 
 to realise what a bitter sorrow is speaking to 
 you now by my lips ! No, I am not in the 
 same position as you ! I, I am old, ridiculous, 
 an utterly harmless old fool — but you ! But 
 there 's no need to talk about it ! You would 
 not for one second agree to accept the position 
 I fill, and fill with gratitude ! Jealousy ? A 
 man is not jealous who has never had even a 
 drop of hope, and this is not the first time 
 it has been my lot to endure this feeling. I am 
 only afraid . . . afraid for her, understand that. 
 And could I have guessed when she sent me to 
 you that the feeling of having wronged you — she 
 owned to feeling that — would carry her so far ? ' 
 
 1 But excuse me, Sozont Ivanitch, you seem 
 to know . . .' 
 
 4 1 know nothing, and I know everything ! I 
 know,' he added, turning away, ' I know where 
 
 231 
 
SMOKE 
 
 she was yesterday. But there 's no holding her 
 back now ; like a stone set rolling, she must 
 roll on to the bottom. I should be a great 
 idiot indeed, if I imagined my words could hold 
 you back at once . . . you, when a woman like 
 that . . . But that 's enough of this. I couldn't 
 restrain myself, that 's my whole excuse. And 
 after all how can one know, and why not try ? 
 Perhaps, you will think again ; perhaps, some 
 word of mine will go to your heart, you will 
 not care to ruin her and yourself, and that 
 innocent sweet creature . . . Ah ! don't be 
 angry, don't stamp about ! What have I to 
 fear ? Why should I mince matters ? It 's not 
 jealousy speaking in me, not anger . . . I 'm 
 ready to fall at your feet, to beseech you . . . 
 Good-bye, though. You needn't be afraid, all 
 this will be kept secret. I wished for your 
 good.' 
 
 Potugin strode off along the avenue and 
 quickly vanished in the now falling darkness. 
 Litvinov did not detain him. 
 
 1 A terrible dark story . . .' Potugin had said 
 to Litvinov, and would not tell it . . . Let us 
 pass it over with a few words only. 
 
 Eight years before, it had happened to him to 
 be sent by his department to Count Reisenbach 
 as a temporary clerk. It was in the summer. 
 Potugin used to drive to his country villa with 
 
 232 
 
SMOKE 
 
 papers, and be whole days there at a time. 
 Irina was then living at the count's. She was 
 never haughty with people in a humbler station, 
 at least she never treated them superciliously, 
 and the countess more than once reproved her 
 for her excessive Moscow familiarity. Irina 
 soon detected a man of intelligence in the 
 humble clerk, attired in the stiffly buttoned 
 frockcoat that was his uniform. She used often 
 and eagerly to talk to him . . . while he . . . 
 he fell in love with her passionately, profoundly, 
 secretly . . . Secretly ! So he thought. The 
 summer passed ; the count no longer needed 
 any outside assistance. Potugin lost sight of 
 Irina but could not forget her. Three years 
 after, he utterly unexpectedly received an in- 
 vitation, through a third person, to go to see a 
 lady slightly known to him. This lady at first 
 was reluctant to speak out, but after exacting 
 an oath from him to keep everything he was 
 going to hear absolutely secret, she proposed to 
 him ... to marry a girl, who occupied a con- 
 spicuous position in society, and for whom 
 marriage had become a necessity. The lady 
 scarcely ventured to hint at the principal per- 
 sonage, and then promised Potugin money . . . 
 a large sum of money. Potugin was not 
 offended, astonishment stifled all feeling of 
 anger in him ; but, of course, he point-blank 
 
 233 
 
SMOKE 
 
 declined. Then the lady handed him a note — 
 from Irina. 'You are a generous, noble man/ 
 she wrote, ' and I know you would do anything 
 for me ; I beg of you this sacrifice. You will 
 save one who is very dear to me. In saving 
 her, you will save me too . . . Do not ask me 
 how. I could never have brought myself to 
 any one with such an entreaty, but to you I 
 hold out my hands and say to you, do it for 
 my sake.' Potugin pondered, and said that for 
 Irina Pavlovna, certainly he was ready to do a 
 great deal ; but he should like to hear her wishes 
 from her own lips. The interview took place 
 the same evening ; it did not last long, and no 
 one knew of it, except the same lady. Irina 
 was no longer living at Count Reisenbach's. 
 
 ' What made you think of me, of all people ? ' 
 Potugin asked her. 
 
 She was beginning to expatiate on his noble 
 qualities, but suddenly she stopped . . . 
 
 i No/ she said, ' you must be told the truth. 
 I know, I know that you love me ; so that was 
 why I made up my mind . . .' and then she 
 told him everything. 
 
 Eliza Byelsky was an orphan ; her relations 
 did not like her, and reckoned on her inherit- 
 ance . . . ruin was facing her. In saving her, 
 Irina was really doing a service to him who was 
 responsible for it all, and who was himself now 
 
 234 
 
SMOKE 
 
 standing in a very close relation to Irina . . . 
 Potugin, without speaking, looked long at Irina, 
 and consented. She wept, and flung herself all 
 in tears on his neck. And he too wept . . . 
 but very different were their tears. Everything 
 had already been made ready for the secret 
 marriage, a powerful hand removed all obstacles. 
 . . . But illness came . . . and then a daughter 
 was born, and then the mother . . . poisoned 
 herself. What was to be done with the child ? 
 Potugin received it into his charge, received it 
 from the same hands, from the hands of Irina. 
 
 A terrible dark story . . . Let us pass on, 
 readers, pass on ! 
 
 Over an hour more passed before Litvinov 
 could bring himself to go back to his hotel. 
 He had almost reached it when he suddenly 
 heard steps behind him. It seemed as though 
 they were following him persistently, and walk- 
 ing faster when he quickened his pace. When 
 he moved under a lamp -post Litvinov turned 
 round and recognised General Ratmirov. In 
 a white tie, in a fashionable overcoat, flung 
 open, with a row of stars and crosses on a 
 golden chain in the buttonhole of his dresscoat, 
 the general was returning from dinner, alone. 
 His eyes, fastened with insolent persistence on 
 Litvinov, expressed such contempt and such 
 hatred^ his whole deportment was suggestive of 
 
 215 
 
SMOKE 
 
 such intense defiance, that Litvinov thought it 
 his duty, stifling his wrath, to go to meet 
 him, to face a ' scandal.' But when he was on a 
 level with Litvinov, the general's face suddenly 
 changed, his habitual playful refinement re- 
 appeared upon it, and his hand in its pale 
 lavender glove flourished his glossy hat high 
 in the air. Litvinov took off his in silence, and 
 each went on his way. 
 
 1 He has noticed something, for certain ! ' 
 thought Litvinov. 
 
 ' If only it were . . . any one else ! ' thought 
 the general. 
 
 Tatyana was playing picquet with her aunt 
 when Litvinov entered their room. 
 
 1 Well, I must say, you 're a pretty fellow ! ' 
 cried Kapitolina Markovna, and she threw down 
 her cards. ' Our first day, and he 's lost for the 
 whole evening ! Here we Ve been waiting and 
 waiting, and scolding and scolding . . .' 
 
 ' 1 said nothing, aunt/ observed Tatyana. 
 
 ' Well, you 're meekness itself, we all know ! 
 You ought to be ashamed, sir! and you be- 
 trothed too ! ' 
 
 Litvinov made some sort of excuse and sat 
 down to the table. 
 
 ' Why have you left off your game?' he 
 asked after a brief silence. 
 
 ' Well, that 's a nice question ! We Ve been 
 
 246 
 
SMOKE 
 
 playing cards from sheer dulness, not knowing 
 what to do with ourselves . . . but now you 've 
 come.' 
 
 1 If you would care to hear the evening 
 music/ observed Litvinov, ' I should be de- 
 lighted to take you.' 
 
 Kapitolina Markovna looked at her niece. 
 
 'Let us go, aunt, I am ready,' she said, 'but 
 wouldn't it be better to stay at home ?' 
 
 1 To be sure ! Let us have tea in our own old 
 Moscow way, with the samovar, and have a 
 good chat. We Ve not had a proper gossip 
 yet.' 
 
 Litvinov ordered tea to be sent up, but the 
 good chat did not come off. He felt a con- 
 tinual gnawing of conscience; whatever he 
 said, it always seemed to him that he was telling 
 lies and Tatyana was seeing through it. Mean- 
 while there was no change to be observed in 
 her ; she behaved just as unconstrainedly . . . 
 only her look never once rested upon Litvinov, 
 but with a kind of indulgent timorousness 
 glided over him, and she was paler than 
 usual. 
 
 Kapitolina Markovna asked her whether she 
 had not a headache. 
 
 Tatyana was at first about to say no, but 
 after a moment's thought, she said, 'Yes, a 
 little' 
 
 237 
 
SMOKE 
 
 * It's the journey,' suggested Litvinov, and he 
 positively blushed with shame. 
 
 ' Yes, the journey,' repeated Tatyana, and her 
 eyes again glided over him. 
 
 ' You ought to rest, Tanya darling.' 
 
 1 Yes, I will go to bed soon, aunt.' 
 
 On the table lay a Guide des Voyageurs ; Lit- 
 vinov fell to reading aloud the description of 
 the environs of Baden. 
 
 1 Quite so,' Kapitolina Markovna interrupted, 
 4 but there 's something we mustn't forget. I 'm 
 told linen is very cheap here, so we must be 
 sure to buy some for the trousseau.' 
 
 Tatyana dropped her eyes. 
 We have plenty of time, aunt. You never 
 think of yourself, but you really ought to get 
 yourself some clothes. You see how smart 
 every one is here.' 
 
 ' Eh, my love ! what would be the good of 
 that ? I'm not a fine lady ! It would be another 
 thing if I were such a beauty as your friend, 
 Grigory Mihalitch, what was her name ? ' 
 
 1 What friend ? ' 
 
 * Why, that we met to-day/ 
 
 * Oh, she ! ' said Litvinov, with feigned indiffer- 
 ence, and again he felt disgust and shame. 
 { No ! ' he thought, ' to go on like this is im- 
 possible.' 
 
 He was sitting by his betrothed, while a few 
 
 238 
 
SMOKE 
 
 inches from her in his side pocket, was Irina's 
 handkerchief. 
 
 Kapitolina Markovna went for a minute into 
 the other room. 
 
 1 Tanya . . .' said Litvinov, with an effort. 
 It was the first time that day he had called her 
 by that name. 
 
 She turned towards him. 
 
 ' I ... I have something very important to 
 say to you.' 
 
 1 Oh ! really ? when ? directly ? ' 
 
 * No, to-morrow/ 
 
 * Oh ! to-morrow. Very well/ 
 
 Litvinov's soul was suddenly filled with 
 boundless pity. He took Tatyana's hand and 
 kissed it humbly, like a sinner ; her heart 
 throbbed faintly and she felt no happiness. 
 
 In the night, at two o'clock, Kapitolina 
 Markovna, who was sleeping in the same room 
 with her niece, suddenly lifted up her head and 
 listened. 
 
 * Tanya,' she said, f you are crying ? ' 
 Tatyana did not at once answer. 
 
 * No, aunt,' sounded her gentle voice, * I 've 
 caught a cold/ 
 
 239 
 
XX 
 
 ' WHY did I say that to her ? ' Litvinov 
 thought the next morning as he sat in his 
 room at the window. He shrugged his shoul- 
 ders in vexation : he had said that to Tatyana 
 simply to cut himself off all way of retreat. 
 In the window lay a note from Irina : she 
 asked him to see her at twelve. Potugin's 
 words incessantly recurred to his mind, they 
 seemed to reach him with a faint ill-omened 
 sound as of a rumbling underground. He 
 was angry with himself, but could not get rid 
 of them anyhow. Some one knocked at the 
 door. 
 
 * Wer da t ' asked Litvinov. 
 
 I Ah ! you 're at home ! open ! ' he heard 
 Bindasov's hoarse bass. 
 
 The door handle creaked. 
 
 Litvinov turned white with exasperation. 
 
 I I 'm not at home,' he declared sharply. 
 
 * Not at home ? That 's a good joke ! ' 
 c I tell you — not at home, get along.' 
 
 240 
 
SMOKE 
 
 1 That 's civil ! And I came to ask you for 
 a little loan/ grumbled Bindasov. 
 
 He walked off, however, tramping on his 
 heels as usual. 
 
 Litvinov was all but dashing out after him, 
 he felt such a longing to throttle the hateful 
 ruffian. The events of the last few days had 
 unstrung his nerves ; a little more, and he would 
 nave burst into tears. He drank off a glass of 
 cold water, locked up all the drawers in the 
 furniture, he could not have said why, and 
 went to Tatyana's. 
 
 He found her alone. Kapitolina Markovna 
 had gone out shopping. Tatyana was sitting on 
 the sofa, holding a book in both hands. She 
 was not reading it, and scarcely knew what 
 book it was. She did not stir, but her heart 
 was beating quickly in her bosom, and the 
 little white collar round her neck quivered 
 visibly and evenly. 
 
 Litvinov was confused. . . . However, he sat 
 down by her, said good-morning, smiled at her ; 
 she too smiled at him without speaking. She 
 had bowed to him when he came in, bowed 
 courteously, not affectionately, and she did not 
 glance at him. He held out his hand to her ; 
 she gave him her chill fingers, but at once freed 
 them again, and took up the book. Litvinov 
 felt that to begin the conversation with unim- 
 
 241 Q 
 
SMOKE 
 
 portant subjects would be insulting Tatyana ; 
 she after her custom made no demands, but 
 everything in her said plainly, ' I am waiting, 
 I am waiting/ . . . He must fulfil his promise. 
 But though almost the whole night he had 
 thought of nothing else, he had not prepared 
 even the first introductory words, and absolutely 
 did not know in what way to break this cruel 
 silence. 
 
 ' Tanya/ he began at last, * I told you yester- 
 day that I have something important to say to 
 you. I am ready, only I beg you beforehand 
 not to be angry against me, and to rest assured 
 that my feelings for you . . .' 
 
 He stopped. He caught his breath. Tat- 
 yana still did not stir, and did not look at 
 him ; she only clutched the book tighter than 
 ever. 
 
 ' There has always been/ Litvinov went on, 
 without finishing the sentence he had begun, 
 ' there has always been perfect openness between 
 us ; I respect you too much to be a hypocrite 
 with you ; I want to prove to you that I know 
 how to value the nobleness and independence 
 of your nature, even though . . . though of 
 course . . .' 
 
 1 Grigory Mihalitch/ began Tatyana in a 
 measured voice while a deathly pallor over- 
 spread her whole face, ' I will come to your 
 
 242 
 
SMOKE 
 
 assistance, you no longer love me, and you 
 don't know how to tell me so.' 
 
 Litvinov involuntarily shuddered. 
 
 1 Why ? ' . . . he said, hardly intelligibly, 
 'why could you suppose?. . . I really don't 
 understand . . .' 
 
 ' What ! isn't it the truth ? Isn't it the truth ? 
 — tell me, tell me.' 
 
 Tatyana turned quite round to Litvinov ; her 
 face, with her hair brushed back from it, 
 approached his face, and her eyes, which for so 
 long had not looked at him, seemed to penetrate 
 into his eyes. 
 
 * Isn't it the truth ? ' she repeated. 
 
 He said nothing, did not utter a single sound. 
 He could not have lied at that instant, even 
 if he had known she would believe him, and 
 that his lie would save her ; he was not even 
 able to bear her eyes upon him. Litvinov said 
 nothing, but she needed no answer, she read 
 the answer in his very silence, in those guilty 
 downcast eyes — and she turned away again and 
 dropped the book. . . . She had been still 
 uncertain till that instant, and Litvinov under- 
 stood that ; he understood that she had been 
 still uncertain — and how hideous, actually 
 hideous was all that he was doing. 
 
 He flung himself on his knees before her. 
 
 ' Tanya,' he cried, ' if only you knew how 
 
 243 
 
SMOKE 
 
 hard it is for me to see you in this position, 
 how awful to me to think that it 's I ... I ! My 
 heart is torn to pieces, I don't know myself, I 
 have lost myself, and you, and everything . . . 
 Everything is shattered, Tanya, everything ! 
 Could I dream that I ... I should bring such 
 a blow upon you, my best friend, my guardian 
 angel ? . . . Could I dream that we should meet 
 like this, should spend such a day as yester- 
 day !. . .' 
 
 Tatyana was trying to get up and go away. 
 He held her back by the border of her dress. 
 
 1 No, listen to me a minute longer. You see 
 I am on my knees before you, but I have not 
 come to beg your forgiveness ; you cannot, you 
 ought not to forgive me. I have come to tell you 
 that your friend is ruined, that he is falling into 
 the pit, and would not drag you down with him. 
 . . . But save me ... no ! even you cannot save 
 me. I should push you away, I am ruined, 
 Tanya, I am ruined past all help.' 
 
 Tatyana looked at Litvinov. 
 
 1 You are ruined ? ' she said, as though not fully 
 understanding him. ' You are ruined ? ' 
 
 1 Yes, Tanya, I am ruined. All the past, all 
 that was precious, everything I have lived for 
 up till now, is ruined for me ; everything is 
 wretched, everything is shattered, and I don't 
 know what awaits me in the future. You said 
 
 244 
 
SMOKE 
 
 just now that I no longer loved you. . . . 
 No, Tanya, I have not ceased to love you, but 
 a different, terrible, irresistible passion has come 
 upon me, has overborne me. I fought against 
 it while I could. . . / 
 
 Tatyana got up, her brows twitched, her pale 
 face darkened. Litvinov too rose to his feet. 
 
 1 You love another woman/ she began, ' and I 
 guess who she is. . . . We met her yesterday, 
 didn't we ? . . . Well, I see what is left for me 
 to do now. Since you say yourself this passion 
 is unalterable ' . . . (Tatyana paused an instant, 
 possibly she had still hoped Litvinov would not 
 let this last word pass unchallenged, but he 
 said nothing), * it only remains for me to give 
 you back . . . your word.' 
 
 Litvinov bent his head, as though submissively 
 receiving a well-deserved blow. 
 
 ' You have every right to be angry with me/ 
 he said. ' You have every right to reproach 
 me for feebleness . . . for deceit.' 
 
 Tatyana looked at him again. 
 
 ' I have not reproached you, Litvinov, I don't 
 blame you. I agree with you : the bitterest 
 truth is better than what went on yesterday. 
 What sort of a life could ours have been 
 now ! ' 
 
 • What sort of a life will mine be now ! ' 
 echoed mournfully in Litvinov's soul. 
 
 245 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Tatyana went towards the door of the bed* 
 room. 
 
 1 1 will ask you to leave me alone for a little 
 time, Grigory Mihalitch — we will see each other 
 again, we will talk again. All this has been 
 so unexpected I want to collect myself a 
 little . . . leave me alone . . . spare my pride. 
 We shall see each other again.' 
 
 And uttering these words, Tatyana hurriedly 
 withdrew and locked the door after her. 
 
 Litvinov went out into the street like a man 
 dazed and stunned ; in the very depths of his 
 heart something dark and bitter lay hid, such 
 a sensation must a man feel who has mur- 
 dered another ; and at the same time he felt 
 easier as though he had at last flung off a 
 hated load. Tatyana's magnanimity had crushed 
 him, he felt vividly all that he had lost . . . 
 and yet ? with his regret was mingled irritation ; 
 he yearned towards Irina as to the sole refuge 
 left him, and felt bitter against her. For some 
 time Litvinov's feelings had been every day 
 growing more violent and more complex ; this 
 complexity tortured him, exasperated him, he 
 was lost in this chaos. He thirsted for one 
 thing ; to get out at last on to the path, what- 
 ever it might be, if only not to wander longer 
 in this incomprehensible half-darkness. Practi- 
 cal people of Litvinov's sort ought never to be 
 
 246 
 
SMOKE 
 
 carried away by passion, it destroys the very 
 meaning of their lives. . . . But nature cares 
 nothing for logic, our human logic ; she has her 
 own, which we do not recognise and do not 
 acknowledge till we are crushed under its wheel. 
 On parting from Tatyana, Litvinov held one 
 thought in his mind, to see Irina ; he set 
 off indeed to see her. But the general was 
 at home, so at least the porter told him, and 
 he did not care to go in, he did not feel 
 himself capable of hypocrisy, and he moved 
 slowly off towards the Konversation Hall. 
 Litvinov's incapacity for hypocrisy was evident 
 that day to both Voroshilov, and Pishtchal- 
 kin, who happened to meet him ; he simply 
 blurted out to the former that he was empty as 
 a drum ; to the latter that he bored every one to 
 extinction ; it was lucky indeed that Bindasov 
 did come across him ; there would certainly 
 have been a ' grosser Scandal! Both the young 
 men were stupefied ; Voroshilov went so far as 
 to ask himself whether his honour as an officer 
 did not demand satisfaction ? But like Gogol's 
 lieutenant, Pirogov, he calmed himself with 
 bread and butter in a cafe. Litvinov caught 
 sight in the distance of Kapitolina Markovna 
 running busily from shop to shop in her striped 
 mantle. . . . He felt ashamed to face the good, 
 absurd, generous old lady. Then he recalled 
 
 247 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Potugin, their conversation yesterday. . . . Then 
 something was wafted to him, something in- 
 tangible and unmistakable : if a falling shadow 
 shed a fragrance, it could not be more elusive, 
 but he felt at once that it was Irina near him, 
 and in fact she appeared a few paces from him, 
 arm-in-arm with another lady ; their eyes met 
 at once. Irina probably noticed something 
 peculiar in the expression of Litvinov's face ; 
 she stopped before a shop, in which a number 
 of tiny wooden clocks of Black Forest make 
 were exhibited, and summoning him by a 
 motion of her head, she pointed to one of these 
 clocks, and calling upon him to admire a charm- 
 ing clock-face with a painted cuckoo above it, 
 she said, not in a whisper, but as though finish- 
 ing a phrase begun, in her ordinary tone of 
 voice, much less likely to attract the attention 
 of outsiders, ' Come in an hour's time, I shall 
 be alone.' 
 
 But at this moment the renowned lady-killer 
 Monsieur Verdier swooped down upon her, and 
 began to fall into ecstasies over the colour, 
 feuille morte^ of her gown and the low-crowned 
 Spanish hat she wore tilted almost down to her 
 eyebrows. . . Litvinov vanished in the crowd. 
 
 248 
 
XXI 
 
 ' Grigory/ Irina was saying to him two hours 
 later, as she sat beside him on the sofa, and 
 laid both hands on his shoulder, ' what is the 
 matter with you ? Tell me now quickly, while 
 we 're alone/ 
 
 ' The matter with me ? ' said Litvinov. * I am 
 happy, happy, that's what 's the matter with me. 5 
 
 Irina looked down, smiled, sighed. 
 
 1 That 's not an answer to my question, my 
 dear one.' 
 
 Litvinov grew thoughtful. 
 
 'Well, let me tell you then . . . since you 
 insist positively on it' (Irina opened her eyes 
 wide and trembled slightly), * I have told every- 
 thing to-day to my betrothed.' 
 
 1 What, everything ? You mentioned me ? J 
 
 Litvinov fairly threw up his arms. 
 
 ' Irina, for God's sake, how could such an idea 
 enter your head ! that I ' 
 
 1 There, forgive me . . . forgive me. What 
 did you say ? ' 
 
 249 
 
SMOKE 
 
 1 1 told her that I no longer loved her. 1 
 
 ( She asked why ? ' 
 
 ' 1 did not disguise the fact that I loved 
 another woman, and that we must part/ 
 
 'Ah . . . and what did she do? Agreed?' 
 
 * О Irina ! what a girl she is ! She was all 
 self-sacrifice, all generosity ! ' 
 
 ' I Ve no doubt, I Ve no doubt . . . there was 
 nothing else for her to do, though.' 
 
 'And not one reproach, not one hard word 
 to me, who have spoiled her whole life, deceived 
 her, pitilessly flung her over. . . .' 
 
 Irina scrutinised her finger nails. 
 
 4 Tell me, Grigory . . . did she love you ? ' 
 
 'Yes, Irina, she loved me.' 
 
 Irina was silent a minute, she straightened 
 her dress. 
 
 ' I must confess/ she began, ' I don't quite 
 understand what induced you to explain matters 
 to her.' 
 
 ' What induced me, Irina ! Would you have 
 liked me to lie, to be a hypocrite to her, that 
 pure soul ? or did you suppose ' 
 
 ' I supposed nothing/ Irina interrupted. ' I 
 must admit I have thought very little about her. 
 I don't know how to think of two people at 
 once.' 
 
 4 That is, you mean ' 
 
 'Well, and so what then? Is she going 
 
 250 
 
SMOKE 
 
 away, that pure soul ? ' Irina interrupted a 
 second time. 
 
 ' I know nothing/ answered Litvinov. ' I am 
 to see her again. But she will not stay.' 
 
 1 Ah ! bon voyage ! ' 
 
 1 No, she will not stay. But I 'm not think- 
 ing of her either now, I am thinking of what 
 you said to me, what you have promised me.' 
 
 Irina looked up at him from under her eye- 
 lids. 
 
 * Ungrateful one ! aren't you content yet ? ' 
 
 1 No, Irina, I 'm not content. You have made 
 me happy, but I 'm not content, and you under- 
 stand me.' 
 
 « That is, I ■ 
 
 1 Yes, you understand me. Remember your 
 words, remember what you wrote to me. I 
 can't share you with others ; no, no, I can't 
 consent to the pitiful role of secret lover ; not 
 my life alone, this other life too I have flung at 
 your feet, I have renounced everything, I have 
 crushed it all to dust, without compunction and 
 beyond recall ; but in return I trust, I firmly 
 believe, that you too will keep your promise, 
 and unite your lot with mine for ever.' 
 
 ' You want me to run away with you ? I am 
 ready. . . .' (Litvinov bent down to her hands 
 in ecstasy.) ' I am ready. I will not go back 
 from my word. But have you yourself thought 
 
 251 
 
SMOKE 
 
 over all the difficulties — have you made pre* 
 parations ? ' 
 
 ■ I ? I have not had time yet to think over 
 or prepare anything, but only say yes, let me 
 act, and before a month is over . . .' 
 
 1 A month ! we start for Italy in a fortnight' 
 
 1 A fortnight, then, is enough for me. О 
 Irina, you seem to take my proposition coldly ; 
 perhaps it seems unpractical to you, but I am not 
 a boy, I am not used to comforting myself 
 with dreams, I know what a tremendous step 
 this is, I know what a responsibility I am taking 
 on myself; but I can see no other course. 
 Think of it, I must break every tie with the 
 past, if only not to be a contemptible liar 
 in the eyes of the girl I have sacrificed for 
 you !' 
 
 Irina drew herself up suddenly and her eyes 
 flashed. 
 
 1 Oh, I beg your pardon, Grigory Mihalitch ! 
 If I decide, if I run away, then it will at least 
 be with a man who does it for my sake, for my 
 sake simply, and not in order that he may not de- 
 grade himself in the good opinion of a phlegmatic 
 young person, with milk and water, du lait coupe 
 instead of blood, in her veins ! And I must tell 
 you too, it 's the first time, I confess, that it 's 
 been my lot to hear that the man I honour 
 with my regard is deserving of commiseration, 
 
 252 
 
SMOKE 
 
 playing a pitiful part ! I know a far more 
 pitiful part, the part of a man who doesn't know 
 what is going on in his own heart ! ' 
 
 Litvinov drew himself up in his turn. 
 
 * Irina/ he was beginning 
 
 But all at once she clapped both hands to her 
 forehead, and with a convulsive motion, flinging 
 herself on his breast, she embraced him with 
 force beyond a woman's. 
 
 1 Forgive me, forgive me/ she began, with a 
 shaking voice, ' forgive me, Grigory ! You 
 see how corrupted I am, how horrid I am, how 
 jealous and wicked ! You see how I need your 
 aid, your indulgence ! Yes, save me, drag me 
 out of this mire, before I am quite ruined ! 
 Yes, let us run away, let us run away from these 
 people, from this society to some far off, fair, 
 free country! Perhaps your Irina will at last 
 be worthier of the sacrifices you are making for 
 her ! Don't be angry with me, forgive me, my 
 sweet, and know that I will do everything you 
 command, I will go anywhere you will take me!' 
 
 Litvinov's heart was in a turmoil. Irina clung 
 closer than before to him with all her youthful 
 supple body. He bent over her fragrant, dis- 
 ordered tresses, and in an intoxication of grati- 
 tude and ecstasy, he hardly dared to caress 
 them with his hand, he hardly touched them 
 with his lips. 
 
 253 
 
SMOKE 
 
 1 Irina, I tin a/ he repeated, — ' my angel. . e .' 
 She suddenly raised her head, listened. . . . 
 'It's my husband's step, ... he has gone 
 into his room/ she whispered, and, moving 
 hurriedly away, she crossed over to another 
 armchair. Litvinov was getting up. . . . ' What 
 are you doing ? ' she went on in the same whis- 
 per ; ' you must stay, he suspects you as it is. 
 Or are you afraid of him ? ' She did not take 
 her eyes off the door. ' Yes, it 's he ; he will come 
 in here directly. Tell me something, talk to me.' 
 Litvinov could not at once recover himself and 
 was silent. ' Aren't you going to the theatre to- 
 morrow ? ' she uttered aloud. ' They 're giving 
 Le Verre d'Eau, an old-fashioned piece, and 
 Plessy is awfully affected. . . . We're as though 
 we were in a perfect fever,' she added, dropping 
 her voice. ' We can't do anything like this ; we 
 must think things over well. I ought to warn you 
 that all my money is in his hands ; mats j'at 
 mes bijoux. We '11 go to Spain, would you like 
 that ? ' She raised her voice again. ' Why is it 
 all actresses get so fat ? Madeleine Brohan for 
 instance. . . . Do talk, don't sit so silent. My 
 head is going round. But you, you must not 
 doubt me. ... I will let you know where to 
 come to-morrow. Only it was a mistake to have 
 told that young lady. . . . Ah, mat's dest char- 
 mant /' she cried suddenly and with a nervous 
 
 254 
 
SMOKE 
 
 laugh, she tore the lace edge of her handker- 
 chief. 
 
 * May I come in ? ' asked Ratmirov from the 
 other room. 
 
 ' Yes . . . yes.' 
 
 The door opened, and in the doorway 
 appeared the general. He scowled on seeing 
 Litvinov ; however, he bowed to them, that 
 is to say, he bent the upper portion of his 
 person. 
 
 ' I did not know you had a visitor/ he said : 
 *je vous demande pardon de топ indiscretion. So 
 you still find Baden entertaining, M'sieu — 
 Litvinov ? ' 
 
 Ratmirov always uttered Litvinov's surname 
 with hesitation, every time, as though he had 
 forgotten it, and could not at once recall it. . . . 
 In this way, as well as by the lofty flourish of 
 his hat in saluting him, he meant to insult his 
 pride. 
 
 ' I am not bored here, m'sieu le general? 
 
 i Really ? Well, I find Baden fearfully boring. 
 We are soon going away, are we not, Irina 
 Pavlovna? Assez de Bade comme ca. By the 
 way, I Ve won you five hundred francs to- 
 day.' 
 
 Irina stretched out her hand coquettishly. 
 
 ' Where are they ? Please let me have them 
 for pin-money.' 
 
 255 
 
SMOKE 
 
 ' You shall have them, you shall have them. . . . 
 You are going, M'sieu — Litvinov ? ' 
 ' Yes, I am going, as you see.' 
 Ratmirov again bent his body. 
 'Till we meet again ! ' 
 
 * Good-bye, Grigory Mihalitch/ said Irina. ' I 
 will keep my promise/ 
 
 •What is that? May I be inquisitive?' her 
 husband queried, 
 
 Irina smiled. 
 
 ' No, it was only . . . something we Ve been 
 talking of. О est a propos du voyage ... ой il 
 vous plaira. You know — Stael's book ? ' 
 
 * Ah ! ah ! to be sure, I know. Charming 
 illustrations. 5 
 
 Ratmirov seemed on the best of terms with 
 his wife ; he called her by her pet name in 
 addressing her. 
 
 256 
 
XXII 
 
 1 Better not think now, really/ Litvinov re- 
 peated, as he strode along the street, feeling 
 that the inward riot was rising up again in him. 
 ' The thing 's decided. She will keep her pro- 
 mise, and it only remains for me to take all 
 necessary steps. . . . Yet she hesitates, it 
 seems.' . . . He shook his head. His own 
 designs struck even his own imagination in a 
 strange light ; there was a smack of arti- 
 ficiality, of unreality about them. One can- 
 not dwell long upon the same thoughts ; they 
 gradually shift like the bits of glass in a kalei- 
 doscope . . . one peeps in, and already the 
 shapes before one's eyes are utterly different. 
 A sensation of intense weariness overcame Lit- 
 vinov. . . . If he could for one short hour but 
 rest ! . . . But Tanya ? He started, and, without 
 reflecting even, turned submissively homewards, 
 merely struck by the idea, that this day was 
 tossing him like a ball from one to the other. . . . 
 No matter ; he must make an end. He went 
 
 257 R 
 
SMOKE 
 
 back to his hotel, and with the same submissive- 
 ness, insensibility, numbness, without hesitation 
 or delay, he went to see Tatyana. 
 
 He was met by Kapitolina Markovna. From 
 the first glance at her, he knew that she knew 
 about it all ; the poor maiden lady's eyes were 
 swollen with weeping, and her flushed face, 
 fringed with her dishevelled white locks, ex- 
 pressed dismay and an agony of indignation, 
 sorrow, and boundless amazement. She was on 
 the point of rushing up to Litvinov, but she 
 stopped short, and, biting her quivering lip, she 
 looked at him as though she would supplicate 
 him, and kill him, and assure herself that it 
 was a dream, a senseless, impossible thing, 
 wasn't it ? 
 
 ' Here you . . . you are come/ she began. . . . 
 The door from the next room opened instantane- 
 ously, and with a light tread Tatyana came 
 in ; she was of a transparent pallor, but she 
 was quite calm. 
 
 She gently put one arm round her aunt and 
 made her sit down beside her. 
 
 'You sit down too, Grigory Mihalitch/ she said 
 to Litvinov, who was standing like one dis- 
 traught at the door. ' I am very glad to see 
 you once more. I have informed auntie of your 
 decision, our common decision ; she fully shares 
 it and approves of it. . . . Without mutual love 
 
 258 
 
SMOKE 
 
 there can be no happiness, mutual esteem alone 
 is not enough ' (at the word ' esteem ' Litvinov 
 involuntarily looked down) ' and better to sepa- 
 rate now, than to repent later. Isn't it, aunt ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, of course/ began Kapitolina Markovna, 
 'of course, Tanya darling, the man who does 
 not know how to appreciate you . . . who could 
 bring himself ' 
 
 1 Aunt, aunt,' Tatyana interrupted, ' remem- 
 ber what you promised me. You always told 
 me yourself: truth, Tatyana, truth before every- 
 thing — and independence. Well, truth 's not 
 always sweet, nor independence either ; or else 
 where would be the virtue of it ? ' 
 
 She kissed Kapitolina Markovna on her 
 white hair, and turning to Litvinov, she went 
 on : 
 
 ' We propose, aunt and I, leaving Baden. . . . 
 I think it will be more comfortable so for ali 
 of us.' 
 
 * When do you think of going ? ' Litvinov 
 said thickly. He remembered that Irina had 
 said the very same words to him not long 
 before. 
 
 Kapitolina Markovna was darting forward, 
 but Tatyana held her back, with a caressing 
 touch on her shoulder. 
 
 i Probably soon, very soon.' 
 
 'And will you allow me to ask where you 
 
 259 
 
SMOKE 
 
 intend going?' Litvinov said in the same 
 voice. 
 
 1 First to Dresden, then probably to Russia/ 
 
 ' But what can you want to know that for 
 now, Grigory Mihalitch?' . . . cried Kapitolina 
 Markovna. 
 
 'Aunt, aunt/ Tatyana interposed again. A 
 brief silence followed. 
 
 1 Tatyana Petrovna/ began Litvinov, ( you 
 know how agonisingly painful and bitter my 
 feelings must be at this instant/ 
 
 Tatyana got up. 
 
 * Grigory Mihalitch/ she said, * we will not 
 talk about that ... if you please, I beg you 
 for my sake, if not for your own. I have 
 known you long enough, and I can very 
 well imagine what you must be feeling now. 
 But what's the use of talking, of touching a 
 sore ' (she stopped ; it was clear she wanted 
 to stem the emotion rushing upon her, to 
 swallow the rising tears ; she succeeded) — ' why 
 fret a sore we cannot heal ? Leave that to time. 
 And now I have to ask a service of you, Grigory 
 Mihalitch ; if you will be so good, I will give you 
 a letter directly : take it to the post yourself, 
 it is rather important, but aunt and I have no 
 time now. ... I shall be much obliged to you. 
 Wait a minute. ... I will bring it directly. . . / 
 
 In the doorway Tatyana glanced uneasily at 
 
 260 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Kapitolina Markovna ; but she was sitting with 
 such dignity and decorum, with such a severe 
 expression on her knitted brows and tightly 
 compressed lips, that Tatyana merely gave her 
 a significant nod and went out. 
 
 But scarcely had the door closed behind her, 
 when every trace of dignity and severity instan- 
 taneously vanished from Kapitolina Markovna's 
 face ; she got up, ran on tiptoe up to Litvinov, 
 and all hunched together and trying to look 
 him in the face, she began in a quaking tearful 
 whisper : 
 
 1 Good God/ she said, 'Grigory Mihalitch, what 
 does it mean ? is it a dream or what ? You give 
 up Tanya, you tired of her, you breaking your 
 word ! You doing this, Grigory Mihalitch, you 
 on whom we all counted as if you were a stone 
 wall ! You ? you ? you, Grisha ? ' . . . Kapitolina 
 Markovna stopped. 'Why, you will kill her, 
 Grigory Mihalitch,' she went on, without waiting 
 for an answer, while her tears fairly coursed in fine 
 drops over her cheeks. 'You mustn't judge by 
 her bearing up now, you know her character! 
 She never complains ; she does not think of her- 
 self, so others must think of her ! She keeps say- 
 ing to me, " Aunt, we must save our dignity ! " 
 but wha.t 's dignity, when I foresee death, death 
 before us ? ' . . . Tatyana's chair creaked in the 
 next room ' Yes, I foresee death/ the old lady 
 
 26т 
 
SMOKE 
 
 went on still more softly. * And how can such a 
 thing have come about? Is it witchcraft, or 
 what ? It 's not long since you were writing 
 her the tenderest letters. And in fact can an 
 honest man act like this ? I 'm a woman, free, 
 as you know, from prejudice of any sort, esprit 
 fort, and I have given Tanya too the same sort 
 of education, she too has a free mind. . . . ' 
 
 * Aunt ! ' came Tatyana's voice from the next 
 room. 
 
 * But one's word of honour is a duty, Grigory 
 Mihalitch, especially for people of your, of my 
 principles ! If we 're not going to rec6gnise 
 duty, what is left us ? This cannot be broken 
 off in this way, at your whim, without regard to 
 what may happen to another ! It 's unprin- 
 cipled . . . yes, it 's a crime ; a strange sort of 
 freedom ! ' 
 
 1 Aunt, come here please/ was heard again. 
 
 * I 'm coming, my love, I 'm coming . . .' 
 Kapitolina Markovna clutched at Litvinov's 
 hand. — 'I see you are angry, Grigory Mihalitch.' 
 . . . (' Me ! me angry ? ' he wanted to exclaim, 
 but his tongue was dumb.) ' I don't want to 
 make you angry — oh, really, quite the contrary ! 
 I 've come even to entreat you ; think again while 
 there is time ; don't destroy her, don't destroy 
 your own happiness, she will still trust you 
 Grisha, she will believe in you, nothing is lost 
 
 262 
 
SMOKE 
 
 yet ; why, she loves you as no one will ever love 
 you ! Leave this hateful Baden-Baden, let us 
 go away together, only throw off this enchant- 
 ment, and, above all, have pity, have pity ' 
 
 1 Aunt ! ' called Tatyana, with a shade of im- 
 patience in her voice. 
 
 But Kapitolina Markovna did not hear her. 
 
 * Only say " yes," ' she repeated to Litvinov ; 
 'and I will still make everything smooth. . . . 
 You need only nod your head to me, just one 
 little nod like this.' 
 
 Litvinov would gladly, he felt, have died at 
 that instant ; but the word ' yes ' he did not 
 utter, and he did not nod his head. 
 
 Tatyana reappeared with a letter in her hand. 
 Kapitolina Markovna at once darted away from 
 Litvinov, and, averting her face, bent low over 
 the table, as though she were looking over the 
 bills and papers that lay on it. 
 
 Tatyana went up to Litvinov. 
 
 1 Here,' she said, ' is the letter I spoke of. . . . 
 You will go to the post at once with it, won't 
 you? ' 
 
 Litvinov raised his eyes. . . . Before him, 
 really, stood his judge. Tatyana struck him as 
 taller, slenderer; her face, shining with unwonted 
 beauty, had the stony grandeur of a statue's ; 
 her bosom did not heave, and her gown, of one 
 colour and straight as a Greek chiton, fell in the 
 
 263 
 
SMOKE 
 
 long, unbroken folds of marble drapery to her 
 feet, which were hidden by it. Tatyana was 
 looking straight before her, only at Litvinov ; 
 her cold, calm gaze, too, was the gaze of a 
 statue. He read his sentence in it ; he bowed, 
 took a letter from the hand held out so im- 
 movably to him, and silently withdrew. 
 
 Kapitolina Markovna ran to Tatyana; but the 
 latter turned off her embraces and dropped her 
 eyes ; a flush of colour spread over her face, and 
 with the words, ' and now, the sooner the better,' 
 she went into the bedroom. Kapitolina Mar- 
 kovna followed her with hanging head. 
 
 The letter, entrusted to Litvinov by Tatyana, 
 was addressed to one of her Dresden friends — a 
 German lady — who let small furnished apart- 
 ments. Litvinov dropped the letter into the 
 post-box, and it seemed to him as though with 
 that tiny scrap of paper he was dropping all 
 his past, all his life into the tomb. He went 
 out of the town, and strolled a long time by 
 narrow paths between vineyards ; he could not 
 shake off the persistent sensation of contempt 
 for himself, like the importunate buzzing of flies 
 in summer : an unenviable part, indeed, he had 
 played in the last interview. . . . And when he 
 went back to his hotel, and after a little time 
 inquired about the ladies, he was told that 
 immediately after he had gone out, they had 
 
 264 
 
SMOKE 
 
 given orders to be driven to the railway station, 
 and had departed by the mail train — to what 
 destination was not known. Their things had 
 been packed and their bills paid ever since the 
 morning. Tatyana had asked Litvinov to take 
 her letter to the post, obviously with the object 
 of getting him out of the way. He ventured 
 to ask the hall-porter whether the ladies had 
 left any letters for him, but the porter replied 
 in the negative, and looked amazed even ; it 
 was clear that this sudden exit from rooms 
 taken for a week struck him too as strange and 
 dubious. Litvinov turned his back on him, and 
 locked himself up in his room. 
 
 He did not leave it till the following day: the 
 
 greater part of the night he was sitting at the 
 
 table, writing, and tearing what he had written. 
 
 . . The dawn was already beginning when he 
 
 finished his task — it was a letter to Irina. 
 
 265 
 
XXIII 
 
 This was what was in this letter to Irina : 
 
 * My betrothed went away yesterday ; we 
 shall never see each other again. ... I do not 
 know even for certain where she is going to 
 live. With her, she takes all that till now 
 seemed precious and desirable to me ; all my 
 previous ideas, my plans, my intentions, have 
 gone with her ; my labours even are wasted, my 
 work of years ends in nothing, all my pursuits 
 have no meaning, no applicability ; all that is 
 dead ; myself, my old self, is dead and buried 
 since yesterday. I feel, I see, I know this 
 clearly ... far am I from regretting this. 
 Not to lament of it, have I begun upon 
 this to you. ... As though I could complain 
 when you love me, Irina ! I wanted only 
 to tell you that, of all this dead past, all 
 those hopes and efforts, turned to smoke and 
 ashes, there is only one thing left living, 
 invincible, my love for you. Except that love, 
 nothing is left for me ; to say it is the sole 
 
 266 
 
SMOKE 
 
 thing precious to me, would be too little ; I live 
 wholly in that love ; that love is my whole 
 being ; in it are my future, my career, my voca- 
 tion, my country ! You know me, Irina ; you 
 know that fine talk of any sort is foreign to my 
 nature, hateful to me, and however strong the 
 words in which I try to express my feelings, you 
 will have no doubts of their sincerity, you will 
 not suppose them exaggerated. I 'm not a boy, 
 in the impulse of momentary ecstasy, lisping 
 unreflecting vows to you, but a man of matured 
 age — simply and plainly, almost with terror, 
 telling you what he has recognised for unmis- 
 takable truth. Yes, your love has replaced 
 everything for me — everything, everything ! 
 Judge for yourself: can I leave this my all in 
 the hands of another ? can I let him dispose of 
 you ? You — you will belong to him, my whole 
 being, my heart's blood will belong to him — 
 while I myself . . . where am I ? what am I ? 
 An outsider — an onlooker . . . looking on at 
 my own life! No, that's impossible, impos- 
 sible! To share, to share in secret that with- 
 out which it 's useless, impossible to live . . . 
 that 's deceit and death. I know how great a 
 sacrifice I am asking of you, without any sort 
 of right to it ; indeed, what can give one a 
 right to sacrifice? But I am not acting thus 
 from egoism : an egoist would find it easier 
 
 267 
 
SMOKE 
 
 and smoother not to raise this question at all 
 Yes, my demands are difficult, and I am not 
 surprised that they alarm you. The people 
 among whom you have to live are hateful to 
 you, you are sick of society, but are you strong 
 enough to throw up that society ? to trample on 
 the success it has crowned you with? to rouse 
 public opinion against you — the opinion of these 
 hateful people? Ask yourself, Irina, don't take 
 a burden upon you greater than you can bear. 
 I don't want to reproach you ; but remember : 
 once already you could not hold out against 
 temptation. I can give you so little in return 
 for all you are losing. Hear my last word : if 
 you don't feel capable to-morrow, to-day even, 
 of leaving all and following me — you see 
 how boldly I speak, how little I spare myself, — 
 if you are frightened at the uncertainty of the 
 future, and estrangement and solitude and the 
 censure of men, if you cannot rely on yourself, 
 in fact, tell me so openly and without delay, 
 and I will go away ; I shall go with a broken 
 heart, but I shall bless you for your truth- 
 fulness. But if you really, my beautiful, radiant 
 queen, love a man so petty, so obscure as I, and 
 are really ready to share his fate, — well, then, 
 give me your hand, and let us set off together 
 on our difficult way ! Only understand, my 
 decision is unchanging ; either all or nothing 
 
 268 
 
SMOKE 
 
 It 's unreasonable . . . but I could not do 
 otherwise — I cannot, Irina ! I love you too 
 much. — Yours, G. L.' 
 
 Litvinov did not much like this letter him- 
 self; it did not quite truly and exactly express 
 what he wanted to say ; it was full of awkward 
 expressions, high flown or bookish, and doubt- 
 less it was not better than many of the other 
 letters he had torn up ; but it was the last, the 
 chief point was thoroughly stated anyway, and 
 harassed, and worn out, Litvinov did not feel 
 capable of dragging anything else out of his 
 head. Besides he did not possess the faculty 
 of putting his thought into literary form, and 
 like all people with whom it is not habitual, he 
 took great trouble over the style. His first 
 letter was probably the best ; it came warmer 
 from the heart. However that might be, 
 Litvinov despatched his missive to Irina. 
 
 She replied in a brief note : 
 
 * Come to me to-day/ she wrote to him : ' he 
 has gone away for the whole day. Your letter 
 has greatly disturbed me. I keep thinking, 
 thinking . . . and my head is in a whirl. I 
 am very wretched, but you love me, and I am 
 happy. Come. Yours, I/ 
 
 She was sitting in her boudoir when Litvinov 
 went in. He was conducted there by the same 
 
 269 
 
SMOKE 
 
 little girl of thirteen who on the previous day 
 had watched for him on the stairs. On the 
 table before Irina was standing an open, semi- 
 circular, cardboard box of lace : she was care- 
 lessly turning over the lace with one hand, in 
 the other she was holding Litvinov's letter. She 
 had only just left off crying ; her eyelashes were 
 wet, and her eyelids swollen ; on her cheeks 
 could be seen the traces of undried tears not 
 wiped away. Litvinov stood still in the door- 
 way ; she did not notice his entrance. 
 
 1 You are crying ? he said wonderingly. 
 
 She started, passed her hand over her hair 
 and smiled. 
 
 ' Why are you crying ? ' repeated Litvinov. 
 She pointed in silence to the letter. ' So you 
 were . . . over that/ he articulated haltingly. 
 
 i Come here, sit down/ she said, ' give me 
 your hand. Well, yes, I was crying . . . what 
 are you surprised at? Is that nothing?' she 
 pointed again to the letter. 
 
 Litvinov sat down. 
 
 ' I know it 's not easy, Irina, I tell you so in- 
 deed in my letter ... I understand your posi- 
 tion. But if you believe in the value of your love 
 for me, if my words have convinced you, you 
 ought, too, to understand what I feel now at the 
 sight of your tears. I have come here, like a 
 man on his trial, and I await what is to be my 
 
 270 
 
SMOKE 
 
 sentence ? Death or life ? Your answer decides 
 everything. Only don't look at me with those 
 eyes. . . . They remind me of the eyes I saw in 
 old days in Moscow/ 
 
 Irina flushed at once, and turned away, as 
 though herself conscious of something evil in 
 her gaze. 
 
 * Why do you say that, Grigory ? For shame ! 
 You want to know my answer ... do you 
 mean to say you can doubt it? You are 
 troubled by my tears . . . but you don't under- 
 stand them. Your letter, dearest, has set me 
 thinking. Here you write that my love has 
 replaced everything for you, that even your 
 former studies can never now be put into prac- 
 tice ; but I ask myself, can a man live for love 
 alone ? Won't it weary him at last, won't he 
 want an active career, and won't he cast the 
 blame on what drew him away from active life ? 
 That's the thought that dismays me, that's 
 what I am afraid of, and not what you imagine.' 
 
 Litvinov looked intently at Irina, and Irina 
 intently looked at him, as though each would 
 penetrate deeper and further into the soul of 
 the other, deeper and further than word can 
 reach, or word betray. 
 
 ' You are wrong in being afraid of that/ began 
 Litvinov. ' I must have expressed myself badly. 
 Weariness ? Inactivity ? With the new impetus 
 
 271 
 
SMOKE 
 
 your love will give me ? О Irina, in your love 
 there 's a whole world for me, and I can't yet 
 foresee myself what may develop from it.' 
 
 Irina grew thoughtful. 
 
 ' Where are we going ? ' she whispered. 
 
 ' Where ? We will talk of that later. But, of 
 rourse,then . . . then you agree? you agree, Irina?' 
 
 She looked at him. ' And you will be happy ? ' 
 
 'O Irina!' 
 
 ' You will regret nothing ? Never ? ' 
 
 She bent over the cardboard box, and again 
 began looking over the lace in it. 
 
 ' Don't be angry with me, dear one, for 
 attending to this trash at such a moment. . . . 
 I am obliged to go to a ball at a certain lady's, 
 these bits of finery have been sent me, and 
 I must choose to-day. Ah ! I am awfully 
 wretched ! ' she cried suddenly, and she laid her 
 face down on the edge of the box. Tears began 
 falling again from her eyes. . . . She turned 
 away ; the tears might spoil the lace. 
 
 ' Irina, you are crying again/ Litvinov began 
 uneasily. 
 
 ' Ah, yes, again/ Irina interposed hurriedly. 
 'O Grigory, don't torture me, don't torture 
 yourself ! . . . Let us be free people ! What 
 does it matter if I do cry ! And indeed do I 
 know myself why my tears are flowing ? You 
 know, you have heard my decision, you believe 
 
 272 
 
SMOKE 
 
 it will not be changed. That I agree to . 
 What was it you said ? ... to all or nothing 
 . . . what more would you have ? Let us be 
 free ! Why these mutual chains ? We are alone 
 together now, you love me. I love you ; is it 
 possible we have nothing to do but wringing our 
 thoughts out of each other ? Look at me, I 
 don't want to talk about myself, I have never 
 by one word hinted that for me perhaps it was 
 not so easy to set at nought my duty as a wife 
 . . . and, of course, I don't deceive myself, I 
 know I am a criminal, and that he has a right 
 to kill me. Well, what of it? Let us be free, 
 I say. To-day is ours — a life-time's ours.' 
 
 She got up from the arm-chair and looked at 
 Litvinov with her head thrown back, faintly smil- 
 ing and moving her eyebrows, while with one 
 arm bare to the elbow she pushed back from her 
 face a long tress on which a few tears glistened. 
 A rich scarf slipped from the table and fell on 
 the floor at Irina's feet. She trampled contemptu- 
 ously on it. ' Or don't you like me, to-day ? 
 Have I grown ugly since yesterday ? Tell me, 
 have you often seen a prettier hand ? And this 
 hair ? Tell me, do you love me ? ' 
 
 She clasped him in both arms, held his head 
 close to her bosom, her comb fell out with a 
 ringing sound, and her falling hair wrapped 
 him in a soft flood of fragrance. 
 
 273 s 
 
XXIV 
 
 LiTVlNOV walked up and down his room in the 
 hotel, his head bowed in thought. He had now 
 to pass from theory to practice, to devise ways 
 and means for flight, for moving to unknown 
 countries. . . . But, strange to say, he was not 
 pondering so much upon ways and means as 
 upon whether actually, beyond doubt, the 
 decision had been reached on which he had so 
 obstinately insisted ? Had the ultimate, irre- 
 vocable word been uttered ? But Irina to be 
 sure had said to him at parting, * Act, act, and 
 when every thing is ready, only let me know.' 
 That was final ! Away with all doubts. . . . He 
 must proceed to action. And Litvinov proceeded 
 — in the meantime — to calculation. Money 
 first of all. Litvinov had, he found, in ready 
 money one thousand three hundred and twenty- 
 eight guldens, in French money, two thousand 
 eight hundred and fifty-five francs ; the sum 
 was trifling, but it was enough for the first 
 necessities, and then he must at once write to 
 
 274 
 
SMOKE 
 
 his father to send him all he could ; he would 
 have to sell the forest part of the land. But 
 on what pretext ? . . . Well, a pretext would 
 be found. Irina had spoken, it 's true, of her 
 bijoux, but that must not be taken into his 
 reckoning ; that, who knows, might come in for 
 a rainy day. He had besides a good Geneva 
 watch, for which he might get . . . well, say, four 
 hundred francs. Litvinov went to a banker's, 
 and with much circumlocution introduced the 
 question whether it was possible, in case of 
 need, to borrow money ; but bankers at Baden 
 are wary old foxes, and in response to such cir- 
 cumlocutions they promptly assume a drooping 
 and blighted air, for all the world like a wild 
 flower whose stalk has been severed by the 
 scythe ; some indeed laugh outright in your 
 face, as though appreciating an innocent joke 
 on your part. Litvinov, to his shame, even 
 tried his luck at roulette, even, oh ignominy ! 
 put a thaler on the number thirty, correspond- 
 ing with his own age. He did this with a view 
 to augmenting and rounding off his capital ; 
 and if he did not augment it, he certainly 
 did round off his capital by losing the odd 
 twenty-eight guldens. There was a second 
 question, also not an unimportant one ; that 
 was the passport. But for a woman a passport 
 is not quite so obligatory, and there are countries 
 
 275 
 
SMOKE 
 
 where it is not required at all, Belgium, for 
 instance, and England ; besides, one might even 
 get some other passport, not Russian. Litvinov 
 pondered very seriously on all this ; his decision 
 was firm, absolutely unwavering, and yet all the 
 time against his will, overriding his will, some- 
 thing not serious, almost humorous came in, 
 filtered through his musings, as though the very 
 enterprise were a comic business, and no one 
 ever did elope with any one in reality, but only 
 in plays and novels, and perhaps somewhere 
 in the provinces, in some of those remote 
 districts, where, according to the statements of 
 travellers, people are literally sick continually 
 from ennui. At that point Litvinov recalled 
 how an acquaintance of his, a retired cornet, 
 Batsov, had eloped with a merchant's daughter 
 in a staging sledge with bells and three horses, 
 having as a preliminary measure made the 
 parents drunk, and adopted the same pre- 
 caution as well with the bride, and how, as it 
 afterwards turned out, he was outwitted and 
 within an ace of a thrashing into the bargain. 
 Litvinov felt exceedingly irritated with himself 
 for such inappropriate reminiscences, and then 
 with the recollection of Tatyana, her sudden de- 
 parture, all that grief and suffering and shame, 
 he felt only too acutely that the affair he was 
 arranging was deadly earnest, and how right he 
 
 276 
 
SMOKE 
 
 had been when he had told Irina that his honour 
 even left no other course open. ... And again 
 at the mere name something of flame turned 
 with sweet ache about his heart and died away 
 again. 
 
 The tramp of horses' hoofs sounded behind 
 him. . . . He moved aside. . . . Irina overtook 
 him on horseback ; beside her rode the stout 
 general. She recognised Litvinov, nodded to 
 him, and lashing her horse with a sidestroke of 
 her whip, she put him into a gallop, and suddenly 
 dashed away at headlong speed. Her dark 
 veil fluttered in the wind. . . . 
 
 1 Pas si vite ! Nom de Dieu / pas si vite ! ' 
 cried the general, and he too galloped after her 
 
 277 
 
XXV 
 
 The next morning Litvinov had only just come 
 home from seeing the banker, with whom he 
 had had another conversation on the playful in- 
 stability of our exchange, and the best means 
 of sending money abroad, when the hotel porter 
 handed him a letter. He recognised Irina's 
 handwriting, and without breaking the seal — a 
 presentiment of evil, Heaven knows why, was 
 astir in him — he went into his room. This was 
 what he read (the letter was in French) : 
 
 ' My dear one, I have been thinking all 
 night of your plan. ... I am not going to 
 shuffle with you. You have been open with 
 me, and I will be open with you ; I cannot 
 run away with you, I have not the strength to 
 do it. I feel how I am wronging you ; my 
 second sin is greater than the first, I despise 
 myself, my cowardice, I cover myself with 
 reproaches, but I cannot change myself. In 
 vain I tell myself that I have destroyed your 
 happiness, that you have the right now to re- 
 
 278 
 
SMOKE 
 
 gard me as a frivolous flirt, that I myself drew 
 you on, that I have given you solemn promises. 
 ... I am full of horror, of hatred for myself, 
 but I can't do otherwise, I can't, I can't. I 
 don't want to justify myself, I won't tell you I 
 was carried away myself ... all that 's of no 
 importance ; but I want to tell you, and to say 
 it again and yet again, I am yours, yours for ever, 
 do with me as you will when you will, free from all 
 obligation, from all responsibility ! I am yours. 
 . . . But run away, throw up everything . . . 
 no ! no ! no ! I besought you to save me, I 
 hoped to wipe out everything, to burn up the 
 past as in a fire . . . but I see there is no 
 salvation for me ; I see the poison has gone 
 too deeply into me ; I see one cannot breathe 
 this atmosphere for years with impunity. I 
 have long hesitated whether to write you this 
 letter, I dread to think what decision you may 
 come to, I trust only to your love for me. But 
 I felt it would be dishonest on my part to hide 
 the truth from you— especially as perhaps you 
 have already begun to take the first steps for 
 carrying out our project. Ah ! it was lovely 
 but impracticable. О my dear one, think me 
 a weak, worthless woman, despise, but don't 
 abandon me, don't abandon your Irina ! . . . 
 To leave this life I have not the courage, but 
 live it without you I cannot either. We soon 
 
 279 
 
SMOKE 
 
 go back to Petersburg, come there, live there, 
 we will find occupation for you, your labours in 
 the past shall not be thrown away, you shall 
 find good use for them . . . only live near me, 
 only love me ; such as I am, with all my 
 weaknesses and my vices, and believe me, no 
 heart .will ever be so tenderly devoted to you as 
 the heart of your Irina. Come soon to me, I 
 shall not have an instant's peace until I see 
 you. — Yours, yours, yours, I.' 
 
 The blood beat like a sledge-hammer in 
 Litvinov's head, then slowly and* painfully sank 
 to his heart, and was chill as a stone in it. He 
 read through Irina's letter, and just as on that 
 day at Moscow he fell in exhaustion on the 
 sofa, and stayed there motionless. A dark 
 abyss seemed suddenly to have opened on all 
 sides of him, and he stared into this darkness 
 in senseless despair. And so again, again 
 deceit, no, worse than deceit, lying and base- 
 ness. . . . And life shattered, everything torn 
 up by its roots utterly, and the sole thing which 
 he could cling to — the last prop in fragments 
 too ! ' Come after us to Petersburg,' he re- 
 peated with a bitter inward laugh, ' we will find 
 you occupation. . . . Find me a place as a head 
 clerk, eh ? and who are we ? Here there 's a hint 
 of her past. Here we have the secret, hideous 
 
 280 
 
SMOKE 
 
 something I know nothing of, but which she has 
 been trying to wipe out, to burn as in a fire. 
 Here we have that world of intrigues, of secret 
 relations, of shameful stories of Byelskys and 
 
 Dolskys And what a future, what a lovely part 
 
 awaiting me ! To live close to her, visit her, share 
 with her the morbid melancholy of the lady of 
 fashion who is sick and weary of the world, 
 but can't live outside its circle, be the friend of 
 the house of course, of his Excellency . . . until 
 . . . until the whim changes and the plebeian 
 lover loses his piquancy, and is replaced by 
 that fat general or Mr. Finikov — that 's possible 
 and pleasant, and I dare say useful. . . . She 
 talks of a good use for my talents? . . . but the 
 other project 's impracticable, impracticable. 
 ... In Litvinov's soul rose, like sudden gusts 
 of wind before a storm, momentary impulses 
 of fury. . . . Every expression in Irina's letter 
 roused his indignation, her very assertions of 
 her unchanging feelings affronted him. ' She 
 can't let it go like that,' he cried at last, ' I won't 
 allow her to play with my life so merci- 
 lessly.' 
 
 Litvinov jumped up, snatched his hat. But 
 what was he to do ? Run to her ? Answer 
 her letter? He stopped short, and his hands 
 fell. 
 
 * Yes ; what was to be done ? ' 
 
 281 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Had he not himself put this fatal choice to 
 her? It had not turned out as he had wished 
 . . . there was that risk about every choice. 
 She had changed her mind, it was true ; she 
 herself had declared at first that she would 
 throw up everything and follow him ; that was 
 true too ; but she did not deny her guilt, she 
 called herself a weak woman ; she did not want 
 to deceive him, she had been deceived in her- 
 self. . . . What answer could be made to that ? 
 At any rate she was not hypocritical, she was not 
 deceiving him . . . she was open, remorselessly 
 open. There was nothing forced her to speak 
 out, nothing to prevent her from soothing him 
 with promises, putting things off, and keeping 
 it all in uncertainty till her departure . . . till 
 her departure with her husband for Italy ? 
 But she had ruined his life, ruined two lives. 
 . . . What of that ? 
 
 But as regards Tatyana, she was not guilty ; 
 the guilt was his, his, Litvinov's alone, and he 
 had no right to shake off the responsibility his 
 own sin had laid with iron yoke upon him. . . . 
 All this was so ; but what was left him to do 
 now ? 
 
 Again he flung himself on the sofa and 
 again in gloom, darkly, dimly, without trace, 
 with devouring swiftness, the minutes raced 
 
 past. . . . 
 
 282 
 
SMOKE 
 
 1 And why not obey her ? ' flashed through his 
 brain. [ She loves me, she is mine, and in our 
 very yearning towards each other, in this passion, 
 which after so many years has burst upon us, 
 and forced its way out with such violence, is 
 there not something inevitable, irresistible, like 
 a law of nature ? Live in Petersburg . . . and 
 shall I be the first to be put in such a position ? 
 And how could we be in safety together ? . . .' 
 
 And he fell to musing, and Irina's shape, in 
 the guise in which it was imprinted for ever in 
 his late memories, softly rose before him. . . . 
 But not for long. . . . He mastered himself, 
 and with a fresh outburst of indignation drove 
 away from him both those memories and that 
 seductive image. 
 
 * You give me to drink from that golden cup,' 
 he cried, ' but there is poison in the draught, 
 and your white wings are besmirched with mire. 
 . . . Away ! Remain here with you after the 
 way I ... I drove away my betrothed ... a 
 deed of infamy, of infamy ! ' He wrung his 
 hands with anguish, and another face with the 
 stamp of suffering on its still features, with 
 dumb reproach in its farewell eyes, rose from 
 the depths. . . . 
 
 And for a long time Litvinov was in this 
 agony still ; for a long time, his tortured thought, 
 like a man fever-stricken, tossed from side to 
 
 283 
 
SMOKE 
 
 side. . . . He grew calm at last ; at last he 
 came to a decision. From the very first in- 
 stant he had a presentiment of this decision ; 
 ... it had appeared to him at first like a 
 distant, hardly perceptible point in the midst of 
 the darkness and turmoil of his inward conflict ; 
 then it had begun to move nearer and nearer, 
 till it ended by cutting with icy edge into his 
 heart. 
 
 Litvinov once more dragged his box out of 
 the corner, once more he packed all his things, 
 without haste, even with a kind of stupid care- 
 fulness, rang for the waiter, paid his bill, and 
 despatched to Irina a note in Russian to the 
 following purport : 
 
 * I don't know whether you are doing me a 
 greater wrong now than then ; but I know this 
 present blow is infinitely heavier. ... It is the 
 end. You tell me, " I cannot " ; and I repeat 
 to you, " I cannot . . ." do what you want. I 
 cannot and I don't want to. Don't answer me. 
 You are not capable of giving me the only 
 answer I would accept. I am going away 
 to-morrow early by the first train. Good-bye, 
 may you be happy ! We shall in all probability 
 not see each other again/ 
 
 Till night-time Litvinov did not leave his 
 room ; God knows whether he was expecting 
 anything. About seven o'clock in the evening 
 
 284 
 
 
SMOKE 
 
 a lady in a black mantle with a veil on her 
 face twice approached the steps of his hotel. 
 Moving a little aside and gazing far away 
 into the distance, she suddenly made a resolute 
 gesture with her hand, and for the third time 
 went towards the steps. . . . 
 
 * Where are you going, Irina Pavlovna ? ' she 
 heard a voice utter with effort behind her. 
 
 She turned with nervous swiftness. . . . 
 Potugin ran up to her. 
 
 She stopped short, thought a moment, and 
 fairly flung herself towards him, took his arm, 
 and drew him away. 
 
 ' Take me away, take me away/ she repeated 
 breathlessly. 
 
 ' What is it, Irina Pavlovna ? ' he muttered in 
 bewilderment. 
 
 1 Take me away,'' she reiterated with redoubled 
 force, ' if you don't want me to remain for ever 
 . . . there.' 
 
 Potugin bent his head submissively, and hur- 
 riedly they went away together. 
 
 The following morning early Litvinov was 
 perfectly ready for his journey — into his room 
 walked . . . Potugin. 
 
 He went up to him in silence, and in silence 
 shook his hand. Litvinov, too, said nothing. 
 Both of them wore long faces, and both vainly 
 tried to smile. 
 
 285 
 
SMOKE 
 
 ' I came to wish you a good journey/ Potugin 
 brought out at last. 
 
 * And how did you know I was going to-day?' 
 asked Litvinov. 
 
 Potugin looked on the floor around him . . . 
 ' I became aware of it . . as you see. Our last 
 conversation took in the end such a strange 
 turn . . I did not want to part from you 
 without expressing my sincere good feeling 
 for you.' 
 
 'You have good feeling for me now . . . 
 when I am going away ? ' 
 
 Potugin looked mournfully at Litvinov, ' Ah, 
 Grigory Mihalitch, Grigory Mihalitch,' he began 
 with a short sigh, ' it 's no time for that with us 
 now, no time for delicacy or fencing. You don't, 
 so far as I have been able to perceive, take much 
 interest in our national literature, and so, per- 
 haps, you have no clear conception of Vaska 
 Buslaev ? ' 
 
 ' Of whom ? ' 
 
 ' Of Vaska Buslaev, the hero of Novgorod . . . 
 in Kirsch-Danilov's collection.' 
 
 1 What Buslaev ? ' said Litvinov, somewhat 
 puzzled by the unexpected turn of the conver- 
 sation. ' I don't know.' 
 
 1 Well, never mind. I only wanted to draw 
 your attention to something. Vaska Buslaev, 
 after he had taken away his Novgorodians on a 
 
 286 
 
SMOKE 
 
 pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and there, to their 
 horror, bathed all naked in the holy river 
 Jordan, for he believed not " in omen nor in 
 dream, nor in the flight of birds," this logical 
 Vaska Buslaev climbed up Mount Tabor, 
 and on the top of this mountain there lies a 
 great stone, over which men of every kind have 
 tried in vain to jump. . . . Vaska too ventured 
 to try his luck. And he chanced upon a dead 
 head, a human skull in his road ; he kicked it 
 away with his foot. So the skull said to him ; 
 " Why do you kick me ? I knew how to live, 
 and I know how to roll in the dust — and it will 
 be the same with you." And in fact, Vaska 
 jumps over the stone, and he did quite clear it, 
 but he caught his heel and broke his skull. 
 And in this place, I must by the way observe 
 that it wouldn't be amiss for our friends, the 
 Slavophils, who are so fond of kicking dead 
 heads and decaying nationalities underfoot to 
 ponder over that legend.' 
 
 * But what does all that mean ? ' Litvinov 
 interposed impatiently at last ' Excuse me, 
 it 's time for me . . .' 
 
 ' Why, this/ answered Potugin, and his eyes 
 beamed with such affectionate warmth as Lit- 
 vinov had not even expected of him, ' this, that 
 you do not spurn a dead human head, and for 
 your goodness, perhaps you may succeed in 
 
 287 
 
SMOKE 
 
 leaping over the fatal stone. I won't keep 
 you any longer, only let me embrace you at 
 parting.' 
 
 1 I 'm not going to try to leap over it even/ 
 Litvinov declared, kissing Potugin three times, 
 and the bitter sensations filling his soul were 
 replaced for an instant by pity for the poor 
 lonely creature. 
 
 * But I must go, I must go. . . / he moved 
 about the room. 
 
 ' Can I carry anything for you ? ' Potugin 
 proffered his services. 
 
 ' No, thank you, don't trouble, I can man- 
 age. . . .' 
 
 He put on his cap, took up his bag. ' So 
 you say/ he queried, stopping in the doorway, 
 1 you have seen her ? ' 
 
 1 Yes, I Ve seen her.' 
 
 1 Well . . . tell me about her/ 
 
 Potugin was silent a moment. 'She expected 
 you yesterday . . . and to-day she will expect 
 you/ 
 
 'Ah! Well, tell her . . . No, there's no 
 need, no need of anything. Good-bye . . . 
 Good-bye ! ' 
 
 ' Good-bye, Grigory Mihalitch. . . . Let me 
 say one word more to you. You still have time 
 to listen to me ; there's more than half an hour 
 before the train starts. You are returning to 
 
 288 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Russia . . . There you will ... in time . . . 
 get to work . . . Allow an old chatterbox — for, 
 alas, I am a chatterbox, and nothing more — to 
 give you advice for your journey. Every time it 
 is your lot to undertake any piece of work, ask 
 yourself: Are you serving the cause of civilisa- 
 tion, in the true and strict sense of the word ; 
 are you promoting one of the ideals of civilisa- 
 tion ; have your labours that educating, Euro 
 peanising character which alone is beneficial and 
 profitable in our day among us ? If it is so, go 
 boldly forward, you are on the right path, and 
 your work is a blessing ! Thank God for it ! 
 You are not alone now. You will not be a 
 " sower in the desert " ; there are plenty of 
 workers . . . pioneers . . . even among us now 
 . . . But you have no ears for this now. Good- 
 bye, don't forget me ! ' 
 
 Litvinov descended the staircase at a run, 
 flung himself into a carriage, and drove to the 
 station, not once looking round at the town 
 where so much of his personal life was left 
 behind. He abandoned himself, as it were, to 
 the tide ; it snatched him up and bore him 
 along, and he firmly resolved not to struggle 
 against it . . . all other exercise of independent 
 will he renounced. 
 
 He was just taking his seat in the railway 
 carriage. 
 
 289 т 
 
SMOKE 
 
 'Grigory Mihalitch . . . Grigory . . .' he heard 
 a supplicating whisper behind him. 
 
 He started . . . Could it be Irina ? Yes ; it 
 was she. Wrapped in her maid's shawl, a 
 travelling hat on her dishevelled hair, she was 
 standing on the platform, and gazing at him 
 with worn and weary eyes. 
 
 1 Come back, come back, I have come for 
 you/ those eyes were saying. And what, what 
 were they not promising ? She did not move, 
 she had not power to add a word ; everything 
 about her, even the disorder of her dress, every- 
 thing seeemed entreating forgiveness . . . 
 
 Litvinov was almost beaten, scarcely could 
 he keep from rushing to her . . . But the tide 
 to which he had surrendered himself reasserted 
 itself. . . . He jumped into the carriage, and 
 turning round, he motioned Irina to a place 
 beside him. She understood him. There was 
 still time. One step, one movement, and two 
 lives made one for ever would have been hurried 
 away into the uncertain distance. . . . While 
 she wavered, a loud whistle sounded and the 
 train moved off. 
 
 Litvinov sank back, while Irina moved 
 staggering to a seat, and fell on it, to the im- 
 mense astonishment of a supernumerary diplo- 
 matic official who chanced to be lounging about 
 the railway station. He was slightly acquainted 
 
 290 
 
SMOKE 
 
 with Irina, and greatly admired her, and seeing 
 that she lay as though overcome by faintness, 
 he imagined that she had ' une attaque de nerfsl 
 and therefore deemed it his duty, the duty dun 
 galant chevalier, to go to her assistance. But 
 his astonishment assumed far greater propor- 
 tions when, at the first word addressed to her, 
 she suddenly got up, repulsed his proffered 
 arm, and hurrying out into the street, had in a 
 few instants vanished in the milky vapour of 
 fog, so characteristic of the climate of the Black 
 Forest in the early days of autumn. 
 
 291 
 
XXVI 
 
 We happened once to go into the hut of a 
 peasant-woman who had just lost her only, 
 passionately loved son, and to our considerable 
 astonishment we found her perfectly calm, 
 almost cheerful. ' Let her be/ said her husband, 
 to whom probably our astonishment was ap- 
 parent, ' she is gone numb now.' And Litvinov 
 had in the same way ' gone numb.' The same 
 sort of calm came over him during the firs* 
 few hours of the journey. Utterly crushed, 
 hopelessly wretched as he was, still he was at 
 rest, at rest after the agonies and sufferings of 
 the last few weeks, after all the blows which had 
 fallen one after another upon his head. They 
 had been the more shattering for him that he 
 was little fitted by nature for such tempests. 
 Now he really hoped for nothing, and tried not 
 to remember, above all not to remember. He 
 was going to Russia ... he had to go some- 
 where ; but he was making no kind of plans 
 regarding his own personality. He did not 
 
 292 
 
SMOKE 
 
 recognise himself, he did not comprehend his 
 own actions, he had positively lost his real 
 identity, and, in fact, he took very little inter- 
 est in his own identity. Sometimes it seemed 
 to him that he was taking his own corpse 
 home, and only the bitter spasms of irreme- 
 diable spiritual pain passing over him from time 
 to time brought him back to a sense of still 
 being alive. At times it struck him as incom- 
 prehensible that a man — a man ! — could let a 
 woman, let love, have such power over him . . . 
 ' Ignominious weakness ! ' he muttered, and 
 shook back his cloak, and sat up more squarely; 
 as though to say, the past is over, let's begin 
 fresh ... a moment, and he could only smile 
 bitterly and wonder at himself. He fell to 
 looking out of the window. It was grey and 
 damp ; there was no rain, but the fog still hung 
 about ; and low clouds trailed across the sky 
 The wind blew facing the train ; whitish clouds 
 of steam, some singly, others mingled with other 
 darker clouds of smoke, whirled in endless file 
 past the window at which Litvinov was sitting. 
 He began to watch this steam, this smoke. 
 Incessantly mounting, rising and falling, twist- 
 ing and hooking on to the grass, to the bushes 
 as the ugh in sportive antics, lengthening out, 
 and hiding away, clouds upon clouds flew 
 by . . . they were for ever changing and 
 
 293 
 
SMOKE 
 
 stayed still the same in their monotonous, 
 hurrying, wearisome sport S Sometimes the 
 wind changed, the line bent to right or left, 
 and suddenly the whole mass vanished, and at 
 once reappeared at the opposite window ; then 
 again the huge tail was flung out, and again it 
 veiled Litvinov's view of the vast plain of the 
 Rhine. He gazed and gazed, and a strange 
 reverie came over him ... He was alone in the 
 compartment ; there was no one to disturb him, 
 Г Smoke, smoke/ he repeated several times ; and 
 suddenly it all seemed as smoke to him, every- 
 thing, his own life, Russian life — everything 
 human, especially everything Russian. All 
 smoke and steam, he thought ; all seems for 
 ever changing, on all sides new forms, phan- 
 toms flying after phantoms, while in reality 
 it is all the same and the same again ; every- 
 thing hurrying, flying towards something, and 
 everything vanishing without a trace, attaining 
 to nothing ; another wind blows, and all is 
 dashing in the opposite direction, and there 
 again the same untiring, restless — and useless 
 gambols ! He remembered much that had 
 taken place with clamour and flourish before 
 his eyes in the last few years . . . ' Smoke/ he 
 whispered, ' smoke ' ; he remembered the hot 
 disputes, the wrangling, the clamour at Gubar- 
 yov's, and in other sets of men, of high and 
 
 294 
 
SMOKE 
 
 low degree, advanced and reactionist, old and 
 young . . . ' Smoke/ he repeated, ( smoke and 
 steam ' ; he remembered, too, the fashionable 
 picnic, and he remembered various opinions 
 and speeches of other political personages 
 — even all Potugin's sermonising . . . ' Smoke, 
 smoke, nothing but smoke.' And what of his 
 own struggles and passions and agonies and 
 dreams ? He could only reply with a gesture 
 of despair. 
 
 And meanwhile the train dashed on and 
 on ; by now Rastadt, Carlsruhe, and Bruchsal 
 had long been left far behind ; the moun- 
 tains on the right side of the line swerved 
 aside, retreated into the distance, then 
 moved up again, but not so high, and 
 more thinly covered with trees. . . . The 
 train made a sharp turn . . . and there was 
 Heidelberg. The carriage rolled in under the 
 cover of the station ; there was the shouting 
 of newspaper-boys, selling papers of all sorts, 
 even Russian ; passengers began bustling in 
 their seats, getting out on to the platform, but 
 Litvinov did not leave his corner, and still sat 
 on with downcast head. Suddenly some one 
 called him by name ; he raised his eyes ; Bin- 
 dasov's ugly phiz was thrust in at the window ; 
 and behind him — or was he dreaming, no, it 
 was really so — all the familiar Baden faces ; 
 
 295 
 
SMOKE 
 
 there was Madame Suhantchikov, there was 
 Voroshilov, and Bambaev too ; they all rushed 
 up to him, while Bindasov bellowed : 
 
 'But where 's Pishtchalkin ? We were ex- 
 pecting him ; but it 's all the same, hop out, 
 and we '11 be off to Gubaryov's.' 
 
 ' Yes, my boy, yes, Gubaryov 's expecting us/ 
 Bambaev confirmed, making way for him, ' hop 
 out.' 
 
 Litvinov would have flown into a rage, 
 but for a dead load lying on his heart. He 
 glanced at Bindasov and turned away without 
 speaking. 
 
 • I tell you Gubaryov 's here/ shrieked 
 Madame Suhantchikov, her eyes fairly starting 
 out of her head. 
 
 Litvinov did not stir a muscle. 
 
 ■ Come, do listen, Litvinov/ Bambaev began 
 at last, ' there 's not only Gubaryov here, 
 there's a whole phalanx here of the most 
 splendid, most intellectual young fellows, Rus- 
 sians — and all studying the natural sciences, 
 all of the noblest convictions ! Really you 
 must stop here, if it's only for them. Here, 
 for instance, there 's a certain . . . there, I 've 
 forgotten his surname, but he 's a genius ! 
 simply ! ' 
 
 1 Oh, let him be, let him be, Rostislav Ardali- 
 onovitch/ interposed Madame Suhantchikov, 
 
 296 
 
SMOKE 
 
 1 let him be ! You see what sort of a fellow he 
 is ; and all his family are the same. He has 
 an aunt; at first she struck me as a sensible 
 woman, but the day before yesterday I went to 
 see her here— she had only just before gone to 
 Baden and was back here again before you 
 could look round — well, I went to see her ; 
 began questioning her . . Would you believe 
 me, I couldn't get a word out of the stuck-up 
 thing. Horrid aristocrat ! ' 
 
 Poor Kapitolina Markovna an aristocrat ! 
 Could she ever have anticipated such a humilia- 
 tion? 
 
 But Litvinov still held his peace, turned 
 away, and pulled his cap over his eyes. The 
 train started at last. 
 
 ' Well, say something at parting at least, you 
 stonyhearted man ! ' shouted Bambaev, ' this is 
 really too much ! ' 
 
 1 Rotten milksop ! ' yelled Bindasov. The 
 carriages were moving more and more rapidly, 
 and he could vent his abuse with impunity. 
 ' Niggardly stick-in-the-mud.' 
 
 Whether Bindasov invented this last appella- 
 tion on the spot, or whether it had come to 
 him second-hand, it apparently gave great 
 satisfaction to two of the noble young fellows 
 studying natural science, who happened to be 
 standing by, for only a few days later it 
 
 297 
 
SMOKE 
 
 appeared in the Russian periodical sheet, 
 published at that time at Heidelberg under the 
 title : A tout venant je crache ! l or, ' We don't 
 care a hang for anybody ! ' 
 
 But Litvinov repeated again, ' Smoke, smoke, 
 smoke ! Here/ he thought, ' in Heidelberg now 
 are over a hundred Russian students ; they 're 
 all studying chemistry, physics, physiology 
 — they won't even hear of anything else . . . 
 but in five or six years' time there won't be 
 fifteen at the lectures by the same celebrated 
 professors ; the wind will change, the smoke 
 will be blowing ... in another quarter . . . 
 smoke . . . smoke . . . ! 2 
 
 Towards nightfall he passed by Cassel. With 
 the darkness intolerable anguish pounced like 
 a hawk upon him, and he wept, burying him- 
 self in the corner of the carriage. For a long 
 time his tears flowed, not easing his heart, but 
 torturing him with a sort of gnawing bitter- 
 ness ; while at the same time, in one of the 
 hotels of Cassel, Tatyana was lying in bed 
 feverishly ill. 
 
 Kapitolina Markovna was sitting beside her. 
 ' Tanya/ she was saying, ' for God's sake, let 
 
 1 A historical fact. 
 
 2 Litvinov's presentiments came true. In 1866 there were in 
 Heidelberg thirteen Russian students entered for the summer, 
 and twelve for the winter session. 
 
 298 
 
SMOKE 
 
 me send a telegram to Grigory Mihalitch, do 
 let me, Tanya ! ' 
 
 'No, aunt/ she answered; * you mustn't; 
 don't be frightened, give me some water ; it 
 will soon pass/ 
 
 And a week later she did, in fact, recover, 
 and the two friends continued their journey. 
 
 299 
 
XXVII 
 
 STOPPING neither at Petersburg nor at Moscow, 
 Litvinov went back to his estate. He was dis- 
 mayed when he saw his father ; the latter was 
 so weak and failing. The old man rejoiced to 
 have his son, as far as a man can rejoice who is 
 just at the close of life ; he at once gave over to 
 him the management of everything, which was 
 in great disorder, and lingering on a few weeks 
 longer, he departed from this earthly sphere. 
 Litvinov was left alone in his ancient little 
 manor-house, and with a heavy heart, without 
 hope, without zeal, and without money, he 
 began to work the land. Working the land is 
 a cheerless business, as many know too well ; 
 we will not enlarge on how distasteful it 
 seemed to Litvinov. As for reforms and 
 innovations, there was, of course, no question 
 even of them ; the practical application of the 
 information he had gathered abroad was put off 
 for an indefinite period ; poverty forced him to 
 make shift from day to day, to consent to all 
 
 300 
 
SMOKE 
 
 sorts of compromises — both material and moral. 
 The new had ' begun ill/ the old had lost all 
 power ; ignorance jostled up against dishonesty ; 
 the whole agrarian organisation was shaken and 
 unstable as quagmire bog, and only one great 
 word, ' freedom/ was wafted like the breath of 
 God over the waters. Patience was needed 
 before all things, and a patience not passive, but 
 active, persistent, not without tact and cunning 
 at times. . . . For Litvinov, in his frame of 
 mind, it was doubly hard. He had but little 
 will to live left in. him. . . . Where was he to 
 get the will to labour and take trouble ? 
 
 But a year passed, after it another passed, 
 the third was beginning. The mighty idea was 
 being realised by degrees, was passing into 
 flesh and blood, the young shoot had sprung 
 up from the scattered seed, and its foes, both 
 open and secret, could not stamp it out now. 
 Litvinov himself, though he had ended by 
 giving up the greater part of his land to the 
 peasants on the half-profit system, that 's to say, 
 by returning to the wretched primitive methods, 
 had yet succeeded in doing something ; he had 
 restored the factory, set up a tiny farm with 
 five free hired labourers — he had had at differ- 
 ent times fully forty — an'd had paid his principal 
 private debts. . . . And his spirit had gained 
 strength ; he had begun to be like the old 
 
 301 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Litvinov again. It 's true, a deeply buried 
 melancholy never left him, and he was too quiet 
 for his years; he shut himself up in a narrow 
 circle and broke off all his old connections . . . 
 but the deadly indifference had passed, and 
 among the living he moved and acted as a living 
 man again. The last traces, too, had vanished 
 of the enchantment in which he had been held ; 
 all that had passed at Baden appeared to him 
 dimly as in a dream. . . . And Irina? even she 
 had paled and vanished too, and Litvinov only 
 had a faint sense of something dangerous behind 
 the mist that gradually enfolded her image. 
 Of Tatyana news reached him from time to 
 time ; he knew that she was living with her aunt 
 on her estate, a hundred and sixty miles from 
 him, leading a quiet life, going out little, and 
 scarcely receiving any guests — cheerful and well, 
 however. It happened on one fine May day, 
 that he was sitting in his study, listlessly turning 
 over the last number of a Petersburg paper ; 
 a servant came to announce the arrival of an 
 old uncle. This uncle happened to be a cousin 
 of Kapitolina Markovna and had been recently 
 staying with her. He had bought an estate in 
 Litvinov's vicinity and was on his way thither. 
 He stayed twenty-four hours with his nephew 
 and told him a great deal about Tatyana's 
 manner of life. The next day after his depar- 
 
 302 
 
SMOKE 
 
 ture Litvinov sent her a letter, the first since 
 their separation. He begged for permission to 
 renew her acquaintance, at least by correspond- 
 ence, and also desired to learn whether he must 
 for ever give up all idea of some day seeing her 
 again? Not without emotion he awaited the 
 answer . . . the answer came at last. Tatyana 
 responded cordially to his overture. ' If you 
 are disposed to pay us a visit/ she finished up, 
 1 we hope you will come ; you know the saying, 
 " even the sick are easier together than apart." : 
 Kapitolina Markovna joined in sending her 
 regards. Litvinov was as happy as a child ; it 
 was long since his heart had beaten with such 
 delight over anything. He felt suddenly light 
 and bright. . . . Just as when the sun rises and 
 drives away the darkness of night, a light breeze 
 flutters with the sun's rays over the face of the 
 reviving earth. All that day Litvinov kept 
 smiling, even while he went about his farm and 
 gave his orders. He at once began making 
 arrangements for the journey, and a fortnight 
 later he was on his way to Tatyana. 
 
 303 
 
XXVIII 
 
 He drove rather slowly by cross tracks, without 
 any special adventures ; only once the tire of 
 a hind wheel broke; a blacksmith hammered and 
 welded it, swearing" both at the tire and at him- 
 self, and positively flung up the job ; luckily it 
 turned out that among us one can travel capitally 
 even with a tire broken, especially on the * soft/ 
 that's to say on the mud. On the other 
 hand, Litvinov did come upon some rather 
 curious chance-meetings. At one place he 
 found a Board of Mediators sitting, and 
 at the head of it Fishtchalkin, who made 
 on him the impression of a Solon or a Solomon, 
 such lofty wisdom characterised his remarks, 
 and such boundless respect was shown him 
 both by landowners and peasants. ... In 
 exterior, too, he had begun to resemble a sage 
 of antiquity ; his hair had fallen off the crown 
 of his head, and his full face had completely 
 set in a sort of solemn jelly of positively 
 blatant virtue. He expressed his pleasure at 
 
 304 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Litvinov's arrival in — ' if I may make bold to 
 use so ambitious an expression, my own district,' 
 and altogether seemed fairly overcome by an 
 excess of excellent intentions. One piece of 
 news he did, however, succeed in communi- 
 cating, and that was about Voroshilov ; the 
 hero of the Golden Board had re-entered 
 military service, and had already had time to 
 deliver a lecture to the officers of his regiment 
 on Buddhism or Dynamism, or something of the 
 sort — Pishtchalkin could not quite remember. 
 At the next station it was a long while before 
 the horses were in readiness for Litvinov ; it 
 was early dawn, and he was dozing as he sat 
 in his coach. A voice, that struck him as 
 familiar, waked him up ; he opened his eyes. . . . 
 Heavens ! wasn't it Gubaryov in a grey pea- 
 jacket and full flapping pyjamas standing on 
 the steps of the posting hut, swearing? . . . 
 No, it wasn't Mr. Gubaryov. . . . But what a 
 striking resemblance ! . . . Only this worthy 
 had a mouth even wider, teeth even bigger, the 
 expression of his dull eyes was more savage 
 and his nose coarser, and his beard thicker, and 
 the whole countenance heavier and more re- 
 pulsive. 
 
 ' Scou-oundrels, scou-oundrels ! ' he voci- 
 ferated slowly and viciously, his wolfish mouth 
 gaping wide. ' Filthy louts. . . . Here you 
 
 305 и 
 
SMOKE 
 
 have . . . vaunted freedom indeed . . . and can't 
 get horses . . . scou-oundrels ! ' 
 
 ' Scou-oundrels, scou-oundrels ! ' thereupon 
 came the sound of another voice from within, 
 and at the same moment there appeared on the 
 steps — also in a grey smoking pea-jacket and 
 pyjamas — actually, unmistakably, the real Gu- 
 baryov himself, Stepan Nikolaevitch Gubaryov. 
 1 Filthy louts ! ' he went on in imitation of his 
 brother (it turned out that the first gentleman 
 was his elder brother, the man of the old school, 
 famous for his fists, who had managed his estate). 
 ' Flogging 's what they want, that 's it ; a tap or 
 two on the snout, that 's the sort of freedom for 
 them. . . . Self-government indeed. ... I 'd 
 let them know it. . . . But where is that 
 M'sieu Roston ? . . . What is he thinking about? 
 ... It 's his business, the lazy scamp ... to 
 see we 're not put to inconvenience.' 
 
 ' Well, I told you, brother/ began the elder 
 Gubaryov, ' that he was a lazy scamp, no good 
 in fact ! But there, for the sake of old times, 
 you . . . M sieu Roston, M'sieu Roston ! . . . 
 Where have you got to ? ' 
 
 1 Roston ! Roston ! ' bawled the younger, the 
 great Gubaryov. ' Give a good call for him, do 
 brother Dorimedont Nikolaitch ! ' 
 
 ' Well, I am shouting for him, Stepan Nikol- 
 aitch ! M'sieu Roston ! ' 
 
 306 
 
SMOKE 
 
 1 Here I am, here I am, here I am!' was 
 heard a hurried voice, and round the corner of 
 the hut skipped Bambaev. 
 
 Litvinov fairly gasped. On the unlucky 
 enthusiast a shabby braided coat, with holes 
 in the elbows, dangled ruefully ; his features 
 had not exactly changed, but they looked 
 pinched and drawn together ; his over-anxious 
 little eyes expressed a cringing timorousness 
 and hungry servility ; but his dyed whiskers 
 stood out as of old above his swollen lips. The 
 Gubaryov brothers with one accord promptly 
 set to scolding him from the top of the steps ; 
 he stopped, facing them below, in the mud, and 
 with his spine curved deprecatingly, he tried 
 to propitiate them with a little nervous smile, 
 kneading his cap in his red fingers, shifting 
 from one foot to the other, and muttering that 
 the horses would be here directly. . . . But 
 the brothers did not cease, till the younger at 
 last cast his eyes upon Litvinov. Whether he 
 recognised Litvinov, or whether he felt ashamed 
 before a stranger, anyway he turned abruptly on 
 his heels like a bear, and gnawing his beard, 
 went into the station hut ; his brother held 
 his tongue at once, and he too, turning like a 
 bear, followed him in. The great Gubaryov, 
 evidently, had not lost his influence even in 
 his own country. 
 
 307 
 
SMOKE 
 
 Bambaev was slowly moving after the 
 brothers. . . . Litvinov called him by his name. 
 He looked round, lifted up his head, and re- 
 cognising Litvinov, positively flew at him with 
 outstretched arms ; but when he had run up to 
 the carriage, he clutched at the carriage door, 
 leaned over it, and began sobbing violently. 
 
 * There, there, Bambaev,' protested Litvinov, 
 bending over him and patting him on the 
 shoulder. 
 
 But he went on sobbing. ' You see . . . you 
 see ... to what . . .' he muttered brokenly. 
 
 ' Bambaev ! ' thundered the brothers from the 
 hut. 
 
 Bambaev raised his head and hurriedly wiped 
 his tears. 
 
 1 Welcome, dear heart/ he whispered, * wel- 
 come and farewell ! . . . You hear, they are 
 calling me.' 
 
 ■ But what chance brought you here? ' inquired 
 Litvinov, ' and what does it all mean ? I 
 thought they were calling a Frenchman. . . .' 
 
 ( I am their . . . house-steward, butler/ an- 
 swered Bambaev, and he pointed in the direc- 
 tion of the hut. ' And I 'm turned Frenchman 
 for a joke. What could I do, brother? You 
 see, I 'd nothing to eat, I 'd lost my last 
 farthing, and so one 's forced to put one's head 
 under the yoke. One can't afford to be proud.' 
 
 308 
 
SMOKE 
 
 ' But has he been long in Russia ? and how 
 did he part from his comrades ? ' 
 
 1 Ah, my boy, that 's all on the shelf now. 
 . . . The wind 's changed, you see. . . . Madame 
 Suhantchikov, Matrona Semyonovna, he simply 
 kicked out. She went to Portugal in her grief 
 
 * To Portugal ? How absurd ! ' 
 
 * Yes, brother, to Portugal, with two Matro- 
 novtsys.' 
 
 ' With whom ? ' 
 
 1 The Matronovtsys ; that 's what the members 
 of her party are called.' 
 
 4 Matrona Semyonovna has a party of her 
 own ? And is it a numerous one ? ' 
 
 ' Well, it consists of precisely those two. And 
 he will soon have been back here six months. 
 Others have got into difficulties, but he was 
 all right. He lives in the country with his 
 brother, and you should just hear him now. . .' 
 
 1 Bambaev ! ' 
 
 1 Coming, Stepan Nikolaitch, coming. And 
 you, dear old chap, are flourishing, enjoy- 
 ing yourself ! Well, thank God for that ! 
 Where are you off to now ? . . . There, I never 
 thought, I never guessed. . . . You remember 
 Baden ? Ah, that was a place to live in ! By 
 the way, you remember Bindasov too ? Only 
 fancy, he 's dead. He turned exciseman, and 
 was in a row in a public-house ; he got his head 
 
 309 U 2 
 
SMOKE 
 
 broken with a billiard-cue. Yes, yes, hard 
 times have come now ! But still I say, Russia 
 . . . ah, our Russia ! Only look at those two 
 geese ; why, in the whole of Europe there 's 
 nothing like them ! The genuine Arzamass 
 breed ! ' 
 
 And with this last tribute to his irrepressible 
 desire for enthusiasm, Bambaev ran off to the 
 station hut, where again, seasoned with oppro- 
 brious epithets, his name was shouted. 
 
 Towards the close of the same day, Litvinov 
 was nearly reaching Tatyana's village. The 
 little house where his former betrothed lived 
 stood on the slope of a hill, above a small river, 
 in the midst of a garden recently planted. The 
 house, too, was new. lately built, and could be 
 seen a long way off across the river and the 
 open country. Litvinov caught sight of it more 
 than a mile and a half off, with its sharp gable, 
 and its row of little windows, gleaming red in 
 the evening sun. At starting from the last 
 station he was conscious of a secret agitation ; 
 now he was in a tremor simply — a happy 
 tremor, not unmixed with dread. ' How will 
 they meet me ? ' he thought, ' how shall I present 
 myself?' . . . To turn off his thoughts with 
 something, he began talking with his driver, a 
 steady peasant with a grey beard, who charged 
 him, however, for twenty-five miles, when the 
 
 310 
 
SMOKE 
 
 distance was not twenty. He asked him, did 
 he know the Shestov ladies ? 
 
 'The Shestov ladies? To be sure! Kind- 
 hearted ladies, and no doubt about it ! They 
 doctor us too. It 's the truth I 'm telling you. 
 Doctors they are ! People go to them from all 
 about. Yes, indeed. They fairly crawl to them. 
 If any one, take an example, falls sick, or cuts 
 himself or anything, he goes straight to them 
 and they '11 give him a lotion directly, or 
 powders, or a plaster, and it '11 be all right, it '11 
 do good. But one can't show one's gratitude, 
 we won't consent to that, they say ; it 's not for 
 money. They Ve set up a school too. . . . Not 
 but what that 's a foolish business ! ' 
 
 While the driver talked, Litvinov never took 
 his eyes off the house. . . . Out came a woman 
 in white on to the balcony, stood a little, stood 
 and then disappeared. . . . ' Wasn't it she ? ' 
 His heart was fairly bounding within him. 
 ' Quicker, quicker ! ' he shouted to the driver ; 
 the latter urged on the horses. A few instants 
 more . . . and the carriage rolled in through 
 the opened gates. . . . And on the steps Kapi- 
 tolina Markovna was already standing, and 
 beside herself with joy, was clapping her hands 
 crying, 'I heard him, I knew him first! It's 
 he ! it 's he ! . . I knew him ! ' 
 
 Litvinov jumped out of the carriage, with- 
 
SMOKE 
 
 out giving the page who ran up time to open 
 the door, and hurriedly embracing Kapitolina 
 Markovna, dashed into the house, through the 
 hall, into the dining-room. . . . Before him, all 
 shamefaced, stood Tatyana. She glanced at 
 him with her kind caressing eyes (she was a 
 little thinner, but it suited her), and gave him her 
 hand. But he did not take her hand, he fell on 
 his knees before her. She had not at all ex- 
 pected this and did not know what to say, what 
 to do. . . . The tears started into her eyes. 
 She was frightened, but her whole face beamed 
 with delight. ... * Grigory Mihalitch, what is 
 this, Grigory Mihalitch ? ' she said . . . while he 
 still kissed the hem of her dress . . . and with 
 a thrill of tenderness he recalled that at Baden 
 he had been in the same way on his knees 
 before her. . . . But then — and now ! 
 
 ' Tanya ! ' he repeated, ' Tanya ! you have 
 forgiven me, Tanya ! ' 
 
 * Aunt, aunt, what is this ? ' cried Tatyana 
 turning to Kapitolina Markovna as she came in. 
 
 - Don't hinder him, Tanya/ answered the kind 
 old lady. * You see the sinner has repented.' 
 
 But it is time to make an end ; and indeed 
 there is nothing to add ; the reader can guess 
 the rest by himself. . . . But what of Irina? 
 
 She is still as charming, in spite of her 
 
 312 
 
SMOKE 
 
 thirty years ; young men out of number fall in 
 love with her, and would fall in love with her 
 even more, if . . . if . . . 
 
 Reader, would you care to pass with us for a 
 few instants to Petersburg into one of the first 
 houses there ? Look ; before you is a spacious 
 apartment, we will not say richly — that is too 
 low an expression — but grandly, imposingly, 
 inspiringly decorated. Are you conscious of a 
 certain flutter of servility ? Know that you have 
 entered a temple, a temple consecrated to the 
 highest propriety, to the loftiest philanthropy, in 
 a word, to things unearthly. ... A kind of 
 mystic, truly mystic, hush enfolds you. The 
 velvet hangings on the doors, the velvet curtains 
 on the window, the bloated, spongy rug on the 
 floor, everything as it were destined and fitted 
 beforehand for subduing, for softening all coarse 
 sounds and violent sensations. The carefully 
 hung lamps inspire well-regulated emotions ; a 
 discreet fragrance is diffused in the close air ; 
 even the samovar on the table hisses in a re- 
 strained and modest manner. The lady of the 
 house, an important personage in the Petersburg 
 world, speaks hardly audibly ; she always speaks 
 as though there were some one dangerously ill, 
 almost dying in the room ; the other ladies, 
 following her example, faintly whisper ; while 
 her sister, pouring out tea, moves her lips so 
 
 313 
 
SMOKE 
 
 absolutely without sound that a young man sit- 
 ting before her, who has been thrown by chance 
 into the temple of decorum, is positively at a 
 loss to know what she wants of him, while she 
 for the sixth time breathes to him, ' Voulez-vous 
 une tasse de the?' In the corners are to be seen 
 young, good-looking men ; their glances are 
 brightly, gently ingratiating ; unruffled gentle- 
 ness, tinged with obsequiousness, is apparent in 
 their faces ; a number of the stars and crosses 
 of distinction gleam softly on their breasts. 
 The conversation is always gentle ; it turns on 
 religious and patriotic topics, the Mystic Drop, 
 F. N. Glinka, the missions in the East, the 
 monasteries and brotherhoods in White Russia. 
 At times, with muffled tread over the soft 
 carpets, move footmen in livery ; their huge 
 calves, cased in tight silk stockings, shake 
 noiselessly at every step ; the respectful motion 
 of the solid muscles only augments the general 
 impression of decorum, of solemnity, of sanctity. 
 
 It is a temple, a temple ! 
 
 1 Have you seen Madame Ratmirov to-day ? ' 
 one great lady queries softly. 
 
 ' I met her to-day at Lise's,' the hostess answers 
 with her iEolian note. ' I feel so sorry for her. 
 . . . She has a satirical intellect . . . elk ria 
 pas la foil 
 
 ' Yes, yes/ repeats the great lady . . . ' that 
 
 34 
 
SMOKE 
 
 I remember, Piotr Ivanitch said about her, 
 and very true it is, quelle a . . . qu'elle a an 
 ironical intellect.' 
 
 1 Elle ria pas la foil the hostess's voice ex- 
 haled like the smoke of incense, — 'Cest une dme 
 egaree. She has an ironical mind/ 
 
 And that is why the young men are not 
 all without exception in love with Irina. . . . 
 They are afraid of her . . . afraid of her 
 1 ironical intellect.' That is the current phrase 
 about her ; in it, as in every phrase, there is a 
 grain of truth. And not only the young men 
 are afraid of her ; she is feared by grown men 
 too, and by men in high places, and even by 
 the grandest personages. No one can so truly 
 and artfully scent out the ridiculous or petty 
 side of a character, no one else has the gift of 
 stamping it mercilessly with the never-forgotten 
 word. . . . And the sting of that word is all the 
 sharper that it comes from lovely, sweetly fra- 
 grant lips. ... It 's hard to say what passes in 
 that soul ; but in the crowd of her adorers 
 rumour does not recognise in any one the posi- 
 tion of a favoured suitor. 
 
 Irina's husband is moving rapidly along the 
 path which among the French is called the 
 path of distinction. The stout general has shot 
 past him ; the condescending one is left behind. 
 
 34 
 
SMOKE 
 
 And in the'same town in which Irina lives, lives 
 also our friend Sozont Potugin ; he rarely sees 
 her, and she has no special necessity to keep up 
 any connection with him. . . . The little girl 
 who was committed to his care died not long 
 ago. 
 
 ГНЕ END 
 
 Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to His Majesty, 
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