^ 
 
 
 MAIN LiaF?AP?Y [.In.vin. iVjr^t 
 
THE NOVELS OF 
 IVAN TURGENEV 
 

 THE NOVELS OF 
 
 IVAN TURGENEV 
 
 I. 
 
 RUDIN. 
 
 II. 
 
 A HOUSE OF GENTLEFOLK. 
 
 tii. 
 
 ON THE EVE. 
 
 V IV. 
 
 FATHERS AND CHILDREN. 
 
 V. 
 
 SMOKE. 
 
 VI. & VII. 
 
 VIRGIN SOIL. 2 vols. 
 
 VIII. & IX. 
 
 A SPORTSMAN'S SKETCHES. 2 vols. 
 
 X. 
 
 DREAM TALES AND PROSE POEMS 
 
 XI. 
 
 THE TORRENTS OF SPRING, ETC. 
 
 XII. 
 
 A LEAR OF THE STEPPES. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE DIARY OF A SUPERFLUOUS 
 MAN, ETC. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 A DESPERATE CHARACTER, ETC. 
 
 XV. 
 
 THE JEW, ETC. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 TWO FRIENDS AND OTHER STORIES. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK AND 
 OTHER STORIES. 
 
 NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 LON>DON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN 
 
THE NOVELS OP IVAN TURGENEV 
 
 KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN 
 
 By 
 
 CONSTANCE GARNETT 
 
 NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN 
 
 MCMXXI 
 
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
 
 Copyright, 1921, 
 By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 
 
 /Sftt 5i*piali(J' printed. Published October, 1921. 
 
 • ••••••€•»• • 
 
 MAIN LIBRARY 
 
 /i£^.,.^>^ 
 
 Press of 
 
 J. J. Little & Ives Company 
 
 New York. U. S. A 
 

 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK I 
 
 (^ 
 
 THE INN 
 
 LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 155 
 
 THE DOG 221 
 
 THE WATCH 254 
 
 438331 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 A STUDY 
 
 We all settled down in a circle and our good 1 
 friend Alexandr Vassilyevitch Ridel (his sur- 
 name was German but he was Russian to the 
 marrow of his bones) began as follows: 
 
 I am going to tell you a story, friends, of 
 something that happened to me in the 'thirties 
 . . . forty years ago as you see. I will be brief 
 — and don't you interrupt me. 
 
 I was living at the time in Petersburg and 
 had only just left the University. My brother 
 was a lieutenant in the horse-guard artillery. 
 His battery was stationed at Krasnoe Selo — 
 it was summer time. My brother lodged not 
 at Krasnoe Selo itself but in one of the neigh- 
 I 
 
KNOCt<:, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 bouring villages; I stayed with him more than 
 once and made the acquaintance of all his com- 
 rades. He was living in a fairly decent cot- 
 tage, together with another officer of his bat- 
 tery, whose name was Ilya Stepanitch Tyeglev. 
 I became particularly friendly with him. 
 
 Marlinsky is out of date now — no one reads 
 him — and even his name is jeered at; but in 
 the 'thirties his fame was above everyone's — 
 and in the opinion of the young people of the 
 day Pushkin could not hold a candle to him. 
 He not only enjoyed the reputation of being the 
 foremost Russian writer ; but — something much 
 more difficult and more rarely met with — he did 
 to some extent leave his mark on his generation. 
 One came across heroes a la Marlinsky every- 
 where, especially in the provinces and espe- 
 cially among infantry and artillery men; they 
 talked and corresponded in his language; be- 
 haved with gloomy reserve in society — "with 
 tempest in the soul and flame in the blood" 
 like Lieutenant Byelosov in the ''Frigate Hope." 
 Women's hearts were "devoured" by them. The 
 adjective applied to them in those days was 
 "fatal." The type, as we all know, survived 
 
 2 
 
A STUDY 
 
 for many years, to the days of Petchorin.* 
 All sorts of elements were mingled in that type. 
 Byronism, romanticism, reminiscences of the 
 French Revolution, of the Dekabrists — and the 
 worship of Napoleon ; faith in destiny, in one's 
 star, in strength of will; pose and fine phrases 
 — and a miserable sense of the emptiness of 
 life; uneasy pangs of petty vanity — and genu- 
 ine strength and daring; generous impulses — 
 and defective education, ignorance; aristocratic 
 airs — and delight in trivial foppery. . . . But 
 enough of these general reflections. I prom- 
 ised to tell you the story. 
 
 n 
 
 Lieutenant Tyeglev belonged precisely to the 
 class of those "fatal" individuals, though he 
 did not possess the exterior commonly associ- 
 ated with them; he was not, for instance, in 
 the least like Lermontov's "fatalist." He was 
 a man of medium height, fairly solid and round- 
 shouldered, with fair, almost white eyebrows 
 and eyelashes; he had a round, fresh, rosy- 
 
 *The leading character in Lermontov's A Hero of 
 Our Time. — Translators Note. 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 cheeked face, a turn-up nose, a low forehead 
 with the hair growing thick over the temples, 
 and full, well-shaped, always immobile lips: 
 he never laughed, never even smiled. Only 
 when he was tired and out of heart he showed 
 his square teeth, white as sugar. The same 
 artificial immobility was imprinted on all his 
 features : had it not been for that, they would 
 have had a good-natured expression. His 
 small green eyes with yellow lashes were the 
 only thing not quite ordinary in his face: his 
 right eye was very slightly higher than his left 
 and the left eyelid drooped a little, which made 
 his eyes look different, strange and drowsy. 
 Tyeglev's countenance, which was not, however, 
 without a certain attractiveness, almost always 
 wore an expression of discontent mingled with 
 perplexity, as though he were chasing within 
 himself a gloomy thought which he was never 
 able to catch. At the same time he did not give 
 one the impression of being stuck up : he might 
 rather have been taken for an aggrieved than 
 a haughty man. He spoke very little, hesitat- 
 ingly, in a husky voice, with unnecessary repe- 
 titions. Unlike most "fatalists," he did not 
 4 
 
A STUDY 
 
 use particularly elaborate expressions in speak- 
 ing and only had recourse to them in writing; 
 his handwriting was quite like a child's. His 
 superiors regarded him as an officer of no great 
 merit — not particularly capable and not over- 
 zealous. The brigadier-general, a man of Ger- 
 man extraction, used to say of him: "He has 
 punctuality but not precision." With the sol- 
 diers, too, Tyeglev had the character of being 
 neither one thing nor the other. He lived mod- 
 estly, in accordance with his means. He had 
 been left an orphan at nine years old : his 
 father and mother were drowned when they 
 were being ferried across the Oka in the spring 
 floods. He had been educated at a private 
 school, where he had the reputation of being 
 one of the slowest and quietest of the boys, 
 and at his own earnest desire and through the 
 good offices of a cousin who was a man of in- 
 fluence, he obtained a commission in the horse- 
 guards artillery; and, though with some diffi- 
 culty, passed his examination first as an 
 ensign and then as a second lieutenant. His 
 relations with other officers were somewhat 
 strained. He was not liked, was rarely visited 
 5 
 

 KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 — and he hardly went to see anyone. He felt 
 the presence of strangers a constraint; he in- 
 stantly became awkward and unnatural . . . 
 he had no instinct for comradeship and was 
 not on really intimate terms with anyone. But 
 he was respected, and respected not for his 
 character nor for his intelligence and education 
 — but because the stamp which distinguishes 
 "fatal" people was discerned in him. No one 
 of his fellow officers expected that Tyeglev 
 would make a career or distinguish himself in 
 any way; but that Tyeglev might do something 
 extraordinary or that Tyeglev might become a 
 Napoleon was not considered impossible. For 
 that is a matter of a man's "star" — and he was 
 regarded as a "man of destiny," just as there 
 are "men of sighs" and "of tears." 
 
 Ill 
 
 Two incidents that marked the first steps in 
 his career did a great deal to strengthen his 
 "fatal" reputation. On the very first day after 
 receiving his commission — about the middle of 
 March — he was walking with other newly pro- 
 moted officers in full dress uniform along the 
 6 
 
A STUDY 
 
 embankment. The spring had come early that 
 year, the Neva was melting; the bigger blocks 
 of ice had gone but the whole river was choked 
 up with a dense mass of thawing icicles. The 
 young men were talking and laughing . . . 
 suddenly one of them stopped : he saw a little 
 dog some twenty paces from the bank on the 
 slowly moving surface of the river. Perched 
 on a projecting piece of ice it was whining and 
 trembling all over. "It will be drowned," said 
 the officer through his teeth. The dog was 
 slowly being carried past one of the sloping 
 gangways that led down to the river. All at 
 once Tyeglev without saying a word ran down 
 this gangway and over the thin ice, sinking in 
 and leaping out again, reached the dog, seized 
 it by the scruff of the neck and getting safely 
 back to the bank, put it down on the pavement. 
 The danger to which Tyeglev had exposed him- 
 self was so great, his action was so unexpected, 
 that his companions were dumbfoundered — 
 and only spoke all at once, when he had called a 
 cab to drive home: his uniform was wet all 
 over. In response to their exclamations, Tye- 
 glev replied coolly that there was no escaping 
 7 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 I one's destiny — and told the cabman to drive on. 
 
 "You might at least take the dog with you 
 as a souvenir," cried one of the officers. But 
 Tyeglev merely waved his hand, and his com- 
 rades looked at each other in silent amazement. 
 
 The second incident occurred a few days 
 later, at a card party at the battery command- 
 er's. Tyeglev sat in the comer and took no 
 part in the play. "Oh, if only I had a grand- 
 mother to tell me beforehand what cards will 
 win, as in Pushkin's Queen of Spades'' cried 
 a lieutenant whose losses had nearly reached 
 three thousand. Tyeglev approached the table 
 in silence, took up a pack, cut it, and saying "the 
 six of diamonds," turned the pack up : the six 
 of diamonds was the bottom card. "The ace 
 of clubs!" he said and cut again: the bottom 
 card turned out to be the ace of clubs. "The 
 king of diamonds !" he said for the third time 
 in an angry whisper through his clenched teeth 
 I — and he was right the third time, too . . . 
 and he suddenly turned crimson. He prob- 
 ably had not expected it himself. "A capital 
 trick! Do it again," observed the command- 
 ing officer of the battery. "I don't go in for 
 8 
 
A STUDY 
 
 tricks," Tyeglev answered drily and walked into 
 the other room. How it happened that he 
 guessed the card right, I can't pretend to ex- 
 plain : but I saw it with my own eyes. Many of 
 the players present tried to do the same — and 
 not one of them succeeded: one or two did 
 guess one card but never two in succession. 
 And Tyeglev had guessed three ! This incident 
 strengthened still further his reputation as a 
 mysterious, fatal character. It has often oc- 
 curred to me since that if he had not succeeded 
 in the trick with the cards, there is no knowing 
 what turn it would have taken and how he 
 would have looked at himself; but this unex- 
 pected success clinched the matter. 
 
 IV 
 
 It may well be understood that Tyeglev 
 clutched at this reputation. It gave him a spe- 
 cial significance, a special colour . . . "Cela le 
 posait/' as the French express it — and with his 
 limited intelligence, scanty education and im- 
 mense vanity, such a reputation just suited him. 
 It was difficult to acquire it but to keep it up 
 cost nothing: he had only to remain silent and 
 9 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 hold himself aloof. But it was not owing to 
 this reputation that I made friends with Tyeglev 
 and, I may say, grew fond of him. I liked 
 him in the first place because I was rather an 
 unsociable creature myself — and saw in him 
 one of my own sort, and secondly, because he 
 was a very good-natured fellow and in reality, 
 very simple-hearted. He aroused in me a feeling 
 of something like compassion ; it seemed to me 
 that apart from his affected ''fataHty," he really 
 was weighed down by a tragic fate which he 
 did not himself suspect. I need hardly say I 
 did not express this feeling to him : could any- 
 thing be more insulting to a "fatal" hero than 
 to be an object of pity? And Tyeglev, on his 
 side, was well-disposed to me; with me he felt 
 at ease, with me he used to talk — in my pres- 
 ence he ventured to leave the strange pedestal 
 on which he had been placed either by his own 
 efforts or by chance. Agonisingly, morbidly 
 vain as he was, yet he was probably aware in 
 the depths of his soul that there was nothing to 
 justify his vanity, and that others might per- 
 haps look down on him . . . but I, a boy of. nine- 
 teen, put no constraint on him ; the dread of say- 
 
 lO 
 
A STUDY 
 
 ing something stupid, inappropriate, did not op- I 
 press his ever-apprehensive heart in my pres- 
 ence. He sometimes even chattered freely ; and 
 well it was for him that no one heard his chat- 
 ter except me ! His reputation would not have 
 lasted long. He not only knew very little, but 
 read hardly anything and confined himself to 
 picking up stories and anecdotes of a certain 
 kind. He believed in presentiments, predic- 
 tions, omens, meetings, lucky and unlucky days, 
 in the persecution and benevolence of destiny, 
 in the mysterious significance of life, in fact. 
 He even believed in certain "climacteric" years 
 which someone had mentioned in his presence 
 and the meaning of which he did not himself 
 very well understand. "Fatal" men of the true 
 stamp ought not to betray such beliefs: they 
 ought to inspire them in others. . . . But I was 
 the only one who knew Tyeglev on that side. 
 
 V 
 
 One day — I remember it was St. Elijah's 
 day, July 20th — I came to stay with my brother 
 and did not find him at home : he had been or- 
 dered off for a whole week somewhere. I did 
 n 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 not want to go back to Petersburg ; I sauntered 
 about the neighbouring marshes, killed a brace 
 of snipe and spent the evening with Tyeglev 
 under the shelter of an empty barn where he 
 had, as he expressed it, set up his summer resi- 
 dence. We had a little conversation but for 
 the most part drank tea, smoked pipes and 
 talked sometimes to our host, a Russianised 
 Finn or to the pedlar who used to hang about 
 the battery selling "fi-ine oranges and lemons," 
 a charming and lively person who in addition 
 to other talents could play the guitar and used 
 to tell us of the unhappy love which he cher- 
 ished in his young days for the daughter of a 
 policeman. Now that he was older, this Don 
 Juan in a gay cotton shirt had no experience of 
 unsuccessful love affairs. Before the doors of 
 our barn stretched a wide plain gradually slop- 
 ing away in the distance ; a little river gleamed 
 here and there in the winding hollows; low 
 growing woods could be seen further on the 
 horizon. Night was coming on and we were 
 left alone. As night fell a fine damp mist de- 
 scended upon the earth, and, growing thicker 
 and thicker, passed into a dense fog. The 
 
 12 
 
A STUDY 
 
 moon rose up into the sky ; the fog was soaked 
 through and through and, as it were, shim- 
 mering with golden Hght. Everything was 
 strangely shifting, veiled and confused ; the far- 
 away looked near, the near looked far away, 
 what was big looked small and what was small 
 looked big . . . everything became dim and full 
 of light. We seemed to be in fairyland, in a 
 world of whitish-golden mist, deep stillness, 
 delicate sleep. . . . And how mysteriously, like 
 sparks of silver, the stars filtered through the 
 mist! We were both silent. The fantastic 
 beauty of the night worked upon us : it put us 
 into the mood for the fantastic. 
 
 VI 
 
 Tyeglev was the first to speak and talked 
 with his usual hesitating incompleted sen- 
 tences and repetitions about presentiments . . . 
 about ghosts. On exactly such a night, accord- 
 ing to him, one of his friends, a student who had 
 just taken the place of tutor to two orphans and 
 was sleeping with them in a lodge in the gar- 
 den, saw a woman's figure bending over their 
 beds and next day recognised the figure in a 
 13 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 portrait of the mother of the orphans which 
 he had not previously noticed. Then Tyeglev 
 told me that his parents had heard for several 
 days before their death the sound of rushing 
 water; that his grandfather had been saved 
 from death in the battle of Borodino through 
 suddenly stooping down to pick up a simple 
 grey pebble at the very instant when a volley 
 of grape-shot flew over his head and broke his 
 long black plume. Tyeglev even promised to 
 show me the very pebble which had saved his 
 grandfather and which he had mounted into a 
 medallion. Then he talked of the lofty des- 
 tination of every man and of his own in par- 
 ticular and added that he still believed in it and 
 that if he ever had any doubts on that subject he 
 would know how to be rid of them and of his 
 life, as life would then lose all significance for 
 him. "You imagine perhaps/' he brought out, 
 glancing askance at me, "that I shouldn't have 
 the spirit to do it? You don't know me . . . 
 I have a will of iron." 
 
 "Well said," I thought to myself. 
 
 Tyeglev pondered, heaved a deep sigh and 
 dropping his chibouk out of his hand, informed 
 14 
 
A STUDY 
 
 me that that day was a very important one for 
 him. "This is the prophet Elijah's day — my 
 name day. ... It is ... it is always for me 
 a difficult time." 
 
 I made no answer and only looked at him as 
 he sat facing me, bent, round-shouldered, 
 and clumsy, with his drowsy, lustreless eyes 
 fixed on the ground. 
 
 "An old beggar woman" (Tyeglev never let 
 a single beggar pass without giving alms) "told 
 me to-day," he went on, "that she would pray 
 for my soul. . . . Isn't that strange?" 
 
 "Why does the man want to be always both- 
 ering about himself !" I thought again. I must 
 add, however, that of late I had begun notic- 
 ing an unusual expression of anxiety and un- 
 easiness on Tyeglev's face, and it was not a 
 "fatal" melancholy: something really was 
 fretting and worrying him. On this occasion, 
 too, I was struck by the dejected expression of 
 his face. Were not those very doubts of which 
 he had spoken to me beginning to assail him? 
 Tyeglev's comrades had told me that not long 
 before he had sent to the authorities a proj- 
 ect for some reforms in the artillery depart- 
 
 15 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 ment and that the project had been returned to 
 him "with a comment/' that is, a reprimand. 
 Knowing his character, I had no doubt that 
 such contemptuous treatment by his superior 
 officers had deeply mortified him. But the 
 change that I fancied I saw in Tyeglev was 
 more like sadness and there was a more per- 
 sonal note about it. 
 
 "It's getting damp, though," he brought out 
 at last and he shrugged his shoulders. "Let 
 us go into the hut — and it's bed-time, too." He 
 had the habit of shrugging his shoulders and 
 turning his head from side to side, putting his 
 right hand to his throat as he did so, as though 
 his cravat were constricting it. Tyeglev's char- 
 acter was expressed, so at least it seemed to me, 
 in this uneasy and nervous movement. He, 
 too, felt constricted in the world. 
 
 We went back into the hut, and both lay 
 down on benches, he in the corner facing the 
 door and I on the opposite side. 
 
 VII 
 
 Tyeglev was for a long time turning from 
 side to side on his bench and I could not get to 
 i6 
 
A STUDY 
 
 sleep, either. Whether his stories had excited 
 my nerves or the strange night had fevered my 
 blood — anyway, I could not go to sleep. All 
 inclination for sleep disappeared at last and I 
 lay with my eyes open and thought, thought in- 
 tensely, goodness knows of what; of most 
 senseless trifles — as always happens when one 
 is sleepless. Turning from side to side I 
 stretched out my hands. . . . My finger hit one 
 of the beams of the wall. It emitted a faint 
 but resounding, and as it were, prolonged note. 
 ... I must have struck a hollow place. 
 
 I tapped again . . . this time on purpose. 
 The same sound was repeated. I knocked 
 again. . . . All at once Tyeglev raised his head. 
 
 ''Ridel !" he said, "do you hear? Someone is 
 knocking under the window." 
 
 I pretended to be asleep. The fancy sud- 
 denly took me to play a trick at the expense 
 of my "fatal" friend. I could not sleep, any- 
 way. 
 
 He let his head sink on the pillow. I waited 
 for a little and again knocked three times in 
 succession. 
 
 Tyeglev sat up again and listened. I tapped 
 17 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 again. I was lying facing him but he could 
 not see my hand. ... I put it behind me un- 
 der the bedclothes. 
 
 "Ridel !" cried Tyeglev. 
 
 I did not answer. 
 
 "Ridel!" he repeated loudly. "Ridel!" 
 
 "Eh? What is it?" I said as though just 
 waking up. 
 
 "Don't you hear, someone keeps knocking 
 under the window, wants to come in, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 "Some passer-by," I muttered. 
 
 "Then we must let him in or find out who it 
 is." 
 
 But I made no answer, pretending to be 
 asleep. 
 
 Several minutes passed. ... I tapped again. 
 Tyeglev sat up at once and listened. 
 
 "Knock . . . knock . . . knock! Knock . . . 
 knock . . . knock!" 
 
 Through my half-closed eyelids in the whit- 
 ish light of the night I could distinctly see 
 every movement he made. He turned his face 
 first to the window then to the door. It cer- 
 tainly was difficult to make out where the sound 
 i8 
 
A STUDY 
 
 came from : it seemed to float round the room, 
 to glide along the walls. I had accidentally 
 hit upon a kind of sounding board. 
 
 "Ridel!" cried Tyeglev at last, "Ridel! 
 Ridel!" 
 
 "Why, what is it ?" I asked, yawning. 
 
 "Do you mean to say you don't hear any- 
 thing? There is someone knocking." 
 
 "Well, what if there is?" I answered and 
 again pretended to be asleep and even snored. 
 
 Tyeglev subsided. 
 
 "Knock . . . knock . . . knock!" 
 
 "Who is there?" Tyeglev shouted. "Come 
 in!" 
 
 No one answered, of course. 
 
 "Knock . . . knock . . . knock!" 
 
 Tyeglev jumped out of bed, opened the win- 
 dow and thrusting out his head, cried wildly, 
 "Who is there? Who is knocking?" Then he 
 opened the door and repeated his question. A 
 horse neighed in the distance — that was all. 
 
 He went back towards his bed. 
 
 "Knock . . . knock . . . knock!" 
 
 Tyeglev instantly turned round and sat down. 
 
 "Knock . . . knock . . . knock !" 
 
 19 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 He rapidly put on his boots, threw his over- 
 coat over his shoulders and unhooking his 
 sword from the wall, went out of the hut. I 
 heard him walk round it twice, asking all the 
 time, "Who is there? Who goes there? Who 
 is knocking?" Then he was suddenly silent, 
 stood still outside near the corner where I was 
 lying and without uttering another word, came 
 back into the hut and lay down without taking 
 off his boots and overcoat. 
 
 "Knock . . . knock . . . knock !" I began again. 
 "Knock . . . knock . . . knock !" 
 
 But Tyeglev did not stir, did not ask who 
 was knocking, and merely propped his head on 
 his hand. 
 
 Seeing that this no longer acted, after an 
 interval I pretended to wake up and, looking 
 at Tyeglev, assumed an air of astonishment. 
 
 "Have you been out?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes," he answered unconcernedly. 
 
 "Did you still hear the knocking?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And you met no one?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "And did the knocking stop?" 
 
 "I don't know. I don't care now." 
 
 20 
 
A STUDY 
 
 "Now? Why now?" 
 
 Tyeglev did not answer. 
 
 I felt a little ashamed and a little vexed with 
 him. I could not bring myself to acknowledge 
 my prank, however. 
 
 "Do you know what?" I began, "I am con- 
 vinced that it was all your imagination." 
 
 Tyeglev frowned. "Ah, you think so !" 
 
 "You say you heard a knocking?" 
 
 "It was not only knocking I heard." 
 
 "Why, what else?" 
 
 Tyeglev bent forward and bit his lips. He 
 was evidently hesitating. 
 
 "I was called!" he brought out at last in a 
 low voice and turned away his face. 
 
 "You were called? Who called you?" 
 
 "Someone. . . ." Tyeglev still looked away. 
 "A woman whom I had hitherto only believed 
 to be dead . . . but now I know it for cer- 
 tain." 
 
 "I swear, Ilya Stepanitch," I cried, "this is 
 all your imagination!" 
 
 "Imagination?" he repeated. "Would you 
 like to hear it for yourself ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then come outside." 
 
 21 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 VIII 
 
 I hurriedly dressed and went out of the hut 
 with Tyeglev. On the side opposite to it there 
 were no houses, nothing but a low hurdle fence 
 broken down in places, beyond which there was 
 a rather sharp slope down to the plain. Every- 
 thing was still shrouded in mist and one could 
 scarcely see anything twenty paces away. 
 Tyeglev and I went up to the hurdle and stood 
 still. 
 
 "Here," he said and bowed his head. "Stand 
 still, keep quiet and listen !" 
 
 Like him I strained my ears, and I heard 
 nothing except the ordinary, extremely faint 
 but universal murmur, the breathing of the 
 night. Looking at each other in silence from 
 time to time we stood motionless for several 
 minutes and were just on the point of go- 
 ing on. 
 
 "Ilyusha ..." I fancied I heard a whisper 
 from behind the hurdle. 
 
 I glanced at Tyeglev but he seemed to have 
 heard nothing — and still held his head bowed. 
 
 "Ilyusha ... ah, Ilyusha," sounded more 
 
 22 
 
A STUDY 
 
 distinctly than before — so distinctly that one 
 could tell that the words were uttered by a 
 woman. 
 
 We both started and stared at each other. 
 
 ''Well?" Tyeglev asked me in a whisper. 
 "You won't doubt it now, will you?" 
 
 "Wait a minute," I answered as quietly. "It 
 proves nothing. We must look whether there 
 isn't anyone. Some practical joker. . . ." 
 
 I jumped over the fence — and went in the 
 direction from which, as far as I could judge, 
 the voice came. 
 
 I felt the earth soft and crumbling under my 
 feet; long ridges stretched before me vanish- 
 ing into the mist. I was in the kitchen garden. 
 But nothing was stirring around me or before 
 me. Everything seemed spellbound in the 
 numbness of sleep. I went a few steps further. 
 
 "Who is there ?" I cried as wildly as Tyeglev 
 had. 
 
 "Prrr-r-r!" a startled corn-crake flew up al- 
 most imder my feet and flew away as straight 
 as a bullet. Involuntarily I started. . . . 
 What foolishness! 
 
 I looked back. Tyeglev was in sight at the 
 23 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 Spot where I left him. I went towards 
 him. 
 
 "You will call in vain," he said. "That voice 
 has come to us — to me — from far away." 
 
 He passed his hand over his face and with 
 slow steps crossed the road towards the hut. 
 But I did not want to give in so quickly and 
 J went back into the kitchen garden. That some- 
 one really had three times called "Ilyusha" I 
 could not doubt; that there was something 
 plaintive and mysterious in the call, I was 
 forced to own to myself. . . . But who knows, 
 perhaps all this only appeared to be unaccount- 
 able and in reality could be explained as sim- 
 ply as the knocking which had agitated Tyeglev 
 so much. 
 
 I walked along beside the fence, stopping 
 from time to time and looking about me. Close 
 to the fence, at no great distance from our 
 hut, there stood an old leafy willow tree; it 
 stood out, a big dark patch, against the white- 
 ness of the mist all round, that dim whiteness 
 which perplexes and deadens the sight more 
 than darkness itself. All at once it seemed to 
 me that something alive, fairly big, stirred on 
 24 
 
A STUDY 
 
 the ground near the willow. Exclaiming 
 "Stop! Who is there?" I rushed forward. I 
 heard scurrying footsteps, like a hare's; a 
 crouching figure whisked by me, whether man 
 or woman I could not tell. ... I tried to 
 clutch at it but did not succeed; I stumbled, 
 fell down and stung my face against a nettle. 
 As I was getting up, leaning on the ground, I 
 felt something rough under my hand : it was 
 a chased brass comb on a cord, such as peas- 
 ants wear on their belt. 
 
 Further search led to nothing — and I went 
 back to the hut with the comb in my hand, and 
 my cheeks tingling. 
 
 IX 
 
 I found Tyeglev sitting on the bench. A 
 candle was burning on the table before him 
 and he was writing something in a little album 
 which he always had with him. Seeing me, 
 he quickly put the album in his pocket and be- 
 gan filling his pipe. 
 
 "Look here, my friend," I began, "what a 
 trophy I have brought back from my expedi- 
 tion !" I showed him the comb and told him 
 25 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 what had happened to me near the willow. ."I 
 must have startled a thief," I added. ''You 
 heard a horse was stolen from our neighbour 
 yesterday ?" 
 
 Tyeglev smiled frigidly and lighted his pipe. 
 I sat down beside him. 
 
 "And do you still believe, Ilya Stepanitch," 
 I said, "that the voice we heard came from 
 those unknown realms . . ." 
 
 He stopped me with a peremptory gesture. 
 
 "Ridel," he began, "I am in no mood for jest- 
 ing, and so I beg you not to jest." 
 
 He certainly was in no mood for jesting. 
 His face was changed. It looked paler, longer 
 and more expressive. His strange, "different" 
 eyes kept shifting from one object to another. 
 
 "I never thought," he began again, "that I 
 should reveal to another . . . another man 
 what you are about to hear and what ought to 
 have died . . . yes, died, hidden in my breast; 
 but it seems it is to be — and indeed I have no 
 choice. It is destiny! Listen." 
 
 And he told me a long story. 
 
 I have mentioned already that he was a poor 
 hand at telling stories, but it was not only his 
 26 
 
A STUDY 
 
 lack of skill in describing events that had hap- 
 pened to him that impressed me that night; 
 the very sound of his voice, his glances, the 
 movements v^rhich he made with his fingers and* 
 his hands — everything about him, indeed, 
 seemed unnatural, unnecessary, false, in fact. 
 I was very young and inexperienced in those f 
 days and did not know that the habit of high- | 
 flown language and falsity of intonation and i 
 manner may become so ingrained in a man that 
 he is incapable of shaking it off: it is a sort I 
 of curse. Later in life I came across a 
 lady who described to me the effect on her of 
 her son's death, of her "boundless" grief, of i 
 her fears for her reason, in such exaggerated 
 language, with such theatrical gestures, such 
 melodramatic movements of her head and roll- 
 ing of her eyes, that I thought to myself, "How 
 false and affected that lady is! She did not 
 love her son at all !" And a week afterwards ^ 
 I heard that the poor woman had really gone , 
 out of her mind. Since then I have become » 
 much more careful in my judgments and have 
 had far less confidence in my own impressions. 
 27 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 The story which Tyeglev told me was, briefly, 
 as follows. He had living in Petersburg, be- 
 sides his influential uncle, an aunt, not influ- 
 ential but wealthy. As she had no children of 
 her own she had adopted a little girl, an orphan, 
 of the working class, given her a liberal educa- 
 tion and treated her like a daughter. She was 
 called Masha. Tyeglev saw her almost every 
 day. It ended in their falHng in love with one 
 another and Masha's giving herself to him. 
 This was discovered. Tyeglev's aunt was 
 fearfully incensed, she turned the luckless girl 
 out of her house in disgrace, and moved to 
 Moscow where she adopted a young lady of 
 noble birth and made her her heiress. On her 
 return to her own relations, poor and drunken 
 people, Masha's lot was a bitter one. Tyeglev 
 had promised to marry her and did not keep 
 his promise. At his last interview with her, 
 he was forced to speak out: she wanted to 
 know the truth and wrung it out of him. 
 "Well," she said, "if I am not to be your wife, 
 I know what there is left for me to do." More 
 
A STUDY 
 
 than a fortnight had passed since that last in- 
 terview. 
 
 "I never for a moment deceived myself as 
 to the meaning of her last words," added 
 Tyeglev. "I am certain that she has put an 
 end to her Ufe and . . . and that it was her 
 voice, that it was she calling me ... to follow 
 her there ... I recognised her voice. . . . 
 Well, there is but one end to it." 
 
 "But why didn't you marry her, Ilya Step- 
 anitch?" I asked. "You ceased to love her?" 
 
 "No; I still love her passionately." 
 
 At this point I stared at Tyeglev. I remem- 
 bered another friend of mine, a very intelligent 
 man, who had a very plain wife, neither in- 
 telligent nor rich and was very unhappy in his 
 marriage. When someone in my presence 
 asked him why he had married and suggested 
 that it was probably for love, he answered, 
 "Not for love at all. It simply happened." 
 And in this case Tyeglev loved a girl passion- 
 ately and did not marry her. Was it for the 
 same reason, then? 
 
 "Why don't you marry her, then?" I asked 
 again. 
 
 29 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 Tyeglev's strange, drowsy eyes strayed over 
 the table. 
 
 "There is . . . no answering that ... in a 
 few words," he began, hesitating. "There were 
 reasons. . . . And besides, she was ... a 
 working-class girl. And then there is my un- 
 cle. ... I was obliged to consider him, too." 
 
 "Your uncle?" I cried. "But what the devil 
 do you want with your uncle whom you never 
 see except at the New Year when you go to 
 congratulate him? Are you reckoning on his 
 money ? But he has got a dozen children of his 
 own!" 
 
 I spoke with heat. . . . Tyeglev winced and 
 flushed . . . flushed unevenly, in patches. 
 
 "Don't lecture me, if you please," he said 
 dully. "I don't justify myself, however. I 
 have ruined her life and now I must pay the 
 penalty. . . ." 
 
 His head sank and he was silent. I found 
 nothing to say, either. 
 
 XI 
 
 So we sat for a quarter of an hour. He 
 looked away — I looked at him — and I noticed 
 that the hair stood up and curled above his f ore- 
 30 
 
A STUDY 
 
 head in a peculiar way, which, so I have heard 
 from an army doctor who had had a great many 
 wounded pass through his hands, is always a 
 symptom of intense overheating of the brain. 
 . . . The thought struck me again that fate 
 really had laid a heavy hand on this man and 
 that his comrades were right in seeing some- 
 thing "fatal" in him. And yet inwardly I 
 blamed him. "A working-class girl !" I thought, 
 "a fine sort of aristocrat you are yourself !" 
 
 "Perhaps you blame me. Ridel," Tyeglev be- 
 gan suddenly, as though guessing what I was 
 thinking. "I am very . . . unhappy myself. 
 But what to do? What to do?" 
 
 He leaned his chin on his hand and began 
 biting the broad flat nails of his short, red fin- 
 gers, hard as iron. 
 
 "What I think, Ilya Stepanitch, is that you 
 ought first to make certain whether your sup- 
 positions are correct. . . . Perhaps your lady 
 love is alive and well." ("Shall I tell him the 
 real explanation of the taps?" flashed through 
 my mind. "No — later.") 
 
 "She has not written to me since we have 
 been in camp," observed Tyeglev. 
 
 "That proves nothing, Ilya Stepanitch." 
 31 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 Tyeglev waved me off. "No! she is cer- 
 tainly not in this world. She called me." . 
 
 He suddenly turned to the window. "Some- 
 one is knocking again!" 
 
 I could not help laughing. "No, excuse me, 
 Ilya Stepanitch! This time it is your nerves. 
 You see, it is getting light. In ten minutes the 
 sun will be up — it is past three o'clock — and 
 ghosts have no power in the day." 
 
 Tyeglev cast a gloomy glance at me and mut- 
 tering through his teeth "good-bye," lay down 
 on the bench and turned his back on me. 
 
 I lay down, too, and before I fell asleep I 
 remember I wondered why Tyeglev was always 
 hinting at . . . suicide. What nonsense! 
 What humbug! Of his own free will he had 
 refused to marry her, had cast her off . . . 
 and now he wanted to kill himself ! There was 
 no sense in it! He could not resist posing! 
 
 With these thoughts I fell into a sound sleep 
 and when I opened my eyes the sun was already 
 high in the sky — and Tyeglev was not in the 
 hut. 
 
 He had, so his servant said, gone to the town. 
 32 
 
A STUDY 
 
 XII 
 
 I spent a very dull and wearisome day. 
 Tyeglev did not return to dinner nor to supper ; 
 I did not expect my brother. Towards eve- 
 ning a thick fog came on again, thicker even 
 than the day before. I went to bed rather 
 early. I was awakened by a knocking under 
 the window. 
 
 It was my turn to be startled ! 
 
 The knock was repeated and so insistently 
 distinct that one could have no doubt of its 
 reality. I got up, opened the window and saw 
 Tyeglev. Wrapped in his great-coat, with his 
 cap pulled over his eyes, he stood motionless. 
 
 'Tlya Stepanitch!" I cried, "is that you? I 
 gave up expecting you. Come in. Is the door 
 locked?" 
 
 Tyeglev shook his head. "I do not intend to 
 come in," he pronounced in a hollow tone. 'T 
 only want to ask you to give this letter to the 
 commanding officer to-morrow." 
 
 He gave me a big envelope sealed with five 
 seals. I was astonished — however, I took the 
 
 33 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 envelope mechanically. Tyeglev at once walked 
 away into the middle of the road. 
 
 ''Stop ! stop !" I began. "Where are you go- 
 ing? Have you only just come? And what 
 is the letter?" 
 
 "Do you promise to deliver it ?" said Tyeglev, 
 and moved away a few steps further. The fog 
 blurred the outlines of his figure. "Do you 
 promise ?" 
 
 "I promise . . . but first " 
 
 Tyeglev moved still further away and became 
 a long dark blur. "Good-bye," I heard his 
 voice. "Farewell, Ridel, don't remember evil 
 against me. . . . And don't forget Sem- 
 yon. . . ." 
 
 And the blur itself vanished. 
 
 This was too much. "Oh, the damned 
 poseur" I thought. "You must always be 
 straining after effect !" I felt uneasy, however ; 
 an involuntary fear clutched at my heart. I 
 flung on my great-coat and ran out into the 
 road. 
 
 XIII 
 
 Yes ; but where was I to go ? The fog en- 
 veloped me on all sides. For five or six steps 
 34 
 
A STUDY 
 
 all round it was a little transparent — but fur- 
 ther away it stood up like a wall, thick and 
 white like cotton wool. I turned to the right 
 along the village street ; our house was the last 
 but one in the village and beyond it came waste 
 land overgrown here and there with bushes; 
 beyond the waste land, a quarter of a mile from 
 the village, there was a birch copse through 
 which flowed the same little stream that lower 
 down encircled our village. The moon stood, 
 a pale blur in the sky — but its light was not, 
 as on the evening before, strong enough to 
 penetrate the smoky density of the fog and 
 hung, a broad opaque canopy, overhead. I 
 made my way out on to the open ground and 
 listened. . . . Not a sound from any direction, 
 except the calling of the marsh birds. 
 
 "Tyeglev!" I cried. 'Tlya Stepanitch!! 
 Tyeglev ! V 
 
 My voice died away near me without an an- 
 swer; it seemed as though the fog would not 
 let it go further. "Tyeglev !" I repeated. 
 
 No one answered. 
 
 I went forward at random. Twice I struck 
 against a fence, once I nearly fell into a ditch, 
 and almost stumbled against a peasant's horse 
 35 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 lying on the ground. "Tyeglev! Tyeglev!" I 
 cried. 
 
 All at once, almost behind me, I heard a low 
 voice, "Well, here I am. What do you want 
 of me?" 
 
 I turned round quickly. 
 
 Before me stood Tyeglev with his hands 
 hanging at his sides and with no cap on his 
 head. His face was pale; but his eyes looked 
 animated and bigger than usual. His breath- 
 ing came in deep, prolonged gasps through his 
 parted lips. 
 
 "Thank God!" I cried in an outburst of joy, 
 and I gripped him by both hands. "Thank 
 God! I was beginning to despair of finding 
 you. Aren't you ashamed of frightening me 
 like this ? Upon my word, Ilya Stepanitch !" 
 
 "What do you want of me?" repeated 
 Tyeglev. 
 
 "I want ... I want you, in the first place, 
 to come back home with me. And secondly, I 
 want, I insist, I insist as a friend, that you ex- 
 plain to me at once the meaning of your ac- 
 tions — and of this letter to the colonel. Can 
 something unexpected have happened to you 
 in Petersburg?" 
 
 36 
 
A STUDY 
 
 "I found in Petersburg exactly what I ex- 
 pected," answered Tyeglev, without moving 
 from the spot. 
 
 "That is . . . you mean to say . . . your 
 friend . . . this Masha. . . ." 
 
 "She has taken her \ii&," Tyeglev answered 
 hurriedly and as it were angrily. "She was 
 buried the day before yesterday. She did not 
 even leave a note for me. She poisoned her- 
 self." 
 
 Tyeglev hurriedly uttered these terrible words 
 and still stood motionless as a stone. 
 
 I clasped my hands. "Is it possible? How 
 dreadful! Your presentiment has come true. 
 . . . That is awful !" 
 
 I stopped in confusion. Slowly and with a 
 sort of triumph Tyeglev folded his arms. 
 
 "But why are we standing here?" I began. 
 "Let us go home." 
 
 "Let us," said Tyeglev. "But how can we 
 find the way in this fog ?" 
 
 "There is a light in our windows, and we 
 will make for it. Come along." 
 
 "You go ahead," answered Tyeglev. "I will 
 follow you." We set off. We walked for five 
 37 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 minutes and our beacon light still did not ap-* 
 pear; at last it gleamed before us in two red 
 points. Tyeglev stepped evenly behind me. I 
 was desperately anxious to get home as quickly 
 as possible and to learn from him all the de- 
 tails of his unhappy expedition to Petersburg. 
 Before we reached the hut, impressed by what 
 he had said, I confessed to him in an access of 
 remorse and a sort of superstitious fear, that 
 the mysterious knocking of the previous evening 
 had been my doing . . . and what a tragic turn 
 my jest had taken! 
 
 Tyeglev confined himself to observing that 
 I had nothing to do with it — that something 
 else had guided my hand — and this only showed 
 how little I knew him. His voice, strangely 
 calm and even, sounded close to my ear. ''But 
 you do not know me," he added. "I saw you 
 smile yesterday when I spoke of the strength 
 of my will. You will come to know me — and 
 you will remember my words." 
 
 The first hut of the village sprang out of 
 the fog before us like some dark monster . . . 
 then the second, our hut, emerged — and my set- 
 ter dog began barking, probably scenting me. 
 38 
 
A STUDY 
 
 I knocked at the window. "Semyon!" I 
 shouted to Tyeglev's servant, "hey, Semyon! 
 Make haste and open the gate for us." 
 
 The gate creaked and opened; Semyon 
 crossed the threshold. 
 
 "Ilya Stepanitch, come in," I said, and I 
 looked round. But no Ilya Stepanitch was with 
 me. Tyeglev had vanished as though he had 
 sunk into the earth. 
 
 I went into the hut feeling dazed. 
 
 XIV 
 
 Vexation with Tyeglev and with myself suc- 
 ceeded the amazement with which I was over- 
 come at first. 
 
 "Your master is mad!" I blurted out to 
 Semyon, "raving mad ! He galloped off to 
 Petersburg, then came back and is running 
 about all over the place ! I did get hold of him 
 and brought him right up to the gate — and here 
 he has given me the slip again! To go out 
 of doors on a night like this! He has chosen 
 a nice time for a walk!" 
 
 "And why did I let go of his hand ?" I re- 
 proached myself. Semyon looked at me in 
 39 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 silence, as though intending to say something 
 — but after the fashion of servants in those 
 days he simply shifted from one foot to the 
 other and said nothing. 
 
 "What time did he set off for town ?" I asked 
 sternly. 
 
 "At six o'clock in the morning." 
 
 "And how was he — did he seem anxious, de- 
 pressed?" Semyon looked down. "Our mas- 
 ter is a deep one," he began. "Who can make 
 him out? He told me to get out his new uni- 
 form when he was going out to town — and 
 then he curled himself." 
 
 "Curled himself?" 
 
 "Curled his hair. I got the curling tongs 
 ready for him." 
 
 That, I confess, I had not expected. "Do 
 you know a young lady," I asked Semyon, "a 
 friend of Ilya Stepanitch's. Her name is 
 Masha." 
 
 "To be sure I know Marya Anempodistovna ! 
 A nice young lady." 
 
 "Is your master in love with this Marya 
 . . . et cetera?" 
 
 40 
 
A STUDY 
 
 Semyon heaved a sigh. "That young lady 
 is Ilya Stepanitch's undoing. For he is des- 
 perately in love with her — and can't bring him- 
 self to marry her — and sorry to give her up, 
 too. It's all his honour's faintheartedness. He 
 is very fond of her." 
 
 "What is she like then, pretty?" I inquired. 
 
 Semyon assumed a grave air. "She is the 
 sort that the gentry like." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 "She is not the right sort for us at all." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 "Very thin in the body." 
 
 "If she died," I began, "do you think Ilya 
 Stepanitch would not survive her?" 
 
 Semyon heaved a sigh again. "I can't ven- 
 ture to say that — there's no knowing with gentle- 
 men . . . but our master is a deep one." 
 
 I took up from the table the big, rather thick 
 letter that Tyeglev had given me and turned it 
 over in my hands. . . . The address to "his 
 honour the Commanding Officer of the Battery, 
 Colonel So and So" (the name, patronymic, 
 and surname) was clearly and distinctly writ- 
 41 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 ten. The word urgent, twice underlined, was 
 written in the top left-hand corner of the 
 envelope. 
 
 "Listen, Semyon," I began. "I feel uneasy 
 about your master. I fancy he has some mis- 
 chief in his mind. We must find him." 
 
 "Yes, sir," answered Semyon. 
 
 "It is true there is such a fog that one cannot 
 see a couple of yards ahead; but all the same 
 we must do our best. We will each take a 
 lantern and light a candle in each window — in 
 case of need." 
 
 "Yes, sir," repeated Semyon. He lighted 
 the lanterns and the candles and we set off. 
 
 XV 
 
 I can't describe how we wandered and lost 
 our way! The lanterns were of no help to 
 us; they did not in the least dissipate the white, 
 almost luminous mist which surrounded us. 
 Several times Semyon and I lost each other, 
 in spite of the fact that we kept calling to each 
 other and hallooing and at frequent intervals 
 shouted — I : "Tyeglev ! Ilya Stepanitch !" and 
 Semyon: "Mr. Tyeglev! Your honour!" The 
 42 
 
A STUDY 
 
 fog so bewildered us that we wandered about 
 as though in a dream; soon we were both 
 hoarse; the fog penetrated right into one's 
 chest. We succeeded somehow by help of the 
 candles in the windows in reaching the hut 
 again. Our combined action had been of no use 
 — we merely handicapped each other — and so 
 we made up our minds not to trouble ourselves 
 about getting separated but to go each our own 
 way. He went to the left, I to the right and I 
 soon ceased to hear his voice. The fog seemed 
 to have found its way into my brain and I wan- 
 dered like one dazed, simply shouting from 
 time to time, "Tyeglev ! Tyeglev !" 
 
 "Here!" I heard suddenly in answer. 
 
 Holy saints, how relieved I was! How I 
 rushed in the direction from which the voice 
 came. ... A human figure loomed dark before 
 me. ... I made for it. At last! 
 
 But instead of Tyeglev I saw another officer 
 of the same battery, whose name was Tyelepnev. 
 
 "Was it you answered me?" I asked him. 
 
 "Was it you calling me?" he asked in his 
 turn. 
 
 "No; I was calling Tyeglev." 
 43 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "Tyeglev? Why, I met him a minute ago. 
 What a fool of a night! One can't find the 
 way home." 
 
 "You saw Tyeglev? Which way did he go?" 
 
 "That way, I fancy," said the officer, waving 
 his hand in the air. "But one can't be sure of 
 anything now. Do you know, for instance, 
 where the village is ? The only hope is the dogs 
 barking. It is a fool of a night ! Let me light 
 a cigarette ... it will seem like a light on the 
 way." 
 
 The officer was, so I fancied, a little ex- 
 hilarated. 
 
 "Did Tyeglev say anything to you?" I asked. 
 
 "To be sure he did! I said to him, 'good 
 evening, brother,' and he said, 'good-bye.' 'How 
 good-bye? Why good-bye.' 'I mean to shoot 
 myself directly with a pistol.' He is a queer 
 fish !" 
 
 My heart stood still. "You say he told 
 you . . ." 
 
 "He is a queer fish !" repeated the officer, and 
 sauntered off. 
 
 I hardly had time to recover from what the 
 officer had told me, when my own name, 
 shouted several times as it seemed with ef- 
 44 
 
A STUDY 
 
 fort, caught my ear. I recognised Semyon's 
 voice. 
 
 I called back ... he came to me. 
 
 XVI 
 
 "Well?" I asked him. "Have you found 
 Ilya Stepanitch?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Here, not far away." 
 
 "How . . . have you found him? Is he 
 alive?" 
 
 "To be sure. I have been talking to him." 
 (A load was lifted from my heart.) "His 
 honour was sitting in his great-coat under a 
 birch tree . . . and he was all right. I put it 
 to him, 'Won't you come home, Ilya Stepan- 
 itch ; Alexandr Vassilitch is very much worried 
 about you.' And he said to me, 'What does he 
 want to worry for! I want to be in the fresh 
 air. My head aches. Go home,' he said, 'and 
 I will come later.' " 
 
 "And you left him?" I cried, clasping my 
 hands. 
 
 "What else could I do? He told me to go 
 . . . how could I stay?" 
 45 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 All my fears came back to me at once. 
 
 "Take me to him this minute — do you hear.? 
 This minute ! O Semyon, Semyon, I did not ex- 
 pect this of you! You say he is not far off?" 
 
 "He is quite close, here, where the copse 
 begins — he is sitting there. It is not more than 
 five yards from the river bank. I found him as 
 I came alongside the river." 
 
 "Well, take me to him, take me to him." 
 
 Semyon set off ahead of me. "This way, sir. 
 . . . We have only to get down to the river 
 and it is close there." 
 
 But instead of getting down to the river we 
 got into a hollow and found ourselves before 
 an empty shed. 
 
 "Hey, stop!" Semyon cried suddenly. "I 
 must have come too far to the right. . . . We 
 must go that way, more to the left. ..." 
 
 We turned to the left — and found ourselves 
 among such high, rank weeds that we could 
 scarcely get out. ... I could not remember 
 such a tangled growth of weeds anywhere near 
 our village. And then all at once a marsh 
 was squelching under our feet, and we saw 
 little round moss-covered hillocks which I had 
 
 46 
 
A STUDY 
 
 never noticed before either. . . . We turned 
 back — a small hill was sharply before us and 
 on the top of it stood a shanty — and in it some- 
 one was snoring. Semyon and I shouted several 
 times into the shanty; something stirred at the 
 further end of it, the straw rustled — and a 
 hoarse voice shouted, "I am on guard." 
 
 We turned back again . . . fields and fields, 
 endless fields. ... I felt ready to cry. ... I 
 remembered the words of the fool in King 
 Lear: "This night will turn us all to fools or 
 madmen." 
 
 "Where are we to go?" I said in despair to 
 Semyon. 
 
 "The devil must have led us astray, sir," 
 answered the distracted servant. "It's not nat- 
 ural . . . there's mischief at the bottom of it !" 
 
 I would have checked him but at that instant 
 my ear caught a sound, distinct but not loud, 
 that engrossed my whole attention. There was 
 a faint "pop" as though someone had drawn a 
 stiff cork from a narrow bottle-neck. The sound 
 came from somewhere not far off. Why the 
 sound seemed to me strange and peculiar I 
 could not say, but at once I went towards it. 
 47 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 Semyon followed me. Within a few minutes 
 something tall and broad loomed in the fog. 
 
 "The copse! here is the copse!" Semyon 
 cried, delighted. "Yes, here ... and there is 
 the master sitting under the birch-tree. . . . 
 There he is, sitting where I left him. That's 
 he, surely enough !" 
 
 I looked intently. A man really was sitting 
 with his back towards us, awkwardly huddled 
 up under the birch-tree. I hurriedly ap- 
 proached and recognised Tyeglev's great-coat, 
 recognised his figure, his head bowed on his 
 breast. "Tyeglev !" I cried . . . but he did not 
 answer. 
 
 "Tyeglev!" I repeated, and laid my hand on 
 his shoulder. Then he suddenly lurched for- 
 ward, quickly and obediently, as though he were 
 waiting for my touch, and fell onto the grass. 
 Semyon and I raised him at once and turned 
 him face upwards. It was not pale, but was 
 lifeless and motionless; his clenched teeth 
 gleamed white — and his eyes, motionless, too, 
 and wide open, kept their habitual, drowsy and 
 "different" look. 
 
 "Good God!" Semyon said suddenly and 
 
 48 
 
A STUDY 
 
 showed me his hand stained crimson with 
 blood. . . . The blood was coming from under 
 Tyeglev's great-coat, from the left side of his 
 chest. 
 
 He had shot himself from a small, single- 
 barreled pistol which was lying beside him. The 
 faint pop I had heard was the sound made by 
 the fatal shot. 
 
 XVII 
 
 Tyeglev's suicide did not surprise his com- 
 rades very much. I have told you already that, 
 according to their ideas, as a ''fatal" man 
 he was bound to do something extraordinary, 
 though perhaps they had not expected that from 
 him. In the letter to the colonel he asked him, 
 in the first place, to have the name of Ilya 
 Tyeglev removed from the list of officers, as he 
 had died by his own act, adding that in his 
 cash-box there would be found more than suf- 
 ficient money to pay his debts, — and, secondly, 
 to forward to the important personage at that 
 time commanding the whole corps of guards, an 
 unsealed letter which was in the same envelope. 
 This second letter, of course, we all read ; some 
 49 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 of us took a copy of it. Tyeglev had evidently 
 taken pains over the composition of this letter. 
 
 "You know, Your Excellency" (so I remem- 
 ber the letter began), "you are so stern and 
 severe over the slightest negligence in uniform 
 when a pale, trembling officer presents himself 
 before you; and here am I now going to meet 
 our universal, righteous, incorruptible Judge, 
 the Supreme Being, the Being of infinitely 
 greater consequence even than Your Excel- 
 lency, and I am going to meet him in undress, 
 in my 'great-coat, and even without a cravat 
 round my neck." 
 
 Oh, what a painful and unpleasant impres- 
 sion that phrase made upon me, with every 
 word, every letter of it, carefully written in the 
 dead man's childish handwriting ! Was it worth 
 while, I asked myself, to invent such rubbish at 
 such a moment? But Tyeglev had evidently 
 been pleased with the phrase : he had made use 
 in it of the accumulation of epithets and amplifi- 
 cations a la Marlinsky, at that time in fashion. 
 Further on he had alluded to destiny, to perse- 
 cution, to his vocation which had remained un- 
 50 
 
A STUDY 
 
 fulfilled, to a mystery which he would bear 
 with him to the grave, to people who had not 
 cared to understand him; he had even quoted 
 lines from some poet who had said of the crowd 
 that it wore life "like a dog-collar" and clung 
 to vice "like a burdock" — and it was not free 
 from mistakes in spelling. To tell the truth, 
 this last letter of poor Tyeglev was somewhat 
 vulgar; and I can fancy the contemptuous sur- 
 prise of the great personage to whom it was ad- 
 dressed — I can imagine the tone in which he 
 would pronounce "a worthless officer ! ill weeds 
 are cleared out of the field !" 
 
 Only at the very end of the letter there was 
 a sincere note from Tyeglev's heart. "Ah, Your 
 Excellency," he concluded his epistle, "I am an 
 orphan, I had no one to love me as a child — and 
 all held aloof from me . . . and I myself de- 
 stroyed the only heart that gave itself to me!" 
 
 Semyon found in the pocket of Tyeglev's 
 great-coat a little album from which his master 
 was never separated. But almost all the pages 
 had been torn out; only one was left on which 
 there was the following calculation: 
 51 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 Napoleon was born 
 on August 15th, 1769. 
 1769 
 
 Ilya Tyeglev was bom 
 on January 7th, 181 1. 
 1811 
 
 15 
 8* 
 
 7 
 It 
 
 Total 1792 
 
 Total 1819 
 
 * August — the 8th month 
 of the year. 
 
 IJanuary — the ist month 
 of the year. 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 7 
 
 8 
 
 9 
 
 I 
 
 2 
 
 9 
 
 Total 19 ! 
 
 Total 19! 
 
 Napoleon died on May 
 5th, 1825. 
 1825 
 
 Ilya Tyeglev died on 
 April 2 1 St, 1834. 
 1834 
 
 5 
 
 5* 
 
 21 
 7% 
 
 Total 1835 
 
 Total 1862 
 
 ♦May— the 5th month $ July— the 7th month 
 
 of the year. of the year. 
 
 52 
 

 
 A STUDY 
 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 
 8 
 
 
 
 8 
 
 
 3 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 
 5 
 
 
 
 2 
 
 Total 
 
 17! 
 
 
 Total 
 
 17! 
 
 Poor fellow! Was not this perhaps why he i 
 became an artillery officer? | 
 
 As a suicide he was buried outside the ceme- 
 tery — and he was immediately forgotten. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 The day after Tyeglev's burial (I was still 
 in the village waiting for my brother) Semyon 
 came into the hut and announced that Ilya 
 wanted to see me. 
 
 "What Ilya?" I asked. 
 
 "Our pedlar." 
 
 I told Semyon to call him. 
 
 He made his appearance. He expressed some 
 regret at the death of the lieutenant ; wondered 
 what could have possessed him. . . . 
 
 "Was he in debt to you ?" I asked. 
 
 "No, sir. He always paid punctually for 
 ever)i:hing he had. But I tell you what," here 
 53 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 the pedlar grinned, ''you have got something' 
 of mine." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Why, that," he pointed to the brass comb 
 lying on the little toilet table. "A thing of lit- 
 tle value," the fellow went on, "but as it was 
 a present ..." 
 
 All at once I raised my head. Something 
 dawned upon me. 
 
 "Your name is Ilya?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 I "Was it you, then, I saw under the willow 
 tree the other night ?" 
 
 The pedlar winked, and grinned more broad- 
 ly than ever. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "And it was your name that was called ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," the pedlar repeated with playful 
 modesty. "There is a young girl here," he went 
 on in a high falsetto, "who, owing to the great 
 strictness of her parents " 
 
 "Very good, very good," I interrupted him, 
 handed him the comb and dismissed him. 
 
 "So that was the "Ilyusha," I thought, and 
 I sank into philosophic reflections which I will 
 
 54 
 
A STUDY 
 
 not, however, intrude upon you as I don't want 
 to prevent anyone from believing in fate, pre- 
 destination and such Hke. 
 
 When I was back in Petersburg I made in- 
 quiries about Masha. I even discovered the 
 doctor who had treated her. To my amazement 
 I heard from him that she had died not through 
 poisoning but of cholera ! I told him what I had 
 heard from Tyeglev. 
 
 "Eh ! Eh !" cried the doctor all at once. 'Ts 
 that Tyeglev an artillery officer, a man of mid- 
 dle height and with a stoop, speaks with a lisp?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, I thought so. That gentleman came 
 to me — I had never seen him before — and began 
 insisting that the girl had poisoned herself. 
 *It was cholera,' I told him. 'Poison,' he said. 
 'It was cholera, I tell you,' I said. 'No, it was 
 poison,' he declared. I saw that the fellow was 
 a sort of lunatic, with a broad base to his head 
 — a sign of obstinacy, he would not give over 
 easily. . . . Well, it doesn't matter, I thought, 
 the patient is dead. . . . 'Very well,' I said, 'she 
 poisoned herself if you prefer it.' He thanked 
 me, even shook hands with me — and departed." 
 
 55 
 
 1 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 I told the doctor how the officer had shot 
 himself the same day. 
 
 The doctor did not turn a hair — and only 
 observed that there were all sorts of queer 
 fellows in the world. 
 
 "There are indeed," I assented. 
 
 Yes, someone has said truly of suicides: 
 until they carry out their design, no one be- 
 lieves them; and when they do, no one regrets 
 them. 
 
 Baden, 1870. 
 
 56 
 
THE INN 
 
 On the high road to B., at an equal distance 
 from the two towns through which it runs, there 
 stood not long ago a roomy inn, very well 
 known to the drivers of troikas, peasants with 
 trains of waggons, merchants, clerks, pedlars 
 and the numerous travellers of all sorts who 
 journey upon our roads at all times of the year. 
 Everyone used to call at the inn; only perhaps 
 a landowner's coach, drawn by six home-bred 
 horses, would roll majestically by, which did 
 not prevent either the coachman or the groom 
 on the footboard from looking with peculiar 
 feeling and attention at the little porch so fa- 
 miliar to them; or some poor devil in a 
 wretched little cart and with three five-kopeck 
 pieces in the bag in his bosom would urge on 
 his weary nag when he reached the prosperous 
 inn, and would hasten on to some night's lodg- 
 ing in the hamlets that lie by the high road in a 
 57 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 peasant's hut, where he would find nothing but. 
 bread and hay, but, on the other hand, would 
 not have to pay an extra kopeck. Apart from 
 its favourable situation, the inn with which our 
 story deals had many attractions : excellent wa- 
 ter in two deep wells with creaking wheels and 
 iron buckets on a chain; a spacious yard with 
 a tiled roof on posts; abundant stores of oats 
 in the cellar; a warm outer room with a very 
 huge Russian stove with long horizontal flues 
 attached that looked like titanic shoulders, and 
 lastly two fairly clean rooms with the walls 
 covered with reddish lilac paper somewhat 
 frayed at the lower edge with a painted wooden 
 sofa, chairs to match and two pots of geraniums 
 in the windows, which were, however, never 
 cleaned — and were dingy with the dust of years. 
 The inn had other advantages : the blacksmith's 
 was close by, the mill was just at hand; and, 
 lastly, one could get a good meal in it, thanks to 
 the cook, a fat and red- faced peasant woman, 
 who prepared rich and appetizing dishes and 
 dealt out provisions without stint; the nearest 
 tavern was reckoned not half a mile away; the 
 host kept snuff which though mixed with wood- 
 S8 . 
 
THE INN 
 
 ash, was extremely pungent and pleasantly ir- 
 ritated the nose; in fact there were many rea- 
 sons why visitors of all sorts were never lacking 
 in that inn. It was liked by those who used it — 
 and that is the chief thing ; without which noth- 
 ing, of course, would succeed and it was liked 
 principally as it was said in the district, because 
 the host himself was very fortunate and suc- 
 cessful in all his undertakings, though he did 
 not much deserve his good fortune; but it 
 seems if a man is lucky, he is lucky. 
 
 The innkeeper was a man of the working 
 class called Naum Ivanov. He was a man of 
 middle height with broad, stooping shoulders; 
 he had a big round head and curly hair already 
 grey, though he did not look more than forty; 
 a full and fresh face, a low but white and 
 smooth forehead and little bright blue eyes, out 
 of which he looked in a very queer way from 
 under his brows and yet with an insolent ex- 
 pression, a combination not often met with. 
 He always held his head down and seemed to 
 turn it with difficulty, perhaps because his neck 
 was very short. He walked at a trot and did 
 not swing his arms, but slowly moved them 
 59 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 with his fists clenched as he walked. When 
 he smiled, and he smiled often without laugh- 
 ing, as it were smiling to himself, his thick 
 lips parted unpleasantly and displayed a row 
 of close-set, brilliant teeth. He spoke jerkily 
 and with a surly note in his voice. He shaved 
 his beard, but dressed in Russian style. His 
 costume consisted of a long, always threadbare, 
 full coat, full breeches and shoes on his bare 
 feet. He was often away from home on busi- 
 ness and he had a great deal of business — he 
 was a horse-dealer, he rented land, had a market 
 garden, bought up orchards and traded in 
 various ways — but his absences never lasted 
 long; like a kite, to which he had considerable 
 resemblance, especially in the expression of his 
 eyes, he used to return to his nest. He knew 
 how to keep that nest in order. He was every- 
 where, he listened to everything and gave or- 
 ders, served out stores, sent things out and 
 made up his accounts himself, and never 
 knocked off a farthing from anyone's account, 
 but never asked more than his due. 
 
 The visitors did not talk to him, and, indeed, 
 he did not care to waste words. "I want your 
 60 
 
THE INN 
 
 money and you want my victuals," he used to 
 say, as it were, jerking out each word: "We 
 have not met for a christening; the traveller 
 has eaten, has fed his beasts, no need to sit on. 
 If he is tired, let him sleep without chattering." 
 The labourers he kept were healthy grown-up 
 men, but docile and well broken in; they were 
 very much afraid of him. He never touched 
 intoxicating liquor and he used to give his men 
 ten kopecks for vodka on the great holidays; 
 they did not dare to drink on other days. Peo- 
 ple like Naum quickly get rich . . . but to the 
 magnificent position in which he found him- 
 self — and he was believed to be worth forty or 
 fifty thousand roubles — Naum Ivanov had not 
 arrived by the strait path. . . . 
 
 The inn had existed on the same spot on 
 the high road twenty years before the time 
 from which we date the beginning of our story. 
 It is true that it had not then the dark red 
 shingle roof which made Naum Ivanov's inn 
 look like a gentleman's house; it was in- 
 ferior in construction and had thatched roofs in 
 the courtyard, and a humble fence instead of a 
 wall of logs; nor had it been distinguished by 
 6i 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 the triangular Greek pediment on carved posts ; 
 but all the same it had been a capital inn-*- 
 roomy, solid and warm — and travellers were 
 glad to frequent it. The innkeeper at that time 
 was not Naum Ivanov, but a certain Akim 
 Semyonitch, a serf belonging to a neighbouring 
 lady, Lizaveta Prohorovna Kuntse, the widow 
 of a staff officer. This Akim was a shrewd 
 trading peasant who, having left home in his 
 youth with two wretched nags to work as a car- 
 rier, had returned a year later with three decent 
 horses and had spent almost all the rest of his 
 life on the high roads ; he used to go to Kazan 
 and Odessa, to Orenburg and to Warsaw and 
 abroad to Leipsic and used in the end to travel 
 with two teams, each of three stout, sturdy 
 stallions, harnessed to two huge carts. Whether 
 it was that he was sick of his life of homeless I 
 wandering, whether it was that he wanted to ^ 
 rear a family (his wife had died in one of his ; 
 absences and what children she had borne him -^ 
 were dead also), anyway, he made up his 
 mind at last to abandon his old calling and to 
 open an inn. With the permission of his mis- 
 tress, he settled on the high road, bought in 
 62 
 
THE INN 
 
 her name about an acre and a half of land and 
 built an inn upon it. The undertaking pros- 
 pered. He had more than enough money to 
 furnish and stock it. The experience he had 
 gained in the course of his years of travelling 
 from one end of Russia to another was of great 
 advantage to him; he knew how to please his 
 visitors, especially his former mates, the drivers 
 of troikas, many of whom he knew personally 
 and whose good-will is particularly valued by 
 innkeepers, as they need so much food for them- 
 selves and their powerful beasts. Akim's inn 
 became celebrated for hundreds of miles round. 
 People were even readier to stay with him than 
 with his successor, Naum, though Akim could 
 not be compared with Naum as a manager. 
 Under Akim everything was in the old-fash- 
 ioned style, snug, but not over clean; and his 
 oats were apt to be light, or musty; the cook- 
 ing, too, was somewhat indifferent : dishes were 
 sometimes put on .the table which would better 
 have been left in the oven and it was not 
 that he was stingy with the provisions, but 
 just that the cook had not looked after them. 
 On the other hand, he was ready to knock 
 
 63 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 off something from the price and did not re- 
 fuse to trust a man's word for payment — he 
 was a good man and a genial host. In talk- 
 ing, in entertaining, he was lavish, too; he 
 would sometimes chatter away over the 
 samovar till his listeners pricked up their ears, 
 especially when he began telling them about 
 Petersburg, about the Circassian steppes, or 
 even about foreign parts; and he liked getting 
 a little drunk with a good companion, but not 
 disgracefully so, more for the sake of company, 
 as his guests used to say of him. He was a 
 great favourite with merchants and with all 
 people of what is called the old school, who 
 do not set off for a journey without tightening 
 up their belts and never go into a room without 
 making the sign of the cross, and never enter 
 into conversation with a man without first 
 wishing him good health. Even Akim's ap- 
 pearance disposed people in his favour : he was 
 tall, rather thin, but graceful even at his ad- 
 vanced years ; he had a long face, with fine- 
 looking regular features, a high and open brow, 
 a straight and delicate nose and a small mouth. 
 His brown and prominent eyes positively shone 
 
 64 
 
THE INN 
 
 with friendly gentleness, his soft, scanty hair 
 curled in little rings about his neck ; he had very 
 little left on the top of his head. Akim's voice 
 was very pleasant, though weak ; in his youth 
 he had been a good singer, but continual travel- 
 ling in the open air in the winter had affected 
 his chest. But he talked very smoothly and 
 sweetly. When he laughed wrinkles like rays 
 that were very charming came round his eyes: 
 — such wrinkles are only to be seen in kind- 
 hearted people. Akim's movements were for 
 the most part deliberate and not without a cer- 
 tain confidence and dignified courtesy befitting 
 a man of experience who had seen a great deal 
 in his day. 
 
 In fact, Akim — or Akim Semyonitch as he 
 was called even in his mistress's house, to whigh 
 he often went and invariably on Sundays after 
 mass — would have been excellent in all respects 
 — if he had not had one weakness which has 
 been the ruin of many men on earth, and was in 
 the end the ruin of him, too — a weakness for 
 the fair sex. Akim's susceptibility was ex- 
 treme, his heart could never resist a woman's 
 glance: he melted before it like the first snow 
 6s 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 of autumn in the sun . . . and dearly he had to 
 pay for his excessive sensibiHty. 
 
 For the first year after he had set up on the 
 high road Akim was so busy with building his 
 yard, stocking the place, and all the business 
 inseparable from moving into a new house that 
 he had absolutely no time to think of women 
 and if any sinful thought came into his mind 
 he immediately drove it away by reading var- 
 ious devotional works for which he cherished 
 a profound respect (he had learned to read 
 when first he left home), singing the psalms 
 in a low voice or some other pious occupa- 
 tion. Besides, he was then in his forty-sixth 
 year and at that time of life every passion 
 grows perceptibly calmer and cooler and the 
 time for marrying was past. Akim himself be- 
 gan to think that, as he expressed it, this fool- 
 ishness was over and done with . .c . But evi- 
 dently there is no escaping one's fate. ^ 
 
 Akim's former mistress, Lizaveta Prohorovna 
 Kuntse, the widow of an officer of German 
 extraction, was herself a native of Mittau, where 
 she had spent the first years of her childhood 
 and where she had numerous poor relations, 
 66 
 
 \ 
 
THE INN 
 
 about whom she concerned herself very little, 
 especially after a casual visit from one of her 
 brothers, an infantry officer of the line. On 
 the day after his arrival he had made a great 
 disturbance and almost beaten the lady of the 
 house, calling her "du lumpenmamselle." 
 though only the evening before he had called her 
 in broken Russian: "sister and benefactor." 
 Lizaveta Prohorovna lived almost permanently 
 on her pretty estate which had been won by 
 the labours of her husband who had been an 
 architect. She managed it herself and man- 
 aged it very well. Lizaveta Prohorovna never 
 let slip &r, slightest advantage; she turned 
 everything into profit for herself; and this, as 
 well as her extraordinary capacity for making 
 a farthing do the work of a halfpenny, be- 
 trayed her German origin; in everything else 
 she had become very Russian. She kept a 
 considerable number of house serfs, especially 
 many maids, who earned their salt, however: 
 from morning to night their backs were bent 
 over their work. She liked driving out in 
 her carriage with grooms in livery on the foot- 
 board. She liked listening to gossip and scan- 
 
 67 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 dal and was a clever scandal-monger herself; 
 she liked to lavish favours upon someone, then 
 suddenly crush him with her displeasure, in 
 fact, Lizaveta Prohorovna behaved exactly like 
 a lady. < Akim was in her good graces ; he paid 
 Tier punctually every year a very considerable 
 sum in lieu of service; she talked graciously to 
 him and even, in jest, invited him as a guest 
 . . . but it was precisely in his mistress's house 
 that trouble was in store for Akim. 
 
 Among Lizaveta Prohorovna's maidservants 
 was an orphan girl of twenty called Dunyasha. 
 She was good-looking, graceful and neat- 
 handed; though her features were irregular, 
 they were pleasing; her fresh complexion, her 
 thick flaxen hair, her lively grey eyes, her little 
 roimd nose, her rosy lips and above all her 
 half-mocking, half-provocative expression — 
 were all rather charming in their way. At the 
 same time, in spite of her forlorn position, she 
 was strict, almost haughty in her deportment. 
 She came of a long line of house serfs. Her 
 father, Arefy, had been a butler for thirty 
 years, while her grandfather, Stepan had been 
 valet to a prince and officer of the Guards long 
 
THE INN 
 
 since dead. She dressed neatly and was vain ! 
 over her hands, which were certainly very beau- 
 tiful. Dunyasha made a show of great dis- 
 dain for all her admirers ; she listened to their 
 compliments with a self-complacent little smile 
 and if she answered them at all it was usually 
 some exclamation such as : "Yes ! Likely ! As 
 though I should ! What next !" These ex- 
 clamations were always on her lips. Dunyasha 
 had spent about three years being trained in| 
 Moscow where she had picked up the peculiar 
 airs and graces which distinguish maidservants 
 who have been in Moscow or Petersburg. She 
 was spoken of as a girl of self-respect (high 
 praise on the lips of house serfs) who, though 
 she had seen something of life, had not let her- 
 self down. She was rather clever with her 
 needle, too, yet with all this Lizaveta Prohor- 
 ovna was not very warmly disposed toward her, 
 thanks to the headmaid, Kirillovna, a. sly and 
 intriguing woman, no longer young. -^Kirillovna 
 exercised great influence over her mistress and 
 very skilfully succeeded in getting rid of allf 
 
 rivals. ' 
 
 With this Dunyasha Akim must needs fall 
 
 69 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 in love! And he fell in love as he had never 
 fallen in love before. He saw her first at 
 church : she had only just come back from Mos- 
 cow. . . . Afterwards, he met her several times 
 in his mistress's house ; finally he spent a whole 
 evening with her at the steward's, where he had 
 been invited to tea in company with other highly 
 respected persons. The house serfs did not dis- 
 dain him, though he was not of their class and 
 wore a beard ; he was a man of education, could 
 read and write and, what was more, had money ; 
 and he did not dress like a peasant but wore a 
 long full coat of black cloth, high boots of 
 calf leather and a kerchief on his neck. It is 
 true that some of the house serfs did say 
 among themselves that: "One can see that he 
 is not one of us," but to his face they almost 
 flattered him. On that evening at the steward's 
 Dunyasha made a complete conquest of Akim's 
 susceptible heart, though she said not a single 
 word in answer to his ingratiating speeches 
 and only looked sideways at him from time 
 to time as though wondering why that peasant 
 was there. All that only added fuel to the 
 flames. He went home, pondered and pondered 
 
 70 
 
THE INN 
 
 and made up his mind to win her hand. . . . 
 She had somehow '^bewitched" him. But how 
 can I describe the wrath and indignation of 
 Dunyasha when five days later Kirillovna with 
 a friendly air invited her into her room and 
 told her that Akim (and evidently he knew 
 how to set to work) that bearded peasant 
 Akim, to sit by whose side she considered al- 
 most an indignity, was courting her. 
 
 Dunyasha first flushed crimson, then she 
 gave a forced laugh, then she burst into tears ; 
 but Kirillovna made her attack so artfully, 
 made the girl feel her own position in the house 
 so clearly, so tactfully hinted at the presentable 
 appearance, the wealth and blind devotion of 
 Akim and finally mentioned so significantly the 
 wishes of their mistress that Dunyasha went out 
 of the room with a look of hesitation on her 
 face and meeting Akim only gazed intently into 
 his face and did not turn away. The in- 
 describably lavish presents of the love-sick man 
 dissipated her last doubts. Lizaveta Prohor- 
 ovna, to whom Akim in his joy took a hundred 
 peaches on a large silver dish, gave her consent 
 to the marriage, and the marriage took place. 
 71 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 Akim spared no expense — and the bride, who 
 on the eve of her wedding at her farewell party 
 to her girl friends sat looking a figure of mis- 
 ery, and who cried all the next morning while 
 Kirillovna was dressing her for the wedding, 
 was soon comforted. . . . Her mistress gave 
 her her own shawl to wear in the church and 
 Akim presented her the same day with one like 
 it, almost superior. 
 
 And so Akim was married, and took his 
 young bride home. . . . They began their life 
 together. . . . Dunyasha turned out to be a 
 poor housewife, a poor helpmate to her hus- 
 band. She took no interest in anything, was 
 melancholy and depressed unless some officer 
 sitting by the big samovar noticed her and paid 
 her compliments; she was often absent, some- 
 times in the town shopping, sometimes at 
 the mistress's house, which was only three miles 
 from the inn. There she felt at home, there 
 she was surrounded by her own people; the 
 girls envied her finery. Kirillovna regaled her 
 with tea; Lizaveta Prohorovna herself talked 
 to her. But even these visits did not pass with- 
 out some bitter experiences for Dunyasha. . . il 
 
 ^2 if 
 
THE INN 
 
 As an innkeeper's wife, for instance, she could 
 not wear a hat and was obHged to tie up her 
 head in a kerchief, "Hke a merchant's lady," said 
 sly Kirillovna, ''like a working woman," thought 
 Dunyasha to herself. 
 
 More than once Akim recalled the words 
 of his only relation, an uncle who had lived in 
 solitude without a family for years: "Well, 
 Akimushka, my lad," he had said, meeting him 
 in the street, *'I hear you are getting married." 
 
 "Why, yes, what of it?" 
 
 "Ech, Akim, Akim. You are above us peas- 
 ants now, there's no denying that; but you are 
 not on her level either." 
 
 "In what way not on her level ?" 
 
 "Why, in that way, for instance," his uncle 
 had answered, pointing to Akim's beard, which 
 he had begun to clip in order to please his be- 
 trothed, though he had refused to shave it com- 
 pletely. . . . Akim looked down; while the old 
 man turned away, wrapped his tattered sheep- 
 skin about him and walked away, shaking his 
 head. 
 
 Yes, more than once Akim sank into thought, 
 cleared his throat and sighed. . . . But his 
 73 
 
/ 
 
 KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 love for his pretty wife was no less; he was 
 proud of her, especially when he compared her 
 not merely with peasant women, or with his 
 first wife, to whom he had been married at six- 
 teen, but with other serf girls; "look what a 
 fine bird we have cauglTf7' >he thought to him- 
 self. . . . Her slightest ~car ess gave him im- 
 mense pleasure. "Maybe," he thought, "she 
 jwill get used to it; maybe she will get into the 
 way of it." Meanwhile her behaviour was ir- 
 reproachable and no one could say anything 
 against her. 
 
 Several years passed like this. Dunyasha 
 really did end by growing used to her 
 way of life. Akim's love for her and con- 
 fidence in her only increased as he grew 
 older; her girl friends, who had been married 
 not to peasants, were suffering cruel hardships, 
 either from poverty or from having fallen into 
 bad hands. . . . Akim went on getting richer 
 and richer. Everything succeeded with him — 
 he was always lucky; only one thing was a 
 grief :/God had not given him children. Dun- 
 yasha was by now over five and twenty ; every- 
 one addressed her as Avdotya Arefyevna. She 
 74 
 
^ 
 
 THE INN 
 
 ^J^/' 
 
 never became a real housewife, however — but 
 she grew fond of her house, looked after the 
 stores and superintended the woman who 
 worked in the house. It is true that she did all 
 this only after a fashion ; she did not keep up a 
 high standard of cleanliness and order; on the 
 other hand, her portrait painted in oils and or- 
 dered by herself from a local artist, the son of 
 the parish deacon, hung on the wall of the chief 
 room beside that of Akim. She was depicted in 
 a white dress with a yellow shawl with six 
 strings of big pearls round her neck, long ear- 
 rings, and a ring on every finger. The portrait 
 was recognisable though the artist had painted 
 her excessively stout and rosy — and had made 
 her eyes not grey but black and even slightly 
 squinting. . . . Akim's was a complete failure, 
 the portrait had come out dark — a la Rem- 
 brandt — so that sometimes a visitor would go 
 up to it, look at it and merely give an inarticu- 
 late murmur. Avdotya had taken to being 
 rather careless in her dress ; she would fling 
 a big shawl over her shoulders, while the dress 
 under it was put on anyhow : she was overcome 
 by laziness, that sighing apathetic drowsy lazi- 
 
 75 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 ness to which the Russian is only too liable,- 
 V especially when his livelihood is secure. . . . 
 With all that, the fortunes of Akim and his 
 wife prospered exceedingly; they lived in har- 
 mony and had the reputation of an exemplary 
 
 J? 
 pair. But just as a squirrel will wash its face ' 
 
 at the very instant when the sportsman is aiming i| 
 at it, man has no presentiment of his troubles, > 
 till all of a sudden the ground gives way under 
 him like ice. 
 
 One autumn evening a merchant in the 
 drapery line put up at Akim's inn. He was 
 journeying by various cross-country roads from 
 Moscow to Harkov with two loaded tilt carts; 
 he was one of those travelling traders whose 
 arrival is sometimes awaited with such impa- 
 tience by country gentlemen and still more by 
 their wives and daughters. This travelling 
 merchant, an elderly man, had with him two 
 companions, or, speaking more correctly, two 
 workmen, one thin, pale and hunchbacked, the 
 other a fine, handsome young fellow of twenty. 
 They asked for supper, then sat down to tea; 
 the merchant invited the innkeeper and his wife 
 to take a cup with him, they did not refuse. 
 
 76 
 
THE INN 
 
 A conversation quickly sprang up between the 
 two old men ( Akim was fifty-six) ; the merchant 
 inquired about the gentry of the neighbourhood 
 and no one could give him more useful in- 
 formation about them than Akim; the hunch- 
 backed workman spent his time looking after 
 the carts and finally went off to bed; it fell to 
 Avdotya to talk to the other one. . . . She sat 
 by him and said little, rather listening to what 
 he-told her, but it was evident that his talk 
 pleased her; her face grew more animated, the 
 colour came into her cheeks and she laughed 
 readily and often. The young workman sat 
 almost motionless with his curly head bent over 
 the table; he spoke quietly, without haste and 
 without raising his voice ; but his eyes, not large 
 but saucily bright and blue, were rivetted on 
 Avdotya; at first she turned away from them, 
 then she, too, began looking him in the face. 
 The young fellow's face was fresh and smooth 
 as a Crimean apple ; he often smiled and tapped 
 with his white fingers on his chin covered with 
 soft dark down. He spoke like a merchant, but 
 very freely and with a sort of careless self- 
 confidence and went on looking at her with 
 
 17 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 the same intent, impudent stare. . . . All at 
 once he moved a little closer to her and with- 
 out the slightest change of countenance said to 
 her: "Avdotya Arefyevna, there's no one like 
 you in the world ; I am ready to die for you." 
 
 Avdotya laughed aloud. 
 
 ''What is it ?" asked Akim. 
 
 "Why, he keeps saying such funny things," 
 she said, without any particular embarrassment. 
 
 The old merchant grinned. 
 
 "Ha, ha, yes, my Naum is such a funny 
 fellow, don't listen to him." 
 
 "Oh! Really! As though I should," she 
 answered, and shook her head. 
 
 "Ha, ha, of course not," observed the old 
 man. "But, however," he went on in a sing- 
 song voice, "we will take our leave; we are 
 thoroughly satisfied, it is time for bed, ..." 
 and he got up. 
 
 "We are well satisfied, too," Akim brought 
 out and he got up, "for your entertainment, 
 that is, but we wish you a good night. Avdotyu- 
 shka, come along." 
 
 Avdotya got up as it were unwillingly, 
 Naum, too, got up after her . . . the party 
 
 78 
 
THE INN 
 
 broke up. The innkeeper and his wife went 
 oif to the little lobby partitioned off, which 
 served them as a bedroom. Akim was snoring 
 immediately. It was a long time before 
 Avdotya could get to sleep. ... At first she 
 lay still, turning her face to the wall, then she 
 began tossing from side to side on the hot 
 feather bed, throwing off and pulling up the 
 quilt alternately . . . then she sank into a light 
 doze. Suddenly she heard from the yard a 
 loud masculine voice: it was singing a song of 
 which it was impossible to distinguish the 
 words, prolonging each note, though not with 
 a melancholy effect. Avdotya opened her eyes, 
 propped herself on her elbows and listened. 
 . . . The song went on. ... It rang out mu- 
 sically in the autumn air. 
 
 Akim raised his head. 
 
 "Who's that singing?" he asked. 
 
 "I don't know," she answered. 
 
 "He sings well," he added, after a brief 
 pause. "Very well. What a strong voice. I 
 used to sing in my day," he went on. "And I 
 sang well, too, but my voice has gone. That's 
 a fine voice. It must be that young fellow 
 79 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 singing, Naum is his name, isn't it?" And he 
 turned over on the other side, gave a sigh and 
 fell asleep again. 
 
 It was a long time before the voice was. stilL 
 . . . Avdotya listened and listened; all at once 
 it seemed to break off, rang out boldly once 
 more and slowly died away. . . . Avdotya 
 crossed herself and laid her head on the pil- 
 low. . . . Half an hour passed. . . . She sat up 
 and softly got out of bed. 
 
 "Where are you going, wife?" Akim asked 
 in his sleep. 
 
 She stopped. 
 
 "To see to the little lamp," she said, "I can't 
 get to sleep." 
 
 "You should say a prayer," Akim mumbled, 
 falling asleep. 
 
 Avdotya went up to the lamp before the 
 ikon, began trimming it and accidentally put it 
 out; she went back and lay down. Every- 
 thing was still. 
 
 Early next morning the merchant set off 
 
 ajgain on his journey with his companions. 
 
 { Avdotya was asleep. Akim went half a mile 
 
 with them : he had to call at the mill. When 
 
 80 
 
THE INN 
 
 he. got home he found his wife dressed and 
 not alone. Naum, the young man who had been 
 there the night before, was with her. They 
 were standing by the table in 'the window talk- 
 ing. When Avdotya saw Akim, she went out 
 of the room without a word, and Naum said 
 that he had come for his master's gloves which 
 the latter, he said, had left behind on the 
 bench; and he, too, went away. 
 
 We will now tell the reader what he has 
 probably guessed already: Avdotya had fallen 
 passionately in love with Naum. It is hard to 
 say how it could have happened so quickly, 
 especially as she had hitherto been irreproach- 
 able in her behaviour in spite of many oppor- 
 tunities and temptations to deceive her hus- 
 band. Later on, when her intrigue with Naum 
 became known, many people in the neighbour- 
 hood declared that he had on the very first 
 evening put a magic potion that was a love 
 spell in her tea (the efficacy of such spells is 
 still firmly believed in among us), and that this 
 could be clearly seen from the appearance of 
 Avdotya who, so they said, soon after began 
 to pine away and look depressed. 
 8i 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 However that may have been, Naum began 
 to be frequently seen in Akim's yard. At first 
 he came again v^ith the same merchant and 
 three months later arrived alone, with wares of 
 his own; then the report spread that he had 
 settled in one of the neighbouring district towns, 
 and from that time forward not a week passed 
 without his appearing on the high road with 
 his strong, painted cart drawn by two sleek 
 horses which he drove himself. There was no 
 particular friendship between Akim and him, 
 nor was there any hostility noticed between 
 them; Akim did not take much notice of him 
 and only thought of him as a sharp young fel- 
 low who was rapidly making his way in the 
 world. He did not suspect Avdotya's real feel- 
 ings and went on believing in her as before. 
 
 Two years passed like this. . , 
 
 One summer day it happened tha| Lizav^ta 
 ProhorovnaJ — who had somehow ^Strddehly 
 grown yellow and wrinkled during those two 
 years in spite of all sorts of unguents, rouge 
 and powder — about two o'clock in the after- 
 noon went out with her lap dog and her folding 
 parasol for a stroll before dinner in her neat 
 82 
 
THE INN 
 
 little German garden. With a faint rustle of 
 her starched petticoats, she walked with tiny 
 steps along the sandy path between two rows 
 of erect, stiffly tied-up dahlias, when she was 
 suddenly overtaken by our old acquaintance 
 KijUlovna, who announced respectfully that a 
 merchant desired to speak to her on important 
 business. Kirillovna was still high in her mis- 
 tress's favour (in reality it was she who man- 
 aged Madame Kuntse's estate) and she had 
 some time before obtained permission to wear 
 a white cap, which gave still more acerbity to 
 the sharp features of her swarthy face. 
 
 "A merchant?" said her mistress; "what does 
 he want?" 
 
 "I don't know what he wants," answered 
 Kirillovna in an insinuating voice, "only I think 
 he wants to buy something from you." 
 
 Lizaveta Prohorovna went back into the 
 drawing-room, sat down in her usual seat — an 
 armchair with a canopy over it, upon which a 
 climbing plant twined gracefully — and gave or- 
 ders that the merchant should be sumrnoned. 
 
 Naum appeared, bowed, and stood still by 
 the door. 
 
 83 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "1 hear that you want to buy something of 
 me," said Lizaveta Prohorovna, and thought to 
 herself, "What a handsome man this merchant 
 is" 
 
 "Just so, madam." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Would you be willing to sell your inn ?" 
 
 "What inn?" 
 
 "Why, the one on the high road not far from 
 here." 
 
 "But that inn is not mine, it is Akim's." 
 
 "Not yours? Why, it stands on your land." 
 
 "Yes, the land is mine . . . bought in my 
 name; but the inn is his." 
 
 "To be sure. But wouldn't you be willing 
 to sell it to me?" 
 
 "How could I sell it to you?" 
 
 "Well, I would give you a good price for it." 
 
 Lizaveta Prohorovna was silent for a space. 
 
 "It is really very queer what you are say- 
 ing," she said. "And what would you give?" 
 she added. "I don't ask that for myself but 
 for Akim." 
 
 "For all the buildings and the appurtenances, 
 
 84 
 
THE INN 
 
 together with the land that goes with it, of 
 course, I would give two thousand roubles." 
 
 "Two thousand roubles! That is not 
 enough," replied Lizaveta Prohorovna. 
 
 "It's a good price." 
 
 "But have you spoken to Akim?'' 
 
 "What should I speak to him for? The inn 
 is yours, so here I am talking to you about it." 
 
 "But I have told you. ... It really is aston- 
 ishing that you don't understand me." 
 
 "Not understand, madam? But I do under- 
 stand." 
 
 Lizaveta Prohorovna looked at Naum and 
 Naum looked at Lizaveta Prohorovna. 
 
 "Well, then," he began, "what do you pro- 
 pose ?" 
 
 "I propose . . ." Lizaveta Prohorovna 
 moved in her chair. "In the first place I tell 
 you that two thousand is too little and in the 
 second . . ." 
 
 "I'll add another hundred, then." 
 
 Lizaveta Prohorovna got up. 
 
 "I see that you are talking quite off the 
 point. I have told you already that I cannot 
 8s 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 sell that inn — am not going to sell it. I canr 
 not . . . that is, I will not." 
 
 Naum smiled and said nothing for a space. 
 
 "Well, as you please, madam," he said, 
 shrugging his shoulders. '1 beg to take leave." 
 He bowed and took hold of the door handle. 
 
 Lizaveta Prohorovna turned round to him. 
 
 "You need not go away yet, however," she 
 said, with hardly perceptible agitation. She 
 rang the bell and Kirillovna came in from the 
 study. "Kirillovna, tell them to give this gen- 
 tleman some tea. I will see you again," she 
 added, with a slight inclination of her head. 
 
 Naum bowed again and went out with Kiril- 
 lovna. Lizaveta Prohorovna walked up and 
 down the room once or twice and rang the bell 
 again. This time a page appeared. She told 
 him to fetch Kirillovna. A few moments later 
 Kirillovna came in with a faint creak of her 
 new goatskin shoes. 
 
 "Have you heard," Lizaveta Prohorovna be- 
 gan with a forced laugh, "what this merchant 
 has been proposing to me? He is a queer fel- 
 low, really!" 
 
 "No, I haven't heard. What is it, madam?" 
 86 
 
THE INN 
 
 and Kirillovna faintly screwed up her black 
 Kalmuck eyes. 
 ^""""(""He wants to buy Akim's inn." 
 \"Well, why not?" 
 
 . "But how could he? What about Akim? 
 I gave it to Akim." 
 
 '^"Upon my word, madam, what are you say- 
 
 f ing? Isn't the inn yours? Don't we all be- 
 \ long to you ? And isn't all our property yours, 
 <C.^^ our mistress's ?" 
 
 "Good gracious, Kirillovna, what are you 
 saying?" Lizaveta Prohorovna pulled out a 
 batiste handkerchief and nervously blew her 
 nose. "Akim bought the inn with his own 
 money." 
 
 "His own money? But where did he get 
 the money? Wasn't it through your kindness? 
 He has had the use of the land all this time as 
 it is. It was all through your gracious per- 
 mission. And do you suppose, madam, that he 
 would have no money left? Why, he is richer 
 than you are, upon my word, he is !" 
 
 "That's all true, of course, but still I can't 
 do it. . . . How could I sell the inn?" 
 
 "And why not sell it," Kirillovna went on, 
 
 87 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "since a purchaser has luckily turned up ? May 
 I ask, madam, how much he offers you?" 
 
 "More than two thousand roubles," said Liza- 
 veta Prohorovna softly. 
 
 "He will give more, madam, if he offers two 
 thousand straight off. And you will arrange 
 things with Akim afterwards; take a little off 
 his yearly duty or something. He will be 
 thankful, too." 
 
 "Of course, I must remit part of his duty. 
 But no, Kirillovna, how can I sell it?" and 
 Lizaveta Prohorovna walked up and down the 
 room. "No, that's out of the question, that 
 won't do . . . no, please don't speak of it again 
 ... or I shall be angry." 
 
 But in spite of her agitated mistress's warn- 
 ing, Kirillovna did continue speaking of it and 
 half an hour later she went back to Naum, 
 whom she had left in the butler's pantry at the 
 samovar. 
 
 "What have you to tell me, good madam?" 
 said Naum, jauntily turning his tea-cup wrong 
 side upwards in the saucer. 
 
 "What I have to tell you is that you are to 
 go in to the mistress; she wants you." 
 88 
 
THE INN 
 
 "Certainly," said Naum, and he got up and 
 followed Kirillovna into the drawing-room. 
 
 The door closed behind them. . . . When the 
 door opened again and Naum walked out back- 
 wards, bowing, the matter was settled : Akim's 
 inn belonged to him. He had bought it for 
 2800 paper roubles. It was arranged that the 
 legal formalities should take place as quickly as 
 possible and that till then the matter should not 
 be made public. Lizaveta Prohorovna received 
 a deposit of a hundred roubles and two hun- 
 dred went to Kirillovna for her assistance. "It 
 has not cost me much/' thought Naum as he got 
 into his €0^ "it was a lucky chance." 
 
 While the transaction we have described was 
 going forward in the mistress's house, Akim 
 was sitting at home alone on the bench by the 
 window, stroking his beard with a discontented 
 expression. We have said already that he did 
 not suspect his wife's feeling for Naum, al- 
 though kind friends had more than once hinted 
 to him that it was time he opened his eyes; it 
 is true that he had noticed himself that of late 
 his wife had become rather difficult, but we 
 all know that the female sex is capricious and 
 
 89 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 changeable. Even when it really did strike hirn 
 that things were not going well in his house, 
 he merely dismissed the thought with a wave 
 of his hand; he did not Hke the jdea of a squab- 
 ble ; his good nature had not lessened with years 
 and indolence was asserting itself, too. But on 
 that day he was very much out of humour; 
 the day before he had overheard quite by chance 
 in the street a conversation between their serv- 
 ant and a neighbouring peasant woman. 
 
 The peasant woman asked the servant why 
 she had not come to see her on the holiday 
 the day before. "I was expecting you," she 
 said. 
 
 "I did set off," replied the servant, ''but as 
 ill-luck would have it, I ran into the mistress 
 . . . botheration take her." 
 
 **Ran into her?" repeated the peasant woman 
 in a sing-song voice and she leaned her cheek 
 on her hand. "And where did you run into 
 her, my good girl?" 
 
 ''Beyond the priest's hemp-patch. She must 
 have gone to the hemp-patch to meet her Naum, 
 but I could not see them in the dusk, owing to 
 the moon, maybe, I don't know ; I simply dashed 
 into them." 
 
 90 
 
i 
 
 / 
 
 THE INN 
 
 "Dashed into them?" the other woman re- 
 peated. "Well, and was she standing with him, 
 my good girl?" 
 
 "Yes, she was. He was standing there and 
 so was she. She saw me and said, 'Where 
 are you running to? Go home.' So I went 
 home." 
 
 "You went home ?" The peasant woman was 
 silent. "Well, good-bye, Fetinyushka," she 
 brought out at last, and trudged off. 
 
 This conversation had an unpleasant effect 
 on Akim. His love for Avdotya had cooled, 
 but still he did not like what the servant had 
 said. And she had told the truth: Avdotya 
 really had gone out that evening to meet Naum, 
 who had been waiting for her in the patch of 
 dense shade thrown on the road by the high 
 motionless hemp. The dew bathed every stalk 
 of it from top to bottom; the strong, almost 
 overpowering fragrance hung all about it. A 
 huge crimson moon had just risen in the dingy, 
 blackish mist. Naum heard the hurried foot- 
 steps of Avdotya a long way off and went to 
 meet her. She came up to him, pale with run- 
 ning; the moon lighted up her face. 
 
 "Well, have you brought it?" he asked. 
 91 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "Brought it — yes, I have," she answered in 
 an uncertain voice. "But, Naum Ivanitch " 
 
 "Give it me, since you have brought it," he 
 interrupted her, and held out his hand. 
 
 She took a parcel from under her shawl. 
 Naum took it at once and thrust it in his 
 bosom. 
 
 "Naum Ivanitch," Avdotya said slowly, keep- 
 ing her eyes fixed on him, "oh, Naum Ivanitch, 
 you will bring my soul to ruin." 
 
 It was at that instant that the servant came 
 up to them. 
 
 And so Akim was sitting on the bench dis- 
 contentedly stroking his beard. Avdotya kept 
 coming into the room and going out again. He 
 simply followed her with his eyes. At last she 
 came into the room and after taking a jerkin 
 from the lobby was just crossing the threshold, 
 when he could not restrain himself and said, as 
 though speaking to himself : 
 
 "I wonder," he began, "why it is women are 
 always in a fuss ? It's no good expecting them 
 to sit still. That's not in their line. But run- 
 ning out morning or evening, that's what they 
 like. Yes." 
 
 92 
 
THE INN 
 
 Avdotya listened to her husband's words 
 without changing her position ; only at the word 
 "evening," she moved her head slightly and 
 seemed to ponder. 
 
 "Once you begin talking, Semyonitch," she 
 commented at last with vexation, "there is no 
 stopping you." 
 
 And with a wave of her hand she went away 
 and slammed the door. Avdotya certainly did 
 not appreciate Akim's eloquence and often in 
 the evenings when he indulged in conversation 
 with travellers or fell to telling stories she 
 stealthily yawned or went out of the room. 
 Akim looked at the closed door. "Once you 
 begin talking," he repeated in an undertone. 
 . . . "The fact is, I have not talked enough to 
 you. And who isi it ? A peasant like any one of 
 us, and what's more. . . ." And he got up, 
 thought a little and tapped the back of his head 
 with his fist. 
 
 Several days passed in a rather strange way. 
 Akim kept looking at his wife as though he 
 were preparing to say something to her, and 
 she, for her part, looked at him suspiciously; 
 meanwhile, they both preserved a strained 
 93 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 silence. This silence, however, was broken from 
 time to time by some peevish remark from 
 Akim in regard to some oversight in the house- 
 keeping or in regard to women in general. For 
 the most part Avdotya did not answer one 
 word. But in spite of Akim*s good-natured 
 weakness, it certainly would have come to a 
 decisive explanation between him and Avdotya, 
 if it had not been for an event which rendered 
 any explanation useless. 
 
 One morning Akim and wife were just be- 
 ginning lunch (owing to the summer work in 
 the fields there were no travellers at the inn) 
 when suddenly a cart rattled briskly along the 
 road and pulled up sharply at the front door. 
 Akim peeped out of window, frowned and 
 looked down : Naum got deliberately out of the 
 cart. Avdotya had not seen him, but when 
 she heard his voice in the entry the spoon trem- 
 bled in her hand. He told the labourers to put 
 up the horse in the yard. At last the door 
 opened and he walked into the room. 
 
 "Good-day," he said, and took off his cap. 
 
 "Good-day," Akim repeated through his 
 teeth. "Where has God brought you from?" 
 
 "I was in the neighbourhood," replied Naum, 
 94 
 
THE INN 
 
 and he sat down on the bench. *1 have come 
 from your lady." 
 
 'Trom the lady/' said Akim, not getting up 
 from his seat. "On business, eh?" 
 
 "Yes, on business. My respects to you, Av- 
 dotya Arefyevona." 
 
 "Good morning, Naum Ivanitch," she an- 
 swered. All were silent. 
 
 "What have you got, broth, is it?" began 
 Naiun. 
 
 "Yes, broth," replied Akim and all at once 
 he turned pale, "but not for you." 
 
 Naum glanced at Akim with surprise. 
 
 "Not forme?" 
 
 "Not for you, and that's all about it." 
 Akim's eyes glittered and he brought his fist 
 on the table. "There is nothing in my house 
 for you, do you hear?" 
 
 "What's this, Semyonitch, what is the mat- 
 ter with you?" 
 
 "There's nothing the matter with me, but 
 I am sick of you, Naum Ivanitch, that's what 
 it is." The old man got up, trembling all over. 
 "You poke yourself in here too often, I tell 
 you." 
 
 Naum, too, got up. 
 
 95 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "You've gone clean off your head, old man," 
 he said with a jeer. "Avdotya Arefyevna, 
 what's wrong with him?" 
 
 "I tell you," shouted Akim in a cracked voice, 
 "go away, do you hear ? . . . You have nothing 
 to do with Avdotya Arefyevna ... I tell you, 
 do you hear, get out !" 
 
 "What's that you are saying to me?" Naum 
 asked significantly. 
 
 "Go out of the house, that's what I am tell- 
 ing to you. Here's God and here's the door 
 . . . do you understand? Or there will be 
 trouble." 
 
 Naum took a step forward. 
 
 "Good gracious, don't fight, my dears," fal- 
 tered Avdotya, who till then had sat motionless 
 at the table. 
 
 Naum glanced at her. 
 
 "Don't be uneasy, Avdotya Arefyevna, why 
 should we fight? Fie, brother, what a hulla- 
 baloo you are making !" he went on, addressing 
 Akim. "Yes, really. You are a hasty one! 
 Has anyone ever heard of turning anyone out 
 of his house, especially the owner of it?" Naum 
 added with slow deliberateness. 
 
 96 
 
THE INN 
 
 "Out of his house?" muttered Akim. "What 
 owner ?" 
 
 "Me, if you like." 
 
 And Naum screwed up his eyes and showed 
 his white teeth in a grin. 
 
 "You? Why, it's my house, isn't it?" 
 
 "What a slow-witted fellow you are! I tell 
 . you it's mine." 
 \ Akim gazed at him open-eyed. 
 
 "What crazy stuff is it you are talking? One 
 ^ would think you had gone silly," he said at last. 
 
 "How the devil can it be yours ?" 
 / "What's the good of talking to you?" cried 
 Naum impatiently. "Do you see this bit of 
 paper?" he went on, pulling out of his pocket 
 a sheet of stamped paper, folded in four, "do 
 you see ? This is the deed of sale, do you un- 
 derstand, the deed of sale of your land and 
 your house; I have bought them from the lady, 
 from Lizaveta Prohorovna; the deed was 
 drawn up at the town yesterday; so I am mas- 
 ter here, not you. Pack your belongings to- 
 day," he added, putting the document back in 
 his pocket, "and don't let me see a sign of you 
 here to-morrow, do you hear ?" 
 97 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 Akim stood as though struck by a thunder- 
 bolt. 
 
 "Robber," he moaned at last, "robber. . . . 
 Heigh, Fedka, Mitka, wife, wife, seize him, 
 seize him — hold him." 
 
 He lost his head completely. 
 
 "Mind now, old man," said Naum menac- 
 in^^ly, "mind what you are about, don't play 
 the fool. . . ." 
 
 "Beat him, wife, beat him!" Akim kept re- 
 peating in a tearful voice, trying helplessly and 
 in vain to get up. "Murderer, robber. . . . 
 She is not enough for you, you want to take 
 my house, too, and everything. ... But no, 
 stop a bit . . . that can't be. . . . I'll go my- 
 self, I'll speak myself . . . how . . . why should 
 she sell it ? Wait a bit, wait a bit." 
 
 And he dashed out bareheaded. 
 
 "Where are you off to, Akim Ivanitch ?" said 
 the servant Fetinya, running into him in the 
 doorway. 
 
 "To our mistress! Let me pass! To our 
 mistress!" wailed Akim, and seeing Naum's 
 cart which had not yet been taken into the yard, 
 he jumped into it, snatched the reins and lash- 
 
 98 
 
THE INN 
 
 ing the horse with all his might set off at full 
 speed to his mistress's house. 
 
 "My lady, Lizaveta Prohorovna," he kept 
 repeating to himself all the way, **how have I 
 lost your favour ? I should have thought I had 
 done my best !" 
 
 And meantime he kept lashing and lashing 
 the horse. Those who met him moved out of 
 his way and gazed after him. 
 
 In a quarter of an hour Akim had reached 
 Lizaveta Prohorovna's house, had galloped up 
 to the front door, jumped out of the cart and 
 dashed straight into the entry. 
 
 "What do you want?" muttered the fright- 
 ened footman who was sleeping sweetly on the 
 hall bench. 
 
 "The mistress, I want to see the mistress," 
 said Akim loudly. 
 
 The footman was amazed. 
 
 "Has anything happened?" he began. 
 
 "Nothing has happened, but I want to see the 
 mistress." 
 
 "What, what," said the footman, more and 
 more astonished, and he slowly drew himself 
 up. 
 
 99 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 Akim pulled himself up. . . . He felt as, 
 though cold water had been poured on him. 
 
 "Announce to the mistress, please, Pyotr 
 Yevgrafitch," he said with a low bow, "that 
 Akim asks leave to see her." 
 
 "Very good . . . I'll go . . . I'll tell her 
 . . . but you must be drunk, wait a bit," grum- 
 bled the footman, and he went off. 
 
 Akim looked down and seemed confused. 
 . . . His determination had evaporated as soon 
 as he went into the hall. 
 
 Lizaveta Prohorovna was confused, too, 
 when she was informed that Akim had come. 
 She immediately summoned Kirillovna to her 
 boudoir. 
 
 "I can't see him," she began hurriedly, as 
 soon as the latter appeared. "I absolutely can- 
 not. What am I to say to him ? I told you he 
 would be sure to come and complain," she added 
 in annoyance and agitation. "I told you." 
 
 "But why should you see him?" Kirillovna 
 answered calmly, "there is no need to. Why 
 should you be worried! No, indeed!" 
 
 "What is to be done then?" 
 
 lOO 
 
THE INN 
 
 "If you will permit me, I will speak to him." 
 
 Lizaveta Prohorovna raised her head. 
 
 "Please do, Kirillovna. Talk to him. You 
 tell him . . . that I found it necessary . . . 
 but that I will compensate him . . . say what 
 you think best. Please, Kirillovna." 
 
 "Don't you worry yourself, madam," an- 
 swered Kirillovna, and she went out, her shoes 
 creaking. 
 /^" A quarter of an hour had not elapsed when 
 -, their creaking was heard again and Kirillovna 
 \ walked into the boudoir with the same, unruf- 
 fled expression on her face and the same sly 
 shrewdness in her eyes. 
 
 "Well?" asked her mistress, "how is Akim?" 
 
 "He is all right, madam. He says that it 
 must all be as you graciously please; that if 
 only you have good health and prosperity he 
 can get along very well." 
 
 "And he did not complain?" 
 
 "No, madam. Why should he complain?" 
 
 "What did he come for, then?" Lizaveta 
 Prohorovna asked in some surprise. 
 
 "He came to ask whether you would excuse 
 
 lOI 
 
 V 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 his yearly payment for next year, that is, until 
 he has been compensated." 
 
 "Of course, of course," Lizaveta Prohorovna 
 caught her up eagerly. "Of course, with pleas- 
 ure. And tell him, in fact, that I will make 
 it up to him. Thank you, Kirillovna. I see 
 he is a good-hearted man. Stay," she added, 
 "give him this from me," and she took a three- 
 rouble note out of her work-table drawer, 
 "Here, take this, give it to him." 
 
 "Certainly, madam," answered Kirillovna, I 
 and going calmly back to her room she locked j 
 the note in an iron-cased box which stood at / , 
 the head of her bed; she kept in it all her spare/ # 
 cash, and there was a considerable amount ofl7 
 it. 
 
 Kirillovna had reassured her mistress by her 
 report but the conversation between herself and 
 Akim had not been quite what she represented. 
 She had Sicnt for him to the maid's room. At 
 first he had not come, declaring that he did not 
 want to see Kirillovna but Lizaveta Prohorovna 
 herself; he had, however, at last obeyed and 
 gone by the back door to see Kirillovna. He 
 found her alone. He stopped at once on getting 
 
 102 
 
THE INN 
 
 into the room and leaned against the wall by 
 the door; he would have spoken but he could 
 not. 
 
 Kirillovna looked at him intently. 
 
 "You want to see the mistress, Akim Sem- 
 yonitch ?" she began. 
 
 He simply nodded. 
 
 "It's impossible, Akim Semyonitch. And 
 what's the use ? What's done can't be undone, 
 and you will only worry the mistress. She can't 
 see you now, Akim Semyonitch." 
 
 "She cannot," he repeated and paused. 
 "Well, then," he brought out at last, "so then 
 my house is lost?" 
 
 "Listen, Akim Semyonitch. I know you have 
 always been a sensible man. Such is the mis- 
 tress's will and there is no changing it. You 
 can't alter that. Whatever you and I might say 
 about it would make no difference, would it?" 
 
 Akim put his arm behind his back. 
 
 "You'd better think," Kirillovna went on, 
 "shouldn't you ask the mistress to let you off 
 your yearly payment or something?" 
 
 "So my house is lost ?" repeated Akim in the 
 same voice. 
 
 103 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "Akini Semyonitch, I tell you, it's no use. 
 You know that better than I do." 
 
 "Yes. Anyway, you might tell me what the 
 house went for?" 
 
 "I don't know, Akim Semyonitch, I can't 
 tell you. . . . But why are you standing?" she 
 added. "Sit down." 
 
 "I'd rather stand, I am a peasant. I thank 
 you humbly." 
 
 "You a peasant, Akim Semyonitch? You 
 are as good as a merchant, let alone a house- 
 serf! What do you mean-? Don't distress 
 yourself for nothing. Won't you have som^ 
 tea?" 
 
 "No, thank you, I don't want it. So you have 
 got hold of my house between you," he added, 
 moving away from the wall. "Thank you for 
 that. I wish you good-bye, my lady." 
 
 And he turned and went out. Kirillovna 
 straightened her apron and went to her mis- 
 tress. 
 
 "So I am a merchant, it seems," Akim said 
 to himself, standing before the gate in hesi- 
 tation. "A nice merchant!" He waved his 
 hand and laughed bitterly. "Well, I suppose 
 I had better go home." 
 104 
 
t 
 
 THE INN 
 
 And entirely forgetting Naum's horse with 
 which he had come, he trudged along the road 
 to the inn. Before he had gone the first mile 
 he suddenly heard the rattle of a cart beside 
 him. 
 
 "Akim, Akim Semyonitch," someone called 
 to him. 
 
 He raised his eyes and saw a friend of his, 
 the parish clerk, Yefrem, nicknamed the Mole, 
 a Httle, bent man with a sharp nose and dim- 
 sighted eyes. He was sitting on a bundle of 
 -straw in a wretched little cart, and leaning for- 
 ward against the box. 
 
 "Are you going home?" he asked Akim. 
 
 Akim stopped 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Shall I give you a lift?" 
 
 "Please do." 
 
 Yefrem moved to one side and Akim climbed 
 into the cart. Yefrem, who seemed to be some- 
 what exhilarated, began lashing at his wretched 
 little horse with the ends of his cord reins; 
 it set off at a weary trot continually tossing 
 its unbridled head. 
 
 They drove for nearly a mile without say- 
 ing one word to each other. Akim sat with 
 105 
 
( 
 
 KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 his head bent while Yefrem muttered to him- 
 self, alternately urging on and holding back 
 his horse. 
 
 "Where have you been without your cap, 
 Semyonitch?" he asked Akim suddenly and, 
 without waiting for an answer, went on, 
 "YouVe left it at some tavern, that's what 
 youVe done. You are a drinking man ; I know 
 you and I like you for it, that you are a 
 drinker; you are not a murderer, not a rowdy, 
 not one to make trouble ; you are a good man- 
 ager, but you are a drinker and such a drinker, 
 you ought to have been pulled up for it long 
 ago, yes, indeed; for it's^ a nasty habit. . . . 
 Hurrah!" he shouted suddenly at the top of 
 his voice, "Hurrah! Hurrah!" 
 
 "Stop! Stop!" a woman's voice sounded 
 close by, "Stop!" 
 
 Akim looked round. A woman so pale and 
 dishevelled that at first he did not recognise 
 her, was running across the field towards the 
 cart. 
 
 "Stop! Stop!" she moaned again, gasping 
 for breath and waving her arms. 
 
 Akim started: it was his wife. 
 io6 
 
THE INN 
 
 He snatched up the reins. 
 
 "What's the good of stopping?" muttered 
 Yefrem. "Stopping for a woman? Gee-up!" 
 
 But Akim pulled the horse up sharply. At 
 that instant Avdotya ran up to the road and 
 flung herself down with her face straight in 
 the dust. 
 
 "Akim Semyonitch," she wailed, "he has 
 turned me out, too !" 
 
 Akim looked at her and did not stir ; he only 
 gripped the reins tighter. 
 
 "Hurrah!" Yefrem shouted again. 
 
 "So he has turned you out?" said Akim. 
 
 "He has turned me out, Akim Semyonitch, 
 dear," Avdotya answered, sobbing. "He has 
 turned me out. The house is mine, he said, 
 so you can go." 
 
 "Capital ! That's a fine thing . . . capital," 
 observed Yefrem. 
 
 "So I suppose you thought to stay on ?" Akim 
 brought out bitterly, still sitting in the cart. 
 
 "How could I ! But, Akim Semyonitch," 
 went on Avdotya, who had raised her head but 
 let it sink to the earth again, "you don't know, 
 I . . . kill me, Akim Semyonitch, kill me here 
 on the spot." 
 
 107 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "Why should I kill you, Arefyevna?" said 
 Akim dejectedly, "you've been your own ruin. 
 What's the use?" 
 
 "But do you know what, Akim Semyonitch, 
 the money . . . your money . . . your money's 
 gone. . . . Wretched sinner as I am, I took it 
 from under the floor, I gave it all to him, to 
 that villain Naum. ... Why did you tell me 
 where you hid your money, wretched sinner as 
 I am ? . . . It's with your money he has bought 
 the house, the villain." 
 
 Sobs choked her voice. 
 
 Akim clutched his head with both hands. 
 
 "What!" he cried at last, "all the money, 
 too . . . the money and the house, and you 
 did it. . . . Ah! You took it from under the 
 floor, you took it. . . . I'll kill you, you snake 
 in the grass !" And he leapt out of the cart. 
 
 "Semyonitch, Semyonitch, don't beat her, 
 don't fight," faltered Ye f rem, on whom this un- 
 expected adventure began to have a sobering 
 effect. 
 
 "No, Akim Semyonitch, kill me, wretched 
 sinner as I am ; beat me, don't heed him," cried 
 Avdotya, writhing convulsively at Akim's feet. 
 
 He stood a moment, looked at her, moved a 
 io8 
 
THE INN 
 
 few steps away and sat down on the grass be- 
 side the road. 
 
 A brief silence followed. Avdotya turned 
 her head in his direction. 
 
 "Semyonitch ! hey, Semyonitch," began 
 Yefrem, sitting up in the cart, "give over . . . 
 you know . . . you won't make things any bet- 
 ter. Tfoo, what a business," he went on as 
 though to himself. "What a damnable woman. 
 ... Go to him," he added, bending down over 
 the side of the cart to Avdotya, "you see, he's 
 half crazy." 
 
 Avdotya got up, went nearer to Akim and 
 again fell at his feet. 
 
 "Akim Semyonitch !" she began, in a faint 
 voice. 
 
 Akim got up and went back to the cart. She 
 caught at the skirt of his coat. 
 
 "Get away !" he shouted savagely, and pushed 
 her off. 
 
 "Where are you going?" Yefrem asked, see- 
 ing that he was getting in beside him again. 
 
 "You were going to take me to my home," 
 said Akim, "but take me to yours . . . you see, 
 I have no home now. They have bought 
 mine." 
 
 ^ 109 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "Very well, come to me. And what about 
 her?" 
 
 Akim made no answer. 
 
 "And me ? Me ?" Avdotya repeated with \ 
 tears, "are you leaving me all alone? Where ,/ 
 am I to go ?" y 
 
 "You can go to him," answered Akim, with- 
 out turning round, "the man you have given 
 my money to. . . . Drive on, Yefrem !" 
 
 Yefrem lashed the horse, the cart rolled off, 
 Avdotya set up a wail. . . . 
 
 Yefrem lived three-quarters of a mile from 
 Akim's inn in a little house close to the priest's, 
 near the solitary church with five cupolas which 
 had been recently built by the heirs of a rich 
 merchant in accordance with the latter's will. 
 Yefrem said nothing to Akim all the way; he 
 merely shook his head from time to time and 
 uttered such ejaculations as "Dear, dear!" and 
 "Upon my soul !" Akim sat without moving, 
 turned a little away from Yefrem. At last they 
 arrived. Yefrem was the first to get out of 
 the cart. A little girl of six in a smock tied 
 low round the waist ran out to meet him and 
 shouted, 
 
 "Daddy! daddy!" 
 
 no 
 
THE INN 
 
 "And where is your mother ?" asked Yef rem. 
 
 "She is asleep in the shed." 
 
 "Well, let her sleep. Akim Semyonitch, 
 won't you get out, sir, and come indoors?" 
 
 (It must be noted that Yef rem addressed 
 him familiarly only when he was drunk. 
 More important persons than Yef rem spoke to 
 Akim with formal politeness.) 
 
 Akim went into the sacristan's hut. 
 
 "Here, sit on the bench," said Yef rem. 
 "Run away, you little rascals," he cried to 
 three other children who suddenly came out of 
 different corners of the room together with 
 two lean cats covered with wood ashes. "Get 
 along! Sh-sh! Come this way, Akim Sem- 
 yonitch, this way!" he went on, making his 
 guest sit down, "and won't you take some- 
 thing?" 
 
 "I tell you what, Yefrem," Akim articulated 
 at last, "could I have some vodka?" 
 
 Yefrem pricked up his ears. 
 
 "Vodka? You can. I've none in the house, 
 but I will run this minute to Father Fyodor's. 
 He always has it. . . . I'll be back in no time." 
 
 And he snatched up his cap with earflaps. 
 Ill 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "Bring plenty, I'll pay for it," Akim shouted 
 after him. "I've still money enough for that." 
 
 "I'll be back in no time," Yefrem repeated j 
 again as he went out of the door. He certainly ( 
 did return very quickly with two bottles under 
 his arm, of which one was already uncorked, 
 put them on the table, brought two little green \ 
 glasses, part of a loaf and some salt. 
 
 "Now this is what I like," he kept repeating, 
 as he sat down opposite Akim. "Why grieve?" 
 He poured out a glass for Akim and another 
 for himself and began talking freely. Av- 
 dotya's conduct had perplexed him. "It's a 
 strange business, really," he said, "how did it 
 happen? He must have bewitched her, I sup- 
 pose? It shows how strictly one must look 
 after a wife! You want to keep a firm hand 
 over her. All the same it wouldn't be amiss 
 for you to go home; I expect you have got a 
 lot of belongings there still." Yefrem added 
 much more to the same effect ; he did not like 
 to be silent when he was drinking. 
 
 This is what was happening an hour later in 
 Yefrem's house. Akim, who had not answered 
 a word to the questions and observations of 
 
 112 
 
THE INN 
 
 hio talkative host but had merely gone on drink- 
 ing glass after glass, was sleeping on the stove, 
 crimson in the face, a heavy, oppressive sleep; 
 the children were looking at him in wonder, 
 and Yef rem . . . Ye f rem, alas, was asleep, too, 
 but in a cold little lumber room in which he 
 had been locked by his wife, a woman of very 
 masculine and powerful physique. He had 
 gone to her in the shed and begun threatening 
 her or telling her some tale, but had expressed 
 himself so unintelligibly and incoherently that 
 she instantly saw what was the matter, took 
 him by the collar and deposited him in a suit- 
 able place. He slept in the lumber room, how- 
 ever, very soundly and even serenely. Such 
 is the effect of habit. 
 
 / fcirillovna had not quite accurately repeated 
 f to Lizaveta Prohorovna her conversation with 
 Akim . . . the same may be said of Avdotya.\ 
 icNaum had not turned her out, though she had 
 , told Akim that he had : he had no right to turn 
 her out. He was bound to give the former own- ^ 
 ers time to pack up. An explanation of quite 
 113 
 
; KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 a different character took place between him and 
 Avdotya. 
 
 When Akim had rushed out crying that he 
 would go to the mistress, Avdotya had turned 
 to Naum, stared at him open-eyed and clasped 
 her hands. 
 
 "Good heavens !" she cried, **Naum Ivan- 
 itch, what does this mean ? You've bought our 
 inn?" 
 
 "Well, what of it?'' he replied. "I have." 
 
 Avdotya was silent for a while; then she 
 suddenly started. 
 
 "So that is what you wanted the money for?" 
 
 "You are quite right there. Hullo, I believe 
 your husband has gone oi¥ with my horse," he 
 added, hearing the rumble of the wheels. "He 
 is a smart fellow!" 
 
 "But it's robbery !" wailed Avdotya. "Why, 
 it's our money, my husband's money and the 
 inn is ours. . . ." 
 
 "No, Avdotya Arefyevna," Naum inter- 
 rupted her, "the inn was not yours. What's 
 the use of saying that? The inn was on your 
 mistress's land, so it was hers. The money was 
 yours, certainly; but you were, so to say, so 
 114 
 
THE INN 
 
 kind as to present it to me; and I am grateful 
 to you and will even give it back to you on oc- 
 casion — if occasion arises; but you wouldn't 
 expect me to remain a beggar, would you?" 
 
 Naum said all this very calmly and even with 
 a slight smile. 
 
 ''Holy saints!" cried Avdotya, "it's beyond 
 everything! Beyond everything! How can I 
 look my husband in the face after this? You 
 villain," she added, looking with hatred at 
 Naum's fresh young face. "I've ruined my 
 soul for you, I've become a thief for your sake, 
 why, you've turned us into the street, you vil- 
 lain! There's nothing left for me but to hang 
 myself, villain, deceiver! You've ruined me, 
 you monster!" And she broke into violent 
 sobbing. 
 
 "Don't excite yourself, Avdotya Arefyevna," 
 said Naum. "I'll tell you one thing: charity 
 begins at home, and that's what the pike is in 
 the sea for, to keep the carp from going to 
 sleep." 
 
 "Where are we to go now. What's to become 
 of us?" Avdotya faltered, weeping. 
 
 "That I can't say." 
 
 "5 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "But I'll cut your throat, you villain, I'll 
 cut your throat." 
 
 "No, you won't do that, Avdotya Aref yevna ; 
 what's the use of talking like that ? But I see I 
 had better leave you for a time, for you are 
 very much upset. . . . I'll say good-bye, but I 
 shall be back to-morrow for certain. But you 
 musit allow me to send my workmen here to- 
 day," he added, while Avdotya went on repeat- 
 ing through her tears that she would cut his 
 throat and her own. 
 
 "Oh, and here they are," he observed, look- 
 ing out of the window. "Or, God forbid, some 
 mischief might happen. ... It will be safer 
 so. Will you be so kind as to put your belong- 
 ings together to-day and they'll keep guard 
 here and help you, if you like. I'll say good- 
 bye.'' 
 
 He bowed, went out and beckoned the work- 
 men to him. 
 
 Avdotya sank on the bench, then bent over 
 the table, wringing her hands, then suddenly 
 leapt up and ran after her husband. . . . We 
 have described their meeting. 
 
 When Akim drove away from her with 
 ii6 
 
THE INN 
 
 Yefrem, leaving her alone in the field, for a 
 long time she remained where she was, weep- 
 ing. When she had wept away all her tears 
 she went in the direction of her mistress's house. 
 It was very bitter for her to go into the house, 
 still more bitter to go into the maids* room. 
 All the maids flew to meet her with sympathy 
 and consideration. Seeing them, Avdotya 
 could not restrain her tears; they simply 
 spurted from her red and swollen eyes. She 
 sank, helpless, on the first chair that offered it- , 
 self. Someone ran to fetch Kirillovna. Kiril- / 
 lovna came, was very friendly to her, but kept 
 her from seeing the mistress just as she had 
 Akim. Avdotya herself did not insist on see- 
 ing Lizaveta Prohorovna ; she had come to her 
 old home simply because she had nowhere else 
 to go. /I 
 
 Kirillovna ordered the samovar to be brought 
 in. For a long while Avdotya refused to take 
 tea, but yielded at last to the entreaties and per- 
 suasion of all the maids and after the first cup 
 drank another four. When Kirillovna saw that ^ 
 her guest was a little calmer and only shud-/ 
 dered and gave a faint sob from time to timei 
 "7 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 she asked her where they meant to move to 
 and what they thought of doing with their 
 things. Avdotya began crying again at this 
 question, and protesting that she wanted noth- 
 ing but to die ; but Kirillovna as a woman with 
 a head on her shoulders, checked her at once 
 and advised her without wasting time to set to 
 work that very day to move their things to the 
 hut in the village which had been Akim's and 
 in which his uncle (the old man who had tried 
 to dissuade him from his marriage) was now_ 
 living; she told her that with their mistress's 
 permission men and horses should be sent to 
 help them in packing and moving. "And as' 
 for you, my love," added |Kirillovni, twisting 
 her cat-like lips into a wry smile, "there will 
 always be a place for you with us and we shall 
 be delighted if you stay with us till you are 
 /settled in a house of your own again. The 
 j^ great thing is not to lose heart. The Lord has 
 I (//given, the Lord has taken away and will give 
 I • ' again. Lizaveta Prohorovna, of course, had to 
 ' sell your inn for reasons of her own but she 
 will not forget you and will make up to you for 
 it; she told me to tell Akim Semyonitch so. 
 Where is he now?" 
 
 ii8 
 
THE INN 
 
 Avdotya answered that when he met her he 
 had been very unkind to her and had driven 
 off to Yefrem's. 
 
 "Oh, to that fellow's!" Kirillovna replied 
 significantly. "Of course, I understand that 
 it's hard for him now. I daresay you won't 
 find him to-day; what's to be done? I 
 must make arrangements. Malashka," she 
 added, turning to one of the maids, "ask Nika- 
 nop Ilyitch to come here: we will talk it over 
 with him." 
 
 Nikanop Ilyitch, a feeble-looking man who 
 was bailiff or something of the sort, made his 
 appearance at once, listened with servility to 
 all that Kirillovna said to him, said, "it shall 
 be done," went out and gave orders. Avdotya 
 was given three waggons and three peasants; 
 a fourth who said that he was "more compe- 
 tent than they were," volunteered to join them 
 and she went with them to the inn where she 
 found her own labourers and the servant 
 Fetinya in a state of great confusion and alarm. 
 
 Naum's newly hired labourers, three very 
 stalwart young men, had come in the morning 
 and had not left the place since. They were 
 119 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 keeping very zealous guard, as Naum had said 
 they would — so zealous that the iron tyres of 
 a new cart were suddenly found to be missing. 
 
 It was a bitter, bitter task for poor Avdotya 
 to pack. In spite of the help of the ''compe^, 
 tent" man, who turned out, however, only ca-\ 
 pable of walking about with a stick in his hand,\ 
 looking at the others and spitting on the ground, \ 
 she was not able to get it finished that day and I 
 stayed the night at the inn, begging Fetinya to] 
 spend the night in her room. But she only fel| 
 into a feverish doze towards morning and the 
 tears trickled down her cheeks even in her 
 sleep. / 
 
 Meanwhile Yefrem woke up earlier than 
 usual in his lumber room and began knocking 
 and asking to be let out. At first his wife was 
 unwilling to release him and told him through 
 the door that he had not yet slept long enough ; 
 but he aroused her curiosity by promising to 
 tell her of the extraordinary thing that had 
 happened to Akim; she unbolted the door. 
 Yefrem told her what he knew and ended by 
 asking "Is he awake yet, or not ?" 
 
 "The Lord only knows,'* answered his wife. 
 
 120 
 
THE INN 
 
 "Go and look yourself ; he hasn't got down from 
 the stove yet. How drunk you both were yes- 
 terday! You should look at your face — you 
 don't look like yourself. You are as black as 
 a sweep and your hair is full of hay !" 
 
 "That doesn't matter," answered Yefrem, 
 and, passing his hand over his head, he went 
 into the room. Akim was no longer asleep; 
 he was sitting on the stove with his legs hang- 
 ing down; he, too, looked strange and un- 
 kempt. His face chowed the effects the more 
 as he was not used to drinking much. 
 
 "Well, how have you slept, Akim Semyon- 
 itch?" Yefrem began. 
 
 Akim looked at him with lustreless eyes. 
 
 "Well, brother Yefrem," he said huskily, 
 "could we have some again?" 
 
 Yefrem took a swift glance at Akim. . . . 
 He felt a slight tremor at that moment ; it was 
 a tremor such as is felt by a sportsman when 
 he hears the yap of his dog at the edge of the 
 wood from which he had fancied all the game 
 had been driven. 
 
 "What, more ?" he asked at last. 
 
 "Yes, more." 
 
 121 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "My wife will see," thought Yefrem, "she 
 won't let me out, most likely. 
 
 "All right," he pronounced aloud, "have a 
 little patience." 
 
 He went out and, thanks to skilfully taken 
 precautions, succeeded in bringing in unseen a 
 big bottle under his coat. 
 
 Akim took the bottle. But Yefrem did not 
 sit down with him as he had the day before — 
 he was afraid of his wife — and informing Akim 
 that he would go and have a look at what was 
 going on at the inn and would see that his be- 
 longings were being packed and not stolen — at 
 once set oif, riding his little horse which he had 
 neglected to feed — but judging from the bulg- 
 ing front of his coat he had not forgotten his 
 own needs. 
 
 Soon after he had gone, Akim was on the 
 stove again, sleeping like the dead. . . . He 
 did not wake up, or at least gave no sign of 
 waking when Yefrem returned four hours 
 later and began shaking him and trying to rouse 
 him and muttering over him some very mud- 
 dled phrases such as that "everything was 
 moved and gone, and the ikons have been taken 
 
 122 
 
THE INN 
 
 out and driven away and that everything was 
 over, and that everyone was looking for him 
 but that he, Ye f rem, had given orders and not 
 allowed them, . . ." and so on. But his mut- 
 terings did not last long. His wife carried him 
 off to the lumber room again and, very indig- 
 nant both with her husband and with the vis- 
 itor, owing to whom her husband had been 
 drinking, lay down herself in the room on the 
 shelf under the ceiling. . . . But when she 
 woke up early, as her habit was, and glanced at 
 the stove, Akim was not there. The second 
 cock had not crowed and the night was still so 
 dark that the sky hardly showed grey overhead 
 and at the horizon melted into the darkness 
 when Akim walked out of the gate of the sac- 
 ristan's house. His face was pale but he looked 
 keenly around him and his step was not that of 
 a drunken man, . . . He walked in the direc- 
 tion of his former dwelling, the inn, which had 
 now completely passed into the possession of its 
 new owner — Naum. 
 
 Naum, too, was awake when A^'m ^tole out 
 of Yefrem's house. He was not asleep; he 
 was lying on a bench with his sheepskin coat 
 123 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 under him. It was not that his conscience was // 
 troubling him — no ! he had with amazing cool- / / 
 ness been present all day at the packing and/ | 
 moving of all Akim's possessions and had morel I 
 than once addressed Avdotya, who was soli 
 downcast that she did not even reproach him 
 ... his conscience was at rest but he was dis- 
 turbed by various conjectures and calculations. 
 He did not know whether he would be lucky in 
 his new career ; he had never before kept an inn, 
 nor had a home of his own at all ; he could not 
 sleep. The thing has begun well/' he thought, 
 "how will it go on?" . . . Towards evening, 
 after seeing off the last cart with Akim's be- 
 longings (Avdotya walked behind it, weeping), , 
 he looked all over the yard, the cellars, sheds, 
 and barns, clambered up into the loft, more than 
 once instructed his labourers to keep a very, 
 very sharp look-out and when he was left alone 
 after supper could not go to sleep. It so hap- 
 pened that day that no visitor stayed at the inn 
 for the night ; this was a great relief to him. *T 
 must certainly buy a dog from the miller to- 
 morrow, as fierce a one as I can get; they've 
 taken theirs away," he said to himself, as he 
 124 
 
THE INN 
 
 tossed from side to side, and all at once he raised 
 his head quickly ... he fancied that someone 
 had passed by the window ... he listened . . . 
 there was nothing. Only a cricket from time to 
 time gave a cautious churr, and a mouse was 
 scratching somewhere; he could hear his own 
 breathing. Everything was still in the empty 
 room dimly lighted by the little glass lamp 
 which he had managed to hang up and light be- 
 fore the ikon in the corner. . . . He let his head 
 sink; again he thought he heard the gate creak 
 . . . then a faint snapping sound from the fence. 
 . . . He could not refrain from jumping up; he 
 opened the door of the room and in a low voice 
 called, "Fyodor ! Fyodor !" No one answered. 
 . . . He went out into the passage and almost 
 fell over Fyodor, who was lying on the floor. 
 The man stirred in his sleep with a faint grunt ; 
 Naum roused him. 
 
 "What's there ? What do you want ?" Fyodor 
 began. 
 
 "What are you bawling for, hold your 
 tongue !" Naum articulated in a whisper. "How 
 you sleep, you damned fellows! Have you 
 heard nothing?" 
 
 125 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "Nothing," answered the man. . . . "What is 
 it?" 
 
 "Where are the others sleeping?" 
 
 "Where they were told to sleep. . . .Why, is 
 there anything . . ." 
 
 "Hold your tongue — come with me." 
 
 Naum stealthily opened the door and went 
 out into the yard. It was very dark outside. 
 . . . The roofed-in parts and the posts could 
 only be distinguished because they were a still 
 deeper black in the midst of the black darkness. 
 
 "Shouldn't we light a lantern?" said Fyodor 
 in a low voice. 
 
 But Naum waved his hand and held his 
 breath. ... At first he could hear nothing but 
 those nocturnal sounds which can almost al- 
 ways be heard in an inhabited place: a horse 
 was munching oats, a pig grunted faintly in its 
 sleep, a man was snoring somewhere ; but all at 
 once his ear detected a suspicious sound coming 
 from the very end of the yard, near the fence. 
 
 Someone seemed to be stirring there, and 
 
 breathing or blowing. Naum looked over his 
 
 shoulder towards Fyodor and cautiously 
 
 descending the steps went towards the sound. 
 
 126 
 
THE INN 
 
 . . . Once or twice he stopped, listened and 
 stole on further. . . . Suddenly he started. . . . 
 Ten paces from him, in the thick darkness there 
 came the flash of a bright light: it was a glow- 
 ing ember and close to it there was visible for 
 an instant the front part of a face with lips 
 thrust out. . . . Quickly and silently, like a cat 
 at a mouse, Naum darted to the fire. . . . Hur- 
 riedly rising up from the ground a long body 
 rushed to meet him and, nearly knocking him 
 off his feet, almost eluded his grasp ; but Naum 
 hung on to it with all his strength. 
 
 "Fyodor ! Audrey ! Petrushka !" he shouted 
 at the top of his voice. "Make haste! here! 
 here! I've caught a thief trying to set fire to 
 the place. . . ." 
 
 The man whom he had caught fought and 
 struggled violently . . . but Naum did not let 
 him go. Fyodor at once ran to his assistance. 
 
 "A lantern! Make haste, a lantern! Run 
 f-'- a lantern, wake the others!" Naum shouted 
 to him. 'T can manage him alone for a time — 
 I am sitting on him. . . . Make haste! And 
 bring a belt to tie his hands." 
 ^- Fyodor ran into the house. . . . The man 
 127 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 whom Naum was holding suddenly left off 
 struggling. 
 
 "So it seems wife and money and home are 
 not enough for you, you want to ruin me, too," 
 he said in a choking voice. 
 
 Naum recognised Akim's voice. 
 
 "So that's you, my friend," he brought out; 
 "very good, you wait a bit." 
 
 "Let me go," said Akim, "aren't you satis- 
 fied?" 
 
 "I'll show you before the judge to-morrow 
 whether I am satisfied," and Naum tightened 
 his grip of Akim. 
 
 The labourers ran up with two lanterns and 
 cords. "Tie his arms," Naum ordered sharply. 
 The men caught hold of Akim, stood him up 
 and twisted his arms behind his back. . . . One 
 of them began abusing him, but recognising the 
 former owner of the inn lapsed into silence and 
 only exchanged glances with the others. 
 
 "Do you see, do you see!" Naum kept re- 
 peating, meanwhile throwing the light of the 
 lantern on the ground, "there are hot embers 
 in the pot; look, there's a regular log alight 
 here! We must find out where he got this pot 
 128 
 
THE INN 
 
 . . . here, he has broken up twigs, too," and 
 Naum carefully stamped out the fire with his 
 foot. "Search him, Fyodor," he added, "see 
 if_he hasn't got something else on him." 
 
 Fyodor rummaged Akim's pockets and felt 
 him all over while the old man stood motionless, 
 with his head drooping on his breast as though 
 lie were dead. 
 
 "Here's a knife," said Fyodor, taking an old 
 kitchen knife out of the front of Akim's coat. 
 
 "Aha, my fine gentleman, so that's what you 
 were after," cried Naum. "Lads, you are wit- 
 nesses . . . here he wanted to murder me and 
 set fire to the house. . . . Lock him up for the 
 night in the cellar, he can't get out of that. . . . 
 I'll keep watch all night myself and to-morrow 
 as soon as it is light we will take him to the 
 police captain . . . and you are witnesses, do 
 you hear!" 
 
 Akim was thrust into the cellar and the door 
 was slammed. . . . Naum set two men to watch 
 it and did not go to bed himself. 
 
 Meanwhile, Yefrem's wife having convinced 
 herself that her uninvited guest had gone, set 
 about her cooking though it was hardly daylight. 
 129 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 ... It was a holiday. She squatted down be- 
 fore the stove to get a hot ember and saw that 
 someone had scraped out the hot ashes be- 
 fore her; then she wanted her knife and 
 searched for it in vain ; then of her four cooking 
 pots one was missing. Yefrem's wife had the 
 reputation of being a woman with brains, and 
 justly so. She stood and pondered, then went 
 to the lumber room, to her husband. It was 
 not easy to wake him — and still more difficult 
 to explain to him why he was being awakened. 
 ... To all that she said to him Ye f rem made 
 the same answer. 
 
 "He's gone away — well, God bless him. . . . 
 What business is it of mine? He's taken our 
 knife and our pot — well, God bless him, what 
 has it to do with me?" 
 
 At last, however, he got up and after lis- 
 tening attentively to his wife came to the con- 
 clusion that it was a bad business, that some- 
 thing must be done. 
 
 "Yes," his wife repeated, "it is a bad busi- 
 ness; maybe he will be doing mischief in his 
 despair. ... I saw last night that he was not 
 asleep but was just lying on the stove ; it would 
 130 
 
THE INN 
 
 be as well for you to go and see, Yefrem Ale- 
 xandritch." 
 
 "I tell you what, Ulyana Fyodorovna," 
 Yefrem began, "I'll go myself to the inn now, 
 and you be so kind, mother, as to give me just 
 a drop to sober me." 
 
 Ulyana hesitated. 
 
 "Well," she decided at last, "I'll give you the 
 vodka, Yefrem Alexandritch ; but mind now, 
 none of your pranks." 
 
 "Don't you worry, Ulyana Fyodorovna." 
 
 And fortifying himself with a glass, Yefrem 
 made his way to the inn. 
 
 It was only just getting light when he rode 
 up to the inn but, already a cart and a horse 
 were standing at the gate and one of Naum's 
 labourers was sitting on the box holding the 
 reins. 
 
 "Where are you off to ?" asked Yefrem. 
 
 "To the town," the man answered reluctantly. 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 The man simply shrugged his shoulders and 
 
 did not answer. Yefrem jumped off his horse 
 
 and went into the house. In the entry he came 
 
 upon Naum, fully dressed and with his cap on. 
 
 131 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "I congratulate the new owner on his ne>y 
 abode," said Yefrem, who knew him. "Where 
 are you oif to so early ?" 
 
 "Yes, you have something to congratulate 
 me on," Naum answered grimly. "On the very 
 first day the house has almost been burnt down." 
 
 Yefrem started. "How so ?" 
 
 "Oh, a kind soul turned up who tried to set 
 fire to it. Luckily I caught him in the act ; now 
 I am taking him to the town." 
 
 "Was it Akim, I wonder?" Yefrem asked 
 slowly. 
 
 "How did you know? Akim. He came at 
 night with a burning log in a pot and got into 
 the yard and was setting fire to it . . . all my 
 men are witnesses. Would you like to see him ? 
 It's time for us to take him, by the way." 
 
 "My good Naum Ivanitch," Yefrem began, 
 "let him go, don't ruin the old man altogether. 
 Don't take that sin upon your soul, Naum 
 Ivanitch. Only think — the man was in despair 
 — he didn't know what he was doing." 
 
 "Give over that nonsense," Naum cut him 
 short. "What! Am I likely to let him go! 
 Why, he'd set fire to the house to-morrow if 
 I did." 
 
 132 
 
THE INN 
 
 "He wouldn't, Naum Ivanitch, believe me. 
 Believe me you will be easier yourself for it — 
 you know there will be questions asked, a trial 
 — you can see that for yourself." 
 
 "Well, what if there is a trial? I have no 
 reason to be afraid of it." 
 
 "My good Naum Ivanitch, one must be afraid 
 of a trial." 
 
 "Oh, that's enough. I see you are drunk 
 already, and to-day a saint's day, too !" 
 
 Yefrem all at once, quite unexpectedly, burst 
 into tears. 
 
 "I am drunk but I am speaking the truth," 
 he muttered. "And for the sake of the holiday 
 you ought to forgive him." 
 
 "Well, come along, you sniveller." 
 
 And Naum went out on to the steps, 
 
 "Forgive him, for Avdotya Arefyevna's 
 sake," said Yefrem following him on to the 
 steps. 
 
 Naum went to the cellar and flung the door 
 wide open. With timid curiosity Yefrem 
 craned his neck from behind Naum and with 
 difficulty made out the figure of Akim in the 
 comer of the cellar. The once well-to-do inn- 
 keeper, respected all over the neighbourhood, 
 133 , . 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 I was sitting on straw with his hands tied behind 
 (him like a criminal. Hearing a noise he raised 
 his head. ... It seemed as though he had 
 grown fearfully thin in those last few days, 
 especially during the previous night — his sunken 
 eyes could hardly be seen under his high, 
 waxen-yellow forehead, his parched lips looked 
 dark . . . his whole face was changed and 
 wore a strange expression — savage and 
 frightened. ._,. — — ' 
 
 "Get up and come along," said Naum. 
 
 Akim got up and stepped over the threshold. 
 y^'^Akim Semyonitch !" Yef rem wailed, "you've 
 I brought ruin on yourself, my dear !" 
 
 Akim glanced at him without speaking. 
 
 "If I had known why you asked for vodka 
 I would not have given it to you, I really would 
 not. I believe I would have drunk it all my- 
 self ! Eh, Naum Ivanitch," he added clutching 
 at Naum's arm, "have mercy upon him, let him 
 
 go!" 
 
 "What next!" Naum replied with a grin. 
 "Well, come along," he added addressing Akim 
 again. "What are you waiting for ?" 
 
 "Naum Ivanitch," Akim began. 
 134 
 
THE INN 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 *'Naum Ivanitch," Akim repeated, "listen: I 
 am to blame; I wanted to settle my accounts 
 with you myself ; but God must be the judge be- 
 tween us. You have taken everything from 
 me, you know yourself, everything I had. Now 
 you can ruin me, only I tell you this : if you 
 let me go now, then — so be it — ^take possession 
 of everything! I agree and wish you all suc- 
 cess. I promise you as before God, if you let 
 me go you will not regret it. God be with 
 
 Akim shut his eyes and ceased speaking. 
 
 "A likely story !" retorted Naum, *'as though 
 one could believe you!" 
 
 "But, by God, you can," said Yefrem, "you 
 really can. I'd stake my life on Akim 
 Semyonitch's good faith — I really would." 
 
 "Nonsense," cried Naum. "Come along." 
 
 Akim looked at him. 
 
 "As you think best, Naum Ivanitch. It's for 
 you to decide. But you are laying a great bur- 
 den on your soul. Well, if you are in such a 
 hurry, let us start." 
 
 Naum in his turn looked keenly at Akim. 
 135 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "After all," he thought to himself, "hadn't 
 I better let him go ? Or people will never have 
 done pestering me about him. Avdotya will 
 give me no peace." While Naum was reflect- 
 ing, no one uttered a word. The labourer in 
 the cart who could see it all through the gate\ 
 did nothing but toss his head and flick the ' 
 horse's sides with the reins. The two other/ 
 labourers stood on the steps and they too werq 
 silent. ^ 
 
 "Well, listen, old man," Naum began, "when 
 I let you go and tell these fellows" (he mo- 
 tioned with his head towards the labourers) 
 "not to talk, shall we be quits — do you under- 
 stand me — quits . . . eh?" 
 
 "I tell you, you can have it all." 
 
 "You won't consider me in your debt ?" 
 
 "You won't be in my debt, I shall not be in 
 yours." 
 
 Naum was silent again. 
 
 "And will you swear it?" 
 
 "Yes, as God is holy," answered Akim. 
 
 "Well, I know I shall regret it," said Naum, 
 "but there, come what may! Give me your 
 hands." 
 
 136 
 
THE INN 
 
 Akim turned his back to him; Naum began 
 untying him. 
 
 "Now, mind, old man," he added as he pulled 
 the cord oif his wrists, "remember, I have 
 spared you, mind that V 
 
 "Naum Ivanitch, my dear," faltered Yefrem, 
 "the Lord will have mercy upon you !" 
 
 Akim freed his chilled and swollen hands 
 an^ was moving towards the gate. 
 
 Natmi suddenly "showed the Jew" as the 
 saying is — he must have regretted that he had 
 let Akim off. 
 
 You've sworn now, mind !" he shouted after 
 him. Akim turned, and looking round the yard, 
 said mournfully, "Possess it all, so be it for- 
 ever! . . . Good-bye." 
 
 And he went slowly out into the road accom- 
 panied by Yefrem. Naum ordered the horse 
 to be unharnessed and with a wave of his hand 
 went back into the house. 
 
 "Where are you off to, Akim Semyonitch? 
 Aren't you coming back to me?" cried Yefrem, 
 seeing that Akim was hurrying to the right out 
 of the high road. 
 
 "No, Yefremushka, thank you," answered 
 
 137 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 Akim. "I am going to see what my wife is 
 doing." 
 
 "You can see afterwards. . . . But now we 
 ought to celebrate the occasion." 
 
 '*No, thank you, Ye f rem. . . . I've had 
 enough. Good-bye." 
 
 And Akim walked off without looking round. 
 
 "Well ! 'I've had enough' !" the puzzled 
 sacristan pronounced. "And I pledged my 
 word for him! Well, I never expected this," 
 he added, with vexation, "after I had pledged 
 my word for him, too!" 
 
 He remembered that he had not thought to 
 take his knife and his pot and went back to 
 the inn. . . . Naum ordered his things tO' be 
 given to him but never even thought of offer- 
 ing him a drink. He returned home thoroughly 
 annoyed and thoroughly sober. 
 
 "Well?" his wife inquired, "found?" 
 
 "Found what?" answered Yefrem, "to be 
 sure I've found it : here is your pot." 
 
 "Akim?" asked his wife with especial em- 
 phasis. 
 
 Yefrem nodded his head. 
 
 "Yes. But he is a nice one! I pledged my 
 
 138 
 
THE INN 
 
 word for him ; if it had not been for me he'd be 
 ly'ng in prison, and he never offered me a drop ! 
 Ulyana Fyodorovna, you at least might show 
 me consideration and give me a glass !" 
 
 But Ulyana Fyodorovna did not show him 
 consideration and drove him out of her sight. 
 
 Meanwhile, Akim was walking with slow 
 steps along the road to Lizaveta Prohorovna's 
 house. He could not yet fully grasp his posi- 
 tion ; he was trembling all over like a man who 
 had just escaped from a certain death. He 
 seemed unable to believe in his freedom. In 
 dull bewilderment he gazed at the fields, at 
 the sky, at the larks quivering in the warm air. 
 From the time he had woken up on the previous 
 morning at Yefrem's he had not slept, though 
 he had lain on the stove without moving; at 
 first he had wanted to drown in vodka the 
 insufferable pain of humiliation, the misery of 
 frenzied and impotent anger . . . but the vodka 
 had not been able to stupefy him completely ; his 
 anger became overpowering and he began to 
 think how to punish the man who had wronged 
 him. . . . He thought of no one but Naum ; the 
 idea of Lizaveta Prohorovna never entered his 
 139 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 head and on Avdotya he mentally turned his 
 back. By the evening his thirst for revenge had 
 grown to a frenzy, and the good-natured and 
 weak man waited with feverish impatience for 
 the approach of night and ran, like a wolf to 
 its prey, to destroy his old home. . . . But then 
 he had been caught . . . locked up. . . . The 
 night had followed. What had he not thought 
 over during that cruel night ! It is difficult to 
 put into words all that a man passes through 
 at such moments, all the tortures that he en- ^ 
 dures; more difficult because those tortures j 
 are dumb and inarticulate in the man himself. / 
 . . . Towards morning, before Naum and 
 Yefrem had come to the door, Akim had begun 
 to feel as it were more at ease. Everything is 
 lost, he thought, everything is scattered and 
 gone . . . and he dismissed it all. If he had 
 been naturally bad-hearted he might at that!) 
 moment have become a criminal; but evil was/ 
 not natural to Akim. Under the shock of un-^ 
 deserved and unexpected misfortune, in the 
 delirium of despair he had brought himself to 
 crime; it had shaken him to the depths of his 
 being and, failing, had left in him nothing but 
 140 
 
THE INN 
 
 intense weariness. . . . Feeling his guilt in his I / 
 mind he mentally tore himself from all things / 
 earthly and began praying, bitterly but fervently. ' 
 At first he prayed in a whisper, then perhaps 
 by accident he uttered a loud "Oh, God !" and, h 
 tears gushed from his eyes. . . . For a long / 
 time he wept and at last grew quieter. . . . His ^ 
 thoughts would probably have changed if he 
 had had to pay the penalty of his attempted 
 crime . . . but now he had suddenly been set 
 free . . . and he was walking to see his wife, 
 feeling only half alive, utterly crushed but 
 calm. 
 
 Lizaveta Prohorovna's house stood about a 
 mile from her village to the left of the dross'' 
 road along which Akim was walking. He was 
 about to stop at the turning that led to his 
 mistress's house . . . but he walked on instead. 
 He decided first to go to what had been his hut, 
 where his uncle lived. 
 
 Akim's small and somewhat dilapidated huTx 
 was almost at the end of the village; Akin i 
 walked through the whole street without meet- i 
 ing a soul. All the people were at church. Only / 
 one sick old woman raised a little window to / 
 141 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 look after him and a little girl who had run 
 out with an empty pail to the well gaped at 
 him, and she too looked after him. The first 
 person he met was the uncle he was looking 
 for. The old man had been sitting all the 
 morning on the ledge under his window taking 
 pinches of snuff and warming himself in the 
 sun; he was not very well, so he had not gone 
 to church; he was just setting off to visit an- 
 other old man, a neighbour who was also ailing, 
 when he suddenly saw Akim. . . . He stopped, 
 let him come up to him and glancing into his 
 face, said: 
 
 "Good-day, Akimushka !" 
 
 "Good-day," answered Akim, and passing 
 the old man went in at the gate. In the yard 
 were standing his horses, his cow, his cart; his 
 poultry, too, were there. . . . He went into 
 the hut without a word. The old man followed 
 him. Akim sat down on the bench and leaned 
 his fists on it. The old man standing at the 
 door looked at him compassionately. 
 
 "And where is my wife?" asked Akim. 
 
 "At the mistress's house," the old man an- 
 swered quickly. "She is there. They put your 
 142 
 
THE INN 
 
 cattle here and what boxes there were, and 
 she has gone there. Shall I go for her?" 
 
 Akim was silent for a time. 
 
 "Yes, do," he said at last. 
 
 "Oh, uncle, uncle," he brought out with a 
 sigh while the old man was taking his hat from 
 a nail, "do you remember what you said to 
 me the day before my wedding?" 
 
 "It's all God's will, Akimushka." 
 
 "Do you remember you said to me that I was 
 above you peasants, and now you see what 
 times have come. . . . I'm stripped bare my- 
 self." 
 
 "There's no guarding oneself from evil 
 folk," answered the old man, "if only someone 
 such as a master, for instance, or someone in 
 authority, could give him a good lesson, the 
 shameless fellow — but as it is, he has nothing 
 to be afraid of. He is a wolf and he behaves 
 like one." And the old man put on his cap 
 and went oif. 
 
 Avdotya had just come back from church 
 
 when she was told that her husband's uncle 
 
 was asking for her. Till then she had rarely 
 
 seen him; he did not come to see them at the 
 
 143 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 inn and had the reputation of being queer al-'wJ^S* 
 together : he was passionately fond of snuff . ^ , ^^ 
 and was usually silent. 
 
 She went out to him. 
 
 "What do you want, Petrovitch? Has any- 
 thing happened ?" 
 
 "Nothing has happened, Avdotya Arefyevna ; 
 your husband is asking for you." 
 
 "Has he come back?'* 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Where is he, then?" 
 
 "He is in the village, sitting in his hut." 
 
 Avdotya was frightened. 
 
 "Well, Petrovitch," she inquired, looking 
 straight into his face, "is he angry?" 
 
 "He does not seem so." 
 
 Avdotya looked down. 
 
 "Well, let us go," she said. She put on a 
 shawl and they set off together. They walked 
 in silence to the village. When they began to 
 get close to the hut, Avdotya was so overcome 
 with terror that her knees began to tremble. 
 
 "Good Petrovitch," she said, "go in first. . . . 
 Tell him that I have come." 
 144 
 
THE INN 
 
 The old man went into the hut and found 
 Akim lost in thought, sitting just as he had left 
 him. 
 
 "Well?" said Akim raising his head, "hasn't 
 she come?" 
 
 "Yes," answered the old man, "she is at the 
 gate. . . ." 
 
 "Well, send her in here." 
 
 The old man went out, beckoned to Avdotya, 
 said to her, "go in," and sat down again on the 
 ledge. Avdotya in trepidation opened the door, 
 crossed the threshold and stood still. 
 
 Akim looked at her. 
 
 "Well, Arefyevna," he began, "what are we 
 going to do now?" 
 
 "I am guilty," she faltered. ' 
 
 "Ech Arefyevna, we are all sinners. What's 
 the good of talking about it!" 
 
 "It's he, the villain, has ruined us both," 
 / said Avdotya in a cringing voice, and tears 
 flowed down her face. "You must not leave it 
 like that, Akim Semyonitch, you must get the' 
 money back. Don't think of me. I am ready to 
 take my oath that I only lent him the money! 
 145 
 
L 
 
 KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 Lizaveta Prohorovna could sell our inn if she 
 liked, but why should he rob us. . . . Get your 
 money back." 
 
 "There's no claiming the money back from 
 him," Akim replied grimly, "we have settled 
 our accounts." 
 
 Avdotya was amazed. "How is that?" 
 "Why, like this. Do you know," Akim went 
 on and his eyes gleamed, "do you know where 
 I spent the night? You don't know? ^In 
 Naum's cellar, with my arms and legs tied like 
 a sheep — that's where I spent the night. I tried 
 to set fire to the place, but he caught me— i 
 Naum did; he is too sharp! And to-day he 
 meant to take me to the town but he let me 
 off; so I can't claim the money from him. . . . 
 'When did I borrow money from you?' he 
 would say. Am I to say to him, 'My wife took 
 it from under the floor and brought it to you' ? 
 'Your wife is telling lies,' he will say. Hasn't 
 there been scandal enough for you, Aref yevna ? 
 You'd better say nothing, I tell you, say 
 nothing." 
 
 I am guilty, Semyonitch, I am guilty," 
 Avdotya, terrified, whispered again. 
 146 
 
THE INN 
 
 "That's not what matters," said Akim, after 
 a pause. "What are we going to do ? We have 
 no home or no money." 
 
 '•^'We shall manage somehow, Akim Semyon- 
 itch. We'll ask Lizaveta Prohorovna, she will 
 Jielp us, Kirillovna has promised me." 
 
 "No, Arefyenva, you and your Kirillovna 
 had better ask her together ; you are berries off 
 the same bush. I tell you what : you stay here 
 and good luck to you; I shall not stay here. 
 It's a good thing we have no children, and I 
 shall be all right, I dare say, alone. There's 
 always enough for one." 
 
 "What will you do, Semyonitch? Take up 
 driving again?" 
 
 Akim laughed bitterly. 
 
 "I should be a fine driver, no mistake ! You 
 have pitched on the right man for it! No, 
 Arefyenva, that's a job not Hke getting married, 
 for instance; an old man is no good for the 
 job. I don't want to stay here, just because 
 I don't want them to point the finger at me — 
 do you understand? I am going to pray for 
 my sins, Arefyevna, that's what I am going 
 to do." 
 
 147 
 
KNOCK, KNOCIC, KNOCK 
 
 ''What sins have you, Semyonitch ?" Avdotya, 
 pronounced timidly. 
 
 "Of them I know best myself, wife." 
 
 "But are you leaving me all alone, Semyon- 
 itch? How can I live without a husband?" 
 
 "Leaving you alone? Oh, Arefyevna, how 
 you do talk, really ! Much you need a husband 
 like me, and old, too, and ruined as well ! Why, 
 you got on without me in the past, you can get 
 on in the future. What property is left us, you 
 can take; I don't want it." 
 
 "As you like, Semyonitch," Avdotya replied 
 mournfully. "You know best." 
 
 "That's better. Only don't you suppose that 
 I am angry with you, Arefyevna. No, what's 
 the good of being angry when ... I ought to 
 have been wiser before. I've been to blame. 
 I am punished." (Akim sighed.) "As you 
 make your bed so you must lie on it. I am old, 
 it's time to think of my soul. The Lord himself 
 has brought me to understanding. Like an old I 
 fool I wanted to live for my own pleasure with 
 a young wife. . . . No, the old man had better 
 pray and beat his head against the earth and 
 endure in patience and fast. . . . And now go 
 148 
 
THE INN 
 
 along, my dear. I am very weary, I'll sleep a 
 little." 
 
 And Akim with a groan stretched himself 
 on the bench. 
 
 Avdotya wanted to say something, stood a 
 moment, looked at him, turned away and went 
 out. 
 
 "Well, he didn't beat you then?" asked Pet- 
 rovitch sitting bent up on the ledge when she 
 was level with him. Avdotya passed by him 
 without speaking. "So he didn't beat her," the 
 old man said to himself; he smiled, ruffled up 
 his beard and took a pinch of snuff. 
 
 Akim carried out his intention. He hur- 
 riedly arranged his affairs and a few days after 
 the conversation we have described went, 
 dressed ready for his journey, to say good- 
 bye to his wife who had settled for a time in 
 a little lodge in the mistress's garden. His fare- 
 well did not take long. \ KirilTdvnttr wtio hap-""^ 
 pened to be present, advised Akim to see his 
 mistress ; he did so, Lizaveta Prohorovna re- 
 ceived him with some confusion but graciously 
 let him kiss her hand and asked him where he 
 149 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 meant to go. He answered he was going first 
 to Kiev and after that where it would please 
 the Lord. She commended his decision and dis- 
 missed him. From that time he rarely ap- 
 peared at home, though he never forgot ,^ 
 bring his mistress some holy bread. . . JButi 
 wherever Russian pilgrims gather his thin and 
 aged but always dignified and handsome face' 
 could be seen: at the relics of St. Sergey; on 
 the shores of the White Sea, at the Optin 
 hermitage, and at the far-away Valaam; he 
 -went everywhere. 
 
 This year he has passed by you in the ranks 
 of the innumerable people who go in procession 
 behind the ikon of the Mother of God to the 
 Korennaya ; last year you found him sitting with 
 a wallet on his shoulders with other pilgrims 
 on the steps of Nikolay, the wonder-worker, at 
 Mtsensk ... he comes to Moscow almost every 
 spring. 
 
 From land to land he has wandered with 
 his quiet, unhurried, but never-resting step — 
 they say he has been even to Jerusalem. He 
 seems perfectly calm and happy and those who 
 have chanced to converse with him have said 
 much of his piety and humility. 
 150 
 
THE INN 
 
 Meanwhile, Naum's fortunes prospered ex- 
 ceedingly. He set to work with energy and good 
 sense and got on, as the saying is, by leaps 
 and bounds. Everyone in the neighbourhood 
 knew by what means he had acquired the inn, 
 they knew too that Avdotya had given him her 
 husband's money; nobody liked Naum because 
 of his cold, harsh disposition. . . . With cen- 
 sure they told the story of him that once when 
 Akim himself had asked alms under his window 
 he answered that God would give, and had 
 given him nothing; but everyone agreed that 
 there never had been a luckier man; his corn 
 came better than other people's, his bees 
 swarmed more frequently; even his hens laid 
 more eggs ; his cattle were never ill, his horses 
 did not go lame. ... It was a long time before 
 Avdotya could bear to hear his name (she had 
 accepted Lizaveta Prohorovna's invitation and 
 had reentered her service as head sewing-maid), 
 but in the end her aversion was somewhat 
 softened; it was said that she had been driven 
 by poverty to appeal to him and he had given 
 her a hundred roubles. . . . She must 
 
 too-sev^rely judged: poverty breaks anyjwill 
 
 and the sudden and violent change in her life 
 
 151 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 had greatly aged and humbled her : it was hard 
 to believe how quickly she lost her looks, how 
 completely she let herself go and lost heart. . . . 
 How did it all end? the reader will ask. 
 Why, like this : Naum, after having kept the inn 
 successfully for about fifteen years, sold it ad- 
 vantageously to another townsman. He would \ 
 never have parted from the inn if it had not I 
 been for the following, apparently insignificant, 
 circumstance: for two mornings in succession 
 his dog, sitting before the windows, had kept up 
 a prolonged and doleful howl. He went out 
 into the road the second time, looked atten- i 
 tively at the howling dog, shook his head, went / 
 up to town and the same day agreed on the/ 
 price with a man who had been for a long' 
 time anxious to purchase it. A week later he 
 had moved to a distance — out of the province;* 
 the new owner settled in and that very evening 
 the inn was burnt to ashes; not a single out- 
 building was left and Naum's successor was left 
 a beggar. The reader can easily imagine the 
 rumours that this fire gave rise to in the neigh- 
 bourhood. . . . Evidently he carried his "luck" 
 away with him, everyone repeated. Of Naimi 
 152 
 
THE INN 
 
 it is said that he has gone into the corn trade 
 and has made a great fortune. But will it last 
 long? Stronger pillars have fallen and evil 
 deeds end badly sooner or later. \^There is 
 not much Josay about Lizaveta Prohorovna. 
 She'is still living and, as is often the case with 
 people of her sort, is not much changed, she 
 has not even grown much older-^she only seems 
 to have dried up a little; on the other hand, 
 her stinginess has greatly increased though it 
 is difficult to say for whose benefit she is sav- 
 ing as she has no children and no attachments. 
 riii conversation she often speaks of Akim and 
 declares that since she has understood his good 
 qualities she has begun to feel great respect for 
 \ the Russian peasant. Kirillovna bought her 
 /^freedom for a considerable sum and married 
 for love a fair-haired young waiter who leads 
 her a dreadful life; Avdotya lives as before 
 among the maids in Lizaveta Prohorovna's . 
 house, but has sunk to a rather lower position ; 
 she is very poorly, almost dirtily dressed, and 
 there is no trace left in her of the townbred 
 ajrs and graces of a fashionable maid or of the 
 habits of a prosperous innkeeper's wife. . . . 
 153 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 No one takes any notice of her and she herself 
 is glad to be unnoticed; old Petrovitch is dead 
 and Akim is still wandering, a pilgrim, and God 
 only knows how much longer his pilgrimage will 
 last! 
 
 1852. ) 
 
 154 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV^S STORY 
 
 That evening Kuzma Vassilyevitch Yergunov 
 told us his story again. He used to repeat it 
 punctually once a month and we heard it every 
 time with fresh satisfaction though we knew 
 it almost by heart, in all its details. Those 
 details overgrew, if one may so express it, the 
 original trunk of the story itself as fungi grow 
 over the stump of a tree. Knowing only too 
 well the character of our companion, we did 
 not trouble to fill in his gaps and incomplete 
 statements. But now Kuzma Vassilyevitch is 
 dead and there will be no one to tell his story 
 and so we venture to bring it before the notice 
 of the public. 
 
 n 
 
 It happened forty years ago when Kuzma 
 Vassilyevitch was young. He said of himself 
 155 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 that he was at that time a handsome fellow 
 and a dandy with a complexion of milk and 
 roses, red lips, curly hair, and eyes like a 
 falcon's. We took his word for it, though we 
 saw nothing of that sort in him; in our eyes 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch was a man of very ordi- 
 nary exterior, with a simple and sleepy-looking 
 face and a heavy, clumsy figure. But what of 
 that? There is no beauty the years will not 
 mar ! The traces of dandyism were more clearly 
 preserved in Kuzma Vassilyevitch. He still in 
 his old age wore narrow trousers with straps, 
 laced in his corpulent figure, cropped the back 
 of his head, curled his hair over his forehead 
 and dyed his moustache with Persian dye, which 
 had, however, a tint rather of purple, and even 
 of green, than of black. With all that Kuzma 
 Vassilyevitch was a very worthy gentleman, 
 though at preference he did like to "steal a 
 peep," that is, look over his neighbour's cards; 
 but this he did not so much from greed as care- 
 fulness, for he did not like wasting his money. 
 Enough of these parentheses, however; let us 
 come to the story itself. 
 iS6 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 III 
 
 It happened in the spring at Nikolaev, at 
 that time a new town, to which Kuzma Vassilye- 
 vitch had been sent on a government commis- 
 sion. (He was a Heutenant in the navy.) He 
 had, as a trustworthy and prudent officer, been 
 charged by the authorities with the task of 
 looking after the construction of ship-yards and 
 from time to time received considerable sums 
 of money, which for security he invariably car- ■ 
 ried in a leather belt on his person. Kuzma ^ 
 Vassilyevitch certainly was distinguished by 
 his prudence and, in spite of his youth, his be- 
 haviour was exemplary; he studiously avoided 
 every impropriety of conduct, did not touch 
 cards, did not drink and even fought shy of 
 society so that of his comrades, the quiet ones 
 called him **a regular girl" and the rowdy ones 
 called him a muff and a noodle. Kuzma 
 Vassilyevitch had only one failing, he had a 
 tender heart for the fair sex; but even in that 
 direction he succeeded in restraining his im- 
 pulses and did not allow himself to indulge in 
 any "foolishness." He got up and went to bed 
 
 157 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 early, was conscientious in performing his 
 duties and his only 'recreation consisted in 
 rather long evening walks about the outskirts 
 of Nikolaev. He did not read as he thought 
 it would send the blood to his head ; every spring 
 he used to drink a special decoction because he 
 was afraid of being too full-blooded. Putting 
 on his uniform and carefully brushing himself 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch strolled with a sedate step 
 alongside the fences of orchards, often stopped, 
 admired the beauties of nature, gathered flowers 
 as souvenirs and found a certain pleasure in 
 doing so; but he felt acute pleasure only when 
 he happened to meet "a charmer," that is, some 
 pretty little workgirl with a shawl flung over 
 her shoulders, with a parcel in her ungloved 
 hand and a gay kerchief on her head. Being 
 as he himself expressed it of a susceptible but 
 modest temperament Kuzma Vassilyevitch did 
 not address the "charmer," but smiled ingratiat- 
 ingly at her and looked long and attentively 
 after her. . . . Then he would heave a deep 
 sigh, go home with the same sedate step, sit 
 down at the window and dream for half an 
 hour, carefully smoking strong tobacco out of 
 a meerschaum pipe with an amber mouthpiece 
 iS8 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 given him by his godfather, a poHce superin- 
 tendent of German origin. So the days passed 
 neither gaily nor drearily. 
 
 IV 
 
 Well, one day, as he was returning home 
 along an empty side-street at dusk Kuzma Vas- 
 silyevitch heard behind him hurried footsteps 
 and incoherent words mingled with sobs. He 
 looked round and saw a girl about twenty with 
 an extremely pleasing but distressed and tear- 
 stained face. She seemed to have been over- 
 taken by some great and unexpected grief. She 
 was running and stumbling as she ran, talking 
 to herself, exclaiming, gesticulating; her fair 
 hair was in disorder and her shawl (the 
 burnous and the mantle were unknown in those 
 days) had slipped off her shoulders and was 
 kept on by one pin. The girl was dressed like 
 a young lady, not like a workgirl. 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch stepped aside; his feel- 
 ing of compassion overpowered his fear of do- 
 ing something foolish and, when she caught him 
 up, he politely touched the peak of his shako, 
 and asked her the cause of her tears. 
 
 "For," he added, and he laid his hand on 
 159 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 his cutlass, "I, as an officer, may be able to 
 help you." 
 
 The girl stopped and apparently for the first 
 moment did not clearly understand what he 
 wanted of her; but at once, as though glad of 
 the opportunity of expressing herself, began 
 speaking in slightly imperfect Russian. 
 
 "Oh, dear, Mr. Officer,'' she began and tears 
 rained down her charming cheeks, "it is beyond 
 everything! It's awful, it is beyond words! 
 We have been robbed, the cook has carried 
 off everything, everything, everything, the din- 
 ner service, the lock-up box and our clothes. 
 . . . Yes, even our clothes, and stockings and 
 linen, yes . . . and aunt's reticule. There was a . 
 twenty-five-rouble note and two applique spoons 
 in it . . . and her pelisse, too, and everything. 
 . . . And I told all that to the police officer 
 and the police officer said, 'Go away, I don't 
 believe you, I don't believe you. I won't listen 
 to you. You are the same sort yourselves.' I 
 said, 'Why, but the pelisse . . .' and he, T won't 
 Hsten to you, I won't listen to you.' It was so 
 insulting, Mr. Officer! 'Go away,' he said, 'get 
 along,' but where am I to go?" 
 i6o 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 The girl sobbed convulsively, almost wailing, 
 and utterly distracted leaned against Kuzma 
 Vassilyevitch's sleeve. ... He was overcome 
 with confusion in his turn and stood rooted to 
 the spot, only repeating from time to time, 
 "There, there!" while he gazed at the delicate 
 nape of the dishevelled damsel's neck, as it 
 shook from her sobs. 
 
 "Will you let me see you home?" he said 
 at last, lightly touching her shoulder with his 
 forefinger, "here in the street, you understand, 
 it is quite impossible. You can explain your 
 trouble to me and of course I will make every 
 effort ... as an officer." 
 
 The girl raised her head and seemed for 
 the first time to see the young man who might 
 be said to be holding her in his arms. She 
 was disconcerted, turned away, and still sobbing 
 moved a Httle aside. Kuzma Vassilyevitch re- 
 peated his suggestion. The girl looked at him 
 askance through her hair which had fallen over 
 her face and was wet with tears. (At this point 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch always assured us that 
 this glance pierced through him "like an awl," 
 and even attempted once to reproduce this mar- 
 i6i 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 vellous glance for our benefit) and laying her 
 hand within the crooked arm of the obliging 
 lieutenant, set off with him for her lodging. 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch had had very little to do 
 with ladies and so was at a loss how to begin the 
 conversation, but his companion chattered away 
 very fluently, continually drying her eyes and 
 shedding fresh tears. Within a few minutes 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch had learnt that her name 
 was Emilie Karlovna, that she came from Riga 
 and that she had come to Nikolaev to stay with 
 her aunt who was from Riga, too, that her papa 
 too had been in the army but had died from 
 "his chest," that her aunt had a Russian cook, 
 a very good and inexpensive cook but she had 
 not a passport and that this cook had that 
 very day robbed them and run away. She had 
 had to go to the police — in die Polizei. . . . 
 But here the memories of the police superin- 
 tendent, of the insult she had received from 
 him, surged up again . . . and sobs broke out 
 afresh. Kuzma Vassilyevitch was once more 
 at a loss what to say to comfort her. But 
 162 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 the girl, whose impressions seemed to come and 
 go very rapidly, stopped suddenly and holding 
 out her hand, said calmly: 
 ''And this is where we live !" 
 
 VI 
 
 It was a wretched little house that looked as 
 though it had sunk into the ground, with four 
 little windows looking into the street. The dark 
 green of geraniums blocked them up within; a 
 candle was burning in one of them; night was 
 already coming on. A wooden fence with a 
 hardly visible gate stretched from the house 
 and was almost of the same height. The girl 
 went up to the gate and finding it locked 
 knocked on it impatiently with the iron ring 
 of the padlock. Heavy footsteps were audible 
 behind the fence as though someone in slip- 
 pers trodden down at heel were carelessly 
 shuffiing towards the gate, and a husky female 
 voice asked some question in German which 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch did not understand : like a 
 regular sailor he knew no language but Russian. 
 The girl answered in German, too; the gate 
 opened a very little, admitted the girl and then 
 163 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 was slammed almost in the face of Kuzma Vas- 
 silyevitch who had time, however, to make out 
 in the summer twilight the outline of a stout, 
 elderly woman in a red dress with a dimly burn- 
 ing lantern in her hand. Struck with amaze- 
 ment Kuzma Vassilyevitch remained for some 
 time motionless in the street; but at the 
 thought that he, a naval officer (Kuzma 
 Vassilyevitch had a very high opinion of 
 his rank) had been so discourteously treated, 
 he was moved to indignation and turn- 
 ing on his heel he went homewards. He 
 had not gone ten paces when the gate opened 
 again and the girl, who had had time to whisper 
 to the old woman, appeared in the gateway and 
 called out aloud: 
 
 "Where are you going, Mr. Officer! Please 
 come in." 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch hesitated a little; he 
 turned back, however. 
 
 VII 
 
 This new acquaintance, whom we will call 
 Emilie, led him through a dark, damp little 
 lobby into a fairly large but low-pitched and 
 164 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 untidy room with a huge cupboard against the 
 further wall and a sofa covered with American 
 leather; above the doors and between the win- 
 dows hung three portraits in oils with the paint 
 peeling off, two representing bishops in clerical 
 caps and one a Turk in a turban; cardboard 
 boxes were lying about in the corners; there 
 were chairs of different sorts and a crooked 
 legged card table on which a man's cap was ly- 
 ing beside an unfinished glass of kvass. Kuzma 
 Vassilyevitch was followed into the room by the 
 old woman in the red dress, whom he had no- 
 ticed at the gate, and who turned out to be a 
 very unprepossessing Jewess with sullen pig- 
 like eyes and a grey moustache over her puffy 
 upper lip. Emilie indicated her to Kuzma Vas- 
 silyevitch and said: 
 
 "This is my aunt, Madame Fritsche." 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch was a little surprised 
 but thought it his duty to introduce himself. 
 Madame Fritsche looked at him from under her 
 brows, made no response, but asked her niece 
 in Russian whether she would like some tea. 
 
 "Ah, yes, tea !" answered Emilie. "You will 
 have some tea, won't you, Mr. Officer? Yes, 
 i6s 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 auntie, give us some tea! But why are you 
 standing, Mr. Officer? Sit down! Oh, how 
 ceremonious you are! Let me take off my 
 fichu." 
 
 When Emilie talked she continually turned 
 her head from one side to another and jerked 
 her shoulders; birds make similar movements 
 when they sit on a bare branch with sunshine all 
 round them. 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch sank into a chair and 
 assuming a becoming air of dignity, that is, 
 leaning on his cutlass and fixing his eyes on 
 the floor, he began to speak about the theft. 
 But Emilie at once interrupted him. 
 
 "Don't trouble yourself, it's all right. Auntie 
 has just told me that the principal things have 
 been found.'- (Madame Fritsche mumbled 
 something to herself and went out of the room. ) 
 "And there was no need to go to the police at 
 all; but I can't control myself because I am 
 so . . . You don't understand German? . . . 
 So quick, immer so rasch! But I think no more 
 about it . . . aber auch gar nichtT 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch looked at Emilie. Her 
 face indeed showed no trace of care now. 
 i66 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 Everything was smiling in that pretty little face : 
 the eyes, fringed with almost white lashes, and 
 the lips and the cheeks and the chin and the 
 dimples in the chin, and even the tip of her 
 turned-up nose. She went up to the little look- 
 ing glass beside the cupboard and, screwing up 
 her eyes and humming through her teeth, be- 
 gan tidying her hair. Kuzma Vassilyevitch 
 followed her movements intently. . . . He 
 found her very charming. 
 
 VIII 
 
 "You must excuse me," she began again, 
 turning from side to side before the looking 
 glass, "for having so . . . brought you home 
 with me. Perhaps you dislike it ?" 
 
 "Oh, not at all !" 
 
 "As I have told you already, I am so quick. 
 I act first and think afterwards, though some- 
 times I don't think at all. . . . What is your 
 name, Mr. Officer? May I ask you?" she added 
 going up to him and folding her arms. 
 
 "My name is Kuzma Vassilyevitch Yergu- 
 nov." 
 
 "Yergu. . . . Oh, it's not a nice name! I 
 167 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 mean it's difficult for me. I shall call you Mr^ 
 Florestan. At Riga we had a Mr. Florestan. 
 He sold capital gros-de-Naples in his shop and 
 was a handsome man, as good-looking as you. 
 But how broad-shouldered you are ! A regular 
 sturdy Russian ! I Hke the Russians. ... I 
 am a Russian myself . . . my papa was an 
 officer. But my hands are whiter than yours !" 
 She raised them above her head, waved them 
 several times in the air, so as to drive the blood 
 from them, and at once dropped them. "Do you 
 see? I wash them with Greek scented soap. 
 . . . Sniff! Oh, but don't kiss them. ... I 
 did not do it for that. . . . Where are you serv- 
 
 "In the fleet, in the nineteenth Black Sea 
 company." 
 
 "Oh, you are a sailor! Well, do you get 
 a good salary?" 
 
 "No . . . not very." 
 
 "You must be very brave. One can see it 
 at once from your eyes. What thick eyebrows 
 you've got ! They say you ought to grease them 
 with lard overnight to make them grow. But 
 why have you no moustache ?" 
 
 "It's against the regulations." 
 i68 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 "Oh, that's not right! What's that you've 
 got, a dagger?" 
 
 'It's a cutlass; a cutlass, so to say, is the 
 sailor's weapon." 
 
 "Ah, a cutlass ! Is it sharp ? May I look ?" 
 With an effort, biting her lip and screwing up 
 her eyes, she drew the blade out of the scabbard 
 and put it to her nose. 
 
 "Oh, how blunt! I can kill you with it in 
 a minute!" 
 
 She waved it at Kuzma Vassilyevitch. He 
 pretended to be "^ frightened and laughed. She 
 laughed too. 
 
 "Ihr hubt pardon, you are pardoned," she 
 pronounced, throwing herself into a majestic 
 attitude. "There, take your weapon ! And how 
 old are you ?" she asked suddenly. 
 
 "Twenty-five." 
 
 "And I am nineteen ! How funny that is ! 
 Ach !" And Emilie went off into such a ringing 
 laugh that she threw herself back in her chair. 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch did not get up from his 
 chair and looked still more intently at her rosy 
 face which was quivering with laughter and he 
 felt more and more attracted by her. 
 
 All at once Emilie was silent and humming 
 169 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 through her teeth, as her habit was, went back 
 to the looking glass. 
 
 "Can you sing, Mr. Florestan?" 
 
 "No, I have never been taught." 
 
 "Do you play on the guitar? Not that 
 either? I can. I have a guitar set with 
 perlenmutter but the strings are broken. I must 
 buy some new ones. You will give me the 
 money, won't you, Mr. Officer ? I'll sing you a 
 lovely German song." She heaved a sigh and 
 shut her eyes. "Ah, such a lovely one! But 
 you can dance? Not that, either? Unmoglich! 
 I'll teach you. The schottische and the valse- 
 co^aque. Tra-la-la, tra-la-la," Emilie pirouetted 
 once or twice. "Look at my shoes ! From 
 Warsaw. Oh, we will have some dancing, Mr. 
 Florestan! But what are you going to call 
 me?" 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch grinned and blushed to 
 his ears. 
 
 "I shall call you: lovely Emilie!" 
 
 "No, no ! You must call me : Mein S chats- 
 chen, mein Zuckerpuppchen! Repeat it after 
 me. 
 
 "With the greatest pleasure, but I am afraid 
 I shall find it difficult. . . ." 
 170 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 "Never mind, never mind. Say : Mein" 
 
 "Me-in." 
 
 ''Zuckerr 
 
 "Tsook-ker." 
 
 "Puppchen! Puppchen! Puppchen!" 
 
 'Toop . . . poop. . . . That I can't manage. 
 It doesn't sound nice." 
 
 *'No! You must . . . you must! Do you 
 know what it means? That's the very nicest 
 word for a young lady in German. I'll ex- 
 plain it to you afterwards. But here is auntie 
 bringing us the samovar. Bravo! Bravo! 
 auntie, I will have cream with my tea. ... Is 
 there any cream ?" 
 
 ''So schweige doch," answered the aunt. 
 
 IX 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch stayed at Madame 
 Fritsche's till midnight. He had not spent such 
 a pleasant evening since his arrival at Nikolaev. 
 It is true that it occurred to him that it was 
 not seemly for an officer and a gentleman to be 
 associating with such persons as this native of 
 Riga and her auntie, but Emilie was so pretty, 
 babbled so amusingly and bestowed such 
 friendly looks upon him, that he dismissed his 
 171 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 rank and family and made up his mind for once 
 to enjoy himself. Only one circumstance dis- 
 turbed him and left an impression that was not 
 quite agreeable. When his conversation with 
 EmiHe and Madame Fritsche was in full swing, 
 the door from the lobby opened a crack and a 
 man's hand in a dark cuff with three tiny silver 
 buttons on it was stealthily thrust in and 
 stealthily laid a big bundle on the chair near the 
 door. Both ladies instantly darted to the chair 
 and began examining the bundle. "But these 
 are the wrong spoons !" cried Emilie, but her 
 aunt nudged her with her elbow and carried 
 away the bundle without tying up the ends. It 
 seemed to Kuzma Vassilyevitch that one end 
 was spattered with something red, like blood. 
 
 "What is it?" he asked Emilie. "Is it some 
 more stolen things returned to you?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Emilie, as it were, reluc- 
 tantly. "Some more." 
 
 "Was it your servant found them?" 
 
 Emilie frowned. 
 
 "What servant? We haven't any servant." 
 
 "Some other man, then?" 
 
 "No men come to see us." 
 172 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 "But excuse me, excuse me. ... I saw the 
 cuff of a man's coat or jacket. And, besides, 
 this cap. . . ." 
 
 "Men never, never come to see us," EmiHe 
 repeated emphatically. "What did you see? 
 You saw nothing! And that cap is mine." 
 
 "How is that?" 
 
 "Why, just that. I wear it for dressing up. 
 . . . Yes, it is mine, und Punctum/' 
 
 "Who brought you the bundle, then?" 
 
 Emilie made no answer and, pouting, fol- 
 lowed Madame Fritsche out of the room. Ten 
 minutes later she came back alone, without her 
 aunt and when Kuzma Vassilyevitch tried to 
 question her again, she gazed at his forehead, 
 said that it was disgraceful for a gentleman 
 to be so inquisitive (as she said this, her face 
 changed a little, as it were, darkened), and 
 taking a pack of old cards from the card table 
 drawer, asked him to tell fortunes for her and 
 the king of hearts. 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch laughed, took the cards, 
 and all evil thoughts immediately slipped out of 
 his mind. 
 
 But they came back to him that very day. ' 
 173 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 When he had got out of the gate into the 
 street, had said good-bye to Emilie, shouted to 
 her for the last time, ''Adieu, Zuckerpuppchen!" 
 a short man darted by him and turning for a 
 minute in his direction (it was past midnight 
 but the moon was shining rather brightly), dis- 
 played a lean gipsy face with thick black eye- 
 brows and moustache, black eyes and a hooked 
 nose. The man at once rushed round the cor- 
 ner and it struck Kuzma Vassilyevitch that he 
 recognised — not his face, for he had never seen 
 it before — ^but the cuff of his sleeve. Three 
 silver butttons gleamed distinctly in the moon- 
 light. There was a stir of uneasy perplexity in 
 the soul of the prudent lieutenant; when he 
 got home he did not light as usual his meer- 
 schaum pipe. Though, indeed, his sudden ac- 
 quaintance with charming Emilie and the agree- 
 able hours spent in her company would alone 
 have induced his agitation. 
 
 X 
 
 Whatever Kuzma Vassilyevitch's apprehen- 
 sions may have been, they were quickly dis- 
 174 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 sipated and left no trace. He took to visiting 
 the two ladies from Riga frequently. The sus- 
 ceptible lieutenant was soon on friendly terms 
 with Emilie. At first he was ashamed of the 
 acquaintance and concealed his visits; later on 
 he got over being ashamed and no longer con- 
 cealed his visits; it ended by his being more 
 eager to spend his time with his new friends 
 than with anyone and greatly preferring their 
 society to the cheerless solitude of his own four 
 walls. Madame Fritsche herself no longer 
 made the same unpleasant impression upon him, 
 though she still treated him morosely and un- 
 graciously. Persons in straitened circum- 
 stances like Madame Fritsche particularly ap- 
 preciate a liberal expenditure in their visitors, 
 and Kuzma Vassilyevitch was a little stingy and 
 his presents for the most part took the shape 
 of raisins, walnuts, cakes. . . . Only once he let 
 himself go and presented Emilie with a light 
 pink fichu of real French material, and that 
 very day she had burnt a hole in his gift with 
 a candle. He began to upbraid her; she fixed 
 the fichu to the cat's tail; he was angry; she 
 175 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 laughed in his face. Kuzma Vassilyevitch was 
 forced at last to admit to himself that he had 
 not only failed to win the respect of the ladies 
 from Riga, but had even failed to gain their 
 confidence: he was never admitted at once, 
 without preliminary scrutinising; he was often 
 kept waiting ; sometimes he was sent away with- 
 out the slightest ceremony and when they 
 wanted to conceal something from him they 
 would converse in German in his presence. 
 Emilie gave him no account of her doings and 
 replied to his questions in an offhand way as 
 though she had not heard them; and, worst of 
 all, some of the rooms in Madame Fritsche's 
 house, which was a fairly large one, though it 
 looked like a hovel from the street, were never 
 opened to him. For all that, Kuzma Vas- 
 silyevitch did not give up his visits ; on the con- 
 trary, he paid them more and more frequently : 
 he was seeing living people, anyway. His van- 
 ity was gratified by Emilie's continuing to call 
 him Florestan, considering him exceptionally 
 handsome and declaring that he had eyes like 
 a bird of paradise, ''zme die Augen eines Para- 
 diesvogeU!" 
 
 176 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 XI 
 
 One day in the very height of summer, 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch, who had spent the whole 
 morning in the sun with contractors and work- 
 men, dragged himself tired and exhausted to 
 the little gate that had become so familiar to 
 him. He knocked and was admitted. He 
 shambled into the so-called drawing-room and 
 immediately lay down on the sofa. Emilie went 
 up to him and mopped his wet brow with a 
 handkerchief. 
 
 "How tired he is, poor pet ! How hot he is !" 
 she said commiseratingly. "Gk)od gracious! 
 You might at least unbutton your collar. My 
 goodness, how your throat is pulsing!" 
 
 "I am done up, my dear," groaned Kuzma 
 Vassilyevitch. "I've been on my feet all the 
 morning, in the baking sun. If s awful ! I 
 meant to go home. But there those vipers, the 
 contractors, would find me! While here with 
 you it is cool. ... I believe I could have a 
 nap. 
 
 "Well, why not? Go to sleep, my little 
 chick ; no one will disturb you here." . . . 
 177 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "But I am really ashamed." 
 
 "What next! Why ashamed? Go to sleep. 
 And I'll sing you . . . what do you call it? 
 . . . I'll sing you to bye-bye, 'Schlaf, mein 
 Kindchen, Schlafe!" She began singing. 
 
 "I should like a drink of water first." 
 
 "Here is a glass of water for you. Fresh as 
 crystal! Wait, I'll put a pillow under your 
 head. . . . And here is this to keep the flies 
 off." 
 
 She covered his face with a handkerchief. 
 
 "Thank you, my little cupid. . . . I'll just 
 have a tiny doze . . . that's all." 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch closed his eyes and fell 
 asleep immediately. 
 
 "Schlaf, mein Kindchen, schlafe/' sang 
 Emilie, swaying from side to side and softly 
 laughing at her song and her movements. 
 
 "What a big baby I have got !" she thought. 
 "A boy!" 
 
 XII 
 
 An hour and a half later the lieutenant 
 awoke. He fancied in his sleep that someone 
 touched him, bent over him, breathed over him. 
 
 178 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 He fumbled, and pulled off the kerchief. 
 Emilie was on her knees close beside him; the 
 expression of her face struck him as queer. 
 She jumped up at once, walked away to the 
 window and put something away in her pocket. 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch stretched. 
 
 "I've had a good long snooze, it seems!" he 
 observed, yawning. "Come here, meine susse 
 Fraiileinr 
 
 Emilie went up to him. He sat up quickly, 
 thrust his hand into her pocket and took out a 
 small pair of scissors. 
 
 "Ach, Herr JeT Emilie could not help ex- 
 claiming. 
 
 "It's . . . it's a pair of scissors?" muttered 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch. 
 
 "Why, of course. What did you think it 
 was ... a pistol? Oh, how funny you look! 
 You're as rumpled as a pillow and your hair is 
 all standing up at the back. . . . And he doesn't 
 laugh. . . . Oh, oh ! And his eyes are puffy. 
 ... Oh !" 
 
 Emilie went off into a giggle. 
 
 "Come, that's enough," muttered Kuzma 
 Vassilyevitch, and he got up from the sofa. 
 179 
 
KNOuK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "That's enough giggling about nothing. If you 
 can't think of anything more sensible, I'll go 
 home. . . . I'll go home," he repeated, seeing 
 that she was still laughing. 
 
 Emilie subsided. 
 
 "Come, stay; I won't. . . . Only you must 
 brush your hair." 
 
 "No, never mind. . . . Don't trouble. I'd 
 better go," said Kuzma Vassilyevitch, and he 
 took up his cap. 
 
 Emilie pouted. 
 
 "Fie, how cross he is ! A regular Russian ! 
 All Russians are cross. Now he is going. Fie ! 
 Yesterday he promised me five roubles and to- 
 day he gives me nothing and goes away." 
 
 "I haven't any money on me," Kuzma Vas- 
 silyevitch muttered grumpily in the doorway. 
 "Good-bye." 
 
 Emilie looked after him and shook her fin- 
 ger. 
 
 "No money ! Do you hear, do you hear what 
 he says? Oh, what deceivers these Russians 
 are! But wait a bit, you pug. . . . Auntie, 
 come here, I have something to tell you." 
 
 That evening as Kuzma Vassilyevitch was 
 i8o 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 undressing to go to bed, he noticed that the 
 upper edge of his leather belt had come un- 
 sewn for about three inches. Like a careful 
 man he at once procured a needle and thread, 
 waxed the thread and stitched up the hole him- 
 self. He paid, however, no attention to this 
 apparently trivial circumstance. 
 
 xin 
 
 The whole of the next day Kuzma Vassilye- 
 vitch devoted to his official duties; he did not 
 leave the house even after dinner and right into 
 the night was scribbling and copying out his 
 report to his superior officer, mercilessly dis- 
 regarding the rules of spelling, always putting 
 an exclamation mark after the word but and 
 a semi-colon after however. Next morning a 
 barefoot Jewish boy in a tattered gown brought 
 him a letter from Emilie — the first letter that 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch had received from her. 
 
 "Mein allerliebstep Florestan," she wrote to 
 him, "can you really so cross with your Zuck- 
 erpiippchen be that you came not yesterday? 
 Please be not cross if you wish not your merry 
 Emilie to weep very bitterly and come, be sure, 
 i8i 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 at 5 o'clock to-day." (The figure 5 was sur- 
 rounded with two wreaths.) "I will be very, 
 very glad. Your amiable Emilie." Kuzma 
 Vassilyevitch was inwardly surprised at the 
 accomplishments of his charmer, gave the Jew 
 boy a copper coin and told him to say, "Very 
 well, I will come." 
 
 XIV 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch kept his word: five 
 o'clock had not struck when he was standing be- 
 fore Madame Fritsche's gate. But to his sur- 
 prise he did not find Emilie at home; he was 
 met by the lady of the house herself who — 
 wonder of wonders! — dropping a preliminary 
 curtsey, informed him that Emilie had been 
 obliged by unforeseen circumstances to go out 
 but she would soon be back and begged him to 
 wait. Madame Fritsche had on a neat white 
 cap; she smiled, spoke in an ingratiating voice 
 and evidently tried to give an affable expression 
 to her morose countenance, which was, how- 
 ever, none the more prepossessing for that, but 
 on the contrary acquired a positively sinister 
 aspect. 
 
 182 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 "Sit down, sit down, sir," she said, putting 
 an easy chair for him, "and we will offer you 
 some refreshment if you will permit it." 
 
 Madame Fritsche made another curtsey, went 
 out of the room and returned shortly after- 
 wards with a cup of chocolate on a small iron 
 tray. The chocolate turned out to be of dubi- 
 ous quality; Kuzma Vassilyevitch drank the 
 whole cup with relish, however, though he was 
 at a loss to explain why Madame Fritsche was 
 suddenly so affable and what it all meant. For 
 all that Emilie did not come back and he was 
 beginning to lose patience and feel bored when 
 all at once he heard through the wall the sounds 
 of a guitar. First there was the sound of one 
 chord, then a second and a third and a fourth 
 — ^the sound continually growing louder and 
 fuller. Kuzma Vassilyevitch was surprised: 
 Emilie certainly had a guitar but it only had 
 three strings: he had not yet bought her any 
 new ones; besides, EmiHe was not at home. 
 Who could it be? Again a chord was struck 
 and so loudly that it seemed as though it were 
 in the room. . . . Kuzma Vassilyevitch turned 
 round and almost cried out in a fright. Be- 
 
 183 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 fore him, in a low doorway which he had not 
 till then noticed — a big cupboard screened it — 
 stood a strange figure . . . neither a child nor 
 a grown-up girl. She was wearing a white 
 dress with a bright-coloured pattern on it and 
 red shoes with high heels ; her thick black hair, 
 held together by a gold fillet, fell like a cloak 
 from her little head over her slender body. Her 
 big eyes shone with sombre brilliance under the 
 soft mass of hair ; her bare, dark-skinned arms 
 were loaded with bracelets and her hands cov- 
 ered with rings, held a guitar. Her face was 
 scarcely visible, it looked so small and dark; 
 all that was seen was the crimson of her lips 
 and the outline of a straight and narrow nose. 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch stood for some time pet- 
 rified and stared at the strange creature with- 
 out blinking ; and she, too, gazed at him without 
 stirring an eyelid. At last he recovered him- 
 self and moved with small steps towards her. 
 
 The dark face began gradually smiling. 
 There was a sudden gleam of white teeth, the 
 little head was raised, and lightly flinging back 
 the curls, displayed itself in all its startling and 
 delicate beauty. 
 
 "What little imp is this?" thought Kuzma 
 184 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 Vassilyevitch, and, advancing still closer, he 
 brought out in a low voice : 
 
 "Hey, little image! Who are you?" 
 
 "Come here, come here," the "little image" 
 responded in a rather husky voice, with a halt- 
 ing un-Russian intonation and incorrect accent, 
 and she stepped back two paces. 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch followed her through 
 the doorway and found himself in a tiny room 
 without windows, the walls and floor of which 
 were covered with thick camel's-hair rugs. He 
 was overwhelmed by a strong smell of musk. 
 Two yellow wax candles were burning on a 
 round table in front of a low sofa. In the 
 corner stood a bedstead under a muslin can- 
 opy with silk stripes and a long amber rosary 
 with a red tassle at the end hung by the pil- 
 low. 
 
 "But excuse me, who are you?" repeated 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch. 
 
 "Sister . . . sister of Emilie." 
 
 "You are her sister? And you live here?" 
 
 "Yes . . . yes." 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch wanted to touch "the 
 image." She drew back. 
 
 "How is it she has never spoken of you?" 
 i8S 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "Could not . . . could not." 
 
 "You are in concealment then ... in hid- 
 ing?- 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Are there reasons?" 
 
 "Reasons . . . reasons." 
 
 "Hm!" Again Kuzma Vassilyevitch would 
 have touched the figure, again she stepped back. 
 "So that's why I never saw you. I must own 
 I never suspected your existence. And the old 
 lady, Madame Fritsche, is your aunt, too?" 
 
 "Yes . . . aunt." 
 
 "Hm! You don't seem to understand Rus- 
 sian very well. What's your name, allow me 
 to ask?" 
 
 "Colibri." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Colibri." 
 
 "Colibri! That's an out-of-the-way name! 
 There are insects like that in Africa, if I re- 
 member right?" 
 
 XV 
 
 Colibri gave a short, queer laugh . . . like 
 a clink of glass in her throat. She shook her 
 i86 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 head, looked round, laid her guitar on the table 
 and going quickly to the door, abruptly shut 
 it. She moved briskly and nimbly with a 
 rapid, hardly audible sound like a hzard ; at the 
 back her hair fell below her knees. 
 
 "Why have you shut the door ?" asked Kuzma 
 Vassilyevitch. 
 
 Colibri put her fingers to her lips. 
 
 "Emilie . . . not want . . . not want her." 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch grinned. 
 
 "I say, you are not jealous, are you?" 
 
 Colibri raised her eyebrows. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Jealous . . . angry," Kuzma Vassilyevitch 
 explained. 
 
 "Oh, yes !" 
 
 "Really ! Much obliged. ... I say, how old 
 are you?" 
 
 "Seventen." 
 
 "Seventeen, you mean?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch scrutinised his fantas- 
 tic companion closely. 
 
 "What a beautiful creature you are !" he said, 
 emphatically. "Marvellous! Really marvel- 
 
 187 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 lous ! What hair ! What eyes ! And your eye- 
 brows . . . ough!" 
 
 Colibri laughed again and again looked round 
 with her magnificent eyes. 
 
 "Yes, I am a beauty ! Sit down, and I'll sit 
 down . . . beside." 
 
 "By all means ! But say what you like, you 
 are a strange sister for Emilie! You are not 
 in the least like her." 
 
 "Yes, I am sister . . . cousin. Here . . . 
 take ... a flower. A nice flower. It smells." 
 She took out of her girdle a sprig of white 
 lilac, sniffed it, bit off a petal and gave him 
 the whole sprig. "Will you have jam? Nice 
 jam . . . from Constantinople . . . sorbet?" 
 Colibri took from the small chest of drawers 
 a gilt jar wrapped in a piece of crimson silk 
 wit steel spangles on it, a silver spoon, a cut 
 glass decanter and a tumbler like it. "Eat some 
 sorbet, sir; it is fine. I will sing to you. . . . 
 Will you?" She took up the guitar. 
 
 "You sing, then?" asked Kuzma Vassilye- 
 vitch, putting a spoonful of really excellent sor- 
 bet into his mouth. 
 
 "Oh, yes !" She flung back her mane of hair, 
 i88 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 put her head on one side and struck several 
 chords, looking carefully at the tips of her 
 fingers and at the top of the guitar . . . then 
 suddenly began singing in a voice unexpectedly 
 strong and agreeable, but guttural and to the 
 ears of Kuzma Vassilyevitch rather savage. 
 "Oh, you pretty kitten," he thought. She sang 
 a mournful song, utterly un-Russian and 
 in a language quite unknown to Kuzma Vas- 
 silyevitch. He used to declare that the sounds 
 "Kha, gha" kept recurring in it and at the end 
 she repeated a long drawn-out "sintamar" or 
 "sintsimar," or something of the sort, leaned 
 her head on her hand, heaved a sigh and let 
 the guitar drop on her knee. "Good?" she 
 asked, "want more?" 
 
 "I should be delighted," answered Kuzma 
 Vassilyevitch. "But why do you look like that, 
 as though you were grieving? You'd better 
 have some sorbet." 
 
 "No . . . you. And I will again. ... It will 
 be more merry." She sang another song, that 
 sounded like a dance, in the same unknown lan- 
 guage. Again Kuzma Vassilyevitch distin- 
 guished the same guttural sounds. Her 
 189 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 swarthy fingers fairly raced over the strings, 
 "Hke little spiders," and she ended up this time 
 with a jaunty shout of "Ganda" or "Gassa," 
 and with flashing eyes banged on the table with 
 her little fist. 
 
 XVI 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch sat as though he were 
 in a dream. His head was going round. It 
 was all so unexpected. . . . And the scent, the 
 singing . . . the candles in the daytime . . . 
 the sorbet flavoured with vanilla. And Colibri 
 kept coming closer to him, too ; her hair shone 
 and rustled, and there was a glow of warmth 
 from her — and that melancholy face. . . . "A 
 russalka!" thought Kuzma Vassilyevitch. He 
 felt somewhat awkward. 
 
 "Tell me, my pretty, what put it into your 
 head to invite me to-day?" 
 
 "You are young, pretty . . . such I like." 
 
 "So that's it! But what will Emilie say? 
 She wrote me a letter: she is sure to be back 
 directly." 
 
 "You not tell her . . . nothing! Trouble! 
 She will kill!" 
 
 190 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch laughed. 
 
 "As though she were so fierce !" 
 
 Colibri gravely shook her head several times. 
 
 *'And to Madame Fritsche, too, nothing. No, 
 no, no!" She tapped herself lightly on the 
 forehead. "Do you understand, officer?" 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch frowned. 
 
 "It's a secret, then?" 
 
 "Yes . . . yes." 
 
 "Very well. ... I won't say a word. Only 
 you ought to give me a kiss for that." 
 
 "No, afterwards . . . when you are gone." 
 
 "That's a fine idea!" Kuzma Vassilyevitch 
 was bending down to her but she slowly drew 
 herself back and stood stiffly erect like a snake 
 startled in the grass. Kuzma Vassilyevitch 
 stared at her. "Well!" he said at last, "you 
 are a spiteful thing! All right, then." 
 
 Colibri pondered and turned to the lieuten- 
 ant. . . . All at once there was the muffled 
 sound of tapping repeated three times at even 
 intervals somewhere in the house. Colibri 
 laughed, almost snorted. 
 
 "To-day — no, to-morrow — yes. Come to- 
 
 191 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "At what time?" 
 
 "Seven ... in the evening." 
 
 "And what about EmiHe?" 
 
 "Emilie ... no ; will not be here." 
 
 "You think so? Very well. Only, to-mor- 
 row you will tell me?" 
 
 "What?" (Colibri's face assumed a child- 
 ish expression every time she asked a ques- 
 tion.) 
 
 "Why you have been hiding away from me 
 all this time?" 
 
 "Yes . . . yes; everything shall be to-mor- 
 row ; the end shall be." 
 
 "Mind now! And I'll bring you a present." 
 
 "No ... no need." 
 
 "Why not? I see you like fine clothes." 
 
 "No need. This . . . this . . . this . . ." she 
 pointed to her dress, her rings, her bracelets, 
 and everything about her, "it is all my own. 
 Not a present. I do not take." 
 
 "As you like. And now must I go?" 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch got up. Colibri got up, 
 too. 
 
 "Good-bye, pretty little doll ! And when will 
 you give me a kiss ?" 
 
 192 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 Colibri suddenly gave a little jump and 
 swiftly flinging both arms round his neck, gave 
 him not precisely a kiss but a peck at his lips. 
 He tried in his turn to kiss her but she in- 
 stantly darted back and stood behind the sofa. 
 
 'To-morrow at seven o'clock, then?" he said 
 with some confusion. 
 
 She nodded and taking a tress of her long 
 hair with her two fingers, bit it with her sharp 
 teeth. 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch kissed his hand to her, 
 went out and shut the door after him. He 
 heard Colibri run up to it at once. . . . The 
 key clicked in the lock. 
 
 XVII 
 
 There was no one in Madame Fritsche's 
 drawing-room. Kuzma Vassilyevitch made his 
 way to the passage at once. He did not want 
 to meet Emilie. Madame Fritsche met him on 
 the steps. 
 
 "Ah, you are going, Mr. Lieutenant?" she 
 said, with the same affected and sinister smile. 
 "You won't wait for Emilie?" 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch put on his cap. 
 
 "I haven't time to wait any longer, madam. 
 193 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 I may not come to-morrow, either. Please tell 
 her so." 
 
 "Very good, I'll tell her. But I hope you 
 haven't been dull, Mr. Lieutenant?" 
 
 "No, I have not been dull." 
 
 "I thought not. Good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye." 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch returned home and 
 stretching himself on his bed sank into medi- 
 tation. He was unutterably perplexed. "What 
 marvel is this ?" he cried more than once. And 
 why did Emilie write to him? She had made 
 an appointment and not come! He took out 
 her letter, turned it over in his hands, sniffed 
 it: it smelt of tobacco and in one place he no- 
 ticed a correction. But what could he deduce 
 from that? And was it possible that Madame 
 Fritsche knew nothing about it? And she. . . . 
 Who was she? Yes, who was she? The fas- 
 cinating Colibri, that "pretty doll," that "little 
 image," was always before him and he looked 
 forward with impatience to the following eve- 
 ning, though secretly he was almost afraid of 
 this "pretty doll" and "little image." 
 194 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 XVIII 
 
 Next day Kuzma Vassilyevitch went shop- 
 ping before dinner, and, after persistent hag- 
 gling, bought a tiny gold cross on a little velvet 
 ribbon. "Though she declares," he thought, 
 "that she never takes presents, we all know 
 what such sayings mean; and if she really is 
 so disinterested, Emilie won't be so squeam- 
 ish." So argued this Don Juan of Nikolaev, 
 who had probably never heard of the original 
 Don Juan and knew nothing about him. At 
 six o'clock in the evening Kuzma Vassilyevitch 
 shaved carefully and sending for a hairdresser 
 he knew, told him to pomade and curl his top- 
 knot, which the latter did with peculiar zeal, 
 not sparing the government note paper for curl- 
 papers; then Kuzma Vassilyevitch put on a 
 smart new uniform, took into his right hand a 
 pair of new wash-leather gloves, and, sprinkling 
 himself with lavender water, set off. Kuzma 
 Vassilyevitch took a great deal more trouble 
 over his personal appearance on this occasion 
 than when he went to see his "Zuckerpupp- 
 195 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 chen," not because he liked Colibri better than 
 Emilie but in the "pretty Httle doll" there was 
 something enigmatic, something which stirred 
 even the sluggish imagination of the young lieu- 
 te:nant. 
 
 XIX 
 
 Madame Fritsche greeted him as she had 
 done the day before and as though she had 
 conspired with him in a plan of deception, in- 
 formed him again that Emilie had gone out for 
 a short time and asked him to wait. Kuzma 
 Vassilyevitch nodded in token of assent and sat 
 down on a chair. Madame Fritsche smiled 
 again, that is, showed her yellow tusks and 
 withdrew without offering him any chocolate. 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch instantly fixed his eyes 
 on the mysterious door. It remained closed. 
 He coughed loudly once or twice so as to make 
 known his presence. . . . The door did not stir. 
 He held his breath, strained his ears. . . . He 
 heard not the faintest sound or rustle; every- 
 thing was still as death. Kuzma Vassilyevitch 
 got up, approached the door on tiptoe and, fum- 
 bling in vain with his fingers, pressed his knee 
 196 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 against it. It was no use. Then he bent down 
 and once or twice articulated in a loud whis- 
 per, "Colibri ! Colibri ! Little doll !" No one 
 responded. Kuzma Vassilyevitch drew him- 
 self up, straightened his uniform — and, after 
 standing still a little whjle, walked with more 
 resolute steps to the window and began drum- 
 ming on the pane. He began to feel vexed, 
 indignant; his dignity as an officer began to 
 assert itself. "What nonsense is this?" he 
 thought at last; "whom do they take me for? 
 If they go on like this, I'll knock with my fists. 
 She will be forced to answer ! The old woman 
 will hear. . . . What of it? That's not my 
 fault." He turned swiftly on his heel ... the 
 door stood half open. 
 
 XX 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch immediately hastened 
 into the secret room again on tiptoe. Colibri 
 was lying on the sofa in a white dress with a 
 broad red sash. Covering the lower part of 
 her face with a handkerchief, she was laugh- 
 ing, a noiseless but genuine laugh. She had 
 done up her hair, this time plaiting it into two 
 197 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 long, thick plaits intertwined with red ribbon; 
 the same slippers adorned her tiny, crossed feet 
 but the feet themselves were bare and looking 
 at them one might fancy that she had on dark, 
 silky stockings. The sofa stood in a different 
 position, nearer the wall; and on the table he 
 saw on a Chinese tray a bright-coloured, round- 
 bellied coffee pot beside a cut glass sugar bowl 
 and two blue China cups. The guitar was lying 
 there, too, and blue-grey smoke rose in a thin 
 coil from a big, aromatic candle. 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch went up to the sofa and 
 bent over Colibri, but before he had time to 
 utter a word she held out her hand and, still 
 laughing in her handkerchief, put her little, 
 rough fingers into his hair and instantly ruf- 
 fled the well-arranged curls on the top of his 
 head. 
 
 "What next?" exclaimed Kuzma Vassilye- 
 vitch, not altogether pleased by such uncere- 
 moniousness. "Oh, you naughty girl!" 
 
 Colibri took the handkerchief from her face. 
 
 "Not nice so ; better now." She moved away 
 to the further end of the sofa and drew her feet 
 up under her. "Sit down . . . there." 
 198 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch sat down on the spot 
 indicated. 
 
 "Why do you move away?" he said, after a 
 brief silence. "Surely you are not afraid of 
 me?" 
 
 Colibri curled herself up and looked at him 
 sideways. 
 
 "I am not afraid . . . no." 
 
 "You must not be shy with me," Kuzma 
 Vassilyevitch said in an admonishing tone. 
 "Do you remember your promise yesterday to 
 give me a kiss?" 
 
 Colibri put her arms round her knees, laid 
 her head on them and looked at him again. 
 
 "I remember." 
 
 "I should hope so. And you must keep your 
 word." 
 
 "Yes ... I must." 
 
 "In that case," Kuzma Vassilyevitch was be- 
 ginning, and he moved nearer. 
 
 Colibri freed her plaits which she was hold- 
 ing tight with her knees and with one of them 
 gave him a flick on his hand. 
 
 "Not so fast, sir !" 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch was embarrassed. 
 199 
 
KNCKK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "What eyes she has, the rogue!" he mut- 
 tered, as though to himself. "But," he went 
 on, raising his voice, "why did you call me . . . 
 if that is how it is?" 
 
 Colibri craned her neck like a bird . . . she 
 listened. Kuzma Vassilyevitch was alarmed. 
 
 "Emilie?" he asked. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Someone else?" 
 
 Colibri shrugged her shoulder. 
 
 "Do you hear something?" 
 
 "Nothing." With a birdHke movement, 
 j again Colibri drew back her little oval-shaped 
 head with its pretty parting and the short 
 growth of tiny curls on the nape of her neck 
 where her plaits began, and again curled her- 
 self up into a ball. "Nothing." 
 
 "Nothing! Then now I'll . . ." Kuzma 
 Vassilyevitch craned forward towards Colibri 
 but at once pulled back his hand. There was 
 / a drop of blood on his finger. "What foolish- 
 ness is this !" he cried, shaking his finger. 
 "Your everlasting pins ! And the devil of a 
 pin it is I" he added, looking at the long, golden 
 pin which Colibri slowly thrust into her sash. 
 
 200 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 "It's a regular dagger, it's a sting. . . . Yes, 
 yes, it's your sting, and you are a wasp, that's 
 what you are, a wasp, do you hear ?" 
 
 Apparently Colibri was much pleased at 
 Kuzma Vasselyevitch's comparison; she went 
 off into a thin laugh and repeated several times 
 over: 
 
 "Yes, I will sting ... I will sting." 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch looked at her and 
 thought: "She is laughing but her face is mel- 
 ancholy. 
 
 "Look what I am going to show you," he 
 said aloud. 
 
 "Tsor 
 
 "Why do you say tso? Are you a Pole?" 
 
 "Neer 
 
 "Now you say nee! But there, it's no mat- 
 ter." Kuzma Vassilyevitch got out his pres- 
 ent and waved it in the air. "Look at it. . . . 
 Isn't it nice?" 
 
 Colibri raised her eyes indifferently. 
 
 "Ah ! A cross ! We don't wear." 
 
 "What ? You don't wear a cross ? Are you 
 a Jewess then, or what?" 
 
 201 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "We don't wear," repeated Colibri, and, sud- 
 denly starting, looked back over her shoulder. 
 "Would you like me to sing?" she asked hur- 
 riedly. 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch put the cross in the 
 pocket of his uniform and he, too, looked 
 round. 
 
 "What is it?'' he muttered. 
 
 "A mouse ... a mouse," Colibri said hur- 
 riedly, and suddenly to Kuzma Vassilyevitch's 
 complete surprise, flung her smooth, supple 
 arms round his neck and a rapid kiss burned 
 his cheek ... as though a red-hot ember had 
 been pressed against it. 
 
 He pressed Colibri in his arms but she slipped 
 away like a snake — her waist was hardly thicker 
 than the body of a snake — and leapt to her 
 feet. 
 
 "Wait," she whispered, "you must have some 
 coffee first." 
 
 "Nonsense! Coffee, indeed! Afterwards." 
 
 "No, now. Now hot, after cold." She took 
 hold of the coffee pot by the handle and, lifting 
 it high, began pouring out two cups. The 
 202 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 coffee fell in a thin, as it were, twirling stream ; 
 Colibri leaned her head on her shoulder and 
 watched it fall. 'There, put in the sugar 
 . . . drink . . . and I'll drink." 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch put a lump of sugar in 
 the cup and drank it off at one draught. The 
 coffee struck him as very strong and bitter. 
 Colibri looked at him, smiling, and faintly di- 
 lated her nostrils over the edge of her cup. She 
 slowly put it down on the table. 
 
 "Why don't you drink it ?" asked Kuzma Vas- 
 silyevitch. 
 
 "Not all, now." 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch got excited. 
 
 "Do sit down beside me, at least." 
 
 "In a minute." She bent her head and, still 
 keeping her eyes fixed on Kuzma Vassilyevitch, 
 picked up the guitar. "Only I will sing first." 
 
 "Yes, yes, only sit down." 
 
 "And I will dance. Shall I?" 
 
 "You dance ? Well, I should like to see that. 
 But can't that be afterwards?" 
 
 "No, now. . . . But I love you very much." 
 
 "You love? Mind now . . . dance away, 
 then, you queer creature." 
 203 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 XXI 
 
 Colibri stood on the further side of the table 
 and running her fingers several times over the 
 strings of the guitar and to the surprise of 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch, who was expecting a 
 lively, merry song, began singing a slow, mo- 
 notonous air, accompanying each separate 
 sound, which seemed as though it were wrung 
 out of her by force, with a rhythmical swaying 
 of her body to right and left. She did not 
 smile, and indeed knitted her brows, her deli- 
 cate, high, rounded eyebrows, between which a 
 dark blue mark, probably burnt in with gun- 
 powder, stood out sharply, looking like some 
 letter of an oriental alphabet. She almost 
 closed her eyes but their pupils glimmered 
 dimly under the drooping lids, fastened as be- 
 fore on Kuzma Vassilyevitch. And he, too, 
 could not look away from those marvellous, 
 menacing eyes, from that dark-skinned face that 
 gradually began to glow, from the half-closed 
 and motionless lips, from the two black snakes 
 rhythmically moving on both sides of her grace- 
 ful head. Colibri went on swaying without 
 204 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 moving from the spot and only her feet were 
 working; she kept lightly shifting them, lifting 
 first the toe and then the heel. Once she ro- 
 tated rapidly and uttered a piercing shriek, wav- 
 ing the guitar high in the air. . . . Then the 
 same monotonous movement accompanied by 
 the same monotonous singing, began again. 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch sat meanwhile very 
 quietly on the sofa and went on looking at 
 Colibri; he felt something strange and unusual 
 in himself : he was conscious of great lightness 
 and freedom, too great lightness, in fact; he 
 seemed, as it were, unconscious of his body, 
 as though he were floating and at the same time 
 shudders ran down him, a sort of agreeable 
 weakness crept over his legs, and his lips and 
 eyelids tingled with drowsiness. He had no de- 
 sire now, no thought of anything . . . only he 
 was wonderfully at ease, as though someone 
 were lulling him, "singing him to bye-bye," as 
 Emilie had expressed it, and he whispered to 
 himself, "little doll!" At times the face of 
 the "little doll" grew misty. "Why is that?" 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch wondered. "From the 
 smoke," he reassured himself. "There is such 
 205 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 a blue smoke here." And again someone was 
 lulling him and even whispering in his ear some- 
 thing so sweet . . . only for some reason it 
 was always unfinished. But then all of a sud- 
 den in the little doll's face the eyes opened till 
 they were immense, incredibly big, like the 
 arches of a bridge. . . . The guitar dropped, 
 and striking against the floor, clanged some- 
 where at the other end of the earth. . . . Some 
 very near and dear friend of Kuzma Vassilye- 
 vitch's embraced him firmly and tenderly from 
 behind and set his cravat straight. Kuzma 
 Vassilyevitch saw just before his own face the 
 hooked nose, the thick moustache and the pierc- 
 ing eyes of the stranger with the three buttons 
 on his cuff . . . and although the eyes were 
 in the place of the moustache and the nose itself 
 seemed upside down, Kuzma Vassilyevitch was 
 not in the least surprised, but, on the contrary, 
 thought that this was how it ought to be; he 
 was even on the point of saying to the nose, 
 "Hullo, brother Grigory," but he changed his 
 mind and preferred . . . preferred to set off 
 with Colibri to Constantinople at once for their 
 206 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 forthcoming wedding, as she was a Turk and 
 the Tsar promoted him to be an actual Turk. 
 
 XXII 
 
 And opportunely a little boat appeared: he 
 lifted his foot to get into it and though through 
 clumsiness he stumbled and hurt himself rather 
 badly, so that for some time he did not know 
 where anything was, yet he managed it and 
 getting into the boat, floated on the big river, 
 which, as the River of Time, flows to Con- 
 stantinople in the map on the walls of the Niko- 
 laevsky High School. With great satisfaction 
 he floated down the river and watched a num- 
 ber of red ducks which continually met him; 
 they would not let him come near them, how- 
 ever, and, diving, changed into round, pink 
 spots. And Colibri was going with him, too, 
 but to escape the sultry heat she hid under 
 the boat and from time to time knocked on 
 the bottom of it. . . . And here at last was 
 Constantinople. The houses, as houses should, 
 looked like Tyrolese hats; and the Turks had 
 all big, sedate faces ; only it did not do to look 
 207 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 at them too long : they began wriggling, making 
 faces and at last melted away altogether like 
 thawing snow. And here was the palace in 
 which he would live with Colibri. . . . And 
 how well everything was arranged in it ! Walls 
 with generals' gold lace on it, everywhere 
 epaulettes, people blowing trumpets in the cor- 
 ners and one could float into the drawing-room 
 in the boat. Of course, there was a portrait of 
 Mahomet. . . . Only Colibri kept running 
 ahead through the rooms and her plaits trailed 
 after her on the floor and she would not turn 
 round, and she kept growing smaller and small- 
 er. .. . And now it was not Colibri but a boy 
 in a jacket and he was the boy's tutor and he 
 had to climb after the boy into a telescope, and 
 the telescope got narrower and narrower, till at 
 last he could not move . . . neither backwards 
 nor forwards, and something fell on his 
 back . . . there was earth in his mouth. 
 
 XXIII 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch opened his eyes. It 
 was daylight and everything was still . . . 
 there was a smell of vinegar and mint. Above 
 208 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 him and at his sides there was something white ; 
 he looked more intently: it was the canopy of 
 a bed. He wanted to raise his head ... he 
 could not; his hand ... he could not do that, 
 either. What was the meaning of it? He 
 dropped his eyes. ... A long body lay 
 stretched before him and over it a yellow 
 blanket with a brown edge. The body proved 
 to be his, Kuzma Vassilyevitch's. He tried to 
 cry out ... no sound came. He tried again, 
 did his very utmost . . . there was the sound 
 of a feeble moan quavering under his nose. 
 He heard heavy footsteps and a sinewy hand 
 parted the bed curtains. A grey-headed pen- 
 sioner in a patched military overcoat stood gaz- 
 ing at him. . . . And he gazed at the pensioner. 
 A big tin mug was put to Kuzma Vassilye- 
 vitch's lips. He greedily drank some cold 
 water. His tongue was loosened. "Where am 
 I?" The pensioner glanced at him once more, 
 went away and came back with another man 
 in a dark uniform. "Where am I?" repeated 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch. "Well, he will live 
 now," said the man in the dark uniform. "You 
 are in the hospital," he added aloud, "but you 
 209 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 must go to sleep. It is bad for you to talk." 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch began to feel surprised, 
 but sank into forgetfulness again. . . . 
 
 Next morning the doctor appeared. Kuzma 
 Vassilyevitch came to himself. The doctor 
 congratulated him on his recovery and ordered 
 the bandages round his head to be changed. 
 
 "What? My head? Why, am I . . ." 
 
 "You mustn't talk, you mustn't excite your- 
 self," the doctor interrupted. "Lie still and 
 thank the Almighty. Where are the com- 
 presses, Poplyovkin ?" 
 
 "But where is the money . . . the govern- 
 ment money . . ." 
 
 "There! He is lightheaded again. Some 
 more ice, Poplyovkin." 
 
 XXIV 
 
 Another week passed. Kuzma Vassilyevitch 
 was so much better that the doctors found it 
 possible to tell him what had happened to him. 
 This is what he learned. 
 
 At seven o'clock in the evening on the i6th 
 of June he had visited the house of Madame 
 Fritsche for the last time and on the 17th of 
 210 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 June at dinner time, that is, nearly twenty-four 
 hours later, a shepherd had found him in a 
 ravine near the Herson high road, a mile and 
 a half from Nikolaev, with a broken head and 
 crimson bruises on his neck. His uniform and 
 waistcoat had been unbuttoned, all his pockets 
 turned inside out, his cap and cutlass were not 
 to be found, nor his leather money belt. From 
 the trampled grass, from the broad track upon 
 the grass and the clay, it could be inferred that 
 the luckless lieutenant had been dragged to the 
 bottom of the ravine and only there had been 
 gashed on his head, not with an axe but with 
 a sabre — probably his own cutlass: there were 
 no traces of blood on his track from the high 
 road while there was a perfect pool of blood 
 round his head. There could be no doubt that 
 his assailants had first drugged him, then tried 
 to strangle him and, taking him out of the town 
 by night, had dragged him to the ravine and 
 there given him the final blow. It was only 
 thanks to his truly iron constitution that Kuzma 
 Vassilyevitch had not died. He had returned 
 to consciousness on July 22nd, that is, five 
 weeks later. 
 
 211 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 XXV 
 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch immediately informed 
 the authorities of the misfortune that had hap- 
 pened to him; he stated all the circumstances 
 of the case verbally and in writing and gave 
 the address of Madame Fritsche. The police 
 raided the house but they found no one there ; 
 >the birds had flown. They got hold of the 
 owner of the house. But they could not get 
 much sense out of the latter, a very old and deaf 
 workman. He lived in a different part of the 
 town and all he knew was that four months 
 before he had let his house to a Jewess with a 
 passport, whose name was Schmul or Schmulke, 
 which he had immediately registered at the po- 
 lice station. She had been joined by another 
 woman, so he stated, who also had a pass- 
 port, but what was their calling did not know; 
 and whether they had other people living with 
 them had not heard and did not know ; the lad 
 whom he used to keep as porter or watchman 
 in the house had gone away to Odessa or 
 Petersburg, and the new porter had only lately 
 come, on the ist of July. 
 
 212 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 Inquiries were made at the police station and 
 in the neighbourhood ; it appeared that Madame 
 Schmulke, together with her companion, whose 
 real name was Frederika Bengel, had left 
 Nikolaev about the 20th of June, but where 
 they had gone was unknown. The mysterious 
 man with a gipsy face and three buttons on 
 his cuff and the dark-skinned foreign girl with 
 an immense mass of hair, no one had seen. As 
 soon as Kuzma Vassilyevitch was discharged 
 from the hospital, he visited the house that 
 had been so fateful for him. In the little room 
 where he had talked to Colibri and where there 
 was still a smell of musk, there was a second 
 secret door; the sofa had been moved in front 
 of it on his second visit and through it no 
 doubt the murderer had come and seized him 
 from behind. Kuzma Vassilyevitch lodged a 
 formal complaint; proceedings were taken. 
 Several numbered reports and instructions were 
 dispatched in various directions; the appropri- 
 ate acknowledgments and replies followed in 
 due course. . . . There the incident closed. 
 The suspicious characters had disappeared com- 
 pletely and with them the stolen government ] 
 213 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 money had vanished, too, one thousand, nine 
 hundred and seventeen roubles and some ko- 
 pecks, in paper and gold. Not an inconsider- 
 able sum in those days ! Kuzma Vassilyevitch 
 was paying back instalments for ten years, 
 ' when, fortunately for him, an act of clemency 
 from the Throne cancelled the debt. 
 
 XXVI 
 
 He was himself at first firmly convinced 
 that Emilie, his treacherous Zuckerpiippchen, 
 was to blame for all his trouble and had orig- 
 inated the plot. He remembered how on the 
 last day he had seen her he had incautiously 
 dropped asleep on the sofa and how when he 
 woke he had found her on her knees beside him 
 and how confused she had been, and how he 
 had found a hole in his belt that evening — a 
 hole evidently made by her scissors. "She saw 
 I the money," thought Kuzma Vassilyevitch, 
 "she told the old hag and those other two dev- 
 ils, she entrapped me by writing me that letter 
 . . . and so they cleaned me out. But who 
 could have expected it of her!" He pictured 
 214 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STORY 
 
 the pretty, good-natured face of Emilia, her 
 clear eyes. . . . "Women! women!" he re- 
 peated, gnashing his teeth, "brood of croco- 
 diles !" But when he had finally left the hos- 
 pital and gone home, he learned one circum- 
 stance which perplexed and nonplussed him. 
 On the very day when he was brought half 
 dead to the town, a girl whose description cor- 
 responded exactly to that of Emilie had rushed 
 to his lodging with tear-stained face and 
 dishevelled hair and inquiring about him from 
 his orderly, had dashed off like mad to the 
 hospital. At the hospital she had been told that 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch would certainly die and 
 she had at once disappeared, wringing her hands 
 with a look of despair on her face. It was evi- 
 dent that she had not foreseen, had not expected 
 the murder. Or perhaps she had herself been 
 deceived and had not received her promised 
 share? Had she been overwhelmed by sudden 
 remorse ? And yet she had left Nikolaev after- 
 wards with that loathsome old woman who had 
 certainly known all about it. Kuzma Vassilye- 
 vitch was lost in conjecture and bored his or- 
 215 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 derly a good deal by making him continually 
 describe over and over again the appearance 
 of the girl and repeat her words. 
 
 XXVII 
 
 A year and a half later Kuzma Vassilyevitch 
 received a letter in German from Emilie, alias 
 Frederika Bengel, which he promptly had trans- 
 lated for him and showed us more than once 
 in later days. It was full of mistakes in spell- 
 ing and exclamation marks; the postmark on 
 the envelope was Breslau. Here is the trans- 
 lation, as correct as may be, of the letter : 
 
 "My precious, unforgettable and incompar- 
 able Florestan ! Mr. Lieutenant Yergenhof ! 
 
 "How often I felt impelled to write to you! 
 And I have always unfortunately put it off, 
 though the thought that you may regard me as 
 having had a hand in that awful crime has al- 
 ways been the most appalling thought to me! 
 Oh, dear Mr. Lieutenant ! Believe me, the day 
 when I learnt that you were alive and well, 
 was the happiest day of my life! But I do 
 not mean to justify myself altogether! I will 
 not tell a lie! I was the first to discover your 
 
 2X6 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV'S STOKY 
 
 habit of carrying your money round your \ 
 waist! (Though indeed in our part of the 
 world all the butchers and meat salesmen do 
 the same!) And I was so incautious as to let 
 drop a word about it! I even said in joke ; 
 that it wouldn't be bad to take a little of your 
 money! But the old wretch (Mr. Florestan! 
 she was not my aunt) plotted with that god- 
 less monster Luigi and his accomplice ! I swear 
 by my mother's tomb, I don't know to this day i 
 who those people were ! I only know that his 
 name was Luigi and that they both came from 
 Bucharest and were certainly great criminals 
 and were hiding from the police and had money 
 and precious things ! Luigi was a dreadful 
 individual (ein schrockliches Subject), to kill 
 a fellow-man ( einen Mitmenschen) meant noth- 
 ing at all to him! He spoke every language 
 — and it was he who that time got our things 
 back from the cook ! Don't ask how ! He was 
 capable of anything, he was an awful man ! 
 He assured the old woman that he would only 
 drug you a little and then take you out of 
 town and put you down somewhere and would 
 say that he knew nothing about it but that it 
 217 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 was your fault — that you had taken too much 
 wine somewhere! But even then the wretch 
 had it in his mind that it would be better to 
 kill you so that there would be no one to tell 
 the tale! He wrote you that letter, signed 
 with my name and the old woman got me away 
 by craft! I suspected nothing and I was 
 awfully afraid of Luigi ! He used to say to 
 me, 'I'll cut your throat, I'll cut your throat 
 like a chicken's!' And he used to twitch his 
 moustache so horribly as he said it ! And they 
 dragged me into a bad company, too. ... I 
 am very much ashamed, Mr. Lieutenant ! And 
 even now I shed bitter tears at these memo- 
 ries! ... It seems to me ... ah! I was not 
 born for such doings. . . . But there is no help 
 for it ; and this is how it all happened ! After- 
 wards I was horribly frightened and could not 
 help going away, for if the police had found 
 us, what would have happened to us then? 
 That accursed Luigi fled at once as soon as 
 he heard that you were alive. But I soon 
 parted from them all and though now I am 
 often without a crust of bread, my heart is 
 at peace! You will ask me perhaps why I 
 218 
 
LIEUTENANT YERGLNOV'S STOHY 
 
 came to Nikolaev? But I can give you no 
 answer ! I have sworn ! I will finish by ask- 
 ing of you a favour, a very, very important 
 one : whenever you remember your little friend 
 Emilie, do not think of her as a black-hearted 
 » criminal ! The eternal God sees my heart. I 
 have a bad morality {Ich habe eine schlechte 
 moralitdt) and I am feather-headed, but I am 
 not a criminal. And I shall always love and 
 remember you, my incomparable Florestan, and 
 shall always wish you everything good on this 
 earthly globe {auf diesem Erdenrundf). I 
 don't know whether my letter will reach you, 
 but if it does, write me a few lines that I may 
 see you have received it. Thereby you will 
 make very happy your ever-devoted Emilie. 
 
 "P. S. Write to F. E. poste restante, Bres- 
 lau, Silesia. 
 
 "P. S. S. I have written to you in German ; 
 I could not express my feelings otherwise ; but 
 you write to me in Russian. 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 "Well, did you answer her?" we asked 
 Kuzma Vassilyevitch. 
 
 219 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "I meant to, I meant to many times. But 
 how was I to write? I don't know German 
 . . . and in Russian, who would have trans- 
 lated it? And so I did not write." 
 
 And always as he finished his story, Kuzma 
 Vassilyevitch sighed, shook his head and said, 
 "that's what it is to be young !" And if among 
 his audience was some new person who was 
 hearing the famous story for the first time, he 
 would take his hand, lay it on his skull and 
 make him feel the scar of the wound. ... It 
 really was a fearful wound and the scar reached 
 from one ear to the other. 
 
 1867. 
 
 220 
 
THE DOG 
 
 "But if one admits the possibility of the super- 
 natural, the possibility of its participation in 
 real life, then allow me to ask what becomes 
 of common sense?" Anton Stepanitch pro- 
 nounced and he folded his arms over his stom- 
 ach. 
 
 (Anton Stepanitch] had the grade of a civil 
 councillor, served in some incomprehensible de- 
 partment and, speaking emphatically and stiffly 
 in a bass voice, enjoyed universal respect. He 
 had not long before, in the words of those who 
 envied him, "had the Stanislav stuck on to 
 him." 
 
 "That's perfectly true," observed Skvore- 
 vitch. 
 
 "No one will dispute that," added Kinare- 
 vitch. 
 
 "I am of the same opinion," the master of 
 the house, Finoplentov, chimed in from the cor- 
 ner in falsetto. 
 
 221 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "Well, I must confess, I cannot agree, for 
 something supernatural has happened to me my- 
 self," said a bald, corpulent middle-aged gen- 
 tleman of medium height, who had till then sat 
 silent behind the stove. The eyes of all in the 
 room turned to him with curiosity and sur- 
 prise, and there was a silence. 
 
 The man was a Kaluga landowner of small 
 means who had lately come to Petersburg. He 
 had once served in the Hussars, had lost money 
 at cards, had resigned his commission and had 
 settled in the country. The recent economic 
 reforms had reduced his income and he had 
 come to the capital to look out for a suitable 
 berth. He had no qualifications and no con- 
 nections, but he confidently relied on the friend- 
 ship of an old comrade who had suddenly, for 
 no visible reason, become a person of impor- 
 tance, and whom he had once helped in thrash- 
 ing a card sharper. Moreover, he reckoned on 
 his luck — and it did not fail him: a few days 
 after his arrival in town he received the post of 
 superintendent of government warehouses, a 
 profitable and even honourable position, which 
 did not call for conspicuous abilities : the ware- 
 
 22.2 
 
THE DOG 
 
 houses themselves had only a hypothetical ex- 
 istence and indeed it was not very precisely 
 known with what they were to be filled — but 
 they had been invented with a view to govern- 
 ment economy. 
 
 Anton Stepanitch was the first to break the 
 silence. 
 
 "What, my dear sir/' he began, "do you 
 seriously maintain that something supernatural 
 has happened to you? I mean to say, some- 
 thing inconsistent with the laws of nature?" 
 
 "I do maintain it," repHed the gentleman 
 addressed as "My dear sir," whose name was 
 f Porfiry Kapitonitch. ] 
 
 "Inconsistent with the laws of nature!" 
 Anton Stepanitch repeated angrily; apparently 
 he liked the phrase. 
 
 "Just so . . . yes; it was precisely what you 
 say." 
 
 "That's amazing! What do you think of it, 
 gentlemen?" Anton Stepanitch tried to give 
 his features an ironical expression, but without 
 effect — or to speak more accurately, merely 
 with the effect of suggesting that the dignified 
 civil councillor had detected an unpleasant 
 223 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 smell. "Might we trouble you, dear sir," he 
 went on, addressing the Kaluga landowner, "to 
 give us the details of so interesting an incident ?" 
 
 "Certainly, why not?" answered the land- 
 owner and, moving in a free-and-easy way to 
 the middle of the room, he spoke as follows: 
 
 "I have, gentlemen, as you are probably 
 aware, or perhaps are not aware, a small estate 
 in the Kozelsky district. In old days I used 
 to get something out of it, though now, of 
 course, I have nothing to look forward to but 
 unpleasantnesis. But enough of politics. Well, 
 in that district I have a little place: the usual 
 kitchen garden, a little pond with carp in it, 
 farm buildings of a sort and a little lodge for 
 my own sinful person ... I am a bachelor. 
 Well, one day — some six years ago — I came 
 home rather late ; I had had a game of cards at 
 a neighbour's and I was — I beg you to note — 
 the least little bit elevated, as they say; I un- 
 dressed, got into bed and put out the candle. 
 And only fancy, gentlemen: as soon as I put 
 out the candle there was something moving un- 
 der my bed ! I wondered whether it was a rat ; 
 224 
 
THE DOG 
 
 no, it was not a rat: it moved about, scratched 
 on the floor and scratched itself. ... At last 
 it flapped its ears! 
 
 "There was no mistake about it; it was a 
 dog. But where could a dog have come from? 
 I did not keep one ; could some st^ray dog have 
 run in, I wondered. I called (my ^servant; 
 Filka Jwas his name. He came in with a 
 candle. 
 
 "'How's this,' I said, 'Filka, my lad? Is 
 that how you look after things? A dog has 
 got under my bed?' 'What dog?' said he. 
 'How do I know,' said I, 'that's your business 
 — to save your master from disiturbance.' My 
 Filka bent down, and began moving the candle 
 under the bed. 'But there's no dog here,' 
 said he. I bent down, too; there certainly was 
 no dog there. What a queer thing! — I glanced 
 at Filka and he was smiling. 'You stupid,' I 
 said to him, 'why are you grinning. When 
 you opened the door the dog must have 
 whisked out into the passage. And you, gaping 
 idiot, saw nothing because you are always 
 asleep. You don't suppose I am drunk, do 
 225 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 you?' He would have answered, but I sent 
 him out, curled up and that night heard nothing 
 more. 
 
 "But the next night — only fancy — the thing 
 was repeated. As soon as I blew out the candle, 
 he scratched himself and flapped his ears again. 
 Again I called Filka; again he looked under 
 the bed — again there was nothing! I sent him 
 away, blew out the candle — and, damn it all, 
 the dog was there again and it was a dog right 
 enough : one could hear it breathing, biting 
 its coat, looking for fleas. ... It was so dis- 
 tinct — *Filka,' I said, 'come here without the 
 candle!* He came in. 'Well, now,' I said, 
 'do you hear?' 'Yes,' he said. I could not 
 see him, but I felt that the fellow was scared. 
 'What do you make of it?' said I. 'What do 
 you bid me make of it, Porfiry Kapitonitch? 
 It*s sorcery!' 'You are a fooHsh fellow,' I 
 said, 'hold your tongue with your sorcery. . . .' 
 And our voices quavered like a bird's and we 
 were trembling in the dark as though we were 
 in a fever. I lighted a candle, no dog, no 
 sound, only us two, as white as chalk. So I 
 kept a candle burning till morning and I assure 
 226 
 
THE DOG 
 
 you, gentlemen, you may believe me or you 
 may not, but from that night for six weeks the 
 same thing was repeated. In the end I actually 
 got used to it and began putting out the candle, 
 because I couldn't get to sleep in the light. *Let 
 him fidget,' I thought, *he doesn't do me any 
 harm.' " 
 
 "Well, I see you are not one of the chicken- 
 hearted brigade," Anton Stepanitch interrupted 
 in a half -contemptuous, half-condescending 
 tone ! "One can see the Hussar at once !" 
 
 "I shouldn't be afraid of you in any case," 
 Porfiry Kapitonitch observed, and for an in- 
 stant he really did look like a Hussar. 
 
 "But listen to the rest. A neighbour came 
 to see me, the very one with whom I used to 
 play cards. He dined with me on what luck 
 provided and dropped some fifty roubles for 
 his visit; night came on, it was time for him 
 to be off. But I had my own idea. 'Stay the 
 night with me,' I said,! ' Vassily VassilitcW; to- 
 morrow, please God, you will win it back.' 
 Vassily Vassilitch considered and stayed. I 
 had a bed put up for him in my room. . . . 
 Well, we went to bed, smoked, chatted — about 
 227 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 the fair sex for the most part, as is only suitable 
 in bachelor company — we laughed, of course ; I 
 saw Vassily Vassdlitch put out his candle and 
 turn his back towards me: as much as to say: 
 'Good night.' I waited a little, then I, too, 
 put out my candle. And, only fancy, I had 
 hardly time to wonder what sort of trick would 
 be played this time, when the sweet creature 
 was moving again. And moving was not all; 
 it came out from under the bed, walked across 
 the room, tapped on the floor with its paws, 
 shook its ears and all of a sudden pushed 
 against the very chair that was close by Vassily 
 Vassilitch's bed. Torfiry Kapitonitch,' said 
 the latter, and in such an unconcerned voice, 
 you know, 'I did not know you had a dog. 
 What sort is it, a setter?' 1 haven't a dog,' I 
 said, 'and never have had one !' 'You haven't ? 
 Why, what's this ?' 'What's thisf staid I, 'why, 
 light the candle and then you will see for your- 
 self.' 'Isn't it a dog?' 'No.' Vassily Vassilitch 
 turned over in bed. 'But you are joking, dash 
 it all.' 'No, I am not joking.' I heard him go 
 strike, strike, with a match, while the creature 
 persisted in scratching its ribs. The light flared 
 228 
 
THE DOG 
 
 up . . . and, hey presto ! not a trace remained ! 
 Vassily Vassilitch looked at me and I looked 
 at him. 'What trick is this?' he said. 'It's a 
 trick/ I said, 'that, if you were to set Socrates 
 himself on one side and Frederick the Great on 
 the other, even they could not make it out.' And 
 then I told him all about it. Didn't my Vas- 
 sily Vassilitch jump out of bed ! As though he 
 had been scalded ! He couldn't get into his 
 boots. 'Horses,' he cried, 'horses !' I began try- 
 ing to persuade him, but it was no use! He 
 positively gasped! 'I won't stay,' he said, 'not 
 a minute ! You must be a man under a curse ! 
 Horses.' However, I prevailed upon him. Only 
 his bed was dragged into another room and 
 nightlights were lighted everywhere. At our tea 
 in the morning he had regained his equanimity ; 
 he began to give me advice. 'You should try be- 
 ing away from home for a few days, Porfiry 
 Kapitonitch,' he said, 'perhaps this abomina- 
 tion would leave you.' And I must tell you: 
 my neighbour was a man of immense intellect. 
 He managed his mother-in-law wonderfully: 
 he fastened an I. O. U. upon her ; he must have 
 chosen a sentimental moment! She became as 
 229 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 soft as silk, she gave him an authorisation for 
 the management of all her estate — what more 
 would you have? You know it is something to 
 get the better of one's mother-in-law. Eh! 
 You can judge for yourselves. However, he 
 took leave of me in some displeasure; I'd 
 stripped him of a hundred roubles again. He 
 actually abused me. 'You are ungrateful,' he 
 said, 'you have no feeling'; but how was I to 
 blame? Well, be that as it may, I considered 
 his advice. That very day I drove off to the 
 town and put up at an inn, kept by an old man 
 I knew, a Dissenter. He was a worthy old fel- 
 low, though a little morose from living in soli- 
 tude, all his family were dead. But he dis- 
 liked tobacco and had the greatest loathing for 
 dogs; I believe he would have been torn to 
 pieces rather than consent to let a dog into his 
 room. 'For how can one?' he would say, 'the 
 Queen of Heaven herself is graciously pleased 
 to be on my wall there, and is an unclean dog 
 to put his infidel nose there?' Of course, it 
 was lack of education ! However, to my think- 
 ing, whatever wisdom a man has he had better 
 stick to that." 
 
 230 
 
THE DOG 
 
 "I see you are a great philosopher," Anton 
 Stepanitch interrupted a second time with the 
 same sarcastic smile. 
 
 This time Porfiry Kapitonitch actually 
 frowned. 
 
 "How much I know of philosophy I cannot 
 tell," he observed, tugging grimly at his mous- 
 tache, "but I would be glad to give you a lesson 
 in it.'* 
 
 We all simply stared at Anton Stepanitch. 
 Every one of us expected a haughty reply, 
 or at least a glance like a flash of lightning. 
 . . . But the civil councillor turned his con- 
 temptuous smile into one of indifference, then 
 yawned, swung his foot and — that was all ! 
 
 "Well, I stayed at that old fellow's," Porfiry 
 Kapitonitch went on. "He gave me a little 
 room, not one of the best, as we were old 
 friends; his own was close by, the other side 
 of the partition — and that was just what I 
 wanted. The tortures I faced that night! A 
 little room, a regular oven, stuffiness, flies, and 
 such sticky ones; in the corner an extraordi- 
 narily big shrine with ancient ikons, with dingy 
 setting in relief on them. It fairly reeked of 
 231 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 oil and some other stuff, too; there were two 
 featherbeds on the beds. If you moved the 
 pillow a black beetle would run from under 
 it. ... I had drunk an incredible quantity of 
 tea, feeling so dreary — it was simply dreadful ! 
 I got into bed; there was no possibility of 
 sleeping — and, the other side of the partition, 
 my host wasi sighing, clearing his throat, re- 
 peating his prayers. However, he subsided at 
 last. \l heard him begin to snore, but only 
 faintly, in the old-fashioned polite way.! I had 
 put my candle out long ago, but the little lamp 
 was burning before the ikons. . . . That pre- 
 vented it, I suppose. So I got up softly with 
 bare feet, climbed up to the lamp, and blew 
 it out. . . . Nothing happened. 'Oho!' I 
 thought, 'so it doesn't come off in other peo- 
 ple's houses.' 
 
 "But I had no sooner got into bed 
 than there was a commotion again. He was 
 scraping on the floor and scratching himself 
 and shaking his ears . . . the usual thing, in 
 fact. Very good ! I lay still and waited to see 
 what would happen. I heard the old man 
 wake up. 'Sir,' he said, 'hey, sir.' 'What is 
 232 
 
THE DOG 
 
 it ?' 'Did you put out the lamp ?' But without 
 waiting for my answer, he burst out all at once. 
 'What's that? What's that, a dog? A dog! 
 Ah, you vile heretic!' 'Wait a bit, old man, 
 before you scold,' I said. 'You had better 
 come here yourself. Things are happening,' 
 I said, 'that may well make you wonder.' The 
 old man stirred behind the partition and came 
 in to me, with a candle, a very, very thin one, 
 made of yellow wax; I was surprised when I 
 looked at him! He looked bristling all over, 
 with hairy ears and eyes as fierce as a weasel's ; 
 he had on a white woollen night cap, a beard 
 to his waist, white, too, and a waistcoat with 
 copper buttons on it over his shirt and fur 
 boots on his feet and he smelt of juniper. In 
 this attire he approached the ikons, crossed 
 himself three times with his two fingers crossed, 
 lighted the lamp, crossed himself again and, 
 turning to me, just grunted : 'Explain !' And 
 thereupon, without delay, I told him all that had 
 happened. The old man listened to my ac- 
 count and did not drop one word, simply shook 
 his head. Then he sat down on my bed and 
 still said nothing. He scratched his chest, the 
 233 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 back of his head and so on and said nothing; 
 'Well,' I said, (Tedul Ivanitch, J what do you 
 think? Is it some devil's sorcery or what?' 
 The old man looked at me. 'What an idea! 
 Devil's sorcery! A tobacco-smoker like you 
 might well have that at home, but not here. 
 Only think what holiness there is here! 
 Sorcery, indeed!' 'And if it is not sorcery, 
 what is it, then?' The old man was silent 
 again; again he scratched himself and said at 
 last, but in a muffled voice, for his moustache 
 was all over his mouth: 'You go to the town 
 of Belyov. There is no one who can help you 
 but one man. And that man lives in Belyov. 
 He isi one of our people. If he is willing to 
 help you, you are lucky; if he is not, nothing 
 can be done.' 'And how am I to find this man ?' 
 I said. 'I can direct you about that,' he an- 
 swered; 'but how can it be sorcery? It is an 
 apparition, or rather an indication; but you 
 cannot comprehend it, it is beyond your under- 
 standing. Lie down to sleep now with the 
 blessing of our Lord Christ; I will burn in- 
 cense and in the morning we will converse. 
 Morning, you know, brings wisdom.' 
 234 
 
THE DOG 
 
 "Well, we did converse in the morning, only 
 I was almost stifled by that incense. And this 
 was the counsel the old man gave me: that 
 when I reached Belyov I should go into the 
 market place and ask in the second shop on the 
 right for one vProhoritcly and when I had 
 found Prohoritch, put into his hand a writing 
 and the writing consisted of a scrap of paper, 
 on which stood the following words: *In the 
 name of the Fathen the Son and the Holy 
 Ghost. Amen. To pergey Prohorovitch Per- 
 vushin.J Trust this man. Feduly Ivanitch.' 
 And below, 'Send the cabbages, for God's sake.' 
 
 "I thanked the old man and without further 
 discussion ordered my carriage and drove to 
 Belyov. For I reflected, that though I suffered 
 no harm from my nocturnal visitor, yet it was 
 uncanny and in fact not quite the thing for 
 a nobleman and an officer — what do you think ?" 
 
 "And did you really go to Belyov?" mur- 
 mured Finoplentov. 
 
 "Straight to Belyov. I went into the market 
 
 place and asked at the second shop on the right 
 
 for Prohoritch. 'Is there such a person?' I 
 
 asked. *Yes,' they told me. 'And where does 
 
 235 
 
3 
 
 KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 he live?' 'By the Oka, beyond the market 
 gardens/ 'In whose house?' In his own.' I 
 went to the Oka, found his house, though it 
 was really not a house but simply a hovel. I 
 saw a man wearing a blue patched coat and a 
 ragged cap, well ... he looked Hke a work- 
 ing-man, he was standing with his back to me, 
 digging among his cabbages. I went up to him. 
 'Are you so and so ?' I said. He turned round 
 and, I tell you the truth,{l have never seen such 
 pjercinp^ eyes in my life J Yet the whole face 
 was shrunk up like a little fist with a little 
 wedge-shaped beard and sunken lips. He was 
 an old man. 'I am so and so,' he said. 'What 
 are you needing?' 'Why, this is what I am 
 needing' I said, and put the writing in his 
 hand. He looked at me intently and said: 
 'Come indoors, I can't read without spectacles.' 
 "Well, I went with him into his hut — and 
 a hut it certainly was: poor, bare, crooked; 
 only just holding together. On the wall there 
 was an ikon of old workmanship as black as a 
 coal ; only the whites of the eyes gleamed in the 
 faces. He took some round spectacles in iron 
 frames out of a little table, put them on his 
 236 
 
THE DOG 
 
 nose, read the writing and looked at me again 
 through the spectacles. 'You have need of me?' 
 *I certainly have/ I answered. 'Well,' said he, 
 'if you have, tell it and we will Hsten.' And, 
 only fancy, he sat down and took a checked 
 handkerchief out of his pocket, and spread it 
 out on his knee, and the handkerchief was full 
 of holes, and he looked at me with as much 
 dignity as though he were a senator or a min- 
 ister, and he did not ask me to sit down. And 
 what was still stranger, I felt all at once awe- 
 stricken, so awe-stricken . . . my soul sank into 
 my heels. He pierced me through with his 
 eyes and that's the fact! I pulled myself to- 
 gether, however, and told him all my story. 
 He was silent for a space, shrank into him- 
 self, chewed his lips and then questioned me 
 just like a senator again, majestically, without 
 haste. 'What is your name?' he asked. 'Your 
 age? What were your parents? Are you 
 single or married?' Then again he munched 
 his lips, frowned, held up his finger and spoke : 
 'Bow down to the holy ikon, to the honourable 
 Saints Zossima and Savvaty of Solovki.' I 
 bowed down to the earth and did not get up 
 237 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 in a hurry; I felt such awe for the man and 
 such submission that I beheve that whatever 
 he had told me to do I should have done it on 
 the spot! ... I see you are grinning, gentle- 
 men, but I was in no laughing mood then, I 
 assure you. 'Get up, sir,' said he at last. 1 can 
 help you. This is not sent you as a chastise- 
 ment, but as a warning; it is for your protec- 
 tion ; someone is praying for your welfare. Go 
 to the market now and buy a young dog and 
 keep it by you day and night. Your visions 
 will leave you and, moreover, that dog will be 
 of use to you.' 
 
 *'I felt as though light dawned upon me, all 
 at once; how those words delighted me. I 
 bowed down to Prohoritch and would have 
 gone away, when I bethought me that I could 
 not go away without rewarding him. I got a 
 three rouble note out of my pocket. But he 
 thrust my hand away and said, 'Give it to our 
 chapel, or to the poor ;uhe service I have done 
 you is not to be paid for.l I bowed down to 
 him again almost to the ground, and set off 
 straight for the market! And only fancy: 
 as soon as I drew near the shops, lo and 
 238 
 
THE DOG 
 
 behold, a man in a frieze overcoat comes saun- 
 tering towards me carrying under his arm a 
 two months' old setter puppy with a reddish 
 brown coat, white lips and white forepaws. 
 'Stay,' I said to the man in the overcoat, 'what 
 will you sell it for ?' 'For two roubles.' Take 
 three!' The man looked at me in amazement, 
 thought the gentleman had gone out of his 
 wits, but I flung the notes in his face, took the 
 pup under my arm and made for my carriage ! 
 The coachman quickly had the horses harnessed 
 and that evening I reached home. The puppy 
 sat inside my coat all the way and did not^ 
 stir; and I kept calling him,( 'Little Tresorly 
 Little Tresor!' I gave him food and drink at 
 once. I had some straw brought in, settled 
 him and whisked into bed! I blew out the 
 candle: it was dark. 'Well, now begin,' said 
 I. There was silence. 'Begin,' said I, 'you so 
 and so!' . . . Not a sound, as though to mock 
 me. Well, I began to feel so set up that I fell 
 to calling it all sorts of names. But still there 
 was not a sound ! I could only hear the puppy 
 panting! 'Filka,' I cried, 'Filka! Come here, 
 you stupid!' He came in. 'Do you hear the 
 239 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 dog?' *No, sir,' said he, 'I hear nothing,' and 
 he laughed. 'And you won't hear it ever again,"* 
 said I. 'Here's half a rouble for vodka !' 'Let 
 me kiss your hand,' said the foolish fellow, and 
 he stooped down to me in the darkness. . . . 
 It was a great relief, I must tell you." 
 
 "And was that how it all ended?" asked 
 Anton Stepanitch, this time without irony. 
 
 "The apparitions ended certainly and I was 
 not disturbed in any way, but wait a bit, the 
 whole business was not over yet. My Tresor 
 grew, he turned into a fine fellow. He was 
 heavy, with flopping ears and overhanging lip 
 and a thick tail; a regular sporting dog. And 
 he was extremely attached to me, too. The 
 shooting in our district is poor, however, as I 
 had set up a dog, I got a gun, too. I took to 
 sauntering round the neighbourhood with my 
 Tresor: sometimes one would hit a hare (and 
 didn't he go after that hare, upon my soul), 
 sometimes a quail, or a duck. But the great 
 thing was that Tresor was never a step away 
 from me. Where I went, he went ; I even took 
 him to the bath with me, I did really! One 
 lady actually tried to get me turned out of her 
 240 
 
THE DOG 
 
 drawing-room on account of Tresor, but I 
 made such an uproar! The windows I broke! 
 Well, one day ... it was in summer . . . and 
 I must tell you there was a drought at the time 
 such as nobody remembered. The air was full 
 of smoke or haze. There was a smell of burn- 
 ing, the sun was like a molten bullet, and as 
 for the dust there was no getting it out of one's 
 nose and throat. People walked with their 
 mouths wide open like crows. I got weary of 
 sitting at home in complete deshabille, with 
 shutters closed; and luckily the heat was be- 
 ginning to abate a little. ... So I went off, 
 gentlemen, to see a lady, a neighbour of mine. 
 She lived about three-quarters of a mile away 
 — and she certainly was a benevolent lady. She 
 was still young and blooming and of most pre- 
 possessing appearance; but she was of rather 
 uncertain temper. Though that is no harm in 
 the fair sex; it even gives me pleasure. . . . 
 Well, I reached her door, and I did feel that I 
 had had a hot time of it getting there ! Well, I 
 thought,fNimfodora Semyonovnajwill regale me 
 now with bilberry water and other cooling 
 drinks — and I had already taken hold of the 
 241 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 doorhandle when all at once there was the 
 tramping of feet and shrieking, and shouting of 
 boys from round the corner of a hut in the 
 courtyard. ... I looked round. Good heavens ! 
 A huge reddish beast was rushing straight 
 towards me; at the first glance I did not rec- 
 ognise it as a dog: its jaws were open, its eyes 
 were bloodshot, its coat was bristling. ... I 
 had not time to take breath before the monster 
 bounded up the steps, stood upon its hind 
 legs and made straight for my chest — it was 
 a position ! I was numb with terror and could 
 not lift my arms. I was completely stupefied. 
 ... I could see nothing but the terrible white 
 tusks just before my nose, the red tongue all 
 covered with white foam. But at the same in- 
 stant, another dark body was whisking before 
 me like a ball — it was my darling Tresor de- 
 fending me; and he hung like a leech on the 
 brute's throat! The creature wheezed, grated 
 its teeth and staggered back. I instantly flung 
 open the door and got into the hall. ... I 
 stood hardly knowing what I was doing with 
 my whole weight on the door, and heard a 
 desperate battle going on outside. I began 
 242 
 
THE DOG 
 
 shouting and calling for help; everyone in the 
 house was terribly upset. Nimfodora Semyon- 
 ovna ran out with her hair down, the voices 
 in the yard grew louder — and all at once I 
 heard: 'Hold the gate, hold it, fasten it!' 
 I opened the door — just a crack, and looked out : 
 the monster was no longer on the steps, the 
 servants were rushing about the yard in con- 
 fusion waving their hands and picking up 
 bits of wood from the ground ; they were quite 
 crazy. To the village, it has run off to the 
 village,* shrieked a peasant woman in a cap of 
 extraordinary size poking her head out of a 
 dormer window. I went out of the house. 
 
 " 'Where is my Tresor ?' I asked and at once 
 I saw my saviour. He was coming from the 
 gate limping, covered with wounds and with 
 blood. . . . 'What's the meaning of it ?' I asked 
 the servants who were dashing about the yard 
 as though possessed. ( 'A mad dog !'] they an- 
 swered, 'the count's; it's been hanging about 
 here since yesterday.' 
 
 "We had a neighbour, a count, who bred very 
 fierce foreign dogs. My knees shook ; I rushed 
 to a looking-glass and looked to see whether I 
 243 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 had been bitten. No, thank God, there was 
 nothing to be seen ; only my countenance nat- 
 urally looked green ; while Nimfodora Semyon- 
 ovna was lying on the sofa and cackling like a 
 hen. Well, that one could quite understand, in 
 the first place nerves, in the second sensibility. 
 She came to herself at last, though, and asked 
 me whether I were alive. I answered that I was 
 and that Tresor had saved me. 'Ah/ she said, 
 'what a noble creature ! and so the mad dog 
 has strangled him?' 'No,' I said, 'it has not 
 strangled him, but has wounded him seriously.' 
 'Oh,' she said, 'in that case he must be shot 
 this minute!' 'Oh, no,' I said, 'I won't agree 
 to that. I shall try to cure him. . . .' At that 
 moment Tresor began scratching at the door. 
 I was about to go and open it for him. 'Oh,' 
 she said, 'what are you doing, why, it will 
 bite us all.' 'Upon my word,' I said, 'the 
 poison does not act so quickly.' 'Oh, how can 
 you?' she said. 'Why, you have taken leave 
 of your senses !' 'Nimf otchka,' I said, 'calm 
 yourself, be reasonable. . . .' But she sud- 
 denly cried, 'Go away at once with your horrid 
 dog.' 'I will go away,' said I. 'At once,' she 
 244 
 
THE DOG 
 
 said, 'this second! Get along with you/ she 
 said, 'you villain, and never dare to let me set 
 eyes on you again. You may go mad yourself !' 
 'Very good,' said I, 'only let me have a car- 
 riage for I am afraid to go home on foot now/ 
 'Give him the carriage, the coach, the chaise, 
 what he likes, only let him be gone quickly. 
 Oh, what eyes ! Oh, what eyes he has !' and with 
 those words she whisked out of the room and 
 gave a maid who met her a slap in the face 
 — and I heard her in hysterics again. 
 
 "And you may not believe me, gentlemen, but 
 that very day I broke off all acquaintance with 
 Nimfodora Semyonovna; on mature considera- 
 tion of everything, I am bound to add that for 
 that circumstance, too, I shall owe a debt of 
 gratitude to my friend Tresor to the hour of 
 my death. 
 
 "Well, I had the carriage brought round, 
 put my Tresor in and drove home. When I 
 got home I looked him over and washed his 
 wounds, and thought I would take him next 
 day as soon as it was light to the wise man 
 in the Yefremovsky district. And this wise 
 man was an old peasant, a wonderful man: 
 245 
 
/ 
 
 KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 he would whisper over some water — and some 
 people made out that he dropped some snake 
 spittle into it — would give it as a draught, and 
 the trouble would be gone completely. I 
 thought, by the way, I would be bled myself at 
 Yefremovo: it's a good thing as a precaution 
 against fright, only not from the arm, of course, 
 but from the falcon." 
 
 "What place is that, the falcon?" Mr. Fino- 
 
 plentov asked with demure curiosity. 
 
 - j^ "Why, don't you know? It is here on the 
 
 J fist near the thumb, the spot on which one 
 
 t* shakes the snuff from one's horn, just here. 
 
 \) It's the best place for letting blood. For only 
 
 ,\ consider, the blood from the arm comes from 
 
 X V ^ the vein, but here it is of no consequence. The 
 
 sf doctors don't know that and don't understand 
 
 it, how should they, the idle drones, {the 
 
 V wretched Germans ? h It's the blacksmiths who 
 
 go in for it. And aren't they skilful! They 
 
 get a chisel, give it a tap with a hammer and 
 
 it's done! . . . Well, while I was thinking it 
 
 over, it got quite dark, it was time for bed. 
 
 I went to bed and Tresor, of course, was close 
 
 by me. But whether it was from the fight, 
 
 246 
 
THE DOG 
 
 from the stuffiness, from the fleas or from my 
 thoughts, 1 could not get to sleep, do what I 
 would! I can't describe the depression that 
 came over me; I sipped water, opened the win- 
 dow and played the 'Kamarinsky' with Italian 
 variations on the guitar. . . . No good ! I felt 
 I must get out of the room — and that was all 
 about it! I made up my mind at last: I took 
 my pillow, my quilt and my sheet and made 
 my way across the garden to the hayloft; and 
 settled myself there. And how pleasant I felt 
 in there, gentlemen: it was a still, still night, 
 only from time to time a breath of air like a 
 woman's hand caressed one's cheek; it was so 
 fresh; the hay smelt as sweet as tea; among 
 the apple trees the grasshoppers were chirp- 
 ing; then all at once came the cry of the quail 
 — and one felt that he, too, the rogue, was 
 happy, sitting in the dew with his little lady. 
 . . . And the sky was magnificent. . . . The 
 stars were glowing, or a cloud would float by, 
 white as cotton wool, scarcely moving. . . ." 
 
 At this point in the story Skvorevitch 
 sneezed; Kinarevitch sneezed, too — he never 
 failed in anything to follow his colleague's ex- 
 247 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 ample. Anton Stepanitch looked approvingly 
 at both of them. 
 
 "Well/' Porfiry Kapitonitch went on, "well, 
 so I lay there and again could not go to sleep. 
 I fell to musing, and what I thought of most 
 was the strangeness of it all: how correctly 
 Prohoritch had explained it as a warning and 
 I wondered why it was to me such marvels 
 had happened. ... I marvelled — particularly 
 because I could make nothing of it — and Tresor 
 kept whining, as he twisted round in the hay; 
 his wounds hurt him. And I will tell you 
 what else prevented me from sleeping — you 
 won't believe it — the moon. It was just facing 
 me, so big and round and yellow and flat, and it 
 seemed to me that it was staring at me, it 
 really did. And so insolently, so persistently. 
 ... I put out my tongue at it at last, I really 
 did. What are you so inquisitive about? I 
 thought. I turned away from it and it seemed 
 to be creeping into my ear and shining on the 
 back of my head, so that I felt caught in it 
 as in rain; I opened my eyes and every blade 
 of grass, every paltry being in the hay, the most 
 flimsy spider's web — all were standing out as 
 248 
 
THE DOG 
 
 though they were chiselled ! As though asking 
 to be looked at! There was no help for it: 
 I leaned my head on my hand and began gaz- 
 ing. And I couldn't help it: would you be- 
 lieve it: my eyes bulged out like a hare's; they 
 opened so wide — as though they did not know 
 what sleep was! It seemed as though I would 
 devour it all with my eyes. The doors of the 
 barn were wide open; I could see for four 
 miles into the open country, distinctly and yet 
 not, as it always is on a moonlight night. I 
 gazed and gazed without blinking. . . . And 
 all at once it seemed as though something were 
 moving, far, far away . . . like a faint glim- 
 mer in the distance. A little time passed : again 
 the shadow stirred — now a little nearer; then 
 again nearer still. 'What can it be?' I won- 
 dered, *a hare, no,' I thought, 'it is bigger than 
 a hare and its action is not the same.' I looked, 
 and again the shadow came in sight, and was 
 moving across the grazing meadow (the meadow 
 looked whitish in the moonlight) Hke a big 
 blur; it was clear that it was a wild animal, 
 a fox or a wolf. My heart seemed to stand 
 still . . . though one might wonder why I was 
 249 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 frightened. All sorts of wild creatures run 
 about the fields at night. But curiosity was 
 even stronger than fear. I sat up, I opened 
 my eyes wide and I turned cold all over. I 
 felt frozen, as though I had been thrust into 
 the ice, up to my ears, and why? The Lord 
 only knows! And I saw the shadow growing 
 and growing, so it was running straight towards 
 the barn. And I began to realise that it cer- 
 tainly was a wild beast, big, with a huge head. 
 . . . He flew Hke a whirlwind, like a bullet. 
 . . . Holy saints ! what was it ? He stopped 
 all at once, as though he scented something. 
 . . . Why it was . . . the same mad dog! It 
 was ... it was ! Heavens ! And I could not 
 stir, I could not cry out. ... It darted to the 
 doors, with glittering eyes, howled and dashed 
 through the hay straight at me! 
 
 "Out of the hay like a lion leapt my Tresor, 
 here he was. They hung on to each other's 
 jaws and rolled on the ground. What hap- 
 pened then I don't remember; all I remember 
 is that I flew headlong between them into the 
 garden, and home and into my bedroom and 
 almost crept under the bed — why not make a 
 250 
 
THE DOG 
 
 clean breast of it? And what leaps, what 
 bounds I took in the garden! The premiere 
 damseuse dancing before the Emperor Na- 
 poleon on his nameday couldn't have kept 
 pace with me. However, when I had recov- 
 ered myself a little, I roused the whole house- 
 hold ; I ordered them all to arm themselves, 
 I myself took a sword and a revolver (I bought ^ 
 that revolver, I must own, soon after the <y 
 emancipation, you know, in case anything 
 should happen, but it turned out the man who 
 sold it was such a rogue — it would be sure to 
 miss fire twice out of every three shots). Well, 
 I took all this and so we went, a regular horde 
 of us with stakes and lanterns, to the barn. 
 We approached and called — there was not a 
 sound ; at last we went into the barn. . . . And 
 what did we see? (My poor Tresor lay dead 
 with his throat torn openj and of the other, the 
 damned brute, not a trace'to be seen ! 
 
 "And then, gentlemen, I howled like a calf 
 and I am not ashamed to say so; I stooped 
 down to the friend who had saved my life 
 twice over and kissed his head, again and again. 
 And I stayed in that position until my old 
 251 
 
[ 
 
 KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 housekeeper, Praskovya )(she, too, had run 
 in at the uproar), brought me to my senses. 
 *How can you, Porfiry Kapitonitch,' she said, 
 'distress yourself so about a dog? And you 
 will catch cold, too, God forbid.' (I was very 
 lightly clad.) 'And if this dog has lost his life 
 in saving you, it may be taken as a great bless- 
 ing vouchsafed him !' 
 
 "Though I did not agree with Praskovya, I 
 went home. And next day a soldier of the 
 garrison shot the mad dog. And it must have 
 been its destined end: tt was the first time in 
 his life that the soldier had fired a gun, though 
 he had a medal for service in 1812. j So this 
 was the supernatural incident that happened to 
 me." 
 
 The speaker ceased and began filling his 
 pipe. We all looked at each other in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 "Well, perhaps, you have led a very virtuous 
 life," Mr. Finoplentov began, "so in recom- 
 pense . . ." 
 
 But he broke off at that word, for he saw 
 Porfiry Kapitonitch's cheeks grow round and 
 flushed while his eyes screwed up — he was on 
 the point of breaking into a guffaw. 
 252 
 
THE DOG 
 
 "But if one admits the possibility of the 
 supernatural, the possibility of its participation 
 in everyday life, so to say," Anton Stepanitch 
 began again, "then allow me to ask, what be- 
 comes of common sense?" 
 
 None of us found anything to say in reply 
 and we remained in perplexity as before. 
 
 1866. 
 
 253 
 
THE WATCH 
 An Old Man's Story 
 
 I WILL tell you my adventures with a watch. 
 It is a curious story. 
 
 It happened at the very beginning of this 
 century, in 1801. I had just reached my six- 
 teenth year. I was living at Ryazan in a lit- 
 tle wooden house not far from the bank of the 
 river Oka with my father, my aunt and my 
 cousin; my mother I do not remember; she 
 died three years after her marriage ; my father 
 had no other children. His name was Porfiry 
 Petrovitch. He was a quiet man, skkly and 
 unattractive in appearance; he was employed 
 in some sort of legal and — other — business. In 
 old days such were called attorneys, sharpers, 
 nettle-seeds; he called himself a lawyer. Our 
 domestic life was presided over by his sister, 
 254 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 my aunt, an old maiden lady of fifty; my 
 father, too, had passed his fourth decade. My 
 aunt was very pious, or, to speak bluntly, she 
 was a canting hypocrite and a chattering mag- 
 pie, who poked her nose into everything; and, 
 indeed, she had not a kind heart like my father. 
 We were not badly off, but had nothing to 
 spare. My father had a brother called Yegor ; 
 but he had been sent to Siberia in the year 
 1797 for some "seditious acts and Jacobin 
 tendencies" (those were the words of the ac- 
 cusation). 
 
 Yegor's son David, my cousin, was left on 
 my father's hands and lived with us. He was 
 only one year older than I ; but I respected him 
 and obeyed him as though he were quite grown 
 up. He was a sensible fellow with character; 
 in appearance, thick-set and broad-shouldered 
 with a square face covered with freckles, with 
 red hair, small grey eyes, thick lips, a short 
 nose, and short fingers — a sturdy lad, in fact — 
 and strong for his age! My aunt could not 
 endure him; my father was positively afraid 
 of him ... or perhaps he felt himself to blame 
 towards him. There was a rumour that, if 
 my father had not given his brother away, 
 255 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 David's father would not have been sent to 
 Siberia. We were both at the high school and 
 in the same class and both fairly high up in 
 it; I was, indeed, a little better at my lessons 
 than David. I had a good memory but boys 
 — as we all know ! — do not think much of such 
 superiority, and David remained my leader. 
 
 II 
 
 My name — you know — is Alexey. I was 
 born on the seventh of March and my name- 
 day is the seventeenth. In accordance with the 
 old-fashioned custom, I was given the name 
 of the saint whose festival fell on the tenth 
 diy after my birth. My godfather was a cer- 
 tain Anastasy Anastasyevitch Putchkov, or 
 more exactly Nastasey Nastasyeitch, for that 
 was what everyone called him. He was a ter- 
 ribly shifty, pettifogging knave and bribe-taker 
 — a thoroughly bad man; he had been turned 
 out of the provincial treasury and had had to 
 stand his trial on more than one occasion; he 
 was often of use to my father. . . . They used 
 to "do business" together. In appearance he 
 was a round, podgy figure; and his face was 
 256 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 like a fox's with a nose like an owl's. His eyes 
 were brown, bright, also like a fox's, and he 
 was always moving them, those eyes, to right 
 and to left, and he twitched his nose, too, as 
 though he were sniffing the air. He wore shoes 
 without heels, and wore powder every day, 
 which was looked upon as very exceptional in 
 the provinces. He used to declare that he could 
 not go without powder as he had to associate 
 with generals and their ladies. Well, my name- 
 day had come. Nastasey Nastasyeitch came 
 to the house and said : 
 
 "I have never made you a present up to now, 
 godson, but to make up for that, look what a 
 fine thing I have brought you to-day." 
 
 And he took out of his pocket a silver watch, 
 a regular turnip, with a rose tree engraved on 
 the face and a brass chain. I was overwhelmed 
 with delight, while my aunt, Pelageya Pet- 
 rovna, shouted at the top of her voice : 
 
 "Kiss his hand, kiss his hand, dirty brat!" 
 
 I proceeded to kiss my godfather's hand, 
 while my aunt went piping on : 
 
 "Oh, Nastasey Nastasyeitch! Why do you 
 spoil him like this? How can he take care of 
 257 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 a watch? He will be sure to drcp it, break it, 
 or spoil it." 
 
 My father walked in, looked at the watch, 
 thanked Nastasey Nastasyeitch — somewhat 
 carelessly, and invited him to his study. And 
 I heard my father say, as though to himself: 
 
 "If you think to get off with that, my 
 man. . . ." But I could not stay still. I put 
 on the watch and rushed headlong to show my 
 present to David. 
 
 Ill 
 
 David took the watch, opened it and exam- 
 ined it attentively. He had great mechanical 
 ability; he liked having to do with iron, cop- 
 per, and metals of all sorts; he had provided 
 himself with various instruments, and it was 
 nothing for him to mend or even to make a 
 screw, a key or anything of that kind. 
 
 David turned the watch about in his hands 
 and muttering through his teeth (he was not 
 talkative as a rule) : 
 
 "Oh . . . poor . . ." added, "where did you 
 get it?" 
 
 I told him that my godfather had given it 
 me. 
 
 258 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 David turned his little grey eyes upon me: 
 
 "Nastasey?" 
 
 "Yes, Nastasey Nastasyeitch." 
 
 David laid the watch on the table and walked 
 away without a word. 
 
 "Do you like it?" I asked. 
 
 "Well, it isn't that. . . . But if I were you, 
 I would not take any sort of present from 
 Nastasey." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because he is a contemptible person; and 
 you ought not to be under an obligation to a 
 contemptible person. And to say thank you 
 to him, too. I suppose you kissed his hand?" 
 
 "Yes, Aunt made me." 
 
 David grinned — a peculiar grin — to himself. 
 That was his way. He never laughed aloud; 
 he considered laughter a sign of feebleness. 
 
 David's words, his silent grin, wounded me 
 deeply. "So he inwardly despises me," I 
 thought. "So I, too, am contemptible in his 
 eyes. He would never have stooped to this 
 himself ! He would not have accepted pres- 
 ents from Nastasey. But what am I to do 
 now ?" 
 
 Give back the watch? Impossible! 
 259 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 I did try to talk to David, to ask his advice. 
 He told me that he never gave advice to any- 
 one and that I had better do as I thought best. 
 As I thought best ! ! I remember I did not 
 sleep all night afterwards: I was in agonies of 
 indecision. I was sorry to lose the watch — I 
 had laid it on the little table beside my bed; 
 its ticking was so pleasant and amusing . . . 
 but to feel that David despised me (yes, it 
 was useless to deceive myself, he did despise 
 me) . . . that seemed to me unbearable. 
 Towards morning a determination had taken 
 shape in me ... I wept, it is true — but I fell 
 asleep upon it, and as soon as I woke up, I 
 dressed in haste and ran out into the street. 
 I had made up my mind to give my watch to the 
 first poor person I met. 
 
 IV 
 
 I had not run far from home when I hit upon 
 what I was looking for. I came across a bare- 
 legged boy of ten, a ragged urchin, who was 
 often hanging about near our house. I dashed 
 up to him at once and, without giving him 
 260 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 or myself time to recover, offered him my 
 watch. 
 
 The boy stared at me round-eyed, put one 
 hand before his mouth, as though he were 
 afraid of being scalded — and held out the other. 
 
 "Take it, take it," I muttered, ''it's mine, I 
 give it you, you can sell it, and buy yourself 
 . . . something you want. . . . Good-bye." 
 
 I thrust the watch into his hand — and went 
 home at a gallop. Stopping for a moment at 
 the door of our common bedroom to recover 
 my breath, I went up to David who had just 
 finished dressing and was combing his hair. 
 
 "Do you know what, David?" I said in as 
 unconcerned a tone as I could, "I have given 
 away Nastasey's watch." i 
 
 David looked at me and passed the brush 
 over his temples. 
 
 "Yes," I added in the same businesslike 
 voice, "I have given it away. There is a very 
 poor boy, a beggar, you know, so I have given 
 it to him." 
 
 David put down the brush on the washing- 
 stand. 
 
 "He can buy something useful," I went on, 
 261 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "with the money he can get for it. Anyway, 
 he will get something for it." 
 
 I paused. 
 
 "Well," David said at last, "that's a good 
 thing," and he went off to the schoolroom. I 
 followed him. 
 
 "And if they ask you what you have done 
 with it?" he said, turning to me. 
 
 "I shall tell them I've lost it," I answered 
 carelessly. 
 
 No more was said about the watch between 
 us that day; but I had the feeling that David 
 not only approved of what I had done but . . . 
 was to some extent surprised by it. He really 
 was! 
 
 Two days more passed. It happened that 
 no one in the house thought of the watch. 
 My father was taken up with a very serious 
 unpleasantness with one of his clients; he had 
 no attention to spare for me or my watch. 
 I, on the other hand, thought of it without ceas- 
 ing! Even the approval . . . the presumed ap- 
 proval of David did not quite comfort me. He 
 262 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 did not show it in any special way: the only 
 thing he said, and that casually, was that he 
 hadn't expected such recklessness of me. Cer- 
 tainly I was a loser by my sacrifice: it was not 
 counter-balanced by the gratification afforded 
 me by my vanity. 
 
 And what is more, as ill-luck would have 
 it, another schoolfellow of ours, the son of 
 the town doctor, must needs turn up and begin 
 boasting of a new watch, a present from his 
 grandmother, and not even a silver, but a pinch- 
 back one. . . . 
 
 I could not bear it, at last, and, without a 
 word to anyone, slipped out of the house and 
 proceeded to hunt for the beggar boy to whom 
 I had given my watch. 
 
 I soon found him; he was playing knuckle- 
 bones in the churchyard with some other boys. 
 I called him aside — and, breathless and stam- 
 mering, told him that my family were angry 
 with me for having given away the watch — 
 and that if he would consent to give it back to 
 me I would gladly pay him for it. . . . To be 
 ready for any emergency, I had brought with 
 me an old-fashioned rouble of the reign of 
 263 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 Elizabeth, which represented the whole of my 
 fortune. 
 
 "But I haven't got it, your watch," answered 
 the boy in an angry and tearful voice; "my 
 father saw it and took it away from me; and 
 he was for thrashing me, too. 'You must have 
 stolen it from somewhere,' he said. 'What fool 
 is going to make you a present of a watch?' " 
 
 "And who is your father?" 
 
 "My father? Trofimitch." 
 
 "But what is he? What's his trade?" 
 
 "He is an old soldier, a sergeant. And he 
 has no trade at all. He mends old shoes, he 
 re-soles them. That's all his trade. That's 
 what he lives by." 
 
 "Where do you live? Take me to him." 
 
 "To be sure I will. You tell my father that 
 you gave me the watch. For he keeps pitching 
 into me, and calling me a thief ! And my 
 mother, too. 'Who is it you are taking after,' 
 she says, 'to be a thief ?' " 
 
 I set off with the boy to his home. They 
 lived in a smoky hut in the back-yard of a fac- 
 tory, which had long ago been burnt down and 
 264 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 not rebuilt. We found both Trofimitch and 
 his wife at home. The discharged sergeant 
 was a tall old man, erect and sinewy, with yel- 
 lowish grey whiskers, an unshaven chin and 
 a perfect network of wrinkles on his cheeks 
 and forehead. His wife looked older than he. 
 Her red eyes, which looked buried in her un- 
 healthily puffy face, kept blinking dejectedly. 
 Some sort of dark rags hung about them byf 
 way of clothes. | 
 
 I explained to Trofimitch what I wanted 
 and why I had come. He listened to me in si- 
 lence without once winking or moving from 
 me his stupid and strained — typically soldierly 
 — eyes. 
 
 "Whims and fancies!" he brought out at 
 last in a husky, toothless bass. "Is that the 
 way gentlemen behave? And if Petka really 
 did not steal the watch — then I'll give him one 
 for that ! To teach him not to play the fool 
 with little gentlemen ! And if he did steal it, 
 then I would give it to him in a very different 
 style, whack, whack, whack! With the flat 
 of a sword ; in horseguard's fashion ! No need 
 265 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 to think twice about it! What's the meaning 
 of it? Eh? Go for them with sabres ! Here's 
 a nice business ! Tf oo !" 
 
 This last interjection Trofimitch pronounced 
 in a falsetto. He was obviously perplexed. 
 
 "H you are willing to restore the watch to 
 me," I explained to him — I did not dare to 
 address him familiarly in spite of his being 
 a soldier — "I will with pleasure pay you this 
 rouble here. The watch is not worth more, I 
 imagine." 
 
 "Well !" growled Trofimitch, still amazed 
 and, from old habit, devouring me with his eyes 
 as though I were his superior officer. "It's a 
 queer business, eh? Well, there it is, no 
 understanding it. Ulyana, hold your tongue!" 
 he snapped out at his wife who was opening 
 her mouth. "Here's the watch," he added, 
 opening the table drawer ; "if it really is yours, 
 take it by all means; but what's the rouble 
 for? Eh?" 
 
 "Take the rouble, Trofimitch, you senseless 
 
 man," wailed his wife. "You have gone crazy 
 
 in your old age! We have not a half-rouble 
 
 between us, and then you stand on your dig- 
 
 266 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 nity! It was no good their cutting off your 
 pigtail, you are a regular old woman just the 
 same ! How can you go on like that — when you 
 know nothing about it? . . . Take the money, 
 if you have a fancy to give back the watch!" 
 
 "Ulyana, hold your tongue, you dirty slut!" 
 Trofimitch repeated. ''Whoever heard of 
 such a thing, talking away? Eh? The hus- 
 band is the head; and yet she talks! Petka, 
 don't budge, I'll kill you. . . . Here's the 
 watch !" 
 
 Trofimitch held out the watch to me, but 
 did not let go of it. 
 
 He pondered, looked down, then fixed the 
 same intent, stupid stare upon me. Then all at 
 once bawled at the top of his voice: 
 
 "Where is it? Where's your rouble?" 
 
 "Here it is, here it is," I responded hur- 
 riedly and I snatched the coin out of my pocket. 
 
 But he did not take it, he still stared at me. 
 I laid the rouble on the table. He suddenly 
 brushed it into the drawer, thrust the watch 
 into my hand and wheeling to the left with a 
 loud stamp, he hissed at his wife and his son: 
 
 "Get along, you low wretches!" 
 267 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 Ulyana muttered something, but I had al- 
 ready dashed out into the yard and into the 
 street. Thrusting the watch to the very bottom 
 of my pocket and clutching it tightly in my 
 hand, I hurried home. 
 
 VI 
 
 I had regained the possession of my watch 
 but it afforded me no satisfaction whatever. 
 I did not venture to wear it, it was above all 
 necessary to conceal from David what I had 
 done. What would he think of me, of my 
 lack of will? I could not even lock up the 
 luckless watch in a drawer: we had all our 
 drawers in common. I had to hide it, some- 
 times on the top of the cupboard, sometimes 
 under my mattress, sometimes behind the stove. 
 . . . And yet I did not succeed in hoodwinking 
 David. 
 
 One day I took the watch from under a 
 plank in the floor of our room and proceeded 
 to- rub the silver case with an old chamois 
 leather glove. David had gone off somewhere 
 in the town; I did not at all expect him to be 
 back quickly. . . . Suddenly he was in the 
 doorway. 
 
 268 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 I was so overcome that I almost dropped the 
 watch, and, utterly disconcerted, my face pain- 
 fully flushing crimson, I fell to fumbling about 
 my waistcoat with it, unable to find my pocket. 
 
 David looked at me and, as usual, smiled 
 without speaking. 
 
 "What's the matter?" he brought out at last. 
 "You imagined I didn't know you had your 
 watch again ? I saw it the very day you brought 
 it back." 
 
 "I assure you," I began, almost on the point 
 of tears. . . . 
 
 David shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "The watch is yours, you are free to do what 
 you like with it." 
 
 Saying these cruel words, he went out. 
 
 I was overwhelmed with despair. This time 
 there could be no doubt ! David certainly de- 
 spised me. 
 
 I could not leave it so. 
 
 *T will show him," I thought, clenching my 
 teeth, and at once with a firm step I went into 
 the passage, found our page-boy, Yushka, and 
 presented him with the watch ! 
 
 Yushka would have refused it, but I de- 
 clared that if he did not take the watch from 
 269 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 me I would smash it that very minute, trample 
 it under foot, break it to bits and throw it in 
 the cesspool! He thought a moment, giggled, 
 and took the watch. I went back to our room 
 and seeing David reading there, I told him 
 what I had done. 
 
 David did not take his eyes off the page and, 
 again shrugging his shoulder and smiling to 
 himself, repeated that the watch was mine and 
 that I was free to do what I liked with it. 
 
 But it seemed to me that he already despised 
 me a little less. 
 
 I was fully persuaded that I should never 
 again expose myself to the reproach of weak- 
 ness of character, for the watch, the disgusting 
 present from my disgusting godfather, had 
 suddenly grown so distasteful to me that I 
 was quite incapable of understanding how I 
 could have regretted it, how I could have begged 
 for it back from the wretched Trofimitch, 
 who had, moreover, the right to think that he 
 had treated me with generosity. 
 
 Several days passed. ... I remember that 
 on one of them the great news reached our 
 town that the Emperor Paul was dead and his 
 270 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 son Alexandr, of whose graciousncbs and hu- 
 manity there were such favourable rumours, 
 had ascended the throne. This news excited 
 David intensely: the possibility of seeing — of 
 shortly seeing — his father occurred to him at 
 once. My father was delighted, too. 
 
 "They will bring back all the exiles from 
 Siberia now and I expect brother Yegor will 
 not be forgotten," he kept repeating, rubbing 
 his hands, coughing and, at the same time, seem- 
 ing rather nervous. 
 
 David and I at once gave up working and 
 going to the high school; we did not even go 
 for walks but sat in a corner counting and 
 reckoning in how many months, in how many 
 weeks, in how many days "brother Yegor" 
 ought to come back and where to write to him 
 and how to go to meet him and in what way 
 we should begin to live afterwards. "Brother 
 Yegor" was an architect: David and I decided 
 that he ought to settle in Moscow and there 
 build big schools for poor people and we would 
 go to be his assistants. The watch, of course, 
 we had completely forgotten; besides, David 
 had new cares. ... Of them I will speak later, 
 271 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 but the watch was destined to remind us of 
 its existence again. 
 
 vn 
 
 One morning we had only just finished lunch 
 — I was sitting alone by the window thinking 
 of my uncle's release — outside there was the 
 steam and glitter of an April thaw — when all 
 at once my aunt, Pelageya Petrovna, walked 
 into the room. She was at all times restless 
 and fidgetty, she spoke in a shrill voice and 
 was always waving her arms about; on this 
 occasion she simply pounced on me. 
 
 "Go along, go to your father at once, sir!" 
 she snapped out. "What pranks have you been 
 up to, you shameless boy! You will catch it, 
 both of you. Nastasey Nastasyeitch has shown 
 up all your tricks ! Go along, your father wants 
 you. ... Go along this very minute." 
 
 Understanding nothing, I followed my aunt, 
 and, as I crossed the threshold of the drawing- 
 room, I saw my father, striding up and down 
 and ruffling up his hair, Yushka in tears by 
 the door and, sitting on a chair in the corner, 
 my godfather, Nastasey Nastasyeitch, with an 
 272 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 expression of peculiar malignancy in his dis- 
 tended nostrils and in his fiery, slanting eyes. 
 
 My father swooped down upon me as soon 
 as I walked in. 
 
 "Did you give your watch to Yushka? Tell 
 mer 
 
 I glanced at Yushka. 
 
 "Tell me," repeated my father, stamping. 
 
 "Yes," I answered, and immediately received 
 a stinging slap in the face, which afforded my 
 aunt great satisfaction. I heard her gulp, as 
 though she had swallowed some hot tea. From 
 me my father ran to Yushka. 
 
 "And you, you rascal, ought not to have 
 dared to accept such a present," he said, pulling 
 him by the hair : "and you sold it, too, you good- 
 for-nothing boy !" 
 
 Yushka, as I learned later had, in the sim- 
 plicity of his heart, taken my watch to a neigh- 
 bouring watchmaker's. The watchmaker had 
 displayed it in his shop-window ; Nastasey Nas- 
 tasyeitch had seen it, as he passed by, bought 
 it and brought it along with him. 
 
 However, my ordeal and Yushka's did not 
 last long: my father gasped for breath, and 
 273 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 coughed till he choked; indeed, it was not in 
 his character to be angry long. 
 
 "Brother, Porfiry Petrovitch," observed my 
 aunt, as soon as she noticed not without regret 
 that my father's anger had, so to speak, flickered 
 out, "don't you worry yourself further : it's not 
 worth dirtying your hands over. I tell you what 
 I suggest : with the consent of our honoured 
 friend, Nastasey Nastasyeitch, in consideration 
 of the base ingratitude of your son — I will take 
 charge of the watch; and since he has shown 
 by his conduct that he is not worthy to wear 
 it and does not even understand its value, I 
 will present it in your name to a person who 
 will be very sensible of your kindness." 
 
 "Whom do you mean?" asked my father. 
 
 "To Hrisanf Lukitch," my aunt articulated, 
 with slight hesitation. 
 
 "To Hrisashka?" asked my father, and with 
 a wave of his hand, he added: "It's all one 
 to me. You can throw it in the stove, if you 
 like." 
 
 He buttoned up his open vest and went out, 
 writhing from his coughing. 
 
 "And you, my good friend, do you agree?" 
 274 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 said my aunt, addressing Nastasey Nastasye- 
 itch. 
 
 "I am quite agreeable," responded the lat- 
 ter. During the whole proceedings he had not 
 stirred and only snorting stealthily and stealth- 
 ily rubbing the ends of his fingers, had fixed 
 his foxy eyes by turns on me, on my father, 
 and on Yushka. We afforded him real grati- 
 fication ! 
 
 My aunt's suggestion revolted me to the 
 depths of my soul. It was not that I re- 
 gretted the watch ; but the person to whom she 
 proposed to present it was absolutely hateful 
 to me. This Hrisanf Lukitch (his surname 
 was Trankvillitatin), a stalwart, robust, lanky 
 divinity student, was in the habit of com- 
 ing to our house — goodness knows what for! 
 — to help the children with their lessons, my 
 aunt asserted; but he could not help us with 
 our lessons because he had never learnt any- 
 thing himself and was as stupid as a horse. He 
 was rather like a horse altogether : he thudded 
 with his feet as though they had been hoofs, did 
 not laugh but neighed, opening his jaws till 
 you could see right down his throat — and he 
 275 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 had a long face, a hooked nose and big, flat 
 jaw-bones; he wore a shaggy frieze, full- 
 skirted coat, and smelt of raw meat. My aunt 
 idolised him and called him a good-looking man, 
 a cavalier and even a grenadier. He had a 
 habit of tapping children on the forehead with 
 the nails of his long fingers, hard as stones 
 (he used to do it to me when I was younger), 
 and as he tapped he would chuckle and say 
 with surprise: "How your head resounds, it 
 must be empty." And this lout was to possess 
 
 my watch ! No, indeed, I determined in my 
 
 own mind as I ran out of the drawing-room and 
 flung myself on my bed, while my cheek glowed 
 crimson from the slap I had received and my 
 heart, too, was aglow with the bitterness of the 
 insult and the thirst for revenge — no, indeed! 
 I would not allow that cursed Hrisashka to 
 jeer at me. ... He would put on the watch, 
 let the chain hang over his stomach, would 
 neigh with delight ; no, indeed ! 
 
 "Quite so, but how was it to be done, how 
 to prevent it?" 
 
 I determined to steal the watch from my 
 aunt. 
 
 276 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 VIII 
 
 Luckily Trankvillitatin was away from the 
 town at the time: he could not come to us be- 
 fore the next day; I must take advantage of 
 the night! My aunt did not lock her bedroom 
 door and, indeed, none of the keys in the house 
 would turn in the locks; but where would she 
 put the watch, where would she hide it? She 
 kept it in her pocket till the evening and even 
 took it out and looked at it more than once; 
 but at night — where would it be at night? — 
 Well, that was just my work to find out, I 
 thought, shaking my fists. 
 
 I was burning with boldness and terror and 
 joy at the thought of the approaching crime. 
 I was continually nodding to myself; I knitted 
 my brows. I whispered: "Wait a bit!" I 
 threatened someone, I was wicked, I was dan- 
 gerous . . . and I avoided David ! — no one, not 
 even he, must have the slightest suspicion of 
 what I meant to do. . . . 
 
 I would act alone and alone I would answer 
 for it! 
 
 Slowly the day lagged by, then the evening, 
 277 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 at last the night came. I did nothing; I even 
 tried not to move : one thought was stuck in 
 my head Hke a nail. At dinner my father, who 
 was, as I have said, naturally gentle, and who 
 was a little ashamed of his harshness — boys 
 of sixteen are not slapped in the face — tried 
 to be affectionate to me; but I rejected his 
 overtures, not from slowness to forgive, as he 
 imagined at the time, but simply that I was 
 afraid of my feelings getting the better of me; 
 I wanted to preserve untouched all the heat of 
 my vengeance, all the hardness of unalterable 
 determination. I went to bed very early; but 
 of course I did not sleep and did not even shut 
 my eyes, but on the contrary opened them wide, 
 though I did pull the quilt over my head. I 
 did not consider beforehand how to act. I 
 had no plan of any kind; I only waited till 
 everything should be quiet in the house. I only 
 took one step: I did not remove my stockings. 
 My aunt's room was on the second floor. One 
 had to pass through the dining-room and the 
 hall, go up the stairs, pass along a little pas- 
 sage and there ... on the right was the door ! 
 I must not on any account take with me a can- 
 278 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 die or a lantern; in the corner of my aunt's 
 room a little lamp was always burning before 
 the ikon shrine; I knew that. So I should be 
 able to see. I still lay with staring eyes and 
 my mouth open and parched; the blood was 
 throbbing in my temples, in my ears, in my 
 throat, in my back, all over me ! I waited . . . 
 but it seemed as though some demon were 
 mocking me; time passed and passed but still 
 silence did not reign. 
 
 IX 
 
 Never, I thought, had David been so late 
 getting to sleep. . . . David, the silent David, 
 even began talking to me! Never had they 
 gone on so long banging, talking, walking 
 about the house! And what could they be 
 talking about ? I wondered ; as though they had 
 not had the whole day to talk in ! Sounds out- 
 side persisted, too ; first a dog barked on a shrill, 
 obstinate note; then a drunken peasant was 
 making an uproar somewhere and would not 
 be pacified; then gates kept creaking; then a 
 wretched cart on racketty wheels kept passing 
 and passing and seeming as though it would 
 279 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 never pass! However, these sounds did not 
 worry me : on the contrary, I was glad of them ; 
 they seemed to distract my attention. But now 
 at last it seemed as though all were tranquil. 
 Only the pendulum of our old clock ticked 
 gravely and drowsily in the dining-room and 
 there was an even drawn-out sound like the 
 hard breathing of people asleep. I was on the 
 point of getting up, then again something rus- 
 tled . . . then suddenly sighed, something soft 
 fell down . . . and a whisper glided along the 
 walls. 
 
 Or was there nothing of the sort — and was 
 it only imagination mocking me? 
 
 At last all was still. It was the very heart, 
 the very dead of night. The time had come! 
 Chill with anticipation, I threw off the bed- 
 clothes, let my feet down to the floor, stood up 
 . . . one step; a second. ... I stole along, my 
 feet, heavy as though they did not belong to me, 
 trod feebly and uncertainly. Stay! what was 
 that sound? Someone sawing, somewhere, or 
 scraping ... or sighing? I listened ... I felt 
 my cheeks twitching and cold watery tears 
 came into my eyes. Nothing! ... I stole on 
 280 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 again. It was dark but I knew the way. All 
 at once I stumbled against a chair. . . . What 
 a bang and how it hurt ! It hit me just on 
 my leg. ... I stood stock still. Well, did that 
 wake them? Ah! here goes! Suddenly I felt 
 bold and even spiteful. On! On! Now the 
 dining-room was crossed, then the door was 
 groped for and opened at one swing. The 
 cursed hinge squeaked, bother it ! Then I went 
 up the stairs, one! two! one! two! A step 
 creaked under my foot; I looked at it spite- 
 fully, just as though I could see it. Then I 
 stretched for the handle of another door. This 
 one made not the slightest sound ! It flew open 
 so easily, as though to say, "Pray walk in." . . . 
 And now I was in the corridor! 
 
 In the corridor there was a little window 
 high up under the ceiling, a faint light filtered 
 in through the dark panes. And in that glim- 
 mer of light I could see our little errand girl 
 lying on the floor on a mat, both arms behind 
 her tousled head ; she was sound asleep, breath- 
 ing rapidly and the fatal door was just behind 
 her head. I stepped across the mat, across the 
 girl . . . who opened that door? ... I don't 
 281 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 know, but there I was in my aunt's room. 
 There was the little lamp in one corner and the 
 bed in the other and my aunt in her cap and 
 night jacket on the bed with her face towards 
 me. She was asleep, she did not stir, I could 
 not even hear her breathing. The flame of the 
 little lamp softly flickered, stirred by the 
 draught of fresh air, and shadows stirred all 
 over the room, even over the motionless wax- 
 like yellow face of my aunt. . . . 
 
 And there was the watch ! It was hanging 
 on a little embroidered cushion on the wall 
 behind the bed. What luck, only think of it! 
 Nothing to delay me! But whose steps were 
 those, soft and rapid behind my back? Oh! 
 no ! it was my heart beating ! . . . I moved my 
 lep-s forward. . . . Good God I something round 
 and rather large pushed against me below my 
 knee, once and again ! I was ready to scream, I 
 was ready to drop with horror. ... A striped 
 cat, our own cat, was standing before me arch- 
 ing his back and wagging his tail. Then he 
 leapt on the bed — softly and heavily — turned 
 round and sat without purring, exactly like a 
 judge; he sat and looked at me with his golden 
 282 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 pupils. "Puss, puss/' I whispered, hardly audi- 
 bly. I bent across my aunt, I had already 
 snatched the watch. She suddenly sat up and 
 opened her eyelids wide. . . . Heavenly Father, 
 what next? . . . but her eyelids quivered and 
 closed and with a faint murmur her head sank 
 on the pillow. 
 
 A minute later I was back again in my own 
 room, in my own bed and the watch was in 
 my hands. . . . 
 
 More lightly than a feather I flew back! 
 I was a fine fellow, I was a thief, I was a hero, 
 I was gasping with delight, I was hot, I was 
 gleeful — I wanted to wake David at once to 
 tell him all about it — and, incredible as it 
 sounds, I fell asleep and slept like the dead ! At 
 last I opened my eyes. ... It was light in the 
 room, the sun had risen. Luckily no one was 
 awake yet. I jumped up as though I had been 
 scalded, woke David and told him all about it. 
 He Hstened, smiled. '*Do you know what?" he 
 said to me at last, "let's bury the silly watch in 
 the earth, so that it may never be seen again." I 
 thought his idea best of all. In a few minutes 
 we were both dressed; we ran out into the 
 283 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 orchard behind our house and under an old 
 apple tree in a deep hole, hurriedly scooped out 
 in the soft, springy earth with David's big knife, 
 my godfather's hated present was hidden for- 
 ever, so that it never got into the hands of the 
 disgusting Trankvillitatin after all! We 
 stamped down the hole, strewed rubbish over it 
 and, proud and happy, unnoticed by anyone, 
 went home again, got into our beds and slept 
 another hour or two — and such a light and 
 blissful sleep! 
 
 You can imagine the uproar there was that 
 morning, as soon as my aunt woke up and 
 missed the watch ! Her piercing shriek is ring- 
 ing in my ears to this day. "Help! Robbed! 
 Robbed!" she squealed, and alarmed the whole 
 household. She was furious, while David and 
 I only smiled to ourselves and sweet was our 
 smile to us. "Everyone, everyone must be well 
 thrashed!" bawled my aunt. "The watch has 
 been stolen from under my head, from under 
 my pillow !" We were prepared for anything, 
 284 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 we expected trouble. . . . But contrary to our 
 expectations we did not get into trouble at all. 
 My father certainly did fume dreadfully at 
 first, he even talked of the police; but I sup- 
 pose he was bored with the enquiry of the day 
 before and suddenly, to my aunt's indescrib- 
 able amazement, he flew out not against us but 
 against her. 
 
 "You sicken me worse than a bitter radish, 
 Pelageya Petrovna," he shouted, "with your 
 watch. I don't want to hear any more about 
 it! It can't be lost by magic, you say, but 
 what's it to do with me? It may be magic for 
 all I care! Stolen from you? Well, good luck 
 to it then! What will Nastasey Nastasyeitch 
 say ? Damnation take him, your Nastasyeitch ! 
 I get nothing but annoyances and unpleasant- 
 ness from him! Don't dare to worry me 
 again ! Do you hear ?" 
 
 My father slammed the door and went off 
 to his own room. David and I did not at first 
 understand the allusion in his last words; but 
 afterwards we found out that my father was 
 just then violently indignant with my god- 
 
 28s 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 father, who had done him out of a profitable 
 job. So my aunt was left looking* a fool. She 
 almost burst with vexation, but there was no 
 help for it. She had to confine herself to re- 
 peating in a sharp whisper, twisting her mouth 
 in my direction whenever she passed me, 
 ''Thief, thief, robber, scoundrel." My aunt's 
 reproaches were a source of real enjoyment to 
 me. It was very agreeable, too, as I crossed 
 the flower-garden, to let my eye with assumed 
 indifference glide over the very spot where the 
 watch lay at rest under the apple-tree; and if 
 David were close at hand to exchange a mean- 
 ing grimace with him. . . . 
 
 My aunt tried setting Trankvillitatin upon 
 me; but I appealed to David. He told the 
 stalwart divinity student bluntly that he would 
 rip up his belly with a knife if he did not leave 
 me alone. . . . Trankvillitatin was frightened; 
 though, according to my aunt, he was a grena- 
 dier and a cavalier he was not remarkable for 
 valour. So passed five weeks. . . . But do you 
 imagine that the story of the watch ended there ? 
 No, it did not; only to continue my story I 
 286 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 must introduce a new character; and to intro- 
 duce that new character I must go back a little. 
 
 XI 
 
 My father had for many years been on very 
 friendly, even intimate terms with a retired gov- 
 ernment clerk called Latkin, a lame little man 
 in poor circumstances with queer, timid man- 
 ners, one of those creatures of whom it is com- 
 monly said that they are crushed by God Him- 
 self. Like my father and Nastasey, he was 
 engaged in the humbler class of legal work and 
 acted as legal adviser and agent. But possess- 
 ing neither a presentable appearance nor the 
 gift of words and having little confidence in 
 himself, he did not venture to act independently 
 but attached himself to my father. His hand- 
 writing was "regular beadwork," he knew the 
 law thoroughly and had mastered all the in- 
 tricacies of the jargon of petitions and legal 
 documents. He had managed various cases 
 with my father and had shared with him gains 
 and losses and it seemed as though nothing 
 could shake their friendship, and yet it broke 
 287 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 down in one day and forever. My father 
 quarrelled with his colleague for good. If 
 Latkin had snatched a profitable job from my 
 father, after the fashion of Nastasey, who re- 
 placed him later on, my father would have 
 been no more indignant with him than with 
 Nastasey, probably less. But Latkin, under the 
 influence of an unexplained, incomprehensible 
 feeling, envy, greed — or perhaps even a mo- 
 mentary fit of honesty — "gave away" my father, 
 betrayed him to their common client, a wealthy 
 young merchant, opening this careless young 
 man's eyes to a certain — well, piece of sharp 
 practice, destined to bring my father consider- 
 able profit. It was not the money loss, how- 
 ever great — no — but the betrayal that wounded 
 and infuriated my father; he could not forgive 
 treachery. 
 
 "So he sets himself up for a saint!'' he re- 
 peated, trembling all over with anger, his teeth 
 chattering as though he were in a fever. I 
 happened to be in the room and was a witness 
 of this ugly scene. "Good. Amen, from to- 
 day. It's all over between us. There's the 
 ikon and there's the door ! Neither you in my 
 288 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 house nor I in yours. You are too honest for 
 us. How can we keep company with you? 
 But may you have no house nor home!" 
 
 It was in vain that Latkin entreated my father 
 and bowed down before him; it was in vain 
 that he tried to explain to him what filled his 
 own soul with painful perplexity. "You know 
 it was with no sort of profit to myself, Porfiry 
 Petrovitch," he faltered: "why, I cut my own 
 throat!" My father remained implacable. 
 Latkin never set foot in our house again. Fate 
 itself seemed determined to carry out my 
 father's last cruel words. Soon after the rup- 
 ture (which took place two years before the 
 beginning of my story), Latkin's wife, who had, 
 it is true, been ill for a long time, died; his 
 second daughter, a child three years old, be- 
 came deaf and dumb in one day from terror; 
 a swarm of bees had settled on her head; Lat- 
 kin himself had an apoplectic stroke and sank 
 into extreme and hopeless poverty. How he 
 struggled on, what he lived upon — it is hard to 
 imagine. He lived in a dilapidated hovel at no 
 great distance from our house. His elder 
 daughter Raissa lived with him and kept house, 
 289 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 so far as that was possible. This Raissa is the 
 character whom I must now introduce into our 
 story. 
 
 XII 
 
 When her father was on friendly terms with 
 mine, we used to see her continually. She 
 would sit with us for hours at a time, either 
 sewing, or spinning with her delicate, rapid, 
 clever fingers. She was a well-made, rather 
 thin girl, with intelligent brown eyes and a long, 
 white, oval face. She talked little but sensibly 
 in a soft, musical voice, barely opening her 
 mouth and not showing her teeth. When she 
 laughed — which happened rarely and never 
 lasted long — they were all suddenly displayed, 
 big and white as almonds. I remember her 
 gait, too, light, elastic, with a little skip at each 
 step. It always seemed to me that she was 
 going down a flight of steps, even when she was 
 walking on level ground. She held herself 
 erect with her arms folded tightly over her 
 bosom. And whatever she was doing, what- 
 ever she undertook, if she were only threading 
 a needle or ironing a petticoat — the effect was 
 290 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 always beautiful and somehow — you may not 
 believe it — touching. Her Christian name was 
 Raissa, but we used to call her Blacklip: she 
 had on her upper lip a birthmark ; a little dark- 
 bluish spot, as though she had been eating black- 
 berries ; but that did not spoil her : on the con- 
 trary. She was just a year older than David. 
 I cherished for her a feeling akin to respect, but 
 we were not great friends. But between her 
 and David a friendship had sprung up, a 
 strange, unchildlike but good friendship. They 
 somehow suited each other. 
 
 Sometimes they did not exchange a word for 
 hours together, but both felt that they were 
 happy and happy because they were together. 
 I had never met a girl like her, really. There 
 was something attentive and resolute about her, 
 something honest and mournful and charm- 
 ing. I never heard her say anything very in- 
 telligent, but I never heard her say anything 
 commonplace, and I have never seen more in- 
 telligent eyes. After the rupture between her 
 family and mine I saw her less frequently : my 
 father sternly forbade my visiting the Latkins, 
 and she did not appear in our house again. 
 291 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 But I met her in the street, in church and 
 Black-Hp always aroused in me the same feel- 
 ing — respect and even some wonder, rather than 
 pity. She bore her misfortunes very well in- 
 deed. "The girl is flint," even coarse-witted, 
 Trankvillitatin said about her once, but really 
 she ought to have been pitied: her face ac- 
 quired a careworn, exhausted expression, her 
 eyes were hollow and sunken, a burden beyond 
 her strength lay on her young shoulders. David 
 saw her much oftener than I did; he used to 
 go to their house. My father gave him up 
 in despair : he knew that David would not obey 
 him, anyway. And from time to time Raissa 
 would appear at the hurdle fence of our gar- 
 den which looked into a lane and there have 
 an interview with David ; she did not come for 
 the sake of conversation, but told him of 
 some new difficulty or trouble and asked his 
 advice. The paralysis that had attacked Lat- 
 kin was of a rather peculiar kind. His arms 
 and legs had grown feeble, but he had not 
 lost the use of them, and his brain indeed 
 worked perfectly; but his speech was muddled 
 and instead of one word he would pronounce 
 292 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 another: one had to guess what it was he 
 wanted to say. . . . "Tchoo — tchoo — tchoo," 
 he would stammer with an effort — he began 
 every sentence with "Tchoo — tchoo — tchoo, 
 some scissors, some scissors," . . . and the 
 word scissors meant bread. . . . My father, he 
 hated with all the strength left him — he attrib- 
 uted all his misfortunes to my father's curse 
 and called him alternately the butcher and the 
 diamond-merchant. 'Tchoo, tchoo, don't you 
 dare to go to the butcher's, Vassilyevna." This 
 was what he called his daughter though his 
 own name was Martinyan. Every day he be- 
 came more exacting; his needs increased. . . . 
 And how were those needs to be satisfied? 
 Where could the money be found? Sorrow 
 soon makes one old: but it was horrible to 
 hear some words on the lips of a girl of seven- 
 teen. 
 
 XIII 
 
 I remember I happened to be present at a 
 conversation with David over the fence, on the 
 very day of her mother's death. 
 
 "Mother died this morning at daybreak," she 
 293 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 said, first lcM>king round with her dark ex- 
 pressive eyes and then fixing them on the 
 ground. 
 
 "Cook undertook to get a coffin cheap but 
 she's not to he trusted; she may spend the 
 money on drink, even. You might come and 
 look after her, Davidushka, she's afraid of 
 you." 
 
 "I will come," answered David. '*I will see 
 to it. And how's your father?" 
 
 "He cries ; he says : 'you must spoil me, too.' 
 Spoil must mean bury. Now he has gone to 
 sleep." Raissa suddenly gave a deep sigh. 
 "Oh, Davidushka, Davidushka!" She passed 
 her half-clenched fist over her forehead and 
 her eyebrows, and the action was so bitter . . . 
 and as sincere and beautiful as all her actions. 
 
 "You must take care of yourself, though," 
 David observed ; "you haven't slept at all, I ex- 
 pect. . . . And what's the use of crying? It 
 doesn't help trouble." 
 
 "I have no time for crying," answered Raissa. 
 
 "That's a luxury for the rich, crying," ob- 
 served David. 
 
 Raissa was going, but she turned back. 
 
 "The yellow shawl's being sold, you know; 
 294 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 part of mother's dowry. They are giving us 
 twelve roubles; I think that is not much." 
 
 "It certainly is not much." 
 
 "We shouldn't sell it," Raissa said after a 
 brief pause, "but you see we must have money 
 for the funeral." 
 
 "Of course you must. Only you mustn't 
 spend money at random. Those priests are 
 awful! But I say, wait a minute. I'll come. 
 Are you going? I'll be with you soon. Good- 
 bye, darling." 
 
 "Good-bye, Davidushka, darling." 
 
 "Mind now, don't cry!" 
 
 "As though I should cry! It's either cook- 
 ing the dinner or crying. One or the other." 
 
 "What ! does she cook the dinner ?" I said 
 to David, as soon as Raissa was out of hear- 
 ing, "does she do the cooking herself?" 
 
 "Why, you heard that the cook has gone to 
 buy a coffin." 
 
 "She cooks the dinner," I thought, "and her 
 hands are always so clean and her clothes so 
 neat. ... I should Hke to see her there at work 
 in the kitchen. . . . She is an extraordinary 
 girl!" 
 
 I remember another conversation at the 
 295 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 fence. That time Raissa brought with her her 
 little deaf and dumb sister. She was a pretty 
 child with immense, astonished-looking eyes and 
 a perfect mass of dull, black hair on her little 
 head (Raissa's hair, too, was black and hers, 
 too, was without lustre). Latkin had by then 
 been struck down by paralysis. 
 
 "I really don't know what to do," Raissa be- 
 gan. "The doctor has written a prescription. 
 We must go to the chemist's ; and our peasant 
 (Latkin had still one serf) has brought us wood 
 from the village and a goose. And the porter 
 has taken it away, 'you are in debt to me,' he 
 said." 
 
 "Taken the goose?" asked David. 
 
 "No, not the goose. He says it is an old 
 one; it is no good for anything; he says that 
 is why our peasant brought it us, but he is 
 taking the wood." 
 
 "But he has no right to," exclaimed David. 
 
 "He has no right to, but he has taken it. I 
 went up to the garret, there we have got a very, 
 very old trunk. I began rummaging in it and 
 what do you think I found ? Look !" 
 296 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 She took from under her kerchief a rather 
 large field glass in a copper setting, covered 
 with morocco, yellow with age. David, as a 
 connoisseur of all sorts of instruments, seized 
 upon it at once. 
 
 "It's English," he pronounced, putting it first 
 to one eye and then to the other. "A marine 
 glass." 
 
 "And the glasses are perfect," Raissa went 
 on. "I showed it to father; he said, 'Take it 
 and pawn it to the diamond-merchant' ! What 
 do you think, would they give us anything for 
 it? What do we want a telescope for? To 
 look at ourselves in the looking-glass and see 
 what beauties we are? But we haven't a look- 
 ing-glass, unluckily." 
 
 And Raissa suddenly laughed aloud. Her 
 sister, of course, could not hear her. But most 
 likely she felt the shaking of her body: she 
 clung to Raissa's hand and her little face worked 
 with a look of terror as she raised her big eyes 
 to her sister and burst into tears. 
 
 "That's how she always is," said Raissa, "she 
 doesn't like one to laugh. 
 297 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "Come, I won't, Lyubotchka, I won't," she 
 added, nimbly squatting on her heels beside the 
 child and passing her fingers through her hair. 
 The laughter vanished from Raissa's face and 
 her lips, the corners of which twisted upwards 
 in a particularly charming way, became mo- 
 tionless again. The child was pacified. Raissa 
 got up. 
 
 "So you will do what you can, about the glass 
 I mean, Davidushka. But I do regret the wood, 
 and the goose, too, however old it may be." 
 
 "They would certainly give you ten roubles," 
 said David, turning the telescope in all direc- 
 tions. "I will buy it of you, what could be 
 better? And here, meanwhile, are fifteen ko- 
 pecks for the chemist's. ... Is that enough?" 
 
 "I'll borrow that from you," whispered 
 Raissa, taking the fifteen kopecks from him. 
 
 "What next? Perhaps you would like to 
 pay interest? But you see I have a pledge 
 here, a very fine thing. . . . First-rate people, 
 the English." 
 
 "They say we are going to war with them." 
 
 "No," answered David, "we are fighting the 
 French now." 
 
 298 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 "Well, you know best. Take care of it, then. 
 Good-bye, friends." 
 
 XIV 
 
 Here is another conversation that took place 
 beside the same fence. Raissa seemed more 
 worried than usual. 
 
 "Five kopecks for a cabbage, and a tiny 
 little one, too," she said, propping her chin on 
 her hand. "Isn't it dear? And I haven't had 
 the money for my sewing yet." 
 
 "Who owes it you?" asked David. 
 
 "Why, the merchant's wife who lives beyond 
 the rampart." 
 
 "The fat woman who goes about in a green 
 blouse?" 
 
 "Yes, yes." 
 
 "I say, she is fat! She can hardly breathe 
 for fat. She positively steams in church, and 
 doesn't pay her debts !" 
 
 "She will pay, only when? And do you 
 know, Davidushka, I have fresh troubles. 
 Father has taken it into his head to tell me his 
 dreams — you know he cannot say what he 
 means: if he wants to say one word, it comes 
 299 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 out another. About food or any everyday 
 thing we have got used to it and understand; 
 but it is not easy to understand the dreams 
 even of healthy people, and with him, it's awful ! 
 *I am very happy,' he says ; 'I was walking about 
 all among white birds to-day; and the Lord 
 God gave me a nosegay and in the nosegay 
 was Andryusha with a little knife,' he calls 
 our Lyubotchka, Andryusha; 'now we shall 
 both be quite well,' he says. 'We need only one 
 stroke with the little knife, like this!' and he 
 points to his throat. I don't understand him, 
 but I say, 'All right, dear, all right,' but he gets 
 angry and tries to explain what he means. He 
 even bursts into tears." 
 
 "But you should have said something to 
 him," I put in ; "you should have made up some 
 lie." 
 
 "I can't tell lies," answered Raissa, and even 
 flung up her hands. 
 
 And indeed she could not tell hes. 
 
 "There is no need to tell lies," observed 
 David, "but there is no need to kill yourself, 
 either. No one will say thank you for it, you 
 know." 
 
 300 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 Raissa looked at him intently. 
 
 "I wanted to ask you something, David- 
 ushka; how ought I to spell 'while'?" 
 
 "What sort of 'while'?" 
 
 "Why, for instance: I hope you will live a 
 long while." 
 
 "Spell: w-i-l-e." 
 
 "No," I put in, "w-h-i-1-e." 
 
 "Well, it does not matter. Spell it with an 
 h, then ! What does matter is, that you should 
 live a long while." 
 
 "I should like to write correctly," observed 
 Raissa, and she flushed a little. 
 
 When she flushed she was amazingly pretty 
 at once. 
 
 "It may be of use. . . . How father wrote 
 in his day . . . wonderfully! He taught me. 
 Well, now he can hardly make out the let- 
 ters." 
 
 "You only live, that's all I want," David re- 
 peated, dropping his voice and not taking his 
 eyes off her. Raissa glanced quickly at him 
 and flushed still more. 
 
 "You live and as for spelling, spell as you 
 like. . . . Oh, the devil, the witch is coming!" 
 301 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 (David called my aunt the witch.) "What .ill- 
 luck has brought her this way? You must go, 
 darling." 
 
 Raissa glanced at David once more and ran 
 away. 
 
 David talked to me of Raissa and her fam- 
 ily very rarely and unwillingly, especially from 
 the time when he began to expect his father's 
 return. He thought of nothing but him and 
 how we should live together afterwards. He 
 had a vivid memory of him and used to de- 
 scribe him to me with particular pleasure. 
 
 "He is big and strong; he can lift three hun- 
 dred-weight with one hand. . . . When he 
 shouted: 'Where's the lad?' he could be heard 
 all over the house. He's so jolly and kind . . . 
 and a brave man ! Nobody can intimidate him. 
 We lived so happily together before we were 
 ruined. They say he has gone quite grey, and 
 in old days his hair was as red as mine. He 
 was a strong man." 
 
 David would never admit that we might re- 
 main in Ryazan. 
 
 "You will go away," I observed, "but I shall 
 stay." 
 
 302 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 "Nonsense, we shall take you with us." 
 
 "And how about my father ?" 
 
 "You will cast off your father. You will 
 be ruined if you don't." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 David made me no answer but merely knitted 
 his white brows. 
 
 "So when we go away with father," he be- 
 gan again, "he will get a good situation and I 
 shall marry." 
 
 "Well, that won't be just directly," I said. 
 
 "No, why not? I shall marry soon." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 "Yes, I; why not?" 
 
 "You haven't fixed on your wife, I suppose.'* 
 
 "Of course, I have." 
 
 "Who is she?" 
 
 David laughed. 
 
 "What a senseless fellow you are, really? 
 Raissa, of course." 
 
 "Raissa !" I repeated in amazement ; "you are 
 joking !" 
 
 "I am not given to joking, and don't like it." 
 
 "Why, she is a year older than you are." 
 
 "What of it? but let's drop the subject." 
 303 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "Let me ask one question," I said. "Does she 
 know that you mean to marry her?" 
 
 "Most likely." 
 
 "But haven't you declared your feelings ?" 
 
 "What is there to declare? When the time 
 comes I shall tell her. Come, that's enough." 
 
 David got up and went out of the room. 
 When I was alone, I pondered . . . and pon- 
 dered . . . and came to the conclusion that 
 David would act like a sensible and practical 
 man; and indeed I felt flattered at the thought 
 of being the friend of such a practical man ! 
 
 And Raissa in her everlasting black woollen 
 dress suddenly seemed to me charming and 
 worthy of the most devoted love. 
 
 XV 
 
 David's father still did not come and did not 
 even send a letter. It had long been summer and 
 June was drawing to its end. We were wear- 
 ing ourselves out in suspense. 
 
 Meanwhile there began to be rumours that 
 Latkin had suddenly become much worse, and 
 that his family were likely to die of hunger or 
 else the house would fall in and crush them 
 all under the roof. 
 
 304 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 David's face even looked changed and he 
 became so ill-tempered and surly that there was 
 no going near him. He began to be more often 
 absent from home, too. I did not meet Raissa 
 at all. From time to time, I caught a glimpse 
 of her in the distance, rapidly crossing the 
 street with her beautiful, light step, straight as 
 an arrow, with her arms crossed, with her dark, 
 clever eyes under her long brows, with an 
 anxious expression on her pale, sweet face — 
 that was all. My aunt with the help of her 
 Trankvillitatin pitched into me as before, and 
 as before reproachfully whispered in my ear: 
 "You are a thief, sir, a thief!" But I took 
 no notice of her ; and my father was very busy, 
 and occupied with his writing and driving all 
 over the place and did not want to hear any- 
 thing. 
 
 One day, passing by the familiar apple-tree, 
 more from habit than anything I cast a furtive 
 glance in the direction of the little spot I knew 
 so well, and it suddenly struck me that there 
 was a change in the surface of the soil that con- 
 cealed our treasure ... as though there were 
 a little protuberance where there had been a 
 hollow, and the bits of rubbish were disar- 
 305 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 ranged. "What does that mean?" I wondered. 
 "Can someone have guessed our secret and dug 
 up the watch ?" 
 
 I had to make certain with my own eyes. I 
 felt, of course, the most complete indifference 
 in regard to the watch that lay rusting in the 
 bosom of the earth; but was not prepared 
 to let anyone else make use of it! And so 
 next day I got up before dawn again and arm- 
 ing myself with a knife went into the orchard, 
 sought out the marked spot under the apple- 
 tree, began digging — and after digging a hole 
 a yard deep was forced to the conviction that 
 the watch was gone, that someone had got hold 
 of it, taken it away, stolen it! 
 
 But who could have dug it up except David ? 
 
 Who else knew where it was ? 
 
 I filled in the hole and went back to the house. 
 I felt deeply injured. 
 
 "Supposing," I thought, "that David needs 
 the watch to save his future wife or her father 
 from dying of starvation. . . . Say what you 
 like, the watch was worth something. . . . Why 
 did he not come to me and say: 'Brother' (in 
 David's place I should have certainly begun by 
 306 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 saying brother), 'brother, I need money; you 
 have none, I know, but let me make use of 
 that watch which we buried together under the 
 old apple-tree? It is of no use to anyone and 
 I shall be so grateful to you, brother!' With 
 what joy I should have consented. But to act 
 secretly, treacherously, not to trust his friend. 
 . . . No! No passion, no necessity would jus- 
 tify that!" 
 
 I repeat, I felt horribly injured. I began 
 by a display of coldness and sulking. . . . 
 
 But David was not one of the sort to notice 
 this and be upset by it. 
 
 I began dropping hints. 
 
 But David appeared not to understand my 
 hints in the least ! 
 
 I said before him how base in my eyes was 
 the man who having a friend and understand- 
 ing all that was meant by that sacred sentiment 
 "friendship," was yet so devoid of generosity 
 as to have recourse to deception; as though it 
 were possible to conceal anything. 
 
 As I uttered these last words I laughed 
 scornfully. 
 
 But David did not turn a hair. At last I 
 307 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 asked him straight out: "What did he think, 
 had our watch gone for some time after being 
 buried in the earth or had it stopped at once?" 
 
 He answered me : "The devil only knows ! 
 What a thing to wonder about !" 
 
 I did not know what to think! David evi- 
 dently had something on his mind . . . but not 
 the abduction of the watch. An unexpected 
 incident showed me his innocence. 
 
 XVI 
 
 One day I came home by a side lane which 
 I usually avoided as the house in which my 
 enemy Trankvillitatin lodged was in it; but on 
 this occasion Fate itself led me that way. Pass- 
 ing the open, window of an eating-house, I 
 suddenly heard the voice of our servant, Vassily, 
 a young man of free and easy manners, "a lazy 
 fellow and a scamp," as my father called him, 
 but also a great conqueror of female hearts 
 which he charmed by his wit, his dancing and 
 his playing on the tambourine. 
 
 "And what do you suppose they've been up 
 to?" said Vassily, whom I could not see but 
 heard distinctly; he was, most likely, sitting 
 308 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 close by, near the window with a companion 
 over the steaming tea — and as often happens 
 with people in a closed room, spoke in a loud 
 voice without suspecting that anyone passing 
 in the street could hear every word: "They 
 buried it in the ground!" 
 
 "Nonsense!" muttered another voice. 
 
 *'I tell you they did, our young gentlemen 
 are extraordinary! Especially that Davidka, 
 he's a regular ^sop ! I got up at daybreak and 
 went to the window. ... I looked out and, 
 what do you think ! Our two little dears were 
 coming along the orchard bringing that same 
 w.atch and they dug a hole under the apple-tree 
 and there they buried it, as though it had 
 been a baby! And they smoothed the earth 
 over afterwards, upon my soul they did, the 
 young rakes!" 
 
 "Ah ! plague take them," Vassily's companion 
 commented. "Too well off, I suppose. Well, 
 did you dig up the watch ?" 
 
 "To be sure I did. I have got it now. Only 
 
 it won't do to show it for a time. There's been 
 
 no end of a fuss over it. Davidka stole it 
 
 that very night from under our old lady's back." 
 
 309 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "Oh— oh !" 
 
 "I tell you, he did. He's a desperate fellow. 
 So it won't do to show it. But when the officers 
 come down I shall sell it or stake it at cards." 
 
 I didn't stay to hear more : I rushed headlong 
 home and straight to David. 
 
 "Brother !" I began, "brother, forgive me ! I 
 have wronged you ! I suspected you ! I blamed 
 you! You see how agitated I am! Forgive 
 me!" 
 
 "What's the matter with you?" asked David. 
 "Explain!" 
 
 "I suspected that you had dug up our watch 
 under the apple-tree." 
 
 "The watch again ! Why, isn't it there ?" 
 
 "It's not there; I thought you had taken it, 
 to help your friends. And it was all Vassily." 
 
 I repeated to David all that I had overheard 
 under the window of the eating-house. 
 
 But how to describe my amazement ! I had, 
 of course, expected David to be indignant, but 
 I had not for a moment anticipated the effect 
 it produced on him! I had hardly finished 
 my story when he flew into an indescribable 
 fury ! David, who had always taken up a scorn- 
 310 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 ful attitude to the whole "vulgar," as he called 
 it, business of the watch; David, who had more 
 than once declared that it wasn't worth a rot- 
 ten egg, jumped up from his seat, got hot all 
 over, ground his teeth and clenched his fists. 
 "We can't let this pass !" he said at last ; "how 
 dare he take someone else's property? Wait a 
 bit, I'll show him. I won't let thieves off so 
 easily !" 
 
 I confess I don't understand to this day 
 what can have so infuriated David. Whether 
 he had been irritated before and Vassily's action 
 had simply poured oil on the flames, or 
 whether my suspicions had wounded him, I 
 cannot say, but I had never seen him in such 
 excitement. I stood before him with my mouth 
 open merely wondering how it was that his 
 breathing was so hard and laboured. 
 
 "What do you intend to do ?" I asked at last. 
 
 "You shall see after dinner, when your 
 father lies down. I'll find this scoffer, I'll talk 
 to him." 
 
 "Well," thought I, "I should not care to be 
 in that scoffer's shoes ! What will happen ? 
 Merciful heavens ?" 
 
 3" 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 XVII. 
 
 This is what did happen: 
 
 As soon as that drowsy, stifling stillness pre- 
 vailed, which to this day lies like a feather 
 bed on the Russian household and the Russian 
 people in the middle of the day after dinner is 
 eaten, David went to the servants' rooms (I 
 followed on his heels with a sinking heart) and 
 called Vassily out. The latter was at first un- 
 willing to come, but ended by obeying and fol- 
 lowing us into the garden. 
 
 David stood close in front of him. Vassily 
 was a whole head taller. 
 
 "Vassily Terentyev," my comrade began in 
 a firm voice, "six weeks ago you took from 
 under this very apple-tree the watch we hid 
 there. You had no right to do so; it does not 
 belong to you. Give it back at once !" 
 
 Vassily was taken aback, but at once re- 
 covered himself. 
 
 "What watch ? What are you talking about ? 
 G^d bless you ! I have no watch !" 
 
 "I know what I am saying and don't tell 
 lies. You've got the watch, give it back." 
 
 "I've not got your watch." 
 312 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 "Then how was it that in the eating-house, 
 you ..." I began, but David stopped me. 
 
 "Vassily Terentyev!" he pronounced in a 
 hollow, threatening voice, "we know for a fact 
 that you have the watch. You are told hon- 
 ourably to give it back and if you don't . . ." 
 
 Vassily sniggered insolently. 
 
 "Then what will you do with me then ? Eh ?" 
 
 "What will we do ? We will both fight with 
 you till you beat us or we beat you." 
 
 Vassily laughed. 
 
 "Fight? That's not for a gentleman! To 
 fight with a servant !" 
 
 David suddenly caught hold of Vassily's 
 waistcoat. 
 
 "But we are not going to fight you with our 
 fists," he articulated, grinding his teeth. "Un- 
 derstand that ! I'll give you a knife and take 
 one myself. . . . And then we shall see who 
 does for which ? Alexey !" he began command- 
 ing me, "run for my big knife, you know the 
 one with the bone handle — it's lying on the 
 table and the other's in my pocket." 
 
 Vassily positively collapsed. David stood 
 holding him by the waistcoat. 
 
 "Mercy on us ! . . . Mercy on us, David 
 313 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 Yegoritch!" he muttered; tears actually came 
 into his eyes. "What do you mean, what are 
 you saying? Let me go." 
 
 *'I won't let you go. And we shall have no 
 mercy on you! If you get away from us to- 
 day, we shall begin again to-morrow. Alyoshka, 
 where's the knife?" 
 
 "David Yegoritch," wailed Vassily, "don't 
 commit murder. . . . What are you doing ! The 
 watch ... I certainly ... I was joking. I'll 
 give it to you this minute. What a thing, to 
 be sure! First you are going to slit Hrisanf 
 Lukitch's belly, then mine. Let me go, David 
 Yegoritch. . . . Kindly take the watch. Only 
 don't tell your papa." 
 
 David let go his hold of Vassily's waistcoat. 
 I looked into his face : certainly not only Vas- 
 sily might have been frightened by it. It looked 
 so weary . . . and cold . . . and angry. . . . 
 
 Vassily dashed into the house and promptly 
 returned with the watch in his hand. He gave 
 it to David witliout a word and only on going 
 back into the house exclaimed aloud in the 
 doorway : 
 
 "Tfoo! here's a go." 
 
 314 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 He still looked panic-stricken. David tossed 
 his head and walked into our room. Again I 
 followed on his heels. "A Suvorov! He's a 
 regular Suvorov!" I thought to myself. In 
 those days, in 1801, Survorov was our great 
 national hero. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 David shut the door after him, put the watch 
 on the table, folded his arms and — oh, wonder ! 
 — laughed. Looking at him I laughed, too. 
 
 "What a wonderful performance !" he began. 
 *'We can't get rid of this watch anyway. It's 
 bewitched, really. And why was I so furious 
 about it?" 
 
 "Yes, why?" I repeated. "You ought to 
 have let Vassily keep it. . . ." 
 
 "Well, no," interposed David. "That's non- 
 sense. But what are we to do with it?" 
 
 "Yes! what?" 
 
 We both stared at the watch and pondered. 
 Adorned with a chain of pale blue beads (the 
 luckless Vassily in his haste had not removed 
 this chain which belonged to him) it was calmly 
 doing its work : ticking somewhat irregularly, it 
 315 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 is true, and slowly moving its copper minute 
 hand. 
 
 "Shall we bury it again? Or put it in the 
 stove," I suggested at last. *'Or, I tell you 
 what : shouldn't we take it to Latkin ?" 
 
 "No," answered David. "That's not the 
 thing. I know what: they have set up a com- 
 mittee at the governor's office and are collecting 
 subscriptions for the benefit of the people of 
 Kasimov. The town has been burnt to ashes 
 with all its churches. And I am told they take 
 anything, not only bread and money, but all 
 sorts of things. Shall we send the watch 
 there?" 
 
 "Yes ! yes !" I answered. "A splendid idea. 
 But I thought that since your friends are in 
 want . . ." 
 
 "No, no; to the committee; the Latkins will 
 manage without it. To the committee." 
 
 "Well, if it is to be the committee, let it be. 
 Only, I imagine, we must write something to 
 the governor." 
 
 David glanced at me. "Do you think so?" 
 
 "Yes, of course; there is no need to write 
 much. But just a few words." 
 316 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 "For instance?" 
 
 "For instance . . . begin like this: 'Being' 
 ... or better: 'Moved by' . . ." 
 
 " 'Moved by' . . . very good." 
 
 "Then we must say : 'herewith our mite' . . ." 
 
 "'Mite' . . . that's good, too. Well, take 
 your pen, sit down and write, fire away !" 
 
 "First I must make a rough copy," I ob- 
 served. 
 
 "All right, a rough copy, only write, write. 
 . . . And meanwhile I will clean it with some 
 whitening." 
 
 I took a sheet of paper, mended a pen, but 
 before I had time to write at the top of the 
 sheet "To His Excellency, the illustrious Prince" 
 (our governer was at that time Prince X), I 
 stopped, struck by the extraordinary uproar . . . 
 which had sudden y arisen in the house. David 
 noticed the hubbub, too, and he, too, stopped, 
 holding the watch in his left hand and a rag 
 with whitening in his right. We looked at 
 each other. What was that shrill cry. It was 
 my aunt shrieking . . . and that? It was my 
 father's voice, hoarse with anger. "The watch ! 
 the watch!" bawled someone, surely Trank- 
 317 
 
iCNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 villitatin. We heard the thud of feet, the creak 
 of the floor, a regular rabble running . . . mov- 
 ing straight upon us. I was numb with terror 
 and David was as white as chalk, but he looked 
 proud as an eagle. "Vassily, the scoundrel, 
 has betrayed us," he whispered through his 
 teeth. The^oor was flung wide open, and my 
 father in hfs dressing gown and without his 
 cravat, my aunt in her dressing jacket, Trank- 
 villitatin, Vassily, Yushka, another boy, and the 
 cook, Agapit — all burst into the room. 
 
 "Scoundrels!" shouted my father, gasping 
 for breath. . . . "At last we have found you 
 out !" And seeing the watch in David's hands : 
 "Give it here !" yelled my father, "give me the 
 watch !" 
 
 But David, without uttering a word, dashed 
 to the open window and leapt out of it into the 
 yard and then off into the street. 
 
 Accustomed to imitate my paragon in every- 
 thing, I jumped out, too, and ran after 
 David. . . . 
 
 "Catch them ! Hold them !" we heard a med- 
 ley of frantic shouts behind us. 
 
 But we were already racing along the street 
 
 318 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 bareheaded, David in advance and I a few 
 paces behind him, and behind us the clatter and 
 uproar of pursuit. 
 
 XIX 
 
 Many years have passed since the date of 
 these events; I have reflected over them more 
 than once — and to this day I can no more un- 
 derstand the cause of the fury that took pos- 
 session of my father (who had so lately been so 
 sick of the watch that he had forbidden it to be 
 mentioned in his hearing) than I can David's 
 rage at its having been stolen by Vassily ! One 
 is tempted to imagine that there was some 
 mysterious power connected with it. Vassily 
 had not betrayed us as David assumed — he was 
 not capable of it : he had been too much scared 
 — it was simply that one of our maids had seen 
 the watch in his hands and had promptly in- 
 formed our aunt. The fat was in the fire ! 
 
 And so we darted down the street, keeping 
 to the very middle of it. The passers-by who 
 met us stopped or stepped aside in amazement. 
 I remember a retired major craned out of the 
 window of his flat — and, crimson in the face, 
 319 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 his bulky person almost overbalancing, hallooed 
 furiously. Shouts of "Stop! hold them" still 
 resounded behind us. 
 
 David ran flourishing the watch over his 
 head and from time to time leaping into the 
 air; I jumped, too, whenever he did. 
 
 "Where?" I shouted to David, seeing that 
 he was turning into a side street — and I turned 
 after him. 
 
 "To the Oka!" he shouted. "To throw it 
 into the water, into the river. To the devil !" 
 
 "Stop! stop!" they shouted behind. 
 
 But we were already flying along the side 
 street, already a whiff of cool air was meeting 
 us — and the river lay before us, and the steep 
 muddy descent to it, and the wooden bridge 
 with a train of waggons stretching across it, 
 and a garrison soldier with a pike beside the 
 flagstaff; soldiers used to carry pikes in those 
 days. David reached the bridge and darted by 
 the soldier who tried to give him a blow on the 
 legs with his pike and hit a passing calf. David 
 instantly leaped on to the parapet; he uttered 
 a joyful exclamation. . . . Something white, 
 something blue gleamed in the air and shot 
 into the water — it was the silver watch with 
 320 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 Vassily's blue bead chain flying into the water. 
 . . . But then something incredible happened. 
 After the watch David's feet flew upwards — 
 and head foremost, with his hands thrust out 
 before him and the lapels of his jacket flutter- 
 ing, he described an arc in the air (as fright- 
 ened frogs jump on hot days from a high 
 bank into a pond) and instantly vanished be- 
 hind the parapet of the bridge . . . and then 
 flop ! and a tremendous splash below. 
 
 What happened to me I am utterly unable to 
 describe. I was some steps from David when 
 he leapt off the parapet . . . but I don't even 
 remember whether I cried out; I don't think 
 that I was even frightened: I was stunned, 
 stupefied. I could not stir hand or foot. Peo- 
 ple were running and hustling round me; some 
 of them seemed to be people I knew. I had a 
 sudden glimpse of Trofimitch, the soldier with 
 the pike dashed off somewhere, the horses 
 and the waggons passed by quickly, tossing up 
 their noses covered with string. Then every- 
 thing was green before my eyes and someone 
 gave me a violent shove on my head and all 
 down my back ... I fell fainting. 
 
 I remember that I came to myself after- 
 321 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 wards and seeing that no one was paying any 
 attention to me went up to the parapet but not 
 on the side that David had jumped. It seemed 
 terrible to me to approach it, and as I began 
 gazing into the dark blue muddy swollen river, I 
 remember that I noticed a boat moored to the 
 bridge not far from the bank, and several peo- 
 ple in the boat, and one of these, whO' was 
 drenched all over and sparkling in the sun, bend- 
 ing over the edge of the boat was pulling some- 
 thing out of the water, something not very big, 
 oblong, a dark thing which at first I took to be a 
 portmanteau or a basket; but when I looked 
 more intently I saw that the thing was — David. 
 Then in violent excitement I shouted at the top 
 of my voice and ran towards the boat, pushing 
 my way through the people, but when I had run 
 down to it I was overcome with timidity and 
 began looking about me. Among the people 
 who were crowding about it I recognised Trank- 
 villitatin, the cook Agapit with a boot in his 
 hand, Yushka, Vassily . . . the wet and shin- 
 ing man held David's body under the arms, 
 drew him out of the boat and laid him on his 
 back on the mud of the bank. Both David's 
 322 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 hands were raised to the level of his face as 
 though he were trying to hide himself from 
 strange eyes; he did not stir but lay as though 
 standing at attention, with his heels together 
 and his stomach out. His face was greenish — 
 his eyes were staring and water was dripping 
 from his hair. The wet man who had pulled 
 him out, a factory hand, judging by his clothes, 
 began describing how he had done it, shivering 
 with cold and continually throwing back his hair 
 from his forehead as he talked. He told his 
 story in a very proper and painstaking way. 
 
 "What do I see, friends? This young lad 
 go flying from the bridge. . . . Well! ... I 
 ran down at once the way of the current for 
 I knew he had fallen into mid-stream and it 
 would carry him under the bridge and there 
 . . . talk of the devil ! . . . I looked : something 
 like a fur cap was floating and it was his head. 
 Well, quick as thought, I was in the water and 
 caught hold of him. ... It didn't need much 
 cleverness for that !" 
 
 Two or three words of approval were audi- 
 ble in the crowd. 
 
 "You ought to have something to warm you 
 323 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 now. Come along and we will have a drink," 
 said someone. 
 
 But at this point all at once somebody pushed 
 forward abruptly: it was Vassily. 
 
 "What are you doing, good Christians?" he 
 cried, tearfully. "We must bring him to by 
 rolling him; it's our young gentleman!" 
 
 "Roll him, roll him," shouted the crowd, which 
 was continually growing. 
 
 "Hang him up by the feet! it's the best 
 way!" 
 
 "Lay him with his stomach on the barrel and 
 roll him backwards and forwards. . . . Take 
 him, lads." 
 
 "Don't dare to touch him," put in the sol- 
 dier with the pike. "He must be taken to the 
 police station." 
 
 "Low brute," Trofimitch's bass voice rang 
 out. 
 
 "But he is alive," I shouted at the top of my 
 voice and almost with horror. I had put my 
 face near to his. "So that is what the 
 drowned look like," I thought, with a sinking 
 heart. . . . And all at once I saw David's lips 
 stir and a little water oozed from them. . . . 
 324 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 At once I was pushed back and dragged 
 away; everyone rushed up to him. 
 
 **Roll him, roll him," voices clamoured. 
 
 "No, no, stay,'' shouted Vassily. "Take him 
 home. . . .Take him home !" 
 
 "Take him home," Trankvillitatin himself 
 chimed in. 
 
 "We will bring him to. We can see better 
 there," Vassily went on. . . . (I have liked 
 him from that day.) "Lads, haven't you a 
 sack? If not we must take him by his head 
 and his feet. . . ." 
 
 "Stay ! Here's a sack ! Lay him on it ! 
 Catch hold! Start! That's fine. As though 
 he were driving in a chaise." 
 
 A few minutes later David, borne in triumph 
 on the sack, crossed the threshold of our house 
 again. 
 
 XX 
 
 He was undressed and put to bed. He be- 
 gan to give signs of life while in the street, 
 moaned, moved his hands. . . . Indoors he 
 came to himself completely. But as soon as 
 all anxiety for his life was over and there was 
 325 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 no reason to worry about him, indignation got 
 the upper hand again : everyone shunned him, 
 as though he were a leper. 
 
 "May God chastise him! May God chastise 
 him!" my aunt shrieked, to be heard all over 
 the house. "Get rid of him, somehow, Porfiry 
 Petrovitch, or he will do some mischief be- 
 yond all bearing." 
 
 "Upon my word, he is a viper ; he is possessed 
 with a devil," Trankvillitatin chimed in. 
 
 "The wickedness, the wickedness !" cackled 
 my aunt, going close to the door of our room 
 so that David might be sure to hear her. "First 
 of all he stole the watch and then flung it 
 into the water ... as though to say, no one 
 should get it. . . ." 
 
 Everyone, everyone was indignant. 
 
 "David," I asked him as soon as we were 
 left alone, "what did you do it for?" 
 
 "So you are after that, too," he answered 
 in a voice that was still weak; his lips were 
 blue and he looked as though he were swollen 
 all over. "What did I do?" 
 
 "But what did you jump into the water for?" 
 
 "Jump! I lost my balance on the parapet, 
 326 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 that was all. If I had known how to swim 
 I should have jumped on purpose. I shall 
 certainly learn. But the watch now — ah . . ." 
 
 But at that moment my father walked with 
 a majestic step into our room. 
 
 "You, my fine fellow," he said, addressing 
 me, "I shall certainly whip, you need have 
 no doubt about that, though you are too big to 
 lie on the bench now." 
 
 Then he went up to the bed on which David 
 was lying. "In Siberia," he began in an im- 
 pressive and dignified tone, "in Siberia, sir, 
 in penal servitude, in the mines, there are peo- 
 ple living and dying who are less guilty, less 
 criminal than you. Are you a suicide or simply 
 a thief or altogether a fool? Be so kind as 
 to tell me just that!" 
 
 "I am not a suicide and I am not a thief," 
 answered David, "but the truth's the truth: 
 there are good men in Siberia, better than you 
 or I . . . who should know that, if not you?" 
 
 My father gave a subdued gasp, drew back 
 a step, looked intently at David, spat on the 
 floor and, slowly crossing himself, walked away. 
 
 "Don't you like that?" David called after 
 327 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 him and put his tongue out. Then he tried to 
 get up but could not. 
 
 "I must have hurt myself somehow," he 
 said, gasping and frowning. "I remember the 
 water .dashed me against a post." 
 
 "Did you see Raissa?" he added suddenly. 
 
 "No. I did not. . . . Stay, stay, stay ! Now 
 I remember, wasn't it she standing on the bank 
 by the bridge? . . . Yes . . . yes ... a dark 
 dress ... a yellow kerchief on her head, yes 
 it must have been Raissa." 
 
 "Well, and afterwards. . . . Did you see 
 her?" 
 
 "Afterwards ... I don't know, I had no 
 thought to spare for her. . . . You jumped 
 in . . ." 
 
 David was suddenly roused. "Alyosha, 
 darling, go to her at once, tell her I am all 
 right, that there's nothing the matter with me. 
 To-morrow I shall be with them. Go as quickly 
 as you can, brother, for my sake !" 
 
 David held out both hands to me. . . . His red 
 
 hair, by now dry, stuck up in amusing tufts. 
 
 . . . But the softened expression of his face 
 
 seemed the more genuine for that. I took my 
 
 328 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 cap and went out of the house, trying to avoid 
 meeting my father and reminding him of his 
 promise. 
 
 XXI 
 
 "Yes, indeed," I reflected as I walked towards 
 the Latkins', "how was it that I did not notice 
 Raissa? What became of her? She must have 
 seen. . . ." 
 
 And all at once I remembered that the very 
 moment of David's fall, a terrible piercing 
 shriek had rung in my ears. 
 
 "Was not that Raissa? But how was it I 
 did not see her afterwards?" 
 
 Before the little house in which Latkin 
 lodged there stretched a waste-ground over- 
 grown with nettles and surrounded by a broken 
 hurdle. I had scarcely clambered over the 
 hurdle (there was no gate anywhere) when 
 the following sight met my eyes: Raissa, with 
 her elbows on her knees and her chin propped 
 on her clasped hands, was sitting on the low- 
 est step in front of the house; she was looking 
 fixedly straight before her; near her stood 
 her little dumb sister with the utmost com- 
 , 329 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 posure brandishing a little whip, while, facing 
 the steps with his back to me, old Latkin, in 
 torn and shabby drawers and high felt boots, 
 was trotting and prancing up and down, caper- 
 ing and jerking his elbows. Hearing my foot- 
 steps he suddenly turned round and squatted on 
 his heels — then at once, skipping up to me, be- 
 gan speaking very rapidly in a trembling voice, 
 incessantly repeating, "Tchoo — tchoo — tchoo !" 
 I was dumbfoundered. I had not seen him for 
 a long time and should not, of course, have 
 known him if I had met him anywhere else. 
 That red, wrinkbd, toothless face, those lustre- 
 less round eyes and touzled grey hair, those 
 jerks and capers, that senseless halting speech! 
 What did it mean? What inhuman despair 
 was torturing this unhappy creature? What 
 dance of death was this ? 
 
 "Tchoo — tchoo," he muttered, wriggHng in- 
 cessantly. "See Vassilyevna here came in 
 tchoo — ^tchoo, just now. ... Do you hear? 
 With a trough on the roof" (he slapped him- 
 self on the head with his hand), "and there she 
 sits like a spade, and she is cross-eyed, cross- 
 eyed, like Andryushka; Vassilyevna is cross- 
 330 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 eyed" (he probably meant to say dumb), *'tchoo ! 
 My Vassilyevna is cross-eyed ! They are both 
 on the same cork now. You may wonder, good 
 Christians! I have only these two little boats! 
 Eh?" 
 
 Latkin was evidently conscious that he was 
 not saying the right thing and made terrible 
 efforts to explain to me what was the matter. 
 Raissa did not seem to hear what her father was 
 saying and the little sister went on lashing the 
 whip. 
 
 "Good-bye, diamond-merchant, good-bye, 
 good-bye," Latkin drawled several times in 
 succession, making a low bow, seeming de- 
 lighted at having at last got hold of an intelli- 
 gible word. 
 
 My head began to go round. 
 
 "What does it all mean?" I asked of an old 
 woman who was looking out of the window 
 of the little house. 
 
 "Well, my good gentleman," she answered ir 
 a sing-song voice, "they say some man — the 
 Lord only knows who — went and drowned him- 
 self and she saw it. Well, it gave her a fright 
 or something ; when she came home she seemed 
 331 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 all right though; but when she sat down on 
 the step — here, she has been sitting ever since 
 like an image, it's no good talking to her. I 
 suppose she has lost her speech, too. Oh, 
 dear! Oh, dear!" 
 
 "Good-bye, good-bye," Latkin kept repeat- 
 ing, still with the same bow. 
 
 I went up to Raissa and stood directly fac- 
 ing her. 
 
 "Raissa, dear, what's the matter with you?" 
 
 She made no answer, she seemed not to no- 
 tice me. Her face had not grown pale, had 
 not changed — ^but had turned somehow stony 
 and there was a look in it as though she were 
 just falling asleep. 
 
 "She is cross-eyed, cross-eyed," Latkin mut- 
 tered in my ear. 
 
 I took Raissa by the hand. "David is alive," 
 I cried, more loudly than before. "Alive and 
 well; David's alive, do you understand? He 
 was pulled out of the water ; he is at home now 
 and told me to say that he will come to you 
 to-morrow ; he is alive !" As it were with effort 
 Raissa turned her eyes on me; she blinked 
 several times, opening them wider and wider, 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 then leaned her head on one side and flushed 
 slightly all over while her lips parted . . . she 
 slowly drew in a deep breath, winced as though 
 in pain and with fearful effort articulated: 
 
 "Da . . . Dav . . . a . . . alive," got up im- 
 pulsively and rushed away. 
 
 "Where are you going?" I exclaimed. But 
 with a faint laugh she ran staggering across 
 the waste-ground. . . . 
 
 I, of course, followed her, while behind me a 
 wail rose up in unison from the old man and 
 the child. . . . Raissa darted straight to our 
 house. 
 
 "Here's a day !" I thought, trying not to lose 
 sight of the black dress that was fluttering be- 
 fore me. "Well!" 
 
 XXII 
 
 Passing Vassily, my aunt, and even Trank- 
 villitatin, Raissa ran into the room where David 
 was lying and threw herself on his neck. "Oh 
 ... oh ... Da .. . vidushka," her voice rang 
 out from under her loose curls, "oh!" 
 
 Flinging wide his arms David embraced her 
 and nestled his head against her. 
 333 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "Forgive me, my heart," I heard his voipe 
 saying. 
 
 And both seemed swooning with joy. 
 
 **But why did you go home, Raissa, why 
 didn't you stay?" I said to her. . . . She still 
 kept her head bowed. "You would have seen 
 that he was saved. . . ." 
 
 "Ah, I don't know! Ah, I don't know. 
 Don't ask. I don't know, I don't remember 
 how I got home. I only remember: I saw you 
 in the air . . . something seemed to strike me 
 . . . and what happened afterwards . . ." 
 
 "Seemed to strike you," repeated D^vid, and 
 we all three suddenly burst out laughing to- 
 gether. We were very happy. 
 
 "What may be the meaning of this, may I 
 ask," we heard behind us a threatening voice, 
 the voice of my father. He was standing in 
 the doorway. "Will there ever be an end to 
 these fooleries? Where are we living? Are 
 we in the Russian Empire or the French Re- 
 public?" 
 
 He came into the room. 
 
 "Anyone who wants to be rebellious and im- 
 moral had better go to France ! And how dare 
 334 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 you come here?" he said, turning to Raissa, 
 who, quietly sitting up and turning to face him, 
 was evidently taken aback but still smiled as 
 before, a friendly and blissful smile. 
 
 "The daughter of my sworn enemy! How 
 '^are you ? And hugging him, too ! Away with 
 you at once, or . . . " 
 
 "Uncle," David brought out, and he sat up 
 in bed. "Don't insult Raissa. She is going 
 away, only don't insult her." 
 
 "And who are you to teach me? I am not 
 insulting her, I am not in . . . sul . . . ting 
 her! I am simply turning her out of the 
 house. I have an account to settle with you, 
 too, presently. You have made away with other 
 people's property, have attempted to take your 
 own life, have put me to expense." 
 
 "To what expense ?" David interrupted. 
 
 "What expense? You have ruined your 
 clothes. Do you count that as nothing? And 
 I had to tip the men who brought you. You 
 have given the whole family a fright and are 
 you going to be unruly now? And if this 
 young woman, regardless of shame and honour 
 itself ..." 
 
 335 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 David made a dash as though to get out of 
 bed. 
 
 ''Don't insult her, I tell you." 
 
 "Hold your tongue." 
 
 "Don't dare . . ." 
 
 "Hold your tongue!" 
 
 "Don't dare to insult my betrothed," cried 
 David at the top of his voice, "my future 
 wife!" 
 
 "Betrothed !" repeated my father, with round 
 eyes. "Betrothed! Wife! Ho, ho, ho! . . ." 
 ("Ha, ha, ha," my aunt echoed behind the door.) 
 "Why, how old are you? He's been no time 
 in the world, the milk is hardly dry on his lips, 
 he is a mere babe and he is going to be mar- 
 ried ! But I . . . but you . . ." 
 
 "Let me go, let me go," whispered Raissa, 
 and she made for the door. She looked more 
 dead than alive. 
 
 "I am not going to ask permission of you," 
 David went on shouting, propping himself up 
 with his fists on the edge of the bed, "but of 
 my own father who is bound to be here one day 
 soon; he is a law to me, but you are not; but 
 as for my age, if Raissa and I are not old 
 336 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 enough ... we will bide our time whatever 
 you may say. . . ." 
 
 "Aie, aie, Davidka, don't forget yourself," 
 my father interrupted. "Just look at yourself. 
 You are not fit to be seen. You have lost all 
 sense of decency." 
 
 David put his hand to the front of his shirt. 
 
 "Whatever you may say . . ."he repeated. 
 
 "Oh, shut his mouth, Porfiry Petrovitch," 
 piped my aunt from behind the door, "shut his 
 mouth, and as for this hussy, this baggage . . . 
 this . . ." 
 
 But something extraordinary must have cut 
 short my aunt's eloquence at that moment: 
 her voice suddenly broke off and in its place we 
 heard another, feeble and husky with old 
 age. . . . 
 
 "Brother," this weak voice articulated, 
 "Christian soul." 
 
 XXIII 
 
 We all turned round. ... In the same cos- 
 tume in which I had just seen him, thin, pitiful 
 and wild looking, Latkin stood before us like an 
 apparition. 
 
 337 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 "God!" he pronounced in a sort of child- 
 ish way, pointing upwards with a bent and 
 trembling finger and gazing impotently at my 
 father, "God has chastised me, but I have 
 come for Va. . . for Ra . . . yes, yes, for 
 Raissotchka. . . . What . . . tchoo! what is 
 there for me? Soon underground — and what 
 do you call it? One little stick, another . . . 
 cross-beam — that's what I . . . want, but you, 
 brother, diamond-merchant . . . mind . . . I'm 
 a man, too!" 
 
 Raissa crossed the room without a word and 
 taking his arm buttoned his vest. 
 
 "Let us go, Vassilyevna," he said; "they are 
 all saints here, don't come to them and he lying 
 there in his case" — he pointed to David — "is a 
 saint, too, but you and I are sinners, brother. 
 Come. Tchoo. . . . Forgive an old man with a 
 pepper pot, gentleman! We have stolen to- 
 gether!" he shouted suddenly; "stolen together, 
 stolen together!" he repeated, with evident sat- 
 isfaction that his tongue had obeyed him at 
 last. 
 
 Everyone in the room was silent. "And 
 338 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 where is . . . the ikon here," he asked, throw- 
 ing back his head and turning up his eyes ; "we 
 must cleanse ourselves a bit." 
 
 He fell to praying to one of the corners, 
 crossing himself fervently several times in suc- 
 cession, tapping first one shoulder and then 
 the other with his fingers and hurriedly re- 
 peating : 
 
 "Have mercy me, oh. Lor . . . me, oh. 
 Lor . . . me, oh. Lor . . ." My father, who 
 had not taken his eyes off Latkin, and had 
 not uttered a word, suddenly started, stood 
 beside him and began crossing himself, too. 
 Then he turned to him, bowed very low so that 
 he touched the floor with one hand, saying, 
 "You forgive me, too, Martinyan Gavrilitch," 
 kissed him on the shoulder. Latkin in response 
 smacked his lips in the air and blinked: I 
 doubt whether he quite knew what he was do- 
 ing. Then my father turned to everyone in 
 the room, to David, to Raissa and to me: 
 
 "Do as you like, act as you think best," he 
 brought out in a soft and mournful voice, and 
 he withdrew. 
 
 339 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 My aunt was running up to him, but he cried 
 out sharply and gruffly to her. He was over- 
 whelmed. 
 
 *'Me, oh, Lor . . . me, oh. Lor . . . mercy !" 
 Latkin repeated. "I am a man." 
 
 "Good-bye, Davidushka," said Raissa, and 
 she, too, went out of the room with the old man. 
 
 "I will be with you to-morrow," David called 
 after her, and, turning his face to the wall, he 
 whispered: "I am very tired; it will be as 
 well to have some sleep now," and was quiet. 
 
 It was a long while before I went out of the 
 room. I kept in hiding. I could not forget my 
 father's threats. But my apprehensions turned 
 out to be unnecessary. He met me and did not 
 utter a word. He seemed to feel awkward him- 
 self. But night soon came on and everything 
 was quiet in the house. 
 
 XXIV 
 
 Next morning David got up as though noth- 
 ing were the matter and not long after, on the 
 same day, two important events occurred: in 
 the morning old Latkin died, and towards 
 evening my uncle, Yegor, David's father, ar- 
 340 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 rived in Ryazan. Without sending any letter 
 in advance, without warning anyone, he de- 
 scended on us like snow on our heads. My 
 father was completely taken aback and did 
 not know what to offer to his dear guest and 
 where to make him sit. He rushed about as 
 though delirious, was flustered as though he 
 were guilty; but my uncle did not seem to be 
 much touched by his brother's fussy solicitude ; 
 he kept repeating: ''What's this for?" or "I 
 don't want anything." His manner with my 
 aunt was even colder; she had no great hking 
 for him, indeed. In her eyes he was an in- 
 fidel, a heretic, a Voltairian ... (he had in fact 
 learnt French to read Voltaire in the original). 
 I found my Uncle Yegor just as David had 
 described him. He was a big heavy man with 
 a broad pock-marked face, grave and serious. 
 He always wore a hat with feathers in it, 
 cuffs, a frilled shirt front and a snuff-coloured 
 vest and a sword at his side. David was un- 
 speakably delighted to see him — he actually 
 looked brighter in the face and better looking, 
 and his eyes looked different: merrier, keener, 
 more shining; but he did his utmost to mod- 
 341 
 
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 erate his joy and not to show it in words: 
 he was afraid of being too soft. The first night 
 after Uncle Yegor's arrival, father and son 
 shut themselves up in the room that had been 
 assigned to my uncle and spent a long time 
 talking together in a low voice; next morn- 
 ing I saw that my uncle looked particularly 
 affectionately and trustfully at his son: he 
 seemed very much pleased with him. David 
 took him to the requiem service for Latkin; I 
 went to it, too, my father did not hinder my 
 going but remained at home himself. Raissa 
 impressed me by her calm: she looked pale 
 and much thinner but did not shed tears and 
 spoke and behaved with perfect simplicity; 
 and with all that, strange to say, I saw a cer- 
 tain grandeur in her ; the unconscious grandeur 
 of sorrow forgetful of itself ! Uncle Yegor 
 made her acquaintance on the spot, in the 
 church porch; from his manner to her, it was 
 evident that David had already spoken of her. 
 He was as pleased with her as with his son: I 
 could read that in David's eyes when he looked 
 at them both. I remember how his eyes 
 sparkled when his father said, speaking of her : 
 34^J 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 "She's a clever girl; she'll make a capable 
 woman." At the Latkins' I was told that the 
 old man had quietly expired like a candle that 
 has burnt out, and that until he had lost power 
 and consciousness, he kept stroking his daugh- 
 ter's head and saying something unintelligible 
 but not gloomy, and he was smiling to the end. 
 My father went to the funeral and to the service 
 in the church and prayed very devoutly ; Trank- 
 villitatin actually sang in the choir. 
 
 Beside the grave Raissa suddenly broke into 
 sobs and sank forward on the ground; but she 
 soon recovered herself. Her little deaf and 
 dumb sister stared at everyone and everything 
 with big, bright, rather wild-looking eyes ; from 
 time to time she huddled up to Raissa, but 
 there was no sign of terror about her. The day 
 after the funeral Uncle Yegor, who, judging 
 from appearances, had not come back from 
 Siberia with empty hands (he paid for the 
 funeral and liberally rewarded David's res- 
 cuer) but who told us nothing of his doings 
 there or of his plans for the future. Uncle 
 Yegor suddenly informed my father that he 
 did not intend to remain in Ryazan, but was 
 343 
 

 KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK 
 
 going to Moscow with his son. My father, 
 from a feeling of propriety, expressed regret 
 and even tried — very faintly it is true — to in- 
 duce my uncle to alter his decision, but at the 
 bottom of his heart, I think he was really much 
 relieved. 
 
 The presence of his brother with whom he 
 had very little in common, who did not even 
 condescend to reproach him, whose feeling 
 for him was more one of simple disgust than 
 disdain — oppressed him . . . and parting with 
 David could not have caused him much regret. 
 I, of course, was utterly crushed by the sep- 
 aration; I was utterly desolate at first and lost 
 all support in life and all interest in it. 
 
 And so my uncle went away and took with 
 him not only David but, to the great astonish- 
 ment and even indignation of our whole street, 
 Raissa and her little sister, too. . . . When she 
 heard of this, my aunt promptly called him a 
 Turk, and called him a Turk to the end of her 
 days. 
 
 And I was left alone, alone . . . but this 
 story is not about me. 
 
 344 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 XXV 
 
 So this is the end of my tale of the watch. 
 What more have I to tell you? Five years 
 after David was married to his Black-lip, and 
 in 1812, as a lieutenant of artillery, he died a 
 glorious death on the battlefield of Borodino in 
 defence of the Shevardinsky redoubt. 
 
 Much water has flowed by since then and I 
 have had many watches; I have even attained 
 the dignity of a real repeater with a second 
 hand and the days of the week on it. But in a 
 secret drawer of my writing table there is pre- 
 served an old-fashioned silver watch with a rose 
 on the face; I bought it from a Jewish pedlar, 
 struck by its likeness to the watch, which was 
 once presented to me by my godfather. From 
 time to time, when I am alone and expect no 
 one, I take it out of the drawer and looking 
 at it remember my young days and the com- 
 panion of those days that have fled never to 
 return. 
 
 Paris. — 1875. 
 
 345 
 
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